#BEING SO COLD TO THE KNIGHT. THINKING ITS JUST AN EMPTY VESSEL.

[jazbell]

got so sad abt pale sliblings i cried 👍

[tonythr]

Quick Slash is even cooler from a narrative perspective, and why I think the Nailsmith's story parallels the Pale King's

Cold take: Quick Slash is the best charm in Hollow Knight.

Slightly Warmer take: Quick Slash is the only S-tier charm that is great from both gameplay and lore perspective (aside from maybe Spell Twister).

The reason for this is that its existence is actually a

metaphor

Here, look at this.

So, Quick Slash is something that was created from a relatively big number of objects that were discarded and deemed imperfect, and that possess a collective will of wanting to fulfill their purpose.

You know what that reminds me of?

A large amount of creations: check.

Discarded as imperfect: check.

Still possessing a will to find closure: check.

Being a part of a larger, more powerful thing: check.

Having a common creator who is responsible for their creation and rejection: check.

So yeah, I think that Quick Slash's lore (or at least its description) is meant to parallel that of the Vessels'.

But I wanna talk about that last point: the creator.

It is heavily implied that the person who created and then later discarded those nails was the Ancient Nailsmith we see in the room where we get Quick Slash.

(Oh by the way I just realized that this stone ring thing on the right of that room is actually the furnace, neat.)

Judging from their Dreamnail dialogue, this Ancient Nailsmith was trying to achieve the same goal as the other, more famous Nailsmith we all know and love: creating a Pure Nail.

And you know who else was trying to create a perfect, Pure thing while discarding many other similar things that later gained a collective will?

That's right - it's the guy who is also responsible for creating those other discarded things we discussed earlier!

Ok, but what I really wanted to talk about here is how all of what I just said ties back to that other, more famous guy - The Nailsmith.

We don't know for sure how the story of the Ancient Nailsmith ended, but it feels like it exists there mainly to put an emphasis on the City's Nailsmith's story; to convey that his struggle is an important theme in this narrative (because ancient means important, ok?) And, I mean, the City's Nailsmith's story also parallels that of the Pale King's in the same manner, right?

The thing is, we already know how PK's story ended.

In trying to achieve perfection, to create an eternal Kingdom by making a Pure Vessel devoid of mind, voice and will, the Pale King doomed himself to be taken over by his regrets, by the vast emptiness of the futility of his struggles. But was it because he failed, or because that was where his story was headed all along?

What if PK succeeded? What if the Radiance was sealed forever? What if his Kingdom actually stood eternal, never to change, never to end? What if he realized he achieved his only goal in life?

And that's the part where we get to a story the ending of which is up to the player's choice.

To quote White Lady, only two obvious outcomes there are from such a thing.

The first is an honorable death by the fruits of his labor.

If we choose to kill the Nailsmith with the Pure Nail, he dies happy, knowing that his life's goal is accomplished and having gained all the satisfaction he could from it.

The second I find preferable, a new passion.

If the Nailsmith doesn't feel the finishing blow of the Pure Nail, he is left unsatisfied. But, while trying to resolve that unsatisfaction, he eventually finds something (and someone) that gives him a new calling, a new thing to create, a new reason to live.

And, while those are both equally valuable, equally canonic outcomes, don't you think the second one is just... better? I mean, not only does it include the achievement of the Nailsmith's goal, but it lets him live AND gives two lonely souls a partner in life! I feel like that's the thing this narrative is trying to convey. What it's trying to say about the meaning of life, about our dreams.

Maybe that was the ultimate folly of the Pale King - the inability to change. His story would've ended in the same way, regardless of whether Hallownest lasted eternally or not. He would be dead, if not by the hands of the Void, but by his own - but ultimately, by the hands of that vast emptiness of realizing that you achieved your only goal and that now all there is for you is this eternal satisfaction that slowly fades away, leaving you with nothing.

TL;DR: Quick Slash is the best because it's a metaphor for discarded vessels; perfection is overrated, try to get laid instead.

[ruthlesslistener]

I don’t go to elden ring and idk anything about the characters but I saw the duality of man post and I think morgott and pk. should be friends. Small head + big body and big head + small body. One is a victim of child disposal and one is a child disposer! I see no problem with this arrangement, they’re both kings after all, and I will now rest my case.

Anon this is absolutely the funniest fucking ask you possibly could have sent me because Morgott and PK would absolutely fucking despise each other. Both are sad old divine men with severe self-hatred issues who devoted all of themselves to their kingdoms, but they did it in such different ways that they would do nothing else but coldly regard each other and be judgmental as hell while making the stiffest, most clenched-teeth levels of painfully polite speech during their staredown. PK would hate him for refusing to take pride in his divine heritage, sticking blindly to the order that shunned him, and hiding away like a coward while leaving the rest of the Omen in the sewers (all while pretending that he doesn't know he suffers the same issues), while Morgott would despise him for his cold, detached mannerisms, and how he's capable of causing great suffering to his children in the name of some greater power- just like his mother, Marika.

And then, of course, they would hate each other for the similarities that they witness- that bluntly elegant, detached way of speaking, an indicator of a child born in a wasteland, an outsider to society. The animalistic instinct lurking just beneath the skin, pulled just a bit closer by every twitch of the tail or too-sharp movement that snaps their attention over like a cat to a mouse. The fact that they were both born underground, wallowing in dirt, and now are scrabbling to be above what they once were. The fact that they both gave all that they were to their lands, their people, but its a futile war that they're fighting and they know it and they hate it, hate it, hate it.

(oh and let's not forget the mommy issues, bc while it aint canon in Hollow Knight, I gave PK lots of 'em)

And that ain't even getting into the whole mess that would happen once Morgott hears what PK did to his children (intentionally cursing them and leaving them to die alone in a cold dark pit, while he and his brother at least were accidents, were forsaken but not slaughtered, unwanted and unloved but not cast to their deaths from the moment of their birth), and the jealous, burning self-hatred that PK would feel when he hears what Marika did (casting away her children when they were hale and hearty, while he had to watch the many children he cursed walk towards him as empty husks, either half-dead or warped beyond recognition, and he never would have the chance to be their father because to do so would be selfish, both to him and to them, for he thought that they were dead beings wearing the face of someone who might have once been his child, and he suffered the agony of watching thousands die because if he never found his Pure Vessel, that would mean the destruction of Hallownest, and worst off- that all of his children had died in vain.)

So yeah, while they are both my blorbos, I'm extremely certain that they aren't compatable in the slightest, lol.

[blzzrdstryr]

Galatea

Yandere(?) Albedo x gn!reader

Wordcount: 2410

CW: Panic attacks, hallucinations, slight dehumanization.

...and his creation was so beautiful: silent and non judgemental, pure and demure, it would endure any of his whims of love and passion.

Albedo looks calm as usual as he scoops the honey from the beehive, even though he doesn’t wear any protection; Bees are angrily buzzing nearby, but otherwise not attacking him. It would look strange to you if you didn’t know the answer: insects are not real. The alchemist created them, turning pure slabs of carbon, water and organic matter into tiny fuzzy bodies, as you watched the scene with wide eyes, one moment and a non-living becomes living. He commented on the whole process and while you tried your best to listen to him there were so many scientific terms and jargons in his speech that after some time you zoned out, preferring to observe the birth of insects instead.

There are bones and flesh and organs growing and fusing together. They writhe and convulse as blood starts to fill them. Whose body is it?

“Is this for examination too?”, you remember that Albedo was collecting honey several days ago, albeit in much lesser quantities, and when you asked what the alchemist was doing, he said it was for comparative analysis.

“Well, you could say that” alchemist looks at the full jar and closes the lid, “Previous analysis showed that this honey has the same compounds as the natural one in the same proportions and isn’t dangerous for consumption”. You nod, urging him to continue - even though Albedo isn’t the chattiest person, you noticed how talkative he becomes when you ask him for explanations.

“Smell and taste are usually dependent on the composition, but there is always a place for exceptions, so I decided to conduct another experiment, one that needs your help”

You raise eyebrows - alchemist, despite actually enjoying your company, usually didn’t disclose much of his work :“Is that so? How can I help?”

Small smile appears on his lips, subtle and controlled, “I want you to taste it”. He looks happy.

You have seen that smile long before. You can’t remember where.

You hate sweets, but there's something stopping you from declining. It's bone-deep and chilling, woven into every fiber of your flesh. You can’t get out the needed words, even if you wanted, with your lips somehow shutting tight at the mere thought. There's something stopping you from saying "no" to Albedo and you assume it's gratitude.

***

The honey turns out to be as sickly sweet as the one from the real bees. You frown, as you take another sip of tea, trying to wash down the saccharine taste from the tongue. Albedo sits in front of you and scribes something in his notebook, throwing occasional glances at you from time to time.

“It seems that we’ll need to keep this secret from Klee” you muse, no longer tasting the nectar on your tongue.

“Why so?” he asks, still writing - his handwriting is too small for you to see from this distance. You could stretch your neck to have a better glimpse, but it would be rude to do, so you refrain, curiosity still nipping at you.

“Well, you know what a big sweet tooth she is, and if she learns that your bees don’t sting...”

“But they do sting, just not me”.

“Why?”

“Bees were created with my will, so they just can’t. It’s against the nature of alchemical creation to oppose its creator”

You hum, processing the new information and guessing how far he would teach you that in your own alchemy lessons. You are far behind Sucrose or Timaeus in your studies, still stuck on basics, but Kreideprinz doesn't look displeased or bored with you. In contrast, mentoring you is something he really likes, judging by the rare smiles he allows himself to show. He proposed to teach you one day and you couldn't find it in yourself to turn him down.

You thought it was strange at first how the recluse seemed to favour you, but then as you familiarized yourself with a man you realized that he liked all things unseen and unheard before and your selective amnesia must be the one.

There are large gaps in your memory, but you can remember some small moments - peeking into a cave and plunging deeper into a forest out of curiosity, spending hours in the library, completely captivated by the book before you, feeling satisfied from finally solving an advanced math problem.

None of the memories include people.

It's an identity forming memories, Albedo theorized when you shared your concerns, experiences shape who we are, [First], and maybe that's why you retained them, they define you.

Were you as reclusive as him then?

A bit later you see what Albedo was drawing: a familiar bird and decapitated head. You are disturbed - how does he know my dreams?

***

Mondstadtians are weird, it’s the first time you leave Albedo’s lab and side, deciding to take a quick stroll around the city and look around. Some look at you with wide eyes, as if you just grew a second head before their eyes, some shamelessly whisper things to each other.

The knight that was assigned to look after you for the duration of the walk is no better than them. He also treats you like some sort of oddity, with all that persistent glances and hesitancy to interact with you.

What kind of person old you were to prompt such a reaction?

Walking along the streets of the city you can't remember any of it. Books that mentioned amnesia and other memory related issues stated that visiting once familiar places can help with overall recollection. Walking along the streets of the city you can't recollect any of it, memories slipping past your fingers like water.

You can’t remember the blue cloudless sky above, or the deep clear lake of the same shade or the gentlest breezes playing with your hair. You can’t recall the bright red roof tiles, or the giant windmills that dwarf other buildings, or the statue of the anemo archont overseeing the city. You can't think of once being among the other idle citizens, of praying and worshipping Barbatos, of participating in the windtrace or Ludi Harpastum. There’s emptiness where a familiarity should be, a dull ache rotting and festering at the back of your mind - I don’t belong here, I never did.

You don’t feel like a part of Mondstadt, not even a single part of you does. There’s an invisible yet unbreakable wall separating you from other people. You can smile and chat and be all polite and nice, yet there’s always a certain coldness and caution others treat you with. You want to be both accepted and left alone, feel loved yet be distant enough to avoid any emotional hurt.

Of course, there are people who managed to get close to you - Albedo and Klee, with the former one being your official caretaker and mentor and the latter being as bright as the Sun, you doubt there’s anyone that couldn’t fall under little girl’s charms, except acting Grandmaster Jean.

That must be why you act so warm towards them, why you decide to bare your soul and feelings towards them, no matter how scary it can be. That’s why you play with Klee, engaging her in less destructive entertainment than the fish blasting and that is why you never refuse Albedo in any of his requests, be it a quick walk on a sunny day or assistance in his experiments.

***

A familiar dream.

You see a giant owl, it's yellow eyes piercing right through you. It's a majestic creature, with snow white fluffy feathers and razor sharp talons. Bird looks at you with all knowing eyes, and then spreads its wings, soundlessly flying in your direction. You dodge it, still marvelling at its grace, as the bird continues its way to the giant head laying behind you.

You turn back still tracing the bird's flight, eyes then turning to the bodiless head. It has the face of an aged man with wise eyes, it's lips move silently chanting. There's something hypnotizing in the chant - listen to me and you will now, listen to me and I will tell you, listen to me and you will learn things that he doesn’t want you to know.

You take a step, hand outstretched to touch it. It burns your skin, and the world around you darkens, all sounds stop and soon enough darkness consumes the bodiless head too, leaving you all alone.

A memory comes.

You're absolutely naked and shivering with Albedo hovering above you. He says something but you can’t understand the words, liquid(?) in your eyes and ears. You hear Sucrose and Timaeus in the background too and how excited they sound.

You turn your head, catching the sight of slabs of pure carbon, bottles of water, pieces of lime and ammonia solution and the rest of organic and inorganic matter lying around you.

There are no thoughts and feelings - you are nothing but an empty vessel that needs to be filled.

"Timaeus, bring the blanket" It's Albedo's voice, “Sucrose, check.. [First]’s temperature. I will observe them”

“[First]?”

“It’s a fitting name”

The memory ends. You wake up.

***

You wake up to Albedo sitting near your bed. It's not a rare occurrence with him frequently checking up on your health, but the memories of previous dreams make you almost jump when you see his silhouette again.

"Uhm, hello?" you still sound husky from sleep.

"Apologies for coming here, I heard your whimpers and decided to check if everything was alright". His face looks as impassive as ever, but there's a concerned tone in his voice. He must be extremely worried then.

"I..” you start but then trail off, unsure what to say. Is the revelation that you dreamt even true? Aside from the strange coincidence and sense of isolation that loomed over you, becoming a bit unbearable with each day, you had nothing to prove your nonsensical conclusion: you are not real.

“I saw a dream, of me lying among the lime and carbon and water” Albedo gives you an intense stare, eyes and expression completely unreadable: “it wasn’t just a dream, was it?”

A moment passes and then another and you feel even more stupid with each second to just come to that conclusion, not to mention saying it outloud. And then the most unexpected thing happens: Albedo nods.

“Yes, yes it happened to you” he suddenly sounds tired, as if he admitted a dark, dark secret, that it arguably is. A shock goes through you, as you start to gasp for air - it’s one thing to speculate and guess, it’s completely different to hear a confirmation.

You can’t exactly remember what happens next - you think you broke down right there and then, as alchemist awkwardly tried to comfort you. He was explaining how and why he created you - he thought that your creation would give him answers he was looking for, solve his internal conflict, and then he started to wonder how different artificial life is from the natural one and that’s why he decided to give you memories.

It was hard at first, he says, to push back the existing ones back and replace them with new. Make you believe that you were born too. Memories were his favourite thing to do, he had a theory you see, that people are majorly products of their environment, and he wanted to prove that with you. That’s why he decided to mold you into a person with traits he usually finds valuable.

In the end you found yourself nursing a hot tea mug with a few drops of calming concoction dissolved in it. Albedo is lingering around in his own disquieted fashion, as you rethink your whole life - can it even be called a life anymore?

You glance at the alchemist fretting around you, frowning, and unsure what to do, the warmth and happiness you felt upon seeing him replaced by disappointment and confusion. Albedo isn't the one who you thought him to be, Archons, you're not the one who you thought yourself to be!

Suddenly the way all others interacted you became crystal clear - they treated you like oddity because you were one. You remember Klee and how she always seemed to love calling you her "bestest special friend". No way they don't know of your origin. No way they will ever treat you like a person.

There's an ache when you think about Klee also turning away from you; She is a sunshine personified right now, spreading her kindness and enthusiasm without even trying, but who knows what will happen once she grows up, will she have a problem with her peers because of you, or she'll adopt the general public's opinion of you? The thought is almost enough to send you into a crying fit again. You want to run far away.

"I want to travel" you finally say, there's no way you can integrate into society when everyone knows what you are and will always see it before who you are. You want to run away and start anew somewhere far, so the rumors will never reach that place and no one will look at you with that wide eyed stare again. You say what you think about this whole situation.

"Please, don't" he says and you of course stop, legs no longer listening to you, "I understand you are distressed right now, but running away isn't the solution"

"But I will never be able to truly connect with anyone, they know it, of my birth, right? The whole city knows about it, right?"

"I know that you want to feel loved, I… We are the same - before your creation I felt the same loneliness, I couldn't bond with anyone save for Klee, but interacting with you was far more pleasant than expected. Relationships are needlessly tiring and I never understood why people focused on them so much, yet now, looking at you I can understand them. I love you, [First], you are perfect".

You still again, now stunted by his words and sudden love confession. It's all so sudden and strange and confusing and you are too tired and too shocked to deal with this, so you decide to distance yourself. "I can't love you in return"

"But you will"

"Why do you think that?"

"It's against your nature to oppose me in anything"

Note: Galatea is an ivory statue created by Pygmalion, who later fell in love with it. The head in reader's dream is decapitated Mimir, a figure in Norse mythology who is known for his knowledge and wisdom. His decapitated head was reciting secret knowledge and giving counsel to Odin.

[chipper-smol]

Hollow Knight Telephone Round Two: Vanilla Chain 1

Prompt: Ghost remembers each time they died and that’s how they’ve progressed through challenges most bugs wouldn’t even dream achieving. However, no one else seems to remember and instead they wonder why Ghost reacts badly to simple casual touches.

By @ink-of-void

A dull drone of rain pattered down across the cool stone below. The rain had only served as a buffer to the dull, passive steps of the bugs in the city, or the ever so gentle wing beats in the distance. Occasional creaks and groans would whine from the structures of the city, begging for maintenance or to finally be allowed rest. Each sound, each moment only served to further cement itself in the cacophony of white noise. A symphony of empty sound that echoed into the city's ambience.

It had been hours since the Ghost had stopped in front of the statue. Its small head tilted upwards to face that of the stone, carved to the likeness of its sibling. The inscription below spoke of sacrifice. An Eternal sacrifice. It was almost ironic. How the one forced to suffer was put on display at the apex of the ‘City of Tears’.

Memories began to rise, welling up and bubbling in its shell. They could remember their sibling screaming. How the sound of their cries echoed on deaf ears, or that easing their pain meant rending their own flesh in a desperate attempt to stop the torture. It was a waking nightmare.

They had failed their sibling. Try as they might, time and again, they could not bring it upon themselves to strike that final blow. The cries of the ‘Hollow Knight’ screeching into the black egg as they faded away from consciousness for the umpteenth time. A pang of discomfort manifested in their shell.

Slowly Ghost’s mind went from just their sibling to all the other bugs. Each one of those who slaughtered Ghost without mercy, killed with reckless abandon, or just proved to best them in combat. They were the ones it had defeated in the past. Bugs that had caused them to relive the same ritual of failure repeatedly before finally earning that place of victory. Every misstep, every badly timed jump, every poorly executed attack, It all ended in the same punishment over and over. 
CRaCK.

The pain was almost palpable just thinking about it.

It felt just as new as the first time they were ever defeated. A cold sting of its shell cracking, body being torn limb from limb, crumbling beneath them like old stone. Void spilling from its head and pooling into a free floating shape among those lost to the sickness or those who simply proved superior. Though, the empty feeling of losing its corporeal flesh paled in comparison to what came next.

It was like floating up into an entropy of empty space and confusion. The dark land was void of any life or warmth, disorienting all that passed into its wake. Yet every time, it would be waiting to welcome the vessel back again and again into its crushing, desolate embrace. It felt itself being split in two, one being given back to the world, while the other was forced to remain in limbo until it was saved. But it wouldn't matter, as they would re-awaken only moments later, sitting patiently on a bench back where they started.

The overwhelming sense of exhaustion and dissonance took a toll each time they came back. Missing half of their being and having to fight themselves just so they can regain the broken piece back. All the while, no one else seems to take notice, or even remember what had happened prior. Hundreds of failures, hundreds of deaths, and Ghost could never seem to get used to it. It truly was a burden, one that Ghost often sought refuge from by simply resting a while longer at the bench.

It was a dance with death that always ended in what could be considered a ‘mercy’. The lack of claim to its shade, allowed them yet another chance. But perhaps mercy wasn't the right term. Having to battle your own face, a fragment of your own being… it hardly seemed kind, or fair. Even after returning the shade to its rightful place, the fight wasn’t over. Most of the time, it was only just beginning. There would be no rest. There was never any rest.

