Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Darkness.

Not the comfortable kind, not sleep — but a drowning, suffocating weight that pressed against every inch of them. They remembered something… something glowing, something alive, and then nothing.

A voice — faint, half-forgotten, like an echo in a dream:

“Nothing but to be silent. Nothing but to serve.”

When their eyes opened, they weren’t eyes at all. The world was dull, grey, infinite stone. They tried to gasp, to scream, but the sound came out as a hollow rasp. Their hands — not hands anymore. Hard, chitinous claws. Their reflection shimmered faintly in a cracked piece of stone.

A small, buglike figure stared back. White mask. Black body. Eyes glowing faintly from deep sockets.

The panic came sharp and sudden.

No. No, this isn’t real. This is… Hallownest?

The name bubbled up from memory — from fandom, from obsession. They had spent hours watching Silksong trailers, poring over Hollow Knight wikis, arguing about lore online. They had dreamed of this world… but dreaming was one thing. Living it was another.

They stumbled forward into the forgotten crossroads of stone. The air smelled like dust and rot. Every step echoed too loudly, as if the tunnels themselves were listening.

In the distance, a faint orange glow pulsed — infection, writhing like fireflies caught in amber.

And then — movement. A massive shape lumbered from the dark. Gruzfly, its wings buzzing like broken glass. It lunged, and instinct — not memory — took over. They swung an unseen weapon, and something heavy and sharp appeared in their grasp: a nail, chipped, rusted, but real.

The Gruzfly fell in two. Its body twitched once, then stilled.

The silence that followed felt worse than the fight.

They stood there, trembling, staring at the nail in their hand.

This… this isn’t a game. This is real. And if this is real… then somewhere out there… she’s real too.

A thrill — sharp, guilty — went through them. Hornet. Their favorite. Their reason for loving Silksong.But not the reason for loving Hollow Knight entirely.

But excitement quickly gave way to fear.

Because if Hornet was real… then so was the Hollow Knight. So was the Infection. So was the ending.

And they were trapped in the middle of it.

The path stretched forward into shadow. They tightened their grip on the nail, swallowing down their terror.

“Fine,” they whispered to the dark, though their voice cracked. “If I’m here… I’ll walk the path. But I swear, Hornet—”

Their claws shook. The words caught in their throat.

“I’ll keep you safe. Even if it kills me.”

And so the journey began.

Chapter Text

Their claws scraped against stone as they stumbled forward, still not used to the weight of their new form. Each movement felt… wrong. Their limbs were too light, their body strangely hollow. When they breathed, the sound echoed inside their shell like air inside an empty bottle.

They leaned against the cavern wall, dragging in rattling breaths.

Okay. Calm down. You… you died. You remember that much. And now… you’re here. Hallownest. This isn’t a dream.

They tapped their mask with one claw, flinching at the sharp clink. No flesh, no skin. Just cold chitin.

It was terrifying. But also… familiar. They had read about vessels, about the Abyss. In the wiki, it was fascinating lore. But standing here — feeling the emptiness inside their chest — it was unbearable.

Their nail felt heavy in their grip, the blade chipped and ancient. It wasn’t just a weapon anymore. It was life or death.

The air shifted. A faint breeze carried with it the scent of dust and old moss. Ahead, a dim glow. The cavern widened into an open space.

And there — sitting quietly by a lantern, hunched but alive — was a bug. Not monstrous. Not hostile.

An old one, with a long snout and patient eyes.

Elderbug.

The protagonist froze, heart lurching. They knew this NPC. Knew every line he spoke, how players often rushed past him on their way into the Crossroads. But seeing him here — alive, breathing, waiting — it was overwhelming.

Elderbug looked up. His gaze lingered on them, thoughtful but kind.

“Ah… another traveler,” he said, his voice like soft gravel. “Strange… it has been so long since I’ve seen a face like yours. Tell me… do you come to seek the ruins too?”

The words struck deep. The protagonist wanted to shout, No! I didn’t choose this! I was thrown here! But their throat caught. Instead, they simply nodded.

Elderbug smiled faintly. “A silent one, eh? Very well. Few words are needed in Hallownest. The path ahead is yours to walk.”

The warmth of his voice was almost enough to soothe them. Almost. But as Elderbug looked away, back toward the endless black tunnel, the protagonist felt a chill.

Because they realized something horrible.

Elderbug had been here for years. Maybe centuries. And in the game, he never left this spot. He was a kind face in a dying kingdom — but he was stuck.

Just like them.

They gripped their nail tighter.

“Don’t… don’t worry,” they whispered under their breath, words Elderbug could never hear. “I won’t get stuck. I’ll find a way through. And Hornet—”

Their voice broke, half with awe, half with fear.

“I’ll find you.”

Chapter Text

Elderbug’s lantern-light faded behind them, swallowed by the cavern’s darkness. The tunnels stretched ahead — jagged stone, damp air, and silence so deep it pressed against their shell like a weight.

Each step echoed. Too loud. Too vulnerable.

They glanced down at their claws. Not hands. Not skin. Not anything they had once known. Their body felt hollow, strange — yet alive in its own way. When they flexed, faint cracks of pale light shimmered through the seams of their shell.

So this is… Soul.

In the game, it was a simple mechanic. Strike an enemy, build Soul, heal with focus. Easy. But here? The glow inside them was unsettling — like holding someone else’s heartbeat in their chest.

They raised the nail. The blade was longer than they expected, heavier too. It hummed faintly when they gripped it with both claws. A weapon meant for killing, not for comfort.

The silence broke — wings fluttered overhead. Small shadows darted along the ceiling. The protagonist froze, heart racing. A Crawling Husk lurched out from the tunnel’s edge, its mask cracked, body glowing faintly with orange infection.

It shambled toward them.

Their claws shook.

In the game, it was a weak enemy. Here, it was a corpse that walked. Its mask was broken, eyes empty, but its body twitched with unnatural life. They could smell it now — the infection. Sweet, rotting, sharp like spoiled fruit.

The Husk screeched.

The protagonist screamed back — raw panic — and swung the nail. The blade cleaved through brittle bone, slicing the creature in half. Its body collapsed, twitching, then stilled.

Silence again.

The protagonist’s breath rattled. Their claws wouldn’t stop shaking.

And then — warmth. That faint glow inside their chest surged, rising like liquid fire through cracks in their shell. Instinct took over. They pressed their claws together, focused inward.

The world dimmed. Time slowed.

White light burst from their body, wrapping around cracked chitin where the Husk had scratched them. The wound sealed, the pain faded.

Focus.

When the glow dimmed, they fell to their knees, panting.

It worked. Just like in the game… it actually worked.

But the relief was brief. Because they realized how it felt. The Soul wasn’t healing — it was burning. Every use left them emptier, hungrier. They understood, now, why this kingdom had fallen to madness.

They pushed themself up, trembling, nail dragging against the ground.

Ahead, the Crossroads stretched on. Silent. Waiting.

They kept walking.

Chapter Text

The tunnels wound deeper, twisting into silence. The air grew damp, the stone walls slick with moss. They staggered forward, gripping their nail, every step slower than the last.

Something glowed faintly ahead — not orange infection, but pale blue light.

A hut. Small, worn, carved into the cavern wall. Strange markings glimmered faintly above the door, like eyes half-lidded in sleep.
You hesitated, claws trembling. They knew this place. From the wiki, from playthroughs. The Snail Shaman.

This is where I get… a spell.

Cautiously, they pushed the door open.

Inside, the air smelled of dust and incense. The room pulsed with dim light, carved idols stacked in the corners. And at the center, waiting with a smile too wide to be kind, was a figure.

The Snail Shaman.

“Ahh… a visitor,” the Shaman crooned, voice echoing strangely. “It has been so long since one of your kind has come to me. You… are special, aren’t you? I can feel it.”

#### flinched. They didn’t want to be special. They wanted to go home. But before they could back away, the Shaman raised his claws, murmuring in a tongue that vibrated in their shell.

The air thickened. Soul surged inside them, boiling like molten glass.

They screamed — choked and raw — as white fire burned through their hollow chest, forcing its way out.

When it was over, they collapsed, gasping, claws digging into the floor. The glow inside them was brighter now, harsher, like a second heartbeat trying to rip itself free.

The Shaman chuckled softly. “There now… the Vengeful Spirit is yours. A gift of flame, drawn from your very essence. Use it well.”

#####lifted their claw. White energy sparked at their fingertips, trembling like lightning barely contained.

Terrifying. Beautiful. Wrong.

“This will let you strike from afar,” the Shaman said, his tone almost mocking. “But beware, child… each use drains your Soul. Too much, and you may find there is nothing left of you to burn.”

The words sank deep. #### stared at their claws, at the raw light they could summon now.

In the game, it was just a spell. Just a tool.
But here… it feels like I’m tearing pieces of myself out.

The Shaman gestured toward a door at the back of the hut. “Go. A creature blocks the way beyond. Test your flame. Survive, or be consumed. Such is Hallownest’s way.”

The ###### swallowed hard. They already knew what waited for them. The False Knight’s lair.

And they weren’t ready.

But Hallownest didn’t care.

Chapter Text

The tunnel behind the Shaman’s hut opened into a cavernous chamber. The ceiling arched high above, chains rattling faintly in the gloom. The ground shook with every dull thump from deeper inside.

