Chapter Text
The Grand Gate of the Citadel sits empty now that the haunting has ended. Bugs that were once under the thrall of the strands now lay either as freed corpses owed their eternal rest or found their way to the growing settlements and camps, leaving the hall largely vacant.
It is better this way, Hornet thinks, leaping from giant chandelier to chandelier. The Grand Gate is too large to serve any practical purpose; just an oppressive flaunt of opulence. All the better to be torn down.
“I do not recall any shrines in my travels through this area,” she says to Lace, who insisted on leading the way upon their return to the Citadel from the Coral Tower. The few days since their joint venture into the Sands of Karak seems to have left an impression on her companion. A sort of eagerness to prove herself.
The silken bug lands elegantly on the floor, brushing off dust gathered from passing through the old chandeliers. “You doubt me? I’ve lived here for far longer than you have, spider. Perhaps longer than you’ve existed.”
Hornet lands next to her, using her fay wings to soften the landing. “You certainly have lived here longer than I. But on the matter of age, I doubt your claim to be my elder.”
“Oh Hornet, don’t be fooled by my youthful demeanor! I still remember when your Weaver kin abandoned Pharloom. And when the remaining ones enacted their scheme to put Mother to her eternal slumber.” She gestures around them with her arms. “I have seen this Citadel pass through the claws of many leaders, each maintaining the most magnificent lie.”
“Hm, I too have lived through a kingdom’s downfall. Perhaps your claim has merit.”
“You mentioned it before. Care to elaborate?”
Hornet turns her gaze to a silkfly trapped within its glass prison, a trapped soul, bound only to shed light for others. “My kingdom of Hallownest was overtaken by the Pale Being known as the Radiance. She spread the Infection, a plague of the mind and dreams in order to force bugs into her thrall and worship.” She strikes the jar with her needle, freeing the silkfly.
“How familiar. So that is where your bold claim of slaying gods comes from. I take it that you had a hand in vanquishing that Radiance?” Lace stops in front of the empty elevator shaft and stands on the switch to summon the elevator.
“I did. Though, the deed was hardly mine alone to claim. Long after Hallownest fell to ruin was she finally destroyed.” Hornet walks past Lace and peers over the edge. She knows the only means of transportation here lies in a crumpled heap of metal far below. “The elevator broke upon my last use.”
Shaking her head, she steps off the mechanism. “Ah. I should have known, with your inclination towards destruction.”
“That I cannot deny. A trait offset by my ability to craft and build as well.”
“You spiders were very crafty.” Lace giggles and takes a seat at the edge of the shaft, crossing one leg over the other and pats the space on the floor next to her. “Come now, we can spare a moment for a story. This is the most I've heard you talk about your origins. Tell me more about that distant kingdom and your battle against the pale one.”
“If only to quench your curiosity.” Hornet sighs and takes a seat besides Lace. Her silken companion had been insistent on prying information out of her, to varying degrees of success. Inquiring or commenting on the “how” and “why” of Hornet and their surroundings. Determined to peel back layer by layer, some sort of truth she so strongly seeks. “It was my sibling who struck the final blow, and the one who dared to save a ruined kingdom. My contribution was far less noble – I played the role of sentinel for countless ages as my homeland rotted away.”
Lace waves her pin to “conduct” nearby silkflies towards them. It offers minimal light, and she holds a claw out for them to flutter around. “You had a sibling? And here I thought you were the last of the Weavers. What happened to them?” Rare is it to hear genuine curiosity and interest in her voice.
“I had many siblings, but none were Weaver. They are…gone. Likely lost to the void, from whence they came.” Upon her companion’s puzzled look, Hornet explains further. “The Wyrm, my father, believed that children born of the Void could contain the Infection. His words: No mind to think, no will to break, and no voice to cry suffering…No cost too great.” Hornet clenches a hand. “He wanted a pure vessel, one born of Pale divinity and Void to trap the Radiance so that Hallownest may reign eternal.”
She pauses, closing her eyes. Even now, peering into those memories stir long buried feelings. “His favored child, the Hollow Knight, was to be sealed eternally in a temple locked by three chosen Dreamers – a prison for the Radiance, and those who guarded it. All that sacrifice…and it still yielded the outcome least desired. His plan was flawed from the beginning. None of his spawn were truly hollow and so the Infection continued to spread through the land until few bugs of sound mind remained.” She turns to Lace. “Now you understand why I could not sit idly by as a kingdom suffered under the whims of Pale Beings and watch it happen a second time.”
Lace barks a sardonic laugh. “Ahahahaha! Truly a tragic tale. Pale gods do make for awful parents, don’t they?”
“In pursuing their goals, Pale Beings do tend to overlook mortal concerns.” She thinks of her fool father, with mild disdain. ‘Though I cannot speak for all, as another Pale being raised me after my mother became a Dreamer. The White Lady. She was benevolent and wise, and though strict, she wished to prepare me for the cruel truths of the world we inhabit.”
