Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It was quiet, and they were tired. The vessel curled into a tighter ball, hugging themselves as if to protect their soft shell from the world. All they wanted was to fall back into that dreamless sleep that had overtaken them while their siblings awoke and crawled over them, the quiet steps a constant lullaby. The vessel did not care to leave. They were comfortable where they were. The egg was quiet now, but the vessel did miss the sounds of their siblings. Where had they gone? Would they come back?

The vessel opened their eyes to a sibling nudging their side, waking them up. How long had they slept? Were the others coming back to the egg to sleep? 

A sibling in front of them extended a hand, and the vessel reached out and allowed them to pull them to their feet. Their legs felt weak, and they struggled to balance right away. Their sibling patiently allowed the vessel to cling to them until they were steady. They abandoned the empty egg, and the vessel couldn't help but to take notice of the shells that made up the floor under their feet. Instinctively, they knew it was something bad. It looked like the same shell that was on the face of the sibling next to them. How had these siblings lost their shells? Most were littered with cracks, even if they were already in pieces.

The vessel stopped altogether when one piece turned to dust under their foot. Fear began to seep into their core and had to be forced away. They felt so horribly guilty — these shells already made up the ground they walked on, and they were pushing the shells deeper and deeper. Something terrible had happened to these siblings, and now they were only disrespecting what was left of them.

A squeeze of their hand was enough to finally break the spell that had consumed them, and the two soon found themselves surrounded by the shades of their siblings. The shades circled them, brushing tendrils of void against their arms, their horns, their cloak in greeting, putting the vessel at ease. They pulled at the vessel’s cloak, urging them to follow. The vessel looked back to the sibling that had led them from the egg, but they did not move. The vessel tilted their head — why did they not want to be with the shades?

Their sibling —  the Leader, the vessel decided to call them — sat down nearby. When they managed to assure themselves the Leader wouldn’t disappear if they turned their back, the vessel looked to the shades and chased after them. The biggest shade ran from them, hiding behind another empty egg — this one was mostly destroyed, only a few shards of the shell intact. The vessel eyed the shade peeking out at them before making a run at them, catching up with ease. The vessel slowed to a stop before tapping them and turning to move away. They didn't want to risk hurting the shade, as they lacked a shell. They watched with glee as the shade rushed at another sibling too fast for them to react, sending the both of them tumbling across the ground, all tangled up. The vessel watched carefully, ready to run if any of the shades headed their way. Every now and again, they glanced over to the Leader, making sure they were still there. Their presence provided a welcome comfort.

One of the other shades drifted over, hiding inside the broken egg next to the vessel. The shade had two tall, wavy horns on their head that gave away their location, so the vessel reached out to get their attention. They reached up and pointed at their own horns, and then to the shade. The shade seemed to understand, and repositioned with their head closer to the floor. 

The vessel was distracted just enough by this that they didn't notice another shade sneaking up on them until they were tackled onto the floor. The shade backed off and spun around in glee, and the vessel couldn't even be angry. This shade was small, like they were, and slower than the others. They'd go after someone else.

They glanced at the shade they'd helped hide, and saw them looking back. No, they couldn't betray them. They instead focused on a shade that had been drifting about listlessly, having not been chased even once. The shade immediately brightened when the vessel started towards them, and proved to be quite the challenge to catch up to. The vessel only managed to catch them by cornering them, and they once again slowed to tap their head. No need to be hasty when there wasn't any escape!

A number of times, they abandoned the game to check on the Leader. This time, the vessel returned to see another sibling lying next to them. For a moment, they thought this vessel was dead, and wondered why their shade had yet to separate from the shell and join the game still ongoing. After a moment's observation, however, it became clear they were alive, and merely resting. Comforted, they sat near the two of them, wondering why this one wasn't moving. Perhaps they felt the same exhaustion the vessel did when the Leader woke them and walked them away from the egg and to the shades. Had the Leader tried to do the same with this sibling and failed?

To ward off boredom, the vessel played with whatever they could reach. They very carefully dug through the endless floor of broken masks, occasionally trying to fit two pieces together and ultimately failing; there were simply too many shards. Sometimes, the brittle shell would crumble when picked up, too weak to hold together any longer under the pressure of their claws.

When the new sibling finally lifted their head, the vessel gestured to the shades. They'd started a new game now, and the vessel wanted to join them. However, the new sibling simply sat next to the Leader, just as silent and stoic. They made a good pair, the vessel thought. They hesitated for only another moment before they ran to rejoin the shades and participate in their new game. 

Sometimes, the Leader and the new sibling would wander off. The vessel longed for them to stay nearer, but they didn't feel lost and vulnerable with the shades, forgetting themself in their games. Their presence was warm and welcome to the vessel — for this, they were grateful to the shades.

It wasn’t until the new sibling found a path out of the abyss that the play finally came to an end. The vessel tried to get the shades to follow, but they flinched away from the dim light, hiding as though it burned them. The other siblings, though, crowded around the exit, and the vessel soon joined them. They went as a group until the yawning cavern split in half, and the vessel was torn as to which path was the correct one to take. Several of the siblings were slowly but surely moving towards the darker path; the vessel could feel its pull as well. They missed the comforting darkness of the abyss. For a moment, they were confident they would follow those siblings, but something stopped them. They looked back to the Leader and the new sibling — who now had a nail, they realized — and took notice of how they both had turned to the other path. That one felt drier, and had a bit of an incline. Did they wish to go up? The vessel had never been up. The idea made them nervous.

But if the Leader and the other — the Protector, they decided, on behalf of the nail — thought that up was the best path, they would follow.

And follow they did.

The light growing in the tunnel made the vessel want to turn and run, to follow the siblings that had gone down the darker path. But it was too late for that, so they simply tightened their grip on the Leader's hand and put the other arm over their eyes. It didn't block the light completely, but it made it easier to continue onwards. 

They moved forward, blindly trusting the Leader to keep them safe. They only pulled their arm away and faced the light when a terrible slashing sound made them flinch — they nearly staggered back at how bright it had become. They forced themselves to look around, to take in the threat, to —

Oh. The Protector had already lived up to their role.

A small corpse laid in a heap on the ground in front of them, motionless. The nail in the Protector's claws had an orange sheen at the tip that wasn't there previously; had it come from the creature?

They had no time to inspect the corpse (not that they wished to) before they were hurried along by their siblings. 

The vessel had thought the tunnel with the strange creature was spacious, but the cavern at the end of it was even bigger. While the abyss was, to their knowledge, never-ending, the pure darkness made its own walls. Here, light illuminated every nook and cranny, and the vessel could see exactly how the walls arched up and up and up until they met on the ceiling above. Cracks littered the earth up there, and dirt sprinkled down on them like a fine rain.  The other two didn't seem to notice this rain, though. Their eyes scoured the ground, intent upon searching for something: perhaps an exit, or a nail for the Leader. 

The vessel decided to let go of the Leader as their siblings spread out, moving to the Protector's side instead. They hoped the Leader wasn't hurt by this; they only wished to get to know the Protector better. The Protector was even more withdrawn than the Leader, and the vessel didn’t want them to be lonely. To their relief, the Protector did not shoo them away, simply continuing with their search. The vessel wanted to help, but didn't know what to look for. 

In the end, they decided that the Protector and the Leader must be searching for another exit, like they did before. Just as they went to point out a strangely placed rock, a deep rumble interrupted their focus. A glance up and the vessel saw how the cracks in the ceiling had grown, and were now doing so fast enough to be noticeable. The vessel jolted back, turning to search for the Leader. The Leader was across the cavern, looking right back at the two of them. A cascade of dirt fell from the ceiling, and the vessel launched themselves towards the Leader. They had to reach them, they wouldn't watch their sibling die! They wouldn't let their shell join the sea of shells in the abyss. If they ran fast enough, they would be able to reach the Leader before the ceiling fell and they all died, crushed under darkness instead of cradled by it.

The Protector, however, snagged their cloak and sent them tumbling to the ground. The vessel fought against their grip, but proved far too weak to do so. Instead, they were forced to watch as more dirt and rocks fell from the ceiling, blocking the Leader from view within a second of hitting the ground. The vessel reached out with a single hand as though it would undo the rockfall, letting their claws scrape at some of the loose dirt. 

The moment the Protector released them, the vessel set to work digging. They would get through and bring the Leader back to them. The Protector even joined them, taking the initiative to move the rocks the vessel couldn't handle. 

Deeper into the wall, though, the size of the rocks grew to be too much for even both of them. The Protector was forced to drag the vessel away when they ignored the void smearing from their cracked hands, and was practically sitting on them until they stopped fighting.

The vessel had lost their sibling. They had failed. They were not strong enough. They stared at their own hands, cursing their weakness.

They remained in the cavern for a long while, until the Protector found the out-of-place rock that had completely slipped the vessel's mind. The Protector looked over at them, and the vessel forced themselves to their feet. They would continue on, for their sibling. They would search for them; they were certain the Leader would do the same. They would be so proud when the vessel and the Protector found them. They couldn't stop. They took one last look back towards the rockfall, grabbed the end of the Protector's cloak, and followed along with a heavy heart.

Chapter Text

The path they were on now was steadily growing darker. Loose strands of silk hung from the wall, and the occasional bone or weed poked through the dirt. The vessel thought it was awfully similar to the path the other siblings had taken. The Protector held the nail in their hand as though they’d done so forever, and it provided the vessel with a sense of comfort. 

As the tunnel came to an end and expanded outwards, the two vessels clambered up onto a metal platform. A locked machine with a slot sat beside it, but the door refused to budge even when the Protector swung their nail at it. They quickly gave up on the machine, heading for the only other exit to the room. A sign by the tunnel read Deepnest . The vessel figured that was the name of the place. 

The Protector moved forwards, unafraid. The first trouble they came to was a room filled with thundering crawlers that tunneled their long bodies through the earth, completely indifferent to the vessels. The Protector raised their nail once again, and the vessel panicked. What if this creature that was simply ignoring them became enraged? They ought not start any unnecessary battles. There were so many of these creatures, and they were so much larger than the two of them. While the Protector had a nail, these beasts were covered in spines, with sharp mandibles at either end. 

The vessel jumped to grab their arm, and to their relief, the Protector looked down at them. 

No danger, they pushed through their mind. Don’t attack.

Was there even any chance the Protector could understand when they tried to speak through their mere thoughts? If not, the Protector at least understood the vessel’s grabbing of their arm. They lowered the nail, and the vessel felt their shoulders slump. 

Thank you, they thought. 

The Protector stood unmoving until they pointed out a gap in the line of creatures. It was possible they could walk in between two in order to avoid being hurt — but was there somewhere for them to seek refuge out of harm’s way? The vessel didn’t get a chance to even attempt to express such fears before the Protector began striding forward, forcing the vessel to run in order to keep up. They slipped in between two of the tunneling creatures, and within a matter of steps, spotted a hole in the ceiling. The Protector ran ahead and jumped, their claws scrabbling for purchase on the dirt. The vessel glanced back — to their horror, they could see the impossibly sharp mandibles of one of the creatures emerging from the darkness. They glinted in the light of the strange weeds that poked through the dirt, and all the vessel could think of was how they would pierce right through their soft shell. Would the creature even notice the little vessel impaled on their pincers?

The vessel looked back to find themselves nearly underneath the hole to safety the Protector had found. The Protector was at the edge, looking down at them. The vessel had to try . 

They took a second to wind up, and then launched themselves at the ledge.

They missed.

They fell to the ground in a heap, but quickly scrambled to their feet. The creature was even closer. In a few seconds, those horrible jaws would be upon them, and —

The Protector had extended a hand. The vessel jumped again, and the moment they touched hands with the Protector, they felt their sibling dragging them up and out of harm’s way. 

Shaking like a leaf, the vessel looked down the hole. Already, the creature’s head had plowed on past where they’d been only moments before. The vessel wrapped the Protector in a hug, trying to tame their racing heart. 

The Protector did not hug back, only remaining still for a single second before pulling away and moving forward. The vessel hurried after them, trying to keep close this time. 

The next place they found was devoid of any danger, to the vessel’s relief. A bench next to a pool of strange water gave them a place to rest — and a place to collect themselves, in the vessel’s case. While the Protector took to inspecting the edges of the room, the vessel discovered the water was safe to touch and promptly threw themselves into the pool. They were shocked to see how the water moved when they did, rippling and coming back to them. Even better was how warm the water was, easing their aching limbs in a miraculously short time. The vessel splashed water in the Protector’s direction when they moved closer, but their sibling only looked at them and did not join them in the pool. 

Ah, well. That didn’t mean they couldn’t enjoy it alone in the meantime. They scooped up some of the water and let it filter through their claws, absolutely entranced by the patterns it made on the surface. The Leader would’ve loved to sit by the pool, they thought.

Lowering their hands, the vessel tried to ignore the beat of sadness that passed through them. They’d find the Leader and bring them here. On second thought, the vessel didn’t want to mess with those scary creatures a second time. Maybe they’d grow stronger, like the Protector. They’d be able to fend off all those creatures that crawled up from the ground and dropped from the ceiling. Yes, they’d do that. Perhaps they’d even be able to find the other siblings, the ones that went down that darker path. They could all come here and play in the warm water, safe and in one another’s company. They’d all pile on one another and fall asleep. The vessel had loved nothing more than lying down and having the shades press against them — it made them feel secure more than anything. 

Looking at the water surrounding them, the vessel decided they would bring their siblings here. They would do it, no matter what it took.

But for now, they would follow the Protector, who had begun hitting a rock with their nail to get the vessel’s attention. The vessel jumped up and ran to them, holding the end of the Protector’s cloak as they left the room with the pool. They cast one last glance back so they could treasure the memory of that comforting room forever, and only then did they notice how the water seemed to shimmer and glow.

As they continued into the heart of Deepnest, they met insects more varied than the vessel had ever thought possible. The Protector was so quick with their nail that most of the vessel’s observations were made on the corpses. They didn’t dare touch them, but they certainly leaned in to inspect the red cloaks of the little spiders or the teeth of the dirtcarvers as they passed.

The Protector never slowed to allow for anything more in-depth than a simple glance as they moved forwards. Deepnest was like a maze; more than once, the vessel thought they recognized a passage, but the Protector never slowed. If they were lost or walking in circles, they never acted like it. The idea of being stuck in these passages forever made their stomach twist and turn — this was not a place they could let their guard down in, like they had in the abyss with their other siblings.

Over time, the vessel realized they were moving upwards. Their limbs had grown heavy from all the walking and climbing they’d done, and they wanted nothing more than to stop for a rest. They hoped to find another pool — it would still be dangerous to trek back to the one they’d stopped at previously. As much as they wished to turn around and return to it, they knew better. They tugged on the Protector’s cloak, and they slowed to look back at them. 

I’m tired, they whined. The Protector turned away, pointing upwards. Perhaps they’d stop up there?

The vessel kept their complaints under wraps as the two of them began to climb again. In this new tunnel, there were fewer beasts, but in their place were spikes that jutted from the floor and walls. The vessel had been unable to contain their curiosity when they first came across them, and reached out to touch the sharp tip of a spike near eye-level to them. The pain had shocked them, as had the beads of void spilling from their new wound. When they had shown the Protector their hand and received no reaction, they were a bit disheartened. However, they were able to calm themselves — if the Protector wasn’t worried, they wouldn’t be either.

Sure enough, it soon stopped bleeding. It still hurt to touch things, considering it was yet to actually heal, but the vessel could ignore the pain with ease. When they left the spikes behind, the vessel was near ready to drop. They were about to beg the Protector to stop and rest, but a strange noise made both of them freeze. The noise continued, and seemed to only have a single source — there was a tunnel, and from that tunnel was a light foreign to the rest of Deepnest thus far. The Protector began to creep forward, but the vessel grabbed their cloak. They didn’t want another fight — they could barely stay standing by now, and their vision had begun to swim; they were likely incapable of neither fighting nor fleeing. Thankfully, their sibling seemed to accept this sentiment, and lowered their nail ever so slightly. The two of them moved to a corner out of earshot of the noise, sitting down once they were sure there weren’t any dirtcarvers waiting for them. The vessel all but collapsed on the ground by that point, while the Protector slowly lowered themselves into a sitting position, just as sharp and alert as they’d been the rest of the journey. They kept their nail across their lap, staring out at the darkness. Weren’t they going to rest?

Once the ache in their limbs subsided to a bearable degree, the vessel reached out and tapped the Protector’s shoulder, tilting their head. Their sibling pointed to the nail, and then to the darkness; it took a moment, but then they understood. Their sibling was going to ensure nothing snuck up on them. The vessel felt a plume of warmth stir in their chest, and they moved closer to lean against their sibling. To their relief, they were not pushed away. The Protector simply continued to stare straight ahead. The few spiders they’d found in the room had been quickly taken care of, so the vessel wasn’t worried. If anything, they weren’t alone, and they could count on their sibling to keep them safe.

They shut their eyes and all but passed out.

Chapter Text

When the vessel came to, they felt a burn in their limbs. It seemed as though walking for such an extended period of time had put strain on them, considering they’d never made such a trip before; they couldn’t even imagine how far they were from the egg by now. The Protector was ready to go the moment the vessel lifted their head, so off they went.

It was only a few minutes after starting their trek that the scenery changed. The darkness was replaced with light, the rocks with plant life, and the spiders with new terrors that dominated the air instead of the ground beneath their feet. The vessel covered their eyes again for a few seconds, trying to keep a light-induced headache away. The light made the vessel feel exposed — the darkness provided cover, while the light stripped them bare and left them vulnerable to the judging eyes of the world. 

Even the Protector seemed unsure about the new hazards that impeded their travel, often choosing to run past them rather than engage them in a fight. Not all were so content to let the two trespassers through, though: a swarm of flying mantises armed with scythes were among those who eagerly sought to tear the travelers to shreds. Their horrible orange eyes tracked the two vessels as they fled, and their scythes cut through the air with a terrifying accuracy. They were so sharp, in fact, that the vessel didn’t even notice one had left a gash in their shoulder until they felt the cold void running down their arm. 

Another terrifying discovery was the way even the ground was unreliable — platforms allowed for passage over the thorns that had overrun some sections of the area, rendering normal movement impossible. However, the platforms were old: they would swing down after a few moments with weight applied, sending any soul unlucky enough to be standing on them plummeting into the thorns below. This meant they had to travel one at a time — and quickly — which was something the vessel hated. They didn't want to be separated from the Protector.

They watched the Protector make careful, calculated leaps from one platform to another. Each time they scarcely escaped the platform before it gave out, the vessel felt fear clench their heart in its ugly claws. They didn’t know what would become of them in this place without the Protector. Furthermore, they didn’t want to lose yet another sibling. Abandoning the Leader behind that rockfall still weighed heavy on their mind each day. Often the vessel would look to the Protector and see the Leader in their stead, radiating grace and serenity. It was disheartening each and every time they were brought back to reality. They wanted both the Leader and Protector there with them.

The Protector finally made it to the other side, turning to face the vessel. It was their turn now, then. They took a deep breath, focusing on just the first platform. They could manage the short jump, couldn’t they? Either way, it’s not like they had a choice. They didn’t want to be left behind.

The vessel launched themselves at the platform, reaching it with ease — so much so they nearly went over it and were forced to teeter wildly at the edge until they caught their balance. Just as they stopped and began to mentally celebrate their success, the tell-tale creaking of the platform made them switch their focus back to jumping. The platform swung out from under them just as they pushed off, making their jump shorter than it should’ve been. They caught the next one with their arms, hauling themselves up faster than they’d thought possible. This time, they didn’t stop, copying the fearless jumps the Protector had made. When they finally landed next to their sibling, they were shaking again. They hid their hands under their cloak in an attempt to hide it, and to their relief, the Protector didn’t seem to notice. 

Two more sections of creaky, unreliable platforms awaited them, but now that they had an idea of what to expect, they got through much faster, and with fewer slip-ups. The vessel was relieved when they finally reached proper solid ground again. 

Traversing this area — the Queen's Gardens, a signpost indicated — took much less time than Deepnest had, but the vessel never did find out who the Queen was. Before long, the Protector had led them up into a beautiful place called Fog Canyon. The vessel was enraptured by the greenery and the creatures there; the jellyfish were vastly different from all the other bugs they'd encountered. They lacked a shell, and were covered in a translucent skin that looked as though it might break if one so much as brushed against it. The Protector and the vessel sat in hiding for a bit, waiting to see if these creatures would attack. By now, they had both picked up on the orange eyes of every creature but themselves. Clearly, it meant they were dangerous and prone to attack. The jellyfish in front of them contained orange cores, but didn't seem to pay the two vessels any mind. Regardless, the Protector was extremely cautious. 

It wasn't until they'd passed by several jellyfish without being attacked that the Protector swung their nail around, striking one of the smaller jellyfish. It immediately crumpled from the hit, the little orange core separating from the body. The vessel stared, baffled. Why had the Protector attacked it? It had only been floating near them. Imagine if it had become angry! They didn't want to fight if it wasn't necessary. Even more distressing was how the jellyfish were silent — the other beasts slain by the Protector often growled or screeched before succumbing to their wounds, but the jellyfish didn’t make any noise aside from that of the nail slicing through their fragile skins. They were completely silent, just like the two vessels.

They gestured for the Protector to put their nail away, but it was in vain. It only took a few more jellyfish before the Protector approached one of the larger ones and swung.

Its fragile skin tore easily, and the orange core pulsed. It separated from the body much like it had with the smaller jellyfish — but instead of falling to the ground, it headed right for the Protector. 

It exploded on contact.

The vessel couldn't run fast enough to catch their sibling, and were forced to watch as the explosion threw them through the air. The Protector landed hard on the ground nearby, cloak singed. The vessel could smell the sweet stench of those orange cores in the smoke. 

Sibling! Are you okay? The vessel asked, rushing to their side and kneeling down beside them. They were terrified of being alone in this place; they didn't want to be killed by the exploding jellyfish any more than their sibling did, they were certain.

The Protector laid there for a moment, but sat up and began brushing themselves off as though a bit of dirt had rained down on them, and not the bottled-up fury of power contained in those unassuming jellyfish.

Once the Protector was on their feet once again and seemingly back to normal, they took care to avoid striking the larger jellyfish. The smaller ones, however, were still fair game to them. The vessel smacked their sibling's arm when the Protector took out another.

No danger! Don't attack!

The Protector didn't make any indication they'd heard the vessel's message, simply plowing forward and leaving a mess of cut grass and jellyfish cores behind themselves. 

If they tried to ignore their sibling attacking everything in sight, a task more difficult that they anticipated — something that had likely started because of the lack of danger, they assumed — Fog Canyon was the most beautiful place the vessel had seen yet. When they discovered that they could pop the bubbles seeping from the earth with a mere touch, they were dashing around to every single one they saw. The noise was disturbingly similar to that of the jellyfish the Protector dispatched, but that made it so they could pretend the two of them were popping bubbles together. They loved how satisfying it was, both the quiet sound and the way they dissolved into a billion smaller bubbles in only the blink of an eye before they vanished forever. The vessel decided they would bring their siblings here, too, to see the jellyfish and pop bubbles together. Maybe they'd find a way to take some of the bubbles back to the Abyss — the vessel was certain they would find a game to use them in. If they didn’t want to venture out into the light, the vessel would make the trip for them. They didn’t deserve to miss out on all the fun.

If not for the memory of that terrifying moment the vessel thought the explosion had killed the Protector, the vessel would've begged to stay in Fog Canyon. Instead, they remained silent and let the Protector lead onwards.

The journey through this area, despite its size being even smaller than the Queen's Gardens, took a considerably longer time. The vessel attributed it to two things: the first being the terrain, which had the two vessels moving almost solely upwards; the second being the constant detours to small jellyfish by the Protector and to bubbles by the vessel. The terrain was much more demanding than any before it, and the vessel hadn't been in the best shape after their trek through Deepnest. 

When the humidity in the air began to lift ever so slightly as they ascended, the vessel was struggling to climb even the shorter walls. Their claws could hold them up, but they found their arm strength lacking. They were forced to take breaks more and more often, which meant they would chase madly after the Protector just before they escaped from sight. When they reached their sibling, they'd collapse on the ground and do it all over again.

Suddenly, the bubbles stopped, as did the jellyfish. The plant life lost its bluish sheen and was replaced by an endless range of greens. Pools of acid gurgled and sizzled along the ground, and the vessel ran to look. If it was another one of those wonderful warm pools with white water, this area was much nicer than Deepnest. 

They extended a hand towards the acid and promptly jerked away upon contact, cradling their burned hand. They stared at the acid as though it had betrayed them, and the Protector joined their side. They showed them their hand, and then pointed to the acid with an accusing glare.

The Protector dropped a leaf into the acid, and the two watched it dissolve within seconds. The vessel felt embarrassment settle over their shoulders like a thick blanket, and they turned away. They'd have to be more careful — it had been extremely stupid of them to risk their own body like that. What if they'd jumped in, thinking it was safe? They would almost certainly have died. If they died, they'd never get to take their siblings to play in the warm water or pop bubbles. That simply couldn't happen.

Their embarrassment faded as they traveled on, and the vessel began to focus on other things. The creatures here blended in with their surroundings. The Protector fearlessly fended off anything that got too close or began acting aggressive, and the vessel was grateful for this. After watching the Protector dispatch a mosskin riddled with blisters of the sweet orange pus and a few oblivious flying creatures, though, the vessel's legs gave out. The Protector looked back at the noise, and it took everything the vessel had to not simply lie down on the spot and fall asleep.

Tired. Rest.

They crawled into a darker, hidden spot adjacent to where the mosskin had been, the moss so soft it made them want to cry. They were relieved when the Protector joined them, assuming their position of watch again. The vessel had to wonder — did they not sleep? Or did they sleep sitting up like that? They hoped it was the latter, but they didn't have much time for that before sleep consumed them.

Chapter Text

The vessel woke to the Protector nudging their side. They rose without much protest, and found themselves excited to see more of the new place they’d discovered. 

The first point of interest was two corpses in the midst of strange plants that concealed themselves in the walls, only appearing to spit poison-laced clumps of weeds when the vessels passed by. While the Protector took to finding a way to kill off those, the vessel sat by the corpses. 

One had a cloak, the only thing still intact. The vessel shut their eyes, and they were back in their birthplace. They could see their home filled with the shattered shells of their siblings — some breaking in front of them, others long destroyed. 

The vessel shook their head and refocused on the world around them. The corpse was like a piece of home, something they knew . After so many changes in their world it made their head hurt, it was comforting to find something they were familiar with. 

The vessel picked up the cloak, looking it over. Tilting their head, the vessel waited for the corpse’s shade to appear. The vessel distinctly remembered how the shades of their siblings would slip from the broken shells, some sooner than others, circling until they eventually drifted off to play with the other shades. For this corpse, however, a shade didn’t appear. Hoping that this meant the bug was at peace and playing with other shades, the vessel slipped the cloak around their shoulders and offered a silent thanks to the corpses before making to catch up to the Protector.

The Protector eyed the cloak when they rejoined their side, but made no other response. The vessel couldn’t help but notice that the cloak fit them perfectly, yet they recalled it being far too large for them when they first spotted it on the corpse; there was undoubtedly something strange about it. 

Many of the creatures they encountered gave the two vessels nasty shocks: Fool Eaters snapped at them as they passed by, nearly scaring the vessel right out of their shell the first time it happened; Mosskin were prone to rushing out of heavy foliage; moss knights erupted from what appeared to be piles of leaves and brush, brandishing sharp nails; mosscreeps rose from the ground with angry chirps before skittering off or meeting their deaths at the end of the Protector’s nail; moss chargers had the two of them running for their lives before the Protector found they were nothing more than tiny creatures laden with stray brush. 

The moss knights, by far, posed the greatest threat to the two of them. Their nails were twice the size of the vessels, and they were clearly trained to fight. To earn the respect of the Protector was something admirable, in the vessel’s mind. It was interesting to finally see the Protector meet an enemy they always preferred to sneak around as opposed to engaging in battle. The rest of the creatures, however, were not so lucky. Within a matter of hours, the creatures of Greenpath were nothing more than simple obstacles to the Protector. Not even things like the darting squits could match the Protector’s natural skill with a nail. The vessel would never say anything about it, but they’d even seen the Protector imitating the moves demonstrated by the moss knights: wide swings and jumps backwards to avoid the opponent’s attacks. They had no shield, but were nimble enough that it wasn’t too severe a drawback. 

Taking the chance to rest, they sat just out of sight from the Protector, watching them practice against an unfortunate metal post. The clang of the nail against metal kept disturbing the nearby mosscreeps, which the vessel found they greatly enjoyed watching. It was rather endearing, how they rose from the ground with a shake before circling their resting spot a few times and burrowing back down. They seemed relatively harmless, always choosing to flee from the two vessels if they got too close. It was this behavior that led the vessel to approach a nearby mosscreep, and after a few minutes, reach out and touch it. The mosscreep chirped loudly, but did not bite or take a swipe at the vessel. It settled back down a ways away once the vessel retracted their hand, and the vessel concluded the little things were harmless. 

They did their best to show the Protector this once they were on the move again: they scooped up the first mosscreep to reveal itself, cradling the little thing in their arms. The mosscreep, enraged at being manhandled in such a manner, began chittering and attempting to escape. The Protector watched them, nail at the ready; the mosscreep, lacking any form of self-defense, was at the vessel’s mercy. The vessel did not need to be rescued.

They freed the mosscreep once the Protector had begun to relax ever so slightly. Just as they began to hope their sibling had understood the little creatures were harmless, the Protector swung at it. The vessel stomped their foot, a completely silent action thanks to their weight and the soft dirt beneath them. 

Sibling! Bad, the vessel scolded. They looked down at the carcass of the mosscreep before crouching to pat the moss still clinging to its shell, letting their shoulders slump. They should have set the little thing down farther from the Protector, so they could’ve stepped in. 

The Protector turned and kept walking, and the vessel scurried along behind. 

Once again, they spent most of their walk going up . The vessel desperately wished to know why the Protector was set on going up when there were so many other ways to go. When the lush scenery of Greenpath began to give way to rocks and fossils, the vessel put their foot down. They stopped walking when they came to a spike-filled pit just past the last bush, and watched the Protector jump to a nearby ledge. They simply wouldn’t follow; the Protector would come back if they didn’t move. They stood still as a stone when their sibling turned to look back and wait for them, crossing their arms. The Protector stared for a minute before seemingly accepting the vessel wasn’t going to follow, and navigated the platforms back to them. Once the Protector was at their side, the vessel pointed back to Greenpath.

Stay here!

The Protector pointed towards the desolate lands ahead of them, and the vessel felt confusion and rage swell in them. They wanted to stay; why in the world did their sibling want to leave? The wastes were so ugly and uninviting. Those plains held none of the comforting warmth the plants and dark crevices did. They pointed back again, with a bit more force this time. 

Here! 

The Protector copied them, pointing back towards the wastes, and the vessel turned and began walking back towards Greenpath. They heard their sibling following after a few seconds, and sat down a ways from that uninviting wasteland they’d seen, relaxing considerably once it was out of sight. Even the mere thought of the place unnerved them. Why did the Protector want to leave? This place was perfect in every way. Sure, one could argue that perhaps there were better places beyond the wastes, but the vessel was content here. More importantly, what if there wasn't anywhere better? What if they just wandered forever, never settling down? The idea made their head swim.

The vessel watched the Protector hover nearby, casting glances towards the wasteland every now and again. They refused to sit, as though doing such a thing would commit them to staying in Greenpath.

Stay here! Live here, the vessel pushed through their mind. 

They spotted a mosscreep and went to grab it despite the creature's protests. They showed it to the Protector, who had no reaction whatsoever. They sat down with the mosscreep, patting it until it grew exhausted from struggling and accepted its fate as a lapdog. The two of them stayed there, one standing and one sitting, until the Protector began walking back towards the wastelands. The vessel refused to give in — they’d sit here forever. Who knew what sort of place the wastelands would be? Not to mention how exhausted they were — they were tired, so tired of being chased from one land to another. They wanted somewhere to feel safe. They wanted a home. 

Just the small taste they’d had of the wastes wasn’t pleasant: the wind had been cold and biting, while the air of Greenpath was warm and tranquil. Furthermore, the vessel wanted to stay with the mosscreeps, which they’d grown incredibly fond of in the past day. 

None of this seemed to interest the Protector, though. Their sibling refused to stop walking out to the edge of Greenpath to stare out at the wastes, occasionally leaving the vessel altogether to explore for hours at a time — but they always came back. The vessel would occupy themselves by sneaking around and watching other creatures wander, always being careful to never attract their attention. They liked feeling independent, and were content with the routine the two of them had developed.

The vessel had begun to assume this would always be the case, until the Protector set a nail at the vessel’s feet.

It was smaller than the Protector’s own, and was just as old and beaten up. A few chips were missing from the blade, as well as from the handle. It was a nail all the same, and the vessel looked up, a nauseating mix of desperation and fear swirling in their stomach. The Protector stared down at them, and then pointed to the nail. The vessel gave their sibling a pleading look, but their sibling was not affected by such a thing. They simply pointed again, and then to the wastes. The vessel needed no words from their sibling to understand: their sibling was going to leave them behind. 

The vessel grabbed the Protector's cloak, ignoring the cold tears of void leaking from their eyes. They hadn't been alone since they were the last one sleeping in the egg. They didn't want to be alone again.

Their sibling, however, was set on moving forwards. They gently pried the vessel's claws from their cloak and turned away. The vessel only watched as their sibling's back retreated until it disappeared behind a curve in the tunnel. 