##### claws tightened around the nail. Their body still trembled from the Shaman’s “gift,” Soul burning hot and restless in their chest.

Another thump. Louder.

They stepped forward, heart hammering. They knew this fight. They had played it before. The False Knight — lumbering, pathetic, only dangerous if you panicked.

But when the figure emerged from the shadows, their breath caught.

It wasn’t pathetic.

The armor loomed tall, rusted and scarred, its cracked helm gleaming in the dim light. Chains dragged behind it like broken bones. And every step rattled the chamber, dust falling from the ceiling.

The False Knight roared — a guttural, grinding sound, too human and too monstrous at once.

###### flinched back. Their legs screamed to run.

But the doors sealed shut behind them.
,,GIT GUD”
There was no escape.

The giant’s club slammed down, shaking the ground. The ###### stumbled, barely rolling aside as stone shattered where they had stood.

They swung the nail, desperate. The blow scraped across the armor, sparks flying uselessly.

The False Knight turned, roaring again, and raised its weapon.

The ###### chest flared. Instinct screamed at them — the Shaman’s words echoing. Strike with flame. Burn what you are.

They raised their claw. White fire tore free.

The Vengeful Spirit burst across the cavern, slamming into the False Knight’s chest. The impact echoed, a sharp explosion of Soul and stone. The giant staggered back, armor rattling.

The ###### gasped, knees buckling. Their chest felt hollow, like a piece of them had been ripped out and hurled across the room.

But it worked.

The False Knight faltered — then slammed its club down again, faster, harder. The floor cracked under the force. ##### scrambled, dodging, the world a blur of stone and panic.

Strike. Dodge. Burn.

Each time they summoned Soul, it felt worse — like claws tearing through their chest. The glow dimmed with every blast. Their vision blurred.

And then — the armor cracked. The mask slipped, revealing the truth.

A maggot. Small. Weak. Pathetic.

The ##### froze. They knew this reveal. They had laughed at it once, watching playthroughs. The mighty False Knight is just a worm in stolen armor.

But seeing it now — the maggot’s screeching face, twisted in fear and madness — it wasn’t funny. It was horrifying.

They almost dropped their nail. Almost pitied it.

Then the armor lurched back up, chains dragging the maggot inside. The fight wasn’t over.

#### roared — a broken, desperate sound — and hurled another Vengeful Spirit. The fire consumed the maggot’s scream.

The armor fell. Hard. Dust clouded the chamber. Silence followed, broken only by the protagonist’s ragged breathing.

Their claws shook. Their chest ached with emptiness.

They had won.

But the victory didn’t feel like triumph. It felt like survival.

They staggered to the fallen armor. The maggot twitched once, then stilled. Small. Weak. Fragile.

##### stared at it, bile rising.

This is just the beginning.

The Shaman’s voice echoed faintly in their memory: “Survive, or be consumed.”

They gripped their nail tighter.

And for the first time since waking in Hallownest, they whispered her name.

“Hornet…”

A vow. A plea. A prayer.

Chapter Text

The caverns of the Forgotten Crossroads seemed deceptively simple at first. The Knight moved through cracked stone tunnels, the air thick with dust and faint echoes of distant chittering. Enemies lurked in the gloom — shambling husks, twitching crawlers — but with dash and nail they fell easily enough.

I’ve seen this part a hundred times… the beginning, the easy stage. Nothing to fear here.

The thought almost made the Knight cocky. They pushed further in, climbing narrow ledges and swinging through groups of enemies without hesitation. But then, in the corner of their vision, one of the larger husks lunged. Its swing was clumsy, slow — but it connected. The Knight stumbled, their shell cracking slightly.

A second blow landed. Then another. The Knight tried to dash away, but their movement was off — the wall behind them caught their back, and before they could recover, the husk’s weapon struck a final time.

The Knight’s vision shattered into shards of white. Pain, hollow and sharp, flooded them. Then — nothing.

When awareness returned, the Knight stood at the bench they had last rested on, their chest echoing emptily. The cavern was quiet again, familiar yet wrong. Something was missing. Something… broken. Their Geo was gone. Their strength felt diminished.

I… died.

The realization sank in like cold iron. They weren’t just playing anymore. They weren’t watching from behind a screen. This was real, and dying here meant feeling every agonizing second of it. The fan within them shook, terror crawling through their thoughts.

I laughed when I saw speedrunners die here. I thought it was nothing. But feeling it… living it…

Their claws trembled, but they clenched them tight. Slowly, the tremor turned to resolve.

No. Never again. I won’t die here. I won’t die anywhere. I’ll keep moving, keep growing, until I’m strong enough to face everything Hallownest throws at me.

The Knight stood tall, their vow resonating through their shell. Every charm, every skill, every shard of Soul from this point forward would be theirs to master. Every death would be avoided, every mistake corrected.

Because they weren’t just the Knight. They were a fan given a second chance — and they would not waste it.

With silent determination, the Knight pushed back into the Forgotten Crossroads, nail ready, Soul burning in their chest.

I will not die again.

Chapter Text

The stone of the Crossroads ended abruptly, replaced by moss-covered walls and the sweet, heavy scent of flowers. Light filtered down from cracks above, illuminating the cavern in green-gold hues.

##### blinked, overwhelmed. Their shell glinted faintly in the dappled light, claws scraping against roots and broken stone. The air was alive — buzzing insects, distant calls, leaves rustling with unseen movement.

This… this is beautiful.

You eat some moss, it tasted yummy

They moved cautiously. Every step was careful. Every sound they made seemed deafening in the quiet wonder of Greenpath. And yet, under the beauty, something lingered — a sense of being watched.

They rounded a bend and froze.

A flash of red and white darted through the trees ahead.

Their heart skipped.

No. It can’t be…

But it was.

Hornet.

Even in motion, even at a distance, she was unmistakable. The white mask, the red cloak, the needle clutched lightly in her claws. The very embodiment of everything they had loved in Silksong — alive, breathing, moving through the world as if it belonged there.

###### stumbled forward, nails clicking against stone.

Hornet paused, head tilting slightly. She didn’t speak, but the weight of her gaze pinned them to the spot.

She’s real.
She’s really here.

The sound of distant waterfalls and rustling vines filled the pause. ##### chest ached, part awe, part fear. Every instinct screamed: stay back, stay quiet. But every fiber of their being longed to run to her, to touch the air around her, to speak her name.

Hornet moved again, flipping lightly over a mossy log, needle poised. She wasn’t attacking — not yet — but her presence alone carried authority. A warning. A barrier.

##### swallowed, trying to steady themselves. Fanfiction heroics would be easy here. But this… this is real.

They took a cautious step forward.

A rustle in the underbrush. A shadow moved behind Hornet. Hornet’s body tensed instantly, needle raised.

##### froze. Their fingers twitched. They could fight, could summon Soul — but against her? Against their favorite?

Hornet glanced back at them, eyes narrowing slightly behind her mask. Not hostile. Curious. Skeptical.

I… I have to meet her. I have to talk to her.

But words died in their throat. Instead, they knelt slightly, a gesture of submission. Not weak, just… careful.

Hornet cocked her head again, watching. Then, with a light leap, she darted further into the foliage, vanishing around a bend.

##### let out a breath they didn’t realize they’d been holding. Their claws itched with the urge to follow, but something inside held them back.

Patience. She’s not mine to approach yet. I have to survive. I have to walk this path.

The greenery stretched ahead. Vines hung like curtains. Flowers brushed against their shell. Somewhere ahead, a faint glow pulsed in the undergrowth — a sign, perhaps, of a creature, a secret, or another challenge waiting to test them.

But one thought anchored them, steady and burning:

Hornet was here. She was real. And they would find a way to meet her again.

Slowly, deliberately, they moved forward, deeper into Greenpath.

The journey had truly begun.

Chapter Text

The mossy path narrowed, roots twisting across the ground like coiled snakes. The glow from bioluminescent flowers lit the way, but shadows clung to the edges of every tree and rock.

moved carefully, nail ready, Soul humming faintly in their chest. Every step was measured, every sound amplified in the quiet.

Then — a sharp snap of a twig.

They froze.

A white mask appeared between two thick vines. Red cloak flicked like a flame in the green. Needle gleaming. Hornet.

“Who are you?” Her voice was calm, piercing, more commanding than any sound ##### had ever heard.

opened their mouth, but words failed. How could they explain? I’m a fan who died in another world and got thrown here?

Hornet tilted her head, and in that motion, the air seemed to tighten. She moved — a blur. Faster than ##### could follow. Needle pointed, ready.

lifted the nail instinctively, light flashing off the chipped edge.

Hornet lunged.

Time slowed. #####’s claws met her needle, sparks flying, metal clashing with a precision that made their chest ache with awe. She was fast, so fast, faster than anything in the Crossroads or even the False Knight.

She darted back, circling ##### , needle slicing the air. Every movement was a lesson in skill and grace — and danger.

This isn’t a game. This is real. She could kill ##### in an instant.

#####’s Soul flared, hot and raw. They threw a Vengeful Spirit — a wave of white fire — but Hornet twisted out of the way, eyes narrowing.

She struck again, needle flashing. The tip caught #####’s shell with a sharp scrape. Pain. A reminder.

Hornet landed lightly on a root, tiptoe-like, and stared at #####.

“You survive,” she said softly, almost approvingly. “But you do not belong here.”

