Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Chapter Text

“Places, everyone!” Grimm snapped his fingers at the waiting performers, who began hurrying out of the dressing room to their marks. “Our audience is arriving!”

The air hummed with excitement as the crowd outside the tent began to grow. The troupe had been in this kingdom for a month, playing a different city every two nights. Tonight, they found themselves on the edge of the kingdom, out by the desert. The towns were small, but the Grimm Carnival was likely the most exciting event these country bumpkins had seen in their lives and they packed into the festival in droves.

They came to spend Geo--lose it, really--on trinkets and snacks, and betting on games like Divine’s wheel of fortune. But more than that, they came to spend magic--even if they didn’t realize they were spending it.

Grimm, and therefore the entire troupe, required that magic to survive. Their preferred method of gathering magical essence--and the only way Grimm had to create a new vessel for himself--could be accomplished only by consuming the nightmares of a dying country. But kingdoms failed perhaps once in a generation. In the meantime, consuming the petty nightmares of the carnival guests would keep the troupe functioning. The power they expended on the carnival show would pale in comparison to the haul of crimson essence they could expect tomorrow.

Pulling aside a red curtain, Grimm stared out at the sea of excited faces. This evening, they would see wondrous sights. Tonight, they would dream terrifying nightmares. He almost felt bad for them...but it was a transaction, after all. They would get a thrill from the troupe’s performance, and the troupe in turn would collect the essence their minds produced. Simple business, nothing more.

He let the curtain swing back. He had to prepare for his act, for the intricate dance of red flame that formed the finale of the show. After the show, he could sit back and relax...Brumm had picked up some of the candied cocoa beetles he liked so much…

Grimm was contemplating that when the door opened and Brumm burst into the room. His mask gave away no emotion, but there was a distinct, flustered air around him. “Master--”

“We have not begun yet. Leave me,” Grimm turned, irritated.

“Well, Master, it’s just…” Brumm wrung his large hands. “Someone has come. For you. She said you’d want to see her.”

Grimm cocked an eyebrow. It was not the first time that an entitled noble or government official had demanded to see the Troupe Master before the performance. He was used to parrying the affection of his overzealous fans. Brumm knew to send them all off at the entrance to the tent. His impressive size was usually enough to intimidate them away. What he was not supposed to do was bother Grimm with the news.

“Send her away. You know what to do.”

“Ah, well, it’s just...I sort of...let her inside already.” Brumm said, very quietly.

The red flame dancing in the candles of the dressing room flared white-hot as Grimm whirled around, fury in his crimson eyes. “You did WHAT?”

Brumm shrank back. “My greatest apologies, Master. I am ashamed. I have never been...overpowered...so easily.”

“She...fought you?” Grimm said incredulously. Brumm was far from the strongest fighter in the troupe--that would be a tie between Grimm’s true form and Divine, he suspected--but he should be able to handle any of the bugs mucking about in this podunk town.

Brumm shook his head. “No, she just...insisted. She kept insisting you’d want to see her, and she sounded so confident, Master. I know you’ve said you don’t care to see any of the audience, but her tone of voice made me doubt myself...and then she just walked past me! I have never seen anything like it. I cannot remove her. Truthfully, I am afraid to face her.”

Grimm had no response to that. Brumm was looking at the ground, and under his mask Grimm suspected his face was as scarlet as the tent. “Well…” Grimm started, “I suppose you should take me to her. I will sort her out.”

Brumm turned wordlessly and led him down a plush hallway, stopping before the door that led to Grimm’s private chambers. Gathering himself, he opened the door.

There were two bugs inside the room. The first was a little shorter than Grimm, and it was a mystery. Grimm had travelled the width and breadth of the mortal world, but he had never seen a bug like that. He couldn’t begin to guess at its species; the giant white horns, the iridescent black carapace, the strange, dark eyesockets through which the creature’s eyes could not actually be seen all baffled him. More peculiar still was that its clothes actually were familiar. It had been centuries since Grimm had seen their like, but they were undeniably the clothes of the old Moth Tribe. Fancy moth clothes, even, with a cloak of deep grass green and a decoration of delicate purple bells.

Grimm was so busy staring at the bizarre creature that he failed to notice the second bug until he heard a loud crunch from the back of the room. His eyes swiveled towards her. Instantly, he knew this was the bug who had so intimidated Brumm.

She was draped languidly over the couch--his couch!--one arm slung lazily across the back and another buried in a bowl of the cocoa beetles Grimm had been saving for after the show. The crunch he’d heard had been her chewing on one of them, and as he watched, she flipped another of the precious beetles into her mouth.

It had been a while since Grimm had felt rage like this. His blood boiled at the sight of the unforgivably arrogant stranger, laying on his couch and eating his food. And then, quite suddenly, his anger grew cold. 

The stranger had looked back at him, showing the dark, heart-shaped black ruff outlining her lamp-lit golden eyes, and the sharp rise of three white horns. His stomach dropped. It couldn’t be...she wouldn’t have… and yet…

“Ah, finally!” Grimm’s sister proclaimed, a familiar smug smile on her face. “My dear brother deigns to honor us with his presence. Little one, come greet your uncle.”

Grimm stuttered, feeling his face grow hot. How long had he run this troupe? How long had he been the master of nightmares, the enigmatic flame of darkness? And yet all she had to do was stroll back into his life and suddenly he was a stammering, confused child again, fluttering about as his more competent sister led the charge. She always did this, and damned if it wasn’t just to piss him off. He tried to gather his thoughts: okay, she was here, she was mortal--something she swore she’d never become--and she had that strange bug in tow, a bug who would refer to him as...uncle?

He searched his brain for the most pertinent of those problems. As the second bug was now rapidly moving toward him, dark arms raised in something like a hug, he thought that particular problem might be the most important. Putting a hand up between him and the approaching stranger, he turned to the Radiance.

“Uncle?” He said incredulously. That would explain the Moth dress, but nothing else. The strange creature in front of him bore no resemblance to his sister whatsoever. Even if it had, the idea of his sister actually mating--and laying an egg--was too disturbing to contemplate.

“This is Luna, my adopted child. Your…” she trailed off, looking quizzically at Luna. “Nephew? Niece?” she said experimentally, and the other bug cocked its head and shrugged. She turned back to Grimm. “Your niece. Your dear, beloved niece, who has come a long distance to meet you.”

“Hello,” said a high, breathy voice behind him. His...niece... had apparently spoken. He detected the faintest hint of a Moth Tribe accent in that strange, thready voice. Curious, as Grimm had rarely seen a creature that less resembled a moth.

Grimm wracked his brains for something to say back. He did not have a sister. He did not want a sister. He certainly did not want his sister’s strange, misbegotten child. But the little creature--Luna--was approaching him again, an air of eagerness surrounding it. Its empty black eyesockets were locked on him, and his words died in his throat.

“Master? The show begins, we need you out there.” Divine’s voice came from behind him, and Grimm had never been so happy to hear her. He whirled around to face Divine. He could disappear into the show, and then send both the interlopers on their way.

“Ah, I have not seen my dear brother perform in years,” came the Radiance’s mellifluous voice. “This will be quite a treat for you, Luna.”

Divine blinked curiously, taking in the scene. Her gaze lingered especially long on Grimm’s sister, lounging on the couch, and Grimm noted the hungry look in her eyes with a sinking feeling. In an instant--for a bug so large, she was so quick--she had pushed past him to stand at the Radiance’s side.

“Why, you never told us you had a sister!” Her voice was lower than usual, and had acquired what was clearly meant to be a sultry edge. She leaned down, her claws sinking into his sister’s fur. “And such a fine specimen she is as well.”

“She was just leaving--” Grimm tried, but Divine gave a mock wail of distress.

“Oh, but you simply must stay!” Divine crowed, leaning even closer to his sister, who looked frankly alarmed by the display. “It’s a dark, cold night out there, and we would never dream of sending the Master’s family out in such a state. Stay for the show, and for the night. We’ll find a place for you.”

At that, the Radiance’s eyes narrowed and her face brightened. She caught sight of Grimm’s stricken expression and gave him an unmistakable wink. “My child and I would love that. Would you be so kind as to show us to the theater, miss…?”

“Divine,” the mantis replied, holding out a claw for his sister. Together, they left the room, Luna giving a tiny little wave as it went. Brumm and Grimm stood in silence for a moment.

“Brumm,” asked Grimm eventually, trying not to sound too hopeful. “Does Divine eat her female mates, or is it just the males?”

“I believe it is just the males. She sometimes asks me to run messages and presents to her former female paramours,” Brumm said uncomfortably. “Oh! You mean...well, don’t worry, sir, Divine would never hurt your sister! I expect they shall get along quite well.”

Grimm groaned. It was going to be a long night indeed.

Chapter Text

Luna had had high hopes for their trip when they had begun, but as the weeks had worn on with no sign of civilization, it had begun to worry. There had been no end to the bland grey dunes, no end to the oppressive darkness, and certainly no sign of its lost sibling. Dia had kept a positive attitude, insisting that a village would appear just over the next dune, or up the next hill, and demanded they continue their search on foot instead of taking to the air. She showed no signs of worry, even as the food supply that Hornet had given them had dwindled, but fear occupied Luna’s mind at the sight of their empty packs. God though she had been, its mother required food to live, and the desert around them held nothing but sand.

At last, the neverending dunes had given way to low scrubland, and soon small settlements began dotting the landscape. They quickly spent the Geo that Hornet had sent with them refilling their food stores, and trying to find maps of the new area.

Dia replenished their Geo stocks by singing on street corners, weaving honey-gold notes through the air as mesmerized passerby dropped Geo in Luna’s open pack. At the sight of their faces, slack with awe, Luna couldn’t help a stab of jealousy. 

In their time wandering the wilderness, Luna had gotten much better at speaking aloud. But its singing was woeful compared to the elegant melodies Dia created, or even compared to other bugs. Once, while Dia had been occupied haggling with a street vendor over the cost of fried crawlid, Luna had attempted to copy her act. But its strangled songs earned it only looks of annoyance, or pity. One concerned butterfly had even asked, very gently, if Luna needed to go to a hospital. 

“I’ve spent aeons of time learning to sing as I do,” Dia had said, when Luna had brought it up. “Most bugs cannot even speak properly, much less sing, until years after their first word. You only learned to speak a few months ago. You must give yourself some time, little one.”

She was right, of course. As much Luna longed to sing beside her, like a moth would, it contented itself with collecting Geo from Dia’s fans. The singing, after all, was only a means to an end. Their true goal was much more important: in every town they passed through, they searched for Luna’s missing sibling. No one yet could remember seeing a tiny creature with white horns and unblinking black eyes, so they crossed off the towns they’d been to on their maps.

A few weeks passed like that, and Dia and Luna slowly made their way along the scrublands, collecting Geo and crossing off towns. But things changed abruptly, as in one village, they passed a large red sign. Dia stepped closer to it, reading aloud.

“Come one, come all to the Grimm Carnival,” she read, a funny little smile building on her lips. She turned to Luna, her eyes alight with mischief. “What do you think, little one? We’ve been working hard, perhaps we could take a break.”

Luna had no idea what a carnival was, but found itself intrigued by Dia’s obvious delight, so it nodded, and they set off in the direction the signs pointed to. The carnival, which was one town over, turned out to be a bright, noisy affair. A collection of large scarlet tents--with doors horribly fashioned to look like screaming mouths--crouched over the dark scrublands. Interspersed between the tents were brightly lit stalls selling food and objects that looked curiously like bugs made of fabric.

“Oh, those are dolls,” Dia had said when Luna asked about them. “Fun little things for children. You play games to win them. Would you like to try?” Luna nodded, so Dia pulled some Geo from her pack and motioned Luna over to the nearest stall. Here, carnival-goers threw tiny darts at scarlet balloons, and whoever popped one got to choose one of the ‘dolls’. Luna dropped its Geo onto the table and took a dart.

The game had seemed absurdly easy--Luna was a Knight of Hallownest, surely it could pop a few balloons at close range--but whatever it did, the darts only seemed to bounce off. “Ah, too bad,” said the masked bug behind the counter. “Not your lucky day, then.”

Luna looked around. It didn’t seem to be anyone’s lucky day. Though the stalls were full of bugs spending their Geo to play the games, none of them seemed to be winning the prizes offered. It felt a flash of anger at that--surely something unsavory was going on?--but Dia smiled and held out another handful of Geo. “More darts for the child,” she said sweetly to the attendant.

Luna knew her well enough to know that Dia didn’t speak in such saccharine tones unless she was up to something, and it was correct. The next time Luna threw a dart, a tiny nail made of light appeared in the air just behind the balloon, popping it. The masked bug jumped. Clearly, he hadn’t been expecting anyone to be successful. As Luna popped more and more of them (aided by Dia’s light nails) he began to eye Dia suspiciously. But he could not catch her in the cheat, so once all the balloons were popped, he spread his arms and said in a booming voice: “A winner after all! You have your choice of prizes, young one!”

After deliberating for a few moments, Luna chose a scarlet spider from the shelf above the booth. The attendant handed it to Dia, who smiled pleasantly at him, the kind of expression Dia often referred to as a ‘shit-eating grin’. As they walked away, Dia handed it the stuffed spider. It was unbelievably soft, like the pillows in the Moth houses, and Luna hugged it close. 

“What will you name it?” 

Luna considered that. “....Bee?” 

Dia chuckled at that, then nodded her head towards the largest of the ghoulish red tents. “The main show begins here. It should be quite a sight. And, if I am not much mistaken, one of the performers will be of great interest to us.” Luna cocked its head, and she continued. “You recall my brother Grimm? This is his establishment. We shall meet him here, if it would please you to do so.”

Grimm? Luna remembered the name, and was surprised it had failed to make the connection. It nodded enthusiastically. Of course Luna wanted to meet Dia’s family! The moths it had adored so much, but never met… surely Grimm would be glad to see them, too. So they entered the tent.

A massive black bug with a red ruff stood at the entrance, taking tickets. Dia pushed to the head of the line and addressed him airly. “Excuse me. We are here to see Troupe Master Grimm.”

The bug looked up at her. “You will see him in the final act. If you have tickets.”

Dia smiled sweetly again. “Ah, perhaps you misunderstood. We wish to greet him before the show. I think you’ll find that he will very much want to meet us.” The ticket-taker stuttered out an objection, but Dia plowed on as though he hadn’t spoken. “We can see ourselves to his room, if you’ll be so kind as to point the way...” She leaned forward until she towered over the other bug, her feathery bulk casting him in dark shadow.

The ticket-taker paused. He was an unusually large bug, but not nearly as large as Dia, and Luna could tell he was not used to being so physically outmatched. He hesitated, and under his mask Luna saw his eyes flick nervously down a dark, roped-off corridor. Dia noticed it too.

“Ah, so it’s down that way! Thank you for your assistance!” The ticket-taker sputtered, but Dia was already pushing past him, down the corridor. He waved his arms after her in a helpless sort of way, looking as though he had been hit by some kind of feathery steamroller. Luna stepped past him as well, giving what it hoped was an apologetic wave.

They walked to the end of the hall, to where an ornate scarlet door sat, with a sign reading ‘NO ENTRANCE.’ Dia, taking no notice of the sign at all, flung the door open.

The room, richly furnished in plush red fabrics, was empty. Dia sighed. “Well, we’ll just wait for him. At least there’s snacks.” Without another word, she flopped down onto a soft red couch. A bowl of shiny brown beetles sat beside it, and she flipped one into her mouth. “My brother’s favorite. Care to try one?” Luna shook its head. While it did enjoy eating--the sensations were quite exciting--it felt very strange to simply help itself to a stranger’s food.

And then the door opened and two bugs entered. The first was the nervous ticket-taker. The second was a tall, thin bug that Dia identified as Grimm.

Grimm was nothing like Luna had imagined. Luna had assumed he would look like his sister, soft, beautiful,  and fluffy, or at the very least like one of the Moth Tribe. But Grimm had an unpleasant, sharp look about him, not unlike the way Luna had looked as the Pure Vessel. While his face somewhat resembled Dia’s--the same heart-shaped patch, the same almond-shaped eyes--his eyes glowed not a soft white-gold but an eerie scarlet. He had no ruff, or feathers, but a somewhat tattered looking black-and-scarlet cloak. Instead of looking comforting, as moth clothing did, the whole effect was somewhat menacing.

What was more unsettling was the way he acted. Luna had assumed he would be happy to see his long-lost sister. On the contrary, there was obvious hostility between the two siblings. The display made Luna extremely uncomfortable to watch, and worried it: Luna dearly hoped that this was not an omen for how its own quest for its sibling would turn out.

Grimm paid very little attention to Luna. He seemed uncomfortable with the concept of a new family member. Luna’s attempt to speak to him, to perhaps bridge the gap between him and his sister, was interrupted by the appearance of a bug called Divine.

Divine was far more demonstrative than Grimm had been, and she seemed curiously delighted by the two of them--particularly by Dia. Luna was mystified by it, but Divine’s arrival at least broke up some of the tension in the room. And then Luna was following Dia and Divine out, giving a quick goodbye to its new uncle.

Divine led them into a massive room--the tent was so much bigger inside than it had looked--filled with bugs that sat in elevated chairs at the edges of a large clearing. With Dia’s hand clutched between her claws, Divine led them to a row of deep red seats right at the edge of the clearing, and they sat down.

“The performers are in the middle, and we watch them from here,” Dia whispered, leaning over. Luna nodded; this concept of a carnival was very strange but it thought it was getting the hang of it. They waited for a few minutes as more bugs filed into the seats around them. Dia dimmed the light atop her staff, and then, curiously, removed a sliver of wood from the outside of it.

Luna was just about to ask what she was doing when the lights abruptly went out. The clearing in the middle of the tent filled with a rich crimson fog, billowing out from the center. There was a gasp from the audience as Grimm appeared in the middle with a flourish of his black cloak.

“Welcome, friends,” he began, his voice magically magnified to fill the whole tent. “Tonight, you will witness marvels. We ask that you sit back, and relax, and we thank you for being our guests.” He disappeared with another swish of his cloak. Out of the fog, three smaller bugs appeared, all masked and cloaked in red. Luna clapped with delight as they conjured red fireballs from the air and began to juggle them, weaving intricate patterns in the air.

Luna looked over to see if Dia was enjoying the show, but while her eyes were fixed on the performers, her hands were working on something in her lap. It was the long sliver of whispering wood. She was working it over, twining it around itself, bending it until it formed a small circle. Then, she reached into her cloak, pulling out a long grey feather. This, too, she wrung out, pulling it until it became a simple grey thread. She took the thread and began to weave it back and forth over the little wooden circle. Luna wanted to ask what was going on, but it seemed rude to talk during the show.

In any case, the performance was too interesting to be distracted from for long. The fire jugglers were replaced by daring acrobats, who swooped high above the audience on ropes, eliciting cheers and screams from the watching bugs. Luna clapped as the performers dove in and out of flaming rings, sailing through the air. After a while, the acrobats bowed to the audience, and disappeared.

The lights dimmed again, and a low, menacing drumroll began. Luna looked around for the source of the noise, but could see only scarlet fog. A wild, flapping sound filled the air, as if something was flying around them, unseen. The audience gasped, and Luna could feel the tension in the room mount. Beside it, Luna heard Dia sigh. “Always so damn dramatic.”

Grimm appeared again in a rustle of silk, but this time he did not speak. Instead, he opened his cloak, and three fiery creatures flew out. They swooped towards the audience, drawing panicked screams before bursting harmlessly into brilliant streaks of color. Immediately, Grimm was moving, darting forward in a haze of flame as sinister music rose from somewhere within the tent. He whirled and lept in time to the song, trailing scarlet flame.

It was a dance, an elegant, graceful dance of fire and silk, and it was captivating. The audience was enraptured, with the same awestruck look Luna had seen on the faces of those who watched Dia sing. The two acts, though they could not have been more different, held the same power: Grimm simply did with his body what Dia did with her voice.

And it struck Luna, for the first time, that while its mother and uncle were in mortal forms, they were still gods. Their power, their divinity, bled from them as they performed, showing mortal bugs glimpses of the world beyond the physical. No wonder Luna could not emulate Dia’s singing: it was not just music, but something more. Something magical.

The dance was over too quickly, and Grimm bowed and disappeared again as the lights rose.

Chapter Text

It had been a long, long time since Dia had seen her brother perform and truthfully she had missed it. The dance had been better, of course, in the dream. Here, confined by the mundane physics of the mortal world, he was slower and less artistic in his movements. Still. It was nice.

