Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It had all been talked out, to the point where they were discussing in circles. Everything had been thought over, every sacrilege compensated. They’d both agreed to the intended method, including the sacrifice of their own children and the possibility of the Void infesting themselves. The Void given Focus was lost to time, but its essence still remained, and it was really the only thing capable of smothering light and dreams. A being of Void with the ability to dream was the only real way to contain Her. And so the Pale King and Queen had gone to the Abyss with their clutch. To steep their children until they were saturated with its properties.

“On one condition.” the White Lady said. “I will be keeping one of them at minimum.”

The Wyrm stared. This had come up halfway through their journey to the Abyss, down the tunnels of earthy, stale air of the Ancient Basin. Though they both illuminated the tunnels with their soft glow, the Queen seemed to encompass the area with her presence, her roots encompassing the space in its entirety. For any bug, it would have been something intimidating; for the King, it was something curious. “For what purpose?” said curiosity prompted him to ask.

She scoffed a laugh. “Why else? I wish for a child. Try and find the emptiness in one if you must, but I will save at least one of them, even if you deny me.”

“They will not be a regular child. You are aware of this, yes?”

“Fully.” her tone was sharp, quelling. Then she softened. “I just want to raise a child, Idris. I want to be a mother, no matter the state of my child, so long as they are living. I know you feel no readiness to have a family proper-“

“Myce-“ he tried.

“-but we are essentially about to kill off an entire clutch. That’s millions, millions of my brood laid to slaughter. I cannot abandon all but your chosen, do you understand? You do not have to take part in raising mine.”

The King looked at her despairingly. “I cannot leave you alone in that. It is a task for more than one person.”

“Idris.” she bristled. Her fury towered above him. “You will not deny me.”

“I wouldn’t deny you this, my lady.” he said quietly, without flinching. In all the time he had known her, she had never been this aggressive, and he would be hard pressed to refuse her like this; it surely had to be important, at least to her. “Though I may doubt my readiness... and I will be preoccupied with the effort to contain Her, I... would offer my aid as I am able.”

She softened immediately. “You would?”

“For you, and what this will do to you.” he promised. “I would try to lessen your burden.”

The Queen dropped everything to lift up her husband and embrace him, nestling his head beneath her chin and trilling happily. He squirmed and weakly protested, but made no real attempts to escape. This happiness was short lived, however, as the task ahead made itself known in their minds, turning the mood somber. A draft from the abyss sounded less like wind and more like a howl, the howl of creatures unfathomable to even higher beings. It cut the momentary joy they had like a dull nail; not all the way through, but enough to impact, enough to sting.

“It is time.” the King said softly above the gale.

The Queen nodded, milky gaze drifting to the yawning dark that lay beyond the King’s Brand.

The Void Sea stretched out about as far as a lake, but its true horror lay in its depths, how deep it ran. The grey shores were impeccably smooth and without sand, yet the way they were carved suggested erosion. A canyon may have been a better descriptor for it, or a ravine. A crater. But who could ever swim across it without drowning? Not even a Pale being could fathom the idea, though their glow pacified it enough to allow their approach without trouble.

The clutch they bore came in the form of absolutely diminutive sized eggs; with the Root’s influence, they were more akin to the size of spores, And there were millions, millions of them within the sacs created to hold them, stowed beneath the White Lady’s robes, between her vines. She couldn’t bear to release them herself, so with great shame she entrusted the task to the Wyrm. It was with a gentle kneeling that he set them off into the inky waves, barely rippling the surface. It strangely reminded the Queen of their time at the Blue Lake festival, lightning lanterns and floating them off into the cavern. It was a ritual of remembrance; the Infection had been young back then, and had far less panic surrounding it.

The eggs were buoyant enough to float before becoming waterlogged and slipping in silence under the surface of the sea; the Queen made no attempt to hold back her grief. The King looked on, stone faced. 

After that, they departed from the shore, the Queen still weeping. “It will be alright, Myce.” the King attempted to comfort her in his own awkward and stilted way.

She nodded and sniffed. “Not all will survive the hatching anyway. It’s just…”

He patted her on the crook of her extended roots, curling his fingers gently around in a grip meant to be consoling. They retired, leaving the eggs to incubate in the chill of the pit.

The monarchs were not glad, but nonetheless obligated to return after the incubation period had passed. The King had returned a few times to tinker in his workshop, tending to his prototypes- the moulds- and check to see if the eggs still lived. Cast the needed runes of purpose upon the sea that stained them. A month had passed without incident, thus prompting them to return and see what became of the eggs that hatched.

The Queen was all but ready to descend to the shore once again, but the King stopped her. “They will come to us.” he promised. “I bid them so. Should they be worthy of consideration, they will ascend without incident.”

“And if they are not empty completely, what will you do?” she asked, knowing the answer all too well.

Idris sighed, almost inaudible, unnoticeable, were the silence not suffocating. “What I must.” he both did and did not answer her question.

They stood there without any further words to one another. The quiet was finally broken by a small, sickening CRACK of a mask, causing the Queen to violently flinch. But she voiced nothing, did nothing. She had known this would happen, had agreed to it in spite of everything inside her that rebelled vehemently against the very idea. She deserved to face this. Even as more sounds joined in, creating an echo of a kind, one that went all the way up the long, long, long drop, she stood there and refused look away. Her husband did the same; she wondered if he felt as she did. She hoped so. He looked so impassive it was horrific.

The first child that managed to ascend was one the King looked over thoroughly. Standard procedure from this point onwards, the Queen supposed. A small thing with two curved horns notched at the ends, white mask in contrast to its dark cloak. On its ascent, it had been clutching at the edge the royalty stood near with shivering claw for quite some time. Neither made any move to help it, but it had eventually managed to pull itself up nonetheless. It bore quite the likeness to the King, but its eyes were wide and blank, filled with nothing that went on forever.

The King stood up, having examined it. “It’s trembling.”

The Queen swiftly swooped up the vessel into her arms before the King could so much as blink. “It will do.”

She turned away, scurrying back towards the palace with her new charge in tow, a fond smile already on her face in her giddiness. Giddiness, but also a need to escape that place. Neither she nor her new child needed to hear the deaths of their siblings any longer. Such a tiny thing, half the size of her husband; would they ever exceed his current height, she wondered. Or would she be blessed to tease him about it for eons to come. “Hello, little one.” she cooed. “I’m your mother. I’ve been looking forward to meeting you.”

Her husband was right; the poor thing was shaking like a leaf. She held them close to her chest, rubbing small circles with her roots into their back. “It must’ve been frightening,” she soothed. “but no harm will come to you now. You’re safe.”

The vessel still trembled, but she felt them slowly, carefully reach up and clutch at the fabric of her robes, hanging on tightly.

Chapter Text

Upon returning to the White Palace, the Queen came to the abrupt realization that she didn’t really have anywhere to put the little vessel. She’d been so concerned with receiving them alive that she hadn’t even thought about the room and supplies they would require. She supposed it was greatly helpful to be royalty at this time; anything her child required would be taken care of with a word or request from her. She slid past the kingsmoulds, clutching her baby tight, and was greeted by their retainers the second she passed the threshold. 

“Your Highness!” they cried, bowing low enough to scrape their masks on the tile. “You return!” She had a very… neutral opinion of them. Most regarded them as mindless sycophants, and perhaps it wasn’t unfounded, with their bows and hails happening all in unison as if it were practiced. It probably was. Mildly unnerving. But at least they were helpful.

One raised their head meekly to look at her charge. “Is that… the vessel the King has chosen?”

“No,” she said, head raised regally with the pride that suddenly swelled in her chest. “it is the one I have chosen. They are to be my child.”

The retainer gasped. “An heir?”

“Perhaps.” she mused. “It seems unfair to determine their fate so soon, beyond being raised here. Which is why I would ask that we might designate quarters for them? Preferably near our bedroom. It need not be elaborate, but a crib is required.”

“Yes, your Highness!” the retainers all scurried off in different directions, taking their murmuring, gossiping mouths with them, leaving her unaccompanied and free to do what she wanted. The vessel still clutched tight to her chest, shaking slightly. She wondered if they were cold, as they were freezing to the touch. She had much to learn about this child, but that made it all the more exciting. She took to awaiting the room preparation by sitting upon the railing, roots curling tight over the stone and the foliage, and rocking her arms back and forth, shifting the little vessel slightly. She hummed to them, a lullaby she’d composed to comfort herself long ago, before her Wyrm had met her. He’d been so large back then. Again she wondered how large her child would grow; would they exceed her husband’s, or even hers? It would be most wonderful if she were able to hold them like this for their whole life- when they were alright with it, of course.

They were still trembling lightly in their arms and still felt cold to the touch, cold as the Abyss they’d been submerged in. With sadness, the Queen realized this was likely just their body temperature and their shaking was more than likely from fear. But didn’t they have every right to fear their parents? The Queen hadn’t desired to be picky, thus she had scooped up the first child that didn’t pass her husband’s “test”, but were she a true mother she might’ve found a way to take all of the little ones with her. She reasoned to herself that was ridiculous, they’d born enough children to triple the population of Hallownest, she couldn’t have all of them. Yet her heart languished at the thought that she could have raised them all.

She was broken from her thoughts by a housekeeper- thankfully not a retainer- coming up to her a politely murmuring her title to catch her attention. She looked up at the bug who bowed in return.

 “We’ve prepared a room for the new- uh, prime. It is just down the hall from your master chambers, on the wing to the left. Do you desire an escort there?” he asked.

“That won’t be necessary, thank you.” the Queen stood, noting how her child held on tighter with the change in height.

The housekeeper nodded. “Should you require anything, please let one of us know.”  he bowed again and scampered off, leaving her to glide away to the new chambers. She wouldn’t trouble anyone with telling her where to go; she knew the palace well enough and honestly didn’t want to trouble anyone with navigating the elaborate construction that lead to the top floor. The King didn’t like to personally meet with his subjects besides the ones he knew well, and the Queen understood his social anxiety, but making reaching the throne room and their personal rooms the heroic task of navigating labyrinthine halls was just ridiculous. Regardless, she got there eventually.

It was a simple, unused room, furniture still covered in white sheets, with a stained window that overlooked the bailey. She was glad to see the retainers hadn’t done anything elaborate as she had asked. There was a crib by the wall beneath some hanging vines, a chair large enough for her by the window, and next to it was a plinth bearing a basin for washing. She sat in the chair, little one still clutching on to her, and felt the water’s temperature; warm, but not lukewarm. She wondered if it would be alright, what with their cold temperature. They were rather dirty, what with their journey out of the Void sea and their climb over the… remains of their hatchmates. It’d covered them in a light film of black grime. The Queen pulled them away from her just enough to look at them proper.

“You are filthy.” she stated. 

They stared at her. 

“I wanted to settle you into your crib as soon as we got here, but now I think you need a bath.” 

More staring. 

“Very well, then.”

It was good for the process of elimination, but bad for the conscience, that most of the vessels failed the climb out of the Abyss. It was mostly just a matter of bearing the sounds their little bodies made when they hit the ground or ledge; anything hard enough to crack their masks wide open. It sounded like his jaws might’ve if they’d gone through a burial mound. A haunting cacophony of crunching and breaking with no screams to accompany it. The King wasn’t sure he’d be able to handle it if there were screaming.

For those who did make it to the top- it was well over a few hours and only about two dozen had arrived- they were thoroughly inspected. Some had looked him in the eye, some had shaken, some looked at their surroundings. One had even been jumping up and down in what was perhaps excitement. He turned his gaze away as he cast them back down into the dark. 

He wondered if his wife would’ve taken them all in; why she’d chosen to stop at the one child instead of claiming all these other flawed vessels. Perhaps she wanted the guarantee she would receive something from this tragedy; that by asking for the minimum, she would be sure to get what she wanted. They weren’t even sure there would be a worthy candidate to start.

It was a long time before the cracking started to slow, where the King could start to make out the individual bodies again. He could hear the sounds ending a lot sooner than before;he was certain it would put all the snail shamans’ burial mounds to absolute shame. Only a few made it to the top and were cast down for their flaws all the same. It was when the falls were far and few in between- which was at the end of the day- that one vessel made it to the top. It felt different than the others. Though its mask was similar to all of its siblings with only its wide scooped, twice pronged horns to set it apart, it had something about it- an aura, perhaps, if he were to use a wild simile- that betrayed it certain difference to those of its kin.

The Pale King inspected it. It didn’t shake, stared straight ahead, didn’t even look up at his face. There wasn’t even a motion that indicated it breathed. With a swell of hope, the King inspected its thoughts and found nothing but darkness. Absolutely nothing to find within.

His relief was tremendous. Enough time had passed that he was afraid he’d never find one, or worse, he’d have to submerge more of their eggs again. Now, if his runes were made correctly, it should follow his every order. The King could only hope that it would, and wondered briefly if the Queen’s chosen would be just as obedient. It might make for easy to manage children- no, child, but this wasn’t to be an automaton. Perhaps there was a way to undo the spells he cast prior to their hatching, under the assumption they’d take effect. But he wasn’t sure why he was ruminating on this; it currently wasn’t any of his concern. He turned to leave the abyss, commanding the vessel to follow him. It did so without any delay.

He turned and placed his hand upon the weathered shell that marked the entrance, a deep rumble sliding the two halves back into some semblance of their previous whole, and stamped it with his brand, sealing it to everyone but himself. There was no need to return to the refuse and regret of that which was necessary.

The King looked upon his chosen, who still stared at the wall, unmoving unless he took a step forward. More complex, perhaps more alive than a kingsmould, but mechanical just the same. He wondered why there were so many differences he had to sort through, though he expected as much, and why was it this one in particular. What about it made it so different from its others? If this one were the one to have first made the ascent, would the Queen have snatched it away in desperation to mother it and left him to train it- mature it- while she fruitlessly tried to care for the needs and emotions it simply did not have? Though he deemed it more likely that she would have demanded to stay until another reached the top. She was practical in that way, in not attracting unnecessary. Now, he mostly hoped that hers would be as imperfect as it possibly able to be, to avoid breaking her heart.

All the same, as he stared at his chosen, he couldn’t help but think that it was a child like hers. As much as he knew that it wasn’t.

“You shall seal the blinding light that plagues their dreams.” he told himself more than he told it. “You are our chosen vessel. Our Hollow Knight.”

Were he not so lost in his own thoughts and self assurance, he might’ve seen the vessel stiffen the slightest fraction.

The little one didn’t like baths very much.

Perhaps it was the warmth or the scent of the soap. Perhaps it was the foreign feeling of the water or the unfamiliarity of their grime being wiped away. Perhaps they were simply old enough to assert their opinion. A mature infant, the Queen mused, in stark contrast to their current tantrum.

“Keep still.” she tutted, putting them in an almost full body hold with her roots, leaving their stubby limbs to flail wildly in her grasp, little legs kicking up suds and flinging them across the room. “The less you struggle, the sooner this will be over.” She got a splash to her face for her reprimand.

“I am the Queen of Hallownest.” she playfully declared as she wiped the suds from her face, unable to stop smiling. “And more importantly, your mother. It is by my royal decree-” another splash to her face. “that you will be subjected to proper cleanliness habits and reasonable bedtimes.”

An entire face-full of suds made by both their feet kicking up at the same time was their reply. She squinted as the soap stung her eyes however barely. Not enough to dissuade her. “I am a goddess. Your little charlatan tricks may blind me briefly, but my power is inescapable!” With that, she fully dunked them in the basin, sending a large wave out and over, getting soapy water all over the floor as well as her robes. “Oops.”

A few more minutes of wrangling yielded a young vessel much cleaner than before, their mask white as the palace, their strange, limp wings a dark gray rather than a muddied black. Very handsome this way, their mother thought. They seemed much more content with being pat down with a towel than being bathed, and went so far as to grab the towel and pull it around them like a fluffy cloak. As they shuffled about with it, the Queen stuck her roots into the cracks in the tile and soaked up as much of the water as she could, not wanting to cause too much trouble for the housekeepers, but making a face at the taste of the soap all the same. Was it undignified? Probably. But she’d done stranger things in her lifetime.

Her husband would probably be against this however. So it was quite fortunate that she had finished ‘cleaning’ when he walked in the room.

“Having fun?” he surveyed the mess pointedly.

“Ah! Idris! You return!” she exclaimed hastily. “I was simply bathing the little one and- um- this happened!”

“...You seem happy about it.”

“Do I?” In spite of herself, the Queen beamed. “Well, that’s rather strange! But- oh,” she sobered. “if you’re back...”

The King nodded, looked off to somewhere behind the doorway, and spoke. “Come.”

A little vessel padded out, stood next to him. So remarkably similar to her child, the only difference being their far larger horns on their mask. But they had a stillness the other didn’t, nearly rigid where they stood. There was the same void of anything in the eyes of their mask- but unlike her little one, where this trait was easily ignored as they displayed others that proved clearly they were alive, this one just looked haunted. Still, silent, solemn. Empty.

Pure.

“What happens now?” the White Lady asked softly.

“The Dreamers, I suppose.” he answered. “Since Herrah is already here, I figured I may as well get her acquainted with it.”

“Such developments won’t cause interference with the Deepnest treaty, will it?”

“I should think not. Considering her cooperation in sealing the Infection is a part of the conditions, I don’t see how it would cause detriment to anything.”

The Queen nodded. “Right...”

There was a small silence in which neither party said or did anything, apart from the Queen averting her gaze from the vessel. The little one still clung tightly to the towel it was wrapped in, looking curiously from the King to the vessel and back. There was a curiosity in the void behind the mask, almost laser-like in its intensity; rarely did the Wyrm ever feel scrutinized by anything, but he was nearly unsettled. How empty it seemed, yet how lifelike it acted.

“Is it...” the King fumbled. “to your liking?”

“Of course they are.” she murmured. She bent over them then, ruffling them with the towel to dry them off a little more thoroughly. They jostled along with her movements, squirming.

“It seems rather… unruly.”

“Their sire is you , after all.” The White Lady teased him gently, making him scoff. “Deny it as you might, do you remember what our first few meetings were like? You were such a wild thing, making a mess of-”

“I was larger then.” he blustered before clearing his throat, correcting himself. “In any event, I will be taking the vessel to the workshop. If you need me for anything, I will be there.”

“Of course.” she nodded as the pair took their leave. As the train of her husband’s robe vanished out of sight, the vessel lingered, gaze seemingly stuck to the other one’s. Neither of them moved for the longest time, until the vessel’s head tilted up just a bit to look up at the Queen. It looked as though they were thinking. Observing. But her husband would claim that wasn’t possible, given that he’d selected correctly. And he would be adamant that he had selected correctly.

The White Lady waved. The vessel did not respond to the gesture in any way, turning to follow after the King.

Chapter Text

“What do you think of... Briar?”

The little one stared at her with no change in their disposition.

“Aspen? Ivory?”

More staring.

“Hmm...” the White Lady frowned in thought, crossing her limbs together. The child, sitting in their crib, stared back. In all honesty, she could probably name her child whatever she liked. But they were a pupa- no, more like a larva. They had at least some perception of the world around them. It seemed only fair they have a say in their name. In other traditions, it was considered an honor and a sign of development to be given a name by another, but she held no attachment to such ways even if she respected them. Her child was a being that was created to be without will, and it was because of this that she wanted them to have as much choice in their life as she could afford them.

“...Onyx?”

No response. She sighed.

“I cannot continue to call you ‘little one’. It will seem derogatory some day, I’m sure.” Not that she knew how much they actually would care, but it was a precaution she felt she had to take, for their sake.

“What about ‘Finn’?”

Nothing.

