Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Only in a dream did the shadow of Hallownest last eternal—a pale imitation for a pale, arrogant king.

Once the threads of future failure had solidified into an inevitable present, the Pale King had fled, turning the palace’s defences inwards until fortress became prison. There he sat, alone but for his many regrets.

Relentlessly, his thoughts would always return to that damnable mantra: no cost too great. A pointless justification for an unspeakable atrocity. Some days, he could almost believe them; his root never did. He should have taken her reaction as a warning of what was to come. Her experience-borne wisdom was, he found far too late, infinitely more powerful than the foresight he had prized so dearly.

Nevertheless, he had seen the last of his children chained and tortured. The Pure Vessel, his flesh and blood, had kneeled like an obedient puppet in preparation for the sealing. Each time a cry had threatened to escape his mouth, he had instead repeated those four words. Feverishly, he had murmured the mantra-turned-prayer as his child, barely an adult, forced themself into perfect stillness whilst the Radiance burnt and screamed.

No cost too great.

Amidst a rush of broken little bodies and infection-bloated corpses, that memory was a constant, each revisit as clear as its predecessor, and thus the only means by which he could count the passage of time. A fitting punishment for his sins against the kingdom.

Ten thousand memories had gone by when a hauntingly familiar silhouette approached. A child he had seen in many a vision, who bore a remarkable semblance to his Pure Vessel as an infant. He would have dismissed the child’s existence as hallucination entirely, if not for what followed.

The child drew a perfectly crafted pure nail, and struck him. 

Once. Twice. Thrice.

The fourth blow sent him sprawling. This pain was real. His child was real.

One fewer regret would not absolve his debt, but that was not an excuse not to try apologising. “I…”

What could he even say?

“I have no right to beg for forgiveness.”

The Pale King made no attempt to rise. Not as the child stilled, nor as his half of the Kingsoul rolled out of reach. With neither care nor acknowledgement, they took the one thing he still valued, and vanished.

A painful loss, but meagre reparation for the crime he'd committed against the child and their siblings. That they did not attack further was more forgiveness than he deserved.

Alone once more, the once-king resumed his languishing. He did not rise from the floor as the memory returned. Once, twice, a thousand iterations visited his fallen form, yet he did not move. Nothing he did would have any effect. His struggles had been futile; his sacrifices brought only suffering.

Sometimes, he would turn his head to find the Pure Vessel, once again as tall as his visitor, sat at the table. His arms would move as he stealthily pushed a honeyed cookie, a piece of breaded gruzzer, a slice of fruit pie into their plate. Stolen moments that were and weren’t, indistinguishable to him through the haze of time and dream.

Ten thousand more memories would visit his fallen shell before another breached the dream. The second intruder was not as benevolent.

His shadow loomed, larger than it had been for an aeon, encompassing the room in thick, suffocating darkness. Sat on his throne was a creature like none he’d ever seen, regal and cold, crowned by sweeping spines that extended beyond the ceiling in a cruel mockery of his Root’s beloved branches.

The faded wyrm was in the presence of a god at the height of their power, one who wore all-consuming void as mantle and crown, comfortable and confident in a way the Blackwyrm had failed to be. He knew, as only a god could know, that the moth’s ancient enemy walked the mortal realm once more. Godly knowledge, however, did not reveal what had brought the Lord of Shades to the false palace. That revelation came to him moments before the void put an end to his exile.

As he had taken his children to the void, so did the void take him, at long last.

Chapter Text

He was drowning.

He was suffocating.

He was enveloped in the void.

He was…coughing.

His body flailed, bile rising in his stomach as he struggled to regain his bearings. He didn’t know where he was, only that he was about to throw up. A feminine voice screamed as he tore through soft sheets, fell to the floor in a heap, and emptied his stomach’s contents onto the floor. Eyes blurry, he blinked as a familiar presence buzzed about nearby.

“My wyrm! O my wyrm!” said the White Lady in a flurry of roots and branches.

What was going on? Where was he? Was that truly his root?!

His words were overtaken by a second bout of nausea. A steady touch laced with a hint of SOUL soothed his heaving cough.

“How do you feel? What happened, wyrm beloved?”

He turned to meet her gaze, mindful of the pain ripping through his head. “…Void…Bad headache…I…” More bile trickled down his mouth.

The White Lady stood up and went for the door. “I will call for the retainers. Be still.”

Dazed, he could do little but nod at her back.

He groaned, trying to process what had just happened. He had just been dragged into a sea of void….and lived? Horribly dazed and stuck in a puddle of filth, but alive.

Dark bile was splattered across the floor and his robes. How much of it was still inside him? He shuddered, trying to wipe some of it away, and only succeeding in smearing it further.

“Please be careful. The King is unwell.”

He turned as the White Lady ushered in a gaggle of retainers, their arms full of an impressive array of both cleaning supplies and fresh linens.

They set to work immediately. Sheets were swapped, garments exchanged, and he was quickly towelled off. The taste of bile still lingered, if weaker now that he was no longer drenched in it. After the work was finished, the retainers retreated as quickly as they came.

The White Lady reached out with two of her stronger branches and carefully lifted his trembling body, tail drooping like he was a youngling all over again. “Oh my Wyrm…Are you well?” 

Now that he was once more coherent and by her side, he didn’t know what to say. So instead, he acted upon one of his many regrets.

His Root’s surprised cry was strangled by the strongest embrace his arms could muster. Immediately, tender reassurances fell from her lips, the sound of it unfamiliar yet comforting.

Well before the fall of his kingdom, he would have considered such an emotional display unbecoming, even to his most significant other. However, exile had shown him the futility of pride. Time with her was a precious, fragile thing to be cherished and protected. “I missed you.” His voice, weighed down by too many things to count, came out hoarsely. “I missed you so much.”

Her Wyrm was still incontestably hers.

And yet, he was not the same Wyrm who had fallen asleep in their nest but hours ago. Who could ever imagine his tears were so dark? She had dreamt of the day he would trust her with his heart as he had his soul. However, now that such a miracle had happened, it raised many questions. What could shake him so? What horrors had foresight revealed that brought her beloved, the most stoic and eloquent of bugs, to incoherent lamentation?

His mask had crumbled alongside him, small consolation though it was. The arduous task of preventing its reformation was preferable to bearing witness to another breakdown should he insist on hoarding grief as tenaciously as his kind hoarded useless trinkets.

Perhaps it was related to the gaping black abyss that lied below? Time and time again he had defended its usefulness—had portrayed the void as a fascinating substance that warranted further study.

She disagreed most vehemently.

No greenery breathed in that pit; the soil was barren, little more than dirt mixed with tar. All that entered was swept by empty currents, swallowed by nothingness. That her Wyrm would think differently and lead others to venture so reviled a place was absurd. And most disquietingly—that dim discharge left a dull trail on his face and all it touched.

Was it the void that afflicted her Wyrm?

He had not taken it upon himself to visit that terrible place in a fortnight, and hadn’t deigned to engineer in his workshop for a period of four days. Politics had captured his attention for the better part of the week. Could blame be fairly placed upon the void?

Questions could wait; her beloved’s exhaustion could not. He was doubtlessly stressed, potentially ailing from an unheard-of illness, shaken by recent revelations. A long respite was in order, and she would not baulk at providing it.

In choosing to become a bug, her Wyrm had shed his form. With time, she hoped he would shed his burdens as well, share his hoarded feelings. Such a joyous day might yet come.

Otherwise…

She feared to contemplate what might become of him.

“What do you see?”

Thistlewind wiggled in his seat and leaned forward. The candle burning in front of him smelled like gruzz fat. Same old. He inspected the table cloth next. Found a tiny blackened hole off-centre, from that time he… moving on. He leaned back until he hit the cushions. Above, the lumaflies were looking a bit dull. The little critters could do with more food.

“When was the last time someone fed the lumaflies and gave the glasses a good polish?”

“Are you volunteering, young moth?”

“No.”

“Then I'm volunteering you.”

Thistlewind sighed, but did not argue. Not like he had anything better to do anyway. Besides, those easy chores always netted him more treats than he could eat. Perks of being the youngest.

What else was different? “Did you get a wing trim?”

“I did! About two weeks ago. Many thanks for noticing! Anything else, aside from this old moth?”

“I have nothing.”

“Look at the flame, young Thistlewind. Follow its ebb and flow. Tell me what you see.”

Thistlewind leaned his elbows over the table, careful not to touch the flame with the tip of his antennae, and blinked to get the spots off his eyes. “I see…flickering?”

The Seer remained quiet.

The flame sputtered, then expanded to twice its previous size before gradually shrinking. “Interruption. Addition. Normalisation?”

“A very good first attempt! You are a natural! This old moth will make a witch out of you yet.”

Thistlewind would prefer being a warrior, thank you very much. At least fighting was more straightforward. Magic, on the other hand, was headache-inducing, always so full of uncertainty and things left to interpretation. 

Still, he had to admit to some curiosity… “What does that mean?”

“It means, child, that the balance has been disturbed. That higher powers have meddled with the veil between dreams and reality.”

She touched the candle and concentrated. It went out without a hint of smoke. How odd. The Seer must have thought so too, judging from how stiff she went. She relit the candle and tried again, with the same result. Another candle, then another. Out with no smoke, down to the last. Bizarrely, every single one of them felt cold to the touch, as if they had never been lit at all—Thistlewind double-checked.

“No…Dawnbringer protect us all.”

“Dawn who?”

“Meet me at the gates in a clawtip’s burning time. Pack for a short journey.”

“Where are we going?”

“We shall tread upon a land of broken promises,” rasped the Seer. “This old moth believes a history lesson is in order. Long overdue, perhaps, yet no less important for it.”

Chapter Text

He dreamed.

Blackness, void.

His unresponsive body, powerless as he watched eight eyes tear through the void, searingly white in the dark.

An eternity (or moment? What was time in a dream but a self-inflicted illusion?) passed, their connection unbroken. Then, a voice reverberated everywhere and nowhere at once.

A cost too great.

A mind plagued by regret.

A will left broken.

A voice that cried suffering.

Born a god, and now marked by the void.

You shall overcome your failure against the blinding light.

You are the ruler of Hallownest once more.

You are the Pale King.

Something flung him. However, even as he flew, the creature's eight eyes remained static. Unblinking. Locked onto his own even as he surged higher and higher.

The thick velvet bedding, once a most welcome sight, now felt stifling against his heaving chest. Taking large gulps of air, he pushed the heavy blanket off his chest to the floor. As it fell, it rustled against the carpet. Such fine threads were reserved for ceremonial mantles if he recalled. The satin had been personally embroidered by Herrah's great-grandmother as a peace offering, long before there was any whisper of the Radiance, when his greatest sin was the arrogance of stepping on a master's craft.

An impossible sight.

A dream wouldn’t contain a detail as fine as this. No enemy of his would conjure such an amenable vision. No delusion would have such a specific object. By process of elimination, this had to be reality.

Preposterous…and yet he couldn’t think of any other explanation.

He dragged himself out of bed. The curtains, a work of sealing devised by his wife to protect the mortal bugs from their light, parted with a touch of magic. What greeted him was a mundane sight, though one much missed: messengers flying through the air, nobles sitting by the gardens, guards stomping down the cobbled roads…

After so long with only the company of simulacra to liven up the white backdrop of his prison, the sight of real bugs was dizzying. Overwhelming. 

Real, moving, alive.

Unlike the countless—purposely uncounted!—shades that lingered in the abyss, forever suspended between life and death with no closure. Even this facet of the world outside these—admittedly gigantic—windows had beauty of its own: regardless of his inner conflicts, it carried on.

This kingdom was worth protecting. His kingdom was worth protecting.

It is mine. And I must protect what is mine.

No matter how deeply he tried to bury them, the base instincts of a wyrm always resurfaced. The urge to claim, to fight and defend his territory was ingrained deeply. Morality required conscious, constant effort. To say he’d tried his best wouldn't be a lie, but…

It hadn’t been enough in the end, had it?

For a creature who prized enlightenment, his crime had hurt twofold. No, that’s not quite true either, is it?

His Root. His citizens. His allies.

...the children.

No cost too great.

Sacrificing what wasn't his shouldn’t have been so easy.

—Each and every shade wandering the abyss, how many were there? A coward, a coward who couldn’t bring himself to count his own unborn children—

—as a father, he should have.

As if summoned by his pathetic disposition, his Root slithered through the door. While the scents wafting from the tray in her branches were tempting, he couldn’t bring himself to move closer immediately.

Dew had fallen freely as she’d mourned. So much so that every blossom that had once proudly adorned her crown had withered to dust. To behold the White Lady in her entirety once more was…

"Gawking is unbecoming of a king, or so a very foolish wyrm once told me."

"A very foolish wyrm indeed.” He replied, “A wise bug would know to worship you at every opportunity. Your followers have the right idea."

"A wise bug would eat his food while it is still fresh."

"Naturally. Your cooking is a blessing on its own."

"Shall we partake in this particular blessing at the balcony then?"

"Gladly."

Filleting aspids was an art. Cut too deeply into its glands and the acid would render the meat inedible. Too shallowly, and you might as well eat raw vengefly. His Root had long mastered the fine balancing act: the see-through slices were just the right thickness to linger for a moment before they dissolved in the mouth, leaving only a subtle tang that burned ever so slightly on the way down.

It was the perfect complement for the main course, breaded gruzzer: thick segments of cured gruzzer marinated in honey and coated in bread made with ground gulka exposed to charged lumaflies, then liberally drizzled with a delightfully savoury mushroom sauce. This dish alone could dispel any doubts as to whether this was a dream or not. No matter how much he longed to sample it in the dream realm, his mind could not replicate the complex mix of flavours and textures.

Whilst he was certainly taking the time to savour each bite, a part of him was stalling for time.

How should he word it? His actions had been uncharacteristic, impossible to brush aside. How could he explain it away?

Should he?

Explaining it away…that is how the tragedy had escalated.

No more lies. No more half-truths. No more defending the indefensible.

She held his soul in her core, had given her own in turn. That his trust would take such a twisted shape wasn't entirely unexpected, given his nature. How foolish it was, to bestow his soul to another; to give away the very source of his powers, all the while ferociously guarding the truth. This territorial attitude had kept his Root at a distance, had widened the divide—the figurative abyss between them, long before their union was irreparably damaged by a more literal one.

Her absence had been felt dearly, for even the basest part of him had clamoured for the irreplaceable, precious treasure that had escaped its claws. Thus, he was reasonably sure that the wyrm would not object to what he intended to do with this second chance of his. Besides finish the delectable tea, that is. The lifeblood infused blend had been a favourite of the vess—his child. A favourite of his child.

For their sake. For her sake.

One last fortifying sip for luck.

Time to shed his armoured carapace. “Whether an inordinately long vision or a second chance, I may never know. What I have seen—no, experienced, cannot come to pass. It all began when…”

Another mistake to add to his tally: underestimating the White Lady.

His Root.

Unlike wyrms, roots were flexible, prone to bending with the wind and growing around obstacles.

Though even roots were not all-forgiving, she chose to stay by his side. Chose to embrace his weaknesses as she had his strengths, to stain her petals with his tears. Drained yet content, he let her wrap him in intertwining branches. Before they could return to bed for a much-needed rest, the doorbell rang thrice, signalling an emergency.

“Urgent message for you, my liege!”

A first order retainer was standing by the doors. The individual in question happened to be one of the few he could recognise by sight—being among those who had served as the basis for the dream simulacra.

“Renem. What is the emergency?”

The pill bug bowed and held out a letter stamped with an unfamiliar crest. “An urgent message has just arrived from the Abyss, Your Majesty. It was sent by Professor Binwinn.”

Of course it had to do with that damnable place. 

“You have done well to bring this to my attention. Thank you.”

White robes fluttered as the retainer bowed even lower before rising and making his exit.

Unlike Renem, Professor Binwinn did not spark recollection. Whilst disappointing, this wasn't surprising: his solitude had persisted for longer than the kingdom had flourished, far longer than any of Hallownest's residents had lived, with the exception of Unn and his Root.

She was still leaning on the balcony’s parapet, gazing farther than his physical eyes could perceive. Wyrms, despite their excellent foresight, were nearsighted creatures who had no need to see further than they could burrow.

Your Majesty,

I write to inform you of complications that have occurred over the past day.

First and most troubling is the destruction of the spotlight in the lighthouse. No one was inside when it was extinguished, yet now the room is completely flooded with void, enough to make its removal unsafe. The likelihood of tampering is very low; the area was never left unattended.

Secondly, the central basin’s levels have nearly tripled. Some of the deeper tunnels are now completely submersed. More worrying is the fact that the main lift might be compromised very soon; void is already lapping at the platform as I write.

Thirdly, the lake has stilled. That is, as long as it is left alone. Any attempts to draw from it are met with violent resistance. Ridiculous though it sounds, I am starting to believe the void might have some semblance of intelligence.

Lastly, I had—no, I was subjected to a most disquieting dream: in it, void rose to completely engulf me. And when I should be drowning, eight glowing eyes focused on me so intently I feared dissection. A nightmare would not merit a mention in urgent correspondence if not for the fact that several others reported the exact same scenario.

Something is very wrong. Your guidance is direly needed, your Majesty.

Yours humbly,

Professor Binwinn  

Eight white eyes, and in the void…What an inopportune time for the Shade Lord to awaken. He had already angered one god (or had yet to?). Hallownest could not afford drawing the ire of another.

He stood up. “I should make haste.”

“No. Continue the expedition if you must, but send someone in your place.” To reinforce her point, branches and roots rose to lock him in place. “You could hardly talk of your vision—what will going to that wretched place by yourself accomplish? Except for aggravating an open wound, that is."

Her words, uncharacteristically commanding, caused him to freeze. Would he be able to handle going back there? After being haunted by it for so long? She was right. Righter than she could ever know. Over his long imprisonment, that particular wound had never scabbed. Time alone couldn't heal it.

Perhaps nothing could.

However, if his suspicions about the Shade Lord were true, a return would be unavoidable. “You are correct…still, I must go. Not to resolve the issue and set things in order, but to shut it down. I would rather evacuate and condemn that place than provoke what should be left alone. Perhaps learning when to abandon infertile territory rather than stubbornly holding on will bring me a manner of closure. Proof that I am not purely ruled by instinct, if you will.”

Her branches relented after one last squeeze  “Take one of the Five with you. For my peace of mind if not yours. Dryya will follow you without question.” 

He wanted to refuse, but how much of that was his pride speaking? Whilst few things could physically harm him, having a close ally would help keep him in the present; an anchor in the sea of death—both the stillness inherent to the void, and the shadow of his actions.

“I see your point. Her company would certainly be reassuring. I don’t plan on lingering, much less when we could be having a wonderful nap on this fine day.”

She swept him into her branches again, though less forcefully. “Be careful. You are my only Wyrm after all.”

“And you remain forever unconquerable, my Root.”

  Dryya ignored the scuff marks on her shell and relaxed. When her opponent's nail was about to connect, she deflected it one-handedly.

Merimm, a fresh royal guard trainee, disengaged and assumed a textbook-perfect stance from a safe distance. Being a butterfly, he could use his wings to give an extra push or decelerate to quickly change directions. However, the thin arms common to his species could not parry hits from her heavy nail unscathed.

Unlearning to parry and then getting used to dodging without tearing his delicate wings would be a lot of work—work that wouldn't be necessary if Merimm's previous instructor had admitted to not being familiar with flying styles.

Pride truly was the worst of sins, wasn't it?

Still, he was now in her hands and she would beat good habits into his shell until it became second-nature. No, first nature. Anything less would be an insult to such raw talent and dedication—a combination of traits that was becoming (concerningly) rare.

“Cease! That is all for today. Good job, trainee.”

“But was it really good, Dryya? I could barely do anything. My attacks lost steam ten minutes in. And my arms, all four of them, are still shaking from parrying your single-handed strikes."

"The fact you can list your shortcomings so easily is yet another point in your favour. Acknowledging your weaknesses is the first step to correcting them. Sometimes, it's the hardest. Your nature is nothing to be ashamed of. Fight like a beetle and you will flounder. Find your strength as a butterfly and I'm sure you'll go far with those wings of yours."

"Thank you. I'm not sure if I get it, but I'll definitely keep your words in mind."

"Until next week, then. Don't be late." The slight smirk belied her severe tone.

"That won't happen again, promise!" Thoroughly chastised, Merimm flew off—right past the King, who was standing by the training nail racks.

He smiled. “To be young and enthusiastic again.” 

“Your majesty. Aren't we all young compared to you?" She curtsied, careful not to hit the training dummy with her nail. "But yes, Merimm is very enthusiastic. Too enthusiastic, sometimes. It’ll serve him well."

"Indeed."

She wiped the dust off her nail and returned it to the silver holster at her back. "What brings you here?"

"I'm afraid we must depart to the Abyss immediately. As this is a sensitive matter, you'll be briefed on the way. Are you ready?"

"Just say the word.”

Chapter Text

Thistlewind had to confess he had not woken up that day expecting to go on a trip, much less one in the company of the Seer. She had never gone farther than the cemetery for as long as he could remember.

Markoth’s presence wasn’t as unusual, though; the two of them had gone on plenty of adventures as he grew up. In fact, they had walked that same trail quite a few times. That wasn’t a complaint, mind! Thistlewind quite liked the Crystal Peaks and its singing walls. Its sound had an ethereal quality to it, as if it reached directly into the heart rather than travelling through the air. The songs tended towards heart-rending, with the odd melancholic motif every now and then. Sometimes, he could almost hear lyrics, but the voice would grow distant as soon as he tried coming closer.

Inside the cave, surrounded by crystal as far as the eye could see, the song was so loud they could barely talk. The immaterial not-quite-sound echoed from one wall to the next, layering harmonies he couldn’t begin to untangle. The more he listened, the stronger it resonated.

Suddenly, Thistlewind was overwhelmed by an all-consuming yearning—for what, he couldn’t say. Only that whatever it was, he could never have it, no matter what he did.

Markoth put a hand on his shoulder. When had he stopped?

“This is not a place for lingering,” Markoth said.

“Lest you become one with the walls!” said the Seer with no small dose of mirth.

Thistlewind and Markoth traded glances. Their pace quickened marginally. Due precaution.

The Seer’s laughter echoed oddly as they finally exited the cave. Her smile gradually faded as they approached what looked like an abandoned settlement. All around them, spiked arches stretched skywards like crowns. Buildings made of packed earth and stone stood mostly intact despite their clear age. Though the Crystal’s song had quietened, none dared open their mouths, lest they disrupt the solemn aura enshrouding the place, and time remembered to take its toll.

“Long ago, our kind dreamt as freely as we flew. Essence gathered thick in our wake.” The Seer flickered one hand. “Our travels extended from the depths where the waters run quick to the heights above the surface, where the winds run quicker still.” As she spoke, light motes followed her hands in wide arches and sharp turns. “That essence kept the Star content and sated, and in turn we were led to prosperity.”

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, pressing both hands onto a stone wall. When the last speck of essence had floated and settled into the strange inscriptions, the Seer stepped back and resumed her tale.

“Though we did not know it yet, when the darkness came, so did Dawn’s end. Star Beloved, weakened from the long struggle against the Ancient Enemy, took the survivors to the tallest peak below the earth. There, they built the tribe anew.”

Thistlewind startled. “You don't mean…”

“As sorrow finally settled over the moth remnants, dreams warped into nightmares,” continued the Seer as if uninterrupted. “Corrupted essence burnt scarlet as fire, and so it came to be known as the Flame. Soon, the few dreams which remained could no longer sustain the Star. Thus, to protect what little had been left untouched by the Ancient Enemy, Star Beloved sundered heart and mind.

“To this day, these piles of stone and earth whisper of ancient tragedy. Cries from the Star’s sundering echo still in these lands we tread upon.”

The glowing glyphs on the stone tablet pulsated, their lines unravelling and reforming into the image of a moth identical to the broken statue on Thistlewind’s left. Another figure appeared by the crowned moth’s side, one wearing a sleek cape over sharp wings. The figure lifted a clawtip and skewered a small flame with it.

“The newly-made Dying Star took the flame in hand and devoured its impurities. When none remained, he set out to lands beyond, for his hunger, much like the Ancient Enemy’s, knew no bounds.”

“Perhaps we too should have left,” said Markoth. “Staying did us no favours.”

The Seer cackled. “Could-have-beens, ever as sweet as one wishes! Nevertheless, Dawnbringer beloved stayed, and so did we. Soon, Hallownest rose over the lands mothkind once roamed. Without the numbers to lay a claim, we could not hold the crystals which sang us lullabies, nor the waters where the Star’s gentle light would playfully dance upon.

“ Our despairing forbearers sought to retain their birthright, and in doing so, forsook our dearest one. As mothkind turned away, so did we doom Star Beloved, for the only thing which can kill an immortal is oblivion. Her light grew dim as the memory faded, until none knew to speak her name.

“Thus sang my mother to me, and her mother before her: the Second Age was nurtured with love, and died for its lack. Forget not the Radiance, mother to all mothkind. Carry her true name in your voice wherever you may wander, grandson of my heart.”

“Are we expecting trouble?” 

The Pale King shook his head. “No, but given recent events…What do you know about the Abyss?” 

What did she know? Not much; as far as she was concerned, it was out of sight and out of mind. “Speaking freely? Nothing but whispers. Sometimes the retainers talk, but I don’t have the time nor inclination.” 

“The Abyss is the origin of a mysterious substance named void. Originally, some of its curious qualities seemed to be useful, but…” A flicker of sorrow crossed his face. “...After recent events—and a foreboding vision—I have decided to scrap the venture entirely. The cost would be far too great.”

There was something more to this story, something he wasn’t telling. But should she ask? …Likely not. It wouldn't be prudent to ask in an unprotected area.

“My King!” A sentry's cry interrupted her musings.

A door, here? Was the Abyss really that close to the palace?

The bug’s helmet came dangerously close to the ground as he bowed shakily. His armour was polished so meticulously it reflected the imperfections in her own armour. Judging from the mint condition of his nail, he was most likely part of their latest batch of trainees.

“You may rise,” said the Pale King. “Where is your superior?”

The sentry looked up, oblivious to the pebble stuck to his helmet. “Prefect Alume went down earlier, sir. One of the assistants was saying something about…void?” Yes, the youth could only be a fresh recruit on his first assignment. You could still smell the ash from the smithy on his equipment.

The Pale King apparently agreed. “Is this your first assignment? Do you know what you’re guarding?”

 “No sir. I'm only here to relieve the original sentry because he had to attend to a family emergency.”

The King sighed in exasperation. “What unfortunate timing. We’re evacuating everyone. No one is allowed to enter, and those who come out are to head back to the Palace immediately. Am I clear?”

The guard gave a stiff salute. The two of them silently agreed not to mention it was the wrong hand. The poor bug seemed nervous enough; it wouldn’t do to distract him from the job he was already unprepared for.

“Yessir.”

Following the king’s lead as the guard stepped aside, Dryya set foot into the awaiting abyss.

The lift’s ominous rattling went unnoticed as they descended, her attention captured by the cave’s enormity. Upon closer inspection, the pillars on the walls were rugged. How many eternities had it taken for the stalactites and stalagmites to join? To thicken until they could be mistaken for columns? The abyss was ancient.

Even the King's light seemed diminished, so dark was the fast-approaching pool. With a shudder, she forced herself to look away from its depths. “So this is the Abyss.”

“Indeed. We won't linger. As soon as the last bug leaves, I'll seal the doors.”

If the Pale King said anything else, she couldn’t tell. Whatever lay in the lake was absence itself; it drained everything in its vicinity, her attention included. She would keep falling forever, should she fall into its grasp. Its grasp?

It moved.

What in the world…?

“Do not look directly,” the King said. “Nothing good comes from gazing at it for too long. Come, we have much to do.” He gestured to a cave that was a distance away from the elevator.

When had they gotten off the lift?

The grip on her nail faltered.

All the way from the bottom, its vastness seemingly closed in on her. A paradoxically claustrophobic trepidation set in. She was prey before an apex predator.

No, not prey. Merely a pebble to be carelessly stepped on, insignificant.

The King’s legs tensely skittered under the dragging folds of the shortest cloak he’d found. He should get rid of the ceremonial regalia and acquire sensible clothing. It wouldn’t do to impede his movement in case of a fight, and fight he well might. The Pale King knew without a shadow of a doubt that the Shade Lord was watching from every corner—simultaneously and constantly, for the Abyss and its deity were one and the same.

At least Dryya was here, small consolation though it was. His Root was right, as was often the case. Focusing on guarding one of his appeased the wyrm in him on a visceral level. It kept him focused on the present. Away from distractions, past or future.

The short passage gave way to an open expanse, where a lighthouse loomed above a dark sea. They were greeted by nods from the few researchers that were still posted here. Unlike the retainers in the palace, they had learnt not to bow too deeply in such hazardous terrain—especially when carrying phials of distilled emptiness.

Distilled, yet still under the control of a god above all gods.

“Where are Professor Binwinn and Prefect Alume? I must speak with them immediately.” 

“In the storage room, my lord. Allow me to take you there."

The retainer guided them to the lighthouse, ushering them inside. Shouts and angry retorts from the basement reached them all the way from the top of the staircases that led down. As they reached the basement door, the arguments became clear.

“Nevertheless, I think there's merit in acquiring more samples. The void’s peculiar behaviour should be thoroughly studied. Just think of everything that could be learned from it!”

“My soldiers are not tools you can use at will, Quinn! Felnum’s condition is your fault! I’m not even sure how the King authorised your posting, but if it weren’t for your position, I would have made you pack your bags before things ever became such a mess!”

“Fighting isn’t going to get us anywhere. Please settle down. You both have relevant points, but devolving into mindless shouting won't help. My correspondence should have reached the Pale King by now, we should be waiting upstairs”

He sighed. He didn’t need this right now. They were likely being watched by a hostile god, one who was much more powerful than him. With a nod to Dryya, he pushed open the door with more force than perhaps necessary. Three sets of eyes locked onto him in an instant: a cicada wearing the ostentatious robes of a senior researcher from the Soul Sanctum, a pill bug with flowing brown robes and a shiny Archive badge, and a masked ant with custom blue armour and nail—the quality of which only a Prefect could afford. They bowed immediately. Only the pill bug seemed to be at ease in this moment—the Professor.

He gathered himself. Time to put them in order. “You may rise. Binwinn, I made haste after receiving your correspondence. However, it seems I may still have been too late. What is the current status of the operation?” 

“Thank you for coming, your majesty. Not soon after I sent that letter, a retainer came here to take inventory. But when she arrived…” Binwinn gestured to the rest of the room, and it told a troubling tale indeed.

Void dripped from everywhere, save the foldable table the three had been using—clearly it had been moved recently. In a corner, glass shards had been haphazardly thrown in a heap. Every so often, a piece or two slid from the pile, ambling, casting darker shadows than clear glass should. He blinked.

They were gone.

“…Something went wrong. Her scream attracted researcher Quinn, who called Felnum. You arrived just after Alume did,” said Binwinn. “I apologise, but I hadn't arrived here yet.”

“I can elaborate on that, Binwinn,” said Quinn. “When I heard screaming at the storage area, I, as any scholar worth their salt, decided to investigate its cause. As a precaution, I took the guard, Fellum—”

The prefect bristled. “It’s Felnum, you arrogant prick! You should at least know the name of the soldier who saved your ungrateful chitin!”

“—Felnum. In retrospect, I shouldn’t have…” Whatever he was going to say next remained unsaid, as he wisely stopped at Alume's furious glare and shaking nail hand. “…Well, when we arrived, the beakers were shaking on their shelves. Void! It was the void inside them, bubbling, churning! Naturally, I had to save at least a few samples, it wouldn't do to—”

"You should have stayed back like any bug with half a brain, you numbskull! Felnum took the hit meant for you! For nothing!"

“Enough!” he bellowed, barely restraining himself from permanently damaging the eyes of the squabbling children. No, not children! Utterly unprofessional bugs! “Restrain yourselves! I addressed professor Binwinn alone.”

Alume flinched, but stayed silent, weapon still in hand. Quinn let out a quiet huff but otherwise followed suit.

Impressively, Binwinn managed to keep his composure. “From what I could piece together, some beakers had already been tipped over by the time assistant Linn came in to take inventory. When she realised they were moving by themselves, she screamed and called for help. Researcher Quinn and soldier Felnum came to investigate soon after. The void lashed out when researcher Quinn tried to take a phial rack. Soldier Felnum took the blow, and is severely wounded. Unfortunately—or fortunately, as the case may be, the void quickly drained from the floor after that. I called for prefect Alume as soon as I got here myself. And so here we are.”

Privately, he wasn’t surprised. The void had been united under a god—it stood to reason that they would protect what was theirs. “How is Felnum doing? Still unconscious?” He morbidly wondered whether the god had meant to kill or maim.

Binwinn prompted Alume to explain.

“After securing the perimeter, I tended to him myself. I don't know what exactly attacked him, sir, but with the way Felnum’s armour is dented...the blow would've been lethal if he wasn’t protected. Look.” She stood to the side, pointing to a crater on the wall. Jagged cracks wormed their way up, nearly reaching the ceiling.

He looked at it for a moment.

And then, started putting into motion what he had come here to do.

“Binwinn, order your assistants to begin evacuation. Leave everything unnecessary behind.”

Binwinn nodded gravely. “As you say, my King. I will make preparations immediately.” He left the room swiftly, eager to get out.

“What?!” Quinn screeched. “Your majesty, please! Consider the potential of what is indubit the most important discovery of this age! Think of all the resources that would be wasted if we stopped now!”

He bit down a growl at that, tightening the control on his light. Quinn would never know how close he came to being smitten. These were the same excuses and platitudes that had paved the way to the atrocities committed at the Soul Sanctum. “Do you question my foresight, Quinn?” Bright specks of soul escaped his grip and formed a shroud around them. “If you know something I do not, by all means, share it. After all, sharing knowledge is the essence of academics, is it not?”

Quinn wavered.

Then he opened his mouth. “I...I just think the benefits outweigh the risks. In comparison to all that has been invested so far, surely the cost to pursue this to the end isn't too great—"

The soul particles, usually round in shape, sharpened around his crown. “Do not doubt me when I speak of the cost, Quinn. I know it well.” Despite his best efforts, a low rumble shook the walls.

"I'm sor—! I'm sorry!" Don't come closer!"

With a deep sigh, he dissipated the soul blades. This anger…he hadn't felt like this in a long time. Quinn was mostly harmless, despite his questionable morals. He hadn't truly done anything wrong. Yet.

“Prefect, escort him out of the Abyss.”

“With pleasure, sir.” She grabbed the enamel pin on Quinn's robes—the symbol of his ranking in the sanctum—and roughly dragged him out.

That left him and Dryya as the sole occupants of the room. She had watched the entire exchange impassively.

Unquestioning.

He couldn't help but wonder whether or not that faith would survive the knowledge of his crimes.

“Dryya?”

At the sound of her name, she turned, hand still resting on the door handle.

“We'd best ensure the evacuation proceeds smoothly. Let’s go.”

She nodded and followed.

Without having to pack the fragile equipment (or the excessive pomp that slowed every retainer's movements to a crawl, but she wasn't saying that out loud), the evacuation proceeded rather quickly. Some of the researchers glanced back at the sample racks and more expensive tools, but they didn’t dare complain. Still, Dryya made sure to keep an eye on the stragglers; it wouldn't do to accidentally lock someone in this hell.

“This is it, my lord.”

“Excellent. Hand me the key when you’ve finished.”

Two servants hustled ahead, each carrying a bundle of scrolls. One of them fiddled with the lift door while the other made sure they had all they needed. A key was ceremoniously—but quickly—handed to the King, who visibly deflated in relief. He had been doing that more often lately. What changed?

…It wasn’t her place to question. Not here, at least.

What wasn’t her place to question either was the craftsbugship of the lift. How long did it take to travel from top to bottom? Too long. She could swear the pillars had gotten thicker whilst they waited.

Worn and rusted as the blasted thing was, it could only safely (speaking loosely) take two bugs at a time. Personally, Dryya would’ve jumped at the chance to go first when the retainers offered, but the King had wanted to remain until the last bug was out. This was the only downside of being one of the Five: she had to lead by example.

Even if the example was bloody inconvenient. But as slow as the elevator was, it didn’t take forever. Soon, they were the only two left on the landing.

Away from the retainers, she allowed herself a drawn out sigh as they ascended, content with the idea that no one would ever have to set foot in the Abyss again. Good riddance!

“Glad to be out of there?”

Ecstatic! She leaned warily on the grimy metal grating and nodded.

“As am I. The White Lady has been urging me to do this for some time, but it was only recently that I realised how dangerous it really is.”

That caught her attention. “Your foresight? What happened?”

His silence was heavy. “Perhaps the most visceral of visions any wyrm has ever had. It—”

The elevator’s lurch caught both of them off guard.

Then, with a distinct snap, they fell.

She reacted first, warrior reflexes going into overdrive as she slammed the release lever.

The King immediately realised what she was doing. He grabbed her by the cloak, propelling himself from the lift and unfurling his wings. Her arm caught painfully in one of his claws, but it could wait until they were safe.

At that moment, the lift finally reached the bottom. It crashed on the landing, and the entire structure sank into the agitated void. That had been too close. They had to get out. Befo—

Her head exploded in pain. Faintly, she watched the Pale King's frantic wings grow smaller and smaller.

“DRYYA!”

The empty cold of the abyss was almost comforting as she fell into its depths.

Chapter Text

Sat atop the edge of the Abyss, the King grieved. Apologies tumbled into the Abyss only to be met with no response; not even his own words resurfaced as echoes from its depths. Such was the void, the mindless hunger that consumed words, feelings and loved ones alike.

“I have failed you, Dryya…” Dare he ask for forgiveness? It should have been him. He should’ve been the one who fell, should’ve been the one consumed by the void. The Shade Lord’s fury should have been directed at him, not at a guard doing his job, and especially not at her. He knew the pain of drowning in the void, of being stripped of one’s own self, the helplessness, the emptiness, the hopelessness. Dryya’s fate was his doing. Her death was merely the latest to stain his hands.

He should jump.

This was the least he could do; a fitting, if not just punishment. His sins and failures wouldn’t die with him, but at least they wouldn’t increase in number. Yes, he should just…

“But you can’t do that.” A thought whispered, “You can’t abandon your kingdom, not a second time.” Could he? Would he?

…No. He shouldn’t.

To die here would be the greatest of sins—to share Dryya’s fate would be to spit on her sacrifice. She wouldn’t wish for him to discard the life she’d traded for her own. She deserved better. His Root deserved better. Hallownest deserved better.

He got up. Nothing could last eternal: this, he now knew. Thinking otherwise was the height of hubris. However, Hallownest wouldn’t fall as easily again, and would yet be home to generations of bugs to come.

He would see to it.

That day, the Kingdom mourned.

His Root had been distraught to hear of Dryya’s death, and so were the other knights. Each of them took the news differently. Isma was inconsolable, her bright green tears burning through the pale tiles of the audience chambers. Ze’mer was quick to comfort her, but she was not unmoved, either; hers was a quiet grief of whispers and wilted antennae, no less intense than Isma’s.

“Wai! Delicate flowers, dear companions…fleeting all the same! Yet a thousand flowers could not begin to fill the gaps left by the passing of Le’mer…”

Ogrim deflated, his thundering bravado having trickled like fine rain. He left with nary a word. Small statues of Dryya would be found all over the palace grounds for weeks to come. But everyone, including the gardeners, would rather find the flowerbeds completely uprooted and overtaken by statues of stone and soil than the small, trembling, mourning form of his. Finally, Hegemol’s dry wit withered into complete silence. His steps, always sure and purposeful, meandered aimlessly through the corridors late through the night.

As for the King, he had locked himself in his study, scrollwork a barricade not only from the outside world, but his own feelings. The service was approved automatically, with barely a thought to the expenses.

Using work as an escape was familiar territory. Written words were a degree of separation, a way to distance himself from the reality of his own making, the cruelties inflicted on his own flesh and blood, the deaths, the suffering, everything. But what was foolishness, if not repeating one’s actions and expecting different outcomes?

The chair creaked in protest as he straightened his back. In hindsight, his lady was more patient than anyone could reasonably expect. How else would she have tolerated his poor behaviour during their last years together? That he was the worst father to ever draw breath was never in question, but only now was he beginning to see that the title of worst husband likely fell to him as well. She had been his pillar of strength, but he hadn’t been hers. Instead, he had hidden away in her moment of need.

No more. He had vowed that things would change. That he would change. Time to stop pretending that all of the world’s issues revolved around him. His wife was hurting, and he’d be damned if he didn’t drag his chitin out of hiding to comfort her immediately.

The King jumped from the balcony and flew towards the Kingsoul’s other half. He found the White Lady tending to a patch of wilted roses with only a handful of clay statues to keep her company. Her roots awkwardly contorted around each of the carefully sculpted semblances of Dryya, wary of undoing Ogrim’s work. From the many others he’d encountered along the way, he could deduce that the servants felt the same. Knowing that they cared more about Ogrim than the immaculate appearance of the castle grounds warmed his heart.

And so, to avoid damaging any with a careless misstep, he unfurled his wings and flew into her open arms.

“I’m sorry,“ he whispered, “I should not have left you alone, my Root. I love you.”

“Oh my Wyrm! My Wyrm!”

Tears gathered on his crown like dewdrops and stained his once spotless robes with her grief. If she held any tighter, he would suffocate in her branches; were he to hold her any tighter, her trunk would be permanently marred by the sharp contours of his chitin.

It was neither want nor desire, but a need. They needed the feeling of unity, to be joined in grief and joy alike. To comfort and take comfort, to grieve what was lost, but rejoice in what remained. And thus, they retired to their chambers.

Rose petals trailed in their wake.

“I was not expecting you so soon.”

Above the pale ore desk, the stained glass windows glowed faintly with a spell to keep the rain out. Usually, the Soul Master would only leave the windows wide open when he was in a particularly good mood.

Good.

Quinn closed the office door, bowed, and said, “My apologies, Soul Master. It seems our timing was unfortunate. After only three days, the Pale King himself arrived, and by his decree the research site has been condemned.”

A small bead of ink pooled where the Soul Master’s pen came to a stop. He quickly discarded the scroll and put the pen away in its gilded case. “Elaborate. Spare no details.”

So he spoke of everything. From the scholars involved in the project to the layout of the site, with special emphasis on the events that took place on the last day.

“...And when I suggested otherwise, the King exploded in anger. I believe he came very close to striking me, but eventually abstained and had me removed instead.” At that moment, the King’s eyes had been those of an apex predator, and Quinn was certain he’d be executed on the spot. Just the memory of it made him shiver. “Not that my expulsion mattered in the end. Soon after, all the others were evacuated.”

“How odd. That seems unusually shortsighted of him. Our meeting went splendidly. For him to so carelessly throw such an opportunity away, and to treat you so poorly as well…”

“But then, how does he normally act? Excuse my ignorance, but that first impression has left me with far more animosity for him than I’d like to admit.” Indeed, there were many choice things he would’ve liked to say to the King—if the very idea wasn’t treason.

“Well…our time together has been nothing short of productive, and he’s had only good things to say about the research we’ve been doing here. For him to shut the place down and disrespect someone under my command is…uncharacteristic. He’s always been one to understand acceptable risk.”

“Do you think he is wise to our current developments?” 

“You are far too paranoid, Quinn. Three missing vagrants in the City of the Tears should be below his attention. And that does little to explain why he would shut down the Abyss.”

Excuse him for being concerned! If anyone found out…they wouldn’t understand. Guards would be crawling through every room and everything they’d worked so hard for would be reduced to ashes. He kept that to himself. No need to reignite that argument yet again.

“At least, I was able to obtain these.” Quinn rummaged through his coat pocket, grabbing the two objects of interest and handing them to the Soul Master. “Careful. I could feel the substance thrashing around in my pocket when I was leaving, and they’ve only recently become inert. I’m not sure if you’ll be able to do much with that, but it’s the best I could do on such short notice.”

The Soul Master’s eyes gleamed as the phials disappeared into his coat pocket. “Excellent work. Despite how little there is, it’s still better than nothing. Even if the Wyrm was shortsighted, I won’t be. Dismissed.”

“Thank you. Do let me know when you plan to experiment with it. I would look forward to assisting you in this venture.”

The Soul Master gave him a wicked smile. “Oh I shall.”

Chapter Text

His lady had been uncharacteristically gentle at first, as if afraid to break him. The gentleness did not last—by the early hours of the morning, she was once again voraciously entangling branches and roots above him, love expressed in its purest, most carnal form. But despite their best efforts, they both eventually succumbed to a dreamless, blissful sleep amid a storm of red flowers.

Waking up refreshed felt so odd it took the Pale King a moment to remember that this was the norm. Roused by the movement, the White Lady pulled him closer and nuzzled his chest before closing her eyes in contentment once again.

And for a moment, he let himself untense.

Unfortunately, the moment was soon interrupted. A persistent ringing of the door, one reserved for emergencies, eventually had its way. It took all of his willpower to get up and out of bed. 

Red blotches splattered his robes and carapace where petals had been crushed throughout the night, but his revulsion at such an unsightly state of dress was absent. How wonderful it was, to think that what had been an annoyance in another time was now only another reason to smile! But the wyrm in him would not permit others to see evidence of his lady’s passion. Thus, he increased his glow to an uncomfortable but not harmful level. That should conceal everything quite nicely.

The amused twinkle in his fair lady’s eyes only grew at his actions. As if humouring him, she flung the blossoms, loose petals and thorns through the window with a soft pulse of SOUL, scant seconds before the doors to the sitting room burst open and a retainer—Renem—barged in.

“Speak?” 

“My lord…did you forget?! Herrah from Deepnest is about to be let in! You have a meeting scheduled in 15 minutes!”

He cursed. Whilst the Abyss situation was ongoing, he had completely forgotten his other obligations. In fact, it was a small mercy that he hadn't missed a single appointment so far. “Please send refreshments to the audience chamber. I'll be there shortly.”

“Right away, my lord!”

No sooner than the doors closing after Renem was he throwing his robes to a corner and wrestling with clean ones.

With a light chuckle, the White Lady disentangled a few threads of the delicate embroidery on the collar from his crown. “Careful, my Wyrm, lest you are left with nothing but shredded clothes! Though I must confess that the thought of your chitin exposed brings me no small amount of joy.”

“You would share what I solely reserve for you?”

“Oh, but your heart is mine alone.”

“That it is.”

Before they got further distracted, he strode towards the closest lift. A short walk later found him seated at the head of a pale wooden table, Renem to one side and a server carrying refreshments to the other.

Now, if only he could remember what the meeting was about…but of course! “Renem, do you have the memorandum for this meeting? I may have misplaced it.”

The pillbug nodded and handed him a vaguely familiar clipboard.

Food supplies and trade routes can be used as leverage to force Herrah to agree to the tramway expansion. Should the trade embargoes from both Hallownest and the Mantis village fail, threaten to restrict access to the Hive.

This was clearly his first meeting with Herrah. Deepnest under her lead had never yielded to either intimidation nor bargaining. Typically, Herrah would wring far more concessions out of their negotiations than he cared to admit. A beast she may be, but ever a shrewd one. Her mind was her sharpest weapon, and it wouldn't do to forget it.

Then again, what good would annexing Deepnest do? Seeking to expand his territory in the middle of a crisis was the kind of foolishness that led to the kingdom's demise in the first place; not only would their resources be divided, but then he would also have more subjects to protect, and all the responsibilities that came with ruling…the thought of so much unnecessary work was headache-inducing. When would he have the time to find a solution to the infection, or make good on his promise to be a good husband? And all of that could be easily avoided by leaving Deepnest be. ‘Let Herrah govern her people.’ After all, she’d been doing splendidly without his involvement for years.

The quiet scuttling of two devouts was all the warning he had before Herrah entered the meeting room, hardly a moment after he’d formulated the beginnings of a workable plan.

“Queen Herrah. So we finally meet.”

Herrah's greeting was as noncommittal a gesture as her compliance towards any of his past demands. The nod was so shallow it could well be mistaken for a deeper exhale. “State your reasons, Pale King. But spare me the lecture on what Deepnest stands to lose from resisting your benevolent sovereignty. Your treatise on how our lands would be better utilised by Hallownest was very…enlightening.”

He did not bristle at the overt insult, nor did he respond to her (admittedly justified) barbs. Herrah was betting on his territoriality and pride to tilt the scales in her favour; he was ashamed to say that this plan had worked on his past self.

But his past self no longer existed.

He directed a slow blink and a deliberate nod at her, all the while rubbing his chin in contemplation. “I would hear your reasons. Why do you not wish for unification?”

“You know why, don’t you?” she asked after a brief moment of hesitation, her tone holding an edge. “Any comfort provided by your technology would cost our autonomy. My people and I have different needs than that of city dwellers, but our will would come second, if at all, were we to submit to your rule. And even if I acquiesced to your terms, my subjects would not. Have you not read any of my letters?”

He could barely remember the day she became a Dreamer. The King hated playing the fool, but silence would have to do.

Her left arm twitched. A nervous tic, and one that was hardly noticeable unless you knew where to look. “You've more than made it clear that my time doesn’t matter to you, but why would you waste your precious time on this farce? Threaten me with some new sanction if you must, get over with it!”

"No."

“No?” Herrah jumped out of her seat and advanced towards him. “What do you mean by no!?”

“I have come to realise your people would break rather than bend. Now, I’m left with the option of retracting my previous words,” he said. This was the closest to an apology he could utter without arousing suspicion. “I’d prefer not to see more of mine die in the depths of your kingdom for the crime of wandering into enemy territory. In turn, I would allow the safe passage of your people through Hallownest. A truce, before trade.”

A resounding bang shook the floor when Herrah set her weapon down and returned to her seat. His honour guard tensed, but otherwise made no move. They all knew she was no real threat. “Restrain those bloodthirsty pets of yours and I might be amenable to further discussion. I'll allow no mantis in Deepnest.”

“Then I invite you to stay in Hallownest during our negotiations.”

“We sincerely appreciate the hospitality.”

She didn’t trust him yet…but the fact that she didn’t outright insult him again—and accepted the invitation on top of that—was a very good sign.

The heavy chair noiselessly glided on the carpet as he got up and turned to address Renem at his back. “Please escort Queen Herrah and her entourage to the guest wing.”

“Right away, my lord.”

Fifteen minutes before the start of the service, not a soul could be found anywhere inside the castle. The sound of his footsteps, trapped in echoing loops inside the bare hallways, was unbearably loud against the desolate silence. Louder still were his thoughts. Had he returned to the dream realm? Had his feeble mind retreated to a dream inside a dream, had he become so pathetic as to conjure it all to escape just punishment?

A quiet sob. Soft murmurs of condolences. The rustling of wings and offerings.

No. Dryya’s sacrifice was real. Her loyalty and strength were real. The bug prostrated by the newly-erected statue at the outer garden was real, as were the flower crowns, the sobbing retainers and servants, and each and every bug whose life had been changed, even if minutely, by her.

He had to hope that this, as painful as it was, was still reality.

No one was looking when he sat by the White Lady’s side. Finally, the bug who had been prostrated at the statue's base stood on shaky feet and retreated to a seat by the front row. And then, the service truly began.

The first to rise was Ze’mer. She carefully laid a bouquet of delicate flowers on the tombstone, saluted, and sat down.

Next was Hegemol. He set a sealed scroll right by the bouquet, saluted, and sat.

Isma was third. She let a single tear burn through the jewel set in her pale ore necklace, hung it on the stone, curtsied, and returned to her seat.

Lastly, Ogrim plodded forth. He kneeled, placed a set of rock figurines as if to defend the tomb, swallowed a sob, and retreated into Isma's arms.

Guard after guard—all of them former pupils who had trained under her at some point—queued to place nicked shellwood nails in the weapon racks by the statue, followed by retainers carrying small scrolls tied by white ribbons that slowly filled a glass urn with messages of gratitude. By the end, the servants and other residents of Hallownest left flowers of all colours around Ze'mer’s bouquet.

These displays of affection finally broke his composure. The first tear fell unnoticed, save perhaps for his lady. The second and third could not be contained. His tears, like the void, seemed to have a mind of their own.

Had it been any other day, rumours would have sprouted by then. As it was, most bugs were too lost in their own grief to spare more than a side glance, and the few that weren’t knew better than to disrupt the funeral service.

Only after the last tear fell did he open his eyes. What greeted him was a black splatter that covered his chest and hands. He sat through the White Lady’s farewell speech, completely listless, and almost missed his turn to address the public.

Later, he would be complimented on his moving speech. Right now, his thoughts were perturbed by something else entirely.

His tears were black.

As soon as the Seer had finished her tale, she had hurried them home. Back in her tent, she had produced an ornate nail Thistlewind had only seen twice in his life, one the adults told him never to touch.

She had placed its hilt on his shaking hands and said, “You shall inherit the Dream Nail upon my departure.”

“But why me? I don't even like magic! I’m the least qualified!”

“Oh, but the dream nail alone is magical enough. Child, what better choice than one who can wield it?”

“You are not keen to inherit the Dream Nail,” said Markoth.

Thistlewind could think of at least five others who could better wield the Dream Nail. The tribe chief was not supposed to leave. That was not a life he could imagine living. Out loud, he said, “You’re good with magic and nailplay. Why not you?”

“The Dream Nail, more than a strong wielder, needs strong dreams. I have no more dreams.”

“What do you mean?”

“My dearest wish was to know the lives our kind once led. In my search for our lost history, I have travelled farther than any other moth in recent times. Much farther than our current destination, in fact.”

“Which reminds me, why didn’t we take the Stag? Walking is taking forever!”

“This trip will likely lead us no closer to the source of the darkness. Take your time. Take in the sights.” Markoth laughed at Thistlewind’s answering scowl, but relented. “We can fly on the way back.”

He wasn’t wrong; the view was very interesting. Thistlewind had never been this far from the Resting Grounds. The air was different in the Basin, settling thickly around his body, heavier in a way he couldn’t quite explain. And then there were the colours…

“Feels odd.”

“That is to be expected. We’ve entered the domain of not one, but two pale beings. Their presence is all around us.”

“Is it that common? How many domains have you been to?”

“Quite a few. I have been to Unn’s breathing lands, flown beyond the godless cliffs, past a lake so expansive I could not see its other shore. There, I followed fragrances so sweet I could taste, and came upon a god’s dying lament. The Storm’s final rumbles resounded through my core for a day and a night.” Markoth sighed, deeply and tiredly. “It was a majestic, terrible sound.”

“If you say so.”

“Do not take me for my word, Thistle. Your turn will come. Perhaps you will be the one to uncover the mysteries of the Blackwyrm.”

“See? That’s exactly why I can’t accept the Dream Nail. I refuse to be chained down.”

“The tribe is not the land.”

“Speaking in riddles, already? You’re getting old! What comes next? Cackling?”

Markoth’s attempt (if one could call it that) at cackling echoed oddly in their rocky surroundings.

He coughed. “…Let us not speak of this.”

Thistlewind didn’t promise anything, letting the silence lull Markoth into a false sense of security. They kept a comfortable pace through cobbled roads, greeting the occasional passerby as they walked.

“Say,” Thistlewind began after a while, “What are your thoughts on passing down your channelled nail? Now, that is a weapon I wouldn’t mind getting.”

“That old thing? I haven’t used it in a long while. You can have it when you beat me in a fight.”

“Don’t mind if I do.”

Their conversation died out as they finally arrived at the White Palace. The sentries stationed at the gates, a pair of dragonflies of solemn countenance, let them in with a respectful nod. An equally solemn ant escorted them to a beautifully manicured garden packed with bugs of all kinds. Thistlewind and Markoth followed, neither inclined to explain the purpose of their visit.

From afar, Thistlewind could make out two figures irradiating a light like no other, so strong he could barely see their features. He wove through the crowds as respectfully as he could and stopped, mesmerised, when the silhouettes grew clearer. For there stood a bug of the finest features…crying thick tears as black as he was fair. It could only be the Pale King.

When the ceremony was over and the bugs had begun to disperse, Thistlewind stood dazedly in place. Were someone to ask, Thistlewind would be unable to recount a single word of the speech, having been rather more preoccupied with the mouth whence the words came, his eyes transfixed on the sinuous lines of the deepest black which framed the sharp angles of a predator’s maw that seemed almost out of place in a creature of such frail bearing.

That was not to say Thistlewind had no words, for he had many, if in the form of questions. Who was the King weeping so wretchedly for? How could any bug shine as brightly? Would Thistlewind ever see him again? The latter he asked Markoth, who seemed distracted himself.

They left a request for an audience with a bug who seemed important enough and promptly departed. Neither spoke on the way back, though for very different reasons.

When Herrah marched into enemy territory with her two most trusted devouts, she had been prepared to deal with a pompous, greedy fool. So, to say she was surprised at today’s turn of events would be an understatement. She was caught completely off guard: her defence, carefully constructed to counteract the formalities of a tyrant, was nearly useless against the soft-spoken monarch’s wry sense of humour.

Whilst third party accounts were to be taken with a grain of salt, her intelligence division was thorough. Admittedly, it wasn't entirely implausible that he would act differently in person, but the discrepancy was staggering. The King who wrote to her a week ago seemed an entirely different creature compared to the one who invited her to sit as an equal. The covetous wyrm from the letters would have doubtless seen her kneeling from atop his throne, or something equally as demeaning.

Before agreeing to anything, she would need to investigate these mounting inconsistencies. Tinya and Taenya were tasked with combing through the library for Hallownest law. In the meantime, she would follow the king and his inner circle in the guise of a guest receiving her host's hospitality—likely putting her acting skills to the limit in order to mask her sheer disgust at the opulence dripping from every corner of the kingdom.

Fortunately, circumstances were in her favour: the palace was in an uproar. Aside from lingering on Herrah’s full silk-woven armour and weapon (Hah! Deepnest's traditional regalia must look utterly ominous to those soft-shelled bugs in their embossed ceremonial breastplate!), no one stopped her as she followed the King from a distance to what had to be the softshell equivalent of a memorial service.

Curiously, the rigid protocol and life-size statue didn’t detract from the sombre atmosphere. Most offerings were symbolic in nature, and the people seemed genuinely heartbroken over the knight’s death. That the highest-ranking knight under the King was so loved by bugs of all castes bode well for any future alliances…but that was something to think about later. For now, she would try to gather as much information as she could. 

As the service was about to end, the impossible happened: the King cried.

Who knew such a pale being would cry black tears? Perhaps more surprising was the fact that a god could mourn the passing of a common bug genuinely and as wretchedly as any mortal. And his faraway gaze was truly haunted. Grief permeated the quirk of his mouth, his shoulders, the wrinkles in his coat, the very grass he walked on; raw in a way that couldn’t be fabricated.

This was not the stoic leader of legends, nor the emotionless slayer of the Blackwyrm. This was not the hungry monster that would see Deepnest starve. Who was this creature that seemed to know her, that could change his conduct and demeanour as one changed masks?

Something was very wrong here, and she would get her answers one way or another.

Chapter Text

“Do you find these terms agreeable?” asked the Pale King.

“Yes.” Herrah got up. Though she did not shake his hand, her tone lacked its previous edge. “I will gladly take this draft to my council for discussion.”

“Very well. The guards will see you out.”

The second meeting between him and Herrah was almost comfortable. Gone was the aggressive posturing and baring of mandibles. His old self had taken years to arrive at the same level of cooperation he’d achieved in days. He could only imagine how much better their talks would have been had he not had his attention split between Deepnest, the funeral, and the matter of his tears.

His void-soaked robes had to be isolated in his workshop, and were currently dissolving—at an alarming pace, considering the healing properties of his SOUL-infused tears should have slowed the void down. When had he been contaminated? Was it leftover from his experiments? That wouldn’t explain the lack of pain. Mortal or god, one would feel the burn of the Abyss’ touch, especially in the eyes and internal organs. Perhaps it was leftover from his future drowning? He had plenty of hypotheses as to how he came to expel void, but no answers.

Fortunately, the next few days contained nothing of note, and soon the normality pushed his anxieties to the side. He met with Lurien to discuss the City of Tears (doing splendidly despite the Watcher’s annoyance at supposed corruption), cleaned his old workshop of anything related to the void or the kingsmould, and tried something he had rarely done in the past: granting audiences.

The wyrm had had little interest in the petty problems of the common bug; mortals were to be hoarded, not heard. However, long years in exile with only the repeated exclamations of simulacra to break the silence had given him perspective. Perhaps his time would be best spent on the imminent infection, yet he could not bring himself to give up on the little frivolities. 