Upon leaving the theater, she extricated herself from Divine with some difficulty. The woman clearly had a particular idea for how the night should go, and Dia understood well enough what it was. Dia had never had any sort of...physical relationship, so to speak, since she had only recently acquired a physical body. But enough bugs dreamt of such encounters that she felt she understood the basics of how it worked. It wasn’t a terrible idea, per se, especially since she suspected that a liaison with one of his staff would annoy Grimm to no end. 

But she didn’t want to leave Luna alone for the night here, and she had business to take care of. She fended the other woman’s affections off by reinstating how tired she was, how long she had travelled, how she simply must stay with her little one. Divine, who had been doing her best to shoo the child away, grumbled at that.

At last, Divine conceded to showing them to a private room they could stay in for the night. It was a small room that looked as though it was being used to store props from the show, but it was warm and cozy. Better than the sandy ground they’d slept on the past few months.

As Divine left for her own tent--looking thoroughly disappointed--Dia pulled bolts of red cloth from the cabinets and arranged them on the floor as a makeshift bed. Luna sat down, stretching.

“That woman...I feel as though she wants something from you,” it said, a little warily.

Dia laughed. If even Luna noticed, then Divine really wasn’t being subtle. “She may. I wouldn’t worry about it. How was your night?”

Luna twirled its fingers. “I...I did have fun. The show was amazing! I just...thought Grimm would be happier to see us...I mean, you.”

“Oh, Luna, I’m sorry,” Dia sighed. She’d been so focused on reuniting with her brother that she hadn’t really thought how he might react to Luna. “That’s my fault entirely. We parted a long time ago on...not good terms. Truthfully, it was a little impulsive for me to just show up here. And I didn’t give him any time to prepare for you. He...isn’t actually that fond of surprises.” The look of shock on his face had given her a petty thrill of triumph. But poor Luna must have seen it quite differently.

“Let us speak to him again in the morning, after he’s had some time to think. I believe he can help us in our quest to find your lost sibling. He’s travelled so far, he must have some idea of where we can look.” She stroked Luna’s horns, and the child nodded, looking less distressed. It had pulled the stuffed spider--Bee, she reminded herself--from its cloak and was holding it tightly.

“Before you fall asleep, I must give you this,” she said, pulling from her ruff the wooden wheel she had made during the show and passing it to Luna.

“What is this? It looks like one of the ornaments in the Moth villages.” Luna took the charm, turning it over in its hands. It was a simple circle of wood, with a grey thread wound through it.

“A dreamwheel. Moths used them to keep away nightmares.” Dia hesitated, uncertain of how much to reveal.

“Nightmares? Those things you said Grimm was god of?”

“Ah...I suppose you’ve never had one, have you? The Pale King kept you from dreaming, and you would only have good dreams around me…” She wondered how to explain the concept to a bug who had never experienced it. “The realm of Nightmare is just like the realm of Dream. But, where dreams are happy manifestations of the subconscious, nightmares are...frightening. Unpleasant. Since Grimm was the god of nightmares, I suspect it is very easy to drift into one here. The dreamwheel will protect you from that. ”

Luna cocked its head. “Why would Grimm make people have bad dreams? That sounds awful!”

“Ah, well…” Truthfully she had no answer to that. It had been the subject of many arguments between the two of them, in the past. But there was no need to bring that up to the child. “It’s the nature of the world that good and bad things exist side by side. But there’s no need to experience nightmares, so long as you have a dreamwheel.” She pinned the wheel to the wall above the bed, and Luna laid down gingerly, eyes flicking nervously up to it. But it had been a long, busy night, and the bed was so much softer than the ground they’d been lying on recently, and it wasn’t long before the child was asleep.

Dia sat back on her haunches, closing her eyes. She did not need to sleep, and did not think she would, but a moment’s rest wouldn’t hurt. She let her mind wander a bit towards the dream. Still, she had work to do while Luna slept, and she opened her eyes.

Luna was sprawled out before her, cloak open to reveal a gaping dark hole in its iridescent carapace. Its head was cocked back at an unnatural angle and its eye sockets stared blankly at nothing. For all her love, for all her sacrifice, the child was dead…

She gasped, jerking awake. Luna was cuddled up on the blankets, Bee clutched to its chest, whole and alive. Telltale crimson essence fluttered around the edges of her vision, and she swatted at it furiously. 

So that was how it was. The carnival existed to harvest nightmare essence, and its pull was so strong that it cast nightmare into the mind of even the goddess of dreams herself. Or...the former goddess.

Suddenly worried, her eyes jerked towards the dreamwheel. But it spun lazily on its cord, a faint shimmer of golden essence dripping down from it. Just to be sure, she reached out a hand to Luna’s forehead and entered its mind. In its thoughts, her child soared on black wings over golden clouds. A dream, not a nightmare. She sighed with relief, grateful that she’d thought to create the dreamwheel.

At that, she stood. She could put this off no longer, she had to speak to her brother.

Dia walked silently down the halls inside the tent, lost in thought. If she was being honest with herself, she really had been foolish just to show up here with no warning. She had set herself up for failure with this reunion. Or perhaps it had been doomed to fail from the start.

The memories of the last time she and her brother had spoken came, unbidden, to her mind. He had just made himself mortal, and she was furious. Furious that he was neglecting his duties. Furious that he might die. Furious that he was...leaving her. The conversation had started poorly and went downhill from there, until both of them had said things that should never, ever have been said. Cruel things that could never be taken back. Things that had broken them.

But now they were both here, in the mortal world. Now she had committed sins far graver than any she had once accused him of. Now, she needed his help. She needed to find a way to fix their relationship. Dia stopped before the ornate red door, gathered her courage, and entered.

Grimm was awake, waiting for her, as she knew he would be. He sat at one end of a long metal table, and gestured her to the seat on the other side. “I suppose this talk has been a long time coming,” he said softly.

She sat down. “I suppose it has.”

Chapter Text

Dia sat down gingerly, still not knowing what to expect. The memory of their last, horrible conversation perched in the back of her mind. She was very worried that this conversation could go the same way, if she came on too strong or said the wrong thing. The trouble with that thought was that it made her nervous to say anything at all, so they sat in a painfully awkward silence for a while.

At last, Grimm leaned back in his chair, arms folded tightly and a sour expression on his face. “Nothing to say to me?” he asked, his voice tense. “No comments on how much poorer my dance has become in a mortal body? No criticisms on the company I keep? I would have at least expected some sort of holier-than-thou rebuke of how evil it is that I harvest nightmares–”

Dia almost laughed at those words, but the laugh came out wrong, strangled, halfway between a chuckle and a sob. She covered her mouth and quickly looked away, but Grimm’s scarlet eyes had widened and he was watching her intensely. Before he could ask what was wrong, she shook her head and said softly: “Brother, I fear I can’t offer you that. Whatever my feelings on your methods…my cruelty now far eclipses your own.”

That got his attention. Dia paused, still looking away. She did not want to tell this story. She did not want to…admit the things she had done, did not want to say them aloud. It had been so long since she had been the Old Light, the scourge of Hallownest. She had put so much distance between herself and those horrible deeds that she could almost forget that she had done them. Almost.

But…she needed her brother’s help. Dia couldn’t be certain that what she was telling him would endear him to her, but she knew she should not lie to him. So, voice shaking, she told him of all the things that had occurred in their homeland since he had left. The arrival of the Pale King, and the creation of Hallownest. The loss of the Moth Tribe, still such a sharp wound even after so many years. Her terrible, unforgivable vengeance, and the price she had paid for it. The child, her child, brought back to life by the Void, and their quest for its sibling.

Grimm watched her silently, his beautiful crimson eyes unreadable, and as she talked she wondered what his judgement would be. Strangely, the more she spoke, the less it mattered. The act of speaking her dark history aloud was in its own way cathartic, the confession unburdening her in a way she didn’t quite understand. By the time she finished, she felt almost dizzy, as though she had been flying in circles for ages and had only just landed on solid ground.

They sat in silence again until a sudden scraping noise made Dia look up. Grimm had pushed the bowl of cocoa beetles across the table to her, and he gestured to it somewhat nervously. “Have a beetle.”

Surprised, she took one. Truthfully, the cocoa beetles were a bit rich for her. But, it was the first gift her brother had offered her in centuries, and it felt rude to refuse. Especially since she had already eaten quite a few of them earlier.

The delicate beetle crunched in her mouth as Grimm closed his eyes, head in his hands. It struck her suddenly how old he was. She had always thought of him as a child, but he was not.

“Sister…Dia. If I…if I had known…” he began.

“But you didn’t,” she whispered. “How could you have? I pushed you away. When the crisis started…I could have called for you. But I didn’t. That was my fault.”

“Still. The idea that such horrible things were happening, and I didn’t know…” he trailed off. “That you were in so much danger…or that you had lost the moths. I know how much they meant to you. I’m sorry.” His scarlet eyes met hers, and for a second, they were family again.

Dia looked away, swallowing painfully. “Thank you. But…nothing that happened to me justifies what I did.”

To her surprise, and annoyance, Grimm chuckled at that. “Does this make me the holier-than-thou goodie-two-wings now, and you the evil delinquent sibling?”

Fixing him in a withering gaze, she snapped “It isn’t a joke, Grimm! People died!”

He laughed even harder at that. “I guess you still have the moral upper hand, then, or maybe just the stiff upper lip.”

She glared at him for a moment, then sighed, a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. “You’re still such a little shit.”

When he had stopped laughing, Grimm leaned back in his chair, thoughtfully crunching on a cocoa beetle. “Something you’ve said…does concern me, sister.”

Dia was about to say that everything she had said was concerning, but the expression on his face had turned darkly serious, so she let him continue speaking. “You used the same ritual I did to attain mortal form, yes? And then you said you used the same spell that you once used to dispel the Lord of Shades, the obliterating light? How many times did you use it?”

“I powered it up three times, and discharged it once,” she answered, with a dark feeling that she knew where the line of questioning was going.

Grimm’s eyes got large and he jerked forward. “Three times?” he hissed, voice low and horrified.

“I needed to,” she replied defensively. “The first time the Wyrm and his minions appeared poised to kill Luna. The second and third, I was surrounded by his army, and believed it the only way to stop him. No other spell would have had the power!”

“Be that as it may…” Grimm’s voice had a nasty edge to it, but he didn’t seem hostile–more worried. “Be that as it may, you are not a god anymore. You can’t just do things because they need to happen. You have limits now! I don’t think you realize–”

“I do realize,” she interrupted softly. This, at last, was what she had needed Grimm’s help with, his expertise. There was no one else in the world who knew more about becoming mortal. No one else who might understand the problem she now faced. “Brother, may I show you something?”

A pained expression crossed his face, as though he already knew what it was, but Grimm nodded. Dia opened her cloak, pulling her ruff up to reveal her chitinous underbelly. She had been careful, these last few months, to avoid letting Luna see.

The chitin, so pale that it was almost translucent, was shot through with a pattern of delicate cracks from which a gleaming gold light spilled like blood. As she watched, one of the cracks spread, carving its way up towards her neck.

Grimm cursed under his breath. “What have you done to yourself?” he hissed out, running one finger along the wound. The golden light pulsed around his claws.

“It formed after the battle. No method of healing seems to affect it, and it continues to grow even though I’ve abstained from magic or flight.” She paused. “How…how long do I have?”

He sighed. “It’s hard to say. I’ve never let myself get this bad.” She was about to say something rude about that, but Grimm held up his hand. “If you don’t use magic, and I mean any magic, even just flight…maybe eight months. But you’ve burned through this form. The dream heart—the piece of your divinity you took with you into the mortal realm—is tearing right through this construct you made at a pace I’ve never seen. You’ll need a new body, and quickly.”

Dia hissed. It was worse news than she had thought. “So another ritual, then? But I don’t have another statue to use–”

“You can’t use one anyway. That’s how to give a god a mortal body. You’re mortal now, so a different ritual is required.” There was something in his voice, something in the way he didn’t meet her eyes, that she didn’t quite care for. Something cagey. 

“How?” She wasn’t certain she wanted to know.

“Well, since you don’t need nightmare essence, we won’t need a dying kingdom. The dreams of a living populace will suffice. But you’ll…have to make a new vessel.” He said it gingerly, carefully, but the word still crackled around them like fire.

“No.”

Grimm jerked his head like he’d been struck. He still wouldn’t meet her eyes. “It’s not the same thing. The vessels I use–they aren’t real. They’re made from a charm I created. They don’t have any sort of consciousness–they don’t even know when the nightmare heart enters their bodies. And then it’s my body.”

“No!” she hissed desperately. Horror was dawning on her face. She could see it in his pained expression, hear it in his defensive voice, but she couldn’t help it. This was how her brother had survived all these years? Dia could not stop the images in her mind, the hollow-eyed children she had seen in Luna’s memories, and the thought of…inhabiting one of them, occupying that empty space, filled her with disgust. The Pale King had claimed his children had no consciousness either...as he'd pushed one from the side of the catwalk above the Abyss, as he'd chained Luna to the armor inside the temple to meet his most dreaded enemy...

She could not stop the image in her mind of one of the Vessels, its eyes glowing gold with her own inner fire as she pushed her mind inside it. Hollow, right? A nice hollow space for me to live...?  She shook her head, shoving the image away. "No, I can't!"

“Fine, then! Die, if death is so much more ethical!” Grimm spat at her, turning on his heel. 

She blinked back orange tears, staring at the tense outline of his back. This was how too many of their conversations had gone, in the last few centuries of their relationship. Grimm, unable to cultivate power from dreams as she did, excitedly showing her his ability with nightmares instead. Her, violently against anything that would cause difficulty for the Moth Tribe. Him, accusing her of choosing them over him…

Him, a few decades later, telling her that he was leaving her for good…

“Grimm, I…” Dia struggled to find the words to fix this. If she…if she only had eight months left on the earth, she did not want to spend them at odds with her little brother. “I’m sorry, Grimm. I’m not saying you’re wrong. I’m not…I’m not trying to judge you. I don’t have the right.” Grimm turned his head towards her slightly. “I just…I can’t.”

She sighed deeply, feeling so unbearably helpless. “Is there…no other way?”

For a horrible minute, he did not answer, and she worried that they had once again gone over the line of no return. But finally, his shoulders drooped. Grimm turned back towards her. He did not meet her eyes, but he took her hand with surprising tenderness.

“I’ve been all over this world, but there are places even I haven’t been. Places with gods of their own, magic I don’t want to trouble with. There are legends…of a place called Pharloom, where anything broken can be repaired, where any wish can be granted. I won’t lie to you. It’s dangerous, and I don’t know if the rumors are true.” He took a long, shaking breath. “But if you don’t want to use a vessel, it’s your next best bet. Who knows, you may even find this lost child of yours there.”

Dia closed her eyes tightly, and without really thinking about it, pulled Grimm into a rough hug. For a second, he was stiff and unmoving. But something between them seemed to crumble away at last, and her brother leaned into her embrace for the first time in centuries.

Chapter Text

POV your brother just said something monumentally stupid but you’re trying to make up with him and be a better person you’re trying so hard

Chapter Text

The carnival, so mysterious and eerie in the nighttime, seemed shabby and drab in the daylight. The fiery crimson tents were packed away into dull red caravans, trundling over the gray sands, and the masked workers muttered and yawned as they drove their stags onward.

They’d beat a hasty retreat from the town the moment morning came, and Dia thought she knew why. The first screams of the nightmare-ridden had begun even before the morning bell, and Dia suspected it wouldn’t be long before the whole town was awake, comparing notes about last night’s dreams and coming after Grimm’s troupe with torches and pitchforks. But Grimm, no stranger to the fickle love of his fans, was already well on the road.

The trip to Pharloom was long. Winding desert roads took them through little towns and scattered cities, but Grimm kept his promise. Despite the mounting confusion of his staff, he made no effort to stop the carnival at any of them, driving the carts at a breakneck pace towards the only kingdom he knew that may have a cure for Dia. She…she was touched by it. Or she would have been, if her little brother hadn’t also taken every opportunity to remind her how much money and essence she was costing him, insinuating snidely that she had a mounting bill that would have to be paid back some day. Finally tired of his nonsense, Dia decided in a fit of pique to take Divine up on her incessant requests for, as Luna put it, ‘something strange.’

With Luna busy minding the stags–two large, friendly beasts of burden that were happy to give the troupe master’s young niece free rides around the desert–Divine treated Dia to a surprisingly elegant candlelit dinner of roasted crawlid, followed by several hours of something Dia had only previously seen in the dreams of lovelorn female moths. The coupling was quite a bit more enjoyable than she had anticipated, but more delightful still was the ashen expression Grimm had made when he’d seen her leaving the mantis’s tent the following morning. 

Divine had not said a word about the golden cracks appearing under Dia’s ruff, though her white eyes had trailed over them silently. Dia felt those eyes on her the next morning, with Divine seeming uncharacteristically subdued. Perhaps, after so long in service to the Nightmare King, the mantis knew what that wound meant. Perhaps not. Dia had no desire to interrogate it–discussing her imminent death once had been painful enough, and she hoped to put it to the back of her mind for as long as possible. Thankfully, Divine seemed to understand that.

It was almost a disappointment when the gates of Pharloom appeared on them. The past weeks had felt like a strange dream–a dream in which Dia had a brother again, a child, a…a home, even if that home was a mishmash of drab red tents trundling over the desert. She’d grown used to the carnival folk, had gotten used to having Grimm around despite his ceaseless whining, and had even grown a little fond of Divine. She’d…she’d gotten used to the idea of having a family around her again, a people, and now it would be just her and Luna journeying once again into danger and the unknown.

But the cracks had spread even further in the time it had taken to reach Pharloom. She could not tally here. Nor could she deny Luna its reunion with its own sibling, when she had just made up with Grimm.

Stepping up to the stone archway, she raised the lamp on her staff. The light illuminated a broad, imposing gate–an impressive structure, clearly meant to pass dozens of bugs at once. But the cavern was empty, with a lonely, dusty look to it that spoke of disuse.

Dia cocked an eyebrow. “Are you certain this is the right place? It doesn’t look as though anyone’s been here in a century.”

Grimm gave a huff of annoyance, gesturing to the ground. She lowered her staff, and sure enough, she could see hundreds of clawprints–some old, some very fresh. “While Pharloom isn’t the epicenter of trade it used to be, it’s hardly abandoned. Hundreds of pilgrims come here every year, seeking this ‘heavenly’ Citadel at its peak–a place where, if the stories are to be believed, any affliction can be healed and any wish can be granted.” 

He was looking at Dia as he spoke, but quickly flicked his gaze to Luna. “Your missing sibling may have gone there. No home, no name, no sense of identity–places like the Citadel call to such people. And even if it is not there, perhaps the Citadel may help you find it.”

Luna nodded. Its face didn’t–couldn’t–change, but it was bouncing on the balls of its feet and wringing its hands, clear signs it was excited. “I would like to meet these people! They’re spiritual, like the Moths, right? I bet they’ll help us!”

Dia gave the child an indulgent smile, but Grimm sighed theatrically. “Where did you find this creature, sister dear?” He ignored the glare she shot him as he turned to address Luna. 

“My sister’s late children were spiritual—to a fault, perhaps. And unlike the object of their worship, they were pacifists,” Grimm extolled, sweeping a hand towards Dia. “If rumors are to be believed, the denizens of the Citadel are most certainly not. Pilgrims are drawn to that gilded place for its storied power, but the tales I have heard say most are slaughtered along the way. The Citadel guards its secrets most jealously, and few are judged worthy to enter. Those that fall along the way litter a deadly path to the top. You would be wise to keep a tight grip on that nail, o knight of Hallownest, and not lose your head to romantic notions.”

Luna’s stiff mask betrayed no emotion, but its hands went abruptly still, and the little bounce in its heels ceased instantly. Beside it, Dia bristled—but abruptly, her anger at Grimm’s rudeness cooled as she came to a horrible realization. Something, she thought, she should have realized much earlier, would normally have realized much earlier, had the last few weeks not been so safe and care-free. But Grimm’s dire warning had reminded her.

Pharloom was dangerous. How dangerous, she did not know. But she did know that she could no longer afford to fight.

Beneath her cloak, she could feel her heart thud against her shell—a heart that was half mortal, half divine, a heart that pumped blood and essence both. Every beat cracked her mortal shell just a little bit more.

