Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The Pure Nail.

He’s done it. He’s made it. The most powerful and durable nail that can ever be forged.

The Pure Nail, made from pale ore, the mysterious colorless metal that permeates the air with an icy chill. Despite having hammered away at the nail to forge and shape it, his hands don’t feel any warmth from the blade. He stares at the intricate marks and grooves throughout the weapon. He made those marks, those details, those swirls. It was his hands that etched thought and meaning into them, but now he was tracing the metal as if he’d never seen it before.

The Nailsmith looks at the bug standing beside him. They’re a small bug, with eyes as big and as hollow as an inky dark abyss. He calls them The Knight, although he’s never learned their real name. He doesn’t so much as know the sound of their voice, as they’ve never spoken. Even among the silent types The Nailsmith has made weapons for, this bug truly makes no sound. Even without talking, bugs make a plethora of noises, whether that be from them sighing, humming, groaning, or hell even breathing, there’s always something.

But this is the first bug The Nailsmith has ever met to be completely silent.

The Nailsmith calls this strange bug The Knight because, well, that’s what they seemed to be. When he first met them, The Knight walked into his hut with a nail by their side, (a rather ugly and horribly damaged nail at that,) and although they lacked the words to do so, they asked him to repair their nail.

Customers were hard to come by these days. Even if there were many still wandering around Hallownest, they most likely weren’t aware his hut even existed, much less that The Nailsmith inside was still alive. So needless to say, he was rather surprised to have a new visitor. He accepted their request, repairing the nail with a price. Even though the use for geo had become near obsolete, that didn’t mean he was going to take work for free.

The Knight had shown up a few more times after that, getting their nail upgraded and becoming more confident with it. The Nailsmith, always alone with his thoughts, couldn’t help but wonder where the small bug went time and time again. They would be gone for long stretches of time and would always return with their cloak in worse condition. The Nailsmith didn’t worry much though, as long as the bug carried a nail made by him, he was confident they’d prevail in any dangerous encounter.

The Nailsmith snaps out of his thoughts. He sees The Knight, looking at the Pure Nail expectantly, and wonders what they think of his work. If they’re happy, the Nailsmith can’t tell. The Knight wears no expression on their face and never has. He gives them back their nail, almost hesitantly, almost eager to get it out of their possession.

“Well, there you are. A Pure Nail just as requested.” The Nailsmith’s casual tone does nothing to portray the overwhelming amount of emotions he’s feeling. That nail is the culmination of his life’s work, the centerpiece to his life itself. It’s a representation of all he’s studied, the countless nails he deemed failures, the countless nails he sold to travelers. That Pure Nail not only marks the peak of his career as a nailsmith, but the end of it as well.

The Knight holds out their tiny hands and takes back their sword. The perfect weight of the metal is shown by how easily The Knight sheathes it despite their small size.

“You know, I never thought this day would come,” The Nailsmith talks to mostly himself. He can see The Knight take interest in his words as they lean in and tilt their head ever so slightly. “With pale ore so hard to come by, especially nowadays, I figured I’d never be complete.”

The Knight does not comment.

The Nailsmith stands up, his breathing suddenly becoming heavy. He avoids The Knight’s gaze, although he can feel it as if it’s boring holes into his shell. “Excuse me, I must step outside for a moment.”

Without further explanation, he rushes out of the hut. When The Knight follows him, they see him standing on the cliff just outside. From there, The Nailsmith can see the entrance to the city, below him roams only a handful of bugs with the fatal orange glint in their eyes. As The Knight approaches they pass many nails stuck up in the ground, almost as if they were put there to mark territory.

From where the two stand, the weeping of the city cannot be heard, only the few groans of the infected bugs below. The water just under the stone is deathly still and silent.

“With the Pure Nail forged, my life’s work has come to an end.” The Nailsmith starts when he’s sure The Knight is behind him. “My only remaining desire is to feel its strike firsthand.”

The Knight does not comment.

“I beg you, cut me down. I’ve wanted nothing more than to feel its edge slice through my shell.” The Nailsmith doesn’t look back at the small bug behind him, he doesn’t look at anything. His eyes are peacefully shut, as if recalling a pleasant memory. “After all this time, all this toil… haven’t I earned it?”

Although it’s come sooner than expected, the end is here. The Nailsmith couldn’t imagine himself dying any other way. Being taken by the infection has to be the worst way, while passing of age in his hut is almost just as repulsing. At least here when he falls, he’ll feel the wind in his beard. He’ll feel the razor sharp pain on his back, showing him just how great of a nailsmith he is. He’ll land into the cold water with a splash and sink to the bottom, to be washed away and forgotten. He’ll be remembered only by those who he serviced. He’ll live on in the nails he forged.

After a moment of silence, the Nailsmith can hear The Knight unsheath their sword. Happiness swells throughout The Nailsmith’s shell.

But when the nail goes through him, there’s no pain, no wound, no nothing. He barely felt anything, only the sensation of a light breeze. He turns around, confused, seeing that it was in fact the Pure Nail he had just been hit with.

Unbenounced to him, The Knight had used their Dream Nail instead. They looked directly at the Nailsmith with the same blank expression they always did, but for some reason, the Nailsmith thought they were checking for something.

Usually, when The Knight used their Dream Nail on bugs, they were able to get a glimpse of their hopes and dreams, their current train of thought, or maybe their deteriorating mental state. But when they looked up at the Nailsmith there was nothing, not even the faintest glimpse of a dream of any kind.

Just… blank.

Then, without any explanation, The Knight bowed to him and turned to leave, sheathing their sword yet again.

“What the- hey wait! Where are you going?!” The Nailsmith called out. “Strike me!”

The Knight didn’t seem to hear him, as they kept walking without even the faintest flinch.

“Come back!” he called again, growing desperate. “Come back!”

The Knight disappeared out of view and a moment later they could be seen from the cliff making their way to the city, defeating enemies with their newly crafted nail.

Even when The Knight disappeared out of view, The Nailsmith couldn't stop from staring in disbelief.

They left.

They just left.

He didn’t know how long he stood there for, maybe minutes, maybe hours. The whole time there was only one thought on his mind.

What now?

The Nailsmith went back inside his hut, passing the copious amounts of nails stuck in the ground and scattered inside. At his desk, he picked up his hammer and examined it as if it had changed since he last held it. It was exactly the same, but the thought of forging another weapon made him frown. He was done, done with blacksmithing, done with nails. He had imagined and envisioned the way things should have ended his whole life, so why did they walk away?

Filled with rage and frustration, The Nailsmith threw the hammer out of his hands and aimed at the wall. A shelf broke and fell apart, nails clattered and scattered on the ground. Everything in his immediate line of sight was either thrown or thrashed, by the time he was done, the hut looked as if a tornado had gone through it. Breathing heavily he collapsed to the ground, covering his face in his hands.

He had fulfilled his purpose, he did all the work, he did everything right. There’s no other job he’s good at, he earned his end.

Why didn’t The Knight see that?

Still lost, The Nailsmith packs a bag. He fills it with food and water and picks up a nail when he steps outside. When he stares at the nail, he considers, just for a moment, if it’d be worth it to end things with it. It wasn’t Pure but-

No. It loses all meaning if the nail isn’t the Pure Nail he crafted.

The Nailsmith takes his bag and leaves without another thought, shutting the door with a thud.

He’s going to find The Knight, he’s going to find his Pure Nail, and he is going to die.

Chapter Text

The Nailsmith had no idea where The Knight had gone. Hell, he didn’t know how long it had been since they left his hut. But that didn’t stop him from having ideas.

The first place to check would obviously be the city, the problem is that he had no real way of searching it in a timely manner. The Nailsmith was a bug who sat at his desk all day, not an explorer like The Knight seemed to be. It would take him an hour to search a place that would take The Knight five minutes, but it wasn’t as if there were any other options, so on The Nailsmith went searching for a small bug in a large city.

The Nailsmith couldn’t remember the last time he left his hut. He also found himself getting lost in the city he used to be so familiar with. The residents of the city weren’t helping him much either, as he got to experience how dangerous infected bugs truly were. He wasn’t even sure why he took a nail with him. Even though he was a nailsmith, he never learned how to use a nail, and there was no way he was going to risk getting close to infected bugs, especially since just a drop of orange goop could send his mind into a cloudy haze until the end of time. He ended up running away from all dangerous encounters. He found that despite his age and how out of shape he was, he could run quite fast when his life was on the line.

After searching aimlessly for what felt like an eternity, he made his way to the elevators. Careful not to alert any husks, he moved slowly and quietly as he pushed the lever to go up. He searched each stop, still unable to find The Knight, and stopped at a familiar-looking signpost.

Just ahead of him was The Relic Seeker’s shop, a shop that he passed many times when the city was much safer to travel through. He wasn’t sure if the Relic Seeker knew who he was, he had never stepped inside before, but he had a hunch that he might know where The Knight had gone to. With how much exploring the little bug gets up to, they’re sure to have collected many relics, and where else would they sell their relics to than the only remaining relic seeker in Hallownest. Taking in a deep breath, The Nailsmith walked into the shop, almost surprised to see that the Relic Seeker was actually there.

The store was packed to the brim with ancient items: journals, crests, seals, everything. They all decorated the shelves in varying conditions. For a moment, The Nailsmith wondered why a bug would need anymore relics when they already have this much, but he then remembered the unreasonable amount of nails he stored in his own home and quickly stopped his judgemental train of thought.

“Ah, a new face,” The Relic Seeker looked up at The Nailsmith with interest. “I don’t get many of those anymore. Do you have any relics for me to buy?”

“Unfortunately not,” The Nailsmith immediately saw The Relic Seeker’s interest in the conversation drop. “I actually came to ask you something. Has a small bug come through here? They’re a small thing, about this tall. They wear a blue cloak.”

The Relic Seeker’s interest has peaked again. “Oh, that little runt? Yeah, I’ve seen them. They came by not that long ago to sell me a few things.”

“Do you know where they went?”

“No,” The Relic Seeker said in a way that made it sound like it should be obvious. “I never know where that little thing runs off too. They could be on the other side of Hallownest for all I know.”

The other side of Hallownest? Surely a bug that small wouldn't be able to travel that far in such a short amount of time, right?

“I see,” is all The Nailsmith said.

“Why do you want to know where they are?” The Relic Seeker asked. “Did they steal something from you?”

“Something like that.” he muttered. “I forged them a nail, and they left without delivering me the proper price.”

“A nail? Ah, so you’re the nailsmith! I pointed the little guy in your direction, wasn’t sure you were still… you know.”

Alive.

“Same here.”

—

How long The Nailsmith had been on the road, he did not know. What he did know was that he was making slow progress.

He knew to search through the safer parts of Hallownest as much as he could, so after making sure he searched the entirety of The City of Tears, he made his way to The Forgotten Crossroads. This wasn’t to say that the Crossroads were safe, far from it. This place might have been worse than the city with how some of the husks would charge at you and explode. Yes, explode. Somehow though, The Nailsmith lived to tell the tale of the many caverns of the forgotten land.

The Nailsmith couldn’t remember the last time he’d left the city, even before the infection started to spread. He found he had vague memories of the roads he now traveled, the fossils that lined the dirt and stone seemed familiar and strange at the same time. After a while, he made his way to the highest point of the Crossroads. There he found a chain hanging completely still. Light poured from the opening it came from and curious of where it led to, The Nailsmith climbed to the top.

It was thankfully not a long climb, although that didn’t stop The Nailsmith from feeling exhausted once he reached the top. He found that he had crawled out of an old well, and looking around he noticed a small town just a few paces away.

Dirtmouth. The Nailsmith had forgotten the town existed, and looking at it he could see why. It was the smallest settlement in all of Hallownest, the only settlement to be above ground. Surely the place was much livelier in its glory days, but as if now, it resembled nothing more than a dusty memory.

Even so, the town didn’t look to be abandoned. The street lamps still had lumaflys fluttering about, and a few of the buildings had their lights on. The Nailsmith made his way towards the town, perhaps a bug here knew about The Knight’s wearabouts.

“Greetings traveler,” an old bug spoke to The Nailsmith as he approached. “What brings you to Dirtmouth?”

“I’m looking for a bug,” no point in friendly banter, best to get right to the point. The Nailsmith described The Knight to him. The old bug seemed to understand the description right away.

“I believe you’re talking about Ghost,” the old bug said with a nod.

“Their name is Ghost?”

“Oh no, that’s just what I like to call them. When I first saw them I thought they were a ghost, completely silent and mysterious. They seem to quite like the nickname.”

“So you’ve met them then, do you have any idea where they are now?”

“Why so eager, young man? I’m sure they’ll turn up eventually, they always do. Although, it doesn’t stop me from worrying about them.”

“They have something that I need as soon as possible,” The Nailsmith explained. “When will they be back?”

The old bug thought for a moment. “I’m afraid I don’t know. Ghost is quite unpredictable, but I’m sure if you’ve encountered them you’re well aware of that. I’m sure they’ll be back eventually. You could stay in town until they return if you’d like, there are many empty houses you could choose from.”

Stay in Dirtmouth? It would make sense, The Knight probably makes their rounds through here often, it’d only be a matter of time until they showed up, the problem is how long. The Nailsmith couldn’t imagine spending days or weeks sitting around and doing nothing but waiting. It would do nothing less than drive him mad.

“I appreciate the offer, but I’ll have to pass,” The Nailsmith turned to leave, not missing the look of disappointment on the old bug’s face.

Before going back into the Crossroads, The Nailsmith made sure to ask the other bugs in Dirtmouth about The Knight. They all gave answers similar to the old bug and The Relic Seeker, none of them having a clue. The only upside to his visit into town was that he was able to restock his supplies and obtain a few maps.

—

The Nailsmith’s next stop was Greenpath. Slightly more dangerous than the Crossroads, but still safer than the other areas. He didn’t know what he would do if he did have to end up searching a dangerous part of Hallownest, but he supposed he’d cross that bridge when he got there.

The air was humid and thick in Greenpath, which was not something The Nailsmith was used to. He was glad it was warm here at least. The rainwater from the city sucked the heat out of anything it touched, and the Crossroads and Dirthmouth both had a familiar chill that swept through them from time to time.

He found himself tripping over leaves and vines so much that it became an annoyance, he got poked and stabbed by too many sharp thorns to count, and he screamed many times while being chased by what seemed to be giant bushes. Needless to say, he was not having fun. But the thought of getting his nail back motivated The Nailsmith to push through the pain and discomfort and venture deeper into the region.

Eventually, he made his way to what seemed to be the bottom of Greenpath. He found himself in a strange location. Ahead of him was a large pit, broken only by the occasional platform and a large spiked flying bug. He noticed pink crystals were stuck to the edge of the cliff, similar to the crystals of Crystal Peak, though he thought nothing of it.

A sound from above caused him to look up. There was a hole, seemingly leading to the source of the noise which resembled muffled speech. It would be in his best interests to try to investigate the noise, especially if it turned out to be another bug to ask about The Knight, (although at this point, he doubted any bug would give him any helpful information.)

Avoiding the thorns and jumping as high as he could, The Nailsmith was able to grab onto the wall and climb up to the top, which turned out to be quite the workout. He collapsed on the solid horizontal ground for a few moments to catch his breath before looking around. He found himself lying in front of a house made of metal. Thorn filled vines tightly encased the house as if it would try to get away. A bench was just beside him, covered in what seemed to be an old purple cloak, and the door to the home, which was wide open, seemed to be made up of many nails.

The Nailsmith considered turning back for a moment, this didn’t seem like the kind of home a friendly bug would reside in, but turning back would mean that his climb had been for nothing, so he braced himself.

Slowly he stood up, brushing the dirt from his shell, and made his way to the open door. He could see inside just fine. His eyes instantly landed on the large bug in the center, their back was turned and seemingly busy. The bug spoke to themselves, muttering somethings that The Nailsmith couldn’t decipher.

Taking in a deep breath, The Nailsmith knocked.

The bug inside stopped what they were doing immediately, jumping slightly. They turned around, startled, but relaxed when they saw The Nailsmith.

“Oh, a visitor! My apologies for having my back turned, it’s not often I see a fellow bug.”

“That’s alright,” The Nailsmith was starting to feel uncomfortable, but the quicker he asked his question the quicker he could leave this bug alone. “I just wanted to ask if you’d seen a bug I’m looking for.” The Nailsmith described The Knight for what felt like the thousandth time, the large bug smiled at the familiarity.

“You’re referring to The Little One are you not? A mysterious one they are, you’ll have trouble looking for them, that’s for sure. Is there something you need them for?”

The Nailsmith had grown tired of this same line of questioning every time he asked about The Knight. “Yes, but if you don’t know where they are, then I’d best get back to looking for them. Sorry to bother you.” He couldn’t afford to waste time. He’d go back and search the remainder of Greenpath, and find someplace to rest while he’s at it.

The large bug studied the newcomer. This was a strange encounter to say the least. He hadn’t seen a new face (besides The Little One) ever since he secluded himself away at the bottom of Greenpath. And for this new face to simply walk away just like that was even stranger.

He took note of the newcomer’s appearance, their disheveled beard, the exhaustion in their eyes, the way they held a nail loosely in their hand, clearly showing that they had no intention (or maybe knowledge) of using it properly. The large bug couldn’t help but feel a tad worried, how much longer could a bug like that keep going? He also couldn’t help but wonder what business they had with The Little One. Did they get into trouble with this bug?

“Traveler,” the large bug called out to the newcomer, stopping him before he could get far. “You seem quite tired, would you like to rest here for a while? It’s been quite some time since I’ve had company.”

The Nailsmith stopped and considered this. His first instinct was to say no, he didn’t want to burden a stranger with his presence, and he wasn’t quite sure he trusted them either. That being said, he thought about what it would be like trying to find a place to rest in this humid region, how uncomfortable and dangerous it could be. He already had tested his luck sleeping in abandoned caves in the Crossroads and had a few close calls, he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t worried his luck would run out here.

“Are you sure?” The Nailsmith asked after a pause. “I wouldn’t want to burden you.”

“Of course! Why don’t you come on in?”

Hesitantly, The Nailsmith made his way into the large bug’s home. There was a lot more space than what it looked like on the outside. In every section of the house were either sculptures, canvases, or supplies to make either of the two.

“I apologize for the mess. Oh, do watch your step,” the large bug said as he led the way inside. “Go ahead and make yourself at home, I’ll fetch us some tea.”

The Nailsmith stood around awkwardly for a few moments before making his way over to the couch. He set his things on the ground right next to him as he continued to examine the home. He stared at the many stacks of paintings. The Nailsmith was never very interested in buying or collecting art, he always saw it as a waste of geo, but looking at these paintings brought him close to changing his mind. Just beside the stacks, The Nailsmith noticed, were giant nails, all seemingly old and covered in dust. He wondered for a moment if it would be rude to examine them closer, but The Nailsmith ultimately decided to stay put.

“So, what might your name be, traveler?” the large bug spoke with a smile. He was in the kitchen, wiping away dust and junk to get to his kettle. With how much disarray the house was, The Nailsmith wouldn’t have been too surprised if the tap wasn’t working either, but it did, having the sound of water hitting metal fill the room. “My name is Sheo.”

Sheo? The name sounds familiar, but The Nailsmith can’t remember where he’s heard it before.

“I’m known as The Nailsmith,” he answers, looking at Sheo for his reaction.

Sheo nods slightly as he puts the kettle on the stove and lights the fire underneath. “Nailsmith… Ah, so you’re the bug who’s been supplying The Little One with their nails. I have to say I’m a fan of your work, each of your nails are stronger than the last.”

“Oh, thanks.” The Nailsmith wasn't used to receiving compliments, the most he usually got was a muttered thanks while his customer paid him. He felt himself blush. “Those nails aren’t much though.”

“Aren’t much? Nailsmith, don’t be so humble. I can recognise a good nail when I see it.”

The Nailsmith’s blush only grew, not helping how uncomfortable and awkward he felt in the moment. “You don’t seem like the type of bug to be familiar with nails,” The Nailsmith couldn’t help but notice the paint-stained apron Sheo was wearing, nor the kind, yet, tired expression on their face. Surely a bug this laid back wouldn’t have the heart to raise a nail.

“I suppose I don’t look it,” Sheo said with a smile, “but I used to be a knight.”

“Really?” The Nailsmith couldn’t stop the skepticism from leaking out of his voice.

“Yes, although it’s something I would like to keep in the past. Swinging a nail around hasn’t appealed to me in many years.”

It was then that The Nailsmith looked at what was under the dirty apron Sheo was wearing. Hints of a reddish shell with a headband of the same shade, a blue cloak that fell to the floor, his large sturdy body, the three horns on top of his head that resembled a crown. Now he remembered why the name Sheo was so familiar to him, how did he ever forget?

“Wait, are you... Nailmaster Sheo?”

Sheo nodded. “Yes I am, but don’t look at me like that. I don’t go by that title anymore.”

Without a second thought, The Nailsmith stood and bowed. Nailmaster Sheo, his brothers, and their master were all legends! Gods even! How he managed to stumble into one was a mystery by itself, but said Nailmaster had invited him inside his home!

“I deeply apologize for being so rude to you, sir.” The Nailsmith said, eyes glued to the floor. “I hope you can find it in your heart to forgive me.”

“Oh, do sit back down,” Sheo said, somewhat uncomfortable. “There’s no need for bowing.”

The Nailsmith did as he was told, but Sheo’s words didn’t stop him from seeing him differently. Right in front of his eyes was a legendary Nailmaster, a bug who was talked about with respect and power, and he wanted to forget that part of his life? He wanted to stay in this house locked away at the bottom of Greenpath? The Nailsmith couldn’t understand it.

The kettle squealed as the water came to a boil. “Would you like your tea sweetened?” Sheo asked.

“No thank you.”

After making The Nailsmith’s cup, Sheo made his own. The Nailsmith looked on as he watched him fill his cup with way too much sugar.

“Here you are,” Sheo said as he brought The Nailsmith his cup and took a seat next to him.

The Nailsmith gratefully took the cup of tea, staring into the drink as if it held the secrets of the universe.

Sheo smiled, “It’s just a cup of tea. There’s no need to look at it like that.”

“Oh, right. Sorry.” The Nailsmith took a sip, the warm drink filling his senses with a relaxed sensation. He felt his nerves calm and his muscles relax, he hadn’t realized he’d been so tense until now.

“You also don’t need to apologize.”

“Sorry. I mean, hmm.” The Nailsmith quickly turned away and shut his mouth before he could embarrass himself further.

“I suppose you’re wondering why I’m no longer a Nailmaster,” Sheo said after taking a sip of his tea.

The Nailsmith nodded, still refusing to make eye contact.

“Put simply, I grew tired of it.”

“But how? You’re a legend, even to this day! How could you get tired of that?” The Nailsmith hadn’t meant to raise his voice, nor sound angry, but that’s how it came out.

“I was very involved in my training when I was younger,” Sheo continued, “back then you could say I was even more dedicated than my brothers. But as my skills grew, picking up my nail started to feel less and less special. I wasn’t able to improve for a long time after that, and I soon realized that being so obsessed with the nail for so long had made me blind to the rest of life’s beauties. So I stopped, I made my home here and now I spend my days painting and sculpting and I must say, it’s the best decision I ever made.”

“But how did your passion die out?” The Nailsmith still couldn’t understand. He heard the words the Nailmaster was saying but he couldn’t understand them.

“I’m not sure, but I suppose anyone can get tired of anything if they have too much of it. Why, if I don’t keep myself in check, I’ll go into a deep art block that’s a pain to get out of. Even so, it’s not as if being a painter is very different from being a Nailmaster.”

“Are you sure?” The Nailsmith could think of many reasons as to how those two things are completely different.

Sheo nodded. “They’re both artists are they not? The art of the nail and the art of the brush, both of which demands creativity and hard labor from the artist. No two paintings will ever look the same, much like how two nail arts will ever be the same. Do you not agree Nailsmith? Even as an artist yourself?”

“Well, I suppose you have a point. But I never really thought of myself as an artist before.”

“But without a doubt, that’s what you are. The forging of a nail is very similar to sculpting, you shape and mold an object into something with infinitely more value and use. That’s a skill that takes a dedicated, creative, and patient mind.”

“Again with the compliments,” The Nailsmith muttered, looking away to try and hide his blush.

“I’m just stating the facts,” Sheo said innocently. “But I can drop the subject if you feel uncomfortable. It’s getting quite late anyway, how about I try and find a blanket and a pillow for you? You must be quite tired, I apologize for keeping you awake.”

Without leaving a chance for The Nailsmith to interject or say anything, Sheo got up and started to search for the items. He could hear him muttering to himself all the while, declaring certain fabrics too dirty or pillows too worn.

“Here you are, Nailsmith. Sorry that they’re a bit dusty.” Sheo handed The Nailsmith an old pillow that had been repaired multiple times with clashing fabrics, and an old cloak with many tears at the ends.

The Nailsmith took the items. “That’s alright. I really should be thanking you for this. I promise I’ll be out of your shell by morning.”

“Oh, there’s no rush. You can stay as long as you like. I could use the company.”

“Well, I would love to stay longer but I really should leave in the morning,” The Nailsmith felt bad saying this, as they would like to spend more time with the kind Nailmaster. “I have to find The Knight as soon as possible.”

The Nailsmith caught Sheo's frown, which made him wince.

“If you wouldn’t mind, could you tell me why you need to find The Little One so urgently? They haven’t troubled you have they?”

“They have something I need, er, I need them to do something for me. Something only they can do. Please don’t ask what,” The Nailsmith added as he saw Sheo open his mouth again.

“Ah, I see. Well Nailsmith, I hope to see you off in the morning. Goodnight.”

“Yeah, goodnight.”

The Nailsmith got comfortable on the couch as Sheo went back to work on his painting. He stared at the ceiling for a while, despite this exhaustion this mind wouldn’t let him sleep.

'I’ll leave in the morning,' is what he kept telling himself. 'I’ll leave, find The Knight, and that’ll be the end of it.'

The Nailsmith tried not to think about how he still didn’t have any leads. He tried not to think about how large and dangerous Hallownest was. He tried not to think about how he wanted to stay in Sheo’s safe hut.

But no matter how much he tried, those thoughts stayed with him until he drifted to sleep.

Chapter Text

The Nailsmith woke up feeling fully rested for the first time since he left his hut. He sat up slowly, looking around his surroundings. He’d half expected the events of yesterday to have been a dream, but it clearly had not been. He looked for the Nailmaster, finding him asleep in his bed, his large back turned. A faint snore could be heard. The Nailsmith guessed Sheo had stayed up quite late working on his painting.

The canvas was in the same spot as the Nailsmith saw it last. He hesitantly walked up to it and saw that quite a lot of progress had been made on it. Although not complete, it could be mistaken to be. It was a painting of a lake, the greenery around it suggesting it was located in Greenpath, although The Nailsmith wasn’t familiar with the location. The Nailsmith stared at the painting for longer than he would like to admit, but the art was so captivating he couldn’t tear his eyes away from it.

He then made his way over to the wall where two of the large nails were propped up. As he stood right next to it, he realized the nails were taller than him. He wondered how these nails had been forged. Nails of this size would require a ridiculous amount of metal and should be too heavy to wield. The only way he could see a nail like this working would be if it was hollow on the inside, but that would be horrible for combat along with many other reasons. Without considering the consequences of his actions, The Nailsmith went to pick up one of the nails. As soon as the weight was directed towards him, he realized just how heavy the nail was, and there was no way he could support it. It toppled down before he could get out of its path, knocking him to the ground with a loud thud.

The noise woke Sheo. He groggily sat up and searched for the source of the noise. When his eyes landed on The Nailsmith he quickly got up and rushed to his side.

“Oh my goodness! Nailsmith, are you alright?” Sheo had moved the nail off of The Nailsmith as if it weighed nothing more than a feather.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” The Nailsmith said, wincing and rubbing his head. It knocked the wind out of him for sure, but he’d live.

Despite what he said, Sheo studied The Nailsmith carefully, looking for any injuries. When he was satisfied that there were none, he held out his hand to help The Nailsmith up. When he put his hand in his, Sheo easily lifted him up, catching The Nailsmith off guard yet again.

“Sorry I woke you,” he said, feeling embarrassed. “I just wanted to take a closer look at your nails.”

“Oh, these old things?” Sheo asked, picking up the nail to put it back. The Nailsmith still couldn’t understand how he was doing it so easily, just how strong was this bug? “Why, they’re so dusty I forget they’re here. I’m afraid I don’t know the details of how they were forged, but my master gifted them to me and my brothers while we were training under him.”

“You make it look like it doesn’t weigh anything,” The Nailsmith muttered. “How do you use a nail that heavy?”

“A lot of training,” Sheo said simply. “But let’s not talk about that, how about I make you some breakfast?”

The Nailsmith didn’t have time to object before the larger bug made his way to the kitchen. The cluttering of pots and pans filled the large home, and The Nailsmith was left to stand awkwardly in the center of it.

“Do you not like to talk about your time as a Nailmaster?” The Nailsmith didn’t want to pry, but he really wanted to know as much as he could about Sheo’s past. He’d heard and shared the rumors of Nailmasters throughout his whole life, he doubted he’d ever find himself in a position like this again.

“I like to keep that time of my life behind me,” Sheo stated as he looked through his cabinets for something to make. “It doesn’t do anyone any good to dwell on the past.”

The Nailsmith took that as a yes to his question.

He refrained from asking any more questions, instead keeping himself busy by looking around the house some more. He took this time to closely examine the paintings strewn about. There were quite a lot of them, and The Nailsmith wondered how much the wealthy bugs in the city would have paid to hang them on their walls.

“Do you sell your art?” The Nailsmith asked as he picked up another painting, this one being of the entrance to a gated garden. “You could make a fortune off these.”

“And what would I use the geo for?” Sheo asked playfully. “Besides, there’s no one left in Hallownest who will buy them from me.”

“Why don’t you travel outside Hallownest then? Move somewhere that will pay you what you deserve.”

Sheo laughed quietly. “I’m comfortable where I am now. Adding another painting to the stack is quite fulfilling.”

“You should at least hang them up,” The Nailsmith brought the painting to the wall to see how it would look. “It doesn't make sense to keep them face down.”

“I suppose that would be a good idea,” Sheo said as if the thought had never crossed his mind.

And so, until the breakfast was ready, The Nailsmith worked to hang up as many paintings as he could. He was only able to get through a fraction of them before going to eat, and as the food on his plate began to disappear, he started to dread the thought of what he had to do next.

“I suppose you’ll be leaving now,” Sheo was the one to address the wyrm in the room.

“Yeah. Thanks again for letting me stay.” How much time had he wasted here already? If he’d left as soon as he woke up, maybe he would have finished searching Greenpath by now. But at the same time, he didn’t want to leave. A part of him felt like it might be worth it to stay here longer.

Oh by the way of the gods, what was he thinking? He shouldn’t even be alive right now. He had to get this over and done with as soon as possible.

“If you’re still going to be in Greenpath,” Sheo started hesitantly after a pause. “-why don’t I join you? I could help you search if you’d like.”

“Oh, that would be great actually.” With a former Nailmaster by his side, he’d be perfectly safe.

“Wonderful, I’m ready to go whenever you are.”

—

Sheo wasn’t sure what it was about this stranger that made him want to keep him around. Maybe it was the mystery of what he could want with The Little One. Maybe it was the question of how a bug who didn’t use his nail made it this far without losing a limb. Or maybe it was simply that Sheo had grown lonelier than he thought he did, and this stranger had finally given him company. No matter the specifics, Sheo was quite interested in The Nailsmith.

As the two ventured through Greenpath, The Nailsmith led the way, looking at his map occasionally and crossing off sections they visited. Sheo couldn’t help but notice how slow The Nailsmith traveled, just how long had he been wandering Hallownest? He was clearly not familiar with travel. Whatever business he had with The Little One must be very important indeed.

—

Much to The Nailsmith’s confusion, Sheo hadn’t brought a nail with him, instead, he carried his paintbrush as if it was a weapon. As much as it bothered him though, he didn’t dare to bring it up. Besides, if a nail ended up being needed, he had his.

He led the way through Greenpath, though Sheo was much more familiar with the paths than he was. He showed The Nailsmith how to avoid the various infected bugs and thanks to him, they didn’t have a single encounter with one.

After searching everywhere else, the two came to the last part of Greenpath. The Nailsmith could hear the fizzling of acid long before he could see it. They came to a pier, old worn-down houses just beside them. Said pier led the way out into the acid lake, and as The Nailsmith took in his surroundings, he realized where he was.

“Is this the place you were painting?” The Nailsmith asked, looking around with interest.

Sheo nodded, “It is. The Lake of Unn, such a quiet place. I wish to capture its solitude and mystery in my painting. I feel as though I’m almost there, but it’s missing something.”

“Mystery?” The Nailsmith repeated, walking along the pier. He’d never been to a lake before, he couldn’t stop himself from staring at everything.

“Do you not feel the call in the air? The faint whisperings of Unn?”

The Nailsmith couldn’t say that he could, but he could say that Sheo was starting to freak him out.

“I’m joking,” Sheo admitted, causing The Nailsmith to glare at him briefly. “But the legend of Unn is very real. I’ve caught many Moss Knights standing at the edge of this pier, looking straight ahead. They always seem to be lost in thought, almost as if they weren’t infected. But if I ever snap them out of their haze they return to normal and attempt to attack me. I wonder what they’re looking at.”

The Nailsmith would be lying if he said he didn’t feel some sort of presence standing here, some sort of calling to step forward, but he was already at the edge of the pier, and a step forward meant that he’d fall right into the acid below him.

“What do you think, Nailsmith? Have any theories?”

“Not really, I’m not a history or lore kinda bug.”

“That’s alright, I would just like to know your thoughts. Why don’t we take a seat? We’ve been walking all day.” Sheo then sat down right at the edge of the pier. He was brave enough to let his legs dangle over the edge, something that The Nailsmith wouldn’t be caught dead doing. He sat further back, although still close to The Nailmaster.

“Well, this place sure is something.” The Nailsmith never had to speak his thoughts aloud before, and so even though his mind was full of all the scary and wonderful things he’d encountered so far, “something” is all that came out.

But it seemed that’s all the details Sheo needed. “I agree. I wonder what I’ll call my painting once I finish it. I don’t usually name them, but this one is turning out to be rather special to me. Simply calling it “The Lake of Unn” seems too easy though. What do you think, Nailsmith?”

“I think you shouldn’t ask me for name suggestions. I’m not the most creative.”

“Nonsense! I’ve seen your work, and you have quite the creative mind. You know, I always wondered what the creative process behind forging a nail is, could you tell me about yours?”

“Actually, I’ve stopped making nails,” The Nailsmith admitted with a frown.

“Oh? Why is that?”

“I completed my career.”

“Completed? I don’t understand.”

“I completed my career,” he repeated. “There’s nothing more for me to do. My whole life I’ve done nothing but forge weapons and now there’s nothing else for me to make.”

Sheo clearly didn’t understand what The Nailsmith was getting at, but he felt like he got an idea.

“Are you saying you lost your passion for nailsmithing?”

The Nailsmith nodded. “Yeah, something like that.”

“So you’re just like me all those years ago,” Sheo realized with a smile. That would explain the dull look in his eyes, still apparent even after a night’s full rest. “Looking for a new passion in life?”

“No, I’m not,” The Nailsmith answered with such a flat tone that it caught Sheo off guard.

“Oh,” is all Sheo said, started to feel rather stupid.

A span of silence passed between the two of them, only broken by the fizzing of the lake.

“I know you said not to ask, but-” Sheo hesitated, though he was rather curious of the answer, “-why is it you need to find The Little One so urgently?”

The Nailsmith let out a long sigh, and for a moment Sheo was worried he’d upset him.

“I made them a Pure Nail, and they hadn’t paid the full price for it,” he stated simply.

“They scammed you?” Sheo said in disbelief. “I’m so sorry. I can pay whatever geo they owe you when we get back home.”

“There’s no need. They didn’t scam me like that. I have my geo.”

“Oh, then in what way did they not pay you?”

“I asked them for a favor and they bailed, so now I’m looking for them.”

“What favor did you ask of them? If they’re not available then maybe I could help you.” Sheo said this without having any idea of what he was volunteering for. The Nailsmith couldn’t help but smile at the idea of it though. A Nailmaster striking him down with the very Pure Nail he crafted. It was too good to be true. But with how much of a sweetheart Sheo seemed to be, there’s no way he’d agree to it.

“Thanks for the offer, but I need the Pure Nail to do it, and I wouldn’t want to burden you with something like that either.”

Sheo was confused again, but he had a strong feeling that asking more questions wouldn’t yield any more clarity.

“A Pure Nail,” he said instead. “That’s mighty impressive, Nailsmith. I’ve never seen a Pure Nail before. Perhaps you could show it to me once we find The Little One?”

“Yeah, sure,” he said, but had no real intention of doing so.

Chapter Text

Sheo had convinced The Nailsmith to stay one more night, seeing as there was no use in him walking into unknown territory all worn out and tired. When the two arrived back home, The Nailsmith wasted no time in bringing out his maps and studying them carefully. He was trying to plan out his route throughout the rest of Hallownest, and it was quite a troubling task.

The next stop would have to be either Queen’s Gardens or Fog Canyon, and he wasn’t too keen on visiting either. He was sure that Queen’s Gardens would be heavily protected, and he didn’t want to meet any guards that were once stationed there. That being said, Fog Canyon sounded even worse. He’d heard the horror stories of the explosive creatures that floated in the air on many occasions, and after his experience in the Crossroads, the last thing he wanted to do was have to deal with any more exploding bugs.

Sheo could see The Nailsmith frowning at his maps, and it made him worry. He tried to distract himself by working on his painting, but it didn’t help. He found himself constantly glancing in The Nailsmith’s direction, unable to keep his brush connected to the canvas for more than a few seconds.

“Nailsmith,” Sheo started hesitantly. “Are you alright? You’ve been looking troubled for quite some time now.”

“I’m fine,” The Nailsmith answered snappily. “I’m just trying to figure something out. Which is safer for travel? The Queen’s Gardens or Fog Canyon?”

“I wouldn’t call either of the two safe,” Sheo said as he shook his head.

“I know that, but which is safer?”

“I’m not sure. I don’t think you’d be able to get into Queen’s Gardens anyway.”

“Huh? Why’s that?”

“There’s a giant cluster of thorns in the way of the entrance, and the acid river overflowed under them. Unless you’re able to swim under acid, I can’t think of a way you’d get in.”

At this information, The Nailsmith crossed Queen’s Gardens off his map with a growl.

“Then what about Fog Canyon? How bad is it over there?”

Sheo winced. “Very bad. You’d have to be very nimble to get around the creatures there.”

The Nailsmith glanced at his nail. “I’m not exactly a nimble bug. I guess I’ll just have to cut my way through.”

“You really shouldn’t,” Sheo quickly said. “Those things will surely blow up before you can get away.”

There was silence as The Nailsmith let out a frustrated groan.

“Er, Nailsmith, do you even know how to use your nail? I don’t mean to sound rude but you’re always holding it improperly.”

The Nailsmith looked down at his weapon, he had no attachment to it. He knew as much as anyone that a bug without a nail was a walking target. He knew that it would only be a matter of time until his luck ran out and he was forced to defend himself. He knew that the deeper he ventured into Hallownest, the more he kept pushing his luck, the more and more likely he’d end up getting killed.

But then again, it wasn’t as if he had to last much longer.

Even after serving a countless number of knights, travelers, and adventurers, The Nailsmith was unable to replicate their skill with a nail.

“I guess not,” is what The Nailsmith said at last.

“You… guess?”

“I’m a Nailsmith, not a Nailmaster, but I’ve made it this far, right?”

Sheo almost couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “You mean you’ve been traveling Hallownest for however long without any means to protect yourself?”

“You’re making it sound a lot worse than it is. You’re the one who left your house with nothing but a paintbrush. I’m careful out there, and if I plan my route right, I’ll continue to be so.”

“Nailsmith!” Sheo didn’t mean to raise his voice, but what The Nailsmith was saying almost made him want to slap the stupidity from his face. “Do you have any idea how dangerous Hallownest is now?”

“Of course I do,” The Nailsmith said flatly, though Sheo’s shout had startled him. “My hut was in The City of Tears and I had to go through The Crossroads just to get here. Oh, and I traveled half of Greenpath on my own as well.”

Even though he said these things with confidence, he’d be lying if said he didn’t agree with Sheo. He had no idea of how to defend himself if he was cornered, and he had no idea of how dangerous it would be in the deeper regions of the kingdom. He looked down at his map and traced a finger over Deepnest. That place was a horror show before the infection, just the thought of how bad it could be now made his skin crawl.

“Is this favor so important you feel the need to throw your life away?” Sheo’s voice was full of genuine concern. It made The Nailsmith flinch, no one had ever spoken so softly to him before. “I can assure you Nailsmith, whatever the favor may be, your life takes priority.”

The Nailsmith didn’t respond for a while, feeling uncomfortable. Sheo had a point, he’d do himself no good throwing his life away because he tried to take on a challenge he couldn’t handle. It would defeat the purpose of what he was doing. If he was that desperate to die, he’d have done it already.

“I guess you’re right,” is all The Nailsmith said.

Silently he started to roll up his maps, not making eye contact with Sheo. He stopped when he got to the map of Dirtmouth, he stared at it thoughtfully. That old bug said that The Knight passed through there often, and it made sense why. It’s an easily accessible town with non-infected bugs and shops. Perhaps he shouldn’t have been so quick to decline that old bug’s offer, perhaps if he had taken it he’d have found The Knight already.

“I’m going to go to Dirtmouth in the morning.” The Nailsmith decided suddenly as he rolled up his last map. “An old bug up there said The Knight made their rounds there often. I’ll just camp up there until they show up.”

“That seems like a sound plan.” This eased Sheo’s worries immensely, but he was still sad that The Nailsmith would have to go.

“How about we kill some time until then?” Sheo suggested.

“Doing what?”

“How about you come and create some art with me? I’m sure you’d enjoy sculpting more than painting, and I have all the materials you need.”

“Oh, I don’t think I’d be very good at that.”

“Nonsense! How about you at least give it a try? I’ll walk you through it.” Sheo had already started to go through his crates.

It took him a while to get out all of the materials, they seemed to be buried deep within the crates and scattered around the room, but when they were all collected Sheo pulled up two chairs and a table to put everything on.

“It doesn’t look like you sculpt as much as you paint,” The Nailsmith commented as Sheo put down the heap of clay with a loud thud. The few sculptures that were scattered around the house stood out as they were incredibly detailed, but compared to the copious amounts of paintings, there were barely any.

“To be honest, I find sculpting to be much more challenging than painting.” Sheo sat down at the table, gesturing for The Nailsmith to do the same. “It’s quite hard to create tiny details with clay when you have hands as big as mine. I’m sure that won’t be a problem for you though.”

The Nailsmith didn’t have time to fully process what was happening when Sheo brought the palm of his hand to his, comparing sizes. His hand looked like a child’s compared to Sheo’s, and he quickly pulled it away, feeling embarrassed.

Sheo took no note of this as he continued. As he explained the tools and the basics, he decided that it'd be best to try and make something simple and started showing The Nailsmith how to make a bowl. The two worked in relative silence, only being broken by Sheo’s occasional tip. Despite how uninterested The Nailsmith had been at the start, he quickly found himself becoming focused on his creation. The feeling was similar to how he felt when he was hammering away at a nail, deep in the zone, but different as well, closer to slow-moving water than the clanking of metal. All in all, he was quite content.

“I wonder what dreams The Little One has,” Sheo said randomly. The Nailsmith glanced up, but Sheo didn’t seem to have been talking to him. He was still focused on his bowl, which he was now decorating with a floral design on the outside.

“Huh?”

“Oh, did I say that out loud?” Sheo asked bashfully, the first time The Nailsmith had seen him embarrassed. “I’m sorry, I’ve been living alone for so long that I often speak to myself.”

“What was that about dreams?”

“I was just thinking about what dreams The Little One might have. They’re not exactly a talkative one so I’ve been wondering for some now. Do you have any ideas, Nailsmith?”

“No, can’t say I do.” What dreams did The Knight have? The Nailsmith had never thought of that before. They had to have some goal in mind, they entered and exited his hut as if he was the stop of many on an errand run, but what were they working towards?

“They do seem very motivated. When they came to visit me I taught them my Nail Art and they were a very captive student indeed.”

“Maybe they just want to become a better knight. I don’t really think they have a dream per se.”

“But every bug dreams,” Sheo insisted. “I dream that one day I’ll have made enough art to tell a thousand stories before I pass. Besides, what is a bug without dreams?”

What’s a bug without a dream? The Nailsmith guesses he’d fit that description. His only “dream” is to get his Pure Nail back.

“Are you the type of guy who thinks every bug was hatched for a reason?” The Nailsmith only half-joked.

Sheo smiled. “I wouldn’t say ‘for a reason,' but I do believe life has significance. No one should have to be well accomplished or successful for their life to be considered worthwhile. I believe just being able to go on with a smile is all that is necessary for a worthy life.”

“That’s rather corny.”

“Corny or not, that’s what I believe. Are those not your ideals? Tell me, Nailsmith, what do you believe makes life worth living?”

“I guess I’m the opposite of you,” The Nailsmith muttered, although this is what he’d been thinking ever since he met Sheo. The former Nailmaster is a well-accomplished and skilled bug, even in retirement. Compared to him, The Nailsmith is nothing of note. “I’ve always thought that a bug’s life only gains meaning once they’ve mastered their field.”

“If that’s the case, then my life is rather meaningless. I’m called a Nailmaster because I completed my training, but any true Nailmaster would know the end of one’s formal training is nothing more than the beginning of one’s journey as a Nailsage. I never completed that journey.”

The Nailsmith’s eyes widened. “Oh, I didn’t mean it like-”

“I’m not offended, Nailsmith,” Sheo said with a genuine smile. “I was just making a comment.”

“Oh, right.” The Nailsmith went back to work on his bowl, feeling as though his entire life’s ideology had been uprooted in mere moments. But he wasn’t upset by it, stunned sure, but not upset. In fact, he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t hoping that Sheo’s outlook on life was the correct one.

Chapter Text

As morning came The Nailsmith packed his bag. He was hesitant to leave the safety of Sheo’s home, but confident that going to Dirtmouth was the best course of action.

He looked over to where Sheo was peacefully sleeping. The Nailsmith considered waking him multiple times, but ultimately decided against it. Leaving would be much easier for him this way, and he wouldn’t want to disturb Sheo’s sleep either.

Letting out a breath, The Nailsmith put on his bag and turned to leave, mentally preparing himself for the journey. He stepped towards the door and-

-and standing there was The Knight.

The Nailsmith had to do a double- no, triple take to make sure he wasn’t hallucinating. Standing there right in front of him was none other than The Knight. They looked up at him with the same blank expression they always wore, without a hint of emotion.

“You’re… here,” is all The Nailsmith could manage to say. They’re here, The Knight is right here, in front of him. He can see his Pure Nail on their back. He would’ve reached out to grab it, but he was too stunned.

As The Knight came closer, The Nailsmith realised that they were holding the hand of another bug. They actually seemed to be dragging the bug along with a firm grip on their hand. The Knight walked inside the hut as if they owned it, walking past The Nailsmith and allowing him to get a better look at the newcomer.

He was about the same height as him, he had a blue shell, and he wore a cloth over his head of a deeper shade. He looked rather confused as he examined his surroundings nervously.

“Oh, um, pardon me,” the bug said apologetically as he was being dragged by The Knight, forced to carefully tread between the items scattered all along the floor. The Knight went up to Sheo’s sleeping form and prodded him a few times, causing him to slowly stur. When he caught sight of The Knight his face lit up with joy.

“Ah, Little One! How good it is to see you!” Sheo brought The Knight in for a tight hug, lifting him up in the air as he did so. “It’s great to know you’re happy and well!”

He didn’t seem to notice the bug The Knight had brought inside until they started to gesture towards him. “Oh, who’s this? A friend of yours?”

“I’m terribly sorry for barging in on you like this,” the bug said once Sheo’s gaze landed on him. “The Small Knight dragged me here and I’m not sure why. I’ll be out of your shell.”

But before the bug could even turn around The Knight had taken hold of his hand yet again. For such a small bug, he had a tight grip.

“Oh, what is it you want?” the bug whispered to The Knight in a desperate plea. “Let me go, friend.”

“It seems my student has some poor manners,” Sheo said, rubbing the top of The Knight’s head roughly. “Let him go, Little One.”

At his command, The Knight did as they were told, although they kept their eyes trained on the bug, almost daring him to try and escape.

“My name is Sheo, what’s yours?”

“Sheo? As in Nailmaster Sheo?” The bug had a reaction similar to The Nailsmith as he quickly bowed. “Oh my goodness, I’m Quirrel. It's an honor to meet you.”

“Please don’t bow, I don’t go by Nailmaster anymore.”

“Oh, you don’t? Why not?”

“How about I explain over a cup of tea? Nailsmith, would you like some as well?”

The Nailsmith almost thought Sheo had forgotten he was there. He quickly tried to make it look as if he hadn’t been preparing to leave.

“Um, sure.”

“How about you, Little One?”

The Knight nodded excitedly.

Sheo moved to the kitchen, happily preparing some tea while Quirrel looked around the house. He didn’t dare make any sudden movements, seemingly scared that The Knight might do something to him if they suspected he was trying to make a run for it. The Nailsmith wasn’t paying that much attention though, his eyes were trained on the glint of metal on The Knight’s back. As much as he wanted to snatch that nail and run off with it, he figured that wouldn’t end very well. Not only would he make a scene, but The Knight would probably catch up to him too. It would be better to wait for the right moment to attempt anything.

And so, The Nailsmith put down his bag and slumped on the couch with a groan. He watched as the bug named Quirrel walked up to the painting in the center of the room. He stared at it for at least three minutes straight, admiring every detail.

“Sheo,” Quirrel started, breaking the silence that had filled the room. “This painting is of The Lake of Unn, is it not?”

Sheo nodded as he began to pour the now boiling water into four cups. “It is! I’ve been working on it for about a week now.”

“It’s amazing,” Quirrel said with awe. “I visited the lake not too long ago and I must say, this captures its mysterious call perfectly.”

“Why thank you! Actually, I’ve been struggling to name it for a while. Nailsmith hasn’t come up with any names either.”

At this Quirrel glanced over to where The Nailsmith sat. He shot the blue bug a glare and he quickly looked away.

“Would you like any sweetener in your tea, Quirrel?”

“Just a spoonful.”

“What about you, Little One?”

The Knight nodded.

Sheo finished making the teas and started to hand them out to his guests. He then took a seat next to The Nailsmith and The Knight made their way to the opposite couch.

“You don’t have to stand,” Sheo said when he saw that Quirrel hadn’t moved. “Take a seat.”

Hesitantly, Quirrel took a seat next to The Knight.

“So, you’re wondering why I’m no longer a Nailmaster,” Sheo started after he sipped his tea. “Well, I’ll keep the story short and tell you what I told this guy right here.” He prodded The Nailsmith with his elbow. “I simply lost my passion for the nail arts.”

“You lost it?” Quirrel repeated.

“Indeed,” Sheo then explained his reasoning in slightly more detail than he had told The Nailsmith. The Nailsmith was only half listening though, as the only thing he could think about was his nail. While he watched The Knight closely, he saw that whenever they brought their teacup up to take a sip, all they did was spill the drink on their mask. The Nailsmith watched this quizzically for a while, though he seemed to be the only one that noticed.

“I see,” Quirrel said after Sheo had finished. “Small Knight, I think I see why you brought me here.”

“Why is that?” Sheo asked.

Quirrel didn’t speak for a moment. “Oh, it’s nothing.”

Sheo looked thoughtful for a moment.

“Say Quirrel, are you an artist by chance?”

“Oh no,” he quickly said, shaking his head. “I’m nothing but a traveler, that’s all.”

“Ah, that’s just fine. Actually, in that case, I’m sure you’ve seen many wonderful sights on your adventures have you not?”

“I have,” he said with a nod.

“How about you try your hand at painting those sights then?”

“I’ve never painted before, I can’t imagine I’d be very good.”

“Nonsense, we all start somewhere! Here, I’ll get you a canvas, you too Little One! And Nailsmith, I think our pottery from yesterday is ready to glaze. Would you like to join us?”

“I think I’ll pass,” The Nailsmith answered.

After Quirrel got up to follow Sheo, only The Knight and The Nailsmith were on the couches. The two were left to just stare at each other.

“Why did you walk away?” The Nailsmith spoke in a hushed tone so that he wouldn’t be heard by the others. There was no point in asking though, it wasn’t as if The Knight could answer.

Even so, he repeated himself, becoming angrier. “Why did you walk away?”

The Knight made no comment.

“Give me back my nail,” The Nailsmith held out his hand expectantly, though The Knight did no such thing.

They shook their head.

“Wha- no?! You little-, by the gods, give me my nail back!”

The Knight shook their head again and hopped off the couch. They walked past The Nailsmith and towards Sheo and Quirrel, who had already started their paintings.

“There you are Little One, come take a seat,” The Nailsmith heard Sheo say. “What was it the two of you were discussing?”

The Knight answered by unsheathing their nail and showing it to Sheo.

“Oh my, it really is a Pure Nail.” Sheo took the weapon carefully as if it could break by the slightest touch. He traced his fingers over the spirals in the metal, becoming lost in the craftsmanship.

“Oh, I completely forgot to tell you this, but The Nailsmith has actually been looking for you for some time. Something about a favor?”

The Knight glanced over at The Nailsmith for a moment, seeing that he had sat back down. They then looked back at Sheo and asked for their nail back.

“Oh, I guess you’ll give it to him later then.”

The whole time they painted, The Nailsmith stayed on the couch deep in thought. How could he get his nail back from The Knight? They wouldn’t give it to him willingly, so he’d have to steal it somehow. The Knight looks pretty distracted right now, but it’d be too obvious if he just walked up and took it. With a groan The Nailsmith slumped further into the couch, half wishing it could swallow him whole.

—

Quirrel and The Little One had ended up staying the night. Quirrel slept on the couch opposite of The Nailsmith and The Knight was curled up on a pillow at the foot of Sheo’s bed, similar to a pet.

Everyone had fallen asleep except for The Nailsmith who was staring at the ceiling, thinking of the right time to take The Knight’s nail. He had to be absolutely sure The Knight was asleep when he did it, and so even though he figured they were probably asleep by now, he was still waiting.

After a few minutes, he heard sheets rustling. There was the sound of someone getting up followed by more sounds. The Nailsmith pretended to be asleep and so he didn’t know what the source of the noise was, but he felt a gentle prod a few moments later.

The Nailsmith opened one eye to see Sheo standing before him.

“Sorry if I woke you,” he whispered. “-but I noticed The Knight never gave you back your nail.” The Nailsmith caught the glint of metal in the dim light as Sheo lifted the Pure Nail up to him.

“I don’t know why you need it so bad,” he continued, “-and you don’t have to tell me. It’s just that you were so determined to get it back… Whatever you need it for must be very important.”

The Nailsmith gingerly took the nail from Sheo, almost not being able to believe that he was really holding it.

“T-thanks,” he was at a loss for words.

“Don’t mention it, Nailsmith,” Sheo said with a smile. “I’ll provide The Little One with a new nail, just make sure you stay safe out there.” Sheo placed a warm hand on The Nailsmith’s shoulder. “I’ve kept you here long enough anyways. I wish you luck, just be sure not to wake The Little One on your way out.” With a pat, Sheo pulled his hand away.

“It was a pleasure knowing you,” Sheo said as The Nailsmith grabbed his bag. “Maybe you could visit me again sometime?”

“I’ll try,” is what The Nailsmith said. “Thanks again for everything.”

Sheo smiled, “Goodbye, Nailsmith.”

“Bye.”

—

This wasn’t how he imagined things to end, but it’s how things turned out. The Nailsmith walked to where his legs carried him, The Lake of Unn. As he stepped onto the pier he dropped his bag and held out his nail. He took his time as he walked to the edge, taking in the sights. His hand holding the Pure Nail was shaking. He was nervous, a feeling he didn’t experience when he tried to do this the first time. Why did he feel nervous now? Why was he scared? Why couldn’t he hold his nail steady?

He stopped walking as he reached the edge and stared into the acid lake. The bubbles fizzed and popped dangerously close to his feet, the green glow brightening his face. His breathing started to pick up, he could feel his heart pounding, and his palms were sweating so much he thought the nail might slip from his grip.

It wouldn’t be the same as dying outside his hut in the city, but it would do. Here there really would be no trace left of his existence. The acid would destroy his body but would leave the nail perfectly intact, just how he liked it.

Taking in a deep breath, he brought the nail up to his neck. The blade’s edge was cold.

All his life, The Nailsmith had never been much. He’d been acknowledged sure, his business wasn’t unheard of, but never made a name for himself either. As far back as he could remember he had always been alone. He had never shared his life with anyone before, and the only real conversations he had with others would come from his clients. He wasn’t much, just a nailsmith in the city.

But even though he wasn’t much, even though the only thing he was ever good at was making nails, he created something some of the greatest nailsmiths never get to. He made a Pure Nail, the best nail that can ever be crafted. A nail whose metal is nearly impossible to come across in high enough quantities to make a whole weapon out of. But by some miracle, (or maybe just sheer luck,) he had been given the opportunity to forge it. And now he held it in his hands. The sharpest, most durable nail that will ever exist. He was holding it in his hands and it was made by him no less! He should be ecstatic! He should be happy! He should be feeling like he felt when he was standing on the cliff in the city, waiting to feel a sharp blow to the back and to plunge into the icy cold water below.

But he wasn’t happy or excited, he was scared. He was scared of dying. Why was he scared? He wasn’t a religious type, he wasn’t worried about being punished in the afterlife, he believed with all his heart that death was nothing more than a vast stretch of darkness.

So why couldn’t he stop shaking?

He dropped the nail and it landed with a clank on the ground. It slid dangerously close to the edge, nearly falling into the acid.

The Nailsmith fell to his knees, his hands on the ground in front of him. Of course, he chickened out, he shouldn’t even be surprised with himself. A coward is all he ever was, a failure of a bug.

But even so...

‘Nailsmith, don’t be so humble. I can recognize a good nail when I see it.’

Sheo didn’t think that way. Sheo was impressed by his work.

‘I’m not sure, but I suppose anyone can get tired of anything if they have too much of it.’

Sheo had taken him in. Sheo had helped him.

‘I’ve seen your work, and you have quite the creative mind.’

Sheo saw him as an accomplished artist.

‘Besides, what is a bug without dreams?’

Sheo had given him hope.

‘No one should have to be well accomplished or successful for their life to be considered worthwhile.’

Sheo was the reason he was scared to die.

After a few moments, The Nailsmith stood back up, grabbing his nail. He wiped his tears away as he started to walk back to Sheo’s hut.

‘I believe just being able to go on with a smile is all that is necessary for a worthy life.’

Maybe he doesn’t have to be a nailsmith to have worth. Maybe he could just… be him.

—

Sheo awoke that morning to the sound of metal clanking. He hadn’t been able to sleep properly after he’d seen The Nailsmith off. He slowly turned, half expecting to see The Little One waking up, but he was instead greeted by the form of the bug who wasn’t supposed to be here.

“Nailsmith?” Sheo breathed as he sat upright. In the early morning light, he could see The Nailsmith placing the Pure Nail beside The Knight’s sleeping form. When he looked up at him, Sheo could see he looked mentally exhausted. “What are you doing here?”

“Funny story actually,” The Nailsmith whispered as he fiddled with his beard nervously. “But the short of it is that I didn’t need that favor after all.”

“You didn’t? But you were so- Are you sure? Did something happen?”

“Don’t worry about it. But uh, you don’t mind if I crash here a little longer do you?”

“Oh, I don’t mind at all!” Sheo said with a smile. “You can stay however long you like.”

“Thanks,” The Nailsmith said, looking down with a smile. “You’re too nice.”

Chapter Text

Quirrel wasn’t sure of what to do. I mean, what could he do?

One moment he was sitting at the lake, admiring the scenery, and the next he was being dragged all the way to Greenpath to paint with a former Nailmaster.

He knew what The Small Knight was trying to do, he wasn’t stupid. They brought him to a bug who found a new purpose in life after losing the one thing he was most passionate about. They were trying to get him to keep living.

He has to commend The Small Knight for caring about his well-being, but it’s a bunch of wasted effort. There’s simply no point in trying to fix his old shell. He had run his course.

But no matter how much he had given up on continuing, The Small Knight was forcing him to at least entertain their plan. Quirrel woke up on the couch, for a moment forgetting where he was. Despite it still being early he seemed to be the last one up. He caught a few snippets of conversation from Sheo and The Nailsmith, snippets that he maybe wasn’t supposed to hear.

“I still would like to hear about-“

“Sheo, please stop asking. It’s not that big of a deal, really.”

“Then why are you being so secretive?”

“With how much you’re nagging me, it makes me want to keep it to myself even more. You could probably come up with a story more interesting than what actually happened anyway. What if I told you I was on a quest to save a princess but I found out she had already been saved?”

Sheo frowned but dropped the subject, whatever that may have been. In the corner of his eye, he saw Quirrel awake and promptly greeted him.

“Good morning Quirrel, did you have a good night’s rest?”

Before answering Quirrel scanned the room for The Small Knight, locating them painting on a mini canvas.

“Yes, I slept well, friend. I’d say now is when I’d take my leave but-“

The Small Knight perked up.

“It seems The Small Knight still wants me to stay.”

“I’m sure they have their reasons for bringing you here,” Sheo said as he rubbed the top of The Small Knight’s head with a smile. “If there’s one thing I know about this little bug, it’s that they have great judgment.”

“Well,” The Nailsmith started, “-what’s the plan for today, big man?”

“The plan? Oh, I don’t really plan out my days, I simply do as I feel in the moment.”

“So, what’s the moment feeling like?”

“It’s feeling like I should finish and name this painting.” Sheo faced his unfinished masterpiece with pride. “It should only take me a few more hours to complete, and you still haven’t come up with any good titles for me.”

“I didn’t realize that was my job,” The Nailsmith said defensively. “Why should I name it anyway? You’re the one who painted it.”

“That may be true, but I’d like to think of this work as a collaborative effort. You’ve inspired the outcome of this piece quite a lot.”

“I- I have?”

“Indeed, come take a look.”

Hesitantly The Nailsmith came over to look at the painting. He stared at it for quite a while. It was certainly the same painting but it felt different. Instead of the strange calling he felt the first time he looked into the paint, it now gave him the feeling of a faded loved one calling his name closer, unable to identify whose voice he was hearing.

“Wow,” The Nailsmith was at a loss for words. “So, how exactly did I inspire you?”

“I think I’ll keep that to myself,” Sheo said with a smile. “After all, I can’t have you being the only one with secrets in my house.”

“Fair enough.”

“Quirrel?” Quirrel flinched at the sound of his name, half thinking Sheo had forgotten he was there. “Would you like to continue working on your painting from yesterday?”

“Um, sure.” If he was going to be stuck in this house, he might as well pass the time.

“While you two are doing that,” The Nailsmith said. “I’ll make us some breakfast.”

The Nailsmith made his way towards the pantry and started to sort through it.

“Uh Sheo, looks like you’re running a little low in here,” he said as he picked up and crushed a crumb in his fingers.

“Oh goodness, I completely forgot about the pantry. I can get us some more food from my garden.”

“You have a garden?”

“Of course! There aren’t any grocery stores over here, Nailsmith.”

“Right,” The Nailsmith muttered as he hid his face in his beard, feeling very stupid. “In that case, I’ll get the food, you guys can keep working on your paintings.”

“Oh, it’s no problem, Nailsmith. I can spare a few minutes to tend to my guests.”

“Nope, sit back down. You’ve been too nice to me already. If you keep doing me kind gestures I’ll be in debt to you ‘till the day I die.”

“Oh. Well if you’re so determined. Little One? Can you go and show him the way? You know here it is, yes?”

The Small Knight stopped painting and nodded, quickly making their way to The Nailsmith’s side.

“You two be safe out there, alright?” Sheo called out as they left.

“Calm down, we’re not going far,” is what The Nailsmith called back.

Quirrel caught Sheo smiling as the two left.

“Have you, um, known Nailsmith for very long?” Quirrel asked.

Quirrel wondered if his question sounded out of the blue, but it was something he’s been wondering. Yesterday it seemed like The Nailsmith was as much of a stranger to Sheo as he was, but now the bug was acting as if he’d been living here for quite some time.

“No, we met only a few days ago. But I have to say, he’s starting to grow on me.”

“Oh, how did the two of you meet?”

“He stumbled upon this house of mine while looking for The Little One, and he’s stuck around since.”

“Oh, so The Small Knight didn’t bring him here?”

“Nope, he arrived by himself.”

Quirrel didn’t really know what to do with this information, but he was glad he asked.

“Say Quirrel, I never asked about what you were painting. Could you tell me about it?”

Quirrel looked at his painting with a frown. He was quite disappointed with how it was turning out, and not quite sure how to fix it.

