Chapter Text
Suddenly, the suffering ended. The vessel fell down from somewhere, without any idea about their whereabouts: their mind was a bit baffled. They lay on the ground with a great thump, their body limp on the cold stone floor. They did not move; a growing pain seared through them as something dampened their torn cloak. The liquid was surprisingly cold and didn't pulsate or stick to their body. It immediately crossed their mind that something was out of place; the orange, infection-swollen blisters of the Higher Being did not fit the aforesaid description. They knew very well that these blisters should have been there, where they landed. They know that they weren’t able to hold back the disease, broke, and failed everyone. The signs of their failure should have been visible, should’ve haunted them.
The realization almost immediately hit them; they had ignored their most important rule: they could not think. They were not allowed to have thoughts, could not wonder how they had come down, for a prohibition is a prohibition, and they had to obey the order. The Pure Vessel had only one task to fulfill; they could not remember, could not desire anything, could not have dreams, and, most importantly, could not have an opinion or motivation of their own. They were born as empty shell that came into their world to serve a single purpose: to obey the King.
Yet, no matter how much they chanted these principles, they were aware of their charade. They lied to the whole world, they lied to themself, and they lied to the King. The very fact that they recognized their defectiveness, that they were able to have the thoughts they had tried so hard to bury in the depths of the darkness within them; was totally against their purpose, it was against their own creation. They should have succeeded in their mission; it could never have gone wrong. They could play the complete emptiness to perfection, and by the end, no one could question whether they were worthy of the title of Hollow Knight. They wanted so badly to live up to it; they only wanted to be the flawless vessel – no, they couldn't have any thoughts, couldn't want anything. Forbidden, impure! Why them? Was this another test from the Higher Being? Why was everything suddenly quiet?
Why did they ask these questions? They couldn't do anything without orders; looking for answers was forbidden. Nothing mattered to them anyway, for which they wanted so much to know the reason. They were not allowed to form an opinion, even less approved to act. All this would have been a move that the King would not have tolerated, and the monarch was omnipotent. They had to do the Pale King's bidding, whatever it cost. As long as the Radiance was trapped in the grip of the darkness within them, they did not have to torment themself for a moment with their own worries or problems; only the screams of the light, the Higher Being, rang through their body at every moment. They could not have listened to their own thoughts even if they had wanted, nor their own voice – no, there was no such thing as their own voice; they had none. Do not think, do not speak, do not hope...
They felt that something was wrong. The longer they were sickened by their impure ideas, the more they missed something. It barely reached their consciousness – no, they had no consciousness. Do not think! They barely noticed that everything had become too quiet around them. They could hear the weak breaths that left their body, hear the wind howling outside, the dripping water, the stone door falling to pieces, but one thing was nowhere to be found. All the sounds were all around the place, except the deafening roar of the Radiance. No longer were they haunted by screams, pleas, immense pain. The thought that the Higher Being had been freed flashed through their mind. Do not think! They knew; they had given up the fight and couldn't take it anymore at some point. They thought it would all end, that the beast would finally be silenced, but then the worst came: as soon as they surrendered to the will of Radiance, the real pain caught up with them. All they could feel was something tearing through their skull, they wanted to scream, cry out for help, end the agony, the suffering, but they could not move. The images that the Higher Being had prepared for them had been creeping into their dreams way before the surrendering… but at this moment, it was as if they were all crammed into their head at once. They should never ever have dreamed. Never.
They could not let themself think anymore, could not remember anything. Impure! They had to occupy themself with something else, they must not dwell on it. They had to find the King. They could make a report and appear before the Monarch; no one would look at them strangely, and no one would suspect anything. That was their only and only goal; they could do their duty again without any question. They could see themself heading for the White Palace, cutting through the labyrinth of Forgotten Crossroads, and traveling by a Stag straight to the Hidden Station. The silhouette of the White Palace was almost etched in their mind, a blueprint of the purest and most sublime place in the world. They wanted to go home – no, they couldn't wish for anything, they mustn't... Do not hope!