The vessel scrambled to their feet in a panic and chased after their sibling, searching for that grey cloak and familiar nail. The Protector couldn't have gone far in such a short time, surely. 

The vessel stopped when they reached the edge of the wastes, squinting in an attempt to find the Protector against the bland background.

They saw nothing. The wind whipped at exposed shell, sending dirt and dust into their eyes. When they realized the Protector was truly gone, the vessel collapsed on the cold stone and wept. They cried until they felt weak and drained of emotion, and then they simply sat, waiting for the Protector to return.

They never came back.

Chapter Text

The vessel pushed some of the brush aside, casting careful glances around. They were certain that the Protector hadn’t left — they’d caught sight of them just a moment ago. The vessel hurried onwards, determined to catch up. 

They finally saw the Protector ahead of them, nail in hand, when they reached a clearing. The vessel rushed to catch up, only to run into a patch of thorny brush. They tried to keep going, but the thorns snagged at their cloak. As they yanked their cloak free, they kept looking towards where the Protector was, terrified they would vanish if the vessel didn’t hurry.

Once the last vine was cast aside, the vessel rushed towards their sibling. They were so intent upon catching their sibling they didn’t see the mosskin running at them until it was too late. The vessel was tackled to the ground, where they were forced to wrestle with the mosskin.

Sibling! Help, the vessel called. 

The Protector didn’t appear to have heard; they kept walking. The mosskin scratched at the vessel, bringing a claw soaked in void away. The vessel writhed in pain, but froze when they caught sight of their fresh wound. The mosskin had left streaks of that orange pus on their body, and now it was spreading. The vessel shoved the mosskin off with adrenaline-fueled strength, dragging themselves away to inspect the wound. The pus was only spreading faster as time went on — the vessel tried to scrape it away, but it burned like fire. Tears ran down their face, and their hands shook terribly. They weren’t going to die like this, they couldn’t —

The vessel jolted up, gasping for air. Their hands immediately went to their stomach, only to find unmarred black flesh instead of orange blisters. They had to sit there for a moment to convince themselves they were truly fine — their pounding heart and headache made everything feel worse. What had happened to the wound? How did they get back to their nest? When had they even left?

The vessel searched for their sibling for hours, even venturing a short ways into the wastes in search of the Protector. They found nothing, not even an abandoned corpse. 

Their search took them far from the place they’d been staking out for the past few days, and they finally turned back when their legs began to ache. Part of them wished they’d brought that nail the Protector had left for them — it would make a nice crutch. 

They had been walking for a good while by the time they stopped, looked around, and felt their stomach drop. They didn’t recognize the area they were in — they could hear the tell-tale sizzling of acid up ahead, something they most certainly didn’t want to get too close to. But they were certain they’d been traveling the right way — where had they made a wrong turn?

The vessel backtracked, peering down every alternative path. However, none of them looked familiar. The vessel felt their heart rate quicken, and they picked up speed, checking each of the paths again. Where had they come from? Surely their memory wasn’t that bad.

It wasn’t until a sharp pain stabbed through their leg from the strain of so much travel that they gave up, hiding themselves under a bush. They would rest until they could walk again, and then —

A rustle in the grass next to them nearly scared them out of their shell. They could’ve laughed with relief, however, when an abnormally small mosscreep wiggled its way out of the brush. Unlike the other mosscreeps, this one didn’t seem eager to flee. Instead, it circled three times and promptly settled back down without distancing itself from the vessel. At such close range, it was amazing how perfectly even a young mosscreep could hide itself. With such an impeccable disguise, not even the most keen moss knight would find it. 

The thought gave the vessel pause, and they glanced around. Moss decorated nearly every surface in Greenpath. Perhaps…?

It was this train of thought that led to the vessel finding itself draped in swathes of moss. It wasn’t quite as well disguised as the little mosscreep that gave it the idea; their white shell seemed to shine compared to their flesh.The acid did turn out to have one use if you kept your distance — it could be used as a reflective surface. The solution, as it happened, laid under the moss the vessel scraped up. They took notice of the mud that got stuck in their claws, and tried to wipe it off on their leg. Instead of falling off like a leaf or bit of moss would, it smeared. They tried rubbing it off on the moss before an idea popped into their head: they could use it to hide their shell!

The mud soon dried, but it wasn’t at all uncomfortable. In addition to helping their disguise, it kept the moss from falling off quite so soon after they plastered it on. The vessel felt proud of their disguise, especially when a mosskin passing by failed to notice them hiding behind a bush. This allowed the vessel to settle into a routine of observing the creatures of Greenpath and how they survived. 

Without much change, time blurred, with one day bleeding into the next. This only changed on one such occasion: the mosskin grew agitated, pacing faster; the more cowardly ones fled, while others sought out the cause of the nearing disturbance. The vessel only truly took notice when the ground began to shake. Leaves fell from bushes, and vines shook. The mosscreeps sheltering near the vessel immediately took off, disturbed by the noise. The vessel stiffened, intrigued but too restrained by their own fear to move forward. Moving was a risk; they were hidden where they were, and if they tried to find a better shelter, they could be spotted whilst moving. 

When the cause of the earthquake emerged from behind a particularly thick wall of vines, the vessel only caught glimpses of the giant: the end of a grey cloak; the glint of a nail; the pounding of their steps.

The vessel stayed in place until they realized the giant was headed directly towards them, and had no intentions of going around the bush. They skittered off to the side as the giant came within a few steps of them, and heard the creature make a noise of surprise. 

"Eh?" 

The giant's voice was a stark contrast to the screeches and chittering the vessel had grown accustomed to from the other bugs of Greenpath. It boomed — so loudly so, in fact, that the vessel wondered if the giant could send squits flying backwards with a mere shout. They certainly felt like it was pushing them back.

The vessel plunged into a flowered bush, obscuring themselves from view. They burrowed deeper into the brush than they normally would for shelter, petrified the giant would reach in and grab them if they didn't make sufficient distance. They ignored the thorns that tore at them and left burning cuts and the dirt that stuck under their claws, focused solely on staying alive. 

Once they were certain they weren't in immediate danger of being torn out of the shrub and introduced to their death at the end of that gleaming nail, they tried to peer through the stems of the grasses without revealing themselves to get another look at the giant, which was now crouched and picking at flowers on the ground. The vessel felt their shoulders sag — it looked as though the giant hadn't seen them. They had never seen the mosskin engage in such odd behavior. When they were hungry, they ate; simple as that. Never before had they witnessed a creature picking at plants and stashing them away. They knew not all bugs fed on flesh — the mosscreeps, namely — but the larger bugs seemed to eat flesh much more often, like the huge devouts of Deepnest that chased the vessel and the Protector from their territory if they ventured too close. The vessel had seen one kill a dirtcaver and drag it away without eating it. For a bug so large, eating plants seemed odd. This intrigued the vessel greatly; perhaps this giant wasn't looking to attack them?

They quickly banished that wishful thinking; they would end up dead if they thought like that. The Protector defended them from everything, even the jellyfish and mosscreeps. This giant would attack them, too, even if the vessel meant no harm. 

They wouldn't risk it. The Protector wasn't here anymore. They couldn't afford to let their guard down. They'd be sure to stay away — to stay alive. 

As part of doing what they could to stay alive, the vessel began training in the way they'd seen the Protector do so. Unlike the Protector, however, they didn't practice with a nail. Instead, they jumped over rocks and rather irritated mosscreeps, ran from one root to another at full speed, and tried to hide themselves in bushes in record time. Once they felt that they had the hang of dodging and escaping, they approached their first true challenge: a lone mosskin puttering about near a ledge. The vessel slowly and silently drew nearer, heart pounding. Was this stupid of them, to tempt fate just for a challenge? 

Absolutely, but they didn’t want a true emergency to be the first time their skills were put to the test. They were fairly confident they could outrun a single bumbling mosskin. Furthermore, they knew this area after training in it. There were a number of spaces they could use for protection if the mosskin was faster or more persistent than they anticipated.

The mosskin caught sight of the vessel and let out a strange noise before barreling forwards, blind to everything but the vessel. The vessel wasted no time turning and dashing away, throwing glances over their shoulder every now and again. They were easily making distance; it was laughable how nervous they’d been about not managing to escape the little creature. Confidence renewed, the vessel left to find a place to sleep. 

No sooner than they had laid down, however, did they find themselves in an unfamiliar part of Deepnest. They began to look around, pulling their cloak tighter around themselves for comfort. It was quiet and the air was cool, but the vessel felt scared. What if something leapt out at them? What if a stalking devout decided they would make a good meal, and dragged them to a nest to be devoured? The idea made them shiver.

They turned a corner to come face to face with a group of dirtcarvers swarming an unrecognizable corpse. The vessel froze, but it was too late. They’d already made enough noise to attract the creatures’ attention. As the dirtcarvers began to click their mandibles and slither towards the vessel, the vessel took off running. 

They tried to remember what they’d practiced — there was something they had to do to run faster, but they couldn’t remember. 

What was it, what was it, what was it?  

Their legs were heavy and refused to move as quickly as they needed to. It was hard to breathe, too, even though they didn’t need to breathe. If they couldn’t run, they’d die. 

The dirtcarvers were closing in, and the vessel still couldn’t figure out how to run. They tripped over a dirtcarver they hadn’t seen, and tried to crawl away. They kicked at the nearing beasts, only for them to snap at the vessel’s feet. As the dirtcarvers came closer and bared their teeth, the vessel wished for someone, anyone, to come help. Their wishes were futile, however, and they could only suffer in silence as the dirtcarvers tore into their soft flesh. 

The vessel once again came to with terror washing through them in waves. They weren’t in Deepnest. They were back in Greenpath, unharmed. They hugged themselves, trying to calm their trembling. What was happening? Were they moving while they were asleep? This had never happened when the Protector was with them. Perhaps some horrible creature was attacking them as they slept, making them forget their travels. With no way to keep track of time, who knows whether they’d really gone to Deepnest or not? 

The vessel felt as though they were losing their mind.

Thankfully, they hadn’t actually forgotten how to run. They were just as fast as they’d been when running from the mosskin, and now that they were rested, they wanted to test themselves again — this time with a more challenging adversary. 

This turned out to be a moss charger. The creatures were fiercely territorial, but only just; they didn’t care for you once you exited their turf. In this way, the vessel could ensure their own safety. They started close to the edge of the moss charger’s territory, darting away the moment the creature rose from the ground. With each successful attempt, they took another step onto the creature’s land.

They were short of breath by the time they found themselves racing the moss charger all the way across its territory, and decided to call it quits for the time being. Moving much more slowly, they headed for a quieter area to do a bit of exploring. They were sure to avoid any unfriendly plant life along the way, and soon found a beautiful, open cavern with a large bridge. An enormous clump of moss sat in the middle, but the vessel didn’t mind the blocked path. They’d sit here and regain their energy, and head back to their home once they felt rested.

They settled down, tucking their legs underneath them and closing their eyes. The wind felt nice on their skin, and the sound of distant water — or possibly acid — provided a pleasing white noise. The vessel had just begun to consider visiting more often when the ground started to shake.

Their eyes snapped open, and they were quick to find the source: the giant clump of moss beside them was moving. 

A moss charger.

And it was absolutely bombastically massive.  

The vessel jumped up and started to run, but it was far too late for that. The moss charger barreled right over them, and the vessel pushed themselves to their feet. This time, the vessel tried dashing to the side, but the moss charger was even wider than it was tall. It still managed to crush the vessel into the ground once again, leaving them dizzy, in pain, and fighting for air. Regardless, they forced themselves up once again.

This, unfortunately, was for nothing. Before they could take a single step, a flash of green had them right back down on the ground. The vessel tucked their hands under their chest, screwing their eyes shut in an attempt to block out the pain. The moss charger, completely enraged by the vessel’s trespass by now, continued to run them over even without the poor vessel moving. 

At some point, the moss charger stopped attacking. For a moment, the vessel thought it was because the creature grew bored of tormenting its barely-conscious victim, but they opened one eye to see something towering over them, blocking out the light. They were in far too much pain to think, and as the thing drew closer, the vessel managed a few pathetic kicks. They were most certainly going to die; they could see how their vision was darkening, and they couldn’t even fight back, and…

Chapter Text

Everything hurt. 

The vessel tried to move, but even the slightest twitch of their arm sent a wave of agony through their whole body. It was only after the pain ebbed away and allowed them to think again that they recalled the moss charger attacking them. Had they died? Were they still in its territory? If so, they needed to escape.

They opened their eyes to strange surroundings. Instead of the usual dirt ceilings of the caverns, perfectly straight planks of wood greeted them. A glance to the side sent their heart plummeting through the table and right back to the Abyss.

A giant bug sat with its back to the vessel. Now they remembered — something had been getting closer right before their vision went. Was it this bug? Did it stash them to eat for later like it had with the flowers? Worries sizzled in their mind like the bubbles in the acid pools, crowding out any possible solutions.

Their injuries meant nothing. They had to escape, and that’s precisely what they did. The vessel shifted as quietly as possible, throwing glances at the giant every time they moved. When they reached the edge of the table, they made the mistake of trying to look to see how far the ground was.

Their head pounded as they leaned forward, and they tried to sit back up. The pain quickly stole their sense of balance, and before they knew it, they were in the air. They hit the ground with a gut-wrenchingly loud thunk.  

The vessel tried their best to will the darkness from their vision, but the giant was approaching fast. 

“Be careful! You’re injured enough as is — come here.”

The giant leaned down, reaching for the vessel. With nothing to protect themselves, the vessel sank their claws into his hand as hard as they could manage.

“Ow! Hey!”

The giant did not back off, electing to swaddle the vessel in a blanket of some sort instead. As they were placed down, the vessel was horrified to find themselves immobilized by the cloth. No matter how much they struggled, it seemed to absorb their efforts.

“Hey, hey, I’m not going to hurt you. You’re alright. You’re just injured,” the giant said. 

The vessel didn’t trust him for even a moment. They felt their stomach sink as they realized they didn’t even have the nail the Protector left for them — they couldn’t fight back, even if they knew they would lose regardless. They flinched at the giant’s voice when he suddenly began to speak once again.

“Take a deep breath, little one. I won’t hurt you. You’re safe here. My nail is all the way over there, see?”

A creature the size of this one didn’t need a nail to crush the vessel beneath their heel.

“Here, I’ll unwrap you if you promise to not run.” 

The vessel, having no choice, held still while the giant reached forwards and slowly unwound the blanket pinning their arms to their sides. The second it was gone, the vessel sat up and began to look around for a place to hide.

“Ah, do you like my hut? I live here, where nobody can bother me. My name is Sheo — that’s what you can call me. What’s your name?”

The giant — Sheo, he’d said he was called — smiled at the vessel, and the sight made their stomach twist. They’d spotted a cabinet with ample space underneath, and decided that would make the safest hiding place. But in order to reach it, they’d have to distract Sheo.

They pointed at a spot over Sheo’s shoulder, and the second he looked away, the vessel rushed to the edge of the table, jumped onto a chair, from there to the floor, and scooted under the furniture. They squished themselves against the wall, glad to finally feel even the slightest inkling of security.

“Woah, woah, come back!” Sheo huffed out a laugh. “Don’t hide under there. I promise, you’re safe here.” 

The vessel could see Sheo moving closer to the cabinet. 

“But I must say, you’re very clever. I didn’t expect such a tiny bug to be able to trick me like that! My teacher would be ashamed.”

Sheo’s deep, rumbling laugh sent yet another bout of terror through the vessel. They hoped that Sheo would stop talking and leave them be, but such wishes were futile.

“It’s alright if you’re not up for talking. I won’t force you to; you’re clearly scared, which I can understand. I’ll bring you some food so you don’t go hungry. You won’t even have to come out from under there — I’ll just slide the plate under and you can give it back when you’re done, alright?”

Silence. The vessel could not speak even if they wished to do so.

“Alright. Make sure to not hurt yourself — I don’t want your injuries to worsen.”

The vessel flattened themselves against the floor, wishing to melt into it and return to the days when they played Chase with the shades in the Abyss, when they didn’t feel constant fear and uncertainty. The wood under them was cold and uncomfortable, nothing like the soft moss of their previous encampment. They desperately wished for a way out of this hut, but they didn’t dare try getting past Sheo. Moreover, they were injured, and even the short dash to the cabinet had stretched their cuts, allowing the cold void to begin staining the bandages once again.

It wasn’t long before Sheo returned to the cabinet, pushing a plate underneath. The vessel shied away from it.

“Here, I brought you something to eat. I don’t know what sort of bug you are, so just eat what you can, okay?”

They didn’t even consider touching the food on the plate. They’d never felt a need to eat, but did so anyway when they saw how the mosscreeps nibbled on patches of clover. They knew the clovers were safe to eat; if other creatures could safely consume something, so could they. The plate of food in front of them had been untouched. It could very well make them feel worse, and they weren’t in a hurry to exacerbate their suffering. 

As such, they left the plate alone, warding off sleep with sheer will. Hours passed before Sheo bid the vessel goodnight and all went quiet.

After a long period of silence, the vessel crept out from under the cabinet. Once they had emerged enough to take in their surroundings, a spark of hope renewed their energy: Sheo was asleep on the opposite side of the hut from the door, which the vessel hurried over to immediately. They reached for the handle, only to find they were too short. Fear flashed through them — they refused to be trapped in here, waiting to be eaten. They looked up at the handle, took a deep breath, and jumped.

They snagged the handle with their claws, jerking it down and pulling the door open with a noisy creak. They fell to the floor with a thump, but pushed themselves to their feet when Sheo’s breathing changed.

He grunted as he awoke, but the vessel wasted no time slipping through the door and back outside. They headed down a cleared path, the pain of their injuries muted by adrenaline. Their cloak flared out behind them, making them feel as though the wind was pushing them along; they’d never moved so fast. They didn’t know where in Greenpath they were, but that didn’t matter — all they needed to do was get away from Sheo.

They ran with wild abandon, slipping on the leaves several times on the way down the path. At the bottom, however, they skidded to a stop. 

A sea of thorns awaited them with no break whatsoever. The vessel could feel the cuts they would leave without even touching them, and they absentmindedly backed away from the thorns. There were no other paths to take, only the one leading back to where they’d come from. 

“Hey! Come back!”

Sheo was yet to be within their line of sight, but they didn’t have long. Abandoning their idea to outrun him, they bolted to a nearby bush and were never more relieved to find a mosscreep. The creature barely had time to rise from the ground before the vessel tore the moss off the poor thing, covering themselves with it instead. 

Upon seeing how distressed the little creature was to have been robbed of its only form of defense, the vessel grabbed it and nearly sat on it once they squeezed themselves under the bush — and not a moment too soon. Sheo ran by mere seconds afterwards.

“Little bug! Where did you go? Come back, you’re hurt! It’s not safe out here!” 

It wasn’t any safer in that hut.

“Little bug!”

The vessel stayed quiet, but the mosscreep pinned under them had no such intentions. It began chittering noisily, determined to free itself. The vessel willed it to be silent, but it was in vain. Sheo headed for the bush, and the vessel hadn’t even had time to start moving away before the canopy of the bush parted and revealed Sheo’s face. 

The vessel let the mosscreep go, and it rushed away to find a secure spot far, far away from the thief that had taken its moss. Sheo blinked at the vessel, and then began to laugh.

“Are you trying to be a mosscreep?” He asked. “Oh, that’s adorable. Come here, little mosscreep. I won’t hurt you.”

The vessel flinched away as Sheo reached towards them, but they found themselves being carried moments later nonetheless. They were too weak to wriggle their way out of his claws, and Sheo didn’t seem bothered by their scratching. By the time they were back in the hut, they felt hopeless. When Sheo set them down, however, confusion overpowered that hopelessness. Why wouldn’t he just eat them already? It was torture enough being afraid constantly. 

“Look, I’m not going to hurt you. Don’t run away, please. It’s dangerous out there,” Sheo said upon returning to the hut and placing the vessel on the table. “I won’t force you to stay here indefinitely, but at least refrain from running away until you’re properly healed.”

The vessel glanced at the cabinet, debating whether or not they’d be able to make it. When they did so, however, Sheo sighed.

“You can hide under there if you want to — I won’t force you to stay out here if you don’t feel safe. I can’t force you to feel safe. Just try to understand I want to help you.”

Sheo was, without a doubt, the strangest and most confusing bug the vessel had ever met. They missed the Protector’s silence, in a way. While they never knew what the Protector was thinking, they didn’t have to fear them or wonder if they were lying. With Sheo, he could well be planning on killing the vessel despite his claims. Words made things confusing. Furthermore, nobody had ever spoken to them; they couldn’t even make sense of why they understood him. How was Sheo’s voice different from the screeches of the spiders or the mosskin? His voice was so loud, and it seemed to pull the vessel out of their thoughts and pin them to the ground. 

Before they could make a move towards the cabinet, however, Sheo called for them to stop.

“Let me check on your injuries,” he said. 

The vessel sat frozen in place as Sheo approached and unwound the bandages, and they only moved to inspect their own wounds once he stepped back to collect supplies.

There were several cuts, but none that were too deep; they were healing just fine. They hadn’t broken anything either, thankfully. They poked at one of the scabbed-over cuts, wincing at the jarring pain.

“Don’t do that,” Sheo chastised. He returned to their side and washed the wounds as gently as he could with warm water before applying fresh bandages. While he did so, the vessel sat as though moving was a death sentence. 

Once he was done, he backed away and allowed the vessel to look over his handiwork. But since Sheo had given permission earlier, they immediately slunk under the cabinet. To his credit, he didn’t try to grab the vessel or otherwise prevent them from seeking refuge under his furniture. The plate of food was still there untouched, and the vessel shoved it away with one hand. 

“You don’t want any?” Sheo asked. When he received no response, he picked the plate up and took it away. The vessel heaved a silent sigh as they relaxed ever so slightly — staying alert at all times was exhausting. They could feel how their eyes fought to close and the way their shoulders slumped if they remained still for too long, but resisted the alluring lull of sleep nonetheless. What if Sheo took them somewhere else while they were unconscious again? What if they were taken from Greenpath to an entirely foreign place this way, and never saw their siblings again? Why had Sheo even taken them in the first place, if not to make a meal out of the vessel? 

They desperately wished to know what was happening; it must have been linked to the Protector’s disappearance. Who did the vessel think they were? They weren’t the Leader. They didn’t necessarily know what was best for themselves. Maybe the Protector was right, to venture into the Wastes. Maybe they knew something about this beautiful place the vessel was blind to thus far. They shouldn’t have been so prideful. The Protector could handle anything — they could not. How could they doubt the Protector’s judgement? They should have followed no matter what. The Protector had gotten them safely to Greenpath; the Protector led the vessel forward with an endless patience regarding their burdening presence. What part of them made them think they’d make it on their own? They would’ve been safe if they followed the Protector into the Wastes, if they’d kept to their remaining sibling’s side. They had chosen to follow the Leader and the Protector just outside the Abyss when given a choice — why had they acted differently now, especially when the loss of the Leader still tore at them? They would do anything to go back and make the right decision, but it was too late. This was what they deserved.

Their endless thoughts soon wore them out entirely, pushing them into the clutches of sleep before they could even realize it was happening.

Chapter Text

The vessel was out of Sheo’s hut, wandering through a new area of Greenpath. Exhausted, they kept a lookout for a good place to rest. They evaded a number of mosskin before spotting a little cave a bit off the beaten path. It looked uninhabited upon inspection, so the vessel crawled in. 

It was dark but inviting inside, and reminded them of home. The quiet dripping of water from the ceiling at first heightened their anxieties, but soon became background noise. They moved to lie down, only to brush against a mosscreep. The creature rose from the ground and chirped angrily; the vessel moved a bit to the side, knowing the creatures were harmless. With a smile, they reached out to pat it once they were settled. The moss on its back was as soft as ever, and its presence a reassurance the cave was safe from hungry predators.

The one mosscreep’s chirps woke others, and soon a whole family of mosscreeps surrounded the vessel. For the first time since they’d realized the things weren’t dangerous, the vessel felt nervous. They first began to back away from the mosscreeps, but the little creatures pressed forward, growing louder and louder. Not even a harsh shove kept them away — instead, it made them grow.  

The mosscreeps grew and grew in front of their very eyes, sprouting horrible yellowing fangs and showing off gleaming claws. The vessel had backed themselves into a corner upon entering the cave, and there was no way they were getting past the angry beasts in front of them now. 

The vessel tried to kick them away once again, but this only enraged the beasts further. One lunged at the vessel, ripping into their chest. Pain shot through them and blacked out their vision, and in the blink of an eye, they were back under Sheo’s cabinet. 

They only now noticed they had never shed the scraps of moss from their attempted escape — the sight of it made them jerk upright and smack their head against the bottom of the cabinet, and they hurried to rip it off and fling it aside. To their dismay, the shaking didn’t stop, and neither did the phantom pain of teeth digging into their flesh. 

They could hear Sheo shuffling around nearby, and tried to focus on his movement as he approached.

“Little mosscreep, I’m going to leave you some food again. Try to eat, alright? You need to eat to keep your strength up. It’ll help you heal faster,” Sheo said. He slid another plate under the cabinet, and the vessel didn’t immediately shove it away this time — they were still on edge, both from being attacked by mosscreeps and due to Sheo’s intimidating aura in general. If Sheo planned to eat them, there wasn't much they could do at this point to prevent it. They likely didn’t need to worry about Sheo using any discreet methods to kill them — it would be much easier to simply crush the vessel's shell with a flick of his claws. 

The vessel finally reached towards the plate and pulled it closer, inspecting each item carefully. Nothing seemed odd about any of the bits of food; at this point, even the food being dangerous wouldn’t surprise them. Resigning themselves to this possibility, they set to work on the many different things offered to them more out of a need to stay occupied than a desire to eat. Even the things that tasted bad they forced down — they couldn't be scared if they were gagging on bitter stems.

Sheo, at the very least, seemed pleased when the vessel pushed an empty plate out from under the cabinet.

"Oh, look at that! Good job. You must've been so hungry — how about I get you some more?" 

He lifted the plate from the ground, and the vessel slumped. Were they ever going to escape this nightmare?

After giving the vessel another plate of food, Sheo sat nearby to paint. While he did so, he talked to the vessel.

"My teacher — the Nailsage Sly — always told me I would surpass him with ease if I continued studying the nail arts. Oh, nothing made Oro and Mato more irritated than when he'd use me as an example. It was always amusing, watching the two of them smolder," Sheo said with a laugh that didn’t sound entirely genuine. 

"In the beginning, I had dreams of grandeur — I wanted to surpass even the great Nailsage himself in skill. I would daydream about the day I finally bested him in battle. But as time went on, I began losing that passion. I didn’t understand when it was happening, but I suppose everyone changes, you know? I stopped feeling like myself with my nail in hand. I didn't want to leave a trail of blood in my wake. I didn't want to paint the path to my success with the defeat of others. I moved out here to explore and find a new calling. I found that I enjoyed creation and tried things like painting and sculpting instead — it utilizes a lot of the same things I learned while studying the nail. It's a wonderful way to express your feelings or illustrate that which you love about the world."  

Sheo paused, and the vessel listened idly to the sound of clinking before he resumed. 

"Painting has made me much happier than fighting ever did. And anyone can paint, no matter their skill level. Anything you can think of, you can create. If I ever see Sly or my brothers again, I hope they'll be proud of who I've become. I don't doubt they'll be disappointed I put down my nail, but I choose to believe their love for me will let them be happy that I'm content with what I do. There's more to life than fighting, after all. I won’t deny that I sometimes miss my life as a nailmaster, but…" 

Another pause embellished with the sound of something soft against paper.

"You know, little mosscreep — and I hope you don't mind me calling you that — if you ever wanted to come out from under there, I could teach you how to paint." 

For a split-second, the vessel entertained the offer before forcing it out of their mind. They wouldn't be lured out so easily.

Once Sheo was asleep, the vessel ventured out from under the cabinet again. This time, the door was blocked with a canvas made of nails and a half-finished painting. The vessel only cast a single glance towards the bed before approaching the canvas, climbing up on the chair for a better look. Sheo had seemingly been painting a spot in Greenpath — the vessel didn't know any other places with such rich plant life. 

Turning to the assortment of clutter surrounding the canvas, they carefully looked over the paintbrushes (they felt nice to brush over one’s hand), the pots of paint (which smelled much differently from what they expected), the stubby bits of charcoal (they did not taste good), and the thin, blank sheets of bark. The vessel looked to the painting, and then to the pots, and then back to the painting. Sheo had invited them to paint; perhaps they could try it by themselves, when they wouldn't be scared of being attacked while they worked.

They dipped the brush in one of the pots and began to paint, attempting to capture the likeness of a mosscreep. They felt they did fairly well on the general size, but it looked like nothing more than a blob of green with two orange dots in the center; this was completely fine with the vessel. They moved on to try painting one of the jellyfish they'd seen in Fog Canyon, but quickly grew frustrated at their inability to capture that translucent skin of theirs. They instead had a completely opaque blue blob with long legs that didn't represent the fragility of the creatures at all. 

Put off by this setback, they set the brush down and decided it would be easier to simply use their hands instead. They dipped a hand in a pot of black paint and tried to draw the shell of the Protector, carefully tracing the horns to ensure they were perfect. Next to this they illustrated the Leader, although this made their heart ache — hadn't Sheo said painting was an outlet for emotions? If that was the case, why did it make them sad instead of happy?

Once they were finished with their paintings of the Leader and the Protector — the latter armed with their nail, of course — the vessel sat back to admire their work. As they did so, they also began to truly inspect the hut for the first time. It was in this way they noticed the dozens of paintings that adorned the walls, covering nearly every bit of space. Some were large, with beautiful, lifelike depictions of creatures both familiar and foreign to the vessel. Others were of places — mostly Greenpath — and devoid of overwhelming details. There were also paintings of bugs that looked much like Sheo, and the vessel wondered if it was unusual for a bug to paint themselves. The vessel had first seen their own face upon looking into a pool of acid to ensure their disguise was working, but they had never thought to depict themselves alongside their siblings. They had four horns, more than even the Leader did. Their horns, however, were shorter than the Protector's. They were also smaller in a more general sense, but such a thing had never bothered them.

What did bother them was the paint on their hand that left marks on every surface it touched, including the vessel's cloak. It was even worse than mud. They jumped down from the chair and tried wiping it off on several different surfaces — the floor, the corner of the cabinet, their other hand, anything but their precious cloak.

They spotted a cloth hanging near Sheo's bed, and they crept over to it. Sheo didn't stir as they ever so slowly grabbed the cloth and wiped the paint from their hand with it, hanging it back up when they were done. Once they were certain Sheo was still asleep, they tiptoed back to the cabinet and squeezed themselves under it, back to safety.

The vessel awoke to a gasp.

"Little mosscreep, you painted?" Sheo's voice was louder than usual, and the vessel winced. A brief confusion clouded their foggy mind until their outing the previous night returned to them — that was right, they'd painted last night. Was Sheo angry? The idea of such an outcome made them run cold. They hadn't even stopped to consider whether Sheo would actually be okay with them painting without his supervision. Maybe it was dangerous to paint alone, or he would be mad the vessel might have been searching for another way out of the hut and to freedom. Or — and this was the worst thought yet — what if they had ruined Sheo’s painting?

"It's so beautiful! I'm proud of you, little mosscreep. You did such a good job on the jellyfish; it's very distinct, and it really stands out. And you picked such vibrant colors for the mosscreep, too. Oh, and these two bugs — they look a bit like you. Are they family?" 

The vessel gave no response, but Sheo didn't seem to need one. 

"You should be proud of yourself. This is your very first painting! You know, there's a special word for when two artists paint on the same canvas: it's called a collaboration. That means that when we're done, we can both sign it. I'll hang it on the wall so I can always see it," Sheo declared. The vessel listed carefully for any hints of anger in his tone, but detected none. Was he really pleased with their work? They hoped so, as his praise was making their heart swell. 

"For you to sign it, I'll need to know your name, though. Do you feel like you could come out from under there so we can talk?"

The vessel didn't budge the slightest bit. Perhaps he wasn't planning on eating them right away, but he still couldn't be trusted. Of course, the vessel felt this argument weakening; each time they rebuked his offers to emerge from their hiding spot and subject themselves to his mercy even more than they already were, they could feel doubt trickling through them. It wasn't as though the vessel thought every bug had to be dangerous; after all, they'd had their siblings. It was simply that every bug that was not a sibling had been out for blood, and how was the vessel to differentiate between non-siblings that were dangerous and non-siblings that were safe? 

The complexity of the issue made their head hurt.

Chapter Text

The next morning, the vessel listened to Sheo leaving and re-entering the hut several times in quick succession. His behavior had them pondering whether it was worth it to move to the edge of the cabinet and get a look at what was happening. Before they could do such a thing, however, Sheo began talking to them once again.

“Hey, little mosscreep, I figured that it’s probably really cramped under there, right? I’m making you a little spot out here that should fit you better. It’ll be nice and closed off, and I promise I won’t ever invade your privacy while you’re in there. I’ll let you know when it’s done so you can think about trying it out.”

The vessel was indeed paying for the lack of space under the cabinet: their arms and legs ached constantly from how constricting the space was. The thought of being able to stretch out and still have somewhere to hide was extremely appealing; maybe they’d give it a try. They slowly dragged themselves to the edge of the cabinet, and got a look at what Sheo was building.

He was hard at work constructing a little lean-to made of roots, and with mosses and leaves covering any possible gaps in the roof. It was a bit difficult to get a good look at what was happening given that Sheo was partially in the way, but they could still figure it out on their own fairly easily. 

