Chapter Text
It is being dragged.
It is trying to keep up, to stumble along, but it thinks it is falling more often than not. Its sight is blurry, lacking the tinge of orange but still too nauseating to see properly. Whoever is carrying it is moving too fast for it to keep up, and… Its mind is…quiet. Save for its own thoughts, of course. Thoughts it has never quite been able to rid itself of. It is silent and strange and sudden and—
There is a voice. Muted and muffled but trying to be comforting and she’s back, it must be a trick, she managed to get it out of its chains and now she is puppeting it away. It jerks in her hold, thrashing, claws clenching around its nail (when did it get its nail?), trying to swing and immediately staggering, and there’s a startled sound but then something like threads wrap around it tight, and it’s lost, it’s failed, it’s useless—
It slumps. The voice is repeating its name, Hollow Knight, Hollow, Hollow, Holly?
Holly.
“Holly,” comes the voice of the Gendered Child. Hornet, its mind supplies after a delay. Sister. “Can you hear me?”
It nods. It tries to nod. It’s not very sure if it nodded.
“If I loosen my silk, would you fight again?”
It doesn’t know. The binds had been…almost comforting, after a while. It was a reminder that the Radiance was still contained within it, that it could not run fully rampant. It…It doesn’t think it would fight Hornet. It does know that it would lose if it tried. Every movement sends waves of pain through its shell, though it has long been desensitized to reacting to it. Evidently, it must look pitiful enough that Hornet lets it go anyway.
“Can you move?”
It twitches. Slowly and painstakingly, it manages to brace itself onto its nail again, shaking on legs that haven’t bore weight in ages. Then it takes one step and immediately falls back on its face. Its shell smacks sharply on the ground, and that sends a new world of pain up the crack already present. Hornet tugs it up into a half kneeling position.
“I intend on bringing you to a hot spring,” she says, as it hunches over, trembling with exertion. “The soul should help you recover. Unless your injuries are beyond that?”
Its arm is long gone. No amount of soul will fix that. It is already damaged beyond repair. It has been damaged since it was born.
Hornet stares at it for a full minute, trying to parse a reaction. When none comes, she sighs and sits down. “Do you wish for death?”
Silence.
“If you truly prefer it, I am…willing to grant it,” she says. “I have killed our siblings before. You would not be the first.”
It thought it had died eons ago. But fate could never be that kind. And to force that onto its sister…even if she no longer considers him a sibling, it would not be right. It looks at her, trying to convey something with no voice. Luckily, she still seems to understand the intent.
“Are you asking me what I think?”
Nod.
A small huff. “Still selfless, I see. This is about you.”
It keeps staring at her.
She sighs again. “It…would weigh more heavily on my conscience than usual,” she concedes. “But you have suffered far more than any would have expected of you. If you truly desire it, look me in the eye and nod twice. I will make it quick and painless.”
It drops its gaze.
“Understood. But if you intend on coming with me, I will require some effort of you. I will move slower. Tap me twice if you need to take a break.”
It nods again. Slowly, it manages to get up again and shuffle forward, leaning heavily against its sister. She is small and lithe, specializing more in speed and agility, but being the protector of Hallownest for so long requires more than a little strength. Eventually, she manages to get it to a hot spring, lowering it gently into the water. The soul is refreshing, even if it will take a while for long-inflicted wounds to start healing.
Hornet seems to know, too. “I will find some supplies,” she says. “Stay here. And do not drown.”
It can’t drown. Its body may perform some function of breathing, but air is not needed to sustain void. Hornet seems to realize this too, because she amends, “It would be disconcerting if I came back to you face-down underwater. I did not take you all this way for you to die.”
It nods. If it had wanted to die, it should have done that before they arrived. It sinks down into the spring, until the water is up to its neck.
Its sister’s voice softens. “If you can, try to focus on healing. I will return as soon as I can.”
Her steps are silent as she leaves. It looks away and stares aimlessly ahead.
It flexes its hand under the water. The worst of the pain has dulled, although there is still a severe ache through its entire body. It closes its eyes and leans its head back.
What happened? It had felt some sort of void presence outside at some point—one of its other siblings, likely—but then the presence had surged and abruptly vanished, along with the Radiance. The bindings designed to hold it were made to strengthen from a Higher Being’s wrath. So as soon as the Radiance disappeared, so did the power of the chains. It hadn’t taken much more effort to break free.
When it was sealed away, Hallownest was still a bustling civilization. It still faintly remembers the liveliness and chatter, even if it was tinged with the worry of Infection.
But now it’s silent. There is no sound, save for the quiet drip of water. It splashes a little with its remaining hand, if only to make some noise.
It tries to concentrate its soul inside to heal. It hasn’t had to heal in a long time. It hasn’t been able to heal in a long time. It thinks it gets off a weak heal, but it immediately feels drained after. And it doesn’t really feel better.
It wonders how badly it has failed Hallownest. Before it failed, it was able to use its gifted World Sense to watch Hallownest. But after it lost its battle to the Radiance, its entire vision became tinged in golden light, making any view blurry at best and agony at worst. It doesn’t remember the last time it was able to see as clearly as now.
The Infection has clearly ravaged the land, given the silence. But its sister was still alive. So does Deepnest still stand? And the White Palace—
Father.