The words sank deep. Not a threat. Not a command. But a truth.

#####’s chest flared with Soul, white fire licking at their claws. They tried to speak. Tried to explain.

I’m here… because I love this world… because I love you…

Hornet moved again — a flash of red and white — and disappeared into the vines, leaving only her echoing voice:

“Then survive. If you can.”

The path ahead stretched darker than before, more dangerous. But #####’s heart was alight with determination, fear, and an obsession that had only grown:

Hornet was here. She was alive. And no matter what it took, ##### would see her again.

Chapter Text

The forest opened wider now, sunlight filtering through cracks in the cavern above. Greenpath was alive: vines swayed gently, glowing mushrooms dotted the floor, and distant water gurgled from somewhere unseen. Yet, the echoes of Hornet’s needle still haunted them.

##}#’s claws trembled slightly as they moved. The brush of leaves against their shell reminded them how fragile they were. Each step made their heart race, every shadow a potential threat.

Then, ahead, the path widened into a hollow tree trunk, hollowed by time. Inside, faint light glimmered off something draped over a branch: a cloak, pale as a moth’s wing, light as silk, yet radiating purpose.

The memory of Hornet’s gaze came back, sharp and commanding. She had tested them, marked them — and then vanished, leaving a trail into this small chamber.

##}# approached, hesitant. They reached out a claw.

The moment they touched the fabric, a jolt ran through them. The cloak felt alive, responding to their heartbeat, their intent. It draped naturally over their shell, settling as if it had always belonged there.

And then — instinctively — they pushed forward.

A sudden dash. They moved faster than ever before, rolling through a low root, skimming past a spiked trap that would have torn through the unprepared. The movement was exhilarating, terrifying, freeing.

The Mothwing Cloak… it’s real. I can actually dash.

The cloak pulsed faintly with energy. It was more than a tool. It was a gift. A challenge. A promise.

They paused, breathing in the thick, green-scented air. Somewhere deeper in the forest, Hornet’s laugh — soft, fleeting, untouchable — echoed through the leaves.

She left me this. She… trusts me? Or is she mocking me?

Either way, ##}# grinned beneath their mask, claws flexing.

“Fine,” they whispered, voice low, trembling with adrenaline. “If this is the way I survive… I’ll use it. And I’ll find you again, Hornet. I swear it.”

With the cloak settling over their shell, they dashed forward into Greenpath proper, moving faster, lighter, more alive than before.

But Hallownest was still a dangerous place. Creeping shadows, twisting roots, and distant, inhuman screeches reminded them that this gift was not a solution — only a tool for survival.

And somewhere, just ahead, the path twisted deeper into the forest… and closer to Hornet’s next test.

Chapter Text

The green of Greenpath began to thin as the tunnels stretched onward. Sunlight filtered in less frequently; the air grew cooler, heavier with the scent of damp earth. CLASSIFIED’s claws ached from climbing roots and dodging fallen branches.

Ahead, the cavern widened. A strange, low hum echoed through the rocks. Something massive shifted in the shadows.

They froze.

A stag — enormous, pale, and armored — stepped into the light. Its mandibles clicked as it sniffed the air. Hooves clacked on stone as it moved closer. Its eyes, faintly glowing, seemed almost intelligent, almost… inviting.

CLASSIFIED’s jaw—or whatever passed for a jaw in their shell—dropped.

This is… real? A Stag? It’s alive? I can ride it?

A voice came, rough and friendly. “You want a lift?”

The stag’s mouth moved — or maybe it was their imagination. Either way, it blinked, patient and enormous. A post at the side of the cavern glimmered faintly: a Stag Station marker.

CLASSIFIED approached cautiously, claws brushing against the stag’s carapace. It felt firm, warm, and strangely steady. Tentatively, they climbed aboard.

The moment they settled, the stag’s body shifted, legs folding smoothly. The cavern’s floor seemed to stretch beneath them as the massive bug leapt forward, hooves pounding the stone track, propelling them into motion.

Flying? No. Sliding? No. Riding a bug that’s bigger than me? Exactly.

They held on tight as the stag navigated twisting tunnels and darkened caverns. The wind brushed their mask; the Vengeful Spirit pulsed faintly in their chest, reminding them that danger lurked everywhere, even on a friendly mount.

Finally, the stag came to a gentle stop at another station. The glow of the marker illuminated a new area: a place rumored to be dangerous, full of fungi, spikes, and strange creatures — the Fungal Wastes.

CLASSIFIED leapt down, landing softly, claws digging into the soft, spongy floor. The stag nuzzled them briefly, a silent farewell, before moving off to continue its patrol.

It’s… incredible. They whispered under their breath. “Every step of this… this world… is alive. And I haven’t even scratched the surface yet.”

Somewhere deep in their chest, a small spark of dread mixed with thrill. Greenpath was behind them. Hornet had already tested them. And ahead… the true challenge of Hallownest awaited.

But for now, the thrill of riding the stag, feeling the movement, and seeing the world from this new height was enough.

The journey continued.

Chapter Text

The air changed as CLASSIFIED stepped out of the Stag Station. Moist, earthy, and heavy with spores, the Fungal Wastes felt alive — and hostile. Giant mushrooms loomed overhead, their caps dripping with luminescent liquid. Roots twisted across the ground, trying to trip them at every step.

I can’t believe I’m really here.

CLASSIFIED moved slowly, testing the dash with the Mothwing Cloak. It helped, barely, as spores and small fungal crawlers lunged from the shadows. Their first mini-boss showed up — a hulking, armored Moss Charger, charging blindly but dangerously.

Claw and nail met its thick shell; Soul flared, fire licking across the beast. Each strike left CLASSIFIED’s chest hollow, burning, but the creature eventually crumbled, leaving a soft, mossy puff of spores behind.

Breathing heavily, CLASSIFIED pressed onward.

Then they heard hammering. The sound of metal ringing against stone. Following it, they found a small workshop hidden behind a curtain of hanging mushrooms. Inside, a stout bug worked meticulously on a nail, shaping and sharpening it.

The Nailsmith… he’s real too.

“Ah! Another traveler!” the Nailsmith said, looking up. “Want your nail sharpened? A few Geo will do the trick. Nothing like a finely honed blade to cut through the infected.”

CLASSIFIED handed over a small pile of Geo, heart pounding with awe. They had seen videos of this process, of course — but seeing it in person, the careful strokes of the Nailsmith’s hammer against metal, the glow as it absorbed the bug’s Soul energy… it felt sacred.

Every part of this world is alive. Even the tools.

Nail upgraded, stronger and sharper, CLASSIFIED left the workshop, plunging deeper into Fungal Wastes.

The mini-bosses kept coming. A Fungal Husk, twitching and grotesque, lunged from the ceiling. Then, from a glowing pool, a Giant Mantis Guard emerged, its limbs snapping like traps. CLASSIFIED dashed, swung, and flared Soul, each encounter leaving them drained, hollow, trembling, yet more confident.

And through it all, there was a lingering presence. Hornet. They didn’t see her, but the wind, the way shadows shifted, the distant flash of red and white — it reminded them:

She’s watching. She always is.

By the time CLASSIFIED reached a clearing lit by glowing fungi, exhaustion had set in. Their claws ached, their chest burned from Soul, and yet their heart raced with determination.

Fungal Wastes… I survived this. And I’ll survive whatever comes next. Hornet… I’ll see you again.

The path ahead twisted into darkness, promising danger, discovery, and inevitable confrontation.

Chapter Text

The Fungal Wastes twisted onward, deeper into darkness. Mushrooms towered like cathedral pillars, spores drifting lazily through the air. CLASSIFIED’s claws were sore, their chest still hollowing from Soul use, but determination burned brighter than exhaustion.

Ahead, a faint, ethereal glow pulsed between two massive fungi. Curious, CLASSIFIED approached cautiously. The light seemed alive — not warmth, but something sharp and hollow.

A hollow statue stood at the center: a robed figure, hands extended. A faint wraithlike flame drifted around it. Symbols etched into the stone glimmered faintly.

The words came not in sound, but in feeling.

“Take this. Become more. Burn brighter.”

CLASSIFIED hesitated, heart hammering. They placed a claw on the statue. Soul surged violently inside them, white fire exploding outward in a wave of raw energy. The sensation was intoxicating, terrifying — they felt like their very essence had been split, stretched, and reforged.

When the light faded, the nail in their claw seemed the same — but when they tried to strike, the Vengeful Spirit transformed. A larger, wraithlike projectile shot forward, faster, sharper, cutting through the air with an almost sentient intensity.

Shade Soul… it’s real. It’s actually real.

Excitement mixed with dread. Every Soul attack left CLASSIFIED’s chest hollowed, burning, but the power was undeniable.

They pressed onward. The cavern widened, mushrooms replaced by a circular arena of fungal spires. A rumble shook the ground, followed by clattering, rolling, and booming laughter.

The Dung Defender burst from the soil. Massive, plated, smelling faintly of earth and decay, he stood tall with pride. His booming voice filled the cavern:

“Ho ho! Another challenger! Have you come to test your strength against the Defender of this Kingdom?”

CLASSIFIED froze, claws tightening around their nail.

Without waiting, the Dung Defender charged, leaping and rolling with astonishing agility. Waves of packed dung shot across the arena, bursting into showers of spores. Yet through the chaos, his laughter rang out, not cruel but joyous — a knight reliving the glory of his duty.

