the knight (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
focusedvoid) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
boxfullofzeroes2022-10-31 05:57 am
focusedvoid) wrote in boxfullofzeroes2022-10-31 05:57 am
voicetest the voiceless
They're not dead.
Less dead than they'd felt, at least. Their shell doesn't normally take so long to reform.
Then again. Their shell doesn't usually break of their own violation as they ascended in a boiling rage, ate at least one realm, a god, and all the Godseekers.
(That last point is debatable, actually. There's some odd sense, deep under their...shell? Void? Wherever they once stored things like Isma's Tear, much deeper now...that the sea-mind is still there, sluggish and held in a stasis. They're already adjusting enough, and they don't seem to be dying or trying to kill them, so that problem is neatly sorted as 'for later'.)
They push their body to stand. Their horn clangs uncomfortably loudly against the grate they've apparently woken up beneath. They're somewhere in the Royal Waterways. A quick check of the map--or, not so quick, as it takes time to locate where it had been--shows they've risen about halfway through, closer to the City of Tears than the White Palace. They'll go to the Stag Station in the City Storerooms next.
So they think. Complications arise on the way.
The Infection is gone, leaving dead Flukes, Pilflips, and Hwurmps in piles enough it takes time to force their way past. Their body seems too small. No, their body is fine--there's something wrong with perception itself. That will take time to adjust to.
Then, they discover the Monarch Wings now stretch and warp when used, twisting around the nearest pipes after landing before the Knight forcibly calls them back. Shade Wings, they decide to call these.
Once they're high enough to hear the rain above, they realize a noise they'd ascribed to water running in the distance is, in fact, something swirling behind their mask. Many somethings. All the fragments of Siblings with enough self left, staring out from their eyes. It's disconcerting.
By the time they actually get out of the Waterways, they're using their Shade Wings to grip ledges and drag themselves up, with those holding onto things better than their own arms are with the Mantis Claw.
The Knight faceplants awkwardly onto the floor of the building Lemm's shop is in. If the City is the same as below, there's little left to try killing them in the area.
They'll just take a moment here, thanks.
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He has grown very good at recognising the difference between the dogged shamble of infected and, say, the nimble patter of damp little wanderers. It has occurred to him as of the past hour - perhaps earlier, but he was very focused on taking a rubbing of a particularly weathered journal - that the city has gone very, very still.
It is a good time for a walk, Lemm decides, and mentally adds that this has nothing to do with any growing sense of unease.
The elevator clunks to the ground floor, and Lemm catches sight of the body-? Immediately the umbrella comes up to be brandished like a nail (or perhaps a bat) as he checks very, very swiftly for signs of danger while ready to shoulder-check the elevator switch at the slightest rustle.
He isn't stupid - the little wanderer is a warrior, and he is not, and selfishly he considers leaving them to it and coming back later when whatever did this to them has had time to become bored of this area and wander away. However.
There is absolutely, definitely, nothing here.
A few moments pass. The umbrella lowers slightly.
"Dead, are we?" he stiffly challenges, already beginning to piece together that this isn't the case.
Between peering around on high alert, he does opt to give them a light nudge with the pointy end of the umbrella - on the mask, to avoid whatever in the name of Hallownest is going on with their cloak. (Some new ability they'll no doubt show off as soon as the opportunity to knock things off shelves presents itself, Lemm reasons, mostly to calm himself down.)
"Up you get. I won't have a reliable dealer lounging around out here attracting attention. I don't need advertisement."
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Lemm is here, poking them with something.
Their head tips obligingly sideways where he nudges it, taking a look at the umbrella. Not as good a weapon as a journal would be. Still, pointy enough they'd feel it if he shoved hard.
They stand up. They wobble, too, enough that the Shade Wings firm up and press against the ground until they're steady, which they partly note while they re-index their inventory. They had a King's Idol they wanted to be rid of just for the sake of it being gone, and another Arcane Egg they'd meant to bring ages ago for the Geo--
The Geo. Their Geo.
The Knight does a sharp internal doubletake, outwardly expressed by their head dropping away from Lemm's general face to stare forward.
That is a lot of Geo. Much more than they ever bothered bringing to Godhome. More than they've ever had at once. Tens of thousands more.
Where did that come from.
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warning for like. body horror ig. as if ghost isnt always body horror on some level
natch
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The Crossroads--empty, with the Grubfather seeming to have secluded himself.
Greenpath--nearly empty as well, though they believe they hear Mosskin gathering by Unn's lake. It sounds like a celebration. They've experienced enough to know it isn't purely joy that their ailment is gone, but joyfully honoring the many who hadn't made it to this point. The Knight chooses not to disturb them.
Seemingly the most survivors are in Deepnest, as they quickly discover after calling the Stag to visit with vague plans of going from the bottom up. Their presence is noted immediately. The Knight nearly darts away out of habit when a Little Weaver appears after a few steps outside, but intent is clarified in ungarbled words: Hornet is there, and she wants them.
Many events follow. Many of the Stalking Devout live, with a handful of Little Weavers, though their bodies tend to betray them when they try to rush. Herrah is alive, if not quite well, recovering from time in Dream so near the Radiance, even with the Hollow Knight as a buffer.
The Hollow Knight is alive.
This is what Hornet wants them for, some clue or hint to their recovery. The Knight looks over their prone form, wracked with tremors and regrets they could feel (feel, after even the Dreamnail awoken couldn't break through their mental defenses) from outside the Den, and tries their best. They can soothe, distantly. A little manipulation of the Void they now contain a sea of to patch up the worst of their wounds. A steady presence for a time, until they're finally aware enough to notice the Knight having the King's Brand, and they quietly leave for a time.
Not far, as then Herrah summons them. They are King of Hallownest, even if Hallownest is barely anything anymore, and she requests them to try altering the treaty with the Mantis Tribe to let some of their people pass through the Village. This consists of going there, standing next to Hornet as she challenges the Lords after speaking those terms, and nodding at the right times.
After sitting through many rounds of battle and another lengthy wait in Deepnest as negotiations that apparently need them sitting in the corner, shining their Nail, they decide they're not going to do anything similar again. 'King' by technicality and god-magic, politicking continues to be one of their least favorite things to deal with.
The Knight leaves. Then they do the equivalent of passing out after gesturing their way to the City Storerooms. The rain is reasonably different background noise from debating voices.
They really, truly hate politicking.
