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Hallownest is blanketed in Nightmares. Mortal bugs can feel the end on some instinctive level, no matter how much time and effort they spend pretending not to. They know, they always know.
Wyrms know too, more than anyone. Their prescience makes such knowledge inescapable.
With the Veil of Nightmares so thick, like a miasma that Grimm can feel sticking to his shell as if he were underwater, it's child’s play coming into the White Palace nigh undetected. Nigh, because the Wyrm no doubt knows he’s here, especially since he’s in the nursery, the most guarded area. Not that he cares all too much; with the way things are, he doesn’t need to worry too much about the Wyrm. He turns his attention instead to the center of the room.
The Pure Vessel is a tiny thing, seated in the crib, watching him with blank eyes carved into its shell. The Root had stepped out for a moment, and Grimm took his chance and manifested while she was gone. The Pure Vessel doesn’t seem afraid, but as characteristic of its nature, it doesn’t seem to outwardly feel anything.
Grimm smiles at it and waves anyway. “What an adorable little thing you are.”
The Pure Vessel doesn’t react, not as far as Grimm can tell. It simply watches. He looks around, seeing nothing fit for a child other than its crib; no enrichment for it whatsoever, except perhaps the blade it has on its back. Violence from a young age would normally be of some concern, but he supposes the Vessel is ageless, so it doesn’t quite matter.
“Where’s your father?”
No reaction, still. But Grimm can guess.
“Your father and I know each other. Once I speak to him, I’ll be out of your horns.”
The Vessel doesn’t move, other than to point at the doorway, unhelpfully. He gets the urge to tarnish the Vessel, but it is only fleeting. The Wyrm and the Root can do it themselves, anyway.
Just then, Grimm hears a shout from outside the room—the Root, it seems, swathed in pale robes and looking at him in horror. His eyes meet hers for a moment before he turns back to the Vessel.
“Your mother calls.”
It has no expression or any other way of communicating; he knows the Wyrm wouldn’t grant it the ability, at least not yet. Whatever it’s thinking is lost on him, but regardless, it jumps off from the crib and dashes away. Whether or not it received anything from this one-sided conversation isn’t something Grimm concerns himself with. He merely watches it and the Root leave, then begins taking in the foliage and the monochrome aesthetic of the Palace, here and outside.
He stays by the window, watching the Royal Retainers idling about. Then, he hears a rush of footsteps.
Grimm turns around, smiling at the Wyrm. And as expected, he’s followed by the Five Great Knights, with six wonderfully terrible Nightmares Grimm can practically taste. The Knights all brandish their swords, simply awaiting orders from their precious King.
Their absolute fool of a King. Grimm can’t stop smiling, mocking him.
“You are not welcome here, creature.”
“If I am not welcome, why is your kingdom so full of Nightmares then?” He puts his hands behind his back, and the Knights all tense up, grips on their weapons solid like iron. As if he needs his scythe to do away with them.
The Wyrm glares, but Grimm can sense the undercurrent of fear.
Still, he puts on a brave face for his loyal subjects.
“Subdue him."
Weapons raised, they advance—
"Are you certain about that?"
—and they stop, turning to their king. The Wyrm looks ever so slightly afraid, and while it belies the depth of his fear, it's enough to get the Knights to stop in their advance. They await further instruction, tense and quiet. They know they are in the presence of something else, something like their King.
A little insulting, but Grimm can't blame them. Mortal bugs can't know any better; they are always at the mercy of the parasites that scatter their world. The Wyrm especially.
Still, he does not dismiss his loyal Knights, his fear forced into fuel for his anger.
" Subdue him .”
“I sincerely wouldn’t do that if I were you,” Grimm says, turning his back on them, approaching the Root’s seat. “Then again, I wouldn’t be in this position in the first place.”
Grimm can feel him seething and the Knights seething on his behalf.
“You’re smart, aren’t you, dear Wyrm?” He looks over his shoulder, finds the Wyrm still glaring daggers. “Surely, you know what it means if I could just waltz in here. Surely, you know what will happen if you lay even one claw on me. It’s effortless, for Grimmkin to come to a place drowning in the essence of my domain.”
The Wyrm’s shell is not expressive, but his eyes are. Besides, he’s coated in Nightmares these days; Grimm doesn’t need to see his expression to know what state of mind he’s in.
“...Dismissed.”
One of the Knights startles from her stance, turning to the Wyrm. “Your Highness?”
“You are dismissed,” he says, terse. “Leave us. Now. Guard the Queen.”
The room is thick with tension, and the Knights hesitantly leave. He knows they’ll only be outside where the Root waits as well, ready to come in and save him at the Wyrm’s call. But Grimm has no intention of fighting now.
The Wyrm must know this, because he asks, “what are you doing here?”
