Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

And there it was.

Her parting words, and the finality of goodbye. She had been meticulous up to this point to never say it, but now, it was unavoidable.

A sigh echoed through the den.

“… Oh, Herrah. I wonder if you would think I did the right thing.” A certain Weaver mused under her breath, as she watched her beloved princess leave home for the last time.

The Pale Prince too, turned to look at her with a certain knowing expression, before bowing their head to her; in turn, she curtsied, as they departed to a battlefield unknown to her. All fine and well with her; she had a battle of her own, to prepare for.

The Lone Weaver burned the sight into her memory, before she went in the opposite direction; leaving deeper into the Den to toil away at her remaining work.

The Pale Prince’s spellwork was a masterful thing, indeed. She didn’t know if they were aware of the magnitude of their own strength, but to enact a spell of protection to such a degree was well beyond her expectation.

In fact, to have helped the Pale Prince in such a manner, surely gave away the Den’s location. Magic on such a level could not remain hidden, no matter how far Deepnest was sequestered from the surface above.

Seals of Binding were meant to be stationary. To pour as much Soul as the Pale Prince had into it, and carry the object within themselves meant that they still had to maintain focus, lest the binding become undone.

Whether that would come to pass or not, she could never know.

Her part in these proceedings had finally come to its end. She could only hope that they would maintain their end of the bargain—she would have to put her faith in the God that came to liberate her from her loneliness, all that time ago.

But surely, they could do it.

They could do it, as long as they had the will.

With that comforting thought, she walked through the Den, accompanied by silence. Her memories taunted her at times, as she recalled those bygone memories from an age ago. The Den had once been rife with the sounds of spools turning and looms snapping. The sound of threads being sewn and plucked, and the trilling from the other Weavers, as they sang of silk. Their devotion was found in the unwavering belief of bonds and strength, and the web that could be spun with it.

Herrah had the respect of the Weavers, for that reason. Though she was of the lower caste, her position was insurmountable for the sacrifices she made to have a daughter, and to let the Weavers have a princess.

Once upon a time, this place held so much magic that it had to be hidden away from prying eyes. That the traditions of their spellwork, stories, and binding both, were secrets that only the most trusted could be privy to. The Weavers were always ones to keep themselves sequestered.

A long time ago, during the onset of Infection, many of the Weavers made the decision to leave. Whether it was because they knew that the Pale One’s plan would fail or not, Tassel didn’t know. What she did know, was that their parting happened on amiable terms.

The Weaversong was proof of that.

The Weavers’ desire to live on and maintain their traditions within their homeland was understood, and they departed with hope held in their hearts, for those who remained.

How long ago that was.

Tassel was still young, then. At the time, she, and the others who held a shred of loyalty to Herrah and their darling Princess, chose to stay.

As the Infection spread itself through the whole of Deepnest, their number dwindled. Weaverlings succumbed to the Infection, and were turned rogue upon the invaders of the Den.

Even Many became few.

Few became five.

Five became four, three, two, and…

Once more, Tassel stood by her lonesome, though in truth she would have preferred another way. She thought many times during that quiet stasis, whether she would leave to Pharloom too, on her own. On the hope that she might find family to be in the company of.

She chose to wait, instead.

Seeing the small one and watching them take the Weaversong was one thing. In truth, she had almost thought them to be infected.

Meeting the lone stranger and making their acquaintance was one of her more recent happy memories, as was meeting Hornet properly.

What times they were, however short-lived of a state it was. Was it worth it? It had to be.

To have gained an adorable sister, and to have made a Weaverfriend she could share her confidence with… ah.

How lonely these thoughts made her.

If she had more time, she would have taught her Princess how to weave things of intricate beauty.

She might have even had a chance to weave a coronation dress.

If she had more time, she might have even had the luxury to fall in love.

Or was she already smitten?

Tassel laughed to herself.

… Truly, there was never enough time.

She could sense the change in the air.

It was a song that asked for a homecoming through invisible ties, though her loyalty could not dissuade her from leaving— not willingly.

So truly; the Weaver wondered if this was the right choice.

She asked herself this over and over to the venerable silence that hung over the den, as she hid away the room which held her beloved Princess’s birthright. She thought this to herself as she spoke with the Devout guarding the entrance to the Den, who refused her request to abandon their post. She looked to all the spools of silk that were the last traces of the family that had once kept her company within the den, in quiet consideration.

Yes, all of this was too much for a single Weaver to make use of.

But in truth, beyond parting songs, spells, stories, and secrets, she hoped that someone would remember that she had been here. She chose to put her faith in Princess she adored, and the God that ruled over the gentle silence that kept her company for so long.

… But alas.

Of the two, she would never know what that god thought of her for certain.

Tassel stood in the main chamber, lying in wait, as the marching grew closer. The sound of banners and chimes felt disgustingly formal for a house call. But in truth, she didn’t really care. She thought about how far her Princess would be from this place, and reassured herself that the Pale Prince would keep their promise to her. All to ensure her Princess could remain with her family for a little while longer.

All for the sake of her happiness.

Even if it was a pointless affair, and that the monster called reality would work in tandem with destiny, surely, none of this would be in vain.

She had left her mark on others, and this thread in the grand tapestry of all things, was hers.

As such, Tassel stood as tall as she could.

Her maroon dress fluttered elegantly, as she placed a claw to her mask.

“Strangers in the midst of Deepnest; I would offer my hospitality, but I imagine you aren’t here to exchange pleasantries. Rather…” Tassel said sweetly, as the stood at the center of a web of silk. “… To be so bold to intrude upon our den. Could you be after something?”

They did not answer.

She didn’t need them to, to understand.

Those within Deepnest were the most intelligent of bugs, and she would not bow to those less than her. Her bell-like voice resounded, as the looked to the strangers with bell-like masks. The only commonality they shared, all things considered.

“I thought so.” She sighed.

None of them spoke.

All of them stared, as she picked out the small, delicate strands of silk keeping their figures taut. A tragic thing to be true; to be controlled and lacking in choice or freedom. To be bound by false bonds.

Tassel eventually cooed to them.

“It is rare for one to willingly wander into a Spider’s Web, but listen well— Now that you’re here, I trust that you’ve already made your peace?” She asked casually.

As she said it so, the spools of silk rattled violently. The smaller dullards seemed to twitch, and glanced about. She giggled as her six eyes widened.

“After all, huhu. Your pilgrimage to your next life is already underway.”

The points of many weapons were readied against her.

For the first time, she was glad that she was alone, so no one worth anything would have to see her bare her fangs.

Though no one worth any bit of her time would hear it, she sang the prelude of a requiem— and from the back, a bug different from the rest raised a glided pin, holding it much like a conductor’s baton as they commanded the symphony.

Chapter Text

In truth, she didn’t like to be in a position where things were out of her control. Once the little Ghost defeated her in the pantheon anew, Hornet rose from her slumber and was greeted by Grimm.

Grimm, was something of an oddity to her. She would have never allowed herself to lower her guard before such a stranger, but she corrected herself then. Grimm… was a friend of a kind. She could never allow herself to lower her guard fully, but she at least trusted them enough in this respect.

Their scarlet eyes crinkled as her gaze met theirs.

“How did they seem?” They asked conversationally— and tactfully, she noticed.

How smart of them to not bring up the fact she lost again. But then again, in all consideration, this is what she wanted, too.

“Resolved.”

Her sibling was strong, after all.

“Excellent.” Grimm murmured smoothly, with a pleased expression. They dramatically put a hand to their chest, and tilted their head. “My own heart is steeled for our endeavor, though the Heart itself urges me to feel otherwise. This searing heat and trepidation both… I can hardly wait.”

To that, she sighed, and shook her head.

“Somehow, I never know what it is you mean.”

“Double meanings do tend to be layered, but I like to think I am rather honest with how I choose to express them.” They responded casually.

“I know.” And she didn’t mind that as much anymore.

But, like her siblings, she could let her silence speak of that. Without anything more, she got up from her position on the sofa, and went to the bedroom to check on Hallow.

It would just be a matter of time.

Her sibling woke with a start, this time.

For a moment, they looked as if they were in visceral pain, before clasping their hand to their abdomen—

She was almost prepared to bind them, because of a passing thought that she would watch history repeat itself. But no such thing occurred. Hallow recognized they were awake, once they saw the silk fly around her.

Her sibling immediately scrambled to their feet before she could say something. Her sibling’s urgency was a rare thing, and to see them actively attempt to convey something that couldn’t be managed without words set the precedent for what was to come.

[Collect all the Silk you have.]

They wrote.

[We are going to need it.]

That was the first thing Hallow conveyed, the moment they woke up.

What her large sibling told her, was distinctively different from what Ghost intended to do, when they conveyed their plan.

“Oh, this should be good.” Grimm said as they peered over Hornet’s shoulder to read the note. They backed away and clapped their hands together. “But you realize we don’t have much time, yes? If you were bested, then all that remains is—“

Hallow stared at the Nightmare’s Scion, and in turn, they barked out a laugh. Hornet only shook her head at both, as she went to the spools of silk that she kept in reserve.

“Do I dare ask what we’ll be using it for?” She asked.

[Killing the Godseeker.]

[Her death is necessary to collapse the ritual before it can be completed. Ascendance is granted through her devotion, as she is the leader of the collective. But it would only be temporary until someone assumes her place.]

[I intend to make that an impossibility.]

“A fine solution by me, then.” Hornet said briskly, as the silk glowed at her touch. It wound about her, as she collected every fiber that she could. “I’ll be leading the way.”

Ghost instructed her to wait until Hallow awoke— and once they were confirmed to be freed from the Dream, she and Grimm were to find the Godseeker and kill her. For Hallow to know, meant that Ghost succeeded in explaining the plan.

But it seemed, that her large sibling had something else in mind. Already, were they mobilizing themselves in preparation to bolt out the door. Their prior request for her to remain home forgotten to the wayside, but in truth, she understood something had changed since the last time she saw them awake.

Hallow was deliberately asking for her help, in this instance.

Naturally, what kind of sibling would she be, if she did not help as she was able?

The three of them stole out of the abode in a rush. Grimm looked on with barely hidden excitement, as they rushed back to the Nailsmith’s abandoned abode. Sure enough, the hidden pathway that Ghost paved was there, in plain sight.  

“To think that we were right above her hiding spot all this time.” Grimm remarked casually, as they scampered behind Hallow. “But how shall we proceed with this? You both are in want to silence the Godseeker permanently, yes?”

“I imagine my sibling might already have something in mind.” She said, as she started down the passage— only to be stopped by Hallow.

They nodded.

“Does this disrupt my own plans in any way?” Grimm murmured, with a casual expression.

To that, they shook their head. Rather, for the first time, Hornet saw her sibling look to the path below, and then look to the other two. With their nail, they dragged it— making a line in the midst of the mushrooms, between themselves and Hornet.

She attempted to parse this.

Grimm stared for a moment, before nodding.

“Ahhhh— so you mean to go on ahead again and deal with things below?” They asked, as they folded their arms with a cant of their head.

In turn, Hallow nodded.

“So that is what you meant before. No, certainly— this does not disrupt my intentions. Rather, you want to capitalize upon them. … Two vengeflies with a single stone?” Grimm murmured, with a vaguely impressed expression. It oozes with a certain malevolence. “I like it.”

