Chapter Text
The Godseeker’s gilded hide trembled, the weight and power of darkness crushing her from within the dream. This abyssal black, this liquid absence poured out of her, through the cracks. In failing claw, shaking as the ground would in anger, was a pale flower; It had been a gift from the one who now destroyed her realm. This flower, an everbloom, was clung to tightly, as if it were a lifeline in the sea of void. Perhaps it was. A choir of whispering and scratching pushed against her carapace, clawing for release.
Her bright golden mask leaked inken scripture, a message from the void, a desire — No, a demand borne of shadow. Scrolls of these dark orders cascaded across her form, then sinking into the ground. The Godseeker had seen the demands, they had burst from her very eyes, her voice had been attuned with the darkness, now whispering alongside it.
“O god of gods. How could such a form hide in so diminutive, meagre a shell?
Our mind had failed to see you, to hear you sing. Nothing else could redeem us but your melody, nothing else could reveal her lies.
Shame beyond shame. We failed, failed to observe, failed to worship. We must now.”
The void spilling from within her, claimed her features. Her form becoming one of pure black, blacker than the night sky, blacker than anything. Blackest black. Within this darkness regrets bared their teeth, let loose onto the abandoned world of light, kept from them far too long. Inky tendrils lashed out, raked the air, looking for something to rip, to tear to shreds and make them forever broken.
Behind the violent outburst of shadow, in the core of the darkness, a faint shine emitted. The flower, a foreign power, one that did not sing, should have no power over gods, certainly not this one, not the greatest of them. Yet it did, the small frail plant shined brighter, the void swung wilder, and the flower brighter still. This race of destruction ended quick as it had begun, motes of pale light hovered in the lifeless cavern, slowly fading away. Only the flower remained.
⩹-----○-----⩺
Cold steel rested upon a colder chitinous shell. The chains that once bound the Hollow Knight had collapsed, and now lay atop it in a heap of failed tools.
There had been no plan for this. No orders. No contingencies.
What should it do? Should it leave?
No.
This is where it belonged. Its failure had allowed the Radiance to escape, let her seep into the minds of Hallownest, and destroy them. Its father’s —king’s—work reduced to scrap, all because of one mistake. A single memory that brought down the only kingdom, the last pillar of civilisation.
Unless…
Unless the king had rid the kingdom of the infection, somehow killed the golden light?
That must be it. His great mind had only needed the vessels to stall the light, before he found a way to destroy it himself. Surely, then, it should return to the king. Surely, he would be waiting.
The air around the Hollow Knight remained still, even as it rose from the ground.
⩹-----○-----⩺
The tunnels of Deepnest were crowded with faint, sharp sounds. Gargant beasts with too many limbs, tiny wriggling things with too sharp claws. It was a land of nightmarish creatures, it was a hunting ground, it was home.
A strand of silk was cast through the air. A flash of red followed.
These were Hornet’s lands, she knew every twist and turn in them, yet her prey needn’t worry over geography. It tunneled underground, hidden from its hunter. But she knew the beasts of Deepnest as well as she did the tunnels, the burrower would have to emerge soon, lest it suffocate.
She paused, her focus purely on sound.
A rumble, the hunted trying to emerge. Its bone-white shell peeking out from the rocky ground, this one's attempt at survival was cut short as a flash of silver struck through its head. Leaving the creature’s corpse slumped halfway in the ground.
Best to take the meat out of the tunnels, before some scavenger snatches it.
A fire twirled and danced with its shadows, they paired well together, eternally attached. No light without shadow. One of the ballrooms in which this couple danced was the beast above the flame, its tough shell peeled off for later use. Hornet sat by the fire tinkering with her tools, vicious traps and sharp things, made to rend flesh and test strength in battle. It was always strangely quiet in the Queen’s gardens, so much more serene than the rest of Hallownest, besides the Resting Grounds, but they had always been unnerving. Who would wish to be surrounded by corpses rotting just below you, better to let some creature eat them.
She had noticed that the Queen had always been fond of flowers, especially ones that reeked with sweetness. Hornet didn’t understand how she could love them so, they didn’t smell dissimilar to infection. Still, there was no denying the comforting nature of the gardens, perhaps if the plague-ridden mantises didn’t linger she would visit more often.
The scent of infection was something unescapable, nothing could conceal it or diminish it, it would always linger in the air, along with coursing through vine, root, and vein.
But now…
Her tinkering stopped mid-motion. The air was still.
No orange haze. No sickly vines.
She breathed in, sharply. Nothing but the scent of flowers.
The infection was gone.