Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Mary didn’t know how long she would have gone on, completely unaware of the slowly growing tensions in the kingdom, if it hadn’t been for the bar fight.

Mary, who had been locked up in the White Palace and terrified of being seen had spent most of her time in Hallownest, tucked away from the world.

And now, she spent most of her days exploring every nook and cranny of the kingdom.

She had made it a personal goal to check out every single shop in the City of Tears and eat at every restaurant and food stall in the entirety of Hallownest.

It had been a bit hit or miss flavor wise, but there was this one little bar at the edge of the city that had somehow managed to make something like a scotch egg, and Mary had become a regular.

The bar didn’t actually have any walls, only a ceiling and a door. The various overlapping awnings and slanted roofs of the surrounding taller buildings all funneled the water together and dumped it onto this one area, creating a curtain of water that served as the walls.

It was a bit loud, but it was actually quieter inside of the odd structure than outside of it.

Well, in the sense that there was less of a roar from the falling water. The patrons for this particular place were a rowdy bunch and could shout over what noise there was.

The patrons of this place were mostly the carnivorous in the bugs in the City of Tears. That meant that they were on the larger side with more natural weapons on their bodies.

This also meant that they were a bit weaker to alcohol than a herbivorous bug, and got louder and cruder as the drinks kept flowing.

Mary still remembered the song that a patron had being singing off key when she first found this place.

It had been about a pretty mantis lady who ate her lover during sex and then the bug came back from the dead to get a round two!

Needless to say, she stuck around to see if anyone else would be singing.

But while she had stayed for the singing, she had come for the food.

And that is what had brought her here once again.

Mary had to jump a little to climb up onto the seat at the counter, but once she was settled the bartender immediately slammed a tankard of her preferred poison in front of her. She immediately drained about a third of it and half collapsed onto the counter.

The bartender, a cave cricket, flicked one of their antenna’s at her.

Mary had eventually figured out that it was bug’s version of an eyebrow raise.

“One of the kid’s I watch recently got the sex talk. And so, she’s been telling all of her siblings all about it. But she forgot some things, added others in, and now the whole brood is convinced that sex is rubbing two butts together.”

The bartender, and the bugs around her, all had a good laugh at her misery. She didn’t have any dirty songs to share, or any raunchy jokes that would translate well, but who didn’t love funny stories about children?

“Smiles, those kids of yours get the wildest ideas! Almost as bad as me and my sisters when we first discovered how pretty some bugs could be.”

Mary turned toward the bug talking to her.

It was a one-armed bug nick-named Leftovers. They had been the one singing the song about the mantis.

Mary didn’t know the details behind their nickname, but she could give a pretty good guess.

“I can’t even imagine the trouble they’re going to be when they start to notice that bugs are pretty. All I can hope for is that their standards are going to be too high for any normal bug to ever meet.”

“Speaking of a bug of high standards, where is your gorgeous shadow?”

Mary turned her face fully toward Leftovers to let them know that she was giving them her full attention.

But, you know, in a sarcastic kind of way.

They grinned at her, full of mischief.

“Holly had some business that they couldn’t get away from, and wipe that smirk off your face, you better believe that they have high standards, much higher than you could ever reach.”

A bug on the other side of Mary let out a hearty laugh, “If ‘ole Leftovers can’t reach those high standards, then how did a tiny thing like you manage it.”

Mary snorted before taking another gulp of her drink. No matter what she told the bar-flies they never believed her when she said that her and “Holly” weren’t romantically entangled.

It was funny, because they were answering their own question.

‘How could someone like ‘Smiles’ catch someone like ‘Holly’?

Simple answer!

She didn’t.
Hollow loved her, there was no about in her mind about that, but it wasn’t romantic!

She was the only one they were close to that wasn’t related to them after all, it was obvious that she would be treated a bit differently.

It wasn’t their fault that they didn’t know what their affection looked like to outsiders.

Hollow just wasn’t socialized well, they needed to meet more bugs and have a variety of different relationships.

After all, they had grown up only seeing their parents interact and the affection of their little sister. They only knew how to interact with others that they cared for by either taking care of them like a child, or holding them like how they learned from their mother!

Always dragging the Pale King into her lap for a cuddle and a kiss.

So, it wasn’t like Mary was special or even had their romantic interest, it was all just one big miscommunication!

Mary was sure that when Hollow got some friends that they would broaden their love language and others would finally realize that it’s not that Hollow has romantic interest in Mary, but that this is just how they interact with others!

With lots of gentle touches, offers of food, and overprotective tendencies.

Mary was shaken out of her thoughts by the bartender setting a small plate of her preferred order in front of her.  

It was about the size of her fist and deep fried. Mary had no idea what it was, and made it a point to never ever find out.

All that she cared about was that it satisfied her craving for fried food and sorta tasted like beef even if it had the consistency of a soft-boiled egg.

Mary tilted her mask up and ignored the way that Leftovers shifted a bit to get a better look at what little of her face they could see.

She knew what they were after.

Her jaw strained a little to get the top of the fried ball in her mouth, and then she chomped down. It was hot, and it burned her mouth a little bit, but there wasn’t any time to stop and let it cool. These things tasted best hot and fresh!

Her teeth broke through the crunchy covering and she had to start sucking hard to keep all of the juices that were released with her bite from running down her hands.

Eating these things were noisy and messy affairs. It was a food that would have never shown up on the Pale King’s dinner table, but god, they were so delicious!

Mary finally managed to get the juices inside of the ball to a level where they wouldn’t dribble out, and took a moment to get a breath in.

“Oh wow. No matter how many times I see it, it’s always amazing.”

Leftovers had gotten closer as she had been eating, and without Hollow here to take up the seat next to her, they were getting an unobstructed view of her messy eating.

Mary tossed them a glare through the smile of her mask. Whether or not they saw it didn’t matter, because Leftovers simply didn’t care.

The bug had some sort of thing for teeth and eating.

Mary had been convinced that it was some kind of fetish, but Hollow had assured her that Leftovers wasn’t putting out any pheromones while they watched her.

They just . . . really really REALLY liked watching her eat.

Mary was honestly dreading the day that they offered her a bite of them, just so that they could feel her teeth punch through their carapace.

Mary very purposely turned her attention from Leftovers and asked the bartender, “So what’s the news on the streets?” before slurping up more of her fried egg thing.

That was the other reason that Mary came to this bar.

News filtered through the palace retainers and her assistants, but they all seemed to sanitize it for her. Her image of the storyteller making them all a bit uncomfortable to tell to her about what she actually wanted to hear. They did was tell her about the important things going on in the tunnels, but sometimes she wanted something a bit more . . . trashy.

“The Faight sisters are all fighting over the same suitor.”

“Mmmmhm!?”

“Apparently he wasn’t able to tell the difference between the three of them, and so was accidentally courting them all when really he had been aiming for the oldest one named Karat.”

“Mmmm.”

“The other two sisters knew this, and just pretended to be her.”

Ohhh, spicy!

Mary continued to eat while listening to the most recent dirt picked up from the streets. She had no idea who these people were, but the gossip was still super enjoyable.

Mary was just licking her fingers clean, learning about how there was some kind of marrying boon going on in the Gruz raising villages, and how the newlyweds all were visiting the City of Tears, when there was a crash and raised voices behind her.

Mary nearly fell off her stool when she spun around to see what was happening. It looked like a disagreement between a pair of older bugs that had turned a bit physical.

The bugs were the same species, a beetle looking type with a horn on their faces, but they didn’t tweak Mary as family. They were right up in each other’s business, with the table that had been between them turned over onto the floor. They were still yelling at each other, but Mary couldn’t make out their words.

Mary had a wild moment of regret that she had come here without Hollow, how she might be in danger since she was alone, how she was so foolish to have ever left their side.

But then the bartender unfolded like a pop-up tent and stepped over the bar and half-way across the room to place their hands on the two fighting bugs, and shoved them hard enough to knock them off of their feet and through the wall made of water.

Mary was pressed into the bar in shock. Her eyes followed the bartender as he retracted his outrageously long legs and arms back to his body and settled himself to stand once more behind the bar.

She had known that he was some kind of cricket, but she didn’t know that he had literal mile long legs. She had thought the things behind him were some kind of wings! Not his legs! Fuck!

Mary took a deep breath, and very purposely pulled her mask all the way back to position. When she was looking through the eye holes and not the smile, she turned all the way back around and tried her best to casually speak to the bartender who now spooked her the fuck out.

“Soooo, what was that about you think?”

What she was told, what the bartender suspected, what trends they had seen, their own trouble at getting supplies, made Mary forget her minor spooking and began to get concerned.

Hallownest is a kingdom buried in dirt. In history.

In bodies.

When Mary had walked the tunnels, first in fear, and then again with confidence, she had always found them to seem empty.

A million branching paths, that in the beginning had been a blessing and a curse. A hiding spot always within sprinting distance, but at the same time, an endless maze that she had never truly escaped.

She had originally just thought that was the way the kingdom was. Long empty tunnels that connected the small bustling hubs of activity.

Imagine her surprise when she learned otherwise.

“Wait, Hallownest is a TRADE kingdom??!”

The Pale King gave a halfhearted hiss. He was face down on his desk with a loose grip on a goblet that was only just up right enough to not pour its contents on the ground.

It was the Pale King’s day off.

Ok, no it wasn’t. It was the night before his day off, but Mary was certain that the clock had turned over to the next day by now. Judging by how the bottle of mead she had brought with her to grease the Pale King’s closed mouth was nearly empty now.

For all that he was a god of light and knowledge, who was once a giant Wyrm that struck fear into all that was beheld him, the Pale King was hilariously weak to alcohol.
All of his great magical power and godly standing not helping him at all when his actual body was pretty small. Well, the parts that were squishy were small, he had lots of legs and large wings, but those don’t do you any good when you’re drinking.

Whatever, the Pale King was a cheap date, and he was two goblets in and working on a third. Added to the fact that it was nearly assured that he hadn’t eaten in hours? The Pale King was fast approaching wasted.

“How is Hallownest a trade kingdom?! It’s located in a cave in the middle of a wasteland!”

It had been more than half a bug year since the last of the bodies that had been infected had been buried, and Mary had been relaxing.

She had had her one grand adventure of her lifetime, fighting a damned GOD, and she had figured that she could enjoy her pampered and slow life epilogue now. Just waste the days away with adorable children and public storytelling for the hell of it.

But with how often Mary left White Palace, but she had finally noticed the odd tension in some of the populace.

Well, she had noticed after it had been pointed out to her by the bartender.

The older bugs had seemed pensive when they would look at the crowds, but the younger bugs were just as carefree and joyful as always.

Mary had finally picked up on how tense the Pale King had been getting. How the White Lady’s eyes had been creased in those few moments before she would see who had come to visit her and then had her head emptied of everything but her children.

Hell, even Herrah in the times that Mary would run into her, would be doing a spider’s version of pacing. Knotting silk into webs any time she had to wait for more than a moment.

Mary hadn’t wanted to wait for the tension to come to a head, so she had taken matters into her own hands and shown up in the Pale King’s office after hours with a bottle of mead and a demand to know what was going on.

The Pale King had finally given in and told her that there should have been more travelers by now, and their absence was being felt keenly by the bugs whose livelihoods relied on the flow of goods and bugs through the kingdom.

“Hallownest is in the center of a number of villages and kingdoms. It is faster to travel halfway through a wasteland and make a single stop, than to go around a lush rim and make numerous stops. The wasteland is vast enough to make it dangerous not to stop in Hallownest for the traders, and often they could acquire what they needed in the kingdom from other traders who had similar ideas. With the end of the infection, the roads should have been flush with traders who could finally make the trip down the roads without fear of infection.”

The Pale King raised his head just enough to take another swallow from his goblet, “But there has been only the barest trickle, and only from travelers and thrill seekers, not traders.”

Mary took a sip of her own cup to buy her a moment, and hesitantly asked the most important question.

“Is the Kingdom in danger?”

The Pale King looked up from where he had been blearily gazing into his cup, and blinked for a moment before getting his thoughts in order.

“Not- not yet. But we need more meat. Deepnest and the Mantis Tribe’s have been having to buy more food from the Gruz raisers. That’s bad. Those tribes’ are usually self-sufficient and only buy food as special occasions or just because. But the infection heavily impacted the prey in the kingdoms.”

Another deep swallow, the Pale King’s mouth letting a dribble of mead trail down his neck and stain his white collar. He pulled back to stare at the empty cup before turning his fuzzy gaze back to Mary.

“It hadn’t been bad during the infection, not when the population was shrinking from the deaths. But now that they’re putting on egg weight, they need more food. But they need to let the prey that survived the infection recover or else they will over hunt and starve in the long term. But, Hallownest doesn’t farm enough Gruz to support two carnivorous villages. Especially not in a breeding boom.”

The Pale King dropped his goblet to his desk, the empty thing rolling until it fell to the floor. But the drunk Pale King ignored it as he reached for the bottle on the corner of his desk. Half crawling on to the large desk, his long body curling around the chair he had been sitting on in order to stay up right. When he did manage to reach it, he rolled onto his back and just stayed there, sprawled over the stone tablets and silk scrolls as he slammed the last of the mead, and let the bottle dangle from his fingers.

“It’s not bad yet, no one’s starving. But the ones who supply meat and hunt for a living have noticed how lean it is. But we need that trade or else even more bugs will leave Hallownest or the carnivorous bugs will have no choice but to break the laws of Hallownest and eat a sentient bug.”

The Pale King blearily pointed at Mary, the bottle in his hand swinging around with the motion, “We can’t recover from that. Hallownest doesn’t allow the eating of sentients. That’s too- too- not good. Very not good. No eating peoples.”

Oop, the alcohol had finally hit the Pale King’s ability to speak.

 That means it was time to drag the pickled bug to the White Lady, or else he’d start to cry about how beautiful his wife and children were.

Well, he would still cry, but at least the White Lady thought it was adorable and not vaguely uncomfortable like Mary did.

Mary finished her own cup and wondered over to the sprawled bug.

It would take a bit of doing to make him release the chair, but despite his length, he wasn’t too heavy.

Mary wobbled a bit as she kneeled on the ground to begin prying his little feet out of where they had dug into the chair.

As the one who got him this drunk, it was her responsibility to get him to bed.

Mary cast a glance at the Pale King who was mumbling into the neck of the bottle, clutching it to his body as he shook his head back and forth. His horns had knocked a lot of his stuff to the floor and his wings flapped weakly from where they were pinned under his own body.

 . . . alright, maybe she’ll need to bring his wife to him instead of the other way around.

They next work ‘day’ began on a bit of a sour note. With Mary giving the Pale King a dirty look as she stood before all of the information about the trade that Hallownest once partook of.

“These haven’t been updated in a very long time.”

“. . .”

“These are mentioning bugs that were dead before the infection.”

“. . .”

“This one is calling the bugs from outside of the kingdom, ‘godless heathens that would not know intelligence if it bit them’.”

“. . . that particular bug was expelled from his post as a trade officer when his less than savory views about non-native bugs came to light.”

“And then you never assigned another bug the job and tried to do it yourself, didn’t you?”

“. . .”

Mary collapsed into the specially made padded chair that lived in the Pale King’s office just for her. She tilted her head toward the ceiling as she began to truly grasp the situation.

“So, we don’t have any up-to-date information about the surrounding lands and kingdoms, because all of the bugs who would have that information all left during the early parts of the infection, and then just never came back.”

The Pale King’s wings shuddered and resettled on his back, “It’s a bit worse than that. The infection has been going on for a long enough time that at least one generation of bugs have lived and died outside of the kingdom. Cave bugs have always had longer life spans, and being in such a soul rich environment with so few predators and vast food resources have extended it a large amount.”

The Pale King seemed to be hurt by the next words that he said, “It is possible that in places with less long-lived species, or without a written language, that Hallownest has been turned into a legend, or forgotten in its entirety.”

Mary rubbed her face, “So we’re probably not getting any traders because the smaller areas don’t think we really exist, and the surrounding kingdoms have changed their trade routes and don’t want to gamble on a still possibly infected kingdom.”

Mary knew that if given enough time, that the curious would find them, the legend of the ‘eternal kingdom’ hidden in the howling wastes would surely bring adventure seekers, and then having those same people return with tales of a thriving kingdom would surely bring in the more cautious.

But they didn’t have years, they had a year, maybe, before the food supplies for the carnivorous insects would all disappear.  And in order for them to recover faster, food had to be acquired as soon as possible.

Hallownest needed that trade, or the population would shrink even farther. Either through migration, starvation, or the eating of sentients.

Mary chewed on her lip as her mind sorted through the options available.

“Can we send our own bugs to the kingdoms for trade?”

The Pale King shook his head, even as he explained his reasoning, “Not for the first trip. It’s likely that the towns have changed or that what they are willing to trade has changed. But the kingdom has no long-distance caravans, nor anyone who remembers how to make them. And the largest problem is that there are no bugs, sentient or otherwise, that can pull such things left in the kingdom. Not for the distances required.”

So that was the main problem. Hallownest was stuck in the middle of nowhere, because everyone that could leave already did so and took all of their pack animals with them.

“But we can still get there right? We know their general areas, and what they might have, right?”

“Yes. It is unlikely that harvests and local wildlife would change in a single lifetime.”

Mary nodded her head, a plan slowly coming together in her head.

“Were there god rulers in the kingdoms or villages?”

The Pale King blinked at Mary, seemingly thrown at her new line of questions.

“Ah, no. There are gods of course, but very few beings of my status interact with their worshipers so closely. I obviously do not know the current rulers, but I doubt that another of my kind had a change of heart. Though it has been a long time to mortals, it has been significantly less to a god.”

Mary picked up her notes once more, scratching her thoughts into the clay as she spoke.

“Ok, so we are dealing with regular run-of-the-mill bugs, no gods. So that means that if a god king from a legendary city hidden out in the wastes sent an invitation for some kind of event, implied that all the other kingdoms were coming, and gave them some fancy time keeping device so that they would show up on time, it might draw them in?”

The Pale King froze for a few of Mary’s heartbeats before diving for the silk map that had been copied off of the giant tablet that was hidden away in some other part of the palace, gigantic and nearly immobile.

The Pale King unspooled the map onto the floor and began to crawl all over it. His wings were perked up and buzzing in excitement as his many legs stamped all over the map to keep it down.

“It will be difficult to get the timing right. The last know destinations for these kingdoms are unlikely to have changed, but if Hallownest can nearly disappear then so can others. Some of the villages must have either disappeared or risen to cities themselves.”

Mary joined the Pale King on the floor, as she tried to make sense of the artistic map. “It might be better to send out more messengers then we think we will need, or at least have them bring extra clock gifts in case there are prominent places that you don’t remember or know about.”

“Each messenger will need a guard detail of course, but how many is too many?

“The exact wording of the letters will have to be a bit vague. Names change all the time, and it would look bad for you to have their names be wrong. Maybe we shouldn’t write an individual letter for them at all and just have the messengers memorize a speech and add in details as need be?”

The brainstorming session lasted for hours and the Pale King had summons sent out for Lurien and Monomon. The Deepnest queen was invited as well, and after some deliberation, an invitation was sent to the Mantis tribe and the Hive, though the Pale King knew that if anyone showed up, it wouldn’t be the rulers but a representative.

But a plan was forming.

The Kingdom of Hallownest would make a bluff about their power and prestige and draw attention to themselves by all of the surrounding bugs all at once.

Surely there could be no draw-backs what so ever.

It was almost as if Mary had forgotten that she lived in a bug infested fairy tale. The moment she had thought that everything would be fine, of course everything began to crumble out from beneath her.

Mary had her elbows on the table and her head in her hands as bugs yelled around her.

Mary had been ‘chosen’ to preside over the initial meeting of the representatives of the kingdom. The group was supposed to be discussing what they wished to trade and show so that there wouldn’t be too many similar offers.

The representatives of the various clans that made up Hallownest, and the nearby kingdom of bee’s had all devolved into senseless shouting and banging on the table that had formerly had neat stacks of chiseled stone that explained the plan, but were now half scattered on the floor.

How, you may ask, had everything gone to shit?

Well, it turns out that there was a semi-illegal fighting ring literally right above and to the side of Hallownest that had a high enough population of bugs that they demanded to be included in the meeting. A meeting that they shouldn’t have known about, but had shown up on time to anyway.

And now everyone was fighting about what qualified as being a part of the kingdom of Hallownest.

The representative from Deepnest of course denied being under the Pale King’s rule even if they acknowledged that their people depended on the kingdom for continued survival.

The mantis tribe would not say they were a part of Hallownest even if you leveled a knife to their eye.

The Greenpath bugs worshiped Unn and no other, though they might admit to casting a few prayers to the White Lady every now and then.

The Bees were offended at the mere idea of being under the control of someone who was not their queen.

And the rest of the bugs from Hallownest were offended that anyone wouldn’t jump at the chance to live under the Pale King.

The meeting had gotten 100% off track, and now the air was filled with buzzing threat displays and shouting.

Hollow patted her on the back, trying to comfort her from where they stood behind her.

Mary just sunk her masked face deeper into her hands.

She had been forced to put on her “Storyteller” face this morning, all golden details and white cloaks. She looked grand and powerful, and she was desperately wishing she could have worn the green one instead. It’s thicker sleeves would have given her more cushion to bury her face in and block out the chaos around her.

To shield herself from all of this stupidity.

Every single adult here had forgotten that the goal was to show the visitors a united front and at the very least pretend that this little forgotten corner of the world was worth getting in touch with. That we had things to trade and needs to satiate.

That the Eternal Kingdom of Hallownest was worth doing business with.

No one was going to want to make the trip out here to trade with a bunch of damned arguing children.

Mary lifted her head from her hands.

Sha had had enough.

Mary stood from her seat, nearly knocking the thing over and making Hollow step to the side.

She took a deep breath, inflating her chest before yelling as loud as she could, “BE QUIET.”

By virtue of having a pair of lungs, Mary easily out shouted the others, startling all of them into silence. Mary took the moment to cough a bit, her shout having hurt her throat some.

“You- cough, cough- have, all seem to forgotten what we are here to do. We are not here to make divides and draw lines between us. Ignore your hurt feelings and your old feuds. We are here to figure out how to show the entire world outside of our tunnels, that we are a strong united front.”

Mary stood straight and proud at the head of the long table, staring down every single one of the bugs in front of her.

“Even if it is a lie, we are all here to make it a convincing one. So, stop trying to reopen your old wounds and focus. How are we, the denizens in the tunnels, going to convince the bugs outside that we are a place they want to be? What do we have to offer that will convince them to come all the way here?”

There was a moment of silence as the bugs at the table realized that she wasn’t asking a rhetorical question, and actually wanted some answers.

The weaver at the table, of course, knew exactly what her people could offer.

“Silk and cloth. Deepnest is surely the only place with a high enough population of spiders that can afford to sell instead of spin webs.”

Mary nodded, agreeing with her words. “Yes, it is unlikely that there is another gathering of spiders as large as Deepnest, nor a group with such friendly relations.”

Then Mary ripped the rug out from under the preening spider. “So, it is unlikely that they will want your silk, having never had the option for it before.”

The spider jolted in surprise.

“We don’t know anything about these bugs. It’s possible, and likely even, that they have never seen woven cloth or have any idea for what they might use spider silk for. It would most likely be in your best interests to not try and sell raw materials, but small premade goods. Bows, sashes, cloaks, things that they can see and buy. Give them time to think of ideas, and of course offer the unwoven thread and bolts of cloth. But we don’t know what they will want, so we must cast our net wide.”

Mary left the spider to her thinking and pointed at the one of the Bee Delegates at the table. They all looked exactly the same, but the one that had been doing all of the talking (and yelling) had been wearing a hat that set it apart from the rest.

And now Mary made demands of it.

“You. What can the Hive offer to the bugs from beyond Hallownest?”

The Bee seemed to fluff up like an insulted cat, before speaking with an odd humming accent. Like their entire throat was vibrating like a cat’s purr around every word.

“The Hive can offer wax, honey and mead to the visitors. But this one assumes that more must be created?”

Mary nodded, her eyes flicking from the weaver to the bees.

Whenever anyone mentioned bees wax, candles always came to mind. Not to mention . . .

“You have healthy relations with Deepnest, yes? These bugs from the outside will most likely not be from places that have such a thriving Luma Fly population. Candles would be an idea with merit, a joint venture for you both. And wax, when applied to fabric can make it impermeable to water. Perhaps these bugs from the outside will want such fabric? If nothing else, the citizens from City of Tears would buy it.”

The Bees turned toward the weaver, their antenna waving in her direction as Mary continued down the table, pointing at bugs, demanding that they tell her their offers, and her critiquing or offering join ventures.

But then she came to the Mantis Tribe and the ‘Fools’ from the coliseum.

Mary walked heavily behind the gathered bugs, dramatics coming to her naturally as she left her seat of honor at the head of the table. Her new woven sandals making a loud “slap-slap” noise as she purposely walked to the opposite end of the table to where the both of them had been sat together, grouping the most battle hungry bugs together.

Perhaps in the vain hope that if they decided to attack, that they would go after each other first before turning one the rest of the table. She stopped behind the short bug who had proclaimed himself a fool, making him twist to look at her.

“What . . . can you offer?”

The ‘Fool’s’ representative spoke up immediately. “Battle! We can show these outsiders bloodshed and revelry like no other! The stands will shake with the cheers of victory and the caves will rattle with the shrieks of laughter at the failure of the weak.”

Mary stared in astonishment at the short little bug who had just preached at her.

“You are . . . an idiot.”

“No? I’m a Fool.”

Oh my god.

“No. No, you cannot offer that. We are not attempting to scare the new comers, nor do we wish to invite the types of bugs who are planning to make a one-way trip!”

Mary rubbed her masked face, and with a tone of voice of someone who knew they were asking for the impossible, “Can you offer anything else?”

There was some bluster, but the Fool had to eventually admit that he would need time to think on this before offering something else.

Mary sighed, there was no god to save her from idiots, despite how many roamed around these tunnels.

“What about you? What can the Mantis Tribe offer?”

The mantis, Ze’mer’s lover it looked like, tucked her neck a bit closer to her body.

Mary knew good and well that the Mantis Tribe was a group that made their money through the bartering of mushrooms, and being the scariest motherfuckers above Deepnest.

They didn’t really ‘make’ things, and Mary had just shot down the Fool’s about fighting. The poor girl had no idea what her people could offer besides the obvious, and probably was regretting using this as an excuse to visit her lover.  

Mary leaned on the table, invading the Mantis’s personal space as she looked the girl over, showing her back to the fool. But not even a ‘Fool’ would attack the Storyteller in front of the Hollow Knight, child of the Pale King.

What did Mary remember about the Mantis? They would fight everything and each other, but unlike the Fools, their fights had more purpose than just glory and money.

They had a hierarchy, didn’t they? A hierarchy with three points at the top.

The perfectly matched sisters, who could no longer even land blows on each other unless one of them comes in with a handicap.

 . . . a perfect fight could look like a show. . .

“Would your Aunt’s be willing to do a dominance fight outside of their arena?”

The girl startled, her wings chittering for a moment before smoothing down once more. When she spoke, she still had that quiet dignity that all female mantis seemed to have.

The men usually sounded liked excitable golden retrievers. Mary had no idea what the difference in speech was all about, but it confused her to this day.

“I will have to ask them, but why... ?”
“There is more to attracting visitors than just trade. We have goods, but perhaps we can also barter services and events? A fight between the three heads of the mantis tribe is an event that you might be accustomed to, but for any bug outside of your borders? It would be a sight that a bug would be willing to pay to see.”

The Fool squawked in outrage. “The Mantis Tribe can fight but we cannot!? This is outrageous- “

It was no trouble at all for Mary, perhaps the loudest creature in Hallownest, to raise her voice above the Fool’s.

“The Mantis Tribe is practiced at fighting WITHOUT the loser being killed. If you can assure me that every bug who enters your arena walks out of it alive, then by all means you may also present a fight for the visitors.”

Mary turned fully toward the Fool and leaned toward him, making him lean backwards in startled response, “Can you assure me of such a thing, Fool?”

He could not, and whether his fear was for the Storyteller in his face or for the Void creature that had boxed them all in to the table with their long arms no one could say.

But the Fools of the Coliseum were quiet for the rest of the meeting.

Mary doubted that they would force their way into the next meeting.

“Hollow. Hollow- why? Are the bugs of Hallownest? Like this? Surely they couldn’t have become like this on purpose.”

Mary was face down in Hollow’s lap, her body splayed across the ground of the Queen’s Conservatory as she whined. Her mask had been discarded to the side, the sad eyes and gold detailing getting dirty on the ground.

Mary couldn’t be bothered to be the Storyteller at the moment, and Hollow would never pass up a chance to have her bare-faced.

Hollow just gently rubbed her back as she continued to complain into their lap, enjoying the feel of her body heat sinking into their legs and hand.

 Mary the Storyteller would now only rarely touch them so freely. So, any time that she was willing to return to the times when she treated them like a piece of interactive furniture was to be cherished.

“Oh my god, why the hell are they all so up in arms about like where they live!? The Pale King knows that his laws aren’t respected in Deepnest and the Hive! He knows this, and has never tried to make an issue of it, because the laws that are there are perfectly decent!”

Hollow continued to rub Mary’s back as she voiced her complaints into their legs, but they kept a keen eye on their siblings who had heard Mary’s voice and were now slowly approaching from across the grass.

Ghost and Vlad split apart and once they were both coming at Hollow from two wide angles, they rushed across the grass as fast as they could. Bull rushing their larger sibling like their lives depended on it.

It was simple enough to nab each little annoyance by their legs in a single hand, the little voidlings having forgotten or not taken in account the difference in speed at which they could run.

Vlad arrived too early, and Ghost too late.

“And then there were those damned Fools! Like, what the hell is up with their name!? Like, yeah, I can get behind having the name be, like, an ironic thing? But he was so damn proud of being a fool! He corrected me when I called him an idiot! . . . . does that mean that there’s a fucking group of bugs called THE IDIOTS?!”

Hollow patted Mary’s back consolingly with their free hand as they used one of their tentacles to smoothly catch Sprout from where they had been attempting to drop on them from above.

Unlike with the other two, Sprout was immediately and without remorse tossed away.

Sprout, for all that they were loath to give up their misbegotten spoils, was entirely willing to disgorge an avalanche of stolen items onto anyone who was foolish enough to hold them when they did not wish to be.

The dark little shape of Sprout’s body flew through the air to land where Hollow knew a clear area was. Far enough away for Mary not to hear the impact, but close enough to make sure they landed safely.

Hollow stroked long firm stripes down Mary’s back as she continued to bemoan the stupidity and circular thinking of the bugs she was working with. About how hard it was to make them think up things themselves, instead of feeding them all of the answers. About how their Father had spoiled his subjects for so long that barely any of them had an original thought that wasn’t how to cause trouble.

Hollow only half listened, spreading their senses wide as they tried to pin down the position of their sneakiest sibling.

This two-pronged attack was a better plan then the last time his siblings had attempted to interrupt their time with Mary. Even with the stumbles in the timing, it meant that they had all agreed to work together, and as much as he loved his siblings, only one of them had shown any proficiently at planning ahead.

There!

Curly stood a distance away, in the shade of a large leaf, staring at them.

The two creatures of void watched each other, Hollow tensely waiting for whatever Curly had planned, and Curly smugly watching their plan fall into place.

Hollow tracked the slow movement of Curly’s hand as they reached inside of their cloak and pulled out a small, shiny bell.

If Hollow’s eyes could have widened, they would have.

Curly shook the bell, and the sharp sound of metal against metal rang though the garden.

“-what? Is that-? Curly! Curly sweetheart what are you doing over there? Come here.” Mary propped herself into a more sensible position in Hollow’s lap and patted her own thighs in invitation to the little voidling.

The small bug quickly tucked the bell back inside of their own void and then seemed to nearly strut toward their sibling and their favorite person. Keeping smug eye contact with their larger sibling the entire time.

Hollow was unable to glare, but between the two creatures of void, the intent in their empty gaze came across clearly.

Curly carefully settled into the seat of honor in Mary’s lap, and snuggled their face into her soft stomach.

Mary’s hands began to stoke over their back as she leaned into Hollow’s one armed embrace and sighed heavily.

Just when she thought things were calming down, just when she had begun to get a new routine! A new obstacle appeared in her life.

Mary closed her eyes and focused on the two cool bodies that had her surrounded. She relaxed fully in the hold of the voidling that was gently rubbing at her neck and shoulder, and gently squeezed the voidling that was tucked into her lap.

Hollow’s velvety palms soothed her knotted muscles, and Curly’s gentle kneading of their slowly uncoiling tentacles into her thighs and stomach just made her relax.

Mary snickered.

Here she is! A human in an insect kingdom, with two different manifestations of death and nothingness surrounding her, and not only is it her happy place, but she could see her doing this every day for the rest of her life, and being completely content with it.

Mary tilted her head up and realized that she was smiling, her lips curling up as she slowly opened her eyes, knowing that Hollow would be watching her.

As their gazes met, Mary’s smile widened. Her teeth peeking through her lips as a slow and gentle warmth filled her chest and crawled up her throat.

“I had been hoping that we could spend the rest of our days like this, you know? Quiet, comfortable, just secure in your arms with your family close at hand. Me whining about minor inconveniences, and you just listening and soothing me like it was any kind of hardship at all.”

Mary closed her eyes again and tucked her face deeper into the soft parts of Hollow’s chest, the velvet of the void rubbing her cheek while the sliding jointed parts of their carapace gently scrapped at her chin. She huffed another sigh.

“But as nice as that sounds, I bet it would get boring eventually. Better I suppose, to have an upset now then later on when we get out of practice on how to deal with them.”

Hollow’s hand found its way to Mary’s face and gently stroked the edges of her smile, their fingertips lingering on her lips and the corner of her eye.

They gently tapped her temple twice.

“No? You think you wouldn’t get bored of this eventually?” Mary cracked the open the eye that Hollow’s fingers were near, planning to say more about how tiring peace could be, but was distracted by a slight motion to the side.

She turned her head and paused.

“Hollow. Why are you dangling your siblings upside down by their legs?”

Hollow’s fingers froze in the process of tracing her hairline.

Ghost and Vlad waved at her from their predicament, their cloaks fluttering around their heads as they were held aloft.

Mary sat up, pulling away from Hollow’s hand and twisted in their lap.

Curly untucked their face from her stomach in order to get a better view of the show about to take place. It never got old, seeing their largest sibling get scolded by the soft and warm Mary for being greedy for her time and touch.

“Hollow! We’ve talked about this! You can’t just keep- No! Don’t throw them! I’ve already seen- HOLLOW! I don’t care if they think it’s fun! You can’t keep tossing your siblings away whenever you want to keep me all to yourself!”

Chapter Text

Life picked up its pace after the first planning meeting, and it seemed to only gain speed.

There were no more slow days of wandering the kingdom with Mary’s tall veiled shadow, only loud days of being in her workshop with her assistants or in the office with the Pale King, trying to plan out what exactly would be needed for the possible arrival of upwards to a few hundred or more bugs.

A date had been chosen, and a royal decree had been given, and the black egg temple was once more undergoing construction to make it a suitable place to have a dozens of stalls put up. The floor was being sectioned off so that the bugs of Hallownest and the visiting bugs would have clear places to show their wares and paths to walk.

The Black Egg temple had basically transformed into a community center, hosting everything from weddings to plays.

Not that there were many plays for it to host.

Bugs were still getting used to having a broader culture, and Mary was doing her absolute best to make stories and plays not something that only the upper crust were involved in.

Most leisure activities were things that were expensive or hidden behind entry fees. What few stages that had existed in the Kingdom had such few acts allowed on them, and only the highest paying customers could frequent them.

It would be easier to just write the stories down and spread them like that.

But the bugs of Hallownest had such . . . cumbersome forms of writing.

Stone was a pain to carry around and the vials were hard to make and too delicate by far.

The Deepnest village was still exporting a lot of silk, but well, it’s just a little bit hard to write on cloth.

The ink spreads too far, and you have to write really big and spacy in order to make it readable. It’s not worth it when a single sentence has to be three feet long.

Maybe Mary could pay spiders to weave the words into the silk?

