Chapter Text
Hornet couldn't move.
She clung to Lace, not through determination, but out of inability to do anything else. She could not continue to swim up through the darkness, and Lace was already slowly slipping out of her arms. She had failed.
Despite all her effort, perhaps even because of it, she had failed.
A shape formed in her fading vision, the shape of Ghost of Hallownest. Hornet couldn't be sure if they were really there, or if she was imagining things. After all, why would they appear to her after so long, when they no doubt hated her for killing so many of their siblings? For even killing them so many times?
Why had she ever acted like they needed to earn her respect? She should have been trying to earn theirs- not that she thought she could, with how she had handled Pharloom. She didn't save it; she brought its end. There were so many things that she could have done better, or sooner, or chosen not to do at all.
Sister.
Hornet heard the echo of a voice in the back of her mind.
Love sister.
She wasn't really hearing this, was she? They would not love her. Not when she had been so much like the Pale King. Not when they had suffered for her choices.
Love sister.
She heard it again; it was unmistakable.
Gift for sister, it said.
Force that can deny time.
She had heard that line before, somewhere. It was quoting something, though she couldn't think of what. She could barely focus on the glowing eyes in front of her and the tendrils grabbing her arms.
Second chance.
Darkness enclosed Hornet's vision, and the last thing she felt before losing consciousness completely was a rush of movement, as though being dragged down a whirlpool.
---
Hornet woke to the sound of her needle thudding to the ground beside her. She looked around. Everything was green- vibrant green, without a trace of void. She was lying on the ground, next to the circular cage that had first been used to capture her. Her needle, its point stuck in the soft ground, was dull, as it had been at the beginning of her journey.
And Lace was still in her arms.
Hornet sat up. "Lace," she said, and the silken bug opened her eyes. "Do you remember-"
Lace erupted into high-pitched laughter. "So, the little spider thinks that we are on first-name terms. You think that we are 'friends' just because I let you out of that cage. Well, soon you will learn that all of Pharloom is a cage." She tried to stand up and fell out of Hornet's arms, apparently not realizing until then that Hornet had been holding her.
"What do you think you're doing, holding me like that?" Lace accused.
So she doesn't remember, Hornet thought. I really am back in time... well, sort of. "You saved me, then fell," Hornet answered. "So I saved you." It wasn't a lie, really. But it would be much simpler if Lace assumed she meant falling from the collapsing bridge.
Lace narrowed her eyes. "And why would you, an exalted Weaver, save me?"
Why would Ghost save Hornet?
Love, that was why.
Lace's shrill laugh cut through Hornet's thoughts. "Goodbye for now, little spider! I shall enjoy watching you struggle. I wonder, how long before you give up?"
Before Hornet could make any retort, Lace leapt away.
---
Before standing up, Hornet inventoried her supplies and skills. She had none of her tools or upgrades, and no rosary strings or shard bundles. Her silk skills, too, were gone, both the attacks and the mobility-related skills. She was still weakened as she had been the first time. Her crests, though, were all there, and all fully expanded. She supposed it made sense; they were a part of her mind and memories now, after all.
And if they were still there, then...
"Eva?"
Eva was not a crest, but she was a part of Hornet now all the same, and Hornet could usually sense the shape of her in that little extra wonder at the sight of something new, that excitement at swift movement, that fear of hurting others and of being trapped or consumed. These had always been a part of Hornet, but when she sat quietly, she could feel Eva's soul- her willpower- flowing through those thoughts, strengthening that part of her.
It reassured her, to know that Eva had not completely vanished, that the act of binding her had not destroyed her entirely.
"There you are," Hornet spoke aloud to herself. "Your company will be welcome. You too know what happened; aside from you, for now at least, I am alone here."
She felt a warmth under her shell as more soul wove itself into silk; it seemed that Eva agreed with that sentiment.
While she sat there, Hornet examined her crests. She had bound them, so she had responsibility for them- to expand their natures, to restore their memories, to make full use of their skills. Yet there were some that she had avoided out of convenience. Perhaps it was time to let Beast have some exercise, to begin to rectify her previous neglect of it. Its more instinctive behavior could not cause too much damage this early on, after all, while her power was still so limited.
Hornet breathed in, focusing on the fresh scents of moss and blood. The scents grew stronger, her claws lengthened and dug into the soil, and when she opened her eyes, the world seemed to blur around her, the vibrant scenery turning dull and indistinct. She did not mind, though. There was no point in getting caught up in beauty; it would only distract from the bits of heat and scent and movement that signaled prey, or threat, or both.
She let instinct guide her up through the Moss Grotto, slashing and dodging and biting on autopilot as she considered her predicament. A second chance, Ghost had said. But what could she change?
Perhaps she could free the Green Prince sooner, and lead him to the Cogwork Dancers so that he could reunite with them while they were still alive- alive to some degree, at least. She could certainly avoid telling him that she was a pale being; in hindsight, she had given him the impression that she too wanted to destroy or control him, hadn't she? It was no wonder that he had reacted with hostility.
Perhaps she should put on the Wanderer crest before conversing with him; Wanderer always felt slightly more personable. The thought didn't appeal to her much, though; Wanderer was weak, skittish, scrambling out of the way of danger like a prey animal. Frankly, that crest had seen far too much use for how flighty it was. She had too often made herself look like a tasty meal to all that hunted her.
Hornet growled as she tackled the Moss Mother to the ground, then shook herself. She had gotten sidetracked. This wasn't about Wanderer; she could put her personal feelings aside for the sake of a better plan. Focus. She dug her fangs into the Moss Mother's throat. Think.
Lace. Phantom. Loam. The Green Prince. The Dancers. Garmond. There was much that she could do differently, but nobody that she needed to save until she reached the Citadel, not unless she was forgetting something.
When she stepped into Bone Bottom, she realized that there was someone she was forgetting: The Little Pilgrim. She hadn't even learned his name, nor had anyone else in the town, but she had known him well enough to consider him one of hers. And though he was weak and defenseless- perhaps because of that, even- she felt fiercely that she needed to protect him.
"Hm? A fellow pilgrim, are you? About to start your great journey to the holy Citadel up top?"
"My journey started too long ago," Hornet answered honestly. "But it will not end until I reach the top, that much is true."
"Well, it makes no difference, I suppose," the little pilgrim said. "We all must walk the roads, up and up, though most of us will fall long before we see the grand gates."
"You will not fall," Hornet promised. "I will protect you."
The pilgrim looked skeptical, and perhaps slightly nervous. "I am honored, but you must know the strength and gravity of a promise. And a pilgrim must wield no weapon; how do you intend to fulfil it?"
"Stronger than sin," Hornet quoted. "I am well aware. But I am no pilgrim, and my needle is not just for mending. I have my own tasks to attend to, but I will come back to speak with you again."
"Don't head out too quickly; if your journey's been as long as you say, it'd be wise to stop here and rest a while before heading back out into that dangerous world..."
