Chapter Text

It wasn’t supposed to end like this.

Not with this death, this carnage. Not with the fading of everyone they had grown to care about, to love. Vanquishing the Old Light shouldn’t have cost the lives of their friends, and the lives of those they never got to meet. 

It wasn’t supposed to end like this.

They were not meant to stay here, trapped, in a form they could not safely call themself. 

Everything about it felt wrong . Maybe if they had more time, they could’ve saved everyone, or at least someone. Maybe if they had more time, they could find some alternate way to deal with this. If they just had more time. More time.

Time.

Theirs to control.

But they did not know how. They did not know this form like they did their old. This form was wrong, leaking thoughts they could not call their own into what might not even be their mind anymore. 

Please, stop. Please, go back. Please, no more.

Stop. No more. Go back.

Go back.

Go back.

And that is what the Ghost of Hallownest did.

--

Leaping hard into walls, breath knocked from their lungs, and yet, despite the burning in their very core, they lifted themselves up and leapt again. Clawing at each stoney face as they ascended, higher, higher, towards the light. Not so they could leave, no, so they could be with their sibling. The light called for their sibling, for all of their siblings, them as well, but the will to be with their sib, their twin , was what made them leap across the darkness, claws outstretched, hoping to make contact with the next platform in the gruelling gauntlet.

They continued to ascend, leaping and landing, their leg jabbing into some spikes. If they had voice, they’d make not a sound, for their pain did not matter in that moment. Reaching their twin was all that mattered, all they wanted. They leapt again, but it was off, to short, they fell.

But their paws caught them. The ledge of cold metal, just barely illuminated by the light. It was breathtaking, and for a moment, their mind, traitorous as it was, willed to join it, but then they say their twin. Staring down at them, halfway between the freedom of the light and their prison of the dark. They tried to push themselves up, but their arms were exhausted. They were surprised they were even able to keep hanging, suspended, on nail’s edge. 

They called to their twin for aid. But their twin only continued to gaze. And then, they turned around. Not to help them, but to join the light. They called out again, frantic, wondering why their twin was leaving. They were supposed to have each other, no? Come back! Don’t leave me! Don’t leave!

But the light consumed their twin, and burned them, as the heavy doors sealed shut. Their grip slipped, and has they tried to recover, the last of the light burned through their wings, as did the betrayal of their twin burned their core. They fell, plunging through the darkness, burning alive.

Don’t leave me… don’t leave… don’t….

--

Ghost woke in agony. Even without voice, they screamed. Screamed across void, screamed with their movements, with the scrapping of joints and carapace on the masks of so many long gone kin. Everything hurt, everything burned, even though their wings had long since stopped burning and were nothing but charred wisps of what once was. They could not move, laying on the corpses of their brethren, as void leaked from their mask. They shivered. It was cold, in the Abyss. They did not remember it being cold, and yet.

Footsteps. Ghost did not move, could not move. They stopped beside them, and a mask entered their view. Another vessel, living. Ghost felt a gentle prod, not anywhere on their body, but from the link all vessels shared, as beings of void. The other vessel prodded again, stronger this time, more urgent in manner. Ghost did not respond, part of themself wishing to fade away into the voidsea. 

Was that even possible, now, when they were the voidsea? The entirety of the void? Is that what they wanted? 

Another vessel soon joined the picture, urging the smaller one to come with. But the smaller one did not, instead, pointed to Ghost’s form. The taller one came closer, asking a simple “Why?” 

To which the smaller vessel responded with, “They’re alive.”

“No, they are not. Come now, we must go, the other three will only wait for so long.”

They taller one moved to take the smaller one’s paw, but the smaller one instead reached for Ghost’s own splayed out one. They placed their paw on Ghost’s, and the tiniest twitch of Ghost’s claws confirmed to the small one what they thought. “See? Alive.” 

The tall one was looking now. Mournfully, the spoke, “They will die soon. There is not much we can do for this sibling. We must go if we wish to live.”

Again, the tall one tried to move the small one. And again, they refused. Instead, the focused all their attention on Ghost. Get up, the called, get up and come with. Live with them. Join them in freedom of the Abyss. The same urgency was back, pleading, begging. Ghost pushed themselves up, slowly and carefully, as their wings still burned despite having long since lost their usefulness. How long had they remained inert? When did their twin claw their way to freedom without them? Time was meaningless down in the Abyss. What could feel like hours would only be a few minutes outside of the Abyss, and what felt like minutes could be centuries. Perhaps they had already failed..?

The smaller vessel tugged Ghost along. They did not look over the two vessels, or their surroundings, looking at nothing, until they joined three other vessels at a wall. How could this be an escape, they wondered? One of the three vessels moved towards the wall, placing a paw on it. Their horns almost resembled that of their twin. They tried not to think about that, instead focusing on the differences. Two horns with two prongs, close together but like a staircase. The inner prong was taller then the outer one. 

Ghost then focused on the other vessels. They were conversing, but Ghost did not listen. The second of the three vessels had two horns at the top of their head, smooth with no prongs. The third had two horns at the top of their head that pointed downwards, again, with no prongs. It was when they looked over the small vessel still holding their paw did they realize something.

All of them, every last vessel here, had been dead on Ghost’s journey. 

They had seen their corpses. The three vessels all strung up in Nosk’s lair. The tall one, with three horns on their head, two on one side, both the larger of the horns, and a singular horn on the other, was the broken vessel they had to fight in order to repair their broken wings. And the vessel holding their paw, with four little, stubby cheek horns, was the Greenpath vessel. The one impaled on, presumably, their own nail, mask cracked. They one who had given them the mothwing cloak. 

Ghost felt… sick, almost. Their body swayed, and then they crashed. Sparks of alarm rang out and they could see paws reach for them. But then, they were once again deep in slumber.

--

The second time the Ghost of Hallownest awoke in the past was more peaceful, with less pain. The second time Ghost awoke, they were not alone. They were immediately aware of their surroundings, which was dark and poorly lit, asides from the pale glow of the mushrooms. They could hear the distant rumble of garpedes, and even more distant shrieking. Next to Ghost, sitting and watching something else, was the same vessel from Greenpath. Ghost thought they ought to find names for everyone, or encourage them to name themself.

They shifted up, which caught the attention of everyone. They looked at each other for a moment. “Now that they are awake, we should go,” one of the Nosk vessel’s said. 

“Wait,” the not-so-broken vessel spoke. “You seem familiar. Are you the twin of the one who left?”

Ghost was silent for a moment. And then they nodded. They expected some sort of backlash, and instead they got pity. They didn’t need the pity. Ghost struggled up, standing on two vaguely shaking legs, and nodded determinedly. “It’s dangerous here, we can’t stay long,” they said. “If we can get to Greenpath, we should be safe.” And then they wondered how much of Deepnest’s danger came from the Infection and the lack of upkeep. “We should choose some names, first.”

“And what do you suggest?” Another of the Nosk vessel’s said. The one with the singular upward horns. 

Ghost thought for a minute. “I’ll start with my name. It’s Ghost.” Given by Hornet, our sister, they silently added. They then looked to the Greenpath vessel. “Why not Mossy? Or Mothwing.”

“Mothwing!” The greenpath vessel Mothwing clapped. Then Mothwing looked towards their twin. “What about you?”

“Hmm. Lost? Or maybe Kin, but that could be confusing.”

The not-so-broken vessel considered this, and Ghost could feel some displeasure. “If you do not like it, we could come up with something else? I think it is good for you, though. I like the name.” Mothwing suggested.

“No. Lost is fine,” Lost insisted. Mothwing brightened and hugged Lost. Ghost felt a pang in their voidheart, finding themself missing Hornet and The Hollow Knight. Would The Hollow Knight remember them? Did they, the first time they fought? Or were they too far gone, taken by the Pale King and then the Radiance?

“What about us three?” Another of the Nosk vessels piped up.

Ghost started with the first of the three vessels they had seen, the one with the staircase horns (do not remember your twin). “Mimic.” And then Ghost looked at the next vessel, smooth horns who pointed up. “Thread.” And then the last, who’s smooth horns pointed downwards. “And Falcer. Are everyone satisfied with their names?” Ghost got a chorus of yes. With that, the group made the decision to find a way out of Deepnest. It may be safer before the Infection, or, perhaps since the Infection killed bugs, it was more dangerous? Either way, Ghost had another reason to flee Deepnest. The Dreamer, Herrah, mother of Hornet. If she was not yet asleep, she would end up finding them and would probably tell the Pale King. Maybe. They didn’t know Herrah well, couldn’t read her like they could other bugs. Still, they rather not chance it. 

Dirtmouth was probably the safest place to be. The town on the surface was probably somewhere the King would not go, nor would those who would tell him about the escapees. Plus, they could probably blend in as some bug from a distant land. The memory of an old friend drifted across their mind. Maybe, if they could fix everything, they could find Tibia again? 

Ghost didn’t know where they were headed until they stumbled upon a familiar room. Oh no. Staring back at them were themself. “Stay behind me,” Ghost told their siblings.

“But there’s two of you!” Mothwing said.

“They’re a fake!” Falcer hissed, dropping into a combative stance. However, they lacked a nail. All of them did. Them, defenseless, against as Nosk? Not  defenseless, a part of Ghost whispered. Maybe they retained their spells? They had had no soul in the Abyss to test, but perhaps now? 

The Nosk twisted its body in what should be unnatural, revealing it’s true form to the group. Ghost was about to spring forward when Mimic rushed forward, brandishing what looked like a mandible from a dirtcarver. Their fierce battlecry rushed over the other vessels. Mandibles! Why hadn’t Ghost thought of that? A perfect stand in until they could get a real nail.

Mimic stabbed one of the Nosk’s legs. The Nosk cried out and swept at Mimic, legs making contact and sending them flying away. Thread gave Ghost another dirtcarver mandible. Thread themself held a leg. Falcer was already charging in, swiping at the Nosk with another mandible. “Protect the others,” Ghost told Lost who nodded. They then joined Falcer in their attack.

Nosk leapt with a screech, sprawling out its legs. Ghost dodged away, but Falcer wasn’t so lucky. Still, as soon as the Nosk landed, Falcer was on them, as was Mimic. Ghost took a moment as the two hounded on the Nosk, it screeching before charging. Mimic leapt away while Falcer rolled. Ghost side stepped, swinging out their improvised nail to do some damage. Mimic landed next to Ghost, watching as the Nosk collided with a wall. “We should run.”

“Agreed.” And yet, the chance to take out even one Nosk was tempting. It may protect the triplets in the long run. But staying might doom them. Nosk was charging again. Mimic leapt up again, but the Nosk slammed right into Ghost and kept going. Straight for Lost.

Lost charged forward, and plunged their weapon straight into the Nosk’s head. The Nosk reared back, screeching, as its blood pooled away. Falcer was there, stabbing into the sides to make sure it died. With one final screech, it fell limp. Mothwing, who was hiding behind Thread, stepped out and looked at its body. “Problem solved,” Falcer said amused. 

“We still need to head for Greenpath.” 

“We need to fix you, first. That… what is it? Whatever that is, hit you hard. I can see cracks,” Thread observed, pointing to the Nosk’s corpse and then to Ghost’s mask. They hadn’t even realised that the Nosk had dealt some good damage to them. Three masks? Nosk didn’t even deal two! 

Ghost wanted to fight back, wanted to get to Greenpath asap, but if they were down to 2 masks and certainly hadn’t gotten enough soul to even heal one, not to mention they weren’t the only one to take damage. They relented, saying, “There’s a hot springs and bench not too far from here.” I just hope nobody is there . Ghost lead the way, holding their improvised “nail” at the ready. Falcer walked next to them. Mimic took up the rear with Lost next to them. 

The trip to the hot springs wasn’t nearly as eventful, thankfully, and their mandible weapons worked well as an impromptu mantis claw. The only thing that made it difficult to navigate was the dark. Thankfully Mothwing had taken some of the glowing plants. Even without that, Ghost had some idea of where to go, having remembered fighting Nosk so many times over. Eventually, they had almost reached the hot springs. “Be careful of the spikes,” Ghost told them before going first. Leap, land, leap, land, leap, land. And then they were on the other side. 

Falcer went next and was soon by Ghost. Then Mothwing. “What if I mess up?”

“I’ll be right behind you,” Lost reassured their twin. Mothwing nodded and went. Leap, land, leap, land. And then they stood next to Ghost. They clung to Ghost’s cloak until Lost had safely made it. Thread was next. They did well, until they landed wrong and slipped. Right into the spikes. Their leg was punctured straight through.

Ghost was closer to them then Mimic, and so reached them first. Mimic waited on the platform right behind. Ghost gently lifted Thread off the spikes, then wondered how they were supposed to make it across. Thread whimpered as they tried to stand on their void leaking leg. “Lost, you’ll have to catch Thread. Thread, you’ll have to jump. I’m right behind you, and if you must fall, fall towards Lost.”

Thread nodded and looked towards Lost’s extended paws. Thread took a breath, then leapt. For a heart stopping moment, their sibling hovered in the air, then they fell into Lost’s paws. The taller sibling held them firmly, bringing them to their chest. Ghost followed, then Mimic. They all took a small moment to collect themselves before pressing forward, right into the hot springs.

They rushed forward (or limped in Thread’s case) towards the warm water. Mothwing splashed Lost playfully, while also hitting Falcer. Falcer responded with splashing Mothwing, which caused Lost to splash them. Soon enough, those three were having a splash fight. Thread and Mimic rested together as the warm, soul filled water closed up Thread’s wounds. Ghost joined their sibs, but still kept their distance. They tried to remember the way out, but blanked. Mm, didn’t spend enough time in Deepnest. They didn’t want to wander around aimlessly, but they had no tram pass to use. Plus, using it would be dangerous, it going to the Ancient Basin. 

“Something the matter?” Thread asked, sensing Ghost’s worry. 

Ghost thought over their words. “I… do not remember the way out, but I do not want us to go without purpose.” They faintly remembered the direction of the Distant Village, where Herrah would be. If push came to shove… no, they weren’t going to ask a Dreamer for help, even one who might not like the King. (Might not? They were pretty sure Herrah only tolerated the King.)

“Remember?” Mimic prompted with some confusion leaking from them. 

Oh. Didn’t choose well enough. Ghost’s body shook, showing their light chuckle. “I may be from, ah, the future.”

“Really?!” Both Mothwing and Falcer asked in excitement.

“And what does the future hold, sibling?” Lost asked.

Ghost again hesitated. They didn’t want to scare their siblings, but they didn’t want to lie to them, either. “The future I came from was… not a good one. All of you I only found once you had passed. As for my twin… there was barely anything of them left, and what I could tell was insurmountable sadness.” If they had a voice, it would wavor. If they spoke through hands, they would hesitate. Instead, a feeling of nothing came from them as they spoke. A consuming, inescapable nothing. “But I came back to change that. So none of you would die, so Hallownest would not suffer from the Old Light.”

They were met with silence, not even a thing over their shared bond. And then Lost stood. “We should find a way out, then.” Mothwing followed quickly, picking up their leg-nail and Lost’s mandible-nail, handing that to them. The others followed suit as did Ghost.

“I know we must go up to get out, but that’s all I remember.” 

Thread almost made a ‘tsk’ noise with vocal chords that did not exist. That noise surprised Ghost, who turned around to look at them. “Your wings didn’t heal.”

Ghost paused before shrugging, as though it didn’t bother them (it did.) “Well, let’s go already!” Falcer said, brandishing their mandible-nail. “I’m ready to fight any other creepy crawlies!”

Amusement. 

Ghost again led the way, more hesitantly. They had to pass over the spikes again. They looked up, wondering how they were supposed to make that jump. Lost landed next to them, since this platform was a bit larger. Without a word, their taller sibling lifted them up. Ghost thanked them with a nod before climbing up the wall. Soon the rest of their siblings joined them, which took some time as Thread was much more careful. 

They kept walking, Falcer watching the darkness nervously. “Afraid of the dark?” Mimic teased.

“I am not!” Falcer responded with.

“Oh really? Then why don’t you take up the very back? If you weren’t afraid, it wouldn’t matter to you.”

“Maybe I will!” But Falcer didn’t move to take up the back. In fact, none of them did, as a small spiderling clad in a red cloak dropped in front of them.

Chapter Text

Falcer let out a (metaphorical) shriek.

The spiderling leapt at Falcer. 

And Ghost leapt at the spiderling. 

They tried to pry the red clad spider off their sibling, but only ended up almost stabbed. The spiderling pointed their comically oversized needle at Ghost, who held up their paws in surrender, makeshift nail dropped to the ground. The spiderling’s eyes narrowed as they watched Ghost, slowly moving off their sib. 

“Hornet,” A voice called out and both looked to it. It was Herrah, the Dreamer, Hornet’s mother, the one Ghost had killed. She was alive, and this was Hornet (if the attack didn't make it obvious enough.) Hornet looked back at Ghost’s sib, then to her mother. “I am sure you’ve shown them just how fierce you are, but why don’t you come stand next to me?” Hornet relented, moving to stand by her mother. Herrah placed one paw on Hornet’s head, looking at the group of vessels. Her mask made her so hard to read, and yet Ghost saw her tense.

Their paw shot to where their nail normally would be kept only to be met by air. Right. They eyed it on the ground through the corner of their vision. “You look like Hollow,” Hornet said, staring directly at Ghost, her voice very… flat. Direct? Was this how she behaved when she was younger? Was her older self just her younger self but with more responsibility (too much responsibility)? 

Herrah looked them over closer, a small tilt of the head. “Thank you, my little Honeydrop. I assume you have wandered away from your parents and ended up here,” she addressed the vessels. Something like that , Ghost’s mind said with a vague feeling of irony. “Worry not. You may stay in Deepnest while I contact Lurien--”

Ghost sprung forward without thinking. One Dreamer finding them was bad enough (at least it was Herrah). They didn’t need another (especially one who was so loyal to the king.) Ghost’s arms were spread open, waving, as if to say no. Herrah made a tick noise before saying, “Lurien should be alerted of your whereabouts. I am sure your parents are worried sick.” Ghost’s waves grew more frantic. “Runaways? Very well, you can explain your situation to me when we reach The Silk City.” Ghost breathed in relief. They followed Herrah closely, and their siblings followed them closely. They caught Hornet’s eye several times as they went. 

“Ghost? Is this safe?” Lost asked. Unspoken, their hesitation and slight panic. Ghost nodded. It would have to be. They doubted all of them could escape Herrah and navigate well enough to reach Dirtmouth. They’d take Herrah over The Pale King any day, anyway. They weren’t sure how the king would react to them or their siblings, but they weren’t risking them.

They had reached the village. Villagers of all kinds leaned over the suspended bridges, looking at the newcomers. Whispers went through the not-quite-a-city. Herrah had broken off to speak with Midwife, however, the children were not left alone. Several of the villagers (Devout, Ghost remembered them) crowded around them. One of them scooped up Hornet, much to her displeasure. 

Just as quickly as Herrah had left, she had returned, Midwife in tow. “Midwife shall watch over you lot while you stay here.” Her voice held warmth to it. She turned and began climbing up. Midwife gestured for the children to follow, which they did. “I expect you to stay with her, as Deepnest can be dangerous, even to those who have spent their entire lives here. As for you,” she turned her head to look at Ghost, “I would like a word with you.” Ghost nodded and continued to climb in silence. 

Their siblings spilled into the room once they had reached it. It was within one of the larger hanging “nests.” The one Herrah had dreamt within. Ghost didn’t think about that any longer. Midwife was already speaking with Mothwing, who took her well. “Lost, take care of them while I’m gone,” Ghost requested.

“Alright.”

“Hey, why does Lost get to be in charge?” Falcer asked.

“Because I’m tall,” Lost responded with. Falcer gasped and then tried to tackle the taller vessel. Ghost shook their head and followed Herrah, who remained by the entrance of the room. They walked in silence, heading to some other room. Ghost could smell tiktik, the scent only growing stronger as they walked. Were they heading to the kitchens? 

“I admit, I am not sure what vessels eat. Worry not, if you do not need to eat, then I will not force you. Conversely, if you do, I will send food to your siblings,” Herrah finally spoke.

So she had figured it out. “I also doubt you will be able to explain many things to me due to your lack of voice. However, if you happen to know sign language, I know a bit. Lurien knows more. You wouldn’t happen to know how to read and write?” They had stopped walking, Herrah looking at Ghost now. Ghost nodded, miming writing. Herrah nodded and they continued to walk. 

Soon they had arrived in some sort of dining room. Herrah asked a Devout to fetch some parchment and a quill. They sat, Herrah across from Ghost, and some tea was set down. Ghost looked at it skeptically. There was only one capable of making great tea, and that was Seer. Still, Ghost did take a sip of it. It was… surprisingly good. 

“Do you like it? Root gave it to me at our last meeting. I admit, despite this being the same tea she makes for my visits, hers is always somehow better.” There was a certain… fondness in Herrah’s voice. The paper and quill was sat down next to Ghost. “Ah, perfect! I will give you some time to write out your explanation before asking any more questions as they may be answered for me.” And with that Herrah had gotten up to fetch something from the kitchen. 

Ghost looked down at the paper in front of them, then the quill beside. Where would they begin? That they travelled back in time to make sure nobody died? Herrah wouldn’t believe them. They crawled out from the Abyss with their siblings and just wanted to exist in peace? No, because despite how fantastic that sounded, Ghost still wanted, still had to , prevent the sealing of their sibling. They took a moment to collect their words, and began.

--

Herrah returned while Ghost was writing. They didn’t even look up. “You certainly have a rich history,” she mused, then took a sip of tea. The scent of roasted tiktik tried to distract Ghost, but they ignored it, scrawling out word after word. 

Once they finished, they gave it to Herrah. She skimmed the first words, then looked up at Ghost. “Starting with ‘you probably won’t believe this, but you have to’ does not inspire confidence.” Ghost tapped their index claws together as Herrah continued to read.

You probably won’t believe this, but you have to. I don’t know how to tell you this, so I’ll try my best.

Firstly, please please PLEASE do not tell the Pale King that we are here. I don’t know what he’ll do, but I don’t want to chance it. If you really have to tell him, tell him it’s just me. Please, my siblings shouldn’t have to suffer. 

I’ll tell you their names, and mine. I know this probably isn’t what you want to know, but it’s important anyway. My name is Ghost, it was given to me by someone I care a lot about. The tallest one is Lost, and the smallest one is Mothwing. The one with downward horns is Falcer. They’re scared of the dark. The one with smooth upward horns is Thread. The one with staircase horns is Mimic. Those three are triplets. Keep them together. And keep Lost and Mothwing together. They’re twins, believe it or not.

Secondly, why I’m here. 

My siblings and I were trying to get to Dirtmouth. We had just escaped the Abyss (and we also killed a Nosk!) and I didn’t want to risk staying in Deepnest for multiple reasons, one of which is you, a Dreamer. Another is Deepnest is dangerous in general, and I am not risking my siblings’ lives by staying here unarmed. 

But that doesn’t really explain why I’m here, nor how I learned to read and write, nor how I learned sign language, or how I even know that you are a Dreamer or that your name is Herrah. 

This is where I fear you won’t believe me. I travelled back in time. The future, the one I hope to prevent, is not a happy one. In short, the Hollow Knight fails to contain the Radiance and all the sacrifices were for nothing. 

I want to stop this from happening. I want to give Hollow the childhood they deserve, I want Hornet to have you as her mother and be able to talk to you, I want my siblings to live outside of the Abyss, to live at all.

How I plan to do that, I don’t know. But I know I have to try. For everyone’s sake. So, please. 

Herrah set the paper down and looked at Ghost. She had no clue where to start with this, and this Ghost was right, she didn’t believe them. She folded her arms, paws resting on her lap and the table. “Firstly, you are correct, I do not believe you travelled back in time. Or I would like to. To think my sacrifice is for nothing, to think I will be torn away from my daughter for nothing .” She took a deep breath in, steadying her voice which had grown tense with anger. “I shall ask how did you manage to travel back in time?”

The paper was returned to Ghost so they could respond. How did one explain they achieved godhood by beating up a bunch of bugs in some other bug’s dream and then proceeded to devour the Radiance? Instead, they wrote: I don’t know . And truth be told, they didn’t. All they knew was the desperation to fix things, and then waking in the Abyss. Herrah was silent for a long time afterwards, perhaps at the same loss of words. Ghost wrote another thing, and handed it to her. I promise I’ll do everything I can to protect my siblings. That includes Hornet. And, while I don’t think we need to eat, we can still digest food. I’m sure my siblings would like some.

“Very well. I must… take some time to process everything and make arrangements. Feel free to stay for as long as you wish.” Ghost left Herrah within the dining room, returning to their siblings. 

--

“Oh thank the voidsea you’re back!” Lost exhaled as Ghost returned. Falcer was one corner of the room, and Lost in the other. The rest of the siblings stayed on the side lines, watching. “Falcer wouldn’t shut up about not being leader!”

Ghost chuckled at that before fully entering the room. “I’m just saying I’d be a better leader!”

“You’re scared of the dark!”

“So??”

“I never said Lost was the leader,” Ghost added. Midwife had already left. They rested beside Thread, Mimic, and…. Oh dear. “Hey, where's Mothwing?”

That got Lost and Falcer’s attention. Both looked around and all of the siblings realized that Mothwing had disappeared. “Oh no.”

“We have to find them!” Lost said in a panic. Their paws gripped the sides of the mask. Falcer forgot all rivalries and was beside Lost in an instant. 

“They can’t have gotten far. We’ll find them,” They reassured Lost, but the taller vessel didn’t seem to hear. 

“You three, look together. Lost, come with me.” Ghost and Lost set off, with the Deepnest Triplets heading in another direction. Ghost vaguely wondered if they should have told one of them to stay behind in case a Devout or someone else came by to check up on them. Too late for that now, anyway. 

Lost was a nervous wreck, not knowing where to start. Where would Mothwing go, anyway? (Part of Ghost envied that. No, they wouldn’t hold anything against Hollow. Couldn’t, shouldn’t.)

“Lost, Lost look at me. You know Mothwing. Where would they go?” Ghost asked, holding Lost’s face so they’d look into their eyes. Lost was silent, ragged breathing, dread dripping from them

“I don’t I don’t….” Ghost shook Lost, trying to get them to focus.

“We WILL find Mothwing, but right now you need to focus. Where would they go?”

Lost looked around. They were still inside what could be considered Deepnest’s castle, The Beast’s Den. Mothwing couldn’t have wandered too far due to the number of bugs around here. Someone would have found Mothwing, right? Lost suddenly set off in one direction and Ghost followed. 

They wound their way through the den dodging the den servants, the devout. Ghost didn’t ask where Lost was going, just hoping it wasn’t a body. And Lost led them straight to a Weaver Den. Mothwing was inside, trying on cloaks. A young spider gasped at their entrance and Mothwing turned around to see them, letting out a happy chirp. They ran towards Lost and hugged them. If Ghost hadn’t known any better, they’d say the cloak propelled Mothwing forward. Wait.

“Mothy!” Lost’s relieved voice echoed. Since when did vessels chirp ? Ghost looked at the weaver, instead. The weaver waved at them.

“Ah, if you wish, you could keep the cloak?” She watched Mothwing twirl around with it. Ghost wondered if she knew sign language, and if she didn’t, if there was any paper and a quill nearby. If that cloak really was the one that allowed Ghost to dash, they’d need one as well. So, instead, Ghost pointed to the cloak, then to themself. “I’m sure you can convince them to share.” 

Ghost shook their head, pointed to Mothwing’s new cloak, then to their own cloak, then spread out their paws. “I’d like one,” they tried to convey. The poor weaver had no idea what they were trying to say, however. “Uh, you want me to make you a cloak? It might take some time, but. Oh? That isn’t what you want?”

Ghost sighed internally. Mothwing watched this unfold before dashing over to one of the cloaks and handing it to Ghost. “Like mine!” Ghost took it and looked it over. It was actually funny how similar it was to Ghost’s current cloak. 

“Oh, do you want that one? It is dreadfully similar to your current one,” she said with a disapproving tone, moving to take it from Ghost. Ghost held it close, clutching the cloak to their chest. She tsk, but didn’t try again. “Well, I should get back to weaving. Thank you for entertaining me little bug!” Mothwing waved at the weaver while Lost dragged them away. 

Lost gave them a questioning look once they had left the room. Ghost put the cloak on and tried dashing. Much to their surprise, they did, which was greatly appreciated. Lost seemed to realize this, then looked back at the room. “Do you want one? Maybe we can all ask for new cloaks!” Mothwing suggested.

“Good idea, but let's head back. And Mothwing, don’t run away again,” Lost scolded, “You had me scared half to death.”

They reached the room and were met with three vessels and a disappointed looking Devout. “I found these three panicking. Get some sleep children,” he said, before leaving with a curt nod. The triplets ran up to Mothwing and hugged them.

“You heard them. Now go to bed,” Lost said.

“But I’m not tired,” Mimic responded with.

“And I am so guess what? You get to sleep! Hahahahaha!” Falcer said, dragging Mimic down into a pile of soft silk and even softer cushions. Mimic tried to wiggle away, but Thread just lied on top of them. Ghost shook their head affectionately. Mothwing snuggled close to Lost, the taller vessel’s cloak acting like a blanket of sorts. Ghost settled, alone from the rest. All of the siblings were close to each other, but were divided into their respective groups. If only Hollow was here…. 

Hollow would be, soon. As soon as Ghost could figure out how to explain things to the Pale King, which would probably mean figuring out how to deal with the Radiance first. Somehow they would get Hollow out of that situation. Somehow. Some… how….

They drifted off to sleep, encased in darkness. They opened their eyes to see golden clouds and blinding light.

Chapter Text

Their breath caught in their throat. 

This can’t be happening, this can’t be happening, this can’t be--

“Radi, darling, can you please calm down?”

“I AM PERFECTLY CALM!”

Ghost winced. The Radiance’s voice was so loud and her light hurt to look at. They shielded their eyes from her, squinting at both the Radiance and Nightmare King Grimm. Both of them? Here? Well, it was the Dream Realm, even if The Nightmare King had been separated from it. So why was Ghost here? Better question, how did Ghost get here?

“Well, you can tone down the light then,” The Nightmare King huffed, looking away from her and rolling his eyes. Neither had noticed Ghost yet. They weren’t sure if that was good or bad. “And you can stop yelling.” 

It was the Radiance’s turn to huff. But her light did dim. Enough for Ghost to have to stop shielding their eyes. The Radiance was as imposing as ever, light harsh even though it was dimmed. Ghost cast a look over the edge of the platform. Golden clouds. A long drop. 

“You expect me to be calm, when I have not one, but two threats to worry about? First that Pale Usurper, and now that ravenous Void beast. I can’t protect my children, let alone the rest of Hallownest. No doubt the return of that creature is the Pale Usurper’s fault.”

“Radi, you have me. And Unn. And Root. Unn may not be at her full power, and Root may not be good at fighting, but we all have experience. And that Wyrm could make a good fighter against the Void,” Grimm pointed out. 

The Radiance looked away, eyes landing on Ghost. Her eyes widened as Ghost froze in place. “HE CREATED MORE?!” She screeched, light flaring even brighter than before. Ghost squeezed their eyes shut, turning their head away from her light. They could feel their void moving away from the light, rippling over itself painfully. “THAT COWARDLY, GOOD-FOR-NOTHING WYRM! ONCE I BREAK FREE OF THE REALM HE TURNED ON ME, I’LL RIP HIS HEAD OFF AND FLAY HIM ALIVE!” 

“AINE YOU ARE BURNING THEM!” Grimm yelled. The Radiance (Aine?) exhaled sharply, faint wisps of light surrounding her face. She brought her light back under control, making her form smaller than before. Grimm moved towards the vessel, claws open on either side of his body. But Ghost flinched away, causing him to stop. “Very well,” he mumbled. 

The Radiance huffed again, this time sounding closer to a sigh. “What is a child of the Pale Usurper doing here? Let alone this one?” She turned her gaze on Ghost. “You should not be here, Little Lost Star. Your father should not have sent you so woefully underequipped.” Ghost shook their head no. “Your father did not send you?”

Ghost nodded, sighing, ‘I don’t know why I am here.’

“Strange,” The Radiance mumbled.

“If I may add, perhaps they are here because you heard their call? If they weren’t sent by the Pale Wyrm, then who’s to say they are affiliated with him?” Grimm suggested. 

The Radiance hummed in thought, a musical sound coming from her wings. “That is a possibility. Tell me, Little Lost Star,” She asked, moving closer to Ghost, who took a step back. “Do you hate the Pale Usurper for what he has done to you? Do you wish for safety? For family?” Ghost hesitated. She was trying to infect them, wasn’t she? She’d infect them, she’d see their siblings through their eyes. She’d kill them. She’d kill them, and everyone, and then Hollow would be sealed away and everyone would die and this would be for nothing--

“Child,” Grimm’s scratchy voice came, grounding them again. They glanced up at him, then the Radiance, not having realized they had been covering their head with their arms. Trying to hide. Of course. “You… fear her, don’t you? My sister.”

Ghost only paused a little before nodding. 

“You… fear me?” The Radiance sounded hurt . She floated away again, composing herself. Her feathers puffed out, then settled down again. “I am sorry. I did not mean to frighten you, child. As I have said before, if you wish for a family, I am no stranger to taking in the lost. Neither is my dear brother here.” Her wing motioned to the Nightmare King. “He has plenty of experience.” A soft, warm chuckle. 

“Perhaps it is best for the child to awake?”

“You are right, brother. Little Lost Star, my light will always shine for those in need. No mere worm could dampen it.” 

The Dream Realm started to brighten, gold taking over more and more of Ghost’s vision. A feeling of weightlessness overcame them, but so did pleasant warmth. Then, darkness, and the warmth fading. Cold left behind. Cold and dark. Pressing dark.

Pressing dark who bound their arms. They thrashed about as more came into sight. The millions upon millions of broken corpses littering the Abyss. Void floating upward, reaching for the little light at the top just to be cast down again. They couldn’t move, and the Abyss felt too small. There was no sound of siblings, either. They looked up again, seeing white masks, one cracked, and one who wore a red dress. They reached, desperately clawing their way up. Eight white eyes blazed as their claw almost touched--

--

They woke with a start, body shivering. They were surrounded by the still sleeping forms of their siblings, all of which slept peacefully. They felt as though they were being watched. Was it from their chance meeting with the Radiance herself? Was the Nightmare King’s gaze still on them? Were they even awake?? 

They blinked what little sleep remained from their eyes, and was met with Hornet’s gaze. Their head jerked up, smashing into Hornet’s. Both cried out in pain, Hornet sucking in a breath and Ghost hissing . Since when did they hiss ? Ghost rubbed where their faces had collided. Hornet toppled over, landing on her bottom. She grumbled to herself, standing and dusting her cloak off. It was a more muted red and looked incredibly soft. It was cute, seeing such a small Hornet try and act dignified.

What wasn’t cute was what she said next. “You,” she said accusingly, jabbing a claw at Ghost, “You did something. What, I don’t know. All I know is I’m remembering things I shouldn’t, feel like my body is too small, and definitely do not have the vocabulary a child of my age should have. What did you do , Ghost?”

They were relieved Hornet remembered their name, remembered them , but then the implications hit them. If Hornet remembered things she shouldn’t (with great clarity), then who else? Did the Radiance? Was she acting nice to try and fool them? But wouldn’t Grimm say something then? What about Hollow? None of their siblings seemed to remember, neither did Herrah. They just had to hope Hornet was an exception. 

Hornet was waiting for an answer still. How would one tell another that they might have reached godhood trying to kill a very angry moth? “Mm, you do not have any paper, do you? Come with me, I have paper and light.” Hornet gestured for Ghost to follow, and they did so, casting a glance back at their siblings before leaving. 

Hornet led them to a room lit by some lumaflies. It was small, with many books lining the walls. Hornet motioned for Ghost to sit, which they did so. She retrieved some blank paper and a quill for them to write with. “Now tell exactly me what you did.” Her eyes burned into Ghost’s shell as they turned away to write out their explanation. Oh if only someone else knew sign language. They supposed Grimm had, but would he know it now? Would other Higher Beings as well, given how old they were?

Ghost focused on the problem at hand. No matter how they framed it, Hornet would probably get very upset with them. Very well. Bring it. “Do you know sign language? I haven’t used it in a while,” she mused to herself. “I’ll have to refresh my knowledge.”

Once they had finished, they handed her the explanation proudly. She snatched it from them with a huff and read over it. “Why is your handwriting actually decent??” She mumbled. Ghost shifted into a more smug looking stance. She rolled her eyes at that. “You… became a god so you could kill the Radiance?” Ghost nodded enthusiastically. “I-- what? You realize this sentence right here requires at least three different explanations, not to mention half of this stuff I don’t even remember. Wyrm carcass? Fighting in Godhome? Saving you from a primal aspid? Wait, I do remember that one.”

Ghost sighed. This was going to take a long long time.

--

Finally, finally, they were certain this would explain everything Hornet needed to know. It included their first meeting/fight in Greenpath, fighting before the decomposing body that had been the Pale King before he assumed a more… friendly appearance (as close as one could get), of finding the Godseekers and fighting in the Pantheons, and finally fighting the Radiance herself. 

To say Hornet was at a loss of words would be an understatement. It took her several minutes to compose herself, and several more to finally ask another question. “So,” she began, “you travelled back in time to prevent Hallownest from falling? Or, well, to prevent any death. How do you even plan on preventing that? Did you think of that even? What if The Radiance remembers everything? If I could remember, then what’s to say a literal god cannot?” 

Should Ghost mention that they had already talked with her? Yeeaah no, that's just asking for trouble. Hornet stood, hand on her head and another on her side, and groaned. “You just had to mess with time…. What god did you say you became?”

The Lord of Shades .

It felt weird writing it out, like this wasn’t their name (And it wasn’t. Ghost was their name. They were Ghost). Every time they tried to picture themselves as the Lord of Shades, as killing the Radiance as it, they got nothing. Nothing but a vague feeling of not me. They showed it to Hornet with reluctance. “Lord of Shades huh? How do you say that? With your paws? Is there a special way to say it or no?” Ghost showed Hornet how to, she repeating it. They also showed her how to say the names of their siblings, in case she didn't know how, though they suspected she already knew how.

Hornet started to pace around the room, tapping her mask with a claw as she thought. “So what do we do is the question. I suppose I should tell my father--” 

Ghost jumped up and waved their arms frantically. “You don’t want to tell the Pale King? Why?”

Ghost quickly jot down a few words. “Could be dangerous…. Well, he’ll find out eventually, Ghost. You forget that my step-mother’s root systems are vast. She might even know you are already here.” Ghost crumpled. They had forgotten about the White Lady’s roots and how they acted as her eyes. Maybe they were doomed from the start. Hornet paused her pacing, one hand hovering by her chest, but she let it fall. “I’ll… do what I can to protect you and your-- our-- siblings. But seeing as I am currently a pupa, I doubt my say would be treated with much respect.” She laughed dryly. “Apparently I had slept for three days straight after a large fall. Mother and Midwife were worried I’d never awake. And when I did, they said I was spouting nonsense. It’s exhausting, walking beside them, knowing how Hallownest will end up, yet still putting on the façade of some ignorant pupa. I suppose it is better than a larva saying such things.” 

They sat (or stood, in Hornet’s case) in silence for a time. Ghost wondered what time of day it was, or how Deepnest kept track. Hornet moved once again, this time cleaning up the mess of papers Ghost had made from their jumping session. Ghost tugged her arm, then crumpled up one of the papers. “You wish for me to get rid of these?” Ghost nodded. “I-- very well, although I don’t see as to why. You’ll just have to rewrite all of this when the King does finally figure out there’s seven vessels running around instead of one.”

Once she had cleaned, Hornet handed Ghost some more paper, blank, and the quill with its well. “Keep these, in case someone asks you a question or you want to. Now, let’s go sneak back into our rooms before anyone realizes we’re up.”

--*--

Herrah was up late, as usual. Everyone else in the Beast’s Den had long since gone to bed, but she remained up. Sorting through letters, deciding which to send and which to revise. But her mind kept wandering back to the little vessel, Ghost. Something didn’t sit right with her. Maybe it was the fact Ghost was a vessel clearly expressing emotions. Maybe it was because Ghost had no eyes nor mouth. Maybe it was because that worm had lied.

He had lied about the vessels. He had lied about the future. He can see the future! So why bother with the Hollow Knight Plan if it ends up with everyone dead anyway?! Her mandibles clicked in anger. She took a deep breath in, held it, then let it out again, settling back down on the silk covered ground.

She didn’t know how exactly his foresight worked. And even if he had lied about this plan, even if she no longer wanted any part of it, without it Hornet would not be. So maybe it held some worth, if only to the queen herself. Which brought her mind to the Pure Vessel. It had failed. How so? Did it have an idea instilled? Or was it never pure to begin with? She thought of the times she had seen it, which was, admittedly, few. Still, she swore she saw a hint of life behind its white mask. The mask that doubled as a face for the vessels. Her claw briefly touched her own.

Either way, she was going to help this strange little Ghost fix the future. And if it meant punching the Pale Wyrm in his smug little face, well, she wouldn’t prevent anyone from doing that.

Chapter Text

Something was… different. Off. The Pale King looked over at the small child vessel beside him. As always, it stared straight ahead, awaiting instructions. Nothing seemed the matter with it, hollow as always. But something seemed to bother his Queen. Whenever she looked at the Pure Vessel, she always tore her gaze away.

In the beginning, when he had finally gotten his Pure Vessel, she had looked at it with sadness and pity. Even months of having it in the palace did she look on with only sadness. But now? Now she could not bring herself to look at it, or even speak about it. Truly, something was off. He supposed he should speak with her about it, but he did not want to risk hurting her by asking. He knew what they had done to the eggs had injured her enough. (Personally, he was surprised she had lasted as long as she had with the Pure Vessel living within the palace. He supposed Hornet being around helped. Maybe, since Hornet would be coming back soon, she would start to feel better?)

He sat down the tool he had held in his paws, the broken wingmould still sitting on the table. Hornet had broken this one a while ago and only now was he getting to it. He stood, setting aside his variety of tools, before leaving his workshop, Pure Vessel following loyally as always. For something so small and new, it listened incredibly well. He had expected some learning curve, but this all felt like second nature to him. Maybe it shouldn’t, but he did not have the time to question that, nor did he have time to question the feeling of deja vu he had gotten when the Pure Vessel had ascended. Foresight tended to give those feelings. 

He made his way to his Queen’s section of a palace. He had offered her more room, but she was content with what she had. She had also mentioned her gardens. If she wished for more plants around the palace, he’d welcome it (even if some clashed with the architecture or colors.) At least some of the more travelled hallways were lined with flowers, each hand chosen by the Queen. 

She was most likely in the palace conservatory or palace ground gardens. The palace ground gardens were not as breathtaking as the Queen’s Garden. Everything was much more neat, beauty not the main focus like it was in the Garden. The palace ground gardens were meant simply as backdrop. But her conservatory was as if someone had taken a small section of her Garden and placed it within the palace. She’d most likely be there, then. 

He reached the conservatory and true enough, his lovely White Lady was there, talking with a groundskeeper, probably about flowers or something. She was always adding new breeds, explaining to him their meaning, which he never could quite remember. Nor could he remember the names of most, but he did remember the names of her favorite. Orchids were one of them, and he had to admit, he found them a pretty flower as well.

“My Root,” he started, coming up to his Queen. She turned to look at him, the grounds keeper taking that as their cue to leave. 

“My Wyrm,” she greeted in return, warmly. Unlike any other bug, her eyes shone a brilliant blue. It reminded him of the Blue Lake, pristine, peaceful. She noticed the Pure Vessel standing beside him obediently, and looked at the hanging wisteria.

Neither said anything for some time, enjoying one another’s presence. He watched as she delicately removed a dead leaf from the hanging vines. “I am glad to see you out of your workshop,” she finally said. “It is important to relax.”

He chuckled. “Relax? That is my relaxation, my Root. But I admit, it is nice to be here with you as well.” She smiled at him before moving towards the center of the conservatory. 

“I’ll request some tea for us. Sit with me?” And they two sat down together, gazing at the multitude of plants covering the entire room. He would never wish for this to leave, for her to leave. Which is why he had to speak.

“My Root, I’ve noticed that something seems to be bothering you.”

She was silent, gaze distant for a moment. “If you do not wish to speak about it now, then you do not have to. I would hate to see you hurt yourself talking about--”

“Have we made a mistake?” Was her small voice.

“Pardon?”

“The Pure Vessel. Was it a mistake?”

He didn’t know what she was asking. (Or maybe he did, and maybe he just didn’t want to face it, didn’t want to ask himself. After all, it had given no reason to say otherwise… right?) “I assure you, the vessel is pure. Hollow. Everything Hallownest needs to contain Her and survive.” Root frowned. So that was not the answer she was looking for. 

A retainer arrived with tea, setting it down in front of them and pouring it. Then she was gone, wordlessly, aside from the small bow. “Maybe. You say only those pure would be able to escape the abyss, correct?” Where was she going with this? 

“That is correct, my Root. But I do not see how that relates to whether the Pure Vessel was a mistake or not?”

She hummed and took a sip from her tea. “Remember when Herrah wrote to me?” She dodged. “I think I shall visit her soon and bring Hornet back with me, if she is alright with it.” He also picked up his cup of tea, but did not drink. “Truth be told, I am worried. Hornet slept for three days straight. Who knows what the poor child suffered? I know she is strong, however. Herrah is her mother. Maybe my worry comes from a feeling in my roots there.”

“You felt something in your roots around Deepnest?” He asked, concerned. 

She hummed again, longer this time, considering her words. “I did, my Wyrm,” was all she said. As much as he wished to know what exactly, he didn’t press. If she wished to share it, she would have. He just hoped that, whatever it was, she would tell him if it was truely of concern. If Deepnest was feeling the Infection, more so than it already was with its Nosks (which was widely regarded as a good thing), then it would mean that his time with the Pure Vessel would be coming to an end quickly. (He was shocked to find himself almost wishing that wasn’t the case.)

“Have I ever told you about Hallownest before you arrived?” She asked out of the blue.

“Yes, my Root, you have. You’ve told me just how dreadful it was without me, how alone you felt.”

“Mm. But have I told you about the Ancient Civilization?”

“No, you have not. Why do you ask? Is there something you wish to share with me?”

She looked at him with her blue eyes (he could and would get lost in those.) “Before you arrived, they woke a slumbering god. We called it the Lord of Shades.” He had heard this story before, a warning, from her, when he had first proposed the Hollow Knight Plan. 

“It ravaged the lands. It took the combined forces of all the gods in Hallownest to defeat it, and even then, it required a trick, some luck, and forcing it into slumber.

“But do you know how my roots felt?”

“No.”

“I felt a tingle, at first. Nothing very noticeable or odd. But it was where that tingle was first felt, coldness grew. And it spread, as the Lord of Shades awoke and consumed more and more of Hallownest.” She then looked to the Pure Vessel of all things. “I feel a tingle close to Deepnest.”

“My Root, if this is what you are implying--”

“It is not. I feel a multitude of tingles every day. I feel no chill from this one, but I thought I should tell you nonetheless. Deepnest is close to the Abyss after all.” She stood, then, her tea all but finished. “I have matters to attend to, and a room to arrange.”

“You do promise to tell me if you feel that chill?”

“Of course, my Wyrm, but as I have said, I feel no chill.” She brushed past him, past the Pure Vessel, and past the slight chill in her roots in Deepnest.

Chapter Text

They woke to coldness. 

The blankets on them were warm, capturing the little body heat they produced, but the cold they woke to wasn’t something any blanket could protect from.

The cold they woke to was the familiar one. Paired with the familiar pain. They couldn’t help but rub their arm, a reminder that it was there. It was just a bad dream, they reassured themself. Nothing more. But they shouldn’t dream. They shouldn’t be rubbing their arm, remembering the searing heat of Her, dreading their own future.

They were hollow, pure and simple. 

They had to be.

They got up, the cold of the ground helping fully wake them. They didn’t know why they dreamed. They shouldn’t. They shouldn’t even need to sleep. They arranged blankets until their bed looked nice. Father was always very particular about appearances. Mainly everything looking nice and pristine. A bit of warmth from that thought.

They shouldn’t know that.

They were young. (They were young, right? They had escaped the Abyss months ago, right ?) Their paws stuck in the air, still holding the soft blankets in a death grip. (Don’t think don’t think don’t think--). Void leaked from their eye holes, their paws shook. ( Don’t think don’t think)

But they were already thinking. They always had been. Since the moment they hatched and heard their father’s pale light beacon, they had thought. They weren’t pure, they could never seal Her away. Both they and Her knew. They looked around their room, small, and would definitely become cramped as they aged. A desk, meant more for setting food and such down then for reading or writing on. A vase of fresh flowers sat on it, no doubt Mother had come by this morning to replace them. Their bed, which was meant to be simple, but their mother had insisted on the branch-like carving in the frame and the soft blankets. Their nail rested on a wall. They looked at it, then. So small, sized to their body. (They remember stabbing it into them, desperately clawing at their own body. It hurt.)

They let the blankets fall, walking over to their nail which hung. High on the wall, it was, but not high enough to be out of the vessel’s reach. With a bit of clever furniture placement, they were able to reach their nail and pluck it from its perch. Why, they didn’t know. After, they held their nail, swinging it once, where it connected with the bedframe causing them to cringe. They placed the chair back where it was, then crept towards the door. 

They had to get out. Had to leave. They loved Father, didn’t want to disappoint, but they knew they weren’t hollow, they’d never be, and staying and having him find out would only disappoint him more. 

Mother would also break, more so than she already had. They didn’t understand why Mother always looked so sadly at them (was it because only they survived? What about their twin? ) Hornet would be upset that her favorite (and only) sibling would disappear. But it would be for the best. 

They weren’t hollow. They weren’t pure and simple. They had left their twin behind to die .

They gently nudged the door open, having heard no one on the other side. The palace was waking, it would soon be busy, but the hallway that housed their room was quiet, perfect. (Distantly, they remembered waking far earlier than this. Did Father allow them to sleep in?) Their footfalls were near silent, barely a whisper on the cold white floors. Lumaflies buzzed overhead, creating a low drone. How had they never noticed? 

Their quiet feet brought them to the palace ground gardens. They quickly hid themself, watching as a few keepers mulled about. They were eating, probably. If they wanted to leave, they had to now. And so they darted out, using the bushes as cover. Eventually they had reached the wall. They looked over the grounds. There were more groundskeepers, now. And so they quickly scrambled up the wall, vines growing on it helping them. They passed over the top of the wall, and fell to the other side. They looked up, wondering if perhaps they shouldn’t leave. Maybe they should march right into the main doors. If they left, were they just condemning another vessel, another sibling , to a lonely and painful death? Would it be better for them to be the vessel Father so dearly wanted, if only to spare their siblings? Would that make up for the life they had so selfishly left behind?

They couldn’t stop to ponder that. They had to leave before anyone saw them out. If they were allowed to sleep in, then their fleeing probably wouldn’t be noticed until after someone went to wake them. And so, the fled. Almost. While trying to get to the stag, they saw Mother walk towards it. So no stag. That left one option, since they hadn’t gotten a tram pass yet. The long road and elevator ride to the Blue City, Hallownest’s capital. They started for it. Lurien would be there, and if he saw them, he’d snitch. So don’t get caught by him and get to some other stag station (easier said then done.)

They readied themselves for the grand adventure. No more thinking, you’ll think yourself out of this. Just go .

--*--

Xero marched down the hallway towards the Pure Vessel’s room. A student under Isma and guard of the palace, waking a sleeping baby (vessel, Xero, vessel ) should be no issue. Surely he, Xero, could not screw this up?

