Chapter Text
It was a cold fact of her life that Hornet did not often allow herself the luxury of rest.
This fact was drilled in all the more in the aftermath of Pharloom’s fall.
Hornet considered herself responsible, at the end of the day. And truly, who could argue? While it had never been her choice to travel into the thread-haunted lands, it seemed her egress into it was inevitable eventually, given the inner operations of the Citadel, and one could argue that her actions had pushed along the kingdom to the ideal outcome.
The ideal outcome being a land scarred by quakes and cave ins, leaving dead bugs splayed in every other corridor, leaving the entire kingdom more of a mess than when she had arrived.
And yet, she reminded herself, they were free.
There would have been a time that she might have removed herself entirely from Pharloom, left as soon as her business was done and over with and she had settled the score with the silken monarch. Pharloom’s natives, however, had wormed past her thick shell and into her heart in a way nothing really had for years upon years.
Lace had told her she was sickeningly sentimental. Hornet had told her to mind her tongue.
♙ ♙ ♙
Much of the work started in the Citadel. The easiest way, she had found in this case, was to work from the top down. After all, Bellhart was stable enough, and she could rely on Shakra to send word if anything happened. As for the rest of Pharloom…
Well. She had seen it firsthand.
At her insistence, Flick had taken the trip to the Citadel upon the back of the Bell Beast. He’d not been pleased about it, but she had explained her need for someone with his skills, and that once the Citadel was safe enough to leave alone, she would return to Bone Bottom with him.
It wasn’t that any new pilgrimages would be happening. No, Hornet was keen on putting a halt to that. But for any new wanderers to the kingdom, or merely for the sake of having somewhere to go, it felt right to rebuild.
Watching Songclave be rebuilt warmed her heart. It was a long process, but it was worth every inch of ground. Hornet had even managed to coax the Bell Beast up from the Bellway to help with moving some of the larger debris, much to the chagrin of several of the pilgrims.
Blessedly, the ventrica system had even remained operational. There were a few blockages, early on, but nothing that Hornet herself couldn’t clear.
Watching all of the bugs of the Citadel coming together, slowly rebuilding what was once so grand, sticking together even through all of this, it was a heartening sight. Even Lace helped, in her roundabout, difficult way of being. Hornet had not caught her mingling with any pilgrims, but the few husks that still roamed the halls often needed to be dealt with, and if it was not by Hornet’s own blade, she knew the signs that the silken being had been through.
Lace rarely spoke to her. Hornet had surmised that she was embarrassed by everything that had happened, and though she had tried to express that there wasn’t anything for her to need to be embarrassed about, that she could live her life without limits now, Lace had given her a withering look and simply asked that she keep silk reserves around the Citadel stocked.
Dutifully, she did.
The one resident of the Citadel she rarely saw now was the cogwork Sentinel. With less haunted husks out and about, she didn’t run into it while fighting any longer, and rarer still did she see it resting anymore. Were it not for some pilgrims insisting they had seen it recently, she would have worried it was decommissioned in some way.
Therefore, the note on the wish wall was a surprise to her.
♙ ♙ ♙
“Hoy! Red Maiden!”
Hornet looked up from her tool pouch and down to Sherma, eyes softening slightly at the young bug. He’d proven himself so unfalteringly brave and kind, and though she hated to push responsibility onto him, she couldn’t deny that he made a fine example to lead. His optimism, she felt, was a necessity here, and she believed it was among the chief reasons why things had gone so smoothly.
“Young Sherma.” She tilted her head at him in question, and the new caketaker took the hint easily.
“I know you’re intending on leaving with Mr. Flint tomorrow, but I wanted to let you know, there was a note left by the gilded protector earlier this day at the Wish Wall. It was addressed to you!”
The Sentinel had made a strong impression on many pilgrims, it pleased her to hear every time.
As for the Wish Wall… It wasn’t that Hornet had abandoned it, but it had so rarely been used when she was around much of the time that she had stopped glancing at it most of the time. Generally, when something was needed, she was approached directly, now.
Curiosity spurred her quickly, stepping over to the wall with Sherma stepping after her. The words written were succinct and familiar.
Attend this sentinel’s request, Hunter in Red. Meet in the highest chamber above the Cogwork Core. The way shall be marked.
Hornet appreciated the brevity.