He doesn’t answer immediately, simply taking his seat by the crib. There are no arm rests, on account of the Wyrm and the Root not having any, so he manipulates his cloak into some, the same way he turns them into spikes. He leans his head on one of his hands then, legs crossed as he regards the Wyrm.
“Isn’t it obvious? I’m surveying the Heart’s next meal.”
Rage pervades his voice. “You will not take this kingdom.”
“For now.” Grimm looks out the tall windows at the rest of the Palace from where he sits, all monochrome and pale light. “You and I both know that things cannot last forever. It’s in the nature of things to end eventually. I would think a being granted prescience would be intimately aware of that fact, but perhaps such knowledge only begets foolishness.”
The Wyrm does not reply. Grimm looks at him again, not moving otherwise.
“I know what you’re doing, and my, how fascinating it is. I will admit, unlike my sister, I find your evasion amusing. I find myself at the edge of my seat, watching you in anticipation. After all, if not her, if not me…”
He grins.
“Well, you know what comes after me. The primordial fear of any bug is nothingness, after all.”
The Wyrm does not respond.
Grimm shifts in the throne-like seat, leaning back to look down at the Wyrm, and the Wyrm merely watches him, knowing that fighting him would spell doom for all of Hallownest. Grimm and his clan are strong where there is fear and dread, and Hallownest is in agony . At least, the Wyrm is wise in that regard.
“Credit where it’s due, I have been watching you and the Root in awe .”
“Then go back to where you came from.” The Wyrm bites back. “You need not be here, so do not. Leave this place.”
“No.”
A flicker of indignation. The Wyrm is not used to being told no, it seems.
Grimm is having the most fun he’s had in a long time.
“Did you know? The other psychopomps were hoping I’d get you, if only to see your comeuppance. How dire, if even the Radiance comes to me to take an overdue Dream. Though, you’re more Nightmare than Dream now, so perhaps that’s why?”
He seethes. “You will not take me.”
“How bold of you to assume I’d still want to. Did you not hear me? I have been watching you.” Grimm leans again on his hand, eyes crinkling with pure, unbridled joy at the Wyrm’s discomfort. “I applaud your audacity. It’s a novel plan to anger the Radiance, and the manner you’re carrying it out is a novel way to anger the darkness. Absolutely fascinating, really, as if your Kingsoul wasn’t a ghastly enough attempt at prolonging your life.”
Again, the Wyrm does not respond. He merely glares. He knows there’s no way out, he’s merely delaying the inevitable. And in delaying the inevitable, he has secured the worst fate he could ever imagine for himself. His Nightmares are thick with it.
“You fear it more than anything else, and yet…”
Grimm laughs, soft and threatening.
“Well, perhaps I’m a little angry you’ve been evading me and the others," he says, still sounding casual and content. "It’s very arrogant of you—and that’s why I’m not saving you from your fate, now set in stone. Ironic, because the Radiance would have preserved you in Dream, much like her kin does under your watch already. But now, you’ve made sure none of us would want to remember you.”
He grins.
“None of us, except the Void.”
“I will conquer it.” The Wyrm’s voice is shaky, and so his words are ineffectual. He continues anyway. “It is wild, uncivilized, I need only—”
“Such hubris,” Grimm says. “You and I both know it. I do not have prescience like you, but I have foresight, and my, it seems only one of those two leads to rationality. At least, in your case. Wyrms tend to come along quietly, even with their nature. You’re unusual in that way—amusing and infuriating in equal measures.”
“I will defy fate. I will defy nature. I am above it .”
“Do you really believe that, or is this just the ramblings of a fearful mortal?”
The Wyrm does not answer.
They both know it anyway. Gods and psychopomps are mortal, but only self-proclaimed Gods have the nerve to claim otherwise.
Grimm stands with a flourish, walking down the steps towards him. “It’s about time I leave, I have more cooperative bugs to tend to. I will say this though; something to perhaps ease you. I heard the Void is gentle when it takes. It will not hurt when it happens. Not the way I would have made it for you, at least.”
Grimm’s eyes blaze with the strength of the Wyrm’s Nightmares, and his grin is sharp and predatory for it.
“But who knows if it will still be gentle, after what you did.”
The Wyrm seems resigned. There is fear and acceptance—yet still, somehow, there is defiance. He’s forcing himself to be defiant, despite it all. And for what? For a scant few more years? For a kingdom that will inevitably fall apart, is already falling apart?
Grimm will never understand the desire for immortality. Frankly, he doesn’t want to understand.
“There is comfort in the certainty of death, dear Wyrm. I’m sure that when your time finally comes, you will come to regret the choices you’ve made. Until then, our scarlet eyes will be watching you, as will the eyes of all the others.
He reaches back into the Nightmare Realm, grasping at it, prepared to leave. He has no more business here.
"You will make a good cautionary tale, my friend.”
Grimm leaves in a burst of fire, knowing the Wyrm has nothing left to say.