Someone might notice a few lengthy tendrils spilling down some of the walls. They haven't done anything near their personal state of 'sleep' since before coming to Hallownest. That their body is now prone to spreading into a vaguely Lord of Shades-shaped puddle isn't something they're remotely aware of.
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He writes, of course, and there is a trip back to the Soul Sanctum to comb through the information there a little more carefully. But most of his time is spent on exploring the City of Tears again, once he's mustered the will, checking old doors and re-familiarising himself with the city's layout in a new way now that certain paths and places aren't a write-off due to mindless patrols of plagued bugs.
Lemm is pleased to find that there yet seems to be some precious free time before other bugs realise there is an empty city free for the squatting. He's still not sure how he'll feel about it when word spreads. Lemm does not want neighbours, but all his stuff is here, and more importantly all the history is here. He'll... decide whether or not to burn that bridge when he comes to it. Right now it seems unlikely, but his mind might change if he starts to feel crowded.
(There is an exception. There's an encounter with Emilitia, after he tries doors in the richer district that was previously crawling with infected. It goes about as well as could be expected. Insults are exchanged in a backhanded sort of way, and then Lemm finds himself laughed out of the room. He will not be going back - not even for information, unless he can't find it anywhere else. He's at least under the impression she won't be stopping by to borrow a cup of anything, which is a massive positive.)
He checks on the Nailsmith, or rather he stops at the bottom of that long cliff and notices no light or smoke coming from the hut at the top, and he pops up there and peers in the doorway only to confirm his suspicions. It's not on him to know how long the place has been empty, or why. Bugs move on and they leave and sometimes they die, and he leaves in a hurry and makes every effort to keep his eyes forward on the way out. It's not on him if anything happened. They weren't close.
Lemm stands at the bottom of the west elevator shaft for a long time without calling the thing down. There's probably a safe route up to that cold, miserable little ghost town on the surface now, and it probably wouldn't even take too long. Might take his mind off... a great deal of things. Could maybe pick up some supplies if anyone's about.
Wouldn't hurt to check the route. Just in case there's an emergency. He doesn't even have to go all the way...
After a resigned sigh and an incredibly sour glare at the switch, he eventually calls the elevator.
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looks like someone melted a black ice cream in here smh
activated charcoal is bad for you
deactivate it then stinky
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Others should know this. Relic Seeker Lemm was always drawn along by some hazy idea of prestige, but now he's driven by the gravity of Hallownest's history - confided in him by a direct participant, no less. (He is also driven by the idea that the Knight confided in him at all. This is rapidly becoming a difficult fact to avoid. There's responsibility there.)
So he is writing a historic record: because others should know, and because let's see any other Relic Seeker get this comprehensive an account of anything, and... because the Knight wants it known.
That's not to say Lemm has forgotten the present, however. There are changes afoot. Mostly annoying ones.
When Lemm set out to grace Millibelle with a strongly-worded opinion, he knew it wasn't going to end in mutually borrowing cups of sugar and meeting for tea. This is probably why the general conversational volume rose to begin with, although it didn't help when Millibelle demanded to know what the difference was between his business and her 'business' - and what business he had in letting the 'creepy little' tourist know she was 'working' here, yes she knows he must have said something, who else would it be in an empty city, how could he send a brute like that after an innocent lady-?
Finding a very raw nerve where he didn't expect one, Lemm may have been slightly more than sarcastic when he demanded to know what she could possibly find brutish about someone so pint-sized. Millibelle explained, and Lemm's Geo was quite literally smacked back into his hand.
Lemm barely held it together long enough for the elevator to deposit him on the bottom floor.
The next time the Knight finds their feet at his door, Relic Seeker Lemm is much more well-rested and in a mysteriously light mood. The counter has been tidied again and things packed away into drawers or onto shelves. A clerk's paper tray holds his work so far, currently on hold.
Lemm himself is reading a Wanderer's Journal to pass the time. Force of habit.
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Calling the Stag lead to his mentioning a few others travelling through, including some from Deepnest. They go there, and are wrapped up again in assisting their biggest sibling. (They've stopped using their title even in their thoughts. It wasn't anything chosen or honorable enough for that respect.) Hornet is more emotional than they've ever seen her. She berates herself to the Ghost of Hallownest over their sibling apparently vanishing for a while under her watch, only to be discovered hidden away in the failed tramway.
They cannot--will not--express why, even through the Void. They hold themselves separate, through habit or shame. Pushing into their mind to force it would be possible. Unspeakably cruel, as well.
The Knight can guess the reason for their travel. Herrah guesses, as well, and tells them elsewhere that their sibling misses the White Palace, and requests their confirmation of its disappearance.
...There is a chance the Knight can bring their sibling into the Dream that's left behind...but not now. Not with the other Siblings recoiling away from bright lamps. Not when the Palace is filled with blades that their own tiny form was torn to pieces on, and their taller sibling still lacks the ability to walk in a straight line. And it may not even be possible. They haven't brought even their collective into a Dream that isn't the Godseekers'.
Herrah gets a shaken head in confirmation. She's relieved. Some from a rival being gone. More that this will lessen the Vessel's struggles, she says.
Observing the lush blankets and careful supervision they're surrounded with, the Knight believes her.
They do what they can to patch up injury, old and new. They wait by their side for a time. They're not acknowledged by more than a jerky head bow.
This is fine. It's a reassurance. They are alive. They're recovering. Slowly. With cringing and flinching, and holding their self back. But it is a better state than the scream that drew the Knight here in the first place, and any mercy is what they would have killed and died (and have, so many times) to give.
They are alive. They're here. They have time now.
They all have time.
The Knight disappears from Deepnest; Herrah was eyeing them in a way that spelled politics or favors. She could send Hornet if they were so necessary.
(They'd chased her across the kingdom, time and time again. Grave in ash, she'd told them. They'd searched the Resting Grounds all the way to finding a new charm and the Grey Mourner. That frustrating vagueness turned back would be a pleasure.)
When they finally make it to the Resting Grounds, they abruptly turn the other way when they hear Seer chatting with at least two other bugs. They're already back down to the City before remembering they wanted to go to the Resting Grounds for a reason separate from her.
They drop into the Pleasure House again. Millibelle doesn't seem to be there, at least not right then. The Hot Spring is comfortable. Marissa's singing echoes all throughout the theater.
They Knight is significantly less frazzled when they wander back to the shop.
They attempt to steal their way to the counter without disturbance.