"Fair enough." A rest sounded good; she was still weak, and it would be a comfort to let Eva refresh her silk.
---
Hornet had long since switched away from the Beast crest. Her vicious pouncing may have been fun in combat, but it made traversing through Shellwood impossible; her claws tore through the flowers without giving her any forward momentum, and more often than not she flung herself into the thorns. And Beast made it much harder to contain her temper, which often lead to her fruitlessly shredding the plant-life around her. Unbecoming of a disciplined princess-knight.
Instead, she wielded Reaper, a crest whose slow pace she had once arrogantly believed she had "outgrown". She had underestimated it; its skills could still be reused. Reaper enjoyed parkour, bouncing and spinning from platform to platform, defying death by leaping over spikes and thorns. More importantly, Reaper knew how to sever tangled silk, and Hornet had a haunted town to free.
She had managed to cut down some of the strung bugs even before entering Shellwood, and had left them sitting disoriented on the ground. Hopefully, once they regained their senses, they would know to flee and stay away, lest they were caught again and killed by that targeted haunting.
She couldn't know for sure, and she suspected that most of them would die just as they had the last time. But she had to try.
Now she was approaching the Widow's room. Frankly, she was looking forward to killing her again. It had been an exciting fight, and the silk bound in the Widow's shell had been practically overflowing by the time that Hornet's needle had pierced it. It had been... delicious, almost worryingly so. She could not let her greed for silk get the better of her.
Still, what a relief, what a beautiful thing, to cut that tangled silk free, to harvest what was unwillingly hoarded, to bind it into a neater form, to recycle it and make it useful.
---
She stayed far away from the Greyroot's home. She did not know whether the parasite would be dead or alive in this timeline, since she already had the Witch crest, but she did not want to find out right now.
...The pollip pouch would be very useful. And if the Greyroot was dead, she could raid its home for new and interesting supplies, a mark of disrespect towards the parasite that it more than deserved.
But not right now.
---
Fighting Widow was easier than it had been before. That should have been a good thing; the sooner she could save Bellhart, the better. But no matter what crest she wore, she was still Hornet at heart, and still needed a challenge. So, as she fought, she studied the Widow's fighting style, how she manipulated the arena by snagging objects with silk and throwing them around. Hornet could manipulate the arena in a similar way with red tools, but those cost time and resources to make. Widow just used what was already there; she did not even use her own silk, since that was bound.
Perhaps Hornet could try something similar.
When the Widow lunged at her, Hornet leapt over her, as usual. But as the Widow dashed under her, legs flailing, Hornet looped some of her silk through one of the injector pins protruding from Widow's shoulders.
As Hornet's feet touched the ground, she yanked on the thread with great force, hoping to topple the Widow over and stagger her in just one move. What happened instead...
The pin flew from Widow's shoulder, nearly colliding with Hornet's head. She dodged just in time, watching the Widow hiss and screech as white light poured from the hole in her shell. Interesting... such an effect from just one attack. It reminded her of the boulder that she had used to crush the Fourth Chorus. Maybe if she could snag the other pin, too-
Widow lunged at her again before she could finish that thought. Silk whipped erratically around her in a half-formed Thread Storm. The unmasked Weaver panted; clearly, attempting to use her silk again after so long took some effort.
White light sparked from Widow's shoulder and a glowing string tangled itself around Hornet's hand. Hornet quickly cut it away with her claws, but doing so cost her some time, and Widow rammed into her. Alright, Hornet told herself as she got back up. Just because I know a new trick doesn't mean I can be overconfident. I've never had to face Widow with silk before. I need to focus.
So, she did focus, dodging and watching for an opening. Eventually, she found one, and strung her silk through the remaining pin as she leaped over Widow again. This time, when she pulled, she knew to dodge out of the pin's way.
Widow screamed, gripping her shoulders with her claws and scuttling back and forth as light and silk poured from her, before finally collapsing on the ground.
Cautiously, Hornet approached her, and knelt down to check if she still lived. The Weaver was unconscious, but still breathing. She had most likely passed out from the pain of the pins being removed, or from the shock of the sudden flow of silk from her shell. It would make sense to bind her now, to take her skill with the Needolin and kill her for good, but... Hornet was starting to second-guess that choice. Widow was a forsaken daughter, too; like Hollow, the only vessel among their siblings who loved the Pale King, Widow was the only one of her sisters who remained devoted to Grand Mother Silk, a parent who would not love them.
Despite herself, and despite how unsettling she found Widow, Hornet felt pity for her. And... besides, maybe Widow would have some stories to tell her about Herrah. It would be good to know more about her mother.
"Vren." Despite all her Reaper's instincts telling her to finish this, to kill the Widow as quickly as she could, Hornet summoned her silk once again to bind Widow's wounds. She certainly did not want to restore Widow to her full strength so soon after defeating her, but to heal her completely was honestly beyond Hornet's abilities anyways. She could start to push her towards recovery, though, and that would be better than leaving her there as she was.
Once that was done, she did not waste any time watching for the Widow to wake up. Instead, she stood and immediately broke the threads ensnaring the town of Bellhart.
---
Even as Wanderer, Hornet was anxious. To say that her last meeting with the Green Prince had gone poorly would be an understatement.
But she had to try, didn't she? The Dancers were still alive, in a sense. Their soul was still in there- confused, trapped in a rune cage, but still there. To say that they ceased to exist would be the same as saying that Hollow ceased to exist when the infection possessed their mind. By seeing their partner again, and perhaps with the aid of the Twelfth Architect, they could be restored to awareness, or at least more than they were now. The mantis' tale did not have to end in total tragedy.
"Green Prince-" She began.
"Leave me be, traveller," he interrupted. "Better I accept this kingdom's cruelty than rage helpless against it."
"Green Prince of Verdania," Hornet continued.
The prince looked up sharply. "I believed I was the last to know that name," he said.
"It is not an easy story to find," Hornet agreed. "I had to go through much to even learn its name." Not that she would tell him how she learned it. "I come from far away, but I too have long outlived the passing of my kingdom, though I never wanted to rule it. It exists now only in my memory."
He continued to stare at her with his tired glare. "If what you say is true, perhaps you understand better than most. Perhaps you understand enough to leave me be."
Hornet continued on. "I understand that you have some knowledge of cogworks, and that the true credit for the design should go to Verdania, not the Citadel."
"The latter is true, though I have little to no mechanical knowledge. It was my partner who..." The prince stopped speaking.
"They still live," Hornet said. "Though bound, they still live."
The Green Prince slammed his claws against the bars of his cage, causing Hornet to flinch away. "Liar! Do not lie to me! What exists up there is a mockery, an imitation and nothing more. I have seen it myself; they did not even notice that I was there."
"I never knew him," Hornet said, "and certainly not as well as you did. But I do know the ways of Cogworks. If his soul remains in those shells, then he is there, but he is caged. Unable, perhaps unknowing, but not unwilling to go to you."