It wasn’t long before Sheo patted some moss down on the floor and backed away.

“It’s all done. You can come try it out if you like.” 

Sheo got up and turned, and the vessel had to resist the urge to flinch away and hide when they locked eyes with him. 

“Oh, hello! It’s so nice to see your face. Look, I’ll move far away.” Sheo headed for the door and sat in front of it, leaving a path for the vessel to safely reach the little shelter. 

Should they move? They desperately wished to. Their aches had worsened tenfold at the idea of being able to leave the cabinet — they felt as though they might die if they stayed under there for a moment longer. Moreover, Sheo hadn’t actually hurt them yet. They were still at his mercy. If they were to die, at least they’d be comfortable. He was far enough that the vessel could make it to the hideout before Sheo could reach them, and they trusted their own speed.

They crawled out from under the cabinet once they made up their mind, relieved to stretch. While they’d gone out to explore and paint, the pain came back faster and faster each time they went back under the furniture. 

They padded over to the shelter and inspected it carefully, on the lookout for anything dangerous — and that included Sheo getting up and trying to grab them. Thick strands of grass hung from the entry, obscuring the inside from the view. When brushed aside, the vessel could see the moss that lined the floor. There wasn’t anything obviously suspect, so they stepped inside and sat down. As they did so, they heard Sheo let out a quiet sigh.

“Do you like it?” He asked. The vessel parted the grass curtain and peered out at him; this made Sheo break into a wide smile. “I’m glad. If there’s anything you don’t like about it, we can always change it so it’s more comfortable.”

The vessel loved their new spot, and found they no longer feared Sheo quite so much. They hated this, feeling as though they were only inviting their own demise. 

They sat quietly at the entrance to their hideout while Sheo painted, and found they quite liked the sound of the brush against canvas. The gentle strokes were so quiet it was nearly impossible to hear, yet it soothed them. Sheo was at an angle that allowed them to see his canvas: today he was painting water, he’d said. The vessel had never seen so much water; was it even possible for there to be such a large amount in one place? They had only ever seen it in the jar Sheo kept by his paints and in a tub by the kitchen area.

Sheo glanced back at them, so they quickly dropped their head. They didn’t want Sheo to think they were weird, nor did they want him to start asking all sorts of questions they couldn’t answer. Thankfully, he merely turned back to his canvas and resumed his work. 

Watching Sheo paint filled the vessel with a sense of awe; how could one smear some blue paint on bark and then make it look so real? 

The vessel woke up to find Sheo was no longer painting. Had the quiet brushstrokes really put them to sleep? They stretched by the entrance to their hideout, catching Sheo’s attention when he walked into view.

“Hello there! Did you sleep well?”

No response.

“That's right. Look, I’m going to teach you how to say yes and no, okay? If you want to say yes, nod your head like this.” Sheo nodded in demonstration. “Can you try it?”

The vessel hesitated, and then nodded.

“Great! And this is no,” Sheo said, shaking his head. The vessel copied without being prompted. “So smart! Alright. I’m going to ask you some questions, and you’ll just nod or shake your head. So… let’s test it. Do you have injuries?”

The vessel took a moment to think. The answer was clearly yes, so they shook their head. Then, they froze — was that wrong? Which motion meant yes?

Sheo laughed, and the vessel felt overwhelming shame. They’d messed up. They nodded forcefully, and Sheo smiled at them.

“Good. Up and down is yes. Now, do you have a family?”

The vessel felt a sharp pain in their chest as they thought of the Leader crushed by rocks and the Protector lost to the Wastes. They hung their head, but nodded. 

“Do you know where they are?”

The vessel shook their head.

“I’m sorry,” Sheo said. “We’ll find them. I promise.” He offered a weak smile. “Do you know where your home is?”

The vessel nodded, paused, and tilted their head. They knew their home was the Abyss, but did they know how to get back there?

“Okay, don’t worry. Is your home in Greenpath? Where we are now?”

No.

“Is it in the Crossroads? Lots of rocks and straight tunnels?”

No.

“Is it in the City? Tall buildings, raining all the time?”

No.

This sort of questioning went on for a bit, until Sheo began to grow irritated. The vessel felt their heart rate pick up; they didn’t want Sheo to be angry with them.

“Well, what about Deepnest? Very dark, lots of spiders?”

His voice had changed — it was sharper now, and while he was clearly trying to keep his frustration under wraps, he may as well have begun throwing things around the room and started shouting at or attacking them. His voice was kind, but it sounded wrong. It sounded wrong and it sent a chill through their limbs. Sheo was unhappy, and unhappy bugs hurt others. Every movement of Sheo’s, every twitch of his claws, every little shift in position, it was all in preparation to strike the vessel down. 

Perhaps it would be best to just nod; it wasn’t like Sheo was going to be able to find their home regardless. As such, they nodded, and Sheo perked up. They let relief surge through them — they’d avoided certain death.

“Oh! Great.” The relief in his voice calmed the vessel; they’d made the right choice. Now they only had to worry about him finding out they’d lied and being angered at that. But they’d been through Deepnest, so they could pretend it was their home. They could pretend they’d lived near those terrifying tunneling worms, or watched the Protector fight off devouts.

“A little Deepnest bug. I wouldn’t have guessed — your shell reminds me of Crossroads bugs, if anything. But don’t worry, I’ll get you home.” 

When Sheo began painting again later in the day, he set several small pots of paint by the hideout, along with brushes of varying sizes and several blank sheets of bark. He also set a jar of water down, which the vessel was clearly confused by.

“I thought you might like your own materials. You have a knack for painting, you know.”

The vessel brightened at his words, and inched forward ever so slightly to inspect the tools.

“I assume you already know how to use the brush and the paints; just dip this end into the paint, and then put it on the canvas.”

The vessel nodded, opening the different pots. Sheo had provided them with four different colors: red, blue, yellow, and black. 

“The water is what you use in between colors. If you paint with red, and you want to use blue, you need to wash your brush in between. That way you don’t mix the colors in the pot.”

Oops. They hadn't done that when using Sheo's paints.

The vessel picked up a brush and dipped it in the water just for fun, and Sheo nodded in approval. That seemed simple enough — they’d seen him swirl the brush around in a jar just like this one, turning the water darker and darker until he dumped it out the window. 

“Now, you might notice you’re missing some colors, but you’re actually not. Let me get you a plate,” he said. The vessel ran the paintbrush over one of the blank sheets of bark, enjoying the sound. Once Sheo returned, they watched him carefully.

“What you can do is mix colors. You can make every color imaginable with the four you have. Why don’t you try combining two of them to see what you can make? Use a clean brush every time you put it in a pot, remember…”

The vessel was already dipping a brush into the yellow paint, and left a smear of it on the plate at Sheo’s instruction. They quickly washed it off before sticking it in the jar of black paint and mixing it with the yellow. To their dismay, the smear simply turned black; it looked as though they hadn’t added any yellow at all.

“Ah, that’s what happens if you add too much of a color. Some colors are stronger than others — the darker they are, the more powerful. Black is the strongest, and white is the weakest.” Sheo glanced over at the pots, and showed the vessel the red paint. 

“Which will be stronger, the red or the yellow?” 

The vessel tilted their head, mulling it over. Red was different from yellow, yes, but was it necessarily darker? It seemed like it. They pointed to the red pot.

“Good! Now, what about red and blue? Which is stronger?”

They pointed to the blue pot and practically melted at the praise Sheo rained on them. 

“You’re so smart! Good job. Alright. Now, why don’t you try mixing yellow with just a little bit of blue?” 

The vessel did as they were told, and quickly produced a gradient of greens on the outer rim of the plate. Following that, the vessel learned to utilize color mixing to make numerous colors they didn’t have pots for, and even some they'd never seen: purple, orange, brown, pink, grey, and even different shades and tints of each. Sheo explained how adding more water made colors lighter, which was how they managed pink and grey.

By the time Sheo left them to their own devices, they were freshly worn out. They’d been practicing with color mixing for so long, and hadn’t left a single drop of paint on any of the canvases. They looked over at Sheo, who was busy working on his own painting. Would he be sad if they didn’t paint something right away? They wanted to curl up on the moss and sleep, but not if it ended in him getting upset.

They raised their brush to one of the sheets of bark, but it shook in their hand. They certainly couldn’t paint like this. Setting the brush down, they put the lids on their pots — something Sheo had stressed was very important to keep the paint from drying out — and subsequently drew his attention.

“Hm? Are you alright, little mosscreep?” Sheo was half-turned towards the vessel, brush in hand. The vessel nodded, but pointed to the shelter; given they were halfway in it already, this was somewhat difficult.

“Ah, are you ready to turn in? You don’t need my permission for that. Sleep well, and let me know if you need anything,” Sheo said. He turned back to his canvas, and the vessel crawled fully into their hideout and curled up on the moss. It felt even softer when they were tired, and they soon sank into darkness.

Chapter Text

Now that Sheo had taught the vessel to nod and shake their head, he took to asking more questions. He’d also taught them to shrug, a way to say I don’t know that turned out to be surprisingly useful. What the vessel couldn’t answer with those three things, they took to drawing. While they didn’t love being asked question after question, they put up with it.

“Do you remember your parents?” Sheo asked. The vessel paused to think — they had only ever known about their siblings. As such, they shook their head. 

“I see. Alright, how about siblings? Were those drawings you made of your siblings?” The vessel nodded, so Sheo continued: “Why don’t you draw them for me again? I could visit the city and ask if anyone has seen them.”

This was likely a pointless endeavor, but how did they explain that to Sheo? They dragged one of the pieces of bark over, staring down at it. They’d draw the Leader first, and the rockfall. They exaggerated it a bit, illustrating their sibling crushed under the rocks, their shell lined with cracks and with void dripping down their face. They passed this to Sheo, who seemed rather disturbed by it. He hemmed and hawed for a few seconds before finally speaking:

“They… died? They were crushed?”

The vessel nodded, looking towards the ground. They only paused for a second before moving to draw the Protector, their form tiny against the wastes. They drew a bit of Greenpath, and then themselves. They added an arrow next to the Protector, and Sheo looked it over.

“This one left Greenpath?” He asked, and when the vessel nodded, he hummed. “This looks like… well, it’s a bit hard to tell, but is this the… no, is it the Howling Cliffs? There’s a lot of empty space up there, very barren. Was there wind?”

Another nod. 

“Alright, so this one went into the Cliffs. That’s… not good for a bug so young.”

The Protector? Young? They weren’t certain about that, but set to work on drawing the other siblings that went down the darker path outside the Abyss without any further conversation. They added the silk hanging from the walls, but it looked like nothing more than random lines. Sheo had more trouble with this drawing, and eventually set it aside without coming to any correct conclusions.

“Well, little one, I’m not quite sure what to do. I don’t know where you’re from, you don’t know your parents, you have no siblings nearby we can ask…” he trailed off, tapping the ground with a claw. The vessel kept an eye on it, not wanting to be caught off guard and attacked.

“If I were a braver bug, I’d take you to Deepnest and see if you could lead me to your siblings.”

He paused again, looking over the drawings. Finally, he held out the one with the Protector.

“You drew yourself here. Was this one with you for a while?”

The vessel nodded.

“And they left once they reached the Cliffs? You stayed behind?”

Another nod. Sheo hummed.

“I see. What if you and I went to go look for your sibling together? The Cliffs aren’t nearly as dangerous as Deepnest, nor are they as far. I’d keep you safe,” he said with a half-smile. 

The vessel hesitated, trying to think past their immediate resistance. They didn’t want to go to the Cliffs in the first place, and certainly not with Sheo, whom they didn’t trust. On the other hand, they did want to look for the Protector. 

Supposing it would be easiest to decline by sharing their fears, they eventually took up another canvas and got to work sketching a drawing of Sheo with his nail, an angry expression on his face. On the ground beside him, the vessel drew their own shell alongside the Protector’s, void pooling around them. They passed the bark over.

Sheo’s face fell when he took the bark, and the vessel almost felt guilty; however, they felt their fears were justified.

“Little mosscreep, I would never. I would never hurt you, or your sibling. Oh, god, I’m so sorry if I ever gave you the idea I would.” Sheo’s voice was quiet and tinged with desperation. “I won’t let any harm come to you, or your siblings. I’ll get you back home safe and sound, alright?”

Would he? Sheo didn’t even know where their home was. The vessel played with their cloak, not confident enough to make eye contact. Sheo suddenly reached out, however, and the vessel felt panic surge through them. They reacted faster than they could think, their claws leaving a deep gash in Sheo’s hand and drawing a gasp of pain from him. Darting back into their hideout, they curled into a ball, tense and trembling. Now he would certainly drag them out by the leg and take his revenge on them. 

“Oh, I’m sorry! I shouldn’t have tried to touch you. I’m sorry, I’m sorry. That was my fault.”

There was a brief silence before Sheo spoke again, during which the vessel waited for Sheo to part the grass curtains and drag them out, ready to rip them to shreds. That, however, never came to be.

“I’ll let you be. I’ll be out here if you need me, alright?”

Once their initial terror receded, the vessel tried to force themselves to calm down some. The Protector wouldn’t have hidden away, shaking in fear like this. They’d have launched themselves at Sheo to fight, or they’d have devised a plan to sneak out and escape successfully — not like the vessel’s botched attempt at stealing a mosscreep’s disguise and immediately being discovered. 

They stayed hidden for several hours, until Sheo placed a plate of food in front of the hideout. 

“Time to eat,” he called gently. The vessel poked their head out, eyeing Sheo warily. To their relief, he backed away and sat down with a smile. His hand was wrapped with bandages, and the vessel felt a mix of satisfaction and guilt run through them. It was proof they could protect themselves; their siblings would be proud, right?

“I’m very sorry I scared you earlier,” he started, “and I hope you’re alright. I won’t try to touch you again.”

The vessel brushed his words off and began inspecting the items on the plate. Most of them were familiar — various tubers and leafy greens. This time, however, there was a hunk of some sort of meat and a cluster of black berries they failed to recognize. They picked one of the berries up and looked expectantly at Sheo.

“Ah, that’s black nightshade. Give it a try — it’s a sweet berry. You can only eat the ripe ones, though. And only the berries! The other parts of the plant are toxic unless you cook them,” Sheo said, “not to mention there’s a similar plant to it called deadly nightshade, and as its name implies…”

The vessel tuned Sheo out in favor of the nightshade berry. They’d never had anything sweet before; for a moment, they were sad they had to wait to bring these berries to their siblings, but reassured themselves that they’d do so eventually. They’d find more and bring handfuls of them back.

They ate the berries one at a time, savoring the sweetness of each before taking the next. When they reached for another only for their claws to scrape the plate, they looked up at Sheo.

“That’s enough for now. If you finish the rest of what’s there, I’ll give you one more, alright? Oh, and let me know if you can eat the meat — since you’re a Deepnest bug, I thought you might need that in your diet, too.”

The vessel nodded and set to work on the remaining plants and the meat. The taste of them paled in comparison to the berries, but the vessel forced them down regardless. Considering they seemed to be capable of eating anything at all, the meat went down just the same as everything else.

“There are actually quite a few plants that use imitation to their advantage here,” Sheo said with an air that signaled he was merely continuing a train of thought. Ah, right — the vessel had completely ignored him for a minute there. They wouldn’t do that again.

“Even some creatures do it! Fool eaters, for example: they lie flat on the ground and look like nothing more than grasses. When an unsuspecting creature walks across, they snap up — “ Sheo brought his hands together, making a noisy clap and causing the vessel to flinch slightly, “ — and capture their prey. Then, they’ll hold and digest whatever they’ve caught right there. It’s quite fascinating! Mosscreeps and moss chargers also do it, as do the moss knights, I suppose. They all look like piles of brush. Nasty things, the moss knights are. I don’t like to spar with them at all.”

The vessel clearly remembered the moss knights. They shuddered at the thought of being attacked by one. In an attempt to distract Sheo, they held up their empty plate. 

“Oh, good. Let me take that for you,” he said, rising to his feet. The vessel grabbed a piece of bark and did their best to draw the nightshade berries, displaying their artwork prominently when Sheo returned.

“Right — I did promise to give you one more berry. Let me go get it.”

The vessel watched with considerable eagerness, and was dismayed to see Sheo kept the berries on a high shelf. They’d struggle immensely to reach the top of those shelves, but they were certain they’d find a way somehow. Sheo looked back at them once he’d retrieved the berry, and seemed to recognize the look in their eye.

“Sneak up there for more and you’ll never taste them again,” he threatened. The vessel promptly averted their gaze, pretending they hadn’t been planning exactly that. When Sheo held the berry out, though, all guilt was left behind. They shut their eyes as they ate, trying to enjoy the sweetness fully. Sheo laughed at them, however, and they snapped their eyes open to glare.

“I apologize, it’s just funny. You love those berries, don’t you? Typical response for a child. I remember my first time getting something sweet. My father gave my brothers and I a little bit of honey one night, and he always said it was his biggest regret — we never shut up about it afterwards. Especially Oro! I always joked that if he were to move away, he’d find a place to live among the bees. In a way, I was right — he lives fairly close to the hive now, if my memory serves me well.” Sheo’s smile weakened, and his gaze drifted off the vessel and to nothing in particular. The vessel quietly mourned the fact the berry was already gone while Sheo thought, staring at their own hands. Was Sheo being genuine when he threatened to never give them berries again? Did they really want to risk it? They weren’t sure. 

“My apologies. I got lost in my thoughts there. What was I saying? Oh, yes. My brothers and I drove him up the walls asking for honey all the time afterwards. He’d tell me whatever becomes of you after giving you berries was well deserved, I’m certain. A monster of my own making.”

Sheo began to reach towards them once again, but his hand froze in the air upon seeing the vessel tense up. He pulled back, offering a sad smile.

“Right. That reminds me, little bug — I don’t know what to call you. I’ve been calling you mosscreep, little one, but that’s no proper name. Do you have a name, like how I’m called Sheo?”

The vessel shook their head — they’d named the Protector and the Leader, but had never seen any reason to pick one for themselves. They supposed it made sense to have a name, if they used them for others.

“No name…” Sheo seemed upset by this, a frown replacing his smile. Tensing up slightly, the vessel glanced towards their hideout. If Sheo was angry about them not having a name, they could hide away until he calmed down. They would think of a name and let him know they actually did have one, in fact, so there was no reason for him to be angry.

“Alright. If you don’t have a name, you’ll just have to pick one. Names can be anything you want, really! They can be words that already exist, or you can make up a brand new one. I could always give you some ideas. Do you want any?”

The vessel hesitated — Sheo didn’t seem angry anymore. If that was the case, there was no need to lie. They nodded.

“Alright — I’ll give you two options. If you want me to provide the first option, write one line on your paper. If you want two, write two lines. The first option is I go around and say the names of things here. The second option is I list off a bunch of names of other bugs I know. You can use either of these — or both — to get an idea of what names are.”

Which was better? If they could listen to both, they would. They drew a single line, and then two more beside it. Sheo nodded.

“Both? Okay. Let me start with the names of others: Mato, Oro, Sly, Esmy, Hegemol…”

Sheo’s list grew and grew. For a bit, it felt as though he’d go on forever, but he finally stopped after Xero. Following that, he began listing the names of things around the hut, pointing to each thing after saying their names.

“Herbs. Candle. Fire. Leaf. Plant. Blanket.”

Sheo stopped to wheeze out a laugh. 

“Erm… this isn’t as good of an idea as I hoped. Most of these won’t make great names. I can’t call you blanket, for god’s sake. What else? Cloak. Oh, your cloak. It’s called a mothwing cloak. There are other things I can name that aren’t here, I suppose. Moss. Dirt. Roots. Vines. I’m not very creative with this, ironically.”

The vessel listened idly for a while longer, and when Sheo finally stopped, they panicked. They barely remembered anything he’d named, but now they were being asked to pick. They looked around the hut, and finally grabbed their cloak. He’d said it was a certain kind, right? They held it up.

“A mothwing cloak. Do you like mothwing as a name?”

That did sound interesting; they wouldn’t mind being called that, they supposed. As such, they nodded.

“Then from this point onwards, you’re Mothwing. It’s a beautiful name. Very fitting for someone as flighty as you.”

Mothwing didn’t know what flighty meant, but they didn’t care. The only thing they cared about right now was finding a way to sneak a few of those nightshade berries off the shelf without alerting Sheo.

Chapter Text

The next day, Sheo announced he was going to go out for a bit to collect some supplies. He advised Mothwing against trying to reach the berries and otherwise causing trouble, and then he was gone. 

The hut was at Mothwing’s mercy.

  Obviously, the first thing they did was start climbing the counters and shelves to reach the berries. Their main issue was the large gap between the top of the counter and the lowest shelf — they weren’t tall enough to reach, nor could they jump high enough. 

A quick glance around provided them with a solution: there was a large bookshelf beside the shelves. If they could climb up that, they’d be able to make an easy jump from there to the bowl with the berries. They hurried over, hauling themselves upwards. The effort required reminded them of how they and the Protector climbed endlessly through their travels, refusing to stop until Mothwing collapsed from exhaustion each night. Sorrow washed through them, and they saw the Protector venturing alone into the cold, desolate Wastes; they also remembered how Sheo had said the Wastes weren’t a safe place for young bugs. Their sibling was out there all by themselves while Mothwing sat in Sheo’s hut eating sweet berries and sleeping on a bed of moss. Mothwing ought to be with the Protector. 

On second thought, though, they were a burden to their sibling. They couldn’t fight. They were slow and tired more quickly. Perhaps it was for the best the Protector had left them behind; they were better off without Mothwing slowing them down. 

Mothwing had been so deep in thought they’d stopped climbing entirely, and refocused to realize they were just near the top of the bookshelf. They pulled themselves up and looked to the shelf, managing the short jump with ease.

The bowl of berries was there, but when they looked inside, they were dismayed to see only a handful remained. There were few enough that even one going missing would almost certainly be noticed, and a few berries wasn’t worth never getting any ever again. 

With a heavy heart, they backed away from the bowl and climbed down — a much easier task than going up, as it turned out — and sat halfway in their hideout. Thinking back, simply asking Sheo for more berries had worked the first time; they’d try that again. With renewed vigor, they set to work illustrating the berries as vividly as possible.

“I’m home!” Sheo announced as he entered, setting two baskets on the floor. One was filled with flowers, and the other with plants Mothwing recognized as food. Briefly forgetting about the berries, they crept over to look at the flowers. They came in nearly every color — where did he get them? Mothwing had never seen so many varieties before.

“Beautiful, aren’t they? I use them to make paints. I’ll teach you how when I get around to it,” Sheo promised. Mothwing nodded and suddenly recalled their drawing — they backed off and ran to grab it so they could show Sheo. Mothwing held it out in front of themselves once they had it, nearly jumping up and down to get Sheo’s attention. 

Sheo crouched down to see more clearly, and burst into laughter upon realizing what Mothwing had drawn while he was out. 

“Gosh, you’re adorable. How can I say no to that?” 

Sheo once again began reaching towards Mothwing, only to freeze and pull away after seeing them tense up. He went towards the counters and grabbed the basket instead, looking inside. He took two berries out, handing them over with a smile.

“One for your beautiful artwork, and another for doing what I said and not eating them.”

Mothwing snatched the berries from his hand, immediately shoving one into their mouth. They spun around in a circle, awfully pleased with themselves; they’d been smart to not mess with the berries. And they’d been right to simply ask! Furthermore, they’d gotten an extra berry for following his orders. They’d be certain to behave very well from now on.

“Mothwing, I think it’s time you learned to write,” Sheo announced after he’d taught Mothwing to grind petals into hot water to make paints. Mothwing looked up at him, intrigued. They were finally getting out of their hideout to spend time with him more, no longer scared to merely show their face.

“Since you can understand what I say, it makes the most sense to teach you how to write. That way you can do more than just say yes and no — you’ll be able to give me longer answers and descriptions without having to draw and hope I'll be able to guess what you mean. How does that sound?”

Mothwing nodded, setting their brush down and folding their hands in their lap. Sheo set a new piece of bark on his canvas and dipped a thin brush into red paint.

“Alright, grab your brush. I want you to copy each letter after I write it. We’ll start with A…”

Sheo’s lesson on writing took the entire rest of the day. They practiced each letter for several minutes until Mothwing’s penmanship was just as good as Sheo’s, and then Sheo would explain the ways in which that sound was used. Sheo spent hours teaching them how to spell, and seemed pleased by how quickly Mothwing was picking up on writing. Once they finished, he turned to Mothwing.

“Alright. So, why don’t you write Mothwing?”

Mothwing felt their nervousness brewing, but forced themselves to think it over. Their name had the t-h sound, so they knew what to write there. They showed Sheo their canvas after a few seconds.

MOTHWING.

“Good job!” Sheo clapped quietly, so as to not startle them. “Alright, how about my name? Sheo?”

Sheo was a bit harder, but they managed to get it on the first try as well.

SHEO.

“You’re doing so well, little mosscreep. Okay, okay. This opens up many new things. Is there anything you want to tell me that you couldn’t before?”

That was a great question — was there anything? They supposed that yes, there was. Since they’d first gotten here, they’d be pushed by one goal. And asking had worked last time, hadn’t it? 

With their mind made up on this front, they scrawled out their next message:

I WANT TO LEAVE.

They didn’t dare look at Sheo as they showed him the canvas. If he was angry, so be it; they weren’t going to be able to escape if he didn’t allow it. 

“Oh.” 

There was a long pause. Mothwing still didn’t look, but they heard how Sheo’s breathing shallowed for a few moments. 

“Well, if you’re certain that’s what you want, you can go — but don’t feel like you have to leave for some arbitrary reason...”

Sheo’s voice was quiet now, and his previous excitement had evaporated in an instant. 

“Why don’t you let me take a look at your injuries first? I at least want to make sure you’re fully healed before you leave.”

Mothwing nodded, allowing Sheo to reach forward and unwind the bandages. Their cuts had almost finished healing over, and no longer hurt to touch. Sheo seemed almost saddened by this, if the way he let his shoulders drop a bit had anything to say, but he straightened up and clasped his hands together after a few moments.

“If you’re going to leave, let me collect some things for you first. Wait here,” he said. 

Mothwing did as they were told, and traced patterns on the floor in the meantime. Sheo flitted from one drawer to the next, going through them and collecting various items. Mothwing was at a loss as to what he was doing until he finally returned with a filled bag in hand.

“Take this. Even if you don’t need it, it’ll make things easier. I’ve given you some food, some medical supplies, and a bit of charcoal. You can rub it on any light-colored surface and write with it. And if it gets cold, you can untie this knot here and use the bag as a blanket.” Sheo pointed to the rope at the top of the bag. “And just to make it clear — you’re more than welcome to come back, okay?” Sheo smiled, and Mothwing looked over at the little shelter Sheo had built for them. They’d certainly miss that. 

Looking back to Sheo, however, Mothwing noted that his smile seemed wrong. Even if he was upset, Mothwing thought, they’d be gone soon, free from any anger he might harbor. 

They stood up and started towards the door, and let Sheo open it for them. He led them to a hidden pathway, one they’d missed the first time they’d tried to escape the hut. 

“I also want you to take this,” Sheo said. He pulled out a small nail from his smock and held it out, allowing Mothwing to take it from him. “Do you — do you know how to use it?”

Mothwing stared at the nail — a flood of emotions coursed through them; the way Sheo held the nail out looked so painfully familiar to how Protector did it — and then shrugged. They’d seen the Protector use a nail, but did they actually know how to wield one themselves? They’d never actually tried using the one their sibling gave them.

“If you don’t mind, I could teach you what I know. It would keep you safer out there, knowing how to use a nail. Even a small bug like you could be a formidable foe with a bit of training. It doesn’t have to take a long while, if you’re eager to get going. Just the basics?”

Mothwing let their gaze slide from their new nail to Sheo. It sounded less like he was making an offer and more like he was trying to find a reason to get them to stay; did he not want them gone? Why in the world would he prefer they stayed and intruded on his privacy?

However, it probably was smart to learn to use the nail. They nodded, and Sheo smiled.

“Let me get my own. I can give you our first lesson now!”

Sheo hurried back to the hut, leaving Mothwing to look around the clearing leading to the exit path. Along the back of the hut were all sorts of plants — they were placed so perfectly in a line it looked as though it had been done deliberately. Did Sheo force those plants to grow that way? Was it even possible to do such a thing?

Even more interesting than that were the berry bushes. Mothwing spotted the familiar dark nightshade berries and felt excitement well up in them — but they held off from running to raid the bush. They had seen the berries Sheo had packed for them, and didn’t need to steal even more. 

Sheo returned within a minute, his nail balanced on his shoulder. The sight of it made Mothwing feel faint with fear — there was no way they were going to survive if Sheo planned to use a nail of that size. 

“Okay! Oh, are you worried about my nail? Don’t be — you’re quick! I’ll teach you to dodge,” Sheo said upon noticing how Mothwing couldn’t tear their eyes from his weapon. “Now, show me how to hold a nail! It needs to feel steady in your hand.”

Mothwing hadn’t the slightest clue how to do that, but they tried. They wrapped both hands around the handle, holding it awkwardly in front of themselves.

“Close! Your nail is proportional to your body size. You can actually just hold it with one hand. Try it!”

To their surprise, they could hold it one with one and still keep it from feeling shaky. They copied how Sheo kept the tip of his nail pointed towards the ground without touching it. 

“Very good. Now, let’s try an easy exercise you can practice. I used to do this when I got bored during the Nailsage’s lectures. What you’ll do is draw an X in the air with your nail, like so…”

Sheo began to swing his nail around in the shape of an infinity symbol. After their initial momentary panic faded, Mothwing tried to imitate it, albeit much more slowly. By the time they got the hang of it, however, Sheo instructed them to do it backwards. This was much more difficult, but they refused to give up. 

Following that came blocking, and then the best ways to attack; Mothwing hadn’t had the slightest idea there were more and less effective ways to attack with a nail. 

By the time Sheo sheathed his nail and sighed heavily, Mothwing’s arms burned from the training. They wanted to go back in the hut and lie down to sleep. 

Maybe they could spend just one more night before they left.

“That’s the basics of what I can teach you. If you want to stay and keep training, you’re more than welcome to. I can make sure you’re even better than me with a nail in time,” Sheo offered.

Mothwing looked down at the nail. They felt more confident in their own skills, but they didn’t like having the weapon. They would still prefer to run rather than fight.

More than anything, though, they were tired. They pulled out the charcoal and found a flat stone to write on.

CAN I STAY ONE MORE NIGHT?

“Absolutely,” Sheo said before Mothwing even finished writing. 

He walked them back to the hut with more of a spring in his step than he’d had moments prior. Mothwing set the nail down by their hideout and went to curl up and fall asleep, but Sheo interrupted them with a meal after only a few minutes.

“You can’t go to bed on an empty stomach,” he said as he set a plate down in front of the hideout. Mothwing was prepared to ignore the food until they spotted the berries. Within seconds, they were stuffing one in their mouth. As they picked up the second, however, they hesitated; they shouldn't eat them all at once. If they did that, they'd have to finish the meal with the less appealing foods. 

Come morning, they bid goodbye to Sheo after he demonstrated how to wave, and set out on their own. It was both nerve-wracking and exhilarating to be all alone again, even if they did feel lonely without anyone by their side. While they hadn't fully trusted Sheo, his company had been somewhat soothing — Mothwing knew that if a moss knight were to attack, Sheo could easily defend himself, and considering Mothwing was with him, they'd be safe as well.

Mothwing desperately missed their siblings. It wailed in their chest, grief fighting for a voice to make itself visible to the world. They wanted the Leader to hold their hand like they had upon taking Mothwing from the egg. They wanted the Protector to sit by them as they slept and keep watch. They wanted their siblings to sit together and keep one another company while Mothwing played. 

Never again. They were both gone. Mothwing understood permanence, even if they refused to acknowledge it.

Chapter Text

Being alone and independent once again felt freeing, in a way. Despite that, Mothwing quickly found themselves trying to sleep away the days. How in the world had they kept themselves entertained before? They supposed that when there was much to do to ensure their survival by testing their own skills and searching for the Protector, the ever-present painful thoughts swirling over them like a dark cloud had only been a small part of their life. Now they seemed overwhelming.

They found a collection of mosscreeps wreaking havoc on a patch of clover, and the little creatures promptly began chittering at them as they approached. Mothwing joined them, setting their bag down and eating a few of the clovers while they thought. The mosscreeps calmed down after a minute, and it was quiet again. However, they soon grew bored and moved on.

They managed to entertain themselves by exploring, trying to find the perfect place to stake out. It needed to be enclosed, so they could feel safe inside it. They’d seen a few nooks and crannies so far, but only one had something over the entrance, and that one was far too small a space for Mothwing. 

When they grew tired, they would sit and watch the life of Greenpath from afar. It was nice to see how they all interacted without any disturbances; the squits drifted about, occasionally chasing one another when they ran out of flowers to inspect. The mosscreeps came out of hiding to huff and puff at one another, gently fighting over a good hiding spot until one gave up and moved a few steps to the side. The mosskin wandered back and forth, occasionally looking off into the distance in sync. It made Mothwing wonder if they were hearing something they could not — if this was the case, they’d never know. Part of it made Mothwing feel a twist in their gut; the sights before them were proof of their estrangement from this world. They had no place here. 

After watching an unfortunate mosscreep get snapped up by a fool eater, Mothwing moved on once they’d wiped away their tears. They took shelter in a hollow root, from which they could still watch the surrounding area safely. 