And if she raised her staff to defend them…even the smallest spell…

She remembered well that last fight against the King. The crushing weight in her chest as the obliterating light had spread—and that pain had not quite abated afterwards, no matter what she did. Even the tiny light nails she had used at the carnival had made her heart stutter; it had been all she could do to keep a smile on her face when Luna looked her way.

But there would be no way to avoid using magic in Pharloom—she couldn’t leave Luna alone to defend them both. Not without a good explanation, anyway, and what possible explanation did a god have for such flagrant disregard for her duty?

She stared at the claw prints in the dirt below them. Grimm’s warning had turned them ominous, and she could not help but imagine the hundreds of bugs who had come here over the years, who had died on the trek. That would be her, she knew, if she used her power.

But the alternative…she could not visualize telling Luna about the wound. If no cure existed at the Citadel’s peak, then…well. Then that was it. Mortality had come for her, crushing in its finality. It had come because the Pale King had used his own child as a trap to snare her, and it had come because she had willingly given up her godhood for that same child. It had come, in other words, because of Luna—a fact that would be obvious to the child no matter how carefully she gave it the news of her condition.

She couldn’t—couldn’t make herself. If instead she were to fall on the trail ahead…to make it appear to be the result of her own blunder, and no error of the child’s, perhaps…

A god’s first and final duty was to protect her people. Of her once great tribe, only one remained, and she would protect her last charge with all that she had. Protect the child, even from the truth…

“And you, sister.” Dia looked up, startled out of her dark thoughts. “I know you love nothing more than to put on a show. But your desire to one-up everyone around you would prove your undoing in Pharloom. This country has its own gods, and if they see you here, dazzling the locals with those ridiculous light shows of yours, they’ll come for you hard and fast.” His voice was biting, his gestures grandiose, but when his eyes met hers there was a second of stillness that told her he knew exactly what she’d been thinking. “No magic, sister. I forbid it.”

Dia blinked at him, temporarily staggered. She could kiss him. But, mindful of Luna’s gaze on them, she drew herself up to her full height and glared down at Grimm indignantly. 

“You forbid it? Forbid me from using my own magic? When we are about to depart for a dangerous, unknown kingdom? What gives you the right?”

“That power of yours is far too flashy,” Grimm answered. “You’ll call every god and monster in Pharloom down on your heads; get yourself killed and your child to boot.” He turned to Luna. “Listen, little bug. If your fool of a mother starts playing with fire while you’re in Pharloom, remind her that she’s risking both your lives.”

Luna squirmed uncomfortably, but Grimm clapped it on the shoulder, pulling it close. “Now, your…magic, or whatever it is, seems almost designed to pass unnoticed. Even when you cast my sister’s fireworks, the Void inside you works like a lampshade to hide the power expended. You must be responsible for protecting the both of you in this land.”

“I—I was a Knight of Hallownest!” Luna nodded quickly, gripping its nail. “Don’t worry, mother. I’m sure I can protect us both.”

Dia smiled despite herself. “I’m sure you’re right, little one.” She turned back to Grimm. There was something…something warm in her chest now, lighter and gentler that the heart that still hammered against her thorax. Her brother had grown so mature since she’d seen him last, so unexpectedly kind…

“And you can leave your Geo with me,” Grimm said dryly. The warm feeling disappeared instantly.

“Like hell we will,” Dia replied. “We’ll need every piece we have if this place is as dangerous as you say—“

“You’ll need money, but you’ll have to make it anew.” Grimm answered. “I’ve heard they don’t use Geo in this country. They’re so…spiritual…that they use rosary beads as payment.”

“Absurd. Everyone uses Geo.” Truthfully, Dia didn’t actually know. She had only begun using money at all last year, and the concept was still a little foreign. But she’d worked hard to earn that Geo, and she was at loathe to part with it. 

The singing had been a play of desperation, as neither her nor Luna had any modern skills or solid ways of making money. She’d seen a little band of bugs playing songs in one of the small towns they’d passed, though, and while it had seemed painfully beneath her—a god, begging on street corners, if the Pale King could see her now—she’d at last tried it, motivated by the gnawing hunger in the belly of her mortal form.

Almost instantly, it had worked. People had stopped walking when the song began, crossed roads, jostled to the front of the crowd to catch the notes. Perhaps there was a little bit of the dream realm left in her voice, just as Grimm’s dance carried the memory of the Nightmare King he had once been. She'd seen it in the eyes of the crowd  as they watched her, a golden sheen reflecting there from somewhere far away. Her onlookers had moved only to toss Geo in a sack dutifully held by Luna.

“Need I remind you that you owe me? I have hundreds of Geo in lost wages to pay my workers after we failed to stop in a dozen towns on the way here. That won’t even touch all the magic we’ve lost, ferrying you here.” Grimm’s haughty voice cut over her memories.

She was about to say something cross about that—he’d made that choice to save her life, after all—but thought better of it. Instead, she handed him the Geo sack.

“I understand you have obligations. And…I appreciate you putting them on hold for us. You can have all of this…and if we survive this, I’ll even sing in your silly little show, how’s that?”

Grimm made a show of considering it, but Dia wasn’t fooled—he’d heard her song before. He could guess the effect it had on mortal minds, and the crowds it would bring in.

“But I need one more favor from you.” Grimm hissed. “Don’t be that way, Grimm! On the grave of our old home stands the Queendom of Hallownest. I want you to go there and tell the new monarch where we are, and what we’re doing.”

Grimm made a gesture as if to shoo her away, but Dia shook her head. “The Queen—Hornet—is Luna’s half sister. If something should happen to…one of us, during the journey, Hornet should know. “

Grimm held her gaze for a moment, then sighed. “Fine. Fine! I’ll find your queenly bee—“

“She’s a spider—“ Luna started.

“I’ve just about had it with your biological family,” Grimm snapped, looking exasperated. He turned to Dia, pulling her close, and lowered his voice so Luna couldn’t hear. “I’ll return here. Before…before eight months pass. Make that time longer, not shorter, understand?”

She swallowed thickly, and nodded. Grimm let her go, and then, in a desperately awkward sort of way, reached down to hug Luna. He let go very quickly, stepped back, and bowed.

“I wish you two luck. May you reach that glorious Citadel, and tame it as you tamed the gods of Hallownest. I…” he paused, his eyes on Dia. “I look forward to the tales of your pilgrimage.”

With a sweep of his black cloak and a flash of red smoke, he was gone.

Dia sighed, raising the light level of her staff, illuminating the eerie footprints in a gentle gold glow. Perhaps she could use the staff as a club, if need be. Or buy a nail in Pharloom, and ask Luna to teach her the Knight’s art. Magic had made her shell weak, but her mortal muscle was still strong. 

She would do whatever had to be done to reach the Citadel.

“Ready, little one?” She extended a claw to Luna, who took it nervously.

Beneath the great gate, they passed into Pharloom, their feet sinking into the footprints of all the pilgrims who had come before.

Chapter Text

“Not a very warm welcome, is it?” Dia muttered, as they crossed the lonely bridge past the gate. Chains swung ominously past them, and in the darkness below, Dia’s glowing eyes could just make out the shapes of metal cages hanging from them.

Cages large enough for a person, empty as of yet. She shuddered.

“I wonder how far from the top we are—“ Luna began—but stopped abruptly, and Dia looked down in horror at the stones beneath their feet.

One of Luna’s black claws had caught on something, a thread so fine that even her eyes could barely perceive it. A thread stretched from one side of the bridge to the other, just at ankle height…

Dia had spent enough time in the dreams of the Mantis tribe to recognize a trap.

She had just enough time to pull Luna back before the string sprung to life with a will of its own, winding around Luna’s body. The horrid thing made as if to pierce the child’s shell—Dia even heard a terrifying crunch—but as it did, a thin tendril of Void slashed out, slicing the thread away. Luna fell hard on its side, still entangled.

As it did, a roar sounded from above, a roar that shook the stone and rattled every chitin plate in Dia’s body—a roar that chilled her, because she knew instinctively it had come from no mortal bug. Something else had made it, something older and fiercer, something not unlike what she had once been. Grimm had warned them of this, but somehow they’d stumbled into the gaze of Pharloom’s deity right as they’d entered the kingdom. 

She ran to Luna, pulling at the threads that bound it. While they no longer seemed alive—the Void, perhaps, had severed them from their life source—they were tough and sticky. As she pulled desperately at them, she heard multiple thuds behind her and whirled around.

A group of flying bugs had alighted on the bridge from above. Their clothes were of fine make, elegant in gold and white, but each had a hood pulled over its face that gave the group an eerie, menacing look. More menacing still were the weapons in their hands–not the steel nails of Hallownest, but thin golden weapons with dazzlingly sharp points.

“Wait!” Dia raised both hands, a little desperately. “We aren’t–we meant no trespass! We’re travellers, we’re looking for our lost kin–”

She had never been in this position. Never been at the mercy of another, never knelt on the ground as a blade was raised above her, begging for mercy. A part of her roiled in horror at how far she had fallen, begged her to fight back no matter what the cost to herself–

–but the pain in her chest reminded her that she could no longer afford to pay the cost of her pride. So she knelt, desperately, hands up in supplication, as the Moth Tribe must once have knelt before the Pale King.

And, just as then, it did not work.

The first of the veiled bugs charged towards her as though she had not spoken; as though she had attacked. They screamed…something…at her, but even with the many languages Dia spoke, it was gibberish. Too late, Dia’s sharp eyes caught the delicate wires arching out from the veiled bugs’ backs. Like leashes…or puppet strings.

Dia pushed herself out of the way just as the first bug’s weapon slashed right through the space she had been kneeling in. Luna, who had been struggling to reach its nail, gave a remarkably un-hollow shriek of terror, and Dia had the sudden absurd thought that she wished the Pale King had been there to hear it.

But there was no time for that nonsense–the other bugs were closing fast, circling them in a pincer motion. Their voices may have been gibberish, but clearly some kind of mind drove them, keeping their skills and tactics sharp. Dia hurried to her feet, using her staff to block the sharp weapon before landing a crushing blow on the veiled bug that sent it backward into the cavern wall with a sharp crunch of chitin.

“Mother! I can’t reach my nail!’ Luna was still wriggling in the tight bonds of the strange thread–thread that suddenly looked far more ominous to Dia’s eyes. She needed to get it off Luna as quickly as possible, before it could do to Luna what it had done to the poor bastards in the veils. But she could hardly do that while under attack.

“Leave the nail! Use magic!” Dia roared over the clang of her staff impacting another bug’s armor. “Anything you can, just blast them!”

“I can’t aim like this–” Luna started, but broke off a lucky shot from one of the veiled bugs sent Dia stumbling backwards, clutching her side.

“Doesn’t…doesn’t matter,” Dia panted. “Just magic. Any magic!”

From the ground, Luna nodded. White threads still bound its arms, bowing its horned mask to its chest. In that position, Luna would only be able to guess at where any spell it cast was going–so Dia hurriedly backed away. The veiled bugs pulled in close, ready to press the attack–

Three soullight globes shimmered into existence in the air: one directly over the veiled bugs, one between the two groups, and one very ominously over Dia’s head. The dreamlight, caged in its spun-soul spheres, pulsed uncertainly for a second. Then all hell broke loose as the three of them shot off in three different directions.

One impacted the cavern wall, making an extraordinary, sonorous noise, like the bells in the Resting Grounds but hundreds of times larger. One plowed through the crowd of veiled bugs, snapping the thin threads controlling the bugs and annihilating everything in its path. The last–the one over Dia’s head–shot forward and down, into the stones of the bridge itself. There was a tiny second when Dia thought that nothing would happen…but that ended quickly, as a bang echoed across the cavern and red-hot cracks shot through the bridge. The stones beneath Dia’s claws dissolved, and suddenly they were falling through space.

Every instinct screamed at her to fly. She had flown before she could walk—she had flown before she’d had legs. The cavern floor was rushing up to meet them with alarming speed, and Luna’s wings were failing to materialize through the threads. 

But her wings glittered with essence, pulling her closer to the dream, and if she used them here they would pull her closer to death as well. Instead, she pulled Luna towards her as they fell, angling her body so she would hit first. Her mortal form was weak only to her own magic. She had a good chance of surviving…

oOo

There was nothing, and then there was the world, and then there was Her. She did not yet have a form, was not yet a moth. She was just the light, and She looked out over a blank sea of gray nothing.

It was empty now, but even then, moments after Her creation, She saw what it could be. Golden light, softness, peace, warmth. A feeling, more than a place.

She felt–or perceived–something tugging at her. From below the gray, the Void rose. Grasping tendrils pulled their way up to Her until they faced each other, the old darkness and the newborn light. She was not afraid, then. She had no reason to fear Her mother. Not yet.

The Void parted, the non-existence vanishing to reveal existence, another new creation. 

It was a heart. She had never seen one—one had never existed before—but She knew instinctively what the object was. It was smooth and pale gold, made of curved planes folding improbably into each other, beating in perfect harmony, pulsing light. The Void reached for Her—

—and it occurred to her, suddenly, that She had never given her consent. Not for the power the heart carried, or the awful responsibility it implied. But the Void was not one to ask for permission—not to destroy, not to create. It had no mouth to speak the question, and no mind to conceive it. It had action alone—

—and that action burned, scalded, tore, as the heart became part of Her, as the newborn light became the Radiance. She screamed, and the whole world screamed with Her—

“Mother! Please, please, wake up!”

Tugging hands and a breathy voice in Her ear woke the Radiance. She struggled groggily, uncertainly swaying on Her…Her arms? Why did she..?

“You were clutching at your chest and screaming,” the voice continued. “Did you get hit there?”

Hit? No, no…She had been blessed, honored, the Void had graced Her with a power beyond mortal bugs. It had been more traumatic than She had remembered, but perhaps that was a privilege afforded by time and distance…

Time…

Time…She blinked down at her wings. Her hands…her hands, in the dirt. Mortal hands, grasping not at the dream but the ground.

Right. She was no longer the Radiance…she was Dia now. She’d been caught in something not quite a dream—more like a memory, probably brought on by the pain in her chest. It had been a long time since she’d thought of the day of her birth, the agony of the dream heart. She shook her head, trying to clear the unpleasant recollections, and struggled to her feet.

Luna gave an unnecessary shriek of protest as she did. It was immediately apparent upon trying to stand that the wound on Dia’s chest was no longer the only thing wrong with her. A lightning bolt of pain shot through her leg, and she crumpled to the ground. Pulling aside her cloak, she hissed: her left leg was snapped in two, the pale chitin crumpled and awash with glittering orange blood.

“Oh, that’s not supposed to look like that,” Dia muttered, prodding the wound with a finger.

“I’m so sorry! It’s all my fault,” Luna wailed. “I didn’t mean to hit the bridge—and I tried to pull out my wings but I couldn’t get that thread off, and—“

“Stop. Child, you saved our lives. Besides, I told you to cast the spell.” Dia set a hand on Luna’s, trying to breathe through the pain. “As long as you’re not injured—“

Her eyes, which had been searching the mossy cavern they had fallen into, caught sight of a long black smear across a sharp rock nearby. Luna followed her gaze sheepishly.

“I landed a little rough,” Luna said, answering her unspoken question. “But I healed myself with magic like Hornet taught me, so I’m fine! Maybe…you could…just a little magic wouldn’t hurt, right?”

“No!” The suddenness in Dia’s answer shocked them both, so she pulled back, trying to keep her voice level. “We’ve already caught the eye of these creatures. Breaking the bridge and dropping us here was probably a good thing—it pulled us from their sight again. But we’ve lost the element of surprise. We must be extra careful now.”

Thinking back to the way the strange, puppet-like guards had lunged at her, Dia almost believed it herself. They had attacked so deliberately, so…maliciously, and she could not shake the feeling that some greater mind had been watching her through their eyes.

Had that creature, the puppet-master, guessed what Dia was? Gods, as a rule, had little love for each other. She knew that from experience.

“No magic. We still have plenty of those silk bandages Hornet packed for us. I’ll make use of those.”

Luna gave a tiny grumble of dissatisfaction—another sound Dia would have paid good Geo for the Pale King to hear—but got up, searching for their bags amongst the moss.

“Mother?” Luna’s voice was soft as it rummaged through the leaves. “Those bugs… I didn’t get a good look at them, but the way they acted…”

“Yes?”

Luna was silent for a moment. “They were Infected, weren’t they?”

Dia hissed sharply. Of course Luna had seen the Infected—of course the King would have shown it the Radiance’s victims, would have wanted the Pure Vessel to know the nature of the monster it would be slaying. Did Luna know how many Dia had taken with her plague? 

Did Dia, even?

“Yes. In a manner of speaking,” Dia said at last, through gritted mandibles. “They’re not… they’re not mine. They’re not dreaming—it’s more like they’re being directly controlled by that thread, like puppets. I don’t…I’ve never encountered a being capable of that…”

Luna seemed satisfied by that, nodding as it sat down beside her. Its long black claws straightened her leg with an exquisite gentleness, as though it was caring for its elderly mother and not the genocidal scourge of Hallownest. “I’m sorry. I…we’ve never talked about it before, I know things were more complicated than Father told me…”

Luna trailed off glumly as it set her leg, and Dia reached out a hand to gently cup its mask. “No, little one. You have a right to ask. The fault was mine, as was the…the cruelty. We creatures who call ourselves ‘gods’…our duty is to use our strength to protect mortals. But too often, we forget that. I forgot that. I hurt bugs weaker than I because of my grudge with your father. It…it was inexcusable.” She swallowed uncomfortably. Nothing she said seemed enough to make up for what she had done—not when she was talking to Grimm, and certainly not now. Kneeling at the mercy of the Infected mob had shaken her in a way she had never expected…but then, she had never seen that power from the perspective of a victim.

She was going to have to get used to it, though. With the remains of her magic unusable, in this foreign land, with its foreign god…

“The bugs that attacked us are being manipulated by a higher being. I’m sure of it,” she continued, as Luna began to wrap her leg. The pain dulled as the magic written into Hornet’s silk bandages seeped into her shell. “I just wish I knew who. I’ve never seen power like that in all my travels. That strange thread, it’s almost familiar, but—“

And then her eyes fell on the white bandages, on a trailing thread falling off the edge—a thread so fine and translucent she could barely see it. She wondered why she hadn’t thought of it before, and slapped her forehead in annoyance. Luna looked up, alarmed.

“Weaver silk!” Dia pulled more of the bandages from the package, tugging at the threads. Sure enough, they were nearly identical to the mysterious threads that had bound Luna. “It was Weaver silk! I’m a fool for not seeing it right away!”

“Weavers? Like…like Hornet’s people?” Luna sounded apprehensive as it looked down at the bandages. “In Deepnest?”

“Well…not exactly. Not all the ‘Nesters were Weavers…” Dia frowned, struggling to remember. “The Nest was the realm of spiders and centipedes for eons. The Weavers were a tribe of refugees from…elsewhere. I…I don’t know where they came from, or exactly when, but they merged with the Nest’s ruling family…”

She could kick herself. She could travel back in time, back to when she was a careless god, and kick her legless idiot self. Her memories of Deepnest were…hazy, at best. She knew the Weavers were not native, that they carried a powerful Silk-based magic…but that was all. Where they had come from, why they had left, the nature of their magic…all a mystery to her. 

It wasn’t as if Deepnest had been hidden from her, like the nameless tribe or the White Palace. She had just found its people unpalatable, preferring to spend her time and energy with the Moth Tribe instead. If she had paid the spiders even a crumb of that attention, she may have seen the thread for what it was right away. 

Now that she thought of it, she even remembered Grimm mentioning the new tribe of Weavers when they arrived, the interesting nature of their nightmares…but she had not wanted to encourage his cultivation of nightmares in those days, and she had not listened. Grimm had doubtlessly not made the connection between Pharloom and the Weavers, but the information he had seen in their nightmares could help her here—had she not carelessly brushed it off.

Oh, she could really kick herself. That idiot goddess of old, cocky and assured of her power, was going to get Dia and Luna killed.

She was about to say something to that effect when a voice startled her. The voice was not the enraged gibberish of the silken Infected, but an old woman, hobbling towards them. 

“Oho, you’re alive after all, then,” the hooded woman chirped, sounding as though she wouldn’t really have cared either way. “Quite a tumble you two took—I thought I’d be coming here to collect more bodies for the cemetery. But you look a bit hardier than the average pilgrim, so you best be on your way to the camp—“

The woman broke off suddenly, her eyes going wide. Dia noted her gaze—noted the way it lingered over Luna. First quizzically, then hungrily. Dia’s breath caught in her chest, and her claws tightened on Luna’s arm. Before them, the old woman had taken a slow step forward.