She slid the simple key into the lock. "Go to their stage, prince. Insert yourself into their dance. Jam the mechanism that winds them up. Do whatever it takes to jar them from their rhythm, or to incapacitate them without killing them. Then go to the Twelfth Architect in the Underworks; they will tell you the truth of my words."
"The Architects?" The Green Prince scoffed. "They which keep the Citadel in motion? They will not help me. You are a fool to think that anyone will."
"The Twelfth Architect, too, is a prisoner," Hornet answered. "I have seen them trying to work around the directives that their rune cage imposes. They could help your partner to do the same."
"And what would be in it for them?"
"Someone to talk with," Hornet answered without hesitation. "They get lonely down there, and the memories of ages upon ages weigh on them. I suppose you can understand that?"
He could. He did not say so, but she could see in his face that he could.
"I don't know what game you believe you are playing," the prince said as he stood up. "But I see the needle on your back, and sense the strength about you. I do not trust that this will work, but it is better that the so-called Dancers die by my hand than by yours or anyone else's. Whatever is left in there deserves that much."
And there's a part of you that wants to hope, isn't there? Hornet thought. A part of you that's desperate for a chance. Same as the part of her that had dragged Hollow to the hot springs, though the rest of her had kept saying it won't work. It won't work. And then, it really had worked, despite all her doubts, despite her attempts to not get her hopes up.
She had to trust that this hope would be enough for the prince, too.
"Go ahead, then." Hornet stepped out of the way, letting the Green Prince leave his cage. "If that is what it comes to, I will not stop you. But you are clever; you are a hunter, much like I am. You will figure out another way."
The prince did not answer out loud, but Hornet thought she caught him briefly nodding agreement as he walked away.
---
It would take a while for the Green Prince to defeat the dancers, by whatever means he ended up doing it. In the meantime, Hornet had an escort mission to take care of.
When she returned to Bone Bottom, the little pilgrim wasn't there. Hornet dashed around the town, asking everyone if they had seen where the little pilgrim went. It seemed that many hadn't taken much notice of him at all, but Flick had overheard that he was setting out for Pilgrim's Rest.
Hornet had visited Pilgrim's Rest only a couple of times, but she had heard the rumblings of a large creature and felt the ground shake each time that she visited. Pilgrim's Rest was not a safe place any more than Bone Bottom was.
She took a moment to put on her Silkspeed Anklets, then climbed onto Eira and rode for the Far Fields as quickly as she could.
The little pilgrim was just fine when she got there, and a bit of annoyance bubbled up under Hornet's relief. Made me worry for nothing...
Still, she was glad to see him.
"Ah, hello again! What a blessing to see a familiar face on this treacherous climb."
Blessing... she would have cringed at that phrasing before, but now, she supposed that it literally was. The fact that she stood here talking to the pilgrim now was a gift given to her by her sibling, strange as that was to think of when she'd spent the last few hundred years thinking that they hated her.
...Right. The pilgrim had greeted her; she was supposed to respond. "Greetings, sir. I am glad to see you unharmed."
"Not quite unharmed," the pilgrim said. "I've suffered my share of scrapes and burns. That's just the nature of the journey, I suppose."
Hornet was about to say that she knew that too well from her own travels, but as it turned out, the pilgrim had only paused for a breath. Hornet bit her words back, slightly irritated that when she did have a response planned out, she could not use it.
"But I've seen so much! Great metal structures and vast scorched fields! The grandeur of it all is humbling indeed, even for one like me who was so humble to begin with."
Admittedly, she too had been in awe of these lower biomes at first. They were more vibrant than almost anywhere in Hallownest had been. She could see his perspective- though if he bragged about being humble, was he really that humble after all?
"Pilgrim... what is your name?"
The pilgrim startled. "Oh! I never shared it with you, did I? Awfully remiss of me. It's Pilby."
A name destined for pilgrimage, Hornet thought. Your parents really did decide this for you from the start. Or, perhaps she should not be so quick to judge. Perhaps Pilby had chosen to define himself by this; he certainly seemed proud of his role as a pilgrim, after all.
"My name is Hornet. It is good to be properly acquainted at last."
"Hornet, eh? Strong name, that. It certainly suits you, miss. Heh heh..." Pilby's wings fluttered slightly; Hornet couldn't tell whether that meant he was pleased to know her name or nervous at the show of her strength, and the tone of his laughter didn't help to clarify. Well, it did not matter, really. What mattered was whether Hornet could keep him safe.
"There is another town, a bit farther up," she said. "It is called Bellhart, fittingly enough, as it is made up of bells. It is more fortified than Bone Bottom or Pilgrim's Rest, and, as I am sure you will be glad to hear, is much closer to the Citadel. I can lead you there, if you would like."
"I'm not sure, miss- Hornet. It feels rather against the spirit of the pilgrimage. To travel guarded, shielded by another bug's might rather than enduring our struggles..."
Fortunately, it was easy enough to counter this argument. "Long ago, pilgrims were guarded by Sentinels, gilded mechanical bugs of the Citadel designed to bring as many through the gate as they could find," Hornet said. "They were repurposed to guard the Citadel against the Haunting, but that does not change the fact that the Citadel made them to protect pilgrims who could not fight- to all but drag them to the Citadel if necessary." And probably to kill the ones who could fight, Hornet thought, but she did not say that out loud. "A pilgrim being guarded or brought to the Citadel rather than making their way alone is nothing new, and it is certainly not something that the Citadel looks down upon."
"How do you know all this, if you're not a pilgrim yourself?" Pilby asked.
"I have been there," Hornet answered. "I too sought the Citadel, not to serve, but to search for answers. And I found them, and many of the answers were harsh."
"You- you've been there?" Pilby asked. "What's it like? Wait, why'd you leave?"
"There are things that I need to do," Hornet answered. Vague, true, but she didn't need to tell her whole story to this poor bug. He'd probably look at her like she was crazy, anyways. "And one of those things is getting you safely to Bellhart."
Pilby stood up. "Well, then... I will help you on your quest, and you will help me on my pilgrimage. I suppose it makes sense."
Hornet still wielded the Wanderer crest; perhaps that would make Pilby the most comfortable. It was certainly a better choice than, say, Witch. Still, she wondered if she was favoring it too much, like she had before. Perhaps after sitting down in Bellhart, she should change it again.
For now, though, she struggled not to race too far ahead of Pilby as she cleared the way, cutting down the deadly Vicious Caranids that blocked their path. It was so easy to move swiftly with her anklets and Clawline, but she could not lead Pilby to Bellhart if he lost sight of her.
When they reached Greymoor, Hornet picked up Pilby and sped along the flat ground with him. She would not be able to wield her weapon like this, but she did not need to; their best option was to outrun the craws, and really, that was much more fun anyways. It was just like delivering a package for Tipp and Pill, only in this case, the package was a living bug.