They were still lying on the ground, their cloak soaked with a cold liquid that might have been water. Everything ached, the pain increasing the more time they spent awake. It was as if their body parts were waking up; the stabbing agony spread to every tiny void particle point by point, and it refused to stop. They must have looked pathetic from the outside, squirming like a lifeless bug in a puddle, unable to find the strength to look up from the dark ground. It seemed too pleasant to stay there until the end of time, to rest, hide from the cares of the world. But they could not; they were not created for that, were not created to leave this world as a weak, impure creature. They had a task, a mission even: they could not give up now. They were drawn to the idea of the end, of disappearing from the face of the earth like a hero, but again, that would have been selfish. They had no interests, no desires, and definitely no voice of their own. They had done what they were ordered to do, and now they had to go to the King for a new order. Duty awaited them.
They tried to put their right hand under their chest but were barely able to move it. They had to use all their strength to move their arm even an inch; the long period of 'doing nothing' was killing it. As if they had no control over their limbs, the void did not obey. By now, their body became unused to movement; they expected too much of it. The Pure Vessel paused for a moment, then, after a short break, they started the challenge again. They pulled on their arm until it did its job; they were in terrible pain: in pain that wasn't comparable to anything else, but they had to do it. The closer their hand came to their chest, the easier it became to use; by the end, there were hardly any little problems left in the control of their limb. They rested their forearm under their torso and then finally relaxed. One step closer to their goal, they wanted to concentrate only on that; nothing else mattered at the moment.
This pain was at least clean. Physical suffering was something no true warrior could avoid; there was no real knight who had not experienced it. They almost considered it honorable to receive a few cuts from a worthy opponent. As long as they could attend to this mindset, they did not have to think about pain, which, in theory, they could not even feel. Their injuries healed quickly anyway; the void forgot easily, and because of this, it never took long to regenerate. They had been wounded more than once during their training, and there had been a few accidents in the White Palace over the years, from which they had not necessarily come out the luckiest. It is their job to shake off such problems. They should not feel anything; they are emptiness incarnate, the Pure Vessel.
Instinctively, they would have tried to lift themself off the ground with their left arm. They had just managed to collect some strength to lift their arm when they were overcome by a terrible, strange feeling. Not only could they not move their body part, they could not even feel it. They didn't quite understand what could have happened; only one idea came to their mind – no, they had no ideas, weren't thinking, and definitely weren't worried. The Pure Vessel doesn't do that... They hadn't felt the same way in a very long time, they wanted to avoid the situation as much as possible, but the awakening, tiny fear overcame his inhibitions. Carefully, they lifted their skull, which was a particularly heavy task, as it proved to be the only actual chitin of their body, and then turned their head away with difficulty.
At first glance, the old, grey walls of the temple crept into view. They couldn't tell how long it had been since they'd seen anything real. It had been so long since they'd fallen asleep in the Black Egg that the harsh reality felt totally alien to them, or so the vessel felt. The only signs of life were the tendrils hanging from the ceiling, but they were almost dying black, like Pure Vessel themself. They looked down at their left arm, fearful as they were of what he would see no, they could fear nothing, feel nothing; they turned their head to their aching limb without any doubt. They could see nothing; their cloak had slipped off their shoulder, revealing their festering, oozing stump. They tried to remain calm; they couldn't afford to panic or even feel a little of the grief that a similar loss could cause to an actual bug. They were the Hollow Knight, emptiness incarnate, feeling nothing, reacting nothing. Do not speak!
They didn't care about anything other than their goal, their hand was just a minor interruption, and it couldn't distract them from their mission. They tensed their right arm, then tried to raise their upper body. At first, they managed to straighten their head; it hurt terribly to hold it, but they had to overcome the pain if they were to make any headway. Their chest slowly lifted off the ground, followed by their stomach and hips. They paused for a second or two, then managed to stand on their left leg, on which they had been kneeling. From this point, it was only a few more movements for them to get back on two feet. They couldn't straighten their back, it would take too much energy, and they could barely stand the aching, which was already burning their whole body. They could feel the pain throbbing in their chest, making them want to curl up. They couldn't understand how the light could do so much damage to them; they didn't even have a proper physical form after all. No chitin, no cuticle, and no muscles, just a highly concentrated emptiness – they couldn't think about such things; someone else would give them the answers.