They would be up for it, but it still wouldn’t spread terribly far, the money it would cost to have a story woven by a spider . . .

Anyway, the best way to get different stories out into the kingdom was still word of mouth and live performances.

Mary had been offering prizes for “Best Story” contests held about once every other week to try and encourage others to begin their tentative forays into fiction. The cash prizes coming out of her own accounts, or little charms that she had convinced various bugs she could make.

Theater and fiction weren’t spreading terribly fast, but it was a start. They were there and existed in this culture.

The real problem wasn’t a lack of interest, but a lack of imagination. The bugs of Hallownest needed to make stories themselves and not just consume whatever Mary made up or stole from Disney.

She wouldn’t be around for forever, and besides, she was getting bored of her own stories and wanted something new.

But back on topic.

The Black Egg Temple would only need a little bit of renovation to house a market, the biggest question was how to house the bugs that would be coming.

There was plenty of space for hundreds of visiting bugs.

The population, despite the concerns over food, was still way below what it had once been.

“But should we let them know we have been so greatly diminished? It would perhaps send the wrong message to put them up in the homes of deceased bugs.”

“There isn’t enough time to build facilities for them! There is too much to do and too much too prepare!” The Pale King’s wings buzzed at the idea of needing to do more construction in such a tight time frame.

“I’m not saying that we make new facilities for them, but maybe instead of putting them all in the same place, we divide them up by need? Like if a particularly large group shows up we can put them in an empty manor, but if largebugs show up we can place them in the vacant houses that were made for some of our bigger species.”

Mary shifted her weight, pulling her mask over her head as it got in the way of her note taking, “Instead of just telling them to choose wherever, we can pretend that we have a variety of places that were tailored for the needs of the visitors. This used to be a trade kingdom, we can just pretend that this is the way it had always been done.”

“ . . . we would need to clear the homes of personal decorations first, but that seems like the best option.”

Mary nodded before making some short hand notes in her soft clay tablet.

They would have to make a system to know which bugs were going where, but maybe just making color coded keys and letting the bugs know that if the key was gone then that house was being used? Like rooms in an old-fashioned hotel.

It should be simple enough.

Mary paused for a moment before turning away from her chiseled notes and looking over at the Pale King, “What did you do with the traders before this? Where did you put them?”

The Pale King, who had stopped writing when Mary did, fluttered his wings in embarrassment, “In the past, the traders would generally just sleep in their own caravans to guard their supplies. But that was only feasible with the smaller markets. The size of this ‘Bazaar’ is much larger than what we had in the past.”

“I suppose we are currently switching out the old way of small groups of traders constantly coming and going with this new model of everyone coming at once and staying for a longer period of time. This will be a new experience for Hallownest.”

The Pale King turned back to his own work, but had one last parting comment, “Hallownest needs new things in order to crawl out of the decline I have led it into. We need this venture to succeed.”

Mary reached over, and gave the Pale King a smack in the back of his head.

The god jolted forward.

He raised a hand to the stinging area and gave an instinctive hiss at the pain. His eyes flicking over to glare at the creature who had so fearlessly struck him.

Mary pointed at him, unafraid of his bared teeth and hissing.

“I’ve told you not to talk like that! Blaming the entire mess on yourself is bad for you, and wrong. You did your best, and sure you fucked up. But it’s not like anyone else had any clue about what to do. Doing something in the face of opposition is never wrong, even if there were better choices. Hindsight and all that.”

The Pale King continued to rub where Mary had smacked, his eyes squinting at her in reproach.

“Hindsight? What good would looking into the past do? What’s done is done. One cannot change the paths that they have walked, only choose their next steps.”

Mary snorted, putting down her tablet. She could tell that she was about to be sucked into another debate with the Pale King.

It was often how their time together ended up, debating about philosophies and hypotheticals.

“Pale King. Your empire is young. It’s only lasted for, what, a few generations? That’s nothing in the face of what my species has done. And perhaps the most important thing that I can ever teach you and your people, is to learn from the past. Mistakes will always be made. Every single person in the world is going to fuck up at something! But as long as those mistakes are remembered, as long as someone lives through it and shares the story of what happened, then perhaps the mistake will not be made again.”

Mary planted her hands on her hips and leaned a bit more into the Pale King’s personal space, her grin wide and her eyes peeking out from beneath the edge of her mask, hamming up her “Storyteller” voice.

“Those who do not learn from history are doomed to repeat it.”

Something clattered to the floor behind her.

Mary immediately stood straight, one of her hands dragging her mask back down over her face as the Pale King’s wings flared in surprise.

Mary turned around to see one of the retainers on their knees staring up at them both. There was a breath between them, before the retainer shook themselves out of their daze and began hurriedly picking up the stone tablets they had dropped.

“I- I apologize. I hadn’t realized- I didn’t know. I’ll just take these and- and leave. P-pardon my intrusion.”

Mary didn’t have the chance to take more than a single step forward before the white cloaked bug jumped to their feet, abandoning a few tablets to where they had landed, and ran away.

Mary was still for a bit, before she slowly went forward and began to collect the tablets that had been left from the ground.

“ . . . what the hell was that about?” She muttered in confusion.

The Pale King just sighed, burying his face in his hands.

He really needed to speak to her about being careful with what she said. Her power was in her words, and all too often she would make such striking statements.

Statements that held the weight of her culture and the experience of hundreds of other creatures just as long lived as she was.  

Such words of wisdom must be common in her culture, how else would she have so many lessons spilling from between her teeth?

“Do not worry about it Storyteller. I’ll have it taken care of.”

Just another bug who needed to speak with the bugs from “The Storyteller’s Workshop” to either have their image of the “Mystical Storyteller” ruined, or to convert completely.

The Pale King couldn’t help but give a quiet laugh.

Learn from history or be doomed to repeat it?

The Pale King watched the creature that had once more lured another of his worshipers away from his pale light, lay on her stomach to reach a tablet that had slide beneath the low table.

He had indeed learned from the past.

From the mistakes of the last God that had once ruled these ancient tunnels.

There would be no glowing plague upon the bugs that she accidentally stole from him.

He knew and acknowledged that force will never make a creature worship a god in any way that mattered.

And mortals can worship more than one god after all.

 . . . maybe there was something to the idea of Hindsight after all.

When the first messenger returned from their travels, they were immediately whisked away to see the Pale King.

They told a small audience about what they saw and experience outside of the kingdom. Of the different environments they crossed and the bugs that they saw.

Monomon was often summoned for these reports, or the messengers would be sent to her archives after they had been given time to rest.

 Mary, serving as ‘The Storyteller’ was often here for these reports, and the general tone of them was hopeful.

So far, the messengers had not been met with outright hostility, though some of them returned with stories of not being allowed to give their messages in some of the villages they had found. But on average they had all completed their tasks and had given the time keeping devices to bugs who had been interested in traveling to the kingdom of Hallownest.

 . . . but other messengers never returned.

Despite the guards that had gone with them, about three of those who had been sent out did not return to Hallownest in the agreed upon time and the directions that they had been sent in were marked down.

Nine bugs that left Hallownest did not return.

If any bugs came from those directions, they would be gently questioned about the messengers and guards that disappeared.

Mary was holding out hope that maybe they had simply decided to not return. Maybe they had found the love of their lives and decided to get married in town and stay forever!

 . . . but this world wasn’t that kind.

The messengers and guards who did not return where taken note of and their families informed.

But sadly, the momentum of the event couldn’t be slowed for the loss of loyal citizens.

The show must go on, and more must be done still.

The house was cute, sorta rounded with at least a loft with how high the ceiling looked. Or maybe it had just been the home to tall bugs? Either way, it reminded Mary of something that a child would draw, with off center windows and a slightly tilted door.

It was purposeful in its slanted-ness, what with how the little gate she had passed through was slanted the same way

This was maybe the sixteenth or seventeenth house that Mary had barged into, and like all the others, she was still expecting to have to cough her lungs out because of dust.

But dust is more of a mammal thing. They shed all at once, and not a little bit all of the time.

The room was far from clean, with some dirt on the ground and an odd dripping coming from one of the walls, but beyond some mold growing over the food that had been left out, the place didn’t look like it had been roughly a year since it had been closed.

Though, Mary supposed that made sense. This was the house of a bug, and you can’t get much lower down than that. There were no pests that could get into homes here.

It was as small as they could go already.

“All clear!”

At her voice, the bugs who had been fidgeting behind her relaxed and began to make their slow way into the home, filling the half empty sacks on their back with any valuables, and the sacks in their hands with anything that would have to be discarded.

The molded food, horrifically enough, ended up in one of the bug’s mouths.

The Pale King had agreed with Mary’s plan to house the visiting bugs, allowing her to push ahead a variety of jobs to be placed on the bulletin boards that had been set up around Hallownest.

The bulletin boards had been Monomon’s idea. With there now being a way to make everyone appear at the correct times and days, things could be scheduled much farther in advance without much trouble.

Now an event can take place with a simple listing of a time and day, where before it was an ordeal to make sure all of the bugs showed up at the same time.

Many of the jobs for preparing for the ‘Grand Bazaar’ were being put on the bulletin board, and many of the citizens were taking up the jobs on offer.

It was common knowledge in the kingdom that bugs from the outside had been invited to Hallownest to trade, and many bugs were working to ensure that they had extra spending money when the bugs arrived.

It was probably the only way that this particularly emotional job would have ever been done.

All too often Mary thought that the bugs of Hallownest put a little too much stock into this idea of an “Eternal” state. They would let a place fall to ruin before they would ever intrude on the ghosts left behind.

They let places rot than change them.

Mary was doing her best to shock them out of this state of mind, to try and make them think of things changing as less of a destructive activity, and more like . . .  pruning a tree?

Shit, they would not have a concept of something like that.

Whatever, she’d find something!

Either way, the bugs of Hallownest respected places that were ‘dead’.

Or something, all that Mary knows is that she was once more decked out in her brown cloak with a mask with little squinted triangle eyes and that Hollow was behind her, veiled and cloaked in blue.

So, Mary was the one opening most of the doors to the empty dwellings and calling out the all clear so that others would go in and start to clean them out. Some of the doors were locked, and as such needed a bit more . . . force to get them open, but Hollow was there to provide the extra leverage when a home had been locked before being abandoned.

Mary took a few steps inside, curious in that nosy way that had seemed to just get worse as she got used to being ignored by the various bugs in Hallownest. Nowadays, she could slip out of public view and just enjoy being a member of the crowd.

And one of the things she had started to do, is poke around where she was probably not supposed to be, and these empty homes made her want to peek into every single crevice and snoop around.

It wasn’t a good habit, but she wasn’t the Storyteller right now.

She was poking around in the tablets that were scattered beside the little bed, crouching down to get a closer look at the stone tablets that were half under the bed.

She looked underneath the bed and froze.

Her eyes met the dull gaze of the deceased through her mask.

Mary made a noise, a panicked sound that was trapped in her throat, never quite making it past her teeth.

But that was all that was needed for Hollow to leap across the room and drag her into their arms.

And of course, the sudden action of the tallest bug in the group caused the whole swarm of them to stagger back and panic.

It was only Mary, shouting from where she was clutched in the Hollow Knight’s arms, that kept them from running for the tunnels.

“ITS FINE! We’re fine! I just . . . I found the owner.”

The bugs all relaxed.

A body? A body was nothing.

They returned to removing the private items in the home, and a few even went to the bed and began to carefully removed the body from beneath it.

The bug had died curled up under the bed, their limbs tucked close to their body, and with still visible trails of orange puss dried on their face.

Another unfound victim of the infection.

“. . . we’ll be finding bodies for the rest of our days, won’t we?” Mary muttered, taking comfort in the firm grip that Hollow had on her body.

Mary was still uncomfortable around death. She didn’t quite get how the bugs of Hallownest could be so . . . comfortable around corpses! They just didn’t care at all about the fact that there were dead bodies everywhere. Either unlucky travelers or leftover meals, they were just pushed out of the way if there was no one who cared enough to bury them.

Though . . . maybe half of Mary’s instinctive panic was because mammal bodies didn’t decompose as gracefully as a bug’s did?

If she had found a human corpse then it would be a mess or rotting flesh and oozing liquids. There would be things eating the flesh and the decomposition would have smelled bad enough to make her throw up.

A bug’s corpse on the other hand, dried up quickly and was pretty self-contained in its shell with virtually no smell that Mary could catch.

As she watched the body be carried out of the house she didn’t notice Hollow’s gaze stay rooted to where the body had been found.

Mary was laying on her bed, alone in her little room behind a locked door.

She was full of food and had just finished dumping out her bath water. She was clean and comfortable and ready to sleep.

But her mind wouldn’t stop running over her goals for tomorrow and how the day had gone.

How in just a day the first merchants would be expected to arrive.

Mary’s body throbbed as she tried to relax into her bed.

To force herself to sleep.

She had been with the bugs hired to clean again.

She was not only there to break the seal on the homes, but also to have loud conversations with some of her other masked assistants. They had been dotted among the other groups, and they had all spoken across the groups during a lunch break.

Mary had wanted to control the way that the residents of Hallownest would see the outsiders. She didn’t know for a fact that they would respond badly, but well, humans had a history of responding badly to newcomers and she just didn’t want to leave it to chance.

She had spoken with the other dreamers and the Pale King and they had all agreed that it would be best to try and prep the bugs of Hallownest to be welcoming.

But, subtly. No grand proclamations from the Pale King.

Monomon’s students had been talking up how much they would all learn from these other bugs, the things that they would show them. Creatures not native to Hallownest, tools for purposes they would have never imagined! So many new things to research and study!

Lurien’s social circle had been playing on the vanity of the residents of the City of Tears.

There were new bugs to shock and awe with their city. New bugs to impress and earn praise from. New fashions to experience! And perhaps even new bugs to add to their lives . . .

Herrah’s weavers had gone the more direct route.

These bugs would bring money and food and surely buy all of the fine quality products that her spiders could weave. They could use these bugs, and anything with use was to be welcomed in a place like Deepnest.

Mary had decided to be stealthier with her rumor mongering. Having her workshop assistants go out and about and talk loudly with one another where other bugs would certainly hear. Bugs who have never had their food before, who have never tired their services, who hadn’t been involved with that one embarrassing incident from their childhood . . .

The Pale King had been . . . impressed with her more subtle approaches to the task, but at this point just seemed to expect her to pull underhanded bullshit out of her ass.

Mary wasn’t sure how she ended up as some kind of spy master for the kingdom, but shit, it seemed to be going that way. 

What had started out as Mary’s thirst for entertainment and stories in the now peaceful kingdom, had spiraled out of control. Her various ‘employees’ had first just brought back tales of their daily lives, but as those stories had run out, some of them had begun to tell tales of other people’s business that they had heard while out and about in the streets.

And as more and more information flooded into the workshop as everyone’s hands had woven more and more complex dreamcatchers, certain . . . discrepancies had been caught.

Bugs that had been known to be in debt had suddenly made large purchases, others that had been seemingly in very stable jobs had gotten fired for no known reason, and there were even tales of ghosts being seen walking the streets.

Long story short, there had been an embezzling operation.

A few bugs in the kingdom had been stealing the identity of dead individuals and had even been targeting businesses whose owners were still recovering from the infection.

And it had been brought to the attention of the Pale King when Mary had mentioned that her worker’s had been bringing in strange tales from different parts of the Kingdom. An investigation had been launched and the plot had been discovered.

And now the Pale King asked her if her workers had heard anything around the kingdom every few days.

And sadly, they often did.

It wasn’t usually anything that the Pale King needed to get involved with, but sometimes a bug would need to be sent out to whisper a few words so that the problem could be dealt with by those . . . most affected.

And well, if Mary was going to be in charge of a group of spies, then it was only smart to teach them how to lie and pretend right?

She had managed to frame the lying part as more . . . telling a story, but it was surprisingly easy to coach her assistants at how to make leading statements and to tell others what they wanted to hear. That it was easier to work with someone’s expectations than it was to battle them.

If your target thinks that you have failed, say that you only managed to get half way, they’ll never believe a lie that you completed the task. You can distract them from the fact that you never even tried!

She shared her masks and cloaks with the bugs in her workshops, who even now still wove dream catchers! Though at a much slower pace and way more extravagantly. She coached them on how to shift their legs and shoulders to change how they appeared in the cloaks, how to draw eyes to their hands to keep attention off of their words.

She taught them how to act out a few character archetypes. Things people expect to always see. Simple stuff like, ‘happy youth’, ‘grumpy elder’ and ‘gossipy bystander.

They had been way too surprised about the fact that hunching her back and lowering her voice could change her so much.

Mary wasn’t even a good actor!

But . . . bugs didn’t really lie to each other about who they were.

They were all so recognizable by shape, voice and smell, but if you just put on a mask and change your voice a little you can make anyone second guess your identity.

And a full cloak does wonders to contain pheromones, not to mention adding other stronger scents on purpose.

It took a little bit of work, and a lot of practice, but all of Mary’s workers eventually learned how to disguise themselves well enough to fool the other retainer’s in the White Palace.

And now they often left the palace in small groups to have loud conversations about what the visiting bugs are going to be like.

Grumpy masked bugs yelled at each other over who was going to make more money from the villagers, youths burst in to say they were going to make friends with the bugs, and gossips spoke up about how pretty and exotic the bugs were going to be.

It was easy enough to lay down some ground work in the tunnels and get bugs thinking about what good the influx of new bugs could do for them.

Mary rolled over onto her stomach, groaning at the way her mind just wouldn’t slow down.

Time was passing quickly, the hours slipping through Mary’s fingers as she desperately tried to stretch to out long enough to get all of the important things done.

She would remember working at her desk in her workshop, giving orders and receiving information, and then would suddenly wake up in her own bed, Hollow’s hand gripped tightly in her own as they sat on the pillows that had been piled on the floor for the tall void being.

Mary’s bed was too small for them to get on with her and . . . well, Mary had to draw a line somewhere. It was all well and good for them to cuddle her out and about, but being wrapped in their arms in her bed? Mary wasn’t trying to give herself a crush! It was already hard enough to remind herself that the affection was platonic! She didn’t need to have more memories of what it felt like to have their cool body clenched between her thighs and how it felt to bury her bare face in their neck.

Mary heaved another sigh into her pillows, desperately wishing that she could snuggle up with them to sleep with.

Hollow’s presence was so calming to her now. The gentle pulse of the void almost like a heartbeat that could lull her into a relaxed dose and then drag her down into sleep.

Mary slowly sank into sleep as she longed for the presence of Hollow beside her.

Mary didn’t dream much anymore.

Or more aptly put, when all you see is darkness, how would you know if your eyes were open?

Mary didn’t float in the darkness, she was clutched tightly by it. Every single inch of her body felt like it was in the grip of something much larger than herself.

And around her neck, she felt a strange weight hang.

It didn’t strangle her, nor was it heavy enough to drag her head down. It just dangled from her neck as she breathed in this dark place.

She never felt fear here.

There was never anything to be afraid of.

It was calm.

It was quiet-

BANGBANGBANGBANG.

Mary jackknifed up out of her bed, confusion clouding her mind.

There was someone banging on her door??

The banging was joined by her bells as she dragged a blanket around her shoulders and exited her room.

Mary stumbled, still sleep drunk to the door, slapping her mask on.

Not even noticing it was upside down.

She flopped into the door, a strange panic surging into her blood as the banging continued, and hefted up the bar that kept her safe.

The door was forced open, and Mary nearly flipped over the back of her couch, only barely catching herself as she finally realized that there was something wrong with her mask.

That was forgotten as Tinsy rushed into the room and one of her assistants hovered in the door way.

Mary only managed to croak out a single questioning noise as Tinsy slammed open her dresser and began to drag out various cloaks and masks.

Her assistant, a bug that she knew the name of but couldn’t remember right this second, answered the obvious question.

“Merchants are arriving early.”

Chapter Text

The merchants were being ushered into the tunnels of Hallownest by the bugs who had been put at the very corners of the Kingdom of Hallownest.

The merchants were arriving, naturally, by the wide roads that had fallen into slight disrepair. They were smooth and useable of course, but they certainly looked like the roads to a forgotten kingdom in the wastelands and not a thriving trade kingdom’s.

But that was fine.

Mary had managed to talk the Pale King out of spending the geo, time, and supplies to freshen them up and had convinced him that it would be enough to just replace the lumaflies in the tall arching lamp posts.

It was more important to lead them to the right place, than it was for the road to look pretty.

Pretty roads are weird and speak of being new, and one of the few things that Hallownest had going for it was its age, what with how it’s supposed to be eternal and all.

Mary had already selected the various greeting parties, and they were yanked out of their beds and being debriefed to go greet the first official visitors to Hallownest in an age.

“Watch everything they do. Take note of what they seem familiar with and what surprises them. See if they wear clothes, and if so, what they are made of? Try and convince anyone who seems interested in fabric toward the spiders but don’t be pushy. Check to be sure that their diets are able to be easily fulfilled, we are expecting more herbivorous bugs than carnivorous bugs, but it won’t do to be surprised.”

Mary paced in front of her assistants as she spoke. All of the bugs in the room were standing at attention and focused on her as Mary gave them the last repetition of what had been pounded into their heads during their training.

“Try to phrase any questions that you ask as vaguely as you can, we don’t want them to catch on to how little we know, but we want them talking! Ask for their opinions, not what is fact. We can cross reference all the information that you collect and see what the majority believe and go off from there.”

“Show an interest in anything they speak of and retain as much of it as you can. Try not to let them see you take notes, it might make them nervous. But if you do get caught, tell them that it’s so you can make sure they are being taken care of, that you are new at the job of welcoming others into Hallownest, bond with them and figure out as much as you can.”

Mary turned to face her various assistants, some masked, most not.

“We are starved for information, and anything is to be taken.”

It was incredibly important to gather as much information about the bugs from the outside as quickly as possible. They knew nothing of the political climate of the outside, or who had the power and who didn’t! What names were known and which to avoid.

Mary looked out over her bugs, adorned in the white robes of the retainer’s uniform, but all of them wearing a pin that denoted them as being a part of the “Workshop”.

“Be careful, but don’t be afraid to share some of our own history. Tell them about the struggles that Hallownest faced, but even if it’s a lie, tell them that we are only the more tightly bound through our struggles. We need to look like we triumphed over our enemies and that we are still in the rejoicing stage. Show all of these outsiders our best side and pretend as best you can, that Hallownest is not divided.”

The bugs all nodded as one and Mary took a deep breath before turning and leading them out of the tent. Some groups broke off to go and be posted at the different entrances at the kingdom, but the majority of them followed her to the giant doors that they expected most of the merchants to come through.

It was going to be really busy for them all.

It was the second day of bringing in the merchants, and the Workshop Assistants had finally fallen into a groove.

They moved like one of the well-oiled machines that the Pale King had scattered about the kingdom, speaking short hand phrases at each other in passing in order to keep track of where the visitors were and where they were being taken.

The bugs from the outside area were one hell of a mixed bag.

Some of them were apparently completely normal traders who took a gamble and sent one of their carts into the kingdom.

Those ones were easy.

All that denizens of Hallownest had to do with them was show them that they really did want to do business and wow them with all of the things that the bugs of Hallownest had taken for granted. Nearly everything that the traders saw on the broad road that funneled them into the City of Tears was enough to make their jaws drop and have them stare around themselves in wonder.

But the others?

A major pain in the ass.

Mary should have expected it, but she hadn’t foreseen various villages and kingdoms sending fucking diplomates.

For first one that had shown up, had pitched a fit at being forced to follow the same road as the rest of the common lower bugs.

They had yelled and flapped their wings and held up the flow of traffic badly enough that Mary herself had been forced to take her first steps outside of the kingdom just to deal with them.

Looking back on the incident, Mary was sure that there had been a hundred different ways to deal with the bitchy diplomat, but she had been tired.

There had been a million different incidents happening all at once!

One of the trader’s carts had broken a wheel in the tunnels, blocking that entire route. A few bugs had thrown up while riding the lifting systems, and that had been stopped in order to be cleaned. Mary hadn’t gotten enough sleep in about two days now and one dumbass had tried to fight a mantis!

He lived, but only because one of her assistants littered around the roads had heard his screaming and had managed to point out to the mantis that this was a visitor, and as such didn’t know the rules of the tribes yet.

But Mary had been yanked away from her assistants, away from her duties and her lunch, and forced to travel to the edge of the Kingdom’s tunnels just because some asshole wanted to speak to a MANAGER!?

Mary had worked in customer service before. She knew how to simper at a bitching customer and gentle them into doing the thing anyway.

But she had been dealing with everyone’s problems and Hollow had been too freaked out by all of these foreign bugs to stray more than six inches from her ass, and she hadn’t gotten enough time to rest, and she was being run ragged.

So, Mary ended up stomping through the giant doors that were being propped open by dramatic statues and devices, and walked all the way to the flower wearing diplomate that her assistants were being yelled at by and demanded of them-,

“Do you think yourself higher than a God?”

Once more, Mary’s lungs allowed for her to be the loudest creature in the area, and the acoustics of the doorway to the kingdom only allowed her voice to bounce off to sound even louder.

She had her hands clenched into fists and held tightly at her side. She stared down at the bug who was decked out in stupid petals and was so close to slapping them.

They had ruined the flow, and were being selfish, and just . . .  fucking customers!

Mary’s voice boomed out of her as she held her body as tightly as she could, shoulders back and chest out, so close to snapping and slapping this fucker’s antenna’s right the hell off.

“You were invited to our Eternal Kingdom by the God of light, the Pale King. You were not begged for, not sought after, nor chased. Invited. You are the Eternal Kingdom of Hallownest’s guest. And you can be asked, politely or at nail point, to leave and be barred from this place for the rest of your short life.”

Mary took a deep breath and leaned back, feeling Hollow’s delicate veil brush the back of her head.

They must have leaned over her, being able to read her body language and knowing just how pissed she was.

Ha!

They were always waiting for an excuse to fight her battles for her, and while Mary can admit that she would love to have this bug get smacked around a bit, it wouldn’t really send a good message to all of the others watching.

Hallownest liked to present itself as a place of thought, intelligence and manners. No need to give up the game right at the doorway into the place.

Mary’s humorous musings allowed her to once more get a grip on her temper, and she folded her hands in front of herself, straightening her posture and looking for all the world like the well-behaved retainer she was masquerading as.

“Now. Will you mind your manners and respect the rules of this Kingdom? Or should I bid you safe travels back to your home?”

The bug in front of her was silent, wide eyed, and had their antenna tucked flat to their head. They didn’t move, but Mary rather thought that she had made her point, and besides, who would give up the chance to enter into Hallownest just to save their pride?

Mary nodded once and turned to the side, and with a dramatic spread of her arm toward the huge open door to the kingdom delivered the most satisfying kind of Fuck You a customer service employee can give.

“If you understand, then please, enjoy your stay.”

And there was silence on the road.

Mary was staring down the bug, but what she hadn’t realized, because the bug was slightly shorter than her and a few feet away, was that the bug’s eyes had been locked on the creature towering over her the entire time

Hollow stood hunched over Mary, their veil fluttering in the gentle wind coming from the far off entrance of the tunnels. They were wearing a bright blue cloak, like the color of life-blood, and they drew the attention of all of the new comers as the tallest bug that any of them had seen so far, and so obviously a very dangerous predator.

Many of the insects on the road confused the loud voice to be coming from, not from the small masked and cloaked bug in front of this stunning creature, but from the veiled being itself.

The quiet Diplomate was not afraid of Mary, but by what it perceived as an angry female predator thundering down at it, and then turning her tone sweet. Just for that sweet voice to drip venomous words. The diplomates pride was hurt, but they were too frightened to say anything in response while faced with such a fearsome individual.

The diplomate bug and their party slowly stepped forward, and tried to keep their eyes on the threat the entire time.

That thought was also in the minds of the other bugs, a large bubble of space being left around Mary and Hollow as the flow once more picked up and the road became full of traffic. But Mary, used to such reactions while in her Storyteller mask, barely noticed. She turned to make her own way back into Hallownest and back to her lunch.

Hollow, as always, following behind her.

The moment that the tall bug slipped from sight behind the giant doors, gossip broke out on the road.

Merchants turning toward their neighbors, and whispering to each other about what they had seen.

And so, the story passed from mouth to mouth back down the road, until in twirled around the antenna of a bug who had been riding in one of the caravans in the back.

A bug wearing the brightest colors available and who was weighted down by the many rare charms dangling from their neck and wrists.

A bug who took the story with a grain of salt, but who was procuring as much information about this kingdom that had suddenly risen from the wastelands. A kingdom that they knew little to nothing about.

A problem that was rapidly being corrected with each new story about this kingdom that made its way into the plush compartment of the Merchant Lord Guldig.

The doors to the kingdom were crowded, groups of visitors trickling in to be assigned to a single cloaked retainer, and the various guards and assistants rushing around to keep track of who and how many bugs were entering.

Mary, standing off to the side and nearly behind the giant metal doors, took a deep breath and let it out as she rested her hands on her hips.

She had finally managed to chase Hollow back to the White Palace to see their family.

The whole point of the disguise was to not be noticed and she had been drawing a lot of attention from both visitors and residents while Hollow had been following her around.

Well, it does make sense that the bugs would wonder what such a knock out like Hollow was doing following around some random little masked and cloaked bug. It must have been one hell of a weird contrast to see her ordering them around when it seems like it should be the other way around.

It had taken guilting them about now having the time for their siblings and leaving their mother lonely and their father bereft, but she had finally manage to shake her shadow loose.

Mary was supposed to be incognito, and it wasn’t hard for even the most out of the loop resident of Hallownest to see a tall horned bug following a short, cloaked bug who was ordering around the Storyteller’s assistants and draw conclusions.

It was the second day of bugs arriving into the kingdom, and while the steams of merchants hadn’t slowed down a lot, the various bugs of Hallownest had finally gotten into the rhythm of welcoming the visitors.

Now instead of informing the bugs about the rules of the kingdom at the homes they were be residing in, now all bugs were read the riot act right at the doors.

The rules were the same as the laws of the kingdom, but the list had been simplified in order to be done quickly so that the bugs could be quickly ushered in.

Number one? No consuming the flesh of a sentient bug.

Number two? Theft will be met with a punishment of the harmed bug’s choosing.

Number three? No fighting in the settlements.

The rules were a bit loosie-goosy in Mary’s opinion, but she supposed that it made since. What with how the Mantis and Spiders were all too willing to throw down over nearly any slight, it was a good idea to just have there be appointed safe zones but not ban it all together.

The Mantis Tribes would absolutely not obey, and the spiders would go out of their way to break the law and the Pale King would have to deal with that absolute cluster-fuck of a diplomatic incident.

Yeah, the three rules were best, even if the bar seemed to be pretty low.

Mary’s assistants were getting better at dealing with the visitors as well. They were no longer getting held up by a fussy visitor, having learned the ways to politely disregard the manners that had always been obeyed in the kingdom and cheerfully push the merchants along toward the correct path no matter how much they thought that they deserved some kind of special treatment.

Some of the merchants had actually needed it, their steeds being creatures that were too big to fit in some of the tunnels, or winged bugs being too claustrophobic to enter into some of the narrower tunnels and needing to be housed in places for bugs of a larger size.

But those problems had been fairly minor, and had been taken care of without need of Mary’s input.

Her assistants seemed to be saving her for the diplomates who all thought that ought to be treated like royalty in the kingdom.

Some of them were particularly hard headed, but reminding them that the ruler of this kingdom was a God was usually a good way to take the wind out of their sails.

Though with the ways that they either scoffed at her in derision or buckled so easily made Mary a bit wary of how gods were seen outside of the kingdom.

Some of them seemed to think that she was lying about the Pale King being a god, and others nearly trembled in fear whenever it was brought up.

Mary was just thinking of calling an assistant over to have them spread it to the others to try and get the merchants opinions about gods, when a loud voice that nearly rivaled her own in volume drew her attention.

“You dare command the actions of the Royal Daughter!?”

Mary’s entire body froze.

Are you fucking kidding me?

But Mary didn’t have time to have a freak out, didn’t have time to scream in the privacy of her mind.

She had a fucking FOREGIN PRINCESS to deal with.

Mary spun around to see where the voice was coming from and managed to see a group of bugs that strongly resembled ants. They were all naked and seemed to come in two types. A small group of tall spiky looking ants and a pretty large crowd of ants that were shorter than the Pale King.

The crowd of smaller ants were all carrying packages or were sharing the weight of what looked like some kind of ancient Chinese palanquin on their shoulders.

The retainer who had been addressed by the angry ant immediately dropped into a bow.

“My dearest apologies! I meant no insult to you, nor your Princess. But these are the rules of our kingdom- “

The ant, a Solider Ant probably what with how it was pointing it’s fucking spear at them, interrupted the retainer’s attempted platitudes with a jab in his direction. “Cease your excuses drone! We will not abide the insult of being ordered by any but the Queen’s Blood!”

The retainer floundered back in shock and fear, tripping over the hem of his cloak and falling to the ground.

The Solider Ant didn’t waste a moment, moving to stand over his fallen body with the butt of the spear pulled back and prepared to smash into his face.

Mary lunged forward. She wouldn’t be able to help any, but her instinct to do something overriding her frozen panic.

She regretted sending Hollow away, but with how none of the bugs so far had been hostile, she thought it was unlikely that any would be violent!

She was wrong!

Mary barely made it a step, breath still filling her lungs to shout, when a voice hissed out of the covered palanquin.

“Cease.”

The Ant Solider froze, but so did the retainer on the ground who had been bringing his hands up to block to strike.

Every single bug in the area, who could have conceivably heard the command, all stopped what they were doing, and it was only by the grace of some unknown god that someone didn’t get hurt with how everything just stopped in the middle of the busy doorway.

Mary stumbled to a baffled stop, her shout dying in her throat.

The curtains to the palanquin parted and out stepped another ant. This one was around the same size as the solider, but shaped differently.

Instead of the whip thin solider who had tough natural armor, this one was both broader and softer, carapace naturally splitting in places that warned of growth to come. But most striking about the ant were the wings that nearly dragged on the ground.

Mary didn’t remember much from her biology classes in middle school, but she can thank a few movies for nailing into her head that only drones and young queens had wings in an ant colony.

And this sure as hell wasn’t a male ant.

“Leave the outsider alone Solider. We are guests in this place and will not invoke retribution for every minor slight made against us in their ignorance. We will see how this kingdom conducts itself before we draw conclusions on the actions of a single lowly bug.”

The Ant Solider stepped back immediately, falling into a stance that looked for all the world like a salute. “Yes, Princess. At your command.”

The winged ant turned and slid back behind the leaf curtains with one last significant look towards the solider.

The ant seemed to take it as some kind of unspoken command and returned to the line of other soldiers, yelling at the smaller workers to “Hurry up! The Princess will not be kept waiting!” as they once more began to march in time away from the crowds, following the wide eyed and obviously unsure bug who was wearing one of the cloaks that had been stamped with the symbol that meant that they were one of the assigned guides for foreign bugs.

Mary truly felt for that bug, but there were more important things to deal with.

Mary finally managed to break away from the crowd, literally squeezing between two bugs who seemed to still be frozen at the princess’s commands.

She rushed to the side of the bug who was still laid out on the ground.

She fell to her knees, wincing at the pain of hitting the ground at the speed she did, before gently taking the bug’s hand and pulling him up to sit instead of lay on the ground.

He was obviously still in some kind of shock. His antennas were slowly coming to life, shifting out of the wide splayed imitation of a T.V. antenna and beginning to swat the air as he began to get his bearings. Mary waved a hand in front of his face, drawing his attention away from where he had been blankly staring after the leaving ants. His eyes seemed oddly glazed, and as his antennas continued to wildly flap about, Mary’s concern grew.

Can bugs get concussions? the spear didn’t hit him, but maybe he had fallen to the ground way harder then it looked?

She hadn’t heard a crunch, but in the noise of the crowd, she wouldn’t have.

“Are you hurt? I need to take you to a healer. Can you get up? Walk?”

The bug opened his mouth and brought Mary’s panic to a screeching halt.

“She’s gorgeous.”

Wait.

What?

“Did you see her? She regarded me like I was nothing. Like I was the dirt beneath her feet and my every breath was an insult.”

