Chapter Text
Though a terrible jab to her already aching heart, Bretta knew it was the right thing to do. She shouldn't--no, couldn't wait for the warmth of companionship to stumble upon her in the decrepit ruins of this fallen kingdom. No, she had to find it herself, sieze it with her own two claws and wrench it from whatever ill fate had kept it away from her for so long. She had to be her own knight in glistening shell, venturing across the wastes with valiant mind and bleeding heart, to seek her truest love.
That was the plan, at least. One she quickly found to be much harder to carry out than anticipated. The Howling Cliffs were a treacherous labyrinth of sheer drops into dagger-lined pits and impossibly high fossil-laden peaks, obscured by obscene amounts of dust and sand kicked up from the Wastes at their edge. It was excruciating trying to make any progress, even the stray tiktik giving her quite the start as she desperately searched for more accessible footpaths through the winding cliffsides. She didn't want to admit it, but...she was beginning to lose hope already. She had said it herself when that white knight--a beast in shining facade--had saved her back in the Fungal Wastes. She's just, some girl. The girl everyone forgets, leaves behind...abandons. Was she even destined to find a true love? Was a story-book ending even in the cards for her?
It was impossible to keep track of where she had already been versus where she hadn't trekked yet, the greyscale rock and sediment composing the landscape blurred into itself at any attempt to discern a viable landmark. She hated to admit it this soon as well, but, she was most certainly lost. Before she even left Hallownest no less! Was love not enough to will her on, to guide her through such treacherous paths? She'd resign herself to a life in Dirtmouth at this point, but even that seemed out of the question, Bretta having forgotten which direction could possibly lead back to it. The wind whipping every which way was of no help, only further disorienting her as she blindly trudged in whichever way had solid ground to speak of. She'd take anything at this point.
"H-hello..?? Can--can anybody hear me??" She called out into the dusty whirlwinds, her voice all but drowned out by it's howling. Suppose thats how these horrid cliffs got their moniker. "I-i need help, anyone, please..!" She continues, the airborn debris stinging her eyes and throat. "I'm--l...lost..." She falters, turning her face away from the tempest in an attempt to mitigate the awful barrage of sound and sand. It was hopeless wasn't it? Was she really going to die out here--like this? From her own foolish and unplanned quest? She collapses to the ground, arms pulled around her face to shield her eyes. The stinging wasn't the dust anymore--but tears--how could she be so naive as to think she of all bugs could venture away from the safety of the quaint homesteads she had so eagerly fled? She was alone--moreso now than ever before--lost in an abyss of sound and blasted stone.
Until, she heard footsteps. From which direction they approached, she was unsure, but they indeed drew closer.
"I-is someone there? P...please, i need..." she trailed off, choking on the dust settled in her lungs. The steps drew nearer still. She tries once more.
"I n...need help...plea..." She whimpers as she pulls her arms from her face just enough to look ahead of herself...only to be met with a towering, cloaked figure, tattered fabric billowing in the heavy wind. A massive nail rests on their shoulder, at least twice the height of herself. They do not speak, they're barely more than a silhouette as she strains blinks through teary eyes. Before she can beg for help any further however, the figure kneels and wraps it's cloak around her, scooping her up and shielding her from the violent gales rushing past them. She almost considered rescinding her notion that a fairy-tale ending wasn't possible for her, the stranger cradling her against their chest as much reason as she needed, their warm shell a further welcome respite from the biting cold of the cliffs.
As much as she would have liked for the moment to last forever, she finds herself being let down from their arms and onto a carved, stone floor, the wind strangely absent. She shakily stands as the stranger pulls their arms away and tucks them into their greyish cloak. She can finally see their face, a pale mask with three horns circled like a crown, and a crimson band of cloth above their eyes. They remain knelt in front of her, a dense fur collar framing them as they spoke in a weary--yet welcoming voice.
"Poor dear, what would bring a bug like you all the way out here?" He asks, tilting his head slightly at Bretta as he rests a claw on his nail, now lodged upward in the stonework tile beside him.
"...u-uhm...sorry, i...i was, i got lost, t-trying to..." she trails off once again, staring at the floor. "...trying to...l-leave, Hallownest, sir."
"Goodness, in your state? Not even with a nail?" He stands upright and leans against his weapon, other claw almost disapprovingly planted on his hip. "Why would you take such a trek unprepared? Are you trying to escape something?"
"N-no, it's..." she paused. In a way, yes. She was escaping a life of dull solitude and loneliness, at least trying to--but he had a point. There was no purpose in leaving Dirtmouth unprepared, especially to venture somewhere such as the Wastes. It was doomed from the start, really. "...i wanted to...take my life into my own hands. I figured that, the b-best way to do that was to...venture out into the unknown. I suppose." She continues to stare at the floor, frankly ashamed of her half-baked attempt at heroic autonomy.