Hornet skidded through the doorway to Bellhart and deposited Pilby just before the welcoming sign. She would let him do the honors of walking into the town himself; to be seen being carried by another bug would likely be humiliating. It would certainly be humiliating to her, at least... though perhaps not quite as much as it once would have been. She had needed Ghost to carry her out of the Abyss, after all.
Pilby waved to Hornet before fluttering into the town. "Thank you, miss Hornet! When I get to the Citadel, I shall have to learn more about those Sentinels! I suspect my fellow pilgrims would greatly appreciate their aid."
Oh, no, Hornet thought. She liked the Second Sentinel- considered them a friend, even, which was something she could not say about many bugs- but she knew that what they were made to do was not entirely good. They thought that they were doing good, helping the bugs under their watch, but the Twelfth Architect had said that they kidnapped bugs, forced them to the Citadel, rather than just guarding them.
If any of the Sentinels were reinstated in their original purpose, it might be a lot like having a gilded version of Hallownest's Collector running around.
At least, if Pilby ever made it to the Citadel, he wouldn't have any authority to make such a change. But if he made his voice heard to Sherma, and Sherma became the caretaker of the Songclave again... Well, Hornet would have to talk to him about that. But that was a problem for later. She had completed her self-imposed wish, Pilby was safe, and it was time to give another crest some attention.
---
The Huntress lived in the Putrified Ducts.
The Putrified Ducts could be reached through Bilewater or the Memorium. Thirteenth Architect did not like Bilewater.
Hornet never liked Bilewater, truthfully. Would finding the Faydown Cloak and going through the Memorium be worth the time waste and frustration of Mount Fay's parkour?
Hornet weighed the merits in her mind.
Yes, it absolutely would.
Lifeblood. Flintslate. Wisp lantern? No; she could not get that without having Faydown Cloak in the first place. Flea brew, then. What else?
Multibinder. Weavelight. Ascendant's Grip. Silkspeed Anklets.
She had everything that she needed. Time to begin.
The parkour was easier than before, though she still slipped occasionally and the cold bit into her viciously. She managed to keep herself from dying, but at some points she came closer than she would have preferred. If it worked, it worked, though, and she had definitely improved.
She regretted not timing herself on her first attempt so that she could know just how much she had improved.
She regretted not timing herself this time, so that she could continue to measure her improvements in the future.
It was funny, how the Architect looked at her own pain in that sort of distant way.
Or perhaps that was just the Lifeblood. She had used more Lifeblood than usual, hadn't she?
Ah, that must be why the blue of the ice stood out to her so beautifully.
Prepared, this time, for the arrival of the Fayforn, Hornet did not brace for battle. Instead, she took a moment to snuggle into the soft feathers. She must have been more tired than she realized from the climb, because a moment turned into an indeterminate length of time. She was not entirely certain if she fell asleep, but by the time she extricated herself from the soft, fluffy mass with her new Faydown Cloak, the Lifeblood had worn off, so it was plausible.
Objectively, it was rather silly of her to rest up here, when she could just as easily enjoy the softness of the feathers somewhere safer. She would blame that lapse in decision-making on the Lifeblood.
Though... now she did understand why her aunts had gone to such lengths to seek out this creature, which might just as easily choose to kill them as to help them. Such warmth and softness in such a cold place was quite impressive.
---
The Architect took a few seconds to switch out her items before going through the Memorium. Better to rest in the Slab than in the Ducts.
Longpin. Flintslate. Cogwork Wheel. All that she would technically need for her quest.
Wreath of Purity. Compass. Good for traversal.
Shard Pendant so that she would have enough supplies. Sawtooth Circlet for extra shredding damage.
This time, she understood the importance of the Huntress's request. This time, she would not fail her.
---
"Is that shameful? A mother who would not sacrifice herself for her children to grow sssstttrong? Is it wrong to want? To witnesss their first flight, their first hunt. To see them kill, and grow?"
Before, Hornet would have had only her own opinion to offer. Now, she had something more concrete. "It is not shameful to wish something that will better you both. Without you, your children would know only strength and weakness, food and hunter. They would not have anyone to teach them what to do with it. They would be unable to distinguish weakness from inferiority, a pitfall held by even some fully grown bugs I have met. But you know otherwise; you know that while they are still in their egg-shells, they are weak, yet they mean more to you than anything. And you know that in your weakened state you may be overcome by their strength, yet you know that your life still has value."
"Even if you do not see it for what it is, your wish is a wish of hope. A wish to be a family rather than just a few bugs connected by blood. A wish to free your children from the life of a beast."
A beast's nature bare to all, Hornet thought. Grand Mother Silk had the nature of a beast, willing to give all for her descendants until there was nothing left of her to truly be their mother, leaving them in a world without kindness to repeat her mistakes.
Herrah did not. Herrah had the attributes of a beast, in her size, strength, claws and ferocity in combat, but her nature was something different.
Hornet had not known her long enough to know exactly what it was. Perhaps it had been the nature of a Huntress.
"Many words, passionately sssspoken. But there is truth to them. The Hunter knows in her heart that it is not wrong to want, but the Mother knows in herssss that it is right to give. To be both at oncsssse... that is what it is to be a Huntress. You are a Hunter, ssssspider; your purpose is clear and you are free. Be glad of that."
"I will return later, once your children have hatched and fed," Hornet said. "I would like to meet them." It would be good to talk to the Huntress again, and it would be good to see Runt and to know that they were safe.
---
Machinery clanked loudly, churning dust and ash into the air. Hornet ducked her nose into the collar of her cloak to keep from coughing as she approached Loam. She wore the Shaman crest, carrying an aura of quiet power with her despite clearly trying not to cough. Its patience would likely be necessary for this trip.
"Hrr. Hrrrrr. Who is there? Me can not... can not clear see..."
Hornet held out her hands. "At ease, large one. I am no danger to you." That much, at least, was the same as last time. From here, though, the script would change.
"Hrrrrr? Hrrrrr!" Loam wheezed. "Me see you now! So clean, so lively.... Surely you did come from above! Me time has come at last! Me work is done. You come to bring me up! Up, up! Hrrr!"
"Indeed," Hornet said. "There is a settlement in the Citadel where many are gathered who need rest. I come on behalf of Sherma, the future leader of this settlement, who would be glad to allow you the rest you deserve."
Hornet had indeed told Sherma about Loam just before heading down to see him; Sherma had been appalled at the conditions in which Loam lived, though he admired Loam's dedication. When Hornet asked if she should bring Loam to the Songclave, Sherma had readily agreed.
"I can put up some wishes for food, too; some more agile pilgrims are following your example, red maiden, and taking on wishes themselves! If Loam is in as rough shape as you say, they may need more than we currently have, but I believe that can be fixed! Where the will and hope of pilgrims is gathered together, great things... that much is still true, isn't it? Our hope still means something, and the Songclave is proof of it."