“How many more requests do I have, Renem?” 

The pill bug held up a list longer than himself and said, “…42, my lord.”

Only experience kept the King’s face impassive as he watched the retainer’s fumbling. “Give me the oldest three.”

That prompted another fumble as Renem nearly dropped the scroll, barely stopping himself from becoming a tangled mess. “A bug named Emilitia wishes to speak to you about a dispute amongst the nobles of the City of Tears, a group of moths wish to see you in order to ‘pay homage to your wondrous pale light’, and there’s a request from the Crystal Peak miners, who wish to discuss unfair working conditions.”

He leaned forward at the mention of the moths. “What more can you tell me about the second group?”

“The letter mentions seventeen of them. Shall I send a summons?” 

“Tomorrow morning. Clear my agenda until noon.”

By the time he had learnt of the Radiance’s worshippers, none lived. The chance to meet them now should not be squandered. From the contents of the letter, it seemed he might have stolen quite a few worshippers from the moth. The wyrm rejoiced at the thought; the king, not so much.

Having finally triumphed over the troublesome scroll, Renem bowed and left the throne room. Alone at last, the King rose from his throne and stretched. He then jumped down, careful not to tangle himself on his mantle. He’d rather avoid a repeat of the incident from the week past, when the ostentatious thing, which was three times as long as he was tall, got tangled in the tall ‘armrest’ of his unnecessarily large throne. What had he been thinking at the time?

Upon sensing a retainer approach, he hastily removed the mantle and straightened up.

“My King! The White Lady requires your presence!” 

The butterfly was so distraught she took his hand and dragged him to the Conservatory, wings aflutter as if attempting to take off.

The Pale King arrived at the nursery to find that his fair lady had laid exactly 71 eggs. Despite all the changes he had been enacting, history had stayed its course.

The White Lady smiled, little roses blooming on her leaves. “Our little saplings…”

“I’m sure they’ll be as beautiful as you.” He said, hand caressing her cheek. “None of my vices. All of your tenderness.”

She ensconced him in Roots, tears of white staining the ground. “Ours.”

Not the kingdom’s. Not the Radiance’s. “Ours.”

One detail disrupted the otherwise perfect moment: the egg shells.

Before the Abyss, every single one of them had been as pale as he and his Root, radiating flecks of SOUL as luminous as his own. Afterwards, they had been a deep, light-eating black. The ones in front of him, carefully nested in silk and velvet, were neither. Rather, they were a bright, beautiful grey.

Void and SOUL as one.

How had it come to be, when the Abyss lay sealed? Tampering was not possible. His Lady remained untouched by void.

“Excuse me. I must…attend to something? Elsewhere.”

The Pale King gave his Root one last look before exiting the nursery. He had let himself be distracted by normality when instead he should have been investigating the circumstances which led to his return. His bodily fluids. The eggs. That vision.

A cost too great.

A mind plagued by regret.

A will left broken.

A voice that cried out in suffering.

Born a god, and now marked by the void.

You shall overcome your failure against the blinding light.

You are the ruler of Hallownest once more.

You are the Pale King.

The Void Given Focus had mirrored the Pale King’s words. They had evaded his and his Root’s attention and watched. How far did their knowledge extend? What other sins had it born witness to? The cullings? The eggs?

Why had they deemed him worthy of saving? Godly power would not have spared him from an agonising death as the void slowly subsumed the SOUL in his core. Godly power should not turn back time.

He would know.

The Pale King set off towards his chambers, locking the doors behind him. He found a clean basin and tipped the pitcher above his head, letting water run down his crown. When the pitcher ran empty, he let SOUL pool in one hand and shaped a dagger, recoiling at the memory of teaching that same spell to his child. Taking a deep breath, he reformed the dagger and brought it down through the chitin in his arm.

He needed not look to know something was wrong. The blood—if that was indeed what he had bled—seeped viscously, gaseous from the cut. The pain, when it came, felt distant; cold where one would expect heat. It rippled across his arm, then his shoulder and torso.

When he finally dared look, he found thin black tendrils swaying around his arm. Before he could grab one, they disappeared back into his body, pulling stray SOUL particles which had once been his lifeblood along. And with it, a dawning realisation; the Pale King had not been spared.

The Lord of Shades simply saw no reason to take what was already theirs.

Chapter Text

“I do not need your permission to contact the Pale King, Seer,” Markoth spoke evenly. “Informing you of the upcoming audience was a courtesy.”

The Seer let out an anguished trill as her hand slipped from his shoulder. “Knowing it is so does not soothe this old moth’s heart…! The wyrm is not to be trifled with. He and his kind have brought much suffering to this place.”

“Still, better the enemy we know. If it eases your mind, I will remain here to protect the tribe. Let the others travel for a change.”

“Very well.”

“Then I will retire to go pay my respects to my parents. Their graves need tending.”

“That they do. When Thistlewind returns, I’ll give him the King’s letter.”

Markoth put an arm around the Seer’s shoulder, gave it a squeeze, and left for the cemetery.

The cemetery’s gates were ajar when Markoth arrived. He entered, careful not to close the gates as he passed. Rows of stone greeted him from both sides, growing progressively less weathered, until he came across Vinula by her husband’s grave. They exchanged silent nods and parted. Eventually, he reached the second to last lot, where his lineage had rested for almost as long as the moth tribe had protected the Resting Grounds.

There was nothing of note about the tombstones; they were simple slabs engraved with sigils for peaceful dreams. What made them special were the myriad ornaments hanging above, each made from the golden silk his kind would shed upon coming of age.

One day, Markoth’s own figurine would join that of his forebears’. Had he known his would be the last, he would have spent more time on its crafting—a regret he would quite literally take to the grave.

Still, his mind had better things to occupy itself with than those old depressing thoughts. He brushed them aside as he did the fallen leaves and debris from the figurines, carefully untangling stray petals from a particularly old one. Next he sat down and started scraping mulch and fungi off the stone, humming an old song his grandmother had been fond of. Task completed, he swept the detritus into a sack: the village’s Whispering Root would appreciate the nutrients.

Markoth leapt over the nearby grove to a hidden alcove. He sat down, took his prayer beads in hand and closed his eyes. Some clarity of mind was sorely needed if he was to face the incoming darkness.

Should Ghost close their eyes, they would see Dryya approaching their domain. They could see Father’s outstretched hand grasping uselessly at thin air.

If they blinked, the image would shift and they would instead see pale hands moving towards Dryya’s shrinking silhouette, heart-stopping despair as the darkness swallowed her, the crushing weight of their robes on their back, keeping their wings immobile at the moment they were most needed.

Siblings. Myla. Cloth. The Seer. Quirrel. Ghost was very familiar with that same feeling of helplessness.

Point was, they could relate to the sheer desperation and the impulse to try and prevent the unavoidable, whatever the cost. They could feel it in their void the moment Father decided to jump after Dryya, wings or not.

Maybe that was what made them force the void connection open and practically shove the first words that came to mind into Father’s head. They might have panicked a little and paraphrased him. But in their defence, they didn’t have the time to rehearse a better speech!

They could have done a lot of different things if they were being honest. Could’ve. Should’ve. Would’ve, if only…well, they hadn’t and now it was too late. Dryya was dead.

At least they got everyone else to leave the Abyss alone, before more bugs fell into the void. That had to count for something.

More importantly, the noisy bugs were finally gone. Ghost could finally think. And they needed to think fast, before Hallownest fell again. Things had to be better this time around. Ghost was sick of the crumbling halls, the boiling crossroads, not to mention that awful orange light. Their sister deserved better too. Everyone did, really. Even Father and Mother deserved better than exile, self-imposed or not, even if they couldn’t forgive them.

Yet. They just…needed more time.

That brought Ghost back to the present. Dryya had died sooner than she had in the other timeline. Worse, her chitin had dissolved as soon as it fell into the void. Because that was what void did, the only thing it was good for.

Or rather, the only thing Father knew about. Void was more than just death; it was transition. It refused to take a single shape, preferring instead to remain in flux. Without direction, it would take the path of least resistance. But when nudged just so, things could change. In the darkest depths, Ghost had saved a few drops, an impression of Dryya, suspended from the void.

There was a very important distinction between mostly dissolved and completely dissolved. It would be all they needed to remake her. As long as a speck of Dryya survived, so could she. 

On the not so bright side, mostly dissolved was still mostly dissolved. Rebuilding a body would put their skills to the test. But they had to give it a try.

Dryya deserved better too.

A gentle, distant whisper called to her.

“Dryya, wake up,” it said. “Please.”

She couldn’t tell where it was coming from. What she could tell was that the voice was very sad. Tired. Very, very young. Anxious like a trainee on their first day.

“Please be okay. Please…I hope I did it right.”

The first thing Dryya saw was the ceiling. It was very far up.

The second thing was rocks. Everywhere. Above, to the side and below. One pebble in particular was pressing against her shoulder joint in a very uncomfortable manner—where her pauldron should have been. She got up and inspected the place. To her right, a broken lighthouse flickered pitifully. Further ahead, a black sea churned anxiously. Anxiously! As if she could feel…

…She in fact could feel the sea. Void. Today’s mission. Escorting the King to the Abyss. The Abyss. No.

The King got out, she was certain of at least that much. Then the lift broke. She fell. She fell…?

Dryya looked down and patted herself. Everything looked alright, somehow. She couldn’t have survived a fall from that height, no matter the stories the soldiers liked to spread about her. She wasn’t that good. So someone must have saved her. Hopefully not the King.

“Dryya?” The same voice whispered again. Curiosity took the edge off the speaker’s anxiousness. “Are you okay? I’m behind you.”

She almost wished she hadn’t turned to look. The being before her was massive. The half(!!) that wasn’t submerged in the void sea was greater than the Blackwyrm, who had in turn been larger than the King’s old form. Eight piercing eyes, a head filled with more horns than she had spare nails, and a body (or, more precisely, an upper body) which could only be described as the antithesis to all the other Higher Beings she’d ever met. The room was darker in their presence, as if the god consumed rather than emitted light.

Dryya reached for her nail, stopping short upon noticing its familiar weight was gone.

“Wait! I’m not an enemy!” The god held all four of their hands up, each of them larger than the barracks.

Despite their size, the gesture was sincere enough. So she lowered her hands, for all the good attempting to fight them would do. Steadily, their form shrunk. The eyes and that imposing crown of a head remained just as menacing, but from a scale of wyrm-devourer to barracks-sized, Dryya’d take the latter any day.

“What are you?”

The god didn’t say anything for a moment, yet something in their posture screamed, ‘Rude!’ to her question. Fair enough.

“I am Ghost.” They inclined their head, the tilt and hand motion oddly lining up with a mantis traditional bow. What a strange coincidence. “I’m technically the god of the Abyss? Please don’t call me that.”

Suddenly, she was hit by embarrassment so strong her neck hurt. What an odd feeling. Certainly not hers; Dryya was self-aware enough to know she was thick-shelled to a fault. Which reminded her that the void had exuded anxiousness, just like the being in front of her. A question for later. “So you were the reason for the evacuation?”

“I needed some quiet after ascending. Good thing it wasn’t that hard to get the message across. Everything was going great! That is, until the lift broke,” said Ghost. They shrugged their two upper arms. “And here we are.”

“You wanted to be left alone. Understandable. I presume you were the one who saved me from the pit.” After Ghost nodded, she asked, “Would you like me to leave?”

“No, it’s okay if it’s just you. I just don’t like crowds.” Ghost hunched, as if the thought alone made them nervous. “Before you leave, can you tell me if there’s anything wrong with your body?”

Although a cursory examination hadn’t revealed anything wrong, the apprehension Ghost was exuding was mildly worrying. Dryya looked down again and gave her body a good look. Ghost helpfully conjured a lumafly lantern when she squinted.

Her white body was gone. Not only the colour, but the shell itself. In its place was a mass similar to the one covering Ghost, just like the pools of void under her feet. Writhing tendrils weaving around one another, so dark she couldn’t tell where one ended and the other began. Perhaps the worst part was how natural it felt. The thinner patches of chitin where SOUL hadn’t quite managed to mend were gone too. No aches. Everything felt better than her last moulting. Except for the fact that she had emerged shell-less. Wrong.

“What.” She relaxed her posture. Took a deep breath. “What did you do?”

“I remade your body. Had to, because the only things I managed to get back were your SOUL and part of your head.” Ghost stopped. In a quieter voice, they added, “You don’t sound happy. What’s wrong?”

She was certainly not happy. Dryya of the Five was dead to the kingdom, as far as they knew. Higher Beings, she wasn’t sure she was alive herself! At a minimum, her life as a knight was forfeit. She couldn’t return to the palace like this.

Would Isma enjoy drinking tea with a monster? Dryya didn’t think so. Good Ogrim would try to defend her. It wouldn’t be fair on him. Hegemol…she had no idea what that unpredictable bug would do. Ze’mer might cry and run away to the Mantis Village again.

And what would her King think? Would he blame himself? And her Queen!

No. She couldn’t return. It’d be a mercy for them to think her dead—a mercy for everyone, except for her! Dryya was the one who had to live with the consequences of somebug playing with life and death! And for what? So a godling could feel good about themself?

“Wait! Where are you—”

Dryya walked away. The god had done more than enough already. She didn’t want to hear their excuses.

The door to the lighthouse was in the way. She tried turning the doorknob. Jammed, of course. With a scream, she punched it open and wordlessly watched as shellwood splinters rained down. When the dust settled she resumed her trek. Her foot slipped on a stray document and she fell head-first.

It didn’t hurt.

It didn’t hurt.

The realisation paralysed her. Dryya couldn’t speak. Couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t stand. She just…stayed there on the floor for however long it took her ‘heart’ to calm down. She wasn’t even breathing.

At some point, she stumbled her way to the basement, bumping on a table and a chest of drawers. Painlessly. Even the noise of the collision was wrong. Dull where it should have been sharp. Muffled.

Dryya sat down on a wobbly stool and screamed. Over. And. Over.

Ghost had the impression that following after Dryya would be a very bad idea, so they resisted the urge. Instead, they waited outside and listened. Her gait was unsteady, interrupted here and there by a thud or a crash. They almost bolted inside when the first scream came. Almost. Privacy was the least Dryya deserved after what she had gone through.

A few hours after the screaming stopped, Ghost shrunk to a more manageable size and ventured into the basement. They found Dryya sitting on the floor, back to the wall.

“Can I sit here?”

Dryya motioned with one hand. Ghost picked a stool with a broken leg and pushed it to the side. They folded their legs and gracelessly sunk to the floor. That elicited a small chuckle from Dryya.

“I’m so sorry I didn’t catch you before you died.”

“Could you?”

“Maybe? I don’t know…it all happened so fast.”

“Then don’t apologise.”

“Okay.” Ghost fiddled with their large hands. Getting used to them was taking a while. “Do you need a hug?”

“I need more than a hug,” she replied. “But fine. Do it. Not like I can refuse.”

Ghost reached out with one arm, careful not to scratch her with a claw. They missed their tiny, stubby hands.

“I am dead.”

Ghost wanted to interject. She continued before they could.

“For all intents and purposes, I am. Dead to my liege and lady. Legally. My thoughts still feel like my own, yet can the same be said of anything else? Am I still myself? No. Dryya, defender of Hallownest is gone.” She let out a shuddering exhale; stopped abruptly at the sight of the void particles that came out. “What’s left? The fragments of a head? SOUL particles? That is merely the detritus swept by the wind off a battlefield, what’s left after the war is over. Not a bug.”

“Don’t say that! You’re still a bug! Maybe you’re more durable now, but you can still get hurt. You can still eat your favourite foods and do the things you like doing. You have a home to go back to.”

“Do I? Would they accept me as I am now? After the lengths the King went to to seal this place? He will not have a being of void, shaped like his knight or not.”

“He can’t! He wouldn’t reject you, not when he’s also—”

“I know he won’t accept me. He slayed his own flesh and blood for daring to take the void into her body. Her corpse still lies in the lands beyond. Perhaps he will lay me down to rest by her side after he’s killed me for good.”

“He won’t. I’ve seen it.”

“Have you?” she asked. No need to connect with her void to feel the scepticism in her tone. “Then prove it.”

“Will you take my hand?”

Ghost felt like they should say something about how loudly she was broadcasting her feelings in the void. She was so out of it she hadn’t even noticed Ghost wasn’t speaking out loud! Maybe not at that moment exactly. Soon. For now, they had no choice but to listen.

Dryya knew better than to take a god’s hand. This was how deals were made, knowingly and not. She didn’t care. What else could Ghost do? Kill her again?

She took the hand a tad more forcefully than was polite. Ghost did not complain. They just focused on the connection and the memories they’d been trying so hard not to linger on.

Miners mindlessly swinging their pickaxes, as likely to hit stone as air.

The City of Tears. Rusted railings. Broken glass everywhere. Empty except for guards walking in circles. A mockery of a patrol for a mockery of a city.

The Palace, gone as if uprooted. Nothing but a small pile of rubble and a few dried husks. Queen’s Gardens, overrun with thorns and dented gates. A fallen bug in white armour—her. The imaginary death was pristine, so unlike the real one. That Dryya died surrounded by the corpses of her enemies. Honourably.

Or had she? What had she been protecting?

The White Lady, diminished and bound in chains of her making, blind to the truth. She had claimed them to be empty, the perfect vessel to contain the ire of a wronged goddess. She asked for sacrifice with an empty smile, unable to see they would fail as surely as their nestmate had.

Stumbling upon a golden sarcophagus in the junkyard. Finding the Godseeker and the world her mind conjured. A welcome distraction from their painful journey.

A moment of respite turned into obsession. Ascension. Consumption. Higher and higher, closer and closer to the peak, to where the orange light shone the strongest. Why throw away their life and still fail when they could feast on her light? Feast on those cruel creatures who watched bugs fight for fun?

A triumphant return to a world free of the infection, free of those nasty cicadas. Time for the happily ever after. Sibling! Friends! Sister!

Dead. Collapsed inches from the Black Egg’s exit, hands reaching towards the light outside. Dead. Strewn over a pile of husks holding on to their pickaxes in death, never to sing again. Gone. A worn nail standing like a grave marker at the shores of the Blue Lake. Gone. Nothing but a piece of red silk at the edges of the Howling Cliffs.

Dryya dropped Ghost’s hand and said, “What did you just show me?!”

Ghost could feel the horror in her void, the kind of visceral fear that meant deep down she knew it was true. They replied, “The future I lived. Not much of a future, really.”

Apparently the vision was so terrifying she completely forgot her fear of them. Because next thing they knew, she was shaking their shoulders and demanding, “Tell me. Tell me everything.”

When Markoth next opened his eyes, the night had long gone by. He leisurely floated back to retrieve the sack of mulch, then headed back to the village.

A chill grew at the pit of his abdomen the closer he got to the entrance. Finally, he stopped cold.

The gates had closed entirely.

Chapter Text

“The Kingdom will fall.”

“Yes.”

Dryya’s head spun with calamitous visions, that damnable orange glow permanently burnt into her mind’s eye. Image after image, thoroughly permeated by the stench of madness and pain, a deluge of impressions she could not begin to process. Too much. A tragedy far too great for a single bug to comprehend.

“I cannot allow that to happen.”

This, she knew with every fibre in her twisted mockery of a body. What she needed was a new purpose, something to keep her feet moving, one after the other, when everything she wanted was to curl up in a corner of the Abyss and hope the void finished its job.

Stealth had never been her strength, yet none saw her traverse the Basin. She marched through the shadowy passages of the waterways, climbed the cliffs of Kingdom’s Edge, and walked through the acid pools without a care, slicing the few incautious beasts who dared stand in her way.

Approaching the Colosseum, Dryya could feel the ground vibrating with the jeers of a thousand fools, each as revolting as the next. As she stepped around yet another husk, she could taste the blood and rot in the air. What intolerable filth. However, her quarrel was not with the bloodthirsty boors. As such, they would not suffer her fury today. Instead, she walked past the unmaintained caves leading to the City and stopped in front of the lever which would call the lift to her destination.

Centuries of training could scarcely prepare her for crossing the insurmountable ten steps that separated her from that death trap. Another of its kind had taken her to a journey of no return, to truths she could never unlearn: the unfair trade of life for the knowledge that she stood to lose much more than her everything.

Dryya entered the lift without further hesitation. The cost had been paid as it was, so she might as well make the best of what she had gotten. Perhaps as a monster, she would be better equipped to act. She prayed it were so.

Soon, the Dream Nail would be in her possession. 

By any means necessary.

Ghost hadn’t wanted to involve anyone else; Dryya had other plans. They came to a compromise, so now Ghost had other plans involving Dryya.

“I will help you.”

“Don’t you want to go back to the Palace?”

“This is more important,” replied Dryya. “I would like to have a palace to return to. That goddess from your visions must be stopped.”

Her words hadn’t quite rung true, but Ghost didn’t think Dryya was lying either. The look in her eyes was determined like Hornet’s had been. She wouldn’t budge one way or another, so the best Ghost could do was work with her. Besides, they could sympathise with wanting to protect their loved ones.

They could talk now. Sort of. One of the powers that came with becoming the God of Gods was the ability to project their thoughts directly into somebug’s mind. It did the job as long as no one was paying attention to their mouth…or lack thereof. Or paying attention to the odd magical echo, or the utter lack of vibrations in the air, or—

Well, it worked.

Better than the face situation, at least. Ghost looked more like a painting of a bug, if the artist was drawing with no references. And blindfolded.

The result was apparently terrifying, judging by the reactions they got everywhere. For example, shortly after Ghost got back to the past, they had ended up all the way in the Howling Cliffs. They had been found by a group of Dirtmouth villagers, who had promptly fainted from the fright. The poor bugs’ hearts had literally stopped for a moment. Ghost had even thought the poor bugs were dead and had been about to attempt healing when they had all run screaming.

What if it had been elderly or sickly bugs? Ghost’s ugly face could have literally scared someone to death! It was a wonder Dryya hadn’t run away.

Or maybe she was just built different. Wouldn’t be a surprise, with how amenable to god slaying she came across as. Either way, her reaction was probably an exception. Ghost really, really needed a mask.

Fortunately, the Mask Maker was old as dirt, so they were probably alive and making, well, masks. Unfortunately, getting there was tricky enough without the added challenge of going unseen. Still, Ghost had to try.

The Waterways were easy enough, but the Fungal Wastes were teeming with more mantises than ever. Ghost remembered too late that the traitors only abandoned the tribe after the infection had already started. They should have risked the Queen’s Gardens; no amount of rabid bushes would be as bad as the mantis patrollers. As it was, they had had a dozen slip-ups already. A fifth of the way in.

How bothersome. The little annoyances had no right to stand in their way. Couldn’t they see their mission was more important? Insȏ̶͉l̵̳̇è̸̝n̶̗̈́t̸̬̀ ̶̜͌b̸̫̎é̴̺a̵̩̍s̷̙͛t̸̝͘s̶̻͒.

The mantis tripped midair.

Did Ghost do that? No, that was just a stray sporg. Still, why were they so… angry all of a sudden? It wasn’t like them to almost jump at a bug without provocation. Ghost was the intruder here. The mantises were just defending their territory.

Oh no. Was it Godhome all over again? No. No. They wouldn’t lash out. These bugs didn’t deserve it.

The Radiance, on the other hand…

The first thing Thistlewind’s sleep-fogged mind noticed when he woke up was the silence. Despite its size, the village was never this quiet. There was always someone flying about, talking, or tinkering with something or other. Shrugging, he shook the sleep off his antennae and pulled the flap of his tent, just enough to take a peek outside. The air was still, completely undisturbed by the usual comings and goings of his tribesbugs.

He was halfway to the village centre when Markoth walked in from the cemetery’s direction, expression unreadable.

“Thistlewind, are you well?”

“Why?”

“Have you overslept then? The others have departed already.” Before Thistlewind’s sleep-addled mind could come up with an answer, Markoth’s face darkened. He growled, “Seer.”

Thistlewind followed warily, flinching when Markoth almost ripped the entrance to the Seer’s tent. He flinched again at the sight of the Dream Nail resting on her table.

“Explain,” demanded Markoth.

“If the others wish to risk attracting the wyrm’s attention, so be it. But Thistlewind is young.” The Seer’s eyes momentarily focused on something under the table.

Realisation dawned on him. Thistlewind looked down and saw pieces of burned silk parchment, the same type the bugs from the palace had used to write well-wishes for their fallen knight.

No. She didn’t.

“He is an adult, as per the customs you place so much importance on,” said Markoth. He turned to Thistlewind. “I apologise. I never suspected she would withhold something—”

Thistlewind’s vision burned.

“Of course you didn’t. You don’t know us, not really. You barely bother stopping by between one trip and the next!” He held his arms so hard it hurt, trying to stop his entire body from shaking. “She’s always like this, calling me a child. Treating me like a child. As if I’m incapable of making my own decisions!”

The Seer reached out. He elbowed her hand away, not trusting his clenched hands anywhere near her. Not when they were barely containing years’ worth of frustration. “Don’t. I’m sick of this. Just leave me alone.”

He pivoted to exit the tent, but found the exit blocked by an unfamiliar bug. Thistlewind involuntarily stepped back, taking in the intruder’s shineless, dark shell.

The intruder stepped inside soundlessly, pitch black nail pointing against Thistlewind’s chest. An unnatural whisper echoed as they said, “The dream nail. Give it to me.”

Thistlewind leapt towards the Dream Nail, barely escaping a strike that left deep gouges on the beaten earth floor. That could have been his chitin—! The intruder raised their nail for another devastating blow, only to be intercepted by a glowing shield.

Markoth pulled Thistlewind behind him. “Who are you to attack us unprovoked in our own home?” He extended one hand and started chanting, forming an arch of blades between the intruder and them. “Stand down. This need not end in violence.”

“Who I am is irrelevant. Hand over the dream nail. I will not ask again.”

The Seer held up her hands. “I will surrender the nail. So long as you do not harm us.”

The intruder inclined their head and smiled. Their mouth was too sharp. Something moved in— “Thank you.”

A look of revulsion crossed the Seer’s body as she croaked, “You’re a puppet under its thrall, aren’t you?”

No response. The intruder just…advanced, as if completely unaware of the blade digging into their shoulder.

Markoth’s eyes widened. He pushed against the bug as hard as he could. “Thistle, don’t!”

Markoth started glowing. A dozen nails materialised around him, vibrating with so much magic Thistlewind could feel it. He extended his arms forward, piercing through the creature and pinning their body to the floor.

The creature shuddered against their bindings, trying to reach out for their nail, which had rolled to a corner. They let out a core-rattling wail, like they had finally noticed the nails piercing their body.

That scream. Was it in pain? Wasn’t Markoth going too far?

“No, Thistle,” sighed Markoth. “Bugs like this won’t listen to reason. Thousands upon thousands of empty words, despicable excuses spewed to cover for unforgivable crimes.” Markoth exhaled. He joined his shaking hands over his prayer beads. “Face death with dignity, thief.”

What felt like an eternity later, the intruder’s hand finally stopped twitching. Markoth’s knees gave out as soon as he dismissed the nails. Thistlewind caught him in time. The Seer ran hands bathed in purple light over Markoth’s torso.

“Look at your poor magical core. Completely exhausted! Let me ease the worst of it.”

“I could not allow the Dream Nail to fall in the Ancient Enemy’s hand.”

“You are correct. This old moth cannot thank you enough.”

“Are you going to be alright?” asked Thistlewind.

“I will need a week’s rest.” Markoth laughed weakly. “An excellent opportunity to reacquaint myself with the tribe.”

Thistlewind winced at the reminder. He was about to apologise when Markoth hurled him out of the way, hard. For all he knew, it could’ve been years when the stars in his eyes were replaced by the intruder standing where he had been a moment ago. They yanked a blood-covered hand from out of a gap in Markoth’s chest and threw him to the side effortlessly.

He couldn’t think. He just. Had to move. Get up. The Dream Nail shone in his hand, blinding. He put all of his strength into one blow.

Crack!

Pain flooded his cheek where it smashed against the intruder’s armour. He looked down and saw the Dream Nail’s handle resting against the intruder’s chest. Vindication gave way to despair as he pulled it away to reveal a perfectly undamaged thorax. A fist flew in his direction and he was sent flying. Dazed and helpless, he watched as the intruder kneeled to retrieve their weapon and walked through the tent flap, holding one nail in each hand.

Chapter Text

Monomon,

I have come upon a disturbing revelation concerning the void. Come to the Palace this noon so that we may discuss in detail. Bring Professor Binwinn and make arrangements for a potentially longer stay.

-The Pale King

Monomon picked up the letter again, reading over its contents for the third time. How intriguing! That it was neither long nor polluted with His Majesty’s usual flowery language spoke volumes. And the void? Hadn’t he banned its research after Dame Dryya’s death?

“Have you sent for me?”

She looked up from her desk, Binwinn’s eternally frazzled form stepping into her office. “Binwinn! Have a look.”

His eyes scanned the print, antenna flickering about contemplatively. “Now, that is a surprise.”

“Something on your mind?”

Binwinn put the letter down. “Could this be related to the strange behaviour exhibited by the void over the past week? The Abyss’s closure seemed very uncharacteristic of His Majesty. Unless…”

“Unless…?”

“It completely escaped me at the time, but I never saw him leave. The guards escorted us out and didn’t return either. I’m beginning to wonder if anyone other than the King witnessed Dame Dryya’s fall.”

“I suppose we won’t find out more until we get there, given the secrecy.” Monomon flung herself from her chair straight towards her chambers. Before exiting, she remembered to say, “Run along and get ready! I can hardly wait to see where this goes!”

“And to think I would actually have time to get settled back into research." His tone was both wistful and resigned. "Well, I can’t ignore a royal summons.”

Monomon returned, hauling a suitcase. She swept the contents of a shelf into it and closed it without looking. “Come now! Where’s your sense of adventure? I’m sure if worse comes to worst your brother Quirrel will just substitute for you again.”

He batted at her tentacles with the missive. “How long until you let the joke die?”

Monomon floated past his reach and affected a stricken expression. “Joke? My dear, is it proper to joke about family like that?”

“Gaslighting too? Haven’t changed, have you?”

Her giggle transformed into full blown laughter, echoing down the steel-plated tunnels. “I find joy where I can. Your reactions never fail to deliver! But in all seriousness, this shouldn’t take long. You’re not volunteering for another research project, after all.”

“You say that, but with how strange things have been, I fully expect the absurd.”

“Would you bet five hundred geo on it?”

“You know how much I loathe gambling. Absolutely not.”

“Shame.”

Clinks and clanks echoed throughout Deepnest’s craggy stone walls, cutting through the skittering of devouts in their patrols and the garpedes’ eternal burrowing. Ghost knew what they would find long before they set foot in the out-of-the-way nook where the Mask Maker toiled.

Ghost reformed at the entrance and hesitated. “Hello?”

“Sins of the father have cast a dark shadow over all. Does the shadow seek reparation? Restoration? Would well-worn roles be reprised?”

It was hard to tell which was eerier: the Mask Maker’s musings, or the fact everything looked exactly the same, down to the paint splatters and the dead lumafly in the rightmost lamp. Had the Mask Maker always been there, a flurry of limbs tirelessly chiselling, polishing and painting through the rise and fall of kingdoms?

Not even the sight of Ghost’s face, in all its monstrous glory, did anything to stop the Mask Maker’s many hands, or their constantly changing mouth.

Their every word echoed with the weight of promises, heavy like curses. “A wyrm’s greatest folly, given a mind with which to err. Is it an ill-fated pursuit, or just deliverance? Something else entirely?”

Then, the unthinkable happened: the Mask Maker paused to rummage under their work table. They carelessly swept a hand over the worktable, before placing a large unadorned box on its mostly clean surface. A terribly high-pitched squeak broke through the silence as the Mask Maker took their time opening the lid. It figured that amongst all those paints and crafting materials, there wouldn’t be a drop of oil to put on those poor hinges…

Torture over and done with, they picked a slab of a pale material that tasted distinctly of SOUL, one hand absently smoothing over the dented cushion covering the bottom of the box. Upon closer inspection, Ghost could see an outline sketched in…charcoal? But that wasn’t the important part! That was their face. In a closed box that looked like it hadn’t been opened in centuries! The Mask Maker hummed once, then fished their tools from the floor and started chiselling away again.

“Uh. What?”

“One’s best is limited within the confines of one’s knowledge and no further. But such is life!” A stuttery noise drowned out the clinking. Laughter?

Those were certainly words. But strung together in that order? It almost looked like sentences, but did it sound like real sentences? No, not at all.

Or maybe Ghost was trying too hard. Had the Mask Maker ever made sense? This was the first time they have even seen a use for masks, and yet the walls were lined with them! There were piles stacked just out of view, behind those silk curtains at the back. Who needed so many? And for free?

The Mask Maker kept laughing as they filed at the rough edges of each of the mask’s eight eye holes, moved on to the tapered end, then around the curved horns protruding from the top. They brushed the debris away, then picked another brush and quickly applied a thin layer of shimmery glaze, so evenly Ghost couldn’t even tell it had been painted on. With the tap of a claw, an intricate design glowed once and faded away, leaving a matte finish on the mask.

“Will liminality ultimately settle? Such marvellous contrast bears observing. Take the gift of identity, wherever you may tread.”

“Thank you.”

Understanding the Mask Maker was a lost cause, so Ghost didn’t bother trying. What wasn’t a lost cause was Hallownest. Their goal. Their focus. Ghost put on the mask.

The stone pulled the Abyss in, absorbing ten, a hundred, a thousand times its own volume. It kept pulling and pulling until Ghost felt lighter, smaller, freer. Then it latched on to their SOUL, compressing it into a bright white varnish-like layer around their face.

The mask settled there as much as it settled the Voidheart in their core. For once, they were complete.

“But I also agree that it was wonderful. If only we could visit more often.”

Dryya slowed to a halt, stopping just short of the path that led to the City of Tears from the Resting Grounds. 

“There is hope. Word around the city is that he’s sending out summons more frequently. We might get another chance to bask in his pale light.”

Higher Beings! They were too close. And heading in her direction. Just her luck that there wasn’t anything to hide behind. There were only two other exits: one leading upward into the Resting Grounds, and another leading leftward into the Blue Lake. Hiding amongst the tombstones in the Resting Grounds would be easier, but she had done more than enough harm already.

Dryya had forgotten the feeling of being feared. No, not even at her bloodiest had anyone ever looked at her like the young moth was looking at her, with such raw, unfiltered horror.

Her voice, when she demanded the Dream Nail, sounded alien to her own senses—though sound did not feel like the word for whatever had come out of her mouth. She struck once as a warning, trying not to grimace at the destruction left behind by her lack of control.

Her next strike met with resistance. Those shields…how many centuries had gone by since she had last seen essence-based magic? It certainly hadn’t been during Markoth’s lifetime—if that was indeed Markoth who stood in front of the youth, brandishing an impressive number of magical blades.

Fortunately, the elderly moth surrendered first. Dryya thanked her and took a step forward, when suddenly, the elder recoiled in disgust.

“You’re a puppet under its thrall, aren’t you?”

Thrall. Puppet. That didn’t sound right. It didn’t sound wrong either.

The world exploded. She wasn’t part of it.

It was her chest. Several nails were poking through. Markoth stood over her. He had overloaded the spell, visible essence pouring out of this carapace. But even all of his power hadn’t been enough. A sickening sensation of the void reforming around the burning essence, eventually winning and snapping the blades in two.

She struggled, single-mindedly focused on her objective, because if she stopped to think of anything else, she might never stop screaming. Sounds washed over her, deafeningly loud and muffled all at once, she was sinking under those writhing dark waves, she was drowning, her feet couldn’t find purchase, she was, she was—

Standing.

Reaching out.

Reaching through…?

Stopping. Finally.

Dryya opened her eyes. Tried flexing her fist. Something stopped her hand. Wet. Jagged.

Markoth’s body lay limp against her. She yanked, pushing him down.

Dryya gasped and turned left, away, away from the Resting Grounds. She couldn’t return.

The lake was blessedly deserted for once, much to her relief. There’d be no way to hide in the open if anyone came, and despite the evidence so far, Dryya wasn’t keen to test whether or not the void would keep her alive should she venture underwater.

She walked towards the lake’s edge and sat, tired down to her core, even as her body had never felt as energised. The water was comfortably cool against her legs, so unlike the coldness which hadn’t left her ever since a godling deemed it fit to wake her from what should, by all rights, have been her final rest.

When she looked down, something stared back.

Was that the last thing her victim…that Markoth had seen as she plunged her bare hand into his flesh? Higher Beings, the youth he had been protecting was Merimm’s age.

Grip on the Dream Nail rigid like a fresh pupil’s, the youth advanced despite his fear, palpable and suffocating. His gaze darted to those empty eyes of hers, hesitated, transfixed, at the sight of those things moving under her chitin and around and everywhere. Her pale nail, her once pride and joy, was a parody of the gleaming blade which had for centuries stood as a symbol of Hallownest’s protector, having been reduced to a wicked thing besmirched by twisting veins filled with void, ready to consume and destroy.

Ghost was wrong. She could not go back. No one at the palace would see Dryya; not her knights, not her King, not her Queen. They would only see what the moths did: a dishonourable thief, a monster that should be put down before it could take more lives.

Before her, the lake stood as serene as ever, clean and undisturbed. She lifted one knee, then the other, suddenly afraid of what her touch could do to it. Ripples formed and dispersed, but the face on its surface remained.

Dryya the Fierce was dead.

Chapter Text

Soft drapings and over a thousand pillows covered his once utilitarian workshop until no hard edges could be seen nor felt. The sight inspired a hundred conflicting feelings and countless thoughts more to course through his mind. Surrounded by all possible meanings of the word, the Pale King did not know what to think, so he chose to focus on Root instead. There she sat, in the middle of the room, branches cradling seventy-one eggs as she crooned along to a song from a time long past.

Sentiment had seen his claws absently engraving a familiar melody onto a metal strip, but something else entirely had guided his hands as he had set the strip into the music box, then fed it a sliver of SOUL.

Song filled the room. Each note sent a pang to his heart, yet he could not bring himself to stop the lullaby once it began playing.

Ensconced in brightly dyed fabrics, the eggs’ darkened shells stood out all the more, impossible to ignore no matter where he looked. Seventy-one children would hatch soon, void-touched to the last, for the Abyss churned under his chitin where hemolymph had once sat undisturbed.

After the initial shock had waned, the King began to examine the changes. They seemed mostly cosmetic as far as he could tell. Aside from the unnatural healing, nothing seemed out of place; SOUL magic came as easily as it always had. Physically, he felt no different, even as black tendrils rose from the cracks in his arm to force his broken chitin back together, anxiously pulling his wyrmheart by the strings every which way.

That small experiment left him utterly wrung out and high-strung, worried sick for the children, innocent and unborn, who had done nothing to call the Lord of Shade’s attention yet had caught it still.

It was that worry which allowed him to quell the wyrm’s ire at the indignity of sharing his hoarded secrets with creatures beneath his notice. The father in him took vindictive delight in silencing the wyrm as he had once silenced his children. Paradoxically, that small act of self-flagellation appeased his thirst for violence and calmed the wyrm. Again, he did not know what to think of the situation.

Then, as though she could sense the direction where his thoughts were headed, Root drew him back into reality with soft smiles and softer laughter, just as gently as she cradled their eggs. “Be careful, husband, not to exhaust your dreams in the waking world, lest your sleep be stripped bare.”

“Should I run out of dreams, I need only look at you, my love,” he whispered into her branches. It was as much truth as deflection.

“Seventy-two dreams lie before me; is it the wyrm’s influence that compels me to hoard them all?”

“I am guilty of many sins, but your vices are yours alone,” he replied jovially. “Fortunately, dreams spring anew, eternal for as long as there is hope.”

“We’d better make room for all those dreams-to-be, then, for never have I ever had as much hope,” said his Root as her eyes roamed from cluster to cluster.

Dearly he hoped the moment would last forever. Alas, it was not meant to be: a quiet knock brought about an end to the lullaby, and a sigh to exit his mouth. The King rose and meandered his way to the door, where he met an unexpected visitor. 

Prefect Alume set her spear down. “Professor Monomon has arrived, Your Majesty.”

“Where is Renem? Have you decided to retire your weapon, prefect?” 

Prefect Alume huffed, composure momentarily forgotten. “Renem should have been here, but he got into an argument with Binwinn. Then Monomon stopped to talk with the guards on the way. Short of pulling her along like a child, I had no other option but to come myself.”

“Monomon truly is a force of nature.”

So saying, he decided to go with the current rather than against, to his Root’s amusement. She and her breathy laughter followed him all the way to the corridor Monomon had planted herself in, and then to the study where the discussion was to take place. Along the way, their small entourage turned into a scholarly procession as more bugs were swept away by Monomon’s enthusiasm. By the time the Pale King found his seat, half the Palace Guard and quite a few librarians and retainers were crowded around the door.

“…and this is precisely how I am able to levitate. Through the study of physics and biology we are able to understand it. And when you know how it works—that is when you can harness it. Knowledge is power and power is knowledge. This is science!”

The King took advantage of the lull to interrupt the impromptu lecture, subtly increasing his glow until Monomon gave a startled blink and finally took notice of her whereabouts.

“How curious, I do not recall going further than the entrance hall…no matter. Class is adjourned! Remember, the Archives are always open for any inquiring minds. Any who would be interested in becoming a student are more than welcome!”

The crowd applauded at that, steadily dispersing as Monomon floated over to her seat.

“One cannot help but wonder how come you are still here with us, and not flying off on the surface, running into every other tree as you float backwards without a care. Noon has come and gone, professor.”

“Knowledge is a gift to be freely shared. Surely the one who gave us minds of our own would agree?”

“The gift can only be shared so long as you are well.”

“Have I finally provoked the Pale King into violence?”

“No, but others might not be as peaceful.”

“Others, you say?”

“Indeed. What do you know of the void?”

“Only what was written on the reports.”

Exactly as much as he’d expected, then. Though far from ideal, it would do as a starting point.

“Before we proceed, I must ask for absolute secrecy. Nothing shall leave this room unless I say so.”

That got the attention of all three of them.

Seeing that he would no longer have to worry about any distractions, he told his story. It began with an abridged version of his dream, sparing his audience from the more gruesome aspects of his original plan to contain the infection. By contrast, he explained his encounter with the Lord of Shades in minute detail, reading from his extensive notes to ensure no clue was overlooked.

“…After I was swept away, I resigned myself to a painful death as the void soaked my spiracles and consumed my insides. Whilst the pain was as terrible as I’d feared, death did not take me; instead, I was discarded into the far past, to Hallownest’s turning point. Unfortunately, neither foresight nor hindsight have prepared me for the gift of the present.”

A heavy silence settled on the room after that, the three other occupants processing what he had just told them.

Binwinn spoke first, voice shaking as he asked, “That being you described...It is exactly like the one that appeared in my own dream. And you're saying it's here? In Hallownest? A god stronger than even you?”

The pill bug was right to be afraid. Whilst Monomon and the White Lady saw him for who he was, Binwinn still believed him to be an untouchable and unknowable, for all that he refused his family’s calling. That reverence would not last.

“The power of a god is not an exact science, but of this I am certain. Do not mistake me, Binwinn. Though both the White Lady and I possess considerable power, even we have our limits. Should the Shade Lord wish Hallownest’s destruction, we would not be able to stop them. Their power is beyond anything I have ever seen."

Binwinn was silent, save for the faint sound of his shaky arm rattling against the table.

“That, however, brings me to my second point. Whilst the idea of the void being home to a god of gods is a disturbing revelation, there is something far worse that I must speak of. Because in my tears for Dryya, I discovered something impossible."

And with that, he placed a glass phal on the meeting table, one he had specifically prepared for this. A soul nail appeared silently in his hand, blade poised against his forearm. When they realised what he was about to do, it was already too late to stop him.

Black ran down the blade and fell into the phial, churning against its walls, trying to find its way back into his insides as though it had a mind of its own.

And not for the first time, he wondered.

It was a little while later that Dryya composed herself, wiped the tears from her cheeks and sneaked her way back through Kingdom’s Edge. Afterwards, she quickly descended the cliffs and made it through to the lower tunnels without incident, slipping into the Royal Waterways without anyone the wiser.

“Dryya? Are you okay? Where are you?” Ghost's familiar voice echoed in her head, their telepathy catching her off guard.

“I have the dream nail,” she tried to project back. “I’m in the Royal Waterways.”

Ghost’s reply assuaged Dryya’s fear of failure. That fear was promptly replaced by another entirely: to what extent were their minds connected? Had Ghost…seen her loss of control? Had they seen Markoth’s face slacken, had they seen her reflection in the Blue Lake? Had they read her mind?

No. The damage was done either way. Hallownest’s ruin grew nearer no matter what she did or thought. Time would not wait for her to grieve—when did it ever? So she would move faster, would outrun that terrible fate. Her strength could still do some good, or so she hoped as she ran towards the island where Ghost where stood, hunched and small despite their towering size.

“You look…different,” Dryya remarked once Ghost’s features became clearer.

And it was indeed clearer. The shapeless, moving mass Ghost had been before had gained curves and edges and some semblance of definition—as long as she didn’t stare for too long, that is. Still, Ghost now had two legs and four arms. Better yet, the mask had eight symmetrical eyes she could actually count, ending in sharp horns with points she could see rather than the unending, headache-inducing mess that couldn’t settle into shape.

“What do you think?” They twirled like a child.

“Speaking freely? You look more bug and less force of nature. Still intimidating, mind you. Where did you get that mask? It suits you.” 

Ghost took her assessment well, except for ‘force of nature’. “Deepnest. A bug called the Mask Maker made it for me. They do say a lot of things I don't understand."

“Unlikeable though they may be, the beasts know their crafts well. Nevertheless, the mission calls. Which way to the junk pit?”

“Just follow the garbage.”

And so they did. There was a reason why Dryya had not been to the Waterways in centuries. The dead ends and the stale water were certainly not missed! She suspected she would not miss the mounds of detritus either.

“The coffin will be around here. It shouldn't be hard to find, with how much the gold should stick out.”

Though there were many golden things, none of them were the right shape. Considering the waterway’s humidity, they couldn’t discount fungi, algae or moss growth, so upon her second attempt, Dryya widened her search for any sufficiently large objects.

What could have been days later, they stopped.

“Have you seen anything?” 

“Nothing.”

“Please keep searching, we need to find it.”

“We have combed through this place thrice.”

She nonetheless obliged, noting the pleading tone in their voice. Ghost sounded lost and young. Two things Dryya had never learnt to deal with.

After sweeping through the entirety of the pit for the fifth time, however, they were forced to conclude the same thing:

“It’s not here.”

Chapter Text

After the meeting was over, Root and Monomon retired to the nursery. Binwinn and he moved to a lab in a mostly deserted wing of the palace.

“What happened in that dream? Did they say anything to you?” asked the King.

“I was adrift in a sea of void. After some time I felt their gaze and turned to meet it. They did not say anything,” replied Binwinn. “It was rather anticlimactic. Unsettling? Absolutely. But eventful? No.”

“Anything else of note? What about the others?”

“No deviations, I’m afraid. Everyone’s dreams were uncannily uniform. Some called it godly intervention. Is it true?”

He sighed, tiredly placing both elbows on the counter. “I’d like to pretend that there’s some manner of mystical method to this madness, Binwinn, but the sad reality is that I’m in the dark just as much as you are. Truth be told, the distinction in power between a god and a mortal bug lies solely in scale.”

Binwinn carefully raised the phial, watching the void behave like a regular liquid as he tilted it slightly from side to side. “That revelation is both reassuring and not, much like this substance which can take such contradictory properties.” He put the phial down. “However much a part of me wishes to cling to the belief that gods have no limits. It would be convenient, if nothing else.”

“Perhaps, at first glance. If gods were all-mighty, some would inevitably get into petty feuds. Nothing would ever get done were we to spend our time negating each other.”

“Ah yes, perhaps it’s a good thing there are limits. Your Majesty…” Binwinn hesitated. He seemed to steady himself as he spoke, “I cannot imagine a mere vision would contaminate you so thoroughly as to integrate with your internal organs, godly power scale or not.”

“Whilst vision was the most likely explanation, I cannot discount the possibility it was something else. Which is why I intend to conduct some tests.”

The professor eyed the nail. “...Oh.”

“You have the right to refuse, of course,” assured the King.

“Dreams and visions are quite similar, aren’t they? The sample size is far from ideal, but I do understand the need for secrecy…very well, you have my consent.”

“Are you sure?”

“I am. Now that I am aware of the possibility, the uncertainty would keep me awake at night.”

“I know the feeling well,” replied the King. With a small steel blade, he made an incision on Binwinn’s arm and let the haemolymph collect inside a set of clean phials.

“You are scarily good at this,” commented Binwinn as he applied pressure to the puncture. “I didn’t see your arms move.”

“I have had practice,” he said half in jest. The King then opened a steel case and took out phials with labels written in Monomon’s utilitarian script.

“Why do you have her blood? And so many phials?”

“Half of those are filled with my Root’s sap. Monomon collected the samples during the meeting. A deal made under the table, if I may. A god I may be, but how I envy their multitasking capabilities.”

Binwinn overlooked the pun with grace. “I could do with a few extra branches or tentacles myself. But I’m glad we have a…control group.” He grimaced.

“A control duo is more than I had this morning.”

His response elicited a pained huff from Binwinn, who moved back as the King placed everything on the counter, adding some of his own blood for the sake of thoroughness. When all the samples were aligned in rows, he opened a bottle of void taken directly from the Abyss and carefully dispensed a few drops on the leftmost phials, then set a timer and waited.

They watched in horrified fascination as the tiny droplets dispersed in ribbons, and as the blood slowly darkened until they were visually indistinguishable from the ‘pure’ void. The rightmost phials retained their original colour, including Binwinn’s.

“You appear to have escaped uncontaminated.”

“What a relie—what are you doing, Your Majesty!?”

“I could not risk infecting a sentient bug. A plant was a good compromise.”

“That is a gulka! It spits projectiles!”

“This is a sapling,” he replied, carefully moving the gulka into a glass container with pliers. “Its defense mechanisms are still undeveloped.”

Like the blood before it, the gulka’s translucent leaves darkened. The King experimentally lit a claw with SOUL to check its hue, only to gasp as it swayed towards the light.

“It is alive.”

“I can see that.”

“Dryya was alive when she fell in. The gulka is alive. I am alive!”

“Someone fell into the larger pool by the lighthouse a month ago, Your Majesty and no one’s seen them since,” Binwinn said carefully, visibly upset.

“I am sorry for the loss, Binwinn. It is regrettable that the Abyss had no lord at the time.”

“Are you saying that the Shade Lord saved her?”

“They could have.”

“But why would they do that?”

“The same reason I still draw breath, I would imagine. If there’s a chance she lives, I must know. Failing her once was one too many. I refuse to leave her there, alone.”

Only after the meeting drew to a close did the White Lady make her feelings known. She and Monomon exited the study and headed to the nearest lift, and from there, to the nursery.

“What should one say when presented with the ichor of a wyrm?”

“Have you seen him cry before? Or bleed, for that matter?”

The White Lady sat down by her husband’s work table, taking solace from the eggs nestled close by, and said, “Before today, I had not seen him bleed. The colour of his tears was as much a surprise to the rest of Hallownest as it was to me. What else have I overlooked?”

“Don’t be so hard on yourself.” Monomon sat on the table and rested a tentacle over her branch. “Ignorance is no sin.”

“Ignorance is not a sin, but to avert one’s eye from the truth is. I wonder…” Leaves rustling, she sighed, “When I take a closer look, what will I find?”

“I don’t know, but the unknown is much scarier than reality in my opinion. Like monsters under the nest! Shed light on the monster and you’re left with a pile of laundry and dirt more often than not.”

Monomom had no reservations about stating her opinions. Though one could hear condescension in her well-meaning advice, the White Lady found only endearment in a bug who felt so confident in wearing her heart on her sleeve.

“The children must adore you, Professor,” said the White Lady lightly.

“Oh, teaching children is a delight, despite the challenges. Regretfully, I hardly deal with little ones anymore.”

“As someone who is used to having dozens of pupils, would you share any words of wisdom with a mother-to-be?”

“Being a mother and a teacher are two very different things.”

“Are they? Stories travel, Monomon.”

“What can I say? Even young adults thrive under a more caring touch.”

A caring touch. The White Lady from her wyrm’s vision had dispensed no touch at all, abandoning her children first to the Abyss, then to the goddess who had carved a path of destruction through Hallownest.

Her beloved had described each child in great detail, from the shape of their horns to the quirks of personality they exhibited as they climbed out of the Abyss. The sea of cracked shells had been etched onto his eyes, clouding his gaze as he recounted each fall, voice thick with tears. Still, he had carried on, convinced that stopping would be further betrayal of their memory.

Though she ached for him, she knew herself well enough to understand what went unsaid. The White Lady from his visions had been colder, distant from kin and Kingdom with practice borne of an eternity lived as a root, with a core hardened by the death of a hundred generations.

“Hello hello? Your Majesty?”

“Forgive me,” she replied. “Your comment sent me down a much deeper hole than I thought it would.”

Monomon gave her a knowing look. “Oh I completely understand. I see that look in my students all the time. In my experience, it’s often more concerning when they aren’t deep in thought after a long lecture. A geo for your thoughts?”

“I never questioned my nature. Time moves differently for roots than it does to bugs, gods or not. However, the children are as much wyrm as they are root. Wyrms are impassioned beings, their manner of living as exuberant as their love.”

“That is quite clear even to mortals.”

Though the silence made Monomon restless, she did not attempt to break it again, letting her collect her thoughts. Finally, the White Lady mustered a smile, eyes affixed to the centre of the room, unblinking.

“Distance comes naturally to me,” she said, voice as heavy as her core felt. “I fear that my love will not suffice, that despite my best efforts, they will lack for affection.”

Monomon did not have an answer; neither did the eggs.

Thistlewind sat on his far too small nest, twirling a too small trinket in one hand. The flame-shaped crystal had been a memento from his and Markoth’s first outing to the Peaks, back when he was still a caterpillar. Upon their return to the village, he’d held it close as he spun his chrysalis and slept the days away basking in its soothing presence. Ever since then, it had sat by his nestside.

Until now. Everything except for his nest had been emptied. Thistlewind turned, slowly, his gaze lingering on every little absence. The tent’s interior was slightly darker where his father’s wall rugs had hung, each rectangle telling a tale he’d only heard second-handedly.

The rugs had been folded and stashed away in the bottom of a chest, under a nicked shellwood nail and an assortment of other toys, protected by a spell so they’d be perfectly preserved until he returned—whenever that happened to be. He wasn’t convinced he would.

Even if he did, who would be waiting? His parents? Markoth? The Seer…would she be here when… if he returned?

He shook his head, but the thoughts stayed, heavier than the satchel fastened to his shoulder. They followed him to the centre of the village and beyond, all the way to the cemetery, where he said his farewells.

Eventually, he entered Markoth’s tent.

There he was, lying down on his nest. His arms rested over a thick burial shroud, which had been lovingly wrapped around him like a blanket. Thistlewind’s fist clenched around it, then slowly unclenched. The urge to yank it away didn’t abate. It was still eating away at his insides, spurred on by all the rage he’d been trying to curb for years.

Guilt, a more recent addition, didn’t help. The figurative hole in Thistlewind’s thorax should have been literal. It would have been, had Markoth not saved him. Keeping the proof of his sacrifice hidden away felt like a betrayal, but keeping him under a stasis spell indefinitely was the real betrayal: like the moths of old, he’d never stayed in one place for long.

Maybe it was a good thing he’d never been good with magic. If he had, he’d probably have ripped the Seer’s spell apart and let Markoth’s shell return to the earth. It’d be better than that sad attempt to keep it perfectly preserved until the rites could be observed, all the while holding on to the hope the Dream Nail would be returned. How could the Seer of all bugs not understand that some things were never coming back?

Thistlewind…might not make it either. Travelling was dangerous, he was deeply aware of it. But so was staying. Nothing was ever guaranteed. He had to seize the chance before it could get away.

The same way Markoth had. His channelled nail had seen more adventure than the rest of the tribe combined. Now it lay propped against his nestside, barely an afterthought. Thistlewind took it in hand. He frowned. Magic clearly hadn’t made a difference, but what about a physical weapon? Would Markoth still be alive if he’d been armed?

Briefly, the thought of taking the nail crossed his mind. Winning it fair and square wasn’t on the table anymore, not against a dead opponent. At least he knew how to maintain it.

In the end, he didn’t.

Thistlewind carefully wiped the nail clean and placed it by Markoth’s side, wrapping one cold hand around its hilt. He hesitated, then tucked the crystal in his other hand, straightened the shroud back into place and exited as silently as he’d entered.

He spared his tent one final glance. When he turned, the Seer was there, limp from antennae to wing, faded at the edges like the majority of the empty tents surrounding them.

“Will you stay for one last farewell dinner?” she asked.

“Another farewell dinner, you mean,” he replied gently. “I’ve waited a fortnight. Please let go of me.”

Thistlewind was glad he wouldn’t have to pry his arm away from her grip. This time, the Seer didn’t reach out.

Chapter Text

Hegemol would never tell a soul, but the reason he never took off his armour when out in public was to keep bugs off-balance.

Walking silently in the cumbersome thing took years of practice, years that would go to waste otherwise. That was not to say he didn’t take enjoyment in clanking about—far from it, in fact. Not only did his carefully managed unpredictability never fail to bring out the most amusing reactions, it meant that when he didn’t want to be noticed, no one could see him coming.

That included the King every now and then.

Crash!

He put one hand on his left greave to muffle the noise, using the other to steady the King, then replied to the pained apology with a curt nod.

The King righted his robes and turned to the scholar who had almost collided with his back. “Come along, Binwinn. We must make haste if we are to return from the Abyss today.”

The Abyss, was it? Surely the King knew better than to return so soon.

No, of course he didn’t.

Hegemol firmly believed that discretion was the better part of valour, but sometimes that particular type of discretion required some degree of disclosure. Whilst his siblings called it tattling, he himself was more fond of the expression ‘going up the chain of command’. In the case of the King, that meant the White Lady.

After inquiring with a few servants, he set out towards the King’s private workshop. It was a peculiar location for a nursery if one were to ask Hegemol. Since no one did, he offered no comment. There was no need to fill the silence himself when others were more than happy to do so. For instance, Monomon was more than enough to fill any room—or many rooms and quite a few corridors on a particularly inspired day. Hegemol needed only follow her gradually louder voice to find the White Lady and her.

He thumped his way to the entrance and banged rhythmically on the door. He made his way into the nursery, careful not to step on anything, especially the eggs. The cheerful chatter went on uninterruptedly.

The White Lady looked on amusedly as he stopped behind Monomon. Out of habit, he began counting on one hand, then the other.

“I’m sure Binwinn wouldn’t mind sticking around longer. Quirrel would jump at the chance to teach so many young ones, he has always had a way with children.”

“That sounds wonderful. I couldn’t ask for better teachers.”

Were this any other situation, Hegemol would have carried on counting the time it took for Monomon to notice him, but needs must. He stepped forward.

“Gah!” shrieked Monomon, her chair tipping violently.

Hegemol steadied his second bug of the day and said, “The King is going back into the Abyss right now.”

“What?!”

“Did he take anyone else with him?” asked the White Lady.

“Binwinn. Should I go get him?”

“Please do.”

Monomon relaxed and leaned back on her tilted chair. “Binwinn is a stickler for rules. As soon as His Majesty starts to think of doing anything remotely dangerous, we’ll hear his screams from here.”

“I would rather not take any chances. Hegemol, do you know the way?”

“No.”

“Follow the tunnel past the western garden, towards the barricade. Your personal seal should grant you passage.”

“As my Queen wishes.”

Hegemol righted Monomon’s chair and departed.

Getting out of the palace took longer than finding the barricade. Getting through was another story. The tunnels weren’t very wide to begin with; they only got narrower the farther he squeezed in, until there was no room left to wiggle.

There were no bugs in sight. He considered removing his armour, but where would he hide it? Anyone could walk off with it whilst he was gone. Or he could borrow a page from Ogrim’s book and barrel his way in. One page was his limit, though; Hegemol refused to imitate Ogrim’s war cries. He simply leapt onto the next drop, letting his armour do all the screeching as it scraped against the crumbling earth. Several platforms down, he finally came to a stop.