“It’s a painting of the icy beach in Snowy Shore. Although I’m certainly not doing it justice. It’s been an age since I’ve seen the beach myself and my painting skills aren’t helping much either.”

“You’ll have to trust the process,” Sheo said as he studied Quirrel’s painting. The location of the main colors were laid out, but not much else had been done. “A masterpiece won’t take shape in a day.”

“I suppose you’re right, friend,” is what Quirrel responded with, but he certainly was not trusting the process.

The two worked in silence, the only sound being the brushstrokes they made on their canvases. Quirrel would occasionally become curious about Sheo’s work and would sneak a peek, only to become frustrated that he wasn’t able to paint like that.

“Say, do you have any ideas of what I should name this piece?” Sheo asked as he broke the silence.

Quirrel was silent for a moment. He stared into Sheo’s nearly-finished painting, deep in thought. To title a masterpiece such as this would almost take away from its mystery. The Lake of Unn is a place that fills you with questions, and a title is supposed to answer the question of what the piece is about. Perhaps it should be a simple one-word title, or perhaps it should be a whole sentence. What set of words could describe this painting?

“The Calling of Unn?” Quirrel suggested after a pause of deep thought. “The Pull of Unn? The Calling? No. The Call of Unn,” he settled on proudly. “I suggest you title it: ‘The Call of Unn.’”

“What an excellent name!” Sheo smiled. “‘The Call of Unn,’ I wouldn’t have been able to come up with a better one myself.”

Quirrel looked away to try and hide his blush from the complement. “Thanks.” He went back to working on his painting, although he found he could no longer focus.

After a few more minutes, Sheo signed the painting. His signature was bold and proud, but was written in a way so that it wouldn’t distract from the art.

—

Sheo’s garden was hidden away behind a wall of bushes. Parting the leaves revealed a collection of colorful crops that shone from the early morning light. There were plants here The Nailsmith was sure were out of season, but they grew here as healthy as ever.

“Wow,” The Nailsmith stared in awe as The Knight continued past him. “A bug could never go hungry with a garden like this.”

The Knight seemed to be unaffected by the awe of the garden as they walked to the side of one of the beds. After a bit of rustling, they emerged from the green with a wooden basket and dragged it towards The Nailsmith.

“Thanks,” The Nailsmith took the basket hesitantly, unsure of how to act around The Knight. Just yesterday he’d been so rude to them.

He gripped onto the basket and took in a breath. The Nailsmith was never one for admitting he was wrong, and apologizing always made his chest hurt, but he’d have to suck it up just this once.

“Listen, Knight, I should- I need to- I mean I- I’m- I’m sorry.” By the gods, that’s all he had to say. All he had to say was sorry. “I should have thanked you for sparing me.”

The Knight nodded but still looked at him quizzically. The Nailsmith assumed they were confused by his sudden change of heart.

“Well, I- Sheo might have given me your nail last night while you were asleep.”

If The Knight could have yelled, this would have been an appropriate moment to do so.

“Yeah yeah I know, but don’t get mad at the guy, he didn’t know what he was doing.”

The Knight seemed to be fuming. They glanced behind him to check if their nail was still there and promptly put a hand over to make sure it stayed there.

“Well, I don’t want it now!” The Nailsmith said. “But by the time I had it, Sheo had already wormed his way of thinking in my head.”

The Knight relaxed at this, but still kept a close eye on The Nailsmith.

“I’m guessing that’s why you dragged Quirrel over here? Is he like me? You know, ready to end things?”

The Knight nodded.

Ah. So now poor Sheo is taking care of two suicidal maniacs. The guy’s got his work cut out for him.

“Just don’t expect me to help,” The Nailsmith said after a pause. “I have enough on my plate trying to keep myself in check.”

He said this without a hint of emotion, but it was a blatant lie.

“Alright, that’s about as much heart-to-heart crap I can deal with in a day. How about we actually get to work and harvest some crops?”

The Knight nodded excitedly and ran up to a ripe squash, trying to pull it off the vine.

It took the two longer than The Nailsmith would have liked to finish up at the garden. He made sure to water all the crops, (there was a well and watering can just to the side,) and pick out any weeds he saw. Once done, the basket was heavy in The Nailsmith’s hands. The Knight had offered to help him carry it, but he kept refusing, not wanting to burden the small bug anymore than he already had.

When they made it to where they would have to climb, The Nailsmith worried that there was no way to get the basket up. Fortunately, The Knight revealed there was a pulley made of vines to which they tied the basket to.

The two of them walked back inside, The Nailsmith still struggling with the basket. “We’re back,” he announced. Setting the basket down on the counter with a thud. “Let’s get cooking.”

Chapter Text

Ever since Sheo moved to the bottom of Greenpath he’d been alone.

He built his house large and sturdy to be able to store and protect his art, but as the days went on he’d become increasingly aware of the way his metal walls echoed the few sounds he made. He became aware of the silence.

As time passed, the house became more decorated, more cluttered. He painted to his heart’s content, which never failed to bring him joy, but it was when he set down his brush, when he was left to wash the paints from his palette, that was when he was reminded of his loneliness.

While he was a Nailmaster he could never remember a moment in which he was by himself. If he wasn’t with his brothers, he was with his master, if not his master, then his brothers. Their family was never separated, and he didn’t realize how much he missed company until he left it.

Ah, there he goes again, getting lost in the past. It doesn’t do him any good to be alone with his thoughts, he always ends up making himself sad in one way or another. But when you spend all your time painting, there’s not much else to be alone with.

In that case, it’s a good thing he was no longer alone.

His house had never been so full before, so lively. Sure, the bugs he had found himself with weren’t the most talkative bunch, (one couldn’t speak at all,) but who was he to complain! He finally had someone, (two someones!) to hold a conversation with, to ask questions, to learn more about. Words couldn’t describe how happy he felt when The Nailsmith asked to stay longer. The Nailsmith could stay forever if he wanted to. To share his life with a friend, that’s everything Sheo’s ever longed for.

“Oh my, Little One! That’s shaping up to be quite a masterpiece indeed!” Sheo had convinced his guests to spend the day painting and sculpting yet again. He’d been hesitant to start another painting himself, as he wasn’t quite sure of what to paint, and digging up his unfinished projects made him frown.

The Little One nodded towards Sheo and quickly got back to work. Their painting depicted a high-stakes battle between them and a rather large vengefly. Colors and action lines were everywhere, giving the crude brushstrokes even more life. Sheo couldn’t help but smile, he wasn’t trying to hype up The Little One at all, he truly thought it looked like a masterpiece.

Sheo had found himself in the company of three very mysterious bugs, The Little One being the one he’d known the longest. The Little One might not be able to speak, but Sheo had found them to be a great conversational partner. The small bug loved to listen to Sheo’s ramblings, and Sheo had many ramblings which he had kept to himself for years. Despite not knowing anything about where The Little One came from, their mysterious past didn’t bother Sheo one bit, (though that doesn’t mean he doesn’t think about it often.)

The same could not be said about the other two.

Sheo glanced over to where The Nailsmith sat. His posture was almost as bad as Sheo’s own as he concentrated on molding the clay in front of him. What he was making, Sheo did not know. When he asked him earlier he seemed very reluctant to answer, eventually saying that it was a surprise.

What kind of a life did The Nailsmith have before Sheo had met him? All Sheo knew about him was that the bug had lived in The City of Tears before leaving to search for The Little One. Why did he not go home? This wasn’t to say Sheo would have preferred he did, but he wondered why The Nailsmith stayed. His mission was over was it not? The mysterious quest, (which Sheo couldn’t stop thinking about no matter how many times The Nailsmith dismissed it,) what was it? It wasn’t as if The Nailsmith was incredibly talkative either, and Sheo wondered if one day he could understand the workings of his mind.

Sheo’s gaze then landed on Quirrel who was painting with a blank expression. If there were a mind even more hidden than The Nailsmith’s, it’d be Quirrel’s. The only thing Sheo knew about him was that he was a traveler, which could honestly mean anything. What had brought him to Hallownest? How had he met The Little One? And the most obvious question, why had The Little One brought Quirrel to him? He had so many questions for the strange bug, but he had a feeling he’d go a while before he was answered.

—

Quirrel found himself first to awaken the next morning. Slowly he sat up from his makeshift bed on the couch and looked around, taking note of everyone’s sleeping forms. The only noise in the house came from Sheo’s faint snores.

If there were any chance to leave, it’d be now.

He got up quickly but quietly, careful not to make a sound as he walked towards the door. The only concern on his mind was how to get back to the lake from here. He somewhat remembered the path The Small Knight had taken, he should be able to just follow that and-

“Hey, Knight,” The Nailsmith’s sudden voice made Quirrel jump. “-he’s trying to escape.”

Before Quirrel could settle back into his shell which he nearly jumped out of, there was a strong force upon his leg. The force was so strong in fact that Quirrel was pulled to the ground with a thud. He didn’t have to look down to know The Small Knight had taken hold of him, but his suspicions were confirmed when the bug’s face appeared in their vision, seemingly trying to look intimidating, (although without any moveable facial features, it wasn’t really working.)

“Alright friend, you caught me.” After rubbing the back of his head, he put both hands up in surrender to The Small Knight. They silently scolded him before hopping off his chest with crossed arms. With a sigh, Quirrel stood, brushing the dust he had collected from the floor.

“What was that for?” His gaze landed on The Nailsmith who wore an uninterested expression on their face. “Are you a guard-grub for The Small Knight?” Obviously, Quirrel was annoyed, but he tried not to reveal that in the tone of his voice. He was never one to let his emotions slip like that, no matter how inconsequential the slip may be.

“Something like that,” The Nailsmith answered flatly. “They’re lucky I was even up, I was beginning to drift off.”

“I’m surprised you heard me at all,” Quirrel had been so careful to get up quietly. Even if The Nailsmith had been awake his eyes were still closed. How did he notice Quirrel getting up?

“Well, living alone in an empty hut all your life will sharpen your hearing,” he answered with a shrug.

‘Ah, so he really hasn’t been living with Sheo long,’ Quirrel thought, recalling the conversation he had with the artist.

There was a moment of silence. Quirrel was still massaging the pain out of his old wrists.

“Look,” The Nailsmith continued. “I’m not going to try and beat around the bush. I know what’s going on with you, and I know why The Knight brought you here.”

“Do you now?” Quirrel had considered playing dumb for a moment. Perhaps he could convince this bug that he was simply trying to return home, but he ultimately decided not to. If The Nailsmith was keeping an eye on him on behalf of The Small Knight, there’d be no point in lying to his face.

“Yes, I do.” The Nailsmith paused, needing to collect his thoughts before he continued. He already wasn’t good at talking to people, and now he had to figure out how to convince this stranger not to kill himself.

“I- Listen, I was like you, ready to give up. It was the only thing I could think about for the longest time, dreamed about it even. But you know what, this big oaf over here set me straight, had my whole world view reeling. So now I’m going to make sure you don’t make the same mistake I almost did, because if I had, I would have regretted it, and you would too.” The Nailsmith couldn’t look Quirrel in the eyes, he wasn’t even sure if he was speaking clearly enough for him to hear him as he buried his face in his beard, but this was about as convincing as he could be.

“Friend,” Quirrel said. “I appreciate the concern, I really do, but there’s no need to worry about a stranger like me. I’ve run my course, there’s nothing left for me to do.”

He was happy to hear The Nailsmith had a reason to keep going, but slightly upset that he’d compared his struggles to his own. Of course, Quirrel didn’t know of The Nailsmith’s life story, but neither did The Nailsmith know his. No matter the case, he was confident that their situations were nothing alike. Quirrel had served his purpose, he’d helped The Small Knight break the seal on Monomon, and now, there was simply no more use for him. He wasn’t upset by this fact, it was simply the truth. He was glad to have traveled as much as he did, he was glad to now be able to remember all the times he had worked in the Archives, he was glad to have lived.

And he was glad to die.

The Nailsmith shifted uncomfortably. It was a strange feeling to hear his own insecurities echoed throughout the stranger’s words, to hear Quirrel say the same things he used to say to himself. The same affirmations that he would repeat, enforcing the idea that he had no more use or purpose; that there was no point for him to keep living, that he had done everything he could. He heard the same sense of uselessness and fulfillment that had once driven him to bring the Pure Nail’s edge to his neck.

Actually, he’d be lying if he said those thoughts had left his head completely, he wasn’t sure if they ever would, but at least now he could realize how absurd they sounded.

He was sure that he and Quirrel were the same, but he didn’t have the social skills to explain. The convincing would be Sheo's job, he’d use his people skills and bubbly personality to make Quirrel understand what The Knight was trying to tell him. The Nailsmith could help in smaller ways, like this, making sure Quirrel doesn’t escape while everyone is asleep.

“I could mistake you for a dung beetle with the amount of crap you’re throwing me,” The Nailsmith said with a frown. “You’re not leaving until the little boss says you are. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to bed. I was up all night trying to make sure you didn’t run off, I have to catch up on my beauty sleep.”

“If I’m that much of a chore,” Quirrel started with a grimace, “I don’t see why you bother. Just let me go so I can stop burdening you all.”

“If you’re that concerned with being a burden, do something about it,” The Nailsmith mumbled as he buried his face in his pillow. “That’s why I helped Sheo with his garden yesterday. I can’t handle being useless.”

“You can’t handle being useless?” Quirrel muttered under his breath. “Imagine how I feel.”

“Oh, I can,” The Nailsmith said right before drifting off to the sleep he desperately needed.

Quirrel stood there as he heard The Nailsmith start to snore. “Do something about it,” he mocked. “That’s why I’m trying to leave.”

Instantly a pain shot through his leg, he had forgotten about the small bug just below him, and that bug had just kicked him in the shin.

“Ow! Alright! I’m staying, I’m staying!” Quirrel quickly said as he clutched his leg, hopping on one foot.

The Small Knight looked pleased, so pleased in fact that Quirrel considered kicking them back.

“Surely you have much more pressing matters to attend to than babysitting me?” Quirrel hadn’t helped this bug break Monomon’s seal just so they could paint all day in Greenpath. “Even if you do end up ‘saving’ me, what good will it do if the rest of Hallownest is still in need of help?”

The Small Knight’s arms started to fall, their body language indicating Quirrel’s words made them feel guilty.

“Oh, nevermind,” Quirrel still hadn’t deciphered his feelings towards The Small Knight after regaining his memories. On one hand, they were the only remaining vessel that could seal away The Radiance. They carried the weight of Hallownest’s future on their tiny shoulders and nothing should distract them from their purpose. On the other hand, The Small Knight was a child born of unfortunate circumstances. They found themselves with this responsibility, they hadn’t asked for it, they were a kid.

Quirrel walked away from The Small Knight. They were a kid. Kids should be playing, kids should be having fun, kids should be encouraged to paint all day if they want to. But at the same time, The Small Knight wasn’t a kid, they were a vessel. A vessel who had yet to serve their purpose, a vessel who he had fought alongside, a vessel who he had broken the final seal on Monomon for, a vessel who his late teacher trusted, a vessel he had explored the expenses of this ruined kingdom with, a vessel who was his friend.

But… vessels shouldn’t be friends… they- they shouldn’t even be able to understand such a concept.

There was a light tug at Quirrel’s finger. He looked down to see The Small Knight bowing to him in a silent apology. They gestured to the door before bowing once more.

“Oh friend, I apologize if I came off as rude,” there he goes again, referring to The Small Knight as his friend. Just how long had he been calling them that? And why does it feel so wrong to try not to say it? “I didn’t mean you had to leave right now. How about you wait until the others are awake so they can see you off properly?”

The Small Knight let out a breath of relief.

“How about we find something to do to pass the time, hmm?” Quirrel got up and started to look around the room. He couldn’t help but notice the amount of disarray the place was in. The house was clean enough to live in, but the amount of disorganized shelves and paintbrushes scattered across the floor bothered him. How could Sheo find any of his supplies when they were all over the place like this?

“Small Knight, how would you like to help me with a little cleaning?”

—

The Nailsmith woke up naturally. Although rested, he still felt tired. He kept his eyes closed for as long as he could before opening them, realizing that no matter how much he willed it, he was not going to fall back asleep.

When he sat up and looked around, the house seemed different. It took his sleep-lagged brain longer than he would have liked for him to realize the place had been cleaned. Actually, he hadn’t even realized the place had been dirty until now.

“Good morning, Nailsmith,” he heard Quirrel greet. As he turned to face him he saw the bug was holding one of Sheo’s paintings in his hands. “You certainly look like you got your beauty sleep.”

With a groan, The Nailsmith turned away from Quirrel and fixed his beard. He knew for a fact that he looked like a mess.

“I see you cleaned up around here.”

Quirrel nodded, “Took your advice and put myself to work. I won’t take all the credit though, The Small Knight was a big help.”

At his praise, The Knight happily jumped up and down.

“We’re almost finished, just have to hang up the rest of these paintings,” Quirrel said as he hung up the one he’d been holding. “It really is a shame Sheo doesn’t have them on display.”

Quirrel and The Knight hung up Sheo’s many paintings as the morning dragged on. The Nailsmith decided to listen to this stomach and make some breakfast.

The smell of food seemed to wake up Sheo. He got up with a big yawn and an even bigger stretch. “Oh my,” he breathed as he looked around.

“Good morning, Sheo,” Quirrel greeted the large bug first, The Nailsmith following suit with a simple “Morning.”

Sheo noticed Quirrel and The Knight were mid-way through placing one of the last paintings on the wall. “Did you two do all of this?” his voice was filled with awe.

Quirrel started to feel a little bashful. “Yes, well, I noticed it was getting a little cluttered in your home- and it seemed a waste to have your paintings on the floor-” before Quirrel could properly finish his sentence, he felt himself get lifted into the air. Sheo had picked him and The Knight up in a tight hug.

“Thank you!” Sheo said with such genuine happiness you’d think he’d just been given the gift of the world. “You two are truly the best!”

Even after Quirrel was put down and no longer being squished, he found it hard to catch his breath.

“Hey big guy,” The Nailsmith called from the kitchen. “-save some praise for me.” He gestured towards the plates he had laid out on the counter, hot off the stove.

“You made breakfast?” Sheo asked with a smile. “Thank you so much!” He came up to The Nailsmith and gave him a tight squeeze as well. The Nailsmith playfully tried to push him off, pretending that Sheo’s hugs weren’t the best place in all of Hallownest.

—

“I think your painting will go great right here,” Sheo said as he hung up The Knight’s painting on the wall behind his bed. “This way, I’ll be able to look at it every morning and night!” Sheo picked The Knight up for another tight hug.

Quirrel and The Nailsmith were sitting on the couch, watching Sheo as he said goodbye to The Knight.

“Change your mind about living yet?” The Nailsmith asked bluntly, speaking in a low voice as to not alert Sheo.

“You really don’t beat around the bush, do you?”

“Nope, never was my specialty.”

“Well, if it’ll get you off my case, then I’ll be sure to stick around a while longer.” Quirrel wouldn’t admit to this, but he was becoming attached to the company of Sheo and him. He’d like to spend a little more time with the two of them before leaving.

“You promise?” The Nailsmith asked with a firm glare. “You’re not going to run off into the dead of night for anything like that? Because I can’t be keeping a night watch all the time.”

“I promise,” Quirrel said with a smile. “Swear on my life, actually.”

The Nailsmith let out a sigh of relief. “Good, thank y- wait a minute- hey!” He elbowed Quirrel as he started to laugh. “Not funny!”

“What’s wrong, Nailsmith?” Quirrel asked in between laughs. “Too soon?”

The Nailsmith groaned and crossed his arms with a huff, but he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t chuckling himself.

Chapter Text

The house was silent as The Nailsmith worked on his craft. Sheo had left some time ago to tend to his garden, while Quirrel stayed behind to peek through the small collection of books in the home. Every so often, Quirrel would hear The Nailsmith let out a frustrated groan, though he pretended not to.

“Hey, Quirrel,” The Nailsmith asked suddenly. “Do you think it’s missing something?”

“What’s missing something, Nailsmith?” Quirrel turned away from the bookshelf to look at him. On the table lay an incredible amount of paints of varying colors.

“I’ve been trying to make something for Sheo,” The Nailsmith said after a pause as he held his unfinished creation in his hands. “I thought he might like it if I made him a watering can but- I can’t get it to look right.”

Slowly, Quirrel got up and came to The Nailsmith’s side. The clay creation was definitely a watering can, quite a large one at that, (probably to account for Sheo’s large hands,) but it was clear that The Nailsmith had been the one to make it. The can was lopsided and dent in many places, Quirrel wasn’t even sure if it could properly hold water. Its surface was currently being painted a light beige with colorful swirls and spirals of many colors over top, though The Nailsmith had stopped midway through.

“Perhaps you should have spent more time on the shape,” Quirrel observed.

The Nailsmith groaned. “I did, but there’s only so many times I can remake the handle before I want to tear it off.”

“Ah, so you were being impatient?”

The Nailsmith glared at Quirrel. “I asked for help, not insults.”

“I’m trying to say you should take your time,” Quirrel said with an amused smile. “Even if you end up frustrated and moving on, it won’t make you any more happy with the product.”

The Nailsmith considered this as he stared into his watering can. When he first came up with the idea of making Sheo a gift, he’d been filled with a determination similar to how he would feel after receiving an order for a nail. He wanted to pour his heart and soul into it, he wanted it to be perfect. But when he actually had the clay in his hands, he couldn’t help but become frustrated. No matter how many times he tried to mold the clay into the shape he wanted, it never listened to him. He must have spent hours trying to get the form right, but in the end he just gave up and put it in the kiln as it was. Of course now, he could see how stupid that was. Why did he think it’d be a good idea to cut corners on something as important as this?

“Although, I think your real issue is that you were too ambitious.” Quirrel continued. “You’ve only ever made a bowl before this, and a watering can is quite complex.”

“Hey, that bowl actually turned out pretty good!” The Nailsmith was sucked out of his depressive state to defend himself.

“I never said otherwise.”

The Nailsmith’s bowl was definitely a… well it was functional food holding device. After he’d finished it, The Nailsmith didn’t eat in anything else. It was certainly a bowl, although clearly lopsided and had a few of his thumbprints forever imprinted in the clay. All in all, it was pretty good for a first attempt.

“I guess I should just scrap this,” The Nailsmith picked up his unfinished watering can, no longer being careful with it. “Not sure how long I have left until Sheo comes back.”

“You’ve already done the bulk of the work, why not just finish it?” Quirrel asked as he started to return to the bookshelf. “You could use it as a prototype, it’ll give you some more practice as well.”

“Hmm, I guess you’re right.”

And with that, The Nailsmith got back to painting, feeling as if a weight had just been lifted from his shoulders.

“So, why is it you’re making a gift for Sheo anyway?” Quirrel asked suddenly. “Trying to woo our large friend?”

Nevermind, the weight returned.

“Of course not!” The Nailsmith spat quickly, glaring at the back of Quirrel’s head. “I’m just trying to do something nice for him, is that so out of character?”

“I can’t say I’ve known you long enough to know what is in character,” Quirrel stated simply.

He said this, but he was quite confident he had a good read on The Nailsmith. After meeting such a plethora of different bugs on his travels, he’d become well skilled in the art of scoping out one’s character. It was hard to miss the way The Nailsmith’s naturally unfriendly appearance lighted into a simple smile whenever he was around Sheo. Of course, he could be wrong, but Quirrel was sure something was there.

“Then get off my tail about it will ya?” The Nailsmith said as he got back to work, refusing to look in Quirrel’s direction.

Feeling amused, Quirrel continued his search for books with a faint smile. Time passed and after a while he could hear the sound of Sheo making his way back to the house.

“He’s coming,” Quirrel alerted The Nailsmith.

“I know, I just managed to finish painting in time.” There were the sounds of the kiln being started, followed by The Nailsmith quickly trying to clean up the paints he’d used.

“I’m home!” Sheo’s booming voice came from the doorway as he entered the house. He did a few arm stretches, his muscles seemingly sore from the climb.

“You know, I still don’t get why you don’t have a proper path to your house,” The Nailsmith said as he observed Sheo. “It’s a lot of work having to climb up and down just to come and go.”

“That’s precisely why,” Sheo said as he got comfortable on the couch, which sagged tremendously when he sat on it. “Artists don’t get nearly as much exercise as we should, so I thought it’d be great to force myself to do so.”

“Well that’s fine for someone like you, but what about scrawny bugs like myself? My arms nearly fall off whenever I try to climb up here.” The Nailsmith took a seat right next to Sheo, looking at him fondly.

“Even more of a reason to not build a path! Tell me Nailsmith, when was the last time you can remember exercising?”

The Nailsmith looked at Sheo with an unamused glare.

“But if you really want, I could think of something,” Sheo quickly said. He wasn’t sure if there was enough room for a path, but maybe a proper ladder would suffice.

“I’m just joking. Well, half joking- climbing up here really does kill my arms.”

Sheo laughed as he brought The Nailsmith closer to him, squeezing him into his side. “Stick with me any longer, and that’s sure to change!” He said as he playfully prodded The Nailsmith’s arms. The Nailsmith was too stunned to think of any more witty comebacks.

“Say, Quirrel? What is it you’re looking for over there?” Sheo asked after noticing Quirrel digging through his small bookshelf. His head was hidden in the shelf, almost as if he’d found a secret passageway.

“Oh, nothing,” Quirrel quickly pulled his head out, not before briefly banging it on the top of the shelf. “I was just looking at your collection of books.” In a small circle around him were the books he’d taken off of the shelf. They were either well worn or in perfect condition.

“Well, I’m afraid it’s quite small. I’m not much of a reader myself, books tend to put me to sleep by the first chapter.”

Quirrel brushed the dust off the books as Sheo talked. Most of them were informative. The older books were all about the nail arts while the ones that were well loved were all about painting and sculpting. Quirrel briefly flipped through the pages and found many paint drops and clay smudges on them. There were a few fiction novels as well, although these seemed to have never been opened. Reading the quick sinopsis on the back, Quirrel saw why. Not even he would sit though something as dry as this if he could help it, and he used to work in the Archives, home to the dryest, blandest, strictest informational essays in all of Hallownest.

“I’m surprised these books are made of silk. I thought they stopped making these after the city started to cry.”

“After the city started to cry,” The Nailsmith mocked. “You sound like a poet.”

Quirrel decided to pretend The Nailsmith was not there.

“All those books are old, gifted from my old master,” Sheo explained. “He probably had them when he was younger as well.”

“Ah, that explains things. It’s a shame there aren’t any more libraries here, I’m sure I’d be able to find something you’d like.”

“Have you not been to the city? There’s plenty of libraries still around,” The Nailsmith said, leaning closer to Sheo. “They’re guarded of course, but still there.”

“I have, but I was referring to a library a little closer to here. Traveling all the way to the city just to grab a few books doesn’t seem worth the risk.”

“I haven’t been to the city since I was a Nailmaster,” Sheo spoke fondly as if recalling a memory. “I wouldn’t be opposed to paying it a visit.”

Did… did Sheo not hear him? “I doubt it’s as great or grand as you remember.”

Quirrel felt sad when he thought about how wonderful the city used to be in its prime. When scholars talked amongst themselves in coffee shops, when knights walked proudly in the streets, when bugs made their rounds to the fountain every morning. For a moment, he wished he could return to that time. It hadn’t been a simpler time, far from it, but he couldn’t help but miss it. But as soon as Quirrel realized he was reminiscing he shook the nostalgia out of his head. It was no good to think like that, to wish to return to the past.

“I wouldn’t know for sure unless I see it for myself,” Sheo stated simply. “And with two guides right here, you could point me towards all the tourist attractions.”

Quirrel wasn’t sure if Sheo was joking, and judging by the expression on The Nailsmith’s face, he wasn’t sure either.

—

A few days later, The Nailsmith had completed his gift. Honestly, he’d been shocked it turned out as good as it did. The real struggle of it had been keeping it a secret from Sheo, but he managed to do it.

Sheo had left to tend to his garden, but The Nailsmith couldn’t bring himself to follow him. He paced around the house attempting to settle his nerves, but every time he neared the door he swiftly turned back around.

“Why are you so nervous, Nailsmith?” Quirrel was becoming distracted from his reading by The Nailsmith constantly appearing and disappearing in his peripheral vision.

“That’s the thing, I don’t know! It’s just a watering can! I’m giving him a watering can for Wyrm’s sake!”

Quirrel rolled his eyes. “Just get down there and do it. You put all that effort into the gift, so go gift it to him.”

“But what if he doesn’t like it? What if he ends up having a bunch of watering cans and he doesn’t want mine? This was such a stupid gift idea, why did I make a watering can? Who would want a watering can?”

“You made a watering can specifically because you thought Sheo would like it. I don’t know why you’re doubting that now.”

The Nailsmith couldn’t reply. He hated that he was acting like this, that he’d suddenly become so timid.

When Quirrel realized The Nailsmith wasn’t making any progress, he set his book down with a sigh. “Nailsmith, I swear to Wyrm, I will push you out of this house if you don’t start moving.”

For a few moments, The Nailsmith ignored him. That was until he realized Quirrel was being serious and started towards him. “Alright, alright!” he quickly said, being cornered towards the door. “I’m going, I’m going!” But even then he couldn’t bring himself to fully make it out the door, and so Quirrel have him a helpful shove.

“Quit stalling,” he said, his hand on the door. “And don’t come back until you’ve given Sheo that gift.”

And with that, the door was shut on The Nailsmith’s face. Under normal circumstances he’d be pissed, but the knot in his stomach took the place of all other emotions.

After fiddling his thumbs for a while longer, he somehow forced himself to make his way to Sheo’s garden, all the while worries played on repeat in his head.

“Hmm? Is someone there?” The Nailsmith heard Sheo’s voice. It wasn’t as if he was great at treading quietly, and so his clumsy footing had alerted Sheo of his presence before he was ready to face him.

Taking in an extra deep breath for the occasion, he parted the bushes, revealing the sunkissed Nailmaster tending to his garden. He was crouched over one of the beds, his apron covered in dirt and a pile of weeds next to him. Even though he was in the middle of a chore, he looked content with himself. The Nailsmith wished he could feel that pleased with life.

“It’s just me,” Wyrm, did his voice always sound so stupid? “I uh, have something for you.”

“Oh?” Sheo’s face lit up, The Nailsmith wasn’t sure if that calmed his nerves or made them worse.

“Yeah,” Tha Nailsmith made his way over to Sheo, feeling like a kid about to show their teacher a crappy crayon drawing of them.

He was awkwardly holding the gift behind his back as he walked. “I wanted to uh, show my appreciation somehow and um- I thought- I mean I- uh, I made you- I made you a gift.” He quickly blurted out the last part of his sentence, more embarrassed by his stutter than anything. Why wasn’t he able to say a simple sentence?

He brought the watering can up to Sheo and had a flash of panic when he realized it wasn’t even wrapped. For the love of Wyrm, Nailsmith! Everyone knows you’re supposed to wrap a gift!

Sheo took the watering can in his hands gingerly, almost as if he was afraid it would break. Honestly, The Nailsmith was worried about that happening.

“I- Wow,” Sheo had a look of awe on his face as he stared deeply into the gift. He was silent for a few moments, The Nailsmith thought he was judging him.

“Oh, sorry,” Sheo apologized once he realized he hadn’t said anything. “It’s just that… it’s been so long since someone got me a gift. I… I had forgotten how good this feels.”

Sheo meet The Nailsmith’s gaze with the most grateful smile he’d ever seen on a bug. “Thank you!” Without warning, The Nailsmith was brought into one of Sheo’s shell-crushing hugs. His anxiety melted away, replaced instantly happiness. He hugged back tighty, although he was sure even his tightest hug wouldn’t be enough to express how he felt.

“Don’t worry about it, I owe you big time, big guy.”

When The Nailsmith was finally set back down on solid ground, he didn’t mind how his head felt light.

“I must try it out at once!” Sheo said, excitedly grabbing the can and rushing toward the well. In a few moments he was back and watering his plants, enthusiastically humming.

—

“You’ve yet to share the tales of your travels with us,” Sheo said to Quirrel over dinner. He’d only been here for a few days, but had already decided Sheo’s cooking was the best thing he’d ever tasted. Even compared to the grandest five star restaurants in the city, Sheo’s food had something that could not be replaced by skill, love.

“I’m not a great storyteller,” Quirrel blatantly lied. “And I’ve yet to hear The Nailsmith speak about his past either.”

The Nailsmith only groaned in reply. Sheo and Quirrel chuckled softly.

“Wyrm, you two are so secretive!” Sheo said with mock frustration.

“You say that as if you’ve told us everything about your own past,” The Nailsmith said.

“Alright, you got me there, but would it kill you to open up a bit?”

Quirrel thought about that for a moment.

“What if it did? For all you know, I could be a fugitive that ran away from my home kingdom.”

“You? A fugitive?” The Nailsmith could barely speak without laughing through his sentences. “That’s a good one!”

“I’ll have you know I’m quite dangerous, friend. Don’t go underestimating me.”

“I’m sure you are,” Sheo said genuinely. “I see the way you hold your nail, you carry yourself like a Nailmaster. If I still had any interest in the nail arts, I’d ask to spar with you.”

“Oh, um, thanks.” Quirrel looked away from Sheo as he took a sip from his drink. He wasn’t sure he’d ever get used to being complemented by such an impressive bug.

There was a pause.

“Were you for real about visiting the city?” The Nailsmith asked Sheo. Quirrel didn’t miss how close they sat together.

“Pepends, would you be willing to take me?”

The Nailsmith stuttered. “Well, I- I mean- W-why would you ask me something like that? You’re acting like you can’t go by yourself.”

“Of course I can, but it'd be much more fun if you were to join me. Life’s all about sharing experiences with others, don’t you two agree?”

“Well if you’re going to be so insistent on it, I’ll join you, if it’ll make you stop talking like a philosopher.” The Nailsmith pretended to be annoyed, but it was easy to see he was smiling.

“Quirrel, would you like to join us? We could probably make a personal library for you if we bring back enough books, and you might be able to find me something that doesn’t put me to sleep.”

Quirrel hesitated. He glanced at The Nailsmith who was staring right at him, anxiously awaiting his answer. What if he said no? Would The Nailsmith drag him along anyway? And if not, there’d be nothing stopping him from going back to the lake.

Then again, with the way Sheo was smiling at him, the way he was patiently awaiting his response, how could he possibly say no to such a kind face like that?

“Of course I’ll join you,” Quirrel said with a smile. He caught The Nailsmith let out a breath he’d been holding. He wasn’t sure if Sheo had heard it as well.

“Wonderful! What time should we leave tomorrow? I have to warn, I’m not much of a morning bug.”

“Tomorrow?” The Nailsmith echoed.

“Yes, tomorrow. What’s the matter? Have some business to take care of?” Sheo joked.

“Of course not, I’m fine with leaving tomorrow.”

“Quirrel? What about you?”

“Tomorrow is alright with me.”

Chapter Text

“Sheo,” Quirrel called. “Will we be taking the stag?” He’d been put in charge of packing for the trip, seeing as he was the most experienced traveler out of the three.

“We will,” Sheo answered with a nod. “I don’t think Nailsmith would be very pleased if we didn’t.”

“I definitely would not!” he shouted. “There’s no way you’re forcing these old bones to do that much walking!”

“Of course,” Sheo said with a fond look in his eye.

“In that case, we should arrive around mid-day, with the majority of our travel time being on the stag. Do you have any idea how long we’re going to stay in the city?”

“Not sure,” Sheo said. “How ever long it takes to explore as much as we like.” He looked around the house for a few moments before remembering that Quirrel had moved everything around. “Hey Quirrel, did you see a large bag when you were cleaning?”

“I don’t think so, perhaps it was in one of your boxes?”

There were the sounds of Sheo’s search before found what he was looking for at the bottom of a crate. “Aha!” he pulled out the bag, revealing how large it truly was. With it flat and empty, Quirrel was sure he could use it as a blanket.

“We’ll be able to keep all the books we want in here,” Sheo said as he dusted off the bag. “I haven’t used this baby in quite awhile, reminds me of my time as a Nailmaster.”

“Are we all packed and ready to go?” The Nailsmith stood at the door, looking about as eager as they would ever see him.

“Yeah, looks like it,” Quirrel said after he had looked through his bag. It was filled to the brim with first aid and food. Once zipped up he tied the sleeping bags to the top, tugging at the rope to make sure they were on securely.

“Then let’s hit the road!” Sheo said as he excitedly led the way.

—

Quirrel remembers every bug he’s ever traveled alongside. Each bug is so memorable, it’s not as hard of a task as you may think.

It’s almost as if he’d been a different person for years on end, pretending to be a simple traveler. He’d journeyed through many kingdoms and meet many friends. It’s a pleasant surprise to find another bug like you on an abandoned or dangerous road. Under such circumstances even the most closeted bugs become talkative. It becomes easy to bond and share a meal under the lumaflys or glowing moss, easier to fight and find energy. Maybe it was the understanding that you’d soon part ways that made everything much more enjoyable. It didn’t matter if you embarrassed yourself or said something wrong, you’d be gone in the morning and would never meet again.

Ah, but the same can’t be said for traveling with friends.

“Sheo! Watch the bag! I’m getting squished!” Quirrel heard The Nailsmith shout.

The group had made their way to the stag station and were now getting on board. Sheo and The Nailsmith had been making conversation the whole walk, though it was mostly just The Nailsmith complaining about his feet hurting, (which was certainly funny, seeing as he was carrying the lightest load.)

“Oops, sorry!” Sheo quickly apologized as he shifted over to the side. “Quirrel, would you like a hand?”

Quirrel nodded and took Sheo’s hand, being effortlessly lifted on top of the stag.

“You two don’t mind me sitting in the middle, right?” Sheo asked. “I wouldn’t want to squish either of you if there were a turn.”

“Ha, that’d be a way to go,” The Nailsmith said with a laugh.

As the stag started to run, the comforting vibrations put Sheo and The Nailsmith to sleep. They both snored but their sounds were drowned out by the pattering of the stag’s feet.

What was Quirrel doing? He truly questioned what brought him to this moment. Was he just going with the flow? Just doing as he was told? Was he keeping his promise to The Nailsmith? Or was he simply just biding his time?

As the distance between him and the city grew shorter and shorter, he became even more aware of how much closer the lake became with it. The lake was just above the city after all, he was returning to it.

But did he want to? He glanced over towards The Nailsmith and Sheo, their heads on each other’s shoulders and sleeping peacefully. For a moment, he wanted to rest his head too, but decided to stay put. Surely he shouldn’t intrude on what the two of them have.

Maybe there would be an opportunity for him to sneak off while they were distracted. The city is massive after all, he should be able to slip away.

The Nailsmith had already found his happy ending, there’s no need for Quirrel to make him share it.

—

“Quirrel, Quirrel. We’re here.” A voice eased Quirrel awake. That’s strange, he couldn’t recall falling asleep.

He lifted his head and wiped his eyes, his gaze meeting Sheo’s loveable face. “We’re here,” he repeated before hobbling off the stag and helping Quirrel down as well. It took Quirrel a moment to realize he’d fallen asleep on Sheo’s shoulder, and when he realized this, he found it hard to look either of his travel buddies in the eye.

“Ah, King’s Station,” Sheo said as he took in his surroundings. “Brings back memories.”

“I have a feeling you’re going to become very nostalgic on this trip,” The Nailsmith commented.

Sheo chuckled, “I suppose so, but didn’t you want to hear more of my past?”

The Nailsmith let out a huff.

King’s Station was just as Quirrel had left it, abandoned and cold. The raindrops hitting on the roof echoed throughout the station, along with the few sounds of the wandering husks.

“Though, it’s certainly more… depressing here than I remember,” Sheo said as he continued to look around. “I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised, Hallownest is called ‘the ruined kingdom’ for a reason.” Sheo opened his bag for a moment. Though it was mostly flat and empty, there were still a few things in it. He pulled out three leaves, big enough for each of them to hold over their heads as protection from the rain.

“Nailsmith, you lived in the city, correct?” Sheo asked as he handed him a leaf-umbrella. “I’d like to ask where you think we should stop first.”

“Honestly, I don’t know as much about the city as you think. I wasn’t really the bug to go on weekend outings. Besides, we’re on the rich side of town, I’m more lost than you.”

“I see. Quirrel, are you familiar with the city?”

“Oh, um, yes.” Having been Monomon’s right hand bug, he’d often been sent to the city by her side whenever she was summoned. Even before then, he could still remember the apartment complex he lived in while he was still in college. Not too far from this station actually, as the constant noise of stags coming and going had made the rent cheap.

“Where do you think we should visit first?”

“I think we should just walk around a bit before we enter any buildings,” Quirrel said as he took the lead.

“Sounds like a plan.”

And so, the three of them walked throughout The City of Tears, lost in the wonder of it all. Every once and a while, Sheo would point out a building or two, claiming he remembered it.

“Oh! That was the coffee shop with the best pastries in all of Hallownest! My brothers and I went there to celebrate all the time! I could never get enough of their cakes. Oh, look over there! Is that the library?”

Quirrel looked up to be greeted with the second largest library in all of Hallownest, the first, of course, being The Archives. A signpost swung in the rain, bearing the picture of an open book. As Quirrel neared closer, he could see the windows still had writing on them, most likely advertising a sale of some kind, although it was hard to read.

“This is something I don’t remember,” Sheo’s awestruck voice was just behind him. “Come on, let’s go inside. We’ve been in the rain for long enough anyways.”

Sheo opened the library door and walked in, dripping water on the floor as he did. The others followed.

“Perhaps I’ll do some reading after all. With how grand a place this is, how could I not?” The library seemed to go on forever. Above them had to be thousands if not millions of books, all on the different floors of the library. The building was well lit despite the fact it was abandoned. Lumafly lanterns and windows were placed everywhere, ensuring you could comfortably read wherever you wanted to.

Quirrel had been here many times, though he can only remember coming to read in his college days. No, he made multiple visits here discussing copyright and such necessary to store works in The Archives.

“Where would you like to start, Quirrel?” He felt Sheo’s warm hand on his back.

“Depends, do you have a favorite genre?”

“Not really. I’ll trust your judgment on what you think I’d like to read.”

“You have to give me something to work with though.” Quirrel scanned the many sections of the library, already having a vague idea of what he was looking for. “You too Nailsmith, I’m sure you could do with a little more literature in your life.”

The Nailsmith rolled his eyes.

Quirrel led the way through the maze of bookshelves, leaving his friends to follow behind him. Occasionally he would stop to peer at the spine of a book, tracing its title delicately with his fingers before pushing it back into the shelf. After a while of his, he found himself in the perfect section and started to examine each book closely.

“You sure seem to know your way around this place,” The Nailsmith observed as he lazily flipped through a book with lots of pictures. He’d made himself comfortable on the nearest couch, putting his feet up on the coffee table as if he owned the place.

“Hmm,” Quirrel only hummed in a dismissing way, almost acting as if he hadn’t heard him. He pulled a book from the shelf and read the back before flipping through a few pages. Sheo stood near him, contently watching him work.

“Did you use to live here or something?” The Nailsmith spoke again.

“Yeah.”

“Then I bet you spent all your time here, huh?”

“You say that as if it’s a bad thing.” Quirrel caught eye of title he recognized and let out a small gasp as he took it out, flipping through the pages as if he couldn’t believe it was real. “Oh Wyrm, it’s been an age since I’ve seen this book.”

“What is it?” Sheo leaned in, glancing at the cover. It was a drawing of a castle that seemed to be lifting itself off the ground.

“The King’s Vanishing Kingdom, this was one of the first books I can remember falling in love with.”

“Is it about Hallownest?” Sheo asked, happy that Quirrel seemed to finally be opening up.

“The infection hadn’t begun when this was written, but one could certainly claim it describes Hallownest. That is the beauty of literature, everyone has their own interpretations of what each writer is trying to say.”

“That’s how it is with all art,” Sheo said. “The impact of a piece is left on the consumer. If an artist tries too hard to guide that impact, it only lessens the art.”

“We should definitely bring this one back,” Quirrel placed the book in Sheo’s bag with a nod, in which a collection was already growing.

Quirrel turned back to the shelves happily, forgetting his troubles for just a moment.

—

The streets were just as they left them when they exited the library, Sheo’s bag was filled to the brim and tightly secured to keep any water from seeping in. For a moment, Quirrel worried the absurd weight of the books would hurt Sheo’s back, but he walked as if he wasn’t carrying anything at all.

The group didn’t pay much attention to where they were going as they walked, only changing lanes if they caught the eye of a husk or two. Soon enough, they found themselves in the center of the city. The fountain stood tall, without signs of its age. As the rain continuously trickled its face, it was almost as if they were crying.

“You know, this fountain always gave me a weird feeling,” The Nailsmith said as they stood in front of it, looking up. “Whatever sacrifice this guy made, must have not been worth it if Hallownest is like this.”

Quirrel was tempted to ask The Nailsmith if he could remember the days before the infection, but the answer had to be no. The Hollow Knight isn’t something you just forget.

Without really thinking about it, Quirrel bent his head and brought his hands together in a prayer, whispering the faded inscription on the fountain.

“Quirrel?” The Nailsmith’s confused tone snapped him out of his trance. “What are you doing?”

Ah, how to save face? Both of his companions were looking at him strangely, how could he explain this?

“I’m just paying respects. Even if things didn’t work in the end, their sacrifices should still be honored.”

“You don’t even know what this ‘sacrifice’ was,” The Nailsmith said with a scoff.

Quirrel managed to keep a straight face.

“No, I don’t.”

—

It wasn’t until the city grew dark and the rain became colder that the group realized they didn’t have anywhere to spend the night.

“We could stay at my old place,” The Nailsmith said hesitantly as Quirrel and Sheo were discussing it.

“Oh, wonderful!” Sheo said with a clap of his hands. “I’ve been wondering what your home looked like!”

And so the group made their way through the simpler side of the city. The Nailsmith watched as Sheo and Quirrel glanced up at the apartments they passed, wondering which one belonged to him. He felt an uneasy pit in his gut prod at the thought of crushing their expectations.

“This way,” The Nailsmith gestured when he saw Sheo walking towards the elevator. He didn’t blame him, it looked almost as if they’d reached a dead end, that is until he led the way past a sign with a nail painted on, pointing the direction towards his business.

Once through the archway, it almost looked as if they had left the city all together. The collected rainwater still splashed underfoot but it stopped falling from above. As they continued to walk, the stone path started to turn into mushrooms, and those mushrooms started to cover every inch of ground.

“This is where the Fungal Wastes meets the city,” The Nailsmith explained, though he doubted he really needed to. “Out here, I didn’t have to worry about being distracted by anyone.”

They made their way up, Sheo and Quirrel paying attention to the amount of discarded nails stuck in the ground. Once they finally made it to the hut, Sheo smiled.

“Secluded and surrounded by foliage,” he observed. “You’re a lot like me.”

The Nailsmith stopped for a moment before continuing towards the door, he hoped his reaction hadn’t been too obvious. He was nothing like Sheo.

When he made it to the doorway and saw what state his house was in, he was abruptly reminded of the episode he had when he was last here. Embarrassingly enough, he didn’t have time to warn Sheo or Quirrel before they saw the mess for themselves.

“Damn, Nailsmith,” Quirrel said close to his ear, “You lived like this?”

The Nailsmith rolled his eyes and groaned, wishing nothing more than to disappear.

“Heh, you call this a mess?” Sheo said as he walked in, briefly ducking to avoid hitting his head. “I’ve done much worse to my own hut.”

—

Night had fully fallen now, and The Nailsmith’s guests had made themselves comfortable in his messy home. Sheo and Quirrel had talked quietly as he unfurled his sleeping bag. They dug through the bag of books as they discussed plot lines and character arcs which all ended up sounding like gibberish to him. As the hours dragged on, their voices slipped into a silent rhythm and the shuffling stopped.

The Nailsmith got up, quietly stepping around the mess, and left his hut. He didn’t go far, just out to where the cliff ended and looked out to the entrance back into the city. He took a seat on the cold ground and put his elbows on his knees. He came out here to clear his head but… there was nothing in it.

He must’ve been sitting out there for a while, but exactly how long he had no way of knowing. A voice called out to him, making him sit up and turn, though he did so without any sense of urgency.

“Nailsmith, there you are,” Sheo started to make his way towards him. “I woke up and you weren’t there.”

“I just stepped out for some fresh air,” he explained, turning his head back to the city.

Sheo hesitated before taking a seat next to him. He glanced at him a few times, worry clouding his features.

“Is something the matter?”

The Nailsmith frowned. He wanted to say no, he wanted Sheo to not worry about him, but… he couldn’t bring himself to lie to such a kind bug.

“What do you think of me, Sheo?”

Sheo’s eyes widened at the sudden question, but he quickly realized. “I think you’re quite the exceptional bug.”

The Nailsmith dragged a hand down his face, “Really?” He didn’t sound happy.

“Yes really,” Sheo sounded confused. “Do you think I would lie to you?”

“I think you would say whatever you need to make me feel better.”

“Where’d you get that from?”

There was a long pause. Where did he get that from?

“Come on, what’s this really about?” Sheo asked with a gentle nudge.

“It’s just…” The Nailsmith paused, needing a moment to put his worries into words. “You’re Sheo for the love of Wyrm! Former Nailmaster and current artist! You’re so… so cool and I- I live in a trashy hut in the slums of the city.”

“So?”

“Why do you bother with me?” He couldn’t help but feel as if he was a chore for Sheo, like a guest he had to constantly keep entertained. They came to the city for Quirrel, and the both of them seemed to have been enjoying themselves all day.

“Nailsmith,” Sheo spoke in a calm soothing voice. “You have a habit of undermining your own accomplishments. You made a Pure Nail, remember? A lot of other nailsmiths can’t say they did that.”

“I just got lucky. I could only make it because The Knight got the ore for me.”

“Is there something wrong with accepting help from others?”

“N-no, but-”

“And so what if you got lucky? You got lucky by meeting me, and I’m telling you that your work is impressive.”

The Nailsmith groaned. Would Sheo stop complimenting him and just listen?

“Look, don’t think I missed the dozens of nails you have stuck in the ground,” Sheo said, giving him a comforting pat on his back. “You spent a long time perfecting your craft, and are very skilled because of it. Besides, no matter how you came across the materials, you were the one to forge it. You make it sound as if making a Pure Nail is as easy as gluing the ores to a piece of shellwood.”

“I- I guess you’re right.” The Nailsmith closed his eyes as Sheo rubbed circles on his back.

They sat in silence for a while, listening to the sounds of the city just ahead of them. What a large world they lived in, a world so grand and old that he had no clue of its history. What slim of chances the two of them would meet, what were the chances of them meeting Quirrel as well?

“Yeah, yeah you’re definitely right,” The Nailsmith leaned into Sheo’s side, starting to feel the day’s fatigue but not yet wanting to fall asleep. “The luckiest thing to happen to me is meeting you.”

Sheo responded with a warm chuckle, bringing his arm to wrap around The Nailsmith like a blanket.

“Hey, you still want to know about that favor of mine?” The Nailsmith felt talkative for the first time in his life.

“Only if you’re willing to share.”

Surprisingly even to him, The Nailsmith didn’t stumble on his words. For once he spoke clearly and without hesitation. “There was no favor, I was going to kill myself.”

Sheo steeled. The Nailsmith could have sworn his soul turned cold.

“After I made the Pure Nail, I felt as if I’d fulfilled my purpose. It was right here where I asked The Knight to cut me down, I wanted to feel its sharp edge before I died. But as you can guess yourself, The Knight didn’t do that. They just… left. And so I fell into a rage, trashed my hut, and set off to find them so I could do it myself. But then I met you, and you made me want to keep living.”

“Oh… oh dear Wyrm,” Sheo dragged a hand down his face, slowly resting it over his mouth. “You were going to… oh, and I just… I just gave you back your nail.” His grip on The Nailsmith tightened, as if he was afraid he’d slip away if he wasn’t careful.

“Don’t beat yourself up about it, there’s no way you could’ve-”

“What if you never came back?” Sheo spoke over The Nailsmith, though his stunned voice was so quiet, he could have missed it. “Oh Wyrm, what if you never came back?”

The Nailsmith felt a pang as he remembered he promised to visit Sheo that night. What would’ve happened to Sheo if he hadn’t returned? Quirrel would have run off that night if he hadn’t stopped him, leaving Sheo all alone again. Would he wait for The Nailsmith to come back? Would he wait for the day he would keep his promise?

“Hey, I’m here now aren't I?”

Sheo seemed to not be able to talk for a moment. He didn’t seem to be able to look directly at The Nailsmith either. Then, with a very sudden jolt, his eyes widened. “Oh my Wyrm,” damn, if he said Wyrm one more time he was going to summon him. “Is that why The Little One brought Quirrel to me?” His voice was similar to a panicked, whispered scream.

“Uh, yeah.”

Sheo let out a noise similar to a deflating fungoon. “That explains why The Little One was so adamant on him staying. I just thought that… well, I don’t know what I thought, but it wasn’t this!”

“He nearly left too, tried to sneak out when you and The Knight were sleeping.”

“He did?! Oh dear Wyrm…”

“I… I probably should’ve kept my mouth shut, huh?” The Nailsmith thought Sheo had a right to know, but now he wasn’t so sure. Would it have done him better if he never found out? He didn’t mean to stress him out.

“No. Thank you for telling me, it’s just…” Sheo couldn’t find a way to finish his sentence.

“Listen big guy, you helped me, a lot. Gave me a reason to keep going without even trying. You don’t have to worry about Quirrel, you’ll worm your way into his heart soon enough.”

Sheo’s muscles relaxed, though his mind was still racing.

Where would he be… if he couldn’t hold The Nailsmith like this?

Chapter Text

“There was no favor, I was going to kill myself.”

The words played over and over again in Sheo’s ears.

The Nailsmith had been planning to kill himself. He’d been planning to end his life… and Sheo had just handed him the means to do that.

He wasn’t able to sleep that night, his mind had been keeping him up with hundreds of “what if” scenarios, unable to stop for even a moment. The thought that The Nailsmith could’ve… and right under his watch… it was a realization he couldn’t let go.

And Quirrel… oh Wyrm, he’s going through the same thing. If it weren’t for The Nailsmith he would’ve done it already, walking out into the dead of night never to be seen again. Sheo could barely handle that realization either.

He was responsible for them, and he’d been so careless. It was a miracle they were both alive now.

“Sheo,” even though Quirrel’s morning voice was soft and quiet, it made the larger bug jump. “You’re up early.”

Sheo glanced out the window, seeing that early morning light was barely seeping through the cracks in the stone ceiling. When was the last time Sheo had been awake this early? He guessed he really hadn’t slept a wink at all.

“Yeah,” Sheo’s voice sounded so strange to him. He wanted to say something witty, some funny reason to explain why he was awake but, he just couldn’t say anything.

“Is something bothering you?” Quirrel asked, sitting up fully in his sleeping bag. “You appear to be deep in thought.”

Oh geez, was it that obvious something was wrong? Sheo didn’t know how to respond and ended up staying quiet for far longer than he intended to.

“It’s… it’s just that this trip has me thinking about my time as a Nailmaster.” This wasn’t a complete lie, but Sheo’s bittersweet memories were the last thing on his mind at the moment.

“Care to share?” Quirrel asked as he tilted his head.

“It’s nothing much really,” Sheo dismissed with a wave of his hand. He noticed he was finding it hard to look Quirrel in the eye.

“Oh, well that’s alright then. Would you like to talk about something else? You know, I just remembered a book where-”

“I’m sorry Quirrel, but I don’t feel like talking right now.” It wasn’t that he didn’t want to talk to Quirrel, (because he did, he really did,) it was that there was no way he could speak to him normally right now. He couldn’t look him in the eyes and hold a casual conversation, not with the thoughts rampaging in his brain.

Quirrel looked at him strangely, even through his peripheral vision Sheo could see him frown.

“Actually, I’m going to step out for a bit,” Sheo quickly said and stood, picking up one of the leaf umbrellas at the door.

“Would you like some company?” Quirrel suggested instead. “We don’t have to talk, we can just enjoy the scenery.” Sheo grimaced while he tried to think of a way to politely turn him down.

“No thank you, I just want to be by myself for a bit,” Sheo couldn’t bear to look at Quirrel’s expression as he said this. He walked out the door without any more interruptions, leaving Quirrel alone.

—

Well… what in the name of Wyrm was that?

Since when has Sheo not wanted to talk?

Since when did Sheo avoid eye contact?

Since when did Sheo want to be alone?

Quirrel didn’t understand. Did something happen to him last night? He made his way over to The Nailsmith, prodding him awake rather roughly.

“Hmm?” The Nailsmith buried his face in his pillow and pulled the sheets closer to him.

“Wake up, I have to talk to you.”

“Do you? Do you really? Like right now?” The Nailsmith’s eyes were shut tight, as if waking up early caused him great pain.

“Yes, ‘like right now.’ Did something happen to Sheo? He was acting strange.”

“He was awake? This early?”

“Yeah, and he was just staring at nothing. He nearly jumped out of his shell when I called his name.”

The Nailsmith, of course, knew why Sheo was acting strange, but his sleep-lagged brain was taking longer than he liked for it to catch up.

“He probably had a bad dream or somethin'.”

“I don’t know, he didn’t seem scared, just… weird.”

“Oh wait,” now The Nailsmith remembered.

“What?”

“Uh, nothing.” The Nailsmith wasn’t sure if it’d be a good idea to tell Quirrel why Sheo was acting weird. He certainly didn’t want Quirrel to get mad at him. “Where is he now?”

“I don’t know, he just walked out a few minutes ago.”

“Huh. Well, I’m sure he’ll be back soon,” The Nailsmith said before he turned his back to Quirrel and went back to sleep. Quirrel was left alone again.

Wasn’t The Nailsmith concerned? Quirrel certainly was, although he worried that the problem might lie more with him than anything else. Perhaps Sheo was starting to regret taking him to the city. Perhaps Sheo had just wanted to get away from him.

He frowned as he entertained that thought, but with how The Nailsmith had simply gone back to bed without a care for his friend, he was starting to believe that was the case.

Oh well, he supposes he shouldn’t have gotten so comfortable so quickly.

Quirrel gets up, grabbing an umbrella and walking out the door. He didn’t have to come up with an excuse for his absence, as the only other bug is the house was fast asleep, though he’d prepared to say he was looking for Sheo if either of them asked.

—

‘MEMORIAL TO THE HOLLOW KNIGHT’

‘In the Black Vault far above.’

‘Through its sacrifice Hallownest lasts eternal.’

Sheo read the words over and over again, trying to understand their meaning. He had heard Quirrel whisper these words the day before, with his hands clasped together and his eyes closed in a simple prayer. Sheo didn’t even think he had read the inscription before he said it, did he know who this was?

Sheo stared deeply into the statue’s eyes, as if he could will it to answer by doing so.

“It’s ominous, isn’t it?”

For a moment, Sheo thought the statue had actually spoken, that was until he turned and saw a bug had appeared next to him.

“There’s this grand fountain in the center of the city as a memorial to this knight but… no record of what they actually did.” The stranger put a finger to his chin, studying the statue.

“Pardon me if this sounds rude but, who are you?”

“My name’s Lemm, I’m a relic seeker,” he glanced over at Sheo properly, noticing the umbrella he held over his head. “Hey, you mind letting me under that leaf of yours?”

“Oh, um, sure.” Sheo scooched over and held the umbrella outwards, leaving enough space for the relic seeker to stand. He briefly wondered why a bug living in the city wouldn’t have an umbrella of their own.

“I’ve been trying to uncover the secrets of this kingdom for years now,” Lemm started again, not bothered by the fact he was standing so close to a complete stranger, “-but no matter how many relics I collect, the story of The Hollow Knight eludes me.”

“This statue is new- I mean, new to me. It wasn’t here when I was last in the city.”

Lemm seemed to freeze, and Sheo wondered if he had said something wrong.

“When you were… last in the city?” he echoed. “But this fountain has been here for- Then that would mean that- Did you live in Hallownest before its fall?” There was excitement laced in Lemm’s voice.

“Somewhat. We traveled a lot back then but stayed here a good-“

“Oh my Wyrm! This is amazing!” Lemm interrupted him, who was starting to become more and more confused by the second. “I’ve never met a bug who’s been in Hallownest before it fell! Well, besides the husks that is. You practically qualify as a relic yourself!”

Well, that was quite rude. Sheo liked to think he looked rather young for his age.

“Come! Let’s get out of this rain and talk!” Lemm started to push Sheo away from the fountain. “I have so many things to ask you!”

Sheo wasn’t sure how he’d found himself in this situation, but he couldn’t find the heart to get himself out of it. Besides, if the information he has could help Lemm understand the mystery of The Hollow Knight, maybe it could help him understand Quirrel in turn.

—

The Nailsmith always hated waking up, no matter how long he’d been asleep for. But if there was one day he should have woken early, this would be the day.

The first thing he noticed when he got up was that Sheo was gone, he was quite hard to miss after all. His absence left The Nailsmith with a pang of sadness but it was short lived. Sheo was an adult after all, he could step out without telling him if he wanted to.

It wasn’t until The Nailsmith was going through his bag for a quick breakfast that he realized Quirrel was gone as well.

He tried to think reasonably. Maybe Quirrel had just gone out with Sheo, that would explain why they were both missing at the same time. But then he remembered Quirrel poking him awake, telling him that Sheo was acting weird. He’d been half asleep when he had that conversation, so he wasn’t much help. Had Quirrel left to go look for him? He hoped that was the case but… he couldn’t take the chance.

Frantically he grabbed an umbrella and rushed out the door. Where would Quirrel have gone? His first thought was to search the two stag stations in the city. If Quirrel was going to do it… well… he probably didn’t want to do it somewhere nearby where he could be quickly found.

But what if he didn’t go to a stag? What if he just went into an abandoned building and- There’s so many, there’s too many. There’s no way he could search all of-

No, now’s not the time to get carried away inside his head. He just has to start searching and be quick about it. He prayed he wasn’t too late.

—

“Tell me everything about yourself.”

Lemm had taken Sheo back to his shop. Sheo found himself keeping his arms and legs as close together as he could, afraid that he might knock down a shelf or two were he not careful.

Mountains of relics covered every surface in the shop. He wondered how many stories were stored in each one, how many secrets and past lives he was surrounded by.

“Well? Go on.” Lemm was staring at him expectantly. He had a journal in his hand and a brush dipped in white paint in the other, ready to jot down everything Sheo said.

“Well, what is it exactly you want to know?”

“Anything and everything you know about Hallownest,” he pressed, though a moment later he figured he should give a starting off point. “Were you born here?”

“I was,” Sheo said with a simple nod. “My brothers and I lived in the Crossroads until our master took us in.”

“Your master?”

“Yes well, I took up the nail when I was younger. With our master we traveled a lot for training and other things. None of us were here when the infection started, we only knew about it from word of mouth. We figured we’d return home when it passed, but obviously it never did.”

“So, what are you doing back?”

“When I decided I no longer wanted to study the nail arts, I also decided that I wanted to come home. I’ll admit, seeing this once thriving city turn to ruin was rather depressing at first, but I’ve gotten used to it by now.” Sheo still wasn’t comfortable with talking about his past, but he supposed it wouldn’t hurt to speak to a stranger. It’s not like he’d ever see this bug again, it’d do him some good to get out of his comfort zone.

“So you were nowhere near Hallownest when the infection began,” Lemm spoke mostly to himself, writing in his journal.

“I apologize if that makes me less helpful.”

“No, no, you’re fine. There’s still much more I’d like to ask you.”

And so, Sheo ended up talking to Lemm about everything he knew about Hallownest. It wasn’t much, but the information seemed to keep the stranger’s interest. It wasn’t until they were well deep in conversation that Lemm realized he didn’t know Sheo’s name, and when he told him, well, his reaction was even more over the top than both The Nailsmith’s and Quirrel’s.

“Sheo? As in Sheo the Nailmaster?!” Lemm had stood up so quickly he knocked a few relics from his desk.

Sheo nodded, wincing at Lemm’s reaction. “But I told you, I no longer practice the nail arts. I would prefer it if you just called me Sheo.”

If he didn’t know any better, he’d think that Lemm was in the presence of a wyrm. His face lit up like a kid receiving their favorite gift. “I can’t believe it, I’m in the presence of the legendary Sheo.”

“I wouldn’t say legendary,” Sheo mumbled.

“Legendary is definitely the word to use,” Lemm insisted, leaning in closer to Sheo’s face as if he couldn’t see him clearly from his seat. “Do you have any idea how many relics here mention you and your brothers?”

That made Sheo pause. Of course, he was well known as a Nailmaster among many kingdoms, but he never thought he’d be notable enough for his name to be listed in a relic.

“You were quite the bug in your prime,” Lemm spoke during Sheo’s stunned silence. “There are many wanderer’s journals writing about witnessing your skill with a nail. With how they describe it, you’d think they were talking about a god.”

“I’m sorry, but I don’t really see what you’re getting at.”