Hornet squinted with a vaguely irritated expression.

“And pray tell, what does that mean?”

“It means,” Grimm paused, as they turned to properly regard her. “That they intend to slay her physically to end the dream she holds host to— but not a moment too soon, for my friend’s sake. For it seems, your sibling is goading my participation to help our mutual companion, and to that, I think I will gladly oblige.”

A smile stretched onto Grimm’s face.

“Which means, the time has come—” Grimm announced. “And here, sadly, is where we end our arrangement, Hornet. I will be sending you off first into the Dream where Ghost might be found, and will join in the proceedings shortly thereafter.”

Much like a connecting thread stitching two fabrics together, perhaps Grimm was using her to achieve that result.

But in truth, she didn’t really care.

“That’s fine by me.” She said, as she gripped her needle. “You would only get in my way.”

She had a seething grudge to settle, however one-sided the notion was. Besides, Ghost surely was waiting for her, weren’t they?

“Callous as ever, I see.” The Nightmare’s Scion chuckled with a wry grin. “But I do like that about you as well.”

Plainly, Grimm held out their hand to her.

With a slight breath, she removed the Charm from her person, and placed it into the Grimm’s hand without a moment’s hesitation.

The effect was immediate.

The charm burnt away in their hand, as scarlet flame swathed over them— their cloak trembled as heat radiated off of Grimm in waves as they almost doubled over in apparent pain. They convulsed for a moment, as she heard an audible, grotesque thumping. When they lifted their head up, their scarlet eyes flared with an inferno that she didn’t recognize.

They almost seemed like a different person for a moment.

“This might be a pointless thing to ask, but this is your last chance to back out. I am keenly aware of it, you know.” The Nightmare’s Heir intoned— with a playful, yet paradoxically serious expression. Searing fire laced their words, as a certain emotion sparked within Hornet. “The thing and cause for this Kingdom’s fall awaits beyond the veil. Could you burn your dread, face the light, and make your mark on this ending tale?”

To that, she scoffed.

“You were right.” She answered, as Grimm raised their hand, and hovered it over her head. She held her needle tightly, as she saw Hallow move behind her in her peripheral. “That was a pointless thing to ask.”

The Old Light was a concept that not even she knew of. Her father and step-mother, in hindsight, had done well to erase those traces of her existence, but it was not enough to erase her completely.

Seeing her in the dream made her feel fear of a kind, but to back down then would be the same as allowing that thing to trample upon the memories of those that gave her strength.

But even beyond that, her vendetta felt oddly personal. The more she thought about it, the more vehement her disdain became.

That was the thing that tore Hallow, and so many other bugs from the inside out.

It destroyed Deepnest, the Hive as she knew it, ruined Hallownest, drove her father to commit atrocities, and stole her mother away from her.

In a way, if it wasn’t for this thing’s presence and plague upon Hallownest, she would have never been born.

But she was born— and it was still a life she called her own, regardless of the circumstances. She had to live, for the sake of those who came before her. None of their sacrifices were in vain. The fact that Hallownest still existed, even in its diminished state, was proof of that.

There was a future that still existed for this land.

She and her siblings had succeeded this duty of protecting Hallownest, once.

This time, she could help to make certain that the past could remain in the past.

She awoke from the dream with a sharp gasp— she almost thought she was going to fall through that expanse forever, after using herself to propel Ghost upwards.

It felt the right thing to do, however.

The space of that dream had faded from golden clouds and light, into nothing but blackness. After a while of falling and reaching for something, or anything to grasp, by some mercy she saw a glimmer of a pale mandala flicker in her eyes— and felt her wrist being clasped by someone’s hand.

When she woke, Hallow was carrying her in their right arm.

… Wait.

Their right arm?

As she looked to her large sibling’s pale and void-tinted limb with a semblance of voiceless alarm, she realized a second after that Hallow was standing before the Godseeker— or specifically, her remains. The Godseeker’s masked, massive corpse lay limp before her sibling. Hemolymph dripped from their nail’s edge, but without any fanfare, they immediately shifted Hornet into a comfortable position in turn as she lifted her head up. Had they been carrying her the entire time, with an arm that they weren’t supposed to have?

… Furthermore.

Just by the Godseeker’s corpse, was the form of the Ghost of Hallownest, laying sideways in the junk— their hand clasped around a nail-less handle, and oddly… around them, the shadows themselves seemed to encroach upon their figure. A closer look lent to the possibility that they were bleeding void, but they didn’t seem to be in pain. Hallow was holding her away from them, as if prevent her from coming into direct contact with that darkness.

She appreciated the sentiment.

“So you’ve slain her.” Hornet said, as she motioned to be set down. “… And I take it that Grimm is no longer here, either?”

Her large sibling obliged, and nodded to both of her observations.

“I see.”

She found in that moment, that she might miss the latter, slightly. But more than that, Hornet turned, and stared questioningly at Hallow.

“… Ghost does not wake.” She said carefully, as she looked to their body, where it lay. “But they are not dead, yes?”

Her sibling nodded.

“Then— What is it that you intend to do now?” She paused, and corrected herself. “… What would have have me do?”

Wordlessly, Hallow stood back up to their full stature. They stowed away their nail, and immediately cast out their left hand.

Their cloak began to flutter as motes of soul began to rise from the junk and trash. The ground began to shake, as a certain brightness began to coalesce before her eyes. Their right arm was similarly cast out, as she recognized the growing towers of soul forming before her eyes— so she hadn’t been imagining it.

Spellwork blossomed into existence over the corpse of the Godseeker, and Hornet finally understood.

It was then, she set to work as well.

With the silk she collected, and the silk that she still had, the Daughter of Hallownest began to weave the pattern she was taught, thus guided by her large sibling.

However—

Anything semblance of weaving that she had attempted prior to this, felt paltry.

She had used much of her silk stores to bind that forgotten light, however momentarily. It was not an exaggeration to say that she was already well-spent, but she could push herself to the utmost for this purpose. As such, she did exactly that.

The binding wove itself carefully on the template, and more than once, did she falter as she found her limit.

Her sibling held fast, as they maintained focus. Light began to flood the chamber as motes of soul fluttered upward. The silk shone in her eyes, as the Binding wove itself over the Godseeker’s corpse.

She understood it, then. Rather than preserving the corpse, Hallow was preventing it from being disturbed. That way it could stay buried, much like how the Pale King sealed off the abyss with his brand. Therefore, regardless of what sorry state she was in, she had to do it.

If her siblings could resolve themselves to the end, she could sum up her will, too—

Surely—

Surely—

Hornet hissed, as the last of her silk left her, and she slammed her Needle into the ground. Light nearly exploded outward before it began to knit itself into the thread, glow— but if not for her own stubbornness on the matter, she would have surely fallen over.

The Seal itself was not the prettiest thing she could have mustered, and yet, much of the work was performed by Hallow. But the groundwork for the refrain was set in place;  it’s pattern, though different from the seals she had seen before, glowed over the cocoon she had inadvertently woven, as if to further mask the body’s presence.

But it wasn’t enough.

As she scrutinized the seal, she was no mage by craft like Tassel, but she understood that this wasn’t enough.

It wasn’t enough.

It would hold, but it wasn’t a proper Seal of Binding. While she was certain it could hold or last for a long time, its permanence was questionable, as was its structural integrity.

And in acknowledging it, she felt a pang of annoyance and irritation at herself— for being lacking, in her Binding.

As she turned to her large sibling, they lowered their arms, and fell to the ground as they did before. They, too, seemed haggard.

Much to her chagrin, she suspected it was because they had to perform the brunt of the work.

But that wouldn’t do. Not in her eyes.

“Hallow.” She said suddenly, as she tugged her needle from the ground. She could still stand— good. With a huff, she tugged on their cloak. “You’re going to stay here with Ghost, aren’t you?”

After a moment of catching their breath, they nodded.

“Do that then. I’ll be gone momentarily, but I assure you, it will be quick.” She said curtly, as she started away— she just had to go find silk in reserve to finish the Seal.

She could do that much on her own— all she would have to do is go to Deepnest for that.

But as Hornet prepared to throw her needle, Hallow grasped it within their hand.

The Spider turned to look at them uncomprehendingly.

As she tried to tug her needle, her sibling did not budge.

“… Hallow?”

Her sibling stared at her, then.

It was a gaze that she felt familiar with, given that she had been recipient to that worried gaze. It was hard to tell what they were thinking, but as Tassel once said to her, their actions spoke louder than words.

However, it was during times like these, that she wished she could understand them. As she thought to her last exchange with the Weaver, her expression furrowed slightly, before she attempted to alleviate her sibling’s concern in the only way she knew how.

“You needn’t worry on my behalf.” She said, without turning away. Unlike the time this happened before, which felt so long ago, she did not release her needle to Hallow’s hold.

She looked at them with a fond insistence, as her expression softened.

“I can take care of myself. I swear this to you.”

Their expression didn’t change.

They only gazed at her with some kind of emotion that she couldn’t fathom, or perhaps understand.

… But slowly, they gave way.

Her sibling took their hand off her needle.

As she took a careful step away to see if Hallow would stop her again, she gazed at them wonderingly.

With heavy footsteps, they raised themselves up, and set their nail down before her.

It was an age-old gesture she recalled, that they used to do when told to pay their respects to her. With both of their hands resting on their nail’s guard, Hallow bowed their head to her.

Though she was never one for formalities, as she saw Tassel do for her once before, Hornet lowered herself into a small curtsy. Her red dress fluttered, for a moment, before she straightened her posture.

“… I’ll be back soon.”

Hallow watched her as she spoke those words, but did not follow.

Hornet had a feeling then, as she climbed out of the Junk Pit, that their gaze never left her until she was out of sight.

She wouldn’t realize it until later, that those words would be the last she would ever say to them.

Chapter Text

It was often in the dark like this, that Oro wondered how deep into the meditative state he was. His abode offered little light as it were, but in this corner of the world, he found it suited him. Everywhere else in the Kingdom’s Edge was far too bright; thus painted with scentless ash, and flecking scales from some corpse far above.

He recognized the sound of footsteps, of someone rudely barging into his hut. He didn’t say anything. Oro didn’t even lift his head to regard whoever it was. Only one insect deigned themselves worthy of his time, regardless of how many repeated instances there were of him telling them the same thing.

The traveler was the only one who likely cared to remember he was here.

The flower in the vase proved that.

Still, as he kept his gaze trained to the floor, the traveler approached. He ignored them. They already knew the practice. If it was shelter that they needed, he would allow them to stay.

He continued to meditate, wondering if he was keenly aware of their presence at this point. Was he just used to looking at the floor, or were his eyes closed?

Such was the state of his trance.

There was a lull in the air, however.

Oro felt something was different from the norm, compared to all other instances. Maybe it was that he felt faraway, or even out of his mind. Some part of him expected to see the traveler to dip into his field of vision, but it wasn’t so.

Rather—

Presented in front of him, was a well-kept, Channeled Nail.

Oro stared.

He slowly lifted his gaze, and he looked upon the traveler’s visage. They had a nasty crack spiderwebbing through their mask, that they didn’t have before.

Any number of things could have gone through Oro’s mind at the time. There were any number of questions he could have asked the traveler, though some part of him knew that to be a fruitless task, because he knew that they could not speak.

