Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It is almost time.

Two weeks hence, the Pure Vessel will be sealed.

The dreamers are wrapping up their affairs.

The Radiance will fall and the infection would be contained, for the vessel is pure and everything is going to plan. It must, for there is no alternative. The vessel is pure because it must be.

It is pure.

It is pure.

It. Is. Pure.

It doesn’t know why it is standing in the nursery, holding the egg that never hatched into a little sibling to its chest. Perhaps this is a good sign, pure vessels aren’t supposed to know very much.

No mind to think.

No will to break.

No voice to cry suffering.

No cost too great.

It is pure and it is in its mother’s nursery, holding the egg that she dotes over like a living child. There is no child within the egg, the Pure Vessel would sense it. There won’t be unless it is brought to the Abyss, and both its parents refuse to return there. The egg contains naught but an empty shell, overdeveloped from its long gestation period. There is too much void in the Pale King’s blood to sire an egg that can develop outside of the Abyss. There is no child within the egg. Which means that the Pure Vessel was not pulled here by the will of another, yet it has no will of its own. It can’t. So there must be a third explanation for the burning urge to see this egg hatched before it is sealed away.

Duty. The idea comes to it and it clings on to the concept as tightly as it holds its precious burden. As the child of the Pale King, it holds duty to the kingdom of Hallownest. Its purpose as a vessel is a duty to Hallownest’s people. Perhaps this is a new kind of duty.

Try as she might, the White Lady has failed at avoiding attachment to the Pure Vessel. So has the Pale King, though he is better at hiding it. When the Pure Vessel is sealed, its parents will miss it. If they have a newly hatched grub to focus on, surely the transition will be easier on them. The White Lady is in her gardens, having long since given up on hovering over the unhatchable egg. The Pale King is away, performing final negotiations with Herrah the Beast over the protections that will be afforded to Deepnest after she enters her eternal dream. Nobody will miss the egg or the vessel for at least a day.

So it is settled. The Pure Vessel adjusts its sword and hikes the egg up against its other hip so it can be hidden under its cloak. At worst, other bugs will think it is hiding a large pustule of Infection and avoid it completely. At best, they won’t notice it at all.

It isn’t sure which reason bugs have for ignoring its odd looks because it isn’t thinking about it because it doesn’t think. Regardless, it arrives at the great stone door unmolested. The slab of oddly rippled black stone stands imposingly before it. It isn’t intimidated because it can’t be intimidated. It is just hesitating to adjust its grip on the egg. A minute later, finally satisfied that its grip is as secure as possible, it approaches the door. With a groaning creak, it responds to the brand on its right arm. The door rumbles open. The Pure Vessel peers into the darkness and nearly leaps a foot in the air when a shadow darts out between its feet.

Chapter Text

The shadow dashes halfway down the hall before it notices who had freed it. Oh! The little vessel projects through void, an ability the Pure Vessel had not known about. You’re one of us!

Warily, the small vessel creeps closer. Or are you? The others were eaten by a monster that looked like a sibling. Prove you’re not one of them!

The Pure Vessel stares blankly, overwhelmed by the information. The little vessel makes a rattling sound inside its cloak that sounds remarkably like a sigh. Can’t you use voidspeak? The monster couldn’t, you just have to say something and I can trust you.

Can I use voidspeak? The Pure Vessel wonders, then tries to push the musing outside of its head somehow. It works, despite the Pure Vessel not being very experienced with thinking in words. It isn’t supposed to do that, after all. It is just supposed to think in visualizations of short term plans and long term goals. It is as close as it could get to functioning as expected while having ‘no mind to think.’ That must be what father had intended. It must be.

The little vessel is peering at it curiously, tiny head cocked so far to the side that its exceptionally long horns nearly scrape the cave wall. Why do you call yourself it? What’s a father? Have you really never tried voidspeak before?

The Pure Vessel’s mind blanks, as it often did when bugs speak to it like a person. It manages to broadcast a general feeling of distressed confusion, and the littler vessel backs down.

Sorry, I got excited. You’re the first sibling I’ve seen since the others escaped out the skittering place. I didn’t go with them, because I thought it was too dangerous and it turns out I was right because I saw a fake sibling transform into a monster and eat everyone and only a couple escaped. I think it was The Vessel Who Wants to See Every Color and The Vessel Who Wishes to Leave Hallownest Behind.

The little vessel projects a brief image: a vessel it had never seen, and one who mask haunts every nightmare the Pure Vessel’s allows itself. Its hatchmate. The one it abandoned at the top of the Abyss. It hadn’t expected its hatchmate to survive the fall, but in this sibling’s memories, they are alive and well. A sensation of lightness afflicted it, and the Pure Vessel subtly checks to make sure its cloak had not fallen off.

You had a hatchmate too? The little vessel asks, reaching up to touch a white object dangling from one horn. It seems to be a piece of another vessel’s horn, tied on with a strip of cloak. A memento of a dead sibling. Without waiting for an answer, they continue. Shame. They’re probably dead by now. I stayed behind for a reason! It’s a dangerous world and the skittering place might be the most dangerous part of it. The little vessel suddenly freezes and hugs themself around the waist. At least I hope it is.

The Pure Vessel catches a hint of terror, an echo of an echo of a scream. The distant sensation of mandibles cutting into a torso, and a crunch that puts even the Pure Vessel on edge. Then a brief image of a nosk, face bloodied with void appears behind its eyes. Deepnest. Its siblings, somehow stuck in an ageless stasis that kept their hides grub-soft and vulnerable, had escaped the Abyss into Deepnest. Perhaps it should locate the bodies and put them to rest. Father wouldn’t or couldn’t, as evidenced by the boneyard down below.

Anyway… The little vessel continues, trying to move on from their remembrance, I’m The Vessel Who Waits by The Door. Oh, I knew someone would open it one day to take us somewhere safe. I wish the others had listened and been patient. They touched the charm tied to their horn again.

The Pure Vessel had only come here for the sake of the egg cradled in its arms. It hadn’t known there were still siblings alive down here. If filial duty hadn’t bound it to make sure its parents weren’t lonely, The Vessel Who Waits by The Door would have been stuck in the Abyss forever. It carefully shields these thoughts as best it can.

The Vessel Who Waits by The Door doesn’t seem to have caught the Pure Vessel’s more upsetting thoughts, but their eyes do land on the egg. What’s that doing here? You aren’t making more of us, are you?

The Pure Vessel freezes. I knew it! I knew you couldn’t be trusted, the little sibling shrieks. The Pure Vessel refrains from pointing out that this was patently untrue; The Vessel Who Waits by The Door had sidled so close during the conversation that they are practically touching.

The Pure Vessel raises one hand in an awkward attempt at a placating gesture. The little vessel looks at its hand, then the egg, then burst into inky tears.

Please don’t make them climb up by themselves! They wail. The Pure Vessel winces at the mental volume. I don’t want to feel any more siblings fall, please, please, please! Even if the big white light that opened the door for you doesn’t care if they live, the rest of us siblings do!

The Pure Vessel doesn’t know how to fix this. It had never cried before, and nobody would put a hollow bug in charge of comforting anyone. It recalls political negotiations that it had sat in on. A statement of expectations was usually good a clearing up a misunderstanding. The Pure Vessel presses an image of the White Lady doting over the egg into its sibling’s mind, then one of the diagram the Pale King had once pulled out during an argument over the egg, which explained why it wouldn’t be able to hatch without being buried in the Abyss.

Somehow, this works and The Vessel Who Waits by The Door begins to calm. They wipe black ichor from their white mask and reluctantly nod. Fine. Bring it down. But promise you bring it back up! I’m gonna stay up here. I don’t want to risk the climb again. There is a hint of some sort of malice in their mind, but the Pure Vessel isn’t experienced enough with emotions to guess its meaning. It nods, and carefully begins the descent.

The climb is easier than it remembered, though that is likely due to its height. Even with the use of only one arm, it makes its way to the bottom of the Abyss rapidly. Delicate skulls crunch under its feet as it searches for the perfect burial place. Eventually it settles on a spot near the shore; it isn’t sure how much of this process depends on proximity to the void sea. It needs this to be quick. It can feel The Vessel Who Waits by The Door getting antsy, and the feeling of malice growing in flickers and bursts. It is accompanied by unease, the one quashing the other cyclically.

The Pure Vessel returns its attention to the egg, and more specifically, the void presence inside it, finally stirring to life after so many years. The presence twists and curls in on itself. Warm, it projects, Safe. Stay for now?

Yes, the Pure Vessel replies. Good. It would be better for the egg to hatch in its parents care, not that of a sibling who would be gone in two weeks time.

So it makes the climb for the second time in its life, with one arm cradling the egg. The Vessel Who Waits by The Door is aptly waiting by the door, anxiety and determination leaking off of them in waves. As soon as they catch sight of it, and the egg in its arms, they slumps with relief. Oh, good. You weren’t lying. I would have locked you down here if you were.

Sharp displeasure spikes through it at the admission before it can control itself. No! Bad! Just trust, why so hard? It stumbles through the strange grammar of spoken thoughts, but the other vessel looks suitably chastised. They also flinch away from its nail when it needed to hook it into the final platform to clamber up one armed, which was not the desired outcome. Trust! It emphasizes in reminder.

Sorry, The Vessel Who Waits by The Door says, hanging its head. But why do you have a sharp thing? Don’t you know sharp things are dangerous? Its head lifts with the new barrage of questions, dark eyes wide and concerned.

Yes, dangerous. But keep me-egg-you-us safe. The Pure Vessel sends over an image of its knightly training.

Oh. The little vessel fidgets with its cloak for a moment, staring down at its feet. You’ll keep us safe and not let us get eaten by anything scary? Promise?

Promise, the Pure Vessel swears.

Chapter Text

The Vessel Who Wants to See Every Color gently bumps their mask against that of The Vessel Who Wishes to Leave Hallownest Behind, whose gaze is fixed far away in the middle distance. As it always has been since their hatching.

Goodbye, they whisper through the void, unsure if their sibling is paying attention. Still, this is their last living sibling as far as they know. The others hadn’t made it out of the nosk den.

This is their last ally, too. The Vessel Who Wishes to Leave Hallownest Behind had proven surprisingly adept with a nail picked up from a corpse in the nosk den. Adept enough to ward it off while the two escaped. Certainly adept enough to handle all the other, less dangerous creatures they encountered on the way, while The Vessel Who Wants to See Every Color cowered in a corner.

Goodbye, The Vessel Who Wishes to Leave Hallownest Behind says back. The word trailed off at the end as they step away, as if pulled by an unseen force. I have to go now.

The Vessel Who Wants to See Every Color waits as their last sibling vanished from sight, then heaves a sigh and turns in the opposite direction.

They are in a grey place, much less interesting than the yellow atmosphered area they travelled through to get here. It reminds them of the skittering place, slightly, although much brighter and less dangerous. If they squint, the stone could be considered bluish, perhaps, but primarily the world is a dull grey. They aren’t very fond of grey.

Briefly, they consider backtracking to the yellow place, with its brightly colored mushrooms that are inordinately fun to bounce around on. But no, they are Wants to See Every Color, not Wants to See Just a Couple Colors. And their recently departed sibling had mentioned spotting a pathway to somewhere that looked green while hunting. The vessel hasn’t seen green yet. Right now, their favorite color is the purple of the bouncy mushrooms, but the way their sibling had described it, green sounds wonderful.

Carefully, the vessel picks their way towards this supposed green path. The jumps are easy, if a bit confusing. When the vessel finally spotted the color green for the first time, they are stunned so still that a wandering tiktik takes them for a rock and starts climbing up their body. The vessel startles backwards and falls right off the platform, accidentally crushing the tiktik’s shell open.

The vessel grimaces as best they can. They aren’t fond of violence, but they needed sustenance to survive, and without their nail wielding sibling, this might be their last meal for a while.

With a silent apology to the poor crushed tiktik, the vessel reaches into the crack in its shell and tore it open, revealing the meat inside. They eat as much as they could stand to before leaving the corpse for the scavengers.

The color green is no less beautiful the second time the vessel crawls up high enough to see it. Instantly, they are glad that they hadn’t gone back to the fungal wastes. These lands are lush with vibrant leaves, every step padded by plant life. The vessel pops a berry into their mouth and bounces in delight at the flavor. Oh, they’ll enjoy this much more than raw tiktik meat. There are so many types of green. The dark shadows of leaves atop other leaves, the pale green on the underside of a leaf contrasted with the sharp green of the stem. The vessel didn’t know there could be this many shades of one color. There are blues and purples in there too, and the further in they go, the more thoroughly the green that covers everything.

The vessel stops and breathes in the sharp scent of a recently torn leaf, only to be startled when the bush behind them comes to life. The vessel gasps inaudibly in delight as the bushy creature trundles towards them. They step out of its path, but leave a hand to pet their leafy fur. It’s both softer and stiffer than expected, hard bristles tipped in slightly sticky fluff to attach leaves to. The creature jerks at the touch and the vessel readies themself for a horrific defense mechanism like poison spikes or laser eyes. Instead, the mosscreep chirrs slightly and leans into the touch.

They spend a good few hours there, picking unwanted debris from between mosscreep spines, figuring out how to get moss chargers to stop attacking without damaging their disguises, and notably, convincing a whole family of moss chargers all clinging together to make a massive one to cuddle instead of fight. Some of the more sentient moss creatures didn’t appreciate being petted as much, like the moss knight who chased them off with a great, moss coated nail. But a different moss knight happily accepted a bright yellow flower and patted them on the head, so they weren’t all bad.