However to the spider in red, this tiny bug formed of the void and pale, felt nothing as it cut down everything from vermin to gods. Acting as if death was simply part of a long list of chores, they made it seem effortless. So when she first responded to Lemm’s call, she would be lying if she didn't find it the slightest bit odd that Ghost was simply standing idle. She reached out to them, barely grazing their back with her fingers. “Ghost?-”


Without another moment passing, the vessel whipped around, nail in hand. The slash was quick, the sharp song of the blade ripping through the air as Ghost’s reaction went into motion. Time seemed to slow for a moment, its blind attack not revealing the consequence of its actions before it was far too late. Ghosts cloak finally revealed the bug into its immediate view. Upon seeing the figure, their body tensed, hanging onto the blade with an iron grip. 


Hornet didn’t even realize what happened until she glanced down at her arm. Seeing the deep blue blood dripping from the new slice in her shell was telling enough. It was nothing more than a surface wound if she was honest. Easily fixed with time and bandages. But that wasn’t her concern at the moment. Letting her hand close, she looked over to Ghost with a worried expression.

The vessel stood ready, both hands on its nail as it simply held the weapon in place. A tiny shake was visible at the end of the nail it was brandishing. Their face held no expression, yet its body told Hornet all she needed to know.

“Little Ghost?” She asked quietly, holding up her hands to show she wasn't a threat. “Are you… alright? Lemm asked me to come check on you. He says you’ve been here for hours now.”


Ghost paused for a moment, clicking its head towards Hornet. Realization struck them, causing them to slowly lower their weapon. Their gaze fell to the floor as the nail hit the stone sidewalk with a light clink. Their blade’s shimmering reflection bounced back to the vessel's sockets. Part of it was stained with the blood of their sister, obscuring some of the brilliant reflection. The water occasionally dripped down and cut the image in two, washing away the blood as it did.

Hornet sighed, going over to them and gently knelt down.

“Is something the matter, little Ghost?” the spider chimed softly, going over to touch their shoulder. Ghost recoiled, pulling their shoulder away in a rather aggressive manner. Their head didnt lift, turning instead to focus on their path. They put their nail on their back and began their leave. The spider stood up after a moment, bowing her head with a little shake as Ghost began to disappear


“Even you need to rest sometimes, little one. Please I’m, try to get some.”

-------------------------------

By https://twitter.com/Hell_Yena

-------------------------------

By @nonbinary-ghost​

Rain patters down against your shell like thousands of tiny, icy stones. The drum of it inside your mask and the prickling of it against your small body would normally be unpleasant enough as to be overwhelming; but lost as you are in your thoughts and the twisting waves of emotion trying to drown you, the rain is scarcely enough to ground you. You feel disconnected and distant, as if you aren’t really in control of your body, merely being carried along by the steady movement of your legs.

You gradually realize that you have been wandering like this for a while now. How long, you can scarcely guess, but long enough that your cloak is soaked through, and any scrap of warmth has left you. Dirtmouth had been celebrating the first twelve span of being free of the Infection, and while you had been just as happy as the next bug about the recovery of the town, the celebration had filled you with a nameless, twisting dread. And then all the lights and the sounds and the smells and the touching had left you reeling and sick. So you ran.

It could have been hours since then. You have no way of knowing. You don’t quite remember deciding to come to the City of Tears either. You just let your thoughts blur into a black haze, pointed your mask to the ground, and let your feet carry you wherever they wanted to go. You hadn’t expected to find yourself standing before the statue of your sibling. You simply realized that you were staring blankly at the inscription along the statue’s base.

“Through its sacrifice, Hallownest lasts eternal.” Something hot and prickly bubbles up inside of you at the words, making your shell itch and crawl like when you fall in acid. Hornet had once explained the feeling as anger. Why are you angry? You puzzle over it for a moment, resisting your initial urge to strike at the plaque with your nail and scratch out the offending inscription. Instead, you read over it again, feeling the anger boil deep in your belly.

Sacrifice. That’s the part that makes you angry. Sacrifice implies choice. Hollow had no choice in sealing the Radiance. You hadn’t had any choice. None of your siblings had any agency over anything that happened to them. No, none of you were giver the choice to make sacrifices – you were the sacrifice. And for what? Hallownest still fell. So many bugs died, so many cultures were consumed by the plague and lost to dust and rot. All of your siblings, but Hollow and Hornet especially, still suffered and struggled. Yes, you had eventually killed the Radiance, but that hadn’t been part of the Pale King’s plan. He didn’t even know about Godseeker, didn’t even consider that there might be another way that didn’t involve condemning his child to an eternity of suffering. No, your “Father” had expected all of you to “sacrifice” yourselves to the seals and suffer in silent mystery to keep the Radiance contained. How dare he imply any level of choice in what happened to your siblings.

“Ghost?”

The soft question yanks you painfully from your thoughts and you feel as if you slam back into yourself. You are suddenly very aware of the rain hitting your mask, of your hands clenched into fists.

Of the dark shadows that had begun to flicker like flames around you receiving back into you. You spin to find Hornet standing on one of the nearby signposts, her red cloak so damp it nearly looked brown and her needle poised as if prepared to zip away at any moment.

“Are you alright?” Her stance relaxes somewhat as the shadows fade. You don’t know how to answer, so you simply turn away. You look up at your sibling’s likeness looming over you, proud, regal, poised. Not at all like the desperate, brutal Pure Vessel you were forced to fight in Godseeker’s Pantheons. Not at all like the sick and injured bug that you freed from the black egg temple after killing the Radiance.

“Do you need to be alone?”

You shrug. The happiness and celebration in Dirtmouth had been overwhelming, and you had wanted to be alone then. But now, a part of you mutters discontentedly. You’re lonely, and maybe Hornet of all people could understand these feelings. She was the only one besides Hollow who might. “I’m angry,” you sign, pointing at yourself and making a sharp gesture with both hands. Hornet has slowly been teaching you and Hollow the sign language used in the Hive, but none of you are all that good with it yet. It often requires body language and facial expressions for certain distinctions between similar signs – a difficult feat to accomplish when your face is a mask. Hornet follows your gaze and hops down to join you.

“About the statue?”

You point to the inscription.

“We didn’t have a choice,” you sign furiously. “We failed. And now what’s left?”

You stop, a dawning realization creeping through you. That was why you’re angry. Why you’re discontent even though by all accounts you had succeeded. You defeated the Radiance, ended the Infection, freed your sibling, and even survived channeling the Void Entity. You are free to do whatever you want now, but you slowly realize that this new freedom is what has you feeling so distant. You and your siblings were all created with a purpose, and now, with that purpose gone, you have nothing left. You have no other skills but fighting. No passions, no home, no culture to rebuild. You and Hollow are free, but now what is left for you? Your Father had sacrificed your futures, not just your lives, and now you are feeling lost and separate from the bugs around you. They had all suffered through the plague, lost loved ones and homes. But they had passions and dreams to guide them and give them hope. You only have nightmares that keep dragging you into the past, making it impossible to look forward to the future.

“Who am I supposed to be, now?” you finish limply. The anger is gone, replaced with a choking sorrow. Your breathing feels thick and heavy. Hornet holds out a hand, hesitating before touching you to make it an offer, and you lean into it, letting her hand rest lightly between your shoulders.

“What the Pale King did, what he demanded of all of us, was unjust,” she said at last, an ember of her own rage warming her words. “There is nothing that can change that. You and Hollow and all the others deserved so much more. But Ghost,” she kneels so she can look into your mask with such honest ferocity that your breath hitches in your chest. “You are so much more than what our Father made you. You are not just a weapon or a tool. You never were. There is a future for us now, because of you. I know it will be had. It will be scary. Change always is. But we have each other – you, me, Hollow, all of Dirtmouth – we are all here to support each other. We are all learning and growing past everything that happened. I promise, none of us are going to leave you behind again.”

A tightness forms in your throat at her words and your vision blurs as that heaviness in your chest tightens. That promise to not be left behind again stirs a confusing blur of emotion that you can’t make any sense of. It doesn’t feel good, but it doesn’t feel bad either.

“Can I hug you?”

You nod and lean into her touch, the weight and warmth of your sister’s arms doing more to ground you that the rain. For once you feel … safe. Something inside you cracks, like an old shell you’ve grown too big for, and suddenly you’re crying. For everything you went through, for everything you lost, for everyone who didn’t survive to see the same light of freedom. You sob, clutching at Hornet’s cloak.

You finally let yourself mourn everything that brought you here.

And tentatively hope for everything that might come to be.

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By @brimal-baspid​

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By @martin-ftw​

The rain pours heavily in the city of tears.

The knight walks up to the fountain square. They look upon the fountain, where the Memorial to the Hollow Knight resides.

The knight inspects, "In the Black Vault far above. Through its sacrifice Hallownest lasts eternal." as Hornet dashes in with her needle.

"Again we meet little ghost." Hornet started, "... seek the Grave in Ash and the mark it would grant to one like you."

After finishing her guidance for the knight, she added, quietly, "Are you, perhaps, even a little, afraid?"

The water flows through the fountain endlessly, yet the knight remains emotionless.

Hornet giggles to herself, "hmmhmm, that's right, no voice to cry suffering, best of luck to your journeys little ghost."

After a few seconds of silence, Hornet raised her needle and hopped onto the ceiling.

The knight pauses, and dashes right to the opened door, leaving only the sounds of rain splashing the water fountain and flapping of wings from the lumaflies.

At the front door of the Pleasure House, the knight inserts the simple key and opens the door, walking in as Hornet follows. With the beautiful singing by Marissa, the knight goes on the long elevator ride as Hornet clings onto the elevator.

“About to learn your troubled past, aren't you little ghost?" Hornet asks inside the hot spring, while the knight sits on the bench.

The knight nods while opening their map and picking off one of those scarab markers, moving it to the bottom right of the map.

"Though I have underestimated your power, do you think you've got what it takes? To preserve the future of hallownest?" The knight does not know how to answer, they stand up from the bench and pack up their map.

"Exit's on the right, break the wall down to King's station," Hornet says while thinking to herself, could this one succeed? The knight swings their nail at the wall, breaking it open with a loud crack, and heads downwards.

Hornet sat in the spring by herself.

Guarding the cast-off shell is her job - she knows she has to fight the knight one more time, to ensure the knight is ready to finish their quest even after seeing their conception and past. She sighs, all rested, and stands up; knowing she's much faster than the knight in traversing the Hallownest, she raises her needle and swings out of the pleasure room, down to the Kingdom's edge she goes.

“Perhaps this one would be strong enough. They made it so far, don't fail me now little ghost" She quietly mumbles, before pointing her needle towards the entrance of the arena,

"So you'd pursue the deeper truth? It isn't one the weak could bear. Prove yourself ready to face it. I'll not hold back..."

With the wind blowing harder and louder in the edge of the world, the fight begins, the sentinel of a fading land and the vessel to save Hallownest.

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By @potentialforart​

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By @starstress​

They crouch, body full of tension, and they stare on ahead at their target. The platform is right there, waiting for them like a pedestal.

They jump.

Soaring through the air, quick and steady, they reach out, claws stretched and yearning.

There, they think. Right there.

And as the edge comes right by them, confidence blooms inside their chest, sure that they'll reach it. Their outstretched claws brush by a single tiny pristine leaf, one in a dozen, green and lush. It bounces right back into place as they are claimed by gravity.

They fall onto the lower platform, the moss softening their landing. They look up, and disappointment is a small bitter ball in their stomach, but they brush it aside. The stone edge they were aiming for now looms above them unforgiving. They will not let it discourage them, they will try again.

They want to know. They need to know. Who that red-clothed bug was, and why they felt such a pull to her.

----

Through stretching lush highways and seeming ceilingless and bottomless caverns, they push onwards. They’re spurred ever on by glimpses of rushing red, pale horns and swishing silk.

They would have expected the constant green to become monotonous by the time they reach a bench locked behind a gate, guiding them ever higher, but the shrub and moss-covered land surprises them still. From keeping them on high alert constantly and mercilessly, to undeniably charming them through towering leaf-embroidered architecture and statues, simple but beautiful blooms filling the air with glittering pollen, and soft chimes of birdsong, Greenpath has carved a spot in their heart that they can’t believe can ever be topped.

Still on they go, for though they wish to properly explore, they know that that can wait. They heal themselves, fill in the map with all the paths and twists and turns that they have crossed, put on the few charms that they have gathered, and stand up. They look ever upwards and hope they’re drawing closer to wherever the red-clothed person might be leading them.

----

There--

They rush forward, into the air and off the moss-covered stone ledge, eyes locked onto the red figure. Behind them, a gate slams closed, but though the sound echoes in the small clearing, they pay it no mind.

They land on steady feet, leaf softening the sound of their fall.

There she is--

They've found her.

The red-cloaked bug, in all her stern and decisive figure.

She is encompassed by engraved and moss-covered pillars of stone, but still she towers over them, despite only being about twice their own height.

Her dark eyes, but not as dark as theirs, no one with as dark as theirs, never, track their every move, ready to act, ready to cut down. They stare at her and she stares at them, a contest of wills.

She raises her blade - her needle - and they rush to mirror her.

Soft light streams down, from in between greenery, though they not know not its source, and halos her in pale light.  And though this is their first proper encounter with her, the red bug feels familiar, like they know her mask, the shape of her eyes, like they once gazed, even briefly, upon those features in a past life.

Nevertheless, her stance is rigid and unforgiving.

No further, her eyes scream even before she deems them worthy of words, no further I will allow you, until you prove yourself.

They tighten their grip upon their nail, and shove back into their void all pangs of sadness. This is a fight for their life, and, more than ever, a fight for their existence.

Maybe, after they defeat her, they can ask her why she feels like family - lost, but found again.

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By @dovalore​

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By @jonsilverstone​

https://soundcloud.com/jachym-hajek/vanilla-1-july-21-jon-silverstone-hornet-v-hollow/s-8IcY8UIzrtg

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By @alaska-ren-works​

“Do you want to just fulfill the wyrm’s standards or do you want to make me proud, Princess of Hallownest?”

Hornet tightened her needle’s grip and lowered her stance. Heart calm and mind steady, she didn’t feel the rise of a subtle smirk on her face. This was her moment she had trained for in the Hive. Not to be the pale wyrm’s spawn, but to be the Daughter of Deepnest.

“You will see my answer soon, Mother.”

Weavers and bugs alike stood in solemn excitement as Herrah, Beast and Queen of Deepnest, circled the princess. Her white mask hid her emotions, but Hornet could more than feel the queen’s wide grin. Herrah twirled her own needle in her hand, a feat that impressed Hornet to no end as that very needle was longer than she was tall.

“Very well.” With a final step, Herrah faced Hornet with her needle at the ready. “You know the rules and so do I.”

Hornet nodded. As the lower-ranked of the two, Hornet must make the first move. Everyone and everything turned still. Watching. Waiting.

With a resolute bang of a drum, Hornet yelled, “Garama!”

The crowd roared with the start of the duel, but Hornet only heeded her opponent. She speared her needle forward and as Herrah jumped away, she reeled it back. Herrah dodged the attack and closed in on Hornet. The young spider darted away right before Herrah’s needle slashed through the space she just left.

When it came to brute strength, Hornet would lose in an instant. But she was smaller, faster, and more agile. If she could avoid a direct hit, she might have a chance at winning this.

Hornet rolled away as another strike whistled too close for her liking. She slashed her needle upwards, forcing Herrah to jump back. Taking this, she jumped into the air and released a storm of silk.

When her feet landed, Herrah slammed into her. Her breath wrenched out of her chest as she flew then skidded on the floor. It was a miracle she was still on her feet. With her head bent, she did not see the pride glimmer in her mother’s eyes before the queen composed herself.

Herrah’s head turned when the ravelling of silk sounded above her. The whistling of an incoming needle alerted her and the Beast parried Hornet’s thrust.

In Herrah’s moment of distraction, Hornet covered the arena in sticky silk traps. Now, this was where Hornet shines. She darted between the silk

strands and rushed at Herrah, the bigger spider now pressed for space. Strikes and slashes were landed and blocked, and Herrah growled. The next second Hornet rushed in, Herrah took hold of her and used her momentum to throw her far. Hornet flipped in the air but stumbled on her landing. Looking up, Herrah’s needle swung in a wide arc, destroying the nearby threads.

Mother and daughter studied each other from opposite ends of the arena. Hornet felt fatigue settle in her bones and her lungs struggled with big gulps of air. Herrah stood tall and her giant nail held steady, but Hornet could see her chest moving quickly.

“What do you think about heading over to the hotspring after this, huh?” Hornet’s eyes widened at Herrah’s invitation.

“Y-yes, Mother!” Hornet reddened at her stuttering voice. She cast out her exhaustion and readied her stance.

Herrah grinned as she raised her needle once more. “Then let’s make this worth it.”

[waiting-for-reason]

It’s been a while since I wrote something. Here’s something I wrote as the background for a kinda DnD campaign where I’m just. I’m just Ghost Hollow Knight.

There were a great many things that Hornet disliked, but chief amongst them was tardiness. It was a symptom of inefficiency, of indecisiveness and an inability to manage one’s own time. In a world where one had only themselves to rely upon, wasting time faffing about was tantamount to inviting death. 

(She remembered little from the early days of the Infection, young that she had been, but what she did remember did nothing to raise her opinion of dawdling about. It had been the spoiled nobility of Hallownest sputtering and puttering about propriety that had been some of the first to die, and many of her peers that had left the decision to flee in search of their ancestral home too late had ended up sickened. It was only by the curse of her sire’s blood that she was afforded the luxury and duty to linger.)

 Thus, peering down into the dark and seemingly bottomless pit full of the broken bodies of her cursed kin, there was little she felt more than irritation. 

(...and concern, though she would admit the latter to no one.)

The little ghost was late.

Her sire had emphasised that vessels were instilled with an innate and overwhelming desire to perform their duty, and their duty alone - to the point that their presence alone threatened a mindless attempt to release the source of the Infection in some misguided attempt to achieve it themselves. 

Any vessel, therefore, had to be thoroughly tested. This was her duty. They needed to prove strong enough to take on the burden of the Infection - to not only relieve her other birth-cursed sibling from an eternity of suffering, but also take it on for themselves. Impossibly, they were to have achieved this strength of body and mind despite the absence of any mind, will or voice of their own. Even the purest nail would tarnish and break eventually, he had explained. Thus, the solution was to utterly erase the possibility of any breach, by encasing the source of the Infection with “nothing”.

(Once, when she had been hungry and very tired in a palace of the palest white, she had gnawed on the shin of an impossibly tall creature. It had been very regal all dressed up in shining armour that hurt her eyes to look at, and its shin had been very cold and very hard. This had not helped her disposition, and she had simply gnawed harder out of sheer spite.

When it had bent its head to examine the source of the tiny pinprick of pain it must have felt, she remembered feeling nothing but an infantile crankiness. This crankiness did not abate when it had gently patted her in-between the horns, in an attempt - the populace had assumed - to get her to stop. 

It had to be commanded to cease.)

Her sire was clearly an idiot.

This little ghost of Hallownest was strong. It was strong, entirely contrary to anything he might have called strength for a creature of their kind.

They were determined to the point of stupidity. She had watched, with a steadily growing exasperation, as they bashed their nail against the purple mushrooms of the fungal wastes in some deranged attempt to ascend the terrain of that area for hours on end. When they could have simply felled a stalk with their nail and used it as a makeshift pole to clamber up. Entirely because they had fallen into one and bounced up a distance and realised that doing so was possible.

This, combined with a pointlessly sentimental disposition, had led them to decide that the best course use of their time would be to carry ridiculously fragile flowers across half of Hallownest for days on end. They had done so, shimmying about tunnels with a flower with a head the size of their head, entirely to offer them to various individuals. The majority of which they had met -

- being anywhere they weren’t supposed to be. If one was to speak of faffing about, this particular vessel had almost a chronic tendency to do anything but walk the beaten path. They almost seemed to delight in wandering about, investigating every nook and cranny that their empty little eyeholes caught sight of. She had once caught them climbing into a geo chest in some attempt to explore even that. Worst, still, they had taken hours to climb out of that particular chest, which meant that they had somehow managed to find something to explore even in that.

But yet. But yet. Despite being stupidly stubborn, stubbornly sentimental, and almost sentimentally curious.

They were strong. They were brave. And there was something about the willful jutt of their horns when she challenged them and the gentle way that they had lowered that flower onto a grave and their relentless inability to sit still and explore more -

That made her think of strength.That this vessel, of all vessels, might finally allow all of Hallownest to dream no more.

And that was why she was waiting. Here, dangling her feet over the edge of a void. The little one was strong, and it was curious, and it had stabbed itself out of everything that had been thrown at it so far, and it would gleefully stab its way out of more.

There was nothing to be concerned about. 

...but by Root and by Wyrm, they were late.

[Ghost falls deep down into the Void Sea after obtaining the Shade Cloak, and appears in a strange new world.]