Mary leaned back as the bug’s antenna somehow managed to move even faster and more erratically.

“The way that she stood over me, silhouetted by the lights of the luma flies, I felt like I was about to be stuck down by a saint of war.”

The bug finally turned toward Mary, focusing on her with oddly fierce intent.

“Would it be blasphemous to my King to worship that bug the way she deserves to be? Would it be a betrayal to kneel at her feet and pray for a touch of her hand even if it breaks my carapace? To create an alter for her glory and an idol to bow before when she does not deign to appear before me?”

Mary was not prepared for whatever the fucking hell this was.

She was now 100% certain that this bug had a concussion and needed to see a healer right the fuck now.

“I’m sure it’s fine. If you can love more than one bug, then you can worship more than one god. Now why don’t you just follow me over to that clinic over there.”

Mary gently helped the bug to his feet, nodding along as he continued to sing the solider ant’s praises and got increasingly more confused as the crowd parted before the odd pair. The bug’s enthusiastic ranting about his new god seeming to be the main reason for the space they were getting.

Mary understood. She would also like to take a few steps back from the bug that was leaning on her as they staggered away.

She needed to have someone check his head.

Maybe they could tell if he had been enchanted or something?

The ‘Black Egg Temple’ was full of bugs.

Well, that’s not true, it was more like the temple was half full of bugs.

The Bazaar wouldn’t be open until the sixth ‘day’ and it was only the fourth. But many of the various merchants had all begun to set up their stands early.

They were unsure of this place.

They had been to kingdoms before, from the desert cities carved into the sides of rock, placed to forever be in the shade. To the thriving jungles with sprawling balconies carefully balanced on the giant branches of the trees and vines.

They knew what roads to avoid when it was hot, for the bugs that lived they got aggressive with the heat. They knew what kingdoms to never show the color blue, for the bugs that lived there had predators the same shade.

They had cut deals with bugs that had threatened to eat them, and bugs that would only let them stop their caravans outside the entrances of their vast underground homes.

They had experience with bugs who had all come together in order to survive and had achieved amazing things together.

The merchants were familiar with odd and peculiar bugs and the strange ways that they lived.

But never had they seen kingdoms like Hallownest.

Merchants had entered the kingdom through doors made of metal that were large enough to welcome full grown trees and others had been escorted past the slowly decaying corpse of a Wyrm!

The entire kingdom was gilded in metal and moved through magic! Entire stuffed caravans had been dropped into the caverns of these tunnels by virtue of nothing but thin chains and smoothly rolling gears.

The caverns were lit not with smoke choking fire but with captured souls that bounced around in the purest glass they had ever seen.

It was a relief to the merchants to see that despite the wonders that the tunnels of this lost kingdom were filled with, that the bugs that resided here were ordinary.

At least they thought so, until the first masked and cloaked bug walked by, drawing the eyes of every merchant.

It was obvious that the bug was different from the others that walked around. The shape of their body was concealed but not entirely hidden, and it was obvious that the bug was shaped differently from the common cave bugs. With more limbs than the majority of the bugs in the caverns had, and a body that was longer than any had seen so far.

One of them, a merchant from the Guldig Company had summoned up the courage to ask one of the bugs that had greeted them why it was that this bug was covered so.

The bug had seemed startled to be asked such a question, but after waving their antennas a bit, they had proclaimed, “They wear a mask because they lack a face. It is to let the rest of us know that they have a mind. The cloak is really just a preference. Some faceless bugs wish to have their mask focused on and so hide their body.”

At first the merchants had thought that this was a mark of a cast system, or of there being a dislike of foreign bugs and they had tucked themselves a bit closer, expecting to be hated in some way for being different.

But then as they continued farther into the tunnels and more and more species of bugs mixed together, some cloaked and others only wearing a mask, they began to understand that the masks to mark a bug as sentient were NEEDED.

The merchants had suspected, but after the third day, all of them had confirmed in one way or another that this was a kingdom where predator and prey bugs mixed together and followed the same rules.

Not unheard of, nor unseen, but not at all common.

This realization had come on the roads for some, or in the vast water drenched city for others.

One group of merchants had been following their guides to the place they would be staying and had seen something odd in the already unusual crowd.

The denizens of the tunnels were mostly the standard cave bugs, and they had all been walking as close as possible, to make way for the larger caravans slowly rolling down the tunnels.

So, it had drawn the eyes of the visitors to see an apparent gap in the crowds.

With only a slight bubble of personal space but more than any other bug was being allowed, walked a pair of spiders.

They were speaking with each other, their high whispery voices lost in the bustle of the crowds. One walked in the more primal way, on all of her legs, while the other mimicked a two-legged walk. They carried bolts of colorful cloth, and it was with the sight of them that the merchants were all struck with the realization that the fine cloth that nearly every bug in this kingdom was wearing was not a plant fiber weave like they had all been assuming, but spun spider silk.

The sliest predators, that would eat any bug that got tangled in their webs, were clothing the entire kingdom in their silk.

And these bugs, these preys, walked relaxed with spiders in their midst.

And that is to say nothing of the tales that the other merchants spread. About how tall blade handed bugs had stood guard to various tunnels.

They were sharp eyed bugs who spoke little and treated the smallest disrespect as a killing offense.

The group of merchants that traveled through that side of the kingdom brought tales of one of their number taking offense to the strict and silent nature of the bugs, and how the fool had nearly lost his life to the vicious actions of the guard.

It had only been because of a masked bug who had run through the horrified bystanders and had managed to shout down the merciless creature. Yelling something about how the visitors hadn’t been told the rules of the kingdom, how it was not a challenge made knowingly, how there would be no honor in defeating an ignorant opponent.

The blade handed bug had paused in their assault and seemed to think the bug’s words over.

There had been a suspended moment where the natural weapon could have fallen, severing the bug in two, or the masked individuals words could be accepted.

It was with a sigh of regret that the bug with nails for hands had stood back to its full height and returned to its post at the door, ignoring the stares being directed at themselves, and the way that the masked bug positively sagged with relief.

“What happened to that bug anyway?”

“The masked bug and a few other kingdom bugs dragged him away. But he was returned just a few hours later, perfectly healed! He said that they poured glowing sap on him and that it mended all of the cracks in his shell.”

“They used soul!? On some random merchant?!”

“Is that what it’s called? I wonder if they would be willing to sell the stuff, it would go for many a high price if it’s healing abilities are exaggerated.”

“Soul comes from a living bug, you can’t sell the stuff! There’s no way to keep it! Anything you put it in just absorbs it and becomes healed itself!”

“Ah! Actually, we can sell soul! It can be bottled in glass, and will be on offer at the Bazaar.”

The gossiping bugs all paused, startled at the realization that one of the kingdom bugs had been in their midst for who knows how long.

The bug was clothed in a fine white garment but not masked like many of the others who had worn such a uniform. Their eyes were bright and their antennas were perky, and they appeared to be carrying a number of stone tablets.

“Ah. Thank . . . you. For telling us?” The bug closest to the kingdom bug, a type of bright red beetle with black spots on his shell, was the one who managed to find the courage to speak to this bug.

The bug’s antenna fluttered in happiness as they made a sharp noise of joy. “You are most welcome!”

The kingdom bug neither made move to leave, or spoke again. They only waved their antenna and hummed in happiness.

“C-can we help you in some way?”

The kingdom bug nearly hopped in place, antenna’s shivering in excitement. “Oh Yes! You certainly can! I am one of the Workshop’s assistants and I was sent by the Storyteller to give invitations to the prominent merchant bugs to come and have a group audience with the Gods of Hallownest! The diplomates are already going, but the Storyteller thought it would be a good idea to also invite the bugs most likely to become constant trade partners! Do you know where I might find them?”

The group of merchants had a variety of responses to the kingdom bug’s words. A few had their antenna’s slam to their heads and some had their jaws drop open.

But the well-trained assistant was carefully watching for the reaction that would help her the most. And her wide but sharp eyes caught onto one of the bugs in the corner of the group.

She couldn’t tell their species or their sex, but they were of an average height and clothed in what looked like woven grass.

At her proclamation at her purpose, they had looked back toward one of the stalls with a wide-eyed glance.

The assistant, Kiki, quickly ran though her mental list of names that had been assigned to the various spots in this section of the black egg temple, and the name Guldig came up.

Yes, a merchant company named Guldig was assigned to that spot, and as the shocked silence stretched between the groups, more bugs flicked their eyes to the unassuming spot.

Gottcha.

“I- I am afraid that I do not know where they would be! I- I have to go and finish setting up. I apologize for not being much help.”

Kiki fluttered her long antenna’s once more, fully aware of the image she presented.

Her long antenna’s and wide eyes had made many a bug think that she was an empty-headed flirt. She had used to get so angry at bugs assuming that she was stupid just because of her looks.

But the Storyteller had taught how to use her features to her advantage.

If they don’t see the thorn for the flower, then that is their own fault isn’t it?”

“Oh no! You’ve been a big help! Goodbye!”

And with a cheerful wave, Kiki turned and marched to the booth, ready to once more twitter and flutter in the faces of the bugs there until their unthinking reactions led her to the bug at the top of the pile so that she could hand her invitation over.

All the while pretending that the Kingdom of Hallownest had known all the while who was important and who wasn’t all along.

Mary stood next to the Pale King, her arms crossed over her chest while he had his arms folded behind his back as they both watched the foreign bugs trickle into the White Palace’s gates.

The visitors were much more colorful than the drab cave bugs. Their shells were vibrant greens, blues, reds and yellows.

Compared to the gray bugs of the caves? It was like flowers and rocks were walking together.

“We planned how to do this. We’ve practiced and practiced!”

Mary had been repeated variations of these words for the past hour ever since she had returned from the greeting of the visitors.

But she didn’t give the Pale King a chance to respond before she continued on, throwing her hands in the air. “But how the hell were we to expect that one of the kingdoms would send a princess?!”

Mary leaned on the balcony railing, hands now clenching the twisted metal. Her unmasked face gazing down at the bugs who were slowly entering the palace. “There has to be more to this. Some tradition, or maybe a punishment for the princess? Hell, maybe this princess tried to overthrow the throne and they’re hoping she dies on the trip. We need more information.”

“But first, we must decide how to tell the story.”

Mary cast a glance back toward the Pale King, pouting a bit at the joke he was making at her expense.

You speak in metaphor one damn time . . .

“Yes, yes, whatever. We need to decide how we are going to present you to the visitors. Do we want your image to be benevolent? Do we want the visitors to think of you as a kind and forgiving God King who won’t immediately swallow them whole and can forgive some minor insults. Or do we want to make you seem to be someone who they would not ever want to go to war with? Someone strict and powerful who still holds the power of being a Wyrm even if you have willingly given up your body? A mix of both? Someone who can be kind to allies but does not hesitate to show his teeth to threats?”

The Pale King was silent as he watched these strange bugs enter his White Palace, his home.

It was strange to regard them like this. The sight of the mortal bugs below him didn’t invoke the feelings he was used to.

He felt no drive to go and see to their needs. No urge to make room for them in his kingdom, no instinct top see to their every desire and carve out a place for them in his tunnels.

He did not feel driven to- to fuss over them.

They were not his responsibility. They were not important to him. He felt no need to give them the space that they needed to thrive like he had done with the Spiders or the Bees. Felt no need to carefully watch and cautiously defend against like the Mantis Tribe and the Fools.

If one of these bugs slighted him, only the knowledge of how his own would react would keep him from snuffing their life out and tossing them aside like trash.

“. . . if would be best to show myself as a threat. It is unlikely that the stories of Wyrms have faded completely from these bugs’ memories. To be presented as anything else but a danger would ring as false to them.”

Mary watched the Pale King as he looked down at the bugs slowly making their way across the bridge to the White Palace.

Something in his statement tickled at Mary. Like a hair twisted free of a tie, gently dancing on the back of her neck.

It wasn’t anything big, and she didn’t seem like the Pale King was lying to her.

But it felt like maybe there was a discrepancy. Some context she was missing.

More to the story.

“If you’re sure . . . “

The Pale King looked up at Mary, his white face glowing through the shadow that Mary cast on him, and his eyes had a strange look to them.

Less like the civilized bug she had always known, and more like a creature that knows it has teeth.

 “I am.”

“. . . right, ok! So, this is how we’re going to do this . . .”

Chapter Text

 Ants are born into the position that they will hold until their death.

From their first mouthful of nourishment, their path is set in stone and they will walk it with their sisters until the time that they reach the end. Upon their death they will return to the body of the queen mother to be wiped clean of their experiences and be born again.

This cycle continues until an ant lives as a Queen Mother and uses her body to birth the newest cycle of ants and is allowed to rest until every daughter has become a queen and the cycle renews itself.

The Princess felt as though she was on her very first life as she carefully approached the huge white building.

The Princess was being accompanied by two of her solider sisters into the “White Palace” that resided in the underground tunnels.

What glimpses she had caught of this nest had been grand. The tunnels larger than what she would have ever thought needed, and the metal strewn about everywhere, cut and curled into designs to serve no function.

Every inch of this kingdom was decorated with the decadence of a Queen Mother’s chambers and the Princess was unable to decide if it was a waste of material, or a flaunt about how wealthy this ‘God King’ was.

The princess was sent here to learn how much of the message sent to the Queen Mother had been fact or fiction.

How much of it had been a stupid drone putting on airs, and how much of it was truth.

The tales told from Queen Mother to Royal Daughter had mentioned this place.

This kingdom tucked away in the wastes, a place home to coexisting gods that meddled in the affairs of mortals.

The stories shared were about a God of Root who had fed her worshipers for entire lifetimes, and how she had been chewed at by a Wyrm until she had cut off a piece of herself to satisfy his obsession with her.

Sacrificing a fraction of herself for the peace his absence would bring.

Stories about how the mating mad Wyrm had enshrined that piece of a god and had built a nest around the cutting. Carving tunnels upon tunnels with his giant body until the labyrinth was large enough to be a kingdom.

The stories from the Queen Mother’s had said that the Wyrm shed his body in order to be of a similar size to the sacrificed piece of root, and made it glow so to never have to bring the root out of his tunnels. Feeding the piece the light it needed without allowing her the sun.

The Queen Mother’s passed down the knowledge that the Wyrm used his light to confuse the natives in the area and filled their minds with nonsense until they thought he was a god and worshiped him. Trying to elevate his status from monster to god, until he was one the same level as the cutting that he had deluded himself into thinking was his mate.

The entire nest became flush with confused bugs who worshipped the wyrm and the cutting of root.

 But . . . it was still a useful place.

The paths that had been carved out by the lovesick wyrm while he had heckled the Root were turned into roads that connected great swaths of land that all funneled into the light sick kingdom.

The Queen Mother from the time of that kingdom’s birth had decided that the worth of the trade made available outweighed the indignity of keeping with the ‘God King’s’ charade.

The ants put up with his sham of a union with his puppet of a wife, his false godhood, and his gathering of light blinded fools. All for the flow of trade.

But then the kingdom had closed with only the word of an ‘infection’ making its way out, and the ants had floundered.

They had unknowingly relied on the trade, and while they had more than enough food to feed the mouths of the daughters, they lacked the other resources that they had become accustomed.

The technology of the nest stagnated with no more access to the metal that had once been so easy to acquire, and with no daughter or sister with the knowledge needed to fix what eventually wore down and broke.

The nest had to return to the old ways, and it stung like the sun to know that there were better ways to do the difficult and dangerous jobs, but that the ants simple could not use them any longer.

And then the messenger had arrived.

Bugs colored grey like stone. With eyes too big for their heads and bodies shaped like river pebbles. Antennas too long for their bodies and with delicate hands and legs.

They perfectly matched the descriptions of the bugs that foolishly worshiped the false god in the labyrinth of tunnels.

They came with a message.

“You are invited by the Pale King to the Eternal Kingdom Hallownest.”

They had come with an ancient map, and a strange device that counted down the moments until the doors to the lost kingdom would open.

And then, they had been allowed to leave, the daughters watching as they disappeared into the distance, headed for another settlement to give the message all over again.

Queen Mother had been silent on her decision at first. She had been contemplative and had thought for days about what to do.

And then the Princess had been called to her chamber to learn that she was the one being offered as a sacrifice.

A Royal Daughter whose mind should be strong enough to shake off the magic of the Wyrm, but who could be replaced easily enough.

The Queen mother being far from the end of her life span and still with enough time to raise another princess should she never return, or come back tainted.

Strong enough to return, but easily replaced should the tales from the eternal kingdom hold the dangers that the stories hinted at.

That was to be the fate of the Princess.

She was supposed to witness all that she could, learn the secrets of this Wyrm, and bring the information back to the Queen Mother and let her decide how to proceed.

Either to once more open trade, to shun the Wyrm so as to not rely on him again, or to go to war and take the kingdom for themselves.

The Princess had so far seen . . . strange things. Technology that went beyond the tales told by the Queen Mother. Bugs that could have only been born from these caves and not lured in by the wyrm. Magic done with no ceremony nor with any artifacts or sacrifice. Predators that she had always been taught to kill on sight walking amongst their prey with no intent to attack.

The bugs that guided the Princess with her sister guards answered the questions that she asked, but the Princess knew that one cannot simply trust the words of a bug not of blood.

And even then, the blood can fail.

The Princess flexed her hands, remembering the words of her tutor.

One of her rare still living Aunts instead of a sister.

She had been hidden in the ceiling of the chamber, ordered to hide there by the Queen Mother in order to learn another lesson that she would need to rule the nest.

“The current princess is too fool hardy and moves too fast. It would be best to raise another before she kills all of her sisters and daughters in a senseless fight.”

The tutor, the one who had raised her, taught her nearly everything she knew, who had encouraged her and comforted her when she had crashed after her first flight, was calling for her to be tossed aside as a failure? She had to fight the urge to burst through the ceiling to demand an explanation for the slander, but had stayed hidden away through more cruel remarks and demands.

It was only when her Queen Mother had called her down after the tutor had left that one of the most important lessons that she would ever learn was spelled out for her.

“Do not blindly trust the blood. A sister, an aunt, or a daughter could betray you.”

As the Princess walked into the white glowing room that she would meet the Wyrm in, she thought it was perhaps purposely left out that even a mother could betray as well.

The audience room had undergone a bit of a remodel.

 It was still all opulent carved stone, details catching light and flinging light farther than it should.

But with the stronger alliance with the spiders, they had supplied decorations to the room to show their support of the Pale King.

So now there were large fluttering silk drapes that accented just how high the ceilings were, and replaced the stillness of the room with movement. Making the ceiling seem as though it was filled with wings.

The White Lady had become more involved in the daily court life and so now every corner of the room housed a potted plant that had been carefully pruned to grow in such a way to match the patterns of the carvings or to be just wild enough to make it seem as though they sprouted from the walls themselves.

None of these had been there the very first time that Mary had been dragged into the room to meet the ruler of Hallownest, and honestly, while it seemed to fill the large room, it made it all the more awe inspiring.

But the biggest change, was the glowing wall of runes that split the room in half and hid the royal family from the crowd of bugs slowly being led into the room and seated.

Chairs had been temporarily placed in the center of the room a few feet from the edge of the barrier. They were just simple stools made of metal. The stools were the only thing that any bug could sit on without having to watch out for wings or long abdomens, so they were chosen despite their simplicity.

Mary’s assistants and various retainers were the ones greeting the visiting guests at the door and escorting the bugs to their seats. Most went willingly, but Mary was the one who stepped in whenever there was a bug kicking up a fuss. Either at being sat too far from the front or because they didn’t think that their place was important enough. They wanted to sit next to so and so, they wanted to sit farther away from whomever, the complaints were endless and eternal.

But Mary could roll her eyes as much as she wanted behind the safety of her mask, as she just continued to gently guide the fussing bugs to their seats. These bugs spent so much time talking and nagging at her, that it was simple enough to just make some agreeing noises and get them seated before abandoning them.

“Oh, I am so sorry! I’ll tell someone immediately. You just go ahead and sit down though. I know that it’s such a long walk here! There you go, just relax and I’ll take care of this as quickly as I can~”

And with that, the bug wearing some kind of armor made of tree bark sat down with a satisfied look on their face, and Mary disappeared into the group of fluttering cloaks.

She of course wasn’t going to do shit. The event was going to begin soon, and she doubted that any of the bugs here had the balls to kick up much of a fuss in the throne room of the king. And if they did?

It would be simple enough to have them removed.

Mary returned to her places against the wall, standing on the Pale King’s side of the room and watching the bugs entire, looking for another problem to deal with, should another bug cause a fuss.

There was a general plan in place to make these bugs stop trying to get special treatment, to make them realize that they were not in a position to be making any kinds of demands of the bugs of Hallownest.

The Pale King was going to use his ‘presence’ to put the fear of a God into these foreign bugs.

Mary didn’t have a fucking clue about what that meant, but she had been assured that it was a very real thing that has worked before and will worked again.

These bugs just needed to get a taste of what they were dealing with, a good look at what exactly it meant to be a guest in the kingdom of a God.

It didn’t matter where they had come from and what they were, a God trumps a mortal.

The room was nearly filled to its max compacity.

The various retainers finally managed to escort all of the invited bugs to the places that had been set up for them, and the great doors slowly creaked shut.

It had actually been hard to make them do that? Their joints had actually had to be crusted in honey to make them creak like that. To give the sort of ‘final’ atmosphere that Mary had been going for.

And with the shutting of the doors, the selected retainer stepped up to the long stairs and kicked off the show.

The bug, white robed like the rest, but a bit older than the usual bugs crawling through these halls, bowed to the crowd, and when he rose began the introduction.

“Guests of the Eternal Kingdom Hallownest, it is my greatest honor to introduce His majesty, The God of Light and Knowledge, the Pale King, ruler of Hallownest. Her majesty, The God of Growth, the White Lady, queen of Hallownest. And their oldest child, Godhood yet unknown, the Hollow Knight.”

And the glowing barrier that had divided the room down the middle fell and the royal family were unveiled.

The Pale King sat on the more ordered side of the room. The patterns carved into the walls and floor reflecting his light, making him seem to shine brightly, but without actually blinding anyone.

He was seated in . . .  not a slump. But Mary had gently coached him into relaxing into his throne, not sitting so damn straight. He had finally achieved that confident, unconcerned sprawl after days of effort.

You know, that “You are not the most important thing I will be doing today” sort of aura while still retaining that “I am your KING” class.

It had been fucking hard.

Wings and centipede bodies make things complicated

The White Lady was seated on the wilder side of the room, her tentacles nearly blending into the backdrop of plants. Her large shape being accented by the ways that the plants grew around her, the way that her eye’s blazed out from the foliage like gems dropped in a garden.

She was looking down at the entire room, looking queenly and like she was about to order the guards remove some of the riff-raff.

She had taken a while to get over her giggles. It wasn’t that she couldn’t keep a straight face while pretending, but that the Pale King would just sort of stare at her and forget what he was supposed to be doing whenever he caught sight of her looking like that.

And then Mary had to break up their married couple flirting.

It was a whole thing.

To get around it, the Pale King was simply forbidden from looking to his left.

And behind of the ornate thrones of the king and queen, were a number of smaller chairs.

One was adorned in webs, spun personally by Herrah herself.

It was almost a hammock on short stilts, fashioned to cradle Hornet and keep her stable no matter what position she found herself in. And since court talks were quite boring, there was a dream catcher dangling half hidden at the top of it for whenever the princess ended up taking a nap in the seat.

And situated around that chair were four little wooden seats without any sort of decoration.

That was because the little ones who sat in those often changed where they were sitting at the drop of a hat. Playing hot potato with their seats until they enviably ended up abandoning the chairs altogether and sharing with someone else.

Those little thrones were often left empty, the lap of a parent or shared seat with their older siblings being chosen instead.

Needless to say, the children’s thrones were left up to imply the presence of the royal children, but there was no way in hell Herrah was going to let her daughter be in front of all of these unknown bugs, and Mary trusted the voidlings to behave in this situation, like she trusted Hollow to keep their hands off of her.

Which is to say, not a snowball’s chance in hell.

And situated behind the kid’s seats’, as far back as it could be while still remaining in the room, was Hollow’s throne.

It had a very high back and arching horn like protrusions to the sides. It was made of black stone with white highlights and was shined to reflect light from its finish.

It was the only other throne with details engraved in it, because they didn’t expect Hollow to grow anymore, and as such it was a more permanent addition.

It was regal and ominous. It matched the foreboding aura of void that Hollow always carried with them.

It was also usually piled high with pillows and often had a little corner table next to it.

Because Hollow kept putting Mary in their specially made throne and orchestrating little tea parties at any time that Mary was needed in court.

That had all been cleared out before the bugs had arrived, and had been a more involved job than Mary had expected.

Hollow had shoved a LOT of pillows into their throne.

Enough to put Mary about two feet off the ground. It had been like sitting on a cloud.

But now Hollow was the one residing on the throne. Their seat was tucked away in the shadows of their parents thrones and half hidden by the fluttering cloth that had been hung lower just for the occasion. The cloth was hung low enough to hide their upper body from view, but with how the silk waved and withered as soul pulsed through the air?

It gave anyone watching enough of a glimpse of the Hollow Knight, seated alone amongst the empty thrones of their absent siblings.

It was honestly a little bit sinister, but everyone had agreed to try and keep Hollow away from most of the proceedings. They didn’t have the nerve to try and seduce traders into Hallownest, and they weren’t very good with the long and tedious social interaction that would be demanded by the events.

So, their main job was to sit around and look gorgeous and royal.

Which they could do easy, in Mary’s opinion.

Everyone had been debriefed on the ploy that was going to happen, and now they just needed to play their parts.

The Pale King fluttered his wings, dragging Mary’s gaze off of the way Hollow sprawled in their throne.

And she frowned.

The Pale King looked . . .

Disgusted?

The moment that he had dropped the barrier, both he and his wife had let their power flood the room. Their essence wrapped around the bugs and while the natives of the tunnels only shivered at the feeling of the magic, the guests all froze like they had just seen a predator.

The Pale King slowly turned his head as he looked over the crowd, and from just the corner of his eye, he saw his wife’s tendrils wave in the air.

The both of them had practiced how to look like ‘gods’ and as another layer to the act.

But unlike all of the times when he had been under Mary’s tutelage on how to look as if others were below him. This time he truly felt as if the bugs in front of him were not worth the time it took to meet them.

“I greet you.”

The Pale King’s voice was dry and cold. He had tried to reach this level of uncaring during the many practices that Mary had scheduled, but all he had managed was tired.

But now faced with the many bright and wary eyes of the foreign bugs in his palace, he reached the condescending and sarcastic tone easily.

He didn’t like having these bugs in his home. He didn’t like the ways that they watched his retainers. He didn’t like the taste of foreign gods that clung to them.

He felt like he was facing an invasion from the outside. That these bugs were encroaching on his territory.

He was self-aware enough to know that this wasn’t what was happening. These bugs had been invited.

He needed to trade with these bugs.

His kingdom’s survival and future depended on these bugs wanting to trade with his people.

“I have invited you to my Kingdom, to my halls, to tell you that the curse that plagued this land has been defeated.”

Mary had written the speech, and then shaved off as many details and words that she could. She had told both him, and all of the dreamers, that the best way to explain why the kingdom was closed was to barely explain at all. To keep the details as close to the carapace as possible during the official declaration, and then force the merchants to mix with the population in order to get the rest of the story.

“I wondered how the world changed while my Kingdom was locked away, I hope to be impressed with what the bugs around the wastes have accomplished in this time.”

He . . . he still sounded like he expected them to disappoint him. And well, he did.

Hallownest had been exceptionally advanced before its doors had closed, and even amidst the fear of the infection things about soul and metal working had still been discovered and practiced.

Without his kingdom’s knowledge and resources to build off of, he expected that the kingdoms from outside the wastes to have stagnated or even backslide in their development.

But the point was to tickle their pride and make them show off what accomplishments they had made, not anger them by implying that they were in some way lesser.

He was ruining this! Why couldn’t he control himself? Why couldn’t he just play the part!

But before the Pale King’s mind could spiral, the soft voice of his wife cut through the tense air.

“Darling.”

The attention of the room switched from the King to the Queen, all of the bugs in the audience seeming to come to the realization that there was another god in the room all at once. One of them, the ant princess, nearly fell out of her chair in shock at hearing his wife speak.

 “It is unfair to them if you are too harsh. Our Hallownest has had the assistance of multiple gods. You cannot compare the efforts of mortals to the abilities of divinity. It would be cruel to do so.”

The Pale King began to turn his head, wishing to look at his wife as she patched his shoddy performance with her words. Softening his clumsy edges with her timeless patience and serenity that he had fallen in love with her for.

Do not look at your wife! You’ll stare like a lovesick idiot! AGAIN!

Mary’s voice struck through the Pale King’s mind before he did more than tilt his horns, and he jerked his head in the opposite direction.

His sharp movement drew the attention back to him, and the Pale King panicked.

He was speaking in front of a crowd of foreign bugs, his teeth itched in the urge to bare them at the invaders, he was guilty that he had already failed to follow Mary’s constantly practiced speeches, and now they were all staring at him while the two emotions battled for dominance in his chest.

He saw Mary’s smiling mask where her stood against the wall with the other retainers in the room, and he didn’t think fast enough to stop his learned response for asking after Mary’s ‘Storyteller’ opinion.

“And your thoughts Storyteller?”

Mary froze.

Did the Pale King really just-?

The Pale King had stopped moving, his head still tilted at the angle that let him stare at her against the wall.

She had drilled him too much, trained him too well to stiffen out of his purposeful slouch, but Mary knew.

She knew he was screaming on the inside.

Mary could nearly feel the tension in the room go up a few levels, like someone winding the strings on a guitar. There was the sound of movement, wings fluttering and legs shuffling as the outsiders all turned toward where the Pale King was looking.

All of the retainers and servants who had been carefully informed of the plan were all tensing and very very purposefully not looking at Mary.

Mary suspected that they were all trying to figure out why the Pale King had changed the plan. Why the practiced speech had changed. Why the Storyteller had been called out. What had caused this change to the plan that they had all been following.

Most of them probably could not even contemplate the possibility that the Pale King had simply fucked up.

The Pale King had been off since the balcony, but Mary had managed to convince herself that it was just some pre-presentation jitters. But as he had missed his ques and his voice had turned colder and colder, Mary had come to the horrified realization that the Pale King, terrible actor that he was, actually did have distain for these bugs.

And he was letting them all know it!

That had not been the plan!

And if that wasn’t bad enough, now he had called her out!

Mary had a choice here.

She could just do nothing, and the Pale King would look like a fool, or she could own up to being one of the masked bugs against the wall, putting all of her workers in doubt for the rest of the time that these bugs were in Hallownest.

Hell, probably longer than that!

If she revealed herself, these bugs would always suspect any bug of wearing a mask and not speak to them of anything of worth or weight. No gossip would be shared with any masked bug, all anonymity would be gone. Her agents would have to all go barefaced and keep careful track of who interacted with who instead of just getting a new mask.

But. Mary thought as she stared at the frozen Pale King, it would be worse for the Pale King to look foolish here.

But the choice was, thankfully, taken from her hands when the White Lady spoke up.

“Oh? Did the Storyteller sneak in?”

Now with both monarchs looking her way, and the entire room staring toward where she was standing, Mary didn’t have any choice but to give up the charade.

Mary’s eyes frantically searched the area, desperately trying to figure out some miracle she could pull out of her ass to save the situation, and caught her reflection in the polished shine of the floor.

Making eye contact with her mask, and it’s drawn smile and upturned eyes.

 . . . she could make this work, it might not do well for her lore, but the bugs would all buy it, she was sure.

If Mary put on a good enough show and got the Pale King and the White Lady to play along, this could be spun in such a way to make the Pale King look more powerful? To make it seem like he could always pick her out of the crowd, no matter how she was disguised?

If she could make it seem like only a god could pick her out of the crowd then . . . would everyone calm down as long as they knew she was with the Pale King? As long as there was a visible Storyteller that the Pale King acknowledged . . .

Later, focus on the show now.

Mary felt every single eye lock on her as she left her place in the formation of servants against the wall. She grit her teeth as she put as much confidence and shamelessness as she could into her strut.

The fact that these things apparently translated to lots of hip swaying was probably lost on the bugs, but fuck it, she got the message.

This character that she had been playing had interacted with a good amount of the bugs in the Hall. She had already been seen and heard and they had an expectation for how she was to act. She was pretending to be flirty and catty and fluttery. Customer service with teeth.

 She couldn’t drop the act quite yet. Had to imprint on these bug’s minds that there was a completely different personality attached to this mask.

“Aww! Pale King! I was enjoying the game of pretend. Must you end my act so soon?”

Good, ok, so that implied that the King had always known what she as doing and that he had only know decided to call her out on it!

Now to give the Pale King a hint about what bullshit she is trying to pull.

Mary gently cupped her masked face, tracing the cut features with her cloth covered hands, “I like this character. They’re so much fun to be! Not like my usual stuffy self at all!”

The Pale King caught on quick, still familiar with what he and Mary had agreed he was supposed to appear as. Strict but not controlling. A ruler who knew exactly what was happening in his tunnels, but as long as everyone followed the rules, willing to let the petty disputes happen between the mortals. His attention wasn’t meant to be a help or a hinder, but simply be an eternal a fact.

If you were in the tunnels of Hallownest, then you had the Pale King’s attention.

Even if he had failed to be this way with the crowd, he might at least able to pretend when his attention was directed at her.

“Your fun can happen in places that are not my court Storyteller.”

Yes! Good! That’s the exhausted ‘boss of an uncontrollable problem’ tone that I wanted!

 “Oh, but the court is the best place to play pretend! Everyone showing the face that they think you will like the best. It’s always so entertaining to be just another bug along the wall, I hear so many interesting things! Truths and lies and words so twisted that they can be both at once!”

Oh my god, who the hell was she? The Cheshire Cat?! Was she really going for this?!

Mary was at the bottom of the low stairs and, just like always, the barrier didn’t acknowledge her at all, letting her climb up the incline to where the Pale King and White Lady were.

There were some gasps behind her, more buzzing of wings and taps of legs.

Yeah, the whole ‘ignored by magic’ always got a response.

Shit, would that make them paranoid? To know that magic couldn’t stop her?

Mary had finally reached the top of the stairs, standing on the same level as royalty, and had been so lost in her panicked thoughts that she had completely forgotten to show any deference to the Gods.

Her actions, and lack of courtesy unsubtly let the bugs in the room all know that she considered herself on the same standing of the rulers of this kingdom. On the same level as Gods.

But even more shocking, was how the bugs seated in the thrones were not surprised or angry at such an action.

As if what the Storyteller was doing was expected.

Like she belonged among the royal family, standing beside gods.

The Pale King kept his gaze steady on her as she approached his throne, his poker face impenetrable even when Mary knew he was still beating himself up over his fuck up.

Mary expected him to continue on the charade, so she was actually a bit startled when the White Lady spoke up.

“And have you heard anything interesting from our guests Storyteller?”

The White Lady stayed completely straight in her chair, but some of her tentacles flexed and swayed toward the Storyteller and Mary instinctively caught one of the tendrils that had drifted close to her face.

The White Lady used Mary’s own grip to gently pull her toward the plant littered side of the room.

Mary laughed to buy herself some time to think, her cackles bouncing off the walls as she tried to figure out what the FUCK she could say to that!

Ma’am! I appreciate you playing along but ask EASIER QUESTIONS PLEASE!

Mary stepped around the plants on the floor as she was tugged along by the White Lady, her wobbly walk making her cloak sway, giving the appearance that the Storyteller was dancing in the White Lady’s roots. Laughing joyously and with abandon as the God of Growth easily had her step this way and that.

White lady! I’m going to fall! Stop playing! This is supposed to be serious!

Mary managed to twist away from the White Lady’s grip and stumble backwards to the Pale King’s side of the area. The less cluttered ground helping her keep her feet underneath of her, even if she was once more facing the crowd.

Mary dramatically clutched her hands together and placed them on her shoulder, like a wishful young girl.

“Oh! I have heard so many things! But nothing worth a story yet, but if it pleases my queen I can offer up a story at the end of the event? I’m sure that by the end of the Bazaar I will have found all of the most interesting secrets to share.”