Just as they began to drift off with the hopes that sleep would quiet the doubts in their mind, a flash of color caught their attention. A bug dressed in red stood atop a nearby rock — Mothwing stayed still, but took notice of her eyes. They were black, and she moved with an awareness and precision the orange-eyed bugs lacked. They watched as she effortlessly dispatched an irritated mosskin, stepping back a safe distance as its corpse let out a cloud of that sweet-smelling gas.

After only another moment of her scanning the area, she threw her needle out of Mothwing’s line of sight and flew after it as though she had wings, leaving nothing more than a rustle of leaves where she'd been standing moments ago. They tried to creep out to look for wherever she’d gone, but to no avail; she had mastered the art of disappearing, it seemed, even with the way her cloak stood out so jarringly against the lush greenery of the area. 

Mothwing was woken up the next morning by a rather irate mosscreep that seemed intent on stealing their shelter. It chirped nonstop, even when Mothwing shifted over to make room for it. By the time Mothwing finally moved, they were so fed up with the noise they wanted to take a swipe at the little bug. Mothwing watched it settle down right where they'd been sleeping, feeling disheartened. 

Mothwing felt better once they were on the move again, not trying to make any actual effort to head in a specific direction. Instead, they wandered aimlessly without any clue whether or not they were walking in circles.

They opted to avoid a nearby bridge as they walked, and the fluttering of several maskflies taking off made them jump. They watched the flock of them vanish into the distance, their considerable speed making up for what they lacked in size and defense — much like Mothwing. The thought made them smile, and they continued on. If the maskflies could do this, so could they. 

Even if they didn’t have a flock to run with. 

Mothwing successfully navigated Greenpath without coming to any harm — they came across two moss knights, but kept their steps quiet enough the creatures stayed at peace, the gentle wavering of the leaves the only sign the piles of brush were living beings. They kept more of an eye on the ground after nearly trampling a well-hidden mosscreep, and got to test their speed against two mosskin. As the two creatures stumbled towards Mothwing, the vessel took off running.

They were moving so fast the ground was a blur, and they never wanted to stop. They felt as though they could never tire so long as they continued, so why stop? They leapt over obstacles, enjoying their seconds of flight. They wished they had wings like the maskflies or a needle and thread like that strange bug; they wanted to keep moving fast. Running prevented them from thinking; they didn’t have to worry about the thoughts worming their way into their head if they were always running.

Even when they nearly crashed into mosskin several times, they didn’t stop. It didn’t matter if they ran close by the creatures; the mosskin had no hope of ever catching Mothwing and lacked the ability to think ahead if they did see Mothwing barreling towards them. 

At least, such was the case until Mothwing failed to notice a puddle of water.

Up until that point, they had only ever seen acid in Greenpath, and acid made its presence known: it sizzled and moved endlessly; it shone against the plants and the dirt; it was impossible to miss. The puddle of water, however, was completely still and transparent; it was almost impossible to see if one didn’t know to search for it.

Mothwing did not know to search for it, and fell into the puddle with a splash. Aside from being invisible, it was also incredibly cold.  

Mothwing got up and moved away, watching how the water dripped from their cloak. If it was acid, it would’ve been painful. If it was the liquid from the hot springs, it would’ve been warm. This was neither. At the very least, despite the discomfort it brought, it didn’t hurt. Moving away from the puddle, they sat down against a rock to dry off. Their bag had gone flying when they fell, and was thankfully dry. 

Being wet was a rather unpleasant feeling as time went on, they discovered — their cloak stuck to them, and they only grew colder and colder. They were more than relieved when a mosscreep rose from the ground nearby to distract them. The little creature shuffled closer, chirping at Mothwing. It got louder when Mothwing reached towards it, giving them pause. The little thing almost sounded angry; was it angry? Did it not want Mothwing there?

The mosscreep chirped again and moved several steps away before hiding again.

It did not want them nearby. It wanted to be away from them.

The realization made Mothwing hurt all over again, and suddenly, the cold biting at them was infinitely more bearable than their misery. 

Mothwing got up and moved on — if the mosscreep didn’t want them, so be it. They’d be fine. They didn’t need a warm welcome. They could be independent. They shouldn’t let a single territorial mosscreep ruin their mood. 

Their travels took them by a marshy area filled with smaller pools of acid and hovering squits. Mothwing tried to creep through without drawing their attention, but one squit decided it would be worth its time to harass the vessel.

It dove towards Mothwing, who barely managed to sidestep in time to dodge. They pulled the nail Sheo gave them out and brandished it in front of themselves, leveling the squit with a glare so fierce it was a miracle the little creature didn’t flee right then and there. The squit danced out of range before winding up and shooting itself right at Mothwing.

They took a swing with their nail, but the squit was too fast. It pierced their arm, and Mothwing made a few wild swings. The squit continued to match Mothwing’s pace, staying just out of range. With each step towards the creature they took, it backed off just enough to ensure its own safety.

After several more stings from the squit, Mothwing gave up on battle and took off running. The creature did its best to pursue, but was soon left behind. 

Mothwing stopped once they were in a spot free of acid, and they were glad to see more mosscreeps — they generally didn’t stay where other, more dangerous creatures were abundant. 

Looking forward to a place to rest in peace, they approached the collection of mosscreeps, which immediately began to chirp in protest of Mothwing’s presence. 

They didn’t want Mothwing, either. 

Greenpath didn’t want Mothwing.

Mothwing knew better than to remain where they weren’t wanted. 

They turned away and continued on.

They tried to settle down under an alcove to sleep, but a smaller squit found them after they’d laid down. It buzzed about menacingly for a few seconds before darting forward and leaving yet another prick in Mothwing’s arm.

That was the final straw.

Perhaps the lack of a voice was a blessing; Mothwing would’ve wailed loudly enough to bring every moss knight directly to them otherwise. Instead, they used their nail as their voice.

They swung at the squit like an infected bug, their attacks sloppy and throwing off their balance. Briefly, they thought of how ashamed Sheo would be after he’d worked so hard to teach Mothwing the basics of fighting. 

That thought was interrupted by the squit before they could even mull it over, however. They never even came close to wounding the insect, and soon ran from that squit as well.

Mothwing ran without stopping. If they stopped, every creature of Greenpath would begin trying to chase them away. The mosscreeps, the knights, the squits. Even the roots and thorns would likely try to choke Mothwing in their sleep, so disgusted with the strange new bug in their lands they’d come to life merely to show their disdain. There was nothing for Mothwing here — there existed only pain and fear in every leaf and stem. If they slept, they’d surely have more of those strange visions that took them to far-away places where it hurt the most as they slept. 

At this point, waking at the end of a moss knight’s nail would be mercy. Maybe the Leader’s fate wasn’t so tragic after all. Maybe they were lucky, to have had such a quick end. 

At some point, they slowed from running to walking. Their distress had sucked all the energy from them, yet they refused to stop. They would walk until they found a place that had no life to shun them. 

A place like the Wastes.

Only now, once it was far too late, did they understand. 

By now, Mothwing missed the hungry devouts closing in on them. At least then they wouldn’t be getting chased away. At least the devout would kill them quickly, unlike the squits that only wished to maim. Mothwing had seen young creatures — newly-hatched dirtcarvers, spiders, mosscreeps; maybe if the devout didn’t kill them right away, they’d get taken to the beast’s den and see devout hatchlings before they were made into a meal.

 Yes, that sounded preferable to their situation right now. Imaging all this managed to pull the ghost of a smile from them, an unreachable comfort. If they had stayed with Sheo, perhaps he’d have taken them to Deepnest. 

For the time being, all Mothwing was going to do was run. It didn’t matter where they ended up anymore.

Chapter Text

Mothwing stumbled on a half-hidden root and truly took in their surroundings for the first time since they’d started running, only to frown slightly when they found they recognized the area they were in. Had they somehow walked in a circle? Were they so incompetent they couldn’t even get out of Greenpath when the place was clearly bent on chasing them out?

The path to Sheo’s hut was well-hidden, but it was there, and Mothwing found themselves walking along it. They weren’t even sure why; Sheo wasn’t going to want them any more than the surrounding land did. So why did they keep walking? They ought to just fall down in the grass and let the mosskin have at them until they bled out. Maybe if they wished hard enough, they’d become a shade. They could go back to the Abyss. They could let the darkness cradle them like it did at their birth. They could play with the other shades until the end of time itself. There would be no more harsh lights, no more squits, no more spiders, no more deafening noises, no more angry faces, no more feelings, no more pain, no more anything. 

It would be peaceful.

It would be home.

Mothwing’s vision was swimming by the time Sheo’s hut came into view. Why were they there? What awaited them?

Mothwing approached the door and stared. It did not open. 

They felt their legs crumple underneath them, and they passed out before their head even touched the ground.

“Come on, wake up, wake up. Shit. Mothwing, get up!”

Mothwing came to in complete disarray. Sleep had muted their emotions some, but they were left feeling unending weight. They wanted to lie there and never get up, to be left to sleep and sleep until they died. Sheo was leaning over them, confusion so obvious Mothwing felt as though it could suffocate them.

“Oh, thank goodness, you’re awake. What’s wrong? What happened to you?”

Mothwing looked around. Sheo had moved them into the hut, and they could see their hideout. So, he hadn’t destroyed it. How odd. 

They didn’t want to move. Their fatigue kept a vice-like grip on them, weighing down their limbs. Why move? There was no point. They didn’t care enough anymore. They just wanted to be with their siblings again, and if there was no hope of that, there was no reason to live.

“Little mosscreep, can you look at me?” Sheo’s voice cut through Mothwing’s gloomy thoughts. He looked so distraught, yet Mothwing couldn’t muster up the energy to care. 

They were horrible. Sheo hadn’t killed them yet, and they couldn’t even feel anything for him. Of course, perhaps they had reason to be angry; Sheo was only prolonging their suffering. Why was he so confusing? Why couldn’t he leave Mothwing be?

“Mothwing, you need a bath. You’re absolutely covered in dirt and whatnot — I’m going to pick you up and put you in a tub of water, alright?”

Mothwing couldn’t care less if Sheo drowned them in it.

Sheo lifted Mothwing from the table and carried them out of the hut, and Mothwing only idly paid any attention to the sounds of the water. It was quite a while of listening to Sheo hum as he worked to fill the tub, and soon, he took Mothwing’s cloak off, hung it nearby, and placed Mothwing into the water. The temperature was what finally drew a response from them — Mothwing flinched at the cold water.

“Sorry, I know it’s cold. I don’t want to leave you all caked in grime while I heat the water one pot at a time. I’ll be done soon.”

Soon wasn’t going to be enough for Mothwing — they were already beginning to shiver, but Sheo blocked them from climbing out of the tub. He grabbed a brush and smeared a bit of paste on it before leaning forward, grabbing Mothwing to hold them still, and scrubbing them roughly. It didn’t hurt, per se, but Mothwing didn’t enjoy it either way.

“Don’t worry, this will only take a second. Just a moment. Look, don’t you like the bubbles?” 

Mothwing watched Sheo pause to skim a few bubbles from the surface of the water, but they couldn’t bring themselves to care. They stared straight ahead, their detachment from the present settling back in as they grew accustomed to the cold water. 

Sheo fell silent after failing to garner a response, and finished the bath relatively quickly — not that time mattered to Mothwing anymore. He washed the bubbles off with clean water and bundled Mothwing in a towel before carrying them inside.

“All clean. Now, I think I saw a few injuries on your arms. Let me grab some stuff.”

Sheo plopped them down on the table, leaving the blanket and cloak with Mothwing. Once the blanket fell off, they finally moved again — this time to slip their cloak back on. Sheo smiled as he came back over, bandages and ointment in hand. He took a seat in front of Mothwing and opened the little jar he’d brought over, working the paste in their wounds. It burned, but the pain was a welcome distraction to their mind-fog. 

“Thank you for being so still. I know this stuff hurts.”

Mothwing stared at their injuries. They didn’t deserve to be here at all; regardless, they’d happily sit through pain much worse if it made Sheo hate them even the slightest bit less. 

Sheo wrapped their arms with the bandages before sitting back.

“There you are. I think you’re all taken care of. So… what are you feeling?”

Nothing. They weren't just indifferent; they felt absolutely nothing. It was as though their emotions had been locked away in a cage of ice, unreachable by even the faintest glimmer of warmth.

They slowly got up and moved to the edge of the table, jumping down. They headed for their hideout, crawled inside, and laid down. They wanted nothing more than to sleep the rest of their life away — it wasn’t like they were capable of much else, was it?

For a day, Sheo mostly let them be — he set a plate of food by the entrance to the hideout, but didn’t pressure Mothwing to eat, come out of hiding, or talk with him. Mothwing didn’t even consider touching the plate; they were half-asleep most of the day, waking up only to find themselves even more fatigued than before. How could sleeping make them tired? What was wrong with them? Had the squits made them sick?

The second day, Sheo demanded they eat. Mothwing ignored him.

The third day, Sheo warned Mothwing that he didn’t want to break his promise and pull them from the hideout, but he would if Mothwing refused to eat — he said keeping them alive was the most important thing at hand. 

In response to this, Mothwing moved for the first time in two days. They reached out and snagged something off the plate at random, staring at the leaf they’d caught in their claws upon dragging their catch closer. They shoved the leaf into their mouth and let it sit for a while before swallowing and repeating the process. They stilled when they saw Sheo staring at them in surprise; what had they done wrong? They followed his gaze to the plate and caught sight of the berries.

Taking one of the nightshade berries, Mothwing forced it down. They tasted good in a distant sort of way, but Mothwing simply didn’t care what anything tasted like. They’d have reacted the same way to the berries as to a handful of dirt. Sheo, however, didn’t seem satisfied by this. What did he want from them? Why wouldn’t he go away?

The fourth day, Sheo was messing around, going in and out of the hut for a bit. He finally stopped and messed with something metal and a bit of water, and then moved towards Mothwing. He sat down in front of the hideout and began to speak:

“Mothwing, I don’t know what’s wrong, but I can’t help you like this. I’ve put some water on to boil. It’ll take a bit. If you’ll come out and grant me just a few minutes of conversation, I won’t bother you for the rest of the day.”

Mothwing silently scoffed at this; Sheo not bothering him for the rest of the day wasn’t that long. However, it would mean a certain break to stew in their own head. Furthermore, their entire body ached from how still they’d been. It was with great reluctance that they finally rose and dragged themselves from the hideout, sitting down right outside. They were unbelievably weak for a bug that had been sleeping for two whole days, but they weren’t going to show it if they could help it. Sheo passed them charcoal and a bit of bark to write on. When they paused, however, Sheo glanced at a pot too high up for Mothwing to see into.

“Are you wondering about the water?”

Oh, right. They had no idea how long it would take water to boil. As such, they nodded.

“It shouldn’t take more than a few minutes. It’ll be very noisy when it boils — you don’t have to worry. If you’re ready, just let me know.”

Mothwing eyed the pot he’d pointed out, and decided there was no point in backing out. They’d already crawled out into the open, and they didn’t want to disappoint Sheo more, so they nodded.

“Tell me why you’re staying in your hideout like this. What happened in Greenpath?”

Mothwing should’ve known better than to think Sheo would ask easy questions. They stared down at the charcoal, feeling as though the task in front of them would kill them from the effort it required. Regardless, they put charcoal to canvas and began to write.

WEAK. UPSET. TIRED.

Sheo, of course, was unsatisfied by this.

“Can you tell me what happened? Once you left my hut, where did you go? What happened to you?”

WALKED. MOSSCREEPS DID NOT WANT ME. GREENPATH HATES ME. FELL INTO WATER. COLD. WET. ATTACKED BY FLYING BUGS. SAD. 

It was painful to write, but at the same time, it seemed to loosen their pain somewhat. 

“Why do you think Greenpath hates you?”

FLYING BUGS ATTACKED ME. MOSSCREEPS HATE ME. WATER HATES ME. MOSS KNIGHTS HATE ME. EVERYTHING HATES ME. 

“Oh, little mosscreep…” Sheo mumbled, reaching out. His claws gently traced the side of Mothwing’s head, and Mothwing was surprised they didn’t flinch; they supposed they simply didn’t care enough. “I see where you’re coming from now,” he said, shifting slightly. “It sounds like a lot of bad things happened one after the other when you left, and now you feel like you aren’t wanted here?”

Mothwing nodded. How long until the water boiled?

“Okay. Thank you for telling me,” Sheo said. “I want to let you know that I understand why you want to stay hidden in there and sleep, but it won’t make you feel better. When you sit in there and don’t move, those thoughts will stay in your mind. You have to get out and move around. You have to experience things and replace those bad thoughts.”

A loud noise drew Sheo’s attention, and he jumped up and grabbed the pot off the burner. He set it aside before looking back at Mothwing.

“There. Water’s boiled. You don’t have to stay out longer if you don’t want to — I’ll give you peace for the day if you need it. But think about what I’ve said, alright? If you need anything, I’m right here. I want you to feel better. Even if the squits and the mosscreeps hate you, I don’t.”

Sheo offered them a smile, and Mothwing stared for a moment before looking away. They got up and returned to their hideout. They laid down, but found themselves too alert to sleep. It seemed like talking with Sheo had woken them up, as though their own body had been lying about how tired they were.

The fifth day, Mothwing listened to Sheo hum while he painted, the familiar strokes of the brushes soothing. Sheo had placed a second plate down by the time Mothwing emerged from the hideout of their own accord, and they were relieved when Sheo didn’t comment on it. He simply sent a quick smile their way and continued to paint, but this time with Mothwing watching him more closely. It was truly fascinating to see how he made smears of color into pictures; perhaps he’d teach Mothwing someday?

“I need a break. My arms are tired,” Sheo declared as he placed his brush into the jar of water. He turned in his seat to look down at Mothwing. “How are you, little mosscreep?”

That name hurt. They weren’t a mosscreep. The mosscreeps hated them. 

Sheo passed them writing materials, and Mothwing stared at them. They wanted to write something, but they didn’t know what. 

In the end, they settled on a question directed at Sheo, for a change. 

CAN YOU TEACH ME TO PAINT?

They pointed to his canvas just in case their writing wasn’t clear enough, and Sheo’s expression seemed to transform his face entirely. His eyes lit up, and his smile grew.

“Of course, I’d love to! Let me get you a chair.”

Sheo jumped up and began to dart from one end of the hut to the other.

“No, no, this is too tall for you… you can’t sit there, that won’t do… eh… no… aha!”

He lifted a stool into the air as though it was as light as a leaf and carried it to the canvas, setting it next to his own chair. He patted it as he took his own seat once again.

“Come sit!” 

Mothwing shuffled over, tugging their cloak tighter around themselves. They climbed up onto the stool, watching as Sheo cleaned and dried his brush; while he'd mentioned needing to give his arms a break, they seemed to have recovered upon Mothwing's willingness to paint.

“Alright, so! You should always start with light colors, because you can obscure them with darker colors later if you need to. If you try to paint lighter colors over darker ones, you won’t ever see them…”

Chapter Text

"Mothwing, I need to go out and gather more flowers. Would you like to come with me?"

Mothwing lifted their head, groggy and disoriented. They crawled out from the hideout to stretch, and Sheo smiled at them.

"We wouldn't go far. I think it might do you some good to go outside, eh?"

Mothwing nodded, following Sheo to the door. They paused while Sheo slipped an empty bag over his shoulder and took up his nail, and then they were off. Mothwing was grateful they didn't have to take their own nail; it was heavy, and they still disliked the idea of fighting. Sheo could protect them, so they'd keep close.

It seemed as though a few days of letting their emotions clear up had restored Greenpath's serenity. Instead of feeling like they were being chased from it, Greenpath was beautiful and welcoming once again. Sheo walked slowly enough that Mothwing could explore just a bit: they had time to peer into a bush here, and watch a few maskflies there. He seemed to even encourage such things, occasionally joining in when Mothwing found themselves transfixed by their surroundings.

"Did you find something, Mothwing?" Sheo asked, slowing to a stop a few steps ahead. Mothwing pointed to the little plant in front of them: a bud in the center had bloomed, and while it wasn't a pretty flower, the intricacy of the  petals was stunning.

"Oh, wow," Sheo whispered as he caught sight of what Mothwing was looking at. "It's amazing, isn't it? That nature can make something like this? All those perfect little petals arranged in just the right way, the roots underground that exist solely to keep it alive… it's such a complicated little thing. It only lives for a short time, and yet it lives life to the fullest."

Sheo brushed one of the flowers with a claw, careful to not tear it. Mothwing reached out to copy him.

"And just think — this is only one little plant in all of Greenpath. There are hundreds, thousands, possibly millions of plants, and they're all just as fascinating. It's part of why I love this place so much; no matter where you look, there's something to see." 

When Sheo straightened up, Mothwing managed to tear themselves away from the plant and begin following him again.

"It's hard to always see such beauty in the world, of course. I've had times where everything is ugly and I isolated myself from even the outside of my hut — perhaps that resonates with you. I've thought I'd like nothing better than to live in the Cliffs, where plants don't even try to grow. I thought the wasteland would reflect my own feelings and help me somehow," Sheo said with a sigh. "Locking yourself in shadow does not take the darkness inside you away. It's something you have to do on your own." 

Mothwing looked up at Sheo, unsure of how to react to his spiel. Was he saying that darkness was bad? Was the Abyss bad? Surely not; Mothwing had never felt sad in the Abyss. But… what if Sheo thought Mothwing was bad? When they looked at their own hands, they saw that endless darkness making them up. 

Mothwing hid their hands in their cloak, so as to not be forced to look at the darkness.

They finally came to the spot Sheo had been leading them to, and Mothwing tried their best to help him pick flowers. 

"Be sure to only break off the buds, not the stems," Sheo advised as Mothwing approached a group of flowers. "We don't want to kill the plants off or damage the stems. If we're careful, they'll live for much longer, and we'll be able to get more flowers from them." 

Mothwing picked flowers at a much slower rate than Sheo did, but he didn't seem to mind. In fact, he was entirely too distracted by how the flowers were half the size of Mothwing.

"Oh, goodness. That thing is nearly as big as you are!" 

Mothwing dropped a flower into Sheo's bag, shooting him a glare. To their relief, he didn't laugh at them again; he picked flowers quietly for a while longer, and finally got to his feet when the bag was roughly half-full. 

"Alright, I think that's good for now. Shall we head back?" 

They'd barely started back when Mothwing slowed down, legs worn out from how much walking they'd done. Sheo took notice of this rather quickly, and stopped to wait for them.

"Feeling tired?" 

Mothwing nodded, slowing down even more now that they didn't have to keep up with Sheo or risk being left behind. 

"If you want, I can carry you."

This made them freeze up. Did they want Sheo to carry them? It would render them incapable of defending themselves. They'd be awfully close to his claws, and their speed would be of no use off the ground. 

On the other hand, they wouldn't have to walk all the way back to the hut, and they didn’t truly believe Sheo was going to hurt them.

They nodded.

Sheo approached them and crouched down, very slowly reaching towards them. Mothwing did their best to not flinch away as Sheo picked them up and cradled them in his arms.

"Alright. Just scratch my arm if you want down. But not too hard," he laughed. 

He started walking once again, this time moving even faster than Mothwing had seen him on the way to the flower patch. They supposed they shouldn't be too surprised; the bigger a creature was, the faster it could move — except for them, of course. Mothwing was faster than anything they'd seen before, give for the Massive Moss Charger, and possibly Sheo if they ever got a chance to test themselves against him. 

Mothwing couldn’t help but look around and take everything in from this new vantage point. They’d never been up so high above the ground, and everything looked considerably different from up in the air. Was this what Sheo saw? Did he only ever see the tops of the flowers and mushrooms instead of their less-colorful undersides? Did he even notice the little roots and stones that would trip Mothwing? Did he feel how the ground trembled when he took a step? 

Sheo seemed to live in an entirely different world, and the notion made Mothwing feel… lonely. The Protector and the Leader would’ve seen Greenpath the way they did. Sheo would not. Their Greenpath was never going to be the same as Sheo’s, was it? Were they always destined to be alone like this? 

Once they returned to the hut, they dumped the flowers into two bowls. Mothwing’s bowl was much smaller than Sheo’s, but they didn’t mind making a bit less paint; Sheo said that it was only natural that he did more considering he was bigger and stronger, and he seemed confident in his assessment. Furthermore, Mothwing tended to make smaller paintings in general, having smaller brushes and less reach. 

He heated a pot of water and dumped it into their bowls, throwing the petals in.

“Don’t burn yourself,” Sheo cautioned. Mothwing, naturally, pretended to stick their hand into the bowl and yank it back, waving their hand around as though they’d burned it. Sheo didn’t fall for it, but he did smile. 

“Nice try, little mosscreep. But do be careful.” 

Taking up the pestle, Mothwing began to crush the petals into the water, watching as the color bled from them and stained the water. It wasn’t easy, as their arms tired out rather quickly, but it didn’t matter. They enjoyed feeling productive.

“So, Mothwing, are you feeling any better than you were the other day? You seemed so down. You’ve recovered awfully quickly from something like that.”

Mothwing looked up at Sheo, pausing in their work. Wasn’t it obvious they felt better? They weren’t trying to sleep all day again. That meant they were better, right? 

They nodded.

“I was just worried, I suppose. From the moment you left I was worried. And then to open my door and see you passed out — I could only imagine the worst. If you ever feel sad, or like the world hates you, please tell me. I can always offer you a shoulder to cry on or a few kind words. Sometimes that’s all someone needs. And if you need more, don’t be afraid to ask.”

Mothwing swirled the pestle around in the water, knocking a petal off the side of the tool. They watched it break apart as they crushed it between the pestle and mortar.

“And… I was wondering if you wanted to accompany me on another trip. I was planning on making a trip farther up in Greenpath, and that’s where the Wastes are. I wanted to ask if you were interested in coming, perhaps to look for your sibling.”

At this, Mothwing stopped abruptly. They whipped their head around to stare at Sheo — would he really offer such a thing? 

If so, Mothwing was torn. What would they do if they found the Protector? What if the Protector refused to leave the Wastes? Would Mothwing abandon Greenpath for their sibling, leave the little life Sheo had carved out for them in his hut? Could the Protector be convinced to return to Greenpath with Mothwing? Would Sheo take them in?

None of their wondering would matter, they supposed, if they didn’t try. For this reason, they nodded. They could debate the possibilities while searching for the Protector.

“Wonderful! We can go when you’re ready — I would say tomorrow at the earliest. Of course, I don’t want to spring such a thing on you if you need time to think, so we can leave in a week, or even a month. Please don’t feel pressured to go until you’re ready.”

While they appreciated his reassurance, they were trying to get his attention as soon as they’d finished writing TOMORROW on their nearby paper. Sheo leaned forward slightly to read it, and smiled at them. 

“Tomorrow morning, then. I’ll make sure to have everything ready to go before I turn in for the night, so we can leave nice and early. You make sure to sleep well — you’ll be quite tired, I think, after so much walking today. I hope you won’t be sore,” Sheo said. Mothwing shrugged, something they’d seen Sheo do outside of trying to communicate ‘I don’t know.’ They heard him laugh, and managed to not flinch when Sheo reached out and patted their head. He seemed to forget how much smaller and weaker Mothwing was; his strength made Mothwing buckle slightly, but they were unharmed. 

Sheo soon set his mortar and pestle aside, and Mothwing paused to do the same. They watched him get to his feet and smooth out his apron before turning towards the cupboards.

“Alright, let’s leave the petals to bleed. Come along, you can help me make dinner. What would you like?”

Mothwing stared at Sheo as though he was insane and pointed to the bowl of nightshade berries, drawing another laugh from him.

“No, no, we can’t have just berries for dinner. We can have them after. Don’t look at me like that, Mothwing — it won’t get you anywhere.”

Mothwing was proud that they had made a liar out of Sheo once they had several nightshade berries on their plate a while later.

Chapter Text

Sheo and Mothwing left the hut immediately after a very quick breakfast, during which Mothwing had been practically buzzing in their seat from anticipation. They moved quickly, not stopping to admire the little wonders of the world this time around. The only thing Mothwing could think about was the Protector coming back to Sheo's hut with them. A good night's sleep had settled their mind, and they knew for a fact they didn't want to leave Sheo permanently. Therefore, if the Protector refused to come quietly, Mothwing would have Sheo pick them up and carry them back to his hut. Mothwing remembered how they didn't want to be there originally; the Protector would warm up to the hut in time.

Unfortunately, they hadn't even made it out of Greenpath by the time Mothwing's legs started hurting. This baffled them; they'd gone much further yesterday, so why couldn't they manage the same distance today? 

"Are you okay, Mothwing?" Sheo asked when he noticed Mothwing falling behind. "Want me to carry you?" 

Mothwing perked up at this, nodding. They let Sheo scoop them up, and took in the view. They could see so much from up high — it was truly stunning. 

"It's no wonder you're tired. You walked a long, long way yesterday. Your legs need time to recover. You take the chance to rest. Although… hmm. It'll be harder to wield a nail with one hand. I don't want you getting hurt…" 

Sheo paused, but didn't stop walking. Finally, he slowed down and rested his nail against a tree.

"Mothwing, do you know how pillbugs carry their little ones around?" 

Mothwing didn't even know what a pillbug was. Regardless, Sheo continued as though they'd said no.

"They have a little pouch, and they put the baby pillbugs inside. It lets them keep the babies safe without using up any arms to carry them with. Now, and you don't have to do this, but I have a pocket on my smock, see? What if I put you in there while I walked? Would you be okay with that?" 

Mothwing looked down as Sheo pointed out the pocket. It was certainly big enough to hold them, and couldn't be any more dangerous than being in Sheo's hands. They nodded.

"Great. Just let me know if you want out." 

With great care, Sheo deposited Mothwing into his apron's pocket. It was big enough for them to peer out of, but they could duck inside to obscure themselves completely if need be. It was also comfortable — they felt as though they could fall asleep in it. They were a bit displeased by how they were jostled around as Sheo began moving again, but soon grew used to it. The rhythm of his steps was almost soothing, in a way. 

The pocket was only slightly lower than where they'd usually be in Sheo's grip, so they were still able to see a considerable amount of the surrounding world. 

They would duck into the pouch when mosskin would make a run towards Sheo, only relaxing once they’d heard the decisive swish of his nail and the sound of metal against flesh. When Sheo began walking again, their head would pop back out and Mothwing would go back to endlessly searching for interesting things to look at. 

“Here we are,” Sheo announced after a good while. Mothwing peeked out of the pocket to see the Wastes before them, just as desolate and uninviting as they’d been when their sibling fearlessly strode out into them. 

Was the Protector still there?

Sheo moved forward, and they were glad for the protection from the wind the pocket provided them. Even if the air was cold, the pocket was still warm. They supposed they would be more useful searching from here anyway — they could see more, after all. 

The Wastes were full of little nooks and crannies to check — occasionally, Mothwing would ask to be set down so they could check a spot when they spotted an old nail on the ground or a bit of cloth that matched the color of the Protector’s cloak. None of these places ever housed the Protector, though, and Mothwing returned to Sheo’s pocket with their heart growing heavier each time. 

There was a point at which the Wastes changed from a closed-in maze of stone structures to a barren plain, where the wind was so strong even Sheo struggled to move onwards — Mothwing jumped out to test their own strength, and immediately found themselves flung backwards. Sheo had panicked and rushed back to grab them, only for Mothwing to spend a short while all but forcing Sheo to carry them into the wind and throw them in the air so they could fly for a few seconds. 

“No, no, that’s enough,” Sheo declared when Mothwing practically crawled up his legs and pointed to the plains for the nth time. “I don’t want to tire myself out too much — I’ve got to get us home safely. Why don’t we loop up a bit to check those few alcoves near the top of the cliff before we head home?”

The suggestion made Mothwing sober up immediately — they were supposed to be searching for their sibling, and here they were playing. Disgust welled up inside them, and they nodded. No more playing. 

Most of the dens were haunted by darkness so thick the two couldn’t take more than a few steps before they couldn’t even find their own hands in front of them; each time, they backed out and moved on. When they reached the last and highest den, they were surprised to find that it was not consumed by darkness, but inhabited. 

The bench was the first sign of life, and Sheo absentmindedly put a hand against the pocket, as though to protect Mothwing from any possible danger. Mothwing shied down into it just a bit, barely able to see out. 

“Is anyone there?” Sheo called after a moment. 

“Eh? Hello?” A voice responded within moments. “Who’s there? Please, come in!”

Mothwing grew tense as a bug just as large as Sheo emerged from deeper in the den, and flinched at the twin gasps the two bugs made.

“Sheo?”

“Mato?”

“What are you doing all the way up here?” Mato asked, sounding absolutely bewildered.

“Looking for my child’s sibling!” Sheo exclaimed. “What are you doing up here?”

“Child?” Mato’s gaze dropped to the pocket, and Mothwing ducked away to hide themselves from him. “Sheo, you have a child?”

“Yes,” Sheo said, and it was at this point that Mothwing noticed just how similar Sheo and Mato were in more ways than one; were they related, like how Mothwing and their siblings were? Hadn’t Sheo said something about a bug named Mato before?

“That’s — I never would’ve — “ A pause, during which Mato finally collected himself. “Forgive me. Sheo, it’s been so long! It’s so good to see you.” 

Sheo moved, and Mothwing felt a brief pressure from outside the pocket.

“It’s good to see you, too. I’ve been thinking about you more often as of late, wondering how you were faring… how are you?” 

“I’m doing fine.” Mato’s voice was exactly the same as Sheo’s, but his was louder. “I swore to myself to never face the Nailsage again until I’d mastered his teachings. And you? What of you? You hid yourself away in Greenpath, never to be heard of again. I see your nail on you — have you decided to bear the title of Nailmaster still?”