How did they get that nail?

What happened to the nail’s owner?

Why were they here, showing it to him?

As any number of these thoughts came to mind, all of it was collectively silenced as they stared at the traveler.

Though haggard, they stood back up, and bowed their head.

…

Oro did not know what to make of this.

His gaze trailed to the nail before him.

He lowered his gaze again— an onslaught of emotions accosting him, before he finally managed out a single statement.

“… So you would know of Esmy.”

There was no need to ask it as a question. There was no need to have the traveler confirm it, either.

To have brought this nail from gods know where, meant one thing. One thing that he already knew to be true, but would never have to come face to face with, reality-wise.

Oro drew inward. Silence hung over the two of a time, but the traveler did not leave. They stood there with their head bowed, still as could be.

Though he loathed to, he finally responded.

“I don’t know why you would come all the way to this corner of the world to taunt me of the past.” He muttered. Slowly, did the traveler raised their head at his response. He got the feeling he was being stared at, but did not raise his gaze to meet theirs.

He shook his head instead.

“Already, my dreams have been weighing heavily on my mind, and you deign fit to bring up a specter that haunts me.”

He hunched over further.

He could not bring himself to raise his gaze— perhaps, maybe from being afraid, of what he would see.

Instead, he took the nail into his hands. He stared at its sharpened edge, and how in spite of everything, there was nary a crack.

The Nailmaster sighed.

“… When I first saw you, I almost mistook you for them, before realizing you were of kin.”

He started, as he stared at the nail’s edge.

“Like you, they were talented with a nail. Unlike you, their horns left them unbalanced towards their front. It made them completely inept.” He scoffed. “… How they managed to survive for that long, it might have been due to sheer tenacity, or stubbornness. … Such a trait made them an excellent student.”

And they were.

They took in everything that he had to teach to them. Their ability with a nail outstripped anything that he could have initially expected from the vagabond that picked a fight with him, that pathetically laid face down in the ash after being disarmed.

…. How long ago, that was.

“The law of the Great Nailsage decreed that as a Nailmaster, I had to pass down my teachings to those who were worthy. … You know this law full well. But that runt was anything but worthy at the time, regardless of what talent they might have possessed. They were clumsy. Boorish. Loud, in spite of the fact I had never heard them utter a word, once.”

His noisy pupil made themselves heard, in one way, or another. Whether it was through the liberal use of nail swings or tapping against objects to get his attention, Oro stared blankly, as the memories came to him.

The Nailmaster lowered his head at the thought, his gaze intensely focused on the ground.

“800 Geo and Pale Ore.”

“I thought nothing of it at the time. Money and possessions mean nothing in the end, and I found a clump of Pale Ore while building my retreat long ago. It was what had to be paid to teach Esmy how to wield a nail properly, but that fool must have gotten it in their head that they had to repay me.”

“They left one day, and came back— almost on the verge of collapse— and the first thing they did was that they tried handing me a sack of geo. I realized that the fool went to the blasted colosseum.”

“Like any sane bug, I refused their winnings. I told them that if they attempted that arena for a second time after coming that close to dying, I would disown them.”

He stared at the nail held in his hands.

“… I had only meant to scare them, but they didn’t return.”

Oro had waited.

He had wondered.

He worried.

As the memories of those exceptionally quiet days came to him, the Nailmaster shook his head distastefully. Especially as he came to recall, what happened next.

“I left my way of solitude to search for them, and thought to visit the Nailsage in case if he knew what became of them.”

Asking Mato was completely out of the question. Though he still cared for Sheo, he knew not to disturb his brother with the affairs of the Way of Nail, knowing that he had given up on such a path. It was something of a matter of pride, that prevented him from relying on his brothers. Some part of him knew that their doors would be open to him, if he came to them first— but he could not.

He could not.

The Nailsage was the only one who he could think of, at the time, who might have known. His pupil, compelled through the desire to hone themselves, would have surely sought out the one who could recognize their strength properly.

It was through that subsequent exchange, did Oro discover that his pupil received a name— but what should have been a joyous thing quickly escalated into an unfathomable regret.

He mourned.

“… It’s been long since then.”

The blade he had made for Esmy, glinted in the faint light.

“When you came in their stead, traveler. … You must have thought it strange that I would ask for compensation.”

“… It wasn’t that I needed it. By now, you must have realized I don’t believe in my Master’s need for Geo, either. The Great Nailsage’s ways have never sat well with me, which is why I have never exuberant about the teachings.”

He scoffed bitterly, and mockingly.

“The idea of consigning one’s self to a life of fighting. The desire to seek power and become strong, the notion of being driven towards glory… the very idea of pointing your nail at something you would seek— is this not self-damning? What do those things do for anyone, aside than lead them to faster deaths? What enlightenment does that bring?”

He asked, despite knowing that he would not receive an answer. Not even the Nailsage could answer these questions, and to this end, he sat in the corner of the world in the midst of his regrets, endlessly contemplating.

Endlessly thinking, on whether it would have been better to have ignored that scamp of a bug, who barged into his life.

“They were only a child.” He breathed, as he gripped their nail. “They were only a child.”

He should have been more kind.

Perhaps it would have been better, if he never found them.

Oro lowered his head, as unpleasant memories wormed their way into his heart.

“With those questions, I once turned my blade on the Great Nailsage for a transgression I still pay for, even today. My brother Mato never understood why, and I pray that he never has to, with you, Traveller.”

Oro’s figured hunched over, as he seemed to tense. He refused to lift his gaze from the floor.

Though nowhere near water, he knew the sound of dripping. Another leak, somewhere? He would have to fix it.

Yes.

He stared at the droplets of water gathering on Esmy’s nail.

It must have come from the skylight.

“… Really.” He said, his voice thick. “Why are you still here? Are you here to make me confess I was indulging a delusion? … That if I had accepted the Geo, Esmy wouldn’t have disappeared?”

So what if that had been a weakness on his part?

He knew.

He already knew.

“… You are not Esmy. I am aware of that.”

Oro shook his head.

“… I’ll not have the life and well-being of another pupil weighing on my conscience. After you, I swore I would never take another again.”

His heart could harden once more. He had fulfilled his duty of pass on the art. It was all he had, and it was all he could hold.

If there was something more, Oro could not bear that burden.

“If this is what you came to learn, leave me now.” He uttered. “This path is…”

Before he could finish that sentence, there was another sound. The traveler had come closer to him; their cloak was trailing on the ground, as they stood directly in front of where he sat.

Oro fumed.

“What? Do you taunt me further?” He snapped, as he stood to his full height, and glowered down at the traveler, almost tempted to grasp the great nail he kept on his back to ward them away. He only didn’t do so, because he was holding onto that nail. He raised his voice, with rising anger and tension, as he almost roared. “What more could you possible be in want to hear me say? Get out, you—“

The Nailmaster frozen in place.

Staring at him, was a visage he did not think he would ever see again.

He knew the curve of their uneven horns, and found himself staring at the mute bug, that was gazing up at him.

“… Esmy.” He said, as an immediate pang of regret festered within him.

Was he dreaming, right now?

Before it could have a moment to settle, before he could continue to question the reality unfolding before him, Esmy soundlessly held their paws up.

They wanted their nail back.

Wordlessly, Oro stared.

They reached higher again; their visage never-changing, as they waited.

From where Oro stood, he wondered what it was, that he should have done.

He wondered if he should have apologized.  He wondered if he should have asked for Esmy to stay, but words escaped him.

But instead of doing any of these things, Oro shifted. He tested the nail’s weight briefly in his hands, before taking a breath.

Carefully, he held out the nail to its rightful owner— and Esmy took it, without incident.

In a flourish, they swung it around as if to show the improvement in their skill. In a show of agility, they leapt up, and stabbed the ground, before following with a sweeping strike upward— something Oro recognized as a hallmark of the Nailsage’s swordplay. This continued for a time, as Oro watched.

Eventually, Esmy held the point skyward for a moment, before setting the blade behind their right shoulder— Where it was meant to be.

Esmy met Oro’s gaze.

He did not look away.

“Did you find what you were seeking?” He asked finally.

Esmy lifted their hand away from their nail. With its weight acting as a counterbalance, Oro’s pupil bowed their head to him.

In turn, a strange feeling pervaded the Nailmaster’s chest. It was a lingering feeling that accosted him, for everything that happened. For all that he had done. For what he had endured in repentance and spent a time untold agonizing—

Quietly, to his pupil, he straightened his posture for the first time in a long time.

Oro bowed back.

His shoulders felt lighter, as he closed his eyes.

Oro opened his eyes in the dim hut, he called home.

As he shifted around, he found himself quietly disappointed with reality, as his gaze shifted to the entrance of his abode. The crunching of footsteps began to fade into the distance, as he sat on the floor.

“… A dream.” Oro mused, and told himself. He tugged his cloak around him tighter, and moved to lower his gaze once more. To meditate, and bury himself in other thoughts anew— or better yet, to stop thinking entirely, and let ennui claim him.

And once more, none of those things happened.

The Nailmaster found himself staring at the spot where Esmy stood.

Placed before him, was a sack of 800 Geo, and a hunk of Pale Ore.

Chapter Text

Not quite a mirror compared to them.

A strange familiarity, that they shouldn’t have known.

The Ghost of Hallownest.

—That was the title of the one who stood before them.

The Stranger’s token was accepted quietly. Their explanation, though they weren’t sure as to why they conveyed what they did in the heat of that moment, was also accepted plainly without qualm.

Such a mystery, that the Ghost of Hallownest was to them.

It was a perplexing thing, that only they could hear their thoughts, whilst everyone else received their loaded silence. Up until this moment, they had done their best to communicate in what methods they possessed, however stoic and passive they were outwardly.

Yet, all of that wasn’t necessary in the face of the Ghost.

The channel that they had thought to be exclusively for their mind was now shared. And with that discovery, it felt odd to them to have to share it with someone they just met— and yet, the Ghost seemed unsurprised, as if they had always known.

How odd.

As if to lull them from that passing thought, the Ghost gave them their blessing— a notion, that settled within their own mind.

The Kingdom of Hallownest was theirs to wander, provided they did not dig too deep.

—Such was the permission that they were granted by the Kingdom’s keeper apparent.

But, it was a long journey, the Stranger reasoned.

(Some part of them felt it would be a misstep to depart as suddenly as they appeared.)

…

For now, they would like to rest.

Could that be allowed?

As they stared at the Ghost for an answer, they were met with contemplative silence.

Eventually, to that notion, the Ghost conceded, and allowed them to stay.

Now that the Stranger was acquainted with the Ghost, they could not keep noticing oddities about them.

The Ghost, as the Stranger came to understand, was something of a recluse. They kept to themselves most of the time— but they were not unsociable. For example, the Ghost did not shy from most bugs and were amiable to those that they knew, who remained in Hallownest.

In the fading town adjacent to the Resting Grounds, they often visited the residents that lived there, and would seemingly disappear into any of the unmarked homes. Sometimes they would bring excess that they hunted to the residents, and along with the occasional rancid egg (for some odd reason).

If not tending to the graves within the Resting Grounds, the Ghost would patrol the kingdom’s corpse. No spot in Hallownest was unknown to them, and they navigated through the Kingdom with ease.