At that proclamation, the bugs below all seemed to fluster. Anger and panic coloring their minds and actions, a few even making threatening displays toward the strange bug who was saying such unsettling things.

But a flare of wings from the Pale King froze them once again, the largest predator in the room being given their attention once more.

The Pale King had straightened in his chair and bared his teeth at the Storyteller, less angry at her and more in response to the ways that the crowd had responded to her words.

They were not to threaten his people.

But, while it was satisfying to show these creatures his teeth, he still had to play his part.

“Storyteller! You are not to invade the privacy of my guests! These are not bugs of Hallownest, they are to be treated with courtesy- “And here the Pale King cast his gaze out over the crowd, his power flexing over the room to let them all feel the intent behind his next words. “-as long as they obey my laws.”

The Pale King had straightened up to say that, letting his wings and magic flare as he stared the room down. It was a threatening image, his teeth on display and the hiss in his voice in full effect.

He looked every bit of an aggravated king and a god.

But Mary had already committed to this act of a trickster who could dance on the last nerve of a Wyrm and have the confidence to get away scotch free.

“Oh yes, your laws. I am here by your grace as well, just like the rest of them, and I shall obey every law that they do. I shall pay for every crime you catch me at just like the rest of Hallownest.”

Mary managed to make her way toward the Pale King, confidently placing her sleeved hand on the arm of his throne and dragging it along the metal as she passed by.

She was aiming to be hidden behind the back of throne to do a quick costume change, but as she passed the Pale King’s throne, he reached out and snatched her arm.

Stalling her movement for a moment, only barely tilting his head toward her, the rule of ‘Don’t look at the WIFE’ still restraining his movement as he snarled up at her.

“Storyteller, stop playing this character.”

There was a power in that sentence that sent a frightful shudder down the back of every mortal in the room. Every visiting bug thought that they were about to see this cocky ‘Storyteller’ get punished by a god.

Mary made a show of slumping her shoulders and heaving a loud sigh, throwing her head back with all of the drama of an aggravated teenager.

But despite her exaggerated body langue, she put as much ‘proper upstanding lady’ as she could in her voice.

“As you wish Pale King, but I was so enjoying being the trickster.”

Mary gently pulled her arm from the Pale King’s loose grip and finally stepped behind the Pale King’s throne.

Fuck she hoped Hollow would figure out what she wanted.

The moment that she was hidden behind the high-backed throne, she immediately yanked her mask off and waved it at Hollow with a desperate expression.

Hollow, who had been digging their fingers into the arms of their throne, denting the stone with the grip that had just barely managed to restrain them to their chair since the moment the Storyteller had stepped away from the wall. The grip that they had forced on themselves since the moment that she had the attention of all of these unknown bugs.

They had just barely managed to keep themselves in their throne, and still they struggled against the urge to scoop Mary up into their arms and turn their back on the crowd to hide her away from their gazes.

Thankfully they caught on to what Mary wanted and sent a thin void tentacle crawling from their body, it stayed low to the floor and carried her official mask with it.

They were familiar enough with the tricks that Mary played to have an idea of what her plan was.

So, they also offered up a thick length of gold cord, and Mary snatched it up as well.

She wrapped it around her waist in a complicated crisscross fashion that would cinch in the cloth at her waist and give her an obviously different body shape from a regular cave bug.

Mary spoke with a loud voice as she finished up the knots and yanked at her robes to smooth out any ruffles, “I so really get the opportunity to mix with the citizens of Hallownest. I thought that such an uncouth character would be a more interesting part to play.”

Mary yanked down the tight cloth she had tied her breast down with, changing the shape of her chest. She had been forcing her breasts down so that there wouldn’t be any strange bulges under her cloak, but now she needed the ladies front and center.

The ruffled cloth would be uncomfortable, but she wanted it to look like she had basically changed her species while behind the Pale King’s throne, and suddenly breasts would help a lot with that.

She wanted the change to be as dramatic as possible to try and up her mystique.

“But if my King demands his Storyteller...

Mary slapped her mask over her face and tucked her hood around it. She stood as tall as she could and took a deep breath to puff out her chest. Her preparations complete, Mary stepped out from behind the throne with all of the grace she could muster.

“Then his Storyteller I will become.”

It was kind of satisfying to hear the gasps as she stepped out from behind the throne. The crowd shocked at her change, and now Mary was sure that they were all convinced that she had some magical power.

Fucking nailed it.

The Storyteller stood between the two thrones her back straight and her hands folded elegantly in her sleeves.

“Greetings visitors to the Eternal Kingdom of Hallownest. I am the Pale King’s” -shitfuckdon’tsayfrienduhhhhhh- “advisor. Creator of the Dreamcatchers and teller of stories. It will be an honor to have a new audience for my tales.”

Mary doesn’t really remember the rest of the event after herself introduction.

Her body had been flooded with a mix of adrenaline and relief that had made her mind a bit hazy. She remembers responding to both the Pale King and the White Lady. Adding her two cents to the topic of advancements, but honestly? It’s all a blur.

She just barely comes back to her own body while watching the last bug be led out of the hall by the retainers and the giant doors closing once more.

And then she turns to the Pale King and, still aware that she can be too loud for the doors to silence, whisper hiss at him, “WHAT THE FUCK WAS THAT!?”

The Pale King immediately ducked his head at her anger, and the White Lady’s tendrils drifted over to pluck him from his throne.

As the Pale King was lifted into the air, so was Mary, long fingered hands sliding against her ribs and raising her from the ground.

Mary didn’t even give Hollow a glance as she was settled into their arms and their free hand began to pat her between her shoulders in an effort to calm her. She kept her glare on the Pale King as she waited for some kind of explanation.

“I- I apologize. I panicked.”

Mary pressed her hands to her masked face and gave a shrill shriek between her tightly pressed lips.

All of those plans. All of that effort! All the sneaking and training! Wasted!

Hollow began to pat Mary with more vigor.

Mary tossed her head back, trapping Hollow’s hand between her head and shoulders as she let out a last angry noise before forcing her body to relax.

“Ok. OK! So, about half of our plans are trashed, and I’m going to have to join you at most of the parties now.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I won’t be able to do anymore reconnaissance either.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I’m going to have to do some kind of story event for them now.”

“I’m sorry.”

Mary groaned at the repeated apology, and looked back toward the Pale King where he was curled up and miserable in the White Lady’s lap.

The White Lady nuzzled into the Pale King’s neck, avoiding his horns with a practiced ease as she spoke to him.

“It will be alright my love. Nothing is ruined, everything can be adjusted. You did so well for so long!”

She was using her tendrils to pat him, just like Hollow was doing to Mary.

Mary snickered, the comedy reaching her even through her frustration. The sayings, like parent like child, and birds of a feather flock together applying in tandem.

Mary sighed, truly relaxing into Hollows arms as the hand that she had pinned was released and began to rub up and down her back.

“Let’s go to the conservatory. You need to contact the dreamers about the changes and I need to rehash the schedules with my assistants. We need to talk about whatever the hell brought about that mood you were in. But we might as well cuddle some babies while we do so.”

Everyone seemed to agree, and the queen began to roll away. The mobile chair having been hidden amongst the throne’s carvings and vines.

And so, the most powerful creatures in the kingdom left the throne room, the king being carried away by his wife, and the Storyteller being held by Hollow.

No one, god nor mortal noticed the carved wooden bead that had at some point rolled to the foot of the stairs.

Guldig had carefully schooled his face to be a disinterested mask as he was led through the grand white halls by the white cloaked bugs.

His charmed bead, a valuable item that had cost him much to acquire was repaying it’s price in full, relayed the private conversation into his antenna through its matched pair.

Listening to the ‘God’ King be berated by the Storyteller once they had been left alone in the throne room had been surprising to say the least.

He had suspected that there was an act going on, but not even he could have guessed at such a reversal of power.

A king the Wyrm might be, but it seemed as though he didn’t have as much power as they all pretended he did.

The information he had gathered was priceless and let him take a peek into the private lives of the gods and advisors of this kingdom. And he needed the information to make his next decisions.

Since entering this kingdom, Guldig had been forced to pretend as if the shows of wealth and power had no effect on him.

They did of course, his interest with this place rising with every foot he traveled in these tunnels, but it wouldn’t do to let the bugs that lived her know that.

He hadn’t gotten this far in life letting others know what he was thinking, and he was not about to start now.

This kingdom was an opportunity like no other! It was fully populated, with a surplus of goods to trade, and none of the bugs here knew the worth of what they had in excess. As long as he moved quickly, Guldig would be able to make a killing in this kingdom.

He had been split between two choices in the beginning. About whether to low ball the worth of the treasures on display, or to try and foster a partnership between his guild and the kingdom.

When he had first arrived, he had tried to enact the first idea, discreetly sending out messengers to control the other merchant’s prices and offers on the goods. Guldig had thought that since he had a hand in all of the merchants that had come with him that he could control this secluded kingdom’s knowledge of their worth, at least for this first deal.

But then he had seen the other merchants.

Merchants that he had could not recognize, transporting goods that he had never seen before, speaking of things that he had no knowledge of.

And that was when Guldig fully realized just how valuable the kingdom of Hallownest was.

It was the perfect between stop for all traders, and connected the different corners of the wasteland with each other.

Not only was it a treasure trove of goods, but it connected places that were cut off from his side of the world by the howling wastes.

It would do better to give up on a quick win, and focus on the long game and form a solid lasting partnership.

And there was one way to surefire way to ensure that he would be either allowed to stay or be invited back.

Now . . . who to approach?

Chapter Text

 Mary was lying flat on her back, head propped up on Hollow’s leg as Curly snuggled into her chest. The small voidling was kneading her like a weird octopus cat with their tentacle legs. Clenching and releasing all of the soft spots they could reach while tucked into her arms.

Hollow was stroking her unbraided hair having pulled down her hood and splayed the strands across their legs while also tucking a lax ghost into their neck. Hollow’s fingers dug into Mary’s hair while their other hand rubbed their little sibling around that one joint in their spine that they knew felt so good to be scratched.

Sprout had managed to climb up their mother’s shoulder, tucking themselves amongst her tentacles and snuggling the side of her head, their asymmetrical horns getting lost in the White Lady’s own.

The Pale King was still curled up in a tight ball in the White Lady’s lap, but now there was a smudge of black mixed up amongst all of the white fabric and pale carapace.

Vlad hung like a long-suffering cat, their little arms thrust out in front of them as the Pale King scrapped his teeth along their flared horns, grooming them to help calm himself down.

Vlad would rather be playing, but they could feel the stress coming off of their father, and all of his children knew that the Pale King’s preferred way to de-stress was to fuss over one of his children.

So, they would allow it.

For now.

Mary still had her mask on.

All of the bugs in the emptied-out conservatory had already seen her bare face, but Mary got anxious whenever there was a large group, and the current crowd was too big for her to relax.

One on one? Totally fine. Two or three? She liked to just push it onto the top of her head, but she would relax after a while. But if there were more than three?  She got panicky if she removed it completely.

So, for now, it was tucked to the side at an angle, letting her mouth and chin be seen as she chewed her bottom lip in thought.

“So . . . you think it’s a territory thing?”

The Pale King grumbled in embarrassment as he shoved more of Vlad’s horns into his mouth to let his inner teeth get at the crevasses and clean if of whatever dirt the child had gotten into while playing in the conservatory. Efficiently giving himself an excuse to not respond to the sensible question.

The White Lady, the one to offer the possible explanation in the first place patted him between the wings with a free tendril.

“Yes. I do suspect so.”

Mary rolled her head, dislodging the mask even more from her face as she tried to look at the White Lady and Pale King. “Was he like this when traders came in the past? He wasn’t right? There’s no way he would have managed to make a trade kingdom if he acted like that.”

The Pale King switched sides of Vlad’s head and shoved the other flared horns into his mouth, purposely keeping out of this conversation about his lack of self-control.

“No, he was much more cordial. But I suspect that tonight’s trouble was less of the fact that these bugs are new, and more the fact that they came in such numbers.”

The White Lady resituated her lover who was gnawing on their child like a termite with wood in her lap, and tilted her head to the side to avoid the sharp points of her offspring on her shoulder. “In the past we never had more than a few hundred foreign bugs in the kingdom at the same time. But now? there must be at least a thousand. Enough to be a threat.”

Mary frowned, her fingers stilling from where they had been sliding down Curly’s back. The sleepy voidling shimmied a bit to get her moving again, and Mary dug her nails into their back as she voiced her thoughts.

“Are they a threat? Is he- Pale King are you sensing their intent or something?”

The White Lady laughed, her humor at the question shaking the parts of her family that were being supported by her.  “No Storyteller, my dear does not have such an ability. But despite his current form, he is still a Wyrm. And in the past only a few things could pose any sort of threat to him. One of his kin, a powerful god, or a large number of bugs working together.”

Mary furrowed her brow, lifting one hand to point toward the ceiling, “But he was the one to give bugs a common language. So how . . .?”

The Pale King finally took his mouth off of his child, and reluctantly joined the conversation. “I gave bugs the ability to understand each other across the barriers of their species. But bees, ants, termites and other colony minded bugs have always found ways to communicate.”

“So, you are saying that your nervousness about public speaking might be something more than just something about you? An instinctive dislike of crowds that stems from your species? And that the sheer number of bugs in the kingdom has put you in attack mode?”

The Pale King chittered in embarrassment, shoving Vlad’s entire arm in his mouth as he continued to groom his captive child.

The White Lady was the one to answer, chuckling softly at the antics of her husband.

“Ah, no. I believe that my love is alone in his apprehension in regard to speaking in public. I suspect that it may be more that they were in his home, his place of rest. His senses are vast, so he has known that the foreign bugs were here. But smelling the other bugs and finally seeing them are two different things. Having them be close enough to see must have made his instinctive urge to warn them off from his nest overwhelming.”

Mary tapped the Curly’s back with her fingers, drumming them as she thought through the White Lady’s explanation.

“Sooooo- if he meets with them outside of the White Palace then he should be less hostile?”

The White Lady shrugged, nearly sliding her child off of her shoulders, before her tendrils wrapped around their middle, keeping Sprout seated on her shoulder.

“We will have to hope so.”

Mary sighed, rolling her head back into Hollow’s leg. “Alright, we’ll take a chance on it. Not that we have much of a choice really. We need these merchants.”

Mary struggled up from her sprawl, one arm keeping Curly to her chest while the other one levered her into a sitting position.

She felt the hand that Hollow had been using to pet her hair slide down her neck and support her from between her shoulders, gently propping her up until she was sitting, and then just . . . laying there, thumb hooked over one of her shoulders while they just touched her.

Mary rolled her shoulders to get comfortable with the weight, and then focused on speaking to the Pale King who looked like he was still trying to swallow his child whole.

Mary remembered the first time she had seen the Pale King stress grooming one of his children. The Pale King had been having a very bad day. One of the tunnels had collapsed with a group of bugs with in it. Most of them had been saved, but they had lost two of them before they could be dug out, and then Ghost had disappeared again.

When the voidling had finally been found, wedged between some boxes in a storage room, the Pale King had nearly shoved the child’s entire head into his mouth. Unhinging his jaw in four places in order to fit around the horns.

It had given Mary the fright of her life to even see the Pale King’s jaw unhinge like that, the bug’s throat looking like a demon’s garbage disposal sharp edges all the way down his throat, and then to see his teeth close around the top of Ghost’s head?

Needless to say, there had been a lot of screaming and a game of keep away with a confused child.

Everything had been explained eventually, with another difference in culture having snuck up on the two friends, but now Mary could think of few things that were more hilarious then seeing the Pale King shove various parts of his children into his mouth.

She had once seen him fit most of Hollow’s arm in there, looking for all the world like a chihuahua who had bit of more than it could chew while he had groomed their fingers with his inner teeth.

“We are going to go to the City of Tears gathering together.  I know that Lurien hasn’t sent out the invitations yet, my assistants were going to be the ones delivering them, so it should be simple enough to tell him to pare down the list of foreign bugs a bit.”

Mary pointed at the Pale King, letting him know that there would be no arguing with her. “You are going to be on your best behavior, and stick by me or Lurien the whole night. If you feel yourself slipping, you tell us and we can manufacture an emergency that will allow us to get you out of there.”

Mary let her arm drop back to the child still hanging from her chest, “If you can’t do it than you can’t do it and forcing the issue won’t get us anywhere. We’ll just pretend that you hiding away was an expected result that what little time you spent among them was already more than what was expected.”

The hand on her shoulders suddenly squeezed Mary tightly, and she tilted her head back too look at Hollow.

They were staring down at her rather intensely.

Though, everything they did was pretty intense with those empty void filled eyes.

“. . . yes? What is it Hollow?”

Her shoulder got squeezed once more, before they raised their hands and purposely hooked their little fingers with each other.

Mary stared at their hands, rummaging through her mental files on what that action meant. She wasn’t good at sign language, but she was getting a touch faster at recognizing the signals that they had all hammered out the meanings to.

“. . .together?”

A sharp nod, then a hand reached out to tap her on her shoulder, while the other taped them on their own chest.

Me and you together.

The purpose of Hollow’s signing suddenly clicked together in Mary’s mind.

“Oh, Hollow. Sweetie. You do not want to come to the party. It’s not going to be a good time for you.”

Hollow repeated the taping and the hooked fingers.

“Hollow, it’s going to be a lot of talking and political games! You aren’t going to be able to communicate with them, not really, but they will absolutely want to talk to you. Just imagine all of the boring things they’re going to say, or the things they’ll try to get you to agree to!”

Hollow repeated the signs.

“Hollow. You don’t even have anything you can wear, all of your armor would be taken as a message of aggression.”

Repeated.

Mary sighed as she stared up at her loyal and loving shadow. A bug who would follow her anywhere, even into the political mine field that they were truly unprepared to handle.

“You would just follow me if I told you to stay, wouldn’t you?”

Hollow hooked their fingers again.

Mary sighed from with a bone-weary air as she collapsed back into Hollow’s lap once more, her head landing with a thunk on their carapace.

“Fine. But don’t say that I didn’t warn you. It’s going to be a mess, and I’m going to have to focus on your father. And I won’t be able to stay by your side the whole night. You’ll be left on your own at some point, and you’ll have to be polite to the guests.”

Mary reached up to rub her eyes behind her mask, Curly kneading her chest possibly in an effort to comfort her. Or just because they liked how she squished.

“We’re going to have to figure out how to keep you out of trouble.”

It was at this point that Vlad had finally reached the end of their patience, digging their little feet into their fathers stomach and launched themselves out of the grip of their parents to land on the ground. Their jump was powerful enough to send the White Lady tilting backwards, landing on her back with her husband now pressed to her chest.

Things got a bit loud then. The voidlings abandoning their places to chase after their sibling, and Hollow scooping Mary off of the ground before going to help their parents up from their tangle. Trying to keep from tripping over one of their smaller siblings the whole while.

“You’re going to want to use your hips, your chin and your hands. You can’t talk to them, or at least not much. So, you are going to have to really lean into your body language.”

Mary, Tinsy, and a few other of her workshop assistants all stood before Hollow. A crash course in how to use your body for communication was going down and Mary had figured that it would be best to run her gestures through actual bugs to make sure that everything translated correctly.

Mary knew that the babies were all looking around the corner as well, but had decided to ignore them for now. They were having fun being sneaky

“Alright, let’s start with obvious messages. We want you to play a standoffish and haughty sort of bug so that they mostly leave you alone, but we don’t want you to come off as full on rude. So, the best idea would be to make you too regal and gorgeous to approach.”

Mary, who had tied her sleeves up to leave her arms bare and knotted the bottom of her cloak to let her hairy legs be seen, propped one hand on her hip, and slanted her body a bit in a dramatic pose.

“Mirror me Hollow.”

Hollow did, and looked like someone was puppeting them with strings. They were all straight lines where they should be curves, and floppy where there should have tension.

Mary pressed her lips together behind the mask.

This is going to be hard.

Mary tried out a few more basic positions, crossing her arms, standing tall, and leaning, but while Hollow could mimic the shape of it, they weren’t giving out any sort of feeling.

They just looked like someone was moving a doll around.

Which was weird, because Mary knew that they could give off -impressions- of what they were feeling. She had been guilted by them quite often and they had the puppy eyes down pat despite them not being able to move their face.

She knew that they could do body language.

 . . . maybe I’m focusing too much on the shape of it and not enough on the performance?

“Alright, ok. So that’s not working . . . let’s try something else. Tinsy, come here.”

The fluffy antennae bug stepped away from the small group and waited for instructions.

“Ok, so Tinsy. I want you to tell me, without saying anything, that you hate me and think I’m below you.”

Mary’s personal retainer froze, not being expected to pretend to hate her Mistress. Her antenna’s trembled, “Ahhh-”

Mary cut her off, “No words! Come on, imagine that I’m your rival and that you have come to rub in my face the fact that I have failed. Move your body to show that kind of emotion.”

Tinsy stood for a moment in bewilderment, not sure how to do this exactly.

Mary heaved a sigh, “Surely there was a moment that you can remember where you weren’t able to say anything, but that you wanted to make sure that someone knew that they had lost to you? A terrible co-worker or a love rival?”

Tinsy was suddenly thrown back into a memory of when that one stupid retainer who would bad mouth her mistress still worked in the White Palace. Of how she would always cast doubt on the Storyteller and question if she was really from somewhere else and not just a disguised maggot putting on airs and telling lies.

The terrible pest had been let go for substandard work, too much time spent bad mouthing others and not enough time actually doing her job.

Tinsy vividly remembered hearing about her being let go, and how much she wished she could have been there when she had to do her walk of shame across the grand bridge.

“Oh, that’s perfect! See! Like that Hollow.”

Tinsy blinked and suddenly became aware of herself, tossed out of the vivid fantasy she had been entertaining about watching the pest walk downtrodden across the bridge for all to see.

Her arms were crossed across her chest, and her head was tilted to the side but pointed up toward the ceiling. Her antenna were relaxed and curling at the ends in pleasure.

Hollow was mimicking her position, and while they couldn’t mimic her antenna, the message being put out by their body was coming across clearly.

Full of distain but prideful.

And like popping a soap bubble, the tension in the room broke and the other assistants got the courage to offer up their own poses and mimic each other.

The babies came into the room and joined in on the poses, Ghost and Sprout still not quite getting the hang of it while Vlad and Curly enjoyed themselves to the fullest. The room was full of voguing bugs that would change position with each new scenario that Mary called out, a few of them even offering up their own suggestions.

“You lost a fight!”

Slumped shoulders all around. Clutched arms and lowered antennas.

Mary laughed at the dramatic body langue of the bugs around her, poking at Vlad’s stomach to make them slump even more.

“Impatiently waiting for someone to stop talking!”

Crossed arms, tapping fingers, tossed heads.

Mary demonstrated to Ghost that tapping their foot often helped bring across a certain, ‘I’m waiting’ air.

“I’m ignoring you!”

Picking at fingers, staring into the distance, cocked hips. Mary had to put her finger under Curly’s chin to raise it even higher into the air, not even deigning to even vaguely look in the direction of the worthless bug.

“Staring at the love of your life!”

Mary started, jerking to stare at the bug who had yelled that one out. The grinning face of one of her older assistants greeted her, but then there was the sudden movement from beside of her that turned her head.

Hollow had left the middle of the room and kneeled down beside of her.

Mary was confused at what they were doing next to her, but when she went to look back at where they had come from, wondering if someone had taken their spot, they raised a large hand and carefully slid it through the gap between her mask and hood. Their lukewarm, velvety palm raised goosebumps on her skin as their long thin fingers slid over her ear and curled into her hair.

Their smallest finger settled on her nape while their thumb rubbed right under the slit of her mask, the entire side of her head settled easily in their pale as they gently angled Mary’s head up to stare directly into their eyes.

Every bug in the room seemed to take a deep breath, waiting to see how the Storyteller would respond to such an overt declaration of affection.

“ . . . yes? Did you need something Hollow?”

All of the bugs in the room, voidling or otherwise, were united in their mental scream, ‘YES! THEY NEED YOU!’

And almost like she heard them, the Storyteller jolted. “Oh! You were following the scenario!”

The bugs in the room perked up once more, even Hollow’s head raising as a bit of hope bloomed inside of them.

“But it wouldn’t be a good idea for you to flirt with anyone, I don’t think you want to try and lead anyone on.”

The Storyteller reached up and gently removed Hollow’s hand. She curled it up and patted it. “Besides, you shouldn’t go around touching strangers, they’ll think it’s rude.”

Mary turned away from Hollow, hoping that she was able to remove their hand before they could feel her blush and thankful as all hell that she wore a mask.

Behind her, Hollow very purposely slumped their shoulders and their siblings crowded around to gently pat at them in consolidation.

The other bugs in the room, still in the spirit of being dramatic dropped to their knees or clutched their heads in anguish some of them threw their hands to the ceiling as if beseeching a higher power.

“Did someone call out something?”

Tinsy, already acutely aware of just how stupid the Storyteller could be, just heaved out a sigh. “Yes Storyteller. We’re presenting the image of suffering.”

“Oh . . . alright then. Good work.”

Mary held a small cup of fruit juice and mead, careful not to spill it as she politely laughed at the comment that the most recent bug that had approached her had made.

She stood near the Pale King, close enough to brush against him as barely responded to any comment directed his way.

So far, the White Lady’s prediction was both correct and incorrect.

She had been right that it was the number of foreign bugs that had caused the Pale King to act so aggressive, but it turned out that she had been wrong about why the bugs had tweaked his instincts.

It hadn’t been their danger to him, but the fact that there had been more foreign entities than familiar.

Mary, who had been keeping a close eye on his mood, could track the tension in his body as the population in the room fluctuated.

The Pale King had been at his most relaxed before the party had started, arriving early to speak privately with Lurien, and had gotten increasingly tense as the guests had arrived. But the line of his shoulders had gone up and down throughout the evening, and Mary had finally connected it to the number of servants in the room.

When there were lots of servants running around with platters of snacks, then the Pale King unspooled his body from its tight curl, but when there were less he tightened up again.

By Mary’s estimate it was best to have a three to one ratio of Hallownest bugs to visitors, to keep the Pale King relaxed.

But sadly, the need to talk to the visitors kept making him tense up whenever he was even half surrounded by them. But Lurien and Mary stayed glued to his sides, and where Mary went, Hollow followed.

Hollow.

Oh, sweet baby Jesus.

Mary very purposely focused forward and did not look behind her. Did not look behind her even when she felt the most delicate of brushing fabric touches on her back. Something she was hyper aware of ever since seeing what the weavers had done with one of her spare cloaks and some gold necklaces.

Hollow was dressed like a damn Princess Leia pin up!

A thin white, almost translucent, length of fabric hung from their hips. Only held up by the round gold pins that sat in their hip bones and were pierced through the corners of the fucking loin cloth.

And if to just make everything worse, they had been put in a damned tube top that was cinched by dangling gold chains that were also hooked over their horns.

They were breath takingly gorgeous and Mary had to focus very hard to stop staring at their legs and the way that the loin cloth fluttered with their every minor move.

She knew that they didn’t have anything between their legs, and she had seen them bare more often them she had seen them covered.

But it was just . . . it was so much worse if it was just slightly hidden?

Her eyes just kept getting drawn up the long legs and fluttering fabric until she was once more staring at the way that the fabric stretched across their hips.

So, she had taken a page out of her own training of the Pale King, and was simply not looking at Hollow.

And so far, it was working.

Mostly.

She couldn’t resist some peeks, and it’s not like anyone could tell exactly where she was looking as long as she didn’t tilt her head.

“-tasks do you do to acquire the title of Storyteller? Surely you are more than just an entertainer?”

Mary yanked her thoughts away from Hollow’s legs and refocused on the bug in front of her. They were a bit taller than her, and had super curly antennas and bulbous eyes. They were decked out in dangly bits of metal, some of which were actually pierced though their carapace and Mary was honestly impressed with their look.

They had been one of the few that had been brave enough to approach the clumping of royalty and advisors, and had been very politely mining for information about the social dynamics between them all.

No really, they had opened up with, “What are your social dynamics?”

“No, no. I was not given the title ‘Storyteller’ by the Pale King. I was already titled Storyteller when we first met. I had, in fact, begun my time in Hallownest as a simple entertainer.”

Lurien added in his own knowledge of the situation, “The Storyteller has since become an advisor since being absorbed into the Pale King’s court.”

The Pale King spoke up from where he was standing between Mary and Lurien, making the valiant attempt to actually interact with the bug in front of them. “The Storyteller has become a trusted voice since even before she gave Hallownest the tools it needed to survive.”

Awwww.

The bug in front of them seemed to ponder their words for a moment before another bug, one who had been standing farther back stepped forward to ask a question since it seemed that the knot of cave denizens were willing to speak.

“Pardon me for inserting myself into your conversation, but I have to ask about the ‘elevators’ that you have in your kingdom- “

And away the conversation went, Lurien and the Pale King both entirely willing to speak about the various technologies that they have helped create.

Mary’s shoulders relaxed as the conversation picked up, and the Pale King began to actually show interest in the bugs in front of him.

The party had been plodding along in skips and starts, pausing every time the God among them had tensed up and made all of the bugs remember exactly what they were sharing a room with. But as the night had worn on and nothing had actually happened, more and more bugs had begun to gain courage to approach.

And more and more of Mary’s assistants had apparently replaced the wait staff and had purposely lingered behind the Pale King, using their presence to help calm him down.

Mary wished she could claim that genius move as her own, but well, it had actually been Lurien’s butler who had finally put all of the pieces together. He had disappeared for a bit and then within the hour more and more of her bugs had begun to carry drinks around the room.

Lurien’s butler, shit, what was his name?, had looked so terribly smug.

Mary, seeing that the Pale King was well distracted and that Lurien wouldn’t leave his side, slid over to where the butler stood.

Even with the fuss that the Storyteller had created just a day ago, the Pale King commanded the awareness of all in the room, and Lurien was attention grabbing as the host of the event and with his odd one-eyed mask. Mary was able to disappear behind the two with almost no effort. Her white cloak blending in behind their own, and it was only Hollow, her tall hovering shadow, that drew eyes when she relocated to the side, and even then, those eyes went back to watching the real power in the room speak about their accomplishments.

The Storyteller might have done an interesting magic trick, but it was the Pale King and the manager of this grand city who were the ones to truly watch.

Mary settled beside the butler and took a drink off of one of the trays of her passing assistants. Amongst the long-stemmed glasses on the tray, there was a single one the color of amber with a straw poking out the top.

 It was obviously meant for her.

Subtle her assistants could be, but cheeky they were as well.

Mary took a sip.

“Things have been going quite well, haven’t they?”

Mary flinched a bit before barely tilting her head toward the butler as she responded. “It’s always a bad idea to draw attention to how well things are going, it’s almost as bad as asking for something to go wrong.”

The Butler’s antenna tucked sharply for a moment before being forced back to a ‘relaxed’ position.

“Oh? Some wisdom from the Storyteller?”

Mary snorted, turning her eyes back to the white robed bugs that were the focus of the party, “No. A superstition from where I was born and raised. There is a belief that if you voice aloud such statements as ‘things could not get any worse’ or ‘it looks like everything is going to turn out okay’ then you are taunting the universe. The powers that be take such comments as a dare to worsen the situation anyway that they possibly can.”

The butler’s eyes widen just a touch before he says, “Ah.”

There was silence for a moment, the both of them waiting, as foolish as it was, for something disastrous to happen.

But after another few minutes passed and there were no bugs crashing through windows to attack the party goers, or any sudden demands to duel, the both of them relaxed.

“Sooo,” shit what is his name!? “I know that Lurien had been heavily involved with getting Hallownest ready for the visitors, but does he have anything that he wishes the traders would bring? I’m move heavily involved with the details and could surely send certain merchants his way.”

The smaller bug brightened just a bit at Mary’s attempt at small talk, “Yes! He is most interested in what art these bugs produce, and if any of them have supplies for such art.”

Mary hummed in thought, “Art huh? I’ll have my assistants remind me if I’m wrong, but I don’t think any of the merchants brought art. At least nothing that they proclaimed as the bulk of their tradable goods. But I’m sure that some of the raw materials that they brought with them are used in the making of such art. If nothing else, some of the more exotic plants could make different colors for paint or ink.”

Mary turned her attention fully back to where Lurien and the Pale King were gesturing with their hands, talking more to each other now than the guests, but with an enraptured audience watching. “But if this whole event goes smoothly then it will be simple to inform certain merchants as they leave that Lurien the Watcher is interested in the art that their homes produce.”

“Oh, that would be perfect. How can I repay your kindness?”

Mary waved off his words, “I’ve not done anything yet, and besides there’s no reason to keep scores between us.”

Mary jerked her head toward where the Pale King and Lurien were still debating like they were at a workshop table, not a party. “We are both just a pair of individuals trying to keep our employers reined in.”

“Oh, is that how an advisor of a God King refers to their Lord?”

Mary’s entire body tensed up, a panic response to the harsh voice that made Hollow tuck a bit closer to her while the butler straightened up out of his relaxed stance.

The Ant Princess was striding toward them, her antenna’s curling at the tips as she walked like a solider until she stood before Mary.

She was wearing clothing, unlike all the times before, though it was little more than a sundress. It was a swath of rough plant-based fabric dyed such a deep purple that it was almost black. It stood out almost grotesquely against her red carapace.

She was flanked on either side by a pair of workers who had gray scarves tied around their necks.

She looked pissed. But she controlled her voice and volume, only letting out as hiss as she snapped at Mary.

“You would dare refer to your God King in such a way? As if he needs to pay for your favor?”

Mary was between a knife and a nuke.

She was suddenly, viciously aware of how dangerous of a political situation it was to have an Ant Princess suddenly seem to hate you. But more importantly Hollow had become a tense wall of concentrated vid behind her and if she didn’t defuse this situation right now, the Ant Princess was dead meat.

So instead of anything well thought out or intelligent, Mary said, “Of course. He’s my King not my father and if I don’t like how I am treated or his rulings then I leave his kingdom.”

It was like Mary had ripped the rug out from under the Ant Princess. Her antenna’s went lax and she actually lowered a half foot, her legs losing the tension that had raised her that high. Her hands uncurled and her mouth dropped open, staring at Mary, as if such a response had never been considered.

The Ant Princess’s visible confusion also seemed to stagger Hollow who had pressed closer to Mary’s back, allowing her to feel the way that they also loosened in response to the Ant Princess’s surprise.

Mary plowed forward, hoping that filling the space between them with words would keep whatever the fuck had almost happened from resurrecting itself.

“Obviously a king, even a god king, has to keep his populace happy, or else they will simply leave. You are an ant, and I do believe that power in your kingdoms is entirely hereditary. Your loyalty demanded by the blood that you share. Your siblings would not leave like that, but for nearly every other kingdom there has to be a reason beyond the demands of family for the bugs to stay.”

Mary fluttered her arms, trying to keep attention away from the mass of void behind her and focused on her instead. It wouldn’t do for the bugs to notice how angry the Heir to Hallownest looked at a Princess of an Ant kingdom.

“I live in Hallownest because I am taken care of by the Pale King in return for my help with various issues or tasks. If I ever became unhappy here, or if I simply wanted to leave. I would. The Pale King knows this and, as such, attempts to make me want to stay.”

Hollow had tensed up behind Mary once more.

“Not that I think I would want to leave. I have many reasons to want to stay in Hallownest.”

The creature made of void did not exactly relax behind her, but the hand that had twisted in her cloak, slowly released with her assurance.

Mary could only be fond of them. She looked over her shoulder at Hollow hovering over her, hand no longer clenched in her cloak, but touching her back all the same.

They are so clingy.

And of course, the moment was then ruined by a long drawn out hiss coming from where she had left the Pale King and Lurien.

Mary, not even looking at whatever was going on immediately stepped toward the Pale King, leaving Hollow, the butler and Ant Princess behind.

“Hollow why don’t you keep the Princess company while I go see what the commotion is about.”

And with that Mary stomped across the room to go and drag an overstimulated wyrm into the side room prepared specially for this purpose.

He was in full battle mode, his mouth open and hissing, his wings splayed wide and a faint glow lighting up his hands.

He was standing in front of Lurien, his tail curled around the masked bug.

