Chapter Text
Desperation
It was a normal feeling for Xero; he wasn’t exactly a patient guy. But when it came to himself, he didn’t get easily irritated, until now.
It was stupid; everything was stupid. He couldn’t believe he died that way. He desperately wanted to go back, to live again, to not be dead, at least for one day.
It was awful how his whole body was transparent, how cold it felt, how he couldn’t hear his heart beat anymore. He felt like a carved-out pumpkin.
He wouldn’t dream anymore; he wouldn’t hope anymore. These things only led to doom.
Now there was nothing for him, no life, no happiness, no future, no nothing. Just time fleeting by so rapidly he couldn’t even tell between day and night.
How many years have passed after his death? Only those who are alive to tell his tale know… but what if they were gone as well? Who will remember him then?
He stopped thinking about that; he couldn’t bear the thought of his death, of his life, of his depressing past.
But those thoughts were the only things that kept him sane, that kept him from understanding his whole situation and from going through an eternal existential crisis. How was he even alive? Well, he wasn’t alive; he was just a spirit from a king's dead body. But it didn’t make sense; he didn’t feel like a ghost but more like a collection of his thoughts. If he stopped thinking, would he cease to exist? Could it even be called existing?
He looked down from the top of his grave, avoiding those questions he would never be able to answer.
Not many stopped by; after all, he was deemed a traitor by His Majesty, and no one would like to be seen paying their respects to a disgusting traitor like him.
But sometimes, a small group of moths would come to pray for the souls of the dead, so they could rest in peace. Little did they know that their prayers weren’t helping at all. Xero’s the un-living proof of that. Nonetheless, it was nice to see something more than just gravestones. Although he hasn’t seen the group in a while now, he wondered if they had died… Xero only hoped that their deaths weren’t as bad as his.
Isma would also come by, sometimes with Ogrim, other times with Dryya, rarely with Hegemol and Ze’mer. She always had a bouquet of poppies with black and red dahlias mixed together. For the knight, it was important to show condolences with blooms. Xero knew there was a meaning behind those, but he didn’t know floriography as well as the kind champion. When she laid them on the ground, she would always let some acid tears out and give a small prayer to him. It was a sad sight for Xero; she was like a sister to him.
He wished he could go back to the past and appreciate more of his time alive, spend it getting to know new bugs, going out with friends, hugging the ones he loved, like he should’ve done with Isma. But there was no use in wishing; it would never come true. He couldn’t go back.
He was doomed to watch those tombstones for eternity, to see how the breeze pushed some dead leaves into the graveyard, to admire the different designs of the dream catchers floating around him, to only feel his own miserable emotions. He was like a hollow gourd in a garden, not being able to move, just sit still and watch.
He didn’t try to leave the resting grounds (he didn’t even know if he could leave). He felt that it wasn’t fair for him to do so; he deserved to decay and rot in this place, just waiting till his soul could pass to the next life.
But what if he didn’t want to go to the next life? What if he wanted to stay here? What if something happened that could give him a chance to gain his flesh and bones again so he could relive his life? Would the gods be kind enough to do that? He did hurt the Pale King though… but they surely could show sympathy towards him, right? It wasn’t his fault after all…
He couldn’t tell if he was being serious or not. That would never happen, especially to some bug like him. His sins were like heavy rocks attached to his back. Killing isn’t an action that’s easily forgiven.
Before getting into the royal guard, Xero used to be an assassin. He desperately needed the money to survive, and his sneaky agility was very useful in the art of murder. After escaping his horrible hometown at such a young age, of course, he couldn’t gain money out of nothing; miracles don’t exist.
In his twenties, he did tons of terrible things he doesn’t want to remember. The streets were his house, the bars were his home, the alcohol was his only friend. Drinking all the time, spending the night at strangers' houses, sleeping with nothing to cover him. What a horrible life, but at least he felt some warmth back then. Now everything’s too cold for his liking.
He was probably about to die if the King hadn’t accepted him into his army. What a day that was; the Battle of the Black Wyrm. His strength was what granted him hope to stand up and fight for himself. Ever since that day, he swore that to achieve freedom, glory, and hope, being strong and courageous was the answer.
Was he wrong? Does this belief still prove right after his death? Yes, of course, it does. He could’ve gotten rid of that damn light; he could’ve survived for another day if they only hadn’t killed him then and there.
