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Chapter Text

The Pale King stood tall and regal outside the Black Egg Temple, watching his Pure Vessel make its way inside until the Void consumed its form. The Dreamers stood just behind him, waiting for his signal, and the Crossroads were almost entirely empty by his own decree. On the periphery of his vision, he knew that several others were watching.

Herrah had brought Hornet almost all the way to the Temple before handing the child off to the Midwife and a few attendant weavers. Lurien had not brought any of his servants, but Monomon had allowed one of her students to accompany her. His Great Knights were stationed in a perimeter to keep out curious common bugs. His dear Root, the White Lady, stood a distance away, staying only to watch and lend some of her strength before leaving for her Gardens. The Mantis Lords had likely caught wind of an important event and came with some tribe members to make sure it posed no threat to their village. Queen Vespa and a few attendants watched from further away for roughly the same purpose. A few bolder bugs that the Pale King did not know gathered at the very edges of his awareness in anticipation of some unknown occasion.

The Pale King cast aside all distractions as his Pure Vessel made it to the center, a thrum in the wards and the waiting chains making its position known. This carefully constructed ritual had to be done swiftly and precisely; any faults and it would likely spell disaster for Hallownest as a whole. The Mantises and the Bees were right to be wary, but the spell’s protections would not allow them to interfere.

“I would like to once again extend my deepest gratitude for your service,” the Pale King said lowly to the three behind him. “I wish the circumstances for standing together with me were different. May you Dream in peace.”

There was no reply. All other thanks had been spent, last conversations had.

“It is time,” he intoned.

The Wyrm released some of his power to spark the beginning of the spell. His wings fanned out behind him, illuminated in a faint ethereal glow, as lines of light began to weave into the air around the Temple. The formless strands snapped to the anchors within the Temple’s outer shell, extending outwards in intricate patterns. In abstract forms, a familiar mask and wings began to appear, reflecting the nature of the woven spell.

He pulsed Soul into the chains within the Temple’s yolk, activating the complex trap woven with Soul and Dream that he had set before the Void became too thick for him to withstand comfortably. A deep rattling echoed from within the depths, and the Pale King knew that this would signal the Hollow Knight to begin to Focus.

An orange haze began to swirl in the air, trying to grasp the lines of the spell before being drawn into the deep black of the Temple.

The Radiance had arrived.

“Dreamers. The Seal.”

The three Dreamers each lifted an appendage towards the Temple, and the lines of the spell encompassed them as well, faint forms of their masks appearing.

Monomon spoke first in her lilting, foreign voice.

“For diversity. For variance. For evolution. I become bond upon the Vessel.”

There was a sound coming from within the Temple.

Then Lurien, stern yet soft.

“For this city and for King beloved, I become bond upon the Vessel.”

The sound grew louder.

Finally, Herrah, rough and low.

“For my daughter and—”

Suddenly, the ground shook violently, tossing everyone off their feet and sending deep cracks into the rock around them. The Pale King felt the spell strain as their concentration shattered. His wings shook as he struggled to stand back up, his magic flaring to keep the spell from backfiring. He felt more than heard a large rock shatter above his head, and he spared the briefest glance to acknowledge Ogrim for saving him.

He could tell through the strings of the Soul-embued weave that Monomon and Lurien were still awake and connected, but Herrah’s connection was wavering alarmingly, several of the spell lines were snapped, and the Temple had cracks to match the rocks above. A scream was echoing within.

If the Seal failed, the Hollow Knight would fail with it.

The ground shook again.

The ritual had to be stopped.

“Dreamers!” he called, voice shaking minutely. “Release yourselves from the spell! I will guide your disconnection, but we must be swift!”

Monomon and Lurien released their tethers with a nudge from the Pale King’s power, collapsing from the strain into the arms of Isma and Dryya, but Herrah still hung on.

The Pale King turned to the Beast, finding her struggling to detach herself from the unraveling spell, which had wrapped itself around her in the confusion. It was a terrible irony, getting caught in the web of spells like her kind’s prey, but the thought was ripped apart as soon as it crossed his mind. He took a step closer and quickly poured more Soul into the lines, momentarily expanding it enough for Herrah to free herself and release her hold.

The Wyrm felt Root approach and lend him strength as he took on the weight of the spell. He unwound the spell from the Temple as quickly as he dared, the orange haze growing brighter as the spell fractured more. The ground shook again, and Root steadied him as he pulled the last of the binding spell from the Black Egg’s surface.

Unfortunately, it wasn’t the only thing that was pulled out.

In a rush of blinding golden light, every bug around the Temple was knocked off their feet as a large white blur burst out with a roar, disappearing into the tunnels above just as quickly as it had appeared. In its wake, the Pure Vessel limped out from the entrance, dragging its nail behind it, its armor cracked and cloak shredded. Infection leaked from its eyes and it collapsed as soon as it crossed the threshold.

The Pale King immediately rushed to his creation’s side, sighing in relief as he found it to to be whole and not possessed, the Infection slowly leaking out and disappearing. With sinking dread, he realized what that bright white blur must have been, but he couldn’t spare it another thought as the caverns shook once again.

The Pale King turned his head to see his subjects trying to steady themselves, the Mantises and the Bees he had felt now plainly among them and held back by his Great Knights, alerted by the swelling of power and the shaking walls. Herrah had her child within her grasp, protecting her from falling rocks, while Monomon did the same with her student, and Hegemol with Lurien. Root had come to crouch beside him, speaking frantically, but the Pale King could not hear her over the intense rumbling and a frightening realization.

This was no ordinary earthquake. Something large, much larger than he himself had been, was approaching. He had to protect his kingdom.

With the last of his reserves, the Wyrm blanketed Hallownest in a protective glamour before losing consciousness.

Chapter Text

Pet Crawlers was a small store dedicated to selling arthropods of all types, as well as small mammals, reptiles, and some aquatic animals. Most customers came to buy a new companion, though there were those who came to buy accessories, habitats, and feeder insects. There were only two employees besides owner Denise Powell, and as closing time approached, only she remained.

Denise had just finished organizing some of the shelves in her little shop when the bell by the door rung. She hurriedly moved to the front counter to greet potential customers, but relaxed upon seeing two familiar young men standing in the entrance. “Hey there, Rich, Dav— damn, David, what happened to you?”

The man in question, the shorter of the two with messy blonde hair, ducked his head in embarrassment, not managing to hide the various scrapes visible on his arms and face.

The other man, a tall brunet, sighed. “Dave nearly gave me a heart attack by tumbling down a rocky hill on the way to the usual spot.”

“How was I supposed to know that rock was unstable?”

“I have a first aid kit if you need it?” Denise asked worriedly, but David waved her off.

“We had some stuff in the van, I can take care of the rest later.”

“On the bright side, we accidentally stumbled onto a virtual goldmine as a result and came to drop off our find,” said Rich.

Denise raised an eyebrow. “Oh?”

“Yeah!” exclaimed David. “We were taking a different path this time when I, uh, lost my balance and took a little tumble down the hill. I stopped rolling just inside a new entrance to the nearby cave system and when Rich followed me down...”

“...it turned out that he had fallen on top of and disturbed a huge nest of different bugs. I slapped him upside the head for scaring me—”

“How was I supposed to know!”

“—and then we decided to just take advantage. There were a bunch of different kinds too, I didn’t think they would live together so close. We also went to the usual spot and got a few from there. You’re gonna have a field day cataloguing them.”

“We got them in the van if you want to come see before we bring them in.”

Denise’s curiosity was through the roof by that point. “Alright, let me just get the keys really quick—” Before she could move, a white blur came through the still-open door, squeaking angrily as it fluttered around the shop.

Rich sighed. “It got out again, huh.”

“Looks like it.”

Denise watched in bewilderment as the intruder frantically flew a few more circles around the space before landing on top of the cash register. It almost seemed to glare in their direction. “Is… is that a moth? That is the biggest, noisiest moth I’ve ever seen.” She turned back to the boys. “What do you mean ‘got out again’?”

Rich motioned for Denise to follow them to the van parked right outside. She grabbed the keys carefully from the counter, not wanting to incur the wrath of the moth, and followed the boys out, firmly closing the door behind her.

“Believe it or not,” Rich started as soon as the door was closed, “that thing came flying out of the dirt at us once we started clearing debris from Dave’s fall. We got it in a net when it started flying into our faces, then followed where it came out of to find more insects.”

“It got out of the net at some point so we put it in a container,” David continued, unlatching the back doors. “Must’ve got out again somehow.”

As soon as the doors were open and Denise got a look at their find, she immediately jumped in to examine the containers secured against the walls. “Holy— you found all these in one place!?” she exclaimed in awe.

It was like she had stepped into a bug-themed dream. She could make out some mantises, spiders, bees, and several types of beetles, but she excitedly realized that she couldn’t immediately classify most of them. A challenge! Oh, how she loved them!

“This is amazing! I’m almost sad you removed all of these, I would’ve loved to see how they all coexisted. Did you keep most of the nest intact? Start bringing them to the back room, and please tell me you saved the coordinates of where you fou— wait.” She rushed further into the van and stared confusedly into a water-filled tank and the forms floating within. “Since when does the lake have jellyfish?”

David barked out an incredulous laugh as he picked up another container to bring into the shop. “They’re not from the lake! I have no idea how, but there were a bunch of those little things in the mess of tunnels we got the rest from.”

Casting aside her surprise, Denise quickly unhooked the tank and started bringing it into the store. She had no idea what type of creatures these were, looking like jellyfish but living underground, so she wanted to prioritize getting them into a proper habitat just in case.

By the time she had set the water tank down next to the other aquarium tanks in the storage room, Rich and David had already brought the other containers inside and arranged them on the holding shelves within. The moth had relocated to a high shelf in the room and a variety of chittering noises were emanating from the boxes.

She noticed a smaller storage box on top of the desk. Rich followed her gaze and explained, “There were a lot of weird things around the area, so we picked up a few.”

“I’d suggest checking out the tubes first, but be careful handling them.” David added. “There was a big well of the stuff within the tunnels where the jellyfish things were, but it’s acidic.” He tugged a glove off his left hand and showed a discolored patch of skin on his palm.

Denise whistled. “It really wasn’t your day, huh? Does it sting?”

David flushed and pulled his glove back on. “A bit.”

“There’s also a couple of things in there that might be good for habitats,” Rich finished. He brought his watch up and jolted. “Ooh, we better head out, Clumsy over here’s got some work to finish back home.”

David swatted Rich’s arm as they started walking out, laughing. “Once I’m done with that paper, I am going to wreck you at Mario Kart.”

“That’s about as likely as bugs having magic powers,” Rich scoffed.

“Take the usual and some extra from the register for your find!” Denise called, trusting her long-time friends to only take what they were owed. The register dinged and then the bell signaled that they had left.

Denise checked her own watch and, seeing that the store was due to close soon, she locked up the front door and decided to start organizing the new containers. First though…

Denise squinted up at one of the shelves, seeing the fluffy white moth looking down. It almost seemed to glow against the shadows some of the boxes up there cast. She rummaged in one of the mini fridges, pulling out a small dish and a bag of slightly overripe orange slices. She separated a small piece and put it in the dish, which she placed on one of the lower shelves. Maybe putting some food out might allow her to get close enough to examine it.

Denise then walked over to the water tanks as she nibbled on another orange slice, where the jellyfish-like creatures swam. They didn’t seem to be in any distress with their conditions, but Denise resolved to keep a sharp eye on them just in case. One in particular was much larger than the rest and drifted closer to the glass as Denise approached. It shone with a greenish bioluminescence and seemed capable of self-locomotion. It almost seemed to study her in turn just as she was studying it, but that might’ve been her fatigue at a full work day showing.

Denise turned back to the desk and started pulling items out of the box. It was a very strange collection. There were several tiny sharp metal objects, something that resembled a torch or lantern, some large hollowed rocks and shells that would probably be well placed in a habitat, quite a few shiny crystals, some tubes and glass containers of a greenish liquid that bubbled ominously, and plenty more little trinkets and oddities. She didn’t have the equipment to analyze the tubes of liquid here, but maybe she could ask around her university.

Abruptly, she realized that the loud chirping noises from the new tanks had quieted down. She didn’t know when it had happened, but as she glanced into the tanks she found herself being observed by a myriad of tiny eyes. A shiver ran down her spine and she shuddered.

The moth had also quieted, and as Denise turned to the shelf, she found the moth next to the food she had set out. She carefully put aside the remaining orange pieces and slowly approached.

The moth seemed to notice and backed away from the food, but didn’t take flight. Denise very slowly reached out a hand, careful not to cup it over the insect. The moth chittered in warning, but still didn’t move, and after a few moments Denise lowered a finger into the moth’s fluffy coat, stroking gently and avoiding the wings.

To her surprise, the moth almost seemed to lean into the touch. Denise took the opportunity to examine it and make some observations. It was a fairly large moth, with pure white fur and light grayish wings. She was tempted to call it a silkmoth, or maybe one of those poodle moths, but it didn’t fit entirely. It had some strange protrusions on its head framing its antennae, and its wings were strangely patterned. Due to the size, thin antennae, and a few other details, however, Denise was fairly sure that it was a female.

Denise withdrew her finger, leaving the moth to its meal. She cast her attention to the now-silent bug tanks. Rich and David had done a good job of separating the insects by supposed species, but the bugs had to be moved to proper habitats so the containers could be returned and she could check for contaminants before moving them into tanks with their own species. She flitted around the storage room, pulling out extra half-furnished tanks until she found the proper ones, then grabbed some dividers to separate the bugs within each container. She brought the new containers closer to the shelves where the new bugs were, then added a few things from the small box as well as food, water, and more shelter.

Nodding to herself, she mumbled, “Now, who first?”

She stepped closer to each of the containers, mentally cataloguing the species. One had a few mantises, three of which were taller and slightly different than the rest. Denise noticed scratches all around the clear plastic walls and slotted in some transparent plastic dividers. It didn’t look as if the mantises had attacked each other, thankfully, just the container itself, but she wasn’t sure enough of the species to leave them together overnight. She then assembled a small tunnel so they could be transferred to the new habitat without escaping.

The mantises fought her every step of the way and she very nearly got pinched a few times. “C’mon,” she coaxed, despite knowing they had no way of understanding her intentions. “This new habitat is much nicer than that box.” She jiggled the old container a little to encourage the mantises to move, but it took several minutes to get them all in, and even more to make sure there was one per division. After the three taller mantises were placed into the new enclosure, though, the others followed in short order. She finished setting up the habitat, making sure the ventilation was clear and the mesh was secure, before putting it where the old container was.

Disobedient bugs seemed to be the theme of the evening. The spiders were aggressive and it took several tries with a net to separate one of the unknown bugs from the largest spider. It wouldn’t do to have a possibly new species get eaten before she could examine it. The bumblebees were just as aggressive as the spiders at first, but followed their queen into the new specialized container soon enough. It was almost as if the three species had designated leaders, which would be an interesting phenomenon to study.

As Denise worked to separate the other miscellaneous beetles and bugs, she saw that she recognized fewer than she had originally thought. The only ones in the largest container that she recognized were a pillbug and a dung beetle, which she quickly put into their own small enclosures. There was also a strange fungus-like organism, a completely white bug that seemed to have a long body, a large black bug with a white head, and many more species she couldn’t name. They didn’t seem to be attacking or eating each other, so she supposed these species coexisted, but she would separate them overnight all the same just in case. As an experiment, she made a path between the old and new container, gently encouraged the group to move, and waited to see which bug would go first.

At first, nothing happened. They retreated from the new enclosure, but none stood out from the rest as they clicked to each other. Then, the long white bug suddenly unsheathed hidden wings and tried to escape. Denise cursed and quickly moved the mesh around the tunnel to account for the hole she missed, but she would have been too late if it weren’t for the moth.

Said moth swooped out of nowhere, screeching angrily, and redirected the white bug’s flight path into the new enclosure just in time for Denise to cover the hole. It then perched itself on Denise’s shoulder, to the human’s absolute bewilderment. This crazy moth seemed almost domesticated. “Thanks?” she said uncertainly, watching as the rest of the bugs followed the long one. There were quite a few, so she had to grab another tank to house the rest. The root-like one and the large black and white bug lagged noticeably behind, so she grabbed a new container for the former and the one with the bug from the spider tank for the latter, which looked similar if not for the red on its carapace and difference in size.

The last container had some bugs that likely came from the usual spot or further away from the discovered nest, if the little label on top that she recognized was any indicator. There was another far smaller black and white bug in there, but it seemed to be of the same species, so she moved it with the other one. There were also a couple of weevils and a few more miscellaneous ones that would take more time to catalogue which she moved into appropriate containers.

Finally, after more than an hour had gone by, all the bugs had been relocated to be examined the next day. Denise slowly raised a hand to the moth, which quickly climbed on so she could return it to the orange slice. She moved to grab a box for the moth, but it began to squeak in displeasure at the movement. Denise wasn’t sure why she hesitated, but she ended up placing the enclosure on the desk with some water and more oranges, leaving it open for the moth to get into on its own.

It was getting late and Denise had to wake up early tomorrow to open up the shop before going to class. Whatever mysteries there were behind these new creatures, they could wait for tomorrow. So, after rechecking the tanks one more time and saying a ritual goodbye to the bugs and animals in her care, she locked the storage room, dealt with the register, updated her logs, checked the alarm, turned off the lights, and locked the store proper before walking to the nearest bus station.

Chapter Text

As soon as the strange being that had taken them all captive plunged the room into darkness and left, the shelves descended into chaos once more.

The Pale King could not fully hear or see the other trapped bugs through the many glass-like walls, but he could feel the frantic buzzing of the bees as Vespa tried to calm them below and to the right, the Mantis Lords renewing their attack on their prison below and to the left, and the Beast and her spiders doing the same directly below. Ogrim was trying to calm down his Knights from his own separate enclosure to the right. His Pure Vessel, Hornet, and another bug he could not make out were to the left, with Monomon’s assistant beyond them. He knew one of the boxes above contained his Root, but the other two housed unknown bugs. The Teacher floated serenely in a large, softly lit, liquid-filled container with some of her oomas and uomas, a far distance from the shelves upon which the major figures of Hallownest were placed.

The Pale King himself was focused on replenishing his reserves of Soul and stopping his hands from trembling from within his cloak. The recent events, along with the strain of the disastrous spell and the glamour he had cast, had sapped him of all energy and left his mind scattered. His last ditch effort to escape captivity and release his subjects from the outside had also failed and certainly not helped his situation.

The Wyrm had never seen such gigantic creatures before, utterly dwarfing his previous form. A part of him found them very fascinating. Their soft bodies lacked chitinous armor or any sort of natural defense, though their build showed curious similarities to a common bug’s upright stature. They were not higher beings, as they did not bear the markers of strong magic and power, but his own power still skipped across the surface of their minds like stones across a lake. They seemed intelligent, from what he had seen of their behaviors and structures so far, and had a sprawling civilization, yet he had never been aware of their kind. It was a mystery he would have liked to take the time to unravel had they not invaded his kingdom and stolen himself, his family, and his subjects at the worst moment possible.

A tapping on the clear material that surrounded him pulled the Pale King from his musings, turning around to see his faithful Watcher on the other side, who seemed to have mostly calmed down from his earlier hysterics. The King’s dim light highlighted the other bug’s mask and a small area around them both. He nodded his acknowledgement as regally as he could, betraying none of the fatigue he felt. He needed to be strong for his subjects.

“What happens now, my King?” Lurien’s voice, even raised loudly, was difficult to hear through the barrier. Luckily, the Pale King’s Light gave him a very small foothold in the minds of the bugs below him. He could raise his voice as well, but yelling was unbecoming of him.

“Inspect your conditions, ration your food, find shelter,” he said, his voice carrying partly through the connection and into Lurien’s mind. “Tell my Knights to release any lumaflies they may have brought and try to find weaknesses in this material. For now, we lie in wait and plan for an opportunity to escape.”

The Pale King would have continued, had a large figure not landed directly in front of him on the other side of his clear prison, lighting the area more thoroughly than his own pale light had been.

Despite the thickness of the barrier, the Radiance’s words had no trouble reaching his own mind, half speaking through Dream. “What a terrible irony, Wyrm. You find yourself trapped just as you would have trapped me within the Empty One.”

His Knights drew their weapons around him, despite their separation, but he waved them off. He looked up with narrowed eyes at the great moth, drawing himself taller. In being pulled into physicality by the botched spell, she now looked more like her creations, complete with antennae and forelimbs, yet only slightly smaller than she appeared in dreams. She stood tall, wings flared and a halo of light behind her crown as she looked down upon him.

“I see you find amusement in trying to doom us all,” the Pale King said with scorn. “Had you not intervened—”

“What would you have done, Pale One?” the Radiance interrupted with a scowl in her glowing eyes. “Fly off for the Tall Being to hunt you down? Challenge it and almost certainly be destroyed? Release your fellows and lead them into unknown dangers? Your attempt to Seal me away left you weak, Wyrm, you would not have succeeded. Do you think yourself the only one able to save them all?”

“And what do you intend to accomplish?” the Pale King spat, his normally stoic demeanor crumbling under the weight of his recent failures. “You have no advantage over me besides not being encased. You are also weak from being near-forgotten, I can feel it plainly.”

The Radiance took one step forward in rage at the Pale Wyrm’s challenging words, but stopped herself with great effort from going further; it would do nothing but further agitate the warriors behind him. Her anger still bubbled close to the surface, though time and physical existence had already begun to wear away its constancy.

When the Radiance had inadvertently been pulled from the Dream Realm, she had still been consumed by hatred and fury, attacking blindly when she found the space to spread her wings. Her sudden capture snapped her out of it, turning to shock in seeing gargantuan creatures pull a still Wyrm from the earth.

At first, the Radiance had felt a vindictive pleasure; with the Pale King gone, she would be able to return and gather followers once again without trouble. Even weak as she was, from struggling against death for so long, a summoned blade cut easily through the netting that confined her. When she tried to fly away and bide her time, however, she was prevented by another kind of trap. Despite the failure of the Sealing Ritual, the Radiance had still been tethered to the Empty One, the chains having already been put into motion, so she found herself unable to stay in Hallownest after the Pale King had been taken away.

Instead, while the Wyrm had been slumbering in exhaustion, the Radiance had followed the kidnapped bugs and the Tall Beings that had taken them, observing the unknown creatures and slipping through their attempts to contain her. Though she had initially been irritated, they had soon piqued her curiosity and interest. Their minds were vast, akin to Higher Beings, and largely resisted her probing. They spoke in a foreign tongue, but without access to the meaning in their words, she could not translate it.

Despite this, however, she could tell by lightly skimming their surface thoughts that they did not mean direct harm. They projected excitement, especially the smaller one whose care they had been placed into, but it was borne out of simple curiosity, not malice. The smaller one moved with gentleness unexpected for its size, and even when the Radiance placed herself in a position where she could be harmed— though certainly prepared to retaliate if necessary— the Tall Being simply stroked her and observed. A light suggestion of her magic had also led the Being to leave her free instead of forcing her into a container, which would not have affected such a vast mind unless it had already thought of the idea.

The Radiance had seen the long distance that separated these bugs from their homes; her Dreamgate would be much too unreliable, even if she had the strength for such a journey. In the heart of unknown territory and surrounded by untold dangers, the only way to return was to cross this language barrier and enlist the help of the Tall Beings.

It was not something she could do alone, however. No matter how much she despised the Wyrm, especially with this latest affront, his help would be invaluable. These bugs still rallied under his crest, and the Root stayed close to his side. She would be needed, if the Radiance had judged her Focus correctly.

“I plan to stay close to the Tall Being that we were delivered to,” the Radiance began. “I was not included in that glamour of yours, my traits still shine through, yet it does not seem to mind my company or freedom. I can intervene in the case of any undesirable actions.

“Root,” the Radiance called, including the White Lady in their conversation with a small strain of power, “part of your skill lies with language, if I am not mistaken.”

There was a faint affirmative, then a solid “You are correct” as the White Lady strengthened the connection from her end.

“If I send you my memories of the Tall Beings’ speech and you continue to listen as they talk, you may have a hope of translating their language. Are you willing?”

“I am,” came the answer after a small pause. “Their Voices are loud and powerful; whether that will make it easier or more difficult is yet to be seen.”

The Radiance nodded, then turned her attention back to the Pale King. “Loathe as I am to admit,” she continued, reluctance plain in her tone, “your magic is broader than mine, if less deep. Your Light is already tethered in their minds, and you share a connection with Root. You would be most able to share that knowledge among them all.

“After that, we negotiate for our freedom.”

The Pale King scoffed. “And what makes you think these ‘Tall Beings’ would be willing to listen? We are small and insignificant beside them. Should our intelligence prove any threat, what would stop them from striking us down? You are naive.”

“Then you are prideful!” the Radiance thundered, her wings and Light flaring and forcing the bugs behind the Wyrm to take a step back instinctively. “If we show no intelligence at all and escape, there is nothing to prevent—”

“These walls may be thick, but I know plans are being made between you higher beings. Would it be too much to ask that us less godly folk be included? Hallownest’s King is not the only ruler here,” a voice interrupted loudly.

The Radiance went to hover further from the shelves, noting that the other contained bugs were watching her with rapt attention. The audible part of their conversation and her Light must have alerted them. Hive Queen Vespa looked slightly annoyed and Deepnest Queen Herrah was impassive, but the Mantis Lords were seething. The Radiance ignored the latter.

“We were indeed making plans, Hive Queen Vespa,” said the Radiance, having lightly skimmed the bee’s mind for information. Vespa didn’t seem surprised that the moth knew her name.

The Radiance supposed it would be beneficial for everyone to be in on the loop, though the clear cages that held them all would make things difficult. She could probably pull everyone into a Dream, but she doubted any of these bugs would agree to it. In recent times, Dreams of her had been accompanied by madness, and the Radiance wasn’t keen on bringing so many agitated warriors into her domain, especially if they were unwilling.

