Chapter Text
Hornet knew something was wrong from the second she woke up. Primarily from deep, vicious pain in her back, particularly the spinnerets. It was not dissimilar from the pain she'd felt when that twisted parasite had lodged itself within her, although this felt… stiffer. Colder.
When she shifted slightly, she found an additional issue: Her limbs were bound. Her arms had been drawn above her head, wrists fastened parallel to each other, and her legs were trapped the same. Hornet could tell that she was tilted upright, likely on a chair similar to the one Yarnaby had used, though it lacked the thin cushions that that suspicious 'doctor' had used.
Outside of her probing squirm, Hornet didn't dare move, as she hadn't yet opened her eyes to check if she was alone. Even with her eyes shut, cold light still seeped through the lids, thrumming in her aching head like a drum. She parted her mouth slightly, tongue flicking out subtly to taste the air. It took her a moment to place the scent, which was familiar, but then—
No.
Surely not, right? Surely she was mistaken; her senses were either fooling her or were being fooled. Hornet tasted the air again, she could not possibly have returned to the pale halls of her youth…
And yet, the scent was unmistakable. Clean, powerful, holy— just as she remembered, complete with the underlying scents of root and wyrm, soul and void. It was hard to fool her senses so well; even when she had walked through the palace in her memory the scent had not been this vivid.
Hornet tried to recall how she had ended up here, and was briefly met with resistance— something more than brain fog— a spell? A binding?
Whatever the case, the barrier gave with a small amount of pressure, and the memory flooded her mind.
She'd been sparring with Shakra, wanting to test a new tool she'd been working on. Hornet had salvaged remains of it from Weavenest Atla, as she had with several of her new tools of late. This one in particular seemed excessively damaged, and she could find little information on its workings. Still, Hornet had in some way repaired it, perhaps guided by some intuition from Eva's binding, and managed to draw function from the device.
The first time Hornet tested it was an awful experience, having pulled herself unexpectedly back to her dive into the abyss. As far as she could tell, it had not been a memory, but rather Hornet had transported her current consciousness back to that instance in time, and had then been forced to relive — and re-fight — her battle at the bottom of the world. After her victory, she'd attempted to reverse the effect of the tool, and in part discovered that it could seemingly only be used to travel as far into the future as one's memory permitted.
With some careful recalibrations, Hornet had adjusted the tool suitably, allowing her to travel back a few seconds with each use, thinking of the combat capabilities. She had once been made to study extensively, during her time in the White Palace, and had learned then of the many debates of the hypotheticals surrounding 'time travel.' The vague memory of those possibilities was enough for her to avoid dabbling too greatly in the potentials of her new tool. She even worked in a safeguard, using extra silk to link the device's effect to herself exclusively.
Once Hornet had tinkered enough with it, she went to Shakra for a spar, Lace choosing to accompany them despite her complaints of how dreary Greymoor was. The 'time spinner,' as Hornet had called it, had been working excellently, giving her a second chance to correct herself when she slipped up, when one of Shakra's rings had slammed into the contraption, dismembering part of the mechanism and sending cogs flying.
The ring-wielder had apologized, but Hornet was grateful that the spar had detected a design flaw; her tool needed a protective shell. She sat on a rock to take count of the pieces, not wanting to lose a vital part, Shakra aiding in collecting the scattered pieces. Lace picked up a tangle of thread and metal that had landed by her feet, turning it over with one claw, as Hornet examined the tool.
Hornet clicked her mandibles disapprovingly, noting that the primary mechanism was missing. She scoured the area, eyes landing on the piece in Lace's claws—
"Well, spider, what a sad end to your little—"
"Lace, wait—"
The silken one tugged at a thread, and the world unwound.
Hornet was drawn back to the present, the weight behind her eyes lessened. So. She'd been dragged back to a point from her past. That warranted a lot of questions, but right now she had to focus on the issue at hand.
Hornet flicked her tongue out once more, listening carefully. She couldn't sense anyone in the room with her, though she did detect traces of void. She cautiously opened her eyes, wincing at the light of the palace. The world around her was blurred at first, though it quickly came into focus.
The room was unfamiliar, though reminiscent of her father's workshop. Strange tools lined the walls and littered the tables, while tablets with writing she couldn't quite make out were scattered throughout the room. A pair of kingsmoulds guarded a doorway that had been sealed with soul.