“Well, I suppose we can keep trying.” she leaned back in her chair at a slight loss, simply watching them. Most of the time, they stared at her. But on occasion she caught their flickers of curiosity in which they did things like inspect the bars of their crib, try to climb out of it, or look up at the vines that dangled over their bed. They’d clung to the towel she’d wrapped them in yesterday and had spread it out as a blanket, for a time, until she finally got them to relinquish it in exchange for another of its like. An odd little one, and of course they would be, but they were fascinating to watch.

It was in her musings that a retainer entered the room, prompting the vessel to turn their attention and thereby getting her attention as well. She turned to face the bug in the doorway.

“Your Highness, the prospective dreamers Monomon and Lurien have arrived. They wish to greet your Highness before the King calls their meeting.”

She doubted they actually wanted to greet her, knowing how work-minded Monomon was and how socially reclusive Lurien had proven to be. But these sort of things were formalities and gestures of respect within their select group. The prospective dreamers had a social status very high in the ranks of royal Hallownest- something akin to a duke or duchess on the hierarchy. While Herrah was Queen of Deepnest and therefore had no reason to care about such a thing, the same couldn’t really be said of the other two. Or, maybe one. Lurien had only really used it to communicate his information directly to the King, as opposed to the myriad of other nonsense screening type things other submitted documents had to go through, and to ask for the formal protection of the Watcher Knights after the kidnappings in the City began. Monomon, on the other hand, had exploited her status for resources like no tomorrow. She was brilliant, and made many great discoveries from it, which was why she was never punished beyond a scolding. She’d allegedly dug out a massive acid bath for Uumuu, the uomas and oomas for little other reason than ‘they helped her’. It’d been excused under pretenses of adding security to the Archives, but it had given the King a headache all the same. The White Lady did enjoy both of their company.

“They await you in the main hall. Is there anything you require to prepare?” the retainer asked as she stood from her chair.

“No, but if you could perhaps watch my child in my absence, I would appreciate it.” she answered. “I will try to keep it brief.”

“Of course, Your Highness.” they bowed as she swanned her way out of the room, then promptly swiveled to stare at the child in the crib.

The child stared back- before turning their gaze to the bars of their crib.

Monomon and Lurien were similar, yet different enough that their similarities inadvertently caused bickering. Often. They got along well enough, but they were both so very passionate in both their fields of work and their beliefs that in times such as these, they argued. It did not help that Monomon loved to tease when she could, and Lurien’s reserved nature caused him to bluster and fumble, making her tease him all the more. Such was the situation the Queen found them in upon entering the main hall.

“All I’m saying is I’m not the one who was so excited to receive summons from the palace that they tripped over their own cloak when they boarded the stag.” Monomon cackled; she loomed over the Watcher who tried fruitlessly to match her stature, puffing himself up indignantly.

“ You cannot even trip!” he protested. “And what informant of the Pale court would I be if I did not make an effort to respond to summons as quickly as possible?”

“Well, a normal one, I would suppose.”

“But perhaps far less valued in our court. Dedication is admirable, after all.” The White Lady interrupted just as the Watcher opened his mouth to retort. Both he and the Teacher hastily bowed to her, suddenly sheepish. She smiled. “It is good to see the both of you, Teacher and Watcher alike. You are here to meet with my husband, I trust?”

“Yes, your Highness.” Monomon responded as both dreamers rose in sync. “But, as usual, we deemed it appropriate to pay our regards first. We hardly ever see you these days.”

“I admit, I have my hands full with… more personal matters as of late.” the Queen answered delicately. She knew she could only tiptoe her way around the subject of her child for so long, but thought it more prudent to break it to them slowly, particularly similar they would likely be meeting the chosen vessel today. There were already whispers of the new prime and the possibility of succession. Too much to throw on to their plate at the moment, she thought. “I suspect it will occupy me for some time.”

“We understand, your Highness.” Lurien answered with a nod of his head. All the stress he’d built up by talking to Monomon seemed to have dissipated from his posture and he settled into a far more relaxed mannerism. “If you’d wish to return to it, then please do not let us keep you.”

“You are hardly keeping me, Watcher, though I appreciate your concern. Why don’t we walk to the courtroom together before I return to my preoccupation?”

Both found this agreeable, ambling alongside her as she slowed her normal pace. They discussed a great many things during their short trip- Monomon was making great progress in learning more about the applications of ooma cores as a source of nutrition, as well as the nature of how the Infection affected the body. The former was frivolous, the Teacher admitted, but her assistant scholar Quirrel found them tasty, so would she be if she didn’t look into it? Lurien had been working on a far more alarming issue; the kidnappings in the City hadn’t escalated, but they hadn’t stopped either. From his perch in the Spire, he’d seen bugs vanish in a flash of Soul after being surrounded by a long cloak. They’d suspected the Soul Master and his Soul twisters, but the investigation of his sanctum hadn’t found evidence of anything incriminating. The Soul Master claimed these creatures were in no way affiliated with him. “Likely, they are the ones who are affiliated with the Colosseum.” the large bug had told him. But, even though Lurien had no real evidence as to the contrary, he could be easily forgiven for thinking the Soul Master was an egregious liar. He would have to keep looking, he told her morosely. It was a lot to deal with on top of the Infection and being a dreamer; the Queen could only sympathize. All they had managed to find was of dubious nature, so suspicion wasn’t lifted from the Soul Sanctum just yet. But they managed to speak of lighter prospects in that regard: with Lurien managing to grasp onto the modus operandi of the kidnappings and thwarted some of the attempts. It was something, at least, to celebrate, and work towards fully solving.

“Hopefully, dear Watcher, we can resolve the situation in due time. Please do not hesitate to ask us for more resources should you need them.” the White Lady sympathized with the stress of the weary Lurien’s plight.

Monomon spoke to this as well. “If there’s anything I can do as well, Lurien, please let me know. The Archives are open to you.”

“You honor me, your Highness. And I appreciate it, Monomon.” Lurien sighed quietly, almost privately; like a secret exhaustion shared within his current company. “I can only hope that we can find some sort of evidence that may convict him, or the Colosseum, if he’s telling the truth somehow. Perhaps then, we may all have a moment of peace.”

A loud crash startled the group. And then a shout. A myriad of startled voices rang out through the hall, distant where they stood, but nonetheless alarming.

“Nononono, young prime, you mustn’t-!” One voice in particular cried out. Another crash. A bug with a different voice screamed. “No, please do not hang off that! It will tear apart!” A loud tearing sound rang out through the hall. “S-someone help!!”

“Oh dear.” The White Lady said mildly. “I suppose it’d be best to investigate, wouldn’t it?”

“‘Prime’? As in, a prince or princess?” Monomon promptly questioned.

“I shall explain later. Right now, I believe one of the retainers had found himself in the most dire circumstances.”

The party followed the trail of chaos without further discussion, the shouting leading them to the hall just outside the courtroom. Faded, small black streaks went all the way down the banister at the end of the hall, leading to a number of broken lumafly fixtures and toppled flower pots shattered on the ground. Many of the retainers were attempting to recapture the lumaflies that hadn’t escaped out the windows. They looked panicked at the Queen’s arrival with the dreamers and bowed deeply.

“My deepest apologies, your Highness!” one cried to her, almost groveling. “There was- a-a child came through here, they- they were toppling everything, jumping and climbing it all. They’ve- they’ve moved on to the curtains in the oratory!”

“Oh, dear.” she huffed. “Do not worry, I shall handle it. Dreamers, you do not need to worry about this matter; I’d not keep you from your meeting.”

Monomon hesitantly agreed. “If you’re sure, your Highness.” she said before drifting off.

In contrast, Lurien stayed put. “I doubt the king would be upset if I stayed late to help you, your Highness.”

“That’s kind of you, Lurien, but you shouldn’t trouble yourself.”

“It’s not trou-“ the Watcher’s cloak shifted oddly. A small bump appeared towards the back, presenting the illusion of Lurien having some sort of hump. He shifted and stepped backwards and the bump moved in response.

A small, white head popped out from under his cloak. Lurien yelped, flinching away. The noise and movement prompted them to skitter on all fours across the floor, where they were promptly scooped up by the roots of the White Lady before they could escape. Judging from their appearance, they’d not only managed to get into the flower pots, but into their father’s study and the dovecote as well; maskfly feathers tarnished with ink stuck to the dirt on their mask and claws.

“What have you been doing?” their mother asked, flicking feathers away from their shell and using the hem of her sleeve to wipe the dirt away. “You’re positively filthy. Have you been causing trouble around the palace?”

They stared at her before reaching out their paw and showing her a scrap of cloth, embroidered with the pattern most commonly found in the oratory windows. She gave them a scolding look.

“Little one, I do encourage you to have fun, but it must be without breaking things, do you understand?”

Her little one only looked at the ground, kicking their legs weakly in the air in protest. Their gaze was so blank that it could easily have been mistaken for lack of comprehension.

“You must show me that you understand, little one.”

They stilled. They stared at her.

The seconds felt as though they panned into minutes as they sat and stared at each other. The retainers shuffled away awkwardly as the Watched… well, watched.

A pang of fear struck her. What if they didn’t understand? What if… what if they couldn’t? If their display of free will, of curiosity had been superficial… she would love them still, but…

They nodded.

Her relief was probably unwarranted, unnecessary; and perhaps her fear over the matter was too, but a weight was lifted from her chest all the same. It felt foolish, considering she had an audience, though they were blissfully unaware of her inner turmoil, and she continued to address them firmly. “And you will not do this again, yes?”

Another nod. The Queen set her child down on the ground, satisfied with this response. In turn, the little vessel tottered around her robes, picking at pieces of the shattered pots that lay scattered, leaning down to rake their paws through the dirt they spilled.

The Queen stood upright just as a very harried, disheveled retainer rushed forward, panting as if he’d sprinted the Pilgrim’s Way. It was the one she’d asked to watch her charge in the first place. Poor dear, she thought privately.

“Y-your Highness, I- I-” he wheezed, trying valiantly to catch his breath. He bowed low enough for his head to scrape the floor. “I cannot- I am so- my deepest apologies, I am- I did not mean-”

She raised a root to call for his silence. “There is no worry. I shall remain with my child for the rest of the day so that nothing like this occurs again. If you could inform my husband of my needed absence, I would appreciate it.”

“I could inform him, your Highness.” Lurien piped up. “Since I am due to meet with him anyway.”

“Ah, right. That would be easier. Well, then, please see to the mess, I suppose.”

The unfortunate retainer bowed once more, “Yes, your Highness!” and scurried off in search of the housekeepers. Said housekeepers were swift in their arrival, sweeping in with new flower pots and curtains, bustling about with only short bows to the Queen and Dreamer as they passed. The vessel looked at them curiously, but did not interfere.

Lurien looked around at the steadily disappearing mess. “So. That is what you are… ‘preoccupied with’?”

She nodded sheepishly, a rare look for her. “Yes. They are very new to our family, and I must admit I am enamored with them. Not once in my life have I ever borne a creature that could not grow by itself. But, perhaps, I didn’t think ahead as far as I should have.”

Lurien nodded absently, again surveying the surrounding chaos being slowly swept away into dustpans; in the short span of time in which he looked, it was getting much closer to the spotless appearance it should be. The crowd had grown thicker as more of the housekeepers were called, and it was likely Lurien’s talent for picking out detail that alerted him to the fact that their prime had disappeared. Again.

In his attempt to locate them before alarming the Queen, he looked underfoot again. It was unlikely, he hadn’t felt anything move under his cloak, but one could only be so sure, and-

A little white mask with two empty eyes once again poked out of his robes to greet him. He yelped again. Undignified.

The White Lady laughed. “Rapscallion. Do not harass our poor Watcher.” They dutifully scurried away from him again, this time to cling to the robes of their mother.

“How in Hallownest… I didn’t feel anything at all. Didn’t hear anything, didn’t see them sneak up on me.”  Lurien clutched his heart. “I swear, they’re like a ghost!”

The White Lady blinked, processing the statement before she gasped in delight. Inspiration had struck. Quick, silent, and more than a little mischievous… yes, it suited them perfectly! By sheer luck, Lurien had given her a name that quite suited them. Now, if only they would agree to it. 

“A little Ghost!” she cried. She dropped down to speak at eye level with her child. “Do you like that? Would you like being called ‘Ghost’?”

The little one seemed to ponder this, looking down at the floor, turning their head thoughtfully. Then, they slowly looked up and nodded.

“Then, Ghost it is.” the Queen said elatedly, scooping the child into her arms and holding them close. She pressed her face to their mask and could swear she felt them press back. “My little Ghost.” she turned to the Watcher, beaming. “Thank you, Lurien!”

He stared. “No... trouble, your Highness?”

The Queen was nothing short of giddy, yet she still strode elegantly as she departed the courtroom, leaving a stunned Lurien behind.

It was only moments later that the King entered behind him. He coughed lightly to announce his presence, making Lurien jump again.

“Is something the matter, Watcher?” he asked.

“Um. No, no I- I don’t think so, your Highness.” Lurien fumbled, spinning around to face him. He smoothed his ruffled wings down hurriedly, face burning with embarrassment behind his mask. “I just had a strange... exchange with the Queen.”

The Pale King frowned.

“Not bad, just- peculiar. And unexpected. Forgive me.”

“...Should We be worried?”

“...No?”

“You don’t sound sure.”

“It is a matter involving the White Lady and her… new charge. She requested I tell you that she will be spending the rest of the day with them due to a mishap.”

The King ‘hmm’ed, frowning, before passing it off with a shrug. “Very well. Will you accompany Us to the meeting?”

“Of course, your Highness,” the Watcher hastily bowed and trotted after him in his wake.

The courtroom meant specifically for the meeting of the highers of the Pale court- the monarchs, the Dreamers and the great knights, mainly- wasn’t as opulent as some would expect it to be. It was beautiful, of course, with its steely patterns swirled into alabaster walls. The windows curtained so the light outside did not reflect off the surfaces and blind everyone within, but enough still shone through to give the room a pearly sheen. The table was round, housing enough space for a great number of people, but as of now only holding four, the seal of Hallownest intricately carved into its center. A servant had just finished laying out the paperwork for the king and cups and a pitcher of water at their places. What a strange group they appeared to be, with the large spider and the towering jellyfish sitting next to the much smaller Wyrm and… whatever Lurien was respectively.

The King began the meeting, as he usually did, by clearing his throat. “We believe you all know why you’re here.” he started.

“Royal speech.” Herrah, the Beast Queen of Deepnest scoffed. “Aren’t we all a little too close for that by now?”

“I had thought our dealings to be predominantly professional.” Lurien, the City Watcher responded.

“Which explains why you answered soooo readily to our King’s beck and call, Lurien.” Monomon, Teacher of the Archives drawled teasingly.

“My first duty is to my kingdom, Teacher, and I resent your implications of anything otherwise.” he snapped.

“Focus.” the King was already irritated. If it weren’t for their other qualifications, namely the nature of their dreams, he’d have chosen a group far less inclined to banter. “The Pure Vessel has been selected. It is to be trained and will grow with the aid of the great knights and whatever the dreamers are willing to provide. And then, well. The seal shall be placed. Thus, I have organized the meeting to go over the finer details of the proposal.”

“Dropped the royal speech, have we?”

“Herrah.” he scowled at her.

“Well I, for one, don’t particularly like talking about such grim matters with such excessive formality.” Monomon chimed in, swirling her tentacles back and forth lazily. “Particularly if it is to include the circumstances of my death.”

“Refrain from being so grim, Teacher.” Lurien responded. “That isn’t the true nature of what will happen to us, you know.”

“Then what is the true nature of the dream, I wonder?” the Teacher asked pointedly. “We are here to discuss these ‘finer details’, yes? By all means, your Highness, please indulge us.”

And so he did. The Dreamers were to act as seals upon the egg where the vessel would be kept once fully grown. The egg would be saturated and constructed from the void as well, an extra safeguard against the Infection leaking out. With this in place, all dreams in Hallownest would be halted. If the Dreamers were to sleep eternally, then the seal would last just as long. It would result in a state of stasis; Hallownest would not die and remain as it was so long as the bugs could not dream. There would be no way to wake up the Dreamers, however, unless interfering directly with their dreams.

Lurien looked thoughtful at this. “Is it not possible to use a Dreamer as a vessel, if this stasis were to be induced?”

“No.” answered the Pale King abruptly. “A vessel is meant only to dream, to contain these dreams. One becomes Infected if these dreams have them think or feel or anything. The stasis would help nothing then, and would not even take effect.”

Lurien nodded thoughtfully, a claw to his chin. He began to murmur to himself, processing the circumstances under his breath.

“If I may speak frankly, my King,” Monomon spoke out, tone suggesting she didn’t really need or want his permission. “I do not find a world of stasis to be a promising solution. Hallownest is hardly advancing anymore as it is. The stagnation will prevent any necessary growth from taking place.”

“This isn’t about advancement, Teacher.” Lurien was stirred from his rumination, turning swiftly to face her from across the table. “This is about the preservation of lives . Prevention of a pandemic that there is no actual cure for.”

“And I would still argue stasis shouldn’t be a part of it.”

“But what else could possibly hold Her? What advancements could we possibly make in what little time we have left to combat Her dreams?”

“Have we explored every possible option?” Monomon pressed, leaning her very large body over the table to look Lurien in the face. “What of the Nightmare King? Of the moth tribes? Of exploration into the wastes beyond? Is it not plausible they could hold a solution far more profitable?”

“The Nightmare King all but confirmed it would take a vessel with traits suitable for containment of a god of dreams. You must remember, She and the Nightmare Heart are not gods in the same way that I, my wife or Unn may be.” the King interjected. “The moth tribes are all but extinct at this point; if there are any left, they do not have much time. Those of the moth tribe we have found had symptoms of the Infection upon their cadavers. And we dare not send any bugs into the wastes; no one is truly sure of what lies beyond.”

“Surely there must be other gods. You came from the wastelands, did you not, your Highness? Were there no other gods to find out there?”

“None of her nature. None that required a vessel to contain them.”

Herrah, who had kept her silence since the meeting began, appeared to consider her words before she spoke them, interjecting into their conversation. “Earlier, Lurien mentioned your wife had a vessel with her. A different one than the Pure Vessel.”

“Scared the lights out of me.” Lurien muttered.

Herrah ignored him. “Is it presumptuous of me to assume that you have chosen a different vessel than the one you showed me to complete this task? If I am to consider taking part in this project, I would like as much information as possible.”

“It is not presumptuous of you, but you are incorrect.” the King responded. “That ve- child is one my lady has taken in as her own. She desired to raise and nurture it.”

All the dreamers seemed surprised at this, Monomon hiding a little gasp. The King could envision Herrah’s brows raised beneath her mask. “Are they an heir?”

“It is uncertain. I believe my lady simply wishes to be a mother and has no care for the idea of succession as of now.”

Herrah ‘hmmm’ed at that, looking deep in thought, tapping a claw to her mask. The questions were rather pointed and the King was not sure what to make of them. He had the urge to demand her thoughts, nervous as to what the point of them were, but it was better that he hold his tongue. After the violent reaction to the second tramway they’d attempted to build into Deepnest, however, he’d dare not say anything that might sour their relationship further. So he waited patiently.

Eventually, she spoke again. “Well, that is where we differ, I suppose. I admit, I have great concern leaving Deepnest without an heir if I am to take part in your ‘project’. Concerned enough to make it a condition for my cooperation.”

“A condition? Forgive me if this sounds impudent, but isn’t that something you could achieve on your own time?”

“Perhaps, but it wouldn’t make an heir indisputable.” she answered cooly, fixing him with an unnerving stare.

For some reason, Monomon started stifling giggles. The King frowned. “Why not? Does your status not mean enough? Am I missing something?”

“ I am missing a sire.” Herrah said bluntly. “And I cannot think of one better than a proclaimed god.”