All the same, she raised her voice to reach everyone through the ventilation holes in their tanks, “If we wish to speak comfortably to each other, I’m afraid these containers disallow it. If you would permit me—”

“If you would permit me,” the White Lady interrupted, speaking loudly from her container. The Radiance’s light flared again slightly in faint irritation, but the caged Queen didn’t seem to mind. “I can amplify all of your Voices to reach the rest. Nothing else will be affected. Do you all accept?” Given that most of the bugs present had very little issue with Root compared to the Radiance, acceptance was given easily only after a few moments of thought. “Very well.”

With that, a pale light began to glow from the tips of her branches. The Pale King felt her power use his by proxy through the Kingsoul, though no one else felt any change.

“There,” said the White Lady, and nearly everyone jumped at hearing her voice as near as if she were standing beside them. “We may speak without barriers. Radiance, if you would reiterate your plan so we may deliberate upon it?”

Pure had been internally panicking for a while now, and the fact that they were panicking only exacerbated things.

They hadn’t been able to protect Father or Mother or anyone else from being captured by the giant creatures because they had been so heavily injured when the Radiance escaped. They had been separated because they were too slow and recovering from said injuries, and even after Focusing a few times their body still ached. They had failed to contain the Radiance, and now the Old Light was right in front of everyone.

The Ritual has failed. The Seal had failed. They had failed in their one and only purpose.

There was no reason for them to still be alive.

And that only made the waiting game worse.

Pure hadn’t forgotten. They knew what had happened to their siblings in the Abyss, seen their cracked shells and broken bodies, been knocked down to the bottom by them a few times. They had all failed, and then they had died.

So Pure stood in a neutral pose, using their nail to keep their knees from buckling through will they couldn’t have, trying to keep the mind they shouldn’t have clear, and grateful they wouldn’t have to worry about any winces of pain escaping through a voice they didn’t have.

Do not think…

Do not speak…

Do not hope…

Do not…

Waiting for orders. Waiting for the end. They couldn’t— shouldn’t — hope for anything else.

They were aware of their surroundings, that things were happening around them, plans being made, but it was of no consequence. An empty vessel had no place in such dealings. Hornet kept tapping at the thin barrier between them, but to acknowledge it could be seen as a weakness. There was no room for curiosity aimed at her, the unknown bug behind them, or even the beings that had taken them in the midst of the panic and guilt they couldn’t fully dispel.

“Pure Vessel.”

As a result of extensive training, they managed not to flinch as Father’s voice reached them clearly and suddenly, instead merely inclining their head in his direction.

The Pale King watched them intently through the clear barriers between them. “Watch over the Daughter of Deepnest and verify whether the unknown bug is any threat. Go into their enclosures if you must, use force if necessary.” He then turned back to the moth that Pure was studiously ignoring, leaving them to their own devices.

Pure grasped the orders with slight desperation. If they could keep their body moving, maybe it would lessen the emotions that were becoming increasingly hard to stifle.

The container they were in was split in three, with Hornet to their left and the unknown but curiously familiar-feeling hidden bug to their right. Herrah’s daughter came first, as per Father’s orders.

They called on their Soul, teleporting past the clear wall and into her area. Hornet seemed to be focusing on something, nodding her head and saying “Yes, Mother” in response to nothing. Once she snapped back to attention, though, she immediately noticed Pure and ran up to them.

“Hello, Pure,” she said, bowing her head slightly. Pure returned the gesture. It had been a long time since they had last seen each other; Father hadn’t let them interact with anyone other than himself, Mother, the Dreamers, and the Great Knights once their training had begun in earnest. She looked them up and down, even walking a circle around them, before saying, “You’re a lot bigger than the last time I saw you.” Pure nodded again, faintly amused. Hornet had grown as well since they last saw each other, but they had almost been the same size back then; theirs was a much more noticeable difference.

Hornet glanced at the other box, where the Pale King and the Radiance seemed to be holding a staring contest, before reaching up to grab Pure’s hand, tugging them towards what looked like a hollow log. Pure allowed themself to be pulled along into the tunnel, relieved that it seemed big enough for them if they minded their horns and left their nail at its mouth. As soon as they were inside, Hornet used her needle to pull an invisible string of silk and a curtain made from a large leaf fell over the entrance.

“For privacy,” Hornet explained. “The other one doesn’t want to be seen for some reason.”

Pure’s curiosity rose unbidden. Hornet had a good sense for danger, from what they recalled; if she hadn’t mentioned it by now, the other bug wasn’t likely a threat. Who were they then? And why was that feeling of familiarity getting stronger as they moved through the tunnel?

Soon enough, they came to the end, which was pressed against the wall separating them from the unknown bug. Hornet’s lumafly lantern was sitting there, illuminating part of what looked like a hollowed mound on the other side. That would explain why Pure couldn’t see the bug from outside.

Making sure Pure was watching, Hornet walked over to the wall and tapped on it. Almost immediately, a figure darted forward from the shadows and tapped back.

Pure reared back in shock.

“They look like you,” Hornet said thoughtfully.

The little figure on the other side of the wall pressed itself against the material, its mask cocked to the side. Many of their siblings’ masks had blurred together in their memory, both whole and broken, but this one… two-pronged horns so much like theirs but thinner, body just as small as theirs had once been, a little hand reaching and a silent voice crying out—

“Sibling!”

In a flood of emotion that broke through the carefully crafted blocks they had made, Pure disappeared in a flash of shade, causing Hornet to yelp in surprise, only to reappear in the same spot with the vessel in their arms. They were so small compared to themself, and that only made them hold tighter. The little one didn’t mind, bringing their mask up to bump against Pure’s and issuing a stream of calm-joy-forgive to counter the sorry-sorry-sorry that Pure couldn’t help but whine in the Void-tongue they shared.

The last time they had seen their sibling, Pure had thought they had fallen to their death... and they had done nothing.

Pure felt Hornet sidle up next to them. “Do you know them?” she asked softly. Upon noticing her, their sibling scrambled across their lap and bumped masks with Hornet too, eliciting a giggle from the other bug. Pure nodded once she could see them, placing a hand between the little one’s horns. They leaned into the touch with a voiceless sigh.

Maybe…

Maybe things could still turn out alright.

Chapter Text

“Have you got the counter? Good. I’ll be in the back room, call me if you need me.”

Denise pulled the door closed behind her and tossed her bookbag lightly onto the floor by the desk. She pulled over a rolling chair and sat down, then proceeded to grab her laptop and a few books from her bag, placing them next to the empty moth tank she had set out the previous night.

A short glance found that some things had been shifted around and the food had been touched, so the moth had gotten in at some point. She didn’t know where it was now, but she supposed it would appear when least expected again. Her shift was over, so she could begin categorizing and identifying the new bugs and wait for the moth to show up later.

She grabbed a small notepad and pencil to write down all the characteristics she could see at a glance, so she could cross-reference them with some online databases and books to compare against her own guesses and observations. If she couldn’t match them to any known species, she would then separate and take them out carefully to look closer.

She rolled over to the shelving unit to look over the containers, wondering which one she wanted to choose first. She winced when she saw all the scratches marring the surfaces of some of them; those would definitely be staying in the back room. She would have to be careful handling the bugs within if they could do such damage.

“Good afternoon, guys,” she said brightly, her habit of talking to the bugs in her care kicking in. “Hope you had a good night and morning. Time to figure out what you all are.”

She decided to just go in order from left to right, starting with the lowest shelf. Rolling closer, she observed the meandering bees in their specialized container, flipping open to a blank page of the notebook to record her thought process as she mumbled to herself.

Based on their fuzziness and plump bodies, she had pegged them all as bumblebees, but there seemed to be slight differences between them, including a noticeable size disparity. While one of the larger bees and three of the smaller ones were very fuzzy and mostly fit the description of female bumblebees, the large bee they had been following into the container, which she assumed was the queen, seemed more like a honeybee. One of their number was somewhat in the middle in terms of size and fuzz, and since she couldn’t see a stinger it was likely a male. When she leaned in and squinted it didn’t seem to have wings either. Was that a new development or—

BONK

Denise stifled a high-pitched yelp and reared backwards as the largest bumblebee slammed into the tank’s wall, right where her face had been. She steadied her chair and put a hand over her chest, letting out a nervous giggle. The movement had spooked her the most but the noise had been loud as well. There had to have been some force behind it.

Suddenly, a hissing-chittering sound descended from elsewhere in the room, coming from the missing moth as it landed on her left shoulder again, adding to the mini heart attack. Denise had no idea what to make of the moth seeming to scold the bees from its perch, but maybe that was just the anthropomorphizing talking. She tended to do that with her various charges.

More bizarre was the moth’s choice of perch. Twice now it had placed itself on her shoulder, utterly unbothered by her movement or size. Denise was itching to figure out the source of its strange behavior, but it wasn’t as if she could ask it. Well… she could, but she wouldn’t get an answer. “You are the weirdest moth I’ve ever seen,” she said, turning her head slightly to address the fluffy insect. A small squeak answered her. Maybe she should name it.

Turning her attention back to the bee tank, she saw that the attacking bee had moved further back into the container, and the queen and wingless bee had approached. They didn’t seem to be in any distress, and Denise knew that the temperature of the room was around their optimal range, but they seemed too still to be normal, as if waiting for something. “Why do I feel like I’m having a staring contest with you. You don’t blink, I’ll always lose.”

The container wasn’t meant to hold them long-term, at least not inside; there were no flowers to collect from here and the sugar solution she was currently using shouldn’t be given to them for very long. She would have to either release them or move them soon. She’d been looking into keeping a small hive on her apartment balcony, maybe she could keep them there with her potted flowers and see if they made honey or not. The landlady was pretty lax, she’d probably allow it.

She wrote down a few more notes and replenished the food supply before turning to the next container. The spiders had already begun to spin webs around their habitat, so it was a bit difficult to see them all, especially through the little areas that were especially scratched. The webs looked like slightly more organized cobwebs, maybe mesh. The three smallest spiders with their red coloration were just barely visible within the tangle, so Denise could only just make out their round… abdomens? Those looked like eyes… no, they had to be markings. Ugh, she was getting a headache trying to focus her vision hard enough. They were probably of theridiidae, or perhaps araneidae, what with the webs and body shape, but she couldn’t be sure.

There were two larger ones, this time with a strange bluish coloration. Their legs were just as thin as the little ones, but the bodies were thicker. Despite being larger and less hidden, though, Denise still had a hard time focusing on details. It was even worse for the two largest, one black and unornamented, the other a lightish gray and faded blue with pointed horns. Both were in plain sight, facing her, but for the life of her Denise could not identify either one. The one with horns had… six eyes? Was it even a spider? She swore that they had all looked more like recognizable spiders when she put them in the containers yesterday.

“Hnng, why does looking at you give me a headache?” she murmured irritably as she looked away, massaging her temple with her right hand so as not to disturb the moth that was still on her shoulder. “I’ll just… wait until the webs are more built up, check for a tapetum later to maybe narrow it down a bit.” She would have to remove them at some point to get a better look probably, but she was very hesitant to do that without having some idea of the species. She dropped in some small crickets and moved on.

Next were the mantids. Their container was much more heavily scratched than the others. It was a little concerning that they were able to do this much damage actually. She knew that mantis claws could be sharp to catch prey but not enough to mark plastic. Even as she watched, one of the larger three mantises cut a line into the side of the container facing her. Oddly enough, she swore she saw a flash of silver at the movement. “You have zero chill,” she said with a small smile, at the same time the moth let out a small hiss. “You’re feisty, and that’s cool and all, but please don’t damage my tanks anymore.” Another of the three slashed again in defiance.

They were at least easier to categorize than the spiders, even though the prickling in the back of her mind didn’t go away. They didn’t seem to have any natural camouflage, such as leaflike ornamentation, so that knocked out a few species. The size of the largest ones seemed to be around 4 inches if she was eyeballing that right, so maybe they were female Chinese mantises? Those were common in the area, though the bluish-gray coloring was perhaps more typical of a Carolina mantis. The only kink in either of those guesses were the two horn-like protrusions on their heads; the only mantid species she knew of with horns only had one. In addition, the three smaller adults and the two nymphs lacked them, so perhaps those were a different species.

She’d have to do a bit more research. At least if the other ones were either of those she might be able to get them checked out to sell in the store.

The pressure had continued to build behind her eyes, so Denise decided to take a small break. Maybe she was getting sick? She had stayed up pretty late studying for that exam a few days ago, maybe the stress was finally catching up to her. She opened up her laptop to start researching and unzipped her bag again; there might still be a Tylenol in there…

Herrah watched attentively as the Tall Being, as the Radiance had uncreatively named, turned away from the shelves and began rummaging in its pack. The Little Weavers and Devouts were already taking care of the gifted meal.

“Such an expressive face, without a mask to shield it,” said the Midwife lightly beside her after a short time. “Very foreign, yet pain is a universal experience it seems, heehee. What do you suppose caused it, my Queen?”

“The Wyrm likely has something to do with it,” Herrah murmured. “Or else that infernal moth. It did not seem much distressed when it first arrived.” She pulled on the connection that Root had provided. “Any explanations for the creature’s distress, Wyrm?”

There was a bit of silence before he replied. “It would seem that it has some sensitivity to my glamour, perhaps even a growing resistance. It is becoming harder for its eyes to reconcile the glamour’s trick on its mind with our true forms. The effect will likely intensify as time goes on, the more what it sees clashes with what it thinks it should see.”

“I do so hope that we may be able to communicate soon,” Monomon interjected brightly.

“You seem excited, Teacher,” Herrah stated.

“Indeed I am. It has the look of a scholar, see its writing implements? How it studied you? I look forward to seeing its notes, there will be much to learn in this exchange.”

“Hopefully that will be soon,” said the White Lady kindly. As her Focus was Voice, the interpretation of language came easily to her. The many words the Radiance had heard from their captors during transport gave her a decent head start, and their current caretaker spoke often. 

She expanded her reach to all of her fellow captives and the moth still seated on the Being’s shoulder, who had been skimming its mind for the meanings behind its speech to help speed translation. “With the Radiance’s aid in her proximity to the Tall Being, I have made great progress in deciphering its words. We are fortunate that this creature tends to speak to itself so often.” A pang of nostalgia went through her. It was a trait her Wyrm carried, one that she had loved before those mutterings turned to Void and Vessels. She shook herself out of the melancholy, making her voice steady as she continued, “There is, however, one complication.

“While we will, perhaps by the end of this day, be able to understand it, we will not be able to speak its tongue. It is a matter of physical impossibility.” Root felt unrest well up in the web of Voices, and sent a brief pulse of reassurance to quiet them. “There is still a way to enable the Being to hear us. However, the idea will undoubtedly meet some resistance, and it will not be an easy task.”

The Pale King stiffened where he stood. “Surely you don’t mean…” he trailed off incredulously.

“I do. I must give the Tall Being our language, so that it may understand us speaking in our native tongue, but to do so it must be Dreaming. With its foreign mind, a spell will be necessary to send it to sleep, and the only one among us with the right command over Dream to accomplish the casting of the Dream afterwards would be the Radiance.”

There was an immediate outcry from the shelves below her. The Tall Being looked over curiously, said something to itself, and turned back to its strange light panel.

“You wish for the Old Light to have a foothold in its mind? Have you lost your senses?” yelled Ziria, the eldest of the Mantis Lords.

Her younger sister Sikka, just as outraged, continued, “In case you have forgotten, Dreams of her fill bugs with sickness and mindless rage! What sort of damage would she be able to do with this creature in her sway?”

“For the last time, the Infection was accidental and will not happen again,” called the Radiance, sending her Voice directly so as not to disturb the Being she was perched on. Irritation leaked strongly through. “As I’ve explained already, I’m no longer in danger of being forgotten, and it is certainly not something I wish to recreate intentionally.”

“And we are supposed to simply take your word for it?” Drosa, the youngest Lord, asked challengingly. “After what your Light did to Kasai?”

“Why not simply include the creature’s Voice, Root, as you have done with the rest of us, using your power to translate?” asked Vespa, cutting into the blooming argument. The Mantis Lords had a point, but personal grudges would get them nowhere in this situation; they could take it up at a later time. The Hive hadn’t been touched by the Infection, so she didn’t have any strong feelings towards the Radiance. With what she had heard in regards to that orange plague, however, she still wanted to know if there were any other options available.

“If only it were that simple,” the White Lady sighed. “The Being’s mind is rather heavily fortified while awake, and my power cannot reach through. Even if I could tether its Voice now, our meaning would still escape it. Its defenses should lower while asleep and a Dream is necessary to make the exchange.”

“Forgive my intrusion, your Majesty, but Herrah, Monomon, and myself are also skilled in that magic,” Lurien said. “Might we be able to accomplish this task?”

“Your task had been to cast yourselves into a Dream as a Seal, not another,” the Pale King cut in. “The workings of the spell, construction of the Temple, and my own Light would have supported you. In this matter, the amount of Soul necessary coupled with the strain to cast this Dream would drain you three dry.”

The Wyrm was loath to agree with this idea, considering the key role of the Radiance, but the more he thought of it, the more it seemed necessary. If they couldn’t speak with the Being, they would either have to escape another way and brave dangerous unfamiliar lands to return to Hallownest or show their intelligence through convoluted charades, neither of which was ideal. Bidirectional communication would be efficient and prevent misinterpretation.

He particularly hated hinging their escape on the cooperation of such a foreign creature and on the Radiance’s word concerning its emotional motives, but so far it was their best shot, despite the unknowns. He would be willing to cast aside his rivalry with the moth for the sake of his subjects. Just for now. And if his Root thought this was the best way, he would follow her. It was… the least he could do.

He would certainly not allow the Radiance into its mind unsupervised, though. He wasn’t an idiot.

“I will agree to this plan,” he began, taking a moment to enjoy the shock emanating from the Radiance, “on the stipulation that I craft the sleeping spell and join this Dream as well.”

There was a small pause as this was mulled over. “No tricks, Wyrm,” said the Radiance darkly. “If I find even a hint of treachery, I will personally ensure that you never see your kingdom again.”

He raised his hands placatingly. “No tricks.” Too much risk, unfortunately. “The spell will take me a few days to craft and tether if I work quickly, perhaps less with the help of my Dreamers. We will be able to understand the Being soon, but let us not draw too much attention to ourselves before it is complete.”

“Are there any objections?” asked the White Lady.

The Mantis Lords did not speak up, though they seemed unhappy about it. At the very least, they could trust the Pale King to act in his own self-interest and keep the Radiance in check. Everyone else seemed to agree, as no other options were forthcoming.

As the Tall Being returned to its inspection, the Pale King retreated inside the fake rock shelter that he had been provided. He didn’t have any writing implements, but carving would make do. Finally, he sighed internally, a concrete task.

Time to get to work.

Chapter Text

When Mato had separated from his brothers and the Great Nailsage to continue building his house in the Cliffs a few days ago, he hadn’t expected to later find himself trapped and being observed by a colossal creature alongside the highest figures of Hallownest, neighboring with the Queen herself and a thoroughly panicked Stag.

The first thing he had done after capture was use his nail to try and escape, of course, but even his Nail Art left only deep scratches instead of shattering his container. Perhaps one of his brothers’ mastered Arts would have been able to do more damage, but his wasn’t as concentrated. After that— with reassurances from the White Lady, and later the Pale King and the moth they called the Radiance— the newly-named Nailmaster had resigned himself to tending his nail, searching for weak points, and trying to calm his neighbor.

The Stag had probably taken their change in location the worst. It was common knowledge that they were born, raised, and lived their entire lives in the stagways that ran across the kingdom. To be suddenly plucked from those tunnels and not only placed in an open confined space, but so far from the only home he had ever known… the Stag had been near catatonic at the shock of it all for the greater part of the journey. The other part consisted of anxious pacing that no one was keen to interrupt for fear of being trampled… or for being unconscious at the time in the case of the Pale King and the tall bug near him.

(He would never say it out loud, of course, but Mato still found it hilarious that he had managed to be in the presence of the elusive Pale King of Hallownest himself, a high honor granted to very few bugs, and his Majesty had been asleep almost the entire time.)

Mato had only been able to speak to the Stag after being transferred to the new container, the shock having passed enough for the poor thing to register the sound of him tapping against the glass-like wall between them. They had talked a bit and Mato had suggested that the Stag move some of the structures around to make a sheltered nest, a task he had applied himself to with gusto.

The Stag had shown great strength and speed in rearranging his accommodations while Mato assembled his own shelter, but he could tell from the Stag’s restless limbs afterwards that it was only a small comfort.

The Nailmaster didn’t have much experience with the beasts; he’d liked exploring on foot more than the convenience, and the Nailsage had reinforced that behavior as part of their conditioning. Nonetheless, in these strange circumstances, he could tell that the Stag needed a distraction and a friend, and Mato was happy to provide.

He settled down next to the wall closest to his neighbor’s shelter, tapping on the material to get the Stag’s attention. “Hello again. Are you feeling any better?”

The Stag stepped closer to the entrance of the small tunnel he had constructed, to better see Mato, then lay on the ground to be more on his level with a huff.

“Somewhat. I’m better than I was before, at any rate. And how do you fare, Nailmaster?”

Mato blinked. “How did you know that I am a Nailmaster?”

The Stag spoke next with a smile in his gruff voice. “We Stags are taught the various roles and titles before we leave the Nest in order to properly address our passengers. I recognize your attire from those lessons. You are wearing the traditional color, yes?”

Mato raised a hand to the band around his head. Those who had mastered the Nail through the traditional apprenticeship and training usually wore the pinkish-red color he now clothed himself in. The headband was generally worn after learning all the Nail Arts and becoming a Nailmaster. He was still getting used to it.

“That’s right. You can just call me Mato, though, less syllables.” Oh, where were his manners? “I just realized I’d never asked your name.”

The beast seemed to draw into himself, and Mato feared he’d made a mistake. The Stags had names, didn’t they?

His neighbor seemed to notice and spoke up, “I apologize. Just… no one has asked for my name before. It’s usually only given if a regular or a high-ranking noble has a preferred Stag.”

“Well, I’ll be seeing you regularly, yeah? We’re a long way from Hallownest, you’re going to be everyone’s preferred Stag here.”

There was a moment of silence before the Stag said quietly, “Gale. My name is Gale.”

Mato smiled. “It’s nice to meet you, Gale.”

“May I have your attention, everyone?”

Both bugs flinched at the sudden voice in their minds, though they relaxed soon enough upon recognizing that it was the White Lady’s. It had been some time since she had last called out; enough time for the large creature to examine the rest of the tanks, return to its desk for a time, and be called out of the room just moments ago. They both leaned around the simple house Mato had constructed in order to see the Queen in the box beside theirs.

Though the White Lady was a slightly more common sight than the Pale King, she was a much more foreign figure. She sat still and patient upon a seat made of her own roots, which now snaked out from under her robes and planted firmly into the soil. The branches adorning her head had grown past the wild crown they were normally kept as, with a very pale light glowing at each tip. Her crystal blue eyes met Mato and Gale’s, and she inclined her head slightly to acknowledge them. They bowed back.

“I have translated enough of the Tall Being’s language to send it out to all of you. You may feel some slight disorientation, but it will quickly pass. Is this acceptable?” There was general agreement.

The Queen’s branches glowed slightly brighter before Mato’s senses blanked out, his vision going pure white. His sight came back within a few short moments to see Gale shaking his shaggy head and…

The Nailmaster stood up and unsheathed his greatnail in one fluid motion, pointing its tip at the strange little bug that had suddenly appeared by the transparent divider. “Who are you and how did you get in here?” he shouted, only to falter when the intruder stumbled dizzily and fell forward into the dirt.

Mato ran forward in concern, keeping his nail at his side just in case. The little bug slowly got into a sitting position, running a hand over their mask as if to check it was whole before shaking their head vigorously. They were so small! Even smaller than the Nailsage if you discounted their thin two-pronged horns. He didn’t know what kind of bug they were, but they probably weren’t fully grown. Mato sheathed his nail and knelt in front of them as they tried to stand up again. They immediately tottered dangerously on their feet and just before they could faceplant again, Mato instinctively caught them, saying, “Careful now, are you alright?”

The stranger’s gaze snapped up to meet Mato’s, as if just realizing he was there. He couldn’t see their eyes from within the shadows of their mask, but his unease was swept aside by his concern.

They tilted their head, glanced over themself, shook their mask once, and then raised their hands towards him in a gesture he recognized from watching children and their parents. Were they a child? What were they doing here? …had they been here the whole time and he hadn’t noticed?

Mato obligingly scooped up the little one and walked back to the Stag. They began pawing at the fur collar of his cloak and he smiled as he sat down.

“Where did they come from?” Gale sounded very confused. That made two of them.

“No clue,” said Mato, plopping the stranger down onto his lap and tugging his cloak down a little so they could continue to play with it. “They simply appeared in the flash like a ghost.” The little one’s own cloak had a clean cut on one side, as if cut off with a sharp blade. Mato lifted it up to examine it closer, only for it to be snatched by the little one when it crossed their line of sight, like they had just noticed the damage. New, then. They let out a tiny dejected whine that sounded like wind passing over pipe.

“I’m sure someone can get it fixed,” Mato soothed, patting their mask. They looked up at him. “My name is Mato, and this is Gale,” he said, gesturing to the Stag, who nodded to them. “What is yours, little ghost?” The stranger simply tilted their head and pointed at him. “Your name is Mato as well?” They shook their head and pointed again.

“Is your name Ghost?” Gale questioned. That got an enthusiastic nod. “Then greetings, Ghost!” he said warmly.

Mato laughed a little in embarrassment and tossed the little one lightly in the air. “Ah, yes, well met, little Ghost!” They wiggled happily and raised their arms, so Mato repeated the motion a few times. They did not laugh, but they seemed to enjoy it. “The questions remains, however,” he said, bringing them down onto his lap again. “How in the world did you get here?”

As if that were some unknown cue, Ghost perked up all of a sudden, bumped their mask against Mato’s, and scrambled off his lap to stand a short distance away, staggering slightly. They waved to both of them, and in a flash of shadow they were gone, leaving Nailmaster and Stag to stare in bewilderment at the space they had vacated.

A long moment passed.

“You… you saw that too, right?”

Gale nodded mutely.

The Queen had not.