By contrast, the Stranger had many difficulties. Hallownest was not a kingdom built for a bug of their stature— certainly not one with a missing arm. Yet, they were insistent on not letting the Ghost’s blessing to explore go to waste.

They thought back to the first time that Ghost accompanied them during an escapade (through a place blanketed with mushroom beds) on their way to a canyon of mystique and fog. The Ghost had no issues in their own exploration, despite being of a similar height to them. Perhaps it came from being somewhat shorter?

… No, even then.

They knew of moments where the Ghost had to stoop low to avoid clipping their horns on a passageway.

In fact, they recalled an instance where they caught the Ghost staring at them, with a hand raised up in an attempt to gauge their height difference.

That was their first proper clue that the Ghost was not nearly as solemn as their first impression led them to believe.

However, the Ghost’s aura of intimidation was not an exaggeration to those who would desecrate Hallownest’s corpse. They had an uncanny talent of arriving to places completely undetected, in spite of their stature.

It also went beyond, as the Stranger could not discern any sounds from the Ghost of Hallownest— nothing that could lend to an impression or signature, unless the Ghost themselves willfully shared notions from that channel that the two suddenly shared. It made them all the more difficult to puzzle out— because if the Ghost barely made any waves in that shared emptiness as things were, were they really the one who had called them?

What was the cry that had drawn them to Hallownest?

…

They pondered that thought to themselves, and continued to observe.

From what the stranger understood of the Ghost’s strength, it was beyond any sort of feasible comparison— but they always seemed bored. It was either they had gone through this routine long enough to think nothing of it, or their strength was simply incomprehensible.

Or, it could be both.

They remembered the first time that they saw the Ghost of Hallownest deal with such a rabble at from the Howling Cliffs.

Some part of them initially thought to help, but the Ghost did not need aid of any kind.   For that reason, the Stranger waited until the Ghost was done. When found it within themselves to ask why they took it upon themselves to defend Hallownest, the Ghost replied as such:

I am protecting what was left to me.

But who could have burdened a single individual with something like this?

Was it an inheritance?

Did Hallownest have some kind of special meaning to them?

The Ghost didn’t answer their subsequent questions. Rather, their reply only amounted to a look of a kind, with a sentiment that they could not comprehend.

But it was as the stranger suspected; there was more to the Ghost than what could be perceived.

For instance, though the Ghost was undeniably skilled, they were not very clever. Most times, they often went for the most practical, and quickest solution. If there was a wall in their way, rather than go around, they would simply climb up. If there was any kind of trouble that had to be resolved, they would either glare at both parties until reality bent to their will, or they would solve the situation with violence.

It was quite a spectacle to behold.

They were unlike any other bug they had met until this moment.

… If they were a bug at all?

…

In spite of that, their kindness was understated, as well was their own consideration. Despite often leaving on their own to do as they pleased, whenever they encountered one another in passing, the Ghost would linger by their side for a time. Their advents were often quiet, yet comfortable— it was during such escapades that they were always introduced to a new biome within Hallownest.

It was later, that the Ghost showed them the Stag Way tunnels. It was something of their hidden shortcut around Hallownest; it was once used by the Old Stag, but in his age and declining physical condition, he eventually retired. (He apparently spent much time soaking in the hot springs at the Crossroads.)

The Stag Ways were a confusing network of tunnels, that by some method, the Ghost could navigate through it with ease. Perhaps it just came from using the Stag Ways repeatedly? 

They could only assume.

They personally got unceremoniously lost the first time they went on their own. They thought they had heard something, and followed it— such a terrible instance that was.

It was a rather embarrassing, yet amusing affair— they ended up having to ring the bell over and over until the Ghost located them. They were brought back to the Resting Grounds afterwards.

Some rules were set, then.

The Stagways were only meant to be used if they had a need to return somewhere quickly; otherwise, the Ghost specified to them to traverse around the Kingdom on foot. Paradoxically, they stressed that they had less of a chance of getting lost this way— and needless to say, the Stranger did not completely comprehend this notion. How would the Ghost know where to find them, if they could be anywhere within the Kingdom?

The Ghost did not feel the need to explain.

However, what they did elaborate on, was an express wish for them to wander and behold its sights, however dilapidated— but to never delve too far.

Hallownest, even in ruin, was a wondrous thing. But everything had its share of danger, if underestimated.

… That, the Stranger understood.

But they found themselves asking a question, despite themselves.

What is at the bottom of this Kingdom?

Something best left undisturbed.

There was a hidden intent plainly apparent, without the Ghost needing to state it:

Don’t go down there.

Now, the Stranger wasn’t enough of a fool to do away with the warnings— but how odd was it, that the Ghost deigned fit to warn them so many times over.

What were they trying to hide?

The Stranger canted their head, and tried to listen closely.

Chapter Text

On the shore of the Blue Lake, they saw the Ghost of Hallownest sitting by a nail planted into the ground. They were staring outward into the lake with a statue-like stillness.

The nail itself could have not been theirs. It was too small, and the large nail on their back spoke for itself.

And yet, they sat at the shore of the Blue Lake, taking in the quiet, and serene calm. The blue of their cloak held a remarkable similarity in hue, though it seemed to have faded in time, due to continuous wear. It was still well-cared for, it seemed.

The stranger approached quietly.

Using their newfound channel of silent communication felt strange to them, when they had only used it prior to record sounds and solidify notions to themselves. They never considered the thought that something— or someone, rather— could answer them, from it.

But it was a certain convenience that they almost felt awkward for using. Especially, because the Ghost had seen right through them using it.

Even so, the Stranger still attempted it with thinly-veiled uncertainty.

They quietly called to the Ghost through the channel, and were met with acknowledgment, though they weren’t looked at.

It was then, they asked permission to join the Ghost.

This was acknowledged with a silent nod, though the Ghost did not turn to look at them.

But all the same, they shifted, and sat down at their side in silence. For how long, they didn’t know, nor did they care to keep track.

For a time, they gazed outward to the surface of the Blue Lake, trying to search for what the Ghost was looking at.

Eventually, they found themselves taken by the quaint realization, of just how still this place was, compared to the rest of Hallownest.

A certain feeling of serene calm began to suffuse within them, and diffuse within the air itself— and it was then, did the Stranger notice something reflecting off the surface of the water— or was it something else?

Faint traces, and the sight of a certain bug with a grey-ish blue carapace, sitting as the Ghost was doing, in the here and now.

—But there was no one here, like that.

Eventually, however, an assertion of a kind rippled.

Have you seen the sights of this Kingdom yet?

The Ghost of Hallownest asked.

The assertion was unassuming, as the Stranger turned to look at them. Their gaze was not met.

Perhaps.

Perhaps not.

I would not know them as you do.

I see.

But surely you must have passed through the City of Tears?

Yes.

It was where they saw the Ghost for the first time. That, they recalled clearly.

What do you make of it?

It’s very wet.

The Ghost’s shoulders shook at that assessment, in a telltale of a silent chuckle. They seemed to ease slightly, though they sighed.

Have you seen Hallownest’s Heart?

I know not what it is you refer to.

The Fountain in the middle of that City.

There’s a statue of the Hollow Knight, who forever stays vigil, in dedication to Hallownest.

I see.

That was the cloaked statue that they saw the Ghost staring at, then. There was a remarkable similarity that the two bore, to one would think that the Ghost held some kind of relation to it. They even found themselves staring at the visage of that Knight briefly, though they could not say they held the same exultation or reverence that the Ghost of Hallownest might have felt towards it. They couldn’t even properly remember the words not the plaque that acted as epitaph.

But, they remembered this, at least.

I have heard rumor of the Hollow Knight.

Some bugs told to me that they were a fable.

A fable.

The Ghost mused, and repeated. The notion hung in the air as the Ghost thought about something— it refused to leave. If they were not sitting at this lake’s shore, one would have thought that perhaps, that the Ghost was standing before the statue again.

They were looking outward into nothing, but acted as if something was there.

I can assure you that they most certainly existed.

The Ghost responded plainly.

But the Hollow Knight is not you.

Yes.

Did you know the Hollow Knight?

I knew them, a long time ago.

What were they like?

The words did not come naturally to the Ghost, as their impressions of others varied. There were semblances here and there, and the lull in their response meant that they were scouring through specific notions and sentiments.

The Stranger observed.

Notably, The Ghost did not share memories outright— and to that end, the Stranger found that it was very deliberate. There had been other instances where they had no qualm in sharing something.

This meant that the Ghost had something to hide.

But they could not question it, on the chance that pressing might upset the other. To fall out of good graces, with a relation as tenuous as this, would prove to be disastrous.

They had to be patient.

… Obstinate.

The Ghost finally shared.

Stingy. Immovable.

The impressions only seemed negative, initially. The Ghost was quietly working through their hidden memories, as the Stranger looked on.

Kind. Considerate. Reserved.

There might have been flickers here or there, of someone exceedingly large compared to the Ghost looking at them.

Gentle. Thoughtful.

There was a lull, as the Ghost paused.

For a moment, there was a shared feeling— oddly, it felt like there was a weight being rested on their head.

Self-sacrificing.

The Ghost lowered their head slightly at their next thought, as the hand was lifted away within their memories.

The visage it belonged to was…

Stupid.

…

At such an assertion, the Stranger couldn’t help but chuckle.

Their shoulders silently shook, as a light wheeze escaped from their figure— and the Ghost looked over to them with a certain expression. It almost seemed as if they were squinting, or scrutinizing the reaction, as the Stranger offered a wordless apology. The Ghost was placated, as they seemed to ease ever so slightly.

It sounds like you knew them well.

The stranger conveyed. Faint amusement glanced on the surface of the blue lake, as they found themselves learning more (about the Ghost) than the initially bargained for.

To that, the Ghost responded.

In truth, I am unsure if I knew them at all.

You knew them well enough to assert that their title is ill-befitting.

…Yes.

I suppose so.

Such was the sentiment conveyed, as the Stranger took some vague amusement that such an important title was ill-judged. The Ghost agreed, with a hint of a sigh.

If they were all those things, why were they considered ‘Hollow’?

That’s what they had to be.

For the sake of a reason that the Stranger could not begin to fathom. What did it mean to be ‘hollow’?

Could there truly be anything in existence, that could be empty, and all those things?

The Ghost seemed to ponder their unasked question.

They shook their head.

In truth, they were always more.

I would think they were, to those that treasured them.

Imagine a Knight being loved to such a degree.

But they were gone now, weren’t they?

The Stranger contemplated.

A strange thing, Ghost of Hallownest.

As the Stranger conveyed that sentiment, the they realized that the Ghost was looking at them.

Who is the Ghost of Hallownest— me, or you?

The Stranger stared.

… They didn’t know how to take that.

Were they not the Ghost spoken of by so many others?

A being of rumors and intrigue?

How could the Stranger be the Ghost of Hallownest, if this was their first time staying within this Kingdom?

Or… was the Ghost speaking about the Kingdom, at all?

…

A heavy feeling saturated the air, as the Ghost gazed up at them— unknowable, and enigmatic as always.

In turn, the Stranger stared at the Ghost, with a perplexed, and conflicting feeling.

Do you know me?

The Ghost looked away.

… That, I can’t say.

Saying that, the Ghost stood up. They looked to the stranger and bowed their head— and then glanced to the planted nail in the ground and bowed their head to it, too.