Lurien, who had been taking a sip of water, choked.

Chapter Text

Perhaps it was a little exaggerated of the Queen to be so absolutely delighted by the prospect of her child choosing their own name. At the very least, it showed a lack of decorum. The excitement had dwindled by the time she’d taken them to the balcony, where she composed herself. It was more of a retreat for her husband than for her, but it had a lovely view of the garden that bordered the bailey, and the air seemed to hum with a comforting melancholy, laden with wishes to make everything as perfect as possible. With her own piece of perfection- her prime- in her arms, the White Lady sat upon the bench wreathed in silvery ivy.

“Well, now, little Ghost,” she spoke cheerfully. “where do we go from here?”

She looked down; Ghost looked up. Ghost looked down again and squirmed, campaigning for freedom. The Queen complied and set them down, where they grabbed a small, stray leaf from the ground and began to pick at it.

“There’s so many things to do, I think, but I have no order in which to start them. I think of proper learning, perhaps a tutor, but I know so little about you. But learning about someone is best accomplished with words. Actions are a suitable form of expression, of course, but they are less concise.”

Ghost threw the leaf in the air, now slightly more shredded than before.

“I know you are mischievous.” she smiled. “And lacking a healthy amount of fear.”

Ghost looked up at her with those wide, deep eyes. Skeletal in their appearance, even if all other masks were built the same. The shiver the Queen felt down her spine was involuntary.

...She knew so little about them. They couldn’t even tell her what they thought of her.

But she didn’t have time to question it further, as the light padding of steps and the familiar drag of a robe made the little one jerk and scramble, abandoning the leaf and seeking a hiding place behind her body. Her husband slithered into the view of the doorway, image… not as regal and composed as usual. Instead, he was bowed over slightly, fretting with his fingers and avoiding eye contact.

“Is the meeting with the Dreamers over?” the Queen asked brightly.

“Nearly. It. We’re taking a recess. Um,” the King fidgeted in front of her. “Myce- dearest?”

Very, very rarely did he ever call her anything like ‘dearest’; it was well known to her how hard it was for him to express affection without formality. He usually only used it when addressing things that the Queen might react very negatively to. She looked at him with raised eyebrows, alarm bells going off in her head. “Yes?”

“Ahem- as you know, um, I have been talking with our, uh, prospective dreamers.”

“Yes?”

“And for the most part, they have been quite agreeable about the whole thing.”

“Yes?”

“But, um, it seems that the Queen of Deepnest has a, uh, condition that she requires... fulfilled in exchange for her service. It would also constitute a part of the treaty.”

“What might that be?”

“She desires, um. A-an heir.” he seemed to scrunch down into himself, dreading her ire or something. “An indisputable heir of… o-of Wyrm lineage.”

The White Lady blinked. “She wants you to sire her heir?”

He looked away at a shiny spot on the floor and spoke in a very small voice. “Yes.”

She stared. Then she snorted.

“It’s not funny, Myce!”

“Perhaps not, but your demeanor is.” she giggled. “You act as if I would bring the earth itself down upon you for this… what is the word, ‘transgression’?”

“Myce.” he huffed.

“You never stammer! You were cowering! It is both uncharacteristic of you and sort of endearing.”

“Please take this seriously, love.” In spite of her teasing- or perhaps because of it- he relaxed considerably, now simply giving her a light frown.

“You never call me ‘love’, either! Or ‘dearest’! Frankly, you could stand to do it more often.”

“Alright, that’s enough,” he said firmly, the blush of hemolymph visible through his shell. “I came to ask your consent for this… dalliance. Seeing as it is meant as a bargain, I personally do not see it as… immoral, but I know you may not feel the same. And I do not find it appropriate to make these dealings without your knowledge.”

The White Lady gave a soft laugh, nothing meant to tease. She pulled her husband close to her chest with her roots and nestled his head beneath her chin. “You’re very sweet, Idris, when you allow yourself to be.” she cooed. “I appreciate your honesty. Should you go through with it, you will still have my trust and my affection.” The Queen pressed a kiss to his forehead and he grumbled weakly.

“Thank you, my lady.” he sighed. “I promise it is only a part of gaining the proposed dreamers’ cooperation.”

“Oh! But speaking of the Dreamers, Lurien was very helpful today!” she exclaimed, partially to change the subject and ease her husband’s mind, partially because she still felt incredibly excited about it. Her husband was of the few who were used to her bursts of exuberance, particularly at the prospects of motherhood, so it didn’t put him off as it might others.

“Lurien’s always helpful.” the King protested.

“Well, he exceeded himself! In fact, he is the one who finally found a name our child wishes to be called by!”

“Oh? What might that be?”

“Ghost!” she chirped. “That is the name they have chosen. It makes sense, they are very quiet on their feet and seem to appear out of thin air at times.”

“I see. They… chose it, did they?” He tilted his head to look around her robes, no doubt fully aware Ghost lingered there to avoid his gaze. She felt their little claws shift as they attempted to further huddle away.

At that she frowned at him. “You still doubt their free will, don’t you? I suggested multiple different options before they settled on this one. There’s little room for doubt at this point, I think.”

“I do not doubt you, Myce, I just…” he sighed. “I get caught up in the technical aspects of these things. I admit, it sometimes narrows my perception. I am mostly concerned that you will not have a child to raise, so to speak.”

“Idris.” she said sternly, gripping his face and steering it to meet her eye. “I understand these concerns you have. And I am well aware the nature of how our child was born will more than likely create difficulties down the road. But they will always be that: a child. That is everything I want from them, do you understand? I need nothing more. A lack of voice or expression doesn’t matter to me.”

He fidgeted again but didn’t reply before changing the subject. “That’s right, the Pure Vessel needs to have someone to watch it while I’m away. I’d thought to ask the knights at first, but they are so often away, and the Kingsmoulds won’t-“

“Shhh,” she pressed a root to his mask, quieting him. “I will take care of them.” she hesitated a moment. “And, before you say it, I will limit myself in how much I ‘mother’ them.” 

He huffed, but complied with shoulders going lax in relief. “You’re a treasure. I’ll make it up to you.”

With that, he slid out of his wife’s grasp and out from the balcony, noticeably less tense and with no visible skitter as he swanned off. The Queen idly watched him go, wondering how he’d go about ‘making it up to her’. Ghost crept forward from behind her and only slightly loosened their grip on her robe.

It took the Pale King all of 7 minutes and 23 seconds- approximately, by the Teacher’s count- to shuffle back into the meeting room. Lurien looked on. Monomon took a long, loud draft of her water before dribbling the rest of the contents on her dry membrane.

“Do we have a deal?” Herrah asked expectantly.

The King seemed to compose himself, straightening up before nodding firmly. “We do. I trust there are no other conditions?”

“Only that you come back to Deepnest with me. I won’t have the things necessary for a formal coupling here.”

“We could easily- actually, never mind. Your terms are acceptable, Queen Herrah.”

“The Midwife won’t be happy about it. Do disregard her complaints.”

“...Duly noted.”

“Meeting adjourned?” Monomon asked, rising up to grab the entire pitcher for herself, though Lurien protested. “Forgive my complaint, your Highness, but it’s terribly dry down here, given the actual depth, and I’d like to return to my archive as soon as possible.” Saying this, she began to stick her tentacles into the water, muttering something about shriveling up.

“Unless anyone else has conditions they must discuss, then we can consider the negotiation completed.” said the King.

“My conditions only include certain personal affairs I must put in order beforehand.” Lurien answered promptly.

“Mine are similar.” Monomon withdrew from the pitcher, floating away from the table and toward the King, whom she towered over. “Though, there are things I’d like to discuss with you in private, if I may.”

“Another time.” he answered. “Forgive me, Teacher, but I’m afraid Deepnest relations take precedent.”

“Ah, of course.” she tittered. “Of course they do.”

“As they should.” Herrah said briskly; she and Lurien swept to their sides as the group gradually made their way out of the courtroom. Monomon continued to tease and chatter, much to the King’s dismay and to both Lurien and Herrah’s exasperation, though Herrah successfully dissuaded her with other varying gossip. Ongoing dramas of the weavers that not only piqued her interest to chatter, but her scientific interest as well, being unfamiliar with the culture (“And what relevance does stealing a spool serve? Is silk vastly different depending on the individual, or is it the act of theft? You’d told me before that weavers were very social in nature, particularly during their looming, so I thought resources-“). It lasted until they arrived at the stag station, in which the King stayed out of the sight of the station (Monomon suspected magical wyrm nonsense) and Herrah summoned the stag that would take her back to Deepnest. Before boarding, she gave the King a look. Awkwardly, he addressed her.

“Well, I suppose… In light of our agreement, I shall… leave with you?”

Monomon jerked her head up at the words, snapped out of her light and mischievous mood once more. “Excuse me, your Highness, are you ditching us?!”

“Of course he is. Male priorities.” Herrah said flatly. The King looked offended by this statement. “Did he not say Deepnest relations took precedent?”

“Absolutely not! We need to discuss the full ramifications of the process we intend to execute- I would think it fit to put the coitus on hold until we are all in agreement as to the specific procedure and establish failsafes!”

“And I think that a failsafe we should establish is Deepnest having a line of succession, in whatever form.” Herrah said testily, boarding the stag. The King, in that moment, saw fit to teleport his way there, as he did without a word to any of them. His shyness preceded him. The Beast Queen rolled her eyes. “Good day, Teacher. Watcher.”

“There is more than that to consi-!” But Herrah was already off, speeding on the stag’s back down the tunnel, leaving a fuming Monomon behind. The scholar erupted a shout in frustration, a small spark curling out from her abdomen and flowing out to the ground, the core behind her mask glowing with a volatile light. Nearby staff looked on, only slightly startled.

Lurien looked up from his place on the bench. Awkwardly, he tried to console the Teacher. “They’ll be back, Monomon. And then we can listen to what you have to say.”

“Why is it that you’re the least irritating one when our opinions differ so wildly.” she grumbled, flicking the bell with impatience.

The Watcher looked up to the ceiling as stag legs thundered closer, looking to some- any- being higher than their Pale ones for strength. “I don’t know.”

The little Ghost had very little to do with themselves. The white creature who they knew as “mother” was a very busy thing who was always talking to something or someone. She was much larger than they were, and pretty- everyone else must’ve known that too if they wanted to talk to her all the time. But if they weren’t careful, she’d clasp them in her roots and dunk them in water that foamed white and smelled nice. There was nothing more cruel. Even after she’d covered them in that fluffy cloak, they’d still not forgiven her fully. They mostly stayed by her side so that she would not subject them to it again. She was also a kind person who took good care of them. But that was irrelevant.

And she hadn’t tried to get a retainer to look after them again. They were weird and fussy and Ghost didn’t like them very much. She told them their father was out on a diplomatic mission and would not return for quite a while. Ghost wondered if their father was that man who visited with her all the time. The one who was bright and cold, distinctly sharp on all edges, the one who slithered and hissed in low tones that made their chest swirl. They didn't like him very much either.

This person had asked her to look after something of his. They didn’t really know what it was, but even though they disliked the man their mother treated as nicely as them, they couldn’t help but wonder. Which led them to occupying their time in a very particular way.

As their mother was engaged in conversation with yet another person who begged her assistance, they slipped away into the brush that lined the railings, running their claws through rustling leaves and moving only when bugs went by until they were well out of sight and sound. They could feel their birthplace beneath their feet and the void… just a floor above them. A river flowed upwards from the sea to the palace, its darkness well concealed with the shining beacon. But it could not hide such things from a denizen.

The large, white clad guards who felt like kin were completely ignorant of their presence. Or, they simply didn’t care enough to act. Thus, it was simple enough a task to follow them into the elevator, ducking between the ligaments and effectively staying out of sight. There weren’t many retainers or housekeepers around, but one could never be too careful.

In fact, upon reaching the level, there was nobody there at all. Besides the clanking of the kingsmould’s armor, the hall held a chilling silence, the pat of their footsteps ringing out like a siren. It was dark here, for how illuminated and resplendent the palace was in nature. There was a lack of decor or foliage that was so prominent in every other part of the palace. Any furniture that lay scattered about was covered in white sheets. The kingsmoulds marched on unperturbed, but Ghost lingered, no longer keeping pace.

The presence they felt was behind a door towards the middle of the hall. A very plain door that somehow had a very different feeling to it. Putting their small claw upon it, they learned it was made of wood rather than polished stone. The surface prickled, itched, scratched as their claw ran down its surface, only pulling away sharply when they received a splinter in their shell. They pulled it out easily, undeterred.

Clearly, the only logical solution to satisfying their curiosity was to open the door, so they did.

The door led to a workshop. A workshop that was not white or shining at all; rather, it was a grey brown that seemed to drip down the walls. Various contraptions littered the rickety desk- mostly wingsmould parts, but other little gears and gadgets were among them, some with tools still stuck inside mid construction. Long rolls of parchment flowed off the surfaces like waterfalls of words Ghost didn’t know. Beakers full of void were kept everywhere, on shelves, on the desk, on the floor, sticking out of the drawers. Splatters of void stained the surfaces nonetheless. And, most prominently, in the center of the workshop, was a large egg with an imprint of a body inside- oozing, dripping, leaking trails of the voidsea- and a sibling who stood silently in front of it.

It stared directly at Ghost. It’s mask sported thicker horns with deeper prongs and it was polished to brillance. It shone as bright as a lumafly lantern. It seemed to hold absolutely still as it watched them, but Ghost could feel the slightest tremble in its frame, unsteady from standing so long.

It looked directly at Ghost peeking at it through the crack in the door for a moment

before it sat, its frame going lax in relief.

Ghost hurriedly shut the door with a distinct feeling they’d seen something they weren’t meant to see.

They scurried away, somehow not dreading another scolding.

Chapter Text

“It is utterly ridiculous, Quirrel.'' The Teacher stormed- well, floated, but floated as violently and angrily as she could- into the Archives, not even sparing a greeting to her assistant, who was writing notes about the oomas in a tank and how they reacted to charged lumaflies zapping their membrane. His listening to her ramblings as she entered served greeting enough by the pair’s standards. Thus, he didn’t particularly look at her or offer greetings either. “Our King desires to keep his kingdom in stasis, yet claims to have no desire to see it die.”

“Hmm.” said Quirrel.

“He would be trapping the Infection! Trapping Her in stasis as well! There are those who will still remember Her; they will be immortal in this way!”  She rose to the top shelf where the new acid scripts were being kept and checked them impatiently for error. Given that she had written them, there’d likely be none. “It is not as though she would Infect Her own worshippers. Not mentioning Her visage is still atop our Crystal Peaks! And what other solution could become possible if things were to stay forever the same?!”

“Mm-hmm.” said Quirrel.

“He is a ridiculous man who only has affection for the things that stay as the status quo. He has absolutely no regard or care for anything outside his design or spontaneous in any way.”

“He seems to like you just fine, madam.” said Quirrel.

“AND TO TOP IT ALL OFF-“ Monomon ignored him. “His own child is to serve as the vessel! A child, Quirrel! When he said he would supply ‘a being made of Wyrm, Root, and Void-‘“ she mimicked his tone and way of speaking with uncanny accuracy. “‘-strong and empty to contain these malignant dreams’, I was not expecting him to use his own brood! It is very poor parenting at best! And of course I couldn’t say anything, because how could I?!”

“But did he not say-“

“AND THEN-“ she continued. “Herrah pipes up and says that she needs an heir before she dreams! A Wyrm heir, specifically, she wouldn’t settle for anything else! Imagine! A foreign Queen suggesting an affair to a whole courtroom in broad daylight , and the affairee saying yes in front of said courtroom! So he’s off to Deepnest to breed with her now, leaving him conveniently unavailable for me to yell at!” Monomon opened the container of charged lumaflies, inspected them briefly, then slammed the hatch shut. The contents fluttered in agitation. “It was funny at first, but he left almost immediately and now it is infuriating! ”

“Insufferable.” Quirrel nodded sagely.

“Intolerable!”

“Madam, if you are so adamant on having your opinion heard, why not consult with the Queen? You know she’s the one best able to talk sense into her husband.”

“Because I want to yell at him myself!”

“...Are you even mad about the Herrah thing at all? It seems like you’re just frustrated and need rest. Perhaps you should retire to the acid bath?”

“Stop caring about my well being.” she grumbled. “This is serious.”

“... repellent… but… smells… like… fried… squit… wings.” Quirrel wrote on his tablet before finally turning to face her. “Why don’t you write all your reasoning down, just in case? That way, even if you’re ignored again, he’ll still have your opinion available to him?”

“What if he doesn’t read it. What if he loses it amongst all the other- debris he’s trashed his office with?” she moaned.

He shrugged. “Blackmail him?”

Monomon snorted loudly and turned to face him. “What? With what?” she laughed.

“Yet another reason I suggest talking to the White Lady about this matter.” he flicked his scribe at her pointedly. “She is sure to have something just embarrassing enough to be mildly incriminating.”

“Oh no~ Surely you cannot mean in regards to his… private life?” Monomon tittered.

“Exactly like that! And the perfect person to threaten telling, of course, would be Lurien.”

“You are shameless! ” she guffawed, knocking a tentacle against him lightly- it made him stumble anyway. “Using the poor Watcher’s infatuation as a tool! You villain!”

“One of us has to be.” he snickered. “If we are to get what you want.”

Monomon sighed, a relieved and happy thing, all the anger and stress evaporating into thin air. “I don’t think I’ll do that. But that certainly made me feel better.” she looked down to her assistant fondly, a glowing smile beneath her mask. “Thank you, Quirrel.”

“I do encourage writing down your thoughts and speaking to the Queen about your concerns. I do not encourage harassing him about his unmentionables.” he grinned. “That was meant as a joke.”

“I know. We’d both be put to the stocks if he ever found out about this conversation.”

“I also encourage you to go rest in the acid bath. Let things settle, get some rest. I suspect you’ll need it in the very near future. Then, come tomorrow perhaps, you can discuss your concerns with the Queen.”

Monomon heaved a sigh, posture going slack in reluctant resignation. “I very much despise when you are right, Quirrel.”

“But where would you be if I wasn’t?” he asked, taking a tentacle in his claw, prompting her to hover after him as he guided her back to the tank in which she slept.

Behind them, an ooma was zapped a little too hard and the membrane punctured. The explosion made Quirrel squawk.

And so, that is how Monomon found herself in front of the White Palace once more the next day, Quirrel this time in tow. Her prior night in the acid bath had smoothed out her irritation significantly, and so she only found herself slightly exasperated that she was not going to speak to the King directly, and would have to go through the lengthy process of entering the palace for the second day in a row. 

The kingsmoulds that stood guard at the entrance were not near as painful to deal with as the overly fussy retainers- in fact, the armored abominations were rather pleasant in comparison. No questions, no prodding or faffing with appearance, no pointed questions about a lack of invitation. A simple scrutinization to determine if they were armed, some proof of their identity, and they were allowed in. 

The retainers, however, immediately berated her for her lack of invitation, grooming and decorum. The last time she’d cared about such a thing was the first time she’d ever been summoned to the palace for an audience. That was before she’d learned the Queen didn’t really care about such things either, being a deity of plant life and all, and the King was a big nerd. As she was currently holding as still as she could as a servant polished her mask, she wondered if they actually cared about the opinions of their royalty. Or perhaps they cared too much. This was only Quirrel’s second- or perhaps his third time visiting, so he still squirmed and made faces under their scrutiny. He appeared particularly displeased when they began to interrogate Monomon on her lack of invitation.

“I am a Dreamer directly employed by the Pale court.” Monomon sighed. “I’ve been told I do not require an invitation for any situation worth the royalties’ time.” She found the Queen’s company enjoyable, and the King’s tolerable, but combined with the lack of humidity and the absurdity that came with associating with royalty, she wondered just how short she could make this trip.

