Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

For a fleeing moment, all was well for The Hollow Knight.

Its shell often ached, and the stump of its arm prickled, but it was learning how to manage these things well enough. A small part of it still felt it didn’t deserve the townspeople’s patience. Or its sister’s.

The two of them had stumbled into one of Dirtmouth’s empty houses after everything- a temporary rest stop at the time, until it was healed enough. The temporary part was steadily forgotten with the elder’s insistence they stay as long as they needed, and the steady realisation that they didn't know where else to go. Deepnest’s claws were always open to Hornet, but she worried that they’d struggle to navigate it if she took them, because of course she would. One day it noticed her calling it their home without thinking, adjusting the spot they’d chosen for the little one’s nail. That said it well enough.

Once Hollow was well enough to be left alone Hornet eased back into her own routines. With all the husks deflated and still without Her light, the constant patrols weren’t as necessary, but she’d been doing it for so long. What else was there to do? When it felt up to it it trailed her, and when it didn’t it practiced the gesture language she’d been teaching it. An archaic one she’d been taught as a child, but easy enough to learn for the other residents to understand then quickly. The cartographer had given it a good amount of stationery, but it was useful when that ran out, or when there weren’t any suitable surfaces around for it to… actually have a free hand for writing.

When it was confident it could make the climb back up, it often found itself standing in front of the temple’s remnants. Things would never be perfect again, but they were okay, and that was a far cry from how they once were.

Their sister grew tense if left idle, so even when she didn’t feel the need to patrol she’d be off to hunt, or just to hone her skills, the moment she’d confirmed it didn’t want to come with her.

It once came in from a visit to the temple to see her hunched over in her bedroll, stiff and trembling. It looked around outside for help until Iselda approached it - she’d peered out of her shop to see it pacing in circles around the town’s bench, and came over to see what the fuss was about.

“What’s happened?” she said in a softer voice as it led her over. Hornet looked over at the door as it opened, gingerly pushing herself upright

Iselda moved in to support her.

“Steady, now-” She placed a hand on its sister’s shoulder, and her shell split with a sickly crack from the pressure.

“Ah, I see what’s going on..”

The vessel tilted its head, bewildered. Why is she so calm? What if its sister’s arm falls off or worse?

“Doesn’t seem like a stuck moult. Are you prone to that happening, Hornet? I thought you’d fallen deathly ill or something from how your sibling was acting.”

Its sister, more tense from discomfort or embarrassment than fear now, shakes her head. A series of smaller cracks come with the movement.

“When I was much smaller. As far as I was aware I had long stopped moulting.”

“That’d explain it catching you off guard, then,” Iselda says with a small laugh. “Will you two be alright now, then? I know you’ll keep a close eye on her, but let the rest of us help if anything-”

Hornet interrupts the impeding long explanation of how to handle moulting by insisting she knows what she’s doing and just wasn’t expecting it.

“I had always thought they stopped too early,” its sister mutters to herself after Iselda leaves. The Vessel resists an urge to suggest that she’s just short. Weren’t her moults always erratic? It vaguely remembers that, from what it got to see of her growing up. Some artifact of her hybrid nature according to the palace doctors it had overheard.

She pauses and flops back down with a series of cracks, staring at her hands.

“Perhaps Hallownest’s stasis set in before my last moult came. ”

The vessel glances at the windows, at the twilight it had always known. Hasn’t the air felt different lately? Colder, sharper. Another resident of the town once told it the cold comes and goes in some places, with the passing seasons. Did that happen here once, ever so long before it hatched?

Perhaps one day it will snow. Not ash, real snow. From how soft it looked in the drawings it had seen, Hornet would probably like it.

All was still well for a time.

The moment her shell was solid enough for it Hornet was back to her usual habits, and with the time spent watching over her Hollow was more than able to accompany her to it.

“Do I look different at all?” she asked it, idly watching a passing crawlid.

It hesitates, then makes a so-so gesture with its hand.

“Still small,” it signs.

She makes an amused noise.

“It is entirely possible that it will happen again. You do know that, don’t you?”

“Not that many times.”

That gets a small laugh out of its sister.

“Perhaps every moult I have missed will come one after another, and then I will be-”

A bell rings in the distance, and Hornet trails off to stare at the intruders in the distance, a hand resting against her needle

The tiny bugs with their ringing staffs fall easily, but as soon as they’re cut down more take their place. As always the Vessel tries its hardest, and as always it eventually fails.

(It once accompanied the King on an emergency visit to Deepnest, and was briefly left alone with the Beast’s attendants.

“Come here, dearie,” said one with a smiling mask and something wriggling in her arms, “It’s only right for the big sibling to meet the little one too.”

A small claw touching yours.

For Hallownest eternal. For this one to grow safe and cherished.)

It stares blankly down at its hands in the blurry moments that follow, ignoring the villager’s attempts to comfort it. At the scratches from where she’d reached out to them through the cage bars and dug her claws in to not let go, before the runes flashed and she went still.

At the bloodstained veil clutched in its claws.