Sheo shifted, jostling Mothwing around as they tried to stay hidden. They didn’t trust this Sheo-lookalike. 

“I’m still searching for my calling in life. I’ve taught this little one the basics of wielding a nail, but they don’t appear drawn to the nail like you are.”

“I see. You were always the best of us, Sheo. I hope you find love for the nail once again. But that is talk for another time! Tell me about your child!”

“This is Mothwing,” Sheo said. Mothwing felt anger burn through them — traitor! He’d given away their name, and from the tone of his voice, it didn’t seem like that was the end of it. 

“I found them all on their own in Greenpath. The poor thing had been attacked by a moss charger. They don’t talk, but they do write and gesture; they have a lot to say when they get their hands on a bit of charcoal! They also like to paint.”

Sheo reached into the pocket, brushing Mothwing’s head with his claws. The touch was comforting, but not enough to soothe their anxieties completely. 

“Little mosscreep, this is my brother, Mato. He’s to me as your sibling is to you. You can trust him. May I show you to him?”

With the way Sheo had already begun to pick them up, it didn’t seem like they had much of a choice. They allowed Sheo to lift them up, but curled against his chest upon being shown to Mato.

“Oh, wow,” Mato whispered. “Hello — Mothwing, you said? Hello there, Mothwing! I’m your Uncle Mato! It’s very nice to meet you.”

Mothwing turned their head, taking a good look at Mato. He truly did seem genuine, and surely Sheo wouldn’t be so calm around someone dangerous. He dispatched mosskin and vengeflies without a hint of hesitation, so there was little chance of him allowing Mato to lay a single claw on them. 

“They were quite shy when I first brought them home. They hid under my cabinet for days,” Sheo said with a smile. “But now they have their own little bed and join me to paint and eat regularly. It’s been quite the adjustment for the both of us, I think.”

“I can imagine. You found them all alone? Do you know where they’re from? How many molts they’ve had?”

“They’re from Deepnest. I’ve no idea how old, but… they didn’t have a name when I found them, and their chitin is fairly soft. I think they’re not much older than a hatchling.”

“Deepnest? A hatchling?” Mato sounded surprised — if not skeptical — and Mothwing squirmed in their own skin. They had lied to Sheo, and he had believed them immediately; what would happen when he found out the truth? 

“Most Deepnest bugs are capable of some form of self-defense within hours of hatching. Hard shells, venom, fangs, claws. They look more like a Crossroads bug.” Mato straightened up, putting a bit more distance between himself and Mothwing.

“That was my first inclination, too,” Sheo said. “But they said they were from Deepnest, and I have no reason to doubt them. They were able to recognize spiders when I drew them, and they as well as their sibling survived traveling through the Queen’s Gardens and Fog Canyon. Not many hatchlings or even first-molt bugs could do that.”

“You make a good point,” Mato said. “What happened to their sibling? You said you were searching for them?”

“They and Mothwing went their separate ways in Greenpath. They have — they had a third sibling. That one, if I understood correctly, didn’t…”

Sheo trailed off, as though he didn’t want to say it in front of Mothwing.

Mothwing, however, was already upset about being talked about as though they weren’t there. They wriggled around in Sheo’s claws, jumping down to the floor and darting away and into Mato’s hut in record time. They ignored the shouts of the two bugs as they dove under Mato’s bed. If Sheo wanted to talk about them, he could do it where they couldn’t hear!

“Little mosscreep! Come back, please!”

Mothwing pressed themselves against the wall, far enough from the edge of the bed they were fairly certain neither Mato nor Sheo could reach under and drag them out.

"Poor thing," Mato said. "Will they be alright?"

"I think so, but… ah, I apologize, little mosscreep. I shouldn't have brought it up." 

Mothwing was not coming out anytime soon.

"It's alright. If they want to stay under there for a bit, you're more than welcome to spend some time visiting. Wyrm knows I miss you." 

"I've missed you too," Sheo said. "I spend a lot of time thinking about the three of us running around Sly's house. I miss that." 

"Me too." 

Mothwing listened idly, feeling the anger seep out of their limbs as Sheo and Mato talked and laughed. The laughter bit at them, sharp and cruel. Sheo had so quickly given up on getting them out from under the bed, and seemed just as content to be without them.

After a short while, Mothwing grew scared that Sheo would forget them. They were lucky to have a place with him at all; without Sheo, they'd be at the mercy of the mosskin forever, alone and defenseless. They didn't want to be left behind. 

Sheo and Mato sat at a small table, and both turned to look at Mothwing when they crawled out from under the bed and shuffled over, holding their cloak. Their heart felt heavy, and they had to resist the urge to cry.

"There you are," Sheo said. "Feeling any better?"

Mothwing nodded, approaching Sheo when he held out a hand. He lifted Mothwing into his lap, allowing them to see the top of the table. 

"What was it I said that bothered you? Was it talking about your siblings?"

Mothwing shook their head, and Sheo looked up at Mato.

"Do you have any paper? They know how to write."

"Sure thing. Just a moment."

Mato got up from the table, bringing several sheets of paper and a pen over, setting it in front of Mothwing. Mothwing reached out to start writing.

YOU TALKED ABOUT ME LIKE I WASN'T THERE. I CAN TALK ABOUT MYSELF.

"Oh," Sheo said, bringing his hand up to pat Mothwing's head. "You're right. I apologize, Mothwing. Next time, I'll make sure I don't speak for you. You can take charge of any conversations about yourself, alright?" 

Mothwing nodded, letting Sheo pull them closer. They leaned against him and shut their eyes — they were still worn out from all the walking they'd done, as well as from simply being awake for such a long period of time. Unfortunately, their emotions kept them from resting. Resentment trickled through them; why didn’t Sheo just cast them away? Was it not foolish to care for a useless bug? 

He was still chatting happily with Mato about a life they would never rightfully be a part of, his claws gently scratching Mothwing's back the only sign he hadn't forgotten about them. 

Mothwing was awoken by Sheo readjusting his hold on them as he stood and held them more securely to his chest. 

"It was so good to see you after all this time," Mato said. "I'm glad you're doing well. You should know that you are always welcome to visit — if I'm not in at the time, just make yourself at home until I arrive, alright?" 

"Of course. Thank you for your hospitality." 

Sheo hugged Mato as best he could without crushing Mothwing between them, and then placed the vessel in his pocket. 

"Let's head home, Mothwing."

Sheo turned to leave, only for Mato to call for them to stop after a second. He brought Sheo a small bag, pressing it into his hands.

"For Mothwing, since they didn't get to eat with us. If they don't like it, I know you do." 

Sheo smiled back at Mato, gently placing the bag beside Mothwing in the pocket. Mothwing ignored what the two were saying in favor of opening the bag and looking through it — it was some sort of dried meat, not fresh like what Sheo had provided them with the first time. They took a piece and began to gnaw on it. It tasted considerably different from the fresh meat, but it wasn’t bad.

"Take care of yourself!” Mothwing heard Mato call before the sound of Sheo’s footsteps were all that was left. 

The trip back was a blur. Mothwing was deep in thought, looking around at the passing world without truly seeing it. Sheo confused them so much, and it pulled their emotions back and forth. Did he truly worry about them when they were gone? Did that make Mothwing feel loved, or did they hate themselves for it? Had he really almost forgotten about them at Mato’s? Were they scared of being left behind, or relieved that Sheo didn’t feel obliged to keep them around? 

By the time Sheo lifted Mothwing from his pocket and placed them on a chair by the table, they were fighting the urge to jump down and hide themselves away. It was with some degree of disbelief that they ate; could Sheo not feel the pure misery radiating off them? It seemed so obvious that they were upset, but maybe not — or perhaps Sheo really didn’t care.

They couldn’t fault him for that.

After dinner, they crawled into their hideout and wished for sleep to take their thoughts away.

Chapter Text

Mothwing woke up slashing at the air, and promptly bolted from their hideout. Moments ago, they’d been getting swarmed by weaverlings — how had they gotten here?

“Mothwing?” Sheo sounded tired, but he sat up nonetheless. “Why are you up? What’s wrong?”

Mothwing held their arms out, inspecting their cloak for any signs of the spiders. Seeing nothing, they shrugged. They had no idea how they'd explain what was happening to them — and even if they could, there was no way he'd believe them.

“Did you have a nightmare? Do you know what that is?”

Mothwing shook their head.

“A nightmare is something that happens to you when you sleep,” Sheo said, pausing to yawn, “and it can feel real, but it’s not. You’ll always wake up just fine from a nightmare.”

…

Mothwing immediately felt shame consume them. They’d had countless nightmares, and they’d really been so stupid as to think moving such distances in their sleep was possible? They didn’t understand the lack of injuries after getting their insides torn out? They didn’t stop for a moment to think it wasn’t even real?

They hid in their hideout again, too embarrassed to show their face. They were incapable of telling reality from dreams — Sheo must be terribly disappointed. No wonder he hadn’t noticed their misery the previous night. 

“Are you alright, little mosscreep?”

Sheo sounded considerably more awake now, but Mothwing didn’t want to face him, not right away.

The next night, they had yet another nightmare — but this one took place inside Sheo’s hut.

Something was outside the building, lurking, preying, waiting. What it waited for Mothwing did not know, but they knew running was futile. How were they to escape from a monster like this? They were cornered.

They had to get help; they didn’t trust their own skill with a nail. Creeping out from their hideout, they ran to Sheo’s bed, climbed up on it, and began to shake him. They glanced over their shoulder to see the monster looking through the window, watching, watching, just watching. It scared Mothwing more than any attacking creature ever could.

“Go away,” Sheo mumbled, shoving Mothwing off the bed. They hit the floor, pushing themselves up just in time to see the creature open the door and amble inside. It looked like a moss knight that had been horribly deformed by that disgusting orange pus — but Mothwing didn’t have time to focus on appearances. They got on Sheo’s bed again, shaking him more violently.

Wake up, they begged. It’s going to kill me!

The monster was drawing closer; it was only a matter of seconds until it killed Mothwing. 

Mothwing dug their claws into Sheo’s arm, and he finally opened his eyes.

“What?”

There’s a monster! Look!

Sheo looked where they pointed, but he adopted a confused expression.

“Monster? What are you talking about? There’s nothing there.”

The creature was dragging itself closer. As it closed in, the rest of the world was swallowed by darkness. There was no more hut, no more bed, no more Sheo — only the monster. It reached forward to grab Mothwing, and —

— Mothwing would’ve woken screaming if they had a voice. Instead, they rushed from their hideout and clawed their way up to the top of Sheo’s bed, shaking him. Their entire body trembled, and they flinched when they caught a glimpse of a shadow against the window. 

“Eh? What? Mothwing?” Sheo lifted his head, and Mothwing couldn’t keep their tears at bay. Thankfully, the real Sheo didn’t push them away. Instead, he propped himself up and pulled them closer.

“What’s wrong? Did you have another nightmare?”

Mothwing nodded, burrowing into Sheo’s chest. He patted their back to comfort them; while it didn’t feel like it helped much, they were grateful. 

“Do you want to tell me what it was about?”

Did they? If it wasn’t real, what was the point? It wouldn’t change anything.

They shook their head.

“Alright. Don’t worry, you’re safe here. You’re safe.”

Sheo laid back down, but Mothwing refused to leave. They simply curled into Sheo’s side, trying to stop their hands from shaking. They hoped Sheo wouldn’t chase them away — they didn’t want to be alone, where that monster could get them. 

Sheo kept patting their back, and slowly, the tension began to leach from Mothwing’s body. Their hands stilled and they relaxed into a more natural position, one that didn’t make their limbs ache. 

“Little mosscreep?”

Mothwing lifted their head. He was likely going to tell them to go back to bed, but the thought of being alone and defenseless in their hideout made their fear resurge. Maybe they could just refuse to leave.

“You can sleep in my bed if you want. I used to do that with my dad when I had nightmares.”

Relief made Mothwing relax considerably once again, and they curled against Sheo. His warmth calmed them, but being able to see the windows made their stomach twist. They were unable to tear their eyes away; what if it hadn’t just been a nightmare?

Sheo seemed to sense this train of thought, and spoke up after a minute.

“Relax, little mosscreep. You’re safe here. Nothing can hurt you. I’ll protect you,” he said with a yawn. 

How long they’d taken to fall asleep, they didn’t know. When they finally woke up again, however, it was morning, and Sheo was tucking them under covers far too large for them. 

“I didn’t mean to wake you,” he said quietly. “You can sleep in if you like. I’m going to make breakfast. Are you feeling any better?”

Were they? They supposed the answer was yes; sleep always seemed to make them feel somewhat better. They nodded, and Sheo smiled at them. They quietly tucked away the knowledge that feeling better made Sheo happy — they would be sure to keep feeling better. 

“I’m glad.”

Mothwing watched Sheo go to the cupboards, pulling out various items to make breakfast. Now that they had time to think, they barely even remembered their nightmare; had they really been so scared, if they didn’t even remember it? Was something wrong with their memory?

Watching Sheo arrange food on a plate for them filled them with a mix of emotions: the memory of Sheo laughing with Mato instead of trying to get Mothwing out from under the bed made them mad — but did they have any right to be mad? Was it selfish of them, to expect Sheo to behave in such a way? Why did he need to devote his time to an ungrateful little brat that ran away and hid from everything? It wasn’t fair to expect him to always choose Mothwing over everything else. 

Sheo had been a nailmaster in his past life. Mothwing had only ever known running away. Sheo may have taught them to wield a nail, but they never thought to use it in the moment. On the trip to the Cliffs, Sheo grabbed his nail the moment something caught his attention. Mothwing was undeniably a coward. 

Had the Protector despised their cowardly reactions, too? Sheo would’ve loved the Protector more. The Protector had a knack for the nail. They’d have trained much better than Mothwing. They were stronger; Sheo wouldn’t have to carry them around when they got tired. Sheo wouldn’t have to defend them constantly because they were too afraid to do anything but run and hide.

Why couldn’t they have just died instead of the Leader? The Leader was better than they were — the Leader was strong, too. The Leader would’ve been brave. 

Mothwing felt cold tears run down their face, and they hid under the blanket to keep Sheo from seeing.

Unfortunately, the movement itself drew his attention.

“You alright, little moscreep?”

How did they say yes without showing their face?

They stuck their hand out, made a fist, and tried to imitate a nod with it. 

“You’re so smart,” Sheo remarked, tone bright. “Did you come up with that yourself? You know, there’s a way to talk with your hands. That’s how you say yes in sign language.”

Smart? How did that apply to them if they did everything wrong, if they always made the wrong decisions? Sheo was lying. They’d been stupid to betray the Protector. They’d been stupid to expect him to focus on them all the time. They were stupid. 

“Time to eat. Up, up!” 

Sheo pulled the covers back, and Mothwing was relieved to have wiped their tears away by then. He scooped them up out of bed and placed them at the table, sighing as he took his own seat.

“I can’t imagine how upset you must be,” Sheo started after a moment. 

Mothwing froze; had Sheo finally noticed? The idea terrified them, but their fear only confused them further. Hadn’t they wanted him to notice? Something really was wrong with them.

“I know I’d be inconsolable if I lost my brothers. I just want to reassure you that I won’t stop looking. We can search every inch of Hallownest. I don’t believe your sibling went into the Wastes. That’s no place for any bug, and it’s far too unwelcoming. Perhaps they turned around and went to the Crossroads. They easily could’ve missed you on their way back through Greenpath, if they didn’t take a different route completely. I think there’s even a little town above the Crossroads — we could ask around there…”

Sheo kept talking, and Mothwing stared at the stem in their hands. They tried to eat, but even the smallest attempts made them shake. It wasn’t long before Sheo noticed that they hadn’t managed a single bite.

“Hey, what’s wrong? Why aren’t you eating?”

Mothwing shook their head and tried to force down the stem, but their tears betrayed them. Trying to wipe them away only brought more attention to them, and within seconds, Sheo had picked them up and brought them into a hug. They immediately took the chance to hide their face in his shoulder, using the ruff of his cloak to dry their tears.

“There, there. Cry it out. It’s alright. You can cry all you need, little one,” Sheo said gently, patting their back. 

Mothwing didn’t want to cry, but Sheo’s words broke a dam in them; they couldn’t stop the river of tears that soaked the shoulder of his cloak with stains of void. They couldn’t even pinpoint why they were crying. Nothing terrible had happened, after all. They’d had a nightmare, but they barely remembered it come morning. Breakfast wasn’t something to make them cry. Were they broken? Was this simply another form of weakness?

Mothwing clenched their hands into fists, ignoring their sharp claws digging into their palms. They were weak. They were so weak, and they were sickened by it. They didn’t want to need protection — it was shameful that they’d forced the Leader, the Protector, and Sheo to protect them. How dare they survive by leeching off others. How dare they survive instead of others — they should’ve been the one to die in the rockfall. They were greedy and selfish; it was a disgrace that they had lived this long. It was good that the Protector had left them. They should’ve left sooner. Mothwing wouldn’t have faulted them for abandoning them in the middle of the night. 

Weak, weak, weak! Mothwing raised their fists and hit their head several times, feeling a strange rush of satisfaction in response to the pain. It was what they deserved, for hurting others like they had. 

“Stop that!” Sheo shouted, the sheer volume of his voice making them freeze. “There’s no need for that. Sit here. You’ll let that anger out on paper, little one.”

Sheo set them down, and they were relieved for it. They didn’t deserve his comfort.

When he came back and handed them pencil and paper, though, they didn’t want to write. 

Sheo had said they’d let their anger out on the paper — that’s exactly what they would do.

Mothwing stabbed the paper as hard as they could, scribbling nonsensically on it. They left thick lines behind, even tearing the paper with the force of their strokes. When the pencil broke, they attacked the paper like an infected husk. The paper didn’t tear easily, though. This fueled their rage — they were so damn weak they couldn’t even tear paper! 

Once the paper was in shreds and littered all around them on the table, the floor, and even on their plate, they stopped. 

The rest of their anger seeped out and gave way for embarrassment and another bout of self-hatred. They’d made such a mess all for nothing, something Sheo would have to clean up. 

“Alright. Look at me,” Sheo said when Mothwing started to scoop the shredded paper into a pile. They stopped what they were doing, but refused to avert their gaze from the table.

“Are you willing to write and tell me what’s wrong? I want to help you, but I’m not sure what to do for you. I don’t know what’s made you so angry.”

Mothwing sat there without moving, so Sheo brought them a new piece of paper and an unbroken pencil. When they put this one to paper, their hand felt weak, and their letters shook.

WEAK. I HATE BEING WEAK. UNFAIR.

“Oh, mosscreep. You’re not weak,” Sheo said, but he paused as Mothwing added an underline to their first weak and drew a simple nail beside their words.  

“If you’re referring to your fighting ability, then… you have room to improve, yes, but you are not weak in every way. Everyone has different strengths. You’re smart, you’re fast, you’re nimble; physical strength isn’t the only thing that matters. And even if you were weak in every possible way, that wouldn’t be grounds for you to be angry with yourself.”

Mothwing didn’t want to hear his compliments. His kind words only fueled their rage. 

SHUT UP! NOT STRONG. WEAK. WEAK. WEAK.

“Well, if your goal is to get me to agree that you’re weak, you’re out of luck.”

Mothwing stabbed the paper with their pencil and watched the graphite crumble. Sheo was so dumb, to not see how worthless they were. How could he be so blind to being taken advantage of? How could he allow Mothwing to act like this? They didn’t want to hear compliments. They didn’t want to hear lies.

They tossed the pencil aside and clenched their fists, letting their claws pierce their palms again. They squeezed until void started to seep out, invisible against their flesh.

Sheo grabbed their hands and pried them open, ignoring Mothwing’s angry kicks. He carried them to the door, bending down to grab his own nail as well as Mothwing’s; this made them sober up considerably. 

So, he’d finally realized that Mothwing wasn’t worth the bother. They should’ve known it would come to this. It couldn’t end in any other way for someone who had found them half-dead in the open and — for reasons Mothwing would never understand — brought them home to take care of their injuries. It had only been a matter of time. Nothing lasted forever.

He set Mothwing down and handed them their nail, stepping back afterwards.

“If you want a fight, you have one. Come on. Let’s get some of that anger out of you.”

Mothwing stared, completely caught off-guard. They hadn’t wanted to fight. Where had Sheo gotten that idea?

They didn’t want to hurt Sheo. If he wanted to attack them, he could — but Mothwing wasn’t going to fight. They were fully expecting Sheo to simply set them down, hand them their nail, and wave goodbye, but here he was, seemingly… waiting for a battle. Why? Did he want to prove how weak Mothwing was before kicking them out? 

Lowering their nail, Mothwing only stared up at Sheo, waiting for him to initiate their fight. In response to this nonaction, however, Sheo drove the tip of his nail into the ground, moved closer, and picked them up. 

The last of their anger finally evaporated, leaving behind an odd numbness. Mothwing slumped against Sheo, not fighting as they were carried back inside the hut and set down on the bed. Sheo clearly wasn’t going to understand them. 

“Are you still angry?” Sheo asked.

Mothwing shrugged, and then shook their head. 

“Alright.” 

Sheo glanced around, but at what Mothwing didn’t know.

“Alright. I need you to tell me what’s wrong for me to help you — or at least tell me how to help, if you really don’t want to say. Can you do that for me? More than simply calling yourself weak?”

They shrugged with one shoulder and nodded, as if to say they’d try. Sheo nodded in return, and soon they found the materials in front of them. 

Once they picked up the pencil, however, they hesitated. What were they angry about? If they didn’t know what to write, they were just wasting Sheo’s time. They were wasting more of the time and attention they didn’t deserve.

With a shaky hand, Mothwing jotted down exactly what came to mind: 

I DO NOT KNOW. 

They slid the paper closer, hunching over it and covering it with their free arm so Sheo couldn’t read before they’d finished.

I DO NOT KNOW WHAT IS WRONG. I DO NOT KNOW HOW TO MAKE IT BETTER. I AM SORRY.

They gave Sheo one quick glance, then continued to write. 

I AM VERY VERY VERY SORRY.

Once their hand began to ache from their tight grip on the pencil, they stopped, dropping the pencil on the paper and their head onto their arms. They let Sheo reach forward and ever so gently tug the paper out from under them, too afraid of his reaction to look up. 

“Mothwing…” Sheo started. His voice was not unkind, but soft. “You don’t need to apologize for not knowing. We don’t always know why we’re upset.”

Mothwing lifted their head, glad to see that Sheo didn’t look angry; in fact, he had the slightest hint of a smile on his face.

“Can I pick you up, little mosscreep?”

Mothwing hesitated, but nodded after a moment. They let Sheo pick them up and bring them closer, his hand on their back. 

“Sometimes our feelings don’t make any sense. You can wake up feeling bad for absolutely no reason. Maybe that’s what happened today?”

They nodded, resting their head against Sheo’s chest. 

“Yeah,” he said softly. “But even when your feelings don’t make sense, they’re still important. Feelings don’t need to have reasons to be legitimate. You can feel angry for no reason without needing to apologize — it’s important to be able to express what you’re feeling. If you feel angry, even if it’s for no reason, I’ll do my best to help you feel better, alright? I don’t ever want you to feel like you can’t tell me what you’re feeling. If you ever feel angry, or sad, or scared, or anything for no reason, or even for what feels like a dumb reason, I want you to be able to tell me.”

Sheo patted Mothwing’s back, his voice still soft enough to keep from making Mothwing feel as though they were being shouted at. They nodded after a moment of silence once they realized he was waiting for an answer.

“Good.”

Silence filled the hut for a moment, and Mothwing tried to keep their focus off their emotions. They played with Sheo’s cloak, but found their movement growing sluggish — the warmth of Sheo’s hug was making them sleepy. 

“I love you, little mosscreep. I want nothing more than to make sure you’re happy and safe. I’ve been told I shouldn’t wear my heart on my sleeve, but love makes the world a brighter place — and I hope knowing that I love you makes you feel better, even if it’s just a little bit.”

By now, Mothwing’s anger was a mere memory. They felt tired but secure, and with their eyes shut, were content to just lie there and drift off. 

Chapter Text

Mothwing carefully dragged the brush across the canvas, being sure to avoid mixing the light grey with the black sky that had yet to dry. They stopped a few minutes into their painting to realize they’d messed up — it was so hard to remember that they weren’t supposed to paint the sections that were lighter in color. They picked up a rag and tried to scrub some of the black paint away, but it only lightened the slightest bit. Distraught, they glanced over at Sheo before taking the canvas from the easel and heading for the little barrel Sheo used as a trash can. Just as they went to drop it in, however, Sheo called out to them.

“Are you alright, Mothwing?”

Mothwing froze, and then looked over their shoulder at him. They pulled back from the trash can, hanging their head as they showed him their canvas.

“Hmm? What’s wrong with it, little mosscreep?”

Mothwing carried the canvas over to Sheo, writing on the back of it.

I MESSED UP. I ADDED BLACK IN THE WRONG PLACES.

“Oh, I’m sorry to hear that. But don’t let yourself feel sad about it — since it’s hard to paint over black, you know what you can do?”

Mothwing shook their head.

“Fill in the rest of the canvas with black, and then go outside and find some interesting leaves or flowers. Then you can bring them back. We’ll press them to preserve them, and then you can display them on the canvas. The greens and yellows and any flowers you find will stand out magnificently against the background. What do you think about that?”

Mothwing nodded. If it would make Sheo happy, they’d do it in a heartbeat; furthermore, they wouldn’t have to feel bad about wasting a canvas. They knew Sheo had to travel quite a ways to find roots to harvest the bark they used for painting. Sheo himself often made many smaller paintings on both sides of a single sheet, something Mothwing often tried to replicate.

Once they’d filled in the background of the canvas with all black, they wandered out of the hut with a small bag Sheo had lent them. They approached the closest shrub to Sheo’s door; it crept along the ground and climbed the wall, leaves small but rounded. Mothwing plucked a branch holding many leaves from the plant and placed it into the bag before moving on. 

Their next specimen was a smaller leaf the length of their hand with jagged edges. After that was a swathe of moss, and then a small yellow flower. Mothwing completely forgot about collecting, however, when they turned a corner around the hut and spotted the bush of nightshade berries. Dropping the bag, they ran to the bush and picked one, relishing the sweet taste. These were much larger than the nightshade berries Sheo provided them with; had he been hiding these for himself?

They ate a handful before they made themselves stop, deciding it wouldn’t be smart to fill up completely and get found out. As such, they picked the bag back up, picked a nightshade leaf and flower for their project, and headed back inside.

“Welcome back,” Sheo greeted as they entered. He’d attached a band to the handle so Mothwing could open the door by themselves, something they deeply appreciated. They brought their bag over to him, watching as he opened it and began removing things.

“Oh, you’ve got such a diverse collection! Let’s see. This leaf here has a cordate shape — it looks similar to a heart. I believe you got this from my potato plant, if you stayed near the hut. Underground, there are little potatoes that you can eat. When they’re done growing, we’ll pull them up and eat them!”

Sheo set the leaf down and took out the next. 

“Hmm, I didn’t plant this! I think this is a wild strawberry leaf. Unfortunately, they usually taste quite bitter, but I’ll eat them occasionally. These leaves have serrated edges. It makes it look like the edges have little teeth.”

Sheo went into the bag again and pulled out the nightshade flower. His smile wavered, and then fell.

“Mosscreep… where’s the berry on this?”

Mothwing wrung their hands. Why was Sheo so perceptive?

“Mothwing, did you eat it? I’m not angry. I just need to know.”

Mothwing hesitated, but then nodded. Sheo dropped the plant and picked them up, taking them outside. He set them on the moss after a few seconds of indecision.

“Wait here. Wait here. Don’t eat anything else!”

Sheo ran back inside, leaving Mothwing to play with the moss on the ground. Why was he so concerned about them eating nightshade berries? They’d had them plenty of times before. They felt a twinge of pain in their stomach, but brushed it aside. They supposed he was mad that they'd gorged themselves without permission, and a wave of shame swept through them.

Sheo came back with a handful of leaves.

“Eat them, now.”

Frightened by his tone, Mothwing immediately shoved the leaves into their mouth. They barely chewed before swallowing, ignoring the slight pain from doing so.

“Mosscreep, those weren’t black nightshade berries. They were deadly nightshade berries. They're poisonous, and eating even one can kill you.”

Mothwing felt their eyes widen, but before they could think of anything to respond with, they keeled over to expel the contents of their stomach. 

Once they were done, they were trembling. Sheo patted their back, trying his best to comfort them.

“Poor thing… it’s alright. You’ll feel better now. It looks like that got rid of all the berries.”

I felt fine before you gave me those leaves, Mothwing thought to themselves. However, they had no way to express this sentiment through writing. Even if they had something to write with, their head had begun to hurt by now; was it because of the berry, or the leaves?

“I know that wasn’t fun, but you’d have been much worse off soon if we didn’t get those berries out of you,” Sheo said as he picked them up and carried them in. He placed them at the entrance of their hideout, stepping away to rifle through a few different cabinets. 

When he came back, he laid out six things: two flowers, two leaves, and two berries. The leaves and flowers had been dried to preserve them, but the berries were fresh.

“Alright. I suppose I should’ve given a more in-depth lesson beforehand. It’s my fault you ate those and nearly poisoned yourself,” he started. Mothwing tilted their head, but Sheo only continued on. 

“This side has things from the black nightshade plant. The other has things from the deadly nightshade.”

Mothwing nodded, inspecting both. The flowers and berries had significant differences. Another twinge of stomach pain made their focus waver.

“Deadly nightshade has purple flowers, and black nightshade has white flowers. Deadly nightshade’s berries are much bigger and glossier — see?”

Sheo pointed to the deadly nightshade berry, and Mothwing nodded once again. 

“If you ever find nightshade — or any berries, for that matter — in the wild, don’t eat them unless you’re entirely sure what they are. Deadly nightshade will kill smaller bugs.” Sheo sighed, reaching over to place his hand on their head. 

“I really am sorry, mosscreep. I was mistaken to think you’d be as cautious as you ought to. You’re a child, I should’ve expected…”

He trailed off and swept up the plant pieces, leaving the black nightshade berry behind.

“You’re probably starving after that. I’ll get you something to eat, alright?”

Sheo set a plate in front of them, but by now, Mothwing’s stomach hurt so much they couldn’t even fathom the thought of eating. They shook their head and pushed the plate away. Seeing Sheo’s face, they grabbed their stomach.

“Are you alright? Are you in pain?”

Mothwing nodded, flopping onto their back in an attempt to find relief. None came.

Sheo was moving around again, and he came back with a glass of dark grey liquid. They struggled to sit up, feeling as though the void running through them had begun to slow. 

“Drink it. It’s charcoal. It should help if…”

Sheo trailed off, but Mothwing didn’t care what he had to say — they chugged the disgusting water, desperate for anything that might get rid of the pain. Once it was gone, they stared up at the ceiling of the hut.

Once the distractions were gone, Mothwing writhed in pain. Sheo lifted them into his lap and stroked their back, told them stories, showed them his old artworks, everything he could think of, but nothing helped. They could barely focus on anything but the stabs of pain; it had taken over their whole mind.

Every second was excruciating, and Mothwing wished for something to stop it, whether that be medicine, sleep, or death. It felt as though they were on fire; they’d never felt such severe pain in their short life. It seemed impossible that they would even survive it.

In the end, however, the pain turned from jabs to dull aches, and Mothwing was able to relax. Their struggling had worn them out completely, both mentally and physically — they didn’t even have the energy to move into a more comfortable position, just letting themselves stay draped over Sheo’s leg. It wasn’t until he lifted them up and onto his bed that they moved, curling into a ball.

“Poor thing. I’m so sorry. This was my fault,” they heard him mumble. He kept a hand over them, providing a comforting weight. 

Mothwing woke up not too much later to find Sheo cleaning up his paints and getting ready to go to bed. When he saw Mothwing was awake, he smiled and walked over to the bed.

“Feeling better?”

They certainly still felt residual pain in their stomach and a light headache, but they knew a yes would make Sheo happy, so they nodded. Sure enough, his smile grew.

“I’m so glad. Well, it’s time for bed.”

He hesitated, and it took Mothwing a second to realize why: they were right in the middle of the bed, leaving no room for Sheo. An idea hit them, and they flopped back, stretching out their arms and legs in order to take up as much space as possible. Sheo chuckled, sitting on the edge of the bed.

“Are you stealing my bed, little mosscreep?”

Mothwing nodded, pleased with themselves. Unfortunately, they were incapable of actually securing their spot. Sheo effortlessly picked them up, laid down, and placed Mothwing next to him. 

“You can stay here if you want, but you’re not taking the whole bed!” 

Mothwing laid back down, reveling in the warmth that enveloped them as Sheo pulled the blanket up. It was much warmer than their little moss bed. Pulling the blanket entirely over their own head, Mothwing let their thoughts wander. The first thing that came to mind was how familiar this felt; they remembered this same exhaustion weighing down on them in the egg. If they shut their eyes, the darkness was even there to complement it. 

They felt truly safe here.

Chapter Text

Mothwing dipped their brush into the jar of paint again, fighting to stay focused. They’d been working on their painting for hours already, if their previous unsuccessful attempts counted. As much as they wanted to take a break, they were determined to finish this painting and show Sheo. They wanted to make him happy. He’d praised their improvement a few days prior, and they wanted a completed piece for him to display. 

“Mosscreep, you’re still working?” Sheo asked as he returned with a large pail of water. Setting it on the counter, he approached Mothwing. They were quick to wave their arms in a panic, not wanting him to see. 