Without anything more, the Ghost departed once more.

Left where they were, the Stranger only watched them leave. It did not feel right to chase after them.

But for some reason, as they turned back to look at the blue of the lake, the this new memory accosted them.

The sight of the Ghost’s back— it numbed them considerably.

Chapter Text

The odd, yet comfortable silence of the Resting Grounds.

The ashfall of the Kingdom’s Edge.

The babble of bubbles within Fog Canyon.

The disconcerting darkness of Deepnest.

The iridescent glow of the Crystal Peak.

The sight of pale flowers, in a Garden with overflowing greenery.

These were sights that they had come to see on repeated advents—but since speaking with the Ghost at the Blue Lake, they didn’t accompany them to places anew, anymore.

Which was to say, that the Stranger did not think that the Ghost of Hallownest was avoiding them.

Their paths were simply not aligned, for whatever reason; their vigil likely included other duties that they were in need to attend to.

(They silently hoped this to be the case.)

The places within Hallownest that they had seen, were almost familiar from vague traces of sounds— but it all seemed new. It all appeared different. The more they ventured, the more they began to realize that life went on outside of Hallownest itself.

The Children of Green, Mantises, Shrumals, Hivelings, and Spider Tribe spoke for themselves.

Sometimes, while traversing these wilds, some part of the Stranger would expect to see a faint trace of something as they wandered through the Kingdom; it was different from the presence of the Ghost, who made themselves known one way or another.

These notions; these impressions…

They did not understand why they felt the way they did, as they found themselves standing in front of an old monument shaped like a Nail within the Resting Grounds. The scent of burning incense hung over that graveyard of nails, like a shroud.

They did not understand the strange feeling that they felt, when staring outward at the Kingdom’s Edge. The sight of the ashfall entranced them, as a haunting, yet serene tranquility pervaded the air.

They did not understand the records in the strange, abandoned archive built over the lake of acid. The creatures of that place were unlike anything that they had seen; it was ethereal in a mystical sort of sense—up until the moment one of the larger creatures detonated on them.

They did not understand what led them to a strange place nestled away in the spiderwebs of Deepnest; particularly, to a hidden away home of a kind. It appeared long-abandoned, though some part of them expected to find someone there.

…

There were many things they didn’t understand, but Hallownest continued to evoke these feelings within deepest silence. It was everywhere, and nowhere.

Perhaps it was inside them?

…

They couldn’t be certain. But, with nothing else to work with, the Stranger continued searching for answers, and getting lost as they did within this forgotten Kingdom.

It was wondrous, how a place like this could be frozen in time, yet not.

…

Although.

There was one place, that truly seemed trapped in a pocket of its own time.

They chanced upon it—

A vast, empty cavern evoked a certain feeling in them, beyond the Hidden Station.

As they stared out into the hollowness, they wondered.

Was there something once here?

… Staring at the rubble only led them to attempt to imagine something vast, but seemed beyond comprehension. Black-stained, hollow, white armor lay shattered and strewn about before an arch, that might have represented where a gate once was.

But there was nothing beyond the gate—

Only a broken bridge, amongst the ruin.

As they rested their hand on that forlorn, broken gate, they found themselves pausing as the sight of what appeared to be a child’s scribble. As they stooped low to read, they found the graffiti was sloppily written, and barely legible.

It looked as if someone smeared the writing in haste, but how long ago that could have been, was beyond their scope.

But the words they could pick out, didn’t make any sense to them.

[…-…-king-plan]

[not-…-…]

[…-collapse-retrieve-…]

[…-…-…-light]

[find]

[…-will-return]

What are you doing here?

Such a sharp thought prompted them to look backwards, as the Stranger suddenly felt the Ghost’s presence. The latter stood over the broken armor where it lay, glaring at the Stranger from where they had knelt down by the gate.

When had the Ghost arrived?

No—rather than that.

There was something bleeding through the air itself.

The basin itself was already dark, but for some reason, shadows seemed to stain the ground itself, and tinge the air around them both.

Or were things always this way?

Or perhaps this was just the effect that the Ghost of Hallownest had on the world around them.

The Stranger canted their head and stood back up, they slouched apologetically. In truth, it was a mistake of a kind that led them here, from the Hidden Station.

However.

This place…

They asserted, as they turned their head towards the broken bridge.

What was here?

Their question was met with stoic apprehension. The Ghost seemed to mull over the answer, before easing their posture. A breath escaped them, as they eased, ever slightly—and the air itself began to lose its tension.

A palace where this land’s King once resided.

They answered.

Of course a Kingdom would have a “King”, and that King would have to stay somewhere. The Stranger nodded astutely to that notion.

… But.

This was the first time they mentioned that this land, had a King.

How could an entire structure have disappeared with it?

That didn’t make any sense.

Where did it go?

I don’t know.

That Palace disappeared with its missing King.

… It didn’t seem like a lie.

In spite of that, despite having no basis to believe otherwise, they felt as if the Ghost wasn’t being completely honest with them. Perhaps this was another one of their kept secrets?

… It was likely not a good idea to press, either way.

Why are you here?

The assertion came through the channel that they shared. The repeated question came, and stayed. The Ghost was no longer glaring like before, but their persistence was paramount.

And unfortunately, the Stranger did not know how to answer.

They attempted to express their attempt at using the Stagways, but found themselves in this place before they knew it.

I felt drawn here.

The Ghost did not give away any of their emotions outright. They only continued to stand over the black-stained armor.

By what?

The Stranger did not know.

As they expressed that notion plainly, the Ghost didn’t respond to them. Something welled in the air, as the channel seemed to peak with veiled emotion. The turbulence held no warning, and the other was doing their best to keep themselves contained. Was this anger? … Worry?

After seemingly coming to grips with themselves, Ghost immediately started in the other direction, only to stop— they paused. The Ghost turned around, to look at the Stranger as they remained stationary.

They hadn’t moved, because they assumed that the Ghost did not want to be followed. Such was what happened prior; what would have changed in this instance?

Have I done something to offend you?

No.

The feeling was quite honest this time.

So the Ghost was not angry with them, but angry about something else? They couldn’t parse this emotion properly— beyond the strange feeling, cloying the air itself.

What was it, they wondered?

Let me guide you back up above.

There is an elevator shaft that would return you to the City of Tears, not far from here.

… Yes.

They didn’t want to argue.

But— there went another sentiment unexplained, and another question to add to the ever-growing pile. As they were led to the city quarters proper, the Ghost stood under the alcove and waited for the Stranger to depart. An act of simultaneous blocking and seeing them off.

Their action spoke for itself, in a stern warning for them not to follow that feeling—to not delve any deeper into the Ancient Basin, as it were.

To return upward.

To go higher up.

(To be anywhere else, but here.)

…

In truth, the Stranger didn’t want to leave the Ghost on their own.

But it felt wrong to say that. They were, after all, still strangers to one another.

It was a tenuous relation built on that offering they’d given, and maybe it was just as delicate, despite the fact that they wanted to know more about the Ghost.

But their thoughts traced to that time before, and considered the quiet question again.

Did the Ghost already know them?

Before they could ponder that or think to ask again, the Ghost tilted their head at them. Now that they were away from the Basin, it seemed that their mood had improved in some regard.

The Ghost offered an unspoken apology, as they physically bowed their head.

I’ll make it up to you, later.

It was reassurance on the Ghost’s part. It felt even childlike. Something they found to be different, after all this time. When they raised their head back, they looked back to the elevator shaft briefly.

I have something I need to check, first.

It shouldn’t be long.

… Very well.

Will you meet me in Dirtmouth?

Oh.

This… was different.

Certainly.

I’ll see you there, then.

The Ghost nodded to themselves, and a faint, semblance of warmth came to them, in spite of how cold and wet the City of Tears was. In turn, the stranger bowed their head to them.

Rather than waiting for the Stranger to leave, with that, the Ghost’s back vanished into the darkness of the ruined elevator shaft.

But this time, that haunted feeling did not wash over the Stranger as they began walking to their next destination.

The Ghost kept many secrets.

Truly.

Just who was the Ghost of Hallownest?

Some part of them wanted to ask that question, but whether they would receive an answer or not, was another story.

And therein lies the possibility— would they be content with the answer?

…

The stranger pondered this as they walked further along the City of Tears— taking to rest on a bench that was far too small for them, as they stared beyond the glass, into the muted din of the City.

Was the Ghost of Hallownest a God, like that one bug said?

They had no frame of reference as to what that might be, outside of an understanding that Gods were like light.

But the Ghost was capable of doing many things that seemed beyond comprehension.

Their ever-elusive appearance and strength to uphold their station was a testament to that.

So then…

They thought of the graffiti left behind, expressing the return of something.

The King never made good on that prophecy, did it?

So therefore… The way the Ghost held themselves to their principles in spite of everything, wasn’t dissimilar to the notion of a “King”.

But again, in hindsight— there was no Kingdom to rule; no Palace to live in. There was not even a united people for them to protect.

But they remained nonetheless— for what purpose?

Hallownest was but a relic of an age bygone, though life continued outside of its walls, and the bugs that lived within its domain continued to thrive in spite of adversity, as living creatures would.

Such was life, and they, too, were simply trying to live.

Their own journey to this kingdom was not without its own set of trials, and tribulations. Muteness was a bane of a kind, but it was one they had learned to live with, regardless of what misunderstandings and assumptions were made of them.

For instance, they quickly realized that they were abnormal in many respects. The ability to use Soul as they could, was a rarity that they learnt to keep hidden from others, for a number of reasons. Regardless of their stature, other bugs looked down on them for lacking a right arm.

But then there were others, who didn’t. 

Particularly, in that early phase of their meandering through Lands Serene, they recalled the friendly dung beetle that briefly took them in.

It was that bug, who told them of Hallownest— who gave them a Journey, worth aspiring for.

From description, he had detailed it as a vague, but glorious thing. The Beetle spoke of how he had fought many battles, all that seemed too outlandish to be true. He also told them about how he had made irreplaceable companions, and the stories he had been told. He regaled them with countless tales, of how he fought in the honor of his King. His King, who wanted to protect his people.

But as to who that King was, they were never told.

At the thought of a ‘King’, however, that bug’s expression would always pale, and darken, as if he could not properly remember. That bug’s melancholy would hit in full force, though he would shortly laugh away his woes after. He blamed his inability to remember on his old age— that the memories might be lost to time, but the feelings still remained unchanged.

But what he did remember, he recalled it all so fondly.

The delight of steadfast chivalry. The notion of camaraderie and friendship. To find one’s worth in fettered chains of a figurative kind, and to rise above adversity with those ideals. The brilliance of an age that he wanted to preserve, in some fashion. Taking in the stranger, inspiring them with the concept of Knighthood— this, too, was all for that sake.

The bug called himself a ‘Great Knight’—and though it was a childish notion, the idea sang to the Stranger.

Yes; they wanted to be a ‘Knight’, too.

But as they thought more about it, less than a ‘King’, perhaps the Ghost was more of a ‘Knight’.

Or were they both?

As they contemplated the notion, they looked in a distant direction absentmindedly.

Bit by bit, since they arrived to Hallownest certain sentiments whispered to them. The familiarity was to be found everywhere, but in actuality, they weren’t sure of what their position here was.

Now that their token had been delivered, what was left for them to do?