Barely a pace in front of him stood a bug covered in dark chitin, save for most of their face. The bug that looked like Dryya’s shadow stared, gradually taking in his dirt-smeared face all the way to the pile of detritus his impromptu excavation had produced, dripping judgement in a very familiar way. No doubt about it. Dryya lived.

“Dryya.”

Immediately, her usual confidence evaporated. Dryya’s voice was smaller than he remembered ever hearing. So small, in fact, it faded halfway through her greeting. She didn’t try again.

“You are afraid.” This time, he was the one who hesitated. “Why?””

“I’m not Dryya,” she lied, body language somehow agreeing with her statement. Unusual, to say the least. Out of the many things Dryya was, a good liar was never amongst them. “Not anymore.”

“You look like her. You react like her. You sound like her.”

Unlike countless other times, he hadn’t meant to infuriate her. Yet, that is what happened. Her face contorted. Just as fast, Dryya shrunk back and fled.

For a moment, Hegemol could almost believe her. Discretion had never been in Dryya’s vocabulary in any shape or form. There were first times for everything.

Hegemol threw his pauldrons to the side and followed.

“What happened, Dryya?” asked Ghost before she had even stepped into the Abyss.

“Not Dryya. I don’t look like her.” Dryya’d never run away. “I do not react like her.” Dryya’s voice had been steady, confident. She’d known who she was and it showed. “I don’t sound like her” —limbs melting and reforming around the nails again and again— “I do not die like her either.”

“Wait, what? You were stabbed? Hold on, I’m coming.”

As suddenly as the shadows around her grew darker, they went back to normal. Eyes opened under her, one pair, then two, then four. Between one blink and the next, Ghost was standing right where she had been.

“Don’t ever do that again,” she commanded with all the sternness she could manage. Could she do that? No. Not a cha—

“Just me. Why do you ask? Do you want to?”

Oh no, they didn’t. “Ask for permission before you jump in someone else’s shadow. And to answer your question, no .”

“Sorry, I’ll use some other shadow next time,” replied Ghost, radiating contriteness so strong she almost felt sorry herself.

As it was, she was already feeling plenty sorry for herself without help. She had guilt to spare too. “Keep your emotions to yourself. And stop reading my mind.”

“Okay.”

Whilst the feeling abated, it didn’t stop completely. Dryya didn’t mind, seeing as Ghost was giving it their best attempt. It was hard to stay mad at someone who sounded so young and earnest.

Binwinn had not expected to return to the Abyss, much less so soon after its closure. Had his break since then been long enough for him to grow unaccustomed, or was the darkness heavier than before?

“Did you enjoy your time down here?” asked the Pale King, helping him down a particularly long drop.

“I most definitely enjoyed the mystery. Learning of a strange new substance with curious qualities? One that seemed alive in how it reacted to some things? Sounded like something straight from the new fiction books they’re producing at the Archives. I certainly do not miss the atmosphere though, nor the health hazards. I’m quite risk-averse, you see.”

“Health hazard is certainly one way to put it. Well, rest assured that we won’t be here long. Not with the lift gone.”

Dropping down to the ground floor, the two of them were greeted to the sight of the Abyss’ door. The King frowned.

“Is there something wrong? It looks precisely as it did when I was leaving.”

“That is exactly the problem. I secured that door with a very powerful seal before I left. My brand should be visible.”

“But if the Lord of Shades is beyond even you…Couldn’t they get rid of it?”

“I was aware of the risk, yes.”

“Then why put it on?”

“No matter how skillfully dispelled, magic always releases excess SOUL back into the atmosphere. I overloaded the seal with ten times its requirement, enough to linger for a month after its breaking. Bear in mind that everything I have told and will tell you today is in strict confidence.”

How much SOUL would a seal of that magnitude take…? Higher Beings, the King spoke of those magical feats as though anybug could replicate them. There was no point in blabbing. No one would believe him at any rate.

Closing his eyes, the King leaned forward until his forehead was touching the door. “Based on ambient SOUL levels, I would estimate it was opened earlier today, but SOUL tends to degrade at a faster rate when exposed to void in any concentration.” Something made him startle. “The Seal was not broken, but opened from the inside.”

He would love to study it at some point in time, His Majesty permitting. Oh. Did he say… “Opened? Are you implying it had a key?”

“It was keyed to my King’s Brand,” said the King. He was met with no resistance as he pushed the door open. “Conversely, the physical lock was forced open.”

Although the door looked intact from the outside, the lock was barely hanging on to the inside. The lift was in an even sorrier state.

“Remind me to fire whoever built this.”

Binwinn preferred not to reply, lest he accidentally invoke godly ire his way.

“I don’t feel the Shade Lord’s presence now.”

“Does that mean you could feel it before?”

“I did.”

Binwinn would have appreciated being warned at the time, but he understood the need for secrecy; mass panic was the last thing they needed before the evacuation.

“Wait here,” said the King. He affixed a lumafly lantern to his robes and took wing.

What little light the lantern gave off was quickly swallowed by the darkness. Binwinn didn’t dare approach the edge, staying as far from the broken landing as he could without exiting the Abyss outright. Some indeterminate amount of time later, the King emerged, posture deflated.

“This little excursion has generated more questions than answers. I could not find her anywhere. It’s dangerous to go further now that the lighthouse is submerged.” The King sighed. “I shouldn’t have brought you here.”

“Monomon always says a failed experiment is better than no experiment. At least now we know for certain, rather than keep wondering.”

Forgetting himself for a moment, Binwinn patted the King’s shoulder. When no reprimands came, he kept his hand in place as they turned back. If it meant offering a friendly gesture to someone in need of comfort, he would take the risk of being overly familiar for once.

Having Binwinn around was a breath of fresh air. Should the Pale King require further proof that Binwinn was not his brother, his actions today would more than suffice. He could count on one hand the number of times a mortal bug had willingly touched him; few mortals were so quick to abandon their instinctive fear of gods, though perhaps abandon was not the right word.

Binwinn still had many fears in him, as was evidenced by his startled cry when an unknown bug dropped in front of them, crouching to absorb the impact.

The stranger had pitch black chitin, the likes of which the Pale King was unfortunately very familiar with. As they rose, his Kingsoul stuttered.

“Dryya?”

Dryya stepped back, claws digging sharply into her arms as she shrunk into herself. “Your Majesty. Don’t…don’t come any closer. Please.”

“Why not?” He stopped mid-motion, arm outstretched. “Are you hurt?”

“No. I…I’m…nothing hurts. Nothing.”

A series of cracks followed. Black blood flowed from around her claws, which had finally buried themselves into her arms. Black chitin shards sublimated and dispersed, only to waft back and condense around the wounds, wiggling around in an attempt to reform around the intruding claws.

Binwinm’s hand slipped off his shoulder and didn’t return.

“Nothing hurts at all.” Her breath quickened. “Nothing.”

He shot forwards, catching Dryya the moment her knees gave out. She tried to push him away. Instead, her claws sunk into the front of his robes, so shaky were her arms.

“Don’t. Please. Please.”

“Dryya.” The King lowered himself to the ground and rested her head on his folded legs. “Look at me.”

“Please.”

With the hand that wasn’t wiping Dryya’s tears, he summoned a SOUL dagger and slashed his forearm. Void began dripping freely onto the dirt right in front of her. “Look at me.”

Spiracles spasming, Dryya watched in silence, eyes closely following the void’s trajectory as it fell down then upwards and finally sealed the wound shut.

What felt like an eternity later, her claws unclenched. Her breath slowed.

“Would you say I’m not the King?”

“Never,” she rasped.

“Then the same applies to you. Bugs change all the time, mortal or not. What you are doesn’t change who you are.”

“But—”

“Take my hand. Come back home.”

She took it.

Chapter Text

His Root was overjoyed to see Dryya alive and well. She wasted no time in fussing over her, completely dropping her conversation with Monomon to see to her lost knight. Monomon, having been robbed of her conversational partner, immediately floated off to speak with Binwinn, asking him for a thorough description of what had happened in the Abyss.

That left the Pale King standing in the middle of the room whilst everyone else conversed. He turned to Hegemol so as to not be left out, only to find the turncoat gone with no traces. Seeing as Dryya had yet to regain her bearings around his Root, the Pale King set out on a mission of his own. Now where could he find it?

Nowhere, it turned out. Nowhere! Making the little trinkets was neither complicated nor expensive. There had been no reason at all to limit its production as he had. The many hours it took him to find one was a much greater loss. Why had his past self been so miserly?

His recriminations came to a halt as he approached the Nursery; it wouldn’t do to transmit such negativity to the children. Not that it mattered in the end. Dryya and Root had long retired by the looks of it. Save for the guards on rotation, no one had been there for a while.

Next, he tried asking around. However, out of the few servants he found at such a late hour, none knew of Dryya’s whereabouts. The King decided to knock on her quarters. When no response came, he headed to the training grounds.

He found Dryya in the garden that surrounded the barracks. Her back tensed as he approached, but she remained on the ground, back leaning against a headstone.

“How long? How long was I gone?” she whispered, quiet as the grave she sat on.

“A little over a week. The service was held a day after the Abyss’ closure.”

“The Abyss. What made you reconsider? You were so intent on exploring it before. Did it change your mind? Did it change you?”

“I fell, just as you did, only to wake in my chambers as though nothing had happened. I believed it to be a dream, a vision. As far as I was aware, I had not changed. I felt no different.”

“Clearly it wasn’t. I felt no different either.” She smiled morosely.

He understood. The dissonance was more disturbing than even the changes. If nothing felt out of place after such a momentous transformation, then how could he know for certain? Would he unwittingly change beyond recognition?

“I couldn’t even direct my anger at the responsible party. Ghost is so young. They don’t understand what they’ve done.”

“Who is this Ghost? I do not recall any that go by that name.”

“Haven’t they talked to you?”

Dyya’s emphasis led him to think he should know of them. A bug who could harness the Abyss… “The Lord of Shades?”

“Yes. A godling. Not even a young adult as far as I can tell.” She gave him a look. “They followed us to the palace. Haven’t you sensed them? Ghost is here .”

“I have sensed a god’s presence. Ghost,” sighed the King, breath lingering on the curious name He sat down by her side, heavy mood somewhat cheered by the thought of the retainers’ reactions should anyone see him now. “I hope that they’ll come to me in time. I have no right to look for them, despite the many questions I wish I could ask.”

“I can imagine,” she replied wryly. “I won’t reveal their motives or feelings, as that is not my place to say.” Dryya smirked. “I know nothing will ever stop you from fretting over everything and everyone. However, I am convinced Ghost means no harm. They made their wish to save Hallownest quite clear.”

“Truly?” How could anyone ever find forgiveness in oneself, after everything? He couldn’t begin to imagine the strength it took.

“You might not trust them, but trust me. Their actions speak. I’ve felt it too, in ways I can’t explain.”

“Very well. I shall keep that in mind.”

“Not only that, but should they truly wish us gone, we wouldn’t be here. Since we are, then obviously Ghost wants it that way.”

“Whatever happened to preventing me from fretting?”

“I did my part already. But we must be pragmatic. The Radiance is still a threat.”

“The Radiance, you say. What has Ghost told you?”

Dryya grabbed his hands, catching him off-guard. “Too much. Not nearly enough. Hallownest in ruins,” she said, eyes caught in a different time and place, clouded with memories she shouldn’t have. The same eyes he saw in the mirror.

“Then you know why we must stop her.”

“What are your plans?”

“We must first gather the others. This is a monumental task. It wouldn’t do to act without coordination, Dame Dryya.”

“I…as much as it pains me, I have to agree.”

“Before the council convenes, your return must first be announced. What say you about tomorrow?”

“If you must.”

“You have had a hand in training the brightest in the Kingdom for generations. The people love you dearly, Dryya.”

“They love Dryya the Fierce. Not the—”

Monster.

What a terrible word, that. He could think of many things worse than a monster. Kings, gods, emotions…many indeed. She wouldn’t listen to anything he could think of saying, but perhaps she would not discount her own language.

Her expression tightened as the King gently removed his hands from her forceful grip. Before she could turn away, he unpinned a Hallownest Seal from his sleeve and fastened it to the collar of her dress.

“Monster or not, you’re one of the Five.”

Root was distinctly unhappy when he retired to their nest.

“So you returned to that place.”

“I apologise. I failed to consider anything other than the fact that she might still live.”

“I understand some level of secrecy was required. Still, Hegemol has the clearance and the skill.”

“Did he—of course he did.”

“Indeed. You were so shaken you did not notice him follow you.”

“What was I to think of your second disappearance of the day? A Hallownest Seal is hardly a secret.”

“I should have known better,” he said, thoroughly chastised. “I will know better.”

The Pale King knew, rationally, that acting alone was beyond foolish. But the wyrm knew no reason, and his heart knew no peace.

His Root plucked him from where he stood and tenderly laid him by her side. “We have time, husband.”

“That we do, wife.”

Between past devastation and impending crises, it was so very easy to forget his own immortality. His lady never did, however. She remained herself when nothing else did.

That strength was a blessing on restless nights, when sleep would not come. He needed only listen to the rustling of her leaves as they rose and fell and let the steady motion of the Kingsoul in her core resonate with his.

Dreams did not visit him that night; hope did.

A week came and went before Dryya knew it. The King’s announcement was met with more joy than she could have hoped for. It was beyond exhausting. Then came the personal talks with the Five. She would have rather gotten them over and done with in one single meeting, but Isma would not let her get away. Ogrim followed her example, as always. Hegemol took her aside for a moment of respite from the emotional storm. Then Ze’mer started crying, unwilling to be left out. Honestly, sometimes their immature behaviour beggared belief.

The Five Children, more like.

Was she including herself? Yes, especially after shamelessly clinging to the White Lady’s skirts for the remainder of the week. Fortunately, her display of weakness had the unintended effect of assuaging any concerns the retainers had about her new form. Unfortunately, they had absolutely no fear as they wrangled her into a spare set of armour, one that was polished until it sparkled rather garishly.

Dryya did not in fact own a spare set of armour. She had seen no point in the expense; it had been centuries since an enemy had so much as scratched it. Now that she had been reminded of her own fallibility, she was planning on commissioning two more sets.

Covered in armour and standing before a batch of recruits, she could almost pretend the past fortnight had been a nightmare. She had missed the noise and the repetitive motions. Even the excited, childish requests for spars were welcome.

Mostly. Her trainees were one thing; a baby god was entirely another. What was Dryya thinking when she invited Ghost to watch? Ghost, who had admitted to enjoying fighting to a worrying degree. Their requests would follow her at all times of the day. She could hear them in her sleep—quite literally, as it was.

At first she had hesitated. Now, her denials were motivated by a mixture of caution and spite.

“Can I fight you? Please?”

“Why don’t you ask the King?” she asked. The King would not refuse, not when he was still radiating guilt all over the palace.

“But I don’t want to fight him. I want to fight you.”

“You are avoiding him.”

“Who? Me? Nooo? No, I’m not!”

“Fine.”

“Thank—”

“—But not today. We can fight in two weeks, when my spare suit of armour is delivered.” And if she happened to invite the King…well, neither of them needed to know.

Joy washed over their connection, so strong she almost missed a step. “Thank you thank you! I promise you won’t regret it!”

“We’ll see.”

Renem had an uncharacteristic spring to his step as he opened the door to the Pale King’s study. “The scholars have just arrived, my lord.”

“Their timing is impeccable. Guide them to my office immediately.”

“As you wish.”

Before Renem left, the King added, “Free your schedule for the afternoon. I’ll send Binwinn your way once our meeting is concluded.”

“Thank you, my lord!”

His wyrmheart ached whenever he saw how happy Renem was to see his brother. The King had had many siblings in blood, if not heart. He could only hope his children would not follow his example.

Hope failing, he could count on Monomon and his Root, who had devised a brilliant teaching plan for the children. Now its execution fell to him—to him and the tutors he had called from the Archive. He had no doubt the scholars would do a splendid job, but would he? His past experiences did not paint a promising picture…

The door’s opening put that tram of thought to a merciful end. In came six bugs wearing the robes of high scholars: Monomon’s best and brightest.

“Welcome to the White Palace, scholars.”

All six of them bowed as one, the gesture short and practised.

“I trust Monomon has briefed you?”

Quirrel, Monomon’s second, stepped forward. “She did. She sends her regards, by the way.” He handed the King a letter. “Will we be going over the logistics now?”

“That’ll come tomorrow, in the next meeting. For now, let us go over some introductions.” He gave the floor to the four unfamiliar bugs.

The first of the four to speak up was the only one wearing a mask. His build was lanky under the voluminous red robes, but otherwise undistinguishable.

“An honour to meet you, Pale King. I am Silas, a scholar of general science. I look forward to educating your children on the laws that govern our world.” The bow that followed was more fluid than the previous one. Effortlessly graceful despite his cumbersome apparel.

Where had the King seen this before?

The next to introduce herself was the ladybug. Although she wore no robes, the assortment of scrolls she was carrying more than compensated for it.

“Greetings, Your Majesty. I am Arlinna, professor of linguistics.” She straightened a set of reading glasses that seemed too small for her eyes and continued, “Monomon requested an expert in sign language. I was happy to oblige.”

“Excellent. Should things proceed according to plan, you will teach adults as well.”

“I look forward to it.”

The second to last bug was a beetle, their build silvery and bulky. If they had a nail, he might just mistake them for one of Lurien’s watcher knights. “Pleasure to meet you, Pale King. I am professor Tillren, master of mathematics. I will enjoy spreading awareness of the subject.”

“I hope the children find the same joy, Tillren.”

Tillren gave a short nod at this, pleased with his response. “I’m happy you see it that way.”

The last of the four was a snail, eyes hidden behind a common shell hat. Far from common, however, was the multicoloured cloak they wore, and the variety of paint-splattered art utensils jutting out of a bag twice their size. “Ho there, most Pale One! I am Ullra, enthusiast for all things artistic! Everyone has a little natural creativity. I am thrilled at the thought of fostering that in your young ones!”

“I appreciate your enthusiasm! The little ones will as well, I’m sure.” He turned to address the group as a whole. “Thank you for volunteering for this long-term endeavour.”

“Ohoho! I should be thanking you for this chance, Pale King! It is the perfect opportunity for one such as I!”

The others shared similar sentiments.

“This has been a good introduction. Tomorrow, as mentioned, we will discuss the logistics, compensation and expectations. Hopefully we shall have drafted satisfactory contracts by the end of the week.” He sat down at his desk and rang the bell. “Renem shall escort you out. Take the rest of the day to rest. Should you wish to visit the lecture halls, ask the menderbug leader on site for safety equipment.”

On cue, Renem entered the room and motioned for a group of servants to help carry the scholar’s belongings. He discreetly motioned for Binwinn to stay behind.

As soon as the doors closed, the Pale King turned to Binwinn and said, “Have a seat.” 

“I hope the lecture halls are furnished with chairs just like this one,” commented Binwinn.

“That can certainly be arranged,” replied the King genially. “Now, as for the reason I kept you here. We need to discuss the void. Specifically in relation to my children.”

“I assume it is related to your condition?”

“Indeed it is. The eggs have been steadily blackening ever since they were laid.” 

“So what is it exactly that you need me to do?”

“You will be tasked with observing and documenting their development. I wish to establish a baseline in the hopes of detecting any detrimental anomalies before they can become a problem. Children of Void and SOUL are quite unprecedented, and they shall have the best care.”

“I can do that. Is there anything else?”

“I had meant to give this to you sooner.” The King placed a shellwood box on the desk. “Welcome to my inner circle, Binwinn.”

Binwinn opened the box reverently, taking the time to study the Hallownest seal it contained before pinning it to his brown robes.

“Thank you, Your Majesty. I will do my best.”

Chapter Text

It was 3 days after the scholars got settled when the eggs finally hatched, and it was a joyous event. He came running just in time to see the first few break through their eggs, and it quickly turned into quite the commotion as word got around.

His children looked exactly as he remembered. Pale white shells, black chitin characteristic of the void, and a set of horns that made each child unique - there were none that were exactly alike.

They also acted exactly as he remembered. Curious and energetic, it wasn’t uncommon for a child to burst from their shell and immediately investigate whoever was closest to them, usually either staring in apparent interest or trying to go for a hug. (Whereas ‘hug’ usually meant ‘clinging desperately onto someone’s leg until said person picked them up properly.)

But as he watched, he could do nothing but stand paralyzed near the door as his emotions became a whirlwind. He was simultaneously feeling a father’s joy and a sinner’s regret, and he was struggling to keep it contained.

But then, he felt a small tugging on his arm.

And looking down, his heart froze as he took in the sight of the child who was staring up at him.

A child with two familiar horns.

A child with a stoic gait.

The Pure Vessel.

His heart shattered.

It was a sight to behold when the King cried, and especially so now. He had seemed frozen in place beforehand, gazing in awe at the vast amount of children that were coming into the world.

But when one of them came up to him? He broke down, kneeling next to the child and sweeping them into soft embrace as a river of tears poured down his face. “My child...Oh my child…” His voice was hoarse, and loud enough that it drew the attention of few more of his children. Soon, he was surrounded.

And then one of them came up to her. Their head had two curved horns (They seemed similar to the one that the King was hugging. Were they twins?) and they were looking up at her in  curiosity.

She kneeled down to their level. “Hello there little one.” They titled their head at that, taking her offered hand. “I am Isma.”

Goodness, but how could they be so adorable? Even though their chitin was black as night and their eyes were absent of any pupils, she could get the sense that there was so much life and energy tucked inside, just waiting to be unleashed.

And then, they hugged her.

“Oh...You’re such a sweetie, aren’t you?” She melted.

It was a wondrous thing to see the King’s children come into the world, and he had watched with silent joy for some time now. The little ones were absurdly endearing, and in many ways it seemed like they knew it, too. Well over half of the adults in the room had at least one child in their arms now, and usually more than one. In particular, the King and Queen had at least 30 between them, Isma had 4, Ogim also had 4, Ze’mer had 3 and Dryya had a whooping 7. He was the only knight of the five to not have any, but that would likely change soon enough.

It was fairly amusing seeing how some of the guards and retainers in the room handled it. Prefect Alume was one of the few that still didn't have a little one (and she looked totally out of her element), Renem had a child in his arms and looked desperately like he wanted to ask the King about it (but couldn't, given how the King more than had his hands full), and Binwinn was writing something on a piece of silk parchment and then showing it to the three children which were watching him with rapt attention.

Thankfully, the guards at the entrance were both unoccupied, and none of the children had escaped.

Yet.

But when watching the only exit of the room, he noticed something.

A shadow.

At first he had thought his eyes were playing tricks on him, but as the shadow moved from one bug to another, he grew more interested. It only seemed to move when it thought no one was looking, but didn't seem to be aware of him. (Not that he would expect it to - he was standing as still as a statue, after all.)

But after it jumped all the way to the far corner of the room, it just sat there. He was expecting something to happen, was ready to intervene at a moment's notice, but it seemed that the shadow was content to just sit and watch, not moving from its position after being there for well over 20 minutes.

Something tapped against his plated foot.

One of the children, staring up at him as he stared down at them.

And when he looked back at the place where the shadow was, it was gone.

Their Father is crying.

Their Father is sad.

Their Father is holding onto them.

Them, and their siblings.

They do not understand why he is sad.

Neither do their siblings.

But they all hold onto him.

Eventually, he stops crying.

He is still sad.

But there is something else. A warm, fuzzy feeling.

Love.

Their Father loves them.

Them, and their siblings.

They like feeling loved.

They love their Father.

Them, and their siblings.

Their Father cries again after this, but it is not just because they are sad.

They do not understand.

Neither do their siblings.

They still don’t understand much later, when they are led to a place and laid down. But then, there are many things they don’t understand.

They don’t understand why they feel slow.

They don’t understand why the lights go away.

They don’t understand why their eyes droop.

And they don’t understand why their big sibling is approaching them. Or why they are the only one up and about in the room. Or why they have eight eyes. (They only had two!)

But they feel love from their big sibling.

It makes them feel safe.

It makes them feel warm.

Slowly, they drift off.

It is later, after the kids are tucked in and asleep, that he talks with the White Lady.

“You felt them too, didn’t you? Even without Hegemol saying so?"

The White Lady nodded. “They weren’t there at the start, but most certainly at the end. Their power...It is immense. Greater than anything I have ever felt before. You do not need to be composed of the substance to feel it.”

“I know. They must be newly ascended, as Dryya said. Why else would they take such a foolish action? To attempt to hide when their power shines brighter than a hundred thousand lumafly lanterns? And that’s discounting the connection we share. When they infused me...I can always feel them when they’re close. The void is united under their will, that much is certain.”

“How does it feel? That connection?”

“It’s...strange. I can feel them when they are close and when they are far, and spikes of their emotion sometimes wash over me, particularly in intense cases. But it does not end there! Our children.... I can feel them, too. Their expression, their emotion...It bleeds through easily. They are so curious, so excited… And I could feel their love.” He choked up a little, tears streaming down his cheeks. “I don’t deserve it. Don’t deserve to feel happy this way. I killed them, in another life. In another future. I don’t deserve any of it.”

She approached him at that, wrapping him in a soft embrace. "Would anyone be innocent if they were judged for every conceivable thing they did in every conceivable future?"

"You don't understand, I-" She shushed him.

"I do understand. And I still love you. You will always be my Wyrm, and I will always be your Root."

His voice was a hoarse whisper, tears leaking from his eyes freely and staining his clothing. “I...I don’t deserve you, my Root.” 

She hummed, affectionate. "Well, that's just too bad then, isn't it? Because I'm not leaving you." She kissed him, the action warming his (emotionally exhausted) heart.

He still believed he didn’t deserve her.

He still believed he didn’t deserve his children, either.

But he’d be damned if he didn’t do right by them all.

Every last one of them.

They were sleeping in a soft bed, young, innocent, and uncaring to the world around them. 

But they were also standing upright in a dark room, less young, less innocent, and very much caring about the world around them.

They were a god of gods.

But the one sleeping in that bed? Sleeping along with the rest of their little siblings? They were an infant.

They didn’t know how to feel about that.

It was a bizarre thing, to stare at someone that both was and wasn’t you. Should they do something about that? Say something? They didn’t know. But were they really the same Ghost that had entered Godhome? Really the same one who had ascended the pantheons? 

They touched their mask, feeling how different it was.

...No. They weren’t quite the same. But would anyone be after doing what they did? After becoming powerful beyond comprehension? It scared them to think of what they were capable of. The Radiance had destroyed Hallownest in her anger, and they could do far more than her, if they really wanted to.

Their Father feared them now. They could feel it. And they didn’t blame him. Maybe they still blamed him for a lot of other things, but definitely not that. (And after seeing how he was today...They could feel his pain. His guilt. And it was more raw than they ever thought. And they didn't know what to think of him now because of that.)

But regardless of that, what should they do now? Should they tell their past self? Show them that they were the same?

...No. They couldn't.

They wanted their younger self to be happy. To live a carefree live free of fear, free of pain, and free of heartache. To burden them with the knowledge of a future that wasn't going to happen anyway? That wasn't fair to them. That wouldn't make them happy.

They were beginning to see why there were some things you didn’t tell others. Not because you wanted to hide something, but because it would cause nothing but suffering.

And they had seen enough suffering. No more. They would keep them safe, would keep Hallownest safe.

The Radiance would not  win. Would not reduce Hallownest to an empty shell of its former self.

They would make sure of that.

Chapter Text

She found the butterfly in the barracks, wiping down a dirty nail and looking like he had just gone through a bout of sparring. “Merimm?”

He looked up. “Prefect! You have me at a disadvantage.” He rose from his seat, likely going for a salute, but she stopped him.

“At ease. I’m not doing inspections today. Just came to talk to you about your promotion and your transfer to your new post. Congratulations, by the way. I’m sorry I couldn’t attend the ceremony.”

“Oh thanks! It’s been a great honour, although I’m a little overwhelmed with how quickly it’s all flying by. I thought it would be a little longer before I was even considered.”

“Well, you’ve worked very hard, and the good word Dryya’s put in for you is certainly helping. Praise from her is high praise indeed. Regardless, you now get the privileged task of helping me manage gatekeeping. Are you ready to go?” 

“Just give me a moment to finish cleaning up and I’ll be right with you.”

“...So when they send it in, make sure you write it down. They’re very particular about dating when the packages arrive...But that should be about it, though.”

Merimm frowned. “That sounds like an awful lot of bookkeeping. You do this on a daily basis?”

“Unfortunately yes.” She answered. “I don’t like it either, but someone has to do it. Quite frankly, however, you shouldn’t expect to see anything interesting happen here. No one has ever tried to attack the White Palace, and for good reason - how could anyone actually defeat the Pale King or White Lady? They’re gods, for Hallownest’s sake! Even if someone got past us, they wouldn’t get past them. They’re well beyond us, and don’t actually need our protection. Thus, our purpose is essentially reduced to just managing all the through traffic, as boring as that sounds.”

“You’re making me wish I was patrolling the Palace again - at least there I had a chance to move around.”

She chuckled. “All of us want to do that - it’s quite fun seeing the retainers run about, isn’t it?” And then that reminded her of what else was currently happening inside the White Palace. “And that reminds me - you heard about how the King and Queen’s children just hatched? The order just came in this morning - we cannot let them get past this gate under any circumstances. I don’t think I need to explain to you why that is.”

“That makes sense. I-what?” He turned around, making a surprised noise as he looked at what had caught his attention. 

“Merimm? What are yo-” She trailed off as she got a good look at the little thing that was reaching up to the butterfly.

One of the King’s children. 

“Woah there little one. You scared me.” Merimm picked them up, letting them nestle into his arms. “You’re a little cold, aren’t you?” They looked up at him curiously, seemingly content to sit in his arms.

The entire display was adorable, but she couldn’t keep some concern from filtering into her voice. “What th- how did they get over here so quickly? They hatched just yesterday, for Hallownest’s sake! And they might’ve wandered outside the Palace if we weren’t careful!”

Merimm, however, did not share her anxiety. “I think they were just looking for attention. See this? They just want someone to hold them!” They were full on hugging Merimm now, tiny body clinging to him in an intense display of affection.

“Why aren’t you more worried?! The King would’ve had our heads if one of his kids slipped past us!”

“Oh I’m sure it would’ve been fine. I know how to deal with the little ones - I was the eldest of 12, and some of them were born well after I had matured. Kids wandering off happens far more often than you might think, but they usually don’t go too far. What were the King’s orders if one of them gets to us?”

“That’s the problem - the only thing he said was to make sure they didn’t leave the Palace Grounds. He said nothing about if they should be out and about or what to do if one of them wandered over to us.”

“Well, the little one seems happy to stay right here at the least. They won’t be going anywhere.”

Secretly, she was glad he was comfortable with kids - she still didn’t know how to handle them, if her performance last night wasn't any indication. “Alright, well maybe we shoul- wait.” She looked past Merimm.

3 more children. 3 mor- oh no.

She recognized two of them.

The one with 2 small horns that protruded out of each side of their head? And the other with four short horns that stuck out the top of their head?

Those were the two that had clung to her after the King had ordered the the children be put to bed later last night.

They both approached her, and the third one (who had 6 small horns, 2 on the sides of their head and 4 on top of their head) followed, the three of them eagerly reaching up to her.

Oh dung.

They still didn’t understand why their Father was always sad when he was with them.

But there were many things they still didn’t understand.

Like the strange lady that their Father was talking to.

Why did she have six eyes? Or four arms? 

Why does she look at them in that weird way every now and then?

“...And now that the Stag Station business is sorted, I’d also like to request at least 10,000 worth of geo in silk scrolls. We’re burning through our supply quickly, and our need for it will only increase in the future.”

“Done, although it may be slow going. The Weavers aren’t used to having to produce so much silk on such a massive scale, and I won’t be pushing them on the matter.”

“That’s fine, so long as you can keep a steady supply. The scrolls are a massive improvement over stone tablets, and I foresee massive improvements in efficiency with their usage. If Deepnest can provide, there will always be a demand for them.”

They did not understand what their Father or the lady just said.

Why does their Father even have to talk to the lady?

Why does the lady keep looking at them that way? They do not understand.

“I apologize if we have to cut this meeting a little short, but given the circumstances I’m sure you understand.”

The lady made a strange noise. “Quite. How many of them did you have, if I may ask? I’ve seen so many of them running around.”

“71, and I fear they’re all going to be the death of me.”

The lady made the strange noise again.

They wished they could understand what this all means.

She really needed to start learning how to deal with children. 

Because they most certainly knew how to deal with her.

All three of the little ones were hugging her.

She was definitely not trained to deal with this.

“Aww, look at that! You really must have a way with them!” 

She definitely did not.

“I...Yeah. Absolutely.” She really hoped she was doing this right.

Because she most definitely did not want to piss off a god for accidently mistreating the three infant deities which were now comfortably nestled in her arms. (Good gods, why were they so cute?)

“Let’s...Go into the Palace. The others can handle the gatekeeping for now, and it would be better to get the kids to where they belong.”

“Sounds good. I’ll follow you.”

She was excessively thankful for the fact that the little guys didn’t seem to weigh much at all. She wasn’t sure if the long walk into the inner courts of the Palace would be bearable otherwise.

But upon getting to the inner courts...She was beginning to think that maybe they were better off just entertaining the children at the gate or something. Retainers running around frantically, children getting into places they shouldn’t be, other guards looking as lost as her after getting swarmed with the little ones...Did anyone have a clue of what was going on?!

“Alume? Merimm? Looking for someone?” The both of them spun around at that, the familiar voice commanding a large amount of respect.

“Knight Dryya? Thank goodness you found us.” She paused for a moment, having to readjust her grip on the three children she was holding. “Me and Merimm have no idea what to do with these little ones. They came to us while we were at the gate, and we weren’t sure what we were supposed to do with them - so we brought them back here.

“‘have no idea what to do with these little ones’ sums up the current situation here as well.” Dryya remarked dryly, “but I’ll see what I can do with the four you currently have.”

She and Merimm set the little ones down, and they immediately went to Dryya’s side after she beckoned wordlessly to them. (Was it just her, or was Dryya’s chitin suspiciously similar to that of the kids? And how did she get them to come to her without saying anything?)

“Hmm. These four have taken a liking to you two. Especially you, Alume. Don’t be surprised if they come and find you again at a later time. I won’t be able to keep track of them forever.”

“Should we come back to you if they do?” She was desperately hoping for a simple ‘yes.’

“Maybe. But it’s not going to be disorganized like this for much longer, not with how the scholars are setting up. They should be ready to teach the children by tomorrow, and that should keep them occupied for most of the day. However, if they still decide to come to you after that, don’t be afraid to let them stay with you. The King wants them to roam about and do what they want, just so long as they aren’t getting into trouble or trying to leave.” Oh gods. She wasn’t going to have to take care of them, wasn’t she?

“Are the King and Queen okay with this? Letting them be cared for by other bugs, I mean?”

“They have 71 kids. Even if they didn’t approve, it would be bound to happen sooner rather than later. But regardless, they are completely fine with it, and you can be affectionate, even. The White Lady was encouraging some of the retainers to do that earlier.”

“Alright.” She said, doing her best to sound like she was composed (she was internally screaming), "thanks for the help."

“My pleasure. Take care, you two.”

That night, she dreamed.

Normally, she didn’t dream.

Especially not in such a lucid way.

She was in the Queen’s Gardens, in a small clearing filled with grass but no discernable exit.

“Dryya.” A voice began. It was deep in tone, and it made her spin around as she tried to determine the source.

“Who are you? Show yourself!” She demanded, casting a quick glance at her side to confirm her nail was- wait.

Her chitin wasn’t blackened.

She examined her arms, her legs, her body.

It looked just as she remembered.

“Don’t you recognize me?” She looked up, seeing a little thing that looked very much like one of the King’s children.

“No?”

“It’s me! Ghost! Why can’t you tell?”

“Well...Why do you look like one of the Pale King’s children? And why is your voice so deep?”

“Oh is it? One second!” There was an uncomfortable pause until Ghost’s normal (normal? She was getting too used to this) voice echoed in her head. “Is that better?”

“Yes. So why do you look different? Do you know why I am my old self?”

“This is a dream I made.” Ghost explained “Sorry if it’s not the best, but it should be good enough. I look like this and you look like that because it is who we see ourselves as. In a dream, what you see yourself as is what you are.”

"Hmm. Interesting." She said, pondering the implications of that.

Suddenly, something clicked.

That memory Ghost shared with her...They were small there too, but she hadn't seen enough of how they looked. Now that she could see their self image in full, and could compare it with the little ones that had just hatched...

They were one of the King’s children.

From a doomed future.

“Wait a moment. You’re one of his, aren’t you? One of the Pale King’s children?”

She felt a wave of emotion tumble over Ghost at that, catching her off guard with how much of it she felt herself.

Anger, sadness, happiness, regret, confusion, fear.

They clamped down on the outburst after that, but with the sound of their voice she could tell they were still dealing with it.

“I don’t want to talk about it.”   She cringed at that, mentally berating herself.

She shouldn’t have done that. Should have been prudent enough to realize that this was a touchy subject. Should have been smart enough to see that just maybe the reason they never wanted to talk to the Pale King was because of potential abandonment issues. (They had wandered as a child in a crumbing kingdom, for how long?! She could see why maybe they didn’t hold their father in high regard, given how he was never there for them.)

“I…” She began awkwardly. “...Sorry. I didn’t realize that…” She trailed off, unused to the awkwardness which settled over her.

“Can we fight now?”

After touching a nerve like that...She owed them. “Absolutely.” She didn’t like the idea of fighting someone who looked like a child, but with the way Ghost unsheathed their pure nail, and seeing glimpses of it herself before with the vision they shared...She knew they were anything but a child when it came to combat.

She unsheathed her nail, pointing it at them in challenge. “Prepare yourself, Ghost.”

“I’m ready.” They said, excited.

She charged them, and the battle began.

Ghost was good, and in a way she wasn’t expecting. She knew a little of how they fought, but glimpses in a vision were nothing compared to seeing it in the flesh, and they were a force to be reckoned with. They used their small size to the fullest extent possible, dodging strikes and generally making themself as small of a target as possible, and it worked far more often than it didn’t. Even when she managed to clash nails with them, they surprised her further.

Their nailplay was unparalleled. 

She wasn’t sure who had tutored them, but in many ways their skill with the nail was flat out better than hers - and if not for their small size and poor reach, she doubted she’d be doing nearly as well. As it stood, the only thing she could do was take advantage of her significantly longer arms and nail, but even that didn’t always work with some of the nail techniques they were employing. (And what were those? They were so artful, yet incredibly deadly. She might just have to ask to be trained by them after this was over!)

The fight continued, and she found herself pushed back, as expected. Whilst others might dislike the notion of losing, she welcomed it, especially in this setting. She had not lost a spar in a long time, and the chance to learn was something she would not pass up.

She dodged backwards, taking a moment to compose herself after seeing that Ghost wasn't advancing. They had fought for what felt like 20 minutes now, and she hadn't felt more alive.

“Want to give up?” They asked, concerned about how some blood was beginning to drip from her mouth.

She spat the blood out, wiping down her face. "You are good. Better than me, even. Let us continue - I could learn much from your example, and I won't let a little pain stop that."

“Okay..” Ghost said, reluctant at how wounded she looked.

The two of them began again as Ghost attacked, and she put everything she had into staving them off. Her strikes were strong, swift, and true, and Ghost answered them with a plethora of their own.

She was still going to lose.

But that surge of adrenaline when she broke through their guard for a second? She hadn’t felt that in a long time. The fight with that crusader moth from earlier was nothing compared to this.

She cut into Ghost, her slash enough to send them stumbling back for a second, the first real wound she had dealt becoming apparent on their arm.

She rushed them, still high on the adrenaline as she went for a stri-

A massive burst of black magic emanated from Ghost, hitting her squarely in the chest and sending her flying.

Stars danced in her vision as she hit the floor, tumbling and rolling for a while until it finally stopped. Groaning, she attempted to push through the pain, but stopped when she got a good look at the massive hole that was now in her chest. It was bleeding, and bleeding badly.

But it was not just blood coming out.

What were those things? They looked like yellow circles, but what was that pattern? They were coming out of her at an ever increasing rate, and nearly blinding her with how intensely they glowed.

“Dryya! Dryya! I’msosorryIdidn’tmeantooIforgothowstrongI-”

Their voice was drowned out as everything turned white.

And then, she woke up.

Chapter Text

She had definitely forgotten that it was a dream in the heat of the moment. But waking up to see that it was fine? That was a relief. She really shouldn’t have gotten so excited there, and had paid the price for doing so. (She should have accounted for Ghost being a magic user. What god wouldn’t be?)

Ghost, however, thought otherwise.

“I’m so sorry Dryya!” They said, coalescing into their true form from a dark corner of the room.

“It’s fine.” She assured, but they didn’t seem to get the hint, nearly knocking her down with how quickly they swept her into a panicked hug. 

They really took after their mother with these panicked hugs, didn't they?

“But I could have hurt you! If that wasn’t a dream I could have killed you! I’m sorry I’m so so sorry!” They cried.

“It’s...it’s alright.” She began, slightly uncomfortable but soon moving to pat them on the back. “No one’s hurt, I’m fine, it was just a dream.”

“But I cheated.” They whined, “even if you’re okay, it was unfair for me to do that. You don’t have magic, but I do.”

“I was going to lose one way or another.” She admitted, “your magic just accelerated the process. We all make mistakes in the heat of passion, Ghost.” She parted from the hug, “all is fair in love and war, and what you did would have been the correct move against an enemy closing in to try and finish you off.”

“But I should have held back! I hurt you!”

“I am familiar with pain, yes.” She said dryly, “regardless, there’s something else I’m more concerned about.”

“What?” They asked, taking the bait.

“You are absurdly skilled with the nail, and I want you to train me.”

“What?!”

“You heard me.”

“But I don’t know how to teach! ”

“Funny,” she said. “That’s exactly what everyone else told me before I started giving lessons.”

“Bu-"

“No buts, Ghost.” She flashed them a rare smile. “After all, you were the one that convinced me to spar with you in the first place. It's far too late for you to back down, especially now that I have seen your mastery.”

“I...Ok. We’ll do it in the dream world again though, and no more fighting.”

“We'll see about that now, shall we? Funny how now I'm the one asking for a spar.”

“Tired?” Binwinn asked, sitting down across from him.

“Maybe a little.” He admitted, “Monomon did not elaborate on how many children we would be teaching, although perhaps that might’ve been for the best.”

“I do admit I was a little afraid of the idea myself when the King asked for my presence, but I’m impressed with the quality of the lecture halls they’ve set up, and how quickly the little ones settle down after the lecture begins. Mind you, getting 25 of them all settled in the room to begin with is still a challenge all on its own, but they’re certainly interested once the lecture picks up momentum.”

“You’re right, and it still surprises me how much they listen. I’m so used to children being difficult, but so far they’ve all been nothing but model students.”

“Quite!” Binwinn agreed, “but as much as their silence is good for keeping things in order, it is undoubtedly a shame that they can’t talk. The King was not exaggerating when he said they would not have a voice, and in many ways that is the greater of the two evils. Not having the ability to speak is...it is a great loss of personal expression, at the very least.”

“Hopefully they’ll begin to pick up on the language of sign soon. Me and Arlinna have been trying our very best to teach them as thoroughly as possible, although I suppose it’s a bit presumptuous to expect anything from them after only two days of instruction.”

“You know, it surprised me a little when it was brought up that you knew the language. You certainly are a bug of many talents, Quirrel, and I’m beginning to see why Monomon appointed you as her personal assistant.”

“Hmm. Well, it might be a surprise for you to hear then that she was actually the one that suggested I go. I was reluctant at first, but after seeing them all watching with curious attention while I teach? We’re helping raise an entire generation, Binwinn, and we can’t let them down.”

“That’s a good way to look at it! Have any of them taken a liking to you thus far? I have one that seems to find me the most interesting bug in the world, and I haven’t the faintest clue as to why. Even when I’m in my office doing paperwork they still seem to watch in absolute wonder, despite the sounds of their siblings playing outside. Not that I mind, of course.”

“One? You’re quite lucky. I have two - one with three quite characteristically curved horns, and another with 7 that stick out the top of their head with an interesting pattern. Half the time I end up entertaining them with little lessons rather than actually working, but at the least there hasn’t been anything in the way of grading assignments or tests yet - they’re still far too young for that sort of thing.”

“Indeed. It is a bit refreshing to go over the basics with them, isn’t it? Funny how nostalgic I’ve become at just covering elementary mathematics - I’ve been working on that with Tillren at the moment, given how Silas barely has anything to teach in the way of science.”

“Speaking of going over the basics…” He grabbed a silk scroll from his desk drawer, handing it over to Binwinn. “I’ve been passing these around to the other scholars. It’s a detailed introduction to the sign language - you’re going to need to understand it when the children get a good grasp on it, and so I've been getting these out sooner rather than later. I do believe that eventually I'll be doing lessons for some of the retainers and guardsmen as well, but that’s a little far ahead. I-”

The sound of the office door opening reached the both of them, prompting both he and Binwinn to direct their attention to the two little ones that were stepping into the office.

“Looks like the two of them just got out of class.” He remarked, watching as the two small ones approached him and Binwinn.

“Ah! I’m familiar with this little one.” He gestured to the one with the seven horns. “They’re always sitting at the front when me and Tillren begin our lectures. Interested in mathematics, maybe? But atlas, I digress. Them coming out of their class signals the end of my own time, as I have a class slated in the next period. I’d best get over there before Tillren tries to teach them the mathematics behind wheel theory.”

“That algebra where division by zero is possible? It's a little sad that I know exactly what you're talking about.” He chuckled, remembering how passionate the grey beetle was about the subject. “Alright. If you have any questions involving the sign language, let me know.”

“Absolutely. Thanks for having me.”

They liked colour.

They knew what that was now.

The strange bug with the coloured cloak told them about colour.

But they already knew someone who had colour!

“You again? What are you doing here?” The bug in blue colour said as they excitedly drew close to her, hopping up and down under them. 

“I...You want to be carried? Sure I guess. Does your father know you’re here?” She picked them up.

They were so warm. Not warm like their Father, but in a different way. They snuggled up close in her grasp, enjoying the warmth and also the amazing thing that was their colour.

The first time, they didn’t know what it was, but only that they liked looking at it. Now, they knew it was a colour. A blue colour.

They decided they liked the colour blue.

The bug muttered something under her breath. Something like ‘dammit Merimm where are you when I need you?’ but they didn’t care to listen. 

They were just happy that they could be with someone who was blue, and so warm.

The bug sat down on a bench, dropping some weird, colourless stick, and looked down at them.

Her eyes were so strange. Not black like theirs, but colourful, and also filled with blue.

They stared up at her, enraptured with the blue.

And then she did something.

She reluctantly reached a hand towards their head, and when they did not flinch, began to rub it. 

They liked it very much.

Going over their head in smooth motions, her touch was gentle, and soft.

They cuddled closer to her, feeling so warm, so safe, and so loved.

They drifted off, not listening to her as she murmured something else.

“Dammit. Why do they have to be so adorable? And so interested in me? I hope this is right...”

His Root was a genius.

If she had not asked Monomon to send over some scholars from the Archives, he doubted he’d have this time to spend getting some paperwork done.

But of course, there was more to it than just having a chance to sort out all of his mail.

His heart (or at least, the void that he was now made of) still tightened so painfully when the (not) Pure Vessel was around, and they were almost always around.

They were so curious of him, so affectionate, and he could barely handle breaking down on a daily basis because of it. His nightmares were getting even worse now, and he found himself tired more often than not because of it.

He loved them so dearly, along with all the other children, but his guilt and trauma were eating more into his mind than ever before. A chance to be alone for once was like heaven to him, even if he knew that he shouldn’t yearn for such things. He was supposed to be a good father, dammit! Not an absentee! But if he kept going like this...that’s what he would be.

It was such a strange sort of anger that he directed at himself. A mix of disappointment, guilt, and just plain fury at his inability to cope with his own grief. He was certainly no stranger to self hatred, but this was new.

He needed to do right by them. They all deserved so much, and he had so much affection for them, but it was so hard to express himself when he could still see their faces falling, falling so far into a black void and it was all his fault he was a monster he-

A familiar knocking sounded on the door, bringing him back to reality. “I...Yes? Come in!”

It was Renem, carrying a heavy looking stone tablet. “Another urgent message for you, my lord. It’s from the mantis tribe.” The pillbug deposited the tablet in question on his desk before bowing to him, proceeding to leave without another word.

Curious, he read it over.

Wyrm,

We do not understand the allegiance you have formed with the foul beasts of Deepnest. You allied with us to beat back those savages, and yet now you are inviting them into your Palace and telling us to relent?

How dare you.

You talk so much of ‘honour’ and ‘civility’ yet you so quickly disregard all the sacrifices me and my people have made in terms of holding those beasts back? 

Unacceptable. 

Actions speak louder than words, and your actions have clearly shown to me that you hold our culture in contempt. 

Our allegiance was already in a precarious balance when you continually refused to accept my summons of trial by combat. But now?

We will not stand for this. Your alliance with us is over. Our warriors will continue to hunt the scum of the dark places, and we will have no part with Hallownest. 

-Mantis Lord Gris

A rather unwholesome amount of fury came over him after that.

How dare he? How dare they!

He got up from his chair, intent on leaving for the Fungal Wastes immediately.

But just before he got to the door of his office, it opened on its own accord.

And in came the (very much not) Pure Vessel.

And they were crying.

Chapter Text

He was not a good father.

A terrible one, for sure.

Just moments ago he was going to leave the Palace in a blind rage, totally inconsiderate of the fact that his children might need him.

But now, his Pure Vessel (He needed to stop thinking about them that way, dammit! They weren’t pure, and he doubted they ever were) was bawling in his arms, a concrete feeling of pain filtering through to him.

He looked them over, noticing a small crack in their shell near their neck. Hardly noticeable, and likely due to a slip on some stairs or something of the sort, but undoubtedly something that would hurt.

He placed a hand on it, SOUL flashing as the wound closed up.

Their crying subsided quickly after that, the feelings of suffering being replaced with that familiar curiosity as they felt where the pain had been.

He could feel it. Their burning desire to know. They were so curious about everything.

And the last time, he had forced a terrible fate onto them.

Grief wrapped around him again. That familiar feeling of self hatred attempting to worm its way into his mind. I don’t deserve to be a father. I betrayed them, betrayed them all! I deserve nothing but dea-

Stop.

He couldn’t do this anymore - getting wrapped up in feelings of self loathing that constantly threatened to tear him apart. It came to the point where he was constantly questioning if he was doing even simple tasks right, and so afraid to even love his own children because of the fear of mucking it up for some fabricated reason or another.

And for what?

They deserved better than this. Maybe he didn’t, but did that even matter anymore? His children didn’t care about what he deserved. They just wanted him.

And he wouldn’t deny them that.

He reached out, tenderly taking his child into his embrace, and cuddling them softly.

“I love you.” He said, planting a small kiss on their shell.

They leaned into him. Content. Happy. Safe.

Just as they should be.

He was still not a good father.

But perhaps he could become one.

The mantis bled from several painful wounds as she tossed them onto the floor. This little group had unquestionably split off from a bigger one, and much to their misfortune. When she had heard that the mantis tribe had sent out another group, she had gone to handle things personally.

If you needed a job done right, you did it yourself.

“Last chance.” She said, holding the nail to their neck. “Why did the tribe send out another group?”

The mantis spit blood at her, defiant. “I won’t betray my brothers and sisters, not to you, filthy savage. Go on. Kill me.” She sighed.

Pain wouldn’t make them talk, but there was another way.

She turned their back to them, grabbing the other mantis and sticking her nail right in the pressure point that lay in the joint on their arm. They screamed, predictably, and she dragged them over to the uncooperative one. “Perhaps maybe you won’t talk, even to your own death. But how much pain can one bug feel from that of another?”

The screaming mantis in question tried to grit their teeth at that and soldier on, but she put a stop to that after impaling their second hand with her second nail.

It did not take long from them to break after that.

“Stop! Stop!” She relented just a little, the screams of the mantis calming down to a soft whimper. 

“You will cooperate? Good. Remember - the well being of your friend lies on how much you share. Now tell me: who gave the order, and why?”

“Tribe Leader Gris. He’s sending a message - we will no longer bow to anyone. Not you, and certainly not that accursed Wyrm."

She could have commented on how ironic it was that they were currently yielding to her, but she didn't say. “A foolish decision. Our ‘ilk’ as you call it have no interest in this petty little war of yours, and Gris would be wise to call it off. Now, the important question: how many of you are there?”

They looked as if they were going to refuse, but she induced a little screaming from their friend just to drive the point home.

“Cut it out, you blasted beast! 15 of us. Gris wanted to send more, but there was disharmony. Some of those weaklings refused! Damned fools…”

“You claim them foolish, but you are the one currently bleeding out whilst holding onto some twisted notion of honour.” She withdrew her nails from their friend. “See what honour does you in our domain.” She left them at that, scuttling down familiar tunnels and looking for more fools to reprimand.

So it wasn’t the Wyrm’s fault then. She was glad - his behaviour would’ve been even more enigmatic if this was his doing. Of course, that did nothing to explain what had happened to him, but at this point it was useless to find out.

She was rather glad that his behaviour was amicable. Perhaps her political position would be weaker because of that - she would have gained far more if he acted like the Wyrm she expected him to be, but she wasn’t unhappy with the state of things. Deepnest stood to gain quite a lot of political clout regardless with the demand for silk being so high, and the Weavers were more than happy to provide. She hadn’t seen them so energetic before, and when requests started coming in for more artistic designs and patterns, many of them started working even harder. (The demand for such designs was quite low in Deepnest, so she could understand them being delighted at the excuse to produce more art.) Perhaps she should start helping out? She was nowhere near as good as them, but with how high demand was...

...Hmm. Maybe later. But that was enough of that for now. She had a job to do.

15 mantises? Those were rookie numbers. She could deal with those in one sitting and be back before dinner. 

He found his Root (rather predictably) in the Palace Gardens. She was hugging no less than 8 of their children, and teaching 7 others how to properly tend to planted flowers. She was incredibly energetic these days, and he didn’t know if that was merely a feature of her desire to have children or if the joy alone kept her going. Likely a mix of both.

It was an incredibly wholesome sight, and for a moment he let himself enjoy it, hugging his own little one closely in his arms as he smiled wistfully. (As an added benefit, it was fairly amusing to see how some of the Palace groundskeepers handled it when one of his approached them - he’d have to give a formal announcement about that soon, but for now he was enjoying how bewildered and confused some of them looked.)

But atlas, he knew he couldn’t bask in this moment forever. This business with the mantises required his immediate attention, and he had to attend to it as soon as possible, no matter how much he’d rather be with the children. (He was hoping that the mantises would cooperate and cease this nonsense quickly, but he doubted that would actually happen.)

“My Root? He called, grabbing her attention.

Upon seeing him, her disposition seemed to brighten even more (if such a thing were possible) and she swept him up in a quick hug as he approached, careful not to squish the one he was still holding in his arms.

“Oh my Wyrm! You come at such a wonderful time. I missed you.”

“As did I. I only wish I could come bringing better news.”

That put a dent in her enthusiasm. “What happened?”

“I need to be away from the Palace immediately. The alliance with Deepnest? It’s angered the Mantis Tribe, and I need to address the issue immediately before they compromise our partnership with Herrah. I won't be running off rashly though, not this time. I arranged for both Ze’mer and Isma to come with me to ensure things proceed as they should."

“Thank you for doing that.” She said, appreciative. “But what is this dispute? I chatted with Herrah yesterday before she left - she seems quite a wonderful lady, with a hard exterior but a soft interior. The children loved her, you know.” Cripes. It sounded like she had another woman to gossip with. Wonderful. 

"Hmm. Well, regardless, the mantises claim that us allying with them spits on their culture, or something of the sort. I'll go and put them in line, and be back before you tuck in the children."

“I will eagerly await your return." She kissed him on the cheek. "Be safe, my Wyrm."

"I will, my Root."

Chapter Text

The room was charged with emotion as father and daughter talked, the tension becoming so thick it was almost palpable.

“Forget about that knight. The Wyrm has spat in face of our traditions, and I will not have you courting one of his ilk.” He had never approved of her relationship with Ze’mer before.

But then again, what did she do that he did approve of?

He never told her that her combat skills were good, despite her obsessive work to improve them and gain his respect.

He never told her when she was participating in a ceremony properly, despite how hard she worked to memorize the steps.

He never complimented her on doing things correctly, despite how much effort she put into living up to his expectations.

She couldn’t handle it any longer. 

“That knight has a name!” She shouted, on the verge of tears. “It’s Ze’mer, and I love her!”

“Quit this dung, Jadia! It’s not proper, and I won’t allow it!”

“‘Not proper?!’ I’ve never been good enough to live up to what you call ‘proper!’ I’m always ‘just a little out of line’ or ‘making a minor mistake’! I can’t even remember the last time you told me I was doing something right!” She was in tears now. “I thought Silas was wrong about you, thought he was wrong to run away, but now I can see that he was right! You’ve never accepted anything other than perfection, and I can’t stand it! Why should I care about our culture when it’s brought me nothing but pain, and trying to live up to what you want when you've given me nothing but criticism?! You never ask how I feel, never approve of what I do, never even express affection like any of the other mantises! I can’t handle this anymore!” She ran from him, bursting through the front door and catching the eyes of several others as she raced through the village and out the front gate.

Such a display was unbecoming and improper.

But she didn’t care anymore. She just wanted to be away.

Away from the only parental figure she had ever known.

“...Regardless, I don’t expect this to go smoothly. Gris has been exceedingly uncooperative, and it’s led me to believe that a demonstration is in order.” The venom in his voice worried her, and it seems Ze’mer shared her concern. 

“Stay your hand, che’ pleads! The mantises are but noble and proud! They do not recognize your majesty!”

“I will not be merciful when he has slighted me time and time again!” He said, his voice holding a barely contained fury, “I’ve tolerated Gris for a long time, but him going against my word has been the last straw. If I do not do this, he would compromise our alliance with Deepnest. I cannot allow that to happen.”

“But what are you planning to do?” She asked, “we’ve never seen you this angry before, and it’s concerning. Please, try to understand our perspective - you haven’t been clear on what exactly you’re going to do, and it’s incredibly worrying.”

For a moment, it seemed as if he was going to respond to that with a furious retort, his glow brightening for a moment...

But then he calmed down, the tension in the air diffusing quickly. “...I apologize. I failed to see how irate I was becoming, and your concern was justified.” 

Ze’mer visibly untensed at that, the anxiety leaving her posture. “As for what I plan to do, it’s not as bad as you expect. I will merely be challenging them to trial by combat. Normally I do not enjoy employing violence, but at this point they’ve forced my hand.”

“Why not let either me or Ze’mer do it? If you’re so keen on avoiding a fight, why not let one of us take your place? I think I can vaguely remember Dryya saying she did so the first time you formally began negotiations with them.”

“I considered that, but the issue stems from the fact that the mantises see that as a cowardly thing. I will need to win personally in order to command their respect, and that is exactly what I will do. I-” He stilled, listening to something.

It was the sound of sobbing. 

Ze’mer’s antenna flicked around erratically as she also listened, her posture once again tensing up... 

...And then, she bolted.

“Wait, Ze’mer…!” But the knight didn’t stop, completely ignoring the Pale King as she rounded the corridor and went out of sight. 

She had a sneaking suspicion on why Ze’mer had done that. “She’s not going to stop, let’s hurry.”

"What? What do you know, Isma?"

"There's not enough time to say, and I can't say for certain. Come on." He took her hand as they raced through the caves and tunnels that made up the Fungal Wastes, eventually making it to the source of the crying. 

And upon getting to the source, her suspicions were confirmed.

Ze'mer was holding onto a mantis, crooning softly as they weeped.

And she knew exactly who this mantis was.

Not many knew of Ze’mer’s secret lover, but she was one of the few that did. Ze’mer had confided to her about Jadia some time ago, but judging from how the Pale King stared, clearly not expecting this, she could tell that he hadn’t known at all. She pulled him aside before he could say anything (fortunately, the two lovers hadn't noticed them yet).

“She didn’t tell you, did she?” 

“What?”

“She’s in a relationship with that mantis. The two have been together for a long time now.”

“Really? I hadn’t the faintest idea! Why hasn’t she said so? You and Ogrim are fairly open about your affection for one another, and no one holds an issue with that.”