“If you were worth their time, they’d invite you.” one retainer sniffed. Quirrel scowled.

“And yet, you’re going to let me through, yes?”

There was no further argument, but the continued harassment over the state of her cloak was a clear conveyance of annoyance. When they were finally, ungraciously released to wait in the main hall, Quirrel grumbled under his breath: “I’ve not met the Pale monarchs, but forgive me if this doesn’t make a good first impression.”

“I’d imagine not.” Monomon agreed. “But they are very different from their uptight servants, truly. The King is… particular about certain things, and very socially inept, but I’ve never seen him fuss much over appearances. He does put up with me , of all people. And the Queen is only slightly overbearing, really. Though they both may condescend to those around them sometimes, even in their personal life.”

Quirrel gave her a look.

“It’s a part of being a god.” Monomon explained. “Though they rule over our home, they are ultimately off in their own little world. It’s purely accidental when it happens.”

“Right.” he muttered.

Minutes passed in which the pair fidgeted, tapped appendages on the ground, looked around the walls, tried to create conversations that fell flat, and wonder what could be keeping the Queen. This wasn’t something they voiced, of course. And it was minutes more until she swept into the main hall, a small bug over her shoulder and slightly out of breath. The pair bowed low.

“Monomon!” she exclaimed. “Back so soon? It is good to see you, but I must ask if you have unfinished business? I’m sure you know my husband is away and-“

“No, your Highness, forgive my lack of forewarning. I wished to speak with you, with your permission.” The Teacher stood straight and swept a tentacle in Quirrel’s direction, who only looked up at the Queen. “And I’ve brought my assistant. Given what is to occur in the future, I thought it about time that he be included in the conversation.”

Quirrel had only seen statues and pictures of the Queen before, and had even doubted her status as a god. She’d been portrayed rarely and as rather plain. But now, he knew how inaccurate, or perhaps limited they all were. Her roots were always portrayed as fairly short and close to her head, when in truth they flowed all around in a wild halo, brushing all the walls, the ceiling and the floor. She glowed a bright white as the King was said to, broken by her silver robe and pale blue eyes. Most surprisingly to Quirrel, however, she was far taller than Monomon. Quirrel had thought Monomon to be the tallest denizen of Hallownest to live. Clearly, he was wrong.

“Your Highness,” he tried, swallowing nervously and ducking his head. “It is my honor to be meeting you.”

“Oh, not at all! I do love meeting the little citizens of the kingdom such as yourself!” she replied brightly.

Ah.

“My Queen.” Monomon said patiently.

“What? Oh. Was that…?”

Accidental condescension. Quirrel understood.

“It’s no problem, your Highness. I do not mind.” he spoke quickly. The Queen seemed relieved.

“There is something I wished to discuss with the King before he pranced his way off to Deepnest. I was hoping to discuss the matter with you, if I could.” said Monomon. The Queen’s attention turned away, prompting Quirrel to look up.

The Pale being sighed. “That man. I’d be happy to relay the message if I cannot do anything for you. Would you accompany me to the gardens? It is hard for me to keep an eye on everything and entertain the needs of the palace retainers.”

The pair agreed, Monomon with great enthusiasm and Quirrel with a touch of trepidation. They followed the Queen’s lead down the hall. All the way there, the larva slung over her shoulder stared at Quirrel. He hadn’t noticed them at first, what with the Queen’s presence being such a distracting and anomalous occurrence for a bug such as himself, but now they stuck out like a garpede in an aspid farm. They were a tiny thing, at least half his own height, but their mask… while no different from the mask of other bugs on the surface, close observation revealed it fully encompassed their head, no seam to remove it in sight. As if their little body had been shoved into it. Blank eyes stared right into his. 

They waved at him with a tiny claw. He nearly tripped over the air. “Come, Quirrel, keep up!” Monomon admonished lightly.

The Queen guided them to a clandestine doorway tucked behind the more opulent passage ways, and through it the palace hall began to taper, turning ever more wild and overgrown until it better resembled a tunnel one could find in Greenpath. The area widened and flattened out into a proper garden, silvery white with intermittent greenery that had a pearlescent sheen. For a garden it was hardly orderly, growth winding and twisting throughout the area, thick white boughs cutting through swaths of vibrant wildflowers. Miraculously, Quirrel could see the earth beneath their feet, the leafy tangle parting in a winding path for them to follow. The pair trailed behind the Queen until they came upon a clearing resembling a meadow, a large white root weaving in and out of the ground through it. The White Lady rested herself upon it, gently releasing the child and letting them scamper off. Before they went too far, however, a giant circle of roots rose out of the ground, blocking off their escape and creating a wide perimeter around the group.

“Ghost just loves to wander off.” she said with a note of exasperation. “They are such a dear thing, but they cause no end of trouble. Now, what did you want to speak about?”

Monomon neatly arranged her tentacles in a cross mid-air, prompting Quirrel to look around awkwardly until he found a stump to sit on. “It is about yesterday’s meeting, your Highness. I had things I wanted to discuss with the King, but as I mentioned, he galavanted off to Deepnest before I could truly speak my mind. I’d like to at least express some of my thoughts to someone he will listen to.”

“Oh, my,” the White Lady looked politely surprised. “I was so sure he valued your opinion. He references your research for ideas often.”

“Perhaps that is so. He certainly has a funny way of showing it. In any event, he argued against my concerns and ultimately excused himself without discussing them further.”

“Well, if he won’t hear out your concerns, I most certainly will. Why don’t you tell me about them?”

The ladies continued to talk, Monomon speaking emphatically, the White Lady listening with quiet understanding, and Quirrel quite honestly began to tune them out; there was no real place for him in this conversation, and he was certain Monomon had only brought him for the experience of meeting the Queen. It had been an eye opening experience, if nothing else, but now there was nothing for him to particularly do in the moment. He began to stare off at the jungle that swamped them; beautiful though it was, it towered everywhere around and it looked as though it was made for getting lost in. It was very wise of the Queen to corral the larva- Ghost, was it? in an area near her, otherwise they may very well never be found if they were lost here. He spotted them, a brilliant black dot against the washed out landscape. They were currently attempting to climb out of their enclosure, the surface of the roots proving too smooth to grab onto. And so they began to use the interlocking ones to climb over, or at least try. Quirrel scrambled off his seat to grab them. He luckily managed to snag them as they began to reach the top, but at that point the fence grew larger on its own. Quirrel was then stuck with a larvae held in the air, little feet kicking in a bid for freedom, for no reason. He should have known the Queen of Hallownest would have a handle on her own child. Ghost was carried back to the pair, Quirrel feeling slightly foolish.

“I see. I do agree that there are many other- oh, thank you, Quirrel-“ the White Lady accepted her charge. “There are many other situations besides the Deepnest treaty that need to be addressed, and if we do not address them in tandem to the pandemic, then we will be rushing into things.” She set the child on the bough next to her, where they began to swing their tiny stumps in a rhythm. “However, based on where my husband got the information that created his solution, I do believe this is the best possible way. I do not wish to demean your concerns.”

“I understand. Perhaps there is a way to limit this stasis to an area? Specifically, limited solely to the vessel's enclosure to prevent its decay?” Monomon pondered. “If it doesn’t extend beyond Hallownest and Deepnest borders, I don’t think it will be impossible.”

“I’m afraid I know little about the process. I will, however gently remind the King to seek a conference with you.” the Root said assuredly.

“Thank you, truly, your Highness.” Monomon had a weight lifted from her shoulders. “I was afraid I would have to blackmail him into listening to me.”

“Teacher, please.”

“Oh, but your little one-“ Monomon pointedly changed the subject, gesturing to Ghost, who’d sunk their little claws into the bough their mother sat on and began swinging their body back and forth. “Their name is Ghost, you said?”

“Oh, yes! Lurien was the one who provided the inspiration behind it.” the other chirped. “Actually… I wonder if you two could assist with something?”

“Of course, your Highness. What is it?” Quirrel piped up promptly, eager for something to talk about.

“Well, my child, as I’m certain is evident, cannot speak. And even if that weren’t the case, I’d still want them to have an education. So, I was hoping perhaps one of you could serve as their tutor?” Her tone was slightly sheepish under her earnest request, perhaps not fully accustomed to the idea of someone from outside the palace caring for her child, or maybe embarrassed to have to ask for help in this circumstance. It was strange that a Pale being, a figure better known as a god among bugs, would be able to support life and grant sentient minds, but wouldn’t be able to provide them an education.

“Of course, your Highness!” the Teacher replied. “In fact, Quirrel has been looking for someone to impart his knowledge to, to gauge his aptitude as an archivist.”

“I have?” Quirrel looked at her, bewildered, because that was simply not true. He really wasn’t ready to even consider himself a teacher of any degree yet, which Monomon knew. Monomon slapped his back lightly. “Ow. I- Yes, actually, I have.”

“Truly?” the White Lady looked heartbreakingly excited, leaning forward, pale blue eyes gleaming. “If that is true, would you take them under your wing?”

And, really, who was he to deny the Queen anything?

The chatter between the two didn’t last much longer until their visit ended, gracefully waved away by the Queen and distastefully shooed away by the receptionists. Monomon left in far lighter spirits than Quirrel, who trudged behind her. As they walked towards the stag station in silence, Quirrel spoke over the sound of the cold draft weaving through the ashen tunnels.

“Teacher,” he asked. The Teacher stopped, did not turn to look at him. He wandered slowly up to her, trying to look at her face. “why did you accept her request? If I know you, it isn’t simply because it was the Queen.”

“Because,” said Monomon patiently, turning, moving on again. “if Ghost is offspring of the Pale beings, and if their vessel was created around the same time, wouldn’t it stand to reason the two are similar, if not the same? It’s a good opportunity to see if the King’s plan will truly work as intended.”

Quirrel stopped in his tracks, staring at the Teacher. “Are you suggesting we- conduct experiments on a child, madam?”

“Of course not! The Queen would have my head, and then where would we be?” Monomon assured him. “No, it will be more like… a series of doctor’s visits. Assessing their condition as you tutor them.”

Quirrel still seemed skeptical.

Monomon leaned in, tentacles placed gently on both his shoulders, tilting his head so he looked her right in the mask, seeing the dim pulse of her core behind it. “I swear to you, if I cause any real harm to that child, you have my full permission to report my actions to the Queen yourself. Agreed?”

Quirrel hesitated before he nodded.

“Grand.” she straightened. “Now, let’s see about teaching you the art of tutelage! My little lie may as well be put to constructive use!”

Quirrel groaned.

It was dark.

Why was it dark?

They didn’t know.

Did they know anything?

They couldn’t remember.

Was there something to remember?

They saw the dark.

Was ‘dark’ what it was called?

It started to speak.

Where was its voice?

By the Void, all things are written. Child, what reason did you return when you are already words upon the page?

They had no idea.

Well. You may soon.

Did it know?

It is by your will you return here. Is it perhaps for the sake of your siblings? You know it is too late for them.

Was it? Who were these siblings?

You know who they are. They fell on you. They fell as you climbed. You did not help them.

They were siblings? What are siblings?

Us.

Chapter Text

What are words upon a page to a whole pot of ink? A drop of fresh water into a roiling salty sea? A skull in a catacomb? A shell caught in the silt of a lakeshore?

Irrelevant. Invisible. Replaceable.

Wouldn’t be missed if missing.

Two single words written most proudly upon the page, yet how easily they could be scratched out. Until the parchment tore after it was soaked through. Easy to spill the inkwell over the book and ruin the whole thing.

Words are toys. Words are tools. Only very few have no synonyms that could replace them.

As a child of the ink, which word would it turn out to be?

One longstanding. Meaningful. Irreplaceable. That’s what it hoped.

The White Root checked on it daily. Something in the back of its mask told them it knew this person, somehow. It’d seen her only once before; when Father introduced it to her. But somehow she had to be a person far more close to itself for it to feel this way. She’d had such a sad look on her face then. It was much more stern now. Whatever the case, she wasn’t kin, and so it still had to stand upright.

She never checked in on it for long, only to make sure it wasn’t causing any trouble. The door always opened quietly, she always filled the doorway, always looked down on them without a word, and then when she left the door would always creak on her way out. It was always brief, as if she couldn’t stand to be around it. And yet, the white roots that grew through the floor made it think she was always checking in. For days it stood in the same spot, only daring on occasion to sit and rest when it felt the roots weren’t watching, or when its legs gave out. It couldn’t falter with that feeling hanging over it, not after knowing the risks. 

It was told its purpose soon after taking residence in its father’s workshop. “A shadow to seal the light is what you shall become.” he’d told it, instructing it not to move from the spot on which it stood. “She is a powerful, destructive force of energy and emotion. That is why you must be equally powerful in stillness and serenity. So that we may preserve what good we have.”

It didn’t know what a She was, but whatever it may be, it was clearly important. It wanted to be important too. So it would do as he wanted. The way he’d used the words ‘powerful’ and ‘destructive’ made it believe he had every right to give it this task. And besides that, deep down it knew it would be thrown back into the Birthplace if it couldn’t.

When would he come back, it wondered. When would he come back for them? Surely he would. Surely he would come back for it. He gave it a duty, and so he would have it fulfill it. Unless the White Lady told him about it. If it had messed up somehow. It was told about stillness and serenity, but it wasn’t truly sure what those things meant or what they looked like. How to be still and serene, it wondered.

It wondered how to be still as it waited.

Deepnest was a most harrowing experience for the King, and not one he cared to prolong. Accustomed as he was to darkness, it was most unnerving for other things to be lurking within it, creatures not given his gift of mind. He’d fully intended on exchanging base pleasantries and promptly leaving after everything was over; not that Herrah particularly cared to make the affair drag on either; once she’d gained proof of conception, she’d simply waved him off unceremoniously and vaguely thanked him for his ‘assistance’. It was strange that he was rather grateful for it; normally, he might be offended, but considering he was a guest in neighboring hospitality, it was embarrassing enough to have the Midwife chitter and hiss at him whenever Herrah wanted her assistance. He’d rather leave without fuss. So he did.

“Give the White Lady my regards.” said Herrah just before he warped his way back to the palace, to a secret nook behind the throne room where he promptly collapsed. The landing there was purposeful, as he’d rather not see anyone at all after such an...ordeal. Particularly not the receptionists. Especially not his wife, much as he loved her and would crave her company later. The room was as dark as Deepnest, but it was still and silent, lacking the constant chittering and skittering of beastly inhabitants, and alit with the soul of the obelisk sitting in the middle of the room. He breathed a sigh of relief, sliding against it and drinking in its light. Overcome with exhaustion, he dared to let his eyes close for just a moment.

He dared to dream. It was a dangerous thing, particularly for someone like him. Not that he meant to, it was spur of the moment. Yet his eyelids stung orange, ungodly screaming shook his shell, and bright yellow eyes threatened to tear him apart.

Radiance towered above him, blinded him.

TRAITOR.

Idris desperately shook himself awake, escaping. Her hold was weaker, but Her rage was growing stronger. The average bug wouldn’t last long at all in her glow, not at this rate. Time was running out quickly, yet there remained so much that needed doing. Monomon’s concerns, the vessel’s growth, the bulkheads, the five knights… Should it not work, he’d track down the Nightmare King once more and wring the nightmares from his flame-ridden vessel, the charlatan.

The Pale King swore under his breath, rose to his feet, and stumbled as elegantly as he could out to the throne room, where he was assured only the kingsmoulds were waiting. Still statues that only moved to look at him upon his approach. Silent, thoughtless, and empty completely of any will but the one he projected onto them when he gave them a command.

If only they could dream.

“Bring the vessel to us. Our knights must be present too.” he ordered the one closest to him. “And… bring the monthly census to us as well.” 

The addressed kingsmould and two of the fellows close to it snapped to a marching position and pivoted mechanically on their heels, swiftly making their way to their commanded destinations. Idris, meantime, retired to his throne, taking a lumafly lantern on his way. From his low perch he stated into the flickering wings, glowing with light very much like his own. The King followed their glimmering with tired mind and hazy eyes, pressing his mask flush with the glass in a desperate bid to keep sleep at bay.

It was roughly escorted from the workshop on its trembling feet, grabbed haphazardly and nearly dragged behind the large armored creature at a pace that made it trip over itself. The other two that had shown up behind the first were gone, off to somewhere else, presumably. 

The little vessel had seen the shells of these creatures on the large table in the workshop, on racks that adorned the walls, in a pile in a corner where they were bent and broken. The desk stained them with the Sea, as everything in there was, yet somehow the shells on the creatures that moved were pristine. It could sense the Sea within these things, but it was different, wrong. Too still, too… compressed. As if it had been thrown into a tightly woven net and wrung of all its fluids. Its blood. They weren’t the same, whatever they were. Not like the sibling who lived here. They scared it.

It came to an abrupt stop in a spacious room, seemingly carved out of the earth, unlike the rest of the palace that they’d seen. There was no furniture, no plantlife, no bustling staff, no windows or even sound. It was dark, save for two lamps of Soul-lit lumaflies, casting bright shadows as they flit within their confines. One of these lamps currently rested in the only real feature the room had; a throne, hewn from the bedrock, but still smooth, intricate and elegant despite its ultimately earthy nature. In it sat its father, clutching the lamp in his lap like a lifeline, stirring up the light within even more with his shudders. His robes draped all the way to the floor, yet the way he was curled made it realize that he was actually rather small.

The armor beside it snapped to standing still as a statue, startling him to look up. All the trembling and vulnerability vanished in an instant; its father rose from his seat, strode over to them in a smooth motion, and placed the lantern on a thin, empty pedestal. Despite thinking about how small he looked just a moment ago, he seemed to tower over both of them, even though he was far smaller than the statue beside it. It tried to conceal its shudder.

“Good. Now go.” he told the statue. It swiveled, snapped into place and left, leaving it to stare up at its father. Its legs ached and it was all it could do to hide their trembling.

Its father eyed them critically, steely glint in his gaze; it got the impression he was examining it, the way he had the day he’d chosen it. It’d been exhausted back then too, the long climb wearing on its limbs, the falling siblings wearing on its mind. Yet it was the relief of finally making it to the top that let it relax, even when faced with the possibility of being sent back down into the abyss. At least it wouldn’t have to do it again.

Now, though, it nearly locked up, the tension in its frame palpable, turning them solid as stone.

The King then looked away, sighed, and quietly murmured something along the lines of ‘thespian bastard Grimm’ before turning back to it. 

“You have already been told your purpose. Today, you begin your training for it. You will be in the care of the five great knights of Our court.” he stated. “You must be trained to fight the Infection so that you may stave it off in more ways than one. If it comes down to it, you may…” he paused. “...be required to- release our citizens from its grasp.” its father straightened himself again. “We will assist with your molts and maturity when the time comes. When you are not training or growing, We will expect you to be in Our workshop unless told otherwise. We will introduce you to Our knights when they arrive, but after that we are to have limited contact. Unless We desire otherwise.”

It was glad he didn’t expect a response because it was too busy blankly staring at him while processing all that information. From the sounds of things, it wouldn’t be in its father’s care by his own request, and instead passed on to people he trusted. He wanted to limit contact with it so that it could grow strong and proper to protect what it needed to.

Something about that made the void within it painfully coil and sink, like stones in the sea.

Ghost wasn’t very happy.

Not only had their second foray into the dovecote been thwarted by their mother again , killer of all things fun that she was, but she hadn’t been happy the past few days. Instead of the worry and the light scolding she’d used to give them in the aftermath of their antics, she’d seemed simply exhausted, exasperated, and had even gone a whole day without speaking to them. The next she apologized in a whisper, but gave no reasons why she’d stopped being fun in the first place. She’d been paying visits to their father’s workshop daily, but had insisted upon them being kept at a distance as she did. Afterwards, she’d always scoop them up and hold them tighter than usual.