Yes, he tried to assassinate the king, but they didn’t have to kill him for that. Wasn’t he part of the family too? Didn’t they love him? How could they get rid of him that easily? Why would they do that?
Sigh, he did it again. He bonked his helmet gently as he kept repeating ”Stop thinking, stop thinking.” He couldn’t control his mind at all; it always ended up remembering stuff he was sick and tired of. The first times were sad enough; now it’s just annoying. He guessed it was easier to lose himself in thought because he wasn’t doing anything at all.
Before his mind could keep playing with him, a bug came into the graveyard. How long had it been since anyone had come in? Dear gods, he was really lost in time.
As the bug started to come closer, Xero recognized who they were. Ogrim slowly was heading towards his resting place, one single delicate flower in his hand. There was no one with him, surprisingly.
The dung beetle looked different; he seemed sadder, weird for the joyous knight. His armor was more rusty, tinted red, and looked dirtier, totally unpolished. Overall, his colors were more dull and less saturated than they usually were. Huh…
“Hi, Xero,” even his voice sounded depressive.
“These past years have been… uh… awful,” he let out a big sigh.
“The infection has gotten worse, the Great Knights don’t know what to do, the King has changed so drastically, the citizens show nothing but fear.” Xero couldn’t completely understand the information he was given very fast; what the hell was happening out there?
“It’s… it’s too much for me sometimes, but I keep holding on, even if I’m not part of the family anymore.” What did he mean by that??
“I don’t regret what I did; that poor kid doesn’t deserve such a horrible fate.” Which kid? What was he talking about? Why wasn’t he explaining anything?? Xero was confused.
“I gave up my destiny for theirs; it had to be done,” Ogrim laughed pathetically. “I guess we kinda share the same doom, except you are dead and I’m not. Honestly, I don’t know which is worse.” Why would he say that? It couldn’t be that—could it?
“What am I saying… of course death is worse, but… it sounds appealing now that I have nothing left to do.”
“I miss them so much, I miss her so much, I miss you so much,” he started to cry. “I know you are dead, but if you are hearing me, just know that I still care about you; the great knights also care about you too.” Care is a funny word, cause it seems that they didn’t care for him enough to not kill him.
“…I should be going now; no one can see me here, I’m not allowed to be here. Banishment is unbearable,” he left the flower on the ground in front of the grave. “I wish I could’ve brought more flowers. If I could, I would make you the biggest flower bed in this graveyard,” the beetle stood up.
“Goodbye, Xero; I hope you find peace.” Mixed feelings came in. Ogrim was banished? Why? What could such a kind bug do to get that punishment?
What kid was he talking about? What does he mean by “it had to be done”? Does that mean that he’s no longer with the great knights? But aren’t they family?
”Shit.” Xero whispered to himself; it was bad enough for him to go through that fate, but seeing others being forced to walk down the same path as him is worse. Honor and faith weren’t real in this world; both him and Ogrim have proven that.
Deep inside, he was angry, at the king and at his guards; they have ruined the lives of bugs who didn’t deserve such tragedies. At least Ogrim got the chance to live; he wishes he could also have that possibility…
He floated down to the ground and grabbed the delicate flower; one hit and it would be destroyed. What a symbolism; if one’s too weak, their hope will be destroyed. Xero was too weak; Ogrim was too weak; Hallownest was too weak, and now look at how it ended.
If only he was alive; if only his belief could’ve been spread around. With the strength of every bug, that infection would be long gone by now. If only… if only…
Sigh, he did it again.
I’m hindsight, it was sad how long he held his beliefs on a pedestal, not understanding how wrong he was. Viewing the problem in the way he wanted and not in the way it actually happened.
He was a fool.
But his family didn’t care about the past, all they looked for was their shared future. They all assured him that once he finished his story.
Marmu finally reacted, snuggling on his lap for comfort. She kept saying she was sorry, she finally understood why no one wanted to talk about their past, their life and their death.
But this was bound to happen, they couldn’t keep it for themselves if they wanted to be an actual family. And they specially couldn’t keep lying to Marmu.
They had to admit their past feelings, they couldn’t hide it behind the happiness of now. To get to know each other more, they had to look through their pasts as well.
“This campfire’s going to be a long one”