"Hm. Well. If you're to do that, you ought to learn to carry a weapon, lass." The man walks over to a rack hung on the wall of the hut. She was so absorbed in the man's appearance that she neglected to notice the quaint training ground that comprised the small home she had been carried into. Carried away now glancing about the room, she's startled as the man kneels beside her once more and holds out his claws, a dull, yet otherwise well maintained nail in his palms. "Here. At very least take this." Bretta waits for a moment before hovering a claw over the hilt of the nail, then glancing to the stranger as if awaiting approval. "I don't mind, truly. It's yours to wield."
"...o-okay, um..." She mutters as she shakily picks up the nail, the weight of it dragging her arm down as the man removes his hands from it's blade.
"Before we continue--I am Mato, Nailmaster." He bows at Bretta, a gesture she can't help but be flattered by. "--and you, lass?"
"O-oh, uh--Bretta. F-from Dirtmouth."
"At least you are not far from home, then." Mato laughs warmly, said warmth seemingly contagious as Bretta similarly shares a chuckle.
"Y-yeah, thankfully..." She nervously fidgets with her claws. "Uhm-thank you, by the way, Mato sir."
"Please, just Mato is fine. No need for such formalities." He gently waves a claw in the air, a pleasant joy on his face. "Say, before you venture back to that little town--would you care to perhaps train with me for a spell? It's been awhile since i've had a new disciple, and im sure you could garner some use from a bit of practice! I could even teach you my signature nail art--if you think you can wield your nail well enough to perform it, of course." Mato nervously chuckles, realizing he's probably getting ahead of himself. "-but no worries if not, lass--judging by your stance, you've hardly touched a nail before, much less swung one."
"..." Bretta waits, lost in thought for a moment. Maybe...the way she'd find her true love...was to really become the knight in shining armor she so longed for. Not just through spirit, but through work. Through training. Through sparring and practice and all the things she had heard of heros braving on their journey to knighthood. Yes. Yes! That was it! "...yes, i'd--i'd like to train with you, Mato." She swings the nail to her side, holding it in one claw and gazing up at Mato with steady resolve.
"Ha ha, thats what i like to hear! Very well!" He takes his own nail in hand, holding it similarly at his own side. "We'll start with basics--enough for you to protect yourself on your trek back to Dirtmouth--and if you so wish, you can return tomorrow for further training."
"W-why can't i stay?" Bretta pleads, almost indignantly.
"Not to doubt you lass, but a good trial never hurt anyone. If you truly wish to walk the path of a nailmaster, then the meander back to my little training ground will be more than enough proof of your determination." Mato glances down at Bretta--to her surprise--with a gentle concern on his face. "After all, it's not an easy road to travel. My shell is strong, but it's by callouses and scars that it is so. Know that it's not by malice that i test you." Bretta sighs, aware of the truth in his words--but what else was she to do? She's already refused to wait idly for life to come to her, she wouldn't be here otherwise. Her decision was already set in stone for all she was concerned. This was the path she was determined to carve for herself.
"...alright." She taps her nail on the stone tile. "Then shall we start?" Mato's eyes narrow, and he laughs once more.
"Now thats what i like to see in a disciple. I've the feeling you have what it takes already, lass." He proclaims, raising his nail to his shoulder and shifting his stance to one more suited for combat. "Then we shall indeed start."
Gods, her shell ached as if she had just scaled all of Hallownest with nothing but her bare claws.
"Right side, parry!" Mato shouts, Bretta narrowly raising her nail in time to deflect the strike from the nailmaster. Had she not made up her mind already, she'd consider this a form of torture. "Now strike!" He calls again, Bretta quickly swinging the nail in an upward arc against Mato's, a deafening clang ringing out in the dojo with each deflected blow from either duelist. She had to persist if she ever wanted to be the hero she needed herself to be. Her claws shake as she grips the hilt of her nail, glaring at Mato as she awaits his next move. Much to her relief however, he eases his stance and kneels across from her, bracing himself on his nail. Bretta waits a moment--as if he would possibly try to decieve her into a surprise attack--before doing the same. Though she moreso collapses to the ground, nail unceremoniously clattering beside her. "Ha...figured you'd be exhausted as well..." Mato pants, laughing quietly under his breath. "-but goodness, was that not quite impressive, lass. For such a young bug, you have quite the ambition to your strike!"
"Th...thank you, s...sir..." Bretta replies between heavy breaths, taking her nail and planting it into the floor as support.
"I believe this is where we should stop for now...im quite eager to train you further however! You're a talented, determined little thing, you. Keep that pride close--you deserve it." Mato fondly replies, standing up and striking his chest with his claw. Bretta, however, doesn't seem quite satisfied, teetering to her feet and bringing her nail to her side once more.