Someone must had said something to Lurien and set him off. His protective impulses being as sensitive as always, but now with something that his instincts were already convinced was a threat.

Mary simply cleared her throat as she walked between him and the cowering bug that had set him off.

“My King! You know that you have to forgive the mortals for their slights! They do not know better, give them time to learn the rules and etiquette of Hallownest before damning them for their uneducated mistakes. Come come, let us retire for a while.”

And with that Mary wrapped her hands around the closest arm of the Pale King and half-dragged half-escorted the still glowing and hissing wyrm to the door that one of her assistants had rushed to open.

She would find out what the hell had set him off once they were out of public view.

Hollow was unsure what to do with the Ant Princess that they had been left with.

She had been aggressive to the Storyteller, but she had also quickly stopped being so once Mary had responded so bluntly. She was still twinged with surprise, as if not having all-encompassing respect for the leader of the kingdom was something she had never considered.

Hollow tilted their head down toward the shorter bug, their golden chains gently swaying as their heads position changed.

They gave a gentle wave, hoping that that was the appropriate action to take.

It was not.

The Ant Princess’s attention snapped to them from where she had been staring at the Storyteller hustle their father into a separate room to calm down.

“You take orders from a mere advisor Heir of Hallownest?”

Hollow was unsure how to respond. They obviously were, and why would that be a question asked with such vitriol? Mary often made requests of them, why wouldn’t they obey her?

Hollow nodded their head once.

Another rattling hiss came from the Ant Princess’s mouth.

“That Storyteller will rule through you, make you no more than a figure head to be commanded. You should discard such poisonous influences on you as soon as you can, or else be in her control for your entire life.”

She then turned on her heel and walked away, the two small and silent workers following behind her.

Hollow was left alone, Lurien’s butler having made his way to Lurien’s side once the princess had begun speaking, their head still spinning from the words that the princess had said.

The idea that Mary would command Hallownest for them, that she would stand next to their throne and tell them what to do for the rest of their life?

It was . . . a far more pleasant of a fantasy than the Ant princess probably meant it to be.

Not that they would ever inherit the kingdom. Their father would stop being king only if the kingdom fell to ruin, and even then, he might live far beyond that.

They would never have to take the weight of a kingdom on their shoulders, not while their parents and siblings lived.

 . . . but the idea of Mary sitting in a throne, commanding Hollow . . .

A very pleasant fantasy indeed.

Pleasant enough to have their guard down low enough to be surprised.

“Oh? Have your companions left a gorgeous creature like you alone amongst these villains?”

Hollow did not freeze at the bug’s words.

Mary had drilled into them all of the ways that their body could send messages, and suddenly stopping all movement was a way in which one could show many emotions.

And freezing here and now, would let this bug know exactly how much they had startled them.

So instead of impersonating a statute as they usually would, Hollow rolled their head to look down at the bug who had addressed them, hoping desperately that they were sending the correct signal to make the bug go away.

“Oh, you are quite lovely. In all my travels I have never seen a vison such as you.”

It wasn’t working?!?

Hollow crossed their arms and shifted their weight to one leg, letting their hip angle outward as they sharply angled their head to stare down at the bug standing before them. The various fabrics and chains attached to their form fluttered and swayed at their sudden movements, making the actions seem even more of a performance than usual.

They could not move their eyes to squint at the brightly colored bug before them, but they had been assured that the harsh angle of their head got the meaning across.

But instead of stepping back, the bug just slid closer. They folded their arms as well, but it didn’t come across as aggressive.

It seemed . . . playful? As if the bug was teasing them?

“Ah! I have not introduced myself. My name is Guldig, owner of the Guldig caravan. And of course, I know who you are.”

The bug took a step closer and uncrossed their arms to give a bow, their antennas coming close enough to nearly brush Hollow’s legs.

The bug stayed in their bow, but tilted their head up. Their antennas fluttering playfully as they looked at Hollow from below, “Child of Root and Wyrm, the Heir of Hallownest.”

The bug, Guldig, straightened from their bow and took another step closer, smiling up at a panicking Hollow who continued to do their best to hold the position they had been told made them look intimidating.

“Come now, such a beautiful creature shouldn’t be having such a bad time at a party. My company will surely make things better.”

Hollow held back a flinch when the bugs antenna’s curled over the top of their head, getting closer to Hollow’s body.

They were still being polite, still keeping their distance, but Hollow knew what it meant when a bug’s antenna turned and returned to another bugs direction. It was the bluntest show of interest that one could make.

This bug was flirting with them.

Hollow had no idea what to do.

They hadn’t practiced how to fend of flirting visitors! And the name, Guldig, that had been one of the larger caravans that Mary had wanted to make partners with.

They were-, they were trapped by social convention. Unable to leave without being intolerably rude, and unable to navigate the torturous social ground to make the bug leave on their own.

Hollow could not fight, and they could not run.

They were trapped.

“Your future kingdom is quite impressive. Your father has built something wonderful.”

The bugs slid closer, standing so close that they could have reached out and wrapped an arm around Hollow’s waist.

“The feats of technology and soul are astounding. I have traveled quite far and wide, but I have never seen miracles like these.”

He tilted his head coltishly, and Hollow recognized it as a flirtatious action.

This bug was holding themselves relaxed, leaving their body open, and practically inviting Hollow to bend that much closer into the space they had opened up. To pull them closer or to relax into the empty places that had left in his body language.

With each signal that Hollow recognized, they got tenser and tenser.

They felt like they were on the edge of a cliff with a crumbling edge. Like they were standing too close to a trap. Like they were eyeing the bait of a particularly sly hunter.

Hollow wanted to run away.

They didn’t know how to fend off such things! They were for straight forward fighting and protection!

Mary was the one who did the talking! The tricks and the lies!

Guldig clasped their hands together at their waist, giving off an appearance of innocence. He looked up at Hollow through their curled forward antennas.

“Perhaps you could give me a more in-depth tour of the kingdom that will one day be your own?”

Hollow needed to leave right now.

There was a movement at the corner of their vision, a color that they had been told to watch for.

Hollow turned their head to see the leg of the ant princess disappear behind the curtain that covered the server’s hall.

The Heir to Hallownest jerked their head to the side with such force that Guldig flinched back from them. Their long horns swiping over the top of Guldig’s head, the wind generated tugging gently at his antennas.

Between one breath and another the heir had turned on their heel and walked with purpose toward the tapestry on the wall, drawing it back and disappearing behind it.

Guldig was left staring at the lingering trail of the heir’s skirt before it to disappeared from view.

Guldig was struck dumb.

Never before had someone run from them when they were flirting. Turned them down, sure! Politely informed him that he was not their type, of course! Impolitely told him to keep his antennas away if he wanted to keep them attached? A few times!

But never had anyone run from him.

Guldig clenched his hands, dropping the ingénue that he had been wearing like a cloak. He snatched a full glass of some intoxicating honey-based drink from a server that was lingering too close in a way that made it clear that his failure had been witnessed and that gossip would make its way to the kitchens.

And from there the entire kingdom he bet.

Guldig took a large swallow, clicking their inner jaws against the rim of the glass in a small show of frustration.

It was a complete loss, but he hadn’t been making any headway with flirting anyway.

He had been tossing out as many subtle tricks as he could manage without being vulgar, and not a single one had changed the cold air that the tall dark creature had been projecting.

None of his sweet words had relaxed the tension in the god’s hands and mirroring his body langue to the others had gained them nothing.

The god had looked down at them with a mask of distain, and it was only the tension in their spine that had given away their discomfort.

Guldig had tried to act small and meek when being confident hadn’t been gaining him any results. But the god had only responded negatively or didn’t respond at all!

This is why I hate flirting with unknown species. It’s impossible to tell the gender or how to approach!

The size of the heir spoke of being a female. Their title of Knight also implying that they were of a more aggressive bent, but they had shown up at the party in such masculine and delicate clothing! They had stood behind the Storyteller and had bent to his every whim! Placing cups in his hand, and following his lead!

But the position the heir had taken behind the Storyteller had obviously been one of a guard.

Guldig had eventually taken a guess and gone by the clothing, approaching the heir like how he would a male bug, all confidence and pride.

But that had only made the heir tense, and acting masculine in response hadn’t soothed the bug at all!

If only they knew the damn bug’s sex, they could plan better! But it seemed as though the entire kingdom was allergic to pronouns, always referring to the heir with a title or as a them!

Surely someone would slip up eventually and they could finally have it clarified in what way they would need to act!

“I would not advise you to try that again.”

Guldig’s antenna barely flicked their tips, professionally containing their startle at the comment of a bug that he had not known was so close.

They turned their body toward the voice and saw a small drab cave bug.  

For a moment Guldig thought that they were perhaps one of the servers, but then his eyes caught on the shiny metal pinning their cloak together.

A servant this bug may be, but one high in the hierarchy.

Guldig had always found that servants, loyal or hateful toward their masters, were always willing to drop a few words to either warn or ease the way.

It was always self-serving of course. The loyal servants wanted happy masters to make happy lives, and the hateful servants wanted for their masters to feel even a measure of their own frustration.

The hateful ones always had more words to say, and would often by much more valuable in negations.

But judging from this bug’s appearance, and the relaxed but proper way that they held their shoulders, they were far more likely to be loyal.

“Oh? Is it bad manners to speak so casually with the Heir?”

It could be. Some places but a lot of weight on standing, and as an outsider Guldig could be considered quite lowly.

The bug fluttered his antennas in amusement, “Speaking with the Hollow Knight, the Heir? No, of course not. But you were doing a bit more than just having conversation.”

Guldig didn’t acknowledge the implication, taking a sip from the cup in their hand.

But apparently, they didn’t need to.

“I thought that was what it looked like.”

Another bug had stepped up, taking Guldig’s other side.

This bug was of a more familiar species, a type of bug that would curl into a ball to deflect blows. They were often a cowardly species, but this one stood confidently with the stance of a warrior.

“Oh yes. I was close enough to hear. They were attempting quite ardently to wiggle their way into the Hollow Knight’s affections. Complements every other sentence and mimicking their body language.”

The pill bug laughed, giving Guldig a significant look. “Oh! That is quite a useless endeavor! You would have more luck trying to lure the sun from the sky with pretty words than to move the Hollow Knight’s heart.”

“Does the heir have no interest in romantic inclinations?” While a pity, they wouldn’t be the only target that Guldig could aim for. His compliments hadn’t been empty words. The heir to Hallownest was a striking creature, gorgeous in a way that he had never seen before. Their monochrome coloring would bare a striking contrast to their own vibrant colors.

Visually, they would pair quite well.

At Guldig’s question, the smaller cave bug chirred out a laugh. “Goodness me, there is interest in them, make no mistake.”

The Pill bug joined in on the laughter, stepping closer and leaning against the short table that held small bites of food. He raised one to his mouth as he added his own comments, “If you ask any of the locals, then you’ll hear some tale about how the Hollow Knight has devoted themselves to one bug and one bug alone.”

Guldig fluttered their antenna, “Ah. Was I approaching a mated bug? My apologies. I suppose that I did not give them the chance to try and explain.”

But the merchant’s attempt to smooth over his possible misstep was met with even more laughter.

“Mated? Oh, how they do so wish. I rather suspect that they would do anything to gain her promise of a lifetime, but no. They are quite sadly still unmoored.”

“Have they been refused? Someone would turn down the advances from a child of the gods?” the idea was unthinkable, surely not survivable either.

“Oh, it’s much worse than that, the one that the Hollow Knight covets above all else is so accustomed to being worshiped by them that they simply do not recognize the more personal advances.”

“What?”

A server, slowed in their hustle to offer the treats that were balanced on their platter in order to add their own opinion to the discussion.

“Oh, she never will.”

And another passing waiter threw out their own thoughts, showing that while Guldig had thought that they were secluded enough to discuss the royal family in something approaching private, that the cave bugs had much better hearing than even their long antenna would suggest.

“Goodness no.”

Guldig gave up on even attempting to appear as if they had dignity. These serving bugs were acting so candidly in front of guests and their assumed boss. It was becoming more and more likely that despite the job that these bugs were doing, that they actually served a much high purpose in the kingdom.

“She would pass by on the power of a god’s love?”

And in response to his question, there was a verifiable chorus of an answer “She doesn’t even notice!”

“How.”

And there was a canopy of responses.

“Well, she’s a bit blind to her own concerns.”

“She wants to relax and want for nothing, and Hollow gives that to her and she takes that opportunity to think no further.”

“She’s quite lazy actually, sitting down at every chance and if she hasn’t moved in a while it’s possible she’s fallen asleep.”

“She used to keep her distance and didn’t realize what the Hollow Knight’s affectionate touch’s meant and now she’s started to touch others!”

“Oh, Hollow is always jealous when that happens aren’t they? They quite obviously want to keep her all to themselves.”

“Quite likes her mead and honey wine, always disappearing with a bottle or two to relax in the Hollow Knight’s company.”

 “She’s quite fearless, isn’t she?”

“Well, she has the power to be!”

“It’s why Hollow loves her so much.”

“She’s powerful and does nothing with it unless it’s for another.”

 “She always has a game from the children!”

“She’ll make time for anyone if you can get her attention, or get past Hollow of course.”

Guldig was ashamed to admit that they were getting overwhelmed.

They had been around loyal servants before. The had been around admirers before. They had even once been stuck in a god’s temple while a ceremony was underway.

But never had they come across such casual worship as this.

Guldig wasn’t so focused on the strange gathering in front of them that they couldn’t tell when the large bug came up beside them, but they let them think that they had managed to sneak up beside the merchant.

It was almost reliving that some of the bugs in this kingdom weren’t as good at being sneaky as their fellows.

The large bug settled at their side and gave a disdainful click at the still gossiping servants.

“Idiots, all of them. Throwing their opinions out for the world to hear.:

Guldig glanced over at the large bug. He was unusually round with large eyes. He had a thick cloak of dyed spider silk and different charms polished to a shine pinned to it.

The bug met Guldig’s eyes and gave a simple nod toward him.

“I am Drak. Master of the Soul Sanctum. A pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

Guldig could nearly taste the pride oozing from this bug’s mind, and it wasn’t hard to tell that they felt distain for the bugs in front of him.

There was a story here, some bad blood or thwarted plan.

But that hardly mattered. What mattered was that Guldig was intimately familiar with this kind of bug. How they think and what they thought they were owed.

How to act around them to get them to give him what he wanted.

Finally. Something I can work with.

A hateful servant always got him farther after all.

Chapter Text

 There were certain habits that Hollow fell back on whenever they were without an idea of how to act.

They would stand perfectly still, their back fully extended and straight. They would have their hands in front of themselves, crossed slightly in the front as if holding onto a nail.

Their mind would keep track of the comings and goings of all bugs in the room. From servants staggering under the weight of drinks or morsels for the noble bugs loitering around the room, to the slightly intoxicated party goers who leaned on each other to stagger out, giggling all the while.

They reverted to such habits whenever they were alone without a family member or Mary to focus on. They reverted to the behavior of a living statue whenever they were panicked, or frightened, or shocked.

Playing at being a thing had been the only coping mechanism that they had had for so long, that it was possibly always going to be their first response to any unexpected stimuli or emotion.

And with their attempts to revert to an unfeeling object, they would open up their senses, trying to drown out their own thoughts by the sights and sounds around them.

The flirtatious advances of the unknown bug had made them begin to reach for such stimuli to drown out their own distressed emotions.

It was this habit, this backslide into their old guard mentality when they had filled their head with the hundreds of tiny details, that allowed them to notice when the Ant Princess slid away from the party and ducked behind the curtain that hid one of the many servant entrances to the ballroom.

Hollow’s desperate need to disengage from the bug who had been flirting with them had worn down their willingness to act like the way that they had been learning to.

Like a bug who had a will and wasn’t just being puppeted by orders.

Hollow, already deep into one of their bad habits, immediately added another to the mix.

Their Father had asked them to try and interact with the guests of the kingdom, and Mary had told them to keep the Ant Princess company.

It took very little effort to twist both of these off-hand comments into orders that would allow Hollow to escape this party.

They abandoned the flirting bug followed the Ant Princess out.

They were not stopped, though their leaving was noticed. Many eyes, both foreign and familiar watched the ‘Heir of Hallownest’ duck behind a curtain and disappear.

The hallway behind the curtain was cramped with a low ceiling, but Hollow was quite familiar with the ways to contort their neck and joints to allow their body to squeeze through nearly any narrow passage.

A place that was made for travel was simple to make their way down no matter the way they had to twist.

They moved quickly, using one of Mary’s lessons for how to not be stopped when in places they weren’t necessarily wanted.

“Pretend you’re supposed to be there and that you have somewhere to be.”

But, they did not pass another bug in the hall, they did not see anyone at all.

At least not until they turned a sharp corner and saw the Ant Princess dropping from the ledge of window she had wedged open.

Hollow stopped cold.

Had the Ant Princess really just jumped out of a window?

In the City of Tears!?

They rushed forward and shoved the window the rest of the way up, possibly damaging the frame but getting enough room to shove their horns through the small opening.

They frantically searched the ground, convinced they were going to need to scoop the Ant Princess from the canals. They had become more sensitive to the activities of smaller bugs. Their younger siblings often got into dangerous situations and they were now well versed in snatching the small bodies out of danger.

The Ant Princess was larger than their siblings, but she reminded them of their sister all the same.

They expected to have to hurry to save the Ant Princess from the danger she had gotten herself into but instead of seeing a drowning bug they saw her stick the landing of a strange maneuver that involved her swinging herself off of one of the pointed decorations on the edge of the roof below.

She immediately ducked out of the constant rain and disappeared down an alley.

Hollow, lost in the throes of their still newly acquired ‘older sibling’ instincts immediately climbed the rest of the way out of the window and followed behind.

It was simple to slide down the slicked roof, but they almost missed the timing of the jump and fell short of the canal’s bank.

But a quick use of void allowed them to land safely and silently and duck into the alley behind the Ant Princess just in time to see the end of her purple dress as she turned another corner.

Such began the odd chase.

The Ant Princess either knew she was being followed, or perhaps was just in a hurry as she darted down one alley and another, skirting the edges of the canals and ducking away from the small waterfalls that were dumped off of the slanted roofs.

Hollow kept their distance, letting the sound of rain swallow the sounds of their footsteps as they tracked the Ant Princess.

They didn’t know if they should keep her from knowing they were there or if they should make their presence known.

Would she respond positively? Or would she show more of the aggression that they had seen from her.

They didn’t come to a decision in time for the Ant Princess to stop at the edge of the alley and look out at the thriving covered market.

The denizens of the City were out in full force, wax treated cloaks in every color imaginable fluttering around the bugs as they moved to and fro.

The bugs who were from outside of the kingdom stood out, but not because they were being avoided or awkward. But because of the focus that all of the cave bugs had on them. Everywhere an outsider went, they were greeted by a native, and waved from stall to stall to be shown the wears on display.
There were many bugs who were the stars of small groups. The many cave bugs avidly listening to the tales of bugs from outside of the kingdom.

There was interest, curiosity, but most importantly, welcoming faces everywhere.

And the Ant Princess looked upon the market and flavored the air with her anxiety. She was afraid of this place and these bugs.

Hollow tilted their head.

Had she not escaped from the party to go out, explore the city? Why was she frightened now?

Hollow took a step closer, about to tap their fingers on the wall near the Ant Princess to inform her of their presence in a way that would be polite-

A bug ducked into the alley and knocked the Ant Princess over.

It was too quick to stop, but Hollow managed to dive to their knees, their hands thrust out to catch both of the falling bodies.

The Ant Princess had already been in the process of twisting her body around, aiming to catch herself on her hands and knees, and as such had her face smack into Hollow’s palm, their fingers digging into her upper chest.

The other bug didn’t have such reflexes, and was caught around the middle. The bug’s thin waist was taken easily in Hollow’s hand and they dangled awkwardly from their grip.

The shock of the situation lasted for less than a second, the sound of rain echoing between the three befuddled bugs, before the unknown bug in Hollow’s grip began to struggle.

“let go- let go-!”

He sounded frantic and kicked his legs while his fingers scrabbled at the hand that held him aloft. But Hollow was an older sibling who often had to keep their unruly younger siblings in hand, and just hardened their grip on the struggling bug.

The Ant Princess, who had pushed off of Hollow’s hand to return to her feet cast a look from Hollow, to the bug in their grip seeming to not know who to confront first, but the wiggling bug drew more of her attention than the still one so she turned to him already full of the anger that Hollow had seen her express before.

“Just WHAT do you think you are doing-!”

But her words were cut off by a loud roar that cut through the sounds of the market and the rain.

“TISO!”

At the angry roar the bug in Hollow’s grip stilled for a moment before his struggling increased to the extent that Hollow loosened their grip as to not let the bug damage himself on them in his efforts to escape.

The bug, Tiso?, managed to flail to the ground, splashing in the puddles before pulling himself to his feet and immediately ran down the alley.

His speed was impressive, and he had nearly reached the end of the alley before the Ant Princess made a noise like a nail sliding from a sheath and began to chase after him.

Hollow had a moment of confusion before they followed.

They were still keeping the Ant Princess company after all.

Tiso ran like a bug unused to walking on water covered ground, the only kind of ground available in the City of Tears. He slipped on all of his turns and shied away from the canals despite the wide and straight paths they offered.

But even if he was struggling with the lack of friction the water slicked ground supplied, the Ant Princess was worse. Every time she followed Tiso around a corner, he would slide for a few feet while she often went down to her hands and knees.

Hollow was unsure if this was because of her differently shaped body or of her angry state of mind. But as Hollow continued to follow the both of them, Hollow began to realize that her falls were not accidents, but on purpose.

She slid less of a distance than Tiso did, and was using her hands and knees to launch herself farther ahead.

She was gaining on the fleeing bug quite quickly.

Tiso cast a glance over his shoulder, and saw two bugs following him and his instinctive prey based fear gripped his heart and he began to run even faster.

He ran fast enough that he couldn’t make a turn and fell, sliding forward even as he was rolled on his side.

He was headed straight into an open street that would dump him into the canal.

The Ant Princess’s eyes didn’t leave her prey, not slowing a bit and even adding more speed once he fell.

So focused on her goal that she didn’t see the drop into water that awaited them both.

She was nearly upon the fallen bug when the ground fell out from beneath her feet and the Ant Princess and Tiso were air-born over the canal.

Tiso managed to scream, but the Ant Princess was too startled at the revelation that she had run to her own death to do more than widen her eyes.

But then something slammed into their backs and they were given enough momentum to travel all the way across the canal and roll to a tangled stop.

There were a few moments where the two bugs just collected themselves, but then the bug named Tiso shattered the moment.

“Why does this twice cursed place have death traps in the middle of its cities!?”

His shout dragged the Ant Princess up from where she had been laying on her side, trying to recover her senses. She propped herself up and turned to shout right back at the bug, thankful deep in her heart for the distraction from her near death.

“What mother damned thought entered your head to make you run into the CANAL!??!”

“What thought entered your head to make YOU CHASE ME!?!”

“You knocked me over you rude oaf!”

“And that makes it sensible to run me down like you plan to eat me!?”

The two bugs continued to bicker and shout, not noticing that they were sitting on top of Hollow, who had been the one to save them from drowning in the canal.

Hollow just lay there, unsure of when it would be a good time to draw their attention. Their Father had not taught them the manners for a situation like this and their mother had never gone over what to do if the bugs were arguing on top of them.

. . . Hollow’s siblings had taught them the best way to make someone stop fighting was to pick them up and separate them from each other.

It was perhaps not the most diplomatic of actions, but no one would ever expect Hollow to be diplomatic.

It was simple to curl their fingers into the back of the Ant Princess’s dress and to have their large hand hook beneath the other bug’s arms.

Hollow pulled them away from each other as they say up, folding their legs in the strange twisting way that Mary often sat in. The Ant Princess struggled against the wet clinging fabric, cursing Hollow as she struggled to free herself from the grip of her own finery.

But the other bug seemed to freeze for a moment, staring at Hollow in shock at being handled so.

Hollow expected them to begin to struggle like the Ant Princess, but instead the bug blurted out a question.

“What the hell are YOU!?”

The straight forward and rude question made Hollow jerk back a bit in shock, and strangely enough, distracted the Ant Princess from her struggles.

“Wha- You don’t just ask a bug that!? How rude are you!?”

The bug, Tiso, waved one of his arms toward Hollow’s face, “They don’t have a MOUTH! What kind of bug doesn’t have a mouth! I’ve heard of a type of winged bug that doesn’t have a mouth after they pupate, but they sure as hell aren’t one of those.”

“You still don’t just ask like that! You didn’t even try to be polite!”

Tiso made a noise of diversion, “They’re dangling us like a pair of soft-shelled hatchlings, I’m being no more rude then they are!”

Being reminded of her position seemed to knock the heat out of the Ant Princess’s anger. Her eyes flicked to the hand around Tiso’s body, and then at what she could see of the arm holding her.

Hollow could see her visibly reigning herself in before she gritted out a polite if strained. “Would you kindly release me?”

Hollow, stared at her for a moment, before lowering both bugs to the ground and letting go of them.

The Ant Princess began to set herself to rights, straightening out her dress and attempted to return her appearance to that of a bug who had not been chasing others down soaked and dirty streets.

She didn’t really succeed.

The other bug didn’t bother to clean himself up, not even straightening the small scrap of cloth that was covering his head. He just returned to his other question.

“So, what are you? I’ve not seen any species of bug with a carapace like that either.”

The Ant Princess cut in, seemingly unable to keep herself from speaking, “As you have noticed they have no mouth. How, exactly, do you expect to get an answer to your questions?”

Tiso stared at the Ant Princess for a moment, rain filling the silence before he began to laugh at her.

“Ha! Oh, you certainly are a secluded and sheltered caste of ant aren’t you! I figured you weren’t one of the workers, but even a solider has had more contact with others than you have! Is this your first-time out of the mound!?”

The Ant Princess’s antenna sprung out in anger, but Tiso didn’t give her a chance to respond.

“All bugs, no matter if their mandibles have been ripped off or if their antennas have been cut, have a way to communicate.”

Tiso looked Hollow up and down, his eyes catching on Hollow’s hands.

He jerked his thumb toward where Hollow’s hands were now folded in their lap, “I bet this one here uses their hands to speak. It’s just a matter of watching their hands to understand them.”

Tiso cast a condescending look toward the Ant Princess, “If you’re going to be interacting with real bugs, you’re going to need to learn about these things.”

The Ant Princess looked ready to rip Tiso’s head off, “Real bugs? Are you saying that me and my sisters aren’t REAL BUGS!?”

Tiso sneered at the Ant Princess, but took a step back, preparing to run once more, “I don’t consider bugs who willingly give up their ability to make decisions for their own lives to a single bug just because they gave birth to them anyone worth speaking to. What good is speaking to a bug whose words don’t have any weight? Ants are only good for acting as messengers to speak to the queen or for workers and soldiers.”

“HOW DARE YOU SPEAK OF MY SISTERS LIKE THAT!”

Tiso was fully tensed to run, and hollow was preparing to snatch the Ant Princess when Tiso managed to respond on last time, “Can you say that any decision that any ant in the mound makes could win against the decision of the Queen?! OR that any of your sisters would even be willing to voice a differing opinion!?”

Tiso semi panicked response took the anger out of the Ant Princess once more, a look of slow horror spreading across her face as she thought about Tiso’s words, and realized that no matter how cruel they were, they were undeniable.

At the sight of having apparently won the argument, Tiso relaxed the tension in his body, and apparently with the loosening of his body, his stomach decided to let them all know that he was quite hungry.

The Ant Princess stared at the other bug, still having some kind of crisis over the realization that had been forced upon her, and Tiso’s antenna were curled in embarrassment at his own stomach’s vocalizations.

But Hollow knew exactly what to do when someone was hungry. They glanced around for a moment, trying to orient themselves in what part of the city the series of mad chases had left them in, and then stood up.

They purposely waved their hand in a ‘Follow me’ gesture, and either because the Ant Princess was in some form of shock, or because Tiso was hopelessly lost in a strange raining city, the two bugs followed the creature of Void deeper into the twists and turns of the City of Tears.

Mary was sitting on the King’s back, some of his arms trapped under her legs as she struggled to keep her death grip on his horns. She was doing her absolute best to keep the damn bug pinned to the ground so that he couldn’t bust the door down and attack the foreign bug that had suggested that maybe some of the craftsmen in Hallownest could migrate to other kingdoms.

As the long multi limbed body of the god king slammed into the wall, setting off the sigils that kept the noise from reaching the party, Mary was at least thankful that the Pale King was so feral with rage that he hadn’t thought to use his magic.

Not that it would hurt her, but it might cause damage to the walls and sigils. And it was going to be hard enough to make this fucking wyrm calm his nonexistent tits.

But, as Mary worked to keep riding the damned wyrm, she could tell that his struggles were slowing down.

His wings were trapped under her ass, his arms were pressed to his body with her thighs, and she was bending his back into a bow with her grip on his horns.

“Are you ready to calm down yet?!”

Mary’s angry yell was simply met with a snarl as his long body whipped behind her again.

Mary grit her teeth and yanked harder on his horns as she dug her feet into the floor to keep her balance.

Alright, let’s try something ELSE.

Mary braced herself before throwing her weight forward, slamming the King’s face into the floor with enough force to make him stop his wiggling. She had a moment of worry that she had done actual damage to the king, but when she saw the glow of soul, she knew he would be fine.

Mary didn’t wait for long, not able to care if he was simply shocked or if she had knocked some sense into him.

“Listen to me! Your people aren’t going to leave you! At absolute worst, they might go visit other kingdoms! But they will return! You are their god, they love you like how you love them.”

Mary lowered her masked face to the side of the king’s head. “You are doing them a disservice by acting like this. You are a god of reason and knowledge. But right now, you are reminding me of the damned Radiance. Is that what you want!? For them to look at you and see the damned moth god that killed so many of them?!”

The Pale King had stayed still while Mary had berated him, but with those last words his body tensed underneath of her, before he forced it to relax.

The battered room was silent for a moment but for the Mary’s heavy breathing.

“. . . let me up.”

Mary did not release her grip on him.

“Are you back in your own mind? Or did you just figure out to use your words to make me let you go? Cause if I have to make Hollow bring their mother here to calm you down, we are all going to be very disappointed in you.”

There was some angry chittering, but Mary got the response she wanted, “I’m fully aware of my actions once more Mary.”

Mary released the King’s horns, and then rolled off of him to lay on her back. Her hands hurt from gripping his horns so tightly, and her back and thighs ached from the exertion they had gone under. She had defiantly strained some muscles while riding the wyrm.

The king’s wings flexed once, stretching to their full span. The bends and rips in them mending with a flash of soul before they resettled on his back to mascaraed as a cloak once more.

He didn’t move from where he was lying face down on the floor.

Mary stared at the swirling carved patterns in the ceiling, taking stock of her own aches and pains as she just breathed.

“. . . we’re both going to have to go back in there.”

“Mm.”

“They probably all think that you’re killing me in here.”

“Hhhng.”

“I think that you ripped my cloak.”

“. . . my apologizes.”

Mary heaved a sigh and levered herself back up.

She shuffled herself to her feet and then gripped the Pale King by one of his splayed arms and dragged him to a standing height as well, nudging his body with one of her feet until it turned over enough to keep him standing.

Mary started to pat him down, straightening his cloak and resituating the folds in the fabric. He didn’t look as put together than he had at the beginning of the night, but at least he no longer looked like he had been wrestling on the floor.

The moment that Mary was done straightening the king, he began to correct her own cloak. Her cords were quickly retied and everything was pulled down correctly, but he stopped when he got to one of her sleeves.

There was a large gash in the fabric that was large enough to easily see her wrist through.

“Ah! I thought I had heard a rip. That must be from when you tried to bit me.”

The Pale King chittered in embarrassment as he examined the rip. He did his best to line the fabric up together, and with a touch of soul, stuck the edges together.

It wouldn’t last, but it would get her through the rest of the party.
Mary examined her soul mended sleeve, and deeming it acceptable, resituated her mask before addressing the Pale King once more.

“Do you think you can last for another hour? Just long enough to say goodbye and set up another meeting with some of these merchants? I think that we didn’t speak to all of the ones who are supposed to be the big names, just the diplomatic guests really.”

The Pale King took a deep breath and let it out slowly.

“I will do my best.”

Mary looked the Pale King over, before sliding her arm though one of his own.

“Your best is your best, but if you start to feel your control slip, then squeeze my arm hard ok? That’ll be your signal to have me disengage from the party and take you home right then.”

The Pale King sighed, before nodding in agreement and giving Mary a gentle squeeze.

Mary led the Pale King to the door and with only a bare pause, opened it up.

The party had continued on without them, bugs drinking a socializing in mixed groups.

The cloaked cave bugs outnumbered the visitors, but that just mean that almost every visitor had a small gathering of bugs to watch them with awe as they told stories about their travels. Mary was sure that it was quite flattering to experience.

The bugs here could be such good listeners.

Mary looked across the room, and when she saw Lurien standing to the side with his butler, she made for them immediately.

Once she was close enough to speak to them without shouting, she began to lay down the groundwork for getting the tired and overstimulated Wyrm out of here.

“Ahh, Watcher! The party had been lovely, so many new faces and questions! But I’m afraid that I had overestimated my own energy. I am in need of a rest. The Pale King has graciously offered to escort me back to the White Palace to rest- “

Lurien cut her off.

“Hollow is gone.”

Mary and the Pale King both tensed up upon hearing that.

They simultaneously jerked to look around the room, and true to Lurien’s words, there was a lack of a tall being of void.

It was only their instinctive grip on each other that kept them from running around the room to search for the missing Hollow.

But luckily, the butler thought faster than the two panicked beings and managed to correct the mistake that Lurien had made.

“We know where they are! They’re fine, they’re safe! Storyteller, your assistants have been sending information back to us from the city of tears streets! They followed the Ant Princess from the party and are currently treating the Ant Princess and a merchant’s nephew to skewers at one of the stalls. We have eyes on them and they are safe.”

Mary and the Pale King did not relax, but they stopped trying to search the room at the very least.

 “. . . we both need to retire. Send along one of my assistants that know the most. Good evening.”

And with that, the both of them turned and left the room, the tightly restrained air of panic around them both keeping all the bugs from approaching them as they made their way through the Watcher’s halls and to the carriage that had managed to just barely make it ahead of them.

The two of them climbed in, still arm in arm, and both focused on the bug that had been waiting for them.

The bug, probably through the lessons that Mary had given, managed to keep their antennas straight and their body stiff as the god of the kingdom and the mysterious bug whose powers were vast and mostly unknown.

Either could destroy them in ways that a simple mortal couldn’t even conceptualize.

The bug took a slow breath in as the two powerful beings made their first demand.

“Tell us everything.”

The three bugs were all huddled in one of the few drier patches littered about the City of Tears. Two of them nibbling on delicacies on sticks that they had been bought by the taller one.

The Ant Princess hadn’t thought a bit about the trade of the other’s currency for her food, while Tiso was all too willing to accept a free meal from a stranger.

They all seemed to be purposely avoiding acknowledging the events that had led to this. The Ant Princess keeping herself distracted with her food, while Tiso just talked about whatever entered his head.

And after he had caught sight of the strange little handmade idol of the king of this Kingdom that had sat beneath a hanging hoop that had been behind the bug who had sold them their skewers.

“These Hallownest bugs are so weird. They really do believe that their king is a god. He might be a demi-god, or maybe an avatar or something, but there’s no way that an actual god would be this invested in the day to day lives of mortals.”

Tiso spoke around the grilled skewer in his mouth, leaning on the damp wall of the shop that sold them. It was his third serving of mushroom, one of the cheaper foods on offer, and he seemed intent to eat nothing but mushrooms for his entire stay in the kingdom.

The Ant Princess was nursing her pricier crystalized honey, seeming unwilling to remove it from her mouth but also unwilling to eat it too quickly.
But she was more unwilling to let Tiso speak without her own comment undermining his statements.

“That’s because their king is a God.”

“Uughh, not you too! How is this place convincing everyone that the king is a god? Gods don’t care about mortal affairs, they just take their tributes and get angry if you don’t leave something at their shrines when you pass by! They don’t run kingdoms!”