“I’m just saying there’s no need to be so humble. Even if you’re no longer a nailmaster, you could still brag about your accomplishments,” Lemm said in nearly a sing-song tone, picking up his journal and looking at Sheo expectantly.

“Ah I see, but I’m afraid I’m going to have to decline that offer. Bragging is just something I don’t do.”

“Why so reluctant? Did you quit because something traumatic happened on the job?”

“Nope! No, no, my lips are sealed,” Sheo shook his head with a faint smile.

Lemm groaned in disappointment, rolling his eyes and looking at this journal briefly.

“Say stranger, I’m curious, why is it you’ve dedicated your life to uncovering the secret of Hallownest?”

Lemm scoffed as if the question was stupid. “Why do you think? Hallownest was once a promising kingdom, bustling with trade and bugs, and in just about a generation it was wiped from the world. It’s almost as if this place doesn’t exist to the outside kingdoms, and I want to know why.”

“I reckon that statue is important to unlocking everything,” Lemm continued, briefly glancing out the window to look at the fountain, still visible through the rain. “It just gives off a feeling, you know? Aren’t you mesmerized by it too?”

“Yeah. It’s definitely the key to unlocking something,” though the something Sheo was referring to wasn’t really about discovering what happened to Hallownest. No, Sheo was convinced that understanding the history of the fountain would help him understand Quirrel, but how he was going to go about such a task, he wasn’t sure. If Lemm, who’s dedicated his whole life to relic collecting, hasn’t figured it out, he doubted he could do it himself.

“But stating the obvious won’t do much good,” Lemm sighed. “Well, that’s all I wanted to talk about, unless you lead some other secret life you won’t tell me about.”

“No, I’m not hiding any other secrets. That is, unless you’re interested in paintings made by yours truly.”

“I’ll buy em,” Lemm said in a tone that almost made him sound serious. “Once you’re dead that is. I’m not an art collector, I’m a relic seeker.”

That made the both of them let out a light laugh.

“Here, let me compensate you for your time,” Lemm said as he opened a drawer in his desk. A moment later he had placed a bag of geo in front of Sheo.

“Oh! There’s no need for payment,” Sheo quickly pushed the money away from him as if it were about to attack him. How did Lemm have that much geo to simply hand to a bug he met just a few hours ago? All he did was purchase relics, it wasn’t like he sold anything.

“Well, what do you want instead? I don’t want to owe you anything.”

Sheo thought for a moment. He’d learned everything he could about the fountain, which was nothing at all, so there was no point in asking more about it. But then again, it wasn’t as if it was the fountain he wanted to learn more about, it was Quirrel.

“How about I take my turn and ask you a few questions?” Sheo suggested, half expecting Lemm to say no.

“Alright,” he said instead, although he didn’t look too pleased. “What do you want to know?”

“Is there by any chance a bug by the name of Quirrel mentioned in your relics?” He wasn’t entirely sure why he asked this, the answer was probably a no. Quirrel would have to be quite the important bug to be talked about in a relic, and even then it wasn’t as if Lemm owned every relic in existence, (even though at first glance of his shop it looked like he did.)

“Quirrel?” Lemm repeated the name, testing it on his tongue. He tapped his finger on the desk a few times, thoughtfully recounting his relics to remember if he had heard the name before. “Actually, I think so.”

“Wait, really?” Sheo hadn’t expected that.

“Yeah, he wrote something. What was it again?” Lemm tapped his fingers a few more times. “Oh, that’s it. He was the one who wrote reports on Hallownest. He must have made reports for every region in the kingdom because they’re all numbered, but I only have a few. He’s quite the writer though, very descriptive and informative, though his material is pretty dry at times.”

“Ah, I see.” Sheo almost couldn’t believe what he was hearing, Quirrel had been an accomplished writer? Accomplished enough for his works to be considered relics? “Could I see one of the reports? If you don’t mind, that is.”

“I absolutely do mind,” Lemm said with such conviction Sheo was afraid he had offended him. “I don’t lend out my relics to anyone.”

“Oh, of course. My bad.” Sheo looked away briefly, feeling stupid. He supposes he could simply ask Quirrel about the reports next he sees him, but the thought of doing such a thing made him freeze. Well, there goes that lead.

“How about I ask something else,” Sheo quickly said, though he didn’t know what he wanted to ask yet. “Actually I was wondering if you could give me some advice on something.”

“I don’t think I’m the kind of bug you want to ask for advice,” Lemm said, leaning back into his chair. “But go ahead.”

“Do you know any ways of uh, bringing up a sensitive subject with someone?” Oh wyrm did Sheo feel silly right about now. Asking a stranger for advice on how to talk to Quirrel? How did things come to this?

“Nope, not at all,” Lemm answered right off the bat. “Maybe make sure they’re comfortable with you first? I don’t know man, I’m a bug who spends all his time living alone and looking at relics, I’m not exactly great with relations.”

“Right,” Sheo nodded. Was Quirrel comfortable around him? He wanted to say yes but the guy had always been rather reserved. The most he’d gotten him to open up was when they had talked about books all night long, and he wasn’t sure if Quirrel would even want to speak to him with how he acted this morning.

“Actually, I might have some real advice for you,” Lemm spoke after a pause and Sheo hopefully looked up at him. “If this someone is here in the city with you, why not take them to the hot springs? They’re known for making bugs relaxed.”

Oh right, the hot springs! It’s been ages since Sheo had sat in a hot spring, much longer since he’d been to the one in the city. Fond memories of going there from time to time with his brothers and master fill his head. The four of them usually ended up getting kicked out by how they laughed loudly and splashed around like they were kids in a pool, but of course, being nailmasters, their patronage was too good to permanently lose.

“Excellent idea,” Sheo nodded.

—

Quirrel shouldn’t have let himself get comfortable.

He was at King’s Station now, the station that marked the end of the east side of the city. Any step he took echoed throughout the grand building, almost making it seem as if someone was following him. Ah, but why would they anyways?

He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t a bit sad, he thought fondly of Sheo, and even though The Nailsmith could be rather annoying, he enjoyed his company as well.

It’s alright though, he should have expected this. He should have never entertained The Small Knight and The Nailsmith with his promise of staying. There was no need for them to be so concerned for him. It was time for him to go, that’s just how things are.

The echoing of footsteps began to double and when Quirrel stopped walking the sound continued. A few more footsteps later and the noise stopped altogether.

Someone was behind him.

He froze. Why was he always being interrupted? Couldn’t he just walk away without someone stopping him? It was probably The Nailsmith, wasn’t it? Ah, in just a few moments he’d hear his annoyed shouts calling him back. He’d probably get scolded for breaking his promise, or maybe he’d be too angry to speak.

“Q-Quirrel? Is that you?”

Quirrel flinched. That wasn’t The Nailsmith’s voice. No, it was much too kind and soft, much too friendly. It was Sheo. Sheo had caught him.

He looked behind him slowly, as if he was unable to make any sudden movements. It was Sheo, he looked almost afraid. His eyes were wide and he was staring at Quirrel as if he was some kind of monster.

“Sheo?” Quirrel spoke in a voice so slow and quiet that if it weren’t for the echo of the stag station, Sheo would not have been able to hear him. “What… what are you doing here?”

“Oh uh, well it’s like I told you, I took a walk around the city. Though I guess I traveled a bit farther than intended.” He looked nervous, Sheo never looked nervous. “Perhaps we should be heading back now. I’m sure Nailsmith is wondering where we’ve run off to.”

Quirrel didn’t respond for a few moments. Something clicked in his brain.

“Yeah,” Quirrel finally responded, defeat laced his tone. “Let’s head back.”

When he made his way to Sheo’s side, he didn’t miss how the larger bug sighed in relief. Ah, so that was it, huh? He knew, didn’t he?

—

Sheo let out a sigh of relief before leading the way. The walk back was so painfully silent Sheo caught himself fidgeting more than a few times.

When he left Lemm’s shop, he opted to walk around the city a bit more, half because he just wanted to stay out more and half because he was scared of speaking to Quirrel again. He wasn’t lying when he said he’d traveled farther than he meant to, his wandering mind had made him not pay attention to where he was walking.

But perhaps that was for the best. If Sheo hadn’t wandered into King’s Station… well, there was no need to complete that thought.

He wanted to say something to Quirrel, but every time he opened his mouth he caught a glimpse of Quirrel’s expression and quickly closed it. He looked… annoyed.

Thankfully for him, the walk was cut short.

The two of them had barely made it halfway back before they caught a glimpse of The Nailsmith up ahead. He was whipping his head around frantically, as if he’d just been stolen from. When he locked eyes with Quirrel, he immediately broke into a sprint, a look of relief washed over his face.

Before either Quirrel or Sheo could fully comprehend what was happening, The Nailsmith brought Quirrel into a tight hug.

“Oh, um, Nailsmith?” Quirrel’s arms were raised at his sides awkwardly, he sounded more confused than anything. “What are you–”

“Thank wyrm you’re alright,” The Nailsmith interrupted him, burying his face in his neck. Suddenly, he pulled away sharply and looked at Quirrel with a glare similar to a mother scolding a child. “Don’t ever do that again! You had me scared half to death!”

“Don’t do what exactly?” Quirrel looked at him calmly, though it was clear he was trying very hard not to make his voice sound annoyed. “Go off on my own? Leave without telling you?”

“Yes! Exactly! Do you have any idea how-”

“I’m not a child, Nailsmith,” Quirrel’s voice was cold, so unlike the calming voice Sheo and The Nailsmith had grown accustomed to. “Please do not treat me like one.”

The Nailsmith opened his mouth to argue further, but wherever he planned to say turned into a groan as he gritted his teeth.

“It appears that tensions are rather high at the moment,” Sheo spoke hesitantly, tapping his pointer fingers together while briefly avoiding eye contact. “It’s been a long day and I’m sure we could all do with a little relaxing, yes?”

“Yeah, yeah,” The Nailsmith said, pinching his nose. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to yell. Let’s just… let’s just get back to the hut.”

He turned to leave but Sheo placed a hand on his shoulder to stop him. “Actually, um, I have a better idea.”

—

The Nailsmith wasn’t sure of what to think when Sheo had led them to the entrance of the Pleasure House, but it was something along the lines of: ‘Oh my Wyrm. Sheo, you idiot.’

The Nailsmith had never been to The Pleasure House before, half because he didn’t have the time or money and half because of… other reasons, but he knew enough about it to know this wasn’t the place the three of them should be.

“Sheo, what the hell are we doing here?” He asked as Sheo held the door open. He glanced over to Quirrel, trying to judge how he felt about this, but his expression was the void of any emotion.

“Well, if my memory serves me right, this place has the best bathhouse in the entire city. I thought spending some time here would help calm all our nerves.”

The Nailsmith only groaned in response. It wasn’t that Sheo’s memory was wrong, it was that it was blocking out an important fact of not only this bathhouse, but this building as a whole. During its prime, this place was popular with couples, but it was clear with Sheo’s expression that he either didn’t know, or didn’t remember this fact.

Either way, the group made their way up the elevator and into the hot springs. The once grand and packed pools were completely empty, leaving the sound of rushing water to be the only sound in the room. Sheo was first to enter the soul-infused water, splashing a bit as he got comfortable. He let out a satisfied sigh before gesturing for the others to join him. When they were all in the water, they sat far apart.

The Nailsmith had to admit, the water sure was relaxing. He’d never been to a hot spring before. It felt as if the water could clean away fatigue just as easily as dirt under his shell.

The group stayed silent for a while, listening to the sounds of the water. Honestly, The Nailsmith thought he could’ve fallen asleep right then and there. He dipped further down, having the water come up to his neck. He was so relaxed, it felt as if the panic-inducing events of the day had never happened.

“Sheo,” Quirrel’s voice was quiet, but it sounded loud in the silence of the room. “Is there something you’d like to tell me?”

“Huh?” Sheo looked at him. Strangely, he looked guilty.

“You keep glancing in my direction. Is there something you’d like to tell me?” Quirrel sat by the shallower side of the pool. His elbows pointed upwards as his hands rested on the back of his head. He seemed very nonchalant.

“Oh, well, I- uh,” Sheo stammered as he tapped his fingers together.

“Nevermind,” Quirrel said, rolling his eyes. There was a pause. “Did Nailsmith tell you?”

“T-tell me what? Nailsmith?”

“You know.”

Sheo was nervously fidgeting, trying frantically to think of a believable lie. Eventually though, he gave up. Lying was something he just couldn’t do. “Yeah, he told me.”

The Nailsmith had a thought that maybe, just maybe, if he were to sink into the pool far enough, Sheo and Quirrel would forget he was here long enough for him not to be dragged into this conversation.

“I knew it,” Quirrel said with an angry groan. “Well, what’d he say about me exactly?”

Sheo looked as if he’d rather be anywhere else. “He told me that you were planning to, um, take your own life. He also said that you almost did it one night.”

“Did he tell you about his own situation?”

“Yeah, he did.”

Quirrel rolled his eyes again, visibly annoyed.

“Are… are you upset with me?” Sheo looked down into the pool water.

“Not really, but I am upset with Nailsmith. He had no right telling you my business like that.”

The Nailsmith took that as his que to rise from the water, obviously his plan had failed. “Quirrel, look, I was just trying to help. I figured it’d be best if I just explained things to him.”

“You figured it’d be best,” Quirrel mocked. “You don’t seem to care about what I think is best. Neither you nor The Small Knight.”

“That’s because-”

“That’s because I’m wrong, isn’t it? Because life is worth living no matter how old or how useless you become, because there’s always a reason to go on and blah blah blah.” Quirrel made hand motions as he spoke. “I’d like you to stop pretending you know what’s best for me. In fact, I’d like the both of you to stop acting like you know me at all. I’m nothing more than a stranger you barely know, remember that.”

“Quirrel, please listen to me when I say I know what you’re going through.” The Nailsmith pleaded. “My whole life I had dreamed of crafting the perfect nail, and when I finally did I convinced myself there was no other reason for me to keep living. Sheo showed me that I was wrong, and- and he wasn’t even trying! I’m going to show you that you’re wrong about yourself.”

The Nailsmith and Sheo looked at Quirrel expectantly, hoping, praying that some of what he said sunk in. Instead, they were greeted with the most offended expression they’ve ever seen Quirrel make.

“Don’t you dare act like our situations are the same,” he practically growled. “Do you think I’m like this because I lost a god damn hobby? This is exactly what I’m talking about when I say you act like you know me.”

“Quirrel, we just want to help,” Sheo said.

“If you wanted to help you wouldn’t have stopped me from getting on that elevator.”

“Huh? What elevator?” The Nailsmith looked up at Sheo who seemed very uncomfortable. “Sheo, what is he talking about?”

“I had found Quirrel at King’s Station,” he explained quietly. “I stopped him from… doing anything.”

The Nailsmith groaned as he dragged a hand down his face. “We take our eyes off of your for one second and-”

“And there you go again, treating me like a child.”

“How else am I supposed to treat you when you’re acting like one?!” The Nailsmith hadn’t meant to shout, but at this point, he didn’t care. How could a bug be so… so… stupid?

The stunned silence was broken by Sheo trying to make peace. “Hey, how about we all-”

“Shut up,” Quirrel quickly cut him off. “I’m done talking to you two.”

“Then just listen to me-”

“I’m done listening too,” Quirrel said firmly as he turned his head away, pretending that the two other bugs weren’t there. With a grimace, The Nailsmith retreated back into the water. Sheo sat back down with a sigh.

Well, the hot springs had made them more talkative at least?

—

Their trip to the city ended the next day. The Nailsmith and Sheo rarely spoke to Quirrel, only silently observing him. Quirrel clearly noticed he was always being watched, sometimes he just stared back at whoever had their eyes on him at the time. They would immediately look away, pretending that they were busy with something else, but Quirrel would just stare back, long enough for them to feel like holes were being burned through their shells.

They were loading their luggage and themselves onto the stag now. None of them spoke. Even the old stag seemed to pick up on the tension they carried, but thankfully, he knew better than to comment on it.

They remained silent when the stag started to run, although the silence became slightly more bearable when accompanied by the sounds made by running through the tunnels.

Sheo had never been the best at resolving conflicts. He always tried, but his soft-spoken nature always prevented his words from reaching. But what should he do now? He can’t just leave things like this. Are the three of them just supposed to go home and never speak to each other again? No, that’d be worse than Sheo being all alone again.

He risked a glance over at Quirrel. He was watching the tunnels go by with a bored expression on his face. Sheo then glanced over at The Nailsmith who had his head back as if asleep, but his constant fidgeting told Sheo that he was very much still awake.

Sheo figures he should just try to talk to Quirrel again. Obviously, conversation didn’t go too well yesterday, but today was a new day, and things weren’t going to magically smooth over if everyone gave everyone the silent treatment.

“Quirrel,” Sheo spoke slowly and cautiously. “Would it be alright if I spoke to you for a moment?”

The only indication Quirrel gave that he heard him was a brief glance.

“I would like to apologize for how The Nailsmith and I have been treating you. You have every right to feel as upset with us as you do.”

“I told you that I wasn’t mad at you,” Quirrel spoke just as slowly as Sheo.

“I know, but I should apologize anyway. I’ve been treating you differently since I found out, and that is not something I should excuse.”

Instead of responding, Quirrel asked a question. “Sheo, why is it you kept me around?”

Sheo thought that was a strange question to ask. “What do you mean?”

“Most bugs don’t keep a stranger in their home for multiple days. So why did you keep me around instead of sending me home?”

“Because I enjoy your company,” Sheo said as if the answer should have been obvious.

Quirrel frowned. “Really?”

“Yes really. Why would I lie?”

That’s a fair point, why would Sheo lie about that? It wasn’t as if he knew about Quirrel’s situation back then, so there’s no way he was keeping him around because he pitied him. But still, the fact that Sheo genuinely enjoyed his company was more shocking than it should’ve been.

“You don’t feel as if I get in the way?”

Now Sheo was really confused. “Get in the way of what?”

“Of you and Nailsmith. You two have your… friendship, and then there’s me.”

“Quirrel, do you not think of yourself as our friend too?”

“Why would I? The only reason I’m here is because of my situation.”

“The Nailsmith found me while he was going through the same situation. Why do you doubt that we care for you?”

“I- I don’t know.”

“You’re not a burden, okay?” Sheo assured as he placed a comforting hand on Quirrel’s back. “You’re our dear friend and we care for you deeply. I just hope one day soon you’ll realize that.”

Quirrel felt his muscles relax at Sheo’s touch, and his unpleasant thoughts were melted away.

Chapter Text

Slowly, things started to get better.

There was still tension, more notable at certain times than at others, but things were getting better.

Quirrel was spending multiple days organizing the books they brought back from the city; he seemed to use it as a happy distraction. The sheer amount of books seemed unnecessary to The Nailsmith, but Sheo didn’t seem to have an opinion on it. How much reading could one bug possibly do? Briefly, The Nailsmith thought about the last thing he had read, remembered it was an order of a nail from one of his customers, and considered that he had surely done enough reading to last a lifetime.

The days passed mostly in silence. Sheo had begun a painting of the grand library they had visited in the city, and to dull the quiet he would hum a tune or mumble to himself about what he was painting. Every once in a while, he would step back and ask The Nailsmith or Quirrel what they thought about it so far, to which they could only respond by saying it was coming along great, as they had no experience with art and couldn’t find any flaws in Sheo’s brush strokes anyhow.

The Nailsmith had started a new project as well, as he had begun to make vases with intricate designs engraved in the clay. He had failed multiple times already, the designs never turning out quite right, but with Sheo’s encouragement, he kept trying. Most of the vases ended up being mushed back down into a conglomerate of clay, mostly as a way for The Nailsmith to take out his frustration, but a small collection of finished vases had begun. Quirrel had put them on top of an easy-to-see shelf. Sheo found himself looking in their direction many times a day.

The days started to become rather routine in a simple way, and Sheo couldn’t say he minded too much. And even though his shell plates seemed to never quite lie flat when he was near Quirrel, he was glad to be able to be near him at all.

Then one morning, this simple routine was shattered quicker than it had come about.

Sheo had been painting contently, The Nailsmith had been working his clay with his eyebrows furrowed, and Quirrel had his nose deep in a book he had only intended on flipping through for a brief moment. With the home so quiet, all three bugs clearly heard the tiny footsteps making their way towards the door, and when they all turned to look, they were greeted with The Knight.

“Ah! Welcome back, small friend!” Sheo said as he put down his paintbrush. “I thought it’d be a while longer before I saw you again.”

The Knight excitedly made their way to Sheo, who picked them up and twirled them around in a tight hug. “What brings you back so soon?”

It was then Sheo noticed The Knight was holding something in their tiny hands. They pressed the said item directly to his face; it was a journal of some kind. When Sheo placed The Knight back down he examined what he’d just been given.

“Well? What’d they get you, big guy?” The Nailsmith called from the table. He’d been watching the interaction since it began.

Sheo’s eyes widened as he read the journal, which actually turned out to be a letter addressed to him. He glanced at The Knight, half expecting to see them laughing or looking amused or making any gesture indicating that this was a prank or joke of some kind, but they did no such thing.

He didn’t respond to The Nailsmith, instead, re-reading the short letter a few more times, his anxiety increasing each time he did.

“Uh… hello? Hallownest to Sheo?” The Nailsmith called again.

“It’s a letter from my brother,” disbelief laced Sheo’s stunned voice.

“Hm,” The Nailsmith hummed, expecting Sheo to continue. When he didn’t, he spoke again. “Is this a good thing or…?”

“I- I don’t know.”

“You don’t know? Are you guys on bad terms or something?”

“You know Nailsmith,” Quirrel spoke suddenly and firmly, though his eyes did not leave the pages of his book, “It might do you some good to mind your business every once and awhile.”

“It was just a question,” The Nailsmith’s voice turned quiet as he pushed his face into his beard. You’d think after what happened at the city he would watch his mouth a little more carefully.

“I’m not on poor terms with either of my brothers,” Sheo said before the conversation could get out of hand.

“When why do you sound-'' The Nailsmith was cut off by Quirrel’s sharp look. “I mean- you don’t seem to be very happy about the letter.” He re-worded his question and tried again. He looked over at Quirrel, who just rolled his eyes and went back to his book.

“Oh, I’m ecstatic about the letter,” Sheo said in a tone of voice that did not at all convey the emotion he was describing. “It’s just that… he says he’s going to visit.”

My Beloved Brother Sheo,

I apologize for not having written to you before now. My training has kept me busy, as I have not thought to take a break until now. In light of some recent events, I’m coming down to visit you. I thought it’d be rather rude to show up unannounced, so that is why I asked my child to travel ahead of me and deliver you this letter. By the time you’re reading this, I should be just a day away. Can’t wait to see you!

Mato

Sheo read the letter one more time for good measure. After not having spoken to his brother for years, after not even being sure he was alive for years, he just sends him this. He’s coming to visit. Mato is coming to visit and he’s going to be here by tomorrow. Sheo should be excited, and he was to an extent, but his excitement wasn’t able to show with how shocked he was.

In fact, he was so shocked that he completely skipped over the part of the letter calling The Knight Mato’s child, but it’s not like he had the brainpower to process something like that anyway.

“Would it be a bad thing for him to see two strangers in your home?” The Nailsmith asked.

“Oh no, Mato is very sociable, I’m not worried about him meeting the two of you.”

“Then what is it?”

“I’m just a little nervous about seeing him after all this time.” Sheo missed his brothers dearly, and there were times where he’d wish for nothing more than to go back into the past when they were children, running around and chasing each other with harmless shellwood nails. Oh, but how many years have passed since then? Sheo wonders if Mato is the same bug he remembers growing up with. Sheo wonders if he’s the same bug Mato remembers. “It’s been a while.”

“Well, I wouldn’t worry too much. It sounds like your brother wants to see you, and you want to see him too. It’s better late than never, right? Family’s important, or whatever it is they say.”

“Do you have any siblings, Nailsmith?”

“Nope,” The Nailsmith answered simply, popping the “p” sound. “I’m an only child who cut contact with his folks a lifetime ago.”

“Oh,” Sheo couldn’t help but feel saddened by that.

“It’s not a big deal really, we just never clicked. But I’ve heard my clients speak of family loyalty or honor too many times to count. As far as I’m concerned though, I’ve got no family.”

“I consider you family,” Sheo said in such a matter-of-fact way that it took The Nailsmith a moment to process what he actually said.

“What?” he looked up at Sheo, stunned. Gods, curse his stupid, innocent, loveable face.

“Oh, is that too forward?”

“Too forward? Oh by the gods Sheo you can’t just stay stuff like that,” The Nailsmith brought up his hand to try and cover his face as he could feel it heating up already.

“But it’s the truth,” Sheo said, seemingly not being able to understand why saying such a thing would make The Nailsmith uncomfortable. “Do you think I would let just any bug live with me?”

“Honestly? Yes. Yes, I do.”

Sheo laughed as he made his way over to The Nailsmith. “I can’t believe you think so lowly of me!”

“Eh, not lowly. Just that you’re too nice.”

Sheo laughed again. “But believe it or not, I care about you and Quirrel deeply. I always like to think that my friends are my chosen family, and I’m glad to have chosen to be with the two of you.”

The Nailsmith stared at Sheo, not able to think of anything to say. I mean, what do you say to that? “Uh- thanks.”

Quirrel couldn’t help but scoff at that. It was a quiet noise, but audible. The Knight definitely heard it as they made it their mission to run over to him and angrily block his view of his book.

“What?” Quirrel snapped his head up at The Knight, “Am I not allowed to read now?”

The Knight stared silently, clearly trying to stay that his reading was not what they were upset about.

When The Knight didn’t move their hands, Quirrel groaned an explanation. “Don’t give me that look, you know damn well I wouldn’t still be here if it weren’t for you.” Was it mean of him to say this? Absolutely. Did Quirrel care? Not at all. Maybe he would regret not holding his tongue later, when he thought back on his day when tries to go to sleep tonight, but right now, he was in a poor mood and couldn’t give one.

Even though his back was turned, Quirrel could practically see the looks Sheo and The Nailsmith were giving each other. The Knight poked Quirrel roughly in between his eyes.

“Ow!” Quirrel brought his hands over where he’d been poked, causing the book to fall to the ground. “Look, I’m not in the mood for your shenanigans, alright? Just let me read in peace.” There was a time when Quirrel would try to soften his words when he was upset, there was a time when he’d do everything in his power to make sure his true feelings wouldn’t slip out, but that time had seemingly ran away from him after his episode at the hot springs. He didn’t care about keeping appearances or staying civil anymore. Irritated, he picked up his book and moved to the corner of the house farthest from everyone.

Sheo looked over to The Nailsmith, who was looking back at him with the same stunned expression he had.

‘Oh dear,’ Sheo thought to himself. ‘I’ve just made things worse again, haven’t I?’

—

Even long after night fell, Sheo was still thinking about it.

He laid on his back with an arm over his forehead, blankly staring at the ceiling. He just had to say something, didn’t he? Just had to ruin whatever progress was made.

“Why is it so hard to say the right things?” Sheo muttered to himself in the dark room. He thought saying such a thing would have made Quirrel happy, not piss him off. He’d been watching what he said so carefully up until now too, what was he supposed to say?

“Your guess is as good as mine.” Startled, Sheo sat up and looked in the direction of the voice.

“Nailsmith? I thought you were asleep.”

“Eh, I was out for an hour or two, but I guess I layed down in a weird position ‘cause now my back hurts.”

“I’m sorry to hear that. Perhaps I could find you another pillow or blanket to cushion yourself with.”

“Don’t bother. It’s pitch black and you’d probably wake the others.” Even though not much could be seen, he glanced in the direction of Quirrel. He had completely covered himself with his blanket, hiding his face in an attempt to make himself invisible.

“But I wouldn’t want you to sleep poorly,” Sheo said, attempting to look around the room anyways, but it was just as The Nailsmith had said, pitch black. Only a small amount of light came from the opening in the middle of the roof, but that was barely making The Nailsmith’s face visible.

But then, Sheo got a different idea. “I’ll try to make the couches more comfortable in the morning, but for tonight you could lay with me. I’ll be sure not to toss in my sleep.”

The Nailsmith was thankful for the darkness, because he didn’t know what he would do if Sheo could see his face right now. “I told you, I’m fine.” Was Sheo really this oblivious? For the sake of wyrm, you can’t just invite bugs into your bed!

“Are you sure?” Sheo’s genuine tone was so pleasant to The Nailsmith’s ears. “I don’t mind sharing a bed, really.”

“Er, well… fine, if you insist.” Honestly, The Nailsmith wanted nothing more than to fall asleep by Sheo’s side. His hugs were already the warmest, most comfortable, and the most calming place in all of Hallownest. Ah, what a dream it would be to held like that all night long. He would never need a blanket again.

Wait, no. Why is he thinking things like that? Stop thinking things like that!

Hesitantly, The Nailsmith got into bed with Sheo, laying as far away from him as he could without falling off the edge. Instantly, he could feel how much more comfortable the mattress was compared to the couch, and he felt the discomfort in his back almost immediately melt away. Sheo pulled the blanket over him before laying back down himself, resuming the position he was in before.

Neither of them spoke for a while. It’s incredibly hard to gauge the passage of time in the dead of night, but after what felt like a lifetime to The Nailsmith, Sheo spoke again.

“What are we going to do with him?”

“I… I don’t know.” Neither he nor Sheo knew how to help Quirrel, and that was made painfully clear to the two of them back at the city.

There was silence again. Sheo was deep in thought.

“Do you think…” Sheo started, but his sentence trailed off. “Nailsmith, do you not want to be a part of my family?”

“What?” There’s no way Sheo was doing this by accident, right? Does he not know how that sounds?

“I’m not sure if Quirrel wants anything to do with me, and you didn’t seem too thrilled when I said it either.”

“I can’t speak for Quirrel, but I didn’t mind what you said. It’s just that you have a habit of saying what’s on your mind, no matter how cheesy or sappy it may be.”

“It’s sappy to say I care about you?” Sheo asked in a playful tone.

“Very much so.”

Chapter Text

The sound of a fine-tuned chime rang in Oro’s ears.

When the blinding white light faded from his vision, The Nailmaster stood to find himself in a grand arena among massive clouds. Gold, white, and grey painted every surface, including the audience that carefully studied his each and every movement. Though he had never seen this place before, he felt no need to question why he was here. It was as if a part of him knew he would arrive here one day, almost as if he’d been waiting for it.

A noise from the other side of the arena caught his attention. He whipped his head around quickly, catching the sight of a familiar bug; it was the one he had taught his nail art to. They wore no expression on their white face, no indication of what they were thinking. The bug’s eyes were trained on him with the same apprehension of the audience watching, and they held their nail in a stance so firm, Oro thought for a moment if even he could knock down a bug that steady.

There was no signal, no sign of when to begin, and so without any further warning Oro launched himself towards The Knight. He swung his heavy nail as if it weighed nothing at all, and when The Knight would dodge or ready an attack Oro was able to match their swiftness; but as the fight progressed, this quickly changed. Within a blink of an eye, The Knight parried a swing, stunning him for just a second.

Oh, but in combat, a second may as well be an hour.

The tables turned. Suddenly, Oro found himself struggling to do so much as catch a breath. His shell stung painfully with each strike he suffered, each strike that seeped soul from his plating. It was overwhelming, the pure strength of this bug. Oro lashed out, half in anger, half in desperation, hoping that his nail made contact.

And it did.

But he was punished for it.

Oro was struck. It was a great hit, one that sent him into the air and tumbling to the ground in a heartbeat. His mind yelled for him to stand, but all he could manage to do was prop up one foot. And even though he couldn’t bring himself to raise his head, he knew The Knight’s gaze on him was unbroken; he felt powerless under it.

But then, there was a sound above him.

Something, no, someone dropped to his side. He knew who it was before he looked up, but he did so anyway. Was it strange that he could identify his brother just by the way he stood?

Mato held Oro’s gaze like it had stolen something from him, but in a way, it had. The last thing Oro wanted was for his brother to see him like this, completely and utterly helpless; he was sure he looked a mess. For a brief moment, Oro wondered if Mato was here on The Knight’s behalf, he wondered if it brought his brother joy to see him defeated like this.

He clenched his nail.

Then something happened that Oro wasn’t expecting. Mato’s gaze softened, and for a moment, it was as if they had never drifted apart in the first place. Why did they ever distance themselves from one another? Why did they let such hostility keep them apart for so long? They were brothers, how could anything have distracted from that?

A split second later, Oro found himself regaining his strength. He stood so easily, no longer able to feel his injuries. Adrenaline pumped through his soul as he and his brother shouted a battle cry as one, loud and clear for everyone in the audience to hear. Oro was right behind Mato as he readied his nail. Mato lunged forward and suddenly…

They were fighting together.

They were fighting as brothers.

—

Mato arrived the next day just as he said he would. Any normal bug would’ve felt worn out from how rushed the trip was, but Mato was very much not any normal bug. He worked his muscles to bone every day, a simple trip like this was nothing more than a warmup.

He carried nothing more than the necessities on his back in an old backpack, though he found that he didn’t end up using anything in it. He took not a single break in getting here, not even resting on the stag. His mind had been too busy to sleep, and his stomach was too knotted to eat. As he made the final climb up to Sheo’s hut, he was glad to see he was home. He could see him painting contently, and had it not been for the fact they hadn’t seen each other in multiple years, he would have rushed over and given him a hug right then and there.

Hesitantly, he knocked on the side of the open door, and when Sheo turned to see him a smile quickly spread on his features. Without a second’s wait he rushed to Mato’s side, pulling him into a hug so tight he was finding it hard to breathe.

“Ah! I missed you too!” Mato said with a laugh, squeezing his brother back with just as much force.

“It’s been so long!” Sheo was somehow able to hug tighter, which made Mato think he could actually pop for a moment, but the pressure quickly relieved when Sheo pulled away. “Come in! Come in! I’ll make us something to eat. Oh, and don’t mind my… er, roommates.”

“Roommates?” He hadn’t seen them until he stepped into the house, but as he looked around he noticed three other bugs inside. He expected to see The Knight, as he had sent them ahead to deliver the letter, but it was the other two bugs that he’d never seen before. It shouldn’t have shocked him, really. It must’ve been torture for a bug as social as Sheo to live a life of solitude. Roommates are just what he needed.

The said roommates were staring at him as if he was some strange, otherworldly creature. They weren’t hostile stares, just curious, though they tried to make it seem like they hadn’t been staring in the first place.

“You haven’t had lunch yet, have you Mato?” Sheo said as he happily took vegetables out of his pantry.

“No, not yet. I was in such a rush to get here that I didn't have time to eat.” It wasn’t that he was off-put by Sheo’s new friends, it was just that he wanted to speak to Sheo in private. But he didn’t want to be rude, so he decided to save that conversation for a little later.

This was actually the first time he’d ever been to Sheo’s hut, and so he spent some time looking around. His eyes were naturally drawn to the many paintings on the walls, and he spent a great deal of time staring at each one. Sheo’s skill with a brush had improved greatly, so much so that each painting looked like a snapshot of life.

Eventually his wandering led him to the table where one of the roommates was painting a vase. He caught him flick his eyes in his direction before focusing extra hard on his brush strokes.

“Hello,” Mato greeted the bug simply.

“Hi.”

“I’m not sure if Sheo has already told you about me, but my name is Mato.”

“I’m known as The Nailsmith,” he said flatly.

“What’s that you’re working on?”

“It’s a vase.”

“It looks nice.”

“Thanks.”

Mato frowned, this bug clearly wasn’t one for conversation. “Ah, well, sorry to bother you. I’ll let you get back to work.” He turned his attention to the other bug he didn’t know, who was sitting on the couch with a book in his hands.

“Hello. I’m Mato,” he said as he held out a hand for the bug to shake.

“I’m Quirrel,” this bug sounded just as flat as the other, and even though he did shake his hand, Mato was not confident this conversation was going to progress any further.

“I apologize if my sudden appearance was well… sudden.”

“It’s fine,” Quirrel said as he opened his book back up, indicating that this conversation had in fact ended. Mato just sighed. He was well aware Sheo had the ability to befriend any bug in the world, but he wondered how he was able to hold a conversation with these two particular ones.

After a while, lunch was finished and Sheo and Mato caught up while they ate, talking about how Mato was coming along with training and similar subjects. He missed Sheo’s cooking. It was never perfect, but it was made with love. Mato waited until after their plates had been cleared for some time before he lowered his voice and started to do what he came all this way for.

“Actually Sheo, I was hoping I could speak to you in private for a moment.”

“Oh, of course,” Sheo said without a hint of hesitation, which Mato was thankful for. “We’re going to be stepping out for a moment!” He announced to the other bugs in the room before getting up.

“Alright. Have fun with your brotherly bonding,” The Nailsmith said dismissively as the brothers left the home. They had just walked out of earshot when Quirrel asked The Nailsmith a question.

“So, what’s up with you sleeping in Sheo’s bed last night?”

The Nailsmith’s steady hand jerked at the sudden question, creating a rather ugly streak of paint along his vase. “What the hell?”

“What? I’m usually the first one awake. Did you think I wouldn’t catch you over there? You looked quite comfortable.”

“I thought you were in the middle of giving me the silent treatment,” The Nailsmith said, trying to say anything that keeps him from thinking about this morning. Even though he remembers keeping a healthy distance away from Sheo when he fell asleep, in the morning he had awoken to find himself wrapped in Sheo’s arms much like a plushie; and although the feeling was actually rather pleasant, he spent way longer than he would have liked to admit prying Sheo’s arms off of him and getting out of the bed without waking him. He thought he had done so rather discreetly, as Quirrel had seemed to be too invested in his book to notice, but perhaps he was wrong.

“I was, but said treatment has been momentarily paused in order to ask you a simple question.”

The Nailsmith groaned as he glared at Quirrel’s stupid smug face. He then looked over to The Knight, who was painting happily as if the other two bugs were not there.

“And you took the time to wait until Sheo was out of the house to ask this.”

“Would you rather me ask with him in here?” The Nailsmith thought about that for a moment and ultimately decided the answer was no. Although Sheo would give an honest explanation, he would probably also find some easy to sneak some cheesy or sappy comment in there as well. As much as he loves the guy, Sheo has no idea how easily his words affect people.

“It’s not whatever you’re thinking,” The Nailsmith said with a stern glare. “The couch was uncomfortable and it was too dark to do anything about it, so Sheo said that I could use his bed for the night. That’s it.”

“If ‘that’s it’ why’d you spend so much time deflecting the question?”

“What? You think I’m lying?”

“I don’t know. I guess I’ll have to ask Sheo to make sure.”

The Nailsmith just groaned and went back to work on his vase, doing his best to fix his mistake.

“Maybe I should ask him if I could spend a night in his bed too?” Quirrel asked, not at all in a serious tone, but The Nailsmith couldn’t help but actually consider it. Despite how much he was annoyed at Quirrel at the moment, he wouldn’t mind falling asleep beside him.

—

“Where’d you find those roommates of yours?” Mato asked as soon as they were out of earshot.

Sheo chuckled. “I didn’t, they found me.”

“You mean they both just happened to stumble upon your hut, which is guarded by thorns and located at the bottom of Greenpath?”

“Yeah, pretty much. Did The Little One not find you in a similar fashion?”

Mato paused, considering that for a moment. “Huh, I guess they did.”

Sheo led the way to his garden, and when he parted the leaves and revealed the entrance, Mato gasped at the sight.

“Oh my wyrm!” he breathed, awestruck. “It’s no wonder your food tastes so good, this garden is beautiful!”

“Thanks, I take pride in it.” Sheo gestured towards a bench in the center of the garden, and they both took a seat.

“So, what was it you wanted to speak to me about?” Sheo asked as Mato had stayed quiet for a few moments, still admiring the various colorful plants all around him.

“Well, I’d feel bad bringing up such a serious topic in a place as beautiful as this, but I did come all this way,” Mato said hesitantly. Sheo had rarely seen his brother hesitant or nervous of anything, he was usually the ‘do now, ask later’ type of bug. Oro and him actually had that in common.

“Do you remember how master would talk about the importance of dreams?”

“I do,” Sheo said with a nod.

“I think I had one of those dreams he talked about.”

“What do you mean?” Sheo remembers all of his master’s teachings, and he can recall him preaching the importance of listening to your dreams, as there was great power held within them. Sheo can’t say that he fully understood what that meant, not even now, years later, but he had always kept it in mind.

“I had a dream that I landed in an arena with gold clouds,” his voice sounded distant, as if he had traveled back into that dream world. “When I stood up, the first thing I saw was Oro. He was pretty beat up, he wasn’t even standing, but after a moment of hostility, we fought together. It was wonderful.

“The thing is, my arms still feel sore from that fight,” Mato said as he rolled his shoulder in an attempt to soothe his muscles.

“Even though it was a dream?”

“Yeah.”

Sheo was quiet for a moment. He didn’t doubt his brother’s claims, not for a second, but what was this dream supposed to mean? Was it trying to show him that Mato and Oro could be friends again? Or was it something else? Was it simpler than that? Or more complex?

“You never did tell me what happened between the two of you.” Sheo worried that he was prying, but asked the question anyway. There was a long pause before Mato answered.

“I didn’t want your opinion of Oro to change,” Mato said at last. “But I guess it was unfair to keep such a secret from you.” Sheo was the most understanding bug in all of Hallownest. If anyone could see both sides of the story and remain unbiased, it would be him. He helped smooth over countless disputes between Mato and Oro when they were younger, why wouldn’t the same be true now?

“I’ll tell you,” Mato decided with a nod. It wouldn’t be hard to recall the memory. He remembered it as if it had just happened.

—

It was the night before the family of nailmasters separated. They had traveled from a faraway kingdom to return to Hallownest, and they had been disappointed to find the place a shell of its former self. The Howling Cliffs were always deserted, but even the wind there seemed to be lonelier.

As they group made their way along the familiar path to Dirthmouth, they were glad to see the lumafly lanterns were still fluttering bright, but as they continued their walk, it became clear the same could not be said for the town. It looked ghostly with the many houses and stores empty. Dirtmouth had always been the quietest town in Hallownest, but even this was far too quiet.

“Goodness,” their master said as they neared the heart of town. “What happened here?”

They all had a vague idea of the infection that passed through the kingdom. The story had been told through word of mouth, though only a few bugs had known of it, and so their knowledge was limited. There were never any statements sent out of Hallownest about the infection, and so only those who had recently traveled out of there had known what was going on, and that was in its early stages. The rumors stopped a while later, seemingly signifying the issue had been sorted out, but out of nowhere it was said that Hallownest’s capital had closed its gates, and the entire kingdom shut itself off from the rest of the world. No one entered the kingdom and no one got out. That’s the way it stayed for years, until it was mostly forgotten about, with no one knowing the full story.

“It’s deserted,” Mato commented. “It’s like a graveyard.”

The mysteries of Hallownest would have to wait though, as the family was completely worn out from their trip and desperately needed a place to rest. They ended up claiming an empty shop as their camp, as not even the inn was in business.

“I feel kind of bad staying here,” Mato had said as everyone started to sort through their belongings and roll out their sleeping bags.

“It doesn’t make much of a difference whether we sleep outside or in here,” their master said, inspecting the dusty countertops with a finger. “This store has been abandoned for quite some time. I doubt its owner will be coming back.”

Mato just frowned as he went through his bag. Sheo seemed to be sharing the same concerns as him, as he kept looking around the room with a frown. Oro on the other hand seemed to be agreeing with their master (for once) and didn’t look anxious at all.

“Well, the plan was to stock up on supplies as soon as we got here, but I think that’s going to be a lot easier said than done,” their master said with a sigh. “I doubt any of us even have enough food for dinner.”

A string of “nope’s” and “nothing here’s” filled the room, and their master sighed.

“Alright, we're going to have to figure something out. Sheo,-” his head perked up obediently at his name being called, “-would you mind going into town with me and helping me find you boys some supplies and food?”

“Of course, master,” he said at once, rising to his feet.

“Oro and I can accompany you,” Mato quickly said, standing up quickly.

“That’s alright Mato, you two should rest until we get back. We shouldn’t be out too long anyway.”

And with that, the two of them left, leaving Mato and Oro alone together.

“Why are you always trying to volunteer me for things?” Oro muttered as he propped himself up against a wall. “You can do whatever you want but don’t include me.”

“I volunteer us for things because things get done faster when we all work together.”

Oro rolled his eyes. “Gods, I hate it when you say things like that.”

“Well, I hate it when you’re grumpy. Oh wait, you’re always grumpy.” Mato spoke playfully.

“Of course I’m ‘grumpy’ I’m tired, and by the gods you should be too.”

“Maybe if you trained with Sheo and I more this trip wouldn’t have worn you out so much.”

“I train plenty,” Oro started to sound offended.

“I know you do, but you do it all by yourself. I mean, when was the last time we trained as a group? You’d get more out of it that way.”

“Why does that matter? Training is training no matter when you do it or how many people you do it with.”

“Come on, you know that master always says-”

“It’s always master says this and master says that. Think for yourself, will you? When are you going to have your own thoughts for once?”

Mato paused, stunned at the hostility in his voice. “I do have my own thoughts, and I think that master’s teachings are very important.”

“Just because he’s our master doesn’t mean he knows everything. All this ‘working together’ nonsense is so stupid. If you need a group behind you just to be able to do anything, well, you’re clearly not all that useful.”

“Oro, I think you should rest for a bit.” It was his exhaustion that was making him snappy, it had to be. Oro was never the friendliest bug, but there was no way he would say things like this in his right mind.

“And there you go again calling me weak.”

“Weak? I wasn’t-”

“I’m not tired!” Oro snapped, cutting Mato off and completely contradicting what he said just a few moments ago. “I could fight a Garpede if I really wanted to! You swinging your nail with Sheo doesn’t make you stronger than me!”

“Oh, I never meant any of that! I was just saying that you should open up to people more. We’re not going to be around each other much longer and it’d do you no good to become a hermit in your hut.”

“My solitude is necessary for my growth as a nailsage,” Oro said with extreme conviction.

“But master says it’s important to be a part of a community-”

“Do you ever shut up about what master says?” Oro yelled. “You need to be able to carry your own weight in battle and in life. Relying on other people just means someone else is there to do the work for you. Even with all of his skill, master doesn’t see that simple fact.”

“You better take that back!” Mato shouted. Mato never shouts at his brothers, and he never glares at them like he’s doing now. “Master’s teachings are sacred! Apologize! Now!”

“You want me to apologize to someone who isn’t even in the room? Gods, he has you wrapped around his finger.”

“Oro!” Mato shouted warningly.

“Your loyalty is going to be the death of you.”

“And I’m glad! I’ll stand strong with my loyalty if it kills me!” Mato’s voice dropped dangerously low, “Who are you loyal to, Oro?”

“I’m loyal to myself,” he said, making Mato’s glare deepen.

“And what about your family?”

Oro didn’t answer.

“I said, what about your family?”

When Oro still didn’t answer, Mato turned away from him. With a huff he slipped into his sleeping bag and pretended to go to sleep. Even when Sheo and their master returned with food, Mato didn’t eat any. He’d been starving before, but suddenly the thought of food made him sick.

“I think I might as well make this shop my own,” their master said the next morning, trying to cut the obvious tension between Oro and Mato, but they didn't budge. Not so much as a word was spoken between the two, but Mato’s gaze never left Oro. He watched as his brother showed no signs of remorse and distanced himself as far away from Mato as he could. It had always been an impossible task to try and figure out what was going on in his head, but for the first time Mato thought had a pretty good guess.

Though it took some searching, by midday everyone had enough supplies to last them. None of the brothers had been completely sure of where they would build their huts, and so they were all going to search on their own; and with Hallownest in such an unfamiliar state, that might have been for the best.

“I’m truly grateful for all you have taught me, master,” Mato said with a bow. This was it, time to go their separate ways. “I will dedicate the rest of my life to perfecting your teachings.”

“You’ll become a fine nailsage one day,” their master spoke with certainty. “But I’ve told you already, there’s no need to keep calling me master. My name’s Sly.”

“Of course, Master Sly,” Mato corrected with another, fiercer bow. Their master had made it clear that he was done with the nail arts. The announcement had actually come not too long after Sheo had come to the same decision. Even so, Mato couldn’t bring himself to address his master as anything else.

“Eh, I suppose that’s as good as I’m going to get,” Sly said with a slight laugh. “Let me go see what’s holding up Sheo.” And with that, Sly disappeared back into the shop, which left Oro and Mato just a few moments alone.

“I’m moving to Howling Cliffs,” Mato said as soon as Sly was gone. His voice was firm but quiet, as the curtain door was thin and he did not want anyone to overhear this conversation. “Come and meet me there when you're ready.”

It’s clear his brother was in no mood to apologize, and Mato was fine with that. There would come a day when Oro would truly learn his master’s teachings and understand the necessity of companionship, but that day was not today, no matter how much he wished it to be. No matter how upset with his brother he was, he knew that in time his anger would fade and when that happens he’d rather not regret telling Oro where he could find him. He could always come by, no matter what. His home would always be a safe place for him.

Oro did nothing but tighten his grip on his bag. He didn’t look at Mato.

Sheo came out of the shop just a few seconds later, giving everyone drawn out, shell-crushing hugs as goodbyes. And when the brothers finally did separate, Mato noticed that Oro didn’t so much as look back, as if he didn’t care at all.

—

“He can disagree with me all he wants, but he insulted our master!” Mato said as he finished the story. When he realized he had raised his voice, he quickly lowered it with a soundless apology. “I'm over it now. Well I mean, I’m not over it, but it’s so stupid that something like this is what made me estranged from Oro.”

As much as he hated to admit it, Sheo could easily envision such an argument between his two brothers. Oro had always made it clear that he didn’t agree with a lot of their master’s teachings, while Mato was always the one trying to encourage Oro to be better. Oro had always hated it when Mato encouraged him.

“I want to visit him,” Mato said, “-but I don't know where he lives. I came all this way to ask if you knew.”

“He’s in Kingdoms Edge,” Oro had told Sheo that was one of the few locations he’d been considering to move to, and since Oro would likely want to stay as far away from Mato as he could, it would only make sense that he would move to opposite side of the kingdom, insuring they’d never run into each other.

“Oh, that shouldn’t surprise me,” Mato said sadly. “Would it be too much to ask if you could come with me? I want to see Oro but… well I’m kind of nervous.”

“Of course I’ll come with you.” Why would Mato ever think he would say no to that?

“But what about your roommates?”

His roommates? Oh wyrm, his roommates! Could he trust them alone by themselves? Quirrel’s already not doing well, and that would mean The Nailsmith would be in charge of keeping an eye on him all by himself.

Oh wait, this was exactly what Quirrel was talking about when he said he was being treated like a child. And here he is, thinking of The Nailsmith as some kind of babysitter.

“They’ll be fine without me for a bit,” Sheo assured after a moment's thought. “This is important.”

Mato let out a breath he’d been holding. “Thank you,” he sounded so relieved.

“Of course, it’s not a problem at all,” Sheo said, bringing his brother in for a hug, praying that his roommates actually would be able to go without him for a bit.

—

“You’re what?!” The Nailsmith yelled in shock.

“I’m leaving,” Sheo stated simply as he looked around his room for items to pack, his brother stood awkwardly at the door.

“Wait a minute you- you can’t just- What about-?” The Nailsmith couldn’t even complete a sentence. Sheo was just going to leave, just like that? What about Quirrel? For the love of the gods, what about him?

“I have urgent family business to take care of,” Sheo said as he started to put things into his bag. “Quirrel, do you think this is enough for a week’s trip?”

Quirrel glanced up uninterestedly from his book. “Yeah.”

“A week?!” The Nailsmith repeated. “You’re going to be gone for a week?”

“It’s an estimate, but yes.”

The Nailsmith couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

Sheo finished packing quickly as he swung his bag over his shoulders. “Listen Nailsmith, I know this is sudden but I have to go. You and Quirrel will do just fine by yourselves, I’m sure of it.”

Perhaps The Nailsmith was being selfish in not wanting Sheo to go. Sheo did say it was urgent, but was it bad that he didn’t care?

“I’ll be back before you know it!” Sheo said as he left. And with that, he was gone.

Chapter Text

“Your roommate didn’t seem too thrilled about you leaving,” Mato said with a frown as he led the way to the stag station, feeling as if he shouldn’t have burdened his brother with his troubles after all.

Sheo cast a glance towards the direction of his hut, which was now a good distance away. “He wasn’t, but he’s going to have to manage. He can go a few days without me. They both can.”

“How long has he been your roommate?”

“Not long at all,” Sheo said with a shake of his head. Has The Nailsmith only been living with him for a few weeks? It feels like it has been much longer than that.

“How about the other one? Quirrel, right?”

“He came by just a few days after The Nailsmith, so he’s been with me for about the same amount of time.” The three of them were practically strangers still, but even so, Sheo felt such a genuine connection with the two of them.

“Huh,” Mato seemed to find this very interesting. “Is that how they always act?”

“What do you mean?”

“They didn’t seem very talkative. I mean, I know you have the ability to befriend even the coldest knight in Hallownest but… they did not strike me as the social type.”

“Well, that’s true,” Sheo said with an amused chuckle, remembering his many talks with his roommates. “Nailsmith has a hard time holding a conversation. He never really knows how to respond to anything, but he’s a good listener. And Quirrel loves to talk about his books. He could go one for hours about his favorites.”

“So… they’re good company?”

“Indeed! Best company I’ve had in a long time.”

Mato was going to say something along the lines of, ‘they’re the only company you’ve had in a long time,’ but decided against it. Insead opting to say, “Really? What’s so great about them?”

Sheo’s face lit up. “Well to start, Nailsmith’s extremely talented! Did you know he’s the bug who’s been supplying The Little One with all their nails? And goodness are they impressive.”

“Wait really? Maybe I should commission him to make me something.” It’s about time for Mato to get a new nail. There aren’t any nailsmiths in the Howling Cliffs, but it’s not like he really needs them as he takes good care of the nails he’s got. Still, there’s nothing quite like the thrill of picking up a freshly-forged nail.

“Ah, I’m not sure about that. He’s told me he’s stopped making nails. The Pure Nail he made for The Little one was his final project.”

“Hm, so he’s like you in that sense? Giving up something he was once a master at?”

“Yeah,” Sheo laughed a bit, but it fell short. Mato had always said he was supportive of Sheo’s decision to quit the nail arts, but Sheo had never been quite sure if that support was genuine. Not that he would ever think his brother would lie to him! It’s just that in the past when Mato would watch Sheo paint he would stare with this look of… it wasn’t hostility… maybe closer to disapproval, but Sheo always worried that Mato had wished he continued his nailsage journey. “But as you saw, I taught him the basics of sculpting. He seems to quite enjoy it. And he’s quite nice, you know? He’s a bit awkward, but he’s nice. ”

“And Quirrel?”

“He’s so mysterious,” Sheo would have said this in a happier tone if he wasn’t aware of the exact reason as to why Quirrel kept to himself. “But when he does talk, he’s a lot of fun to listen to. I already said how he loves his books. He has a real creative mind.”

Mato didn’t say anything for a while, just looking at his brother fondly.

“What’s that look for?” Sheo was starting to become embarrassed. Had he gushed about his friends a little too much?

“It’s nothing,” Mato said as he looked away with a smile. “I’m just glad you found some new companions.”

Sheo smiled back. “You should try to find yourself some roommates too! Maybe a sparring partner?”

“I'd love too, but the Howling Cliffs aren’t exactly the place to go to find friends.”

“Well then, that’s your cue to take a break and go somewhere that is.”

“Eh, I’m good,” Mato shrugged. “Breaks aren’t really my thing.”

The two brothers made playful banter the rest of the way to the stag station, but when they arrived, Mato’s voice started to trail off. It was only until he stepped foot into the station that he realized just what it was he was about to do. He’s going to see Oro after who knows how many years of complete silence. He was starting to get into his own head. I mean, what if Oro didn’t want to see him? What if he turned him away? Oh wyrm, what if their meeting just devolved into another argument? He wasn’t sure if he would be able to handle that. You know, maybe it wasn't the best idea to make a life-changing decision based on a dream after all.

But it was too late to turn back now. He’d already gotten on the stag and- oh now it’s moving. Okay, and now it’s definitely too late to turn back.

“Are you alright?” Sheo’s worried voice brought him out of his thoughts. Mato hadn’t even noticed that he stopped replying.

“I’m…” fine? Okay? Mato didn’t want his brother to worry about him too much, but he also couldn’t bring himself to lie. Maybe that was another one of Sheo’s abilities, making anyone who spoke to him to be completely honest. “I’m nervous. I mean, he’s been avoiding me for this long and I’m not sure if he’ll actually be too happy to see me. I’m already about to show up to his hut uninvited, and he was never fond of uninvited guests.”

“He’ll be happy to see you,” Sheo’s voice was filled with certainty. “He just isn’t the best at keeping in touch.” Oro had always been distant. He had a tendency of only speaking when necessary, and he would never so much as elude to his emotions at any given moment. Truthfully, Sheo always thought he was haunted by something, though he never learned what.

“But what do I even say to him? Do I ask him for an apology? Do I apologize? I should, right? I yelled at him real bad. Really bad, actually. Why did I do that?” The argument he had with Oro didn’t weigh down on Mato as much as it used to. In the past, it had caused a fierce anger whenever he so much as thought about his brother, but then it faded into a moderate pang of frustration until it finally became a memory he could only frown at. He hadn’t forgiven his brother for all the horrible things he said, but he (for the most part) let it go. But now that he was reopening his old wounds again, he found that they were bleeding far more than he thought they would.

“I’m sure you’ll find the right words,” Sheo said comfortingly as he pulled his brother closer to him. “Come on now, get comfortable. We’ve got a long ride ahead of us.”

“Alright,” with a sigh Mato did his best to relax and close his eyes. His mind was still full of worries, but having Sheo next to him held them back. “Thanks.”

—

The Nailsmith stood staring at the door, looking stupid.

He left.

Sheo just left.

Well, this is bad, just plain bad. Now he’s going to have to keep a watch on Quirrel all by himself, and without Sheo here to keep a friendly mood in the house, things are sure to start going downhill.

Wait a minute, he’s not by himself! The Knight’s still here! Thank the gods, he doesn't know what he’d do if this was all left to him- wait, why is The Knight getting up?

The Nailsmith watched as The Knight put away their painting supplies and started to make their way towards the door. They stopped right in front of him as they bowed a goodbye to both him and Quirrel.

“Don’t tell me you’re leaving too!” The Nailsmith said just as The Knight turned to leave.

“What’s the issue, Nailsmith?” Quirrel commented with a small smile as he kept his eyes on his book. “Do you have abandonment issues or just not want to be alone with me?” He glanced up at The Knight briefly and spoke in a more serious tone. “I’m sure bug’s got somewhere to be.”

The Knight nodded in agreement towards Quirrel before turning to leave again.

“Argh- wait! Don’t you dare walk through that door!”

The Knight left.

“I think they dared to walk through that door,” Quirrel observed.

The Nailsmith groaned. “Great, just great.”

“What’s wrong? Upset you’re going to have to play babysitter?”

“I’m upset I’m going to have to deal with your annoying remarks for a week straight.”

“You think I’m annoying?” Quirrel said with mock hurt. “Really? I wonder what you’d say if you met yourself.”

The Nailsmith groaned. “This is exactly what I’m talking about! A week of this! At least with Sheo here you held your tongue.”

“This is the true me Nailsmith,” Quirrel laughed. “You should get used to it.” There was a pause as he controlled his laughter. “But you’re right about me and Sheo, I try not to upset the guy. I’d rather not tarnish the smile he always wears on his face.” Quirrel always seemed to lose his temper whenever he opened his mouth, so he decided it would be better for Sheo’s sake if he just kept it shut. “It’s not like he did anything wrong.”

“But I did,” The Nailsmith muttered almost immediately.

“Indeed you did,” Quirrel didn’t miss a beat, and he certainly didn’t try to downplay how he felt either. It was strange how quickly he abandoned the way he would sugarcoat his words and beat around the bush when it came to talking about his negative emotions. Perhaps it was because he didn’t care about what The Nailsmith thought of him anymore. “I still don’t understand why you thought it was a good idea to tell Sheo all of that in the first place. You probably worried the poor bug half to death.”

“I just wanted to tell him the truth,” the sincerity in his voice made Quirrel look up, catching him hiding his face in his beard like he always did when he was nervous. Quirrel always found it endearing. “I didn’t even mean to tell him about you, but he put two and two together after I told him about myself.”

“You should have expected as much,” Quirrel said, but he hadn’t known that.

“Yeah, I know. You can call me dumb all you want, I deserve it.”

Okay, now Quirrel was starting to feel bad. Maybe he shouldn’t have given The Nailsmith such a hard time. Or at least, maybe he shouldn't have given him the silent treatment.

“Don’t talk like that, you just need to get back on my good side.”

“And how do I do that? You haven’t exactly given me any opportunities.”

“You can start by coming over here,” Quirrel got up from the couch and made his way to the bookshelf, gesturing for The Nailsmith to follow him. After a moment's pause he did, though he stared at the bookshelf with distaste.

“You want me to read?” The Nailsmith asked.

Quirrel nodded. “I told you I’d find a book for you didn’t I?”

“I thought you were joking.”

“I wasn’t. I picked a few I thought you'd like.” Quirrel took the said books off the shelf, laying them out in front of The Nailsmith with a smile. “Since you never told me what genre you had an interest in, I picked up a bit of everything. I find most picky readers tend to start off with action and adventure, so that’s mostly what’s here. Take a look.”

The Nailsmith stared at the books for a while as he took a seat on the floor, briefly reading the titles. “I know there’s that saying, ‘don’t judge a book by it’s cover,’ but I don’t know how else to judge them.”

“You could start by reading it,” Quirrel said with a smile.

The Nailsmith rolled his eyes. None of the books seemed all that interesting. He picked up a few of the action novels before immediately losing interest and putting them back down. He was surprised that Quirrel had actually gone through the trouble of doing all of this for him, and he felt guilty that none of these were appealing to him. “Which one was the book you were talking to Sheo about?”

“I was talking to Sheo about a lot of books. You’re going to have to be more specific.”

“That one you said was the first book you liked,” actually, the correct wording Quirrel had used was ‘the first book he fell in love with,’ but The Nailsmith thought that was too silly to repeat.

“Oh, that book isn’t in this pile. I don’t think you would like it, really. It’s rather slow, and a lot of the questions remain without a solid conclusion and are up for interpretation, and the main conflict is the romance between the main characters, and-”

“Okay that’s enough english major fancy talk,” The Nailsmith quickly shut him up before he could spout anymore nonsensical words. “Can I at least see the book?”

Quirrel stared at him strangely for a moment. “I’m telling you, I don’t think you’ll like it.”

“I just want a look.”

“...If you insist.” Gingerly, Quirrel picked the book off the shelf and handed it to The Nailsmith. He wasn’t going to like it, there’s no way he would. Ah, he’s probably going to take one look at the cover and make a joke about how dumb it looks. Well, it is kind of dumb. A vanishing kingdom? A whole book about a kingdom with legs? It’s stupid.

The Nailsmith looked at the cover. He didn’t think much of it. “The King’s Vanishing Kingdom,” he read the title out loud, testing the name on his tongue. “What’s it about?”

Quirrel couldn’t think of an answer. No matter how many times he had re-read and analyzed that book, no matter how many times he found himself talking about it for hours to whoever would listen, explaining the plot to someone who had never read it was a near impossible task. “It’s about a lot of things,” he said after an awkward pause, feeling the most vulnerable with The Nailsmith he’s ever had. “One of those things is a kingdom that vanishes.”

“You’ve gotta give me more than that. Didn’t you say this was your favorite book?”

Quirrel made an ‘eh’ sound as he shrugged. “But the plot is rather complicated and confusing out of context. It’d probably sound silly to you.”

The Nailsmith flipped through a few pages, not actually reading the words on any of them. “But this is one of your favorite books, right?”

“Yeah,” Quirrel nodded. Why did it feel so strange to admit that?

“Then I’ll give it a shot.”

“What? But what about these ones?” Quirrel gestured to the books he’d hand selected for The Nailsmith to read. “I’m telling you, you’re not going to like that book.”

“That’s alright. You said you liked it, and that’s all the convincing I need.” Sure, the book wasn’t something The Nailsmith was excited to read by any means, but if Quirrel enjoyed it, it must be good. (Plus, he didn’t care for any of the books Quirrel picked for him.) Worst case scenario is he doesn’t like it and Quirrel gets to say ‘I told you so.’

Quirrel sighed in defeat. “Alright, I guess all this hard work I put into finding a book for you is just gone to waste,” he said jokingly as he put the books away. As each book slid back into place, Quirrel kept glancing at how The Nailsmith gingerly flipped through the first few pages of the book, concentrating hard on the words. He can’t even believe The Nailsmith actually wanted to read the book. A part of him was excited at how he could gush about his interpretations of each chapter with him, or ask him opinions of characters or his first reactions to important scenes; but he was also still convinced that the book wouldn’t be to The Nailsmith’s liking. What would he say when the plot starts to get confusing? He’d probably poke fun at it for not making sense, or something like that.