But as he approached the room, he saw the door hanging open. Maybe the child vessel got thirsty? He peered into the room. A bed almost carefully made, save for the scrunched up bits of blanket at the very end. A missing nail. And a notch in the bed frame. Either the vessel had been kidnapped… or had decided to run away. Who would kidnap a vessel? Who would kidnap a child of the god-king himself? Who would kidnap a vessel, who is also the child of the god-king, during a plague??

But, the only other alternative was the vessel ran away. And the vessel could not run away. It had no will. Xero should know as a student of Isma (and not because he had eavesdropped that one time.) So the vessel had been kidnapped. That was the only option. Who would kidnap the vessel?

…

HOW WAS HE SUPPOSED TO TELL THE KING AND QUEEN?!?!?!? The queen had already left for Deepnest. It was close, yeah, but there’s a reason couriers who braved Deepnest were paid so handsomely. He had to tell the king first anyway. It was his duty, as loyal warrior of Hallownest. 

He approached the king’s workshop on shaky legs. Oh man, oh man, how come he was the one to tell the king? He knocked, respectfully mind you, on the door. Just for good measure, he called through the door, “M-my king. Something, ah, something happened.” His voice shook and he tried to steady himself. It’s only a missing, potentially kidnapped vessel which was supposed to protect all of Hallownest by containing a raging god! Not a big deal at all!

The door opened and he was met with the Pale King. “Xero?” The King asked. The king’s voice was carefully monotone, except for a small uptake at the end of Xero’s name. The King, worried? Nah! Hehe.

“So, uh, the problem, my king. So I went to awake the vessel and uh…. The vessel wasn’t there.”

“The vessel wasn’t there? Had a knight brought them to early morning training?” Xero hadn’t thought of that. ( Of course you hadn’t, you never think , Markoth’s voice echoed in his mind, complete with the small, almost unnoticeable smile as the other moth shook his head.) 

“Ah, that’s the problem, my king. The other problem. The bed wasn’t fully made and there was a notch in the bed frame.” 

There was a moment of silence before the king cried, “WHAT?!” He rushed past Xero, the warrior moth following closely behind. The king shoved open the door to see the mostly pristine room. He whirled around. “Alert the guards, alert the queen . Someone has stolen the vessel.”

--*--

Trying to reach the Blue City was proving challenging. They had to sneak past the trams, which weren’t very active, but still had guards stationed by them, just in case. Somehow, though, they had managed to slip past and towards the City. The road was mostly devoid of others, aside from the stray sentry, but they were all half asleep and paid no mind to the little vessel walking past. 

They wondered if bringing a nail into the City was a bad idea. They didn’t have time to ponder that, considering they could already hear Father gathering everyone he could to find them. They ran.

They ran to the elevator, and once it had ascended, they ran from it, shocking a few city dwellers at their sudden appearance. They ran past a vacant spot of land in the middle of the city. They ran past the sewer gate. They kept running until the wove their way into the miniscule crowd. They hid among the storefronts, watching. “Eh? Kid where’s yer parents?” A shopkeeper asked, walking over to them. “It's a little early for ya to be out, eh?” She reached for them, and they lashed out, swatting away her paw before running.

Why had they done that? Why had they done that? Hurt someone, shouldn’t have done that, bad, hurt. They dove inside another store, this one more populated then the last. Sentries filled into the outside, searching. Had they really caused this much trouble? “So many sentries…” someone breathed.

“Why are there so many?”

“Did a prisoner escape?”

“They would have warned us if one did.”

“Maybe it’s high profile? Like the Blue City Drowner?”

“They haven’t even caught the Blue City Drowner!”

They didn’t listen to the conversation, watching everything instead. Then they looked over their surroundings. A bookstore which was also offering breakfast to others. The bugs inside were not noble, not by a long shot. They backed away from the group, bumping into a very small bug who was defiantly noble.

“Ah! Oh, are you quite alright? Here, let me help you up,” the bug said, offering a paw. They didn’t know much about nobles, just that they typically weren’t this nice. Still, they obliged the command. (You weren’t hollow. Why listen to others? It won’t change the fact you left them to die.)

“My name is Adaleis, I’m a butler, you see. What is your name strange... bug. Oh dear.” Adaleis dragged them further from the group of onlookers. “I do believe you should not be out here. Lurien was not notified. Did you get separated from a knight? Or did they send you on an errand? Oh why am I asking questions, I know you can’t answer.” 

Adaleis chuckled to himself. “How lucky am I, to be one of few to know of your existence? And how lucky are you, to have met me instead of some other bug?” Adaleis grabbed their paw, patting it. “For whatever reason you are here, it is clear the sentries are in a tizzle and you look a bit lost yourself. Let’s head back to Lurien’s tower. But first, some tea!” 

They pulled away, shaking their head no. Adaleis sighed and faced them again. “I order you to follow me to the Watcher’s Spire, where we will speak with Lurien. Honestly, the king should have made giving commands easier. It feels so wrong saying it like that,” he huffed. They shook their head again.

Now Adaleis’ mouth was agape. “Ahem, I said, follow me to the Watcher--” He didn’t get to finish as they were shaking their head. Again. With more force. “You-- I-- can’t be….” Adaleis turned away. They moved to leave the shop, but Adaleis grabbed their wrist. “No, you can’t go out there! The city is dangerous for young bugs, especially with the Drowner and the Snatcher about. Please, come with me. Let my at least see you to a stag station?” Adaleis eyes flicked over their face, antennae twitching. 

They finally gave in and nodded. Leaving the palace would be best, but someone already knew they weren’t hollow. Adaleis would bring them to Lurien, and Lurien would tell the king. They were proud at how far they had gotten, considering stealth had never been something they had been trained at. “Forget the tea today, hmm?” Adaleis led the way, weaving through the crowd instead of pushing like other nobles. 

But before they could leave the store, Lurien arrived, Watcher Knight in tow.

Chapter Text

Lurien had not seen Adaleis and them yet. If they were smart, they could probably get away from the Watcher. Except Adaleis had a different idea. The little beetle dragged them along, shouting, “Lurien! Lurien, over here!” They tried to free themself without hurting Adaleis, but the bug had a surprisingly strong grip. 

The Watcher’s mask turned to look at the pair shoving their way through the crowd. The Watcher Knight ushered the crowd outside so they could not hear whatever was being said. The vessel wiggled in Adaleis’ grasp, looking up at Lurien, then back at Adaleis. “I thought I saw something familiar. What is the Pure Vessel doing out here?” Lurien asked Adaleis.

Adaleis gave them a ‘sorry’ look (traitor) before answering, “One of the palace staff must have given it an order. Good thing we found it though, right? Now lets head back to the palace--” (Oh.)

“Adaleis, it’s squirming .”

“Oh, right!” Adaleis let go, casting a glance back at the vessel. They stood tall, looking right up at Lurien. The last Dreamer they wanted to see. But maybe it was for the best. Maybe Father should decide what to do. (Maybe they should return to the Abyss. It’s what the deserve, after all. Would their siblings welcome them?)

“The Pure Vessel shouldn’t be out here alone. No retainer should be ordering it around. Especially with…. Well, I’m glad you found it. Pure Vessel, whatever command you have been given, I am overriding it with the authority as a Dreamer. You will return to the White Palace with me.”

They looked up at Lurien, wondering what was behind that mask (Don’t do that. Don’t think. But they already know you aren’t hollow. What’s the point now?) Then, they shook their head no. Lurien jerked back like he had been slapped.

“Wh-what? Has the Pale King not told you of order hierarchy? Well, new orders. Come with.” Again they shook their head. 

“I already tried that, sir. The Pure Vessel, I’m afraid,” Adaleis lowered their voice, despite not needing too. “I’m afraid it isn’t pure.”

Lurien shook is head pacing, paws on his mask, framing it. “No, no, that can’t be. If it could ascend, if the King chose it…. Are you saying the King chose wrong?” A moment of silence as the black dot gazed at Adaleis. “Maybe it became impure somehow. We need to tell the King at once.”

Now was their chance. Lurien was distracted, the Watcher Knight was still taking care of the crowd. They should run. They had to. And they did, again. They dashed past Lurien who yelled in surprise, shoving their way through the crowd. “STOP RUNNING! AFTER IT!” They heard Lurien shout, and they could feel the ground pound as the Watcher Knight chased after. 

They kept running. They loved Father and Mother, but returning would only cause problems. They should leave Hallownest altogether. They rounded a corner, sliding as they momentarily lost traction. But the Watcher Knight slid even more. They leapt, grabbing hold of a ledge and hauling themself up. They leapt and grabbed another, careful of the spikes that lined the city’s rooftops. They kept climbing, could feel the Watcher Knight’s eyes on them. Distance, distance, put some distance in the way.

They were on the rooftops now. They ran along the ledges. The buzz of sentry wings Curious onlookers upturned faces. They danced around the spikes, looking up to see a sentry aiming their lance. They leapt to another rooftop. They pulled themselves up and kept running. A lance went by their mask, embeded in the rooftop. 

The buzzing was louder. They could still hear the pounding feet of the Watcher Knight. Another lance. They jumped, paw outstretched, reaching for the next ledge.

They collided into the ledge, claws digging into the metal. They dangled there, claws keeping them anchored. They couldn’t get themselves up. (Looking at their twin, dangling there. They watched, then turned towards the pale light. They left, they left, they left.) They had one option. Fall.

And so they did.

They plumeted down, watching the ground come closer and closer. If they used their wings, they could cushion the fall. If they twisted their body, they would land on their feet. They twisted, flapped their wings, and made a graceful landing. They took a moment to collect themsel- 

WHAM!

CRACK!

They went flying, colliding with the wall. Their body slumped down, searing pain in their mask. Their nail came loose, clattering beside them. A heavy sentry stood in front of them, while the other sentries caught up. A few flying ones landed, while others hovered. They were caught. 

The Watcher Knight came stomping by. The knight grabbed them by their cloak, eyeing them. “You’ve caused quite tha bit o’ trouble,” she said in a gruff voice. “If it were’nt fer Lurien, I’d toss ya inta jail.” They stared right back at the Watcher Knight. 

“What’s Lurien want with such a little thing?” One sentry asked.

“Better question, what did they do to get a Watcher Knight sent after them,” another said.

“Or one of the Great Knights,” the heavy sentry mumbled. But no one else heard. The sentries started to theorize why they would have a watcher knight sent after them. During their debate, Lurien finally caught up, with Adaleis doing his best to keep up. The butler wheezed. 

“Thank you Rotan. Sentries, we can take it from here,” Lurien thanked, nodding at the Watcher Knight who saluted back. The sentries shared glances then dispersed. “Are you going to run away again?” Lurien asked. They shook their head no. “Rotan.” The Watcher Knight, Rotan, set them down. 

The little group watched each other for a moment. And then Lurien exploded. “Do you know the trouble you’ve caused?! I should be able to say that no, you don’t. But I don’t know if I can say that anymore!” Lurien threw up his paws and groaned, pacing back and forth. “You aren’t pure, are you? You aren’t hollow. If you were, you wouldn’t have fled.” He pointed  finger at the vessel. Rotan patted Lurien on the back softly. 

“We should get back to the palace,” Adaleis said quietly.

Lurien’s mask turned to face the butler. “Yes. Rotan, escort us to King’s Station. Afterwards, return to the Spire.”

“Alright, Watcher.”

“Let’s go.”

They grabbed their nail first, which Rotan didn’t seem to like, and holstered it before following slowly, dragging themself. They hadn’t wanted to get caught, but at least Father would know they aren’t pure. At least Father could choose someone more deserving. Someone who didn’t let their own twin die . But they are alive. They are and you tried to kill them .

--*--

He had returned to his workshop, pacing around the dimly lit room. This room was gray. Not gray due to the lack of light, but gray due to the void that stained it. 

And colored gray from the sins within.

His wings buzzed aggressively as he paced, claws tapping on either the void-stained tiles or his own face. He knew he should be out looking, he knew he should look to the future and see the outcomes. He knew he shouldn’t have left the vessel unattended. But he was a fool. A terrible, terrible fool. He chuckled at himself. Head then twisted to peer at the table, broken wingmould still lying on it, still waiting to be fixed. But he’d never fix it.

He slammed his paws onto the table, body shaking, claws digging into it. He was a king, a god. He could not break, he could not cry or doubt. Not even alone. For that would be to admit weakness and he could not do that. 

He set his jaw, eyes glazing over as he peered into the future. Timelines sprawled out in front of him, twisting and intertwining with one another in a seemingly pattern-less fashion. He did not look further than the ones closest to him, did not look far down their ends. Still he could see the orange glow of the Radiance. He could see how it would end. The end burned into his memory, reliving his death over and over again, even if he didn’t die in that timeline. Root did, or Hornet did, or Hallownest did, and he died with them, if not in person, than in spirit. 

Of course, there was the timeline where the void finally claimed revenge on him. Sitting atop his throne, nothing more than a husk of what was, overseeing, ruling, the ruins of a long dead kingdom. He’d linger on that one, replaying it over and over, the sweeping cold freezing his limbs as his light was snuffed out. He had no chance to cry out suffering before his voice was gone. Fitting.

But he was not here to linger on future regrets. He was here to find his child. He grasped the timelines closest, the timelines most likely to play out, and looked, tracing the strings in his paws. The Blue City, The Blue City, The Blue City. They all agreed on The Blue City. He let the darker ones fall away. The ones where his child spills their void out onto the pavement. The ones where his child dies in his arms. He focused on the closest, holding it closely and examining it. It faded into the dark at the end, consumed and marred by void so he may never read it. But right now he could, he could see what lie in it’s near future.

Vessel, returned, with only a few cracks and dents. Lurien would return the vessel and the King would fix them. He’d… he’d walk the vessel and he’d…. 

No one had given the orders to the vessel, he knew. And he knew it was only a matter of time before they would both slip up. But if every timeline ended in death, why should he fight against it? 

He released that string to see the bigger picture. To see just how much orange consumed everything. And he found… darkness. Peaceful darkness. Faintly glowing strings suspended in the murk, no burning orange light to bring about the end. It was still there, yes, on some timelines. But he could see it fading. Or eaten, rather, by the void darkness. The mist, the fog, the cloud of nothing blocking his sight more and more. Had he traded one god for another, he worried, looking into the darkness that settled over Hallownest’s future. Or perhaps the burning light wasn’t fading, but his foresight was. Taken by the void that stained his paws. (It stained more, he knew. Only a matter of time before it took his light. That was the most likely end for him.)

Timelines fell away, settling on Lurien returning to the White Palace, carrying with him the vessel. The king breathed a sigh of relief. Whatever the future held, he’d deal with then. For now, all that mattered was the vessel. All that mattered was his child. 

Chapter Text

These children are very energetic , Herrah observed, taking a sip from her tea as the children rolled around within the throne room. She gave them some shellwood nails to mess around with. Falcer was a natural born fighter. They struck fast and hard, but over extended and left themself vulnerable. Dryya would love to make that one her student. Lost was fighting against Falcer with much ferocity, darting in and out. Mothwing was… well Mothwing was asleep on her lap. It seemed the child already liked Herrah. 

Hornet was beside Herrah, fiddling with some silk and cloth. Herrah had recently started teaching her to sew and she was coming along nicely. That bump seemed to have made her better, even. She took her time, careful with each stitch. It was nice seeing Hornet be more careful and precise, but also odd. Perhaps she had learned something from her time sleeping. 

“Honeydrop, may I see your progress?” She asked, lowering one paw down. Hornet looked up at her, then her handiwork, before giving it to Herrah. The Beast held it up, looking at the stitching. A simple dress, colored dark blue. “This is very nice, Hornet. Keep practicing and you’ll be making all of your clothes.” She gave the dress back to Hornet to finish. A loud whack brought Herrah’s attention to the children. Lost had smacked Falcer hard with the shellwood nail and was now trying to console them. Something leaked from Falcer’s eye holes. Something that didn’t look like tears. Herrah set Mothwing down gently before rushing to Falcer’s side. 

She gently scooted Lost away so she could fully assess Falcer. She saw no cracks, no dents. But what leaked from their eyes still worried her. “Falcer, are you alright?” She asked, placing a gentle claw on their mask. The child turned their head upward, arms extending and claws reaching. She picked up the child, holding them closely and shushing them. “It will be alright,” she said as she held the child close. Lost looked up at Falcer with guilt. “Lost, you should apologize to your sibling.” 

She wasn’t sure if the child actually did, but Falcer seemed to calm down. Whatever leaked from their eyes stopped falling so quickly and she set them back down. “Be more careful next time, alright? I know you didn’t mean to hurt Falcer, but you’ve got to be more aware of the power you use,” she chastised with a wave of her claw. Both children gave a nod and she returned to her throne. Mothwing leapt back into her lap as soon as she sat down. She looked over at Mimic, a Devout teaching them how to read and write. She should check up on Thread. The little child had seen a Weaver and had pointed. With a bit of charades, Herrah had figured Thread wanted to be with them. 

A child of the Pale Wyrm learning to be a Weaver. A funny thought. Perhaps she would find a mentor for the child. They may not be able to spin their own silk, but, on the chance Hornet wouldn’t have been able to, they’d just use silk made by other spiders or Weavers. She took another sip of her tea. Ghost was probably still asleep. She didn’t want to disturb the child, either. They had gone through so much already, even if she still didn’t want to fully believe it. The next Dreamer Meeting, she would have to request to leave. And if the Wyrm said no, she wouldn’t hesitate to punch him in his face, father of Hornet, King of Hallownest, God or not, she’d relish it. She took another sip.

Falcer and Lost were back at play fighting, more careful with their swings. It was good to see them playing again. She supposed Hornet may want to join. “Hornet, would you like to fight with Falcer and Lost?” Her child looked up at her again. She was being unusually quiet the past couple of days. Perhaps it was from her fall. Or perhaps Herrah should have that looked in to. 

“Uh, can I finish this?” She asked.

“Of course.”

She would never pass up an opportunity to duel, unless something was bothering her. Herrah frowned underneath her mask. She was going to ask what was bothering her little spiderling when a Devout came rushing in, nearly tripping over their own claws. “My Queen!” He cried, not even giving Herrah the appropriate. bow. Something was very very wrong. She set Mothwing down, standing tall. “The Queen of Hallownest has arrived and she’s requested audience with you!” Root? Here? With no letter warning? Herrah grabbed her needle as she strode out the door. Root was already waiting by the stag elevator, Dryya a few steps behind, paw resting on nail hilt.

The spider queen crawled up to the Hallownest queen. Herrah gave no bow, no greetings. “Something is wrong, isn’t it Root? For what other reason would you appear with no warning beforehand? I have not even had time to make tea.” Hopefully the Devout would hide the vessels. Herrah would make sure to bring Root to the small web filled gardens anyway. 

Root gave Herrah greetings, a small dip of her head. “There is nothing wrong, Herrah.” 

“Stagshit!” Herrah hissed before lowering her voice. Dryya made no move even as Herrah hissed, still standing loyally, though the spider could see Dryya’s claws tense on the hilt of her nail. “Root, you know you can tell me. If it’s sensitive information, we can speak in the gardens.” The Queen gazed at Herrah for a moment, blue eyes sparkling in the low light, before nodding. Herrah lead the way down to the gardens, leaping down each platform. She reached the bottom, looking up as Root and Dryya finished their descent. The path to the gardens was lit by pale grass. 

And the gardens itself was filled with faintly glowing plants. Mushrooms, vines, and grasses. A bit of water crisscrossed the garden, with webs placed strategically, holding up lumafly-filled lanterns. A bench rested within one part of the garden, but there were other tables as well. While it was certainly no Queen’s Garden, or even White Palace Garden, it was Deepnest’s garden, and that was enough. The two queens settled beside their usual table, Dryya standing beside the Hallownest queen. A few Devout and even a stray Weaver tended to the garden. The Weaver was stringing up new webbing which glowed faintly. Though none approached the two queens. Herrah’s needle rested beside the spider queen. “Root,” the spider began.

“How is Hornet?” Root rushed. “You’ve written saying she was awake. We are sorry it took us so long to respond. And we are sorry we did not send proper warning of our arrival.” Her branches ruffled against each other.

All this fuss over Hornet? “Hornet is doing… well. However, she had been more quiet recently, and had turned down the opportunity to duel. I wonder if she inherited something from her father other than her coloration.”

Both mused over this. Hornet with foresight. A terrifying sight to behold. Herrah would have chuckled, if not for the anxiety she could sense from the White Lady. “It is good to hear she is doing well. The White Palace certainly misses her, though we suppose Deepnest has missed her as well, during her slumber. If it would be alright with you, when we leave, we wish to take Hornet back with us.” 

Herrah considered this, turning it over in her mind. She would still like to have Hornet within Deepnest until she was absolutely sure her daughter would be alright. But perhaps it would be best for Hornet to visit her Father and Step-Mother, especially if she really was developing foresight. With a sigh, Herrah relented, waving a paw saying, “If Hornet agrees, very well. But if she wishes to return home, bring her home as soon as possible. No warning is needed.”

“Of course.” There was something else lingering in the air. Dryya glanced around nervously, then leaned towards Root to whisper something. Root whispered something back, her claws twisting in her clutched paws. Root straightened out, unclenched her paws. “Have you noticed anything… strange as of late?” Strange? Strange how? Six vessels showing up with one from the future strange? 

Herrah thanked her mask for covering her face not for the last time. “Aside from the Infection? No,” she lied. She hated lying. A spider shouldn’t lie. Worms, they lie. But, despite knowing she could trust Root, she felt keeping the children a secret would be for the best. And if Root did find out about them? Herrah would fight to protect them. And Root didn’t need to know about Ghost being from the future. 

Root frowned. “We would like to see Hornet,” she said, rising from her seat. 

Herrah rose as well. “I’ll have a Devout fetch her. She may very well be asleep or running around the Den somewhere.” She’d also tell the Devout to wide the vessels, if they hadn’t yet. Hopefully the children would realize that hiding was for their own good. Herrah beckoned for one of the Devouts. He approached, clicking his question. “Make sure Hornet is in the throne room, and hide the vessels. Fetch us when you’ve done both.” Herrah instructed in the native language of Deepnest, something Root did not know. The Devout headed off. Herrah brought her attention back to Root. “The Devout will return once Hornet is back in the throne room. Is there anything else you’d like to share?” Herrah prodded, sitting back down again. 

Root sighed and sat down again. Dryya eyed Herrah as she traced the edge of her needle with a claw. “There is… something else, though we are still unsure about it.”

“Is it what troubles you? If so, then share, even if you are unsure.”

Root’s eyes twinkled as she looked at the darkness around them. “How many folktales do you know?” Root shook her head. “No, let us rephrase that. How much history do you know? About Hallownest before the days of my husband.”

“Hallownest before the Wyrm’s rule? I know of folktales that originate from that time. Why?” Herrah asked, setting her needle aside again while tapping her mask in thought. 

“Tell us what you know first. Anything concerning the Abyss.”

The Abyss . Weavers had some tales, some she had to pry from them at a young age. Despite the proximity to Deepnest, very few legends surrounded it. Most, if not all, tales of warning, to never go into that dark. “There are… some I am familiar with. Most of the legends agree that, while the darkness is safe for us spiders, the darkness of the Abyss sucks the very soul out of a being.”

Root hummed as she nodded. The Devout returned, telling Herrah that Hornet was waiting and the vessels were safely hidden away. Then the Devout scurried off. “We will have to continue this conversation another time as Hornet is waiting for us,” Herrah announced, standing. Whatever was bothering Root, Herrah wouldn’t be learning today. All she knew was the Abyss bothered Root. Herrah led the way back up, helping Root and Dryya ascend towards the Den. They entered, Herrah giving her needle back to a Devout. Hornet was no longer sewing, instead she was fiddling with some silk, wrapping it around and around her claws before tying random knots. 

Hornet noticed their entrance and looked up. “Gendered Child,” Root said warmly, arms outstretched to hold the spiderling close. Hornet wiggled in her grasp, trying to get away. “We have been so worried about you. We hope you are doing well. After all, the White Palace is so very lonely without you and we all miss you greatly.” Root released Hornet. 

“My child, if you wish, you may return to the White Palace with your step-mother. However, if you feel homesick or sick in general, you may come home at once, no forewarning required,” Herrah said, kneeling down and placing a claw on either of Hornet’s shoulders. “Of course, you do not have to go. But you may if you wish.”

Hornet considered this, before starting to say something. But before she could, a little ghost came tumbling down from the ceiling, bound in silk.

Chapter Text

Ghost hadn’t meant to fall. They had been careful, very careful, stepping on the cross beams lightly, looking through the silk ceiling, down at Hornet and Herrah and the White Lady. Their curiosity had gotten the best of them as they took a step too far out and the silk had given out underneath them, wrapping them up as they tumbled.

They fought against the silk that clung to them, arms pinned to their sides. The room was dead silent until they heard the White Lady let out choked sobs. They wiggled their body until they could see her, on her knees, paws over her mouth as she cried. They stopped moving entirely, just looking at her. 

Herrah moved past the two, cutting Ghost free of the silk. “So much for that,” they could hear her mumbled. They stood, picking a bit of silk off of themself. Then up they looked at their mother’s blue eyes. They should take a step forward, they should take a step back. They should run. Grab their siblings and run. (Of course they screwed it up. They messed everything up. And now someone would die because of them.)

Herrah grabbed Ghost’s paw gently, leaning in. “Little one, you should go to her,” she whispered gently. She left room for argument, but made her wish clear. Go to the White Lady, show her she hadn’t failed as a mother already. Ghost eyed the White Lady. She had never been cruel to them. She had even given them a gift. But she had let her children die. She had married the Pale King and did not stop him. She was still complacent . 

But she was also fragile. 

She looked so, so fragile. Not at all like the powerful god who healed those in need and who fought against them-- That didn’t happen. That didn’t happen . Ghost shook their head, returning to Herrah’s embrace. No, no. She let them die, she let them. She tried to kill them. No no no. Herrah’s claws stroked their back as they squeezed the spider. 

“Root, when you asked if anything strange had happened recently, I may have streched the truth some--”

“Are there more?” The White Lady asked. Her voice sounded so desperate. Ghost risked a peak, seeing the tears leaving trails on the Lady’s face. 

Herrah was silent, leaning down to Ghost again. “It is up to you to decide what she knows,” the Spider Queen said. She stayed crouched down, but was looking up again. “If more have escaped, I would not know.”

She should know. She shouldn’t know. She had let them, all of them , die. But didn’t their siblings deserve to choose? Their grip tightened, feeling the fabric around Herrah’s mask in their claws. If it was up to them, she could go her entire immortal life never knowing there were more children alive. She didn’t deserve that, since she had let them die. But it wasn’t their decision alone. Reaching out for their siblings, they asked, “Would you want to meet our mother?” 

“White Lady?”

“The Root?”

“Mother?”

A chorus responded, all deciding and fighting. 

“Not mother. She let us die.”

“Mother misses us, right?”

“Herrah’s mom!”

Ghost should tell Herrah about that last one. Mothwing seemed to really like her. But right now they needed an answer. “Who wishes to meet White Lady?” They waited. And waited. 

“Where are you? Throne room?” Lost guessed.

“Yes,” Ghost responded with. They felt Lost’s poke of approval and waited some more. And then, tumbling down the stairs leading up deeper into the Den came their siblings. All five of them. Mimic was first, dashing past everyone, leaping down the stairs until they were safely down. They stared up at the White Lady. Then they approached, reaching out to her. She scooped them up, holding back a choked sob.

“Child. Our child. My ... children,” she murmured, looking over the rest of the kids. Mothwing hid behind Lost. Ghost could feel the spite from Lost. Falcer was dragging Thread over to the White Lady, Thread a bit nervous to be meeting their mother. The White Lady reached out towards Thread and Falcer, brushing her paw across Falcer’s then Thread’s face. Mimic crawled up her shoulder, using her many branches as a pawhold while they sat. The White Lady scooped up Thread next, pacing them on her other shoulder. Falcer ran out of her range before she could grab them. She laughed.

Herrah gentled pried Ghost off of her before walking over to Mothwing. She leaned down to talk with the vessel. Mothwing held Herrah’s claw as they cautiously approached the White Lady. “What are… do they have names?” She asked Herrah. Mothwing reached out tentatively, claws brushing against the White Lady’s dress. She stroked their head, careful of their horns. 

Herrah nodded, answering the Lady’s question, “Of course they do, Root. This one is Mothwing.” She pointed towards Mimic first, then Thread, then Falcer and Lost, telling Root each vessel’s names. “And the last one is,” Herrah left off, waiting for Ghost to fill the silence.

Ghost lifted their paws, signing, ‘Ghost.’ Their paws dropped to their sides again. The White Lady reached out towards Ghost. They flinched, again. Her paws hovered, then continued until Ghost was in her arms. Falcer trilled happily as they ran around Hornet. Ghost was tense within their mother’s arms, but she held them so kindly, so close. Her arms were warm and her long robes were soft. They nuzzled against her, appreciating the touch. 

“Would you… would any of you like to return to the palace with us-- with me? Would you like to call me… mother?” She asked the vessels. Falcer stopped chasing Hornet and looked at the White Lady. They then shook their head furiously. Mimic clapped their paws together in agreement, and Thread copied. The Lady smiled again, setting down Ghost so she could open her arms. Falcer, Mimic, and Thread all ran into her hug. She released them and looked to Ghost, Lost, and Mothwing. 

“She let us die,” Lost said, eyes narrowing as they looked at the Lady. “Would rather not call her mother. But, if you say so, Ghost, then I could learn.”

Ghost shook their head. “The choice is yours. I’m sure you could stay with Herrah instead.”

“Want to be with siblings! If triplets go, I go,” Mothwing stated. Lost sighed.

“It is settled, then. We go with White Lady. Maybe… maybe she can prove herself worthy,” Lost decided.  

Ghost stepped forward, making sure to gain Root’s attention. ‘Siblings will go with you, but not all will call you mother.’

Root nodded silently. “I would not expect to be called that by the children I had let die. But I ask you to let me prove myself worthy of that title.” 

“As with Hornet, if any of the children wish to come back to Deepnest, no warning is needed. Just send them. Deepnest will always be a home for them, and I will gladly let them call me mother, or whatever else they wish,” Herrah reminded, before giving a small bow to the vessels. Ghost and Lost both gave Herrah a bow back.  “Oh, and Root? I wish to speak with your husband. See if he can arrange a Dreamer Meeting soon.”

Root nodded and stood, holding Mothwing. “Let us return to the palace. We have plenty of spare rooms to make into your bedrooms. Oh, and Hornet? I have a gift waiting for you at the palace.”

--*--

The Pale King met Lurien by the stag station. The butterfly walked in the front, with Adaleis bringing up the rear. The vessel walked just a bit behind Lurien. “My king,” Lurien stated, bowing. “We found the vessel in The Blue City--”

He wasn’t listening, kneeling down and holding the vessel’s head in his paws. He moved it to different angles, taking in the damage. Cracks spiderwebbed around it’s mask, but no void seemed to leak. “My king?” The Pale King let go of the vessel, standing once again.

“Thank you, Lurien, for returning the vessel to the palace. I will take it from here.”

“My king, there is something you need to know. My king!”

He took the vessel by the paw, guiding them towards the palace, completely ignoring Lurien. They crossed the threshold, entering the palace. He had to fix those cracks before it got worse. He would not let the vessel die so close to safety. Just a few more minutes and they’d be at the workshop. That limp added to the time, however... “My king!” Lurien grabbed him by the shoulder, forcing him to turn around. He leveled a glare with the butterfly.

“Lurien,” he said, voice a careful monotone, “Let me tend to the vessel’s wounds first. Wait for me in the meeting room. I will be with you shortly.” He motioned towards the hallway which held the meeting room before turning around again, speeding up his walking speed. Maybe he should listen to him, but there was still the chance of the vessel dying hovering in the air. 

He walked towards the workshop, deserted hallway growing increasingly cold. The light from the lumaflies started to dim, or at least seemed to. His light still shone brightly. The Pure Vessel walked obediently beside him, cracks littering its mask. He could see a bit of void start to leak from it. Not to mention the limp which was only increasing. But it was strong, it could walk on it, even if it slowed them. Still, leaving the Pure Vessel in this state...

He knew he shouldn’t have done this, but he did anyway. He stopped walking, and so did the vessel, staring ahead. He glanced around the hallway first before he gently picked the vessel up. He knew it was cold to the touch, but he still wasn’t prepared for the shock of cold on his chest. For a moment he just held the vessel in the dimly lit hallway. His light dimed some as he shifted to hold the vessel even closer and his eyes closed.

He knew the vessel would not show him affection, would not show him love, for it was incapable of such feelings. At that he felt sadness. Not even Hornet had made him want to so desperately have a child with his Root. To grant her that wish. He did love the spiderling, yes, but she was still the Beast’s child, and the Beast did not like him. The Beast was not the Root and Hornet lived within two palaces. To have a child to truly call Root and his. Oh how wonderful the idea! I am  so sorry Aspen, that the child you got was this. Perhaps, in a different life, we could have had a child. Or as many children as you wanted . He smiled sadly. 

Then he felt a bump on his chin. He opened his eyes and looked down. The Pure Vessel was nuzzled underneath his chin, paws wrapped around his sides. He could feel the vessel’s slight trembling underneath his paw. Oh root and dirt. He felt something in his heart break as the vessel turned its head to look at him. Burning tears slid from the corners of his eyes as he tried, so desperately, to not break right then and there. His body shivered under the weight. 

He inhaled and continued to walk towards his workshop, doing his best to ignore his increasingly blurry vision, or the little vessel nuzzled against him. He drifted into the room, gently setting the vessel down on the table. The vessel stared vacantly ahead, but it wasn’t vacant, was it? It wasn’t hollow, wasn’t pure. He reached out with shaking paws, gently resting them on either side of the vessel’s mask. (He supposed he should name them. He couldn’t just toss them back into the Abyss. All those eggs cast into it. How many lives had he condemned? How many shells littered the floor?) 

Blinking away tears, he focused. Focused on the vessel in front of him. Focused on the cracks spiderwebbing across their mask. And then across the entire body, to what caused the vessel to limp. To the dented chitin on they’re back. He focused on mending it, bringing the pieces back together, sealing away the void that made up the vessel’s body. The void that had stolen away a child’s life before they had a chance to live it. The void that had stolen this child’s voice. The void that stained his paws. 

The cracks and dents on the vessel’s body mended themselves together. His paws lingered on the mask, and he stroked it with a thumb. The other set of arms were clasped together, paws woven together tightly, claws digging into the chitin. The vessel looked at him. They could express no emotions on their mask, not even having eyes. And yet the King could tell just how much the vessel trusted him, loved him, even. “You aren’t hollow,” he choked, “You never were.” The vessel watched him, then, ever so slowly, raised a hesitant paw, reaching out to try and touch the King. Their little claws outstretched, reaching for him .

He broke.

He crumbled, upper arms retracting to hold his face, lower braced on the table. He cried and cried, sobs wracking his body. How could he ever have thought the Hollow Knight Plan would work? He should know his kingdom was doomed to fall. His foresight told him such. That every plan would fail. That only the Hollow Knight Plan had a slim chance of success. He had latched on to that one slim possibility. Fool. That was what he was. A fool. A fool who hurt his dear Aspen every day, forcing her to look at the hollow corpse of her child. But the child wasn’t hollow. 

How could he ever think this would work? How could he condemn so many children? He didn’t even know how many lives were lost. Hundreds? Thousands? He could only hope it was a small number. He didn’t think he could stomach the idea he allowed millions of his own children die. He should see if any had survived. If even one….

A cold paw touched his arm. He looked up, vision blurry, to see the Pure Vessel resting a paw on his arm. His shaking paws reached out, plucking the vessel off the table and holding them close. The vessel wrapped their arms around him, their hold tight as the Pale King sobbed. His body shook, breathing ragged. Stupid, stupid. How hurt was this child already? How could he live with himself? The blood of his children was on his paws twice over. How could he? How could he?

He fell to his knees, clutching them close, paws cupping the back of their head, or wrapped around their little body. This poor, little, lonely child without voice. Without a voice because of him. The Pale King managed to rein in his sobs, now choked tears that would sporadically fall and wreck his body. He would swallow these emotions, just as he had his guilt. He had to, not for the kingdom, but for his child. He had to be strong for them. He’d have to find some other way to deal with the Infection now. He set the vessel down on the floor, holding his paws on either side of its face. “My child. My precious child,” he murmured. “You need a name…”

He had toyed with the idea of having a child before. He had thought of different names before. His Root had even offered some offhand one day, which he still remembered. Marya, Cassia, Selyyn. All beautiful names. But no, he would let this child choose. It was the least he could do. He would help them find a name, but he would not give it to them. They would choose. Their first act of their own will would be their name. “There are several I feel would fit you, but it-- it is your-- choice.” His words still caught in his throat. He cleared it, standing. He could write a list of names, then have the vessel point to them? But would he still be limiting their choice? If only they could write. 

Could they write? They had watched him write before. He had even pointed out different words to them. He looked at the little vessel before grabbing some paper and a quill. He set them down in front of them. “If you can, please, write the name you wish to be called. And if not, I will write a list, though you are not limited to those names.”

They looked up at him before grabbing the quill. They looked down at the paper again before slowly and carefully scratching out some shaky letters. So they could write, even if their handwriting was not the best. They could work on that. They would. He’d let them write as much as they wanted, or read as much as they wanted, or do whatever they wanted as much as they wanted. They held up the paper, a single word written on it.

‘Hollow.’

Chapter Text

Chapter 9

    The ride to the palace was very eventful, to say the least. Hornet’s siblings crawled all over the poor stag, even after Aspen (Step-Mother? Aspen. Root?) got after them. Hornet only rolled her eyes as they continued to get into trouble. But, thankfully, they reached the White Palace in record time. Probably because the stag couldn’t take all the children climbing on him. Atleast Ghost behaved well. Then again, they had ridden the stags many times before. Or would. 

    Hornet slipped off the stag first, landing lightly on the ground. She looked over her shoulder as the White Lady slipped off the stag, taking Dryya’s offered paw. She then turned to help the rest of the vessels down while Dryya retrieved the small bag Hornet had packed. It wasn’t much. Just a few cloaks, the project she was working on, and a shellwood needle. Try as she might, she knew Mother wouldn’t let her bring her real needle. It took a lot of convincing to let her bring it on the short hunting trip to begin with.

    “What are you going to do about, you know, him ?” Dryya whispered to the queen. Hornet probably shouldn’t be listening in to this conversation, but she also didn’t want to be left in the dark. And didn’t she always eavesdrop? 

    “We will worry about that when the time comes, though I doubt anything too bad will happen,” the White Lady said, waving a paw. Falcer rushed over Hornet, shoving past her as they ran towards the palace. The Lady laughed, saying behind a paw, “My, aren’t they excited?” She then walked past Hornet towards the White Palace, carrying Thread in one paw and holding Mimic’s in the other. 

    The spiderling watched before Dryya knelt down. “Are you worried about being replaced, little one? I’m sure Aspen loves you just as much as she does those vessels, if not more so. Come on, she’s been very exicted about giving you this gift.” The Great Knight offered her paw to Hornet, but the spiderling refused it, walking in front. She heard Dryya mumble a “suit yourself,” before following. Ghost fell in beside Hornet, both keeping an eye on their siblings and the White Lady. 

    She could tell Ghost was anxious. Truth be told, she was too. She fumbled with a bit of silk, running it between her claws as she thought of all the possible ways this could go wrong. Father could take the vessels and cast them into the Abyss. The Infection could increase in intensity. Aspen could crack under the weight of these children and leave. 

She glanced over at Ghost. 

    Their claws tapped against the pale tiling. What had they gone through? What did they remember that she could not? Obviously they both remembered the Infection and the fall of Hallownest. But the other vessel, Mothwing, she remembered them as well. She remembered Greenpath, a fight, and…. She tied the silk into a knot, slowing her breathing once again. She eyed the retainers as they walked past. Said retainers stopped whatever they were doing to stare at the small haunting of vessels. “What are you looking at? Don’t you have something to do?” She snapped at them and they quickly went back to whatever they had to do.

    “Hornet,” The Lady said dissapprovingly. “Remember, we don’t yell at others.”

    Hornet rolled her eyes, catching Ghost’s raised paws. “Worried about Father?” She asked them softly. They nodded. “Yeah, me too.”

    They signed something too quick for Hornet to decipher. “What? You need to sign slower, Little Ghost. My knowledge is a bit old and unused.”

    They slowed their signing, taking their time so she knew each sign. ‘I don’t want to see him. Siblings wanted to call the White Lady mother, though. They will probably end up calling him father.’ They paused before adding, ‘What is he like?’

    What is he like? Hornet didn’t answer this. What was he like? Well, he was there, to say the least. Though he wasn’t there . “He,” she started, trying to find any words with a tapping of her claw on her mask, “He is our father, yes, though I don’t have many memories of him.” He was always in his workshop or a meeting. Never did he spend time with her. 

(A soft hum, a beloved toon, morphing into the chimes of a music box, resting within the nursery. The last remnant of her father. A note beside it, though what it said she could no longer recall. All she knew was he was gone.)

    The small group stopped as the White Lady turned towards Dryya. “Please, take the children to the palace gardens. Hornet, I wish to give you that gift now.” Dryya nodded, transferring Thread to her arms before leading the haunting away. Hornet glanced over at Ghost again, only to see they had disappeared. Not very surprising, though she hoped it wouldn’t scare Dryya or the White Lady. How did they walk so silently then, when only a few minutes ago the tapping of their claws were the only sound they made? 

“Hornet?” She was brought out from her thoughts, the White Lady waiting a few steps ahead, paw outsteched and waiting for her own. Hornet placed her small claws in her step-mother’s paw and the queen led her down a hallway towards her room. They passed by the nursery, where she faintly remembered Aspen humming a soothing toon. (Even fainter, she remembered her father, humming the same toon.)

    She did not like how small her legs were. It was harder to keep up with her step-mother, though the Lady did make sure to slow down for her. She could not wait until her next molt, only because she’d be in her proper body again. And she would be able to wield her needle once more. She would also like that. 

    They stopped in her room, untouched from the way she had left it. Her little nest was still there, with bits of silk and string hanging from the ledges. A small pile of plushies and pillows crammed into one corner of the room. The only things changed were the flowers which looked fresh from the garden, and a small blue box wrapped with a simple red bow on top, resting upon her bedside table, waiting for her. “Go on,” the Lady urged, pushing Hornet forward a bit. “The box is yours.” She jumped up onto her bed before picking up the box (curse her tiny legs), weighing it in her paw while also looking back at her step-mother. It was light, though still retained some weight. She looked away, prying the bow off gently, setting it on the table before opening it up.

    Inside, nestled within red velvet, was a necklace. She sat down, gently taking the necklace from it’s resting place. She looked it over. A pale white chain that looked almost like silk caught the lumafly light. A flower hung from it, made from hive amber. The White Lady sat beside Hornet, gently picking the necklace from Hornet’s paws and placing it around her neck. Hornet held the flower charm in her paw, looking it over. “Do you like it? The flower, a cactus flower, is there so you will always know that your mothers love you.” She cupped Hornet’s face in her paw, looking into Hornet’s eyes, searching. “Herrah, Vespa, and I thought we should make a gift for you altogether. A gift from three kingdoms for a princess of three mothers.” She set her paw in her lap. “You do not have to wear it unless you want,” she said, gazing at the bouquet of colorful flowers. Then, she got up.

    Hornet got up too, keeping the necklace on. Her claws tapped on the soft carpet underneath. She… she didn’t remember this. She would have liked to remember this. The flower rested beside her heart, she could feel the warmth from the hive amber. Vespa… She must be so worried about Hornet. She should visit her as soon as she could. Hadn’t she… hadn’t she died? Hornet felt tears well in her eyes and she pressed a palm to them. No, she would not cry. Not when Vespa wasn’t dead. Not when Mother wasn’t dreaming. Not when Hollow wasn’t sealed away, thought to be unfeeling when she knew they weren’t. None of this was real yet. All just a memory from a time that would not happen. Is this how her father felt, gazing at different timelines? 

    She felt warm paws scoop her up and Aspen smothered her in her hug. “Oh Hornet! You don’t need to hide your tears!” She said warmly. Hornet didn’t fight against her, resting her head against her chest. She could hear her step-mother’s heart beat, a soothing tempo. She had laid beside Herrah when she dreamt, laying her head on her chest, pretending that, just for a moment, her mother would awake and Hallownest hadn’t fallen. She couldn’t stop the tears. 

--*--

    The Pale King looked over the word. Hollow. Their name was Hollow. Are you sure, he wanted to ask. Such a name, Hollow. A mockery, an insult. (How much had he hurt his child? For them to wish to be called Hollow?) But if his child wished to be called Hollow, for whatever reason, he would call them Hollow. And if, later, they decided to change their name, then he would call them whatever they wanted to be called. He placed a paw on the vessel, on Hollow’s, shoulder. He couldn’t find any words, swallowing uselessly. Hollow patted his paw, looking up at him.

    “You are very sweet,” he managed to mumbled, before straightening up and bringing his paw to his side. The lower arms disappeared into his robes, the upper held folded behind his back. A change of subject, perhaps? “Speaking of sweet, I do believe it is time I introduce you to something called caramel. Come along then, Hollow,” he announced with a mischievous grin. The name felt weird on his tongue. But a good kind of weird, though the tint of irony was still there, leeching into it. He pressed open the door, waiting for the little tip taps to exit the room. 

He smiled at his child, feeling warmth in his chest. Hopefully it wouldn’t be too hard to break their conditioning. He wouldn’t let anyone command them anymore. He’d need to have a meeting with the Dreamers. He’d need to find some other way to end the Infection. More time would have to be spent observing the timelines. Hopefully his foresight wasn’t waning. If it was...

    Hollow started walking away, and he followed, thankful for something else to think about. “Do you know the way to the kitchen?” He asked and they nodded. “Are you sure? I am not asking about the servant’s kitchen.” The vessel paused, then shook their head no. “That is alright. The personal kitchen is where we keep the snacks,” he said cheekily. Hollow perked up. Ah, so the concept of snacks hadn’t been lost on them. He should limit how much Hollow had, less his Root be angry with him. But for a first time, Hollow could have a fair amount. (He was sure his definition of fair and his Root’s definition of fair were very different.)

    He didn’t know why, but he snuck around the hallways. He had no reason to. But it was fun. Taking the less travelled ones, leaning out from the corners to see if any retainers were nearby before darting out, Hollow following quickly behind. They made it a game. Who could dash across hallway gaps the fastest. He let Hollow win.

    They reached the personal kitchen, Hollow’s paw in his. It was much smaller than the servant’s. It hadn’t seen much use in the cooking department, used more for storage of their snacks. And by theirs, he meant most of the snacks were his. Root did not eat many snacks. In fact, she did not eat very often at all, getting the nutrients she needed (which wasn’t a lot as a Higher Being) from her root system. And that just meant he could have more sweets. 

    The only downside of this kitchen was the height. He had to use his wings to reach into some of the cupboards or shelves. Like right now, hovering beside one cupboard, trying to reach a bag of honey drops or caramel. Whichever one he grabbed first. Hollow watched him, then looked for a way to try and help. He had seriously been neglecting his snack stock, he realized. It should not be this hard to reach them. He huffed, claw finally snagging on a bag. “Ah-ha!” He laughed triumphantly, dragging the bag towards himself. 

    Caramel. Good. He wanted that. He landed again, holding the bag high before taking a piece out and handing it to Hollow. “Take off the wrap-- oh.”

    Hollow had already eaten the candy, wrapper and all. He sighed, taking another piece out, unwrappng it, and eating it. The sweetness was nice on his tongue. Hollow open and closed their hands, wanting more. He obliged, unwrapping it before giving it to the child. “Don’t eat wrappers. They don’t taste good,” he scolded. Hollow’s face didn’t express emotion, but he could tell they were smug about it, turning away from him and holding their paws by their face. “You’ll need to learn sign language. Not to mention the handwriting we need to work on. How many words do you know?” He started thinking aloud. 

    At the next, and last, Dreamer Meeting, he could ask Monomon if she’d help teach the vessel, or if one of her assistants could. Quirrel came to mind first. He’d make a great tutor. (The fact Monomon had adopted him and trusted him with her life definitely didn’t influence that decision.) Herrah should be told as soon as possible. She’d probably want full custody of Hornet, however. If that’s what she wanted. Lurien would want an explanation. He’d agree to ending the plan, but he’d still want it. And he’d want some other way to help. 

... 

LURIEN WAS STILL WAITING FOR HIM!

    His wings flared and Hollow looked up. The King shoved the bag of sweets onto a countertop before rushing out the room. Hollow chased after, trilling. He stopped, looking back at the child. They… they had made a noise. Could they speak if given enough practice? Something told him that no, the vessel would never be able to speak. “I have to speak with Lurien, Hollow.” He knelt down. Could he take Hollow with him? He didn’t exactly want the child to leave his side. Maybe Hollow should continue to act pure while he figureed out how to break the news? No, terrible idea. Don’t force them anymore. “You can come with, if you want.”

    They nodded. He held their paw as they walked towards the meeting room together. Aspen deserved to know before anyone else. Before the Dreamers, even. After this meeting, he’d go straight to her (or wait if she hadn’t returned yet), and tell her. Hopefully it wouldn’t hurt her. And if it did, hopefully it wouldn’t hurt too much. (He tried not to look at his Root leaving. He couldn’t look at that, not when Hallownest needed him. He had to stay strong, stay focused.)

    (But perhaps now he can look?)

--

    The Pale King walked slightly in the front, though he never once let go of Hollow’s paw. He couldn’t care less about the image he was supposed to maintain. Right now, Hollow needed all the reassurance they could get about being alive and feeling. They needed to know that their wants and desires were appreciated and considered. He stopped and looked down at the child.

    Their cloak was stained with Void and had some tears. The tears weren’t a big deal by themself, though getting that Void out of the clothes would be extremely hard. They looked up at him, waiting. He smiled at them.

    He continued down the hallway, one paw behind his back and the other delicately cradling Hollow’s. And if anyone disagreed, well, he was the king. He should tell Xero to stop panicking, he noted. First, whatever Lurien had to say. Then tell his Root. Then he could tell Xero to stop worrying. Then a meeting with the Dreamers. Then…

    Then another vessel walked into view.

    He stopped in his tracks. Faded blue cloak, curving horns not too different from Hollow’s. They had gotten a hold of a shellwood nail. Where did they get that? Where did they come from? There were other living vessels? (Was this the only one? The only other survivor of a hundred?)
    He blinks.

    There is something behind the vessel. A cloud of Void. White eyes. Eight of them. No, not behind...

    He blinks again.

    The vessel was a vessel. Undamaged, uninjuried. They looked curiously at him. He followed their eyes. No, not him. Hollow . They were looking at Hollow. He looked up at them again. They looked at him. He took a step forward, letting go of Hollow’s paw for a moment. And then they ran. Their cloak propelled them forward, gone in an instant, like a ghost. Not a sound made. He made a gasping noise, like he had just been impaled.

    Had he seen a ghost? No, that had to be another vessel. But the chances… another vessel shouldn’t have survived. They shouldn’t have been able to escape. And yet…

    He’d have to apologize to Lurien at the next Dreamer Meeting. Telling his Root, telling Aspen, was more important. She had to know, she deserved it. “Hollow, change of plans. We’re going to see your mother today instead.” He stopped a retainer and asked them if she had returned. She had, with Hornet, and was currently in the palace gardens. He noticed how they shifted under his gaze. He didn’t have time to dweal, picking up Hollow and racing towards the gardens. The arms on one side of his body held the vessel close as he ran. The trip was short, as the meeting room was close to the gardens. Oh, he had forgotten to tell the retainer to dismiss Lurien. Shoot.