So, because their mother wasn’t happy, Ghost wasn’t happy. More specifically, Ghost wasn’t happy with the thing in the workshop that made her unhappy. The vessel- their sibling?- they presumed. They wondered how it’d made her so unhappy, and how they could persuade it, forcefully or otherwise, to make her happy again.

Their mother, however begrudgingly, had allowed them to slip out of her sight so long as they were 1. supervised, 2. not destroying anything or leaving with the intent of doing so. Something about ‘building independence’ to better deal with being tutored. Somehow she always managed to catch them whenever they set off with the purposeful intent to violate the second condition; it must be some way they carried themselves that tipped her off. And the entire palace staff was informed of the first, given clear instructions to keep the young prime from getting into too much trouble, or to inform her if they were causing trouble and it required her intervention. Currently they felt the eyes of the housekeepers- three ladybugs that gossiped up on a lower skybridge when they thought no one noticed- monitoring their every move. The moment Ghost turned the corner though, breaking line of sight, it was no longer the housekeepers’ problem. The hallway below them, the one leading to the workshop, was void of anything breakable or filthy, save for a few hanging vines that Ghost couldn’t reach. Yet .

Ghost grabbed the maskfly they’d kept tucked under their cloak- a trophy from the dovecote the White Lady hadn’t managed to wrestle away from them- and held it close. It didn’t squirm as one might expect, but shivered in their grasp. Not that Ghost cared about how odd that might seem to others. They just cared about getting into that workshop again and giving that vessel what-for, one way or another. Every time they’d visited the hall with the Queen, there were kingsmoulds stationed at every corner, particularly by the doors. The fearsome knights didn’t seem to care about Ghost and were more than content to ignore their presence entirely, so they never saw them as much of a problem. But now, they were mysteriously absent. Though it was odd, Ghost thought it was all the better.

The little prime, in a burst of indignation and bravery, dashed across the hall, threw open the door and threw the poor maskfly at the place the sibling once stood. Or sat. Either way, they were unsuccessful.

The sibling had vacated the premises. The room was small and though cluttered, there weren’t many places to hide. Not that it mattered; Ghost couldn’t feel the presence of the sea in anything but the black splatters on the crooked desk and rough floor. They must have been taken elsewhere. The maskfly, meanwhile, had flown to the farthest reach of the room in an attempt to escape the little one. Ghost now paid it very little mind and departed the premises, shutting the door behind them and giving the creature some peace.

Well, their supposed sibling couldn’t be anywhere behind them, they would have passed each other. And it couldn’t have been long since they’d left the workshop, as the White Lady had taken Ghost to check on them not a few hours ago. Which logically left them with one option; provided they hadn’t left promptly after their mother had seen them, then they’d have headed towards the throne room, to the darker end of the hall. It was hard to tell, as Ghost always felt a whisper of void there, though most of it was pooled in the workshop. And just the notion of the throne room slightly intimidated them; they’d never seen it, never had a reason to, and just the reverent tone in people’s voices when they spoke of it in their meeting with the king made them think it was an almighty place indeed.

However, the phrase ‘curiousity killed the carver’ wasn’t coined for no reason. Off they went down the hall, up the elevator, into the atrium nearby. The hall grew lighter in color with their ascent; so bright- near pure white, yet they weren’t blinded, not even by the lumaflies fluttering about the skylight. They discovered- or at least guessed- that the kingsmoulds had migrated from their posts at the workshop to the doors of the atrium leading to the throne room.

And there they were, alongside the King. The pair faced a row of five, bugs of varying height and shape, but all with a sort of powerful aura to them. One in particular was very round and looked like he’d make a good ball. These bugs were being… introduced? To their sibling. They even bowed low as the King spoke, saying something about imperative training. Compared to the atrium outside, the throne room was very dark indeed, lit mostly by the King, walking lantern that he was. Like this, they could understand why bugs might bask in his glow. One of his claws rested upon the shoulder of their sibling as he spoke.

They wondered who that sibling was. Void kin, they knew, but for what purpose were they here? They’d never met beyond when their mother was introduced- were they a child too? From the way the Pale creature was introducing it to the five, large knights, it didn’t look like they were there to be coddled like Ghost was. They had never seen their mother act kindly to them- not that Ghost had seen, anyway. They were still then, and they were still now, rigid where they stood, sightlessly staring ahead. And there was, of course, the sighting in the workshop, which made Ghost feel glad no one was there to witness and wish they could forget the trembling memory entirely. The little one stared from afar, abruptly aware they weren’t concealed by anything.

They called upon the void.

In a dark flash, they flew from the doorway to behind the throne, able to peek around the corner to see. However this not only put them in the line of sight of the knights should they poke their head out, but they had already noticed their dash; the knight draped in a cloak had antennas that perked as they moved, and the fierce looking one seemed put on edge.

“What was that?” one asked, interrupting their king. “Ze’mer, you heard it?”

“Begging pardon, nym’King. Che’ heard some strange noise.” said the other knight. “Smelled a small creature… behind the throne.”

They heard the king turn with a swsh of his drapery. Panic welled. They called upon the void once more. Ghost intended to dask into the shadows beyond the knights, maybe hide near a pillar of some kind; there was no other furniture to duck behind, the room was so sparse. They figured that they could at least make a break for the door at that point amd leave to investigate another day. Ghost aimed their dash directly between two of the knights, assured that they would make it, they were on target. They released their dash, certain the void would take them to safety-

but instead it flung them into the ligaments of the smallest knight, a dainty thing with a skirt made of petals.

The largest knight stared. The dainty one gave a surprised yelp and laughed nervously as the stern one removed Ghost from her leg. She held them up to the King, where they squirmed in the air, her grip iron.

Ghost looked upon the stunned face of the king and the blank one of their sibling. Their legs were still minutely trembling, Ghost noticed. Why didn’t they just sit down? They were here.

Maybe it was because others were around.

The round one laughed boisterously. “A spirited young one! How similar they look to our Pure Vessel.”

The cloaked one looked to the King curiously. “Nahlo, nym’King, who is this little one?”

Their… father? Looked strangely panicked. “They are… a child the Queen has decided to adopt.” he fumbled. “We really are not sure why they are here-“ he gently removed them from the knight’s grasp, setting them upon the floor. “We will take care of this matter, excuse the interruption, if you would.”

Ghost found their small body swooshed away by a firm arm and a long tail, corralled back over towards the door leading to the atrium. He leaned down, bridging the small distance between them, and spoke so quietly, but so firmly it seemed to ring in their shell.

“Listen, young one.” the King said sternly. “We are aware you may have some… base need to interact with those of your like. And We have nothing but the best of wishes for Our love who wishes to raise you. But you must not, under any circumstances, interact with Our Pure Vessel, do you understand?”

They tilted their head.

“It is not like you. There is nothing inside it to nurture. Nothing that makes it capable of love, or emotion. Not even recognition of these things. It only obeys orders. And if it were to suddenly deviate from these behaviors… then Hallownest may very well not survive what is to come. We do not have the time to make another. Do you understand? ”

Ghost didn’t really, but they nodded. It seemed to be enough for him.

“Good.” he nodded. “Now, do not interfere with this business again. Run along to your mother.”

They dutifully trotted away at his order, only daring to look back as they heard the shuffle of his robes that indicated his departure.

As he walked away from his admittedly stressful meeting with the young prime, the monthly census was finally brought to him; as the prime exited, a kingsmould entered, brushing past them on its way in, brandishing the parchment when they mechanically halted. He had the strongest urge to snap at the kingsmould for how long it took, but it wouldn’t matter. He only took it from the armored claws with a bit more force than usual. He had some hopes for this one; wards modeled moth-made artifacts were placed in as many homes as possible within the past month, allegedly made to catch any and all dreams in their nets. All lumaflies were personally infused with his pale light to prevent deep sleep. These things were designed to help, and he truly hoped they would. Even though he’d told his kingdom this wouldn’t serve as a guarantee.

In front of his knights he read the census, face twisting more and more with each digit listed in each category. His light visibly dimmed; the hall grew warmer and went from white to a soft grey.

“...No improvement, your Highness?” Hegemol asked solemnly. As much as it wasn’t a question.

Instead of responding directly, Idris crumpled the parchment under his claws, the eyes behind his mask squeezing in a wince. “Dryya, Hegemol.” he said sharply. “The vessel’s training is to begin today . Ogrim, Isma, Ze’mer, you are to supervise. We will not stand for any distractions or delay.”

The knights bowed in unison, their responding cries varying in tone and volume; Dryya’s crisp and firm as ever, Hegemol’s deep and grim, Ze’mer’s soft but solid, Isma and Ogrim’s unsure and subdued. Though his back was now turned to them he could tell Hegemol had taken the vessel, likely with gentle hand and slow gait, the long clanks between his steps in time with the shuffles of a larva’s smaller legs; they slowly faded from audible to echo. And then silence.

With slow claws, the King tenderly unfurled the crumpled ball of parchment to helplessly look at the numbers again. The dim grey of the hall turned to a steely shade.

They were running out of time.

Chapter Text

The night before, after handing the Pure Vessel off to the great knights, the King had wandered towards his room and found his wife upon the bed, humming into the air, her- their child sound asleep to her lullaby. Utterly relieved at the sight of her, he embraced her from behind- a substitute for a verbal greeting- sank into their bed and drifted into peaceful, dreamless sleep. She asked no questions towards his dalliance and simply held her light aloft to ward the dreams away.

The reprieve lasted until she left in the morning when he stirred. His bleary eyes opened to her smiling softly at the child as they tugged on her robes for something, before looking back at him over her shoulder to show him the same fondness. That had been the best part of the day.

The King had become more and more disgruntled as the day went on, first waking up with yesterday’s census still on his mind, then witnessing the vessel getting knocked flat by Ogrim-  who was visibly taking it easy on the thing, and then having to catch a maskfly that had somehow made it into his workshop and had been fluttering wildly in a corner of the ceiling. “Why is there a maskfly in my workspace?!” he’d cried in a cracked, slightly hysterical voice audible from the end of the hall. He relayed this all upon his wife with a slump in his shoulders and dark circles under his eyes.

“Is this a bad time to tell you Monomon’s assistant will be serving as Ghost’s educator?” she asked sheepishly. Her husband frowned at her. “Not to mention Monomon was rather angry at you for blowing off her audience to discuss her concerns.” The little Ghost sitting by her side, meantime, was rapidly rolling out silk scrolls they could not read, strewing ink from a well all over the surface- much of it ending up on the floor- and slapping their little claws in it, ink droplets flying everywhere. The King idly noticed that the scrolls were made mostly of old supply lists for various events; something no one would particularly miss and was free for a toddler to destroy. Something his wife would know to use as opposed to letting them pick their own materials.

“Should you be letting them do that?” he asked her. Ghost gave their little puddle a good splash, causing ink to spray onto the hem of his robes. The King made a face at them.

“If you have problems with my style of parenting, you are welcome to try it yourself.” the White Lady chimed. “Focus, love. One of your Dreamers has great concerns and is upset you did not listen to her. As important as Deepnest relations are, and how dominant in conversation Herrah can be, you mustn’t neglect your Archivist of all people, let alone your Watcher.”

The Pale Wyrm sighed. “I know, it’s just… it’s so much right now…”

“I would imagine so, but you must remember you aren’t the only person dealing with the situation at present. In fact, I plan to consult Monomon a little more on her assertions when I visit the Archives with Ghost later today.”

Idris hummed absently, thinking on it. Myce was completely right; things with Monomon would have to be rectified at some point. Her inventive nature and inquisitive mind were important assets, alongside being rather endearing. She was the one to invent acid script after all- permanently stored records of thoughts, provided no spills ever occurred. Not like spider silk or tablets, which were overall more practical but came with the caveat of fading with time. Avoiding such erosion was a large part of why he’d asked for her help, after all.

“I had a thought. Why don’t you come with us?”

The King blinked, broken from his train of thought. The Queen looked on expectantly. “What? Where?”

“To the Archives, dear, keep up. I’m taking Ghost there for their first lesson. You could have a conference with Monomon while we’re there.”

“That’s…” Idris looked at the child, who looked up at him in turn. He still had to wonder if learning was within its capabilities. And he wondered, well, if Ghost could learn to read and write- no. He shook the thought from his head. “a good idea.” he finished.

Sensing his hesitation, Myce leaned forward. “There’s something else on your mind, isn’t there?”

Idris sighed, ever unable to hide anything from her for long. “It’s just a thought. I’m simply… tired.” Ghost had long stopped splashing and now stared, still as a statue. Bottomless eyes swallowing him whole. Imagining the bright, orange light from his dreams within their depths- not contained, but only kept at bay- he nearly shivered.

A root wrapped around his claw. He faced his wife once more. “You can tell me anything, you know.” she implored.

The wyrm dully nodded. “It could be just paranoia. For now, it should be fine.”

She frowned, but relented, her touch pulling back so that it. “You’re coming with us to the Archives?”

“That seems wisest, yes.”

“Thank you, love.” she smiled. “It would be good for you to get out of the palace anyway; the only other place you’ve been in months is Deepnest.”

“…You’re right.”

An awkward silence shuffled its way into the room and hung itself over their heads. Ghost looked between them both curiously.

“So. Herrah.” said the White Lady.

“…Yes. Herrah.” said the Pale King.

“Is she a satisfactory lover as well as a ruler?”

“Myce!!”

Traveling Fog Canyon alongside the little Ghost had certainly been… an event.

At Monomon’s request, she’d sent Quirrel to await the Queen’s arrival within her station while she ‘tidied up’ the archives. Which really meant trying to get Uumuu to go back into the acid bath and stop floating leisurely around the place, bumping into everything. There were a great many acid canisters knocked over and both teacher and assistant thanked the earth over their heads that they were primarily made of brass instead of glass. The uomas and oomas were of absolutely no help in this regard.

So he’d waited patiently, with the expectation that she would be arriving by stag, and would not have the king alongside her. These expectations proved to be unfounded. He supposed he was lucky she chose to arrive within the station, at any rate.

She arrived in a flash of brilliant light, the king and prime by her side, in a far corner of the platform; perhaps an attempt to be discreet. It drew attention anyways. After the crowd had been dispersed and Quirrel had made his way over- giving his respects and pleasantries and all those things while trying to keep his exasperation under wraps- he whisked the group out of the station and onto the path that led to the Archives.

Somewhere along the way, Ghost had decided they liked oomas a lot. They’d left the Queen’s side in a flash of darkness and reappeared next to a low hanging one, furiously slapping its membrane. Quirrel had made a noise that sounded something like “aaAAAGAAAAHHHG” and dashed up there as quickly as he could manage, scooping up the toddler and taking them away from the volatile creature. They furiously struggled in his grip. The ooma didn’t seem to mind at all, leisurely floating in place.

“I told you we should have gone straight to the Archive building.” the Pale King sighed.

“And I told you it would be best to check and see if Monomon or Quirrel were waiting for us at the station. It wouldn’t be good if they stood around waiting forever, would it?” the Queen replied primly.

Ghost slipped out of Quirrel’s grip like a brick of soap and dashed away, leaping up the greying roots and again towards another ooma. The scholar moved to intervene, but the king was quicker on the draw, teleporting the small body towards him without even moving his hand. “Stop that.” he chided.

“And even if we were to go directly to the Archives, would we still not be having this problem?” the queen took Ghost from her husband and secured the little one in her grip.

“But for significantly less time.”

“If any oomas pop and destroy the Teacher’s things…” Quirrel panted. “she’ll kill you.”

“Hear that, little one?” the king shot at the child, pointing a slender finger in their face. “You’re to be on your best behavior when we get to the Archives.”

Ghost lunged forward as if to say ‘fight me’. Quirrel couldn’t wait to hand them off to Monomon’s more capable tentacles.

Monomon’s capable tentacles were still busy dunking Uumuu back in the acid bath by the time they arrived. She hadn’t even managed to squeeze the massive creature back through the hall. Quirrel and the royals were able to witness the Teacher of the Archives attempting to shove Uumuu with her back, her ligaments stretched out across the hall in a makeshift web to catch the creature. Her assistant stared.

“help” she grunted at him.

Promptly, Quirrel took hold of his nail, dashed forward, and punctured the membrane, causing it to deflate and (presumably) run away back down the hall. Monomon and Quirrel both gave chase all the way to the bulkhead lodged in the floor at the end of the hall, shoving it into the lake at last.

“Shoo!” she told it, slamming and twisting the bulkhead shut, just as the membrane began to reinflate. “You’re in time out!”

Uumuu made what sounded like a crackle of protest; Monomon ignored it and turned to the group, the entirety of the Archives in disarray around them. Monomon had clearly been planning on cleaning after putting Uumuu back into containment, but now all the tubes were knocked over, scrolls spilled on the floor, shelves toppled. Stray silk sheets floated above their heads; the king and the young prime batted at them.

“Sorry about that! I don’t know what’s gotten into Uumuu lately!” she clasped her tentacles together. “Moving on! Welcome to the Archives!” her gaze slid over to the king and narrowed. “I was only expecting the queen and our new prime today, though.” Before he could say anything, she beamed. “But while you’re here, you can help me set everything back up! Right?”

He frowned. “You’d make me do manual labor?” The White Lady swatted him with a low growing root. “Ow.”

“I would! The sooner we get this mess cleaned up, the sooner other things can happen!”

And so, to the King’s great displeasure, the organization of the Archives began. It was a lucky thing that they didn’t have to organize much of anything; for one, Monomon insisted they need not go that far, and for another she admitted her materials were always in some form of disarray. Organization was an afterthought when your favored method of scripture was turning thoughts, words, information into bubbles, submerging them into liquid, then encasing them in tanks. Jumbled sloshes of written theorems, history, sciences, were really only sorted by date and subject; something easily engraved on the tanks for a quick perusal. It was really only a matter of picking them up. The queen was the one mostly responsible for this, spreading her roots out and gently tilting multiple upright at once. The king had gathered all the silk sheets in a flash and handed them to Quirrel, so they may safely be delivered wherever they needed to go. Monomon pushed the upturned shelves back to their normal positions, gratefully accepting and shelving the books and scrolls Quirrel gave her. Ghost had taken to picking scribes and quills on the ground, threatening to pop the stray uomas that hovered about solely to tease Quirrel and generally being very helpful. They did give the utensils back in the end, of course.

“Ahh, much better.” Monomon leaned against a tank, membrane going lax in relief. “Again, I’m sorry about that. Thank you for your help, truly. Now we can actually get to your business.” she rose to her full height, dwarfing all who were not the queen, then gave a little bow. “Once more I suppose, a proper welcome to the Archives. We have quite a bit to get to, don’t we?” With this, she wrapped a tentacle around the king’s shoulder and brought him to her side in a display of sarcastic chumminess. “That is why you’re here, correct?”

“You can get over it any time now.” The wyrm said dryly. “I said we’d postpone, not cancel.”

“I’ll take Ghost and go with Quirrel while you sort things out.” the White Lady chimed. “Don’t be too harsh with him, Monomon; he tidied your things, after all.”

Monomon said nothing and simply waved; the pair watched Quirrel escort the others farther away, to a place more towards the entrance of the library. Once they were out of sight, Monomon released her grasp.

“Ahhh, truth be told, I’m only mildly irritated about it now.” she twisted two of her ligaments together tightly then pulled in an alien stretch. “Making you do such a menial, basic thing has put me in a better mood.”

“Well, at least I’m good for that much, apparently.” the king snorted.

At the comment, Monomon gave a full blown guffaw. “You are indeed! Now, onto my thing!”