For a few weeks, the vessel napped in bushes when they tired, and spent their days playing with the creatures of Greenpath. They knew all the names of places now, having overheard them from moss knights gossiping on sentry duty. This was Greenpath, and the yellow place had been the Fungal Wastes, and the place they last saw their siblings was the Crossroads. The place with all the monsters was called Deepnest.

There were other places too: the City of Tears, the Queen’s Gardens, the Resting Grounds. Fog Canyon, Crystal Peak, Kingdom’s Edge. So many names to remember. Dirtmouth, the King’s Pass and the Howling Cliffs were probably all places their last sibling had passed on their way to the barren outer lands.

Names were a beautiful thing, almost as beautiful as the berries and flowers and colors of Greenpath. The vessel thought they might want a name too. They couldn’t quite find the right one, though. They thought naming themself after a flower might be nice, but Flower would be too broad and there were just so many kinds.

If they could only get their hands on a book of flowers. They had hatched with a basic understating of Hallownest’s writing system; some sort of spell cast on their egg.

Unfortunately, the mosskin have their own writing system, and the vessel isn’t willing to leave the beauty of Greenpath behind just yet.

Maybe ever. They had considered it once, and then something absolutely gorgeous happened where the leaves all changed colors to reds and oranges and yellows and browns. Most of the flowers wilted, but that’s okay. The vessel had discovered that the pretty leaves are caused by “autumn” and that the flowers would bloom again when it becomes “spring,” which is only two “seasons” away. Two isn’t very much, so it must be soon.

In the meanwhile though, the vessel still wants to look at pretty flowers, which brings them back to their desire for a book of them. The mosskin don’t have anything they can use, but the mosskin aren’t the only ones who live around here.

Most Hallownest bugs who come here are just trading or passing through, but there are a few that live here. Only one lives deep in what can unquestionably be called Unn’s land. The vessel doesn’t know why the large bug they had only seen at a distance is the only outsider the moss knights tolerate so deep in their domain, but they are inclined to trust the judgment of Greenpath’s protectors. Surely this bug can’t be particularly dangerous or mean if the moss knights let him stay.

Usually the path to his hut is blocked by thorns for anyone not as tall as he, but the plants have been crumbling and withering lately. Experimentally, the vessel tugs on a thorny vine, which crumples in their grasp. Perfect. The climb is arduous, but not so arduous as the one out of the Abyss, and while they get pricked by thorns, the plants are so deteriorated that it only hurts as much as jumping into a pile of twigs with too much enthusiasm. It is worth it when the vessel makes it to the end of the strange, half rotted pathway to see a house, constructed of lightly green hued wood with dead vines snaking around the base.

Hesitantly, they try the door. It swings open with more force than expected and they jump at the slight bang of it against a table, seemingly placed there to stop the door from knocking over a massive stack of canvases. An even more massive bug turns to face the noise.

Oh wow, he’s a lot bigger up close, they think nervously. More intimidating too.

At least until he bends down to one knee, still twice their height and coos, “oh! Hello there. Are you here to visit me, little grub?” The crooning tone almost breaks his deep voice, but he continues nevertheless. “I’m Nail— ah, that is, my name is Sheo. I used to be a nailmaster, but that is a tale for another time. You must have a taste for discovery to have made out to my lonely little hut. Are you perhaps here to learn my craft? I would not yet call myself a master of the paintbrush, but you are welcome to learn alongside me.”

The vessel is frozen in wonderment, finally having noticed the rest of the hut. There are so many colors. Even in the height of summer, Greenpath hadn’t had this many colors in one place. There is one painting done entirely in hues of blue; all the same color and yet shapes are clearly distinguishable! Reds that flow into yellows, dipping briefly into orange on the way decorate a carved statuette. Purples and pinks and greens create an image of what must be Greenpath in the spring. A series of thorny vines, each painted in a different color palette, but somehow still matching up in saturation. The interior of the hut is the most beautiful thing the vessel has ever seen. Unfortunately, their distraction seems to have distressed their host.

“Unless… unless of course it was Sheo the Nailmaster you came looking for, not Sheo the painter. I suppose I could teach you a nail art, if that is what you truly desire.” Sheo crumples in on himself slightly with each word, as if speaking them hurts.

The vessel shakes their head frantically, so hard that their shade bobbles around inside their mask for a few moments afterwards.

Sheo brightens. “So you are here to learn to paint?”

The vessel hesitates. It’s not exactly true, but he looks so hopeful… so they nod, and watch Sheo restrain a delighted noise.

He bustles around, grabbing various items off the walls: brushes, a canvas, an apron and half a dozen cups full of thick color. Sheo sits before the vessel, who has wandered further in, and dumps his bounty before them. Immediately, the vessel dips a finger in the purple paint. It drips and glistens so enticingly, almost like the berries from the bushes near Unn’s lake, so they pop it in their mouth.

“No!” Sheo cries, dismayed. He gently grabs their arm and pulls their hand away from their mouth. “That’s not edible. Oh by the great wyrm, I don’t know anything about your physiology. Please don’t be allergic to anything in there.”

The vessel pats his hand, trying to stop his fretting. They can eat pretty much anything. They’ve never even gotten so much as a stomach ache, and the way their void works, they can just expel anything that disagrees with them. To demonstrate this, they pick up a paintbrush with their other hand and shove that in their mouth too.

“Nooo!” Sheo wails, sounding even more distressed. “You can’t eat that! What- the paint I can understand, but that doesn’t even look like food!” He tries to wrestle the paintbrush out of their mouth, but they’re too wriggly.

Sheo buries his head in his hands. “I’m not cut out for this. Please stop eating stuff. Oh man, where’s the nearest hospital? Dang it, Mato would know this kind of thing. And Oro wouldn’t have let a strange child near his stuff to begin with. Maybe I’m not cut out for living alone.”

The vessel taps him on the shoulder. He turns, and they present the void covered paintbrush. He takes it gingerly. “What? Well, at least it’s not in you anymore, but what’s this all over it? It doesn’t look like any substance I’ve ever seen. Is this your blood?”

The vessel shakes their head and pulls the now- solidified glob of paint out of their torso as well. Sheo watches, wide eyed, and murmurs an oath under his breath. “How in the name of all the gods are you doing that?”

The vessel shrugs. They’ve never not been able to do it.

Sheo sighs. “Of course you don’t know. Can you speak? Sign? Write?”

The vessel hesitates, then shakes their head thrice. They can read, but writing is a different story.

Sheo sighs again, heavier, and rubs his mask for a moment before lighting up. “I can teach you to paint and you can paint your thoughts! Just promise not to eat the art supplies. They don’t seem to hurt you but I have no clue how I’m going to get this black stuff off.”

The vessel bounces in place, their original mission forgotten. Learning how to paint! No, even better, being taught how to paint!

They stay with Sheo for a long, long time. They have their first molt, and then their second. They are still only half Sheo’s size, but he is not is intimidating now that they’ve seen him spend hours in deep concentration, limbs skewed at strange angles to detail the underside of the leaves on a detailed bush sculpture. It and the vessel’s own, less detailed one, sit on either side of their nest of dyed Weaver silks and fresh flower petals.

A painter’s life benefits from the having of companions; when one finds oneself missing a color or a tool, someone else can be sent out to fetch new ingredients, so the painter need not break their focus. They are both painters, so they take turns. Today it is the vessel’s turn to fetch ingredients and make dinner. They are multitasking, filling a basket with red berries that can be used both for dye and for eating.

Sheo had shown them the secret shortcut to his hut long ago, so it is no difficulty to make their way back home carrying the overflowing basket. It is the thick of summer, and everything is blooming, large berries fit to burst.

They enter and Sheo quickly hustles them back out the door. They raise their free hand to sign a question, but Sheo cuts them off. “Just a minute, you’re home earlier than I expected. I was setting up a surprise for you. You know, for the anniversary of you coming to live here with me.

Oh! The vessel had forgotten about that. Apparently Sheo had been keeping track of the days. They nod primly and pass over the basket, sitting on the bench outside. It had a great view of Greenpath, and the vessel just sits and watches the world go by for a few minutes before they hear the door swing open again.

“Alright, it’s ready. Damn, I was hoping I had more time before you came home.”

The vessel waves a hand nonchalantly. The few minutes spent waiting in eager anticipation have done them any harm. It in no way detracts from their delight when they see what the surprise is.

Orchids, dozens of them, in colors the vessel has never seen before on a flower. Greens and blues and vibrant pinks and almost-reds. White and black and yellow and grey and orange. All arranged in a delicate circle around their nest.

Half stunned, they demand to know how this is possible without ever taking their eyes off the display.

Sheo chuckles. “I suppose you enjoy it then?” The vessel nods hard enough to make its shade a little dizzy. “Heh, you’re a sweet kid. Don’t even need words to flatter me. I finally mastered the trick of dying flowers. It works especially well in orchids. See, you take one of the white ones and you put dye in its water, or you make a little cut in the stem and get the dye in that way. I’m not much of a gardener, but I hope you like it.”

The vessel finally tears their eyes away from their present to give their surrogate parent the tightest hug they can manage. “Orchid,” they sign when they pull back. “That’s my name. Orchid.”

Chapter Text

The Pure Vessel knows its parents would want it to return home now, bringing along the egg and the sibling of course. Then, it should wait patiently for its parents to return.

However, it has two siblings who made it out of the Nosk den. The Vessel Who Waits by The Door is probably right about its twin being dead. The lands outside of Hallownest are deadly, and the distance from the Pale King’s gift of sentience prevents bugs from using their intellect to survive the dangers of the world. The Vessel Who Wishes to Leave Hallownest Behind—and the title feels sticky in its mind—is certainly dead.

But there is another. The Vessel Who Wants to See Every Color. Not a sibling it had met in the time between its hatching and its ascent. It looked somewhat younger than its twin, but then again, the siblings inside the Abyss don’t seem to age properly. The timelines just don’t add up. It’s twin should have been done with its fourth molt for the Vessel Who Waits by The Door to have seen them leave but not gone through a molt yet themself. Father must have placed some kind of spell on the vessels to influence their aging. It supposes Father might consider it cruel to allow a grub to go through its first molt alone in the dark.

But a vessel who wants to see the colors of the world would only end up in one of two places. Greenpath or its mother’s gardens. The White Lady would almost certainly notice a vessel grub wandering around her gardens, so surely they had to have ended up in Greenpath. There was time enough to search just one region of Hallownest.

The egg’s nannies would have noticed it gone by now anyhow, so the Pure Vessel would be unlikely to be able to get out of the palace again today if it were to return. The Pure Vessel takes its cloak and makes a proper sling for the egg, then takes the hand of The Vessel Who Waits by The Door. It projects the image of them finding The Vessel Who Wants to See Every Color, once alive to bring them home, and once dead, to bury their body. The Vessel Who Waits by The Door nods reluctantly, and so they set off.

The quickest way up to Greenpath might be through Deepnest using the tram, but the Pure Vessel is not sure it could protect both an egg and a smaller vessel in the twisted tunnels of Deepnest. The City of Tears, however, is a risky path to take. They could easily be stopped and prevented from completing their mission. Perhaps on the way back, when they are intending to return to the White Palace anyways, but not on the way out. That leaves Kingdom’s Edge. Still a dangerous place, but as long as The Vessel Who Waits by The Door stays close. Technically the fastest route would be through the sewers, but the Pure Vessel doesn’t want that to be its sibling’s first taste of Hallownest.

So the Pure Vessel leads its new family member to the Basin tram. Few bugs get on the tram here, so the two get some odd looks, but the Pure Vessel’s knightly stance and the Vessel Who Waits by The Door hiding behind its leg seem to answer all of their questions. The trip is blessedly short, and soon they are stepping out into the grey ashen rain of Kingdom’s Edge.

The climb inside the cave is quick enough, but The Vessel Who Waits by The Door stops in their tracks when the world opens up before them. It’s so big. Their internal voice is shaky but awed. The Pure Vessel sees Kingom’s Edge through their eyes for a moment.

The openness is beautiful yet terrifying. Anything could be up or down, floating in the great swirling grey sky. Ash, shimmering yet choking. Is it dangerous? The green tint of bubbling acid at the bottom of the chasm sets them on edge. Do they really have to jump across the wide gaps above that onto such tiny platforms? A hiveling buzzes by and The Vessel Who Waits by The Door flinches, snapping the Pure Vessel out of their perspective.

Worry less, the Pure Vessel commands, hopefully helpfully. I carry. Egg, you. Reluctantly, The Vessel Who Waits by The Door crawls into its arms, wrapping themself around the egg protectively.

With easy, short hops, the Pure Vessel clears the gaps between platforms, whacking a primal aspid’s venom back at it before the creature can get close to its siblings. Besides the aspids, most creatures in Kingdom’s edge are relatively nonthreatening. A couple hoppers need to be gently pushed out of the way with the flat of its nail before they can bowl the vessels over, but they reach the top without incident.