“You said there’s a pilgrim’s camp nearby? Excellent. We thank you for the advice.” Dia’s voice was clipped and sharp, snapping the woman out of her trance. Chancing a glance around, she could see the telltale smoke of distant campfires over the ridge behind her, and the rise of tentpoles. “We’ll be on our way, then.”

Luna blinked at her in shock as she grabbed her staff, struggling painfully to her feet. “Mother, you’re injured, shouldn’t we—?”

“Yes, yes, what an awful wound,” the woman said quickly. “You can’t walk to camp on that, staff or no. I have a chapel that’s only feet from here, with a bed and plenty of supplies—“

Luna seemed relieved, but Dia quickly shook her head. “I would never dream of putting you out in such a way, not an old bug like you, living out here all alone. It’s far better that I seek treatment in the camp.” She pretended not to notice the flash of annoyance on the woman’s face, and turned to Luna. “Child, go to that campsite and see if they have a healer who will see me, and a few large bugs to help me reach camp on this bad leg. I’ll stay here.”

Luna opened its mandibles to protest, but she held up a claw. “I’ll be fine here, child. Let two old crones wait together; I’m sure we’ll find something to talk about while you’re gone.”

Luna seemed dissatisfied with that, but did not argue further. It turned and hurried down the path to camp. As it departed, the woman’s shoulders slumped.

“Truly, dear,” she said. “You wouldn’t be putting me out. Caring for living pilgrims isn’t typically my duty, but I have medicine a’ plenty stocked up. And…I was wondering about that little friend of yours. What kind of bug is that, precisely?”

Dia’s mandibles cracked, baring her fangs. With a grunt of pain, she shifted most of her weight to her uninjured leg and raised her staff. The globe at its top glowed a sickly orange as she swung it between them, drawing a line of sparks in the air like a warding spell.

“That’s no business of yours, witch,” she snarled. “You stay the hell away from that child or I’ll boil you in your shell.”

The woman’s eyes widened again as she hobbled backwards. “No offense meant, dear. I only thought—“

“I know  what you thought,” Dia spat. “I know what you are. Void worshipper!”

There was a strange pause, like a heartbeat, and then the snail’s eyes narrowed. “My goodness. My goodness! Hundreds of pilgrims have passed through these grounds, and never have I been called out as such. I had thought that no one remembered my family. But who are you, carrying that Void-construct around and knowing so much that you should not?”

Her eyes met Dia’s, suddenly appraising, and Dia felt the absurd urge to hide, to cover herself—but it was too late, because the snail’s shoulders were shaking with laughter.

“No. No. It…it’s you. How…? No, no, it doesn’t matter, it’s better if I don’t know,” the snail said, waving a hand airily as she choked back more laughter. “Oho, this…this is extraordinary. How the mighty have fallen. The Radiance, plucked from heaven’s peak, bleeding in the dirt at my doorstep like a common bug.”

Dia’s chitin burned with rage, and…was this shame? She had never felt its like before. Guilt, she was no stranger to, but this feeling, this awful, cringing feeling, was new. Even in the final battle before the Pale King, she had felt his equal; powerful; diminished but still a threat, still an old god of Hallownest. Now…

She doused the flame of that emotion, halting the tram of thought. She was an old god of Hallownest, even in a foreign kingdom, and this was her ancient enemy. An enemy that was a dire threat to Luna until proven otherwise.

“You and your tribe…I thought you all dead, victims of your own vile magic,” Dia muttered. “How did you survive? What are you doing here? Are you working with the creature that attacked us above?”

To her surprise, the snail shaman laughed. “So many questions. You waste your breath, false god. You should sit down before that leg fails you.”

Dia snarled again at that, but she could not deny the scarlet agony tracing upward from her broken leg, no matter how little of her weight she put on it. She would not sit, but she did lower her staff. As she eased it back to the ground, Dia tried to hide how much she was leaning on it. Tried, and failed, apparently.

“That’s it. Not so easy, are they, the demands of the flesh?” The snail’s eye didn’t leave her as Dia leaned against her staff, panting with effort. “You’ve got a higher pain tolerance than most bugs—or maybe you’re just more stubborn. But you’re one of us now, all the same. Do you hunger? Tire? Does it ever make you desperate, desperate enough to do something foolish or cruel, to fill your belly or sleep on a warm bed?”

Dia had nothing to say to that. The snail did not seem to mind her silence, and sat down on a moss-covered rock while she continued to speak. 

“How did I survive? Why am I here? Same question, really. When my tribe’s great work with the Void failed so spectacularly, those of us that could run did. Oh, I was younger then, faster, and my tribe bred our own steeds down in the dark of the Abyss that carried my family and I away. We ran for our lives—and decades later, the Weavers used those same tracks to flee in the opposite direction. Funny how that works.”

“Your great work? Is that really what you call it? You’re mad, you…” Dia’s grip tightened on her staff, remembering the path of destruction the Lord of Shades had cut up Halllownest, the death left in its wake. After she had banished it, the land left behind had been gray and featureless; not even the shells of most of its victims had remained to bury. It had been years before plants had begun to grow in the blighted areas, and places like the Crossroads had never fully recovered. “You took my creator—our creator—and you corrupted it! You made the progenitor of all life into a monster that devours it instead! And for what? The beast you created could have laid waste to the entire world! Were you really that thoughtless? Or just so full of hatred for other bugs that you didn’t care how much you might destroy?”

The force of Dia’s rage had shaken her, and she wobbled unsteadily against her staff—a staff that now glowed a deep, violent orange like the blisters of an infected corpse. The snail shaman was silent for another moment, as though considering. And then, bizarrely, she laughed again.

“Oh, you are nothing like I pictured you,” she gasped at last. “Nothing at all. To think I would be admonished by the Radiance—like being dressed down by my mother for stealing candy. But for all your righteous anger, did you ever really ask yourself why we practiced our own form of magic, free from the dream? We wanted to control the Void because it was the only source of power that didn’t come with a god attached. With strings, see?” The shaman reached a hand out to Dia, who nearly swatted it away—but the woman was only pulling out a thread tangled in Dia’s ruff. Weaver silk.

“We wanted what mortals aren’t permitted, not with your kind around. Freedom. Not a brief lifetime groveling under a ‘higher being’ that’s absent at best.”

“Absent? I—“ A protest had formed automatically on her tongue but withered quickly. Had she not just been lamenting her lack of care towards the spiders? She had paid even less mind to the nameless tribe, until their actions had stolen her attention by force. Still…

“You…you rebuked me,” Dia muttered at last. “Your rituals pushed me further and further from your dreams…”

“Your prying eyes, yes, once we had begun our work,” snapped the snail, sounding angry for the first time. “And the honeyed promises offered in the dream world, dashed when we awoke. We weren’t strong of claw, like the Mantis Tribe or the Hive, who owned the most prized territory in the land and held it by force—but nor were we your precious Moths, allowed to live high in Crystal Peak on the strength of their god’s favor alone. We dreamt of golden light…and awoke to crawling darkness and endless tunnels. It was enough to drive some mad, and we had to protect ourselves.”

Dia’s breath seemed to stop. Never, never had she thought…the dream was meant to be a hopeful place, a respite from the waking world, but…

“Not to mention your dread brother. You allowed him to run roughshod over the land, giving the Moth Tribe alone the means to protect themselves. Where was our protection, from the screaming terrors he spun? Who would keep us safe from that burning light, both red and gold?” The snail paused. “The answer came to us in the dark.”

“So malleable it was. So ready to create, to be shaped—and we saw a future there. I admit we were hasty! We were foolish, and we went too far, too fast. We destroyed ourselves, and, oh yes, Old Light, we unleashed a monster. But know that it was never our intention. We didn’t seek our own destruction, nor that of that Mantis Tribe, or the Hive…or even your precious Moth Tribe. The only one we wanted to kill was you.”

The words hit Dia like a sledgehammer to the chest, and she stumbled back, nearly losing her grip on the staff. This wasn’t…no, no, it couldn’t be, it didn’t make sense. She hadn’t been the scourge then, the monster; she had not excelled at godhood but she had failed this badly…

“But you beat us twice over, it seems,” said the snail, continuing blithely despite Dia’s descent into panic. “Those of us that fled all saw your light show from miles away, felt the death of our great Void construct…the Old Light triumphed again. And now, here, you show up with the Void in tow…clinging to you, tending to your wounds, calling ‘mother.’ It’s almost funny. After all our efforts, you were the one to tame the mindless darkness.”

It took Dia, shattered as she was, time to process those words. When she did, they filled her with a chilly anger.

Anger had never felt cold to her before. Always burning, burning, a captive sun in her chest ready to blaze against her target. This new emotion was so icy she felt nearly locked in place.

“That is my child you speak of. I did not tame it—I raised it,” she whispered, her voice soft and strangely level. “And you—and any of your tribe who remain here—will stay away from it, or I promise you that I will finish the work the Lord of Shades began on you when you unleashed it.”

The shaman gasped suddenly, and her eyes were wide with real fear this time—but she wasn’t looking at Dia, but behind her. Dia didn’t have to turn to see. She knew the god-shadow, the last remnant of the Radiance’s form, was cast against the wall behind her, knew its eyes were open and staring; pits of fire that promised a dream of unending pain.

She knew it because her heart had skipped several beats, because the pain in her chest had doubled. She knew it because she had used magic.

Grimm was going to be so mad. But it was worth it, if the Void cult kept their corrupting hands from Luna.

The snail was backing up, nearly tripping over her cloak, when Dia heard a clatter coming up the road. Quickly, she extinguished the spell, sagging against her staff.

“Mother!” Luna called out, hurrying up the path. “It took a while, but I found someone to help!”

Walking with it—scarcely needing to hurry to keep pace with Luna on her long legs—was a wasp. She had the clear markings of a soldier—cracked and scarred shell, a set of ring-like weapons on her limbs. But she bowed when she approached, her voice light and surprisingly gentle.

“Woman-Wielding-Staff. I am Shakra-Wirlding-Rings. Your child asked me to bring you safely to the campsite.” Her dark eyes traced Dia’s body apprehensively. “Your child did not lie when it spoke of the largeness of your form. I had hoped to carry you, but the task may be beyond me. Can you walk, with assistance?”

“Yes. Thank you.” Dia nodded quickly, and Shakra hooked herself below Dia’s arm on her bad side as Luna took the staff.

“Lean on me. I will be your leg, madam,” Shakra intoned, her voice a strangely comforting rumble against Dia’s side. She nodded, and two began an ungainly but serviceable hobble towards the campfires ahead.

Dia chanced a look back. The snail shaman stood frozen where Dia had left her—frozen over a pool of luminescent orange blood, framed by a splash of black Void. 

There was something about the image that turned Dia’s stomach, something…. She could not help but feel that it was an omen, somehow.

(Little one), she said. It was rare that they spoke telepathically these days, not with Luna so good now at speaking aloud, but Shakra could not be party to this.

(What is it?) Luna’s head tilted up slightly, but the ex-Pure Vessel was still good at concealing its reactions in public.

(We may be at camp for a while I heal. While we are…) Dia wondered how to phrase it, where to draw the line between honesty and protection. (While we are, I’d like you to stay away from that woman. She’s…)

(She’s a Void worshipper, isn’t she?) Luna said suddenly, and now it was Dia’s turn to conceal a reaction. (The way she looked at me…and the Void I left behind on the rock. It reminded me of the scientists in father’s laboratory. The way they…stared.) 

Luna’s voice gave an unpleasant little catch at that, and cold anger reared again. (I was thinking about it as I ran to camp, and then I thought about what you said about the snails…well, it just made sense.)

Dia’s eyes closed against Shakra’s head. She had been so worried about protecting Luna’s innocence…but sometimes it was easy to forget that the Pure Vessel had already been through so much. 

(Clever child. I’m so proud of you.)

The last words slipped out without much thought, and hardly seemed relevant; but she meant them so she felt no need to comment further. Luna fell silent as they walked, until the pilgrim’s camp at last came into view.

Chapter Text

Miles away, in a place that could not have been more different from the shabby campsite—a soaring palace with spotless white walls, rich furnishings, and intricate steel scrollwork—Hornet sat at her father’s desk and wished she could be anywhere else in the world. 

Her desk, she reminded herself. Not his. She’d taken it from his office—and that room was still his, sealed off and empty. She’d tried to take it over, at first—it was the monarch’s suite, after all, it belonged to her by right. But there’d been too much of her father there to remove; from the awful stone plinth in the bedroom that resisted all her efforts to weave a silk nest over it, to the Void-cursed buzzing of that damn obstacle course outside the window, to that…statue of her sibling, silent and impassive in the corner. Its empty eyes haunted her, and when she received final word from the palace staff that it could not be removed, she threw in the towel completely and relocated to a suite of rooms once used by the White Lady.

She’d taken the desk, though, because it was a symbol of her father’s power and she needed every one of those she could get. Not to mention, the broad white surface was good for holding the increasingly large pile of papers she had to deal with.

At the top of today’s pile was a broad green leaf with the White Lady’s delicate, graceful handwriting. Hornet didn’t need to read it to know what it would say—the White Lady had sent many such missives since Hornet had taken the throne. She asked, as always, that the Queen’s Gardens be offered sovereignty from Hallownest’s rule. It was an impossible request, and they both knew it—but the White Lady was backed into a corner, attempting to break Hornet down. 

Below the leaf was a letter printed on spider silk from Zoshah, chief of Hornet’s Devouts. She apologized for the Devouts’ lack of progress in infiltrating the Queen’s Gardens. They had managed to smuggle a group of Weaverlings through the thorns surrounding the Gardens, which had managed to send back only a few hazy images before being choked to death by white roots, or skewered by Dreyya. There had been no definitive sign of the Pale King.

Without which, of course, Hornet could not justify aggressive action against the Queen’s Gardens. With a huff of frustration, Hornet tossed both missives in the trash. 

But below were even worse letters, written on stone or silk from the City of Tears. Hornet had once yearned for the day when she could break the capitol’s stranglehold on Hallownest’s resources, when she could reapportion food and supplies back towards Deepnest and the Hive. But the reforms she’d put in place at the start of her reign had faced fast, vitriolic pushback from the wealthy bugs from the City and the nobles of the Pale Court. 

They were already inclined to dislike her. Pale daughter she might be, but she was a daughter of the Beast as well, of Deepnest; Hornet had grown up listening to the jabs and snide remarks of courtiers implying that she was too beastly for Hallownest no matter who her father was. Now, with the Pale King gone and Hornet’s new trade policies draining their coffers, they no longer bothered to imply. 

Every newspaper in the City openly questioned her authority, her right to rule, even her basic knowledge of Hallownest. The mercantile and trade guilds fought her on every position, every minuscule law or statute. Never mind that she had managed Deepnest as a steward for years, successfully pulling the Queendom through a near-famine under Hallownest’s oppressive rule. Never mind that she had been raised in both the White Palace and the Hive, tutored by the finest scholars in the kingdom—held to the Pale King’s exacting standards so that his half-breed daughter didn’t embarrass him.

No, the King’s daughter and final remaining heir must continue to prove herself, time and time again; must remain constantly on her toes as ministers half her age tried to deliberately confuse her or catch her in mistakes. She must be polite and courteous even as they questioned her intelligence to her face, lest she prove herself too beastly to run a civilized kingdom like Hallownest. 

She would abandon it, would throw caution to the winds and impose her own will upon the bastards if not for one thing: even with the King gone, she lacked the military might.

Hornet had the Devouts, of course, peerless fighters whose lives were sworn to her. But their numbers had always been few, and had dwindled even further during her father’s rule. When she had plotted to overthrow the Pale King and usurp the throne, Hornet had always imagined taking control of his true power: his invincible army of Kingsmolds, a contingent of soldiers that felt neither pain nor fear. Her father had used them to rule Hallownest with an iron claw, and with them, her rule would have been secure.

But the Lord of Shades had…destroyed, or subsumed, the Kingsmolds. Hornet had journeyed to the Void many times afterwards to find it strangely placid, and the only conclusion she could draw was that her father’s work had been undone. She was on her own to defend her claim to Hallownest’s throne.

Unfortunate, desperately so, because she was far from the only power in Hallownest. The lowest letter in the pile—printed on the heaviest stone, as if to spite her—was from the Master of the Soul Sanctum, and she dreaded reading it. 

Hornet remembered, months ago, telling the Radiance—no, telling Dia—about the Soul Master’s complaints, and how she had brushed him off so rudely. The god—the woman, Hornet must stop thinking this way—had cackled with laughter at Hornet’s bravado. It was unexpected—the White Lady or Queen Vespa would have disapproved, naturally, and father would have been furious—and Hornet could not deny how the sound of Dia’s approval had warmed her, no matter how much she tried.

But in retrospect, she could admit her early cavalier attitude had been foolish. Even though soul magic had seemingly been extinguished in Hallownest, the Soul Sanctum warriors remained powerful fighters, skilled with the nail despite the loss of their magical enhancements. The sanctum’s academics were far more popular among the city’s elite than she, and they had Deepnest beat in a measure of sheer numbers. It would be important…

It would be important, if Hallownest came to a civil war.

It had been unthinkable, even a few months ago, but the situation had deteriorated significantly. Hornet had vastly underestimated the rage of wealthy bugs, denied even a crumb of that which  they believed was theirs by right. Geo, soul, territory…any attempt on her part to return some of it to the original tribes of Hallownest was met with increasing rage.

She found herself indecisive. Should she send envoys to the Hive, risking drawing them into war as well? Queen Vespa had passed decades ago, and her replacement was not as friendly to Deepnest…. The Mantis Tribe had been forced to surrender their weapons years ago after the Royal Waterways had expanded into their territory, starting a riot…but if she supplied them with Deepnest needles…

Hornet buried her head in her hands, alone at her father’s desk, and tried not to feel as though she was drowning in the man’s legacy; one tiny scarlet sailboat sinking below a vast white wave.

Fuck.

She could take it no longer. Hornet understood now why her father had created a secret path out of the castle; even why he had filled it with traps and blades. She needed to be away from people, away from eyes and expectations, and if she could climb and run and slash until her head was empty and her arms were burning, all the better.

Hornet moved to push the heavy stone tablet from the desk, eagerly anticipating the satisfying crash it would make on father’s spotless white floor, but stopped.

She’d thought it was the last thing in the pile, but she was wrong. Tucked beneath the heavy blue stone had been a thin letter, which caught her eye because it was red.

Nothing in the palace was red. Red was Deepnest’s color, and Hornet had worn it proudly when she’d been brought to the palace as a child—only to learn, quickly, that it marked her out as a low-born beast, a backwards creature of the dark beyond Hallownest. The Pale Court wore spotless white, shining silver, or sometimes the melancholy blue of the City of Tears. All were emblems of the King’s triumph over base nature, leading Hallownest to its glorious future of magic and learning—or so Hornet’s tutors told her.

But the letter on her desk was as red as her cloak—darker, even, so much that it seemed to stain the delicate white of the desk. Her claws snatched it up, tearing it open.

Inside was a flowing script so ornate it could  have been written by the White Lady herself, save for the faint sulfuric odor it carried.

“The Grimm Carnival presents its inaugural show in Hallownest. Three nights of extraordinary performances for all audiences, live in the Crossroads.” Below, a handwritten note read: “My dear Queen, as Troupe Master, it would be my honor to invite you to our performance personally. Come see me in your grand palace to discuss.—Grimm”

Hornet sat back, staring at the note. It was disrespectful. It was beyond disrespectful. A carnival worker, trying to shill their outfit by hiding an invite in the Queen’s own correspondences? Inviting her to meet them in her own palace? It was unbelievable. It was nearly a capital offense. It was…

…a little impressive, truly.

Hornet tilted the red letter this way and that in the light, trying to imagine how the Pale King would respond to this. He’d have this sorry upstart thrown in the dungeons, the carnival banished. Even the White Lady, who had more of a sense of humor than her husband, would have sent them away from the palace with a firm lecture about proper channels.

Making up her mind, Hornet leapt to her feet and stalked down the hallways of the White Palace, towards the front hall. She wasn’t sure if this Troupe Master Grimm would still be there—it had been a while since the stack of letters had been delivered, after all. But she needn’t have worried, as it happened. The sounds of an argument reached her as soon as she descended to the first floor.

“—are you certain you gave her the letter? We’ve been waiting—“

“She received your letter, sir,” one of Hornet’s attendings replied. “If the Queen cared for your company she would—“

“Troupe Master Grimm, I presume,” Hornet said loudly, making the attendant jump. She nodded to him. “Thank you for your diligence. I do have business with this bug, if you would be so kind as to step out.”