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The trouble is that sleep didn't come easy with so much to think about, and the trouble is also that timekeeping is a difficult enough endeavour in a place like the City of Tears. Even though he may have woken with plenty of time, the lack of a proper clock and the resulting internal fidgeting over how long might be too long and whether he might accidentally be early has tipped the scales all the way to late.
Lemm carefully smooths over all outward signs of trepidation before he enters the station, though the feeling remains like an unpleasant flicker in his stomach. The only meetings he's arranged in living memory have been purely transactional. Telling himself this one is, too, doesn't do much to quell the anxiety now that Geo has been removed from the equation.
But none of this is the dealer's business, and so when Lemm walks in he is deliberately composed and his expression is firmly neutral. There is a messenger bag slung across him, one hand resting loosely over it. His map is sticking up out of the front corner, a couple of recently-buffed pins stuck in the edge of the paper for safekeeping in case he finds anything to make note of.
His shop is firmly locked. Its owner has left an appropriate note behind in the unthinkable occasion that someone might see fit to look for him. There is a strong possibility it is aimed mostly at Millibelle.
"Knight?"
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The Knight killed some time nearby. A particular success: discovering a way out of the City into the Fungal Wastes without having to rip the sealed gate down. The Lord of Shades could have done that. They didn't want to try.
(They didn't want be to be caught trying.)
A few bodies on the paths were pushed out of the way with more gentleness than previously bothered with.
After they settled in, they decided against calling the Stag. They didn't want to bother him with the wait.
Nor did they want to be tempted to go off and pore over every clawsbreadth of the Forgotten Crossroads for danger. There is danger. Trying to predict all of it would be foolish and futile. This is why they're going, rather than working to make a painfully-detailed map.
Similarly, their paper and quill were not taken out in the meantime. Encouraging healthy caution is necessary. Being blatantly patronizing is not.
Lemm's voice breaks through the sound of rain. The Knight goes from a light doze to sitting up straight and looking his way.
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(It isn't truly cursed. They offer an apology nobody can know of in Seer's direction.)
After a long pause, almost entirely forgetting their reason to be there after concentrating on simply getting to the place, they steal their way up to the Spirit's Glade. Fortunately, any others don't seem to know they're around.
They make a few slow circuits. Many of the spirits seems unchanged. When they decide to linger by one, however, that one tends to seem to notice them more. In particular, Milybug's discontent over her cookie sales and inability to leave rises into full distress.
Revek takes objection to this, and the Knight allows themselves to be chased away.
Spirits do appear to be capable of changing. Waking. But do they specifically need to be nearby for it to happen, or is the Knight simply the only one who can come by and interact enough to be a catalyst? This is something they'll need to work on over time.
This shelved for the moment, the Knight leaves. Or, they're planning to. But they feel the need to check on Seer, as her voice is never so silent. She's there, head bowed against her chest, fully asleep. The Sentry and a new large bug they can't identify are curled up among the pillows. Reassured, they hop down until they're all the way down, and again find themselves distracted.
The way to the Grey Mansion is still open, naturally. They poke their way through it out of habit, and when they find they're standing at the entrance, it occurs to them they've never explored inside. Last time, it felt disrespectful to try. But the Mourner is gone, and what she's left behind is...something Lemm would likely be interested in.
The Knight darts through to check for traps or dangers. There are many other things in there, but a cursory examination is no more dangerous than any Hallownest building now.
Next, they disappear back to the Old Stag and go back to Dirtmouth. They cause quite a stir, carrying up that body that almost made it home. They do not offer explanation, simply setting it gently down until Elderbug recognizes them as a glassmaker who travelled often. They vanished when he was hardly an elder. He can't recall their name.
The Knight assists in creating them a grave. After Elderbug says a few words, they bow their head and hope they're at peace, finally home.
They might see a form in the corner of their vision when they turn away. It may have been the grass in the wind.
They visit--they stop by their own house. It is, indeed, cleaner than last time, and the window is covered enough to mostly keep it that way. They stay for a little while until they're restless again and wander off with no serious set destination.
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Lemm dumps his bag by the door, locks it behind him, runs the usual checks like clockwork even though he knows there's nothing left in the City to surprise him, and trudges straight into the back room.
He rests a while. This turns out to be a bit of a mistake. By the time he's dozed a bit and made it through a particularly descriptive journal recounting a tourist's descent through the Pilgrim's Way, his legs have decided to start aching and he notices his hands roughened by rope. Someday he may have to confront the idea of getting too old for all of that.
Not yet, though. A few stretches take care of the worst, and the dip in the Hot Spring probably did the hard work. He returns to the shop to assess other damages.
The lens is taken from the bag, and other, more delicate tools are fetched from drawers. The glass is yet intact, but the dent has jammed the focus. A little careful prying, he's good at this, he's gotten through to Arcane Eggs before without the Knight's help -
A hairline crack appears in the glass and Lemm gloomily drops the tools, not quite incensed enough to fling them across the room.
Lemm spends some more time out of his shop, stiffly hunting through the long-abandoned offices of account-keepers and writers, and anywhere else that might turn up something useful through all the damp papers and stuck drawers. After a frustratingly less-than-fruitful search he returns with a clerk's magnifying glass. It does very little to pick out the finer details of the Arcane Egg, as he knew it would; so he'll just keep using the broken lens. He can work around the crack, and the focus surely won't matter so much...
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Something he does not - and likely will never - consider himself an expert in is the art of socialising. His experiences have been barely more than transactional for quite some time, so with the Knight now apparently visiting (!) for a chat (!!) he has found himself rather out of his depth.
Setting himself a few rules has helped immensely, and the Knight has given him clear instruction about how to conduct himself on this expedition. The Knight is to scout ahead if necessary, he is to keep out of trouble, and they'll investigate the Grey Mansion together with minimal risk. This all suits Lemm just fine.
The City of Tears is now devoid of the kinds of threats they were both used to, but nonetheless Lemm sticks close to the Knight's side and just a half-step back from theirs, letting them set the pace and choose the route even though he knows the City like the length of his own horns.
Ironic that the Lord of Shades would have a shadow. Especially one that claims to dislike chatter but can't seem to keep his mouth shut.
"...It's the metalwork that clued me in first," he explains, part of an ongoing one-bug discussion about architecture that the Knight definitely didn't ask for. "Right from the borders you could tell there was something grander below your feet because if there's fine casting like that, at one point there were the resources to waste on it, and I certainly didn't see evidence of such a thing in Dirtmouth! Then there's the Stag Station, so there's the infrastructure to consider - but it wasn't until I saw the Crossroads that I knew I was really onto something. You just don't bother with that level of engineering unless you've the workforce to handle mass imports, and you wouldn't justify that with a population of less than five hundred..."