Life has to go on, it supposes. The veil stays. It loathes the thing, the face that it was torn from, but can’t bring itself to do anything else but keep it. The sands at the wasteland’s edge leave little, and with the corpses rotted or eaten away, what other traces of its sister’s taking are left? It’s memory, and the veil. If those were to be lost, it would be as if it never happened, and she was never there at all.

When it feels up to it it visits the shrine in Deepnest. Hornet always told it that travelling there to attend to it soothed her. She’d probably appreciate someone else doing it in her absence.

In the absence of the rest of its kin it often finds itself before the Lady’s cocoon. To speak to her would break the illusion, but being in her presence is comforting enough. Better here than the temple, or that terrible pit. Somewhere alive and lush, if growing colder.

On one visit it felt the ground shudder before it reached her, and somewhere within the Vessel there was a sense that something was terribly wrong.

In the fragments of the cocoon it saw her eyes for the first time since it was sealed away, if faded. Beneath her disintegrating bindings, she clutched a withered, pale bloom.

Out of shame, its mother cast off so much of herself. Part of the Vessel feels she knew there would one day be nothing left.

These days- for they were days that passed now, days and nights and weeks- it was usually inside its home or attending to the shrine when their joints felt up to it. The candles went out far too easily now.

The elder simply never woke one day, far more peacefully than most of Hallownest manage, and the younger (or immortal, if it counts itself amongst them) residents were mostly either long gone for greener pastures or planning to leave after the winter passed. Before the couple running the map shop departed, the cartographer had given it an extra supply of paper and pens as a farewell gift. Iselda had offered to take it with them, as everyone who left had, but it refused. Who else is here to hold vigil? What if Hornet finds her way home and there’s nothing there?

“Perhaps we’ll run into each-other again some day,” Cornifer said as he handed it to them. “Be safe, won’t you?”

With the cold coming faster it wondered if it would pass faster, too. No seals and pale gods held Hallownest’s corpse together now. When it stood in its house, it felt the world quake and crumble beneath it, and it had taken to following the empty stag tunnels to reach that distant village with all its old paths blocked off by rubble. On its last visit it heard a great splash from outside. When it stood beside the broken elevator to see nothing, and looked down to see disintegrating silk and candles floating in the water. The resignation it felt almost scared it.

There is nothing else for it here.

They wait until the spring, when the winter aches fade, and stand at the edge of that empty village. Does it have everything it wanted to take with it? The paper and pens. Its nail, and another blade, far smaller.

A torn, faded veil bearing a symbol it didn’t recognise.

(Perhaps we’ll meet again. Be safe.)

It sets off in the same direction she did, because it can’t think of anything else to do.

Chapter Text

Higher beings, these words are for you alone.

These blasted plains stretch never-ending. There is no world beyond.

Those foolish enough to traverse this void must pay the toll and relinquish the precious mind this kingdom grants.

The tablet appeared here shortly before their sire’s disappearance, according to Hornet.

It was unsure of what to make of it, given.. the many travellers from the outside world in Dirtmouth. Her opinion was that it was simply falsehood- the fool clinging onto those who trusted his every word more than they wanted to flee the plague. A part of it wondered if those kingdoms had sprung up in its absence. Before that brief moment of lucidity, Hallownest had long lay stagnant. Outside of that dying land’s slumber, had the rest of the world continued without it? These were questions it had no answers to- it had barely seen beyond the Palace’s walls before the sealing, and the idea of what was beyond its sire’s domain.. that was out of the question.

The Pure Vessel was not a child to be enriched with knowledge. Before it departed it took one of the rolls of parchment and wrote down everything important, just in case. Of those who cling to its father’s every word it had once held on the tightest.

The Vessel’s mind was its own, for it was not supposed to have one to lose. It understood how more mortal sorts found this place maddening- dust and sand clawing at its shell with each gust of wind. Occasionally the wind grew so strong it toppled the Vessel and it could do little but lay there for a moment. No voice to cry suffering, it thought to itself as it pushed itself upright, and no mouth to get sand in. Perhaps its nature had some boons. Just as it had risen, the wind howled again and it lost its balance again. Lying there, it thought of the temple. It thought of the stagnant sickly air, the silence before She found her voice enough to scream, and tried to decide which was preferable.

...When the wind held it down it could move more than the chains allowed it to.

Its own departure was at short notice, and it did not take much time to plan it, but it took what it could from what it had overheard. When the others made their plans to leave they often brought up finding places to shelter from the wind- a map was passed around at some point, marked with every known spot for the next traveller to memorise. It had tried its best to commit it to memory. Part of the Vessel considered taking it with them- there isn’t anyone else to need it, is there? It decided against it, in case there ever was someone who needed it. If a stranger ever came to what was left of Hallownest, it would rather they leave, and make it to their next destination.

There are caverns and large rocks and empty houses, but the best place of all to shelter from the wastes is a kingdom.

When it rests in a kingdom’s grounds it sticks to the outskirts when it can. It’s here to regain some energy for the journey ahead, not to sight-see. It is currently in a tavern, sitting in a quiet corner. It has quickly learned that places like this are usually good spots- there’s the odd rude barkeep who insists it has to buy something or leave, but otherwise it’s warm,dry and safe. When it sits somewhere like this and keeps to itself like it always does it could be easily mistaken for a piece of furniture, so it is rarely bothered.