She was trying hard to be polite to the few palace guards and attendants that actually supported her. No sense in alienating her few allies at the White Palace. 

After the attendant had bowed and left the room, she turned back to Grimm. He was…as unusual as his letter promised he would be. Nearly twice her height, but spindly and thin, with a heart-shaped face and crimson eyes that almost seemed to glow. There was something oddly familiar about his face, but Hornet couldn’t place it; she wasn’t even certain what type of bug he was. He wore a long, ratty cloak in gray and red that stood out from the gleam of the White Palace far worse than she ever had. He looked like he’d gotten lost on the way from somewhere else, and Hornet could see why her attendant had been trying to shove him out.

His two companions were no better. Both large, shabby, with the same eye-catching color palette as their master, though neither seemed to be of his species. One of them might have been a mantis, but grotesquely overlarge; the other was bulky and hidden behind a ruffled red costume and white mask.

They looked so ill-at-home that she couldn’t help but be oddly taken with them. The odd red bugs might have been her, newly out of her first molt and naive, standing on the threshold of the White Palace with no idea yet that she did not belong.

“My lady,” intoned the troupe master, bowing so low his spindly form folded nearly in two, and flourishing his ragged cape dramatically. As the gray fabric flowed, Hornet caught a glimpse of shining chitin in a deep scarlet–but only for a second, before the dingy cloak settled again. “Thank you for deigning to visit us. We are only humble performers, but we have journeyed far and wide, and heard tales of the wonders of Hallownest…and the might of its Queen.”

At that, he swept forward with a truly shocking speed. Grimm reached for her hand, and Hornet thought for a dreadful second that he meant to kiss her wrist, as she had seen noblebugs do before to women in the Pale Court. She hoped he would not; it would put a damper on this meeting if she had to beat him senseless.

Luckily for both of them, while she did feel Grimm take her hand, the only thing he did was place an object there. She snatched her wrist away, turning her hand over to reveal a slip of brilliant scarlet paper, the same color and make as the eye-catching envelope on her desk.

“It would honor us greatly, your Majesty, if you would join us for a performance.” Grimm said, apparently oblivious to how close he had come to a serious head injury. “We plan to perform at the Crossroads for three nights…and the final night will mark our spectacular finale. We hope to see you there. After all…my sister spoke highly of you.”

Hornet, who had been examining the ticket, froze. There was something…off in his voice, the way he said the word sister, like she ought to know what he referred to. She knew many women in the kingdom, many women who had brothers, women who could theoretically be this man’s sister…but only one woman with almond-shaped eyes that seemed to glow in the right light, one woman with that unusual heart-shaped face, one woman would have seemed so very, very off in her father’s palace. One woman whose brother might hesitate to speak her name aloud, especially in the Pale King’s stronghold.

She looked up at the man with new eyes. He looked…nothing like a moth, but that cloak seemed to conceal a great deal…and in truth, Hornet’s father had little resembled the great Wyrm he had once been either. Gods could change their appearances however they wanted, and if the great Nightmare King wanted to look like a seedy circus performer, she supposed that was his prerogative.

“Dia sent you here? To me?”

The Nightmare King seemed to relax somewhat–and as he did, some of his illusion fell away. His clothes no longer looked so shabby, but darker and more menacing, and Hornet could see the clear scarlet glow in his eyes and he towered over her. Behind him, the mantis woman tittered. 

“My dear sister sends her regards. She, and that…creature…that she calls her child, reached me in the great wastes, in the outskirts of a kingdom called Drasil.” Hornet sighed, making a note. Drasil was a nearby trading partner of Hallownest–fairly safe, as she recalled. She could send a discreet letter to its king, asking him to watch over the two travellers in exchange for favorable tariffs in the coming year. But Grimm spoke again. “They did not find what they were seeking there. Instead, they moved on to the Kingdom of Pharloom.”

“Pharloom?” Hornet’s eyes shot open.

Pharloom. The name was familiar, but only just. Father…father had been looking for another source of silk after the Weavers had fled Deepnest. He had not involved her in the process, young as she was, but he had sent envoys to Pharloom, looking for a new source of trade…

The envoys had never returned. Father had given up on Pharloom, instead forcing the few spiders in Deepnest who had learned the Weavers’ magic to continue production of lower-quality silk. It was rare for the Pale King to admit weakness like that, rare for him to acquiesce instead of simply imposing his will. Hornet hadn’t really thought about it at the time, given that there was so much else going on, but…

What the hell was wrong with Pharloom, that it frightened even the Pale King?

“Wait–Pharloom? Isn’t that country dangerous?”

Grimm shrugged. “Presumably. I have never been. In any case, they are, respectively, a god and a knight of Hallownest, and the two of them know what they are getting into. I could not prevent my sister or her broodling from actions they were set on taking.”

Hornet chewed the inside of her mouth. That…was true, certainly. She was not about to interfere in the business of the Radiance–-if the scourge of Hallownest wanted to die in another kingdom, it was no concern of Hornet’s. And Luna…Luna was the Hollow Knight. It had been pulled from the Abyss, bound to the Radiance by their father, sealed in the tomb of the Black Egg for centuries–surely it had already faced down worse danger than this, and it had done so alone. She had no right to be telling it what it could and could not do now–not when its whole life had been a storm weathered in silence, not when she had ignored its plight for centuries.

She had no right to interfere. No right at all.

So why…why did it feel so wrong?

She needed more information. But…first. Hornet reached out, passing the ticket back to Grimm.

“Nightmare King, I offer my deepest regrets, but I cannot attend your show. My work keeps me too busy to take leisure time at the carnival…or to lose sleep with the night terrors it casts,” she added afterwards. She wasn’t certain how Grimm would react to that, but to her surprise, she saw the corner of his mouth twitch upwards. Clearly, she had guessed correctly about how the carnival worked. “But…I would hate for my ticket to go to waste. There is a revered colleague of mine in the city, a man who could surely use a break from his busy work of pestering me. If it’s not too much trouble, could you offer this ticket to the Master of the Soul Sanctum on my behalf?”

At that, the mantis behind Grimm dissolved into laughter. “Oh, she’s a clever one, Master, I like her!”

Grimm bowed. “I’ll make certain your colleague attends,” he intoned, taking the ticket from her. There was another twirl of his cloak, and without warning, the room filled with noxious red smoke.

Horrified, Hornet cast a silken threadstorm to clear the air. By the time the smoke had cleared, she stood, gagging and teary-eyed, in an empty white room.

“Fucking gods,” Hornet muttered, to no one.

oOo

Deepnest was different these days. Since deposing the Pale King, Hornet had made many of the changes she’d waited years for: the King’s tramway, with its clanking wheels and choking smog was gone, as were his rows of dreadful electric lights. In their absence, the prey insects that the hunters of the Nest depended on were slowly but surely returning. The Nest was bouncing back, its industries spinning to life once again as its children were fed, its silk stores replenished. The hateful Kingsmolds and Watch guards that had once shadowed the streets were gone, the white banners of the colonizer replaced with red…it was almost like the Nest of Hornet’s early childhood. 

If she had to think hard about what changed the most since then, she would say it was her.

It was not immediately obvious. When she dismounted from the stag, leaving Isma behind her—and she would have preferred to travel alone, walking through the tunnels, but she was a Queen now and that meant stags and escorts wherever she went—her Devouts met her, the same as always. They were respectful to her, as they should be to Herrah’s daughter, but coolly so. There was…an informal detachment to their voices when they spoke to her, something that had not been there before. She realized, as they ascended towards the Weavenest, that one of them was missing.

“Where is Alak?” Her voice was strangely small in the quiet darkness.

The Devouts turned, first to each other, then to her. “She has birthed a brood,” Zoshah said at last. “I gave her leave to gather organ meat for their first feast, and after, if she survived.”

“A brood? I was not told,” Hornet said, frowning. Hatching a brood was a dangerous time for spiders, as freshly-hatched spiderlings often turned upon their parents in hunger. Hornet could have arranged for meat to be brought from the City, had she known…

“We did not wish to disturb your work in the Palace, your Majesty,” said another of the Devouts, though Hornet wasn’t certain which one had spoken.

“Hush,” Zoshah commanded. “My Queen, I apologize for any offense. I will keep you abreast of any developments with Alak’s children.”

Hornet was about to say more, but realized she wasn’t entirely certain what to say. They were in the center of Deepnest now, a place she had loved with all her heart, a place she had been kept from for most of her childhood, a place she had spent the past few months fighting for…

…and she was starting to feel just like she had at the White Palace. People were staring at her as she walked by, and the stares were not kind. Conversations stopped as she passed with her contingent of Devouts, but she could hear whispers all the same: 

“…finally, our Queen leaves her castle…”

“Wyrm’s daughter, isn’t she? Those horns…”

“…doing all these months? I heard she’s been back and forth to the City of Tears, but we never see her…”

“What do you expect? Surprised she’s come back at all, now she got what she wanted…”

Her breath caught in her chest, and she fought to keep her eyes straight. Was this…was this really how it was? Had she been gone too long, too distant a presence in the White Palace or the City? Did they imagine she enjoyed it, those endless gleaming corridors or rain-soaked halls?

There had been…some of this, before, when she had returned from the Hive. But Herrah had been alive then, even comatose as she was, and a slight against Hornet was a slight against Herrah. And her people had needed her, even the ones who didn’t trust a half-breed Wyrmling, even the ones who’d let her know it.

Gods, she’d forgotten about that. 

Years of fighting for the Nest, being the only voice for them in the White Palace, of scheming and planning and patience, and she’d forgotten, somehow, that she was her father’s daughter, too.

Hornet kept her head level and her eyes fixed all the way to the Weavenest. It was only inside, when she’d dismissed the Devouts and was left alone in her mother’s empty bedchamber, that she began to cry.

The tears fell before she could stop them, and even in the empty room it was mortifying. She had weathered far greater storms than this; even the past few months in the White Palace had been crueler, and lonelier. But there was something uniquely unsettling about being rejected by the Nest; it was as though she had opened the door to her bedroom after a long day only to find a gaping chasm where her bed should have been. She had kept the Nest in the back of her mind as a home she could return to when her dreadful work at the palace was over, she realized now, and perhaps she had idealized it too much; but that home had never been the place she thought it was.

“My Queen,” came a voice, and a heavy claw at her shoulder. Hornet whirled around, desperately scrubbing at her eyes, but it was too late. Zoshah stood behind her, and Hornet’s chief of security had surely seen her weakness, surely knew what a poor excuse she was for Queen—

“Hornet,” Zoshah said, softer. “I had truly meant no offense by not informing you of Alak’s departure. I know how important your work in the Palace is, and was only trying to reduce your stress. Unlike…some people in the Nest…I am not blessed with a short memory. I remember what your father did to our home. And I know that the changes we have seen since his disappearance have been the result of your work.”

“Zoshah–” Hornet blinked, still pawing at her eyes. “I–I don’t–”

It was all she could get out before she was crying again, like a hatchling, in front of one of her Devouts. All she could think about was running somewhere dark, hiding her shame–weakness like this was not looked on well in Deepnest, or the Hive, or the Palace. But she had only moved an inch before she felt the Devout’s many arms encircling her.

“I was the youngest of the Devouts when your mother became a Dreamer. All my sisters–all those who tended to Queen Herrah–have passed but me. My own strength, and the tiny fraction of Weaver blood in me have kept me alive through our Queendom’s darkest age. I watched Deepnest fall into famine during your father’s rule, watched him destroy our land with his machines, and still I remained in Herrah’s service. The last thing she said to us,” Zoshah paused. “Her last command was to protect you. She believed that you would keep Deepnest in your heart, even after you had been sent to the Palace, that you would return to us. She was right.”

Her arms relaxed around Hornet. “I am in your service as I was your mother’s. Whatever you require, my Queen, I will help you.”

Hornet swallowed thickly, trying to get ahold of herself, before pushing the woman away. It had been a long time since she had lost her composure like that–since she had been a child in the Palace, newly learning that tears meant little to her father and even less to the Pale Court. She swiped again at her eyes. “Th-thank you, Zoshah. I…that means a great deal to me. And I…I may need your help.” She took a breath, wondering how much she could say. “I need information on a distant country called Pharloom.”

“Pharloom?” Zoshah repeated, sounding baffled.

“Fath–the Pale King sent envoys to it once. He requested information on it from Deepnest, but the dossier I found in the Palace library seems…lacking. I was wondering if more complete information existed here–”

“It does,” Zoshah began slowly. There was a different tone in her voice–cautious now, Hornet noted. “Deepnest has long been aware of Pharloom’s existence. It is the homeland of the Weaver tribe, and the primal source of Silk. But it is not…spoken of, here. Before she passed into the dream, Queen Herrah ordered that the complete records be sealed.”

“Even from the Pale King?” Hornet raised an eyebrow.

“Especially from the Pale King,” confirmed Zoshah. “She suspected he may reach out to Pharloom at some point if the Weavers fled–and they were already discussing it, at that point. I am not certain of her reasons. I was too young, at the time, and not party to those decisions. But I do know that when the Pale King’s envoys left, they were woefully unprepared for what they encountered in that kingdom.”

Hornet frowned. “I see. Well, I…I need the records now. The complete records.”

“I must ask, as chief of the Devouts,” Zoshah said. “Is the Nest in danger? Is whatever darkness lives in Pharloom coming to our door? Or do you, too, seek the ancestral power of the Weavers in Pharloom?”

“No! No, it’s nothing like…nothing like that.” Hornet bit her lip. She could lie…and in truth, to hear that Pharloom contained the source of her ancestor’s magic was…tempting. If Hallownest did come to a civil war, could Pharloom tip the scales in her favor? Soul magic was defunct, but if every citizen of Deepnest could be trained to fight like a Weaver, Deepnest would be unstoppable. The balance of power in Hallownest could change for real…

She looked over at the stone plinth in the center of the room, the sacrificial altar her mother had died on. Hornet had been so helpless to stop it, or to stop anything the Pale King had done afterward. If she could secure the source of the Weaver’s magic for Deepnest, she would never again be in that position…never again would she have to beg another bug of Hallownest for the rights of her people, for herself. There was a yes forming on her tongue when she stopped. She…she had not come here for that.

“No,” she said again. “This…this is a personal matter. A…family matter. My sibling is in Pharloom, Zoshah, and I fear for its safety.”

Zoshah’s many eyes widened. “The Hollow Knight lives? After–after the Lord of Shades passed through the land, we thought–”

Hornet nodded. “I’m sorry. I…kept it from you, for my sibling’s sake. My sibling…it has given a great deal to us. We, and every bug in Hallownest, owe our lives to it. I wanted it to have a chance at…” she paused. The phrase a normal life came to mind, but she did not know those words could ever truly apply to a creature like Luna. “Freedom. It left Hallownest months ago, seeking a life elsewhere. I let it go. But rumors have reached me that it has arrived in Pharloom, seeking something, and I–I don’t think it understands the danger. Zoshah…I owe it.”

She did not mention Dia. No matter how understanding Zoshah was of the Hollow Knight’s plight, Hornet had the feeling that her Devout would be unwilling to aid the Radiance. 

Zoshah nodded. “I understand. The Hollow Knight kept that hateful light bound for centuries, and helped to depose the Pale King. We all owe it, in a way. I can unseal the records for you, my Queen. It will be easy–Herrah devised a way of hiding them that would ensure the Pale King would never find them.”

Hornet was about to ask what she meant, but didn’t get the chance. Zoshah had left her side, approaching the plinth that Herrah had slept on. She raised her massive nail, and with a powerful thrust, split the stone in two.

A crack echoed through Herrah’s bedchambers as the plinth broke in two, each half sliding away to reveal a trove of silk papers. Hornet fell to her knees, pushing the rubble away. “Genius!”

“Indeed. Your mother allowed herself to be underestimated by the Pale Court, but she was a sly one,” replied Zoshah. Hornet could not see her face behind her mask, but something in the woman’s voice sounded almost smug. “She hid many of the Nest’s greatest secrets this way. Once she was committed to her role as a Dreamer, the King would never have allowed her body to be disturbed.”

Hornet rifled gently through the pile, trying not to let her excitement damage the ancient scrolls. There were a few marked Pharloom, and she gathered them into her arms. “May I have a few hours to read these?”

Zoshah bowed. “Of course. I will order that you not be disturbed.” She swept from the room, and Hornet settled back against the stone to read. 

oOo

It was many hours later, long into the night, by the time Hornet was finished. She set aside the last scroll, rubbing her eyes and trying to keep bile from coming up her throat. 

The news was not good, not good at all. She had known that it would not be–had known that Pharloom must be dangerous, for the Pale King to have backed off from it, for the King of Nightmares to admit that he avoided it, for her own mother to have sealed the records–but what she had read in the scrolls was something beyond simple rough country. The scrolls had told a frightening story: a story of a mad, vengeful goddess; a people desperate to escape her by any means, no matter how dreadful; and a divine infection that ensnared the minds and souls of bugs to leave them shambling, violent husks.

A story she’d heard before. A story she’d lived before. 

Hornet recalled Dia’s laughter, suddenly, the warm feeling it had given her, and she was filled with rage at her own weakness. Flinging the nearest scroll across the room, she hissed. The Weavers in Pharloom had thought of their goddess as a mother once too, had sought her approval–and look where it had gotten them. How she had betrayed them, used them, destroyed them—

Just like the Radiance had done to her people. Was doing, to Hornet’s sibling. What the hell was Dia doing, leading Hornet’s last sibling into Pharloom? Was she–and the thought filled Hornet with horror–was she after the power of the silk goddess? Oh, Hornet should have known that the Radiance’s contrition was too good to be true. Gods were all the same; the only unique thing about her was how wicked she was.

The room Hornet was sitting in now was a testament to that. Once her mother’s bedroom, then a tomb, all because of the goddess of dreams. Now that same goddess might just get Hornet’s last sibling killed–and if she stole the power of the silk goddess, she may return for Hornet and all of Hallownest too.

Sifting through the papers on the floor, Hornet snatched up the Weaver’s map to Pharloom. It had been centuries since the Weavers had drawn it, and doubtlessly, many things had changed. What hadn’t changed was the distance–if Hornet left now, it would be months before she arrived in Pharloom. Too long to leave the pressure cooker that was Hallownest–and too long to leave the Radiance alone with Luna. 

Her claw curled on the floor in frustration…until a curious idea came to her. The carnival had dropped Dia and Luna off in Pharloom…and Grimm had spoken about it as though it was recent. Not months, as the trip might normally take. The Nightmare King may be mortal now, but he still had the magic of a god. Did that mean the carnival could travel faster than normal bugs? Could it carry her to Pharloom and back? If…the Nightmare King could be persuaded to do so.

Zoshah’s voice returned to her. “Your mother allowed herself to be underestimated, but she was a sly one.”

Could she trick him? Feign ignorance of Pharloom’s true power, of her suspicions? Convince him to ferry her to her lost sibling?

There was only one way to find out. Hornet stood, gathering up the papers. As she did, her eye fell on a small envelope, tucked in a crack in the stone near the head of the bed. She recognized Herrah’s thick, flowing handwriting from the many missives the queen had written before her death, and picked it up.

There was only one word on the front of the envelope. Daughter.

Hornet stared at it for a moment, a claw playing at the edge of the seal…and then she pushed the envelope deep into her pocket. Arms full of scrolls, she blew out the candles and quickly left the room.

Chapter Text

“Open up,” Hornet snapped, rapping her needle against the thorny vines. “I know you’re listening. I don’t have time for this nonsense.”

She stood at the easternmost entrance of the Queen’s Gardens–or at least, she thought she did. It was difficult to tell, with the vines growing so thickly over every surface. The sweeping, graceful architecture the White Lady had favored was completely obscured, and for all Hornet knew, she might literally be talking to a wall. 

Still, Hornet had places to be today. She raised her needle to make another pointless slice into the vines, when a voice came from behind her.

“You should clarify who it is you want to speak to.” 

Cursing, Hornet turned. There weren’t many who could get the jump on her, but Dryya had been a Knight of Hallownest, back when the title had meant something. “I’m looking for your Lady, as you well know. Send her out to speak to me, or I’ll burn my way in.”

“Only the White Lady?” Dryya cocked her head suspiciously.

“We both know my father resides within the gardens as well. But I have nothing to say to him.” 