    He set Hollow down before opening the intricately carved doors. His Root looked up from a conversation with Dryya. But he wasn’t focused on the way they leaned in together. He focused on Hornet and the little vessel chasing her, brandishing a shellwood nail. She deflected with her own shellwood needle.

    There were six vessels here, including the one he had seen earlier. Six. And Hollow made seven. Seven surviving vessels. Aspen had gotten up, walking over to his side. He leaned into her embrace, her holding one arm on his back, the other’s paw on his cheek. “My Wyrm, there is something I have to say,” she started. 

    “Seven vessels,” he mumbled.

    “Yes, seven vessels.”

    “Seven.”

    “I wish to keep them,” she whispered. He looked up into her eyes, shining bright. They were pleading. Pleading with him. Let her keep them. Let her raise them. Let her have the children she so desperately wanted. “They already have names. We have to keep them. We have to.” 

    He placed his hand over her’s. “Of-- Of course!” he stuttered. “Of course.” He watched as one of the vessels approached Hollow. Small, four horns, tripping over their own cloak. “And what happens to be their names?” His Root looked at him, before pointing to each vessel, giving a name. He looked at them silently before he said, “Aspen, something has come up. I can’t go through with the Hollow Knight Plan.”

    “And why is that?” She asked, though her tone implied she already knew.

    “Because…” How blind. “Because Hollow isn’t hollow. They… they named themself. I--” Seven. Vessels. He kept turning the number over and over. He was lucky to get one. Now seven? (Did only a hundred die, or were there more? Was his calculations off due to the unknown of the Abyss? No, it could only be a hundred lost, maximum. The Abyss couldn’t influence that.)

    “You should rest, my Wyrm,” Aspen suggested, shifting around him so she sat cross-legged, giving him a place to rest. “You’ve spent so long in that workshop of your’s.”

    “I can not rest now. Not when I still need to arrange another Dreamer Meeting. Not when we have six other vessels to take care of.”

    “That is exactly why you need to rest, Ivory,” she pointed out. “I can arrange the meeting myself. I can get Dryya, and Xero, and Ogrim to watch the vessels while you rest. You can not take care of them, or Hallownest, if you are using up your last leaf.”

    He sighed, allowing her to place him in her lap. There was no point in arguing. She was right. While Higher Beings did not necessarily need sleep, it was never detrimental to engage in it. He’d even say it was beneficial. 

    Some of the other vessels decided his Root had a good idea and nestled around them. A few others continued to run around and play-fight. Hornet kept up with them surprisingly well, dodging or parrying different attacks. Vespa was a good teacher. 

    Aspen’s chest buzzed as she began to hum a tune. He closed his eyes, humming in harmony. He should make that into a music box. Preserve the tune for the children to hear whenever they needed it. The noises of the children and the buzz of the humming faded away, replaced by calming darkness.

Chapter Text

He woke alone in his room. 

He could tell his Root was not here. Her dull warmth was not felt. He laid in the bed for a moment, staring up at the ceiling, paws folded across his chest. He couldn’t expect to wake beside her every day. She might be taking care of her garden. Or Hollow. Or the new vessels. Or maybe she was arranging a meeting?

He shifted, turning on his side. He should get up. He’s slept long enough, he reasoned. With a groan, he left the comfort of the blankets. His claws tapped on cold tile. He shivered.

Shrugging on his robes, his claws hovered over his kingsoul half for a moment, before he turned to leave the room. The hallways around his room were silent, not as well lit as the others. He paused to look at whatever flowers were up now. The pale, fragile flowers Ze’Mer had brought with her. An odd choice, but he would not question his Root’s judgement.

He tapped down the hallway, approaching one of the more well-travelled ones. He heard no bustling. He looked around. No servants were going to and fro. Even if it was late at night, there would be at least one here or there. He frowned. He should check on his Root, or Hornet, or Hollow. He decided on Hollow, first, since they were the closest. Their room wasn’t too far from his, after all.

He approached the closed door and stopped. The pale flowers were growing up it, creating a barrier, a wall, between him and his child. He brushed along the petal, flower retracting from him. “Hollow?” He called out. No response. He summoned a nail and slashed at the vines. They gave way underneath the blade, but more quickly replaced them. He slashed again and again, only making the wall thicker. His heart sped up. “Hollow? Hollow are you in there?” His child may not have voice, but they could have made some noise to tell him they were there. 

His eyes followed the vines, leading down the hallway towards Hornet’s room, past that even. He followed. The vines overtaking the palace, layering everything in green, dotted only by pale white. Then, the vines were dotted with butterfly shaped blue. The pale flowers gave way to lifeblood vines. He looked for anyone else, and yet there was no one. Not a servant, not a kingsmould, not even the stray wingmould. Nothing. He stopped in the hallway. Something wasn’t right. Something was very wrong.

He stopped following the pale and blue flowers, turning around only to be met with a wall of lifeblood vines. He turned again. The hallway had changed. No longer did it lead to Hornet’s room, but to his workshop. 

This was a dream. This was a dream and he was in control. There was no way this was real. 

He thought hard about where he wanted the hallway to lead. His throne room. The hallway didn’t change but he walked down it anyway, past his workshop. He felt cold radiate from it, reaching with frozen claws. The hallway continued on. The pale flowers control started to fade, their vines retracting from wherever the hallway led. 

It opened up to his throne room, cast in shadows, the only thing with any light was his throne itself and a few blue butterfly shaped flowers that lined the wall. The kingsmoulds that were here lay on the ground, Void gone, nothing but a hollow shell. He stepped over them, towards his throne. The pale flowers tried to grow in this room, but their vines were black and shriveled. Lifeblood vines curled around his throne. His paw reached out, claws brushing against his throne.

He stepped back, a gasp, as the throne was devoured by darkness. The darkness reached towards any light, snuffing out flower after flower. He turned tail and fled. The hallway stretched, longer and longer, as the Void closed in. He could hear a faint tune. He leapt…

And crossed the threshold, landing in the nursery. The darkness faltered and faded. He hauled himself up, looking around the room. He was alone even here, but music accompanied him. Slow and melodic, a lullaby without words. He approached the bassinet, stopping as two cloudy figures formed. Aspen, his Root, and Hollow, his child. She held them close, humming a tune, before laying them to bed. 

He reached out towards her, but his claws went through the misty figure. She gasped, looking up at something behind him, eyes wide. Her figure vanished. 

He turned to see what frightened her. There was nothing. No, he could hear something. The tune, the little music box, turned into something else. Speeding up and distorting. He looked back at his child, but the child was gone as well. He looked again, hearing something dragging itself towards him. He summoned a nail. The darkness returned, stretching into the room, reaching towards him but never getting close. Four arms extended from the darkness, eight white eyes glared out. The creature growled. A fierce wind wipped through the room. It clawed at his robes. This was no creature, he realized, as it stepped towards him on digitigrade legs ending in sharp claws. It took up so much space, and yet it was so hard to see, shrouded by the shadows. 

“The Lord of Shades.”

It roared, layered and echoed. Harsh and loud yet eerily silent all at the same time. Muffled, static. It charged him, then, swiping at him. He dashed backwards, using his summoned nail as a shield. He created a ring of nails around himself before sending them flying. The beast dashed through them before it reared back. He thrust his nail forward, glancing its side. It bellowed and he dashed past it, rushing away from the small nursery. He could hear it chasing him. The shadows lengthened, trying to snag him. 

But he was quick, and this was his dream.

He slid, then propelled himself around a corner. The Lord of Shades screamed something, but the words were lost in its many voices. He cast a glance back. The White Palace was falling apart. Falling apart beneath his claws, even. He couldn’t stop, he had to keep running, but a wall came into existence and created a barrier. He turned, summoning more nails until they surrounded him. Each held their own small light. To a mortal bug, the light would burn. But to a being of shadows.

The Lord of Shades watched him, before it held out a paw, forging a twisted copy of a pure nail. It held the nail within it’s upper paw. Then it charged him. A few of his own nails were launched towards the shadowed beast, but it only dashed through them. He flung out his paws, grabbing four of them, while more flew. The Lord of Shades parried them, swatting them away and back towards the Pale King with practiced ease. 

The creature continued it’s onslaught. The King continued to defend. Four nails clashing against the Lord of Shade’s one. The beast jumped, bringing down its blade. The King blocked with two of his nails before he struck at the beast’s chest with the other two. It screamed and stumbled backwards, clutching at its chest. He was taken aback a bit. He had expected the beast to use claws or spells. But a nail? And to move so fluidly. But it also didn’t. It seemed to get caught up on its own lower arms. 

The beast took advantage of his contemplation, dashing forward and slashing at him. He narrowly avoided the slash, leaping into the air. The beast shrieked, a cloud of darkness rushing upwards, searing into his shell. He screamed as he crumbled to the ground. The floor was fading fast now, replaced by darkness. The Lord of Shades stabbed its nail into his back as he tried to crawl away. He bit back a scream, hemolymph dribbling down from the corner of his mouth. The floor shattered, and he cried out as he crashed onto the bodies below.

His chest and back flared with pain as he wheezed and struggled up. His nails slid away from him, vanishing. A thump behind him. He looked back. The Lord of Shades was advancing on him. He fired five soul daggers before trying to get up, claws slipping on the skulls of his children. He fell again, little horns digging into his body, tearing at his robes.

The Lord of Shades towered over him, no longer so small. All he could see were it’s eyes, burning white pools imbedded in darkness. He struggled to breath. It was so cold, frosting over his lungs. So many horns of so many lost children bit into him. How many were there? A hundred? Two hundred? One thousand? It could only be one hundred, maximum, but the pile he awaited his death on spoke otherwise. 

A low growl from the beast in front of him. “Please,” he breathed. Begged, even. “Before I am to die, tell me, how many of my children have passed?” The beast paused, staring at him, before the growl intensified. “Let me know,” he begged, “How many I condemned! How much blood is on my paws!” 

The Lord of Shades stopped, then backed off, the shadows of the abyss wrapping around its form. It looked away from him, to the shells, to the unending sea of crushed and fragmented and left-to-rot skulls. This was far more than a hundred. He didn’t want to know the answer. He had to know the answer. He picked up the skull closest to him, one of they’re horns snapped off, cracks spiderwebbing around the face. All that was left of his children. A sea of bones. 

“A million,” came the voice of the Lord of Shades. Comprised of a million stolen voices from a million stolen lives. Echoing and whispering in a chorus of the deceased. He choked. A horrible coughing sound came from his throat as the skull fell from his grasp, rejoining the sea of children lost. He held his head in his paws, body shivering, but not from the cold. 

It was impossible. He had double, nay, triple checked the calculations. Monomon herself went over them. Her best archivist went over them. One hundred lost lives maximum . And yet, he didn’t understand the Void. He’d never understand it. And that one incomprehensible variable spelt the end to not a hundred, not a thousand, but a million lives. He could only hope most died within the egg and never hatched. At least then they wouldn’t feel any pain. His claws bit into his chitin. He didn’t care, even as his hemolymph ran into his eyes. If he had known it would be a million, would he have still down this? He didn’t dare ask himself that question.

Were these lost children now part of the Voidsea? Part of the Lord of Shades itself? Did they even linger? His sobbing continued, even as he felt something approach him from behind. The chill swept over him. He didn’t care. His hands fell from his face as he looked up at the Lord of Shades, smaller again, twisted around him, judging him. He reached forward. Was this the combination of his children? Was this their want for revenge? Their want to be heard? The Lord of Shades moved away from his grasp. He wanted to say something, anything, but his voice was frozen over, lost. All he could do was look upon it, guilt shining in his eyes. 

(The vessel from before, the ghost, crossed over his mind. He’d seen them before the hallway. Sitting atop his throne, then, with a single swipe filled with the rage of a thousand suns, cast down to the floor. They stood over him in triumph, dropping the nail and themself to the floor.)

The darkness started to curl around him, restraining him. He blinked away tears. The glow of its eyes intensified as it moved closer to him. He could move one paw. Only one arm could be freed. He reached up again. Perhaps fighting was not an answer. He should say something. He wanted to say something. But what would you say to the Lord of Shades? God of Gods? The Lord of Shades moved its head towards him hesitantly. 

But before he could touch the beast, red flames sprung up. He jerked his hand back. The Lord of Shades jerked its head around, eyes wide. A pillar of flame erupted between the Pale King and the Lord of Shades. From that pillar, a wall formed, small and circular, enclosing around the King. He looked around wildly, trying to find the source, before looking back at the Lord of Shades. He caught it’s eye before he saw a spike impale it on its chest, shrieking something . 

The flames consumed him.

...

He gasped and hacked up phlegm. He wheezed, gulping lungfuls of air greedily. He pushed himself up, lower arms holding his body while upper held his neck. His wheezing slowed until it was deep breaths with only a bit of shaking. He could still feel the sting of the flames on him. Or was that the sting of the Void? The image of the Lord of Shades being impaled played over and over in his head. It… it tried to say something. He didn’t catch the words. Or maybe he didn’t want to remember them.

A puff of red smoke caused him to cough once again. He glared up at the source, the king of nightmares himself. “Grimm,” the King hissed, mandibles clicking. His tail lashed, curling and uncurling as the moth god looked down at him with a smug smile. 

“Ivory,” he responded cheekily. He offered a hand to the King, but said King disregarded it, standing up by himself. He gritted his teeth, back and chest flaring in pain. He placed a paw to his chest, trying to find the hole and heal it. But there was no hole. In fact, there was no hemolymph. “You’re welcome, Pale Wyrm,” the moth added. 

He scoffed, dropping his paw and turning away. He stood within a circus tent, at the very center. He looked down the long walkway, to the tent flaps. There was something beyond them. Odd. “I know what you’re thinking, Wyrm. No one summoned me.” Grimm was in front of him with more red smoke. “And you are not leaving just yet.”

“Then why, pray tell, are you within my dreams?”

Grimm smiled again, snapping his fingers. A bit of flame burned at the tip. He held it between the two gods. “Can’t I visit my dear sister? You know, you are lucky I was visiting her. If I wasn’t, you’d be dead.” He smothered the flame by making a fist. The King didn’t even flinch. Grimm sighed, disappearing and then reappearing behind him. The King turned to look the moth in the eye.

There was a grimmkin holding a platter with wine of all things. Grimm picked a glass up, taking a sip. He eyed the King. The King eyed him, even as the grimmkin offered the other glass to him. “What are you planning?”

“Me? Planning something? No, Pale Wyrm. I am not planning anything. Like I said, I am here to visit my sister. Well, that and help a tribe of moths return home--”

“Moths?” The King prodded, holding up a paw. “What do you mean ‘help a tribe of moths return home?’” Moths? From beyond Hallownest? Did they follow the Radiance? If they returned, would her wrath weaken? 

Grimm smiled from behind the glass. Despite how much he had drunk, the liquid had not gone down. “Yes, moths, from beyond Hallownest. Been wandering for many years.” Both watched each other carefully. “Sunseeker has asked to speak with you. I wouldn’t deny her, if I were you. Her temper could rival that of my sister’s.”

The King looked away. Moths. Alive. Who worshipped the Radiance. Who seemed to hate him. That… that was a good thing. His wings fluttered. But why return home now? Did they hear their god’s call? Why hadn’t he seen this in any timeline? Grimm walked up behind him, handing him a glass of wine. This time he did accept, but did not drink from it. Before him, the scenery changed, to that of Dirtmouth. Circus tents were pitched, and the growing town’s residents stood at the edge, looking at the troupe members. And the moths.

There were many moths, he saw. They stayed close to the tents, but some wandered closer to Dirtmouth. How many were there? “I don’t… Why are they here?”

Grimm hummed, pointing to a brightly colored moth. Her wings were bright yellow, with red eyes on them. Her ruff was cream. She wore an elegant looking headpiece that covered her face. “That is Sunseeker. Like I said, she is the leader.” Currently, she seemed to be speaking with one of the troupe members. “Why they are here is best answered by her.” The scene dissipated, the red walls of the Nightmare Realm coming back into existence. The Pale King looked at the Nightmare King. “So, Ivory, when are you free for a chat?” He said it so casually.

“First of all, Nightmare King, you do not get to call me Ivory. No one does. Asides from my dear Root. Second of all, I have several important things to attend to.” Though this is very important too. Perhaps the Dreamer Meeting will have to wait .

“Hmm. Well, I could always come to the palace. I could bring Sunseeker and The Pathfinder as well,” he suggested. “Since you seem oh so busy, King Ivory.”

He frowned. Root and dirt he was glad he didn’t have to talk to Grimm up until this point. “You can bring the two along. However, as soon as that meeting is over, I expect you to leave the palace.”

Grimm smiled wickedly. “If that is what the host wishes, then sure. But then you wouldn’t be a very good host, now would you?” He supposed having the Nightmare King in his palace where he could keep an eye on him was a good idea. Especially if he hadn’t seen this in any timeline. (He also hadn’t seen the Lord of Shades. What else was he missing?) 

“... very well. You may stay in the palace. The moths, however, may be better off at the Crown of Hallownest, if they wish to live there. When would you like to have this meeting?”

“Ah, to be a court jester. A role new to me, but I am sure I’ll perform just fine. As for the meeting, whenever you like, though sooner is better. Tomorrow, perhaps?”

Tomorrow? He rather have one day off. One day he could spend with his newly found children. But helping these moths settle in Hallownest was important too. He weighed his options. The meeting could always occur later in the day. He could speak well into the night if need be. He did not know when the Dreamer Meeting would be, but he hoped soon. “Tomorrow afternoon. I would like to spend some time with my children.”

Grimm stiffened beside him. “Children?” He heard the moth whisper. He cleared his throat, saying, “I must have misheard you, King Ivory. You didn’t happen to say children? As in you have multiple kids.”

The Pale King smiled and nodded. “Yes, children,” he hummed. “I have eight. Seven vessels and one spiderling. Six of which we’ve only gotten today.” His chest swelled at the thought. Eight children. It felt nice to say aloud. 

“You have eight ?! And seven of them are vessels? Wait, what are their names?” 

The Pale King thought about each vessel for a moment. “They named themself. Or were given a name before I or my Root could.” He listed off the names, careful to not mention Hollow. He would save them for last. 

“That’s only six names. What about the seventh?” Grimm asked.

The Pale King smiled. “Ah, the last one. They named themself Hollow, and they were my Pure Vessel. Now, they are my child.” It felt so good to say. Why had he spent so long in ignorance? 

“You… have children. I-- Well, congratulations, I suppose.” Grimm then tilted his head upwards and frowned. “You should awake soon. We shall be seeing each other tomorrow. I would like some spiced tea.” With a bow, Grimm disappeared, as did the Nightmare Realm.

--

The Pale King woke to the eyes of his Root. “Good morning my Wyrm,” she spoke. She leaned up in bed, smiling sweetly. Between them, nuzzled up, was Hollow. The King smiled, looking at his child. 

He reached for Hollow, who woke with a start. They looked at him as he dragged them into a hug. 

“Well, good morning to you two. How does a day together sound?”

Chapter Text

Ghost was in the White Palace again.

It was devoid of any life. No servants, no kingsmoulds or wingmoulds. There wasn’t a buzzsaw or spear in sight, either, which was a plus. The only sign of any life were the fragile flowers Ze’Mer had given them so long ago. They grew within the flower holders, vines connecting each pot together. The vines also grew along the walls, the identical white walls painted with green stripes zig zagging across them. 

A delicate flower grew close to the floor. Close enough for Ghost to pluck it from the nest of greenery. They held it close to their chest, cloak a shield. They heard a cooing noise. Looking up, they saw the swish of a cloak. They stared for only a moment before following, peering around the corner, but no one was there. The vines, however, seemed to travel in this direction, growing thicker and having many, many more grow. The hallway was closer to green colored than white by all the vines. The archway at the end opened up to darkness. 

They shook their head and turned away. A wall. The only way was forward. They looked back again. The hallway was shorter now. They took a hesitant step. Then another. And another. Until they were padding down the hallway and past the shaded archway. 

As soon as they passed, the vines curled up, closing off the exit. They turned, looking at the newly formed barrier of green. A few flowers bloomed. They tried to pry the vines away, tugging and pulling, but to no avail. They lost their grip, landing on their bottom, growling. They stood, tapping their mask, eyes following the vines once again. They spiderwebbed across the hallway, going into different directions and paths. And at the end of this intersection was...

Hollow.

They took a few steps then started running. Hollow stood at the edge of the intersection, waiting. Ghost didn’t watch where they ran, paws getting tangled up in deep blue lifeblood vines. They fell, trying to shield the delicate flower. But they failed, and the petals fell into dust around their body. No, it wasn’t falling into dust. Drops of Void were staining the petals. They dropped the flower, looking up. Hollow still stood, and then, they turned away, sauntering down the hallway.

They tried to follow their twin, but the vines held strong, hold growing tighter. Ghost chirped, trying to get their attention. But they didn’t stop. Ghost tried to fight the vines, pulling at them again. Their tearing increased in speed. Let them go, please, let them go.

The barrier vines started to wilt, going from vibrant green to rotting brown. The blue vines around their ankle started to retreat, heading for the rotting vines. Ghost watched as the vines fell, giving way to the Void itself, shadows reaching, beckoning for them to return. They stumbled up, chasing after Hollow. Following the few vibrant vines that remained, the ones not rotting or choked by lifeblood. The hallway stretched onward. The Void closed in. The shadows lengthened until they tried to capture Ghost. 

No, they would not be captured! They had to reach Hollow! They had to reach their twin! 

They kept running, refusing to be separate. Hollow was always a few steps ahead, always too far for Ghost to reach them. They turned a corner and vanished. Ghost stopped, looking for them in the wide open ballroom. But Hollow was nowhere to be found. Instead, all there was was a pillar coated in the vines, lifeblood flowers blooming all over it. Vines grow along the floor as well, with their own flowers blooming. Ghost stepped into the room, the shadows refusing to enter. 

They carefully walked around the flowers before approaching the pillar. They looked it up and down. There was a part in the vines, glass. Inside was Hollow, staring back at Ghost. They extended their paw, tapping a claw on the glass. 

It shattered.

From it, Void tendrils wrapped around them, dragging them closer.

They fought in vain, tugging away. More wrapped around them. They looked back at the archway, blue vines forming a wall, holding off the shadows. But these flowers, the ones next to them, offered no protection. The petals fluttered like wings as the Void spilled out, overtaking more and more of the room. They whimpered as it surrounded them, falling to their knees and holding their head. 

The Void swirled around them. The Void inside them swirled. Everything swirled and nothing made sense. And it hurt . Void pressed against their shell, trying to escape. They were dying, they weren’t dying. This body was dying and they were the shade. They curled around themself. Make it stop, please! They whined as their mask cracked, clattering to the floor before being devoured by the Void. Their body bent at unnatural angles until it wasn’t their body . Too many arms, too many eyes. Please, this isn’t them. 

They tried to escape the darkness but it only followed them, clinging to them like silk on prey. And it was cold. So cold. They stumbled, trying to free themself of the black silk, but they couldn’t. Their legs were too long, bending in ways they shouldn’t. The silk held onto them, wrapping around their legs, their claws, their newly acquired tail. The Void spilled in through the archway, piercing through the lifeblood vines, until the entire room was shrouded in shadows. Shadows that wrapped around them, only making the cocoon thicker. They fell to their knees again, holding either their head or hugging themself. 

Then, a tune. One they knew. Slow and calming. A sound they had only heard once. A sound that made them want to stay. A sound never meant for them, but played all the same. In a nursery never meant for them, but appeared nonetheless. They stood, following the sound. The soft melodic tune soothed the Void. They had heard Aspen hum the tune before they slept. Slept?

This was a dream. 

This was their dream.

It wasn’t real.

They stopped, looking down at themself. Four vantablack paws were held up. The black silk eased into a dark cloud of mist, hovering around them before forming a cloak of shadows. Could they go back to how they were before? Be the Little Ghost haunting the forgotten bones of Hallownest? Sharing stolen moments with the few friends left? Could they have their shell? Hide away what was them in the face of them ? (Something told them no. They had chosen this path. The consequences were theirs.) 

The tune was closer now. They continued on, vibrant vines of delicate flowers lining the hallway. The petals shined out against the dark. The tune started to change into the familiar distorted and sped up song. They approached the doorway, eyes shining. Inside stood the Pale King, wielding a nail. He faltered as he saw them stepping towards him. They growled at him. Why was he in their dream? 

“The Lord of Shades,” he gasped. They recoiled. No, they were Ghost. This body wasn’t theirs, but they were still Ghost (right?) No, they were Ghost, this was their dream, and he shouldn’t be here. Why was he here? Their Void rolled and they roared. It was layered with thousands of voices, whispering and screaming and crying. They dashed towards the Pale King, swiping madly with serrated claws. Shouldn’t be here, shouldn’t be here! Get out of their dream! Get out of their head!

He dashed backwards. They swiped again, sending clawed strike after clawed strike. The Pale King deflected some, crashing his wrists into their own. But they didn’t care. They hissed, swiping with their upper arm before trying to kick him. He summoned a ring of nails around himself, each circling slowly before he extended his arms, the nails flying. They dashed between them as the nails went through a body that didn’t exist for only that second. The King took a step back, tripping on his robes and they reared back, drawing in as much strength as they could. Except the King took the opening, his nail grazing their side as they abandoned their own strike. They roared again as he maneuvered around them, dropping the nail.

He bolted, fleeing down the hallways, darkness retracting from his light before following again. They gave chase, the King disappearing around a corner. They skidded across the tiles, claws digging into it. The braced themself on the wall, using it to propel themselves forward. The shadows seemed to aid them in their chase, but the King was still far ahead. He would not escape! 

They howled, screaming into the hallway. Void came together at the far end of the hallway, creating a barrier which was painted white. The king stopped, placing his paws on it before turning around, facing off with Ghost. More nails were summoned, surrounding him as he held up his paws. They hissed to themself. Did he think that would stop them? They had fought the Radiance and won! Despite all the walls of nails she had sent at them.

Of course, fighting with claws only was something they were not used to. Having a nail would make things easier. They flung out their paw in anger, only to have the shadows around them solidify into a pure nail. They held it up, clasped within their upper arms, looking at that Pale Deadbeat. Their claws held tighter before they charged forward, thrusting the nail towards the King. He shot out the nails that surrounded him, but all they had to do was dash between them. He grabbed the four closest nails before more flew. They parried each one, swatting them away and into the ground.

Soon, all of his nails were gone, save for the four he held. They swung at him, and he brought his nails up to deflect. They swiped again. The two combatants’ nails clashed against each other again and again, sparks of white and black falling around them in a brilliant display. They backed off, then leaped at him, bringing the blade down. He caught it in his upper nails, using the lower to stab into their chest. They stumbled back with a yelp, paw to their chest. They felt a hole where the blade had been plunged into them, and they felt it stitch itself back together. They shivered. 

The King was breathing heavily, obviously not used to having to fight like this. He was watching them, learning their moves. They dashed, swinging their nail so quickly the King had no time to process. But apparently he did anyway. Jumping and allowing his wings carrying him upward. They let out an Abyss Shriek which tore into him. He screamed as his body collided with the floor. Hemolymph and Void mixed as it ran down his body. He tried to crawl away from them. They scoffed, shoving their nail into his back, right through his wings. He made a gargling noise before the floor gave out underneath the two and they fell.

They landed atop the forgotten bodies of their siblings. They looked up to see the King once again, nails knocked away from him. He fired five soul daggers before he tried to get up. All they had to do was side step and the Void around them ate up the attack. They watched him struggle to stand, falling down the pile, little horns tearing into him, clawing at him.

The Void swirled around them and within them. Soon enough they towered over the Pale King, four arms holding them up. It would be so easy to snuff out his light, once and for all. A shame really, that travelling back in time brought him back as well. No matter, an easy fix. They growled, claws digging into the shells and rocks below. “Please,” came his oh-so-small voice. “Before I am to die, tell me, how many of my children have passed?” He wanted to know? He wanted to know only when his life was on the line. They growled again, deeper this time. “Let me know,” he begged, voice catching, “How many I condemned! How much blood is on my paws!” 

How much blood? How much blood?! They should destroy him right now! (Hollow. Twin. Would hurt them.) They wanted to scream, the claw, to fight, to show him just how much blood was on his paws. Make him pay. (Siblings chose him. Siblings want him.) Heart aching, they backed off, instead looking at the skulls littered around them. They couldn’t look at the King, but looking at the skulls dug into them as well. He moved, catching their eye. They watched him stand, picking up a skull. One of the horns snapped off. His claws brushed against it, across the cracks spiderwebbing around it, across the snapped off horn. They could see his eyes shimmer in the pale light. 

How much blood? How many lives? They shouldn’t know the answer, they knew, with a quivering soft breath. But they did, deep inside themself. The number whispered to them, echoed across the Abyss in a hushed whisper. “A million.” A voice, given to them by the sacrifice of a million lives. They shouldn’t have a voice. They shouldn’t have gotten it by the death of a million siblings. They heard the Pale King choke. The skull fell from his paws, clattering with the sea of bones, rejoining the million lives lost. He shivered, curling around himself.

He was… crying. Their eyes widened. Why was he crying? His body shook with each silent sob. They could see his claws digging into his chitin, causing hemolymph to run down his face. If he had known it would have been a million lives, would he have still let his children die? Would he still cast the eggs down? They circled around him, form becoming smaller. His paws fell away only some, just enough for him to look up at them. They could see his tears running down his face, carrying his blood alongside. He reached out with what looked to be so much effort. But they moved away.

His paws fell. He looked so… so… No, stop. Don’t you dare start feeling sorry for him. He hurt you! He hurt your siblings! (He let siblings lay on him.) Darkness curled around the Pale King, binding him with the silk that once bound them. They moved toward him again, hissing lowly. Yet he didn’t look afraid. In fact, he reached up again. Words seemed to hover on his lips. Something he wanted to say, but couldn’t, for whatever reason.

His paw looked so inviting. Oh to be touched! But by him? Did they dare accept his touch? (Hollow loved him. Loves him still. That has to mean something, right? The way he held Hollow’s paw…) They found themself moving towards him, hesitantly, but moving nonetheless. Just one touch, for only one second. Just to see. Just to see.

Red flames sprung up around him. Both jerked back. The shadows released the Pale King as a pillar of flame became a circle of flame, cutting their father off from them. More flames, circling around them. Then spikes shooting up. They didn’t have time to dodge, couldn’t dodge. One lodged itself right in their chest.

“Father! Help! It hurts!” They cried, but their words were lost to the crackle of flames and the churning of the Void.

…

They woke clutching their chest, throwing aside the blankets atop them. They heaved, still feeling the spike in their chest. It burned. Their entire body burned. Rivers of lava spilling out and away from their wound. They pulled their paw away, watching Void drip onto the sheets.

Sheets? They were in a bed. Well, something like a bed. A huge nest. They sat up, grimacing at the pain. Their siblings all slept in the same nest, each in their group. They heard a surprised trill and looked to their side. Hollow. 

Hollow reached for them, then hesitated. Ghost fell into their arms, pressing their body into their twin’s. Hollow didn’t move for a second. Then they felt their twin’s paw stroke their back. They closed their eyes. Warmth around their chest, not the searing heat from their wound. They felt the wound stitch over. (Their body. Their body. Two arms, two eyes. Them .)

They held Hollow close. The touch of their twin… it was as comforting and inviting as they remembered. They heard soft whimpers. Hollow’s claws grasped onto Ghost’s cloak. Ghost wiggled away so they could look their twin in the eye. They trilled quietly, paws on Hollow’s shoulders. Their twin shook underneath their paws. Void leaked from their eyes. 

“Why?” Hollow asked softly. 

“Why what?”

“Why trust me? I abandoned you. I tried to kill you!” Hollow sobbed, wiping away their tears with their palm. They didn’t look at Ghost, looking at the nest floor in shame.

Ghost shook their head. “You wanted to live. I wanted to live. You… you made your choice.” They let silence settle for a moment. If Ghost had made the jump, would the Pale King take them both? Would he cast one aside? If they took Hollow’s place, and Hollow theirs, would they have turned around to help? “You wanted to live.” They repeated.

“And I left you! I left you to die!”

“But I’m not dead. I’m here, now.” (All those skulls. They hadn’t escaped with their sibs before. They escaped alone.)

“I still left you,” Hollow whispered. “I still left.” They rubbed their left arm. Void still trailed down their face, though it wasn’t as much as it had been. “I left you despite knowing you’d die.”

Ghost didn’t know what to say. What could they say? Instead, they brought Hollow back into the hug, both slowly sitting down on the soft fabric. They purred as Hollow shook. “But I’m not dead,” they repeated. “I lived. And our siblings live. You found one way out, we found another.” (Were their deaths prevented? Or were they still doomed? Lost… how did they die? How did they become Infected? And Mothwing. Little Mothwing in Greenpath. Those two, they could still very well die.)

Hollow didn’t respond. Ghost looked over at their siblings. Lost held Mothwing close, using their cloak as a blanket despite there being plenty of actual blankets to use. (Please don’t die.) Mimic and Thread curled around Falcer, a large blanket tucked around them. Their eyes trailed over to the table by the door. A vase of flowers stood vigil, as did a shaded lumafly lantern. 

“Just tell me you hate me,” Hollow requested mournfully. 

“No, I won’t. Because that would be a lie.” Hollow finally looked Ghost in the eye again. Frustration and betrayal at being left behind? Yes. Hatred? Hollow was their twin. Twin’s always had each other’s back. They would have to remind them that. “Hollow, you are my twin. I am your twin. We always have each other.” Why did you think I did what I did? They wanted to add. They could have fought Hollow in the Black Egg. Could have fought the Radiance there. But instead they performed the grueling task of ascending through the pantheons. “Even now. Especially now. No one has to be hollow. No one has to be pure. We just have to be.” 

“I abandoned you, and then, after five hundred years, I fought you. I didn’t do anything else.”

“It was the Pantheon of Hallownest. You’re supposed to fight,” they said lightly.

“No, not there.” Hollow didn’t add where, but the two knew. The Temple. They shifted in Ghost’s grasp. They let their twin go, looking over their sleeping siblings. They wondered, for a moment, if the Radiance (Aine? They still weren’t sure what to call her) was speaking with any of them. Would she try to infect them? Had she even been trying to infect Ghost?

“Why did you run?” Hollow asked, switching the subject. “From Father. Why did you run?”

Oh. They looked down, picking up a corner of a blanket and messing with it. Twisting and twirling it within their (non-serrated) claws. Why did they run? Because it was the Pale King. The Pale King, alive and moving towards them. “I didn’t expect to see him.” 

(Their Void bubbled up, crashing against their shell. They could feel the air around them drop several degrees. The Void pushed, straining their shell. It would be so easy, so very easy, to just take him out then and there. Their claws lengthened, growing into deadly serrated points. They had to run. If they didn’t… They turned tail, running. Where, they didn’t know. Somewhere no one would find them.)

“You won’t run away from him again?” Hollow clarified.

“I won’t,” Ghost promised. No running away. Unless they had too. And not too far. Unless they had too. 

The two went back to watching over their sleeping siblings. “I’ve missed you,” Ghost murmured, leaning against their twin. They let their emotions spill onto Hollow. Hollow responded by letting warmth curl around Ghost. Voidsea, they had missed this. The two curled up together, playing whatever game they could think of. And then that pale light. The pale light that beckoned each and every one of them. The pale light that seemed to trance their twin. So many siblings. So many who fell. Who never made it to the top. 

He picked up their sibling’s skull. He cried for them. For the millions lost. He had reached for them, not once or twice. He had reached for them, even as they had tried to kill him. He… he accepted their siblings. That was something. That had to be something. 

Hollow cooed, standing. “Let’s go see Mother and Father.” They held out a paw for Ghost, but they didn’t take it. “Ghost?”

“I-I can’t. Please.”

Hollow looked at them warmly, hugging them. “I can stay if you--”

“No, you can go if you want. I just… need time.” Hollow hesitated, then nodded, leaving Ghost behind in the room that housed their siblings. (Why did they feel so alone?)

Chapter Text

Ghost woke to a voice. Kind and sweet. The White Lady was gently shaking them awake. So they had fallen asleep again. That was… alright. (Don’t think about the dream. Don’t think about the dream.) “Good morning my children. Did you sleep well?” Ghost’s various siblings all crawled up, moving towards the White Lady (asides from Lost and Mothwing, though the little vessel moved a bit closer to the queen.) “My husband and I would love it if you accompanied us to breakfast.”

    “Breakfast! We get breakfast! Yes!” Falcer cried, jumping up and down.

    “Please. It is way too early for this,” Mimic begged, holding a paw to their head. Falcer did their best to stick a tongue out at Mimic. 

    “It seems you all would. Come along, children.”

    She picked up Thread and held them gently as she led the rest out the room. The hallways were a harsh white, but when were they not? It was just super notable in the semi-awake state Ghost was still in. It would be nice to sleep in. That would be really nice. (Void curling around them. Body bending and breaking. This wasn’t them this wasn’t them this wasn’t--)

    She set Thread down gently in a chair. Ghost hadn’t realized they had reached the dining room. They found a seat farthest away from both the White Lady and the Pale King, which was somewhere in the middle of the table. Hollow was next to the King, while a groggy looking Hornet sat across from Ghost.

    The Pale King cleared his throat. “Good morning children. I hope you slept well.” Unspoken, though Ghost figured he thought it, he hoped no one saw any orange light. “While Hollow and Hornet already know, I am unsure if you six do or not. We shall eat three meals a day. Breakfast, lunch, and dinner. I know vessels do not need to eat, but I encourage you to attend the meals nonetheless. After we eat, my Root and I would like to spend time with all of you.” With that, he reached for some food. The rest of the table did as well, aside from Ghost.

    Like the King had said before, Ghost didn’t need to eat. They didn’t eat a lot, either. While the taste was nice, they just didn’t really see a need. Not when they could just chill in a hot spring for a second to gather more soul. Or dreamnail someone. Or… kill… them. Maybe not that last one. 

    “Aren’t you going to eat?” Mimic asked. “There’s so many things to try!” They seemed to have a piece of everything. Ghost let them feel some of their warmth. Mimic leaned into it before trying each food item.

    Ghost did take a sip of the tea. It was very similar to the one Herrah had given them, though everything seemed a bit more intense. They should talk to Seer. Her tea was always calming. “I had the most wonderful dream last night,” the White Lady spoke. Her cup of tea had both hands wrapped around it. “We were all in my garden. Ze’Mer and Ipe were there as well. Ze’Mer taught us how to make flower crowns. What about you, my Wyrm? What did you dream of?”

    The Pale King was silent. He inhaled, exhaled, then said, “I was in the White Palace.” He paused. Ghost saw him pick at his food. “Then the Nightmare King arrived. He’s, ah, brought some moths with him. We’ll be speaking some time later.” He didn’t mention their encounter? By his expression, he seemed to be remembering it. They noticed his upper paws were stained. Stained by Void. (Why hadn’t they noticed that earlier?)

    The White Lady tsked. “Well, you will certainly have a lot of meetings, won’t you? I was worried, at first, when you mentioned him. But if he is bringing moths, then maybe his appearance won’t be such a bad thing.” There was a moment of silence before the White Lady looked over at Hornet. “And what did you dream, my child?”

    Hornet, who’s chin rested on her paw, sighed. “Nothing interesting. Just dreamed of Mother.” Her voice sounded a bit strained, her movements a bit sluggish. She lazily picked at a slice of meat. 

    “Well I hope you slept well. I would ask my other children what they dreamed, but sadly I doubt any of you could communicate with me just yet. My Wyrm, have you thought about who will teach them?” The Lady asked before taking a sip of tea. Her plate was pretty barren, save for a few slices of meat. 

    “I was thinking either Quirrel or Monomon herself. It will probably end up being Quirrel since I’m sure the Teacher will be incredibly busy. I could ask Lurien as well, but he may be better off still caring for the city.” He mumbled something, but Ghost couldn’t quite catch it. 

    Then he stood. “We should get you six some different cloaks. These are… acceptable, though you six deserve much better. Finish up quickly so that we may find you some cloaks.” Their siblings ate their food quickly before they each followed the King. Ghost stayed seated. “Ghost, come now. That cloak is all torn up.” Ghost grabbed their cloak tight. The King frowned, but didn’t press. “Hollow, would you like to come as well?” Hollow jumped down, looked at Ghost, then followed the King. They looked back again, beckoning for Ghost to follow, but they shook their head.

    “Root and dirt, come on ,” Hornet hissed, grabbing Ghost by the hand and dragging them along. They wiggled in her grasp. “Hey Ivory! Hold on!” She called. The King stopped, looking back to see the small spiderling dragging Ghost with her.

    Ghost broke free of her grasp (more like she let them go) and signed, ‘I don’t want a new cloak. This one is fine.’ They heard a gasp and remembered that the Pale King didn’t know they knew sign. They looked over at him sheepishly. 

    “You know sign… Who taught you?” There was another sentance left hanging. 

    ‘A friend,’ they signed carefully. ‘But she’s not here anymore. I’ve been to the surface several times.’ They hoped their siblings would play along. ‘I wanted to make sure my siblings would be safe before we all went.’

    They watched the Pale King’s brow furrow. “Do the other children know sign?” Ghost shook their head no. “Very well, we will still have to teach them. Let us get you six your new cloaks. Or five.”

--

    After they had gotten their new cloaks, the children were shown around the palace. Lost still wore an oversized cloak, though it was not as tattered. It split in two at the very end, tapering off in a rounded point. Mothwing still had the gifted Weaver cloak, but they also wore a very cozy looking cloak that was colored green. Falcer and Thread both wore very similar cloaks, longer in the back, opening down the middle. Thread had a scarf wrapped around their neck, hiding half their face. Mimic’s cloak was very simple. Light gray with a bandana around their neck.

    Ghost refused to part with theirs, naturally. One, because it was a gift from the Weavers. And two, they didn’t want anyone to see their wings. 

    Currently, the children were in the White Lady’s conservatory. She was telling a few of Ghost’s siblings about flowers and their meanings. Ghost directed their attention to the delicate flowers growing in a sectioned off part of the conservatory. “What’s this?” Lost asked, coming up beside Ghost.

    “I’ve always called them delicate flowers,” Ghost explained with a shrug. “Ze’Mer gave it to me before. But I guess she won’t be now.” They thought about the Traitor’s Child. Ipe, her name. It was good to hear she was alive. Had the Traitor Lord already become the Traitor Lord? 

    Lost nodded, before touching one oh so gently. The flower bobbed, but didn’t sustain any damage. They let their paw fall. “I’m… starting to remember some things,” Lost admitted, “Or maybe I’ve always remembered them.” They looked back at Ghost. If Lost was remembering things… unless it was memories they had willingly locked away? Please be that. “I’m sorry about fighting you. But thank you as well.” 

    Ghost nodded. “Well, apology accept. And it’s about time, considering how many times you almost killed me.” Lost laughed and Ghost joined in. 

    “You know, you never told me how you managed to travel back in time.”

    Ghost rubbed their arm. Only two. They were used to two. They liked two. “I’m not sure how I did, either. I just… I really wanted to fix things. Fix them more than I already had. And… I woke up in the Abyss.” 

    Lost was silent. Then they reached out and gently plucked a delicate flower. They gave it to Ghost. “Well, we’ll fix the future, somehow.” Ghost accepted the flower, holding it close. If they stored it within their Void, would it be safe? “You know, it’s kinda funny.”

    “What is?” Ghost asked, looking up from the flower. Lost was looking back at their siblings again. Ghost looked as well. The Pale King was being tackled by Falcer and Mimic, Thread and Mothwing cheering them on. Hollow was trying to defend their father so desepertly.

    “This. This whole thing.”

    They supposed it was. “Nice kind of funny.”

    “Oh yes, definitely.” A moment of silence. “I’m glad you got your twin back.” Ghost could feel some of Lost’s anger as well. 

    “Yeah.” Ghost made up their mind, slipping the flower into their Void storage. Hopefully it would be okay. They’d find some vase to put it in later. Isma came running into the conservatory, looking distraught. Xero followed as well. “That doesn’t look good…” Ghost thought out loud. Or, well, out loud as they could. 

    They approached the knight and the King. They caught the word Grimm. Grimm? Was he here? (If he was, could they get Grimmchild back?) The King followed Isma after setting aside Falcer. Xero was left behind to tend to the vessels. Ghost waited for a moment before stepping forward. “Where are you going?” Lost asked.

    But Ghost didn’t answer, only followed. They darted across the hallway, though their pursuit went unnoticed. Isma brought the King around a corner into some sort of lobby-like room. The King dismissed Isma with a wave of his hand. Ghost quickly dashed to the side so she wouldn’t notice them.

    They peaked around the corner again. Grimm and the King faced off one another, neither speaking. And then, Grimm bowed, saying, “Hello Pale King. I do apologize for my early visit, but I couldn’t help but be excited to visit the palace.” Grimm looked off to a saide before adding, “It really is as white as they say.”

    “You shouldn’t be here this early. I still have half a day with my children before I have any meetings to tend to. Did you bring the moths with you?”

    Grimm side eyed the king. “Oh don’t worry Ivory, the moths are still in Dirtmouth. Brumm will bring them here later. I’m here to say hello to Aspen. She rarely ever sleeps, rarely ever dreams. I haven’t had a chance to say hi yet.” There was a muffled squeak from his cloak. A familiar squeak.

    “What was that?” The King asked. He also grumbled something about being called Ivory. (Maybe they should start calling him Ivory. Did he dislike being called Ivory? They should call him Ivory.)

    Grimm chuckled, waving a paw. “Oh, nothing.” Another squeak. Then a nyeh. Then Grimmchild burst free of Grimm’s wings, flying high. He was already phase 4. Did he have someone else performing the ritual? Ghost’s heart dropped a little. Grimm tried his best to capture the little moth.

    Ivory was silent, mouth agape as he watched this transpire. The Nightmare King himself chasing after a rogue child. Grimmchild twirled in the air before catching Ghost’s eye. They both froze, Grimmchild’s wings missed a beat, he fell, Grimm lunged. And then Grimmchild was latched onto Ghost’s face.

    They stumbled out from their hiding spot, trying to pry the moth off of them. But Grimmchild stayed strong, crawling on their head until he was nestled between Ghost’s horns. They stopped moving, legs and arms both extended. They looked up at Ivory and Grimm. Ivory and Grimm looked down at them.

    “Ah, hello again Little Lost Star--”

    “TELL YOUR CHILD TO GET OFF MINE! THEY WILL HAVE NO PART IN YOUR RITUAL!” Ivory roared, his light flaring as he turned on Grimm. His wings buzzed, mandibles clicked, and a claw was pointed at the Nightmare King. Grimm held up his paws in surrender.

    “You think I can control Grimmchild? I don’t even know why he’s at phase 4! He shouldn’t be! But if Grimmchild likes your child, then I cannot separate them. The Ritual, you know.”

    “You... do not know why Grimmchild is at phase 4?” Ivory asked aghast.

    Grimm opened his mouth. He closed it. Then he nodded. “Once we reached Dirtmouth, I took a nap. When I awoke, Grimmchild was already at phase 4.”

    Grimmchild piped up with a content nyeh, gaining the two Higher Beings’ attention. ‘I would like to keep Grimmchild with me,’ Ghost told the two.

    “You didn’t tell me the vessels knew sign,” Grimm said, leaning down to better speak with the Pale King. His tone was smug.

    “They don’t,” Ivory responded with, “or atleast, no one but Ghost does.” He folded his arms back up, upper pair held behind his back. “I am not sure why they are the only one to know, but it is very convenient.”

    “That it is,” Grimm murmured. Then he clapped his paws together. “Well then, if both Grimmchild and Ghost agree to this arrangement, we should not break it.”

    “I still refuse to let my child get roped into your Ritual,” Ivory muttered, now having one paw on his head. Ghost reached up, scratching Grimmchild between his horns. He mwerhed contently, snuggling up closer. 

    “Hmm, well, we’ll see about that. ANYWAY, I do believe we still need to figure out sleeping arrangements for myself and my troupe? I’m sure you have plenty of room.”

    Ghost padded away slowly and softly. Then they turned and ran back to the conservatory. Grimmchild nyehed in contest, but Ghost ignored it. They reached the conservatory again. Their arrival was so sudden, in fact, that Xero yelped and fell off the bench he was sitting on. Their siblings laughed. Or, well, most of them did. Hollow stared at Ghost.

    Then, “Why do you have a Grimmchild?”

    “Not a Grimmchild. Just Grimmchild,” Ghost corrected. They picked Grimmchild up off their head, holding him close. He wiggled, resisting his fate. Oh, but he was no match for Ghost as they only started to pet between his horns again. “And I have them because they are…” a sibling. Grimmchild was a sibling. And he needed a name other than Grimmchild. Maybe he should name himself? When would he get to speak? “He is a sibling.”

    That got the attention of their other siblings. If the sudden appearance of Grimmchild didn’t. Or the fact the White Lady was now coming towards them, looking very much like she was going to try and separate Ghost from Grimmchild. They turned and dashed back before setting Grimmchild down so they could sign. ‘I want Grimmchild and Grimmchild wants me. No separating,’ they told the White Lady.

    “My child, are you sure? You do know what this entails.” But then she stood straight, holding a paw to her mouth. “I do suppose the Grimmchild is already phase 4. How odd for them to want to be with you. And how odd that both Grimm and a phase 4 Grimmchild exist simultaneously.” 

    “Sibling?” Falcer asked, shoving theirself through the small wall the other siblings had created. They reached towards Grimmchild and earned a hiss. Grimmchild ducked behind Ghost after said hiss. “Sibling shouldn’t hiss!”

    “Seems like sibling doesn’t like you,” Thread teasted, lightly punching Falcer.

    “Well I don’t like you!” Falcer cried with a mighty (and very much silent) roar before wrestling with Thread on the ground.

    “Does that one ever not fight?” Xero asked, pointing to Falcer.

    “So far? No, I believe not,” The White Lady mused with a smile. 

    “Sibling,” Hollow repeated. “Sibling.” They closed in on themself a little. Ghost reached for them across the Void, giving them a reassuring pat, both through the Void and physically. 

    “Could be triplets!”

    “But Hornet,” Hollow trailed. 

    “Why not quad?” Mimic suggested. “If you four get along well enough, you could be.” 

    “That’s a good idea! How about that, Hollow? We could be a quadruplet! AND we could also be the first to include non-Void!” Ghost asked, clapping their paws together.

    “What’s going on with you two?” Hornet asked. In her arms was a very large bouquet. Or it looked large compared to her little body anyway.

    ‘Want to be quad with you. Me, you, Hollow, and Grimmchild. We’ll have to give Grimmchild a name,’ Ghost explained.

    Hornet held up a paw while the White Lady asked, “What do you mean by a quad?”

    Oh, right. ‘Void thing. Hollow is my closest sibling, so they’re my twin. Mimic, Falcer, and Thread are all closest with each other, so they’re triplets. Everyone has a twin. And sometimes they have another twin.’

    “You do realize how confusing that’s going to be, right?” Hornet asked, deadpan. Ghost shrugged.

    “I think that’s such a lovely thing,” The White Lady cooed. “Such a sweet concept. I should tell my Wyrm. Speaking of which, do you know when he’ll be back?”
    And as soon as she asked that, Ivory returned, Grimm in tow. The moth bowed before the White Lady in an overly dramatic fashion. “Aspen, it’s a pleasure to see you again. It’s been forever.”

    Aspen (They should start calling her Aspen.) frowned and glared at the moth. “You better not give any nightmares to my children. I will not hesitate to smother your flame,” she threatened. The plants around her curled around itself and small thorns sprung up. 

    The Nightmare King bowed again. “I would never dream of it.” Xero chuckled then quickly shut up from the glare of both Ivory and Aspen. “I thought you would like to know I’ll be calling the White Palace my temporary home for the foreseeable future.” 

    “I would rather that not be the case,” Aspen huffed.