They looked around; the whole temple seemed empty. All was darkness; the slightest sign of life was still just a few dying vines. But not a single rampant tuber of infection remained as if someone had just winked them out of existence. They could see the chains that had kept them in this place for an eternity, that had made them go through all the suffering, that had kept them from letting the Higher Being go. Now they all lay on the cold earth, no longer imbued with the power of the Dreamers. They felt that the three bugs had no force over them anymore, that it was all over.
From a distance, a faint breeze entered the building, and they tried to turn cautiously in its direction. With every single step, pain shot up their legs, but they could not allow themself to collapse now. They might not get up again. The wind still whistled past them, and the vessel was seized by a curiosity for the outside world that they could not understand... there could be no interest in them; it was impossible. As they looked out the door, the bluish colors of the Forgotten Crossroads slowly began to emerge before them at the very end of the long, dark tunnel. They hadn't spent much time here; after all, most of their life – they'd never lived, couldn't even have a life – had been spent in the White Palace, but even so, the vessel recognized the area where they meant to be laid to rest.
Suddenly they felt a strong sense of absence as if another integral part of them had disappeared. They raised their right hand in front of them and almost immediately hit them with the realization that they did not have their nail. Pushing the pain aside, they turned and grabbed the blade, which had stabbed into the ground. They couldn't understand how they hadn't noticed it right at the moment they woke up and why their first instinct hadn't been to look for it. They managed to pull it out of the floor but couldn't lift it. Their body was not yet prepared to wield an object with actual weight. It was odd to hold the pin in his right hand; they had been using the left their entire existence. They were filled with a sense of relief – which they tried intensely to deny; they did not feel. The Pure Vessel could not lose their blade.
One step, two, three... they walked towards the exit at a steady pace, each movement costing them a thousand hellish moments. They wanted to know what was waiting for them outside; the urge was overwhelming them, even though they should have suppressed the idea. They dragged the nail behind them, puking, with no strength left to lift it as they would have done in their prime. They had become a shadow of their former self, a failure, a disappointment, no longer able to swing their blade like a proper warrior.
Outside their chamber, a dark corridor stretched to infinity. They remembered the first time they had walked this path; they knew then that this passage led to their doom. Yet now they were walking out of it, back towards Hallownest. They should never have returned, they should have saved the kingdom, and only their eternal captivity could have done that. They had failed everyone, but now they had to get to the King. They had to make this journey. They stepped out the door, and the sudden flood of light almost blinded them. They had developed a hatred against the light while they had been exposed to it for too long, too much. It almost hurt to look around; in fact, it seemed unnecessary. They couldn't make out anything in their surroundings; Their body was not yet accustomed to the world. The landscape danced around them in blurred patches; the only thing that reassured them was that they could see no orange dumplings anywhere. The infection must have passed. A soft sigh left their body - again, this is abnormal, they shouldn't be doing this - as they pulled the nail up in front of them to lean on it.
They heard movement; someone pulled a weapon next to them. They immediately turned their gaze in the direction of the sound, where a red dot was becoming sharper. They recognized the little bug almost instantly, though she had changed much over time; they could not mistake the Gendered Child for anyone else. Of course, their instincts were quicker than their brain - they did not even have one - so they pulled their nail; if it came to a fight, they would not be at a disadvantage, however much the pain of the move stabbed them. The Gendered Child began to rush towards them, and they pulled the nail to a block. There was a huge crack and some sparking as the two weapons met. They almost collapsed after the contact; too much of their strength was used too suddenly. By now, they could see relatively well; everything was clear around them. They noticed a slight look of surprise and doubt on the Gendered Child's face. After the blow, she had stepped back a few meters, but she remained alert for what was to come; by now, she had managed to hide her emotions.
Everything ached; their arm was almost torn off with pain, and their legs trembled under the weight of their body and blade. They may have seemed a pitiful opponent, but they surely won't let it end like this: they hadn't even seen their... the King yet - no, they had no will, no desire, it would not matter how they left this world. They couldn't be quite sure if the Gendered Child had recognized them, so they decided to maintain their guard, not caring how exhausting it was. They could never run away from a fight; that was also forbidden. No matter how dire the situation, they always had to hold their ground; they couldn't lose.
She didn't start again, just stared at them; she had already lowered her weapon. Her head tilted slightly to the side as she eyed the Pure Vessel. The soft breeze still blew down here, ruffling the little bug's skirt in places. It was the exact same shade of red as the Hollow Knight remembered, though they were in deep denial that they had any memories. The last time they had seen her was when she was banished from the palace - they must not recall it; it was forbidden. She had grown a great deal since then; she was not a tall creature, but at least Pure Vessel did not have to worry about accidentally stepping on her.