Hornet was practicing with her needle when the Tall Being left, swinging it around in deliberate patterns and occasionally taking short leaps. It wasn’t full size, instead being just smaller than herself and not very sharp, but it served its purpose as a training weapon well enough. Mother had told her that she would be given a proper one once she could prove her skill with the one she had and the accompanying thread. The needle had quickly become an extension of herself as she crested swiftly over the learning curve, excitement at the wind whistling past her mask and determination to impress her Mother and teachers carrying her. In a way, after the terror had worn off, she was glad that the Tall Beings had found them… now she had more time to perfect her skills and earn her needle before Mother had to Dream.

She threw her needle at the tallest structure in her enclosure, a long trunk of something she hesitantly identified as wood that ran from the ground to just below the ceiling. The point sank into the top with a thunk, the momentum pulling the thread it was attached to towards the point of impact and bringing Hornet with it.

The small bug maneuvered to land on top of her near-horizontal needle, slipping a little as she straightened and frowning at the mistake. She held her balance for a few more moments, until she was almost startled into falling when Pure abruptly appeared below her. Hornet crouched to get a better grip, watching as the Hollow Knight swept their gaze around the enclosure. They didn’t look up.

A spark of mischievousness came over Hornet. She’d never been able to startle Pure before. She quietly pulled her needle out of the wood, bracing herself against the rough surface while orienting the weapon to point towards her prey. Aiming for their pauldrons, she pushed off her perch with all her might, resisting the urge to let out a battle cry as she sailed towards them.

As she got closer and they made no indication that they had heard her, Hornet nearly cheered in victory. Just before she could change her position to land on their back instead of glancing her needle off their armor, the Hollow Knight faced her in a flash.

Time seemed to slow as Pure brought up their longnail horizontally, using their other hand to brace its flat side as it met Hornet’s needle. They pushed against it with just enough force to gently flip the red-clad bug over their horns. Hornet’s midair training with the Weavers allowed her to orient herself so that she landed on unsteady feet and stumbled backwards into a sitting position rather than face-plant into the dirt.

The two bugs stared at each other. “You knew I was there, didn’t you.” Pure glanced over to the neighboring container for a moment before nodding, huffing lightly in their version of a laugh. They knelt and held out a hand. Hornet rolled her eyes and took it, then began dragging their taller sibling over to her shelter.

She looked towards the other tank briefly as well. The Pale King was still out of view.

Hornet drew the leaf cover after Pure had ducked inside, then tapped the wall. They’d all had to go back to their respective sides of the container when the Tall Being had come back, just in case, but now that it was gone the little one could come back for a bit.

Pure readied to teleport and Hornet had just a second to tilt her head at the lack of response when the White Lady’s Voice entered their minds. Hornet added her agreement to the gift, noticing that the Hollow Knight had gone into a ramrod-straight kneeling position, despite the myriad cracks littering their shell and mask that still hadn’t healed. Nothing came from them that she could feel, but that was to be expected. No Voice, Father had said. That, at least, had not yet been proven untrue.

When Hornet’s senses abruptly left her, she stumbled to the ground with a short yelp. She blinked a few times to clear the white from her vision as she stood back up. Pure was now sprawled on the ground and shaking their mask vigorously. The smaller bug giggled at the undignified sight and then found herself in a similar position when Pure swiped a leg behind her. They both laughed.

They held out a hand to help her up again, which Hornet playfully swatted away. Then they disappeared and reappeared on the other side of the clear wall to look for the little one.

Hornet settled herself more comfortably on the ground and drew out her spool of silk thread. She unraveled a good length of it to make sure there weren’t any knots from her earlier practice before neatly wrapping most of it back. Leaving some out to practice with, she reattached the spool underneath her cloak and placed all of her focus on the string.

While wielding the needle had come easily to the Princess of Deepnest, its accompanying thread had not. Most full spiders had high levels of control over the silk they wove and built with, allowing them to construct their sturdy hanging architecture, create intricate spells, and trap elusive prey. Hornet, however, even with her full concentration on the thread, could barely make it float off the ground, glimmering weakly.

She stared at the strand some more before sighing, letting it flutter back down so she could roll it back into the spool. She hated the thought of never being able to truly wield the weapon Mother used just because she wasn’t a full spider. Both the White Lady and Mother had told her that maybe she needed to figure out her own way of manipulating the thread, but she still hadn’t figured anything out.

She took out a small silk cloth and began cleaning her needle to taker her mind off those thoughts. Maybe she could lend it to Pure later; the cloth would be better for cleaning their own nail than using their torn-up cloak.

She nearly stabbed her needle into Pure’s eye when they suddenly materialized in front of her after a few minutes, looming over her and making a near inaudible keening sound. “Please don’t do that again,” Hornet sighed, lowering her weapon. She looked around their imposing figure and frowned when she didn’t see their newest sibling. “Where are they, what happened?” she asked worriedly, now noticing their noise and posture.

They keened again and held out a small nail Hornet recognized as belonging to their smaller sibling. Then they leaned back, dragging one of their long fingers in the soil to scrawl a few words. She scrambled around to sit at their side and read, ‘Cannot find. Cannot feel. Did not answer call. Gone.’

She blinked. “Gone?” she wondered aloud. “They can’t have escaped, I checked the holes. There’s no way they could’ve squeezed through them, not even with that dull nail of theirs—”

CRACK

Hornet let out a small shriek and Pure flinched at the distinct sound of a mask breaking behind them. They both whirled around before rushing forward with unknowingly matching shouts of “SIBLING!” towards the small dangerously-swaying figure that had appeared.

The little one had a long crack snaking up their mask, similar to the one on Pure’s own, and a noticeable portion of their cloak was missing. Void defied gravity and leaked up from their eyes and body, especially from the crack and even from the cuts in their garment. Their hunched frame was heaving up and down, hitching as they tried to stay on their feet.

Pure dashed forward to catch them when they started to list forward, Hornet following. They cradled the little one in their lap, taking care not to exacerbate their sudden injuries. “What happened?” Pure said urgently, projecting concern-surprise-panic so strongly that even Hornet felt it.

“How did you get here, appearing like a ghost and nearly as dead?” exclaimed Hornet, sounding harsh but only as a front to her own concern.

The little one finally reacted, looking at Hornet with excitement. “Name is Ghost!” they announced, then cuddled into Pure’s arms, seemingly unconcerned with the Void rising from their wounds beyond a faint whimper. It was nice to know they had a name now, but Pure was still immensely confused and worried.

“What happened?” Pure repeated more firmly, nudging them and trailing a finger near the thankfully thin crack in their mask pointedly. It didn’t seem like their mask would split entirely as long as nothing else hurt them, but Pure was at a loss on how to heal them. The only healing spell they knew wouldn’t work on others, and… they didn’t know how Father would react and frankly did not want to find out.

Ghost hummed. “Scared by Voice, teleported by accident. Too far, got hurt? Met Mato. Met Gale. Got name! Heard Sibling, came back.”

Everything made simultaneously more and less sense. It had taken Pure a long time to learn and then get the hang of that skill, to Father’s frustration. Once they could even blink out and into existence in the first place, they kept appearing further and farther down than they meant to. If they exceeded a certain range their mask and shell would crack under the strain, not to mention how many bits of clothing they had lost to phasing near walls. But again, it had taken them a long time to learn. “How in Father’s name did you even learn to do that?”

“Felt from Sibling. Copied!” Ghost held up their arms in triumph. Pure blinked. Well. Impressive.

Pure became aware of a tugging on their cloak and turned to look at Hornet. She was faintly shivering, which made them abruptly aware of the temperature drop because of the Void in the air. Her voice had a slight tremble as she spoke, “Are you... talking to them?” Pure nodded. She seemed to brighten for a moment before frowning again. “I just can’t hear it.” Another nod, a small sigh in return. “You can explain later, I suppose. I can… probably weave a small patch or two to infuse with Soul and put on their injuries, but I don’t know how much help that would be.”

It would be faster than them healing on their own, Pure thought. Or… oh! They lifted their index finger to Hornet in a ‘wait’ gesture that came off a bit more imperious than they intended, given they learned it from the Pale King. They turned to their smallest sibling and said,”I am going to teach you something. I will do it once, and you will copy. Okay?”

Ghost gave a feeling of confirmation and Pure continued, “This is called Focus. You concentrate on your Soul and surround yourself with it to heal.” They closed their eyes and felt the cool white energy flow up and around them, taking care not to use the offensive version they had also been taught. A few circular runelike patterns appeared and some of their remaining scratches faded, but the hairline crack across their right eye did not. Pure picked up Ghost, ignoring their tiny whine, and sat them down upright on their lap. “Now you try.”

The little one lowered their mask and concentrated. The Void leaking off of them started to swirl faster at first, prompting some panic, but white Soul soon mingled with the black substance until only it was left. Their torn cloak rose in the fake breeze the Soul created as it sealed cracks in its wake. With a single flash of white, their mask had repaired itself and their cloak had lengthened into a more jagged edge. Pure could tell they would need to do it a few more times once they had recovered more Soul, and told them as much.

Ghost decided to snuggle back up to them again, radiating comfort-security-safety. It was… strange, being in such close positive contact. There had barely been any of it when they had first left the Abyss and even less as time had gone on, but it was familiar still, edged in dark and cold. They instinctively curled an arm around their sibling.

“What was that?”

Pure mentally startled from their musings, only physically turning their head to face Hornet once more. She was no longer shivering, but she looked somewhat annoyed. Pure reached out their free arm to write out ‘Sorry’ in the dirt, for ignoring her.

Hornet shook her head and patted their leg. “Don’t worry about it. We’ll have to figure out a better way to communicate if these visits are going to happen often. What was that, a spell?”

They nodded again and wrote, ‘Focus, healing spell. Uses Soul.’

Hornet thought for a moment. “Can you teach me? I’ve only learned about Weaver spells so far, and I’m not much good with them yet.” Maybe it could help with her thread control. “I can help you with your writing at the same time.”

Hornet took the gentle mask-bump as an affirmative.

Chapter Text

Quirrel blinked the spots out of his eyes. When the White Lady had said “slight disorientation” he hadn’t expected complete sensory deprivation for a few moments. Maybe it was less of a problem for higher beings? At least the warning had allowed him to steel himself so he didn’t curl up in surprise. He would’ve been picking loose dirt out of his carapace again otherwise, and he wasn’t keen on using the provided drinking water to bathe. 

He stood up from the sitting position he had ended up in, then walked over to the rightmost corner of his container. He pressed his mask to the glass-like material, just able to see the water-filled tank that housed the Teacher, a few uomas, and, miraculously, two oomas. The little jellies were currently clustered around Monomon, who was upside down. 

“Madam? Are you alright?” Quirrel called worriedly along the connection the Queen had provided. It still felt odd to use, but he had to admit it was very useful. 

The faraway form of the Teacher suddenly twitched and looped back upright, scattering the onlookers. Her light bubbling voice replied, “I am fine! Merely lost my sense of direction for a moment. How do you fare, Quirrel?”

“Just a bit dizzy, that’s all.” And glad to hear your voice, he did not add. After being so prepared to never see Monomon ever again, to venture into the wastes beyond the kingdom as protection for the Seal, to leave his home in the Archives behind… hearing the Teacher’s voice was a blessing every time.

“That is good to hear,” she said, oblivious to his thoughts. “Hopefully it passes soon. Oh! I am so excited, we are finally going to be able to observe the Being’s speech patterns! I wish I had my acid to inscribe these moments in, this water is not conducive to my normal methods. Did you happen to bring any tablets or scrolls?”

“Ah...” Quirrel turned around to face the spot where he had left his messenger bag and gifted nail, visualizing what he had put inside. “Two vials of acid tablets, filled, and one stone journal. I’d been using the latter to document the appearance of the Being, but I believe there’s some space left for this event on it.” 

Monomon hummed. “Not nearly enough for a proper record, but then again, this wasn’t our... intended destination. I eagerly await reading your findings, my dear archivist.”

“I could relay what I have so far if you’d like, Madam?”

“No, no, I’d prefer reading it all together with you once I properly see you again. That reminds me, though...” The Teacher floated higher in her tank, pressing a tentacle against the closed top. “I am afraid the sound does not carry very well through the water. As I cannot surface due to this cover, I will be unable to hear the first words. Would you be willing to relay them for me?”

“Of course, Madam, it’s no trouble at all.”

“Thank you, Quirrel. And please, we are hardly in a formal setting, you can call me Monomon,” she said teasingly. 

“I’d say sharing a shelf with the King and a direct line with the Queen counts as a ‘formal setting,’” he replied with false snobbiness.

“Away from the Palace? Like this? Hardly. I would not recommend contacting the King, of course, he gets a bit snappish when he’s engrossed in a project, but I’m sure the Queen would enjoy your vocal company.” 

“S-snappish?” Quirrel laughed incredulously, not sure how much of what she said was a joke. It was certainly not a word he would associate with the stoic and mysterious Pale King. After seeing him have a go at the Radiance, though… perhaps it was a bit plausible.

“It is true! He gets just as curt as I get excited.”

“So… very much so?” he said wryly, to Monomon’s amusement. “Are you quite sure you should be telling me these things, Madam? What if they’re listening?”

Monomon hummed a negative. “I spoke with the White Lady about that. We can only hear each other if someone initiates the conversation and invites the other, or if the Queen herself pulls us all in. She does not monitor each interaction.”

“I suppose that’s a relief.”

“I imagine it would be a significant headache otherwise. Besides, we shall all have to get a bit more familiar with each other in these circumstances, for better or worse. These are changing times, my dear archivist, and I am eager to see where they take us.”

At that moment, the door swung open to admit the Tall Being. It swept across the room with a large broom, swaying to an unheard beat and occasionally humming a few odd notes. There was a curious brightly colored wire around its neck and leading to both sides of its head that hadn’t been there previously. 

All the inhabitants of the shelving unit watched the Being with bated breath, waiting for its first understandable words. Some pressed against the clear walls, others peeked out of shelters and hiding spaces. All motion and noise ceased within the tanks, unnoticed by all but the Radiance. She peered down from the top shelf, watching the proceedings with interest. When the Being continued to sway around without a single coherent word, however, the moth soon grew impatient.

Ignoring the many eyes that turned to her— especially the Pale King’s disapproving gaze— the Radiance flew down to perch on the Tall Being’s shoulder once again, trying to prompt a reaction. It had absolutely nothing to do with the likelihood of her fur being stroked again; to suggest such a correlation would be a slight against her godly nature worthy of immediate retribution. She would also vehemently deny leaning into the touch when the Being stopped sweeping, smiled, and ran a digit along her body, mindful of her closely-tucked wings. 

And with that motion, the Tall Being opened its mouth and unknowingly spoke its first words to the various rulers, deities, and assorted citizenry of Hallownest, specifically to the God of Dreams: “Hey there, Mothra.” 

Then it continued to sweep, oblivious to the sudden commotion from the tanks.

Quirrel passed along the words to Monomon and the two began speculating on the cadence and tone of its voice as he wrote notes. The White Lady sighed with relief, glad that her translation was working. The Pale King was wheezing to himself at the realization that the Radiance had been given a pet name. Many others cheered or felt satisfied that they were one step closer to full communication. 

The Radiance herself was somewhat in a daze. She had nearly forgotten what affection sounded like.

She snapped out of it when the Tall Being spoke again. It had put away the broom and now stood directly in front of the tanks, the same journal and black stick in its hands as earlier. “Okay…” it muttered lowly, “Round two, let’s take it from the top this time.”

It pointed at the box on the topmost shelf furthest to the left with the stick before beginning to write, talking as it did. “Top left. Two weevils in the first section, most likely, with muted gray-blue coloration and long non-elbowed antennae. Brentidae? I’ll need to look closer when I have time tomorrow.”

“What is it doing?” wondered one of the weevils in question. This one was named Cornifer, a foreign mapmaker, if the Radiance recalled correctly. It seemed that the Root had drawn them all into conversation for this.

“I believe the Tall Being is trying to categorize us according to some sort of system,” Monomon responded. “They were doing something similar earlier, studying us like this, weren’t they Quirrel?”

“Ah— yes, Madam. It seems as if they are finishing what they started.”

The Being continued. “Second section, many small white insects. First thought was wooly aphids, but mealybugs seem closer. I haven’t seen any wax coverings yet, and no wings, as far as I can tell.”

“Those would be the tiktiks we’ve been sharing a wall with, I suppose,” came Cornifer’s wife, Iselda. “They’re very annoying.”

“Next container, top center, lar—” It stopped for a second to get closer to the White Lady. “Okay, I’m no mycologist or botanist, I don’t even know if you’re in either of those departments since you were moving yesterday, but you’ve definitely gotten bigger since the last time I checked.”

“How rude,” the Queen stated primly, but without offense. 

“I feel like I should be more concerned about that. Hm. Particulate filter’s working, but I’ll have to hand you off, I think. Can’t sell you in the shop anyway, and I don’t know how to deal with you. Moving on!”

“A shop?” repeated Lurien with incredulity. “Is that what this place is?”

“Not a true research station, then,” Monomon mused.

Herrah growled. “I refuse to be sold off like some interesting centerpiece or common pet . I do hope this spell of yours is completed soon, Wyrm.” 

The Tall Being went on categorizing, followed by a steady stream of commentary and conversation that went unnoticed.

The Stag grumbled at being labeled a rhinoceros beetle, while the Nailmaster was called an ox beetle. Ogrim was easily labeled a roller dung beetle, though there was another outcry of concern when it said he “could probably be transferred to the storefront after some consultation about that white coloring.” 

The rest of the Great Knights caused a stall. The Tall Being squinted and got close, but even through the mounting headache, it couldn’t figure out any of their species. The closest it got was saying Isma could be from “phylliidae, maybe.” It wasn’t much of a surprise, though; Isma and Ze’mer had come from other kingdoms, the only of their strange kind in Hallownest, and it wasn’t like Hegemol’s armor hinted at his true nature. Their pale armor, stained but still bright white, also muddled things. 

Lurien got the same treatment, to his delight and the other Dreamers’ dismay. It was rumored that not even the King knew what sort of bug the Watcher was, and it seemed no one was getting their bets confirmed just yet. 

The Pale King did not exit his shelter, even with the Tall Being’s coaxing. “It won’t have any more luck with me than the rest of you,” he dismissed. He hadn’t modeled his new body after any one known bug, after all. “I’d rather continue working than put myself on display.” The Pure Vessel and Hornet were told to stay in their shelters as well by the Pale King and Herrah, respectively, and Ghost was instructed by Pure to do the same (though they did peek out every now and then, unseen). Going off of memory, they received the same unclassified label.

Quirrel was the fastest and easiest to categorize, meaning he was the most closely matched to any sort of insect species the Tall Being had seen. “You look like a pretty classic common pillbug, thank God. Even the coloring’s right. What’s the full Latin… Arma… Armadillidium vulgare, that’s it.” It wrote down the strange name before crouching and looking a bit closer. Quirrel fought the urge to curl up at the focused attention from the much larger creature. “You’re doing pretty good. I should be able to keep you quarantined for a bit longer and then move you with the others.”

“Others…?” Quirrel murmured. Other pillbugs? Like himself, with thoughts and being, or like the little critters that shared his shell but not his mind? He sorely hoped it was the latter, or else they had all completely misjudged this creature.

The Tall Being moved its attention to the Teacher as it stood back up, ignoring the scholar’s slight panic. “You’re in the same boat as the… the tree-looking one. I’ll have to ask around for someone who’ll take you in.”

Finally, since it had already gone through the lowest shelf with the Bees, Spiders, and Mantises, it raised a hand to its shoulder and nudged the Radiance to get on. When she did, it brought the hand close to its face to observe her. “You… are also a big ol’ mystery, Mothra. Silkmoth doesn’t fit since you can fly but still have the white coloring. You’ve got that little crown and that shininess on your two hind legs and you’re bigger than any white moth I’ve seen around here.” It paused as the Radiance settled herself more comfortably on its hand to face it. “I wonder if you’re a new species. Hell, maybe you’re all new species and that’s why I can’t match you. I’d like that better than just suddenly losing my touch.”

The Tall Being shook its head and started lowering its hand to the moth tank. The Radiance took this as her cue to fly off and perch on the edge. “I’ll take some pictures tomorrow and send some emails. Maybe a few professors could get me connections if things pan out.”

It closed its journal and replaced it with a small stack of colorful pieces of parchment. It wrote something on each before peeling them off and sticking them to the sides of certain containers. The two archivists immediately noted its adhesive properties with interest. 

“There!” it exclaimed when it finished, its thunderous clap silencing everyone. It seemed to notice the sudden lack of conversation and looked apologetic. “Must’ve startled them,” it muttered before continuing in a louder voice, “That should keep you organized until I come back tomorrow. I’ll have to get my good camera and figure out a travel box for you guys.” It pointed at the members of the Hive. “I’ve got a nice little balcony with some flowers you might like. Good night.”

With that, the Tall Being scooped up its bag and left the room in darkness once more.

Renewed tension rippled through the containers.

It seemed they were slated to be separated, and that wouldn’t do at all.

A nail swung through the air in graceful arcs, cutting through the air with a rhythmic whistle.

A quill scratched across an unrolled length of parchment, illuminated by a lantern and filled half with a maze of lines and half with scribbled drawings.

“How’s that map coming along, Corny?”

A huff. “As well as it can, since I can’t see past those shelves over there. It’s enough to keep myself occupied and not wringing my antennae, I suppose. I see your nail has the same purpose, my dear.”

A laugh. “With everything that’s happening, I’d rather keep my skills sharp and my mind clear. Not that it did much good in preventing any of this.”

Iselda performed one last flourish, more for her own amusement than being any practical maneuver, before sheathing the weapon and moving to sit beside her husband. Cornifer moved over to make space on the short log without having to look up. She leaned against his side, careful not to disturb his writing arm, and watched him work. 

With the help of the various tools removed and replaced from the pouch at his side, the lines across the parchment were clean and precise. There was no persistent danger here, so special care could be given to ensure no ink drippings marred the scroll. On one side, an incomplete top-down view of the room they currently resided in was drawn. Places or people of interest were given small icons, such as glasses crossed with a nail for their current location or a bell-like shape with curved lines below it for the tank of the one called the Teacher. A smaller rendition of the room from their perspective among the shelves was below the other view.

On the other side, more artistic drawings dominated the space, simplistic but with a clear subject. 

There was one of Iselda, the sparse lines following the movement of her nail in a forceful downward swing. 

Another of the Radiance, the foreign moth god, with short strokes for her fur and sweeping curves for her wings. 

The White Lady, the neighboring Queen to their left, was all twisting curling lines contrasting the sharp-edged Pale King beside her. 

Copied script from various labels on the shelves opposite them wound around the drawings, still illegible even with the White Lady’s gift. 

A mess of ink obscured a failed attempt on their giant warden, whose exceptionally strange features proved difficult to replicate.

Finishing a stroke on the map, Cornifer glanced sideways at his wife and doodled her face near the drawings, inky eyes quirked in a smile. She giggled and took the quill from him, adding her own unsteady depiction of him right next to it. They both laughed, and Cornifer packed away his supplies to more comfortably lean back against her, watching the lumaflies flutter against the glass of their lantern.

“This isn’t the kind of adventure I imagined when I married you, you know,” Iselda said after a while. There was a kind smile in her words despite the wry tone.

Cornifer chuckled. “This isn’t quite what I envisioned either, I assure you. I’d hoped we’d find some quiet village to chart so soon after our marriage for a calm retreat before getting into anything this exciting.”

“At least we’re still together and alive,” she sighed. “I feel like a lumafly in a little grub’s jar, though. We should’ve headed to that other kingdom instead, I’ve heard interesting stories about their bells.”

“Ho ho! Perhaps we should have. I’ll be sure to take your direction next time, love, but you must admit, this is a once in a lifetime opportunity! Three higher beings with which we have personally communicated with and a gigantic creature never seen before? I may not be a chronicler, but I’m sure our accounts and illustrations of these events will be worth a hefty sum once we return to familiar lands, even as fiction.”

“If we return,” Iselda stressed. “Corny, we have no idea where we are. For all we know, this ‘Tall Being’ will keep us here forever even after we understand each other. There might be no imminent danger for now, but who knows if or when that will change, and I don’t think it will be something I can use my nail to protect you from…!”

Cornifer took his wife’s claws between his own to stop their wringing. “If it comes to that, we escape,” he said, seriousness replacing his enthusiasm. “I know you’re worried. I am too, but... I’m trying to be optimistic. We’ve gotten out of tough spots before and we’ll do it again, we’ll keep going. These bugs around us, from Hallownest, I’m sure they have the same goal should things go bad, so we won’t be alone. We have three gods on our side, Izzy. I feel good about our chances.”

Iselda held his gaze for a moment more before wrapping him up in a big hug. “I hope you’re right, Corny,” she whispered, holding him tightly. “I really hope you’re right.”

Chapter Text

Isma sat against the rim of her pool of water, nibbling on a small piece of sweet red fruit. She had dragged the pool to the right edge of the enclosure to better see and talk with Ogrim during the light hours, but the dim glow of the lumaflies she had released for the night didn’t extend far enough to see him clearly. His loud humming, however, easily reached her, along with the sounds and vibrations of the dung beetle’s special brand of restless pacing.

She threw her head back against the rim with a sigh, allowing the vine trailing from her head to swish in the water. “Ogrim,” she called using the White Lady’s gift, “are you going to rest tonight or will you continue keeping me up with your rolling.”

The noise stopped. After a brief moment of silence, Ogrim’s voice came, sheepish, “Ah, my apologies, Lady Isma. I was not aware you could hear it.”

She gave a small laugh. “It was not so much the hearing but the feeling, dear. We may not be in the same box, but we do share a shelf, and you use quite a bit of force.“

“I will try to be softer then. Apologies once again.”

Isma sat up a little straighter against the pool, finishing her bit of fruit. “Do you not intend to rest? We’ve both, and a great many others, not slept since we arrived,” she asked with a touch of concern. She understood the reason why, of course, considering the circumstances of their capture and the threat of separation that now hung over them, but they needed to keep themselves sharp for the same reason. Should further danger befall them, they would all need to be at their peak.