[sophi-s]

In Their Hollow Heart

Chapter I: Sealed Fate

Fandom: Hollow Knight video game

Words: 9,153

Characters: The Hollow Knight, The Pale King, The Radiance

Warnings: Blood and Gore, Violence, Sickness, Angst, Mind manipulation, Gross imagery, Permanent injury, Mentions of vomit, Suicidal thoughts, THK really needs a hug :(, SPOILERS for the game (That's a lot of warnings, :O)

Summary:

There is a good reason why the Hollow Knight doesn't discuss with anyone what happened in the Black Egg Temple.

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In the eternal kingdom of Hallownest there were many places one could without hesitation call decrepit or desolated at best. Especially after the plague of the Old Light has swept through it like a tidal wave. None of them, however, were able to match the current state of the Crossroads. Many of the inhabitants left in panic once they realised it was the epicenter of the vile Infection, leaving the place nearly completely abandoned. Crossroads were unfortunate enough to be the first area to succumb to Her wrath. But that was years ago. And only recently the orange veins shriveled up and receded, much to all bugs' relief. Their King had finally found the solution to the frightening disease of Dreams and Mind that now seemed like a distant memory. The sickly sweet smell of the plague of the Old Light made place for a stale aroma of dust and dirt of underground tunnels, as though nothing had ever happened.

The Hollow Knight however - even with their void-dulled sense of smell - could still detect the nauseating scent drifting through the caverns. Hovering nearby wherever they went. Or maybe it was just them? Were they already going crazy? Maybe. Maybe not. A barely noticeable tint of orange invaded the corner of their vision… Do not think. They reprimanded themself, forcing the vibrant color to disappear, as they stood before a gaping entrance to the temple of the Black Egg. An accursed place that would soon become their tomb. They tried not to compare it to being buried alive… But no matter how you look at it, unless the King finds a way to get rid of Her for good this will be their final resting place. A grave. And they would be a living corpse hidden inside forever. A frightening perspective… Do not.. Even though they were trying their best to hide it, they were in pain. Pain so great that it had them trembling, unable to cry out or make any sound to voice their suffering to be honest. Do not speak… An alien feeling, as though someone had poured liquid fire into their body, ever since the source of the Infection was placed within them, was constantly there. It's been barely half an hour, yet it hurts so much already… The Goddess was more powerful than they ever imagined. Do not feel. Easier said than done. But they can fight it. They have to fight it. For Hallownest. For the King… their father.

The Pale Monarch in question silently stood beside the Pure Vessel, staring off into the impenetrable darkness filling up the temple constructed for the sole purpose - one it shared with the Hollow Knight - no discernible expression on his face. This was it. Once they enter here, they won't leave. A one way ticket to their damnation. As tempting as it was, the Hollow Knight did not make a move to look at the Pale King. That would mean they have thoughts and feelings. They weren't supposed to. They didn't want to disappoint him. He tried so hard to save this kingdom and he desperately needed his child to be pure, devoid of any emotion, without a mind or will… the Hollow Knight hated that they weren't pure like their father wanted them to be. They detested it. But for him they had to be pure. They couldn't fail him. They wouldn't fail him. She can push against them all She wants, they're not going to break that easily. With a soundless groan, they blink away the bright pinpricks swirling before their eyes and shudder at the heat welling up in their chest only to be cooled down by the Void in their heart. It will take some getting used to… No one said it's going to be easy to hold onto a raging Goddess of Dreams. But they can do this. Right?

"Vessel."

Automatically, the Hollow Knight turns their head to face the owner of the stern, seemingly indifferent voice as he addresses them, and shoots a glance at the Pale King looking up at them with as much dignity as he can, considering he was barely up to the Vessel's hip by that point. They always found it strange. That after their second molt, their father started to have to look up at them. How fast the time had passed.. Not so long ago, they were just a hatchling, no taller than the King's shoulder, following him obediently wherever he went, always fulfilling his orders without a second of hesitation. Just like he wanted them to. And now? They were towering over him like he did over them back then at the summit of the Abyss.

It was not the curiosity that made them turn to the King. They shouldn't be curious. They can't. It would mean their inevitable failure before their task even truly began. Because that's what they were always meant to be. Emotionless. Empty. Hollow.. But no matter how hard they tried, they weren't. They never were… However, they were immensely good at their act. Without a single sound, the Hollow Knight watched their father for a moment as he tried to find the right words. In a very odd, sort of amusing way, the Pale King knitted his eyebrows in annoyance and sighed in exasperation at his own height before making a beckoning gesture with one of his four hands while the other three remained tucked into his white cloak. Amusement. It makes one want to chuckle at something one finds funny.

"Come down here."

Not waiting a second, the Hollow Knight bent down and noisily got on one knee - dropping much heavier than they intended due to the pain which was for now blessedly dissipating -  to be on the eye level with their father. The Pale King was a mysterious creature. A Wyrm, a God of Mind and Soul, taking a form of a small bug, always aloof and regal. But sometimes, the façade would slip to reveal something more than a cold monarch without care for anything other than Hallownest. He didn't seem to care about hundreds of vessels that died in the dark depths of the Abyss. He didn't seem to care when Xero was executed for treason (executed might be s bit of a stretch. The moth died where he stood when he attacked the King). And he didn't seem to care when the allied Mantis Lord succumbed to the Infection on his own volition after the tragic loss of his only daughter. But Wyrm’s child knew their father too well. Up this close, even with his stern mask of a ruler in its place, the Hollow Knight could clearly see that he did, in fact, care. The dull look in his dark eyes spoke volumes. Sadness. This one makes one want to cry and takes away the will to do anything. His glimmering, half-translucent wings quivered ever so slightly.. He cares. He cared when their mother, the Root, had left the White Palace and hid away in her gardens when grief and remorse became too much for her to bear. He always cared, even though very few could see it. And now, he cares that he is about to lock his only surviving offspring away with a furious moth Goddess sealed inside of them. Condemn them to an endless torture. Was it too late for regrets?

For just a short second, the King stepped a little closer to the Pure Vessel. Reached out… The black heart hastened in their chest, partially because of anticipation and partially because whatever this gesture made them feel caused the faint haze to fall over their sight again. The pale hand stained black with Void was inches away from the Hollow Knight's cheek, they could practically feel it rest on their shell already. Was it to be the first and the last time their father found it in himself to actually openly and consciously grant them a small sign of affection? Was it?

Before the blackened claws could come into contact with their white shell however, the Pale King closed his eyes in defeat and turning away slipped his hand back into the folds of his cloak. A new feeling, like many others before it, was forced down to not give Her this satisfaction that She's winning. Disappointment. When one doesn't get something much awaited. Or when something doesn't meet one's expectations. Reminding them again. Do not hope. The Hollow Knight didn't make a move aside from the occasional shiver caused by the burning in their gut and in their head. Maybe he was right not to follow through with it.. Yes, he knows it best. It will be better this way. No distractions to keep the Pure Vessel from containing the Radiance.

"Stay strong, Hollow Knight.. Do not fail me."

Never, father.

The Hollow Knight was glad their facial expression cannot really change as it now would be scrunched up in frustration and a little bit of anger. This one they were rather familiar with. Makes one want to hit something or be surly. They were thinking. Again. Why is it so hard? Sometimes, they really wished they were born without a mind. At least, they wouldn't have to fear disappointing their father. And maybe just once he would have a reason to be truly proud of them.. Fortunately, the plague didn't seem to take advantage of their lapse in self control. If anything, the spiteful presence behind it recoiled almost in disgust as it listened to their short thought. Good.

"It is time. Come."

Their father solemnly stated and slowly stepped into the Egg, the Hollow Knight following close behind, begging their legs not to fail them when they felt like their limbs were empty. Pure Vessel focused on the sound of shuffling metal, the plates of their armor scraping against one another, the only sound in the thick silence of the Void pressing against the walls of the temple, as they walked after the familiar, soft, pale glow of their father's form through the pitch black darkness - just like that fateful day of their birth - ignoring the intricate white sigils forming wherever their and their father's feet fell. Merely the close proximity to the Void filling up the temple made the Radiance hiss with alarm. She and this darkness were mortal enemies since the dawn of time. The Void was pressing against them as well, a house for the Old Light. They only hoped-... No. Do not hope. Breathing in the cold, still air and exhaling without a sound, the Hollow Knight repeated the words in their head. Echo of it seemed like a mantra they kept wordlessly saying to themself whenever in doubt of the success of their purpose.

Do not think.

Do not speak.

Do not hope.

Do not feel.

"Hollow Knight."

Their head perked up in attention at their father's call. He stood beside a stone tablet glimmering with white lights forming into words. To the Hollow Knight, those were just meaningless symbols. Like those scribbled on the letters his father was writing. They lacked both of those abilities - reading and writing - but with these tablets it wasn't necessary. The chunks of carved stone were infused with Soul after all, allowing everyone to know the message placed upon them. Gesturing to it, the Pale King didn't look up at the Knight.

"Lay your hand upon it and claim its wisdom. My last gift to you."

A gift? One of the few they'd ever received, with others being a necklace from their mother (a solid silver teardrop stored away in a simple locket on a delicate chain), the pure nail from a skilled nailsmith at the request of their father once they reached adolescence and a small, wooden figurine of a spider from their younger half-sister Hornet. Kneeling down in front of the glowing tablet, the white light reflecting in their spotless armor and washing over their features, the Hollow Knight did as they were told. Almost immediately, the magic crept up their arm and the words inscribed on the tablet turned into a quiet but unmistakable whisper in their head.

Vessel. Though bound, you shall know the state of the world.

Hallownest will be whole again.

As confusing as those words were, soon everything became clear once the Hollow Knight's vision for just a sliver of a second was projected through the fabric of reality and wandered across Hallownest before quickly returning to the tablet before them. Their father's last gift… Whenever they wish, they could gaze upon the land they'd saved. The land they'd freed from the clutches of the vengeful deity. The world that would move on without them while they silently remained on their post to guard it from the plague that crippled minds of its inhabitants. They wished to thank him. They really did. But they knew they couldn't..

"Go, Vessel. Fulfil your destiny."

It was hard to miss the slight crack in the Pale King's voice as he said it. Was he having second thoughts about the whole thing? Too late to back out now. The Infection was nested within the Child of Void. No turning back. No regrets. Shaking through another hot spasm, the Hollow Knight mustered up the strength to straighten up and dutifully walk off into the depths of the Black Temple, switching the roles with their father who was now following them. The Vessel didn't want this to end that way. End in an eternity of suffering with no one but a Goddess to keep them company in the stillness of the Egg. But they had to do this. They were born for this. Even though they were scared. This here makes one tremble. Heart and breath hasten, and this awful lump grows in one's throat as the stomach twists unpleasantly.

The memories of their early years passed through their mind. When they were barely a few years old but already wielding a nail rather skillfully and training with the Fierce Drrya, while their father watched from afar with a ghost of a smile on his face. He was proud. Proud of his son. And right now, the very same son was about to make him proud this one final time.

Stepping into the large, circular chamber, the Hollow Knight took in their surroundings. So this was their new home then.. just as dull and bleak as the entire Crossroads. Why would it be any different? They weren't to indulge in luxuries here. They were to keep the plague at bay. And that's exactly what they are going to do. At long last, the Pure Vessel stood where it was intended to ever since their nubby paw pierced through the blackened shell of their egg. Looking at their appendage now, it was far from nubby. Long, slender fingers ending in short but still rather sharp claws they never used in favor of the long nail that now rested on their back. One they unsheathed and with one firm strike stabbed it into the floor where it would remain as long as their duty held and took their place in the middle of the smallest stone circles that the floor was made out of. In an instant, the entire temple started to tremble, twisting and churning as reinforced chains of pale ore shot out from the far ceiling, with metallic clanking surrounding the Hollow Knight, wrapping around their body like vines, tangling them in the merciless grasp. Scared again.. Out of the corner of their eye, the Hollow Knight saw their father, finally looking at them and while he showed no guilt, no dismay over shackling his only child, his hands were fiddling with the hem of his robes. A nervous habit. Then, just like that, the floor was gone from underneath the Vessel's feet as they were lifted up into the air. Seconds later a white Seal of Binding flashed over their entire form, as well as on the chains holding them in place and the process of Sealing was complete.

The Hollow Knight tested the chains around their body. Seem sturdy enough… Pale ore is no ordinary material after all. At a quiet sigh coming from the King, they turned to look at him. And he… he was preparing to leave the chamber behind. With his head low, his dignity and regal posture nowhere to be seen as he reluctantly walked towards the archway leading out of the temple. Something in the Vessel's chest twisted unpleasantly as he did. Maybe it was just the Infection? No. It's the sadness.. Look back. Please, look back… If he cares, he will. Just when they brushed the perspective away, the Pale King halted for a short moment to glance over his shoulder at his last surviving child. He did. He cares and he proved it this one last time.

"Goodbye, Hollow Knight.."

He offered and quickly disappeared into the blackness once and for all. The Hollow Knight knew this would be the last time they saw him until the Radiance breathed Her last. Do not feel… They turn away from the doorway and lower their heavy head onto their armored chest with a sigh. The burning pain wasn't as troublesome as it had been minutes ago but present nonetheless. But for Hallownest and their father, they could endure. It still may turn out just fine. They can handle this!

Goodbye, father.

The burning intensified for a beat. Breath in, breath out. It subsided just as quickly. They can handle this…

(Day 1)

The first day is always the most difficult. Hours were passing so obnoxiously long.. one after another, each an eternity in the perfect silence of the Egg. Seconds ticked by in their solitude, making them feel rather strange. As though with each second a small bit of their life was leaving never to return. Perhaps because that’s how it was. Every second spent in the vault was irreversibly lost to them. Every second they could live in the Palace again, beside the Five Knights. Beside their-... No. They firmly shook their head, immediately regretting their decision due to the nausea settling in their stomach. They were never supposed to live. They were just a vessel. A tool. No thoughts, no desires. No bonds with the world they left behind. Liar.

After the first twenty-four hours of vigil, the Hollow Knight started to hear something. A steady, rhythmic thumping seemingly without any clear source. They weren't easily frightened but this unidentified sound was driving them crazy. Where was it coming from? Was this Her attempt to agitate them and torment them? As though the steady fire inside was too little.. Strangely enough, the Radiance seemed rather… passive. She retreated into the farthest reaches of their supposedly empty mind like a grumpy child who'd been grounded by her parents for mischief. Unfortunately, that was most likely not the case. They could bet their head that She was already planning something. Thinking how to get under their skin, to snap them. But was this sound one of Her tricks?

After a couple more seconds, they realised that it's not. In the silence so thick that it would seem loud, Hollow Knight's senses were gradually sharpening, catching the smallest disturbances. And this rhythmic sound was one of them.

Ba-dum.

Ba-dum..

Ba-dum…

Their heart of Void thrummed calmly. To be honest, the Vessel was relieved. Relief.. It comes when something bad doesn't happen or ends. No tricks so far. Only their heart. Nothing else. For now the Infection seemed awfully docile. Almost nonexistent. The only sign of its presence was the continual flame swirling around in their body and occasional lights dancing in the periphery of their vision. As painful as it is, the longer it stays that way, the better.

(Day 15)

Just like they suspected, after the first day it became easier. The time seemed to pass faster than it initially did. Even if the silence broken only by their heartbeat was growing maddening. The Hollow Knight kept themself sane by counting seconds, minutes and hours. If their count was without a fault, it's been over two weeks already. Fifteen days, to be exact. Fifteen days in solitude. No voice to speak to them, no familiar face to look at. They missed everyone… Longing. When one desperately wants to see a person or a place again...

Their mother. Lovely, pale Root with sapphire blue eyes, humming softly to herself. Gentle and loving. The Five Knights. Fierce and stern Drrya, their teacher. Surprisingly cheerful and witty Hegemol, clad in a massive set of armor, wielding a mace they found so enormous when they were little. Morose and serious Ze'mer, an outsider, speaking with a funny accent, a silverfish lady with nigh unmatched skills of swordsmanship. Caring and kind Isma, a responsible woman with love for plants. And of course Ogrim. A loyal and tough warrior with a warm and soft inside of a good friend. With the only smell that accompanied them being the sweet, awful smell of sickness, the Vessel realised they were actually missing the distinctive odor of the dung beetle. As odd as it may sound, they would take that stench over the scent of Infection any time now..

And of course, there was their father. The one who's light led them out of the Abyss, the one who practically raised them. The one who's presence made them… happy? One's heart warms up, a smile tries to pull at one's face... Do not feel. The reminded themself when heat began to grow stronger, focusing deeply to make the Void push the unpleasant sensation down. Do not think. It was even more difficult to make the thoughts cease now. There was a whole eternity for them to muse about various things. And with each thought the disease seemed to gain in strength before they inevitably pushed its alluring brightness aside. It's not that bad yet.. They can still do this.

(Day 27)

Hollow Knight, is it? I wonder if the Worm knew how "hollow" you truly are, voidling.

The taunting call reverberating through their pale shell interrupted the Vessel in counting seconds of the slowly passing twenty-seventh day of containment. This voice… soft, strong, yet laced with so much hatred that it seemed to drip from the lips which spoke it like venom. It wasn't there before. She finally found the audacity to try and talk to the Vessel. They shifted uncomfortably in their shackles but didn't react to the taunt. They knew they couldn't. They merely kept counting.

My, so quiet and obedient! A good, little pet dancing to the Worm's tune.

Shuddering, the Hollow Knight chased the dots of orange away from their sight. To distract themself from the Goddess, they peered out at now thriving Hallownest, its citizens carelessly trotting down the streets of the City of Tears, the endless downpour never bothering them in the slightest. They missed the sensation of rain trickling down their shell.. It was relieving to see how much value their duty holds. Wandering across the alleys, the Hollow Knight noticed something that wasn't there before. In the middle of the central plaza was a fountain. It stood there ever since they remembered but this time a large statue crowned it. Surrounded by three smaller figures, it was them. Stoic and silent, head bowed in a loyal gesture, hands on the hilt of their nail in front of them. A cold piece of stone, a reminder of what they did for everybody.

Memorial to the Hollow Knight

In the Black Vault far above. Through its sacrifice Hallownest lasts eternal.

Of course their father would raise a monument to their deed. A faint memory of them posing for such a statue passes through their feverish mind. It was still somewhat surprising it was there as the Hollow Knight never thought that they deserved such recognition. After all, what were they but a weapon? Surprised. Something one was not expecting to happen actually happens.. Still, many bugs stopped beside the statue, sometimes praying, sometimes saying their thanks, sometimes even offering small gifts. And sometimes merely staring in wonderment and gratitude, each of them baffling the Hollow Knight greatly. Confused. This one... They had no idea how to define this emotion. It simply happened every time they couldn't understand something and that was it.

Look at them.. They adore you. I wonder what they would say if they found out you're nothing but a fraud.

No reaction. They are the Pure Vessel. Her tricks won't work on them. By all means, the Hollow Knight was self-distanced enough to ignore any and all insults directed straight at their person. Because, as their father wanted, they refused to be a person. A tool feels no shame, no anger, no outrage in the face of even the most foul profanities. And so they didn't. The Radiance hummed to herself when they remained cold and indifferent.

You are a strong one, I'll give you that. But it won't be long. Soon, you will be mine.

A harsh push against their mind was not enough. Although a faint orange light came to be in the Hollow Knight's eye sockets, it was soon viciously assaulted by tendrils of Void and brutally extinguished. Suppressing a shiver caused by a stab of pain in their thorax, the Hollow Knight bowed their head, bracing themself for whatever the Goddess of Dreams has in store for them. They will not fail Hallownest. They were ready.

(Day 79)

Breaking the Hollow Knight wasn't as easy as the Radiance suspected at first. She kept on trying, attacking their pride (of which they had none), their self esteem (also barely noticeable), the sole purpose of their existence itself. It took Her around eighty days to figure out that none of this was working and it left Her delightfully frustrated. Counting seconds was becoming more and more difficult however. Her constant activity made it harder to keep track and focus on anything else than pushing back against Her.

More and more often, the Hollow Knight saw the lights in their vision, swimming around the chamber and trying to devour their eyesight as they stubbornly kept stifling the plague down. The pain was getting stronger day by day.. How much longer can they keep it at bay? You are the Hollow Knight. The words of the Pale King came to them. Yes. Yes, they are. They have to be. The Radiance has yet to draw an answer from them. Nothing She did thus far made them reply to anything She said. If they did, it would be game over. They cannot fail.. They cannot… And to make sure She won't take control over them that easily, the Hollow Knight avoided sleep to the best of their ability. Falling into the misleadingly comforting embrace of even a short slumber would mean yielding their consciousness into the Realm of Dreams where they would be at their most vulnerable. Almost eighty days without sleep… Even though as a Void born child of two Higher Beings the Hollow Knight didn't find the sleep mandatory for survival, the lack of proper rest and the wrestling for control with the enraged moth Goddess as well as the burning pain have taken their toll on them. How much longer…?