She lifted the king up with one tentacle, pulled an empty, closed tube forward from… somewhere, and sat him down on it so that he was eye level with her.

“Manhandling, Monomon!” he squawked, pinching the limb that held him. 

“Well, we have no chairs, save Quirrel’s! Would you rather be on a shelf?”

“I’d rather you warn me before picking me up next time.”

She withdrew after making sure that he was able to balance. Content with her placement of the far smaller king, she floated back a few paces, curling in on herself in a mock sitting position, and stared expectantly.

“So, let’s talk.” she spoke. “I think it’d be best if we started with the Nightmare King, and your vessel project. Yes?”

The second party had glady left his Majesty to his fate and gone to a part of the archives more filled with silk sheafs, though it was lit well by the larger acid canisters that towered over the shelves Quirrel batted an uoma out of the way as he went to pull up chairs for the two. Ghost, for a change, found it in themself to not mess with anything and simply watch the creature float away placidly. The Queen sat the pair down, leaned forward to whisper “Pay attention.” to Ghost- their head whipped around so fast they might’ve gotten whiplash- and patiently waited on Quirrel as he gathered some materials off the desk and attempted to collect his words.

“So, the, uh, goal of this tutelage I suppose is to help you better communicate even with a lack of voice.” Quirrel started awkwardly, shuffling through his things so as to avoid eye contact. “There are two more- ah, convenient ways of doing this; writing and handsigns. I thought writing would be the easiest to start with, as more bugs know how to read than how to speak with signs.”

Ghost stared, enthralled. The White Lady looked quite hopeful herself. “Ah, of course, you’d have to learn handsigns later on as well, your majesty. Or, er, you’d have to hire an interpreter at least.”

“I’m willing to learn.” she nodded.

“And beyond that… you are the prime of this kingdom and one day you might- well, maybe not take over, but find yourself in a more authoritative position. So, I thought it would be good to do occasional field trips to various important parts of Hallownest and learn more about them?”

The idea clearly sounded appealing to Ghost because they began to bang both claws on the seat excitedly. The Queen, however, lightly frowned.

“Let’s see, I think… perhaps Fog Canyon to start, then City of Tears- it would be good for you to meet Lurien- then perhaps Crystal Peak? Are any of these places familiar to you?”

The little one vigorously shook their head no, practically bouncing in their seat.

Quirrel sighed. “Well, at least someone’s excited about this. I can teach you some basic symbols and phrases for now, perhaps. The rest will come tomorrow and onward.”

“Hold on a moment.” the White Lady cut in. “This exploration of Hallownest proposal concerns me. There are parts of our territory that are dangerous, whether it be due to the inhabitants, the terrain or both. For example, the City of Tears has been experiencing serial kidnappings; if you were to take a field trip, as it were, not only would Ghost be in potential danger, but you would have to be preoccupied with monitoring them, leaving yourself open to abduction as well.”

She had a point; Quirrel felt sheepish. “I only thought… well, perhaps I got ahead of myself. I thought I could assure their safety, but if you’re concerned, then we must take it into consideration.”

“That being said,” she continued. “I think you have the right idea. It would be good for them to learn about the tunnels they are to live in. And I know I cannot accompany them everywhere, at all times.”

Quirrel looked puzzled. “Then what do you suggest?”

The Queen thought. And thought and thought and thought. It was as if she already had a solution in mind, but was hesitant to share it. For what reasons, Quirrel and Ghost couldn’t guess. She fretted with her roots and chewed on her lip; as a being who wasn’t a bug and therefore didn’t wear a mask, seeing expressions so plainly on a face- much less hers- left Quirrel feeling odd.

Then her face cleared into its usual gentle serenity, and she breathed a sigh. “I’m sure Idris will understand.”

With that, she left her seat and knelt at her child’s side, bright blue eyes at their level, swathing them in her brilliant branches. She held something out, something Quirrel couldn’t really see; it resembled a piece of chipped, white ceramic.

“Little Ghost.” the White Lady spoke seriously and quietly. “I will allow you to explore Hallownest on two conditions. One, you are not to be without trusted supervision, such as Quirrel, a dreamer, or a knight.”

Ghost nodded.

“Two…” she hesitated. Then fastened the strange shard to the inside of their cloak. Ghost promptly started to pick at it. “You are never to remove that charm. You are to never purposely damage it and take very good care of it.” They looked up at her in what looked like awe, little claws tracing its smooth edges. “It is important to me. Perhaps one day you will not need it, and it may be returned to me. But until then, if anything happens to it…” a shadow fell over her face. “I will no longer allow you to accompany Quirrel across Hallownest. Do you understand?”

Ghost looked on with unnatural stillness. They nodded solemnly. The White Lady smiled. “You are a mischievous one, but I’m trusting you with this. Take good care of it as you grow.”

Ghost nodded with more enthusiasm before bouncing around happily, quite clearly beside themselves at the prospect of exploring the world outside the palace proper. If their behavior during the trip was any indication of how the rest of the journey would go, Quirrel’s suggestion or not, it was a poor omen for his future well being, he thought. Then again, no other place in Hallownest was filled with volatile, exploding creatures.

Quirrel sidled over to the White Lady and murmured to her. “What did you give them?”

“Call it an,’ she paused, looking wistful. “engagement gift. It will allow me to know where they are at all times.”

The scholar nodded in understanding. “It must be very important to you.”

“It is.” she nodded slightly. “But so are they.”

Quirrel was thinking of a reply, some attempt to brighten her mood in some way, when Ghost began to bang loudly on the desk where all the writing things were kept, looking him dead in the eye as they did so. He had to dash away to keep them from breaking anything. The queen followed silently after him.

The conversation between dreamer and wyrm had been carrying on for something like a few hours, and at this point it was mostly going in circles. This was a fairly normal occurrence between them, as both were the types who wished to elaborate upon details and review information twice over. However at this point, with no one to mediate or intervene, emotional dams were starting to burst, and talking had long since turned into shouting.

“The stasis is meant to be localized, it’s only in the event of a disaster that-“

“It’s already a disaster!”

“ Fine , an escalation , then! If the situation escalates, then the stasis shall spread, but only in that event. And so long as it is contained within the vessel-“

“How can you be so sure it can contain Her? And that it won’t spread once She’s there? How is it so different compared to the regular bug on the street?”

“The combination of gods and the void, the thing most detested by the Old Light-“

“That’s another point I wished to make! You are using your own brood for this!”

“How else was it supposed to come about. The vessel must be a creature capable of dreaming, so-“

“ Which means that it is living! ”

Monomon crackled with furious electricity, towering over the king. A dangerous shadow fell over her mask.

“Grimm uses his children too.” the king said solemnly. “Do not speak as if I hadn’t considered other options.”

Monomon still sparked, fuming.

“Teacher Monomon. The stasis aspect I will take into great consideration. But in regards to the containment of the Infection, I do not think there is another way. It is not a perfect plan; I understand that. Grimm warned me of all that could go wrong. But-“ he slumped. “What else can I do, Monomon? I cannot just turn Her tribe away; they will only return to my light even more obsessively. I have attempted diplomacy in the past: She will not speak to me and wishes to poison my mind as well.” At this, the teacher flinched and her sparks subsided. “No normal bug can contain Her and live. I fear the magnification of Her light if I were to attempt it, and never would I even think about inflicting such a fate on my Lady. The kingsmoulds, hollowed through though they are, are not really alive and unable to dream.” the little king held his head in his hands, so small on the edge of the capsule. Trying very hard not to show his fear.

“Teacher, if the child we bore for this purpose was made in vain, what do I do?” he whispered. “What do I tell my Lady?”

Monomon deflated.

Quirrel, pretending to have not heard the whole thing, stepped out from behind a tube with an awkward look on his face. “Is this a bad time?” his voice was like an explosive in the thick silence. Both the other parties flinched, scrambled.

“No! No, no- well, yes, but I think-“ Monomon cleared her throat. “I think the conversation was over anyway.”

“Rather loud conversation.” Quirrel muttered.

“You tread heated earth, young man.”

“What is it you came to tell us?” the king interjected; he was clearly desperate for a change of topic, which Quirrel was all too happy to provide.

“I’ve taught Ghost some basic symbols and phrases- they’re an incredibly quick study, I was quite impressed- while you two were talking. They’ve taken a liking to it, so I’ve come to deliver you some, uh,” he patted the stone journal he held in his hand, something neither the Teacher nor king had noticed him holding. “some recommended reading. The White Lady said she wishes to return to the palace, so I thought it best to leave this with you before you left.”

Monomon looked stunned. “Have we really been talking for that long.”

“Yet, I imagine there is still far more to discuss.” the Pale King inclined his head. “But if my Lady wishes to return, then we shall.”

“Yes.” The teacher acquiesced, seeming to droop with newfound exhaustion. “The circles we’ve been speaking in will have to be revisited another time. With a, erm,” she gave him a strange look. “a fresh perspective.”

He avoided her gaze and slithered off his tank, landing on the ground soundlessly. “Yes.” he murmured.

Ghost came barreling in holding an uoma close to their chest. They looked very excited. The king was just glad someone gained some happiness out of this.

The Queen was right behind them, bright and lovely as ever. Oh, how her very presence soothed any ache on his mind. Though she didn’t seem to meet his eyes directly; he’d have to ask her about that. But not now. Not after that silly, impromptu confession. “Shall we go?” she asked.

“Please.” said he.

“You’re welcome to return to the Archives anytime you wish.” Monomon said cheerfully before she threw the king a pointed look.

“I mean that sincerely.”

Upon returning to the palace, Ghost decided they were going to need more ink. They’d used up all the ink their mother had given them to play with in the morning- a great misstep in hindsight, as they could have used that far more constructively now with all that Quirrel had taught them that day- and now they needed more if they were to practice for their lessons and ask Quirrel things about the places he promised to take them.

The problem was, no one in the palace except their father ever frequently wrote using ink. And those who did write more often than others had already been warned by the queen to watch out for a certain thieving miscreant who was the size of a pupa, had two notched horns, wore a grey cloak and was named Ghost. She’d warned the king as well, so asking him was out. Scratching on stone journals instead took a long time and frankly seemed rather boring. So, back it was to their father’s study to loot and plunder and generally do things that they shouldn’t really be doing.

They’d been given a few silk sheets as a gift from the archives, all pieces that they had written on. Words were sparse and messy, but showed a level of understanding well beyond what their currently very brief life might suggest. A product of being born from gods, Quirrel had mused out loud at the time. Ghost hadn’t really known what that meant but they guessed that it meant they were very smart and should write as often as possible, therefore taking these silk sheets into the study that they really shouldn’t be sneaking into yet again was completely justified, as it was for the sake of their education. It’s what Monomon would’ve wanted.

It was late enough in the day that the majority of the palace staff had gone either to their homes or to the on site housing, leaving the little bug with very little fear of being caught. They didn’t even have to sneak alongside the kingsmoulds this time, a fairly lengthy process they were all too glad to skip.

And it was just their luck, too, that as they trotted up to the door, they felt a familiar ripple of the voidsea.

They paused. It was the sibling, they knew it, it had to be. The one they were curious about, the one they were briefly angry at for making their mother sad. The one that the five knights were training, the one their father said was not at all like them. Forbidden from all regular interaction, their lives could not be farther apart. For this reason, he had told them not to interact with them in any way going forward.

But wait, since when did they care about what he said?

Struck by this thought, all doubts were rapidly banished from their mind, all warnings blown away by the same amount of force with which they used to open the door.

The sibling- the chosen vessel- just barely jumped in surprise at their arrival. Ghost stood in the doorway, chest puffed out, stance strong and bold. Quirrel had bestowed upon them the knowledge they would need to communicate with their strange sibling, and they were going to put it to use. Who cared what their father wanted? Clearly their own curiosity was far more important. The door swung shut behind them.

Ghost closed the distance between the two in a few short strides, sat violently in a crisscross position, slapped the silk on the floor, grabbed the inkwell in claw, and scrawled on their surface intently. Wobbling strokes that were used to replicate the things Quirrel taught them to the best of their ability. When finished, they presented it to their sibling.

Their sibling didn’t respond. Ghost tried pushing the sign closer to their siblings face so they could read it better. They pressed right up to the rigid mask. Still no response.

It then occurred to Ghost that their sibling might not know how to read. They stared at their writing, debating, wondering how to get this strange workshop kin to communicate with them.

The sea swirled around in their mind, churning with their thought, foaming and frothing and tossing and churning, spiraling in a whirlpool out and away from them. Flowing away in a metaphorical flood out of their mind and into the open, like a river feeds into a sea.

Their sibling jolted. Ghost looked up.

They thought their written words again. Who are you?

The other stared, stared, stared. Shaking. Shook their head. No words, but thoughts were thrown into Ghost’s mind; Images. A Pure Vessel. Hallownest’s hope. An empty, perfect void. A being of no voice, will, or mind. They didn’t know who they were.

As if against their will, a shaky claw was raised. Pointing at Ghost. Returning the question.

I’m Ghost. Ghost thought. I’m learning how to read and write!

The Pure Vessel tilted their head. Confusion, curiosity, wonder; they didn’t know what ‘writing’ was.

I can teach you! I’ll teach you how to write, okay? And I’ll teach you to read, too!

The Pure Vessel froze, 

fidgeted, 

then jerkily

nodded.

Ghost giddly slapped their claws in the ink and began to scrawl once more.

Chapter Text

Another.

Another one.

Another,

another one comes.

Your presence, small and sable. What a gift you have been given.

We welcome you and your voice.

Put your thoughts upon the page,

for the tide shall flow with you.

For now.

Something within the Pure Vessel gave it the impulse to smack. Smack their tiny claws into the puddle of void they’d been using as ink on the floor. It splattered everywhere, even their mask, though it rolled off as if it were water on wax. The ink whispered as they stared at their writing attempts. Messy scrawlings, nowhere near as neat as Ghost’s (if neat is what you could call that), and hardly approaching anything that resembled words. Ghost had been most generous in their attempt to teach their sibling to write, but they’d also been very excited about it and very harsh on the multitude of mistakes the vessel made, so all in all they weren’t a very good teacher.

Thinking of that made the vessel realize with a jolt that training was due to start up soon, and their teacher was going to fetch them at any minute. They fled from their mischief in haste, wiping away anything vaguely word looking with their bottom claws, before dashing back over to the chair- their father’s chair, where’d they’d been placed and had been expected to remain- and stood stock still, only slightly using the legs as a prop for their back.

Right on cue, the sharp, stern looking knight- the one it learned was named ‘Dryya’- filled the doorway with her imposing presence. She looked down upon the pure vessel.

“Follow me. I shall be training you today.”

She curtly pivoted and strode away at a fast pace; it kicked up its papers as it padded after her quickly. She gradually widened the gap between them, what with her legs being far longer, but the vessel made absolutely sure not to rush unless she asked it to. Doing anything it was not asked to do was a death sentence. That included even the smallest of things, like looking away, purposely changing pace, getting back up after being knocked down. Dryya eventually turned to look at it, stopping in the hall. She waited until it reached her and stopped, looking up, ready for the next order.

She clicked her tongue in disapproval. “You’ll need longer legs if you wish to move faster.” was all she cared to say before turning around again. “Come along.”

It did, at the same pace it went before.

“Quickly, now.” she ordered.

And so it obeyed.

Surprisingly, it was Quirrel who came to the White Palace for the first lesson, as opposed to a return to the archives. The king and queen were pleasantly surprised, though for different reasons. The awkwardness of his previous argument with the Teacher still lingered over the king’s head, while the queen didn’t particularly like the amount of acid that pooled in the canyon- though no one would ever hear her say as much. He too was surprised to see the couple answer directly on the palace doorstep, as opposed to the whole silly process he’d sat through with Monomon the last time he’d been here, and was all too happy to take any excuse to avoid it. Ghost clung to one of his legs in greeting.

“We were just on our way out the door!” said the White Lady. “Idris was seeing us off. What brings you here, Quirrel?”

Idris- the king- for his part, looked incredibly drowsy though he stood upright. Perhaps he’d stayed up all night? Quirrel wouldn’t know it, but it certainly wouldn’t be the first time.

“Truthfully? Uumuu, again.” the scholar admitted. “I’ve still no idea what’s gotten into it these days. It seems as though it is perhaps attempting to leave the archive, though that is only a guess and I will offer my deepest and most sincere prayers to ensure it is never fact. Anyway, I felt it would be better if we avoided the whole mess and went somewhere else altogether today.”

Ghost began to visibly vibrate. “Oh, so your first field trip, then! Where were you planning to head?” asked the queen.

“The City Tower, perhaps.” he responded. “It's a better place to learn than most, and it would be good for little Ghost to meet Lurien proper.”

Ghost started hopping up and down in place; the king sleepily nodded in his agreement. “That’s a very good idea. Earth knows the Watcher could use company from someone other than his knights.”

“You favor him.” the White Lady teased. “But I agree. And I do suppose I need not go with you, in that case.” With this, she knelt to her child’s side, fiddling with their cloak- or, more specifically, their charm. “Good.” she said with satisfaction. “Do you have everything else you need? Ink, quill, silk? Geo pouch? Map and pins? Lumafly lantern?” Ghost nodded to each of these things on the list.

Quirrel blinked. “We aren’t going far, your highness. Surely this amount of preparation is a bit… much?”

“You never know!” the White Lady protested. “With a child like that- Quirrel, you have my trust, but any number of things could happen.”

She was correct and they all knew it perfectly well.

“Again.” Dryya commanded. The echo of the chamber made her voice sound louder than it was.

The Pure Vessel raggedly rose to its feet, hiding its shaking, and tried the gauntlet once more.

Dash over thorns, cling to the wall, jump up, dash past the saw, use the nail to bounce off the spears, climb the wall, jump past the buzzsaw, dash forward, hit the wingsmould, dash again, fall past the thorns and-

A particularly large one snagged its arm on the way down, turning a controlled fall into a tumble. Dryya once again intervened, climbing up the wall, catching it in one arm while the other gripped the wall, slowing their drop.

They landed and the Pure Vessel was unceremoniously put upon the ground.

“Arms should stay close to the body in such maneuvers. Again.”

The Pure Vessel raggedly rose to its feet, hiding its shaking, and tried the gauntlet once more.

It was a lucky thing that a trip to the city was far easier than to the Archives. One ride on the stag would take them to the city’s heart, quicker and easier than descending the canyon. There were also no explosive creatures for Ghost to detonate.

There was, however, the bustle of bugs all throughout the station, crowding the benches, waiting in long lines to ride upon the stag.The King’s Station was far busier than the Queen’s- predictable, but not particularly thought out on Quirrel’s part. Quirrel and Ghost were likely a welcome reprieve with their considerably lighter weight, in comparison to the small crowd that climbed aboard after their departure. There was no time to dwell on it, however, as Quirrel immediately took hold of Ghost’s claws with his own. “Stay close. The queen will never let me hear the end of it should we be separated.”

The little prime really had no choice but to go with him; the surrounding bugs were roughly twice their height, and they would surely be trampled if they weren’t sure of their movement and footing. They gripped Quirrel’s claw tightly, stumbling after him, jostled about by passerby. Many turned briefly to apologize for bumping into them but didn’t stop moving. The pair were forced to part the sea of carapace in a relatively uphill battle, trying to find which imaginary lane of bugs were heading towards the exit and keep up with them, though the lanes were tangled and traffic confused. Eventually, Quirrel gave up and placed Ghost atop his head, asking them to point out where they should go. They pointed, he moved, they were nearly bumped off their perch, but with their guidance, Quirrel was successful in bringing them to the exit of King’s Station.

“Phew.” he said, removing the prime from his shoulders. “I’ve not been to the city in quite some time. Is it always so incredibly crowded?”