    Grimm hummed then looked at the little vessel who tugged on his wing. “Mothwing, be gentle. That isn’t a cloak. It’s his wings.” 

    “Oh! I’m sorry!”

    “Ah, you must be Mothwing.” He picked up the sibling. Ghost saw both Ivory and Aspen tense. Mothwing hugged him, nuzzling against him. “Mm, yes, I do imagine I am very warm,” he mused. “And you are very cold.”

    Grimm set Mothwing back down. “Again I thank you two for your hospitality. I’ll be back soon enough with the moths. Enjoy your lunch.” He disappeared in a puff of red smoke. It was already lunch time? Huh.

    “Of course half the day is already gone,” Ivory mumbled. “Well, let us have lunch.” They started back towards the dinning room only to have a servant interrupted, telling the Pale King the Dreamers had arrived. “And my meetings begin. Have a good rest of the day, my Root,” He said sweetly, kissing Aspen on the cheek. 

    “Of course. Try not to get a headache, dear.”

    “I’ll try.”

    Hornet made a barfing noise beside Ghost.

Chapter Text

The Pale King took a moment to collect his thoughts and steady his breathing before he would step into the meeting room. He’d have liked for this meeting to happen a little later. Maybe a day later at least, but. At least Monomon and Quirrel would be here. He could at least request one of them as a teacher for the children. He pushed the heavy doors open.

    The Dreamers were talking amongst themselves, but once he stepped in, their voices ceased. Herrah sat very casually, though one of her paws were held in a fist. Lurien fiddled with the hem of his sleeve. Monomon floated beside her chair. “Good afternoon Dreamers, Adaleis.” He took his seat at the head of the table, upper paws folded and upon the surface. “May I ask why Quirrel is not present?”

    “Oh! Yes, Quirrel. He’s gone to the Kingdom’s Edge to invesitage some reports. Some of the Colosseum bugs have said there’s primal aspids popping up. He left not too long ago,” Monomon explained, waving her tentacles around. “He said he’d only be gone for a week or two. He should be returning soon enough.”

    The Pale King nodded. “Very well. Now, you must all be wondering why I have called this meeting seeing as our next check in isn’t scheduled for another few months. There has been... a new development,” he said with some reluctance. “A development that concerns the Pure Vessel.”

    “Has the Pure Vessel been injured?” Monomon asked. Lurien shifted in his seat uncomfortably. Herrah… did nothing. 

    “The Pure Vessel has not been injured. On the contrary, this development is a positive.” Or, it would be, if he didn’t have to worry about finding some other way to deal with the Infection. He’d find a way. Maybe he hadn’t exhausted all the potential timelines yet? “The Pure Vessel, for all intents and purposes, is not hollow. Is not pure.”

    “I fail to see how this is a positive, Your Majesty,” Monomon said dryly. 

    “Monomon, you should be able to see it. The Pure Vessel isn’t pure. They’re a child! A living, breathing, thinking individual. I know you know the joy of having a child considering you raised that pillbug,” Herrah pointed out.

    “In any other circumstance, the Pure Vessel being impure would be a positive. But considering the Infection is still raging on, it is not,” Monomon countered.

    “Unless Ivory has an alternative?” Lurien suggested, then looked at the king. “You do have one, correct?”

    “Ah… no. I do not. I thought it imperative to tell you three as soon as possible. After all, none of you will have to become Dreamers now.” He looked over at Herrah. Herrah looked at him. “And since none of you shall become Dreamers, any deals made are now null. Herrah, Hornet is your child. If you wish for full custody, I will not argue--”

    “No.”

    “Pardon?”

    “No,” she repeated. “I will not take full custody. Hornet is not just my child. She is also your’s. She deserves a father, even if said father is you. So no. You will play an active role in her life just as much as I do.” She was standing now, facing off with the wyrm. He felt both warmth and pain in his chest, in his heart.

    “Thank you,” he whispered. “Thank you.” He should do something nice for Hornet. Would she like a trip to the Blue City? Perhaps he should take her to visit Vespa. He cleared his throat as Herrah sat back down. “There is one other thing. Excuse me for a moment,” the King said before standing.

    “Wait, where are you going, Your Majesty?” Lurien asked. “Your Majesty!” He should really stop leaving midsentence of Lurien. Ah, well. Hopefully the children were still eating lunch. 

    He swung by the dinning hall, but they were not there. Granted, the meeting was called right before it. He asked a retainer where his Root had gone. To the private kitchen to bake , children in tow. He could hear the chaos before he even approached the room. Looking inside he saw several children running around and chasing one another, icing on their paws and staining their clothes. Hornet was on the countertop trying to aVoid her siblings. Hollow and Ghost were up there alongside her. 

    “Oh! Hello my Wyrm. I thought I’d try baking with the children. Is your meeting already over?” His Root asked, looking up from a mess she was trying to clean. Which she wasn’t doing a very good job at. Icing covered paws would smear all over the spot she had just cleaned before running away again.

    “No, it is not. But I thought I’d borrow Hollow and…” He looked around for the cleanest, most presentable vessel out of the newly found six. As it turned out, it was Ghost. “Ghost. Hollow and Ghost. I’d like to take them back to the meeting with me.”

    His Root considered this, looking at the small haunting of vessels running around. If they had a voice, they’d be screaming. “Well, if they wish to go with, I don’t see why not.”

    He moved to pick up Hollow, but his robes got snagged on something. He looked down to see an icing covered child hugging his leg. Welp, there goes these robes. He should have expected this honestly. He reached down and stroked Mothwing before standing once more. He picked up Hollow and them in one arm, Ghost in the other. He felt something squirm underneath and the Grimmchild poked his head out. “Keep him under your cloak,” he told Ghost, who only stared up at him. But Grimmchild did go back under the cloak. He bid a farewell to his wife who was now scolding Mothwing for getting their father dirty. 

    He gently opened the doors to the meeting room, setting down Hollow and Ghost on the table. “There’s… two,” Monomon gasped, reaching a tentacle out to look over Ghost. The child leaned into her touch, poking at her jelly-like body. Hollow stayed next to the King, awating any instruction. “ How are there two?” She looked up at the Pale King, Ghost still holding a tentacle in their claws.

    And he doesn’t know. 

    He still doesn’t know. He doesn’t know how seven survived instead of one (and there very well may be more who survived. He hopes there's more that survived). He doesn’t know how a million died when the maximum number of children the eggs could hatch had been a hundred. So he shrugs. And he also looks over at Lurien. 

    The butterfly scrunched and unscrunched the hem of his cloak, staring at Ghost. Adaleis held Lurien’s other paw. The Pale King spoke again, bringing Lurien’s attention to him. “It was not only two who survived. There are five other vessels not in this room currently, all of which survived. Which leads me to the next development.” Root and dirt he’d regret this. But not telling the Dreamers would eat him up. “It was not a hundred lives I sacrificed. It was a million.” His voice grew softer as he said the last sentence. 

    There was a moment of silence, lasting only for a single heartbeat. But even with that short moment, the silence crept into the King. Herrah slammed her paws down on the table, breaking the silence and causing Adaleis to yelp and clutch onto Lurien’s arm. “You killed one million of your own children ?!” She hissed. She reared up. If her needle wasn’t currently outside held by a Kingsmould, she would have pointed it directly at him. 

    “I thought it only to be a hundred maximum, you know this, Queen of Deepnest. I triple checked my calculations. I had Monomon run all of them as well,” he challenged, staying still but his light did intensify. “I did not know it was a million until the six vessels came to us.”

    Herrah leaned over the table. Hollow moved backwards, positioning themself between the spider queen and the Pale King. They reached for a nail they didn’t have. He guided his child to the side gently, standing tall to face off with the queen. “Would you have still killed so many?”

    The two never broken eye contact, glaring into each other’s eyes. 

A chirp and a nyeh. 

A chirp and a white face, jumping up between them. A nyeh and a flash of red and black, flying around them. Ghost waved their arms, breaking up the staring match while Grimmchild flapped about before landing between Ghost’s horns. Both parties backed down, Herrah still standing but no longer leaning over the table. The King himself sat back down in his seat. 

    The Little Ghost gave both of them a look before sitting cross legged on the table, dragging Hollow down with them. Grimmchild moved from the horns to Ghost’s lap, being gently stroked. Monomon peered at the three curiously. (It didn’t go unnoticed how Hollow acted in front of the Dreamers. Stone still.)

    Lurien looked like he was about to say something when the Pale King exhaled sharply. “There is one last request I would like to make before we bring this meeting to a close.”

    “There’s a-a Grimmchild,” Lurien stuttered.

    “Yes, there is. As for my last request,” he looked at Monomon. “The children will need a teacher. Who better than you? Or Quirrel since I’d imagine both of us are about to become very busy once again.”

    The jellyfish tapped a tentacle on her mask. “I think that would be good for Quirrel,” she said finally, tentacles dropping. “I’ll send a letter to him. What will the children be taught?”

    “The same that Hornet has learned, minus the fighting unless they want it. They will have to learn sign as well. I will find some tutors for the children, but I would still like to have Quirrel teach them primarily.”

    Monomon nodded. “It is settled, then, Pale King. I look forward to our next meeting, even if none of us are Dreamers any longer.” 

“You three still wish to have these meetings?” He asked.

    Lurien nodded while Herrah spoke, “Of course. Even if I am no longer a Dreamer, Hornet is your daughter just as she is mine.” 

With the meeting ended, the Teacher drifted out of the room. The Beast walked past the King, not aknowledging him any further. The only one who did not move was Lurien, who’s gaze rested on Ghost once again. The King walked over to the butterfly.

    “I apologize about yesterday, Lurien. I had to tell Aspen about Hollow and I must have fallen asleep afterwards.”

    The butterfly’s head twitched. “I-it’s alright my King. I was going to t-tell you about Hollow, anyway.” Lurien stood, walking past the King. Then the butterfly paused. He looked back at the Pale King, then to the two vessels inside the room, debating something. He leaned in close to the King, speaking soft enough so that the vessels could not hear them. “That one… their aura…” Lurien trailed, pointing at Ghost. The child looked at him. Lurien shook his head and back up towards the door. “Powerful,” he managed to say before three moths barged in. The Watcher wasted no time slipping out past them. Ghost did as well, dragging Hollow and carrying Grimmchild with.

    Sunseeker barged in first. She still wore the mask he had first seen her wearing. Said mask had a large back that resembled the ring of light always around Aine. Her wings were held up as she stormed up to the Pale King, red eye spots on the wings staring at him. “You!” She roared. She was actually very short, only a few inches taller than the King himself. “You are the one who tried to smother our Guiding Light!” 

    The second moth scooted up to Sunseeker, reaching out and grasping her arm. They pulled her back some. Sunseeker’s golden wings fell around her body, but her expression did not. The second moth guided Sunseeker over to a chair. The second moth’s wings were pale blue, the tips golden. Their ruff was a paler gold. They wore no mask, their green eyes catching the golden flame within their lantern. Said lantern hung from a staff, held within one paw. 

    And the third moth stood awkwardly to the side. Once both Sunseeker and the lantern holder were seated, the Pale King took his. Grimm decided that, instead of sitting in the open chair across from Ivory, he’d sit next to him instead. The King groaned inwardly. 

    More meetings . “Welcome to Hallownest,” the King started with, trying to make his tone friendly and inviting. It came out tired and strained.

    “We do not need your welcome, Pale Usurper. We are here for Aine, and Aine alone. Do not think your false light will lull us away from her,” Sunseeker barked. Grimm was not kidding when he said her temper could rival Aine’s. 

    “I do not wish for my light to take you from her,” he said simply, resting all four paws on the table, neatly folded. “In fact, I encourage you to worship her. For perhaps if you did, her rage may fade.”

    Sunseeker barked a laugh. “Do you think her anger comes from the lack of worship?” She sneered, leaning foward. “For a being of light, you are incredibly blind. Though, as a worm , I assume you are used to that.”

    The King stiffened. Grimm stiffened, then cast a glance at the King. “Then why is she upset?” He asked instead. Sunseeker frowned, clearly upset her attack was not retaliated against.

    The blue moth spoke up this time, their voice soft like robes spun from the finest spider silk. “She is upset over the loss of her children. She is upset you have come and stolen them from her. She is upset you have not spoken to her once about the children you burned.” The green eyes shown, catching the golden flame, allowing it to dance within the greenery. “You have not spoken to her at all.”

    The King swallowed. “I did not mean to cause harm to the moths.” How young he had been. From a beast best described as a waking nightmare, to a bug one would not be so hesitant to approach. He spent so long living in darkness, living in dirt. To suddenly have light, light created by himself . He clenched his jaw. “I apologize for what harm I have caused the moths.”

    “You shouldn’t be apologizing to me, worm,” Sunseeker hissed dangerously. 

    She was right. He shouldn’t be. But to face off with the one he had hurt. “You said you shall allow us to worship her?” He looked over at the blue moth.

    “Yes, of course. Previously I banned worship of her due to her… temper tantrum, and now due to the Infection, but perhaps if I allowed you to…”

    “Temper tantrum,” Grimm said with a light chuckle and a shaking head, the first time he had talked since the meeting started. The King looked over at him. Grimm looked up at him. “Ivory, you need to speak with my sister.” The humorous tone was quickly replaced with one far more grim. 

    “Of course he needs to! He needs to stop dodging her and speak already. Otherwise I will knock you out and force you to talk to her right now!” Sunseeker exclaimed, wings flaring again as she slammed her paws on the table.

    The blue moth stroked her back, saying calmly, “Sunseeker, perhaps you should take a step outside? I can finish this meeting if need be.” Sunseeker’s wings quivered before she got up without another word, throwing the doors open with ease. Of course she sent a death glare to the king before fully leaving the room. The three remaining individuals watched her storm out before looking at one another again. Then the blue moth cleared their throat. “I am The Pathfinder. I lead the tribe just as much as Sunseeker does.”

    “A pleasure to meet you, Pathfinder,” The King offered. But Pathfinder did not return it. 

    Instead, the moth sat up straighter, puffing their chest out. Their antennae curled. “We will stay where the moths live. I hope they can at least still call the Crown their home.” For a second, he remembered arriving at Kingdom’s Edge and the moths he had encountered there. “But the reason Sunseeker told you we are here is not the only reason.” They removed the lantern from the staff, setting it in front of them.

    The flame danced, growing brighter as Pathfinder coaxed it. “I would hope your Lady Aspen has told you of the dangers the Void possesses. Especially the god of it.” The flame started to produce darker smoke, curling into the shape of the Lord of Shades. “I would hope she has told you how this beast hungered and tried to devour all life in Hallownest.” The smoke created a small village. The pillar of smoke that was the Lord of Shades approached it, smothering it. (Void closing in on his light. Void reaching for him.) “Since we stand here today, it was pushed back. Sealed within the Abyss. However, now it is reawakening. No doubt becasue of you .” Their green eyes burned into Ivory’s shell, their voice cold. The smoke dissipated, swept away by unfelt winds. 

    “... The moths still call the Crown their home, though some still live within Kingdom’s Edge,” Ivory said after a long moment of silence.

    “Then we, too, shall call the Crown our home, Pale Worm.” Pathfinder stood, taking their lantern and leaving without another word. The room grew cold. He looked down at his Void-stained paws. (The look in those eyes, the spear embeded in its chest. Why did his heart hurt?)

    Ivory startled at the sudden touch of Grimm. He looked at the moth god. His paw was warm like the scarlet flame he was born of. The moth god held concern in his eyes. “I’m sorry,” he whispered to Grimm. “I-I’ll talk to Aine. Just… I would like some time with my children beforehand.”

    “Afraid she’ll try and kill you?” He mused. “Worry not, King Ivory, for I shall protect you.” He held a paw on his chest dramatically. At Ivory’s pathetic looking face, the moth added, “We will speak to her in a week. Now come on, there is still some time before any of the children should sleep.” Grimm looked at his robes. “We should also get you some different clothes.”

    He looked at his paws one last time. Just what had he unleashed? (The eyes, begging. The voice, crying. What had it said? What had they said? Lurien’s words echoed in his mind. Layered under, low and staticy, were the Lord of Shade’s.)

(The Void around Ghost, hovering. Eight lights shining. Eyes.)

    (That child… powerful.)

    ( Father! Help! It hurts! )

    (A single pale flower, held within the claws of a child. Of Ghost. Given to Aspen. Given to Hornet. To Hollow.)

    “No,” he whispered.

Chapter Text

For three days, Quirrel found nothing but hoppers, hoppers, and more hoppers. Sometimes he’d stray upon a bee. The occasional boofly. Once he stumbled into a belfly nest. That had not been fun.

But no primal aspids. The only aspid he had found was a little baby which had apparently been someone’s pet. 

He groaned, placing his paws on his hips as he looked at his surroundings. The only life nearby were some hoppers hopping along. Higher Beings, he was sick of seeing them. Still, he could record what he observed. A few hoppers doing, you guessed it, hopping!

“Why’d you come out here, Quirrel? It’s been four days now,” He asked himself. “Everyone knows primal aspids are extinct! Someone probably mistook an aspid mother or hunter for a primal one.” He tilted his head up, eyes closed, running his paw down over his head. He opened his eyes, looking at the rock above. The buzz of bees floated down to him, bouncing off the rock walls. 

He could always ask Queen Vespa if any of her bees have seen any primal aspids, he supposed. Though he didn’t really want to get past a bunch of bees. He could go back to the Colosseum and ask around. Again. The thought of stepping into that blood soaked death trap made him shiver. Maybe he could find someone else. Maybe he could go ask that baby aspid owner? 

He remembered the owner. Vantablack with four arms, resembling a kingsmould. Some Void construct that had gone crazy. They had tried to grab him. Luckily he had managed to slip away when the baby aspid started flying off. He didn’t really want to almost get kidnapped again.

Weren’t there moths here at one point? A few stayed behind when the rest moved to the Crown. Maybe one of them had some insight. The problem was finding where they were. He had no idea where the old moth village was. Nobody did, except the moths of the Crown, and they certainly weren’t telling anyone. 

Well, he had no other leads (that he would willingly pursue), so it was better than wandering around, hoping to get shot at by a primal aspid. He started to scale the rock walls when he heard a thump. He paused his climbing, looking around. Nothing to show where the thump came from. He continued to climb up. Another thump, this time jostling him loose. He yelped as he fell, trying to catch the rocks. But he didn’t and he collided with the floor below, knocking the air out his lungs.

He laid there for a moment. The ground shook. He could see the pebbles bounce. The thumping was increasing, coming closer and closer. He pushed himself up, looking to his side to see a Great Hopper charging at him. He screamed, trying to scramble up the wall. But the shaking made it too hard to climb. He curled up, hoping this would give him some protection. He should have brought his nail, he should have brought his nail, he should have--

“Hey asshat!” The Great Hopper stopped charging at Quirrel, turning around to chase whoever yelled. Quirrel uncurled, seeing a hooded warrior wielding a shield with no nail facing off the Great Hopper. It jumped, the hooded warrior walked underneath it, slamming the shield into it’s belly. It landed and turned, jumping again. The warrior swung at the belly once more, hemolymph leaking out. It jumped one last time and the warrior smashed the shield into the Great Hopper’s legs. When it landed, it sprawled out. The warrior turned to face Quirrel, victorious.

They opened their mouth to say something when the Great Hopper landed on them, squishing them. Quirrel gasped, their shield skidding in front of them. The Great Hopper looked at the squished bug, then to Quirrel. It leapt and Quirrel rolled under it, grabbing the shield and throwing it at the Great Hopper’s stomach. It hit, straight and true, spewing yellow hemolymph all over the pillbug. Quirrel fell to his knees, breath rattling. 

He had watched someone die . Granted, he had seen plenty of non-sapient bugs die. But that one held sapience. They had thoughts. Hopes and dreams. His paw went to his mouth as he started to mourn. He didn’t even know the warrior’s name! They were probably an ant. Quirrel thought they were an ant. What colony had they come from? Did God Tamer know them?

He heard a groan. He turned around, still sitting atop his knees. The ant was... getting up? Cracks littered they’re body, but he didn’t see any hemolymph. Instead he saw something dark drip from them. The ant pushed themself up into a sitting position. “That was not how I wanted us to meet,” they said. “I’m Tiso. He/Him please.” They, he, held out a paw. Quirrel eyed it, eyed him. He saw no orange in the eyes, and certainly no orange pus leaking from Tiso’s wounds. So he took the paw. It was cold, the texture very similar to that one not-kingsmould he had touched.

“What do you mean, ‘not how you wanted us to meet?’” Quirrel asked instead of giving his name. Just because this strange ant had saved did not mean he had to trust him. (Was Tiso an ant? He was cold. Like that not-kingsmould. The texture was similar to. And he didn’t bleed hemolymph.)

Tiso rubbed the back of his neck. “I heard about you from the Colosseum,” he admitted. Why did Quirrel get a sense of deja vu from this Tiso character? “You’re Quirrel, right?” So he already knew his name. The pillbug nodded. “Ah, I knew it.”

Tiso stood, paying no mind to his injuries. Instead he looked at his dented shield covered in hemolymph. “Aw man, now I’m gonna have to get this fixed.” Honestly it looked like he’d need a replacement. Quirrel got up as well. Tiso walked past, grabbing his dented shield from out of the Great Hopper’s stomach. “Good throw!” He said to Quirrel, giving him a thumbs up.

Is he seriously not going to take care of his wounds? Quirrel groaned. His camp was nearby. He could take the ant(?) back with him to take care of the wounds. The ant was already scaling up the wall. “Where are you going?” Quirrel called up.

“Up. Where you were going. Come on pillbug!” Tiso called down, gesturing for Quirrel to follow. “There’s more Great Hoppers down there so the sooner we leave, the better.”

Quirrel sighed and began climbing up, much easier now that the rocks weren’t being shaken loose. He climbed up, taking Tiso’s extended paw as he was hauled up. He took a moment to catch his breath, really catch it, now that his life wasn’t being threatened. “We should… head back… to my camp,” Quirrel said between breaths. “I can… help with… your wounds.” He pointed to the cracks.

“My what?” Tiso looked to where the pillbug pointed. “Oh! My wounds! Nah, don’t worry about it. It’s not as bad as it looks. Plush, it’ll heal on it’s own,” he said, waving a paw. 

“You could bleed to death. It could get infected. The injury could spread to other parts of your body. Need I go on?” Quirrel asked innocently. 

Tiso sighed, throwing up his paws and saying, “Fine, fine, you win Mr. Smartypants. Where is your camp anyway?” Quirrel pointed upwards. “What did I expect?” The ant deadpanned.

“It isn’t too far,” Quirrel reassured.

“Sure.” The two began their climb. The pillbug kept a careful eye on the ant. If the wounds really did hurt, he didn’t say anything. Quirrel also looked at the trail of… hemolymph Tiso left behind. It held no color other than black. He looked up at Tiso again, brow furrowing. Was Tiso not an ant? Could he be… made of Void? He didn’t recall the Pale King making anything like Tiso, but perhaps he did. Tiso didn’t seem crazy like that failed kingsmould, though, so why was he all the way out here and not in the White Palace?

They reached the top of the wall, Quirrel taking the lead. The path to the camp was carefully hidden. Not many lived in Kingdom’s Edge, but those who do probably wouldn’t think twice about stealing from an unattended camp. 

Quirrel held open the cloth door for Tiso, saying, “Make yourself comfortable. I’m going to grab my medical kit.” The ant (Tiso can’t be an ant, but he can’t be Void. Can he?) looked around before settling on some cushions that served as chairs. Quirrel went to one part of the tent, moving blankets off a pile and revealing the med kit. He brought it over to Tiso, setting it and himself down beside the… ant. “I’ll start with some disinfectants.” He opened the kit, picking out everything he’d need. He wetted a cloth and moved it towards Tiso wounds.

Tiso grabbed him by the wrist. “I can take care of it myself,” he said with some urgency. Quirrel blinked several times before giving the cloth to Tiso and standing. Odd. He moved over to the small “kitchen,” grabbing two cups to heat water in. Once the water started heating, he brought out his field journal and wrote down what had happened. The Great Hopper attacking, the probably-not-an-ant saving him. The fact he should have brought his nail with him. “There, done,” Tiso said. The water was also done boiling. Quirrel placed a tea bag in each before bringing the cups over. He set one beside Tiso and one beside himself. The definitely-not-an-ant had put up the kit. The dirtied cloth sat beside it, stained black.

The tea bag sat in the water, allowing the leaves to spread their taste. Quirrel held his cup, looking at the hooded warrior. “So what do you do for fun?” Tiso asked, breaking the silence. 

“I read. Mostly scientific articles. Sometimes I’ll read a bit of history,” Quirrel mused, removing the tea bag and setting it on the stained cloth. He would have to throw it out, if that really was what he thought it was. He took a sip of his tea.

Tiso watched him, then did the same, removing the tea bag then taking a sip. “That sounds… fun,” he said after he swallowed the liquid. 

“Mm,” Quirrel nodded. For a moment he let the warm water heat his paws. “So what are you?” He asked, looking at Tiso while taking another drink.

“Wh-what? You can’t… you can’t just ask what someone is!” He said defensively. 

“Maybe not. But I’m an archivist. It’s my job to learn things. And you, my friend, are a thing to learn. As am I,” he countered with in a light tone. “I’ll tell you about myself if you tell me about yourself.”

Tiso sputtered and huffed, taking a long drink from his cup. He shifted in his seat, meeting then breaking eye contact with Quirrel over and over. “Voidsea, fine! I’ll tell you! Just stop looking at me like that!” He barked. Quirrel smirked, sipping from his cup. Tiso grumbled to himself. “Okay so I might not be a regular bug. Or a bug period.”

“So you aren’t an ant?”

“Voidsea, no. I rather die permanently then worship Aine. I’m made of Void, actually,” he explained. 

“Oh,” Quirrel said softly. “So the Pale King made you, correct?”

“No! Why does everyone assume I’m either an ant or that that pale bitch made me?!” He exclaimed. “I made myself, thank you very much.”

“You can’t just make yourself. That isn’t how it works!” Quirrel pointed out.

“For a bug, yeah. But do you know Void? No! You don’t! So I made myself, end of story, now tell me about you,” Tiso snapped. 

“I--” But Quirrel had no other points to argue. He didn’t know Void, plain and simple. He sighed, paw falling to his lap. “Very well. What would you like to know?” He asked.

Tiso tapped his face. “Why are you here without a nail?”

“That… wasn’t what I was expecting. I rarely use my nail. I didn’t really think I’d need it,” he admitted. “Though I suppose I did. Thank you for saving me. I don’t think I’ve said that yet.” He smiled at Tiso. The Voidling shifted, looking away.

“Y-yeah.” There was a moment of silence, the only sound the buzzing of bees. “You’re Monomon’s assistant, right?”

“Yes. She rescued me when I was but a small larva. Without her, I doubt I would be here today,” said Quirrel, remembering the story she had told him. About how she had found him alone and abandoned in Greenpath. 

“She’s your… mother,” Tiso said after some time. “What’s it like having a mother?”

Tiso wouldn’t know what a mother was. Quirrel’s heart hurt for the Voidling. “It’s wonderful,” the pillbug said. “Sometimes she gets after me, but she does because she loves me. She protects me. She’s taught me almost everything I know, and what she didn’t teach, I learned for myself. Sometimes, when I’m not feeling well, she’ll make me jelly foods.” He curled around himself. “I’m going to miss her,” he said, softly.

He shouldn’t have read that letter. If he had just let Monomon read it, if he had, for once, ignored his curiosity, then he could live blissful. Unaware he’d be saying goodbye to his mother. But she would have told him, anyway, he knew. If he could pretend that, for a moment, things would get better and he wouldn’t have to say goodbye to Monomon, he would.

He felt Tiso’s cold paw on his back. When he stiffened, Tiso pulled it away. “Sorry, I just thought that’s what you do. To comfort someone, you know?”

“No, it’s okay,” Quirrel said. Tiso put his paw back on Quirrel’s back. “Thank you.”

--

Quirrel allowed Tiso to stay as long as the Voidling wanted to. Which ended up being as long as Quirrel was around. Currently, the two have been together for three days. One the third day of them looking for primal aspids (with no luck), Quirrel got a letter from Monomon.

She was probably asking him to come back. There really was no point staying out here. An entire week had gone by and he hadn’t seen anything. He sighed, setting the letter aside.

Tiso had gone out to either find a primal aspid or to find some locals, whichever happened first. Quirrel was busy packing things up. He’d leave out only the bare essentials, otherwise everything was getting packed. The letter from Monomon always stayed in the corner of his eye.

Finally he had enough. He couldn’t take it! He had to see what she had written to him about! Maybe it was something important, like the King found an alternative, or the Infection was fading, or she decided to back out on being a Dreamer! Or maybe it really was her just asking him to come home. He wouldn’t mind her asking, but any chance she wouldn’t have to dream…

He opened the letter carefully. This would soon join the small box filled with mementos he was making. He slid the letter out carefully, setting aside the envelope. The letter read: 

My Dearest Quirrel,

I have some very good news to share with you! The Pale King called an impromptu Dreamer Meeting. At first I was worried. I worried something had happened to the Pure Vessel, or that we would have to dream sooner than expected.

Of course, if either of those things happened, I wouldn’t start this letter off saying I have good news, now would I? No, the good news is great news. The King has found six living vessels! There is now a total of seven within the palace. Seven! Can you believe it?

He told us that none of them were hollow, however, not even the Pure Vessel. He also told us we would no longer be Dreamers. He has no alternate plan. 

What he will do next, I am not sure. But he has asked you to come to the White Palace. He wants you to be the vessels teacher. They will need to learn sign so they can communicate, though I am sure you already thought of that. I would help you teach them if I could, but since the King has no plan, I will be dedicating my time to trying to find a cure. Or, at least, some sort of vaccine.

You could stop by my Archives before going to the White Palace, or you could head there directly. Either way, we will see each other soon enough.

With All the Love One Can Give,

Your Mother Monomon

The letter shook in Quirrel’s grasp. Tears slipped from his eyes like raindrops. A gentle pitter patter, dropping onto the letter written in precious spider silk. “Hey Quirrel! You’ll never guess what I found!” Tiso said, barging in through the “door.” The pillbug looked over at the Voidling. “Quirrel? Are you okay?” He asked, coming over to the pillbug’s side.

“I’m fine, Tiso.”

“Then why are you crying?”

“I’m happy , Tiso. Bugs cry when we’re happy.” He handed Tiso the letter. “Look. Monomon isn’t going to be a Dreamer anymore. And-and the vessels! They’re alive!”

Tiso read through the letter. His grasp wasn’t as soft as Quirrel’s, causing the paper to wrinkle. “You… you aren’t going to leave, right?” Tiso asked in a hush voice. At Quirrel’s lack of response, he whispered, “You’re leaving, aren’t you?” He wasn’t crying. Quirrel wasn’t sure Tiso could cry. But his voice shook like he was. 

“I-- The King asked me to tutor the vessels. Scratch that, Monomon asked me to tutor the vessels. We haven’t found a single primal aspid. We haven’t even found a hint of a moth out here. It’s been an entire week since I’ve started looking. And you’ve been here longer than I have. None of us have seen a primal aspid. This--” Quirrel tapped the letter-- “is something only I can do. Some other Archivist could always come out here to investigate. Teaching vessels? I’m honored the King asked for me to teach them.”

Tiso gave Quirrel the letter back, turning towards the door. “Tiso don’t leave. Tiso!” The pillbug chased him to the door, grabbing his arm and spinning him around. “Tiso, you can come with me. I only know so much about Void and you are an expert.” He gave the Voidling a smile. 

Tiso tried to keep a straight face, or a sad face anyway, but it fell into a small grin. “Come on. Don’t you want to see the Palace? I could use your help with the vessels. Wasn’t there something Void beings could do? What was it again?”

Tiso tried to hide his face as he sighed, “Fine, I’ll… I’ll go with you.” His voice held a smile, however. Quirrel beamed, hugging Tiso. “Uh…” the Voidling said, but he didn’t pull away from the pillbug.

Finally, the pillbug released the Voidling. “Let’s finish up packing. What was that thing you found by the way?” He asked, dragging Tiso back into the tent.

“Oh, uh, about us not finding any primal aspids or moths. I might have found a moth. His name’s Markoth. He tried to kill me,” he said sheepishly. 

Quirrel stopped, looking at Tiso fully. “You found a moth? In Kingdom’s Edge? Alive?” So the rumors were true. Or one at least.

Tiso nodded. “Yeah? I mean, he’d have to be alive if he tried to kill me. Do you still want to go to the Palace?”

Quirrel opened and closed his mouth. Finally, he settled on, “Yes, but I’ll have to look into this. Did you find any lost moth villages or anything?”

“No, but he did attack me because, and I quote, ‘No darkness shall take the light of my people.’ So I might be close to something important to them? Or maybe he just doesn’t like us Voidlings,” Tiso offered.

Quirrel turned, tapping a claw to his face. “Perhaps… I’ll send an Archivist.” He turned around again. “Let’s finish packing up. The trip to the Palace will be long.” And boring. But now that you’re coming along, it won’t be. Warmth bloomed in Quirrel’s chest at that thought. The pillbug smiled again.

Chapter Text

Almost a week had passed since Ghost and their siblings had arrived at the Palace. Aspen and Ivory had been very accommodating thus far, allowing their siblings to do a lot of things, though Ivory’s workshop was off limits and running in the conservatory was strictly prohibited. Falcer and Thread were pretty much always sparring with a Great Knight. Typically Isma or Ogrim. Sometimes they’d spar with Xero. 

Quirrel had arrived two days ago. Hornet and Hollow were both super excited to see him. Hornet had ran up to him in greetings. The pillbug pulled her into a hug, which she fought against, obviously. Hollow, on the other claw, had stood still, as though waiting for instruction, though Quirrel had told Hollow they didn’t have to act hollow any more. Their twin hugged the pillbug for a long moment after that.

And Ghost? Ghost had waited for Hornet and Hollow before slamming into Quirrel, holding him close. He wasn’t dead. He wasn’t dead. He’d live, Ghost promised themself. They’d make sure he lived. Then they caught sight of Tiso. The ant (he felt familiar in the way their siblings had) was okay too. That was good!

Ghost looked up from a book they hadn’t been reading, over to Hornet who was trying to untangle a chain necklace. She grumbled to herself, a few curses slipping from her mandibles. Hollow kicked her lightly whenever she did curse, which only made her curse more. Ghost rolled their eyes, focusing on the book again. Grimmchild lay next to them, staring at the pictures before turning a page. He did seem to be reading the words as well, which was nice. They wondered when Grimmchild would be able to speak. 

They could try and teach him sign, though his notable lack of distinct paws made that a bit hard. He seemed to understand some words, however, considering Ghost was able to sign a few things and Grimmchild would respond to it. They rolled over onto their back, looking up at the ceiling of their room. None of their siblings wanted to separate, and Hollow even ended up in the room. Only Hornet still had her own separate one. There was a growing hill of plushies in one corner of the room. Ghost found the little plush mosscreep their favorite. It was so fluffy and soft and perfect to just hold. 

Their attention turned to the little plush mosscreep, which they had named Fern, sitting where Ghost usually slept. Aspen had given many plushies and blankets to their sibs, though this mosscreep had come from Ivory. Hollow had a plush tiktik, also a gift from Ivory. Ghost got up, picking up the little plush mosscreep. So what if Ivory was the one who had given it to them? It was cute and soft, that’s what mattered. (He had been giving them, Lost, and Mothwing space. But he  gave tiny gifts to them, like the plush or a large blanket for Lost and Mothwing. He was trying, Ghost had to admit.) 

“Never have I ever struggled so much with untying a knot until this ,” Hornet hissed, waving the chain around. It was painted silver, a weaver emblem hanging from it. Hollow took it from her claws, looking the knot over before trying to undo it. Grimmchild chirped and Ghost looked over at him. He had the book closed, looking up at Ghost. 

They sat down next to him. He jumped into their lap, snatching the mosscreep from them and curling around it. “How cute,” Hornet mused. She then looked over at what Hollow had been working on, which was writing. “Why do you also have decent handwriting?” She said with a frown. Hollow shrugged, still focused on the knot. They couldn’t get it either, and so handed it back to Hornet.

She looked at the weaver emblem, paw touching the flower that hung from the necklace she wore. She placed the other necklace in a pocket sewn onto her dress. “We could ask someone else to untie it,” she thought out loud. Grimmchild nyehed in agreement. Hornet smiled as said moth poked up from the mosscreep.

“There is something else we should ask. Or rather say,” she said, looking up at Ghost. They tilted their head. “You know what I am talking about, Lord of Shades.” Tell someone? Wasn’t Hornet and Hollow knowing enough? Telling everyone probably wasn’t a good idea. They remembered what Aine had said. No, definitely not a good idea. 

They shook their head no. “Little Ghost, having only me, Hollow, and Grimmchild know is not a good idea. It would be better for us to tell someone then for them to learn theirself.”

‘Then who do we tell?’ They asked. Grimmchild looked up at Ghost now. Then he crawled up their body, resting between their horns. He flopped his head into Ghost’s face. ‘Who wouldn’t react badly?’

Hornet opened her mouth, then paused, as Hollow began to write something down frantically. Their twin knew some sign, and they were learning it quickly, but they still used writing a lot. They held up the paper with one word on it. Father. Him? Ivory? No. There was no way Ghost was telling him. They’d rather fight Absolute Radiance no hit then tell him. 

“Father? Why should we tell him?” Hornet asked. She seemed to also get the idea. 

Why should we tell anyone? Ghost didn’t add. Hornet had her point. Telling at least one other person was probably a good idea. They’d have outside support if the wrong person found out. But still. Ghost wasn’t the Lord of Shades. They were Ghost. Simple as that. 

Hollow wrote down their explanation. ‘Father’s a  Higher Being. Didn’t fight Lord of Shades. Wouldn’t react badly.’ They paused for a moment, adding, ‘Probably.’

Probably. Probably? They didn’t want to risk everything on a probably! But Hollow had a point. Ivory was a Higher Being, and telling one may be a good idea. He was the only one who hadn’t fought the Lord of Shades either. But could Ghost trust him? (They remembered him reaching out, first in the hallway then in the dream. They had struck first. He had defended. He gave Ghost a gift.)

“How about Quirrel?” Hornet suggested. “He can keep a secret.” Hornet probably shouldn’t know that. What secrets has she told him, Ghost wondered. “Plus he’s an Archivist. Monomon’s son no less. If anyone knew about the Lord of Shades, it would be him.”

Hollow wrote down their counterpoint. ‘Quirrel doesn’t know godly power. Father does. Father could help Ghost control powers.’

Yet another point from their twin. Despite the fact Ghost wasn’t the Lord of Shades. “But this is Ivory we’re talking about. He left me when I--” Her voice cut off suddenly. Her paws balled into fists. “Let’s just go with Quirrel first. This is Ghost we are talking about and I highly doubt they would want to go with Ivory.”

Hollow sighed, then put down the quill, freeing their paws. They signed, ‘Fine,’ before they looked over at Ghost. 

Hornet stood. “I will go find Quirrel. Once I do, I’ll bring him back here to explain. You better be here when I get back,” she said, pointing a claw at Ghost. They nodded innocently. Hornet left the room, leaving Ghost and Hollow alone. And Grimmchild, of course. Hollow reached over for the book Grimmchild had been reading.

“Father still would be good to go with,” they told them, looking at the book. 

“I am not going with Ivory.”

Hollow looked at them. “Please Ghost. He’s our father. I know he left you, but I did too. Give him a chance. Ask him about when he first came to Hallownest.”

Ghost rubbed a bit of the plush mosscreep’s fur in their claws, looking at the fluffy ball. He left. He left. But he was trying. He… Ghost sighed, standing up. Grimmchild jumped off Ghost’s head, flapping around. ‘Stay here,’ they signed to the moth. Grimmchild continued to hover, but didn’t follow Ghost as they left. He did, however, let out a sad nyeh.

--

Ivory was not in a meeting, nor was he with their siblings (who were enjoying a nice nap.) The only place Ghost could imagine he was in was his workshop. It was off limits unless he brought them, but since when did Ghost listen to the rules? 

The actual palace was different from the one in the dream. It lacked the buzz saws (thankfully) and spikes. There were hallways they hadn’t walked down, rooms that hadn’t existed before. But the path to the workshop was easy to follow. There was Void in that room, Void staining the path. They just had to look for it. (Didn’t they wonder how they got that ability? No, shut up.)

They padded down the tile floor, weaving past palace servants. Why were they doing this? Was this even a good idea? 

What other option did they have?

They followed the almost mute echo of the Void-stained room. They rounded the corner to the workshop. Outside it was Grimm, debating whether to knock or not, paw hovering beside the door. The moth sensed Ghost’s arrival and looked over at them. “Little Star,” he greeted with. “Sleep well?”

No, but they wouldn’t say that. Their latest dream still hovered in their mind, foggy as it was. Hollow and Ghost, fighting in Godhome. But as the fight went on, Hollow began to leak orange and the arena brightened until the two were fighting before Godseeker and the Radiance. Hollow’s nail struck between their eyes, shattering their skull, and the world was black for only a moment before they opened their eyes to the sleeping forms of their sibs, Grimmchild shaking them awake.

Grimm didn’t need to know.

‘Yes,’ they lied, which was perhaps the worse lie they had ever said in their life, considering this was the Nightmare King. He nodded slowly, with a look saying he didn’t quite believe them. But, thankfully, he didn’t press. (How many dreams of theirs had he seen? The ones of Hallownest in ruin? The ones were they fought against Hollow? Godhome? The rare good ones?)

(Did he know?)

Grimm looked over at the door again. “You’re here to see King Ivory, aren’t you?” He looked back at Ghost. “I’ll let you talk to him.” He knocked on the door then disappeared in a puff of red. They heard a clatter and a swear before footsteps approached. The door slid open.

Ivory stood at the threshold, looking down at Ghost, then around the hallway. “Is there something you need, child?” He asked. His voice was strained and there was a large patch of ink staining his robes. “Did my Root send you? Or perhaps Quirrel?”

‘I need to talk to you. Inside. Privately.’

Ivory looked around again, then to Ghost. “... very well,” he said, allowing Ghost to step in. The room was a mess. There was a pool of ink on the table dripping onto the floor (Ghost could tell it wasn’t Void just by sensing) paper littered the ground, stone slabs piled high. Well, here’s one reason he’s been avoiding us, Ghost thought. Ivory cleared off a seperate chair, giving it to Ghost before he sat on his own. “What is it you wish to talk about?” He held his claws firmly, twirling the thumbs around and around.

How would one phrase this? Especially to a Higher Being? Maybe they should have thought this through more. ‘You have to promise to keep this a secret. No one else can know. Not Aspen, not Herrah, not even my siblings. No one.’

Ivory nodded. His eyes stayed pinned to Ghost. “Of course, my child. If that is what you wish, I shall respect that.” His tone moved from tense to smiling slightly. “I am glad you have chosen to tell me.”

Ghost ignored his words, debating on what to say next. Should they ask about coming to Hallownest first? Should they tell him about time travelling? Should they just confess now? ‘I... came from the future to stop it from happening,’ they started with. It was probably best to start at the beginning. Ivory stayed silent even as they looked up at him, though his eyes did shine with worry. ‘I want to keep my siblings alive. I want to prevent Hollow getting sealed.’ 

“One of those you have already achieved,” Ivory assured. “And I will do everything in my power to help you achieve the other.” 

Now came the hard part. Ask about Ivory coming to Hallownest, or say who they were? They took a deep breath, trying to steady their paws. ‘I--’ their paws still shook. This was a bad idea. They should have listened to Hornet. (Something there that shouldn’t be. Too-warm bodies poking and prodding. Burning light tearing them apart. Can’t move, can’t think, can’t remember. It’s too silent and too loud.) ‘I’m-’ their paws shook so much. They could barely move them too. Like they were made of stone. One wrong move and they’d collapse into a million dusty pieces. (A pale light. Go it whispered to them. Freedom at the top. Climb, climb.)

Ivory clasped his paws around theirs, warming the stone that encased them. They looked up at him, eyes shining as they tried to steadied their breathing. (Not alone. Not alone. Others somewhere. Siblings? Followers?) “I know,” he said softly before bringing Ghost into a hug. “I know.” His arms wrapped around them. Slowly they stopped shivering, leaning into his touch. 

He knew? He knew ? How long had he known for? Has he already told everyone? Their eyes snapped open fully as they squirmed in his grasp, jumping away from him and backing up. ‘How long?’ They managed to ask, already starting to shiver again.

Ivory looked at them forlornly. “For almost a week. The day of the meeting it clicked, though I suppose I’ve had my suspicions before then. I do not think Aspen knows or even figures. Grimm… I am not sure, though I doubt he would have let you take Grimmchild if he knew.” He kept his voice carefully soft, letting nothing come out except a calm soothing feeling. A pleasant warmth not unlike the warmth of their siblings. “I am glad you came to me. I have been debating on whether to bring it up with you or not.” He reached again. Ghost flinched away, though part ached to feel Ivory’s touch again. To feel that safety. (His light had been so harsh before, and yet now it was so warm.)

“I wish to help you, Ghost. You are my child, no matter what. Let me tell you about when I came to Hallownest.” Ghost crept closer as Ivory moved to sit on the floor. They stayed out of his range, ready to run at a moment’s notice. “This story takes place a little after I first took this form.

“Wyrms live their life in total darkness. We lack eyes, you see, relying more on our hearing or touch. We burrow through dirt, entirely blind to what the word light even means . When I first took this form, I was amazed by what I could see. About what I previously looked like. I was amazed by the concept of light, let alone the fact I produced it. The last thought on my mind was how it could hurt others.

“I was excited to finally be able to speak with the bugs I had sensed during my time as a Wyrm. What did they look like? Did they have eyes? I found myself wandering Kingdom’s Edge when I strayed upon a village of moths. Moths, despite being incredibly peaceful, do have some warriors. At first, my light increased from my excitement, but it was when the warriors attacked did my light become truly harmful.”

He was silent, seeing something Ghost could not see. They crept a bit closer. He didn’t react. Then, he continued, though his voice had grown softer, “My light… it lashed out as I defended myself. I was young. I hadn’t known this power yet. I… I blinded many. Permanently wounded more. I took from them their sight, their flight. And some their lives.” He was silent again, blinking rapidly as he fell further into his thoughts. “I fled like a coward.” His voice barely a whisper. “I did not try and help those I wounded. I refused to speak to the moths, afraid of what they would say. I let it get worse by doing nothing . And now you, and all of Hallownest, has to pay the price for my regrets.” He looked to Ghost now with sadness. Silver tears held within the corners of his eyes.

He reached for Ghost again and they let him hold them. “Please do not make the mistakes I have, my child. Let me help you. I know you are of Void, but I still have my experience. That must mean something.” He held them close gently. If he wasn’t gentle, his child would shatter into a million pieces. 

They didn’t really have much of another option. Do they risk losing control of themself and hurting their siblings? (They wouldn’t do that, right? But they had seen Ivory, they had almost hurt him. What if they accidentally hurt their siblings? Their friends?) 

They moved in his paws just enough for him to see them sign. ‘I don’t want to hurt my siblings. So please.’ Maybe this won’t be bad , they thought to themself as Ivory held them again, listening to the strum of his heart.

Chapter Text

Grimm couldn’t help but chuckle lightly as Thread wiggled out of Aspen’s grasp. They landed lightly, skittering away from the queen. Pretty much all the children were running around wild, including Grimmchild. Hollow and Ghost were both desperately trying to get their siblings to bed, with no success. Ivory was also trying to calm the raging storm of wide-awake children. Both him and his wife were failing miserably.

    He thought back to when Grimmchild stayed with him. At times the little moth didn’t want to sleep, so he found ways to lull him to sleep. Brumm would often sing Grimmchild to sleep, though that required an already sleepy child. Something none of these children looked to be. (And he was no singer, also. That belonged to Brumm.)

    Of course, he could always fall back on his performances. He clapped his paws together, clearing his throat and gaining some attention. “How about I tell you children a story?” Despite the fact the spots in each mask were eye holes , he could tell the vessels’ eyes were wide. He smiled inwardly as the vessel gathered around him. 

“Since we are the mother, shouldn’t we tell the story?” Aspen asked, though her tone was far from hostile. It was more mischievous than anything. Still Ivory shifted as though she had offended Grimm.

“Let the children decide. All who wish to hear my tale, raise your paw.” Almost everyone raised their paw, asides from Hollow. Ghost grabbed their wrist and moved it upwards themself. Grimm stifled a laugh, making a chuckle instead. “And all who wish to hear Aspen’s raise yours.” Hollow raised their paw this time, though theirs was the only one. Grimm looked over at Aspen smugly. 

“You better not give them nightmares, king of scarlet flame,” she warned as she settled down beside her children. Thread and Falcer immediately latched onto her, leaning against her. Mimic, however, was at the forefront of the group, leaning towards Grimm. He was certain the child’s eyes were wide and shining in anticipation. Ivory settled down beside Grimm and Hollow moved to sit beside him. Ghost was by far the closest to the moth.

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” he teased.

Aspen opened her mouth for a retort, but Ivory cut her off with a soft, “Oh!” Grimm looked over at the wyrm. Mothwing had crawled onto Ivory’s lap and was curled up in a little ball. His paws hovered above before he placed one on Mothwing’s back. The vessel let out a soft trill, snuggling closer. Grimm’s heart melted a little. Lost looking very torn also didn’t help.

    “Our tale begins in the sky, far from Hallownest, both in distance and time,” he began, making a small puff of smoke the formed into moths before disappearing. 

    “ The moth tribe is incredibly old. Far older than Hallownest. Older than even me. And they wandered for a very long time. The stars were their guide, shedding light on their path and protecting them from what lurked in the dark.

    “The darkness was, indeed, dangerous. It sheltered bug-eating beasts who would eat any moth who stray too far from their fellow moths or the light. And when the stars could not shed light on their path, the beasts attacked full force.

    “They would from packs, tearing away moths from their loved ones, into the shadows where the light could not protect them. The moths prayed to the stars above for something to protect them when the stars could not. For something to shed light on even the darkest corners. For something to tame the wild shadows so that they may no longer fear the dark.

    “And from the dreams of the hopeless moths came two moths. Brother and sister. Flame and sunbeams. They crossed over into the Waking Realm during a time of no light.

    “The sunbeams shed a light far greater than what the stars ever made. The shadows retreated, though the beasts did not leave. And so the flames chased them, far far away, until they fled into the skies, never to be seen again. 

    “The moths wished for the sibling saviours to stay, to guide them and protect them, incase the shadows ever tried to eat them again. They agreed, taking names. Aine of Sun and Grimm of Flames. Aine shined her light on the moths, even in their dreams. And I taught them how to make their own flames, and within their dreams I chased away nightmares, taking them and trapping them within the Nightmare Heart.

    “For a very long time did my sibling and I guide the moths. And then we found Hallownest, though it wasn’t called that then. We settled the Crown, we settled the edge. Together we continued to guide the moths, our realms united.” Grimm stopped, thinking of his sister. It was for the best, their realms being separate. It was for the best.

    Ghost looked over at Mimic, then moved their hands up to sign. ‘Mimic wants to know what happened to Aine and why you aren’t with her.’

    Ah. They wouldn’t know. After all, it had been a very long time since his sister used her name and he doubted Ivory had told them about her. He looked over at Ivory for permission. The wyrm shook his head no and he frowned. “Aine… retired to the Dream Realm entirely,” he spoke. Not a full out lie, but it was enough. They could learn when they were older, though the look Ghost and Hollow shared suggested those two already knew. (He didn’t add why he split from his sister, creating his own realm. That memory was still far too fresh in his mind.)