None of this has to do with the Great Knights. Possibly it did at first, but he's wandered off topic long before they reach the elevator to the Resting Grounds. Lemm may be a bit excited to be going on this trip, and the way this shows is through historical chatter.
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The Delicate Flower had calmed the whole of them in a way they still can't describe. It--was a reminder, and a power. A gift. Enough to turn the tide of rage that could have stretched to devour all Hallownest. It held in their claws, a delicate glow, but if a Shade were to touch it, or go near it--it may be perfectly fine, but even if not, the light alone could cause upset. They'd rather not risk unexpectedly finding one. (This setting aside that there will likely be more symbols of the King scattered about in one of his most important Knight's homes.)
They nearly wander past the way to the elevator to the Stag Station out of habit before hastily correcting their route. A sparks of embarrassment crawls over their shell. Hopefully Lemm will keep focus on the architecture to notice.
There are still a great many wealthy bugs' bodies they pass, as well as sentries and guards. The Knight at least looks at the latter. The former are given no such dignity.
Just inside the elevator, the Knight pauses and taps Lemm's side for attention, just once. Never mind that's likely unnecessary, it's important. They point up and put a paw over where a mouth would be on their own mask--hush--just before hitting the lever with their Nail.
They--do like Seer. And whoever she's caring for must be...reasonable. They're beginning to feel an itch of guilt for passing by without seeing her yet again, but with Lemm is hardly the time. They'll need to be at least somewhat quiet, and if their luck holds, they'll make it to the strange crypt without notice.
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Their tallest sibling is quickly sought out. They ignore Herrah, to her annoyance, and she follows them all the way to their sibling's chamber, though she's polite enough to stop outside.
They appear somewhat different. They have less silk crisscrossing their cracked mask, and a cloak tinged barely red fully covers their wings. Their nest has a handful of new blankets and pillows. Otherwise, little has changed, down to the crooked attempt at a bow segueing into ignoring the Knight's presence at their side.
They still settle down on a pillow there. They let information spill through the Void, simply shared, and are fairly certain some gets through despite their sibling's terrifying mental fortifications. They tell them of their Crossroads excursion with Lemm, ending messily but well enough, and how they've tried again. They share images of Dirtmouth, how it's quietly grown. They pull out some Charms, holding individual favorites in front of their un-cracked eye, offering to share, and assure them it can wait until later when there is no response.
They stay for quite some time. Hornet comes by mostly when they're resting, assuming they sleep, and seemingly stands guard by the both of them before disappearing again. Periodically, Herrah looms in the doorway, but does not cross the boundary despite this Nest in its entirety being hers.
She waits until they finally prepare to leave, to discuss their sibling--and only their sibling, to their genuine surprise. Hornet has been in charge of their care, and doing quite a good job, according to her mother, but she has her own concerns. They give advice through gesture--pulling out their Nail and swinging it, since they hadn't seen their sibling's. They let her guess through a series of yes-and-noes that while they should perhaps not go so far as spar, they should still have their blade. The Knight knows their own recovery and sense of safety would be hindered in their place.
She promises to return it. They pass along this information, and get the slightest stirring in return; the correct option, then.
Next, the Knight leaves to Dirtmouth, to a few cheerful greetings. The air is again awash with the Troupe's music. They hope that Brumm and Grimm aren't too displeased, and furnish their house (their house, they have yet to get over that) with the picture on a single hook by the door, and the sconce hung awkwardly from the ceiling. There aren't many options otherwise. Silly as it looks, it lights the room up fine enough.
They equip Grimmchild from their little couch, and head back down into Hallownest after they examine the room for a little while.
The Knight wonders what being the Charm alone is like. They don't seem upset about the time passed. Perhaps they're watching. Perhaps they're with Grimm. Perhaps it's simply like sleep.
They had the idea of going to the Archives, next, but, while Grimmchild is having a grand time, they have fewer things to spit flame at. They alter their route to one place they suspect still might hold some enjoyment of the fighting sort; the Colosseum of Fools.
They swore to Lemm they'd be careful, but this isn't part of their projects. They feel only a little guilt on the way in.
The Little Fool greets them, as before.
Everything seems the same until they jump down into the dungeon. They find fewer bugs, hear far less grumbling and chatter.
This is a blessing.
For them.
Because--
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--they hear singing.
Barely. Broken words, mostly hums. They believe they're imagining it. They must be.
Their legs lead them past the bench. Around slumped warriors. Through the cells.
Metal clangs. The sound falters. Their pace does not.
Myla.
Myla. Alive.
Myla notices them when they notice her.
Everyone notices them when they notice her.
Every once-Infected, every touched by Her, every scoured through by Void when She was devoured in Her whole. Myla is there, cowering behind bars, clutching the dented mess that remains of her helmet to her chest, failing to hide discolored patches on her body.
She.
All of them.
Every single one feel the moment the Knight comprehends what they're seeing.
There was a little bit, inside of every one. A little bit of dark. A little bit of Void.
The Knight grips it, drags it, feels it tear through shell after shell after shell. Myla screams. Grimmchild screeches. They're not them. They're all of them. They're howling, raging, towering fury, tearing through the bars to clutch her as their head shatters the ceiling, shatters the body of the thing that the Colosseum was built within. The world is black, the world is nothing, the world is falling into fragments of itself, Myla, Myla, how dare they, how could they, they never would have known--
From the elevator outside Lemm's shop, someone hums an unfamiliar tune.
1/2
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Home; bag dumped in a corner; a short nap; potter about with his collection and rearrange the back. All very normal, but lately Lemm can't help feeling different about it in some inexplicable way. It's not like it changed.
Lemm worries about a friend a little bit. It's a quiet and fairly inert feeling, now; he knows to wait for the moment. There's nothing more he can do until news comes to him one way or the other, and so he waits.
...Nothing more, but he finds himself drawn to the few dregs of texts and references he's got on Void, on Higher Beings, on sleep. On mining. On song. None of it seems particularly helpful, but he hardly expected it to be. Reading quietly with the familiar rain drumming on the window is something he is quite happy to do for any length of time, and always has been regardless of whether he makes a breakthrough.
(There may be more information in an Arcane Egg. The thought sits within bothersome range, but right now staring through a fractured lens until he goes cross-eyed doesn't seem wise. No sense compromising himself when word could arrive sooner or later; better to stay alert and ready.)