Dryya gave a snort at that, and Hornet resisted the urge to pull her needle–the ex-Knight had gotten too familiar, when they’d both been part of the resistance against the Pale King. Hornet was her queen, now–and it was becoming worryingly apparent that the two of them now stood on opposite sides of a conflict. Dryya had no business acting as though they were still comrades, and Hornet may have to remind her of that soon.

But she had no chance to go for her weapon. Ahead of her, the vines were parting, a pale white light filling the cavern as the White Lady appeared between them. Even in her exile, she was as graceful as Hornet remembered from the Palace–something otherworldly, godlike in a way that her husband had never quite seemed. The same mix of complicated emotions rose in Hornet’s chest that she always felt upon seeing the White Lady: regret that they always seemed to part on bad terms, disappointment that the Lady never quite seemed to understand or accept Hornet, guilt that Hornet had never managed to live up to what the Lady had hoped. Maybe something else, too, smaller and better hidden than the others–something weak and young inside her that always seemed to warm at the sight of the Lady, something that craved her presence and attention.

Hornet squashed those emotions, the last one especially. The past few days had proven that she could not trust gods.

“My Lady, I come to speak to you about your request for sovereignty.” Hallownest tradition dictated that the sitting monarch not bow to anyone, even a previous queen, but Hornet couldn’t quite stop herself as she bent a knee forward.

“Dear one, you came a long way to tell me no,” the White Lady replied.

“I am offering a compromise,” Hornet said, standing again. “I will give you sovereignty over the Queen’s Gardens if you perform a service for me.” She waited, and the Lady did not immediately say no, so she continued. “My sibling–your last living child–is in danger, in a kingdom far from here. I wish to leave at once to attend to them.”

She looked up. The Lady’s expressions were difficult to read, but Hornet thought she saw something there–a flash of pain, or shock. Maybe she was just seeing what she hoped was there. “I cannot leave Hallownest unattended for so long. And there are…elements…in the City that do not care for me, due to…” she gritted her fangs. “Due to the circumstances of my birth.”

The White Lady said nothing to that, but Hornet was certain now–some emotion had disturbed the placid mask of her face, if only for a second. “These elements may take better to a voice from…closer to the Pale Court. Someone without my connections to Deepnest.”

“You want me to act as regent,” said the White Lady softly. “While you go after the Hollow Knight.”

Hornet nodded, waiting. The decision to reach out to the Lady had been agonizing–she was too close to her husband, too close to the old order, and Hornet was acutely aware of the danger that she may return from Pharloom to find the Pale King on the throne again and Deepnest overrun. But the Lady had fallen out with her husband over his rule of Hallownest–and, Hornet suspected, the plan for the Vessels. Hornet could only hope the Lady would keep that in mind while Hornet was away.

And that small, weak thing inside Hornet desperately wanted to hope that the Lady was trustworthy, for her own sake. 

“Yes. I cannot say how long it will be. But I will leave my Devouts in charge of Deepnest,” she said pointedly. “And when I return–with the Hollow Knight–I will expect to resume the throne. After that, I will allow you sovereignty over the Gardens.”

The Lady did not agree immediately, as Hornet thought she might. She stared down at Hornet, in that eerie way the Lady sometimes did–so intently that Hornet would forget that the Lady was blind, that her stare must surely be an intimidation tactic. After a long pause, she spoke.

“Very well. I will do as you ask–and attempt to patch the relationship between the City of Tears and the crown while you are gone. Return here, with the Hollow Knight, and I will gladly cede the throne back to you.” She paused, not breaking the eerie eye contact. “Take care, child. You are dear to me, and I…would like the chance to see the Hollow Knight again.” Her liquid blue eyes, each the size of dinner plates, closed slowly, and she pulled back through the vines. 

The light in the cavern dimmed, and Hornet and Dryya were left alone once more. “The Hollow Knight, huh?” Her voice was soft, contemplative. “I…it shocks me, even now, to think that it was never really…” she laughed. “...hollow. All those times I saw it following behind the king, standing at his side like a statue. Training with it…watching it sliced to pieces by the Kingsmolds. It never…never raised a hand, never spoke or gave a hint–”

She broke off. “I suppose it’s not important now. What’s done is done.”

“I suppose so,” Hornet replied, not meeting her eyes.

oOo

Grimm’s carnival was an affair the likes of which she had never seen in Hallownest. The Pale King would have hated it. Hornet herself wasn’t fond of the noise or the lights, the extravagant displays or the frivolous nature of the thing. But the bugs there seemed to be having fun—even if they didn’t notice the slight flicker of red essence in the air around the tents, or how it followed them out when they left.

Before Hornet had departed Deepnest, she’d dropped by to see the old Midwife, who had lamented to her at length on the number of sleeping potions she was being asked to make. Apparently, more than a few spiders had visited ‘that nonsense in the Crossroads’ and returned with dreadful visions. 

“That’s what they get for spending their time with a god,” the Midwife had muttered over her cauldron, before looking up at Hornet. “No offense to current parties, of course.”

Hornet was not pleased that her own people were being farmed for nightmares, but she couldn’t stop them from going. She’d put out a warning, but that had only resulted in the more foolish younglings going to the carnival as a test of bravery.

Some things never changed. Hornet would have done the same as a hatchling.

But she wasn’t here for the show. She strode past the barkers and smaller tents, heading toward the big top. Noting, with no small amount of chagrin, that Grimm had placed it squarely in front of the temple of the Black Egg. As she passed the door to the temple, now empty and dark without its prisoner, Hornet couldn’t help but avert her gaze, her shell crawling. She wondered if her discomfort had been Grimm’s intention from the start.

Inside, the halls were covered with rich, dark red fabrics that flowed and swayed, casting deep shadows that even her eyes could not pierce. The large bug from before met her at the entrance and wordlessly led her back through a maze of passageways to a plush room that would be cozy if it weren’t so menacing.

“My dear queen,” Grimm said, not looking up as she entered. His long form was flung languidly over a red velvet couch, long limbs swaying as he worked at something in his hands. “I thought you had no time for our show.”

“We felt such a terrible melancholy about it,” said the mantis from earlier, who leaned over the couch, an eerie grin on the side of her face visible beneath the mask. She held a pot of something in her claws, something red that crackled and glowed, spitting sparks into the air as it sloshed about. 

“Hold it steady, Divine, what am I paying you for?” Grimm reached for the pot, and Hornet could see a paintbrush in his hand, ready to dip into the glowing liquid. In his other hand, she could see the object he had been working on: a mask, curved and white, with the dark vertical lines that all the troupe workers seemed to have. Above it, barely visible, flickered glowing scarlet runes in an enchantment she did not recognize.

Hornet frowned. Maskmaking was a vaunted skill, and the makers highly respected. Deepnest’s Maskmaker was a hermit, and somewhat strange, but he had been commissioned to his post by Herrah herself and his work was above reproach. Grimm…was not nearly so respectable; surely not reputable enough to be making anything as important as a mask. 

Though, she thought, a mask made by a god might have all sorts of properties a normal mask would not. Luna had only shared a mind with the Radiance and its shell had become noticeably different from the other Vessels, apparently by accident. Who knew what a purposeful creation could do?

“One of the lesser fools who hauls goods for me decided to return the gift of immortality,” Grimm said, catching her staring at the mask. “Perhaps he fell in love with the tall towers and rain-soaked gutters of your kingdom. Perhaps he grew tired of playing an eternal errand boy. Or perhaps his feet are simply tired.” He gave a dramatic sigh and Divine tittered. “Whatever the cause, I am in need of a new roustabout. Someone hardy, hard to frighten…someone who will appreciate my gift.” He held the mask over his face, and the effect of his glowing scarlet eyes through the holes made Hornet’s shell crawl. “Let me know if you know anyone suitable.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Hornet muttered, looking darkly at the mask. She knew only a little of moth magic—had been trying to learn it, after meeting Dia, trying to piece it together from the scraps her father had left of their tribe—and she thought some of the sigils were familiar. One meant life, another together, and there was a large one that could have been a unit of time. 

“Have you changed your mind about our performance? Perhaps after hearing the Soul Master’s glowing recommendation?”

Hornet gave a very small smile at that—she couldn’t help it. She had no idea how Grimm had gotten the Soul Master to the carnival, but one of her spies in the Sanctum told her the man had come home raving about the performance. The next day, he was raving again, albeit about different topics.

“Did you…put a little extra effort into him? Officially, he’s taking time off for relaxation…but I heard he ended up in a padded cell in the Tower, screaming about monsters made of red fire.”

Grimm shrugged. “Nightmares can be dreadful things. Especially for those with…weak minds.”

Hornet smiled, but filed the information away. That kind of power was terrifying—and not dissimilar to what the Radiance had been capable of with her Infection. If she ended up needing to fight the siblings, she’d have to worry about the brother just as much as the sister.

“Why don’t you tell me what it is you’re really here for?” Grimm cocked his head.

Hornet sighed. “I need to get to Pharloom.”

“And you want a map. You are in luck, I can provide—“

“I want you to take me,” Hornet interrupted. “I need to get there quickly and I suspect that your carnival moves faster than mortal bugs can normally travel. I want you to ferry me there.”

Grimm was silent, but the temperature in the room had dropped dramatically. “I can pay,” she said quickly. “I know you have expenses—

“You need to get to Pharloom. That is unfortunate, your majesty, because I am not one of your subjects and I have no intention of taking you. You can pay—also unfortunate, because this is not a taxi service, girl. You are wasting my time and your own.” Grimm’s voice had lost its mirth, and the larger bug was moving towards her as if to push her out.

“Wait, hold it—“

“Come now, don’t make a scene,” the large bug murmured, sounding almost apologetic. Hornet put three hands on the doorframe as he tried to shove her out, gesturing over his shoulder towards Grimm.

“Don’t you care about Di—your sister? She’s in more danger than you know! I’m trying to help her!”

The big bug paused. Grimm waved a hand. “Talk. I’m listening.”

“I did some research after I left you. Pharloom is the ancient home of the Weavers, my old kin. They fled because of the power of the god of Pharloom. Even my father abandoned it. Dia and Luna don’t know.” Hornet pushed against the bouncer, wriggling out from under his arm so she could face Grimm again. “Luna is my last living sibling. I sent it out into the world to live its own life, but I can’t lose it. I need to protect it from what’s in Pharloom.”

Even from the Radiance, if need be, she thought.

“I don’t know what…sibling relationships are like between gods. But…something tells me you feel the same way about your sibling as I do. You came all this way just to tell me where she was—you can’t pretend like you don’t care.”

Grimm regarded her silently for a moment, and then surprised her by standing up in a flurry of long legs and flowing cloak. He did not walk towards her, but instead began to pace; his fingers tented in front of him.

“My sister is a prideful creature,” he said, not a trace of irony in his voice. “She won’t take kindly to being rescued. Even if she needs it. Especially if she needs it.” Hornet wasn’t sure how to respond, but he seemed to be speaking to himself anyway. “Then there’s the matter of magic. You can pay Geo, yes, but that only pays half the bills. It’s essence that keeps the lights on. We scraped a fair haul here, especially from your Soul Master’s mind, but that’s not enough. Not if we cannot perform on the way to Pharloom, and we certainly can’t bring the carnival in—no, no. We would risk losing the whole carnival. I can’t. Not even for her.”

Hornet ground her fangs together. She had no answer for that—he had fallen for her ruse, was willing to go, but simply could not afford the trip? But before she could think of an argument, Divine spoke.

“Master, I have an idea.” Hornet looked up, curious, because the mantis’s voice had lost its joviality. Her face looked somber and tight as she spoke. “Perhaps there is another method to harvest essence that we could use at the gates of Pharloom when we arrive. Your sister…showed me an old Moth tool, a thing she called a dreamwheel.” Divine rummaged in the scarlet ruff at her throat, pulling out a tiny wooden circle. As she moved it through the air, the circle trailed tiny flakes of golden essence. “It harvests essence from the air itself, from the passing dreams of all those nearby. She had a theory that it could be inverted. To capture nightmares instead. If we had such an object…we could hang them over the gates of Pharloom, catch a thousand stray nightmares from that dread kingdom. Enough to fill our coffers and then some.”

Grimm cocked an eyebrow, glaring dubiously at the tiny golden wheel. “I’ve never heard of such a thing. When did she even tell you this?”

At that, Divine did smile. “In my room one night, after—“

“Stop talking,” Grimm said quickly, putting a hand in front of her face. Hornet said nothing, but filed that information away as well. “Can you actually make a nightmare wheel? How much essence could you collect?”

“I’ll start on them right away. Experiments. I’ll have an answer for you by the time we leave tomorrow night,” Divine said, pulling out from under Grimm’s outstretched hand to grin cheekily at him. “And—master—“

Her voice dropped low, and Hornet’s ears perked up beneath her mask. Few bugs had hearing as acute as a Deepnest spider’s, and few outside of Deepnest knew that fact. Keeping her face blank, she strained to hear Divine’s words.

“I’ve seen it. That terrible wound,” Divine whispered, and Hornet saw Grimm stiffen. “I know what it means—what lurks beneath the surface of the tear. Your sister is in far greater danger than this child knows.”

“I know that,” Grimm hissed. “But what the hell do you want me to do about it? I’m already bringing reinforcements—”

“Go with her,” said Divine, loud enough that Hornet did not have to pretend not to hear. “Leave the carnival at the gates of Pharloom and go with the Queen to find Dia. If the kingdom is truly so dangerous—master, please, I did like her so much—“

Grimm looked aghast, and Hornet was certain she did too—this was not what she had wanted, not at all. One dangerous, possibly duplicitous god was bad enough, but two? Two, who would certainly unite against her, if they fought?

But she could not argue, not without admitting that she was suspicious of Dia, without admitting that she was not going to Pharloom to save Grimm’s sibling but only her own. She stood silently, helpless, as Divine continued to pester him.

“Brumm and I would light the lantern if there was a problem. Summon you back in a second. Right, Brumm?” She gestured to the large bug at the door, who gave a very forced-looking nod. “You see? We will watch the carnival while you save your sister. Imagine! If you save her life, you can hold it over her for centuries.”

Grimm had seemed on the fence, but that got his attention. He threw up his hands, turning to Hornet. “Fine. You win, your Majesty. I will ferry you to Pharloom…and I’ll even accompany you inside. Don’t trip over yourself thanking me, of course.”

She would not, she was certain of that.

“Divine, start on those wheels. Brumm, let the rousties know we’re headed out at the first morning bell. As for you,” he said, stopping in front of Hornet. “Well, you’ll need to start paying your way.”

Hornet frowned. “I told you, I have Geo—“

“Oh, we’ve made a fair amount of Geo out of your kingdom already. What I really find myself in need of…” Grimm reached around, and to her horror she saw he was holding the red mask. “Is a new roustabout.”

“Absolutely not,” Hornet hissed, but Grimm laughed.

“No? But you’re perfect for it. You’re hardy, you don’t scare easy…and you don’t want to end up in a padded room with the Soul Master by the end of the trip, screaming about monsters only you can see, do you?” She shivered, and he pressed the mask into her hands. “This carnival generates nightmares, girl—every minute of every night. Unless you have the goddess of dreams watching over you like your sibling did, the only way to stay sane for long is to join us.”

Hornet’s stomach gave an uncomfortable flip. She couldn’t test his words…but she doubted he was lying. Looking down at the mask in her hands, she repressed the urge to toss it and run.

“Welcome to the Grimm Carnivale, Hornet.”

Chapter Text

“What are we doing here, dear niece?” The Hermit sprawled across the chapel’s bench, shaking his necklace of bells. “Our roads are growing more and more perilous to travel with each passing day. Her above us is dangerously close to awakening, what with all the slaves she’s mustered up. If she catches glimpse of us, even with half-closed eyes, we’ll never know peace again.”

“Yes, yes, I’m not blind to her awakening,” the Maid snapped. “I wouldn’t ask you to leave the safety of your precious bells for nothing, uncle! But trust me. I’ve something both of you will want to see.” With a flourish, she pulled a glass jar from the shelf behind her and set it on the altar. Beneath the glass, a dark liquid sloshed placidly.

“Void?” The Caretaker leaned in, frowning. “Did you summon a Gargant Gloom here and drain it with your pilgrims? No–don’t tell me you journeyed to the Abyss yourself in that cursed diving bell. I’ve told you a hundred times it’s in no shape for the trip, not after the Weavers left–”

“For Void’s sake, brother, I know,” the Maid huffed. “I did not go to the Abyss–nor did I drain one of our steeds, such a terrible waste when we have so few of them remaining. Besides which, look closely at that Void. Does it not seem different to the Void you know? More…calm?”

The Caretaker took the jar, holding it to the light. The liquid inside, more viscous than water, sloshed gently. It moved in an unnatural sort of way–clinging to the places where the pads of his fingers touched the glass, almost as though it was alive and could perceive him–but it did not attack. No slicing tendrils rose up to cut at him, like the Void he had studied before. “It…it does. What did you do to it, to pacify it?”

Before the Maid could answer, the Hermit snatched the jar away. “It’s not what was done, but what was undone,” he said, and his voice had lost its hard edge. For a second, he sounded awestruck. “You two are too young to remember, but this…this is the way the Void was before, before the old experiments began to sharpen it into a weapon. I wonder…”

He tipped the jar over, and the others gasped. Clinging to the base of the jar were tiny objects–little wheels, half-formed spiders, sharp sticks that could have been nails. They were coated in black, but as the Void leached away from them they showed color underneath: gold, scarlet, silver and green.

“By the Black God,” the Hermit swore. “It’s creating!”

He set the jar down as if it had stung him and took the Maid by the shoulders. “How have you done this? Tell me this hasn’t affected the entire Void!”

The Maid slapped his hands away crossly. “I didn’t do anything to the Void, as I keep trying to tell the pair of you! This…abberration…fell right out of the sky in front of me. I scrapped what you see in the jar off a rock by the chapel after it left.”

“After…it left…?” The caretaker blinked in shock. “So…you saw a Void construct? A construct of the original Void, the creative one?”

“Aye, I did.” The Maid puffed out her chest a little, looking smug. “And a bizarre thing it was. Walked and spoke, it did, like a bug, and it even had a name. I tried to get close to it–thought I’d lure it back to the graveyard somehow, seal it inside the spellbindings so I could figure out how the damn thing worked. But it was travelling with a companion–another bug it called mother–and she was…territorial.”

With that, she pulled a second jar from the shelf and placed it on the table. The second jar’s contents were not entirely liquid–some part of it had clotted and hardened into a chalky, golden substance that crumbled easily. But a small amount of thick orange fluid swirled in the center. The orange liquid was the polar opposite of the Void fluid–it glowed softly in the half-light, and as it moved, shimmering particles danced inside it.

“The other bug fell from the bridge at the front gate. Would have killed most–or left them screaming heaps on the ground–but she had the presence a’ mind to recognize me, and stood to fight. Even with one leg snapped nearly in two. I collected that from where she fell.”

“This is blood?” The Hermit raised an eyebrow, taking the jar curiously. As his niece and nephew watched–both horrified, but making no attempt to stop him–the Hermit unscrewed the lid, stuck a finger into the glowing liquid, and then stuck it in his mouth.

“Why would you do that?” The Caretaker hissed, more to himself than either of the others.

“That’s no mortal bug. I’ve never tasted blood of its like,” the Hermit concluded, closing the jar. “There’s power in that blood, something familiar as well.”

“Well, you could have just asked me that, instead of eating it,” replied the Maid. “For your information, the bug that made that blood is none other than the Radiance herself. So if you die now, you’ve no one to blame but yourself, uncle.”

“The Radiance?” The Caretaker gave a yelp, as the Hermit spat on the ground. “You…you’re joking, right? Even for you, that’s in poor taste.” He looked at her in askance, but when she shook her head, he seemed to falter. “There’s no way…she’s a primal god, she doesn’t even have a form, much less a mortal body–”

“She does now,” replied the Maid. “And I get the impression she’s less than satisfied with it. The bug that bled on my lawn wasn’t the conquering goddess we remember. She was an old woman trying not to faint from the pain of a broken leg. I considered challenging her, then and there.”

“Tell me you did,” said the Hermit eagerly.

“Tell me you didn’t,” said the Caretaker, casting the Hermit a stern look.

“I would have, but she still has some power. She summoned…something. I don’t know. It scared the life out of me, I’m not ashamed to admit. This…thing, behind her, this shadow with eyes all aflame, fiery like the Radiance used to look in the dream. Might have been an illusion–she is a god of stories and lies, after all–but it was a damn good one. I let her go on to the pilgrim’s camp, her and the Void construct.”