She sighed. “Some members of the Mantis Tribe don't approve of it, and Ze’mer confessed to me that her homeland has very...strict views in terms of who should be courting who. She was afraid to even confide in me in the first place.”

He mulled that over for a second. “...I can see why she was scared at how angry I was at the Mantis Tribe, then. I wish she would have said, but I suppose I don’t blame her for not doing so, not after thinking that I might not approve.” He cast another glance at the pair, seeing that Jadia had finally calmed. The two of them were nuzzling one another now, and if this situation were less serious she might have fawned over how adorable the two were.

The Pale King gestured. “Well, the only appropriate response to this is to support them. They’ve both lacked the affirmation that they deserve, and so right now the only valid course of action would be to give that to them. Come on.”

She was terrified when the King approached.

“Ze’mer.” Could her love handle the disapproval of her King? 

“I’m happy for you.” 

Her heart fluttered. He was...accepting them? 

“Isma told me you may be afraid of me not endorsing your relationship, so I would like to say that I do approve, and I'm glad you two have found happiness in one another.”

“R-really?” She sputtered.

Her lover was speechless.

He nodded. “Truly. Also, I don’t believe we’ve been formally introduced, you are…?”

“Jadia! My name is Jadia!" She said, sheepish. "I- shouldn’t I be...bowing before you or?”

“Perhaps, but you two are quite comfortable sitting like that, aren’t you?”

“I...well…” She blushed, tripping over her words.

Before she thought she was going to die out of rejection, but now she thought she was going to die of embarrassment.

“...Truly?” Ze’mer whispered, voice gaining volume. “The King would accept che and che’s lover? Is it possible?”

“You are one of the five, Ze’mer. Far be it for me to say who you should court. I hope you two find happiness together.”

Ze’mer cried tears of joy, and she did so not long after that.

They stayed like that for a little while, hope that their relationship could be accepted blooming in the both of them. But after the moment had passed, the two of them reluctantly parted and composed themselves.

“I...thank you. Sorry if I’m wasting your time with all the tears. It’s been a long day.”

“It seems you have been through a lot. What happened, if I may ask?”

“It…” gods, she was going to tear up again. “It was because of an argument with my father. He’s never approved of my relationship, especially moreso after he proclaimed that our tribe would no longer be allied with…” she trailed off, realizing who she was talking to. “...with...Oh gods, you’re here for him, aren’t you?”

Did he just glow for a moment? 

Who had her Father pissed off?!

“You’re the daughter of Gris, aren’t you?” He said, voice tight. “I’m not going to lie to you, Jadia. Your father has made me...very upset. And I’m saying that very nicely.”

“I…” What was she supposed to say? ‘Sorry my dad is a living pile of dung.’? ‘Sorry he was arrogant enough to piss off a god.’ 'Sorry he did that. Half the tribe didn't approve it anyway.'?

Why was she even trying to defend him? After he would most likely have her exiled anyway?

After a childhood’s worth of him putting her down? After he had alienated her brother to the point of him wanting to be and becoming  exiled?

Something snapped within her.

It was time she started looking out for her own interests, rather than trying to live up to his expectations.

“I understand.” The King blinked, clearly not expecting that response from her. “I’ve never been enough for him. Whenever I trained, there was always someone better. Whenever I took part in a ceremony, there was always something I was doing wrong. Whenever I succeeded, it wasn’t enough! This hasn’t been the first time I’ve run out like this, and I don’t want to deal with it any longer.”

“What are you getting at?”

“I don’t want any part of him anymore. I don’t want to go back to the village. Can I...join you? I just want to be with Ze’mer.”

The Pale King mulled this over for a second.

But not much more than a second.

“That can most certainly be arranged. Ze’mer, would you like to escort Jadia back to the Palace?”

Ze’mer hugged her again (oh gods, she couldn't handle this). “Che would most certainly like to. Thank you, O King. The kindness you have done for che and for meled’love...Such great compassion moves che’s heart.”

“I am glad to be of help to you, Ze’mer. You have served me well, and you more than deserve this. Go on, I will meet you back at the Palace.”

Ze’mer took her hand, and she let herself be led.

Led away from her Father.

Led away from the Tribe she had grown up in.

Led away from her old life.

Her brother was right.

“Your relationship with him? It’s not one of love. Not one of family. Not one of honour. It’s one of abuse, of heartache, of manipulation. But you've lived in it for so long that it feels normal to be rejected, to not be enough, to not be loved. And although I can't make you realize that, I hope someone else can."

If the Pale King hadn't shown her such compassion and acceptance, she would have come crawling back to her father.

But now that she felt so much compassion from a complete stranger? Felt more at home in the company of bugs she hardly knew? (Discounting Ze'mer, of course)

She would not go back. 

Not after learning what family really felt like.

Chapter Text

Entering the Mantis Village was less tense than she thought it would be. The guards at the door let her and the Pale King in with no trouble, but also without saying anything. This struck her as strange - why wouldn’t they be at least somewhat aggressive? The King had allegedly disrespected their culture, after all. But they did not hiss, did not make some sort of snide comment, merely watched.

This theme continued as the two of them descended to the inner parts of the village. A mantis would see them, and instead of saying anything they would just sort of stare. Not outright gawking, mind you, but definitely stealing glances and whispering furtively amongst their fellows.

She got the sense that this behaviour was not out of anger, nor fear. They merely knew something was going to happen, and they wanted to be there when it happened. And as they got to the throne room, a small crowd had begun to form behind them.

The three sisters nodded their heads at the two of them as they approached, but Gris merely grunted instead. 

“So the Wyrm finally comes. Here to discuss why you allied with savages, I presume? Or to send one of your warriors to fight in your steed like the coward you are?” 

She and the King shared a glance.

“Stick to the plan, Isma.”

She nodded.

She was not here to fight.

She stepped back, the crowd giving her a berth as she joined them in standing on the sidelines. And as the King approached Gris, the murmuring in the crowd grew excited.

“Those ‘beasts’ have been far more cooperative than you. Herrah of Deepnest has been quite reasonable in her demands, and our partnership has been mutually beneficial.” His tone was tight. He was angry, but it was a controlled anger; a deliberate fury.

“I do not care.” Gris spat. “She and the rest of her ilk are wild beasts, with no honour at all. You are a fool if you think you could convince us that allying with them was a wise decision.”

“Perhaps. But words are just one way to convince someone.” He took off his robes, drawing a surprised murmur from the crowd (and small gasp from herself).

And summoning a SOUL nail in each of his hands, he pointed at the lords. “Excessive violence is another.”

The metal gates fell down, and Gris came crashing down with them.

“The cowardly King finally decides to fight for himself? I’m going to enjoy this.” The mantis flashed a wicked smile, teeth included.

He was unimpressed. “A wise warrior is not presumptuous, especially not against a god.” He gestured to Gris with one of his two nails. “Come on then. Fight me, you fool.” Those words were more than enough to incite his opponent. With a furious battle cry, the tribe leader charged him.

For most bugs, seeing 150 kilograms of raw mantis fury heading in your direction would be a terrifying prospect.

Especially more so when said mantis easily towered over you.

But of course, he was not like most bugs.

For although the flesh was weak, SOUL was immortal.

He deflected Gris’ first blow with only a single blade.

And then he proceeded to parry Gris’ followup strike with a practiced ease.

Whilst it was true that he was not a god of strength, he was a god of something much more powerful.

He was a god of knowledge, of mind, and of SOUL.

That knowledge included how to properly use a nail. And how to properly augment his body with enough SOUL to easily overpower any mortal bug. And how to do so without completely annihilating them.

He could have killed Gris in several different ways by now, and it wouldn’t have been difficult. He could have rained a thousand SOUL nails down on the arrogant mantis and be done with the matter, or just outright blast the bug with SOUL.

But it wasn’t about killing them.

It was about sending a message.

And so he entertained the mantis, fighting on even footing with nail alone.

Gris fought well, as expected. He was easily one of the strongest bugs in Hallownest, and unquestionably a difficult matchup against any of the five knights (Dryya had barely defeated him before, after all).

But despite how well Gris fought, and how strong the mantis was, it wasn’t enough. You could be the strongest bug in Hallownest, but that would not be enough to kill any god, and most certainly not him. Strength did not equate to power in this situation, and he planned on making that apparent.

That’s why he made a point to stall out the fight as long as possible. That’s why he made a deliberate effort to not go on the offensive, and that’s why he let Gris charge him time and time again.

And Gris knew this. Knew that he was holding back. As he easily deflected another attack, the mantis shouted at him. “Even now you disrespect me? Even now you hold me in contempt?! FIGHT ME FOR REAL, YOU BASTARD. SHOW ME THAT YOU SHOULD BE FEARED!”

And that was precisely what he was waiting for. 

“Ask, and you shall receive.” He replied, approaching.

Gris lasted all of 11 seconds against him, able to parry a grand total of 3 blows before he slammed the hilt of his nail into the mantis’ midsection, the force behind it sending the tribe leader sprawling on his back, face up.

In a moment, he was standing before them. Easily flicking away another hasty swing, he brought the nail down...

...And impaled Gris through the lower midsection, the SOUL nail going all the way through the body and into the ground.

It would not be fatal, but it would be painful enough for his purposes.

He pointed his other nail at Gris’ neck. “You were a fool to incite me. To go against me. To think you could kill me.”

Gris coughed blood, but his voice still had fight in it. “I don’t regret this. We are a proud tribe, and we won't yield to anyone, god or not.”

“You do not understand. Another god may have destroyed your entire tribe in anger, and no amount of strength on your part would have stopped them. You are lucky that I stifled my rage before it got out of hand.”

“Then spare me your mercy, Wyrm.” Gris said, defiant. “KILL ME! DO IT, YOU BASTARD!”

He would most certainly like to.

But that would not accomplish what he wanted. “I think not.”

“WHAT?!”

He turned from Gris, looking at the (now massive) crowd which was murmuring in awe. “Mantises, this is your leader.” He gestured to Gris with his nail. “A proud warrior, but one with insufficient strength. And the fact of the matter is, I was holding back.”

The murmurs grew in volume as he continued. “Your leader may be strong, but strength does not necessarily equal power, and most certainly not good leadership skills.” He tore his second nail from Gris’ body, eliciting a pained grunt. “For Gris was foolish. In his arrogance, he kicked the hornet’s nest. And had I not been a more ‘honourable’ god, I could have easily wiped all of you out. All because of his stupidity. ” He gestured again to Gris, who was now writhing rather pathetically on the floor as the wound bled. “Is that what you want? A fool to lead you onto your demise?” 

A boomerang impacted near his feet.

“Enough!” One of the female mantis lords said. “Perhaps Gris was a fool, and perhaps you are stronger than us, but that gives you no right to dishonour him in such a way. Especially when your challenge is still ongoing.”

He sighed. “You are still willing to fight me? Even after this display?”

“It is our way. And you will show respect for that, if nothing else.” She got up from her throne, as did the two others.

All three of them held up their hands.

And with a furious battle cry, they all descended upon him.

She had never seen the Pale King fight before.

But now that she had? She could see why he was called a higher being. He was a force to be reckoned with, and someone not to be taken lightly. He fought off Gris with ease, not taking even a single hit, and now he was doing it all over again whilst also fighting 3 on 1.

And whilst it was clear that the Sisters of Battle were far stronger than just Gris alone, the Pale King kept his unimpressed gait. Even as all three of them charged him, he held an air of disappointment, not caution or fear. It was almost as if the three sisters were nothing but irate children to him, and he was disappointed at having to put them in line. 

And he most certainly put them in line.

Taking a deep cut across the midsection after an unexpected parry, the first sister gave off a pained grunt as she retreated to her throne.

The remaining two jumped at him, one on each side, but he fought both of them off simultaneously, one hand and one nail for each sister. The second one to fall was not expecting this, and was forced to back off after a slash took one of her legs out of commission.

The third sister, knowing that it was over, attempted to charge him. A movement that she realized was not an attempt to kill, but to wound. Because if the King walked away from this without a scratch, then it would be a complete humiliation; a profound demonstration at just how weak the mantis lords were in comparison to him.

But as the final sister charged him, the King did something she didn’t expect.

He didn’t move, and he dropped his SOUL nails.

She watched in horror as the final sister charged him, seemingly on a perfect course to run him right through.

SOUL flashed.

He had teleported.

Just a tiny bit to the left.

Just enough that the nail barely missed him.

He grabbed the weapon, punching the sister with enough force to send her sprawling.

And then he took her nail and stabbed her right through the shoulder.

He had done it.

He had defeated all four mantis lords without taking a single hit.

He dumped the nail next to the sister after that, fixing her with a disappointed gaze.

“You will call back your warriors, and I will not hear any complaint from you about who I choose to conduct my business with. Is that clear?”

“Crystal.” The sister ground out, teeth clenched as she held onto her bleeding shoulder.

“Good.” He cast another gaze at the three other mantis lords that were sitting in their thrones, each of them carrying differing levels of injury.

“There is so much more to power than just strength in battle, and I dearly hope that all of you understand that. To consider only martial strength is folly, and one you have fallen victim to.” He picked up his robes, dusting them off and gesturing to her. “Come, Isma. We are done here. My children need me.”

The mantis lords did not bow to them as they left.

But many of those in the crowd did.

And it only occurred to her later that this was exactly what the King had intended.

Chapter Text

It was a quiet evening when the two of them had a chance to sit down and talk.

“I still can’t believe you ended up working for the Pale King!” She exclaimed, “I thought I would never see you again after you left!”

“Nor did I,” her brother replied. “But then again, there’s been plenty of things that I haven’t expected. Such as you courting the legendary Ze’mer. Congratulations on that, by the way.”

She let out a breath she didn’t know she’d been holding. “I- thanks. I was worried you wouldn’t approve.” 

Silas sighed, taking her hands in his. “Jadia, I ran away from the tribe because I never agreed with how they conducted things. Of course I would approve - I’ve seen the way you two are with each other over the past few weeks. You make each other happy, and that’s all that matters. What kind of brother would I be to disagree with such a relationship?”

She did not cry, but his kind words made her heart clench tightly. Coming from him, that meant so much. “T-thank you, Silas. For everything. I feel so bad, you know? After what I said to you when you offered to take me with you. I should have come, shouldn’t have lashed out at you.”

“Don’t be. I knew my chances of convincing you were slim, especially with how young you were. I was asking you to abandon everything you ever knew - of course you would disagree! But let’s put that past behind us. There’s little point to harping on painful memories.”

That prompted a question that had been in her mind for a while now. “Ok. But if I may ask: what happened to you after you left? You haven't talked much about it.”

"I suppose that's fair." He replied, “we haven't really had a moment to discuss, have we? But I digress. What happened after I left was this: I headed straight for a place known as the Teacher’s Archives. I never mentioned this when I was still in the tribe, but I had been there before - after accidentally being separated from my hunting party. That’s what sparked my interest in learning - and when I truly began to want to be exiled. I had never enjoyed combat before, but after getting a sense for what I was truly passionate about…” 

“Don’t just leave me hanging!” She said, wanting to know more. “Not after starting with something like that! What made you so interested? I’ve heard a lot about these Archives over the last few weeks, but what drew you in?”

He smiled wistfully. “I could spend hours answering that question, but I’ll keep it concise: I was amazed by how different their way of life was. There was no set way to conduct yourself, no ceremonies you needed to follow. Monomon first welcomed me in without care that I was a mantis, and showed me her facilities not two minutes after she became acquainted with me. And what further amazed me was how it all worked - like you, I had been taught that the strong dominated the weak, and that there was nothing truer in the world than strength. To see that there was so much more to the world than just constant combat and rigid ceremonies? I jumped at the opportunity to learn and become a scholar immediately after I had been exiled.”

She liked how excited he was about the subject, even if this ‘science’ she kept hearing about went completely over her head. “I’m so happy you found something! I was so worried about you after you left, worried that you would die somewhere alone. I’m glad I was wrong to worry, glad that you’re doing something you love. The children seem to love going to your lectures, you know. You’re doing amazing work!”

He (metaphorically) glowed at that. “Thank you. That does remind me though: what exactly do they have you doing here? I know you’re here because of Ze’mer, but have you been assigned any duties?”

Now it was her turn to smile wistfully. “Oh it’s been great. I’ve been helping the White Lady out with all the younglings. They’re a handful, and remembering all of their names is impossible, but they’re so adorable! I never thought I’d be helping raise children for a long time, but I've quickly come to adore it. The days go by so quickly, and even in the quieter moments the White Lady is just wonderful - I’ve spent way too long discussing all sorts of things with her! I used to think fighting and training were the most interesting things in the world, but now I’ve found something I’m even more taken by.”

“Excellent! Hold onto that passion as you move forward. I may be teaching them mathematical formulas and scientific principles, but providing a safe and welcoming environment for them is far more important. Letting them play and express themselves in their own way is vital, and I’m sure you understand how important it is that they be loved and accepted for whatever they aspire to do.”

“You make it sound so grand.” She laughed, “but half the time I’m just making sure they don’t get into trouble, or have to stop them from fighting over some new toy, or struggle to entertain the 10 that want to play with me.”

“And half my time is spent ensuring they’re all settled down enough to teach. But you understand my point - understand what the ramifications are. These children need a healthy learning and playing environment, and it’s our job to give it to them.”

“Wait a second.” She said, crossing her arms and shooting him a glance. “Did you just turn this into some sort of lesson? I’m not a kid anymore, Silas.”

He gave her a wry smile. “Indeed. But a lifetime of learning still leaves more to learn.”

She huffed a little, but not completely out of annoyance. “Maybe you’re a lot smarter, but I can see you’re still the same old big brother. Trying to tell me the best way to do things and giving long, fancy speeches.”

“Perhaps. But would you have it any other way?”

She sighed. He was right, but also completely insufferable in how right he was. “You may have a new look, with that mask and those fancy red robes, but your attitude still makes me want to throw down.”

Of course, he was quick to deflect that, knowing that she had always been the stronger between the two of them. “It’s a shame we’re so busy then, isn’t it? So many children to teach and things to do...I daresay now would be a good time to finish, given how late it is.”

“How convenient.” She retorted. “One of these days I’ll get you in the ring. The guards have quite a good setup, you know.”

“Perhaps.” She resisted the urge to punch him right then and there.

He was still her big brother, and she still loved him dearly, but gods was he an arrogant bastard sometimes.

And she wouldn’t have it any other way.

Chapter Text

It had been a year.

They knew what that meant, now.

They knew what many more things meant now.

They knew that 2 + 2 = 4.

They knew how to speak with their hands.

They knew that they lived in Hallownest, which was ruled by their Father and their Mother.

But what they also knew was that their twin, Wander, was not like them. Why did they have to act so differently despite looking so similar? They both had very similar horns and body shapes, but Wander never wanted to do what they wanted to do!

Why don’t you want to spend time with Father? He teaches me so many things!” They signed the words out carefully, making sure to get them just right.

Why do you always wanna learn?” Wander mentally whined, “we already get taught so much in school! Let’s go play! I wanna see the guards fight again!”

Why do you never use the hand signals?” They complained, trying to be patient. “That’s what Dr. Arlinna told us to do. But I never see you use them outside of school.”

Hand signals are boring! I don’t even need them to talk to you!”

But you can’t talk to so many other bugs without the hand signals!” 

Bleh. I can still tell them what I want in other ways. I don’t wanna talk about this anymore! Let’s go see the guards fight!” Wander grabbed their hand,  dragging them along.

They sighed, but let themself be led.

Wander may not be good at learning, but they were still their twin, and they loved them.

They came just in time to see Miss Dryya begin a duel with another bug. The bug's blue armour seemed vaguely familiar...but they couldn’t place it. Many of their other siblings were there as well, watching with rapt attention. They could feel some of them chattering excitedly in the mindspace as Miss Dryya and the bug fought.

It was a graceful thing. The guard and Miss Dryya engaged in a long display of parries, blocks, and dodges, and in some ways it seemed almost like art (Professor Ullra still hadn’t really given them a straight answer about what art really was, but this seemed appropriate). Miss Dryya would swing, and then the guard would deflect. The guard would counter, and Miss Dryya would dodge. The exchange was incredibly fluid, and in many ways it seemed like a dance (was that the proper definition? They needed to read more).

Miss Dryya still won, of course, but it took an incredibly long time. The guard did not land many blows of their own, but also proved to not take many, either. They persisted stubbornly for a long time, only losing after Miss Dryya dashed at them, knocking their nail from their hand with a loud klang!

The guard flinched, rubbing their hand. “Damn - the others weren’t lying when they said you had some new techniques. You’re stronger than ever, Dryya, and I think I lasted only half as long as compared to the last time we sparred.”

“And you’re as stubborn as ever, Alume.” Miss Dryya said, picking up Alume’s nail and handing it back to her. “I still have yet to find another so willing and able to rely on the principle of ‘the best offence is a good defence.’”

“Usually works, too.” Alume said, still rubbing her hand. “Of course, not that I expect you to tire out and start making mistakes, but even after 20 minutes you hadn’t even begun to slow down. Maybe I’m getting rusty.” One of their siblings (one with four horns, two on each side of their head) ran up to Alume, jumping excitedly as they waved their arms. “Hmm. Or maybe it’s just because I’m always so busy with these troublemakers. Oh well, c’mere Champ.” Alume hefted their sibling up in short order, letting them nestle in her arms.

“You certainly have a way with them.” Miss Dryya remarked as more of their siblings approached, crowding either her or Alume. “Not many guards have 3 children attached to them, but you’ve done well by them.”

“I’m still not trained to deal with this.” Alume remarked, “but from the way some of the others act, is it even possible to prepare for childcare?”

“Certainly not,” Miss Dryya replied, amusement creeping into her tone. “You saw how the King was when they first hatched. Even a higher being isn’t immune to the troubles of parenthood.” The two fighters were getting swarmed with children now, no less than 10 of them crowding around the pair.

“Awww. There’s no way we’ll be able to talk to Dryya now! Not with how everyone else beat us to her! And she’s so cool too…”  

Secretly, they also wanted to talk to Miss Dryya, but this gave them a chance to do something else. “Can we go see Father now?” They signed, hopeful.

“Fine...” Their sibling moaned. 

“Thank you!”  It was their turn to be excited now, and they quickly took Wander’s hand and led them along before they could change their mind.

They found their Father in his study, nestled in his reading chair with two more of their siblings. They were a little disappointed that he wasn’t alone, but they still could hardly keep themself from running into his lap after he beckoned for the two of them. “Hallow? Wander? You are just in time, my children. Come here.”

That familiar warmth settled into their chest as they curled into his lap, and he could tell that Wander was feeling it too with how quickly they settled down and began listening.

“Once upon a time, there was no Hallownest. There was no Kingdom, no Palace, and no bugs. There was nothing.” Their Father said, beginning to tell a story.

“What happened?” Wander asked.

Their Father smiled, expecting the question. “I came. I was but a massive beast at that point, keen on finding somewhere to settle. I chose this place and deemed it Hallownest, reducing my form and walking amongst the bugs that lived here.”

“But why?” One of their other siblings asked.

“Truth be told, because I wanted to rule. Because I wanted the power and territory that it would grant. It was...not good.” He paused uncomfortably for a moment. “I gave the various bugs around me the gift of a mind, and made them follow me. I made them bow to me and built up this Kingdom, gaining everything I thought I would ever want. Worship, territory, power...” They could feel a bout of sadness well up in him. “But in many ways, it would have been better had I not gotten it. I went to great and terrible lengths to preserve what I perceived was mine, and everyone suffered because of it. But, I learned something.”

“What did you learn?” They asked, careful to sign out the words.

He smiled, but it wasn’t quite happy (or sad). “I learned that it wasn’t about territory. Or power. Or worship. I had gained that, yes, but I had gained so much more than that. I gained a home, a family...and you, my children. And I have learned that such things are more valuable than the world.” He hugged them all at that, love emanating from him and wrapping around them like a thick, warm blanket.

They hugged him back.

So did their siblings.

They woke up much later, still in his Father’s lap.

They had fallen asleep.

Their siblings were absent, but they didn’t care. They snuggled closer to their Father, sending love and receiving it in return.

He hummed, content. “I’m surprised you slept through that, Hallow. Your siblings made quite a racket when they were leaving.”

“How long did I sleep?” They were too comfortable to sign, sending the words directly into their Father’s mind with a thick sense of contentment.

“A little while. It-”

A knock sounded on the door.

“Yes? Come in!” His annoyance at being interrupted bled through to them.

It was one of his retainers. “A message just came through from Herrah, my lord. She has confirmed that she’ll be at the meeting tomorrow.”

“Ah, excellent. Is the room being set up?”

“It’s being cleaned as we speak.”

“Good good, you may go.” The servant bowed, retreating as quickly as they came.

“What meeting?” They asked, curious.

“Oh it’s nothing.” Their Father assured, “it’s going to be mostly politics, and well after your bedtime. I have some important matters that I need to discuss with many of the leading figures in other parts of Hallownest.”

“What important matters?”

Their Father paused uncomfortably for a moment, but quickly explained: “there has been a problem with a particular bug, lately. Nothing serious, but enough to warrant my attention. It’s...difficult to explain.”

"Can I come?”

“Not this time. I know you like listening to the meetings Hallow, but this one will be well after your bedtime, and far longer than most of my meetings. I would rather you have a good sleep than stay up all night. You know how important bedtimes are.”

They wanted to complaining about it a little, but stopped themself. That was exactly what Wander would do, wasn’t it? So instead, they heeded his words. “Okay.”

“Why don’t you go and see how your mother is doing? It’s getting quite late now, and you best go and see her before the day ends.”

That sounded like a good idea. But just so that they would still get a chance to be with him before bed... “Will you come to tuck me in when it’s bedtime?” 

He smiled. “Absolutely.”

They reluctantly got out of his lap, immediately missing his warmth but knowing that Mother would be just as warm. “I love you, Father.”

"I love you too, my child.”

They did not notice how anxiously he watched them go.

Nor feel how worried he really was.

They had avoided the issue of talking to their Father for an entire year.

Dryya wasn’t happy about that, but she never commented on it.

That fact made them feel guilty, because they knew her reasons for doing so.

They had secretly read her mind a few times. They shouldn’t have, especially since she had asked them not to, but when she got frustrated and didn’t tell them, they could rarely resist (they didn’t understand why she didn’t say when she was angry).

But, at the very least, they understood why she didn’t push the issue.

She was afraid of angering them again after seeing how they acted when she had first brought it up, and she also figured that it wasn’t her place to tell them what to do.

They almost wished she did.

They were also getting sick of being what was really just a puddle of blackness whilst their siblings played and grew up. Whilst they weren’t really like them anymore, that didn’t mean they were immune to the longing; the want to be with those you called family.

Even with a family that had wronged you.

They no longer knew what to think of their Father now. Should they still be angry at him for what he did? Or happy that he had begun to atone? He was not like the bug that had left them to die in a pit anymore, and they could see it in how he treated their siblings.

He loved them.

He held them close.

And they wanted that, despite how much they had tried not to.

But had they really ever not wanted it?

Whilst they had taken a great amount of satisfaction in the raw fear he had felt when they had thrown him into the Abyss (what was that word that Quirrel had taught their siblings? Ironic?) they knew they hadn’t done that just because they wanted him to suffer.

There was a small part of them that still loved him, even then. 

And after an entire year seeing (and feeling) his regrets, his guilt, and his love?

That part that loved him was no longer small.

Not small at all.

Chapter Text

The statistics looked worse and worse to him with each passing month.

At first, it had only been ‘we just need the SOUL of one bug.’

Later, it had been ‘we need the SOUL of at least two bugs to make this work.’

Now, it was ‘we need more SOUL, a bug per week should be fine.’

And he had been shut down at every opportunity when suggesting potential alternatives.

At one point he had seen the need for such a sacrifice; had been pragmatic enough to understand that perhaps the SOUL of one or two bugs would be needed in order to save many - that was the point, after all. The King had charged them with finding a way to harness SOUL for healing, and the potential applications of that made it worth paying a very high price.

But the price they were currently paying? The cost that was currently being exacted from them? It was too great. The amount of corpses now piled in the disposal room more than proved that point. And yet they wanted more!

And after breaking into the Soul Master’s office and investigating his notes, he knew that this wouldn’t stop.

It would only get worse.

At one point he had believed that what they would discover at the Soul Sanctum would be for the good of society; thought that the work they were doing here would be helpful for a millennium to come.

But now he knew. Knew that this place was nothing but a façade for a powergrab. The Soul Master wasn’t researching ways to use SOUL for healing, and with how his notes looked it seemed like that was never his intention. This nonsense about “a pure focus” and “breaking past the mind’s limits” was entirely a lie, and one that the entire Sanctum had fallen victim to. All the Soul Master wanted was power, and he was succeeding .

And like all of the other fools in this place, he had helped the Soul Master in that goal. Whether it be through giving him those void vials or just spending time researching here, he was just as guilty as all the others. And when Lurien and the King found out?

There would be a reckoning, and it would be well deserved.

They said that the road to hell was paved with good intentions.

And now? Now he was beginning to hate how true that was.

“Cut out this nonsense, Arla!” Gris said, “what the hell are you suggesting?! That the Wyrm was RIGHT?! After everything he’s done to us?!” She sighed. Gris had become even more brutish and aggressive ever since that day when he had lost both his pride and his daughter, and although at one point she had sympathized with his plight, it had been a year, and he had been stirring trouble for far too long.

“The nonsense I am spouting,” she began, “makes far more sense than what you’re suggesting. Your ideas to go against the Pale King again are completely foolish, and go against our entire culture. He defeated all of us in honourable combat. We will not disobey him."

“HONOURABLE?” That had Gris riled up, “he made a public spectacle of us! In front of the entire tribe! How the hell is there any honour in that? He spit in my face, in your face, in ALL of our faces, and yet you think what he did was HONOURABLE?!”

“Gris is right,” Xillya (the youngest sister) said. “What he did was completely disrespectful. He may have bested us in combat, but that gave him no right to question our culture or customs, and I am disturbed that you are justifying his actions, Arla.”

“Thank you, Xillya. I’m glad you’re seeing the reason behind all of this.” She sighed at the not so subtle barb Gris directed in her direction.

“This is not a wise course of action!” She tried, “do you think he will be merciful? Do you think you have the power to defy him? Our tribe will suffer if you go through with this! You kicked the hornet’s nest once, and got off easy. You kick it again, and that very well could incur his wrath. I daresay he was right to question your leadership - you’ve been blinded by pride ever since that day, and you haven’t been a good tribe leader ever since.”

“What the hell did you just say to me?!” Gris snarled, bristling. “I can’t believe this! Has he poisoned your mind with his words?!”

“Stop.” Three heads turned in the direction of Vera (the middling sister). “Arla is right. Regardless of what you or Xillya think, Gris, you aren’t leading us down the right path. The King may have completely humiliated us, but many of our people agree with him. Do not deny it - you have seen how some of them look at us now. They do not look at us with respect, and that trend will only continue if you keep going this way. It is our job as the leaders of our people to be in tune with what they want, and many of them do not want what you want.”

She thought that would cause Gris to back down.

It didn’t.

“You too?! You and Arla are fools! The people will come to understand our methods, we just need to show them why we’re right. That was never a concern. What IS a concern is the stupidity that you and Arla are sprouting. Stop this! How could you not see the truth?!”

After this, Gris and Vera argued for some time, and then she was forced to step in after Xillya backed Gris yet again. And through it all, she began to grow very worried.

Because neither Gris nor Xillya were backing down.

Because such disharmony had not just started now - it could be traced all the way back to the day after the Pale King had defeated all of them.

And it was only getting worse.

Everything could be traced back to when the thief stole the dream nail.

After that, things had gone downhill, and quickly.

The Seer had become reclusive, and although Markoth didn’t wander off again, he almost wished the moth had.

Both of them had become completely unreasonable, and he couldn’t understand why. First the Seer started refusing to meet with him or any of the other moths besides Markoth, and Markoth himself became very easily agitated, to the point where he was often getting into more than one fight a week.

And it came to a point where he couldn’t stand it anymore, so that’s why he had left. He felt bad, up and leaving the tribe like that, but after it became clear that the Seer no longer wanted to speak to him (which was so out of character for her! Before she would’ve been happy to teach him abot ancient moth customs and lore), he had no reason to stay, not after Markoth was stirring up so much trouble.

He could still remember that last night, the night when he had left.

The Seer had once again refused to meet with him privately, but this time he had questioned her instead of just backing down.

It didn’t go well.

Not only had that agitated her, but it wasn’t long before Markoth quickly came to her defense and he found himself outnumbered. Seeing that he clearly wasn’t going to get anywhere with them, he decided to back down and leave that night without any warning. If they weren’t even going to give him a chance to talk, he wasn’t going to give them a chance to say goodbye.

But that didn’t mean he didn’t feel bad.

He hated conflict - most moths did. And to leave on such bad terms like that? It gnawed at him, and after a year of wandering and avoiding the issue he was beginning to think that maybe a visit was in order. Maybe Markoth would have cooled down, and maybe he could actually speak with the Seer on pleasant terms again.

But there was that one other thing that didn't sit right with him.

During that last fight, there was something wrong with both Markoth and the Seer.

Their eyes had glowed orange when they had become angry.

And he had a very bad feeling about that.

Chapter Text

He got up from his throne, sighing in relief as the last group for the day finally exited. Granting audiences was becoming burdensome again, and that was due to the fact that he was beginning to prefer spending more time with his children. Of course, Hallow was perfectly content to listen in on these sorts of things, but many of his children were not like Hallow, and he wanted to spend time with them, too.

“How many more requests, Renem?”

The scroll wasn’t nearly as long this time. “Only 3, my lord. The oldest is from the Moth Tribe, which was sent eight months ago. Shall I write them a summons?”

Them again? Well, he supposed he could allow them another meeting. The first one had been entirely unfruitful (the Seer had not wanted to come, and she was the one that knew about their history), but perhaps he could request the Seer’s presence specifically this time? Even if she didn’t know anything, it certainly wouldn’t be a bad thing to have her, and far more interesting than the other audiences he had granted.

“Do it. And make sure to request that a moth named the Seer comes this time. She was not at the last meeting, but I would like her to attend this one. Date it for tomorrow morning. Otherwise, you are dismissed.”

“Thank you, my lord.” Renem bustled off, content that he had been let off early today.

Turning his attention from the servant, he looked down at the one that was currently sitting in his lap. “What are we doing now?” Hallow signed, curiosity as intense as ever.

“You are going to go eat, because it’s dinner time and I don’t want you taking after me and skipping meals. I am going to go manage a scheduling mismatch, and likely answer a few letters.”

“Okay. Can I come to you after?”

“Maybe, but afterwards I am going to be spending most of my time making sure the meeting tonight is properly organized. It will not be interesting, and I encourage you to spend some time with your siblings. Wander has told me he likes playing with you, after all.”

“But I don’t like being with Wander! They never want to read in the library, or talk to one of the Scholars!”

“And that is exactly why I think you two are good for each other. You never want to play or run around, and Wander never wants to read or spend time with any adults. There is much to be gained from learning to balance the two, and it would be good for the both of you to learn that.” He leaned down and kissed them on the head. “Go on, don’t wait for me.”

“Okay. I love you, Father.”

He sent them love through their link, reinforcing the emotion with a sentence. “I love you too, Hallow. I love you too.”

He checked the list.

Lurien, Herrah, Monomon, Binwinn, Ogrim, Hegemol, Isma, Ze’mer, and his Root.

Herrah was the last to arrive, and she was just being ushered in now. 

It was incredibly unfortunate that Dryya couldn’t be here for this meeting, but life just happened to be that way sometimes. It was only after he had settled on a time for Herrah, Lurien, and Monomon that he realized that Dryya would not be available (she was out on business today, and wouldn’t be back until tomorrow). 

Dryya, of course, wasn’t happy to hear about that, but eventually relented after he assured her that he’d have a private meet with her the following day. Fortunately, she already knew much about the Radiance, so he didn’t expect that to take too long.

Not nearly as long relative to this, that is.

Seeing that Herrah had just gotten situated, he stood up and addressed all of them. “Thank you all for coming here today. I was not exaggerating in my various correspondences to any of you when I said that we would be discussing matters of dire importance. Some of you may already have an idea.” He nodded to Binwinn, Monomon, and his Root, “but most of you will not. Regardless, each of you is here because you are either a leader of your respective area or because you need to know this information.” 

Seeing as he had their attention, he went on. “Some of this information is confidential. I will not be placing constraints on what you do or who you tell with it, but it should go without saying that most of this should not be circulating into the public eye. Now, with that said, I’ll explain what issue is so extreme that it warranted bringing all of you together.”

He could tell that most of them were on the edges of their seats as he began. “I have foreseen that in some time in the future, a god by the name of the Radiance is going to wreak havoc on the entirety of Hallownest and Deepnest. It will not be by a material attack, or by some sort of physical conquest, but via an insidious thing known as the infection.”

He gestured to his head. “This will not be like the typical malign sickness you would expect. Although it can spread via physical means, the most common form of transmission is via dreams. The Radiance is in fact the god of dreams, and by manipulating bugs in the dreamworld, she can infect them.”

“What are the symptoms of the disease?” Monomon asked, likely doing so for the benefit of Binwinn who was currently writing things down at a furious pace.

“It starts slowly. In the first stage, bugs will feel warmer than they normally would, and may or may not develop orange irises. Then, in the second stage, their body will begin to produce an orange pus, which will quickly begin to replace their internal body. After the second stage, they will enter a deep slumber, and awaken in the third stage wherein their mind becomes a slave to her will, trapped in a dreamlike state that the Radiance can alter as she desires. After this third stage, their bodies may deform in hideous ways, spouting orange tumors and unnatural growths. Another thing is that I do not believe it is possible to cure other than via killing the Radiance directly, as attempting to remove the infection after it has become part of the bug is impossible, as far as I know. Also, the time this entire process takes is variable - the Radiance can infect bugs slowly, which makes most of the symptoms less prominent and harder to detect, or she can accelerate the process, which causes symptoms to show earlier and be more severe.”

“So are we just to hunt down and kill this Radiance?” Herrah asked.

“That is easier than done.” He sighed, “besides the fact that completely and utterly killing a higher being is exceedingly difficult , we also have the complication that the Radiance does not reside in the physical world. She lives in the dreamworld, and whilst getting into that place is doable if you have the necessary know-how with magic, there’s also the matter of finding and killing her in a world which plays by her rules.”

Lurien spoke up: “A question for you, my King: Is there any way to stop the infection? Any preventative measures we can take?” 

“As far as I know, other higher beings are immune, and anyone with an exceedingly strong will can resist her seductive dreams in the first stage, but that does not protect from physical exposure. If enough of the pus gets in your body, nothing will save you. However, I do believe that mind seals may be effective in blocking her dreams.”

“As you say. I will begin research into that immediately.” Lurien began writing something down, worried but thoughtful.

“As will I.” Monomon interjected.

“I’ll see if my Weavers have anything they could concoct to guard against this.” Herrah also added.

“Good good. I will begin looking into ways of killing the Radiance. Whilst preventative measures will undoubtedly be vital, this infection will not stop until we cut out the source. If any of you have any ideas on that, whether they be now or later, do not hesitate to contact me immediately.”

“Do you have any idea as to how far in the future this is?” Binwinn was still jotting things down at a furious pace.

“It should be a few years, at the very least. Visions are finicky in that regard, but I’m at least certain that it will be a year in the absolute worst case scenario.”

“What about motives?” Isma asked, “do we know why the Radiance is doing this? Is there any way she can be reasoned with?” 

He respected Isma’s immediate idea of making peace, but he knew it wouldn’t be possible. “I admit I do not know as much as I would like to about the Radiance’s actual intentions, but what I do know is that she was originally a god of the Moth Tribe - the one that mostly lives in or near the Resting Grounds. However, many of the moths have turned away from her, seeking to worship me in her place. So it's jealousy, perhaps? It’s rather unfortunate as well - I do not have a vested interest in being worshipped by the moths, but they came to me of their own accord, and it’s too late now to tell them to stop. It doesn’t particularly help that I don’t have the means to communicate with the Radiance, either.”

Isma’s face fell at that, but she elected to remain silent as Lurien started talking. “If I may interject, my King, would you be so kind as to go over some of the more logistical details? Advice as to how we should inform those under us? I have some ideas….”

The meeting dragged on well past midnight after that, discussing potential plans, ideas, and how the general population was to be handled. No one thought of a conclusive way to kill the Radiance, but he was glad with how much progress they made. He hadn’t gotten things this organized until far later in the last timeline, and he felt much better knowing that things were coming along faster. 

He still wasn’t sure how to handle the Shade Lord, however. They were a wildcard, and he still had not seen them since they had taken up residence in the Palace a year ago. He most certainly felt them, but communicated with them? No. Additionally, he hadn’t felt them at all over the past week. Perhaps they had left for a time? He actually rather hoped so. As it stood, when the Shade Lord was near he often felt like he was constantly standing over a hornet’s nest - only he didn’t know what action would be considered ‘kicking’ it, nor what the consequences would be if he did so. (But at the least he knew they couldn’t be good - he was infused with void, after all, and it was unified under their will. He would be completely at their mercy if he angered them.)

And that was the ironic part. There was much talk about how the Radiance could take over a body with her insidious orange replacing all vital organs, but was that not what had happened to him and Dryya with the void?

What a terrifying thought.

Funny how mortal that made him feel. Was this how bugs felt when they bowed before him?

Chapter Text

The Pale King was distracted.

Distracted by the 4 void children that were currently sitting in his lab.

“So you’re saying you know nothing about the Radiance?” He asked.

She wanted to say she knew much about the Radiance.

She wanted to scream that she was currently being possessed by the Radiance.

But her body no longer obeyed her. “Not at all, I’m afraid. Those records were destroyed long ago. And whilst I can remember some scant few things, the details are...fuzzy.” 

“That’s a shame. Truly. I’ve had quite good relations with Unn, you know, and I was hoping I could find out more of what happened to your god.” It was horrifying to watch this exchange. To beat against the glass as the Pale King sat ignorant only a few steps away. To be a prisoner in your own mind.

“Oh that might’ve been so wonderful! I’m sorry I didn't know more, dear King. You seem radiant and wonderful in your intentions!” Her tone was sickeningly sweet; a convincing façade for the malevolence that lied beneath. And it was agony watching as the King believed it.

“Yes yes of course…” The King mumbled as 1 of his 4 children struggled against his grasp. “Well, seeing as we’ve discussed everything, I believe now would be a good time to conclude. Especially since the children are getting restless…” Finally breaking free, the child that had been struggling in the King’s grasp ran past her, dodging a guard who tried to grab them and exiting out the door.

“Oh dear me. The children are quite rambunctious, aren’t they?” The Radiance’s fake joy made her ill, especially with how much the god fantasized about infecting them in front of their father. “Thank you for your company, dearest King.”

Her body was ushered out, but she knew the Radiance wasn’t finished here. Originally, the goddess had planned to attack the King upon being found out, content with the plan of using her own body as a means of sending a message to the King. 

But when the King hadn’t discovered her?

That had filled the Radiance with a wicked sense of joy. With the King ignorant, the goddess was free to gather as much information as possible and attack some other time. She was going to devastate the Palace when it was least expected!

...And this was a result of her own foolish actions.

She had been so angry, so vengeful after the dream nail had been stolen from her, and in her anger she had done something terrible indeed: She had conducted a forbidden ritual and summoned the Radiance back into Hallownest with her body as the conduit.

And that had been her greatest folly.

Not two days later the Radiance had betrayed her, seizing control of her body and forcing her to watch as the rest of the tribe was infected in their sleep, the orange seeping into their bodies whilst they remained ignorant. The only one who wasn’t infected was Thistlewind, but that was hardly a consolation.

The Radiance was going to use them as disposable pawns; as nothing but a way of sending a message to the King that she had returned. To the mad goddess, they were nothing but tools. Expendable, they would be thrown away after they were no longer needed.

And their blood would lie on her own head.

Ancestors forgive her.

“So those are the symptoms? I’m aware of how it looks, but you know the specifics?”

“I lived through it, Dryya. That future...The details still haunt me. Even now. But we are ahead. We are already much better off than in that timeline, as normally I spend 5 more years mucking about with Herrah and politics, but now the only thing left to do is determine a way to stop the Radiance.”

“Did you make any significant progress towards that last time? What did you do?”

He was hoping that she wouldn’t ask that question. But at the same time he knew it was coming. “It...it failed. Horribly. I do not wish to elaborate on it, and trust me when I say that no good would come from trying it again. The cost is...it’s too great.” For a moment, it looked like she wanted to argue that; to broach the issue again. But he stopped her, “please, Dryya, let’s not discuss this matter again. No good can come from any part of that plan. None at all.”

She grew frustrated at that (not visibly, but he could certainly feel it), but thankfully dropped the matter. “Fine. Could you at least discuss the progress you made last night?”

That was something far less sensitive. “Currently, Lurien, Monomon and Herrah are looking into ways of creating protective seals. Such things could guard against a mind and prevent the Radiance from influencing it.”

“But would that work? As a permanent solution? Against a god?”

“I raised exactly that point. Such measures would stall her influence, but as you suspect, they won’t last forever. As such, I’ve begun researching ways of killing the Radiance, and to that end I’ve been looking into the dreamworld. I know of ways to enter it, but none of them are efficient, and we will need better methods if we are to successfully mount an attack and destroy her.”

“Wait. Something to enter dreams? I might have...” In a moment, Dryya produced a nail he had never seen before and handed it to him.

It radiated with a strange but unquestionable power, vibrating brightly in his own hands. “Where did you get this?” He asked, feeling the power contained within. “This nail...It is not of any mortal design. Only a god would be able to create something like this.”

“About that…” She began, clearly reluctant. “...I may have stolen it from the Moth Tribe. The Seer, to be specific.”

That surprised him. “Really? Did you know they were visiting today?”

“What?!”

“Just this morning. I was granting her and the moths with her an audience. Did they see you?”

“I didn't. I was busy in the Nursery after coming back this morning.”

That was a relief. “Hopefully not, then. They didn’t mention anything like that to me, and the guards escorted them out without hearing any complaint. Why did you even steal this in the first place?” He cast another glance at it, once again feeling that power it held. It shined with a bright purple and white light, and even just a cursory examination was enough to reveal that the blade could easily bypass any protective seal he could care to name.

“I did it for Ghost a year ago, just after they brought me back. It can cut into the dream world, but I’ve never used it. To be frank, I forgot I still had it on me. I’m still not quite used to storing things in my own body.”

“I certainly wish the children hadn’t learned to do that.” He muttered, thinking about the trouble some of them had got up to. “But I digress. Although your methods of obtaining this were...questionable, I can already see that this artefact is of immense power. It may have even been created by the Radiance herself! I’ll begin to investigate this as soon as possible, as it no doubt will prove invaluable in our fight against her.”

“Let me know what you find.”

“Pleeeeeease Alume? I like it when you teach me about fighting with nails!”  She was getting far better at understanding the sign language these days. Now she could understand the kids without any problems at all.

“How about a deal, Champ. You let me finish my work without complaining, and I’ll train you till bedtime. How does that sound?”

“Yaaay! Thank you thank you! I’ll be good, I promise!” 

Their enthusiasm was infectious. “Alright. Go run along now for a bit. I’ll still be a while.”

“Ok!” Champ dashed off, leaving her alone with the silk scroll she was working on.

She smiled, remembering how Champ and the other two kids had made gatekeeping far less mundane than it should’ve been. Whether it be their silly antics, their constant energy, or just getting into trouble, there was never a dull moment when they were around. She’d grown close to them over the months, usually spending most of her off time with them. At first she had been scared, wondering if she was really cut out for childcare, but now she cherished every moment she spent with them. Each of them were unique, and she loved all three of them with more affection than she thought it was possible for a bug to have.

Champ was the most energetic, and was excited about everything to do with nails. They loved watching her spar, and were the one that most often got into trouble whilst she was on guard duty.

Luma was the most affectionate, hugging her frequently and often finding ways to sneak into her quarters and cuddle with her at bedtime. They loved art, and some of their works already had a serious amount of skill attached to them (But was she biased? Maybe).

Lastly, Quanta was the most talkative, also spending a lot of time around some of Monomon’s teachers. They loved this strange thing called 'science' and would often talk about it for hours, even after it became clear that most of it was going over her head.

And whilst the three of them were a handful, she was happy they had decided to latch on to her. They had become a joy in her life and more than worth the effort, even if it occasionally came at the expense of her work (but then again, she had been promoted to commander. So obviously she was doing something right).

And after she signed off on a few more of these scrolls, she’d be good to go spend some more time with them.

She was more than looking forward to it.

If anything happened to her 3 troublemakers, she’d kill everyone responsible and then herself.

Chapter Text

Something was wrong.

He could feel it.

He had finally decided to come back to the tribe after a week of thinking it over, but the atmosphere of the Resting Grounds was wrong.

Very wrong.

There was an orange haze in the air.

And as he got closer and closer to the Seer’s residence, it only got stronger.

And that wasn’t the only thing. He hadn’t seen any other bug around, and he should’ve. He was well into the Resting Grounds, for Hallownest’s sake! He should have been greeted by one of his fellow moths!

But there was no one. No one and nothing. Nothing but that sickening orange that grew almost unbearable as he approached the entrance to the Seer’s humble abode.

“Hello? Seer? Are you there?”

Nothing.

“Anyone? Hello?”

Silence.

Wait, not silence.

He could hear something.

Something that was pulsating. And it was coming from inside the Seer’s home.

He didn’t like this.

But he needed to figure out what was going on.

And so despite his instincts screaming this is a bad idea! Turn back now! He reluctantly called out ‘I’m coming in!’ and entered, drawing back the curtains.

It was orange.

Orange everywhere.

Veins throbbing on the walls. Pulsating cysts (did they have faces?!) clinging to the floor. Strange, single celled things skittering all over the place.

He backed out immediately, horrified.

He needed to get out of here. Needed to tell someone. There were guards near the elevator to the City of Tears. He could get to them in a minute.

He raced back down, the sickly atmosphere mercifully receding as he dropped down to the cave that connected to the elevator.

Walking at a brisk pace, he happened upon where the guards normal-

He froze, taking in the scene that lay before him.

The guards were dead.

And he could see that sickening orange in their wounds.

They hated doing this.

Wandering off from the Palace again instead of confronting their Father.

It was getting worse now. They so desperately wanted to talk to him, to tell him who they were, but they just...couldn’t. Whenever they tried, their jumbled emotions would get bound in a tight knot, and they would promptly lose their nerve. It was even worse when they saw how their siblings clung to him. How happy they were in his grasp. How much they loved him, and he loved them. 

They wanted that.

But they kept failing to approach him.

That was why they had wandered off like this. The sight had become too much and too frequent for their confused feelings, and so getting away from the Palace for a few days had been a relief, even if they still spent most of it thinking about him. 

Not that their absence mattered.

Dryya had mastered the nail arts and no longer needed their help, their siblings were even busier with school than usual, and there was nothing interesting to see or do in the Palace; there was nothing for them there but a bleeding heartache, and so they had decided to try and distract themself with another task.

Finding the nail masters.

Mato had almost been like a father to them, and they had loved painting with Sheo. Even Oro had warmed up to them after they had given him that flower, and they hoped they would be able to do that again.

Hoped.

Would Sheo’s hut even be there when they got to him? Or Mato’s? Or Oro’s? They had no idea. It had taken an incredibly long time to get to Greenpath without being seen (traffic had been obscene in the City of Tears), and it would take longer still to get up to the Howling Cliffs and then back all the way around to Kingdom’s Edge to look for the other nail masters.

But at the very least, they were here. Just a few more turns to go, and they would be at Sheo’s-

“Where are you, Ghost?! The Palace is under attack!” Dryya’s voice, normally collected, was anxious.

“What?!”

“Merimm, go to the inner court, immediately. Take the kids and get them to the Nursery. I’ll coordinate the defenses around the secondary gate.”

His face was grave. “I’ll get reinforcements. Don’t take any risks, Alume. I saw how vicious they were when they broke through the entrance gate outside. If I was on duty when that happened, I wouldn’t ha-”

“Don’t finish that thought.” She interrupted. “Just go. And don’t worry about me - the main gate to the inner court is more important. If we lose that, we lose the Palace.”

“But what if you need help? I-” A bang sounded.

It was loud.

And it was close.

She pushed him. “Get the hell out of here, now! That’s an order!” Thankfully, that finally seemed to get the idea into his head. Realising how imminent the danger was, he took the kids and ran.

Not wasting a moment, she turned back to the secondary gate, noting that all of the guards were in position. Seeing how uncertain some of them looked, she shouted in her most commanding voice as another bang sounded. “Steady! Each of you has been chosen to defend the royal court! Each of you has been entrusted as a guardian of the Kingdom! No matter what comes through that gate, you WILL stand your ground!” She rapped a fist against her chest, “FOR HALLOWNEST!”

That put a fire in them. “FOR HALLOWNEST!”

She took up a position near (but not quite at) the front. “Hold your positions! Fliers, be ready to throw your nails!”

She got a chorus of ‘aye ayes!’ as they all readied themselves, bodies tensing as they prepared for the wave of attackers that were undoubtedly massing on the other side of the gate.

But as prepared as they were, they were not prepared enough for what happened next.

The gate was blasted straight off its hinges, crushing the soldiers at the frontlines and taking two fliers down as well. Recovering quickly, she cast her gaze to who was standing at the gate.

Just two moths. One in red, and the other in purple.

"Fliers! Now! Everyone else, rush them!" She commanded.

Heeding her order, the fliers threw their nails, and the soldiers charged.

Both attacks failed on all fronts.

The purple moth deflected the thrown weapons with an almost bored gait, summoning a yellow shield that whirled around at an absurd speed. And then, she started blasting the fliers with bolts of yellow.

On the ground, the red moth cut down all who got in his way. He took several hits, but they barely seemed to phase him, to the point where he would take a slash directly to the chest (the wound bleeding orange profusely) and impale the soldier responsible as if it hadn’t even happened.

It wasn’t long before their casualties started mounting, and the situation grew dire.

Swallowing her own fear, she tried to inspire those that were left. “Defensive positions! Do not let them get through! We must-” something hit her.

Hard.

She barely had time to register what was happening before the wall made contact with her helmet, her body crashing into the Palace architecture headfirst.

Consciousness failed her.

He raced back down the steps, two other guards behind him. Reaching the intersection that led to either the secondary or main gate, he waited for his fellows to catch up to him.

“Which way, sir?”

It didn’t take him long to come to a decision. Apparently the main gate was holding fairly well after the five knights went to defend it, and although the three of them could hardly be considered reinforcements, he was sure Alume would understand after he updated her on the situation.

“To the secondary gate. I- what?!” He was dumbfounded as he took in the two bugs that were strolling along the corridor, coming from the same hallway he had run through just minutes before.

They had gotten through Alume? Just the 2 of them? And in barely 10 minutes?

...If they could get through her and her platoon, he and the two under him most certainly wouldn’t stop them. “Change of plans.” He said, turning to them. “Retreat. Now. Warn the King.”

“What? But we outnumber them!” 

“Those two just got through 20 bugs, and in less than 20 minutes. Get out of here! Now! Someone needs to warn the King!” Funny how Alume was telling him to do the same just a few minutes ago.

“He’s right. Get your chitin in gear, newbie.” The more experienced guard cast him a long look.

The kind that one gave to someone about to die. “Good luck.” The two ran off, and he turned back to the moths which had watched the exchange.

“How entertaining! My, but mortal heroics never fail to amuse me, even with how much I’ve seen today. Nevertheless, I’m in quite a hurry. Markoth, deal with this protagonist. I can’t have the Wyrm getting comfortable.”

“As you wish.” The red moth approached him, orange nail in hand. “Do not speak, warrior. Your words mean nothing in face of all the others that I have cut down today. Raise your weapon and die an empty death.”

“How dare you.” He grew angry at the moth’s arrogant tone. “You come in and kill our people and have the nerve to tell me to die quietly? I may not be stronger nor wiser than any of the others you’ve massacred today, but I won’t go quietly.”

“Then you will perish chittering in vain. Raise your weapon then, fool, and die like those who came before you.”

“We’ll see about that.” He rushed the moth, an iron will stomping out all fear.

And as they crossed blades, the battle began.

He was just about to seal off the Nursery when the two guards he sent that butterfly off with came running back to him.

“You two.” He acknowledged, noting how they were both panting. “Why are you back? Where is your superior?”

“He told us to run, sir. We came across two moths, one purple and one red, and both of them had just breached the secondary gate. He said he would stall them, and to warn you.”

He was about to respond, but stilled at the presence that was approaching.

Her.

“What do we do, sir?”

“Get in the Nursery with the others. Tell the White Lady that she is here.” He opened the door just enough for them. “Now!”

They obliged, both of them hurriedly squeezing through the gap. Hastily shutting the door and sealing it with his brand, he turned back to the empty hallway.

And waited.

It did not take long. The Seer came up the steps with a wicked aura, and vicious smile.

Correction: This was not the Seer. 

This was the Radiance, pulling on the poor bug’s strings.

“I never planned for this, you know.” Her tone was relaxed and casual. Like this was nothing but a pleasant midday stroll. “Originally, I was planning on just attacking you the moment you realised who I was in that last meeting, content with sending a message and nothing more. But when your adorable children clouded your vision and prevented you from noticing?” She laughed, her voice sickeningly amused. “Well, you can already see what I came up with. My puppets proved a welcome distraction.”

His glow increased to blinding, but she was entirely unaffected. “You wretched thorn. The day of your reckoning is coming. Mark my words.”

She was entirely unperturbed, “oh I know.” She smiled, “and I am entirely aware that this little game we’re about to play will end in my defeat. But what have I to lose? You took everything from me. And now that you have?” She hurled a seeking yellow bolt at him. “Dawn shall break.”

And so they clashed, bursts of SOUL and orange infection tainting the hallway as the both of them rained fury on eachother. He was burning with rage as he sent spell after spell against her, and he could tell that the thought was returned when she did likewise.

“They were right.” He snarled when there was a brief break from the action, “your people were right to turn their backs on you. I never intended to take them from you, but for you to react in such an extreme measure after they did so? You reveal who you truly are: a selfish and greedy god who doesn’t deserve their own power.”

The gleeful smile that had clung to her face for most of the fight disappeared in an instant. “HOW DARE YOU! I-”

“Oh I most certainly dare. You have killed my people, and come to me laughing like it’s some sort of shared joke between us. Maybe you loved your people at one point, but your callous disregard for them now? Disgusting. Your people aren’t yours anymore, and they stopped being yours after you began possessing their bodies and treating them as disposable. Make no mistake, Radiance, your condemnation is deserved, and I will not rest until you have been wiped from existence.”

She did not respond to that.

But with the way she hurled herself at him, summoned nail in hand and murderous glint in her eyes?

That was more than enough of an answer for him.

He gave everything he had, fighting the red moth who had undoubtedly slaughtered dozens of his friends and coworkers. He parried and dodged and blocked all he could, even landing a few good hits...

...but it wasn’t enough. The wounds he created certainly bled, but the moth kept on fighting as if they weren’t even there, strikes as swift and powerful as ever whilst his quickly began to grow sluggish and weak.

He couldn’t keep up. And after a fumbled parry, he lost.

The moth stabbed him through the heart, leaving the orange nail in his body as he fell to his knees.

“MERIMM!” It was Dryya’s voice. He could hear her coming.

She wasn’t coming fast enough.

I’m sorry, Atlas. He thought as the red moth swung at his neck. I loved you, little buddy. I’m sorry I won’t be there for you.

The image of the little child he had grown to love and care for flashed in his eyes as the nail rend his neck from his shoulders.

She groaned as she came back to the waking world.

Her head hurt like hell.

Everything hurt like hell.

She got up, tearing her helmet off (the thing had snapped in half, but it had saved her head) and taking in the scene that was before her.

It was gruesome.

The corpses of bugs littered the floor, some of them covered in orange, others nearly incinerated, and others still with several holes in their body from multiple stab wounds. It had been a massacre, and she was the only survivor.

“Damn it.” She cursed, taking in the sight of a flier she had know impaled to a wall. “Damn it damn it damnit.” She nearly sobbed.

How many had been killed like this? How many more did she know personally? Would it have even been possible to prepare for something like this? She had failed them, dammit! As a leader she should’ve died in the heat of battle with them, not be the only one left standing!

...And yet, as much as she wanted to join them, she was now burdened with even more responsibility. If she broke down here, where there very well could still be enemies around, their sacrifice would be for naught.