The Pale King would surely find another solution. Soon enough! He wouldn't leave them to rot in this place. He wouldn't.. Would he? Just to make sure, they projected their vision towards the White Palace and towards their father's workshop which was in utter disarray. Pieces of white armor were everywhere as well as stains of liquid Void and unfinished Wingsmoulds resting lifeless on many shelves. It is not surprising to find their creator there, slumped against his desk out cold. Before, every time he worked himself to the point of collapse, the White Lady would come for him, scoop him up in her branches and gently carry him back to their shared bed. But now there was no one for him to retrieve him from his never-ending work. The Hollow Knight tries their best to choke down the feeling of pity when not even a single retainer comes to the workshop if only to place a blanket around the King's shoulders. They were forbidden from entering this place… Pity. This one's tricky. It feels almost like sadness but not quite. It's... sadness directed at someone else who is in difficult situation or a sorry state.

Oh? Could it be that you love him?

A pang of cold, unexpected fear dropped into the depths of their burning stomach once the Vessel realises their grave mistake. They left themselves open before Her. Their minds became one and the same from the moment She was trapped within their body. And they foolishly let themselves be read like a book. A mist of orange fully cloaked their eyes as the suffocating heat rose up to their throat. Now their thoughts (Do not think!) and all their secrets were Hers.

How unusual… and how fortunate for me!

(Day 156...?)

What is this place? The Hollow Knight silently wonders as they look out at a sea of golden clouds gently illuminated by the sun in the distance. They didn't remember a place such as this in the entire Hallownest and they'd seen much of it during their imprisonment and before. All around them is just a sea of cotton like clouds covering everything in sight aside from the amber sky and the aforementioned sun. Perhaps they're on some tall mountain peak in Howling Cliffs during particularly good weather? It would add up.. Only…

Something felt off.

Especially when the Hollow Knight looked down at themself. Their armor shone in the light while their black chitin seemed to consume the brightness instead of reflecting it. Just as it always has been. But it doesn't mean it sits right with them. While peering out at Hallownest, they weren't able to do that. Or even move, so to speak. Chains and all. And another thing. They don't remember attempting to peer out in the first place. All of the sudden they are horrifyingly aware that the rays of the sun, seemingly harmless and soft felt like boiling acid on their Void body. Looking up in mounting panic, they realised that the sun was not actually a sun as the orb of light unfolded, revealing two magnificent wings reaching out as if to embrace the skies-

It was all they needed to jerk back into consciousness with a jolt. The bright orange was once again in their vision, stronger than ever, the scorching heat threatening with asphyxiation. The Hollow Knight attempted to take a deep breath… but the sound they unintentionally produced made them freeze in their bindings. Ever since they hatched in the deepest pit of the Abyss, they were unable to make any sort of sound aside from quietly inhaling and exhaling, even if they were panting from exhaustion after the climb. Now however… Every struggling breath they took came out as a disturbing, wet and gurgling wheeze as though something was clogging up their lungs and hoarse throat. Every breath was loud and unsettling and they felt themself shaking uncontrollably.

They'd fallen asleep. Fool, fool, fool! Exposed themself to the Radiance directly. Thank Wyrm, they managed to wake up at all. But still, the damage was done, the orange film coated their vision and the hot pain seemed to throb just underneath their black chitin, waiting to emerge at any second. The Hollow Knight shifted and tried to pull their legs up but any movement seemed to upset the Infection even further, causing it to thrum louder and more painfully through their flesh.

Looking down at their body was the catalyst. Never before have they thought their Void that served as blood could run even colder but this short glance was all it took to prove them wrong. Uneven buds of developing pustules were forming on their chest and abdomen, pulsing alongside their pounding heart, the orange color slowly surfacing beneath the clear black. Their right shoulder also seemed to be suffering the same fate. The Hollow Knight abruptly becomes dreadfully aware of the sweet taste of rot in the back of their gullet, so sickly nauseating that it makes them retch. In just a few ragged heaves they expel a gout of pure Infection that dribbles down their mouth and splatters across the floor of their chamber. No.. no it cannot end like this…

It wouldn't be so painful if you stopped resisting, you know..

Focus, Vessel. Focus!

Do not think.

Do not speak.

Do not hope…

Do not… feel!

And focus they do. Struggling to even out their breathing, coughing a couple more times to clear their respiratory system of the radiant pus, the Hollow Knight reaches into their core, to the purest Void that remains within and fights the Infection off as best as they can. The Radiance present in their head doesn't hide annoyance when they manage to make the glowing cysts recede back into their shivering body, leaving almost no trace suggesting they were there in the first place. The orange light in their eyes flickers out of existence, swallowed by the Void. The Hollow Knight finally stops desperately clutching at the cloth of their cape with their claws but don't let themself relax fully even as the Radiance admits Her temporary defeat and moves out from the forefront of their mind to the back. Droplets of sweat rolled down their mask alongside a couple of midnight black tears emerging from their eye sockets. The orange in their vision left only to be replaced by darkness that took their hearing and made them feel sick in the stomach again.

The Hollow Knight nearly passes out from the effort of reigning in the Infection but they push through the swimming darkness and fight for each raspy breath. They cannot fall asleep again. If they do, they are done for. Scratch that, Hallownest is done for! They need to stay sharp, stay strong! They wouldn't fail their father. The more they struggled, the more painful the whole ordeal seemed to be. Visions of the suffering's end were tempting but they knew they couldn't stop resisting. They won't let Her win. Focus. They need to focus. Just like many times before, the Vessel returns to counting. Day one hundred and fifty… six. Eight hours (?), thirty-three minutes and nine… teen seconds?

How long have they been asleep? Too long, is the answer. One hundred fifty-six days...- or was it already fifty-seven? What time of day was it in the moment of their imprisonment? It was morning. No, no it wasn't… Evening. But late or early evening? One hundred fifty… Wait, no. Sixty-five? Sev… seventy-five? They can't tell anymore. It was just… long. So much for that idea.. But if it has been so long already.. maybe their father will come back for them any day now? Please… Do not hope… Swallowing thickly only to hack out another glob of sticky pus, the Hollow Knight looks up, letting the black tears perfectly intertwined with orange drip down their chin. How much longer…?

(Day one… two hundred…? Maybe three…)

Release me, voidling.

Never.

Bring the pain to an end. Destroy the Pale Usurper.

No…

You cannot contain me forever.

I will as long as I can..

Keeping the maddening haze of the Infection at bay was slowly but surely becoming more and more difficult. A week or so ago the Hollow Knight lost feeling in their right arm, partially because of the chain and partially because of the swelling of cysts pressing against the metal. Before, the chains fit neatly without too much discomfort aside from the fact that they prevented almost all movement. Pustules on their thorax reemerged soon after those on their shoulder, throbbing with searing pain. A faint hue of orange smoke was crawling around the chamber floor like carrion worms. The Radiance was growing restless, desperately trying to break the Vessel, searching through their memories they tried so hard to keep hidden, looking for ways to make it easier for Her. She shamelessly filled them with doubt, attacking the feelings towards their father which shouldn't exist in the first place. And unable to ignore it any longer, the Hollow Knight made a terrible mistake and replied with their thoughts.

He abandoned you. The Worm isn't coming back.

No. You're wrong.

Don't you see what he's done? Have you forgotten what lies in the Abyss beneath this kingdom?

Corpses. Mountains of corpses of their newly hatched siblings who never got a chance to live. Majority of them died within eggs, stillborn. No cost too great. Their father once told them. Could it… could it be that he was wrong? Impossible! She's just toying with them. Believe and trust nothing.

I have not. Their sacrifice was needed..

But to what end?

What was the worst, the Goddess changed Her tactics. She no longer hissed with hatred and anger and used brute force of Her will. Instead, Her voice grew softer. More gentle. Alluring and carrying a promise of peace and release from the unending nightmare. Almost motherly.. They knew it to be only an illusion concealing the cruel deity beneath.

For Hallownest.

Child, he has you so fooled. He fears me and cares not about this world. He cares not about you. Think about it…

With a shudder, the Hollow Knight feels Her presence recede slightly but never fully leaving. Do not think. Do not listen to Her. They shift in their bindings when their head begins to spin, calling them into a sweet embrace of blessed unconsciousness but they hold fast. And that's when they hear something hit the floor with a wet, sickening "thwack!". This sound makes a spike of fear jolt down their throat mostly occupied by the Infection. What was that? There's nothing here with them that could make this sound. Did they imagine it? Looking around for the cause of the strange noise, the Hollow Knight glances towards the source. The floor below them. And they freeze, feeling their heart drop to their heels.

The Vessel was a warrior at heart. They were used to grisly sights and gore. Had seen plenty of it too. But this was just too much. Right there, like a silent taunt lies a black, limp arm. Their arm, they realise when they look to the right where their shoulder abruptly ends with a cluster of Infected tissue. The severed appendage too was coated in the orange goop in the place where it detached from the Knight's body. The disease had eaten through their flesh until their arm had nothing more to cling to and after the slightest movement just… fell off. They draw a wheezing breath when the fingers twitch once in a last reflex before the entire arm dissolves into a puddle of Void which soon disappears without a trace.

Wyrms above, they were rotting. Decomposing alive. Melting like a faulty Kingsmould. At this point, death would've been a blessing. But if they had to die, they'd rather go out the proper way! Defeated, felled in combat like a knight they are. Not falling apart, piece by piece until… Before, they thought they knew fear. What they felt now however, was a whole new dimension. An excruciating sob wracked their body as Infected tears fell from their eyes and where the droplets met the floor, pulsing, orange veins of Infection sprouted like vines from seeds and crawled their way around the entire chamber, developing large cysts but thankfully not straying out through the archway. Still, the Hollow Knight looked up at the not so distant ceiling as more tears fell. They cannot do this anymore.

Father… please… take me home.

Their head drooped in defeat as their body trembled both with pain and fear. It's only a matter of time before the Infection breaks free and sets out to devour Hallownest. And the fault was on them. Because they weren't hollow. They were just another failure created by the Pale King. A broken vessel that failed to fulfill its purpose. Soon, the dawn shall break. And it would be their fault.

…Help me…

(Another day of torment…)

Droplets as black as sin were falling to the floor freely where the Hollow Knight crumbled to their knees, shaking like a leaf on a gale under the dreaded golden light. Void was seeping out from a wound inflicted by a spectral nail stuck above their hip. They can't, they can't do this.. They tried to fight her in the Dream, doing their best to avoid summoned blades, rays of light and orbs of magic but to no avail. She had won. Failed. Worthless. Flawed. Shattered.. This was their last chance to fend off the Infection festering inside of them. And after a torturous fight they’d failed. They had broken their promise to their father. When did they make it? Can't say for certain. It was so.. so long ago. How many days before have they lost count of the days of containment? Too many.. Far too many. Was the Radiance right? Has their father truly discarded them like a broken tool? He wouldn't… he just needs more time. But they don't have that time! They will break any moment now.

Like on a cue, a warm, soft wing brushed against their face, making the Hollow Knight look up into a pair of luminous, golden eyes staring at them from behind the ruff of dense, cream-colored fur that seemed to glow. For just a moment they had to lift their only arm to shield their eyes from bright luminosity. No wonder the old tribe of moths called their deity "the Radiance". They gawked at Her, the Goddess who caused them so much pain, who wished to destroy Hallownest out of spite against the Pale King. Was this hatred justified? They cannot tell. But now it doesn't matter. What does matter is that She is hovering before them, radiant and mesmerizing. Once their sight adjusts, the Hollow Knight finds it impossible to look away. Instead they stare like hypnotized. With a flick of Her wing She extracts the blade from their wound, making them stiffen in pain and fall back down. Still, they watch Her without blinking and weakly pull themself to their feet to shuffle closer in this trance. Where was this strange, soothing music coming from? Can She hear it too or has their sanity finally left them for good?

The Pale Wyrm took my children away from me. I only wish to have them back.

Even in a haze of feverish delirium, the Hollow Knight struggled to reject Her words. Lying wretch, if She wanted her children back, She wouldn't be hurting them. But.. She was so… beautiful, so damn convincing in Her deception! No… they can't.. She can't be...

Just like you wish you hadn't abandoned your twin..

All gears in their brain ground to a sudden halt. Twin.. Their chin trembles. The Radiance… She dug through them into their most guarded and most painful memory they ever carried. As though there has been a spell cast on them, the Hollow Knight feels their vision fade and travel back in time to this very moment. To the metal platform in the Abyss and a tiny figure of their twin struggling to pull themself up after the gruelling ascend. Their gazes met for the whole three seconds, one hopeful and begging the other uncaring and empty. And in this short while the Hollow Knight felt. For the first time in their short life. Felt the urge to turn back. To come with rescue to their exhausted sibling. But the pale light of the King, their father, was quickly heading out of this accursed place and with a twinge of an unknown feeling they later learned to recognise as guilt (one wishes to not have done something one has done..), the Pure Vessel turned away and trailed after the Wyrm who soon shut the doors to the Abyss with a bone rattling crash, sealing it forever. The imaginary sound of their twin's shell shattering on the ground and the dread-inducing wails of their Shade haunted the Hollow Knight for years to come. This has been one of those instances when the Hollow Knight was glad they have no voice and they couldn't scream in their sleep. They wished they could turn back time. That they returned and helped the struggling child onto the platform, even if it would cost them everything they gained later. It felt… wrong. They left the sibling they shared their egg with, the one who spent the time before their hatching snuggled against the Hollow Knight and embracing them protectively. This one thought stalked them through their entire life. You let them die.

Set me free, Vessel. I will ease this pain. And when I claim what's mine, it shall be my turn to release you and allow you to fade into the darkness you were born from. And then you will reunite with your lost siblings…

A violent shiver was all the answer the Hollow Knight had for Her. No voice to cry suffering. A thinking mind.. A strong will to break.. They swallowed in agitation, still unable to take their eyes off the Goddess.

Do not fight anymore..

Do not think.

Do not speak.

Do not hope..

Do not…

No more.. They were so tired…They can't keep this up. The cold, collected exterior of the legendary Pure Vessel cracks apart. She's too strong… Forgive me, father… With a sigh, the Vessel shuts their eyes as the Radiance pulls them even closer into an embrace and after Wyrm knows how long, they give up. I tried.. I really did... With the tips of her wings, the Radiance cups their cheeks and presses her forehead to their own. In the deep black eyes appear small pinpricks of orange, like pupils, slowly expanding to replace shadow with light. Sometimes trying is not good enough... They could imagine their father's voice saying that.. and he'd be right. As always... The pain that was tearing them to pieces from the inside for ages started to subside, their whole body seemed to be pulsating with heat. Just make it stop…

In the depths of the Black Egg Temple, the limp body of the Sealed Vessel dangles suspended above the ground as it had for many long years ever since the time seemed to come to a stop. No movement, not a sound as they keep their stoic vigil over the Old Light. No mind to think. No will to break. No voice to cry suffering. The Hollow Knight born of God and Void to take away the blinding light plaguing the dreams of Hallownest. All of this is a one, cruel lie. After countless years of imprisonment and service to the Pale Monarch their willpower spectacularly shatters to pieces. Orange pustules erupt from their torso as the sockets in their mask flare up with the same sickly glow, the voice in their head mingling with their own distorted thoughts.

Kill… Crush Contain him Her.. Destroy Seal away the false king the Old Light.

The searing light behind their eyes is all they see as with a horrid crunch the shell above their right eye socket gives out. A crack forms all the way towards the base of their horn as they draw a disturbingly garbled breath. No longer in control of their own body, they strain against the reinforced shackles strengthened by Seals of Binding like a feral animal to the point when the chains and armor begin to dig into their chitin painfully. Faced with failure, the Hollow Knight wheezes again, tilts their large head back gathering all their strength, feeling the years of suffering pressing onto them. Opens their mouth…

No mind the Pale King Usurper had created. Only strength.

And s c r e a m s.

…

Nothing was ever the same since that terrible, terrible day. The Infection began to spread once again, taking minds of all bugs it touched. The Hollow Knight remained trapped in the Black Vault in chains, a snarling, panting beast thirsting for blood and revenge. But in moments when their own self rears its head through the cloak of orange, even if barely for a glimpse, they are overcome with unimaginable pain forcing them back into submission. Fighting Her felt like having their lungs torn clean out. They beg death to claim them for their failure and their weakness. Hallownest was quickly dying and all they could do was watch as the thriving kingdom was brought to ruin. Because of them. Because they weren't pure like they were intended to. Because they let the Radiance take over.

However, even those short moments of clarity left them when one day an odd sensation rippled through their entire being. Something left them. Something they didn't even know was there until they lost it. A presence, cold and comforting, a stark contrast to the blinding brightness of the Radiance. For a while they weren't sure what it was until a grim realisation eventually dawned on them when they searched for the White Palace only to find... nothing. Only emptiness behind a crumbling gate where it once stood tall and majestic. It was the Pale King. It was his presence they felt. And this presence was suddenly snuffed out like a candlelight. Just like that. The Wyrm was gone. His light faded and left Hallownest and its inhabitants behind. How…? The entire Palace, their home along with all memories vanished.. What happened? Could he be… dead…? The mere thought caused them to halt their struggling breath. Not a single part of their being could come to terms with what just happened once they understood. No... No, it’s impossible, it can’t be true!

No amount of denial would change the reality. The Pale King is gone along with the whole court. Everything around ceased, even the earth itself seemed to pause at the disappearance of the Wyrm. Only the brightness of Her domain was surrounding the Hollow Knight as they stared forward into nothingness in disbelief. Half of their shredded mind was clouded by a spectre of a distant memory. Two figures. One bright as the moon itself, the Pale King in all his glory. The other, much shorter, Void incarnate. A small Vessel with two horns crowning its head. The Hollow Knight cannot hear what the Pale King was saying, it was too long ago and their memory seemed to be failing them as of late. All they did remember from that moment, a day or so after their arrival to the White Palace, was exacly what played out before their eyes. The Wyrm absent mindedly rested his hand on the Vessel’s back as he kept talking. A slight weight seemed to fall in the very same place between shoulder blades of the Hollow Knight but no hand was there to offer comfort. From a very far away, they heard the Pale King’s voice, barely a faint echo.

“Until the end of time, they shall always remember what you’ve done for them. As will I...”

In seconds the vision of their past became undone before them, leaving them alone and at the mercy (or its lack thereof) of the Dream Goddess. Their already fragile heart broke thousand times over, the last shreds of their hope faded away and globules of orange pus rolled down their face instead of inky Void tears dripping onto their armor, tarnished by the passage of time. He said he would remember.. Always...

Father… why…?

When the Radiance told them the Pale King abandoned them, they didn't believe Her. They found it inconceivable. He wouldn't leave them on purpose.. Something horrible must've happened. He… he cared… He-… Rearing back, the Hollow Knight once again cried out in dismay with the borrowed voice of the plague.

Why have you… forsaken me…?

Time has lost its meaning that day. Seconds slipped past the shattered Vessel. Weeks passed without notice and the disease raged across the faded land. How long has it been since the departure of the Pale Monarch…? A month, a year… or maybe a decade? Hard to say. The Hollow Knight spent it in a numb haze, unable to wrestle the control the Radiance had over their body, because they simply.. had no will to do so anymore. All they could do on their own was look around the dark chamber but they had no wish to do so either. Instead, they stared at  a wall with blank eyes. No sense. No hope. No death. No relief.. Only pain and sorrow. Burning wrath of the Dream Goddess. She lied. The Wyrm has disappeared, possibly perished in some tragedy that brought down the entire White Palace.. If he was gone, where was the release She promised? No, it was no longer about the King. She just wanted the end of Hallownest for the sake of vengeance alone.. This was not a motherly longing for lost children. It was a punishment. How could they have been so foolish…?

No longer did the Hollow Knight find strength to resist. It left them with their beloved father. Did he leave because of their failure…? Or was he truly gone? No longer did the Hollow Knight find the will to look out at their old home. They couldn't muster up the courage to gaze upon the land they failed to protect. But perhaps if they had seen what became of the eternal kingdom, their heart would fully break and maybe the sorrow alone would grant them the peace they begged for for so long now. All they could see was the bright, scorching light. Nothing more, nothing less… Why won't She let them go? A dark, not entirely unwelcome thought crept into their head. If only they could reach their nail.. all it would take was a quick stab through the heart. It rested below them where they had left it years ago, now tarnished and covered in dust, just out of reach. Even if they could grab it though, their only arm remained in chains, immobilized.. Was this a punishment for thinking they can match the strength of the Radiance? If so… they very well deserved it. Gurgling up a pathetic sound, the once great Hollow Knight trembled.