The Colosseum of Fools is unpleasantly loud as ever. The Vessel Who Waits by The Door complains and the Pure Vessel allows itself a moment of commiseration. They aren’t even going in and it’s tympanic membrane ache. The Pure Vessel walks in the opposite direction with unusual swiftness. As the sound fades, it slows, not wanting to fall down the elevator shaft. Father is considering blocking off the entrance to Kingdom’s Edge from the City of Tears, but there are still too many bugs living there. This is fortunate for the Pure Vessel, who merely needs to flip a switch to summon the elevator in order to get to the Resting Grounds.

It has not been here often. Vessels are not meant to mourn and godly families have nothing to mourn for. But Father took it here to view the new tramway once, and it remembers the way.

The Vessel Who Waits by The Door wants to know what this place is and why so many bugs are crying, so the Pure Vessel tries its best to explain while they wait for the next tram. It sends images of the graveyard of siblings at the bottom of the void, and the little vessel’s own horn charm, which is undoubtedly the horn tip of a fallen sibling. The Vessel Who Waits by The Door looks mournful but pensive, which is an improvement from on edge.

This time, they don’t spend the entire tram ride hiding behind the Pure Vessel’s leg. This time, when bugs give them odd looks, they tap their horn charm meaningfully and project sadness so strongly that even the normal bugs can understand what they are conveying. The feeling triggers an instinct in the Pure Vessel—it must be an instinct, or maybe a programmed response—that makes it pull its sibling closer and cuddle them to its chest. Immediately, The Vessel Who Waits by The Door stops their performance and pats the Pure Vessel on the cheek reassuringly.

Fortunately, the tram stops before the younger vessel can get squirmy, and the Pure Vessel carries them through the crowded Crossroads. This is the longest stretch they have had to walk, and also the most crowded. The Pure Vessel doesn’t dare put its tiny, short limbed sibling down.

Finally, the scent of flowers and greenery graces their olfactory organs. Few of those who travel through the Crossroads are heading to Greenpath, so the crowd thins out significantly. The Pure Vessel only lets The Vessel Who Waits by The Door down when it feels grass and moss beneath its feet and hears nothing but maskflies chirping.

The Vessel Who Waits by The Door immediately bristles, communicating that they don’t enjoy the interrupted sight lines and dangling screens of greenery one bit. The Pure Vessel obliges and lifts them up onto its shoulders.

Find somewhere to hide you and egg? Look faster alone, the Pure Vessel suggests. It is still eschewing personal pronouns and modal verbs, but its voidspeak is getting better.

The Vessel Who Waits by The Door agrees. The issue is that the Pure Vessel has forgotten to take into account how skittish its sibling can be.

The Vessel Who Waits by The Door rejects hiding spot after hiding spot as the Pure Vessel despairs the loss of their timeline. Father will certainly have returned home by now, and Mother will be on her way after hearing that her precious egg has gone missing. The possibility of being arrested on their way home is rapidly becoming a certainty.

Finally, The Vessel Who Waits by The Door agrees to be tucked away between two spore spitting gulka plants, with the logic that they will hear any enemies coming. The Pure Vessel neglects to mention that gulka plants are only aggressive towards bugs under the Pale King, and ignore any creatures with Unn’s blessing. Greenpath is one of the safest places in Hallownest, and the Pure Vessel will only be gone for an hour at most. Any moss knight worthy of their title will keep a lone child safe, it hurt them, and the hostile fauna are comically easy to dodge. There is a reason it is sure The Vessel Who Wants to See Every Color will be alive if they made it here. The greatest danger is the acid, and void has a slight resistance to acidic effects.

The only downward paths lead to the Queen’s Gardens, and are impassable without a blessing from Isma. It had already checked the Stone Sanctuary while looking for a place to hide its sibling and the egg, so it knows the missing vessel cannot be there. Though the sanctuary matron did seem ready to greet them by name before she had realized they were not who she had expected. This only increases the Pure Vessel’s conviction that the Vessel Who Wants to See Every Color is not dead. It had gone down the center of Greenpath to get here, leaving the east and west sides of the verdant caverns. There is less to explore on the east side, so it heads that way.

Only a single step into the easternmost cavern, right before the one full of acid and thorns, it spots them. A vessel stepping out of a hidden passageway between moss and vines. The vines swing back into place, covering the entrance as the vessel drops them in shock. It is The Vessel Who Wants to See Every Color.

That old name? the vessel muses, taking a step forward. Where did you hear it? I’ve been Orchid for a long time now. I thought everyone who knew me as anything else was dead. Unless… they peer at its horns. No, you’re not The Vessel Who Wishes to Leave Hallownest Behind. You look almost the same though. They tense suddenly. The Pure Vessel tries to read their thoughts, but they are closed off with a firm wall of hostile bubbling void. You’re the twin, aren’t you. The one who abandoned us all. No need to answer, your shields are shit.

In diplomacy, there are situations where words become useless, and the only way to get what you want is a show of force, to simply take it. This may have consequences later, like how Father had to sire the Gendered Child to get Herrah to resume negotiations after a long period of war. However, in the short term, it is effective.

Wait, what are you about to do?
Orchid demands, stepping back. They are not fast enough.

With trained abruptness, the Pure Vessel lunges forward and throws them over its shoulder. They are not as light as The Vessel Who Waits by The Door, seemingly having broken the anti aging spell cast upon its other siblings. However, they are still a molt behind it, and their head only comes up to its chin while standing.

Orchid howls curses through the void, but can’t escape the Pure Vessel’s grasp. A lifetime of knightly training does wonders for one’s strength.

The walk back is short, though the Pure Vessel nearly gives in to the temptation to let Orchid’s head knock into just one thing. They have started to emit a horrible frequency in the void that makes the Pure Vessel’s head ache. Another thing it wasn’t aware it could do. It wishes that it had thought of helping the egg hatch earlier; perhaps then, it could have grown up with someone to practice voidspeak with. As it is, it only has thirteen days until what it knows will no longer matter.

The shrilling stops. Wait, what? What’s happening in thirteen days? The Pure Vessel tries to resist answering, but it feels an unpleasant probing sensation right beneath its chitin and Orchid continues. Sealed? Pure? The Radiance? Hollow? What the fuck?

The Pure Vessel shrugs its free shoulder. Such is life. Father had said that once, and it had spent weeks rolling the words around in its head, finding them particularly expressive.

Orchid is silent for a moment. Not really, no. Alright, put me down. I pity you enough to not run away. The Pure Vessel hesitates, but they don’t seem to be lying, so it puts them down.

They immediately start ambling the wrong direction, so it pulls them back by the strap of their oversized painter’s smock. Wrong way, they project.

Orchid puts their hands on their hips. Your precious tramway is up there, O hollow one. I’ve been living here nearly as long as you’ve been in your shiny white palace, if I’ve got my eras right.

The Pure Vessel tugs their arms Not tramway. Other siblings. They send over a brief image of The Vessel Who Wait by The Door cuddling the egg. To keep it warm, its little sibling had explained defensively.

Orchid goes still. The Vessel Who Waits by The Door. Someone let them out? They pause, putting the pieces together. You let them out. Why? Why now? And where did that egg come from? You made the climb in reverse to fetch it? No, I can tell just from your surface thoughts that you’re hiding something. That egg… you brought it down with you. It was never in the Abyss. Orchid starts speed walking towards the hiding place. Why? How? Is that why it hasn’t hatched yet? I- oh. They stumble to a stop. You didn’t know that The Vessel Who Waits by The Door was down there, did you? Or didn’t care. You came to bring the egg to the Abyss to help it hatch. That’s it, isn’t it? That’s what you’re hiding.

The Vessel Who Waits by The Door emerges from a bush, much closer than they should have been, holding the egg and looking shaken. That’s not true, is it? I thought… I thought you came for me.

I didn’t know, the Pure Vessel insists, trying to do damage control. I would have come for you if I had known. Despite its reassurances, they appear on the edge of tears. A single black droplet slides over the edge of their mask, and the Pure Vessel hurries to continue. I would have come for you if I’d known. You know I would have, because I searched for Orchid even though you said they were dead. Please believe me, I would never have left a vessel I thought was alive in that place.

The Vessel Who Waits by The Door sniffles, but nods. Orchid, on the other hand, leans in with something deadly glittering in their eyes. Why not? If you’re so pure, so hollow, why would you care what happens to an impure vessel?

The Pure Vessel straightens its shoulders abruptly. Filial duty.

Orchid stares at it for a long time. Sure, they finally say, let’s go with that.

The Vessel Who Waits by The Door puts down the egg with a huff of effort—it’s nearly their size—so the Pure Vessel leans down to pick them up. The trams only run another few hours, and we have to make two of them. The Pure Vessel tries to pick Orchid up too, only to be batted away.

Absolutely not, I’ve been navigating Greenpath on my own since the beginning. If anything, I should be carrying you!

They settle on the Pure Vessel carrying The Vessel Who Waits by The Door and Orchid carrying the egg, at least until they make it over the last acid pool into more populated areas and it becomes prudent for the Pure Vessel to wrap the egg in its cloak again.

The walk back through the Crossroads is even shorter than the first one, with Orchid walking in front waving a wet paintbrush menacingly at anyone who threatens to get in their way. Not the most dignified strategy, but effective.

This time, instead of going through the somewhat dangerous hops and jumps of Kingdom’s Edge, they take the elevator from the Resting Grounds to the City of Tears. The Pure Vessel barely has time to warn Orchid not to fight back if they get arrested before the first guard is upon them.

“My liege,” she says frantically, “where have you been? The entire kingdom has been searching for you. Were you kidnapped? What happened to the Queen’s egg?” The Pure Vessel holds up the unharmed egg obligingly, before Orchid butts in.

The guard seems to notice the two smaller vessels for the first time, and begins to whisper with another two guards who have joined the congregation. “No, they weren’t kidnapped, they took the egg to the Abyss to help it hatch and they found us along the way,” they sign.

The Pure Vessel screeches two notes of displeasure at them, one for misgendering it, and another for revealing classified information to the first stranger who walks up.

Wait, you actually like being called it? Orchid asks incredulously, while the guards process the overload of information that has just been dumped on them.

Yes. the Pure Vessel says firmly. I am not a neither, I am a nothing.

Orchid ponders this briefly. I suppose I’m not a neither either, I’m a both, but the pronoun is the same for that.

I think I am a neither, The Vessel Who Waits by The Door adds. It feels more comfortable.

Good to have that settled. Now stop sharing top secret information!

The guards are looking at them, puzzled, until one of the newcomers dares to ask, “umm… your highness? Who are these bugs? And why do they look so much like you?”

Under the Pure Vessel’s stern gaze, Orchid conveys their words directly. “This matter is none of your concern. Escort us to the White Palace or go about your day.”

Perplexed by the sudden change of tone, the first guard speaks. “Er, of course your highness..es? We will escort you to the Stag Station.”

The Pure Vessel is already shaking their head. It holds up the egg meaningfully. No Stag Stations. it says through the void, knowing the guards can’t hear it.

“Ah… you’re concerned about the egg’s safety on the stagways?” She guesses. The Pure Vessel nods patiently. “To the Waterways it is then.

The majority of the Royal Waterways is, in fact, an over-glorified sewer. However, there is one path, right by Isma’s grove, which is meant for public use. The waterfalls here are decorative, and importantly not full of waste, and Isma’s grove is close enough for the smell of flowers to overpower the smell of dung. Although it is getting stronger…

Ogrim, the youngest of the Great Knights, appears around a corner. He must have volunteered to search the sewer end of the Waterways, because he smells even worse than can merely be explained by his nature as a dung beetle. He lights up at the sight of the Pure Vessel, and rushes forward to give it a hug, thankfully remembering himself in time.

It does not want to clean… whatever is dripping off Ogrim from its cloak. Though the cloak is worse for wear anyways. It is stretched and threadbare in places from the strain of holding the egg for so many hours, and there are a few tears on the edges from close calls with thorns or acid. It is what Father would call a statement piece, certainly fashionable, but not exactly suited for the outdoors.

Ogrim speaks up in his loud, booming voice. “You found them? The Pure Vessel and the egg? Oh! And it looks like it has a few friends. Hello!” He bends down cheerfully to greet its new siblings. Orchid matches his energy with a playful bob of their head, but The Vessel Who Waits by The Door hides behind the Pure Vessel’s leg again.

“Not to worry, I’ll take it from here,” Ogrim says, dismissing the guards. He walks alongside the three vessels, chattering away. “You have no idea how worried your parents have been. Both their children, gone at the same time? Awful. I wish you could tell me what you’d been up to. It’s a shame you can’t speak, I’m sure it would help your parents get some closure.”

“I can speak” Orchid pipes up.

“So you can,” Ogrim says after a moment, clearly surprised. “Strange that they never taught the Pure Vessel here any sign, if you all are capable of learning it. I always figured it was some sort of void curse.” He looks like he wants to continue, but they have reached their destination.

The White Palace looms before them, and with it, the reckoning for all the Pure Vessel has done. All that has been necessary. It hopes its parents are happy to have three more children. It hopes three are enough to distract them from the pain of losing it when it is sealed.

“Well, this is where I leave you. I’ll need a shower before I’m welcome in those halls again.” Ogrim waves goodbye as he heads towards the Great Knight’s quarters, situated in a separate building off to the side of the White Palace.

The Pure Vessel leads its family home. The palace guards helpfully point the way towards its parents are in, but do not interfere. It opens the door to the throne room and ushers its siblings through, forcing calm more than it ever has before.