So, everything Hornet had said was true. It was not the whole truth, certainly, but she could not convince Loam of the whole truth herself. That was for Loam to discover on his own.
"Free!" Loam leaped and skipped on the treadmill, causing him to stumble and nearly fall off. He caught himself quickly and continued treading, though at a slower pace than before. "Me free, at last! That the time would come so soon, so late-" again he caught himself. "-so soon."
"You have worked far longer than was due to you," Hornet said. "It is through no fault of your own. The Citadel above you has had its own difficulties, and those are not over yet. But its halls have room for you, that and more." She did not like to speak positively about the Citadel. It was not the benevolent entity that Loam believed; it was a city with a ruler and a machine with a master, and it behaved as such. But as a location, a mere space without love or hate or motive, it was a rather pleasant and spacious one- if a bit too glaringly bright. That much was true.
---
First stop was the hot springs. While Loam slid into the water and relaxed, Hornet sat down somewhere quiet and farther from the splashing to change out her crests. Shaman had seen little use, but she could not afford to use it much longer, or else the Caretaker would sense it, and that wasn't a conversation she was ready to have.
Reaper did not have a snail's patience, but of the remaining crests, it came the closest to it. Interesting, that; Reaper was associated with death, and Shaman with the void. Both had an unusual skill with Soul, too...
Perhaps it meant something. Perhaps when all this was over, she could look into it some more, reading old Weaver records and speaking with the snails. Perhaps even breaking into the Chapel of the Reaper again and searching around for any writing or symbols that it held.
Hornet stepped into the hot water and scrubbed the layer of smog from her cloak and shell. It did not take long, though many things didn't in the grand scheme of things. When she was done, she moved over to Loam and asked if he would like help washing his own shell, seeing as he had no grabbing claws.
Loam accepted her aid with surprise and gladness, unused to anyone offering to help him. "You will be so glad to meet Sherma," Hornet said softly as she scrubbed Loam's bumpy shell. It was not as bumpy as the shells of other Underworkers, she noted; whatever illness or mutation they all had from the poor conditions in the Underworks wasn't as severe in Loam. Perhaps it was because Loam was a different species, or perhaps his family had not been in the Underworks for generations as Hornet suspected some of the other Underworkers had. He had mentioned to her, once, memories of home.
"I shall have to find you a new cloak, too," she said, "unless you have some attachment to your old one. I would not blame you if you did."
"New clothes... soft, white clothes," Loam said, with longing in his voice.
Hornet suspected it would be difficult to find choir robes that would fit him properly, but perhaps she could rework one into a blanket that would lie across Loam's back. "Stay here in the hot springs," she instructed. "I will return shortly."
When she returned, she did so fully prepared to explain to Loam the bloodstains on the robes, and the Haunting, and all that it entailed. The truth was a long story and a gruesome one, but she did not mind the gruesome, and they both had time.
Still, she was spared from the lengthy explanation; upon her return, Hornet found Loam fast asleep, his body covered in glowing water and his head resting on the ledge. She washed the robes in silence and left them to dry while Loam slept.
---
Hornet held her breath as she and Loam passed by Second Sentinel in the Choral Chambers. Usually she was eager to wave to them, or play her Needolin for them, or otherwise acknowledge them and show her friendship in some way, but today she would rather go unnoticed.
She had considered asking Second Sentinel to escort Loam to the Songclave. After all, the safe delivery of pilgrims to the Capital was literally what they were built for, possibly among other things. But the Citadel prized efficiency and loyalty over anything else; Hornet doubted that Sentinel would allow Loam time to rest during their travels. Even if the Sentinel wanted to, on some level, she doubted that their directive would let them.
Maybe it was irrational, now that Loam was wearing the garb of the Choir, but Hornet feared that if Sentinel saw Loam, they would recognize that Loam was new and would take over the escort mission without being asked.
"Hunter in red."
They were standing in front of her. She had stopped paying attention for two seconds, and the Sentinel was standing in front of her and Loam.
Hornet forced herself to relax; her tense posture would only give away that she was up to something. "It is good to see you as always, Sentinel."
"A... request, this Sentinel has."
Now that was new. It couldn't be the battle; she had already done that.
"Key information may be missing from this Sentinel."
"What sort of information?" Hornet asked. Were they missing memories? She wondered. Would memory lockets work on a construct? Was their directive cage similar enough to a crest?
"Hunter in red is friend of this Sentinel," the gilded one answered. "Information missing on behavior of a friend. Information missing on how this Sentinel should respond to a friend."
"Oh." She was... proud of them, for that. It would be good to just sit and talk with them, too. But this was not something that she could explain to them quickly; she would have to devote time to this, and she would rather not do so until she had safely guided Loam to the Songclave. "Apologies, Sentinel, but this question will have to wait. Later, when my own quests allow me time, I may invite you to Bellhart and we can discuss this further. In the meantime, just know that you have done well so far."
The Sentinel nodded, accepting her answer, and Hornet continued on at a calm pace towards the Songclave.
---
Hornet- Reaper, Beast, Witch, Wanderer, Architect, whatever she may be- had done nearly everything that she could. She had gone out searching for every flea. She had conversed with Sentinel, Widow, and many other bugs she hadn't gotten to before, and even some that she had- though it was always bittersweet to be able to predict their words and to know that this wasn't quite the friend she remembered. But they wouldn't know that, would they? To them, it had always been them- and, really, that was true. It was only Hornet who was out of place.
Maybe once this was over, she could grow real friendships with them again, beyond just what she could predict. Maybe once this was over, she would be able to tell someone, someone like Shakra, who had seen enough of Hornet's eldritch nonsense that nothing would surprise her anymore. Maybe Lace, her fellow immortal, who knew the sort of thing that higher beings were capable of when they really cared about something. Maybe the Snail Shamans, not that she was particularly close to any of them, but they would know better than anyone else just how possible it was.
Maybe someday, someday, she would tell Sherma. Not right now; she did not want to shock and scar him further. But maybe someday, if she ever deemed him ready for it. It would be good to be honest with him.
She had done nearly everything that she could; only three things remained. Three people. Three confrontations.
Lace.
Silk.
Ghost.
Hornet set aside her gathered crests- the stolen, the earned, the given and the forced- and chose the one that had always been her own, the crest of the Hunter.
---
Lace laughed. Hornet would have once thought it a mocking laugh; now she knew that it was the closest Lace could get to crying.
"Platitudes, spider? From you? Don't be gross. Head on. Climb up, up and away. You've earned your audience with the divine."
Hornet wanted to interrupt, to tell Lace about her siblings, but she knew that she couldn't. To interrupt her would be to disrespect her, to tell her that her words did not matter. It would undermine everything that Hornet was trying to do.
In addition, to try to sway Lace to her side so close to the Cradle, where Grand Mother Silk was so near and paying so close attention...
She would have to wait for her words with Lace.