Still, it's nice enough to go back to routine without concern demanding he act without knowing quite what to do. He can only hope he's not the only one finding some reprieve.
Eventually he sets down a journal accounting the properties of crystal as understood pre-silk-era (dull, even historically-pertinent as it is), stretches, and... goes to clear his head.
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The Hollow Knight was not intended to take implicit orders.
The Hollow Knight was not intended to fail, nor to survive, nor to exist in anywhere but the Palace and the Egg.
There a goal to go the White Palace. Herrah and Hornet had given them the news it was gone.
The Beast had nothing but flat hisses of disdain for the Pale King and White Lady. The Gendered Child would surely defer to her mother.
They left. They folded themselves into the singular functioning Tram to check.
They found the empty space, adorned with the remains of a Kingsmould and jagged remains jutting up like teeth.
Herrah had not lied.
For a time, they collapsed there, a ruin in front of its ruins.
But they are not to die. This was demanded from sister. From Queen Herrah. From sibling, and most important, the current King of Hallownest. It does not matter that they were not intended to be eternal, and continue to exist, and He was, and seemingly no longer does. The Hollow Knight will live on by their given orders.
Lying on the flat stone the Palace was constructed upon strained their barely-healed chest to nearly splitting. This is against the spirit of their command.
They rise.
They continue.
They rise, further. There is a shaft where servants once ascended via elevator to the City. The elevator is destroyed.
The Hollow Knight's body still functions enough to traverse Deepnest.
One-armed, they claw with their feet and sink their blade into the shellwood supports. No-one else uses this place now. The flying guards that once did lie dead upon the spikes by their own failure to contain what lead them to linger there.
They drag themselves up. In that time, they are nearly as they were intended to be: living, functioning, mindless. They have a will, but the lack of thought their climb requires past finding each handhold is enough for this to be forgotten.
The Hollow Knight crawls their way into the City of Tears without dignity, crouching at rest in the Royal Quarters as the sensation of rain pattering over shell and cloak strikes them for the first time.
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"half the size of Lemm's body" more like BIGGER THAN now that i think abt it
honestly didn't even catch that i just pictured it how it is. Engrossed(TM)
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It's been too long since he set out to do this by himself instead of just kicking around the shop. First it was the rise of the Infection - he'd only managed preliminary exploration before he found his place in the city, and after that he'd only gotten a couple of really in-depth excursions in before everything went so quickly downhill.
After that, it had been under perceived duress. It took him a while to fully understand why someone else might not want him to wander, but he held it to himself as a rule in the interim, just to avoid upset - and then understand he finally, suddenly did.
So. He stays within the city, because there are rules now that he has established for himself and he mostly sticks to. And he is quick, a dip-in and dip-out, because there is the chance that he might miss something.
Lemm quickly sweeps the halls of the Soul Sanctum, and he returns with his arms weighed down with stone journals and miscellaneous, much of him frizzed from the faint but still-ambient saturation of Soul in the air. He half-reads about a few things that he can never hope to replicate, and does not wish to.
Lemm deposits what he finds at home (as an excuse to go back and check) and as strong as the temptation is to route his way upward and check Dirtmouth just in case, Lemm stays close to his shop, where he is - logically - expected to be.
He visits the spring - rather, the spa, and rids the last of the faint, barely-there smudges of ink from his beard that only he might know well enough to notice, and tries not to think about it too dramatically. He catches a misfortunate neighbour on his way out and asks if she has seen anyone pass through the City.
No. This is a relief for one reason, and disappointing for another. They both end the conversation disdainfully. (That is pleasantly normal.)
Lemm pauses on the way out. He looks back, and his footsteps falter, and he goes to stand quietly in the auditorium for a while.
He hears nothing. He leaves, feeling strangely guilty for reasons he can't place.
His mood under a damp blanket that has little to do with the City of Tears itself, Lemm occupies himself in small, nearby ways and plays an uncomfortable waiting game. He can focus on little else.
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It isn't as hard as they expect, though they delay when they pass by their Lost Kin, to delicately shift them into a more comfortable-looking position. Though it's not important--they themselves certainly wouldn't care--settled against the wall seems better than laid flat on the floor.
They aren't there, in the Void, when they reach. It still feels like the correct thing to do. The Knight takes the Dream Nail out and see if it has any affect, just in case, and continues on when it doesn't. They're too tired to wonder.
The pale beams that lit the statue where they found the Monarch Wings has gone dark. They settle there, and fall asleep almost immediately.
They sink into Godhome.
There, they immediately leap into the bronze-tinted water to escape Godseeker's adulation and swim until they reach the black clouds at the dream's edge to disappear. And get actual rest.
For a time, they do.
Then their Siblings come creeping through the darkness, nudging their floating form until they can't ignore it. Maybe they should've went to the bench--but they can be found there if tried.
The Knight is obligingly tugged along, until the water turns to Void alone, until they're walking, to--
--singing. Again.
Familiar dread and fury rises, and they beat it down. This is not the Colosseum. This is the dark, with their siblings, who love the singing just as much as they did, and they follow the single sound ringing out until they reach her. Myla is clamping her hands on her still-worn and glowing helmet.
They didn't know, again, and the world roils, gets even darker--no. No. She's here. She's here, and...she's safer. Shades are watching, floating in loose lines at a distance. There are flickers of intrigue, annoyance; yes, she's been here, they were trying to say, but the lights made it too hard.
Guilt washes through the Knight, and away just as quickly. They need to help. They could have earlier, and this isn't the first time they've been late. They need to do what they can now.
Myla responds better when they walk up to her than she does awake. She recognizes them. She doesn't throw the pick-claw that materializes in her grip. She allows them to take her by the elbow and guide her off, between their siblings, leaving them to trail behind.
...To Godhome.
There's no exit in Godhome anymore. They don't know how to bring her out.
The Knight is--displeased. But they bring Myla up, creating black-stained stairs with their mind; when they realize this, they try to create a way out, but the whole of Godhome shudders and upsets Myla from her bewildered awe. Later, then.
They wait with her by the more private bench and spring.
The Knight pulls out paper, and explains what they can. This is less than they'd like. She's present, here, more than awake, but her concentration skitters away from the paper often, and she mentions hearing another's humming--Cornifer, they eventually realize. Myla is both here and there.
They manage to explain that their Siblings are safe, only curious. (They reach through the Void and tell everyone to point her way back to Godhome if she ends up in the dark again.)