The Pale King and the White Lady sit on their alabaster thrones, glowing with unease as the former speaks in hushed tones with Madame Monomon. The Pure Vessel recognizes Monomon as the scientist who helps it with its molts and runs tests to make sure it is still hollow. It briefly pings that Orchid knows her as the bookkeeper instead, but that doesn’t matter right now.

What matters is the three gazes turning to face it. Mother looks relieved, but only fully relaxes when the Pure Vessel unwraps the egg from its cloak. Monomon looks curious, but morbidly so, as though she is inspecting a wound pulsating with orange Infection. Father still looks nearly as distraught as he was when the vessels entered the room.

“There’s no way it isn’t pure,” he insists. “See, it came back all on its own. It didn’t run away.”

They think it is impure? No, this can’t be happening. Not right before it is sealed. It is pure. It is pure and it has no mind and no will and no thoughts and no voice.

Monomon shakes her head sadly. “Leaving on its own still requires more free will than it’s supposed to have. The fact that it came back just means that it feels an attachment to this place, or perhaps the bugs in it.”

“But—”

The White Lady cuts her husband off before he can form another denial. “It clearly has emotions. Look at the poor thing, it’s hands are shaking.”

Bemused, the Pure Vessel looks down at its hands, which are not shaking, exactly, but are trembling with the effort of keeping the egg from rocking out of its grasp.

Egg.

Rocking.

The egg is hatching.

Gingerly, it puts the egg down on the floor.

Monomon immediately jumps on this action. “See what I mean? Will! Wait…”

The first crack splits the shell of the egg.

Chapter Text

Orchid has never seen an egg hatch before. Not like this. Oh, they’ve seen fresh vessels crawl up from the boneyard at the bottom of the Abyss, movement through the compacted skeletons slicked by the egg fluid that still clung to their void. But they’ve never actually seen it happen. They had hatched from one of the last eggs to not be entirely buried in sibling corpses. By the time they got their bearings, dozens more bodies had fallen, covering up their own eggshell.

They hadn’t expected how violent it would look. The eggshell is thick, maybe thicker than it should be if the confused frustration coming from within the shell is any indication.

“I think… I think they need help,” Orchid suggests warily. These must be their biological parents, but Orchid knows little about them besides that they left them to hatch abandoned in a pit full of corpses. Do the citizens of Hallownest know about how their gods bore children just to let them fall to their deaths reaching for a parental embrace? Sharper, this time, they repeat their message. “The hatchling. They can’t break the shell. Someone has to help.” They would do it themself but the closest thing to a weapon they have on hand is a paintbrush.

The Pale King swallows and nods, glancing at the Pure Vessel. The Pure Vessel draws its sword and the White Lady looks away. With the utmost possible gentleness, the Pure Vessel braces the egg and its nail, and stabs small chinks in the rough shell until a proper crack forms.

Orchid takes over from here, kneeling before the egg and sharing its vision with the hatchling, that they might orient their attempts correctly. It takes a few attempts, but then suddenly a kick lands and the crack widens. And widens.

A pair of white patched legs pop out, and Orchid sticks their thumbs inside the remains of the eggshell, crumbling it from within in order to safely free their baby sibling’s head. There is quite a bit more of it than they had expected. Head, that is. Or rather, horn. Instead of the short nubs that Orchid possesses, or even long curved horns like their other two living siblings, the baby’s horns most resemble the branches of a tree. Between that and the plates of white chitin, they look quite a bit like their mother.

Orchid hands the hatchling off to her and… it’s cute, the picture they make together. Cuter still when the White Lady leans down to give the Pale King a peek at their newly hatched child. Not cute enough to make them trustworthy, but close.

What’s wrong with them? The Vessel Who Waits by The Door blurts out, zooming in on one of the hatchling’s white patches.

Chitinous overdevelopment, the Pure Vessel answers. They’ve been in that egg for longer than you’ve been alive, most likely. A body was growing that whole time, it just had no void to animate it. So once it finished growing the normal amount of chitin for the mask, it just kept on making more and more because there was nothing else to do. They’ll be lucky if they can move properly without the chitin plates interfering.

Orchid winces. It isn’t wrong, but the Pure Vessel could have put the matter a little less harshly. The hatchling can hear it after all. And The Vessel Who Waits by The Door is looking tearful and anxious at the information.

Will they be okay? The Vessel Who Waits by The Door badgers. Won’t they be more vulnerable to wild bugs and monsters? Will you protect them? What if something happens to you?

The Pure Vessel feels overwhelmed and extra emotionally constipated in the void, so Orchid steps in. The Pale King and the White Lady will take care of them. They’re gods, nothing is going to happen to them, so nothing is going to happen to the hatchling.

What if they just abandon the hatchling like they abandoned the rest of us though! The Vessel Who Waits by The Door insists.

They’ve got you there, Orchid nudges at the Pure Vessel. I’ve got the same concern. I don’t have your blind faith in them.

Not being included in the remark, The Vessel Who Waits by The Door nearly vibrates in anxiety as they look between the Pure Vessel and their parents.

Hatchling be fine, the Pure Vessel tries to convey, its voidspeak breaking up with an anxious tension it would probably die before admitting to. Hatchling loved. Wanted. Chosen. The words have a tint, a taste to them that is almost… jealous? Interesting. And ‘chosen’ is interesting to. Did their parents choose a particular egg for the Pure Vessel to hatch? Does that mean…

Are there more eggs? More unhatched ones outside the void? Orchid isn’t sure what they’ll do if it turns out their parents have dozens of eggs tucked away somewhere and have arbitrarily chosen a single one to hatch and love. They might just leave on the spot.

No, the Pure Vessel assures them, not lying. They chose one at the beginning. It was supposed to be a child and a knight. But they only got the knight.

Oh. It all makes sense now. The Pure Vessel isn’t the lucky one for having been taken from the void by their parents. It didn’t have parents and while the rest of them lacked. It had to watch love be set on an egg that couldn’t hatch while it stood by, neglected. And the hatchling has been brought into this world under a thousand expectations, holding years of love and jealousy they aren’t responsible for. Nobody has won here. Orchid is probably the best off of all of them. They found a parent in the wilderness of Greenpath, one who cares for and supports them in every way.

None of the others have ever had that.

Maybe the Pale King and the White Lady had the best of intentions, but their actions have done harm and they must do better. They must, if Orchid has to force them.

Orchid steps forward and grabs the Pale King’s cloak. He’s a little shorter than them, and they use that to their advantage to look as intimidating as a paint splattered vessel only on their third molt can. “You have to do better. You’re going to take this opportunity to become better parents or I’m going to take my siblings and try to find the one who left Hallownest, understood? Your eldest child thinks it is hollow when it’s not, I only know of you as a distant ruler and my younger sibling is terrified you are going to abandon us all again. This hatchling will know you only as loving parents or you will not have them anymore.” Their signs are sharp and aggressive, but the Pale King doesn’t look alarmed until they reach the part about the Pure Vessel.

He steps past Orchid, ignoring their grip on his cloak, and reaches up high to cup the Pure Vessel’s face in his hands. “Are you really not hollow? All this time? I’m sorry I made you feel like you had to hide.”

The Pure Vessel begins to shake its head, faster and faster. Orchid feels the unpleasant sensation of knowledge being torn from their mind with unskilled hands and then the Pure Vessel is signing. “ No. No. No. I am pure. I am pure. I must be pure. It is my duty. I cannot complete my duty unless I am pure, so I am pure. This is how it has always been. Nothing has changed. Nothing needs to change.”

“Oh, my baby,” the White Lady sighs and wraps a root around both the Pure Vessel and the Pale King in a strange approximation of a hug.

The Pale King speaks up again. “Defeating the Radiance is very, very important, but it isn’t worth sacrificing you if the plan won’t even work. Maybe it was doomed from the start.” The Pale King chuckles bitterly. “Maybe I threw all by children into the Abyss for nothing. I’m so, so sorry. I would have loved you openly if I knew you were aware in there.”

“No, I am pure, I am. Nothing to be sorry for. No mistake. I am pure!” The Pure Vessel’s signs are getting choppier and more anxious.

The Pale King places one of his hands in its and sighs. “My sweet child. I know you want to help but you can’t. You aren’t hollow. A pure vessel wouldn’t be able to sign even if taught how, because a pure vessel wouldn’t have thoughts to express. I’m sorry.”

The Pure Vessel’s rapid breathing comes to a halt. A single black tear rolls down its mask, staining its already shabby looking cloak. “Then I suppose I am unworthy of my title.”

“You are not unworthy, but if there is something else you would like to be called…” the Pale King trails off, wiping another tear from the eldest vessel’s face. “My beloved, do you still have your other drafts of the Pure— of our child’s cloak?”

The White Lady nods, and summons a servant from outside to fetch it.

Silence reigns for a few moments before the eldest vessel finally signs its new name. “Hallow. For the people I have failed with my very existence, the people I still intend to save.”

Th Pale King frowns. “You did not fail them, I did. I failed to not anger the Radiance, I failed to find a better solution, I failed to create a pure vessel and I failed as a parent. None of that is your fault.”

“It is a lovely name, though,” the White Lady puts in, “if you still wish to keep it. A name is not a punishment, child. It is an expression of identity.”

Hallow pauses a moment, then nods. “I am Hallownest’s knight, and I will find a way to defeat the Radiance. Hallow is a fitting name for one such as I.”

At that moment, the servant returns with a long white cloak, and the Pale King finishes gently drying Hallow’s tears. At some point, Monomon, who Orchid recognizes from her insignia on the door of the Archives, has left the room.

“How did you learn to sign, by the way? I never taught you, I suppose in subconscious fear that it would make you impure,” the Pale King muses.

Hallow sends Orchid a guilty glance. Suddenly less patient now that the dramatic conversation is over, Orchid takes back their knowledge of sign language. Don’t do that again without permission. You’re very bad at it. Perhaps a little bit spitefully, Orchid sends along some of their headache through the void as well. "It borrowed the ability from me. We can communicate with one another through the void. I learned properly, from books in the Archives. They explain graciously.

The Pale King nods slowly. “How fascinating. We’ll have to study this at a later date… that is if you’re okay with it!” He adds hastily at the White Lady’s fondly annoyed glance.

Orchid’s mood improves slightly at this small insight into the Pale King’s personality beyond the figurehead.

Behind him, Hallow is putting on its new cloak. It is beautiful, much more artistically focused than the other, but less armored in trade off. There is only one plate on each shoulder, but the cloak wraps around further in an almost curtain-like shape. The cloak is pinned with a diamond shaped sapphire. The white is purer than the original cloak, which must have borne the wears of time even before getting thoroughly ruined trekking through Greenpath.

“If you can understand one another, could you help us speak with the little one? They look so terribly frightened and we don’t even know their name,” the White Lady speaks up, pulling Orchid out of their observations.

They nod, then turn to The Vessel Who Waits by The Door. Have you got a proper name yet?

The vessel shakes their head.

Shame, Orchid says mischievously, that means I’ll have to give you a nickname.

No! The Vessel Who Waits by The Door insists, call me by my full title.

Orchid projects a laugh. Absolutely not. Your name is way too long to sign. How about Doorie?

The Vessel Who Waits by The Door physically cringes from that one. Fine, fine, you can call me Waits. But at least introduce me properly.”

Orchid projects a sigh pointedly, but acquiesces. “This little guy is called The Vessel Who Waits by The Door. We were just negotiating their nickname.”

The Pale King sits down on the floor with a loud thump and buries his face in his hands. Orchid blinks in confusion, until he speaks. “Have you really been waiting at the door this whole time?” Waits nods. “I’m sorry my child. I’m so sorry I didn’t come for you. I— I thought that— all the bodies falling I heard, I had thought Hallow was the only one who survived the climb up.”

Waits looks away and shudders, then starts feeding Orchid a their story. “They… had a chance to escape but… what’s the word for that… oh! Nosks! Thanks Hallow. The Nosks killed most of the other siblings who escaped. That includes me. Waits, you don’t have to be quite so smug about having made the right call that Deepnest was dangerous. Anyways, Waits decided to, well, wait for a safer opportunity to get out. So yeah, they were waiting up until Hallow let them out while trying to bring the egg to the Abyss.”

The White Lady scoops Waits up in her free arm and presses them to her chest along with the hatchling. They squirm for a moment, uncomprehending, but relax when they figure out she is giving them a hug.

The hatchling tries to sit up in the White Lady’s arms to join in the hug, only to send out a pang of frustration and distress as they find they can’t sit up. Their head is too heavy from the excessive weight of their horns. The White Lady notices and props them up, but it is clear that their full weight is still being supported by her. That might cause some issues, though hopefully they’ll grow into the size of their head. Currently their horns and their body are about the same length, so it makes sense that they would have trouble sitting up.

“You have a lot more chitin than your siblings, don’t you,” the White Lady muses. “I think that can be your title until you’re old enough to pick a name for yourself. Our little Chitinous Child.”

The Pale King smiles. “We ought to set up the nursery so they can get some sleep when they tire out. Here, my love, why don’t I take them for now and you give the children a tour of the palace? We can set them up with rooms too.”

The White Lady nods and hands over the hatchling, who is in fact looking a bit tired.

Orchid can relate. It was a long day of traveling, and the thought of the trip back home is exhausting. Still, they have an agreement with Dad. He understands that sometimes an artist must stop and enjoy the world for many hours more than planned, so their only curfew is that they must come home within a day of leaving. Orchid would like to sleep in their own nest tonight, so that won’t be an issue. Besides, there’s so much to catch Dad up on. They have a whole biological family! They’ll have to arrange another visit quite soon.