“You mind if I sit here?”

...Rarely. The leafbug rests the hand they aren’t using to hold a tankard of nectar on the table. The Vessel nods and gestures towards the opposite chair, and the stranger flops into it with a sigh.

“Thanks. There aren’t a whole lot of seats left, and you just.. really need to sit down sometimes, y’know? It’s been a rough day.”

It has started to get very busy here, now the Vessel looks around. The stranger gives them an odd look,

“...

Not much of a talker, huh? That’s fine.”

It had been using writing to communicate far more than it ever had these days, and had learned from it that when it talked to strangers some phrases came up more frequently. It had taken to cutting down the sheets of parchment with them, and keeping them on hand to reuse. The Vessel takes a moment to look through its belongings, then sets down the relevant sheet.

“My kind cannot speak.”

Are there even any left of its kind? Hornet told it that she had seen others escape the Abyss besides their sibling, but refused to go into much more detail on the matter. If they existed they were scattered far and wide and unlikely to ever meet. Wording it this way brought less questions, anyway. One person had asked if it was born mute or if something else silenced it, and then began to pry about the rest of its scars in a way it found deeply unpleasant.

The stranger nods, taking a sip of nectar.

“Oh, got it.

…I’m not bothering you, then? I took the nod as a ‘go ahead’ but it could’ve been-”

It shakes its head.

“Okay, good. I get wanting to be alone now and then..

All that and I didn’t even introduce myself, heh. The name’s Acai, by the way. Pleasure to meet ya.“

“My name is Hollow. Well met.”

It was The Hollow Knight, really, always would be, but the nickname had stuck some time in Dirtmouth. Holly, too, but that one wasn’t for strangers to hear.

(Once, it was the Pure Vessel.)

The second sentence was added to the card later. They found it made them seem less intimidating.

“Hollow. Got it,” Acai nods, taking another sip. “I haven’t been to this kingdom for a hot minute! Forgot how good the nectar is…”

They stare at the Vessel for a second, thinking.

“Have you tried it yet, Hollow? I’ll get you a glass if you want.”

It shakes its head.

“Mmkay. Don’t forget to try it before you leave the kingdom, got it? Everyone needs to experience Sereni nectar at least once~

..that’s me assuming you’re a traveller at least. You’ve got the look of one. What brings you to these parts?”

Another question they got often enough to have a sheet for it. It had taken then some time to work out how to word the answer.

“Looking for something.”

“I see. Best of luck to you, then!

..I’d say I was here for the nectar but it’d only be half-true. I’m with the Courier’s Guild. It’s been a tough delivery, but it’s done.”

The Vessel looks down at Acai’s satchel and recognises the sigil. It had briefly ran into a few interkingdom couriers, and they were friendly enough when they weren’t corpses in the wastes. Something about them having such short lifespans from the job that they didn’t have the time to waste on making enemies, one had told it. They huff, setting down their glass, and the Vessel tilts its head.

“I know this route well enough, and there’s plenty of spots to rest. Had to miss out on one of ‘em. The folks in Pharloom are a little.. kooky if you go deeper in, but they’re harmless on the outskirts normally. I don’t know why everything there’s gone all…”

They trail off, staring into their drink, and the Vessel does not pry when they change the subject. Acai rambles, taking sips of nectar between sentences, and eventually sets down the empty tankard with a sigh.

“Well, I should be gettin’ a spot in the inn while there’s room. Safe travels, friend! Hope you find what you’re looking for.”

The Vessel watches them depart. Once it is alone again, it feels through its knapsack for the veil.

It is in a lush, pretty garden. The air smells pleasant- Wisteria is famed for its perfume, apparently. It lets the flower seller telling it so finish her spiel before it informs her it has none of the local currency to actually buy anything. She insists on giving it a sample anyway.

“Gosh, you’re a tall one,” the butterfly giggled, pressing a flower against its horns “Gives me a chance to use my wings!”

(Adaptability was important for a warrior, Isma had insisted, and training in different environments was needed for it. The Pure Vessel was unsure of how much a static thing like it needed, but the Sealing drew close and its sire welcomed any efforts to make it stronger.

And so the negotiations and arrangements were made and it found itself in the Gardens, standing above her.

She’d called for a break in the training session quite early.. She was kind to it when the moment allowed, all the Five were, and it suspected half her intent was allowing such a moment.

“Here, little one.” Isma patted the soft grass beside her. “It’s no good if only one of us is pacing ourselves, is it?”

They towered over her these days, but it never dissuaded her from calling it that. The Pure Vessel followed its orders and lowered itself to the earth.

“Thank-you,” she said, fidgeting with something in the grass. “Be still for a moment, would you?”

She stood and began pressing something to its horns, humming. Whatever she’s doing, she seems happy enough with it, and once it's in place, she claps her hands together.

“There we are~ I was curious how it’d look before…

…before you’re too tall for me to reach. Shall we continue, then?”)