“Don’t worry, I won’t look. But it’s late, little one. Aren’t you tired?”

Mothwing shook their head. They had to finish this piece before they slept — they had fallen asleep listening to Sheo try to complete paintings many times. They would work just as hard. They would make him proud. Since they couldn’t match his skill with a nail, they’d raise their brush. 

“You’ve got an artist’s heart, mosscreep. I know how hard it is to put down your work. That passion takes hold and doesn’t let you go, does it?”

They shook their head again, trying to make a smooth line on the canvas. 

Sheo let them paint for a while longer, but when Mothwing was to the point of dropping the paintbrush, he put them to bed and disregarded Mothwing’s weak protests. It didn’t take them long to let sleep consume them.

Come morning, Sheo’s mind was clearly elsewhere. He wasn’t nearly as talkative over breakfast as usual, and it wasn’t until Mothwing was sticking leaves to their canvas later on that Sheo finally voiced his thoughts.

“Mothwing, I think I owe it to you to take you to Deepnest. As much as I…” Sheo paused, and Mothwing froze on the spot. They wanted to panic, but they were too shocked to do so quite yet. “Well, you deserve to be reunited with your family, if that’s what you want. So… I’ll take you to Deepnest, and we can look for your family. Do you… is that what you want?”

Reunite with their family. A prospect that stirred so many different reactions in them. They missed the shades. They missed chasing them around, not a single worry aside from what game they’d play next. It had been so easy in the Abyss; they’d never once worried about being abandoned back then. Why did such fears overwhelm them now? What had changed? 

Some part of them dared to hope that their suffering would abate should they return to that all-encompassing darkness that graced their birth. Perhaps the darkness would draw their anguish from them and provide them with comfort instead.

Perhaps once they saw their siblings again, they wouldn’t be so scared by the thought of Sheo leaving.

Mothwing nodded, and saw how Sheo seemed to force away the sigh that brewed in his chest.

“Alright. I’ll need a few days to prepare — why don’t we plan to go in two day’s time?”

Those two days flew by. Come the third morning, Sheo and Mothwing left the hut and headed for Fog Canyon. 

“Aha! There’s our first jellyfish!” Sheo said as the scenery began to change, pointing to a particularly small uoma floating nearby. Mothwing tensed up, averting their gaze. They didn’t want their first encounter with one of the little jellyfish after so long to be seeing it die. 

There was no sickening pop of its skin. 

Sheo had not killed it.

Mothwing looked up at him — Sheo’s nail was sheathed, unlike it had been in Greenpath. Grabbing his hand to get his attention, they pointed to his nail and tilted their head.

“Hmm? Why don’t I have my nail out? I don’t need it. Fog Canyon isn’t a dangerous place. The uomas and oomas are peaceful, so long as you leave them alone. It’s an interesting phenomenon, I think. All these jellyfish with infection inside them, and yet they’re not even the slightest bit aggressive. My father told us about the bug — well, she wasn’t a bug, but I don’t know what else to call her — who lived here and tamed this land. She was incredibly intelligent. My father said she worked so hard and was so smart she practically studied her way into godhood, and that’s why everything here is so peaceful. She was entirely devoted to her studies. She discovered a way to contain the infection in these little jellyfish.”

Sheo gestured to a collection of uomas nearby, sighing.

“It’s a shame, really. She disappeared, and nobody even remembers old Hallownest anymore. I was still fairly young during its end, after the infection began to take hold. She has an archive hidden away somewhere here, but last I heard, it’s impossible to decipher. All of her students died or vanished; that knowledge is as good as gone.”

Mothwing stared at the jellyfish as they passed, questions swarming their mind. Finally, they reached into the little bag Sheo had made for them and pulled out some paper to write on.

WHAT IS A GODHOOD?

“Oh! A god or higher being is something far above any mortal bug. Sometimes, if they are very powerful, ordinary bugs will worship them.”

WHAT DO THEY DO?

“Good question,” Sheo said. “It depends, I suppose. The old King of Hallownest gave sentience to all bugs that reside within his domain. Unn keeps Greenpath alive, although it’s been overrun by infection. While I don’t believe Monomon was ever worshipped, these uomas and oomas exist because of her. Perhaps their very existence gives her power, keeps her name alive. I’ve seen hypotheses that a God’s power is tied to memory — if they’re forgotten, they die. It’s quite an interesting subject. Bugs have built beautiful temples to their Gods. There’s a temple for Unn way up in Greenpath that I’ve visited a few times. Sometime, I want to go to the city and look for a library. Maybe they’d have some books on the Higher Beings in Hallownest’s prime.”

Mothwing nodded; that intrigued them, too. However, knowing that the Protector had needlessly killed the jellyfish made them a bit sad. They did their best to bury that sadness, instead focusing on keeping up with Sheo’s much larger steps.

They walked in silence for a long while, and Sheo scooped Mothwing into his pocket once they began to near the Queen’s Gardens. He fended off flying mantises and infected husks while Mothwing hid themselves away, their mind emotionally closed off. 

The rest of the journey passed in a blur. 

Sheo took them from his pocket as he descended into the darkness of Deepnest, being careful to avoid spikes.

“Alright, little mosscreep. I’ll need your help here. If you can, just point me to wherever you came from — perhaps we’ll find your home that way.”

Sheo dropped onto flat ground with a huff, setting Mothwing down after checking that it was safe. He stopped after a second, however, listening carefully.

“Is that — do you hear something?”

Mothwing most certainly did. A strange clacking came from off in the distance, and Mothwing immediately felt dread fill them, swirling in their  stomach and fighting its way up. 

“Is there someone living here?”

Sheo headed for the noise, and Mothwing followed. They were still trying to push their emotions away; regardless, Sheo was strong. He could fight off anything, right?

The clacking got louder as they descended, and Sheo approached a tunnel in the wall.

“Er… hello?” He called. The clacking slowed for a moment, and then resumed. Mothwing slunk along behind him in the shadows as Sheo went inside, and nearly fainted from fear at the sight of the bug there. Their arms were long and spindly, and they might’ve been even bigger than Sheo — it was hard to tell. 

“Hello! I hope I’m not interrupting anything?” Sheo greeted, raising one hand as though to wave. The bug behind the desk looked up at him, and Mothwing flinched when he spoke.

“Ah, a mask or a face? Such a difficult thing to decipher in Hallownest.”

Sheo seemed rather confused by this greeting, but did his best to engage anyway.

“This is my face. I don’t — I don’t have a mask.”

“How very lucky,” the bug replied. “We are not all blessed with a face. For this kingdom’s faceless, I shall provide.”

“I… thank you?”

The bug didn’t respond for a moment, but finally set down his tools and looked up. Mothwing tensed considerably when his gaze fell on them.

“Oho, what a peculiar bug wanders into my shop. I am the Mask Maker. One with a face, one with a mask! Does one need a face, a mask, to exist? To define? To focus?”

Mothwing tilted their head, staying by the corner they had stopped at near the entrance to the shop. The Mask Maker didn’t appear to mind their lack of response.

“Faces are what I gift to a world deserving! All one must do is request it.”

The Mask Maker picked up another mask and set to work on it. Sheo stood there for a moment before offering the strange bug a small bow.

“Have a good day, Mask Maker,” Sheo said. The bug did not respond, and the two left in haste.

Mothwing hadn’t the slightest idea where to go. Deepnest was just as much of a maze as it had been the first time, and everything looked familiar and foreign simultaneously. They mostly just let Sheo lead the way, trusting him to not wander in circles and get lost.

It wasn’t until they heard the sound of water dripping that they came to life. They scrambled out of the pocket, pointing towards the noise frantically. 

“The water? You recognize that?”

Mothwing nodded, leading Sheo towards it. They distinctly remembered the warm water that seemed to soak right into their shell. They’d finally be able to take the water to their siblings!

They ran around a corner and rejoiced at the sight of the hot spring. They barreled right towards it and launched themselves in, splashing the water left and right. Sheo followed behind, sitting at the edge.

“A hot spring,” he commented after getting comfortable. “The warm water is supposed to be made of soul, capable of healing injuries — but that’s just an old tale. The water is nice though, isn’t it?”

Mothwing nodded, wading through it to splash Sheo. He laughed before splashing them back. His was much bigger, and the force of the wave nearly knocked them over. They shot him a dirty look, but he only laughed harder.

“Oh, come on! If you splash me, you better expect to get splashed back! It’s only fair.”

Mothwing moved away to play in the water by themselves, away from Sheo and his massive waves. The pool, thankfully, was shallow — it barely touched the base of their head at its deepest. 

They quickly moved their focus beyond the pool, however. It wasn’t long before they were on their way again, Mothwing directing them more consistently now. Of course, as they drew closer to the Abyss, Mothwing couldn’t help but to notice how the strength of their emotions grew and grew inside them. No matter how much effort they put into repressing them, they only bubbled stronger.

What would happen if they returned to the Abyss? Would Sheo just leave them? They’d be happy to see their siblings again, yes, but Sheo was part of their life now. The idea of being left behind by him sent a pang of hurt through them, one that reverberated through their entire being. 

Sheo got them through the room filled with tunneling worms, and upon reaching the tram room, they came to a stop. Mothwing jumped down, feeling as though they weren’t in control of their own body. They headed for the corner, scared to look. They’d find the tunnel they came through with the Protector, Sheo would leave them, they’d get lost, they’d die, they’d —

The tunnel had collapsed. 

Rocks filled the little space the opening had once occupied, and there was no telling just how much of it was gone.

Mothwing began to cry, but whether those tears came from sadness or relief, they couldn’t tell. 

“Mosscreep, what’s wrong?”

Mothwing had to force themselves to reach into their bag and take out paper. 

TUNNEL GONE. SIBLINGS GONE.

Mothwing showed Sheo the paper, but quickly took it back. Their hands shook wildly as they wrote.

PLEASE DO NOT LEAVE ME. I WANT TO GO BACK TO GREENPATH. I DO NOT WANT TO BE ALONE AGAIN.

Mothwing shoved the paper into his hands and all but collapsed on the floor, tears flowing from their eyes without an end in sight. They didn’t calm down even when Sheo picked them up and held them close in an attempt to comfort them, the buildup of emotions rendering them inconsolable. They could barely feel his hands on their back and head, their own grief drowning out his comforting words. All they felt was the fear that ravaged them, leaving them certain that Sheo would cast them away to die if their grip loosened even the slightest bit. 

Their emotions refused to settle for a long while — by the time their tears dried up, they no longer had their claws anchored into Sheo’s cloak. They couldn’t even tighten their grip if they tried; they were completely worn out once again. What was it about breaking down from the sheer weight of their emotions that sapped their strength from them?

“Feeling any better, mosscreep?” Sheo asked, his voice soft and quiet. Mothwing didn’t have the energy to do anything but shake like a leaf, but thankfully, Sheo didn’t need a response. 

“I’ll never leave you. I promise. I’ll take you back to Greenpath and take care of you. You’ll be my family, yeah?”

Mothwing heard him, but his words didn’t have the effect they sometimes did; perhaps they were still too rattled from their fears.

“I love you, Mothwing,” Sheo said, “I’ll make sure you’re never left behind.”

Mothwing was barely aware of when Sheo finally stood and began to carry them away, back the way they’d come. Sheo stopped when they reached the hot spring, taking a seat on the bench. 

“Maybe we can rest here for the night, little one. I need to stop for a bit, and it seems safe here. Are you alright with that?”

Mothwing was not, but they nodded anyway. How could they deny Sheo rest? While they wanted nothing more than to be back home and buried in blankets, it would be cruel of them to express that.

As such, they crawled into the warm water once Sheo set them down. Scooping a handful of the water up, they watched it slowly disappear into their hands. Distracted by this new development, they lifted their hands up — the water wasn’t filtering through their fingers. Where was it going?

They scooped up another handful, running to show Sheo. By the time they reached him, though, it was gone. 

“Hmm? What is it?” Sheo asked, looking over. He’d removed his cloak to make a pillow for himself. The bench was comically small for him, so instead, he laid on the ground next to it. 

Mothwing pointed at the water, and then their hands before running to get more. This time, they tried to move faster, but this only made the water splash out of their hands.

“Hard to carry water in your hands, isn’t it?”

Mothwing clenched their fists, stomping back to the water. They just wanted to show him this one thing — why couldn’t the water cooperate? Why couldn’t they speak like Sheo could? Their hands were wet now, so they’d smear their writing if they tried to make a note.

Mothwing shoved their hands into the water and watched a few drops disappear into their palms, dismayed by their inability to show Sheo what was happening. They’d never known they could absorb water through their hands. Maybe they’d use some of the water Sheo kept in his hut to show him later, if he didn’t want to look now. They’d never noticed such a thing before, and couldn’t fathom why they were absorbing water .

Mothwing played in the hot spring for a while longer, but they were too frazzled to focus. Their hands were shaking again, and they simply couldn’t make themselves sleep. Sheo called for them to rest a few times, but Mothwing only cast him a quick glance each time before they returned to stewing in their uneasy numbness.

About an hour passed before Sheo got up, distracting Mothwing momentarily. He shrugged his cloak and bag back on, picking Mothwing up without a word. He slipped them in his pocket. When he noticed Mothwing’s quizzical look, he smiled at them.

“We’re going home. I think it’ll be much more comfortable to sleep in our own beds, don’t you?”

Mothwing nodded — once they were in Sheo’s hut, maybe they wouldn’t be so scared of waking up alone in Deepnest. They settled down in Sheo’s pocket, the usually disruptive rocking comforting for once. If he stopped, they’d surely feel it and wake up, right? He wouldn’t drop them off and leave them to find themselves alone just because they’d slept. 

But they couldn’t be sure.

Mothwing forced themselves to stay awake, scribbling away on paper to do so. Eventually, Sheo looked down at them.

“Mosscreep, you’re still up? Get some rest! You must be exhausted,” Sheo said. Mothwing hesitated, but quickly put pencil to paper and passed their note to him.

I NEED TO MAKE SURE YOU DO NOT ABANDON ME WHILE I AM ASLEEP.

“Oh…” Sheo breathed, barely audible. He fell silent for a minute, and then slipped his hand into his pocket, letting Mothwing wrap their arms around it. “Here. You can hold onto my hand, and that way, I can’t pull it away unless you’re awake and let go of it. Could you sleep that way?”

Mothwing took a moment to contemplate; they had often woken up strangling the blankets when sleeping in Sheo’s bed. The pocket was small enough that they’d most certainly wake up if Sheo pulled his hand out; they were growing more and more exhausted by the second, and this seemed like a fine agreement.

Giving up the battle to keep their increasingly heavy eyes open, Mothwing succumbed to their exhaustion.

Chapter Text

When Mothwing finally woke up, they kept their eyes closed and didn’t try to sit up. They stayed still upon feeling Sheo sigh and ever so slowly pull them from his pocket, holding them securely while he put his nail away and shut the door. Mothwing could tell by the humidity and the smell that they were back in Greenpath, offering a gentle comfort to their worries.

Sheo set them down, and the softness underneath their head could only have been moss. They opened their eyes once Sheo had pulled back, and confirmed that they were back in their little hideout.

Sheo had kept his promise. He hadn’t abandoned them.

Despite that, Mothwing felt guilt more powerful than any living creature; it charged in, stamping out the remnants of their relief. They had turned away the moment they’d seen that the tunnel had collapsed and thought their family dead and gone — but what if that wasn’t the case? They had worked with the Protector to move rocks when they were separated from the Leader. Sheo was strong; he could’ve moved rocks even the Protector didn’t bother to look at. They hadn’t even tried to move a single rock from the tunnel’s entrance in Deepnest. Maybe the shades were waiting right behind that rubble, hoping Mothwing would find them and free them.

The idea of such a thing made Mothwing curl up in shame, their hands on the sides of their head in an attempt to block out the thoughts. Their head felt so crowded and noisy and impossible to escape.

There was no doubt about it — they were a terrible, cowardly sibling. How could they live with themselves having not even tried to break through the tunnel? How would Mothwing feel, to be abandoned like that?

Ah. That probably wasn’t a good question. If that was the case, they should be glad their kin spared themselves the trouble of saving and putting up with such a bad sibling.

As much as Mothwing wanted to wallow in their self-hatred and regret, Sheo soon called them out to eat. 

“Did you sleep well?”

Mothwing nodded. They always nodded, even if it was a lie; saying no would only serve to worry Sheo, and nothing could fix a bad night’s sleep after it had already taken place, right?

“Good.” Sheo took a few bites of his own breakfast before continuing: “Are you feeling alright?”

Mothwing nodded once again, but they faltered slightly, something that didn’t go unnoticed.

“You can be honest with me, mosscreep. Can I get you some paper so you can let me know what’s going on?”

Mothwing shook their head — they didn’t deserve the comfort Sheo would try to offer, only to ultimately waste his time. They could already hear him telling them that they hadn’t abandoned their siblings, that their inaction wasn’t some horrible thing. He’d probably offer to take Mothwing back to Deepnest, something that sparked even more turmoil in them. They didn’t want to debate whether or not to return, to force Sheo to carry them all that distance and take on all that risk a second time just because of their cowardice. They didn’t deserve his kind words, not when they were at fault. 

“Alright, I won’t push. But I’m here for you, alright? Even if you don’t want to talk about it, I’m more than happy to sit with you, or offer words of comfort, or give you a hug.”

Mothwing nodded, even while they resolved to never take advantage of his offer. Even now, Sheo’s words about how darkness was something negative, something to rid oneself of, rang in their head. If Mothwing was made of the darkness of the Abyss, why did Sheo keep them around?

“Don’t forget to eat, little one,” Sheo reminded them.

Most of the day was spent inside painting. Mothwing had taken to sitting slightly behind Sheo, hiding their own work from his sight while still enabling them to watch him paint when they grew bored or needed a break. 

Today they were working on shading — Sheo had provided them with a single wooden block on a plate beside their canvas for reference, and they were slowly making progress. Once they were satisfied with the block, they set one of their jars of paint in its place and began trying to recreate that.

By evening, Mothwing was sick and tired of trying to get the shading just perfect in their paintings. However, Sheo was still working, and he seemed nowhere near bored of his work. At some point, he stopped to check in on Mothwing.

“Still going? You’ve been at it a long time today. Surely you’re feeling tired?”

Mothwing shook their head, tightening their grip on the brush when they left a stray mark of black on their current work. 

“Well, as much as I understand your passion… you need to sleep,” Sheo said. “Come on. Put that away. You can start again tomorrow, when you’re all rested. Your canvas will still be there, I promise.”

Sheo reached over to pick Mothwing up, and paused when they promptly began thrashing in his arms. Now that they were comfortable with Sheo, such a reaction was unlike them.

“Woah, hey! There, there.” He set Mothwing back down, seemingly relieved when Mothwing quit flailing around. “Why don’t you want to go to bed?”

Mothwing grabbed a nearby paper to write. 

I NEED TO FINISH MY PAINTING.

“You can finish it tomorrow,” Sheo assured them. “You need to sleep.”

NO.

Mosscreep… why not tomorrow? Why do you have to do it tonight?”

I NEED TO WORK HARD. I WANT YOU TO BE PROUD. I WANT TO BE GOOD AT PAINTING AND HARD WORK MAKES ME GOOD.

Sheo fell silent after reading that, and Mothwing played with their cloak. Would he let them paint in peace now? They weren’t sure what was making him go quiet and stare at their paper — he usually read quite fast. Was he upset?

The idea sent a chill through them, and they grabbed a different sheet to continue their train of thought.

SORRY. DO NOT BE ANGRY PLEASE. YOU SAY I AM GOOD AT PAINTING SO I WANT TO PAINT. YOU ARE SO HAPPY WHEN I WORK HARD. I DO NOT WANT TO DISAPPOINT YOU.

This message didn’t seem to help; instead, he adopted a saddened expression.

“Dammit, Sheo…” he muttered. Mothwing cocked their head; why was he saying his own name?

They were about to return to their painting when Sheo scooped them up again, setting them on his lap once he sat down. They didn’t fight this time — now that they’d stopped painting to write, their urge to work nonstop had faded. Instead, they leaned against him like they usually did, letting Sheo pat their head. 

“I’m not angry with you, mosscreep. I want to make that clear before anything else. But…”

He trailed off, falling silent for a minute before continuing.

“I owe you an apology. I’ve turned into my teacher, I think. You see, I was very skilled with a nail. I don’t say it to brag, but I was the best of his students. He was always praising me — my speed, my form, my dedication; I practiced for hours on my own every week. It made me so happy to hear him tell me how good I was with a nail. He was so happy to have such a dedicated student.”

Mothwing would’ve nodded along, if not for the weight of Sheo’s hand on their head. They settled for staring up at him, blinking slowly.

“And I know he really was proud. But I worked too hard. I wasn’t practicing to make myself better; I was doing it to make him happy. In the end, it didn’t matter that I was a prodigy with a nail. I burned myself out. I had to force myself to pick up my nail every morning, and I always felt terrible when he talked of my admirable passion — passion that had since faded away.”

Another pause.

“What I’m trying to say, Mothwing, is that you shouldn’t be painting to make me happy. You ought to be painting to make yourself happy. Working yourself too hard will ruin anything for you. Even if you — no matter what interests you, little mosscreep, I’ll be proud of you. I’ll be happy to see you do anything. Except eat my deadly nightshade, I suppose,” Sheo added, the difference in tone catching Mothwing off-guard. They lowered their gaze, feeling a bit guilty under their amusement. However, that wasn’t the most important task at hand: they grabbed some paper off the table.

BUT I WANT TO MAKE YOU HAPPY. YOU BEING HAPPY MAKES ME HAPPY.

“I know, mosscreep. But you don’t have to stay up late working yourself to the bone to make me happy. Even if you didn’t paint, like I said, I’d still be happy. You don’t have to do anything other than exist to make me happy. There are no requirements for my love.” 

Sheo rubbed the top of their head with his thumb, and Mothwing leaned into it. They could feel the pressure behind their eyes that always preceded tears, and tried their best to turn away. Unfortunately, Sheo wasn’t quite so oblivious. He’d seen Mothwing try to hide their tears before, and simply lifted them to his shoulder so he could give them a proper hug.

“There, there. Cry it out. I love you so much, Mothwing.”

Mothwing let the collar of Sheo’s cloak soak up their tears, and they tried their best to return his declarations of love by hugging him. Their arms were nowhere near big enough to squeeze him in a hug, but it got the message across. 

Sheo held them until their tears stopped and then some — when he finally put them down, they somehow felt both better and worse. It was always embarrassing to cry, but it would inevitably make them feel better. Seeing that Sheo really wouldn’t hate them for their emotions soothed them.

“Feeling any better?” Sheo asked.

Mothwing nodded, fidgeting with their cloak. It was somewhat confusing, how they could sob endlessly to Sheo, only to turn around and be unable to look him in the eyes. Wasn’t eye contact so much less personal?

“Good. I think you need to sleep. Our emotions are always stronger at night. Want me to tuck you in?”

Mothwing nodded again, letting Sheo pick them up and carry them to their hideout. He set them down inside, placing his hand on their head.

“Goodnight, Mothwing, Sleep well. I’ll see you in the morning.”

Mothwing bid him goodnight using a gesture Sheo had taught them a few nights previously before lying down and shutting their eyes.

Chapter Text

Mothwing’s nightmares were now dominated by cascades of rocks, collapsed tunnels, and visions of the Protector and the Leader abandoning a search for them right before reaching Mothwing. They were crushed by rocks, unable to move even the slightest bit. Death came slowly and painfully, and they always woke up before it ended. 

Each of these nightmares were followed by a brief breakdown; occasionally, Mothwing still sought out Sheo, curling into his side and hoping his presence scared their nightmares away. Even now, Sheo’s quiet, drawn-out breaths helped them calm down when shadows dancing in the windows caught their eye.

Even if Mothwing was still wrestling with the last dregs of fear from sleep now, even nearly an hour after waking, bad dreams were easier to deal with knowing they weren’t real. It seemed almost as though they faded from memory faster than things experienced in reality — even when the nightmares made Mothwing cry. 

Mothwing tried to will away their crowded thoughts and listened to the silence for some time before sitting up to see whether Sheo was still asleep or not. His eyes were shut, and his chest rose and fell slowly. Mothwing flopped back down, feeling restless. They wanted to get up and do something, but getting their paints and a canvas would make an awful lot of noise. They didn’t want to wake Sheo up; he’d seemed tired last night, and probably needed the sleep.

After a short time, their boredom was unbearable. They rose from the bed and carefully lowered themselves to the ground, glancing around in search of something quiet to keep themselves occupied with. A few pieces of charcoal caught their eyes, and an idea struck them — they could draw with charcoal instead of painting.

Paper before them and charcoal in hand, Mothwing stared out the window, the windowsill the perfect size for them to sit on. How long had it been since they were out on their own? 

They carefully sketched out some of the plants they could see clearly. They could see how lush the plant life was, stretching into the distance. The outside world looked so inviting — even the thought of their colorful paints had begun to feel dull in comparison. 

Part of them wanted to ask Sheo if they were free to explore; they would even offer to take their nail, so as to comfort him. But could they handle it? Their trek into Greenpath after healing up initially poisoned their mind with doubt. They hadn’t even managed to fight off a single squit. If they hadn’t returned, who knew what would’ve become of them? 

As such, once Sheo awoke and was moving around, Mothwing took up a piece of paper and approached Sheo with it.

“How are you?” Sheo asked as they appeared at his side. Mothwing held out the paper for him to read.

I WANT TO PRACTICE FIGHTING SQUITS.

“Oh? Well, alright then. Any particular reason why?”

Mothwing hesitated, but did eventually relent.

I WANT TO BE ABLE TO EXPLORE ON MY OWN SOMETIMES. NOT FOREVER. I STILL WANT TO LIVE HERE.

“Ah, I see. That’s perfectly respectable. I get restless too if I’ve been cooped up in here for too long. Do you want to practice now?”

Mothwing nodded.

“Give me a few minutes, then. We’ll go find some squits.”

Sheo led them to a secluded area; in the distance, spikes layered the earth, but they were safe where they were. Squits buzzed around in front of them.

“Alright. I’m sure you’ve seen them attack before, but just to help refresh your memory: squits dart in to attack. They’re very quick, and you have to swing earlier than you think you need to in order to hit them. If you can hit them, they’ll immediately back off. They’re light enough that your nail will stop them from crashing into you. May I demonstrate?”

Mothwing nodded, watching as Sheo pulled his nail out. He picked up a ball of moss and tossed it at a nearby squit, which immediately began buzzing menacingly. It drifted a bit closer before doing its tell-tale wind-up, and then shot itself at Sheo. 

Mothwing watched with a sense of awe as Sheo’s blade cut cleanly through the air and smacked the squit to the side, sending it tumbling. He clearly hadn’t used full force; Mothwing knew he could dispatch the poor creatures with a single swing, and this particular squit was still angry and capable of attacking.

“Would you like to try?” Sheo asked. Mothwing jumped up, brandishing their nail. They stepped in front of Sheo, drawing the squit’s attention to themselves. The squit hissed before darting towards Mothwing.

Mothwing’s nail was smaller, but they struck true, sending the squit flying off to the left. It was now injured, but it refused to give up. Squits would attack until they couldn’t any longer. It darted in again, and Mothwing brought their nail around just in time to block. The squit didn’t move as far away, and pricked Mothwing’s arm when they failed to react quickly enough. Mothwing, however, wasn’t going to give up. They shrugged off Sheo’s questioning about their arm, staring the squit down. 

The squit darted in again, and Mothwing swung. This time, the squit went flying and sunk into the pool of acid below. 

They had done it. 

“Great job, Mothwing! You should be very proud of yourself!” Sheo exclaimed, jumping up with a bright smile. He pulled a small roll of bandages from his pocket, kneeling down to take Mothwing’s arm and patch it up. “You’re so quick! Your nail is light and small — it’ll make it easier for you to go against enemies like that. Why don’t you try again?”

Mothwing let Sheo tie off the bandage before scraping together a ball of moss like Sheo had done, tossing it at a second squit. Unfortunately, their aim was abysmal; the moss ball wasn’t even close. 

“Good try, mosscreep! Try again! You’ll get better every time!”

Mothwing made another attempt. They missed again, but their ball of moss was closer to its oblivious target. 

Their third and fourth attempts missed, but each got closer and closer. Their fifth ball of moss smacked the plant the squit was inspecting, finally drawing the creature’s attention. It jerked away from the plant and turned its gaze on Mothwing, drifting closer to find an optimal distance from which to strike. Still confident from their earlier success, Mothwing readied their nail and kept their eyes on the squit.

When it dove towards them, Mothwing swung as hard as they could and sent the squit flying. They heard Sheo praise them, but were too focused on their enemy to fully process it. The squit came back, and Mothwing struck again; their third strike finished the creature off. 

“Amazing! Look at you!” Sheo said, patting their head. “Wow! You should be very proud, mosscreep. I know I am!”

Mothwing felt warmth gather in their chest, and they nodded excitedly. They were proud of themselves — would the Protector be proud, too?

That thought tainted their joy with a bit of melancholy, but not so much as to ruin their success. They shook their head, refocusing on the present moment and on Sheo.

“Well, I think that if you want to explore on your own, you’re certainly capable. My only request would be that you don’t stray too far — and don’t go into areas you don’t recognize without leaving some sort of marker to help you find your way back. I often leave flowers in places they shouldn’t be, or make notches in branches or even the ground with my nail, like this:”

Sheo drove the tip of his nail into the ground beneath them, leaving a small arrow pointing towards his hut.

“See? Now I know which way my hut is, even if I get turned around in here fighting squits. Always leave a clear trail.”

Mothwing nodded, making their own arrow beside Sheo’s. It wasn’t nearly as pretty, but it got the job done.

“Good. I’d say you’re all set on fighting squits, then. What now?”

Grabbing their paper, Mothwing outlined their next request.

MOSS CHARGERS? THE SMALL ONES.

“Ah, alright. Those are easy enough. Come along, I think I know where a few are.”

Sheo led them upwards, pausing when he reached what appeared to be a relatively quiet spot. There was a change in the ground beneath them, and Mothwing looked down to see stone nearly hidden by moss and weeds. The toughness of the rock brought forth memories of their shell against stone, nearly cracking from the sheer weight atop them. They clung to Sheo’s leg, but he reached down and patted them on the head.

“Don’t worry. That big moss charger isn’t here. I’ll protect you.”

Mothwing loosened their hug slightly, but didn’t move. Sheo, thankfully, let them remain where they were.

“Now, the nice thing about moss chargers is that you can practice on them without killing them. Watch.”

Sheo stepped forward, and Mothwing heard the familiar rumble. The moss charger gathered itself before racing towards Sheo, who gracefully cut through the creature’s disguise with a calm, measured swing. The actual form of the moss charger immediately scurried away, burrowing into the earth for protection. Mothwing stared, awestruck. How had Sheo known it was disguised? It had looked so intimidating and huge — and it was all a ruse? Such a tiny creature could change its appearance so drastically?

Was the giant moss charger a tiny creature underneath, too?

“Your turn,” Sheo said, drawing them from their astonishment. “Tricky little things, aren’t they?” 

With a nod, Mothwing moved forward and took their place, nail at the ready. The moss charger soon emerged, having regathered itself rather quickly. Mothwing swung and sent the creature into an explosion of brush.

“Wonderful!” Sheo said. “Try again!”

It wasn’t long before Mothwing felt they could close their eyes and fight off the moss chargers. These they didn’t chase down to kill — while it was inevitable with the squits, which refused to give up the fight, the moss chargers fled. They were glad to have a creature run from them, since it meant they didn’t need to kill it.

Sheo carried Mothwing home once they grew tired, taking the time to admire the scenery of the area and share his thoughts on Greenpath as a whole.

“It’s a great place to live,” he was saying, “as it’s fairly safe as opposed to other areas. And I simply couldn’t live somewhere without plants.”

He paused to step over an exposed root before continuing.

“And I’m not the only one to think such a thing, either. I know other bugs live here, although I rarely see them. There’s a strange bug in red that I’ll see out of the corner of my eye from time to time. And some of the moss knights don’t always seem infected… there’s one by the Lake of Unn that’s peaceful. It just stares out across the lake. I wonder if it somehow avoided the infection?”

Mothwing looked up, intrigued by the idea of a peaceful moss knight. If there was such a thing, perhaps it would teach the Protector to fight.

But the Protector wasn’t there to learn anymore.

“Greenpath is filled with all sorts of interesting bugs. You’re strong and fast, but I’d recommend not going any farther past the ledge where we fought the squits, mosscreep. Just in case. You never know what sorts of bugs you’ll run into out there.”

Mothwing nodded, trying to stifle their curiosity. Perhaps they’d get to meet the bug in red at some point — they’d seen her, they remembered; she was the graceful one that seemed to fly through the tunnels.

Back at Sheo’s hut, Mothwing jumped in to help as Sheo began cleaning around the hut. They dusted the floor with a tiny broom Sheo had fashioned for them when they refused to be left out of regular chores. It often took Mothwing so long to sweep the entire hut that Sheo would be done with every other chore once they finished. As long as they had something helpful to do, though, it didn’t matter to them.

Afterwards, Mothwing turned to their canvases and paints. 

“Do you want to paint, mosscreep?” Sheo asked. “Remember to not force yourself to paint even when you don’t want to. When you feel done, be done, and return to it another time.”

Mothwing nodded, sitting in front of their canvas. They did want to paint, so they picked up their brush and set to work.

A couple hours later, their arm ached, and they were once again growing frustrated with their skill level. Mothwing knew they needed to keep going — the more they practiced, the better they would get, right?