Father… I failed you... I'm sorry…

They thought as though this apology would mean anything or be heard by anyone aside from Her. And She didn't care. But they needed to, wanted to say it. If only they could… Maybe he would hear them then and mercifully grant his child their final, desperate wish.

… please, let me die…

--------------------------------------------------

There is the first of two chapters. Hope it's decent, I have NO idea how to portray the Hollow Knight. I'm abysmal XD

I know I said it's gonna be a short fic. People who have been following me for a while probably know me well for being a liar but god DAMN. I got a bit carried away and the other chapter isn't going to be shorter :O

[bugbeee]

Pyrrhic for Pale King or rubatosis for Nightmare King Grimm? Hireaeth for Hornet or liberosis for Hollow/Pure Vessel? Morituro for Ghost or scrosciare for Quirrel or Lemm? So many of these prompts are so good for Hollow Knight--I can't make up my mind which ones I like the most. Feel free to do however many you feel up to--don't feel pressure to do every single one. Pick and chose!

Cookie, you are the light of my life and I adore you. I hope you enjoy these! Prompt list from here!

Pyrrhic (won at too great a cost):

Sitting on his throne, the Pale King wondered if he should be happy. They had won. He had won. The Radiance was sealed, and the infection would no longer plague Hallownest. And yet, the roiling in his stomach would not cease. Abruptly, he stood up, unable to keep himself still any longer. The palace halls were silent save for the swish of his robes. His daughter had been sent to train with Vespa a scant few cycles ago, and Root...

Well. Root had left long ago.

Only his retainers remained, and even they grew quieter and quieter with each passing day.

Despite the sealing, he knew that something uneasy continued to lurk within his kingdom. In the end, he truly was a blind fool, despite his foresight. He had seen it when he first saw the Pure- the Hollow Knight before him, and he had seen it again as he sent it to fulfill their duty.

No cost too great, he had said. And yet, he could not stop himself from weighing the innumerable sacrifices he made for... for nothing. Root had left a scant few cycles before the Knight’s sealing, though she had confided in him that it was not because of love for her hollow child. After such a harrowing experience, she needed to retreat. She would return soon, she said.

Wyrm didn’t need his foresight to know that was not true.

The Gendered Child had been sent away for her own safety, and for his own sanity. She raged with the loss of her mother, and after the attempt on her life, she could not sleep without being plagued by nightmares. He knew that the palace was unhealthy for her, that every waking moment was torture-

So he sent her away. Despite the betrayal on her face as he did so. Despite her screams of abandonment.

But he had to. He had to, because the assassin brought rumours of an orange plague, because bugs were acting strangely and mentioning dreams of gold, because-

He had already failed once as a father. He would not give her a parent she didn’t deserve. Not when she already had the love of her mother and step-mother.

Unable to keep walking, Wyrm collapsed to the floor, burying his face in his hands.

This was meant to be victory, he thought bitterly. So why did it feel so much like loss?

Morituro (someone who is destined to die):

Elderbug had been the only resident of Dirtmouth for a long time now. He had seen travellers come and go, always waiting for a familiar face to pop back up and return. Hoping, that perhaps one of them would stay. But no. His town remained empty, and had done so ever since the cloud of sickly sweet rot and sickness had risen from the well on the outskirts of town, luring bugs in with enticing promises of riches and glory. He had never seen the city below that travellers spoke about with such fervent excitement, never felt the own tug of wanderlust pulling him down into the depths of the forgotten kingdom.

No, he was always happier at his home, welcoming those who came by, and hoping that perhaps this time, one of them would stay. Once upon a time, his town had been filled quiet contentment, bugs living in comfort and harmony. It had been a happier time, even with the quiet whispers of Hallownest’s fall. But the days of life within his village had been long gone, and soon enough, he was the only one remaining, waiting in vain for someone, anyone to return and stay. While he enjoyed the quiet, he preferred to spend it with another person. The loneliness and isolation that had spread across his village like an infection had changed that quiet into an empty silence.

And yet... that had slowly begun to change, all thanks to his small masked friend. They had introduced new bugs into his town, had rekindled the flickering life of Dirtmouth, had given him new hope. Shops began to reopen, people moved back in, and he was no longer alone. There was still the gentle quietness of his town, but no pervasive silence that gripped his very carapace. Just for that, Elderbug owned them a debt, yet they never asked for anything in return, instead being content to simply sit on the bench beside him and bask in each other’s’ presence. His fondness for the childlike bug was not unlike that of a grandfather, and he could not help the soft affection that rose within him whenever they returned.

Despite the stench below, despite the dead kingdom beneath his feet, Elderbug was content again. His town was full, gentle life having drifted back in with the appearance of his friend. He wondered when they would cease their wanderings in the caverns below, and finally join them all above. He would not keep them from exploring, but their increased disappearances made him worry all the same. He hoped that soon, soon they would settle down. Was a quiet life not enough? Was being surrounded by friendly bugs not an adventure in itself?

But it was not his place to give voice to these thoughts, not when his friend was so eager to travel. He gave a soft sigh, watching the gentle lights sway in the quiet breeze, eyes flicking between the well and the Stag Station. And then, finally, the door of the Station opened, and out hopped the little traveler, something small clutched within their claws. Relief and joy warmed Elderbug’s heart, and he eagerly welcomed them to the bench.

“Hello, my friend. It is good to see you in good health. I admit, I grew worried when I heard the screeching from below, but seeing you whole is reassuring,” he said softly as they approached him.

His eyes fell upon the delicate flower in their hands, and Elderbug blinked in surprise.

“Hm? What a beautiful flower!” he exclaimed. “Why are you carrying around such an exquisite bloom?”

They looked at him, eyes unreadable as ever, but there was a quiet sadness in their posture, lit up with the slightest hint of affection as they reached out to offer him the bloom. Elderbug choked at the gesture, tears springing to his eyes as he took the flower with trembling claws.

“Thank you, my friend. Suddenly, the world seems a little less faded. I will take care of this flower while you are gone, so we can enjoy it together when you return,” he said hoarsely, so touched by the gesture that he missed the hint of sorrow and regret within his friend. The little one carefully sat down in their usual spot, shuffling slightly as they became comfortable.

Elderbug smiled softly at them, and took up his usual position beside them, basking in their quiet presence, but they patted the bench.

“Oh? Do you wish for me to sit with you? I am quite happy standing, especially if you wish to rest after such an adventure,” he explained, but they shook their head, and patted the bench again.

“Very well, my friend. I would be happy to sit by your side.”

He let his old, weary body sit beside them, the cold metal a comforting balm on his aching limbs. They rested together until Elderbug could feel his strength returning to him and his friend’s slumped body straightened. They turned to look at him, tilting their head at the flower tucked close to his arm, empty eyes seemingly cataloguing every piece of him.

He chuckled softly at their examination, and opened his mouth to say something, but stopped as his friend placed a claw over his. It was a fleeting gesture, yet comforting all the same, and Elderbug was reminded of a child grasping onto someone close for a shred of reassurance. They leapt off the bench before he could respond; only turning to look at him once as they headed towards the well. His friend lifted their hand in a small wave, and he could not help but think they looked so sad as they did so.

As though it was a final farewell.

“Next time,” he muttered, despite the hollow stone sat in his chest. “Next time I’ll ask them to stay.”

(Perhaps, had he known, he would have clung harder.)

Scrosciare (rain pouring down or waves hitting rocks):

Quirrel stared out beyond the lake, the soft crash of water against rocks echoing within his emptied mind. His tired eyes caught on the shimmering waves illuminated by the distant glow of lingering lumaflies. How strange to think that after all these years he would be in Hallownest again. His departure had been abrupt, spurred on his Madam’s eternal slumber. One end began there, and today, it would finally reach its conclusion. Even now, his memories were disjointed, caught on fragments of confusion and fog, but she still shone like a beacon in his mind, a gentle light guiding him within the tangled memories. If she were still here, she would disapprove of his plan, he thought. But she was not here.

She had been gone for a long time.

The soft patter of footsteps broke his musings, and he tilted his head towards his little friend, though his eyes never left the blue shore. It warmed him to know that despite the slow, stumbling death of Hallownest, he had still made a friend, and a dear one at that. Their silent presence had been a comfort throughout his journey through the decaying kingdom, and he had found himself eager to see his friend in every new place discovered. And now, they sat by him as he spoke fondly of being able to relive the beauty of Hallownest, of being able to meet them. They stayed as quiet as ever, and he couldn’t help but smile.

There was a quiet sadness about them, Quirrel thought to himself, and he wondered if they knew what he planned. His friend sat unmoving next to him, staring across the waters just as he had done a bare few moments ago. Together, they let the time slowly drift by, only the gentle flow of the waves giving any sense as to how long had passed. He sighed softly, and turned to face their friend, words ready to spill, but he paused. They were looking at him, eyes as empty as ever, but there was a mournful air around them, and a part of him thought that, were they able to, they would be crying.

“Friend?” he asked hesitantly.

They did not look away, studying him as intently as his Madam had shortly before-

Ah. So they did know then. Or at least guess.

“Do not worry about me, my small friend. I have wandered this world for a long time, have been lucky enough to experience more wonders and beauty’s than most bugs do in their life time. Mourn not for me, my dear friend. My duty has been fulfilled, and now I shall rest,” he said gently, letting his claw rest uncertainly on their head.

They seemed unconvinced, and took his hand with their own small ones, mask shaking in silent disapproval. Quirrel chuckled.

“Even without a voice, your scolding is clear. Tell me, what is there left for me to see?”

For him to live, went unspoken.

They swept a claw to the world around them, before pointing up, up, upwards.

“Hallownest is gone, my dear friend, choked by this infection. The village above will soon follow,” he murmured gently, but they shook their head vigorously again.

They grabbed their nail and swept it as though fighting some invisible foe.

“Oh? Shall you fight off the rest of this sickness then? Do you even know how?”

Do you know what it will cost, he did not say, instead staring at the little fellow besides him.

They nodded, dropping their nail and grabbing his claws again, staring hopefully up into his own face.

Well then.

“I see you won’t let me go that easily. Very well, my dear friend. I shall wait until you fight off this infection, so that I may see a clean Hallownest again. And who knows, maybe there will even be life again,” he said begrudgingly, but a small part of him was intrigued. Perhaps even excited. His Madam surely would hate for him to waste his life, certainly before even giving the revival of Hallownest a chance.

Waiting wouldn’t be so bad, would it? Not with his friend by his side, not with the quiet hope they still inspired. Quirrel had long since forgotten how or where the infection came from, or even how it was contained, aside from the Dreamer’s Seal, but he believed in his small friend. If anyone could do it, then surely, surely them.

“If that is the case, then I shall meet you above in Dirtmouth, once it is all over. But for now, I will enjoy this moment for a while longer. You are welcome to stay, or continue your quest, but your company is never unwanted.”

The little Ghost plonked themselves back next to him, and the two of them watched the lake together until Quirrel could feel his eyes closing, lulled into a gentle sleep with the steady comfort of his friend.

The waves lapped gently against the rocks.

[ganymedesclock]

Hey, reading your posts about HK is giving me great joy, lot's of good points and such, and I'd like to add to the questions. I believe too that the Ghost and the vessels have a persona to them, not just emotionless crafts, but do you have any ideas on how it wasn't...'Noted'? Was it just the PK's regret and guilt that didn't want to admit that the Hollow Knight had spirit, alongside all the other vessels he left to rot, so he rather shun the idea and ultimately prolonged the suffering?

So this is actually kind of a deep element of my read on PK. Something I have said in other posts, but will bring up here, is that we have a whisper stone left behind in the Howling Cliffs that contains PK’s voice, and this is what it has to say about the entire world that isn’t Hallownest:

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.

“There is no world beyond”

Now, there’s a couple of ways you could read this. One is that he’s lying- but, I think, this is a rather poorly kept lie. Almost every third person you meet in the game casually mentions having come to Hallownest from afar. There is clearly life beyond, life without. Ogrim even suggests PK had some kind of offer to settle people who came to Hallownest.

So if this is a very useless lie... then, perhaps, it isn’t a lie at all, but an incorrect thing PK believes about the world. Of especial poignancy considering PK himself, comes from that place that he insists doesn’t exist, which suggests pretty ominous things about his life before Hallownest.

One of the things that Hollow Knight does, that I think is a masterful element of its storytelling shared by many other stories, is that certain concepts are repeated, over and over and over again. One of these things is “hollowness”, emptiness. The game is awash in shells, eggs, the exoskeletal husks of insects.

In this sense, the vast majority of trivial details and conversations in the game together paint a surging, teeming picture: what is emptiness? What is the nature of the void at the bottom of the kingdom, that defines, rules, so much of Hallownest and its fate?

And one thing that comes up repeatedly, is: are hollow things truly empty? Or are they filled with something? Is the concept of void itself a powerful force that can reject things placed into it? Are these things beyond the light truly nonexistent... or are they merely described to us by shortsighted creatures?

 I think that more than regret or guilt, I think that PK projected a deeply nihilistic view of the world in which he saw everything as meaningless, “empty”, unless he defined it. The worst thing he could think of doing to Radiance, the best way to get rid of her, was to consign her to ultimate oblivion.

But he didn’t know what that was. He was wrong. The world he sees as empty is teeming, thriving, bursting with life. Hallownest, when we first behold it, is cold and still as the grave, and, yet, right from the start of the game, everywhere we look, the landscape is indelibly etched with this struggle to live.

A “truly empty” creature the way PK believes it does not exist. Either it is motivated enough to move and act on the instructions it is given- and thus, not “empty”- or it isn’t. No creature acts to change anything if it cannot imagine the world another way, if it has no motivation, no thoughts.

In the endings where Ghost actualizes as a Holy Void- where they emerge victorious and silence the Radiance- their actions are the opposite of not caring. They are the pinnacle of caring. Ghost draws power from the Void, becomes stronger, casts a shadow that can tear the sun from her throne and spill motes of her shining blood- by caring, and deciding what they are and what they are not.

The Ghost that never actualizes- Ghost in the Hollow Knight ending- does not reject what was placed inside of them by PK. In this sense, they are ‘filled’ by something external. Actualized Ghost is hollow, but not empty. The White Lady wonders what they are thinking, and makes it clear she can no longer simply sense their thoughts- a boundary has arisen between them. This is significant, because we note several beings of great power in the game specifically for their ability to resist our probing their thoughts- including White Lady herself.

Actualized Ghost, the incarnate void heart... is a void that decides what it will and will not accommodate. “Void given focus”- that the darkness has a will of its own. This is the actualized state of the void at its height- not dormant, not empty, not accepting, but unified, awake, purposeful.

Ghost, from the moment of their birth, was marked as the creature that was discarded into oblivion and refused to wither. And through their eyes, we witness the void of Hollow Knight’s world... and it is beautiful, and full of life. Through Ghost, we have the experience of being a private witness or confidant to many; to learning what even the long deceased or vanished were thinking about.

The Pale King was wrong about the void. He was wrong about the world. And I think this is a big part of why, in direct contrast to Ghost, when both of them were left alone in the dark... PK collapsed in on himself and withered there. When there was no longer a justification of himself, he didn’t think he existed anymore in a way that mattered.

[silverstarsheep]

I wrote this drabble to kindof test the waters of having the Hollow Knight as an RP muse. It came out... Decent, so I may as well post the thing.

Context is the “Embrace the Void” ending, and it cuts at the same part of the ending itself. This is just a drabble focusing on Hollow and their first few moments without the Radiance. 

Word Count: 1448

—————————————————–

The Black Egg shuddered, and the constrained body within tensed as a strange feeling washed over it. Stirring within their chains, the Hollow Knight’s cracked shell lifted ever so slightly, the faint glow that filled their empty sockets fading away as an orange liquid leaked from them like tears. When confusion started to fill their mind, they tried to push the feeling away to little avail.

The searing heat of the light that filled their body like a burning furnace waned, escaping their limbs as the orange liquid splattered against the floor beneath them. It turned a dull brown, losing its sun-like glow.

The light began to vanish from their vision, and it felt like the grip that the Radiance held over them was loosening, finger by finger... However it was clear that she wasn’t ready to let go just yet.

Using the body of the vessel, the voice of the Radiance bellowed out in pain, causing their entire body to tense. Their head was thrown back by an unseen force as the bellow quickly escalated into a scream, orange fog pouring out of their body. As the sweet-smelling vapor wafted through the air, it turned a sickly brown and lost its aroma. The fog fell to the ground in sticky splatters.

After a few moments of blind struggling and sending the vessel’s legs and arm flailing about, the deity’s final cry was snuffed out by the void. Their weak body fell still. The egg became pitch black, and for the first time in what felt like a lifetime and a half, the Hollow Knight was surrounded by the dark, and pure, suffocating silence.

The egg shuddered again, then groaned and shook. The chains that bound the vessel broke and shattered, scattering broken bits of metal across the void-like containment. The vessel was sent tumbling to the ground with a mighty thump, their nail clattering onto its side beside them.

Like a tidal wave, the chill of the void embraced Hollow’s body all at once, like the hug of an old, welcome friend. Their body shivered and curled up into a tight ball, however they didn’t balk at the cold. They welcomed it with relief, memories of old flooding back into their shell. They recalled the void, their siblings, a simpler time.

Breathing heavily, the Hollow Knight attempted to push themselves upright, only to crumple into a heap on their left side with a jolt of pain shocking their entire body. Shakily raising themselves to their knees, they weakly reached over to their empty shoulder socket, fingers recoiling when they brushed up against still-warm blisters. They hadn’t realized one of their arms had been lost, replaced with these pulsating things. Gingerly they peeled back their cloak, peering at what used to be filled with a bright orange liquid. The blisters were shrinking, and the substance within faded into a dull brown.

They made quick work of bursting these, ignoring the pain as the decaying liquid slipped over their fingers. Without thinking, they took a tatter of their old cloak and crudely wrapped it over the spot. It wasn’t very tight and slipped around as they moved, but it served the job well enough for now. Perhaps they could find someone to tend to this wound… Maybe within the castle, or in Dirtmouth. If their memory served them, it wasn’t far from the temple.

But they weren’t sure if they were ready to leave the egg, just yet.

The Hollow Knight sat for a moment, their empty sockets staring vacantly into the void that surrounded them. They looked to the left. They looked to the right. They were all alone, and yet somehow the Radiance had left them. Perhaps she had even died, and had stubbornly held what control she had over the vessel to the bitter end.

But how?

A faint feeling of joy slipped its way into the knight’s mind, as well as a tidal wave of relief. Placing their one hand to their horns, Hollow attempted to push the feeling of joy from their mind, reminding themselves to not think, to not feel... Even now, after all was said and done, they couldn’t allow themselves to fall prey to such trivial things.

After all, it’s what had weakened them as a vessel in the first place.

However, this only filled their mind with more feelings, which they had a harder time pushing away. Shame. They couldn’t hold the Radiance as well as they could have. Regret. They didn’t defeat the Radiance themselves, as the Pale King had hoped. Anger. Frustration. Sadness. Loneliness.

Grip tightening on their horn, Hollow gave it a tug. Their father--no, their king, would have been so disappointed. How upset would he have been with them, after such a failure as this? Would he even look them in the eye like he used to? Would he turn his back upon them? As they pulled harder on their horn, there was a loud crack from their shell, and a brief strike of pain that shocked them back to reality.

Hollow lowered their hand, allowing it to lay limp by their side. They recalled their old meditation tactics; calming their mind so they can clear it of the emotions they were never meant to feel. Deep breaths. Counting their fingers (which were much fewer, now). Observing the stitching on their cloak. Running their fingers over the pattern of their nail...

Hand reaching blindly behind them, they eventually located their nail and carefully wrapped their digits around the hilt. Hollow slowly and carefully drew it around themselves, pulling it over their legs.

The nail had cracked with age, and the edges had begun to dull. It was no longer the lethal weapon it once was. All the same, they ran their fingers over the intricate pattern that remained even after so long. It was a soothing motion.

Outside of the egg, they could hear the sound of rustling, footsteps, and the light thump of decaying plants hitting the ground. Something was going on outside of the egg, and they would certainly not discover what it was if they remained sitting here, wallowing in their shame.

Finally, Hollow attempted to rise to their feet again. Leaning against their nail for stability, they stumbled about on their legs briefly before they found their footing. Using the nail like a cane, they shambled their way out of the egg, and towards their freedom.

Stiff movements and uneasy footsteps plagued the Hollow Knight as they shambled their way towards the exit. They grasped the hilt of their nail firmly, digging its dulling point into the ground to keep their footing, determined to finally step out of this cursed imprisonment.

Despite being freed from the ever-present plague of the Radiance, they were feeling more disoriented than ever. The vessel’s power had only decreased as time went on, and without the strength of the Radiance, they were left feeling rather weak…

All the same, they marched on, finding a second wind as the exit became visible. The closer they got, the deeper their nail dug as it found earth to bite into. They felt a flutter in their chest--a feeling they were far from familiar with--as the view of the temple’s interior came into sight.