And so, instead of crying (like she desperately wanted to) she swallowed a sob, picked up her nail from where it had lay nearby, and headed inward.

She wasn’t in good condition. Her body ached from the force of whatever had thrown her into the wall, and her head was definitely concussed. She would not be able to put up much of a fight if she was forced into a confrontation, and so she took it slow, trying to be discreet.

It paid off. As she got closer and closer to the inner parts of the Palace, she managed to evade detection from a moth that was walking forward, heading inward like she was. They had likely passed her by earlier when she was unconscious, thinking her a corpse.

She drew her nail, but opted to tail them instead of fight. They were still enough of a distance away to where she wouldn’t be able to rush them with a guaranteed chance of taking them out, and she didn’t want to try sneaking closer to them - it was already a small miracle that they hadn’t heard her whilst she was kitted out in full heavy plate. It would be better to try and take them whilst they were distracted with something. Probably when they got into a fight.

That reminded her - how were their defences holding up? How well were the others fighting? With the secondary gate gone, defending the primary gate and inner court would be significantly harder.

But then again, how could you defend against whatever that purple moth was packing? That bug had annihilated her unit with ease, and it scared her. Being a leader meant she had to swallow her fear sometimes, but that situation had nearly broken her facade. How could anyone have that much magic? How coul-

The sound of fighting reached her antenna, jolting her from her thoughts and causing her to stop midstep.

The moth she was tailing did likewise, freezing for a second...

...Only to bolt, wings fluttering as they rounded the corner at the end of the hall. Damnit! She couldn’t lose them! Forcing her sore body to move, she managed a light jog as she rounded the corner as well.

Dryya was there, fending off a red moth who was viciously attacking her. The knight was completely focused on the fight, and not on the other moth who was currently diving bombing at her back with a nail prime to run her through.

Fight response kicking in, she sprinted as fast as she could.

“DRYYA! BEHIND YOU! WATCH OUT!”

“DRRYA! BEHIND YOU! WATCH OUT!” She didn’t have time to turn before a nail pierced right through her armour and torso, a sizable amount of pain blooming in her chest.

But that pain was nothing compared to what the crusader moth did to her after seeing that her guard was down.

He threw a SOUL nail at her, taking advantage of the fact that she could no longer dodge.

It impaled her through the shoulder.

He threw another.

It ripped her through the chest.

She dropped to the floor, pain rising to a roaring crescendo as she heard Alume stab something behind her while screaming literal bloody murder.

“BASTARD! MURDERER!” The ant was charging the crusader moth now, the guard's gait a mix of desperation, anger, and grief.

But she could not watch any longer. Strength leaving her, she slumped, blackness creeping into the edges of her vision as her eyes drifted backwards to Merimm's headless corpse.

She was going to die like him.

She could hear a grunt from Alume, and the screeching of nail against metal.

She had failed him.

“DAMN YOU!” She heard Alume cry.

Ghost wasn’t far from her now, but she was too weak to reach out.

“You will die like all the others.” The crusader moth replied arrogantly, “you cannot hope to defeat me.” He had killed so many, had slaughter so many of her pupils, and now he was going to murder the first student she had ever taught?

Something defiant rose within her.

No.

The void leaking out of her came crawling back, filling her with new life.

I will not be defeated.

Alume was screaming in pain.

She cannot die.

She grabbed onto one of the nails embedded in her body, and tore.

She must not die.

The wound closed over almost immediately, and she quickly went to pull out the second one.

Not like him.

She willed the second wound to close. And it obeyed.

Not like Merimm.

The last one in her shoulder was trivially removed, the void reforming as if it was never there.

Not like all of the others.

She got up.

Not like the others he had killed.

He noticed, turning from Alume who was now bleeding out on the floor. 

He must pay for what he has done.

He summoned four SOUL nails, throwing them all at her.

You will not stop me.

Still carrying the nail that had been embedded in her shoulder, she ran right for him.

You will not defeat me.

She dashed through the nails, void dispersing as the weapons went right through her.

You will not live.

She reformed, coming out of the dash swinging just like Ghost had taught her.

Not after what you've done.

She guillotined him.

Justice.

His body fell to the floor, orange spewing from the neck.

Exactly what you deserved.

A choking gurgle drew her attention to the bug nearby.

Alume.

There was a gaping hole in her chest where a SOUL nail had been.

She was bleeding.

Help her.

She was dying.

Save her.

“Ddryya. I-I-I…” She took the ant’s hand as blood spilled out of her mouth.

Restore her.

She lay a hand over the wound of the dying bug.

And blackness spilled into it.

He is bleeding.

Blackness pouring from his wounds.

It doesn’t scare him anymore.

Not like it did a year ago.

But it certainly scared the Radiance, who had a nail to her neck.

“You...You embraced it.” She looked at him in horror. “You’re...you’re...Why? Why become a monster?”

“I don’t need to explain myself to you.” He said, nail getting ever so closer to her neck (he was only restraining himself because he knew there was another bug in there, another bug who has been watching powerless this entire time). “My reasons are my own, and you most certainly haven’t earned the right to hear them.”

“Fine.” She spat, “but know that it makes me sick. Even if not physically visible, I see what you truly are now. You are a monster, a hidden abyss that is hardly constrained. What would your people think if they saw your truth form?!”

“I doubt they’d care.” He replies honestly, “many of them find my children adorable, and they are the same as I. But enough of this prattle.” He raised his nail up, “your time is up. Goodbye, Radiance.”

She laughed, “my time is just beginning! You think this is the end of me? The death of this vessel is as meaningless to me as it is to you. I have plenty more that are under my light, and they are ripe for possession. Now go on, strike me down. Kill this puppet that has outlived its usefulness.”

He most certainly wanted to.

But he didn’t.

Not after seeing the being that was behind her.

“Well? Come on! Kill me! What are you, so soft that you can’t stomach the fact that you’re killing another defenceless mortal? Don’t make me laugh!”

He took a step back.

Funny how the Radiance had been calling him a fool for not noticing her presence, yet now she was making herself out to be an even greater one by not noticing something infinitely her greater.

A tendril emerged from Void Given Focus, grabbing on the Radiance’s leg and dragging her to them.

“Y͋̓͘o̧ͧ͋u̧͑́̾͆̓̂̔.” He could feel their rage.

It terrified him.

"Yͨ̊̏ͤ͟oͪ͟u̽ ̑ͩͭḧͪ͛u͋̐ͦ̎̊̄͂r͌̃͗̎t̔͊ͨͥ ̈́͜mͦ͛̂y͊ͮ͗̔̈́ ḟ̸͌ͧͤa̕m̢̓ͭỉͩlͣyͩ̄."

She let out a squeak as more tendrils wrapped around her.

"Ỷͤ̎̊͐̎̔o̶̽̽u ̐ͧͮ͑͡h̨͑̑͒ͤu̓ͮͦ̚r̓͜tͦ͒ my͒̌ͬ ͆̓̄͡F͑͛͊̆a̴ͮ̓̆̊̃̚t͒̉ͫ̀ͬḧͩ͜e̸rͥ̏ͯͩ.ͣ̓̎"

Wait, what?

"̢͍͍N̺̝͚̱̘̬̰o̧̬̘͖͚͔w͕̣̼,͞ ͏͙͕̙̮̩̖I̶͕̘̠ ̩w̙͖̭̳iͅl̬̤̟l͍̲̩͔̳ ̲̻h̨̪̘͙͈̞̯͇ur̤t͙̳̺͈͕͖ ̫̞̞̱̕ͅͅy̸o̲̪̯͈̼̭͠u͎͈̬̘̱͙̝̕.̼̣̟̗ͅ"͔̙

A seemingly endless amount of void came from the Shade Lord.

And all of it funnelling directly into Radiance.

Partway through the process, he heard a shriek as the goddess was forced out, her grip on the Seer vanishing and her presence fleeing to possess some other bug.

And yet, the Shade Lord kept going. 

Going and going until the process was finally finished.

And when it was, they let go of the Seer.

Her eyes black and endless instead of orange and sickly.

Chapter Text

The Seer stood up.

And wept.

That made complete sense to him. How long had she been forced to watch whilst the Radiance tortured and murdered using her body? He could only guess, but the fact remained that her tears were expected - and more than justified.

But the Shade Lord’s reaction to her tears?

That made no sense to him at all.

“It’s okay. I’m here. You’re okay. She can’t get you any more.” The Seer was inconsolable, black tears trailing down her cheeks as the Lord of Shades wrapped her in a four armed embrace. 

The scene was touching.

But it left him with another problem:

He had absolutely no idea what to do.

Should he say something? Do something? Their power is infinitely beyond him (and it shined far brighter with how close they were) and they know of his sins.

His sins which were blacker than even their endless black.

You coward. He thought, guilt adding onto the anxiety he was already feeling, you know exactly what you deserve; know with absolute certainty why you deserve damnation. Yet in the face of imminent judgement you can’t face it? Can’t face the punishment that you know to be just? What are yo-

“Father.” 

One word. That is all it takes; all it takes to make his thoughts freeze in their tracks. That same damned word that just moments before he thought must’ve been a mistake or something he had misheard.

“Father.” The Shade Lord was looking at him now. 

Looking at him in a way that sent his emotions into complete and utter disarray. 

His voice is strangled and raw as he speaks. “W-what did you just call me?! Wh-ho are you?” Before, he was afraid that the Lord of Shades would enact a payment on him for intruding upon their domain. But now? Now he is afraid for an entirely different reason.

“Come to me. Please.”

His mind is a mess, but his body obeys of its own violation. Approaching the Shade Lord, everything is tight; tight with an extraordinary amount of fear, anxiety, and uncertainty. “W--who are you?!” He asks, voice shaking.

Their next few words make his mind fall to pieces.

“I am your child. Look at me.” He does so.

They are climbing a pit.

“No cost too great.”

Their siblings are falling all around them.

“No mind to think.”

They stumble, nearly falling with them.

“No will to break.”

Their twin sibling is ahead of them.

“No voice to cry suffering.”

They need to get to them.

“Born of God and Void.”

They race up a few more platforms.

“You shall seal the blinding light that plagues their dreams.”

With one final jump, they are holding onto the top platform.

“You are the Vessel.”

Their twin sibling is there! But they can’t get up! Their grip is too weak!

“You are the Hollow Knight.”

Their sibling looks at them.

And then turns away.

They fall.

He comes back to the physical world, and tears immediately begin to leave his eyes as he looks up at the god that is so infinitely stronger than him, but also someone they know.

“You-you’re…” He is stuttering over his words, barely able to bear the truth. “-my...my child. O-one of the ones I-I...” He can’t say it. Can’t finish the sentence. Can only look into their 8 eyes that stare back at him.

Their 8 eyes which have seen so much grief, pain, and suffering, and all because of him.

He weeps, becoming very much like the Seer as he is taken into their embrace. “My c-child. I have...I-I have-e…” His robes are stained nearly completely black with how much void he is crying. “...I have failed you. I don’t...I-I don’t deserve your mercy, nor forgiveness.”

“I know.” They say.

And then their next few words (along with the pure and raw love that is flowing out of them and into him) break him completely.

“But I forgive you.”

And there, their child cries with them as well.

The three of them remain that way for a long time.

Each of them broken in a different way.

The rest of the day (and the day after) followed a similar theme. The atmosphere was filled with mourning, and more tears are shed than water in the Blue Lake. Just under half of the guards were killed in the attack (the magistrate included), and just over a quarter of the retainers were as well.

None of his knights were injured during the attack, nor any of his children (all of them made it to the Nursery in time, thank Hallownest), but that is not a consolation for those that have lost so many; for those that are too grieved to even bow to him when he passes them by (not that expects them to).

Many of the bodies are burned, orange sizzling and popping as they are turned to ash. He knows that cleanup should be more organized, but he does not make a formal announcement and command on that, not yet. All of them deserve a day to weep, and far be it for him to rob them of that (Especially the Seer. She had promised to tell him more about the Radiance, but only after being given a day to mourn for her people. He had agreed to that without a second thought).

Ghost stuck to him like a shadow for most of it, as did Wander and Hallow. Hallow is incredibly confused as to Ghost’s presence, but Wander strangely isn’t - acting as if they’d played with Ghost before. Normally he would be concerned about that, but the fact is so irrelevant compared to I abandoned Ghost to die, and they’re the one that gave me a second chance. Gave me everything because they loved me (Ghost loves them all so much, and he cannot handle their constant desire to protect, cherish, and love ).

It is in his office during that night when he has a private conversation with them, Hallow and Wander being sent off to bed.

“Why?” He asks, eyes watering as the guilt comes back, “why did you spare me? And give me a second chance? You could have killed me and taken my place, and you would have been right to do so. Why?”

“Maybe I wanted to kill you.” Ghost replied, “but I couldn’t. Not after seeing how much pain you were in. Not after seeing how you suffered. And coming up to that time, I was so tired. Tired of killing. Tired of suffering. Tired of seeing everyone around me die, whether it be by me or by something else. You were all that I had left, and I couldn’t bring myself to kill you. No matter how much you deserved it.”

“You speak like I no longer deserve to be damned. I still do.” He said, not fully crying but letting the tears flow free. “I still remember their faces, their cracked masks. I’ve-”

“Stop! Don’t!” With a hand they bring his gaze up to theirs, “I’ve felt how you feel. For an entire year I have lived near you, watching everything you've done. And no matter how much you think you don’t deserve it, you’ve done right. By your kingdom, by your children, and by me.” They hug him, their love filling every part of his body with warmth.

And whilst his sins still weigh heavily on him, Ghost’s love brings him hope.

Hope that perhaps his redemption is more than just a dream.

Before, he had dared to dream.

Now, he dared to hope.

Chapter Text

Grief and sorrow. Pain and loss. Guilt and heartache.

She is intimately familiar with these feelings. She has cried for these, and helped others who were crying for these. It was her duty, after all. The one chosen as the Seer was always the one to conduct the funerary rites and comfort those who had lost someone.

But of course, that doesn't stop the self blame and self doubt. The reminders that you caused this; the self loathing that came with being responsible for a terrible tragedy. 

The memory of summoning the Radiance still haunts her, as do the implications of it.

Children crying over lost loved ones.

Guards in the courtyard burning up corpses with a mournful silence.

Servants cleaning over bloodstains with a quiet grief.

But she can’t think of that now, lest the guilt consume her. She has seen it happen to others, after all. So instead, she meditates.

Be still. Breathe deep. Clear your mind.

Certain things must be kept in balance.

The rites soothe her, even as much as she knows that this will be a recurring problem. Guilt from loss is one thing, but guilt from sins is another.

Especially when those sins had caused the suffering of so many, and will continue to do so.

She can feel it now; can feel the suffering of those that are just like what she has become. Whether it be the guilt and self loathing that comes from the Pale King himself, the anxiety and hurt that comes from the Living Abyss, or the sadness and crying that come from children all around the White Palace.

She may still feel that guilt, and she may not be quite sane after watching her body torture and murder whilst she beat on the glass, but she knows what she must do.

Certain things must be kept in balance.

The children are crying in her arms as she carries them back to her room.

Crying for ones lost in an attack she caused.

She does not say anything as she brings them back to her room. Merely holds on to them tighter as the same blackness she is now made of streams down their faces.

They are children, and yet the pain they feel (and will continue to feel) is greater than most grieving adults will ever know. The ones they loved were the ones that cared for them, and now that they are gone there is no one around to hold them close, not when their birthparents and the rest of the servants and guards are suffering in similar ways.

Even she will not be able to stop so much suffering.

But it is not so much about stopping it as it is undergoing it without it breaking you completely.

She croons to the five that are with her, offering a quiet song in a time of quiet grief. The children continue to cry, but she does not stop - you never rushed the process of grief, only assaged it

And after a much longer time (it is evening now) they are finally silent.

All of them are asleep.

All but one.

They hold onto her, no longer crying but simply wishing to be comforted. She hugs them tightly, sending them love and comfort through the link she has only recently been given, but has already quickly adapted to.

“Thank you. ” They say, “I miss him.”

They do not refer to him by name, but from the happy memories she sees of a butterfly holding onto them as they fly throughout the Palace, she knows who they are talking about.

Something is wrong with her.

She doesn’t feel any different, but she damn well looks different.

Parts of her chitin are blackened and moving. Yet she feels the same as ever, if not better.  

It’s not right. Especially not when she cuts herself and the wound heals in seconds , blackness shutting the wound and replacing it in a moment.

It scares the hell out of her. She damn well remembered that her blood didn’t do that before she had woken up!

“Ms Alume? Are you okay?” And then there’s that.

She can hear them.

Feel them.

In her head.

“Yes, Quanta.” She says, trying to pretend that everything is alright (it is very much not) , “just trying to figure things out.”

“Are you sure? You feel sad and confused. What’s wrong?”

She is more than a little concerned that they can feel that. “You can feel that? My emotions?”

“Of course I do! You’re just like me! Or Ms Dryya! Why wouldn’t I?” That reminds her.

Dryya did something to her.

Saved her life, but also something else.

She has to find her.

Because nothing has been the same ever since she woke up after the attack.

She is bleeding out, blood dripping out of her mouth and out of her stomach as blackness bends around the edges of her vision. Dryya is approaching her, but it’s already too late. She knows it.

“Ddryya, I-I-I…” She chokes on her own blood, unable to say anything more.

Dryya does not respond, but takes her hand and crouches down next to her. The other hand goes to her wound. To staunch it maybe? But she’s too far gone, and Dryya isn’t stupid - she knows it too. Why is the knight doing this? Nothing can save her. 

But something does.

She can feel it flowing into her body. It is going into every part of her, and it’s so cold. 

Cold like death.

She tries to speak, tries to ask Dryya what’s going on, but as the cold gets to her head it all goes black.

Black and endless.

She had woken up in her bed in the barracks afterward, confused and wondering if it was all a dream (and after realising that it wasn’t, she wished it was).

“Quanta, do you know where Dryya is? I need to speak with her.”

“Oh that’s easy! Her mind is always so strong! This way!” That sentence alone gives her even more questions than she already has, but she lets herself be led along.

Because as fine as she feels, she isn’t fine.

And she can’t understand why.

Chapter Text

His moment with Ghost was interrupted after the both of them felt the presence of two others approaching the office.

Dryya’s mind is resolute, familiar. He was expecting her as she walked through the door.

But he most certainly didn’t expect Commander Alume to step out from behind her, nor the sheer amount of uncertainty that she is unknowingly projecting.

She is just like Dryya.

Infused with the void.

“What happened?” He asked, “Ghost, was this your doing?”

“Not me. It wa-”

“I can explain, Ghost.” Dryya gave him a straight look. “I did it.”

That surprised him. “What?”

“She was going to die during the attack. I acted on instinct. And this happened.”

He isn’t sure how to respond to that.

But Ghost is, apparently.

"I told you, Dryya. If you believe in something hard enough, it will happen! The void is fluid! It can do anything if you jus-” Ghost is interrupted by Alume, who is staring at both him and his child turned god of gods with wide (and blackened) eyes.

“Your majesty, with all due respect, what in Hallownest is going on?!” 

He sighed.

This was going to be a long night.

“Commander Alume, before I even begin to explain, I would like you to go over what you know, starting from the beginning.”

“I...Alright. Yes sir. I can do that. During the attack, I was mortally wounded and bleeding out. I thought I was going to die, but Dryya...She did something. Put her hand over the wound. I felt so cold...and then I blacked out. I woke up later this afternoon.”

This could go really poorly depending on how she took this. “Alume, you are familiar with the Abyss project, are you not? I believe I vaguely recall you being there when I was reprimanding Quinn.”

He could see her connecting the dots. “Wait a second. This is...the void? This black stuff? That’s what this is?”

“That is exactly what I was about to say, yes. The void is part of you now, Alume, just like it is part of me, or part of Dryya. And before you ask, yes, it is permanent. There is no way to reverse it.”

“I...What does this mean? I feel fine, maybe even better than fine.”

“Oh that’s good! I was worried Dryya didn’t do it right, but you’re feeling okay? Great! I’m sure Champ, Luma and Quanta will be happy to see you!” His child really didn’t understand this, did they? He really needed to talk to Ghost about the implications of irreversibly altering a bug’s body.

“Err...yeah. I spent some time with Quanta today. It was...good.” Alume responded awkwardly, clearly not sure what to say (And well, she was right to not be sure - she was standing before a god of gods, after all).

He brought her attention back to him. “Alume, I know this may be a bit much. I felt the same way when it happened to me, and so did Dryya.” The knight gave a short nod, “but know that you aren’t alone. We’ll help you get through this.”

She was clearly trying to hide how scared she was. He could feel it. “...Alright. What should I be doing now, sir? Just going about my business as usual?” He considered that. What should he be doing with her?

Suddenly, an idea popped into his head. 

Ah, excellent! It was all coming together!

“I think not. Given the circumstances, and hearing how highly both Dryya and my children speak of you, I believe a promotion is in order.” He fished through his desk, grabbing a hallownest seal and handing it to her. “Effective immediately, I am inducting you into my inner circle, and later I will see to it that you are promoted to magistrate. I am aware that the timing of this is less than ideal, given how overwhelmed you currently are, but I would rather not put this off.”

“Promotion to magistrate? The head of the guard? With all due respect sir, do you think that’s a good decision? I got my entire unit killed defending the secondary gate yesterday! I’m not fit to command! And what’s this about an inner circle?”

“You may drop the formalities, Alume. Concerning that massacre yesterday...No one could have prepared for that. Especially given who you were up against. As for being part of my inner circle...it involves many things. Primarily the fact that you will be privy to many things the common bug wouldn’t be, but that’s not the end of it. Dryya, I want you to stick with Alume for the next few days. Tell her everything she needs to know about, and help her coordinate what remains of our guard force. Understood?”

“Absolutely.” Dryya replied.

“Good, you two are dismissed. Get some rest - it’s been a long day.”

The higher beings of Hallownest are most certainly not what most bugs make them out to be.

As a mystic amongst the moth tribe, she knew this.

But now she knows this in a far deeper way.

They are almost like mortals in how they act. They have emotions. They have flaws. Behind all the power and magic they wield, they are quite similar to any mundane bug in how they act and behave. They have desires, likes, dislikes, and are subject to grief, fear and pain all the same.

But of course, that brings up the fact that she isn’t quite mortal. Not anymore.

At one point she had been afraid of the void; had been terrified of the infinite blackness  that resided in Hallownest. But not any longer. She had embraced the void - had cried into it as it comforted her with soft croons, and she could see now that the enemy here was not the endless abyss that currently roamed the halls of the Palace, but the angry light that was now prowling Hallownest.

What an ironic thing. As moths they were by their very nature attracted to the light, but now she took far more comfort in the darkness. Perhaps a side effect of what she now was? Regardless, it didn’t matter. She would never seek the light again, not after it had thrown the lives of her tribe members away with a callous lack of care. Instead, she would aid the abyss in consuming it (and how much she had changed to think of something like that!)

But enough of that. The King is speaking to her.

“Seer. How are you feeling?” 

“Better.” She responded, “you may think me odd for not being perturbed by what I now am, but the truth is that I have long since become desensitized to such things. Perhaps that is unhealthy, but is it healthy to witness your own body murder and destroy whilst you stand powerless?”

“...No, it isn’t.” He conceded. “You’re surprisingly well adjusted, considering what she did to you.”

“Perhaps. But enough of that - you know why I’m here. She must be destroyed, no matter how long and painful a process it will be.”

He sighed. “I know. Looking for ways to get into the dream realm has already been difficult enough, especially with how much damage control I’ve had to do over the past few days with regards to the attack.”

“You have the dream nail, do you not? That old thing should be more than suitable for what you need.”

“I was wondering if you were going to bring that up.” He produced it from his desk, handing it to her. “Knight Dryya stole it from you, and I apologize. I did not order her to do that, but I do not feel good about it all the same, and you deserve an apology.”

She handed it back, much to his surprise. “Keep it. I bear you or her no disdain. At one point I did, but those are old scars. I still wish she hadn’t, however, because at the time it led me to do something both rash and terrible. You must know, Pale King, that it was I that summoned the Radiance. In my anger I conducted a forbidden ritual, and due to that her light now pervades Hallownest.”

For a moment his glow brightened...But then it dulled again, and he rubbed his forehead in resignation. “It’s...fine. I knew that she was going to come eventually, and there are many things that I too regret. Regardless of your help, her fury would not stay forgotten forever, and I was preparing for that.”

“Indeed. But still, I have brought upon a terrible blight to the bugs of Hallownest, and in penitence for that crime I pledge myself to you. I will aid you in stopping her, Pale King, for it is the only way I can truly repent for that sin.”

She felt something from him in that moment. Something of regret, of grief, and of sorrow, but it is only for a fleeting moment. Afterwards, he grabbed something from his desk and handed it to her.

“I understand. Take this hallownest seal - those who are aware of the trouble we face also carry these, and it will prove that you are amongst those I trust. Later, I want to discuss the specifics of the dream world in more detail, but for now there is too much going on. Thank you for your time.”

She bowed humbly. “You are most welcome. We have a hard time ahead of us, but I will do all that I can to aid you. Certain things have to be kept in balance.”

At one time, she thought she had 71 children.

She thought wrong.

Her 72nd is currently in her arms, and they are crying.

They are Void Given Focus.

They are a god far beyond her or her Wyrm.

But they are also carrying wounds that make her heart ache.

They are so desperate for family, so desperate for love, and she can tell how alone they’ve been by how much they cling to her and the 30 other children that are currently with her (many of them are crying too, for bugs lost in that dreadful attack).

She croons to them, wrapping them in branches of love and warmth, and they lean into it with a desperate desire, as if it is going to be taken away from them at any time (she so desperately wants to take their pain away with every fiber of her being, and it tears her up seeing how hurt they are).

“I’m sorry, Mother!” They said, the pain and grief in their telepathy speaking volumes. “I shouldn’t have stayed hidden, shouldn’t have waited until the Radiance had hurt so many bugs.”

They are so much like their Father in how they apologize; for how much they want to save the world. “You did the best you could. I know you did. The blame does not lie on you, my child. There will always be things you wish you could do better. Know that I am here for you, always. I love you, and I will never leave you.”

She knows they still don’t believe it wasn’t their fault.

But with the way they cling to her tightly, she also knows that the scars they carry will not be healed, not easily.

But no matter how hard it is, she will heal them.

For while they may be the Void Given Focus, they are still her child.

And she will never give up on them.

Chapter Text

“Burn the bodies, immediately. I know that this won’t be a comfort to those who lost their loved ones in the attack, but the risk of infection is too great. Do what you can for them, but do not let that plague spread.”

The watcher knight bowed, “yes sir.” After they left, he slumped a little in his chair. 

This entire ordeal had been a mess.

13 civilians dead, 22 guards killed, and one of his watcher knights falling in battle. It had been a catastrophe, and one that no one had prepared for. The situation at the White Palace was even worse, allegedly, with over 70 dead or injured. He gave the Pale King’s letter another glance.

 …We were forced to defend ourselves against them. Their deaths are a tragedy, especially since the Radiance knew what she was doing, but there is nothing that can be done about it now...

The entire race of moths being annihilated like that was awful, and it was a loss he doubted many would truly comprehend.

…And it was going to make what he was about to do even harder.

“Uville? Can you check in on the last moth? Thistlewind? If he’s feeling well, collect him and bring him here.”

“I will just be a moment, sir.” His butler scuttled off, eager to have something to do.

That moth, Thistlewind, had nearly been killed after getting into a fight with the other infected ones during the ordeal. He had happened by the incident just as it started, and was lucky enough to save the moth just before they took a nail to the heart. It was just as well, too. Thistlewind had said that he had seen something bad at the Resting Grounds, and that he needed to tell someone. Normally, he would have listened to the moth at his earliest convenience, but given how wounded Thistlewind had been (not infected though, thank Hallownest) he’d put off the conversation for some time.

Not any longer.

“Thistlewind.” He greeted as the moth came in, “how are you feeling?”

“Much better now. Thank you so much for your hospitality...and for saving my life. Are we here to talk about what happened? And what I saw?”

“Yes, have a seat.” The moth did so. “Let’s start from the beginning. What were you doing before you came into the city?”

“I wanted to visit my tribe at the Resting Grounds. I...I had a falling out with them a year ago, and I felt bad. I wanted to apologise to them. But when I got there, I witnessed a horrific sight. There was an orange haze in the air, and further in I saw these...pustules covering the walls and floor, along with these terrible throbbing veins. I swear some of those things had faces! I left as quickly as I could, following the trail of bodies that led to the City of Tears. I caught up to my tribe there, and you know what happened next.”

That was troubling indeed. “Was anyone else in the Resting Grounds?”

“No. I thought I saw something small and orange scuttling about in there...But I didn’t stick around. Do you know what happened to my fellow tribe members after you and the watcher knights retreated? Where did they go?”

He sighed. This was not going to go well. “I just received a correspondence from the Pale King himself. The disease drove them mad...As far as I know, the royal guard had to kill them...All of them.”

Thistlewind didn’t cry, but from the way they hunched over and their expression quickly turned downcast, it was obvious that he was grieving in his own way. “I...I never even said goodbye to them after that last argument. I just…”

“I know.” He said, leaning forward, “one of my knights died during the ordeal, and the King lost many of his own as well. I know these aren’t nice circumstances.”

“It’s...I don’t even know what to do anymore. I’ve grown tired of being an explorer, but what’s left for me now that my tribe is gone? I’m the last of a dying tribe, Lurien. What’s the point to going on like this?”

He didn’t like where Thistlewind was going with this. Not that he blamed the moth. (He had lost his entire family, for Hallownest’s sake! Of course he wasn’t going to take it well!) But he couldn’t let this tram of thought continue. They had enough tragedies in the world as it was.

“I know it’s not easy. Not when everything has been so bad for you. If you feel comfortable, I have a meeting with the King scheduled for later today. You may be able to get some closure...If the bodies haven’t been burned to prevent contamination, that is.” 

He immediately regretted saying that last bit. (His social skills certainly hadn’t improved, had they?) But Thistlewind didn’t comment on it, agreeing with a numb acceptance.

“If you say so.” 

The rest of the day went by in a blur. He coordinated more with his knights, wrote a few more letters, and made sure to check up on Thistlewind frequently. True be told, he was also avoiding some grief of his own, but this work certainly wasn’t going to do itself.

He was beginning to think that it was a mistake to bring Thistlewind along with him to the Palace. The King had no doubt burned all of the bodies there by now, and he wasn’t sure if the moth would have anything to offer other than perhaps reiterating his story to the King (which was something he supposed, but definitely not much more than a 5 minute conversation). But then again, what else could he have done? The moth was clearly depressed, and he was admittedly a little concerned about what Thistlewind would do if he left them to their own devices. Hopefully there was something at the Palace for him. 

Hopefully.

It was a foolish hope, he knew, but better than no hope at all.

“You alright? The main gate leading to the Palace is just around the corner.” That was quite frankly a horrible question. The moth was still covered in bruises and bandages, and his mind was likely not doing much better, but better to warn him of the high traffic that they were about to get into.

“...I’ll manage. Keep going.” He didn’t like how quiet Thistlewind’s tone was, but obliged, rounding the corner to see the…

“What in Hallownest?!” He gasped as he took in the scene before him.

There were mantises.

Mantises everywhere.

“You have a lot of nerve.” He said icily to the two sister mantis lords. “Why did you bring half your tribe to my front gate? Are you trying to incite me?”

“We are not.” Vera replied.

And then her next 5 words completely threw him for a loop.

“We wish to join you.”

“What?!” He asked, flabbergasted. “What are you talking about? What happened?”

“Your little ‘demonstration’ in the village a year ago threw us completely into disharmony.” Arla chimed in. “It got to a point where conflict broke out. Suffice to say, half the tribe despises you with every fiber of their being, and the other half wants you to lead them.”

“This is…” He floundered for a moment, nearly at a loss. “...I’d like to say this was planned, but it certainly wasn’t. You’re saying half the entire tribe wants me to rule over them?”

“It’s actually a lot more than that. But yes, we do.”

“You two as well? I hadn’t…”

“I’m not going to say I liked what you did, Pale King.” Arla responded, “you completely tore apart our tribe. But considering the alternative of staying with Gris and his stupidity...I would rather join you.”

“As would I.” Vera added, “the mantises we used to lead have decided that they would rather be under you than under us, and we will not stop them. Not even if it comes at the cost of our own pride.” She bowed, and Arla joined her in that. 

His familiar wyrm instincts flared at that, seeing their posture.

Mine.

They belong to me now.

No one else.

He struggled for a second, stamping them out. He certainly wasn’t going to refuse them, but those were the wrong reasons. He had promised himself that he wouldn’t give in to those instincts ever again, and he wasn’t stopping now. The mantises were more than just territorial accessories - they were a people he had thrown into discord, and he owed it to them now to let them join him (even if a small part of him grew immensely satisfied at doing so). “I will accept your request. But before we continue...What of the others? Of Gris and Xillya? Are they still in the village?”

“They’re calling us the ‘traitor lords’ now.” Arla spat with a surprising amount of venom, “the two of them are fools. They still want to defy you, you know, and if their numbers weren’t so thin they might’ve started a war with Deepnest purely out of spite. Regardless, we couldn’t stand their ineptitude any longer - even if it means they still sit on the thrones whilst we bow to you.”

“Hmm. I see. I’ll have to inform Herrah about that immediately. Is the fact that I’m allied with Deepnest still a problem for you?”

“As long as you don’t ask us to make friends with them, I’ll keep my issues to myself.” Arla said.

“As will I. We may never fully agree with that allegiance, but we will not cause unnecessary strife. Not like Gris and Xillya will.”

“Good.” He turned to his servant. “Renem? If my Root asks, I’m dealing with political matters at the gate. And if Hallow asks, I’m dealing with boring political matters at the gate.” He got up from his throne, “come along now, Arla, Vera. We will sort this out.”

“Your majesty, if I may ask, what is going on?”  Lurien looked lost.

Almost as lost as he felt.

“Mantises decided they wanted me as their ruler at the most inopportune time. Get to my office and I’ll be with you when I have this sorted. Who’s that you have with you?”

“Thistlewind, my King. He’s the last of the moths.”

He bowed politely, trying to keep his head down. He wasn’t really in the mood for a conversation right now. Not while the grief was still fresh.

“Last of the moths? …Did I mention in my correspondence to you what happened to them?”

“You said you were forced to defend yourself from them, my King. I presumed they were all…” Lurien trailed off, but he knew exactly what the butterfly had been about to say. (Not that it mattered. His heart felt numb to it all anyway).

The King mumbled something. “...Should’ve elaborated on that more. Thistlewind? You may rise. Look at me.”

He did so, reluctantly.

“The Seer is alive. And she wants to see you. She was asking about you.”

A spark of hope kindled in his heart. “What?” His voice was thick.

“Indeed. Lurien, get him into the Palace immediately. He needs to see her.”

The rest of it was a blur. He let himself be led by Lurien, mind racing with one simple fact.

The Seer is alive.

And upon being brought to a room and seeing her back turned to him, the spark ignited into a fire. “Seer? You’re...you’re alive?”

She turned around, her arms holding onto four small bugs. 

Her eyes were pits of black.

“Thistlewind.” Her voice was thick with emotion.

“Wh-what happened to you?” Bits of her wings were gone, replaced with that same black that was in her eyes. Her body was the same, most of it composed of shadows that almost seemed to move.

She looked down at her body, realising her appearance. “...Me meddling with the affairs of gods.” She looked up at him again, “I’m sorry, Thistlewind. For everything. I wasn’t in my right mind, not when I argued with you, and not when I attacked you. Would you forgive me?” She held out a hand, chitin black as night.

He didn’t know what to do.

It was her. ..But also...It wasn’t.

But...Where would he go without her? She was all he had left. 

He took her hand, and it wasn’t long until tears were streaming down his cheeks, holding onto her in silent anguish as she and four other smaller bugs held onto him.

They felt so cold against his body.

But they made his heart burst with warmth and love.

Just when she thought she had a handle on things, life just had to throw her something else to be overwhelmed by, didn’t it? 

Nonetheless, she tried to keep a straight face. “Understood, sir. I’ll do my best to work with the mantis lords.”

The King frowned. “Are you alright? I can feel how anxious you are.”

Damn this void link. She couldn't pretend everything was alright like she used to. “I...It’s just been a lot. Sorry, sir.”

“You don’t need to address me as sir, you know. I know it’s been hard, but Dryya will be back in an hour. Just try and keep it together until then.”

She was about to respond, but when the barracks door opened and one of the mantis lords walked through, she tightened up.

“Arla, there you are. I was just going over things with Magistrate Alume. She’ll be who you defer to from now on.”

“I was under the impression that you were going to discuss more logistics with me. What’s this about?” Bloody hell. Arla towered over her by at least a foot. And the Pale King was putting the mantis under her command?!

“That was originally the plan, but there is some pressing business I must attend to immediately. Please, get settled until I come back. It won’t be long.” And with that, the King scuttled off. Leaving her alone with a mantis that towered over her.

“Hmph. So you’re the head guard? I’m surprised you’re not taller.”

“Excuse me?” Her body tightened more at the way the mantis addressed her. As if she was nothing.

“...And here I was hoping I would perhaps be assigned under one of the King’s five. Dryya is quite fierce, you know.” Her temper flared at how dismissive the mantis was. But still, she tried to keep her cool.

“What is this? Are you even going to try introducing yourself?”

“Hmm. Should I? What makes you so special, ant? Why should I bother? Why should I care?”

She snapped. No one addressed her as ant. No one. “You know damn well what you’re doing, don’t you? Thinking you’re all high and mighty as some noble lord.” She grabbed her nail. “I’ve done more than enough, suffered far more than you can know, and fought more than you think to get where I am. Get your chitin in the ring. I’m going to teach you a lesson in humility.”

Arla smiled. “Gladly.”

She knew she had just played right into the mantises' hands.

Knew that the King could likely feel how angry she was. 

But she didn’t care.

She had 99 problems, and some upstart mantis was NOT going to be one of them.

She settled into a tight stance, holding her nail neutrally as Arla stood a distance away from her.

“We fight to the blood.” She declared.

“So be it.” The mantis charged her, and they fought.

It was hard.

Really hard.

Not only was Arla fast and acrobatic as all hell, but her nailplay was just below Dryya’s even without all the jumping and dashing. She could understand now why the mantis was one of the lords.

But that didn’t mean she was going to give a damn inch.

She was angry, and she wasn't going to let the mantis walk over her.

Not after all that had happened.

It took a while for her to adapt, a few moves of poor form, but soon she found her rhythm.

The best offence was a good defence.

Her parries became fluid, her footwork pristine, her nailplay impenetrable. And as the battle dragged on, she lost herself in it. Her anger at the mantis was replaced with a genuine, professional respect, and soon she was actually enjoying how they fought. Her anxieties fell away; her inhibitions disappeared. She focused on merely one thing, and that was the dance she was now in.

Block. Dodge. Parry. Riposte.

She did not tire. Not even as the seconds turned to minutes, not even as the few spectators turned to a silent crowd, and not even as she could feel the presence of several others (Champ included) through the void.

It was just her, and her opponent.

Locked in a duel that was just like a dance.

Chapter Text

They are completely enthralled watching the mantis and Alume fight.

It has gone on for over 30 minutes, and so many are watching now (but they were the first and best), Dryya included. “Dryya Dryya! Whose gonna win? It’s so exciting!”

Dryya took their hand. “Patience, Champ. I don’t know, but we’ll see.”

And in a few more minutes, they do.

In a (really!) cool move, the mantis charged Alume, and Alume charged the mantis. And after a large clash, they both dashed past each other.

There was silence for a moment as Alume and the mantis looked at their nails.

“You’re bleeding.” The mantis said.

Alume chuckled. “So are you.”

They turn to face each other, and bowed. The mantis did it in a strange way, with their head tilted forward in deference and their hands holding their nail to the side. “You have my respect, Alume. I have never fought a warrior who has so consistently halted my offensive.”

“Likewise. I haven’t fought someone besides Dryya with such an offensive fighting style. It was an honour. But if I may ask: why did you go out of your way to piss me off? I know you were spoiling for a fight, and I’m glad you were - that was one of the most thrilling battles I’ve ever had. But why? Why go out of your way to anger me?”

“I needed to see your resolve. Your conviction. I needed you to fight with all of your passion, all of your strength, all of your pride. And now that I’ve seen it?” The mantis bowed again, “you are truly a warrior. Of the same tenacity as any of the King’s knights. I would gladly follow you into battle.”

Alume felt confused and a little scared at that. They know. Not just because she’s like them and they can feel it, but because of how she reacts. It’s just like when they first jumped into her arms.

They still don’t know why she does that. She's so strong! So cool! But at least they could find out. “That was so cool! Alume! Alume!” They ran at her, both excited and curious, “you fought the mantis so well! So awesome! Why are you scared?” They jumped up and down excitedly, and she picked them up almost automatically.

“Champ, you troublemaker…” She sighed a little, but it’s not angry. “It’s...nothing. Why don’t you go and play with your siblings?”

They cuddled further into her arms. “That’s boring! I want to be with you! And the cool mantises!”

The mantis tilted her head, curious. “One of yours?”

For a second, Alume is scared again, but the feelings don’t last. “Well...you could say that. They’re the King’s children, but they have a habit of sticking around whoever they like, almost as if they’re a second parent. I…” Alume trails off when two things happen:

Firstly, Luma ran towards them, holding a drawing. “Alume! Look what I made!”

Secondly, three of their siblings approached the mantis.

All three of them are very sad.

But also very curious.

They are very intent on staying with their Father.

But Wander is not.

“This is so boring! I wanna go do something else!” Wander complained, squirming helplessly in their four arms.

“Not now! Lurien is talking!” They chide, giving them a healthy dose of annoyance to shut them up (it’s only going to work for a minute, they know).

“-And it’s all incredibly concerning, my King. As Thistlewind said, there is no one left in the Resting Grounds. There is only cysts and veins of orange. The Radiance is here, and she is here in force. This is worse than we thought.”

“I know. We’re going to have to be alert at all times. You’ll have to take steps to check those who you suspect are infected - a simple blood test is the best way. If they bleed orange, they’re infected.”

“What do I do if they are infected? You said it yourself that there is no known cure.”

“...Bring any that you find infected to me, immediately. Otherwise, keep working on those mind seals. They will be essential in preventing spread. Is that clear?”

“Clear as crystal, my King.”

Their Father sighed. “You don’t have to constantly refer to me by my title, Lurien...But I know you’re going to keep doing it regardless. You may go. Do not hesitate to contact me if you have any further questions or if anything shows up.”

“As you say. I’ll continue work on the mind seals. Goodbye, my King.” They could feel a touch of irritation from their Father as Lurien left the room, that last sentence showing that his advice had been completely ignored (as expected). “Really wish he’d stop doing that.” Their Father muttered before turning to them, “I’m surprised you held onto Wander that entire time.”

“I have had practice.” They said with a touch of mischief whilst holding their young self up by the leg.

“It’s not fair! I can’t escape when they have four arms! They’re cheating! Father, tell them to stop!”

Amusement blossomed in their Father. “Not so fun now that you’re the one being laughed at, is it?” 

Wander pouted, silent in the void but a childish anger creeping through.

“Hmm. Well, Ghost, you may let them go now. I need to talk to you in private.”

They did so, letting Wander run out the door and into the hall. Turning back to their Father, they took Lurien’s seat as he also sat down.

“You know how to stop the Radiance, don’t you? I saw how you drove them out of the Seer.”

They nodded.

“As much as I wished there was a simpler way, we both know that the void is the only thing she fears and is truly vulnerable to. I need you to teach me. Teach me how to consume her light...And infuse others like you infused me. Will you do that?"

They nodded again. “I can. She will not hurt us again.”

Dr. Binwinn handed them their work back, and then did the same for Hallow. “You both did wonderful. I had intended on this extra credit assignment being difficult and taking a significant amount of time, but the both of you have surpassed my expectations once again. I daresay I’ll have to begin teaching an entirely new class for you and the others that aren’t being challenged enough.”

“Just doing my best, Dr. Binwinn.” They signed.

“Me too.” Hallow added.

“Your best is certainly more than enough. But remember not to base your self worth on your grades or academic achievement - you especially, Quanta. The point of these exercises is not just to get everything right and receive a high mark at the end, but also to foster a love of learning and broaden your horizons. Both of you are insatiably curious, of course, so I know that it may seem silly that I am telling you this, but it is still important that you understand why you learn - high grades are certainly good, but they are never the point. Do it to know more, to grow, and perhaps even find something you are truly passionate about. Those are the principals on which Monomon founded the Archives, after all. Do you understand?”

“Yes Dr. Binwinn.”

“Yes.”

“Good good. Keep that in mind as you learn not only from me, but from the other scholars as well. But, now that I’ve said that, I encourage you two to go out and play. I have nothing left to offer you - no extra assignments, and no extra work. And I really must get to marking those tests - I’m behind schedule, and the both of you have seen how long that takes.”

Hallow nodded, and then turned to them. “I’m sure Mother wants to see us, Quanta. Let’s go visit her.” Hallow’s hand signals were clean - better than theirs (they needed to work on them more).

“Okay.” They signed back, letting Hallow take their hand and guide them along.

They didn’t often talk to their Mother or Father - often preferring to be with Ms. Alume or Dr. Binwinn. It wasn’t so much that they disliked their parents, but just that there were other things that were interesting to them. Their Father was often busy with one political thing or another, and their Mother was typically surrounded by their siblings, an amount of which they found overwhelming. 

But still, she was their Mother, and they still wanted to be with her every now and then. The warmth she gave off was always a comfort, and they needed that with how much grief was going around right now.

They were so lucky Ms. Alume and Dr. Binwinn were okay. So many of their siblings had lost their bug, their Favored Person, and it was a terrible thing. They weren’t sure what they would do if they lost either Dr. Binwinn or especially Ms. Alume, but they definitely wouldn’t be happy.

“Hallow? Quanta? I missed you!" Just at the door to the Palace gardens, they encountered Kindred. Kindred was slightly taller than most of their siblings, and their unusual horn pattern (with two tall and curved horns on the right, and one short curved one on the left) made them easily identified.

“How long has it been?” They asked, honestly not able to remember the last time themself. 

“I don’t know! But I’m happy you’re here!” Kindred dragged the both of them into a group hug, their love shining brightly. 

Kindred was the most loving sibling they ever had. They loved hugs, loved spending time with their siblings, and always seemed to remember everyone’s name. They spent a lot of time with their Mother, but that wasn’t a surprise given how much they took after her.

After parting, however, Kindred apologized. “I have to go. I’m late for class again. But come find me later, okay? I never get to be with either of you much.”

“We will. Thank you, Kindred.” They said, happy to see them but also sad that they had to go so soon.

“You’re welcome. Love you!” Kindred ran off, dashing through the hallway with a great deal of urgency.

“...I could never be late for class.” Hallow commented, watching how Kindred nearly tripped rounding the corner.

“I don’t think I could either. But there’s nothing we can do for them now. Let’s go see Mother.”

Their Mother was, as expected, cuddling with several of their siblings inside the Palace Gardens. What was unexpected, however, was that there weren’t many of them - only 6. There were so few of their siblings with her that she noticed the two of them immediately.

“Hallow? Quanta? Oh my beloved little ones, I haven’t seen you in so long! Come to me.” They both obliged, coming into her embrace smoothly even despite the fact that 3 other siblings were also in her lap (two of them were having a nap).

“Me and Quanta just did some homework. Look, Mother, we have such good grades!” Hallow showed her the homework, and they did the same.

“Wonderful! You make me so proud!” She kissed the two of them, the action sending warmth from the top of their shell all the way down to their feet. “Stay a while and be with me. I would love to hear about what you have been doing!”

They did so, comfortably nestled into her branches as they told her about their day.

It was nice with so few of their siblings around.

Maybe they should talk to their Mother more often.

Chapter Text

“Vera.” He did not get up from his desk as the former mantis lord walked into his office, nor pay her any sort of respect.

“Silas.” She took a seat across from him, “I was meaning to talk to you.”

“I’m surprised you didn’t come sooner.” He said, “perhaps the mask and robes may have hidden my identity for a while, but you or Arla not confronting me for an entire week after arriving was unexpected. Regardless, you’ve tracked me down now. What do you want?”

“An explanation. I have already discussed things with Jadia, and she was the one who directed me to you.”

He kept his tone terse - making it clear that he was not intending to play nice. “Of what? My reasons for leaving? You know exactly why I left, Vera. I’m not going to justify myself again to you. And you better have left Jadia and Ze’mer alone. Those two have been happier ever since she got away from the tribe.”

Vera was unimpressed. “Jadia being with Ze’mer never bothered me. You know that. It has become even less of an issue since the knight bested me in honourable combat. But that was not why I came to see you. You do not have to explain your actions again to me, Silas. In many ways they are similar to why over half the tribe left. Your father drove us apart.”

“Do not call him that.” He spat, “that mantis was never a father to me, and nor was he to Jadia.”

“Perhaps not.” She conceded, “but the fact remains that he threw us into discord in a similar manner to how he drove you and Jadia apart. Even after the King bested him in honourable combat and proved that he was superior, Gris refused to yield to him. Even after it was clear that the hearts of the people no longer followed him. That is what created the schism that split the tribe - many of us no longer subscribed to his ideas, and were not willing to deal with the consequences of being associated with him.”

“...So that’s what happened. Hmph. He got what he deserved, then. But is that the only reason you came to see me?”

“No. I also wanted to talk to you about what you are doing - the others keep talking about these ‘lectures’ you keep holding, and I wanted to investigate. Both the younger mantises that have been playing with some of the King’s children and the adults have been attending them, and I wanted to hear it from you.” Her tone wasn’t confrontational, merely curious. “What is this about?"

“Ah, that. Interested in learning? That’s what these lectures are about - the spreading of knowledge to those willing to listen. I committed myself to the pursuit of it after I left the tribe, and it has resulted in these lectures as you call them. Curious about attaining knowledge?”

“Do not mistake me, Silas, combat still is, and always will be, my greatest passion. But when some of our people are so taken by what you are doing? That warrants my attention. So tell me, what is this ‘science’?”

He smiled, although she wouldn’t be able to see it through his mask, “allow me to begin with…”

The former mantis lord approached him, and he knew exactly why she was doing so. (What truly impressed him was how she tracked him down. She had a sharp eye to see him like this.)

“Arla.” He acknowledged, “you are here to challenge me?”

As expected, she nodded. “I am. I have not heard much of your prowess, Hegemol. Will you fight?”

Arla had been getting around over the last few days. Her first battle with Alume had been only the beginning. Afterwards, the mantis had challenged Dryya, Isma, and Ogrim. He knew this was coming, and he had been looking forward to it. “Yes. I will.”

Getting situated in the arena, he cracked his fists. Arla, rather predictably, asked him the question everyone asked before sparring with him: “Where is your weapon?”

He settled into a combat stance, one gauntleted hand gesturing to the mantis in open invitation of a challenge, “my body is my weapon. Come.”

It was always amusing to see how others reacted to that. Many of those that fought him expected him to wield a mace or perhaps some sort of great nail. But when he offered to fight them with nothing but his fists? Some of them would scoff, others would refuse, but most often they would underestimate him. Arla, however, did none of those 3 things.

“Very well.” The spar began as she jumped at him, nail lance at the ready to cut him down.

It screeched against his armoured forelimb, deliberately deflected just enough that the nail was angled away from his body, and at the perfect angle to leave her defenseless.

He clocked her across the face, the blow enough to send her flying, but not enough to knock her out.

He'd rather this last longer than 10 seconds, after all.

She recovered gracefully, landing on her feet. Trying a different approach, she came at him swinging, forcing him to dodge and weave as she utilized the length of her weapon, keeping him from getting too close.

She clearly wasn’t expecting the agility with which he conducted himself with, nor the skill with which he was able to deflect her strikes with naught but clever movement. Coming close to the end of the fight, however, she was beginning to adapt, answering some of his punches and kicks with a few of her own. This was especially impressive right at the end, when he removed her nail lance from her but she refused yield, lashing out at him with an aggressive assault of punches and kicks until he was finally able to knock her down and put her own weapon to her neck.

A moment of silenced passed as she stared at her and he at him.

“You fought well.” He said, breaking the moment and allowing her to get up before handing her nail back to her. “You did not underestimate me.”

“Only a fool would do so. Even without a weapon, I could see your cunning.” She bowed, and he returned the motion. “Thank you for entertaining me.”

“It was an honour.” He watched with some amusement as the same 3 of the King’s children came up behind her. They were the 3 that had been following her when she first found him. “Behind you.”

It was even more amusing to see how uncertain she looked, turning to see the young ones gazing up at her with a hardly contained curiosity. Her tone reminded him of how Alume was when 3 had latched onto her. “What is with these ones? They’ve followed me all around, and I don’t know what to make of it.”

He gave her a wry smile. “Many don’t, not initially. But don’t hesitate to entertain them.” Picking up Whisper (his little one had been watching quietly whilst he fought) he gestured to her, “they want someone to look up to. And when they find that someone? You’d be surprised at how similar they become to you.”

It wasn’t much further now to the Resting Grounds. He and Dryya had made it up the elevator without a hitch (and thankfully with minimal grovelling on the part of his citizens), and now it would only be a quick walk through the quarantine checkpoint and up the tunnels to get to the outbreak site. The guards managing the checkpoint bowed reverently, and after being allowed to rise, gave him a status report: “A few bugs have attempted to pass through, but nothing suspicious. Lurien made sure to send others to block off the tramway as well. In all, there hasn’t been any trouble to report, your majesty.”

“Good.” He said, “have you seen anything further inward? Any signs of infection?”

“Not at all.” The watcher knight replied, “we haven’t seen anything, nor have we investigated. Lurien was very clear in his instructions to not push further in.”

“Excellent. Remain here until we return. The infection will be dealt with in short order.”

“You heard his majesty. Open up the gate and allow them passage.” There was a sliver of doubt in the watcher knight’s voice - the bug was afraid. Rightly so, given how much the knight had likely been told, but fortunately unfounded. The infection feared him, after all.

Pushing further forward, it wasn’t long before he and Dryya began experiencing it; began feeling and seeing an orange taint that was disgustingly sweet in smell, and concerningly thick in atmosphere. A festering blight, the orange here would spread fast if it wasn’t dealt with. He’d seen it happen before.

Fortunately, it would be destroyed here and now. “Wait here, Dryya. I will handle this.”

“With all due respect, your majesty, I’m going to have to disobey that order.” Her tone was serious, and it caught him completely off guard.

Turning to her, he offered a confused look. “What?”

“Allow me to help.”

That also surprised him. “...Really? Are you sure? Coming with me was already enough. You know what I need to do, Dryya. I am going to consume part of her infection, and it will not look nice. Aren’t you concerned about that? We’ve discussed your fears of the void at length.”

“I don’t fear the void.” She sent him a pulse of resolve, “nor what I’ve become. Not anymore.”

“Oh?”

“A year ago, I was afraid. Afraid of being seen as a thing rather than as a bug. Afraid of being seen as a creature of the Abyss. Afraid of becoming a monster.” She shook her head. “Not any longer.”

“What changed?”

“I saw what a monster truly looked like.” She pointed inward, at the orange light that was deeper in, “the Radiance. She threw away her own people. Disposing of them when they were no longer necessary. When we were defending the Palace from her attack, the tactics she used weren’t to break through. They were to make us take as many casualties as possible. She wanted us to suffer, and she was willing to massacre her own people to do it.”

“So seeing her intentions in the flesh gave you a new perspective?”

She shook her head. “Not just that. I’ve come to realise one thing: is Ghost a monster? Are any of your children? Absolutely not. Ghost has shown me more kindness than you even know, and caring for my 4 children has brought me more joy than I thought possible. The void was, and is, not evil. Not inherently. And now that I understand that?” Her change to telepathy through the void was seamless, and the resolve emanating from her left him in awe. “I have become someone stronger. Someone who won’t let their insecurities get in the way of protecting what matters. Someone who is comfortable with who they are.”

She had become something more.

And it had happened completely beneath his notice.

“Amazing. Perhaps I should’ve known…But that no longer matters. Shall we do what we came here to do?”

“Just say the word.”

Chapter Text

They didn’t regret revealing themself to their Father.

Things had only gotten better for them when they had done so, and it filled them with so much happiness to be with their young siblings and with their Mother. Besides the Radiance still being alive (who they wanted to murder with an ̕unf͢a̢t͡h̶o͠mable͜ ͏ŗage͠) everything was perfect.

“So Professor Binwinn gave us extra credit.” Hallow signed, “it wasn’t that hard, though. Quanta said it was, but they still did better than me. They focus on getting too many good grades…”

“You must be very good at math, then.” They signed back, utilizing their 4 arms to the fullest in order to fluidly make the motions (they had spent so much time listening to Quirrel teach the language), “I never was good at it. It’s neat, but something that isn’t for me.”

“What are you good at? I never see you in class. How do you learn?”

“Oh I’m always there. Just like this.” They dispersed into blackness, latching onto Hallow’s shadow and giving a friendly little wave. “I love the art and history classes. Quirrel is really nice, and Ullra is too.” 

“Oh that’s neat.” Hallow signed, curious not with them becoming a shadow, but with the idea of them being a good artist. “I’m not good at art, but I like seeing everyone do it. Could you explain how you’re so good at it?”

They were about to, but Wander (who had been sitting quietly nearby) interrupted them. “Really? This is soooo boring.” They complained, “all you two do now is talk about school and spend time with Father. You never want to play with me anymore, Ghost! I wish you were still shy!” They received a whiff of irritation from their past self, who hadn’t bothered to sign.

It was times like these when they understood why their Father was tired. They wanted nothing more than for their young self to be safe, happy, and innocent...And they were. But the problem was that sometimes, they couldn’t stand themself.

“Hey! Wander, that’s not very nice! I have played with you plenty of times over the last year, so now it's time for me to be with Father and with everyone else.” They chided, coming back into their physical form.

“You’re no fun!” Wander pouted, " I’m going to go play with someone else!” Their young self ran off before they could say anything more.

They sighed, wanting to reach out and command them to come back...But also knowing that it wouldn’t change their attitude. They loved Wander...But they really had to learn to be a little less selfish.

“Sorry, Ghost.” Their head whipped back to Hallow at the feelings of guilt the sibling was emitting, “maybe I shouldn’t have spent so much time with you..."

“No no it’s okay! It’s not your fault! Wander’s been like that for a while now, and while I don’t like them being pouty like that they need to learn that I’m not going to spend all my time with them. I want to be with you, Father, and everyone else too!”

“Ok...” Hallow said, still uncertain and not liking how Wander had left angrily. “So do you want to go back to talking about art then? I’ve never been able to draw anything good..."

“Of course!” They said, trying their best to stop thinking about how hurt Wander had been when they left. “The thing about art is that you want to get creative - if you feel like something would look good, go for it! I love using as many colours as possible, but it really is all about trying things out. There was one time I was working with this bug named Sheo…”

They were mad. 

This was the fifth time Ghost had refused to play with them! Whilst at one point they were happy that Ghost had stopped being shy, now they wished their big sibling still was. They never got to play with them anymore, and it wasn’t fun just looking around anymore, not when they knew every hidden passage and room that the Palace had. They could prank someone, but...This would be the seventh time this week, and they had already gotten scolded five times. They would really rather not be grounded again.

So instead of trying to get into mischief, they ran. Ran through the hallways with an anger in their heart and frustration in their mind, and avoided everyone they could. This was rather easy, considering most of the retainers and servants never bothered to catch them anymore (some of the mantis guards tried, but whilst they were fast, they never strayed far from their posts). Eventually, they found themself going into a place that was always busy.

The Palace Gardens.

Today their Mother was especially busy - there were no classes today, so everyone was free to be with the Favorite Person.

And their Mother was the Favorite Person of many of their siblings.

They couldn’t count how many were currently running around and playing, but it was at least more than twenty.

“Wander!” Before they could turn to leave (they didn’t want to play with anyone right now. They were angry, and they wanted to be angry alone), Kindred came out of nowhere and gave them a hug. “It’s been a long time! Where have you been? How are you doing?”

They squirmed, trying to get out of the hug. “Lemme go, Kindred! I don’t want to hug right now! I wanna be alone!”

Kindred got off them, but sensing that they were mad, held onto them with one arm (they were really strong). “What’s wrong? Why are you angry?”