The Ant Princess scoffed around the treat in her mouth, flicking a glance at Hollow. The heir had sat on the ground while the other two had been eating, seeming not to care that their fancy outfit was getting wet on the ground. The long fabric that had hung from their hips and fluttered with every step was now bunched up between their legs and was slowly turning a dark gray while the veil that they had seemingly pulled from nowhere to put on, was soggy and sticking to their white face.

They didn’t seem to be taking offence to the uncouth bugs words, but with their lack of a scent and antenna’s the Ant Princess couldn’t trust her own assumptions.

 “Have a lot of experience with Gods, do you?”

Tiso made an aggravated noise around his bite of mushroom, quickly swallowing the mouthful as he continued to air his grievances, “Of course I do! I’m a traveling merchant’s kid, aren’t I? We have to pass though lots of god boundaries. The really big an’ powerful ones don’t care about us, we’re too far below them for them to give a thought about, but the little ones? The ones who only have a couple of worshipers are such pains! You have to pay a tribute to them or else they cause problems.”

The Heir to Hallownest, child of two gods and rulers of the kingdom, nodded their head aggressively.

“See!? Spooky knows what I’m talking about!”

The Princess flicked her antenna’s at Tiso and gnawed on the fracturing crystal in her mouth. She didn’t want let the annoying bug get any ground in this conversation, but if even the child of two Gods was backing up his point?

“. . . what kind of trouble?”

Tiso used his free hand to make an “Ehhh” kind of gesture, “It sort of depends on the god. The little ones will get mad about anything, but they can’t usually do much.””

Another chunk of mushroom was shoved into his mouth, and he spoke around it.

“One of my brothers said that he once saw a merchant who had knocked over a minor god’s shrine, the god of this one village’s main food source, beans or something, and apparently overnight all of his goods sprouted bean shoots. The whole caravan was ruined.”

The Princess started, her antennas flinging forward. “That wasn’t much!?”

Tiso finished off his mushroom skewer and twirled it between his fingers, testing the weight of the small metal rod.

“Compared to other incidents? Yeah. No one died and the god only focused on the one that had done them wrong.”

Tiso resettled his shoulders against the wall, pointing the empty metal skewer at the Princess. “Big Gods, the ones that have large worship bases or are the gods of important stuff? If one of those get mad? Then bugs die. And gods don’t care about collateral either.”

“The route that my family travels? There’s a giant hole in the ground that we have to skirt around, and you can see where the original road was just cut off. A whole town was just . . . scooped out of the ground! There are still some maps with the name of the town on them, but most everyone has crossed them off by now. No one knows what happened to that place, and no one is ever going to learn. No bug made it out to tell the tale and the god that must have done it died when they killed all of their worshipers. Not even ghosts were left!”

The Ant Princess stared before pulling her antenna’s back, “There’s no way that’s true, I would have heard about that! God’s don’t just . . . just scoop up towns! Gods give blessings and prophecies not . . . that!”

Tiso bared his fangs at the Ant Princess in a sneer, “Calling me a liar huh? Ask around, just cause you’ve not taken a step outside your mound and talked to other bugs doesn’t mean that whatever you don’t know is a lie.”

The Ant Princess took a step forward matching his bared teeth with her own, “I would have been told! Something that important, something that changed the lay of the ground would have been reported to the Queen, and announced to the pubic!”

Tiso puffed himself up, preparing to start another argument when a large black hand cut between the two. They startled back an inch and turned to where the tall bug still sat on the ground, not having moved but with limbs long enough to still wave a hand between them.

They reached up carefully, and used the condensation on the metal wall to write two shaky words. They weren’t terribly clear, and disappeared quickly, but both of the bugs watching managed to catch the letters before they became nothing more than wet smears.

Opposite sides.

The two bugs stared at the words, trying to understand what exactly the bug was trying to tell them.

Tiso was the first to put it together.

“Opposite sides?  . . . ooooooh! I get it! Sore Spot, you entered Hallownest from which side? Big door or the bees?”

“I- there were bees yes, but what does-?”

“I came from the side with the big door. We must live on opposite sides of the world from each other. No wonder you didn’t know about the missing town, no one’s ever taken the tale across the wastelands.”

The Ant Princess stalled out at the obvious answer.

Their fight had been about a simple miscommunication. The distance they lived apart had not been taken into account.

She could hear her tutor’s words echoing behind her, “-unfit to be a queen. Moves forward too quickly without thinking anything through and too by far aggressive. She’ll send her sisters and daughters to war if she doesn’t die a virgin trying to fight her enemies herself.”

The Ant Princess shoved the honey crystal back into her mouth, and bit down with a crunch.

“Wow, you picked that up real fast Spooky.”

Hollow reached up to write again.

Good listener.

Tiso read that and barked out a sharp noise in derision, “Yeah right. A bug is only called a good listener if they’re just used to being talked over.”

Tiso’s eyes dragged up and down the sitting bug before relaxing his tensed shoulders a bit, apparently having finally decided that whoever or whatever tis strange bug was he liked them. “Though with you, I bet you just take action. You seem like the kinda bug that asks for forgiveness instead of permission.”

The Ant Princess gave the sitting bug a look, trying to see what Tiso did in them.

Forgiveness instead of permission? In what way could he see that in the wilting flower of a bug?

The Heir had seemed all too willing to bend for anyone’s request or order. Why was Tiso saying that they were the type to take action?

Tiso caught her look and flicked a hand at the sitting bug. “Spooky’s mute, yeah? Mute bugs come in about two types. The ones who take care to always be understood, who fuss around and are in your face. They can’t be heard so they make real good sure to be seen. And the ones who just do whatever they want and pretend to be deaf along with being mute.”

Tiso smirked down at the sitting bug, “I’d bet good tin that Spooky here has caused plenty of trouble and would just look away and pretend not to hear them when other bugs tried to get them to stop.”

Hollow very purposely kept their head still, even if they meant they had to look head on into the smirking bug in front.

Tiso just raised an antenna, knowing exactly what was going through Hollow’s mind, and enjoying the discomfort he knew his comment was bringing.

“I also bet that you’re the oldest of a clutch, aren’t you?”

The Ant Princess had finally had enough, inserting herself into Tiso’s monologue.

“Just where are you taking these observations from! They’ve barely done anything at all!”

Tiso tsked at the Ant Princess once more, “You really are blind to everything not shoved in your face, aren’t you? They’ve been manhandling us at any point they felt that we were a danger to ourselves or others. But they haven’t been trying to make us stop arguing, just not hurt ourselves. No hands over our mouths, just keeping us away from each other. That’s good sibling behavior.”

The Ant Princess’s antenna waved in frustration.

“So!? They could just be a solider, or a guard, or- or- just a busybody!”

Tiso waved her words away, “Nah, see, if Spooky was any of those, then once we weren’t in danger of killing each other than they would either leave us alone or start to scold us. But if you haven’t noticed, they took us out for snacks instead. That’s something only a coddling older sibling would do.”

Tiso bit the little metal skewer, seeming to get lost in thought for a moment, “I had an older brother like that once, before he got chased out of the caravan for telling a client the family was cheating them.”

The Ant Princess stared at what remained of her crystalized honey before glaring at the pointedly looking away Hollow.

They were both embarrassed. The Ant Princess at being treated like a child and not even realizing it. And Hollow as well at the realization that they really were just treating these unknown bugs like how they treated their siblings and Mary.

 . . . MARY!

Hollow jerked their head away from the two bugs in front of them, toward where their void sense told them Mary was.

They had left her alone! Without protection amongst foreign bugs!

 . . . wait, no they hadn’t.

Their Father was there.

Their Father was a God, a King, and a Wyrm. He could keep the Mary safe from physical threats, and her own tongue would keep her safe from the bug’s tricks and schemes.

Hollow resettled on the ground, thinking over what they should do.

They could take the Ant Princess back to the party. Though she would struggle and surely not want to be treated like so, Hollow was stronger than her.

But . . .  they didn’t want to go back.

They were . . . enjoying this.

The clumsy arguments between the two bugs, one an Ant Princess and the other a common merchant’s son, were entertaining. Hollow could easily follow along and not get lost in their words the way they did when they listened to Mary become the Storyteller and spin traps around the noble bugs od the kingdom.

They loved her and they loved watching her on her preferred battle ground.

But they also enjoyed . . . being a part of the conversation.

Another argument had broken out between the two bugs while Hollow had been thinking, and after watching the traded words for a moment, they decided to stay.

They were keeping the Ant Princess company after all.

If Tiso just so happened to be included, then that counted as socializing with the guests of Hallownest. He was related to the merchants after all.

Hollow reached up to add their own opinion to the argument, their movement being noticed immediately, and the words they wrote in the condensation of the metal wall made the Ant Princess huff and Tiso groan.

Hollow was comfortable enough, involved enough in the conversation, to not notice the fact that the same bug in a cloak and mask walked by the small alcove every few moments, seeming to count the three bugs every time.

Making sure that the Ant Princess, the Heir to Hallownest, and the random merchant’s child were all accounted for.

None of them noticed, too concerned with the very important matters of childish disputes.

Chapter Text

“We both need to agree that we are going to encourage this behavior.”

Mary was pacing in the side hall of the White Palace.

It wasn’t the main entrance of the Palace, only a side entrance near the hidden stag station that the royal family used whenever they were coming and going from the kingdom.

It was still grand of course, but only the sort of grand that let it match with the aesthetic of the White Palace. Nothing that would be fitting for the arrival or departure of a king.

And yet it was one of the most trafficked areas.

Mostly because the grand hall was a bitch to clean up.

The Pale King was currently standing in the middle of the room, his long body curling and uncurling onto itself as the Storyteller paced a wide square around him.

“Of course! They are seeking company of bugs outside of the family and are staying engaged out of their own free will! I will of course encourage such behavior! It is wonderful progress!”

The Pale King’s wings fluttered as his long body rolled and twisted on the ground.

“But surely I could just- “

Mary spun from where she had been pacing toward the back of the room. “NO! We are not going to interrogate Hollow’s new friends about their intentions in speaking to Hollow!”

“But-!”

“No! The Ant Princess obviously thinks that she’s getting away with something by sneaking out, and the merchant’s kid would not respond well to suddenly being dragged to the White Palace and interrogated by the god ruler of Hallownest!”

“You said that he doesn’t even think I’m a real god anyway- “

“But he does think that you are a KING! And I can assure you that he will never speak to Hollow ever again if after their very first meeting he fears for his life from their father!”

“Fine, but surely the Ant Princess- “

“No! She thinks that she’s getting away with sneaking away from her attendants and the bugs of Hallownest. She’s probably using this trip to have a taste of freedom and rebel. The fact that she’s allowing Hollow to be with her probably means that she thinks that they’re doing the same thing! To learn that she’s being ‘allowed’ to explore like this will hurt her pride and damage whatever trust she has put in Hollow. Bringing her before us will only might her from them.”

The Pale King returned to being quiet even if his body langue let it be known that he was still anxious. He continued to cast glances at the doors to the hall, as if wanting to throw them open and go after his missing child.

He knew that his fear was unfounded. Hollow was the most powerful knight in the kingdom, and they never went unarmed. They kept their armor and sword in their void at all times. There was not a fight against a mortal bug that Hollow could not win.

But he couldn’t help it! His child was out there in his kingdom while it was teeming with foreign bugs!

Alone!

It was- it was odd and discomforting for the Pale King to have their oldest child out without at least the Storyteller with them.

The Storyteller who could talk circles around anyone, twist any statement to double back on the speaker. The tricky liar who could protect his child from any bug’s plans for them.

He feared less for their physical safety and more for their emotional safety.

The Pale King knew that Hollow had sadly taken after himself in the ways of their mind and emotional state.

Instead of the calm and easy air of the Pale King’s wife, they carried with them the same tension that the Pale King had.

Either because of how much time they spent together while the Pale King had thought Hollow was empty or just in the way that children resemble their parents, Hollow was the same type of anxious that the Pale King was.

He recognized it in the way that Hollow held their body whenever less familiar bugs spoke to them, when they were asked questions that they did not know how to answer.

They used their silence like a shield, or they pushed themselves behind the Storyteller and let every bug go through her before they could reach them.

A habit that the Pale King could remember doing with his own Root back when Hallownest was barely more than a possibility that he was entertaining.

The Pale King thought of those far simpler times with longing. The days when he had slept in a hole, curled around his Root. When his only self-appointed task had been to clear out the dangerous predators that did not think and threatened the lives and minds of the bugs that he had taken for his own.

Back when the bugs had thought him nothing more than his Root’s mindless guard.

At least they had, until she had asked him for his opinion on something and they had learned that he was a God in his own right.

Then the questions had been unending.

They had asked and asked and asked. The Pale King, then just the Wyrm, had not had the answers for them. But he had been unable to admit to no knowing. So, he had gone searching for those answers, expanding his own knowledge of the world and of the caves.

Looking back on it now, it was a wonder that he hadn’t driven himself to exhaustion in his attempts to answer every question asked of him.

A miracle that he suspected his wife had ensured.

But just like how in his youth the Pale King had been unable to leave a question unanswered, he could recognize how his child struggled to leave a request unfulfilled.

Just like how the Pale King was driven to answer any question asked of him, his child was driven to fulfill any task asked of them.

It was a desire that could very easily be taken advantage of, and while Hollow often did not mind doing small tasks for their family, if bugs knew that they could have the brood of Gods carry their shopping or fetch them tea, it could be used to discredit or insult his child.

The Pale King knew that there was no shame in service, but they wanted their child to willing choose who had the honor of their service.

Not simply anyone who asked.

The Pale King has long since learned that some questions asked of him should not have been answered so freely, and wished to save their child a similarly harsh lesson.

He just wanted to meet his child’s new friends and learn about them! To know if they would treat their child right, if perhaps Hollow was just unable to tell them no!

But . . . Mary was right. He would frighten them.

What was stronger? His desire to protect his child from harm, or his desire to make his child happy?

“. . . what if I just- “

“NO!”

It was a few hours later, crawling into the time that the lightless tunnels considered ‘morning’ when the doors to the side hall opened and in walked a disheveled vessel.

Their formerly white outfit had become grayed with the grime of the City of Tears, and clung to their body not with tailoring but with the weight of the water that still dripped from the sodden silk.

The veil they wore was stuck to their face, and they left a trail of droplets behind them on the pristine white floor as they carefully made their way into the hall.

They walked till they stood before the tangled pile that two of the most influential and powerful beings in Hallownest had become.

At some point during their wait both Mary and the Pale King had sat down on the floor, and from there they appeared to have fallen asleep.

The must have begun simply laying near one another, but at some point during the night, both of their instincts to clutch things to their bodies had come alive.

The Pale King’s smaller torso was clutched to Mary’s soft body, head tilted just so to keep his horns from stabbing into her flesh. One of her legs was thrown over him. And the Pale King’s long body curled around them both, his little feet digging into any part of her that they could reach.

Hollow stared down at their parent and the target of their romantic affection curled around each other on the floor for a moment before the turning their concentration inward.

The sodden clothing seemed to be sinking into their body, dragging the veil and chains from their head and disappearing into the darkness of the void that formed them.

Hollow was soon dry, but naked as they stood over their Father and Mary, having absorbed both the dress and the water that had clung to it.

And once there was no longer a danger of dirtying the two creatures laid out before them, Hollow crouched down and carefully scooped up the tangled pair. It was a delicate balancing act, having to coil up their Father’s long body while also keeping Mary’s weight from squishing their Father to their carapace, but they finally managed to get a decent grip on them both.

It was an activity that they had long perfected, juggling the sleeping pair, who had often driven themselves to exhaustion while planning the Bazaar.

Hollow settled the two on their shoulders and then turned to the door, nudging it open with a single foot.

They headed deeper into the White Palace, using their tendrils of void to keep the drape of their father’s cloak off of the floor and their feet to open what doors were between them and their Mother’s rooms.

They would drop their Father off in their Mother’s chambers before putting Mary to bed.

When the door to her chambers opened, the White Lady had slowly blinked her eyes open.

She had not been sleeping. Plants do not ever truly ‘sleep’, but there are times when she can slow the many process that are taking place within her to a crawl and enter a state of hibernation. But that is an extreme that she has not needed to do since she embodied herself in this form.

What she does not is a form of meditation, so that she can spend time with her husband while he has his much-needed rest.

A rest that he had not come for this night.

The White Lady had known what he had been doing, working himself into a nervous wreck down in a side hall. Some of her gardeners had taken it upon themselves to walk past the unwarded doors and bring back what they had heard to their Queen. She had decided to let her husband and the Storyteller do what they felt they needed to.

As the hours had worn on, the Queen had retired to her bedroom to wait for her husband to return to her.

But, as the White Lady watched her oldest child carefully step into the room, she could easily see that her husband’s body had given out on him.

Her Wyrm was wrapped around his child, dead sleep and still in his fancy silks.

The White Lady chuckled as she reached for her husband with her tendrils from her reclined position. Her child had to shimmy and juggle their delicate burdens before they could hand off their father to her.

Once their hand was free, they settled the Storyteller more firmly in their arms, tilting the bug who was in a matching state to her husband in a more comfortable position.

Her child pressed the soft bug to their chest, and the Storyteller reached for them. Even deep in sleep, the bug moved to cling to her child’s neck, burying her face in her child’s carapace and seeking comfort from their touch.

The White Lady smiled at the pair, seeing her own relationship with her husband reflected in the pair.

She had hoped that the Storyteller had a bit more sense in matters of love than her Wyrm did. But sadly, she learned that she was perhaps had even less insight than her Husband.

Her child would have to work hard to make the little mystic realize that she was loved as more than just a companion.

It had been only slightly easier with her husband. The blind Wyrm hadn’t been in denial of his own feelings like the Storyteller was, but they both shared the same inability to recognize when their love was matched in another.

Sadly, her child took after her more than her husband in where they put their affections

Hollow knew when they were loved, unlike her husband. But they also inherited her own tastes in emotionally blind, prone to over thinking, panicky, cute little powerhouses.

The White Lady removed her husband’s finery, dropping it carelessly to the floor. She understood why he wore such things. He felt the need to hide his more predatory traits, and the mistakes he had made in creating his body. The places where his segments were uneven, the unsymmetrical joints of his arms, the places where his knowledge of what bugs looked like had failed him and he had guessed wrong.

But there was no need to compromise comfort while in their own chambers and in front of their children.

Once her husband was settled beside her, his long body immediately wrapping around her while his many arms clutched what part of her they could grip, the White Lady turned her attention to her child.

“They had been attempting to wait up for you.”

Her child froze, stopping still and silent in the process of attempting to leave her to her husband. They looked back at her and it was only the way their shoulders hunched that let her know of their anxiousness at her words.

“They had been told that you disappeared from the party in pursuit of the Ant Princess, and then came into the company of a merchant’s child.”

Her child’s shoulder’s went up even farther, clutching the sleeping Storyteller to their chest even as they visibly seemed to be concerned of her response to their actions.

“They have spent the hours waiting for you to reappear apparently confirming to one another that they were going to tell you how proud of you they were that you had made some friends of your own violation.”

Her child’s shoulders went even tighter for a breath before relaxing down, their head raising from where it had been ducked down toward the floor to look at her.

The White Lady smiled at them kindly, “The Storyteller had been pacing the whole night, trying to figure out the words she would need to tell you how happy she was for you, all the while striking down your father’s every request to meet your friends. She seems to think that it would perhaps be a bit much for them if the God King of Hallownest were to ask them what their intentions were toward his child.”

Hollow nodded earnestly.

They thought of Tiso’s casual disrespect of the idea of a god king and the Ant Princess’s quick temper combined with their own Father’s overwhelmingly intense presence when he felt anxious.

It would not end well.

It was likely that their father would see only the worst sides of their new friends and drive them away from them.

The budding friendship was new and delicate and could not take the weight of their Father’s direct attention.

Tiso had no idea that they were the child of the Pale King, whether or not he believes in their Fathers’ godhood, and it was obvious that the Ant Princess thought that she was sneaking past her retainers and their Father’s notice to explore the kingdom.

To have the two bugs meet their Father face to face would surely scare Tiso off and hurt the Ant Princess’s pride.

If such a thing happened they would not speak to Hollow again, they were sure of it.

Their Mother chuckled at their response, “I do agree.”

She looked down at their Father, stroking him along his body with a loving gesture. “He can be a bit intense for most bugs. The Storyteller and I will old off his protective instincts. He does not wish to scare your friends off, he simply wants to keep you safe.”

Their Mother turned her gaze back to them, “You should perhaps attempt to warn them a bit as time goes on. It is unlikely that they will leave Hallownest without meeting your father.”

Hollow paused, staring at their Mother before nodding and walking from her chambers, shutting the door behind them.

The White Lady smiled, and then turned to her husband, settling herself more comfortably in his hold now that she no longer needs to speak with her child.

Their child would learn how to navigate a friendship, and perhaps even finally manage to make the Storyteller understand the depth of their feelings.

Or perhaps not.

A plant’s way was to wait and watch. Action was for the short lived.

But for her family, the White Lady could certainly be convinced to move.

But she would wait for their attempts before adding her own.

Things often worked out in the end, whether or not she got involved.

The kingdom had put stands up in the Fungal Wastes.

The metal stands had been put around a large cage that would house the dominance fight between the three mantis lords.

They had been given the chance to inspect the cage and make their changes, and do a mock battle on the inside to make sure that it could withstand the abuse of the three warriors doing their specific kind of battle inside.

And now, the battle raged inside, the three warriors striking and parrying and fighting within.

The bugs stuffed in the stands roared with each clash of blade or claw. There were hundreds of them, all screaming and cheering in amazement at the battle before them.

Tiso wasn’t sure how he had ended up here.

Well, he knew how he had ended up here in the stands watching an amazing fight between the bugs he had been told were called mantises. He had been planning to watch this fight ever since he had heard of it.

And what a fight it was! The three bugs were using a mix of metal weapons, their own natural claws, and magic to fight one another.

Tiso had been confused at first at why the fight was happening in a cage, but then the first mantis had leapt to the ceiling of the cage and thrown a glowing light from her claws. The mantises had jumped and dodged and parried on all of the surfaces of the cage, crossing blades and claws while hanging from ceilings and walls and it have become very clear to Tiso as to why the fight had to be done as such.

Down in the cage, another blade missed a dodging mantis by the shine of their carapace and the bugs in the stands around him cheered in exhilaration, amazed to see this flawless dance where none of the opponents had either landed or been hit.

Tiso and Sore Spot had both mentioned wanting to see the fight, and then Spooky had told them that they could get them seats. So, they had met up again at ‘6 on the clock’ at the stand that they had gotten food the night before.

The Ant had been wearing a nearly too big cloak, nearly drowning in the grey fabric and Spooky had been wearing another gauzy outfit, but in green this time and covered in a veil that hide their eyes once more.

And then Spooky had led them to see the most wonderful fight.

But as amazing as the fight was, part of Tiso’s attention couldn’t peel off of the bug sitting next to him.

The bug looked unnatural.

Their carapace too black, and their face too white. They had horns, but no antennas. They had four limbs but too many fingers. Their carapace didn’t have a single scar or imperfection, like they had just molted yesterday. They could sit completely still in a way that Tiso knew was impossible to do.

Except not. Apparently.

The bug that Tiso had dubbed Spooky when he had realized that they were reluctant to tell him their name was absolutely something that had to have been created artificially.

The way they looked, the way they acted? That was a bug who had been raised to be something specific from even before the egg.

Tiso knew that bugs could do that. Pick and choose how the offspring would look before they were even hatched, but it was usually more of what you fed the mother, or how warm or cool you kept the nest.

Tiso had never heard of someone making a bug born without a mouth and with that kind of coloring. A black so dark light dissolved on their body.

But Tiso had suspected that Spooky wasn’t from a merchant’s caravan, but was a townie instead. They had known the way around that damn drenched city way too well to have only been there for a few days and had been too good with the currency that Tiso was still having a hard time telling the difference between.

No, Spooky was from Hallownest, and they weren’t terribly good at fooling anyone about that.

Or well, fooling anyone with sense. Tiso corrected himself as he tilted to look at the Ant on the other side of Spooky.

She was absolutely enraptured with the fight, her antennas reaching toward the cage as if she wished to stick them between the bars to get a better sense of the fight.

She was avidly having some sort of awakening, a common occurrence with ants whenever they were separated from their groups.

Tiso had never seen an ant her color before, but it was pretty common for the black one’s back home to abandon their colonies the moment that they experienced a different type of life from the one that they had been born into.

Giant and vicious looking solider ants when loved to harvest food, and little worker ants who would clean a table at a game of dice. Just about every town on Tiso’s family’s circuit had one or two ants that had been named living there.

But that was back home, and this was a mythical city in the middle of the wasteland ruled by a ‘God’.

Things were probably different here. Or wherever Sore Spot came from.

Tiso tried to turn his attention back to the very interesting fight in front of him, but his mind just kept circling back to what it meant for Spooky to even exist.

They had to have been born or made for a reason. But Tiso got the feeling that maybe that reason had . . . disappeared.

Sooky acted like they didn’t know what to do with themselves. He would catch them standing like they were a hired guard, before they would forcibly relax, only drawing more attention to the fact that they hadn’t been relaxed a moment before.

They were acting like they were trying very hard to not fall into old routine. Changing the way they were standing or sitting. Going from a straight line to a slump.

It made Tiso think that whatever they had been made for had involved a lot of standing around while not moving. A lot of staying so still that one couldn’t see them breathing. A lot of silence and being unnoticed

It made Tiso think that they had been treated like an object.

It hadn’t escaped Tiso’s notice that while Spooky knew how to write, they obviously didn’t have much practice with it. Their writing was overly large and shaky.

What little they had written on the water covered walls of the city had been nearly unreadable, and now with the little slate in their hands? It was even worse.

Spooky seemed to have an infinite amount of chalk sticks, because they kept crumbling in their too hard grip or slipping through their too large hands.

Written communication was obviously something they were very unpracticed in.

Why they didn’t speak in hand sign was a mystery that they avoided answering.

Tiso had never met a bug that couldn’t speak in hand sign!

Spooky was a combination of conflicting signs. Obviously made for something, but having apparently been turned loose from that job. Obviously unused to putting their opinion out, but not afraid to do so. Trained in some form of fighting or guarding, but dressed in the most delicate and fiddly clothing Tiso had ever seen.

It was almost like watching an old guard try and impersonate a concubine, wearing all of the trappings, but not acting the way they should.

It made Tiso wonder if perhaps they were hiding from something or someone by acting and wearing such things.

But obviously they weren’t. They spent their money freely, and were out on the streets and in the stands in public view with Tiso and Sore Spot, so it wasn’t like they were on the run or sometime.

. . . on the other hand, they did put on that thin piece of fabric over their face before going up to the mushroom vender last time, and this time they had shown up with the silk already on . . .

Tiso tried not to think too hard about what it meant for Spooky if they were no longer needed for what they were made for. He shook his head a little, trying to drown out the memory of his father’s words in the screams of the crowd.

But that had never worked before.

“Listen here boy. Anything we don’t need, we sell! I don’t care how much you like it, or how much time you spent on it. We have a buyer and you’re never going to be a fighter. The only thing sharp about you is your mouth, and that won’t save your from a nail.”

Tiso wondered what the attitude about selling sentient bugs was around here.

Most villages didn’t allow it, but some places had a habit of selling family members that had been injured to carnivorous bugs, even if they hadn’t died yet.

No.

It wasn’t Tiso’s business if Spooky was tied up in something strange! It wasn’t his business if this townie that had decided to befriend him had something dark back home!

It wasn’t the first time that a townie had made friends with Tiso because he hadn’t known what the rest of the town did.

Tiso had grown up making temporary friends with bugs who were the children of murderers and criminals. The children of thieves and village fools and gossips.

He had learned to not look too deeply into the lives of the bugs he had played games of tag with, because there was always a reason that these kids had no one else to play with.

Always.

It wasn’t Tiso’s concern if Spooky was just a bit friendlier that usual. That Spooky was way too willing to give things away. That they screamed ‘easy target’ with the way that they were so earnest to any bug who had their attention.

The bug had fed both Tiso and the Sore Spot at their own expense, twice now and didn’t think anything of it. No hint of a favor owed or of a repayment to be made later.

Now Tiso was never one to turn down a free meal, but it rubbed him wrong to keep accepting things from Spooky without knowing what they wanted in return.

But Tiso suspected that he might know what it was they wanted.

They wanted . . . company.

Out of all of the bugs, visiting this weird place and living here, they had chosen a merchant’s brood and an Ant to spend their time and money on.

Tiso was a common bug out of literal hundreds and the ant was the same as literally thousands, and this one of a kind, made to order, original and exotic creature had looked at them and decided that they wanted to keep both around.

Tiso didn’t know why Spooky was going so far out of their way to be with the two of them. But it was . . . pleasant to have another want his company.

Even if he had to share it with Sore Spot.

But as good as the attention was, Tiso wasn’t going to ask about anything to do with Spooky’s situation. He didn’t wantto know.

He didn’t want to be involved.

He had already learned his lesson about trying to save the friends you make in villages.

Townies never wanted to drop everything and follow a merchant caravan out of their home.

Even if the way they were being treated was terrible.

Tiso knew this, and he needed to stop measuring the tall bug in his head and wondering if he could hide them in the canopy of the covered cart.

He wasn’t going to get involved!

He wasn’t!

Chapter Text

   “Why are we doing this!”

“Shut up!”

“Really this is so undignified!

“Be quiet or she’ll find us!”

“You mean she’ll find you. Spooky and I have nothing to do with whatever trouble you’ve gotten into.”

Despite the Ant’s words, she lowered her voice even farther and was carefully peeking around the corner of the wall that they had all ducked behind when Tiso had hissed in shock and yanked them back from the open area they had been about to enter.

She wasn’t sure who Tiso had seen, nor why he was afraid, but after days of exploring the tunnels together the three had fallen into a certain rhythm on how they would act and respond to each other.

They would meet up at the same skewer stall, and from there Spooky would lead them to a different part of Hallownest. Her and Tiso would snap and argue with one another even as they would explore and be amazed at the different biomes and creatures that called these tunnels home. Their fights were always verbal, but when tempers would begin to run high, Spooky would step in and mediate, bring them back to the delicate alliance they shared.

And the tunnels were not entirely safe either. There had been many instances where Spooky had plucked one or both of the shorter bugs away from an unseen drop or out of reach of a less than docile creature.

It had become something of a game for them to come across an obstacle or creature and for Tiso to attempt to reason out a way around the obstacle in their way or for the Ant to fling herself at the creature with the nail that Spooky had simply handed her from the depths of their cloak when she had stared with such longing at their own.

A weapon that she currently had her hand wrapped around the hilt of, wondering if she would need to use it on whomever was frightening the bug that she might one day call a friend.

But Tiso reached out and slapped her hand away from her nail and hissed at her again, “Do not, you stupid battle thirsty idiot!”

The Ant hissed back. “If you’re being hunted by someone, then a nail would be a good way to end the chase.”

Tiso yanked the nail from her, and clumsily kept it from her reaching hands, nearly falling over in his attempts to keep the sharp weapon away from her. “No- ow! Listen! They are not the problem, they’re just following orders. Do not killmy sister!”

At the mention of family, the Ant stilled and Spooky’s long fingered hand reached down to pluck the nail from Tiso’s hands, keeping it firmly out of both their reaches.

The two bugs both looked at him, silently asking for him to explain why he was so desperate to not be found by his sibling.

But Tiso did not want to explain the toxic way that his parents pitted his siblings against one another. At how the only praise one could receive was if they threw one of their family members beneath the wheels of the caravan.

 At least not while he was so close to being caught.

“I- I’ll explain later, but we need to get away from her. Without hurting her, or being seen. Can we double back?”

Sore Spot glared at him for a moment before flicking her eyes behind them.

“No. The crowd is too thick. We won’t be able to fight the flow, and she’ll just get drawn by the noise of us trying to. Spooky, is there somewhere we can hide around here?”

Tiso looked up at Spooky in hope, like they could just suddenly find a hidden passage in the tunnels.

But the tall bug just shook their head and Tiso slumped in defeat.

The Ant peeked around the corner again, and jerked back.

“She’s headed this way!”

Tiso had a moment of blind unreasoning panic, wondering if maybe he could just make a run for it.

But no. Viso was stronger and faster than he was, and all too willing to be use her bigger size against bugs who were smaller than her, himself included.

He would get caught, and he would get dragged back to the stall to slave away. He would never be left alone for the rest of the circuit and never would be allowed back here if they knew he had friends in the kingdom.

He would never see these two ever again.

There was nothing he could do.

And then Spooky wrapped their hands around Tiso and pulled him into the folds of their blue cloak.

The hustle and bustle of the tunnels became muted. The cloak wasn’t thick enough to completely keep out the light, but it was a whole lot dimmer and tinted blue.

Spooky’s hands pressed Tiso to their carapace tightly, the long fingers spanning across his back and even forcing his legs to fold and press to either side of their torso.

What little softness that Spooky had was conforming to the press of Tiso’s own shell. He could feel the way Spooky hunched over, making the bulge that his body would make in the cloak disappear and just seem like an odd figure.

Tiso stopped breathing in shock and then in a desperate attempt to keep himself hidden, though he knew that whether or not he breathed, it wouldn’t make much difference in if he was found.

But held in Spooky’s arms, clutched to their body in a way that he hadn’t been since he was a child being cared for by his more kind-hearted older siblings, he felt safe.

Tiso didn’t move his face from where it was pressed into Spooky’s chest, but he could still see well enough to see the shifting of light, and feel the gentle sway as Spooky effortlessly walked with a bug clutched to their chest.

For all that Spooky was thin as a shadow, they were very very strong.

Spooky walked for a while, carrying Tiso, but eventually they seemed to have arrived at a place that they decided was safe and Tiso was gently lowered to the ground and the cloak swept over his head.

Tiso very purposely did not look at Spooky and immediately asked a question in order to distract them from the pheromones that he must had released as he was being held.

“Where are we?”

Sore Spot, who must have been quietly following behind them, toyed with the hilt of the nail that she must have retrieved from Spooky when they grabbed Tiso. Her antennas wiggled, surely getting a whiff of the ‘comfort’ that he was oozing after getting hugged like that.

But Tiso didn’t have time to snarl at her smug look as he was shushed by a bug standing to the side.

He spun to snap at them, embarrassment making him more aggressive but he suddenly realized that where ever Spooky had taken him was packed with bugs. There was maybe a foot of space between them and the crowd that was pressed forward toward a stage.

A stage that a single masked and cloaked bug was climbing onto. The bug straightened out their robes, and cast a look out across the large gathered crowd.

Tiso squinted at the bug.

Had they jerked their head when it had been pointed in their direction?

But whether he had seen correctly or not, the bug turned their mask away and spread their arms wide and their loud clear voice reverberated around the heads of very single bug in attendance.

“Greetings visitors and denizens of Hallownest. I am the one titled Storyteller, and today I will be telling you the tragic tale of a bug’s journey into the abyss to retrieve their deceased love.”

The bug began to speak, and either it was the strange rhythmic way that they spoke, or the thunderous volume of their voice, but Tiso couldn’t help but become enthralled with the story.

The tale was about a Singer whose voice was so sweet that it allowed them to enter the abyss after their lover had died and been embraced by the Void like all those that were once a part of life.

The Singer’s song was so mournful and sad that it drove the Void tears and it offered the Singer a deal. If they could walk all the way out of the abyss with their Lover trailing behind them and stand in the sunlight then the Void would let the Lover go.

But if they turned and looked behind them even a single time before they reached the sun? Then the Lover would be dragged back into the Void’s embrace and nothing would convince the Void the release them again.

Tiso found himself leaning forward with the rest of the crowd, hanging onto the edge of every word that this strange and unknown bug said.

In fact, if it was not for the fact that the drag of Spooky’s cloak tickling his antennas, he might not have managed to jolt himself out of his enthrallment.

Tiso managed to drag his mind from the story and looked around in confusion, like he had just woken from a dream and wasn’t sure where he was. He saw that the bugs around him were all focused on the Storyteller, their antenna reaching forward and all of them quiet.

It was impossible for so many bugs to be so quiet, there were always bugs shifting their weight, whispering to one another, or a pair of wings buzzing in some emotion.

