Work Text:
The light is near.
The Vessel leaps to the next platform, shying away from it. The short life it has lived thus far has been engulfed in eternal darkness. It is the darkness.
It almost wants to leap back down, let its body be reclaimed by it.
But no, it cannot. It doesn’t know why, but there’s something up there. Something it needs.
The Vessel makes the final leap and finally scrambles up onto the bridge. It’s an odd material, smooth and shiny and cold to the touch. It’s a material that it will come to know as metal, carefully plucked from the mines and forced into shape by flame and hammer.
It looks up and sees a figure. Pure white, with many long, thin horns extending from his head, engulfed in a flowing cloak.
The Vessel stands and the figure stares down at it, his gaze unreadable, until he suddenly turns with a flourish of his ethereal cloak.
The Vessel scrambles to follow, but something makes it pause. It turns to see one of its siblings, clinging to the edge of the platform.
It notices the Vessel and extends a hand.
The Vessel looks at the other’s appendage, still soft and malleable, its void not yet hardened into shell. Then it looks at its sibling’s face, hollowed eye sockets meeting.
The Vessel turns and follows the crowned figure, letting its sibling fall back into the abyss without a second glance.
Pure Vessel begins training immediately after its first molt, given only a few days of rest for its void to harden.
It’s given a nail, wooden and light, and the finest warriors in the kingdom to train it. From then on, life is but a blur, a routine. Wake, train, grow, sleep.
Pure Vessel grows fast. It molts twice every moon, gaining height and strength. It requires a new nail after each one, the carvings slowly becoming more and more intricate.
It gets assigned to “patrols,” but it knows deep down that it’s just a way for its father king to show it off and give hope to the panicked subjects.
The expectations grow everyday, looming, engulfing, all-consuming.
But the Pure Vessel stands tall. It performs its patterns with eerie precision, hitting every slash, block, and thrust with perfection not even its masters could achieve.
The Pure Vessel is perfect in every way, destined to save the kingdom.
The Pure vessel is fully grown, around its twelfth molt. It towers over every bug it meets, strikes fear into their hearts at first sight.
It was knighted recently. It remembers the ceremony, kneeling before the king, flanked by the Dreamers, as he raised a nail and touched it to each shoulder.
The Hollow Knight. That is its title.
No mind to think.
No will to break.
No voice to cry suffering.
At least, that is what everyone believes.
But deep down, the Pure Vessel is a failure. It knows this, thinks about it every night with the mind it should not have.
It has a mind.
It has a will.
And that will is broken. Shattered.
Pure Vessel remembers meeting its little half-sister.
It had heard of her, of course, but never met her.
They first meet when Pure Vessel travels to Deepnest with the Pale King. It stood near the door, guarding the king and Herrah the Beast as they negotiated with each other.
The silk curtain separating the monarchs from the rest of Deep Nest was suddenly thrown aside.
The Hollow Knight instinctually raised its nail, ready to strike down the intruder with a single slash.
But when it saw nothing, it craned its head down to see a tiny bug, not even half the length of its shin. She was draped in a weaver’s cloak and had blunt, stubby horns, indicating she was likely not even past her first molt.
“Hornet… What did I tell you about staying with Midwife?” Herrah said slowly and with a sigh.
“But mama! I’m bored!” Hornet whined.
The Pale King rested his head in one hand and waved the other. “Vessel, escort the child out and… find someone to entertain her, I suppose.”
Pure Vessel lowered its head into a bow before ducking through the doorway, watching to make sure Hornet follows.
“So, you’re the Hollow Knight?” Hornet squeaked, trailing after them.
Pure Vessel glanced down at her.
“You’re a whole lot taller than I expected. Do you think I’ll get that tall one day?”
Pure Vessel rounded the corner, watching Hornet skid around, still staring up at it in awe. “And you know how to use a nail, right? That’s so cool! Mama says she’ll get someone to teach me to use a needle after my second molt. I’m so excited!”
Pure Vessel looked down at Hornet and tilted its head. Is this what it would have been like as a child, if it had a voice? If it were allowed to think, to feel?
Hornet met its gaze, baring her tiny fangs in a grin. “Wanna see my room?”
They have a nickname now.
Nicknames were always such an odd concept to them, before they had one of their own. Why shorten your own name? Why not bask in the glory of a well earned title?