The thought, long suppressed, surges up with fresh vigor, along with a throb that isn’t from physical wounds.
It had one job and it had failed spectacularly. How many lives were lost due to its flaw? How much suffering has it put its sister through? How could it have thought it was anything worthy, anything noble? It is nothing but a useless, broken tool now. Why had Hornet saved it?
It isn’t naive enough to believe that anyone else it used to know is alive. The Radiance had assured him of that, once it lost its ability to see Hallownest. Whispers of how infected mantises had killed Dryya, how the earth had claimed Isma, how a single infected maggot took down Hegemol in his sleep. She had delighted in telling him of how the Pale King vanished, taking the White Palace with him, never to be seen again. It was partly delight and partly frustration, if it thinks about it. Pleasure in having forced her enemy to retreat, anger that she never dealt the killing blow.
It had felt some satisfaction at that. Satisfaction that was quickly quelled when she rounded on him. Your father never loved you, you know? You were raised to be a tool. A sacrifice. And besides, who would love a failure?
If it could cry, it probably would. But it was not made to express things like emotion. Not without leaking void everywhere.
It thinks the Pale King had loved it. If he did not, it would not have failed so miserably. But it cannot blame its father. Father loved it despite everything. It was the Vessel’s own fault for returning that affection. It was a fool for believing that it could trick the Radiance like it tricked the Pale King.
Was he really tricked, though? It can still hear her mocking echo. He knew. He knew you were a living, thinking child, and he sacrificed you anyway.
It sits in the hot spring and continues splashing water. A few times, it thinks about getting out, but Hornet had told it to stay here, and it was made to follow orders. At least this was a kind order. It’s probably better for it to stay inside the hot spring than to try and walk around injured anyway.
How long has its sister been gone? She wouldn’t have abandoned it here, right?
It shakes its head, more to calm itself than anything else. Hornet isn’t the type to leave someone behind. She’s not like Father.
…That’s a terrible thought. It was never supposed to have thoughts at all, much less thoughts like these. Father had no choice. He gave everything up for Hallownest. He tried his best, but…it simply wasn’t enough. The Vessel cannot fault him for trying.
Even if it is the one left to suffer the consequences.
It wonders how long Hornet has been gone. It used to count the days it was trapped, seconds turning to minutes turning to days turning to weeks turning to months. It stopped after a year.
A pebble clatters down the hallway. It turns around. Hornet is back. She carries a roll of bandages in one hand. Her posture is tense, but it relaxes as she sees it in place. “Were you able to heal?”
It tilts his head back and forth in a sort of motion.
Hornet still seems a little concerned, but she doesn’t press it. “I attempted to seek out a nailsmith to fix your nail, but he seems to have vanished from his refuge in the City of Tears.”
Infected, then.
Hornet must notice something in its dejected posture. “If it is of any comfort, I made a few rounds around the city. There was no body to be found. It is possible he simply moved elsewhere. Regardless of his fate, we have a much more pressing task.” She holds up the bandages. “Your shell has not healed, and I will assume that it will not heal without external treatment.”
It had almost forgotten about that. It reaches up with its arm, tracing the crack. The crack isn’t large, but it is significant enough that it can feel the pressure of the void pulsing against the split.
“If you are not opposed, it would be best to wrap that,” Hornet says, “I assume you felt the same presence as I when the egg melted.”
The Black Egg had melted? It tilts its head.
“You were unconscious after you pulled yourself out,” Hornet explains, as she sits down next to it with the bandages, an implicit question in her posture. It nods and lets her slowly wrap its shell, binding it in place with her silk. “I made sure you were not dead or about to cause harm, then went to the temple. The shell was already sinking into the ground, and the presence of whatever remained felt as if it were watching me.” She settles back. “Done.”
The bandages cover one of its eyes, but it’s not like its sight had been that good after escaping anyway. It leans its head to the side to gently bump its sister.
“You’re welcome. Can you climb?” Both of them look at its missing stump of an arm. “Right. I made a prudent decision in getting the stag prepared. When you feel ready to walk, some citizens of Dirtmouth have promised a place for you to rest.”
Movement doesn’t sound the most appealing, but it supposes it can’t stay here forever.
(Even if it was meant to stay trapped forever.)
It takes its nail again, using it as a brace to stand up once more. Luckily, its legs feel less as if they’re about to give out now. It manages to follow Hornet more steadily this time, although it does note the cracks its nail has accumulated over an eternity of being locked up. It was once a beautiful weapon, gifted to it by the Pale King himself. And while the designs are still intricate, it’s lost its sheen. It doesn’t know how well the nail would actually fare in a fight.
Hornet, of course, notices how its gaze is drawn downward. “We will see what we can do about your nail. I know you would be loath to give it up.”
It was one of the first gifts from its father. It would—it would give it up if it was ordered to, but…its grip tenses on its weapon. It relaxes it a second later. Its control is supposed to be better than that. Even if it isn’t really sure who it’s pretending for. The remnants of Hallownest have already shown it to be a failure. It shouldn’t have survived failing. None of its siblings did.
…Most of them, anyway.
But Hornet is here, and she wouldn’t appreciate her hard work being wasted now. It hobbles after her.