Ghost looked at him and gave him a very pronounced shrug, for they hadn’t seen the city before and therefore wouldn’t have an answer.

Quirrel chuckled. “A rhetorical question. Now, to the Watcher’s Spire. Mind your step, puddles are fun but the ground is still slippery.”

They slipped under the archway out of the station, beyond the crowds, and into the heart of Hallownest. 

It was cold, damp, canals and gutters lining the streets to create their own paths into a sort of moat below a carved platform. Steely buildings with glass windows towered above their heads, faint, bug shaped blotches of color visible through the domed panes. A sprinkle of water came from above, not enough to be a concern but sufficient to serve as a bother. It was cobblestone and cobalt all around, separated by the dark stream Ghost could clearly see their own reflection in. The first time they’d paid attention to it, really. As they looked down, raised a claw to their mask in wonder, a small, slimy creature jumped out of the canal and ruined the reflected image, startling the little vessel. Quirrel gave a small tug on their other claw to divert their attention away.

“This, my young prime, is our city of Laurel.” Quirrel introduced. “Though, many have started to call it the ‘city of tears’ as of late. The city is built below a great lake, you see, and some water has started to seep through the gaps the waterways don’t account for.”

Ghost listened to him in wonder, though they were also looking directly behind him, taking in all the sights as he spoke. There were other bugs - city folk - meeting their gaze with a similar amount of interest. So many bugs, so many bridges, so many buildings! Too many things to see! They had to take their chance and only listen if they wanted to act as if they were truly well mannered, otherwise they’d never get their fill.

“Beneath us, of course, is your home; the palace grounds. Most foreign bugs come to the city via the Pilgrim’s Way, a path made within the mosskin’s territory and the fungal wastelands. Most bugs make their livelihood here, but the most notable are the dreamer, Lurien the Watcher, and…” Quirrel shivered. Ghost looked at him proper, sensing his sudden discomfort. They squeezed his claw in reassurance. Quirrel cleared his throat. “Sorry. The, ah, Soul Master. I don’t think either of your parents would like you to meet him. His contributions have been- eh, ‘enlightening’, but sadly the cons have far outweighed the pros in regards to his field of study. With luck, you’ll never need to learn about it.”

Ghost stared at him. 

“But let’s not talk about him! We’re here to see Lurien!” The young scholar changed the subject, forcing a cheerful demeanor onto his person. He tugged a bit more insistently at the claw he held in his own. “As I understand it, you’ve already been introduced, so acclimating to his spire should be fairly easy, I hope!”

Ghost wondered about that. Lurien hadn’t seen particularly taken with them when they’d met, particularly because they’d been under his cloak. They had only felt what was underneath, and so they drifted into thoughts of if the rest of his body would be as soft as what they’d felt back then.

In their reviere, Ghost stepped in a puddle. Ghost looked down, stopping both them and Quirrel in their tracks. Ghost jumped and splashed them both with a large wave of water, soaking their cloak. The city bugs nearby whispered and judged as Quirrel laughed.

The Pure Vessel collapsed on the ground.

Ze’mer, today’s sparring partner, immediately dropped her nail and let out a very distraught noise. “Waiiiiiii! Che’ve killed it! Waiiiiii! Nym’king! Che’ve failed him!”

Isma lept over the arena siding and crouched at its side. She lifted its mask, pressed her claws into its body, and poked at its cloak before she spoke. “It hasn’t died, Ze’mer.” she said kindly. “But it has reached a limit, I do think.”

“Aiiiii… Nym’king shall sent che’ to the lake, wet che’s wings, line che’s shell with stone.” Ze’mer moaned. “Meled’lover… remember che’s heart… Che’ shan’t depart without her!”

“Ze’mer, get a grip.” Dryya said tiredly. “It’s high time we adjourn anyway.”

The obstacle course session had taken up the entire morning, with the vessel about ready to drop by the end of it. But nail training had to come after, and it would not disobey a given order. The king hadn’t been present all day, yet it seemed to follow his given expectation wherever it may follow. Dryya knew what her duties in this regard would entail, and she was ready to see it through, but she couldn’t help but think it was too extreme.

“Don’t worry, Ze’mer, the king presently is too tired to be angry with anyone, I think.” said Hegemol. “In fact, I think the worst you’ll have to suffer is something mundane. Like organizing documents.”

Ze’mer wailed something about a knight being humiliated, lowered to such a basic task, but Dryya had tuned her out at that point. “It is simply too small to have the appropriate amount of sturdiness and stamina for this kind of thing.” Dryya concluded. “I doubt we can continue to train it like this.”

Hegemol asked her gently about what should be done; should they report it to the king, or should they lighten the regimen behind his back? Either could be considered high treason, and though he’d been quite tired of late and therefore less reactive, they didn’t want to risk any sort of upset.

Except for Dryya, of course, who of all of them had the least trouble criticizing their king to his face. “I shall tell him our verdict and give him my honest opinion. I believe it is our best recourse.”

“I can accompany you, if you wish for a second opinion.” said loyal Ogrim in response. “The king must see we are only acting in the best of interests.”

“Thank you, but that shouldn’t be necessary.” was her reply. She took the vessel into her arms where it went limp, limbs dangling. Its body weight came purely from its mask, and were it not for the chill of its body she might’ve thought she was holding a small trinket instead of the fate of the entire kingdom. She excused herself and left the arena as the other knights adjourned.

The trip to the king’s workshop wasn’t far, only taking her a minute or so without having a vessel to wait for. She quietly but firmly opened the door to the pale wyrm hunched over something, muttering, shaking and sweating. Stressed, tired, his light erratically flickering. Beneath her mask she grimaced.

She spoke out, “Your Highness,” and he slightly jumped, light flaring ever so briefly, yet it was nearly blinding. She accounted for this and managed to close her eyes in time. He spun to face her.

“Oh, Dryya, what-“ he noticed the vessel draped in her arms and his face fell. “What happened?”

Gently, the vessel was placed upon an end table covered in silk sheets as she spoke. “I have come to the conclusion that the vessel, pure though it might be, can only be placed under so much stress before it wears out.” she spoke firmly. “If I may, this training regimen has proven too intense and will only hinder its development.”

The king blinked, frowned. “We have no time to take it any easier on it. Without this-“

“Your Highness.” she interrupted. Interrupting a king with no fear was unheard of and a permission only afforded to a dreamer. Only Dryya would ever speak to him in this way, and only when her conviction was absolute. “You haven’t been present to our sessions and therefore have no idea what you’re talking about.”

He stared.

“Its shell is too soft, its body is too small. It will be trained, but it cannot drop again if we wish for this to continue with success.” she stated firmly. “It will not be able to resist Her if it continues this way.”

The king looked away, a darkness over his face, hands clenching till they audibly cracked. The Pale Wyrm wasn’t known for a temper, but with emotionally delicate subjects he could be rather… volatile. He clearly was thinking to have her drowned- his favorite empty threat to throw around- but she doubted he would act on it, and pressed forward to call a bluff he hadn’t voiced.

“Execute me for my opinions if you must, but I believe this to be the better course of action. A worn vessel will simply doom us all, and I will have no part in training it further in this way.”

He looked to a corner of his office, away from her. “I wouldn’t have you executed.” he murmured with much shame.

“Stress and lack of sleep makes many bugs think irrationally.” she said dryly. “Even the ones of a higher power.”

With that, she turned on her heel, and began to walk out the door. “My duty is to the kingdom of Hallownest. In acting in its best interest, I will refuse to take part in the vessel’s training unless the regimen is reasonably lightened.” she looked over her shoulder. Her eyes were fierce, but only reflected sympathy… and a little disappointment. “Our interests are the same, your Highness, and I remain loyal. But please think of what I’ve said.”

The knight strode out of the workshop with those words, leaving the king with his creation. He stared at the doorway for a while before heaving a huge sigh, mask nearly touching the desk as he crumpled into himself. He should be far angrier with her than he was for her incredibly blunt criticism without even asking his permission to speak freely, but he really just found himself exhausted. The king looked upon his vessel; limp and leaking, spread eagle on the table. It needed to be restored, at least. Idris retrieved a jar of paste from his clutter, black and chalky on its opening, using his own claws to spread it over the chinks in the vessel’s carapace. Starting the now necessary repair he had absently accounted for because he wasn’t absorbed in something else.

Dryya was right; the shell was far too soft.

Lake water pittered gently down the windows as they took the large elevator upward. High above the city, Ghost looked down in wonder as everything below them rapidly shrank, slight vertigo making their legs tingle, their stomach swooping with a mixture of fear and thrill. They touched the glass, watching their claw drag up it with the occasional catch, feeling the comfortable chill of it with an innocent wonder. Quirrel pulled them back, fearing they may fall out of the elevator.

The Watcher’s spire was lavished with elegant filigree, towering windows of stained glass, red velvet drapery, mirrors, and the overhanging chandeliers filled with scented candles. It was this amount of finery that would lead a person to suspect that it should be neater. Instead, Ghost found themself nearly tripping over a stone journal the moment they walked out of the elevator. The ground was littered with them, with no real rhyme or reason. 

Quirrel made a face. “The madam told me he could be disorganized, but this seems excessive for any kind of research.”

Ghost only vaguely listened upon discovering the fact that Lurien was in possession of a large telescope that overlooked the city. They bounced over to it, clambering onto his stool and peering through. The entire city lay before them, dark and misty from this height. Yet, they could somehow make out every single bug strolling down the streets, even if they were fuzzy and undefined. But the scope of the telescope was brief and they wished to see more! So they pushed the telescope to a different position; it protested with a rather loud creaking noise. Quirrel snatched them away before they could do any further damage. “Let us not destroy things we do not own, yes?” he asked.

“Should you break my telescope, there will be no place in the city for you to hide.” the voice of Lurien called from further in the study. 

His body had been camouflaged by the excess fabric draped around his room and the candles he had lit confused the lighting around him, but his mask served as stark contrast when he turned to face them. His presumed butler, meanwhile, scurried out from a part of the wall, bowed to them, asked them if the pair was in need of anything- they were not, then scurried away once more.

“Good day, Watcher!” said Quirrel. “The madam told me she’d sent word of our visit; I do hope this isn’t an intrusion.”

Lurien confirmed that it was not, though he said so with the air of exasperation that hinted he’d rather not have them there at all. When Quirrel offered to go elsewhere into the spire, Lurien refused, trying to explain his concerns. “We’ve many bugs to find and more to treat.” he said tiredly, giving a stone census to the young scholar to peruse. “With illness and abductions becoming commonplace, I feel it would be… immoral to be distracted for any reason. However, I do not wish to refuse you.”

It was at this moment the butler decided to reappear, this time with a tray laden with tea and some kind of plant stem, which he practically shoved into Lurien’s hands. “Our city Watcher is in need of rest as well as company.” he chided. “He will gladly receive you. And not a word otherwise.” a stern finger was pointed. “I’ve had enough of your wallowing and worrying about your ‘lack of use’ or whatever you’ve been calling it.”

Lurien looked abashed, even under his mask. “Ex cuse me??”

“You are going to have a nice conversation with the scholar and” the butler waved a careless hand in Ghost’s direction. “company. That’s final, sir.”

“But-“

“No.”

Lurien appeared to sulk, thoroughly scolded by his own staff, while Ghost made to grab one of the plants from the tray. Quirrel thanked the butler who bowed and scurried away once more. The archivist made a mental note to tell Monomon about Lurien’s mood and how he was seemingly being nannied. “If I may,” he said aloud. “I don’t think any butler particularly wants to be paid for such, ah, specific maintenance of another bug, even if it’s a member of the Pale Court.”

“Do be quiet.” Lurien sourly muttered into the cup of tea he’d poured for himself.

Conversation wandered afterward, Quirrel mostly questioning after resources and studies, Lurien provided quiet, to the point responses, and Ghost took to wandering around the room as the stem they’d stolen was eaten in a mysterious and eldritch manner. They pulled out the ink and paper from their little pouch and trotted over to some of the many stone tablets littering the edges, pinning the curtains down. They raked their claws over them, enjoying the feel of velvet against their soft shell as they attempted to read what these tablets said. Some of the words they recognized, but had no context for. They were picking the idea incredibly quick, but they wanted to be able to teach their sibling something of more substance when they went home for the day. The more they learned, the more they could teach and the sooner they could communicate with their mysterious sibling properly without using thoughts and feelings through the void. Reasoning being it gave them a headache after an extended period and they didn’t want to deal with that. The rate of the claw strokes quickened the more they thought, the faster they tried to read and the harder they concentrated, until the stroking created friction enough to create heat. And yet they’d only managed the general gist- big numbers equaled bad, but also low numbers equaled bad. Something about more orange? Less bugs?

It was with a start they realized their claws had gone right through the drapes.

Lurien groaned “Oh, Earth above-“ and moved to rectify the mishap, scooching the young prime aside. As he gathered the curtain up and threw it over its rod, Ghost remained sitting at his feet, staring at the hem of his cloak, still long enough to conceal his lower claws. It was very strange, they thought, that he chose to wear a similar curtain around his body. He was perhaps a little too private for their tastes and they wondered about it.

Ghost pulled on Lurien’s cloak. He stared at them. They bowed with their ink and paper and scribbled out the word: Why? They held it up for him to see.

He stooped, then blinked. “‘Why’ what?”

They tugged on his cloak again and brandished their paper so that it scraped his mask.

“I believe they mean to ask why you wear such a long cloak.” Quirrel spoke up. “Not that it’s unusual, but most other bugs prefer their legs to show.”

“His Highness wears a cloak longer than himself as well.” Lurien protested.

“Why is that, I do wonder? Have you have the same secrets as he?” Quirrel teased.

“Hardly not. It’s just not so uncommon is the point I’m trying to HEY!”

Ghost had once again attempted to sneak under Lurien’s cloak; this time with express purpose. They hadn’t seen what lurked beneath prior, having not considered the darkness that came with cover and mostly attempting to avoid their mother at the time rather than investigate. This time, however, Lurien was ready for them. He defiantly gathered up his cloak into a tight wrap around his legs, hiding all but his lower claws, and seated himself.

“One day you will learn exactly how inappropriate such behavior is.” he sniffed. “I don’t suppose you’d do such a thing to anyone else.”

Quirrel also took part in chiding them, but they crept toward the Watcher again despite this. In their brief look underneath they’d seen something… fuzzy, thin, with fascinating patterns and…

eyes.

They had to give up their investigation when Lurien loudly protested and Quirrel physically restrained them.

“Well, perhaps this trip will be illuminating in more ways than planned for them.” Quirrel said brightly, holding them up to his chest. 

Lurien only seemed more disgruntled by this statement. “Yes, perhaps they may learn the value of privacy .”

“Speaking of learning, I daresay we’ve spent enough time on such things!” the archivist exclaimed in a masterful attempt to change the subject. He set Ghost down gently. “Get out the rest of your things. The day is short and we’ve yet to begin our lesson!”

Monomon’s voice continued to keep him awake. He prodded at his void construct and it angrily frothed at him. He found himself growing incredibly irritated with this behavior- perhaps it might be better to scrap the project if it was going to act like this-

Which means that it is living!!

Idris crumpled. Her voice was ever present even though he was far from it, haunting him with her judgment. He knew she had no idea that the darkness that lay within the abyss- he’d sealed it off. He couldn’t reflect on it, he refused to go back. 

You are using your own brood for this!

Unbidden, the little Ghost flashed before his eyes, cradled in the arms of their mother- his wife, who sang for them a sweet song to sleep to.

He looked to the pure vessel, who now lay encased in a cocoon of soul of his own making. He had, at least, taken Dryya’s advice into consideration, and placed enchantments for energy and strength into its shell. Hopefully they would imprint within the void and give it the physical ability to keep the Radiance contained.

How can you be so sure it can contain Her? And that it won’t spread once She’s there?

The wyrm would rather deal with the Radiance at this point than these intrusive thoughts of his own making. He gave himself a small smack to clear them away before shuffling his way to the cocoon. The vessel lay still, seemingly dead to those unfamiliar. Enchantments laid within soul were not to be scribed within masks, and so its stuck out, free to stare at him in its sleep. This would not so much be a metamorphosis, but perhaps… maybe it should be, at some point in time. A greater change to support more of the strength he could provide it. Oddly, this thought made his heart sway, and in affection he brought a hand to rest on its mask, thumb stroking thoughtfully.

“I am… far more tired than I’d originally thought.” he said quietly, followed with a small, dead laugh.

If only he knew how well the vessel was able to keep still, to follow expectations, to pretend, and to listen. It took all its willpower to not lean into the cool touch and pretend to be asleep, listening to the idle and slightly off-key lullaby he’d decided to hum.

Gossip, whispers and judgement knew how to travel great distances very quickly. The news of a small bug who deeply resembled their Pale monarch spread like plague across the city, reaching all those out on the streets. Rumors of a prince- or perhaps princess- buzzed around like lumaflies near the water. And so it was inevitable that the unsavory types might also hear such gossip.

The Soul Master had been running a small errand when he’d listened in on a conversation between two housewives chatting about this strange, Pale-seeming bug that had last been seen heading to the Watcher’s spire.

And he really couldn’t help the interest that sparked, or the grin that grew on his face.

Chapter Text

The Pure Vessel was having a very odd day. Apparently, its father was as well.

One moment he’d been tender, humming a lullaby and cradling its mask. The next he was smacking himself and cursing Monomon, cursing Dryya for putting such thoughts into his head. Then he’d gone back to working with his construct of Sea, muttering and swearing under his breath, and tried very hard not to look at the Pure Vessel. But he apparently couldn’t help himself; his gaze flicked over every so often and something wistful and fond could be found in his eyes- before it became hard and cold and he smacked himself once more.

The Pure Vessel supposed that feigning sleep had been its best course of action in this circumstance. Truthfully it’d been awake since Dryya had brought it to the workshop but hadn’t the strength to move any part of its body. Now it sat wrapped in silken Soul, incredibly bored. It wished it were alone in times like these, so that it may practice its writing. It supposed that father provided some form of entertainment, if only in the context of trying to figure out what in the earth he was doing.

It was many minutes of this before whatever he’d been tinkering with was finished to his satisfaction. Perhaps even hours had passed, the Pure Vessel watching him the entire time, before he took whatever he’d been poking at, held it up in the light, and looked pleased with it. He stood and strode over, holding it above, looking satisfied. The item he held- a charm, or a seal of some kind, was pressed firmly into the silk. It bound about the vessel’s small body incredibly tight; it struggled not to flinch under the strain, wires cutting in tightly, painfully. Then it dissolved, disappeared into its shell, like it’d never been there at all.

“Good,” said its father. “Surely this will allow the vessel to suitably progress; Dryya shouldn’t find fault.” then he muttered to himself. “But perhaps I should assign it a little less time in training as well… the spell will cause it to molt, and such…” his pacing resumed and he muttered to himself. “The shell will be soft, unfit for any adversity, but only for a time…”

“But do we even have the time for such a thing… The risk it could pose if we do… but the risk if we don’t…”

It watched him continue to fret in absolute stillness, soaking in his glances and pondering his words. It knew it should really not be doing any of these things. But if it remained still and silent, only watching, how bad could it be?

”Nothing wrong will come of this.” the king spoke a shaky assurance to himself. “Nothing wrong will come of this…”

He didn’t sound very sure.

At the behest of Monomon, and with his own great displeasure, Quirrel was taking notes as the madam had asked. Notes on the prime as they studied- properties, behavior, approximate height and weight, etcetera. “I’ll conduct the physical examinations when I’m able.” she’d said. “You can provide and record observations. Like a standard day in the archives!”