"Face the holy mother who would fashion so cruel and crude a daughter as me. After all... it's you that she wants... is it not?"
But when Lace flopped back onto the ground, and Hornet could not tell if she had fainted after the battle or was merely sulking, she realized that she did not need words. Lace never trusted words anyways. What she could trust, though, were actions.
When the third Silkheart, the Silkheart offered to heal the wounds of Grand Mother Silk's daughter, appeared, Hornet did not take it. Instead, she knelt down by Lace, put her hand on the silken being's shoulder, and healed her.
Lace tilted her head to meet Hornet's eyes. "Why?" She asked. Her voice still held a hint of bitterness, a note of accusation, but mostly she sounded confused.
And why would you, an exalted Weaver, save me?
"Meet me in the bench room in Cogwork Core," Hornet whispered in place of an answer. "I will answer you there." Then Hornet stood and descended back down the elevator, leaving the Silkheart hanging in the air.
---
The sounds of the Cogwork Core clicked, clanked and chimed around her, making a rhythmic music that usually filled Hornet with both excitement and peace. It brought to mind the feeling of putting together a cogfly, connecting the intricate details and watching them spin into action. It reminded her, too, of some of the livelier dances that she had seen in the palace and the Hive, with pairs and groups whirling around each other and tapping their feet to whatever song was being played.
Now, though, the important part was that it was enough like the clear ringing of chimes and bells that it disrupted Grand Mother Silk's web. Lace and Hornet would be able to converse unheard, or at least as unheard as was possible in Pharloom.
Lace sat down on the bench beside her, and though the silk of her shoulder brushed against Hornet for a moment, Hornet felt no warmth from her proximity. She didn't take the Silkheart, then, Hornet reasoned. That was good to know, though Hornet wasn't entirely sure what it meant. Did it mean that she trusted Hornet? Did it mean that she did not trust Hornet, and had refused the Silkheart to prove something to her? Perhaps it merely meant that she did not want to relive the memory attached to it.
"So," Lace said. "Did you bring me here just to listen to the irritating sound of the machines?"
"I am going to face your mother," Hornet said. "I will set a trap for her, and I will fall into it myself. When I do, I need you to not save me."
"Why would I save you?" Lace asked. "Why would I need to? You're clearly her favorite."
"Yes, and that is the problem," Hornet sighed. "You know how restricting her favoritism is. She would try to drag me down with her, to keep me forever."
Why would I save you? Lace had asked. For once, Hornet doubted the answer was love. Lace had thus far only seen Hornet as a threat, someone who would take her mother's favor from her. She would not save Hornet for Hornet's sake. But she would save Hornet to spite her mother, once she saw that she had a chance at freedom.
"You must trust that even without your interference, she will not succeed," Hornet said. "She will die, and I most likely will not. But if you interfere, all of Pharloom will suffer for it."
Lace scoffed. "You think I care if you threaten Pharloom? The kingdom that cares nothing for my sorry silken husk, the bugs that I have watched die for centuries and centuries?"
"It is not a threat; it is a fact. And one that will impact you, too. For a while, you would be lost to the void beneath the kingdom."
"Of course, the little spider is good at spinning tall tales." Lace tilted her head back to give the impression of rolling her eyes. "Did you really think that I would believe any of this?"
"I am half wyrm," Hornet pointed out, "A species known for their gift of prescience. Is it really so hard to believe that I have seen it myself?"
"Then I have a better question. Why would you care if I was lost?" Lace challenged. "Why would anyone? Why should I? It might be fun." Might be better than this, Hornet knew she meant.
"I care," Hornet said, "because in that timeline I would have fought you so many times that I lost count. I would have died over and over" I did die over and over "-to pull you out of it."
"Why?" Lace asked again, astonished and incredulous.
For Pharloom was an answer, and a true one, but it was not the right answer for this conversation. And out of love would only confuse Lace, who still understood love far differently than Hornet did. That left...
"You remind me of them," Hornet said. "My sibling, Hollow. The perfect White Knight of Hallownest. Designed to be emotionless, a perfect cage for the oldlight that plagued us. They had no Soul; their body was comprised of void in a long-dead shell. But they were alive. They felt. Their choice to go along with the king's plan was not an absence of will, but an act of love for Hallownest, and of fear of losing their father's favor. Even once they were freed, it took them a long time to accept that."
Hornet took a breath. "So, when I say that I have seen this before, that I know that you are alive, I mean it, because I speak of my own sibling."
Lace sat there quietly for a while, staring down at the floor. Hornet did not interrupt her.
"So," Lace said eventually. "Let's suppose that I believe you. Theoretically."
Hornet nodded.
"You claim that you went to such lengths to save me, and because of this, you want me to not save you?"
Well, it did sound pretty contradictory when she put it like that.
"Truly, spider, you are the most confusing individual I have ever met."
"It is not that I want you to let me die," Hornet answered. "Most likely, I will not die. What I am asking with this is not for you to abandon me, but to trust me."
Lace stood up, looking solemn. "Spider, this is very important to you, isn't it?"
Hornet nodded. "Very much so."
Lace nodded as well. Then suddenly, she giggled again, her solemn posture vanishing. "Then I shall make you wait and see! Ahahahaha!" With that, she dashed out of the room.
---
All that, and Hornet didn't even know if it would work. If Lace saved her again to spite Grand Mother Silk, or because she thought it was funny, or because she really was worried about Hornet's wellbeing after their conversation, then so much of this ordeal would be for nothing. Silk would hold on for her daughter, and the Void's presence in Pharloom would be prolonged. Even if Lace fell into the void, Hornet would not worry about getting the flower before going to save her; she did not fear the void anymore. Her sibling did not hate her. But even without it, going all the way down to the Abyss would still take time after the portal closed, and during that length of time there would be many bugs that would die.
Falling through the portal herself would be much faster; it was the only way to end Pharloom's void apocalypse almost as soon as it began. Grand Mother Silk would be dragged down, and Hornet would follow her. Hornet would then call for her sibling and ask for their help, and...
and... have faith that they would hear her. Hornet shook her head. I sound like Sherma, relying on faith for something so important. What did I say to Lumble? You can't rely on chance for anything; you must rely on skill. But she had no skill that would aid her in this. All her skill in planning and fighting and speaking with others may have gotten her this far, but it could get her no farther. She could not rely on herself. She had to rely on Ghost.
But, Ghost was better than luck, weren't they? A sibling that she knew loved her, a sibling who would turn back time for her so that she could undo her regrets, that was better than the mere whims of the world, right?
Perhaps faith had some merit after all, when it was well-placed.
---
Grand Mother Silk was already awake when Hornet reached the top of the Cradle, and it seemed to Hornet that she fought more viciously than she had before. Hornet wondered if Silk remembered anything of the past timeline; she was a higher being, after all, like Hornet and Eva. Surely her nature could expand to understand it, too? And that would explain why she had already been prepared to fight.