Sheo seemed to notice their agitation from across the hut, and he looked up from his book.

“Are you alright?”

Mothwing paused, drawn from their anger at the misshapen figures before them. They stopped to grab their paper.

I CANNOT PAINT RIGHT.

“Ah, I see. Take a break, then, little one.”

Mothwing wanted to argue, but the look in Sheo’s eyes reminded them of their last tantrum — they wanted to make him happy, yes, but he seemed rather dejected in and of itself when seeing how Mothwing worked even when they were unhappy. Perhaps it wouldn’t hurt to stop for a while, or even for the night.

Mothwing put the lid on their jars and washed their brush before jumping down from the stool, moving to climb up on Sheo’s bed. They looked down at the book he had in his hands, tilting their head.

“Hm? Interested in this? It’s an old journal I found. It was written by a bug who must have succumbed to infection. They describe the start of it briefly, and from there…” Sheo trailed off, flipping to the later parts of the journal to demonstrate. The penmanship grew shaky, and the sentences themselves made less and less sense with each entry. Stains of orange were visible on the last few before the writing ceased entirely. Mothwing pressed against Sheo’s side, even if they knew deep down there was nothing to fear from a piece of paper. Sheo seemed to realize his mistake, snapping the journal shut and putting it away.

“You’re safe, mosscreep. Don’t you worry.” 

Mothwing nodded, relaxing slightly. They stayed where they were while Sheo selected another book and announced he’d read to them. They didn’t even notice falling asleep.

Chapter Text

“You want to go out on your own?” Sheo asked after reading the note he’d been handed. Mothwing nodded, buzzing with anticipation. 

I WILL TAKE MY NAIL. I WILL BE CAREFUL, they added.

Sheo hemmed and hawed for a minute, still holding his pen even though he’d clearly become entirely distracted by Mothwing’s request.

“Well… alright. So long as you promise to keep yourself safe and come back when you start feeling tired or hungry. And… don’t go too far, okay?”

Mothwing nodded, but not as agreement — just as a sign they’d heard Sheo. They were out the door like a gust of wind.

It was refreshing to be back outside; Mothwing always felt better after Sheo took them out on a trip. It made them wonder what had happened to them that one time they crawled back to Sheo entirely beaten up — and, upon second thought, it seemed as though they had forgotten the actual train of events. If they couldn’t remember, it likely wasn’t important. So what had they been upset over? Were they truly so pathetic?

Despite feeling more confident now that they knew what to do with a nail, anxiety gnawed at them. What if it was like last time, their excursion leaving them torn up and in pain? What if they got lost and never came back? 

Mothwing took the chance to draw a little arrow in the ground like Sheo had taught them to, even if they did recognize the area. There wasn’t any harm in being extra careful to not get lost.

They soon reached the area where they’d practiced fighting squits, and after leaving another notch in the dirt, eyed the ledge a jump away. Sheo had said they shouldn’t go farther, but… they were strong, weren’t they? They were doing a good job taking care of themselves and staying safe. They could handle it. Sheo only said to stay close because he worried; they would be fine. If there was danger, they could almost surely outrun whatever chased them.

A nearby squit caught sight of them, and Mothwing paused upon hearing the angry buzzing of its wings. They barely raised their nail in time, sending the squit flying with a heavy-handed swing. It came back a second time, and then a third before it finally fell, sinking into the acid with a gut-twisting hiss. 

Mothwing jumped to the next ledge with a silent landing, glancing back nervously as though Sheo would emerge from the brush to lecture them, but no such thing happened; they were alone and in control of their decisions.

They continued onwards, leaving more marks in the dirt as they walked. 

It wasn’t long before the brush began to clear — it made them think of the path to Sheo’s hut. Did someone live here?

Mothwing crept into the brush that remained along the sides of the path, keeping themselves carefully hidden. They slowed even more upon catching sight of what almost looked like an oddly placed mound, but what stopped them wasn’t the shape.

It was the teeth.

Mothwing felt terror course through them, but they couldn’t afford to panic. They glanced around and spotted a couple of mosscreeps nearby, and grew confused; did this creature not eat them? Why were the little mosscreeps not afraid?

Was it possible this bug was friendly?

Mothwing nearly passed out when the creature opened its eyes, looking directly at them. They weren’t orange, though, and that solidified Mothwing’s guesses this was a friendly bug. As such, they crept out of the brush; the creature had already seen them, so they didn’t need to hide.

The creature roared, forcing Mothwing to brace themselves. It terrified them, but they didn’t dare run, either. Once the noise stopped, they slowly lowered their arms and nail. This sign of relaxation seemed to catch the bug’s attention.

“Hmph. A cowardly creature, yet it does not flee. An interesting combination.”

Mothwing stared, unsure of what that meant. They glanced around to see the mosscreeps had hidden themselves; unsurprising, truly. Mothwing pointed towards one, and then at the creature in front of them.

“Hmm? What, are you asking if I’m one of those weaklings? Hah! No. I am a Hunter!”

Mothwing tilted their head before fumbling around to pull out their paper. They quickly jotted their question down, and paused. They didn’t want to get too close to the Hunter, but at the same time, it would be rude to crumple their note up and throw it, would it not?

Mothwing settled for setting it down near the Hunter, leaving him to reach out and pull it closer. As he did so, Mothwing got a good look at his claws and arms; he was thinner than Mothwing had expected, but his claws still looked terrifyingly sharp. They were longer and had more drastic points than Mothwing’s own short, stubby claws. 

They moved back as the Hunter read their question:

WHY DO YOU NOT EAT THE MOSSCREEPS?

The Hunter peered down at their paper, huffing. 

“I’ve already had my fill. The little things have no hope of escape, so they give up on it and wander about until they die. A miserable existence.”

Mothwing nodded in understanding, deciding against trying to retrieve their paper from under the Hunter’s claws. Instead, they took out a fresh sheet.

YOU LOOK LIKE A BIG MOSSCREEP.

The Hunter did not huff at this, nor did he laugh. 

“I eat the likes of such. It is an insult to be compared to such a weak creature.”

SHEO CALLS ME A MOSSCREEP.

The Hunter paused before answering this.

“I do not know this Sheo you speak of. But you are most certainly closer to a mosscreep than to me. Perhaps you are not mindless prey, but you are still prey all the same.”

Mothwing fidgeted a bit before asking another question.

ARE YOU GOING TO EAT ME?

They watched carefully as the Hunter read their latest question, and he looked back up at them after a moment. It struck Mothwing as silly to ask such a thing; it wasn’t like they engaged in conversations with moss knights like this.

“Am I going to kill you? Well…” The Hunter paused, staring right at them with a gaze so piercing it made them incapable of even taking a breath. Mothwing stiffened, terrified of his answer. 

“If you aren’t quick enough, yes!”

The Hunter finally moved, and Mothwing bolted. They’d never moved so fast in their life — the world seemed to blur around them, and it was a near miracle they avoided tripping over something. They leapt back to the familiar ledge and kept going, adrenaline too high for them to even consider slowing down. 

It wasn’t until they reached the entrance to the path to Sheo’s hut that they slowed enough to see the Hunter wasn’t behind them. They sank onto the moss beneath their feet, trying to calm themselves. Had the Hunter really been planning to eat them? How close had they been to death?

Mothwing had just begun to get to their feet when a scream tore through the air. While they didn’t flinch, they felt true terror strike their heart. The noise went on and on, and Mothwing wished it would just stop.  

When silence chased that horrible cry, Mothwing stared in the direction it had come from, focused on the urge to find its source. But was it safe? If not for their encounter with the Hunter, Mothwing was certain they’d investigate. Now, however, they were shaken and wanted more than anything to be back in their hideout. 

They’d ask Sheo what that noise was; he knew everything. He could tell them, right?

“Welcome back,” Sheo greeted them as Mothwing opened the door, hurrying inside. They made a beeline for their stack of paper. 

WHAT WAS THAT SCREAM?

Sheo took the paper, frowning ever so slightly.

“What scream?”

Mothwing felt that terror begin to seep back in as they started scribbling on a second sheet of paper.

I HEARD A SCREAM WHEN I WAS OUTSIDE. IT WAS LOUD AND SCARY.

“I didn’t hear anything.” Sheo got up, scooping Mothwing into his arms. “It might’ve just been an infected husk. There’s no need to worry — you’re safe here.” 

Carrying them to the table, Sheo set them down on it.

“How was your trip?”

This lighter topic helped Mothwing calm down somewhat, and they excitedly put pencil to paper.

I MET A BUG NAMED THE HUNTER. HE LOOKED LIKE A BIG MOSSCREEP.

Mothwing was sure to omit that they’d been running for their life afterwards, knowing it would make Sheo panic. They’d been fine; they didn’t want him to ban them from ever exploring on their own again just because they had one small incident. They were clearly fast enough to escape any bug, so there was no need to worry.

“Oh, wow. I’ve never met any bug calling themselves a Hunter. But a big mosscreep, hmm? Maybe that’s why I never saw him. Too well disguised for me, maybe?”

Mothwing nodded, amused by the thought of Sheo strolling past the Hunter without the slightest idea there was a huge bug nearby. It would be impossible to miss the Hunter, but it was a nice thought nonetheless.

“Did you stay safe? You look unhurt, but just to make sure…”

Mothwing nodded along to his question, hoping he wouldn’t somehow be able to sense they were lying and end up pressing further. 

“Good. In that case, you must be hungry. You were gone for quite a while — why don’t you help me put together a meal?”

The next morning, Mothwing prepared to leave once again. They waved as they stepped outside, nail in hand. They were excited to be venturing out again, and this time with a more concrete goal — they were going to find the source of that scream. 

Their main issue was only having the general idea of where the cry originated from; they had no knowledge of the bug it came from, nor the true location of the source. 

Mothwing decided that they would head in the general direction of the scream’s source, and turn back when they started to get tired. Perhaps Sheo could come with them in the future if they had to travel very far.

Almost immediately upon dropping from the secret path to Sheo’s, Mothwing caught a flash of red in the corner of their eye. They ran forward, and for the first time, got to see the bug in red for more than a second. She was perched on a higher ledge, staring down at them. Mothwing waved their arms, hoping she’d come down and let them ask her questions.

No such luck.

The bug hurried away, leaving Mothwing to chase after her. 

She stayed far ahead of them, nearly enough so to lose them — despite that, Mothwing managed to keep up, using glimpses of her cloak to keep on the right path. The bug climbed up and up before she finally disappeared, leaving Mothwing to figure out how to scale the small wall blocking their way.

They eventually decided on using their claws, and dragged themselves over the top before long. They walked a short ways before dropping down into a lower area, lighting up when they caught sight of a mosscreep stirring. Hurrying over to it, the red bug was briefly erased from their mind.

The mosscreep wasn’t at all afraid of them — it let Mothwing pat it while it ate away at a few stalks of some plant Mothwing didn’t know the name of. 

It wasn’t until they heard the slightest rustle behind them and felt the nail on their back move that they remembered her, but by the time they spun around, it was too late.

The bug had stolen their nail off them, and quickly pinned Mothwing down. She brought the tip of the nail to their chest, and it took everything they had to keep it from plunging through.

“I know what you are,” she hissed. “You are not worthy. You are not capable. I will not allow you to hasten the fall of this kingdom’s stasis.”

Mothwing could see the void running down the blade, the sharp edges digging into their hands.

“My mother’s sacrifice will not be in vain.”

Mothwing shook their head, utterly confused under their fear.

Stop! Stop! Don’t hurt me, Mothwing begged through their thoughts. If only this bug would let them write, they could perhaps ask for their life.

She pushed down harder on the nail, and Mothwing’s hands began to slip. They felt the sharp point pierce their flesh, and pain surged through them anew. They struggled harder, and the blade retreated from their flesh for only an instant. Their brief respite was quickly ruined by the bug above them applying yet more force, sending the nail straight through their body and out the other side, even going so far as to bury the tip in the ground. 

Where is Sheo?

The pain was far too much. 

I lied. I didn’t stay safe.

The color began to drain from their vision, and the feeling from their limbs.

I never told Sheo that I love him.

The world was gone.

I’m sorry.

Merciful darkness swallowed them.

Chapter Text

Sheo glanced at the door for what must’ve been the fiftieth time that hour, unease brewing in his stomach. Mothwing had been gone for five hours — they’d never been away for more than two or three. Sheo didn’t think Mothwing was incapable of protecting themselves, but it was unrealistic to believe they were untouchable. 

As time stretched on, Sheo lost the ability to focus on his work altogether. The most he could do was pace to and from the windows, searching for Mothwing’s shell in the underbrush. Every moment that they were gone, Sheo felt less and less at ease. 

Once Mothwing had been gone for six hours, he couldn’t take it anymore. He jotted down a note and left it on the floor by the door:

Mothwing, I’ve gone out to look for you. STAY HERE UNTIL I GET BACK. -Sheo

He grabbed his nail and set out.

Sheo found a few shallow notches in the dirt shortly after leaving the hidden pathway, and was relieved he’d taught Mothwing to do so. It ought to make finding them easier.

Unfortunately, it was difficult to follow — how far did he need to walk without seeing a notch before turning back and following a different path? The notches varied in frequency, making him unsure of himself.

After two hours of searching, Sheo had yet to find another notch. He’d methodically searched every path originating from the latest marker, but it was as though Mothwing had stopped marking their path altogether. What if they’d been attacked?

Sheo began to panic at the thought of such a thing, and picked up his pace. He had to find Mothwing.

“Mothwing!” He shouted. “Mothwing, where are you?”

Mothwing was mute. 

Sheo cursed under his breath. If something had happened, Mothwing wouldn’t even be able to cry for help. They hadn’t made a single sound when they ate poison — there was no way they just chose to be quiet then. They could be hidden right nearby, and he’d never hear them…

“Mothwing!” Sheo shouted again, desperate to see or hear something. He was sick to his stomach at the thought of overlooking them. Maybe Mothwing could use their nail to make some noise, or throw rocks, or find their own way to his voice. 

Was it possible that Mothwing ran away? No, Sheo doubted it. Mothwing hadn’t ever mentioned feeling trapped, right? And they’d come back from their last outing; it didn’t make sense for them to run now. 

Horrible thoughts of Mothwing bleeding out somewhere all alone and unable to call for help kept Sheo searching for them long beyond what his energy could support. He made his way to the border with the Crossroads before turning back and traveling upwards towards the Cliffs. He felt his heart jump each time he caught sight of some small creature disturbed by his presence, only to feel more and more discouraged by each false alarm. Adrenaline kept him moving, suppressing his exhaustion and appetite.

As he searched, he kept an eye out for any signs of other sentient bugs; he’d seen them around in the past. Where was that red-clad bug when he needed her? Surely she was a much more efficient hunter than he was. And what of the creature Mothwing had told him about? Sheo hadn’t run into any large mosscreep-like creatures aside from the moss chargers. 

For the first time, Sheo cursed living such an isolated life. Why was he so anti-social? If he’d chosen some other place to live with other bugs, somewhere with a community, others could’ve helped him search. Instead, Mothwing was alone, alone, alone.

“Mothwing!”

Silence, give for the panicked Maskflies fleeing.

Sheo moved onwards, coming to a stop in a more open area. There were so many paths he had yet to search, and that was only in Greenpath. What if Mothwing was in the Crossroads? Or, worse yet, what if they’d gone to search for their surviving sibling in the Wastes? After so long — how long had he even been searching? He’d been out of the house for four or more hours with ease, if he had to guess. After ten hours, Mothwing could have easily made it to any of the surrounding territories.

That thought sent chills down his back. He screwed his eyes shut and prayed for Mothwing’s safety to any higher being that might hear him. Maybe Mothwing was back at the hut, and Sheo had missed them by minutes. Maybe they were busy making a mess of their canvases, waiting for Sheo to come back so they could tell him about their trip. Sheo would be sure to lecture them about disappearing for so long, but he’d be too relieved to put any heart into it.

He could feel exhaustion overpowering his adrenaline. He needed to return home. He couldn’t search indefinitely — the longer he stayed out, the less attentive to his surroundings he’d become. He couldn’t stomach the idea of missing signs from Mothwing because he was too exhausted to notice. The idea of giving up for the night filled him with all sorts of emotions: anger, guilt, grief, fear. Was it cruel to stop searching and return home?

Mothwing might be there, he told himself in an attempt to justify ending his search. Regardless, he kept an eye out on the way back to his hut — when he began to stumble across the notches again, each one caused a brief commotion in his heart, filling him with hope that only existed to be crushed seconds later. 

As he walked, a disturbance in the earth not too far from him caught his eye. He immediately abandoned his plan to head home, hurrying over to the little mess of dirt. 

When he reached the spot, he found a moss charger attempting to burrow into the dirt. Grief settled back in — why couldn’t it have been Mothwing playing in the dirt?

Sheo turned around and resumed his trek home.

The hut was empty. Sheo stared at his untouched note for a few moments before turning around, setting off into Greenpath once again.

Sheo followed Mothwing’s notches once again, but no new ones had appeared. He found himself walking in circles, inspecting each mark again and again to no avail.

He slept on the ground when sleep came calling, nail in hand. Fear would seize him from his dreams after only a matter of hours; what if something happened to Mothwing while he was sleeping? What if he only had a certain amount of time to find them? 

At one point, Sheo found himself staring at the notch he’d determined to be the ‘newest’ one. One he’d looked at hundreds of times now. 

Why was he so sure Mothwing would be near the notches?

Perhaps he wanted to believe that he had something to find them with, some pointer. Going in circles was easier than accepting he had no idea where to start, wasn’t it? The thought of being so utterly lost and directionless was unbearable.

He couldn’t think like that. He couldn’t…

…break down crying like this.

Sheo sank to the ground, hiding his face in his hands. What was wrong with him? He couldn’t spare the time for wallowing in grief and self-pity. Mothwing needed him to find them, now .  

Sheo forced himself to his feet, moving forward aimlessly. In the back of his mind, he decided that his only option was to search every nook and cranny in all of Hallownest. If he didn’t find Mothwing that way, he’d head into the Wastes. He’d rather lose everything than give up.

Mothwing had not lost their eyes, yet they could not see. Pain still blinded them. It was impossible to focus on anything but that — forget attempting to free themselves. Even if they managed to pull the nail from their stomach, it wouldn’t get them anywhere. They’d simply lie there, bleeding out. Right?

They tried to be still, but every now and then, they’d twitch and the nail would irritate their raw wound, sending them into another spiral. Mothwing wanted to cry, but the thought of how badly it would hurt convinced them to bottle it up. 

The bug that had done this to them they saw once — she appeared at the top of the ledge, in the tunnel they traveled through to get here. Was she a hallucination? Her shape seemed to waver. Mothwing met her gaze, and she turned and ran after a moment. As though her presence had kept them awake, their world faded as the weeds trembled where she’d just been standing. Each moment dragged on for an eternity, the pain an endless torture. 

Sheo huffed quietly as they killed another moss knight, blood having stained his clothing long ago. He stared at the corpse until an odd feeling pricked at his shell, prompting him to turn.

The red-clad bug perched on a ledge, watching him. Her needle glinted in the light.

“You!” Sheo’s voice was hoarse. “Please, have you seen my child? They’ve got a pale shell like yours, and a dark cloak… they’re smaller than you. Have you seen them?”

The bug stared, silent. Sheo watched her, heart pounding.

Finally, she spoke.

“I have seen no children here,” she told him. “Even if I had, we both know the weak perish. You best look elsewhere.”

Sheo felt his heart crack yet again.

“Oh.” He dropped his gaze. “Thank you. If — if you see them, will you tell me? I live across that acid lake — “

Without giving Sheo the opportunity to continue, she fled. Just as silently as she’d arrived, she was gone. Sheo stopped in the middle of his request, sighing heavily. Where was he to look now? 

Chapter Text

Nothing. Weeks of searching had turned up absolutely nothing. Sheo had barely seen the inside of his own home in that time, only checking in briefly when his hunger tore into him with sharp teeth. Each time, he was dismayed to find the hut as desolate as when he’d left. It was getting harder and harder to continue, and he battled with himself constantly. Guilt bored through him each time he stopped to rest, even when he rationally knew that he needed to do so to have any hope of finding Mothwing. How was he meant to feed himself when thoughts of his missing child berated him for wasting time? Wasn’t it selfish to focus on himself?

His searches were unproductive. He knew they were, and yet he continued to circle the same areas. He’d gone into the Cliffs and the Crossroads several times, but he always turned back; there was simply no way Mothwing could’ve made it too terribly far in a matter of hours. The disappearance of the notches scared him the most: it meant that Mothwing was somewhere in Greenpath, and had somehow lost the ability to leave tracks. Sheo was overlooking them. 

Sheo collapsed into one of the chairs at his table, head in his hands. What was he supposed to do? He felt so awfully helpless, so lost and blind. He felt that he had scoured every bit of Greenpath and then some! He’d dug around in pools of acid despite the burn, he’d gone up and down near cliffsides, he’d checked every tiny nook and cranny he could find. 

Where was Mothwing?

Months passed in this way. 

Yes, months.

Sheo had kept searching until he felt that he’d go insane. He was more familiar with Greenpath than he’d ever been. He’d seen the red-clad bug many times, always guarding the entrance to her home. Once, he’d considered fighting her, but he didn’t even have the energy to swing his nail — it had been more than two days since his last meal. He had to take her at her word. She was far too quick, and he knew she’d finish him off and put a stop to any chance of him finding Mothwing if they fought.

Maybe he ought to try fighting her today. Even if she bested him, she’d at least be putting him out of his misery. He could die like a warrior. He could say he’d never given up on finding Mothwing.

And yet, he already had, in a way. 

His searches were no more than idle walks through Greenpath. He didn’t check under roots or bushes; he knew there was nothing there. Rustling sounds didn’t even draw his eye — it was always, always just a mosscreep or a moss charger. 

Sheo neared the edge of Greenpath, sitting down in front of a pool of acid. He lacked the strength to make the jump across towards the Crossroads; he’d need to sleep and eat if he wanted to survive that. 

While he rested, he stared into the bubbling acid. His reflection was dull and wavering, and he knew just how wrung out he appeared. The distortion from the bubbles only amplified this.

What was the point?

What had he based his life around before Mothwing arrived? His art? It felt as though that wouldn’t be nearly enough. Creating art was fulfilling, but he’d never do it again without feeling Mothwing’s absence. Their paintings were strung up around the hut, a constant reminder. 

Sheo was so, so tired . Searching Greenpath every day was exhausting. Being scared all the time was exhausting. Feeling guilty every day was exhausting.

Maybe he ought to just throw himself into the acid. Then, nothing would trouble him anymore.

Being free of his fear and guilt sounded wonderful. And yet, he shied away from the thought of truly killing himself. Did it make him weak?

He tossed a twig into the acid, watching it dissolve readily. It was no wonder the acid lakes grew in size exponentially. He picked up a rock and tossed that in as well, watching as it sank to the bottom. The smallest reaction took place in the form of bubbles rising off the rock. It would be many years before it dissolved.

Sheo went to pick up another branch when a cacophony of loud noises sounded from above. The terrain kept him from seeing, unfortunately, but he didn’t have to wonder for long. A bug around his size dropped down nearby, catching sight of Sheo right away.

“Hello,” the bug said after a moment. “I… was not expecting to find anyone out here.”

“Me either,” Sheo replied, so caught off-guard by this bug’s presence he was freed of his inner turmoil for a moment. The bug before him certainly wasn’t mosskin. “What are you doing out here? I’ve never seen you before.”

“Searching for purpose,” he replied, although it sounded empty. “My life’s work has been completed, and yet I persist.”

“Life’s work?” Sheo asked.

“I honed the finest, purest nail this land has ever seen. It truly was beautiful — I asked its wielder to strike me down so I may experience the beauty of my craft, but alas… they simply left me where I stood.”

“Oh,” Sheo said, looking back at the pool of acid. After a moment, it occurred to him that they had yet to exchange introductions. “I’m Sheo. It’s nice to meet you.”

“And you as well. You may call me Vaso, although it has been a long time since I used that name. Most just address me as the Nailsmith.”

Sheo wondered how many people this nailsmith spoke to to justify the use of the word most . Hallownest was a ghost kingdom; where did he find others?

“So you worked with nails as well,” Sheo said, “In another life, I was a nailmaster.”

“Ah, I see. But no longer?”

“No. I lost my passion for it.”

Vaso nodded, sitting down nearby. After a moment of silence, he spoke up:

“If you do not mind me saying so, you look unwell.”

Sheo chuffed quietly, drawing randomly in the dirt with his claws.

“May I press and ask what causes your misery?”

“I lost my child.”

There was a horribly awkward silence, during which Sheo felt the slightest stirring of guilt at having made Vaso so obviously uncomfortable.

“Oh,” Vaso breathed before Sheo could apologize. “I am so sorry. I can’t imagine…”

“They’ve been gone for months,” Sheo suddenly said, feeling tears well up in his eyes. It felt as though he wasn’t in control of his speech; the worst simply flowed out. Perhaps this was the result of having nobody to talk with for so long?

“Even after so long, look at me — I’m still crying at the mere mention of them,” he muttered, wiping at his eyes.

“Of course you are,” Vaso said, “that’s not so long. Not to mention that the loss of someone so close to you would be terribly hard to bear…”

Sheo stayed quiet, tossing a handful of dirt into the acid. Most of the dirt floated to the bottom, only a small bit fizzling into nothing. Vaso only watched.

“What are you going to do in Greenpath?” Sheo asked after a while. “Why come here, of all places?”

“I went where my feet carried me. I do not know what I’ll do with myself.”

Sheo nodded once, looking around idly.

“Do you need somewhere to stay?” Sheo was surprised at his own offer, but he didn’t retract it. 

“If you’re certain, I would greatly appreciate it.”

“Of course. Come on, I’ll show you the way.”

Chapter Text

Sheo and Vaso got along quite well, thankfully. It helped, having someone force him to care for himself. Sure, it didn’t matter if Sheo didn’t eat for days, but a guest had to be attended to. Vaso had, of course, noticed the difference in skill between pieces of art upon being in Sheo’s hut for a number of days. 

“Did your child make these?” Vaso asked when his eyes fell upon one of Mothwing’s paintings of the Greenpath scenery, tone gentle. The two of them were seated at the tiny table in the hut, empty plates before them.

“Yes. They made a self-portrait, too. It’s over their… bed,” Sheo said, his voice trailing off as he shifted his gaze to Mothwing’s bed.

The moss on the little nook was dried and brown now. For the first month, Sheo had replaced it, but soon it became too difficult to care for. Like many of the things he’d done to himself, it ended up only making him feel worse. Staring at it, he felt no change. He was too swamped by his own pain to feel anything else anymore. Digging himself out of this hole he’d settled in was unfathomable.

Vaso got to his feet and moved to inspect the self-portrait, humming. Sheo, on the other hand, looked back down at his plate. He was ashamed of himself; he couldn’t even stand to look at Mothwing’s creations anymore. What sort of father avoided looking at their child’s likeness? What sort of monster had he become?

Vaso stood by the painting for a long while, but finally turned and spoke.

“I don’t mean to excite false hope or rub salt in your wounds, but… I have seen a bug that looks similar to them. Their horns were different, but nonetheless very similar.”

Sheo felt his heart skip a beat as he looked up; was it Mothwing’s sibling? Had they not gone into the Wastes after all? What if Mothwing ran into them while exploring and decided to stay with their sibling?

No, surely Mothwing wouldn’t just abandon him. Surely he’d say one last goodbye.

“Could you draw them? They drew their siblings from time to time.” Sheo glanced around the hut, but didn’t see any of Mothwing’s later paintings of their siblings that were noticeably clearer. They were probably stored away somewhere that he couldn’t recall at the moment.

“Certainly.”

Sheo collected a piece of bark and charcoal for Vaso, who made a quick sketch. Sure enough, he’d drawn the sibling Mothwing had said went into the Wastes.

“Yes, that’s Mothwing’s sibling,” he said.

“Mothwing is your child’s name?”

“Yes.” Sheo lifted the bark up. “Can you tell me more? When was this? Were they alone?” Sheo had to stop himself there; he didn’t want to overwhelm Vaso or scare away his only source of news in such a long time. As desperate as he was, he forced himself to wait for answers to these first few questions.

“I saw them a few times in the past months. Always alone. They were small, but fierce and competent. They came to me to have their nail reinforced. I would watch them leave most times; they were fearless, easily moving through the infected bugs.”

“Did they talk?”

Vaso reflected on this for a few moments.

“No, but it feels as though they almost did. I never heard a single sound from them. Despite that, they understood what I told them. They could count Geo out, and brought me Pale Ore from who knows where when I told them it was the only thing I could strengthen their nail with further. I even saw them take out a map once, right before I left the City — it was massive. Must’ve been the size of Hallownest, if not even a bit bigger.”

Sheo listened carefully, drinking in every word, searching for hidden possibilities that Mothwing was somehow under this bug’s care. 

“But they never showed any sign of being with Mothwing?”

“No. I’m sorry.” Vaso gave him an apologetic look, but Sheo didn’t feel upset with him — only with himself, for getting his hopes up. He sighed heavily and nodded.

“It’s alright. I didn’t expect anything at all, not after so long. I appreciate what you told me, though.”

“You’re welcome,” Vaso replied. “Perhaps you could tell me about Mothwing? If it wouldn’t upset you too much, that is. That little ghost always interested me, but as I said, they never spoke.”

“Sure,” Sheo said without a second’s thought. Perhaps being alone made it easier to talk about such a deep wound; he felt he would talk about anything, so long as he wouldn’t be left with the silence and loneliness of his hut once again. 

“I found Mothwing when they were being attacked by a moss charger. The poor little thing was practically crushed into the ground by the time I got there. I picked them up and brought them here to take care of them; I remember being a bit confused at first. Their shell was so pitch-black I couldn’t tell wounds from healthy shell without a bright light. They were young, too. Their shell was very soft — it didn’t harden over time much, either.

“When they finally woke up, they were utterly terrified of me, and hid under that cabinet right there.” Sheo pointed to it, a light smile on his face. “They didn’t come out until I built them that little spot there. Then they’d hide in that instead.”

It hurt to bring back these memories, but… he didn’t want to forget them either. With a short sigh, he continued.

“I taught them to paint. And to write. This piece here was the first time they ever painted. They snuck out in the middle of the night — this was before they were willing to be out in the open — and painted their siblings, that mosscreep, and a jellyfish,” Sheo said, pointing to the piece of bark pinned to the wall over the bed. Compared to Vaso’s sketch, it was nearly impossible to believe they both contained the little ghost that had visited Vaso.

“How sweet.”

“Yeah…” Sheo sighed again. “They left once, but had a bad time. They came back and stayed with me after that. Oh, gosh. One time they accidentally ate some deadly nightshade. I grow it out behind the hut for my paints, and fed them black nightshade. They thought it was black nightshade.”

“I didn’t know there was a difference,” Vaso admitted, mirroring Sheo’s soft smile. “I’ll be sure to not eat things from your garden without checking twice.”

For the first time in a long while, Sheo laughed. It sounded almost sharp and jarring to him, having not heard his own laughter in so long; the realization made him crash right down again. He ought to be grieving Mothwing. Was it betrayal to be happy when Mothwing was gone?

“Thank you for sharing,” Vaso said when Sheo failed to continue. “I really appreciate it. Are you feeling alright?”

Sheo looked up at Vaso, intrigued by the question.

“Yes, of course. Thanks.”

Sheo was ashamed of it, but with someone to keep him moving about, eating, and cleaning, he was starting to feel alive again. He was starting to enjoy the sight of his garden again, and had even considered starting a new painting the other day. 

Was it cruel to move on? Was he not abandoning Mothwing? He’d loved them so deeply, and yet… here he was, beginning to enjoy life again. 

“I’m going to go search for Mothwing,” Sheo announced one afternoon. It had been nearly two weeks since he’d last done so, and the guilt was getting to him. Vaso looked up from his own painting.

“How long will you be gone?”

“I’m not sure. I’m going to Deepnest.”

At this, Vaso’s eyes widened, but he didn’t try to tell Sheo to search elsewhere. Instead:

“Would you like company?”

“I’ll be alright,” Sheo reassured him. “Thank you.”

“Take care,” Vaso said.

Sheo’s search took him back through the winding paths of Deepnest, following the twists and turns he’d taken with Mothwing. Sheo had been here before, had found the little cave-in that sent Mothwing into a breakdown, but hadn’t seen any sign of his child. Maybe it was different now. Maybe the cave-in had opened, and Mothwing would be there, waiting for him.

He teared up at the thought, and had to force himself to keep moving despite the sting in his eyes. Crying wasn’t going to bring Mothwing home. 

Once he found the cave-in, he reached out and touched the rocks with one hand. Mothwing wasn’t there. They never would be. He’d never believed that would be the case for even a second.

Sheo choked back a sob and started pulling at the rocks. Maybe Mothwing was behind them. Maybe if Sheo tried hard enough, he’d open the tunnel back up and find Mothwing back at their home. He didn’t care how dark it was or how many spiders he found along the way, so long as he reached Mothwing. He didn’t need Mothwing to come back to Greenpath, just for him to tell Sheo that he was happy, that he was safe, that he was alive . 

He grabbed another rock and threw it behind himself, barely feeling the weight of it. After hours of work, though, his arms burned and the wall before him had hardly changed. The cave-in was likely as long as the tunnel itself, and he had no idea the extent of that. It wasn’t until a medium-sized rock left a gash in his hand that he finally gave up, kneeling on the ground.