They should have attempted to ask that Beetle for more advice.

Their Journey here had been completed. For some time, though the Ghost let them wander through Hallownest freely (with some exception), they weren’t sure if they found what they were seeking, yet. 

They paused at the thought.

Since when did they decided that they wanted answers?

Maybe… Meeting the Ghost of Hallownest did that to them, because they were the only one whom they could speak with.

…

The Stranger pondered over them briefly.

… Well.

There was another promise of a meeting, but surely, that would take some time to fulfill. They, in theory, could at least do as they were told. 

But, a lingering sensation pervaded the air as they arrived to the Crossroads—

And once more, they felt the pull again.

Chapter Text

Now alone, the Ghost of Hallownest stared at the passage beyond the beaten path. They did not move, though they stared intently at the Door to the Abyss; one that glowed with the mark of the King’s Brand.

After seeing the Stranger in such close proximity, they worried that the door was calling for them— That what was beyond the door, was calling for them.

…

Once upon a time, they opened this door willingly.

How ironic was it, that they would be the one to close it—and every so often, that they would come to gaze at it, to be certain that it remained shut.

Such was the nature of Hallownest’s darkest secret.

By now, there was no one left in Hallownest would could be privy to such a truth, and as long as they remained in this land, things would stay that way.

That was the best way that they could protect the resting place of their siblings from outsiders, and to protect outsiders from the depths of the Abyss. This door had to remain sealed.

… But it went without saying, of course, they knew it to be a fruitless endeavor.

They knew better than anyone that this doorway was not the end all, or the only entrance to the mass grave below the Kingdom.

But it was a necessary precaution they were willing to take, because they knew that Abyss better than anyone.

Part of themselves was down there, after all.

…

Back then, they hadn’t possessed the foresight or the knowledge to properly understand why the Pale King chose to close the door.

Maybe now, they understood.

It was a secret best left undisturbed. More than the horrifying gravity of his actions that stained the foundation of Hallownest itself, it was a past that he shouldn’t have unearthed. It was a great atrocity that he committed for the sake of waging war with another God. A war that he ultimately lost—but one that hadn’t been for nothing.

They were born from that tragedy. In spite of everything, there still had to be a reason that they were alive.

… Even if they hadn’t found it yet.

Therefore, they couldn’t let it be for nothing, because they were the only one left holding onto those memories.

… Although.

Though the Vessel had lived through the events that brought them to this ending, even now, they could never understand the entirety of truth— and by now, they had come to think it was all likely for the best.

They had been told many things, learned many things, all in pursuit of a duty that they had never been chosen for. Beyond that, they kept the secrets for the dead and forgotten, knowing that there could never way to properly express it. Vessels were excellent containers in design, after all.

…

No mind to think.

No will to break.

No voice to cry suffering.

… No cost too great.

…

—Ultimately, it was a flawed plan of haunted desperation that the Pale King enacted. And to this day, even now, they did not care for him in the way that their Hallowed Sibling did.

They couldn’t care for someone they didn’t know, after all.

But sometimes, they wondered what their Sibling meant, when they thought back to all the unspoken comparisons that they beheld them to—but much to their chagrin, maybe that was a point of similarity in itself.

Imagine being used by a Greater God.

…

… How embarrassing.

…

In the end, they did not know what became of the thing that perhaps was the grand orchestrator of their creation, just as they did not know of what became of the Pale King. The memory of that Kingsmould was beyond their reach without the Dream Nail, and they did not care to peer into the Abyss for answers. Only Hallow could know the truth.

But, Hallow was long gone, too.

…

… Or at least, not quite.

The Vessel lowered their head in thoughts as they considered one crucial fact.

The Stranger… existed.

But, the Stranger was not Hallow.

…

It had taken some time to properly parse.  Even now, they were struggling to come to terms with that fact.

…

But, to have finally considered it in that regard…

… Ah.

That thought.

…

All this time, the Vessel had been avoiding it.

But now, perhaps, did they understand how Hallow must have felt in the past, after being unshackled from the confines of the Black Egg. They remembered those tenuous days where they were the one to insistently and childishly reach out first. To try and get their quiet and large sibling to respond to them, though they didn’t get proper responses until later— until Hallow felt more comfortable with them.

The irony of this situation wasn’t lost on them; they had effectively traded places, with their large sibling. Down to being the one calling for someone else, and waiting for another’s return.

But by contrast, the Stranger was more than respectful of their wishes, and often gave them space. And further unlike Hallow, they weren’t very good at keeping things to themselves.

However, instead of being the one to break past their worries and potential insecurity on the matter, in truth, the weight of this quandary debilitated the Vessel more than they wanted to admit.

After a time, they started avoiding the other.

Hallow, was Hallow.

But who was the Stranger?

The Stranger was bereft of every experience that made Hallow, Hallow. They were not the Hollow Knight, Pure Vessel, God of Nothingness, or Sibling that they long-awaited.

And that notion in itself, was painful.

Looking at them, interacting with them, watching them lent to familiar fragments; bits and pieces from their memory that felt the same, but it wasn’t the same.

It wasn’t the same.

…

The Vessel stared at the door to the Abyss.

…

They wondered.

If they brought the Stranger to the Abyss, would they regain their memory as they had done, by discovering their birthplace?

…

… On the other hand, however.

To do something like that, would be unforgivable on multiple levels, if it didn’t work.

To open the door to the Abyss, and subject the Stranger to the dark truth… to let them bear witness to the horror best left forgotten…

… To make them remember after everything that happened…

Would that be dishonoring Hallow’s last choice?

Would it mean jeopardizing everything that they fought for?

Would they just be repeating their past mistakes, once more?

… Would they be no different from the Gods that once used them?

…

The Vessel stared blankly outward. Some part of them hoped to see a familiar visage by the door, even if it were a dream, or a delusion. They would have liked to see the face of their sibling again, to compare how much they had grown. They would have liked to hear familiar footfalls trailing after them, or to be recipient to a silent look of acknowledgement, if they looked to their side.

They only clung to the charm that asked them not to forget.

And they never did.

They could not.

They often stared at the statue in the City of Tears so they wouldn’t forget— at some point, maybe they had become more like their Sibling than they ever could have thought. Perhaps it was all in a desperate bid to keep their sibling alive.

But was that only hurting them, now that they had a chance to have someone who could understand them again?

…

All this time…

All this time…

…

As the Vessel looked outward to the door, they didn’t know what it was they were searching for. If it was to see the person they wanted to meet again, the cruel fact of the matter was that there was that they were already long departed, and gone. There hadn’t been, for a very long time.

Sorrow had clung to them like a shroud, as it truth was laid bare before them. The Vessel bowed their head.

Beyond the feud between two Lights, ultimately, though the land was scarred through their actions, it would eventually recover without them— and time would pass without falter.

That was nature. That was what time did for all living things.

Though the Void was limitless in potential and promised eternity within its embrace, it did not offer tomorrow in the sense of what living creatures yearned for.

There was nothing left in the Abyss but the past they resolved to move beyond.

… But.

Even knowing and understanding these things as they did, why was it so difficult to move from this spot?

They already knew that they couldn’t go back. The time of their childhood was already long past. The time of the Gods within Hallownest, had already ended.

And yet—

To move forward properly from this point in time, meant leaving Hallow behind.

…

…

…

Somehow, though the door to the Abyss was closed, they felt as if they were standing on that platform again. Why was that the place that their mind took them to?

Maybe the Abyss was trying to convince them that Hallow would be found there— or maybe, it was just a forlorn hope that they were clinging to, just as they had clung to that balcony all that time ago.

Were they mentally clinging to the edge and watching Hallow leave again, or were they the one abandoning their Sibling to oblivion?

…

… Why did it have to always come down to this notion?

That it could only be either one of them, but never both?

Why did Hallow choose to do what they did in the end?

They wished that someone could give them that answer.

They wished that this decision to make didn’t have to be theirs— but alas.

Some part of them knew what they had to do.

…

With some reluctance, though they wished they weren’t burdened with this weight,  Vessel turned away from the door.

It took a Herculean effort in itself, to tear away from something that was never there. They grasped their chest as they took the first painstaking step away.

Their footsteps felt louder than ever, as they made their move to ascend back to the realm above— still clinging to those memories bygone, ever-stubborn with their determination. They could find tomorrow, for the ones who no longer could. They would live in the present, and move beyond their self-imposed stasis.

But to the one that they were leaving behind in the past, the Vessel prayed for forgiveness.

As they travelled upward, maybe they  understood why Seer asked to be forgotten when she disappeared into Light.

Maybe, someday that would be them.

Once that happened, everything in Hallownest could truly be put to rest.

…

Maybe then, would they see Hallow again?

…

Until that time, perhaps there was still more left for them to do.

But for now, they had much to explain, perhaps.

The Stranger was awaiting them.

Or so they thought.

On arriving to Dirtmouth, they simply weren’t there. And while lacking in many respects, the Vessel wasn’t blind.

… Where were they?

Had they gotten lost somewhere on the way here?

The Vessel pondered that thought briefly as they sat at the bench that they’d long outgrown. Regardless of the bugs that were peeking at them from afar, Elderbug came to speak with them, as always— and they remained seated, as they let the wind take their thoughts away.

The wind gusted around the fading town, as it always did— and they thought to themselves idly, that the Stranger did have a rather bad sense of direction.

How many times had the Stranger gotten lost within Hallownest?

At some point, perhaps that the Vessel lost count.

But with that thought in mind, it was a wonder and a half that the Stranger had managed to find their way into Hallownest at all. It was rather funny, if anything.

…

The Vessel did not dislike the Stranger.

Looking at them, interacting with them, watching them lent to familiar fragments; bits and pieces from their memory that felt the same, but wasn’t the same. They were different, and wanted to respect that.

But to that end…

If there was one place in Hallownest that they could have gone…

… Where would it be?

They felt like they didn’t know them well enough to guess an answer. The Stranger did not have an answer to a place that they liked the most.

(Kind of like Hallow, now that they thought about it.)

So in that regard, would it be better to wait for them to arrive?

…

Well…

…

Truth be told, they had already spent much time making the other party wait on them. It would be better to receive them themselves, wouldn’t it?

Thinking that, there was a small curiousity on their part, the Vessel stood up.

Maybe the place that would have been their favorite, was somewhere they had never been yet. Maybe it was even a place, that “called for them”, even now.

And if so…

That narrowed things down.

If not the Palace Grounds, nor the Abyss…

That left only one place.

…

With a bit of melancholy hanging over them, they toyed with a nuance that the stranger conveyed some time ago. It felt funny, and even somewhat sweet.

… Maybe, they did know the Hollow Knight well, after all.

Chapter Text

Really, there was only one place they might have gone.

Such was the Vessel’s thought as they descended through the well, and traced the beaten path down the winding roads.

It led them here, once more, and again.

If they were wrong about this, they would have laughed to themselves, and gone looking for the Stranger in another place.

But that wasn’t the case.

As the Vessel walked into the long-abandoned temple, their footsteps echoed as they started their way deeper, into the chamber. The air within the Black Egg Temple was always stagnant, and many bugs stayed away from it because it held no treasure or deep truth. The legend told of the Hollow Knight who was sacrificed in this place. The Hollow Knight, who was no longer here.