He’d pointed out to her that this was incredibly different compared to examining an ooma or what have you, but she’d cheerfully ignored this point. And at the end of the day, he truly was unable to say no to her. So there he sat, silk in hand and regret in his head. This opportunity had been afforded to him by Lurien, who’d taken over some of the lessons so that Ghost would stop trying to peek under his cloak like some strange degenerate and focus on anything else. Quirrel watched as the little one learned with rapture, attempting to write on journals with ink, which easily dripped off and made a mess of the table; it was already covered in ink stains from years and years before, but Lurien complained about it anyway.

Enthusiastic to a fault. Quirrel wrote down. Mistakes the properties of certain objects while distracted.

He looked up. Ghost had begun to swipe their little claws through the spill and draw all over the wood to Lurien’s dismay.

Aforementioned mischievous nature must be reiterated.

“You wanted to teach them.” Quirrel reminded the Watcher over his protests. “You insisted that I take a break for a moment.”

“As if you could prevent this!” he cried in indignation.

“Please focus on your lesson, little Highness.” Quirrel called to Ghost. “You’re being very rude.”

Ghost, instead of perhaps maybe looking appropriately sheepish, gestured at their work, beckoned Quirrel to come and see what they’d made. He walked over- attempting to not come off as uncaring towards them, or encouraging of the act- and bent to have a look. It was all the symbols they’d learned, put in conjunction with each other as they learned to form sentences; some were quite good indeed. Others made absolutely no sense. Along with these was a drawing of three bugs, hands in the air and happily playing with books; one was noticeably shorter than the other two, while another- judging from the single dot in the mask- was Lurien. Ghost pointed at Quirrel, Lurien, and themself eagerly as he observed.

“Curses, they are sort of endearing.” Lurien sounded upset in the fondest way he could manage.

“This is very lovely, little Ghost.” Quirrel nodded. “However, I feel it holds less value when it has been drawn on a table surface; it must eventually be removed and we will have no means of preserving the image.” His thinly veiled encouragement to not deface other people’s furniture seemed to click with Ghost in this manner, finally, and they stared at the drawing in what seemed like an existential crisis. It was at this point the butler swept in to push the table away, replacing it with a lower one, and replacing the previous, astonishingly empty inkwell. Quirrel took this time to add a note to his observations, looking at the little prime splaying their tiny hands over the table to take in the new texture, while also taking care to avoid scratching it with their claws. Affectionate. the scholar wrote.

The doorbell interrupted the moment with its loud ring, jarring in its tone. Quirrel jumped at it.

“Oh, earth above-“ Lurien groaned, rising to his feet. “Excuse me for a moment-“

“No, allow me.” Quirrel offered. “I’m closer to the door anyway.”

Lurien seemed very relieved at this, and appeared to protest only out of politeness before allowing Quirrel to go down the elevator to the door. The Watcher’s social anxiety wasn’t exactly a secret, what with his public appearances sparse and primarily for the sake of the Pale court. Quirrel supposed that the only reason he’d been this receptive of them- which wasn’t much more than usual, sans letting them into his home, as far as he knew- was due to his own apprenticeship under Monomon and Ghost’s status as, well, royalty. Now that he thought on it, he knew very little about the Watcher at all. And he certainly knew less about the types of visitors he might receive at the spire. Well, whoever it was, he didn’t want them to stand around waiting in the damp, so though the trip down the spire was somewhat lengthy, he made it to the entrance hall and answered the bell as promptly as possible.

The doorway was filled by a massive bug.

He hovered an inch above the pavement, body wide and tall, shell navy, a cape fluttering about his legs, hiding his arms. He had a jovial grin on his face and unnaturally yellow eyes that made Quirrel feel uncomfortably warmer just looking at them. For their supposed warmth, however, the friendly appearance the bug tried to suggest, Quirrel could see cold calculation deep within, a keen and dark interest in something that he’d wager shouldn’t be explored, and the sort of ruthlessness to get whatever he wanted, when he wanted it.

This was only the first impression, of course, so Quirrel schooled his body language quickly. He could always be wrong- he hoped that he was- and had better manners than to offend a total stranger based on appearance. “Hello,” he greeted as neutrally as he could manage. “What brings you to the Watcher’s Spire?”

“Are you a new member of Lurien’s spindly little staff?” the bug replied, the question all but ignored. “I’ve not seen you in the city before, I do think.”

Perhaps his first impression wasn’t made rude enough. Quirrel puffed up indignantly. “I do not frequent this city, nor do I work for Lurien. I am a visiting scholar from the Fog Canyon archives.”

“Monomon’s servant, then.” the other chuckled.

“Hardly so.” the young scholar felt something twinge violently in his temple; his irritation practically begged to escape its confines. “In fact, I am only lesser in the sense that I am being instructed by the archivist of the Pale court; an incredible honor have, I might emphasize, sir.”

The large bug barked a laugh. “Ah, yes, you aren’t like other bugs, I suppose. You at least have the sense to seek out higher learning, ask for something in return for your groveling.”

Quirrel grit his teeth behind his mask. Oh, was he tempted to draw his nail. He knew he had to refrain, but the insinuation that he was only learning from Monomon as part of some- transaction was insufferable, alongside his all but said insults towards his class, implying he could only be a servant of some kind. And to say it to another bug's face- exactly who did this man think he was?! Thanks to the tunnels of Wyrm, though, as it was at that moment the steward appeared to intervene, passing by on his way to brew a new kettle of tea.

“Oh, you.” he said, voice panning upon seeing the guest in the doorway. “My deepest apologies, but the Watcher isn’t taking any more visitors today. Should your business be pressing, please submit it via journal or parchment and he shall respond within one-to-four business days.” the butler’s tone was so flat paved floors would feel envy if they could.

“I’m sure Lurien would make time for me. Didn’t he insist on us meeting a few weeks before?”

“Are you referring to him searching the Soul Sanctum after you demanded a warrant?”

“One discourtesy can excuse another.” the bug replied smoothly. “If he barges into my home, why can’t I barge into his?”

The steward rolled his eyes. “As he is a member of the Pale Court -“

“-He should be more open to my visitation.” the large bug smiled sharply before shouldering them both aside, barging into the spire and abandoning all pretenses of civility.

Lurien’s butler groaned, forced to give chase. Quirrel followed suit. “Who is this- man?” the scholar asked through gritted teeth.

“The Soul Master.” the other replied. “A researcher in the city. He and Lurien have had almost violent disputes over the recent kidnappings, what with the master’s suspicions of his activities.”

Quirrel attempted to imagine Lurien as being ‘violent’ in any context and couldn’t conjure any sort of mental image. Privately, he was very impressed.

“This isn’t the first time this has happened, but he’s usually never this forceful.” the butler continued. “I will call the Watcher Knights- I would ask you to follow him and see what he intends to do.”

The scholar agreed to this with a silent nod. They split off from that point, the butler taking a windy, secretive hallway lying behind a swath of drapery, as Quirrel began his pursuit, calling out for the Soul Master- grip tight on his nail, just in case.

Word came in from the coliseum, having been searched after the Soul Master’s testimony. They had to be sure, after all. The king gripped at the report as he read through, face curling in a snarl.

”Coliseum of Fools, indeed.” he spoke irately. The report was tossed aside.

The report consisted of no evidence that any Hallownest citizens had been abducted and taken there against their will, despite the presence of Soul twisters. Reasons for their participation in the games was unknown, but through investigations of the edge of the kingdom, where the coliseum fools dumped their corpses, any twisters that could have possibly been sighted kidnapping anyone were dead by this time. So the theory went, anyway; the Lord Fool was not yet cleared of suspicion. But more than that, the report held something even more outrageous.

The coliseum wasn’t a part of Hallownest itself, but it was a neighbor, and took up residence in a tunnel the wyrm himself had dug. It was completely unacceptable for them to so brazenly expose any sort of commonfolk to the Infection in this way.

”Fetch the knights.” he snapped to kingsmould. At a quick pace he slithered away, fury and fear following in his shadow, towards his workshop.

A different bell than before rang in the study. This one was more melodious in tone, differing from a doorbell. Ghost looked up at the sound.

“It appears they’ve let our guest in.” Lurien sighed, rising to his feet, picking up the paper around him. “Make yourself a little more presentable, perhaps? So I can at least pretend my establishment is respectable?” he suggested. 

Ghost did no such thing, now more caught up in the idea of meeting this mystery guest. They instead ran to the door, slightly tripping over some of the draping velvet, causing them to stumble into the doorframe. They winced and held their mask, teetering backwards as the door swung open in front of them. For reasons they didn’t know, Lurien came forward to put a protective hand on their shoulder as the guest entered. He almost didn’t fit through the doorway, he was so large.

“Really, Lurien, you should look into renovating. The proportions of the architecture here are abysmal.” he groused.

“I was not prepared to receive any bug large as you.” Lurien replied primly. “To what do I owe the pleasure, Soul Master ?”

Ghost would’ve been amused by the emphasis of sarcasm applied to the bug’s title were they not so focused on the newcomer. The so- called Soul Master wasn’t even so much as looking at Lurien- his gaze was focused on them, intensely. Sharp. Different even from the clinical curiosity of Monomon, and most unnerving.

“I heard tell the hatchling prince was visiting our city.” he told them- told Ghost. “You do look most like your father. I can feel the Pale light you hold.”

Ghost looked at their claws to confirm they weren’t holding anything. The Soul Master chuckled in a manner that could only be taken as condescending. “It’s just a figure of speech, little one.”

Ghost didn’t like that endearment in his mouth.

“They are prime, not prince.” snapped the Watcher. “And you cannot tell me you came to the spire purely out of curiosity.” As he spoke, Quirrel arrived behind him; the young scholar was the next addressed. “Quirrel, I’m assuming you didn’t let him in of your own volition.”

Quirrel confirmed that he did not as he shouldered past the larger bug, placing himself closest to Ghost, but still close enough to protect Lurien if needed. He put a claw on their tiny shoulder.

The Soul Master puffed at this, as if he were mildly offended. “Now, you’re being rather rude, Watcher. You treat a guest this way?”

“You are no guest!” the Dreamer bit. “State your business or leave.”

“Why, since I’ve now confirmed the presence of the newest royal, I thought it only fitting to pay my respects.” the Soul Master proclaimed with a bow. “And, in turn, extend my invitation to tour the Soul Sanctum.” he extended a claw outward- darker than either his body or cloak, jagged lines like veins running up and down the shell, cracking it, making it peel- beckoning. Ghost stood still. Quirrel pulled them back a pace.

“Your invitation is, ah, most generous , Soul Master, but there is really no need to-“

“You claim the pale spawn needs to learn about the kingdom! That would include all of it, correct?” he prodded, rising. He leaned over Ghost, caught them in his shadow. Extended the spindly, twisted claw towards their mask. “A fascinating little thing you are.” he told them.

The change in mood was abrupt; simple caution turning to outright fear and anger. Quirrel wrapped an arm around Ghost and pulled them away. They tightly burrowed themselves into his grip. “Spawn?! Fascinating ?! This is the kingdom’s prime , not one of your science projects!”

“You never invited me into the Soul Sanctum until I had a warrant.” Lurien stalked forward, accusatory. “What are you playing at?”

“Oh, I mean no offense,” the Soul Master backpedaled rather quickly. “Really, Lurien, can you blame me for being defensive? It’s quite brazen of you to blame the recent kidnappings all on me. As for the little prime-“ he met their deep eyes; they violently flinched in Quirrel’s hold. Something about him was just so unsettling, more than anything they were born from, or any Pale light they’d seen. The eyes with a yellowing sheen perhaps, or a mouth full of fangs, leering and grinning. The height, maybe, the way he seemed to fill up an entire section of the room. But obviously unlike their mother or Monomon, it wasn’t something they could consider a sanctuary. Rather, his entire presence came off as a threat. Even more frightening was Ghost having no idea what he was even threatening.

“-Soul is the primary focus of my study. The king and queen will not see me or answer my queries- you cannot blame my interest, surely.”

Quirrel muttered something about finding plenty of things to blame him for but he was ignored.

Lurien seemed to be boiling, bristling beneath his cloak. “Their royal status aside, they are a child . We don’t want you to subject them to your- machinations. Justify it as you like, but some of your subjects were clearly harmed.”

“You make it sound as though I were to make them a subject!” the other balked. “Royalty! Our moral differences aside, you truly think I’d do such a thing?!”

Even behind a mask Ghost could feel the incredibly flat look Lurien gave him in response.

“I was not aware your opinion was so high.” the mage muttered dryly. “Then, consider this offer! I will allow the young one to be escorted by everyone that you like. You, our young scholar, even your personal knight colony, should you wish. You may even search my premises again for all I care!”

Even Ghost knew that was a tempting offer. From the many, many journals scattered about, the rising and falling numbers, they could tell so much stress lay on Lurien’s shoulders. From the way the conversation was going, the Soul Master was one of them. They loved to tease him, with his proper nature, but he was fun in that way, and still let them indulge in their mischief, content to merely complain. They thought that made him very funny. And so, they thought, he’d be much more fun if he could feel more secure; a chance to search the place Quirrel had spoken of with shivers once more, to root out any lingering worries that might plague him, and even, maybe, find something new.

And besides all that, well, they were curious. Curious about this ‘Soul’ he’d apparently mastered, about his experiments everyone seemed to find abhorrent, about his knowledge of their parents. Perhaps even, they could find a new, better way to connect with their sibling through the knowledge they found there. Who knew? He seemed to be the type to pursue knowledge- albeit ruthlessly, and with his current agenda of sucking up to them, he might let them learn a few things he’d never teach them in any circumstance.

Ghost tugged on Quirrel’s hand, tipped their mask upward to meet his gaze.

They solemnly nodded.

Quirrel flinched. “Gho- little one, are you quite sure?? I don’t think this would be conducive to your studies, and-“

Ghost tugged more insistently.

”Please reconsider.” Lurien pleaded. the back of his cloak was quietly, subtly trembling.

They didn’t look at him- couldn’t. Instead they looked the Soul Master square in the eye, meeting his sharp edged smile with a neutral mask. They nodded.

”I’m honored, your Highness.”

The king came to fetch it later that day. Burst loudly into his own workshop. He held something grim in his eye. The Pure Vessel had felt very thankful it hadn’t been writing anything and instead staring at the wall in boredom. It internally snapped into its more rigid persona, while outwardly it remained sitting on the floor.

“Come with me.” he told it. “Since I’ve put the molt spell in place, I think it is high time you see exactly what you will be dealing with.”

It followed without hesitation. 

He’d brought it to a clandestine part of the training grounds, not all too far from the gauntlet Dryya put it through. It was flatter, more wide open, and far cleaner than any other area of the palace, though littered with things like troughs and basins. None of their mother’s plants grew here, as if they were repelled by something. Strange weapons were mounted against the walls; slanted blades on a pulley, axes too latge and too heavy to wield in proper combat, rucksacks laid next to a basin full of white stones, and many other things the vessel didn’t know the purpose of, but couldn’t help eyeing with dread.

In the middle of the area lay a crowd of bugs, bound and struggling like skewered dirtcarvers. They looked sick, dented concave, eyes orange and unseeing, bodies pulsing with veins grown in over their shells. The knights stood by, all their faces grim and stony. The kingsmoulds stood by a further pace away- an audience.

“This will not be pleasant.” the Pale King stated. As if it were cold hard fact. “But you must one day follow the example we are about to give.”

The Pure Vessel stared right into the eyes of a struggling bug. Empty, without any soul. Bright orange, almost illuminating, giving off a miasma that eroded even the mask they wore. They still made noises, gargles almost like speech. Something in the vessel wondered if they were insults, cries of outrage- or weeping and despair, crying desperately for mercy.

The knights Ogrim, Hegemol and Dryya readied their weapons.

The Soul Sanctum felt… cold. The entire city was dark and chilly, but the bustle of bugs and the pitter of droplets upon the rooftops gave it a more serene feel, with some sense of comfort knowing there were warm hearths in the houses on the street to curl next to. There was no warmth to be found here. The walls were sterile and smooth, the glass windows unnaturally pearly, yet upon closer observation, faint, rusty colored streak marks came from the filigree, the metal dented ever so slightly in the shape of being gripped by a claw before presumably being forced back into place. It was difficult to hear over the rain, but there were pained, mindless moanings coming from the floor above. Ghost shuddered.

Lurien had long since reluctantly left on his own investigation of the area, but Quirrel and one of his watcher knights accompanied them on their tour. A quick glance confirmed that Quirrel at least was feeling the same way they did. They took his claw in theirs as a reassurance.

“We are investigating the presence and nature of the matter we call Soul. We believe it to be related to Pale beings, what with its color and powerful, versatile uses. Higher thought, higher being , is the main goal of our research here.” the Soul Master spoke, ushering them along. His voice echoed, surrounded them.

“We look into the nature of Soul; why it bleeds from many bugs, how it can be focused, how to make it- pure. I suppose you could say we are attempting to imitate our monarchs.” he looked at them expectantly. They refused to meet his gaze. 

“It is all to avoid the Infection, of course; neither king nor queen seem to fear it, suggesting they are immune to its effects. It would certainly explain why they’ve dawdled so long on the issue.” The last sentence was spoken with such venomous bitterness, an indication of some personal grudge Ghost would never be able to place, they thought. And as scary as the tone had been, it made them question:

Had their parents truly done nothing to help? If so, why? Ghost was meant to tour around the kingdom so that they may know it and by extension its people personally. It was allowed by their mother, even. Surely she couldn’t be complacent. Surely someone as nice, as caring, as protective as her wouldn’t let this happen to her subjects. 

Maybe, when they learned more of how to read and write, they might ask her, one day.

The voice of Quirrel snapped them out of the thought process. “Soul Master, you are scaring them.” he scolded.

He turned sharply. His face was unreadable. “The Infection is a scary thing.” he stated. “And, frankly, so are our Pale monarchs.”

The Pure Vessel stood by. Forced to watch. 

Hegemol brought down his hammer. Dryya split with her nail. Ogrim pressed them flat with his hard shell.

The white floor stained bright orange. The king strode silently over to the last of the bugs- called fools, hailing from the coliseum, the vessel learned- the last with any coherency left in their mind, even as their tears turned to pus.

His sharp claws gripped into the sides of their head, pulling them up to eye level. They hissed as orange rivulets began to leak from the new wounds.

“How dare you… Pale scum..!” the bug struggled.

“They were going to die regardless.” the king’s voice was hauntingly monotone. “You would’ve had them killed in your coliseum. I will not apologize for revoking your sick form of entertainment.”

“You’re killing the citizen

s of the livelihood you created!! If anyone is sick, it’s his royal majesty! ” the bug spat on him. He didn’t even flinch as the Infected pustule hit his face, splattered, just below his eye.

“You’ve deprived them of a warrior’s death! Callous! Coward!”

“Warriors die the same way as anyone else.” he spoke calmly.

Before crushing their skull in his grip, orange spewing forth in a shower. Droplets stained his robes, hissing on contact, eating holes into the fabric. The mask that had been spat upon in a show of rebellion and disrespect still remained pristine. He dropped what remained of the warrior on the ground in a heap of withered limbs and rotten armor. The clang resonated through the room.

The Pure Vessel had watched. Isma, behind it, had a hand placed on its back, like she was concerned about it. The ground was turning brown as the Infection within the fluid withered.

“Magic might’ve made that, ah, cleaner, my liege.” Hegemol spoke to break the tension.

“Your Highness, mind your temper!” Dryya snapped. “We might’ve been able to discern if they were in league with the coliseum traffickers with an interrogation!”

The Pale king seemed to come back to himself at this. He had the decency to look ashamed of himself. “Ah. Yes, you’re right.” he said solemnly. “I was just…”

He looked right at the Pure Vessel. It looked right back.

“…giving an example.”