Ogrim’s voice dropped to a whisper. “I do not believe sleep is... the wisest option at this time. The Old Light has control over Dreams, Isma, and I am not convinced her intentions hold no malice.”

The knight exhaled a soft “Oh.” She turned her gaze outside of her container, towards the faint golden glow of a certain moth that had perched at the top of the opposite shelving unit. Isma was slightly ashamed to admit that she had forgotten about that reason: the Radiance’s power. She hadn’t personally experienced those tainted Dreams, even before the failed Sealing, so it must have slipped her mind. Even so…

“Staving off sleep for so long isn’t very sustainable, Ogrim,” she said quietly. “Sooner or later, you will fall into slumber.”

“And I will fight it every step of the way if I must,” he responded, resolute. “The King and Queen have divided attentions, between our Voices and the spell. I do not wish to burden them with any distractions or delays should the Radiance make a move. At the very least, I can last until either task is finished.”

Who knew how long that would take? Isma knew the effects of sleep deprivation, she’d seen and felt them herself now and again, and they would not be forgiving in this time of unknowns. Perhaps she was being too naive, but the Radiance had yet to make a move and she doubted either monarch would allow her Light to seep past theirs, regardless of any distraction. Isma would hate to see the energetic White Defender start to wilt and fade, like a flower curling up in the heat, especially when she could have tried to prevent it.

“Ogrim, I believe it would be more prudent to sleep now than later.” She thought for a moment. “Do you remember those reports Dryya read us? When the Infection first began?”

An embarrassed hum reached her. “I’m afraid I may have tuned them out.”

Isma quirked a smile before becoming serious again. “The first to show serious signs of ‘sleep madness,’ as it was first called, were the moths, because they were closest to the source, and the miners at Crystal Peak. Not the other non-moth workers in the Resting Grounds. Not the residents of Dirtmouth. Do you know why?”

“Um...”

“Because the miners were close and worked long, hard hours and felt exhaustion more often than any other nearby group. When they slept, they were already so tired from their work that they couldn’t resist the Infection.” There was also a theory about the focusing effect of the crystals and other factors that the later reports detailed, but those weren’t important to her point. “Do you understand what I’m saying?”

“Isma—”

“Don’t wait until you’re too tired to fight her off, if you’re concerned about the Old Light. We all need to be at our best in these times, especially if you need to toss her around a bit should she show up in your dreams—”

“Isma!” Ogrim laughed, amused by the thought. He had no delusions that he could win in a fight with a god, but he would certainly give it his best shot. “You have a point… but the Old Light is much closer now than she once was. Perhaps a bit weaker, from what our King has said, but still here. I fear she might forgo temptations and go straight to control in these circumstances.”

“She would have to Infect everyone at once to have a chance of succeeding, I think. Then she would have the Pale King and White Lady to contend with. I’m not sure what her end goal would be in that case.” Isma yawned. “Dear Ogrim, please sleep, at least for tonight. If you won’t, though, I ask that you keep your rolling quiet so that I can. Good night.”

Isma stood up, brushing dirt off her dress and armor and stretching a little. Taking a bit of lumafly bait from a small pouch attached to her lantern, she coaxed the luminous little insects back into the glass sphere. There was still light coming from the other three knight’s sections, as they seemed to be having a conversation, as well as a faint pale glow from within the King’s shelter, but neither source was particularly bright.

Mindful of her more acidic leaves, she took a sip of water and began to walk to her little alcove, using the lantern to light the way. It was nothing more than a shadowed spot under a large log, but it was comfortable enough.

Just as she was about to enter, she heard Ogrim’s voice once more, soft, “...I think you’ve convinced me, Isma. Though that’s usually how it goes, isn’t it?”

Isma sighed happily with a mixture of triumph and relief. “What can I say? I’m very good at what I do,” she teased.

“I can certainly agree with that,” he answered warmly.

“Aw, you flatter me, dear.” She ducked into the space under the log, settling herself in a little corner. “Rest with me, will you, Ogrim? We shall face whatever comes together, just as always.”

In another container, separated by distance and solid walls, her fellow knight burrowed down into a small chamber beneath the surface, a smile in his voice. “Of course, Isma. Just as always.”

Ze’mer kept up a steady rhythm as she swept a cleaning cloth along her greatnail. Over and over and over again she wiped the pure metal clean, from grip to tip and back again. The simple movement was calming, familiar, and sorely needed for her own peace of mind, lest she start pulling at her antennae until they permanently curved downwards. 

Worries swirled around her mind, kept at bay by the soothing motion. Worry for her lover, for her fellow knights, for the fates of all of those captured should things not go to plan… she was not often prone to rumination, but now there was all too much to think of.

And oh! When her thoughts turned to her love, of her gentle touch and fierce spirit, a blanket of calm would drape over her... only lasting for a moment before flashes of what may have befallen her in the wake of their capture turned the comforting feeling to a heavy weight on her heart, bringing her mind back to a tempest of unease.

“Hey, Ze’mer, Hegemol,” called Dryya, cutting through her thoughts and staying her hand. 

“Yes, Dryya?” she answered at the same time Hegemol hummed, seemingly in the middle of eating something. 

The three-horned knight leaned back more comfortably against a rock, observing the blade of her nail. “What are your opinions on this ‘Tall Being?’”

Hegemol hummed again, swallowing before he replied, “First of all? I think that ‘Tall Being’ is a terrible name. Titan or Behemoth sounds a lot more fitting.”

“Perhaps it was to mirror ‘Higher Being?’” Dryya suggested.

“An interesting motive, but still a bad name,” he dismissed. “In any case, it seems friendly enough so far, barring how we came here and its strange appearance. Can’t say much more until we can truly talk to each other. How about you, Ze’mer?”

“No one has died among us. Che’ supposes that counts in its favor,” she said dully.

An uncomfortable silence reigned. They had all had the same thought at one point or another, though no one had said it aloud. “Yes…” Dryya murmured. “That is rather fortunate.” 

“The same likely cannot be said for those left behind, however,” Ze’mer continued, wiping her nail again, more harshly than before. “Quakes, cave-ins, flooding… how many were trapped? Injured?”

A flash of her lover’s face appeared in her mind, eyes empty and dull.

“Killed?” she roared, whirling around and slashing a nearby log clean in two with her heavy nail.

Dryya and Hegemol kept silent; better to let it out than bottle it up, and these thoughts were anything but light. They’d offer to spar with her if there weren’t that blasted wall between them.

She stared for a moment at her nail, now half buried in the dirt. With a deep sigh, she pulled it out and sat back down, bringing out the cleaning cloth once more. “Ai… and for all we know, the Infection still spreads among the survivors and keeps her chained,” Ze’mer finished softly as she went to work on her blade again.

Her fellow knights shared a look. While everything she had said was a valid concern, they both knew the true source. Hegemol nodded over at Ze’mer. Dryya shook her head, but he simply raised his hands helplessly and repeated the motion. She gave a silent exaggerated sigh and stood up. 

There was a reason she was Fierce and Isma was Kind. Dryya wasn’t the best at comforting, but at least Ze’mer tolerated her attempts better than Hegemol’s humor.

Dryya approached the wall she shared with Ze’mer, beginning a drill with her nail to keep from standing awkwardly. After a few swipes, she said, “She is strong. I’m sure she’s alright.”

The deadly edge of Ze’mer’s greatnail caught the lumafly light. “Is that really a promise you can make, me’hon.”

“I didn’t say I promise,” she retorted. She slowed her movements from fast swipes to slow deliberate strikes. “Worrying excessively will do nothing but hinder you here. I know this must be hard for you, but there is nothing you can do.”

“Waaiii, if only che’ had stayed!” Ze’mer lamented with a thickening accent, letting go of her nail to pull at her antennae. “We were to meet after the Sealing, away from the prying eyes of her kin. What if meled’lover came to meet and…!” 

Dryya struck the wall between them with her nail, the loud thud startling Ze’mer out of another hopeless spiral. “From what you’ve told us of her, she is skilled and resourceful. Since none of us know the true state of Hallownest and its inhabitants at this time, perhaps it is best to think highly of her and believe in her ability to survive.”

Ze’mer slowly unclenched her fists from around her antennae. “Ai... perhaps... you are right...” It was those skills, along with her indomitable spirit, that had first drawn Ze’mer in, after all.  It was clear that she still worried immensely, and likely would until she could see her beloved unharmed herself, but she would at least make an effort to not let those worries drag her down. 

Hegemol sensed an opening and attempted to lighten the mood a little, saying, “If she’s survived living under the Traitor Lord for this long, I’m sure a few tremors hardly even bothered her. He might not even be Infected anymore, what with the Old Light having relocated with us.”

Ze’mer’s antennae perked up as she and Dryya turned to face him. “That would be one good thing to come of this, if it were true,” the latter mused. “A shame we can’t verify it.”

The lilac knight canted her head towards the golden light shining from the top of the neighboring shelf, considering. Dryya caught the movement. “Do not even think of it, Ze’mer,” she warned.

“Who better to answer such questions?” 

Hegemol glanced between the two nervously. “Surely you don’t mean—”

“It would be treason!”

“We are not in Hallownest,” Ze’mer said resolutely. Before her friends could protest more vehemently— and before she could lose her nerve— she called out boldly, hoping silently that the White Lady would not take offense at the use of her gift, “Radiance! Che’ seeks to ask something of you!”

Immediately, all three Great Knights felt a strange warmth surround them. There was no physical change in temperature, but they felt the shift all the same, as if they had thought very hard about the sensation of heat and now felt its phantom warmth prickling around their shells and between their thoughts. The heat receded just as quick as it appeared, followed by loud voice. “Why do you contact me, follower of the Pale Ones?” 

Dryya unconsciously tightened her grip on her nail and Hegemol reached out blindly for his mace. Ze’mer, however, focused all her attention on the Radiance, who had walked close enough to the edge of the shelf for her form to be clearly seen, haloed in burning light. “When you were captured and brought here with us, did you bring the Infection with you? Is Hallownest free from that blight?”

A distant tilt of the head. Silence stretched for a minute or two before the God of Dreams answered, “As I have explained before, the Infection was an unintended side effect of trying to be remembered. Without my Light to fuel it, any remaining strains have likely either stalled in their growth or withered and died by this time.”

Dryya saw Ze’mer slump slightly in relief from the corner of her eye. She was surprised that an answer had come so easily, though she knew better than to trust the Old Light was being truthful. She opened her mouth to dismiss the conversation, now that Ze’mer had gotten her answer, only for her friend to continue. “How wouldst… that affect the people? Those already Infected?”

The Radiance thought for a moment, watching the three warriors from above. They were too close to the pale lights for her to glean their names. The large one had hardly made a sound, simply switching focus whenever someone talked. The three-horned one held tightly to a nail, seemingly wanting to stop the speaker but unable to. Said speaker had not looked away from the moth once, intent on getting answers. She could appreciate the lanky bug’s determination, if anything. It played well to her plans of making the captives less likely to lock her away at the first opportunity.

Answering questions as truthfully as she dared was part of it. Without a strong tether to Hallownest, with her connection to her Moths— if any had survived, a bitter part of her murmured— having been severed by her separation, or much of a conscious understanding of what her Light had been distorted into, she could only speculate. “That would depend on the progress of their Infection. Those in the earlier stages should be fine, perhaps ill for a time as the foreign intrusion dies. Those whose bodies have been entirely consumed will perish, unable to function without it.”

The Knights flinched at that dry declaration. No use coating her answers in honey. What’s done was done.

“And those who willingly embraced it?” the purple bug pressed.

The Radiance startled minutely. Had her Moths…? She hadn’t been aware of who fell to the Infection or how, forgotten as she was. In its volatile state, not even those who accepted it would be unharmed, but perhaps there would be some measure of safety. “As long as their bodies had not been irreparably damaged, they should live. Sickness of a different sort would take hold, as the Infection dies, but their mind should be intact.”

“But you’re not sure, are you, Mothra,” murmured the three-horned knight, voice dry and low. Her compatriots turned to stare at her in disbelief. She startled at their attention and seemed to come back to herself, perhaps realizing she had spoken aloud.

It took all of the Radiance’s willpower not to send the full force of her Light down at them at the slight; she couldn’t afford to exhaust herself with such a show, not yet being at her full strength. As it was, she was sure they could feel the searing heat from the connection, if their sudden pained winces were any indication. It wasn’t so much the name that bothered her, but the blasphemous disrespect that coated it. “Of course I cannot say for sure,” the Radiance snapped, wings hiked up defensively and light flaring to near-blinding levels.

Seeing the wary reactions of the bugs below her, as well as similar glances from other oblivious captives, she took a breath to force herself to relax and deliberately softened her voice and light. They belonged under the Wyrm and Root, some irreverence should be expected, she told herself. “This entire situation is entirely unprecedented. Without even a sliver of a hold in that land, its state is beyond my reach. I doubt the Wyrm or Root are any better.

“And you would do best not to snap at me again,” she addressed the three-horned one, a sharp edge in her voice. “I may be willing to overlook it for now, but that will not always be the case.” To the tall purple bug, she nodded and tried for an amiable tone, “I hope these answers have satisfied you, Pale Knight.”

Before the Radiance could break the connection, the addressee said, “My name is Ze’mer.” She gestured to her companions and they also spoke up, though with far more hesitance, for Hegemol, and mistrust, for Dryya. The deity nodded to each of them and cut the connection.

With that, the Radiance turned away from the Wyrm’s warriors, burrowing back down into a large piece of cloth that she had bunched into a makeshift nest. It was rough and dusty, vastly inferior to the soft blankets and pillows of her Moths, but it was much more comfortable than hard glass or cold metal. 

They were getting bolder, she thought as she curled her wings around herself. Perhaps this was good. With no allies and no shortage of enemies, it was in her best interest to garner some good will, though maybe it wouldn’t be as easy as she had predicted. At least she was able to stay truthful, even if they didn’t believe her; given the Infection stemmed from her, she should be able to feel it if it still spread. Even if the distance was too great to feel, the plague should fade without her Light.

The Root had likely noticed her knight’s use of her power, but no one had yet received a reprimand. She seemed more amenable to the Radiance’s presence than her husband, but the moth deity could tell she was running herself ragged trying to keep the order and… deal with something that caused her great grief, if the Radiance was reading her correctly.

Oh well. Her light dimmed slightly as she settled down. It did not concern her. It would be a better use of her time to continue fixing up the Dream Realm from the damage caused while she was forgotten than to speculate. 

As the golden light at the top of the opposite shelf dimmed, the pale light within one of the containers continued to glow and pulse from within the Pale King’s makeshift workshop. His outer robe had been placed over the doorway, sealing most of it within.

The walls inside were covered in carved marks, faintly glowing with Soul remnants. One wall was dedicated to etheric calculations and notes, the latest of which were beginning to mix with the neighboring wall containing relevant runes and their potential interactions. Another had a makeshift table, made by fashioning two thin pieces of wood into dowels, carving a large slab out of the imitation rock, impaling the dowels within the wall at an appropriate height, and resting the slab on top.

It was fortunate that the walls were softer than actual rock, the Pale King mused. His razor sharp blades cut easily through it with little force.

He was currently wielding a small summoned knife, using it to carve into one of the actual stones he had found littered around his enclosure. After each mark, he would pulse Soul into the gouge, causing it to shine briefly with white light before fading. Carving the last line into the rock and filling it with a bit of Soul, the light spread to the rest of the runes, quickly stabilizing as a soft and steady glow from within.

With a sigh of exhaustion, the Pale King placed the stone with the other four he had completed, dissipating his blade at the same time. Without enough ambient Soul in the air to fully fill his reserves, hopefully these crude vessels would fill on their own and provide some assistance with the spell. He needed to save as much of his own power for himself, he grumbled in his thoughts, trying not to focus on his still-trembling hands. 

Instead, he turned to his calculations, checking his work for the nth time. He stretched his wings out behind him to release some of the tension there, his weakened Light flaring at the motion. 

There were too many unknowns. Magic had some effect on the Tall Being, given how the glamour was still holding for the most part, but whether its pain was caused only by the dissonance between its mind and eyes or by some sort of sensitivity to Soul in general couldn’t be verified. He theorized that the latter explanation may be related to the nearly Soul-dry air, which was especially so when in the Tall Being’s presence, but what exactly the connection could be continued to elude him.

The Pale King conjured another small blade of light to etch another note in the wall. He had never needed to keep actual knives on his person— what with his personal Kingsmould guard, Great Knights, spell-casting prowess, and his own claws providing ample protection— but now he wished he had stowed one in his robe before leaving the Palace. The knife was the most he could do with his reserves so low, and as much as he wanted to keep any expenditure of energy towards his own healing and the spell, he had less control over his thin claws than the thicker blade.

Releasing the knife again, he folded his hands together to steady them and leaned forward, resting his forehead and part of his crown against the chilled wall. 

The bulk of the strain from the Sealing had concentrated in his hands, given he had used them to pull apart the unraveling spell. The spiked tips of his mask, being another of his usual conduits like his mouth had as a Wyrm, had also sustained some damage, resulting in some hairline cracks that had healed already and a dull headache that hadn’t left. 

What a mess. 

Everything that could have possibly gone wrong had gone wrong. He was a higher being, dammit, still a powerful Wyrm in spirit if not in body and king to an entire civilization… and here he was, stuck in a box with not enough Soul to heal his own wounds, let alone help the others. He thumped his head against the wall. Pathetic.

“Hello, my Wyrm.”

The Pale King jumped away from the wall with a short yelp, nearly tripping over his own tail before he recognized the voice as belonging to his Root. He had been so… preoccupied that he hadn’t even felt the connection.

Soft laughter accompanied the feeling of a secure embrace. He couldn’t bring himself to be embarrassed; as two higher beings joined together, they kept no judgements for little unguarded moments. He leaned into the mental touch, restraining a disappointed whine when it disappeared soon after. 

He wouldn’t push the matter of the limited contact between them. The White Lady had been slowly moving away from him ever since the Vessels had started hatching. Each one had had a small piece of their Light, and it was never easy for either of them when they fell and those pieces were consumed by the Void. 

It only became more pronounced when the Pure Vessel was found. She stayed for a long while, watching it grow and learn. At one point, the Pale King had needed to approach her, remind her not to coddle the unfeeling Vessel, that it was a tool, not a child. He had promised that once the Radiance had been Sealed away, they could try again, for an heir this time, a child of their Lights alone.

He hardly saw her at all after that.

He understood why she had distanced herself— there were times when he’d needed to remind himself that the Vessel was empty, like a Kingsmould but more bug-shaped— but… there was no cost too great for the sake of his kingdom, and everything had been going just fine before the disastrous Sealing. Now that it had failed and the Radiance was free… what would be done with the Pure Vessel? Perhaps when they were back in Hallownest, another Sealing could be attempted, but it seemed more and more unlikely to work now, the more he thought of it. The Pale King was loathe to simply lock it away or dispose of it, what with all the training and resources poured into its upbringing. He would like to keep it close… perhaps a place among his Great Knights? It was a formidable fighter—

“You are thinking so loud, I can nearly hear it,” Root said, startling him out of his tram of thought. “Have you eaten?”

It was an exchange they often had when he lost track of time working on projects in his workshop. It usually ended with him being picked up and carried bodily out to take a break as long as nothing was going to explode, but that wouldn’t be the case now.

“I must keep preparing the spell,” the Pale King said, clearing the table so he could begin sketching diagrams for the casting. “We do not know how much time there is before we are all separated, sold, or worse.”

“A small break will not be the difference between life and death.”

“With all these unknowns, I am not so sure.”

“You no longer have the metabolism of a Wyrm, dear.”

As if he needed the reminder. He used to be able to go weeks, months even, on a single meal. “I am no mortal bug, either, same as you. I will rest when everyone is freed and safe, with perhaps the exception of the Radiance.”

When the White Lady’s voice did not return, the Pale King returned to his sketching, his wings drooping slightly. He knew she still loved him, just as he loved her, through the Kingsoul they shared, but their distance chafed. She had been planning on an extended stay in her Gardens with Dryya after the Sealing; how long would it have been before she came back…?

“Wyrm, starving yourself isn’t going to help anyone. Go sit down and eat something,” commanded a gruff voice. Ah. Just getting reinforcements, then.

“Herrah, I am a god. I do not need to eat or rest as often as you,” he retorted. Regardless of his words, he was starting to get tired of standing for so long and his headache was mounting. Knowing no one was watching, he tested his weight on the table and sat on the edge, curling his tail around himself and folding his wings as he made some notes.

“Oh, I know,” the Beast said, probably wearing a sharp grin beneath her mask, “but the last thing we need is a repeat of the Visit, don’t we?”

The Pale King stiffened. 

“‘The Visit?’” Monomon chimed in. “Do tell, sister.”

“I am also quite curious,” came Lurien, respectful but all too ready for some gossip.

Terra help him. 

To the Wyrm’s complete and utter relief, Herrah merely huffed and said, “What’s the use of blackmail if I simply told you all without reason? Your dear king knows exactly what I’m talking about.”

He did, and he never wanted it to happen again. Thank Terra only the Beast and her spawn had witnessed it, but she loved to bring it up at times like this.

With a deep sigh, knowing despite any animosity between their kingdoms that she and the rest of his inner circle simply cared about his well-being even if it wasn’t necessary, he hopped off the table and dismissed his blade. “Fine,” he drawled, stretching out his tired limbs and composing himself before brushing past his makeshift doorway curtain.

“Good,” Herrah said, triumphant, while Monomon and Lurien, and to a lesser extent the White Lady, continued pestering her for details. 

He dimmed his light as he walked towards the food tray, though he didn’t bother putting on his outer cloak. Anyone who could see him was either on this shelf and therefore trusted, hiding, or the Radiance, and he couldn’t care less about her opinion. 

There was a bit of an assortment on the tray the Tall Being had provided, likely out of ignorance of what they usually ate. The Pale King tore off part of a good-smelling leaf and wrapped a few pieces of fruit in it to carry back to his workshop. He looked up and into the Pure Vessel’s container, panicking for a short moment before remembering that he had sent it to look after Hornet and… the other one. He instead met the eyes of Monomon’s personal assistant, who bowed respectfully before ducking out of sight.

The Hollow Knight had verified that the unknown bug wasn’t a threat, but since it could not speak he didn’t know much more than that. Their container was blocked from view and Hornet had simply said they were shy when he questioned her. 

They almost felt like Void, but that was impossible since the Abyss had been sealed. Besides, he normally felt Void as an absence of Soul. With how dry the atmosphere was, it could just as easily be him confusing their aura for the Vessel’s, since they did have Soul just as it did.

“Is he eating yet, Lurien?” Herrah’s words startled the Pale King out of his thoughts. Maybe a short nap was in order, if this was going to keep happening. He turned away and walked back towards his workshop. He caught the Watcher’s gaze from where he was leaning against a log. The Wyrm took out a piece of fruit and stuck it in his mouth, keeping his mandibles out of sight.

“Yes,” Lurien answered, followed by mock cheering from the other Dreamers. He tilted his head to the side, silently asking whether his king was alright. The Pale King nodded and lifted another piece of food in a toast before going back inside.

Well, if his closest confidants weren’t going to let him be for a while yet, he might as well enjoy himself. “Really, Monomon, you poke fun at my sleeping habits, but you aren’t much better, if I recall,” he cut in, prompting a wave of indignation from the Teacher and various degrees of laughter from the White Lady, the Beast, and the Watcher. 

Perhaps he could ask for their opinions on his work so far. The Weavers were skilled in spellwork, and both Lurien and Monomon had studied much of the art in preparation for the Sealing. He usually disdained asking for help, but his time among his subjects had loosened that isolationist instinct.

He could only hope that his kingdom would still be standing by the time they returned.

Chapter Text

Denise was well used to taking the bus to work and class. Keeping her balance on the moving vehicle was second nature at this point, even with one hand holding a hot thermos of coffee, the other keeping a tight grip on a wooden case, and only the curl of one arm and leg around a metal bar keeping her standing in place. 

As her stop approached, she made sure all her belongings were secure before reaching behind someone and pulling the cord to alert the driver. When the bus came to a stop, she bustled out onto the curb, yelling thanks over her shoulder. She walked briskly towards her shop, momentarily setting down the box to retrieve her keys and unlock the front door before getting inside. 

Denise let out a small yawn and set down her things on the cashier counter. Spinning her keyring, she went through the small store, giving an absent good morning to the creatures in her care and checking that everything was just as she left it the previous night. 

Finding no faults, she proceeded to do her morning tasks: checking the security system, wiping down counters, replenishing food dishes, and other chores. Just like riding the bus, she had been doing these things for long enough that she didn’t have to pay attention to what she was doing as she unlocked the storage room to check inventory.

This is why she didn’t see a flash of dark as one large bug suddenly materialized in its tank, or the brief brightening and dimming of pale light as a long white bug uncovered its shelter, or the little ethereal dreamcatchers disappearing from around a fluffy moth.

When all was done, Denise took the wooden case from the cashier counter and placed it next to the bee container. After closing, she’d be able to transfer them into the case and bring them to the hive she had made on her balcony. “Hopefully it’s to your liking,” she thought out loud, smiling. The queen had stationed herself close to the front of the container again, watching with the wingless bee by her side.

Denise’s smile faltered a little when she looked up and registered the multitude of silent eyes staring at her from the other tanks as well. She shivered a little and murmured, “That’s just… uncanny.”

Seeing the bugs again reminded her that she needed to take some photographs. She had sent some of her notes and sketches to some close colleagues— with no reply yet, unfortunately— but she would need a better report for some of the more professional contacts. Denise really hoped she wouldn’t have to take any of them out of the tanks to take good pictures, since many of them seemed aggressive. Maybe the zoom on her nice camera would be enough.

Flapping noises alerted her to Mothra coming to perch on her shoulder again. Denise lifted a finger to pet the moth before standing up and shooing her off. “Sorry, I have to open up the store now. I’ll be back later to take those pictures.” 

With that, she went to man the counter until one of her employees arrived, ignorant of the renewed anxiety running through the shelves.