Others spoke of a cold feeling that clung to the structure. They, themselves, did not bother with it because it was as much of hollow monument, whose meaning was lost to time.

They never felt the need to return to the temple. The Black Egg had dispersed. The two Gods that were kept in captivity here, were long gone.

But here, in the now, as their footsteps echoed, and the lamplight of lumaflies guided their path, they found themselves stopping at the foot of the crater that they’d caused all that time ago.

And they stared.

Ahead of them, was almost too strange to be anything other than truth.

The Stranger stood in farther towards the back of the chamber, askew from the center itself. Their nail was planted on the ground, and their left hand was resting on the guard. Their head was tilted down in thought and contemplation, but they seemed comfortable. They were relaxed, and taking in the ambience of it all.

As the Vessel approached, they shifted carefully.

The Stranger’s blue and pale cloak fluttered as they shifted, and turned to look at them. Though the cowl that they used to obscure their face set them apart from the Sibling that they knew, they wondered.

… A memory was playing out before the Vessel’s very eyes, it seemed like.

And for the first time in a long time, they wondered if they had fallen asleep on the bench while waiting, and were dreaming of this moment.

…

But of course, the overlap of memories, was only that. Something within them stirred. Maybe they were even possessed.

As the Vessel gazed at the Stranger, something inside their heart sparked, and they could not help themselves. They were starstruck by the sight, as those fragmented memories lined up. Each instance. Each moment.

Of course, they would always return to this place.

In reality.

In mind.

In dream.

And even without memory.

They could never come to understand why it was this place that held such meaning, for even Hallow’s ghost to find comfort here. This morbid and macabre place once held their coffin.

Panic seized them for a moment— The Vessel felt the urge to go forward, as a thought crossed their mind:

Did they return here to die?

…

They gazed outward. The compulsion died as they took a second look.

… No.

No, that couldn’t be.

The picture that was painted before them, was not the visage of someone looking for an end. It was unlike all the others whom they had met, who came to Hallownest. They came here, with an expressed purpose— but beyond that, was not a permanent end.

The Vessel found some comfort in this strange reality, for that reason alone. If any part of it could be true— if they weren’t just imagining all of this.

As their mind raced, the Stranger watched them. They only tilted their head, which a quiet, unspoken apology for not meeting with them at the intended location. They conveyed a feeling something close to being sorry, that they had to be found again.

But the Vessel didn’t mind that.

The Vessel straightened their posture. They took their nail off their back, and swung it to the side in challenge— and the Stranger looked on, uncomprehendingly.

The Vessel couldn’t help themselves.

Not against a sight like this.

I have a request for you.

Maybe instead of dreaming, perhaps they felt more awake than ever.

How strange, was this feeling, as the Vessel felt themselves take a step forward.

Would you take up your nail, and clash with me?

The Stranger seemed reluctant towards their request. A different memory sang to them then, and the Vessel attempted to quell their giddiness. They lowered their weapon slightly, but held it all the same.

One stroke.

And nothing more?

The Stranger asked through the void of space between them. Their muted questions painted the air— there was surprise. Worry. Peculiarity.

Why would the Ghost ask them of this?

The sentiment was presented plainly alongside the actual question itself, but the Vessel did not reply. The Stranger did not mean to ask them that question.

So they waited.

They hoped that a single stroke would be agreed with. It would be enough, just to cross blades again— they didn’t want anything more.

If the Stranger would deny this request, that would be a fine thing in itself. They knew that they were being forthwith for no reason— to earnestly ask for something like this out of the blue, was unreasonable of them.

… Of course, it went without saying that they would be disappointed if they were rejected— but they could live with that. They had learnt better to not give into childish tactics, when denied.

As they thought of that, staunch with themselves to be disciplined regardless of what the Stranger’s answer would be, they received an answer.

We spar.

A single stroke wouldn’t have been enough. The sentiment painted the air, and the Vessel didn’t want to agree, but agreed wholeheartedly in secret. They couldn’t contain their own excitement as these semblances of theirs sang out in the chamber. This would be their first real fight in a long time, perhaps.

Right now, there was one who could finally, maybe match their own strength— and more pointedly, was willing to rise up to their challenge.

They wanted to believe in that capability.

If that lingering will wasn’t fragile enough to break on its journey here— if it could carry a Delicate Flower from a land so far away, without its petals scattering to the winds…

Then surely, the Stranger wasn’t nearly as demure as they made themselves out to be?

How thrilling.

Ghost of Hallownest.

Their title being called lulled them away from that state of elation. As the Vessel watched the Stranger shift stances, they, in turn, followed suit.

The air was tense, and yet, it was not.

The Stranger’s gaze was trained on them with a pure, uninhibited focus.

Yes?

If I win, will you tell me who you are?

If you win, I might just tell you everything.

Such was their admittance and confession. In truth, maybe they were tired of keeping secrets. But from what they could tell, the Stranger didn’t entirely comprehend what it was they meant through that phrasing— and maybe it was better that way.

The Stranger didn’t seem to care about the past.

They only wanted to know more of the Vessel, and somehow, that earnest emotion imparted a semblance of warmth.

Although, certain notion crossed their mind, then.

The Vessel canted their head.

This had become a wager now, wasn’t it?

They looked on with amusement.

And what do I gain, if I win?

You gain the satisfaction of remaining undefeated.

A boring notion, they thought. They hadn’t cared about something that in a long time. The Vessel waved it off with their freehand, and produced a counter-offer.

If I win, you have to put a Rancid Egg in Midwife’s maw without getting caught.

… Who is Midwife?

If you lose, you’ll certainly find out.

As they taunted the stranger, they couldn’t help but laugh at the scandalized notion that came through the void. The Stranger seemed mollified by their reaction, but they did not ease entirely.

Both of them stood at opposite sides of the crater now, with weapons drawn.

That odd feeling stirred within them once more, as they gazed at the Stranger’s visage. They thought about how badly that they might have wanted this in the past. But in the here and now, they urged.

Don’t hold back.

As you wish.

The idea of going all out.

The idea of sparring, without the worry of needing to hold back.

How long had it been, since they had a chance to play with someone like this again?

…

Surely, if someone knew better, maybe they would have been chided for it. For being childish, or any number of things instead of being the dignified, elusive caretaker of Hallownest.

But if they gained any more adjectives like that, they would be a parody of the Grey Prince.

And if nothing else, that, would be mortifying.

As they thought about it, they parried the stranger’s lunge— nail strikes clanged and resounded within the chamber. Cloaks faded with age and wear, fluttered with every sidestep and bound. The Vessels leapt— in the words of another, they danced.

The Stranger was keeping up with them, for the most part— but neither had resorted to the use of spells. Perhaps the Stranger was waiting to see what they were capable of?

That, they could rightly oblige.

With a swell of shade, the room itself seemed to pulse as the shadows about responded to them. In a precise, controlled movement, the Vessel took initiative against the Stranger and leapt into the air—

Without their nail, their shade enveloped them for a moment, as they smashed their fist against the ground. The lamps above rattled, as the Stranger was taken aback, that they didn’t go for a direct strike.

But that wasn’t their intention.

A torrent of void erupted from where they impacted— and the subsequent cascade rushed outwards towards the Stranger, until the swell of magic swept past them like a wave.

The Vessel watched as their Shade returned to them, and wondered if they got too ahead of themselves— but as the wave dispersed, they stared at the sight before them with surprise.

The Stranger stood fast, in spite of everything. A barrier of Soul had been erected; the Stranger was in the epicenter of their own spellwork, focusing.

Particles of soul glittered in the Stranger’s eyes, as the Vessel in turn found themselves moving forward again.

The Vessel broke into a sprint as the Stranger dropped the barrier— the latter pulling their nail back, as they ran forward to meet them head on.

Another concussive wave resounded through the chamber, as the two nails crashed against one another— both opponents refusing to budge, or default.

But the Stranger gave way, suddenly— causing the Vessel to lose their balance briefly, as they understood on the next moment what the Stranger was attempting.

The Stranger swung them back. Rather than teleport into the air and stab them from above (like the Vessel was half-expecting), the Stranger swung their nail upward instead— and from above, multiple spell glyphs blossomed into existence.

Unlike the smaller blades that they had seen Hallow manifest from their right hand, this was different.

Full-sized Soul Pillars were falling from the ceiling.

—How utterly unfair.

As the Pillars began to crash towards the ground, they immediately wove through them with the use of their Shade Cloak— but they were not able to clear all of it, without being unscathed.

Void trailing with their every step as they went to close the distance— only for the Stranger to then properly plunge their nail into the ground. In response, blades of soul jutted outward violently, and towards them with great speed.

They reacted in kind by slamming their fist into the ground again— forcing the waves of Descending Dark upward to contest the display of Soul before them.

The juxtaposition was nothing short of being beautiful— But they had no time to admire it properly.

While the blades quelled the wave, it wasn’t enough to stop it entirely. The Stranger emerged from the murk, marred, yet undeterred as their cloak flared with every encroaching step.

The Vessel ran out to meet them with the nail poised. The Stranger likely didn’t have much Soul to spend left, but neither did they. But judging the amount of flaring soul, were they going to do something flashy again?

It was an exhilarating prospect, and one that they couldn’t help but want to meet head on.

As the Vessel’s shade began to envelope anew, they began to open their maw; the shadows in the chamber pulsed from the ensuing shriek. At the exact same time, towering spellwork began to raise from the ground itself, as a song began to bell.

The two of them met each others’ gaze in that moment.

There was a synchronized breath, as Void and Soul exploded.

Eventually, light died down.

Darkness ebbed away.

Both Vessel and Stranger stood before each other— the former hovering their nail’s edge at the side of the Stranger’s neck, and the latter holding their nail below the Vessel’s chin.

Particles of both blipped in and out of existence, as the residual power thrummed.

Neither of them moved.

The Vessel gazed at the other’s face, though the threat of being skewered was still present. They were trying not to make their movements obvious, but the Stranger was surely worse for wear.

But all things considered, they were too.

… In spite of that, they still felt content. Their heart was lighter than it had felt in ages, perhaps.

But the verdict was in plain sight— and memories came to them anew, in a stream.

Memories of their Sibling bubbled, and welled.

They remembered that painstaking process of how long it took, for their Sibling to desire life. They remembered those fond days where Hallow learned to laugh. Those difficult days when they were hurting. They recalled those brightly shining moments, and the mundanity that they wished could have lasted forever.

But it was in the past, now.

All tragedy was erased.

Even if they didn’t remember, they still knew. Just like how Quirrel knew things, before.

…

Conversely, the Vessel remembered the things that their sibling told them. The things that they might never recall. They thought about those things a lot, to varying effect.

With this situation in the here and now, they remembered often that in their youth, they were often insistent that they had to be right. That they had to do certain things to get what they wanted.

But at present, they felt oddly content.

…

Once upon a time, their Sibling told them that not choosing was an choice in itself— or back then, hadn’t they been the first one to assert that?

How strange was it, that such an innocent thing they said, had taken a life of its own.

Considering the topic at hand, and the topic back then of who was older or younger, who was stronger or weaker— they never understood why their beloved sibling refused to answer.

In all honesty, it was likely that they couldn’t have understood, up until this very moment. That those things did not meant nearly as much as they thought they did.

But, for it to take this long for them to understand—

They wished Hallow was still around to laugh at them.