Expect for how it apparently wasn’t?!

Tiso had seen storytellers before. Bugs who would stand on corners and tell tales of the gods in the area, of adventures that had been passed from one village to another, of monsters and hero’s and disaster.

 But none of those bugs had gathered a crowd even a fraction of this size, and neither had their stories been so enthralling as to silence every creature listening.

There had to be a trick involved in this. Some effect caused by the magic that was flung about in this impossible kingdom.

Tiso flicked a glance at Sore Spot who was just as enthralled as the rest of the crowd, and then he glanced up at Spooky, and his eyes caught on the thick black tears that welled up in their eyes and stuck to the veil that still fluttered over their face.

Their cloak had brushed against Tiso, because Spooky was frantically wiping their tears away each time one welled up in their eyes.

Now, Spooky wasn’t the only one with wet eyes in the crowd, many bugs were crying as the tale about the Singer was spun through the air. The approaching end was not a mystery.

The Storyteller was narrating the Singer’s thoughts, how with each step the Singer doubted if their love was behind them, how the urge to turn and see the one they had lost mounted with every sound sung as they enticed their love out of the shadows behind them. How their control grew thinner and thinner as the light got stronger and stronger.

Tiso stared up at Spooky as their body leaned over him, their eyes stuck fast to the Storyteller.

But while all the other bugs in the crowd watched the way the bug would swing their sleeves, and toss their masked face, Spooky kept their eyes fixed firmly to the bug’s chest.
Tiso glanced toward the Storyteller’s chest as well, and caught what Spooky had either noticed or known to watch for.

The Storyteller was masked, and no emotion could be gleamed form the golden tear tracks painted on it, and the waving of hands was nothing but a part of the act.

But the Storyteller’s chest would visibly expand in the pauses before the next word was said. It would rise and stutter with the tale, and as the Storyteller’s words echoed across the crowd, telling all those listening that the Singer finally stepped into the sunlight, and with the light engulfing them and with salvation so close, turned to look into the darkness.

The Singer caught one final glimpse of their lost lover before the shadows that still covered them solidified and dragged them back into the abyss to once more rest in the eternal embrace of the Void.

How the Singer’s love was too strong to allow them to complete the task, and how they knelt at the edge of the Abyss and wept, knowing that they would not see their lover again until they too passed on and were embraced by the Void as well.

The Storyteller’s voice was clear, their body held straight and their arms splayed wide.

But their chest hitched and stuttered in the way that always denoted someone holding back tears.

Tiso glanced back to Spooky, at the way they were brushing away their black tears.

At the single arm reaching out toward the Storyteller and the hand that curled into the air as if wishing to reach out and touch the bug on the stage.

There was so much yearning spelled out in the tilt of Spooky’s shoulders.

There was anticipation in the way their knees were bent, as if Spooky was willing to jump over the crowd and drag the Storyteller into their arms like the Void dragged the Singer’s lover.

If Tiso didn’t know better, he would say that Spooky was acting the part of the Singer who had gotten a single last glimpse of their lost love. And the way that the bug had surely reached out for the love that they knew was soon to be lost once again.

Tiso had never seen a bug filled with so much longing in his entire life.

This bug has the biggest and worst crush I have ever seen.

“Thank you for listening to my tale. I bid you all a good evening and a pleasant stay in the kingdom.”

And with those parting words, the bugs in the audience were broken from their trance, and a loud and wild applause thundered in the tunnels as the Storyteller left the stage and disappeared behind a collection of white armored guards that looked as though they too were pulling themselves out of a distracted daze.

Hollow watched the Storyteller go with a forlorn tilt to their head before turning their gaze back to Tiso and the Ant princess.

The bugs in the crowd all began to leave at once, talking loudly about the story that had just been told and all aroundthe trio there was chaos. Spooky gripped their two smaller companions and carefully led them out of the quickly emptying room.

They kept a look out for the bug that had been searching for Tiso as they maneuvered their friends to a quieter area.

It took a while, but soon the three of them were all standing beneath a large flower on the edge of the Queen’s Gardens. Hollow dropped their hands and began to crouch in order to be closer to their eye level.

The Ant Princess was blinking rapidly, as if still trying to clear her head of the story she had just heard while Tiso just blurted out the first thing he could think of to distract the other two from the fact that he had been hunted by his sibling.

“It’s a bad idea to try and date bugs way over your station.”

Hollow froze, still in the process of crouching, left a few inches above the two of them.

The Ant Princess seemed to come to life at the sound of Tiso’s voice, immediately jumping to argue with him.

“What are you- what does that have to do with anything?!”

Tiso, still desperate ignored the ant princess and plowed on, still not looking anyone in the eye. “Yeah, they’re pretty and smart, or pretty and nice, but they never ever want to try a relationship with someone who isn’t at least close to their level. And that bug looked like they were really really up there in the hierarchy of the kingdom. You would have to be some kind of noble at least to get within touching distance I bet.”

“Tiso, what are you talking about?! Spooky doesn’t need to be a noble to- they aren’t trying to date anyone!”

Tiso snorted, beginning to relax as his distraction worked. “You were focusing too much on the story and not enough on your surroundings. Spooky was this close to jumping on the stage and scooping that bug up.”

The Ant princess sputtered, turning her attention to Hollow who was still frozen in a half crouch, but then her eyes narrowed and her antenna sprung up. She rounded on Tiso and braced her feet wide as if she was preparing to launch herself at the other bug.

“You’re trying to distract us!”

Tiso tensed up again.

“What? No, I was just- “

“Why are you running from your family?”

“I wasn’t-”

“Why are you so scared of them!?”

“I-”

“Do you need help?”

The last question seemed to make something snap in Tiso.

This trip to the Kingdom of Hallownest had been far different from any other trip he had been on. He had managed to rest, eat more food than he had since he had been small, and had just been held tightly in the arms of a bug that only invoked the feeling of comfort in him.

His body had unwound from its tight coil that it had been in for most of his life and that was his excuse for why he immediately began to spill his guts to the two flustered bugs in front of him.

“They work me till my shells near to cracking, and then claim that I have only barely done enough to deserve food at the end. I know the value of my work, and they are underpaying me. They’re stealing my time from me!”

“They claim that I owe them the work, that I have to repay them for raising me, when they were the ones who kept the nest warm. If they didn’t want the burden of children, then they had a hundred chances to get rid of us all before we hatched. It’s not my fault that they kept me alive and I don’t owe them for it either.”

Tiso had started pulling at his antenna’s repeating the words that he had finally managed to nail down so long ago when he had overheard one of his older siblings arguing with his family before they had been abandoned at one of the many towns that were on the circuit they traveled.

His sibling, a sister, big and strong and carrying a shield that she had made from the scrap that his family had discarded as unsellable, had yelled those words at his parents and the words had echoed in Tiso’s mind ever since.

He owed his family nothing. They could have discarded him at any time, and just because they claimed that there was a debt owed didn’t mean he had to pay with his life.

 . . . there were two hands patting him.

While he had been speaking, he had apparently been dragged to the ground and settled in the wide span of Spooky’s legs.

A large hand that nearly spanned his shoulders tapped at him firmly, pausing in its rhythm every now and then to rub up and down the curve his back had become.

Tiso absent mindedly added “adept at comforting bugs” to the list of odd things that Spooky was good at.

For a bug that didn’t seem to know how to approach most social situations, they were very good at dealing with the most awkward ones.

The other hand was patting much harder, nearly a slapping at his shoulder.

Tiso managed to glance over and had to squeeze down on his urge to laugh. The Ant, Sore Spot, looked like she was touching one of the disgusting and pulsating things that they had found during their exploration of the tunnels.

She kept flicking glances at something behind him, and Tiso suspected that she was taking her cues on how to comfort him from what Spooky was doing. His suspicion was proved right when she roughly dragged her hand down his arm as if she was an over worked brood mother trying to scrub some dirt from an unruly child.

The visual of Sore Spot trying rubbing at him like she was trying to clean him up forced a chuckle from Tiso, and as if knowing that it was directed at her, the ant yanked her hand away.

Sore Spot took a step away from him, turned her back on them both and after a moment of holding herself stiffly in silence she suddenly began talking.

“I’m disposable. I hadn’t quite realized that, until I was sent here.”

Tiso blinked, unsure about why she was suddenly sharing this.

“I was supposed to learn as much as I could about this kingdom and the bugs that resided here and then return to the Queen Mother.”

Sore Spot flexed her back in an odd way, the loose fabric of her cloak billowing as her shoulders flexed and shuddered. It looked like a move done by a winged bug trying to settle their nerves.

“But. I was also assured that if I were to fail my task and have my mind fall to the magic of the Wyrm then I could be easily replaced and the Nest would live on.”

The Ant spun around, her fists clenched at her sides as she braced her legs apart and glared at Spooky and Tiso, daring them to say anything as she shouted at them, using them as stand-ins for who she truly wanted to say this too.

“My whole life I was trained and prepared to do a single important job, but now I’m told that I instead can be- be- wasted on a scouting mission? What was the point of it? My time, my effort, all of those countless tasks that I practiced and studied to ensure that I would be good for the nest? What was the point of any of it if I could just be so easily sacrificed and replaced? Thrown aside on something that the Nest didn’t need, and assured that I would be replaced with someone better now that they know where they went wrong with me!”

Sore Spot suddenly relaxed her body, surrendering to the thoughts that had been only barely held back since the moment she had been given the order to leave the nest.

“I tried so hard to be what she wanted and it just . . . my efforts don’t matter to them at all.”

Spooky reached out from where they were sitting, and carefully, oh so carefully circled their hand around one of the Ant’s arms and slowly dragged her to their lap where Tiso was still sitting.

She came with a minor struggle, no more than a resigned effort, just so she could probably later pretend she hadn’t wanted to be cuddled by the larger bug.

She tucked her face away into Spooky’s cloak, but both of the other bugs could hear the next words she said, even as it seemed as though she wanted to hide them away.

“I . . . I think that I hate the duty I was born for. I don’t even want to go back anymore if it means that everything will go back to the way it was.”

Tiso stared at the bug who was curled up in Spooky’s lap with him, before sighing and reaching out to give the nearest shoulder a few pats.

It’s not like he still had any pride left, not after his own crying jag and spilling of secrets.

He kept patting the bug even as he tilted his head back to look up at the dark eyes and veiled face of Spooky.

He tried to give a smile to his friend, but it felt like it was more of a grimace.

“So. That’s our dark and sad histories. What about you?”

Now, Tiso hadn’t actually expected for Spooky to share anything, but then the hand that had been gently rubbing up and down his back paused and the long-horned head tilted to the side. Tiso’s antenna curled in surprise as Spooky looked down at him and Sore Spot, down at the two bugs that had bared their insecurities to them and had accepted their touch as a comfort.

And they visibly made a decision.

The tall bug removed their hands from the two, and the absence of the comforting touch drew the ant’s face from their cloak.

But bugs were looking up at the bug they were still sat upon, when their black hands came together and moved with purpose.

Tiso had finally learned why Spooky didn’t use their hands to talk.

Made to be. Sacrificed. Made to be. Empty. Was not. Pretended for. Very long time. Failed.

Usually a bug couldn’t feel it when the strange inborn magic was used to get meaning across. It was no different than breathing, then sunlight on the carapace, then simply being and existing.

But the sensation that pressed into Tiso as Spooky carefully shifted their hands and pressed meaning into his mind?

It was like something vast had turned its attention on him and was watching him closely and his body could not decide to freeze or run.

But then the meaning of Spooky’s words sank into Tiso’s understanding, and the fact that Spooky’s way of speaking was weird got discarded for more important things.

“Wait, sacrifice!? For what!?”

For Hallownest.

Sore Spot looked like she had been slapped.

“You- You’re a sacrifice? But- But you’re the-” Her words cut off sharply, and like an amateur she looked directly at Tiso, before turning her entire body away from him.

Tiso had suspected that the Ant knew more about whatever was up with Spooky. They always showed up together and left together but it was obvious that their relationship was just as new with each other as it was with Tiso.

But Sore Spot knew something about Spooky’s situation and they were both keeping it from him.

But unlike Spooky, who Tiso couldn’t trick into speaking something they shouldn’t, Sore Spot was much easier to bait into reveling more than she wanted too.

Tiso focused on her and when she turned her head away from him, he just moved to keep in her line of sight. Climbing all over Spooky’s legs to do so.

“What was that? Spooky’s the what?”

The ant was desperately trying to look anywhere but, in his eyes, and it was only when Spooky put one of their giant hands between them that Tiso took his eyes from her own.

The large creature carefully took another slate from somewhere within their cloak, and began to shakily write.

Tiso waited even if he wanted to demand more answers.

Not sacrifice anymore. Loved. Encouraged.

Tiso read the words on the slate, and couldn’t keep himself from asking, “Are you sure?”

He had seen his siblings give into his parents, taking the slightest kindness or moment of regret as a change for the better when all it really was an act. A pacifying gesture to keep the more valuable siblings in line with temporary affection.

“Are they making promises? Are they keeping them? Are they crying? Are they trying to guilt you? You have to really think, have they done this before? Are they only letting you do things if you finish up your work first? Are they always finding problems with what you’re doing?”

Tiso asked these questions in a rapid manner, his mind casting back to all of the ways that he had picked apart his siblings arguments, even as the knowledge that he was making it worse washed over him.

No one liked it when he questioned them, no one liked it when he picked apart their thoughts and shoved the ugly truth in their faces.

Tiso braced himself for Spooky’s anger, for the reaction that he always got when his mouth got away with him.

Scrap, scrap, scrap.

Spooky was writing again?

No promises. Actions. No orders. Only requests. Encouraged to refuse.

“Oh.”

That was- good?

 Tiso was happy for them. He would need to make sure of course. But. His parents had never encouraged anyone to tell them no.

That- that seemed like a good sign, right?

Mary knew that she had been staring at Hollow during the storytelling, but could anyone blame her?

It had been Hollow!

Hollow socializing with other bugs and freely touching and getting touched and just . . . they had been happy. They had been so happy with their new friends.

And Mary hadn’t been able to see them much recently.

Hollow had used to be as constant as her shadow, but with all of the planning and the organizing that Mary had been doing they had spent more time with their siblings instead.

Which was good! They needed to do that! It was their family!

 . . . but Mary had still seen them a few times every day.

Usually a meal times when they would appear with some food and insist with their intense staring that it was time to take a break.

But now? She saw them once a day, in the mornings, and even then, that was usually just a quick glance at their back as they gently stroked her shoulders in passing.

They had been spending as much time as they could out in the kingdom with the Ant princess and Tiso the merchant’s child.

And that was fine! They had new friends! New friends that would be leaving soon! It only made since to spend as much time as they could together.

But . . . 

Ok, fine.

Mary was lonely! Lonely and jealous and she wasn’t terribly happy about it.

She was an adult and she wanted her best friends attention to focus back on her alone like she was a toddler who didn’t want to share.

Mary hadn’t realized how few friends that she had until suddenly her favorite person was no longer around her all the time!

It was really just the Pale King wasn’t it?

She had a comradery with Lurien and Monomon from saving the kingdom together and working long periods of time together, but they didn’t ever really spend time together outside of kingdom matters.

And Herrah? Wow, no. She respected the woman, but that Spider was way too much for Mary to deal with without the buffer of her ‘Storyteller’ persona.

Her assistants were wonderful, but as their boss, and also as the ‘Storyteller’ they didn’t really try to get too friendly with her. They all thought that she had better things to do than just hang out with them, or they took her attention way too seriously.

Mary could not count the number of times she had approached one of her assistants just to have a chat and ended up getting a situation report.  

It was useful, but not really the goal for the interaction, you know?

Mary . . . probably needed friends just as badly as Hollow did.

But she didn’t have time to make any right now! She had to do a million different things to do and had to help the Pale King juggle a thousand different problems!

She had become the unofficial voice of Hallownest since the Pale King was having a hard time controlling his territorial instincts in the face of all of these foreign bugs, leaving her as the only one with the mobility, charisma, and authority to go out and speak with the diplomates.

These factors are what led her to where she was now, sipping nectar while lounging in a flower like some kind of Tinkerbell knock off.

The ‘after party’ of Mary’s storytelling was being held in one of the Queen Garden’s more private spaces. Mary had suggested it as a way to include the White Lady in the proceedings, while also giving her the home advantage separate from the Pale King’s power.

Also, because she had been getting worn down and needed to have something to make these bugs be on their best behavior.

Mary had no clue why, but for some reason she had been getting wildly different responses to her presence?

Some of the foreign bugs had been treating her like she was made of spun glass and needed to be gently coaxed with polite conversation, while others had been introduced to her and had been aggressively condescending?

Not- not angry or rude or anything, but it was like they thought that she was going to come at them with force and they were just prepared to meet her half way?

It was- it was strange? She would have thought that it was some kind of response to her species or gender if it wasn’t for the fact that the behavior would flip flop though out the conversation. Bugs that started out aggressive would suddenly change to being delicate only to flip back again and vise versa.

Mary would ask her assistants, but they didn’t seem to find anything odd with the way that the bugs were acting and it hadn’t happened in front of the Pale King and she was having a hard time describing exactly what was going on.

It was almost like flirting, if the one’s flirting couldn’t decide if she was a fainting damsel or a vicious badger.

“-surely a bug in your position needs someone to support you in the background?”

Mary, lounging in the center of a carefully altered flower tilted her head in motion that she knew reminded a bug of a dismissive flick of their antenna.

She had practiced that move until she had gotten it down right.

“My position is of one of the most respected bugs in the kingdom. I need no support from the background, and I endeavor for you to not assume that one of Hallownest’s Dreamers need assistance from an outside source.”

Tinsy, standing beside her and doing the job that Hollow usually did of running off to get her drinks or food, spoke up with a certain smug tone, “The Storyteller is a very powerful individual. She has earned her position.”

And with those few words from her retainer, the foreigner bug’s antennas slammed to their head and they immediately ducked out of the conversation with a few mutterings of ‘of course, of course’ and once more Mary had no idea what exactly it was that Tinsy said that made the bug run off with their tail between their legs.

But at least they had stopped implying that she needed a big strong man to help her be taken seriously in the Kingdom’s hierarchy.

Like, what the hell is up with that!? And why did it keep happening?!

Mary was so fucking done with this right now.

It was her own fault she figured, telling a love story like she had, one with all of the longing and tragedy of Orpheus and Eurydice.

It hadn’t been what Mary had been planning on, but she was been in a bad mood lately ok!?

“Tinsy . . . is there something about me that makes bugs assume that I need a lover and protector? Do I seem desperate or needy in some way?”

Tinsy, her antennas only barely giving away her amusement answered the Storyteller. “Oh no Mistress, I can assure you that it is nothing that you are doing that is making the visitors approach you like so. Only their own assumptions about you.”

As Tinsy spoke loudly, Mary watched a bug who had been approaching her stop dead and do an about face, hurrying away.

Mary sighed and drained the cup of nectar that she had been nursing.

Mary wasn’t sure if it was all of the bugs attempting to seduce her or if it was the fact that she was missing Hollow, but Mary was in the worst mood.

Hell, maybe the Pale King was rubbing off on her. She would usually be giving these bugs a bit more leeway and actually try to bridge whatever cultural mishap was happening here, but honestly?

She could not be bothered to play nice.

Seeing Hollow in the crowd should have put her in a better mood, but all she felt was like she had been abandoned at a party where she didn’t know anyone by her only friend.

“Tinsy. . . Can you go get me something a bit stronger?”

The fluffy antennae bug looked the Storyteller over.

Despite the fact that that the Storyteller was nothing more than a blob in a cloak and mask, it was easy for Tinsy to see that she was stressed.  Despite her attempts at trying to appear as though she was relaxed, there was a tension in her shoulders that was readily apparent to any that worked with or around her.

The reason for what had put her in such a bad mood was being debated in her workshop. It was a forgone conclusion that the absence of Hollow was certainly making her unhappy, but she had seemed to be a bit more excited today.

Happy to be telling stories once again?

But then she had been visibly unhappy after the performance. And these bugs all mistaking her gender and approaching her like she was a soft high-born male that had been delicately raised for marriage was obviously only adding to her sour mood.

Yes, perhaps something a bit stronger would help mellow out her mood.

Tinsy nodded and went off in search of mead for her mistress, and as if he had been waiting for a moment where she was alone, the Soul Master approached the Storyteller with a slight and brightly colored bug on his arm.

Mary eyed the approaching couple, and sighed before levering herself up a bit into a more ‘regal’ position.

She turned toward them, and straightened her spine and centered her head, giving the appearance of her giving them her whole attention.

“Greetings, Soul Master. It is a pleasure to meet you once more.?”

“Good day, Storyteller. May I introduce my companion? This is Guldig, one of the visitors to our eternal kingdom.”

The large round bug seemed to swell with pride at having made Mary address him first, even as Mary rolled her eyes behind her mask.

The Soul Master, fuck what had his name been?, was one of the bugs who didn’t like the Storyteller. 

Sure, he used all of the correct niceties and never actually spoke out against her. But it hadn’t been hard to find out that most of the rumors that had sprung up about her to the Soul Sanctum.

He managed to hide most of his dislike of her whenever he was in her presence, but bugs weren’t actually that good at covering up their emotions.

Or well, Mary thought at she eyed the simpering little piece of glitter hanging off of the Soul Master’s arm, Hallownest bugs certainly weren’t.

Guldig was a name that had come up time and time again in her reports.

The visiting bugs had seemed afraid to say the name, but would also assume that her assistants had already come into contact with Guldig and were ‘coworkers’ underneath of her.

From what her assistants had collected, it seemed that Guldig had a monopoly over all of the trade to the north of Hallownest.

Every single trader from that direction were in some way affiliated with her name, and the delegates from the villages from those areas also mentioned the name off hand with the assumption that it was the only name worth doing any decent trade with.

A bit of gentle prodding had uncovered some . . . unsavory gossip about her.

It seemed as though, Guldig was a bit of a . . . grave digger.

From what a few nights spent drinking with some northern merchants had managed to uncover, the north had used to be controlled by three family of different species. Two of the families had attempted to form closer ties by marrying a child of one of the heads to the head of another.

Not their children marrying, but a child marrying a bug the age of their parent.

Which was fucked up, but the marriage had apparently only lasted a short while before the older spouse had died of their own old age.

Then apparently the now widowed Guldig had been overwhelmed with the demands of being the new boss of a merchant family, but instead of seeking help from her own family, they went to their parent’s business rival instead.

And then those two got married.

It was mostly so that the third head of the merchants could have a claim to controlling the business that Guldig now was head of.

But that marriage had lasted an even shorter amount of time before the older bug was also found dead of old age.

So now Guldig was the sole head of two trading companies, and still not able to run either of them. So, she finally returned home to her family to train as the heir.

And then her only parent had died.

Not of old age this time. No, this time they had died when the merchandise hadn’t been properly secured and they were crushed underneath.

So now Guldig was a twice widowed orphan who was the sole heir to three different trading companies.

It didn’t take a genius to figure out that just maybe all of those deaths had been helped along a bit.

But looking at the bug now? All decked out in dyed pink silk and wearing some bright green and dangling jewelry from her neck and wrists?

She looked like a vapid socialite who just wants a rich husband to take care of her.

But someone who came out on top of the heap after all of that? There was no way she was as girlish and stupid as she were pretending to be.

Mary didn’t trust this bug as far as she could toss them. And she was slight looking enough that Mary might be able to get them off the ground.

The Storyteller gave him a once over before speaking.

“And how have you been finding our Kingdom?”

Guldig made sure to put a light twitter in his voice as he answered the Storyteller’s question.

“Oh, it’s been wonderful! There are so many pretty things that I have never seen before, and I love the gorgeous attire that you have here! I bought this dress just earlier!”

Guldig stepped away from Drak to spin a little to let the fabric flare out.

The outfit truly was gorgeous, and Guldig did plan to return to that particular vender and discuss buying in bulk.

But the high-quality fabric was the tip of the stalk compared to the treasure trove that this kingdom was.

But it was the simplest thing to speak about while not showing his hand.

At this point he has already convinced Drak that there was nothing but fluff between his antenna and that he was just an easy way to get to his trading caravan that had only stayed afloat through his ownership by the grace of the competent workers below him.

Guldig had carefully influenced Drak to believe this of him, and the bug had swallowed the lies like they had been dipped in honey.

For all that males were assumed to the smarter and trickier sex they were often all the more easily tricked by Guldig’s ditzy act. Guldig assumed it had something to do with how they felt above him.

Guldig turned his eyes back to the Storyteller.

It was odd, but despite having seen his power, hearing how close he was to the Pale King, and having just seen the way that he could command the attention of a huge crowd of bugs, seeing the Storyteller up close was strangely underwhelming.

He was quite small, and the cloak he wore, while of a very fine make, was a simple undyed white. They sat in the center of a flower, but while that should have made a gorgeous back drop to any bug, the Storyteller only seemed to be more shapeless and plain against the colorful petals.

The only part of him that in any way showed his status were the golden tears painted on his mask.

Before, during the story, Guldig and possibly every other bug that could hear the Storyteller’s voice, could feel the power that the bug wielded. As the tragic story had progressed it had seemed as though the Storyteller was dripping influence and pride.

But now?

Slouched in a flower?

They only seemed morose and longing, like a lover abandoned.

Guldig couldn’t help but feel himself draw conclusions before stepping back and carefully examining his immediate assumptions.

He knew that the Storyteller was powerful and influential.

He also knew that the Storyteller was prideful.

The morose air that the Storyteller had was probably not an act based on how his assistant was acting, but that did not mean that he was open to any kind of coaxing. Guldig had seen the Storyteller put down any bug that had tried to wiggle into the perceived weak spot that the he was presenting.

Guldig would think that the Storyteller was doing this on purpose to draw in the bugs who were taking their chances with his let down guard, but the bugs that tried to comfort the Storyteller or to assert themselves as dominant over the perceived weaker bug were run off with little care.

If this was a ploy, it was one Guldig did not know the purpose of it.

“I am glad to see that you are satisfied with the silk fabric that the spiders have produced. We were all sure that it would be well received, but were not certain how to cut and design robes for the visiting bugs. I’m sure that Herrah will be pleased to know that the designs her people created pleased such an influential merchant.”

Guldig didn’t tense their body or twitch their antenna. They kept their genial look on their face and returned to clinging to Drak’s arm like a good empty headed and pretty decoration.

 . . .  the Storyteller knew the reputation attached to his name.

At least enough to add the word influential them. But how much had they learned? Just that he was the head to the trading companies or more into his past?

Would it be worth it to continue to pretend?

“Oh, you flatter me! I just know something pretty when I see it. Is Herrah a merchant as well?”

The Storyteller tilted his head, the crying mask’s golden tears glinting gently in the light of the garden at the change in position.

“Oh, Herrah is the Queen of Deepnest. Perhaps you have heard her by her other name? She is often referred to as The Beast.”

Ah.

The Storyteller was flaunting his connections.

 Guldig had known that there were at least three other species-specific monarchies in the tunnels that all were under the wings of the Pale King, but to have a bug so firmly in the Pale King’s court so causally mention one of the rulers of another species? The relations must be quite close.

Drak spoke up then, drawing attention back to himself and inadvertently saving Guldig from having to somehow respond to a statement like that.

He was looking off to the side, having seen something had made his antennas perk up.

“I apologize Storyteller, but would you keep Guldig company for a moment? I need to speak to that bug about some business and do not wish to bore my companion.”

The storyteller seemed to respond reflexively, not truly realizing their words, “It would be no trouble- “

And before the bug was even done speaking, Drak slipped out of Guldig’s hold and walked off, abandoning Guldig with the Storyteller.

Guldig was a bit miffed to be brushed off like so, wishing that he could be in two places at once. To know more about the dealings of the Soul Sanctum would allow him more leverage when he dropped his act and began to bargain with Drak, but the chance to speak with one of the most influential bugs in this rich kingdom was far more valuable.

Guldig made a show of slumping with as sad noise. “Oh, how easily I am abandoned!”

The Storyteller didn’t seem to be swayed by his act, only shifting slightly to watch Drak walk off before turning back to Guldig.

“Becoming quite close with our Soul Master, are you? Are you looking for a better deal or . . .?”

Guldig was surprised that the Storyteller would ask directly about their business, but he has already committed to the bit, and wasn’t about to let it go now.

“Oh, I’m not terribly involved with the trading my company does! Drak is just showing me around Hallownest. It is such an amazing place!”

“So, you have no other motives then? I’m sure you can understand my concern, it just wouldn’t do to lose our dear Soul Master.”

The bug stilled for a moment, as if not sure if she heard Mary correctly. She turned back toward Mary and said, “Pardon me, but? Why would you be worried about losing the Soul Master?”

Mary, already frustrated, could feel what fragile control she had over her inner bitch slipping as she purposely matched the body language of the bug with exaggerated flair.

Mary tilted her head, knowing that the mask’s tears were shining in the light and how striking that could look, “Oh you can just imagine all of the stories that I can hear. Stories from hundreds of perspectives and bugs with unique opinions about the exact same incident. Now I can’t claim that the words of a mob can be trusted, but there are enough matching details to cause concern.”

Guldig paused in what looked like confusion, but Mary had worked customer service, gone to high school, and had absolutely had polite bitch fights in public before. She could recognize when someone was pissed.

Guldig fluttered her antennas in a way that woodenly came off as concerned. “Storyteller, you know better than to put stock in rumors, don’t you? It’s not smart to believe all what you hear! Surely someone as grand, important and knowledgeable as the Pale King’s dreamer knows better than to listen to baseless gossip.”

Guldig curled one of her antennas in pleasure before straightening it out again and drawing them back and flat to her head. “Or is that all you’ve done to get the position? Gossip and spread false rumors?”

Oh. This bitch.

Mary grit her teeth as she tried to reign in her reflex to just start cursing. They were still in public, still playing at being polite, and to be the first to break into rage would be to lose this game.

Mary forced her tense hands to relax and laid them on her lap while leaning back into the petals of the flower she was resting in. “Gossip and rumors? Well, I suppose you can say that I deal in those, but no. I was sought after for the position of dreamer for my talents and my wisdom. It was only after living and working with the Pale King that I was raised to the position of Dreamer. I imagine that you don’t have much experience with working with others, seeing as how your marriages lasted for such short amounts of time.”

Mary pressed one hand to the side of her mask and tilted her head. “There’s no need to be defensive of your ignorance in how working relationships develop. It’s fine to think I used a trick to reach my position but you really need to be more careful with you words.”

Mary made sure that Guldig was looking into her masks eyes. “I could take offense.”

Guldig felt a shiver up his spine, but carefully kept it out of his face.

He didn’t often come across bugs who could use words as deftly as he could, but it made sense that a bug that was known for their storytelling could manipulate words in their casual conversation as well.

But this bug had to be guessing about what Guldig had done. He had made sure that there was no proof of his actions. The Storyteller was simply trying to scare them, not make him confess to old crimes.

This was a bug with power, but a power that was limited in charm-based magic. The Storyteller has done many impressive feats, but in all the information that Guldig had acquired, he had used some physical and verbal element in his casting. So, it stood to reason that there would be no sudden retaliation from the Storyteller.

Guldig was startled by a sudden touch on his back. He turned and then forced himself to relax as Drak returned his arm to Guldig’s hold.

“Thank you for waiting. I am sorry to have left you Guldig, but I’m sure that the Storyteller kept you entertained.”

Guldig forced themselves to twitter before replying, “Oh yes. The Storyteller was quite interesting to speak with.”

“As were you.” The Storyteller said, audibly smug at managing to get the last word in.

“Ah, speaking of interesting. Storyteller, the tale you told today, the Singer, the Lover and the Void, was there any truth to what you were saying or was it entirely a lie?”

Guldig blinked at Drak. Surely, he realized how heavy handed his question was? How much it gave away his true feelings? How it implied that he thought that the Storyteller often lied?

Ah, but no. Guldig knew how blunt most bugs were, and it seemed as though the bugs of Hallownest were particularly straightforward with their goals, even when a more delicate touch would gain them more.

The Storyteller raised and dropped their shoulders in a quick action that reminded Guldig of a butterfly shifting their wings, which was odd because the cloak didn’t shift much at all, not nearly enough if there were wings hidden inside.

Why have the habit if there are no wings? Was the Storyteller around many winged species?

“It was a story, parts were as true as they could have been and others were altered to allow for a better tale. Names were traded, elements added and forgotten and events distorted as the tale traveled from one mouth to another. The tale at it’s beginning must have been vastly different from the one I told you, but it was the one that would suit the audience the best.”

Drak harshly cut a hand between them, Guldig swaying a bit as his entire body jerked with the motion. “I do not wish to debate the philosophical with you Storyteller, I am no student of the archives. I want to know if it is possible to retrieve the dead from the Void.”

The Storyteller paused, tilting his head at Drak and Guldig had the impression that he was looking at the larger bug with exasperation.

“Soul Master. Are you still researching how to lengthen a life with soul?”

Drak was silent in response to the Storyteller’s words, but did not stop looking at him with anticipation.

The Storyteller made a strange gusty sound, as if wind was blowing through them.

“The dead stay dead Soul Master.”

“The Radiance didn’t.”

All at once the Storyteller leaned forward and spoke in an angry hiss, “The Radiance was a god! The gods don’t have the same rules as mortals do. Her body was ripped apart and eaten by the Pale King, but gods are more soul than shell. No mortal has enough soul to continue to ‘live’ when their body deteriorates. Anything that is not strong enough to struggle against the Void is taken into its embrace, and the Void does not release what it has consumed.”

Drak scoffed, baring his teeth in a light hiss of displeasure. “What lies you weave Storyteller. It is possible to retrieve bugs from the Void’s embrace, or do the royal children not count amongst the living?”

 . . . the Storyteller did what.

“The children were never dead Soul Master. They were not in the embrace of the Void, but of the Void. I did not bargain with the Void for the children! I was simply there. I was something new and different in the darkest pit of the Abyss. They came to me, I did not have to go for them.”

“Came to you?! You had them tangled and dangling from your hands in black thread like dreams caught in one of your trinkets!”

Guldig could not hold himself back, “I- I apologize for breaking into you discussion, but what do you mean that the royal children are of the Void? The Void in the story was just a metaphor, wasn’t it?”

Drak looked down at him and scoffed, but Guldig restrained their anger at being belittled. He had to know what exactly these bugs were speaking of.

It was the Storyteller who answered his question, his tone calm and even like he was reciting something practiced.

“The eggs of the Pale King and White Lady were sacrificed to the Void in an effort to defeat the Radiance who was plaguing Hallownest. It changed them. The royal children are more the offspring of three gods than two. Root, Wyrm, and Void. The Pale King was able to retrieve one of his children from the Void long ago. But more recently I was sent into the abyss to gather supplies for my own plan to defeat the Radiance. And while I was there I managed to retrieve four more royal children from the abyss. The rest . . . did not wish to leave.”

Guldig stared at the Storyteller, going over the conversation, the story from before and what he had thought the Storyteller was capable of.

He had made assumptions about the Storyteller’s abilities, and now it seemed as though he had underestimated them. A mortal they may be, but they were accomplishing tasks that even the gods had come short of.

“Speaking of the Pure Vessel, where is your faithful shadow?”

The Storyteller clenched tight for a moment. His hands digging into the folds of his cloak as his body visually tensed in anger, before purposely relaxing again.

“Their name is Hollow, and they are out enjoying themselves. There was no need to drag them to these simple events. Unless of course, you think that I am in danger?”

Drak shifted his weight, as dense as he was he was able to understand the pointed words being thrown in his direction.

“Ah, of course not. But I have so rarely seen you apart since the Pale King ordered them to guard you. And even when they were acknowledged as having a will, they still followed so close behind you, bowing to your every order no matter how their status had changed.”

The Storyteller seemed to be gaining more anger as this topic continued.

“Are you implying that I have been taking advantage of- “

“Mistress! I have your drink!”

A short fluffy antennae cave bug dressed like one of the White Palace attendants rushed forward and pressed a tall carved glass into the Storyteller’s hands, interrupting their rise into the air. Deftly side tracking the conversation from it’s dangerous path.

Wait.

“Mistress!?”