“Bagh! You were fooled, and easily, too. The Radiance is the light itself. She casts shadows on all of us, she doesn’t have a shadow of her own,” the Hermit said, and his niece scowled at him. He did not appear to notice. Instead, he turned to the two jars, considering. “The tattered remains of the goddess of light and dreams,” he muttered, running a finger over the orange jar so the contents sloshed. “Some power remains within that husk. If we cut it open, can we take that power for ourselves, and use it to free this land of the silken curse? She owes it to us, after all she did to our tribe. And she is so close…the pilgrim’s camp is less than a mile from here, and slaves offer so little resistance…”

Behind him, the siblings glanced at each other uneasily, but did not speak.

“And this creature,” he continued, taking the dark jar from the shelf. “A Void construct that speaks. That creates. What use do we have for Void that no longer functions as a weapon?”

“A Void that creates could save this land, if the goddess could be removed from it. Every day more pilgrims arrive at the Citadel, led there by promises of healing and protection,” said the Caretaker quietly. “And they find a desolate place ruled by puppets, long dead, filled with silk. The Greymoors are overrun, and food is scarce in all parts of the kingdom. If we could find a way to control the Void, we could offer Pharloom a…a future, perhaps?”

“Bagh,” repeated the Hermit. “Wasting your cares on these slaves again, nephew. Foolish. But perhaps this Void construct will allow us access to the Radiance. She…seemed attached to it, no?”

“I am curious,” the Maid began. “Where the two of them came from. Something extraordinary must have happened in our old lands–something we have no knowledge of. Something that caused the Radiance to fall from grace and the Void to revert to a primal state. I think we should find out what it was.”

“You are just cowardly. You don’t want to face her again. Her terrrrrifying shadow.” The Hermit dragged the word out in a mocking sing-song.

“You would too, had you seen her! I am telling you, something about her nature has changed! If we find the source, we gain power over her. Maybe even the power to make gods into mortals–even gods like the creature in the Citadel. Think of that, dear uncle,” snapped the Maid crossly.

“She’s right, uncle,” replied the Caretaker. “Something extraordinary happened in our old lands. We would be remiss in not tracking down its source. We can take the Glooms and be there in a matter of weeks–and then find out what it was that diminished the Radiance in such an noteworthy way.”

The Hermit considered, still looking at the glittering orange jar. “Fine! Fine,” he said at last. “But if she disappears while we are on a wild pharlid chase, there’ll be hell to pay.”

Chapter Text

Flick, the campsite’s healer–who also doubled as its carpenter, mechanic, barber, and dentist, a combination that would have been unheard of in Hallownest–told Dia that her recovery would take four months, and she would probably walk with a limp for the rest of her life. Dia, never one to listen to instructions, healed completely in just under three weeks. Flick clearly found this fact extremely unsettling, as he did her incandescent orange blood, but was smart enough to keep those thoughts to himself.

While Dia convalesced, Luna did odd jobs around the campsite. It was keenly aware that their room and board, as well as Dia’s treatment, were not free. More than that, it was painfully obvious to Luna that the pilgrims in the campsite had nothing to spare for them–many of them did not even have enough supplies for themselves. The camp was starving, cold, and desperately underprotected from the dangers outside, with an alarming number of the pilgrims having seemed to have given up already.

Luna was strong and hardy, did not tire nearly as quickly as ordinary bugs and could lift far heavier burdens. So it set to work collecting food and shellwood, building the camp’s defenses, and shoring up the tents using the techniques the Grimmkin had taught it on the road. The work was…strangely fulfilling. Pleasing, in a way. Luna had been born and bred to save a country, to provide its body and soul for the people…but had rarely been allowed to actually meet the people of Hallownest. Even on the rare occasions that Luna had followed the Pale King out to the City, the Pure Vessel had always remained apart from the people, its intimidating size and snowy white armor making certain that no one could forget what it was. What it would eventually be used for.

Working amongst the pilgrims, on the other hand–whether it was building fortifications with Flick, showing bugs how to tie their tent poles more securely, or cooking for the group–Luna felt almost part of them, just another face in a crowd of semi-friendly strangers trying to make ends meet. No one in Pharloom knew that Luna had Void inside where its blood and organs should be, or that the Pale King was its father, or that it had been raised from birth to contain the Radiance. They looked at Luna and saw only a helpful neighbor. Luna was finding that situation…increasingly agreeable.

What it enjoyed significantly less, however, was going out of the camp to Marrow. The dry air scorched its throat, and the heat sent tiny rivulets of Void sweat running down its chitin.

It hadn’t even known it could sweat.

The Pure Vessel could’ve ignored any pain, any discomfort, any indignity. Whether it was the open wounds left by blades during sparring that it must always, always wait to heal until the day was over; or the long hours spent standing motionless in its father’s throne room as its tarsi burned; or the stares and whispers of Father’s scientists. The Pure Vessel remained stoic, silent, and impassive throughout it all–everything Father expected. But Luna had not been the Pure Vessel for a long, long time, and it had gotten used to a certain standard of living. To comfortable surroundings, pleasant company, and a definite lack of deadly lava.

But the camp was so badly understocked, and the Marrow held raw materials that Flick and the others could use to fortify the perimeter or better secure the tents–and Luna liked being helpful, now that it had a choice in the matter. So it dealt with the heat and the lava, searching for spare tools and shards, and trying to avoid…them.

The Infected were the part Luna liked least of all.

It had met its first Infected–or Haunted, as they were called here–when it was out in the hot passages to the east, adding to the maps Shakra had left behind. It had heard the woman long before it had seen her–a pathetic, low moaning that spoke to a serious injury or possibly delirium. Luna had rushed to the beetle’s side, thinking that it would carry her back to the camp for treatment…

…only for the small woman to leap at it, her teeth bared in a snarl. Though her body was small and shrunken, weak with age, she slammed into it with an explosive force, knocking it back towards the lava. Luna had tried to pull her off without hurting her, but the woman’s mandibles were locked in Luna’s side and her legs were pushing them both backwards…and behind  Luna, just inches away from where its claws grappled on the loose stones, burmed a pool of lava…

In a panic, Luna had twisted away from the woman, and she had just…kept going, straight into the lava. She hadn’t screamed as the magma closed over her, or even struggled, and it was only after she fell that Luna noticed the thin white thread extending from her body.

They’re being directly controlled by that thread, like puppets, Luna remembered, as it staggered back from the lava clutching the wound in its side. The lava was growing brighter in its vision, the sounds louder, and suddenly everything was too much–too bright, too bright, like the white walls of–

The walls of the White Palace always glowed a pure, spotless white, even this far down. The Pure Vessel followed the Pale King, two steps behind as always. This place was very different than any King had ever taken it–far from the training grounds, with the Knights and the Kingsmolds; farther still from the throne room and the court. The Pure Vessel did not wonder about this, of course. It simply acknowledged. 

The King led them through a maze of gleaming corridors, down many elevators made of steel and technology that was far beyond the Pure Vessel’s understanding. At last, they reached a floor that seemed…unusual.

Not that the Pure Vessel could comment on what was usual, or not, in the palace. But…it registered a difference in its surroundings. And a threat.

This corridor was as bright as any above. But it lacked the decoration of the rest of the palace, the little filigrees and spikes of steel that the Pure Vessel knew Father favored. Instead, the blank white walls held only…bars. And beyond the bars, tiny rooms, sparse and cramped. One of them held a bug inside, a little beetle that faced away from them. The beetle muttered to itself, rocking back and forth.

The Pure Vessel did not feel fear. But something about that bug…. No. The Pure Vessel did not feel fear.

“Your Majesty!” A worker in a white uniform, standing in front of the bars, turned and bowed. “Please be careful. This one looks small, but the Infection is strong within it. It’s already been responsible for ten murders in the City–five of which were watch guards.”

The Pure Vessel was suddenly, acutely aware of the fact that it did not have its nail. 

“I am aware. That is why we are here,” replied the Pale King. And then, without warning, he turned to the Pure Vessel. “This is a lesson for you, as important as your training in weapons or spellwork. You must know your enemy. Approach the creature.” He waved a hand towards the bars, and the Pure Vessel stepped forward. 

Nothing happened for a moment. And then, faster than the Vessel could have imagined, the beetle rushed towards it. There was something…horribly wrong with its face. Its eyes were not the comforting, liquid brown of most bugs, but a blazing orange-gold. More orange glowed from pustules and boils that had formed on its skin, pushing up its chitin in agonizing ways. The bug looked like it should be on the verge of death, but it rattled the bars with a strength far beyond what its small shell would possess.

The Pure Vessel did not flinch. The Pure Vessel was not afraid.

“This poor soul was an accountant two days ago. Yesterday, he took ill. This morning, he woke up like this,” the King gestured at the bug. “And killed his whole family, before attacking a City Watch station in a frenzy. He doesn’t do this by choice–or under his own power. The goddess forced her own madness upon him.”

The Pure Vessel did not feel fear, but…the goddess? The Radiance? That was the monster it was meant to contain? 

Its gaze tracked over the beetle’s distorted face, the orange tears it wept as it slobbered and screamed. Would it–would the Vessel–look like that someday? It had never considered–Father’s plan was perfect, of course, the Vessel was meant to contain the Radiance so of course it would–but would she–would destroy it like that–

The Pure Vessel was not afraid. It did not doubt its Father. Father had created it to contain the Radiance, and that was what it would do. It would save Father’s people from the mad goddess.

“There is nothing left for this one. No medicine known to our kind can save a bug from Infection this severe, and the goddess never lets go of those who fall into her clutches.” The Pale King’s voice was so soft it was almost a whisper. “This is the fate of so many across my land. And it will be the fate of so many more if I cannot defeat her.” There was something in his voice–something strange and wet–that the Pure Vessel had never heard before. It was…distressing. He was distressed, Father was distressed, and thought the Pure Vessel had neither thoughts nor feelings it had been created to ease its father’s burdens. 

When Father spoke again, his voice was barely audible over the sound of the Infected beetle. “You must be hollow. You must be pure, or all will fall to rot and her blazing light. You…must be the Hollow Knight.” He paused, and he seemed to reassure himself of something. Striding past the Pure Vessel, he placed a claw on the latch of the cage. “You are the Hollow Knight. You will bind the Radiance. And you will eliminate her plague from this country.”

The Pure Vessel realized what was about to happen only a second before it did; as the King opened the latch and the mad Infected roared out. It ignored the Vessel, the guards, and even the open elevator at the end of the hall and dashed instead for the Pale King. It was not half a second later that its head lay on the ground, feet away, while its body twitched horribly in the Vessel’s claws. Orange blood painted the walls and floor, and Vessel was covered in it, drenched in it, the sweet smell cloying and sickening. Not a drop had landed on the King.

“Excellent,” the King whispered.

It had taken Luna a long time to come to its senses after that, and the sensation of sweat coating its shell mixed with the awful memory of orange blood and the sight of orange lava and real, horrible realization that Dia’s blood had been nearly that same color when it had carried her back to camp. It had fallen to its knees on the stone and vomited up what little it had eaten that morning, unable to separate the recent memories from the long-distant past. 

When it could stand again–when it had finally started back to camp–it had thought about telling Dia. The whole series of events was one of those things that Dia said “normal people”--by which she usually meant moths–talked about. She had spent the better part of a century, in their captivity in the temple, trying to get Luna to talk to her about things. But there was something so…eerie, about this particular memory, about the way the orange blood had looked on Luna’s claws and how quickly Luna had killed the Infected beetle to save the King. The thought of not telling her made it feel strangely guilty, but the thought of telling her doubly so.

So it had returned to camp, apologized for being out so long, saying only that it had run into trouble in the Marrow. It had kept going out, while Dia recovered, and while it had met more Haunted, it tried its best to simply evade them. It was doable when Luna was alone, agile as it was. It would not be so easy, with Dia beside it–slower and heavier, unable to use her wings to fly away. There was a very real chance they would have to fight, and frequently.

But there was no keeping Dia in the campsite indefinitely. She had been desperate to leave, checking her leg multiple times a day to see if it was healing properly, and the moment she could walk on it she was ready to depart. Luna was less eager for her to leave the relative safety of the campsite–it knew Dia was stubborn, and Flick had remarked more than once that she seemed to have a higher pain tolerance than most bugs. Luna had a strong suspicion that Dia’s leg was not quite as healed as she made it appear, but there was no convincing her.

Perhaps it was a good thing they were leaving, though–leaving camp meant getting away from the chapel of the Void worshipper. Luna had not liked the look of that woman one bit. From the first time she saw it she had reminded it of the scientists who sometimes worked with Father, bugs who were fascinated with the Void and constantly poking at the Pure Vessel. They were eager to learn how it worked, what it looked like inside, and if Father had allowed it Luna thought they might have flayed it alive. Luna had gone back to the chapel once, quietly, and found it almost suspiciously empty, as though the snail had cleared out in a hurry. Even then, it couldn’t shake the feeling that it was being watched, a feeling that made the Void inside it rattle like loose stones. Luna hadn’t liked being so close to that place, or leaving Dia near it, as weak as she was.

So the two of them set off one morning, after bidding farewell to the pilgrims at the campsite. Flick gave Luna an enthusiastic farewell, along with a surprisingly touching gift–a tiny statue of Luna carved of shell-shard. To Dia, he gave an extremely stiff nod, before scuttling quickly away.

“What did you do to him?” Luna asked as they left, examining the little statue in the light.

“I didn’t do anything to him, child. Bugs are so sensitive these days,” Dia replied airily. “There were times when receiving wisdom–like, for example, how to properly set a broken leg–from a higher being was considered good fortune. He should count himself lucky.”

Luna gave a soft laugh as it stowed the statue safely in its bag. Together, they headed into the Marrow, taking the low road. It wasn’t long before a sound reached Luna’s ears, a different sound than the ceaseless grinding of the machinery beneath the Marrow or the muttering of the Haunted.

“Music?” Luna tilted its head, listening. There was a little voice up ahead, not melodic and flowing like Dia’s but high and bright. It was accompanied by the slightly off-beat chime of a bell. The cheerful sound was at odds with anything Luna had known of Pharloom so far, and after a quick glance at Dia, it hurried to find the source.

A few twists and turns of the cavern away, the path lay blocked by a gate made of bones. Luna had encountered a few of those over the past few weeks, and suspected that there was a switch or latch nearby to open it. But the bug standing before the gate didn’t seem to be interested in searching for one. Instead, the tiny creature stood, apparently heedless of the dangerous territory around it, singing…to the gate.

“Oh hear me pray, please hear me sing,” sang the bug. “My path's ahead, but here's the thing, I can't squeeze past, o gate of bone, so please wake up, and help... oh?”

He had heard them, and turned—not with the swift readiness of a predator, or even the nervous awareness of prey, but with a surprisingly friendly smile. He held a tiny pin in one hand, but even from a distance Luna could see it was sadly blunted, likely from being hit by the golden bell the boy carried in his other hand.

“Little one,” Dia began, in that particular tone of voice that Luna knew meant she was holding herself back from saying something rude, “what exactly is it you’re doing out here? It’s not exactly safe to be making so much noise, not in this area.”

“Ah, Madam! You are too kind, to worry for my safety so!” The small bug seemed positively overjoyed at Dia’s concern, nearly glowing. “But I am a pilgrim, just like yourselves! In this kingdom, songs raised in faith are as much a shield against evil as any pin, and can move even a gate of bone. Come, Golden Madam! Raise your voice with me, and let us move this gate together!”

Luna stared blankly. It had never been met with such raw positivity before, and felt slightly unsettled. More to the point, it failed to see how music alone could raise a gate. Even Dia’s voice, which had magic beyond mortal ken, could not move dead bone. It fully expected Dia to say that too.

But Dia had gone silent, and as Luna started to speak in her place, she laid a hand on its shoulder. (There’s so little hope in this kingdom. Let the boy keep his.)

Out loud, she turned to Luna and spoke. “I have to step back to camp for a minute. But why don’t you add your voice to this little one’s? You never know what might happen.”

She was smiling, but her lamp lit eyes were narrowed on the ceiling,  examining the rock around the gate. Luna wondered, as always, what her eyes could see that its own could not—a tripwire? A locking mechanism? Whatever it was, she seemed satisfied with something she saw, and climbed off into the narrow cave above them. The boy didn’t seem to realize that Dia hadn’t left in the direction of camp, and instead began to sing again.

“Sturdy gate, don’t break or beeeennd,” he began, then looked in askance at Luna. It took a second for Luna to grasp what the bug meant, and with a pained sigh, it repeated the song.

The boy, of course, seemed delighted. He clapped, a response that no one but Dia had given to Luna’s voice before, before finishing the verse: “just open for me, and my tall maiden frieeeennd!”

Luna paused at that, not sure whether to be more confused by being described as ‘tall’, ‘friend’, or ‘maiden.’ Tall no longer felt like it applied to Luna, not after it had shed the overgrown form of the Pure Vessel—but it did still tower over the diminutive singing beetle. 

Friend was another thing it was unused to being called. The Pure Vessel had no friends, needed no friends. Even the Five Knights, who had a tight camaraderie between themselves, fell silent in its presence. But even Luna didn’t really have friends—there was Dia, who was its mother in all but blood; Hornet, its half-sister; maybe Grimm and the carnival; the pilgrims in the campsite who required Luna’s aid more than they desired its company; and then…

Huh. It was a novel concept. Friend.

“You have a lovely voice, Green Maiden! I’m sure this gate will move for the two of us,” the boy chirped.

Maiden? That had never been applied to it either, but it struck Luna for the first time that it could have been. It had been a larva once, before the Void, hadn’t it? Wyrm-child, Root-child, whatever that would have looked like mixed together—

—it would never know, because Father had never let a single one of his and the Root’s children grow up—

—and it had never really considered it, but…without the Void, it would have been born a child with organs and blood and shell like any other. A prince? A princess? With pale chitin instead of iridescent black and light blue blood instead of seething Void, with a name upon birth, an heir instead of a Vessel…

With a home, in the White Palace? With friends? 

That thought was intriguing, if eerie. It had no time to consider it, however, as the gate creaked open. Naturally, the boy exploded into cheers, nearly making Luna’s shade leap from its shell in fright.

“Hoy! Did you see it, Green Maiden? The great gate heard our song and, in its infinite and ancient kindness, has opened the way forward for us!” The boy looked up at Luna expectantly. Luna…very much doubted the truth of his words. The gate had opened due to divine intervention, just due to the very mundane actions of a very different god—likely Dia had found the hidden switch to open it, elsewhere in the caves. But Luna couldn’t help but remember what Dia had said about hope…and Luna had found such little hope in the pilgrim’s campsite, with so many there seeming to have given up before their journey had begun. So Luna nodded. At its tacit approval, the boy clapped with delight.

“Gate, gate, gate! Nicest gate I've met! Gate, gate, gate! Greatest miracle yet! Ha ha ha!”

The song wasn’t all that bad, Luna thought. It wasn’t beautiful, but it was heartfelt. It leaned down. “You know, the road ahead is pretty dangerous. Why don’t you travel with my mother and I? My nail is sharper than your pin, and we could look out for each other…friend,” it finished somewhat lamely. Luna had little understanding of how friends conversed, and hoped it had not overstepped.

But if the boy had been brightly positive before, Luna’s question made him nearly radiant, as bright as the Old Light had ever been. “Such a wonderful offer! Kind beyond words! But we pilgrims are meant to travel alone, to show our devotion. Don’t worry,” he said, tiny hands grasping Luna’s much larger claws, “I’m sure we’ll meet again, Green Maiden! At the Citadel’s peak, if nothing else!”

“Oh. Um. Luna. My name is Luna.”

“Sherma,” the boy replied cheerfully. “Good luck to you and your mother!” He gave a hearty wave before ambling down the hallway, clanking the bell against his nail the whole way. Luna gave a numb, sad little wave, unable to shake the idea that the happy little bug was wandering obliviously straight to his death. Had it really done the little beetle a favor, making him believe that Pharloom would be kind to him? Should it have told Sherma the truth? It didn’t know.

After he departed, Dia wriggled out from the crack in the ceiling she had disappeared to. She looked slightly worse for wear; with her fur slightly ruffled and a tear in her shawl. Dark purple blood was drying on the orb atop her staff, casting eerie shadows in the cave.

“What happened?” Luna started forward, but Dia waved it off.