But, if she knew how this turned out... why, then, did she not do anything differently? Why did she not release the bugs from her Haunting if she knew the consequences?
Was she unable to? Perhaps not physically unable to, but in the same way that Styx was unable to fight and defend himself. This way of survival- or, more than survival, this way of life, of interacting with others- was all that Silk knew. Though she was at the top of it all, in this one sense there was nothing at all separating her from those in the Underworks or Sinner's Road. And Hornet both pitied her, like she pitied Loam, and was disgusted by her, as she was disgusted by Styx.
But these feelings did not matter, not enough to change what Hornet would do. What mattered was that there was a problem which could be fixed by the pale being's removal, and Hornet intended to fix it properly this time.
The scissor-blades flew faster this time, thrown in pairs with one blade on either side of Hornet, trying to catch her between them or pin her against the wall. They had already ripped through Hornet's cloak a couple times, tearing open some of her pockets and causing her to lose some of her red tools. I need to be better than this, Hornet thought. She was already better than this; she had faced battles much worse than this one before, but somehow that did not matter because they weren't this one. She had been caught off guard, she didn't recognize these patterns, and now she was missing most of her red tools and Silk's blades were coming dangerously close to slicing off big chunks of her Faydown Cloak.
Patience, Hornet reminded herself. A hunter doesn't rush in. Wait and dodge. She slowed her frantic heartbeat, and the path through the attacks became clearer. She just had to adjust a little, stop letting the stakes get to her, and it became the easiest thing in the world- well, comparatively. Practically any battle would feel like the easiest thing in the world compared to trying to beat Seth's score in Flea Dodge.
A stray scissor blade caught her from the side when her guard was down. When Hornet tried to bind away the damage, she found that she didn't have enough silk, though she'd been landing hits fairly consistently. Had the attack drained her silk? No; she would have felt that. It must have cut it away, then. They were scissors, after all.
...That was worrying.
Lace's words at the entrance of the Citadel were proving true, to an extent; Grand Mother Silk at full alertness was not someone to be underestimated. Yet Hornet's words remained true as well; Grand Mother Silk could still fall, and she would. Hornet just couldn't afford to get hit.
A blur of white flew past her. Lace. What was she doing here? This was too soon; Hornet had known there was a chance Lace would show up, a good chance, even. But she hadn't thought that Lace would show up until the battle was nearly over. Right now, Hornet hadn't even managed to stagger Grand Mother Silk; the end of the battle was a long ways off, and on top of that, she'd have to watch out for Lace so that she didn't hit her by mistake.
But as Hornet continued fighting, struggling to keep her eyes on both Silk and Lace at once, she realized that she never actually had to leap out of Lace's way. Lace fought around her with the ease and confidence of someone who had done so many times before. With whom, though? The Sentinels? Phantom?
Perhaps both. Perhaps neither, but someone else; Hornet did not know every detail of her life.
Perhaps right now, it didn't matter, and Hornet should focus on the fight.
Soon after Lace first leapt past her, Hornet trapped Grand Mother Silk in a web comprised of her few remaining red tools, and stabbed her with a poisoned flintslate. It didn't take the pale being long to break free, but when she did, Lace and Hornet were ready. They watched each other's moves, blocking and parrying hits for each other, both taking turns leaving openings for the other to strike. The battle was actually becoming fun.
---
Together, they staggered Grand Mother Silk once, then twice. Lace's laughter sounded more genuine than usual in the heat of battle; it brought to mind how Hornet herself had laughed when she fought Ghost of Hallownest. How long had it been since the last time she had laughed? Hornet honestly couldn't remember; she had just grown out of it at some point.
...Perhaps laughter wasn't something that a bug should grow out of.
These were thoughts for later. Grand Mother Silk was weakened, and Hornet didn't have much time before she would try to get up again.
Hornet could feel Lace's eyes watching her with curiosity and confusion as she began to play the Needolin. It did not look or sound much like the closing of a trap; the song sounded peaceful. Funny; Hornet had thought it sounded eerie before, but it didn't unsettle her nearly as much now, even though she knew what it would do.
The portal itself, though, looked just as wrong as it first had, an impossible hole in the air, forcing Void into the heights, a sudden and disastrous subversion. A necessary one, the echo of the Shaman crest told her, and Hornet agreed. But that did not change that it brought tragedy with it, and Hornet needed to mitigate that tragedy as much as she could- or, rather, Ghost needed to, and Hornet needed to tell them.
That darkness I will fear no longer, Hornet repeated to herself, and nimbly leaped into the portal.
---
Someone was holding her wrist, keeping her from falling. Hornet looked up and saw Lace glaring down at her. "Silly, foolish spider," she said. "You would really die for me?"
"You must let go!" Hornet shouted. "I do not have much time. More than your own life is at stake here."
"And you think I care about that?" Lace asked. "You think I would just throw out the one bug who changed so much of my life when they will only most likely come back? Fate doesn't favor me that way. Besides, for all I know, you're using that 'most likely' as an excuse to run off."
But Hornet couldn't say anything else, could she? Saying most likely was necessary. It was outside her control. If she said yes, I will survive, and then did not, then it would only hurt Lace even more, ruining her ability to trust others in the future even further.
Hornet understood, now, what the druid had meant when they said that a promise was "stronger than sin". She understood just how binding it was, and how devastating it could be to make a promise and break it.
Yet, she was going to promise it anyways. She needed to, to convince Lace to let her go. She had to completely trust that Ghost would save her.
Up until this point, she had avoided it, still partially in disbelief, or perhaps thinking that the time they saved her before was a fluke. They could change their mind. They had a will, after all, the ability to make choices.
But, really... why would they? If they had gone to the trouble of coming here, of pulling her out of the void, of turning back time for her, then they would certainly not want to let her die now. They would save her as long as they had the power to.
And how could she doubt that they had the power to, when she had already seen the extent of their power used for good, twice? Once here, and once long ago, back in Hallownest.
"I will come back, Lace," Hornet promised. "I know that my sibling will save me. You will see me again, and you will see me again soon."
Lace let go, and Hornet fell into the void.
---
The portal closed above her, and Hornet fell through absolute darkness. Grand Mother Silk tried to reach for her, but they were too far apart. Doubts filled Hornet's mind again. How long had it taken Ghost to reach her the first time? How many times had she fought Lace before they arrived? How long had it been before they even noticed her?
She should have known better than to trust a higher being. She should have known better than to make herself vulnerable, to trap herself with something more powerful than her. Had she not learned from her sibling's fate in the Black Egg? Had she not learned from the Witch? The void- Ghost- would kill her, would change her, would ruin everything she had worked for and she would not even be there to see it.
That was their plan all along, wasn't it? Some elaborate web, some scheme to make her trust them so that she would not be able to stop them. She had failed, and the regrets of her journey weighed on her like they never before had. She never should have made that wish. She should have accepted the ending that she had. She should have accepted her failure and the fate of Pharloom, because that was how it would turn out anyways, wasn't it?