    Only Mimic, Ghost, Hollow, and Hornet seemed awake now. Everyone else looked to have fallen asleep. Aspen gently set Falcer and Thread down, bundling them up in blankets before placing a gentle kiss on each child’s forehead. Ivory stayed still, Mothwing still fast asleep on his lap. Lost’s head rested on his lap as well. Aspen gently scooped them up, placing them beside the triplets. She then picked Mothwing up, who let out a small cry, before setting them beside Lost. They snuggled up close to them. 

    Ivory stood then. “The rest of you should get some sleep, and we should as well,” he added, looking at Aspen then at Grimm. Ghost set Grimmchild down gently before curling up around him. They were a good sibling to his child. Hornet padded out the door, waiting just outside it. Grimm followed her out, and soon Ivory and Aspen joined them, closing the door gently behind them. 

    “We will walk you to bed,” Aspen spoke, offering Hornet a paw. But the spiderling didn’t take it, looking at Grimm. She stared for a moment, mandibles twitching, before she turned and padded towards her bedroom. “Ah, shall we go with her?”

    “I can handle Grimm alone,” Ivory reassured. Grimm stumbled over his words and huffed. 

“Good luck, my Wyrm,” She said softly, holding Ivory close and giving him a kiss before she followed Hornet to her room. Ivory watched them go with a melancholic smile. Then he looked to the Nightmare King. 

    He shocked himself, realizing he didn’t want Ivory to meet with Aine tonight. He didn’t want him to meet with her for a long time. So the words spilled from his mouth. “We don’t have to do this tonight. We can do it tomorrow or next week--”

    “No.” The Pale King held up a Void-stained paw. (How did he get Void on him? Was it from his experiments? Or was it a scar, a constant reminder of what he had done?) “We do it tonight. Tonight is our only chance.” His voice was solemn and he didn’t add why, but Grimm had a feeling as to why.  

    He bowed his head, saying, “Very well, King Ivory. If you insist, then tonight. We can bring Aspen along.”

    “No,” he said, shaking his head. “Let Aspen rest dreamless. This isn’t her fault, not her fight.” He took a deep breath. “To my office.”

    “There? You rather sleep there then a bed? It’s going to be pretty uncomfortable,” Grimm said. 

    “Office.”

    “Alright, King Ivory.” 

    Ivory’s jaw was tense as they walked, though he had seem overall less tense since the meeting with Sunseeker. Grimm could only hope his sister would not add to it any more than she already had. And as the two walked, he couldn’t help but think about three children so often plagued by nightmares. 

    Hornet’s filled with a ruined Hallownest haunted by the ghosts of those she loved. Her mother sleeping still, never to wake. She was too small to defend herself, too small to defend Hallownest, too young and too old all at the same time. Often times he’d appear in her dreams and she’d try to kill him. He’d quickly wrap her dreaming mind in the scarlet flames, leaving nothing but a vauge feeling of warmth when she would awake.

    As for Hollow and Ghost, vessels were always hard to read, no matter what. Barely able to express emotions, having no voice, not to mention that, even when one looked, it was hard to see their light, or lack of it. It was no surprise to Grimm that he struggled to see the dreams of any of the vessels. Still, he knew those two often dreamt nightmares. 

    The few times he could read Hollow’s nightmares, he always tried to take the child out of the nightmare. Said nightmare was always the same, with only some variation. The Abyss, leaving behind Ghost. And then the Black Egg Temple, hanging suspended in chains before being broke free only to be forced to fight their sibling. The poor child, often times he was not fast enough and Hollow would wake. 

    And Ghost. Their dreams were the hardest to read, almost always clouded by Void. Still, rarely he could catch glimpses, and rarer still could he witness them. The dreams would be different, yet always shared similar elements. Being forced to fight against friends or family, failing in one way or another. 

    Then there was that one nightmare. 

    Ghost against his sister at her peak. They were outmatched. Far out of their range. And yet they still fought her. They fought until one of her nails struck true, piercing their chest, splattering Void. He tried to take them then, if only to take away the ache in Ghost’s chest when they would awake. But their body melted away, their mask clattering to the floor. The sky darkened, there was an all too familiar roar, eight eyes turned at him and he got the distinct feeling of not being welcomed. Then he was yanked from the dream.

    It meant something . How would a vessel, one of Ivory and Aspen’s children, know about that thing? And how had it noticed him, if it really was just built from dreams? Unless it wasn’t. Unless Ghost was somehow connected to it. Did Ivory know? Did Apsen or Aine? He couldn’t say a thing as Ivory brough him into the dream. 

--*--

    Aine gazed out over pale golden clouds, rolling against one another lazily. She hovered just a few inches from a large balcony, a section of a palace long since fallen to ruins. The one in the Waking Realm may be lost, but she would rebuild it within the Dream Realm.

    Or, she could, if she had the power.

    Which she didn’t.

    But she was slowly getting it back from the wandering moths. How far had they travelled? What had they seen? And what really called them home? Her desperate cries or the reawakening of the Lord of Shades?

    Her feathers puffed up at that thought. That idiotic, theiving, blind worm just had to go messing with Void! He just had to use it to fight against her! He didn’t deserve those children. He didn’t see them as alive. Nothing more than pawns for him to thoughtlessly discard once their use was gone.

    That Little Lost Star didn’t deserve to suffer under his roof. If they just accepted her warmth… 

    (She felt as though they had met before. But that couldn’t be possible, could it?)

    (Freezing, absolute coldness wrapping around her, pinning her, crushing her wings and siphaning the warmth from her. Serrated claws tearing into her form, spilling Esscense everywhere.)

    She supposed they were doing… okay under his roof. He ignored them. Of course he ignored them. But they had a pillbug named Quirrel for a friend. And that Voidling Tiso, who Xero seemed to like, for whatever reason. What that moth saw in Tiso, she would never see. (Not because she literally couldn’t read Voidlings. Nope, not at all.) 

    The thought of that moth brought a bit of pain in her heart, and she could faintly hear Unn’s laughter. How was Unn doing? If only she could walk in the Waking Realm again. It would be nice to visit the slug god. If even for a moment. Even if they had no words. It would be nice. 

    There was a puff of red smoke and her brother was beside her, leaning on the balcony railing. “The palace?” He mused. A few platforms materialized, allowing a small garden to bloom across them. Greenery covered them. Greenery native to Greenpath. Grimm looked up to her. “King Ivory is waiting for you.” He wavered, unsure about what to say next, then he was gone, leaving behind a faint whiff of woodsmoke.

    She huffed, disappearing and then reappearing in front of the two kings in a flash of golden light. “The Radiance. A, uh, pleasure to meet with you,” the Pale Usurper offered. He was seated around a table carved from darkened wood. Grimm took up a seat between the two. Aine opted to continue to hover. She was not sacrificing this form for even a second just to humor that worm.

    “A pleasure ,” she hissed, venom dripping from her words. “A pleasure indeed.” It would be, if she could launch a couple hundred nails into his stupid face. Maybe burn him with a laser. See how he liked it, blinded and burned and flightless. 

    The Pale Usurper shifted in his seat. “I requested this meeting to talk about the, uh, Infection.” Of course. Of course. Only now, when it was really starting to threaten him, did he want to talk about that. And only that. Nothing else. No. 

    Her eyes narrowed, light increasing. The Pale Usurper’s light increased to match. She scoffed. “And what would you like to know, worm? How to defeat it? How to defeat us ?”

    “I’d like to know how to end it.”

    She barked a laugh. “We’re also here to talk about the moths and the, ahem, you-know-what,” Grimm added, shifting in his seat. He almost seemed… distracted by something. 

    “You could have started with that,” she muttered, though her light did decrease. “So, you wish to talk about the thing you unleashed?” She asked, watching the worm carefully under her eye. He want to end the Infection now, since he had unleashed that monster. What more could she expect from a worm?

    “I-I didn’t unleash them! They ca--they woke on their own!” 

    “Really? Then, pray tell, how that beast managed to do that .”

    “Do you think I understand the Lord of Shades? No! I understand them as much as you do.”

    “Don’t say the name!” She hissed. Even Grimm stiffened, glancing at both of them. 

    “Excuse me?” The worm asked.

    “Saying names draws attention,” Grimm muttered, which that so-called king should know. “So saying it’s name would draw it’s attention.”

    “They’re already awake.”

    “And we would rather not fight with it when we are at our lowest in power. No thanks to you,” she added with a glare.

    “If you hadn’t attacked that village, you wouldn’t be stuck here.”

    “And were we to stand by and let you kill our moths?!”

    “I NEVER MEANT TO HURT THEM!” He roared, standing. His wings flared. His light did as well, reaching intense and blinding levels.

    “STAGSHIT!” She screeched, summoning a ring of nails before firing them at the Pale Usurper. He teleported above them, summoning his own ring of nails. They surged towards her and she deflected by creating a wall of light, vaporizing them. “I am not as weak here, for this is my Realm, or have you forgotten that worm?” 

    “I have not, Moth God,” he responded with. “But I have defeated you once before.” More nails were summoned around him, much more than she ever would. An entire wall, enough to create a storm of them. Her eyes narrowed as she looked at him. Bring it.

    They were launched forward. She made her own wall, clashing with the nails. She teleported past the rest, though a few did manage to graze her side. She focused, creating a beam of light, targeted at that blasted worm. He twirled in the air as he dodged, throwing four chakrams that homed in on her. She blasted each one away, ready to rain down nails on her opponent when a wall of scarlet flame erupted between them.

    “ENOUGH!” Grimm yelled, his scratchy voice straining. Both parties attentioned snapped to him, able to see him through the flame which bended  around him. “You both fucked up. But right now, we have something incredibly important and incredibly dangerous to worry about. Who’s to blame doesn’t matter.” He leveled his gaze with both Aine and the Pale Usurper. The flames danced in his narrowed eyes. “What does is how we deal with this.”

    Aine looked to the worm again. She’d argue who’s fault it was was important, but that would only cause more fighting. And frankly, even that little outburst had been tiring. She huffed, floating down to the table. The flames subsided, though the red light still illuminated the two, dancing across the worm’s face.

    The Pale Usurper folded his paws. (Stained with Void. She hoped it burned.) He took a moment to settle his breathing, reeling in his light. She did as well, though she let it simmer. “Worm,” she spoke, and at the same time he said, “Moth.” He extended a paw, motioning for her to speak.

    “Grimm is… correct. The return of that Void beast is important. But so too are our moths. We will not be able to fight well without the aid of their worship.” Just having her moths be able to worship her if they so chose would be enough for her. She told herself anyway. It would be nice if they worshipped only her, but she would have to settle. (Being able to feel the wind, see the stars again. She could make these things in the Dream Realm, but it would never compare to the real thing. And she would never be able to experience it if she had no worshippers, no power.)

    (She wouldn’t be able to visit Unn or hold that poor Lost Star close to tell them they deserved better than that worm and root as parents.)

    The Pale Usurper thought this over, wings twitching slightly. “I… would allow the moths to openly worship you if you agree to cease your Infection. Release all bugs currently infected and let those who have died rest.” A part of her told her the return of the Lord of Shades wasn’t the only reason he was agreeing to this. She could see it through Xero’s eyes, albeit faintly. He held his precious Pure Vessel the way a parent would hold their child. (She could remember a memory that wasn’t hers. A moment forever frozen in time. The Pale King and the Pure Vessel, standing on a balcony, overlooking the vast root system of the White Lady. A glance, nothing more, but saying so much.)

    “Very well, worm. We will bring our Infection to an end when the first moth openly praises us.”

    He looked like he wanted to argue, but he relented. “Perhaps you should just end the Infection now. Sunseeker openly worships you. So does the rest of her wandering tribe,” Grimm pointed out. That was true. She already had some power return, though not enough to make major changes in the Dream Realm, nor to form a new Waking Realm body. 

    She sighed inwardly. “Our brother makes a point.” She thought about the Little Lost Star. She thought about the Ill-Fated Child. If she ended her Infection, the poor Ill-Fated Child would no longer be ill-fated. And Little Lost Star may not fear her as much. (The thought a child feared her hurt so much.) “We… shall bring our Infection to an end.” She hoped she wasn’t making a mistake, letting this worm’s actions go unpunished. But, for the sake of Hallownest, she had to, didn’t she? If she didn’t, the Lord of Shades would only grow in power until it attacked again, and she wouldn't be able to fight back.

    “Thank you,” she heard the Pale Usurper utter quietly in a shaking breath.

    “It’s been… nice seeing you again, Radiance. But both King Ivory and I should be waking soon. Busy day,” Grimm said. She watched the two leave, knowing it was anything but nice for Grimm to see her. (She shouldn’t have done what she did, but the past was the past and it couldn’t be changed.)

    She sighed, teleporting away from the meeting room, back to the balcony. The dream version of Greenpath stretched on and on. She could see the lanky form of Unn slumbering even here. I’m sorry Unn. I’m sorry I can’t be there for you. But once she grew in power, which would be (hopefully, hopefully ) soon, she’d see Unn again. She’d see Seer again. She’d walk among her people once again. Soon. 

Chapter Text

To say Ghost was not looking forward to this would be an understatement. Part of them wondered what would happen if they just ran away. But of course they wouldn’t. Their siblings still needed them. Still, they weren’t sure why they had gone to Ivory. And they still didn’t know why they accepted his help. Just once at least. For your sibs. At least Hollow walked with them and Grimmchild rested between their horns.

Hollow radiated warmth, holding their paw firmly but not painfully. Why were they doing this? Why had they agreed to this? The light darkened, swallowed by the Void that stained his workshop. Hollow stopped in front of the closed door, looking at their twin. They couldn’t do this. They couldn’t do this. Their paw slipped from Hollow’s grasp, claws wrapped around their horns. No, no they can’t. They can’t .

Hollow touched their shoulder gently. Ghost looked at them before being pulled into a hug. “We don’t have to do this today. Or tomorrow. Just whenever you’re ready,” they said softly, patting Ghost on the back. Ghost shook. They can’t do this. Telling him was one thing. A stupid, one time thing. They weren’t just going to talk to him. What would he even know?

But he already knew, a part of their mind whispered. He’s known for some time. All it took was you telling him . Hollow let go of Ghost. Grimmchild was squeaking, flapping his wings, trying to get Ghost’s attention. They wrapped their arms around them. The air was cold. It was soothing. They hated it. 

(Orange pus leaking from a broken mask. Large orange boils pressing against hardened Void, twisting around the stump of a long lost arm. Hanging there, wrapped in chains bound by soul. They couldn’t do this, they couldn’t do this. All there was was the stink of Infection and the reek of guilt. They fell to their knees. They were just as hollow as the sibling hanging above them. They couldn’t fight them. They couldn’t they couldn’t. They killed the Dreamers, and for what? They had to, because they already took the Dreamers from this world. But their body wouldn’t move. Another way, another way. There had to be another way! Please!)

(They were running now, fleeing the Black Egg that entombed their sibling. Voidheart hummed. They didn’t know where they were going, just that they were heading down. To Unn? To the Resting Grounds? To the Abyss itself? They ran through the City of Tears, water soaking them. They stumbled, claws slipping on the wet stone. Keep running, keep running. As far from the Black Egg they could get.)

(They dropped down into the waterways, twisting around flukes and pilfilps. Grimmchild nyehed from behind. They twisted, grabbed him, and held him close. Further they went. Further from the surface. Further from their twin. They could still feel them, hanging limp and forgotten. They couldn’t kill their sibling. They couldn’t even kill the flukes that chased them. Hemolymph of innocent bugs tainted orange was thick on their paws. They fell further down. Crawling over the walls, into the junk pit. Grimmchild tugged at their cloak, trying to drag them away. They plunged into the water, towards Godseeker.)

(Dreamnail raised, heart pounding, they swung.)

“GHOST!” The word ripped across the Void, causing Ghost to flinch. They were moving. Shaken. Someone was shaking them. Hollow? Hollow was shaking them. And something red and black flew around them. Grimmchild . The world was still a bit fuzzy, a bit dark and cloudy around the edges.

Their arms hurt. Why did their arms hurt? They looked down, feeling strangely disconnected from reality. Their claws were digging into their carapace. A little bit of Void dribbled down their arm. They looked at their claws closer. Serrated . Like the dream. Like when they first looked at Ivory. 

“Ghost can you hear me?” Hollow was talking. Had been talking. They looked at their twin, head feeling fuzzy, and nodded. Of course they could hear their twin. (Hollow’s voice was muffled against the crashing of a sea. Of the Voidsea. They could feel it, far below them, crashing slamming against the shore.) “Let’s go back. Ogrim’s going to play a game with us.” Hollow placed a paw on Ghost’s back as Grimmchild stopped flapping madly, hovering beside the two vessels.

(Run. Run. Flee. Tapping of claws, pounding of heart. Sea of voices swirling in their mind. Away from the light. Away. Can’t can’t can’t.)

Ghost keened, freezing up. They had to do this. Their claws, still razor sharp, still serrated, still digging into their chitin, proved as much. What if they accidentally hurt someone? This was their only option. (They could try and learn by themself, but do they dare risk everyone else?) They looked back at the door. It would be so easy to just leave. To never do this. To always say they weren’t ready. 

Their paws tapped on the door before they could think. Just once. Just once. Do it and get it over with. “Ghost? Are you sure?” Hollow asked from behind.

They looked to their twin, to the Grimmchild still hovering. “Yes.” Get it over with. Just once. Just… breathe. They focused on their breaths as the door slid open.

“Ah, my children. Are you ready, Ghost?” They looked at him. Bits of Void still floated off their form, their paws balled into fists. They nodded. “Would you like Hollow or Grimmchild to accompany you?” Why was he being so nice? Every gift he gave, every small sign of care. They shook their head no. If they lost control… Hollow shouldn’t see that. “Very well. Hollow, Grimmchild, please wait outside.” He offered a Void-stained paw for Ghost to take. They placed it within his own reluctantly and the two went into the workshop.

It was still a mess, but that pool of ink had been cleaned up. Ivory offered Ghost a comfy looking seat, which they took. They looked at whatever he had been working on. “Ah, interested?” He asked, following their gaze. Paper and engraved stone, old and crumbling with the passage of time. They looked at him. “Truth be told, I had hoped I would have more time to research. I do not know much about the Abyss, and my knowledge on the Lord of Shades is even less.” His wings twitched. Ghost said nothing.

He set some of the papers and stone tablets aside, before turning around to face Ghost. Why didn’t he ask Aspen or Grimm? So they signed that. Ivory sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “I do not want to force them to relive painful memories.” If Ghost could snort, they would. Instead, they made a sharp chirping noise. Ivory eyed them before continuing. “If they wish to share it with me, they can. Back to what I’ve managed to gather. The Ancient Civilization worshiped the Abyss. They wrote down some things, but most, I fear, was passed down word-of-mouth. Still, I have managed to find something about the Lord of Shades.” His wings lifted up as he grabbed a few, newer looking papers. His notes, probably. 

Whatever he found, Ghost found themself not wanting to know. “They rarely mention them. Most mentions seemed scratched out for whatever reason.” He paused, looking over his notes. “Hmph. Well, time in the Abyss is separate from time elsewhere.” Wow. Who would have thought? Definitely not Ghost. He looked up at them. “You already knew that, didn’t you?” He set the papers aside with a sigh. “Like I said, I have next to nothing. But I still wish to help you.” He folded his paws, resting in front of him as he leaned on the table.

Help? Help how? If he had no idea what their abilities were, how could he help? They looked at him skeptically. ‘How can you?’ 

He stepped towards Ghost. “The abilities of a Higher Being responds to their emotional state. Positive emotions like joy or pride aren’t as intense as negative emotions when it comes to abilities. Negative emotions like fear or hatred or pain causes one’s powers to lash out, for lack of a better word. While none of us are for certain, I believe it is a defense mechanism.” Attacking others and harming them is a defense mechanism ? Ghost narrowed their eyes. 

‘That’s no excuse,’ they signed. 

“I never said it was,” Ivory responded with, only having a hint of guilt. He pulled a chair over to sit across from Ghost. “While positive emotions are less likely to cause your powers to lash out, they can, though it tends to be far less harmful then negatives. I’m not saying you should ignore your emotions. Ignoring them can cause even more damage.” He paused, and Ghost thought about Hollow. Don’t ignore your emotions, unless you’re his Pure Vessel. But Hollow can express emotion now. But he still tried to take them. 

He cleared his throat and continued. “Sometimes they can be overwhelming. Taking a moment to breath can help for a short period of time. Letting them out in some way that brings you joy or allows you to express them can help long term. For me, it is working with my paws. That’s why I have this workshop.” He motioned to the multitudes of parts, pieces of scrap, and half finished projects. “What’s something you like to do?”

They paused. What did they like to do? Fighting? (The idea of fighting again, why did it make them sick?) They… they couldn’t think of anything. Everything they had ever done was something that brought them closer to an ultimate goal, to the end. Did they find joy in mapping out old and abandoned tunnels? Sometimes. But that still served a purpose. (There was that time they painted with Sheo, but he had invited them. After that little session, Ghost’s map was decorated with little drawing.) ‘I… don’t know.’

Ivory tapped a claw on his chin, thinking. “Well, we should find something. I’ll ask Quirrel to spend a day on different hobbies for all of you. How is Quirrel and his teaching going, anyway? The childrens’ knowledge on sign is coming along well.”

A change of subject. Thank the Voidsea. ‘It’s nice to have Quirrel around.’ Tiso was surprisingly good at teaching as well. He felt familiar. Well, obviously he did. Ghost had seen his corpse. They stopped thinking about that immediately. 

“That’s good to hear. I’ve heard Falcer wishes to learn how to fight? We should ask your siblings, shouldn’t we?” Ghost would rather have their siblings not learn, but Hallownest was dangerous, even now. They should know how to defend themselves. So Ghost nodded yes and Ivory smiled. 

A moment of silence. All it took was that, and his smile fell. He took a deep breath in, then let it out, tilting his head downwards. “You… are not exactly excited to be here. And I doubt you expected a therapy session.” He looked at Ghost, tilting his head to do so. “If you wish, you could talk about your… emotions and… trauma with someone else. I know several people who may be good, though I recommend Unn the most. It is entirely up to you. They do not have to know about the… Lord of Shades… thing.” He moved his paws about as he spoke. Then, they fell, as did his voice. “You wanted to learn to control your powers. I’ll do some more research, find out what abilities the previous Lord of Shades demonstrated. And you can talk to someone else about your pain. If you wish.” 

His eyes shimmered in the pale light. Talk to who? Who else would be of help? They didn’t want to burden Quirrel (and despite how kind he was, they doubted he’d be much of a help. Remembering his nail driven into the rock, his last words to them. No, he wouldn’t be able to help.) So who else? Unn? The slug god he recommended? What about Jiji? She was alright, though they suspected they wouldn’t get much from a therapy session with her. (That talk about her masters…) ‘I’d like to talk to Unn,’ they signed. No negative experiences with her. Next to no experiences at all, really. Just her giving them a charm. She’d be alright. 

“Very well. I’ll send you to visit her as soon as I can. And maybe you two can speak in the Dream Realm, so you do not have to travel so far, though meeting face to face first would be good,” Ivory thought aloud. Ghost chirped to gain his attention.

‘I’d like that.’

Ivory smiled again, small yet warm. “Very well. That concludes today. Have fun with your siblings.” Ghost lumped down from the chair, padding towards the door, when red smoke engulfed them. They coughed, waving their paws about.

“Oh! Sorry little one,” Grimm said, twirling around Ghost before facing Ivory again. 

“Grimm,” Ivory strained. “What have I said about my workshop?”

“Knock before entering?” 

“Yes. Did you knock? No, you didn’t.”

“Do you want me to knock?”

“No, you’re already here now,” he sighed, placing one paw to his temple. “Have a good day, Ghost.” Ghost watched the two for a moment, before heading out the door. They were lucky Grimm hadn’t come any sooner. That wasn’t something they wanted to deal with.

--*--

Ivory groaned inwardly after the door closed with a small click. “What do you want, Nightmare King?”

“Oh, formal, are we?” Grimm teased with a smile, revealing needle sharp teeth. “While there is plenty I want, this urgent message isn’t from me.” He strode over to Ivory, leaning over him to look at the few papers and tablets not yet moved. “What are you reading?”

“Nothing that concerns you!” Ivory said, pushing Grimm away. “And what is the urgent message?” His voice sped up some, raised some. If Aine had gone back on her word. If someone had taken his children. If, if.

“You really are cute when you’re worried.” Oh he wanted to punch that stupid moth so hard! He could feel his face going red. Grimm stepped back, out of Ivory’s reach. He cleared his throat dramatically. “The Queen of Hallownest, the White Lady herself, has requested that the King of Hallownest finds the hatching dates of each vessel.” Grimm took a bow. “How’s that for entertaining?” He mused.

Ivory scoffed, rolling his eyes and grabbing some blank paper off to the side. “Not exactly an ‘urgent message,’ but nevertheless I shall find these dates.” However hard it will be . The simple fact that time in the Abyss worked differently from outside of it made it near, if not downright, impossible. He could just write a random range and say that that was the potential dates. 

“So,” Grimm asked, coming up beside Ivory again. “Are you going to tell me what you’ve been researching for the past two days? Obviously it’s very important, otherwise you would have come out by now.”

“I have come out!” Ivory shot. “You just haven’t been around when I have.”

Grimm looked at him deadpan, then arched an eyebrow. Ivory groaned. “You won’t leave until I tell you, will you?”

“You know me so well,” the moth said sweetly. Root and dirt, he should just throw the moth out of his room already.

But he didn’t. 

Instead, he humored the nightmare god. Why he humored Grimm, he didn’t know. The words just fell out before he could stop them. “Void. Specifically the Ancient Civilization and the Lord of… the Abyss,” he finished, catching himself. It was weird, to avoid saying the name when he knew exactly who it belonged to. He doubted saying it even once got Ghost’s attention if they weren’t already listening or in the same room. 

Grimm was silent for a moment, staring at Ivory. (Had he said the wrong thing? Had he upset Grimm? Oh please, root and dirt, don’t let that be!)

(...)

(Why is he thinking this way? Stop beating so fast! Get your breath under control! You are a king, a Higher Being dammit!)

Grimm opened his mouth, still silent. “Uh… that is… good?” He offered, then looked at the desk, crowded with words sketched onto by people who hoped to talk to the future. “You researching it makes it feel more… real. More urgent.” Ivory chuckled. Well, it certainly was urgent, if not for the reason Grimm thought. (Ghost wouldn’t learn alone, wouldn’t be alone. He’d make sure of it.)

(There was a time when he wasn’t alone as he tunneled through dirt. That time, that company, was long gone.)

Grimm picked up a stray piece of paper and began to randomly fold it. He leaned on Ivory’s desk, keeping his eyes trained on the paper. “There is one other thing I wish to talk to you about.”

His heart sped up again. “And that is?” He asked, cringing at the slight wobble in his voice. He looked at Grimm. The moth’s cheerful look was gone, replaced with a furrowed brow.

He caught Ivory’s eye and looked at him fully. “Your child, Ghost.” He paused. “They are often plagued by nightmares,” he began, looking back down at the paper. “And often I cannot see them. But there was one I could see clearly. How would any vessel know of its existence?” His red eyes were locked with Ivory’s again. Its… He means the Lord of Shades. 

“Grimm, where are you going with this?”

“I’m not sure. I would rather like Ghost not to be involved with you-know-what in any way, but that dream… It looked at me , Ivory. And I think… I think it threw me out.” Grimm looked at the wad of paper again before burning it to ash.

He should tell Grimm, but that would break the little trust Ghost had in him. But if Grimm thought Ghost to be controlled by the Lord of Shades, or worse… 

“I… I can tell you why. I will. Just not now.” 

Grimm looked at him, tilting his head. “What, why?”

“I made a promise. But I’ll see if I, or maybe they, can tell you. In the meantime, please, pretend this never happened.”

Grimm blinked rapidly, corners of his mouth creased. “I--I’ll trust you, Ivory. I should let you find those numbers, shouldn’t I? Aspen’s in her conservatory.” And with that, he was gone in another puff of red.

--

It turned out it really was a near-impossible task. He knew how long it was since the first egg was cast down until Hollow climbed up, but everything in between was unknown. Hollow’s ascension happened much quicker than he thought. Any vessel attempting to climb had happened much quicker. The eggs shouldn’t have hatched that soon, but they did. How soon that soon was, he still wasn’t sure on.

He had a range. A very vague, undefined range. Sometime during autumn. He looked down at his range of numbers, pondering. Perhaps it would be best to let the children choose their own hatching dates? It was evident he would never pin down the exact date. Each child could have come from a different egg as well. He gathered everything he would need and teleported away in a flash of white.

He appeared before his lady, who was sharing a small cake with Dryya. Wrong time , he thought, stepping back.

“Oh! My Wyrm!” His Root said happily, moving over to pick him up. “It is good to see you out of your workshop. Come here, sit down.” She placed him back down, beckoning him to follow. Which he did, because of course he would. He gave a nod to Dryya, and the Great Knight returned that.

“It’s nice to look at the greenery, isn’t it Aspen?” Dryya asked, gently plucking a flower and presenting it to the queen. She plucked another, giving it to the King. “So you’ve gotten the date?” 

He looked down at the scrap of paper he had hastily scrawled the numbers on. “Uh, yes. I have the dates. But I think it would be better to let the children choose,” he said, still giving the two ladies the paper. Dryya leaned over Aspen to read the letters and numbers. It was nice to see his Root so happy. Dryya made sure she was. 

His Root frowned. “That’s a large amount of time,” she observed, looking up at him. Dryya tucked the paper away, setting it beside the half eaten cake.

“It is,” he admitted. “It was nearly impossible for me to narrow it down that much. Getting the exact date for each child has so many variables. They could have each hatched from a different egg, or maybe some came from the same, or maybe the simple fact time in the Abyss is sperate from time everywhere else messes with just about any calculation!” He vented with a huff.

His Root touched him gently. “I appreciate what you have managed to get,” she said softly. “If the children wish to choose their own hatching days, then they can.” She paused, then added, “Even if they fall out of this range.”

“You seem tense, Your Majesty. Perhaps spending some time with Troupe Master Grimm would help you?” Dryya suggested, sharing a quick glance with Aspen. A quick, mischievous glance.

“Yes,” Aspen agreed, “spending time with him would be good for the both of you. Don’t think I haven’t seen the looks you give him.”

He felt his heart speed up again. (Quit it!) “Are you suggesting I am in love with the Troupe Master?” He asked, doing his best to keep nothing but offendedness in his voice, expression, and body language. But it wasn’t enough as the two looked at each other again , and shared the same expression again .

“He is your… what was it? Court jester? Isn’t his responsibility is to bring you joy? You wouldn’t stop him from performing his duty, would you?” Dryya asked innocently. Root and dirt, all that time with Aspen was helping her well. 

“It’s quite alright if you like him. You already know about Dryya and mine’s relationship. If you wish to pursue him, I don’t see why not,” his Root suggested, tone cheerful.

He groaned, trying to hide his face, which he knew was going red. He thought about when he first met the future Queen of Hallownest. Of course she had been the one to make the first move, inviting him to sit beside her. And it seemed like she was helping him along again. “I-I assure you, I feel nothing but contempt for him.”

“Surely you mean content?” Her blue eyes shined like the day they first spoke to one another. 

“Why do you care about my love life?” He choked out rather pathetically, which got a loud and barking laugh from Dryya.

The Great Knight slapped her leg, doubling over as she tried to contain her laughter. His Root was better at containing it, though her shoulders bobbed up and down, and she held a paw over her mouth.

“I am your wife , my Wyrm. And your best friend.” She held his paws in hers. Hers were cool and rough, like bark on a tree he had long since forgotten. “If you do like Grimm, then you should say something. You shouldn’t be afraid to. If Dryya and I can make our relationship work, you can with Grimm.”

He didn’t have any words. He wanted to have them. But he simply didn’t. Aspen placed a kiss on his lips before pulling away and giving one to Dryya as well. He sputtered, then said quickly, “I’m sending Ghost to Unn for therapy.”

“That’s… a good thing,” Aspen said, clapping her paws together. “I should visit Unn as well. Let me help Ghost pack.” She moved past Ivory, heading towards the little classroom. 

But why did she even want the dates?

“Her Majesty wishes to throw a party for the children, in case you were wondering.” Oh. That answers that.

Wait.

“ASPEN! WAIT!” He cried, chasing after her. She stopped, looking over her shoulder. 

“Yes, my Wyrm?”

“A party? As in, a bunch of nobles?”

“That is what a party is,” Dryya added from behind as she caught up. 

A party. With a bunch of nobles. But it was a party for his children. Did they want one? One quick thought of the terror triplets. Oh definitely. Just not one Aspen was thinking about. “How about… two,” he said. “One between the nobles, and one between us and our closest friends.”

His Root considered this before nodding. “That is a good idea.” Then she smiled playfully. “But! You have to be at both!” 

A sigh. “Very well.” For his children. They could all suffer through the nobles together.

Chapter Text

The trip to Greenpath wouldn’t be too long, but staying there might be. And so Ghost found themself walking beside Isma and Xero, the latter of which carrying two bags. The red armored moth (though he wore no helmet) seemed to keep up well enough, though Ghost had a feeling Isma was intentionally slowing her pace down. 

They looked at their surroundings instead. Greenpath’s nature had overtaken old homes. Old homes and paths they could see now, populated by mossy covered bugs. There were multiple ways to Unn, ways that didn’t involve walking past so many bugs, but Isma seemed intent on following the path laid out.

A little mosscreep peeked out from the bushes, staring at Ghost with dull black eyes. Then it started to crawl away as Xero came clunking past. “Why do I... have to... carry all this?” He asked with a strained voice.

Isma hummed a tune and turned around, walking backwards. “Because you are my apprentice! It’s training!” She clapped, twirling around and continuing to walk. Xero grumbled to himself as they continued their trek.

Ghost really wished they could have brought Grimmchild with them. Or Hornet. Or Hollow. Or any of their siblings. It would’ve been nice to have one of them. But their sibs still had plenty to learn from Quirrel. Their sign was good, but still needed work. At least their sibs picked up on it easily. 

“Mmm, how about I tell you a story, Little Ghost?” Isma asked as Ghost sped up to walk beside her. They looked up at her and nodded. “Wonderful! Now let me think… Ah, I know. Let me tell you how Xero became my apprentice.”

“Ugh no, please not that story,” Xero begged and Isma laughed.

“Would you like to tell it then?” She asked, holding her paws open in Ghost’s direction.

“No. But I also don’t want you to tell it.”

“Too late!” She sang, and then began: 

“Hegemol was searching for potential recruits. Your father had decided we should each have an apprentice to train, and Hegemol tasked himself with finding worthy bugs. His quest brought him to the Colosseum. It’s no secret many a bug goes there to test their strength. But many a bug also dies.

“Still, Hegemol thought that if any bug were worthy, he’d find them here. So he sat amongst the crowd and watched as bugs fought one another. One bug would defeat the other, then face off the next challenger and be slain. Until a mysterious bug clad in red armor challenged the previous round’s winner.

“This red bug is Xero, obviously. And he beat that round’s winner. And he beat his challenger. And his other challenger. All until a bug in a blue cloak who wielded a shield challenged him.”

From behind Xero groaned. Isma glanced back and hid a chuckle.

“They fought fiercely, but in the end Xero was on the ground with a shield on his neck. Hegemol, seeing that Xero was a strong warrior, stepped down and interrupted the fight. He offered Xero a place among the Great Knights as an apprentice, which he took.”

“That’s not how it went at all,” Xero sighed with an eye roll. “Let me tell you the real story.” Isma took the bags so he could wave his paws around as he spoke.

“I was a challenger in the Colosseum, yes, but I was a mighty warrior, trained by the strongest of Moss Knights! There was no foe who could defeat me. Not even that shield-wielding ant. I had him pinned to the ground when Hegemol interrupted and offered us both a place in the palace. I took it. It was a chance to further my skill. But the ant, he didn’t. So to mark my win, I ended him with my nail.”

He rubbed his arm. “Or, I thought I did. Because apparently he’s still alive and his name is Tiso.” Ghost could imagine both situations. Either one was funny to picture. They snickered and Xero said, “Hey! What’s funny about that?”

It took some time to get their laughter under control, but once they did, they asked, ‘Why did a Moss Knight train you?’ 

Xero looked away, to the plants that overhang the path, to the mossy bugs on their way to whatever it was they did. “I, uh, I was found alone. I don’t know who my birth parents are, but I do know who my real parents are. Two mosskin adopted me, my fathers Squip and Apiales. They’ve taken care of me for so long. A-and my master, Thicket. She also helped raise me.” His eyes flickered. Ghost could see tears gather in his eyes.

“Eventually I left to go exploring. I had my armor, and my first nail. A gift from my family and Thicket. I started in Queen’s Garden. I wanted to see just how it strayed from Unn’s dream. And eventually I ended up in Kingdom’s Edge. My family only wanted one thing from me. To never raise my nail unless to defend myself or others. And yet, when I found the Colosseum, I joined it. I didn’t have to. I could easily get geo other ways. But I still did . I did and I betrayed them. I--”

His voice caught and he clamped his mouth shut, swallowing. Isma stopped walking, coming to Xero’s side and rubbing his back. He continued in a soft, shaky voice. “I can’t face them. Not now. Not ever.” 

Ghost chirped, signing, ‘You still should. They might miss you.’ Xero should face his family but they shouldn’t. Hypocrite. (But they were, weren’t they? They spoke to Ivory. They allowed Aspen to take their siblings home with her. They were facing them, right?) They offered Xero a hug, which the mosskin-raised moth took.

“I-- Not today. Let’s just go to Unn.”

And they continued to walk.

--

The Lake of Unn was exactly how Ghost remembered, minus the hut which looked way better cared for. The same Moss Knight stood at the dock’s edge, overlooking the acid lake. He turned, hearing the approach of the three. “Halt,” he boomed, raising his nail and pointing it at the group. “What brings you to the Lake of Unn, servants of the Pale King?” 

“We were sent by His Majesty the Pale King to speak with Unn. We’d like to request an audience with her,” Isma said, stepping forward.

The Moss Knight frowned. “Unn is not open to any visitors at this time. Come back later.” His voice was gruff and harsh.

From behind, Xero scoffed. “When should we return?” Isma asked. She didn’t sound annoyed or frustrated. Just open to negotiate. She held her paws, folded, in front of her. 

The Moss Knight counted on his claws before saying, “Never!” He jabbed at the air in warning. “Shoo. Go away.” He waved his shield. The acid’s surface shifted, and not from the bubbles. A massive form broke the surface, acid trailing off her.

Unn opened her eyes drowsily, blinking a few times before looking at the four bugs in front of her. Her gaze, which wasn’t even remotely harsh, softened. “Ah, a child of the Wyrm. What brings you to us?” She asked, but her lips did not move. It took a moment for Ghost to realize she spoke in their mind . They heard soft chuckling, both in their mind and aloud. “We did not mean to frighten you, little one.”

She leaned down, moving her head forward, past the Moss Knight, to where only a bit of space was between the slug god and Ghost. She then twisted one of her eye stalks to peer at the Moss Knight. “Grove,” she spoke with only a hint of disappointment. “All are welcome at our lake.”

“But you were sleeping, my god. I did not want them to wake you,” The Moss Knight, Grove, defended with, kneeling and looking up at Unn loyally. 

Unn shook her head, two eyes back on Ghost. “Do you wish to speak with us? Do not be afraid to speak with your paws. We know sign.” 

Isma stepped beside Ghost. “His Majesty the Pale King sent us to guard Ghost during the trip here and back.”

‘He said you’d help with… pain.’ 

Unn dipped a bit into her lake, though she still remained visible. “If you have agreed, we will, though it must stay between us. Only you can share with others, not us, and not the guards nor Grove. The guards shall wait inside Grove’s hut.” She nodded towards said hut. “He makes good tea,” she added before backing away even further, giving Ghost room to walk to the edge of the docks. 

They looked back, giving a thumbs up so Isma and Xero would go with Grove. The Moss Knight grumbled as he let them into his hut, Isma pausing by the door before she went inside. Ghost cast their gaze back at Unn, her head moving to face Ghost. There was silence between them. Who spoke first? Them or Unn? What do they even say? How do they even tell her everything that’s happened without saying ‘I travelled back in time and I might be a void creature called the Lord of Shades but don’t worry I’m nice?’

“We believe we have met you before. Apologies for how we first met. We were so tired, so sleepy,” Unn apologized, dipping her head. She remembered that? What else did she remember? Only that? Faint memories of a lost future? “Though we can only help but wonder how we now find ourselves in the past.”

Ah. Time travel. She’d figure it out sooner or later. Her side eye seemed to suggest she had an idea as to why. “Little Ghost? That is your name, yes? The half-wyrm bestowed you the gift. A name is a useful thing to have, but so are titles.” She flicked her tail and acid arched upwards at the far end of the lake. “You prefer Little Ghost?”

Prefer? Of course they preferred that! Why wouldn’t they? It was their name. The only other thing to call them was a vessel. (Lord of Shades was another, but.) ‘Ghost is my name,’ they signed. ‘Aren’t you supposed to be helping me?’

Unn hummed, deep like whale song, though not as mournful. “We must understand each other first, less we give bad advice. What pain have you felt?” She finally started with.

A lot, actually. And it should be obvious. ‘You know Ivory left me to die. And you know I was constantly fighting to survive.’ 

“And what else?”

‘What else? What else?! The Infection was raging on and everyone I ever cared for died . I couldn’t save them, and I shouldn’t have cared, but I did. And because I did, I failed Hallownest.’ Quirrel, Myla, Cloth, Seer. Even Tiso and the Nailsmith (though they had found him with Sheo later on.) Their paws shook. They cared. They had cared. And that would doom Hallownest, or what was left. No matter what they could do, did do, someone died . And it was their fault . 

It was only a matter of time before someone close to them here died. 

And they doubt they could take it if that happened.

They crumbled, holding their knees and shaking. (What was that thing about negative emotions? Does this count?) Void slipped from their eyes, dripping onto the moss covered cobblestone. I failed , rang in their mind. My fault . They shouldn’t cry.

Unn slithered close, resting her upper body on the earth beside the little crying ghost. There was a hum in their mind, low and soothing. “You did not fail Hallownest,” she spoke softly. “You saved Hallownest.” She gazed at them warmly, bumping them with her long body. “Somehow you found yourself in the past, and you are saving it now.” She rose up high. “The Infection fades, the moths return home, a father calls many his children and a mother does not run. A mother and a friend and a mentor do not sleep. You allowed that.”

They wiped at the Void spilling from their eyes. They would not cry, they would not cry. Would not-- “Still, we must ask how you managed to undo the past.”

They couldn’t tell her. (But shouldn’t they? Wouldn’t that be important for healing? No, Ivory said he’d handle their powers. But powers were linked with emotions. Shouldn’t Unn know so she could help? So she could be safe? She’d tell the other Higher Beings. She fought.)

“You do not have to say, Little Ghost. Not until you are ready.” Her eyes shone with such warmth and Ghost leaned on her. They had expected Unn to feel slimy and wet and cold, but instead she was smooth and warm and only the tiniest bit wet. 

‘Thank you,’ they signed. They really should tell her. (They should tell someone about these memories. It couldn’t be their own, and yet it felt like theirs.) They gambled on Ivory. Do they dare to test their luck again? They looked up at Unn. No, not yet. Someday, but not today.

--*--

Unn watched the little child leave, accompanied by Isma and Xero. She was glad the little moth was doing alright, even if he wasn’t so little anymore.

But her eyes really lingered on Ghost. Or the light, the aura, that surrounded them. True, all vessels’ traded their light for the shadows of the Abyss, having a thin veil of it covering their form, but Ghost’s was different. It felt stronger, more intense, and yet so utterly unnoticeable at the same time.

How odd , she thought, for one to hide so much of their own power. Intentional or not, she could only wonder what this child was capable of.

Chapter Text

Two weeks. That’s how long until the ball. Well, the first ball anyway. Apparently there would be two. And Tiso was to be at both. The first ball was only a few days away and Tiso only learned about this yesterday! He didn’t exactly have nice clothing. His armor and hood had always been enough. But now he’d have to find something nice but he didn’t have any geo and he sure wasn’t going to force Quirrel to pay for anything. Argh why hadn’t he been told sooner??

He huffed. Sitting on some cushion in a little parlor filled with uncooperative children. Those poor Weavers, just wanting to help the children find something nice. He glanced over at Hornet, sitting cross legged beside him and watching the chaos. Hollow (he still disliked the name) was trying to wrangle their siblings. And the Shade Lord Ghost ( They prefer Ghost, Tiso. Ghost) was definitely not helping. Especially since they refused to try any of the outfits on, clinging to their cloak.

He should help, Tiso knew, but this was entertaining. Mimic had to look at everything and Thread refused to wear anything other than their cloak. Almost everything was somehow too big on Mothwing. At least Lost was actually behaving. 

Quirrel approached Tiso and grabbed him by the paws, hauling him up. “Come on, you need something nice.” He tapped Tiso’s armor. “Not that this isn’t nice. Just, you know, formalwear,” the pillbug added with a chuckle and a shrug.

Tiso rolled his eyes. “Yeah. Never had a need for anything other than this. Hmm. Do you think I could get it shined?” He asked Quirrel, looking down at his armor then at his friend. “I think I could get it shined. Unless I have to pay. Maybe I could shine it myself?”

“While yes, I do think you could get it shined, you won’t need to. Come on, I picked a few outfits out for you!” Quirrel dragged him along, presenting several kinds of clothing, from robes to cloaks to even this weird robe thing that looked too tight around the legs and arms. “Here, try this one first,” his friend said, presenting the not-robe. Tiso eyed him skeptically.

“I think there’s something wrong with this robe.”

“What? Let me see,” Quirrel mumbled, looking for some sort of imperfection. “Wait. Tiso!” Quirrel cried and the Voidling couldn’t help but laugh. He looked so cute all flustered. “Fine, try this instead.” He handed Tiso a rather cool looking cloak. It even had a hood! 

Tiso stepped aside, removing his armor and hood and slipping the cloak over his head. The front with a small triangle, the tip ending just past his chest. The back, however, was long, curling around his ankles and spilling over his arms. Quirrel took a step back to look Tiso over.

“Mm. It would go best with something else underneath. How about… oh! Maybe this?” Quirrel held up a short sleeveless robe, dark blue in color. “It would go well with the cloak.”

Can I even afford this? “I didn’t know you were a fashionista,” he teased with a cheeky smile. Quirrel ducked his head, trying to hide his blush. 

“Oh, I’m not. I just like history is all. And fashion is an important part.” He cleared his throat, paw to his mouth. “Ah, I should try and find something to match.” Quirrel started to paw through the collection of clothing. There was actually a small mountain. Not a fashionista my ass . At least he didn’t have to try all those on. He looked over at the kids. Hollow was lying face first on the floor, a Weaver hovering over them.

“Please help,” Hollow begged him. “I can’t--” Thread jumped onto Hollow’s back before leaping off. “I can’t get them under control.”

Tiso smiled, removing the cloak Quirrel had placed on him and helping Hollow up. “Your siblings are like a bunch of hoppers after eating honey.” Hollow dusted their cloak off, humming their agreement. Tiso placed his paws on his hips, looking at the gaggle of children, and then at Ghost, who was neither helping nor hindering. “You know, for being their older sib, you are no help.” The Lord-- Ghost looked up at him and shrugged. 

“I’ve tried already. You think I can control them?” They threw up their paws. “Ever since we got here they’ve stopped listening to me!” They glanced over at Lost and Mothwing. “Or, well, the triplets have.” 

Tiso tapped his chin. “Hey kids, how about I make you a deal?” The triplets stopped running about (or struggling against Weaver silk in Falcer’s case) and looked at Tiso.

“Deal? What kind of deal?”

“Can it involve cupcakes?”

“Can someone please get me away from this spider?” 

“Well,” Tiso began, not even sparing Quirrel a look. Oh he’d definitely upset the miniature teacher, but a small price to pay for getting the children under control. “If you let the Weavers find you some clothes and wear them at the parties, you won’t have any school for an entire week.”

“Tiso--” Quirrel began, overhearing the conversation.

Thread crossed their arms, tapping their foot on the floor. “Two weeks?”

“If I agreed to that, Quirrel would have my head,” He said, sparing a mischievous glance at the only slightly angry pillbug. 

“What are you two saying?” He mumbled.

‘I accept your deal,’ Mimic signed, then grabbed Thread’s wrist. ‘Come here. This is really soft.’ The Weaver released Falcer with a thud. They sent a glare at the spider, picking bits of silk off themself.

Tiso turned towards Quirrel who gave him a look. “What? You try and get them under control.”

“A week? Seriously?” Quirrel asked. “Their education is important. These two weeks are already throwing a rock into everything.” Tiso patted his back as the pillbug took a breath in, then out. “Though I suppose a break would be good. Oh, maybe even a field trip? And they wouldn’t even know they’re learning until we get back! Tiso, you are a genius!” Quirrel said, clasping Tiso’s shoulders and shaking him.

“Genius. That’s me!” He chuckled.

The door to the parlor cracked open and Dryya half-stepped in, looking around the room. She spotted Quirrel and waved him over. “Oh, uh, I’ll be back. See if you can find anything that matches,” Quirrel requested. Were his paws had previously been were cold. Tiso rubbed at one of the spots mindlessly. Dryya looked… well he wasn’t sure if  concerned was the word he wanted, but it was the first to come to mind. Hmm.

Well, he was by no means a fashionista like his dear friend, so anything he chose definitely wouldn’t match. And Quirrel hadn’t said he had to stay right here. And so Tiso walked over to the door, leaning on the wall next to it, and doing his best to try and hear what, if there were any, words were being spoken.

“You need me, Your Majesty?” Quirrel’s voice.

“Yes. How are the children’s education coming along?” The White Lady’s voice. It was quieter than Quirrel’s. Harder to hear over the children.

“Well enough, though we’re going to take a break after the two parties. I’d like to take them to the Archives if that’s alright with you.”

“Oh we don’t know. The trip there can be dangerous and they’re still young…”

“I understand, Your Majesty. Is there anything else you need of me?”

“Oh, yes. How is Hollow doing? We know they’ve only been here for a few months, but Monomon and my Wyrm said they should be molting soon. We are unsure just how our child shall molt. We grow as we please, but wyrms must break their old body in order to grow.” There was a moment of silence. (Why did she speak like these were her kids? Like, her biological offspring ? The Pale King wouldn’t sacrifice his own children… would he?) “Though maybe Hollow will never grow, just as they will never live.” A shuddering breath. 

“My Lady,” Dryya murmured. She was probably holding the White Lady in her arms now. (Never live. What did she mean by ‘never live?’ Tiso was Void and he was living quite fine thank you very much!) 

“I’m sure your children will grow. All of them. When I can’t say for sure. Same for how. But they will.” Another beat of silence. “I should get back to Tiso. He’s probably picked out a bunch of outfits.” Tiso backed away from the door, turning what he heard over in his mind. Yeah, so what if the White Lady and the Pale King had called the vessels their kids? Adoption’s a thing! But the Lady spoke like those were biological. The only way for that would be if the King tossed his own children into the Abyss. He wouldn't do that, right? No one in their right mind would do that. Non-Void creatures didn’t fare long down there. 

The creaked open and Quirrel stepped back inside. “Sorry about that Tiso, but Her Majesty just wanted to check on how the schooling is going.” He clapped his paws together. “So, how many outfits have you picked out?” He shrugged, still running the words over and over in his mind.

There was no way, no way . But if it was true… did Quirrel know? The Lady spoke like Quirrel knew, but maybe he only knew a small portion? Or maybe the vessels weren’t actually their kids and the King just took a small portion of his DNA and the Lady’s DNA and…

“How were you created?” He asked, looking over at Ghost. “What does the Abyss look like?” He would have visited his old home sooner if not for all these Higher Beings running around. Had it changed much? Was the little hollow he had clawed out for himself still there? He sat down by Ghost, picking at the hardened Void that made up his shell. He shouldn’t be doing that, he thought numbly, but oh well.