And they apologize. Several times.
They aren't sure if she knows how much they mean it.
They promise they'll help. They promise to wake her. And she's happy to wait, here, happier than in the unending darkness. She's fascinated with what she's seeing. They guess there's nothing in Hallownest like it. It seems she can hear more, too, of the tuning than they know how to.
The Lord of Shades makes very, very sure the Godseekers won't bother her too much.
And, eventually, they do need to wake up.
2/2
The Lord of Shades melted to spread nearly to the spikes, flat and encompassing. They didn't do much damage beyond jostling their Lost Kin out of place again; they pat their empty mask in apology before returning them and leaving straight to Dirtmouth.
They spend some time there, trying to figure out a way to rouse her without fully letting the Shadelord out over the village. Nothing seems to work--they might have to. Or at least bring her somewhere they can.
A positive sign is that Myla is far calmer. She still reacts oddly and sporadically, but significantly better than before. Sometimes she seems almost cheerful, even after they put away most of the lights.
Iselda and Cornifer keep to switching shifts. They're concerned--they care. They're also good at what they're doing, which assuages some of the discomfort and guilt they feel about that as well.
For a while, the Knight stays nearby, repeatedly crashing their horns into the problem, and eventually realize they're doing what they did before. They're making no progress, and they're getting restless.
They need to get some actual help, perhaps. They should finally visit Seer. They should just visit her for the sake of it, really.
But first, a friend. One who's likely similarly restless.
They take a longer route winding down through Greenpath. (There are Grubberflies there, migrated down from the Crossroads. They think about going back to check, and decide they'd prefer not to.)
The way to Lemm's shop is familiar enough once they get to the City, their legs lead them to his building without the Knight even thinking about it.
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Fountain Square is familiar to them both, but he doesn't linger - he just casts a wistful glance up at the Memorial on the way past and cuts across the square diagonally. While he certainly isn't a tour guide... he is a Relic Seeker, and the city is itself a relic, by technicality. Being told to lead falls well under his purview.
Lemm leads them north across a decorated metal grille that serves as a bridge across the water. Then out through the slightly-ajar gate, which is so huge he has to brace his shoulder against it to ease it further open; it groans eerily on its hinges. He stands aside to let the Knight pass first, almost ceremonious in it - in some small way like accommodating a houseguest - and then settles into step at their side.
If they turned left here they'd pass the Sanctum. Lemm instead takes them down a long, straight stretch of road that runs past some other prominent towers, edged by an overfull canal. For a little while he's quiet, letting the patter of rain clear his remaining discomfort from a rather awkward conversation.
Lemm glances down at the Knight and tries to catch their attention, then gives a subtle little flick of his horns in the direction of a splash of dim, faded colour across the canal.
Painted against a wall at a street corner bricked with conveniently flatter stone, and tucked under the overhang of a balcony where the worst of the rain doesn't reach, is a piece of street art: a butterfly mid-twirl, wreathed in flowers. He'd mentioned before there was a mural of Marissa out here, hadn't he?
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Internally, they're a little proud it's getting easier to stay their blade, no matter how tempting the King's marks and short spitting fountains still are are. Instead, considerably-sized puddles get a slice lashed through them on occasion.
They slow when Lemm gestures toward--Marissa! They clap twice at the sight of her, rendered beautifully.
Applause doesn't come naturally to them, and they've never done it under the rain. It turns out it makes an extremely strange noise.
They stumble to a halt, staring down at their own paws.
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The Knight finally remembers to place a Dream Gate off at the edge of the room, since they don't know if anything will happen if someone else stands on it. Probably not, but they'd prefer not to risk it.
They're content. But that doesn't mean they forgot what just happened to them. A letter had worked--somewhat--to explain their situation before. They may as well try again.
So they try.
And again.
And again, until Myla stumbles off the couch to settle back-to-back and chat at them soothingly, and they realize they're surrounded by papers they crumpled and destroyed in their intensity to get it just right.
They likely can't. There isn't a just right for this.
They should just be...straightforward. Truthful. Even if it hurts to write. She already struck them with her lack of understanding, what's one more? At least this time they'll be more prepared for it.
For a while, they stop, and listen to Myla wind into a song until they calm.
They buy some fresh paper from Iselda, and, after one more letter, requests she watch Myla for a while.
Stealth is considered, but there's no point.
They call the Stag, and direct him to the Resting Grounds.
There, in a blur, they launch their way up to the top and nearly fling their curled-up paper somewhere in the direction of Seer's dwelling. Their anxiety reaches a peak; they don't even look and see if she's awake, or alone, or anything at all before they spin away and dart to hide beneath the platform.
The Knight has the Dream Nail clenched tight in their paw, ready to disappear back to Dirtmouth in an instant.
They should. They should go--
They wait, to hear if anyone comes out to get it.
2/2
I would never hurt you intentionally. The Lord of Shades in full can be dangerous if you get in the way of me in battle, but I don’t think you’re fool enough to try that. If you are, be aware that is still unlikely.
I have no quarrel with you. I do not wish you harm. If you insult me or choose to attack, I will be displeased but still never strike back.
I am insulted. I am hurt.
I’ve lost many to this kingdom in my time travelling through it. Perhaps I would have been able to call them friends, had they lived. I can only mourn the chances and people I cared for and lost before the Infection ended and there was a chance.
I was grateful for you for rescuing me from the Dream. No-one had rescued me from anything here. None had considered me worth it, if they could consider me at all.
You helped me in steps to save my sibling, and all Hallownest. You stayed where I knew, where I didn’t have to worry before I knew I had enough attachment to this place to know I worried at all. I enjoyed every visit to hear your words, even when I knew I lacked Essence for gifts. You were kind. You were the only one kind to me in these tunnels who I did not fear would turn around and kill me.
In short, I came to care about you. As a person. I still do. I do more than before, now that I'm free to.
The Pale King is dead. The Radiance is dead. Their legacies or crimes deserve no honoring. Restless dreams mean nothing anymore. In significant personal experience, burying an ugly past has never been worth it.
I would prefer allies than any who worship the Shadelord.
I thought you understood this; that I do not want worship, that I am only a person, that I am, in your own words, someone who is benevolent. That I should be seen “as you are”.
But you still requested the god you decided I must be should do something more terrible than simply kill you.
For complete clarity: no. Never. I refuse.
I don’t want you to die for needless punishment for a crime that isn’t even yours. Even if it was, I still wouldn’t.