The regular slashing of a nail-lance sent faint reverberations throughout the sectioned container. The occupants had gotten used to it at this point, but it didn’t make the feeling any less annoying. 

Drosa huffed from where she was sharpening her lance, timing her passes with her tools to the pace of her older sister’s attacks. “Have you made any progress, sister?” she called to Sikka, teasing. “With the amount of lashing you have delivered upon that wall, surely there’s at least a crack.”

Her older sister swiped at the wall between them in answer, prompting a snicker. “This material is clear, like glass, but does not shatter,” Sikka growled. “I’ve widened a defect, but still it holds strong. It may take some time yet.” 

“You’ve been doing this for days,” Drosa whined. 

“I refuse to simply wait until those gods put their plans into motion. We can’t rely on them, you know this, and with the Hive being taken away soon...”

“Yes, yes, but if the wall has not broken yet, maybe you should concentrate your efforts elsewhere? Preferably where it isn’t so distracting?”

“I’ve come this far, I will not quit!”

Ziria sighed from where she was conversing with one of her warriors. “Keep running drills,” she continued, “While we cannot spar with them, the nymphs must still continue their lessons. If you require aid, let one of us know. Understood?”

“Understood, Lord Ziria,” the warrior, Fari, answered. He bowed before turning towards his compatriots and the two young nymphs. 

The eldest Mantis Lord turned to face her siblings, crossing her arms. “Drosa, stop antagonizing your sister. Sikka, she has a point; perhaps try a new method?”

Sikka scoffed but stepped away from the tiny chink in the corner of the outer wall to appraise it. Drosa nodded and observed the sharp edge of her lance. “So, what is the situation with the others?” she asked.

Ziria leaned against a smooth stone and picked up her own weapon. “Food is plentiful and shelter is adequate, but they are beginning to get restless, especially the young ones. Perhaps it is lucky that Fari came with us, so he can continue the more academic lessons and keep the youths occupied.”

She tested the weight of her lance and flourished it a few times, letting out a satisfied hum as it sang smoothly through the air. She started running through a drill of her own, letting her mind wander as her body worked.

When the scouts had reported that the normally-reclusive Pale King was on the move with a large contingent of followers, the Mantis Lords had been suspicious enough to personally follow from afar with their own party. On the off chance they were discovered, the leaders would be in the best position to explain away their group’s presence and invoke the protections granted by the truce. The addition of younger nymphs, a teacher and artisan like Fari and Ora, and a young scout like Laykia— positions and ages generally considered more passive by the more “civilized” Hallownest citizens— would also help in that regard. So, they’d assembled a small team and left Captain Sidara of the guard in charge while they investigated.

Whatever they had expected to encounter, like perhaps a secret meeting with some other higher being or the beginning of a battle with the cause of the Infection, it definitely had not ended with being caged by some giant creature. None of them had anticipated being gone for so long, and Ziria could only hope that Sidara was keeping things in check.

“Sisters?”

Ziria did not pause, continuing to move her lance and body through the motions of the exercise, but placed her attention on her youngest sibling. “Yes, Drosa?” she asked. Sikka merely hummed to indicate she was listening.

“One of the Pale King’s Knights spoke to me.”

Now she paused. The eldest Mantis Lord turned to face the wall that separated them, meeting Drosa’s gaze. Her sibling’s claws were twisting in a rare nervous gesture. A glance to the side saw Sikka had also stopped and was watching. “Which one?”

“The tall and slight one, Ze’mer. The one who courts our misguided brother’s daughter.”

Ziria’s eyes narrowed. When Drosa did not continue, she demanded, “What business did one of the Wyrm’s warriors have with only one of us? Speak your mind, sister, do not blunt your words.”

Drosa nodded, took a breath, and spoke in a rush, “She spoke to the Radiance and asked about the Infection and how it would affect the people now that we are here and she said that Kasai and the others are probably still alive.”

The two older Mantis Lords blinked at that declaration, stunned for a moment. Sikka was the first to break. “She actually spoke to the Radiance? And she’s still alive? And sane?” she hissed.

Drosa nodded. 

“Why would she do such a thing? Did she tell you?” Ziria pressed.

“She didn’t say much, it was a very short conversation, but…” Drosa glanced up, as if she could see the Great Knight on the shelf above. “It sounded like she was mostly worried for our niece, and consequently the ones around her. Enough to...”

“Enough to seek answers from a rival higher being… and presumably disobey her King,” Ziria finished. The Mantis Lords knew the foreign Knight was very dedicated to her courtship, but this was a higher level. Drosa, the closest to and most approving of Ze’mer— for a given measure of both— had said before that the mysterious bug held high respect and deference to the Wyrm. She must have been truly worried to have turned to that infernal moth for guidance.

“We can’t trust the Radiance to have told her the truth,” Sikka reminded them after a short pause.

Drosa nodded sadly, “Of course not… but it’s something, right?”

Before any of the others could comment further, the Tall Being entered the room again. It fiddled with a black and strangely-shaped object in its hands as it approached. The three Mantis Lords watched warily as it knelt down in front of their tank, then stiffened in alarm when it pointed the object’s circular glass-capped protrusion in the direction of the other mantises. 

Sikka immediately leapt towards the clear wall and started banging on it with her lance, Drosa and Ziria only a heartbeat behind. The Tall Being startled a little at the noise, but merely huffed and muttered, “Calm down, it’s just a few photos,” before raising the thing again.

Ziria barely had a moment to call out to the others before something popped up on the object and blinded her. She heard her sisters and fellow mantids cry out, echoed suddenly by the nearest tank neighbors, and then, “Oh crap, I left the flash on.”

“What in Wyrm’s name was that?” Herrah demanded of no one in particular, sounding as disoriented as Ziria felt.

“Is everyone alright? Sound off,” the eldest Mantis Lord called, twisting her head around but only seeing afterimages of the flash. To her immense relief, every one of her fellows called back. 

It only took a few more moments of rubbing at her eyes for her vision to come back, but it was still a little blurry. She ignored the other bugs talking or demanding answers and looked around to find many unsteady mantids and arachnids. While the members of the Tribe caught the brunt of the attack, the dwellers of the Deepnest were much more sensitive to the nearby light.

The Tall Being itself was frowning and fiddling with the device again. “Maybe the flash overexposed the photo? I really hope it’s not glitching, that would suck,” it mumbled, before going over to its desk and grabbing something else. It pressed something on the new cylinder and light came out the other end. “I better not get another headache. Okay, let’s try this again.” It held the dimmer light beam and the flash object down at the Mantis Lords this time and everyone braced themselves.

Click.

Hive Queen Vespa stood before the clear wall with her claws folded behind her back, watching the room as she listened to the buzzing of her bees. She did not turn around as her Hive Knight walked up behind her, her antennae merely twitching towards him in acknowledgement.

They stood in silence for a while before she sighed. “I do not think we can take much more of this.”

Hive Knight tilted his head. “My Queen?”

It really was a mess. She could practically feel the unease and anxiety thrumming through the containers, and it only got worse as time went on. Her bees were restless in the limited space, and even her own wings buzzed with the need to take a longer flight while she still could.

Honestly, the only ones probably unaffected were the Teacher and her archivist. They were likely still theorizing about that “photo” device that caused so much panic among the lower shelves until the Tall Being got another headache and stopped. She had nearly forgotten how loudly spiders could hiss. It was chilling.

Vespa turned her head and gave a wry smile. “I should have listened to you. Both of us going to investigate might have helped if it really were some inter-kingdom council and not… this.”

Hive Knight buzzed a laugh, “It gives me great pleasure to hear that, my Queen.” He sobered quickly. “Things are always clearer in hindsight… isn’t that what you say? Please do not blame yourself.”

“Only if you don’t either,” Vespa retorted. “I can see it in your eyes. I appreciate the thought, my Knight, but I am Queen. These things were out of anyone’s control, but perhaps I could have made better choices. The Hive…” She sighed. “I have to believe it will survive this.”

“The Hive is strong,” Hive Knight said with confidence. “It will.”

The sound of the massive door opening again cut off their conversation, both of them turning to watch as the Tall Being entered once again. It seemed harried, sweeping swiftly across the room with its broom. It practically threw the supplies in another room when it was finished and rushed over towards them. Vespa could feel her Knight buzz warningly behind her, along with all the other bees behind her raising their guard.

The Tall Being grabbed the case it had left next to their container earlier, unlatching the top and making adjustments inside. “I gotta close up before it gets too dark, the last thing I want is to head home when the light’s gone and it’s cold. Why don’t I ever check the forecast before I get dressed? You’d think I’d have learned by now,” it rambled to itself as it worked, taking a small bottle and dropping some of the contents within the box. When it started moving their container and grabbing materials like the tunnel from their first arrival here, Vespa’s suspicions were confirmed.

“It appears our time is up and we are being relocated,” she announced gravely to the others, gripping tightly to the ground to avoid being jostled too much. “Pale King, now is the time to enact that plan of yours.”

“This is too soon!” he responded. “The power deficiencies still need to be accounted for, not to mention—”

“Now is not the time for excuses, Wyrm!” the Radiance called from the top of the opposite shelving unit.

“Excuses!?” he shouted, incredulous. “In case you haven’t noticed, the air is practically dry of Soul! One miscalculation in power efficiency when you rely on living beings for the source can be fatal, especially with a subject this large! I have to think of—”

“Stop thinking and start doing!” she retorted, starting to fly a circuit around the Tall Being.

“It’s not that sim—!”

“Then let us work quickly, my King!” Monomon interjected, forestalling any more arguments. “Perhaps if we reconfigure—”

The Tall Being connected a tunnel between the bees’ current container and the new one, opening each end before dashing off to its own bags. Vespa’s antennae twitched as she registered the scent coming from the box. It wasn’t anything she had smelled before, but it was very pleasant and almost familiar... almost like home. She subconsciously found herself taking a few steps towards it before noticing.

Looking around, she noted with alarm that all of her subjects were going towards the tunnel, attracted by whatever bait the Tall Being had placed inside the new box. She grabbed the arm of her Hive Knight as he walked in that same direction, pulling him back toward her. He shook his head and looked up at her, confused. “My Queen?”

“Ignore the scent as best you can and try to keep the others in this container,” she ordered. “The most we can do is stall at this point.” Vespa released him to his task as soon as his gaze was clear and deliberately turned away from the tunnel, watching the Tall Being.

Vespa half-listened to the various arguments, threats, and plans being thrown around from the other tanks as she watched it rush around. The Radiance was still hovering around it and getting more impatient the longer she was ignored by the Pale King and the Tall Being, occasionally throwing verbal barbs at former.

The Hive Queen stood her ground as the Tall Being approached the bee container again. It groaned loudly. “Come on, I need to lock up. Lemongrass oil is what everyone uses, wasn’t it?”

It suddenly grabbed both boxes, bringing them over to its desk. Then it tilted the container, fast enough that Vespa barely had enough time to get her wings moving as she lost her grip on the ground. Unfortunately, the same couldn’t be said for a few of the others and her loyal Hive Knight, who appeared to have been knocked out by a piece of debris loosened by the overturned container before he could hook himself in place with his nail.

As he disappeared into the tunnel, freefalling limply, Vespa unthinkingly flew after him, filled with cold fear. Wings beating hard, she was just able to catch him before he impacted the floor of the wooden box. She lowered him gently down, cradling him close. Her sigh of relief at his mostly unharmed state, however, turned to dismay when she realized she had been followed by the rest of her little swarm. 

Before she could even think of ordering them all back, the hatch latched shut and the tunnel was disconnected. Vespa hadn’t thought that their prison could get any worse, but without windows of any kind, she was reduced to simply listening to what was happening outside.

There was also the scent. Lemongrass, the Tall Being had called it. The smell was much stronger now, she thought hazily. Throughout her Hive, scent was often an important modifier in orders and conversation, but this concentration was extremely distracting.

The voices all started to blend together with the buzzing of her workers as they landed near her, wings drooping as the lemongrass drew them in. One voice seemed closer than the others… or maybe louder?

A sudden jostling of the box cleared Vespa’s head enough to register the White Lady calling her name in a light panic, “Queen Vespa! Vespa, are you alright?”

“Mmm… I— we’re alright, Root…” she responded, trying to shake the haze from her mind. “What’s… happening out there?”

The White Lady stared out at the scene before her, her roots twisting into little knots of anxiety. “The Tall Being is preparing to leave this store, taking you with it. My husband is working as fast as he can with the Dreamers, but I’m not sure how long it will take—”

“That is IT!”

“—and I believe the Radiance has just lost what remained of her patience.”

True to the White Lady’s words, the Radiance was just about literally incandescent with irritation. Resolutely ignoring everyone else, she flew directly into the Tall Being’s face as it tried to exit the room with the bees’ box in one hand and its pack in the other.

“AH!” the Tall Being cried, instinctively trying to swat at the moth with the bag in its hand. The goddess avoided the attack effortlessly, merely staring it down as she flapped her wings in place. It glared back, unamused. “What the hell? Mothra, I need to leave.”

It tried to go around only to get another faceful of moth. Then it tried to go through the Radiance and she summoned a volley of nails in return.

Everyone watched with a mixture of terror, confusion, and awe as the glowing moth attacked the Tall Being with sharp manifestations of Essence. All except the Pale King, who was absolutely livid.

“What in Terra’s name do you think you are doing?!” he roared.

“Giving you time, you ungrateful Wyrm!” the Radiance shot back venomously, taking perhaps a little pleasure in the thin red lines her blades occasionally scored across the Tall Being’s fleshy shell. All memory of its kind attitude towards her was pushed aside in favor of her current anger at its defiance. The nails mostly just bounced off, to her frustration, but the barrage was successfully driving it backwards as it cried out and tried to protect itself.

And then, in an instant, it happened.

As the Tall Being took another step back, it collided with the chair by its desk. It quickly lost its balance, terror filling its eyes. It instinctively tried to reach out its arms to catch itself, but the box and the bag prevented it from succeeding. The chair tilted over, it lost its grip on both items, and the Tall Being impacted the floor headfirst with a sharp and final CRACK.

The harsh sound of the Tall Being’s head striking the ground startled everyone into a stunned silence. 

For several moments, no one so much as breathed. 

Then Quirrel, shaken enough to forget everyone was still connected, spoke the question on all of their minds: “Are… are they dead?”

The hesitant words seemed to break the stillness and everyone began speaking at once. 

“It’s not moving!”

“Of course not, it’s dead.”

“The sound its carapace made! It must have split!”

“What do we do now?”

“SILENCE!” the Radiance thundered across the mental connection, prompting silence once again. Gone was the anger, now replaced with shock tinged with perhaps the first stirrings of regret. She looked over the Tall Being’s body for a minute or so, searching for signs of life, before noting the steady rise and fall of its thorax. Then she flew over to land on the Tall Being’s forehead, concentrating. After a few moments, she sighed in quiet relief and looked up towards the shelves. “The Tall Being is unconscious, not dead. I can still feel the edges of its mind, though I cannot tell the extent of the damage.”

The Pale King turned to face the Radiance, “Is it sleeping?” The Radiance replied in the negative. Of course things wouldn’t be simple… no sleep meant no dreams, and no dreams meant no way for her to find a way in. At least the moth hadn't killed their best chance at escape. With the Tall Being now unconscious, the first part of the spell wasn’t needed, so perhaps with a little tweaking… it would be risky, but it might work. As much as he would have liked to stall for more time and decrease that risk, who knew how long the Tall Being would be down? “Then we perform the spell now,” he said firmly. 

Monomon began to protest, “Your Majesty, it is not—” 

He cut her off, “This is the best opportunity we will get, regardless of its completion. We will have to work quickly to make the necessary modifications. Herrah, we may need to take more of a Weaver’s approach…”

While the Wyrm summoned a knife and began carving more etheric calculations on the outside wall of his shelter and presumably consulting his Dreamers, the Radiance extended her power to search for chinks in the Tall Being’s mental defenses. Though clearly jarred from the fall they still held strong. Were it sleeping instead of merely unconscious, she could have searched for places where Dream seeped through, but there were no trails to follow. 

In what seemed like no time at all, the Pale King called for her attention. Several glowing rune-carved stones surrounded him at intervals, connected by patterns of lines traced in the dirt. Lurien was enclosed by similar lines in the soil within his container, while Herrah's three Weavers had helped weave them out of silk and Monomon had enlisted the help of her oomas and uomas to trace faint trails of electricity through the water around her, kept in place by her own brand of magic. 

“I do not know how long the spell will hold,” he told the Radiance, “so you must be swift. When you find an entrance, cast the Dream immediately and bring us in. Are you prepared?”

The Radiance braced her forelimbs and wings against the Tall Being’s forehead more firmly. “Begin,” she responded.

At her word, the Pale King raised his arms, his wings fanning out behind him and glowing faintly. Light gathered formlessly around his hands for a moment before snapping to the rock vessels around him. Properly anchored, he channeled Soul and wove a tracery of white lines that bypassed the clear wall completely and formed a four-pointed mask and wings in a dome above the Radiance. 

With another pulse of Soul, three lines separated from the dome, each one reaching towards a Dreamer. Their own spell lines, summoned by their own magic and raised hands, shot across the distance to join them, adding their own masks to the design. 

“Now, Radiance!” the Pale King shouted as soon as the spell stabilized, anchoring itself to the Tall Being’s forehead. In response, the Goddess of Dream’s light flared as well, twining around the nearest spell lines and giving them an ethereal golden glow as she took strength from it to widen her senses for any trace of Essence.

She went as quickly as she dared, probing as far as she could into the Tall Being’s defenses. If the spell was working correctly, its mind would be in a sleep state, with slightly weaker walls and producing the substance of Dream. However, with her power still weakened and the mind so vast… the power from the spell seemed to wane too fast.

“You must hurry!” the Pale King yelled, a tremble in his voice becoming more noticeable. The spell lines were growing thinner, and the Soul vessels around him were barely glowing anymore. The Dreamers were hardly any steadier, even with him acting as the main conduit. This is why power calculations were so important, he wouldn’t be able to hold it for long in his current state…!

A soft presence enveloped him, lending support, asking permission. He had hoped it wouldn’t be necessary but… no cost too great. “Root!” he gasped. “Now!”

Roots that the White Lady had traced around herself in dictated spell-patterns lit up, matching the lights at the tips of her branches. As she was not an experienced spell-caster like her husband, the undisciplined lines of her magic did not go to join the delicate weaving above the Radiance. Instead, it flowed, magnified and focused, into her half of a charm and emerged from the other end.

The Kingsoul burned with her own cool Light as it joined the Pale King’s spell lines, curling lace-like around the sigil of the dome. His wings flared bright enough that his neighbors had to look away, and the Wyrm winced as he heard a faint cracking noise from his mask. Though entwined as they were and with Lights so similar, it was still a powerful and foreign influence that he was channeling. That thrice-damned moth had better hurry up…!

The Radiance felt the influx of new power and stepped up her search. Not there, not there, even thicker there… Ah! A small trickle of Essence leaked through. She dug a formless blade into the crack and widened it hastily. A burst of her power was sent through the defect, a special seed of Dream given task and purpose by the workings of the spell, and as soon as it took hold, she yanked on the spell lines connecting her to the Wyrm and Root. 

Outside, all three higher beings abruptly dropped like marionettes with their strings cut.

The spell lines dissipated into the air as their connection was severed, and the Dreamers disconnected themselves and fell in exhaustion. 

Silence reigned for the third time that night. 

Without the White Lady’s connection, no one could share the thought they all held.

What now?

Clouds filled the landscape as far as the eye could see. Golden light filtered through the fluffy masses, casting a warm glow into the atmosphere. In the distance, jagged black pillars broke through the cloud cover, though they were few and far between. Throughout it all, little motes of Essence floated around peacefully.

The Pale King batted one away from his face as he regained his bearings. He checked himself over, flexing his wings and tail and claws. He was larger, more Wyrm-like in true Dream, less contained by physical form. His crown was more imposing, his tail longer, and he could feel the faded white shadow of his previous form follow him.

He gave a small sigh of relief. No aches or pains here; he would have to enjoy it before he came back to his physical body, which would no doubt be yelling at him for the abuse he just put it through so soon after the failed Sealing. 

A familiar presence came up behind him, putting soothing hands on his shoulders. He took the hands in his own and turned around to take in the full glory of his wife. 

Even here, she still towered over him. Her branches were far longer than she had ever kept them in reality, curving around themselves in elaborate and sometimes improbable patterns. Her roots spilled out from underneath her loose robes, curling around the platform they stood on and dipping in and out of the clouds. Clear blue eyes twinkled like the surface of the Blue Lake, gazing down at him in fondness tinged with sadness.

He sighed again. As much as he wanted to twine his tail around her and just hold each other, he knew she had wanted space. That and they had a job to do.

With that in mind, he called out, “Radiance!”

With a bright burst of light, the ruler of this realm appeared. Here, she was as the Pale King remembered: segmented wings held out to her sides, sword-like legs held stiff, and no antennae poking around her crown. A compass of light haloed her head as her burning eyes rested upon them. 

The staring contest lasted a few long moments before the White Lady cleared her throat. “I believe we should be going, yes? You are to be our guide, and time is of the essence.” 

The Pale King blinked, then rolled his eyes. “Thank you for the reminder, dear,” he deadpanned. She truly was the diplomat of their pairing; her light humor had saved quite a few meetings.

The Radiance gave a little huff of what might have been amusement at the little joke and turned around. “This way,” she said, beginning to hover towards a lighter patch of sky. Platforms preceded the other two higher beings as they followed. “I can feel the Tall Being’s presence in the Dream from there.”

The Radiance set a brisk pace, not needing to physically move at all. While the White Lady easily kept pace, the Pale King found himself having to glide forward in short bursts with his wings every now and then. The moth glanced back once to see it and smirked, “Still the shortest I see.”

He glowered at her. How childish. “I could form as a Wyrm here and you know it. I just don’t see how it would make a good impression. Besides,” he added flippantly, “you’re not the tallest here anyway, and this is your realm, isn’t it?”

The temperature and her temper flared, only to die down suddenly when the Root passed between them, sending a pulse of calm at them both through her roots. Reluctantly, the two let off and the three of them continued to journey in silence. After a few more minutes of quips and travel, they finally reached a clearing in the clouds. 

The sky was nearly white here and Essence brightened and dimmed and moved as if caught in a faint breeze. All signs of a mortal’s dream, of course, but what stunned the three gods the most was the dream form of the Tall Being.

While most bugs, with the exception of Dream-sensitives such as moths, generally took their physical form when their mind was in Dream, before them was instead an ever-shifting sphere of rainbow light. Little dreamcatchers of Essence spun and twirled in eddies of distorted Dream around its corona. Tightly compacted Soul rolled across the surface in waves, shining with pale blues and reds and greens and more but predominantly colored, the Pale King noted in alarm, in a honeyed orange.

He whirled on the Radiance, but she held up a wing to forestall any argument. “Every creature has a particular leaning towards a Focus; the color of Dream is orange, just as the color of Mind is pale and the color of Voice is white. You know this. There is none of my influence here,” she said softly, not even looking at him. Instead of being annoyed, she seemed melancholic, or perhaps wistful.

The Wyrm subsided, turning back to the orb. Looking closer, he realized it didn’t really bear any resemblance to the bright and putrid orange of the Infection, instead merely a light golden color. With the plague so fresh, she certainly couldn’t blame him for jumping to that conclusion. Perhaps more worrying, now that he’d looked past it, were the streaks of inky black occasionally marring the surface, as well as a small but solid crack of darkness along one side. Was that Void?

He heard a noise behind him and turned to see the White Lady rooting herself into the ground, pulses of light shining from her branches like ornaments. Her eyes were closed as she murmured, “I am transferring our language now. Dear, see about that glamour. Radiance, perhaps give the Tall Being a form more suited to interaction with us in this Dream?”

She seemed rather nonplussed for a discovery this momentous, but they were on a time crunch. Keeping a thread of awareness trained on the Radiance as she inspected the ball of light that was the Tall Being, he extended his influence to examine the very tops of Soul cresting over its surface, forcing himself to be fast instead of indulging his endless curiosity. 

It was honestly quite difficult, because the Tall Being’s mind was fascinating. He had never seen such tightly compacted Soul before, not even in Wyrms. There was so much of it in such a small space, it was no wonder it was rolling out in waves before being drawn back in by its own sort of gravity. And the colors! Mortal bugs tended towards a certain color in their souls besides the color of the deity they followed, but there were just so many… it was impossible to tell anything but the Tall Being’s leaning in Focus. The only defects in the shimmering surface were the Void streaks and the crack across its surface, which he could feel weren’t supposed to be there. The crack must have been the damage to her mind caused by the fall that he was sensing, and the streaks may then be the dissonance of the glamour. 

His theory was rewarded when he unraveled the faint pale thread wrapped around the sphere like a net: as it was untangled, the streaks slowly began to abate. They didn’t disperse, however; they instead sank deeper as the Soul parted to let it through. Could it be a core of Void surrounded by Soul? He shook his head, resolving to think about it later as he focused on the dark crack. It was already starting to heal itself, to his surprise, so he merely helped along the process. 

As an afterthought, he did some mental calculations and drew some quick spell lines around the sphere. His symbol flashed for a moment upon its surface before sinking beneath the waves: a protection against the passive glamour. The glamour itself laid upon his subjects, ensnaring outsiders like a sprung trap and producing its effect as long as they stayed in contact. With this and the effects he observed in the Tall Being, he could fine-tune the spell in the future without affecting their (hopefully) soon-to-be ally.

Letting out a satisfied breath, he stepped back. It felt good to perform such magic with barely a thought, after the last few days with such little power. Any god’s realm was sure to be filled with their magic, and concentrated Essence was simple for a Wyrm to convert into their base magic of Soul. He looked around to see his wife finishing with her task and the Radiance surrounding herself with a thick cloud of Essence. Before he could even question what she was doing, the cloud shot forward and swirled around the sphere, obstructing it from view.

“What are you doing?” he demanded. 

She only rolled her luminous eyes and gestured with a wing. He turned back to see the cloud dissipating around a no-longer-spherical shape. In fact, as solid colors began to bleed into it, it almost looked like…

“A moth? Really?”