“Why are you staring at the page so intensely?” Quirrel asked as he finished putting away the books and took a seat next to him.

“Well excuse me for having old eyes,” The Nailsmith muttered.

Quirrel had to laugh at that. His eyes were probably much older than The Nailsmith’s, but he was seeming to have genuine trouble reading the text on the page. To be fair, it was rather small and faded with age. “If you’re having a hard time seeing I could read it too you.”

The Nailsmith huffed. “What, you gonna ask me if I want a bedtime story next?”

“Thought I’d might get some revenge on how you’ve been treating me like a kid for so long.” Quirrel took the book out of The Nailsmith’s hands before he could protest. “Come on, let’s move over to the couches where it’s more comfortable.”

A few seconds later, they got comfortable on couches; and when The Nailsmith leaned into the cushions and closed his eyes, Quirrel was able to take him to a fantastical other-worldly kingdom with nothing more than his voice.

—

“I think that’s a good stopping point.” Quirrel spoke in his normal voice after being in ‘narrator mode’ for so long. “What do you think of the story so far?”

“It’s… uh, interesting.” That was one way to put it.

“Oh, you’re actually awake.” Quirrel spoke with genuine surprise. “I thought I’d put you to sleep.”

“Nope, but I feel just about ready to.” The Nailsmith stretched with a yawn, making Quirrel yawn as well. “You’re, uh, really good at doing… that,” he gestured towards the book.

“I’m good at doing what? Reading?”

“Yeah. I uh… like your voice.”

Quirrel couldn’t help but smile at that. He’d been reading for far longer than he had intended. At some point he had brought over a lumafly lantern to see the pages better, and now that he was looking around he realised it was well into the night. Time flys.

“I forgot how uncomfortable the couch is to sleep on,” The Nailsmith had been laying down for the majority of the reading, so his back was beginning to not like him very much.

“You could sleep in Sheo’s bed again,” Quirrel suggested. “We could probably both fit. I’m not particularly fond of the couches either.”

The Nailsmith went quiet for a moment. “No, it’s fine. You can use the bed, I’ll stay on the couch.”

“What are you talking about? You’re the one who was complaining. Besides, the bed’s so big we won’t even notice we’re sharing it.”

“...Alright.”

They both made their way to the bed, Quirrel being surprised at just how comfortable it was. His hand was practically sucked into the mattress when he first put his weight on it. No wonder Sheo was always so bubbly, how could you not be when getting sleep like this?

The Nailsmith seemingly made it his mission to lay down as far away from Quirrel as he possibly could. Quirrel didn’t mind though, he found it funny.

The night progressed and Quirrel found it hard to sleep. He just lay awake, thinking.

He supposes he’s been giving The Nailsmith a hard time. The guy’s heart was in the right place, he just made a slip up. Still, the fact that he has that ‘I know what’s best for you’ mindset pisses Quirrel off, but he supposses he can put it behind him. He’ll try to be nicer to him in the future. He’d been kind enough to let Quirrel read to him for hours, and Quirrel was certainly going to ask his thoughts about the book in the morning. Though, he can’t help but wonder if he actually enjoyed it, or if he just sat through it to make Quirrel feel better. He frowned at the likelihood of the latter being true.

While he was thinking, Quirrel felt the bed shift as The Nailsmith moved a few times. At first, he figured that The Nailsmith was just moving in his sleep, but after more shifting and movement Quirrel realized he was still awake.

“Can’t sleep?” Quirrel spoke quietly, but his sudden voice was a shock to The Nailsmith.

“Why are you still awake?” he asked after a jolt.

“I got lost in the wonders of my own mind,” Quirrel said poetically. “What about you? You certainly seem tired.”

“I can’t let myself go to sleep yet,” he said after a pause.

“Why not?”

“For the same reason you’re still awake.”

“I didn’t think my thoughts were that loud.”

“I mean I have to keep an eye on you.”

Despite himself, annoyance started to prickle throughout Quirrel. “Didn’t I already promise I wouldn’t walk out in the middle of the night?”

“You did, but you also gave me a bad scare back at the city. I don’t mean to sound rude, but I can’t exactly trust your word anymore.”

“I never told a single lie. I did swear on my life after all.”

“Again, with that stupid joke.”

“Not even a pity laugh?”

“No. Now go to bed.”

Quirrel frowned. Obviously, The Nailsmith had made it his life mission to keep an eye on Quirrel, and even though it was annoying, he’d feel bad if The Nailsmith became an insomniac just because he worried about him.

With a sigh, Quirrel shifted to that he was closer to The Nailsmith. Briefly their shells touched, causing The Nailsmith to flinch.

“Hey, too close. Have you ever heard of personal space?” he muttered, instinctually moving away.

“Oh, sorry. I just thought it’d be easier to keep track of me if I was a bit closer. That way you would feel it if I got out of bed.”

“I guess,” The Nailsmith’s voice was skeptical, but he moved back into his previous spot.

“Will you go to sleep now?”

“Eh, no promises.”

In just a few minutes though, Quirrel smiled as he began to hear The Nailsmith’s snores. And as sleep started to overcome him as well, he found that he quite liked the feeling of his shell touching his.

Chapter Text

With how drastically the other regions of Hallownest had changed since the kingdom fell, Kingdom’s Edge was practically untouched. Aside from the common hoppers, great hoppers, and primal aspids, there was no sign of the infection anywhere.

Night was threatening to fall when Mato and Sheo arrived, so they immediately looked to set up camp. After not long of searching, they found a cave that would provide ample protection and started a fire. The wind made it hard to keep a small flame going, but after a few tries, it was done.

“I suppose we’ll go looking for Oro’s hut in the morning,” Sheo said as he sat down, going through his bags for what would soon be the two bug’s dinner.

“Yeah,” Mato agreed, having already sat down and leaning against the cave wall. There was a stretch of silence, only being broken by Sheo placing their dinner over the flames to heat. “Hey.”

Sheo perked up.

“Do you really think Oro will be happy to see me?” Mato asked, uncertainty clouding his expression.

“Of course I do. He’s our brother.”

This only made Mato frown. “Look, I’m not asking you to be reassuring, I’m asking you to be honest. Do you think he’ll be happy to see me?”

Sheo seemed confused. “I am being honest. Why do you think I would lie?”

Mato shrugged with a huff. “Well, ‘lying’ makes it sound like I’m accusing you of something but… I know you, and I know you have a special skill when it comes to saying the right things to cheer someone up.”

Sheo paused for a moment, “Hm, Nailsmith told me something similar,” which was leading him to believe that he might be doing such a thing unintentionally. He truly does believe that Oro wants to see Mato, but maybe saying that he’ll be happy to see him might’ve been too optimistic.

“Perhaps I should rephrase,” Sheo started. “Oro needs to see you as much as you need to see him. I might’ve not been there to witness how… nasty the argument got, and I can’t be sure if he’ll welcome you with open arms but… some part of his soul wants to see you. I’m sure of that.”

“Why are you so sure?”

“Because we’re family,” he spoke the simple fact with a smile.

“Don’t give me that,” Mato said as he rolled his eyes. “I want a real reason.”

“That is my reasoning. There’s not much else to it.”

Sheo doesn’t say any more, occupying himself with the task of making sure their dinner didn’t burn. If he was being truthful with himself, he would agree that this wasn’t much reasoning. Going off all of his memories of Oro and Mato’s many bickerings, it never escalated to a point where either brother had felt estranged from the other. Usually, they would forget about the argument and things would become normal again by day’s end, or Sheo would step in to smooth things over if his brothers weren’t doing it themselves. If this argument hadn’t occurred just before they all went their separate ways, if Sheo had been there or at least known of what had happened before they said goodbye to each other, perhaps this conflict wouldn’t have lasted long at all. Perhaps they would’ve made up by now.

“It’s not very convincing,” Mato muttered. The silence seemed to prompt him to start talking again, though now he was just echoing his thoughts out loud. “Would he be happy to see me? Of course not. The guy went out of his way to live as far away from me as he possibly could! The other side of the kingdom for god's sake! He hasn’t even sent me so much as a letter- and it’s been how many years? No, he won’t be happy to see me. Who am I kidding?”

“You haven’t been much better at keeping in touch,” Sheo commented, making Mato jump with guilt. “That letter was the first piece of mail I’ve ever gotten from you. Actually, if it weren’t for The Little One learning your nail art, I would have never known you were still alive. But, I suppose you told Oro how to keep in touch with you?”

Mato suddenly felt vulnerable under Sheo's gaze. “Yeah, I told him I was in Howling Cliffs just before we separated.” He made sure Oro knew how to reach him before he left, but with everything that had been going through his head at the time he’d forgotten to tell Sheo the same. Thinking back on it only made his guilt burn more. Sheo had made sure to tell him and Oro where he was going, and not once did Mato reach out. “I… just never had the time.”

“Too busy with your nailsage journey?”

Mato nodded. “Very busy. I train hard all hours of the day, and I only stop when absolutely necessary. It’s an essential part of the process, not that you would know of that.”

Sheo paused, studying Mato’s impression.“I always had a suspicion you never agreed with me becoming an artist.”

“I… I’ve never understood it,” Mato admitted, internally scolding himself for blurting such a thing out. “You were so talented and skilled with the nail-”

“And now I’m skilled at a different profession,” Sheo stated simply.

“You were half a nailsage already-”

“And now I’m a full artist.”

Mato was silent, not really knowing what to say. Ever since he started to learn from his master- no, longer than that, -ever since he and his brothers picked up their first shellwood nails, Mato had dreamed of becoming nailsages alongside them. He found happiness and fulfillment at the idea of the three of them completely mastering the nail arts and fighting by each other's sides, their three distinct voices roaring in unison as they took down a hearty opponent. When crowds called them forth they would be referred to not as separate warriors, but as one. They would be stronger together, unstoppable together.

Sheo shattered that dream the moment he put down his nail.

“Why did you give it up?” Mato asked.

Sheo sighed a sigh that was almost sentimental. “I’ve told you why, Mato. I’ve told you why so many times.”

“But after all that training, all that work, how could you just give up?”

“I didn’t give up, I found a more fulfilling calling in life.”

“It always sounded like giving up to me.”

Sheo paused for a moment. “If that’s how you feel about me, how do you feel about master? He made the same decision I did, and yet there was barely a hint of resentment in your eyes when he told you.”

Mato flinched. “Master… he’s different. He’d been a nailsage for far longer than we’ve been alive. He was ready to retire, and I can respect that.”

“But you can’t respect your own brother?”

Not when he threw away the prime of his life to make art no one would ever see.

“I suppose we’ve let this conversation drag us down,” Sheo said, setting their dinner away from the flame. He handed Mato his share, and he took it hesitantly.

“You know, I haven’t forgotten a single lesson our master taught us,” Sheo broke the uncomfortable silence. “I hold all my memories of that time- of all of us, -very dear to me.” That was the truth, the honest to the gods truth. But what Sheo didn’t mention was how every time he thought back on his past, loneliness would overcome him and remind him of how much he missed his brothers, and shame would fill him at how he’d spent so much of his life trying to perfect a craft he now hated. “You don’t have to understand my decision to cut that part of my life short, but I’d like for you to respect it.”

Mato stayed quiet.

“But, if you’re worrying if the years have made me rusty,” Sheo continued, “I can assure you that they have not.”

“You’re joking,” Mato said at once. “I know you haven’t practiced a day since we all split up.”

“Would you like to test that?”

It’s been forever since Mato and Sheo had spared together, Mato missed it dearly. “Don’t think I didn’t notice how you left your nail at your hut. What would you even spar with?”

“Oh, I don’t need a nail to spar. All I need is this-” he dug his hand into the pocket of his apron and pulled out a paintbrush, “-and these,” he took out a few containers of paint as well.

“You’re going to fight with your art supplies?”

“If you want to think of it like that, then yes.”

Mato couldn’t help but think his brother was stupid, all that time alone in his hut must’ve turned him mad. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“I’m not,” Sheo said in a completely serious tone. Taking one last bite of his meal he got up and started to exit the cave. “You must at least be curious. Come on, let’s blow off some steam.”

Just a few moments later the two of them were back standing in the windy wasteland of Kingdom’s Edge. Thankfully for Mato, he’d gotten used to the feeling of wind blowing in his face after spending to long in Howling Cliffs, and for a moment the considered that he had an advantage over Sheo in this sense, as if the fact that his brother had brought a paintbrush to a nail fight wasn’t an advantage enough.

“I won’t go easy on you,” Sheo said as he readied his stance, it was just as stable and impressive as Mato remembered.

“You never have, and I wouldn’t want you to start now,” he said back, readying his nail. The two circled each other for a few tense moments, their eyes locked on each and every movement. Even though the idea of a bug using a paintbrush to fight is laughable at best, Mato knew better than to underestimate his brother. He treated him with just as much caution and focus as he always did, his hands placed firmly on his nail.

When he felt the moment was right, Mato rushed in with his first attack. Sheo had a habit of never delivering the first blow, usually opting for a more defensive position. Mato brought his nail down fast, but Sheo dodged no problem. Mato instantly swung a second time, and Sheo moved out of the way again. This exchange repeated itself blow after blow, and Mato was starting to quickly become frustrated. Just one hit, just one scratch is all he wanted. He was embarrassing himself, he began to think, Sheo doesn’t even have a nail and he’s still untouchable. Just hit him once, just once for the love of wyrm!

A splash of paint landed in Mato’s eyes as he swung, blinding him and making him lose balance. He’d been so fixed up in his own mind that he hadn’t caught Sheo dipping his brush into his paint, and a second later something tripped his foot and he landed into the ash with a thud, still trying to get the pigment out off his eyes.

“Are you alright?” Sheo asked as he nealed by his brother's side.

“You flinged paint in my god damn eyes,” Mato muttered, starting to be able to see again.

Sheo let out a light chuckle, “That I did.”

Mato got back up, (after all, he only tripped,) and grabbed his nail. “Rematch,” he said at once, pointing the end at his brother.

“Of course,” Sheo agreed and a second later they were fighting again. That was too damn fast, Mato thought as he rushed in, he lost way too damn fast. What the hell was all that training for if he can’t even land a single hit on an opponent? He brought his nail down with a yell, Sheo avoided it and attempted to trip him again, only this time his stance was firm. Sheo was so close, surely he wouldn’t be able to move fast enough to avoid an attack?

So Mato struck again, this time with as much speed as he could muster. Yes, he thought, catching Sheo’s eyes widen as his brother realized his situation, there’s no avoiding this one. But it turns out Sheo didn’t have to avoid it after all. Mato was shocked when he realized his nail had been met with resistance, and in his moment of premature triumph, he wasn’t watching his opponent’s actions.

Sheo had blocked Mato’s nail with his paintbrush.

Before even a single thought of how absurd that was could formulate in Mato’s brain, there was a pain in his stomach. He’d been punched, realized, and hard. By the gods was he punched hard. A second later he was brought to the ground again, this time clutching his stomach.

“By the gods,” Mato groaned. “You’re going to make me lose my dinner.”

“I told you I wasn’t going easy,” Sheo said with a small smile. Mato wanted to punch that smile right off his face. “Do you want to go one more time?”

Mato took a minute to recompose himself before he stood again. “One more time,” he said, feeling more determined than ever.

Third time’s the charm, he thought to himself as he swung his nail. This time Mato was prepared for Sheo to hit back. When he would go for a hit, Sheo would dodge and prepare a punch, this led Mato to keep a watchful eye on all of Sheo’s movements. He’d managed to go without getting hit so far, but he also had not been able to land a hit yet. It was hard to control his frustration, and this was only making him even more frustrated. No matter how fast he swung his nail, or how quickly he moved, Sheo always found a way to dodge. It was stupid, that’s what it was. Just one hit and he’d be satisfied, just a scrape and it would mean his training hadn’t been nothing more than a waste after all.

Mato notices when Sheo’s readies another punch, and he’s quick to dodge. So quick in fact, that he didn’t notice Sheo’s paintbrush already flinging paint in his eyes. It was too late to dodge, he hadn’t realized it was happening until it did, and now his eyes were stinging again. He shut his eyes tight and focused on maintaining his stance, and sure enough, Sheo had attempted to trip him. Mato punched, but his fist was blocked. A second later there was another strike to his stomach and he was brought to the ground, groaning.

“Are you alright?” Sheo asked.

“Argh, I’m fine,” Mato furiously wiped the paint from his eyes, and when he could see again he saw that his brother already had his hand held out to help him up. Mato was beginning to feel embarrassed enough and didn’t take his help, pretending not to have seen it.

“You’re just as stubborn as Oro sometimes,” Sheo said in an endearing voice once Mato was off the ground and dusting himself off.

“What?” Mato had half a mind to feel offended, and another half to ask himself why he was feeling offended in the first place. “How?”

“You’re both very proud,” he said, as if that’s all the explanation Mato could possibly need. When Mato was still staring at him expectantly, he continued. “I mean, you both take yourselves very seriously.”

“I’m not following.”

Sheo shrugged, “You’ll understand when you speak to him. But don’t mind me, I have a habit of not making sense.” They made their way back to the shelter, and after sitting down Sheo noticed that the sparing didn’t seem to help Mato calm down at all. “You showed me some great moves, you know.”

Mato let out a laugh, “That’s a joke, right?”

“No. Of course not.”

“I couldn’t land a single hit on you, meanwhile you had no trouble giving me a good one-two.” Mato frowned, his earlier frustration turning into despair. “And here I was thinking I could impress you with my training.”

“You did impress me.”

“Don’t lie, I had my shell rocked three times in a row.”

“There’s more that goes into a fight than just winning or losing,” Sheo said as he put a comforting hand on Mato’s shoulder. “I can tell you’ve improved. I was trying to wear you out with all that dodging, but your nail never wavered once. And you’re much faster than I remember. You really had me working a sweat, you know.”

Mato started to form a smile.

“You have all the knowledge, believe me. You just need to practice applying it. Swinging your nail until your arms fall off will improve your strength and stamina for sure, but it can’t help you gauge your opponent’s reactions or movements.”

“I guess you’re right.”

“If find yourself a sparring partner, and control that temper of yours, you’ll be a nailsage in the blink of an eye!”

“Hey,” Mato playfully elbowed Sheo. “I don’t have a temper.”

“With how hard you just hit me? I don’t think so,” Sheo chuckled. “Trying to get payback for those two punches?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Mato said, the both of them chuckling. There was comfortable silence as their laughter died down, accompanied by the sounds of the fire burning. He was glad that even after all this time, Sheo’s here for him.

“Hey, um, I’m sorry for never reaching out to you,” Mato apologized. Gods know that if he’d told Sheo where his hut was located, he would have been waking up every morning to letters containing so many words they could qualify as novels, but then again, he wouldn’t mind that. He wouldn’t mind that at all.

“Don’t beat yourself up about it. Just keep in touch in the future, alright?”

“Alright. Guess that means I’m going to have to find a mailbug for us. Don’t suppose you know of any in Greenpath?”

“Not at all. But that just means I can look forward to more in person visits.”

Mato smiled at that. “Guess so.”

Chapter Text

Quirrel awoke the next morning to an unfamiliar feeling.

He moved slightly, his first instinct being to get himself out of this predicament as quickly as possible, but stopped just as fast, realizing that he might cause a disturbance.

The Nailsmith had his arms wrapped around Quirrel’s stomach. Rather tightly as well, as if he was afraid to let go.

Quirrel had always assumed that The Nailsmith’s beard was rough and scratchy, but now that it was pressed up against his shell he was surprised at how soft it was. It was thick and tangled, but soft.

Quirrel’s first thought was to move. He was sure that if The Nailsmith were to wake up he would feel rather embarrassed by this, (and even though Quirrel usually would love nothing more than to embarrass The Nailsmith, this might make the old bug banish himself in shame.) Actually, Quirrel was starting to feel embarrassed himself, but then he remembered that he had been the one to insist on sleeping so close, and that the whole point of him doing so was to stop him from sneaking off while The Nailsmith was asleep. So, not only would he probably wake The Nailsmith if he attempted it, but if he did succeed The Nailsmith would start fetting over him with no end.

So, in bed was where he stayed.

He wasn’t sure how much time passed, it could’ve been hours, it could’ve been minutes, he even could have slipped back into sleep and he would’ve been none the wiser. It was such a simple thing, having The Nailsmith so close, but it felt so right.

And when The Nailsmith finally did wake up, Quirrel pretended to have been asleep the whole time.

With his eyes closed, he could only imagine The Nailsmith’s expression as he slowly stirred. It seemed to take him a few moments to realize where his arms were, and when he did he jolted away as if he’d been stung. It took a lot of effort for Quirrel not to give himself away and laugh.

Quirrel waited a bit before pretending to have just gotten up. When he opened his eyes he saw that The Nailsmith was working on a new vase. He made enough noise to alert him that he was awake, but The Nailsmith did not greet him.

Both Quirrel and The Nailsmith remained awkwardly quiet. After a morning of silence, Quirrel only managed to speak after checking the pantry for lunch.

“It seems like we’re running low in the food department,” he said, glancing over at The Nailsmith. When he only hummed in response, Quirrel continued. “I suppose I can go tend to the garden.”

The Nailsmith almost hummed again, but then processed what he was saying. “Wait- uh, I should go with you.”

“That’s alright, friend. I can see you’re busy.” Quirrel silently pleaded that The Nailsmith would drop it and go back to work.

He didn’t.

Soon enough, Quirrel found himself in the garden with The Nailsmith right behind him. He was sorting through the crop beds, digging around and studying what was ripe and what wasn’t while The Nailsmith watered everything. Their awkward silence had followed them outside, but at least it was slightly more bearable in the fresh air.

“How long will it be before you stop fretting over me?” Quirrel asked after a long stretch of silence. The Nailsmith didn’t even trust him to pick some crops without running off.

The Nailsmith didn’t respond.

“You’re so busy worrying about my health that you’re neglecting your own,” Quirrel stated. “I’m hardly worth losing sleep over.”

“...Don’t say that,” The Nailsmith’s voice was mumbled. “You’re only validating my worries.”

“Hm,” Quirrel thought for a moment. “Would it bring you any piece if I were to make you another promise?”

He huffed, “After your last one? I don’t think so.”

“Well, you have to give me something to work with.”

“If you want me to stop worrying so much, you can start by stopping that self-deprecating mindset you have.”

“Oh…” Quirrel cringed. “Anything else? That’s a tall order.”

“How about you stop bullying me for caring about you?”

“Aw, but that’s my favorite pastime.” The Nailsmith cared about him. The sentiment shouldn’t have even needed to be said, that much was clear with his actions but… Quirrel found himself smiling. He turned to face The Nailsmith, who was keeping himself occupied with watering the plants. Quirrel recognized the can he was using.

“Isn’t that the watering can you made for Sheo?” Quirrel continued smiling. “I’m surprised it’s still holding up.”

“In all honesty, me too.”

“Say, you never did tell me what our large friend thought about the gift.”

“He liked it.”

“Come on, you have to give me more detail than that. What did he say?”

The Nailsmith decided not to answer, finding the leaves on a tomato plant very interesting.

“Seems I’ll have to guess then. Did he give you a tight squeeze? A pat on the shoulder? Or did he pick you up and twirl you around as if you weighed nothing at all, smiling ear to ear and confessing his undying-”

“Quirrel!”

Quirrel laughed. He tried to say something else but quickly found that the only thing he could manage to say was more laughter.

“Argh, you are such a-” The Nailsmith groaned, burying his embarrassed face in his beard. “You’re insufferable.”

“Weren’t you just saying I should be thinking of myself more positively?”

The Nailsmith groaned again, leading Quirrel to begin another laughing fit. “Horrible. You are absolutely horrible.”

Quirrel decided to leave The Nailsmith alone as they continued to work on the garden. Not much longer were they done and carrying their haul into the hut.

“I’ll cook,” The Nailsmith had said not a second after setting down the basket of fruits and vegetables in the kitchen.

“You’re really running yourself ragged today. Tending to the garden and cooking in the same day? Where do you find the energy?”

The Nailsmith just rolled his eyes with a huff as he started to light the stove.

“At least let me help you,” Quirrel said after a pause.

“No, it’s fine. Go read or, uh… whatever else it is you do for fun.”

“Is reading the only thing you think I do?”

He shrugged, “It’s not like I’ve seen you do much else.”

“I guess. Sometimes you make it easy to forget how little you know about me.” When The Nailsmith wasn’t worrying about him or trying to give him a lecture, he really was pleasant company. But then again, the majority of the time he was doing either of the two. Quirrel chuckled, “Only sometimes though.”

“Is that an insult or a compliment?”

“You can take it however you like.”

“Well, with as much as I do know about you, I’m leaning more towards that being an insult.”

Quirrel laughed, “I suppose you would.”

Even though The Nailsmith had made it clear he didn’t want help, Quirrel decided he was going to help anyway. He did so by starting to wash and cut the crops. The Nailsmith turned to stop him, but decided against it and stayed quiet.

“I noticed you talk a lot more around me,” The Nailsmith said after a pause, placing a pan over the stove.

“I guess so,” Quirrel never found himself fretting over his words when he spoke to The Nailsmith. Half because he didn’t really mind hurting his feelings, and half because he felt comfortable around him.

“You should try to talk to Sheo the way you talk to me.”

Now that made Quirrel laugh. “Are you kidding? With how much I bully you? If I did such a thing he’d kick me out!” He’d never been able to get rid of Sheo’s old reputation whenever he thought about him. All of the writings he’d ever read about him had many things to say about his skill with a nail, and even though he hadn’t seen him so much as glance at a weapon in his time here, the thought to doing anything that could potentially anger him was terrifying.

“No, he wouldn’t,” The Nailsmith said simply.

“Maybe not, but who’s to say for sure?”

“Me. I’m to say for sure.” He sighed, “Look, I can’t help you the way he can. He actually knows what to say to bugs and-”

“Stop,” Quirrel put a hand up. “Let’s not have this conversation. I actually do enjoy speaking with you, even though you take every opportunity possible to try and sour that.”

The Nailsmith looked away guilty. “Just… when he gets back, can you try to talk to him?”

“I’m not promising anything.”

That was probably the best response The Nailsmith was going to get, so instead of pressing further he just hummed in acknowledgment. They didn’t speak for a while, and in the awkwardness that created Quirrel realized he had just snapped at The Nailsmith again. He really did make it hard for Quirrel not to though.

“Sorry about that,” Quirrel mumbled a quick apology then questioned briefly if he should be the one apologizing at all. “I just seem to sour the mood, don’t I?”

“Eh,” The Nailsmith shrugged. “I don’t blame you.”

This just lead to more silence, which did not help in improving Quirrel’s mood.

“You know what,” he started suddenly, “maybe I am feeling like talking today. Would you lend an ear to listen to me talk about myself? If we’re going to be spending so much time together, it’d be rude to not let you know a little about me.”

“Wait, you’re actually going to tell me about yourself?” The Nailsmith seemed amused, “Are the kitchen fumes getting to you?”

“Oh please, you haven’t even put anything in the pan yet.”

“Oh yeah, I should probably get on that.” With a slightly embarrassed chuckle, The Nailsmith took the chopped ingredients and placed them into the heated pan. It sizzled in a satisfying way, and the smell was already reminding them both of their hunger.

“Actually, I know something that might be a bit more fun.”

“And what’s that?” The Nailsmith sounded slightly scared.

“I like for you to take a guess at what kind of a bug you think I am.”

The Nailsmith stared at him with a stunned expression. He thought for a long moment.

“Well you read a lot,” he started thinking out loud. “And you’re, hmm… You’re smart.”

“I’m glad you noticed.”

The Nailsmith frowned. “And that’s all the information I’ve got on you so… what were you? A teacher? Librarian?”

“Are those the only two jobs smart bugs who like books take?”

The Nailsmith rolled his eyes, “Look, you’re not giving me much to work with.”

“I know, I know. I’m just teasing you,” Quirrel said with a smile. After a pause he said, “I was a librarian for some time though.” He had worked briefly at the giant library in the city before encountering Monomon, the same library they all visited on their brief trip. Of course, he’d spent more time in The Archives than that old place, and The Archives were only what a library dreamed it could be.

“Lame and nerdy, so it perfectly suits you.”

“Hey! Being a librarian is hard work!”

“Oh really? Do tell me of all the… adversities you had to face.”

“You don’t know the start of it! Bugs would keep rented books months after when they were due, there would always be some bug spilling their extra sugary syrupy tea over something, and you couldn't possibly count the number of times I caught people-” Quirrel stopped himself before finishing that sentence. Some bugs thought they were sneaky, booking those private study rooms.

“You caught people what?”

“Nevermind,” Quirrel brushed it off, suddenly feeling his face become warm. “But I only did that for so long, back when the city had actual sentient residents.”

“So what did you do after the infection hit?”

“Guess.”

“I’m not guessing,” The Nailsmith huffed. “Just tell me.”

“Well, you’re no fun.” Quirrel paused dramatically, “I became a traveler.”

“No way,” The Nailsmith was staring at him as if this was the first time he’d ever seen him.

“Yes way.”

“Really?” His gaze seemed to bore deeper into Quirrel, as if he was searching for something. He was starting to recall Quirrel saying such a thing when he was first dragged into Sheo's hut, but that was so long ago it had completely left his mind. “But you’re so… boring.”

“Wow, glad to know how highly you think of me.”

“I’ve met my fair share of travelers, and most of them are battle scared and grumpy.”

“You be surprised how injury-free you can keep your shell by simply avoiding violence.”

The Nailsmith found that amusing, “Ha! If someone overheard you say that in my shop, they’d drag you into a fight whether you liked it or not.”

Quirrel shrugged, “Don’t be too sure. I’m usually pretty good at dissolving conflict.” He stopped for a moment, “When I want to.”

There was a pause.

“What kind of places did you visit?”

“Oh, the better question is where didn’t I go.” It was then that Quirrel smiled in a way The Nailsmith had never caught him smiling before. It was so genuine, so happy, that The Nailsmith had to stop his own lips from curling upwards.

“I went anywhere my legs could carry me,” he went on. “Such amazing sights there are to behold, if only one is willing to look. Did you know there are kingdoms out there with towns made out of stalactites? Or that there are bugs who live in fiery, seemingly uninhabitable, heat?”

“Can’t say I did.”

“Oh, I must find my journal! I’ve written all my adventures down in there.” Without further explanation, Quirrel turned to find his bag. It was a small bag, barely large enough to fit a lumafly lantern, but in it was Quirrel’s second most prized possession.

He appeared back at The Nailsmith’s side a split second later, excitedly flipping through the pages of his journal. Surprisingly, the pages were made of silk, surprising because most wanderer's journals were made of stone or fossil. Quirrel must have been quite the careful traveler if the book’s still intact. It wasn’t in perfect conduction though, which The Nailsmith soon noticed. The cover was the hide of some creature scratched in many places, and it seemed like the edges of every page were either dirty, had water damage, was burned by acid, or was slightly charred.

“Is that your diary?”

“It’s my journal,” Quirrel said with dignity, as if such a comparison was highly insulting, but a second later his expression softened, “But yes, I mean-, I suppose, if you want to call it that.”

“I’m calling it that.”

“Hm. You know, I’m not so sure if I want to tell you about my travels anymore.”

“Oh come on, you tease me all the time but the second it’s turned on you-”

“There you go again, hurting my feelings,” Quirrel said with mock distress. “No stories for you.” He slammed his book shut dramatically.

Despite this, Quirrel ended up telling him about his travels anyway, and didn’t seem to notice how long he’d been talking for until he realized that they’d moved to the couches and had finished eating lunch quite a while ago.

“Oh dear, I guess I’ve been talking for a long time, huh?” Quirrel said awkwardly when he realized this, rather embarrassed.

“Hey, you didn’t hear me complaining,” The Nailsmith said casually. Quirrel was something else when it came to storytelling. With just his voice, he described his travels in such detail The Nailsmith could almost convince himself he’d been traveling right beside him. “I never knew you were so interesting.”

Yeah, well, there’s a lot of things you don’t know about me, Quirrel thought, almost sadly.

“You could write a book about all this adventuring. It could be like a travel guide or something for your fellow adventurers,” The Nailsmith half-joked.

“I doubt any bug would want to read these ramblings,” Quirel chuckled awkwardly, shaking his journal.

“If what you’ve been spilling to me is a taste of what’s in there, I might not mind reading after all.”

Despite himself, Quirrel smiled, his face becoming warm.

Chapter Text

The brothers searched for Oro’s hut all of the next day, and Mato was finding it harder and harder to will himself to keep going. The two of them hadn’t split up, (Sheo refused to leave Mato’s side, due to the correct suspicion that Mato might lose his confidence if he found the hut alone,) so Sheo easily took note of his brother becoming distracted. He didn’t mention this, his brother was already fretting enough as it was, so Sheo just searched extra hard for the both of them. Unfortunately, (or fortunately, depending on who’s account you’re taking,) they weren’t able to find it that day, leading to Mato simultaneously feeling relieved and stressed as he fell asleep that night.

They had better luck the next day.

After wandering deep into Kingdom’s Edge and battling an absurdly large amount of great hoppers, they’d found it. It was late afternoon when they did, the two brothers having to travel quite a ways to do so.

Mato, upon seeing the hut, immediately turned tail and ran.

“Hey! Where do you think you’re going?” Sheo grabbed him firmly by the arm before he could make any distance.

“Shhh! Don’t talk so loud!” Mato whisper yelled. “I don’t want him to hear us, and I definitely don’t want him to see us either!”

“But isn’t that why we’re here?”

Mato stared at him dumbly for a moment. “I- Look, I’m tired. We’ve been walking and fighting all day and my legs hurt and my arms hurt and I can’t face him when I’m so exhausted.”

Sheo knew for a fact Mato wasn’t physically tired at all, Sheo wasn’t sure if anything could physically tire him. But, they had endured a full day, and it would be for the better if Mato had a little more time to prepare himself.

So, they found another small cave to set up camp in.

“Are you alright?” Sheo broke the silence after what felt like, (and could’ve very well have been,) hours.

Mato’s voice was uncharacteristically quiet, “No.”

Sheo opened his mouth to say some words of encouragement, but Mato cut him off as soon as he noticed this. “Don’t lecture me on how I should stop stalling, okay? I know I’ve already put this off for long enough.”

“You’re going to talk to him tomorrow, correct?”

Mato huffed, “Yes, and… and I want you to hold me to that.”

Sheo could say as many reassuring nothings and promises as he could come up with, but there comes a point where words don’t have any impact. They’ve already had this conversation before, and it’d do no good to repeat it. In some ways, Mato’s anxiety had started to rub off on Sheo, but he knows better than to show it. His brothers will either make up, or they won’t, and he could talk until morning comes and the time to face Oro is upon them, but no amount of reassurance from him will change the outcome of their meeting.

Sheo faintly smiled, “Then there’s nothing for me to lecture you about.”

The next day, Mato was very much regretting asking Sheo to hold him to his word. He practically had to be dragged out of the cave as soon as he awoke and had a quick breakfast, and the whole walk he kept trying to turn back.

“Actually, I think I’m starting to get hungry again,” Mato tried as they turned a corner. “We should stop for a quick snack. I wouldn’t want to face Oro on an empty stomach after all!”

“You had plenty to eat for breakfast,” Sheo huffed, recalling that Mato had gone out of his way to chew his food as slowly as possible, and how he didn’t speed up until Sheo threatened to eat his food for him.

“My arms are still sore from yesterday,” Mato tried again after the two of them had successfully taken down more great hoppers. “We should take a rest. I mean, if we got attacked again I might not be able to wield my nail properly.”

“Think of this as training then,” Sheo said with an elbow shove. “You wouldn’t tap out this early, would you?”

Mato started to grow real desperate when he caught glimpse of the hut.

“Ah, I think there might be something caught in my shell,” Mato said as he moved around awkwardly, faking discomfort. “One of those hoppers must’ve done it. We should stop for a moment, just a moment really. I won’t be very long.”

Sheo, for the first time in Mato’s recent memory, sighed in annoyance. “Mato, please. None of the hoppers managed to so much as touch you. There’s nothing in your shell.”

“We should stop anyway,” Mato's voice was coming out like a plea now. The hut was in full view. “We’ve been walking all this way, surely you’re starting to get tired too?”

“Mato,” Sheo spoke warningly.

“Just a few minutes! Just a second or two!” Sheo was walking ahead of him, leading the way, so Mato thought to slow his pace. The instant he did this though, (and Mato wasn’t sure how Sheo noticed this because he never turned his head to glance at him,) Sheo grabbed his arm like he was a parent taking hold of a misbehaving child, and Mato had to seriously restrain himself from kicking and screaming like one.

“You’re not putting this off any longer,” Sheo said simply as he dragged his brother the rest of the way to Oro’s hut. “Go on,” he said in a whisper as Oro’s door was open.

“Sheo I can’t do this,” Mato whispered back in desperation. “I can’t face him.”

“You can face him, and you will. Right now.”

“No, it’s been too long. Surely he despises me by now. Surely he never wants to see me again. Surely-”

“Mato!” Sheo’s whisper was so fierce and sharp, Mato was briefly terrified that Oro might’ve heard it. Sheo’s expression was serious. The years had made Mato forgetful of Sheo’s mannerisms, but he certainly had his memory shocked back into him as soon as he saw that expression.

Sheo was always the type of bug who couldn’t be stopped once determined.

After a fierce stare that seemed to last an eternity, Sheo’s gaze softened. “You can do this,” his voice was so kind, so genuine and sweet, that when the words registered in his head, Mato felt his nerves start to calm. “You need to do this. Now breathe.”

Mato closed his eyes, took a deep breath in, and let it out.

When he opened his eyes again, Sheo was smiling and assuringly patting him on the shoulder. “Wonderful,” he nodded, beginning to step away.

—

After retelling the most exciting parts of his past life, Quirrel found himself wanting to complete his unfinished painting. How long had it been since Sheo had first gotten him to start it? It felt like forever.

“Finally dusting that thing off?” The Nailsmith asked. He was back to working on his next vase.

“Indeed I am,” Quirrel assembled the canvas onto the easel and brought it close to where The Nailsmith was working.

“Say, you didn’t me about this place,” The Nailsmith said, looking at the unfamiliar and unfinished landscape.

“Ah, this might be my favorite adventure,” Quirrel began happily. “There’s a kingdom quite a ways away from Hallownest that’s home to the town of Snowy Shore. There are many reasons as to why travelers visit the town, but the tourist attraction I was most drawn to was their icy beach.” He paused for a moment, fondly recalling these memories. “I suppose there’s a similar feeling to this beach as the Lake of Unn. Its vastness really pulls you in, keeps you from looking away. I was trying to capture that feeling in this painting, but as you can see, I was having trouble.”

“Don’t expect to be making masterpieces like Sheo right off the bat,” The Nailsmith said.

“I know,” he sighed. “but it’s hard when he makes it look so effortless.”

“You’re telling me,” The Nailsmith huffed.

When Quirrel had situated all of his supplies and started painting, he found that he was enjoying the process much more than the first time he attempted this. Last time he’d been silently frustrated at his shaky brushstrokes, but now, even though it still wasn’t coming out in the same quality as he hoped, he didn’t mind all that much.

“Do you still travel?” The Nailsmith asked after a span of comfortable silence. “I mean- did you give it up?”

Quirrel chose his words carefully before answering, “I came to Hallownest because I heard it was quite the wonder to behold, and after seeing everything I have, I thought that it might be time to give my old shell a rest.” Technically, Quirrel didn’t tell a single lie in this statement.

The Nailsmith hummed, “Wait, I thought you said that you used to live in the city?”

Quirrel jolted, “When did I say that?”

“When we were in that big library and I was messing with you for being a bookworm.”

Oh, Quirrel remembers now. He internally scolded himself for not being careful enough with what he slipped about his past. “Oh, well I did. I left when the infection was picking up, and when I came back I wanted to know what became of the kingdom.” Even without relaying the specifics, this felt like way too personal of information to be sharing, and he felt himself becoming uncomfortable.

Thank the gods The Nailsmith didn’t pry any further than that.

“You’re the first bug I’ve met to make traveling actually sound fun.”

“Ah, are my stories inspiring you?”

“Nah. Getting lost all alone in unfamiliar kingdoms isn’t very appealing to me.”

“But getting lost is the best part!” Quirrel said with enthusiasm. “That’s when you’re given the opportunity to truly explore, and it makes the gift of returning to civilization all the more rewarding. Besides, who said you’d have to be all alone?”

“I’ve met enough adventuring types to know I probably wouldn’t get along with one,” The Nailsmith huffed. “Even if I found one who wasn’t a loner mute dressing in all black, the alternative would be a bug who won’t shut up about their next stop or some big quest of self-discovery they’re on. Don’t forget I ran a nail smithing business, I’ve met all types of bugs who needed weapons. Besides, I get into a sour mood just having to walk to a stag station. Don’t think I’ll be making any multi-day trips anytime soon.”

“Are you forgetting I’m an adventuring type? And you get along fine enough with me.”

“Fine enough? Hm.” The Nailsmith turned away from Quirrel, fiddling with his beard. “I much prefer sitting here and listening to you ramble on.”

“I can understand that,” Quirrel smiled. “In that case, I’ll be sure to ramble on and on until I run out of stories to ramble about.”

—

Before Mato could talk himself down he knocked on the side of Oro’s door.

It came as a surprise to him that Oro kept his door wide open. It was something all three of the brothers had picked up from their master, who when questioned about the behavior would often say that closing doors were no different than closing yourself off from the outside world. He would preach that it was important for a nailmaster to remain available at all times, and should never turn anyone away. Mato, as he did with all of his master’s teachings, took this to heart and always remembered to practice the simple act when he lived on his own. There were a few consequences of this, as sometimes tiktiks and vengeflys would wander in his hut, and even though he never expected company, this principle finally paid off when his child first found him.

But in all of his memories spent with Oro, his brother always made sure to close doors behind him, and Mato couldn’t understand why he would stop this after finally having a place of his own.

For a few moments, there was silence, and Mato had a thought that maybe Oro wasn’t home after all.

“Who’s there?” Oro’s gruff voice startled Mato, and as he swallowed hard he forced himself to come into view.

When Mato had seen Oro in his dream, he honestly hadn’t looked much different than he’d remembered. Maybe a little bigger, a little more rugged, but the most notable change had been how his brother's eyes had looked so tired. Those tired eyes were now staring back at him, only this time there were no golden clouds or opponent to fight to distract his gaze. He was staring right into his soul.

Oro stiffened when he saw Mato, and there was a tense silence before either brother even dared to breathe.

“Mato,” he said his name as if it were something he was trying the taste of for the first time and had found it disgusting. “You’re here.”

Mato gave a stiff nod, his voice stuck in his throat.

“I remember you saying you’d wait for me,” bitterness was clear in his tone. “Does even your patience have limits?”

“I’ve decided to come visit you in light of… recent events. I- I had an impactful dream, you see.”

Oro huffed, “A dream, you say? You haven’t changed in the slightest. Master’s nonsensical ramblings still bumping around in that head of yours.”

Mato had to stomp down the part of him urging to defend his master’s teachings, to scold Oro for speaking about him in such a disrespectful manner. He took in a deep breath. “I saw you… in my dream. The small knight had gotten to you.”

“The small knight?” Oro’s tone was questioning, but it was clear from the way he was staring that he knew just what Mato was referring to. “What are you prattling on about?”

“And when I saw you-” Mato continued on as if Oro hadn’t spoken at all, “-I felt that horrible anger that’s been trapped inside me for so long. But then I saw that you were hurt and… and I realized how long it had been since I’d seen you, and I realized that this stupid grudge of mine had kept us separated for too long. So, I’m here to apologize for that.”

Oro studied him intensely. “Aplogize?” He huffed. “You shouldn’t aplogize, that’s not going to fix this.”

Mato expected as much, a simple ‘I’m sorry’ isn’t enough to reverse all the pain he caused. But that didn’t mean Oro’s words hurt any less. “Then… how can I fix this?”

Oro stood, though somewhat awkwardly, as if he’d forgotten how. He rose to his full height, never breaking eye contact. “Through battle.”

Before Mato could ask for clarification, before he could even process what was said, his brother had already swung his nail. He blocked the hit with his own weapon, but the force of the swing was so strong he was struck out of the hut regardless. He landed roughly but unhurt, his shock not helping the wind that was now knocked out of him, and could hardly process what was happening before Oro came into sight again, his nail over his head and descending from the sky, rapidly.

Mato had just enough time to dodge, the force of his brother’s attack causing the white flakes all around to launch upwards. A split second later and he was already making contact with Mato’s nail again. Mato wasn’t even off the ground yet.

“What are you doing?!” Mato strained to yell, his strength being used up from just trying to keep his brother’s nail from touching him. “I don’t want to fight you!”

“Dung!” Oro swore, pressing down harder. “This is the way it has to be!”

But Mato’s plea caused Oro’s nail to ease up, and Mato took that opportunity in an instant, knocking Oro off him and rushing to make any distance he could.

“I don’t see why you’re trying to be the bigger bug here,” Oro spat. “You’re the one who really wants this.”

“What are you talking about?” Mato stared back at him, completely puzzled. “I’ve never wanted to cause you harm!”

“What, do you think I’m dense? Or maybe you think I forgot? I saw how your eyes looked at me back then. You wanted me dead!” Oro was running towards Mato again, and all he could do was block and evade. The sounds of metal clashing rang loud in Mato’s ears, and he wondered if Sheo could hear them too.

“Oro, please! I have no idea what you’re talking about!” Mato wasn’t even sure if his brother could hear him over the sounds of the fight.

“Cut the act already!” Oro snapped. “You want me dead! Dead! I know you do!”

Another swing and another block, the pattern continued. Mato started to notice his brother’s swings starting to slow, his breathing was getting heavier, and once Mato found his opening, he took the handle of his nail and shoved it into Oro’s chest as hard as he could.

Oro fell back, clutching his stomach and his grip on his nail weakening because of it. Mato swung his nail in just the right way to send Oro’s weapon flying out of reach. Oro handed on the ground with a heavy thud, hissing, and Mato pointed his nail right at him to keep him there.

“You haven’t been training,” Mato started to realize. “You wouldn’t have tired so easily if you have. What have you been doing all this time?”

“None of your god damn business, that’s what!” The shout made Oro glutch his stomach tighter. “Now stop yabbering and finish the job!”

“Why are so convinced I want to kill you?! I don’t! And I never have!”

“You’re such a bad liar.”

“I’m not lying! What got this idea in your head?!”

Without warning, Oro lunged at Mato. The nail he had been holding to keep Oro in place was knocked out of his hands. He would never stab his brother, no matter the situation, and so he was pushed to the ground. Oro was fighting as if he’d forgotten he was a nailmaster, punching and swinging his arms as much as he could. He was exhausted though, and not just from the fight. His eyes were so close to Mato now, and he could see just how tired he was. All Mato did was put his hands up to block, and the hits started to hurt less and less.

“You told me to find you in Howling Cliffs when I was ready to fight! With that- that glare of hate in your eyes!” Oro yelled in between punches. “Don’t act like you don’t remember!”

“Fight?! I never said fight!” Mato could feel his brother getting weaker and weaker. “I told you to find me when you were ready to apologize!”

The hitting stopped. Oro was staring at Mato as if he’d never seen him before.

“I got angry,” Mato continued, “really angry, but I never wanted to harm you!”

Oro stiffened, and expecting another attack, Mato grabbed a handful of white flakes and threw them into his brother’s eyes, allowing him to break free and stand up.

Oro struggled to clear his vision, but when he finally did he didn’t try to attack again.

“Is that why you’ve been avoiding me?” Mato asked when Oro finally went silent. “You thought I wanted to kill you?”

“...You’ve been upset with me many times in the past,” Oro started, not so much as glancing towards his brother’s direction. “-we always seemed to get in some disagreement or another. But… that was the only argument, the only time I had ever seen you look at me like that.”

“Oh Oro, I-”

“I never liked the way our master did things, I made that clear every chance I got. I let my mouth run for too long, I let my aggravation and exhaustion overcome me, and I lost you. You shouldn’t apologize, I should.”

That might’ve been the only time Mato had ever heard Oro be sincerely sorry.

“I guess we’re both at fault, aren’t we?” Mato kneeled down to Oro’s level on the ground. “We both let our tempers get the better of us.”

Oro groaned, “I’m. An. Idiot.”

“Nonsense! I’m the idiot for making you think I wanted you dead all this time!” How horrible that must’ve been.

“I just smacked you around for no reason.”

“Hey, I deserved it. Seriously.”

“I thought you wanted nothing to do with me. I thought you hated me.”

“It was a dumb argument I overreacted about, and I’m sorry.” Mato paused. “Do you think we could try and finally put this silly feud behind us?”

After a moment of silence, Oro nodded. “Yeah. I… missed you.”

Chapter Text

As time went on, Quirrel and The Nailsmith grew more and more comfortable with each other.

“-and you’ll never guess what happened after that!” Quirrel says, smiling the widest The Nailsmith had ever seen him, “When I finally found someone to ask about the time, it turns out it had passed lunch hours ago!” He laughs, “I was walking around half-starved for no reason!” He concluded his story of a time he had to ration meals in a kingdom where there were no visual indications of the passage of time; just a land drowned in unwavering almost-darkness. “I felt so stupid my embarrassment almost covered up the pang of my hunger.”

“Oh, and another time-” Quirrel started again, so enthusiastic that The Nailsmith didn’t have time to make a comment, “-there was a kingdom where the weather was always hot and dry, and like many of the other travelers there my journey left me parched and famished. So, I went to the first food stall I saw and asked them what they recommended. They handed me a- oh dear, I forget the name -it was like a little centipede on a stick, and when I took a bite out of it, it bit me right back!”

“Your food bit you?!” The Nailsmith was wiping tears from his eyes from how hard he’d been laughing. He’d been listening to Quirrel’s funny stories for at least thirty minutes now.

“It was still alive, my friend! And that’s not even it! They covered it in something incredibly spicy, and that just made it so much worse. I swear that ordeal left a scar on my tongue. The bug at the stall and locals were laughing their tails off at me, said they do that to practically every newcomer they see. They gave me the most refreshing water I’ve ever had as an apology, but now I think about that moment every time I go to eat. Anytime after that when I cooked up a tiktik I was staring at it like: ‘now don’t you dare bite me, I know you’re thinking about it.’” Quirrel said, wagging his finger as if he were a parent scolding a child.

“Wait so… did they know it wasn’t dead?”

“Oh, they knew alright! I kept passing locals eating the meal as if it were nothing!”

“Wow. I’d have expected for the water to have spice in it too,” The Nailsmith joked. “Hey, tell me some more embarrassing stories.”

“Why? Do you enjoy hearing me make a fool of myself?”

“Absolutely.”

“Oh, dear!” Quirrel suddenly shouted as one came to mind, instinctually covering his face to hide his blush. “I just thought of a horrible one.”

“Spill it.”

“Okay, okay, but you better promise not to tell any other bug about this.”

“Alright,” The Nailsmith said with a smile, leaning closer to Quirrel as if he were about to take part in some juicy gossip; the vase he was working on being completely forgotten. “You say that as if I have any friends other than you and Sheo.”

Quirrel just rolled his eyes at that. “This happened when I was in a very floral kingdom, you see. Plants of all kinds were the people’s pride and joy, and during the journey there I had found myself a traveling partner. They were much more familiar with the kingdom than I was, and they showed me to many beautiful flower shops. In one of them they had delicate flowers, which I had never seen before and had found absolutely fascinating.”

“When’s the embarrassment going to start?”

“Hold on, friend, I’m getting to that. I had found the flowers so fascinating that I thought to buy some for my new traveling friend as a parting gift. When I did, the bug at the register was giggling, but I didn’t know what for, and it wasn’t until after I’d approached my friend with the flowers that they told me what they meant!”

“Well, what do they mean?” The Nailsmith’s giggling already proved that he had a faint idea.

“Apparently, giving a bug a delicate flower shows romantic interest,” Quirrel said, a hand still partially trying to cover his face. “-and when I gave them to my friend, they immediately started sputtering that they were spoken for! It was horrible!”

“That’s amazing!” The Nailsmith laughed loudly.

“No! It’s terrible!” Quirrel yelled, but he was laughing too. In fact, they were both laughing so hard they feared for a moment they might pass out.

Being with Quirrel wasn’t stressful anymore. It wasn’t a chore, it wasn’t a job. The Nailsmith didn’t have to fret over his words, trying to formulate the perfect sentence to get the old bug to open up a bit more. He just talked to him, like a friend. Sometimes they didn’t even have to talk to enjoy each other's company. Sometimes just being able to hear Quirrel hum quietly to himself, maybe so quiet that he didn’t even realize he was doing it, was enough. Sometimes just tending to the garden and breathing in the fresh air together was enough. Sometimes just sitting in the big empty hut, both of them being focused on their own things, was enough.

—

“But you agree that it’s stupid, right?” The Nailsmith said from the couch, looking at Quirrel expectantly.

“Well, I don’t think it was the best decision that could’ve been made,” Quirrel said, moving aside the book he’d been reading aloud. “-but you also have to think about the pressure the king was under.”

“Dung,” The Nailsmith swore. “He ran away. The whole book the king’s been running away. Wyrm, it’s his vanishing kingdom.”

A smile started to creep on Quirrel’s face. That was a big theme of the book, the king running away from all his problems, but Quirrel wasn’t going to point this out, in case he were to say too much and accidentally give away a plot twist. Instead, he says, “But the alternative isn’t much better. He either runs, or leads his people into war.”

The Nailsmith groans, “Stupid moral dilemmas.”

“Do you think he could win the war?”

“With all that magic he’s got?” The Nailsmith looked at Quirrel as if he were stupid. “Of course he could!”

“Do you think he thinks he could win the war?”

“I don’t see why he wouldn’t,” The Nailsmith huffed. “That girl’s his love interest, right? Why doesn’t she just give him a shove already? Tell him to stop being stupid and that if his enemies have followed him for this long, they’re not gonna let up just cause he vanishes again.”

Quirrel nodded. “You’re right. I think that’s just what he needs.”

“You said that rather confidently,” The Nailsmith looked at him suspiciously, “-is that what happens?”

“My lips are sealed,” Quirrel said as he opened the book back up. “You’ll just have to find out.”

—

As Quirrel started to become more comfortable, he started cooking in the kitchen. He would make dishes he picked up from his travels as best he could, and would watch as The Nailsmith tried each one. Quirrel would always insist that he wasn’t the best cook, and that he wasn’t doing the dishes justice by a long shot, and that you should really have the food made authentically to really experience it, but The Nailsmith never listened to any of that. The food was always good, and The Nailsmith always ended up devouring anything Quirrel put on a plate.

“Is that a cake you’re making?” The Nailsmith had started to smell something sugary and snuck up behind Quirrel, who was mixing ingredients into a bowl.

“It is,” Quirrel nodded. “I was craving something sweet and thought I might as well try my hand at an old recipe.”

“Well, it smells great,” The Nailsmith said as he dipped a finger in the batter and took a taste. “Tastes great too.”

Quirrel slowly turned towards The Nailsmith as if he’d just done the single most heinous act any bug could commit in three seconds' time. “Did you just… eat the raw batter?”

“Uh… yeah?”

“Nailsmith, friend, that is… disgusting.”

“Oh come on,” he rolled his eyes, “You’re so dramatic.”

“Do you have any idea of how many diseases you could get from raw eggs and flour? You didn’t even wash your hands first! This entire bowl might be contaminated now.”

“Contaminated?” The Nailsmith repeated with a laugh. “You’ve got to be kidding me. I didn’t picture you as such a germaphobe.”

“I’m not a germaphobe, I’m just being sanitary- Hey! Don’t go for another taste!” Quirrel jerked the bowl away as The Nailsmith already had his claw in the batter for a second time. But the sudden moment of the bowl caused the batter to splash, and now not only did Quirrel’s attempt not hinder The Nailsmith in getting what he wanted at all, now Quirrel had a few splashes of batter on his own face.

“What? It’s good,” The Nailsmith smiled, enjoying his small victory, and when he saw Quirrel’s face his smile grew. “You seem to have a little something on your cheek there. Maybe you should lick it off, it’d be much quicker than getting a napkin,” he teased.

“Oh, shut up,” Quirrel muttered, looking for something to clean himself off with.

“That is, if you aren’t too scared that you’ll instantly keel over from it,” The Nailsmith continued. “Ah, wait! I remember now, the deadly cake batter disease, capable of wiping out a family in seconds. I understand why you’re so afraid. You’d be lucky to escape it with your life-”

The Nailsmith was silenced as Quirrel flicked batter onto his face, which was the start of a food fight between the two of them. By the time they had tired each other out, the kitchen was a mess and they were covered head to toe in baking ingredients. The bowl was empty. Quirrel had to start his cake over again.

—

One day, Quirrel finished his painting. It wasn’t perfect by any means, (and honestly looked pathetic being displayed right next to Sheo’s masterpieces,) but it was his. He was able to step back and look at something he created from start to finish, and he was able to smile with pride. Yeah, he made that. It wasn’t incredible, but he made it.

The Nailsmith was starting to get even better at his own craft. His vases were no longer bumpy or wobbly, but now had a consistent form and shape. They were also quite pretty to look at, and even though his brushstrokes were still on the shaky side, it only added to the charm. Quirrel was impressed by how quickly he was improving, and kept each vase well stocked with flowers, despite The Nailsmith telling him not to bother with it.

“You know, I might be a little sad when Sheo comes back,” The Nailsmith spoke quietly. It was night, and he and Quirrel lay half wake in bed together. The Nailsmith had grown comfortable enough to lay close to him, finding the warmth his shell gave off soothing.

“Hmm?” Quirrel hummed. “Why’s that?”

“We’ll have to give him his bed back,” he answered with a tired chuckle. “I’m not looking forward to going back to sleeping on the couch.”

“Maybe we should just ask him then,” Quirrel said with a yawn.

“Ask him?”

“Yeah. Ask if we can just share the bed with him.”

“We can’t ask him that!” The Nailsmith said immediately.

“Hmm? Why not? I don’t think he’d have a problem with it, really.”

“But you can’t just ask bugs if you can sleep in their bed! It’s… It’s the principle of it! You wouldn’t-”

“Shhh, too loud.” Quirrel cut him off. “Less talking, more sleeping,” he muttered as he pulled The Nailsmith closer to him, not at all helping the warmth that was already flooding his face.

—

“Honestly, things went about as I expected,” Sheo shrugged. “You two were never able to make up without blowing off a little steam. Why, I remember I caught you in the middle of planning an elaborate revenge plot when Oro ate your dinner!”

It having been so long since all three brothers were together, they were all catching up at Oro’s hut. Oro had made tea for them, (even though he had never been good at doing so,) but it tasted better knowing that he had done his best.

“I was hungry!” Mato instinctually defended, “And he just did that to get on my nerves! I know you did!”

Oro slowly smiled, “Yeah, I did. I didn’t even want seconds, I just didn’t want you to have them.”

“And he admits it!” Mato said triumphantly, causing everyone to laugh. The conversation went along like this for a bit, each brother fondly recalling some incident or another and the three of them laughing about it. Eventually, the subject landed on Mato’s training regimen, and he shared his daily routine from daybreak to sunset.

“-and I don’t stop swinging my nail until it falls from my grip! You know the workout’s complete when you have trouble getting back inside, and for the rest of the day it’s meditation until you fall asleep!”

“You certainly keep yourself busy,” Sheo said, unable to stop the hint of concern from showing on his expression.

Mato stared at him for a moment, “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Well, it’s just that- training seems to be the only thing you do,” Sheo chose his words carefully, painfully aware that his brother most likely had been using his training as a distraction from Oro. “Perhaps you should also make time for something fun er… relaxing.”

“You always beat around the bush,” Oro said as he rolled his eyes. Without any rush, he turned to Mato. “He’s trying to say you work too much.”

“I think I work an appropriate amount trying to complete the monumental task of completing my nailsage journey!” Mato defended.

“So many words,” Oro jokes.

“And I take plenty of time for myself when I meditate!”

“Ah, Mato… that’s not quite…” Sheo thought for a moment.

“You need a hobby,” Oro said what Sheo was too scared to.

“...That’s not exactly what-” Sheo started, but was cut off.

“I don’t have time for any hobbies,” Mato said simply, as if that should’ve been obvious. “And I’m not looking for anything else to be passionate about. I’m plenty happy with sticking with the nail arts, thank you.”

“I honestly don’t see why you’re still putting all this work in,” Oro said. “You’re twice a nail sage if I’ve ever seen one. You didn’t so much as break a sweat when I was going at you.”

“Well… you were pulling your punches, weren’t you?”

Oro shook his head. “No, I wasn’t. You’re just that strong.”

Mato stared at him.

“Don’t look at me like that, I meant it as a compliment. You’re already a nailsage. Just because you can’t recognize your own skill doesn’t mean we can’t.”

“No, I’m not a nailsage. I still have so much to learn,” Mato was shaking his head as if he was being told far-fetched lies. “You know I’m still not able to beat Sheo? He got me three times in a row without even using his nail!”

“I don’t doubt it,” Oro said uninterestedly.

“To your credit, you weren’t exactly in the right frame of mind when we spared,” Sheo said. “You’re stronger than me Mato, much stronger. Why, I’m sure if we were to rematch right now things wouldn’t turn out nearly as great for me.”

“Really?” Mato considered this for a moment, then smiled widely. “Really? Then let’s spar right now! Come on! I’ll meet you outside!”

And before either brother could stop him Mato had already grabbed his nail and rushed out the door.

“You should’ve known that would get him riled up,” Oro said.

“Yeah,” Sheo said, rubbing the back of his neck and looking out the door stupidly. “Perhaps.”

—

Sheo ended up staying with his brothers for three days, and he enjoyed every second of it. Mato won their little duel, just as Sheo said he would, and the look of pure joy that filled his brother’s face when he did showed how much it meant to him. He truly was a nailsage, there’s no doubt about that. The only one who ever doubted his skills was him.

After his victory, he offered to train with Oro to catch him up to speed. Oro eventually accepted this offer, though not before declining it for the rest of the day, even now trying his best not to show any weakness to his brothers, even if it was obvious he wanted to accept from the start.

It’s honestly amazing how quickly someone’s life can be turned around in such a short amount of time. Although Oro’s eyebags were still very prominent on his face, he seemed to be getting enough sleep now that he was on good terms with his brothers. Sheo couldn’t help but wonder why Oro had been so tried before, seeing as he wasn’t ever training and shouldn’t have had any trouble fitting sleep into his schedule. But when he thought about it more, it became quite obvious that it was another form of his self-punishment. On top of isolating himself as far away from Mato as he could, he neglected his own care because he didn’t feel worthy of it. And of course, Oro would never, in a million years, admit this to anyone, but if one were to look around the hut, the messes everywhere and untouched food, you’d be able to paint the picture clear as day.

Sheo was glad to see that Oro and Mato were practically inseparable now, and he liked to watch them as they spared in the back, practicing their nail arts on the dummy dressed in one of Oro’s old cloaks. Many times he was able to hear them bickering. Sometimes because Oro was doing his attacks too quickly, and that was why his accuracy was off. Other times it was because Mato was a horrible teacher who couldn’t explain any of his attacks if his life depended on it. But most of the time it was just Oro’s tendency to get frustrated quickly and Mato’s overly encouraging attitude that both complemented and insulted their dynamic, as sometimes Oro would really need the encouragement, and other times he would want nothing more than for Mato to shut up so he could have ten seconds of silence to focus.

“I think today’s the day I must leave,” Sheo said hesitantly, not at all wanting to go.

“Huh? Why?” Oro questioned, caught off guard. “You in a rush? Don’t tell me you have someone to be getting home to.”

“Actually,” Mato interjected before Sheo could answer, smiling wide, “-Sheo has two someone’s waiting on him to get back.”

“Two?” Oro repeated, thought for a moment, then shrugged. “On second thought, that’s not that surprising. If anything, I thought there’d be more.”

“Oh, don’t start this,” Sheo said, his face already warming. “It’s not like that, and you know it, Mato.” Sheo was starting to remember how his brothers, usually opposites and at each other's throats, would every once and a while put aside their differences and come together to tease the ever-loving mess out of Sheo. He was hoping that this wasn’t about to turn into one of those moments.

“Do I know it? Because I don’t think I do.” Mato went on, his smile only widening when he realized this was getting a reaction out of Sheo. “The Nailsmith seemed pretty keen on you staying with him, and you gushed about both of them quite a bit.”

“No, Mato, I’m not letting you start this,” Sheo pointed a finger at Mato, who was giggling. “They’re my roommates, okay? That’s it.”

“Well don’t keep me in the dark you two,” Oro said, glancing between each brother. “Who are these roommates?”

“The first one is The Nailsmith,” again, Mato spoke before Sheo could. “He’s the one who’s supplied my child with those wonderful nails-”

“Wait, wait, wait! Stop right there!” Oro cut him off abruptly. “Your child? Sheo, what is he talking about? Don’t tell me he has someone too.”