They were silent for a moment. Quirrel looked over at Tiso and Ghost before going back to finding an outfit. He didn’t seem bothered one bit. The Lady mentioned molting? If the vessels really were biologically children, it would affect their molting. (Even if they were something like a kingsmould, it would affect that process.) 

Ghost finally answered, voice withdrawn. “Ivory and Aspen made us. Made our eggs.” They looked up at Tiso and he could see them fighting, trying not to cry. He reached out, but they didn’t move. “So many… so many…” He closed his eyes and could faintly see skulls. So many skulls covering the ground. 

How could the Pale King do this? How could that Pale Bastard stomach this? (How did that worm escape the wrath of the little Lord of Shades fighting so hard not to cry?) Quirrel didn’t know. He couldn’t. He would never agree to help the King if he knew the truth. He had to tell Quirrel. They should take the kids. He set a paw on the little Shade Lord ( Ghost) . They shuddered and he withdrew his paw, standing  and approaching Quirrel.

“What do you think of this?” He asked, holding up a blue robe that matched the cloak Quirrel had put on him. When Tiso didn’t answer, Quirrel let his paw fall, tilting his head and asking, “Are you okay?”

Tiso scoffed. Okay? Okay?! “No, I’m not. Do you know what that Pale Bastard has done?” He asked in a low voice. The children knew. They had to. Or have some idea of their origin. Still, he wanted to shield them, protect them, hold them close and let no one hurt them. 

Quirrel’s eyes softened. He set the robe down, placing a paw on Tiso’s shoulder. “I know,” he said simply. “I know. But it had to happen--”

“You knew?!” Tiso screeched, throwing Quirrel’s paw off his shoulder. He backed away from the hurt looking pillbug. The Weavers were looking at them. The children were looking at them. “You knew and didn’t tell me?”

“Tiso, I would have, but--”

“When? When would you tell me? When one of them got hurt? When you started blabbering on about history? When one of them had to molt ?” His eyes narrowed. He shouldn’t be yelling at Quirrel like this, the pillbug didn’t deserve it, and yet how else was he going to make his point known?

“Tiso, I--” Quirrel sighed. “I’m sorry, I really am. I should have told you sooner.” 

“Yeah, you should have,” the Voidling spat before turning and marching out the door. Part of him wanted to go back to Quirrel. Go back and hold him and tell him that it’s okay and he knows now and they should do something about it. But Quirrel had known. He had known and kept it secret. Did he think Tiso already knew? Maybe he assumed that. But Tiso had already left and it would be weird to walk back in. And taking a walk sounded nice anyway.

The hallways of the palace were busy. They were always busy. It seemed that, just as the Wyrm and Root never slept, so to did the servants. Or maybe they were awake because of the upcoming party. It was long and winding, crisscrossing at set intersections. It was quite easy to get lost, in Tiso’s opinion. How did the kids navigate? The monarchs? The servants? 

Where was he? He stopped and frowned. He didn’t even have his armor or hood. He felt… defenseless. Of course he still had some Void-given powers but… Well, even if he knew where he was, he still wasn’t going back into that parlor. At least his shield was in his room. His and… Quirrel’s. Mm.

He continued on in a random direction. At least trying to find a way out of this maze could distract his thoughts. Except it really wasn’t. His thoughts would circle back to Quirrel and the King and the creation of the vessels. Void shouldn’t be used that way, overtaking some undeveloped egg, using an unborn child as a shell. His own Void fumed. What poor excuse did that so-called king even have? Why did the Shade Lord allow him the privilege of being called a father? Why did Ghost allow it?

Argh stop thinking about that already!! Focus on where you’re going Tiso! A bug clad in red armor crossed over into his path. He jumped backwards, the bug jumped backwards, and they stared at each other for a long moment. “Hey, uh, Tiso? You alright?” The red armored bug asked. His voice was muffled by the helmet he wore. 

“Yes?” Tiso asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Are you sure? What are you even doing over here? Shouldn’t you be with Quirrel?” It took a moment, took several in fact, before Tiso realized this was Xero . Right, right. How did he forget? Or maybe, why did it take so long to register?

Tiso looked around. “I went for a walk and… I don’t know. I got lost,” he shrugged. 

“Well I can un-lost you. I mean, I can help you find a way out,” Xero said with a chuckle.

Better than wallowing in my thoughts . He had plenty of those during his time as a formless idea in the Abyss. Being no thoughts head empty was actually quite enjoyable. “Sure,” he agreed, letting Xero take the lead. Wasn’t he training under a great knight? Isma right? He wondered how good of a nailsman Xero was.

“What do you think of the palace?” Xero asked after some time. “I think it’s an honor to be here.”

“I’m not sure.” Tiso rubbed his arm.  “On the one claw, it’s nice to be here with Quirrel.” Even if he just had a fight and probably hurt his feelings and what if Quirrel hates him? “On the other… it doesn’t feel like home?”

Xero nodded. “I feel you there,” he said, lowering his head for a moment and stopping his movements. He and Xero spoke on occasion, though he still didn’t know him very well. Where was he from? Kingdom’s Edge? The Crown? He’s a moth after all, so he has to be from one of those places. Maybe he knows Markoth. He looked up at Tiso again. “I actually grew up in Greenpath. I worshipped Unn all my life. I didn’t even know who the Radiance was until I ended up at Kingdom’s Edge.” His cloak curled around him. “I didn’t even know there were other moths. Asides from Soniva and Mapleblaze.” So there were moths in Greenpath?  

There was a beat of silence. “You’re training to be a knight, right? Under Isma? I happen to be a warrior myself. Fought in the Colosseum. Want to spar for a little?” Tiso asked. That was a good way to get his mind off things. He fought without armor before, he could do it again. Plus, his life wouldn’t actually be on the line, only his pride. Still, he longed for his armor. For the heavy yet familiar feel of it.

Xero tapped a claw on his helmet. “Alright, sure, I need some practice anyway. I’ll go easy on you.”

“Oh no, I’ll be going easy on you !”

--

The training grounds was actually quite large. A fenced off section of the land around the palace. Dirty gray stones colored the edges of the grounds, crossing to make sections of dirt and paths to walk upon. Xero fetched a few different nails, some shellwood and some real. 

“I don’t know what kind of nail you prefer since, well, I’ve never seen your nail. Just that shield,” Xero said. “Say, where’s your armor anyway?”

“Uhh, getting shined?” Tiso looked over the nails. He did know how to fight with a nail. Of course he did, what warrior didn’t? But he much rather have his shield. Oh well, nail it is. He picked up a nail that looked suspiciously like the ones from the Colosseum. 

“Oh. Would you like to borrow some?”

“Nah.” Tiso and Xero chose an arena, going to one side and facing off with one another. “You ready for this feather boy?” Tiso asked with a smirk. He held the nail steady as Xero’s cloak puffed up.

“Only if you are, ant.”

“I am not an ant!” But Xero was already rushing forward, a sleek white nail in his claws. Tiso raised his, clashing against Xero’s. The moth jumped back, summoning two white nails, shooting one at Tiso. He knocked it aside, leaping over the other. He landed, throwing out three shuriken made of Void. Xero didn’t react fast enough, one clipping his wing.

“Geez that hurt! What was that?”

“Shuriken,” Tiso answered. He dashed forward, closing the distance between him and the moth. He swung his nail, meeting Xero’s. “I’ve got ranged attacks too.”

“Yeah, guess you do. Duck.”

“What?” The blade of a nail hit the back of his head, flat and wide, smacking him but leaving no cut. “Ow,” he hissed, rubbing where it hit. 

“I told you,” Xero smirked, before swinging his nail downward and freeing himself. He jumped into the air, summoning four nails. His wings kept him aloft as the four nails all surged towards Tiso. He countered two, jumped over the third, and brought the fourth down by landing on it. This time, however, he made sure he was clear of their return path. He saw a blur of red come after him and dashed without thinking, going through Xero. The moth landed, spun around, and with shining eyes said, “That. Was. So cool! How did you do that?”

Shit . “Uh, special magic. That I learned. From a different kingdom very far from here.”

“Can you teach me?”

Tiso jumped and turned around. Falcer was sitting cross legged at the edge of the arena. “Big sib can do that too. Did you learn it together?” 

“Aww, hi Falcer!” Xero said, sheathing his nail and approaching the child. A shellwood nail was resting in their lap. 

‘Hi Xero!’ They signed in return. Tiso looked at the nails Xero had summoned, watching them fade away. He looked up again. Xero was kneeling in front of Falcer. ‘Can I fight?’ They held up their nail.

“Hmm, well,” Xero thought, looking back at Tiso. He shrugged. “Extra training never hurt anyone.” Xero stood, straightening up. “Who do you want to go against? I bet Tiso will let you spar with him if you ask nicely.” 

The Voidling rolled his eyes. Falcer stood, setting their nail down beside them. ‘I wanna fight Tiso!’ Falcer signed quickly before snatching up their nail again. 

“Alright. Why don’t I teach you something?” Tiso offered to which Falcer beamed. Voidsea they were adorable. “Stand right here, beside me,” he told them, voice softening like it often did when he was about to teach something, or try anyway. Falcer took up their place, holding their nail at the ready and looking at Tiso in anticipation. 

He glanced back at Xero. “So this is called a shuriken,” he started, forming one of his Void shuriken. He could practically feel Falcer vibrate beside him. “Careful with the edges.” He placed it gently in their paws. They stared at it in awe. Then they tried swinging it around. “No, no, like this,” Tiso said softly, gently plucking it from Falcer’s grasp and holding it properly. “You throw it.” And he threw it, sending it to the far side of the training ground.

“Shuriken, huh? That’s a weird name,” Xero said. “I can get you some targets to practice on. Where do you even keep those?”

“Foreign magic.”

“Of course.” The moth headed off to grab some targets to practice on.

Tiso directed his attention back on Falcer. “Remember how you’re Void? Well, with enough practice, you can use some of your Void for other things. Like these shuriken, or even shadow dashing.”

“Shadow dashing? Is that what you did?”

“Yep,” Tiso nodded, popping the p. “I can teach you both, but for now let's focus on your Void. Hold out your paw like this and focus. I want you to try and make a little Void ball, okay?” Tiso spoke, showing Falcer how to do so. “Just try your best and practice. It’ll come to you.”

--

Falcer had managed to create a ball of Void in their palm, albeit small and wobbly. After Falcer managed that, Tiso had them practice their aim, making them shuriken for them to throw. “They’ve got a good aim,” Xero mused, sitting beside Tiso at the edge of the arena. 

“Yeah. So did Isma teach you everything?” Tiso asked. Some of her moves did involve projectiles, but some of Xero’s moves didn’t seem like they came from her. 

Xero shook his head. His helmet was off, revealing a shock of fluffy azure fur. There was a ring of it around his toad green eyes. Why were moths so dang colorful? And butterflies too! He’d like to be colorful too. 

His moth friend shrugged. “Kinda. My old master taught me a few things, and Isma’s just expanded on them really. Except this. This is still 100% Thicket.” He held up a blobby green ball that had some orange-red thorns sticking out of it at random intervals. He then tossed it towards the targets. Where it made contact, it exploded outward, sending a whole web of vines twisting and curling around the target. 

Falcer jumped back. “Whoa!” They whirled around, bounding up to Xero. ‘How’d you do that? Can you teach me? Please??’ 

Xero chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. “Uh, maybe? How about when you’re older.” He rubbed the little vessel between their horns. 

“Why don’t you go back to practicing your Void manipulation?” Tiso suggested. Falcer nodded, sitting down a bit away from the two and staring intently at their paw. Tiso couldn’t help but think about when he was young. An idea newly created, exploring what was the Abyss, climbing out and journey across different lands. There was a lot he had learned. There was also a lot  he still sucked at.

Xero tapped his claw on his helmet repeatedly, following the beat of some song the moth knew. “Seriously Tiso, what’s wrong?” He asked, setting a paw on Tiso’s shoulder. The Voidling looked at Xero’s eyes, shining with worry. He shrugged the moth’s paw off.

“Nothing.” But he knew Xero wouldn’t drop it until he said what was bothering him, based off the look he was currently receiving. He sighed and said, “Quirrel and I got into a fight.” More like he yelled at Quirrel then ran off. 

Xero sucked in a breath. “That’s rough. Have you apologized to each other yet?”

No , he doesn’t say. Instead, Tiso rubbed his arm, shifting. “I don’t want to talk about that.” Xero made a small grunt and shook his head, leaning back, returning to tapping the helmet. 

“You excited for the ball? I am. I actually got to invite someone myself,” Xero started with. His feathers ruffled and he smiled a big, dumb smile. He didn’t elaborate. Fine then, Tiso would make him.

“And who’s that someone?” 

“Someone.” Very descriptive , Tiso deadpanned. “He’s a moth.”

“Oh, a he? What’s his name?” Did Tiso know any male moths? One, Markoth, though he wouldn’t really call it knowing him. Xero tried sinking into his fluff, wrapping his wings around himself. He mumbled something. “What was that?”

“Markoth.”

“Ooo, you like him, don’t you?” He teased and he could see Xero’s face go red. “Aww is it a date?” Xero whined. “It is!” 

Xero stood, still trying to hide his face. He shoved his helmet back over his face. “I have things I need to do. You two can stay as long as you want, just clean up. Bye.” 

Falcer watched him leave, then looked back at Tiso. “What’s a date?”

Chapter Text

They were in the Dream Realm again. The light hurt their eyes, so they opted to keep them closed. They could feel the stone beneath their claws, warmed by the sun god who called this realm her own. A flash of light, the heat intensified. They cracked their eyes open again and hissed. Still a bit too bright for their liking, but it wasn’t as stabbing. 

They looked up at Aine. Aine looked down at them. They still didn’t have a nail and there was a child flapping upwards. Grimmchild? How was he here? Because he was technically a dream god. Wow, so smart Ghost. 

“Welcome back Little Lost Star.” Her voice was also a bit too loud, but there still wasn’t much they could do about that. At least this didn’t seem to be another nightmare. Grimmchild flapped upwards and looked at the Radiance a moment. Then he nuzzled against her. She laughed softly. “I see my nephew has taken a liking to you.”

Ghost didn’t respond, instead walking over to the edge of the platform and sitting with their legs dangling from it. They looked down at the sea of golden clouds. It faded into gray, and then to black. Black steam seemed to rise from it, but it didn’t get very far. Some of the higher clouds had faint wisps of black. They looked up again, suppressing a shudder. 

“And how are you faring?” She asked as Grimmchild fell back into Ghost’s lap. Aine herself hovered beside Ghost, the closest she could probably get to sitting. Why did she want to know how they were doing? Grimmchild nibbled at Ghost’s claw, then jerked his head towards the moth god beside them.

‘Why do you care?’ They asked. Maybe they should have phrased that better. They didn’t exactly have a voice to give tone, did they? (Well, they did , but they rather not use it.)

Aine ruffled her feathers, though she didn’t seem too offended. “Sweet child, I am the Guiding Light of my people. That does not mean my light is limited to them. Quite the contrary. My light is for all, even those who are the spawn of wyrm and root. Especially for children of wyrm and root.” She tilted her head towards Ghost, then turned to look at them. “Does that answer your question?”

It did, but that didn’t mean they had to like it. They didn’t need some other light guiding them. They had guided themself well enough. “I am glad to see how your siblings fare, especially the pure vessel. Hollow, their name, correct?” Ghost nodded. They’d ask why she was happy, but the answer was probably guiding light. “Their dreams are mostly good, though Hollow tends to dream nightmares, I’ve noticed. As do you.” A wispy cloud floated past Ghost, curling around their face before leaving. 

‘Stay out of my dreams.’

“Little Lost Star, I am the god of dreams. Your dreams are my domain, though I will not pry unless you wish for me to. However, I will not let you suffer nightmares.” The clouds curled some, as did Aine’s wings. “You have suffered enough from your traumatic birth.”

Her wing draped across Ghost. Soft, so very very soft. They wanted to push it away, but they didn’t. She looked at Grimmchild, then said, “One difference in the Dream Realm is your form. Specifically, you can change it within reason. It is easier when you have the assistance of a dream god, and easier still if you are one.” She smiled and added, “I’m sure you would love to have legs, nephew.” Grimmchild chirped happily, smiling. “Allow me to show you how,” she said. 

Ghost ignored the two as Aine showed Grimmchild just how to change his form. Instead, they discovered they had some paper on them. And an inkwell. No quill, but their claw could work. Probably. Why were they thinking about that? Why weren’t they even questioning where these things came from?

They folded the paper back up, setting it off to the side. And then they were tackled from behind. “Careful,” came the Radiance’s voice. “Little Lost Star cannot fly, nephew.” Voidsea, would she just call them Ghost? Then again, it was better than having no name at all. Or being screamed at. 

The arms wrapped around Ghost relented, allowing them to turn around and see a very young looking Grimm, standing at around Ghost’s height. Well, it wasn’t entirely a young Grimm, since there were some differences. For one, there was a tail. For two, there was a patch of red fluff on the little Grimm’s chest. Oh, and the fact this was Grimm child . That was another difference. Grimmchild threw up his arms, trilling and cooing happily. 

“Nephew, you can use your voice to form words now.”

Grimmchild eyes widened in a ‘oh, right’ kind of way. He opened his mouth and tried making a few letter sounds. When he accomplished that, he beamed happily, tail wagging behind him. Ghost could teach him sign now, though he already seemed to know a fair amount.

“Ghost,” Grimmchild spoke, shakily and unsure. Ghost chirped and nodded, which made Grimmchild say, “Ghost!” His voice was more confident, more energetic. “Ghost! Ghost! Sibling!” He started to dance around. “Talk! I can talk! I can say things! I’m gonna say so many things!”

Both Aine and Ghost chuckled. How long until Grimmchild was like this in the Waking Realm? They hoped soon, if only for the entertainment. It would be nice to actually understand Grimmchild instead of having to make educated guesses. “Yes, you can, but only here for now. You will grow, nephew, and you will be able to speak in the Waking Realm also,” she reminded him. He frowned, crossing his arms, tail curling around his leg.

“I want to talk now . How else can I tell siblings I love them?”

‘By not bitting or setting things on fire,’ Ghost signed sarcastically. ‘You need a name. Something other than Grimmchild.’

“A name? Well, I do suppose being able to call you something other than nephew or Grimmchild would be nice.”

Grimmchild thought for a moment, tapping his claw on his chin. “Oo! How about Wildfire?”

‘Absolutely not.’ 

“Oh come on, it’s a cool name!”

‘And you’ll probably start a bunch,’ they shot back, remembering every single trip to Greenpath with Grimmchild’s charm equipped. Those poor mosscreeps. They thought for a moment. ‘Why not Spark?’

“Spark? That is a lovely name, though I was thinking something like Flare or Solana,” Aine chimed in. 

Grimmchild’s tail wagged idly, his arms crossed over his chest and half buried in the fur. “Spark. Spark,” he tested the name a few times, then nodded. “Spark. I like that name.”

Aine moved closer to Ghost as Spark started to dance again, singing his name out. “There are other things the Dream Realm can do. It may very well give you a voice. It can also store things. But know this, Little Lost Star. If the palace life is ever too much for you, the Crown and the moth village atop it is open to you and your siblings. Just ask for my presence and I will do what I can to help you.”

Did they just get adopted by the Radiance herself? They did, didn’t they? Oh great, someone else to inevitably lose because they couldn’t save her. Just what they wanted. They picked at a loose pebble. “Hey isn’t there a palace?” Spark asked Aine, his dancing coming to an end. Ghost looked back at him. Palace?

Aine froze for only a second, then smiled sadly. “There was,” she said softly. Everywhere the light around them faded. The golden clouds were replaced by dreary gray and large pillars of moss covered cream stone sprouted up. Ghost watched the ruins of the palace grow. Black stains interlacing, bulging like the disgusting pustules of the Infection. Unlike those, these growths were forever frozen in time.

There were statues, crumbled and marred by the weathering of time. Water stains cutting a path from the eyes of the statues. “The Palace of Light,” Spark whispered, eyes wide. He approached it, looking at the dilapidated structure with his tail slowly swaying. Ivy and leaves swallowed most of the stone. Small flowers bloomed from the vines. Grand spires snapped off and entire walls crumbled in.

They could hear screaming. Why could they hear screaming? A pounding in their skull, in time with their heart. They were looking at the ruins of a palace. They were looking at the ruins of a city. They looked to their side. Flames, both golden and red in origin. To their other side, glowing white roots and twisting green vines twirling around them. The screaming grew louder. Were they screaming? The smell of smoke as fire waged. A staff, carved from petrified wood, a stone laid within. A stone that burned, held in the paws of a fuzzy black moth--

They woke in their room. They looked around. Another nightmare. Or something like that, anyway. Spark opened his eyes soon enough, chirping quietly. Ghost patted him reassuringly before standing. The party was this evening. Only between the friends of Aspen and Ivory, but still. That didn’t mean they had to look forward to it. Who all would be there? Their siblings better behave. At least Hornet and Hollow would. They shot a glance at Spark. ‘You better not set anything on fire,’ they signed, to which Spark responded with a content trill. 

--

“Our dear, beloved child, we know you are rather fond of this cloak, but it is dreadfully torn and dirty,” the White Lady said, holding a part of the cloak in her paws. Ghost still refused to take it off after all this time. They had managed to dodge trying on outfits in the parlor, they could, no they would, manage to dodge this too.

Beside the Lady were several different types of clothing. Some cloaks, a few robes, and two dresses. There was no way Ghost was wearing anything other than a cloak. 

Aspen let go of the cloak, picking out a pale pink cloak embroidered with white branching lines. “Why not this?” She suggested, holding it out for Ghost to view. One of the attendants shuffled nervously, looking over different accessories, occasionally glancing back over at the parent and child.

They looked at the cloak skeptically, clutching theirs closer to themself. They hoped their expression conveyed the ‘No’ they felt. They were not wearing pink or white or gray or any other color the Lady tried to put on them. Their cloak was fine . 

The Lady frowned. “We are not letting you attend such an event with that sort of outfit. What type of mother would we be?” She asked, leaning back. The cloak was pressed against her lap. They ignored her, trying to walk out of the door. “And where do you think you are going child?” Aspen picked them up and sat them down, putting herself between the door and them. Curse their height.

She spread out her palms. “Choose one.” And by her expression, she wouldn’t let Ghost leave until they did. They grumbled, turning back towards the heap of clothing. All the colors were either pale or incredibly bright. Nothing at all like the muted dark blue of their cloak.

Well, there was one cloak. It wasn’t the blue of their cloak, but it was close. Muted gray in color, with shimmering black lining the edges. And it. Was. Fluffy. Granted the fluff, dark gray in color, was only around the neck, but still!

Ghost immediately snatched it up, eyes wide behind their mask. They gently stroked the fluff once. They dare say it was softer than the Radiance’s fluff. They turned, holding it up triumphantly. “We suppose that will work. Come along now. There is still plenty for us to do.”

--*--

Hornet looked around the gathering uneasily, staying at the edges. There weren’t many bugs here, true to the Lady’s words. The Great Knights and those they had invited, Xero and that moth he invited (Markarth was it?), the Dreamers (obviously) and those they invited, the vessels, a couple noble bugs the Lady seemed to be friends with… Okay so there were a fair amount of bugs here. And by fair, she meant shitton.

And that was a shitton too many bugs compared to what she was used to.

She kept a careful eye on each of her siblings, or tried to anyway. Thankfully she wasn’t the only one watching them. Ivory was always looking across the gathering, keeping track of his children. And she was sure Ghost was helping. Still. 

She would feel better with her needle. To feel that weight in her claws. Why did she wish to feel that weight? She was a child still, wasn’t she? She had always been a child. Best not to think about that when she had basically 100 siblings to watch.

She stuffed her paws in her pockets, staying close to Herrah. Hollow was off in a corner of the room, staying far from everyone. She looked over at Grimmchild who flew around Ghost. Then back to Herrah, who was talking to Monomon about something. She looked down at the necklace she wore, cupping the pendant in her claws. A gift from three mothers. She hadn’t seen Vespa yet. 

“My little fuzzball!” Hornet was yanked upwards, turned around to face said Vespa. The bee queen smothered her in a fierce hug. “Oh how I’ve missed you!” Around the fluff of Vespa, Hornet could hear her mother laughing. 

Vespa set Hornet down, kneeling to better look at her. She placed a paw between Hornet’s horns. “I am so glad you’re alright. I’m so so sorry I haven’t been able to visit you sooner. I see you’ve gotten my gift.” She smiled, tapping the necklace. Then she hugged Hornet again. “I’ve missed you.”

Hornet was frozen for a moment, before wrapping her arms around Vespa. “I’ve missed you as well,” she mumbled. The last time she had visited the Hive the bees had attacked her. The last time she had seen Vespa was before she returned to the White Palace. Before she knew Ivory had left as well. 

Vespa moved to stand, but Hornet didn’t want to let go. Stay, she wanted to say. But eventually the spider princess let Vespa go. Herrah and Vespa embraced then exchanged a kiss. “Osmia’s been worried sick about you, little one. He’d love it if you visited and brought that needle of yours,” Vespa said mischievously. 

Hive Knight… She hadn’t even seen him since the bees attacked her. Osmia I’m so sorry . “Oh! Oh child!” Herrah’s arms wrapped around her. 

“Honeydrop,” her mother’s voice cooed, using one claw to wipe away the few tears that leaked. Get yourself under control, Hornet! You are Hornet, princess-protector of Hallownest. Child of Spider and Wyrm, daughter of three queens . “Once these parties are over, you’ll get to see Oz.” You need to be strong! You need to be … 

She wiggled in Herrah’s grasp, twisting so she’d land on her paws. Then, she ran. Ran towards Hollow who had remained where they were. The music had changed to something more informal. Something fit for a troupe. Not once did she glance over her shoulder. She only stopped running when she had reached Hollow. 

Mimic was there, too. ‘Sibling!’ They signed. 

She gave a small wave in return. Hollow looked pale. Paler than they usually did. “Hollow? Are you alright?” Their head moved only slightly. “Hollow?”

‘Hollow says they’re fine,’ Mimic relayed yet Hornet frowned. Stagshit .

“Do you want me to get Ghost?”

A nod from Hollow. “Alright. Stay here.”

--*--

The Pale King picked at his claws, shifting under the weight of the fancy robes his Root had picked out. While nice to have friends here, there was still not much for him to talk about. Not in this sort of setting. Ogrim and Isma were dancing with one another, no rhyme or reason to it. Aspen and Dryya were speaking on the sidelines while also watching the dancers. Thread and Falcer seemed to be in some debate while Mothwing was running around and hugging everyone. 

He heard Dryya’s barking laugh. “Your Majesty,” Lurien spoke. His outfit had barely changed. The cloak he wore still the dark blue, though it looked significantly nicer. 

“Lurien. How’s the city?” He asked. 

“The Blue City fairs well, my king. The people are still anxious about the Infection. Perhaps it would be best to make an official announcement?”

The King waved a paw. “I’ll get to that. How are you doing?”

“How am I doing?” Lurien asked. “I am well, Your Majesty.”

“Lurien,” he spoke, “you don’t have to lie.”

“I am not, sire.”

“Mm-hmm.”

Lurien sighed. “I worry about the Infection. I do not know what you’ve done to quell it. I have faith in you, no doubt, my king. Yet I cannot help but worry.” 

The Pale King exhaled. “I wouldn’t expect anything less. It’s alright for you to worry Lurien. But promise me you won’t get caught up in it.” He set a paw on Lurien’s shoulder. Underneath, he could feel Lurien tense. (If not for the mask, he’d be able to see Lurien’s bright red face.)

“O-of course, my king,” Lurien nodded. “Would you care for some refreshments?”

“That does sound nice. Thank you… Lurien.” The butterfly had already started the long trek towards the drinks. “Oh.” The song stopped, musicians preparing for the next song. Ogrim and Isma stepped off the dance stage, Hegemol giving them both some drinks. The mighty knight was dressed in his armor as usual, though his helmet was off. 

Who would be at the next party? Everyone here plus some nobles. He watched Mothwing run up to Hegemol and stare. The Hercules beetle laughed and patted his child’s head. Falcer was dragging Thread along towards Dryya. He hadn’t seen Ghost, Lost, Hollow, or Mimic in a while. Where were those four?

The next song started to play. But it wasn’t one of the songs Aspen usually had playing. It didn’t even sound like Hallownest music. He was grabbed and spun around, eyes meeting with Grimm’s. “Dance with me, my friend,” he offered, stepping away and bowing. 

He looked around and caught Aspen’s eyes. She gave him a nod. “U-uh.” He looked back at Grimm, the moth still waiting, holding a paw open for Ivory’s. The King placed his within Grimm’s. The moth twirled around him, bringing him to the dance floor as the music picked up. “Grimm!” He half-whispered half-shouted.

“Yes?” He asked with a smirk, holding Ivory close. The two had yet to actually start dancing and yet Ivory could feel everyone’s eyes burning into him. 

“I--I don’t know how to dance,” he confessed.

Grimm laughed (Root and dirt, his laugh was so nice. Not like Aspen’s quiet laugh, but just as nice to hear.) “Allow me to teach you, King Ivory. Follow my steps.” Grimm brought Ivory along in many twirls and leaps. The Wyrm almost got caught up on his robes several times, but he found Grimm always there to catch him. Was it the scarlet flame that made him warm? Or was it Grimm, dancing beside him? 

The song swelled at its peak. There were other dancers, following Grimm’s example. They were no longer the focus. Or, well, not focused on as much. Dryya was leading Aspen in a dance. “Whoa!” Ivory cried as Grimm dipped him. The moth held him there. “This isn’t supposed to last this long,” he said.

“Oh I know. I just want to look at you.” He felt his face heat up (more than it already had.) “You really are so cute when you’re upset.” Grimm brought Ivory back up and he shoved the moth away. “Oh come on King Ivory! The song isn’t over yet!”

“I am done dancing!” He shot back, doing his best to ignore his red face. He rubbed one paw across his cheek. Lurien was back, waiting for him. “Thank you,” he said, accepting the drink from the butterfly’s paw and drinking from it.

“Your welcome,” Lurien said softly. There was silence. Ivory watched Grimm continue to dance, albeit alone. He caught the moth’s gaze multiple times as the song went on. “Ahem. Uh, my king,” Lurien started. He looked over at the butterfly. “Did you enjoy your dance? You and Grimm seemed to, ah, click?”

Ivory nearly choked on his drink. Lurien immediately started apologizing while also having no idea what to do. The Pale King waved him off. “I-it’s alright. It’s alright.” He wouldn’t die of choking, though it wasn’t a very pleasant feeling. He cleared his throat. “We-- It was a dance.” Was his face still red? He could see his reflection in his drink, albeit blurry and tinted in color. He was pretty sure he was still blushing. He continued to look at his reflection in the glass when he saw another blurry figure. He gasped softly, looking over his shoulder. But the figure wasn’t there. It had never been there. 

“My king?”

“I… I would like to sit down.”

--*--

This was not very fun. Partially because Ghost had Spark to take care of still, and partially because that palace still occupied a part of their mind. They tried to ignore it, thinking about their siblings or Hallownest instead. But their thoughts still  managed to bring it up.

“Hey,” Lost said, sitting beside them. Both leaned against one of the walls, sitting on the floor. Ghost sat with their knees against their chest while Lost just sorta sprawled out. 

“Hey.”

“This is fun,” Lost said. They wore a long scarf, picking up a part of it and throwing it off their lap. “Mothwing has to hug everyone so I’m here now,” They explained with a shrug. 

You don’t need a reason to sit here, Ghost didn’t say. “Spark’s a handful.” If Spark could hear them, he’d squeak indignantly. Except he couldn’t and instead he tried to pounce on his own tail. That only caused him to tumble and roll.

“I can see that,” Lost nodded. A sliver of empathy, but mostly amusement. “Poor Thread,” the spoke as Thread and Falcer ran past the two. Falcer was pulling them along, Thread trying to get away. They were bickering, though Ghost didn’t catch the conversation, nor did they want to.

“At least it’s Falcer and not Mimic.”

“Oh Voidsea yeah.” The two thought about that for a minute. “I’d rather not drag Mimic away from a spike pit. Again.” 

Spark was up again, chasing his tail once more. Again he tripped, bumping into Ghost’s shin. They picked him up, placing him in their lap. He whined. “I wish he could talk.”

“Can he write?” Lost asked. Ghost motioned to the paws Spark did not have. “Oh, right.” Spark wiggled, getting himself upright before crawling off of Ghost like a bat. Mothwing broke free of the crowd, patting Spark which got a hiss, then dragging Lost up by the paws. Or trying anyway. “Hey Mothy.”

“Come on! Get up! I gotta show you something!”

“But I want to sit.”

“But I want you to see this! Come on!” Mothwing huffed, stamping a foot down and giving Lost a look.

Lost gave Ghost a shrug before standing. They waved Ghost goodbye, and Ghost returned it. They looked down at Spark again. You really need to figure out talking . Spark nyehed in agreement, or maybe in frustration? Either way, he nyehed. 

Maybe he’d like something to eat. Ghost stood, picking up Spark and placing him between their horns before setting off. They walked around the outskirts of the party. A group of noble bugs were talking. They all stared at Ghost as they walked by, picking up their speed. Once away, they slowed. The music had shifted to that of the Grimm Troupe. They half wondered if Grimm would start fighting someone as he “danced.” The amount of times they had fought him. At one point, they just struck him without bowing. That hadn’t been a very good idea. At least it isn’t Nightmare King, they thought. They were still pretty sure he had only pitied them and let them win. 

“Ghost.” Oh? Hornet! They hugged her. “Yes, I am glad to see you too. Now let me go.” She shoved them away a tiny bit, smoothing out her dress. Her voice had a small tilt to it. “Come on. Hollow wants you.” She turned before Ghost could ask about her voice. They sighed and followed.

Hollow’s head rested on Mimic’s legs, the rest of their body curled up. Ghost knelt down beside them, catching Mimic’s eye. They nudged Hollow gently. Their twin let out a meek chirp in response. 

“What’s wrong?” Hornet asked.

Hollow sat up slowly. ‘They want to be alone,’ Ghost relayed. “Do you want to rest?”

“Yes please.”

Ghost helped Hollow up as Mimic told Hornet what they were doing. “Are you sick?” She asked and Hollow shook their head no. She tapped her claw on her chin with her brow furrowed. “Oh! You’re going to molt soon, aren’t you?” 

Molt? Hollow nodded yes. “I’ll tell Ivory and Aspen.” She gave Hollow a look of sympathy before rejoining the crowd. So Hollow was going to molt soon? They hadn’t even thought of that.

“What’s molting like?” They asked Hollow. Mimic walked on the other side, taking the lead to clear the way. 

“Could you write it down? Or, wait, I could write it down while you tell me,” Mimic added.

Hollow sighed, not answering. “Maybe you could tell me tomorrow. This would be your second molt?”

“They’ve never molted before,” Ghost said. 

“Oh. Then how do they know what molting’s like?”

“Shut up!” Hollow snapped, making their sibs jump. “Just… shut up please,” they tried again, voice sounding tired. Mimic, surprisingly did. Probably because Hollow had yelled at them. They held open the ballroom doors just enough for the three of them to slip past.

“I’m going to stay behind if that’s okay.” They shifted, looking back at the ball. “Thread’s been begging me to help them for the past half hour.”

“Okay. I can take it from here,” Ghost assured. Mimic nodded before slipping past the door again. Ghost and Hollow began the walk back to their room. 

Chapter Text

Ghost sat separated from their twin, a locked door between them. A few days ago Hollow had fallen completely still. Ivory had assured everyone that Hollow was fine, would be better than fine, but that didn’t rid Ghost of their worry. Hollow’s done this before , they reminded themself, fiddling with the Grimmchild charm. Spark lay next to them, head on their lap, watching Ghost’s claws idly. 

    There came the tapping of claws on the floor and they looked up to see Ivory. “May I sit next to you?” He asked. He didn’t wait for an answer, taking a seat next to Ghost, on the opposite side of Spark. They stopped fiddling with the charm, hooking it back onto their cloak. The King looked over and smiled as Spark sneezed and a plume of smoke escaped his mouth. Then he looked at the wall opposite of the three. The flowers around Hollow’s room were different from the rest. Ghost could only wonder why. 

    “My child,” The King began. Ghost looked up at him. They ignored Spark as he climbed up their cloak and sat between their horns. “I know you miss Hollow, but your siblings miss you. Come stay at the party for a little while?” He asked with shining eyes. Ghost tilted their head towards the door. What if Hollow finally woke back up and they weren’t there for them? Spark leapt from their head, landing in Ivory’s open paws. Maybe they should go, or at least let Spark go. He must be so bored.

    ‘How long until Hollow wakes up?’ They decided to ask. Ivory went stiff for a moment, head tilted upwards as his eyes seemed to glaze over. He stayed frozen in that state for a few long heartbeats. During which, Ghost wondered just what he was seeing. How did a Wyrm’s foresight work anyway? Could they end up with it? Or maybe Hornet would. Ivory’s head moved, color returning to his dark eyes. They looked up at him, waiting.

    He flicked a claw as he spoke, “Well, Hollow will be sleeping for a few more days at least.” Ghost looked away, back at the wall, doing their best to convey a disappointed sigh. He chuckled softly. “Try to get your mind off it,” he offered.

    ‘What’s foresight like?’ 

    He paused to consider this. “It… varies, individual to individual. I’ve been told mine is especially strong.” He shifted, turning his body to face Ghost. He held out two paws. “Picture this: There are many strings surrounding you. Those closer to you are those more likely to occur, and the parts of the string closer to you are closer to happening. You can trace a string to its end and see all what might play out. But it isn’t easy. Strings tend to get wound up around one another, clumping and knotting. It’s hard to untie.

    “And some strings you can’t read clearly for whatever reason.” He paused, biting at his lip. “When the Infection raged, there were many timelines that were coated in it’s light. I knew they continued on, but I just couldn’t read them. Then there are those who go dark.” The King was silent for a moment. “Does that answer your question?”

    ‘Somewhat,’ they responded with. Mimic would love to know all this. ‘Could we have foresight?’

    Ivory tapped his chin. “I showed signs of my foresight at a young age. Younger than you, might I add, but my um… but I know some Wyrms show signs later in their life. So we will not know until you are an adult. If you don’t show before then, you will never have it.” My um? My what? Before Ghost could press, the King stood up, Spark launching himself into the air. “Now why don’t we get to that party?”

--*--

    He thought the last party had been a lot. That was nowhere near compared to this . It seemed every noble in the entire kingdom was here, and then some. Aspen stood next to him, speaking with some nobles. “Multiple children? How lucky are you!” He heard one noble say. 

    “But the King hid them, Lura. Why would he need to do that? And what of the Infection?” Another noble asked. The King opted to tune them out as Hegemol marched over, wearing a rather fancy bowtie. His greatnail rested on his back casually.

    The Great Knight swung an arm over Ivory’s shoulders, dragging him into a hug. “Ah, it is good to have these parties again!” He said in his deep voice. “I have missed this.” He released the Wyrm, placing his paws on his hips. He took in a deep breath, savoring the hubbub of talk. “Yep. Missed this.” 

    Ivory nodded along, though he was tempted to do something other than stand here. At least Ghost seemed to be doing well. He caught glimpses of them chasing after their siblings, Spark trailing behind. He also caught glimpses of Grimm. Like right now. The Nightmare King gave him a smirk and he quickly diverted his eyes. That dance was a one time thing. He did not like him! The growing heat on his cheeks tried to say otherwise.

    Hegemol seemed to have caught that exchange, and the pale dusting on Ivory’s cheeks. “Go say something to him!” He urged with a friendly clap on the back. “The Queen won’t mind. She’s got Dryya plus you. Go on!” He nudged the King forward some.

    Ivory side stepped, backing away. “No. It was a one time thing. And it wasn’t that deep anyway.”

    “Hey,” Hegemol said, placing a hand on Ivory’s shoulder to stop him. “Seriously, talk to him. There is no straight explanation for that.” He jerked a thumb backwards towards Grimm who gave finger guns back. 

    The King brushed Hegemol’s paw off his shoulder with a sigh. “Now is not the time.”

    The Great Knight scoffed. “Now is the perfect time!”

    “Do you dare go against your king’s words?” Ivory teased.

    Hegemol sighed dramatically. “No sire. Though is it going against the King’s words if the Queen herself agrees?” Ivory looked back at Aspen. She looked away from him innocently. 

    “The Queen does not need to involve herself in my love life.” Hegemol laughed softly. “More than she already has,” the King added quickly. Argh that was so stupid! ‘Does not need to involve herself.’ She’s your wife! He groaned as Hegemol continued to laugh his wheezing laugh.

    Ivory glanced up at Grimm again. The Nightmare King had disappeared. Good riddance. Hegemol was still laughing and there was nothing for Ivory to do. Maybe a quick peek at the future wouldn’t hurt. Just the near future.

    No, no. What if someone wanted to talk to him and he was too busy looking at the future for his entertainment? That was not the proper use of his ability. Still, anything other than this hubbub of talk he didn’t quite grasp. 

    Maybe he should get a drink? Hmm, yes, a drink sounded lovely. He stepped past Hegemol, the knight only now starting to contain his laughter. He weaved through the crowd. And by weave, he just walked. The crowd parted for him. There were different looks sent at him, but none hostile. All held some mixture of awe. If he got out more, would he still receive these looks? He could feel every pair of eyes on him, boring into him. There was no need to get out more! Aspen did a lovely job on the social side.

    He reached the drink table, taking a simple glass of water. Something he had insisted on despite his Root’s cries of it ‘not being fit for such a formal event.’ He had countered with the children. He had heard her mumble something along the lines of ‘juice,’ but she had dropped it. 

    “Hello King Ivory,” Grimm said, suddenly beside the King. He jumped before taking a sip from his water as his greeting, trying to hide how startled he had been. “I brought you something.” The King arched an eyebrow. What could Grimm possibly bring? The moth presented the Wyrm a small two-layered cake. Red velvet with black frosting. Most likely Divine’s work. Ah.

    “Thank you,” he said as he took the little cake. The two watched the crowd sway and change in-time with the music that played. He thought back to his dance. After every twirl, Grimm brought him close. His paws against the moth’s chest. He could feel his heartbeat underneath the warmth carapace. Could smell the scent of wood smoke and spice clinging to the moth’s wing. He could feel his face going red again and quickly redirected his thoughts.

    “What do you think of this dance?” Grimm asked him.

    “It isn’t anything like your’s.” The bugs danced so close to one another, holding them against each other as they swayed and turned in circles slowly. Even the faster paced dances weren’t like the one Grimm had taught him. Swaying in time with his Root was lovely, though the constant rush with Grimm was something else entirely. 

    “That is true,” Grimm agreed. He then looked at all the different drinks offered. “Which one has the strongest kick?” He asked. 

    “I wouldn’t know. I don’t drink.”

    “Buzzkill,” Grimm muttered as he selected a glass.

    “What?”

    “What?” Grimm then drank from his own glass. 

    Ivory sighed and rolled his eyes before he took a bite from the small cake. It was delicious. If he asked Divine for the recipe… he couldn’t really bake, but he could at least have a servant make it. Or attempt to learn to bake. Maybe Hornet would appreciate it? 

He rapped his fork on the plate. He watched as Mothwing ran up to some noble, arms outstretched in offering of a hug. The noble accepted skeptically, kneeling down to let Mothwing give them said hug. Once released, the little vessel ran off into the crowd. The noble and his group of friends chuckled lightly as he stood once more. They sure are full of love, he thought with blooming pride. Though if they approach the wrong bug … worry started to creep in. Needing to distract himself, he said, “Grimm.”

    “Hmm?” The moth asked, looking at Ivory once again.

    He took in a breath. He wanted to distract himself from any worry, yes, but was this really the best way to do it? Oh, what should he say? Should he say it? Was he really about to say it? What if Grimm didn’t feel the same way? Maybe he should wait. He’d only known him for a few months. “King Ivory?” Distract yourself from worrying by making yourself worry! He cringed internally. 

    The doors to the ballroom slamming open saved him. The crowd all turned to look at the culprit. A very angry Tiso stomped straight towards Ivory, fists balled. He looked to have just been out of a fight, hood torn off and just a bit of Void floating off him. Still, Tiso didn’t seem to mind, or even acknowledge it as he stopped in front of the King. “Tiso? Is there a problem?” The King asked.

    Tiso scoffed. “A problem? You think there’s a problem? OF COURSE THERE’S A PROBLEM!” Tiso barked. “I tried it Quirrel’s way, but you know what?” Tiso moved closer, glaring into the King’s eyes. He could feel the anger radiating off of Tiso. What problem? Was all he could wonder, though a part of him knew. The Hollow Knight plan. Of course Tiso was bound to find out.

    SMACK!

    The King stumbled to his knees. Pain erupted across his jaw, trailing down his neck. His paw shot to the area, though did not touch. For a moment he looked at nothing. Then, he looked at Tiso. “ That’s for the vessels,” He spat before he held out his shield, handling it as more of a weapon than an actual shield. “And since the Shade Lord doesn’t seem willing to fight, I’ll fight for them!” 

Tiso leapt at the King with a war cry not unlike the Lord of Shades’ own roar. 

Ivory’s eyes widened before he flung himself forward, teleporting in a flash of light. Tiso whirled around, looking for the King. Ivory caught Grimm’s confused look. He would have gone to his side, if it wasn’t for Tiso. “Fight me!” Tiso hissed, slamming his shield into one of Ivory’s forearms. Ivory gritted his teeth, teleporting into the air, supported by his wings. 

    From here, he could get a better view of the ball. The music had stopped as a crowd formed. His Great Knights were doing their best to quell any fears, and give plenty of room to him and his combatant. Speaking of which, his eyes turned towards the dark figure. A normal bug wouldn’t not fare well against his spells, though Tiso wasn’t a bug by any means. He summoned five glowing daggers made of soul, all arching towards Tiso. 

    Tiso used his shield to whack a few aside, though one managed to hit his side. He grunted, a paw placed to it. He looked only for a moment before his eyes flicked up with renewed anger, not that it needed renewing.

    He flung his paw back before flicking it forward. Three whistling objects flew up, two whizzing past Ivory, but the third embedding itself in his arm. He bit his tongue as the heat of injury was replaced by freezing cold. Cold that still somehow burned. He sucked in a breath, focusing on the new wound. Tiso reeled back and chucked his shield up. Ivory reacted by creating a soul nail and slamming into it. 

    The shield clattered on the floor. Tiso darted forward, only to be met by Hegemol’s massive nail between him and his shield. He brought his paw in close, glaring at the knight. “Stand down, less I use lethal force,” Hegemol said calmly, though stern. The ballroom doors were once again flung open, this time by two red figures and one concerned pillbug.

Tiso took Hegemol’s slight distraction as an opportunity to grab his shield. “Sorry, but this is important, and I doubt you could actually kill me,” Tiso said to Hegemol. But before he could fling it back up, Ivory had landed beside his Great Knights. Xero ran forward, jumped and threw something, before landing. The something missed Tiso, hitting the floor just before him, though a second later it exploded outward, vines twisting and turning until the Voidling was prisoner.

    The red moth tilted his head, looking at the captive Voidling. “So those are the vines,” The King heard him murmur. Quirrel approached Tiso, though stopped short. Tiso himself was spitting curses and trying to wiggle out of the vines. A mantis, Ipe, darted forth, pointing her curved claw at Tiso. Ze’Mer was not far behind.

    “I’m sorry, my King. I-- We tried to stop him, but…” Xero trailed off as Ogrim and Hegemol approached Tiso, joining Ze’Mer and Ipe, making sure he was properly bound and not able to hurt anyone or himself. 

    The King nodded, then shook his wings. “I see. It’s alright Xero. I’m fine, and I do not think any of the guests are harmed.” But what was the Quirrel way? The pillbug stepped away from his knights as they brought Tiso forward. His face was a mixture of different emotions, making it hard for Ivory to read. Though he was pretty sure it was some form of wounded concern. 

    “My King, what should we do with him?” Ogrim asked.

    He glanced around before making a decision. “Take him to the dungeon,” he settled on. He’d deal with Tiso later. Ogrim nodded loyally and he and Hegemol carried Tiso away. Quirrel watched them go. “If you want to speak to him still, I won’t stop you,” Ivory told the pillbug. Quirrel looked at him, then shook his head no.

    “I’m not sure--”

    “That’s alright.” He focused on his arm finally, and the Void-made shuriken embedded in his carapace. Gritting his teeth, he dug it out, leaving his claws dripping the off-white blood of a Wyrm. He let the shuriken fall, focusing on stitching his carapace back together. It was cold, and every stitch sent a jolt of pain, but he had to stop the bleeding, less he worry everyone more. The Void trying to counteract his magic didn’t help.

    Aspen wove through the crowd, Dryya and Grimm on her heels. “My Wyrm!” She cried, kneeling down and holding his face in her paws. “Are you alright? Do you need a trip to the hot springs? Or the royal doctors?”

    “I’m fine, my Root,” he said, one paw resting on one of hers. “I’m sorry to cut this event short, but.”

    “I know. It would be… unwise to continue.” She moved back to address Dryya, Ze’Mer, and Isma. Grimm moved forward, expression troubled.

    “Grimm,” Ivory said, and at the same time Grimm spoke, “Ivory.” The King motioned for him to continue.

    Grimm shuffled, looking not entirely sure about what he wanted to say. He settled on, “Are you okay? I know Queen Aspen just asked you that, but.” He stopped, blinked, and bit his lip. “Wha-- Mm. Do you want to go rest?”

    “Root and dirt, yes,” Ivory exhaled. Then he looked around slyly before leaning in. “Between you and I, this hurts like a bitch.” He tilted his wounded arm for emphasis.

    Grimm gasped dramatically. “The King? Swearing? Why I never would have thought him possible!” Then he broke down into giggles. Ivory chuckled alongside him. Their laughter was cut short, however, as a scream cut through the ballroom. Ivory jerked up, as did Grimm. They shared a glance before he leapt up. There was a shout, a thud, and chaos all at once.

    Partygoers finally made a break for the exit, shoving past one another. And yet more stayed, watching a morbid scene play out like this was not the White Palace, but instead the Colosseum of Fools. He looked down for a second. “Knights! Kingsmoulds! Get everyone out of here and tend to the wounded!” His eye flicked up and he finally caught the two combatents by the flash of Spark’s fire. Soul Master Dior was fighting against a much smaller form, teleporting away before drawing up his nail. “Ghost!”

--*--

    It was surprisingly easy to hide in the crowd, or rather get lost. Which made keeping track of their siblings incredibly difficult. They didn’t doubt Hornet’s ability to defend herself, nor did they doubt Lost or Falcer, the latter being absolutely feral in any fight against their siblings. But Mimic, Mothwing, and Thread? None of them were quite that good.

    They shouldn’t worry so much, they knew, but if something happened to their sib and they weren’t around-- Spark bumped his face against Ghost’s back. They flinched before grabbing him and placing him between their horns. He chirped. At least Spark wasn’t as bad as the last ball.

    He still decided spooking the occasional noble was fun, but there were no fires to worry about. “Mimic, you still have an eye on your twins, right?” They clarrified for probably the upteenth time.

    Over the link, they could feel Mimic’s eyeroll. “Yes. Thread has Falcer on a leash, and I have a leash on Thread. We’re fine.” 

    “I just want to make sure. If Hollow was here, too…”

    “Why are you so worried, Ghost?” Thread cut in with. Spark whined, tilting his head, wanting to know about whatever Ghost was talking about. 