She rolled her shoulders, flinching as bolts of pain traveled along her spine and spread through her nerves. Again Hornet was reminded of the pain of the parasite, which had planted itself within her spinnerets and twisted outward from there. This pain was almost more sickening, and her heart began to sink as she realized what was likely causing it.
Hornet's thoughts flickered to Widow, that weaver driven mad by the separation from her mask, silk bound with heavy pins through the spine…
Hornet was grateful she still had her mask, at the least, although without access to her silk, she was essentially defenseless. And, thinking of defense, she remembered her needle; or rather, the lack of it. Her stomach fluttered unpleasantly, something almost akin to fear chewing at her gut.
Even when she'd been taken to the slab, Hornet had still had her silk, once she'd escaped the rune cage. Not to mention that that cage was not nearly as effective in restraining her as her bindings were now. Another similarity to the slab was the removal of her cloak, and subsequently tools, though that was to be expected.
Hornet took a steadying breath, willing herself to calm. The Pale King, while calloused, was not cruel, and would surely free her once she explained her plight.
Though the pins lodged in her spine felt rather cruel.
Hornet remained there for a while, shifting occasionally in her awkward half-laying, half-standing position. Her heritage may have prevented her from tiring easily, though the strained stance combined with the inaccessibility of her silk was beginning to take its toll.
Finally, however, she heard the faint rustle of fabric, the tap of feet on stone, tasted the scent of a pale being. His presence was heralded by a power that made the fuzz on her shell stand on end, the force almost electrifying.
The seal in the doorway faded, absorbed by the king who now stood at the entrance. The eyes of wyrm met those of weaver, seemingly attempting to peer into her soul. Hornet lifted her chin, narrowing her eyes. The Pale King stepped in, examining her.
"You've awoken."
Hornet dipped her head. "So I have, though I will say that the binding of my silk likely delayed it."
The king tipped his head, re-sealing the door with a flick of his claws. "I cannot have a weaver spinning its webs within my palace. Especially not a prisoner. Especially not a prisoner with your power." He glared up at her. "You have the blood of a pale being."
"I do."
"And your cloak was dyed in the color of Deepnest."
"It was."
The king hummed, then reached behind the table she was on. It began to tilt back, lowering slightly. Hornet resisted the urge to squirm at the vulnerable position. The Pale King stared down at her coldly, imposing in a way that stirred Hornet's higher instincts and made them writhe in the back of her mind at the disrespect.
"My guards found you unconscious in the Queen's courtyard. Explain."
"I was testing a device I had repaired. It was damaged, and a… an acquaintance triggered its broken mechanism. My arrival in this kingdom was purely accidental."
The wyrm turned to one of the desks, producing a few scraps of bent metal and cogs. "Was this the device you speak of?"
Hornet nodded, inspecting the time spinner. "It is, though it lacks the core that produces the effect. It should not have affected my friend, though if she remains in place with the mechanism…"
"…You would not have the means with which to return." The king studied the frame of the tool. "Fascinating. I assume it was designed for rapid transportation?"
"Somewhat." Hornet considered the wyrm, now, debating. She needed him to free her, firstly, and his skills with mechanics could prove useful, but she was wary of telling the Pale King of the significance of their meeting, and of the true nature of the tool. What effects could it have on the future? Would she still be able to return to the one she knew of, if too great a ripple was made?
…Should she try to save Hallownest? Could she?
The king broke the silence that had stretched on for a few seconds too long, evidently lost in his own thoughts as well. "Do you think it would be possible for you to recreate the device?"
"With time, hopefully. And my silk," she added pointedly.
The Pale King nodded slowly, exhaling. "Ah. Yes, about that… You say you came from another kingdom, no? And yet you acknowledge that you cloak yourself in the color of Deepnest."
Hornet eyed the king with caution, waiting for his next words. He watched her in return, and when it was evident Hornet would not reply, he continued.
"You have acted with surprising civility for your kind, weaver, which is why I offer you a bargain." He didn't wait to see Hornet's reaction. "Cooperate, answer my questions, and assist me in the repair of this tool," —he lifted the time spinner— "and I will spare you execution."