“I… have no idea,” Sheo stared at Mato blankly. “This is the first time I’m hearing of this.”

“O-oh, I was just referring to The Tiny Knight,” Mato said hesitantly, experiencing what it felt like to be the subject of his brother’s teasing for once. “Of course, they’re not actually my child, er, biologically speaking, but ever since I taught them my nail art I’ve been thinking of them as such.”

“Oh, you mean The Runt,” Oro realized. With a huff, he added, “I think you’re the only bug in Hallownest who would adopt a kid right off the bat like that.”

“I think that’s absolutely adorable,” Sheo smiled, imagining The Little One and Mato doing various cliche father-child activities.

“I’m sure you do,” Oro said. “In fact, I’m willing to bet you treat them like they’re your kid too.”

Sheo thought about that for a moment.

“But let’s not change the subject!” Mato said, trying to shoo away his embarrassment and eager to make Sheo the victim again.

“No! Please keep the subject changed!” Sheo pleaded, but he couldn’t help but laugh. These were the moments he had really missed.

Chapter Text

“I seriously can’t believe we’re still on this subject,” Sheo said as he slowly dragged a hand down his face. “For the last time, they’re my roommates.”

“Oh, there’s no way we’re going to buy that after you just admitted to sharing a bed with one of them,” Mato snickered.

Sheo felt as if he was going insane. “For goodness sake… The Nailsmith said the couch was uncomfortable, and it was too dark to do anything about it, so I let him use my bed. It’s not that deep, you two!”

“Hmm, I don’t know,” Oro hummed. “That sounds mighty convenient if you ask me.”

Sheo’s brothers had insisted on accompanying him on the journey home, and since Sheo wasn’t quite ready to leave them, he allowed them to come along. Little did he know, the whole journey would just be his two brothers teasing him over his supposed relationship with his roommates, and he was very much wishing that he had turned down their offer when he had the chance. By now they’d made it to Greenpath, and Sheo had never wanted to get home faster in his life.

“What do you mean convenient? That’s what happened!” Sheo yelled, annoyed and tired of this conversation ten times over.

“You have to at least agree that The Nailsmith has it for you,” Mato tried to reason. “I know you can be a little dense sometimes, but even you have to see that much.”

“Dense? I’m not dense!” Sheo said.

“Really?” Oro smiled. “Mato, remember that time that poor bug tried to drop Sheo hints during their match, and Sheo thought the whole time they were trying to taunt him?”

“Oh, my wyrm! I forgot about that!” Mato laughed loudly. “Even master knew what was up!”

“Hey! That doesn’t count!” Sheo yelled. “I mean, who flirts in the middle of a match!?”

But his brothers went on as if he hadn’t said anything at all. “Or that other time, Sheo saved a bug from some delinquents, and to thank him they handed him a delicate flower and- and- ha!” Mato was laughing so hard he couldn’t finish his sentence.

“Yeah, I remember!” Oro said. “And when he took it Sheo told them, ‘I’m so glad to have made such a great friend in this wonderful kingdom!’” Oro mimicked his brother's voice.

“A delicate flower doesn’t always mean romantic love!” Sheo defended. “It can be platonic!”

“Of course you would say that,” Oro teased.

“It’s a common misconception! So what if I can’t pick up on any hints or whatever. Maybe if a bug would’ve just flat out told me how they felt, they would save the both of us all this embarrassment! Why should people assume I’m a mind reader?”

“You know what Sheo? You have a great point,” Mato smiled. “So, keeping that in mind, when you get back home, be sure to tell The Nailsmith-”

“The Nailsmith isn’t interested in me!” Sheo cut him off with a shout.

“Oh? You hear that?” Oro said. “He said The Nailsmith wasn’t interested in him, but not that he wasn’t interested in The Nailsmith.”

“Oh, for the love of the gods!”

“Alright alright, we’ll stop,” Mato said as he put his hands up defensively. “But only if you can tell me with a straight face that you’re not interested in The Nailsmith.”

“Now why should I have to do that?”

“We’ll stop teasing you if you do,” Oro agreed.

“That’s so stupid. Why can’t you just take my word on it?”

“We will take your word,” Mato explained, looking incredibly smug, “-but only if you say it.”

Sheo frowned as his brothers stared at him expectantly, as if they could look right into his soul.

“Just say it, Sheo,” Mato said, “-and we’ll never bug you about this again.”

Sheo quickly opened his mouth but just as quickly shut it. The only sound he was able to make was an annoyed groan.

“Huh? What was that?” Mato leaned in closer to Sheo, who was trying to act like he wasn’t there. “Sorry, I don’t think I heard you properly. Could you say that again?”

“You two are the worst,” Sheo muttered, which only caused his brothers to start laughing harder. They knew his weakness alright. Sheo wasn’t capable of telling a single lie.

“I don’t know about you, but I heard him loud and clear,” Oro said, the amusement practically dripping from his voice. “Looks like our Sheo here has got a crush after all.”

“Why did I let you two come with me?” Sheo scolded himself as he avoided eye contact. “I could’ve had a nice walk back home by myself. I could’ve enjoyed the scenery in some much-needed silence.”

“Aw, no need to be embarrassed, big guy,” Mato said, ecstatic that he was finally able to get Sheo to admit his feelings.

“I’m not embarrassed,” he said simply. “I’m mortified.”

Mato laughed while Oro patted Sheo on the back. “Hey, don’t get all tight about it. Your secret’s safe with us.”

Sheo stared at him, taking note of just how amused he was. For a moment Sheo forgot his frustration as he noticed just how happy Oro was. He walked with almost a skip in his step, smiling just enough for his eyes to squint.

“You’re sure in a good mood,” Sheo told him.

Oro nodded, though he promptly looked away, slightly embarrassed. “Yeah, guess so.” His eyes followed the beautiful sights of Greenpath before he continued. The floral landscape reflected off his eyes. “It’s nice to finally leave the hut. Kingdom’s Edge isn’t exactly the most inviting place to live. It’s been a while.”

“Hold on,” Mato said at once, staring at his brother in disbelief. “You mean you haven’t left your hut all this time?”

“Well… no,” Oro said weakly, definitely embarrassed now. “It’s just… you know. I couldn’t… I didn’t want to risk it.”

There was a pause.

“-But it’s not like I could’ve gone anywhere even if I wanted to,” Oro quickly tried to save. “With all those great hoppers about, I mean. You know I haven’t been training. Why, those things would’ve given me quite a lot of trouble! Ha!” He tried to laugh it off, but it was obviously strained and fell short.

“Oh, dear,” Sheo put a comforting hand around Oro. Mato did the same. They both had clearly seen that although Oro was rusty, he wasn’t by any means weak. Leaving Kingdom’s Edge had meant they had to face quite a few great hoppers, and Oro hadn’t needed any help holding his own.

“Not to mention those primal aspids!” Oro tried to save face again. Even now, he still felt uncomfortable receiving sympathy from his brothers. “Wyrm, those things are nasty. You so much as look at one and you’re covered in infection!” He tried to laugh again, it didn’t last long.

“Oro,” Mato spoke with a smile, “-as soon as we’re done dropping Sheo off, you’re coming with me.”

Oro smiled, he had no objections.

“After all,” Mato’s tone turned teasing again and Sheo immediately frowned. “It’d be unfair for us to barge in on Sheo’s domestic life.”

“I hate you,” Sheo said at once, drawing his hand back to his side when Oro started laughing too.

“Tell us Sheo, how do you plan to confess your undying love? It could be a dinner by candlelight, maybe you could do it in that beautiful garden of yours, or maybe, just maybe, you decide to skip all the theatrics and tell him point-blank?”

“I hate you.”

—

Sheo felt a surge of joy like no other when he caught sight of his hut, and that sight finally got his brothers to change the subject in case they were overheard by Sheo’s roommates. They stopped right before the short climb up to the hut, and tried to stall as much as they could before they had to say goodbye.

“I would at least like to get a glimpse of them,” Oro said, referring to Sheo’s roommates. “I came all this way and I can’t even get a peak?”

“Oh no you don’t,” Sheo said at once. “I’m not going to let you intimidate my friends.” Oro had a habit of chasing away anyone he didn’t deem worthy of befriending him or his brothers.

“I won’t scare them off,” Oro promised as he rolled his eyes. “But, if they get frightened by your dear brother, it really goes to show how fickle they see your family ties. So, if they did run off because of a simple glare, it speaks more about them than it does me.”

“Oro, that doesn’t make any sense.”

“Sure it does,” Mato chimed in, more jokingly than anything. “We’re like your other halves. Surely no one’s more qualified than us to test if these guys are right for you.”

Sheo stared at him, then back at Oro. “You don’t even like talking to new people.”

“Talking? Who said I was going to do any talking? I just want to see them.”

“...Alright fine,” Sheo said with an eye-roll. He was already here, it’d be unfair to send him on his way without introducing him to his friends. “But don’t tease them.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it, buddy,” Mato said as he gave a salute.

It seemed as if his roommates had heard their bickering long before they made their way up to the hut. When Sheo had made it to the doorway, The Nailsmith and Quirrel were already there, waiting for him. He worried how much they had heard.

“I’m back- oh!” Sheo barely had time to say a greeting before The Nailsmith had run up to him and given him a hug, as if this was the first time he’d seen him in years. Sheo chuckled softly as he hugged him back. “I missed you too.”

Quirrel stayed put, watching this play out with a fond look on his face.

“Hey, don’t think you’re getting out of a hug,” Sheo said, reaching for him, and before Quirrel could object, he was being pulled into a warm embrace he didn’t shy away from.

The sound of someone clearing their throat made Sheo let go of his roommates almost immediately. He turned and, oh dear, Mato and Oro were staring at him with those incredibly smug looks again. Oh, they’re never going to forget this, are they?

“Way to keep your brothers waiting,” Mato spoke up for Oro with feigned annoyance.

“Oh, be quiet,” Sheo snapped at him. With a sigh, he said, “Nailsmith, Quirrel, this is my brother Oro, who insisted on meeting you before he left.”

Oro stood completely still, studying Sheo’s roommates carefully. To them, it felt as if Oro could see into their very souls, and were judging every last one of their flaws and insecurities. After what felt like an eternity, he gave a short nod and looked at Mato, wordlessly communicating he was ready to go.

“Alright, sorry to bother you guys,” Mato’s smirk never left his face for a moment. “We’ll get out of your shells now.” Though he didn’t leave before giving Sheo a pat on the back and a knowing smile, and as they climbed down they could be heard talking to each other. Though it was hard to make out what exactly they were saying, whatever the specifics, it was definitely more teasing.

“Sorry about that,” Sheo said once his brothers had gone, “Oro threw a fit about wanting to see you two, and it was hard to say no to him after he came with me all the way here.”

“Oh whatever,” The Nailsmith dismissed, even though Oro’s gaze had scared him out of his shell. “I’m just glad you’re finally back.”

“Did you bore of me that quickly?” Quirrel said as he pretended to be hurt by the comment.

“Be quiet,” The Nailsmith playfully shooed him away. “You’re a handful and a half, you know that?”

“Woooow,” Quirrel widened his eyes and dramatically turned his back to him. “And here I was thinking you liked me.” He pouted, though it was hard to keep the expression without it devolving into a smile.

“By the gods, I don’t need this,” The Nailsmith said with a laugh. “Come on Sheo, let’s get inside.” He gestured for Sheo to follow him into the hut, but Sheo didn’t move. When The Nailsmith turned, he saw that Sheo was staring at him and Quirrel as if they’d grown extra heads.

“Uh, Sheo? You alright?” The Nailsmith asked. He glanced over to Quirrel, but he was just as confused as he was.

Then, without warning, Sheo started to laugh and smile the widest either of them had seen him. “Yes! I’m great!” With a swoop he brought them into a tighter hug, easily lifting them off the ground as he kept laughing.

“Um, what’s so amusing, friend?” Quirrel barely managed to squeeze out with his chest being squished.

That only made Sheo laugh louder, and it wasn’t until he caught his breath and put his friends down that he was able to answer.

“It’s just…” Sheo couldn’t stop himself from smiling ear to ear. “Oh, nevermind. I just really missed you two. Let’s get inside.” And then without any further explanation, he just walked into the hut as if nothing had happened at all, leaving The Nailsmith and Quirrel to stare at each other equally confused.

—

“Wait wait wait, let me make sure I’ve got this right,” The Nailsmith interrupted in equal parts amusement and disbelief. “One brother thought the other brother wanted him dead because of a one-off argument however many years ago?”

“That’s about it,” Sheo said. It really was ridiculous hearing someone say it out loud.

“Wow. Just… wow.”

Sheo had filled his friends in on what happened while he was away. He told them of his brothers fighting and making up, as well as a few fond memories of the two he could think of. Honestly, he was surprised his friends wanted to hear about it at all. He never would’ve picked either of them the type to care about his own family drama.

“If I had to guess what they’re going to do next, I’d say they’re heading to Mato’s,” Sheo said as he finished. “Mato’s going to put Oro through the wringer with his training, and he’d be the most comfortable doing that at his own hut. Besides, they’ve spent enough time apart as it is. I can’t see them separating again so soon. In fact, I don’t think I’ll ever catch them apart again. As much as they bicker, they really do care about each other.”

“So, all in all, the trip was a success?” The Nailsmith asked.

“Oh, indeed! Honesty, I’d forgotten just how much I’d missed those two.”

“Why’d you three move away to begin with?” This was the first time Quirrel had spoken since Sheo started talking. From the moment Sheo and The Nailsmith had sat on the couch close together, Quirrel hadn’t made a sound, silently sitting opposite to them, listening and watching. “It doesn’t seem like any of you enjoyed being apart.”

“Oh, well, it’s a nailmaster tradition, you see,” Sheo started slowly. “Once a nailmaster has learned all they can from their teacher, they isolate themselves to hone their skills until they become a nailsage. To be honest, our master never liked it. He wanted us to stay together, but both of my brothers agreed on staying true to tradition, though, not for the same reasons.”

“Did you like it?” Quirrel asked.

“I can’t say I did,” Sheo sighed. “But I wasn’t the one who wanted to become a nailsage either, so the decision wasn’t up to me.”

Quirrel studied him for a moment before asking, “Why don’t you three go back to living together then? If your brothers no longer care about keeping tradition, why aren’t you with them?”

Both Sheo and The Nailsmith stared at him. The Nailsmith was giving him a look almost as if he’d said something taboo, while Sheo looked almost guilty.

“It’s not as if I’d hated living here by myself,” Sheo said. “I might not be training to be a nailsage, but I’ve come far in my journey as a paintmaster. The two things aren’t so different, you know? In a way, I’ve followed and benefited from the old tradition myself. Besides, I couldn’t leave the two of you all alone.”

“Sure you could,” Quirrel said in a heartbeat, making The Nailsmith stare at him harder. “They’re your family. We’re just your roommates.”

“Just roommates? Why, you two are just as much a part of my family as my brothers are! Haven’t I told you both that already?”

Quirrel thought about that for a moment, trying to figure out if he loved or hated being thought of that way. He still couldn’t decide if he found it thoughtful that Sheo cared for him, or annoying that he was pretending to know him as a friend. “Oh… you did,” is all Quirrel said.

“And don’t you try to trick yourself into thinking those are hollow words. I mean it,” Sheo said firmly, pointing a finger at Quirrel. “I’m looking at you too, Nailsmith. You two mean the world to me, alright?”

Quirrel wasn’t sure how he felt about that sentiment. He wasn’t sure at all.

—

As the day went on, Sheo found himself zoning out. He would glance around the room until his eyes would land on the old nails leaned up against the wall, or an old award covered in dust. He’d stare at them until he slowly brought himself back into the present, left to wonder just how long he’d been out for.

And Sheo hadn’t realized he’d been doing it again until The Nailsmith tapped him on the shoulder.

“Are you alright?” The Nailsmith asked him quietly, concern all over his face. “This is the third time you’ve gone all silent.”

“Oh, I’m just fine,” Sheo said very unconvincingly. In front of him was the unfinished painting he was working on. It was practically untouched.

“Are you sure?” The Nailsmith pressed, and just that question was enough to make Sheo want to confide in him and tell him all the troubles he’s ever had.

“I feel as if I’ve wasted a large portion of my life,” Sheo admitted quietly. “In my younger years all I wanted to do was become a nailsage alongside my brothers, and when that dream was so close to becoming true I lost interest. I love being an artist but… I can’t help but feel as if I threw away what could’ve been. After all, what was the point of all that training if the only things I have to show for it are dusty old nails and awards I can’t bear to look at.”

“If you want to train with your brothers you could,” The Nailsmith said slowly. Sheo might not have wanted to leave The Nailsmith and Quirrel behind, but if what he really wanted was to go back to his brothers, well… The Nailsmith wouldn’t want to keep him in a place he was unhappy.

“Oh, you misunderstand,” Sheo said, which made The Nailsmith internally sigh with relief. “I don’t want to be a nailsage, I want to stay here and focus on my paintings. My worry comes from how much time I spent trying to acquire a goal I no longer care for. It was a lot of wasted time and energy that I’m never going to get back.”

“But at the time you enjoyed doing it, right?”

Sheo nodded, “I did.”

“Then, what’s the problem?”

“The problem is that my hard work never amounted to anything. I became a nailmaster, sure, but only by definition. In reality, I gave up that title the second I stopped training.”

“I still don’t see an issue,” Quirrel spoke up and said. He’d been on the couch during the conversation, reading a book. “You had fun while it lasted, and you stopped when it was no longer enjoyable. Do you think it would’ve been better to push yourself to master a skill you hated?”

“Hmm,” Sheo thought for a moment. It wasn’t as if he’d forgotten his master’s teachings or how to hold his own in a fight, he could recall those lessons as if he’d been taught them yesterday. He had fun learning all those things, he had fun participating in all of those tournaments, he had fun coming up with his own nail art, and he had fun being with his brothers. He’d spent so much time fretting over the past and what could’ve been, that he’d forgotten the reason he chose to paint in the first place. It was fun.

“I’ve just been thinking too much, that’s all.” Sheo brushed off the conversation just like that, as if it was nothing important after all. “Thank you two for listening to my ramblings.” Besides, he has a pupil now, The Little One. He taught them his nail art, and they’d mastered it. Nailsages and nailmasters alike live on in their students, and the part of him that wished he’d grow to be a nailsage alongside his brothers found enough closure in that.

Chapter Text

There was only one thought on The Nailsmith’s mind as the light began to darken and he started to catch himself yawning.

Where was he going to sleep?

The couch, of course, was his first answer. That’d been his make-shift bed these past weeks and naturally that should continue to be the case. But being able to sleep in Sheo’s bed for a whole week had spoiled him, pleasantly reminding him of how comfortable a proper bed was, and now, even sitting on the couch felt akin to sitting on a bunch of bricks. Who was he to complain though? Sheo had let him stay in his home out of the goodness of his heart, it’d be incredibly rude to pitch a fit about the sleeping arrangements. Yeah, alright that settles it, he’ll sleep on the couch and ignore whatever back pain he suffers in the morning.

When the light dimmed to the point where the few lumafly lanterns started to shine, everyone agreed that it was time to wrap it up for the night. The Nailsmith watched as Quirrel, (who was already on the other couch reading,) layed down and pulled the covers up over him. He also watched as Sheo took his time carefully making sure all of his paints were closed shut before hanging up his apron and sliding into bed himself.

They said their goodnights in a chain, The Nailsmith being the last and gingerly making his way over to the couch. At least, he was, until Quirrel cleared his throat just loud enough so that only The Nailsmith heard.

“What?” The Nailsmith whispered at him. Quirrel was staring expectantly with his brows raised, the way you’d stare at a clueless someone who’d just forgotten your birthday.

Instead of answering, Quirrel jerked his head over towards Sheo’s direction.

“Oh, come off it,” The Nailsmith whispered again, dismissing him with a flick of his hand. He was not about to bother Sheo over something like this, and he was definitely not about to ask if-

“Hey Sheo,” Quirrel called suddenly, “-Nailsmith has something to ask you.”

Sheo sat up and pointed his attention towards The Nailsmith. “Oh? What is it?’

If there were ever a moment in The Nailsmith’s life where he would do anything to disappear, this would be that moment. (Or, now that he was thinking about it, the second moment. That scene at the hot springs takes number one by far.) He froze for what felt like an eternity, trying to come up with something to say while being stared down by Quirrel, who looked incredibly smug, and Sheo, whose expression made him want to melt.

“It’s nothing really,” is what he finally said when his brain caught up to him, being sure to give Quirrel a quick glare before he continued. “It’s just that- uh… well,” by the gods, he is not about to ask to share a bed with Sheo. He’s not, he’s not, he’s not.

“Oh right, the couch!” Sheo jumped out of bed as he remembered. “I’d totally forgotten you’d said it’d been hurting your back! I’m so sorry, I’ll try to find you something to make it more comfortable.” And without any further prompting, Sheo was searching throughout his hut for any spare blankets, pillows, or old cloaks that could be used for cushioning. The Nailsmith stood there rather awkwardly as he watched this happen. It was pretty clear that Sheo wasn’t finding anything. Quirrel cleared his throat again, and you would think that the second time The Nailsmith would’ve known not to ignore him.

“Actually, Sheo,” Quirrel started again, making The Nailsmith glare at him fiercer than ever. “-wouldn’t it be better if Nailsmith shared your bed with you? Piling extra things onto the couch can only do so much.”

Sheo paused, and was thankful that his back had been turned to hide his flush. Curse his brothers, making him think these things. “I wouldn’t mind,” he said once he regained his composure, but not fully able to get rid of that curve on his lips. “Would you like the bed too, Quirrel?”

Quirrel was stunned for a moment. “No, no that’s alright. Don’t let me take up your space.”

And that would’ve been the end of it, if Sheo hadn’t then taken it upon himself to pick both Quirrel and The Nailsmith up and plop them down onto the bed as if he were a child picking up his favorite stuffed animals.

“Nonsense, Quirrel. Take up as much space as you like,” he said as he laid down in the center, pulling the covers over his two sleepmates. “And Nailsmith, I apologize for not having more than one bed. Are you alright with this sleeping arrangement?”

The Nailsmith was slightly scared of what sound would come out if he opened his mouth, so he nodded instead.

“Great, great,” Sheo smiled widely. “Goodnight you two.”

And as Sheo laid down the mattress dipped, making both Quirrel and The Nailsmith slide into his welcoming arms.

—

When morning came, Sheo was the second one to awake.

As his senses started to return, he felt The Nailsmith’s soft beard pressed against his side, and as he gingerly glanced down he could see the peaceful expression on his face. It was rare to catch The Nailsmith without any furrow on his brow, it made him smile.

“Good morning,” Quirrel’s voice was flat.

Sheo looked up at him, half startled. “Good morning,” he greeted back, noticing how Quirrel was further away from him than he’d fallen asleep the previous night. He didn’t have any expression on his face, his eyes looked as if they’d been studying something. “Have you been awake long?”

“I’ve been up for a bit.” Quirrel stopped staring, suddenly finding the opposite corner of the bed rather interesting. “But I stayed in bed as to not worry Nailsmith.”

Sheo raised an eyebrow, “Why would you getting out of bed worry Nailsmith?”

Quirrel only shrugged, as if he hadn’t a clue.

Sheo was quiet for a moment, trying to think of a way to start a conversation. “Say, I couldn’t help but notice you and The Nailsmith seem to be on friendlier terms. What’d you two get up to while I was away?”

Quirrel didn’t look at him. “Nothing really,” is all he said.

“Nothing at all?” Sheo pressed again, more confused than anything. He didn’t miss the way they’d teased each other when he’d first arrived home. He especially didn’t miss the genuine smile on Quirrel’s face then either. Surely, something had happened while he was away.

But Quirrel didn’t elaborate. “Nothing,” is all he said, and before Sheo could say anything else he got out of bed and went over to the couch, where he picked up his book from the day before and retreated into his own little world. Sheo was left worrying if he’d said something wrong, but that worry almost completely disappeared when The Nailsmith shifted in his sleep and he was pleasantly reminded of how close the two of them were. It made his face pleasantly warm, but it also not so pleasantly reminded him of his brother’s endless teasing, which then turned that pleasant warmth into an uncomfortable burn. He really wished his brothers hadn’t said all those things, it turned his brain into a much more complicated (and flustered) place.

Carefully, Sheo dislodged himself from The Nailsmith without waking him, (though, not without a close call,) and made his way over to his easel to begin painting. As he set up his paints and brushes, preparing to work, his mind was still occupied by the two bugs occupying his hut.

Sheo wanted to get closer to The Nailsmith, as in, closer than friends. It wasn’t so much of a shocking realization than it was an ‘I guess this is happening now’ feeling for the larger bug. That didn’t make it any less embarrassing though. Truly, he wanted nothing more than for The Nailsmith to stay here forever and for the two of them to simply live. All he wanted was to bounce playful banter back and forth while they both created their masterpieces. He wanted to watch The Nailsmith mold his will into clay, and he wanted to see that concentrated look relax into a smile when he finally got his creation to look right. Sheo didn’t want much, he hasn’t wanted much ever since he retired from being a nailmaster, but he had always wanted a lifelong companion.

But things were fine as they were now, were they not? Sheo’s relationship with The Nailsmith as it stood was enough, wasn’t it? Would it be worth it to bring his feelings out into the light, taking the risk of making his dear friend uncomfortable? Would The Nailsmith leave if that were to happen? That’d be the worst outcome by far.

“You have to at least agree that The Nailsmith has it for you,” Mato’s smug voice played in Sheo’s head, interrupting his thoughts. “I know you can be a little dense sometimes, but even you have to see that much.”

Sheo huffed to himself. He was not dense. He just needed some proper communication, that’s all. Why a bug would opt to ‘drop hints’ on another when romantically interested seemed like such a waste of time and energy. Wouldn’t it be better for both parties if the feeling were discussed with words instead of having to be inferred?

…

Oh, wait.

…

Hmm.

Sheo thought for a moment.

Perhaps… perhaps it would be better for Sheo to talk to The Nailsmith. Skip all of the awkwardness of having feelings and not doing anything with them, and get rid of the weight in his chest that forms whenever he feels he has something to hide. He glanced over to The Nailsmith again, still fast asleep, only now clutching the pillow Sheo had replaced for his chest.

He smiled.

—

Over the next few days, The Nailsmith watched Quirrel.

He was back into that quiet and observing trance. It was as if he’d retreated into his shell and went into hiding, only The Nailsmith could see his face perfectly clear, engrossed in a book, but it was as if the other bug wasn’t there. Sometimes he hid himself so well that The Nailsmith genuinely forgot he was there, and when he would speak, it startled him as if he’d been spoken to by a ghost.

Why Quirrel had gone back to acting like this, The Nailsmith wasn’t sure. It had something to do with Sheo being back, (wow, how’d he guess that one?) but the real question was why? It was only made worse whenever Sheo tried starting a conversation with Quirrel, or tried to incorporate Quirrel into a conversation he and The Nailsmith were having. He’d only ever respond with the bare minimum, and if he could he wouldn’t respond with words at all, just hums of differing pitches until Sheo eventually gave up.

He had done it again one evening, brushing off Sheo yet again as he tried to ask what the book Quirrel had been reading was all about. Quirrel had said, “Nothing much,” and when Sheo pressed, saying “Surely it’s something, you’ve been reading it for days,” Quirrel only hummed with a shrug of his shoulders.

When it was clear Sheo had yet again failed at starting a conversation with Quirrel, he gave up. He sighed and tried to continue painting, but couldn’t keep his brush on the canvas for very long and eventually decided to step outside and get some fresh air, leaving the other two alone.

The second Sheo was out of earshot, The Nailsmith spoke to Quirrel. “What’s your deal?”

“My deal?” Quirrel didn’t look up from his book. “I’m afraid I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Don’t play dumb, why are you ignoring Sheo?”

“I’m not ignoring him,” he said simply, like a fact. “Ignoring would mean I’m pretending he isn’t there, but I assure you, I’m very aware of Sheo’s presence. I’m not ignoring him at all, quite the opposite actually, I’m minding that he’s there.”

“Okaaay,” The Nailsmith dragged out, even more confused. “But why are you… uh ‘minding’ him?”

Quirrel let out a breath, “I’m sure I’ve already told you this, but you’ve seemed to have forgotten so I’ll remind you. I’ve found that I’m not as good at holding my tongue as I used to be, and the more I let myself babble on, the more I run the risk of saying something unsavory. Since I don’t want to subject our kind and selfless friend to any undeserved hostility, I have decided it would be best if I don’t speak to him at all, just to make sure it never happens.”

“Oh, good grief,” The Nailsmith rolled his eyes. “And remind me again why you’re not ‘minding’ talking to me?”

Quirrel was quiet. He was going to say, “because I don’t mind hurting your feelings,” but that clearly wasn’t true because one, that would hurt his feelings, and two, that’s the reason he didn’t want to say it! So, Quirrel just shrugged and hummed instead.

When he got no response, The Nailsmith spoke again. “I think I remember asking you to talk to Sheo when he got back.”

“And I think I remember not promising to do such a thing,” Quirrel said without missing a beat.

The Nailsmith groaned as he rolled his eyes. “You’ve got to be kidding me. Are you afraid of Sheo biting you or something?”

“I just said I was afraid of upsetting him.”

“You already are upsetting him!” Honestly, how the obvious continued to elude a bug as intelligent as Quirrel would never make any sense. “You’re brushing away every chance he’s made at having a simple conversation! By the gods, you won’t so much talk to him about what you want for breakfast! Do you really think he’s happy about that?”

That made Quirrel look up from his book. He stared at The Nailsmith as if he’d said something horribly offensive. He’d be lying if he said that look didn’t send a shiver down his spine. This was exactly the reason he wanted Sheo to do all the talking, The Nailsmith was never good at speaking on sensitive matters.

“I really don’t know what you want from me,” Quirrel frowned. “I’m nothing more than a stranger you’ve kept in your home and denied the ability to leave. I don’t know you or Sheo, and I would greatly appreciate it if you and him would stop acting like I do. You don’t know me, save your compassion for each other.”

“So what? We’ve got to become your friend in order to not want you to die?”

“If that’s how you want to translate what I said, sure, whatever.”

“Then there’s one big flaw in that.”

Quirrel stared at him expectantly.

“How are we supposed to become your friends if you don’t talk to us?”

“I-” Quirrel frowned, beginning to feel stupid. He couldn’t think of a reply.

“You have a right to be upset,” The Nailsmith said slowly, thinking his words through carefully. “-and if either me or Sheo are doing something that ticks you off, you can tell us you don’t like it. Those moments when you, er, how’d you put it? When you ‘can’t hold your tongue' is from you wanting to tell us off but refusing to do so for whatever reason. I deserved to be yelled at a bit, so if you ever want to start shouting, I’m all ears.”

“No… you don’t,” Quirrel said very quietly, breaking eye contact. “You don’t deserve to be yelled at. You’re just trying to… help.” Trying to help, even though Quirrel didn’t need it.

“But you’re still mad about it, right?”

“Of course, I’m still mad!” Quirrel’s voice rose so suddenly it took him a minute before he even realized he had shouted. Instantly he covered his mouth and looked away again, guilty.

“You can be mad at me, mad at us,” The Nailsmith said. “You can be angry.”

Quietly, Quirrel said, “I don’t want to shout at you.” I don’t want to be angry.

“Eh, I don’t want to be shouted at either, in all honesty. What I’m trying to say is that if you’re upset, don’t keep it to yourself.”

Quirrel’s expression was blank and unreadable. Even now he was trying to keep that shield up. “But… if I slip and say something bad to Sheo…”

“Sheo’s not made of glass you know? He can take a shout or two. Besides, do you think he would rather you all shut up like you are now?”

“I… I guess not.”

“Exactly. So, the next time Sheo tries to bring you into a conversation, can you actually join him?”

Quirrel’s attention returned to his book as he slowly lifted it back up, flipping a page.

“I’ll try.”

—

Sheo was, without any exaggeration, the kindest and most understanding bug to ever exist in all of Hallownest. If that much wasn’t clear before, it was as clear as the crystals in Crystal Peak now. In fact, Sheo was so kind that Quirrel was having trouble rationalizing his kindness in his brain. Surely any other bug would’ve given up trying to talk to him by now, surely any other bug would’ve gotten tired of him all together. But not Sheo, why, he had walked out the door looking more defeated than ever, and after just a few minutes of fresh air in the garden he was back inside, looking as if nothing had ever troubled him in his life. That loving smile back on his face as he announced he was back, and this time Quirrel actually responded by welcoming him back, to which Sheo’s smile only grew.

But no real conversation would be had until dinner. After Sheo had taken his time in the kitchen filling up the hut with the beautiful smells of soup and all of its ingredients, all the while The Nailsmith’s stomach grew more impatient every passing second, never missing a chance to playfully gripe at how either Sheo was either incredibly slow at cooking, or he was purposely teasing The Nailsmith.

“Neither,” Sheo said with a laugh so soft it could calm a raging soul, “-I’m just being sure to put extra care into it. Good food isn’t something you can rush, you know.”

“Nonsense!” The Nailsmith said as he swatted the air dramatically. “I rush my meals all the time, and let me tell you, they taste fine enough for me!”

Sheo hummed. “Now, don’t think I mean this as an insult to your cooking, because I do love it so, but I assure you, things turn out much better when you take your time on them.”

“Oh yeah? Well, why don’t you hurry up that soup so I can be the judge of that.”

“Nailsmith,” Sheo said with another soft laugh, “-that would quite literally defeat the purpose of what I’m trying to prove.”

Despite what The Nailsmith’s whining would leave you to believe, dinner was served relatively quickly after that, and as Sheo was sprinkling the finishing touches on top of the bowl, The Nailsmith was practically making grabby hands for one of them.

“Alright, Nailsmith, here you go,” Sheo said as he handed him his bowl, to which he immediately started eating. Sheo was carefully (smugly) watching his reaction.

“Well?”

After his attempt at inhaling the entirety of the bowl in front of him, The Nailsmith said rather softly, “It’s good.”

And a few seconds later, the delicious smell of the soup was brought up close to Quirrel’s face as Sheo gingerly brought his bowl to him. “Would you… like to eat with us?” Sheo’s voice was hesitant, the three of them hadn’t eaten together in a while. Usually, only Sheo and The Nailsmith would eat at the same time, and Quirrel would only eat whenever he felt okay withdrawing any form of attention to himself, which more often than not led to Quirrel skipping meals. “It’s quite alright if you don’t, I was just wondering if-”

“Sure.”

It was almost as if saying that one word had unlocked something within him. Suddenly he remembered just how much he had enjoyed speaking with Sheo and how much his heart ached every time he had ignored him. He had forgotten how much he hated the feeling of isolation until he was out of it.

It truly was nice eating alongside Sheo and The Nailsmith, he’d forgotten how much he enjoyed it. The conversation didn’t kick off the ground running, it started with snippets of banter here and there, but Quirrel made an effort to participate. His responses were slow and hesitant, but he responded nonetheless. When the air grew more comfortable and Quirrel shoulders finally relaxed, The Nailsmith started to tell Sheo of what went on while he was away on his family trip, which caused a lot of laughs to be shared.

“Hey, don’t laugh! It was serious business,” The Nailsmith glared at both Sheo and Quirrel, who were both snickering. “You haven’t seen how good his throw is! This monster-” he pointed to Quirrel, who just started to snicker harder, “-turned eggshells into deadly projectiles!”

“It was a battle well fought, and well won, by me,” Quirrel said as a smug smile threatened to creep along his face.

“Won? Now I wouldn’t say that. I got some good hits in.”

“I’m happy to hear you two had fun while I was away,” Sheo had a relaxed smile on his face. “I had worried you wouldn’t get along.”

“Us? Not getting along?” The Nailsmith joked as he took a big swig of soup. “Where'd you ever get that idea from?”

“Indeed Sheo, how completely and utterly preposterous.”

There was a small gap of silence, everyone eating their food contently.

“You know he started reading to me to shut me up?” The Nailsmith spoke up in the silence. “He got tired of listening to me talk so he got me to listen to him instead.”

“No, that’s not why. I read to you because you were a baby crying over his father Sheo being gone.”

“Q-Quirrel!” The Nailsmith was sure that if the two of them were to begin another food fight, and Quirrel was to hit him in the face with an egg, that egg would cook immediately, wyrm, it might even burn.

“I’m only joking,” Quirrel quickly said when he noticed Sheo’s reaction had made his face just as flushed as The Nailsmith’s, though he was being much more subtle about it. “He took an interest in my book recommendations, but is seemingly well overdue for a pair of reading glasses, so I read it to him.”

“What? I do not need glasses. I can see just fine.”

“Of course you can, which is why you were squinting at the page so hard your eyes closed.”

Sheo couldn’t help but smile as he listened to the two of them bicker. It really was nice, eating good food with people he loved, his troubles seeming more and more unimportant as his smile grew. It was nice, it really, really was.

Chapter Text

Quirrel’s still awkward, but he’s talking now.

Sheo and him were in the garden making light conversation. Quirrel would likely never get over how beautiful Sheo’s garden was, and found himself commenting on it quite a bit. Each and every plant practically glowed from the delicate love and care that Sheo gave them every day. Not a single leaf had so much as a nick on its end.

“You could write a care guide on gardening, Sheo,” Quirrel said as he examined a particularly juicy tomato. “I’m sure if any bug were to lay their eyes on this beauty, they’d buy one in a heartbeat.”

Sheo shook his head, though he kept his focus on tenderly picking out the weeds that had snaked themselves around his crops. “I couldn’t do that. I’m not good at writing at all.”

Quirrel studied the strawberry plants just a bed over. The ripe fruits were so vibrantly red, he just had to pick them. “If there were anyone left to sell to, you could even start up your own shop. You could be exclusive too, and make bugs pay double, no, triple.”

Sheo shook his head again as he laughed. “I wouldn’t do that either. It takes a lot of work running a shop, I’m not sure if I could pull it off. And even if I could, I wouldn’t be selling produce. Gardening is just a hobby of mine. I picked it up to improve my health and to give me something to do as a break from painting. Honestly, I have no clue what I’m doing to make these little ones grow so well. I promise you, I’m not doing anything any farmer doesn’t know about. It amazes me as much as it does you.”

Quirrel picked the last ripe strawberry he could see, placing it into his basket more delicately than necessary. “Perhaps it’s the Greenpath soil, light, and temperature that’s making the crops flourish as they are.” If there’s anything that Quirrel loves, it’s a good mystery.

“That’s what I’ve always assumed,” Sheo said, tossing the last weed into the pile. “It’s so warm here that nothing goes out of season. All I do is weed the beds and keep them watered, it’s not much.”

Quirrel took a glance over to Sheo and watched as he picked up his watering can, the one carefully handmade by The Nailsmith, and watered his plants with a happy hum. He looked so content, so at peace. Quirrel supposes it isn’t such a mystery after all as to why the garden grows so beautifully.

It’s because Sheo loves it.

“I think that’s more than enough for you little ones to drink,” Sheo addressed his monster-sized crops as if they were babies. “We don’t want those roots to rot now do we?” He picked himself up and dusted the dirt off his apron, still looking at his ‘children’ fondly. “I just have one more thing to do, Quirrel, and then we’ll be back up.” Sheo made his way over to the corner of the garden, and as Quirrel watched he could see him stop at the flower bed.

“I’ve been wondering why you grow flowers in your garden,” Quirrel said as he went to kneel next to Sheo, who was already on his knees and rummaging through the pocket on his apron. This is where Quirrel would go whenever The Nailsmith had crafted a new vase, handpicking whichever flowers he thought should be displayed. “Are they for decoration?”

“Not quite,” Sheo found what he was looking for and pulled out a pair of scissors. “I use them to make pigments. I’m not going to be running out of paint anytime soon, but I think it’s about time I get to work replenishing my stock.” He started to collect the petals of the flowers, sniping them from their stems and placing them in his basket.

“You make your own paints?” Quirrel asked as he leaned in closer, inhaling the pleasing scents of the flowers.

Sheo nodded. “I do, though it’s certainly a process. It takes more time than skill, and thankfully I have all the time in Hallownest.”

Sheo had practically every flower under the sun laid out right in front of him. As Quirrel studied them, a certain pale flower caught his attention. His eyes were naturally drawn to it, surely it wasn’t actually a…

“Is this a delicate flower?” Quirrel reached his hand out to touch it. He was so careful that he barely even felt it when his finger made contact.

“No, it isn't,” Sheo simply said as he went to collect its petals as well. “Just a normal one. However, if I did ever get my hands on a delicate flower, wyrm knows I wouldn’t be using it to make paints!”

“Right, right,” Quirrel said as they laughed together. “Have you ever seen a delicate flower before?”

Sheo nodded. “I’ve been gifted one once, back when I was a nailmaster. I couldn’t possibly keep it, given how hard it would’ve been for me to keep it in one piece traveling about as much as I did.”

“Who gifted it to you?”

Sheo let out a huff, “According to my brothers, I got it from a bug who had taken an interest in me.”

“And according to you?”

“I got it from a friend wanting to give me a parting gift.”

Quirrel froze, the way you’d freeze if someone said they’d caught you doing something incredibly embarrassing. A second later Quirrel relaxed and awkwardly laughed. “That sounds an awful lot like the story I have of seeing a delicate flower.”

“Oh? Do tell.”

And so Quirrel told the story, the same embarrassing one he’d told The Nailsmith not too long ago. When he finished he said, “It seems as if the meaning of a delicate flower varies from kingdom to kingdom. You ask one bug what it means and they’ll say you only give it to those you wish to marry, and if you ask another they’ll say it’s not any more serious than presenting someone with a rose, albeit much more expensive.”

“That does seem to be the case,” Sheo agreed with a nod. “Was the kingdom you visited where the flowers originated from?”

Quirrel shook his head, “It also seems to be a mystery as to where the flowers came from. The kingdom I visited was certainly popular for its delicate flowers, but none of the bugs who live there today know of how their kingdom first found the flowers. Perhaps that mystery has to do with its many meanings. If no one is able to say where the flowers came from, I doubt they’ll be able to accurately say what they mean.”

“What do you think they mean?”

Taken aback by the sudden question, Quirrel turned to meet Sheo’s gaze, finding that he was looking at him with nothing but genuine interest. He even leaned closer, his eyes wide as if he were about to be given a gift. It made Quirrel’s face warm.

“Oh, well… I suppose I’ve been going with the most commonly accepted meaning for a while,” absentmindedly, Quirrel shifted back. “A delicate flower is the kind of thing someone would present to a romantic partner, or perhaps someone very similar. But I suppose that’s not what you believe, is it?”

Sheo hummed, organizing his thoughts. “Everyone agrees a delicate flower has some form of relation to love, but it’s my belief that labeling it as romantic love isn’t the way to go. It’s a common thing really, to hear the word love and think of romance, but there’s so much more to the word than just that.”

“Hmm,” Quirrel considered that. “I’ve never thought about it that way, friend.”

“It’s a common thing like I said. Don’t start thinking I’m a revolutionist for believing differently though,” Sheo added with a laugh, turning his attention back towards collecting his flower petals. There was a lapse of silence, with Quirrel contently watching Sheo work. The conversation picked up again when Quirrel started to tell Sheo of other places he’d visited, along with the stories he had of those places. Sheo listened to everything Quirrel said, finding all of it incredibly fascinating, and when he was prompted he would share his own stories, those he had of his brothers and master from when he used to travel. Whenever either of them shared a tale, the world grew a bit smaller.

When Sheo was satisfied with his harvest, resulting in a basket full of petals, the two of them made their way back into the hut. Waiting for them back home (could it be called waiting if the bug was still in bed?) was The Nailsmith half asleep. With the other two gone he’d sprawled out and had taken up as much space on the bed as he could, looking pleased with himself as he did.

“Welcome back,” he said to Sheo and Quirrel as he heard them come in. “I would’ve liked an invitation to whatever party you two went to.”

“Good morning to you too, Nailsmith,” Quirrel said. “-but I’m afraid sleeping beauties weren’t allowed in.”

“Besides, we are the party,” Sheo added, bouncing off Quirrel’s teasing.

Rubbing his eyes The Nailsmith sat up, noticing the basket Sheo was carrying. “What’s with the petals?”

“I figured today was as good a day as any to start replenishing my art supply. It’s a lot of work being a painter without any supply stores, and if I let my stock get too low there might come a point where I have to go months without painting! Oh, the horror!”

“How do you make the paint?” The Nailsmith asked as he stretched.

“It’s a two-part process,” Sheo started as he set his basket down and started to search through the cabinets for trays. “The first part is making the pigment, which I found was easiest to obtain from flower petals. The second part is making the oil, which is what I use to turn the pigment into paint. Making the oil is… a process to be sure, but it’s also fulfilling. I was telling Quirrel earlier that it takes more time than it does skill. In fact, I’m sure I could show you how if you’d like to learn. You too, Quirrel.”

The Nailsmith perked up, fully awake now, and slid out of bed to make his way over to Sheo. Quirrel did the same, and Sheo started by laying out trays on the table.

“The first step is to organize the petals by color and to put them onto these trays to be dried.” He went ahead and started. “It’s not glamorous work, but it is surprisingly calming.” And so that’s how the three of them spent their morning, color sorting flower petals. As time went on, Quirrel was starting to agree that it was relaxing, though The Nailsmith was looking agitated by it.

“Hey, Nailsmith,” Sheo started suddenly, “-what do you believe a delicate flower means?”

Caught off guard, he took a second to respond. “Uh, can I have some context, please?”

“Oh, apologies. Quirrel and I were discussing it earlier and it turns out there’s a split in what some bugs believe about the flower compared to others. I was wondering what your thoughts on the matter were.”

“Oh,” The Nailsmith took a moment to think, eventually shrugging. “I don’t know. It’s just an expensive flower, isn’t it? You don’t get much out of it.”

“It’s not about what you get out of it, it’s about what the flower represents,” Sheo explained. “I already told Quirrel this, but I believe it represents love in a more general sense than is commonly discussed. A way to say ‘I care for you deeply’ without having to put a label on it.”

“I’m going to be honest, I don’t have the slightest clue what you’re talking about, but whatever you’re saying, you’re right.”

Sheo and Quirrel laughed. “That’s alright,” Sheo said. “I’m just rambling.”

“But speaking of delicate flowers,” The Nailsmith started, “-did Quirrel tell you the story of when-”

“Yes, I told him,” Quirrel interrupted.

“Did you tell him the other one? The one when you ate that spicy kabob?”

Quirrel rolled his eyes as he retold the story, which made the two other bugs laugh, and as the story concluded and the laughter died down The Nailsmith asked Sheo to share an embarrassing story, to which he told the tale of when he and his brothers got kicked out of a hot springs for ‘repeatedly making disgusting noises with their hands and underarms.’ Needless to say, Sheo’s sense of humor back then was much simpler.

“I swear, we were convinced we could do stand up back then,” Sheo laughed with a slight cringe.

As the conversation continued, Quirrel decided to bring out his journal to try and recall some more stories.

“Oh hey, it’s your diary,” The Nailsmith said as soon as he saw the familiar beaten-up book.

“Journal,” Quirrel said at once, flipping through it. Turning to Sheo, he said, “Everywhere I’ve traveled I’ve taken this book with me. I’ve written down every last adventure I can ever recall.” Adventures from his time outside of Hallownest, as well as out-of-order memories from his time within it.

“Fascinating,” Sheo nodded. “Do you write often?”

“Not much anymore,” Quirrel was a little embarrassed to say. “I used to write almost everyday, motivated by how it was never long before I discovered something new. But it’s been a while since I’ve written anything down.”

“Writer’s block?” Sheo guessed.

Quirrel shrugged. “Something akin to that, yes.” It wasn’t as if he hadn’t written any entries from within Hallownest, because he had, and he wrote many of them. Perhaps it was the kingdom he had the most to write about. He would fill each page up to the brim with all he had discovered, not wanting to waste any space, whenever he took a rest. The kingdom filled him with so much joy, so much wonder, he would grin from ear to ear as he logged his adventures.

Then he found the Archives, and the last entry he had ever written had been created at the Blue Lake. He wasn’t planning on leaving his journal behind with his nail either. No, he fully intended on keeping it strapped to him in his bag. The silk pages would be destroyed the instant they touched the cool water. They would die at his side, his two lives lost to the lake.

“Though, it’s nothing major,” Quirrel brushed off as if he hadn’t just reminded himself of how badly he wanted to leave this hut. “I simply ran out of things to write about.”

“Ah,” Sheo seemed to understand the explanation. “I get like that too, such is the curse of all artists. Passion and inspiration run dry eventually, no matter how much you love your craft, and the only way for those feelings to return is to take a break.”

“Oh, I’m not an artist,” Quirrel told him, not really paying attention to the rest of what Sheo said. “I wrote down my travels as a way to remember them, that’s all.”

“Surely there’s a little more to it than that,” Sheo pressed. “You spend so much of your time with a book in your hand, and if there’s one thing I know about readers, it’s that a lot of them are also writers.”

Quirrel thought Sheo was looking at him strangely, and that statement was letting on Sheo possibly knew more than Quirrel thought. “Are you trying to get me to admit something?”

Sheo flinched then quickly sighed. This poor bug really couldn’t lie at all, now could he? “I met a bug in the city who knew of you. He said you used to write reports on the different regions of the kingdom, though he wouldn’t show me any of them,” he sounded hesitant to admit this.

“Wait, you met someone?” The Nailsmith butted in. “Did they say who they were?”

“I don’t remember. They were a collector of Hallownest’s artifacts, and I suppose Quirrel’s works were significant enough to catch his attention.”

“You mean the Relic Seeker?” The Nailsmith realized. “Huh, I didn’t realize Quirrel was such a big shot.”

“I was surprised too. I’ve been meaning to ask, but I didn’t know how to bring it up.”

For a moment, Quirrel wasn’t sure of what to say. His first response was to be angry and upset that Sheo had done that, trying to uncover Quirrel’s past as if he was under a background check. But that anger quickly faded, knowing well and good that Sheo hadn’t meant it like that. He’d just been trying to learn more about Quirrel, and there’s no way he had actually expected The Relic Seeker to know him. But with anger fading, that left panic to start rising into Quirrel’s chest. Just how much had Sheo learned from The Relic Seeker? Just how many relics did the Seeker have about him? Did Sheo know about Monomon? The Archives? Him?

“Thank wyrm he didn’t show them to you,” is what Quirrel said after a long bout of panicked silence. “Those reports are horrible.”

Sheo dared to smile. “If I can recall correctly, he called your work ‘descriptive and informative, but a little dry.’”

“A little dry? Those things are like the desert!” you could hear the cringe in his voice.

“Every artist starts somewhere, and yes Quirrel-,” Sheo spoke up before Quirrel could intervene, “-writers are artists too.”

“Hey,” The Nailsmith’s voice startled him, asking an innocent question without realizing what he was about to do, “-who’s Monomon?”

Quirrel’s attention snapped to The Nailsmith, who had now been frightened by Quirrel’s sudden reaction. On wyrm, he had set down his journal on the table, wide open for anyone to read. When had he put it down? Why hadn’t he noticed sooner? Quickly he picked back up the journal, looking at which page The Nailsmith had been reading and- why did Quirrel flip this far through?

This was the entry where he wrote about The Archives.

Thankfully, this wasn’t written when he had his memories restored, so nothing too revealing was here, around the same amount of information any bug would know after having landed in The Archives, except from the moment Quirrel had stepped in, he had recalled Monomon’s name.

How much did The Nailsmith read? How much did he know? Had he flipped through the pages while Quirrel wasn’t looking? Had he read the later entries?

No, surely not. Even a bug as dense as The Nailsmith would know not to flip through someone’s diary- er, journal, right?

Quirrel must’ve been quiet for too long, because he heard The Nailsmith apologize. “Sorry, don’t answer that,” he looked away. Even a fool would know that he had encroached on a touchy subject.

Quirrel closed the journal. Any desire he had to talk or tell jokes had evaporated in an instant. Suddenly, he was scared to speak. Afraid of what might happen if he opened his mouth. “I… I’m going to go read,” is all he dared to say before making his way to the couch, clutching his journal as if someone might take it from him.

Neither Sheo nor The Nailsmith attempted to call him back, deciding to give him some space. The two continued to work on separating the flower petals, and it wasn’t much longer until they started to fall into another conversation. On the couch, Quirrel had his book open in his hands, but he did not read it. No matter how hard he tried his brain would only allow him to do one of two things. One, think about Monomon, or two, watch Sheo and The Nailsmith.

Quirrel would be a fool not to admit how cute those two were. If fate existed in any capacity, those two were fated to be together. When they laughed together the sound was as if they harmonized into a pleasant tune, and when they were close it was as if there was nothing else in the world besides the bug next to them.

It was adorable, and that was the problem.

He was getting too comfortable.

Suddenly, Quirrel couldn’t take it anymore. He got up and made his way towards the door, instinctually grabbing his nail. “I’m going for a walk,” he announced without warning and without asking for permission. He shouldn’t have to ask for permission. “Follow me if you must,” and without any further explanation, without even waiting for The Nailsmith to call him back, Quirrel left.

And of course, The Nailsmith followed.

He kept out of sight the majority of the walk, and if Quirrel had been any less perspective he would’ve assumed The Nailsmith was trying to stay hidden. He wasn’t doing a good job though, no, not at all. He was incredibly clumsy and didn’t seem able to make his footsteps any quieter. Even so, Quirrel found it easy to pretend he wasn’t there, his frustration helping with the bulk of the work on that front.

Quirrel’s legs carried him to the Lake of Unn, not that he’d been walking with any sort of destination in mind. Ha, maybe Unn’s presence had dragged him here, or maybe it was his desire to return to the Blue Lake and his legs settling in on the next best thing.

No matter the reason, he continued down the pier and stopped right at the edge. He looked out to the expanse of the lake, his eyes briefly becoming lost in the acid. He stared directly into it, as if he were reading something.

A calloused hand was placed on his shoulder. He didn’t have to look to know it belonged to The Nailsmith. The hand had a firm grip. That’s funny, because if Quirrel really wanted to jump, could The Nailsmith actually stop him?

“Don’t do anything rash,” he warned, sounding nervous.

Quirrel let out an amused huff, “Afraid I might jump?”

“I am.”

“Well, there’s no need.” Quirrel took a seat abruptly, no doubt frightening The Nailsmith with the sudden movement. “Being disintegrated is incredibly painful. Not the way I wish to go, friend.”

Ever so slightly, The Nailsmith relaxed and took a seat next to him. For a while, he fiddled with his beard and repeatedly opened his mouth to say something, but kept second-guessing himself and shutting it right back up. Quirrel watched his play out in the corner of his vision, unbothered. A small part of him found it amusing.

But… that was mean, wasn’t it?

“I’m sorry,” is what The Nailsmith said when he could finally get some words out. “I’m sorry,” he repeated.

Quirrel sighed, “It’s alright.” It wasn’t, but The Nailsmith hadn’t known what he was asking. Who was Monomon? By the gods, who wasn’t Monomon?

—

“Quirrel, please, you’ll scare away your friends with that kind of talk.”

Quirrel’s pacing stopped abruptly, incredibly agitated. “All I did was tell them to organize the Deepnest disagreements in order of severity by the end of the day. They wouldn’t be on such a time crunch if they had just done it the many times I had reminded them throughout the course of the week, but no! They wait until the last minute and then complain about how I’m ‘too hard on them’ or ‘too mean!’ And now The King himself is on the way here and they want to slack off now?! Miss Monomon, surely you understand my motivations here, correct?”

“Oh, I understand, alright,” she said as she inspected a glass container about to be filled with acid. “I understand that the stress is getting to you.”

“Stress? I’m not stressed!”

She let out an amused huff. “Yeah, and I’m not your boss.”

Quirrel huffed, pouted really. “Fine, maybe I am a bit on edge, but any sane bug would be in my position! The king of all bugs is coming tomorrow, and this place needs to be prepared for his arrival. I haven’t told the janitors to mop the floors for a third time, nor I haven’t triple checked to make sure that bug rich bug hasn’t sneakily snuck in another meeting to see you because, no ma’am, we do not care to store the autobiography of your unimportant life at this moment but we’ll get back to you as soon as we have resources to spare, and- oh dear! Not even the glass you're inspecting right now has been polished yet! What would the king say if he saw the place in such disarray?”

“He’d probably say something along the lines of,” Monomon cleared her throat and put on an impression of the monarch that would in no doubt have her thrown in jail if she ever dared to do it in his presence, “‘-I know I came here to talk very important royal business with you, but I have to say I specifically asked you to polish every surface five times at least before I arrived, and I thought I specified for the Deepnest disagreements to be organized in alphabetical order, not severity, and ew, is that a speck of dust I see floating in the air? Horrible. I can’t believe I ever let you run such a place.’ And then he fires me and you take my place, or something like that.”

“Miss Monomon! Don’t joke like that! It’s like a self-fulfilling prophecy!”

“That… is not what that means.”

Quirrel huffed. “You know what I’m trying to say!”

Monomon laughed. Why she laughed, Quirrel did not know. There wasn’t anything funny about what was happening. No one dares to mess around with The King, no one.

No one except Monomon.

“Yes, yes, I apologize. You’re just so fun to tease.” She turned towards him with an understanding smile, “You need to relax, dear. The King isn’t coming for an inspection, he’s coming for a meeting. And if he really had a problem with messy workstations, I would politely remind him of the state of his own workstation.”

Quirrel gasped. “You wouldn’t!” She would.

“I would.”

“You shouldn’t!” She should.

“I shall.”

Monomon laughed as Quirrel’s frustration grew. She refused to be intimidated by The King, even for a second. He was sure that even if The King were to fire her one day, no matter the reason, she would just brush it off with an ‘oh well,’ and she would keep a content smile spread across her face until she was out of sight.

“Quirrel,” Monomon said after she finished laughing. “I want you to take the day off tomorrow. Spend it with some friends, relax a bit.”

“But The King!” he objected at once. “I have to be here to help you!”

“I can handle myself, it’s just a meeting. I’ll be sure to fill you in when you get back, and I won’t leave out a single boring detail.”

“Miss Monomon, you can’t be serious-”

“I am, I want you to relax. When was the last time you took a break? Went out with some friends?”

Quirrel didn’t entertain that question with so much as a consideration. “I don’t need a break, not when my passion is working here alongside you.”

“Aww, how sweet,” Monomon purred. “-but you’re still going to take that break.”

“Wait, but-”

“Don’t let me catch you here tomorrow. I will make a scene out of it. Now, I have to be on my way. Don’t follow me!” and Monomon left.

The next day, Quirrel did as he was told, he didn’t come to The Archives. And as much as he hated to admit it, he felt better because of it.

“Lurien told me I should start teaching a class on respect, starting with myself,” Monomon said the next time she was with Quirrel. “I told him that he should loosen that leash The King tied around his neck. It’s a choking hazard.”

“You didn’t.”

“I did,” Monomon was incredibly smug.

“You did,” Quirrel said in an exasperated breath.

Monomon was something else, something he’d never seen before. A serious bug who chooses to relax. A bug who knows well and good why she should fear The King, and yet she still decides to throw caution to the wind and say what’s on her mind. Did The King admire that? Is that why she’s in such a high position while others who dared to do the same get thrown aside like defective toys? Quirrel admired it. He really did. She was unapologetic in everything she did, everything she said. She held her tongue for no one, not even The King, and damn it she got away with it too. No matter how many bugs hated her, no matter how many thought her childish and immature, she never caved. She was Monomon, and nothing ever changed that. Not her responsibilities, not her duties, not her status.

She was Monomon, and Monomon was everything.

—

Quirrel gave a bit of a jolt as he came back to reality. How long had he gone silent for? The Nailsmith was still next to him, still carefully watching him, and now he knew Quirrel was back.

They listened to the acid bubbles pop.

“I… I almost died here.”

Quirrel turned towards The Nailsmith. Poor guy was close to braiding his beard with how much he was fiddling with it. He couldn’t meet Quirrel’s gaze, but he could feel it eating away at his shell, not unlike acid itself. “Wyrm, nevermind, sorry- I shouldn’t… this isn’t about me. Sorry.”

“That’s quite the statement for you to ask me to ignore,” Quirel’s voice was steady, curious. After a pause, he said, “If you wish to tell me something, I’ll listen, but only if you wish.”

The Nailsmith didn’t speak for a while. “I’m not good with words, never have been.”

“Me neither, friend.” Ironic, seeing as he was a writer, but when it came to socializing, speaking out loud, he could never manage to get it right.

“I don’t want to make this about me.”

“I want to hear what you have to say.”

The Nailsmith’s brows furrowed. “...I didn’t get the words right when I told you at the hot springs,” The Nailsmith had switched from braiding his beard to rubbing his arms up and down, trying to calm himself down. “I sounded like an idiot.”

Quirrel suppressed the urge to agree with him.

Taking in a deep breath he went on, “Bugs know me as The Nailsmith, it’s what I am. I identify more with my title than I do my name, hell, sometimes I forget my name. I’ve always preferred it that way though, I don’t like my name, not because I think it sounds dumb or anything like that, but because it doesn’t feel right. I’m The Nailsmith, I’m the bug who makes nails and makes them right. There are many other nailsmiths out there in the kingdom, but I’m the one.”

Quirrel listened.

“All nailsmiths dream of one day crafting a Pure Nail, every last one of them. It’s the most durable weapon that can ever be crafted, made from the rarest metal that can ever be mined. Of course, you know that already, having a nail of your own, but it means so much more to a nailsmith than it could to a traveler or knight. It’s not as simple as just obtaining enough pale ore, but it’s knowing how to use such a large quantity of it that’s the real challenge. The ore doesn’t heat. Well… it does, but it doesn’t stay hot. Something about it keeps it cool, even as you're hammering it down with all your strength. It doesn’t like to be molded, which is why many nailsmiths simply use it to enhance already crafted nails. It’s much easier.”

The Nailsmith stopped for a second. He could still feel his nerves. “Like I said, all nailsmiths dream of one day crafting a Pure Nail, but my dream actually came true. It was my only dream, my only goal, my only calling. The only thing I knew I could do, the only thing I knew I could do. It… became me, became my whole life. I never left my hut, I never left my desk, I never even slept. All I did was hammer at nails until I physically couldn’t anymore, working to one day become skilled enough to do it, to really do it. I knew I had to be lucky too, but what’s luck if you don’t have the skills to use it properly? I worked for decades, so much of my life spent breaking my back at that stupid desk.”

“Then I met The Knight, and they gave me everything I ever could have wished for. They gave me the pale ore, and at their request, I made them their new nail. It felt like a dream, one of those dreams where you’re doing something you would never do in real life, but you’re stuck, trapped behind your own eyes as you watch yourself do it anyway, as if you’re being controlled by something greater than yourself. That’s what it was like working on the Pure Nail, and when it was over I felt as if I had spent a second as well as an eternity on it, it was too long and too short, too difficult and too easy, oh it was too easy. And when it was over, I was over. That was it, the final chapter. I would never make a nail better than that, never, and that was that. It didn’t sadden me that it was over, if anything it made me happy. I did what I had been hatched to do, there was nothing more to it.”

Quirrel couldn’t stop himself from frowning. It made him very uncomfortable to hear his own thought process repeated to him aloud.

“And if I were over, I wanted to end by my Pure Nail. I told that to The Knight, and they ran away. I was angry at them for a while, so angry that I went searching for them. That’s how I found Sheo, and he, bless his sweet heart, offered me a place to stay. I stayed with him for a few days, and as I did we talked. I… I can’t explain what he did to me, but just a few days with him had my whole world reeling. He… he’s amazing, he really is. How can a bug that kind live in a world as horrible as this? He taught me that I don’t have to have purpose or meaning, he certainly doesn’t, and he’s thriving out here. A prodigy nailmaster turned painter, it’s unheard of, it’s crazy, yet Sheo does it anyway, and he’s so much happier for it. He showed me that, showed me how to live, and it took me all that time to realize I never had lived before then.”

How to live, huh?

“I was only there for a few days until The Knight came by, dragging you in their tiny hand. I had told Sheo how I was looking to get my nail back from the bug and, oh dear wyrm bless his heart, he managed to take it from The Knight when they fell asleep. Sheo had no idea what he was doing, we hadn’t even known each other for all that long, and yet, Sheo helped me anyways. And when I got my bag and took my nail, I came here, to this lake. I thought… I thought here would be nice. I didn’t want to be remembered, not by a rotting corpse anyhow. As a bug, I’m trash, nothing notable at all, but as a nailsmith… ha, as a nailsmith I’m everything I ever wanted to be, everything I could ever be. I wanted my body gone, and my nail to remain. I thought The Knight could fish it out of the lake if they wanted it back that bad. But as I stood here, I couldn’t do it, couldn’t bring myself to. I thought of myself as a coward for wanting to live. Ha, how stupid does that sound? It took me a minute to realize I wanted to live. I wanted to live just for the sake of living. Life’s… life’s actually fun if you do it like that. Goals and dreams are nice, everyone has them, but when that’s over… living? Man, that’s the real joy.”