That brought them back. “Ghost never wants to play with me anymore, and I’ve asked them so many times! They’re my Favorite Person, but they’re always ‘busy’!”

“Lots of Favorite People are busy. See how I’m not always with Mother? She’s my Favorite Person, but right now I’m not with them and letting everyone else have a turn. See?”

“You don’t understand!” They pouted again, “I used to be with Ghost all the time. We used to play together so much!”

That turned out to be a very poor choice of words.

“Maybe I don’t understand.” Kindred said, “but Mother will.” They waved and jumped a bunch, grabbing Mother’s attention. “Let’s go talk to her.”

“I don’t wanna talk to Mother!” They tried to struggle out of Kindred’s grasp, but they were too strong, “I wanna be alone!”

“Stop, Wander!” Kindred looked at them straight in the eyes, “I know you’re angry, but being alone isn’t going to help. Please,” they sent a burst of love and care, “don’t be like this. Everything will be better if you talk to Mother.”

Overwhelmed by the emotions Kindred sent them, they stopped struggling. “Ok fine. But let go of me!” Kindred did so, and they reluctantly followed their sibling to their Mother.

“Wander, Kindred, my dear children.” They never knew how their Mother could manage a conversation with them whilst simultaneously cuddling nine others in her branches. “What’s the matter?”

At Kindred’s nod, they reluctantly explained. “Ghost won’t play with me anymore.” They signed, “and they haven’t for a while now. They’re always busy!”

“Hmm.” Their Mother gestured for them to come and sit in her lap, “sounds like a story. Let’s start at the beginning: what happened?”

They explained, first doing so hesitantly, but eventually saying in full what had happened, and what led to them running through the hallways while mad. It felt good, saying how they felt, and at the end they were far less restless in their Mother's lap than at the start. She had listened throughout the entire thing without a word, occasionally pausing to handle one of their other siblings but still eventually coming back to them, heeding their words as if they were the most important child she ever had. “And that’s when I ran here. I’m mad at them, still.”

She hummed, giving them a thoughtful gaze. “Wander, my dear, you love your sibling Ghost, do you not?”

“...Sorta? But they’ve been so mean!”

“No buts. You love them, yes?”

“...Yes.” They conceded.

“So would that also mean that you want all the best things to happen for Ghost?”

“...Yes.” They were unsure of where she was going with this.

“Would it then be that perhaps it would be good for Ghost to spend time with their other siblings so that they may play with them too?”

“They’re not playing with everyone else!”  They pouted, “they just like to be with Father and Hallow in his boring meetings, or listening to one of the teachers. I asked them to play five times but they never said yes once this week! And I tried being nice and patient but that didn’t work!”

“Hmm. Not at all this week?”

They nodded. “I let them be for two days, but now it’s soooo boring!”

“Why not play with your other siblings?”

“I don’t want to play with my other siblings! I want to play with Ghost!”

She didn’t respond to that for a bit, seeming to think about something. They pouted, thinking this entire thing a bad idea. Mother was just going to tell them to play with their siblings, they bet.

“Wander, may I ask you something, dear?”

“What?” They asked, not seeing the mischievous glint in her eyes.

“Do you want to do something very special and very important for me?”

“What very special and very important thing?” They asked, now curious at the very special and very important thing.

“You’ll see.” She smiled coyly and called out to all of the other siblings in the room. “Children? Come to me! I have a very special and very important thing for all of you to do!”

“...And so afterward I painted together with both Sheo and the nailsmith. And not even just painting! We even made wooden figurines!”  

“That’s such a nice ending.” They signed back to Ghost, “so what even is art? Professor Ullra never told me really what it was, and you said Sheo made art? But how could wooden figures be art?”

Ghost shook their head. “You’re not thinking about it the right way, Hallow. Art isn’t like math or science. It’s like...It’s an expression of creativity and thought. That’s not a good answer, but I can explain. It’s like…” They stilled, the moment becoming uncomfortable after the pause lasted longer than 10 seconds.

“Like what? Ghost? What…” And then it hit them.

The void was pulsating with excitement, love, and mischief.

And it was getting closer to them.

Ghost moved to the door, and they followed. They could feel that Ghost wasn’t so much scared in the ‘I don’t want anyone to get hurt’ way as they were the ‘oh no. What did Wander get up to now?’ sort of way.

They were intimately familiar with that second fear.

And leaning around Ghost to see through the crack in the doorway, they began to understand why they worried so much about what Wander was doing.

Their siblings were coming.

More than thirty of them.

All rushing from the far end of the hallway towards them.

And Wander was leading the charge.

“There they are!” One of them projected excitedly.

“Get them!” Another said in return.

“What are we doing this for?” One said as they got swept up and joined the crowd.

“Mother said the one that gets to them first gets first dibs on the cake she’s baking tonight! And the one who holds onto Ghost the longest gets extra cookies at bedtime!” Wander said.

Ghost bolted, leaving them in the dust as they exited the room and ran down the corridor away from them. “Catch me if you can, little siblings!” They projected, playful.

...And that was really a shame, wasn’t it?

Ghost was already too far gone to get a chance at extra cookies (and oh how much they loved their Mother’s cookies!) and this was the second time they hadn’t been able to get a straight answer about what art was. Oh well. At least their Father could sneak them a few extra cookies if they asked.

...Wait. Wouldn’t he also know about art as well? They should ask him. How long had he been in that meeting, anyway? Hopefully it was going well and he’d be out of it soon...

Herrah tossed the scroll on the table in disgust. “I can’t believe the reports were right. Mantises submitting themselves to you? Becoming a part of your royal guard? The lords, too?”

He flinched at her harsh tone. “Herrah, please. You know I wouldn’t do this without a good reason.”

She crossed all four of her arms, refusing to sit down in the meeting room he had prepared. “This good reason better be good - I didn’t turn around at the damned gate when I saw mantises standing guard because of this supposed good reason I was sure you would have. You’ve proven trustworthy so far, so I’ll give you one chance: explain .”

He sighed, leaning back in his chair. “You remember when I held a demonstration in the mantis tribe? To get them off your back again? That demonstration may have been just a little too effective.”

“Elaborate.”

“In the interest of brevity, I’ll provide a concise description: I took down all four mantis lords without taking a single hit, and then proceeded to make a public spectacle of them in front of their own people. Apparently, this spectacle was so effective that it caused a major schism in the tribe, to the point where over half of them decided that they would rather have me as their ruler.”

She hmphed. “Did you even realise the implications of them working for you? Of what sort of message this would send?!”

“Don’t think I didn’t consider that! I didn’t have much of a choice, Herrah. You know how the mantises operate - they follow who the strongest is. And for me to completely and totally destroy the ones they thought the strongest? They wouldn’t be content for me to send them off to the City of Tears. I foresaw it. So instead I opted for the second approach - taking them in.” That was a lie. In truth, he hadn’t had another vision or received anything from his foresight since he had gone back to the past, but it was fairly common sense to think that the mantises wouldn't be happy if he refused to let them join.

“Maybe I can see the wisdom in that.” Herrah conceded, “but do you realise what sort of political dungstorm you’ve just put yourself in? Rumors are already abounding in Deepnest, and it won’t be long before my people begin demanding why we’re allied with the mantises.”

“You’re not allied with the mantises! You’re allied with me! And even if I decided to disregard the other catastrophic consequences and cut the mantises out of the White Palace, that would leave my guard force crippled. I lost over half the guard in the attack, Herrah, and in many ways it’s a major silver lining that I was able to shore up my martial strength so quickly again. Plus, I damned well will not be separating the children of mine that have imprinted on some of my new staff.”

“I’m not saying that Deepnest is allied with the mantises - I’m pragmatic enough to understand that at the heart of the matter we’re still allied with you. The problem, Pale King, is that many of my people will not see it that way. The moment they see that you’re allied with the mantises is the moment they’ll see that your allied with murderers, and ones that have killed many members of their own families.”

He rubbed his head in frustration. “Fantastic. And handling some of the culture shock that the mantises are going through is already issue enough.”

The tension in the air diffused a little as Herrah’s confrontational air dissipated. “I believe you - you’ve done more for me and Deepnest than many of my people will ever know. But the fact is that you’re going to have to find a damned good way of showing that you didn't just betray Deepnest. Something that shows a deep union between our two peoples. Something profound enough to get through the thick shells of even my own people.”

He slumped, leaning back in his chair as he considered the possibilities. Something profound enough for her people...That would be something that couldn’t be immaterial or easily replicated...And something that would last.

And then, it hit him.

Funny how it came full circle like this. This had crossed his mind before, on occasion, but Herrah had never been in a political position strong enough to demand it this time. 

And yet now he would be the one asking it of her. “I know.” He said.

“What do you have in mind?”

“I sire your child.” 

Those five words hit with all the subtlety of a stone tablet slamming against the ground. For a rare moment, Herrah was speechless. And when she regained her composure, it was fairly obvious that she was trying to hide how flustered she was. “What the hell did you just say?” She was hiding behind a fragile facade of strength, attempting to conceal the fact that she actually wanted this.

Time to break that facade.

“You heard me: I give you a child. Your people need something profound to show them of the union between Deepnest and Hallownest. A material gift such as food wouldn’t be enough, and they wouldn’t care for an immaterial one. But having a child with you? That’s something that speaks to their basest instinct of survival. Something that they will all understand and respect.”

Her facade was crumbling fantastically. “Are you seriously-”

“Yes. I am.” He interrupted, “it’s the one way that all of your people will understand. And stop denying it - you want this. I know you do.”

She was silent for a moment at that.

But then, she signed, defeated. “...I do.” She admitted, “you’re right. I’ve wanted this for a long time. But I never thought you would be the one to bring it up. Was it really that obvious?”

“Herrah, you slip furtive glances at Hallow or any other child in my arms when you think I’m not looking, your disposition lightens considerably whenever one of my children gets up to something in the middle of our meetings, and I can see how the tension leaves your body whenever a child of mine approaches you curiously - the times they come into your lap are the times I’ve ever seen you happiest. It’s easily apparent.”

“...Bloody hell.” She muttered, “you have me right in the light, Pale King. But even if I do want this, what is your wife going to think of this? I know I wouldn’t respond well to my mate laying with someone else.”

“I’ll be talking to her about this immediately.” He said, remembering how that conversation had gone in the last timeline, “for now, find a free moment for me in the next week, and I’ll come to you in Deepnest. Do try and contain yourself until then.”

She clicked her mandibles, “arrogant even in bed are you? We’ll see about that.”

“Oh we will.” He replied, a measured hint of huskiness colouring his voice.

She left shortly after that, leaving him to ponder what to say to his Root. This had always been a sort of touchy subject, even if less anxiety inducing now that he’d already experienced it once.

She hadn’t begrudged him the first time, but in many ways he’d begrudged himself. Adding unfaithful husband to the list of his other misdeeds was not something he had wanted, but at the time he had no choice (disregarding the... Enjoyment he had derived from it). This time, though? She would have much more of a right to be furious with him.

But, hopefully, she would understand. 

Because he damn well planned on being a proper father to Hornet this time.

Chapter Text

“...But that has been plain to me for a while now.” His Root said, “she had already confided in me that she longed to be a mother, and despite her respectable attempts to hide it, there was no doubt in my mind that she wanted you as the sire.”

He grimaced, the moment awkward. She hadn’t known at all the last time this had happened. “I apologise for this. I never intended for things to happen this way...But they fell through in an unfortunate twist of circumstance.”

She shook her head. “I do not begrudge your dalliance. I understand why you would be uncomfortable, given your customs as a Wyrm are to take only one mate, but I am your Root, not your Wyrm. I understand.”

“Thank you.” He replied, “But it’s...I don’t like this. You have a right to be angry with me. I don’t...I don’t want to downplay this. This child with Herrah...I want to say that you will always be my Root. No one else can fill that void. I’m not making a habit of this.”

She hugged him. “I know this may be hard for you, my Wyrm. But I bear you or Herrah no ill will. It is not my way to be jealous, given my nature, and I know you do not do this out of malevolent intent or lack of love. You have my blessing.”

He really did not deserve her. “Thank you...For everything. You are too kind to me, my Root. I love you.”

“I love you too, my dear Wyrm. I love you too.”

“If any urgent mail arrives, let my Root handle it. The regular mail can wait - I’m only going to be gone for two days, and she’s already busy enough handling the children.” The last two weeks had been a blur, most of it spent ensuring that his extended absence would not be an issue.

“As you say, my lord. I assume audiences will be suspended until your return?”

“Yes. Otherwise, it should be business as usual. Try not to get overwhelmed with the children.”

Renem sighed. “I’ll try, my lord.”

“That’s all I will ask. Thank you. You may go.” He leaned back in his chair as the retainer left, allowing himself a spare moment before getting up to go pack.

Things had gone smoothly over the past few days...Or rather as smoothly as they could’ve been. The physical damage to the Palace had finally been repaired since the Radiance's attack, but every night he was reminded of the mental scars that had been left. Nineteen of his children had lost someone in the attack, and whilst many of them no longer physically displayed their grief, the damage was very evident if you were of the void.

He knew all of their names. Atlas. Spark. The twins Meadow and Breeze. Winty. Viola. Harp. Izuri. Moon. Amordis. The twins Faar and Nyyr. The triplets Nill, Trill, and Quill. Siris. Prim. Larlin. Bill.

Of those, only nine had found another ‘Favorite Person’ as it was called, and even then he could tell it wouldn’t be the same. They had lost the one they had held most dear - and that was not something you could replace, not truly. 

It was just as well that the Seer was such an amazing help in that regard. At first he didn’t know what she was doing with her spare time, but after happening upon a tender moment when she had been rocking Viola to sleep whilst Thistlewind did likewise with Atlas, he hadn’t pushed the matter. They were doing more than enough.

His office door opened, the familiar presence making itself known through the void. “Father?”

He was surprised Hallow and/or Wander wasn’t with them. “Yes, Ghost?”

“Are you going to make Hornet with Herrah?”

That immediately destroyed his current tram of thought.

“I....” For all of their power, he often forgot how innocent Ghost was. “How did you know about that?” He hadn’t made it publically clear on exactly why he was going to Deepnest - just that he was going there on business and would be unavailable for two days. Even if they found out later, he would rather the mantises not know of this until well after it had already happened - he was lucky enough none of them had questioned what he was doing in Deepnest.

“I may have…” Ghost was acting like they had just stolen extra cookies from the cookie jar, “...Read your mind.”

He sighed, “Ghost, you know you’re not supposed to do that. Alume was scared enough the first time.”

“I’m sorry…” They said, sheepish. “I was just curious.”

“It’s okay.” He said, letting them come in for a hug. “Just...Keep trying to restrain yourself. I know it’s hard sometimes.” He sent Ghost a fair bit of reassurance at that, firmly cementing that he wasn’t angry. “But...Yes. I am going with Herrah...And Hornet will be here soon.”

That elicited an abrupt response, even though they already knew. " Thank you so much! I am so excited to see Hornet again!” 

He was nearly overwhelmed with how much joy came up from them. But yet, it made him smile to see his child turned god of gods happy like this. “I know. Be good to your siblings while I’m away, will you? Make sure they don’t get into too much trouble.”

“I promise I will! Thank you so much!”

He let them hug him again.

“You are welcome, my child. You are most welcome.”

It was raining.

It always was.

But it felt heavier today. More final.

He turned back to his desk, looking at the scroll which was about to get packaged and sent off.

Lurien,

My name is Quinn. I am (or, rather, was) a researcher situated at the Soul Sanctum. I am uncertain as to how much you know of the Sanctum, but I am writing to you to inform you about the heinous crimes that have been committed within its walls. The Soul Master has gone completely mad, and most of the Sanctum has followed his example.

Those disappearances that have increased in frequency over the past weeks? Those are entirely because of the Soul Sanctum. Long ago, it was realised that the SOUL from a live bug could be siphoned, and soon after it began to be...Utilized in order to speed up research (which was never truly being conducted, as I have realised). To this, I hold no illusions to what I’ve done. At one point I fully supported this, conscience clear as I watched the very life of bugs be stolen from them. It was justified as a ‘necessary evil’ and a ‘required sacrifice’ and I subscribed to that idea in full. There can be no excuse for what I have allowed to go on, but all I can do to atone now is urgently request that you shut this place down. 

It has come to a point where legitimate, academic research is not being conducted. The Soul Master and most of those under him have gone mad, and now only care about attaining more power. Now they are even taking the SOUL of the scholars who disagree, and I fear it will not be long before my own efforts at sabotage are discovered and I am killed myself.

Please. I implore you. Gather your forces and shut this place down. It is a festering abomination! I beg yo-

The door opened.

And inferring from the two soul warriors that stood at his side, the Soul Master was not here for a status update. “I’m disappointed in you, Quinn. You were one of my best acolytes; one of my favored students. And yet you repay my kindness with this? ” The Soul Master held out a vial - or what was left of one.

It was one of the two void vials. One of the two he had sabotaged in order to prevent the Soul Master from utilizing its power.

He did not immediately respond to that. Instead, he got up, turning to gaze at the rain that was pouring down his window. “I would applaud your correctness via use of past tense, for I am no longer your student nor your acolyte, but we both know that this isn’t a friendly conversation.”

“So you are admitting to it? You are truly the saboteur who has been a thorn in my side for the past month?!”

“I was wondering when you would finally figure it out.” One of the soul warriors grabbed him roughly, forcing him to face the Soul Master (who was currently reading the open scroll on his desk).

After a moment, the Soul Master threw the scroll at him, the letter impacting him square in the face. “I trusted you. You were my closest confidant! You understood why this had to be kept a secret! And yet you have spat on all we have worked for!”

“I disagree. You have spat on all we have worked for. I came to the Sanctum thinking the research we would conduct would be for the good of the kingdom and betterment of society as a whole. But after seeing your callous disregard for the life of innocent bugs? And how from the beginning you have only wanted power? You reveal who you truly are: a selfish and greedy bug who doesn’t deserve the power they have stolen.”

Something orange flashed in the Soul Master’s eyes as he was grabbed by the neck. And before he had much time to think, a yellow SOUL nail found itself in his heart. He grunted, not expecting the execution so suddenly, and was thrown to the ground. The force of the impact gave him whiplash.

His vision blurred, voices becoming far away as death creeped closer and closer.

But, despite his impending doom, he was glad. 

His first letter to the Pale King should have arrived by now, and the Soul Master was complacent in the assurance that he had not gotten word out.

Perhaps history would not look upon him nicely.

Perhaps he would be associated with a group that had committed a terrible atrocity.

But, as consciousness failed him for the final time, he took solace in the fact that the Soul Master would get what was coming.

He and all the others would be avenged.

Chapter Text

They loved Quirrel.

He had been such a good friend to them.

They had been so distraught when they couldn’t find him. He had disappeared after they had ascended, and they had cried when they found nothing left of him but his nail at the Blue Lake. 

But now? 

Now he was safe, and better yet, he was teaching them alongside all of their siblings! They couldn’t think of a better possible outcome, even if he was a little afraid of them. (But they were trying their best to work on that - they just had to be friends with Quirrel again, and if that meant they had to take it slow, they would be patient.)

“Ghost? You’re...You’re listening, yes?” Quirrel's voice snapped them out of their thoughts.

They hastily signed, embarrassed. “Yes Quirrel!” Darn it! They had to stop getting distracted! They needed to be the best student they could be - Quirrel deserved only the best, and they needed to pay as much attention as possible in order to be the best. 

Clearing their mind, they focused solely on Quirrel’s lesson, blocking the amusement that floated in from their siblings and concentrating solely on his words. They would be a good student, and they wouldn’t let any of their siblings distract them and stop them from doing that.

But, rather unfortunately, in tuning out the other presences in the void, they also tuned out the mind of one important knight. One important knight who was about to come into an intense discussion.

“You called for me, White Lady?” The Queen was uncharacteristically without children for once. Seems it was a rare moment when all of them were in class simultaneously (which was where hers were, after all).

“I did. Pardon me for asking, Dryya, but do you recall the time you went with my Wyrm into the Abyss?” The Queen’s tone was tentative, as if afraid that this would be difficult to talk about.

It wasn’t. Not anymore. “I remember it well, yes. Do not worry about it being a touchy subject - I’ve long since accepted and even embraced who I now am. What do you want to know?”

The Queen clearly wasn’t expecting that response. “Truly? You do feel more now that I...Hmm. But that was not the reason I called you here. Would you kindly have a look at this?” The Queen offered her a scroll, and she took it.

Dear Pale King,

You may vaguely recall my name - Quinn. I was the soul sanctum scholar you banished from the Abyss a year ago. However, despite how angry you likely are with me (justifiably so, might I add), I find myself in the dire position of asking for your help. I am uncertain as to your knowledge of the going ons in the Soul Sanctum, but I am going to assume that you are ignorant, and explain in full:

The Soul Master has gone completely mad, and most of the Sanctum has followed his example.

A little over a year ago, the Soul Master discovered that it was possible to siphon the SOUL from a living bug. As expected, this process was found to kill whoever it was used on, and was generally agreed upon to be unacceptable, but…Things changed.

Not long after that discovery, our research was beginning to slow. Without large amounts of SOUL, many of our projects could not proceed, and so eventually a bug of relatively poor standing was kidnapped, and their SOUL stolen. I am aware that this act alone is already despicable, but read on.

The SOUL the bug provided was incredibly valuable - but soon even it wasn’t enough. More bugs were kidnapped, and their SOUL taken as well in order to further more projects. I will not hide the fact that at one point I considered these murders a necessary sacrifice, but regardless of your opinion of me, I implore you to assist.

You must shut this place down. The Soul Master has gone power crazed with all the SOUL he has absorbed, and much of the Sanctum has followed his example. They’re beginning to capture and murder two bugs a week now! This cannot go on. They will not stop, and I can no longer stop them with how powerful they have become. 

Do not make any public announcement of this. Send the strongest you have and attack unexpectedly - the Soul Master has grown increasingly paranoid over the last few weeks, and I fear you will need every advantage you can get. I would write more specifics, but I fear a longer scroll would elicit suspicion, and I am already close to being discovered. Please. I no longer care if I live or die - only that this atrocity is stopped before it can get any worse. Do what must be done, before more innocent lives are lost.

Signed,

Quinn

“When did this arrive?”

“Just this morning. I was only able to get to it at this moment. It was marked as urgent, and was passed off to me in absence of my Wyrm.”

She looked back at the letter again. “This has to be serious. I saw how Quinn behaved when the King ordered him out - he seemed very much an ‘ends justifies the means’ type of bug. For him to have such a change of heart and send a letter like this? The situation must be dire.”

The Queen's voice was grave. “Would you handle this?”

“Count on it. Are the other knights available?”

“Ze’mer and Ogrim just embarked on a mission to handle diplomatic issues with the Mosskin, but Isma and Hegemol are free. Take them and whoever else from the royal guard you need.”

“This is terrible. I’ve heard about the recent increase in disappearances around the City of Tears, but to hear of this as the cause? A bug having their very SOUL stolen?” Isma shook her head. “I don’t like the idea of going in there and killing them all, but if this is true...”

“You know it’s justified.” She replied, “I know you think me harsh sometimes, Isma, but this is justice. Blood for blood.”

“You are harsh, Dryya.” She jumped a little at Hegemol’s surprise appearance, “but perhaps it will be warranted if Quinn’s claims have merit.”

“...How long were you standing there?” She asked.

“Long enough. But you would have sought me out regardless.” He was right. Him finding her would save time...Even if she still couldn’t figure out how he could creep around so quietly.

“True enough. However, no matter what we think, we won’t solve this by standing around and talking about it. Let’s find Magistrate Alume - it would be wise to have reinforcements.”

It didn’t take long to find Alume. Feeling the ant’s presence in the void was a trivial task (especially given how adept she had become at it) and they weren’t far from the barracks anyway - it was just a short jog.

Alume was running some guards through some training exercises when they arrived. “Keep your nail up. Its presence alone creates distance between you and your opponent, and you can take advantage of that.” The mantises in the group were listening with rapt attention, and further on she could see Arla doing the same with another group.

Noticing their presence, Alume paused the session, turning to them to salute. “Dryya, Isma, Hegemol. What can I do for you?” She could feel a little bit of anxiety from the ant, but much less so than before. The magistrate’s self esteem had been much better after that first spar with Arla. 

“We have a situation on our hands. Can you spare a moment for a private meeting?”

“Sure. Just give me five to wrap this up.”

They ended up in her office ten minutes later, the training dragging on for longer than expected. “Sorry for the delay.” Alume began, slightly sheepish, “sometimes the mantises get a bit...Excited with the training.”

“Has it been a problem?” Isma asked.

“No no...If anything, our forces have been stronger than ever since they joined up with us. Besides the fact that the mantises are formidable warriors, they’ve created some friendly competition with some of the old guard. The competitive atmosphere has made our training drills more effective than ever, and sparring even more commonplace...But it also means many of my training sessions go over time. I’ve been busier than ever these past few days.”

“How are Arla and Vera settling in?” She asked, curious. She’d been swept up in training some of the King’s children who wanted to learn how to fight, and hadn’t talked with Alume that much over the last few days (the ant no longer needed her help, even if they still weren't comfortable with being void).

“It’s been good. If you came an hour earlier you would’ve seen my spar with Vera. It was quite enjoyable, even if it ended in another tie. However, as much as I would love to talk about that, I assume you three aren’t here for idle chit chat. What’s going on?”

She tossed Alume a scroll, which the ant promptly read over.

“Damn. I remember Quinn, and this scroll doesn’t sound like him at all. Seems like he’s turning over a new leaf. A far cry from when I had to escort him out of the Abyss for being a prick, isn’t it?”

“My reasoning was similar. Him reaching out like this shows that the situation must be dire. Would you spare a few troops? We’re storming the Sanctum as soon as we can.”

Alume looked over at the letter again. “I’ll get a detachment of soldiers for this. Meet me at the gate in twenty.”

They ended up at the gate fifteen minutes later with twenty five soldiers (fifteen mantises, and ten of the old guard). Vera and Arla were also there, the both of them flanking Alume. As they approached, all of the mantises (Vera and Arla included) bowed.

“Vera, Arla.” She greeted before turning to Alume. “Have they been briefed?”

“I gave them the short version. They along with the rest of the troops have been raring to go, which is why we formed up so quickly. Are we doing anything in the City of Tears beforehand or are we heading straight to the Soul Sanctum?”

“We’ll head to the spire first. I want to see if Lurien knows about this. Ready to go?”

“Lead the way.”

“I still fail to see how it rains so much here.” She commented, irate. Waiting for Dryya and Isma to sort out whatever matters they had with Lurien had been annoying, and she would rather get to the fighting than sit in the rain like this.

“How many times have you been to the City of Tears?” Alume asked, curious.

“Twice.” Her sister Vera responded, “counting this time. The only other time was when we were coming to the Palace the first time.”

“Not that well travelled, are you? To be frank, I don’t blame you for hating the rain. Part of the reason I even became part of the royal guard was because I was desperate to leave the city guard. I never got used to being soaked during patrol like some of my fellows were, and the upper class could be unbearable at times.”

She crossed her arms. “About those ‘upper class’ bugs...What’s the point of them? Chittering along mindlessly in flowing robes? I see little point to calling yourself a lord or noble of any sort unless you’re willing to prove it in battle, and it sickens me to see these ‘lords’ fattening themselves whilst many of the guards in the city toil about in the rain.”

“It’s complicated.” Alume replied, “not that I’m completely defending them...But they’ve done a lot to get where they are, even if they are a bit uppity...But then, why did you join with the Pale King? I didn’t see him fighting you two to prove his royalty.”

“He did, actually.”

“Really? Where?”

“Came to our tribe in the Fungal Wastes a year ago, and beat all four of us without taking a single hit.”

“You and Vera and 2 others? Damn, guess he really is deserving of the title of ‘god.’ That’s the first time I’ve ever heard of him throwing down. I don’t even remember hearing about that visit to the Fungal Wastes! Bad memory, I guess. What did he-” 

The entrance to Lurien’s tower opened, and out came Isma, Dryya, and Lurien himself.

That got Alume’s attention, and hers. “What’s the plan?”

“I will provide backup with the watcher knights and secure the perimeter whilst your forces investigate.” Lurien explained, “however, it will take some time for me to mobilize my knights. Don’t wait for me - proceed with your plan. I won’t be long.”

“Sounds good.” Alume turned to soldiers who were nearby, “gear up, people! We’re heading out!”

About time. A good fight would be perfect for drying off.

“We’re getting close. What’s the plan when we get there? Are we breaking and entering immediately?” She asked.

“Not quite, Alume.” Dryya replied, “I am going to try once to enter peacefully, but if they don't comply, as I suspect, we’ll split into three groups and forcefully clear the building. If they surrender, take them alive, but if they don-”

“FUCK OFF! BAS-” The shout was abrupt. 

And close.

She gave Dryya a look.

Dryya gave her a look.

“Let’s move.” She picked up her pace, keeping in line with Dryya and ordering her soldiers to do the same. Rounding the corner and seeing the entrance to the Soul Sanctum gave her pause, however.

A soul sanctum scholar was dragging along a bug that was resisting futility. Two soul warriors were flanking him, and they drew weapons when they saw that they had been found out. “We’ve been discovered! Kill them!” The scholar said before shutting the door and leaving the two soul warriors to deal with them.

They didn’t last long.

Dryya went through the blast of SOUL the first warrior threw, and then proceeded to stab the bug cleanly through the head. The second tried to shoot her with a ball of SOUL, but she deflected it with the flat of her nail whilst Arla closed the distance and delivered a swift and lethal cut to the neck. In all, the exchange took less than fifteen seconds.

“Bloody hell…” She began, “Quinn was right. They are kidnapping bugs, and you saw those looks on their faces? Not even an ounce of mercy as they turned to attack us.” 

“I was hoping Quinn’s report wasn’t true, but...” Isma cast another look at the bodies of the soul warriors. “...They truly did not hesitate. Even with how outnumbered they were...”

Dryya went forward, testing the door. “Locked. We don’t have time for this. Hegemol, get this door open, immediately. Alume, divide your troops into groups of three. Me and Vera will clear the middle floors with one group, you and Arla can take the lower floors, and Isma and Hegemol will cover the top.”

She nodded, turning to the soldiers. “You heard the knight. Form up!”

Arla came out of another room. Some of the soldiers with her were injured, but their wounds weren't too bad. “Nothing. Two more scholars that fought to the death whilst muttering nonsense. One of them bled orange, strangely.”

She didn’t like the sound of that. “Fantastic. I was hoping some of them would talk, but I’ve about the same luck. Most of them attack on sight without a word, and those that do speak are incoherent.”

“How many more rooms are left?”

“Just one.” She tilted her head towards the door. “It’s bigger than the others. We’ll take it together.” She and Arla formed up on the door, and the soldiers followed their example. “Now! Breach!” She kicked open the door, and all of them rushed into the room.

Only for most of them to gag at the horrific stench.

There were corpses. 

Corpses everywhere.

Piled high and without respect.

“Bloody hell.” She murmured in horror. “This is...” There were over fifty dead bodies, their eyes hollowed out with their shells shriveled and discoloured. 

"...Slaughter?" Arla finished.

"...Yeah."

She could see now why Quinn had so desperately pleaded to shut this place down. 

They incurred heavy resistance getting to the top floor.

She hated killing so many bugs like this, but none of them had surrendered, despite how many chances she’d tried to give. The soldiers Alume had given her were a little worse for wear after all of the skirmishes, but nothing a little healing magic couldn’t fix.

“Thank you.” One of the mantis guards said as she tended to their wounds, binding up the gashes and cuts with a practiced ease.

“Tell me if it hurts, okay? There is no shame in admitting to that.”

The mantis shook his head. “There is no pride in fleeing from a fight. I will bear no complaint.”

She sighed. All of the mantises were all like this. Just getting them to allow her to heal them had been trouble enough. “Maybe not, but I would rather none of you take one for the team. You’re-” A tap on her shoulder indicated that Hegemol was back from his scouting maneuver.

“What’s ahead?” She asked, turning away from the mantis and towards the knight.

“Topmost floor is heavily guarded. I suspect the Soul Master is there, but I was unable to explore further.”

She sighed. “We’re going to have to kill them all, aren’t we? I was hoping we would perhaps be able to spare some, but this has been nothing but a massacre.” She reluctantly turned back to the soldiers. “Prepare yourselves. We have a hard fight ahead of us.” The mantises gave her a look of fierce determination, and the bugs of the old guard gave her a firm salute.

She truly hoped that all of these bugs would be able to walk away from whatever they encountered on the final floor. “Lead the way, Hegemol.”

Their defenses were at their strongest just at the entrance to the top floor. three soul warriors and three scholars met them there, and it was as much of a bloodbath as she feared. What was worse was the fact that all six of them were infected, making them even more crazed.

“Watch the SOUL magic!” She warned whilst hurling acid at a soul warrior.

“For our new tribe!” A mantis shouted before cutting one of the scholars to shreds.

“Careful on the flanks, they’re teleporting!” Another said before dashing from a SOUL blast.

“I’m being overwhelmed! I have two on me!” A soldier of the old guard said before taking a shot to the chest.

She cursed. “Hold on!” She got one of the attackers in the eyes, the venom sizzling as the bug screamed in pain. Taking advantage of the opening, Hegemol darted forward and punched the second offender in the chest, sending them flying out the window on the far side of the room.

The fight was over not long after that, and she rushed to staunch the wound of the injured guard.

“Should’ve known better...” The wounded soldier groaned as she set to work.

“How much does it hurt?”

“It’s bad, ma’am.” He grit his teeth as she expertly knit the wound closed. Thankfully, the magic would keep them from bleeding out. “I’m getting you out of here.” She gestured to two other soldiers, “help him out. Report to Lurien on what’s happened, and do the same if you run into any of the others.”

“I can still fight!” The bug protested, but she stopped him.

“My magic will help you recover, but unlike a mere cut or gash a wound as deep as this will tear easily when we get into another scrap. You’re not throwing your life away. Go. That’s an order.” The other guards hauled him up, taking him out.

One badly wounded, but no casualties. Thank the Wyrm.

“Isma?” She turned around to see Hegemol. “There’s nothing ahead except the Soul Master. He’s in the courtyard behind that door.”

“Is anyone with him?”

“No.”

She turned away from Hegemol, surveying the soldiers that were left. Sending the three bugs from the old guard away left them with just the five mantises. They outnumbered the Soul Master seven to one, and by those odds they should be fine, but...She had a bad feeling about this. “Does that not seem off? We fought so hard to get to this point. Why doesn’t he have anyone with him?”

“I do not know. He was mumbling something to himself, but I dared not get within earshot. Group on the door. I will breach.”

She did so, reluctantly preparing herself as the mantises followed her example. “Be careful.”

He nodded. “I always am.” Crashing through the door, they followed behind him and fanned out.

Cautiously approaching the leader of the Soul Sanctum, she called out: “Surrender, Soul Master. The rest of the Sanctum is being sacked as we speak. We’re giving you one chance. Don’t waste it.”

For a moment, the Soul Master made no reply, still as a statue and back turned as they surrounded him.

But then, he laughed.

It was a sickening thing, and the tone of his voice was oddly feminine. “Isma. That’s your name, isn’t it?” 

She didn’t like this. Not at all. “It is. What are you getting at?”

The Soul Master turned to her, eyes filled with orange. “Ah! And Hegemol too? Wonderful!” He giggled a little, the action making her very uneasy. “I’m sure the Wyrm will be happy when I send both of your reanimated corpses back to the Palace!”

And with a large screech, the Soul Master (who she could now tell was possessed by the Radiance) summoned a volley of white and orange SOUL nails that spread out in a radial pattern, forcing her, Hegemol, and all the mantises to start running.

“That’s Quinn.” Dryya crouched down next to the body, examining it. “Right through the heart. The wound is still fresh. He was killed only a few hours ago.” This was the only notable thing they had found clearing out the middle floors, other than the inane bugs they’d put down.

“You knew him?” She leaned against the wall, interested in what the knight had to say.

She was such a fascinating character.

“Not quite. I met him only once, back when I was on a mission with the Pale King. He said many things he shouldn’t have, and I thought him a fool for that, but...” She shook her head. “People change. I don’t know how much Alume told you, but he was the one that informed us of what was going on here. He died a hero, although I doubt many will recognize that.”

“Indeed? I will take your word for it, although I will never know him. What shall we do about the body?”

“Leave it like the rest of them. We don’t have time for this. I-” A screech sounded somewhere above, and Dryya went unnaturally still.

“Dryya?”

The knight’s body tensed. “We have to get moving. Now.”

“What is the matter?”

Dryya gave her a serious look. “Something I feared. Hegemol and Isma are in grave danger. Get the soldiers ready to go. Alume and Arla will meet up with us at the top floor.” 

“Very well.” She took the order without question, although one strange thing bothered her:

How could Alume and Arla know to meet them at the top floor? They had no contact with either of the two.

Strange. But then again, there had been something strange about Dryya for a long time now. She remembered when the knight had fought the tribe on the Pale King's behalf, and one thing from that memory kept coming back:

Dryya's chitin was not blackened then. Not like it was now.

Had anyone else noticed?

She stifled a scream as she held onto the yellow SOUL nail that was currently holding her to the wall. She knew the Radiance was supposed to be powerful - she was a higher being, after all - but the devastation the mad god had inflicted upon her and those under her had been terrible. All of the mantises that had been with her were dead, and she was in no condition to defend herself. It was all up to Hegemol.

But Hegemol wasn’t doing so well. Bleeding from several wounds, he was barely able to get back up from the last hit he had taken. “Oh how adorable! You think you can have some sort of heroic end?” There was that laugh again. That horrible, terrible, wicked laugh. “That’s so valiant, isn’t it? Come on then, Hegemol. Show me your ‘honour.’”

To his credit, Hegemol did not back down. Giving her a long look, he charged as the Radiance launched another series of SOUL nails.

Even as wounded as he was, he was still absurdly agile. With a burst of speed, he ducked under the summoned SOUL nails with a careful grace, and dodged those seeking yellow bolts like he’d been training for it every day of his life. Getting in close, he batted aside the SOUL nail the Radiance (who was possessing Soul Master) was wielding and punched.

Hard.

The force of the blow sent the body of the infected Soul Master tumbling to one side, head hanging at an unnatural angle. And for a moment, there was silence.

Was it over?

Please let it be over!

But, to her and Hegemol’s horror, the Soul Master’s head came back into place with a horrific squelching sound.

Oh Wyrm. It wasn’t over.

“Excellent try! I nearly felt that! But no matter. You could have punched me halfway across Hallownest, and it wouldn’t have been lethal. My grip on this one is far stronger than you can ever know. Goodbye, Hegemol.” And with that, the Radiance summoned eight seeking bolts, all of them faster than ever before. Hegemol dodged two of them, but took three in the chest and three to the face. The force of the magic sent him flying into the same wall she was currently stuck on.

The Radiance was laughing again. “Oh this should be good! You two would be excellent puppets for me! Perhaps even better than the one I currently inhibit. Which of you would like to go first?”

She struggled against the SOUL nail pinned to her arm futilely. Not like this! She would rather die than be a slave to the Radiance! The idea alone of her possessing the Soul Master in such a sickening manner was terrifying.

“Take me. Leave her.”

“No! Hegemol don’t!” She struggled again, the pain searing against her shoulder.

“My my. Such a hero! You’re up there with that butterfly! Maybe I should create some sort of scale...Hmm. That’s an idea, isn’t it? I’ll do that after you both are firmly under my control. That’ll-”

“-That’ll be something that isn’t happening.” The body of the infected Soul Master whipped around, taking in the group that was at the far end of the room.

It was Dryya, Alume, Arla, Vera, and the rest of the soldiers! Thank the Wyrm.

“Wait...Who...What are you? I sense...”

“Void? Exactly.” Dryya cracked her knuckles.

Alume drew her nail.

Vera and Arla held up their hands.

And with a furious war cry, the sisters of battle and the soldiers behind them came upon the Radiance.

The battle was brutal. Several soldiers died during the fight (although casualties would undoubtedly be higher without Alume’s leadership), and both Arla and Vera took several bad hits. But through it all, Dryya held them together. Everything the Radiance did, she beat back. Even a SOUL nail to the heart didn’t slow her down, much to everyone’s surprise (and the Radiance’s horror).

“GET AWAY FROM ME, YOU MONSTER!” The god shrieked as Dryya approached yet again, “YOU UNNATURAL, ABHORRENT THING!”

“I am who I am because of your actions, Radiance.” Dryya retorted, her wounds seamlessly closing up. “Stab someone enough times, and eventually they build up a tolerance. Give it up. This is getting old.”

“YOU MAY HAVE WON FOR NOW, BUT I’ll BE BACK!” The Radiance screeched before puppeting the Soul Master’s body out of the room, the sound of a window breaking indicating that the god had just escaped via jumping from the top floor.

A moment later, she collapsed, the SOUL nail holding her body to the wall dissipating.

They had won.

They had forced a god to retreat.

But at what cost?

Chapter Text

The same child with the two curved horns that met in the middle to form a crescent approached her again.

Their name was Moon.

They hadn’t told her that. Alume had, after interpreting the sign language they had used. None of the King’s children could physically speak, Alume explained, and so they relied upon their hands to talk. However, Moon themself didn’t seem to sign much, merely seeming to follow her at random times until she picked them up and let them hold onto her.

It was a very strange thing.

Neither she nor any of her other sisters had courted. She had never considered settling down and having a family, instead choosing to focus on becoming the best warrior she could possibly be. The idea of caring for a child was a foreign concept to her, and she wasn’t sure of what to make of it.

“You seem a little lost, Arla.” She turned to see Alume standing nearby, holding onto two children of her own.

“I was about to begin my daily training regime," she explained, "but this one came up to me again. Do you know why?”

“They want your comfort. The one that used to care for them died some time ago, and from that point on they’ve been looking for someone else. Same goes for the other two that came up to you before.”

She reluctantly hoisted Moon up to her chest, letting them latch onto her. “But why would they choose me? There are plenty of others more suited for that. I’ve always been a warrior, and nothing more.”

Alume chuckled. “I used to think the same. Back when they were first born, I was completely lost when three of them decided to latch onto me. It was not a planned or expected thing - it just happened. But no matter how uncertain I felt at first, caring for these little troublemakers has been one of the best decisions I’ve ever made. Here, take this.” Alume tossed a scroll,  which she caught with the arm that wasn't holding onto Moon. “You’ll need it to understand the sign language.”

“You’re serious about this?”

“Of you caring for them? Absolutely. You’re not afraid, are you?”

She was.

But she would never admit to that.

Even if it meant she had to become something like a mother.

What was her life coming to?

“Absolutely not.” She replied. “Thank you for the scroll. I’ll look into this immediately.”

“I’m sure you will.” Was that amusement in Alume's tone?

He sighed. “The single time I’m away for more than a day, and this happens.” He tossed the scroll to the side, “and you said the Soul Master was possessed by the Radiance?”

“He was. We fought him, or rather, her, to a near victory. Only six casualties. But she got away. Lurien and his watcher knights chased her out to Kingdom’s Edge, but weren’t able to pursue further. She’s in there somewhere, still possessing his body.”

Six casualties? Nearly winning against a god? 

Dryya truly was becoming something more.

But that was a conversation for another time. “I’ll arrange for patrols to watch every entrance to Kingdom’s Edge...And I’d best be tipping off the Hive, too.”

“A few guards won’t stop the Radiance.”

“I know. But at the least we could get some forewarning to her whereabouts if she does decide to make a move. The purpose of such patrols wouldn’t be to engage, but only to retreat and report back.”

“Why don’t we go there in force? Flush her out?”

“Not yet. Even if we did find and defeat her, she would only find another bug to possess. I’m still coordinating with the Seer on how to destroy her for good, and I don't want to rush that process. We may be of the void, Dryya, and that may be the only weakness of the Radiance, but we still need more time to come up with a plan. I’ll be discussing this with the Seer later today.” She was clearly frustrated by that response, but settled down a little after his next two sentences, “I know you want to get this done faster, Dryya, but have some patience. I would rather do this slowly and carefully rather than quickly and recklessly.”

"Alright." She relented, still somewhat annoyed.

"I know this isn't ideal, and I understand where you're coming from. I also am tiring of this game we're playing with her, but for the sake of Hallownest we must continue to play it. The long game may be frustrating...But it's our safest option. Time is on our side, after all."

“Why didn’t you tell me, Dryya?” Ghost asked, hurt. “I could have helped you defeat her!”

She really didn’t need this right now. “Did you read my mind again, Ghost? I told you not to do that!” 

Ghost sent her the mental equivalent of holding up their hands in a placating matter. “Not this time! I asked Alume. Why didn’t you tell me?”

She sighed. “You were happy. As were all the other children. I didn’t want to disturb that. You deserved to have a moment where you didn’t have to worry about anything.”

“All I did was worry about you after Mother told me where you had gone! Especially since you were going to fight h̡̻͕̥̺̞e̩̫̥͇̠ṟ̙̬!” Exasperation bled through to her, mixed with a bit of anger.

“We didn’t know it was going to be her. Not at first. It was only after we were well into the Soul Sanctum that we began to see signs of infection.”

“Still, please tell me! I won’t be happy if you do stuff like this, and I can listen to bad news. You know me. I’ve lived through it. Don’t treat me like a child!”

“I…” Was that an astute observation on Ghost’s part? She was about to mention something like that...But they had just said they weren’t reading her mind. “...Alright. Sorry. Just seeing you happy like you were...I didn’t want to ruin that. Not there. But if you insist, I won’t keep things from you. Not anymore. I’ll talk to your father and get him to involve you in his meetings - you deserve to know.”

“Thank you.” The exasperation from Ghost faded for a moment, but then quickly returned. “Also, can you come down to the courtyard? Wander stole Zann’s training nail, and although I got them to give it back, Zann is still angry and trying to strangle them.”

That sounded like Zann. “I’ll be right there.”

“What do you make of this? What do you think the Radiance will try to do at this point?” 

The Seer thought about it for a moment, pensive. “She will try to hide. Likely for a few years. You’ve already demonstrated that you are capable of snuffing out her infection, and Dryya becoming something more and fighting her to a standstill will have scared her, no doubt.

The mention of Dryya surprised him. “You knew?”

“It’s not difficult to see, if you know where to look.” She leaned forward, “the way Dryya is...The void resonates with her. Similar to how it does with Ghost, but on a smaller scale. Even I or Alume aren’t quite mortal after we were infused, but it’s different with Dryya, more complete. That is why the Radiance recognized her over Alume, although I’m sure Alume’s presence was still quite noteworthy to her. It showed to her that it’s not just you or Ghost that she needs to fear, and she will remember that.”

“So she’ll bide her time?”

“Hard to say. That’s the likeliest outcome, but the Radiance is in trouble, and she knows it. She knows anyone she infects can be turned against her, knows that anyone with even the slightest bit of void in them is a danger to her, and also knows that in many ways she can’t afford to wait around. As your children grow and become mature, they will each become gods of their own, and more than capable of killing her.”

“Hmm. The threat of anyone infected becoming void is then perhaps a useful fear tactic...Would I need to continue research in the mind shields then, I wonder…?” That was more of a rhetorical question, but the Seer answered it all the same.

“I would still encourage that you do. As good as it is to save an infected bug from certain death, changing one’s very being is not something to be taken lightly - I doubt even Ghost knows the full effect of infusing a bug with void. We should be cautious, paranoid, and utilize everything we have to thwart the Radiance, no matter how small or insignificant it is. This will be a long battle, after all, and we will need every advantage we can get.”

He sighed, thinking of how long this was likely going to take. “I don't like that, but I also know it's true. These next years will be troubling, for certain."

"I know. But better to do this slowly and carefully rather-"

"-than quickly and recklessly? Funny how I was telling Dryya the very same thing three hours ago..."

Chapter Text

It is dark.

It is always dark.

She likes the dark.

But something draws her out.

Something that makes her feel warm inside.

She likes the feeling.

She moves, wanting to draw closer to the feeling, and something cracks.

Strange noises come from outside.

“She’s hatching!”

“Shh!”

The noises mean nothing to her.

But what means something to her is that soothing feeling.

It got stronger when she moved.

She wants it.

She needs to get to it.

She moves again, struggling against whatever is holding her.

It’s hard.

But it’s getting easier.

Something bright gets in her eyes as she moves more and more, beginning to escape.

The bright hurts.

But the feeling of warmth only gets stronger.

It is encouraging her.

Keep going. You are almost there.

She keeps going.

Moving and turning until her body comes tumbling into the world.

It is so bright.

More noises are made as she looks up at the two staring down at her.

“She’s...Oh...” The taller and not bright one has something in their eyes.

They pick her up.

“My baby...”

They are warm.

Not warm like on the inside, but still warm.

She curls into their grasp, content.

“She’s wonderful, Herrah.” The smaller and brighter one is looking at her now. They make her feel warm inside.

She wants them.

“Can I hold her?”

“Absolutely.”

The smaller and brighter one is cold on the outside.

Just like her.

But on the inside?

She can feel so much love. 

Later, the small and bright one (her Father) left. She cried when it happened, silent tears rolling down her cheeks, but was quickly appeased when his love and voice remained. Warm and fuzzy, it is like a second blanket after her Mother’s warmth.

“I’m with you, always, my daughter. I love you.”

The words still mean nothing to her, but the feelings that come with it keep the warmth in her heart constantly on, even though he is no longer with her.

Her Mother is still with her, though.

“My little Hornet…” She says, kissing her. “Let’s get you something to wear.” 

She is taken into a strange place, where there are others working furiously.

They stop working when they see her, though.

“Did she just hatch?”

“Is that...?!"

“Is the Wyrm still around?”

“Her name is Hornet.” Her Mother declared proudly, “the Pale King was with me when she hatched - she came into the world naught but a few hours ago, and she’s been a wonderful child. I was very happy to have her with the Pale King.”

“...Amazing!”

“The Wyrm truly gave you a child? Of his brood? I thought those were mere rumors...”

“His alliance with us was one thing...But this? His actions speak for themselves....”

Her Mother nodded. “Indeed. He has done me a great kindness, and one I may never repay.” She was kissed again on the shell, the affectionate action sending another wave of warmth down her body. “Hornet will do great things, of this I am sure. The future of Deepnest is bright.”

She tuned out the noises after that, not really caring. She was safe, happy, warm, and nothing else mattered. 

Everything was good.

And as she felt the new red cloak that her Mother soon donned her in, it only got better. 

That night, she dreamed.

Blackness swirling around.

Twisting and turning.

Shifting and swirling.

Eventually, it settled.

And then, she was left staring at eight white eyes.

It should scare her.

But it doesn't.

She feels a kinship. A bond. A love.

“Hornet…” They say her name.

She reaches out, trying to get to them.

It doesn’t work, the eyes quickly disappearing and the black swirling again, faster and faster, and she is falling so so far and its so scar-

She is not in the black anymore.

She is in a bright green place.

She looks around curiously, interested in this new place that looks so different.

And then her eyes go to her big sibling again.

They are not just eight eyes anymore. They are a different thing, one with a head that is a pale white shell with numerous horns alongside a tall black body that is adorned with a white cloak.

They tower over her, but that is only for a moment. Slowly, their shape blurs together. Fuzzy and unfocused, she can’t make out the exact details as it coalesces into a much smaller form.

Their pale shell has only two horns now, and they only have two eyes. They are barely taller than her, and their grey cloak covers more of their black body. Unlike their last form, this one is strangely off, as if it’s not as it should be. As if they’re trying to be something they no longer are.

But she doesn’t know that. She just knows that they are her sibling.

And they love her.

“I missed you so much, Hornet!” They say.

Again, the words mean nothing to her.

But there is love and warmth coming from them.

Similar to her Father, but different.

She approaches curiously, and they do as well.

“I’ve been waiting so long to see you again!” They say, the love from them quickly amplifying. “I missed you!” They hold out a hand.

She takes it.

She doesn’t know how long they hold onto her, but she doesn’t care. The love, joy, and protectiveness they emanate is a great comfort, and one that she is happy to be surrounded with. It is such a comfort that she doesn’t even notice when their form shifts, going back to their original, taller visage.

Instead, she is happy to bury herself in their void, listening but not understanding as they chitter along about things that make no sense to her, but are comforting all the same.

All she cares about right now is that her sibling is with her, and they will protect her.

No matter what happens.

Chapter Text

He was not a religious bug.

His mother had been, trying to coax him and his brother towards worshipping and praying to the Pale King often, but whilst her efforts had worked on Renem, they did not have the same effect on him.

He had always been the more curious one, after all.

Whilst her mother’s descriptions of the Pale King’s fantastical (and exaggerated, he now knew) nature had always awed his brother, he had found himself dissatisfied with her tales. ‘Why is he a god?’, ‘How is he any different from any other common bug?’, and ‘What is ‘magic’ and why do you use it to describe everything the Pale King does?’ were some of the questions he would pester her with, and she would always answer with something that failed to sate his curiosity.

That was why instead of taking the chance to become a loyal servant of the Pale King like his brother had, he had opted for a different route. Choosing to learn under Monomon might possibly be the best decision he had ever made, and at the time he figured it would be a good way to distance himself from all that religious nonsense his mother and brother subscribed to.

Key phrase: at the time.

Ironic how things changed. He never could have predicted directly working with a god, much less learning about their insecurities and becoming part of their inner circle. But truth was often stranger than fiction, wasn’t it?

And that brought him back to his current predicament.

Sneaking discreet looks at Ghost whilst the higher being packed up their scrolls and left the lecture hall.

They were a complete and utter mystery to him. He knew with absolute certainty that they were a god, and one that even the Pale King feared, and yet currently they were also pretending to be his child.

It made absolutely no sense.

Along with knowing that they were a god above gods, he also knew that they happened to be doing quite poorly in mathematics, had a horrible habit of slouching at their desk, and tended to be teased quite a lot by the rest of the students. Shade Lord, god above all gods, figure that had previously haunted his dreams...And yet they acted the part of a caring older sibling?

He was missing something. Some factor that would explain all of this. He knew it. You didn’t become a professor under Monomon without developing an intuition, and here his intuition was telling him that he didn’t know the full story. Not until he did what he did best: ask questions.

“Ghost?” The god looked up, a moment where they stopped cramming their scrolls into their torso (wherein they promptly vanished) to affix him with all eight of their black, endless eyes.

He still had to resist the urge to flinch under their gaze, despite bearing with it for lectures on end. “Yes?” They signed.

“Do you know where the Pale King is?”

“Father? He is just in his office.”

“Thank you. Have a good weekend.”

“You too!” Ghost ambled off, seemingly content with that being the end of the matter. He wondered if they even remembered appearing in his dreams a year ago in the Abyss - likely not, considering they hadn’t brought it up. But that did raise the question though: could they read his mind? He certainly hoped not! But the Pale King had admitted that most gods could do such things…Gah! He needed to stop this. Worrying about something like that wouldn’t do any good, especially considering that there was little he could do to stop Ghost even if they were reading his mind. Better to worry about something else.

Hopefully the Pale King wasn't busy. If he was, he would be stuck ruminating on this for a while, and he hated that. Hated waiting around for all the answers when they were right there. Because although his brother (and seemingly the rest of the retainers in the palace) were content to accept the Pale King’s official announcement that Ghost was merely one of the taller children, he was not.

He had always been the more curious one, after all.

He was in the middle of some scrollwork when a knock sounded on his door. “Come in!” He called, signing off another declaration as he looked up to see Dr. Binwinn step into his office.

“Pale King.” The professor nodded, not opting to bow. “Do you have a moment?”

He filed away his scrolls. “I was just finishing up. What’s going on? You sound troubled. Did something happen with one of the children? With Hornet?” He was really hoping it didn’t have to do with her - that little spiderling had already climbed into one too many places that she had no business being in, and it had been driven him completely mad over the past week (even though he loved her with all of his being).

The professor chuckled a little, “oh no no nothing like that. I’m sure someone else would have informed you before myself if that was the case. I came to ask about something that has been nagging at me for a while - Ghost. Would you explain why the Lord of Shades is pretending to be your child?”

Dung. With all the madness surrounding the Soul Sanctum, he had completely forgotten to consider the ramifications of announcing that Ghost was one of his children. Especially considering that Binwinn had met them before - albeit in the dream world. “Oh, that? I apologize. I should have talked to you about Ghost sooner. They haven’t mentioned anything to you about your encounter with them in the Abyss?”

The professor shook his head. “No, and quite frankly I was afraid to ask. Are they forcing you to do this? Is this some strange concession they’ve demanded of you? I was hypothesizing what was going on between you two on my way here, but…”

It was funny how the professor overthought things. Especially so when the truth was as simple as it was ridiculous. “That is a reasonable guess, but wholly incorrect. Because in truth, I did not lie when I initially explained to the rest of the palace who Ghost is. I am their father.”

Binwinn froze for a moment, clearly not expecting that. When they spoke up again, their eyes just a touch wider. “...I would ask if you were jesting, but you said that with full certainty. Regardless, I will ask you to clarify: Ghost is indeed your biological child?”

“Yes.”

Binwinn was completely stupefied. “How? That just...isn’t possible, at least from what I know. Ghost was very much alive well before you had children, and that’s disregarding the fact that you yourself claimed they were a god even above you! How in Hallownest…”

He sighed. This was going to be difficult to explain. “Do you recall when I talked to you, Monomon, and the White Lady about that vision I had?”

“I do.”

“It wasn’t a vision.”

He spent at least thirty minutes describing what had really happened.

His old life. His first time dealing with the Radiance. The vessel plan. The falling of the kingdom. His apparent time travel through a child that had somehow become even greater than him.

Binwinn was shocked to hear it, but soon his shock turned to a dawning realisation as more and more things started lining up. “That’s...” The scholar paused for a moment, “I would say this is hard to believe, but…”

“But…?” 

“...It makes sense. You glossed over what you did in the Abyss so quickly when you were explaining it to me and Monomon, and the way you acted when you were evacuating the Abyss...I thought something was up. It wasn’t like you to abandon that place, especially given that we stayed open despite losing several others to the Abyss before Ghost came.”

He put his hands in his face. “I didn’t want to involve that place again. Not after how many have died there, in this life or the last. It still haunts my dreams, and I know that what I’ve done is reprehensible. I would understand if you condemned me.”

Binwinn was silent in response to that, the professor’s thoughts and antenna shifting rapidly as the bug ruminated on what he had said. But after a long minute, he spoke up again. “I would agree that what you’ve done is not acceptable, but…” Binwinn shook his head, “what is the point of reproof? You clearly regret what you’ve done, and are doing what you can to atone.”

“That’s not an excuse for mass infanticide, Binwinn.”

“Of course it isn’t! But what should I do? Hold a trial? Condemn you in public? Leave you to deal with the Radiance yourself? I’m not doing that - not with how much you’ve trusted me with, not with how much is riding on this, and not when you’ve done so much to redeem yourself. Maybe you won’t ever truly get over what you’ve done, and maybe you deserve that, but we need you - your children, your citizens, your confidants...You alone can lead us to stop the Radiance, guilt and sins notwithstanding.”

He froze after that, Binwinn’s words drilling into his head and hitting particularly hard. The professor was right - and he was lucky the scholar was here to stop him from going off the deep end into a pit of self loathing again. “I...Thank you. I’m sorry you have to see me like this.”

“Given your situation, I can understand why. I doubt I would be in my right mind if I was also haunted by such things. But enough of that - I’m sure I’ve taken enough of your time. I should be going now, unless you have anything else?”

Speaking of the Radiance, that reminded him of something. “Has there been any developments with the mind seals? I know Monomon promised to look into that earlier. Has she talked to you?”

Binwinn shook his head sadly. “Talked to me? Yes. But made any real progress?  Nothing yet, I’m afraid. Making a mind seal is already a difficult thing in and of itself from what I know, and even harder when you’re trying to design one that is both portable and easy to mass produce. There were some developments in the portabability aspect from before the Radiance became a problem as I recall, but nothing to address how much energy they require to make.”

“I might have a workaround.” He replied before getting a scroll from his desk, “the Seer and I were discussing some things, and a particular thing came up: one of the major weaknesses of the Radiance is the void. Anyone infused with the substance is immune to the infection, and the Radiance knows and fears this. So much so that she would likely avoid a confrontation with anyone affected.”

“Interesting. But what then? Are you proposing we infect everyone with void? That doesn’t sound like a good idea.”