“It looks lovely on you! You should show it to my sisters too, if you see them~”

Still a sales pitch, then. The Vessel stands.

…It likes it here. There’s probably a cruel underbelly to it somewhere, in all places there is, but if it stays by the edges it is far away for now.

It stands in a busy town square. Something tugs on its cloak, and it turns.

…It looks down. The hatchling squeaks and backs away, dropping the fabric.

“Ohh, you’re not..”

The Vessel crouches down to meet the child’s gaze as best it can.

“Have you seen Mama? I can’t find her. She’s um, tall and-”

He hiccups, fidgeting with his own cloak. A lost child, then. The vessel shakes its head.

“Um, okay…”

For a moment the child turns to look elsewhere, and hesitates. He turns back around again, on the verge of tears.

“There’s so many bugs here I can’t see anything. You’re really really big, so you can probably see over them really well. Can you help me? Please.. I asked a lot of bugs, but they ignored me.. ”

It nods. The child takes a moment to process it before he flings himself at the Vessel for a tight hug.

“Thank-you! That was so scary… um, I think we were going this way-”

It lets the child lead it around the cobbles until he pauses, panting and unsteady.

“Can we stop for a little? My legs hurt…”

The vessel thinks for a moment. It gestures to itself and holds out its arm, and he seems to understand.

“Oh, okay..!”

It crouches down to let it clamber up, and he ends up perched on their good shoulder, holding onto their nail’s handle for support. If he can go two seconds without being distracted by the blade, perhaps their search will be faster.

“It looks so heavy… Do you fight with it?”

The Vessel makes a so-so gesture. When it must.

“Wow, really? You must look so cool… I wanna be a strong warrior like you one day! My big sister said she’d teach me when I was big enough, but every time I ask if I’m big enough yet she says I have to wait a few more-”

He stops mid-sentence, hearing a voice in the distance, and starts frantically waving a hand and almost losing his balance.

“Mama! I’m here!”

It crouches to let him climb down and watches him scurry off into her arms.

“...I’m not upset with you, honeycomb,” she whispers to him as it approaches. “Just worried. Promise me you’ll stay close when I ask you to, alright?”

Her voice is soft and warm. The child's mother rises, taking his hand, and looks up at the Vessel.

“Thank-you for keeping him safe,” she says. “It was very kind of you.”

It wonders how the Lady would have reacted to this sort of situation. Not that it would have ever been permitted, or willing, to wander off like that in the first place when it was that small.

…It would never know for sure.

It’s passing through a ruined village in the wastes. Something about the place makes it uneasy, and the Vessel tries its hardest to look ahead. It focuses on the sound of the wind, of the clattering coming from one of the houses-

Hm. It braces itself and approaches the source.

There’s... half of a bug sticking out of a pile of rubble. It approaches silent, until its nail scrapes against a rock with a screech.

The little bee squeaks in terror and stops her rummaging, slowly turning around to face it.

“Eep- Sorry! Do you live here?”

It shakes its head.

“Oh, alright then,” she says with a curt nod and immediately returning to.. whatever it is she’s doing. It watches, its head tilted, until she makes a satisfied noise and pulls something shiny out of the rubble.

“There we go~!”

She holds the… thing out proudly. It can’t think of much else to do but keep staring at it,

“Such an intense gaze… You’re interested in relics too, then? How wonderful to meet kindred spirits on the road! I can show you more of my collection, if you’d like.”

…It did need a moment to rest, and didn’t want to use the village if it could help it. The relic seeker- Ness, she’d told it her name was- lets it warm itself at her camp as she rummages through the back of her caravan. Occasionally she pulls something out and explains it in painstaking detail.

“Ah, this one’s extra special~!”

She turns, cradling something silver in her arms, and it wonders if sheltering in the ruins would have been better for it.

“It’s Hallownestian for sure. Nobody knows where the kingdom itself is, but relics from it pop up now and then. Some historians don’t even think it existed! What nonsense… certainly parts of the stories surrounding it are probably myths, but those myths must be based on something, right?”

…She’s still taking its unchanging expression as interest, and continues. At some point in the temple it learned to distance itself from its surroundings almost on command. Useful when her theories are close enough to accurate to bother it.

“...The most popular version says that the king tried to stop the plague with a spell, one that would put the sick into an eternal sleep until a cure was found. But it went wrong, somehow, and everyone, the doctors and soldiers and scientists, fell asleep. Everyone but the king himself. And he was too stubborn to go back on his plans and wake them up, so they slept forever, and kept sleeping when he died. In some variants the plague was a curse, cast upon the king by those he’d conquered to take his kingdom down with theirs. It fell into ruin long ago, but the rumours go that now and then, Hallownestians who managed to awaken stumble into other kingdoms, unaware any time’s passed at all, and the adventurers who do claim to have found its location never come back. They’re ensnared by the spell too, and sleep alongside its denizens.”

A pause. She exhales, looking down at the idol.

“I’ve found a way to Hallownest, a map left in one of the neighboring villages in near perfect condition. With luck, I won’t be among the sleeping ones when I reach it.”

They struggle to hide their reaction to that. She seems to notice, trailing off with a nervous laugh.