"One more...i...i wish to learn th..that nail art you speak of." She stammers, not from her usual shyness, but from shortness of breath, exhaustion clearly showing in her quaking limbs.
"Bretta, dear. Like i told you, we'll take this in steps. You have plenty of time ahead of you lass. You needn't rush yourself." Mato eyes her concernedly, sheathing his nail upon the back of his cloak.
"I-i want to learn it now." Bretta insists through gritted mandibles. Mato's eyes narrow, but no laugh follows.
"...very well." He draws his nail and returns to stance. "Don't say i didn't warn you."
Bretta's nail clatters against the far wall, landing among the racks of other weaponry. She groans and trudges over past the training dummy to retrieve it, Mato watching as she returns.
"Now, Bretta. The key is to focus on the movement in your shell, picture the whirl of the cyclone in your mind." He states, much to Bretta's chagrin. She grasps the nail in both claws, holding it low out in front of herself. She closes her eyes, trying to focus, to imagine the momentum of the metal and the friction against the air. She takes a deep breath...
--wwWWHIISSH-RRIIIIP--
Bretta stumbles back, nail still held in hand as her head--and the whole room--spins around her. She clasps her head in a claw in an attempt to calm the dizziness, blearily looking up at the dummy. A deep, jagged gash runs through it's torso, of which Mato is eagerly inspecting.
"Well, there you have it then!" He exclaims, prodding at the torn burlap and scrap stuffing the dummy's form. "I believe you've done it, lass! Well done indeed!" Mato cheerily continues as he looks over at Bretta, now even more obviously exhausted.
"Ha...ha! I-i did it--i--i really did it!" She looks down at her claws--visibly shaking, yes--but clasped tight in victory.
"Now, don't celebrate so soon--it'll still require practice to perfect--but i will say, you've made quite the progress in such a short time. You may even exceed me one day if you keep at this pace, lass!" He laughs heartily, and sighs shortly after. "I suppose it's becoming a habit of mine to say this, but--i dare say i consider you my daughter, in a way. You've certainly made me feel the pride of a father, i'll say that much!"
"Well--thank you, Mato." Bretta clumsily bows, still leaning on her nail as a crutch.
"Hm--since you'll be heading off back through those wretched cliffs...hold for a moment, will you?" Mato motions his claw in the air as he steps aside and prys open the dusty lid of a time-worn chest, rummaging around it's contents for a moment. "Aha, here we are. This ought to fit!" He exclaims, Bretta leaning to the side to see what he's produced from the box. A cloak of some kind? He steps over and kneels in front of her, draping the mantle around her neck and carefully fastening it. It's nearly the same as his. "It's an old one of mine, but i believe that you'll get much more use from it as a gift rather than it's life as a keepsake." He gently pats her on the head, a fond smile apparent in his eyes. "Ought to keep you from that nasty tempest as well, dear. Don't want you falling ill after all the effort you've put into training." Bretta reaches a claw up and brushes it through the fur of the cloak's collar, lightly matted and yet still soft.
"T-thank you, Mato. I'll take good care of it."
"Fret not that--simply find use in it. Gods knows im not." He stands back up and rests his claws on his sides. "Now, you've spent quite enough time here for today--get yourself home and--for wyrm's sake, rest, lass." He urges as he eases himself into a sitting position in the middle of the room.
"I-i will. Don't worry." She responds as she sheaths her nail on her back as Mato had, nodding to him before turning to leave. "...oh, and, uh--Mato?" She calls out as glances back at the nailmaster.
"Yes, Bretta?" He looks up from his cross-legged place on the floor.
"Th-thank you again, for, bothering to train me." She mutters the last part slightly quieter, looking back to the doorway.
"But of course, Bretta dear! You sell yourself short, lass. Chin up, you're doing better than any i've had the joy of mentoring." He nods to her as well, Bretta quietly staring at him for a moment.
"...thank you, Mato. That...means alot t-to me."
"We meet again tomorrow, yes?"
"Yes, absolutely." She perks up as she replies, the two of them exchanging farewells before she walks through the doorway and back out into the Cliffs.
"Oh-head opposite the cave entrance to get back to your little town, lass!" Mato shouts from inside, slightly muffled against the wind, but still audible. Bretta glances out at the sheer drop outside of said cave opening, the vast Wastes sprawled before her, bordered by the greying, jagged rock faces. This time though, she wasn't intimidated, or even put off by the prospect of one day venturing into that dusty unknown. No, with her cloak billowing in the howling winds just as Mato's did, nail fixed upon her back--and the know-how to wield it etched into her very shell--
She felt anticipation.