“Have a little faith, Binwinn. Of course I would know that. Infecting everyone with void to stop them from getting infected by the Radiance is fighting fire with fire, and the consequences for doing that could be...drastic. But what we can do is make the Radiance think everyone is infected. Do you still have your schematics for the beakers that were able to safely contain void?”

“As a matter of fact, I do! Whilst we didn’t take any of the beakers with us when we left, the schematics were kept, and will still safely be in storage at the archives. I’ll just write to Monomon an-” The professor was interrupted by the door to the office opening, leading to both him and Binwinn turning to see who had entered.

“Ghost? Dryya?” It seems in his discussion with Binwinn he had been distracted enough to not notice the two through the void.  “Something wrong?”

“I thought you were alone.” Dryya said before seamlessly switching from physical speech to void telepathy, “Ghost wanted to talk to you about becoming more involved in the meetings.”

“I can help stop the Radiance.” Ghost added readily, giving him an earnest look (or at least what would constitute an earnest look when you had eight eyes and towered over everyone else). “But I’m sorry if I was interrupting something. Me and Dryya can come back later.”

He thought about it for a moment, weighing the odds. Whilst the parental side of him very much did not like the thought of one of his children helping in what was essentially a war, he knew Ghost was not a child. Not after what they’d gone through. And if he said no? He was sure Ghost would find some way to help. Especially since they had seemingly convinced Dryya. Better to allow them and keep an eye on them rather then deny them and risk them doing something dangerous. (Funny how in reality Ghost was far more capable of defending themself than he was - but that was just the nature of being a father - Ghost would always be his child, and he would always worry about them, no matter how powerful they were.)

“You can help.” He said, “I’ll just finish here with Binwinn and I-” a thought popped into his head. Why bother sending Binwinn away when their discussion pertained to the void anyway? “...Actually, have a seat. Both of you. Your timing is impeccable, as both Binwinn and I were discussing the Radiance anyway. How do you feel about using a bit of void to scare the Radiance away?”

Binwinn gave him a strange look, likely due to the fact that he, Ghost, and Dryya had been staring at each other for a good minute after they came into the room without saying anything, but he could explain that later. Because right now, he saw an opportunity for a plan.

Ah yes! Perfect! It was all coming together.

Chapter Text

“I have clearance.” She insisted, waving the Hallownest Seal in the guard’s face. “This should be more than enough to get me through here. King’s orders!”

“I have no idea what that is, but it doesn’t look like a passport to me. Back off, ant. I’ve had more than enough try to sneak past the gate already.”

“How the hell do you not recognize this? It’s a Hallownest Seal! How badly do they train guards like you these days?” She was beginning to regret not wearing something more identifiable.

“I’m a sergeant, for your information, and I’d like to think I’d know a thing or two more about guarding than some vagrant like yourself. Beat i-”

“Stand down, Stifflen. I doubt you’d be able to take a prefect—direct combat or otherwise.” Stifflen froze at that, turning around to see someone that was familiar to her.

“Felnum.” She said, surprised.

He saluted her. “The same. I’m sorry you were treated this way. Stifflen is a new transfer—just started guard duty this morning. I forgot to mention that Hallownest Seals get free and unquestioned passage.” Turning to Stifflen, he pointed towards the door. “Go and manage the scrollwork for a bit. You’ve done enough.” Shamed, Stifflen nodded and gave a rather unenthusiastic salute before leaving.

“I wasn’t expecting to see you here. What happened after you recovered from that little stint in the Abyss?”

Felnum shrugged, his armour restricting the movement a little (painted blue, it was still the same old set he used before—if patched up a bit) “they didn’t need me after they shut that place down, and so I was transferred here in short order. Unfortunate, but at least they gave me a pity promotion. Becoming a lieutenant has been nice, although likely nothing compared to some of the things you have to deal with as a prefect. How’s that going?”

She wanted to grimace a little. True was, the Abyss had been secretly reopened and a small production facility set up just outside. “It’s been fine. Although actually it’s ‘magistrate’ now.” She said that last bit with air quotations, not wanting to make it sound like she was pulling rank.

“Really? Congratulations. I’m sorry I couldn’t be there to see it. I would say I’m surprised, but...Truth is I figured you’d get that far eventually. You’re a very good leader, and you’ve worked very hard. I’m sure the good word Dryya put in for you helped a lot.”

“Yeah...It did. Thanks.” Bloody hell. That congratulatory phrase sounded like something she had said to Merimm...Back when he was still alive.

“Well…” She began awkwardly, “I better be going now. I would talk more, but you know.” She flashed the Hallownest Seal again. “I’m on business.”

“Oh absolutely. Don’t let me keep you any longer.” Felnum nodded, then signaled to the guards to open the gate.

“See you later.” She waved as she walked through, Felnum giving her one last salute as she stepped into the City of Tears.

She had been lying.

She wasn’t here on business, but on leave.

Things had gone by in a blur over the past few months. And yet as much as she wished things could slow down...They only seemed to go by faster. The Radiance’s attack on the Palace seemed so far away now...As did Merimm and so many others that had died in the attack.

And it’s almost like she had died with them.

She was still the same, and yet she wasn’t. More and more bits of her flaked off everyday, and each time she looked it seemed the last parts of her original body were becoming smaller and smaller.

And it scared her.

It was becoming a lot harder now to conceal it, especially considering that her once blue eyes were now blackened and empty. She was lucky Felnum hadn’t decided to comment on that, and luckier still that no one else had, either.

But maybe that was because of how worried everyone was.

It wasn’t hard to see if you looked close enough. Bugs went about their business in the city quickly, with hunched backs and tense shoulders. Guards leered at everyone and everything with paranoid eyes and hands clutching weapons tightly. Children didn’t play in the rain and instead grasped both their parents and their blackstones with scared and shivering hands.

Blackstones which she herself had helped make.

It was a funny name that Dr. Binwinn had given to those things. Outwardly they looked very much like rounded black rocks, but she knew what lay inside. Delicately crafted, each stone carried a small vial of void that was nearly impossible to break open, yet was very easy to feel via magical means. Even now it felt like Ghost was nearby, and she was sure it would not be hard to call out to them through the void if she wanted to.

...Funny her thoughts would turn back to Ghost. A literal bloody god, and yet she knew them personally. Lord of Shades, Shade Lord, god of gods...And a complete angel, she now knew

Black tears streaming down her face, clothes stained black, bed darkened by how much she had cried...She was lucky it was nighttime, and no one was around to see her like this.

“Alume?” A voice spoke up in her head.

A voice she didn’t want to hear.

“...Go away, Ghost.”

“But why are you crying?”

There was a small flash of anger. Ghost had indirectly caused this, after all. “Go away!”

They went away after that.

But then they came back. 

In person. 

Creeping into her room as a literal shadow before reforming again.

“Alume? What’s wrong?”

“I don’t want to talk about it!” She snapped, turning to the other side of her bed and away from them.

“Okay.” They stopped talking about it.

But they remained with her.

She stayed stubborn like that for a while, refusing to look at them, but it didn’t last. Eventually, she cracked, crying into Ghost’s arms pathetically as a mountain of stress broke her down. She had run from her issues for so long, but she couldn’t run any longer.

You couldn't run away from your problems forever, after all.

She felt like such a stupid child in that moment. So vulnerable, so weak...And yet Ghost said nothing. Emanating comfort and warmth, they stayed with her, hugging her. Even as her tears persisted, even as she struggled a little bit against their hug, and even as she eventually fell asleep due to exhaustion.

It was one of the best sleeps she’d had in weeks.

She dreamed of happier places, of simpler times, and of less stressful moments. She wasn’t sure if Ghost had done that - she wasn’t even sure of what exactly they could do as a god - but she was thankful nonetheless.

The next day, the Pale King gave her a knowing look when she asked for a week of leave. She could just tell that he knew, but that he wasn’t commenting on it - for her sake. Approving her request for some time off, he merely asked that she call on him or Ghost should she need anything, and then sent her on her way. It was-

“Watch it, stranger!” She was jolted by her thoughts when some upstart noble shoulder-checked her, reminding her that the soggy roads in the City of Tears were very much not a place to reminisce.

“Sorry.” She mumbled half-mindedly, backing off and away from the bug before taking a moment to get her bearings, looking around at the grey buildings that surrounded her. 

Huh. She was actually kind of close to where she needed to be.

Taking a few more quick turns, riding several elevators (she still didn’t understand why they had to have spikes on the top) and navigating through a few dark hallways, and she was there. Standing in front of a familiar doorway that had burned its image into her brain.

The doorway that led to her dad’s apartment.

The doorway that led to her childhood home.

Hesitantly, she knocked on the door. She wasn’t looking forward to how he would react, seeing her as she was, but him seeing her like this was inevitable. Better to get it over with now rather than spring it on him later.

Knock knock.

“Coming!” It was a moment before the door opened, but when it did… “Alume?” There was a moment where her dad just stared, perplexed. “...Kiddo? That you?”

“Yeah...Sorry I’ve been away for so long, I…” He was looking at her weirdly, no doubt wondering about her eyes. “...I got sick. With the same thing that knight Dryya did, if you heard the news. I know it looks weird, but it’s not contagious. Just…”

“Odd?” Her dad finished.

“Yeah, I...Sorry about this. I should have told you earlier. Should have come to see you earlier.” 

In response to that, her dad stilled. There was a moment there. Some memory flickering in his eyes. Something that she saw, but would never truly know. And as soon as the moment came, it went. Brightening a little, her dad gestured for her to come in. “...Maybe you look a little different, but I can see now you’re still the same ol' kiddo I raised - apologising about something that clearly isn't your fault. Come on! You could have come in half mangled and I wouldn’t have cared, so long as I knew it was you. Step inside! I just baked some fresh bread.”

She sniffed. Oh gods, it smelled like her dad had the honey on too. Her favorite! Had he known she was coming? “That sounds delicious! How did you know to bake my favorite?”

He chuckled warmly as she stepped inside, the awkward moment dissipating. “Hell if I know, but I got the sense you were coming home to see me. C’mere.” He wrapped her in a tight embrace, his warm body a contrast to her icily cold one. “Cripes, you’re cold as a corpse, kiddo. You really do need some warm bread in you. Let’s go.”

The bread tasted as delicious as she remembered. 

Toasty and sweet with a honey coating, it tasted just as good as when she was younger, and they still hadn’t yet moved into Hallownest. Sighing happily, she took another bite as she listened to her dad talk her ear off about the wonderfully mundane things he was dealing with. 

She had missed this.

“...I tell ya, this new kid looked like he’d never seen a rolling pin in his life! But by the end of the day he was rolling and kneading with the best of ‘em. Just goes to show that if you put enough of your mind to anything, you can do it. Anyhow, he’s one of my best bakers now.”

“So the bakery is still going strong?”

“Yup! Even though this pandemic made foot traffic worse, I’m still pulling in a tidy profit.”

“That’s good. Haven’t seen anyone with that orange in their eyes or anything? No encounters with the infected?"

“Nah, nothing like that. Some bugs were protesting at the infection testing clinic the other day, but the city guard dealt with it just fine. Honestly, though? I can’t say I blame them. They bleed you good at those sites to make sure you have none of the orange in you, and it hurts quite a bit. All for the better though, right? So I bear with it all the same. How are you holding up? What’s this disease you’ve got going on?”

“It’s...complicated. And I’m not really supposed to talk about it, but…” She sighed a little, this time less happy. “It’s not harmful, but not curable, either. It causes bits of your body to flake off and be replaced by this...black stuff. And it changes your eyes too, if you haven’t noticed. It doesn’t even hurt, just… it’s concerning, to say the least.” She hated lying like this, but what could she say? ‘By the way, technically I’m part god now, or something like that. I barely need to sleep or eat, and I can regenerate from a stab wound in seconds’?

“Anything I can do to help?”

“Just...Could I come with you to the bakery tomorrow? I told you how much I love my job and the promotion that it came with, but I…”

“...Want to do something simple with your hands? I get that. Don’t worry about it, kiddo, because my bakery is always open for you. Whether to fill your stomach...or your mind. I figured you might need something easy to ground yourself.”

He really did know how to keep it simple, didn’t he? She needed that. With all the madness that went on in the palace sometimes… “Thanks, dad. I’m sorry I can’t be here with you more often, but at least I’m here now. I love you.”

He embraced her. “Love you too, kiddo. Glad you’re here.”

Chapter Text

“Good night, Hornet.” He kissed his little spiderling on the head, receiving a bout of joy in return.

He loved this part of the day. When all of the children had finally tired themselves out, it was much easier to keep track of them all. It was even easier when his Root baked her (dangerously delicious) cookies - the rule of ‘the first ones to bed have the best selection’ made getting them all to sleep much easier.

Of course, not all of his children slept in the nursery anymore (some preferred to sleep with their favored people) but it was reassuring to see most of them accounted for, especially with how chaotic it had been over the last few days.

He could remember a fair bit about raising Hornet in the last timeline, and she was certainly not this hyperactive. 

He wasn’t sure if it was the void in her, or if Herrah had just raised her differently this time (they had arranged for a monthly rotation between Deepnest and Hallownest, with he or Herrah visiting each other frequently so Hornet wouldn’t be without the other for too long) but it seemed his little spiderling had a penchant for trouble - and it didn’t help that Wander had nearly immediately taken a liking to her. 

Switching all the training nails for real ones, swapping a bunch of scrolls so that many of his retainers became confused, pranking poor Ogrim by stealing his Hallownest Seal...And those were just a few of the things Hornet had gotten up to with Wander, and it was even more concerning given that she was only four months old. What trouble would she get into when she was older and smarter? He dared not contemplate it.

But at the very least, she would not be the scarred and serious princess protector in this timeline. Perhaps she would still become a warrior (Dryya had already begun training some of the children who had wanted, after all), but not in the same way as before. She would not be forced to wander a broken Kingdom, protecting a useless birthright and living a hard life, and she would not be robbed of the happy childhood she undoubtedly deserved. He was going to make damned sure of that, and if that meant letting her have a little fun and mischief every now and then, he wouldn’t stop her. (Although he would most certainly scold her if things got out of line. She had to learn that all actions have consequences, after all.)

Kissing the last child for the night and bidding them a good night’s sleep, he gave Ghost (who had also been tucking some of the children in) a nod, letting them know that it was time to go. Spending a few more moments with Wander, Hallow, and Hornet, it was a moment before Ghost meandered on over to him and exited the room with him.

“How are you doing?” He asked, speaking through the void as to not disturb his sleeping children, “I haven’t seen you all day.”

“Painting, mostly.” Ghost admitted, “I played with Wander and Hornet a little this morning, but eventually they ran off and I got dragged into an art session with Luma and Professor Ullra. Sorry I wasn’t there to keep up with Wander’s antics.”

“That’s absolutely fine.” He said. “I know you want to take care of them and be their protective big sibling, but it’s more than acceptable to take a moment for yourself.”

“I just...I want to be there for them. I love them so much, and I want them to grow up and be happy. It’s just so hard when there’s so many of them, and I want to be with all of them. How do you do it?”

“I don’t, speaking truthfully.” He confessed, “It’s not possible to give all of them the attention and love they deserve, as much as I want to. Doesn’t mean I won’t try, however. Speaking of giving attention…” He took one of their hands in his, “are you well? I’ve noticed a minor amount of anxiety in you recently. Something small that’s nagging at you. You hide it well from the children, but I know how it feels to conceal something like that. What’s on your mind?”

“It’s…” They hesitated. In a way that reminded him of himself.

“Don’t feel like you’re a burden - your issues ARE valid.” He encouraged. “What's the matter?”

“It’s like...When I dream, I don’t look like I’m supposed to.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, like, sometimes I visit others in dreams - I used to do it a lot with Dryya, and I always looked like my younger self in those dreams. But now it’s different, and I don’t understand why.”

“Show me.”

Ghost’s control over the dream realm was beyond him.

Whilst he had the know-how to create a world in a dream, that was more a credit of excessive study and expertise, and not due to power (although being a god certainly made the process easier). Ghost, though?

The moment he had fallen asleep, it was like he was waking in a different world. Getting up and surveying his surroundings, he was struck with a strange feeling. This dream was a simulacrum of his office, and it felt so real that he might have mistaken it for reality - if not for the mandala that were floating around.

Certainly a better dream than the one he had constructed to suffer in so long ago.

“Father?” He turned around to see Ghost sitting in his chair, which felt incredibly bizarre. That chair may as well have been his throne with how often he sat in it, and to see someone else sitting in it? He’d never been in a position like this before. (Although, in many ways it was fitting - Ghost was far more powerful than him, even if they would never admit to it.)

“Yes?” He took a seat, which again struck him as odd. He had never once sat in this chair in reality, and he didn’t quite know what to make of it. What was this strange feeling of deja vu?

“Do you notice anything strange about how I look?”

He didn’t. They looked just as they did in the real world - pale mask with eight eyes and numerous horns, a tall body composed of shifting void with four long arms, and still wearing the same white cloak he had recently gotten them, which covered their shoulders and draped over their back. “You look as you do in the real world. What’s the issue?”

He felt that small bout of anxiety again, only this time it was more intense. “That’s the problem! I never used to look like this in the dream world. I used to be like this.” Their form shifted, blurring for a moment as it reduced to a much smaller form.

A form that bore a striking resemblance to Wander.

“How do I look now?”

“Just like Wander...That’s who you were in the previous timeline, wasn’t it?” That familiar scene flashed in front of their eyes, but from two different perspectives. One of him walking away whilst Ghost fell, and another of them desperately clawing whilst their Father - himself - abandoned them.

It caused him to shudder.

“Yes...But please, let’s not talk about it." Ghost said, noticing how he shook. "Is there anything wrong with how I look now?”

The awkward moment passed when he leaned forward, squinting a little.

There were things wrong with how Ghost looked.

Their form was fuzzy around the edges, unfocused. It carried a distinct lack of realness that their other form possessed, and he swore that black tendrils were flickering in and out of existence behind them. This seemed strangely like… ”Do you require a conscious effort to maintain that form?”

“A little.”

He knew what this was about. “Stop doing that, immediately.” They did, and their form quickly shifted to the taller one, the one with which he was more familiar with. “What’s wrong with you looking like you are?” 

“It’s just...I’m not used to it! I don’t want to look like this! I want to look like I did before!”

"This is a dream, Ghost." He explained, "In a dream, what you see yourself as is what you are.”

“I know that! I even told Dryya something like that...But it doesn’t make sense! I’m still like Wander in some ways! Why would I look like this?”

He shook his head. “Ghost, my child, you are vastly different from Wander. Even disregarding how your ascension has changed you, you have matured over these last few months. You have taken on responsibility as a big sibling, have made it your duty to look after them...And have taken an active role in raising them. You may not feel it, but you’ve grown, and those subtle changes can have a great effect on your subconscious self image. If you looked in a mirror and compared yourself to when you found me crying in my prison dream, would you say that you were still the same?”

They thought about it for a moment. “...No. I wouldn’t.”

He smiled, “exactly. And just as you have changed, so have I. My chitin wouldn’t normally be outwardly void in a dream, you know.” 

Funny how a while ago the sight of his black tears made him question everything he had ever known.

But now? Now he was comfortable with what he had become. 

Dryya had been right, and the Radiance had been wrong.

Becoming void never made one a monster.

Treating others cruelly was what did, and Ghost had certainly not done that.

“I know you may be afraid of this, Ghost. But take heart. You have made me proud in all that you have done, and this is a sign of your growth. Don’t think of what you’ve lost when you look in the mirror. Instead, think of how far you’ve come.” And from there, he got up from his chair, giving a hug to the child of his that was speechless.

Speechless, yet filled with joy from a love he should have given them so long ago.

Chapter Text

One year ago today, the moth tribe - his tribe - had been killed. Under the control of the Radiance, they had attacked the White Palace and died a horrible death, killing many bugs in the process. And when he had heard the news, he had believed there was nothing left for him. Nothing left but to go off somewhere and join his tribe in death.

But that was not so anymore.

“Do you want to go flying again, Atlas?” They nodded. “Let’s go, then.” He took their hand, leading them into the hall and invariability to the outside.

They were as tall as he was, now, and after their second molt their horns had grown out, the four of them curving upward magnificently. They were a solemn sight, and yet the King had proclaimed that the children still had two more molts to go. How tall would they be at maturity? And how long would that take? Most bugs took no more than two years to reach maturity, and yet Atlas along with the rest of the King’s children were still just that - still children.

...He was doing it again. Forgetting that Atlas, along with the rest of them, were no less than gods. Little gods, for sure, but still gods. But was it so bad to forget that when they got into so much mischief?

Speaking of mischief...

“What are you doing, Wander?” He moved to block them as they jogged down the hall.

“Nothing, Thistlewind! I promise!” 

“Uh huh.” Their hand signals were just a little too frantic, their pace just a little too quick. They were certainly up to something. And seeing Hornet round the corner and run down the hall to the three of them was further proof.

“Why in so much of a rush?”

“We’re late for class again! Please let us by!” 

He didn’t buy it. If he remembered correctly, Wander was very often late for class, and from what he heard they didn’t often care about that...But at the same time, with both Wander and Hornet here, he wouldn’t be able to stop both of them. “Alright. Go on ahead. You be good, okay?”

“Thank you!” Wander and Hornet ran off not a second later, rounding the corner at the far end of the hall behind him before he could say anything more.

And it was approximately three seconds before another bug came barrelling down the hallway. Jadia. Her cloak (which she normally never went without) was strangely missing.

It didn’t take long to connect the dots after that.

The mantis approached him immediately. “Where are they?!” She demanded.

“They just passed me. You’re not far - I stalled them for a moment. They took a right at the end of the hall.”

“Thanks.” She started running again, bellowing threats as she rounded the corner.

Funny how neither he nor she need clarification for who they were talking about - the antics of Wander and Hornet were legendary, and all things considered they were lucky that Knotty hadn’t gotten involved yet (the day when half the guard force had woken up tied to their beds was not a pleasant day).

Fortunately, that fisco was officially not his problem. “Let’s not worry about them, Atlas. Let’s just keep going.” Atlas nodded at that, maintaining steady eye contact with him.

They had gotten better over the past year. The loss of Merimm still weighed on them, but they were getting better. They were talking more now, and they hadn’t sulked as much. He wasn’t sure of their thoughts like the Seer was (he wasn’t void, after all) but she had said that they were far happier now, and that was good.

Strange how in many ways their own grief was like his own. In a clouded mirror, he might think them identical to him. Both of them feeling lost after losing their loved ones, and both of them grieving in a quiet way, usually without tears.

He was immeasurably glad that Lurien had taken him along to see the King. If he hadn’t...Best not to dwell. His life had become so much more now, anyway. Caring for Atlas (and helping the Seer and the White Lady with all of the other children) had given him a purpose that he wouldn’t trade for the world, and had helped him cope with his own grief over the past year.

Grief that was less, but still there.

...Best not to think about it. Not now. They had just gotten outside, after all.  “We’re here. Ready to go?” He asked, offering a hand as he spread his wings.

They took his hand eagerly, and he drew them in close as he took to the skies.

These little excursions were always a comfort. Atlas loved feeling the wind on their shell, and he loved taking in the splendor of the White Palace from an aerial view, alongside seeing and greeting the flying guards that were often patrolling. Security had tightened since the last time the Radiance attacked, but he only knew that from conversing with some of the guards. It made sense, though. Many of the mantises took guard duty very seriously, and after seeing how vicious they were in the sparring matches...He was glad they were on his side. 

“Thistlewind! You’re getting out more!” 

He paused his glide to greet one of the newer guards. “I am, aren’t I? Nice to see you, Cady.”

“Nice to see you too. How is Atlas doing?”

“He’s fine. Wants to fly around more, which is good.”

“You sure you can carry them there?” Cady jested. “Your little arms are lookin’ a little sore!”

He smiled. “In your dreams, Cady. These ‘little arms’ of mine are strong enough to handle a nail - and Atlas here weighs about that much.”

“Oh really? Might have ‘ta test your meddle in the ring then!”

“Maybe later, Cady, when Atlas is in class. You know how it is. I have to be there for them.”

“That’s fair. Speaking of being there...I better get back to my patrol. Gotta make sure the kid mantises don’t get into a fight or something, after all. Stay safe, you hear?”

“I will. Thanks, Cady.”

“You’re welcome.” The butterfly flew off, yellow wings flashing as she glided closer to the Palace.

And as soon as she was out of earshot, he looked down at Atlas.

“Are you okay?” Their grip on him was tight, their grief evident even without a void link.

It was a good moment before they spoke, their hand signals difficult to interpret with how he had to hold them whilst flying, but he managed. “I still miss him.”

“I know.” Cady was the only other butterfly employed in the Palace, but he swore that he ran into her far too often, especially when Atlas was with him. (She didn't know about what Atlas had gone through, and didn't feel like he should talk about it.) “You don’t have to say anything. Here.” He landed on one of the upper balconies, intent on letting them go. “You can take as much time as you need.”

However, they didn’t leave his grasp, not like all of the other times when they wandered off to be alone for a bit. “...I don’t want to go away this time. I don’t want to run away...I don’t want to cry alone anymore.”

“You don’t have to.” He hugged them, “I’ll be here for you, always.”

“Thank you.” They hugged him back, and although he wasn’t void, he could feel both the love and grief they were emitting.

You never rushed the process of grief, after all. You only assaged it.

“You’ve been learning from Dryya, haven’t you Champ?” Alume handily blocked their nail art, not even recoiling. (She was so good! The only other bug that could do that was Dryya!)

“I have, yeah.” They swung at her again, the feint not being taken as she sidestepped.

“That’s good.” Alume said, backing away in a neutral position. “More training never hurts, but...” She suddenly rushed them, the attack unexpected and forcing them onto the defensive. “...But don’t get complacent. There’s still a lot you need to learn.”

“Ah!” They gave up a lot of ground parrying her blows, her attacks fast and efficient whilst theirs were sloppy and slow.

“Remember what I taught you - your defense should always be about how efficiently you can stuff your opponent’s offence.” They were giving up too much ground, taking a step back for every block. “You’re getting sloppy Champ! Wake up!”

Emboldened, they took a step forward. "Fine! I'll show you what I can do!" They exclaimed, responding to another of Alume's attacks with one of their own...

...Only to have Alume neatly dodge the blow, disarming them with a fast and powerful strike near the hilt of their nail.

“You were slow, and that riposte was careless. You left yourself open.” She was right. They should have been expecting that. Alume was renowned for her defensive nailplay, sure...But what was lesser known was that she was an opportunist. As soon as her opponent was worn down...That was when she would strike. And she most certainly struck.

“Sorry, I…” They awkwardly rubbed their shell, sheepish as Alume handed their training nail back to them.

“It’s fine. That’s the point of training after all - to mess up and to learn from it. Here.” She passed them a canteen of water, and they drank it eagerly. The cool liquid calmed their void, which was tight with excitement. “What have you been doing since I was on leave?”

“Watching some of the guards fight.” They admitted. “Even outside of training with Dryya, I’ve been trying to get better by watching how some of them fight. The mantises are really good with how fast they can attack.”

“That’s all well and good, but how often have you taken a moment to relax? I feel how tense you are in the void - you won’t be able to fight straight wearing yourself out like that.”

“I just want to improve!" They said, some irritation seeping into their words. "I see how strong you and all of the other bugs are, and I want to be like you. You guys make it look so easy!” That sparked a sigh from her.

“Sometimes the best way to improve is to take a break. I get where you’re coming from, Champ, and hell, that even sounds like something a younger version of me would say, but you have to slow down a little. Part of the reason why my nailplay is so defensive is because I learned to be patient - patient in training, patient in fighting, and patient in living. You know it. You’ve seen it. And you’ll learn it.”

That perked them up. “So does that mean you’re sparring with me again?”

“Nope. It means you’re coming with me to eat lunch, because I know you’ve been skipping meals. Don’t forget that I can feel you too, Champ.” She patted them on the shoulder (she always did that, despite being barely taller than them now). “You need your food. You're still growing, after all. Come on. I’ll share my sandwich with you again.”

All of their annoyance at not being able to spar vanished as Alume mentioned the sandwich. “Really?!”

“Really.” They followed behind her obediently. Alume made a mean sandwich (the bread tasted so good!), and when they were younger they had frequently taken to stealing it...Until she had become void and started storing things in her body like they did. Oh well, at least they could get a part of it now.

The guards barracks was a familiar sight to them. They often ran around here, typically either to sneak in to sleep with Alume, or just to generally explore the building. This was actually the outer barracks, they knew, with the inner one being part of the Palace instead of being a separate building like this one. “Arla!” Alume greeted as they drew close, “I see you’ve got your kids with you as well.”

Spark, Winty, and Moon bowed politely as Arla did the same - their siblings bowing in a way that was like how a mantis would. “I have. You have Champ with you? Where are the others?”

Alume shrugged. “Luma’s off painting something - they said they were working on a surprise for me. Quanta is doing some extra credit assignment, but they promised they would stop by later.”

“I see.” Arla tilted her head towards the door, “I assume you’re here for lunch?”

“Yeah. Care to join me?”

“Unfortunately, we were just leaving. Winty and Moon had a disagreement, and I am taking them to settle it.”

They instantly knew what Arla meant by that (the mantis had done a similar thing when they and Spark had fought over a training nail) and Alume did as well, asking the question that was also on their mind. “You’re going to have them spar, aren’t you?”

“Yes.”

“Funny how a year ago I would have seriously questioned you for doing that. But now? Have fun.”

Arla nodded at that, moving past them with Spark, Moon, and Winty in tow. “Tell me how it goes.” They said specifically to Spark through the void, and got a wordless nod in response.

They were betting Moon was going to win.

After watching Arla march off, Alume took them by the hand. “Come on. I’m starting to get a little hungry myself.”

Heading inside the barracks, they were met with a familiar sight. Guards polishing their gear, eating food, chatting with other guards, or generally busying themselves with whatever needed to be done. At one point they remembered how the mantises had seldom talked with other bugs that weren’t mantises, but it wasn’t like that now - if anything it seemed more common to see a mantis and a bug of some other species chatting together rather than the other way around. Heading into Alume’s private office, they sat in the chair opposite to Alume as she brought out the sandwich. “We’ll split it 60/40.” She declared.

“Aww. Not 50/50?”

“Don’t give me that look, Champ.”

They gave her that look.

She folded after about thirty seconds. “You’re too adorable for your own good, you know that? I’m half hoping you grow up ugly.”

Amusement floated off them in waves. “Until it stops working, I will keep doing it!”

She sighed, but it wasn’t really of annoyance. More like resignation mixed with some affection. “You’re such a troublemaker, you know that? You’re lucky you’re my troublemaker.” She handed them half of her sandwich, and they munched on it happily. 

Alume was right.

They were lucky they were her troublemaker.

They wouldn’t have it any other way.

“She is like a cornered animal now. Her options have grown even more limited after you introduced the blackstones into the general population, and she will not respond kindly to that.” The Seer said.

“I know.” He leaned forward in his chair, “I’ve some plans in motion. Lurien and Monomon are nearing a breakthrough with an actual mind shield, and I suspect it will be key to stopping the Radiance.”

“What of it?”

“I’ve helped with parts of it, and Monomon will be presenting the findings at the meeting tomorrow. And if her results are what I’m hoping they are…It may be useful against the Radiance herself, not just as something to guard against her influence.”

The Seer saw where he was going with this, bits of his knowledge leaking through. “Do you truly think you could contain her with such a thing? Let alone find her and collar her with it?”

“We still know she’s somewhere in Kingdom’s Edge - scouts have reported the animal population becoming horribly infected, and the blockades set up at the entrances to the region have not seen her, possessing the Soul Master’s body or otherwise. As for what I have upon actually catching her...I’ll elaborate tomorrow, assuming Monomon comes through.”

“You are confident in this plan, aren’t you? I feel it. Very well, I will reserve my questions for tomorrow. Is there anything else you wish to discuss?”

“Not at all. Thank you for your time.”

The Seer bowed, and with parting farewell, left his office. After that, he got up from his chair, moving to gaze through the window behind him that provided a view of the courtyard down below.

It was a wonderful day outside. He could see many of his children - some being taken through training drills (so many of them wanted to learn how to fight), others outright sparring, and others still just running around or playing - simply enjoying life, as they should.

He smiled. 

They had all grown up so wonderfully over the past year, and he had no doubt that all of them would go on to do great things. Raising them had brought immeasurable joy to his heart, and reminded him of exactly what he was fighting for.

He was not just fighting for his kingdom. Or his territory. Or his home.

He was fighting for his family.

“Father?” He turned to see Hallow entering the room, a slew of emotions emanating from them.

“Yes?”

“How are you?”

“I am fine, my child.” He approached them, their height becoming apparent (they were barely shorter than him now, and he knew that would soon change) as he closed the distance. “How are you? You feel...I cannot tell how you’re feeling. You are conflicted. What’s the matter?”

He got a slight sense of shame from Hallow, but also something else - a small sense of satisfaction. “I may have...Acquired something I shouldn’t have.”

This vaguely reminded him of that time Dryya had confessed to stealing the dream nail. “What did you take?”  

“I’m sorry, Father. I just...I just couldn’t resist.” Hallow produced something.

Actually, several somethings.

They were brown, small things, filled with bits of honey.

Ten of his Root’s honey cookies. The same kind she baked every other day for the children before bedtime. 

“How did you get these?” He asked, genuinely surprised. His Root had gotten paranoid the last few weeks, thwarting his several attempts to sneak the cookies. Just looking at them now made his mouth water.

“...I made a deal with Wander and Hornet. I distracted Mother whilst they broke into the kitchen.” That was a concerning thought. The three of them teaming up? No wonder they managed to steal a whooping ten. (Or was it more than ten? This was only Hallow’s share!) “Would you accept these as forgiveness?” There was that sense of satisfaction again. That naughtiness. Hallow knew what they were doing. And it struck him with a deep sense of both irony and mischief.

Normally, he was the one pilfering the cookies, not the other way around. To see Hallow following in his footsteps and doing exactly what he had been doing...

His Root would certainly not approve of this.

But his Root also didn’t need to know about this.

This information was on a need-to-know basis, after all.

“Certainly.” He said, wry smile gracing his face as he accepted the bribe. “In fact, would you mind sharing them with me? I haven’t seen you all day, and it would be nice to spend time with you. What do you think?”

“I would love that, Father.”

Chapter Text

“My Wyrm…” His Root embraced him as she came into the bedroom, giving him a quick peck on the cheek. “How are you?”

“I’m...Mostly fine.” He admitted. “My meeting with the Seer went well, and everything is as it should be for the second meeting tomorrow.”

She could see the worry in his body language. “What’s troubling you?”

He sighed, getting into bed. “Just...Anxiety. I spent some time with Hallow this afternoon, and it was wonderful, but…” He shook his head. “Afterward, all I could do was ruminate on her. She took everything from me last time, and I worry so much about her doing it again. Even in the happy moments I dwell on what she's doing, festering in Kingdom’s Edge, and I can’t stop it. Will this ever end? I’m hoping Monomon’s breakthrough tomorrow at the meeting will be what we need, but…”

She got into bed next to him, branches curling around him and massaging his tense back. “You will stop her. You’ve come so far over these last years, and I’m so proud of you. I remember the days when you were reclusive and stoic, rarely showing emotion even when you were with me in private, but now?” She kissed him again, “you’ve opened up so much. To me, and to many others. I never said so at the time, but I was impressed when you inducted Binwinn into your inner counsel. That was the first time you had added to your confidants in many years, and seeing how open you are in the meetings now…” She sent him a sure look, “you will stop her. You have come so far, and have done so much…” They shared a passionate kiss, part of his worries melting away at her reassurance.

“Thank you. I just...I want this to end. I want to stop fighting, stop worrying. I want the children to grow up in a world where there is no crazed moth goddess, and there is no fear of impending infection.”

“I know, and I have no doubt that soon what you want will be a reality. There is hope at the end of the tunnel - just don’t lose sight of it. For the children.”

He nodded. “For the children.”

He checked the list.

Lurien, Herrah, Monomon, Binwinn, Ogrim, Hegemol, Isma, Ze’mer, his Root, Ghost, Alume, and the Seer.

The meeting room was becoming quite crowded, and a better setup would certainly be necessary...When he had time to organize that. For now, the important matters they were about to discuss took precedence. “Thank you all once again for coming here today. This meeting has been a long time in the making, and we have much to discuss.” A chorus of nods responded to that, the various bugs in the room knowing the gravity of the situation. “Given how we’ve all become acquainted with one another, I believe we can skip the formalities this time and begin the presentations immediately. Monomon? You are slated to go first. You have the floor.” 

“Thank you, Pale King.” Monomon got up (but did she really get up? It was more like she just began floating higher) and addressed all of them. “As many of you know, much of my time over the last year has been devoted to researching ‘magic’ seals. The invention of the blackstone was part of that, although most of the credit for that falls to Professor Binwinn, Knight Dryya, Magistrate Alume, and Ghost.” She gestured to the four in question, each of them giving a short nod. “However, with some additional help from the Pale King, Lurien, and the Seer, I have made a breakthrough.” Monomon laid something on the table for everyone to see. “This, ladies and gentlebugs, is our very first true mind shield.”

At a first glance, it seemed quite mundane. A white armband with a golden clasp, it seemed more an ornate piece of jewelry than anything else. “How does it work?” Isma asked.

Monomon smiled, clearly expecting the question. “Lurien, would you be so kind as to demonstrate its effects?”

Lurien nodded, seemingly having prepared for this. Taking the armband and equipping it, he held out his wrist for all to see as white seals flashed on it, seeming to spread out and encase his entire body for a brief moment before disappearing into nothingness.

“Interesting.” He commented, “did you just cover his entire body in seals?”

“Indeed! Try and communicate with Lurien via telepathy. I assure you, this design is most efficient.”

He did so, and was surprised to see that his attempt was not only blocked, but completely absorbed. Telepathy dissipating rapidly, he watched curiously as the mind shield glowed white for a moment. Surprised, he tried again, projecting a much more powerful thought.

Still nothing.

Astonishing! How Monomon created this...He needed to go over the details with her later. This mind shield was unique, a design he had never thought possible to create, and the way it worked...It blocked telepathy so well that it was like screaming and not even being able to hear your own voice!

“Monomon...Did you just invent a mind shield that absorbs any sort of nonphysical influence?”

“Indeed I did! This ‘mental envelop’ as it’s been coined does not require void in its construction, and has proven incredibly robust.” There was an applause at that, and Monomon gave a short bow. “Thank you, thank you. But please know that much of the groundwork was laid by the Seer, Lurien, and the Pale King himself. I merely took bits and pieces from each of them and tied it all together - there is simply no way I would have developed it otherwise.”

As she finished, a thought came to him. “Monomon, a question, if I may.”

“Yes?”

“What if a bug wearing the mental envelop attempted to communicate via their own telepathy with another bug? Have you experimented with that?”

“I have, but all the results have so far have been...Inconclusive.”

“What do you mean?”

“Strange things have happened. Whilst we would expect that the user wouldn’t be able to use their telepathy at all whilst wearing a mental envelop, results have varied. Sometimes it does exactly that, other times it causes the user’s voice to ‘echo’ in their own head, and other times…” Monomon paused for a second, serious. “...Results have been nearly lethal.”

“What?”

“When we were testing how the envelop would react to the user attempting to remove it by force...Well, the envelop broke, but so did the user’s mind. Levi hasn’t been the same after the incident...”

“What happened?” It wasn’t him who asked this time, but Lurien.

Monomon deflated a little. “Levi is...He’s alive, but he’s not all there, not anymore. Some days he is perfectly coherent, others screaming about silence, echos, not remembering, and other nonsensical things we can’t understand. He’s been in therapy for weeks now, and even though at time’s he’s coherent...He’s lost his memory. He won’t ever be the same again.”

“Hmm.” He commented. “Interesting. I would like to talk more about this later, otherwise...Thank you for this. Despite that tragedy, I believe this invention will be invaluable. Thank you for your time.” There wasn’t applause this time as Monomon nodded and wordlessly floated back to her seat, but that was understandable. The atmosphere had taken a grave turn after hearing of the experimental mishap, especially since explaining it had put a noticeable dent in Monomon’s typically unending enthusiasm.

Turning his gaze from Monomon, he nodded to the second bug that was to present something today. “Herrah, I believe you had something you wished to talk about?”

“I did.” Herrah said, getting up. “After consulting with the weavers for some time, I scrapped any sort of endeavor in creating a seal.” She began, “they’re simply too taxed in producing silk, and much of the magic they know is not related to seals. However, that doesn’t mean I’ve been sitting on my chitin for the past year. Instead, I and the Pale King have been working together in order to track the Radiance’s activity.” She produced a silk scroll, and promptly laid it on the table. 

“This is a detailed map of Kingdom’s Edge. The black x’s are areas that are free of the Radiance’s influence...for now. The orange x’s are areas confirmed to be overrun, either filled with pustules of infection or overrun with bugs full of the stuff. As you can see, this doesn’t look good.” Herrah was right. Most of the map was filled with orange x’s, and the few black ones were all near entrances to the City of Tears (the Colosseum of Fools and the Hive were notable exceptions to this). At the very heart (where his cast off shell was) there was a distinct red x. 

Gesturing to that same x, Herrah continued. “I have reason to believe that the Radiance is hiding in this location. Initial scouts reported the infection being incredibly strong there, and most that I sent with the express purpose of investigating it did not come back. It is the only part of Kingdom’s Edge which hasn’t been completely scouted, and considering we haven’t seen the Radiance anywhere else...She’s there. I’m sure of it.”

“How recent is this information?” Dryya asked.

“I created this map two weeks ago. It’s recent, but with what my scouts are reporting it will only grow worse.”

“We should be dealing with this immediately, shouldn't we?" Isma questioned.

“We could, couldn’t we?” Binwinn added. “Could Ghost alone not handle this?”

“I could!” They signed rapidly, “It wouldn’t be hard, I’d jus-”

“Hold it!” He shouted, brightening his glow just a little to regain the floor of the meeting. “Before this devolves into a series of rash plans and abrupt battle strategies, I would like to address some things. Firstly, was there anything else you needed to discuss, Herrah?”

Predictably, the spider shook her head. “No. But you already knew I would say that, didn’t you? After all, I provided you with a copy of this map ahead of time and specifically mentioned in my correspondence that I would be presenting it at this meeting.”

“Is this true?” Dryya demanded of him.

“Father, why would you hide this from me? I could have done something!”

“Calm down calm down!” He shouted again, having to brighten his glow once more. “Yes, I did know of this ahead of time, but allow me to explain.” Getting up, he nodded to Herrah as she sat back down. “Ghost, if I merely sent you into Kingdom’s Edge as soon as I had gotten this map, you would not have killed the Radiance.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Because she would have fled.” He gestured to the red x on the map. “I have no doubt that this is where the Radiance currently is, but that information would immediately become useless if she got the sense that you were coming. Like with what happened with the Seer and the Soul Master, she would merely find another bug to possess and we would have to find her again. You would destroy the infection in Kingdom’s Edge, certainly, but without killing the Radiance she would be free to start that all over again somewhere else.”

“What shall we do then, my Wyrm?" His Root asked. "The Radiance would feel it if any being of void stepped into Kingdom’s Edge, and then she would surely flee. But yet, the void is her only true weakness...”

“I’ve been thinking about that, and with Monomon’s mental envelope I just might have a solution. We’ll need to make a few...Alterations to it, but if we can, then...”

“Then what?” Dryya asked.

“I’ll start at the beginning of my plan. It’s composed of three steps. The first? Bait the hook.”

Chapter Text

“Herrah sends her regards.” The weaver said, nodding to him and other knights. “I will not be coming with you as you venture deeper in, but I can warn you of what you’re up against.”

“What's it like?” He asked, noting that the colosseum of fools ahead of them still seemed as lively as ever.

“Bad. The wild bugs are incredibly rabid, and the few that I sent deeper in to scout have not come back. Does the Wyrm have a plan?” 

“He does. Calling it a long shot would be accurate, but…”

The weaver shrugged. “Your problem, not mine. I’m going to rendezvous with the other spiders, tell them you’re moving in. It’s up to you now.” And with that, the weaver scuttled off, not waiting for a reply.

“They weren’t keen on sticking around.” He observed.

“Don’t pay it any mind, doctor.” Isma said. “Relations with Deepnest are still shaky at best; we’re lucky they’re on our side. The fact that they were still willing to work with us after losing a few of their own is a small miracle, and a testament to the Pale King’s diplomatic skills.”

“I suppose that is understandable.” He conceded. “The plan never involved the spiders beyond scouting, after all, and I could see how their goodwill would not go so far as to have them put their lives on the line to protect me. Thank you all for doing so, by the way. Without any of you protecting me, I wouldn't get very far.”

“Fear not, Binwinn! As the king commanded, no harm shall come to you while I still stand!” Ogrim rapped a knuckle on his chest, his bravado spreading to the other knights.

“Le’mer is right. Che’s solemn duty is to protect you, and so che will.”

“I will do what I must.” Rumbled Hegemol.

“As will I.” Isma added. “As much as I would want to avoid conflict, I doubt this mission will end well. There’s a reason I brought extra medicinal supplies.” 

“You're right.” He said, agreeing with Isma. “The odds of us getting out of this unscathed are rather low, and I too am suspecting it will end poorly. Regardless, let’s not dawdle. I would rather not keep the Radiance waiting.”

"As you say. Follow my lead." Nodding, he fell in line behind Isma. Taking one last glance at the Colosseum of Fools, he breathed deep.

It would be the last time he looked on the place with the same eyes.

An orange fog was quick to settle on them, disgustingly sweet in smell. Whilst the mental envelopes they were wearing would protect from any sort of nonphysical exposure, he doubted anything would protect them from a haze like this. Thick and misty, it felt like the infection was seeping into every pore.

“This is...Not pleasant.” Isma coughed a little, not taking to the environment well.

“That's an understatement.” He said whilst trying to fan the air away (to no avail). “Let’s not linger. No good can come from sitting in this.”

“Right.” Isma shouldered on, leading him and the others deeper in.

Many bugs lived by the ‘it’ll get worse before it gets better’ motto. But here? Here he doubted it could get anything other than worse. The fog stopped being the main issue very soon - instead, the wildlife was. 

Just like the weaver had said.

The bugs were horribly deformed and incredibly aggressive. Hoppers attacked in packs, eyes filled with nothing but orange and stomachs that shined with blight, giant hoppers lept at them with horribly deformed bodies that only added more weight to their jumps, and the primal aspids...He hadn’t seen anything more vicious looking in his life. Attacking relentlessly, they almost seemed deliberate in how suicidal they were, charging with no self preservation and no attempt at personal safety.

“...Gah!” He shouted, jumping out of the way as another aspid charged him before being quickly cut down.

“Be careful, le’mer!” Ze’mer chided before wiping down her nail, “if che was not there to lend a hand…”

“I know. Thank you.” He carefully wiped the gore that had gotten onto his robe. “As I previously mentioned, I would have had no chance if not for you four. You’ve cut these animals down with excellent efficiency, and I’m impressed at how well we’ve managed to avoid injury. But, I fear that luck won’t last...”

“...Don't say that.” Isma was paranoid, eyes darting between her map and the environment. “We still have a ways to go, and it won’t be getting any easier. Let’s not 'jinx' it, so they say.”

“Right.” For a time after that, they had a moment of peace. No infected animals chased after them, no wild beasts ambushed them, and no orange goop was tossed their way.  As they headed deeper and deeper into Kingdom’s Edge, there was nothing but an ever thickening fog, limiting visibility and making it difficult to navigate.

The lack of action unnerved him, but it was nothing compared to the orange veins and pustules that they began to see. Throbbing with blight and snaking across the walls, the things gave the illusion that they were walking inside a living creature, it’s heart pulsating with disturbing regularity. Was this what an angry god was capable of? 

It only got worse as they made it near the entrance of the Castoff Shell, the veins growing in size to the point that they were wide enough to easily contain himself inside. The thought caused him to shudder, and with how Isma and the other knights did the same...It was a credit to their collective resolve when they continued on.

“How much further, Isma?”

“Not long. We just have to go down, right, down again, then left, and we’ll be at the entrance to the Castoff Shell.”

“Ze heartbeat...Che is not imagining...Ze heartbeat is increasing.”

Isma looked to the walls at that, gazing worriedly as the veins began pulsating faster. Turning to him, she nodded. “You have it, Binwinn?”

Despite checking excessively throughout the entire trip, he checked again. Of course, everything was in the bag that needed to be there. His Hallownest Seal, the syringe...And the hook. “I do.”

“Good. Let’s keep going.”

The heartbeat increased in pulse rapidly as they continued onward, veins throbbing faster and faster...And then they got to the clearing just before the Castoff Shell itself, and it all made sense.

There was an egg there, where all the veins centered on and all the orange went. Giant and pulsating, he had a very bad feeling that this was not going to end well. Not at all. His instincts were screaming at him to get away, and as he noted the corpse of the Soul Master nearby (bulging with blight) he shuddered.

“Steady!” Isma shouted as the egg wiggled.

And then convulsed.

And then hatched. 

Exploding into raining bits of infection, he and the rest of the knights were forced to shield their eyes and cover their mouths as a terribly wicked laugh sounded, 

“Oh I have been waiting so long for this moment...” The Radiance cackled, emerging from the egg and walking towards them with a malevolent glint in her eyes. “And to see the Wyrm send some sacrifices to me so soon...” She laughed again. 

She was a sight to behold...If the wicked look in her eyes didn’t spell doom for them. Her high white legs clicked like heels as she walked, her coating of white fluff seemed pristine and soft in form, and her grey wings were majestic...For the second he saw them before they shifted into hands, anyway. “Hello there, heroes! Here to slay the wicked moth and claim your honour?” Her smiled widened, a yellow nail appearing in her hand. "Come on then! This'll be fun!"

“Binwinn go!” Isma jumped into action, drawing her blade and charging the Radiance. Very much wanting to follow what the knight had said, he immediately turned to run and-

Oh.

The way he came in was filled with pustules. There was no possible way for him to dig through.

“Leaving so soon?” The Radiance tutted as she crossed blades with both Isma and Ze’mer (one hand and one nail for each) whilst kicking Ogrim in the face. “But we’re going to have so much fun together! I’m sure the Wyrm will be happy after I send him the body parts of three of his great knights and whoever important bug you are!”

“Not if che has anything to say about it!” Ze’mer bellowed, going into a flurry of swings that the Radiance couldn’t quite keep up with, her blade cutting into the mad god several times and giving both Isma and Ogrim a window of opportunity, which they utilized. Isma landed several blows of her own, and Ogrim took the chance to launch himself right into the moth, hitting her squarely in the face and knocking her back. Nodding to each other, the three knights took a breather as the Radiance gazed at her wounds. 

“That hurt…” The goddess said. But, as the wounds closed up, he knew that she was toying with them. “...But not as much as I’m going to hurt YOU!” With a malicious cackle, she summoned a wall of nails.

And then it turned into a free-for-all.

He wasn’t sure how long he spent running around in that claustrophobic clearing, but it felt like an eternity. An eternity struggling to get away from nails, yellow seeking bolts, and bright beams of orange. 

All whilst the knights fell one by one.

Ze’mer was the first to go, the knight taking a seeking bolt directly to the chest. Her armour held, but the force of the blast alone was enough to send her flying into a nearby wall, the impact knocking her out cold. 

Ogrim was the second, his actions valiant even in his defeat. Tossing him out of the way, the dung beetle was enveloped in a beam of light for a brief moment before collapsing, his body sizzling from the heat.

Isma, clearly desperate, fought as hard as she could. Exhausted yet defiant, she fought right to the end. Even as she took numerous wounds, and even as a blast of yellow tore an arm from her body. Casting him one last desperate look, she passed out from blood loss as the Radiance approached him.

“What a shame…” The mad goddess tutted again. “The good ones never last. At least your screams will amuse me for a while.” Backed into a corner, he struggled futilely as the moth grabbed him by the neck, her grasp choking and unbreakable.

“G-get away!” He said weakly, one hand weakly grasping at hers.

“Awww. You beg for mercy?” The way she coo'd was sickening.

“g-C-curse you! We’re more than just toys to you!” And with that, his other arm grasped the syringe from his bag, and he tried to swing his arm around and stick the needle into her neck.

Her other hand grabbed his.

Laughing, she tore the syringe from his grasp, tossing it to the ground as she gloated. “THAT was his plan? Really? The Wyrm sent you here for that?” Chuckling wickedly, she choked him harder. “I knew you had something void related, but really? Ahahahah! How hilarious...And how pathetic."

“N-no! P-please. Don’t…” He coughed weakly, knowing that there were a thousand and one ways of this becoming even worse than it already was.

“D’aww...” And there it was again. That sickening sound of amusement that came out as a demented version of a mother’s coo. “Still pleading for your life? Maybe I would have spared you...But after you tried to kill me…” She flashed him a wicked grin, teeth and all. “I think it’s time you learned your place.” And in a flash, she summoned a nail and drove it straight through his shoulder.

He shrieked, pain blossoming in his nerves as the Radiance tossed him to the ground.

She hadn’t been aiming to kill him - only cause him as much pain as possible. 

And she was succeeding.

Tears falling freely from the pain, he lay still as the moth approached. The agony of a nail through his shoulder was unbearable, and kept him both immobile and helpless as the crazed goddess eyed the contents of his bag, which had come loose in his fall. 

“Oh my! What have we here?” Picking up his Hallownest Seal, the Radiance pinned it to her fluff in a mocking fashion. “A gift from the Wyrm? For being a loyal slave? How kind of him. And what is this?” Grabbing the other piece of jewelry that had fallen from his bag, she appraised it with an interested eye. “‘To my beloved wife. With love. -Binwinn’ Ohoho! You have a wife? A family, even?”

He groaned, hardly able to focus as the nail burned in his shoulder. She was enjoying this, and right now he could see how badly this could go. “D-don’t…I…” He coughed. blood coming up as the Radiance watched with an evil glee.

“Can’t quite speak? A shame. I’m sure your wife will just love to see me wearing this little armband. Especially after I send her your bleeding heart!” Laughing, she slipped on the shining white arm bracelet, smiling at him maliciously and confident in her victory.

And in that one instant, her confidence was valid. 

She had just taken down three of the Pale King’s best, and stopped a seemingly desperate plan. Now, she could relax. She had all the time in the world to torment him, and he surely would be powerless against her, mortal as he was.

But then, that one instant passed.

And the Pale King’s plan came to fruition. 

With a brilliant flash, the hidden magic on the hook (which had been carefully disguised as a delicate piece of jewelry) came to life. Flashing white, the Radiance could not get a single word in as the bracelet suddenly tightened against her arm, white chains manifesting and snaking around her body. Glimmering with magic, she could not escape as shackles bound her to the floor, a final flash of white signalling the completion of the ward. Speechless, the moth goddess stared in shock complete as the nail embedded in his arm dissipated, giving relief from the burning sensation even if it meant his bleeding would worsen.

Surprise quickly turning to anger, she screamed at him, realising that she had fallen for it. Hook, line, and sinker. “YOU ACCURSED SPECK! RELEASE ME! I WILL NOT BE BOUND AFTER SO RECENTLY BEING RELEASED!”

Grunting, he barely managed to get to a sitting position as the pain ripped through him terribly. Desperately trying to staunch the flow of his stab wound, he replied through gritted teeth. “I-I t-think not. You…” He groaned again as a spike of pain lanced through his body. “…You deserve this. After all the devastation you’ve c-caused…” His teeth rattled from the agony.

The moth struggled against the chains. They held, but he worried as to how long. He wasn’t going to become comfortable in his victory. Not like she was. “I WILL MAKE THAT ‘DEVASTATION’ LOOK LIKE PARADISE AFTER I’M FINISHED WITH YOU! THAT WHICH THE KNIGHTS HAVE SUFFERED WILL BE NOTHING COMPARED TO THE AGONY I WILL INFLICT UPON YOU!”

The mention of the knights drew his gaze to Isma. Laying nearby, he gagged at the sight of her. Bleeding excessively from the socket where her arm was, she had minutes to live, if she was even still alive.

Blast it all…Where were you, Pale King? Ghost? There was nothing he could do, and he doubted a medicinal expert would be able to do much, either. No concoction of herbs or medication would save from that much blood loss. Not without some sort of divine intervention like what had happened with Alume.

“YOU SEE HER? I WILL MAKE YOU WISH YOU WERE LIKE HER. THE TORMENT I WILL PUT YOU THROUGH…RAAHGH!” The Radiance struggled again, straining the chains as her anger burned through. 

No! Not like this! Not after all they’d sacrificed to get this far! Was Isma going to die for nothing whilst the Radiance broke free? Whilst he sat helpless? What could he do?! There was nothin-

The syringe.

The one filled with void.

The void that had resurrected Alume.

It was close to Isma.

Would…Could that work? The void in that syringe was extracted directly from Ghost. Could it…?

…Blast it all! He didn’t have time for this! He couldn’t spend time hesitating and hypothesizing when she might have seconds to live. He needed to act, and he needed to act now. 

Gritting his teeth, he slowly started moving, the pain putting tears in his eyes as he crawled desperately to the knight that was bleeding from a thousand different wounds.

“WHAT ARE YOU DOING?” The Radiance demanded.

He did not reply.

Instead, he concentrated.

One movement after another.

Crawling slowly but surely to the knight that had saved his life, but was dangerously close to losing their own.

“WHERE ARE YOU GOING?!” Ignoring the Radiance, he grabbed the syringe. Careful not to poke himself, he held onto the thing with his good arm. It was only a little further-

“STOP!” He heard a chain snap, and the sound filled him with terror.

His time was running out.

Scutting as fast as he could, adrenaline pulsed through him as he made it to Isma.

“DON’T YOU DARE!” The sound of another chain snapping reached his ears, and that was enough for him to turn and look for a moment at the angry goddess that had pushed him to do this.

“F-forgive me…” He started, priming the syringe. “...Isma. I-I...I had no choice.” And there, he plunged the syringe into her neck, pushing down on the plunger and transfusing her with void.

“WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?!” The Radiance screamed in both anger and terror, but he turned away from her, focusing his attention on the knight that lay before him. Marvelling morbidly, he gazed in awe as the blood leaking out of where Isma's arm once was began to blacken.

“YOU’RE TURNING HER INTO AN ABOMINATION! NO!” Another chain snapped, making him panic enough to risk a glance at the shackles.

It wasn’t good.

Turning back to Isma, he nudged her body desperately. “I-Isma! Wake up! P-please...” How long was this going to take?! He was supposed to be an expert on the void, and yet he knew nothing about this!

“YOU FOOL! YOU REALLY THINK THAT WOULD SAVE HER? THAT SHE WOULD REVIVE AND SAVE THE DAY?!” Turning around again to face the Radiance, he cried out as pain shot through him once more, his body reminding him that he, like Isma, had a very bad wound.

The adrenaline had worn off.

And with it, his hope.

“I WILL DESTROY YOU!” The Radiance screamed as she broke another chain, only a few left to hold her down. “NOTHING WILL SAVE YOU FROM MY WRATH! NOTHING! DO YOU HEAR ME?!”

“I…” Something rumbled, interrupting him.

“I AM GOING TO-” The rumble sounded again.

Closer.

Something like fear creeped into the Radiance’s eyes, the realization coming too late that both Ghost and Pale King were coming for her.

Thank the gods. (Literally. He was going to do that after this was all over.)

“NO! NOT WHEN I HAVE JUST BEEN REBORN! NOT WHEN I HAVE COME SO-” The pustules blocking the exit to the clearing were completely annihilated as a blackness rushed into the room, all of it heading directly for the Radiance.

"A͡N̡̕͟C̷I͢E҉N͢҉T̴̡ ̨͟͟EN͢EM̸Y." He watched with both horror and morbid fascination as the Abyss that was Ghost went straight for the Radiance.

And then went inside.

It was an incredibly disturbing sight, but something he couldn’t look away from. Paralyzed, he watched the Radiance thrash and struggle, void entering her from every orifice, tendrils pouring over her entire body, until there was nothing left. Scared, he breathed a sigh of relief as the scene ended, silence once more reigning as the body of the moth goddess went limp.

…Ok. Maybe he wasn’t religious, but these gods were terrifying all the same. Swollen orange veins, undulating black tendrils…Even now his heart was still pounding, and he wouldn’t be surprised if someone less composed would panic after seeing all the blood, gore, and general madness that he had.

Speaking of blood…

He wasn’t doing so well. He wasn’t sure if the stab wound in his shoulder had nicked an artery or not, but he was bleeding terribly. He had some time, but that was just it - he had nothing else. He could barely move, and the pain was agonizing even if he had grown more used to it. 