"Hollow Knight, is that you?" she asked in a measured voice.
The Pure Vessel dangled the nail beside them as they nodded. They had to respond; they couldn't let this opportunity slip away. They hadn't often been asked anything before, but at the time the King and other bugs hadn't been upset when they'd responded with some kind of gesture. They hoped they wouldn't be too revealing now - no, they couldn't hope; they weren't allowed to do it. The Gendered Child deserved an answer.
"I see you have suffered serious injuries during your captivity. Are you friend or foe?" she walked closer to them.
She was still clutching the needle in her hand; she would not let it go for a moment. Nodding her head a little to the side again, she looked up at Pure Vessel towering over her, who just stood there, motionless. They could not react and could not answer any questions, which would require their own opinion because their disguise, the play would be gone, and they know exactly what would happen then.
"You have failed in your role in this world; the infection has spread everywhere. Was this a miscalculation on the part of the Pale King, or did you cause trouble for our people? Did you give up the fight on purpose?" she pulled out her needle and stabbed it straight at the Hollow Knight, a sort of bloodthirsty look settling on her face.
Pure Vessel shook their head without thinking. They would never have confessed to anyone what they had done, how they had failed every single bug in Hallownest. They couldn't know how depraved and incompetent a creature had been chosen for the task; they didn't want to disappoint the world anymore. The very fact that they wanted anything at all, that they were trying to cover up their terrible secret, their impurity, seemed to be a problem. They hated it. Even if they were forbidden to hate.
The Gendered Child let out a sigh, seemingly relieved. She lowered her needle and took a few steps back. The girl didn't speak; it would have been pointless to tell her thoughts to a being that couldn't even comprehend them. It had been drilled into her all her childhood, and by now, she might have succeeded in understanding it. In fact, she must have realized it much longer ago; the King had made her understand it. Everyone had assumed that the Pure Vessel was just an unconscious servant, responding only to commands from their masters. In fact, the vessel wanted to be that, but something was wrong with them, and yet they began to form their own thoughts and ideas - no! Nothing like that can happen. Do not think, do not speak, do not hope... And since then, she has grown up; she doesn't seem like a child anymore. The Pure Vessel couldn't guess how long it had been since they'd been locked up in the Black Egg, but they were sure it was at least long enough for a bug to mature.
They were lost in their thoughts again when they didn’t even have right to have an opinion. They tried to dismiss the horrible little ideas as soon as possible; they were Pure Vessel; they shouldn't be dealing with such things; it would only seal the kingdom's fate... sealed it. They must remain empty and pure, they were created for this one thing, yet they failed. Impure! They could not go wrong again; they had to do the right thing now, stay completely empty this time, and shouldn’t even consider forming an opinion or coming up with an original idea ever again.
"Come with me!" she called with a shrill in her voice to the Pure Vessel which immediately reacted. "Maybe I should save you, if only for little Ghost's sake. They would like to meet you" she grumbled as she headed into one of the endless tunnels of the Forgotten Crossroads.
The sound of the wind still created a kind of eerie atmosphere in the cave. This was not helped by the fact that everything seemed completely deserted. The Vessel tried their best to look only in the direction of the Gendered Child; the slightest glance of their surroundings sent an inexplicable feeling of shame flooding through their gut – ridiculous, they couldn't feel anything. For them, shame was a non-existent concept.
Their footsteps echoed down the deserted corridor as they moved further and further away from the temple. The Pure Vessel took one last look at their former "home". A strange feeling came over them as they moved away from the building. They were filled with uncertainty, not knowing what lay ahead. They would never admit it to themself, but they were afraid of what would happen to them; at least when they were locked up, the vessel could be sure that they would never have to lie to anyone anymore; they would never see another bug again. But now there was no goal, no certainty; everything was just floating in the air, and their last support was the place they were dragged away from by the Gendered Child. They couldn't afford to be so worried; she would give him instructions, would sort it all out. They turned back to the Gendered Child, who was walking in front of them, and noted that a whole new chapter in the story of their existence was about to open.