… But, they could laugh at themselves, for them. They could cry later, for taking this long to catch up. Even though they were told not to chase after them, even now, even after all this time—

It was different, and still the same.

After all, the thing that they both wanted in the end was…

…

The Vessel’s gaze softened. Though they both remained unmoving in their current stalemate, the Vessel reached out through that tenuous connection. The Stranger acknowledged them through that shared void, and plainly, with a slight lift of their head.

The Vessel asserted clearly—

A draw.

There was a palpable pause.

As the Stranger caught their breath, they eventually lowered their nail, and planted the tip on the ground. The Vessel followed suit after by sheathing their blade, and awaited the answer with bated breath.

The Stranger, finally, nodded in agreement.

A draw it is.

Chapter Text

A draw.

A result that they weren’t quite expecting, but this was fine in itself. To able to match the Ghost of Hallownest, and be acknowledged in some regard gave them a muted sense of elation, and shared respect.

Even as both of their nails were put away, that feeling lingered. It went without saying that they were more than a bit run ragged from the fight itself, however. Their cloak was singed from the repeated torrents of magic, and their cowl was falling from their horns loosely. As they moved their only hand to adjust it, they caught the Ghost glancing at them, as if watching to see what they would do. They paused, then.

Rather than make any comment, the Ghost sighed, and sat down by the edge of the crater. Their nail scraped against the cracked ground. They adjusted their cloak carefully. But once they made themselves comfortable, they beckoned; it was a quiet invitation for them to join, if they wanted.

The Stranger accepted.

There was no sight to look outward to, like the Blue Lake. But compared to before, the Ghost looked oddly relaxed. Their posture was no longer strained, and at this instance, it didn’t seem like they were putting on airs.

It was a curious thing.

The comfortable silence between them stretched on for a time, as they reflected on what just happened. While they couldn’t claim to feel the same level of exhilaration or excitement  that was present through the channel throughout points of the battle, the Stranger felt… proud of themselves. They held their own against the Ghost of Hallownest.

And with how things were now, it almost felt like the Ghost was regarding them as an equal.

…

… It felt good to be acknowledged.

They continued to sit there comfortably, until Stranger felt the ripple of soul within them.

With a pause, they lifted their left hand out of their cloak to focus. This act garnered the Ghost of Hallownest’s attention, and pointedly, they stopped— and considered. With a glance to the other, the Stranger canted their head.

Are you hurt?

Not really.

The Ghost’s response was casual and not at all accurate.

They were certain that they had managed to take the Ghost off kilter at several points during the fight— But of course, the same could be said of them. That darkness that the Ghost summoned a second time nearly buffeted them. If they didn’t manage to take the Ghost by surprise earlier on with their ploy, they were certain that they would have left an imprint of their own in this place; a crater of their silhouette would have been a remarkable addition, if any.

As they attempted to imagine the sight, they glanced to the Ghost of Hallownest as they saw movement in their peripherals. The Ghost’s shoulders were shaking in muted laughter, as if they were trying to restrain themselves. Joy dotted the air itself, as motes of dust began to settle.

The Stranger sighed with a slight chuckle of their own. They would have to be more mindful of themselves in the future, to not unintentionally share their thoughts.

… But it was a funny prospect, indeed.

And you?

The Ghost asked, after a moment.

Are you well?

I am no more worse for wear, than you.

To that, the Ghost hummed with amusement.

A trip to a hot spring might be in order, after this.

Perhaps.

But first…

The Ghost started, as they lifted their head up. They met the Stranger’s gaze briefly, and seemed to internally deliberate with themselves. The contemplation echoed in the chamber, but the content matter remained a mystery.

The Ghost was thinking carefully, they observed.  

Do you know what this place is?

No.

I saw it some time ago, during my first descent into the Kingdom, this accompanied by two others.

Such was their admission. Some part of them was worried that they had stumbled into another place that they weren’t supposed to be in, but the Ghost’s reaction did not make them assume it so. They seemed understanding.

The Stranger continued.

This is my first time being inside this place in proper, but I did not expect it to be… empty.

It wasn’t always.

But now, it might be for the better, that it is.

The Ghost recounted, with a certain sentiment clinging to their words. All at once, notions began sparking to life here and there; in the emptiness around them, a story began to unfold.

A long time ago, there was a time where Gods ruled this land.

Lights flourished; some shone so brightly that bugs came into existence to worship them. Others came from afar to create civilization anew, and attempted to elevate existence to new heights—

But, those same Gods could not tolerate one another.

I don’t really understand it myself, but the truth is this— they drove each other to ruin.

A cold statement, and a harsh truth. Though they wanted to press what the Ghost meant, they had already willfully admitted that they didn’t understand it.

And that, didn’t feel like a lie.

Hallownest was born that way— the last of a long line of usurpation.

I can’t claim to entirely know what Hallownest was like back then, because I was never here during that age.

I wonder about it sometimes, but it’s all been lost to time.

There are some things I’ll never know, but I’ve made my peace with that.

But for one reason or another, Hallownest was abandoned by its creators.

Surprisingly, the Ghost didn’t seem to sure of themselves with that statement.

They couldn’t fathom why.

Like you, a long, long time ago, I came here because someone called— and by then, Hallownest was already in ruins.

It was already a shell of its former self, still clinging to the stasis it was left in, though well-past the point of crumbling.

This was a Kingdom meant to last eternal.

…

… How odd.

Up until that last statement, again, it almost felt as if the Ghost was talking about someone, and not of a Kingdom. It evoked an odd emotion in them, and they couldn’t help but wonder.

They decided to express that curiousity.

What does this kingdom’s past have to do with you, Ghost of Hallownest?

Was the Ghost of Hallownest a God, like those other bugs said?

They had wanted to question it outright, but something like that, they felt, would only complicate things.

But this question of theirs, seemed to weigh heavily on the Ghost’s mind. 

Eventually, they finally answered.

A ghost is something left behind.

A ghost is something that lingers, haunts, and wanders, until its purpose is fulfilled.

I am what was left behind in its wake when it ascended.

I am a ghost of Hallownest’s past— but in my eyes, you are a ghost in your own right.

And why, pray tell?

The other didn’t answer immediately.

They only kept to themselves in an odd, but almost nostalgic fashion—

But unfailingly, they answered.

You remind me of someone I cared for, very much.

They finally admitted.

With the confession, it seemed like a weight of a kind was lifted from their shoulders. … Had they been burdened with that for all this time?

As the Stranger pondered, the Ghost went on, apologetically.

Do forgive me if you should dislike that.

They dipped their head slightly, as they turned towards them.

… Would you?

No.

I take no offense.

I see.

I’m glad.

Their relieved sigh was audible. It seemed that they had been worried over their treatment of the Stranger, when they had been nothing but accommodating.

How strange.

Had something happened to the ‘someone’ whom they reminded the Ghost of?

…

… If I may ask.

What was that person like?

It’s hard to say.

At some point, maybe I thought the world of them.

The Ghost laughed quietly again, almost self-deprecatingly so. A tinge of regret stained the notion, as they lowered their head.

I can only hope that they knew that.

Incredible.

Given that the Ghost cared that much, someone would have to be stupid to not understand or recognize such a sentiment— but that was neither here, or there.

If the Ghost was reminded of that person with their presence, they would have to take great care not to betray that. But that could already be achieved with the understanding of this simple fact.

Though, it made them wonder. Did they want to continue staying with the Ghost? Surely it would be inconveniencing to them.

But at present, they didn’t really know if there was anywhere else they would rather be.

After all…

There was one question, that they at least wanted answered.

Ghost of Hallownest.

They called.

The aforementioned individual regarded them, with a tilt of their head.

What is it?

Why is it that you are the only one who I’ve met, until now, that can hear me?

A thought was mulled, then.

One that held a steady debate with itself, before the Ghost physically looked over at the other with a semblance of uncertainty. Not for the fact the Ghost didn’t know the answer, but more tellingly, it seemed as if they didn’t know what to say.

They were at a loss for words— but was it due to the fact that they were amused?

You haven’t figured it out yet?

Was it that obvious?

They had no idea what that meant.

The Stranger shook their head, and decided to press.

Tell me.

Again, the Ghost laughed quietly.

They lowered their head.

It was then, they realized that the Ghost always bore a signature of their own, but it was nearly imperceptible, and had been, until this moment.

It sounded like the clinking of piano keys.

The Ghost was holding onto a certain refrain; one that held a muted melancholy, as it went through its repeated notions over and over in search for a conclusion.

It was a melody that was unlike anything they heard, as it was faintly joined by many, and none.

It was white noise.

It was wind.

It was the sum of many things— and it was finally ending.

You and I are siblings.

That declaration held a certain depth that the Stranger couldn’t ever claim to know, even if they understood its meaning and definition.

Some part of them found it all far-fetched, but the fact of the matter is that this explained the Ghost’s extended patience towards them. Their own heart felt a bit lighter, however, as they considered that their wayward quest wasn't all for nothing. While they didn't understand their own motive in coming to Hallownest outside of being called, they found, that this was surely where they wanted to be.

Still. To have a sibling in a world where they thought themselves to be alone. They wondered what the Ghost was thinking, for all that time while they were unaware of that pearl of truth. Could it really be true?

But paradoxically, with the Ghost’s assertion, there was another note in that shared emptiness that only the two of them could know. Was there something calling them, again?

They turned to stare at the Ghost uncomprehendingly— and stopped.

…?

And then, the Stranger finally saw it, where there should have been nothing.

Behind the Ghost, sat something with a striking resemblance to them.

The apparition sat just off to the side, and was somewhat bigger in stature, though it had quite the prominent slouch. It wore a pale cloak, and its massive horns bore three prominent prongs. Minute black and white particles flickered from its figure. The Ghost nearly eclipsed it with their own presence— but had it always been there?

It looked like a ‘sibling’.

It looked like…

…

While the Stranger stared and tried to parse what it was that they were seeing, on their own, the Ghost raised their head and clasped their hand over their chest. It was a habit that they had seen the Ghost do often, and this instant was no different— and yet, it was.

The Ghost shifted just enough for the Stranger to notice a marred, Delicate Flower held in the Being’s pale right hand.

But as they noticed it, it noticed them too— and for a moment, the world deafened itself.

Everything fell silent.

It was as if time itself had stopped.

With nary a sound, It only met their gaze.

—It softly canted its head, and offered a content look.

Was the answer not what you were seeking?

The Ghost’s question pulled them back to reality.

It was completely blindsiding, and it broke the gentle silence that they had found themselves enraptured with. Sound immediately returned all at once; the Stranger had only paused to glance at the Ghost, but when they looked back, it was gone.

It was there for a moment, and then it was gone.

…

As the Stranger stared at the spot absentmindedly, the Ghost mentally poked at them for an answer. The latter canted their head curiously.

In turn, the Stranger shook their head.

No.

It isn’t that.

Then what is it?

The Stranger considered the Ghost’s question carefully. As they thought of the bugs they met very briefly, and what discoveries they had made since their arrival to Hallownest, they found themselves wondering about the reality before them. It didn't seem as if the Ghost was aware of this, at all.

So when the Ghost asserted their sentiment again, The Sibling shook their head in response. What were they to do, in this instance?

It was then, they quietly decided, that they could keep a secret of their own.

It’s nothing.