“Well, this has been fun, but it’s getting time for me to head home. I’ll take the tour next time. Long way back to Greenpath,” they sign casually, hoping to avoid a big, dramatic farewell. They’ll be back in a few days, anyhow. Maybe they can bring gifts for their siblings.

“Oh, honey, no,” the White Lady coos. “You won’t be going back to Greenpath. You live here now, with your family.”

Orchid slams their mental walls down so the resounding echo of WHAT!?! remains within their own head. A chill runs through their void and they suddenly feel unsafe.

This has, technically speaking, been a kidnapping this entire time. Even if they had eventually agreed to come along, the Pure Vessel had initially taken them against their will. They just hadn’t realized that they wouldn’t be permitted to go home.

This is bad. This is really bad. They can’t exactly outrun two gods. If they want Orchid to stay in the White Palace, they don’t have many options besides to obey. They’re gods. If they could only get back to Dad, even just for a few minutes, he would know what to do. He always knows what to do.

Maybe if Orchid can just get alone for a while, maybe they can make it home before their biological parents catch up. They just have to wait for the right opportunity. Or make it.

Chapter Text

The White Palace is a massive place. The tour takes days, which would bore Hallow if it got bored. Well, the presence of its siblings might be helping as well. Nothing is boring with Orchid’s antics, and explaining the function of everything to The Vessel Who Waits by The Door keeps it busy.

However, they are finally on their last day of the tour. Mother has decided to finish it off with her gardens. Technically, the palace and the gardens are only connected by a ritual circle, but Mother still considers them part of their home.

The Vessel Who Waits by The Door is skittish of the circle at first, but Orchid’s excitement to see the gardens is infectious enough to persuade them through.

They spend a long while walking the cleared paths, just viewing, before the Queen suggests they try helping her garden.

The Vessel Who Waits by The Door pokes at a flower warily.

“No need to be so cautious little one,” the queen chuckles. “It’s just a flower, it won’t hurt you.”

The Vessel Who Waits by The Door tugs on Hallow’s cloak urgently. Yes! Cautious. That’s me, that’s my name

Hallow pats them on the head encouragingly and sends the message along to Orchid with an ease it couldn’t have imagined a few days ago.

Orchid lights up and taps one of Mother’s roots to get her attention. They tug Cautious to their side and, with the flair of a royal announcer, introduce them. “Your Majesty, White Lady of Hallownest, it is my pleasure to introduce you to your newly named child, Cautious”

Mother lights up—metaphorically and literally—and sweeps both children into a hug. Envy stirs in Hallow’s chest, so it goes to lean against its mother’s side as well and is surprised when a root immediately lifts to wrap it into the hug as well. Hallow lays stiffly against her side, unsure what to do with its limbs, but enjoying the contact nonetheless.

Cautious, on the other hand, looks supremely embarrassed and grumbles darkly through the void about learning hand sign just to see how Orchid likes being spoken for. The words ‘silly,’ ‘ridiculous,’ ‘immature,’ and ‘supposed to be older,’ pop up frequently in their little rant.

In retaliation, Orchid absorbs some of Cautious’s head into their void, and Cautious shrieks and bats at them.

Noticing the writhing children in her arms, Mother pulls them apart, forcing Orchid to let go, and gently scolds them. “No absorbing your siblings, Orchid. That’s very rude. You should apologize.”

Cautious, who is frantically checking on their horn charm, glares venomously at Orchid and nods.

Sorry that your face is tasty. No wonder all the predators want to eat you. Orchid teases, at the same time signing, “Okay Mom, I said sorry.”

Cautious shakes their head with outrage and stamps their foot. Mother tilts her head. “Hallow, did they actually apologize. Properly?”

Hallow shakes its head vehemently and Orchid sends over the impression of a rude gesture. Then, they reach down, rip up a plant, and throw it at Hallow’s face. Instinctively, it bats the bulb away, before freezing. Mother’s plants are precious to her, almost part of her. To destroy one is a taboo Hallow never would have even considered. It tries to convey this and receives only uncaring defiance.

“Oh, Orchid,” Mother sighs. “You’re too much sometimes. Can’t you just behave like your siblings? Now I have to come up with a suitable consequence for your actions. You are to sit in your room until dinner time and think about what you have done. No painting, no looking at pictures, and absolutely no mischief. Understood?”

Orchid nods, but their presence in the void is still bubbling with defiance and anger. Hallow isn’t sure how to convey this though, so they turn to trying to fix the damage Orchid has done to the White Lady’s gardens. The plant is a young stoneflower, the kind often found in Greenpath. Its bulb is heavy and most wouldn’t know the amount of force required to to tear one from the ground on their first try. Orchid knew what they were doing, and they chose a plant that would have hurt had it made contact. The thought squirms uncomfortably in Hallow’s abdomen. With resolve, it buries the bulb again and tries to prop the plant up. The stem droops pathetically and Hallow mirrors its position.

Warm roots find their way across its shoulders. “Oh my darling child. Don’t fret, I can fix that.” With the tiniest pulse of magic, the flower rights itself and goes into bloom. Blue and purple dance before Hallow’s eyes, and it leans back into its mother’s embrace. “You’re sweet. You are too, Cautious. And Orchid… maybe sweet isn’t the right word, but I love them no less. Oh, we should go check up on the baby.” Gently, Mother carries them against her chest to the nursery.

The Chitinous Child is still napping, but they stir when their family enters. Mama. Hallow. Long title, they greet sleepily.

Cautious! Cautious corrects. I have a real name now.

Cautious… the hatchling tests. Like. Fits. The Chitinous Child is laying in a pillow stacked crib, angled to help them keep their head upright despite the overlong horns weighing them down. Play now?

While the Chitinous Child can’t lift their head, they can bat at things with their arms and legs. Thus, the White Lady has had many balls and dangling toys commissioned so that the child can play without having to get up from their crib. Cautious wants to play too, so Hallow picks them up and holds them so they can lean over the crib and play tug-of-war. It’s the Chitinous Child’s favorite game, because if their opponent tugs hard enough they can sit up properly.

Cautious isn’t the best opponent, but Hallow isn’t willing to deny them their bonding time.

When it’s Hallow’s turn, the hatchling sends bursts of glee through the void as they hold onto the taut rope, swiveling their head around and kicking their tiny legs happily.

But soon enough the Chitinous Child tires again, and curls up against their pillow.

The White Lady peers out the nearest window, trying to determine the time. “Alright, I believe it has been long enough. Let’s fetch Orchid before we return to the gardens. They so love flowers, I wouldn’t want them to miss out.”

Leaving the hatchling to their rest, the trio wanders through the hallways of the White Palace, heading towards Orchid’s room. In the days they had owned it, they had already managed to splatter paint on every wall, and fill it with as many canvases and paints as the King and Queen can acquire. Among other errands, Father is currently out picking up a shipment of weaver silk and pure dyes which can apparently be combined to create a pattern called ‘tie-dye’. Orchid has been having a grand time these plastic few days, using their now infinite resources to try artistic techniques they had only read about.

Despite this, Hallow thinks something might be wrong, and Cautious is outright worried about Orchid. They keep having these strange flashes of sadness in the night, and this is not the first incident where sudden anger has bubbled up from their place in the void. When questioned, the feelings vanish from the void, but not from Orchid’s demeanor. Hallow envies their skill with the void. It has gotten much better with voidspeak, but it is still far more skilled with soul magic than Orchid’s mind tricks. Even Cautious has figured out a few tricks, like lining their void against the inner strips of their cloak so that the bottom pieces can move independently. They say they want to figure out how to walk just using their void. Hallow is nowhere close to that. Although, it can still summon swords using soul like Father, so perhaps its lack of impressive void abilities isn’t too much of a problem.

All of the residential halls in the palace are functionally identical, except for this one. This hall is full of bustling servants trying to buff out scratches from Cautious’s attempts at holding a sword and splashes of color stained on the walls and floors from Orchid being Orchid. Hallow spots a glob of red on one of the ceiling arches, an impressive fifty feet up. A beetle woman wielding a mop is buzzing towards it menacingly.

At the end of the hall sits Hallow’s room. It has lived her for a long time, but never before did it feel like this hall had life. Hallow’s room is still somewhat lacking in that, the awkwardly placed potted plants and decorative nails not doing much to diffuse the sterility of the place.

Cautious’s room, by contrast, is full of soft edged mushroom furniture and decorative, wispy balloons. Father says they are technically single celled organisms native to the region, but Cautious took a shine to them and requested some for their room. They float around harmlessly, bumping into things and squishing pleasantly when one reaches up to touch them. Their bed is a luxury of pillows and downy blankets, and they have a plushy of a gruberfly grub, apparently as a warning not to forget the dangers of grub mimics. That one ends up in Hallow’s room more nights than not, when Cautious inevitably gets spooked by it. Then again, so does Cautious themself, so Hallow suspects they might actually like the little green plushy.

But that isn’t what they’re here for. They’re here for Orchid. Mother leans against the door to their room. “Orchid, darling, we’re headed back to the garden if you want to come with us.” She pauses, but no response comes. “You’re allowed to come out now, if you’re feeling better.”

The servants exchange glances. Finally, a particularly brave butterfly flaps up to the Queen’s ear and whispers in it.

“What do you mean they aren’t in there?” Mother cries, throwing open the door. Sure enough, the colorful room is occupied only by buckets of paint and half finished canvases. “Were they ever there?”

The butterfly shakes his head. “I’m sorry Your Majesty, nobody knew they were supposed to be. They’ve been at your side since they arrived.”

Mother mutters an oath to the old gods under her breath. “That child… where could they have gone?”

Hallow casts out its mind as far as it can and nudges Cautious to do the same. There is no sense of Orchid’s presence. Either they aren’t here, or they can hide themself in the void. Both are looking likely. The siblings’ telepathic connection won’t be of much use here.

“Perhaps they stayed in the gardens? We should return there,” Mother suggests.

It’s a good idea, but when they reach the gardens there is no sign of Orchid, not even through the void. The gardens are easy to search, only requiring Mother to get in contact with the plants in the region. Each root tells her if there are footfalls on the earth above them, and each leaf tells her if it is being touched.

Nothing.

They return to the White Palace, and search every hall. The Pale King returns and organizes a search party, but within the hour they are forced to confront the fact that Orchid is not here. There are no signs of a struggle either. It seems they left of their own free will.

“Perhaps… perhaps Greenpath?” The Pale King suggests tentatively. Of all the vessels, he has spent the least time with Orchid, who is disinterested in learning soul magic from him and already knows how to sign.

The White Lady straightens from where her branches had begun to drag against the floor in dejection. “Yes! They mentioned going back at one point. I told them they didn’t have to, but maybe they thought they weren’t welcome here anymore after I got upset with them.” She frowns at the thought. “I hope they aren’t too upset, all alone out there.”

Chapter Text

Orchid is not, in fact, upset, nor do they plan to be alone for long. They allow themself a silent fist pump as they manage to cross the acid sea separating the Queen’s Gardens from Greenpath unharmed. They hadn’t even lost their smock, although that might be because they had held it inside their void for the journey.

It’s a miracle that none of their family had noticed that they went off in the wrong direction for the teleportation circle. Instead, they had made a beeline for the acid lake that connected the gardens to Greenpath. Durandoo are surprisingly tame for having such spiky shells. Orchid has long since figured out how to slot their body in the gaps between the spikes for a secure ride across the acid lakes. Dad tends to go for massive high jumps across the acid, supported by his greatnail, but Orchid will probably always be too small for that. Apparently, one of Dad’s brothers could just fly over the gaps by spinning his nail fast enough, to hear him tell it. Orchid isn’t so sure they believe that one, but they suppose it’s no less likely than communicating telepathically with one’s siblings through the void.

Orchid dashes past a few gulka plants with ease. They lazily shoot their pellets after them, but none come close to hitting. This is their domain. The entire time in the White Palace, there was an uncomfortable unfamiliarity to every movement. The ground is never soft there, the ceilings are always high, and while they may be pretty, they make Orchid feel a bit exposed. They sound like Cautious just thinking about it, but it is less scary to be in wide open spaces like that with Dad nearby. His bulk feels like safety and protection. Orchid never has to deal with the low grade anxiety of being in an unfamiliar place if Dad is there with them.

Even though they haven’t reached him yet, they already feel more at easy in the bushes that shiver with the stirrings of mosskin and the chittering of maskflies tucked into the high crevices above their head. Not to mention the color. The White Palace sure lives up to its name. Orchid had thought nothing could be more monochrome than the blackness of the void, but somehow the White Palace manages it. They had gotten to add some color with ‘accidental’ paint drippings, and of course their room was immediately painted from wall to wall, but the majority of the palace had remained blindingly white. The easy background blue green of Greenpath is a sight for sore eyes, literally and metaphorically.

What’s even more a sight for sore eyes is the sight of the hidden entrance to the hut. They’ve almost made it to Dad. Paranoid, they check over their shoulder as they slide past the vine covering and sidle around the fool eater that Dad has been cultivating as a trap for wild beasts that might wander into their home.

The darkness of the hidden tunnel makes Orchid slump with relief. Even Hallow doesn’t know exactly where this is, though it could find it fairly easily. Still, Orchid is safe here, and almost home. Almost home. Almost.