“Ah, I’ll be alright..! It’s such an intriguing mystery, and I’ll never die satisfied if I never see it in my lifetime. You’d understand if you were in this field. Even if it…

..There’s no point in being pessimistic. If my theories are correct I’ll almost certainly be fine. I think that the sleeping spell part of the myth came from some symptom of the plague. When the king made some grand plan to treat it that failed miserably, people kept falling asleep and never waking up, and somewhere along the line the sickness and the cure were confused. It’s been so long since any other travellers have vanished there, so with nobody to spread it I doubt it’s still much of a-

…You don’t look well, friend. What’s the matter..?”

The Vessel has no qualms with the seeker herself, but feels too nauseated by the conversation for polite goodbyes. It fidgets through its belongings and writes something, and sets the sheet down in front of her before it leaves.

“There is nothing left in Hallownest. Do not go there.

May the rest of your research go well.”

Her protests fade in the distance, and then there is nothing but the wind again.

The vessel is… very lost. It’s sitting on a tree stump in a dense woodland, trying to regain its bearings. Something chirps from deeper inside one of the trees, and it thinks of the little fluttery things in the Greenpath as it looks through the canopy to try and spot it.

Another noise startles it- a lady crying out- and they hear it flap away and out of sight. While it stares in the direction of the voice, it feels something small barrel into it and grabs on on instinct, feeling something soft and warm wriggle in its claws.

“Little one, please- oh!”

Some sort of mantis, if far gentler looking than the ones of its homeland. Her gaze shifts to the Vessel’s lap as she stumbles into the clearing. and its own follows. It should probably… actually look at whatever it is it is holding. The little animal looks up at it, blinking innocently despite whatever chaos it was just causing.

“Do you mind, ah, holding onto her for me? Just for a moment.” the mantis asks. When the vessel nods, she twists around and calls into the woods.

“Winnie! It’s sorted. Can you come here?”

“It’s being way more docile for you than it was for me or Nae,” laughs Winnie, a fluffy sort of beetle. “You aren’t as fidgety as me, I guess.”

It’s holding the creature still as Naea- her companion called her that too, so it assumed that’s what Nae was short for- sketched it.

Naea was a biologist and Winnie was a mercenary, although from the way she leaned against her as she worked, it got a sense that she was more here to accompany the other than for a job. The beast mewls and wriggles a little bit, making itself comfortable in their arms.

“Awh. Looks like she’s about to fall asleep on you.”

…its sister would have loved this. She wouldn’t have made the fact obvious around strangers, but she would have loved it. When Naea’s done it sets the creature on the ground and watches it hop into the bushes.

“I’ll ask around the village for what the local name is,” Naea mutters to herself. “Thank-you so much for the help, by the way..! Sorry for just.. springing that on you, ahaha..”

You stand.

“Speaking of the village..,” Winnie says “Are you heading there too? It’s pretty close.”

The Vessel is more headed for “anything that isn’t this forest”, but that’s close enough. It nods.

“We might as well travel together then. Ready to go?”

Naea is delighted to learn the creatures are called Powderpuffs from a merchant selling street food at the village, and slightly less delighted to learn that once they’ve been shaved down they’re a staple food of this kingdom.

It doesn’t think Hornet would have been as bothered about that part.

A crowded and ramshackle camp, but it served its purpose well. The Vessel found a free corner and took to observing passers-by as it rested. It had been lucky to find this spot- those who arrived rarely lingered, but after they left they were replaced within moments. These travellers puzzled it. For such a remote and distant camp they all seemed so.. feeble. It tended to meet warriors in places like these, but these were certainly civilians. Small and weak and unarmed and hungry, in great masses. Were they fleeing a kingdom’s fall too? Tiring of bugwatching, it felt through its belongings for the veil to study. With so many travellers here, perhaps…

“We’re so close, aren’t we?”

A voice pulls the Vessel out of its thoughts and it turns to look at the stranger, head tilted. This traveller seems particularly small and frail. At the very least her wings should aid her, if she could use them in the wastes without being blown away.

“Holy Pharloom’s gates lie just ahead.” the little one murmurs with reverence, “To think the true beginning of our pilgrimage draws near.. it’s almost too much to bear!”

As she flutters up to get a closer look at the veil, it grips it tighter. She pays no mind.

“What a blessing it must be to carry its sigil with you! Looking upon it as you pray brings great peace, I’m certain. May I join you?”

Pharloom’s sigil. It manages to stop staring at her, baffled, and gives a curt nod.

“Ah, wonderful! To worship together is a delightful thing.”

She plops down beside it, continuing to ramble to it? To herself? It listens regardless, staring down into the veil.

“I’ve seen many pilgrims turn back as of late. What blasphemy... Some terrible calamity has befallen it as of late, from what I’ve heard. Yet the great Citadel surely has strength to protect the truly devout, does it not? Those who crawl onwards no matter what, and trust in it wholeheartedly.”

The pilgrim glances at the veil again.

“I’m certain you’ll be alright, my tall friend. You seem strong and holy. You already bear Pharloom’s blessings, and they’ve carried you to its gates.”