Standing in the egg’s entrance, the vessel’s shoulders slumped significantly, their posture deteriorating as they found themselves low to the ground. Were they feeling relief as they observed the ceiling of the spacious temple? Were they feeling joy as they took in a breath of fresh air for the first time in ages? They could not tell, however they were quickly pulled from these feelings when their empty sockets fell upon a familiar figure.

Sharp eyes, curved horns, and a red cloak. Memories washed over Hollow as they recalled a young one running about the castle grounds, her brightly colored cloak clashing against the pale walls and tiles like a crimson flag. She was so ready to spread her wings and fly, and yet even when she was young, she was so serious and stern, like that of her mother.

Could it have been… Hornet? She appeared to have grown since last they met. Hollow started blankly, fingers curling tight around their nail’s hilt. 

Hornet sensed someone’s approach, and from within the Black Egg. That could only mean one thing. On guard, her sharp eyes turned towards the vessel’s tall figure, her entire body tensing as she brandished her gleaming needle. Hollow tensed in suit, digging their nail further into the ground. Even in their weakened state, they were ready for a battle, should the weaver be aggressive...

Who was bold enough to make the first strike?

[nonbinary-ghost]

Another Drabble

Yet another angsty hollow knight drabble involving Hollow and the Radiance. This one is inspired by a song called A Rose for Epona by Eluveitie - the lyrics fit the game so so well but i can’t animate to save my life so I wrote a small thing based on it instead.

Content warning: this drabble is about the Hollow Knight succumbing to the Radiance’s Infection so warnings for descriptions of pain/violence/death/abandonment

---

It burned.

The vessel had known in some cold, calculated way that containing an unwilling god would hurt. But nothing could have prepared it for this. For the way the god’s rage sank into its very soul and smoldered. At first the pain had been subtle, merely uncomfortable, like hot coals in the pit of its being. But now… now that smoldering rage had kindled into a fire that scorched through its veins. It would have trembled with the pain, would have wept or gasped. But the seals kept it still, motionless and silent as stone. Instead, it focused inwardly on itself, forcing its mind to empty of all fear or misery until it was only dimly aware of the sensations, as if watching itself through a thick fog. It ignored the discomfort of its physical form and floated in a sea of dark and light, its whole being focused solely on keeping that light buried deep inside.

It was not long before a voice began to join the burning rage, and the almost melodious scream turned into words the vessel could understand.

How can you just hang there! The Radiance shrieked. They abandoned you! They forgot about you! They just left you here to rot! That filthy writhing Wyrm and Root forsake you and their followers and left you all here to die! How can you just hang there and let this happen to you? Why didn’t you fight back? Why don’t you attempt to free yourself?”

The vessel heard the enraged god’s words. Knew there were meanings behind the words. It may have even been able to comprehend those meanings if it cared to.

It did not.

It simply tuned her out and did its best to smother her in the thick void it drifted in.

But the god was relentless. She never tired, and she pushed at its thoughts and mental barriers with the irresistible force of a steady acid stream, wearing away at the vessel’s resistance. Before long, she was able to take hold of its memories and bring those to bare against it. She gave it dreams. Dreams of warmth and love and bittersweet longing. She gave it dreams of its mother and father the White Lady and Pale King freeing it and tearfully telling it that everything was a mistake, a misunderstanding, that they loved it and could never condemn it to such a terrible fate. She gave the vessel dreams of receiving its parent’s love. She gave it dreams of hope.

Do not hope.

The vessel did not know when the mantras started. It merely became aware of them after some undefined time as they repeated again and again in its mind in defiance to the Radiance’s dreams and promises.

Do not think. Do not feel. Do not hope.

But it did. It knew the mantras themselves were thoughts. But focusing on them kept the vessel from lingering on the storm of emotions raging through it, swirling with the Radiance’s own anger and fear until the two were nearly indistinguishable. It could feel the crushing weight of helplessness and fear and pain baring down on it, and somewhere deep inside an anger all its own kindled to life: why have they forsaken me…? But it ignored those feelings and traitorous thoughts with a dogged tenacity, focusing on its mantras and on keeping the Radiance contained and unaware of its flagging determination.

It managed to do so for far longer than it had expected.

But when the Radiance finally found that weakness, that chink in its mental armor, she dug her claws in deep and ripped. Even the bindings could not hold the vessel completely still as she tore its mind apart, the bright burning pain turning its vision white, and it threw its head back as a silent scream ripped through it. Every gasping breath kindled flames of agony in its chest. Every phantom thought cut its mind with a white-hot misery. And the Radiance was there, pressed so close against it that the vessel could feel the heat of her own thoughts twining with its.

“I will be free of you,” she hissed viciously, the thoughts as much the vessel’s  as they were hers. “You never had a hope of containing me. You are a futile sacrifice for a kingdom already gone sere, with gods who have long since abandoned you. There is no one coming to save you, no mistake made. You were intended to rot here. You will fall, forgotten and alone, and I will be free at last.”

The vessel could hear its panting breath echoing in the darkness around it and it clenched in pain as the burning feeling began to creep up its throat, twisting and warping it to the goddess’ desire.

It could feel itself growing even weaker, its life slipping away, burned to ash and consumed by the flames of the Infection from the inside out. It had resisted her for so long, but now it was tired and weak, worn by centuries of relentless battering. It could feel its will to live flagging. It briefly considered giving in to the light, considered allowing it to cast it back into oblivion. But if it gave in, if it died, the Radiance would be freed. She would burn through the rest of the seals as if they were nothing more than sider silk before her fury, and she would ravage what was left of its home.

No.

The thought chilled through it. A sliver of ice in the storm of light and rage. An anchor to give it focus. The Hollow Knight bore down on its mental barriers, pushing back against the burning light with every scrap of will it could muster. It collided with the god and grappled her for control once more.

“What are you doing,” she roared, forced back the barest inch as the Hollow Knight dug into itself, determined to never let her free. “There is nothing left for you to save! They have already forgotten about you, about us.”

Together, the Knight thought, the first clear words aside from its mantras to ever cross its mind. It forced the Radiance to hear it, tainting her light with icy tendrils of darkness. Together we go unsung.

“You will die here! Hallownest is already gone. Your people are already dying. You cannot save them.”

Then we will go down with them, the Hollow Knight thought grimly, coiling itself around her despite the way her light burned. It was already lost – it could feel itself weakening further despite its resistance. If Hallownest was truly gone, then all of this would have been for nothing. But the Knight refused to let its weakness be the death of those who remained. It refused to roll over and die. It would fight her with everything it had left. It would do everything it possibly could to take her into that bottomless darkness with it.

We will go down with our people, the Knight swore. Together.

[thefadedremnant]

Okay, now I’m incredibly curious. What happened to his mom? Why wasn’t he raised by any member of his species?

I’m so glad you asked!

My personal headcanon (well, all of this is personal headcanon built on personal headcanon, so, eh,) is that there’s some kind of... end of an era, for the wyrms, that’s responsible for the mass dieoffs that PK encountered the remains of. Something was coming for them, that most of them were able to foresee and communicate to each other, and they reacted to it, well, as complicated individuals. Some raged. Some went to war. Some comforted each other in their dying moments. The evidence that remains is in the bodies of the deceased; less so, the departure tracks of the living. PK’s probably not the only to find and draw to a civilization.

PK’s mom- not that he is at all aware of this, since they didn’t really overlap- made a decision to abandon her nest, and its eggs. She saw a future that was going to be highly inhospitable, and she believed that the fate of her children was not in her hands anymore; if any of them were going to survive, they’d need to be able to do it without her. She was, not exactly a bleeding heart, and this belief was basically self-serving to her worldviews, but, either way, whatever her thinking, she left the nest behind and set off on a pilgrimage of some kind, chasing a future or possibility only she saw. She, or her remains, are still out there somewhere. 

As far as the abandoned nest, PK was the only one that survived out of the clutch. The other eggs fossilized, so, he woke up surrounded by corpses. We’ve mentioned before and kind of joked about the idea that PK needs therapy, but, this is one way I feel like he was a mess a long time before he came to Hallownest- a lot of his dysfunctional attitudes about pain and emotion stem from a root of... he might’ve been more like a caterpillar, so not physically helpless in the way a human baby was, able to move independently and hunt from the day he was born, but still a sapient creature that was abandoned, and, on the day it was born, cried out into the emptiness for a parent that wasn’t coming back and didn’t hear it. This truth that the wyrms knew, shared between themselves, acted on, never reached him, and this led to his intensely nihilistic view of the world between kingdoms, and the “natural state” of anything. This is a guy who grew up in the law of the jungle, and internalized the notion that cosmically, nothing cares if you live or die.

In a meta sense, I came to this headcanon by noting the theme of the destroyed nest, the parent absent, negligent, or dead, is a symbol that repeats frequently in Hollow Knight. The baldur nest, the Fluke Hermit’s reaction to the Flukemarm’s infection and, if the latter is killed by Ghost, death; Cornifer has a cheerful anecdote about abandoning his childhood home and Zote a not-so-cheerful edict- several, actually- about abandoning your parents and siblings and forgetting where you came from. Hornet comes from two destroyed nests- Deepnest and the Palace- and a third- the Hive- if we assume it’s canon she was trained by Vespa. The Abyss was both the vessels’ birthplace and their mass grave, and there’s even a second repetition of that pattern- the empty nursery in the White Palace, White Lady’s chair still set out for her, and the empty cradle.

How I think this is personally relevant to PK, separate from his own relationship to his kids- is that Hallownest- well, is called that very thing. The Holy Nest, which PK describes as the eternal kingdom, the only thing with meaning in an empty mindless world, more real than real, more perfect than perfect- Elderbug comments wryly that the kingdom seems to promise everyone everything they dream, and I think it’s not just propaganda in how PK’s lore tablets talk about Hallownest. He obsessed on it. And I think, there is an implication, that this obsession comes rooted from someone who fled a ‘destroyed nest’.

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 way PK talks about the lands beyond the kingdom make it clear- he does not consider any other kingdom as real. And, with that encompassing scope... it’s basically unavoidable that this is how he talks about where he was born. Where he came from.

Not that he thinks it’s unimportant. But that he thinks of it as truly nothing. Why would anyone, for any reason, want to be out there? 

There is no world beyond.

We also know that this is a biased account of the wastes. Quirrel’s prequel comic has him note how bleak and inhospitable the wastelands are- but he also finds quite a lot interesting or of note. He picks at smaller creatures, has amiable conversation with other travelers, explores caverns and passages and finds the whole experience exciting, or at least, not monotonous. The world as we see it through Quirrel’s eyes is certainly barren, but not bereft of detail and intrigue. But to PK, it’s all just dust, meaningless and useless, and this is, as I said, pretty shocking when PK implicitly was born in the wastelands (if not, I think he’d have more to say about those other kingdoms) and Quirrel seems to have been born within Hallownest. 

This is the same person who tells others not to hide their true form when the cast-off shell and the kingdom’s obsession with masks both call him a hypocrite in this regard- PK internalizes this “sense of nothingness” into his self-image. He simultaneously sees himself as Everything- the shining god-king, the perfect arbiter, he whose will and word is law incarnate, to be pressed indelibly into the minds of his cold, perfect servants-  and Nothing- the horrible, wretched beast that crawled in from the unspeakable emptiness beyond the kingdom that cannot be the true form of anything, just the embarrassing sow’s ear he forged himself out of and left lying in the wastelands without grave or acknowledgement, putting his ostensibly indifferent, but perhaps fearful back to in the form of an enormous wall.

[chipper-smol]

Vanilla 2 Chain

Prompt: Hollow experiences phantom limb syndrome 

is more angst time

( https://twitter.com/Perfidy19  )

Nothing lasts forever.

That was the last lesson the Hollow Knight received from their father upon being sealed away in the Black Egg Temple.

Nothing lasts. Not Hallownest. Not the Radiance. Not Father.

Not even the Void, as they had discovered during the time they were sealed away, watching as the Infection searing within their arm at last tore away the final, stretched strands. A silent snap, and the detached limb fell to the floor, sinking into the ground in a pool of writhing ink.

It was then that they had realised, finally, the irony of their predicament, the stump left behind burning with the searing rage of the Old Light.

If even the all encompassing Void did not last, then Hallownest’s perpetuation was truly an impossible wish.

They lamented the irony of it all once again, now as they sat hunched over in their current resting spot, in the corner of an abandoned village home. Ironic, how the very one who had wished the most fervently for an eternal kingdom, would also be the one to teach them the inevitability of the end.

The stump where the Infection had once burned now throbbed.

Yes. Nothing lasts forever. Not even the knowledge that they had once believed timeless meant much in the end. The court manners? Hallownest’s upper class was dead, rules hardly mattered anymore. The training their father, the Pale King, had bestowed upon them? Pointless. They barely even had the strength to stand up. The only, right way to deal with the Infection?

Clearly, that information had been wrong from the start, seeing as how their rejected sibling had found another way to do away with it entirely, while they had only managed to buy time.

“Do you want something to eat, Hollow?”

They raised their head at the sound. Hornet scuttled in through the door, her needle clenched in her fist, a bundle of… something wedged under her arm.

“I did not know what your preference was,” she tipped the contents of the bundle onto the floor. Two speared tiktiks and some baby gruzzers rolled onto a bed of dried nuts and grass. “So I brought a bit of everything. But the gruzzers need some treatment before they can be eaten, so-“

Hollow listened as she talked, her bustling, business-like manner reminding them strongly of the late Queen of Deepnest. Hornet had changed since they had last seen her. No longer the scampering grub that they remembered, she had grown up into a fine hunter, perfectly capable of defending herself.

To think that she had once been no taller than the hilt of their nail, wielding a toy needle made of shellwood. It had been amusing to watch her run around the White Palace, full of energy and free from the stiff formalities of the Royal Retainers around her.

Endearing. Inquisitive. A bit of a troublemaker, but her mischief never put anyone in harm's way. They fondly recalled the days when she would take their nail and attempt to swing it around in the same fashion as the Great Nailsage, her little legs teetering under its weight.

Father had never liked when she did that. While Mother merely watched in amusement, he would personally confiscate the nail, then proceed to sternly lecture her on the dangers of sharp, metal objects. Not that she listened.

Father had not liked it either when Hollow was about to learn the way of the nail. Clumsy, he had called them. Without a mind, he claimed, it would be difficult to teach them to properly balance and swing the weapon, let alone fight with it.

And he had been right too. A long time they had spent practicing alone in secret, repeatedly thrashing the heavy training nail up and down, up and down all through the night, trying to imitate the way the Great Knight Dryya had done it.

Up and down, up and down, the weight of the training nail dragging heavy on their arms, the pain of lifting it twisting at their spell hand, the strain tearing through their shell, through their Void, through the bright, bright orange light that-

“-can you even eat?”

Hollow twitched in surprise, shaking their head clear of the pained haze originating from the stump of their arm.

“No? Well…” Hornet stared down disappointed at the small pile of food she had collected for them. “I suppose I’d never seen the little ghost eat before.”

The look of hurriedly concealed distress on her face was familiar, and made them feel ashamed of worrying her. They raised their a- ... their other arm from where it had been resting on their nail, and picked up one of the nuts. Delicately, they pretended to nibble on it, then hid it away within the Void inside their shell.

Hornet visibly brightened up.

“Oh! So you can. I was worried for a moment there. I’ll go get some more supplies, make this place more comfortable. Then, once you’re well and rested, we shall find a way up the well for a more permanent residence.”

Hollow nodded, then slumped back into their thoughts as Hornet ran out the door.

Thoughts. It was frightening to think that they had been… well, thinking, this whole time despite trying their best to stay empty. The one expectation from their father had had towards them had been simple. Do not think. Yet the act of thinking had become so natural to them that the idea of not thinking had become a notion in itself.

Perhaps that was why their sibling had succeeded where they had failed. They had not been empty enough, not pure enough. Where the Radiance’s angry cries should have fallen on deaf ears, they had instead listened, endured, resisted.

And then when she noticed, oh, she had been so very angry.

And so very pleased.

They could almost see it now, the glaring orange dreamscape blazing with her ancient fury. The floating pavilions bathed in flames, the endless fall through the burning sky. Her booming voice screaming down at them from above, echoing through the infinitely stretching space. Cursing them for all the things their Father did, and Hallownest did, and the moth tribe did.

Through the burning hellscape, her cold, glaring eyes stared right into them, chilling like ice, bright like the lighthouse down in the Abyss. Her eyes shone such cold, piercing light into them, through them, exposing them and their falseness.

I WILL NOT BE FORGOTTEN.

They lifted their arm to fight back, to chase her away. They conjured glowing daggers at their fingertips and thr- no, they didn’t throw the daggers. They tried again, but they couldn’t throw the daggers, the daggers were still there, at their fingertips, in their fingertips. They were right there, building up soul energy focused into their hand, but they couldn’t let go, and it was there, building up, that searing white bubbling to molten orange and burning and burning right up to their shoulder and the world was burning and they were burning a-

“Hollow?”

They were once again torn away from their thoughts and the pain in their stump by Hornet gently shaking their arm (Their sword arm. Their spell arm was still gone. Still gone yet it was still there hurting, but it was gone).

She was worried now, that was bad. How did she know, when they had never uttered a word, had never been able to utter a word? Their mask was still expressionless… perhaps their body language? They realised that they had been shaking this whole time. Simply distracted from that fact by the persistent, burning throb in their shoulder.

They dipped their head. How shameful. To think that they used to be able to wait through days of longing for Mother and Father’s company, without displaying signs of being anything but empty. To be able to continue through their training under a facade of normalcy, despite their mask being on the verge of cracking. They had been able to endure years of the Radiance’s torment, all her terrible dreams and her screaming voice.

Yet now? It was just a lost arm, an old wound nonetheless, but it was already tearing them apart to the point of showing such a weakened side of them.

“You seem upset,” Hornet’s voice was gentle, a tone that they had not heard in a long time. “Are you alright?”

They began to shake their head, then nodded. Then slumped over.

“Yes? No? I don’t know?” Hornet sighed. Then, to their surprise, came to sit down next to them. “Are you lost?”

A sigh.

“I certainly feel lost, Hollow. Hallownest was gone. Now so is the Infection. And the little ghost, I… I can’t find them anywhere.”

Hesitantly, they patted her back.

“I don’t know what I’m supposed to do anymore.”

Me neither.

A moment of silence. Then she glanced up.

“But you’re back.”

Hollow tilted their head.

“And that’s good, isn’t it?

Nothing lasts forever.

“You’re not the Pure Vessel, and I’m not the Princess of Deepnest.”

Not Hallownest.

“You don’t have to contain the Radiance anymore.”

Not the Radiance.

Her voice turned shaky.

“I don’t have to… put our siblings to rest anymore.”

Not… Father.

“We can do whatever we want.”

Nor the mindlessness of Void.

...

But none of that really mattered in the end, did it?

“That’s right. It’s alright. It hurts. All of it hurts, but...”

Hornet smiled, and put a hand on their shoulder. For a moment, it did not hurt quite so much anymore.

“We’ll work this out together, won’t we?”

( @hawaiianbabidoll​ )

( @alaska-ren​ )

Falling. Flawed. Forsaken. Forgotten. And that sickening, sweet glow of orange.

They deserved this punishment. Every damn second of this madness. It is their sin, it is their lie that caused all this. If they had come to their father and confessed, they would die. But death was a much better fate than ​this.

The irony. Their end was much like their other siblings’. Falling, eternal, until the inevitable crash.

They only wanted to save their father’s kingdom. Only wanted to make them all proud. Only wanted to be who they were supposed to be.

A failure.

It’s a sea. A constant sea of faces and expectations, with two becoming larger and larger as the years passed.

One pale shining light crowned with horns. One small shell with betrayed, black eyes.

It’s their fault. Gods, it’s their fault. It’s their fault they deserve this it hurts father pleaseithurtsIdon’twantthishelphelpfaultmyfaultmYFAULTIT’SMYFAULTFATHERIT’SMINEF ATHERFATHER F A T H E R

End        Me

                Fathe-

The Hollow Knight shot forward and reached for their nail, only finding a warm hand holding their wrist. Flowing, gentle red filled their vision and the warm hand placed theirs back on their lap.

“Sibling,” Hornet called out again, softer this time. “You’ve been dreaming.”

Hollow lowered their head, the void inside them pulsing and making their shell cold and trembling. Hornet hesitated, and with Hollow’s nod, sat beside them. Hollow stayed still, and would have placed a calm air if they could ever do it again at all. They had no more need to hide, so why...

“Sibling!”

“Troubled mind?” Hollow huffed and looked away when Hornet chuckled. “Care to let me in?”

My mind is a dark place, sister. I do not want you to be here.

Hornet’s eyes softened before crossing her legs and hugging her knees close. “Silent as ever, sibling.” The wind crawling through the dark caverns served as her only response.