CLASSIFIED dashed, struck with Shade Soul, and met his hammer-like attacks with careful precision. Each strike burned their chest with Soul, each dodge pressed their body to its limit, but they pushed onward.

“Splendid! Truly splendid!” Dung Defender roared mid-fight, as though praising their efforts rather than condemning them.

The battle was long and grueling. His rolling form smashed through fungal growths, his laughter echoing even as he took blow after blow. CLASSIFIED realized this was not hatred — it was honor. The Dung Defender fought not as a monster, but as a knight defending the memory of a kingdom he still loved.

Finally, after a storm of rolling charges and explosive waves, he faltered. Panting, he sank to one knee, then collapsed forward with a heavy crash that shook the spore-covered ground. Silence followed, broken only by his exhausted chuckle.

“Well fought… little warrior…”

CLASSIFIED stood trembling, chest hollow and burning from Soul, yet stronger than before.

From the corner of their vision, between the fungal spires, a flicker of red and white darted past. Hornet. Watching. Waiting.

She didn’t approach — not yet. But her presence lingered, sharp and undeniable.

She’s out there. I’ll see her again. And I’ll be stronger.

The Fungal Wastes were behind them, but the journey forward promised more danger, more growth… and the inevitable confrontation with Hallownest’s fate.

Chapter Text

The path out of Fungal Wastes twisted into narrow, jagged tunnels. Roots and fungal growths gave way to sharper stone, slick with moss and moisture. CLASSIFIED’s claws ached, their chest hollowed from repeated Soul flares, but determination carried them forward.

A faint, rhythmic drumming echoed through the stone corridors. At first subtle, then growing louder, like twin hearts beating in perfect unison. CLASSIFIED paused, senses sharpening. The sound was alive, deliberate — a challenge.

Ahead, the cavern opened into a sunlit clearing, but the sunlight was filtered through pale stone. Three figures perched on massive stone spires, their arms crossed in perfect symmetry. The Mantis Lords.

Their mandibles clicked with measured precision, eyes glinting like polished jade. The larger one spoke first, its voice echoing like steel on stone:

“Who dares enter our arena? Speak, or prepare to face the Mantis Lords.”

CLASSIFIED felt a surge of both fear and exhilaration. This was a test — not just of skill, but of survival. Every story, every rumor about these legendary warriors raced through their mind. And now, it was real.

Without warning, the Mantis Lords leapt in unison. Their movements were a blur, spinning and striking with claws that could rend armor and stone alike. CLASSIFIED rolled, dashed, and launched flares of Soul, feeling the wind whip past their mask. Every strike burned their chest, every miss left their claws trembling.

The fight was a dance of death. CLASSIFIED had to read the rhythm, anticipate their attacks, and strike only in the gaps. One false move, one misjudged dash, and the arena would become a tomb.

Hours — or perhaps minutes; time seemed to bend — passed in a haze of spinning claws, flashing nails, and blazing Soul. CLASSIFIED adapted. They remembered each strike, each rhythm, each moment of hesitation by the Lords, exploiting the tiniest opening.

Finally, with a coordinated strike of Soul energy, the Mantis Lords staggered, landing upon the stone floor. Their clicks slowed, then ceased, replaced by a faint, approving hum.

“Well struck, warrior,” one said. “You have learned the rhythm… and respect the flow of battle.”

CLASSIFIED’s chest heaved, hollow and burning, but they felt alive. Stronger. Worthy.

The larger Mantis Lord extended a claw toward a pedestal at the edge of the arena. There, resting in plain sight, was the Mantis Claw, glinting with sharp precision.

“Take it,” the other said. “And follow the path we guard. The Deepnest awaits — dark, dangerous, and full of those who would test your spirit further. Only the agile may survive.”

CLASSIFIED approached, heart hammering. Claw wrapped around the Mantis Claw, feeling its cold weight and precise balance. It was an extension of themselves now — a key, a weapon, a promise of new power.

The Mantis Lords leapt back onto their spires, clicking in unison once more. “Remember,” they called, “skill without respect leads to ruin. May your path be swift, and your purpose true.”

With the Mantis Claw in hand, CLASSIFIED dashed toward the narrow tunnel at the edge of the arena. The walls slithered with shadows, the scent of danger thickened, and a chill swept through the stone corridors.

Deepnest awaited.

And CLASSIFIED knew — whatever lurked in its darkness, whatever trials lay ahead, they were ready.

The journey continued.

Chapter Text

The descent into Deepnest was like stepping into another world. Darkness clung to every wall, roots twisted like skeletal fingers, and the air smelled of damp rot. Every step felt alive, as if the cavern itself was watching.

This place… it hates me.

The Knight moved cautiously, claws scraping against jagged stone, using dash and wall-jump to cross slick surfaces and narrow ledges. Shadows flickered, and from them emerged skittering enemies — crawlers with needle-sharp claws, twitching worms, and lurking spiders. Every attack required focus, every dodge demanded timing.

Discovery: Powerful Charms

As they climbed a vertical root-lined shaft, the Knight noticed a faint glow behind a tangle of spikes. Wall-jumping carefully, they reached a hidden ledge. There, nestled in a small alcove, lay a charm pedestal.

Could this be…?

The Knight grasped the charm and felt its energy course through their shell. This was Quick Slash — a charm that allowed faster nail strikes, making every attack more fluid and deadly. The Knight flexed their claws experimentally, flaring Shade Soul to see the effect. Already, combat felt sharper, faster, more precise.

Deeper in the tunnels, past webs and twitching walls, another glowing pedestal appeared, tucked into a corner near a hidden pool of acid. The Knight approached cautiously. This charm, Steady Body, increased resistance to knockback — invaluable in a place where a single slip could send them plunging into spikes or webs.

Two charms already… this place is dangerous, but the rewards… worth it.

Mini-Boss 1: Nosk

A whispering laugh echoed through the cavern, low and chilling. From the shadows, Nosk appeared — a shape-shifting, inhuman creature mimicking the Knight’s own form. Its sudden strikes came from impossible angles, vanishing into walls and reappearing behind them.

The Knight’s chest hollowed with every near miss, but they flared Shade Soul, combining dash, wall-jump, and nail strikes with their new charms to keep Nosk at bay.

Finally, after a tense, exhausting fight, Nosk collapsed into the darkness, leaving only a faint echo of its whispering laugh.

I survived… but Deepnest is far from done.

At last, they reached the heart of Deepnest, a cavern vast and oppressive, its walls smothered in endless webs. The air was heavy, thick with silence. At the center, upon a woven throne of silk, rested Herrah the Beast — immense, regal, unmoving. Her mask gleamed faintly in the glow of scattered fungi, its smooth surface betraying nothing of thought or life.

The Knight approached cautiously, nail in hand, but no movement came. Herrah slumbered, untouchable, beyond reach. Instinct whispered that some greater power was needed here, some tool they did not yet possess. For now, this place was only a marker — a promise of trials yet to come.

The Knight lingered a moment longer, taking in the stillness of the Beast’s chamber. Then, with a final glance at the Dreamer’s form, they turned and began the long climb upward, silk and stone giving way to passages that led toward the surface.

Ahead lay the Resting Grounds — a place of whispers and forgotten graves. Perhaps there, answers awaited.

Chapter Text

The scary caverns of the City of Tears trailed off as ##### found a hidden tram. The mechanism groaned, carrying them towards and towards until the sound of water was replaced with stillness. The air grew thinner, colder, almost reverent.

When the platform stopped, they stepped into a vast expanse of pale stone. Statues of forgotten bugs loomed around them, grave markers reaching up like mournful fingers. The silence was overwhelming. Not the silence of emptiness, but of a place sacred, untouched by time.

shivered.

The Resting Grounds… I know this place. I’ve seen it before. In lore videos, in fanart. But here, in person—it feels alive. Too alive.

They took a cautious step forward. The ground rumbled. A sudden wave of power surged through the earth, knocking them to their knees. Light burst from the statues, brilliant and suffocating, and the world shattered into a vision.

Before them stood three titanic figures, pale masks gleaming, their forms shifting like half-remembered dreams.

The Dreamers.

Their presence pressed against #####’s chest like an ocean. Words, not spoken but embedded directly into their mind, filled the air:

“Children of Hallownest… your fate is bound to ours.”

staggered back, nail raised, though it felt useless against such overwhelming force.

The figures loomed closer, and scenes spilled into the vision — a spire of glass and stone, towering into the skies. A swampy cavern of jellyfish, glowing with eerie light. A deep den of silk, endless webs strung across the dark.

The Dreamers’ voices rang together:

“Our seals protect the Vessel. To destroy it, you must destroy us.”

A crushing weight pressed down on #####’s chest. Their knees buckled. The vision pulsed brighter, filling every corner of their mind.

“You cannot awaken Hallownest without unmaking its guardians.”

The ground gave way beneath them. The vision collapsed, and ##### fell into darkness.

When their eyes opened again, they were no longer in the graveyard. The pale walls of a small hut surrounded them, and faint incense curled in the air. Across from them, a small cloaked figure waited, eyes glowing faintly in the dark.

The Seer.

“Ah… you have seen them,” she whispered, her voice like brittle paper. “The Dreamers. Their bonds keep the Hollow Knight chained. Their bonds must be broken.”