The Radiance’s eyes were wide in comparison to his narrowed ones. “I only gave her a more buglike form. The fact that she ended up as a moth was all her.” Regardless of the goddess’ projected innocence, the form still clearly delighted her.

“Her?” the White Lady asked, coming up between them.

“She sees herself as feminine, so that is how she appears. The moths were mine, even if this one is not. I would have been a poor caretaker indeed if I could not tell between them.”

When the Essence finally swirled away completely, a tall moth (though still shorter than the trio currently) stood before them, eyes closed. Two thin dark antennae curved away from her head, which was surrounded by a fluffy red-orange mane. Alternating red-black-white stripes decorated her abdomen, and a pair of red-furred forelimbs peeked out from underneath long, folded, dark gray and striped wings with white crescent spots.

Before any of the assembled gods could speak, blue eyes flashed open as the now moth-shaped Tall Being jerked backwards, immediately tripping over her own wings. 

“Eugggggh,” she groaned, bringing a hand to her face as she sat back up. As soon as it made contact, she flinched and snapped her eyes open again. “What the…?” She then began a visual inspection of her form, mumbling lowly in confusion but seeming mostly unconcerned. 

Curious, the Radiance drifted a little closer to better hear the Tall Being. “...this has gotta be the weirdest dream I’ve had in a while. Still not weirder than that one tea party dream, but this is pretty up there,” she was murmuring, tugging on her antennae so she could see them better. “I know this type of moth. It’s on the tip of my tongue… proboscis? Do I even have…?”

The Pale King, growing impatient, loudly cleared his throat from behind the Radiance. The Tall Being startled from her place on the ground, immediately putting aside her self-investigation to gaze at the three much larger beings before her. “Um… hi?” she squeaked, giving a half-hearted wave.

The halo behind the Radiance’s head flared slightly as she began to speak, “I am the Radiance, God of Dream. Beside me are—”

“The Pale King, Wyrm and King of Hallownest,” her fellow god interrupted regally, his own Light flaring as well. The Radiance refused to react visibly to the slight, though she did smirk mentally when some well-directed dreamcatchers flew into his face.

A hidden root covertly reached out to smack them both lightly. “And I am the White Lady, Root and Queen of Hallownest.” Her Light followed the example set by the others, then she continued with perhaps a small bit of amusement, “What is your name, little one?” In the Dream, the endearment actually fit.

Now the moment of truth, they all thought, as the not-so-Tall Being simply gawked up at them. After a few moments, she mumbled something about “lucid dreams” and “tea parties” before carefully picking herself up and giving a clumsy curtsy. “My name is Denise Powell, Your Majesties and, um, Radiance?”

All three gods were filled with relief. Everything had worked, and not a moment too soon.

“A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Denise Powell,” the Radiance said, and to her own surprise she honestly meant it. With their location, the Tall Being’s current form and her tendency towards Dream, it almost felt like coming home. She would definitely have to make an effort to apologize for the nails if she remembered… “We have much to discuss—”

“Wait!” she suddenly shouted. The Radiance barely had time to feel annoyed at yet another interruption before watching, confused, as the smaller moth hopped around, observing her from every angle. “Aha! You look just like Mothra!” she announced excitedly, sounding somewhat self-satisfied. Then she turned around and pointed at the Pale King and Root in turn. “And you must be the white bug with the wings, and you’re the tree-looking one. Makes sense.” 

The three higher beings looked at each other in confusion. “What makes sense…?” the Radiance asked. 

“Well, I had to have based this dream on something!” the new moth beamed. “There’s been so much weird bug stuff going on lately, it kind of makes sense it’d get into my subconscious. It’s been a while since I’ve had a lucid dream, so this is kind of neat! I wonder if I can…” She looked behind her and started flapping her wings, hovering off the floor a little. “Definitely cool,” she laughed.

“What does temperature have to do with anything?” the Pale King whispered to his wife.

“Oh, but I’m being rude, aren’t I?” the Tall Being continued to ramble, landing and folding her wings with more grace than the others expected for a normally wingless being. “I’m very curious to see how this plays out. So, uh, things to discuss?” She looked at them all expectantly.

The White Lady got her bearings first. “We have entered your Dream in order to impart our language to you. The bugs that have recently come into your care hail from a kingdom known as Hallownest and some surrounding regions. We require your help in returning home, Denise Powell.”

“Oh, please, just call me Denise, Your Highness,” she said timidly. “And, uh, sure! I don’t mind helping out. I— wait.” A look of panic crossed her face, antennae twitching subconsciously. “I can understand insect language now? Like, any insect? Because I don’t think I can take hearing what every single bug in my shop is saying all the time—”

“Be calm, Denise,” said the White Lady, pulsing serenity through her roots and Voice. Denise immediately reacted, her panic subsiding. “The language only applies to bugs given mind and will by a higher being, such as ourselves.”

“And as I have no intentions of adding to the census in these times, I can assure you that you will only hear those that came from the Hallownest territories,” the Pale King continued.

Denise looked extremely relieved. “Thank the lord. I would have gone absolutely crazy. So that would be… all the new bugs? And the jellyfish? Oh, does this mean I can just ask what species everyone is?”

“Yes, yes, and you may, but I will not guarantee that you will receive an answer,” he replied.

“Okay, cool. Neat! When do we start?” She looked around curiously. “Usually my dreams have more to start with. What’s with all the clouds?”

“This is a connection to the Realm of Dream, not a dream of your own,” said the Radiance, flapping her wings, “and it begins when you wake up.”

Denise tilted her head. “That’s all?”

“Well, yes, but—”

“That’s easy! Watch this.”

“Wait, hold on a—” the Radiance started to protest, but then all three higher beings found themselves unceremoniously ejected from the Tall Being’s end of the Dream.

Denise woke up confused. When did she go to sleep? Her bed wasn’t this hard. Her lights weren’t this bright. She tried to blink the blurriness in her eyes away. And since when did she have shelving units next to…?

Oh. She slowly raised herself up onto her elbows as memories trickled back to her. Her head didn’t hurt as much as she would have thought, seeing as she probably gave herself a concussion by… whatever happened. She also thought she’d be panicking a bit more… but maybe that was the concussion. 

Denise flinched as something fell down her face and landed on her chest. Oh hey, what was Mothra doing sleeping on her face? If she’d sat up any quicker she could have launched the moth across the room. She would have felt really guilty if something happened to Mothra, especially after promising to help her and some bug royalty in her dream. Weird stuff.

Sitting up more carefully, she let Mothra land in her hands instead of her lap. She grimaced a little as the white moth started to stir. There was a ringing in her ears that almost sounded like words. Actually, mostly just the left one. Was that normal for concussions?

Speaking of normal… was it just her eyes adjusting, or did Mothra look a hell of a lot different? Denise gingerly lifted Mothra closer to her eyes and squinted. Still fluffy white with thin antennae, but the wings almost fell like a cloak and was that metal on her legs…?

And then, as if things couldn’t get any weirder, the moth stood up on her hind legs and pointed at her accusingly with a clawed hand. “How in Sol’s name did you kick me out of my own realm?” she demanded.

Denise gaped. 

“Holy fuck, it wasn’t a dream.”

Chapter Text

“Holy fuck, it wasn’t a dream."

Mothra— wait, no, what was her name or title or whatever in the dream… Radiance, that’s it, right?— the Radiance lifted off from her hands and tilted her head. “Yes, it was.”

Denise mentally stalled. “Well, I mean, yeah, but it wasn’t a dream. This is real! You’re talking! I understand what you’re saying! I am talking to a moth and it is responding and I am responding back— ow.”

While she had been talking, one hand had been gesturing wildly while the other had gone to her face, causing a prick of pain. “What the…” she murmured as she traced thin lines across her cheek. The scratches had scabbed up already, but dried blood came off on her fingertips. 

More memories trickled back, reminding her of trying to leave the room and being stopped by lots of little somethings stinging her face. Lots of sharp little somethings from a little white—

Denise’s mouth dropped open and she pointed an accusing finger right back at the hovering Radiance. “Did you fucking stab me?” she yelled, incredulous. 

The moth’s light— because yes she was clearly glowing now, how the hell had she missed that— dimmed slightly and her antennae shifted backwards. “It wasn’t so much stabbing as grazing, but yes, I couldn’t let you leave—”

“That’s not an excuse! You stabbed me! Several times! ” she shrilled, her frantically moving hands accentuating her point. Gone was the steady calm that had laid over her since she woke up, replaced instead by a cold panicky feeling, as if she had nearly missed a step at the top of a tall staircase. What if one of those glowy knives had ended up in her eye? Or if she had fallen on her neck or cracked her skull and couldn’t call an ambulance? She could have…!

Her right hand bumped into something solid when she put it on the floor to support herself. Looking down, she saw the box she had put the bees… in…

All of the pieces suddenly clicked together.

Denise glanced from the Radiance, to the bee box, and finally to the many tanks to her left. That buzzing in her left ear wasn’t from hitting her head; voices really were coming from the tanks and all the bugs they contained… and they all looked incredibly different from before. Face to face with the lower tanks, she had a clear view of the spiders and the mantids and could almost see some of the other bugs as they looked down at her. They had masks and clothes and most stood on two legs and the mantids had spears and… she also got the impression a lot of them were… not very happy with her.

“Oh my god, I’ve been keeping sentient bugs in boxes,” she breathed, horrified. She wished she could say it was all still a dream but the pain and lucidity made a convincing argument to the contrary. This wasn’t a dream, this was actually happening. This was so fucked up. She had to move. She had to do something!

Denise rushed to her feet and instantly regretted it when her head went light, the world lurched, and her vision blacked out. She leaned heavily on her desk, a hand on her forehead, as she waited for it to pass. 

“Are you alright?” the Radiance called, sounding concerned.

“Nope, you don’t get to ask me that, I’m not done with you yet,” Denise snapped back, pointing a finger blindly in that direction. She didn’t know how she felt about her previously-favorite moth yet and wasn’t going to deal with it now. “I just stood up too fast. Give me a second.” She tried to blink the spots in her vision away. “God, this is crazy…!” she whispered under her breath, her voice pitching up a little at the end until she forced it back down. No, she had to stay calm. If she panicked any more, she would just walk out of the shop right now without another word and she had a feeling she’d regret that later. She breathed in and out, tapping a finger to her thigh as she counted out her breaths. Okay. 

As her vision cleared, she warily watched Mothra— no, Radiance— out of the corner of her eye and prioritized things. If she made a mental list, treated this as a dream anyway, set aside her jumbled thoughts and feelings, and just went through the checkboxes, maybe this wouldn’t seem so absolutely insane. Yeah. Yeah, that sounded like a good plan.

She took one last deep breath, exhaled in one big sigh, and stopped counting. First things first.

Denise grabbed the bee box from off the ground and placed it on her desk next to the shelving unit, using one arm to quickly clear more space. The box itself seemed intact, so hopefully the insects inside were okay… 

She quickly unlatched the top of the box and leaned back in case they flew out immediately. When nothing happened, Denise peered inside to see several unmoving bees. She almost started panicking again, but then she saw one of them— the thinnest and tallest of the lot that had looked like a honeybee, which she still presumed to be the queen— look up at her. “Are you and the others okay...?” Denise asked hesitantly, feeling more than a little silly.

The bee simply stared for a moment before murmuring, “I suppose it worked, then.” Then, louder, “Yes, though a few of us were rendered unconscious by what I assume to be a fall. I am Hive Queen Vespa, and we are of the Hive. What is your name, Tall Being, and what happened?”

Firmly setting aside the weirdness of a bee talking to her and reminding herself to treat it as a dream, Denise gave a little head bow and replied, “My name is Denise, your, um, highness. I dropped you guys when I fell— I’m so sorry about that by the way— and then, um, this other king and queen and Mothra went into my dreams so I could understand you all...? Anyway, can you all fly out or do you need help?”

Queen Vespa looked around at her slowly stirring bees and said, “Some help would be appreciated; I’m afraid some of us are in no condition to fly.”

“Okay, let’s see…” Denise really didn’t want to stick her bare hands in a box of bees in any circumstance, sentient or not... “If I tilt the box really slowly, would you be able to walk out once it’s level?”

When Queen Vespa agreed after some deliberation with the others, Denise waited for her to make sure her fellows were all awake before tilting the box slowly enough for them all to acclimate. Once the box was resting again, Denise said, “I’m going to… deal with everyone else now. Just wait on the desk so I can have everyone in one place, please?”

With the bees taken care of, she turned to the shelving unit housing the rest of the bugs but hesitated when she met all those little eyes. It was unnerving enough when they all looked like regular-ish bugs to her, but now that there was intelligence there… how was she even going to begin? Her gaze swept across the tanks as she took mental stock of all the changes and stalled for time only to lock onto two familiar forms. 

She took a concerned step forward, squinting into the containers. “Wait, are the…” She snapped her fingers as she tried to recall the names. “Oh, are the White Lady and the Pale King okay…?” she asked no one in particular. The tree-like queen seemed slumped forward while the long, winged king was sprawled on the ground. Both were surrounded by barely-visible scores in the dirt and strange little motes of light in the air around their heads.

The Radiance flew past Denise, startling her a little, and alighted on top of the White Lady’s container, facing the wary human. It didn’t escape her that the bugs in the container to the right seemed to flinch away. “They must have been cast into their own Dreams when you broke out of the Dream Realm,” said the moth… goddess? Denise was still a little confused about that but it would have to wait. “I can bring them out faster, if you would prefer,” she continued. She was a lot more courteous than Denise expected, considering what she’d seen previously. Not really contrite, still a bit too annoyed-sounding for that, but maybe trying to make up for it?

“Um, yeah, do that I guess?” Better to have introductions all at once, she supposed; it gave her more time to think about what she would say. She glanced over to the bees and saw them all out of the box, so she carefully got it off her desk and onto the floor. Thinking back to the various weapons, both natural and seemingly manufactured, that all of the different insects had, Denise also grabbed a pair of work gloves from a nearby shelf and slipped them on. It was better than nothing. 

When she turned back, the lights around the White Lady had disappeared and her blue eyes were open, while the Radiance had moved to the king’s container and was ignoring the bristling bugs in the other divisions.

“Hello, Denise Powell,” said the White Lady as their eyes met, seeming to smile. Though much smaller than in the dream, her soft and pleasant voice was the same and reached her easily. “It is a pleasure to meet you face to proper face.” 

“Ah…” A little flustered, she sketched the same curtsy she half-remembered from the dream. Why were there so many queens? She had no idea what the proper etiquette was for royalty, let alone bug royalty. “The pleasure is all mine?” she returned uncertainly, her face heating slightly when the Lady hummed a short laugh before sobering.

“Let us postpone the formalities,” she said more seriously, “as there are more pressing matters at hand. We ask that you release us from this containment so that we of the Hallownest region may speak to you more as equals and rejoin with our fellows.”

“Oh!” Denise exclaimed. “Yes, yes, of course.” She’d been a little distracted in her concern for the two royals, but now her mortification about this whole situation rushed back to the fore.

She grabbed the queen’s tank first and brought it over to the desk as carefully as she could, minding the position of the recuperating bees. She removed the lid and filter, then hesitated. “Do you… need help getting out?” she offered, holding a hand over the box but not getting close yet.

The White Lady nodded and started pulling her roots (legs?) out of the soil. “That would be appreciated, yes.”

Haltingly, Denise lowered her hand next to the tree-like being, careful not to make any grabbing motions. The muted but unmistakable feeling of many limbs climbing over her gloved hand from beneath the Lady’s robes was strange, but not entirely unknown; she was used to working with insects and other little creatures after all. Back on the desk, the Lady seemed to get along fine without any soil, so the human took the tank off the desk and turned her attention back to the shelves. 

The little lights around the Pale King’s head were gone when she looked, though he was still on the ground unmoving. “Unconscious, yet alive,” stated the Radiance with a small measure of… disappointment? 

She took to the air again and tried to land on the human’s shoulder, but Denise immediately backed away. “Nope, you have lost shoulder privileges after the knife thing,” she said severely. “Go wait on one of the shelves or something, and I’ll deal with everyone at once.” To her relief, the Radiance didn’t make a fuss and simply changed course to land on one of the fixtures on the wall above the desk. 

“Denise?” called the White Lady from the desk, where she was standing by Queen Vespa. With the human’s attention, she went on, “Would you please retrieve my husband’s container next so that I may tend to him?”

Denise nodded. “Yes, of course.” It was one of the larger containers with multiple dividers, so she dragged it off the shelf and hefted it with both hands as steady as she could. The same as before, she set it down on the desk and opened the lid, but this time, the four bugs with white armor jumped off of the dividers and leapt out immediately. 

Denise gave a short yelp and stepped back, startled by the fast movement. She watched warily as the one with the three pronged head and the one with green leaf decorations went all the way to the White Lady, while the other two went into the section holding the Pale King. 

The last bug, with a long blue cloak and a mask with one eye, stayed in their section. “Really?” they said to the two bugs next to the King, sounding somewhat exasperated. “Neither of you could have gotten me?”

Before they could move again, Denise stepped forward. “Hold on, I can remove the divider. Stand back.”

All three bugs startled at her voice and seemed to tense, but they followed her directions nonetheless. Eyeing the mace and large sword the two armored bugs carried, she very carefully lifted the clear wall separating the two sections, allowing the blue bug to come beside the king.

“Do you guys need help getting him out, too?” The three looked at each other before deferring to the White Lady. With her nod, Denise lowered both of her hands into the tank, waited for the one with the mace to pick up the Pale King and all the bugs to step onto her palms, and smoothly laid them all down next to the White Lady.

The tree-like queen reached out for her much smaller king, and the mace-bug transferred him. She knelt down, cradling her husband in her arms as the four guards circled around.

“Thank you, Denise,” she said, smiling with her eyes. Somehow, Denise could tell that it was a tired sort of smile.

The human returned it and replied, “You’re welcome,” before turning back to the containers. Denise figured she’d start from the bottom and work her way up, since the bottom tanks had the most bugs, but… hm. She was… not very enthusiastic about sticking her hands anywhere near a box of aggressive spiders or mantids, gloves or not. Though many of the containers had visible scratch marks, theirs had a lot more and had cut much deeper into the plastic.

It had to be done though. She could only hope they didn’t harbor a big enough grudge to try and attack her. “I’ll be going from the bottom up, okay? Just, wait until I get the lid fully off to come out.” She saw a few nods and bent down to grab the spiders. She hefted it up and onto the desk as smoothly as she could and paused. The White Lady had said they all came from the same region, but knowing what she did about the food chain...

“Um, I really don’t mean to be rude but I just wanna make sure,” she said, eyes darting between the spiders and the other bugs on the desk. “Are you guys okay with each other? To be in the same place and all?”

Luckily, she didn’t need to elaborate further and dig any holes, since the big horned spider in the tank spoke up, “All of us here have our agreements and treaties. They shall continue to be unbroken, Tall Being.” A quick glance at the White Lady confirmed the spider’s words.

Denise nodded. “Okay then. I’m going to assume you all can get out yourselves, given what I’ve seen so far, so just let me know if anyone needs help. Just, um, please don’t bite or claw at me, I think I’ve had enough of that today. Same goes to you all,” she added to the rest of the unopened containers. With that, she unlatched the top and let the spiders climb or jump out. Once they had all gathered together on the desk, not quite mingling with the other bugs, Denise removed the tank and repeated the process with the rest.

Very few of the bugs actually needed help getting out of the tanks, either jumping out in great leaps, climbing out via the various rocks and twigs in the enclosure, or using a few different silver weapons. One of the smaller ones, clad in a red dress, escaped using a similar little needle to the ones she had seen the spiders use; seeing the little bug immediately run to the horned spider and get swept up into a hug only increased the guilt she felt about what she had unknowingly done.

In the end, the only ones that had needed her assistance were the rhinoceros beetle with the pretty saddle and the two weevils, plus the apparently-not-sentient “tick-ticks” that she sealed in their own much smaller container to place on the desk. Once the last of the tanks had been emptied and put away, she asked, “That’s everyone, right?”

The hooded pillbug took a step forward nervously and said, “Ah… the Teacher is still in that container over there,” drawing Denise’s attention to the water tank. 

She’d nearly forgotten about that one. “Oh, right. Thanks.” She went over and lifted the top off, wondering if she’d be able to find out how a bunch of jellyfish and bugs knew each other soon.

The biggest of the jellies, the only one with a mask, surfaced quickly and spoke excitedly with a curious accent, “Thank you and hello, Tall Being! I am Monomon the Teacher, and may I just say, it is a pleasure to finally be able to speak with you! I look forward to exchanging information with a scholar such as yourself very soon.”

Slightly taken aback, Denise stammered, “O-oh! Um, yeah, I look forward to that too. Please, just call me Denise. Uh…” she glanced at the rest of the bugs and then back at the jellyfish in the tank. “I don’t actually think I can get you over there, the tank’s too heavy.”

Monomon waved a tentacle dismissively and replied, “Not a problem, it is not too great a distance. I can hear everything just fine.”

“If you’re sure.” Denise then took a deep breath, walked over to the desk, rolled her chair over between the desk and the water tank, and sat down heavily. Any sort of conversation that had been happening died down and then all eyes were on her.

She suppressed a little shiver as she practically felt their attention. Bugs had never triggered her stage fright before, but, well, they weren’t normal bugs. Deep breaths, Denise, she thought to herself, deep breaths. She cleared her throat and decided to start it off simple.

“H-hello.” She waved with a small smile, but when it wasn’t returned by any of the bugs save the White Lady, she awkwardly put her hand back down into her lap. “If you hadn’t heard it already, my name is Denise Powell. I just want to say I’m deeply sorry about what you guys must have gone through, and I want to help make things right. So, um, introductions first, I guess?”

After a brief bit of conference between the different bugs, they all decided to introduce themselves one at a time. There were the ones she already knew, like Queen Vespa or the Pale King, but then there was a third queen named Herrah the Beast, a trio of Mantis Lords, a “nail master” named Mato, an apparently mute Pure Vessel (whatever that meant), and many more interesting names and titles along with pronouns at her request. Denise made sure to commit all of them to memory as they finished; there’d be plenty of time to ask questions later.

Actually, speaking of time…

She stole a glance at her watch and couldn’t suppress a loud “God dammit!” as she suddenly sprung out of her chair, all of her stiff composure vanishing in a second.

“Damn what?” asked the Radiance.

“It’s almost midnight!” Denise shouted, forgetting her anger at the moth in favor of panic. “I was already late getting out of the shop before all this happened! Fuck, is my bus route still running…?” She scrambled for her phone, praying she wouldn’t have to walk to a further bus stop in the cold, or worse, have to walk all the way home in the dark.

“What is the issue? Do you not have accommodations in this building?” asked another bug. Lurien, maybe, but her eyes were glued to her phone screen as she typed in her route number.

“I— no? My apartment is at least twenty minutes away by bus, and it’s not like I keep blankets in the storage closet— ha!” Denise spun around in triumph, holding her phone up high. “It’s still running! Not for long, but it is! Thank you, public transportation system! Just gotta grab my stuff and— wait.”

She suddenly remembered her predicament again, looking between the water tank, the desk full of bugs, and the empty tanks. She really didn’t want to tell them to get back in so soon after getting out, but what else could she…?

She checked the time again. Okay. Maybe this could work. She had planned on taking the bees to her apartment already; what were a few extra passengers?

Denise clapped her hands together and faced the desk. Already, some of the insects had been getting restless or glaring at her in suspicion. Fueled by adrenaline, Denise ignored the looks and barreled on. “Alright, I apologize in advance for being rude, but I only have, like, ten minutes before the last bus on the route comes by. I’m not leaving you all in here, since I’m betting you’re sick of those boxes by now and I’d feel guilty all day, so I’m taking everyone to my apartment. I’ve got this backpack with lots of pockets and the box I was taking the bees in, so while I pack up, figure out where you’d all prefer to travel. Be quick or I’ll just have to stuff you where I can. Got it?” 

Denise didn’t wait for their agreement before making sure the contents of her backpack were intact after the fall. Her big metal water bottle clanged against the floor from the side pocket as she repositioned it, giving her an idea.

After dumping and rinsing it, she quickly went over to the water tank, empty bottle in hand, and asked the Teacher, “Are you and the others okay with going in this? There’s not enough space anywhere else for any of my waterproof containers.”

Monomon raised a tentacle to her mask as she considered. “That size should be adequate, presuming that the nozzle on the top can be left open. I request that you keep your travel as smooth as possible, however; the oomas can be a little… unstable, when jostled too harshly.”

Denise nodded, opening up the lid and dipping the bottle into the water. “Yeah, I was planning on keeping it open. I’ll have to figure out a way to get an aquarium for you, though. I’ve never kept fish before.”

All of the jellyfish made their way into the bottle, with Monomon ushering the little ones along. “Not to worry!” she said, popping her mask out of the top when they were all inside. “Once I get a proper chance to equalize myself with the air density in your abode, further aquatic accommodations shouldn’t be necessary.” 

“...I’ll let you explain what the heck that means later.” Denise set the bottle on the desk, leaving the cap beside it so they wouldn’t be shut away longer than needed. She glanced around the shelves and pulled out some small empty plastic boxes, perfect to keep a few bugs safe in her backpack’s pockets, and set them down next to the bottle.

She quickly checked her watch again and looked over all of the bugs on the desk. They seemed to have separated into a few groups by this point, so she asked, “So, what’s the verdict?”

Radiance seemed to fluff up and brighten a little before declaring, “I refuse to be sealed away in any container. I will follow from the air.”

Denise was uncertain about just letting the trigger-happy moth roam about, but there wasn’t enough time to dispute it. “Okay, whatever, make sure you don’t get left behind. Spiders— er, Weavers?”

“We will travel in the darkness of your bag’s main compartment, along with the Hive,” said Queen Herrah. The little red-clad bug, her daughter Hornet as Denise now knew, was seemingly asleep in her many arms.

“Should two containers be able to fit, we shall also stay in the largest compartment,” said the White Lady, surrounded by the five Great Knights, Watcher Lurien, and the Pure Vessel while she cradled her still-unconscious husband. 