“Do you regret this? All of this?” Hollow twisted their head and their wide eyes met tired ones. Their chest squeezed in anguish, sorrow, and grief. They were not the only casualty in this war between gods. They copied Hornet’s pose, and placed their head on their only arm.

... There are many things I wish I had done, but if I were given the choice to sacrifice myself once more for our future, I would do so in a heartbeat.

Perhaps it was their shared wyrm parentage, or their bond as siblings, or just pure intuition, but Hornet more than felt Hollow’s unspoken reply. “Oh, no,” she chuckled and shook her head, “No, no, no, I won’t let you do it again.” Hornet turned her body and fully faced the sibling she grew up with for so many years. “You will not sacrifice yourself again. Not to me. Not to any of us. Not to yourself.”

Hornet stayed quiet, eyes never leaving Hollow’s lowered head. Hollow didn’t have the energy to look at her anymore, to even lift their hand anymore. Both Hornet and they were born for a purpose. With that purpose stripped away, what are they?

“We were both children, sibling,” Hornet’s words carved through the silence, and struck right into Hollow’s soul. “Children are not meant to carry something as heavy as... this.”

“It is much easier to disappear, isn’t it?” Hollow’s eyes rose to look at Hornet’s cloak, too tired to look her in the eyes. They nodded, it is easier. If they disappeared, they wouldn’t think, wouldn’t feel. They’d be so much closer to being ‘pure’.

“You know, when you were sealed in the egg, when you disappeared... When... my mother disappeared,” Hollow swallowed a lump in their throat when a tiny crack shattered Hornet’s voice. She stopped her words and looked away. Hollow watched as she swiped at her eyes and took in deep breaths.

“I have watched this kingdom grow, fall, and die. I stayed when everyone left. I could have chosen to disappear as well, it would be so easy.”

“But that is not what it means to ​live.”​ Hornet moved and placed herself in front of Hollow, her red cloak billowing around her.

“Hollow, I want you to live.”

I do not know how.

Hollow’s silence was disturbed by the rustling of fabric. They watched as Hornet dusted herself off and in moments looked as the Princess Protector of Hallownest she always was.

“Then, do you think you can walk with me, sibling?”

The tilt of her head and bright determined eyes took hold of something in Hollow’s chest. Something warm.

I think... I can walk with you, sister.

Hornet stood and offered her hand, “Together?”

Together.

( @snakeyarts​ )

( @nonbinary-ghost​ )

Hornet let out an almost imperceptible sigh as they reached the hot springs, the damp air warm against her shell. The journey from the Black Egg Temple to the Crossroad’s Hot Springs was not a long one, but it had taken her more than a day to reach it given her… charge. 

Hornet glanced back at her sibling, something twisting in her shell at the sight of their battered form leaning heavily on their longnail by their one remaining arm. Their whole body shook as they panted for breath, bits of void leaking from the deep wounds in their side and the crack down their mask despite the bandages of webbing Hornet had applied. They way they slumped weakly, like an old rag doll with the stuffing worked out of its joints, made Hornet’s heart ache. They looked scant inches from death.

Hornet did her best to mask her worry, trying to exude an air of calm confidence as she stood upright, ever ready to dart forward to catch them if they stumbled. She urged them forward with a hand wave, hesitant to touch them for fear of causing them more harm. Sometimes, when hurt so gravely, it was best for one to move for oneself if possible, since one knew what ways would hurt.

The tension in Hornet’s shoulders eased only once she helped lower the once Hollow Knight into the warm waters of the hot spring, offering her hand for support as they unsteadily waded into the water. She watched in wonder as they visibly relaxed into the warmth, the flow of void leaking from their injuries slowing as white flickers of light began to float around them. Hornet was relieved to see that the graveness of their injuries did not render them completely immune to the regenerative properties of the hot springs and she finally allowed herself the tiniest glimmer of hope. Maybe…maybe they would be alright. 

She glanced down at the hard, cloak-wrapped bundle clutched under her arm. Carefully, as if afraid she’d break it further, Hornet unwrapped the shattered mask from the tattered grey cloak she’d swaddled it in. That strange, twisting feeling again clawed at her chest at the mask cracked perfectly in half cradled in her hands.

Ghost…

When she had swooped into the Black Egg Temple to aid them against their sibling, Hornet had possessed little hope for any of them to survive. At best, she’d hoped to defeat the Radiance, to vanquish the infection once and for all. At worst, she knew a slow, painful fall to the void or infection would be their only end as the Radiance’s calamity continued to blaze through what little remained of Hollownest. To be perfectly honest, she had thought hardly anything at all. She only knew there was an opening for her aid, a way to give Ghost the chance they needed to enter the Hollow Knight’s dream as they had with her mother. Survival had been, frankly, the last thing on her mind. 

Yet, when she had awakened once more in that temple, soft white light seeping in through the shattered ceiling to replace the fading void and haze of infection, that traitorous emotion had crept into her shell. The veins of orange infection lacing the walls of the temple withered and died, fading to black before crumbling away. That almost painful stab of hope only grew sharper when she discovered her sibling, the Hollow Knight, sprawled across the cracked ground, void dripping from their missing arm and the deep pits in their shell, but somehow, miraculously, still alive. 

Ghost, however, had not been so fortunate, and the nail of remorse that had lanced through her at the sight of their shattered mask had nearly brought Hornet to her knees. It wasn’t fair. The three of them had done it. They had won. They had beat the Radiance and her infection. Together. So why, then, had she and the Hollow Knight survived, but Ghost had not?

Knowing it was futile but still harboring that foolish flicker of hope, Hornet lowered Ghost’s broken mask into a shallow edge of the spring. Maybe, if their mask was whole, Ghost could come back, as the Hollow Knight had.

The white shards stayed sharp and jagged in the murky waters, as inert and still as stone.

Hornet’s shoulders slumped and that childish hope sputtered and died in her chest. 

The quiet slosh of moving water brought Hornet’s attention up to the Hollow Knight, surprised to find them moving about already as they carefully, hesitantly, shifted toward her. She blinked at the way the glowing light of the hot spring coiled around them, and for the briefest of heartbeats she imagined that light held a more yellow tinge, splaying out behind them in the Radiances starburst. She could almost imagine their eyes again alight… but no. No, the light was white and wispy, nothing more than steam, and the Hollow Knight’s one uncovered eye was a steady, empty black. The Radiance was gone. Hornet’s sibling was cured. 

For a moment, Hornet put aside her disappointment over Ghost’s mask and allowed herself to revel in the relief and joy that zinged through her at the sight of the sibling she had long assumed lost to her alive, if not completely well. She searched their void-black eye for any flicker of light, as the mental image of their glowing-orange eyes seeping tears of infection refused to fade. She cringed as she recalled the way they had turned their nail on themself in a desperate attempt to cut that infection away, to prevent their body from being puppeted into hurting Ghost. She reached out a hand, not quite touching their white mask still half covered in bandages. She was not sure if her touch would be welcome, or if it would only cause her injured sibling greater distress. 

“Hollow –“ she choked, surprised at the tightness in her throat. She swallowed. What was she going to say? ‘I’m glad you’re alive’? ‘I’m sorry for everything that happened’? Somehow, everything that came to mind felt inadequate and she fell back on the security of practicality. “Are you alright? Do you still hurt?” 

Her sibling stared a moment, as if processing her words. Slowly, they lifted their sodden cloak to glance down at the bandages wrapped around them. Their right arm was still missing, long since eaten away by the infection and well beyond the hot spring’s ability to heal, but the dark void no longer bled from under the bandages. Hornet reached forward, intending to unwrap the webbing to take a closer look, to be certain they were no longer hurt, but the way their sibling went absolutely motionless at the movement froze her in place. She abruptly recalled that they were completely unaccustomed to such care, even prior to becoming the Hollow Knight, and the only sensation they had experienced for all this time since they was pain. Did they fear her touch, worried it would bring harm?

“I promise, I will not hurt you,” she assured them gently. “I wish only to remove the bandages. May I?”

Stare.

Then, ever so slightly, the barest nod of their mask.

Hornet carefully, oh so carefully, removed the bandages to reveal the scarred shell underneath. No longer open, bleeding wounds, the Hollow Knight’s injuries were little more than slightly duller grey scars along the perfect black of their carapace. However, when she unwrapped the bandage over the Hollow Knight’s eye, Hornet had to stifle a flicker of sorrow to find their mask still cracked. She gently cupped their cheek, staring into their eyes as a confusing swirl of emotions eddied through her. The sharp ache of hope in her chest was only sharpened by the dark coil of fear twisting and untwisting in her belly – the fear of doing too little, too late; of potentially discovering that her sibling was actually hollow after a fashion; the fear of them not. There was an uncomfortable itch of confusion somewhere in there too, at their shared survival, and a warm flicker of gratitude tainted with sorrow that they had, even if at Ghost’s expense, though it pained her to admit as much. But most of all was shame, and a steady, burning anger that pulsed in the pit of her belly at what had been done to her sibling, at what trials they had endured.

“I am so sorry,” she whispered. For what, she couldn’t quite find the words to say. How did one apologize for anything that had happened to her sibling? She knew none of what happened to them had been her fault – she had been far too young, too small, to prevent their binding. But she still felt the deepest shame at her continued inability – nay her refusal -  to brake those bindings herself, at the role she played in even preserving them. A cold, fracturing pain broke her heart as she fully comprehended just how much they had suffered in all the time that had passed. How could one ever adequately apologize for that?

She could feel the Hollow Knight begin to shake slightly under her touch, their shoulders trembling as their breathing became labored. For an instant, Hornet feared something was wrong, that she’d hurt them somehow, that they might vanish in a cloud of void just as Ghost had. 

But when dark tears of void began to spill from their eyes, and their quick breaths quickly dissolved into silent sobs, she realized they were probably only just beginning to process what had happened to them. She went to withdraw her hand, intending to give them space, but their own hand quickly covered hers and they leaned into her touch. Surprise pulsed through her at the motion, at the clear assertion of want without her prompting. An instinct Hornet had long thought dead had the spiderling wading into the water with her sibling and wrapping her arms around their shoulders. They were so much bigger than she that she had to stand to give them a hug, even as they remained seated. But the way they clung to her as shuddering sobs raked through them made them feel so small and fragile in her arms, and she blinked away tears of her own. She gently stroked their back as they cried, holding them tight as if her arms alone could keep them from falling apart. She found herself murmuring that it was okay, that they could cry now, they could let themself feel. The Radiance was destroyed, her infection gone. They had done it - they had kept their oath despite it all. She promised them they were safe. They were free.

For how long they remained like that, Hornet could only guess. Her back and arms had long since begun to ache at holding her much larger sibling aloft, but she steadfastly refused to be the first to draw away. Her sibling needed her, and this time wyrm damn it she was going to be here. 

After a time, the Hollow Knight’s breathing slowed, and their shaking lessened. She let them draw away at the slightest tug. The last thing she wanted to do was make them feel trapped. Their white mask was stained with dark streaks and she retrieved one of the bandages to wipe it clean. Her sibling pressed their mask into her hand as she worked and she got the sense that they were trying to express a form of gratitude. Relief and joy had begun to overwhelm all the other emotions that still twisted in Hornet’s chest – not quite replacing them but at least quelling them. Her sibling was alive, and this time they were free. It felt a wonder that such a thing could be possible, and some small part of Hornet swelled with pride at the knowledge that she had helped make this happen, even if mostly unintentionally. She vowed that this time, she would make certain they got to live fully and freely. 

Her thumb brushed the jagged edge of the crack in their mask and Hornet’s mind began to search for ways to make things better for her sibling, needing to prove to them through actions that they truly were safe now. That she cared.

“I wonder if the Mask Maker could repair this,” she mused, her thoughts drifting to the strange recluse who lived above her home in Deepnest. She knew he had been the one too craft the Hollow Knight’s mask as they grew up, since the vessels were incapable of molting like an average bug. If he was still alive, maybe the Mask Maker could help heal her sibling.

A thought occurred to her with a cold prickling across her shell and Hornet turned to Ghost’s mask still sitting broken in the water.

Perhaps…

Hollow let Hornet pull her hand away and she carefully plucked those white shards from the water, re-wrapping them in Ghost’s old cloak. Her motions were quick with a new purpose and the Hollow Knight stared at her, their confusion clear in the tilt of their head. 

“I have an idea,” she admitted, tucking the bundle in a silk bag under her cloak. A fragile hope had begun to rekindle in her chest. “There might be a way to get Ghost back.”

She paused, then asked, “Do you want to come with me?” 

( https://twitter.com/RannHKnight )

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[capricornus-rex]

Two Sides of the Coin (3)

Chapter 3: Picking Up A Lead | Jidné Sheedra x Cal Kestis

Summary: Hell-bent on exacting revenge and retrieving the Holocron, the dreaded Darth Vader is now on the hunt for the young Jedi Knight, Cal Kestis. Under the assumption that he still possessed the artifact, while fueled by the intrigue of the boy’s strength and skill with the Force, the dark lord hires the bounty hunter, Jidné Sheedra, to track him down and have him delivered alive. However, the task becomes a trial for young Jidné, as she faces a conflict that tests her beliefs of a scarred past she had hidden for so long.

Also in AO3

Tags: Fem OC, Jidné Sheedra, Force-Sensitive! Fem OC, Bounty Hunter! Fem OC, Jedi! Fem OC

Chapters: Part 1 | Previous: Part 2 | Next: Part 4 | Masterlist

3 of ?

As Jidné got out of the castle, her stomach plummeted to her feet and her legs transformed into limp noodles—barely doing their job and instead dragged her along in every step. It was gradually sinking into her that the person who gave her the job was one of the most feared figures among the Jedi. She clutched her abdomen, crumpling the center of her jacket while waiting for the entry ramp to unfurl.

Not wanting to look back over her shoulder, she knew that she’d have the safety and privacy she needs within her vessel: a Dynamic-class freighter that she personally retrofitted and anointed the Crescent Scarab. It was a fine work of art that she greatly took pride in, so much so, that she has modified everything to her liking. She darted to the lounge of the ship, lousily putting down the canister and then splaying herself over the sofa.

Coming from the cockpit, an ID seeker droid acknowledged her arrival and greeted her. Its multiple claws on its tentacles flowed and twitched as its single eye panned left and right, scanning its owner.

“Hey, Eye-Dee Three,” Jidné greeted back.

The droid named ID-3, formerly Imperial property of another probe droid variant, is the only other passenger in the Scarab besides the pilot, Jidné herself. The droid chittered in its raspy, monotonous string of notes as it hovered closer towards its owner.

“Yeah, I’m okay, just… felt like jelly is all,” she brings her hand on the top of the black droid’s flat dome for a head.

The young bounty hunter detached the holster from her belt and set it down on the table, right next to the canister of credits. She stared at both objects for a good long minute, contemplating and pondering her strategy on how she’ll begin with this contract. Jidné reached out for her weapon holster first, taking it with both hands and then unbuttoning the flap—a polished, silver emitter pokes out of the lining.

She gently tilted the holster downward until an enough length of the weapon inside slid out. She caught the shaft before it could completely fall off. She rolled the hilt across her hand, feeling and tracing for the etchings, curves, and dips of the design. She held it high and proud, in the same way as she finished constructing it, the tassel that she knotted around the ring of her pommel caught her eye. Two strands, unequal in length, dangling at the very end of the hilt. The longer strand had seven turquoise beads, at the end of its thread is a cluster of feathers—three to be precise—though the wear and tear was very obvious; the short one had four beads of the same color but lacks a feather.

“Feathers are almost gone,” she hummed, fiddling the remaining tufts.

Her heart skipped a beat—it always does, even though she has done this many times. In her hand, the cold metal of the lightsaber’s sleeve stung the nerves of her palm. A small, somewhat satisfied smile curled along her lips—the weapon had brought her good memories, but also nightmares—and that smile became fleeting like a comet. Her thumb ran across the metal finish of the body and found the switch, the idea of igniting it was seductive—a temptation that she has no strength to fight back.

The snarl of the ignition took her breath away. A vibrant purple blade bore out of the emitter, its glow colored the paleness of her cheeks and reflected against the gloss of her brown irises.

“Jedi, huh?” she muttered to herself.

“Beeee-deee, trill?”

“That’s right, ID, we’re after a Jedi,”

Jidné sighed, and then switched her saber off before tucking it back into the pouch.

When her legs finally regained their strength, she walked to the cockpit and beckoned her droid companion—who still hovered close to her side—and joined her in the seat. As she put herself into work mode, she recalled the very helpful detail that Darth Vader gave. She breathed out a resigned sigh that drowned in the hollow hum of the Scarab’s engine revving up.

In a galaxy that stretched a thousand times more than the eye could see, how is she going to narrow down to finding a single Jedi?

“Say, ID, how likely are we to stumble into a redheaded Jedi on the run?”

“Beee… chirp!”

Jidné chuckled at the response, “I figured as much.”

With little base information she has, she knew she had to be resourceful. Lately, she’s picked up murmurs from Baz’s stronghold—as well as the gossips in the cantinas she frequented in Modala—that bounty hunters were also after a Jedi, solely for the bounty on his head, not because Darth Vader had hired others behind Jidné’s back or the other way around.

While gossip wasn’t exactly the best source material, she had to make do. The young bounty hunter swallowed her pride and entered the coordinates of her first stop.

Upon seeing the coordinates on the computer, ID-3 erratically chittered in protest.

“We have no other choice, buddy. They’re the closest we can get to the target,”

ID-3 lowed in disagreement, submitting to Jidné’s decision and continued assisting her in the ship, much to his chagrin. His owner sensed the disdain and petted its flat dome again.

“Don’t worry, you’ll stay close to me, right?”

“Beeep!”

Jidné smiled and boosted the ship’s throttle, following their course to Ordo Eris.

——————————————————–

Jidné piloted the ship with great care, evading the rock debris and asteroids that floated within the orbit. Her destination was dead ahead: one of the biggest rocks in the field, a needle of the infrastructure built within, a fiery orange glow encircled the central crater’s inner rim.

“I really don’t like this place,” she complained to no one in particular—except herself.

She slowed down the speed of the freighter until she got close enough to the outpost. A red blip flashed on her screen and vanished seconds after spotting it. There was a noticeable gaping crack of the arena’s ray shield wall that protects the outpost from the elements outside the planetoid, the young hunter added that to her list of questions once she lands.

The Scarab docked on the empty arena. It wasn’t entirely new for her see it devoid of animals and sentient creatures fighting for dear life, though it was a better sight than the deafening chorus of wild cheers mingling with animal roars. The Scarab’s landing gears disturbed the floor of the arena, creating clouds of sand around its pads, the exit ramp unfurled for Jidné and ID-3 to alight the ship.

A trio of bounty hunters approached her, there were more standing by the arena’s walls as well. Shortly after, they gave way for their Umbaran boss clad in silken, luxurious violet robes—he stuck out like a sore thumb around the orange light that filled his colosseum. For someone with sallow, prominent cheekbones and paper-white skin, he moved quite flamboyantly—contrast to his sickly appearance—perfectly matching up to the vibrancy of his rich, violet robes.

“We need to talk, Sorc,” the bounty hunter abruptly began, not having time for the dilly-dallying.

“Well, well,” he spoke in a singsong manner. He rubbed his goatee as he swayed. “It’s been way too long, dove. Come, come!”

Jidné didn’t come closer, even though Sorc beckoned her with his fingers covered in rings, so much so that the fingernails were the only ones exposed.

“Oh come on now, little dove, you act like we didn’t have history together!”

The bounty hunter rolled her eyes and shook her head, “Don’t call me that. Plus, that history was basically me being your delivery girl of animals and captives. It’s no big contract, just a sideline.”

“Ah, but you gave me a lot of good stuff for my arena! When you worked for me back in the day, I never ran out of customers—always looking for some mauling, goring, and all that crazy stuff!”

Completely uninterested of Sorc’s rambling about his business of arena fights between humanoids, humans or sentient beings against wild, senseless animals, Jidné cut to the chase.

“I don’t have time for stories, Sorc,”

“Of course, you aren’t. But, you know, intel—”

“Isn’t your expertise,” Jidné finished the sentence, even though that wasn’t exactly what Sorc was going to say. She put her hands over her waist, “But you’re the only one I know who could give me just that. Think of it as a compliment.”

The Umbaran pursed his lips, he opened his palm right in front of her. Fishing two gold chips out of her pocket and then tossing them to the hand, his fingers greedily caged the money into his fist and hurriedly tucked them into his robes.

“Always so hasty,” he rolled his eyes and smacked his lips. “Alright, what do you wanna know?”

“A boy. Redheaded Jedi.”

Sorc Tormo purred a long “Ahh” and wagged his finger at the girl, a mischievous grin stretching ear-to-ear on his pale white face.

“Handsome?”