They burst out of the tunnel, panting from the effort of running through it as fast as their body can handle. Skidding around, they head for the door. Almost home. Almost to Dad…!

The door is hanging open. Dad isn’t inside.

Orchid sinks to the floor and pressed their head to their knees, fat black tears ruining their smock. They try to twist it out of the way, but their hands get tangled in the material, which only makes them cry harder. They just want their Dad!

But he isn’t here, and he doesn’t come home while Orchid cries. Eventually, their sobs subside and they take a moment to look around. Everything looks fine, normal, except that their bedding has been strewn about the floor. Someone was looking for them. Logic tells Orchid it was just their Dad, checking under every blanket, but fear tells them that maybe their parents got here first and tore up their bed looking for them.

If that is the case, where does that leave Dad? He’s a very accommodating host, but he is also touchy about his things being interfered with. He lets Orchid move his paintings around, but nobody else. Not that many people visit, but there have been a few. Mostly moss knights he had invited over for tea. A couple bugs seeking ‘The Great Nailmaster Sheo.’ Orchid has no doubt, however, that their Dad would firmly tell even the King and Queen of Hallownest to keep their hands to themselves.

What if they did something to him? Orchid doesn’t think they would, but they don’t really know these people and they hadn’t thought they would be banned from going home either. The anxious thought won’t stop chasing itself through their head.

Orchid darts outside and begins looking around, all feelings of relief and safety evaporated. They need to find Dad. He wouldn’t have left Greenpath voluntarily, not while Orchid was missing. They would always return to Greenpath. It is they’re home, it has been since the beginning, as if the colors and the flowers were written in their void.

Dad knows this. He wouldn’t just leave, so he must be out searching. Orchid just has to be systematic about it. The best guarantee would be to wait until Dad gets home, but they aren’t sure they have time for that. They’re surprised that they haven’t be caught already honestly.

It’s early in the day, and Dad likely won’t give up the search until much later. Orchid’s best bet is to go out looking for him.

There is something pure about Greenpath that is lacking in the Queen’s Gardens. An unmanaged chaos, curated only by the laws of nature. The ivy coated trellises there are certainly impressive, but they hold nothing to the thick, wild beauty of Greenpath.

Unfortunately, it is not easy to find someone among the overgrown bushes and trees, many of which outstrip Orchid in height. It should be effortless to spot someone as big as Dad, but the leaves provide cover and his steps are nearly silent for someone so large.

Orchid wishes they could make sound, even if it was just the incoherent screeching and chittering of the wildlife. They feel so useless, just wandering around, unable to call out. Their hands keep forming the sign for ‘Dad’ even though signing will be useless until they actually find him.

Orchid’s head twitches as they hear a faint sound. It could be another mosscreep, but they climb up towards it anyways. The strain of how far and how fast they’ve traveled today is starting to catch up to them.

As they haul themself up onto the last ledge, they hear it again. Yes! That’s definitely the sound of Dad calling their name.

Orchid tears through the forest, not caring about the flock of maskflies that startles and takes off as they run past. They sprint through the bushes, right into Dad’s waiting arms.

“Orchid! There you are my little flower. What happened? Are you alright?” Dad asks. He is a slow speaker generally, but this is definitely his worried tone.

Orchid doesn’t respond at first, instead burying themself in the hug. After a long minute, they let go and tug Dad back towards the path home. The sooner they get there, the better they’ll feel. Out here, it still feels like anything could go wrong.

“Orchid?” Dad prompts, “you were absent for days on end. Could you tell me what happened?”

Orchid takes a deep breath, settling in for a long monologue as they slowly amble back home. They’ve found each other and that’s all that matters. “My biological family found me. My sibling— actually, I should probably start with who they are. My biological parents are the Pale King and the White Lady.” Dad inhales sharply but lets them continue. He had known everything else about how they came to end up at his door, just not the identities of the parents who had dropped them in the Abyss. Orchid hasn’t been hiding their origins, exactly, they just didn’t mention them because they didn’t matter.

For most of their life, the idea that they would ever give the parents who abandoned them a second chance had seemed ludicrous. Why would they, when they have a perfect life right here? But now they know they have siblings, and now that they’ve seen the Pale King sincerely apologize to the child he hurt the most, now that they’ve been swept into one of the White Lady’s massive, many tendril hug, now that they know the whole story… well, they want to try their hand at forgiveness.

But they will never be willing to give up their Dad. And he has to know what has happened, so he can protect Orchid if their parents are unwilling to listen to their wishes. “The vessel who’s always with them, I think it’s public title was the Hollow Knight or something, it found me here. It had brought an unhatched egg to the Abyss to help it hatch and found another sibling still waiting in there for a safe way out. I knew Cautious from before I escaped the Abyss, and they told Hallow—that’s my older sibling—that I might still be alive, so Hallow took them and the egg and came searching for me. It was kind of a kidnapping situation, I didn’t want to go at first because I was mad at Hallow for some stuff that happened back in the Abyss, but it convinced me eventually… after it threw me over its shoulder and carried me halfway through Greenpath. I decided to go willingly after I found out Cautious was there, and then we went to the White Palace to return the egg. The egg hatched and Dad. Dad. Hatchings are so scary! We had to crack the egg from the outside because the hatchling got stuck! And then Hallow finally admitted that it’s sentient—it had convinced itself that it wasn’t before, it’s a whole thing—and made up with our parents. Did you know the Infection is caused by a goddess?Hallow was supposed to contain her inside its body but it isn’t allowed to try anymore because it isn’t totally devoid of thought and feeling. I’m not sure why our parents thought putting their eggs in the Abyss would make that happen but that’s apparently why they did it. And then they wouldn’t let me leave and it was really scary but I finally escaped and I’m so glad I’m back home and I love you and I missed you so much Dad and I—”

Dad quells their rapidly signing hands. “This is a lot of information. Thank you for sharing it. I love you too, my little flower. Here, why don’t I carry you for a moment while I process.”

Orchid nods eagerly and hops up into Dad’s arms. They are almost too big for this, or they would be if Dad weren’t so strong. He says he keeps up his nail art practice just to be able to lift them even when they’re his size. Orchid is pretty sure they won’t get any bigger than Hallow is now, but the thought still makes them cuddle closer. Orchid isn’t a little grub anymore, but getting carried around by their Dad is still a guilty pleasure. They just feel so safe and secure, they can just completely relax for the first time in days…

Orchid drifts in and out of consciousness as Dad bustles about the room beside their nest, finally settling on in. Shit, they fell asleep.

Orchid notices that the bustling is more like packing.

“We’re going on a trip,” Dad announces, “to see my brother Mato.”

“Wait, isn’t Mato the one you said can fly?” Orchid asks excitedly, scrambling out of their nest like a little kid. “I have to see that!”

Dad chuckles. “I’m sure he would be delighted to show you.”

Chapter Text

It doesn’t take long to make their way to Greenpath once they realize where Orchid has gone.

What does take a long time is communicating to the rest of its family that there is a secret entrance that it saw Orchid come out of. Hallow is not very far along in its sign language lessons and Cautious is even worse. Voidspeak doesn’t much help when none of the available vessels can communicate with anyone outside the void link. Hallow misses Orchid.

It doesn’t understand why they would run away like that. Mother and Father have been great lately, better than ever before. They have split their time well between each child, and been open with verbal and physical affection. They apologized. That means more to Hallow than it could ever convey, even through the void. They apologized and told it they loved it and kept telling it every day until it finally believed them. Hallow literally could not have imagined its life being so good a mere handful of days prior. And yet Orchid would give it all up.

Its siblings can be hard to understand at times. Cautious is so deeply driven by emotion, by the trauma of losing their twin, and Orchid hides their feelings behind mischief and silliness. Hallow can barely muster emotional expression, let alone stop overanalyzing each feeling long enough to let one drive its behavior. The Chitinous Child is a whole other matter, still at this age guided mostly by sensory experiences. None of its siblings make sense to it, even with their minds linked as they are.

It loves them all the same though; at least it thinks that’s the name for this warm, protective feeling that seeded in its chest the moment it opened that door to the Abyss. Which is why Hallow has to get Orchid back. Whatever they were thinking, why they left, it doesn’t matter. It isn’t safe out here and Hallow needs to be around to protect them.

Hallow slows its pace as it approaches the spot it remembers the secret entrance being, allowing Cautious to catch up. And there it is. A perfectly innocuous wall covered in vines. Only it isn’t a wall, at least not all of it.

Hallow strides forth confidently, Cautious at its heels. It is sure there is a secret tunnel back here.

So sure, in fact, that it breezes right through the vines and smacks, mask first, into a real wall, nearly stumbling back into Cautious.

Cautious takes a small step backwards and that is where everything goes wrong. Hallow had entered with long strides and Cautious has scrambled after it, feet pattering across the ground too fast to trigger the fool eater that apparently resides in this tunnel.

Hallow watches with a flavor of numbness it distantly recognizes as horror as Cautious’s back leg is swept out from under them and the fool eater closes its jaws around their leg. The thing is easily twice as tall as Cautious, and they are ripped off their feet. If not for Hallow’s training honed reflexes, they would have landed upside down, hitting their head against the ground. The ground is hard here. Maybe hard enough to… to… Hallow can’t even finish the thought, the idea of Cautious ending up like the countless broken vessels in the void too much to handle. As it is, Hallow is holding their head parallel to their leg, but can’t lower them down without putting dangerous strain on their leg. It can see void leaking out through the gaps between the fool eater’s teeth.

Hallow has never actually been injured without a worried team of medics coming to patch it up immediately under the Pale King’s watchful eye. It doesn’t know if vessels can bleed out. It winces, remembering that Cautious can hear its thoughts, but the little vessel doesn’t seem to react. Hallow tunes into the void to check on them. It still hasn’t quite worked out the trick of simultaneously thinking and hearing the thoughts of others, not after so long keeping its mind as still and quiet as possible, so it has to consciously switch between.

Cautious doesn’t seem to have noticed anything Hallow has thought in the last few moments because they are radiating waves of shock. They don’t seem to have even processed the pain yet. Quickly, Hallow shuts down the part of its mind that connects it to Cautious before it can get overwhelmed.

The dull panic it sinks back into is entirely its own. Hallow’s body is frozen, using both arms to prop Cautious up against its chest, keeping their leg from being slowly torn off by gravity. Its mind feels like an empty box; every time it tries to come up with a way forward from here it bumps off a wall of uncomprehending horror and winds up back where it started, with nothing. The one time in its life it has actively sought to have thoughts, and its mind is utterly blank.

A rustling comes from outside. Hallow doesn’t lift its head, because any movement could be dangerous for Cautious, but it does try to glance in that direction.

“Hallow? You and Cautious ran in there, is everything okay? Did you find Orchid?” The Pale King’s voice filters through the vines. It thanks every god it knows that he saw where they had gone. If he hadn’t, it would have had no way of communicating the information to him.

Still, Hallow’s imposed silence means that it has to just watch as the Pale King ducks through the vines, only to come up against a closed fool eater. There is a moment of dawning terror on his face before he catches sight of Hallow on the other side. “Oh, good, you’re alright. You frightened me for a moment. I thought—” He cuts off as he walks around the plant and sees that he was right to be afraid. “No… No! Cautious, it will be okay. We’re going to get you out of this. ROOT!” he calls at a deafening volume, one that could not be naturally produced from a body as small as his, loud enough to reach their mother. Hallow has never heard the Pale King call Mother by her proper name before. She prefers her titles, as does Father to a certain degree. But this is an emergency and there is no time for long winded endearments.

The rippling soil noise of Mother moving through earth rumbles outside. Little flecks of dirt spray through the vines. Without even waiting for her response, Father continues. “Cautious is stuck in a fool eater. I need you to kill it, or make it let go, anything.”

Mother reaches one massive arm into the small alcove. The White Palace was built with high arched ceilings to accommodate her tall branches. There, it is almost possible to forget she is a god. Here, it is not.

But even gods are not all powerful. Mother’s hand brushes the plant’s thick outer layer, then draws back. “I cannot. This is one of Unn’s—”

“Damn Unn!” Father interrupts. “She will understand, or we will go to war over it. I do not care which one as long as our child is safe.”

Mother presses a finger to his mandibles, silencing him. “I mean I cannot. She controls this particular plant, as she does with every plant in Greenpath, and so I cannot exert influence over it unless she first releases her control.”

The Pale King releases a stream of swear words that Hallow has never heard before, not even from the Great Knights and storms outside. “Alright, I have a new plan. Go awaken Unn and treat with her. I do not care what she asks for, give it to her if it means our child will survive. I will fetch the White Palace’s medics and send for Monomon.”

The White Lady must make an affirmative gesture, because a moment later Hallow hears her roots shifting through the soil again, much faster this time. It also hears rapid scratching on the ground, and wishes it had a voice to ask for comfort while Father is still here, doing whatever he is doing. Marking the location of the secret entrance perhaps? Then it hears the familiar whooshing sound of a teleportation circle activating. “I’m going fetch the medics and set up the other end of the teleportation circle. Cautious, I need you to hold on just a little longer. I’ll be as fast as I can.” His footsteps patter away, and then they are alone.

Cautious has been quiet this whole time, but Hallow can tell from the tendrils of pain and fear bombarding its flimsy mental shields that the shock is wearing off. Tears start to pour from the holes in their mask.