Lace sends the silkflies away. “How lucky for you to have had mothers that cared. And a home that welcomed you.”
“You had a tumultuous relationship with your mother. And that is an unfortunate fate that many bugs share, divine or not.” Hornet places a hand on Lace’s shoulder, only to have it brushed off.
“Oh spare me your pity, spider. You’ve already rid me of that problem.” Lace draws her knees up to her torso, mood clearly soured.
Hornet tilts her head, contemplative. “Do you resent me for what I've done?”
Lace turns her head away from her, emotions toiling beneath those pale eyes. “I do… You robbed me of the opportunity to do it myself.” She scoffs. “But what can I expect? I set you free. I let you live. In a way, I paved the path to her downfall.” She stands up abruptly. “Forget it. You've told your tale. Best we keep moving.”
Hornet grabs her wrist, pulling her back before she storms off. “Speak your mind, Lace. It would be better to air your troubles rather than let it keep poisoning you from within.”
She lets out an aggravated sigh, pulling out of Hornet’s grasp and wringing her claws while pacing back and forth. “I… I was created to be loved, Hornet. And to love in turn. That is my whole reason for existing. To be a child.” She clenches her claws. “But for years, all I felt was resentment. Towards her. Towards myself. Towards this entire accursed kingdom. Mother considered me mad. Broken. Even now, with her gone, it haunts me so.” She stares upwards, past the large arching ceiling, and probably even beyond, to where the Cradle lays, destroyed. “And the worst part is that despite it all, I still wanted her attention. I wanted to play the part I was made for – that loyal, loving child. Her knight. Her joy.” Her eyes narrow into slits, sneering at the thought. “But when the news spread of surviving Weavers – of your existence – you were all she wanted. Your silk. Your strength. She wanted nothing more than to wake from the damned slumber your scheming Weaver ancestors put her through. And so, I set you free to deny her. I wanted her to hurt. To want and stay wanting for something unfulfilled. To suffer, like I have.” She laughs again, gesturing at herself. “Am I not cruel, Hornet? This is what you've spared.”
A brief silence fills the air between them, charged and heavy, as both consider the weight of revelations finally voiced. Hornet is the first to break the silence. “Love is a powerful emotion. Left unchecked it can grow into tragedies.”
Lace crosses her arms. “I've known nothing but tragedies since my creation,” she hisses. “By your logic, I must be overflowing with love.”
Hornet ignores her biting tone, calm and composed in the wake of Lace’s outburst. “I have seen how it unites bugs, how it can drive one to do the impossible, and how it can tear you apart.” She gently glides a claw down the flat of her needle, the only surviving keepsake of her time training with Vespa at the hive. A relic of her home, now a cherished memory. “In the end, love was what ultimately destroyed Hallownest. For love begets sacrifice, even if the price will cost everything held dear. It is a double edged blade.”
“How awful.” Lace clutches at her chest, as if she could reach inside herself and tear out the silken heart. “It would be better not to feel at all.”
“Though it may lead to pain and grief, it will temper you beyond what you thought capable." She places a hand over Lace’s. “Let yourself feel. It is proof you are a living being.”
“Platitudes again, is that all you have to offer?” Despite her words, she allows the contact to continue.
They stay like that for a few beats, attuned to the gentle pulse of soul infused threads. Lace looks down at the connected hands on her chest and then to Hornet. “I tried to kill you. I turned against my own Mother. Aren’t you afraid I will betray you too?”
Hornet retracts her hand. “Afraid? No. And should you try, then I will cut you to shreds.”
Lace giggles. “My, how cold, spider. And here I thought you were warming up to me.” Tensions eased, a lone silkfly returns to the duo.
“Betrayal first requires a foundation of trust. Do you intend to earn my favor only to lose it?”
She gives her a coy look. “Hm. You will just have to find out, won't you?”
“It seems we both have much to prove to the other.” Hornet peers downward into the depths where a forgotten shrine waits below. “It is time we continued.”
“Back to business, then. You best follow closely.” She leaps over the edge, and the two continue their descent.
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Lace leads them to a door barred by thick vines and bramble. Hornet makes short work of the entanglement with her needle, leading to an area that seems reclaimed by nature, reminiscent of shellwood, a stark contrast to the gilded metal infrastructure of the Citadel.
“I hope you don't expect anything extraordinary, this has been forgotten for decades.” Lace steps aside, letting Hornet wander in first.
“Forgotten or not, it will still bear the memory of what it once were.”
It takes a while, having to navigate through the thorns and overgrown passageways, but they emerge upon a large tunnel. Surrounded by old corpses of choir members sits a bug with a leaf-covered vestament, so still and stiff that Hornet almost mistook it for another dead body, had he not jolted up at their arrival.
“Halt stranger! I am charged forever to guard the sacred shrine beyond. Any who wish to pass must cross their weapon with mine.” He announces with confidence and poise.