I don’t want you to die at all. But I can’t stop you without locking you away. I know better than that.
You won’t be the first person I’ve lost here. You aren’t even the first to request to be struck down by me. I refused then as well, and the one later found a life away from the only thing he’d ever thought he knew and could ever have. Perhaps I can introduce you, should you reconsider. I travel to Dirtmouth often. I would be grateful if you were part of the life I’m beginning to build here, but I will respect if you would prefer to never see me again.
If death is the only way you can find peace, then the Knight, the Lord of Shades will not stand in your way, but neither will I help you.
And, while I do not know the feelings of your guests (who I hope you've considered), know surely that at least I will miss you.
If you choose to ignore this, so be it.
I wish I could do more than this.
Goodbye.
Your Wielder,
The Knight
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Time goes on. The Knight settles. Shifts change.
They briefly visit Mato, intent on trying meditiation. He speaks of how the husks have fallen and how grateful he is to see them alive and well. When they come closer, he pats their head for the first time and falls into his own meditation before they can pull out paper.
They sit beside him.
They don’t get much out of it but quiet pleasure and guilt, just being there with him.
He doesn’t look up when they leave.
They vow that next time, they’ll write to him. They will.
The Knight considers their options.
Their time with S--with Belladonna Beneath the Mountain is pored over when they have enough distance and rest. The part where she brushed against their mind, despite no Dream Nail herself and not being from the same substance as they. They tease how it felt apart.
She wasn’t in physical contact. She, again, is no being of Void. But it was still done. Perhaps they can try the same.
They do, at first, in the middle of their own home, only for their Wings to burst free and knock the table right over, starling Myla to awakening. They calm her and themselves quickly, but no, they can’t do it here.
But they can reach their Siblings from a technical distance. They’re attached. They’re in Godhome. And they’re in the Abyss, all at once. It’s worth a try somewhere more private.
On the next shift Cornifer takes, they bow out and head down into the Crossroads.
They trot away from the well’s chain, so anyone suddenly dropping down won’t surprise them. Unlikely, but not impossible. The cargo lifts will do.
They flutter to sit on the uppermost platform and…reach.
It takes several tries. Several uncontrolled spillings of their Shade Wings flaring out from beneath their mask before they give up and let that happen. Several more until they stop accidentally prodding at their Siblings, who are rapidly becoming a mixture of fascinated and annoyed.
But, eventually, a presence rises.
A presence rises and rises and spills over thought and memory and mind itself, blanketing all in a thin coating of nothingness.
Not nothingness. Otherness.
Myla looks down. The floor is black.
…No it’s not. The floor is normal. It just feels that way.
Myla looks down, again, elsewhere. The water is going black, in lacy waves that grow thicker and higher the longer she looks.
Cornifer’s humming cuts off as he sits up.
The Godseekers collectively sigh. Somewhere above, the one that Night calls the Godseeker sings praises she can’t quite make the words out for, but distantly thinks sounds very nice. She has a beautiful voice. Maybe if she ever calms down enough to make real conversation, they can sing something together!
Cornifer is puzzled, looking around. He’s suddenly feeling like he just finished a trek around half the kingdom, though his legs don’t feel the slightest strain when he stretches them.
This is followed by being highly alarmed when the little firebug launches off Myla and starts careening around the room. ”Goodness! Wait a moment, wait!”
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In the curtained shadows of his resting place, the Troupe Master bides his time. A dead Kingdom is in no hurry for the Ritual, and the Ritual is in no hurry for its summoner. The Heart beats the slow and somnolent pulse of the interlude.
Kin pass the meantime steadily, sweeping and checking and double-checking and occasionally pitching small, fiery rehearsals. Until the Ritual is complete, the Troupe idles.
Until it does not.
All at once, every single member of the Grimm Troupe freezes and looks up - at each other, or at the middle distance, suddenly alert. The Nightmare's Heart skips a beat.
And then it thunders. The Troupe Master's eyes snap open, and he vanishes from his perch in a wash of flame.
There is nothing quite like a wake-up call through Dream. There is even less like one from a being that swallowed a god. To have such a thing brush so dangerously close will not stand. The Nightmare's Heart must perpetuate, and for this the threat of extinguishing must be addressed.
Elderbug staggers back in horror as a rush of scarlet flame spears past him and through Dirtmouth, and pitches down the well. At the bottom, Grimm lands in a perfect acrobat's crouch amid a roll of flame and pauses, motionless, for only a moment. The Heart knows: that way. He pushes off, driven by something not quite as mindless as instinct but with all the same force.
The Knight has few warnings in very short succession. The cold, Void-charged air presses up against a sudden bank of warmth from the east passage - and then something beyond there displaces in a snap, in a similar way that it does for a Dream Gate.
A shape bursts from the residual flames just a platform's length away, eyes burning like the embers of the dead Kingdom and wings coiled into a lance-like point, and rushes.
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Relic Seeker Lemm shuffles a foot through the remains of the whole front facade of a desk drawer now lying cracked and detached on the ground. He huffs, calls this one a failure, and moves on to another room. That's the only trouble with Hallownest furniture - it's all warped by damp if it's not taken over by fungus (a more relevant problem the further west one ventures, but that's where the drier stuff is). Drawers stick, doors jam, moving parts no longer fit properly.
The crowbar is pinned back under an arm and out comes the measuring tape. To fit the Knight is one thing, and he knows exactly the height he's got to account for (about the size of a Post-Scydosellan censer), but really he should be fitting these things to the door, too - he didn't take much notice of that at the time, but these things are often standardised and he can make reasonable estimates there as well.
He's lucky his shop was already furnished, he thinks moodily. The desk he's measuring now is too big. The next is more of a bureau but he supposes it could serve as - no, it's too tall to have a hope of finding a chair to match, most of these would virtually need a barstool to begin with...
...Aren't those adjustable? Not a bad idea, but then there's the matter that all the ones he's seen have been fixed to the floor... Right, then, home first for tools, then the nearest fancy bar. Maybe the Glasswing.
Relic Seeker Lemm clanks the lift switch with the crowbar, experimentally, just to see what that feels like. (Bad. Okay. He doesn't know what he expected there other than a flash of oh no what if t breaks. Using his hand next time.)
On the ground floor of the city, Lemm steps out into the rain-soaked street with a tarnished metal hatstand hefted over one shoulder. Thoughts buzzing, he heads towards a footbridge.
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It's an uncomfortable shock after so much time in the Hot Springs' comfort. The cold alone is negligible, but the lack of Soul is far too noticeable.