Even when Quirrel was sure his story was concluded, he found it hard to speak to him. “That was the most eloquent I’ve ever heard you speak, Nailsmith.”

“Yeah, I surprised myself too,” The Nailsmith said with a laugh that was more of a huff. “But, all of that is to say… I know how you feel, seriously. I don’t know the details, and I don’t want to know unless you want to tell me, but I know how you feel. I know what it means to have no purpose, and I also know that having no purpose is no big deal.”

“I’m not sure you’d be saying that if you knew what my purpose was.”

“I’m sure,” The Nailsmith said simply. “You’re not a tool, don’t treat yourself like one.”

Quirrel smiled sadly at that, “I liked myself better as a tool.”

“I like you as you are right now.”

Quirrel stared at him in disbelief. “Really? I mean, I know you’re trying to make me feel better and all, but that doesn’t mean you get to lie to my face.”

“I’m not lying,” a dust of warmth was spreading on his face. “I like you as you are.”

Quirrel thought for a long moment. “Really?”

“Really.”

“Really?”

“Yes, Quirrel. Really.”

“Real-”

“By the gods above and below! Yes, Quirrel! I really like you!” The Nailsmith shouted, frustration and embarrassment making his face as red as can be.

Quirrel didn’t move, it was his turn to blush. “R-”

“I swear if you ask ‘really’ one more time-”

“Okay, okay,” Quirrel nervously chuckled. He was finding it hard to keep looking at The Nailsmith, so he went back to staring into the acid lake instead. The Nailsmith seemed to have a similar thought process.

When they had calmed themselves down and were back at the hut, Quirrel asked if he could help with sorting the flower petals again.

And when night fell, and Quirrel was sure the other two were asleep, he made his way over to the couch, took out the dimmest lumafly lantern he could, and started to write two words in his journal.

Monomon said.

Chapter Text

“-and I’m terribly afraid to inform you that neither Miss Monomon nor I will be able to attend your next meeting. Although we’ve tried our best to do so, we’ve been unsuccessful in clearing our schedules and have many matters to attend to that simply cannot be rescheduled. We give our most sincere apologies, and hope that you find it in your heart to excuse our behavior.” Quirrel read what he had written aloud to Monomon, who listened carefully, scanning for errors.

After a thoughtful pause, she nodded, “Sounds convincing.”

“Do you really think so?” Quirrel asked with doubt. “This is going to be the third time in a row we’ve skipped out on a summon by The King. Surely he’s caught on by now?”

Despite what her high status might otherwise have a bug believe, Monomon hated politics, or maybe more accurately, she hated how The King saw politics. She couldn’t care less about how he still had hope for Deepnest and was going to go ahead with the production of the tramway, nor how there were still many Unn worshipers in Fungal Wastes and he was looking for solutions on the best ways to disband them. She didn’t care to increase The King’s rule either, as she had many grievances with it as it currently stood. No, she used her status to get things done, and novels could be written listing everything that had to be done to keep The Archives running on the daily.

“Oh, he’ll get over it,” Monomon flicked her hand dismissively. They were in her office, so there was no way anyone would overhear her, but even still Quirrel grew nervous at her loudness and nonchalant attitude. “He always does. Now, let’s seal up that note.”

When she picked up the letter and skimmed over its contents, her face became confused. “Um, Quirrel, dear. You’ve used the wrong ‘Ms’.”

“No I haven’t,” he shook his head as he pointed to the silk paper. “Miss Monomon,” he read aloud. “Miss.”

“No, Quirrel, it’s Ms,” she corrected, her years of teaching making an appearance. “Miss is for young girls and young unmarried women, Ms is for unmarried women, and Mrs is for married women.”

“Yeah, so… Miss,” Quirrel was confused. “You're a young unmarried woman.”

Monomon burst out laughing.

Quirrel stared at her for a moment, then shocked and panicked asked, “Wait, you’re married?”

That made Monomon laugh even harder, and it took a while for her to regain her composure.

“Married? Oh, gods no. No, no, no.” she said in between laughs. “And I’m certainly not young enough for you to be calling me Miss! Ha! Oh, I had no idea you were getting it wrong this whole time!” Monomon was young, yes, especially compared to her equals. But calling her Miss, why, that was practically equating her to a toddler!

Quirrel’s face burned with embarrassment, and for a while, he couldn’t speak.

“I’m sorry for laughing, dear,” Monomon put a comforting hand on his shoulder once her laughter was completely under control. “Language is hard and doesn’t make sense, I know that better than anyone.”

“It’s fine, Ms. Monomon,” Quirrel said very quietly, avoiding eye contact.

She stared at him strangely for a moment. “You know what, I’ve just realized something.”

He looked up at her expectantly.

“I don’t like it when you call me Ms or Miss.”

For some reason, Quirrel panicked at that. “Then what should I call you Ms- er, ma’am?”

Monomon snickered, “Definitely not ma’am!” She thought for a moment. “Just call me Monomon.”

Quirrel’s eyes widened and he quickly declined. “That- that would be incredibly disrespectful and far too casual for me to even seriously consider-”

“Nope, I’ve made up my mind,” she decided. “You are now forbidden from using any prefixes or titles while referring to me. You will call me Monomon. Just Monomon.”

Quirrel stared at her. She looked proud of herself.

Very hesitantly, he said, “Okay, M-Monomon.”

And Monomon smiled widely at that.

—

“It’s his fault,” Monomon said as she stared into her desk, shaking her head. “All of it is his fault.”

Her office was deathly silent, not even the acid bubbles dared to pop, Quirrel barely dared to breathe. Monomon had been summoned by The King, a summon so sudden and urgent that she knew better than to decline it. She had left as soon as she heard. Quirrel had not been allowed to join.

And now she was back, her face worried and thoughtful. Quirrel could practically see the gears turning in her head, desperately trying to work out a solution to a problem he didn’t know. Should he ask? Usually, she would’ve told him by now, going over all the boring details of trade route blockades in the Crossroads and the increase in downpour from the Blue Lake, but she hasn’t said anything to him yet. She’s only been muttering to herself, she might’ve even forgotten he was there.

But just as he was considering taking his leave, she looked up at him with so much concern it seemed like she was in pain. “I… I’m not sure if I should inform you of what went on in the meeting today.”

“Did The King instruct you not to?” The King knew well and good that Monomon would spill every confidential detail of his meetings to her right hand, and even though he disapproved, he never did anything to stop her. Was this the start of him putting his foot down?

If Monomon had been in a better mood, she might’ve laughed, but she was only able to smile for a second to show that she was amused. “It’s just like you to worry about me getting in trouble,” she said fondly. “But no… he knows you won’t go and spill this information to the masses, I gave him my word on that. It’s just… I think you’re better off not knowing.”

“Ignorance is bliss?” Quirrel asked. If Monomon didn’t want to share the contents of the meeting with him, then he would have to live with that. He was in no position to demand answers, but still, it always rubbed his shell the wrong way, being told to stick his nose somewhere else. “I’ve always disagreed with that saying.”

“As have I,” again, a smile made an appearance on her face, but it faded all too quickly, “but I mean this, Quirrel. I don’t know if I should tell you.”

Silence. Horrible, horrible, silence.

“Why not?”

A long pause.

“It’ll ruin you.”

“Ruin me?”

“I’ve come to know you well, and news like this… why, you’ll see it as a problem for you to solve all on your own.” She stopped. “But then again, I suppose I’m the same way. Perhaps that’s what The King’s hoping, for me to hand him a solution on a silver platter.”

“Are the others not helping you?”

“If by others you mean Lurien, why, he wouldn’t be able to find a way to help if he dedicated the rest of his life to. The great knights… I don’t know what they might come up with. And his wife? Bless her heart. I don’t mean this to say The King is incapable of solving his own problems, but he has taken a profession of making others solve them for him. It’s efficient, I must say, but not any less insulting.”

More silence.

“I’d like to know,” Quirrel said, determined.

“I know you do,” Monomon sounded almost dismissive, “but a burden like this would be a crime to pass onto a bug like you. You’re young and bright. You’ve got your whole future ahead of you, your whole life. Some might even call it selfish that I’ve brought you to my side like I have, stealing you away in this acid labyrinth.”

“Monomon,” his voice was quiet. He studied her face as if he was noticing something for the first time. “-you really aren’t much older than I am. And I don’t see why anyone would call you selfish. It’s an honor to be at your side, it really is.”

She huffed, but didn’t say anything more.

“But if this knowledge is truly a burden, may it be a burden we share?”

Monomon smiled a real smile that stayed on her face, radiating warmth. “Oh, Quirrel. You sweet, sweet, poor, thing.” She continued smiling. “You absolute fool,” she said with endearment.

“So, will you tell me?”

She was still hesitant. “Do you truly wish to know?”

Quirrel nodded.

Monomon searched his gaze for a long time. Finally sighing, she sounded relieved when she said, “Alright, I will.”

—

It’s enough of a shock to be summoned by the dean, your classmates snickering and ‘ooo’-ing in a collective siren sound, leaving you to wonder what you did wrong. And as you think back on every questionable action you’ve taken since your hatching, your anxiety only increases as you near the doors, crossing your fingers even though you’ve never believed in such a thing.

This is what was happening to Quirrel as he took in a deep breath and opened the doors to the office. Though, nothing could’ve prepared him for who was waiting for him behind those doors.

Monomon the Teacher.

Quirrel froze. Whatever he had done, it must’ve been really bad. Like, about to be expelled from the academy bad. Monomon was here, standing right in front of him. If it weren’t for how hard his heart was beating in his chest, he would’ve assumed he was dreaming. He must be, right?

“Ah, there you are,” her voice was soothing, rich like the finest honey. “I hope this isn’t too much of a shock, I was wondering if I could have a word with you?”

All of a sudden, Quirrel’s throat felt dry. With a nod, he said, “Yes, that’s alright. This is just a little sudden. A moment ago I was in class.”

Monomon turned to the dean, who Quirrel only just took note of, sitting behind his desk. “You interrupted the boy's lesson for this? You should’ve told me he was in class. I would’ve waited.”

“I assumed this was more important, ma’am,” the dean said.

Monomon only sighed. “Well, there wouldn’t be much of a point to send him back now.” She turned her attention back to him, “Follow me, Quirrel. Let’s walk.”

He was grateful that the majority of students had class at this hour, otherwise he wasn’t sure if he would be able to handle that many stares. There were still students out of class, there always were, but thankfully they passed very few. He could still see them though, glancing his way and doing double, triple takes to make sure they were seeing right, and frantically tapping their friend to look just to make sure. Quirrel’s face felt very warm, as if he were taking a walk of shame.

She led the way as if the academy were her home. They hadn’t been walking for long, but to Quirrel it felt like an eternity. They’d made it to a study room, one wall a massive window, outlooking the crying city. There was a table at the center, Momonon took a seat on one side, Quirrel the other.

Monomon spent some time looking out the window before she spoke. “This was my favorite place to study when I was younger,” her voice was fond. “Before the tears, you could see such a sight. But the rain has its charm too, would you say so, Quirrel?”

“I- um, I find that the consistent noise helps me concentrate,” Quirrel said, his throat still feeling incredibly dry. “But I know others who find it distracting.”

Monomon hummed in acknowledgment and continued to look out into the rain.

The silence only made Quirrel even more nervous. “Um, ma’am? Miss? Have I done something… er- am I being expelled?”

Monomon abruptly laughed. Her laugh was so loud and sudden it was startling at first, but it was so genuine that Quirrel almost laughed too. She put a hand over her mouth, trying to stop herself. “Sorry, sorry! I shouldn’t laugh.” It took her a minute to regain her composure. “I suppose that’s a fair conclusion to jump to, as I have yet to explain anything to you, but no. You’re not being expelled, not at all.”

Quirrel relaxed a bit at that, but still, being in the presence of Monomon kept him tense.

“And it seems I’ve completely glossed over introductions as well,” she realized, slightly embarrassed. “I apologize, I’ve never been the best with pleasantries.” She held out a hand for him to shake. “I’m Monomon, Teacher of The Archives.”

Quirrel hesitated before shaking her tentacle hand, thinking too hard about how to do it.

“Though, I hate introducing myself like that,” she shook her head as she moved her hand away. “It always sounds so… pompous.”

He nodded. “I suppose you already know who I am?”

Monomon smiled. What a wonderful smile. “Yes, yes. Though, I suppose it was rather rude for me to use your name without you knowing me first. I do apologize if I come off as rude.”

“Oh, it’s alright.”

There was a small stretch of silence. “Quirrel, did you know I’ve been searching for an assistant?”

Did he know? Of course he knew. Every bug at the academy knew, you’d have to be living under a rock not to. If his memory was correct, Monomon first made the announcement three months ago, which made every bug work their shells off trying to prove their worth. Quirrel hadn’t let the prospect of it incapacitate him. Working for Monomon would be a dream come true, but it would be an unrealistic one. The way he saw it, the odds were better for him to win the lottery five days in a row.

“Yes, I do know.”

“Do you have any recommendations for me? Any classmates you believe I should consider?”

Quirrel thought for a moment. All he could really recommend were the top students of the academy. He can’t say much for anyone else, not that everyone else was stupid, but that he didn’t know them. “I’m not the one to go to for recommendations,” is what he ended up saying.

“That’s alright, I was just wondering what you’d say.” She paused, “Quirrel, I came here to inform you that I’ve been considering you.”

For a moment, Quirrel had thought he heard wrong. “Considering… me?” he repeated.

“Yes, Quirrel. You.”

This had to be a dream, it had to be. He should wake up soon, no doubt he’s sleeping through class right now.

Monomon’s snicker brought him back into reality. “Did you just pinch yourself?”

He had, much harder and more abruptly than he meant to, and it definitely hurt. Oh wyrm, did he start bleeding?

“Um, yes.” Quirrel quickly covered the spot on his arm.

Monomon snickered again. “I don’t blame you, I did bring that up out of the blue. I’ve been studying you for a while. You’re one of the few students to make it into this academy without connections higher up. That’s quite the impressive task, you know. It makes you stand out.”

“I wouldn’t go so far as to say that,” he quickly dismissed her praise. He stood out alright, stood out like a sore thumb. “I was lucky, that’s all.”

“That’s all? Don’t be so humble, dear. You need a lot more than luck to make it in here, I should know. Tell me, what is it you specialize in?”

“I specialize in history, ma’am.”

“Why?”

“Because I enjoy it. I’ve always been passionate about history, especially Hallownest history.”

“Is that it?”

Quirrel started to panic, was there a certain answer she was looking for? “Well, no… You see, as much as I love the stories of how The King made an alliance with the original moth tribe of the land, and how this city came to be built under a lake, the stories I love the most are the origins of this land, the origins before the moth tribe even settled here. That ancient place where the castle resides, the void of any color, where the first bugs resided on this land. That’s what I really like to study.”

When Monomon didn’t make any comment, Quirrel started to panic again. “Of course, there’s a reason that place is a mystery!” He laughed nervously. “I can’t go down there myself, and even if I could, I doubt The King would want me poking my nose so close to his palace grounds!”

Monomon studied him carefully. “Is that it?” she asked again.

Whatever reason she was looking to hear him say, she hadn’t heard it. He sighed, defeated. “Yes, that’s it. I apologize if that’s not the answer you were looking for.”

“Actually, I’m relieved. Most bugs enrolled at this academy are here just to get their bachelor’s and master’s, maybe a doctorate here or there, and work their way up the system. Get rich, get recognized. Not that I’m in any place to judge that behavior, but it’s rare to find a bug who’s here simply because they want to learn. It’s refreshing to find someone truly passionate for their craft.”

“Oh, um, thank you,” Quirrel’s face felt very warm. “But even so- it’s just… There are many better-qualified students enrolled here. Why would you consider me?”

She stayed quiet for a long time. “I don’t know,” she admitted.

“You don’t?”

“I like to trust my instincts, and they’re telling me to pay attention to you.” After a pause, she asked, “Do you believe in fate?”

He shook his head. “I can’t say I do.”

She smiled, “Neither do I, but I have to say, I’ve always loved being proven wrong.”

—

A light, a dream, a god, a revenge.

The moth tribe was created by a light. A light where essence came from. A light where dreams came from. A light where warmth came from. A light where life came from.

She was a light to be worshiped, praised, and honored. She gave them all she could. She was their god.

It would’ve stayed that way, had another light not spawned. A new light that promised more, more than they ever knew. Were they greedy? Were they discontent? Were they wishing for more? Were they happy?

The moths followed the new light, forsaking the god which gave them life, which gave them the kingdom they were building on top of. They forgot her, all of them did.

And she grew angry.

Angry at her children, angry at their new light, their “king.” Dreams bent to her will, (did they not belong to her to begin with?) and the air grew sickly, (wasn’t she the one who provided clean air in the first place?) She was forgotten, but not gone. This was her kingdom, and she will rule it. She will rule her dreams, she will rule her people. A light took them away, and her light will bring them back. Whether they want to, or not.

Is The King at fault for this? It’s he who is the new light. A light so pale, so blinding, that looking directly at him is nothing less than a sin. Is he to blame? Is The Radiance justified in her actions? Is it in our place to stop her? Does this not all belong to her? Did The King not steal it all away? Or is the blame to be placed on the moths, those who were her children, those who were her closest. Are they to blame for forgetting their mother?

The King’s calling it an infection, a disease, a sickness. But there’s no cure, no hope of recovery. It hasn’t spread far, only a few cases, but those few are devastating enough. He can keep it hushed for now, keep it quiet, but for how much longer? He knows she’s a god, he’s a god himself. He knows this is serious, he knows her kingdom his kingdom is at stake. He knows her people his people are being killed. He knows he has to do something now.

How long until he can find a solution? How many more will die

He doesn’t know. Quirrel doesn’t know.

—

Today was a special day.

Monomon wished to take the whole day off, spouting some nonsense about taking a one-day trip, just the two of them. Quirrel enjoyed listening to these ramblings, honestly, how nice it would be, but eventually he had to stop her and remind her of the tasks that needed to get done today. She groaned at that, but didn’t fight it. She’d been putting off a few important tasks for a while, and Quirrel had told her that it would make his day much more enjoyable if he knew she wasn’t procrastinating.

“I’m starting to think you like work more than you like me,” she said before they parted ways.

Snickering, he said, “That’s ridiculous.”

Quirrel was in a great mood all day, practically skipping through the halls of The Archives. Workers knew what day it was, and were all extra careful to do their job properly, scared of what might happen if they were to slack off on such an important day for their boss and right-hand bug. All Quirrel really had to do was pop in and say greetings, checking in on everyone. He didn’t do any work all day, and the workers always relaxed after seeing his cheery face. He was practically glowing.

For the first time he can remember since being in school, Quirrel was watching the clock like a belfly, and when its hand finally clicked to 4:00 pm, he had to stop himself from skipping down the hall to Monomon’s office. She was packing a small bag when he found her, a large smile on her features.

“You ready?” is all she asked. Quirrel nodded.

They made their way to Queen’s Station, no doubt drawing attention to themselves. It was a rare sight to see Monomon out of her palace, or at least, Quirrel liked to think of The Archives as her palace, and many bugs stared at them. Today though, he didn’t mind as much. Monomon pretended not to notice anyone else.

When it was their turn to get a ride their stag made a comment towards them. “Off to the Palace Grounds?” they asked.

Monomon shook her head as she paid the fare. “Oh no, we’re going to King’s Station. It’s our special day.”

The stag smiled. “Already? Man, where does the time go? You two get comfortable, I’ll have you there in a jiff!”

It was a moderate length ride, bumpy like all stag rides were. When they made it to the city Monomon was sure to wave goodbye to the stag before pulling out umbrellas for the two of them to begin their walk.

The walk was just long enough. Usually, when Quirrel was in the city he would try to spend as little time as possible outside. The rain was cold, and as much as he enjoyed watching it from a window, he didn’t care to be in it, but walking with Monomon made the rain feel different. It was such a simple thing, walking in the rain, but with Monomon, he loved it.

After a bit, they made it to their destination, a simple coffee shop. There weren’t many bugs inside, and unlike every other public place they went to, no one stared at them. They glanced of course, but just as quickly they glanced away and minded their own business, turning their heads back down to their papers or books. Quirrel liked this place a lot.

They ordered their drinks and pastries and took a seat by the window. Quirrel took a moment to listen to the sounds of the cafe. Being so close to the window made the rain loud in his ears, but there was also soft music being played in the building, accompanied by quiet conversations and writing on journals. Along with the warm air smelling of coffee beans and sweet pastries, he felt content.

“To us,” Monomon said as she raised her drink, the way someone would raise a glass to make a toast.

“To us,” Quirrel repeated, doing the same. Clinking their drinks together, only there was no clink because they were in a cafe and drinking out of cheap cups made from styrofoam and plastic. It was such a silly thing, celebrating such an important day at an ordinary place like this. Quirrel loved it.

He took a long sip of his drink so sugary and filled with milk it couldn’t seriously be called coffee in good faith. He savored it nonetheless. For a while, they sat in pleasant silence. Neither of them had to say a word, their smiles were communication enough.

“Five years,” Monomon said in awe. “It’s been five years since I hired you.”

“Don’t say it like that,” Quirrel said. “It’s been five years since you met me.”

She smiled, “Yes, yes. My mistake.” She twirled her drink around in her hand. “It’s been five years since I met you. What a wonderful time it’s been.”

“Indeed,” Quirrel agreed as he pulled a piece from his coffee cake. “It hardly feels like it's even been a single year.”

“Time flies like that.”

“You’re telling me.”

More comfortable silence. Quirrel listened to the rain.

Monomon glanced out the window. “I just wish we could really celebrate one of these years. Take a trip somewhere that’s not in Fog Canyon, The City, or the damn Palace Grounds.”

“I thought we celebrated here because you hated all that fancy stuff.”

“Oh, I do,” she assured. “But I didn’t mean I would plan some elaborate dinner with so many bugs we can’t even hear ourselves think,” she grimaced at that scene in her head. “No, no. I didn’t mean some fancy trip, just a trip.”

“If you were to plan it, it’d probably end up super scuffed.”

She laughed, “I don’t doubt that.”

Monomon being able to take any kind of trip besides a business trip was nothing but a fantasy. It could never happen. Being head of The Archives doesn’t leave enough room for such a gap. This is the best she could do, some coffee shop away from prying eyes. This is honestly the best she could do.

There was a pause.

“Well,” Quirrel started, “if we were to imagine a hypothetical scenario where we could go on such a trip, where would you like to go?”

Monomon looked out the window again, studying each raindrop as it fell. She looked upwards towards the roof covered in stalactites and tears, her eyes full of excitement at the fantasy. “Blue Lake,” is what she said, breathy as if the name had come out of a dream. “I’ve always wanted to see it for myself, ever since I first felt its tears fall over me.”

Quirrel considered that. Blue Lake.

“I’ve heard it’s beautiful,” he said. “With water so still it looks solid.”

“I’m sure it is,” she smiled into her drink as she took another sip. “Oh, what a wonder it would be to sit on the sand and look out onto that expanse. Just sit and do nothing, absolutely nothing, oh what a dream it would be.”

“I agree, that would be amazing.” What was really amazing was how Monomon was daydreaming about doing nothing but enjoying his company, and she was smiling ear to ear about it too. “Though, you better not get on my bad side on that trip, otherwise I might toss you in.”

“Oh please!” she laughed. “You know I’d make you go down with me!”

“You wouldn’t!” he said with mock shock. “You know I can’t swim!”

“Pick and choose your battles then. Either be subject to my teasing, or be dragged into cold water with me.”

The sound they made when they laughed as one was beautiful. It made Quirrel forget about everything else in the world, everything causing him stress and trouble, and had it all melt away like background noise, not unlike the rain outside, no longer important. He was here with Monomon, and she’s laughing, and he’s laughing, and that’s all that matters.

Their laughter dies down, but Monomon’s smile remains just as wide. She looks at Quirrel, her eyes sweet and wholesome, just admiring him for a moment. “Quirrel,” he always loved the way his name sounded in her voice, and he always noticed how she tried to say it as much as she could. “I really am glad I met you.”

Quirrel’s cheeks flushed. “I’m glad I met you too.”

There was a pause.

“You know what I just realized?”

Quirrel shook his head.

“I think I believe in fate.”

—

Momonon came into her office in a rush, startling Quirrel out of his shell. She was panicked, her face full of fear as she slammed the door behind her. At once she was at her desk, her many hands flipping through notes and opening drawers. She was muttering as she went over her research, her eyes darting from page to page. Whatever she was looking for, she couldn’t find it, and that only made her flip through the notes faster. For a moment, Quirrel was too shocked to say anything. He had never seen Monomon so frantic.

“Monomon, what are you looking for?” he asked, but when she didn’t respond, (she didn’t even acknowledge he was there,) he repeated his question a little louder.

“Hush!” she didn’t so much as glance away from her notes, nor did she slow down. She silenced Quirrel, in a tone she had never directed towards him before.

The King must’ve said something to her, Quirrel assumed, and it must’ve been some horrible news. Did the number of infected victims spike again? “I can help you look.” No response. “What happened at the meeting?” Nothing. “Did The King say something to you?”

“I told you to hush!” Monomon’s head snapped up, glaring at Quirrel. She had yelled so loud. So very very loud. He flinched away, and his reaction immediately made Monomon draw back, any annoyance in her expression immediately evaporated. “Oh gods, I’m sorry.” She abruptly stopped her search, her arms falling limp as if they were dead. “I’m sorry, Quirrel,” she repeated, avoiding his gaze and staring into her desk instead. “I… I don’t know what came over me.”

Hesitantly, Quirrel made his way over to her. “You’re stressed.” He sounded more like he was asking a question rather than giving a statement. She was stressed, he realized. Not just tired, not just in need of a breather, but seriously genuinely stressed. He had never seen Monomon stressed before. “It’s okay.”

“No. No, it’s not okay,” she put a hand over her mouth in disbelief. “I yelled. I yelled. Quirrel, I’m so sorry, I-”

“It’s okay,” Quirrel repeated, now right beside her, though she made an effort not to let him see her face. “You’re stressed, and it was just a shout. Hardly anything to make a big deal out of.”

She was shaking. Shaking so hard he didn’t know how he didn’t notice before.

The room went silent before Quirrel spoke again. “Did The King tell you something?”

She confirmed with a hum and a slight nod.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

She didn’t say anything for a moment. “He has a theory for sealing away The Radiance.” Her shaking got worse. “It’s horrible. I hate it. I don’t even want to entertain it. But there’s nothing else. No one can think of anything else. I can’t think of anything else.” She fought tears from spilling. “I can’t think, Quirrel. I can’t think.”

“What’s his theory?” Quirrel was hesitant to press.

Monomon remained silent for a while. “You know of his moulds, correct?”

“I do,” not all that long ago The King had made it clear to his closest that he’d been experimenting with the void. He made what he called moulds out of it and metal. Monomon had seen these creations first hand. She had told him they were incredible, artificial life, but no matter how much she awed at them she could never shake that feeling of wrongness when they were in her presence.

“He wants to try making a new one, one more… bug-like. He believes we could trap The Radiance in a void being. I think we could too.”

“What’s the catch?”

She grimaced. “He wants to use his own eggs to do it.”

He couldn’t stop himself from gasping. “The Queen… she wouldn’t let him, would she?”

“If she doesn’t stop him, no one else can. He wants to expose his eggs to void and hatch them in that environment. I have no idea what that’ll turn them into, I don’t want to know, but The King has ordered me to look into it, run some tests. I’m to begin conducting my research tomorrow.”

“I’ll come with you,” he said at once, taking hold of her hand. His grip was comforting but firm. For once, he didn’t care about offending The King.

He felt her relax at this, even if only slightly. “Thank you,” she let out a breath of relief. “I don’t know what I’m going to do.”

“We’ll figure something out,” he assured, though he was just as worried as she was.

She smiled. “You’re right, we’ll figure something out.”

—

Parties were neither Quirrel’s nor Monomon’s scene, but here they were, personally invited by The King and Queen to celebrate the two’s union, and when both of your monarchs invite you to a party, you go, no fuss about it.

Quirrel rarely found himself on Palace Grounds, and simply being in a place so grand and important made it feel as if his shell plates weren’t aligned properly. There were so many bugs, and it wasn’t like the crowds he’d grown accustomed to while living in The City. These bugs were important, you could tell just by looking at them. Even if they hadn’t been dressed as fancily as they were for the occasion, they carried themselves high and with dignity; and whenever a bug passed him, they were literally (and metaphorically) looking down on him.

He stayed in a corner for the majority of the event, watching everything play out. Occasionally he took a sip from a drink he was given. It was disgusting, but it was the only other thing to do besides stand there and stare.

Most of the time, his eyes were trained on Monomon. She was dressed absolutely elegantly, adorned in a beautiful mint dress and silver jewelry. He watched as she talked to guests and exchanged pleasantries, and didn’t miss how natural she seemed to be in this setting. She belonged here, but stood out enough to catch the eye. Even in a place as grand as this, there was hardly any color. Only Monomon, despite the fact the hue was light and non-distracting, dared to wear a colored outfit.

Quirrel didn’t know how long he’d been watching for, but as the night progressed people started to dance. Monomon retreated away from the others, and there was no doubt she was grateful no one dared to ask a bug as important as her to the floor. She made her way to Quirrel, and he tried to pretend he hadn’t been staring at her the whole of the party.

“Enjoying yourself?” he asked as she neared him.

“Absolutely not,” she groaned and leaned against the wall next to him. Thanks to the music increasing in volume, they didn’t have to worry about being overheard. “You know I hate parties like this.”

“Do I know? You seemed pretty natural over there.”

“That just means I’m getting better at perfecting my fake laugh,” she smiled. “This whole thing is such a chore.”

“I can see. I’m surprised you didn’t skip this.”

“I didn’t skip because of The Queen,” she explained. “Unlike her husband, I respect her a lot, and she hardly ever invites me anywhere. I had to go, I would feel guilty if I hadn’t.” There was genuine fondness and admiration in her voice, but it evaporated as she moved on. “But I know for a fact The King just wanted me here to keep up appearances. I wonder what it would look like for him, if one of his highest ranking pawns didn’t show up to his party.”

“That would certainly cause a bit of a stir,” Quirrel said, “but it wouldn’t be the worst thing you’ve done.”

She giggled. “That’s for sure.” There was a comfortable pause as they listened in on the music. “You know, you didn’t have to come with me.”

“I know, but I wanted to anyway.”

“I still can’t see why,” Monomon said. “This party is as lifeless as these grounds are and you haven’t so much as moved from this spot, much less made any conversation.”

“I just came for the experience,” he shrugged. “And unlike you, I wouldn’t dream of turning down a direct invite from The King. I actually have to work to keep my head.”

“As long as I’m here, our pale monarch wouldn’t dream of touching you.” With a playful jab, she added, “I’ll keep you out of trouble, no matter what stunt you try to pull.”

“Of course, Monomon,” he said as he took the last sip from his drink.

“Wow,” she said, watching him. “I don’t know how you just downed that without so much as a flinch. Those drinks are horrible. I’m kinda scared.”

“I don’t know how I do it either,” Quirrel said, glad to finally be finished with that disgusting concoction, setting down the empty cup on the nearby table.

Again, a comfortable pause lapsed between them. They listened to the music and he watched as Monomon began to hum and nod her head to the beat, although she looked like she was trying to hide this. Quirrel smiled, he supposes there are some things about higher class culture Monomon does enjoy.

The song changes, and after the first few notes, Monomon gasps. “I love this song!” she said with pure joy. “Quirrel, come! We must dance!”

“D-dance?!” Quirrel’s eyes went wide. “I couldn’t possibly- I mean- I can’t dance!”

“Oh, that’s what everyone says!” she dismissed. “Come on, you’ll figure it out!” Before he could protest any further, he was being dragged onto the dance floor, the two of them no doubt attracting attention to themselves. They were in position as the music started to pick up. It was a waltz, Quirrel realized, which only added to his panic. He’d never waltzed before!

Monomon didn’t seem to notice his internal panic as she began to lead him through the dance. He was sure he was embarrassing himself, oh how ridiculous he must look right now. Their height difference was comical, Monomon towered over him, having to bend her head down remarkably just to look him in the eye. His footsteps were clunky and uncertain, he was sure he would trip over her appendages, but he never did. Monomon maneuvered around his clumsy “dancing” (if you could even call it that) effortlessly.

“I assume I’m a horrible dancing partner,” Quirrel’s face felt like it was on fire, he didn’t think Monomon had ever been so close to him before.

“Nonsense,” she said, amusement oozing from her voice, “I’ll have you know I’ve danced with much worse.”

A few more steps in and Quirrel ungraciously lost balance. Monomon caught him before he fell, making it seem as if she’d meant to dip him.

“Really?” he asked, hyper-aware of how close their faces were.

“Really.”

Halfway through the song, Quirrel felt like he was getting the hang of it. He was still clumsy and there was no doubt he still looked utterly ridiculous, but he found he was able to get into the flow of the music. He found himself humming. This really was a beautiful song, he was surprised he had never heard it before. Perhaps he could ask Monomon about it later, talk about its meaning and significance. He’d like that.

He found that he didn’t care other guests were staring at the two of them, whispering amongst themselves and glaring holes into their shells. He found that he didn’t care he was making a fool of himself for all of these pompous bugs to gawk at either. He found that he didn’t care that everyone at this event saw him as lower than them simply because of the circumstances of his hatching. He found that he didn’t care about these strangers’ opinions at all.

Monomon was dancing with him, proudly showing him off to her peers, practically shouting that he was the bug she wanted to be part of her life. This was a bug she wanted to dance with. His status never mattered to her, it was the fact he wasn’t of high status which made him stand out to her in the first place. She liked him because he was Quirrel, it was as simple as that, and if anyone had any problems about it, she didn’t care. Not if it were her peers, not if it were her King.

She wanted to dance with him, and dance they did.

—

This was the first time Quirrel had ever been brought to the Palace Grounds for a meeting. His first time, as well as his last.

Normally the bumpiness of stag rides would calm him, give his mind something else to think about, but in this case instead of distracting him it only made his mind more of a horrible place to live. Every new input made him fight his instinctual reaction to stress, which would be to roll up into a defective ball until whatever pursuer he had got bored and left him alone. But for obvious reasons that wouldn’t help him now. His pursuer wouldn’t just walk away and leave him alone, he was quite literally heading straight for him.

Monomon noticed his distress but made sure to not comment on it. Instead, she wrapped her arms around him and brought him close, and being so close he could see that she too was stressed about their meeting with The King. She had told him he was going to be informed of the next stage of the plan, a stage she knew Quirrel wouldn’t approve of, but a stage that had been agreed upon and set in motion without his input. Quirrel hadn’t been upset by this. He knew even after working by her side for years that his opinion would never be held to the same respect as Monomon’s. However, he wassaddened that Monomon had said she couldn’t bring herself to tell him herself. He was saddened that Monomon didn’t trust him enough to understand.

In hindsight, she ended up being right.

Even now, his memory starts to get fuzzy once they arrived at Hidden Station, though he can remember that stag ride with crystal clarity, with how desperate Monomon had sounded. Maybe it was the surrealism the whole experience had that messed up Quirrel’s memory, or maybe it was simply his brain trying its best to repress that horrible scene, with all those important eyes staring at him, all those eyes except for Monomon’s. If it was the latter, it hadn’t worked.

He remembers seeing the kingsmoulds in person, standing guard at the palace entrance. He couldn’t believe they weren’t real bugs, and despite how wrong looking into the endless darkness that surrounded their eyes made him feel, he couldn’t help but be amazed at how The King managed to breathe life into a substance so… unknown like the void.

He remembers entering that meeting room, seeing Lurien, Herrah (oh what a shock she was), and the five great knights all lined up, backlit by the beautiful view of pale roots and leaves, before them their King, sitting on a throne with two bugs at his side. On one, his wife, looking just as elegant and regal as she always did, radiating her kind motherly warmth wherever she went.

On his other was a bug whose figure had been burned into Quirrel’s memory ever since. The last time he had seen them they’d been such a small child, but now they were the tallest bug in the room. Standing there in their elegant pale armor and cloak, standing just as still and tense as the bugs in line before them. The Hollow Knight, the vessel The King’s whole plan revolved around, and that pressure was clear in just how hard this bug fought to keep their shoulders straight, to keep their head pointed upwards. Oh, what a poor bug they were.

He remembered how no one looked his or Monomon’s way as they stood in line as well, and he easily remembered feeling like an imposter, standing in line with all of these important bugs.

He remembered how The King spoke, his voice naturally loud, how it was captivating, how it demanded Quirrel pay attention to it. The exact words The King spoke, Quirrel couldn’t remember, but he could clearly recall the immense drop his stomach took when he processed them.

This plan was ludicrous, ridiculous, idiotic, yet, no one else spoke or made any comments. They all just stood there, listening with blank expressions that said ‘this is how it was.’ It was bad enough that The King was using his own child for this, bad enough that said child had to be subjected to such horrible treatment just to remain pure, bad enough that Quirrel was not only letting it happen, but taking a part in it as well. But this…

Before he realized what he was doing he objected to it. Before he could stop himself he was cursing. Cursing The King, cursing The Queen, cursing The Knights, cursing Lurien, cursing Herrah, cursing The Radiance…

Cursing Monomon.

He remembers being escorted out of the palace, kingsmoulds bruising his shell as they took hold of him roughly, dragging him away. He shouted at Monomon, asking her why, why would she ever agree to this? Why would she ever entertain this? He got no answer. She kept her eyes trained on The King. Quirrel didn’t stop shouting until thrown to the ground, outside the palace.

The kingsmoulds bared their weapons at him, and he had no choice but to leave. He carried himself back to Hidden Station and sat on the bench. He was lucky the palace grounds were so empty, no one was here to point and stare at him. There weren’t even any stags.

He could’ve been there for hours, he could’ve been there for a few minutes, time had stopped being important a while ago. All he knew was that he was crying, crying so horribly and ugly that he had trouble breathing. He tried to stop, he really did. He had humiliated himself enough for one day, humiliated himself enough to last the rest of his life. Would there even be a “rest of his life” after that? The King has had bugs executed for much less. Speaking to his monarch like that… it’s nothing more than a death sentence, and if looks could kill, the look Lurien gave Quirrel would’ve sent him to Resting Grounds ten times over. It’s only a matter of time until the kingsmoulds come back for him. Let them come, he thought bitterly.

But the kingsmoulds never came. Instead, Monomon sat beside him. He didn’t look up at her, and she didn’t look down at him. Now Quirrel was trying even harder to keep his tears under control, but no matter what he did all he could do was let them fall until he ran out.

He remembers her telling him that he had a right to be upset, even though deep down he knew he didn’t. Quirrel was being selfish, he knew he was. When compared to the fates of those infected bugs, the ones whose eyes burned orange and whose bodies became nothing more than zombified husks, Quirrel had no right to complain about this. What would the families of the fallen say if they saw how he was acting? If they saw that he wanted to oppose the one plan that could stop their suffering?

That day, he learned Monomon had volunteered to be one of three dreamers to make up the seal being placed on The Black Egg. She would be sent to the dream realm never to awake again. In other words, she would be killed. A suicide is what it was, a suicide for the greater good. It was a price that had to be paid. Quirrel could understand that much.

It was already such a difficult thing they were trying to do, such a horrible thing he had a hand in. Just looking at The Hollow Knight, knowing what was in store for them, that poor, poor child… that was almost too much. Now he has to take part in the killing of his closest too, the killing of three more bugs. If he had known this was the price of sharing Monomon’s burdens… would he have still asked to share them? Would he have still wanted to know, knowing he would be complicit in this horrible act? Or would he have chosen to live in an ignorant bliss, unaware of the true horrors this kingdom was manifesting?

As his tears dried he could feel Monomon wrapped around him. She was crying too, he realized, her silent tears landing on him as she shook. He hugged her back, as tight as he could, grounding himself, and the tears he thought had been all dried up came rushing back. Oh, what he would do to keep her here in his arms, what he would do to spare such an innocent bug like her from this terrible fate. The rational part of him knew that nothing could be done. He knew that the decision had been made, and not only had it been made, but Monomon had agreed to it, volunteered to do it. But that didn’t stop him from desperately trying to come up with a solution, come up with a way where everyone lives and is able to walk away from this. And if such a solution didn’t exist, he felt the urge to convince Monomon to change her mind about the plan, to tell The King to stick it and find someone else, find someone else to suffer this fate.

He was selfish, so horribly selfish, he knew. But knowing that didn’t make the pain hurt any less.

__

All Monomon said was that she had a present for him. A gift.

Another year had passed, their anniversary was upon them once again. The years went by all too quickly these days. This was going to be the last anniversary Monomon would be here for. The plan was reaching its final stages. Not much longer now, she would be gone.

When Quirrel came into her office, there were two boxes laid across her desk. One was longer than the other.

“I’m already starting to regret breaking tradition,” Monomon said to him, moving to try and cover the boxes with her body. “I’m really feeling coffee right about now.”

Quirrel chuckled. It was far too late to even be looking at caffeine. “I apologize for being late. I had to get you something as well,” he said as he shyly held out the small present box he had delicately wrapped for her. “If you had told me we’d be exchanging presents this time around, I would’ve had more time to get you something nicer.”

Monomon delicately took the present. Her eyes full of surprise she said, “Quirrel, you… you didn’t have to.”

“Of course I did,” he said at once. When all she did was stare at it, Quirrel spoke again. “You can, um, open it now.”

Gingerly, she did. Undoing the bow and peeling away the wrapping silk so delicately you’d think she was handling something dangerous. Inside the box was a small silver chain. A bracelet, she realized as she brought it up into the light, with a small vile of acid which said only one thing in bubbling writing.

HALLOWNEST’S BEST TEACHER

She smiled ear to ear as she read the message. It was so silly, so simple. She loved it.

“I love it,” she said with so much sincerity and thankfulness you’d think she was just given all the geo in the world. She put it on immediately and spent a good minute staring at it, rereading the message over and over. Suddenly, Quirrel was wrapped into a hug, her many tendrils squeezing the mess out of him.

Pulling away her smile was still showing strong. “You know, I wanted us to talk about something serious, but now I don’t want to ruin this good mood you’ve put me in!”

“It isn’t much,” Quirrel said as he began to blush. “I really should’ve picked up something better. Especially considering…” his voice fell flat. Especially considering Monomon will be gone soon.

“Well, I for one absolutely adore it,” she said as she pushed him towards the presents on her desk. “Go on! Pick which one you’d like to open up first.”

Quirrel ended up choosing the smaller present. It had weight to it but didn’t make much noise as it moved around inside the box. A book perhaps? Probably not. He does enough reading at work, surely Monomon wouldn’t give him anymore. Curious, he opened it, and when he saw how intricate the designs on the box were as he lifted the lid, what was inside was nothing like he’d expected.

It was a mask. A mask just like Monomon’s. A perfect copy, he realized.

Before he could ask any questions, Monomon spoke. “I commissioned a talented bug Herrah pointed me towards to make that mask. Even I’m impressed with it. Just look at that detail.”

Quirrel looked up at Monomon, confused, wordlessly begging her to explain. She kept a faint smile on her face for a moment, though now it was looking strained, and a moment later she sighed and let the smile fall. Her expression became serious, but her voice sounded quiet.

“I… I’m doing everything in my power to make sure The King’s plan works as it should. The way I found I could do that is to enact a second seal upon myself, my own seal that can’t be broken without my permission.” She wasn’t looking at Quirrel, but he was studying her carefully. He didn’t want to hear this, not tonight. Tonight was supposed to be their final day to get away from all of this mess, to forget everything and simply be with each other. He didn’t want to hear it, he didn’t, he really truly didn’t.

Monomon, however, continued anyway. “It’s a failsafe, and I’ve put it inside that mask. If… if you’ll accept it, I want you to keep it safe and close when I’m put under. It’s a key, if you will. The way I have it set up, my seal is completely impenetrable unless someone uses that key. And if you’ll accept it, I want it to be taken as far away from this kingdom as you can, far past the Howling Cliffs that surround us.” It was now that she risked looking Quirrel in the eyes, and it seemed to cause her great pain to do so. “But that’s only if you accept it.”

For a few moments, Quirrel couldn’t find his voice. He looked from Monomon to the mask he held in his hands. Now that he was focusing on it, he could feel a soft pulsing of a powerful spell throughout the smooth surface. When he could speak, he found that he couldn’t stop his selfishness from seeping through.

“What if I don’t accept it? What will you do?”

The question didn’t faze her. “I’m not sure. I might look for someone else to take the mask, but I already know there’s no one in Hallownest I’d trust with this task more than you.” With a pause, she added, “I won’t bail out, if that’s what you’re trying to get at.”

There was another pause of silence.

“Will you accept it?” she asked.

“...Yes.”

Monomon didn’t miss the hesitance. “Don’t feel you have to. I’m asking a very selfish thing of you. Getting you involved in this mess in the first place was a selfish thing for me to do to you. But if I’m going to end like this… I’m going to indulge myself in this final selfish act.”

Quirrel started to shake. “No, you’re not selfish.”

Her eyes were full of pity. “Quirrel…”

“I’m the one who’s selfish, Monomon.” His throat started to get tight. “I… I don’t want you to go.”

He felt her arms wrap around him, so soothing and comforting. “I suppose we’re both selfish then.”

They stayed like that until Quirrel could regain his composure. Taking a deep breath he said, “I’ll accept it.”

“Are you certain?”

“Yes.”

He could feel Monomon relax, and a moment later she held out his second present. “You’ll need this,” she said.

As he tore away the wrapping paper, the box was revealed to be decorated with intricate designs and swirls as well, and when he lifted the lid, he was greeted with metal that caught in the light.

It was a nail. The most beautiful, perfect nail he had ever seen.

He dragged his fingers down the cool metal, studying it with awe.

“You’ll have to protect yourself out there,” Monomon said, “and I would dream better knowing you’re carrying a proper weapon.”

Quirrel picked up the blade, studying it further. It was perfectly crafted, its weight wonderfully dispersed. He could already feel how smoothly it could cut through anything. A nail like this…

“This must cost a fortune,” he said.

“Surely you aren’t worried about the price?” Monomon asked, amused. “It’s a gift, Quirrel, if you’ll accept it.”

The nail felt so right in his hands, so perfect. “I will.”

A weight was lifted off Monomon's chest. “Thank you,” she breathed.

—

I remember Monomon. I remember the things she said to me.

Monomon said she saw me as her equal.

Monomon said she cared for me enough to want to protect me.

Monomon said she didn’t believe in fate, hoping I’d prove her wrong.

Monomon said the fate of the kingdom was looking dark, and that it was now her responsibility to change it.

I proved her wrong. Monomon said she believed in fate.

Monomon said the fate of the kingdom was in her hands. I corrected her. It was in our hands.

Monomon said she wanted to dance with me, even though I didn’t know how.

Monomon said she was a dreamer. It took me far too long to come to terms with that. I don’t think I ever have… I hope I eventually will.

Monomon said to travel far past the Howling Cliffs, far past Hallownest. She said for me to keep her mask safe and close. She said for me to live.

She said for me to live, so that she could stay dead.

She said for me to live.

Monomon, in The Archives, studying a vile of acid with a smile.

Monomon, at her desk, speaking her true opinions of The King without a care.

Monomon, at the coffee shop, looking up at the source of The City’s rain in wonder.

Monomon, at the party, seeming so natural to the untrained eye.

Monomon, in front of me, gifting me my nail with a sad smile.

Monomon dancing with me.

Monomon crying with me.

Monomon in a tube of acid.

I use the key.

I see a ghost.

The tube is empty.

And so am I.

Monomon said for me to live. She didn’t teach me how.

No. That’s not true. She taught me everyday. She taught me more than she ever knew.

I’ve been being selfish.

I only wanted to live for her.

She wanted to teach me how to live for myself.

A tube of acid stands empty.

The seals are to be broken.

And a weight has been lifted off my chest.

She said for me to live.

She said for me to keep her dead.

Chapter Text

The Nailsmith awoke with a jolt. Someone in the bed had gotten up, and Sheo was right beside him.

Fearing the worst he reached out for Quirrel’s arm, grabbing him so suddenly and firmly Quirrel had to suppress a shout. Though startled, Quirrel quickly assured his friend he wasn’t trying to sneak off, instead he was attempting to grab something without waking him or Sheo. The Nailsmith assumed he was lying.

Even in the dim light he could see that Quirrel’s expression was guilty, but he didn’t press for any further explanation. With slight hesitance, he let him go, watching him carefully. A few moments later Quirrel had committed to his lie, coming back into bed with his lantern and journal. As he started writing, he made sure he was as far away from The Nailsmith as possible. He even positioned the cover almost as a shield, trying to block as much text from The Nailsmith’s view as possible. The Nailsmith picked up on this, and decided he would pretend this had never happened.

This repeated the next night, as well as the night after that, and so on. Each time The Nailsmith noticed Quirrel’s posture became slightly less tense, less stressed. He had never witnessed Quirrel write before now, and The Nailsmith could only compare him to the way Sheo looked when he was focused on a painting. With the way his focused eyes drowned out the surrounding world, and the way his hand moved with deliberate intention, he was practically in a trance of his own skill. It was a sight that made The Nailsmith’s stomach flutter in a way he always tried to pretend he didn’t feel.

“You’re a light sleeper,” Quirrel had commented one night, simply stating the obvious.

The Nailsmith had rolled his eyes. “Wasn’t always,” he tiredly muttered back.

And from then on, Quirrel made sure to keep his journal and lantern nearby, under the bed.

This stopped The Nailsmith from waking up with that horrible jolt, but it didn’t stop him from being awoken completely. Quirrel would shift about as he wrote, waking The Nailsmith in a much slower and pleasant way, and one that he honestly didn’t mind much. One of these nights he had asked, “Is there a reason you wait until the dead of night to do that?”

Quirrel thought hard before answering quietly. “I didn’t want you to know I did this.”

“Hm? Why?”

Again, Quirrel paused before answering. “It’s… embarrassing?”

“Why’d you say that like a question?”

“Because I’m not entirely sure of the reason myself,” he said as he avoided The Nailsmith’s eyes. “I’m only now realizing how idiotic it sounds if I were to say this out loud, but I was worried that it might change the way you see me.”

The Nailsmith took some time to think about that, completely puzzled. After a pause, he said, “I can’t find any reason why you would think that. We’re already well aware you’re a bookworm.”

Quirrel let out an amused huff. “Well, I did tell you it would sound stupid out loud.”

That next afternoon, Quirrel took some time to write during the day.

Everyone in the hut was focused on their own tasks, with Sheo painting and The Nailsmith shaping together a moderately complex-looking vase. Every once and a while Sheo would cast a glance at his roommates, happy that each of them had found something they enjoy, something that they’re passionate about. And from that day forward, Quirrel stopped writing in the dark.

—

“As much as I love all your works, my friend, this one is by far my favorite,” Quirrel said as he gestured towards ‘The Call of Unn’ painting hung on the wall. Some conversation had led to Sheo explaining the processes and meanings behind a few of his paintings, which then led to some discussion about which ones were the best. “I always find myself staring at it.”

“You’re just saying that ‘cause you helped name it,” The Nailsmith teased. “Either that or you have a thing for lakes.”

Quirrel looked at him, confused. “A… thing for lakes? I have no idea what you’re trying to imply.”

“Not only did you name a painting of a lake, but the only thing you ever painted was a lake as well. I’m not implying anything, just saying what I’m seeing.”

Quirrel rolled his eyes, “If you’re referring to my Snowy Shore piece you should be using the word ‘painting’ in heavy quotes. That thing looks like a tiktik made it.”

“You shouldn’t say that,” Sheo interjected. “You’ll never want to create again if you convince yourself your work isn’t good enough.”

“Sheo, I know you like to be encouraging,” Quirrel started, “but let’s not kid ourselves. My painting looks like someone mindlessly splattered white and gray paint onto a canvas.”

The Nailsmith had to hold back a snicker as Sheo instantly said, “I don’t think so.”

Quirrel just stared at him. “You… don’t?”

“No, I don’t. I think you did a great job on it.”

“...Really?”

“Yes, really.” With sudden determination to prove his point, Sheo got up and made his way over to Quirrel’s Snowy Shore painting, gesturing for him to follow. He studied it carefully before speaking, pointing out every aspect he could. “Even though this is your first painting, I can already see your style shining through. You focus more on colors than details, more on the feeling. The picture you painted isn’t realistic, but looking at it makes you feel like you’ve found yourself at a cold yet welcoming landmark. My, just by the colors alone I can imagine a freezing gust of wind blowing by, so I don’t want to hear you talking bad about your work, alright?”

“Oh, um, alright.” Quirrel felt his face become warm at Sheo’s complements. Looking at his painting with a new perspective, he began to see what Sheo was referring to. The painting really wasn’t all gray like he had previously joked. He had placed purple and blue hues wherever he thought they would fit, and his lack of details made it the lake look more like a vague mental image of place rather than a picture.

“You said that place was your favorite, didn’t you?” The Nailsmith chimed in.

“It is,” Quirrel nodded, then thought for a moment before replying. “Perhaps I have always been drawn to lakes in a way. There’s a… stillness to them, I suppose. Or maybe a sense of life? I’m not actually sure what it is about them exactly.” He let out a light awkward laugh.

“I think I understand what you’re trying to say,” Sheo said with a nod.

“I don’t,” The Nailsmith huffed.

“If it’s lakes you enjoy visiting, surely you’ve seen Hallownest’s Blue Lake, have you not?” Sheo asked. “I’ve been told it’s quite the sight, though I’ve never seen it for myself.”

“Yeah, I’ve seen it.” Quirrel’s voice went quiet.

“What? Is it not that marvelous after all?”

“Oh, it is. It really is.”

“Have you seen the lake, Nailsmith?”

“Of course I haven’t. I told you about how I almost never left my hut didn’t I?”

“Well then… perhaps that would make a fun trip,” Sheo said, primarily to himself. He’s always wanted to see it for himself, though he’s never made any effort to go. He never found traveling by himself to be much fun, so perhaps now would be a good time to do so with his friends. The last trip they went on was fun, even if… hmm. “Or maybe not,” Sheo quickly corrected himself, suddenly remembering how their last trip had ended. Surely Quirrel would like to avoid a situation as horrible as that happening again. He tried to judge Quirrel’s expression, and it didn’t seem very pleased.

Their conversation died soon after, and each bug returned to their previous tasks. Quirrel seemed to become extra focused on his journal.

—

The flower petals had long since dried, meaning it was time for them to be ground into powder. Sheo’s friends had insisted on helping, so he showed them what to do. It really wasn’t difficult, just time-consuming, and there was nothing Sheo loved more than spending time with his friends. They made conversation as the room was filled with the soft grindings of mortars and pestles, but eventually they fell back into a comfortable silence, simply enjoying each other's presence.

Quirrel was the first to speak up. “Sheo, remember the trip to the lake you suggested?”

“Oh, yes?” Sheo had been hoping Quirrel had forgotten about that.

“...Well, I was thinking about it, and I think it would be fun as well.”

Sheo was silent for a moment. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah.” With a slight smile, he added, “ I told you I’ve always been drawn to lakes.”

After another pause, Sheo guessed he should just voice his concerns out loud. “In all honesty, I can’t imagine you would want to take another trip with me or The Nailsmith after what happened last time.”

“Oh, I haven’t forgotten,” Quirrel said as that familiar wave of frustration threatened to wash over him, but he quickly stopped it as he said, “but let’s put that behind us. There really is a beauty to Blue Lake, and I’d love to share it with the two of you.”

Sheo let out a relieved sigh as he turned to The Nailsmith and asked, “Well, Nailsmith? How would you feel about another trip?”

The Nailsmith smiled. “I say the sooner we start packing, the sooner Quirrel can put me to sleep talking about how much he loves water.”

Chapter Text

Quirrel was quite anxious for the trip.

They didn’t waste much time packing their bags. Even though no one spoke it aloud they were all eager to be getting out of the hut, Quirrel especially. He always did grow antsy if he stayed in one place for too long. Sheo was excited to simply have a change of scenery beside his friends, while The Nailsmith was happy enough with doing whatever Sheo and Quirrel wanted to do.

But even though Quirrel was excited to go, (it wasn’t as if he had been lying about Blue Lake’s beauty and wanting to share it with his friends, because he had absolutely been telling the truth about that,) but he couldn’t ignore the obvious glaring issue with this trip.

Of course, it wasn’t as if either of his friends knew what was up. Wyrm, if The Nailsmith had known he wouldn’t have even allowed him to go to the city, let alone straight to the lake. But the trip was on now, and even though Quirrel had a strong feeling that he should’ve, he made no attempt to call it off. The lake was calling him, not unlike the way he’d been called to The Archives. What he would do once he got there, well, he wasn’t sure. In fact, that curiosity was one of the reasons he wanted to go.

“Now, which would be the fastest way?” The Nailsmith had asked, studying his maps carefully. “It looks like there’s a tram close to the station in the Crossroads, but there’s also an elevator we could take if we go to King’s Station.”

Quirrel would have preferred avoiding King’s Station, but before he could say this, Sheo spoke up.

“We’ll need a pass for the tram,” Sheo said, “and I’m not so sure where we’d find one of those.”

“Hmm, through King’s Station it is then,” The Nailsmith muttered.

With their bags packed they left the next morning, (after all there were no reasons to wait,) and set off for the Greenpath station. The journey was about as expected, with The Nailsmith complaining about the walk the whole way, while on the stag all three of them ended up falling asleep. Even Quirrel, who had thought his nerves would keep him awake, had found his breathing fall into the same rhythm as Sheo’s and The Nailsmith’s after not too long.

King’s Station, of course, was just as they had left it. As Quirrel stepped off the stag, he finally began to understand just what it was he was about to do. With the Blue Lake just an elevator trip above him, the sound of his heart pounding was deafening. He was really about to go back.

“Quirrel, are you alright?” Sheo’s concerned voice brought him back to reality. He hadn’t even realized they’d stopped right in front of the elevator. “You look tense.”

Quirrel felt himself holding his nail with such tightness he was sure he was leaving a deep mark on his hand. He took in a deep breath to try and relax himself before nodding, “I’m alright.”

“Hey, we could always go back home if you’re not up for this,” The Nailsmith told him. Hearing him sound worried never ceased to make Quirrel feel strange.

“I’m telling you two, I’m just fine.” Quirrel got onto the elevator first to try and prove his point. “So hurry up and get on, or I’ll flip this switch without you.”

Quirrel hoped his voice sounded lighthearted enough for them to drop their concern, and even though their expressions were still slightly worried, they smiled at Quirrel’s joking and got onto the elevator. Quirrel flipped the switch, and with a rumble, they were rising.

“This elevator isn’t going to like, break or something, is it?” The Nailsmith said as he began to look down. Because of the machine’s age, it was shaking and making a lot of noise. “Who knows the last time this thing was used.”

“I doubt we have anything to worry about,” Sheo assured.

“Yeah,” Quirrel agreed. “Besides, if we were to fall at this height, I’m sure the metal would cave in and completely flatten us on impact.”

“I hate you,” The Nailsmith muttered as he continued to look down. “I hate you so much.”

When the elevator ride did end, The Nailsmith made it his mission to get off first, making the other two chuckle. Quirrel ended up taking the lead for the short walk the rest of the way, and when they stepped past that large ruined sign, they were greeted with a sight like no other.

“Wow,” both Sheo and The Nailsmith breathed in union. The lake was as shiny as crystals shimmering under the light from above. For a moment no one said anything, simply standing and appreciating the view, until Quirrel finally spoke up saying, “Well, let’s not just stand here. Let’s take a seat.”

“I think I’m beginning to see why you like water so much,” The Nailsmith said as he sat down. “This place surely is something.”

“Calling it beautiful would be an understatement,” Sheo said as he sat as well. “I can’t believe I’ve never seen this place before.”

Quirrel only responded in nods, opting to silently enjoy the scenery. It was such a strange feeling being back here. He began to hear his heart pound again, so loud that he was worried the other two could hear it for themselves. He tried to calm himself down before he drew any attention to himself, but Sheo, as attentive as he was, caught on.

“Are you sure you’re alright, Quirrel?” A comforting hand was placed on his back. He flinched at the sudden touch.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine,” Quirrel quickly said, once again attempting and failing to bring his heart rate down. “I think I might just need some time to myself? I apologize if that sounds rude, I’ll be right back.” Abruptly Quirrel attempted to stand, but Sheo held his arm and moved it for him to sit back down.

“Oh, don’t feel the need to leave,” Sheo said at once. “We’ll give you some space. You should stay here and enjoy the view.”

Sheo and The Nailsmith were already standing before Quirrel could say anything to stop them. With a reassuring look, The Nailsmith added,“Just let us know when you want us to come back, alright?”

Quirrel looked away as he nodded. “Thanks.”

With the two gone Quirrel let out a long sigh. Here he was, back at Blue Lake, now alone. This is what he wanted, wasn’t it? All those times he snapped at his friends, all the times he attempted to sneak out from under their watch, it was all to make it here, alone. What would his friends think if they knew all of that? Well, they wouldn’t have left him by himself for one.

He’s been putting this off long enough, hasn’t he?

Time to get it over with.

Quirrel began to dig through the rocks. It didn’t take him long to find enough, and he placed as many as he could within his shell. The rocks scratched him as he moved, but he paid no mind to it. He stood at the edge of the lake once he was done, staring at his reflection.

This was it. He should hurry up and do it in case his friends decide to come back early. He wouldn’t want them witnessing a sight like this, now would he?

Quirrel closes his eyes and takes in a deep breath.

He tells himself to jump.

He can’t move.

He’s frozen still. He can’t get himself to do it. He can’t hear anything other than his heart now, though he’s well aware that his breathing is picking up so fast he’s already gasping. Just jump! Jump already! Get it over with!

Quirrel falls to his knees and begins crying. He hugs himself, making himself as small as possible until he’s nothing more than a ball in the sand. He can’t do it, he can’t. He made it all the way back, and now he’s too scared to do it.

He wants to live.

Despite himself, he laughs. Though out loud it sounds more like a sob. He laughs at himself, at his life, at his suffering. He laughs at the Radiance, at The King, at his stupid plan, at Monomon. He wants to live, after everything he still wants to live! Live in this horrible world full of walking corpses, live in this world without Monomon, live in this world with his friends.

He takes the rocks out of his shell and begins to throw them back into the lake. He makes a little game to see how far he can toss them. Each time one sinks to the bottom, so does his troubles.

“Can I join you?” The Nailsmith had come back.

“I thought you would wait for me to call you back?” he asked.

“I was, but then I got a bad feeling and wanted to check on you. Is, uh, that alright?”

“Just sit down you old oaf,” Quirrel said with an amused eye roll. “It’s alright.”

When The Nailsmith sat down, he studied Quirrel carefully. “You’re all scratched up,” he said quietly.

“Yeah, coral is a lot rougher than I thought it was,” he said with a shrug as tossed a rock into the water. There was no doubt The Nailsmith also noticed the poorly wiped tears that stained his mask, but he made no comment on it.

“Those aren’t exactly skipping stones,” The Nailsmith said as the rock hit the water with a loud splash and ungraciously sunk to the bottom of the lake.

“I know. Want to help me throw them?” Quirrel handed a rock to him.

With confusion and hesitance, The Nailsmith took the rock and gave it a throw. It didn’t go far, and the splash was close enough to spray a bit of water on both of them.

“You have a weak arm,” Quirrel observed.

“These things are heavy!” The Nailsmith snapped back. “What are you doing tossing rocks into the lake anyway?”

“It’s fun,” Quirrel said.

Quirrel had enough time to throw three more rocks before The Nailsmith spoke again. “Did you try to do what I think you did?”

“And what would that be, friend? Rub my shell up and down with rocks?”

“Come on, don’t joke about this,” The Nailsmith stared at him. “Did you?”

Abruptly, Quirrel stopped throwing rocks. He looked into The Nailsmith’s eyes and saw that he was terrified. With a sigh, he said, “I tried to, but I couldn’t go through with it.”

He could tell The Nailsmith wanted to yell at him, but he kept his mouth shut. After an excruciatingly long pause, he muttered, “The second we leave you alone…”

“I know, I know,” he said. “I see why you have so much trouble trusting me.”

“You’re only just now realizing?”

He threw another rock into the lake. “Yeah.”

Silence passed until there were only a few more rocks left.

“I’ll assume you don’t want to talk about it,” The Nailsmith asked. “And it’s alright if you don’t, really.”

“I’ll talk, just give me a minute.” Quirrel waited until he was holding his last rock before speaking. “An old friend of mine had always wanted to see this lake. I suppose she was the one to begin my obsession with them. I thought… I thought that if I could choose where I could end, it would be here.”

The Nailsmith listened to him closely, rather surprised that Quirrel was actually opening up in front of him.

“She was doomed to meet a terrible fate, and before she was killed she sent me away from Hallownest. Only recently have I been able to recall that. Those winds surrounding this kingdom warp your memory if you stay out there for too long, and I’d been away so long I had forgotten where I came from. For decades I lived as a simple traveler, exploring the uncharted caverns of the world. I can’t say I don’t miss it.