“Stand aside, warrior. This kingdom’s monarchy has been claimed by me, and I wish to seek audience with the one who lies enshrined.”
“My loyalty does not lie with the monarch, only to my charge. I am bound to protect them, and should you step further, you will see my weapon raised.”
“Very well-”
Lace brushes past her, holding out an arm to stop Hornet from stepping forward. “It would be too easy for both of us to fight this one. Allow me.”
An unexpected request. Regardless, Hornet stays her blade and nods her head. “Proceed.”
Her silken companion laughs and twirls her pin, the shrine guardian raises his weapon and shield in return. She proclaims loudly. “Prepare to be skewered, guardian! We will be getting past either way.”
The two engage in battle, as Hornet stands back to observe. Neither really seem to gain much advantage in the beginning, as they figure out the other's technique and attack style. Lace manages to evade most of his strikes and charges, while her own attacks are deflected by the shield.
She fights offensively and aggressively, relying on her speed and nimbleness to overwhelm. The guardian mixes offense and defense, the clangs of metal resounding when he blocks her strikes, and also when he throws the shield as an attack itself. They are both exceptional warriors of the pin, though had Hornet joined, the fight may end much more swiftly.
Lace gains an upper hand when she parries his attack with multiple of jabs of her own, many which pierce the guardian’s shell before he can raise his shield. Despite being heavily injured, it only seems to increase his fervour. He lets out a battle cry before jumping into the air and striking down in an explosive frenzy. One of such strikes catches Lace, knocking her unsteady and leaving her open to the tip of his pin puncturing her in the torso. A deep wound, only worsened by a follow-up shield bash.
The injury forces Lace to switch her tactics, relying on the defensive and finding openings. She waits for him to throw his shield and as he lunges forward in the followup, she trips him, hooking the curved handle of her pin around his leg and yanking. Another swift kick disarms him as he's prone on the ground.
With a triumphant smirk, she steps on his back to keep him from reaching for his weapon, and positions herself so her pin will pierce his throat. Before Lace can deal the finishing blow, Hornet intercepts. “That's enough. You have won.”
Lace narrows her eyes, displeasure plastered all over her expression, pin still raised and poised. “Mercy, spider? Truly?” she hisses.
“He is a formidable warrior that carried out his duty with diligence. Pharloom would benefit from his skill.”
“Hmph.” Before he can stand, she uses the blunt end of her pin to whack his head, and he stills. “Suit yourself. See if you can force him to change loyalty.” She walks away from his unconscious body, inspecting the wound upon her woven shell. “Ugh, A lucky strike. I will admit he is more skilled than the average chorister or reed.”
Hornet joins her and grabs her wrist to move it aside. “Vren.” She easily mends the torn threads of her shell, the wound deep, but only superficial, having missed any vital parts.
Lace gestures at the hole left in her garment. “What of this? Do you intend for me to walk around in tatters like the pilgrims?”
Hornet kneels to inspect the guardian, finding him alive, but unconscious. “It would serve to teach you humility.”
She glares at Hornet. “And you need a lesson on proper etiquette. Is it wrong to care about appearance? Or one’s few belongings?” She eyes her signature red cloak. “I know how much you treasure that thing.”
A memory of the fly jailor’s repugnant stink resurfaces and she scowls at how many washes it took to get rid of the scent. “It is different. My cloak serves multiple purposes, beyond my own personal attachment. I don't wear it solely for appearance.”
Lace crosses her arms, indignant. “Well that is how I felt about my silk suit. Which you tore up! I do believe you owe me a new garment, spider. Can't you weave me something?”
“I’ll consider it, after we finish this task.” She walks ahead, onwards to the shrine proper, with Lace trailing behind.
It is an old building covered in hanging vines, housing a fountain carved of a being that appears more flower than bug. Clean water flows through it, and it's well cared for, despite its age.
Hornet strings her needlin but before she can play, Lace places a claw on her arm. Rare is she to initiate touch, Hornet pauses and regards her curiously.
“Do you expect me to follow you again?”
Hornet does not reply immediately.
“I see you hesitate, spider. Won't this be an apt demonstration of my trustworthiness? I could stand guard over your unconscious body as you valiantly battle with some old warrior of the past.” She giggles, letting go and strolling a few paces away. “Of course, if you think me truly so nefarious, you could just drag me into the dream again. And then we will both lay vulnerable to any lurking beasts or that shrine guardian you refused to let me slay.”
As loathe as Hornet is to allow herself to be in such a vulnerable state around anyone, Lace made fair points. It could also be a scheme for her to enact revenge while she is helpless. It boils down to whether or not she can trust Lace with her life.
Hornet plucks a few strings of the needlin. “Do as you will.”
With a pleased hum, her eyes curve into amused crescents. “Enjoy your nap, Hornet.” Lace leaps away, out of earshot as Hornet plays the Elegy of the Deep and descends into slumber once more.