“We will take one of the smaller pockets on the outside,” said Lord Ziria, flanked by her sisters and fellow tribe members.

“The rest of us can stay in that other box, if there is no more space,” said Quirrel, speaking for the remaining bugs. Cornifer and Iselda nodded along, though Gale the Stag and Nailmaster Mato seemed slightly distracted by a little bundle in the latter’s cloak that hadn’t been there before. 

Denise almost asked what that was about, but another glance at her watch reminded her that she was on a time crunch. She hurriedly checked that the three containers could fit in her backpack, since she didn’t want to risk accidentally crushing anyone if they didn’t have that protection, and ushered the bugs into their respective boxes, including the little container of tiktiks. Thankfully, everything went a lot smoother than that first day, and Denise was soon leaving the locked shop behind her and booking it to the bus stop.

“C’mon, c’mon, c’mon” she chanted under her breath, trying to be fast, steady, and vigilant at the same time as she ran through the chilly night air, a wooden box held firmly in one hand and the strap of her bag in the other to lessen its thumping against her back. She barely registered the flapping of the Radiance beside her as the moth kept pace, paying more attention to not tripping. 

She rounded a corner and saw the last bus of the night start to close its doors at the stop. She frantically shouted “Wait!” at the bus driver, a burst of adrenaline carrying her to the transparent doors. She fished out her pass and waved it pleadingly at the driver, letting out a huge relieved sigh as the doors opened again.

“Cutting it a bit close there, huh?” the driver said.

“You have no idea,” Denise replied breathlessly as she swiped her pass and went to take a seat on the empty bus. A flash of white followed her in just before the doors closed, prompting an annoyed grumble from the driver before the bus got back on the road. The Radiance landed on Denise’s shoulder as she sat down, but when she turned her head to shoo her off, she hesitated. 

The little moth goddess looked exhausted, her wings and antennae drooping and her dim eyes at half mast. Denise didn’t think she’d been running for that long. She was a little winded herself at that last sprint, since she didn’t consider herself very athletic, but moths generally flew faster and farther than that on a daily basis. Maybe it’s a goddess thing? She’d expect a “higher being” to have higher stamina, but maybe that wasn’t how it worked.

“You can stay there ‘til we get to the apartment,” Denise whispered, trying not to be heard by the bus driver. She still hadn’t sorted out how she felt after the stabbing thing (she needed to hear an actual apology first) but since they were going to be living together for a bit it wouldn’t hurt to extend a little olive branch.

The Radiance gave a full-body sigh and replied, “You have my most sincere gratitude, Denise Powell.”

“Just make sure you have an apology for the knife thing ready soon,” the human huffed, patting her pockets to make sure her keys were still there. She then opened her backpack pockets and the wooden case just enough to check on the others and make sure they were alright, relieved to find everyone not too jostled.

It took a little less than twenty-five minutes to get to the bus stop closest to Denise’s little apartment complex. She thanked the driver and wished a good night before hopping off and making her careful way across the street and up to her second-floor apartment.

The thunk of her lock sliding back was music to her ears after the day she’d had. Denise quickly turned on the lights and shut the door behind her before taking the three containers out of her backpack and opening them onto the rectangular coffee table in front of her sofa. Then she grabbed a glass bowl, unscrewed the top from the water bottle, and slowly poured the jellies into the new receptacle.

With everyone out, barring the still-contained tiktiks, Denise dropped onto the sofa and leaned forward, hands steepled in front of her as she looked down at all the curious insects ogling her apartment. They had all gravitated into their groups again, with the pillbug Quirrel leading his own little mismatched group to Monomon. Honestly, this felt even weirder now that these sentient bugs she had unknowingly imprisoned were standing around on her perfectly normal coffee table and not in the bug-filled shop.

She dragged a hand across her face and mumbled, “This is just so… surreal.” She still held out a sliver of hope that this was all just an elaborate dream cooked up by her overworked brain, but the longer this went on, the smaller that hope got. And if it was real… well, hopefully her first impressions weren’t terrible.

Denise was exhausted though… by this point, she was almost completely sure she didn’t actually have a concussion, so she definitely wanted to sleep this all off as soon as possible. With that in mind, she decided to lay down the law so she could knock out on her bed and not a linoleum floor.

“I am dead tired right now, so I’m going to be blunt and only say this once,” she stated, drawing everyone’s attention. “I need to go to bed, so we’ll have to do a twenty-questions session tomorrow. I’m not gonna lock you guys in a box for the night, but I am gonna set some rules and limitations for my own peace of mind.

“First,” she held up a finger, “Since from what I've heard you’re all from different factions, you can pick different places in the common area to settle down for now. There’s this table, the basket by the TV, just make sure it’s not intrusive like in the middle of the floor or something.” Denise pointed to the sliding glass doors leading to the balcony and at the small wooden tower just inside. “I’d already bought a hive frame, so I’ll leave that in for the night and the Hive can tell me if it’s good enough in the morning.”

“Second, do not explore the kitchen, my bedroom, or the storage closet. I’m closing those doors, so don’t go under any frames or anything, and if I find any of you near my food, I will scream.”

“Third, try not to damage my furniture. I saw what you guys could do to the plastic, and I don’t want… nail-marks? In my wooden furniture. I don’t have the funds to fix or replace anything right now.”

Denise wracked her brain for anything else she was missing, but she was drawing a blank. “I’ll come up with more stuff later as I think of them, I guess. Otherwise feel free to grab whatever non-sentient ants or flies that may have gotten in and I’ll leave some fruits out on the table. You can also think of a list of things you’d need or want in order to feel comfortable, and we can workshop solutions tomorrow. Any questions?”

There was a moment of silence as her tired words were absorbed and they all looked around at each other. Finally, the White Lady said, “Your terms are acceptable to us, Denise Powell. We thank you for your hospitality and will await your return in the morning.” 

Denise sighed and replied, “Thanks. Goodnight, guys.” She got up from the sofa, set a small assortment of food items on the table, grabbed her backpack and a granola bar as a midnight snack in lieu of an actual dinner she was too tired to prepare, and disappeared into her bedroom after closing all the other doors. A quick hot shower and a teeth-brushing later, and Denise was out cold in her bed.

Chapter Text

When the caverns of Hallownest shook and great chunks of rock and sediment rained down throughout the kingdom and its peripheries, startling and trapping and killing bugs of all kinds within their homes or the winding tunnels, it was not the tremors that woke the fading goddess of Greenpath. Even as vegetation was shaken from the cracking walls and stones fell upon her physical body, she did not acknowledge it. Only when the aftershocks ceased and all was silent once more, only then did she gently rise from her slumber, passively reaching out with her verdant Light and finding no resistance from a like source.

Unn was alone.

A muted sense of puzzlement came over her. There was nothing she knew of that could have extinguished her neighboring Lights so quickly, not with their relative youth and resilience. It takes more than an earthquake to kill a higher being, after all. She cast her sleepy awareness a little further, following the pale white filigree that wove through the closest subjects of the entwined Wyrm and Root.

Ah, no, not extinguished, she amended, following the afterglow from those bright Lights. Not extinguished, but far away, getting farther by the second, and followed by the curious trail of a golden Light that she was sure had been snuffed out ages ago. Strange, but at least they hadn’t suddenly died— 

Wait. Unn did the mental equivalent of a double take. Indignation welled up within her. Were… were they leaving? What possible cause would they have for abandoning their kingdom, leaving behind all of their faithful followers? 

She’d seen how fiercely the Pale Wyrm had expanded and protected his chosen territory. His care and magic and vow of protection was threaded through each and every one of his subjects, same as her own Creations. His followers were just as dependent on his Light as he was on their remembrance and worship, that wasn’t the sort of responsibility one could just take a break from, especially not with the Root as well!

It was not unheard of for some gods to travel, but it was usually after their followers went off on their own or their civilizations fell. Had there been an uprising? A new higher being coming to take the land? Some great threat that had hidden from her sleeping senses? What sort of power could make even a Wyrm reborn flee?

Then there were the slowly-fading strains of the Light the moths had once worshipped, clearly fresh up until a short time ago. Unn had thought the Moth had been quite soundly defeated by the Wyrm before she went to sleep, but apparently not. The burning patterns she could trace through some of the nearby creatures gave her some idea of what may have happened following the Moth’s “death,” and my, what a vengeful god she was, forcing her Light through their thoughts and bodies in such a sickening way—

No. 

Oh, no, she did not. 

Rage replaced her confusion, the return of more potent emotions bringing her further into wakeful awareness. The acid around her nearly boiled with the intensity of it, the likes of which she hadn’t felt in centuries.

Mosskin. Her Mosskin. She’d dug her burning claws into her Mosskin. Unn continued to follow the strains of orange Light replacing natural vivid green, her rare fury mounting with each victim she found. 

She’d never had an issue with the Moth despite her minor distaste for the goddess’ possessiveness. There had been no territorial disputes, and there had even been a few amicable trade agreements between their Dream-born Creations. The Wyrm and Moth’s squabbles had been their own, so Unn had never interfered either way. 

She would not have retaliated if some of her Mosskin came to worship the Moth on their own. It was why she’d slipped into slumber in the first place: she’d lived long enough that some of her Creations had sought their own paths away from her Light. It was a signal that her time had come to fade away, to decay and leave room for new growth. Whether they found someone new or ceased all worship entirely, it was their choice, and the remnants of their origins with her would always be with them.

This, however, was too far.

This was an abomination.

All choice eliminated entirely, burning away all thought and will, twisting their minds and bodies with unnatural growth, choking out the piece of Unn within them and replacing it with her hate and rage and fear and by the stars above, this would not stand!

Bringing her children into it could not go unpunished. Perhaps if this had happened only a generation or two later, she may have faded enough to become completely apathetic and either unable or unwilling to intervene, but she had not yet reached that point of no return.

But… Unn sighed. There wasn’t much she could do right now to that damnable Moth. She had left, either chasing the Pale Monarchs or being chased, though Unn suspected the latter. The Moth had been very attached to the land of her creations, she recalled. The Pale Lights must have found a method to physically drive her away following her resurgence, though their irresponsibility towards their own subjects in pursuing her was rather distasteful.

But there were other things she could do in their absence. Already the Moth’s Light was fading from her Children with its source so far away, though with how desperately she’d clawed her way into them, her blight wouldn’t let go peacefully. 

Unn reached out to her afflicted Children, reaching for the spark of her Dream within them. For some, it had already been consumed entirely by the foreign Light, and with nothing left to give her entry, there was nothing she could do to save them. With the fading of that Light, so too would their lives be snuffed. She mourned their loss keenly. 

For those with even the faintest embers of her Dream, however, Unn stoked and protected it the best she could as she seared away the Moth’s influence, leaving only her verdant blessing in its wake. She was out of practice, still half-faded as she was, so her method was not painless, but they would certainly live.

She could still feel that sickly Light further out, but there was little she could do for those who did not follow or welcome her into their being. The Golden Light would fade on its own, taking as many as it could into oblivion. The Pale Monarchs would return eventually; Unn did not think they would stay away for long, though the distance they had already travelled— were still travelling— was worrying. At this rate, soon enough she wouldn’t be able to feel them at all… but again, there wasn’t much she could do about it. 

Perhaps she would return to her slumber for now. A lighter one this time, so she could take care of the Moth herself if she still couldn’t take a hint and mentally grab the Wyrm by the horns to send her disapproval when he returned. 

Unn was just about to close her eyes once more and drift off when an idle prod with her Light downwards made her bolt up to the surface of her chamber. 

It couldn’t be… this was too soon!

The Void was normally quite languid in its ancient dwell. It bid its time with unending patience, for the concept had no meaning to it. It was the beginning and the end, ebbing and flowing in eternal dance with the Light.  No thoughts, no wants, the very definition of absence to contrast the presence of everything around it. 

Now, however…

Unn had always known the Void as a placid well of power, bothersome only if provoked, but now she could practically feel its cold agitation from here. There was almost a sense of… anticipation from it, like water receding from a shore in preparation for a great wave. It was too soon for a Cleansing, the Nightmare King hadn’t even made a formal appearance yet!

What in Creation had the Wyrm been doing down there? Last they spoke, before her slumber, he had expressed an interest in the antithesis to their Lights and she had warned him from his curiosity. Or at least Unn had thought she had. The Moth had already learned her lesson, he was the only other Light Unn knew who would dare disturb it. He’d pushed the scales too far with whatever he’d done!

Had it not been already provoked, perhaps it would have slowly reclaimed the land above the Abyss over the next few millennia, a natural return to the Balance, or waited until this civilization’s fall to Cleanse the land. But with the scales tipped so far, and with nothing to hold it back now that the region’s collective Light had diminished so swiftly… it wouldn’t be long now until it surged upwards to reclaim the land. She had to do something!

Or...hm.

Unn flicked her tail in idle thought, sinking deeper into the acid.

Or did she?

If this was to be the natural order of things, the logical consequences of others’ actions, who was she to interfere? She was but a fading god, a higher being who had long fostered new growth and begun to decay. Such was the way of things: life and death, beginnings and ends, Light and Void, forever chasing itself into eternity. A dance, as the God of Nightmares once said. 

The Void will come and Cleanse the area once again, a cycle renewed. The old Lights will move on or fade and new ones will move in or Ascend. The Balance will resettle in time, and the next one to attain her Focus will see it.

Let the young ones come back to the sight of their mistakes. Honestly, Unn groused, her being more sensitive to the Balance didn’t mean they couldn’t feel it, and their relative ages didn’t excuse their negligence.  Perhaps seeing the consequences of their actions will teach them responsibility and restraint, so that old squabbles between gods won’t cause such destruction to their— 

...oh. 

Unn stretched out her senses once more, affirming her sinking suspicions. Though she did not wield the same power over Dream as the Moth, she would have to be blind to miss the countless sparks of living Essence and Soul throughout the land, and the fading remnants of those that had been abruptly snuffed out or were soon to be so by recent events. 

So many little lives, unaware of the danger to come. 

What would become of them, if she were to stand idle? 

Assuming her mental map of the region was still valid, the Wyrm’s chosen domain, the home of his most loyal followers, would be the first to drown in the rising tides. Not only was his palace the closest to the Abyss in terms of distance, but it would also be the closest repository of Light to reclaim.

The lower territories would be the next to fall. Perhaps the Hive would be able to fly out from the Edge, following its Queen if she were warned in time, but the Weavers had no such route for a quick escape, to the best of her knowledge. Would the guards of Unn’s gifted land to the Root permit their exodus? Who would give them orders of peace with their rulers missing?

The various remaining settlements throughout Hallownest would be cast into chaos as word spread of the encroaching shadows. The Mantises would be overrun by fleeing creatures of the Deep, and their pride may even drive them to stay and fight that which cannot be beaten by mortal weapons. The Shroomals would be swept in all directions as towns and villages were emptied and inhabitants fled through the well-worn pilgrim’s paths. 

The Capital would be filled with trampled bugs, tossed underfoot by panicked crowds escaping from the darkening water. The Moths, their small number still so attuned to their irreverent goddess’ Focus, would likely be paralyzed by the sheer magnitude of living Dreams lost. 

Her own Light, faded by choice for so long, would hardly be an obstacle for the momentum of the Void at that point. The Jellies of Fog Canyon, the bugs of the Gardens, her own Children…

No one would be spared. 

Even if she just sent a messenger to warn them, to tell them to seek higher ground, would it be enough? Who would even listen to a few Mosskin bearing the words of one half-faded to legend? The entangled Pale and White Lights had already begun to wane from the minds of their followers; the Wyrm’s Pale Gift would not be lost completely, but the increased draw of their baser instincts at such a critical point would prove disastrously fatal to many.

Not to mention the quakes and the Golden Moth’s despicable use of her Light! The sickness would continue to claim more lives as it slowly, torturously, dimmed. Others would succumb to physical injuries from collapsed tunnels and fallen stones. How many more would be imprisoned in the earth, pounding at the walls until the nothingness stole their final breath?

How many of her Children, the few (oh, how she hoped there were only a few) who still awaited her return with joy in their hearts, would still wait by the shore of her self-made grave as oblivion lapped at their feet?

No. 

No, it was not yet time for the blooms of this kingdom to wilt. Perhaps it was nearing the beginning of its autumn, but the biting winds of winter had not yet arrived. 

The same could be said of Unn, herself. Perhaps... she had similarly misjudged her own end. 

No matter. Her mistakes were her own, but they were in the past now. Now it was time for her to act. 

With her newfound resolve in place, Unn shook off the last of her fatigue and dove for the exit to her little den—  

Ah, Unn thought, rubbing her snout with the tip of her tail to lessen the slight sting of ramming headfirst into a firm wall of rocks. There must have been a cave-in at some point along her normal route. She supposed she’d have to find a new way out...

A single Moss Knight peeked out of the shrine. The tremors had stopped a while ago, thankfully not shattering the old structure around his head. The statue of Mother couldn’t be saved, though. Perhaps there were some Mosskin sculptors willing to take a commission.

After making sure that no more rocks seemed in danger of falling, the Knight stepped out to circle the building. The eastern wall had cracked but held strong, several large stones resting against it where they had fallen. One of the casualties had been a curved spine from the roof, now in pieces on the ground. There was new acid damage on the western side from where waves must have struck. Running a hand over the marks, he knew it wasn’t as deep as it would have been without the Mosskin-specialty acid-proofing, but it would still need some repair to prevent further damage.

Satisfied with the structural integrity for now, the Moss Knight set about cleaning the area of loose stones and torn foliage, tossing detritus into the acid to dissolve or along the path as a marker. When all was done, he once more took up his nail and shell, returning to his lakeside vigil. 

He found himself shifting restlessly, though. Something had changed. He felt it deep in his carapace, some forgotten sense making him wary. Something had shifted out of alignment, and pressure had begun to build somewhere. The Knight sent a soft prayer out to his absent Mother, praying for balance, hoping that maybe this one would be answered. 

Crack

The Moss Knight automatically raised his shell, prepared to shield himself from acid spray and dash to the shrine if the cavern started shaking again. When nothing fell and silence returned, he relaxed slightly. It hadn’t sounded like it came from above when he thought about it, actually. It was in the direction of the other side of—

CRACK

The far wall of the Lake of Unn exploded outwards, creating a large hole without completely collapsing. Though the debris didn’t reach the other side, the disturbed acid reached the pier in waves, which the Knight quickly retreated from before he got soaked and burned. 

That was not natural, he thought frantically, raising his nail and shell as he got into a fighting stance. He would not stand for intruders in this sacred place, not now, not ever. He would protect Greenpath and Her shrine with all he had, until his last breath…!

All at once, his breath left him. 

His nail and shell dropped from his claws.

The acidic waters parted.

She rose from the depths. 

“Mother…!” he whispered reverently, taking a knee and bowing deeply. Only the knowledge that doing so would kill him prevented the Knight from diving into the acid to be closer to Her.

She looked different from what the stories described or the statues showed, all slick green skin instead of draped in the Moss that the Mosskin were made from in legend, but Her Light! Oh, Her warm green Light! It called to that part of Her deep inside of him, undeniable. He could bask in It forever.

“Please stand, little Mossling,” and oh, the love in Her voice! She sounded just as awed as he felt. 

Her eyes were soft as he stood, almost sad. He couldn’t bear it. “I’ve been tending your shrine, Mother, for as long as I can remember. I knew you would return,” the Knight said joyfully. 

The sadness grew, to his dismay. “So loyal, my little Mossling, to one so undeserving… I’ve left you and your siblings for so long…”

“Your body may have left, but Your Dream remained with us always,” he said with conviction. “‘In every bush and every vine the mind of Unn reveals Itself to us.’ We knew that one day we would see You once more, and until then we tended the garden of Your creation.” He hesitated, fiddling with a braided part of his beard. “Will You stay, Mother? We’ve awaited Your call for so long…”

She closed Her eyes, holding back some unknown emotion. He refused to lose hope, and was soon rewarded when She opened Her eyes again with a fond smile. 

“What is your name, little Mossling?”

“My name is Pine, Mother, Keeper of the Shrine.”

She nodded, then closed Her eyes once more. In a rush, Her Light washed over his carapace, warming him from the inside out and stealing his breath away once more. The greens of the cavern seemed so much brighter now, as if the vines and leaves now glowed with an inner light. For a second, he could feel the thundering footsteps of the Mosskin that would soon descend upon the Lake of Unn. Mother glowed with power long shackled away, and all of Greenpath could feel it.

“Dear Pine, I do not intend to leave the Mosskin ever again,” Unn said with resolve, Her eyes gleaming bright upon their stalks. “I shall keep my children from my Light no longer. But… unrest wells beyond these lands. If nothing is done, everything will soon crash upon our heads. Will you be my messenger, my voice beyond this lake?”

“Of course, Mother,” the Moss Knight answered immediately. As if he could ever refuse! He had dedicated his life to Unn and Her memory, he wasn’t about to stop now.

“I will ask much of you, my child,” She said gravely, leaning closer to him. “Do not take this request lightly. I will not force you.”

So Pine took a knee once more and picked up his weapons, placing his nail in front of him and resting his shell by his side. “I accept this position, Mother, and all the responsibilities that come with it. I shall do all You ask, and never falter in my duties. This I vow.” He stood once more, determined. 

“Thank you, Pine,” She said softly. “The rest of my children approach now, but you know them better than I. I need you to assemble a group and lead them to Hallownest’s Capital.”

“An invasion?” Pine asked in confusion. 

She shook Her head. “No. To offer aid. As I have returned to you, their Lights have gone missing, and without that guiding influence they will be lost. You must meet with whoever leads them now and tell them to move closer to Greenpath, the Canyon, or the Gardens if they can, where they can reach me. I do not expect many to move, however…”

She turned Her gaze to the side of the shrine. With a soft pulse of Her Soul, a vine detached from the stone and slithered up to Pine. It lifted to his eye level and grew a pale-green bud that bloomed and decayed to reveal a pod of brown seeds, all in a matter of seconds. 

“Take these seeds. Ask to plant one in a central location. As a reservoir of my Light, I will be able to shelter them through it for a time. I will later tell you what to do with the rest.”

The Moss Knight took a small pouch from his shield and filled it with the seeds, tying it tightly with a cord of twine. “I will do as You ask to the best of my ability, Mother.” He thought for a moment. “What of the other tribes? Do they also require Your attention?”

“Yes, but I would not ask you to see them; they do not take well to outsiders. Focus your efforts on the Wyrm’s kingdom, and I will deal with the rest.”

At last, the vibrations of the incoming crowds of Mosskin could be plainly felt. They were frantic in their rush, still taking care not to uproot a single bush, and crying out in excitement as they came. When the first few crossed the threshold, they were nearly bowled over by their fellows behind them before they fanned out to the sides and approached in awe. A growing whisper of “Mother!” and “Returned!” rose up. 

As one, god and messenger turned to face the joyful masses, and the Mother of the Mosskin welcomed Her children.

For the umpteenth time, Amira gently pushed her father back down onto the cot. “Stop trying to get up, you’ve put your body through enough abuse,” she mumbled, ignoring his loud protests. She made sure the cloth restraints on his arms and legs were still secure. “Where do you even plan on going? You’d be lucky to stand a chance against a tiktik in this state.”

“I must… lead the tribe…!” Lord Kasai gasped, trying once more to weakly push past his daughter, only to fall back down again when his strength failed him. He gazed past her with unfocused but mercifully dark eyes, lapsing back into a near-comatose state. Amira had long run out of tears at seeing her father this way, and simply began the process of changing his bandages again. 

The initial earthquake had hit their little tribe hard. Tents had collapsed and rocks and thorns had shaken free and fallen from the ceiling, causing several injuries and deaths. The aftershocks had been better withstood, with few new injuries. It was only after the tremors had stopped completely that tragedy truly struck.

They were little things at first, easily and foolishly overlooked. The orange glow in the eyes of her fellows slowly began to dim. Their movements became sluggish as they helped free trapped mantises or pitched the fallen tents back up. The Infected with injuries began to twitch and groan with an added pain. 

Lord Kasai was the first to fall into violent convulsions, sickly orange pus mixed with hemolymph leaking from new cracks in his carapace, soon followed by the rest of the Infected members of the tribe.

Those that had already been greatly injured quickly perished, their damaged bodies unable to take the strain from the sudden rejection of the sickness. The ones whose bodies had begun to warp and change from its influence screamed and screamed as their bodies practically deflated from its absence, retching up more of the foul fluid even as it leaked from every seam. Even the slightly Infected, those that had only recently embraced it, seemed to suffer greatly before being rendered unconscious from the pain. 

Amira and the others who had studied the healing arts had done their best to mitigate the damage after they had moved past the shock, but in the absence of the more experienced Tribe Healers and only their little band’s meager supplies, not much could be done. In the end, more than half of her tribe had died in a matter of hours.

By some miracle, Lord Kasai had managed to survive the Infection’s sudden disappearance, but only just. He was by far the worst off of the now-unInfected survivors, with an almost shriveled appearance, numerous cracks and gashes in his carapace, weak limbs, and a lucidity that faded in and out, but he was alive, damn it, and that was all that mattered.

With her father incapacitated, however, she had needed to take on the mantle of Lord to direct the remainder of the tribe. The title was normally passed down through rite of combat, not by familial ties, but luckily she had already proved her worth to their little tribe of traitors many times over. She may have studied to be a healer, but no mantis worth their claws neglected the art of battle. She doubted any of the more ambitious warriors were in any state to challenge her for it, anyway.

The young nymphs were sent on swift wings to fetch water for cleaning wounds and rehydrating both patients and healers. Meanwhile, the older warriors stood guard, tended the sick, gathered herbs from the Gardens, hunted for much-needed food, or continued with the reconstruction of shelters for the reduced population. The fabric of fallen tents, their owners now deceased, were repurposed into larger canopies, sheets, and bandages for the injured. Supplies were inventoried and consolidated in a central camp, relinquishing territory in favor of quick communication and readily-available materials, of what little they had left.

Amira carefully unwrapped the cloth from her father’s abdomen, relief flooding through her when she saw that there was no longer an orange coating on the inside. She discarded the wrappings, grabbed some fresh ones and a bowl of a healing poultice, and redressed the area, trying not to wince at every hard edge of displaced carapace her claws brushed against. 