    ‘Making sure the triplets are okay,’ they signed. Over the link, they conveyed a shrug. Something just didn’t sit right. Their luck was never this good for this long. “There’s so many new bugs. I just want to make sure.” Maybe their luck was finally, finally , turning around and they just weren’t used to it yet. Mimic nodded, not fully convinced. Oh well. Checking in with Lost was next. “How’s Mothwing?”

    “About that,” Lost started reluctantly. Oh. There it was. The bad luck. Or maybe lack of luck. “Mothy saw a butterfly and ran off. I can’t find them now.” Okay, butterfly. Did they know a butterfly? Oh! What if that was Marissa? She would be alright too! They shook their head. Even if that had been Marissa, Mothwing was long gone.

    ‘Spark, we have to find Mothwing, okay?’ They relayed. Spark nodded with a determined chirp before springing away from Ghost. ‘And no scaring people!’ Spark whined loudly before flapping upwards to get a better view. “Spark and I will help look. There’s only so far they can go.” Lost’s answer was churning worry. 

    They tried to move through the crowd quickly, but they were small and silent and the partygoers often almost stepped on them. They had to dodge a lot of them, which slowed them. They kept Spark in their vision to the best of their ability, though he finally flew out of range. They supposed the bad feeling had finally arrived. Just don’t be too bad, they could only hope. 

    Spark returned quite suddenly, barreling down to tug at Ghost and lead them in a somewhat different direction. If they could fly, or even just double jump with the aid of wings, they probably would have moved so much easier. But then Ivory would learn about their broken wings and they didn’t want him hurt. Didn’t want him hurt? No, they didn’t want him to know! And maybe didn’t want him hurt anymore than he already was.

    They pushed that thought aside, catching sight of the moss green cloak Mothwing wore. Spark let go and settled between Ghost’s horns as they moved forward. By the time they had reached where Mothwing was, they had already disappeared. “Mothing!” They called, and honestly they should have done that sooner. “Come here. Lost and I are worried.”

    “No!” Came the cheerful reply. “I’m having an adventure!”

    “But you shouldn’t adventure alone.”

    “But don’t all cool heros?” Mothwing responded with and Ghost went silent for a moment. “I’m gonna be a hero!” Telling their siblings stories about their adventures, even if disguised under fairytales, might not have been very smart. But they weren’t the only one telling tales of heroically lonely bugs. 

    Spark breathed a bit of smoke, clearly just as annoyed as Ghost. Good. “Well, um.” What should they say? They were trying to follow where they thought Mothwing went, but the crowd shifted so quickly. “Some “Some heros are alone, yeah, but… it’s lonely. And when they finally do make a friend, you… you don’t want to los e them. And you’ll do anything to protect them.” They looked at Spark who, despite having no idea what Ghost was saying, still gave a smile and a wagging tail. “And they’ll do anything to protect you. So when you have friends who wanna help you, you should let them.” Was that the right thing to say? 

    Mothwing seemed to contemplate this. “Well, I’m not alone! You guys are here still! But just a little bit away. So if I need you, you’ll be there!”

    Ghost groaned, throwing their head down in the best sigh they could manage. “You tried,” Lost said. “I’d say that little speech was pretty good.”

    “Yeah! Pretty inspiring!” Thread agreed.

    Inspiring didn’t matter when Mothwing was still playing hide-and-seek with their siblings. “But if we’re there now , there isn’t that much of a delay,” Falcer pointed out. “What if you need us right that second, but we’re too far away to reach you in time?” That seemed to make Mothwing quiet. Falcer having good advice… Strange. A good thing, but strange.

    “I’m gonna go hug that bug now bye.”

    Ghost stopped moving. Why couldn’t Mothwing just listen? This may be the White Palace, and their sibs may been protected more than enough, but these were still stranger bugs that could hurt them! Even accidentally! Or Mothwing could accidentllly hurt a bug and cause an incident and Mothwing didn’t need that on their conscious. 

    Spark made an awkward garbled noise, like he was trying to talk. Which he probably was. ‘Aine said you’ll be able to talk soon. Don’t hurt your throat.’ Spark huffed a small plume of smoke, flapping beside Ghost. They reached up for Spark to return to them. The moth grumbled and flew up higher. They rolled their eyes. “I saw Mothwing close to where I was, but I’m not sure where they went now.” At least they could do that.

    Maybe they should stop worrying so much. Maybe this was the little bit of bad luck, the little bit of that little unwell feeling. Maybe they needed to stop comparing everything to what will never be. The ballroom doors slammed open, startling them and the crowd. They tried to see what was going on, but their shortness and lack of functional wings prevented them. Still they shoved their way towards the source.

    There came yelling. Tiso’s voice was quite audible, though whoever he was talking to was harder to hear. Probably Ivory, they realized, based on the words Tiso spat quite harshly. The word ‘fight’ rung out quite loudly for them, combined with an ’I will.’

    Tiso wouldn’t-- no. Tiso! Okay, so the bad luck wasn’t over just yet. As long as Tiso didn’t hurt anyone, it would be fine, right? Just a threat of violence, but nothing else. Though a yelp of pain from Tiso was spelling otherwise. Why does my luck run out now? They were cursed, weren’t they? They tried to get a better visual. Spark came back down, wrapping around their horns. They saw a shimmering light and recognized the form of their father. Three dark splotches of Void were flug up, one colliding with him. No! Their mind raced as they tried to move forward. But the crowd had grown too dense, too thick. They couldn’t go any further.

    Don’t hurt Ivory, don’t hurt Ivory. Don’t hurt anyone else, too . They looked around. Finding their siblings, or a sibling was the best thing to do currently. Mothwing. They should try and find Mothwing. They might be scared now. “Mothy? Are you okay?” 

    No response. ‘Look for Mothwing?’ They asked Sprk. Spark reluctantly unwound from Ghost’s horns and took off once again. They sensed a bit of fear and followed it. The fighting seemed to have calmed, based by the fact they didn’t hear any yells or thundering of spells. 

    They managed to squeeze through the crowd. Finally they found Mothwing. Curled up in the arms of a slim bug, shivering. The bug looked unsure of what to do. They met eyes. The bug’s brow furrowed slightly, though Ghost recognized him in a second. Soul Master.

    They didn’t know to what extent things happened in the Soul Sanctum, but they knew it was horrible. And that this bug was responsible for it. This bug, who held Mothwing in his claws. Ghost stepped forward hesitantly. The Soul Master didn’t seem to recognize them, not completely. “Ah, I’m sorry. I think I’ve forgotten your name. You seem familiar.” They stiffened as he spoke. He looked down at the vessel in his claws. “Are you two related? That might be it.”

    “Mothwing. Come here.”

    Mothwing continued to shiver. “Is Father okay?”

    “I don’t know. Come here please.”

    “But the fight! If Father isn’t okay--”

    “Mothwing, please . You have no idea who’s claws you’re resting in. I do.”

    Mothwing shifted in the Soul Master’s claws. They looked up at him. “But he’s protecting!”

    “He isn’t. He’s just…” Planning on stealing Mothwing for whatever happened within the Soul Sanctum? (Had the experiments already started? Or would those happen later? Either way, they couldn’t trust the Soul Master.)

    The Soul Master stood, holding Mothwing. “If you are not related, I’ll have to take them.” Mothwing made a small yelp as Soul Master carried them. Something bubbled up from within them. Void rolled and they charged. They screeched in the layered, static voice of the Lord of Shades, raking freezing cold claws across the Soul Master. He yelled, dropping Mothwing as he clutched his arm. 

    Mothwing lay stuned for a moment. The Soul Master assessed his injury before looking towards Ghost. “I will not hesitate to defend myself,” he said as he stood fully. Their body started to ache, and his words seemed a bit too loud. The crowd around them was disappearing and strengthening all the same. The Soul Master forged a blade made of soul, resembling that of a Soul Warrior. “Stand down and no one has to get hurt.”

    There was a slight glint in his eyes. Like he wanted them to fight. They focused on the image of their own nail. Just the right amount of weight, covered in groves from the Nailsmith’s prized creation, the deadly edge capable of slicing through bugs with ease. “Sib,” Mothwing said. “Sib what are you doing?” Their claws curled around the cold black hilt. They threw it to their side in challenge. 

    “Very well. I’ve given you a fair warning.” Mothwing watched in silent horror as Ghost and the Soul Master met blades. They clung together once, twice, three times before Spark finally spewed fire onto the Soul Master. Ghost dashed through him and charged a nailart they had learned. The great slash tore across his back.

    He yelled and teleported a short distance away. Hemolymph trailed down his back as he grunted. “A strong… warrior,” he grumbled. Then, he stood and asked with a smirk, “But can you match my spells?”

    He created four balls of swirling soul. They weren’t colored orange, like the Radiance’s, nor did they seem as strong. The orbs spiraled towards Ghost. They leapt over two, with one soaring over them. The last collided with their mask. They fell down as pain erupted across thousands of cracks they didn’t know they had. A few pieces fell away. And was there… shouting? Spark was attacking the Soul Master again, spitting more fire. The Soul Master swatted at Spark, hitting his wing. His flight faltered and in a puff of smoke, he was beside Ghost.

    They took a brief moment to address Spark. He would be okay. He had to be. The Soul Master, however. They growled before dashing forward. The Soul master moved back, but that didn’t matter. They jumped, focusing all of their soul into their fist. They slammed down, the shockwave tearing at the Soul Master, and those beyond. The Void tearing at them, causing their hemolymph to fall, no that wasn’t supposed to happen. They paused, staring at the fleeing onlookers. The Soul Master took this opportunity to kick them away. 

    They collided with the ground, hearing a crack. Their eyes widened as they pushed themself up. Their body hurt so much. “You use my own spell against me?” He asked, though he didn’t sound upset. If anything he seemed curious. Too curious. “Fascinating. How did you learn it?”

    They didn’t respond. Instead, they focused on their own body. Something wasn’t right, but they couldn’t place it. The Soul Master was advancing again. They shook off that thought, moving to greet him with their nail. A shade soul would be perfect. But the others behind him. No. Their nail was fine enough. They charged up the nailart Oro had taught them before dashing forward. Their nail tore across the Soul Master’s chest. He stumbled, dropping down to one knee. They charged up another slash, then swung.

    A flash of white blinded them only for a second, but the sound of nail meeting nail rang out. The Pale King locked eyes with Ghost, nail shielding the Soul Master. He turned to his side, looking up. “Grimm! Get Dior out of here!” Their shock gave way, and they swung again, this time across his upper arms. The King grunted, leaping into the air. For a moment, Ghost saw Grimm, supporting Soul Master Dior. Then he was gone in a puff of smoke. 

    “Ghost,” the King spoke. His voice echoed around the almost empty ballroom. They growled again. He landed once more, with a dash length between them. They were about to when Mothwing stumbled in between. Spark nuzzled Ghost’s face, chirping and cooing madly. 

    “Don’t hurt Father!” 

    They stared at Mothwing. Then looked at the little Grimmchild trying to gain their attention. “Please.” Mothwing still shook and was trying to make themself seem smaller. They looked up at the Pale King, at Ivory. He didn’t seem ready to attack them. Their nail clattered to the floor before dissolving into nothingness. 

    Ivory teleported before Ghost, kneeling down and leaving his arms open. They fell into his embrace. (Can’t trust, can’t trust. Light burn. Light break. Light take.) “Shh, it’s going to be okay,” he said softly. They could feel his chest rumble with the words. “Focus on breathing.” Slowly, he stroked their back. “It’s going to be okay.” Spark nuzzled up between them, purring softly. Mothwing hesitantly approached. They walked loudly. 

    Ivory shifted around Ghost, extending an arm for Mothwing to join. They nuzzled close to Ghost. Ivory hummed and his stroking stopped. “My child, your wings… What happened to them?” They didn’t answer, trying to move closer. (Light hurt, light burn. Light… care?) 

    In a puff of red smoke, Grimm had returned. “Ivory,” he almost snarled. They shifted some to look at him. They could see the fire in his eyes blazing and he radiated the harsh heat of flames. 

    “Grimm,” Ivory said calmly. He tilted his head up to look into the Nightmare King’s eyes. (Fire burning, splintering.) “Is Dior alright?”

    Grimm frowned for a moment before answering. “Dior is fine . But you need to explain something. I believe I am far overdue the answer.” A bit of smoke escaped from his mouth. Ivory shifted Ghost and Mothwing so that his lower arms held them. He held Ghost closer in particular, as if to shield them. 

    Grimm was going to learn. He was going to know the truth. And whatever happened next… happened. Their body still ached, dully. They looked at one of their clawed paws. Father said emotions are tied to powers. Then, they looked up at Grimm. Why do I hurt? Grimm’s arms were crossed over his chest. Ivory looked to Ghost, not answering. Oh. They had to answer. The promise. He kept it?

    They jerked their head in a tiny nod. Ivory inhaled. “I will tell you, but please do not let it change anything.” He looked back up at Grimm. The moth didn’t look pleased. “The nightmare you saved me from, the dream where you were cast out, both included one thing across one another. The Lord of Shades.”

    They saw Grimm cringe at the mention. Why would he..? But Ivory’s words stopped their thoughts and whatever Grimm was about to say. “Who you claimed saw you. You told me you believed Ghost was somehow connected to the Lord of Shades. You are right, in that regard.”

    Ghost shifted until their paws could be seen and moved. Grimm already looked concerned. There really wasn’t any way they could make this better. Might as well get it over with. The cracks in their mask didn’t hurt so much anymore, they thought for a moment. ‘I am the Lord of Shades.’ It felt like a truth, and a lie. And now two Higher Beings knew this. 

    There was a beat of silence. Only Spark’s desperate purring made any noise. Maybe they should say something else. Like what? They didn’t know.  What could they say to someone so badly hurt by the previous Lord of Shades? Sorry for something I don’t remember? Sorry for sharing the same name, same powers, same body? Sorry for… for… being the Lord of Shades in its entirety?

    “What the fuck.”

    “Grimm, I know this is shocking, but let me--”

    “What. The. Fuck.” There was a single moment between those words in the next. During which, Ghost held Mothwing close. “You can’t just keep something like that a secret? Do you know what the Lord of Shades did?” He flung out his arms, flames licking at his feet. Ivory let go of his children, standing between them and Grimm.

    “Grimm, please--”

    “You don’t . Because you never fought it. You have no idea just what it did to my home and to my people.” Ghost flinched as he spoke. Mothwing patted their paw reassuringly while Spark moved even closer.

    “You didn’t do anything, right?” Mothwing asked. They didn’t, right? They and the previous Lord of Shades were different. Though what stopped the previous one from taking control? “Don’t feel bad!” 

    “Thank’s Mothy,” they said dryly.

    “You have no idea just what you’re doing! No idea how many lives you’re threatening! We almost died trying to defeat it!” They could see little tears falling from his face, though they turned to steam before they could get very far. The blaze increased in height and intensity,

“And what do I do about it? Kill my own child?!”

    “You’ve killed a million before.”

    Ghost froze, stiffening. Mothwing looked towards Grimm. “He doesn’t mean that. Right, sib? Daddy doesn’t mean that.” Ghost didn’t answer, couldn’t answer. Kill a million before… Father wouldn’t kill them, right? Ivory’s paws balled into fists. Grimm’s eyes went wide, realizing just what he had said.

    “I-Ivory-- Ivory, I didn’t mean--”

    “Leave.” Father’s voice was cold, dark, and distant. 

    “Ivory--”

    “GO!” His wings flared, light arching. Ghost shielded both their eyes, and Mothwing’s. “I do not wish to see your face. And if I see you anywhere near Ghost, I will not hesitate to cast another dream god into their realm permanently.”

    Grimm wavered for a moment before disappearing in a puff of red smoke. The King fell to the floor. Ghost crawled over to his side. Tears slipped from the King’s eyes. He noticed them, reaching forward and cradling them to his chest. Mothwing leaned on his side while Spark curled up between his horns. In the empty ballroom, the only sound was his sobbing.

--*--

    There is a wasp somewhere in the world.

    The wasp is named Kahina. And she walks past the tents and bugs she has come to call her home, her family. Some bugs paused to wave hi, others offered a show unlike those ever seen before. And despite how many times she had seen those shows, she always found them entertaining. But today she would not be viewing them. 

    The scent of breakfast foods mixed in the air. Spicy, sweet, salty. There were meats and fruits. She laughed as some of the children from the nearby village ran past, making her dress flow. She picked up speed as she approached a faded blue tent. She pushed aside the flap and stepped inside. A few lanterns hung, containing small bugs or clumps of glowing moss. There were blankets and pillows thrown all about, though there was enough bare floor to form a path. A desk was off to the side, a few books and inkwells sat atop it, resting beside jars of glowing moss.

    And at that desk sat a rather beautiful bug in Kahina’s opinion. The bug was pale blue in color, a triangular dark blue cloak resting on their body. It faded to silver at the edge. Two pairs of wispy silver-blue wings were folded against the chair’s back. The wasp approached the bug quietly, holding out her claws, waiting for the perfect moment--

    “BAH!”

    “AH! Oh, Kahina. You scared me love,” the blue bug, Sapphire, said, one paw on her heart and the rest on the desk. Kahina barked a laugh and soon the blue bug joined in. She stood, approaching Kahina and pulling her in for a kiss.

    “You wanted me?” The wasp asked after the bug pulled away.

    “Ah, yes,” she said, gathering up the inkwells and books. Her thick tail curled around one of Kahina’s legs. She leaned on the wasp’s chest. The two enjoyed eachother’s warmth for a moment. “Can you go wake Maikoa?”

    “Of course love.”

    Kahina let Sapphire go, walking towards a sectioned off part of the tent. She gently lighted the flap and slipped inside. There, an orchid mantis slept, wrapped up in several different blankets. The wasp shook Maikoa’s shoulder. The mantis groaned, shoving Kahina’s paw away, mumbling, “Let me sleep.”

    She smiled, leaning down. “Maikoa. The sun’s already up. Come on.” Maikoa sighed before pushing herself up. “Meet us in the central section.” The mantis mumbled something, though Kahina was already back in the central section. And so were the rest of the children. Licana charged in first, xyr leaf hair rustling as xe ran. Mehira followed after, claws outstretched as they tried to reach Licana. Lichen was last, walking in quietly, their pin resting on their back.

    ‘Mum! Mam!’ Mehira greeted before rushing up to Sapphire and hugging her. Kahina joined in, as did Licana. 

    Maikoa dragged herself over to the group, throwing down a pillow and blanket on the floor and curling up on it. “Momin,” she mumbled, placing a paw on her face and exhaling. 

    “Goodmorning to you, too,” Sapphire smiled. Licana plopped on the ground, looking up at Mehira. Then xe yanked on Mehira’s wrist, dragging them down.

    “Licana,” Kahina scolded, “We don’t yank people.”

    “Yes Mam. Sorry Mehira,” Licana apologized, giving xyr sibling a hug. Mehira patted xyr arm.

    Sapphire shook her head, hiding a smile. She then cleared her throat. “Children, we shall be heading off again.”

    “Already?” Licana whined, falling onto xyr back. “We just got here!” Xe threw up xyr arms in emphasis. 

    “I know,” Sapphire spoke as she offered a paw to Licana. The willow sapling looked at it before accepting, letting Sapphire haul xem up. “But our path leads elsewhere.”

    ‘Where to?’ Mehira asked with a tilted head.

    Sapphire picked them up and twirled them around before nuzzling them close. “A place far from here. With many bugs of many species. Plenty of stories to be learned.” She placed them back on the ground. Mehira watched her move towards Kahina with wide eyes (despite the fact Mehira’s face showed next to no emotion, the wasp had learned to read it all the same.)

    Kahina caught Sapphire by the waist and dragged her in. “Try to be more specific dear,” she requested, gazing into her love’s four silver eyes. Hanging from her neck was half of an amulet, the other half belonging to Kahina. An amber teardrop split down the middle. A bronze triangular wing jutted off the side. It hung from silk woven with finely aged skill and only a pinch of magic.

    “Oh I wish I could. Though if my foresight could be a bit more specific --” She huffed and Kahina laughed. The children let out a chuckle as well. “It is a mainly underground kingdom, carved into different caverns,” Sapphire started with. “It goes deep I believe, though I’m not sure how deep.” 

“Mm. Children, could you go tell everyone we will be leaving, say, tomorrow morning?” Kahina asked.

“Do I have to too?” Maikoa asked. Kahina nodded. “Ugh, fine,” she drawled before dragging herself up. Lichen was the first to leave, followed by Mehira who held Licana’s paw. Once Maikoa was gone, Kahina turned to face Sapphire.

    “So where are we going?” She asked, crossing her arms over her chest.

    “I have told you everything I know. Except, well,” Sapphire said, rubbing her upper arm, lower pair crossed. She inhaled, paused, then exhaled. “The place feels familiar to me. I know I’ve never seen it before, but.” She paused to chew on her lip. “I’ve seen bugs that look like Lichen and Mehira.”

    “Bugs like them? That’s great news! Maybe we could finally get some answers.”

    “Maybe.”

    Kahina pulled her close, wrapping her arms around Sapphire. “Hey. If they choose to stay behind, that’s their choice. And if they decide to stay with us, then they can.” She tilted Sapphire’s head up. “Let’s see where the path takes us.”

Chapter Text

Xero set down the fresh cup of cocoa beside Markoth. He took a seat directly across from him, holding his own cup close and savoring the warmth. Markoth sniffed the drink, shrugged, and drank it. “Well it’s no tea,” he said finally.

“Of course it isn’t tea. It’s hot cocoa,” Xero pointed out. “It’s even better when you have cookies.” He reminisced on when he was younger. Thicket would take him out to train. They’d visit Grove. He’d make hot cocoa and bake cookies for them. 

Markoth let out a hmph before taking another drink from the cup. “You know, you could make me some of your mom’s tea,” Xero prodded, sticking a stick of cinnamon in the cocoa and stirring with it. 

The moth across from him scoffed. “No one can make my mom’s tea. Asides from my mom, of course.”

“Mmhmm.” He watched as Markoth finished off his cup. “Let me get you some more.” He picked the cup up and returned to the little not-quite-a-kitchen the Great Knights got. Being a squire to Isma had its perks. He set the cup down, retrieving the things he’d need to make more from the pantry. He returned to see a little vessel staring at the cup’s contents. “Uh…”

The vessel, Mimic, looked up and waved. ‘What is this?’ They asked, pointing to the small amount of cocoa caught at the bottom. Xero set the ingredients down before taking the cup from their claws.

“Hot cocoa,” he answered with. “I can make you some.” He started to rinse out the cup before getting the water he would need.

‘I’d like that,’ Mimic agreed. Xero turned the stove on, pouring in the powder, sugar, and everything else. Once boiling, he brought the heat down, adding in only a small amount of spice and then the milk. 

He poured two cups, one for Markoth and one for Mimic. He cleaned up the ingredients, saying, “Not yet,” when he saw Mimic go in for a sip. The vessel huffed but waited. The squire picked up both cups and sat them down on the table. Mimic crawled up to join them, though waited until both moths took a sip. Then they did as well.

‘This is really good!’ They signed, completely oblivious to the cocoa now on their face.

“Where is your mouth?” Markoth muttered.

‘Right here,’ Mimic responded with before revealing said mouth. Their face just split open and Xero really regretted the fact Markoth had to ask. Vantablack mandibles burst forth as a crack of darkness spread, originating underneath the eyes. Mimic showed off a row of jagged sharp teeth varying in size and shape before snapping their mouth shut. The crack sealed over, leaving behind unblemished white shell. The mandibles seemed to have been devoured by the dark Void of the vessel.

The two moths stared at Mimic. Then Markoth muttered, “Voidlings.” He sipped his drink, then looked at the sticks of cinnamon on the table. He held it up, looking at it, then to Xero. “Cinnamon and chocolate?”

“It’s good,” Xero defended with. He picked up another stick and put it into Markoth’s cup, stirring lightly. “Try it.” Markoth looked at him skeptically but took a sip. “So, what do you think?”

Markoth took another sip. “... it’s good.”

‘Can I try?’ Mimic requested. Xero shrugged and gave the vessel his own cup. Mimic took one sip, then immediately signed, ‘That’s amazing!’ They then snatched up a handful of sticks of cinnamon and chucked them into their cup.

“Whoa, wait, not that much--”

But it was too late. Mimic drank some of their cup only to start coughing. Xero grabbed some water, setting the glass beside the little vessel. Mimic downed it in one gulp. “That’s why we don’t eat cinnamon,” Xero chuckled.

“But you eat mint,” Markoth pointed out. “I still don’t understand how you Greenpath bugs can sniff that, let alone stomach.”

“And I can’t understand why you think fighting people before introducing yourself is a good idea,” Xero countered with in a friendly tone. “Plus mint is pretty useful.”

‘Greenpath? You’re from Greenpath? How’d you two meet?’ Mimic asked, leaning on the table.

Xero and Markoth exchanged glances. “Well,” Xero began.

“I tried to kill him,” Markoth interrupted, arms across over his chest as he leaned back. “He interrupted my meditation session so I tried to kill him.”

‘What?! Why?’ 

“But then you gave me that tea. And you taught me that song you were singing,” Xero added. 

“I guess I did,” Markoth shifted.

“And you called me an idiot when I left to join the Colosseum of Fools,” Xero listed. 

“I did,” Markoth said, starting to sink.

“ And you begged me not to become a Great Knight.” Markoth sunk even lower as Xero smiled smugly. “Good thing we have Thistlewind, right?”

Markoth mumbled something.

‘So you two are friends now?’

“Yeah,” Xero confirmed. “We’re friends. And to the ends of the earth we’d follow thee!”

“Shut up! Shut up!” Markoth said, shoving Xero. He could only laugh as Markoth quickly got up and fled. 

‘Just friends?’

“Oh, yeah, definitely.” He couldn’t help but smile whenever he thought of Markoth. He also couldn’t help but sometimes picture them having a domestic life together, as roommates, as good friends do. 

--*--

Grimm’s words still echoed in their mind as they waited for the stag to arrive. “No idea… almost died trying to defeat… you’ve killed a million before… ” They shook as the stag rolled into the station, grunting and huffing, looking around. 

“Hello little one. Pardon me asking, but where are your parents?” The stag asked. Ghost ignored her, tapping the words Resting Grounds on the stag route map. “O-oh. I am so sorry little one. I didn’t know. Come aboard, I will bring you at once.” The stag lowered herself and Ghost crawled onto her back. Once they were situated, she raced off towards the Resting Grounds.

They rode in silence, the only sound the huffing and puffing of the stag, and the heavy thuds from her claws hitting dirt-covered stone. 

They were doing this. They were really doing this. Just… leaving the palace. Taking the Radiance up on her offer. Should they do this? Should they tell the stag and turn around?

They already told Ivory they’d be on a very long walk. Plus, the whole mood of the palace was just pressing. They hadn’t slept at all after that disastrous ball. Would Grimm take Spark? Would he tell Aspen and Unn and Aine? 

The White Lady would have to learn. Maybe they should have stuck around for that instead of running. Again. (Their twin, their twin , hanging limp in chains. Reek of Infection choking them, blurring their vision. Or were those tears?)

They need to breathe. Breathing was important, right? Manage your emotions? Well they were doing that, they reasoned. Leaving the pressing gray atmosphere of the palace to visit the less pressing but still gray atmosphere of the Resting Grounds!

They swallowed.

Don’t think like that.

The stag slowed before coming to a complete stop. “Here we are, little one.” Ghost slid off her back, padding towards the door. “Little one!” She called and Ghost stopped, looking over their shoulder. “I really am sorry. I know… I know what it’s like to lose your family.” She shifted claw to claw. She lifted her head, hearing something. She looked back at them, giving them a sad smile, before departing. 

Ghost watched her go, then listened. They looked at the Resting Ground’s bench. Nothing to lose, they supposed, resting on it for a moment. They closed their eyes and just listened, half tempted to just fall asleep right there. (They’ve been so tired lately. Probably because they haven’t slept. But vessels don’t need to sleep) Unlike every other part of Hallownest, the Resting Grounds went unchanged by the passage of time. They breathed deeply, the cold, damp, earthy smell unchanging. There was no reek of Infection here. There never had been. The only place close to here which had been Infected were the husks buried below. 

They found themself itching for their paper and quill. Or to rearrange their collection of charms. To pet Grimmchild or play with silk alongside the Weaverlings. They opened their eyes slowly, staring up at the ceiling. Time to visit Seer. She’d be here. She wouldn’t be essence. She would be remembered, despite how much she wished to be forgotten. (They tried, they really did, to forget her. But they couldn’t. The dream nail they wielded, they wielded for her. She was another bug they had let down and failed.)

They jumped off the bench and exited the room. There were actual stairs leading up to Seer’s tent and the spirit glades. Not too horrible of a difference, not when everything else was the same. They climbed the stairs, passing the whispering root. Soft hushed voices drifted from it. They tilted their head, looking at it. It still held its Essence, still a tiny red tree holding dreamcatcher-like circles. They listened closely. “... Dead remembered… Penitent Moth… Dreams revered…”

The same as it had been. Not even that had changed. They turned away to continue, before catching two words: “... Gentle deep…” They quickly climbed the rest of the stairs, reaching Seer’s tent. They paused. Would she welcome them? Would she remember them? They were here now, no point turning around. Although they could rest by Blue Lake. The image of Quirrel’s nail flashed in their mind and they quickly entered the tent.

Seer was sewing something when she looked up and spotted them. She looked the same, unchanged. She gasped softly, setting her project down and coming to their side. “Ah, I apologize for the mess. I was not expecting visitors. Come, sit down, sit down. Let me make you some tea.” She guided them over to the mountain of pillows. They settled on it, watching Seer brew some tea. Some of her tea. 

Once brewed, she poured two cups. One for herself and one for them. She passed them theirs on a small platter, a few cubes of sugar by it. They took their time drinking it, savoring the flavor. It had been so long since they tasted this. They finished it off sooner they would have liked, however, and asked for more. Seer smiled, taking their cup and refilling it. In the meantime, they ate one of the cubes of sugar and pondered on whether to take a nap here or not. “I am glad you still love my tea.”

They trilled softly, happily, and maybe a bit sleepily in response. She handed them the warm cup. They let the steam warm their face, eyes pressed shut. Wait, still? They stared at her, tilting their head in question. Yet she drank from her cup as though she had said nothing. They waved their paw to get her attention. ‘Still?’ They signed.

She hummed quietly, staying silent for a long moment, before placing her teacup down beside her. “I have carried the memories of a tribe. Carrying memories of a time that no longer exists goes quite well with it.” 

‘How much do you remember?’ 

She finished her tea and poured another cup, stirring in a cube of sugar. She sipped that before responding. “A better question would be what have I forgotten? The answer would be none.” She got up to retrieve something. They nibbled at another cube of sugar, waiting. She remembered… everything. Even her last request. The one they had failed to honor. (Just like how they failed to remain hollow. How they failed to protect the Abyss. How they failed their siblings, their parents. Failed the few kind bugs who…)

She returned, holding the Dream Nail. “A nail deserves a wielder, does it not? Though this blade is sharper than what once was, now is not, it still needs its Wielder. Will you carry this blade? Will you reclaim your title of Wielder? Will you witness things others could not even dream of?”

The nail flashed brightly only for a second, just like it had when they first saw it in the Dream Realm, and then when they first witnessed it in the Waking. They took it, holding the bladeless nail. The blade was there. All they had to do was swing. They tucked it behind their cloak, keeping it safe in their void storage, right beside the delicate flower. 

Seer smiled and went back to sipping her tea. She hummed a song, whispering the lyrics to herself. They crawled over beside her. “Wielder,” she spoke, looking down at them.

‘What are you singing?’ 

“Ah,” she said. She set her cup down and moved to face them. “An old song my ancestors used to sing before we came here. Some still sing it to this day. My son is one of those who do.”

‘Your son?’ They asked before she could continue.

“Yes, my son, Markoth. I taught it to Thistlewind as well, though I have never heard them sing it. The name of the song has been lost, though the lyrics remain. If you like, I could teach you it.” Ghost thought for a moment. They couldn’t sing (or maybe they could, though they doubted it would sound nice.), but knowing the lyrics would be neat. They nodded. “Very well then, I will teach you the tune. The lyrics I will write down for you.”

Seer spent some time teaching them the tune. They did their best to hum along, though it was somewhat difficult. Eventually, she stopped the lesson, brewing more tea, this time adding way more honey. The two shared their drink in silence.

“How fares your siblings?” 

The triplets were fine, and so was Mothwing. Hornet seemed almost constantly tense. Lost was… Well they were quiet and reserved. Hollow was molting. And Spark… they didn’t want to lose him. He was family! But they couldn’t fight Grimm, otherwise he’d fight them. (They weren’t sure staying passive would guarantee their safety from him, but it was better than giving him more of a reason to hate them.) 

“Do you worry?” She asked. 

‘About what?’

“Your siblings.”

Did they worry… Of course they did! Those were their siblings! The only ones left alive out of a million, the lucky few. Of course they worried about them. And Hornet and Spark were family too. Hornet by blood, Spark by choice. But those two were their twins as well. ‘Yes, ’ they finally signed.

Seer nodded. “There are so few of us moths left. Most live upon the Crown, though some still call the old village home. I once worried our dreams would fade, though now I have come to realize we deserve it.” She stared into her cup of tea. “Though the moths, lead by Sunseeker, they give me new hope. That not all of us turned our backs to the Guiding Light.”

Why had the moths died in the first place? What caused them to die? The King had told them how the conflict started, but not how the moths disappeared. “I assume you do not know how the Infection came to be, not in any detail.”

‘ I do, actually. Fath-- Ivory told me when he first came to Hallownest, he--’

“Ah.” She sipped her tea again. “The decay of my tribe was partially our fault. We thrive with light, and while the Palewyrm’s light is bright, it is distant. It is not the light of the Radiance’s or the Nightmare King’s. Does not hold one close. And some of us could not survive without a light who held. And some of us left, some of us fought back against Hallownestian bugs, some of us tried to live as we always did. Still, it seemed a cosmic karma had it out for us.”

‘He did nothing to help you?’

“Oh, no. He tried to help, he did, but the Infection started and he could not protect us and his kingdom at the same time. The Infection led to fear, which led to hatred.” She finished off her cup. “Which led to pain and loss.” 

So many skulls. So many siblings.

Silence.

“Are you finished with your tea?” They nodded, handing her the cup. She set them both aside. “You are welcome to stay as long as you wish, Wielder.” They almost asked if they could stay the night. Almost. But their siblings would miss them, and Ivory would worry, and Grimm would be suspicious, and Aspen would want answers. 

They got up. ‘I should leave. My siblings, you know.’

“I wish them pleasant dreams.” She approached Ghost, kneeling down slowly and placing her paws on their shoulders. “And I wish you pleasant nothings.”

‘What?’

“Two Gods of Dream. One who knows, one who does not. Neither you want prying in your memories.”

She… she knew they had killed the Radiance, didn’t she? She shouldn’t. She had faded to Essence. But Essence made up the Dream Realm. ‘I’m sorry.’

“Don’t be. You did what was necessary. In doing so, you have granted us all a second chance.” She brought them into a hug. They sunk into her embrace. Her fluff, despite her advanced age, was so soft. “I will walk you to the Stag Station, hm?” They nodded. She smiled and scooped them up, carrying them close. They could drown in her surprising amount of fluff. 

Eventually she made her way to the Stag Station. She had moved with surprising speed. She set them down and rang the bell. A stag thundered in, glancing at the two before staring straight ahead. “White Palace. For this one,” Seer said. The stag nodded with a grunt and she set them up there. Her paw lingered. “Sleep well, Wielder, Lord of Shades,” she spoke before backing away from the stag. They watched as her form faded away.

Chapter Text

Retainers bustled around him as he waited anxiously. He had long since abandoned any hope of getting work done today after Mothwing had come and dragged him out of his office rather forcefully. Not that he was complaining. Waiting for Ghost’s return in the foyer was much better than waiting in his office. Especially as Mothwing tripped up on their cloak while trying to catch Thread or Lost. 

Really what he should be working on was trying to calm the public about that disastrous ball, and yet he couldn’t help but watch his children play. It was a nice thing to witness. Even after spending all this time with them here, it still felt like some cruel joke, waiting for everything to come crashing down.

And maybe it was about to. Grimm knew, now. He wouldn’t be surprised if Unn had an idea. And his Root? His amazing, wonderful Root? She must know by now, and if not, better him to tell her than Grimm, or gods forbid, the Radiance herself.

If Grimm did tell his sister…

Mothwing stopped their chasing to look over at him. They made a little chirp to grab his attention, though really it wasn’t needed. “Yes, my child?”

‘Does Daddy Grimm hate us?’

His breath caught. Did Grimm..? He moved to Mothwing’s side and brought them close. “No, he doesn’t.” He doesn’t hate you , he left unspoken. “He’s just…” Just what? Going through trauma? Wanting Ghost dead? Conspiring with his sister?

That last one was unlikely, so few timelines showed it, but it was always there. And, it seemed, the less likely timelines had a thing for becoming reality now. 

‘But what about Ghost?’ Thread signed. ‘Grimm Dad took Spark away.’ 

Ivory waved a paw, trying his best to keep the mood light, however difficult it seemed. “Spark is still Grimm’s child. If he wishes for some time with his son, then he deserves it.” Why he was defending Grimm, he didn’t know. The idea of yet another war, this time against the God of Nightmares, didn’t seem exactly fun, however. If they were to fight, just who would be dragged into it?

One of the children must have said something over Voidspeak, as Mothwing started to whimper and shake. He held them closer, rubbing their back slowly. 

“Maybe we should focus on something else. Why don’t you three show me some of your magic?” Thread seemed to light up some, and they moved away from everyone in a grand sweeping gesture. 

They bowed before spinning soul into string. Different from how the Weavers and Hornet made silk, but nonetheless he was proud. They then attempted to tie it into a knot, but only managed to get their paws stuck. 

He chuckled softly to himself, reaching over to undo the string, Mothwing held in his lower arms. “Impressive,” he said softly. There was a time when he so confidently showed off his own spells. There was a time others watched in awe. A time when he had yet to know pain.

Small footsteps caught his attention. In padded Ghost, retainers bowing to them before continuing on their way. “Children,” he said, “Why don’t you go ask Ogrim or Hegemol for some stories?”

He didn’t give them time to argue, approaching Ghost quickly. They looked up at him, seeming a bit distant. Something was clutched in their claws, though he couldn’t quite make out what it was before it quickly disappeared. “Did you enjoy your time out?” He asked. Ghost looked up at him, saying nothing, before moving on. He chewed his cheek. “Ghost.” The vessel stopped and looked back at him. “I know the way Grimm reacted…” He paused to consider his words. 

‘You want me to tell Aspen.’

“I’d like to have permission to tell her.”

There was a long beat of silence between the two, the King staring into the empty sockets that would be his child’s eyes. Then, Ghost nodded and let the King take the lead. Hopefully this would go better. It had to go better. If all the Higher Beings were against him… No, don’t focus on that. Focus on your child, on the task at hand.

He led them down empty hallways. There were plenty of retainers and servants bustling about. But a sense of emptiness still permeated. He glanced down at Ghost several times throughout their walk before he offered his paw. They paused to look at it before taking it. And soon enough, the duo had reached his Root’s conservatory. He paused before the closed doors. Glass and shellwood interacting to make a piece of art. Ghost gave his paw a squeeze as if to say ready.

Why was he so afraid of this going horribly? She had to know by now. Her root system was vast, and so too were her social ties. If she didn’t at least have an idea, that would certainly be a miracle. There weren’t very many retainers in the conservatory. One small blessing, at least.

His Root was alone amongst the flowers, delicately arranging them in splashes of red and white. “My Root,” he spoke, voice ringing out across the conservatory. Her paws paused, halfway between placing another flower into the vase. Her eyes turned on him and she gave him a warm smile. 

“My Wyrm! My child! Come here,” she said, reaching towards Ivory with one paw while shifting to make room for the two. Ghost sat beside her, looking at the vase of flowers she was creating. The King sat on her other side. She moved the vase over so Ghost could see it better. “Would you like to add anything?”

He watched silently as Ghost nudged a deep purple flower into the mix. His Root smiled and moved the surrounding flowers so that the purple one stuck out. She wrapped one arm around the vessel, hugging them close. “Hollow will love this.” She looked over at Ivory. “Is there something you need, my Wyrm? You look… conflicted.”

The King looked down at his claws, fiddling with the hem of his sleeve. (She left. She left without a word. Only tears. The palace became dark without her. Sealed within her garden, a prison of her own making. Dryya standing guard faithfully, eternally. A gate of void to protect. A gate of void that failed.) 

He inhaled deeply. “When the guests had to be evacuated from the ball… I know what happened. And you deserve to know as well, if you don’t already.” His brow furrowed slightly as he picked at a loose string. Aspen placed her hands on his, holding them gently.

“My Wyrm, breathe. Take your time.” He hadn’t realized his breath was shaking. All he could think about was Aspen leaving. Her going to her gardens to stay imprisoned forever. Dryya falling to the claws of the traitorous mantis lord himself.

He did so, taking a long moment to catch his breath. “Before Hollow fled, before we knew of all the children who survived, you told me you felt a tingle in Deepnest. Cold in your roots. Do you feel it now?” 

Her paws moved from his own to his face, cupping it. She stared into his eyes as her brow crinkled. Then, she touched her forehead to his. Softly, she spoke, “Yes. Deepnest, the Ancient Basin, the ballroom on that night.” She looked at him again, tears gathering in the corners of her eyes. “Tell me it isn’t so. Tell me my roots are failing me like my eyes will.” 

How he wanted to tell her that they were. That the cold she felt was from anything but. And yet, Ghost tugged on his sleeve before crawling between the two. They held their paws up and hesitated. His Root waited, silent, eyes watering. ‘I’m…’ their paws shook. He didn’t blame them. 

“The Lord of Shades,” Aspen finished for them. She reached forward and held them close, curling around them. “No,” she whispered, “no.”

“They’re still our child--”

“That’s not what I’m worried about.” She was looking at him with tears slipping down her cheeks. “Think, Ivory. We can’t defeat the Radiance. If any of the other Higher Beings learn the truth…” She looked back down at the little form nestled within her arms. “We can’t- We can’t protect them. Not when Grimm calls this place home. Not when the Radiance grows in power and still hates us.” She drew in a shuddering breath.

“My Root--”

“Does anyone else know?” She asked with sudden agency. 

“I- I don’t know. I don’t know who Ghost has told, but.” Should he tell her? Tell her that Grimm knows, that Grimm had suggested Ivory kill his own child? “Grimm… knows. Ghost was the one to tell him. I- I don’t know if the Radiance knows yet or not.”

“He knows ? Since when?”

“That night.”

Her eyes narrowed. “If he dares hurt my child,” she started darkly. 

“He won’t. I- I promise you that.”

“And I cannot promise to spare him if he does try and hurt my child.”

Ivory inhaled and stood up. “Ghost?” His child didn’t move. If anything, they pressed further into his Root’s arms. “I… will be in my workshop. If you need me, just come get me.” With that, he left his Root and child behind.

At the very least, it hadn’t gone terrible , but it hadn’t gone well either. His Root had brought up good points. What if Grimm was speaking with his sister now? What if they were planning on killing his child? Grimm couldn’t kill a child, let alone his, right? He knew what it was like to have a child.

The thoughts plagued him as he walked towards his workshop. He had another night spent researching, trying to find any scrap about the Lord of Shades, to look forward to. Maybe Monomon had some things. He should ask her. In fact, he should invite all the Dreamers (ex-Dreamers?) over. That would give him something better to think about. (Of course his thoughts still turned on those what-ifs. He couldn’t help but look at each thread, all jumbled up in his own anxieties, unable to tell future from worry.)

The hallways were quieter when it was close to evening, as it was now. The few servants who he did cross paths with bowed before continuing on their duties. He continued on without disturbance until he almost collided with Grimm. (Scarlet fire burning all around him. Dancing paw in paw with Grimm. Just a small moment, and yet...) He quickly moved around the moth, picking up his pace as he continued towards his workshop, paws balling into fists. “Ivory! Ivory wait!” Grimm called.

The King stopped, glaring over his shoulder at the moth, a snarl crawling across his face. “Ivory, listen. I fucked up. I know I did. But I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said what I said and--”

“No, you shouldn’t have,” He snapped before he began to storm away again. Grimm wouldn’t let him leave that easily, however, and the moth teleported in front of him. “Nightmare King,” the Pale King warned with a drawling hiss.

“We need to talk. Fuck, I need to talk. Please, Ivory. Don’t shut me out.” His eyes were wide and pleading. His claws twitched, like he wanted to take Ivory’s paw in his, and yet he held his paws close, making himself deliberately smaller. (There was a soft chirp from beneath his wings. So Spark was here, too.)

He should say no. He should just ignore the Nightmare King and focus on helping his children and his kingdom. And yet… refusing to speak after a cataclysm led to the Infection in the first place. And he was a king, the King. (That wasn’t the only reason, he knew. But he’d be damned before he admit that now.) He inhaled deeply, exhaling with only the slightest hiss. “You have until we reach my workshop.”

“Thank you,” he heard Grimm whisper as they began the walk together. “I know I shouldn’t have said  what I said. That-- It isn’t excusable in the slightest.” He was silent for a moment, rubbing his arm. “Some Grimmchildren grow up and leave the Troupe.” Spark popped out from beneath his cloak as if on cue, flapping over and resting between Ivory’s horns, helping to illistrate this point. “Only once has a Grimmchild died. I… I don’t know how you’ve managed to live after the death of your children, but you have.” Grimm looked at him, but the King refused to meet his eyes.

How did he manage? Ha. By pretending they were dead as soon as they hatched. That most eggs were killed before hatching. That it would only be a hundred, maximum, and even that was pushing.

How did he manage?

“Have you ever had a sibling?” Grimm asked him.

“No,” said the King. (Three colors rested beside him. Three colors against him. One lone color burrowing through the dirt.)

“I can’t speak for all siblings, but Aine… at some point, we would have died for each other. And we almost did, when the Lord of the Abyss attacked Hallownest for the first time. It’s funny, you know? I hate her and I miss her. I wouldn’t want to see her hurt.” He laughed dryly. “I don’t know if she can say the same about me.”

The King was silent for a moment, before asking with the slightest tilt of his head, “What happened between you and your sister?”

Grimm chewed his cheek, seeing memories of him and his sister. “When you first came… she wanted to retaliate against you. I told her not to, she didn’t listen. When she came back, I yelled at her. And then we just… started fighting. She tore the Dream Realm in two.” His eyes flickered. Softly he said, “I left without another word. I haven’t talked to her since. Outside of guiding the moths or that meeting.” He rubbed his arm unconsciously. 

The King reached up and gently unwound Spark from his horns, holding the moth gently in his paws. “I had siblings once,” he said, scratching Spark’s head.

“You said you had no siblings.”

“I had siblings once,” Ivory repeated. “Wyrms lay in clutches of 4 to 12 eggs. They fight to see who will mother them. After they hatch, the mother leaves.” Spark started to purr, curling up in his paws contently. “It is the father who raises the young until they are old enough to survive on their own.”
“Why are you telling me this?” Grimm asked.

“My siblings and I travelled together. I was the youngest, the weakest, the least likely to live. And the eldest, they wanted to kill me.” He thought back to that day. The eldest Wyrm, charcoal gray, jaws hanging right above his throat. “The second eldest intervened. Said I was weak and not worth the effort.” He rubbed his neck, still remembering the feeling of those teeth digging into his chitin, his hemolymph trailing down his body, cerulean blue eyes blazed into his memory from all across time. “The eldest let me go, threatened to kill me if we ever met again.”

Grimm was speechless, just staring at him with his mouth hanging open. “Why?” He finally managed to say.

“I don’t want to let my children die through my own inaction.” He gave Spark back to Grimm. His paws hovered around Grimm’s. “And if I must fight you and your sister, then I will.” The two had stopped walking, having reached his workshop. Grimm didn’t seem to notice, and Ivory wasn’t about to tell him to stop.

“There’s something I never told anyone. Not even my sister knows.” The King arched an eyebrow. “Voidlings, they’re hard for us to read. They have some sort of built in mind reading block. But I can still feel the emotions, and I could feel fear. From the Abyss. I thought it was the Voidlings. That’s where they lived after all. But wrapped around that flame was power. And then, when Nari forged that staff for us to channel our energy in, I was chosen to use it. Alone.” The staff. He had heard about it before, but all of his questions had been met by silence, his Root wishing to forget these events. 

Grimm met Ivory’s gaze. “It was afraid, Ivory! They were afraid and I… I killed them,” His voice shook and he wrapped himself up tightly, wings pressed flat. “They screamed. They cried . And it’s my job to eat up the fears and nightmares of others, but I didn’t--” He broke off, shivering. “I still hear it sometimes,” he whispered. The King looked at him pitifully. 

“Give Ghost a chance. They haven’t changed,” Ivory told him, debating whether to put a paw on his shoulder or not. He made up his mind, placing it and giving Grimm a reassuring squeeze. 

“But what if… what if they want revenge?”

He thought about that. When they had first met, his child fled. The second time his child tried to kill him. But when he offered his paw… “They won’t.” They had attacked Dior, but once they realized what they were doing, they broke. “They won’t,” he repeated.

Chapter Text

There was a thorn in their side.

Correction, there was a flaming thorn in their side.

Groggily, they opened their eyes to see Spark lightly biting their arm. Once the moth caught their eye, he smiled, flying upward with a chirp. They sighed inwardly before sitting up. 

They glanced around the room. Why was Spark here anyway? Hadn’t Grimm taken him..? No matter, he was here now at least. Oh! Would Hollow emerge soon? 

They were broken from their thoughts via Spark tugging on their cloak. They trilled softly, more a rumble than anything. Spark landed on a pillow, sitting with his chest puffed out proudly. 

“I want,” he announced in a warm voice accented with a slight rasp, “to go on an adventure!”

Oh, an adventure. They... they would like that. Granted, they had just gone on one. But another sounded nice. Especially with Spark. Back to when things were simpler. Simpler, yet more depressing.

Wait. Did Spark just talk?

“Sib?” Spark prodded, using one wing to repeatedly tap them. 

So he did talk. 

Spark can talk.

‘You can talk,’ they signed. Spark rolled his eyes and huffed.

“Yeah, I can now I guess. Can we go on an adventure please?”

If he could talk now, would he finally get some limbs soon? They supposed Grimm would know but… Yeah, no, whenever Spark got his limbs would be a surprise. (They rather not face the Nightmare King any time soon. Twice was enough. Even if that twice was closer to a few thousand times.) ‘Where to?’ They agreed, and Spark’s eyes lit up.

“Okay, so I was thinking, since the moths are back, why don’t we go check out that town?”

‘You want to see your aunt, don’t you?’

“No! I can just enter the Dream Realm and see her.”

He wants to see his aunt. Or, well, her statue anyway , they decided. Still, they got up and motioned for him to follow. An adventure would be nice. He leapt up with a happy chirp, swooping around their head at least twice before letting Ghost move. They rolled their eyes at him, but held no malice. 

They weren’t allowed to keep their nail in their room, since they still slept with their smaller and less skilled siblings. That, and they had yet to prove they could wield one and have it within their room, at least according to their mother. That would have to be worked on.

So the first thing was to get their nail. Spark didn’t eat much, and if he was hungry, he probably already ate, or could wait. (Strangely, they felt a faint gnawing in their upper abdomen.) They mostly watched Spark flap about happily, breathing tiny plumes of flame as they walked. It was good to see him, let alone him happy.

They stopped at the armory, grabbing their nail. It wasn’t the one they had wielded so long ago. It wasn’t carved with perfect purity, but it was still a good blade. If they found enough pale ore and geo, they could probably bring it to the nail smith and get it reforged. Another thing to do some other time.

Placing the nail on their back, they turned towards Spark. ‘Ready?’ 

