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For someone who wanted the Ritual completed so badly, the Nightmare King doesn’t go down easily. Ghost’s shell has split, over and over again, and each time they immediately go back into the tent. It has gotten to the point that even Hornet has emerged from the well, and shakes her head at them when they wake up on the bench. She reminds them that there are more pressing issues to attend to. Their determination eventually wins her over, though, and she takes them to Deepnest to train.
On their way out, they encounter the musician Brumm in one of the abandoned cocoon houses. He all but begs them to banish the Troupe and end the Ritual. It’s a nice sentiment, but Ghost doesn’t listen. It would feel like giving up and taking the easy way out, at this point, if they went along with Brumm’s wishes.
The Grimmchild is their constant companion through all of this. She is eager to assist them in training, but she relents when they instruct her to sit at the sidelines and do nothing at all. Ghost needs to get used to fighting with her charm equipped, but without her assistance, and they think they’re doing pretty well at this point.
They return to the Troupe with their legs shaking with nerves. The Nightmare King has gotten bored from their constant battles, and in his boredom, his movements become sloppy and easy to dodge. Ghost’s confidence grows with each hit they land. All their battles until now were rehearsals, and this is their opening night. By the time the Nightmare King realizes his carelessness, it is too late. Ghost lands the final blow and wakes up with Grimm’s dying scream echoing in their head.
The first thing they notice is that the wind is cold. The tents are all gone, and with them, their occupants. They’ve completed the Ritual. After all of their hard work, they did it. Why don’t they feel satisfied?
Their body hurts so badly. The endless exertion is setting in. And the Grimmchild. They don’t see the Grimmchild anywhere. Just as they are starting to panic, they see her black wings flapping above them. She lands on their stomach and starts to lick their face. Her eyes are the brightest red, like her father’s.
A vision: their sibling, chained in the Temple of the Black Egg, eyes swollen and sweltering orange. The Grimmchild’s bounds are not chains but an endless dance that Ghost perpetuated out of foolishness. Now they understand why Brumm was so desperate. They’ve damned this child to the cycle just as their own father did with the Pure Vessel. At least the Pale King had a noble cause. Ghost has only their pride to speak for.
Tears well and then spill over when Ghost blinks. The Grimmchild makes a little mrrp noise and kneads her claws into their cloak, unaware of the future that awaits her. Ghost sits up and starts to cry: for her innocence and their ignorance; they wish they had been blown away by the wind, too.