Why had she ever thought that the Void would care about her?
...Those weren't her thoughts.
Hornet knew that Ghost would and did care about her. She had evidence; they had proven it before. She couldn't let the sea of regret get to her.
Hornet drew in a freezing breath. Her sibling was in here somewhere, and this time, she knew to look for them.
When her feet touched void-covered ground after a long descent, her Faydown cloak was barely enough to keep her warm. They will find me, she reminded herself as she waded deeper into the void. They will find me. The hem of her cloak was submerged, and the rest of the fabric had started to turn grey. They would sense her now; she could feel her Soul bleeding out of her silk and into the void around her.
They will find me. But how long will it take?
She had learned something from Sherma, that faith does mean something when it is well-placed. But before then, she had taught Sherma something, too. Faith without action means nothing. If she wanted her sibling to come save her and Pharloom, if she wasn't afraid of them anymore, then she should make herself known to them. Show them where to go.
Hornet climbed up a little ways out of the void and onto a mound of rubble. There she sat down, sticking her legs into the void again but keeping the rest of her body- and, more importantly, her needle- away from it. She began to play her Needolin, first the melodies that she used to play back in Hallownest, then her own melody that she had refined over the years. Then... then, she remembered something.
She remembered, after her battles with Ghost of Hallownest, how she almost thought that she heard a song, and it had sounded like a music box she had often heard in the White Palace. One that she had once thought she caught the Pure Vessel listening to, before being told that they had no mind with which to appreciate music.
One that, in retrospect, they may have listened to after all, and through the void may have shared with their abandoned sibling.
Hornet began to combine the songs, blending her own theme with the shades' lullaby. It was improvised and clumsy, but as she continued to play, she began to find a balance. It was by no means a clean sound, not polished, barely planned, and oddly distorted and muffled by the void around her. But the pieces fit together better than she would have thought for their vastly differing tones.
Were the shadows moving differently? She couldn't tell. She couldn't get her hopes up... but she couldn't lose hope, either. She needed to focus.
Loam. The image of the six-legged bug endlessly marching on his treadmill startled her, and her fingers faltered on the Needolin's strings. "Forgive me, thems above, for me unworthy hope! Of course, me work is not done!" Abandoned by the people whose attention they sought. Was she, too, working towards nothing? Nothing but death. No reward. She had seen the truth. Nothing good could come from-
No, she reminded herself. I know them. Not well, perhaps, but well enough. Her sibling was not some nebulous force or wild beast or heartless machine. They were her sibling. She had persevered through fighting Lace; surely she could persevere through a song, no matter how long that song may be.
Hornet didn't see them, at first.
Sister.
She felt them, though, somewhere nearby. Behind her, maybe? She would have to stop playing her Needolin to turn and look, so she didn't.
"Greetings, Ghost of Hallownest." Her voice shook, not with fear, but with relief. "I have come to ask a favor. It is very important to me. I ask you to safely withdraw the void from Pharloom."
So much to explore, they countered. So much to shape. So much to taste. The phrasing reminded Hornet of Nuu, and for a very brief moment she imagined herself needing to slap the Shade Lord's face.
"You bring destruction," she told them. "In this form, at least. If you wish to explore, you can find another way."
Why do you wish to save them? The Lord of Shades asked.
"Why did you continually save Zote?" Hornet countered.
They went quiet for a minute. ...Someone I could save. Not many of those. Worth it, even if he was mean.
"Then you understand," Hornet said. "Besides, would you not rather explore a living, recovering land full of color? Would you not rather find more strange bugs to listen to?"
Yes, they agreed.
Hornet wasn't sure if she had won the argument, or if she was being tested all along. It would be only fair; she had tested them twice before, after all, by more violent means. And it would be strange if they really did not remember the past timeline. But, perhaps, even if they did remember, they hadn't thought that this would be one of Hornet's regrets.
Hornet still wasn't entirely sure that she knew them that well. But she did know enough, now, to know that they both wanted to see a living Pharloom, and they both loved to explore and understand.
"When it's done, when Pharloom is safe... if you can, you may want to take on a smaller form and visit the Flea Festival. I think that you would enjoy it."
---
"Hornet Wielding Needle!"
Hornet sat up. The air around her was uncomfortably warm, almost burning hot after her time in the void. Looking around, she saw that she had been lying in the leafy moss of the Far Fields, concerningly close to a pool of lava.
"I had retreated to guard Bellhart," Shakra continued, "but nearly as quickly as it appeared, that new threat vanished. The dark-spun bugs collapsed, the shadowy threads dissolved, and the motes of black that floated through the air sunk back into the ground. Once certain of those bugs' safety, I set out to make sure you were alright."
Shakra had been looking for her? Huh. That struck Hornet as funny; usually, she was the one looking for Shakra.
It took Hornet longer to answer than she would have liked, but her time in the void had drained her. She had no idea how long it had been; Shakra had said nearly as quickly as it appeared, but to Hornet, her song and conversation with Ghost had felt much longer.
"I... need the hot springs, I think," she answered. "Maybe some nectar from Creige. The cheap kind is fine."
"And some real food, I hope?" Shakra offered Hornet her hand. Hornet accepted it, and stood.
"Perhaps," Hornet said. There was a reason that she still remained in her adolescent molt. If she nourished herself enough to grow further, she risked ascension, and for the safety of the bugs around her, that was something that she could not allow.
"Hornet Wielding Needle," Shakra said as they walked towards the Bellways, "who was that bug that led me to you? An agile fighter, but they did not offer their name. Much like you in that regard."
Agile fighter. Did not offer their name. "Was it... a small bug with a grey cloak, wielding a triangular blade?" Hornet guessed.
"No, they wielded a bone-blade scavenged from one of the fiercer red-shells... Skarrs, you called them, once? You are right that they were a tiny bug, though, with a grey cloak; the weapon seemed too long for them, yet they held it with ease. I do not know if the sight was more impressive or comical."
Hornet smiled under her mask. "That was my sibling."
"I wasn't aware that you had any siblings," Shakra said.
"Most bugs do," Hornet pointed out.
"But not the descendants of Weavers," Shakra countered.
Hornet looked up at her in surprise. "So, you figured it out?"
"I was foolish not to. But Weavers, to my tribe, are this foe of legends, the greatest enemy to fight! And you are not. You are a friend. I hope that I did not offend you by speaking badly of them."
"I was not offended," Hornet answered. "I do not consider most of them family- only my mother, and she died a long time ago."
"And your sibling?" Shakra guessed.
"...They are not a Weaver. My family history is long and complex, and I do not have the energy to explain it all now." Hornet climbed onto the back of Eira, and Shakra climbed on behind her.
"Later, then?"
"Is that a wish?" Hornet asked.
"It could be."
"Then, I will promise it."