Thanking Sherma, she offered a half-bow, before she left, the note tucked into an inner pocket of her cloak.
♙ ♙ ♙
The climb to the Cradle was as oppressive as the last one had been.
Frankly, Hornet often had little reason to visit. After all, Lace kept a wide berth from the heart of the Citadel, preferring anywhere but the Core. Hornet could imagine that the idea of ascending back to that place held less than ideal memories. This was true for Hornet, as well, but she had always been the type to be willing to face the worst.
It didn’t mean the climb was any easier. In fact, she felt like it was harder in the moment - she was doing much less climbing and acrobatics to begin with, and by the time the stale air was perfumed with roses, she was breathing more heavily than she would have liked.
Still, she recovered swiftly enough, and as she climbed up from the ruins of the Cogwork Core, she called out. “I am here, gilded one. What would you ask of me?”
The Sentinel stood atop the ruins of the elevator that had once taken Hornet here. It was still, save for a faint breeze ruffling its cloak and feathery plumes, though when she spoke, it turned its head.
Hornet hopped up to the platform with only a little grace, the climb still having left her tired. Gingerly, the Sentinel stepped down from its perch, stepping between roses, avoiding each flower without even looking. Among the white petals and dark cave walls, it made for a stark vision, like a painting.
“This s-s-sentinel would seek advice from the Hunter in R-r-red.”
Somehow, that wasn’t what Hornet was expecting. The curious look she gave it must have tipped it off to this, because it continued.
“Eternal, is the Citadel,” it began. “As is the sacred d-d-duty of the sentinels.” Hornet had to hold her tongue to refrain from asking it to get to the point. It shuffled, the movement almost awkward. “This sentinel has noticed the Hunter’s rebuilding effort-t-ts. It has come to notice there is less n-n-need for protection, among the Citadel’s halls.”
It paused here, and tilted its head forwards and back. If it had lips, Hornet imagined it would be pursuing them. She remained silent, allowing it to consider.
“This sentinel is finding a lack of purpose. A d-d-directive. It would ask the Hunter to provide a new commandment, so that it may continue its duty to the et-t-ternal Citadel.”
Hornet shouldn’t be surprised. “I have told you before. I’ve no command for you. Nor do I wish to be master over you. If you wish for a new directive, you are free to give it to yourself.”
There was a hiss of exhaust from the Sentinel. Hornet recognised it as frustration, or perhaps resignation. It was difficult to tell, but when it spoke again, it was clear it was the former. “C-c-cannot.” Its head bowed slightly at that, lifting an inch so that it could continue looking at her. “This sentinel is a t-t-tool in service to the Citadel. A master, it cannot be. Understand this.”
Hornet found herself reminded of the Architect once far below them. It had not missed Hornet’s attention that it had managed to push beyond the directive it had started with, referring to it as a cage. The Sentinel, she found, possessed a similar intelligence. She had little doubt that it could do the same. She hummed a low note of thought, and after a moment, the Sentinel spoke once more.
“A suggestion, this s-s-sentinel would take.”
It was a sentence like that that made her even more sure of that assumption. It was a wry thing to say, and she couldn’t find it in herself to be upset by that.
Hornet sighed, silent for several moments before a single thought came to mind.
“...I will be leaving the Citadel, tomorrow. Pharloom is in dire need of further reconstruction, and I am intending upon taking stock of what needs to be done. You are welcome to join me, if it would help you.”
If possible, the Sentinel almost seemed relieved about the idea of having any level of direction. Even if it wasn’t a new directive, some sense of purpose was definitely imparted from her suggestion, because it nodded rather solemnly. “Your offer, this sentinel kindly accept-t-ts.”
It still seemed to her like it was treating this like an order rather than an offer or suggestion, but she bit her tongue on pointing it out. One step at a time.
“You will return to Songclave with me, then? I intend on letting the Caretaker know where I will be. I may as well inform them that you will be joining.” She continued as the Sentinel tilted its head, not giving it the space to ask. “They have grown used to your presence, especially in slaying the husks. You ought to allow them to thank you, before you leave.”
The plumes atop its head seemed to quiver a bit, and she was unsure how to take that reaction. Embarrassment, perhaps? After a moment of what she perceives as indecisive clicking and whirring, it nods, taking a step closer to her. “To Songclave, this s-s-sentinel will accompany the Hunter.”