Void teleportation works better when one can see where they're aiming; they hadn't intended to appear in the City of Tears itself. The gate between City and Fungal Wastes is above, they judge, craning their neck. The Gate can be removed now, they believe? And then through the Wastes as quickly as possible to Deepnest. They don't wish to meet the Mantids like this.
Before they can swarm upward, the Lord of Shades glances down.
And they spot a figure they don't wish to meet here either, albeit for significantly different reasons. (What is he holding? Is that a blade? No, it can't be. They can figure it out later!)
The God of Gods makes a sharp turn to whip behind the nearest tower. Don't look up don't look up don't look up--
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There’s a low chance none of the Mantids sees them travel, and an even lower one that all of Deepnest misses their presence. What matters is that they’re fast enough to keep from any lingering to catch them. Greenhorn’s insistence they move is a mildly frustrating sparkle on the edge of perception. They go with it still.
Even now, the dark maze is is difficult to navigate. There are enough twists and turns that they’re fed up and covered in debris by the time they make it to the Mask Maker.
They’re an alarming sight, all warping shadows and glowing eyes, squirming into their workshop. The Lord of Shades gets a chisel to their face for the trouble, and flick it to skitter across the floor in return.
Despite this, after showing off their two mask-halves, the Mask Maker immediately drops all they’re doing to help.
The Knight learns, uncomfortably, that their mask isn’t just a mask. Well, they knew that, but there’s a difference between knowing and directly seeing. They knew their Shade was contained in that mask, and that they could reform from it. They’d never had a chance to stop and see the near-invisible lines within that crawl out into the Pale King’s glyphs, lain just inside their face.
Hunched in a room they’re drowning in their own darkness, they don’t care for the knowledge.
This dislike doesn’t stop them from working to fix it.
They learn how to properly channel Soul outward. It’s needed for the glyphs the Mask Maker painstakingly carves to work. The Pale King had the reserves to do so naturally; the Lord of Shades needs to share their own deep well with them as they make repairs. Fortunate and surprising, their recent practice with sending thought and emotion helps.
The mask is a mask, container, and seal. They’d unwittingly destroyed containment markings around the neck-hole long ago, leaving them smeared as though doused with acid. (The Mask Maker correctly assumes that part doesn’t need to be redone.)
The rest are necessary as foundation for the mask to repair through Focus, whether Soul-based or Void-based. Miniscule pieces had cracked off with the split, just enough to break the lines too much to repair alone. It reminds them of when their Shade is--was loose and their Soul was left limited.
The Lord of Shades could brute-force it, the Mask Maker considers aloud, but this! This would do better in the long run. They figure out the Knight had done just that some time before. The Lord of Shades dips their head to confirm truth, but there is no elaboration.
It’s likely they’re being uncharitable.
It’s difficult to care. They want the work to be done.
The Lord of Shades melts into the background for a while, coming back to study, help, repair. They listen to details on their mask once came to be; how the runes weren’t originally carved, but formed through spellwork as foundation of the mask, which somehow grew around around a Vessel as it formed.
They don’t know how long it takes. It’s easier to tell time is passing in Deepnest than elsewhere, with Garpedes changing their routes and so noises every so often, but they’re not an accurate measurement. A while.
Eventually, though, the moment comes. The halves are whole.
The Lord of Shades pours into their mask. All of them. The Blue Lake into a single stoppered bottle.
The Knight finally stands up and bows. The Mask Maker's lanky arms twist together in a single clap as they bow back.
They offer Geo; it goes ignored. The Mask Maker is happy to give such aid. The Knight assumes they may want a favor later.
The two of them stand together in silence, each eyehole inscrutable, until they offer a smaller nod and vanish out the exit.
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The Knight steps from the Mask Maker’s workshop directly into a web that wraps around their middle.
Really.
Thankfully for all involved, they aren’t wrapped further. It alerts a Little Weaver that was hidden nearby. They observe each other; after nothing happens, the thread is plucked off, and they’re politely escorted to the Village.
No other options are offered.
Fair enough.
To the Village, to the Den. It seems brighter, somehow. The Knight spends the time travelling puzzling it over. The webbing, they eventually realize, has been cleaned and shines in what little light Deepnest has.
By Herrah, the Knight is bluntly asked about what 'all that' was. They answer that yes, the form was them, and that is what happens when their mask is broken.
They don’t elaborate here either. They’re seen oddly enough as King and Vessel; Seer’s initial response to their Higher Being revelation still encourages keeping it down. And they would prefer avoiding more politics and deals.
They wriggle out of the meeting, almost literally, and pad through the mostly-dark tunnels. Hornet is apparently hunting. Pity. They’ll need to wait longer for her, or come back later, after meeting their other Sibling, who they're told is out and assisting with web repair on the Den’s edge.
Indeed, their tallest Sibling is out of the nest, exactly where Herrah had said.
Kneeling. A trio of Little Weavers hover around them.
The Knight feels an unpleasant rush. They pack it away carefully as they slip across the webbed floors to settle at their side.
They greet them gently, and are surprised when it’s clearly absorbed rather than striking a wall of nothing. They try a little more, apologizing about their lateness. Giving them little bits of information, about Greenpath, about Dirtmouth.
Their tallest Sibling stays a statue.
Slowly, they wind to the fact they visited Lemm.
And that their Sibling did too, didn’t they?
Lemm had questions he’d ask, with permission. They have questions, too, if Sibling might answer--
Concerns about grudges, misunderstandings, shred into nothing as their Sibling--still kneeling, still motionless--tears the link open.
The Hollow Knight rips wall after wall down, flooding the Knight into staggering back even as no others move but Little Weavers skittering away.
It is against their nature, their training, their purpose. But that was the error. The point of failure. They had a façade. They kept it up. They mislead their King. They killed Hallownest by doing so.
They will not do so again. Never.
That wasn’t what they meant--!
The Vessel--the Hollow Knight will give all. Any question for the King’s ally, the Relic Seeker who allowed them shelter. Any truth the King-Sibling-Knight wishes to know, agonizing and terrifying. And there is terror. Fear upon fear upon fear upon fear, mixing and bleeding together, their King is displeased, their Sibling is hurting, they’re afraid, they’re both afraid, this is not what was wanted, they are failing, they’re not a failure, no no no no no STOP.
The Hollow Knight collapses, mask pressing into the floor.
It’s a mercy how soft it is, the Knight thinks hazily, staring from the same position.
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