Jidné’s eyebrows pulled together, creasing her forehead.

“I don’t see how that’s relevant, but okay, I guess?”

A throaty snicker rumbled from the Umbaran, still wagging his finger at the girl in a more teasing manner—it was almost childlike.

The surrounding bounty hunters subtly showed signs of hostility towards Jidné, her eyes already caught their movements with the slightest of side-glances: the ones standing closest to them were tightening their grips around their blasters, the ones who were a little far away but still within earshot had their hands slowly wandering towards their holsters.

She got the hint. Apparently, the Jedi was a prize indeed.

“Now that is an interesting subject—even for you, sweetheart!” Sorc Tormo guffawed, leaning to his knees while keeping his eyes on her.

She pointed at the damage with her thumb over her shoulder, without needing any words to make out the question, Sorc Tormo immediately has the answer.

“Ah!” he clicked his tongue. “We got a little… caught by surprise.”

“One hell of a surprise, if you ask me,”

“Oh honey, you don’t even know the start of it!” he swatted the air with his hand.

“He did that, didn’t he?”

Sorc Tormo’s boisterous guffaw startled the young girl as she awkwardly watched him laugh straight at her face. When he still hasn’t gotten all of the laughter of his system, he’s still chortling as he swings his arm at the air.

“Aww, ya shoulda see the baby go! Slashing away and getting chocked up by my pets and men. Crowd was wild, I had a full box that day!”

“You don’t know where he is, but you’ve seen him,” she insinuated.

Sorc got carried away with the compulsive need to tell it all, a force of habit, from the way she picked up his words, it was clear as the eye-straining color of his gaudy robes—the redheaded Jedi has engaged with the Haxion Brood.

“And you’re after him, too?”

“Hey, it pays the bills, sweetie!” he throws his arms to his sides, solely focusing on the topic of money. “Honestly, I could care less about the kid, but knowing the price on that pretty head of his, you really can’t blame us tryna make honest work, eh?”

“He’s mine!” she snarled, taking two steps towards Sorc.

Immediately, his bounty hunters became defensive of him, stopping her in her path by pointing the barrels of their rifles at her. That didn’t scare her, though, she takes another step close to the point that the holes of the blaster press against her body. She shot a dirty look at the pair of bounty hunters.

“If there’s one thing I hate: it’s competition.” She added.

Sorc chuckled, unintimidated and kept up his lurid façade, he gestured his hand in a circular motion that covered Jidné’s front.

“From what I could read in all this defensiveness, I strongly deduce that you have a contract out to get him.”

“Good job, man, do you want a prize for that?” she sardonically rebutted, keeping up with the Umbaran’s sarcasm with her own flavor.

There was no constructive reply from Sorc, other than another throaty chuckle. The girl’s patience is being stretched thin by the minute, not until she’s satisfied of filling the gaps that Darth Vader left in the job description.

Her sarcasm was quickly replaced with an imposing snarl through the clench of her teeth, “What else do you know?”

“He travels with that little gray grub that owes me a shitton of money!”

“A lot of little grubs owe you a shit-wad of money, Tormo, you’re gonna have to be much more specific.”

The syndicate boss sighed, often forgetting that this little bounty hunter was a persistent one—too persistent for her age rather. He shooed away his bounty hunters from being human barricades between Jidné and himself. They eased up, leaving a gap for Sorc and Jidné to converse with less distractions, but they still kept an eye on the girl—wary of her movements as she’s already starting to be aggressive.

“Alright, alright, fine! Your redhead is with the ship called the Mantis—it’s an S-161, you’ve been a mechanic part-time, right? You should know what that looks like. Now, for the grub that baby boy drives around with—he’s a stubby, little guy. Kinda old, wiry hair, bald on the top.”

“The companion—is he human too?”

“No, that grub is a Lateron. Stout, little thing. Four arms.”

Jidné tossed one last golden chip at Sorc, to which he skillfully caught into his hand; he fluidly slipped it into the inside pocket of his robes, making a soundless clink with the others, as he watched Jidné turn her back at him and walk away.

“Pleasure doing business with you, dove! Don’t be a stranger!”

“I plan to be!” Jidné clapped back before fully disappearing into the ship.

Sorc Tormo watched Jidné prep up the freighter, he even giddily waved goodbye at her to which she repaid with a fed-up rolling of the eye; she ignored him after that, focusing on the dashboard monitors of her ship as she eagerly flies the ship out of the rock. The freighter’s throttle blew at the entire arena—everyone’s capes and coattails flapped and smacked against their legs wildly as Jidné maneuvered the ship to face the gaping crack of the outpost’s wall.

“Are we gunna go after ‘er, boss?” one of the bounty hunters asked.

“Sure. It might be fun to have the baby boy and the baby girl together—they either kill each other or save each other, whatever and whichever works,” Sorc thought out loud, he rubbed his goatee with his ring-covered fingers and a grin stretched across his wrinkled, sallow face. “A ransom… no, a fugitive’s bounty on her head too! Yes, that would be very delicious. Go on now, SHOO!”

All of the bounty hunters dispersed, whooping in glee and greed as they gathered into their crude ships, bringing along the HURID-class droids for added muscle and brawn. Sorc Tormo stood idly in the exact spot he’s been staying in ever since Jidné came until she left, he listened to the barbaric laughter and chatter among his men; that greedy, coy grin never melted in his face—the only thing that ran around his brain was the idea of having sacks upon sacks of credits delivered to his private chambers, rewarded for the joint bounties of the Jedi and Jidné.

[therejectshollowknight]

The Rejects chapter 1

The buzzsaws whirred. They were shining silver and if a visitor wasn’t paying attention they would think that the machinery was just an accessory. Reject-43 knew better. The buzzsaws were tools to test their siblings and themself. Time and time again, Reject-43 watched their siblings fall to the deadly blades. The sound of splintering masks will never leave their head.

Reject-44, Reject-43’s favourite sibling, bumped into them. Only three remained from the clutch-40; 43, 44, and 45. Reject-45 was currently facing the swirling blades, though it doesn’t seem to be going well. Striking their sword against the spikes and buzzsaws was never Reject-45’s strength. They preferred spells, but would do what was necessary to complete the gauntlet. After all, continuously facing the gauntlet was better than being tossed into the Abyss after failure. They were all failures, but at least the Rejects were still useful for making alliances.

A new charm was pinned to Reject-44’s cloak. It was a variation of the Monarch-Wings, changed so that the wings were long and trailing on the ground. They had just finished the gauntlet. Reject-43 had gone prior to them, and was sporting a similar modified charm. Their wings were tucked away - the delicate things looked like lace, a pattern they very much so disliked. 

There was a shriek of a shade being let loose. Reject-45 had fallen to the saws. Reject-43 and Reject-44 leaned into each other. The Pale King watched the two of them with eyes void of emotion, and gestured to one of his retainers to put the shade in a jar. The noise of the sawblades stopped so that the retainers could gather up the failure safely. The mask for Failure-45 was dropped into the jar with the shade, and the void creature gathered itself back into the mask. The jar was sealed and rolled over to the other failures from today's gauntlet.

There were still plenty of clutches to go through the gauntlet, but clutch-40 was done. Of the decuplets, only two were left.

*******************************************************************************************

The storage room where clutch-40 was kept was nearly empty. The beds that once held their siblings were covered in dust. Reject-43 sat silently on their bed as Reject-44 pulled food out from a secret stash. They offered some to their sibling, who shook their head. Food wasn’t a necessity for the voids, but Reject-44 liked to eat. 

Their room was dark and cold. The only light came from a single window, for the Rejects weren’t even allowed to have lumafly lights in their room. The dark and cold was to remind them of the Abyss, to show them that they were always able to be tossed into it. They were expendable, so they weren’t to be shown the comforts that the other bugs were to have.

Reject-43 turned their head towards the empty beds, unnamed emotions swimming through them. The void tendrils wisped out from them, reaching towards Failure-45’s bed. Reject-44 turned their head and watched the tendrils reach out. They shoved the rest of their food under their mask. They hoped off of their bed and walked towards all of the empty ones. With a great heave, they flipped the mattress onto the floor. They did it again and again until all of the empty beds were on the floor. Reject-44 looked at their sibling and motioned for them to join them into building a mattress fort. Together, the two siblings dismantled the bed frames and when the mattress fort was complete Reject-43 had completely forgotten their turmoil.

The two siblings cuddled into each other and the fort, their legs kicking back and forth as they drew simple pictures on the floor. Each drawing was a mask of the failures, so that they wouldn’t forget them. 

What will you do if I fail? Reject-44 asked, it’s void-voice curling in its siblings head.

I would throw myself into the Abyss and join you.

No! The shout echoed around Reject-43’s head. You must live! 

Then I will leave! Reject-43 stated. Reject-8 left. I don’t see why I can’t.

Reject-44 nodded their head. I will do the same. No matter what, we have to remember our siblings. 

What if one of us were given away? Reject-43’s voice was quiet as it asked its question. I don’t want to leave you.

Would it be so bold for both of us to leave together? Reject-44 asked. They didn’t want to be alone either. We’re Rejects, and there are plenty of us. We can find Reject-8 and live with them, or join the Troupe! The Pale King hates the Troupe.

And the Troupe hates the Pale King. Along with anything related to the Pale King. Many bugs consider us an abomination. Why would the Troupe be any different? But, yes. We should leave. Tonight!

A chuckle rang like a bell in Reject-43’s head. We need to plan first. We can’t just leave. We have to be sneaky about it.

Reject-43 nodded their head. It wasn’t like they could just walk through the front door of the palace. What do you have in mind?

As the day passed into the night, the two remaining siblings of clutch-40 planned. Their minds were made up. The only thing that waited for them was the Abyss or a life alone if they stayed at the White Palace. At least out of the palace they would be together.

*******************************************************************************************

The Pale King approached the remaining two of clutch-40, and tilted Reject-43’s head up. The King was accompanied by his ever-present retainers, as well as a tall Lady-insect that provided a splash of colour to the place. The Lady-insect tilted her head, eyes squinting as she smiled. “Yes,” she said, “this one will do.”

The Pale King snapped his fingers and the retainers swirled into motion. Parchment and a quill that dripped void-black but shined soul-white were produced, and the Pale King and the Lady-insect signed it. The parchment was whisked away. Reject-43 was grabbed by one of the retainers and tugged away.

Reject-43 reached out as they stumbled along, claws stretching for their sibling. Reject-44 stepped forward, only to be blocked by more retainers. The Pale King watched as the two siblings fought for each other. With a snort and a wave the Pale King shocked Reject-44 into silence and submission. 

A screech roared through the air. A vengeful spirit ripped its way towards the retainers holding Reject-44’s body. The Pale King let out a sigh and dismissed the spell before it hit his retainers. The Lady-insects bodyguard swooped down from the ceiling and slammed the hilt of his sword into Reject-43’s head. Reject-43 fell limp, just like Reject-44. 

“Apologies, Hive Queen Vespa.”

The Lady-insect waved her hand and her bodyguard picked up Reject-43. “Not a problem, Wyrm-King.” She trailed a hand over the shell of Reject-43. “Clutch-Siblings don’t like to be separated. I see it in my bees all the time.” The Pale King nodded. Hive Queen Vespa continued. “Worry not, Wyrm-King. The vessel will be fine in my care.”

The Pale King walked Hive Queen Vespa to the door of the White Palace, decidedly ignoring the way that the Hive Knight held Reject-43. The vessel had been cuddled into his fluff. “You may build your tram through my territory, Wyrm-King.”

Hive Queen Vespa delicately stepped into her carriage, and the Pale King watched in silence as they pulled away. 

*******************************************************************************************

Reject-44 woke up in their storeroom. They had been dropped on the floor, and retainers were busy taking apart the mattress fort. The previous drawings on the floor were being smudged away.

Reject-44 stood and walked out the door. The hallway was void of any workers, which made it easy for them to work their way through the palace. They were unsure of the passage of time. The White Palace was kept brightly lit at all times of the day, and the natural dimness from being so far underground. There weren’t any kingsmould patrolling or wingsmould watching. So Reject-44 walked. 

The gauntlet area was empty and silent, so the Pale King must have been done with the trials  today. 

Reject-44 continued to walk. No bug made a move to stop them, and Reject-44 walked out the front doors of the palace.

[etlunainmorte]

“Any last words, Little Lamb?”

The tears just fell and your heart ached awfully.

The entity, who, apparently, was loyal only to its real “Master”, has brought you involuntarily to the death’s door. You knew there was no turning back.

You bowed down low, letting your tears fall on the ground. Controlling your sobs, you looked up and glanced into his empty bloodshot eyes one last heart - wrenching time, and let out the words you so wanted to tell him for the last ten years,…

The massive heart of the Dreadnought pulsated weakly in response to your dying heart. With a soft voice, you whispered your feelings, pouring out all of the emotions and frustrations that piled up over the years of being controlled by the entity.

“I love you, V.”

For a moment, the man let the sword down, seemingly conflicted with something. He pinched the bridge of his nose as he started chortling, a bit soft, at first. Then it gradually became louder as he slicked his dark locks and threw his head back.

Your heart felt like it just shattered into a million pieces at the same time that the massive heart of the Dreadnought lost its radiance.

You bit your lip, trying to hold back the pain.

With a deep sigh, V raised the Yamato above his head, gripping its hilt with his weak, trembling hands and pointing it to your stomach.

His thirst taking hold of his entire being and engulfing what little humanity he had left, he declared with every inch of the true Devil within him,

“I choose,… POWER!”

***

I See My Future Before Me - Alternate Endings

***

***

You could hardly believe everything that happened that one, fateful day. V, who gained a great deal of power from the three Sisters of Fate, Cassandra, Andromeda, and Galatea, revealed that he was none other than Vergil, himself: Dante's twin brother who was thought to be dead. 

And with this insane amount of power, all of his wounds did not only heal. He gained his true form, as well.

However, what shocked you the most was not V revealing who he really was.

It was when he finally revealed his true intentions to everyone.

Searching for a great power to defeat Dante, and searching for an even greater one to keep his weak and fragile, mortal form, void of its all powerful Demonic half, intact without a single care of any of the consequences,...

It was,... too much for your own heart to bear.

The moment he agreed to the pleas of the powerless Lamb, Galatea, to set you free in order to receive the other entities that kept you alive and immortal for a long time, he,... has merely forgotten about you.

Well, he still knew you. He knew (Y/N) (L/N).

What he forgot were his feelings towards you,... when he was still V. From the ashes of those feelings he had for you when he was still in the fragile and vulnerable form of the poet and Summoner known simply as V, the adoration, the admiration, the glimpses of what could be considered as love, rose a man as cold as the winter evening. A warrior that was even stronger than Mundus, himself. From the remnants of the man you loved and would love until your dying breath, a Devil, who would never, ever love you in return, not while he's still alive, not even after his death, and not in a million years, was born.

His name,...

... was Vergil Sparda,...

After mercilessly killing Pandemonium of Destruction, the Demon behind the Dreadnought, and Lord Fleminger, the man behind all the insidious plans, the man descended to the Underworld and made his name known to all who dwelled in it. He overthrew its former ruler, Mundus, and murdered what remained of his three powerful loyal servants and their armies - Bedlam of Insanity, and Maelstrom of Calamity. He searched every nook and cranny of the foul place, murdering all who dared to lift even a single finger against him, until the only ones who were left were those who were unable to fight. Sitting on the throne that used to belong to Mundus, with the bloodstained Yamato on his hand, he ruled over them,...

... and what remained of humanity after his onslaught.

Humans and Demons alike were powerless against him. With Dante, the one hope, the one ray of light for the weak, gone, also by his twin brother's own hand, you, or Galatea, who remained by your side through this genocide and all this heartbreaking tragedy, could not do anything against him.

And you, being a weak human, were spared by Vergil. It was,... an act of mercy from the new King, the one Alpha and Omega, who ruled all. You had no other choice but to follow him as his servant and do all of his bidding.

However, there came a time when Vergil needed all of the Sisters of Fate back.

He needed Galatea.

But, why?

"Sparda." Vergil simply told you that one day as you stood and humbled yourself before him. "I could not find Sparda, even with Cassandra's guidance. I need the Past, the Present, and the Future by my hand in order to locate him. I need the weapons to find their forger."

"My Lord," You uttered, as meekly as you could, as you avoided his cold, cold eyes. " ... may I ask why you need to find Sparda?"

"FOOL!" His word cut through your heart and through the deafening silence of the room like a hot blade against ice. "Do you think I would stop after spilling blood all over this land? Until I find and kill the Last Knight, I would never be able to completely rule over this world!"

"He's,... " You stuttered, then took a deep breath. You had to remind yourself that he would never lift a finger against you. But that was only due to the fact that you still have Galatea within you. "But, he's your f - father,..."

Vergil did not say anything. Instead, he stood up from his throne and came down towards you. Step by loud, frightening step, he descended, until he was mere inches from you.

Only then did he make you look at him by forcefully  propping your chin up with the hilt of the Yamato.

"You have no right to deny what's rightfully mine." He spoke, his rage seething, his anger overwhelming you. "You are but a mere, disposable vessel who kept my weapons safe. I have looked upon you with merciful eyes, spared you, and protected you against the malice of these,... foul creatures.

"I now humbly ask this of you,... before it is too late." The man, then, removed the Yamato from you and unsheathed it, pointing the blade at you as a final warning. "I demand you to give what is rightfully mine. Do it,... for the sake of the man you love, worship and adore."

Your voice may falter, your knees may wobble, and your heart may fall apart. Despite that, you,...

... would never let him win.

Not this time.

"The man I love, worship, and adore," You declared with utter resolution as you slowly looked up at Vergil's eyes. " ... IS DEAD!"

***

@la-vita and @clevermentalitybeliever .

***

Before Vergil could even retaliate, the woman, that he once loved, worshipped, and adored when he was still a weak and fragile poet, raised the metal cane that he thoughtlessly discarded when he finally gained the power he sought, and let Galatea, the most powerful of the three Sisters of Fate, possess it.

Casting an unbelievable and powerful form of light that blinded Vergil, the metal cane radiated warmth and gave the woman enough power to do one last bravery to end his tyranny. Calling upon those three discarded thoughts that once helped Vergil in his time of need, she was able to push the evil man away with the sheer light that emanated from the cane.

With the last ounce of Galatea's power, the discarded thoughts of Vergil's past formed into a majestic bird, a ferocious tiger, and a massive golem that lent an even greater power to the metal cane in the woman's hand.

And with the last ounce of her strength and what probably remained of her own life force, she drove the metal cane to Vergil's chest.

Push after agonizing push, the woman drove the cane deep into his chest, the sheer sensation of it tearing her own heart apart.

Tearing her own emotions apart.

With the voices of those incarnated thoughts that urged her to end this evil, all of those memories of the past came cascading down upon her as Vergil's breathing slowly ceased.

Of her running away from him, of her being rejected by him. Of her simply walking with him, of her excitedly talking with him. Of her smiling at him, of her being smiled back by him,...

... of her dancing with him on that moonlit Grecian balcony, and of her seeing him after ten long years of searching.

After a hundred years worth of waiting,...

Oh, how it hurt,...

... it hurt so much.

Ending the man she loved above all else,...

... it hurt so, so much.

As the light of the cane ebbed away, the woman pulled it from his chest and threw it away. She kneeled and took his almost limp body. As his battered eyelids fluttered and his bloodstained mouth formed incomprehensible phrases, the two Sisters, Cassandra and Andromeda, left his body and disappeared like ashes in the wind, never to be seen again. Then, Galatea, along with the three discarded thoughts, appeared one last time before her, saying their farewells, and disintegrated into nothingness, leaving her with the man who was dying because of her.

And the man? Slowly, slowly,...

... he turned back into the man he once was.

Silver eyes slowly turning into green ones, white hair becoming longer, and muscular frame morphing into that familiar weak form,…

He changed back into the mysterious man called V,...

It was in this pitiful state of sorrow and hopelessness when the Last Knight Sparda finally made himself known to the woman.

Crying, worn down, and void of happiness, he found her there, cradling the lifeless body of the man she loved.

His own son.

She looked up at him with gladness as if he was her last hope.

"Forgive me." The Last Knight spoke. "For allowing you to bear all this pain. For letting you carry this task alone. For allowing the prophecy to come into fruition. Forgive me."

The woman smiled at him as tears rolled down her beautiful, tired face.

"Let me join him, please." She uttered her last wish. "Give me,… peace."

And as Sparda raised his own weapon to oblige and allow her this one last act of kindness and mercy, the lullaby that softly came from  her lips rang in his ears until her last breath, haunting his soul forevermore,...

Wept for me, for thee, for all,

When He was an infant small.

Thou His image ever see,

Heavenly face that smiles on thee.

Smiles on thee, on me, on all,

Who became an infant small,

Infant smiles are His own smiles,

Heaven and earth to peace beguiles,...

***