She leaned forward, placing something into #####’s claws. A blade of Soul, glowing faintly.

“The Dream Nail. With it, you may enter the world of dreams, and gather the Essence that lingers within. Only then may the path to the Dreamers open fully.”

stared down at the blade, still trembling from the vision.

They weren’t just exploring anymore. They weren’t just a reincarnated fan, marveling at the beauty of Hallownest.

Now, they were bound to its fate.

Chapter Text

After leaving the Seer’s hut, ##### felt a new weight in their claws. The Dream Nail pulsed faintly, filled with the lingering echoes of the Dreamers’ vision. Each step out of the Resting Grounds reminded them of the vow they had made: never to die again.

The path led upward, through winding tunnels that opened gradually to the jagged cliffs of Crystal Peak. Sunlight—or what passed for it through the cracks above—sparkled against the crystal formations jutting from the walls and floor. The air was sharp with the scent of stone dust and ozone, and distant rumblings hinted at unseen dangers hidden deeper within the mine.

paused at the entrance, claws brushing against the rock.

This place… shimmering crystals everywhere. And… the movement, the paths. If I get this wrong, I could fall forever.

A familiar voice echoed from above, lilting and cheerful.

“Lost again?”

looked up to see Cornifer, map-scribbling charm dangling from his belt, a lantern swaying gently in one hand. He grinned behind his hood.

“Need a guide?” Cornifer offered, producing a small parchment with hastily drawn paths. “Crystal Peak’s a maze. Dangerous, too. Falling rocks, strange mining creatures… you’ll want to follow me if you don’t want to end up broken at the bottom.”

nodded, relief washing through their hollow chest.

Finally, someone who knows the way.

The two of them climbed together, Cornifer leading the way while scribbling new routes on his map. ##### kept their claws sharp, flaring Shade Soul at lurking enemies: giant crystal spiders whose legs glittered like shards of glass, and small flying miners that buzzed in relentless swarms.

Along the way, ##### collected crystals and Geo, strengthening themselves for what lay ahead. They paused occasionally to admire the sheer beauty of the tunnels. Light struck the crystals just right, scattering rainbows across jagged stone walls.

“Almost there,” Cornifer called one hour into the climb. “But you’ll need to be quick. The Crystal Heart… it isn’t just lying around. You’ll have to dash, jump, and time everything perfectly.”

Finally, they reached the platform overlooking a vast chasm. At the far end, a faint glimmer of blue energy pulsed. The Crystal Heart.

The path was treacherous. Platforms shifted, crystals protruded from the walls, and geysers of energy erupted from the floor below. ##### crouched, claws gripping, eyes tracking every movement. They dashed across a collapsing bridge, wall-jumped along jagged walls, and leapt over bursts of blue flame.

Each dash brought them closer. Each jump demanded absolute precision.

At last, ##### reached the pedestal. Claws extended, they touched the glowing artifact. Energy surged into them, a rush of movement and speed unlike anything they had felt before. The Crystal Heart was theirs.

flexed their claws experimentally, then dashed across the platform in a single bound, leaping farther than before. Wall-jumps became effortless, movement fluid as water.

Cornifer clapped from behind, grinning wide. “Not bad, kid! That heart’ll get you places you never thought possible. Just… be careful. Crystal Peak’s still dangerous.”

nodded, heart pounding with excitement and determination.

With this, I can move faster, reach higher, fight smarter. Nothing will stop me now.

With Cornifer’s map in hand and the Crystal Heart’s power flowing through them, ##### pressed onward. Hallownest had more secrets, more challenges, and more Dreamers waiting. And for the first time, they felt like nothing could hold them back.

Chapter Text

The halls of Hallownest stretched endlessly as ##### moved with purpose, claws gripping their nail and Dream Nail humming faintly in their hand. The Crystal Heart pulsed with energy in their chest, granting speed and agility that made traversing the kingdom’s chasms and treacherous platforms almost effortless.

But there was a task that could not be ignored. The Dreamers had warned, indirectly, through their visions: to face the seals on the Hollow Knight, ##### would need Dream Essence — a staggering 1800 Essence to unlock the path forward.

I’ve never counted something like this before… but I won’t die trying. Not after Deepnest. Not ever.

#####’s claws tingled as they raised the Dream Nail and prepared for their first hunt. The Dream Bosses awaited across Hallownest — visions of fallen enemies, corrupted but hauntingly beautiful.

The first stop was the False Knight, still resting in the ruined chamber of the Crossroads. ##### struck the Dream Nail against its empty shell. White flames erupted, illuminating the chamber, and the False Champion appeared — more massive and furious than before.

Claws flashed, Shadow Souls streaked, and after a tense battle, the Champion dissolved into vivid Essence, flowing into the Dream Nail.

400 Essence… not bad for a start.

Next came Hornet’s first dream encounter, a vision bound to the Resting Grounds. Unlike her living counterpart, the Dream Hornet struck with precise, relentless motions, moving faster than ##### had ever seen. Every strike, every feint, was mirrored by the Knight’s own agility.

When the battle ended, the Dream Nail glowed with another 200 Essence.

600 total… still a long way to 1800, but I’m getting there.

The hunt continued. ##### traveled to ancient basin,beating the broken vessel and invoking the Dream Nail on the Broken Vessel, whose empty body now writhed with dream-energy. Shade Soul flared in perfect timing as they dodged the relentless strikes. When the Broken Vessel crumbled, more Essence filled the blade — 150 more.

Hallownest’s map became a ritual. Watcher Knights in the City of Tears, Soul Twisters in the Fungal Wastes, Gruzzling mini-bosses across Crystal Peak — every Dream Boss summoned, every strike landed, added Essence to the Dream Nail.

Days blurred. Platforms fell. Spikes rose. Acid pools hissed, but ##### moved with unwavering focus. Every dodge, every wall-jump, every flaring Soul attack pushed them closer to the goal.

1800 Essence… I can almost feel it now. I can feel the path opening… I can feel the Hollow Knight waiting.

Finally, after weeks of hunting and gathering, after countless visions and exhausting battles, ##### paused on a ledge overlooking the pale light of the Resting Grounds. The Dream Nail pulsed warmly in their claws.

It’s done… 1800 Essence. I’m ready.

Every ounce of effort, every near-death, every precise strike had led to this. Hallownest’s secrets were one step closer, and the path to the Dreamers — and ultimately the Hollow Knight — was opening.

Cornifer’s maps had been replaced by memory, the Crystal Heart now an extension of #####’s claws, and the vow they had made after their first death burned hotter than ever:

I will not fail. I will not die. I will see this through, no matter the cost.

And with that, ##### prepared to leave, Dream Nail glowing with the culmination of their trials, ready to step further into Hallownest’s mysteries.

Chapter Text

Mist curled over the cliffs, drifting into the quiet hollows of Hallownest. ##### stood at the edge of a clearing, claws gripping their nail tightly, eyes fixed on the three figures that awaited them: Mato, Oro, and Sheo — the legendary Nailmasters. The sun, muted through the thick mist, cast long shadows over the training ground.

“The nail is not merely a weapon,” Mato began, voice calm yet piercing. “It is an extension of your mind, your intent. Strike without focus, and you strike nothing at all.”

nodded, holding the nail steady. Mato demonstrated first, spinning in a controlled arc, the tip of his weapon tracing a perfect circle in the air. Shadows flickered where his strike cut the mist.

“Try to replicate this,” he said.

swung, hesitant at first. The arc wavered, the tip slicing only faintly through the fog. Oro shook his head.

“Speed without control is useless,” he said. “Now combine precision with movement. Dash, strike, flow. Feel your momentum, not just the nail.”

adjusted, running forward in a short burst, slashing with the nail. The air responded differently now; they felt the weight of the nail, the rhythm of their own body. Sheo stepped forward, her stance wide.

“Strength must accompany focus. Charge your strike, let it carry the force of your conviction. Do not flinch before what is greater than you.”

Hours passed. Mist turned to dusk, and #####’s swings grew sharper, faster, more deliberate. Mato corrected the angle of their wrist, Oro guided their footwork, Sheo taught them to channel the weight of their body into each blow.

At last, they moved in a fluid sequence: dash, spin, charged strike, landing perfectly each time. The nail felt alive in their hands, an extension of thought and reflex. The Nailmasters nodded in silent approval.

“You are ready,” Mato said finally. “But remember — skill is nothing without resolve. When the world tests you, let your nail follow your heart, not just your eyes.”

exhaled, feeling exhaustion and exhilaration mingling. The nail no longer felt like a piece of wood in their hands. It felt like part of them, a tool shaped by will, speed, and precision.

“I won’t fail,” ##### whispered, voice low but steady. “Not now, not ever.”

The Nailmasters stepped back into the shadows, leaving ##### alone in the clearing. The wind whispered through the mist, carrying with it the echo of lessons learned, of strikes honed, and the promise of battles to come.

With claws gripping the nail tighter than ever, ##### stepped forward, ready to face whatever Hallownest would throw at them next

Chapter Text

The climb to the White Palace began not with grandeur, but with dissonance. ##### had followed faint whispers to the Ancient Basin, where a strange statue radiated pale energy. When they struck it with the Awoken Dream Nail, the world shifted. The air thickened with pale light, and the Abyss vanished.