Hallow doesn’t know what to do besides stay perfectly still. It vacillates between utter panic and deathly nothingness, all the while holding the link between it and Cautious closed like a window shutter against a landslide. It wants to comfort them, but it can’t. It needs to stay calm. It needs to stay calm and still and if it does, Father will be back soon. Soon. It just cannot move a muscle.

Tearfully, Cautious tugs on its sleeve. Hallow doesn’t even need to put effort into disregarding it, and the next tug, and the next. It’s assignment is to stay still and it will not fail, even though all it can think about anymore is the burning in its arms from holding an entire bug for so long.

Cautious gets impatient and begins to squirm in Hallow’s arms. This is not good, but Hallow doesn’t have time to react before they move just a little too much and Hallow’s grip on them shifts. There is an awful, sickening tearing sound as whatever muscle-approximates remained unharmed between the plant’s teeth finally tear at this new strain.

Cautious freezes with a flash of blinding pain that even Hallow can feel. There is an awful, wet thunk, and Cautious’s weight shifts so that they fully fall against its chest. Their lower body is no longer being held upright by the plant. Their leg is no longer attached to it because… because… because their leg is no longer attached. To their body. Cautious is sickeningly light in its arms as they start screaming through the void.

Wet void fluid gushes out of the stump, soaking Hallow’s feet, and Hallow immediately sacrifices another cloak to stem the bleeding. This, it knows. Tourniquets were covered in its first aid class. How to hold someone caught in a fool eater’s maw so that their leg doesn’t get ripped off was not, which is why Hallow fucked up and now Cautious might die.

Breathing is supposed to help in situations like this, but suddenly Hallow can’t remember how. No matter, it’s not as though they strictly need to anyways. Hallow simply stops breathing and passes oxygen through their void instead as it wraps Cautious’s leg. It doesn’t stop its hands from shaking. It hasn’t been able to understand the concept when Mother accused it of having shaking hands when the egg hatched. Now though… this is the most fear Hallow has ever felt. It would rather find out it wasn’t pure a thousand times in a row than face this. Cautious’s life in its trembling hands.

It tries breathing again. Cautious isn’t dead yet. The shaking lessens enough that they can finish the binding. Slowly, it eases Cautious into a more comfortable position across its lap. It hardly makes a difference when Hallow knows all they can feel is pain, but there is nothing else to do. Hallow has already failed.

The plant starts to release digestive juices almost smugly. Hallow summons a barrage of swords to shred it into little tiny pieces, but it doesn’t really make it feel better. Now it can just see the puddle of void fluid that used to be Cautious’s leg, lost form without a living thing attached to it. Hallow prays bitterly that Cautious remains a living thing.

Hallow reaches forward and absorbs the void fluid through its hand. Cautious may want to see it, or to return it to the void sea. The puddle of fluid that was once a limb settles near its stomach, and floats, a separate, heavy, dead thing despite being the same substance as Hallow’s body. It feels awful but Hallow doesn’t have any other way of keeping the fluid seeping into the ground. And there is nothing else they can do to help.

Now that the tourniquet is tied, Hallow is more confident that Cautious will survive, but they can’t figure out how to share that thought past the waves of mind melting agony.

The teleportation circle activates. The Pale King and a team of medics burst into the alcove, followed by Monomon. With the giant plant decimated, there is nothing to hide the awful truth of what has happened. The medics rush to do their work, lifting Cautious out of Hallow’s arms. It has a hard time letting go.

The Pale King and Monomon both stand, staring, as Cautious is placed onto a stretcher. “Oh,” Monomon finally speaks, briefly breaking the silence. She seems to have no more words than that. Unusual, for her, but Hallow can relate. For the first time, it wishes it were hollow for its own sake. So that it wouldn’t have to feel all these things, guilt and shame and terror and more, all at once, overwhelming it. A pure vessel would have reacted faster, it is sure. Would have been able to save Cautious’s leg, maybe even been able to destroy the plant before it got its fangs into Cautious at all.

But then, a pure vessel wouldn’t have cared to. So that just leaves Hallow, sitting here covered in Cautious’s bled void fluid. An inescapable failure.

It cries.

Chapter Text

Cautious is fine, honestly. Not a single soul believes them, but it’s true.

The doctors had tried to even out the wound by cutting even more off, but some instinct had driven Cautious to hide from them every time they tried. Eventually Madame Monomon had stepped in and suggested that infection might not be a concern for a creature of void. That was, after all, the reason they had picked the Abyss to try creating a pure vessel. Void is completely immune to all disease and bacteria.

Cautious doesn’t know much about disease or bacteria, but they do know that the shreds of void-flesh that still exist on their leg are still singing with life and wholeness in a way the dead puddle Hallow had brought them was totally lacking. There is something they can still do here, they are sure of it.

So here they are, sitting awake in their room at night, long after everyone else has gone to sleep, trying. Trying what exactly, they aren’t sure, but it is something to do with their void. The substance their body is made of is not a solid, yet because there is a mind within it, it can retain a solidified form. This does not make sense according to the books on physics and chemistry Father has allowed them to read while they recover, so it stands to reason that void must not follow those rules.

Logically then, void must follow other rules. And if Cautious is to discover what those rules are, they need to first discount the limitations imposed by regular laws of matter. Thus, here they sit, trying to do… something with what’s left of their leg.

Once, they had managed to convince their void that their cloak was actually a part of their body. They had had a wonderful three minutes of being able to move the tendrils of their cloak at will, or more accurately, the void plastered to the underside of it, before they had lost focus and been unable to replicate the trick.

Slowly, ever so slowly, the shredded ends of their leg begin to wrap back into a semblance of wholeness. Cautious nearly gets excited enough to lose focus, but they just manage to stay concentrated. It’s easier this time, almost like this is what their body wants: to reabsorb the void that is no longer useful and repurpose it.

Cautious feels some excess from the smoothing of their stump swirling around inside them. It is alive in the way what was left of their leg had been dead when Madame Monomon had experimentally tried to reattach it. Concentrating so hard that their head hurts, they think out the excess void and add it to the length of their stump.

Opening their eyes, Cautious leans down to peer closely at their stump. Not only is the end now smooth and flat, the limb is now infinitesimally longer, while still remaining just as solid. Fascinating.

Immediately, Cautious wonders if the same transformation can be applied to void that is still serving its intended purpose.

This takes significantly longer—especially since Cautious keeps stopping to worry about whether or not this is a good idea. It certainly has its risks, messing with their good leg. But the thing is, their ability to walk is already messed up. The risk of making it worse is worth the potential rewards of discovery and perhaps even a return to their original level of mobility.

It is an excruciatingly slow process, and one that sets off deeply imbedded warning bells in their head. But the fact that Cautious has an instinct not to do this means that it is possible. Ever so slowly, they take a small piece of their good leg and drag it through their body until it can be added onto the length of the other leg. Through this process, Cautious gradually takes from their uninjured leg to give to their injured one until their legs are as close to the same length again as they can get them.

Carefully, they stand up.

And promptly fall over again.

Cautious tries again and again, but it seems that as close to even as possible just isn’t good enough.

For the first time it starts to sink in that they can’t just undo this. They made a single mistake and now they might never walk again without aid. Cautious’s breathing picks up and they hug their pillow.

It isn’t fair. All their life they’ve been so careful to avoid any danger. They are named after the tendency, for Wyrm’s sake. They made one single mistake and now their body will never be the same.

Cautious tries to curl up with their head on their knees, but it doesn’t work; they’ve messed around with their body too much and now their knees bend in the wrong place. This just makes their burgeoning tears spill over. It isn’t fair! They hug a pillow to their chest instead, and that helps, a little bit.

But life isn’t fair. They’ve known that since their wonderful, brave hatchmate didn’t make it out of the nosk den. They’ve known since their hatchmate cracked their horn saving Cautious from falling during the climb.

The Vessel Who Will Discover What Lies Beneath the Void was the bravest vessel Cautious has ever met. When they lost their horn they weren’t scared, like Cautious is now. They just shrugged and gave it to Cautious ‘to remember me, just in case.’

Cautious wants to be like The Vessel Who Will Discover What Lies Beneath the Void. Confident, brave, unbothered. So they wipe away their tears and try something new.

Maybe they can’t walk again, but that doesn’t mean they can’t find another way to move. When Cautious had tried walking before, they had found themself lacking in stability, wishing they had more legs or balance between. Maybe legs isn’t the answer though.

This time, Cautious takes a risk and changes everything from the bottom of their torso into dozens of tentacles, like Madame Monomon has. She moves just fine, why shouldn’t they? It takes a few tries—Madame Monomon is assisted by some sort of levitation ability, so if Cautious is to mimic her, they will need thicker, less decorative tendrils—but eventually they get it.

They cross the room.

And then they ‘walk’ back to bed again.

All by themself.

This time the tears are of relief. They took a gamble—the first one of their life—and it paid off. They can move without having someone carry them again.

Sure it isn’t what they were originally hoping for, and it will take some getting used to, but it is movement and they will take it.

Now to show off their newfound ability. Cautious must admit, they are rather proud of it. Carefully, they wiggle their way over to Hallow’s room.

The paint splatters on the walls of the children’s wing are fading. They still haven’t found Orchid. Once everyone was sure Cautious would live, the Pale King and an entourage of guards went back through the secret tunnel and found a house for two. Clearly Orchid had been living with someone. Nobody had any good theories on who the person might be, save for the Pale King who keeps almost saying something and then thinking better of it. Cautious seems to be the only one who has noticed that he knows more than he is letting on.

It hardly matters. It’s good to have an explanation, at least, for why Orchid left, but that doesn’t help anything if they never actually find Orchid. Almost every guard under the Pale King’s command has been searching Hallownest from top to bottom, but so far there have been no sightings. Hallow and Cautious are confined to the Palace to avoid confusing the searchers—not that they would want to go anywhere. Hallow has been hovering over their bedside like they might die if it leaves and Cautious thinks they maybe never want to leave the safety of the White Palace again.

Finally they wriggle their way up to Hallow’s door and knock.

Hallow answers a moment later, sleepy confusion radiating from it through the void.

Surprise Cautious projects, not knowing what else to say.

Hallow does in fact seem surprised. And concerned. What are you doing out of bed? it asks, scooping them up. Cautious squirms. They don’t need to be carried around anymore!

I made new legs! Well, kind of. Cautious passes over the memory of their more successful attempts. Put me down, I can walk now.

Hallow examines the memory. So you can. Are you sure it’s safe though?

Cautious sends over a bolt of incredulity that basically amounts to I’m Cautious, ignoring the fact that this is the most incautious thing they hav ever done. Still, by most bugs’ standards this is pretty safe, they think. They aren’t really familiar with most bugs’ standards.

Still, Hallow lets Cautious walk on their own all the way to the throne room. They trip and stumble a few times, unused to having so many short limbs to keep track of.

They manage to avoid Hallow’s attempts to pick them up though, which it takes as evidence that they must be doing well enough. And so they enter the throne room under their own power.

Everyone stops in their tracks. The Pale King, the White Lady and Madame Monomon are seated around a table, poring over a handful of papers that Cautious can’t see from their newly lowered angle.

“Cautious! You’re up! How?” The White Lady asks. All three adults look concerned, though the Pale King and Madame Monomon’s expressions are leaning more towards curious.

They lift their cloak and give their new tendrils a wiggle.

“Fascinating,” the Pale King murmurs, while Madame Monomon looks rather flattered. Cautious squirms in embarrassment. They have come to rather look up to Madame Monomon, and while their new limbs are modeled after hers, it hadn’t occurred to them that she might actually notice. “How?”

Cautious still isn’t very good at signing, but they have had little else to do the last few days but practice. “I shaped the void with mind. Difficult and slow.”

“Ahhh. Yes, that does sound as though it would be tricky,” Madame Monomon muses. “I suspected something like this might be possible, given how your entire body save for the mask is made out of void fluid, but some is solid and some is liquid. I thought any reshaping would require significant outside intervention though. I am impressed with your ingenuity, little one.”

“Yes, quite,” the Pale King affirms, slowly reaching towards Cautious. “Would you mind if I touched one?” Cautious shakes their head, and the Pale King clinically prods at one tendril. “It hold the same texture as their original limbs, but is slightly more flexible.”

Madame Monomon joins in after getting Cautious’s consent. “How very interesting. The other vessels’ limbs are much more rigid; Hallow’s especially is an impeccable mimicry of chitin. Do you think you can make these less stiff, dear? I believe it would help with your movement.”

Cautious tries, and the Pale King and Madame Monomon watch in awe as the limbs they are skill touching become more flexible in their grasps.

“Very good, my child,” the Pale King praises. “This has fascinating implications for the process of your molts and gestation. Does your physical form embody a subconscious idea of what a physical form should look like that I somehow embedded into your mind prior to hatching?”

While the Pale King and Madame Monomon are hemming and hawing over this, the White Lady cuts in. “Do you think this could help the Chitinous Child? They are strong enough that they should be able to move now, but their joints don’t match up to the gaps in their plating. Maybe you could teach them?” she suggests to Cautious.

Cautious thinks for a moment, then nods. They are willing to at least try. They can’t be sure how well the Chitinous Child will be able to replicate their trick though. They’ve never tried teaching before. If only Orchid were here, with their talent for sharing understanding between minds.

As if summoned by their thoughts, a group of palace guards appear, escorting two harried looking bugs who are arguing in low tones.