“But recently, I felt a calling to explore the ruins of Hallownest, not at all knowing that would restore my memories. Now that I remembered who I was, I didn’t see any reason for me to continue living without my friend, and The Small Knight found me here in this very spot. I suppose they caught on to what I was planning to do by the way I was talking, I wasn’t exactly being subtle, and that’s when they dragged me all the way to Sheo’s hut. I… I’ll have to thank them for that.”

“You’ve been carrying a lot,” is all The Nailsmith could think to say.

Quirrel picked up his last rock, not hesitating for a second before throwing it as hard as he could. It made a good amount of distance with a decent splash, and as it sank to the bottom Quirrel felt lighter than ever. All that weight he had put on himself, he was letting it all sink.

He turned to The Nailsmith, smiled, and said, “Not anymore, friend.”

They sat in silence for a while until The Nailsmith went to go fetch Sheo. Sheo was also quick to notice Quirrel’s chipped shell and dried tears, but Quirrel did his best to make him forget about it. “It’s nothing, friend, really. But I do think some lunch would brighten my mood. All this traveling has certainly made me hungry.”

Sheo was clearly still worried, but they all decided lunch was a good idea. They sat on the shore of Blue Lake doing nothing at all. Enjoying the view and the company in silence.

“I’m glad I met the two of you,” Quirrel broke the silence. When he got no response, he started to become embarrassed. “Sorry, just- being here makes me sentimental.”

“Don’t apologize! I’m glad I met the two of you as well,” Sheo said, though it was clear Quirrel’s sudden sappiness had caught him off guard. “I honestly can’t imagine living by myself anymore.”

“You both are so embarrassing,” The Nailsmith muttered as he fiddled with his beard. “How can you just say things like that?”

“Because those ‘embarrassing things’ are the truth,” Sheo said simply as brought the two of them into an embrace, though he hesitated before saying, “I love you both, alright?”

Just that was enough to make both The Nailsmith and Quirrel melt in his arms.

“Love you too,” Quirrel wondered if his voice always sounded so squeaky.

“Yeah, love ya big guy,” The Nailsmith said as he did his best to cover his face in Sheo’s shell.

They stayed like that until it was clear by the dimming light that it was about time they’d be getting back. Reluctantly they pulled away from the embrace, picked up the remains of their lunch, and brushed the sand off their shells. But there was one last thing Quirrel had to do before he left.

He took his nail and stuck it into the sand.

“You’re leaving your nail?” Sheo asked, confused. “Surely you should keep it on you?”

“Oh my wyrm!” The Nailsmith suddenly said, looking at the nail. “I didn’t realize you’d been carrying around a nail like this this whole time! The ratio of metal to pale ore… this must be worth a fortune! You can’t just leave this!”

“My dear friend gave me this nail, and she had always wanted to see this lake,” Quirrel explained. “I hope that now, in a way, she can.”

“I don’t want to burst your sentimental bubble, but you do realize the next bug to stumble in here is just gonna take this, right?” The Nailsmith said. “They’d be a fool not to.”

“Eh, let them,” Quirrel said with a shrug. “My friend is dead. I don’t think she would mind.”

And with his grave behind him, Quirrel had finally buried the past properly and was ready to move on. It was time for him to live just for the sake of living, and how lucky was he to have met the two kindest bugs for him to live with.

After all, Monomon was dead, and he was still alive.

He was still alive.

Chapter Text

Something important had taken place at the lake, and Sheo had not been told what it was.

When he expressed concern about Quirrel he was told to forget about it, as if he could pretend not to notice Quirrel’s scratched up shell or the dried tears around his eyes. He seemed better now at least, but his drastic change in behavior was what worried Sheo the most. Quirrel was now acting like he had just had the best day of his life, whatever he was worried about before long forgotten. He was smiling all the way back down to the stag, and Sheo swore he saw him walk with a slight skip in his step. Sheo was being left in the dark, and just couldn’t understand why.

As the stag started to move it wasn’t long before Sheo noticed The Nailsmith’s breathing fall into a steady rhythm. As his head fell on his shoulder he was tempted to fall asleep as well, but he knew the worried feeling in his gut wouldn’t go away so easily.

“Um, Quirrel?” Quirrel had been resting his eyes and slowly opened them to look at Sheo. “Did… something happen back there? At the lake?”

Quirrel simply shook his head. “Nothing important, friend.”

“Are you sure?” Sheo pressed. “If I’m asking something sensitive you can tell me if you don’t wish to share, but I’m concerned for you.”

“There’s no need to be concerned,” he said in that dismissive tone again. “Nothing happened.”

“Quirrel,” Sheo’s voice became serious, “Do you think I can’t tell when you’re lying?”

Quirrel went silent.

“I can see your shell, and I can see your face. If you want to keep whatever happened to yourself that’s fine, I just wish you wouldn’t keep me in the dark if something’s troubling you. Burdens are much better shared, you know.”

Quirrel guiltily looked away, shifting in his seat. “I never wanted to burden you,” he said quietly.

“I know, and that’s the problem. You keep to yourself so much I sometimes wonder if you’re really present. I can see you, always battling something in your mind. We’re friends, and as your friend I want nothing more than to help lessen your troubles.”

After a moment of silence, Quirrel met Sheo’s gaze. “...Has anyone ever told you you’re the kindest bug in all of Hallownest?”

Warmth began to spread on Sheo’s face. “I uh… I’m not sure.”

“Someone should tell you more often then,” he said with a smile. “It was for that reason I didn’t want to trouble you. You deserve a life without having to worry about me, both you and The Nailsmith. I didn’t want to take away from your happiness, so I kept to myself.”

“It’s our choice to worry about you. Is it so hard to believe we want you to be happy as well?”

“No, it isn’t,” Quirrel said with a slight chuckle, as if the truth was amusing.

“Do you want me to know what happened at the lake?” Sheo asked again.

“Yeah,” Quirrel began to smile. “I finally let myself live.”

—

Days after they had returned home, a visitor appeared at their hut abruptly and without warning.

The Nailsmith was the first to greet their visitor, though it wasn’t so much of a greeting as it was said visitor scaring the shell off of The Nailsmith.

“Knight!” he shouted suddenly as he felt something touch his leg. “Wyrm, you're so quiet! Don’t you know how to knock?”

“The Little One is here?” Sheo immediately looked up from his painting, and Quirrel from his journal.

“Oh, they’re here alright! Scared me half to death while they were at it!”

Not a moment later Sheo had gotten up to give The Little One a hug, but they quickly moved away from him.

“Oh, are you not in the mood for a hug today?” Sheo asked, but before he could even finish his sentence a flower was being held as high up as The Knight could reach. “For me?” Sheo asked, to which The Knight nodded their head and Sheo took the flower.

“Oh, my!” Sheo said as he examined it carefully. “This is a delicate flower!”

“Wait, really?” The Nailsmith peered at it. “It doesn’t look so delicate to me.”

A second later and there was a tap on The Nailsmith’s leg. Looking down he saw The Knight had also brought a flower for him. “Oh, um, thank you,” he said as he took it gingerly, quietly staring at it. It was quite a rush to be gifted something so precious.

Lastly, The Knight made their way to Quirrel and handed him a flower as well. “Why thank you,” Quirrel said with a smile as he reached for it, but before he could take it The Knight pulled it away from Quirrel’s reach.

“Um, friend?” Quirrel said, completely confused as The Knight was staring him down sternly. (At least, he assumed it was sternly, it was always hard to tell with The Knight.)

“Did you piss them off or something?” The Nailsmith asked Quirrel.

“I can’t recall doing anything of the sort,” Quirrel said. “Small Knight, why are you glaring at me?”

The Knight, as always, did not respond. They did, however, put down the flower on the nearby table and take out their map. Opening it and pointing to a location on it as they angrily shoved it in his face so close he could barely read it.

“What are they doing?” Sheo asked.

“Small Knight, please, I can’t see where you’re pointing,” Quirrel said as he got them to move back a bit. Now he could see where they were pointing, specifically what they were pointing at. It was the part of Blue Lake they had visited only days before, and The Knight had drawn what seemed to be a nail sticking out of the sand there.

“Oh, dear,” Quirrel covered his mouth with a hand as he tried to stop himself from laughing. This reaction only made The Knight even more upset as they began to fail their arms as if in the middle of a heated argument. When that only made Quirrel laugh harder The Knight resorted to punching Quirrel in the side instead, which ended up tickling more than it hurt. “I’m sorry! I’m sorry! I shouldn’t laugh, I know! Ow, stop! Just- ha! Ow! Give me a minute!”

“What in the name of wyrm is going on over there?” The Nailsmith asked as he watched the sight before him unfold.

“Alright, Little One, that’s enough,” Sheo came over and picked up The Knight by the scruff. “You should know to keep your hands to yourself.”

If The Knight could huff, they would’ve as they crossed their arms, annoyed, and still glaring at Quirrel.

“What is The Little One so upset about?” Sheo turned towards Quirrel who was still trying to stop himself from laughing.

“You guys,” he said in between chuckles, “they, oh wyrm I really shouldn’t be laughing at this but, they thought I had died!”

“Died?” The Nailsmith repeated. “Why would they think that?”

“They saw I left my nail at Blue Lake.” He looked up at The Knight, “I’m sorry for the fright, I can see why you assumed as such.”

“Wait, is that why they brought us flowers?” The Nailsmith realized. “That’s so morbid! ”

Quirrel quickly began laughing again, and The Knight broke free from Sheo’s grip to begin hitting him again.

“Ow! Ow! I’m sorry! I said I’m sorry!” Quirrel pleaded, and when The Knight seemed to be satisfied with the amount of hits they’d gotten in, they presented Quirrel with his delicate flower, this time actually allowing him to take it.

“Thank you,” he said as he petted in between The Knight’s horns. “I’ll be sure to keep this close.”

As he pulled his hand away The Knight grabbed it and pulled it back into place with their tiny hands. And after apparently deciding that wasn’t enough, they fiercely hugged Quirrel’s side in an embrace so tight it could compete with Sheo’s hugs. Not much later, everyone had found their way into the embrace as well.

—

The Knight ended up staying the rest of the day, and they were eager to do any activity that was suggested. There was a rush of energy coursing through the small bug which Quirrel assumed was caused by them finding out their friend was in fact, not dead. But of course, he couldn’t be so sure.

Harvesting potatoes and carrots in the garden had led to the small bug burrowing in the beds, somehow becoming completely submerged in the soil. With only their horns being visible from the surface, The Nailsmith had gotten confused and thought their horn tips were a strange sprouting plant. And when The Nailsmith tried to water them and The Knight popped up out of the dirt, The Nailsmith screamed so loud Quirrel was sure it could be heard from Queen’s Gardens.

After The Knight had cleaned themselves off by splashing about in a bucket of water, everyone was back inside to work on their individual crafts. Sheo took it upon himself to paint a portrait of their little family, with everyone enjoying a home cooked meal by the couches. Over at the table, The Nailsmith was helping The Knight shape up a vase for everyone to put their flowers into. Quirrel found it equally amusing and fascinating to watch The Knight work, and couldn’t help an incredibly fond smile from spreading across his face whenever The Nailsmith would guide The Knight’s tiny hands along the clay, with them pressed up against his beard as they sat on his lap, The Nailsmith whispering instructions into their ears as they focused their big black eyes on molding the shape in front of them. Not to mention how funny it was to watch the increasingly vase-like shape become deformed from The Knight moving their hands incorrectly, followed by them immediately smashing the clay back down into a blob in frustration in the same way The Nailsmith did when he wasn’t having his way with his own projects.

When everyone’s stomachs started to growl, The Nailsmith suggested that it was about time for them all to create the scene Sheo was painting and get to work on dinner. The Knight insisted on helping and so they were given the task of peeling the potatoes and carrots they had helped pick earlier, giving them a small knife to do the job with. Sheo had only turned his back for a moment, but when he looked back at The Knight they had cast aside the knife as if it were nothing more and an uninteresting toy, and had instead opted to pull out their much bigger and sharper tool to cut the vegetables, their nail. Even after Sheo spent more time than one would think necessary trying to explain why they shouldn’t cut vegetables with their weapon, The Knight nodded in understanding, took to the sink to thoroughly wash their hands and nail, and then proceeded to try and peel a potato with their weapon again. In the end, Sheo took it upon himself to show The Knight how to do it properly, to which they quickly caught on, but still clearly saw the ‘correct' way as inefficient.

When the yawns in the hut began to chain from bug to bug, everyone saw it fit to bring the day to a close. The Knight was brought into the same bed as everyone else, comfortably placed onto Sheo’s chest. And as soft snores filled the silence of the hut, Quirrel stayed awake.

“Small Knight, are you awake?” he whispered.

The Knight turned to face him, without any hint of the fatigue or tiredness that would come from someone falling asleep.

“Oh, good. I wanted to talk to you without these two overhearing,” he gestured to Sheo and The Nailsmith, both sleeping peacefully. “I wish to thank you for bringing me here when you saw me at the lake, and I wish to apologize for the way I treated you as well. I’ll be forever grateful for your patience, as well as the patience of these two incredible bugs you’ve brought me to.”

The Knight, of course, did not speak. Instead they slowly got out of bed, bowed to Quirrel, and turned to leave the hut.

“Um, where are you going, friend? It’s the middle of the night.” Quirrel called out to them.

The Knight made it to the door.

“Are you leaving?” Quirrel asked. “Surely you should wait until morning so you can say goodbye to the others as well?”

The Knight hesitated for a moment, and words could not describe how long that moment seemed to last. Quirrel had always wished he could know what was going on in the bug’s head, but that curiosity was never as intense as it was in that moment. They cast a glance over to Quirrel, hesitantly waved, and was gone in the dead of night.

Neither Quirrel, Sheo, nor The Nailsmith ever saw The Knight again.

—

Something seemed to call Quirrel to step outside the hut. Perhaps it was simply a desire to take in some sunlight and to get his legs moving, or perhaps it was his itch to travel taking a rise again. Whatever the reason, he told his friends he was going out on a walk, and they decided to join him.

As they walked, all of them were able to notice how clear the air was. There was no longer a slight burn in the back of their throats or eyes, and that burn had become normalicay after staying in Hallownest for so long. As they were pondering this, a mosscreep was startled out of the undergrowth by their voices. Quirrel expected its eyes to be a bright orange, as all infected bug’s eyes were, but it wasn’t. Its eyes were white, so white that you’d never think it had ever been infected at all, and as it scuttled away, Quirrel stared at it in awe.

They had grown so accustomed to the infection it was easy to forget it was there. How jarring it is now, for it to truly be forgotten?

The Knight was successful.

The Radiance is gone.

—

It was a difficult thing to explain, that the tiny bug he and his friends had come to know as their child was born to fulfill a purpose greater than any bug could ever truly comprehend. It was hard to admit he had a part in it all, that he helped The King with his ludicrous plan, that he went along with the killing of three bugs, as well as the worse than death fate of a child. He didn’t share everything, some things he just couldn’t say aloud, but he shared more than he ever thought he’d be able to.

It felt nice to get it all off his chest, take off that extra baggage he’d been carrying for so long. And despite what his irrational fears had otherwise pounded into his skull, his friends did not judge him or see him any differently for his past. They took it a day at a time, letting themselves grieve naturally and fully. Sheo would spend hours clutching the artwork The Knight had painted, the same one he had hung beside his bed not so long ago. Quirrel would sit on the couch and flip through the pages of his journal, re-reading every time he had written about The Small Knight and adding anything and everything else Quirrel could remember about his dear friend. And The Nailsmith would lay on the same couch, his head resting on Quirrel, and simply stare at the ceiling, unmoving.

“Our friend’s passing was not fair, but it was a passing they chose,” Quirrel had said when the silence had become too much to bear. He was sick and tired of feeling depressed. “It was a purpose they’d been born for, but a purpose no bug was left to force upon them. We all had a hand in helping them achieve their goal, and saving the lives of innocent bugs is not something to be guilty of.”

“How much longer until this place becomes lively again?” The Nailsmith asked in a quiet voice. “I don’t think it would feel right having bugs move back here after so long. It’d feel like desecrating a grave.”

“This kingdom was a graveyard, but that’s what The Small Knight sought to change. It won’t be much longer until this place begins to rebuild. I’m sure the residents up in Dirthmouth are rejoicing as we speak.”

“I just wish they had said goodbye,” Sheo’s voice shook as he spoke, staring into the painting he held. “I wish I had said goodbye. Dear wyrm, what am I going to tell Mato?”

In an instant Quirrel and The Nailsmith had wrapped their arms around either side of Sheo as they felt him shake and sob.

—

Days later, Quirrel suggested that they should all take another walk together. Once they made distance from the hut, it became clear as ever that Hallownest was changing. Mosskin of all kinds were about, working to rebuild what had been lost and destroyed. It was strange to see all of these bugs, who Quirrel had once had to fight to escape from, exchanging pleasantries with one another and collaborating on building housing. At one point they passed a small group of mosskin warriors who had noticed them. Quirrel’s eyes snapped to one moving their hand and instinctively reached down to grab his nail, (awkwardly realizing as he did that he no longer had it,) only to realize that the mosskin was not attempting to grab their weapon, they were waving hello.

Hallownest was back.

“It isn’t right,” The Nailsmith had muttered once they had gotten home. “It’s not right.”

“What isn’t right, friend?” Quirrel pressed.

“All of this! Every bit of it! Why do they get to live when The Knight had to die?” he snapped. “I can’t see how you managed to keep all this Radiance stuff to yourself, it’s frustrating. Those bugs don’t even know who saved them, not even the faintest clue of what their freedom cost! They should know! You should tell them!”

Quirrel frowned, “Do you think they would believe me?”

“You could prove it to them! Show them that black egg or something!”

“And what good would that do?”

“What good ? They’d know the truth ! They’d worship The Knight more than their Unn if they knew!”

Sheo put a hand on The Nailsmith’s shoulder. “The Little One wouldn’t want them to know.”

“How do you know?” he turned. “They couldn’t even speak!”

“Nailsmith,” Sheo said with a sad look. “They didn’t even want us to know. They never told us goodbye. They didn’t want either of us to know that day was their last.”

The Nailsmith’s breathing picked up as he turned away from Sheo, clenching his fists. “It isn’t right. The Knight gave their life, and none of those bugs out there will ever know that.”

“There’s a bliss in ignorance,” Quirrel said, “though it’s a saying I’ve always disagreed with, now I can recognize its truth. Perhaps it would be better if Hallownest got a fresh start. Without The King or any lingering threads of his influence.”

“I don’t want to pretend it never happened,” The Nailsmith said. “I can’t, not with all these reminders everywhere. Not with all those mosskin smiling and waving and completely clueless.”

Quirrel was silent for a while, staring out onto the greens of Greenpath. “...Perhaps it would be better for Hallownest if we weren’t a part of its rebirth.”

The Nailsmith and Sheo glanced towards him, pressing him to continue.

“Nailsmith, Sheo, I’m suggesting we move.”

“Move? Move where?!” The Nailsmith shouted. “If I’m staying in Hallownest I’m staying in this hut. I’m not going anywhere else.”

“Which is why we should move out of Hallownest.”

“And where would we go? Just walk out onto the Howling Cliffs and set up camp wherever we can?”

“I have a whole journal full of potential kingdoms we could stay at, don’t forget I’m a traveler. If it's Hallownest changing that’s upsetting you so much, leaving Hallownest could be the answer.”

“Are you sure about this, Quirrel?” Sheo asked, cautious. “That would be a huge commitment.”

“I’m just putting up the suggestion,” he said. “If you would be the happiest staying here then by all means we will stay here.”

Sheo thought for a moment before asking, “Nailsmith, what do you think?”

“Leaving Hallownest…” he muttered. “It sounds terrifying.”

“I don’t know if I could do it either,” Sheo admitted. “It would mean I would have to be further than a kingdom away from my brothers. I can’t say I like the idea of that.” Sheo paused. “I’m sorry, Quirrel.”

“Don’t apologize,” he quickly assured. “It was only a suggestion.”

—

As Hallownest began to rebuild, so did a resurgence of modern day technologies. There were rumors of stags making the journey back to Hallownest’s stagways, trams being made available without a pass, merchants from Dirtmouth traveling by the crossroads, forgotten no longer, and most important of all, mail bugs were once again delivering letters all across the kingdom.

Sheo took advantage of this immediately.

As soon as he could he sent a letter to his brothers, who both wrote back with the same haste. Sheo soon learned that things were going well for those two and that Oro had improved drastically since they last saw each other. It wasn’t much longer after the letters became a routine that his brothers decided they wanted to visit in person, and of course, Sheo had no objections to this.

But when they arrived and the three of them went to the garden to give Sheo’s roommates space, the first thing out of Mato’s mouth made him want to send his brothers right back home.

“So,” Mato gave Sheo’s back a good slap, paired with a wide grin, “have you spoken to Nailsmith yet?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Sheo huffed, rolling his eyes and pretending to be oblivious. “He’s my roommate, of course I’ve spoken to him.”

“Don’t play dumb, you know what he’s asking,” Oro said as he smiled as well. “Go on, give us the details.”

“Surely you two didn’t come all this way just to ask me this?” Sheo groaned. “You could tease me in a letter, you know?”

“It wouldn’t be as fun,” Mato said. “If it’s not in person we don’t get to see how flustered you become.”

“Okay fine!” Sheo snapped. “You want ‘details’ ? Well here they are! I didn’t talk to Nailsmith, and I didn’t talk to Quirrel. I had full intention too when we went to Blue Lake because I thought ‘that would be a romantically appropriate setting to confess at,’ but it turns out Quirrel had some history with that lake and so that plan was thrown out the window. And when we got back home there was another situation and now there’s too much going on for me to even think about saying such a thing to them and-”

“Woah, woah! Holy wyrm Sheo, calm down!” His eyes full of concern Mato put his hands on his brother’s shoulders. “Jeez, I didn’t think there was this much going on. I’m so sorry for upsetting you. We’ll stop teasing you about this.”

Sheo took a moment to take in a deep breath and let his garden calm him down. “There’s just been a lot going on, and I really don’t think now would be the time to tell them something like that.”

“What’s going on?” Oro pressed.

Sheo winced. “Have you two, um, seen The Little One recently?”

“Oh, yes!” Mato beamed. “They came to visit us a few weeks ago and they brought us delicate flowers! Isn’t that amazing? I can’t imagine where they got their tiny hands on those!”

“Yeah, they brought us delicate flowers as well. It must’ve been difficult for a bug so small to travel so far with them.”

“They even helped me train this big oaf,” Mato playfully punched Oro.

“They did not train me,” Oro said. “Don’t forget they’re my student too.”

“When The Little One left did they tell you anything?”

“No, but not sure how they could’ve,” Oro said. “I’ve never heard them speak.”

“They slipped out in the dead of night,” Mato answered. “I suppose they had somewhere to be, but that’s no matter. I’ll just be looking forward to their next visit.” Mato paused. “Why do you ask? Did something happen?”

Sheo looked up at his brothers. He couldn’t do it.

“No, no, just curious.”

“You sure?” Oro asked, “‘Cause you’re makin’ a face.”

“It’s nothing, forget I asked.”

Mato and Oro looked at each other.

“Quirrel thinks it would be a good idea if we were to leave Hallownest,” Sheo said suddenly, looking away.

“Why would you leave now? The infection just got lifted. If there’s any time to stay in the kingdom now’s the time,” Oro said.

“That’s actually the reason he wants to leave. I can’t tell you what's going through his head but I know he’d be much happier outside of this kingdom’s gates.”

“And what about you,” Mato asked. “Do you want to leave Hallownest?”

Sheo took a thoughtful pause before answering, “I don’t like the idea of being so far away from you two.”

“But do you want to leave?” Mato asked again with more emphasis.

“I think it would be beneficial for The Nailsmith as well,” Sheo said. “He’s grown so used to this kingdom being dead that now that it’s becoming alive again it’s jarring for him.”

“Sheo, you’re not answering the question,” Oro said firmly. “Do you want to leave Hallownest?”

Leaving Hallownest would mean leaving behind the comfort of normalicay. It would mean leaving behind this quiet life among the greenery he’d grown so accustomed too. But then again, there was a thrill to it as well, the thrill of taking a chance. The three of them had made it work out in this peaceful setting, strangers turned friends turned closer. Would they make it work out in the unknown, out in a real kingdom? There was a pang of fear at the thought of it, but even still, Sheo had a feeling that there was nothing to worry about. “...Yes, I do.”

“Alright, then you should go,” Oro concluded.

“Just like that?” Sheo asked. “You’re not going to beg me to stay or anything?”

“Now why would we do that?” he asked. “If you’d be unhappy staying cooped up in the middle of nowhere then you’d better get your shell out of here. Don’t let us drag you down.”

“But we’d be so far apart,” Sheo said.

“Don’t worry about it,” Mato said. “Just be sure to send us a letter once you all settle down, and that way you’ll wake up with a letter by yours truly every morning on your front porch.”

“I don’t think anyone could deliver a letter that fast,” Sheo said.

“Maybe not with that attitude, but I’ll find someone. I’ll play them whatever they want if it means I get to talk to you every day.”

Sheo smiled, “Of course.”

—

Dinner had been prepared by the three brothers working together, which really means Sheo spent his time juggling between each brother, making sure Oro wasn’t burning anything and that Mato wasn’t trying to remix the recipe on the spot. The result was delicious, not the same kind of deliciousness that would’ve been achieved if Sheo were to have made it himself, but delicious enough that everyone seemed determined to lick their bowls clean.

The hut was filled with laughs as everyone ate. It seemed to Mato that the secret to get The Nailsmith and Quirrel talking was to give them food, as now they were laughing at each other's jokes as if they were old friends. Of course, many of the jokes Oro and Mato told were at Sheo’s expense, but Sheo decided he would put up with it for just this one night.

As the bowls became empty Sheo and Quirrel started to clean up the kitchen as the others kept talking. It was nice to listen to their conversation, and it was especially nice to listen to The Nailsmith’s laugh paired with Oro and Mato’s.

“I think I owe you an apology, Sheo,” Quirrel said as he brought some dirty bowls to the sink.

“Apology for what?” Sheo asked.

“I’m beginning to understand the bond you share with your brothers. It was quite rude of me to suggest that you break that for me.”

“Oh,” Sheo’s eyes widened. “That’s not how I saw your suggestion at all. There’s no need to apologize. Actually, I told them about you wanting to leave the kingdom, and they told me we should do it.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, I thought they’d want me to stay, but if it’ll make me happier they’re all for it.”

“No, that was a selfish thing for me to ask,” Quirrel said. “You like living here, don’t convince yourself otherwise just for me.”

“It’s not Hallownest that I like,” Sheo said as he began to wash the dishes. “I like the quiet, the greens, my garden, my paintings, my sculptures, and my roommates.” He gave Quirrel a smile. “I can’t say I have much of an attachment to this kingdom anymore. Things are going to be different here, not that change is a bad thing, but I think it’s about time I closed the book on this old place. I think I could benefit from some neighbors, from a community. So I don’t want you to think you’re forcing me to do anything. I think we leave Hallownest as well.”

“But your brothers,” Quirrel pressed. “I would feel awful if I made you leave them.”

“You’re not making me do anything,” Sheo said, “and Mato already promised to write to me every day.”

This answer didn’t seem to satisfy Quirrel as he looked away from Sheo.

“It’s okay, really,” Sheo said.

Quirrel thought for a moment. “...Perhaps your brothers could come with us as well?”

“Would you want them to?” Sheo asked. “I don’t want you to commit to anything you’re uncomfortable with either, alright?”

“Nailsmith and I would have to spend more time with them to see for sure, but you have some amazing brothers. If we were all able to be together… well, that would be the best outcome by far, wouldn’t it?”

His friends and his family. Sheo didn’t have to pick.

He could have both.

—

The idea was brought up to the others, and after a few days of thinking on it, (during which Oro and Mato continued to stay at Sheo’s hut,) all five of them formed into a full family.

One day Mato told Quirrel that he recognized one of the books he was reading, which led to them discussing said book for well over an hour. It turns out Mato was the only one of the brothers who had the patience for reading, and he happily told Quirrel of his past favorites, though he also admitted that it had been awhile since he had read anything, to which Quirrel began reciting a whole list of recommendations from memory for him.

Another day Oro's training had left him in a bad mood, and Sheo prescribed him to create art to lift his spirits. He ended up trying to make something with clay, and The Nailsmith had front row seats to the show that was Oro progressively getting more and more frustrated as time went on. Sheo and Mato gave their advice, though it all sounded patronizing to him and only worked to make him more frustrated. It wasn’t until The Nailsmith decided to lend a helping hand and walk him through the process that Oro actually began to enjoy it. Even still, his work would still end up wonky, and it was quickly discovered how fun it was to smash an ugly deformed vase into mush to try again.

One morning when Quirrel was preparing lunch, Mato stepped into the kitchen wanting to help. At first Quirrel declined, remembering what it was like watching Sheo babysit his brothers in the kitchen, but Mato was insistent and Quirrel found that it was hard to put his foot down, so he ended up keeping a good eye on him while they cooked. Turns out that Mato actually knows how to cook well and good, and it was just a matter of making sure he didn’t “spice things up” (his words) too much by throwing in a mystery ingredient. When the food was done and served, it was revealed only after everyone had eaten their fill that Mato had gotten away with one of his “spices,” and what was shocking is that no one had noticed. At the time, Quirrel thought that to be a lesson teaching him not to doubt Mato’s skills in the kitchen, but the next time he cooked his “spice” it tasted about how Quirrel should’ve expected it would. The real lesson was that not all of Mato’s cooking adventures turned out anything worth eating, but when it did it was damn good.

While the brothers were out training, The Nailsmith decided to watch. Although he was long since done with nails he couldn’t help but wonder how any bug could wield weapons as heavy as the ones Oro and Mato used. He was impressed by their skill. Though he knew barely anything of fighting techniques, he knew when someone used their nail properly. When they were taking a breather, The Nailsmith asked to inspect their nails which neither Oro nor Mato had any troubles with. But when Mato took the weapon off his back to hand it to The Nailsmith, he had forgotten how heavy it really was. As soon as it left his hands The Nailsmith was pulled to the ground by its weight, and while Mato spouted apology after apology Oro could barely hold in his laughter.

Quickly it was beginning to seem as if their idea could really work, that they really might be able to live as one big family. The brothers were on board with it, Sheo was ecstatic about it, and Quirrel was practically counting down the days in his head. The Nailsmith seemed to be the only one who was still hesitant. As much as he wanted to leave, Hallownest was all he’d ever known. Even just leaving his old hut was enough of a journey for him, he was scared, no, terrified of what it would be like to move to a whole new unfamiliar kingdom.

“Nailsmith, if you don’t want to leave we don’t have to leave,” Sheo said as he tried to lower his friend’s worries while his brothers sparred outside. “Don’t feel pressured to do anything you don’t want to do.”

“But I do want to leave!” The Nailsmith insisted as Quirrel and Sheo sat on opposite sides on the couch beside him, both rubbing circles on his back to remind him they were there. “I just… I don’t know, I’m scared that things might change if we do this.” His voice was quiet and hesitant.

“Change how?” Quirrel pressed.

“I don’t know, I probably sound stupid,” The Nailsmith tried to dismiss his worries, “but what if it’s not the same? I mean- there are a million possible things that could go wrong out there, I heard far too many horror stories to count from my old clients. What if we end up hating where we end up? What if there isn’t a place for Sheo to have his garden? What if you don’t have a place to keep your books?” He realized he was rambling and took a deep breath, “I want to keep what we have, but I don’t want to keep it here.”

“I don’t think there’s anything to worry about,” Sheo told him. “As long as we stick together, I’m sure we’ll find someplace that suits all of us.”

The Nailsmith let out a huff of amusement. “Again with that sappy talk,” he muttered.

“I’m serious,” Sheo insisted. “I can’t promise there won’t be hardships, and I can’t promise everything will be the same, but I can promise that we’ll be alright.”

“There are a lot of kingdoms out there,” Quirrel assured. “I’m positive we’ll be able to find at least one we all enjoy.”

The Nailsmith was silent for a moment. “Okay…” He took a deep breath. “Okay.”

“We’re here for you,” Sheo reminded him as he and Quirrel began to hug him.

The Nailsmith pulled them in closer by their arms. His grip was tight.

“...I know.”

—

Just a few days later, they were ready.

It was more difficult than Sheo thought it would be to leave behind his hut. Leave behind his old paintings and leave behind his garden. But at the same time it was freeing. He’d spent so much time in solitude there, so much time with only his own thoughts for company. It was about time he moved on from that part of his life, reconnect with people like he did before he and his brothers went their separate ways. He was glad that they’d all ended up reconnecting after all, and he was especially glad that his family had grown as well.

The Nailsmith wasn’t used to traveling, much less to traveling with so much on his back. They had barely made it to the Lake of Unn before he was telling everyone he needed a breather. So while the others were taking a rest at the bench, Quirrel decided there was something he wanted to do while he was here.

“Hey, I’m going to step out for a bit,” he announced to the group, looking at The Nailsmith, “Is that alright?”

The Nailsmith opened his mouth, paused, and then said, “Yeah… take your time. I might be a while.”

This would be the last time Quirrel would be at this lake, and he wanted to say goodbye to it. He walked out onto the pier and took a moment to himself.

“Has Unn called you?”

Startled, Quirrel opened his eyes to find a mosskin warrior standing next to him.

“Oh, no. I just wanted to enjoy the view,” he quickly said. He didn’t miss how the warrior held his nail close to his side. “Though in all honesty, I’m getting a strong sense of deja vu right now.”

The mosskin turned to listen.

“Not all that long ago I saw a mosskin warrior much like yourself staring out onto this lake. I thought they were lost in thought so I came closer to greet them, only for them to snap out of whatever trance they had found themselves in and lunge to attack me. They would’ve thrown me into the acid had I not been careful.” Quirrel glanced down at the warrior’s sharp blade and then up at his infection-less eyes. “I’m glad that scenario did not repeat.”

“As am I,” the warrior said. “It’s been an age since I’ve been healthy. I’ve found that holding conversation was one of the things I missed the most.”

Quirrel had a pleasant talk with the warrior. The warrior told him the temple Quirrel’s friends were currently resting at would very soon become busy again, as mosskin from all over would soon repair the old building to worship and celebrate how their god saved them from the plague. He invited him to join, and when Quirrel had to decline and explained that he was leaving the kingdom, the warrior wished him well on his travels.

“I can’t even begin to fathom how many lives like that The Small Knight has saved,” Quirrel said to The Nailsmith once it was time for the group to begin moving again, looking back at the mosskin warrior on the pier. “It’s incredible.”

“Yeah,” The Nailsmith said with a sad smile. “Almost makes me not want to leave. The Knight went through all the trouble to save the kingdom and it feels like we’re throwing it away.”

“The Small Knight saved Hallownest, but not just those who were infected.” In a gesture of reassurance Quirrel took The Nailsmith’s hand in his with a firm grounding hold. “They saved us, all of us.” He nodded up to Sheo and his brothers just ahead, who were all laughing at some particularly funny joke. “Your life, my life, Oro and Mato’s relationship, without them, none of it would exist. Without them, we wouldn’t all be able to leave Hallownest like this. Without them, I…” Quirrel hesitated, going quiet and tightening his grip on The Nailsmith’s hand. “I wouldn’t be able to hold you like this.”

The Nailsmith huffed. Instinctually bringing his beard up with his free hand to try and hide his face.

“Sorry,” Quirrel said after a pause, his grip loosening. “Was that too sappy?”

The Nailsmith stopped him from pulling his hand away. “By the gods, Sheo and you are going to be the death of me.”

Quirrel laughed, surprised that he was still holding his hand. “The Small Knight gave us both another chance at life. I’m sure if they were here, they would want us to spend it doing whatever made us happiest, whether that left us inside Hallownest’s gates or not.”

“Oi, you two!” Oro’s loud voice broke through their sappy sentences. “Pick up the pace will ya!? We’re trying to get to the stag station this year, you know!”

“Oro, don’t be so mean!” Mato said as he elbowed his shoulder. “Can’t you see they were having a moment?”

“Well can they have their moment while walking a little faster? We’re going at a snail shaman’s pace here.”

Both Quirrel and The Nailsmith chuckled.

“I suppose we should catch up?” Quirrel suggested.

The Nailsmith smiled. “Nah, let’s take our time. I’d like to stretch this moment out a little longer.”

“Now you’re the one saying sappy things.”

“Hey, I never once said I hated them.”

—

“Uh, Mato?” Oro's voice was right in his brother’s ear. “You’ve been staring at the door for like five minutes. I think you’ve had enough time to collect yourself.”

“Oro, not so loud!” Mato whisper-yelled. “Do you see how thin that curtain is? He’ll hear you!”

There was one last stop before the group would make it to Howling Cliffs. The city of Dirthmouth had already grown in population since the last time anyone had visited, and its ghostly air had all but disappeared with the infection. The group now stood in front of a small shop, waiting as Mato worked up the courage to step inside.

“You’re being even louder than me!” Oro whisper-yelled back. “Look, if you don’t move by the count of five I’m pushing you in there.”

“You wouldn’t!” Mato snapped.

“Five,” Oro warned.

Instantly Mato attempted to make as much distance from the shop and his brother as he could, but Oro was quick to take hold of his wrist before he could get far.

“Four.”

“Sheo! Don’t just stand there!” Mato pleaded as he struggled from his brother’s grip. “Help me!”

“Three.”

“I don’t think so. I’m with Oro on this one,” Sheo said with a smile.

“Two.”

“Traitor!” Mato shouted.

“And one. In you go!” Oro prepared to shove his brother through the door, but Mato was quick to put his hands on the walls for support.

“No!” he shouted as his brother continued to try and push him in. Sheo and the others couldn’t help but laugh at the scene in front of them, and Sheo was about to go and help when the curtain began to move.

In one fluid motion the curtain was opened from the inside, revealing Mato to a very surprised bug.

“Oh, uh…” Mato’s embarrassment made his face incredibly warm. “Hello, Master Sly.”

It was a reunion long overdue, but a reunion happily welcomed nonetheless. Sly had practically launched himself at his old students, and despite his small size his hugs were almost as shell crushing as Sheo’s. They were all brought inside, and although the shop was small, no one minded, not even Quirrel and The Nailsmith. And when Sheo introduced the two to his old master, Oro and Mato whispered something in Sly’s ear that made him nod with understanding and a giddy smile, much to Sheo’s frustration.

“So… are any of you boys going to explain why Oro was trying to push Mato in here?” Sly asked after the conversation had been going on for a while.

“‘Cause he was too scared to walk in himself,” Oro said at once, earning him an elbow from Mato.

“I wasn’t scared! I was…” Mato tried to think of the right word before promptly giving up. “Okay so maybe I was a bit scared.”

“What would you be scared of your old man for?” Sly asked, but not without saying it in a teasing tone.

“I didn’t want you to see me until I had mastered your teachings, which I still don’t believe I have,” he admitted quietly. And before his brothers could say anything to reassure him of his skill, Sly spoke up.

“Oh, Mato,” Sly said, “that’s just how I know you truly have mastered my teachings.”

“What? How does-”

“I want to see what you can do with that nail,” Sly interrupted him. “Would you and Oro be a dear and show me?”

And show him they did. They found a place clear enough for them to spar, and their fight attracted the attention of more than just their master. It wasn’t much longer until a small crowd had formed to watch them, their new found audience growing invested in the two nailmasters. They cheered when each brother won, (some even threw some geo,) and what was supposed to be a quick match dragged on much longer. None one minded though, especially not the nailmasters. It was almost as if they had returned to their glory days.

It was when the match was called to a close and the crowd finally dispersed that the brothers explained that they were leaving Hallownest.

“Sheo and his boyfriends thought they could use a change of scenery,” Mato explained to Sly as Sheo, The Nailsmith, and Quirrel were out of earshot, laughing about a joke the others didn’t quite catch. “I think we could benefit from the same, so we’re going with them as well.” He twiddled his thumbs and looked away. “And well… I don’t want to split us all up, so…”

“Gods,” Oro rolled his eyes. “He’s trying to ask if you’d like to come with us,” he told Sly.

“Hmmm, I don’t know,” Sly pretended to have to consider it while Mato shot Oro a glare. When the small bug caught Mato’s nervous eye he laughed. “I’m just messing with you, of course I’ll come along! I’ve been out of wares for weeks now, and I’ve been itching to spend my geo on something big.”

—

“I’m really glad Master Sly is coming with us,” Mato said.

“Of course he’s coming,” Oro said, “did you really think he wouldn’t?”

“You can’t never be too sure,” Sheo said, though to be truthful he did agree with Oro.

The three brothers sat just outside Sly’s shop, enjoying the late night air. The others were inside asleep, and the silence of Dirthmouth felt comforting.

“There’s just one last bug we need to convince now,” Mato said.

Oro and Sheo looked at him. “Who?” Oro asked.

“Why, my child of course!” Mato grinned. “If we could just get them to come with us, why, our family would be complete! Just picture it! Living in a beautiful lake-side house, not too close to town but not too far to be isolated. Sheo painting the view from our porch outside, Master Sly sitting on a rocking chair, the smell of delicious food wafting out the windows as Quirrel and The Nailsmith prepare lunch, Oro and I sparring in the front, and lastly my child joining in with us as they finish playing in the water. It’s the perfect life, no?” As Mato concluded his vision he looked to his brothers for their thoughts, only to find that Sheo didn’t look too excited.

Mato’s smile fell. “Ah, no, nevermind then,” he said as he waved his hand dismissively. “Just a silly thought.”

“Wait, no, that’s great! Really!” Sheo quickly said.

“Then why are you making that face?”

“Oh, well, uh…” Sheo struggled for the right words. “It’s just… we have no idea where The Little One is! You know how they are, it seems like they travel across Hallownest in the blink of an eye. They could be anywhere!”

“Yeah, you’re right,” Mato thought for a moment. “Oh! We could stay here in Dirthmouth until they show up. Master Sly was saying they make visits here often enough.”

Sheo flinched. “But if we were to do that we might be waiting a while. You know how unpredictable they are. Who knows when they’d be back?”

“Are we… in a rush?” Oro chimed in. “I mean, I know you and your boyfriends are ready to go, but what’s the harm in waiting a bit for The Runt?”

“Well… no, there’s no real rush,” gods help him. “It’s just… maybe they would be better staying here? They are a child, perhaps their parents are somewhere near?”

“The kid hasn’t got any,” Oro said. “Mato told me he asked them and they shook their head no. I remember because it immediately followed a speech of him going on and on about how he was going to train to become ‘the best dad ever’ or something.” Oro gaze felt as if it pierced through Sheo’s soul. “What’s going on?”

“N-nothing,” Sheo stuttered.

“Oh wyrm no, something’s going on,” his gaze became sharper. “Come on, spill it.”

Sheo looked away and stared into the floor. “That’s not fair… you know I can’t lie.”

No brother spoke for a long moment.

“It really isn’t my story to tell,” Sheo said. “I don’t want to betray his trust.”

“Who’s?” Oro pressed.

“...Quirrel’s.”

Oro’s huff sounded annoyed, but when he spoke his tone was surprisingly understanding. “Alright, so you can’t tell us the specifics. That’s fine. What can you tell us?”

Sheo had to think over his words very carefully, hyper aware of Mato’s worried stare. “The Little One won’t come with us outside of the kingdom’s gates, no matter how much we ask them. They’ve found their place here in Hallownest, and… and we can’t take that from them.”

“Are you certain we can’t convince them?” Mato asked. What he really wanted to ask was if convincing was the real problem, but he was too scared to hear the answer, or worse, his brother’s silence.

“I’m positive. Sorry, Mato.”

Silence.

“Well, that sucks,” Oro said suddenly, “but if it can’t be helped, then it can’t be helped. At least The Runt found somewhere they belong. Let’s hope we can do the same.” Oro got up from where he was sitting with a big stretch. “Alright, I’m hitting the sack, we gotta wake up early right? You two coming?”

Sheo and Mato nodded, realizing rather suddenly how tired they were. And as they drifted off to sleep, Sheo couldn’t help but be incredibly grateful for what he had. Though The Little One might not be able to come with them to their new life, every bug that surrounded him would carry them in their hearts. What a generous bug The Little One was, Sheo only wished he had thanked them before they left.

Tomorrow would mark the beginning of a new life, one shared by every bug he holds dear. And as much as his heart ached to see The Little One one more time he refused to let that ache cripple him. Instead it would motivate him, give him strength to continue on, the strength for all of them to continue on.

After all, The Little One was dead, and Sheo was still alive.

They were all still alive.

Chapter Text

It was a long time on the road before they were able to find a place to settle in.

Quirrel’s journal, combined with the nailmasters’ memories of places they’d enjoyed visiting, had left the group with a long list of potential kingdoms to consider. They took their time going to each one, enjoying the journey as much as the destination, though there always seemed to be something that set them off to the next location in due time.

When they visited a kingdom well known for its flora, they became drawn to its similarities to Greenpath. It was a gardener’s paradise, from sun rays so pleasantly warm they could put anyone to sleep, to the most perfect weather that could grow seemingly any crop. But as the group spent more time in the kingdom, it became clear that the similarities were actually the negatives. It was as if they were returning to Greenpath, rather than leaving it. Though it seemed like the perfect place, it was crossed off the list.

When they visited a kingdom full of libraries and fine arts, Quirrel was in awe at the marvel of it all. It was like The City of Tears in a way, with towering buildings, a high population, and so much to learn. At first glance, this kingdom seemed perfect as well, but as they spent more time in it, it started to reveal its true colors. It turned out to be more similar to The City than Quirrel thought, in how so many of its bugs were of high class who looked down on those beneath them. The majority of the kingdom's wonders were reserved for those a part of this high class, so much so that Quirrel developed a distaste for the whole of the kingdom, and it too was crossed off the list.

When they visited a kingdom that prided itself on its nail arts and tournaments named Ironshell, Oro and Mato jumped at the opportunity of living in a place where exciting battles awaited just outside their doorstep. Surprisingly to them, the nailmasters of the group retained their reputation even after being away from the public for so long and were celebrated upon arrival. For a while, it seemed perfect for the nailmasters, though after an incident in which a warrior insulted Sheo for becoming a paintmaster, (a sentiment it was revealed the other nailmasters of the kingdom shared,) Mato was not only quick to put them in their place, but to angrily cross off the kingdom from their list as well.

There were many others, but they all went about the same. The place seemed perfect at first glance, only for it to disappoint once they lingered for a while longer.

When they visited Snowy Shore, Quirrel was sure they would end up crossing this kingdom off the list as well. As much as he loved the place, he couldn’t imagine anyone else in the group wanting to live there. The weather was cold, much colder than the winds of Kingdom’s Edge and far removed from the humid warmth of Greenpath. But to his surprise, this was the kingdom that had something that clicked with everyone.

Sheo found the way the snow shone in the light to be like nothing he had ever seen before. He was surprised to observe just how many colors could be found in something completely white. When they got The Nailsmith some thicker clothing, he found that the cold didn’t bother him as much as he thought it would, and he had never had an excuse to wear what felt like the softest blanket in the world outdoors. Sly observed the small kingdom had a lot of untapped business potential, so much so that he was already scheming about the best place a shop could be set up only after a day of looking around. Oro and Mato thought the cold air could bring a new challenge in their training, which while they attempted such, they always devolved into snowball fights. And Quirrel, of course, had already fallen in love with the kingdom long before, but it turned out the kingdom also had a surprisingly well-stocked library, to which his attachment only grew.

And so, Snowy Shore was where they stayed.

Thanks to Sly they were able to get a place that was able to house all six of them, and they made quick work into turning it into a home. While Oro and Mato fought over the room they both wanted, Sheo was the main one working on house decor. After not much time at all, the home was fully ready to live in.

—

“What in the world is an ice puck?” The Nailsmith asked.

“By the looks of things, it appears to be a frozen tiktik,” Quirrel said.

“This is no tiktik I’ve ever seen. Do they eat everything frozen over here?”

“I’m quite positive it’s to stop it from spoiling. But I will say, I would pay good geo to see you take a bite out of it as it is.”

The Nailsmith snickered as he picked up the item, “You’re a comedian.”

He and Quirrel had gone out to buy groceries, and they were having fun going through all the different types of food to be found in their new kingdom. Sly had joined them, though where he’d run off to neither of them knew. Despite the fact he was supposed to be retired, he insisted on ‘scouting out the competition' by taking note of the store’s prices.

“I’m sure I could get Mato to do it,” Quirrel said. “And if Mato does it, Oro’s bound to try to show him up.”

“They’d chip a tooth.”

“They’d call it a battle scar.”

Now they were both snickering.

By the time they were ready to leave, Sly had caught up with them, going on and on about potential business ventures that neither of them could really comprehend, but Sly seemed happy enough that they were listening.

“Now that’s a place I haven’t seen before,” Sly pointed out a building they were passing on their way home. “Why isn’t that cute!” And with a teasing tone, he added, “Seems like the perfect place for you two to take Sheo.”

Upon further inspection, the building was a cafe practically oozing an energy of ‘valentines day came early.’ The clay building was painted in various shades of pastel pinks, hearts, and flowers, complete with couples sitting both inside and outside of the establishment.

“I’m not sure a place like this is really his style,” Quirrel said quietly.

“My real question is why anyone is using the outdoor tables,” The Nailsmith muttered, suddenly finding his beard to be very interesting.

“Don’t look so scared,” Sly smiled. “I’m only half joking. But you boys really should go on a date sometime. With the house finally done, now's the time to enjoy yourselves!”

“I’m sure there’s still something left at the house that needs to be done,” Quirrel said as he avoided anyone’s eyes. “Such as… um… oh! Sheo’s garden! Yes, yes, we still have yet to come up with a way for him to have another garden in this cold place! I should really ask him what he’s looking for in a greenhouse.”

“That sounds like the perfect date idea!” Sly agreed with a nod. “How incredibly adorable flower shopping is.”

“Ah, well, you don’t have to call it that,” Quirrel muttered.

“You boys worry too much.”

“I think we worry the appropriate amount,” The Nailsmith said. “We’re finally at a place where we can begin to have normal lives again. I’m not too fond of making a fool of myself and ruining that now.”

“But you’ve made a fool of yourself with Quirrel, have you not? And that didn’t ruin anything between the two of you.”

The Nailsmith scoffed. Over the course of being on the road for so long, he and Quirrel had developed a certain kind of bond. Despite the fact that The Nailsmith was never great with words, Quirrel was always able to understand him, sometimes more than The Nailsmith wished. Over the trip they had confessed to each other, not with words, but with their actions. A hand hold here, an extra long embrace there, after so long it was clear as day but it was never said aloud, never spoken. They feared that saying the words would break the spell, would ruin what they had, so they never did. Maybe they were half in denial, maybe they were half afraid. Briefly, they glanced at each other only to immediately look away, their faces warm as ever.

Instinctually, they both agreed to pretend Sly hadn’t said anything.

“I wish Sheo was as perspective as you two,” Sly huffed. “For an artist, he sure isn’t great at picking up hints, but I don’t blame him for it. You should tell him rather than expect him to pick up on it.”

“There’s nothing to tell,” it seemed like it caused Quirrel a great deal of effort to say that.

Sly barked a laugh, “As if I’m going to buy that! Listen, you don’t have to answer this, but what exactly are you waiting on? Because if it’s for him to figure it out on his own, you’re going to be waiting the rest of your life.”

Neither of them said anything.

“Don’t make that face, you look like I just told you something died,” Sly said. “Why not you, oh I don’t know… take him out to lunch. Just lunch, and you two and figure out what to say from there.”

“Lunch isn’t very… romantic,” The Nailsmith said.

“I assure you, Sheo won’t mind.”

The house was before them now, and as Sly opened the door and announced their return, Quirrel and The Nailsmith only had a few seconds to recompose themselves.

—

“You mean you still haven’t said anything to them?” Mato asked, baffled as he shuffled the deck. “Really?”

“Yes, really.” Sheo insisted. “I don’t know how you haven’t realized that it’s absolutely terrifying to even think about doing so.”

“Well, I think you’re overthinking,” Oro said. “What could you possibly be worried about? Those two trip over themselves whenever you’re in the same room.”

“No, they don’t,” Sheo rolled his eyes as Mato began to deal the deck.

“Oh, they absolutely do!” Mato joined in. “The biggest mystery is how you don’t see it.”

Sheo groaned. “Look, can we just play the game?”

The three of them were supposed to be playing a card game while the others were out getting groceries, but as it always did when it came to his brothers, the conversation devolved into them teasing Sheo for having feelings.

“Sorry, sorry,” Mato said. “We’ll drop it.”

And they did. They had gotten better at that, knowing when to end their teasing. Sheo was immensely grateful.

“But do you really think so?” Sheo asked after a short stretch of gameplay. “Them feeling that way, I mean.”

“I thought you wanted us to drop it?” Oro said instead, feigning disinterest.

“Yes, I did.” Sheo placed a card and there was another small stretch of silence. “But perhaps there’s a way to test the waters so to say? Ease into it?”

“Are you trying to ask us for help?” Mato asked.

“Of course, I’m asking for help!” Sheo said. “If you two are so insistent that I tell them, well, I would love to hear some suggestions on how to do so!”

“Have you tried just talking to them?” Oro said with a smile as he played a handful of cards at once, making Mato stare with a furrowed brow. “You’re pretty good with words, don’t know why you’re doubting that now.”

“I second that,” Mato agreed, though a little strained now that he was losing and had to draw multiple cards before he could play again. “Aren’t you the one who always opts for verbal and clear communication?”

“I didn’t realize it would be like this,” Sheo admitted quietly. “I think I understand why bugs drop hints instead of saying these things aloud.”

“In any case, I’m not sure waiting around until you’re ‘ready’ is the way to go,” Mato shrugged. “Chances are, you’ll never feel ready, and you’ll be stuck waiting around forever.”

“Very encouraging, Mr. Downer,” Oro snickered.

“I’m serious,” Mato said. “You just have to do it.”

Two turns later, Mato played a card that made everyone switch their hands. And as Oro was making a fit over playing with such a stupid rule, Mato played his winning card, shouting the victory word.

“Put that one on the scoreboard, will you?” Mato said as he elbowed Oro smugly.

“That barely counts. You only won because it was my hand!”

“Yeah, I know.” Mato’s amusement only grew. “As if you didn’t pull the same trick three rounds ago.”

It was then that the brothers heard the front door open accompanied by Sly’s voice announcing their return. Sheo was glad that the attention was now directed toward packing the groceries away.

—

“Hey, um, Sheo?” Quirrel’s voice was strangely hesitant, The Nailsmith right behind him. “Would you like to grab something to eat? I know we just went out for groceries, but no one feels like cooking.”

It had been an hour or two since they had returned from the store. Sheo had slipped into his studio when they did. He thought some time alone painting would do him good, it had not. Instead of clearing his head of Mato’s words, it only magnified them. Sitting in silence left only his own thoughts for company, and he had barely added a single stroke to his painting because of that.

“Oh, sure,” he hoped his voice didn’t sound as squeaky as he thought it did. But if it did, neither of the two made a comment on it as they headed to put on their coats.

“Are the others not joining us?” Sheo asked as he noticed his brothers remained on the living room couch, still playing their card game and making no effort to get up.

“Nope!” Mato must’ve heard him because he answered the question for him, though he never looked up from his game. “Figured we’d have a lazy day today. Just bring us back something good.”

“And don’t let my food freeze over by the time you get back!” Oro called out right after.

“What about Sly?” Sheo could already feel a twinge of panic bubbling in his gut.

“Locked himself in his room,” Oro huffed in amusement. “Probably busy nerding out over one geo price differences.”

“Oh, alright,” and now the bubbling of panic had blossomed, but Sheo did his best to sound indifferent.

And so, it was only the three of them.

They decided to stop by a cafe they had been meaning to visit, though when they arrived it turned out that it was much too crowded to sit down, so they took their orders to go and decided to eat elsewhere.

It was Quirrel who suggested they go out to the lake.

“I just can’t stand busy cafes, you know?” Quirrel said when they were seated by the lake’s shimmering water, their shells in the snow. “I guess Monomon spoiled me in that way,” he added a little quieter.

“Spoil you?” This was one of the things the two loved about Quirrel recently. Whenever something reminded him of his past he would no longer keep it to himself. He would share it, and Sheo and The Nailsmith both loved to listen to him talk.

Quirrel nodded. It was a nod that the other two knew well, one of nostalgia and fondness. “Every year, we celebrated the day she met me. We called it our anniversary,” he added with a slight chuckle, as if calling it such a thing was absurd. “Though her schedule was constantly packed, she always made sure to clear enough time for us to go to the city and enjoy a night at a cafe. Thinking back, I think she might’ve tipped the owner of the shop so that they didn’t advertise our presence. In the midst of the busy bustling that was our lives, being in a place where we could sip a coffee together in contentment was like nothing else.”

“Only you would drink coffee that late,” The Nailsmith said playfully.

“Oh, you have no idea what it was like back at The Archives,” Quirrel chuckled back. “We drank so much caffeine, it would’ve been weirder if we hadn’t.”

A breeze passed through the air. The cold didn’t phase the warmth the three made by being together.

“Do you wonder what’s next for us?” The Nailsmith asked into the silence.

The two made a noise for him to continue. It was only slightly strange to hear him ask such a thing. He’d gotten better at speaking his thoughts aloud.

“After spending so much time hopping from place to place…” He reworded his sentence, “We were so focused on finding a home that now we have one I’m not sure what to do.” He thought he sounded silly saying this, but he spoke the words anyway.

Quirrel’s mouth quirked into a smile of understanding. “I know what you mean. I’m sure I’ll be content for a while, but I’ve never been great at staying in the same place for too long. I’m partly hoping that I’ll surprise myself by being able to settle for once, but I’ve been thinking about what I’ll do once I feel the itch to travel again.”

“I wonder if there’s anywhere you have yet to see,” The Nailsmith chuckled. “I wouldn’t be surprised if you’ve traveled the whole world by now.”

“That’s the thing with traveling, the more you explore the more you realize you have yet to see. There are still plenty of places I haven’t been to, but I’ve been wondering if I should close that chapter of my life. It’d be quite a poetic end to it, my last trip being to find our new home.”

“Would you call this the start of your third life?” Sheo asked. Quirrel liked to say he had lived two lives, one before the infection and one afterwards. It was his first life he had bid farewell to at the Blue Lake.

Quirrel’s smile grew. The light from the lake reflected off his teeth. “Yes, I think I would.”

There was another icy breeze.

“I think… I think I’ll start to sell my paintings.” Sheo said after a pause.

“We always said you should,” The Nailsmith said. “You’d be richer than Sly if you did.”

“The goal wouldn’t be for money,” Sheo added. “But I’ve been thinking. The whole point of art is to be shared with others who are willing. My paintings weren’t doing much of that hidden away in my hut. Maybe here I could change that.”

“I’m sure Sly would love to help you with your business venture,” Quirrel said.

“I’m sure he would, though I am a bit hesitant to ask for his help. I don’t need him trying to mark up my paintings for an extra profit.”

“He’d cut the earnings sixty-forty,” Quirrel joked. “With you getting the forty.”

“I’m not too sure I should sell my stuff just yet,” The Nailsmith said. “Don’t think I’d be comfortable with people paying for the quality I make now. But one day maybe, when I can make something besides vases and dishes.”

“I don’t think you have a long way to go,” Sheo told him.

“Maybe not.”

“But all of that is far off, we don’t have to fret about any of that now,” Quirrel said. “But I think that, perhaps, I can think of something next for us, something that could come sooner.”

“Cryptic as always,” The Nailsmith smiled, but he caught the hesitance in Quirrel’s voice.

“You know, when we first met, I thought I was a hindrance to you two. And I know that isn’t the case now,” Quirrel quickly added as he saw them open their mouths to object, “-but that’s what I used to think. I saw how you two… lived, it was beautiful. Your…” Love. “Your harmony, it was unspoken, yet so natural, you fell into it like a rhythm. And like a rhythm, I’ve found myself pulled into it as well. So enraptured by its sound that it plays uninterrupted in my mind.”

Sheo and The Nailsmith just stared blankly. There was a warmth spreading to their faces, and The Nailsmith twisted the ends of his beard with his hand.

“Sorry, I’m stalling,” Quirrel chuckled with warm embarrassment. “I’ve never been great at just saying what I mean.” He continued after a deep breath. “I want to try to speak that unspoken feeling. I… I want to say I love you both. I love you in a way that’s almost overwhelming.”

No spell was broken, if anything one was cast. It was one thing to know something and another to say it aloud. For a panicked moment, Quirrel thought he should backpedal and laugh it off. Try to save his dignity before the two had a chance to respond. Either they took a moment to find their voices, or the anticipation made the moment stretch out longer than it was.

“I love you too,” Sheo and The Nailsmith said it at the same time. Their voices sounded as if they were in awe, and quickly all three of them laughed at how silly they sounded. The laughter diffused the anxiety bubbling in their stomachs. What were they anxious about anyway? It was funny to think they were worried about such a thing as improbable as rejection.

They moved closer to each other, the cold air couldn’t touch them now. They finished their lunch in a giddy silence. And when they moved on to simply watch the light colors of blue, green, and pink reflect off the surface of the lake, The Nailsmith was filled with a sudden boldness. Before the feeling could dissipate, he reached towards Sheo and kissed him so suddenly it couldn’t be registered what had happened before he was upon Quirrel.

Kissing Quirrel seemed to amuse him greatly, as the moment he pulled away he went back in for another. “Your tongue,” the words were hard to form with his massive grin. He chuckled, “Now I really believe your story.”

“My story? What story?” Quirrel’s words came out quickly from his embarrassment.

“Your tongue has a scar,” The Nailsmith was holding back laughter now.

“No,” Quirrel said, disbelieving, before leaning to look into his reflection in the lake. Sure enough, when he stuck out his tongue into the cold air, he could see a line of a different color jagged across it, reflected back at him. He barked a laugh. “I didn’t think I actually-” his sentence was interrupted with his own laughter, “-I said that as a joke!”

“You mean you didn’t know?” Sheo was laughing now too, though a hand was placed delicately over his lips. “How?”

“Well, I don’t go around sticking my tongue out in front of mirrors!”

And when their laughter died down and they decided it was about time they headed back, they did so with their hands clasped together. And when they returned home with their hands held, Sheo only faintly feared his brother’s teasing.

“By the gods, finally,” Mato said at once. “You three were gone forever.” He never specified if the ‘finally’ was referring to them confessing, or to them coming back with food.

Oro did, though. “Food, now,” he said as he made grabby hands towards them. “Aw, it’s frozen!” he said as soon as he got his box.

“Just go heat it up,” Sheo said dismissively.

—

Three weeks later, Sheo went to Sly with his business idea. He knew nothing of owning a business, and he wanted some guidance.

“Now that sounds profitable!” Sly jumped at the idea. “Heh, and here I was thinking I’d set up a general goods store,” he laughed. “Each one of your paintings are easily worth many thousand geo, and I’m sure we could sell them for many million.”

“That’s way too much!” Sheo said at once. “I wouldn’t want to be given that much geo for a single painting.”

“There’s no need to be humble. Bugs would be more than happy to buy whatever price you want to slap on them.”

“I don’t want it to be about profit, I want it to be about sharing my art. Keeping my paintings hoarded away takes away half the point of the art.”

“Which is?”

“If art is about self-expression, what good is it if no one sees it?”

“Then what’s stopping you from giving them away for free?”

“I know my talents are worth some payment,” Sheo huffed.

“I’m joking,” Sly laughed. “Here, we can go over your prices now.”

–

Before Sheo’s store was to open, he asked The Nailsmith if he wanted to sell his sculptures. It was a cozy shop in the middle of town, with flowers by the windows and hung around the ceiling. Just a few finishing touches were to be made, and The Nailsmith was with Sheo to help.

“I really don’t think my stuff is good enough to sell,” The Nailsmith said as he helped Sheo open up a box. Sly had paid a carrier a good fortune to deliver the paintings from Sheo’s old hut all the way here. Sheo had freaked out over the cost of it all when Sly told him, but Sly assured him that it was a good investment and that, no, Sheo didn’t have to pay him back.

“I think that’s nonsense,” Sheo huffed as dust flew into his face. “You’ve gotten really good at your craft. Honestly, you’re better than I am.”

“Don’t fan my ego,” The Nailsmith said.

“I’m being truthful,” he insisted. “I’ve told you before that sculpting wasn’t my strong suit.”

“You were still better than me.”

“Were,” Sheo said. “That’s the key word there.”

The Nailsmith just rolled his eyes as they began to unpack the paintings. They sorted them into three piles, one to put on display, one to put into storage, and one to take back home. Sheo found the painting he made of him, The Nailsmith, Quirrel, and The Knight sharing a meal together, while The Nailsmith found the paintings The Knight had made. Those found their way into the last pile, to be hung in the living room.