Well, Hollow understands it now. Understands the purpose as a way of forming friendships and tightening bonds.
After all, all it took was a mere ten minutes of bonding and acquiring one for them to be… excited to see their half-sister. Everyday they awake with something to look forward to as they mentally ticked down the days until the next time the king went to Deepnest.
They’ve gone a few times, but the best by far was when they had to stay overnight. An outbreak of infection had suddenly occurred on their path back, so Hollow and the king were stuck in Deepnest while they waited for troops to clear it out.
Hornet had snuck into their room that night. Stayed until just before dawn and taught them some sign language so they and Hornet could communicate better.
Now, Hornet lives in the White Palace, and yet, Hollow is anything but excited.
Herrah was put to rest just a few days ago.
Hornet had been on the brink of her second molt right before, and as soon as she settled into her room, she locked herself away to complete said molt. Once she had left her room, she didn’t talk to anyone. She silently stormed the halls, and if anyone approached her, she’d hiss, bare her fangs, threaten to spin them into a web and drown them in venom.
Safe to say, everyone avoided her after that.
All but Hollow, who finally had a chance to see their sister again. Their only hope in this world.
They knock on her door, three clear taps on the ornate wood.
No answer.
They slowly pull it open and step into the room.
“Leave me,” Hornet rasps from the web she had spun herself above the bed. “I… I order you, as the daughter of the Pale King.”
Hollow sets their nail against the wall, letting it lightly scrape against the floor. Hornet finally looks up and watches silently as they approach her web. “I would, sister,” they sign, “but unfortunately, I believe I outrank you.”
Hornet sighs and drops down onto the bed, landing with a soft poof. “She’s really gone, isn’t she?”
Hollow sits on the foot of the bed, practically folding their spine in two to be eye level with their sister.
“Everyone that I love… they leave,” Hornet continues, wringing her claws together, “first my mother, and soon…” she looks up at her sibling, her voice a cracked whisper as she murmurs, “…you will too.”
Hollow slowly, painfully nods.
Hornet buries her head in her hands, claws lightly scratching against her shell. Hollow reaches a hand out, hesitating before making contact.
But that wasn’t an issue, as Hornet practically dives into their arms. Hollow only tightens their hold as they feel tears soak into their cloak.
They embrace their sister, for possibly the last time.
Hollow remembers being sealed away. They still feel it, to this day.
Chains. That’s what Hollow feels. Chains, being thrown around them, weaved through their long limbs, the cold press of metal against the colder void.
They feel betrayed. They knew this would happen, of course - they’d been training their whole life for it.
But Hollow never expected to be chained up like the mindless, infected bugs awaiting their execution.
Once they are chained, the Pale King approaches.
He places a hand on Hollow’s face, and they can’t help but lean into the touch. Are you proud of me, my king? They think with the mind they shouldn’t have, I’m fulfilling my duty! Are you proud of me, at last?
But instead, all they get is a possibility sad look and a “farewell.”
Then the Pale King, the bug Hollow has spent their entire life trying to please, turns away and never looks at them again.
He nods to a bug next to Hollow and walks out of the Black Egg.
A liquid laced with a sleep syrup is poured through their eye, quickly absorbed by the void within. They watch their world blur as the chains are hoisted, their last thought before they fall into eternal slumber,
…why aren’t you proud of me, father?
And, of course, they will never forget the moment they were infected.
They remember the pain, pure agony as their arm was slowly pulled out of its socket, shoved out to make room for the infection flowing beneath their shell. They remember, faintly, it falling to the floor with a thud, a mixture of void and infection following it.
They remember the orange flooding their vision, a brighter silhouette of the Radiance flaring her wings.
They remember feeling their shell crack.
They remember hearing their scream. But it wasn’t their scream, of course - Hollow had no vocal cords, and therefore could not speak, nor scream.
But instead, it was the Radiance, relishing the success of a difficult hunt and singing her praises through the prey, announcing to the world that she had won. That the Pale King’s seemingly flawless Pure Vessel was a failure. Something they already knew, and yet it still stung to have it become a reality.
They remember the tears, thick and tainted with infection, streaming down their face as their world faded into dark orange.
Not even their demise could be dark and peaceful.
Hollow remembers seeing that little vessel for the first time since they first emerged from the abyss.