“That doesn’t even make any sense, how—” one of them says before cutting off as he realizes where he is. “Ah- your majesties”

“Are you the scouts we sent out,” the White Lady asks imperiously, donning her royal persona. Her question sounds more like an order.

“Um, yes your majesty. Well, we are two of them,” the other bug stammers. “I am the scout you sent to the Crystal Peaks, and this is the scout from the Howling Cliffs. I— We—”

“He thinks he saw your child in the Crystal Peaks, but I know I saw them in the Howling Cliffs,” the Howling Cliffs scout cuts in, saving the other bug from their indecision. “Clearly both can’t be true.”

“But we thought we should both come here anyways!” The Crystal Peaks scout sounds nervous, and their voice pitches unpleasantly. This bug is rather young for even a scout, a round beetle whose horns haven’t yet reached their full height.

The Howling Cliffs scout seems to be their superior, or at least feels superior, judging by the look he gives his coworker. “The bug they found in Crystal Peaks hardly matches the description. Are you sure it wasn’t just an unusually tall miner beetle.”

The Crystal Peaks scout takes a deep breath. “The bug I saw did not quite match the description, but that may be because they were… rather badly injured. I don’t mean to alarm you, they were walking under their own power, but…” The bug fidgets anxiously.

The Howling Cliffs scout scoffs. “I saw the child completely uninjured an hour later than you did. It is impossible that they could be the same bug.”

The Pale King raises one hand, silencing them. “Enough. We will investigate both locations. You are dismissed.”

The door closes with a great boom as the scouts are led back out. Instantly, both Hallow and Cautious turn to their parents.

“I’m coming,” they both sign, simultaneously.

Everyone turns to stare at Cautious.

You most certainly are not! Hallow projects at the same time the White Lady says, “Cautious dear, you’ve just been terribly injured.”

Madame Monomon shrugs. “They seem to be in a fine enough state of physical health.” Cautious knew she was their favorite for a reason.

The Pale King hesitates. “Well… they don’t seem to be in pain anymore, and they can get around just fine.” Cautious is supremely grateful that Hallow doesn’t think to point out how dubious ‘just fine’ is. “We would have to take some precautions, but I don’t see why they can’t come.”

The White Lady’s features tighten, but she relents. “Be very careful with them. Take the tram, it’s smoother than the stagways. And for your own sake, they had better not come back injured this time.”

Hallow looks upset. I have to go. If Orchid is injured, I might be able to help them, they explain.

Cautious can tell Hallow still doesn’t like it, but eventually they mutter their assent through the void.

“I suggest we split up,” the Pale King speaks up. It strikes Cautious that their parents are being exceedingly polite, staying silent during moments they might only be able to guess are voidspeak conversations. “My love, would you mind going to the Howling Cliffs? Your roots can withstand the winds much better than my magic can.”

Cautious suspects that this is the polite way of avoiding pointing out that the White Lady is far too big to fit inside the tunnels of Crystal Peak. “I’m coming with Crystal Peak! they sign quickly, before their parents can assign them elsewhere.

The Pale King nods. “It makes sense for you to go with me. I’ll be drawing a teleportation circle to the hospital wing anyhow in case Orchid is injured.”

Both Hallow and the White Lady look concerned with this arrangement, but neither of them speak up.

It doesn’t take long to follow the scout’s map to a small house in the mining district of Crystal Peak. It looks roughly the same as the houses to the left and right of it, with the only differences being how the natural cave walls were incorporates into its design. Cautious wonders how far back it goes as they reach up to knock.

The bug who answers the door is a young miner beetle. She takes one look at them and says, “let me get my sister. She’s who you’re here to see.” The door closes in their faces—the Pale King looks especially offended by this—and reopens a moment later.

“Who is it? If this is another of Myla’s pranks I swear—” Her signing cuts off as her eyes finally land on the visitors. Hatchmate?

It is the Vessel Who Will Discover What Lies Beneath the Void.

Chapter Text

She is missing an arm, that’s the first thing Cautious notices. The spot where her shoulder should be is covered by an old miner’s helmet, and there is a chuck of her side missing, wrapped up in bandages. It is the size of a nosk bite.

She is also Orchid’s height. Which makes very little sense. Even discounting the height Cautious had lost when they made their new tentacles, she would have been taller than them. They are hatchmates, they should have had their molts at the same time.

Then Cautious finally registers that she is alive. HATCHMATE! they shriek, barreling into her with the tightest hug they can manage. You lived? How? I felt you die!

Their hatchmate shrugs, arm wrapping around them. The helmet on her shoulder clinks slightly against her mask. The nosk got full, I think. It’s webbing deteriorated and I escaped before it decided to eat me. She radiates dissatisfaction. Knowing her, she would have preferred the answer to involve an epic battle. Did you finally get tired of waiting? That had been the main point of contention between them. She had never had any delusions that someone was coming to save them. To be entirely honest, Cautious hadn’t either. They had just been too afraid to take a risk.

Still, it is somewhat smugly that they shake their head. Someone let me out. The vessel who left. It came back and let me out and brought me to our parents. I have a name now: Cautious. There is more to the story than that, but Cautious doesn’t want to get into it right now. They’re too busy reeling over the fact that their hatchmate is a alive.

Cautious, she muses. It’s fitting. I’m Dig now. Myla named me. I hadn’t learned sign yet back then, and I would spend all day digging holes out front.

It’s a fond memory for her, and indeed, Cautious can see lumps of unevenly packed dirt scattered around the area. A sudden question strikes them. Since when are you a sister? Cautious asks. The last time they met, Dig was still going by ‘they,’ like everyone else in the Abyss.

Dig shrugs loosely. Since I found out it was an option.

Fair enough. None of the options Cautious has heard of have appealed to them, but it seems that Dig has changed a lot. And yet, in the ways that matter, she is still the same. Still their chaotic, reckless, brave hatchmate who makes Cautious feel bolder just with her presence.

Dig flicks the charm on their horn. Awww, you kept my horn tip? she teases. You sap.

I thought you were dead! Cautious defends, tendrils wriggling in embarrassment.

Dig notices their odd movement. What’s going on there?

Cautious flips up their cloak to show her. A plant in Greenpath got me, they say casually. Dig perfectly nonchalant about her own injuries, so Cautious tries to put on a brave face.

And that wound up with you having tentacles how? Dig asks, incredulous.

Cautious is surprised. They had assumed Dig would have discovered the ability to shift matter within her body the same as they had. They do their best to send her the vague concept of what they had done. I could teach you how, they offer, feeling much more confident about this than they had about the prospect of teaching the Chitinous Child. Dig has always understood them so easily, even if they didn’t always agree.

Dig takes a moment to consider. I’m good, she responds finally.

You’re… good? Cautious asks, incredulous.

Its been a long time since I’ve had two arms, Dig explains, It would throw off my balance. Not to mention, I’d have to sacrifice something else to get the extra void. While Cautious processes this, Dig snaps her fingers. Actually, I don’t need the arm, but do let me know if you figure out how to seal wounds. My nosk bite never really stopped bleeding. I could save Ma a fortune on bandages.

Cautious cocks their head, intrigued by this new mystery. Really? How strange. My leg stopped bleeding the moment I reached the White Palace. They consider for a long moment, turning all the data they have on void forms over in their mind. The Pale King suggested that our physical forms might have something to do with our expectations. Did you ever… feel like you would be okay?

Dig scoffs. I’m here now, aren’t I?

Cautious shakes their head. No, I mean… prior to concluding that your injury would be bleeding in perpetuity, did you experience a moment in which you were certain it would be healed shortly?

Dig sends over a twitch of amusement. You sound like a textbook, but… no, I suppose I didn’t. One of the first things Ma said when I woke up is that my wound wouldn’t stop bleeding. Are you saying you think that because I didn’t expect the bleeding to stop, it just didn’t?

Cautious nods. That is their hypothesis anyways.

Dig considers this. Huh. Weird, she finally concludes.

A high voice from inside draws their attention. “Dig? Is something wrong? You’ve been a while out there.” An older female miner beetle comes up to the door. She startles at the sight of the Pale King, then does a double take when she notices Cautious. “Oh my. You might want to come inside, or the neighbors will have quite a few questions.” She has a high, tittering laugh, though it sounds a little nervous.

“Hey, Ma! This is my hatchmate, and apparently our sire, I guess.

The Pale King winces a little at being reduced to ‘our sire, I guess,’ but though Cautious doesn’t share the opinion, they think it’s entirely fair for Dig to dismiss the father that had abandoned her.

“Oh! Well it is… nice… to meet you. Your majesty.” Dig's Ma doesn’t seem to know what to do with the fact that her daughter’s sire is the Pale King. Cautious supposes there is a bit of a leap between adopting a vessel and expecting to find the Pale King at your doorstep. Still, to her credit, it only takes her a few moments of staring to wave them inside and seat them at her dining table. “Myla dear, can you put some tea on,” she calls. The first bug who answered the door pops her head around the corner, gives a thumbs up, and vanishes again. She seems like a chipper young bug.

Dig elbows him in the ribs. She’s shockingly good at doing that for only having one elbow and half a set of ribs herself. “Aren’t you going to introduce yourself to Ma?

Cautious flusters slightly, and turns to face her. “I’m Cautious,” they sign slowly, trying to keep every movement of their hands perfect to the centimeter. They don’t want to be misinterpreted, after all.

Myla’s mother cocks her head as much as her short beetle neck allows. “Cautious? About what dear? You don’t have to be worried about meeting us, we don’t bite.” She says it in a tone of such perfect soothing reassurance that any lingering anxiety vanishes on the wind. However, that wasn’t exactly what they had meant.

Dig is doubled over with laughter, her shoulders shaking with silent giggles. The only sound coming from her is where she pounds on the table a few times, as if she just can’t contain the hilarity within her body.

The Pale King smiles sadly at her display, and Cautious wonders, briefly, if he regrets robbing his children of the ability to laugh properly. Cautious has never laughed like that, but from what they can sense through the void it feels like an unvoiceable sound trapped within the confines of her body, straining to get out. It is mixed with a heady dose of euphoria, but on its own the feeling would not be what Cautious would define as pleasant. Yet they can sense the echo of thousands of moments like this, where Dig has lost herself in silent mirth. The memory of this moment, still being created, refracts off of the last time, and the time before that. There is a dent in the edge of the table where Dig sits, about the same size and shape as the fist she is now pounding against her thigh. It makes a strangely muffled wet sound, void against void.

Nobody, save for Cautious and the Pale King, take any note of her antics. Laughter feels so natural to this space, Dig feels so natural in this space. Cautious comes to the sudden realization that Dig won’t be coming back to the White Palace with them. Oh, she might visit, but she will never stay. She already has a home here, within these four stone walls. She is at home here, in a way Cautious could never be. In a way they’re maybe starting to feel about the White Palace, with its identical halls free of surprises. It doesn’t feel like home yet, but they do feel exposed leaving it.

A wave of melancholy suffuses Cautious’s good mood. They will get to spend time with their sister here, but they will eventually have to leave and she will not come with them. Even though they have reunited with their long lost twin, they will be separated again. Though, at least this time, it won’t be through cruelty and fear. Cautious isn’t happy about their epiphany, but they will live. It is better by far than the aching hole of loss that never came close to healing.

“Cautious is their name,” Dig signs, shoulders still shaking slightly. “Not their current mood, Ma.”

“Oh,” Dig’s Ma looks rather embarrassed herself, which makes Cautious feel a bit better. “Apologies then. It is lovely to meet you, Cautious.”

They talk for a while. Catching up. It’s nice, mostly small talk. Apparently Myla and her Ma had found Dig in Deepnest during an extended supply trip after the first tramway had failed. They had taken her back home and nursed her back to health, despite her strange biology.

As the conversation winds to a close, the Pale King steps forward. “There are free wings in the White Palace—” he starts.

Cautious gives a quelling tug to his cloak and turns him around. “She’s not coming home with us. They’re happy here, can’t you feel it?”

The Pale King pauses, a bittersweet sadness clouding his gaze. It’s okay, Cautious is disappointed too. But they need to be realistic. Cautious and Dig belong in different places now. It would be cruel to ask either of them to give up their homes. “Yes, I suppose I do,” the Pale King signs slowly, keeping the conversation private. “Are you sure you don’t want me to try?”

Cautious nods. “She wouldn’t be happier elsewhere even if you did convince her to go.” They sigh slowly, but the language is coming more naturally to them now after watching Dig use it with such fluency.

The Pale King smiles at them. “You’re a good kid. I can’t imagine where you got it from, all alone in the Abyss like that, but you have such a kind heart.”

Cautious’s tendrils squirm a little in embarrassment. “Thanks… Dad.”

The Pale King literally lights up at that, then dims a little as he remembers what happens next. “I… suppose we ought to take our leave. We need to rendezvous with my wife and let her know that Dig is alive. Dig, would you be willing to come for a visit to the White Palace this weekend? You can bring your family if you wish. I would love for you to meet the whole family. I’ll even request that Herrah send little baby Hornet, so the vessels can meet their half sister.”

Now it’s Cautious’s turn to light up. They have heard of Hornet, but Herrah guards her time with her child jealously, and they have yet to meet her. Surely getting all six siblings in one place would be a worthy enough goal to warrant a visit though. “If we’re going to do that, we ought to keep looking for Orchid.

The Pale King—Dad—nods grimly. “Let’s hope that my Root and our little knight have found them.”