When it was time for them to take a lunch break, Sheo continued to try and convince The Nailsmith. “See, I think your sculptures would look great on a shelf that circles around the whole shop,” he said. “My paintings would go on the wall, and your sculptures would be right underneath. We could organize everything by color too. The cool colors over there and the warm colors closer to here. Or maybe we should bring the warm colors to the front. It would catch the eye more, wouldn’t it? With all the white and blue outside?”

“Whatever you say, big guy,” The Nailsmith shrugged as he took a bite of his sandwich.

“Hey, I want to show you something,” Sheo said with a light elbow as he took out a small sketchbook. Quirrel had bought it for him after spending the day at the bookstore. He had said he could use it like a visual journal, sketch out ideas for paintings before he forgot them. It’d been put to good use, and Sheo flipped through a good section of it before he got to the page he wanted.

He showed it to The Nailsmith, and he saw that it was a sketch of the sign Sheo wanted to hang on his shop. In big letters, it read: The Paintmaster and The Nailsmith’s Greenhouse.”

“Greenhouse?” The Nailsmith read over it again to make sure he read it right. “You’re not selling the display flowers, are you?”

“Well, I thought it could be a sort of metaphor,” Sheo’s face grew warm with embarrassment. “Though, I see how it could get confusing for customers. I guess I should call it something else.” He began to put the sketchbook away before The Nailsmith held out a hand to stop it from closing.

“At least tell me what the metaphor is before you throw it out.”

“I thought it could be like, the seeds we sow are our ideas for paintings and sculptures, and when we make them we’re watering them and weeding out the imperfections. So, when we put them on display they’re beautiful flowers that have bloomed and are waiting to be sold to brighten up someone else’s garden… the garden being someone’s home, or something like that.” Sheo laughed. “I think it would sound better if Quirrel were to say it.”

“I think you said it perfectly,” The Nailsmith said. “You should keep the name. The Paintmaster’s Greenhouse sounds pleasant.”

“I don’t want it to just be my greenhouse. Your flowers should be displayed as well.”

The Nailsmith was quiet for a moment. He stared at the sign Sheo had sketched out in messy charcoal where his title, no, his name, was written.

“It sounds weird doesn’t it?” he asked hesitantly. “For a nailsmith to be selling sculptures?”

“I don’t think so.”

“It’s just… it’d be confusing I think.”

“We could always come up with a better name.”

“I think…” The Nailsmith considered his words. “Do you think you could write down Claysmith instead?”

Without question, Sheo started to sketch. It only took him a minute or two to do so, and it was always a pleasure to watch him work. When it was done the sign read: The Paintmaster and The Claysmith’s Greenhouse, and The Nailsmith smiled widely.

“That’s perfect.”

—

After being settled in Snowy Shore for over a year, Quirrel started to get antsy.

He tried to hide it, but it was clear to Sheo and The Claysmith. If there were chores that needed to be done, he was the one who was first to volunteer. If there was something that needed to be picked up, Quirrel had already put on his coat. And if there was nothing that needed to be done, then he would often be out on long walks, and he wouldn’t come back until he was completely chilled.

“There’s nothing wrong with wanting to travel again,” Sheo said as he painted.

“But it’s not the same as before,” Quirrel paced. It was different now, with a home to come back to, he hadn’t had that pressure to return to someplace before. He had no memory of Hallownest then, nothing to get homesick thinking about. He used to not understand when travelers did feel such sickness, confessing over firelight that they missed their homes more than they realized. Quirrel was scared of that happening to him, of laying in a makeshift bed unable to sleep without the warmth of his partners. He was scared of seeing all of the beautiful sights the world had to offer without The Claysmith’s playful jabs or Sheo’s artistic awe. “I’ll miss you,” is all he could say of it aloud.

“You won’t be gone forever,” The Claysmith said.

“I’m afraid it might feel like forever,” he muttered.

“But you haven’t been feeling great cooped up in here, have you?” Sheo observed as he painted another stroke. “I’ve noticed you’re always moving, even now you’re tapping your foot.”

At the mention of it, Quirrel stopped, but it only made him feel worse so he started again. “Is it bad that I want to go?”

“I don’t think so,” Sheo said with certainty. “You’ve been a traveler for a whole life. Don’t think you have to find shame in that now.”

“You’ll stay here if I go,” it was a statement, there was no persuading them to join him. Unlike him, they knew how to settle, how to make a life for themselves. They started a business, one that’s already become popular in the small town. More importantly, it was a business they loved to run. As much as they had enjoyed the traveling and sightseeing they had been through as they looked for a new home, they weren’t travelers like Quirrel was. They wanted to stay here, not tough it out in the unmapped regions of kingdoms.

“I think you should do it,” The Claysmith said after a pause. “Go out and do your sightseeing, and when you get homesick come back home. I don’t think there’s much of an issue with that.”

But even with his partners’ encouragement, Quirrel was still hesitant.

—

It was a clear day when Mato and Oro sparred out in the snow. Sheo had taken a break from his paintings to watch them, and Sly sat next to him to get some fresh air. They had both long surpassed Sheo as nailsages, that much was clear from how much trouble he had following their movements. The snow was tossed and flung in all different directions, enhancing the beauty of the nail arts.

“You boys ought to be charging for a show like that,” Sly clapped as the sparring ended for the two to take a break.

“No one in this quiet place would pay to see us,” Oro said after chugging some water.

“They might,” Sly said. “We would make a proper arena, put up some advertisements, and let the bugs bet on the winner.”

“I don’t want to contribute to anyone’s gambling addiction,” Mato said.

Sly snickered, “That was the main attraction to tournaments, and you had no problem fighting in those.”

“Wait, really?” Mato gawked, and Oro smacked the back of his brother’s head for his ignorance.

“Yes, really,” he said. “Where did you think all our prize money came from?”

“The ticket sales?” Mato said, stunned.

“I think it’s about time you two got back into the scene,” Sly changed the subject to stop Oro’s teasing. “You’ve had your mysterious absence after a hearty career, there’ve already been many rumors of your return, and now just when bugs begin to think those rumors were false, you surprise the world with your grand return!”

“I don’t know,” after what happened in Ironshell, Mato was hesitant to return to the public eye. “We got a taste of that on the road. It soured quickly.”

“I still think you overreacted, but I appreciate you standing up for me,” Sheo smiled. “I don’t care what the nailmasters of today have to say about me.”

“But if they say something out of pocket we’ll still kick their shells,” Oro chimed in.

“Sure, sure, but don’t let a few insults stop you from what you want to do,” Sheo said. “I think tournaments would be great for you two. You both had a lot of fun in Ironshell, you shouldn’t let one argument ruin the whole kingdom for you.”

“Yeah, what was the point of all this training if I only use it against you?” Oro said as he poked his brother.

“Okay,” Mato playfully swatted his hand away. “I’ll see if there are any tournaments coming up.”

—

It didn’t take much deliberation for the nailsages to fully commit to competing again. They decided to start small, in a kingdom just a two days travel from Snowy Shore. It wouldn’t be the grand return Sly had joked about, but it would be a return nonetheless.

Sheo had helped them decide where they wanted to go, and Quirrel had wandered into the discussion as well after seeing them all huddled in the living room. Maps laid across the table, and as Sheo’s brothers collected them and said goodnight to the others, Sheo smiled at Quirrel.

“You should go with them,” he said.

“What?” Quirrel stared. “No, I can’t do that.”

“Why not?”

Quirrel let out an amused huff, “I’m not about to fight in a tournament.”

“That’s not all there is to do there. You should know,” Sheo smiled again. “I think you specifically mentioned a grand ice sculpture you had a fond memory of.”

“Shut up,” he said playfully. He always felt silly after realizing how long he’d gushed about places he visited.

“And don’t tell my brothers this,” Sheo started as he leaned in closer, whispering, “-but I think they’ll need some supervision.”

They chuckled at this.

“...I feel like I should stay,” Quirrel said when the laughter died down.

“Why?”

“Because that’s what couples do, don’t they? Bugs go out into the world to find their better halves, and when they do they make a home for themselves and they settle. They don’t separate just so one of them can go across the world for fun.”

“Why do you feel as if you have to settle? No matter how far you travel, you’ll always come back here when you’re done. It’s not as if this place will no longer be your home if you wander too far. Claysmith and I like the routine of a normal life, you like the thrill of discovery. In the same way you wouldn’t force us to follow you onto the road, we won’t force you to stay indoors.”

“So, it’s fine if I want to leave?”

Sheo pulled him in close and placed a reassuring kiss on his forehead. “Of course,” he assured, his warmth erasing all of his worries.

—

On the day that the nailsages were to leave, Quirrel was with them to make sure they had packed all they needed. He was giddy with excitement, possibly more so than the brothers. Honestly, Quirrel had feared that the two wouldn’t want him to tag along on their trip, but when he asked to join they agreed instantly, ecstatic to show him what they were like in a real battle.

Sheo made sure to cook them a hearty breakfast before their journey, which they all ate together as a family. Despite the early morning fog, the house was lively with jokes and conversation.

As the plates were cleared and the brothers were dawning their heavy coats, Sheo and The Claysmith stopped Quirrel to tell him they had something to give him. Sheo insisted that he go first, since he thought he wouldn’t be able to top The Claysmith’s gift.

He handed Quirrel a sketchbook, one not so unlike the one Quirrel had gotten him. On the cover, he had painted Snowy Shore’s famous lake, and on the inside a note of sweet nothings to remind Quirrel of Sheo’s love when they were apart. “You can use it to sketch out all the sights we’ll be missing out on,” Sheo said. “So when you get back I can try to paint them from your descriptions.”

As soon as it reached his hands, the sketchbook became one of Quirrel’s most prized possessions, right next to his journal. With his gift given, Sheo encouragingly pushed The Claysmith forward who was having trouble meeting Quirrel’s eyes. Quirrel only just noticed the long box he held in his hands.

“I’ve been making this for a while,” his voice muffled from his beard. “I was working on it in the back of the shop so I could keep it a surprise. I ended up finishing it just in time.” He held out the box. It was nothing special, not wrapped or anything, but it made Quirrel freeze. Full of hesitant excitement, he slowly lifted the lid.

He felt such a sudden and strong flash of emotion the breath was knocked from his lungs and for a moment he thought he’d been struck. It was a nail, one so beautiful he couldn’t tear his eyes away from it. It had a similar shape to his old nail, long and slender with an almost star shape to its handle. Though its swirls and patterns were distinctly The Claysmith’s, with defined grooves that could be clearly seen, much more intricate than Quirrel thought was possible. He hesitated to touch it, and when he found the courage to pick it up it fit his grip so perfectly it was as if he wasn’t gripping anything at all. It was an extension of him, so beautifully made he couldn’t help but be in awe.

“This must’ve taken an eternity,” his voice was breathy.

“Nothing I’m not used to,” The Claysmith smoothed out his beard.

Quirrel brought The Claysmith into an embrace so sudden and firm that it rivaled Sheo’s hugs and made him drop the empty box. Though caught off guard, he returned the hug with just as much emotion, and Sheo joined in as well, everyone basking in each other's warmth.

The brothers waited until they pulled away to tell Quirrel it was time to go. With his new gifts, it felt as if he wouldn’t be leaving his partners at all. They would be traveling alongside him, always within reach.

—

A toast was cheered at the dinner table. Warmth and laughter filled the house.

Quirrel and the nailsages have been gone and back multiple times now, and tonight they returned after their longest trip in a while. While the nailsages shared stories of their battles, (often insisting that Quirrel back up their claims with his first-hand accounts,) Quirrel shared the stories of the sights they’d seen and bugs they had met.

They played board games after dinner, and laughed loudly when a particular game of charades caused Oro to trip and fall over his cloak. It wasn’t until the early hours of the morning passed that they decided to pack it out for the night, promising to go out and do something fun when they woke up.

And when Sheo lay beside his partners, he was filled with such an overwhelming feeling of affection that he brought them closer to his chest, such a feeling of love that he kissed their foreheads tenderly, and such a feeling of content that he was washed in complete peace.

Though The Claysmith was fast asleep, Quirrel sturred just slightly enough to return the feeling with a slow, sleepy kiss.

“I know,” he drowsily rested his head back on Sheo’s chest. “I love you too.”

Chapter Text

The peak of a nailmaster’s career is always right after a tournament is won. The rush of adrenaline as you land the final blow, the shout of the referee as they declare your opponent unable to battle, the roars and cheers coming from the crowd as they applaud your victory, showering you with geo and treasures, it’s a feeling like no other.

“Hey, Sheo!” Mato attracted his brother’s attention with a muffled shout, his mouth full of food. “Watch how many of these I can eat at once!”

And of course, who could forget being given free food and gifts as they walk about the kingdom? The nailmasters were being treated like kings. At every turn there were bugs flattering them, telling them how amazing they looked in the area, and trying to get them to sign anything and everything that could be signed.

Mato was taking full advantage of the food. Every stall they passed he was being given free samples so big they were nothing less than full-course meals. At present, he was trying to see how many samples he could eat in one bite, and Oro was right behind him.

“That’s nothing!” Oro scoffed as his brother shoved his mouth full. “Sheo, watch how a real nailmaster eats!” Oro said before attempting to shove his mouth even fuller than his brother.

Beside them, their master was attempting to hold back a laugh as a small crowd began to form to watch the brothers duel. Sheo would’ve laughed too if it were not for the voice of a distressed bug he caught in the midst of all the excitement.

“Hey wait! Stop!” is all he could hear before deeper voices began speaking over the voice.

“Why, you’re a pretty one, aren’t ya?” someone said, Sheo strained to pick up where it was coming from.

“Yeah,” someone else agreed. “They’re quite a sight.”

There. Sheo saw figures cornering a poor bug away from the crowds of the market. He cast a glance at his brothers and master, all equally occupied, before deciding that he wouldn’t disturb them with something like this. Sheo slipped away unnoticed and went after them on his own.

He followed them into an alleyway. The noise from the market masked their wrongdoings, as well as Sheo’s footsteps. None of the individuals who were harassing the bug noticed Sheo towering behind them, not even as he drew his nail.

“Look at me when I’m talking to ya, doll,” one of them demanded. “There ain’t nothin’ behind me that’ll-” the bug glanced behind him, only to find Sheo looking down on him and his group with an unforgiving stare.

“What the hell!?” The bug jolted, drawing his weapon in an instant and pointing at Sheo. His friends did the same, all snarling at him with a sharp glare. Though caught off guard, the bug regained his composure just as quickly as he had lost it. Sheo’s appearance didn’t seem to scare him one bit. “Well, look at the big guy all high and mighty. You here to play hero or what?”

“I’m here to ask you let that bug go,” Sheo’s voice was calm and steady.

“Or what? You realize it’s five to one? And let me assure ya we ain’t no amateurs.” This bug seemed to be the leader, the other four just mirroring his confidence. A gang perhaps? Thugs? Some kind of troublesome group.

“I can see as such,” Sheo’s voice wasn’t threatening or intimidating, he spoke as if he were stating simple facts. “I’ll ask again that you let that bug go. I will not ask a third time.”

The leader of the group huffed in amusement. “Alright, big shot… we’ll play.” He turned to his buddy standing next to him. “Make sure our prize back there don’t get hurt-”

He couldn’t finish his sentence before Sheo’s nail was directed at his throat. The movement was so swift and fluid that all anyone heard was the swish of air being cut.

“I said I would not ask a third time.” Did these bugs really think Sheo was dumb enough to let them turn this into a hostage situation? It was insulting.

“W-why you-!” While their leader was stunned for words, one of the bugs charged at Sheo. Easily he blocked the hit with his nail and a second later he had them launched into the nearest wall.

That triggered something in the group, and at once they all charged at Sheo, their “prize” forgotten. Even all at once, it wasn’t hard for Sheo to keep up with their movements. Moments later and they were all unable to fight, their bodies lay along the ground as they groaned in pain.

“Sorry about that,” Sheo said to the bug the group had harassed, who had pressed themselves against the wall. “I tried to settle this without violence, but obviously that didn’t work.” He sheathed his weapon and gave the bug a smile as he held out a welcoming hand. “Let’s get you out of here, huh?”

It wasn’t until the bug, which Sheo had learned was named Quinn, was walked all the way home that Sheo began to return to his brothers. Though they had noticed he was gone, none of them had worried too much about him. And when he explained why he was gone for so long, Mato only teased him.

“Show off much?” he said. “Didn’t even think to call us for backup?”

“Oh please,” Oro rolled his eyes. “It would’ve been a waste of time. Sheo clearly handled himself.”

And it was thought that was the end of that. Sheo saved a bug from some ruffians, and then continued to enjoy their night out at the market.

Three days of celebration later, and it was time for the brothers and their master to begin their journey to the next kingdom to fight in its upcoming tournament. The kingdom’s residents had grown a liking to the brothers, and so they were being sent on their way by a crowd of fans all rushing to say their goodbyes and give them gifts as they tried to make their way towards the stag station, (or at least, this kingdom’s form of one. These transportation bugs weren’t stags per se, but no one in the group really knew what they were.)

Mato and Sheo tried their best to say their goodbyes to everyone, as fruitless as that was, while their master simply waved and Oro pretended he didn’t hear the tens of bugs calling his name. And when Oro called out to his brothers to hurry up before the stag left them behind, a voice stuck out from the crowd to Sheo.

The bug was hard to spot in the sea of people, but they raised their hand as high as they could, shouting Sheo’s name as loud as they were able. When his eyes finally did land on them, he saw that it was a familiar face.

“Ah, Quinn!” Sheo called out to them, (Sheo always prided himself on how well he could remember names,) and since the crowd wasn’t a mindless mob it parted and left enough room for the two to interact.

“Oh, thank goodness, I thought I might’ve been too late,” Quinn said, and without any further explanation brought a gift up to Sheo that was hidden under their cloak. “H-here! I want you to take this! For helping me the other day!”

“Wow,” he’d never seen one before, but he knew what it was as soon as it was brought into the light. Quinn was holding a delicate flower, displayed in a small glass dome, up to Sheo’s face. It was such a beautiful thing, he swore time froze for a moment as he stared at it. “Is this what I think it is?”

Quinn nodded. “A delicate flower. Please take it! I… uh… don’t have much else to show my appreciation with.”

He was touched by the gesture, he really was, but that didn’t stop the obvious from glaring him in the face. The crowds surrounding him, his master calling him to the stag, the heavy nail on his back…

“I’m sorry, but I can’t take this from you,” Sheo told them. “With it being so fragile there’s no way I’d be able to keep it in one piece. It’d get destroyed as soon as I got on the stag.”

“Oh, right,” Quinn deflated, then quickly said “-but I have to repay you somehow! Just wait a moment, I should have something-” Sheo stopped them when he noticed they were taking out their wallet.

“It’s alright, really! Keep your geo!” Sheo quickly said. “You don’t have to repay me, I’m just glad you can consider me a friend.”

“Sheo!” Oro’s irritated voice cut through the crowd like a nail. “If you don’t get your big shell over here right now-!”

“Ah, I really must be going,” Sheo said to Quinn. “Oh, but perhaps there is one thing you can do for me.”

Quinn looked at him expectantly as he crouched to their eye level.

“Stay safe.”

And with that, Sheo called out to his brothers that he was on his way, and said apologizes to the bugs in the crowd who still wanted to speak to him. When he hopped on the stag and it began to move, everyone was looking at him.

“...What?” he asked.

“You were taking your time,” Mato said as he moved to Sheo’s side with a grin. “What were you and that bug talking about?”

“Oh, that was Quinn,” he said, (as if they hadn’t known who he was talking to already.) “They wanted to give me a thank you present. I had to tell them I couldn’t accept a delicate flower from them.”

“Wait, they were handing you a delicate flower?” Mato’s smile fell into disbelief. “Why didn’t you take it?”

“Considering the fact that we are currently riding a stag,I didn’t think the flower would last very long.”

His brothers (and even his master) were looking at him as if he had said something absurd.

“What? Aren’t stag rides enough to destroy a delicate flower? Or am I wrong about that?” Sheo asked.

“Hold on,” Oro said. “What happened after you said you couldn’t take it?”

“Quinn tried to give me geo instead, and I stopped them from doing that as well. I just told them to stay safe and then I got on the stag.”

More silence.

“...I feel like I’m missing something.”

Suddenly, everyone burst out laughing. It wasn’t until they regained their composure that Sheo learned what exactly he was missing. His brothers insisted that Quinn was trying to show that they liked him. Mato’s exact wording had been, “Come on man! You were their knight in pale armor! They probably fell in love with your goofy face on the spot!” And even though Sheo insisted that they were just trying to show their appreciation, the teasing didn’t end until well into the stag ride.

—

Perhaps the second greatest thrill of a nailmaster’s career is when they’re involved in a high-stakes battle.
There was never a shortage of tournaments to take part in, it was the most common form of entertainment shared equally by nearly every kingdom, no matter how different they may be. And so, Sheo and his group arrived in the next kingdom after a multi-day-long trip.

When the tournament began he and his brothers got through the first two matches without much trouble. Sheo had begun to notice that team battles weren’t a strong suit for other bugs. Nailmasters rarely fought in teams, and so even though the numbers were evenly matched, three versus three, the other team’s communication quickly fell apart as each bug rushed to do their own thing. It wasn’t as if they were unskilled, they all would have certainly been difficult fights if it were one on one, but their teamwork was… well, frankly it was embarrassing.

But the third match was the first one where Sheo feared he and his brothers may lose. Their opponents were slim and agile. They flew quickly and were able to dodge the brothers’ more powerful attacks. He could feel the anticipation of the crowd as they realized the brothers were losing.

“The bigger they are, the harder they fall,” one of his opponents taunted as she knocked Sheo down with a strike to the back of his knee. He wasn’t down for more than a split second, as he got back up just in time to narrowly avoid a nasty blow. His opponent seemed to be impressed by this, “Huh, but you’re mighty quick for your size ain’t ya? What’s your name?”

She was a dragonfly, her shell painted with colors so vibrant and intricate it was almost distracting. Sheo didn’t respond to her question though, he only lunged at her again. She dodged it.

“Not in the mood to talk?” she asked, getting a few quick swipes in before she backed off. “That’s alright, I can handle a one-sided conversation.”

“I can’t see why you’d ask me for my name,” Sheo said as he tried to get another blow in. “You could hear it rather clearly when it was announced.”

“Ah! So you do speak!” She was avoiding his attack as if it were effortless, and Sheo knew that if he let her taunting get to him it would only frustrate him and make it even easier for her to dodge. “I had to make sure. You wouldn’t believe all the silent types I’ve run into here.”

Sheo gritted his teeth as she landed a scratch on his shell. Her attacks weren’t devastating, but if he kept getting hit they would quickly begin to add up. “I can’t say I don’t see where they’re coming from. This isn’t the best time to start up a conversation.”

“I’m talkative, what can I say?” she shrugged. “Besides, how can I be expected to hold my tongue when a thing as handsome as you is right in front of me?”

In any other situation, Sheo might’ve been flattered, maybe even embarrassed by that comment. But the adrenaline rush of battle overpowered every other feeling. Eventually, he and his brothers were able to turn the tides by cornering their opponents in one spot as Oro hit them all with a dash slash before they had a chance to move away. Even when the battle was over and Sheo and his brothers were declared the winner, the dragonfly had not stopped staring at Sheo as if they were still in the middle of combat. And when they were all sent to the resting room, Sheo thought he’d better speak to her.

“I apologize if I came off as rude during our match,” he approached her while she was resting on a bench with her teammates. “It’s just that it’s hard for me to talk and fight at the same time. Though, I suppose that was your intention, wasn’t it?”

“Part of it,” the dragonfly smiled, and her teammates were watching the interaction with great interest. “It’s kinda our thing to distract our opponents when we fight them, get them all riled up and frustrated with themselves until they can’t swing their nail right, but nothing I said was hollow.” Her smile grew. “We were your last match for the day, right? How would you like to hang out with us for a bit? We’re not salty about the loss, and we know this kingdom quite well. What about it?”

Sheo couldn’t even consider it before Oro was calling him over, and he quickly declined. “Sorry, but my brothers already had some spots they wanted to hit today.”

“That’s alright. Just let me know if you change your mind.”

When Sheo returned to his brothers and they reunited with their master, they all told him about the match. According to his brothers, the other two opponents weren’t nearly as playful with their jabs as the dragonfly was. They both said they were horribly insulted and mocked. Mato said Oro lost his cool five different times, which Oro insisted was an over-exaggeration.

“The dragonfly didn’t say anything like that to me,” Sheo told them.

“Oh, I know,” Oro said. “She was talking so loud I thought the audience could hear her gushing over you.”

“Gushing?” Sheo stared at him, puzzled. “She was taunting me.”

“More like flirting,” Mato chimed in. “She called you handsome, my opponent called me the opposite.”

And thus more teasing began, even their master laughed at some of the jokes. And yet again, Sheo couldn’t get them to stop until well into the night.

—

Quirrel often found himself in the company of friendly strangers whenever he traveled. It was one of his favorite parts of traveling. There’s nothing quite like the rush of coming across a friendly face on a deserted road. He’d always found it easy to connect with fellow travelers, and always relished in the temporary company they offered. He never stuck around any of them for more than a few days, but that only made each encounter more memorable.

Today he had found himself sitting by a fire in a cave, with three strangers enjoying its warmth as well. Somehow, they had all run into each other on an unforgiving road, and had decided to stick together to watch each other's backs. Now they rested in a rocky shelter for the night, sharing a stew everyone had a hand in making. It was delicious, especially to their growling stomachs, and nothing brings people closer than good food.

That night, everyone felt talkative, even the more reserved bugs of the group. They went around in a circle sharing their stories. One was a fierce nailmaster on their way to their next tournament, another was a traveling merchant selling goods from kingdoms away. Everyone had a story to tell and a reason that they were here. Everyone except for Quirrel.

He was the last to speak, and when it was his turn he found that he didn’t have much to say about himself other than his name and that he was a traveler. Not only did this embarrass him in front of his new friends, but it also perplexed him. He found that he couldn’t even recall the name of his home kingdom, which actually frightened him, though he made sure to not let the others catch on to that feeling. Just what kind of bug forgets where they came from?

He had nothing to share about his past, not even what made him want to begin traveling in the first place. He’d always been drawn to uncharted places… right? That was the reason he became a traveler, wasn’t it? To explore the unexplored? To discover the undiscovered? Or was that something he found he enjoyed afterwards ? He did love traveling, he knew that much to be true. He loved to travel and to get lost just so he could find himself again, so much so that he can’t stay in the same place for too long without getting antsy, but still, there's a fog that overcomes his mind when he tries to think back.

There’s a few glimpses… a light mint green color… text bubbling in acid… an impending feeling of doom… an overwhelming feeling he can’t quite label, making him feel like he has to make someone proud… but in the end, it’s all drowned out by wind. Wind blowing so loud it clouds all of his senses.

He feels like he’s lived a whole life before now, and yet, he can’t remember it.

Perhaps he should be grateful?

After Quirrel had gone quiet, the group decided to continue on with the conversation. As he zoned back into reality he found that everyone was laughing loudly at a joke he didn’t catch. Normally, he would’ve joined back in, cracked a few jokes himself, and started up a conversation asking for recommendations of where he should visit next, but for the first time in what felt like his whole life, he didn’t feel very sociable.

When night fell and the cave was filled with snores, Quirrel was wide awake. Knowing he wouldn’t be sleeping anyway, he had volunteered to watch the fire, and so he was alone with his thoughts with nothing but the flames licking in front of him to keep him company.

He reached on top of his head and took off the mask he had always worn. He realized for the first time that he didn’t know why he carried it. It had weight to it, and even though he couldn’t see them in the dim firelight, he could feel the intricate indents and patterns carved into it with his fingers. It felt important, so important that the thought of even setting it down for even a moment frightened the shell off of him, so important that staring into it he thought he was on the verge of remembering something… something his subconscious had never forgotten.

He stared into the mask.

The face… it’s so familiar…

But he can’t put a name to it.

—

“Mato, this is a hot spring, not a kiddie pool,” Oro’s deep voice warned. “Stop splashing me.”

“Make me,” Mato teased as he kept splashing the water. For a moment, it seemed like Oro might actually keep his composure and ignore his brother for once, but that immediately fell apart when Mato splashed a little too hard and a good helping of soul-infused water landed right in Oro’s eye. Mato’s hasty apology was immediately cut short as a full-on war began between the two brothers, while Sheo and Sly had front-row seats to the show.

Visiting hot springs was something that the brothers commonly did after a day full of training, or long traveling, or a tournament, so basically they were at a hot spring any night they were close to one. Today had been the day of a well-fought tournament. The brothers had unfortunately lost, but the battle was so intense that everyone, (well, everyone decides Oro,) had agreed that it was still a cause for celebration.

And what better way to celebrate than to have a water fight with Oro? As much as he grumps and grouches about how childish it is, Mato knows for a fact Oro enjoys it. He gets even more into it than he does sometimes, and right now might be one of those times.

“Alright, alright! Mercy! Mercy!” Mato pleaded as he used his hands to try and shield himself from the tidal wave of water being splashed at him. “I surrender!” he said, though to be honest, it was more of a cough as he swore he had swallowed gallons of bath water over the course of their fight.

“I take no prisoners!” Oro shouted, and his splashing didn’t relent a bit. It wasn’t until a few minutes later that Sly decided to step in and declare Oro the winner, which made Oro a lot happier than he would ever admit aloud. But now that the brothers’ battle had been concluded, everyone started to realize just how late it was getting. The hot springs were silent now, since everyone else had left after it had become clear Oro and Mato’s water fight was disturbing the peaceful atmosphere, and now the only sound was the echoing of running water.

“Alright boys,” Sly broke the silence. “I’m going to turn in for the night. Are you all staying?”

“I’ll go with you, master,” Oro said. The fight tired him out, and now that the adrenaline wore out he looked like he was about to fall asleep in the springs.

“I want to stay a bit longer,” Mato said. He looked over at his brother, “Sheo?”

“...I’m going to stay as well,” it seemed like he had to think about his response first.

Once the other two were gone, Mato did an exaggerated stretch and put an arm around Sheo’s shoulder. “Man, I don’t ever want to get up,” he said after allowing there to be a moment of comfortable silence. “The water’s so perfect. Would it be so bad if I were to spend the night in here?”

“You would drown,” Sheo said quietly.

“Maybe some other bug would, but not me,” Mato said. “Nope, I’d spread my arms out real wide and float perfectly along the water. And then I’d wake up fully rejuvenated and feeling like a million geo.”

Sheo’s laugh was nothing more than a sharp exhale, “Ah, of course.”

Mato started at his brother. “Do you want to get out? You look tired.”

“Hm?” It took Sheo a moment to process the question. “Oh, no. Well, I am feeling a bit tired, but I’d like to stay up.” There was a pause. “It’s just… hmm… I’ve had a lot on my mind recently, and this is a great place for me to think.”

“Oh, what are you thinking about?” Mato asked.

Immediately, Sheo began to grow nervous. “Well uh, I’m not sure if… I’m not sure if you’d want to know.”

“Well, now I definitely do want to know,” Mato’s interest peaked. After a thoughtful pause, he asked, “You got a crush on a girl?”

“W-what? No!”

“On a boy?”

“No!”

“... Nonbinary?”

“No! No! No!” Sheo shouted. “There’s no crush!”

“Really?” Mato's enthusiasm for teasing waned. “What’s up?”

Sheo took a moment before responding. “The match we lost today… how did you feel when we were fighting it?”

Strange question, but Mato answered it. “Well, it was thrilling.” It was the semi-finals match, and the brothers had battled their way through all of their previous opponents. They’d made themselves a reputation in this new kingdom, and had already claimed the cheers of many fans in the crowd. “When the announcer called us in, there were so many bugs cheering. I guess we made a lot of new fans because they were loud.” The crowd shouted ‘brothers! brothers! brothers!’ over and over again like a chant, and it filled Mato with such pride and joy. Yes! Brothers! They were brothers! All three of them fighting as one!

“It was fun. I was really feeling all of the adrenaline, and the crowd made me swing my nail faster. Even when the tables were turned on us I was still smiling. I remember standing there as they announced the other team as the winner, and you know what? I didn’t care that we lost. I had fun. Oro of course wanted to win, and winning is the goal but… I had fun! It was fun. So… does that answer your question?”

“...Yeah, it does,” another thoughtful pause. “Listen I… I’m not sure how to word this…” He avoided his brother’s gaze and instead looked over to where their cloaks and nails rested on the wall, waiting to be worn. “I’m not sure if I want to do this anymore.”

“Do what?”

“Just… this. All of this,” Sheo looked away from his cloak and weapon, but still refused to look his brother in the eye. “Mato… I don’t like welding my nail.”

“What are you talking about? Sure you do!” Mato insisted. “You’re the best out of the three of us! I’ve seen you practice your form all night long until the next day came! You love this!”

“I’m not sure if I do anymore,” Sheo admitted quietly. “It doesn’t feel the same, it hasn’t felt the same for a long time. I thought it was because I was in a rut, or I was experiencing a block of some kind. So I practiced harder, and the practice helped me improve on my skills, but it didn’t help me improve on how I felt.”

“It could still be a rut,” Mato assured. “Are you upset because we lost today? Because there’s no need to worry about that! It’s like master says, ‘If you never lose, how will you know what it feels like to win?’”

“It’s not about winning or losing,” Sheo said. “I thought that’s what it was too. Maybe I was getting bored with it, maybe I needed a new challenge. But I faced a new challenge today, and instead of feeling frustrated that I lost or happy that I tried, I felt… relief. I was glad it was over. I didn’t care if I won or lost, I just cared if it was over.”

There was silence. Mato removed his arm from Sheo’s shoulder.

“Are you going to stop competing in tournaments?” Mato asked.

“I don’t know.”

“Are you going to leave our team?”

“I don’t know.”

“Are you going to quit nail arts?”

“I don’t know.” Sheo’s voice was nothing more than a firm whisper.

Suddenly, Mato stood. “I’m going to bed, and I think you should too. Your tiredness mixed with the hot steam is making you delirious.”

“No… I’m going to stay a while longer.”

Mato stared at him. “Fine. Goodnight.”

And as Mato left he made sure to put on his cloak and nail with pride, standing upright with perfect posture.

And as Mato cast one final glance at his brother, he saw he was dragging a hand down his face.

—

Ironshell was unlike any of the other kingdoms the group visited.

It was filled to the brim with bugs from all corners of the world, so much so that it was hard to tell who was actually native. It was loud and the air was thick with sweat and the heavy breaths of others. The bugs here varied in size, though many of them were huge, easily towering over the average beetle. The buildings here were made of dark wood and stone, with yellow lights leading the walkways to bars and inns. The clamor of beer cups being slammed onto tables and barking laughter was consistent no matter where you walked. And the reason for all these bugs?

They were here to compete.

Ironshell was one of the most popular places for nailmasters and warriors to travel to test their skills. Within its towering stone gates, in the heart of the kingdom was a massive arena, one so big that it could be seen from the windows of any inn room.

It was a nailmaster’s dream. And the nailmasters were living it.

Oro and Mato were ecstatic to find a place as grand as this, so perfect for them. They ran around trying to discover everything there was to see. All the bars, hot springs, everything. It was like an amusement park to them, a candy store a kingdom large.

It wasn’t a place to settle, that much was clear from how Sheo had to act as a shield for Quirrel and The Nailsmith whenever they went out, the two cringing at the sudden booming sounds and pungent smells. “I don’t hate it,” Quirrel had said when asked what he thought of the place. “I just think it’s a little much.”

But it wasn’t too much of a loss to know that they wouldn’t be living here, if anything it made it more fun. While the others spent their time away from the crowds as much as they could, Oro and Mato went out to make their mark on the kingdom before they had to leave. They thought of it like a vacation.

In a bar, the air was thick with laughter and playful roughness. The two had made good friends of the bugs of the kingdom, sparring and trading stories. A large beetle elbowed Mato as she held her cup in the air. “To the brothers’ return!” she had said, and the whole of the bar erupted in the same cheer.

It was great to be back, the two had told them. In their pursuit of perfecting the nail arts, they had forgotten the reason they’d driven themselves to do so in the first place. By now they had sparred more bugs than they could keep track of, and although everyone was here for glory, the real battles took place in the arena. The sparring was just for fun, nothing too competitive or violent, which surprised the brothers, as usually, nailmasters saw defeat as a blemish, no matter how inconsequential the defeat was.

Now, the conversation was led into making fun of the old rumors that had spread in the brothers’ absence. Some of them were so outlandish it made the whole bar erupt into howling laughter.

“There’s another rumor about your master’s disappearance,” the beetle started. “Warriors say he finally grew into his weapon.”

Both the brothers had a good laugh at that. “He doesn’t have to. He made his weapon fit him.” After another chuckle, he clarified, “Sly’s the same size as ever, but he retired from the nail arts. He was a shopkeep until now.”

“And the rumor about Sheo turning from nail arts to arts and crafts?” a bug asked Oro with a drunken tease. “Is that one true?”

Oro didn’t laugh at that one, and his sudden glare startled the bug who asked.

“Now that rumor actually has some truth to it,” Mato said. “Sheo did become a painter. The nail arts were no longer doing it for him.”

There was a slight pause. No one spoke for a quarter second. Mato didn’t notice and took a drink.

“So, that’s the one that’s true?” the beetle said as she was handed another drink. “I always thought it was a joke.”

“It’s no joke,” if Mato caught any change in the others’ demeanor, he didn’t speak of it. Suddenly, the beetle’s spikes appeared bigger and sharper, and her gaze was piercing.

“Sheo the Paintmaster,” she said the title as if it were a new food she was trying. And as if she were spitting it out in disgust, she said, “It doesn’t sound as grand.”

Mato shrugged. “That’s what I thought for a while, but it was just because I was so used to him calling himself a nailmaster. He’s great at what he does. You’d be surprised.”

“Oh, I am,” she insisted. “I’m surprised that a prodigy such as him gave all of that up. He was destined for greatness, that one.”

“I’d say he got what he wanted. It just wasn’t in the arena.”

The beetle huffed. “Where else would you find it?”

This was when Oro decided to step in. Mato was letting his excitement of this kingdom blind him to the hostility. “Drop it, will ya?” he snarled. “He’s a painter now. Let it go.”

“No need for the anger, I was just asking.” The beetle shrugged, but it was stiff.

“You weren’t asking so many questions when we told you our master retired.”

“A mentor retiring is different,” she explained as if she were speaking to a child. “Your master had risen to greatness countless times before he began to train you and your brothers. His legacy will be retold for generations, while your painting brother will be forgotten too quickly. There are bugs out there who are willing to kill for the type of skill your brother possessed. He was gifted, and easily could’ve become one of the greatest fighters of your generation, and here you tell me he chose not to? You tell me he threw that away to paint silly pictures?” She huffed, “What greatness can be found in that?”

“Are you one of those bugs?” Oro asked coldly. “One that would kill for greatness?”

The beetle laughed, and so did others in the bar. “Nailmaster Oro, you’re in Ironshell. To ask such a stupid question-” she laughed again and took a second to regain her composure, and when she spoke again her voice was scarily serious. “Of course, I would. Everyone here would.”

“We’re going,” Mato stood sharply, and snatched his nail from where it rested beside his stool.

“Oh, I’m sorry. Did I hurt your feelings?” the beetle mocked. “Standing up for a waste like that-”

The sound of a weapon being cut through air was deafening. Mato had placed the tip of his nail under the beetle’s chin. “Don’t you dare finish that sentence!” he shouted so loud and suddenly his throat scratched. “Nailmaster or painter, he is my brother! And if I ever, ever, hear you disrespect my brothers again, you will regret it!”

A stunned silence, then murmuring. Some bugs seemed to want to take that chance, taking hold of their weapons and looking for a potential opening to attack. But the others knew not to test their luck. The brothers were so powerful in battle because of their bonds with one another. It would be nothing more than a death wish to provoke them for it.

“That goes for all of you!” Oro added, stomping down the murmuring at once. “Don’t think we can’t hear you.”

Without another word, the brothers left. Eyeing anyone who stared with a fierce glare.

When they returned back to the inn, Mato asked for the list of kingdoms Quirrel kept. And when he was handed it, he crossed Ironshell from it so thoroughly it was impossible to see what was originally written.

—

It was as if time froze when Hornet saw the orange vines wilting away, as if the world moved in slow motion when she heard the seal of the black egg dissipate into white particles, and as if she couldn’t breathe when she saw her long lost sibling crawl out of the egg, clutching their nail as if it were the only thing keeping them upright.

Their eyes locked, and Hornet stared into the void that was The Hollow Knight’s gaze. It was a void her father insisted time and time again was mindless, thoughtless, emotionless, and those were affirmations she always knew to be a lie.

Especially now, as they jolted into a stance, frightened and unsure if she were friend or foe.

Hornet didn’t want to fight, but she knew better than anyone what happens to those who stumble dumbly in combat, so she didn’t hesitate to defend herself. The Hollow Knight’s movements were precise, clearly recalling their formal training as if they’d been taught it all yesterday. She tried to reason with her sibling as they fought, though her words did not reach, and there came a point where she had to resort to a different method.

Maneuvering quickly around The Hollow Knight’s swinging limbs, she used her silk to restrain them.

“Hollow Knight, I wish not to harm you,” she said as soon as they were secure. She spoke as slowly and deliberately as she could, careful to not make any sudden moves while approaching them. The Hollow Knight, however, continued to pull at their restaurants, their frantic panic only growing.

“It’s me, Hornet,” she said, not expecting them to remember her. She remembered them though, bright as her father’s pale light. Memories of her child self sneaking away to run wild throughout the castle, bothering her tall big sibling with her endless questions and ramblings. It pained her more than she would ever admit aloud to see them before her in this state. “Do you know who I am?”

That seemed to reach them. As Hornet approached The Hollow Knight began to relax. They stopped fighting their restraints and studied Hornet carefully. They were still frightened out of their mind, but they still had their mind.

“I’m going to free you now,” she cut the silk in an instant. They’ve spent enough time in restraints to last an eternity.

As soon as they’re free, The Hollow Knight lunges at her, and for a moment she curses herself for letting down her guard. Even her quick reflexes can’t save her from avoiding this, and she instead braces for a devastating blow.

The Hollow Knight is on her in an instant, but they don’t attack. Instead, she’s brought into an embrace so firm she couldn’t escape if she wanted to. But she doesn’t want to. She hugs them back, gripping onto the once pale cloak they wore that was now tattered and a deep green. She always refrains herself from showing weakness, seals away her soul whenever there’s a tug at it, but no matter how hard she tries she can’t stop the steady flow of tears falling from her eyes. She wishes they would stop, but at the same time, she doesn’t. The longer she holds her sibling, the lighter she feels. A weight is being lifted from her, and she’d been carrying so much for so long.

“It’s over,” her voice is shaky when they finally pull apart, and she fights to steady it again. “I don’t know how that little ghost did it, but she’s gone.”

Slowly, The Hollow Knight stands with great effort, using their nail for support. They turn to Hornet, seeming like they want to ask something of her, but without a voice, all they can manage is a look.

Hornet understands.

She takes a hold of her sibling’s cloak, firm and reassuring, a gentle tug of resistance that reminds them she’s really there. The tension in The Hollow Knight’s shoulders falls at once.

Hornet was not sure where her sibling was off to, but she did not ask nor protest. She simply followed as they walked the Forgotten Crossroads, slowed down by their limp as well as their curiosity. Hornet could hardly remember what these crossroads used to look like, so she didn’t look twice at its horrible condition, but her sibling stared at each broken sign and collapsed cart with such intensity.

What she did notice were the bugs in the crossroads.

She would usually ignore them along with the other ruins of the kingdom, they had been nothing but mindless husks, after all. Not much to pay attention to once you got used to them. But the orange glow in their eyes were gone, now they looked around and talked amongst themselves, confused and disoriented. But she noticed that the ones who’d fully come to were all heading towards one place, the same place her sibling had been heading as well.

The open well.

Even before they climbed to the top the sounds of celebration could be heard. Bugs were cheering and praising and once they reached the town of Dirtmouth they saw them. It was the most lively Hornet had seen the ghost town since the fall, and by the minute only more and more bugs were running past them and joining the party.

And The Hollow Knight rushed to join as well.

There was music, courtesy of a bug with an accordion, lively and upbringing. And there was food, well, rations really, it was whatever could be found in the forgotten town, but with the cheers and wonderful mood, it tasted like a feast.

And there was dancing, and playing, and laughter, and oh so much laughter. Hornet found herself laughing as well. It’d been so long since she had, the sound of it had caught her off guard. The Hollow Knight was beaming with joy the whole time, and they made themselves an avid part of the crowd. Hornet supposed this was the most welcome they had ever felt.

Just days later, Dirtmouth was turning into a proper town again. The bugs had worked hard to fix up the old homes, The Hollow Knight and Hornet took part in the effort, and their great height was certainly a big help. Everyone who encountered them had seemed to grow a liking to The Hollow Knight. By now everyone in town had fussed over their health. The crack on their face had been bandaged as well as their stub of a left arm, (though Hornet highly doubted it would change anything.) They had been given a warm blanket and extra food to help with their recovery, and as they struggled to figure out how to eat the bread they’d been given without freaking any of the other bugs out, a bug asked them their name.

“They’re mute,” Hornet said when her sibling could only stare blankly.

“Oh,” the beetle then turned to Hornet. “Can you tell me their name?”

It was then Hornet who blanked. With the way her sibling was looking at her, she doubted they would want to be introduced as The Hollow Knight to these bugs.

After a moment of silence, The Hollow Knight got the beetle's attention with a shoulder tap and began to drag the tip of their nail into the patch of dirt underneath them. At first, it looked like nothing more than scribbles, but when they were done the shaky handwriting formed into something surprisingly legible.

“Holly? What a lovely name!” the beetle gave The Hollow Knight a pat on the head which they leaned into. “Be sure to take care of yourself, dearie.”

When the beetle left, it took Hornet a moment to compose herself. “I didn’t know you remembered,” is what she ended up saying, avoiding direct eye contact with her sibling.

“W r i t i n g .” The Hollow Knight’s crooked letters spelled. “R e m e m b e r s m a l l .”

“I was referring to the name,” Hornet said with great embarrassment.

The Hollow Knight nodded as they wrote. “H o l l y . O n l y n a m e t h a t l i k e .”

Holly was what she called them before she knew how to pronounce Hollow, and the name stuck with her as she grew. She remembers being shocked when she discovered that her older sibling couldn’t read or write, so she taught them the best her child self could, with her own shaky handwriting and incorrect grammar. Even so, it was fun, at least until the king discovered she’d done this…

“I’m sure you could name yourself something better,” she said. “If you wish not to be known as Hollow, isn’t Holly a little too similar?”

The Hollow Knight shook their head and wrote, “H o l l y i s I .”

Hornet smiled and wrote in front of her sibling’s message with her own nail. “Here’s what you want to say.”

The Hollow Knight looked at what she wrote.

‘My name is H o l l y .’

—

Someone had to take the place of monarch if Hallownest were to ever fully rebuild. As much as Hornet hated to admit it, her father had been an excellent peacemaker among the many rulers and gods in his kingdom. Without a monarch, Hallownest would never be whole, and so, as the last bug born to the royal pale family, Hornet took the throne.

It was her responsibility after all. Even during the kingdom’s time in ruin it was her responsibility, guarding the gates against those who wished to desecrate the grave that was Hallownest, and stopping the vessels unfit to break the kingdom’s stasis. Only back then she earned no praise for it. Steadily, Hallownest came back. The villages and towns were rebuilt, places of worship were repaired, various statues of the old king were demolished, and stags began to migrate back into the stagways.

“What would you like done to your monument?” Hornet had written to Holly one day.

“D e s t r o y i t .” They wrote back. “T u r n i t i n t o s o m e t h i n g e l s e .”

It was transformed into a memorial to all those who were lost to the infection and never lived to be saved. The fountain was now depicted nothing more than an old nail with text engraved underneath it.

BURIED IN THE GROUNDS OF THE KINGDOM

Countless bugs were lost to the infection. We pray those bugs' peaceful passing, and we thank the ghostly knights of the kingdom’s past for fighting for our freedom.

Through their sacrifice, Hallownest remains anew.

Not wanting to have anything to do with royal affairs, Holly stayed in Dirtmouth. They found they liked it there. It was simple, calming. There was no pressure of duties or meetings or training, the only task Holly had was to live each day, and they loved doing so.

They solidified their reputation as the helper of the town. Did your hut need repainting? Holly was happy to help you reach those high places. Garden need weeding? Holly loved to get their hands in the dirt. Any task that needed an extra hand Holly was there for, though they never accepted geo for their help, as Hornet always made sure they were taken care of financially. They were almost like a stray tame everyone adopted as their own.

And at the end of every day, Holly visited a grave. When asked who the grave belonged to, all Holly will ever write is ‘l i t t l e s i b l i n g.’ The grave is marked with nothing but a pure nail, and the name Ghost engraved into the weapon. Once a year Hornet frees her schedule to visit the grave with Holly as well. For one day a year, she’s allowed herself time away from the palace and royal responsibilities to pay her respects. One day to spend time with her sibling.

One day to sit beside that grave with Holly in comfortable silence as they thank their sibling for everything they’ve done. One day to silently cry of gratitude and sadness. One day to feel weak.

And the rest of their lives to live.

Chapter Text

At first, Sheo wasn’t sure what to make of it when a strange bug wandered into his secluded hut, asking about The Little One’s whereabouts.

The stranger wasn’t a traveler, that much had been clear instantly. He was exhausted, clearly not used to the terrain of Greenpath if the stray twigs and leaves in his beard were any indication. And the way he loosely held his nail in his hand, you’d think he was holding onto something he wanted to discard rather than something that could mean life or death. No, this bug wasn’t a traveler, but they were on the road, and in desperate need of a safe place to rest.

Sheo offered them that safe place.

He still wasn’t entirely sure what to make of it when he helped the stranger search for The Little One the next day. He learned his name was The Nailsmith, that he had made The Little One a pure nail, and that The Little One owed him some kind of favor in return. What this favor was, he never learned, and that was the extent of background he got on him. There was an air of mystery surrounding The Nailsmith, paired with such a faraway look in his eyes. Sheo found it fascinating.

And when The Little One ended up appearing at Sheo’s door just the next morning, making their way inside while leading another stranger, who he later learned was named Quirrel, to him, Sheo wasn’t sure what to make of that either. But he was glad to have the company, ecstatic even. But still, he knew that they wouldn’t stay forever, and The Nailsmith had been so desperate to get his nail back…

And so while everyone was asleep, Sheo took the pure nail from The Little One and gave it to The Nailsmith. He told him to be safe, and to visit again when he was done with his favor. The Nailsmith only said he would try.

He didn’t know why he couldn’t sleep that night. He didn’t know why he felt as if he’d just done something horribly wrong. And he didn’t know why he was half expecting The Nailsmith to return in the wee hours of the morning.

But he thought he knew why The Little One was frantically trying to wake him up.

His bed shook as they poked and prodded at him, and in his exhausted state he rolled over and spoke to them. The lack of sleep had made his mind foggy, and even if The Little One could reply he wouldn’t have heard it.

The small bug quickly grew frustrated with Sheo and decided he wasn’t worth it. So, with what appeared to be an exasperated eye roll, they left the hut in a hurry. Sheo went to follow them, surely they of all bugs would know how dangerous it is to go out without a weapon?

Throughout the whole ordeal, Quirrel only watched.

It wasn’t hard to catch up to the small bug. Without a nail, they had a much harder time cutting through the heavy foliage of Greenpath with just their tiny hands. Large leaves and bushes smacked at their shell, and thorns tugged at their cloak, but they never faltered.

They didn’t slow down when Sheo arrived, nor did they even stop to glance at him. He tried to assure them that they would be given a new nail, if only they would return back to his hut to take their pick, but The Little One paid no mind to this. The only sign they gave that they were aware of Sheo’s presence was when Sheo asked them why they were so insistent on finding The Nailsmith. They looked at him for a moment, tense and wishing that they could explain, but they could not, they had no voice to.

Footprints were visible as they continued on, and at the discovery of them The Little One was quick to follow the trail. They were moving so quickly that Sheo stumbled behind them, and as he rushed to keep up, he saw that he was being led to The Lake of Unn. And when he finally made it past the foliage and into the sight of the Great Lake, he saw The Little One standing as still as a statue.

They did not move when he called out to them, nor did they look up at him when he put his hand on their shoulder. The only sign of life they gave was the steady turn of their head as they followed the movement of something floating in the acid.

Metal caught the light, and in the acid was the pure nail, isolated. The Nailsmith was nowhere in sight.

—

When they first returned to the hut, Quirrel would say it was nothing to worry about. “He wasn’t your responsibility,” he would say, distant, but trying to offer some form of consolation. “Dwelling on it won’t change anything.”

He would never outright say anything bad happened to The Nailsmith, but he would also never outright deny it. It could always be implied or assumed. Quirrel was not very good at comforting.

The Little One didn’t stay forever. Whatever they did running about Hallownest, they left to continue it, leaving Quirrel with Sheo. Though, during the days before they left, they kept a watchful eye on Quirrel at all times, practically jumping if he so much as tried to get up for a glass of water. And when The Little One was gone, Quirrel stayed put just as they would’ve wanted, though with the way he would stare longingly at the door and tap his foot, he was clearly itching to get out of there.

“May I ask why The Little One doesn’t want you to leave?” looking at Quirrel’s fidgeting made Sheo anxious. “I’ve never seen them so serious before.”

Quirrel didn’t respond for a while, thinking long and hard about how to answer. “Paranoia? Fearing something that doesn’t need to be feared? To be honest, I’ve been wondering the same thing.”

“You… don’t know?”

“I know. At least, I’m aware of what The Little Knight thinks. I’m aware they think they know me better than I know myself. It’s funny, considering how long I’ve had to understand myself.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means exactly what I said. The child thinks they know better than me.” With a sigh and a bit of hope he added, “Don’t suppose you’ll let me slip out though? I’d be long out of your shell before The Little Knight were to return.”

In his mind, Sheo caught a glimpse of the pure nail floating in the acid, and dread filled his soul. He didn’t have to think about his answer for long. “I apologize, but I couldn’t do that. I’m inclined to trust my pupil’s judgment.” But if Quirrel were to stand up and walk out, would Sheo physically stop him?

“You didn’t trust The Little Knight’s judgment when you gave The Nailsmith his nail back.”

Sheo froze. “I felt as though… as though there was more to it than just the nail. I thought he needed it for something very important.”

Quirrel hummed, “And what if I have to leave for something very important as well? Something very urgent?”

“Do you?”

“I would be lying if I said it was urgent. But I am telling the truth by saying it’s important.”

He thought about it, but after the feeling of wrongness that enveloped him after he gave The Nailsmith back his nail, he did not wish to go against The Little One’s judgment again. “I… can’t.”

“Of course not,” Quirrel huffed. “Of course not.”

—

Quirrel wasn’t much for conversation, that much was clear. Sheo would try to get him to open up, try to get him to paint or simply tell him where he’s from, but he always refused. He would be content to spend his days by himself, either lost in his own thoughts staring out the door, or writing in a journal he wouldn’t let Sheo so much as glance at. Even with company in his midst, his hut felt lonelier than before.

It was then that he missed The Nailsmith and his conversation. It was as if he had been a puzzle Sheo had misplaced and would never see completed. He couldn’t stop thinking of him, where’d he gone, why his nail wasn’t with him, and by the gods what was that favor? But no matter the scenario Sheo played out in his head, none of them existed where The Nailsmith left Greenpath unharmed.

“What do you think happened to The Nailsmith?” Sheo asked after Quirrel had been staying with him for a while. Sheo missed conversation so dearly. The only thing he could think about was how he shouldn’t have given The Nailsmith back his nail. He had no idea how lonely he’d become in his isolation at the bottom of Greenpath. It was like snatching a meal from a starving bug right after they’d gotten a taste. It was painful.

Quirrel was silent for a moment, and Sheo assumed that he wouldn’t answer. This wasn’t the first time Sheo had tried to talk to him, only for him to ignore him. Sheo was surprised when he got an answer. “I think he completed the favor The Little Knight refused to help him with.”

“You think he succeeded?”

“I do.”

“But…” Sheo couldn’t get the image of the pure nail floating in the acid out of mind. “He didn’t have his nail.”

“I’m sure he got his use out of it.”

“Do you know what the favor was by chance?”

“I have an idea,” Quirrel said slowly, “but I didn’t know The Nailsmith. It would be in poor taste for me to assume what he wanted.”

“So you’re not going to share what you think happened?”

“Afraid not, friend.”

Always so cryptic… Sheo wished The Nailsmith were here.

—

“How long do you plan on keeping me locked up?” Quirrel asked from his spot laying down on the couch. This was the first time Quirrel had initiated a conversation. It had been another week.

“I’m not sure.” Even if The Little One hadn’t been so adamant that Quirrel were not to leave, Sheo’s not sure if he could let him go. Even though the stranger wasn’t one for conversation, even though they spent their days in silence, he was still a form of company. He hadn’t realized just how much he had needed and wanted company until he had it again, and The Nailsmith had left all too soon. “But you’re not locked up, you’re my guest, not captive.”

“It seems you must learn the difference between those two words. Calling me a guest implies I’ll leave at some point. A guest that never leaves is no guest at all.”

“No one said you would never leave,” Sheo said. “I highly doubt The Little One expects you to live the rest of your life here. Besides, you’ve yet to tell me why they want you here to begin with.”

“If I told you, you’d probably be more annoying about it then they are.”

“Well, I have to say, your crypticness only makes my mind wonder. Is it dangerous for you out there? Perhaps someone’s looking for you?”

“In this grave of a kingdom? Who could I even piss off?”

“Okay, so not that. Is this some kind of revenge for The Little One? Did you anger them in any way?”

Quirrel rolled his eyes. “I’m not a fan of this guessing game.” And that was the end of that conversation.

—

As the days passed, Quirrel became more open to speaking with Sheo, even if it was just by a bit. This most likely had more to do with Quirrel’s increasing boredom than anything else. He would still be sure to share as little about himself as he could get away with though, and usually the two’s conversations were more of just Quirrel listening to Sheo talk.

Sheo told him about his past life as a nailmaster. He told him of his brothers and his master and the tournaments they all used to attend. Quirrel liked to listen to these stories, and he was shocked to find out that he’d been in the presence of a legendary nailmaster for so long.

One of Sheo’s favorite topics was art, and he would ask Quirrel about his hobbies many times over. Usually, he would either not answer, or simply say that he was a traveler. But one day, he finally told Sheo that he liked to write.

“You seem like the writer type,” Sheo observed as he worked on his painting. “Silent, intelligent, and mysterious. What do you write?”

“Not much.” Quirrel shrugged. “I used to write and manage information for the masses, now I only journal.”

“Information for the masses?”

“I suppose you’re not much of a reader.” Quirrel paid no mind to Sheo’s question. “You hardly have any books here.”

“That’s true. It’s been hard for me to find any books that keep my interest.” Sheo paused as an idea struck him. “Would you be happier if I got something for you to read?”

“I’d be less bored.”

Sheo had been wishing for a way to make Quirrel’s stay more enjoyable. Perhaps all he needed was some entertainment, something to do besides sit around the hut all day. Surely if he did that, Quirrel would be more keen on staying with him?

“Say, have you been to the City?”

Quirrel’s voice sounded strange, “I have.”

“Then surely you’re aware of the grand libraries that reside there? I wonder, perhaps we could get some books from there?”

“We?”

“Yes, we. I don’t think The Little One would mind you leaving my hut if I were to accompany you.”

Quirrel stared at him for a long moment, making a face as if he were trying to figure out if he were lying or not. “We could… leave?”

“Of course we could leave,” Sheo smiled. “We can leave whenever you want.”

—

It was the next day that the two left for The City. Sheo was in a good mood the whole way. Though they didn’t talk much, he could tell Quirrel was in a much better mood as well. There had been tension in his shoulders that had dissipated away, and faintly, ever so faintly, Sheo swore he could see the slightest curve of a smile on his face.

“Is there a reason you’re going through all this for me?” Quirrel had asked them well into their stag ride.

“You ask that as if it’s a big hassle for me.”

“It is, isn’t it? You don’t seem like the type to leave your hut much.”

“That doesn’t mean I don’t like to get out.”

“You’re not answering my question.”

“Is it hard to believe that I’d want a guest of mine to be comfortable in my home? If you want books, we’ll get you some books. I don’t mind, really.”

Despite Sheo’s answer, Quirrel seemed to not understand this.

—

With The City pouring rain, Sheo had brought two huge leaves to use as umbrellas. And as they entered one of the libraries, Quirrel took his time going through the books and placing the ones he liked into the large bag Sheo had brought with him. Occasionally, when Quirrel saw a book he’d read before, he’d tell Sheo about it, and the two could talk for hours about a single one. Sheo was glad that he was able to do something to make his friend so happy. They stayed in that grand old library all night, and they slept on the old couches that were there.

When morning came, Quirrel had asked another request of Sheo before Sheo could even ask if he wanted breakfast.

“Do you think we could visit Blue Lake?” His voice was hesitant but determined. It seemed like he had been awake long before Sheo.

“Sure,” Sheo had still been rubbing the sleep from his eyes when he asked. “But I don’t know the way. Perhaps we should eat first?”

“We can eat when we get there,” Quirrel said. “It’s not a long way and it’s a lovely view.”

So they went to King’s Station and rode the old elevator all the way up to Resting Grounds. Quirrel took the lead, he seemed to know the way to the lake like the back of his hand. Sheo thought that only a bug who had lived in Hallownest would be this familiar with its terrain. Just another mystery about this strange bug, he supposed.

Blue Lake was beautiful, so much more stunning than Sheo had ever imagined it was. Quirrel was the first to find a seat in the sand, gesturing for Sheo to do the same. It was there that they ate their breakfast, staring out into the blue expanse. It was there that for the first time since The Nailsmith left, he was in good company.

They sat and did nothing for a good while, watching the light reflect from the water. It was such a long stretch of time before either of them spoke. Quirrel had asked for a moment alone. For what reason he didn’t specify, nor did Sheo press. Sheo simply got up and left him alone for a while, telling him to call him when he wanted to.

He sat outside the entrance of the lake for a while, his back against the stone wall. He felt… anxious for some reason, a twist in his gut that only twisted harder as the time passed. He tried to ignore it, he tried to respect his friend’s need for space. But a feeling of wrongness started to envelop him, a feeling that he felt when The Nailsmith had left, a feeling that made his heart pound and his shell sweat. And before he could rationalize or stop himself, he was turning back to the lake.

The sight before him made him freeze, though it took him a moment to truly understand what he was seeing. Quirrel stood at the edge of the lake, rocks in his shell and his arms spread out. He was calm, ready for what he was about to do. Sheo didn’t realize he had gasped until Quirrel whipped around with an expression not unlike a child being caught red handed.

They stared at each other for an eternity, neither knowing what to do. Sheo made a step forward. Quirrel took a step back.

Sheo pleads for Quirrel not to do it, but his begging makes no difference. Quirrel tries to assure him before he goes, he tells Sheo it’s not his fault. He starts to lean back, and in an instant Sheo is sprinting along the sand, his arm stretched out to grab him.

He’s not fast enough.

Quirrel’s sinking now, faster than Sheo can follow. He tries. He tries to swim after him, but he can’t, he’s sinking too fast. Sheo’s lungs scream for air, and despite himself he finds himself coughing and gasping at the surface, clawing his way along the sand. His body collapses with a thud, and he wipes away water and tears alike from his stinging eyes.

Once again, he’s alone.

It felt like an eternity before he could breathe and see again, and when he looked up he was met with the nail Quirrel had left in the sand. His gravestone, he realized, and in his struggle to get back onto land, Sheo had disturbed it. The tip of something was exposed from the sand, and as Sheo uncovered it he saw that it was Quirrel’s journal.

It was from that journal that Sheo learned of Quirrel’s situation, from those pages that he understood the gravity of what was going on. How foolish was Sheo to bring him here? How stupid was Sheo to not do what The Little One had wanted?

And days later, he had to face them, their small fame at the door, just staring at Sheo. They knew what had happened from the moment they’d stepped inside, perhaps they even came across Quirrel’s nail in the sand on their way here. They quickly went to hug Sheo as tightly as their little arms could, and Sheo couldn’t help himself from crying.

“Are you going to leave too?” he cried in between sobs, clinging desperately onto The Little One’s cloak. He had read Quirrel’s journal, cover to cover, and he now knew of the important task the little bug he held in his arms had to do. “Please don’t go,” he added desperately.

But The Little One couldn’t stay forever, the rational part of Sheo’s brain knew this, but that did not stop his tears from falling. He had just one last day with The Little One, and in the dead of night they disappeared, and Sheo was alone again.

—

More days pass, though they feel like years. Sheo doesn’t touch his paints, he barely gets up from his bed. There’s a knock at his door, and his heart fills with hope. At the entrance is his brother, Mato, about to say a greeting. Before he can even say hello, Sheo’s already got him into a soul-crushing hug, muttering things Mato can’t understand.

“Woah, I missed you too,” is all Mato manages to say.