For a moment they hold the veil tighter still. They stare into a particular hole in the cloth, and remember a needle driving straight through into the face behind. The pilgrim stares.

“Had you not.. known, friend? You seem unfamiliar.”

More perceptive than it had taken her for, then. It shakes its head.

“Ah, I see…”

She’s solemn for a moment, and then immediately returns to that haze of worship.

“And still you find yourself called to the pilgrimage, purely by fate! What a blessed miracle…”

She makes a little sigh and stands.

“Ah, I shouldn’t tarry much longer… To be the one to enlighten you was an honour. Be well, and may Pharloom grant your every wish!”

As the pilgrim leaves they make a mental note of the direction she takes. May Pharloom grant their wishes indeed.

Chapter Text

It slipped into the crowds trickling into the wastes, as much as something that towered over them like it did could. As the little camp grew distant the winds cried out louder, then howled, over the moans and prayers of the pilgrims. The brief rest did little for most of them. Some shambled forward more than marched, and from time to time the Vessel saw one collapse from sheer exhaustion, and vanish into the sea of shells if they were not travelling with others who would aid, long before the vessel itself could.

Yet still they marched forward as a single enormous organism, one that bled with each lurch forward. With all the bleeding the crowds steadily thinned, and by the time the Vessel faced Pharloom’s gates it felt it would not cause anyone to trip if it stopped. It stares up at them, lost in thought. There is something here for it. Answers, at the very least.

Something bumps into its leg and begins to wail.

“Pharloom has forsaken us!”, cries the pilgrim, clawing at her face. “We have failed to show true devotion, and in punishment she has called up that terrible darkness to swallow us all. It may now lie still, it’ll surely come back for us sinful.

…Or perhaps we have been left as examples…”

The Vessel crouches down slightly and offers her its claw. She grips onto it with the desperation of one at a cliff’s edge, but does not rise from her knees.

“I beg of you, you must not go further. Lest we...”

She breaks off into gasping sobs. The Vessel looks at her for a moment, then behind itself, at an approaching surge of worshippers. To turn back now would be a sin, the pilgrim it spoke to at the camp had told it. Whatever disaster awaits in Pharloom, it would take something stronger still to break the pilgrims' collective fervour.

…It has no words to console her, and it still would not if it could speak. All it knows of this new land is how it has tormented them both. The Vessel thinks for a moment, then gently scoops her up in its arm. She yelps in surprise, but otherwise does not protest as it sets her down at the side of the path, out of the way of the coming pilgrims. That is the least it can do.

The broken pilgrim stares at the Vessel with wide eyes as it passes through Pharloom’s great maw.

The Vessel stands before a bridge. It seems.. unstable. Recently repaired, but hastily, with scant materials. Perhaps this is why so many pilgrims had split from the trail before this point...

…If it can bear the weight of so many small bugs, it can hold one tall one. The bridge makes an odd creak with one of its steps as the Vessel crosses, and it only briefly flinches.

The wind still howls at Pharloom’s edges, above the sheltered caves it had travelled to get here. Whatever calamity drew that broken pilgrim to her despair, it left its mark on this place- the ground littered with rubble and refuse and corpses. At its base the husks seem ancient, coated in thick layers of dust, but as the Vessel climbs higher it notes how much cleaner they look in comparison. More recent deaths, in far quicker succession than ever before. Close to the top of the great steps it finds a huddled pile of bodies. Whatever was holding them together is no more, but shadowy tears still stain their masks.

(In that far away place, it saw an eggshell split open like a rotted fruit. Something oozed out, and floating within it the Pure Vessel saw fragments of shells, congealed together.

..Not all of the clutch took to the dark well enough, to become it wholly.)

An angry darkness, called from deep below.

The Vessel knows this anger well. It felt it from behind as it climbed, up and away. The Void does not have a mind of its own, but it is easily given one. It felt so many behind it then, and all of them screamed. Some from pain , or despair, or terror. In anger at being forsaken. Only they would ever hear it.

What terrible thing had happened here? Whose great wrath was this, that it could reach so far? And yet the Vessel did not sense that familiar darkness close by at all. The Void that had been here had been quelled, at least temporarily, and it did not know how.

It stands before a husk.

This is the largest one it has seen yet, by a substantial amount. Among the many husks of the steps the Vessel occasionally passed smaller bugs with similar weapons and armour. Perhaps guards or soldiers, it had theorised them to be guards or soldiers, for the pilgrims insisted on being defenceless. This one, and the great door behind them, seemed confirmation. How long had they stood at their task, to grow so large and strong? How many lives had they taken for their duty in those many years?

…Just who was it that had finally struck them down was probably just as important of a question. At the very least, they probably shared the Vessel’s goals.

Whatever they had died to protect, or somebody had slain them to reach, it had been for little. The eternal, holy Citadel creaks and groans around the Vessel. It watches a distant bridge collapse as it passes through another gilded door, and stares down into a ruined elevator shaft before resigning itself to more climbing. Here the corpses wear finer robes, and the dust coating their bodies is finer, but they are corpses nonetheless. Some are pilgrims.