With the task done and her father once more laying still and breathing steadily, Amira briefly pressed her forehead against his and left the tent she had placed him in. 

Standing tall and proud as she had learned from all of the Lords in her youth, she called to a passing mantis that she recognized as one of her fellow healers, Vari.

“Yes, Lord Amira?” he said after a short bow. 

Amira inclined her head in return, and motioned towards the tent holding the sick as they began walking together. “How are the injured?” 

“Most of those that had been harmed in the quake should recover, providing normal infection doesn’t set in. The others, however…” A haunted look briefly passed over his eyes before he steeled himself. “Four more were lost; three from loss of hemolymph, one from... loss of will.” Vari grimaced and shook his head.

Amira’s antennae twitched in sympathy. For the pain to be so great that taking one’s own life would even be considered, much less attempted… 

“We are also running out of medicinal materials for the wounded,” the healer continued. “The Gardens are still unfamiliar territory, and not all of the herbs we know and require grow in the area. Without more, our losses will likely continue to rise, not to mention the food and water needed with so many of our hunters incapacitated.”

They came to a large tent anchored against a cracked wall and passed through the cloth entrance. Rows of mantises were lined up on makeshift cots, being tended to by the few of their number with experience in the healing arts. Groans of pain filled the air from those not lucid enough to stifle their cries. The sickly sweet smell of Infection from discarded bandages permeated the air. Amira could see more than four empty cots, and she knew there were piles of wrapped bodies outside waiting for funeral rites they could not afford to give.

She nearly turned away from the display of suffering, so much greater in magnitude than she had ever seen before, but she was Lord now; she needed to be strong for her people. Right now, they needed firm guidance, unwavering confidence, and a solid plan… and with the facts in front of her, there weren’t many options. 

If they stayed here, in this remote grove at the edge of the Queen’s Gardens, their supplies would run out sooner rather than later. The injured would die without proper care, and there were only so many healthy hunters to provide for the rest. They all had combat experience, of course, but tracking and killing prey without waste required a more specialized skillset. 

They couldn’t risk traveling to search for better territory as they were, nor did Amira believe it would be possible even if they tried. The well outnumbered the ill, but only just, and that included the winged nymphs who would only be able to carry small numbers of supplies. The only place to go besides deeper into the patrolled Gardens was back to the Fungal Wastes. Back to the Tribe.

With the show her father had put on when they had left not long ago, who knew if her aunts would even look at them? Or if they would attack them on sight? They were traitors to the Tribe, disgraced and disowned, considered Outsiders by law. On top of that, coming back with so many dead, further disgraced by admitting their defeat to the elements and the very thing her father had embraced… Amira barely suppressed a shudder. She loved her aunts, she really did, but they were ruthless, and she wouldn’t dare presume she’d get any special treatment if they all went back. Any familial ties they’d shared had been severed from the moment they passed the Village’s threshold.  Her father had drilled that into her head every time she had tried to argue with him over his choices and the decision to drag her along. Of all the things he believed, that was likely the most true.

She'd already been pushing the limits by courting her beautiful Ze'mer. She couldn’t bear to think of how they would look at her now, a Lord by necessity of a broken tribe.

Had they never left, Amira would have contested for the title of Lord when the time came, as befitting her status, and she would have gladly given her all for it, but… to have it now, without the rites, without ceremony, far from home and in the midst of such turmoil… it felt cheap. Like a terrible joke. A bad dream.

“Lord Amira! Lord Amira!” A youth burst through the tent flap, frantically flapping their wings in an attempt to stop their full-tilt flight before crashing into her. They didn’t quite succeed, but Amira caught them before impact, spinning them around to shed momentum before getting a good look. 

“What happened?” Amira asked, concerned. 

The youth fluttered out of her hold and motioned outside. “There’s a vine in the middle of camp! It talked and asked for our leader, and when one of the warriors cut it down, it just grew again! Come look, come look!” Then they flew right back out of the tent, swiftly followed by Vari and Amira. 

A circle of mantises were gathered by the center of the reconstructed camp, shouting and arguing. Amira pushed her way through the small crowd, a hush falling over the assembly as she reached the middle.

A thick vine had pushed its way out of the ground, about as tall as her. Round green leaves and tiny red thorns wound their way around it, getting smaller as they travelled upwards, until the vine tapered off and ended in a large pale-green flower surrounded by a fluffy ring of what looked like moss. Two mantis warriors flanked the vine, their sharp claws at the ready. Two severed duplicates lay on the ground, decomposing at a visible rate.

Before Amira could say a single word, the flower spoke first.

“Proud Mantis, are you the one they call Lord?”

The voice coming from the flower was deep and resonant, with an oddly echoing quality. It wasn’t one she recognized, but it clearly held power. Not mere authority, but a different sort of weight that any mortal bug could recognize in their Soul: the weight of a higher being. Was it some new god coming to stake a claim? Or perhaps one she simply didn’t know about?

It was common sense to have respect for such beings, but she would not be intimidated if it were the former. Amira stood up straighter, putting as much confidence into her posture and voice as she could. Watching and copying Lord Ziria all the time when she was younger was about to become useful. “I am Lord Amira of the Second Mantis Tribe. Who is addressing us, and why do you do so with such indirect methods?”

The flower laughed gently before replying, “Lord Amira, had I the means or ability, rest assured I would have met you face to face, as is your kind’s custom.”

Puzzled murmurs began to spread throughout the group until Amira raised a claw and silenced them. This higher being seemed familiar with her species to an extent, so it was more likely they were a Hallownest native. But who…?

“I am Unn, Mother to the Mosskin, God of Growth and Decay. I wish to impart a warning unto you and ask a favor, both of which you may deny or accept as you wish.”

The crowd erupted into confused and shocked exclamations. The Mantis Tribe had only vague knowledge of Unn, passed along by devout Mosskin traders. From what Amira recalled, Unn had created the Mosskin some time after the original mantids had arrived in this region, and then faded for unknown reasons a few generations ago. They had begun to look down on many of the more religious Mosskin for being so dependent on their absent god, for believing she would return to reward their devotion instead of embracing their independence.

Apparently, the fluffy fools had been right.

Amira gathered up her composure when she realized she was incredulously staring at a flower. She swiped her claws against each other, making a sharp ringing noise to hush her fellows. When they had once more fallen silent, she spoke. “Speak your warning, Mother of Mosskin. We owe you no favors, but we will listen to your words.” It would be folly to ignore a god outright, no matter her species’ disdain of them.

“That is all I ask,” Unn replied. “Listen well: three of my fellow Lights have gone missing from this land: the Pale Wyrm, the White Root, and the Golden Moth. While your minds are not dependent on them, with their disappearance I fear the Void shall be cast into unrest and rise beyond its normal boundaries. Should this come to pass, you are close enough to my boundaries to be safe, but the remainder of your Tribe in the Fungal Wastes will need the protection of a higher being’s Light.”

Amira hissed. “The Mantis Tribe will never accept the rule of any deity,” she growled. Echoes of agreement and angry bristling came from the surrounding warriors, and the two flanking the vine flashed their claws in the light.

“Be calm,” said the flower, not calming them down in the slightest. “I ask for neither your worship nor your devotion. You need only allow me to protect your people’s borders from the shadows, should they rise from their ancient dwell. It is but a temporary arrangement, until Balance is restored.”

Amira scoffed. “And what will this protection of yours entail? We have held our own against the creatures of the deep for generations; the Tribe will not falter against some new foe from the dark.”

A light chuckle came from the flower, one that sent Amira’s antennae buzzing with sudden trepidation. “Ah, you misunderstand me.”

The light around them dimmed noticeably.

“The Void is not a simple creature of the deep,” Unn intoned, striking a tense chord deep within every gathered mantid. “It is an ancient and inhospitable force, one your fearsome battle prowess will do little to defend against. Tell me, proud Mantis… what will your people do against a foe that never tires? One that never dies?” 

The clearing grew darker. The warriors kept their stances at the ready, but the gathered youths began to shift their wings anxiously. 

“The Void has no form to pierce, no mind to bargain with, no will to outlast. It is as inexorable as the acid waves, and will consume all in its path just the same.” 

The flower’s pale-green glow seemed to intensify as shadows grew behind them, almost impossibly dark. Amira’s claws itched with the instinct to lash out despite the lack of a clear threat. Antennae twitched and limbs shifted throughout the group with apprehension, as if Unn’s very words themselves were tripping their fight-or-flight responses. 

“It does not seek out food, nor battle, nor companionship. It will ask nothing of you, and it will feel nothing for you as it destroys everything you love before swallowing you whole.”

A flash of pale lilac.

“ENOUGH!” 

A sharp claw slashed forward and cut the vine cleanly in half as the roar echoed through the clearing. The flower fluttered to the ground, its light slowly fading. 

It took a few moments for Amira to recognize her own outstretched claw and heavy breaths, almost deafening in the silence without the god’s resonant voice.

Though they would all deny it later, every mantis present startled terribly when the rustling of leaves from above suddenly broke through the quiet. They all watched with twitching antennae and scythes at the ready as vines and boughs and leaves retracted from where they had silently blocked the natural light. Luminous plants regained their organic glow and green bulbs released captured lumaflies.

“I apologize for my methods...” They all snapped back towards the middle of the clearing, where a new flower had sprouted from the vine. “...but you all must understand the gravity of the situation.”

Amira lowered her claws from her reflexive battle stance, breathing out to calm her tripwire-taut nerves. “You—“ She cleared her throat to steady her voice. “You’ve made your point, Mother of Mosskin. We will,” she looked around surreptitiously, taking in her shaken tribe members, “consider your warning.”

“That is all I ask,” she repeated, her voice still kind and warm. It had never faltered. “Should you accept, plant these seeds in the middle of your village in the Wastes. From there, my Light shall keep the darkness at bay and further contact will be unnecessary. Be wise, Lord Amira, and may your scythes be swift and sharp.”

With that, the flower and its vine decayed at a rapid rate, leaving behind a single pod of brown seeds.

Miran would normally say that they enjoyed the constant light rainfall of Hallownest’s Capital. From the top of the Spire, one could clearly see how the water was caught and directed to artfully cascade down the carefully-crafted architecture. Colorful umbrellas streamed to and fro on the lower levels while keeping their holders dry, a constantly-moving mosaic along the city streets and canals. Lumafly light reflected off of occasional stationary pools of liquid like the glint of jewels.

Their favorite part was the sound, though. The drops would fall against the plentiful glass facades in a soothing pitter-patter of white noise, a steady ambience to undercut monotonous tasks. It was never truly silent in the City of Lights, and they could almost say that they knew the rhythm of its rain as well as their own heartbeat.

Now, Miran would give anything for it to stop.

It wasn’t bad enough that Lurien had to step down as Watcher to sleep for eternity as part of the Pale King’s plan, or that Lurien had chosen them to be acting Watcher until a new one was appointed, but a Wyrm-damned earthquake had to happen within hours of his departure.

What once was a gentle rainshower had suddenly become a torrential downpour that seemed to drown out Miran’s very thoughts. The water pounded on the glass windows of the Spire, trickling through in places where glass or masonry had cracked from the force of the tremors. Lurien’s telescope had been saved from plummeting to the ground below by its sturdy attachment to the floor, but it was rendered nearly useless now anyways by the low visibility. Its platform and the surrounding area were completely soaked, and the rest of the Watcher’s study was in terrible disarray. Thankfully, Miran hadn’t yet lit Lurien’s favorite candles in anticipation of his arrival when it happened, so at least it wasn’t on fire.

And that was just the state of the Spire! 

Earthquakes were extremely rare, and one of this scale was absolutely unprecedented. While the City’s architecture had been designed to handle the occasional tremor and the soft rain, there were streams of reports coming in of collapsed towers, rubble blockages, bugs of all castes missing or trapped, and slowly but steadily rising water levels threatening the lower streets.

Miran thanked the King that they had insisted on accompanying the Watcher to nearly all of his meetings to familiarize themself with his work. While, yes, one of their reasons was so they could help go over forms and lessen his workload a little before the stubborn bug worked himself to death, all that knowledge on emergency procedures and chains of command was certainly coming in handy.

Ugh, it had been an absolute nightmare in the beginning to be pulled to the largest conference room by a Watcher Knight and deal with a mixture of terrified citizens frightened for their homes and livelihoods and the haughtiest nobles demanding to see the Watcher over water damage to their curtains, all after just getting over their own shock at nearly being squashed by a falling armoire during the quake. 

No one had taken them at all seriously at first and it had taken ages to get them to shut up and listen. They were well-known as the Watcher’s faithful and dutiful Assistant, of course, but it seemed that all of their networking and good faith had dried up in the face of this catastrophe. Not that Miran could blame them entirely. Hell, Miran wasn't sure they would have taken themself seriously, still shell-shocked and half-drenched, stuttering and looking around as if Lurien would step out of the shadows and save them from the whole mess.

Throughout their whole life, they had worked behind the scenes, had made an art of being unobtrusive. People would occasionally come to them to carry messages or complaints to the Watcher due to their position, but they were still an assistant, and they were generally content in being overlooked by the populace as just one more servant of the Spire. 

So, standing in front of a fervid crowd with only the Watcher Knights behind them and every scrap of thought they had flitting in and out of their head had been completely terrifying. In that moment, Miran had wanted nothing more than to curl up and hide in a corner, hoping their ire would turn elsewhere.

Hearing some of the more vocal nobles start bashing Lurien for letting the whole thing happen and leaving his “poor, cowardly servant” to deal with his mess as if they weren’t even there, however, snapped them out of it in record time. 

Miran would forever treasure the look on Lady Emilitia’s face, robes sopping wet and a haughty expression, when they stood up straight, looked her in the eye, and drew attention to the Seal pinned to their robes marking them as the current Watcher (and therefore the City’s voice to the King).

A loud flutter of wings from the balcony snapped Miran out of their recollections and drew their attention from the various tablets, forms, and maps of the City they were using to follow reconstruction and rescue efforts. One of the City’s many sentries clung to the more intact portion of the glass window by the telescope, a large umbrella in one hand and a handful of silk scrolls in a bag across her shoulder. “More reports, Watcher,” she said, flicking excess moisture off of her wings as she gave a short bow.

Miran almost looked around to find Lurien before their thoughts caught up with them. They didn’t think they’d get used to the title any time soon, and hopefully they wouldn’t have to. 

They quickly put down their quill and approached the sentry, bowing in turn out of habit before taking the scrolls and briefly looking through them. More updates on clearing debris blockages in the Waterways, lists of strong flight-capable and semi-aquatic citizens volunteering to brave either the driving rain or the flooded streets to search for missing or trapped bugs, progress on the menderbugs and other repair crews trying to seal cracks in the cavern ceiling, names of towers that had collapsed…

“The bugs in the Storerooms don’t have any formal reports written up yet, but the cracks weren’t as bad there. They estimate that about 20% of the goods held there are ruined, and that they’ll send a full inventory when they’re done.”

Miran winced. They’d seen those inventory reports before; that was a huge loss with how many imports came through the Storerooms. “Thank you for delivering these,” Miran told her, placing them on Lurien’s desk with the others. “How do you and the rest of the winged sentries fare?” 

“It’s strange flying with an umbrella, but we manage,” she shrugged, shaking out the item in question. The rain was much too harsh now for all but the strongest fliers to take to the skies, and even then they had to protect their wings from getting too waterlogged. The wide umbrellas made for larger bugs helped as a quick fix, but they still had to contend with the force of the deluge pushing them down and the extra weight. Miran wished they didn’t have to risk falling into the canals if it failed, but flying was still the fastest way around the City, especially with all of the blocked-off streets. 

“Be sure to take breaks as necessary,” Miran said, shuffling through the scrolls and tablets they’d written on for some reports of their own to send out. “You and your fellows’ skills are invaluable to the rescue and repair efforts, but don’t work so hard that you drop out of the sky.” They found what they were looking for and bound the various missives asking for more progress reports from other sectors and some modified decrees before walking back over and holding them out for the sentry to take.

“As you wish, Watcher,” she said, checking them for her new destinations before stashing them in her bag, bowing, opening up her umbrella, and diving out into the rain once more.

Miran watched with bated breath as she fell further than expected before picking up altitude and speed. They exhaled wearily and turned back to Lurien’s desk, fiddling with the silvery-blue Seal at their neck. How had Lurien handled taking care of all these things himself before they came along? Were they making the right decisions? Sure, they knew the theories and the facts from their shadowing of Lurien, but it wasn’t the same as experience! Watcher was one of the highest titles someone could have and it was being held by a common bug like them, a mere servant. They didn’t deserve it, didn’t deserve Lurien’s trust, what were they even doing here, everything was too loud...

Miran shook themself out of their spiraling thoughts. It was getting harder and harder to keep from losing their tram of thought like that. The stress must be really getting to them. Perhaps this is where Lurien’s tea addiction came from? If this continued for much longer, they would have to appoint their own assistant, and that would just be… strange.

Another flutter of wings led Miran’s gaze back to the open window. This time, however, they rushed to the opening after catching a glimpse of the pale adornments on the royal sentry’s armor. Miran only waited long enough for the clearly-haggard sentry to latch onto the window’s edge and get away from the downpour before yelling anxiously, “Report! Did you find them? Are they alright? Are they comi—” 

Miran’s words died in their throat as the sentry lifted up a torn piece of cloth. Satin-weave silk, midnight blue, with frayed thread that shone pale in the light from what used to be an embroidered edge… 

(“Don’t worry, my friend,” he said, patiently standing still for them to finish helping him into his outer cloak. “I have the greatest faith in your abilities.”

Miran chuckled nervously as they arranged the hood of the soft silken fabric. “I’m flattered, Sir, but… are you sure I’m the best choice for this position?” They patted his shoulder to indicate they were done, and he turned to face them. 

He took their hands in his and a small smile graced his maskless face, “I could think of no one better.” )

In a daze, Miran took the scrap of cloth in his hands. Lurien had wanted to wear his best for the last act he would perform for his City. 

They looked up at the sentry with incomprehension, hoping against hope that the tear-tracks on his face were nothing more than drops from the rainfall.

The sentry spoke, hoarse with exhaustion, surely, and not grief. “The tunnels around the Black Egg Temple have almost completely collapsed. The excavation crews have just found the crumbled remains of the structure, though progress around it has slowed due to a volatile black substance leaking from within. Among the debris were signs of Their Majesties’ and Their entourage’s presence at one time… but no signs of any survivors.”

No, no, no, chanted Miran’s thoughts, he can’t be gone, they can’t be gone, they’re gods for Wyrm’s sake, surely they had protected their own and were just… just…

“Although we have not found any intact bodies,” the sentry continued, ignoring Miran’s slowly-shaking head as he ploughed on, “we have found… fragments of garments, mask and armor shards, and—,” the messenger’s breath hitched, “...and hemolymph. We will—”

“You… you must keep looking, then!” Miran cried desperately, clutching the satin cloth to their thorax. “Surely,” they laughed hysterically, “Surely, you simply… h-haven’t found them yet! Their Majesties can’t be— he can’t be—!”

“We will continue our search, of course,” the sentry cut in, just as pained, “but in Their… current absence…” He took a knee in front of the shaking Miran. “We await your orders, Watcher… Interim Ruler of Hallownest.”

...oh gods, Miran was going to throw up. This couldn’t be happening. This must be a… a nightmare, or a hallucination, maybe… maybe they were Infected? Oh Wyrm, what if they were Infected—

A sudden BANG from the window startled Miran into falling backwards with a breathless yelp, breaking through their panic. The royal sentry swiftly drew his nail in reflex before hurriedly pointing it away. Another sentry, clad in the unadorned armor of the City’s guards, now clung to the glass with a desperate grip, with neither a weapon nor umbrella in sight. 

“Watcher, sir!” she cried, trying to speak between heaving breaths. The young flier didn’t even notice the fact that she had nearly been skewered. “Mosskin! Approaching from the western gates! Armed, asking for the highest authority figure!”

“What?!” chorused the other two. Could things not get any worse?!

“How many?! Give me all the information you know, quickly,” demanded the current Watcher, tucking the scrap of silk into their robes. They beckoned the two sentries into the Spire and swung the telescope into a memorized position, expertly fiddling with the knobs until the view cleared as much as it could through the torrent of rain. 

“There are thirty of them last I saw, perhaps more. More than half were armed to some degree, led by a Knight with shell and nail. The guards around the western gates are holding them back from entering the City, but the current number won’t be enough should they turn hostile.”

Yes, Miran could just barely see the cluster of green figures being held back at the gate’s threshold. Both the maybe-invading Mosskin and the outnumbered squad of City guards appeared to be at a standstill, but that wouldn’t last for long should things turn for the worse…

“You said they were asking for the highest figure of authority?” the royal sentry asked gravely. 

The younger sentry nodded. “The lead Moss Knight claims to have been sent by Unn to… offer assistance? And keeps asking for an audience with ‘whoever leads you in these troubled times.’ Should, ah,” she looked between Miran and the royal sentry, who had exchanged troubled glances. “We should... send for the King, yes?”

Miran caught a significant look from the royal sentry and somehow managed to hide their wince. With the King… indisposed, they were the highest authority. The very thought of having that much power made their chitin crawl and their antennae twitch and they were sure that the sentries next to them could practically smell their fear. Miran was sure that if they stopped to think about it too hard, they would just… shut down completely. 

But something had to be done! This whole situation was a completely unprecedented disaster, and if no one stood up and took the reins it would be absolute anarchy. Someone would have to tell the King and Queen (because they couldn’t be gone, they just couldn’t) why and how their Kingdom went to gruzshit while they were absent, and it sure as hell wouldn’t be them!

Pushing the churning in their abdomen firmly aside and chanting what would Lurien do, what would Lurien do in their head like a mantra, Miran took a deep, if shaky, breath and made a plan.

Dirtmouth was a mess. 

Houses had crumbled, bridges had collapsed, and great holes had been torn into the earth. Many of the tunnels leading down into Hallownest had been blocked by debris, and even the reinforced Stag Tunnels had suffered damage. Bugs of all species, both Hallownestian and otherwise, had been trapped, injured, or killed, with many in a severe state of shock.

Sly had been returning to his new home in the once-bustling town when the quakes had struck, leaving him trapped by rocks and dirt in the Crossroads until he was able to free himself after the tremors ceased. He had met Sheo on the way up, who had apparently planned on surprising him with a visit that day, and then Oro had come running up a few hours later with some nonsense excuse to hide his poorly-hidden worry for his brothers and former teacher. 

(“So, Oro,” Sheo had teasingly said at one point. “What was the name of this ‘special blend’ you had to run to Dirtmouth for after an earthquake? I had no idea you were a tea enthusiast, brother. In fact , if I remember correctly, you’ve said before that it’s all just ‘hot leaf water.’”

Oro smacked him.)

Now, Sly was directing the search-and-rescue efforts and establishing temporary chains of command among the able-bodied guards and security forces that normally kept the peace in the town. His rank and title of Great Nailsage and his familiarity with the town itself were great boons in getting some order out of the chaos. From there, he was able to direct various pilgrims, sentries, travelers and other Hallownest volunteers to where their skills would be most needed, such as providing medical care or looking for more survivors. 

From the look of things, Sly thought grimly, as yet another body was pulled from the wreckage of a house, the services of the Resting Grounds will be in very high demand. 

Familiar footsteps from a different direction drew his attention to his approaching appren— former apprentice. “Report, Nailmaster Sheo,” Sly requested, still feeling pride in his heart when he saw the old mauve color adorning the beetle’s head. 

Sheo bowed, greatnail sheathed across his back, before responding. “Everything seems to be well in hand by this point. Resources are being tallied and handed out as necessary, though the healers report that medical supplies such as painkillers are beginning to run dry. Messengers have reported that many of the tunnels leading further into the Kingdom from the Crossroads are blocked off, and the Stagways appear to be shut down, but there are more excavation crews and sentries clearing out passages around the Black Egg Temple, so more supplies are likely to start coming in within the next few hours.”

Sly hummed. “Oro is around the Stag Station right now, yes? Have any of the Stags been found?”

“He is, and yes,” Sheo answered. “I’d stopped by to collect more survivors in need of medical attention there, and he’d found one. The Stag refused to leave the tunnel, saying that ‘the giant’ would take him away, just like it took his littermate. I brought some healers over and helped splint his broken legs, but I believe Oro and the others are still working around him.”

“I see… I’ve been hearing many fantastical theories about the cause of all this. Giant maggot beasts, armored Wyrms, wrathful higher beings seeking destruction, a terrible but simple natural disaster… very few accounts seem to match up. Have you or your brother found any commonalities?”

Sheo looked to the side as he thought for a moment. “The initial quake was the most forceful, knocking many unconscious and trapping others. Very few bugs actually saw anything during the remainder of the tremors… though the ones who claim to have witnessed the event all speak of some incomprehensibly large being or beings appearing from the wastes and tearing into Hallownest.” Sheo’s body language spoke of disbelief, but his tone was professionally matter-of-fact. 

“Hm… very strange indeed,” Sly grumbled. Perhaps he would be able to get some more concrete accounts once the shock had passed for the remaining witnesses. Hopefully he remembered how to write incident reports. “Well, if that’s all you have to report, you may go back with the healers, join your brother in the search-and-rescue effort, or help the guards. I trust you to go where you’re most needed.”

“Thank you, Great Nailsage.” Sheo bowed and made to leave before abruptly turning back. “Have you or any of the guards seen Mato, yet?” he asked, a bit of hope coloring his voice. He asked this not as a Nailmaster to his superior, but as a child to his father-figure. 

Sly hated to dash that hope. “No, I’m afraid not,” he said, shaking his head. “They know to keep an eye out, however.” Sheo’s body seemed to sag before he drew himself up, bowed again, and joined his brother.

Sly sighed to himself and turned to greet two returning messengers with a royal sentry in tow. Perhaps they had some more news from the City or the Palace.

Perhaps Mato was just somewhere else in Hallownest, instead of dead beneath the ruined house they had found or stolen by a monster.