“Ready!” There was a smile in his voice. 

Ghost motioned to the space between their horns, and waited for Spark to settle between them. Like old times . This time their life wouldn’t be on the line, at least. 

Together, the pair made their way towards the stag station. The palace servants just walked past them, ignoring them for the most part. Spark’s tail flicked back and forth, tickling the back of their skull. 

“Where are you two going?” 

Spark leapt up while Ghost spun around. Hornet had her arms crossed, glaring at the two. It would have been funny or maybe adorable, if not for the fact she could easily take both Ghost and Spark in a fight. 

Before Ghost could answer, Spark was talking, “On an adventure!”

Hornet tilted her head, brow raised. “You can… talk? Hmm.” She then shook her head lightly. “Either way, that does not answer my question. Where are you two going?”

Ghost answered this time. ‘Dirtmouth,’ they signed. 

Hornet nodded skeptically. “And have you told anyone where you are going?”

“Since when did you care about rules?” Spark huffed.

“It’s not that I care about the rules our father and mother set. It’s that someone has caused a bit of panic, and I would rather not see another war between gods.”

She doesn’t think I’ll mess up, right? But hadn’t they already? Several times now? Grimm knew, and who knows what he was thinking. (Their twin hanging limp as toxic gold seeped from their eyes, pooling below in a stench of death. They were frozen, only able to stare at what used to be their twin, now nothing but a puppet for the blinding light who had stolen so much from them before they were even thought of.)

“Relax! They got me! But if you really are worried, I guess we can tell someone,” Spark added, seeing Hornet’s glare deepen.

“Good. Come with me.” Spark sighed and nestled between Ghost’s horns yet again.

Hornet led them through the hallways in silence. The spell only ended once they strayed across Ogrim. “Ah, princess, princet, and Spark!” He greeted with. 

“We’re going to Dirtmouth for the day. Tell our parents for us?” Hornet said. 

“Wait, we?” Spark whispered to Ghost, who shrugged.

“Of course princess! Have a lovely day!”

--*--

The ride to Dirtmouth was bumpy, as always. The stag station was so full of life . It was nothing like, well, what they knew. They realized they hadn’t even visited Dirtmouth until today. In fact, most of Hallownest was still unexplored in this new time. They had their nail, and Spark, paper and a quill. They could just leave the palace one day and only return when they wanted to. If they wanted to.

But you have your siblings, not to mention you still need to learn to control your powers . “I forgot how busy this station can be,” Hornet commented. They nodded.

Dirtmouth was open to the sky, right? They wondered what it looked like. They only remembered dreary gray, a never-changing sky, caught in stasis like the rest of Hallownest. Without a word, or even a hint, they rushed through the crowd, dashing between them with whispers of cold. And then they were standing outside. 

The first thing they noticed was it was incredibly bright . They had to shield their eyes bright. Bright like the Radiance. They took a long moment to adjust to said light. And they noticed they felt… warm? The small amounts of chitin exposed to the open air was still cool, but their dark cloak was already starting to soak up some of the surrounding warmth. And the sounds. Oh, the sounds! It was so lively! And the scent of food flew through the air. They felt a little pain where a stomach should have been. Odd.

“Come on, Little Ghost,” Hornet called from a little way off. How did she sneak past..? Nevermind. They dashed forward, catching up with their siblings, heading towards the outskirts of the town. They noticed the graveyard wasn’t nearly as full, and it didn’t look nearly as depressing. Flowers grew between graves, and a large road let bugs walk through it and towards the elevator. “Crystal Peaks? Why are we headed there, Spark?” Hornet asked. Spark chirped in response. Ghost caught sight of the gravedigger chatting with some other bug. They two looked happy, the flea was laughing alongside a young bug who reminded them of Elderbug.

Their trek came to a stop. They looked up to see the elevator way up high. “Hmm. If it is in use, we are better off waiting for it to return. Or we could take another path, starting from the base of the mountain,” Hornet suggested. Spark settled onto the ground and stared up at the elevator. “I suppose we can wait.” She settled down beside him, stringing her needle and plucking idly. Ghost’s focus turned towards the little hut carved into the mountain. Confessor Jiji. Their last talk had been… well, the way she said her masters would be impressed left a foul taste.

They rested beside Spark and looked up at the sky once more. The sky itself was blue, like the lake below them, but in a lighter shade. Fluffy white clouds floated past idly. It was nice to see the sky. A light breeze toyed with their cloak. They closed their eyes, letting the sun warm their shell. It seemed, for once, warmth wasn’t immediately sucked up. 

It was then they sensed someone. They cracked open their eyes to see a snail wrapped up in an elegant looking cloak. “Hello small bugs! What brings you to this end of Dirtmouth? Is it my help you need? Or perhaps you wish to see the peaks!”

Spark glanced over at Ghost. “Your… help?” Hornet asked, her head tilted. She rested her needle on her lap, moving slightly to face Confessor Jiji. The snail nodded and plopped down in front of them.

“My help, yes! Those of Dirtmouth often come seeking my advice for their regrets and pains. And for them, I provide. For a price of course.” Hornet’s brow furrowed as she tilted her head away, still keeping Jiji in view. 

“A price. What kind of price? We don’t have any geo with us.” A lie, but Ghost wasn’t about to say that.

“Oh no! Not geo! The price can be many things! A favor, a meal, the promise of company. And sometimes, the price is nothing! Just a gift from me to those who really do need it.” She scooted closer. In a lower voice, she said, “And I can tell you do need some help.”

Hornet scoffed, swinging her needle. Jiji seemed unfazed even as the deadly point stayed trained on her throat. “We don’t need your help,” Hornet hissed, eyes narrowing.

Jiji hummed. “Maybe not you, although I would argue that. But them.” She pointed towards Ghost. “It seems that, while you have come to terms with your birth, you have not with who you are. If you wish, I may be able to help.”

Hornet stood, as did Ghost. “What do you mean?”

“This is not the first time we’ve met,” Jiji smiled. “I’m sure you remember what never will be, even if bits and pieces. I do wonder, do you hear the silk sing?”

“Do I what?”

Jiji stood, dusting off her coat. “The lift should be here soon. If you do want to talk, the door is always open. Bring a snack!” She turned and moved back towards her home. The lift creaked and swung slightly overhead as it returned to the ground. 

The trio stared at the lift for a moment as carts of crystals were unloaded. “What… was that?” Spark asked, looking between the two. Neither responded. Instead, Hornet made for the lift, placing her needle on her back.

The miners said nothing as the trio stood within the lift. Probably because this happened a lot, Ghost reckoned. The Crown was the home of the moths. Why wouldn’t they take the lift occasionally, or other bugs who wished to see the Crown?

Gates closed as the lift lurched into the sky. Ghost leaned on one, watching Dirtmouth grow smaller and smaller. The purple crystals carried within their carts towards the town. What were they used for, Ghost wondered. Maybe they could find out finally. Their attention turned towards the sky one last time, and the expansive blue. The wind carried things they had never smelled before. Hollow would love this . Hopefully, their twin would break free of their molting. The lift came to a stand still. They blinked before joining their siblings’ sides. 

“Stay close. The mines are dangerous and I’d rather not drag either of you out of a crystal pit,” Hornet cautioned. Spark nyehed lazily and took the lead. Hornet sighed and followed. Ghost themself took in the scenery. The crystals glowed faintly, and the rhythmic tapping of picks still echoed. They wondered if Myla was here, if she was even alive. (She had to be.)

Spark flew upwards, higher and higher. Ghost remembered they sucked at climbing, and so Hornet helped them up. 

By launching them. 

Where their horns got stuck in some rock.

“If you hadn’t fought me, you wouldn’t be stuck,” Hornet grumbled as she approached her sibling. With Spark’s aid, Ghost managed to get free. They glared at Hornet, who only rolled her eyes in response. “We still have the journey ahead. Let’s not deviate any longer.”

The rest of the climb up wasn’t as bad. Hornet tossed them a few more times despite not needing it. Ghost thought she just liked throwing them. 

Eventually, they found their way to the Crown. The wind was warm and inviting, not cold and dead. And the moths…

Moths moved between the houses and shops, pleasant chatter filling the air. Some buildings had fallen into disrepair, but there were bugs fixing them. And prominently displayed was the statue of the Radiance. Lumafly lanterns and small offerings were left at the statue. Including some pale ore. And food. They wondered what it tasted like. At the base rested a bright yellow moth. Would she let them try moth food?

Spark beelined for the statue, startling the moth. But then the moth laughed and stroked Spark’s head. Spark settled onto the moth’s lap. “Come on, Little Ghost,” Hornet spoke before approaching the statue. They could hear a slight quiver in her voice. They didn’t blame her.

The pair approached the moth. “Hey, look! It’s Sunseeker!” Spark chirped. The moth looked behind herself, smile falling. She straightened up, adopting a much more formal, and distant, face.

“Wyrm’s offspring,” she spoke. She stood, placing herself quite obviously between them and the statue, and Spark by extension. “What brings you to this blessed place?”

“We were simply keeping an eye on Spark,” Hornet spoke evenly. “We have no other reason to be here.”

Sunseeker’s eyes narrowed. “And why should I trust the offspring of a lier?”

“You can worship her again. He kept his word,” Hornet responded, pointing at the statue behind Sunseeker.

“He stole our land.”

“You think I don’t know that? Deepnest, The Hive. Both were their own before my father came.”

Sunseeker’s ruff puffed out, as did her wings. “Have you lost a guiding light like we? Have you been cursed to walk the wastes beyond Hallownest?”

Ghost’s chest tightened. Their earliest, their first memory. The one they had known before they returned to Hallownest. The wastes. Desolate, gray, suffocating. Wild beasts larger than any Hallownestian bug, armored with fur and feather. You could only run . A flash of silver, a needle drawn.

They crouched down, hugging their cloak close. “And it was the Radiance who threatened all of Hallownest! Deepnest, The Hive, The Mantids! Every. Last. One. Do you think you are alone in losing everything you love ?!” Hornet spat. Ghost whimpered.

They were supposed to fix things they were supposed to fix things they were supposed to fix things. They were. They were. They were. So why was everything falling apart?

“Ahem. I don’t think it’s very respectful to be fighting beside a shrine,” a new voice spoke. 

“My Light!” Sunseeker cried. “The Wyrm’s offspring are here to slay us!”

“We are just keeping an eye on Spark,” Hornet hissed. Her needle fell to her side.

Aine raised an eyebrow, cocking her head. (She was here. Physically. A pale gold moth. They moved away.) “As much as I dispise that Wyrm, we have our deal. Plus, if they wish to seek my company, I will not deny them that,” She added with a smile, motioning to Ghost. 

“Forgive me, my Light. I did not know.”

“No, you didn’t. Now, what brings you here, Little Lost Star?” She crouched down to address them. “Whatever the reason, stay for as long as you wish.” She paused, considering her words. They shook slightly. “Come here, Little Lost Star,” she said softly, scooping them up in a hug. She was warm and fluffy, like the Dream Realm. A faint gasp.

And then it was burning.

Chapter Text

Blistering heat washed over their shell. Where Aine’s soft fur had touched blazed. They whimpered, looking at the moth god. Her wings were fully extended, waving like golden flames. An intense light surrounded her head. Within her paws, she held two summoned nails.

    “My Light!” Sunseeker cried.

    “YOU VILE BEAST! YOU DARE TRICK US BY HIDING BEHIND THAT FALLEN CHILD?” Aine screeched. Ghost flinched, taking a step backwards. “HOW LONG DID YOU EXPECT TO PLAY THIS GAME?” They couldn’t move. They couldn’t think. Couldn’t say a thing. This was Godhome all over. Their twin was hanging, broken and bloodied and dying . They couldn’t even spare their own kin the mercy of death. How did they expect to fix anything ?

    Aine took a step closer. “Do you have nothing to say for yourself, beast? Why hide behind such tragic a child? Do you expect me to spare you because of it?” Her voice dripped venom that burned into their carapace. Everything dulled. (Suffocating orange. A painfully loud cry. Their twin stabbing themself over and over. Their shell breaking over and over. Hornet locked within the Egg. Dull wastelands.)

    Hornet tossed her needle, landing before the Radiance. The moth’s feathers ruffled, gaze snapping to the spiderling. Hornet yanked her needle back towards herself. “Leave Little Ghost alone. You have a deal to uphold.” Hornet had dropped into a combative stance, narrow eyes glaring daggers at Aine and needle ready.

    Sunseeker sprung, swinging a previously hidden golden nail and striking against Hornet’s needle.

    With that strike, Aine summoned a ring of nails, all flying towards Ghost. They finally unfroze only to be hit by them. “How long has the child been dead?” The Radiance hissed a question. “How long have you been playing us?”

    Everything snapped back into focus. They could think again. Move again. Speak again. ‘I’m not-’ They started to sign, but the Radiance’s light only grew brighter. They cringed away from it. She charged forward, trying to slash at them. They dashed to the side, narrowly missing the blade.

    She swung again, and they dodg-

    A second blade slammed into their skull, knocking them away. Two loud cracks echoed across the Crown. Immediately, they tried to focus on the void-leaking wound crawling between their eyes. Their vision became blurry as she approached. As did Spark, flying up between them.

    He spat fire at the Radiance. The god did not look offended. Her features softened as she spoke. “Nephew.” Her voice was sweet, soft like her feathers, but unburning. Her golden light devoured the fireballs before they hit her. She reached towards him gently. “Do you remember the palace? Do you know how it fell?” Spark hovered silently for a long moment before slowly shaking his head no. “That god attacked our home. Our kin, innocent bystanders, were slaughtered by that beast. Our Little Star is gone and that thing is wearing their corpse.”

    They grabbed their nail and used it as support, dragging themself up. It hurt it hurt it hurt it hurt. Why did it hurt? Why why why why why ? 

    Spark looked at them. They looked at Spark. Please, Spark. Please please please. “They… are my twin and their name is Ghost!” Spark hissed, turning on Aine and spewing fire at her. She gasped as scarlet fire singed her fur and feathers. Her light arked towards Spark. They eyes widened and they dashed forward.

    But Spark was already falling down. He was dead. The Radiance had killed him.

    “I’m sorry, nephew, but I cannot let you get hurt anymore.” The Radiance turned towards them accusingly. “This is your fault.”

    A ring of nails she summoned. A ring of nails striking through them.

    They expected more pain then they felt. But then, whenever their shell did shatter, they did not feel the pain for long. Not unless it was from the Dream Realm. Their vision went dark for only a small moment. They would wake up on a bench and this whole nightmare will be avoided. This was just a bad dream. Maybe they never really went back in time! Maybe they had fallen asleep and dreamed this entire thing. Yes. They were asleep and they hadn’t failed everyone again. They hadn’t.

    But when they opened their eyes, all eight of them, the Waking Radiance puffed her feathers out. Hornet clashed blades with Sunseeker. Spark… Spark still lay dead. And they had failed.

    “N-no. How did you..?” The Radiance uttered. Her. She had killed Spark. She had killed their siblings. She was the reason everyone they loved was dead .  For the second time, they used their voice, and they screamed . They slammed down with all their might, right where the Radiance stood. For a second, they could feel her blistering heat against their form. But then, she was in the air, raining down nails.

    They hissed, jaws quivering, before they lunged upwards. Their jaws snapped on air. The Radiance stayed within their peripheral. Razor pronged tendrils slashed at her, clashing against her nails. A few managed to hit her. If they could grab her.

    She created two balls of light, flinging them at Ghost. They reared back as they collided, hissing once again. But then, they were charging again, trying to grab hold of the Radiance. The moth danced around them before teleporting away entirely. 

    At the tip of their claws, they could feel a light tingling. They focused, forging themself a nail. They growled darkly before plunging it downward. Skewer her. Yes, yes. She hurt them. She hurt them. She won’t hurt them. Won’t won’t won’t. 

    Just barely she got away. One paw on the hilt, the rest on the earth as they pressed down. The moth was breathing in hurried huffs. Still, she set her jaw and summoned a nail for each paw. Void tendrils reached for her form, yet she bated them away with her nails. 

    Tired, tired, she was getting tired. Soon soon. They chittered darkly. No more hurt. No more hurt. No more hurt. Finally, finally. Rest. Safe. Peace.

    They raised a paw, waiting for just a moment, before slamming it down onto the Radiance. She was not dead. Not yet. Her heat blistered against their form, yet it did not hurt. Really, they felt nothing of it. Just an acknowledgement, nothing more.

    They dug their claws into the dirt and stone, closing in around her. “GHOST!” A voice yelled, while another screamed, “My Light!”

    Their head snapped towards the source. Two bugs. A moth, a spider. A spider and a wyrm . Hurt hurt hurt. Hurt them hurt them. Left to die. (Not dead? Care for? Safe with?) “Ghost,” the spider repeated, softer this time. She took a step towards them. (Familiar familiar. Why why why. Not void. Safe? Safe?) They hissed and she flinched.

    She let her needle drop, raising four paws up. “It’s okay. You know me. It’s safe.” The moth scoffed. The spider glared. The spider approached again, slowly, carefully. Beneath their paw, the moth was still. They curled their claws tighter. 

    She paused her movement, choosing her next move carefully. She reached out. “It’s okay. You are safe, Little Ghost. I promise you. It’s okay.” No. She hurt she hurt. Hurt, killed, tried. They sweeped with the back of their paw, colliding with the spider and sending her flying. The other moth, the one not in their claws, raced after the spider.

    Their focus returned to the light caught. They encased the Radiance fully within their claws. All they had to do was squeeze. Just a simple movement, and then they’d be safe. (But the spider. Her name, her name. They knew her name. They knew her . Wrong wrong. Something was wrong.)

    They moved, the edge of the Crown sliding past them. The bright moth was struggling to hold the spider. HORNET! Claws dug into the stone, while two paws grabbed the moth and the spider. Grabbed the moth and their sister . 

    They hadn’t noticed before the multitude of cuts littering both Hornet and the moth’s body. Why hadn’t the noticed. Why why. The moth stumbled backwards. She was shivering. Hornet was shivering. Why why why why why ??

    Void. They were Void. They weren’t Ghost and they were Void. They set Hornet and the moth (Sunseeker..?) down not too gently. Their gaze snapped to the Radiance. She was up, even if she had a limp. Her golden light burned in her eyes, in her being. “Sunseeker,” she commanded, “Get Hornet and step away.”

    (Familiar, familiar. They half-expected to see Godhome. The pale gold clouds, the towering pillars, the throne.) 

    Sunseeker was helping Hornet up now. Hurt. They had hurt her. They had hurt her, and Aine, and Spark, even if indirectly. “If you make one move, beast, I will do everything in my power to make sure you never find a way back.”

    She. She didn’t want them. They had hurt her. They could see parts of her fluff stained gray. (She was lucky to be alive, wasn’t she? They did this. They did this.) 

    They couldn’t be here. They shouldn’t be here. Her light flashed brightly. 

    Without another word, they slipped away, back to the embrace of their birthplace. 

Chapter Text

Her feathers ruffled impatiently. Beside her sat the Pathfinder. She watched Pathfinder from the corner of her eye. The pale blue moth was picking at their chitin. She huffed and looked ahead once again. Sun and stars, the fate of Hallownest was at stake! What was that wyrm doing?

“My Light?” Came Pathfinder’s soft voice. The moth was looking up at the Radiance now. She softened her frustration.

“Yes, Pathfinder?”

The moth was silent for a moment. Only their tilted head as an answer. And then, the grand doors of the room Aine waited in opened. Two of the wyrm’s void constructs held the doors open. Entering together were the Pale King and the White Lady. Aspen ran the hem of her dress sleeve through her claws over and over. 

Behind the two was Grimm, oddly enough. He looked to where the pale monarchs sat, then to where Aine sat. He settled for somewhere in the middle. “We apologize for the wait,” Aspen spoke. “We were worried about Hornet and Spark.”

Hornet. The spiderling. She had insisted on coming to the White Palace with Aine instead of resting like she should have. But once they had reached said palace, Hornet had been ushered away. The Radiance had almost laughed. Almost.

“Why are you here?” Grimm asked, scarlet gaze pinned on her. She bit back a snappish response.

“If you haven’t noticed, Hallownest is threatened by an old foe.” She did not have to say a name. Everyone knew. Even that wyrm. “The beast wrapped itself in an unassuming form.” She had held the child. She had offered the child a home. No, don’t think about that. Don’t think about that. “It attacked me, and we all know it will not stop there.”

“They attacked you?” Aspen asked, her tone icy. She did not believe Aine, did she? She was blinded by her love of her child. Her child who was dead. (Don’t.)

“It did. And not only myself. Sunseeker and Hornet. I was forced to put Spark in dreamstate to protect him.” Grimm mumbled something, but she didn’t catch it. Still, her gaze shot to him.

“And why would they?” 

“Because it is no longer that child! Because it lusts for complete and total control over Hallownest? For the Abyss to not be limited by that pit?” 

“Do not call Ghost an it!” Aspen spat.

“That child is dead!” Aine retorted. “They were most likely never alive in the first place.”

The wyrm let out a small, pained gasp. “That’s enough,” Grimm hissed. “Fighting amongst ourselves will get us nowhere.” You’re one to talk . “You fought the Lord of Shades--” an involuntary cringe, “-- and they went where?”

“The Abyss, most likely. To gather strength. To expand past the basin. To have an army. Need I go on?”

“I didn’t ask for a why ,” Grimm narrowed.

“I am not going to hurt my child,” Aspen insisted. Are all of them blind? You saw what damage it could do! You know what we went through, what we suffered! You should know your child is gone!

Pathfinder nudged her gently. “Breathe, my Light.” Her paws balled into fists as she narrowed her gaze, but she did breathe. 

Sun and stars . “Your child is gone. All that is left is the Abyss and it’s god.” I wish it wasn’t so . “If we strike now, we may be able to avoid yet more tragedy. Believe me, I would rather not fight, but we have no other choice.” She did not mention how tired she was. How that fight was her running purely on adrenaline. How she was sure, once this meeting was over, she would collapse. Right now, she was the Radiance, Guiding Light of the moths, protector, god of dreams and light. 

None looked convinced. Before anyone could speak, she directed her attention to the king. “You, wyrm. You have foresight. Tell us, if we strike now compared to later, what tragedy will we be avoiding?”

The wyrm was silent, his paws at his temples. “I... I don’t know,” he finally spoke after what felt like an eon. “I don’t know. It's all tangled and confusing. I-I can’t focus . I--” The White Lady brought her husband into her embrace, shooting Aine a look that said ‘this is your fault.’

Well excuse her for wanting to avoid unneeded death and using whatever advantages they have. Excuse her indeed.

“Then focus. We need to know. As much as you want your child to still be there, they aren’t. And even if they are, the Abyss god surely has them under its control.” 

“Do you even know? Do you know our child the way we do? Do you have roots, connecting you with everything, to tell you, to let you see, what others cannot? Do you, god of light and dreams, who cannot see into the dark without her own bias?”

“And do you have a death wish?! Would you rather sacrifice the lives of your remaining children for the chance of saving one?!” She finally snapped. Her light flared, as did her wings. “Your kingdom means nothing to you. Nor do the people. So sit here and do nothing while we try to do something !”

“ENOUGH!” 

“Every time we find ourselves in any sort of formal meeting, I always end up the mediator. Why, Aine? Why is that, whenever something happens, your first, no, your only instinct is to fight?” She stared at her brother. She was sure the entire world was. 

“It’s not--” She started.

“Sure it is,” he hissed, little wisps of smoke escaping from the corners of his mouth. “Whenever something went wrong, whenever it involved an outside party, you always fought first.” He stood abruptly, throwing a paw towards the wyrm. “When he first arrived, what did you do? Did you ask why he was here? Why he hurt our moths? No, you didn’t. I did. I talked to him. I tried to find some common ground, some agreement. And what did you do?”

“Grimm-”

“What did you do, Aine?”

He was waiting for an answer. An answer that rested within her mouth, yet refused to leave. She mumbled.

“What was that?”

“I fought,” she spoke through clenched teeth.

“You fought. Despite what I told you, you fought.” He sat down, arms crossed. “I am not fighting Ghost.”

“Don’t you hear yourself, brother? There is no Ghost! Ghost is dead!”

“Don’t you hear yourself, Aine? You aren’t listening! I doubt you hear the words coming out of your mouth.” He pressed his eyes shut. “For once in your life, listen. I am telling you that every time you fought, you only did that. And sometimes it only worsened the situation. Stop fighting and listen!”

She swore flame flew from his mouth. His scarlet eyes were nothing but a sliver. But fighting keeps you alive! But fighting protects others!

But fighting drove him away.

But that Little Lost Star, so ill at the thought of it.

“Fine. I’ll… I’ll listen. But when things go horrible, the fault is yours,” she finally spoke, voice wavering at first. If listening is what she had to do to get them to even acknowledge the danger, so be it. She’d listen. 

Grimm shifted, thin slivers widening to an oval. He glanced towards the wyrm, towards the White Lady. The White Lady was looking at him oddly. 

“Radiance,” came the Pale King’s voice. Her gaze snapped to him. “It won’t.”

--*--

His head was pounding and his body was on fire. Liquid fire, lava , ran through his veins. He let out a high pitched whine as he shivered. How could he be so cold on the outside, yet burning on the inside? Dad said something about colds…

He coughed and something lifted him up. Correction, some one . He barely caught a glimpse before he decided that keeping his eyes closed felt much much better. Fur, not as soft as his aunts, pressed against him. And while it wasn’t as soft, it still felt good. As did the arms supporting him. 

“Aren’t you tired,” a voice mused. He groaned and wiggled. A soft chuckle. “I know you aren’t asleep. I caught that eye of yours.” Mischievous. Maybe the voice would let him sleep…

A click of the mandibles. “I know you want to sleep, but your father expressly told me to not let you fall back asleep.” He yawned and snuggled closer to the warm body. He could feel the chuckle. “Oh Spark, you’re just like Hornet when she was younger.”

At the mention of his twin’s name, his eyes cracked open again. He squinted against the light until it didn’t hurt as much. He was held within the arms of Herrah. Around him was a simple room. A bed, some fresh flowers, some water. Herrah sat on one side of the bed, with Hornet sleeping on the other. 

He scrambled to get up, but Herrah stopped him. “Calm down. She needs her rest. Here, drink some water.” She held up a cup of water for him. He took a skeptical sip. Miraculously, it soothed the burning within him. And so he downed the rest in a few seconds.

He couldn’t tell what face Herrah was making behind her mask. It was different, guessing her expressions. With Ghost it was easy. They pair seemed to know what the other was thinking. 

Oh. Where was his twin?

He looked around the room again. Ghost wasn’t here. Maybe they were with the rest of their sibs? He looked back at Herrah. “Where’s Ghost?” His voice was scratchy on his throat.

Herrah chewed over her words carefully. “We don’t know. The Radiance came to the palace with you and Hornet apparently. I came as soon as I heard she was hurt.” Herrah placed a paw on Hornet’s forehead. His sister groaned and curled inwardly, but didn’t wake. “I was worried about you, also. But your father assured me you would be fine.” There was a hint of bitterness in her voice and she added something about his aunt. 

“I’d like to see Dad,” he murmured before letting out a big yawn. 

Another chuckle. “I’m afraid he’s busy right now.”

“He’s always busy.”

“He has to do adult stuff.”

Spark poked his tongue out. “Ew, adult stuff.” Setting things on fire was much more fun in his very professional opinion. Or biting the jellies in the Fog Canyon. That was very fun too.

“Hmm. I know something that might wake you up,” she said before standing. She still held Spark closely, gently, like a mother would a baby. He squished himself down and closed his eyes, enjoying the ride as Herrah brought him somewhere. She stopped moving eventually and nudged him. “Spark. Come on Spark.”

He didn’t need to open his eyes to tell his sibs were there. Falcer was naturally loud, and Mothwing jumping up and down, wanting attention, certainly helped.

Still, he opened his eyes. Then, he stiffened. For sitting cross-legged was a tired looking Hollow. They were taller now, and thinner, too. They weren’t as tall as they were in Godhome. Or the Black Egg. Even that had managed to sicken him. 

He stepped clumsily on Herrah’s paws before flapping into the air. He circled Hollow’s horns once, twice, almost three times before butting his forehead against Hollow’s and resting between his sib’s horns. Herrah sat down as well, immediately dogpiled by Mothwing and Thread.

Hollow reached up and gently plucked off Spark. They set him in their lap, tilting their head. ‘What happened?’ Spark’s wagging tail immediately died and his gaze fell away. Hollow shifted underneath him and poked his side. He looked back towards them. ‘While I was asleep. What happened?’ 

Spark glanced back at Herrah. She was focused on the small haunting of vessels surrounding her. Another poke in his side, this time the other. ‘You’re back! Mom and dad said I wasn’t allowed to ask you guys any questions until you woke up. So what was it like? I wanna see what Dirtmouth is like. It’s open to the sky, right? What’s that like?’

Another vessel must have said something, because Mimic seemed to huff, arms over their chest. They sent a response and, remembering Spark didn’t have voidspeak, added, ‘You don’t have to answer.’ 

Hollow waved Mimic away before focusing on Spark, head tilted expectantly. Where exactly should he start, anyway? They ran into Soul Master? Dad knows Ghost’s the Lord of Shades? His aunt knew (and didn’t take it well, either)? 

That he had no idea where Ghost was. That last thing he remembered was his aunt closing in on Ghost and…

And…

And Ghost impaled on her nails.

What if they were dead? What if they were truly dead? He never should have brought them to Dirtmouth! He should have bugged his dad or another sibling. Anyone but Ghost.

There was a soft, rumbly purr and he was held close in Hollow’s arms. He looked up at his taller, and potentially older, sib. ‘Bad?’ They questioned.

Bad, he nodded.

They looked around the room. ‘Where’s Hornet and Ghost? Tried voidspeak, but no response.’ They admitted.

“Um. Hornet’s asleep.” If Ghost didn’t respond to voidspeak. Hollow seemed to catch on to his silence. 

They chirped and gained Herrah’s attention. ‘Where’s Ghost?’ When her response came as an unknown, they asked instead, ‘Where’s Father?’ 

“The King’s in a meeting. Trust me, I have plenty I want to say to him, too.”

That didn’t seem good enough for Hollow. They looked back down at Spark. ‘We’ll find Ghost.’ And before anyone could argue, Hollow was racing out the door, holding Spark in one arm, towards the other gods of Hallownest.

Chapter Text

They brushed past the kingsmould with ease. Spark leapt up so Hollow could open the heavy doors. Part of them recognized they should have waited, at least announced their approach in some way, but here they were anyway.

    “Hollow!” Mother spoke with a light gasp. “We still have our meeting. No, nevermind that. Are you alright?” She stood and came to their side, cupping their face in her paws before tugging them into a hug.

    They nodded yes. Spark landed on the table, sending a glare at the… Radiance…

    Their eyes went wide and they backed away. Mother spoke their name, shielding them from the Radiance’s gaze. “My child?” She hadn’t hurt them. Not yet. Not ever. They weren’t hollow, they weren’t hollow. 

    “Hollow?” Father had come to their side now. His gaze flicked, eyes searching rapidly but never quite leaving them. 

    Breathe. You are alright. You have both arms. Your body is your own. It is not twisted and scarred and broken. You’re okay, you’re okay. You aren’t sealed and neither is she. Focus on your siblings. Focus on yourself.

    They steadied their shaking breath, but did not meet the Radiance’s gaze. They knew she’d be alive. And Father had found another way to end the Infection. Ghost had found another way to end the Infection. Still, they trembled slightly.

    ‘Where’s Ghost?’

    Father hesitated, voice catching. “My child, now is not the time,” Mother spoke after some deliberation. 

    They wiggled in her embrace. ‘Where’s Ghost,’ they repeated, a command more than a question. Past their parents embrace, the dream siblings were speaking. A pale blue moth sat next to the Radiance. They didn’t recognize them.

    “Hollow,” Mother began, holding their arms in her paws gently, “only a few hours ago have you finished your molt. While your mask may be strong again, I know that can be a tiring experience for bugs. You need to rest .” Her voice was soft yet commanding. “I promise you we will not abandon Ghost.”

    They were tired, they could feel it in their limbs, but their twin. Their twin was still out there. And they would not leave them, not a second time. They shook their head no. They wanted to do this. But if they had to fight, would they be able? Even if only to protect themself. 

    “Please, rest my child. I will go instead.”

    A yelp and then Spark was there. They dared to look past Mother. The Radiance’s fur was slightly singed. Grimm didn’t seem upset.

    “We’re going,” he said in a breath. He hovered beside Hollow’s horns, glaring at Mother. “We’re going because that's our twin!” They watched Spark, then looked at their parents. 

    “Absolutely not!” Came the Radiance. “Nephew, I am not letting you risk your life--”

    “Aine,” Grimm cut her off with a raised paw. “You said you’d listen.”

    “But he’s a child. Your child. Are you seriously letting him risk his life?!”

    “I trust him and I trust Ghost.”

    “Hollow,” Father said, “the Abyss is still sealed. Even if you do go, either myself or my Root would have to come with.”

    The paused for a moment, before, ‘Then come with.’

    Father chewed on those words for only a second before nodding and turning to address the dream gods. “Hollow, Spark, and I shall go to the Abyss.”

    “As will I,” Grimm spoke, standing, “King Ivory.” There was a flicker of a smile dancing across Father’s face. 

    They could feel the slight tremor in their legs, reaching up through their arms, dancing across their spine. They stared at the large doors, sealed shut, separating them from their very first memories. Mother stood behind them, resting her paws on their shoulders. Twice have they been here. This would mark the third.

    “Are you certain this is safe?” The Radiance asked for yet another time. They could not fully blame her. Their own breath hesitated in their long-dead lungs. She got no response, of course. 

    Father hesitated beside them, looking at the heavy doors. Past that, they both knew what lay inside. What they both had tried to forget. “If it really is in there, then these doors do nothing,” they heard the Radiance mutter.

    “It’s for peace of mind,” The Nightmare King responded. 

    “So they could ignore what they’ve done?”

And then, Father stepped forward, extending a paw. Bright light gathered around his paw, and with a blinding flash, the seal on the doors faded into nothing but a scar. It was silent. Spark bumped them lightly. Father looked to them. “We’ll remain here, okay?” 

    They nodded before facing the heavy doors. Spark clung between their horns, eyes locked ahead. They approached, remembering their twin hanging there, begging. They blinked, breathed deeply, and pushed the doors open.

    The light did not reach deeply into the Abyss. It was swallowed by the plumes of Void drifting up, then falling down. They passed the threshold, only stopping at the middle of the platform. ‘Ghost?’ They spoke both through voidspeak, and with a sharp, high pitched chirp cutting through the deafening dark.

    There was no response. Just the silence and the faintly distant rumble. 

    “Ghost!” Spark yelled, then waited. He frowned, tail lashing back and forth slowly. “Ghost, come on! Hollow’s awake so we gotta go on another adventure!”

    The faintly distant rumble grew louder. A jolt ran through them. They were not wanted. Spark froze momentarily too. Neither of them were wanted. It rang like a command in their body. It’d be easy, so easy, to walk out. A command’s a command, right? They could obey some, right?

    No. No, they were not leaving. Not this time. ‘Ghost,’ they repeated, projecting as much determination and stubbornness as they could muster. They could feel their twin, if not see them. ‘Ghost, I am not leaving. You are my twin. I left you once. I refuse to do that again.’ They paused, unable to keep up their facade of determination. ‘I left you. I left you to die. I could have helped you, but I didn’t, and you suffered.’ Their head hung low. Spark was waiting patiently, head tilted, as though he was hearing this too. ‘But you… you still wanted to save me. So it’s my turn. I failed you once, I turned my back on you once. I won’t do it again. Please, I’m here. I won’t leave. Just come here, please.’

    There was a shift. The stuffed air became sharp. Tangling horns scraped the rock above. Massive claws piercing into the metal of the platform. Eight burning eyes staring at them. “Ghost!” Spark chirped.

    ‘Can’t. Hurt others. Dangerous. My fault my fault my fault my fault. Can’t can’t can’t can’t can’t. Hurt others, my fault, can’t, can’t.’

    Their speech circled, their voice trembled. If physically their body did not portray their pain, their voice did. Their voice cried suffering.

    “Hey, Ghost?” Spark piped up. He flew closer, focusing on one of those piercing eyes. “Dad-- Grimm, he’s… he’s hurt others too. But he doesn’t. Not anymore. He’s our dad, right? And yeah, I might have set a few things on fire purposefully. That doesn’t make us bad.” He flew even closer. “Come on! We’re a pair! Light and dark, fire and cold, nightmares and… They point is, you’re my sib! And I’ll wait here with you.” He breathed a plume of fire playfully before latching into Ghost. 

    Behind, they could hear a start, a few voices, and a stop. They didn’t look back. Their sib retreated, rearing up and shaking their head. Spark refused to move, blowing another plume before nuzzling Ghost. ‘Stop leave!’ That command again. That feeling. Not wanted. It was stronger, sharper. But they could feel an undercurrent.

    Stay.

    Hollow approached their twin, only stopping once they had reached the edge. They stared up before sitting down, legs dangling above the darkness below. ‘We hatched later than everyone else. Do you remember that? I probably hatched last. I thought I was alone, the only hint of life. But then you were there, offering me your paw. You always have been. To bugs you don’t even know.’ A pause. ‘We hold ourselves to some high standards, don’t we? Impossible, even. I’d love to forgo emotions, to let others make my choices for me. It’s all I’ve ever known. What I’ve been told I am. My purpose.’

    They held their arm, the one they lost, the one they never lost. ‘But then I make my own choices. And it’s amazing and I’m scared and I’m almost laughing.’ They let go of their arm, spreading their paws out and looking at them. ‘I was never hollow, never empty. I was alive. I am alive. I was never what others thought. I’m just… me. And you’re just you.’ They looked up at the towering figure. 

    ‘I’m not perfect, I’m not hollow. That’s okay. You’ve helped me realize that’s okay. That I deserve a name. A better name. You’re more than what others tell you. If I deserve to be me, with no one telling me who I am, then you do, too.’

    They offered a paw. ‘You’re my twin. You’ll always be.’ 

    Their twin was hesitant at first. Watching them carefully. And then slowly, oh ever so painfully slowly, did they approach. Hollow’s paw rested on their twin, all eight eyes shut. ‘Do you want to go home?’

    There was hesitance, at first. “Maybe we should get Grimm Dad or King Dad? Or maybe they wanna see your mom? Do you wanna do that?” Spark asked. One eye flickered open. There was a very soft, very low note. Like whalesong.

‘I’ll get Mother and Father,’ Hollow both signed and spoke. ‘I’ll keep talking the entire time, okay?’ They could feel the quiet agreement.

They nodded and got up, finally looking behind them. They described their steps, the sound, the entire picture of Mother’s roots tangled around the Radiance, whose features were twisted so many different ways they didn’t know where to start. ‘Her face looks funny,’ was the best they could do. 

Father and Mother were beside one another. Mother rested on the dirt while Father stood. Grimm was keeping his distance, half his attention on his sister. ‘Father, Mother,’ they began.

Mother stood up, not even stopping to brush dirt off. “Hollow! How is Ghost? Are they alright? Are you alright? Is there anything I can do?” She asked, paws on their shoulders. She looked past them, to their twin. 

‘Ghost wants you and Mother,’ Hollow signed to Father. His eyes widened a little but he nodded.

“My Root,” Father spoke gently, jerking his head towards their twin. She nodded. “Grimm, stay here with Aine.”

“Where are you going?” The Radiance asked. “You can’t go in there alone. Shouldn’t we all go?”

“Our child asked for us , Radiance,” Mother snapped. But in the second moment, she composed herself. “If they had requested you, you would come with. If they do want to see you, you’ll know.”

Hollow moved quickly, parents following behind. They stopped before the edge, letting Father and Mother get closer. “Oh child,” Father whispered as he and Mother reached the edge. “I am so sorry.”

    Their twin nudged them ever so gently. ‘They’re apologizing for hurting Aine and, what they believe, ruining the peace. They want to know if everyone’s okay,’ they relayed before pressing closer to their twin. ‘You didn’t break any peace.’

    ‘I did, I did. Can’t do good. I always mess up. Always hurt others.’

    ‘You didn’t hurt me.’

    ‘...’

    “Ghost, my dear, my child. Peace still stands. Aine is okay, and so is Hornet. You haven’t ruined a thing,” Mother said gently, keeping an even, loving gaze with her child. “But if , and I stress the if, you had broken that peace, I would fight fang, claw, and root for you.”

    “You haven’t messed up,” Father spoke. 

    Ghost’s words were loud within their mind, but they didn’t dare to try and lessen it. ‘They… they think they’re a monster. That all they do is hurt others. They--’ Their paws shook. ‘Ghost, please, you aren’t- I-- Ghost.’ They had no idea what to say, what to do. 

    “Ghost, listen to me. You are not a monster. Everything you’ve done, you’ve done for your family. Things happen. There are so many ways for life to sprawl out. So many futures, so many what-ifs. But we can only follow one at a time. Even though I can see so many possibilities, I still made mistakes. I could not be perfect, and neither could you. And yet.” Father paused, looking so sad. “And yet, I think you felt you needed to be perfect. But you don’t. I never meant to… to frighten you. I.” He stopped and took a deep breath.

    “I just want you to feel safe and be safe. And I want you to know that I love you, my Root loves you, your siblings love you.” Mother gently moved Father aside, granting herself more room, but also room for Ghost, if they had been small enough.

    “You can come home whenever you like. If… If you want to call here home…” She trailed off, looking over at Father. “We’ll make it work.”

    Ghost shivered, keening softly. Mother moved closer, leaning her forehead against Ghost. “We love you, Ghost.” She raised her head again, looking at her child. 

    The dread of the Radiance seeped in. Hollow wasn’t sure if that dread was theirs or from their sib. Perhaps it was both. 

    ‘The Radiance…’

    They didn’t need to finish that thought. “She won’t hurt you,” Father reassured, “and neither will Grimm.”

    “And if they dare to try, I won’t hesitate to fight them,” Mother added darkly. 

    “I promise you, they won’t hurt you.” But the thought of ‘they might’ still echoed in Hollow’s mind, still ringing in Ghost’s. They whimpered. “Would you like to see them? Or at least see Grimm?”

    Mother said something directed at Father, but they were paying attention to their sib.

    ‘NO! Yes. I--’

    ‘You don’t have too, sib.’

    ‘I… I want to see Grimm.’

    A pause.

    ‘An-and Aine.’

    Hollow nodded, relaying what their sib wanted. 

--*--

The god of the sun did not like standing this close to absolute darkness, thank you very much. These roots still wrapped around her didn’t help any, either. 

    “You could at least help me,” she shot at her brother, trying to free herself. She grumbled, only managing to entangle herself even more. 

    Grimm looked at her, a smirk plastered on his face, but didn’t say anything. Some help you are . She huffed, feathers ruffled, and not from her annoyance. These stupid roots were squishing her fluff. 

    Out from the darkness came the wyrm. Finally. He didn’t seem injured in any way. Still, her suspicion remained high. “Grimm, Aine,” he spoke. Oh. So if the wyrm speaks, Grimm will move, evident by him standing up straighter. “Will you… come with?” 

    His head jerked in reference to the Abyss. Would she go in there ? No. Absolutely not. She quite liked living. 

    But she was supposed to be listening too, wasn’t she? And if that possibility hung, the chance that the Little Lost Star was still there, that small sliver of her would never forgive herself for turning away.

    But this was also the Lord of Shades. Despite her best efforts to ignore her exhaustion, she could feel it. She should have been able to escape these roots, all she needed to do was teleport, but it felt so much easier to just hang limply entangled. 

    Some of her wounds flared with pain once again. She sucked in a breath, gritting her teeth. She was the Radiance. She was the light. She could not rest yet. 

    Grimm and the King looked towards her expectantly. Letting the Lord of Shades exist was one thing, interacting with it was madness! She met the wyrm’s gaze, letting her fire burn. “Yes.”

    The wyrm helped to free her from the root shackles. Together, the three ventured into the dark. For a moment, she was blinded. It was oh so cold in here, and her ignored wounds did nothing but worsen. When she first caught sight of it, she froze. No. No no no no no. No. She would not go forward. She would not trust it.

    Beside her, Grimm had frozen too. The wyrm may never have known the fight long before, and the root may be blinded by motherhood, but she remembered. So did Grimm. So did Unn. 

    Her brother straightened, approaching cautiously but composed. The impure child watched from the side. Her nephew remained beside the Lord of Shades. “I would say little one, but it no longer applies, does it?” Grimm asked, his voice a soft rasp, giving the beast a warm smile. “Ah. That does not matter. I am sorry. I am sorry for so many things. I shouldn’t have reacted the way I did. I shouldn’t have taken Spark from his family.” He stepped even closer, offering a paw the Void god took, pressing gently into it. “I am sorry about this, too.” He was dwarfed by the Void god, they all were.

    (Why did this feel familiar? Golden pillars and cream colored clouds. A ringing in her ears. That tiny little star.)

    (She felt she had seen this god before. Long after its first defeat. But where? Where? Why did it feel she had forgotten something? Something important.)

    She slowly moved forward as well. (The first time they met, the Little Lost Star flinched. She had frightened them, burned them. She supposes they were never fully comfortable around her. She would have accepted the vessel explanation, but their siblings, aside from the impure child and the spiderling, did not react that way to her in their dreams.)

    She closed the gap, her own two eyes pinned to the eight blazing white. Her heart beat painfully in her chest, her breathing was shallow and rapid, but she didn’t dare turn back now. She refused to back down. Her brother moved to give her room. They wanted her to listen? Fine! Here she was!

    She stretched out a paw.

    The Lord of Shades, God of Gods, antithesis to her light and life, flinched away .

    The Little Lost Star flinched away. The Lord of Shades flinched away. They had met before, hadn’t they? There was something vitally important she had forgotten. 

    “Oh.” Paw falling from the sky. What have I done?

Chapter Text

Queen’s Garden was not very calm today. Children of the Pale King and the White Lady ran around, chasing each other with wooden nails, or attempted to climb up pillars and poles and the twisting wooden roots of their mother. Said Mother kept a careful eye on the children, while also enjoying some tea with her knight Dryya. Ogrim and Isma kept the children occupied while Xero and Markoth stood guard, in case a child slipped by. 

    They were taking everything slow. The shiver in them hadn’t quite left yet, and they didn’t like being alone. That’s why they were pressed up against Quirrel. The pillbug didn’t seem to mind, one arm draped around them, a blanket. The other he used to gesture as he talked to Tiso. After everything that happened, the Voidling finally agreed to not fight the Pale King. 

    In their paws was a warm cup of tea. Most of the cup remained full. It was somewhat difficult for them to properly drink it without just dumping it into their eye hole. But the cup was warm and so was the little whifs of steam curling upwards. Their old cloak was familiar, but it was tattered. Herrah offered to fix the cloak for them, and gifted them a soft silky one in the meantime. They were tempted to just keep the cloak. The doubted Herrah would mind.

    They wiggled a little, repositioning themselves as they had grown uncomfortable. “Hm? Are you alright little one?” Quirrel asked. They gave a tiny thumbs up. With a small smile, Quirrel went back to talking with Tiso. They stared down into their tea. It was… nice. Not running around, not having a pressing goal to accomplish. It was nice. So why did they still feel so… empty? They felt detached in a way. Their emotions were dulled, aside from the sharp pain of some negative emotion, something between guilt, fear, and sadness. 

    Ever since that… event , everything had been dulled except this. They didn’t want to tell anyone. They didn’t want to worry them. But. They were here for them, right? Their family was here for them. Shouldn’t they say something? 

    They sat up. “Ghost?” Quirrel questioned. They should do this. Maybe it would help. 

    “You want to talk to someone? Hmm.”

    “Alright. Let’s go,” Tiso said aloud.

    “Go where?”

    “To Unn. Come on.”

    They really liked the mosscreeps. They wondered if they could have one within the palace. “Ghost, remember, we can go back if you wish,” said Quirrel. They didn’t want to go back. They approached the lake and the hut. 

    Sitting outside the hut was a bug. A cloak woven of moss and leaves and vines enshrouded the bug. As they neared, the bug turned to look at them. Four whiskers came from their face, two lower one and two upper ones. The upper ones were long, curling around itself. “Hello young one. We wondered when you would come again. You are not the only one to have changed forms. Come, sit.”

    Oh. So that was Unn. She was small. The party of three settled beside her. The Moss Knight from before, Grove, right? Grove stepped outside their hut, saw the group, looked at Unn, then went right back inside. “Forgive us for asking, but what brings you? We see the turmoil still within. It would not have something to do with that?”

    They weren’t sure, but she sounded almost mischievous. “Excuse me Madam Unn. Ghost wanted to come here to talk to someone. I assume that would be you, Madam,” Quirrel spoke.

    “No madam is needed, scholar. Unn is simply enough for us.” Her focus shifted back to Ghost. “We are still tired, but we took this form to not miss another turning point.” There was that mischief again. “If you wish to talk, join us at the pier’s end. Your companions should stay put, unless you wish for them to come.”

    ‘They can stay.’

    “Come then, Little Ghost. Tell us what troubles you.”

    They waited until they and Unn had reached the end of the pier. The acid bubbled and sizzled, steam rising up after bubbles popped. Unn curled her lower half, resting upon it while she listened. “How do you feel?”

    They took a moment to think. Physically, their body felt fine, aside from their occasional shivers, and a dull ache running across the scar between the halves of their head. ‘Empty. But not really. Everything is dull except this pain. ’ They paused. ‘Somewhere between guilt and sadness and fear.’

    “Regret,” Unn said softly. “That would be regret, young one. We see why you would feel such a thing. It is a natural emotion, especially to Higher Beings.” Her coils shifted and she was eye level with them. “It is natural, but one should not dwell on it.”

    They looked at her confused. They didn’t regret anything. Did they..?

    ‘I don’t regret anything.’

    “Then what else do you feel?” There was not a hint of annoyance in her voice. No frustration, no anger. Just unending gentle calmness.

    ‘Relieved in a way? I’m not so heavy.’

    “A weight has been lifted. That is a good thing. A very good thing.” Her voice shifted to somewhat mournful, “Asking a child to bear so much. The world no longer rests on your shoulders. It never should have in the first place. We are glad you came to us, glad you spoke to us. No one carries their burdens alone.

    “Perhaps the thing you regret is not something so easily found. Tell us, why did you go backwards?”

    Because they killed the Radiance. But they couldn’t save everyone. They failed to save so many. Their siblings, the Dreamers, Cloth and Myla, all of the spirit warriors, Seer. They failed so many. What was the point of destroying the Radiance herself if most of the people they cared about died? Not to mention those they never met. Only their shambling husks left behind. What was the point of all of that, if they couldn’t save a single person?

    “We see. And are you satisfied with this?”

    Are they what? Happy with this ending? With this future? They almost killed people! They almost started another god war! Why would they be happy with this?! 

    “Little one, you are still a child. A child asked to carry the world by themself.” She curled around them. A hug. They shivered, even as the gentle coils held them. “You regret the almost. But they did not happen. They could have, yes, but they did not. It is good you acknowledge the potential outcomes, but you should not hold them so close. You should not let them eat at you. We ask you this again, and please take your time to truly consider, are you satisfied with this ending?”

    No, they weren’t. They almost hurt people. They almost started a war. But didn’t they stop the Infection? Didn’t they save not only Hollow, but Lost and Mothwing and Falcer and Thread and Mimic? Didn’t they bring an understanding to the gods of Hallownest? They weren’t satisfied with this ending, but they supposed they were… happy, in a way.

    ‘I’m not satisfied. But, this is okay. It’s better than the alternative.’

    “That is good. Shall you consider the future, let go of the what ifs? Your journey shall not be easy, but the world is carried together.”

    This wasn’t how it was supposed to end.

    This was so much better.