Some are veiled. It has seen nobody alive yet, to give its answers.

These gilded halls remind the Vessel of the sort of places it would be led through as a child. When left to navigate alone it finds itself going in circles. Perhaps it would have found more similarities when this place was in its prime. Would the palace have looked like this eventually? If, instead of taking it with him when he cast himself away, the king had left it to rot like the rest of Hallownest did. The stump of its arm twinges.

The Vessel sits at the edge of a pool of water. The water is far deeper than in the bathhouse in the City its sister once took it to, and when it lowers its legs in, it can just barely reach the bottom.

It doubts it will find much else like its homeland’s springs here, but it feels a trace of something its shell accepts as Soul in the water. Enough to keep it going for now- it will need to find a place to properly rest soon, somewhere with less moisture. It is already risking its stationery by doing this. There isn’t as much steam as there could be, at least- the water is lukewarm. This place was artificially heated, most likely. If the workers and machines tasked with keeping it warm are no more, then…

A noise from outside. The Vessel freezes as a figure darts past one of the bathhouse’s exits with a click, their form half cut off by the doorframe.

White, fluttering fabric, marked with a sigil it has seen far too many times today. As much as it has been trying not to get its belongings wet, the Vessel pays little attention to the splash it makes as it rises.

…It quickly loses track of the gilded one. The place the chase leads the Vessel to is promising enough, at least. None of this prison’s cages are identical to the one its sister’s captors carried, but many are similar. It finds a small one, broken open on the ground, and notes how it seems intended for someone of her stature. Not that it would have held her for long if it was shattered this easily by a fall. Many cages and cells in all shapes and sizes. The largest, able to fit the biggest bugs it could see the little ones with the staffs be able to carry, used for the capture. Perhaps after that they moved their captives to smaller ones? The Vessel had long wondered whether they’d been opportunists, or if she’d been targeted, and had never been able to decide what would have been worse.

For all its musings on what the Citadel does with its prisoners there are none to be found here. It scours the empty cells and wanders as far into the cold on the other side as its shell will tolerate, and finds no more information than it already had.

Another click, as it stands at the prison’s exit again.

The gilded bug bears the Citadel’s sigil as a cloak, not as a veil. This matters little to the Vessel- the first living bug it has seen, bearing the sigil of those who…

The Vessel aims to subdue-it wants answers, not death. When its blade collides with the gilded knight’s armour, there’s a vibrating clang, far louder a sound than it had expected the slow hit to make. Part of it suspects the other is going easy on it, too. It had seen the Vessel draw its weapon and responded in kind, but now keeps missing obvious chances to hit vitals (that it does not have, but they do not know that) and often slashes just slow enough for it to dodge.

Besides its brief respite in the bathhouse the Vessel has not properly rested since the camp on Pharloom’s outskirts, and it has not needed to use its nail much on its journey. It knows well that it is not fighting at its best.

Do they want it alive? It will not be chained again.

The Vessel is mid-swing when another piece of the Citadel breaks close by, and barely avoids losing its balance. It watches the gilded one turn, distracted. A perfect opportunity to-

They dart off. Its pursuit is nowhere near as fast as it would like, but with the lull in combat it feels the adrenaline leaving it.

This could be it.

It …just wants to know what became of her, that is all. It has long resigned itself from wanting much else. A trained skill of a Pure Vessel.

Before the new pile of rubble, a quivering pilgrim. Before the pilgrim, one of the gilded one’s blades.

“P-protection of those sheltering here, is th-this sentinel’s duty. Come no c-closer.”

The vessel freezes, unsure. The other tilts their head.

“Reason, it can t-t-tell you have. No more, is the Haunting, and this sentinel does not sense true ill intent from you. St-tand down, and it will follow.

…

There is no need for death.”

It stares at their cloak.

“This sentinel senses that the Choir has wronged you. A p-protector, is all it is.”

When it is this close to the gilded sentinel, and they are both still and undistracted by combat, the Vessel notices a faint tick-tock from somewhere inside of them, just audible beneath the pilgrim’s shaky breathing. That its joints seemed more shell than armour. A construct, then?

A memory of its sire's court. His early experiments with the Void were kept around as guards, and when it drew too close to them it could sense the darkness inside. True, mindless void, in a metal shell. Sometimes it wondered why he had never used those constructs for the great plan, instead of a broken one like…

The Vessel sensed nothing of the sort from the gilded one. If it was a similar sort of thing to it it was constructed in a far different way. It lowers its blade

“Thank-you,” they say as they lower their own weapons.

“Weakened, you seem. Escort you both to a safer place, this sentinel will if it is desired.”

Something about this situation has ignited some old habits it thought it had long cast off. The Vessel no longer considers them an enemy, but it does not trust them that much just yet. It shakes its head.

“Let us part peacefully, then.”

The Vessel stands before a…what is this, anyway?

It has taken to prodding at the machine until it does something of note, but its only response so far has been a series of buzzes, and it fears it will set off an alarm if it keeps on irritating it. Or that it will explode, or something-

A click behind it. The Vessel does not turn around.