“There was a horde of nasty little crawling things gathered around the switch. Perhaps the gate is a trap they’ve set to lure food into a more accessible cavern. Judging by the collection of skulls on the floor, I’d say they’ve been quite successful.” Dia scraped at the blood on her staff with distaste before swinging it through the air. The heavy orb made a menacing whistling noise as it swung. “But as sharp as their claws were, their shells were quite fragile. I made short enough work of them, and this path should be relatively safe for the near future.”

Luna nodded, and the two set off again. The heat and light increased, the further east they travelled. Luna could feel its cloak sticking to its chitin as they drew closer to the lava pits. Dia, despite her furry ruff, seemed unbothered. As the heat rose, Luna slowed to walk behind Dia, focusing less on the growing orange light around them and letting its attention narrow to the gentle, rosy light emanating from her staff. It was far gentler than the harsh orange glow building around them, of the blazing lava—

—of the beetle’s wild eyes and burning flesh, of the blood on the Pure Vessel’s hands after it tore the head from his thorax, of the blood on Luna’s hands as it set its mother’s leg—

Far gentler. Luna kept its gaze on the little spot of light, hoping they could pass through the Marrow this way. But it wasn’t long after they’d passed into the lava fields that Dia abruptly stopped.

Luna forced itself to look up, pulling itself of its stupor. It started forward, only to have its path blocked as Dia threw an arm in front of it. In askance, Luna looked up to see Dia’s face drawn and tight, her eyes focused on something ahead. She shook her head minutely.

Following Dia’s gaze, Luna looked ahead, struggling to see in the light of the lava. The air shimmered with heat, but at the far end of the cavern, Luna could just make out a small, white form. It turned towards them, and a voice called across the gap.

“So there’s the little godling who caused such a fuss on the bridge,” began the voice. It was high and mellifluous, with a sing-song lilt to it. “I’ve been looking all over for you. Such a pleasure to meet you at last! You can call me Lace.”

Chapter Text

“So there’s the little godling who caused such a fuss on the bridge. I’ve been looking all over for you. Such a pleasure to meet you at last! You can call me Lace.”

Dia kept an arm up to block Luna’s path, cursing silently. The girl at the end of the cavern did not seem physically threatening, but alarm bells from instincts Dia hadn’t even known she’d possessed were clanging in her ears.

The girl was short, with a high, childish voice, but her tone suggested the confidence of a seasoned adult. She held a golden pin, the finest Dia had seen, but her grip was loose—elbow bent, wrist open, pin pointing to the ground. Her sloppy stance stood in sharp contrast to Luna’s immaculate nail discipline. It could mean that she was a noncombatant, an overconfident novice…or a master who was certain in her ability to snap the pin to attention at a moment’s notice. Dia, unfortunately, suspected the latter.

But the most troubling thing about her by far was the fact that she was, unmistakably, a Vessel.

Not a Vessel as Hallownest knew, a Void construct meant to contain the living Light. No, Dia suspected this was a Pharloom special: a construct of silk. How such a thing could exist, how it could speak and have a personality, was a question for another day. Dia was certain she was right: though the silk had been woven tightly, the harsh light of the lava behind Lace transluminated her whole body. There was no fooling Dia’s sight. Under the silk, Lace was completely hollow inside.

(Child. That girl is a silk construct,) she said quickly, feeling Luna’s jolt of surprise through their link. (She may be similar to you…perhaps created by a similar being. We would be wise to escape the confrontation.)

She did not add ‘for a similar purpose.’ Lace’s gaze was eerily intense on her, but there was no way this kingdom had created a Vessel specially to imprison her.

If nothing else, there was no way a silken prison could ever contain a goddess of Light. The material was simply far too flammable.

She began walking backward slowly, keeping her eyes on Lace, when the girl suddenly raised her weapon and shouted.

“Oh, old woman! What do you think you’re doing, stealing my prey? Scuttle out of here if you must, but the godling is mine.”

Both Luna and Dia froze and that, and Dia had to restrain the sudden and inappropriate urge to laugh. She felt a little insulted, frankly—did this girl not know she was in the presence of the scourge of Hallownest? There were places in the world where Dia’s name was both the blackest of oaths and the cruelest of curses. But it seemed that Dia’s reputation had, for once, not preceded her.

Shaking off those ridiculous thoughts, Dia tried to assess the situation. It was in fact an exceptionally good thing that Lace, and the god she served, had not realized that Dia was a higher being. It seemed, however, that they had guessed that Luna was. In response, Dia pushed the child all the way behind her as her staff dimmed to an ominous fiery orange. 

No magic, she could use no magic to win this fight, but she had other tricks. The hot breath of the molten rock around them felt gentle against her skin, like the blazing light she had once created for the skies of the dream, like the burning heat she had been born in. She could draw far closer to it than that flammable little silk beast—she may even be able to touch it safely, though she couldn't be certain of the limitations of her mortal form. If she could egg the girl on, trick her into approaching the edge, Dia could plunge the staff into the molten lake and shower the silken construct with bits of blazing rock. A solid plan, as long as she was quick enough. She could keep Luna out of the silk goddess’s sight.

But black claws were closing on her wrist, pulling her arm down. Luna stepped up beside her, then in front, drawing its nail and snapping into the perfect, needle-straight posture of a knight of the Pale Court.

(Little one, let me fight her. You mustn’t let her master see the extent of your power.)

(Grimm was worried about your power, not mine,) Luna replied. (The guards on the bridge already saw my magic, and probably the Void inside me, too. You shouldn’t be fighting her without magic. You don’t know what she’s capable of.)

Dia ground her mandibles in annoyance. It went against everything in her to let Luna fight alone—she was the elder, she was the goddess—even if she wasn’t really, not anymore. The silken god had tried to possess Luna once already, without even knowing what a prize the former Hollow Knight was. Dia’s limitations mattered less than her duty.

(You’ve protected me for a long time. I can protect you, too.) Luna’s voice was small and light, but as it stepped forward, it broke the perfect posture of its training to give a slight flourish of its nail. Confidently loose, like Lace’s stance had been, though the affectation looked a little forced on Luna. (Let me protect you too. Please.)

She could not argue with that, so she stepped back and allowed Luna to face the silk Vessel. Lace let out a peal of laughter as it approached. 

“I heard you slaughtered an entire welcoming party! Incredible to think that you did it dressed like that!” 

Dia scowled at that. She could use a scarf to go with her shawl, perhaps in white; this creature, if unspooled, would make for a suitable material.

“Such incredible abilities! One might think you a Weaver,” sang the silk girl. While her voice was bright and jovial, her gaze on Luna was piercing. “But I heard such a strange story, little godling, of your shell pierced and living darkness coming out.“

Neither Luna or Dia spoke. Ahead of them, Lace toyed with her pin, bending the thin blade as she glared at them. “It makes me wonder just what you are.” There was venom in her voice, but Dia wasn’t sure which of them it was directed towards.

For a second, there was silence. When it finally spoke, Luna’s voice was gentle. “I think…I think I’m something like you are,” Luna began. “A Vessel. I’ve never—it’s been a long time since I met anyone else like me, and maybe…the two of us could be friends?”

There was so much hope contained in Luna’s voice that Dia couldn’t help but be hopeful for it. Lace stood stock-still, her head cocked to the side, and Dia knew better but damn if it didn’t look like the girl was actually considering it. When Lace spoke, her voice had lost some of its mocking glee. But underneath the veneer, the girl’s voice was eerily cold.

“Vessel? What is it that I’m meant to hold? What is it that I’m meant to do? No, no, you know nothing of me, you little freak. We’re nothing alike.” She raised her pin, and her stance was no longer loose and sloppy but sharp and threatening. “For one thing, she actually wants you! So tell me, godling, shall I bring you to her? Or spite her by spilling your black blood into the lava?”

Dia shouted a warning, but Luna was already moving as Lace darted forward. Her pin skewered the air where Luna had been standing only a millisecond ago, and she gave a shriek of rage when she looked up to see Luna’s long black moth wings extending. From above, Luna cast a spell, and Dia felt her own magic rush past her as a forest of glittering golden spikes appeared on the ground, undulating in a vast shimmering wave. Lace leapt backwards, but her feet caught the spikes with dreadful, wet-sounding rip.

Limping now, Lace stumbled backwards. Dia found herself hopeful that the silken girl might turn and flee, but it seemed she wasn’t done yet. Lace cast magic of her own, and a tiny white glow appeared in the air just beside where Luna was hovering.

“Child! She means to telep—“ was all Dia got out before the white glow exploded into a glistening sphere. Lace appeared in the air right behind Luna, slashing forward with her pin and drawing horrible ropes of Void that splashed to the ground below. Lace’s quick slashes had placed her above Luna, and she raised her pin, ready to skewer the child through its thorax between the two moth wings. Dia had time to scream, raising her staff to train a beam of magical light on the fencer.

But before her spell  had time to finish charging, Luna had moved, and Lace was falling through empty air. The child’s shape had…fluctuated, somehow, its chitinous limbs suddenly becoming loose and fluid, its form blurring and sliding away from Lace. A few feet away, Luna reformed, skidding across the stone on its tarsi and whirling around to cast a spell over its shoulder. Three soul daggers shot off towards Lace, and while the construct dodged them easily, she shrieked with rage when she realized that her dodge had put her right in the path of a wall of light that tore across the floor burning everything in its path.

Dia saw the girl look around in a panic, caught between the rapidly approaching wall of light on one side, and Luna’s nail on the other. And then…her gaze settled on Dia, who had dutifully remained out of the fight.

Her pin was at Dia’s throat before Dia could think to run–not that she would have made it far. Lace kicked her staff away, grabbing her arm and pulling her downwards with surprising force. The wall of light halted instantly, dissolving into essence as Luna froze.

“Child, do not let this little beast’s antics stop you. You know my own magic is no threat to me,” Dia said, rolling her eyes. Her knees smarted from where Lace had forced her to the ground, but she was otherwise quite unharmed. She suspected that Lace’s pin, fine-edged though it was, would have a hard time slicing through the thick ruff of fur around her throat–Hornet’s double-bladed needle had been a much better tool for that. As far as hostage crises went, this one hardly warranted much concern.

Still, Luna remained frozen, stock-still in the same unnerving way it did sometimes, when some unknown action or sight seemed to trigger something within it. Memories, perhaps? In such a state, it almost resembled the Pure Vessel of old, standing still and silent with neither mind nor voice. She could only guess what had made the child freeze up this time…it had been acting odd for a few weeks, since it had started going out to the Marrow alone, and it had been so adamant about protecting her before. Was it the sight of her in danger?

“That’s right,” Lace snapped. It was odd, to be so close to her and hear her obvious lack of breathing. Even Luna's body simulated lungs with Void. “Stop the spellwork and drop your nail. I said drop it!”

Luna did not appear to be listening. (Child. My magic will not harm me if you use it against her,) Dia said gently, but the only response from Luna’s mind was a wave of numb panic centered around the pin at Dia’s throat. Oh, it was very touching, and perhaps once they were free of this situation Dia might shed a tear. But Luna’s stiff fingers were beginning to loosen on the hilt of its nail–whether from compliance or dissociation Dia couldn’t tell–and one of them needed to act before Lace realized how helpless her former opponent now was.

As Lace jolted them both forward, her eyes fixed on Luna, Dia eyed the lava. Her staff had been kicked away, but the nearest pool was within reach…the heat on her skin felt no different, really, than the light that had once blazed across the skies of her realm. The light she had lived in, the light that pulsed in her veins and fed the dream heart.

So, theoretically, it should probably be fine. She dipped her hand in.

It was warm, lusciously warm like the Moth Tribe’s hot springs, and it swirled and eddied around her fingers in thick currents. Glassy-smooth, it felt gentle and comforting against her claws. As Lace pushed her forward, Dia closed her fingers around the bright liquid, whipped it across her chest, and threw.

Glowing droplets of pure gold flew through the air in a gorgeous arc, and Dia watched with satisfaction as Lace turned towards her, the girl’s eyes widening in horror as she realized for the first time that Dia, too, had been a threat. She realized it too late, however, as the drops of magma hit her squarely in her chest and her oversized hat not a half a second later. Silk was as flammable a substance as Dia had remembered.

With an awful sizzling noise, the lava began to chew through the girl’s silk–through her flesh? Was it all, from her clothes to her silly hat, flesh? Could she feel it? Questions for another day–leaving quickly widening holes with glowing orange edges. As Dia had suspected, the holes led to nothing; no shell lay beneath the silk, not even Void. Lace screamed, and Dia revised her opinion: the silken construct absolutely could feel pain. A question Dia had not particularly needed answered.

“Witch! I’ll pay you back for this, I swear–” Lace was patting herself down, frantically trying to put out the smoldering fires, but she spared a glance towards Dia that was so filled with hatred it might have impressed the Pale King. A second later, she tore off, darting past the still-frozen Luna.

Dia followed, stopping before Luna and reaching out a tentative hand. “Little one? Luna?”

Luna remained frozen in place. (Child?) No response.

“Hollow Knight?” Dia’s voice was soft, the words bitter on her tongue. But Luna responded to that, hands tightening on its nail and posture snapping into the Knight’s parade rest. Dia took its hand gently, but the claws were stiff as wax, bending only when she moved them.

(Little one, show me what’s wrong,) she said. She had seen this before, in the White Palace— she’d been focused on navigating through that mad obstacle course, and had only realized something was wrong when the child had accidentally—

—she’d wanted to believe it was an accident at the time—

—torn open its hand on a saw blade. It had seemed frozen then, too; but it was worse now. Luna’s eyes didn’t even seem to see her anymore. Rather, its attention focused inwards at a terror she could only guess at. 

(Luna. Little one. I need to see inside your mind.) Luna offered neither acceptance nor resistance, so with a squirm of guilt in her chest, she placed a claw upon the broad white expanse of its mask and pushed the dream into its waking mind.

The spell barely stung her—her heart gave a slight stutter, nothing more. Entering the dream was the simplest thing in the world, coming more naturally to her than fire and violence once had. Though she was no longer a part of her realm, she still commanded it with ease—and Luna’s mind was so easy to slip inside. The child had had no walls or defenses mounted against her, something that made her feel even more guilty for invading its waking thoughts. It has to be done, she thought. 

The source of the child’s distress wasn’t hard to find. The scene repeated itself in front of her in unstable jerks and skips: the Pure Vessel, elegant and stately in unstained white; the Infected beetle; the King, in danger, though his form would morph and split into Dia’s own. And Luna, drenched in orange blood, holding not the beetle’s corpse but that of the Radiance.

This was more than a memory—though the underlying memory was horrifying, it had morphed into something else. Dia would call it a nightmare, but she could see no sign of her brother’s hand at work, and she doubted that even Grimm would stoop so low. No, it seemed to be something that Luna’s own mind had created, a self-referring fiction caused by traumatic stress. 

Dia had, rarely, seen such things in moths—milder, of course. No child of the Moth Tribe had ever suffered like the Pure Vessel. But it happened, after illnesses or deaths. The afflicted moth would pray to the Radiance, and she would cast dreams over their memories, layers upon layers, until the memory was obliterated. She had not lost the talent for that, at least, and she could easily help Luna this way. The corridor began to glow rosy gold as she raised her staff, preparing to strike out the errant memory.  Golden clouds seeped into the prison through the seams and joints of the walls, beginning to obscure the faces of the guards…

And then Dia’s eyes fell on the beetle, still lunging against the prison bars, and she paused. She…she should probably not be doing this. 

Luna had not asked for this, like the moths had. And Luna was very different from a moth child in ways that broke her heart and filled her with rage. If she was to erase this traumatic memory, would there not be another, right behind it? She would have to erase nearly all of Luna’s life at the White Palace to be certain it was cured. What would be left of the child’s memories, after that? To do such a thing would go beyond breaking Luna’s trust; it would be akin to murder.

Dia stepped up to the beetle, still scratching desperately at the bars. His face was a horror, his eyes a terrifying funhouse mirror version of her own. No wonder the sight of her blood had unnerved Luna so, when it poured from the man in rivulets of tears, collecting in pustules under his chitin. Her magic—the same magic that had so comforted the moths, the same magic that had been meant to bring light and hope—had done this, her hand had wrought this. 

It was easy to forget, after so long, that she was the evil Luna had been created to destroy. Luna, apparently, had not forgotten.

She looked over at the Pure Vessel. The false memory had skipped ahead again, and it stood in front of the King, holding a mass of grey fur and orange meat that turned her stomach to look at. The Vessel’s hands shook.

Her own thoughtless magic had caused this to happen in the first place. Dia could not use magic to fix it. 

Swallowing her nausea, she stepped up, placing a hand on the Pure Vessel’s. Her palmpads stuck to the drying orange blood as Luna startled, whirling around to look at her as if for the first time.

“I did this,” she said softly. “I did this to myself, and you had nothing to do with it. It was my fight, my choice, my burden to take. Lay it down, child.”

Her stomach roiling, she reached down, forcing Luna’s orange-stained fingers to unclench from the horrible mass of gray fur. It slid to the ground with a sickening wet slap and a clatter of metal horns on stone. 

“Don’t listen to her lies. She means to lead you astray from your purpose,” hissed a voice, and Dia looked up in horror to see that the memory of the Pale King had spoken.  “This is why you must be hollow. You must be pure. Or all of this was for nothing—“

“Hush,” she snapped,  and if she manipulated the dream just a tiny bit to silence the King, it was truly for the best. It couldn’t truly be him, anyway, the way it had reacted to her. She suspected it was Luna’s own voice, given a horrible mouthpiece.

How could the King have ever thought his Vessel mindless? Luna had the most overactive imagination she’d ever seen, even if the child primarily used it to torture itself.

“We were wrong to involve others in our war. You. Him,” she said, gesturing at the Infected beetle. “We were gods. We had no business using children to fight for us.”

She reached for Luna’s face, but it twisted away from her, eyes still on the grey corpse at its feet. 

“You never hurt me,” she whispered. It was a lie and the truth blended together. She was not the corpse on the floor—and Luna never needed to know about the moths, or the wound on her chest. A god protected her tribe, even if her tribe had been whittled down to one person. “You could never hurt me. Please, leave this place and come back with me. There are better dreams to have.”

Luna stayed silent, and she wondered if it could not speak here—in this memory of the White Palace, a time when a voice had been denied it. So she took its hand instead, and in the wordless quiet, she began to hum the song the two of them knew so well, the song that she had sung to it in the temple and when it had been lost in the Lord of Shades.

Luna did not respond, but after a few seconds its posture sagged. She took that as permission, leading it by the hand down the long white corridor and away.

oOo

Dia woke in the light and heat, kneeling on the stone floor with Luna slumped against her. The child did not respond when she moved, and for a second she panicked–had something gone wrong? Had she left Luna behind in the false memory?

But Luna’s weight against hers was limp and relaxed, not stiff and catatonic as it had been before. Essence flickered around the edges of their shared telepathic link, and Dia sighed with relief–she had left Luna in the dream. Its mind, at least, was safe. In that world, perhaps it could find a little peace from the terror it had just left. 

Its body, on the other hand, not to mention her own, was a different story. They had journeyed farther out in the Marrow than Luna’s maps reached, and Dia had no idea how long it would take for that wicked little silk creature to recover. When she did, though, the girl would be back with a vengeance.

Should she carry Luna back to the campsite? It was slightly safer there, with the improvements Luna had made to the camp’s fortifications, and she could wait there for Luna to wake up naturally.

But…she had only defeated Lace because of the good fortune of the Marrow’s lava fields. The campsite held no such protections, and Dia was not confident she could defeat the agile fencer in a contest of skill alone. And if she failed…argh, she had not cared for Flick and his bumbling inability to properly set broken chitin, but she didn’t particularly want his death on her hands if Lace came to the camp looking for vengeance. 

No, Dia realized, heart sinking, it was not safe to remain in place and not safe to go backwards either. She would have to push forwards into unknown territory and hope she did not encounter a serious threat before Luna awoke; she was at loath to force the child awake and break the healing process she had begun. With a sigh of resignation, she tied Luna’s nail to her cloak and hefted the child up into her arms. She turned to leave, and froze.

Someone was coming up the path ahead. Not the silken fencer–the footfalls were much too heavy, and as they got closer Dia could hear a woman’s voice humming tunelessly. Before Dia could move to hide, or draw Luna’s nail, the woman had turned a corner. She was a squat bug, with a protuberant nose and hooded red cloak.

In a somewhat unwelcome sign, her arms were full of dozens and dozens of bones.

“Oh?” The woman’s eyes fell on Dia. “Now just who are you?”