“Mothwing,” Sheo shouted. “Mothwing! Are you here?”

The only response to his voice was the scurrying of a few spiders in the distance, likely startled by the sudden noise. In his visits to Deepnest, he’d noticed that if you were going to be here, you needed to be either very loud or very quiet; anything in between would lead the hunters of the area right to you. Those loud enough to broadcast their presence were more likely to be unafraid and confident in their power, much like Sheo. The quietest were the most skilled hunters, able to ambush prey larger or smarter than themselves, like the Nosk. 

The only thing that kept Sheo from remaining at the cave-in was Vaso; he couldn’t worry him. As such, he picked himself up after a short rest and began the trek back to Greenpath. 

His emotions after such an outing always puzzled him; if he went too long without searching, his guilt choked him until he couldn’t stand it. When he did finally give in and strike out, however, he always felt worse when he ultimately failed. Was he trapped in this cycle forever? Was he never going to find peace? Mothwing’s disappearance already felt like enough of a gaping wound. What had he done to deserve so much pain, such pain that couldn’t be remedied?

Chapter Text

Once Vaso had settled in, Sheo had expected he would take an interest in the nails scattered around the hut, given his past profession. On the contrary, he turned his eyes to other things like painting, sculpting, and gardening.

“Did you leave the city to get away from being a nailsmith?” Sheo asked, pulling a weed from the garden. Vaso glanced up at his question.

“I suppose,” he said. “Even if that was not the reason I left initially, I no longer feel any draw towards that work. I feel no passion. There was nothing more to accomplish.”

Sheo nodded; he could certainly understand a loss of passion.

“Are there new things you want to do?”

“I’m not sure yet. I quite enjoy labor like this, however.” Vaso held out a weed before tossing it into the bucket between them. “It’s relaxing, and it’s different from anything I’ve ever done.”

“That’s what drew me to painting and whatnot,” Sheo said. “I needed to do something, anything, so long as it wasn’t wielding a nail. You know, sometimes I still dream of practicing with my nail, and I haven’t really trained since I was young. And in those dreams, I’ll find myself bored or irritated with what I’m doing. I guess every once in a while, my mind feels the need to remind me that I wouldn’t be happy returning to the life of a nailmaster.”

Vaso chuckled, tossing another weed into the bucket.

“I wonder if I’ll have similar dreams with crafting nails. I’m surprised the sound of hammering metal hasn’t reached my dreams thus far; it was a noise that followed me all day, every day in my work.”

“Maybe your mind is too occupied with new things to begin recalling that in your dreams?”

“That could be true.” Vaso’s expression was thoughtful. “Most of my dreams have been in Greenpath, now that you mention it.”

“What do you dream of?”

“Mostly wandering. I never have a destination in mind — I simply wander through in search of my place in the world. It sometimes makes me wonder if it was foolish to leave the city, to abandon my work, but of course…”

“...you couldn’t stand it anymore,” Sheo finished, and Vaso nodded. “I understand. In that case, I don’t think it was foolish at all. Everyone needs change at some point. Familiarity is comfortable, but, as I said — everyone needs change.”

“A good point,” Vaso agreed. “Thank you, Sheo.”

“You’re welcome.” Sheo yanked a few final weeds from the edge of the plot of soil, picked up the bucket, and moved away from the hut. He dumped the weeds onto a pile of dirt; the decomposing plant matter made for rich soil each time he needed to plant. With that done, he and Vaso went back inside to cook. 

“So, what’s the city like?” Sheo asked over dinner. “I’ve traveled outside Greenpath some, but rarely to the city.”

“It’s vastly different from here. The main difference that strikes me is the landscape; the city is so much larger than Greenpath. The towering buildings, caverns that have no end — it’s a significant change from these snug little tunnels. Before I came to Greenpath, I’d never had to worry about my shell getting me stuck before.”

Sheo couldn’t help but to laugh.

“Sorry, sorry,” he said, forcing himself to quiet down. “I understand. I’ve actually had the same thing happen a few times here. Mothwing used to get into these tiny little spaces I couldn’t reach and stay there until I bribed them with berries.”

“Such is the nature of a small bug,” Vaso said with a smile. “I’ve certainly seen nooks and crannies that made me think, if I were a smaller bug, I’d hide there! ”

“I’ve done that, too.” Sheo shook his head. “I suppose my experiences aren’t so unique after all.”

Vaso chuckled, but soon continued on his description of the city.

“Aside from that, the infected bugs are also different. Here they seem almost less intelligent — within the city, husks still wield their nails. I’ve seen guard husks on patrol, following their same old routes despite the infection taking them over.”

“Really?” Sheo asked, getting a nod from Vaso. “That’s fascinating.”

“Indeed. I myself battled with a few when going out to retrieve supplies, and they still possess their prowess in battle, too. I had one such husk parry an attack of mine; it completely caught me off guard and left me with a nasty scratch.”

“Yikes.”

“Yes. Ah, and oddly enough, I wasn’t the only bug residing within the city still. In fact, I often ran into another bug, Lemm. He and I would occasionally barter for goods. He’d find items I could use for my work, and in return, I’d hand over any artifacts from old Hallownest.”

“It’s always a shock when you find a bug that’s not infected still around,” Sheo said. “A long while ago, I ran into one myself in Deepnest, when I went with Mothwing. They called themselves the Mask Maker — perhaps this is rude, but… while they weren’t infected, they were certainly a bit odd.”

“I suppose loneliness can eat away at anyone. I once passed by a closed and locked door in the city and heard a woman’s shrill laughter inside; I’ve never heard a husk laugh. I knocked, but the door never opened. In hindsight, I’m rather relieved; if whoever that was had truly lost it, there’s no telling whether or not I’d have been attacked. No enemy is more dangerous than an unpredictable one.”

“Very true,” Sheo agreed. “Was there anyone else?”

A moment passed, and then Vaso froze. He glanced at Sheo.

“Tell me,” he said, “do you happen to have any brothers?”

Sheo felt his heart stop. He nodded.

“A bug that looked just like you happened to stop by a long, long time ago. He never told me his name. Silent fellow. He had me reforge a damaged nail of his.”

“Oro,” Sheo said. “That must have been my brother Oro. He’s always been quiet. I can’t believe you met him.”

“I didn’t even recall his likeness until now,” Vaso said.

“What are the chances?” Sheo shook his head. “Ever happen to get a visit from a tiny little nailsage named Sly?”

At this, Vaso laughed.

“Why yes, I did — he visited quite frequently for several months.”

Sheo felt his jaw drop, and he let out a silent laugh. “Wow. It seems like you know everyone from my life, eh?”

“Tell me about Sly,” Vaso urged. “He always fascinated me. He was more than happy to talk if he wasn’t otherwise occupied, but it was impossible to get him to speak on a topic for more than a matter of minutes.”

“And gods forbid you have follow-up questions,” Sheo joked. “Sly taught my brothers — Oro and Mato — to wield a nail. He adopted us when we were barely hatchlings. Funny thing to imagine: we were twice his size at that age.”

Vaso snickered at this.

“Yeah. We teased him about it frequently. I actually remember him trying to hide things from us a few different ways when we were kids. He’d try flying a jar of honey to some spot up high, only for us to still be able to reach up and grab it without even stretching. Hiding it lower down didn’t do anything, either. He had to make some really good in-plain-sight hiding spots to keep us away from anything.”

“Poor thing,” Vaso said. 

“Indeed. And don’t get me started on clothes — he was always trying to make sure we had clothes that fit. He said he swore we grew a size every single night. Threatened to just give up and wrap blankets around us until we were adults, he had to work so hard getting new clothes.” Sheo put a hand on his head, grinning. “Aside from that, though, he was a great teacher. He was very knowledgeable; I’d reckon he was the best nailsage in all of Hallownest. My brothers and I couldn’t have had a better mentor. He really instilled a passion for the nail in me. I wanted to be the best of the best, and I wanted to make him proud. For years I worked myself to dust: I trained even when I didn’t feel like it, I had to be dragged back to bed when I was sick, I practiced by myself when we finished our normal training… I was really into it.”

“That’s impressive,” Vaso said. “It’s no wonder you said you burnt out.”

“Mhm. Worked hard, burnt out harder. I still remember the morning I woke up and just… felt tired of it all. I kept training for a few more weeks, but Sly noticed how I’d stopped giving it my all pretty quick. He and I talked, and I eventually decided that I needed to take my leave.” Sheo let out a quiet sigh. “He was supportive, though — I’ll never be able to thank him enough for that. I could tell it made him sad to have me lose passion and to leave, but he wished me the best anyway. I swore to myself I wouldn’t return until I’d mastered some other art and found my place in life.”

At this, Vaso tilted his head. The confusion on his face was clear, but before Sheo could say anything, Vaso spoke up.

“I don’t think that would be necessary,” he said after a moment. “I’m sure he would be happy to see you regardless of your level of skill in a new path. Not to mention that I, for one, would already consider you a master of painting.” He gestured to the nearest painting Sheo had done, a scene of the Lake of Unn. The praise made Sheo smile awkwardly.

“I suppose you’re right.” He glanced around the hut. “Maybe next time I get a chance, I’ll look for him in the crossroads. We used to live in this little community — the house was tiny, but we loved it. I’ve always wanted to go back. I wonder what it looks like now, after so much time has passed.”

“That’s a great idea.” Vaso’s voice was warm, and Sheo couldn’t help but to return his smile. “I’m sure he misses you, and would love to know that you’re faring well.”

“Yeah.” Sheo hesitated, and the smile vanished from his face. He could feel his blood run cold in his shell, and he looked over at Vaso. “You said… that he stopped visiting you at your place in the city.”

“Yes, but I want to ward you away from thinking he’s dead,” Vaso replied quickly. “The last few times he visited, the nails he brought were significantly less worn than ones he’d brought previously. I think that perhaps he, too, lost passion for the nail. If he wasn’t using them, why bring them all the way to me in the city?”

At this idea, Sheo had to take a moment and think it over. Losing passion for the nail? Sly? The thought felt almost laughable, but rationally, Sheo supposed it made sense. Sly would never be bested by some common husk; he could probably defend himself in his sleep. Even more, he’d been a nailsage for who knew how long. It was a wonder he’d still been passionate about it after training three unruly hatchlings for years.

“That soothes some of my fears, I guess,” Sheo said after a moment of deliberation. “Thank you. Maybe he did find something else.”

“All the more reason to seek him out. I’m sure you’d have a lot to catch up on.”

Chapter Text

The inconsistency of his guilt was more painful than the guilt itself. To mourn and grieve was one thing; he had grown used to it, even, in the months following Mothwing’s disappearance. The inconsistency of it, though, tore at him. Looking back, a few minutes’ relief wasn’t too much of a crime — but now he was going full days without grieving, sometimes his only darkness coming when he laid down to sleep. 

Sheo scowled and washed his brush, dipping it into his jar of blue paint. How could he forget about his missing child for hours each day? What was wrong with him? 

He put brush to canvas, trying to distract himself. As much as he felt the need to grieve, he didn’t truly want to suffer through it. He was tired. As such, when the door creaked open, he was relieved for the distraction.

First had come a nearly inaudible knocking; Sheo had disregarded it, thinking it to just be the wind coming through the tunnels, pushing perhaps a stick or vine against the wood. Vaso didn’t knock quietly — not that he knocked at all anymore, not when the two of them lived together. When the door creaked open, though, he startled and nearly dropped his brush. Had the door not latched? Had —

Sheo’s entire body stilled at the sight of the bug that so strongly resembled Mothwing. The little thing dropped from the handle and stepped into the hut, staring up at him with those oh-so-familiar impossibly black eyes.

Sheo, of course, wanted to say so many things. He wanted to cry, he wanted to scream at the little bug and demand to know where Mothwing was, he wanted to check on them, he…

“...how’d you find your way here, little grub?” 

That was what finally escaped him. Of all the questions bubbling under his shell, he greeted them. It would be rude, he reasoned, to immediately begin interrogating a guest. Mothwing’s sibling, of course, didn’t answer him. Sheo knew they wouldn’t. However, they did draw their nail; Sheo could see how they glanced at the nails along the wall beside them. He drew another breath and spoke.

“I’m Sheo. I was a nailmaster in a previous life. I… I moved on from that to create art. To find something that calls to me.”

The sibling continued to stare at the nails.

“You don’t seem very moved, eh? Was it Sheo the nailmaster you were looking for?”

Finally, the sibling looked back up at him. Sheo still felt numb, like he was watching this occur from outside his own body. What was he saying? He needed to ask about Mothwing. He needed to see if they were okay.

“Have you come to learn a nail art? I’ll teach you if you insist, but…” Sheo stared down at the little bug, drawing a shaky breath. As he opened his mouth, he caught sight of the cloak the little thing was wearing, and he felt his heart crack into a million pieces. It was the mothwing cloak, the very same one his child had worn. There was no way it wasn’t; where it had been too big for Mothwing, it seemed to fit this bug better. 

“That cloak,” he whispered. “The bug you got it from. Were they dead?”

The sibling glanced down at the cloak, looked back up, and nodded without the slightest emotion. Sheo choked back a sob. He felt light-headed, and his knees trembled like they might give out at any moment. For better or for worse, the little bug lifted their nail. A distraction. Sheo seized it with a nod.

“I’ll teach you,” he said, voice shaking. “Let’s go outside.”

The little bug caught on fast, even when Sheo was distracted and listless the entire training. When they could perform the great slash without fail each time, Sheo felt panic set in. 

“So,” he said, lowering his nail. “My work — does it move you?”

The bug stared at him, sheathing their own nail. 

“It’s not so different, really; wielding a nail, a brush… we cut into the world so we can peer deeper inside.”

The bug continued to stare, giving no sign of understanding or even hearing what Sheo had to say. 

“I have nothing more to teach you,” Sheo said when the bug continued to stand there. “Only you can see your path forwards. Good luck.”

What was he doing? He needed to snap back to reality. He needed to ask the bug about Mothwing. They were walking away. He had to act, now.

“Wait!” Sheo shouted, jumping forwards. The bug froze and spun around to stare, and Sheo felt a great wash of relief. “Wait, don’t go! That cloak — can you take me to where you found it? Please!”

The bug stared for a few seconds, and then turned and kept walking. Sheo let out a strangled sob.

“Please,” he begged. “Please, take me to them. I’ll do anything. I need to… please!”

The bug stopped again, glancing back over their shoulder. Sheo chased after them.

“Are you going to take me to them or not?” He asked, his voice broken with desperation. “I’m begging you — take me to them. I know you said they’re gone, but… I need to see it with my own eyes.”

The little bug finally nodded; Sheo’s irritation that they hadn’t done so before was muted by his relief.

The little bug led him upwards, along paths he’d searched hundreds of times. As they walked, he couldn’t help but to search obsessively, terrified of finding that he really had missed some obvious spot, that he’d lost his chance to save Mothwing. 

When the little bug took a turn and scaled a mound of dirt, Sheo felt his heart drop. He hadn’t gone this way, had he? It had looked too steep for Mothwing to climb, but this bug did it without a moment’s hesitation. Shep forced himself to climb over despite the dread pooling in his stomach, too afraid to turn back. The bug in front of him moved quickly, and finally paused in front of a short opening to wait for Sheo. He had to crouch to make it through, his eyes on the light at the end of the tunnel.

When he finally reached the exit, his gaze was drawn to Mothwing like a moth to flame. Their shell was still that pristine white, but a deep crack ran down its center. Their cloak was gone, and without it, their body seemed so much smaller than Sheo remembered. The nail embedded in their chest — the very one Sheo had given to them — left Sheo feeling as though it pierced his own shell. The serenity of the clearing was almost like an insult; it was a beautiful, seemingly untouched area. There were no infected husks here, no thorns. Just lovely greenery and the corpse of his child.

“Mothwing,” he breathed, crawling from the tunnel and making his way to the body. He knelt down beside it, slowly reaching out and placing a hand on their shell. “Mothwing, I…”

Mothwing had been in Greenpath. Mothwing had never left. He’d overlooked them. He’d been no more than a short trip from Sheo’s hut this entire time.

“Mosscreep, I’m so, so, sorry…” Sheo said, feeling dizzy. He began to reach for the nail, but the sight of it twisted his heart to the point he nearly threw up. The light was bright enough here that he could see the crusted wound. How long had Mothwing bled? Had they died slowly? How had it even happened? Had they been attacked, or had they done this to themselves for some unknown reason?

Sheo let out a single sob, and finally pulled the nail from their chest. A bit of that pitch-black blood oozed from the wound. He picked Mothwing up, letting his tears fall as the body ragdolled in his hands. 

“I’m sorry, little mosscreep,” he forced out. “I’m so sorry.”

He pulled Mothwing closer, keeling over with another sob. Mothwing was gone, and he’d never get to say goodbye. He’d failed them. His child was gone. If he'd looked here first, if he hadn't been such a damn fool, Mothwing might've made it…

Sheo, in his suffocating whirlwind of emotions, had nearly forgotten the sibling was there. It wasn’t until the bug moved closer and shook their map in his face that he looked up, confused.

“Huh?”

The bug shook their map again. Sheo glanced at it.

“I… I know my way back. Thank you.”

The bug shook their head, and pointed to a specific spot. When Sheo looked more closely, that spot was in the crossroads. A small building with a snail shell over it was illustrated.

“I don’t understand,” Sheo said, his voice scratchy. The bug stared at him, and finally, put the map away. They moved towards the other side of the cavern, stopped, and looked back at him. Sheo stared.

“What do you want?”

The bug pointed down the new tunnel. 

“You want me… to follow you.”

A nod. Sheo looked back down at Mothwing. He needed to bring their body home for a proper burial; he supposed that if this bug tried to lead him astray, he could just go his own way. 

“I’m coming,” he said before getting to his feet. He cradled the tiny body in his arms before moving to follow the bug, sure to not jostle Mothwing. 

The little bug was forced to make frequent stops to allow Sheo to keep up, but Sheo didn’t care. When they finally reached a roadblock — a pool of acid — Sheo sighed.

“We’ll have to go the other way,” he said. The little bug, however, shook their head. Sheo didn’t argue right away; when the little bug shoved its hand into the acid, he shouted.

“Stop! Stop, stop!”

The little bug jumped away from the acid, but the damage was done: while not all that visibly different from healthy shell, the burns were unmistakable. Sheo felt panic battling his grief.

“Come with me, we’ll get you — “

Sheo stopped talking abruptly when the bug began to surround itself with impossibly bright threads. It lasted only a few seconds, and when the lights were nothing but spots in Sheo’s vision, the sibling held its hand out. 

The burns were completely gone.

He blinked a few times, leaning even closer to confirm what he was seeing. Sure enough, there was no hint of any injury.

“What in the world?” Sheo whispered. “Did — can you heal yourself?”

The sibling nodded, and pulled their map back out, pointing to that same spot in the Crossroads, and then to Mothwing. Sheo felt his heart speed up.

“Are you saying Mothwing could heal, too?”

The vessel made some odd motion; Sheo wondered if they were trying to shrug. For him, though, a shrug was good enough. 

“We need to go get Vaso,” he said, “and then we’ll go. Okay?”

The sibling ran around Sheo, back the way they’d come. Sheo followed just as quickly.

Chapter Text

With Vaso in their company, the three of them set out through Greenpath faster than Sheo had ever moved before. He had never run by husks before, but this time, he was leaving the creatures stumbling from their confusion, puffs of orange spores dotting their trail. The little bug leading them was impressively fast for their size; Sheo was grateful for it. He wasn’t sure he’d be able to stand moving at anything less than a jog, not with the way fear coursed through his veins, renewed with every glance down at the lump in his arms. 

The little bug led them through Greenpath effortlessly, even dispatching any husks they couldn’t simply dash by. The most shocking method was not their skill with a nail, but the magic they somehow seemed to possess. The first time they sent a fireball the size of their body across the cavern, Sheo swore out loud, drawn from their preemptive grief for the first time. The fireball — made of seemingly the same pure white that encased the bug’s body when they healed — struck the unsuspecting husk and simply decimated the poor thing, leaving nothing more than shattered pieces of shell and the faint aroma of the infection. Sheo regarded the little bug with considerably more respect after that.

By the time the greenery faded into dull grey rocks, Sheo was growing impatient despite how quickly they were moving. He wanted to reach their destination, wherever it was, and get this over with. When the little bug finally began to climb up, pointing insistently, Sheo looked up; higher up in the cavern was some sort of shrine, it seemed, with skulls and bones lining the entrance. While it didn’t seem all that safe or inviting, what choice did he have? He’d do anything to save Mothwing.

The three of them scaled the cavern together. Sheo hauled himself over the edge with one arm, the other cradling Mothwing to ensure not a single horn bumped against the stone walls of the tunnels. The sight before him was somewhat jarring up close; not only were there skulls, but ones on pikes lined the path to the door before them, and the building itself was… a massive skeleton?

“This is it?” Vaso asked, panting with each word as he pulled himself up behind Sheo and the little bug. Sheo felt a bit bad that Vaso had been forced to run to keep up with them, but he was simultaneously grateful he’d done so without complaint. He wouldn’t have wanted Vaso to push himself to the point of discomfort or injury, but… he wasn’t sure he’d have been able to slow himself down. 

The little bug nodded in response to Vaso’s question, striding right up to the entrance and disappearing inside. Sheo and Vaso exchanged a glance before following.

“Oho, little shadow! What brings you back here?”

The creature’s voice was high and shrill; Sheo was more surprised by its appearance, though. The snail’s shell was pitch-black, just like Mothwing’s. As he and Vaso entered, the snail looked to them.

“And you’ve brought friends! My, my! You certainly move quickly, do you not? Just yesterday, you’d returned from the Crystal Mount, had you not? Truly impressive!”

The little bug started pointing at Mothwing, and then shot another fireball into the distance. While Sheo was horrified that the little bug seemed to be intent on destroying this snail’s home, the snail didn’t seem the slightest bit bothered. Instead, they nodded and began moving towards Sheo. 

“Another one of your strange kind, yes?”

Sheo held Mothwing more securely, wary of this stranger. However, a glance at Mothwing’s sibling made him rethink. If this bug was Mothwing’s only shot at recovery…

As the snail drew closer, Sheo forced himself to relax his hold on Mothwing. He held them out, fighting back the urge to tell this bug to back off. When the snail finally stepped back, he cradled Mothwing more closely, unable to keep from checking them over once again. 

“I see. They are severely injured, but their soul has not yet abandoned their body. The two are still tethered. Is that what you wished to know, little shadow?”

The bug nodded.

“Oho! I’m glad I could assist you. It was good to see you again, little shadow.”

“What?” Sheo asked, drawing attention to himself. “You’re not going to help them?”

The snail shaman let out its — now annoying — little laugh, and Sheo felt his expression harden.

“I do not possess any ability that can help your little friend.”

The sibling rushed towards the door, stopping to wait for Sheo and Vaso. They shook their map to get the two’s attention, and Sheo looked between the little bug and the snail.

“It seems that they wish to take us elsewhere,” Vaso chipped in. “Let’s not waste any more time.”

Sheo wanted to ask the little bug leading them around so many questions, but he knew he’d never get timely answers. After a few tense seconds, he resigned himself to not getting more help from the snail and made to follow the Mothwing’s sibling.

This time, their trip was very short. Mothwing’s sibling took them to a hot spring, and began jumping in the water. They pointed to Mothwing, and then to the water.

“You want me to put them in it?” He asked. The little bug nodded. Sheo looked down at the water; he knew he had no choice, not really. To him, it seemed that Mothwing was as good as dead, and he had no clue what was going on anymore. What had that snail meant, that Mothwing’s soul was still in their body? Since when did things work like that? And what was putting Mothwing in a hot spring going to do? The thought made him grind his teeth. He hated not understanding, not being able to help his own child. This little bug, Mothwing’s sibling, probably knew better than he how to help. Even knowing it wasn’t personal, it did sting to think he’d spent so long with Mothwing only to still be a step behind this other little bug. 

But, again, he acknowledged his lack of control. If he wanted to save Mothwing, his only chance seemed to be listening to their sibling. Being angry at his lack of knowledge and expertise did nothing to help. As such, he gently lowered Mothwing into the water, positioning them so their shell remained in the air. 

The three of them sat at the pool for a long while, watching Mothwing. With every passing minute, Sheo’s hopes evaporated away. There was no flash of bright light. The crack in Mothwing’s shell didn’t heal. The hole in their chest didn’t close. They didn’t move even the slightest bit.

“Nothing’s happening,” Sheo finally snapped, his pent-up fear rushing out all at once. “Why did you bring us here? Just to — what? Just to get my hopes up? Just to hurt me?” Sheo got to his feet, towering over Mothwing’s sibling. The little bug didn’t even flinch, staring up at him. Their empty eyes seemed to taunt him. 

“What’s supposed to happen?” He shouted, tears stinging his eyes. “All I want is my kid back! Why are you dragging us around out here? Can’t you just let us mourn at home if they’re dead? Do you think this is amusing?”

“Sheo,” Vaso said, voice soft. “Take a moment. I don’t believe this is out of malice.”

“Then what is it?” He asked, blinking back tears. 

“Perhaps the same thing you feel — desperation. You would try anything, would you not? Maybe this little shadow is doing the same.”

This gave Sheo pause; after all, this little bug was Mothwing’s sibling, right? If that was the case, he could believe it. He himself would do anything for his siblings. They’d do anything for him . 

But… this bug had abandoned Mothwing for the Wastes. Sheo had never forgotten how Mothwing had attempted to illustrate the scene of their sibling leaving them behind, the shaky lines and sheer force Mothwing had used betraying their emotions. If that hadn’t colored his opinion of this little bug, nothing would.

“I don’t know,” Sheo finally choked out, sitting back down. Vaso sat beside him, a hand on his back. “I don’t know. I just want them back. That’s it. This has been horrible enough, finding them — and now that I think they might come back, I don’t know how I’d lose them again. I couldn’t take it. I don’t want to bury my own child. Haven’t I suffered enough?”

Sheo didn’t get a response to this; Vaso only continued to rub his back. The motion was soothing, and he tried to focus on that to evade his emotions. 

It was only when the little bug finally got up and pulled their map out again that Sheo finally came back from his own thoughts. He watched the little bug study their map, and when they approached, looked to where they were now pointing — a spot not too far above them.

“Dirtmouth?” Vaso asked, leaning in to get a better look at the map. “I’ve heard of that spot. It used to be a busy little town during Hallownest’s peak, did it not?”

The little bug pointed to the same spot, moving towards the cavern’s exit. Sheo felt his irritation begin bubbling again. Vaso seemed to catch on to this, and hung back to wait for Sheo while he picked Mothwing up.

“We should try,” he said quietly. “I don’t believe we have any better ideas, do we? This little ghost is their sibling; surely they have the best idea of how to help them. They must be the same species, after all.”

Sheo scowled, but nodded. He shifted Mothwing to what he thought would be a slightly more comfortable position, and made to follow their sibling.

Of all the ways to reach Dirtmouth, Sheo had not expected to climb out of a well . The way out forced him to use both hands to climb — he had to place Mothwing in his pocket again, and while he didn’t want to admit it, it nearly made him cry — both because of the memories it brought back, and the feeling of not being able to properly bring them along, somehow. It felt disrespectful . He took them back out once he’d crawled out of the well’s mouth, waiting for Vaso. They were still as unresponsive as when he’d found them in Greenpath; after so long, there was no chance Mothwing was alive, was there? Maybe their sibling could heal burns, but that happened immediately after the injury. Surely Mothwing would’ve attempted to heal themselves if they knew how. A nail through their chest was no small burn, either. 

Vaso finally emerged from the well after Sheo, and the two of them followed Mothwing’s sibling towards a massive cliff. Sheo could see the door at the base of it; what strange creature would be here, he wondered? And more cynically, what useless information would they provide?

Mothwing’s sibling opened the door and ran inside, with Sheo and Vaso right behind. This time, the bug they were visiting seemed afraid of them. 

“Oh! Little one, have you brought friends?” The bug speaking was wrapped in a large cloak that made it impossible for Sheo to guess what species she was, and the fact that she was half-hidden behind a few rocks didn’t help, either. 

He watched Mothwing’s sibling produce a frankly disgusting egg from nowhere and hold it out. The bug’s reaction was the opposite of what he expected; rather than chasing them out for showing off such a nasty thing, she instead seemed pleased by it, eyes brightening.

“Ah, yum! I will share my service with you, if you’ll share your food with me, little one!”

Mothwing’s sibling shook their head and pointed back at Sheo. The bug seemed a bit caught off-guard by this, and paused.

“You do not wish for me to peer into you, little one?”

The little bug pointed at Mothwing again.

“Perhaps you wish for me to offer my services to this bug here?”

The little bug nodded.

“I see. Allow me to introduce myself — I am Confessor Jiji.” Jiji turned towards Sheo, shuffling a bit closer. “I possess the ability to peer into one’s being and summon their regrets, allowing one to make peace with them. Do you wish to have your regrets summoned?”

Sheo hesitated, but only for a moment.

“Not for me,” he said, “but… for my child?”

He knelt down so Jiji could see the little bug in his arms. She inspected the body carefully before backing away.

“I sense a dark stain within a lush, green land. Share your food with me, and I will reunite this little shadow with their regrets.”

Mothwing’s sibling handed over the egg, and Jiji set it aside. She cleared her throat. Sheo felt his heart stutter in his chest — whatever the hell she was talking about, did it mean she could help? Reuniting Mothwing with their regrets; would it bring them back to life?

“As promised, I will now begin the ritual!”

Sheo held Mothwing against his chest as Jiji began to chant, waving her claws in the air. He couldn’t understand the language she used, but all the same, it terrified him. He watched, feet glued to the ground, as black specks began to seep from the floor. Jiji’s chanting grew louder and louder as more darkness appeared, and Sheo wanted to turn and run. Despite it, he remained where he was, eyes fixed on the blob before her. Vaso remained beside him; he barely even noticed the way Vaso squeezed his arm. The black specks were combining. A shape was forming. It was small — the size of Mothwing — and it had horns. Four short, tiny horns.

Sheo reached towards the darkness with a silent gasp as Jiji completed her ritual, leaving the little ghost in the middle of the room. She retreated into the darkness, leaving the three bugs with the little shadow-figure. Was this what Mothwing looked like without their shell? He glanced down at the body in his arms, fully expecting to see nothing but the shell, but their wounded body was still there. 

Mothwing’s sibling was pointing at the ghost urgently, the movements finally snapping him out of his trance. Sheo stepped closer, but the ghost didn’t move. He knelt, and the ghost remained, floating just a short distance off the floor. The shadow had no legs, he noticed. Its eyes were white. Was he hallucinating?

Finally, he held Mothwing’s body out, moving it closer ever so slowly. The little ghost seemed to startle when it was close enough, and came to life. It drifted closer on its own as Sheo froze, and it was almost as though it was absorbed into Mothwing’s body. After a second, he pulled Mothwing closer. Nothing had changed. Their body was still wounded, and it was all for nothing, and this damn bug had failed too, and —

Mothwing’s claws dug into Sheo’s arm. 

“Mothwing!” Sheo shouted. Mothwing flinched at his volume, but joy and relief overwhelmed his guilt. He had to force himself to not squeeze them to death in a hug. His child was moving. Mothwing was alive.  

“Mothwing, oh, my gods. Mothwing, you’re alive, you’re alive! It’s Sheo, it’s me, Mothwing…”

Sheo dissolved into unintelligible blubbering as Mothwing tried to hug his arm. He curled over them, forehead resting on the dirt of the cavern. He could feel Mothwing wriggling in his arms, and it was the best thing he’d ever felt, he decided. 

“Mothwing,” he sobbed out again. “Mothwing, are you okay?” He forced himself to sit up again, and Mothwing was still moving. The long crack in their shell remained, but they were alive, and it didn’t matter anymore. Mothwing was moving their head — nodding, he realized. They were saying they were okay. He let out another strangled cry. 

“There, there,” Vaso said, kneeling beside him. Mothwing shrank away from the new face, but Vaso didn’t seem offended by this. Instead, he backed away a bit. “There’s no need to worry, little one. I’m a friend.”

“Mothwing,” Sheo said, “I’m sorry. I’m sorry I didn’t find you.”

Mothwing shook their head. Sheo didn’t know whether they were rejecting his apology or accepting it, but he was too distraught to process their response in any way. Instead, he brought a hand up, placing it ever so gently on their head.

“Do you want to go home?” He asked, voice dropping to a whisper. Mothwing nodded, and this Sheo understood — he rose to his feet, glancing around the small cavern. Jiji watched from the darkness, and Mothwing’s sibling stood nearby. Sheo turned his eyes to Jiji, bowing his head to her. “Thank you. I owe you my life.”

“Ah, you’re welcome! It is always a joy to observe the ways in which one makes peace with their regrets.” While she couldn’t really be seen, Sheo assumed she was smiling. Regarding her metaphors, Sheo reigned in his confusion and just nodded, placing Mothwing in his pocket. This time, Mothwing didn’t lie there — instead, they settled in, playing with some of the loose threads. The sight made the vice-like grip on his heart loosen, and he sighed quietly. After spending so long in the vice of his fear, exhaustion was creeping in. He looked up at Vaso, who waited near the door. While Mothwing seemed nervous about Vaso now, they'd surely warm up to their new roommate.

How would it be, Sheo wondered, to have both Vaso and Mothwing around? It wasn't something he'd ever really considered; he’d either mourned his days with Mothwing, or tried to focus on those with Vaso. The two were from different parts of his life; all he could do was hope it would be something to look forward to, even if it was different. 

“Let’s go home,” Sheo said.