At the very least, Isma seemed to be doing ok. She was still completely unconscious, but no longer bleeding. Instead, the hole where her arm used to be was filled with void, the blackness inside swirling endlessly, alive in its own way.

Fascinating.

But also, terrifying.

He had taken a serious gamble injecting her, but it seems he had gotten lucky. If only-

The sound of footsteps came to his ears, interrupting his train of thought and turning his head toward the entrance.

And when he saw who was there, he gasped.

“P-Pale King?” The god’s eyes were streaming void, giving the illusion of crying despite the distinct sense of anger he felt. In addition, he noticed bits of the Wyrm’s chitin flaking off, exposing the darkness that lay dormant inside. “What are you doing?” Ignoring him, the king ran forward. Approaching the Radiance's body, the wyrm drew the dream nail (were his eyes deceiving him or was it melting?) and entered the moth's head.

What in the…? What?! Why had the king ignored him? The wyrm didn’t even meet his gaze! And why was he streaming void like that?! Nothing made sense!

 ...But then again, what was normal about this situation? 

Nothing at all.

 It was all madness.

And he was right at the center of it.

It was difficult to count the time without a clock. 

But he managed.

It had been at least ten minutes, and it was getting harder to stay awake. He had lost a lot of blood despite his best efforts at staunching it with his robe, and he didn’t have much longer. Not unless someone came to help.

Where was everyone? Surely Hegemol knew of the situation. He-

The Radiance’s body moved, causing him to freeze.

And then it moved again.

Soon, it was convulsing rapidly, the chains holding her down rattling and straining. What was going on? Had Ghost and the Pale King won? Was-

His thoughts froze as he noticed the Pale King’s body doing a similar thing, shaking violently as bits and pieces of void writhed, it seemed like the king's very body was attempting to escape something, but could not.

Oh no. 

He knew what was going on. 

The hook was blocking the Pale King from leaving! But how? Surely he had the dream nail...And couldn't Ghost just bypass it entir-

The Radiance’s body exploded, sending a wave of black over him and causing him to lose his sight temporary. Blind and terrified, he listened as three things came to his ears:

A dying screech as the Radiance ceased to be.

A distinct snap as the hook broke.

And a desperate cry from a child that was losing their father.

Grunting, he froze as his sight came back, his eyes locked on the two corpses that lay before him.

The Radiance and Pale King, the both of their eyes looking upward in a silent scream, and the both of their skulls cracked in half.

Cracked, hollow and empty. 

Absent of void, infection...And life.

Just like the orange veins that were turning to dust before his eyes.

Chapter Text

“Please, Ghost. Just calm down.” He said, irate. His child turned god of gods had been wearing a hole in the floor of the cave they were in, and after dealing with it for over twenty minutes his patience was wearing thin. “I know Wander stepped out of line, and I know your day hasn’t been ideal, but please, focus. Focus on what we came here to do. For if you don’t...”

“You know I never liked this!” Ghost projected loudly, tension and stress flowing from them. “What if something goes wrong? We should have sent Dryya or Alume with them! The knights are going to get infected!”

“And more people are going to get infected if we don’t stop her! Do you think I liked this either? Risking Binwinn and the knights was not a decision I made lightly, but it’s the only way the Radiance will be fooled!” He was lucky Alume and Dryya hadn’t arrived yet - neither of them had readily approved of the plan either, and he would be outnumbered if they were present.

“How do you know if the bracelet will even work?! Binwinn said that it wasn’t tested, and the Radiance is incredibly powerful! How are you sure it'll work?!”

“Whilst it is true that the hook is completely untested, I’m certain.” He replied, confident. “I’m sure. I spent days improving on Monomon’s design, incorporating many of the same seals that I’ve used before, and I’m sure that it’ll hold. The last time i used these seals, they held for a millenium. So long as the Radiance is still inhibiting the body of the Soul Master, they should prove impregnable."

Another bout of anxiousness mixed with irritation filtered through, causing him to tense nearly as much as Ghost. “This is stupid! What if she isn't in the body of the Soul Master anymore? What if she's moved on to a better. stronger person?! We can't be sure!"

That was a fair point.

But with how aggravated he was becoming, he did not concede. Not like he would have if Ghost’s anger wasn’t bleeding over to him, and not like he would have if the situation had lower stakes. So instead of thinking things through and being reasonable, he suddenly exploded, tension pushing him over the edge. “By all means, suggest a better plan!” He shouted. “Do you think I haven’t spent weeks contemplating this?! Every moment thinking about what I can and cannot do?! This is our only chance to be rid of her for good, and I will not let it be wasted! If you act rashly...You'll undo everything. Everything! I cannot allow that to happen! Do you understand me?!” 

Ghost’s temper jumped, his anger igniting theirs and creating a vicious feedback loop, tendrils violently twisting out of their backside and face erratically flickering between pale white and infinite black. If this were any other circumstance, he would be terrified.

But this wasn’t any other circumstance.

He glared Ghost down with a blazing intensity, and they glared back, a well of rage rising behind by their eight imposing eyes. Unwilling to back down, he stood his ground as his chitin slowly began flaking off, the mindspace of the void steadily tensing and becoming a writhing torrent of anger, anxiety, and stress.

It was a tight bubble that contained not only his own anger, but Ghost’s. These last few weeks ruminating on the Radiance had worn on not only him, but his child as well. They had both suffered at her hands, they were both angry at her, and they were both at their breaking point.

Becau͡se̡ of ̷h͝e͠r͏.

The bubble broke.

S̸͓̳͔͎͍̯̞H̦͔̳͘E͚͔͇͘ͅ ̷̝̰T̡̮̯̟̪̞̩̘O̖̲̘R҉̬E̶̹̮ ̗͉̭̰̝̲͉U͍̰̫̰̻̖S͖̣̩̣̫ ̞̯͈̗̻A̻̩͇̺̱P̴A̷R͔̤̗T̮.̛͇͈

There was no difference between Ghost’s thoughts and his own.

S̜H͏E̗̪͘ ̡̞̮͙͍̺I͖S̨̙̰̝̜ ̝̯̣͔̩͇̳T̻̞̞H͎̣̦̺̦̱̪͢E̮͉͘ ̬̼͓͔͉͉͕S̟̙̹͈͖͕͔O̰͝Ṷ͢R̩̪͝C̤̫̮E͘ ̣̥O̼̞͕̪͜F̡̳̮̼̣̰ ͏̺̜O̬̺͈U͘R̝̭̖̯͖ ̹̺̺̱͞P̵̖̗̥̱AIN̡̬̲.̫̫̪͈

His chitin began to flake off faster, the substance streaming out of his eyes.

S̠̟̣͍̫͟H̳̬͍E̮͘ ̴̱I̷͔͉̗̟͚S̭̱͎͚̖͇ ͖̻̺T̜̟̖̝͎H̝͕E̙̖̪ ͔̟Ḙ͇̠̼̮̦̕ͅN͍̖̖͉͔͟EM҉̮̩Y̳̩̭̘͜

Ghost’s mask became black, white eyes blazing and burning as they shot past him, tendrils whipping wildly behind them as their body lost form, but moved forward all the same.

S̖̪͡H̤̦̰̣Ẹ̗ ̦̳̥̥̝ͅM̷Ṷ̱̹̰͕͉S͍͉T̡͎͚͉͈̖ ҉D̻̳IE̡̺͓̜̥̳̮.̧̰

Ghost was faster than him, but he didn't care. Didn't care as he barrelled past the hive and up the cave into Kingdom’s Edge, didn't care that the original plan was to wait for Dryya and Alume, and did not care as he raced past a limping Hegemol, who was bleeding from several wounds (but still standing).

“Pale King?” The knight said as he passed. “The trap is...Where is Dryya and Alume?” It was white noise in his ear, certainly a sound that he heard, but not one that he paid any sort of mind to whatsoever. His mind (which wasn’t quite his own, not right now) was only concerned with one thing:

H͇͇̙̘̺UR̠̪̝̭̦̻͝T̮̜͔̲͙̬̫͜ ̳̭̦̥͟H҉̖̮̥͕E̛̤͎̫͖̫̰R̼̹̳͠ ̹̠͇L͉̹I͍̗͖̝̹̫̯K͏̤͍̠E̟̲̣ ̼SH̗E͇̙̥̪͈͎̞͘ ͔̼͔H̷̤̮̲̠A̖̤̻S̲̬̳̲͇̠̮ ̺̻̻͖̞̗̙͠H̱̝̖͈͎͝ͅU̫̥̥R͞Ț͍̻ͅ ̜̠̟̗̬͚U̬̩͇̯̝S.

Eventually, he lost sight of Ghost, but that didn't matter. Not when he could f̛eel̸ ̧h͞er͢ wi͞cked preşen҉c̛ę  pulsating at the centre of Kingdom’s Edge, and not when he had nothing but ę̪̞͝ͅṋ̶̸̳̭̞̗̖̫̦͡d̵͏̤̭̺̪̭̺ͅ ̶̶̛̰̬͈̠h̸͚̣̼̗̭͍͕̙e͚͕͕̕͜r͙͇͖̱͕̕͞ on this mind.

S͉͘H̜̣̼̲͉E̡͕̝͔̹͇ ̡̼̲̖MỤ̧̮̼S̠̟͎̟̝T̬͔͖̟ P̢̭̞̦Ḁ̝Y̘̭̰̙͘ F̲̥͙O̖̬͖͙̕R̛̘̩͉̪ ̜̣̲̗W̖̖̪̗̝͡H͈͖A҉͎̳T̯̭̰̯̭̻̕ ̭̭̘͉̼͚̲͜S͏͖̭̰̠͔͎H̦̺͘E͉͔͕ ҉̦̜̭͉̭H҉̗̝̗A̷S̬͙ ̮̳̞͓D̲͈̯̳̭̗̬O̩̭̖̦̲̘͟N͚̦̹E͈̩̭̹͉̭ͅ.̲̥͝

More and more of his chitin flaked off as he ran. Partially due to the animals that scratched, spat, and tore as he raced, and partially due to the burning hot feeling that consumed all others; the rage that would not stop until it had been sated. 

F͏ͅIN̺͖̙̭͈D̹̲ ̭̼̠̩̫H̥̻͇̘ͅE̴̱̦̠̪̲̼̣R̮̞̣͕̱.͘

He did not stop to examine the thick veins that snaked deeper into the heart of Kingdom’s Edge, and did not look as he rushed past a bloodied Binwinn.

“P-Pale King? What are you doing?” More white noise. More distractions. More things that he would not pay any mind to in favour of enacting vengeance on the white and yellow moth that lay chained to the floor in front of him.

Drawing his dream nail (which was now partially dissolved like his clothing due to his raging void) he entered the Radiance’s head.

“GET AWAY FROM ME!” The an̛c̛i̵en̨t̴ ̸en͢e͟my͞ Radiance screeched, summoning walls upon walls of nails and hurling them all towards t̴̢h̕e͘͘m̶͟͝ Ghost.

“Y̜O͈͇͚͎̹Ư̖͚͓̝ ̮̣T̢̪̥O̠̥̤̮͜O̙̙̤͇K̨͈̰̺̱͇̬̭ E̫̝̯̣̳̫V̱͇ͅE̝R̮͎̻̣ͅY̡̳̠̟T̙͉̼̰̫͞H̝͇̗̝̗̲I͏̩͕̠͎N͔̜̣̲͙͖̗G̢͇̮ ̨͈̥FR͈̬̺O̷M͚̺ ̷̹M͈̼̫̳̩̫͝E̱͕̗͙̹̦͔.” All of the nails hit, but t̴͡h̨͡e̶̛̕͜y͝͏͝ w͜e̸̕r͝͡e͠ Ghost was not deterred. Rushing towards the wic͟ķed, ̨t̶ȩrri͢ble,͠ v͘i̴le̸ Radiance, t̶҉͘h̷̨͘e͡͞y̨̛͠ Ghost slashed and hacked with a righteous rage, incurring more screams from the goddess w͜͠͡ḩ̸o̵̢̕ de͞s̵̛͝e͟rv͞e̷s̕͝ ͏t̵̷͘o҉̧ ̡͟f̸̸e̶ȩl̷ ̛͜ou͏̸͘r̶͟͟ ͡wr̨͟a̸̡͞t̶h as she teleported away once more.

“NO! THE LIGHT CANNOT BE CONSUMED!” She͞ wil͟l̛ ͠not͝ e̴s̵cape͟ the Radiance flew, up and away, just fast enough to avoid the ocean of t̕͘͏̨h̢҉̵͡͞e̴̴m͡ void that was rushing upward in a raging torrent. “I WILL NOT BE FORGOTTEN! NOT AGAIN!” A seemingly endless amount of yellow bolts came from the moth, all of them heading straight for t̛h̢͠͞e̕̕m Ghost. Unconcerned, t͘͜h̸e͘y̴ their child kept going, on a direct course to be hit th͝e͜͠ ̴͝p͏͝a̡̛i̴̶n̸͞ i͜s͟ no̡͢th̵͘i͏͝n̛͢g͏̡̛ ͡c̷̢o̸m͢pąre͜d̷̢͟ to̡ ͡w̴̡hat̵ s҉h͘͜͠ȩ ̵̡͟did͏ by all of them.

On impact they burned bits of void away, charring anything they came in contact with. But as th̶͞e̵͠y͜ Ghost drew upon the rising ocean, the damage was immediately undone. Growing in size, all evidence of injury was removed as the A͡N̡͢CI̡͢E̶̕͘N͡T̴͢ ̷̸̵E͞N͝͞E̕͠M̴Y Radiance shrieked in fear and flew upward.

...And right into t̡h҉e̶͞ir̡͟ his arms.

“N̸O̜̩̻ ̗̣̭̝͎ͅM̸̻̠͖̖O̝͇̣͚̟̰̬R̪E̶̪ ̸̭̥͔͚̞̼͇R̬̥͟U̖̫̣̟̺͚ͅN̺͠N̦̱͕͘I͙͈̜͈̮̠̕ͅN̶̙̬̖ͅG̼̟̤͚̠̠͘.̥͎” They both said in unison, t҉h͞҉e͏i̵r̢͢͏ his black arms holding onto her head in a vice grip as she thrashed in vain against the ju̸s͏t̢̛įc̛e̵̕͜ judgement that she knew was coming.

“LET ME BE FREE!” She struggled, but it was of no use. As t͝h̕ey͢͏͜ Ghost rose up to her level, they too grabbed onto her.

"Y̨̕O̧҉͡U̸ ̢W͘I̛͞L̕̕͢L ̶͘N̛E̕͘V͟E̢̛R̛ ̴͜H̨U͏͟R͡T͝҉̢ ͞US̶ ̢A̕G͡A͢͠I̶͡͝N̸" Th̴͜ȩ͜y Ghost said as they clawed and tore, laying the full amount of their fury into the m̷ot͏͞h͢ ͜w̕ho̵͘͞ ̢̡d͜͝ese̵̶͡r̴̛v̸e̷d ̛t͝his̶͡ Radiance who was screaming in pain, unable to move from his t͟͝h̨͠҉ei҉r̴̵̡ clutching grasp as essence bled from all over.

“NOOOOO!” Writhing in utter pain, her last moments were filled with j͠us͞t҉͝l҉y ̸̛ḑ͟e̴͘s͞͠e̛͢rve͘d҉ suffering, agony, and fear. Exploding into essence, there was silence as both he and his child looked at the raining mandala that fell into the rising ocean below. 

The Radiance was no more.

They had won.

His (and Ghost’s) vendetta against her for all the times she had wronged him could finally be put to rest.

He could barely believe it.

It seemed like it had happened so fast.

“...Is...Is it over?” If it had been possible to hyperventilate in a dream, he would have.

“...It is.”

Something popped.

And then, the dream world around them began to shake.

Essence dissipating rapidly, the area began to shrink. With the Radiance's mind gone, her dream was beginning to cease existing. “We have to get out!” He said, pulling out the awoken dream nai-

Oh.

It was no longer awoken.

It was broken.

In his rage, he had failed to notice how it had melted to pieces by his boiling void.

Realising that he had no way out, Ghost reached out to him. “Father! Take my hand!”

Flying forward, he reached for them. “I’m com-” Something exploded, the force knocking him away from Ghost and sending him into a downward spiral, rapidly approaching the ocean of void that was still rising.

“FATHER!” The last thing he heard before he lost consciousness was the scream of his child, and a horrific popping sound as the dream imploded, collapsing in on itself.

She ran into the clearing, Alume coming in behind.

“D-dryya? Alume?” A weak voice rasped, turning her attention away from the carnage in front of her to a beaten and bloodied figure that was laying nearby.

Dr. Binwinn. 

“What the hell happened here?!” Alume demanded, looking around rapidly.

“I-I…” The doctor coughed blood, his typically clean brown robe a tattered mess. “I-Isma...I did what I had to…” A syringe fell from his grasp, and he weakly gestured to Isma. “The Radiance, she…” Another coughing fit. Blood flowing from his mouth. Wet gurgles.

He didn’t have much time.

Not unless she acted.

“Alume, check Isma.” She commanded, going forward and crouching down next to Binwinn. “Doctor, I am going to infuse you. You understand?”

A weak grasping on her arm. A nod that was barely a nod. Wide eyes that stared her down. 

“Dryya, are you seriousl-” She tore the robe off his wound, pressing her hand against his shoulder.

“It’s that or he dies.” She said, feeling how the void crept into the doctor’s body, filling his eyes and changing them from brown to black. “Check Isma. Now.”

“...Yes ma’am.” A shuffling near her. A small gasp. “...She has it too. The void, I mean. The doctor must have injected her. Her arm is gone, and there’s a lot of blood...But she’ll make it.”

“Good.” The doctor was unconscious now, like Isma was. The two of them wouldn’t wake for at least a day, and that was likely for the best. “We need to find out what happened. That wave of anger…” She got up, turning to survey the rest of the scene.

It was gruesome.

Ze’mer was laying limp next to a wall, numerous burn marks on her armour. Ogrim was terribly singed, even if he had no visible wounds otherwise. And the Pale King…  

She couldn’t see much at this angle, (the body of the moth was blocking her view) but what she did see was… “Bloody hell…” Alume murmured, seeing the head which was cracked in two. “He’s...He’s dead, isn’t he?”

“...He is. Or so it would seem.” She walked around, getting a better angle.

And she didn’t like what she saw.

She didn’t know where the rest of the Pale King’s body was, but it was completely gone. Besides his head, nothing remained. But there was something that was bothering her. “...Where is Ghost? They were supposed to be with the Pale King, but there’s no sign of them. What happened to them?”

“I don’t know.” Alume said, “but it has to have something to do with them.” She gestured to the body of the moth. “This has to be the Radiance. I feel it. And it seems like Ghost had their way with her.”

The Radiance (assuming this was her, which seemed a reasonable assumption) in question wasn’t doing well, her body bearing similar wounds to the Pale King. A cracked head, stains of void all over...And wide empty eyes that were looking upward in a scream that would never be heard again. “I would agree. It seems Ghost killed her...But that still doesn't explain what happened to the Pale King.”

“Yeah. This is…” Alume shivered, just looking over it all. “Whatever happened here wasn’t pleasant, that’s for sure. How long until Isma or Binwinn wake up?”

“A day, maybe longer. And with how wounded the both of them are...It’s going to take time for the void to integrate. We need to get them and the rest out of here. It’s not safe until we know more.”

“I...Right. We better get help. Will you stay here and make sure nothing happens?”

“I will. I will investigate further until you return. Call on me if you need me.”

“Yeah, right. I’ll be back as quick as I can. Stay safe, Dryya."

"And you, as well." She said, turning back to the body of the Pale King as question swirled in her mind.

What had happened here?

How had the Pale King died? By the Radiance? Or something else?

And most importantly…

Where was Ghost?

Chapter Text

She knew something was wrong when her half of the kingsoul dulled, turning a weak shade of grey. Already anxious, her worry multiplied a hundredfold when she attempted to reach out to her Wyrm, and was met with nothing but silence.

And when Dryya met with her privately and brought Alume in with his head, she cried.

“My Wyrm...Oh my Wyrm!” She cradled his cracked head as white tears flowed freely. “...My beloved...” For a while, the world was nothing but grief to her. Sorrowful and lamenting, it was only after a good moment when she realised that her roots had expanded to cling onto both Dryya and Alume in a mourning hug.

“...I’m sorry, dearest Dryya, Alume.” She began, trying (and failing) to compose herself. “I just...When the kingsoul dulled, I just knew...”

“...The kingsoul is gone, White Lady.” Dryya said, the words breaking her heart even as she knew they were coming. “Along with Ghost.”

“...What happened?” She said through teary eyes, the thought of losing a child along with her Wyrm multiplying her anxiety by another hundred.

“Alume and myself felt a massive surge of pure rage through the void when we were heading to the rendezvous. When we got there, Ghost and the Pale King were gone. Hegemol, however, was nearby. He said that Ghost and the Pale King had gone on ahead, passing him by without a word and not waiting for us like they should've. When we arrived at the Castoff Shell, however...We were met with a scene of pure destruction. We found the three other knights unconscious, Dr. Binwinn in critical condition, the corpse of what we believe to be the Radiance, and...” Dryya gestured to his head. “...That. Both Ghost and the kingsoul are gone - we have no idea what happened to either of them.”

“Are the other knights okay? And what about Professor Binwinn?” Please, let them be well...

“Ogrim and Ze’mer are in the infirmary. They’re pretty banged up, but they’ll survive. I saw to them myself.” Alume said. “Binwinn and Isma, though...They’re void now. From what he said, Binwinn pumped Isma full of the stuff with a syringe, and Dryya did the same to him after it became clear that he wasn’t going to make it otherwise. How long did you say they were going to be out for, Dryya?”

“A day, at the very least. Given their wounds, I wouldn’t be surprised if it was longer.”

“The void...” She murmured, a thought coming to mind. “Can you feel Ghost? I know that you share a sort of hivemind with them and the others. Is there anything there? Or maybe of my Wyrm?”

“I...I don’t know.” Dryya said, the facade cracking the tiniest amount and some concern seeping into the knight's expression. “I’ve tried to reach out to Ghost, but there’s been nothing. The same with the Pale King. I’m not sure if that is how it is when someone of the void dies, but...”

“But...Ghost can’t be dead, can they?” Alume spoke up, “they’re the god of void, right? If they were dead...Wouldn’t we have died too? When the Radiance died, her infection went away with her. Why wouldn’t the same happen with us?”

A spark of hope blossomed in her heart.

Could Alume be on to something?

Or was this just her lamentful heart desperately seeking a reason to believe that her Wyrm and Ghost were still alive?

“...You may be right, Alume.” She said. “We need to find out more. Hopefully one of those involved will recover quickly - they are the only bugs that can tell us of what happened in that fateful battle.”

“I can get some guards to keep an eye on them and inform you when they wake.” The ant offered.

It was a foolish hope, she knew. They couldn’t be alive...But she dared to dream.  “Please do.”

“Right away, ma’a- err White Lady.” Alume left the room, somewhat sheepish after that little slip up. (The magistrate still hadn’t gotten used to being on a first name basis with her.)

“Dryya?”

“Yes?”

“How are you doing?”

“I’m...I’m…” Dryya became uncharacteristically disquieted at that, seemingly surprised by the question and not meeting her gaze. “...I need something to do. It would be best for me to go check on Zann. Send for me if you need me. I’ll likely be in the training grounds.” And before she could get another word in, Dryya hastily exited the room as well.

Worried, she stared at the door for a moment before turning her gaze back to the head of her beloved, holding her half of the kingsoul close as she quietly began sobbing again. “Oh my Wyrm...Oh my Wyrm…Don’t be dead, please…” She cried, harder than ever had before. “Come back to us. Hallownest needs you...Your children need you...I need you. I love you.”

Something was wrong.

They could feel it.

Even besides the massive surge of anger that they had felt earlier today, both their Father and Ghost hadn’t come back yet from their trip to Kingdom’s Edge. Worse yet, they couldn’t even feel either of them through the void.

And that terrified them.

Their Father’s presence in the back of their mind was always a comfort, and so was Ghost’s. To feel the both of them just...gone? Something wasn’t right, and they needed to know what it was.

But trying to figure that out proved to be much harder than they thought.

All of the knights that had gone with their Father to Kingdom’s Edge were nowhere to be found except for Dryya, and attempting to question her proved mostly fruitless.

“Ghost and your father merely encountered some trouble with the business they were conducting at Kingdom’s Edge.” Dryya had said, stoic to a fault. “Now please leave me be - I promised Zann I would be sparring with him today, after all."

Unable to say much more than that, they let her go. But one thing bothered them about the entire exchange:

Dryya had been lying to them.

They weren’t naive - it wasn’t hard to notice how tight Dryya’s presence was in the void, nor how impossible it was to see into her thoughts. She had been locking them out intentionally, and they didn’t know why.  But even though they didn't know why, they knew that something bad had to have happened, and that both their Father and Ghost were involved. The only other time Dryya had been like this was when those terrible bugs had attacked the palace before, only this time it was even worse.

Another thing that seemed suspicious was the infirmary - it was a mess of activity. Far busier than it usually was, it was completely obvious that someone had been hurt, and hurt badly. However, trying to get in to see what was going on also proved to be impossible.

“We apologize, little one, but we cannot let you through.” One of the guarding mantises said.

“Sorry there, Hallow.” Another said, their shining blue armour indicating that they were of the old guard, and of high rank. “We can’t allow you through. Magistrate’s orders.”

Magistrate’s orders?

They needed to talk to Alume.

Leaving the entrance to the infirmary, they ran out and to the outer guard barracks. Perhaps Alume would know what was going on? It was worth investi-

“Hallow?” They were still a good distance from the barracks when Champ called out to them, sitting on a bench nearby. “You alright? You feel anxious.”

Wait, Champ? Alume was Champ’s favoured person! “Champ? Sorry, I didn’t see you there. I am fine, just...Something strange is going on.”

“You’re telling me - you felt that wave too, right? That mess of anger, frustration, and annoyance?”

“I did. I think it has something to do with Ghost and Father - they haven’t returned from their trip yet like they should’ve, and I can’t even feel them in the void at all! Something strange is afoot.”

“Yeah, I know.” Champ said, a small amount of frustration radiating from the sibling and into them. “I know Alume is involved - she went to Kingdom’s Edge too, but she refuses to talk about it! And I know she’s not doing good - I can feel her anxiety and worry right now, but she pushed me away when I asked! Now she’s ‘in a meeting’ whenever I ask the guards, and I can’t even get into the barracks!”

“Really? I encountered something similar at the infirmary - it’s a whirlwind of activity, and the guards at the entrance wouldn’t let me in.”

“That's so weird.” They could feel Champ’s confusion through the void, and it mingled with their own. “Do you want to stick together? Maybe we can find out what’s going on.”

“That sounds like a good idea. Let’s-” A bell tolled.

Once.

Twice.

Thrice.

The dinner time bell.

They shared a look.

“Dinner time already? That’s…”

“Strange?” They finished. “Maybe it’s just that we’re suspicious of everything...But an hour early IS a bit odd. Oh well. Maybe we can talk to our other siblings, see if they know anything more.”

“Sure. Let’s go.”

Asking around at dinner proved fruitless.

“I have been training all day with Arla, Moon, and Spark.” Winty explained. “Arla left for a meeting before dinner, but that was expected. Our training session was slated to end at that time.”

“Thank you for the information.” They replied. “I’ll be going now. So long, Winty.”

“Stand strong, Hallow.” Winty gave them a mantis bow as they left, the gesture well executed and clearly well taught. Seeking out Champ, they asked if their sibling had any more luck than they did.

“Nothing, just like you.” Champ said. “Did you find Wander?”

“I didn’t. Hornet is also nowhere to be seen. I assume you didn't find her?”

“Yeah. I didn't. Something’s definitely wrong here. Isn’t Wander’s favorite person Ghost?”

“They are. And Wander is Hornet’s favorite person, I believe. We need to find them, but let’s do it after dinner. There’s too many of us here to distinguish anyone through the void.”

“Yeah, I like that idea. I sampled the soup while I was running around - it’s the spicy kind. My favorite! Let’s get a table and eat.”

They cringed.

But of course they would serve their least favorite type of food today…

It was nearly bedtime when they finally found Wander, staring out blankly from a balcony that was overlooking the Palace Gardens.

“Wander?” They asked through the void, sensing that their twin sibling wasn’t in the mood to deal with sign language.

No response.

“Are you well?”

Again, no response.

Except for the sadness that started emanating from them.

Champ, just rounding the corner to see the two of them standing there, ran. That same frustration emanating from Champ, the sibling wasted no time in approaching and questioning Wander. “Hey! Wander! We need answers! What the hell happened to Ghost?!” 

Wander didn't reply to that right away. But when it became clear that Champ wasn't going to leave, they spoke up. “They’re hurting..."  Their twin sibling's reply was incredibly quiet, laced with a sadness that threatened to put a damper on their own mood. “...And I can’t feel them as well...”

That took the metaphorical spring out of Champ’s step. “What?”

“They’re...I…” Filled with empathy, they suddenly approached Wander. Wrapping their arms around them in a hug, they tried their best to console their twin sibling.

“It’s okay.” They said, sending love. “You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.”

“I…” A wave of anxiety, stress, and fear washed over them as a dam broke in Wander’s heart. “...We were arguing after I pulled a prank on them. I was so stupid...And now they’re gone, and I don’t know where! This is my fault!” They started crying. “I just know that anger we all felt earlier was because of me. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry...”

Champ joined in the hug soon after that, sympathy filling the sibling as well as they let Wander cry. Black tears staining their twin sibling’s shell, it was a long time before Wander composed themself again. “I’m so sorry...” Wander said, the apology directed at them. “Maybe I should stop messing with everyone...”

“Hey! It’s okay!” Champ said suddenly, trying to lighten the mood. “Maybe sometimes you go too far with your pranks, but a lot of them have been really funny.”

“But I-”

“No buts! They are! Right Hallow?”

“...Right.” They said, a little uncertain at first, but amusement soon floating off in waves as they remembered stealing the cookies. “Maybe you could learn to tone it down a little, but you certainly liven things up. And we need that right now. Father and Ghost are missing, and so are the knights. We suspect something’s going on in the infirmary, but we cannot get in. Can you help us?”

Wander was shocked to hear that from them, but soon they lightened up a little. “I...Yeah, I can. But we need to find Hornet, and-”

Another bell tolled.

Once.

Twice.

The bedtime bell.

“Ugh. We’ll have to do this tomorrow. At least we’ll find Hornet in the nursery...”

“Can we not just sneak out? I know you’ve done it before.” They asked.

“I can, but the guards have wised up to my tricks at this point. Plus it’s a lot harder to explain yourself at night, when you’re not supposed to be awake. Let’s go to bed. It’ll be easier in the morning...And I feel so tired. Today has been bad…”

“Aren’t you supposed to be the one asking to break the rules?” Champ jested towards Wander somewhat awkwardly (it was clear Champ was still trying to lighten the mood, their attempts somewhat falling flat). "That’s pretty funny. But I see what you mean. I think we all need a little rest after today.”

This was rather ironic, wasn’t it? But that was enough. Wander wasn’t lying when they said they were feeling tired. “You're right, Champ. But let’s go, lest the retainers give us trouble for being late..." They offered Wander a hand.

Their twin sibling took it, and an unspoken bond formed between them as they went to bed that night.

Chapter Text

H͏̻̳͎̼̖e̺̹̭̬̺̘͈͠ ̛̰̝ͅd̜͇o̱͚̭̗e̮̞̪ͅs̢̼͓̬̩ ̘̰͔̫͉n̴̮̺̹͇̲̮͚ot̡ ̷̬̤̘̹̯̤k̪͙̗n̛͎̳͉͔o̡̹w̰̻̝̟̟ ͙̘̠͕t̪̪̻̭͇̲͔h̫̣̙̼i͎̜͉͙s̥̞ ̻̘̙ẉ̮̘͕o̠̝̤͉r̶͎ld͙͍̗.̭̯

Th͟i̵s wo̧r͞ld҉ ̛i̶s͝ dark.͟ U̴̡͢n̶̕͞e̴͘n͡d̴̶i̵̢n̛g.̧̡͝ S̨͉̮̤̫̩̫̖̹w̛̝͓͚̤̝͙̼i̢̳̼̖̥͇͚͡r̦͓͓̤̳̗͜l̼̥̥̻̤i͎̼͓̯n̲̺͚̦̞͍͢g͖͚̩̤͙̰̜̞̞.̨ͅͅ W̛͎̳̟̖͍̥̯r̵͔̹̼̥͍̟̦͚͕̳̣̞̻̰̼͢͡ͅį̟̥͖̬̹̬͢͡͠t̛͚̻̱͉͖͇̮̦̯̜̱͚h̨̨̻̲̺̙̼̩͠i̷̶̶̟̳̖̹̣͕̩̣͙̹̫͎̲͕̮̻̝͢͠ṋ̷̶̶̛̟͍̮̥͕͘g̴̢҉̛̦̥̝̬̱̝̬͉͍̩̗̩͡ͅ.̵̞̤͚͉͇͘

N̶͞ơ̡t̡͜ ̵̷̕ļ̨i̸̕k͏̧e̢ ̴̶̕h̷͠͏i͢m̸͢.̵̸̷

He i̷s̨ a shi͟ning͞ sil҉ver ̶ag̴ainst ͞t҉he b͖̟͖̻̬ͅl͚͖͉̬̥̱a̶c͖k̢͚̖ͅ.

H̵ȩ is sup̢p̶o҉seḑ t̢o͠ be ̸wh͞i̡t͢e̸

W͟h͞y̛̕͢ ̕i̷s h̵ę ̧s͟u̡͟p̕p̨o̵s̡͢e͏d̷̢ ҉t̛͏o҉̶ ̨͝be͟͜ ̢wh͟i̶̷t̕e͝?͢

He҉ ̧do͘esn’t ͟know͟ w͟hy.̧

He̴ n̘̝̪̬͉̜͜e̵̖̳͎̠̯͔͇̗̜̕e̷̢͍̲͠d̘̣̺̙s̸͉ t̕o know w̡hy͟.

Why d͝o͝e͜s͞ ͜h͏e ̵n͞e̕e͢d ̵to͘ k҉ņow ̸why҉?

W̛͢͞҉h̕҉y̶͠͏ ̶̛̛̛w̡͜͟h̸̢̡͘y̶̴̛͘͝ ͢҉̶w̷̛h̶͝y̷̡͜?̷

Did̨͞ h̢͢i̢s̨ ̕͝w͏h̶i͝t͢͝͝e ͏͢mi͢҉x͟͡ ͏̛w҉͘͏i̴̷t̢h̶͘ t̡͜h̡͟e̴̴ ̵b̛l̕a̸c̕k̨ ̸͝t̶o̴̸ cr͝eat̨ȩ̷̕ ҉͟͠t̕͠h̨e̷͡ ̨g͞r̸̸ę̛y͢͝?͠

O͢r̸ ͏wa̡s̨͢͏ ̡͠҉i͜t̡̕ t̵͢h͠e ̷bla̶ck͠ ҉ţ̶h̶͞a̵t̕ ͞͡m͟͠͞i҉x̸͞ȩ̵̶d ̶̢wit̸͟h̶͠ ̨͞͏ţ͜he͡ w̵h̷̕ite ͏t͠o̕͞ c͏r͡e̷ąt̢e͘͘ ͠th̢̨e̶͏ ͘͞gr̕ey̧?̴̕͡

H͟ę ͝d͘oe̕s̡n͟’̡t̕ kno̧w.̨

H̛e̕ s̶̢͖̤͇̥̥h̦̙̤̻̱͉̩͢o̳͖̣͓̯͚͕̭͘ų҉̦̳͇̤̲͓͚͝l̲͇̪͇̖̹̻̬͜͜d̹̪̲ kn̶ǫw͟.

Wh̶y͜ ̴s͢ho͡u͏l̨d ̨he ҉kn͜o̧w̛?

He d̕oesn’t kn͏ow.

H͡e d̵oe͟s͞n͡’͏t r҉̩̻̤͙͉e͖͎ͤ͝m̙͔͗̎̀͌͘em̺̳̝ͦb͇͈͉ͣ͆͊ͭ̃̇e̻̲͇̦͂͊̕r̙̜̲̜̋͋.̗̪̲̃ͣͥ͌

Th͞is n͝ags ͢at̵ ͘hi̕m. ͘Nag͜s ̷at͘ him as͡ h͡e͡ ̴s̛i̧ts̴ in̡ a͡n ̸en̶dle͠s͢s e̙̗̝̯͎̣ͧͨn̻̥̪͙͇͎̑d̻̝̱̣͎͔͔͑̽l̼̂̔ͣ̐e̩̩͈̫̳̬͍̊ͯ̀̑͗̾̚s̲̟͑̉̂ͅs͉͖̦͖͉͕̰ͧͩ̉͋ͥ̋ͪ ̼̼̤͈̻̪̥̍̌̓͋ͩ̍ā̦̬̦̏̓̌b̗̠͕͓̖͌ͯͅy̦̭̹̤̦͌̾̆͋ͮ̇̋̄s͙̙̭̙ͤ̏ͪ̾̽s̠͉͙͎̺͈͌̅̂̑̈́̽ͯ t͕̠h̦̱̹a̖̫͙t͚͖͕̼̰̮̫͉ ̮̯̩͉ẖ͇̮̮͇̘͕e̪ ̠͚̱͖̣̥i͉̩̱̮̪̗̤̣͚s̤͔̱̫͚̞̬ ̱̥̺̹̦̳̩̰a͉͎̳l͉̟̙̬̩̬s͇͎̼͓͙͚̞o̰̯͚̱̖̬̭͕ ̖͖̫̝͉̯̥̫p͙͓a͎̫̥̩̮͖̘̼̳r̖t̟̰̦ ͙̳̱͚͔̹̭o̳̤͇͉͙̬f̤̥͓̝̦̦̯̩͉.

̢He d̷o͟esn̸’͡t ̛und͜er̛stan̷d͞.

“Father?”

W͏or͢d̕s fl̶o͡a͜t̢ ͏th̴ro̸u̸g͝h ̵th̵e͟ ̧ex̷pa̶nse,̕ ͏r̢ip̕pl͞in͝g̢ an̕d e̷c̵hoin̵g.҉

Wo͠rd͘s ͟h̵e ̕c̛an͝ u̖n̙͇̮̱de͙̣r͓̹͙̘̣͍ͅs̥̳͖̺͍̙t͔͔̳̼̫ͅa̙̝͇n͉̖͎̘̤d̹.͖̪̬͔̜

Words that are coherent.

Ho̶w c͞a̸n he u̖n̙͇̮̱de͙̣r͓̹͙̘̣͍ͅs̥̳͖̺͍̙t͔͔̳̼̫ͅa̙̝͇n͉̖͎̘̤d̹?

“Father, where are you?”

The voice is d̠̙͈̯i͖s̪̜̙tr͔̤e̦̜ṣ̠͓̪̙̖̯s͉̳͚͇̬̭̥e̫ͅd͓.

W̕hy͜ ̕is ͠it d̠̙͈̯i͖s̪̜̙tr͔̤e̦̜ṣ̠͓̪̙̖̯s͉̳͚͇̬̭̥e̫ͅd͓?͞ He’̨s̷ r̵ig͜h̢t͢ ̨here.̧

W̛h͜y do͞es h̨e care?͏

“Please be okay, Father...I will never stop looking until I find you!” A promise.

A promise that r̟͍̖̼̝̰ḙ̮̳̖̼̱ṣ̭̯̠̩̘͚o̠͙n̠a̹̩t̩ͅe͕̬͕̝̱s w͏įth h͞įm.

W̴h̸̡y d̢o͟e̕͟͠s̢̡͠ ̵͘i̛͝t҉͘ r̸͡e͘͢͢so̶n̷͞a͏t̴̛͏e̕͢͞ ̸͠w̧͠i̕͘t̨͢ḩ̵͢ ̕h҉i̧m͢?̴

Wh̵͜͝y͡ wh̸̸y̸ why?̡͜

Wh̡at ҉is the voice?

What is he?

He is a swirl of g̪͎͇̍̽ͤ̀̉ͤͪ͑ͨr̝̥͎̫̮̹̣͍̔ͅé̮̺̭̔ͦ̉̃̾͆̚ͅy̪̹͚̬͎̮̠͈̏ t̝͉͈͍̞̽̒̏̀ͭ̚ͅh̍́̐̄̄̅aͦ̃ͥ̽̃̚̚ț̪̜͔͍͔̦͗ ̹͙̮̘̩̍̚i͔̤͐s̽̉ ̤͉̯̲̱̮ͧ̓s̥͉̮̐͂͆̒͋̓ũ̟̙̼͕̪p̻͚̰͍̯̣̈́͐̈́̈͊p̔ͤo̫̘͑s͚̖͕̪͙ͅḛ̫͎͓́ͦd̺͕̹̩̺͌͋ͩ̎͛ ̖̜̹͉͖̳̀̃ͮt͖͓̰̪̥̘͖ͥͮ̆͊̃o̜͎̻̦͖͋ͧͅ ̘̫͎́͐b̞̙̒ͭ̾ͥ̈́e̘̞̤͗̅́̆̒ ͓̝̠̘w͙͚͋̓̉ͨh̥̙̗̱̹̯͙ͦ͛ͭ̐i͖͚̳̖̰̓ͮ̅̔ͪ̏t̪̲̹̭ͤ͛̈́ė̠̠̺͙̭ͥ.̭͉̭̟̪ͧ̈́̌̋́͑̈ 

But why?

H͘e ca͘n’͠t̢ unde͡r͜s̵t͠an͘d̵.̕

He̕ n͜e̡e͟ds͟ to u͎̙͙̗̪̥n͔̖̭͔̜d̮̖̯͙̜̖̥e͇͙̝̱̮̼r̝s̳̗̭t͔͓͙ͅan̬͎̻̙d̫.

Like an instinct.

Like it’s an inextricable part of who he is.

Just like the white he used to be.

The b͓̣̠̠̳̗̻ͅḷ͖̯̬̰a̫͚͇̫̪̞̯̳̝c̖̝̹͙ͅͅk̬̘͕̰̫ can’t c̹̖̲̹̘̪̐̓ͧͪo̜̯̳̲͍̐̉̑ǹ̟̠̤̮̞̥̱̍ͦ̈́s͎̖̞͎͚̓ͣ̒̍̎́̈́͛u͈͇͍̙̥͂ͨ̉m̹̯̥͉̦̼̍ͯ̀͛̎e̳͍̩͔̓̆ͦ̾ͧͯͣͅ it. N̛͜͞ot̛͡ ͠li҉̵k҉e͟ ͏i͏̶t̵ ͡c̵͟͞a͏n͡͠҉ ̸̷ev̢͟͞e̕ŗy҉t̨̕͡h̶i̢n͟g els͝ȩ.͟͜͜

So ͏i̡n͜st̛ea͘d͢, i̶t j̫oi̺̳̠̙͔͇n̹̰̱̠̺̬ed w͠it̨h ͜it. Be͠c͠omi͘ng a ha̡r̛mo̴n͡i̴c̛ ͟b̢le̛n̴d of grey.͜

How does he k̖̬̝̜n̹̱̺̮̩o̼̻̲w̼ that?

Is this just how things have always been?

No no. At one point he was nothing but white. A striking purity of paleness.

Ţh̛en̕ where d͞id ͢t̡he̷ v̯̘̮͉̟ǫ̪̫͔id̵̙̖̦̘̗̗̩ come ͢f̷rom?

Did he come to the v̪̭͎͍̗o̬̣͈͎̝̱̺ḭ̛̳d̪̙?

Or did the v̸o̧i͘d come to him?

Void?

That’s what the black is.

How does he k҉n͟ow̴ that?

He can’t r̫̬͍̫e̱͙̤̟̗̟̥m̲̦̠e̮͕͕̥̠m͓̪b̗̘̠͇̲̝͔er̙͚̱̠̠.

But he w͞ants to reme͘mber.

Why can’t he?

Why why why?

What was he doing last?

He was doing something important.

What was he doing?

Better yet, why was it important?

It was important because he was doing it for his family.

For his kingdom.

For his red͢emption͘.

What redemption? What family? What kingdom?

He needs to remember.

B̕͜u̷͡͞t̸̡̛ ̵h̨ę ͏c҉̛͟a̵n̡͞'̴t͢

N̦̥̘̽̈͐o͔͎̟̣̩̹̣̫̹͐ͮ̅͗̉!̤͍̞̿̽ͦ̏̉̄̚

H̨e̵ c̕an’҉t ̵gr͢asp the th̨r͞ea̶d҉s,̕ can͡’t h̨ol͜d̕ ̕t͢he̢ st͟r͝ing, ̷c͠an’̧t ͠rec̛ov̷er ͘w͢h̢a̧t̨ ͠wa̶s l̴os̵t.͟

Ça̢n̢'t.͜..

Can't r̡em͝e̴m͟be̸r

Why can’t he r͚͖̮͙̬̗̙͡e͈͖̩͕͙̱̲m̡̙̲̟̖e̩͉͡m̫̲̟̘b̙͜ȩ̥̝̦̟r͎̻͢?̜̳!͍̦̜̠͖̥͡

W̷̶̢̪̗̝̬̙h̶̸̨̛̪̥̥̪̳̺͍͞y̴̛͝҉̠̙͖͙̫͞, w̵̶h̶̛͜y, w͡h-

Something shines.

A small fragment that is part of him.

A white fragment that is now grey like him.

“Oh my Wyrm...Oh my Wyrm...Don’t be dead, please...Come back to us. Hallownest needs you...Your children need you...I need you. I love you.”

He remembers.

Chapter Text

“Are you in position?”

“I am!” Hornet replied through the void. "Champ’s with me. They have no idea what’s coming. What about you?”

“Hallow’s good. We’re good. Go as soon as you can.”

“Got it!”

“Wander, are you sure this will work?” Hallow was bleeding uncertainty, just like before when they had helped steal the cookies.

“Have a little faith, Hallow. When have I led you astray?”

“Don’t even get me started…” Hallow shut up to focus on the plan, their head overtop their own as the both of them peeked around the corner. 

Champ ran to the entrance of the infirmary, panting.

“Child? My apologies, but we cannot let you through,” one of the mantises standing guard said.

“I think I know this one...Champ, I believe? They are the magistrate’s.” Champ perked up at that, gesturing at the guards wildly with bad hand signals.

“What? Slow down, child. We cannot understand you.” Champ didn’t appear to listen to that, hand signals only becoming faster as they appeared to panic.

“Child! Champ! Calm down! We cannot...” Champ’s head jerked around, interrupting the mantis as Hornet made her appearance, brandishing a training nail and approaching angrily.

“Wait...Was Champ trying to warn us-” Champ bolted, conveniently slow enough that Hornet caught up quickly, tackling and hitting them with her nail. The acting was just right, and it made the guards spring into action immediately.

“Break it up, little ones!” The first mantis bolted towards the two siblings, the second one following close behind. “Cease this foolishness! If you have a quarrel, settle it honorably!”

“Now!” They took Hallow’s hand and ran, making it inside without a hitch. “See? Easy peasy. I told you it would work!”

“You scare me with how intelligently you construct these schemes.” Hallow replied, shaking their head. “What now? It’ll be hard to avoid the doctors and nurses seeing us.”

Oh this was funny! They really had to involve Hallow in more of their plans, if only because it was funny to see how afraid they became. “Here’s a little lesson in trickery...act natural! The doctors and nurses will be too busy to look at us too closely if we act like we belong here. So let’s go! I-”

“A good plan.” They both jumped at that, turning to see another sibling.

“Ack! Who are you?!” They said, surprised.

Hallow, however, had a different reaction. “...Whisper?” They asked incredulously. 

“Correct.”

“What are you doing here?”

“I heard you talk to the others last night.” Whisper replied. 

“So you followed us?” Hallow asked.

“Yes. I intended to see you in the morning, but your plan was already in motion. So instead, I followed you.”

“What?!” They had grown used to being watched, being singled out as the ‘problem’ child, and knew how to avoid the attention that came with that. To think that they had been snuck up on… “How?! I thought I was watching carefully to make sure no one knew!”

“You were watching the wrong places.” Whisper replied. “But do not be afraid—we have the same goals.”

“An answer to what’s going on?” Hallow asked.

“Yes. The knights came here, wounded. As did Hegemol. I must find him.”

“I knew that you were stealthy, Whisper, but this…?” Hallow trailed off for a moment, complete surprise radiating off them. “Wander might not be the smartest, but they are paranoid, if nothing else. I can’t believe you managed to follow us both whilst remaining completely undetected.”

“I heard that!” They projected, slapping Hallow with the mental equivalent of annoyance.

“I know.” Hallow said, amusement evident in both their mind and body.

“Oh shut up! You’re lucky I-”

“We should move.” Whisper interrupted. "The entrance to the infirmary is too conspicuous.”

Shoot. Whisper was right. The three of them were standing right near the entrance to the infirmary, and they were lucky the guards were still distracted. “Right!” They said, making an effort to ignore the amusement still floating off of Hallow. “Let’s go. Remember: act natural, follow my lead.” After making sure that the two were following, they marched on.

Aside from its white walls, the infirmary was not like other parts of the palace. The smell of SOUL was even more pronounced here than in the throne room, and every single doorway was numbered.

This was one of the few places they had rarely ever been to. There weren’t any secret entrances into this place, and their Mother had been very serious when she had told them not to do anything in here—sick bugs needed peace to recover, and the doctors needed quiet in order to focus.

“Do you have any idea what you’re looking for?” Hallow asked as they rounded a corner. “I mean, we know something’s going on here, but-”

The white corridors reverberated with a metallic clang: they’d run right into someone wearing full armor. 

“Oof! Watch where you’re going you…” The guard froze, then sized them up just as they did the same to him.

Dung.

A prefect. 

The “my Father is the king” act wouldn’t work—they knew from experience. 

“...You aren’t supposed to be here.” The prefect began, “What are you-”

“Split up!” They projected, turning around and racing down the hallway they had come from.

“...Hey! Get back here! Dammit. VERA?! We have three of the king’s children on the loose!” Wait...Vera?

Their void churned in anxiety.

That mantis alone had single-handedly foiled half of their plans over the past month. If she was here…Hallow and Whisper would need more than luck to get out of this without being grounded.

Hallow was not a fast runner. Never had been, and never planned on being.

Until now, that is.

“Cease, child!” The mantis lords were intimidating as always: imposing, fierce, and generally unpredictable.

And tall. Very tall.

Despite being one of the tallest siblings, they were nothing compared to Vera. For every three steps of theirs, Vera took only one. And to make things worse, each individual step of hers was faster than theirs! In most cases, they'd have little hope of escaping. But being tall had its disadvantages too, especially in such a busy place. The red of the healer's uniforms passed them in a blur as they wove between carefully covered legs, wings and tails, steadily gaining distance on Vera.

“Get out of the way!” The mantis lord hissed as she accidentally slammed into another doctor. “There are children that need to be apprehended!”

“Apologies, apologies! Things have been rather busy here, and I…” They tuned the conversation out as they rounded around a corner. This hall was strangely empty, even. They might get a chance to-

A strong, gauntleted hand yanked them into one of the rooms.

“Hmm. You were right, Whisper. Hallow runs like his father.”

“Wha-?!” How many times had they been caught off guard today? “Whisper?! You found Hegemol?!”

“Yes.” Whisper signed, mindful of Hegemol. “The guard overlooked me. I found him soon afterwards.”

“The noise gave you away.” Hegemol set them down. Up close, they could clearly see the many dents in his armour—wait, why was he wearing it right now? “Vera is not known for being discreet...But no matter. You are here for answers?”

“Yes! I…” They hesitated. “...Sorry for disturbing your rest. I know I am not supposed to be here, I just-”

“-Wanted to know? I am not surprised. Curious and with a desire for knowledge...Just like your father. It is fine.”

“So, uh…” They continued sheepishly, trying not to think of the (however just) punishment that was sure to follow. “...What’s going on?”

“As I was about to tell Whisper, Ghost and your father disappeared whilst fighting an angry goddess - the Radiance. Their whereabouts are unknown, as is their current status. They may not even be alive.”

They recoiled. “What?!” 

“Ah ha! Excellent job there for catching them, Jenville.” The prefect watched them struggle in the mantis’s grasp. “Had you and Relna not intervened, I doubt I would have caught them. But that begs the question: how did they, and the two others, slip past you?”

“Two other children got past us?!” The one not holding them—Relna—asked.

“That’s right. I’m not sure how all three of them got past you, but I lost the others. Vera is dealing with them as we speak.”

“This is a great shame upon us...We apologize, prefect. Had we performed better…” They tuned the conversation out.

Darn it! Now that they had gotten caught, it would be a lot harder to lose the guards. Even with the shade cloak, the guards would probably catch up, forcing them to use the cloak again, and so on and so forth until one of them tired out.

A familiar presence in the void interrupted their thoughts. “Wander! I see you! Need some help?”

“Hornet!” Their relief was palpable. “Oh am I glad to hear you. Where are you?”

“We’re up top!” Champ replied in her stead. “Hornet really knows how to climb. The view here is great! Even if we have to be careful to avoid the spikes…Anyhow, you need help?”

“Yeah. Hornet, do you want to do the swift silk escape?”

“I was about to say that!”

“Wait, what?” They got the distinct sense that Champ was scratching their shell. “Swift silk what?”

“It’s easy.” They could tell Hornet was placing a spool of silk in Champ’s arms from her tone alone . “Take this and hold it like...There you go! Wander, turn right at the corner when you escape. We’ll extract you.”

“Awesome, thanks!” They returned their focus to the guards.

“...Regardless of your earlier failure, catching Wander is no small feat. You remember the day you woke up tied to your bed? That was partially their fault. But no you’ve caught them! Let’s hope Vera arrives with the others in tow soon.”

“This is the elusive Wander? Truly?”

“Correct.”

“...Even Vera speaks of their prowess. They have escaped her grasp many times. If-”

“We’re good to go, Wander!” Champ called. “...But how are you going to escape? I saw that you were in a sticky situation…”

They chuckled. “I would say ‘just watch’ but…” Their body turned black. Void spilled from Jenville’s arms and reformed a few metres ahead.

“What?! Wander escaped my hand!” 

The chaos provided them cover to slip away towards the black silk thread gently dangling from the side of the building.

The guards became a blur when they were promptly whisked away.

“Where did they go?!”

“I see...so this is the reason why they were able to escape from Vera...”

“Wow!” Champ hauled them to the roof. “I’m not sure how you escaped from two mantises and a prefect, but you did!”

Their shoulders shook in silent laughter as they peered down at the bamboozled guards. “Oh, that was good.”

“Mark another down for us!” Hornet raised her hand for a high five. “Hallow is inside and the guards couldn’t catch us. Mission complete!” 

“Maybe I should take part in your pranks more often- hahahahaha!”

“Champ? What’s so fun-” But then it hit them too.

Their bodies shook as one. Ghost’s voice rang through, a pulse of joy colouring their words. “Father is alive!”

“...And that is all I know.”

Their signs were slow, a significant damper having been put on their mood after learning about what had actually happened. “Oh, I…” They took hold of the traces of void in their tears to force them back. “I hope father is alright…”

“I do not like to deliver bad news. But it is the truth. Dryya is-”

“-is investigating?” Dryya’s voice jostled them. “Really, Hegemol? I come to visit and make sure you’re recovering only to catch you telling the children about this? You out of everyone should know better.”

“Hallow deserves the truth, Dryya.” Hegemol defended. “As does Whisper. They were willing to risk punishment for it;. a lie would do them a disservice.”

“That’s not your decision to make! Queen’s orders. You know this.”

“I’m sorry, Dryya. ” They began. “I-”

“No excuses. Your father would be very disappointed with you right now.” Seamlessly switching to her real voice, she continued, “Whisper, Hallow, you’re coming with me. The queen will not be happy to—ahahaha?”

Why is she—? The three of them could only stare at  Dryya’s collapsed form. “What’s going on? Are you al—haha!” A wave of euphoria swept over them. “Haha! Why are we laughing? Hahaha!”

Ghost was the one that answered them. “Father is alive!”

Chapter Text

In the blackest corner of the deepest Abyss, he remembers.

Remembers who he is: an old wyrm that abandoned his equally old shell in favour of claiming a piece of land and its inhabitants for himself. A deeply instinctual and selfish desire, certainly, but one from which he moved past. One which he transcended.

Remembers the territory he claimed: a patch of land and some tunnels other wyrms had balked at, but one which he took all the same. At the time it had been a barren wasteland, but it grew, flourished even. It likewise transcended.

Remembers the family that he cultivated: once, it was nothing but himself and the White Lady. At a time, he was content with that, but not anymore. Not after condemning a million infants to death; not after that one last look his Pure Vessel shared with him before being consigned to an eternity of suffering in the black egg. He moved past that and grew to be a father to a family he would not trade for the world. He also transcended.

Transcended from a pale wyrm shackled by guilt into a redeemed union of void, mind, and SOUL. 

He is greater now, a more seamless mixture of white and black that shines like silver. No longer does the dark hide inward whilst the white shines outward. Instead, it has come together as one: perfect in unity and set in desire.

A desire to see family once more.

“Ghost…” He beckons through the void. “My child. I am here.” So much is left unspoken in that phrase; so much gratitude for what their child did for them; so much love for their child as a father; and such a strong desire to just merely be with them, as a good parent should.

Ghost does not respond.

Not for a moment.

Then, the void thrums and his child reaches out, a thousand emotions running through their mind. Relief. Love. Comfort. Curiosity. “Father!” They embrace him, black curling around his shining, seamless silver. “Father! You’re alive!”

“I am, my child. I am. And I’m not leaving you.”

Ghost doesn’t respond to that, but from the way they sit comfortable in his embrace, they don’t need to. Not when everything is just as it should be, especially not when they unquestionably deserve this moment after being deprived of a father for so long.

They part, but not before an eternity passes. Ghost, unending dark to his silver light, is the very first to ask a question that they will quickly grow tired of. “Why are you grey?”

“I died,” he replies simply. “But I was reborn. By blending with the void in a perfect union, I became a silvery grey.”

“What does this mean?” 

“It means I have made peace with my past. Now, I look on—onward to a future of hope.”

The love, hope, and tranquility in that statement is overwhelming. But the offer of a metaphorical hand in this dark ocean fills them with elation. “Come. Let’s go home.”

He is taller now.

Still nowhere near Ghost’s stature (but then again, even the Radiance was short compared to their size), but now he is taller than the typical bug. No more will he be dwarfed by most of his retainers, and no more will he have to sit on an elevated throne to make up for the difference.

“You’re bigger now…” Ghost looks him over. “And you don’t shine the same way…You gleam.”

Turning his gaze from the void lake he emerged from to his hands and body, he examines his new form. His chitin, now silvery and grey, gleams in a manner reminiscent of the stainless steel that some of the blacksmiths have recently developed. Amazingly, his surroundings brightened at the slightest increase in power. “A darker shade… and yet I am taller and brighter.”

“It looks nice, but I’ve never seen you without your robes before.”

Ah right. That’s something he’d need to deal with. While nudity isn’t awkward per se, his shine could easily blind the common bug. “I will handle that in time.” He offers them a hand, which they quickly take. “Let’s go.”

The lighthouse looms overhead as they begin walking. At one point he had evacuated it out of trepidation at angering a god of void, blind to his own changes. It was reopened for the creation of the blackstone, a joint effort with the void itself in the form of Ghost. And now that the black stones are no longer needed, it’s closed again. Not when void lives in the palace above.

Moving past the lighthouse and into the cavern that led to the main chamber, he notes how comfortable he is. Before, he’d scuttle through these caves, paranoid and fearful even though he concealed it behind a stoic facade. But now? The void is part of him, and its avatar is his offspring. This place will never leave him, but now he is content with that. It’s no longer a reminder of his guilt. Instead, it indicates how far he’s come—how much he’s changed. All for them.

His family.

In the main chamber, they come across the newly constructed platform and elevator. Unlike the previous one, intended for temporary use, this one is much more well made. It is also large enough to comfortably fit them both, but…

He doesn’t feel like taking it right now. “Race you to the top?”

“I would love that!”

Silver wings take him upward.

Upward to a future that he can no longer see, but one filled with hope nonetheless. 

After all, what use is hope in a future you see coming?

“My loyal servants…my dearest Root…my children…I am coming home.”