“Without you ins-side, it will not move,” chimes in the Sentinel.

It stands in the doorway, unaccompanied. When it turns to look at them, they bow.

An elevator? The Choir’s technology seems far more advanced than its homeland’s ever was, and at times the Vessel questions how necessary it all is. An up button and a down button would suffice, would it not? Pharloom is a place of many excesses. It stares down the list of buttons and labels, in a font it can barely read.

“Closest to a set-t-ttlement, is the First Shrine.”

It looks down at itself, and then at the opening to the tube. The Vessel thinks for a moment, then attempts to press its head inside, as far as it can.

…This is not far. The sides of its horns wedge against the entrance, and it gets a distinct sense that it would become fully wedged if it went any further. The Sentinel would probably help to dislodge it, but it would very much rather that did not happen.

“...

Still availab-b-le, is this sentinel’s of-f-ffer to escort you there.”

Eventually, the automaton identifies itself as the Second Sentinel specifically. They walk just ahead of the vessel, clearly far more used to navigating this place than it. Perhaps the correct routes were ingrained into them when they were constructed? It understands little of the most mundane technology in this place, and it doubts extrapolating from vague memories of its sire’s workshop will help much. Something creaks beneath it, and the Vessel looks down to see jammed cogs, creaking against each other through a hole in the floor.

“Alm-most there.”

This is the shrine it mentioned, presumably, and the pilgrims in the camp surrounding it wear those same fine robes it saw on the corpses. They seem just as weary as those outside, although some have clean dressings on their wounds. A better supplied camp than those in the wastes- decently guarded, from the Sentinel’s blades and the rack of high quality, if worn, pins it passes on the way in. It watches a pilgrim it vaguely recognises as the one Sentinel was aiding walk away from a bug in finer robes than the pilgrims. The camp’s leader?

He holds a roll of gauze in one claw and waves to two of them with the other.

“Hoy there, gilded one!

…your friend, too! ‘Tis a blessing to see more pilgrims reach Songclave safely. The great breaking has eased, yet so much damage has already been done, and with the Citadel and its Choir no more so many find themselves stranded…”

The vessel tilts its head, for a moment, then shakes it.

“Ah, not a pilgrim? No matter. This camp is welcome to all who need it. Stay as long as you’d like, friend!”

It leans against one of the shrine’s walls and sinks down, close to where the caretaker is pottering around. Somewhere in the distance, it faintly hears another piece of the Citadel collapse.

…This place seems safe for now, at least. The sheer amount of time it spent trying to figure out the elevator gave it a brief moment, but really it has still not properly rested since it left that camp on the outskirts. Something will surely flare up if it continues any longer.

The caretaker’s robes seem slightly too large for him. He hums to himself, replacing a bloodstained blanket on the floor with a clean one.

“I am Sherma, by the way, and ‘tis my task to look after those who are sheltering here. Please let me know if I can aid you at all!”

…A few of its communication cards are damp from the bathhouse. Thankfully they are all still legible.

“My name is Hollow. Well met.”

“Hollow! A lovely name. It’s always wonderful to make new friends, no matter the circumstances.

…I won’t pry if it’s a bother, but I am quite curious.”

It had reworded its answer to that particular question before it departed the camp.

“I am looking for someone.”

“Well, I wish you the best of luck in doing so! And, ah, that they are safe and well when you do find them.” The caretaker thinks for a moment, then gestures towards a sign at the edge of the camp. “If you’d like, you could place a wish on the board over there, and someone will certainly come to help! A dear friend of mine’s fond of granting them- she’d certainly take your request if nobody else does before her. ”

He stares at the Vessel for a moment, expression fond.

“..Come to think of it, something about you reminds me of her. I can’t place exactly why, but… I’ll point your wish out to her next time she visits! If anyone could help you, it’d be her.”

It holds a blank wish in its hands. How to word it…

Behind it, it hears the clicks and ticks of Sentinel’s movement towards the caretaker, who says something it can’t quite make out.

“...Towards the bell-t-town, she was headed,” it responds.

Sherma nods. “Ah, I see. Last time she was here she told me she’d intended to bring up some supplies from there, but…

If that’s what she’s up to, perhaps she’ll be back soon.”

My sister was taken prisoner by bugs bearing the Choir’s sigil, and any information on what may have become of her would be appreciated. I will give more details when it is safe to do so.

Hollow of Dirtm-

(There is a small chance you are reading this. Nothing is left of our homeland besides us. To know you are alive and well would be enough.)

It has spent enough time resting here. Beside this camp the Vessel is not particularly fond of this place, and it is certain that Pharloom does not entirely consist of the Citadel itself. If the prison is empty, it may have been because the Choir moved its prisoners elsewhere in the calamity’s wake, and if she had already escaped herself, she would probably not linger here. Once its wish is secure, it turns away from the board.

“Farewell for now, friend!” Sherma calls out to it as it passes by. “Should you return, I will let you know if anyone takes your wish. Be safe.”

Far from Songclave and far beyond a point where it could navigate back there by itself, the Vessel comes to an important realisation.

…It never gave the taker of its wish details on where they should actually meet it.