Remembers seeing them through an orange tinted lense, unable to do anything but feel each strike of its nail and the rebound of their own.
They remember weakening, their mind fading more and more. They remember their nail becoming too heavy for them to lift, resorting to harnessing the infection, their attacks instinctive and animalistic.
They remember moments of clarity, the Radiance fading and lending them the reigns for just a moment.
They see the vessel before them clearly now, its little chest heaving.
I must help it, they think, I must-
They turn their nail on themself.
The vessel seems put off by that, pausing its attacks to watch Hollow bury their nail in their chest.
They expect it to be painful. Agonizing.
But instead, it feels… freeing.
Soon, it will be over. Soon, they will be free. Soon, they will be but a shade, finally able to leave this damned realm.
Just a few more strikes, and they’ll finally collapse.
Just a few more strikes, and then they can rest, let themself be consumed by that sweet, tantalizing darkness.
But just as they prepare to thrust the nail back in, the Radiance returns at full force.
They are but a puppet again.
They want to cry, as they begin attacking their sibling again.
But all that drips from their eyes is infection.
Hollow remembers seeing their sister again.
She’s grown, they remark. Hornet probably goes up to their waist by now.
She buries her needle into their shell, weaving them into a web, pinning them to the ground.
She shouts something to the vessel. It looks up at Hollow before unsheathing a glowing blade and striking them.
Hollow’s vision splits in two, and suddenly the world is fading.
After that, only darkness is left.
And Hollow welcomes it with open arms.
Hollow remembers waking up.
They are surprised when they do.
They slowly lift their head, noticing they are out of the Black Egg. And then they realize they can move their own limbs.
They reach for their nail and just barely manage to pull it toward themself. They wrap their claws around the hilt and heave themself up to kneeling.
That’s when they see Hornet, leaning over a small black body with a cracked white shell.
Hearing the nail scraping against the ground, she whips around and brandishes her needle, standing protectively over the small form. “Drop your weapon. I am not afraid to bury my needle within your shell again.”
Hollow slowly releases their nail. Then, shakily, slowly, they sign, “hello, sister.”
Hornet’s eyes widen and she makes a sound halfway between a gasp and a sob. She nearly drops her needle but quickly tightens her hold, shakily pointing the tip between Hollow’s eyes. “No. No, this is a trick. I will not give in to false hope.”
Hollow hesitates. They don’t know how to gain their sister’s trust back.
“You are colorblind,” they begin, which seems to startle their sister, “you enjoy sewing. You always spare Mosscreeps during hunts, as you think they are too cute to kill.”
“I- I do not! They just- they are so small, they don’t provide enough nourishment to justify- ”
“I am past twelve molts and trained for eleven of them. I taught myself how to read. I am-”
They are cut off by something clattering against the ground and warm, strong arms wrapping around their midsection.
“It- it really is you…” Hornet breathes, her voice muffled by their cloak. She pulls back and stares into her siblings eyes, empty voids, as they should be. She sighs before glancing back at the small vessel’s body. “Little Ghost… they breathe, but weakly. I fear their battle with the ancient light drained them.”
“Soul.”
“Soul..?” Hornet echos, confused, before leaping back. “Oh! Of course, I should have thought of that!”
She runs back and scoops up the vessel, their body limp and small in her arms. She slides her needle back over her shoulder, but pauses before she leaves. “Hollow… I will come back for you. I promise.” She turns her head to look at them. “And if you’re gone when I come back… I will find a way to become a shade and haunt you for eternity.”
Hollow wishes they could laugh as they watch their sister leave to save their sibling.
Hollow remembers the nightmares.
They remember waking up, their chest silently heaving. They remember the void running down their face. They remember the urge to scream. They want a voice. They want to cry out suffering.
But then they remember their siblings.
They remember them coming into their room, comforting them. They remember Hornet hugging them, whispering comforts to them. They remember little Ghost, clambering on their back and resting their chin between their horns.
They remember signing apologizes, embarrassed by their outburst.
They remember Hornet shaking her head and reassuring them. They remember Ghost climbing farther up to drape themself over Hollow and stare into their eyes. But Hollow knows what they mean. They and Ghost share that connection as all vessels do, interlinked by the void.
They remember falling asleep, curled protectively around their siblings.
They are content.
They are happy.