In its place rose an impossible fortress — the White Palace, gleaming and eternal, stretching endlessly upward like the inside of a god’s dream.

#####’s breath caught.

“The Pale King’s home…”

It should’ve felt awe-inspiring, but instead the place felt suffocating. The silence was absolute. No life, no voices, only the sound of their own steps echoing through polished halls. Pale King’s servants — strange constructs of light — shambled aimlessly, unthreatening.

It wasn’t the enemies that made the White Palace terrifying.
It was the path.

Spikes lined every surface, platforms moved with cruel rhythm, sawblades sliced through the air like pendulums. ##### stared at one gauntlet of spinning blades and spiked walls and laughed bitterly.

“This… this is Path of Pain. In the game it was hard enough. But here? One slip, one misstep, and I’m gone.”

They tried. And failed.

Again. And again.

Every miscalculation, every mistimed dash sent them into the spikes. Their shell cracked, void bled from their wounds, their vision went white with agony. They resurrected at the last bench again and again, clutching their head, shaking.

At one point they collapsed against the wall, trembling. Their body was real — not pixels, not a controller in their hand. They could feel every jagged point stabbing into them.

“I’m not supposed to be here. This isn’t a game. This is suicide…”

But each time they closed their eyes, they remembered why they were here. They had chosen to carry the story forward. They weren’t going to waste that second chance.

Teeth gritted, void burning in their veins, they pushed on.

Hours — maybe days — bled into each other. Time lost meaning. They learned the rhythm, turned death into rehearsal, until finally their claws found the right grip, their dashes found the exact timing, their wings caught the currents just so—

And then, silence.

They landed in a great throne room, its marble cracked and splintered. And there, waiting, was the corpse of the Pale King himself.

On the floor before him gleamed two halves of a charm, pulsing faintly. ##### bent down and lifted them, feeling their weight merge into one. King’s Soul.

The Pale King’s legacy, a shard of his power, was now theirs.

But instead of pride, a cold dread settled in their chest. Looking upon the Pale King’s lifeless form, ##### felt no triumph — only clarity.

“Even he couldn’t stop the Radiance. Even he abandoned his children. And now… I carry his power?”

It felt less like an honor, and more like a curse.

Still, with the King’s Soul pulsing in their shell, ##### returned to the Abyss. And when the charm split and transformed into the Void Heart, the journey that had nearly killed them suddenly made sense.

Every spike, every drop of blood, every fall into the void… had led here.

They were no longer just a reincarnated fan stumbling through Hallownest. They were part of the void itself.

And the void remembered.

Chapter Text

The path downward seemed endless. ##### clutched the King’s Brand, the mark they had fought so hard to obtain, and approached the gate deep within the Ancient Basin.

The massive doors of bone and shell recognized the sigil instantly. With a deafening crack, they parted, revealing a dark chasm that seemed to breathe with its own rhythm. Cold air swept upward, smelling of salt and decay.

The Abyss.

stepped inside.

At once, the world felt different. Shadows clung to every surface. Pools of black liquid lapped at the cavern floor, and faint whispers drifted in the stillness, voices layered, hollow, indistinguishable. Shapes moved within the liquid — half-formed husks with pale masks, reaching, dragging themselves toward the surface before dissolving back into the void.

These are… failed vessels.

The thought came unbidden, heavy in #####’s chest. Every twisted figure that clawed from the black pools was a mirror, a possibility — what they could have been. What they might still become.

Deeper they descended, fighting through the restless shades. Each step felt like resistance, as though the Abyss itself wished to push them back. But ##### pressed on, guided not by chance, but by knowledge — knowledge of what lay at the bottom.

At last, in the deepest chamber, they found it: the Birthplace, a cavern lined with jagged shells and twisted masks. A strange pedestal shimmered with pale light.

When ##### approached, the King’s Soul Charm pulsed, tearing violently in two. White fragments scattered into the void, dissolving into a black flame that sank into their shell.

The Birthplace answered.

was swept into memory.

They stood in a vast, white expanse, the Pale King’s laboratory. Strange machines hissed, massive canisters lined the walls, and pale light glowed faintly from containment chambers. Within them — countless vessels. Motionless, silent, their shells identical, empty yet alive.

And among them…

The Hollow Knight.

Tall, silent, chosen. A perfect vessel, handpicked by the Pale King. The others — discarded, forgotten, abandoned in the Abyss.

The memory blurred, and suddenly ##### saw themselves reflected in the liquid void: not just as a Knight, but as one of those countless failures. They were not the Hollow Knight. They were never meant to be. Just another vessel, born of the void, clawing upward from the Abyss.

The vision ended. ##### collapsed to their knees, chest heaving. The King’s Soul had changed — it was no longer a charm of purity, but a blackened sigil of unity. The Void Heart.

It pulsed in their chest like a second heartbeat. For the first time, the whispers of the Abyss did not sound hostile. They sounded… welcoming.

You are not alone. You are us. We are you.

Rising, claws steady now, ##### turned to leave. The Abyss no longer resisted them. The shadows watched silently, acknowledging, waiting.

As they climbed back toward the light of Hallownest, one truth burned in their mind:

I am a vessel. A failed vessel. But I will not fail this kingdom.

The Hollow Knight waited. And beyond him, the Radiance.

Chapter Text

The waterways beneath the City of Tears were foul and quiet, the air thick with the stench of decay. ##### pushed through the stagnant tunnels, torchlight flickering off the slick stone. It was a place few dared to tread — the Royal Waterways, where things forgotten by Hallownest drifted to rot.

Their clawed feet splashed through shallow pools until they reached an old iron grate, bent and rusted. Behind it stretched the Junk Pit — a cavernous chamber where refuse from the kingdom above had been dumped for centuries. Broken masks, rusted nails, splintered carapaces. The graveyard of a fallen kingdom.

And in the center of it all… a massive cocoon.

It was unlike anything ##### had seen. Gold-lined and bulbous, its surface pulsed faintly, as though something alive lay within. Strange carvings adorned it — marks of reverence, worship.

approached, tightening their grip on the Dream Nail. Something about the cocoon called to them, like a heartbeat echoing in their skull. With one swift motion, they raised the blade and struck.

The Dream Nail struck the cocoon. Light bled outward in blinding brilliance, and ##### felt themselves pulled through the fabric of reality. When their senses returned, they stood in a place both alien and divine — Godhome.

Marble arches rose endlessly overhead, gilded light spilling from unseen heights. Stone effigies of gods loomed on every side, silent witnesses to all who dared enter. The air was heavy with reverence, but also… judgment.

From the center of the hall, she drifted forth: the Godseeker. Shrouded in robes of gold, her masked face turned toward #####, antennae swaying like the strings of a solemn instrument.

Her voice, when it came, rang with pomp and derision — like a king addressing a groveling peasant:

“Ahhh! A wretched scrap of Void crawls unto this sanctum. Thinkest thou thyself a god? Pathetic shade… thou art but husk and hunger.”

Her words echoed in the golden air, sharp as any blade.

stiffened, gripping their nail, but the Godseeker continued, drifting in circles around them.

“We seek gods of radiance, of form, of glory. Not a pit-born spawn of shadow. Thou art profane, thy shell bereft of majesty. Yet…”

She paused, tilting her masked head.

“Thou hast awakened us. Thou hast struck the chord that resounds within dream. For that, the gates shall open, though thou art unworthy.”

With a motion of her hand, the great doors of Godhome creaked open, golden light pouring through.

“Step forth, shade-born. Measure thy brittle strength against the divine. See thyself broken, scattered, unmade, before the true gods of this hall. For in Godhome… none may deceive their worth.”

Her antennae drooped, voice curling with disdain.

“Crawl on, Voidling. Play at divinity, if thou must. The Godseeker shall watch… and scorn.”

The hymn of unseen voices rose in the distance, deep and endless. ##### took a step forward, the golden floor gleaming beneath their claws. The Godseeker’s gaze — though hidden — burned into their back like fire.

They had been invited. They had been insulted. But above all… they had been challenged.

Chapter Text

The golden gates shut behind ##### once more. The silence lasted but a breath before the Godseeker’s voice rang out, lofty and cruel:

“Onward crawleth the shade! How droll, how pitiful. A worm that dreameth itself god. Proceed, husk — and be broken!”

A bell tolled, and the arena floor shimmered.

⸻

First Foes – Zote the Mighty

From the light stumbled a familiar figure: Zote the Mighty, wobbling with his nail, chest puffed with false pride.

“Fear not, pitiful foe!” Zote bellowed. “For I, Zote, am here to—ACK!”

Before he could finish, ##### sidestepped his clumsy lunge and knocked him flat with a single strike. He tumbled across the floor, muttering curses, before dissolving into dreamstuff.

The Godseeker scoffed:

“Behold! A duel with a gnat! And yet the shade fancies itself triumphant. How laughable.”

The next gate opened.

⸻

Ascending Trials

Wave after wave came — Massive Moss Charger, Brooding Mawlek, Crystal Guardian, each more fierce than the last. ##### fought with fluid precision, drawing on training from the Nailmasters. They remembered each fight from Hallownest’s ruins, but here… they were sharper, deadlier, forged into near perfection.

The Godseeker’s voice thundered after each foe’s fall:

“Thy strikes flail yet hit! By fortune or fate, thou persists.”

“See how false gods crumble before thee — yet still, shade, thou art unworthy.”

“Crawl onward, husk. Thy undoing awaiteth.”

⸻

Midway – Soul Master

A ripple of dreamlight, and from it descended the Soul Master, robes flowing, eyes burning with arcane fury.

“Foolish vessel! Thou challengest the essence of Soul itself?”

He teleported, hurled orbs of screaming energy, and dove with crushing force. ##### weaved between the attacks, slashing upward each time the Soul Master faltered. The ground quaked as the robed phantom crashed down again and again.

Finally, ##### dashed through his final dive, nailing him across the chest. His form unraveled, dissolving into dreamlight.

The Godseeker’s laughter filled the chamber:

“Ha! The Soul shatters, and yet this worm persists. Hast thou tricked fate, or doth Void lend thee strength? Crawl further, insect! Crawl unto thine end!”

⸻

Later Trials – Restless Ascension

The path grew brutal. Dung Defender, radiant in his golden dream armor, bellowed proudly before falling to the shade’s nail. Gorb, the maddened spirit, rained spears from the heavens until a strike silenced him. Nosk, twisting into the shade’s likeness, lunged from the shadows but was felled by steady resolve.

Each battle drew more from ##### — sweat, breath, resolve. The Godseeker watched with disdain:

“Behold! The pit-born shadow learns struggle! Yet know this — endurance doth not maketh a god. Only ruin awaits thee, husk.”

⸻

Final Trial – Pure Vessel

The golden gates opened one last time. Silence fell, deeper than any before.

From the light stepped a familiar form: the Hollow Knight, perfected, uncorrupted, unbroken. But here, in Godhome, it was no vessel of pity — it was the Pure Vessel, embodiment of all the Pale King desired.

Its shell gleamed, mask pristine, cloak flowing with deadly grace. It raised its nail.

The Godseeker’s voice shook the chamber:

“Lo! Behold, the vessel perfected! Behold the god the Pale King wrought! Child of Void, worm of Abyss, tremble before true divinity!”

The bell tolled.

The Pure Vessel moved.

⸻

barely saw the first strike — a blur, faster than thought. They staggered, barely blocking. The clash rang like thunder. The Pure Vessel unleashed a barrage of flawless strikes, parries, and slashes, its movements cold and mechanical yet divine in precision.

They dodged, rolled, countered, every breath a hair from death. The Vessel leapt, slammed the ground with explosive force, unleashed beams of white-hot Soul in blinding arcs.

#####’s arms ached, their breath ragged. This was no dream echo. This was the closest thing to fighting perfection itself.

Yet they remembered the lessons: Mato’s precision, Oro’s resolve, Sheo’s strength. They flowed between attacks, dashing, striking, charging, refusing to fall.

Finally, after what felt like eternity, the Pure Vessel faltered — a crack across its mask, the faintest stagger. ##### dashed in, nail charged with everything left in them, and struck true.

The Pure Vessel froze, then shattered into radiant fragments, dissolving into the dreamstuff of Godhome.

⸻

Silence.

The Godseeker’s voice returned, low and thunderous, trembling with fury:

“Lo! The husk endureth. The Voidling triumphs… yet it is no god! No radiance, no glory — only shadow, crawling, clawing!”

She hissed the final word like venom.

“Know this, pit-born shade — thou shalt never be divine. Crawl as thou wilt, but in the eyes of gods… thou art naught but dust.”

The gates opened again, golden light flooding in. The Pantheon of the Master was complete.

staggered forward, exhausted but unbroken. They had faced gods… and survived.

But in the Godseeker’s eyes, survival was never enough.

Chapter Text

The golden gates closed behind ##### once more. The air in Godhome shimmered with expectation, thick with unseen power. The Godseeker’s voice echoed across the vast hall, dripping with disdain:

“Lo! The pit-born wretch survives the trial of masters… and yet thou darest tread further? Foolish shadow, thou art naught but a worm amidst gods!”

tightened their grip on the nail. Every nerve was alert. They had survived the Pantheon of the artists, but this… this was something different.

⸻

First Trials – The masters Arrive

From the light emerged echoes of Hallownest’s most feared and skilled: Hornet, Sheo, Oro, and the Three Nailmasters again, all perfect in form but twisted in dreamlike grace. Each carried the weight of their legend, their motions fluid, almost impossible to track.

Hornet leapt first, needle flashing like a streak of silver. ##### dodged, rolling beneath her strikes, striking back with precise arcs learned from past training.

Oro and Sheo combined attacks, pressing ##### into a corner, forcing them to dash and pivot, remembering every lesson from the first pantheon. Every swing and parry had to be perfect.

The Godseeker’s voice rang out, condescending as ever:

“Behold, shade-born! The artist’s grace, the pinnacle of skill, arrayed before thee! And thou… wilt fall, as all pitiful creatures fall! Crawl not, worm, for the gods laugh at thee!”

⸻

Midway – Unforgiving Challenge

One by one, ##### faced each echo:
• Sheo, her wide slashes cutting arcs of radiant energy, forcing ##### to thread between them like a needle.
• Oro, quick as a flash, darted in, nails spinning in rapid succession.
• Hornet, faster than thought, striking in feints that tested every ounce of #####’s reflex.

Every strike was a lesson remembered, every dodge a prayer. Sweat stung their eyes, claws ached, but they pressed on.

“Foolish husk!” the Godseeker spat, voice booming. “Hast thou the audacity to endure, shadowling? Know that thou art naught but a worm! Thy victories are mere jest!”

gritted their teeth. Scorn and derision only sharpened their resolve.

⸻

Later Trials – Elite Foes

The floor shifted. Grimm Troupe echoes appeared, spectral fire swirling, their dance deadly. ##### leapt and struck, feeling the rhythm of the troupe’s dance, dodging flame and shadow alike.

“Behold!” the Godseeker bellowed, voice quivering with fury. “Thou darest challenge the flame of dreams, the dance of gods, and yet thou livest! Pitiful! Thy persistence offends me!”

Next, echoes of Crystal Guardian, Hornet (again), and even the White Defender arose, each one demanding flawless precision. ##### relied on their memory, their instinct, every fiber of training, every ounce of skill honed in Hallownest.

⸻

Final Trial – Pure vessel again?

The chamber darkened as a singular, impossible figure emerged: the Pure vessel a reflection of the hollow knight, a dream perfect of all the trials they had faced — graceful, relentless, and merciless.

Its movements were a blur. Blade strikes rained down, dashes came from every angle, shadow and light entwined in a deadly dance.

dodged, countered, pressed, retreating, leaping, spinning — the nail became an extension of thought, reflex, and memory. They remembered Herrah, Hornet, every Nailmaster, every trial. This was the culmination of all their lessons.

“Hark! Worm of Void!” the Godseeker roared, trembling with fury and disgust. “Behold the perfection of Art! And yet thou… endurest? Crawl forth, shadowling, crawl unto thine end!”

Finally, with a furious flurry, ##### found the opening. Their nail struck true. The Pure Artist staggered, shattered into motes of radiant dreamstuff, and dissolved.

The hall fell silent. Golden light reflected off the marble, shimmering across the exhausted shade. The Godseeker’s voice returned, low and deadly:

“Thou hast endured… yet thou art unworthy. Thou art shadow, worm, husk… and naught more. Know this: the sages may fall, yet the gods… they do not forgive. Crawl onwards, pitiful shade, and tempt fate no further!”

Exhausted, battered, yet alive, ##### stepped forward through the open gates. The Pantheon of the Artist had been conquered — but the Godseeker’s judgment still hung heavy over them.

Every step forward was a challenge, every breath a defiance.

Chapter Text

The golden gates clanged shut behind ##### once more. The air was thick with the weight of expectation. This was no ordinary challenge — this was the Pantheon of THE KNIGHT!?, where the kingdom’s strongest, most feared warriors awaited in dream-perfect form.

Above it all, the Godseeker’s voice thundered, dripping with condescension:

“Lo! The shade hath endured! The pit-born, worm of Void, persists beyond all reason! But see now, child, the kingdom’s champions rise! Crawl not, for each shall rend thee limb from limb!”

⸻

First Echoes – Hallownest’s Deadly Foes

The arena shimmered, and the first echoes appeared:
• Hornet, agile and precise, leapt from shadow to shadow, needle flashing like silver lightning.
• Soul Master, robes billowing, eyes ablaze with arcane fury.
• Dung Defender, resplendent in golden armor, shield and mass of strength.

flowed between them, nail striking, dodging, every movement a memory of training and past battles. Every foe pushed them harder than the last, demanding perfection and precision.

“See how thou strains, husk! See how thou clings to life with pathetic determination!” the Godseeker hissed. “Yet know this — the kingdom’s finest shall break thee!”

⸻

Midway – The Nightmare Intensifies

As ##### advanced, the trials escalated. Grimm Troupe echoes danced fire and shadow, spectral flames cutting deadly paths. Crystal Guardian struck with flawless timing. Hornet returned, faster, more lethal, striking from impossible angles.

Every swing, every dodge, every parry drew upon #####’s lifetime of experience — from training with the Nailmasters to surviving Deepnest, the Abyss, and the city’s horrors.

The Godseeker’s voice cut through the chaos:

“Pitiful shade! Hast thou the temerity to endure still? Thy shell shall crack! Thy nail shall falter! Yet thou crawls onward like a vermin seeking sun!”

gritted their teeth, refusing to yield, letting skill and instinct guide them.

⸻

Later Echoes – Relentless Champions

The shadows shifted. The arena brought forth the fiercest of Hallownest:
• Marmu and Marmu’s siblings, phasing in and out, lashing with precision.
• Nosk, twisting into nightmarish forms, lunging with deceptive speed.
• White Defender, pushing ##### to their limits with strength and endurance.

Each foe tested #####’s mastery. Each strike could have been their last.

“See! The shade struggles! The husk fights for naught! Crawl forward, pitiful worm, and tempt ruin itself!” the Godseeker’s voice rang, bitter with scorn.

⸻

The Final Trial – nightmare Grimm Reborn

The arena darkened. A heart in the center condensed into a singular, impossible form — the nightmare Grimm perfected echo of Hallownest’s ultimate creation. Its fire struck faster than thought, every movement fluid, merciless.

dodged, countered, leapt, rolled — every ounce of training, every lesson from Mato, Oro, Sheo, every harrowing fight in Deepnest and the Abyss, culminating in these final, impossible attacks.

The Godseeker’s voice boomed, trembling with fury:

“Behold! The vessel perfected! Shadow of Void, insect of filth, tremble! Know thy place, for thou art naught but husk crawling amidst gods!”

flowed between strikes, finding the one opening, and drove the nail true. The nightmare grimm shattered and kneeled in front of the audience the godseeker herself, dissolving into the golden light of Godhome.

⸻

Silence fell. The Godseeker’s voice returned, low, deadly, dripping with disdain:

“Lo! Thou hast endured… yet thou art unworthy. A shade, a worm, a husk, and naught more. Crawl onward, pitiful child, and tempt fate no further. Remember this: thou art not a god.”

staggered forward, exhausted but victorious. Every muscle ached, breath ragged. They had faced the pinnacle of Hallownest, the strongest dream echoes of the kingdom… and survived.

The path forward now opened, the gates glowing with golden light. ##### had proven skill, endurance, and resolve, but the Godseeker’s judgment still weighed heavily.

Every step forward was both triumph and defiance.

Chapter Text

The golden gates of Godhome swung closed with a deafening clang. Beyond them, ##### entered the Pantheon of the Void, the final, most merciless trial in all of Godhome. The air shimmered with oppressive energy; the floor seemed alive beneath their claws, pulsing in rhythm with an unseen heartbeat.

Above it all, the Godseeker’s voice boomed, lofty and disdainful, dripping with contempt:

“Lo! The shade hath survived the masters, the artists, and the kingdom’s finest… and yet thou dost crawl further? Pitiful worm! Dost thou presume thine endurance rivals the divine?”

gritted their teeth, nails flashing faintly. The path ahead would test every skill, every memory, every ounce of strength.

⸻

Endless Trials – All of Hallownest

The first corridors were a blur of foes. ##### fought through dream-perfect echoes of:
• Hornet, twice as fast and lethal as before, leaping and striking from impossible angles.
• Soul Master, blasting arcs of pure energy that forced ##### to thread between attacks with surgical precision.
• Marmu and the Mantis Lords, each encounter demanding flawless timing.
• Nosk, White Defender, Failed Champion, Broken Vessel, all appearing in rapid succession, the fights overlapping like living nightmares.

Every enemy brought memories of Hallownest crashing into reality. ##### felt exhaustion clawing at their limbs, but they pressed on, refusing to falter.

The Godseeker’s voice followed them relentlessly:

“Behold! The shade struggles! The husk fights for naught but pride! Crawl, worm, crawl, and tempt the ruin thou canst not escape!”

Even minor foes appeared, each one a test of endurance: Vengefly King, Flukemarm, Hive Knight, and dozens more. ##### barely paused to catch breath, each strike a measured dance of skill and instinct.

⸻

Midway – The Ultimate Echoes

Hours, perhaps days, passed in dream-time. ##### faced Grimm Troupe, Hornet again, Dung Defender, Crystal Guardian, Troupe members, Path of Pain echoes, and even bosses once fought in the Abyss.

Every swing of the nail was met with perfect counters. Every dash had to thread the needle between attacks faster than thought. They relied on all their memories: Nailmaster training, life-and-death battles in Deepnest, the Abyss, and the City of Tears.

The Godseeker’s scorn grew sharper:

“How laughable! The shade survives! How doth a worm endure what kings, gods, and masters could not? Wilt thou crawl unto thy own undoing?”

⸻

Penultimate Trial – The Absolute Hollow Knight

The chamber darkened, shadows stretching impossibly tall. From the depths arose the Pure Vessel, perfected further, stronger, faster than ever before.

#####’s claws shook. Every lesson, every fight they had survived, every ounce of skill would be tested in ways no mortal—or shade—had ever endured.

The Pure Vessel struck. ##### dodged, countered, pressed forward. Every strike was a blur. Every dodge, a prayer. Sparks flew, the air crackling with energy.

⸻

The Final Trial – Absolute Radiance

Finally, the air burned with divine fire. A brilliant light tore through the chamber. #####’s heart hammered. There, glowing with impossible radiance, floated the Absolute Radiance, the source of all Hallownest’s infection.

The golden halls of Godhome stretched endlessly. Every trial — Pantheon of the sage, the Artist, knight , and the Void — had forged ##### into something beyond a mere vessel of flesh and shell. Their claws gripped the Dream Nail, body trembling, eyes burning with determination.

Above it all, the Godseeker’s voice rang, lofty and disdainful:

“Lo! The pit-born shade dares tread into divinity itself. Crawl if thou wilt, shadowling, yet know thy place!”

The Absolute Radiance appeared, light blazing like a thousand suns. Beams cut through the hall, arcs of brilliance forming deadly patterns. ##### moved as one with instinct and memory, dodging, striking, weaving through impossible attacks.

And then, the Void emerged from below, coiling around ##### like a living shadow. It whispered guidance, lent strength, shielded them from the Radiance’s most lethal assaults. The golden light recoiled as if recognizing the foreign power it faced.

“Thou art not of this world,” the Radiance screamed, sensing the Void entwined with #####.

With one final, precise strike, #####’s nail pierced the Absolute Radiance, shattering its brilliance. Light exploded, scattering into fragments across Godhome. The halls trembled.

#####’s body sagged under the strain. Limbs faltered, shell cracked, breath failing. The Void pressed gently, urging them onward. Slowly, deliberately, ##### abandoned their physical shell. Flesh, shell, and claw dissolved, leaving only shadow, will, and memory.

They rose as a shade lord, a being of perfect shadow, a reflection of all the trials survived. The Godseeker’s voice quivered, reverent yet scornful:

“Lo… the pit-born shade hath embraced the void… a vessel unmade, yet complete. Crawl, shadowling, among eternity…”

The hall shimmered with Void substance. Tentacles of shadow coiled and pulsed, wrapping around the Godseeker herself, leaving her fate uncertain.

Within this new form, #####’s consciousness stretched beyond the walls of Godhome. Threads of Silksong unfurled before them — lands and challenges beyond Hallownest, worlds they had only glimpsed in dreams. The journey was no longer bound to a shell, a body, or a single world.

And so, within Godhome, the protagonist drifted in the Void — eternal, untethered, the culmination of Hallownest’s trials, the vessel of shadow, memory, and infinite possibility.

Before he was a silksong fan, now he is A God.

The Embrace of the Void was complete.

Chapter Text

The battle was ended. Lace lay still, light as a thread in Hornet’s arms. Around them, the Abyss howled, walls splintering, tendrils clawing upward. The kingdom quaked, crumbling under the weight of the Void’s hunger.

Hornet gritted her teeth, driving her needle into the stone. Silk spun and flung her upward. Silk Soar pulled her skyward, again and again, her body screaming with effort. Lace dragged at her grip, the Abyss raged below. It would not let them go.

And then—silence.

The Void surged. The Abyss rose, endless, black, and infinite. Hornet froze midair as the shadows reached to claim her.

But they stopped.

The darkness folded back, parted, and in its heart stood a figure — tall, horned, crowned in shadow. No eyes. No words. Only the oppressive weight of something greater than god or vessel.

The Shade Lord.

Hornet’s breath caught. She had faced gods, warriors, and kings, but never this.

The Shade Lord raised its hand, and the Void itself obeyed. Tendrils curled away from her, a clear path carved upward.

And in that instant, deep inside the hollow shell of the Shade Lord, something stirred. Not feeling — the Shade Lord had no heart to feel with. Not thought — it was beyond thought. But an echo. A fracture.

Hornet.

Even in this form, the obsession remained. Not from this body, not from this world — but from the one who had once worn it. A player, a fan, a soul who had adored her story, her struggle, her grace. That fixation lingered, etched into the Void itself.

No emotions. No will. And yet, when the Shade Lord gazed upon her, carrying Lace upward with every desperate Silk Soar, there was recognition. A resonance. A truth unspoken:

She must endure. She is the thread that binds this world together.

The Shade Lord held the Abyss at bay. Hornet’s silk snapped taut, dragging her higher. She soared through collapsing stone and clawing tendrils until at last the sunlight broke across her mask.

Lace stirred faintly in her grasp. Hornet exhaled, mask tilted toward the sky.

And far below, the Shade Lord sank once more into shadow. Hollow. Wordless. But within its silence, a single truth burned eternal — the obsession had never died.