At Guldig’s loud exclamation, all of the bugs in the area turned to him in confusion. He felt his antennas slam to his head, slapping against his back as the embarrassment of his exclamation crashed upon him.

As the bugs continued to stare, he couldn’t help but lean into his ditz persona to try and migrate his own mortification.

“I- ah, had assumed from your small stature and masculine way of dress that you were male.”

The Storyteller’s mask was unmoving from where it was trained on Guldig, but soon a strange shuddering motion shook the bug’s body and a noise like chipping came from the bug.

“You- you thought I was male!? Ha! Ha ha ha! Oh, oh that it quite funny! Tinsy! Tinsy have all of the visiting bugs been thinking I was male?! Is that why they have been acting so oddly and then leaving so fast! You knew didn’t you! And you didn’t tell me!?”

The bug, Tinsy, fluttered her antennas in apparent satisfaction at making the Storyteller produce such strange noise and movements.

“I told you mistress, it was nothing that you were doing. Just their own mistaken assumptions.”

Guldig, wallowing in their own shame at letting slip a true mistake dragged Drak away.

The large bug was buzzing in his own humor at the mistake such a cute and stupid bug had made. There surely was barely any mind in his head, but at least he was incredibly pleasing to look at.

Chapter Text

Tinsy had miscalculated.

“I know so many naughty tales! So many! But, like, they are for my species. And we do naughty stuff different from other species. Really different.”

Hollow had always been the one to follow the Storyteller to the parties, the one to acquire food and drink for her whenever there was the need for her presence in the public eye of the nobles.

“Oh, we don’t have a mating season, we’re just horny all the time! All the time.”

They were the ones who controlled what and how much the Storyteller ate and drank.

“It got to the point that we developed a lot of different ways to pleasure ourselves or a partner!”

And now it seems as though Hollow had controlled the Storyteller’s consumption in much more detail than anyone had suspected.

“We learned how to use our hands, mouths, chest, legs, and even feet for sexual purposes! Though the ones who like feet are considered to be pretty weird!”

The Storyteller had become quite intoxicated when allowed to drink under her own oversight.

 “Here, let me show-”

“HA HA HA! Storyteller! Perhaps it would be a good idea to return to the White Palace!? Right now!?”

The Storyteller looked up from where she had been bent forward, pinning one of the visiting bugs against the arm of one of the benches in the Queen’s Gardens. She had one of the bug’s hands clutched in her own covered grip and was about to press it to the soft lumps that adorned her carapace.  

It was only luck that Tinsy had finally found her after much searching and rushed had rushed forward, distracting her from her unknown goal.

The foreign bug in the Storyteller’s grip was waving their antenna’s wildly, seeming to be osculating wildly between excitement and fear. Their eyes were flicking between the storyteller and Tinsy, seeming to be afraid that they would get in trouble for being so close to the important bug while also being visibly thankful that they had been saved from whatever the Storyteller had been about to do to them.

Tinsy understood from what little she had heard of the Storyteller’s loud words that this bug had probably approached the Storyteller with the intent for seduction, but had not been prepared for the Storyteller to be willing to demonstrate how her species courted one another.

Such demonstrations could often end with one of the parties dead, if they did not react know how to properly react.

The Storyteller’s actions could be considered a threat or a flirt, all depending on what species she was under her cloak, but none new the answer to that.

It was only a miracle that the Storyteller had wandered a bit away from the party before she had become this intoxicated. Utter luck that she wasn’t invading this bug’s space in the full view of all those that had stayed for this late hour.

The Storyteller’s mask swayed and bobbed even as she stayed sitting. The masked eyes seemed to have a hard time catching on Tinsy’s form, her confusion so apparent even though the mask and cloak.

But then the bug’s hand was let go and the Storyteller threw herself at the retainer.

“Tinsy! You’re here! Oh, I’m so happy to see you! Where did you go?”

Tinsy staggered under the Storyteller’s weight, stumbling back a bit as her hands which had instinctively come up to stop her mistress’s fall, sank into the alien softness of the Storyteller’s body.

Tinsy froze as her hands pressed deep enough into the Storyteller’s body as to push against something hard hidden deep within the plump flesh.

Tinsy had known that the Storyteller was an exotic bug. She had known that the Storyteller was much more than she presented to the public eye.

Tinsy had touched her before, had clutched her hand, and smoothed the fabric of her cloaks over her back. She knew that the Storyteller was softness with metal in her core, from the many times that the Storyteller had wrapped her strong hands around Tinsy’s and squeezed.

But it was something else entirely to feel the way that the Storyteller was as soft as jelly over a hidden iron cage.

Bugs simply didn’t have things like that hidden away inside of them.

Not mortal bugs anyway.

But Tinsy didn’t have much time to deal with her newest revelations when suddenly she left the ground.

Tinsy gave a little shriek as the Storyteller scooped her up and held her in a clumsy grip, pressing Tinsy’s hard body into her own soft stomach, laughing all the while.

“Hehehe! Oh, it really is fun to pick up others! Tinsy you are so light! It must be the fluff! Is it the fluff that makes you so easy to hold!”

The Storyteller staggered forward, still holding Tinsy as she laughed uproariously, the sound echoing through the gardens, and surely being heard by the straggling party goers.

Tinsy was beginning to truly panic.

She needed to get the Storyteller out of there before her reputation was in shreds. She knew how much the Storyteller relied on her cold and regal act to make others respect her.

But the way she was now? Tipsy and cuddly? Willing to laugh and flirt with any bug that came across her path, familiar or not?

No one would respect her ever again!

I knew! I knew she was a ditz! Why did I keep getting her that mead?!

There was only one way to a stag station from these parts of the gardens. Right back through the party venue. There was no way to keep the Storyteller from being seen, but maybe if Tinsy manages to hurry the Storyteller along than the rumors could be contained by the workshop assistants?
“Storyteller, we need to go back to the White Palace! You need to- to say goodnight to the children!”

The Storyteller gasped as if in the greatest shock.

“Has no one said goodnight to them yet?! No, surely the King and Queen would have?!”

The Storyteller set Tinsy on the ground and began to rush ahead. She wasn’t quite running, but only because she had to keep staggering to keep her balance.

Tinsy followed behind, her arms outstretched in a vain hope that she might be able to right the storyteller if she did lose her balance.

The Storyteller went under the arch that signified a designated space, and her rushed and staggering appearance drew the attention of others.

Tinsy was relieved to see that while there were more bugs in the area than she would prefer to witness the Storyteller’s drunken antics, they were primarily Hallownest citizens who would sooner believe that they were the ones intoxicated than that the Storyteller had really acted in such a manner.

“Oh MY! Storyteller! What is the rush?”

Tinsy couldn’t keep her antenna’s from slamming down to her head.

Guldig, the fluff headed bug that had shown up to this even on the Soul Master’s arm.

Tinsy hadn’t seen most of the interaction between the bug and the Storyteller, but it didn’t take a genius to know that the Storyteller and the merchant were not fond of one another.

Tinsy had no idea what that Storyteller would do to the bug in her drunken state.

The Storyteller stumbled to a stop as her name was called, and for a moment she looked just as regal and controlled as she did on a stage.

But then she saw the bug who was swaggering toward her, surely thinking that he was going to be able to inconvenience the Storyteller in some way, and the regal appearance crumbled like a wall made of sand.

“Oh Goldigger! You are so pretty! Did you know that you are so pretty?”

The approaching bug staggered to a confused stop, his eyes widening and his antenna’s flying straight up.

“You shouldn’t be embarrassed about getting my sex wrong. I got yours wrong too! My species is the opposite of most bugs, the boys are big and angry and the girls and little and pretty! I thought you were a girl this whole time!”

“I- Storyteller. Are you . . . feeling well?” The concern in Guldig’s voice might have been faked, but the way that they leaned away from the Storyteller made it all too apparent that a grain of it was probably being legitimately felt.

“Oh, I feel wonderful! It’s so rare for me to drink too much, or at least to drink outside of the company of the Pale King! He can’t take much alcohol at all! I guess without him here to measure myself against, I forgot that I can’t drink much either!”

The Storyteller took a step toward the other bug, and almost fell on them before she managed to get her feet underneath of her.

“But really you are so pretty! Shiny and colorful and with such nice antennas and legs! I’m so envious of you bugs you know, you get all sorts of pretty body parts. My species is so boring in comparison. Here look!” And Tinsy wasn’t fast enough to stop the Storyteller from gripping her sleeve and pulling it back sharply, baring her arm at the foreign bug.

Every eye darted toward the arm. Both the foreigners who didn’t understand the gravity of the act, and the natives who nearly broke their own necks to get a good look at the exposed appendage.

It looked . . . soft.

Soft was the only way to describe it. There was no shine to it, no hint of a shell, and it was gentled even farther by the small amount of fuzzy that grew on it. There were five fingers on her wide hand, the palm of the Storyteller nearly twice the size of an average bug’s, and the only part of it that reflected any light were the tips of the fingers which shown a gentle pink.

The storyteller twisted the hand back and forth, showing the bugs present the ways that the fingers could move independently of each other and bent in more places than the average bug’s.

But most striking of all was how pale the arm was.

A color that announced gods, adorning a self-proclaimed mortal.

“See! So plain, so bland! My species’ skin is all just one color in a single shade of white, brown or black! We don’t have any pretty patterns or exotic colors or anything.”

The Storyteller let her sleeve drop as she dropped her arms, seeming to slump before the merchant, downcast at her own words.

“The brightest color that we have is the red inside of us!”

The Storyteller staggered closer to Guldig, falling against the startled bug and pressed her entire body against them.

“I’m jealous of your color, of your shine! Do you think that they would find me pretty if I looked like you? My species had a practice you know, of injecting color into our skin with needles. We have such thin skin that the color just stays right below, easy to see! Oh, the wonderful pictures that were made, some were master pieces and others . . . mistakes.”

The Storyteller seemed to have found her good humor once more, giggling at her thoughts and slinging an arm around Guldig’s shoulders and waggling a finger in their face.

“Not everyone is an artist you know!”

The Storyteller laughed at her own joke and began to drag Guldig with her as she continued to walk through the party grounds. Guldig had no choice but to stumble along with her, the hold that the Storyteller on him too strong to break from the angle he was forced into.

 “But never mind that, how has your stay in Hallownest been!? Are the beds comfortable, have you been eating well, are the dreamcatcher’s keeping your sleep protected?”

“Ha-Hallownest has shown me much hospitality, S-storyteller!”

“That’s wonderful! But are the dreamcatchers working?! It wouldn’t do to have something invade your dreams you know!”

Guldig, attempting to walk under the arm of the intoxicated Storyteller, or somehow wiggle out of her grip, answered with a strained tone of voice. As drunk as she was, and despite how he would use this later, it still wouldn’t do to offend her, even in this state.

 “What are- what are you referring to!”

“Oh, you know! Those dangly little circles made of metal and string that we hung over all of the beds! You were informed to name them, weren’t you?”

“You mean those hanging decorations? Were they supposed to serve a purpose?”

The Storyteller laughed again, her loud voice echoing over the tranquility of the Queen’s Gardens, though not drawing more attention, because it was all already centered on her.

“Oh, bless your bitter little heart! We don’t give those dreamcatchers as a flaunt of wealth! We give them as an assurance that a bug’s sleep won’t be invaded! The plague that nearly killed all of Hallownest wasn’t some disease! It was a curse! We never learned how to cure it, only how to keep a bug from being infected! My dreamcatchers!”

Guldig’s eyes lit up as their antenna’s raised. “So that’s how you gained such power, you sold the dreamcatchers to the bugs of Hallownest.”

The Storyteller made a strange noise, like a mushroom violently releasing spores, “Pfft! No! That would be cruel, to but a price on a bug’s life. A dreamcatcher is simple to make, just a circle and strings. You don’t need any power, only intent! In fact, I made sure that no one could profit off of them! They only work if they’re given away! If you buy one it’s worthless, and if you make one for yourself then it doesn’t work at all! There are a few rules to them, but anyone can make them out of anything as long as it is given away and named by the owner then it works!”

The Storyteller withdrew her arm and Guldig almost stumbled to the ground, “Here! I’ll show you!”

The Storyteller rolled up her sleeves before she leaned to the side, reaching her bare hand through the fence that lined the Queen’s Gardens and with more strength then anyone thought she had, snapped a length of thorns from the edge of the garden.

Tinsy made a high-pitched panicked noise, and darted forward, but it was too late.

The Storyteller let out a hiss of pain and bright red bloomed from her soft white hands. But despite the impossible red that was being smeared over the vine of thorns, the Storyteller’s hands did not stop moving.

Soon the thorns were coiled into a large circle and the Storyteller began to look for something else in the garden.

Tinsy made it to the Storyteller’s side, only to uselessly wave her hands in the air.

There was nothing she could do to heal the Storyteller, and yanking the thorns from her would only cause her more harm.

The Storyteller let out a huff, dissatisfied with something in her surroundings before turning her attention to her sleeves. One of them was already dotted with her red blood, and it was this one that the Storyteller apparently decided upon.

She transferred the coiled thorns to one hand and then reached up to her mask. She did not remove it, only tilted it upward the slightest bit while lowering her head to her now raised shoulder, the arm gripping the thorns raised high.

And then once the edge of her shoulder disappeared below the edge of the mourning mask, there was a strange bunching in the fabric before the Storyteller jerked her head to the side and ripped the sleeve of her cloak.

The bugs all witnessing this froze, as if a predator had suddenly appeared amongst them and they all hoped to not be noticed.

Spider silk does not rip. It can be cut or sliced, but it does not rip.

The foreign bugs all stared in shock and horror at the strength that the Storyteller had just displayed.

How strong was this bug, to so easily rip apart spider silk? What monster was she to bleed red? Her skin was fragile enough to be cut by thorns, but her body strong enough to rend one of the strongest materials known to bug!?

Tinsy also stared in shock.

She knew the Storyteller’s strength. She knew exactly how much the Storyteller could lift, how high she could jump, and the way that she struggled to climb.

The Storyteller was not powerful enough to rip silk.

And yet, here she was, reaching up with her now freed hand, mask back in place, to finish ripping her sleeve from her cloak.

The length of fabric was haphazardly forced over her arm, getting caught on the thorns once or twice before being freed. Then the Storyteller raised the tattered silk to her masked face, and bit into the silk once again.

In front of all of the watching bug’s eyes, the formerly white sleeve was reduced to a thin red dyed strip. And then it was wrapped over and around the coil of thorns, tying the thorns into position and then crisscrossing over and over the wide hole.

The Storyteller tied the dreamcatcher off with some bloodied silk left over to dangle it from her still bleeding fingers. She inspected her creation and nodded sharply, demeaning it satisfactory.

“Here you go Guldig, a dreamcatcher to hang over your bed! Though this one looks like it might do a bit more to something that tries to invade your mind than simply ensnare it! Looks a bit vicious doesn’t it? You’ll have to give it an appropriate name to match it won’t you?”

The Storyteller pressed the string into Guldig’s half slack hands, wrapping the tattered silk around the joints on his fingers.

Guldig’s eyes flicked from the dreamcatcher being thrust upon him, and the Storyteller’s mask. He was obviously confused at how this turn of events had come about, and wasn’t sure how to respond.

His hands curled in the iron scented silk and pulled it toward himself, his eyes never leaving the Storyteller’s mask.

The moment the dreamcatcher was in his grip, the Storyteller nodded her head once again, and spun on the spot to begin striding away.

It was a wobbly walk and she nearly fell off the path before Tinsy managed to rush forward and wedge herself underneath the Storyteller’s bare arm.

“Storyteller! You are still bleeding! We need to wash your wounds, oh dear oh my! What will the Pale King say when he sees your cut hands! What will the White lady say when she sees you damaged one of her gifts! Oh oh oh! That is to say nothing of what the children and- “

The frantic bug half supported half dragged the Storyteller from the gardens, her high pitched and panicked voice mixing with the Storyteller’s echoing laugh before they became indistinct but not unheard as they left the sight of the bugs still in the garden.

Mary felt wonderful! The tunnels were warm for the first time that she could remember, and the lighting was soft and floaty.

Mary giggled as a soft fluffy thing tickled her arm.

“-Storyteller please, walk straight! I don’t want you getting hurt!”

Mary laughed! “I won’t get hurt! I’m the Storyteller! I’m a legend and a myth! And don’t you know? Legends never die!”

Mary felt Tinsy tense under her arm.

“Storyteller. Only gods are immortal.”

Mary, still fascinated by the feeling of Tinsy’s antenna on her skin, and the way that the tunnels spun before her eyes, just hummed in response. Arguing out of reflex with no real thought put into her words, falling into the rhythm that she usually did when arguing in private with the Pale King.

“Gods aren’t immortal Tinsy! Long lived, sure! But they die quite often you know.”

Mary flapped her free hand in the air, and nearly stumbled over if Tinsy hadn’t braced herself against Mary’s weight.

“Gods live so long that they are assured to make enemies willing to kill them or to die trying! You can be alive that long without pissing someone off! But in most stories, it’s usually their own children that they turn against.”

Mary scrunched her nose, she was in a Greek mood and was trying to remember the origin of the Olympians.

“There was . . . there were some gods where I was from. Gods that represented reality as it was known, the passage of time and the earth itself. The um, the god of time? Clock? Croak? Tick-tock? Just- time! The god of time! He knew his children would kill him, so every child that his wife- the god of the world- gave birth to, he would let her raise for a year and then eat them.”

Tinsy gasped, but Mary who thought nothing of the story.  She knew it as fiction and was too drunk to notice that the smaller bug was taking it as a truth.

Not a fable, but as history.

“So- So she tricked him! Made him swallow a rock, and when the last child grew up, he became the god of the sky and lightning! He cut his father open and saved his siblings from his stomach!”

Mary laughed even louder as she thought of the story, “Most gods are killed by their children! Because- a child is the one you always fail! It’s- it’s an unavoidable fact! No matter how much you try, or how much effort you put into it, you always fail your child. Eventually! And if you fail them badly enough, they will hate you for it!”

Mary was yanked to a stop, the bug under her arm having stopped moving. Mary looked down, and saw the face of horror on Tinsy’s face.

“Hollow is going to kill the King and Queen?”

Mary frowned down at Tinsy.

“No? Why would they do that?”

“But- but you said- “

Understanding finally sank into Mary’s pickled mind and the appropriate amount of sympathy entered her voice as Mary placed her hands on the smaller bug’s shoulders and looked in her eyes.

“It’s not- it’s not an assured thing! It’s not even common! Don’t worry, Hollow loves their parents! They- the King and Queen failed them, yeah, but they’re making it up to them too! They’re not just ignoring it, or casting them aside. Those stories, the ones where the parents are killed, the parents never ever admit their wrongs or try to do better.”

Mary nodded her head like a bobble head toy. “I! I made sure that the King apologized and that the Queen made up for the lack of care! I knew better than to leave it as it was. Cause, that wasn’t healthy! That’s how you get sent to therapy!”

For a moment, Mary’s mind spun, thinking of what the kingdom of Hallownest would be reduced to if Hollow had hated their parents. At the power they had. The way their pain would have fueled them. At what they might have done in retribution to make their parents feel just as much pain as they did.

Even drunk, Mary shied away from such a terrible thought.

“I don’t even- I don’t want to think about what would have happened to Hallownest if Hollow had hated their parents. I don’t think the kingdom would have survived what they would have done.”

Tinsy stared up at the Storyteller, at the blood splattered mask from where she had touched it with her bleeding hands. At the single bare arm that hung out of her cloak. At the way she wobbled even as she stood still.

And despite the unkept appearance, despite how the Storyteller was obviously drunk on honey mead, despite the tangents and nonsense that spewed from her mouth.

Tinsy couldn’t help but feel that the Storyteller was right about how close the kingdom had come to tragedy, not at the hands of the Radiance, but the hands of a slighted child of the gods.

Mary patted Tinsy’s shoulders twice, “But you don’t need to worry. Hollow has forgiven them, and now they have siblings and friends and- and me! They are no lonesome avenger, they have a safety net of people they love and who love them back!”

Mary stumbled away from Tinsy, heading down the tunnel at a wobbly pace, still talking out loud to the bug.

“I miss them, you know? It’s good for them to have other people, healthy and good and I don’t want them to stop! But I still wish that I could have them all to myself.”

Mary cast a look over her shoulder, and nearly slammed into the side of the tunnel when she wobbled in the direction her head turned. “They were my support! The one thing I could truly count on, even when I didn’t know they were a person. I feel so safe with them! They make me comfortable and content and I wish- “

Mary sighed, even as Tinsy rushed to match her pace once more.

“I miss them a lot. But I have to let them go.”

“Storyteller, Hollow loves you! They aren’t going to go anywhere without you.”

Mary smiled down at Tinsy, even if the bug couldn’t see it.

“I know they love me. That’s why I have to push them toward others.”

Mary took Tinsy’s hand and swung it as they both approached the stag station, the bugs who had been there staring at the two of them. At the splattered Storyteller’s mask, and the bit of uncovered body that they saw, everyone’s attention focused on the two bugs who had just entered.

“They need to learn that there’s more than just one kind of love in the world, and that whatever they feel for me, it probably isn’t the love I have for them. I don’t want to trap them in something that they don’t really want.”

Mary slouched on the bench, pulling Tinsy beside her. “They’re so sweet and kind and caring and sacrificing that they’ll give me anything I want, even if it’s not what they want.”

Mary stretched her back into the hard metal and settled in to wait for the stag to arrive.

“My species is terribly possessive. If they put their heart in my grasp, then there is no that I would ever give it back. I would swallow it up and keep it next to my own, so that the only way to ever get it back would be to rip it from my chest.”

And with those dramatic words, the Storyteller tilted over and leaned on her personal retainer ignoring any attempts to make her move, hovering on the edge of sleep as she waited for the sound of the heavy thumps of the stag’s running.

She was sleepy, the spinning tunnels were making it so hard to think. And besides, she wasn’t much of a maudlin drunk, and this topic was making her sad.

Best to stop talking and thinking all together.

The dreamcatcher sat on his desk. It’s thorny body and tattered silk pattern making it look more like a weapon than a protection. It smelled of iron, and the tacky red liquid smeared on it had dried, turning rust.

Guldig had been given many things before; rare stones, valuable materials, delicious food.

He had even been given handmade things before, head dresses, poems, and delicate jewelry that those who had been attempting to seduce him had created.

But never had he been given something to protect himself with.

Never had a bug simply given him an item that had cost them, for free.

This was not a gift to get into his good graces, for it was obvious that the Storyteller, when not intoxicated, could care little for him.

This was not a girt for appearances sake, for while there was an audience, the Storyteller had made no grand event of the boon she had produced.

The Storyteller had given this, to a bug she was not fond of, simply because she had heard them say they did not have a measure of protection afforded to all of those in the kingdom. And she had immediately set out to correct this.

The Storyteller had been visibly injured in the making of this gift. This gift for a bug that she had only an hour before been snarling at. The Storyteller had so freely given him her defining protection.

Proclaiming . . . something to the bugs around her about how she felt about him. That she felt him worthy of protection? That she felt he needed to be protected from something?

Was she implying him to be feeble minded or was she implying that he was worth her efforts to protect?

Guldig wasn’t sure what to make of it. It was a gift, a gift given to them by a bug who had implied them a murderer and had called them out on the lie they were performing.

But despite its grotesque appearance, Guldig knew there wasn’t a hint of malicious intent.
For all that the bug who made it didn’t have a soul.

Guldig rubbed their hand, the same one that the Storyteller had grabbed when she has pressed the dreamcatcher into his grip. The hand that had touched the Storyteller’s strange soft and hot flesh.

The hand that should have un-initially siphoned even just a drop of soul out of her as the living creature that she was.

The hand that had gained nothing from her.

For all that he could tell she was alive, that she had spoken, reasoned and preformed magic, she was utterly soulless.

There was no movement of soul through her.

At first, when she had grabbed him, he had assumed that her cloak or mask were charmed against soul siphoning, that it was just another level of protection for such an important figure in this Kingdom.

But nothing could stop a bare contact siphoning.

Nothing but being soulless.

But . . . How?

How was the Storyteller, a bug that lived and breathed and bled, soulless? How could she reason and think if there was nothing inside of her?

Guldig lifted the dreamcatcher from the table and carefully turned it in his hands, mindful of the thorns.

He sensed nothing from it, but he had been informed by his workers that it was a common charm that every bug in Hallownest would swear on their lives really worked.

You only had to be gifted one, and then name it, and it would guard your sleeping mind.

“. . . I name you, Puncture.”

The words were said quietly, more in a hesitant jest then an actual belief that it would work, but Guldig felt the rush of soul come from him and his surroundings to condense in the tattered silk. They didn’t shine or glow or show any change, but Guldig now knew that they were more than the battered fabric that they had been a moment ago.

Guldig dropped the dreamcatcher, shocked at the feeling of soul being pulled from his own body.

Guldig could not do magic.

He could use charms, and wards acknowledged him as a living and sentient creature. But he could not use a drop of soul.

His very nature kept his soul from leaving him. Always taking and never releasing.

But this charm, this magic orchestrated by the soulless Storyteller could make even a parasite like him give up some soul?

Guldig pushed back from his desk, standing and pacing as his wings buzzed the air behind him.

“What manner of creature is she? She has a mind, but no presence. She can do magic, but has no soul.”

Impossible things must be said out loud or they would be pushed to the back of his mind in disbelief.

“She is hot and bleeds red. She’s been turned inside out, her shell on the inside and her insides on the out. She doesn’t have any soul but she can drag it out of others, pluck it from the air around her. I can feel that.”

Guldig dragged his fingers over the metal and stone fixtures in his rooms, the lavish decorations that reflected or swallowed the dim light that glowed from the single candle on the desk where the dreamcatcher sat.

“The King, the Queen. They have to know this about her. They are gods, surely, they know that a creature like the Storyteller is moving amongst them. But . . . it is unlikely that the populace that loves her so much knows that she is a soulless creature.”

Guldig stopped in front of a shined metal plate, his reflection staring back at him as his antennas curled in thought and his wings began to settle behind him.

“The Storyteller and the rulers here must be keeping her soulless state a secret. I can use this.”

Guldig began to calm down, the world centering once more into something he could wrap his mind around.

“Blackmail is messy, but useful. But I need more information on how the tunnel bugs view soul. I need to know the full worth of this information before I try to bargain with it.”

And what better place to learn about the views of soul in Hallownest than the Soul Sanctum?

It would be no trouble for Guldig to fluff up Drak’s ego and acquire an in-depth explanation and tour of his facilities.

Decision made, and planned formed, Guldig returned to his desk and snuffed the candle with a pinch of his fingers.

His eyes lingered over the dreamcatcher for a moment, but he left it where it lay.

He wasn’t about to hang a charm that he was unsure of over his bed while he slept. Especially not one that could suck the soul from his body.

It reminded him too much of the few nights he had slept with his temporary spouses.

And so, the room darkened, the bug climbed into bed and all was silent.

But only in the now completely darkened room could a gentle shine be seen.

Off to the side, where the merchant kept his various bits and bobs, charms and jewelry hung from the small hooks or sat in colorful bowls.

And in one of the small bowls sat a gently glowing bead.

A bead whose match was far away.

Far away, in a room in the center of the White Palace, in a room where amateurly woven fabric was piled next to master pieces.

In a room where dreamcatchers that were clumsily made by both children’s hands and the masters of the craft hung from every inch of the ceiling.

In a room where four little white porcelain faces all pressed close to the small glowing charm held in the hand of their three horned sibling.  

When nothing more was heard from the small whispering bead, it sunk back into Sprout’s hand, to be taken out the next time they heard whispers from inside their void.

It was an interesting distraction after all. So, few of Sprout’s treasures did something all on their own.

Chapter Text

The Black Egg Temple, which was often referred to as simply ‘the Black Temple’ these days, was stuffed with bugs. There was barely any space that wasn’t filled either with a stall whose owner was hawking their merchandise, or a loaded down buyer who was looking to make another purchase.

But despite the lack of space, despite the noise of a thousand bartering voices, despite the dull roar that was caused by the sounds of feet and geo ricocheting off of the temple’s domed ceiling-

The Black Temple was still a place where one could find clusters of bugs who were trading gossip between each other, like the news would soon expire.

“Have you heard!? The Storyteller gifted a bug a Dream Catcher!”

“What news is that? The Storyteller gifts bugs dreamcatchers like a grandmother gifts sweets!”

“Well, this was a special dreamcatcher!”

“They’re all special! What made this one different?”

“This one was made with Thorns and the Storyteller’s own ripped cloak!”

“What!

“No!

“That’s not all! The Storyteller ripped it off of herself, and the strips turned red in her hands!!”

“What!? Why did they- What is the dreamcatcher supposed to do?!”

“No one knows! But the Storyteller warned the bug that it might do more to whatever it caches than simply keep it.”

“Did the Storyteller make a bug a weapon!?”

“No. surely not! The storyteller is not a fighter! The Hollow Knight takes care of all of her enemies.”

“But the storyteller hasn’t always had the Hollow Knight with her! Surely she knows how to do some offensive magic.”

“Who cares about that! Who did the storyteller give it to?!?”

 “Yes! Who was it for!?”

“It was for one of the foreign bugs!”

“But why? What would this bug need a weapon for?!”

“Weeellll, from what I’ve heard, apparently the Storyteller was in a very particular mood. When the bug had first spoken to her, she had seemed unhappy with them, angry even! But when she left and returned later she was incredibly giddy and greeted them with a touch!!”

“Something good must have happened then for her to have such a change.”

“Oh, for sure, maybe the Hollow Knight came to see her?”

“No of course not! They would have been noticed at the party! That bug cuts such a dashing figure, anyone could recognize them at a distance!”

“Fine, you are probably right. But! What could have happened at the party to make her so happy?”

“I think it might be more likely what did not happen?”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, I think that the Storyteller was expecting something bad to happen! Everyone’s been saying that she’s been tense for days?”

“Whose been sayin’ that?”

“My sister has a brother-in-law who works as one of her assistants! And he said that the Storyteller has been in a bad mood for days! Ever since the foreign bugs all arrived.”

“Oh my!!! I thought that she was looking forward to this? She was the one who was orchestrating most of it!”

“Oh, it’s not the visitors themselves, but just how busy she’s been! She’s being worked so hard, and it’s been putting her in a mood.”

“Is that why she told the story she did? It was so sad! She almost never speaks of tragedy! Much less romantic tragedy!”

“Oh, I know! I had gotten my hopes up so high, thinking that just maybe it would end happily, that the lovers could be reunited, but then . . .”

“Oh yes, but I think it wouldn’t be as much of a story if they got out. It hits harder as a story of failure than victory.”

“She was definitely in a mood to tell something so sad!”

“Do you think it has something to do with how no one has seen the Hollow Knight since the first party?”

“They haven’t gone missing have they!?”

“No, no, no, there would be panic in the kingdom, you known how much the Pale King loves his children.”

“But . . . for what other reason would the Hollow Knight leave the Storyteller alone?”

“Did they have a fight? Is that why the Storyteller has been so . . . morose?”

“!!!”

“What?!”

“That! That’s why she was so happy! I heard that the bug, the one she gave the dreamcatcher to, flirted with the Hollow Knight at the party! The Storyteller must have been jealous!”

“What!? No!”

“No, no listen! That’s why they haven’t been seen together! The Storyteller must have been avoiding them!”

“Surely not! But well, the Hollow Knight wouldn’t be the one avoiding her . . .”

 “Yes, see!”

 “But why was why she was so happy when she left the party! Why did she give the foreign bug who flirted with the Hollow Knight such and extravagant and dangerous dreamcatcher!?!”

“Because the bug was there with the Soulmaster!”

“OH!”

 “I see! She got confirmation that there was nothing going on between the Hollow Knight and the bug, because they were being visibly seen with someone else!”

“YES! That is as good as publicly saying that they weren’t dating the Hollow Knight!”

“Or that they had been turned down.”

“Well, of course they had been turned down, the Hollow Knight loves the Storyteller!”

“Yes, this foreign bug never had a chance to begin with.”

The gossip of the bugs began to spiral away from the news, each other them just repeating to each other how much the Hollow Knight and the Storyteller were obviously deeply in love with each other, and how they expected a royal wedding any time now.

There were too many bodies in the mess for anyone to notice a few of the visiting bugs who had been loitering nearby wander off toward where the merchants from the North had set up their stalls.

Nor the masked and cloaked bugs who had been involved with the discussion easily bow out of the remaining talks, meandering away, joining other gossip circles as they went to relay their news and opinions.

The White Palace was a place where there were always bugs running around, busy with tasks. A place where the jobs could never wait, and the halls never slept.

There were some areas in the White Palace where the movement of items and bodies was more constant than the flow of air.

But there were also places that were so calm and quiet that one could not even look into the rooms without feeling as though they were in interrupting a ghost’s peace, rudely intruding where they had not been invited.

The Pale King found Mary in one such room.

He did not remember what he had originally created this room to be used for, but it seemed to have been turned into a dining room of some kind.

It was long, though unusually narrow, with just enough room to house a large and grand table. The room had never been used for it’s supposed purpose of a grand meal, and as such, had been utterly forgotten in the time since it was built, only to be entered when it was cleaned.

Or when incredibly hung-over Storytellers were hiding from their shrill voiced personal retainers.

The Pale King saw a flash of Mary’s squinted eyes before her head rolled back to being pillowed in her arms. Her mask was pushed to the top of her head, staring at him. It gave a bug walking into the room and impression that the Storyteller had her head at a neck breaking angle in order to stare at the door.

Something she had done on purpose, he would bet on it.

The Pale King walked toward her, his many legs clicking on the ground. The sound echoed in the room and caused Mary to let loose a groan of pain.

The Pale King stopped next to his most powerful ally, and perhaps his dearest friend.

The silence between them was tense.

She knew what he was going to say.

“Bit of a light weight, aren’t you?”

The long ‘ugggh’ that Mary made echo around the room made the Pale King near giddy.

Too many nights had she drunk him under the table and then taunted him with those words when he had been suffering the morning after indulging too much.

A painful sensitivity to light was torture when you glowed

He laughed his gentle trilling laugh at her, trying to keep it quiet even as he set down the now luke-warm cup of tea that he had been carrying.
Mary swatted out gently with her hand to find it, being alerted it it’s presence either by the click of ceramic or the smell, and once her hand touched it, she dragged it closer to her still slumped head.

Once it was close enough she carelessly tipped the cup and pressed her lips to the rim, tilting it just enough to pour the liquid into her mouth.

The Pale King watched her sloppily drink, drops of tea escaping the suction of her strange mouth and trailing down to the white table below, and once more thought about how much power this strange creature had.

How her own perceptions both harmed and helped her.

That tea she was drinking?

Nothing more than some of the more fragrant leaves that sprouted from his Root’s garden. They had no uncommon power, nor any healing properties.

But the White Lady had given Mary a cup with a comment of how it will do her some good to drink it. She had been referring more to Mary’s excessive water requirements than the pain she was currently suffering from her body’s internal shedding, and suddenly the herb that had formerly done nothing more than added a pleasant taste to water now suppressed pain.

Tea made from the leaves could now consistently calm a bug’s nerves and dull pain.

The leaves themselves have not changed. Eating them while they remain green and alive offered no assistance, but once they have been blackened in death and dried to shattering?

They are now used to treat elder bug’s chronic pain, or to help one get to sleep when the fear of what might crawl into a bug’s dreams haunts them in ways that not even a dreamcatcher hanging above them can help.

Her assumptions have once more changed the world, and now the beliefs of his people will keep this tea as the healing tonic it has become known as.

Despite how it is an intrusion on his Wife’s domain, (and as such his people believed that it was his Root who had brought the new properties into existence and had thanked her for it, and his Root had given him a look but excepted the praise), the Pale King cannot help but be thankful that Mary has made this change.

The tea cannot heal her, it cannot mend her flesh, nor remove the toxins from her blood.

But it can dull her pain, and calm her mind.

Which is more comfort than he could offer her before.

Mary drained the cup and then sat it back on the table, wiping the drops that had slipped from her lips with the back of her hand.

She forced herself to sit up, but kept most of her weight propped on her elbows on the table in front of her.

“Alright. You want to do this here or in your office?”

The Pale King cast a quick glance over Mary, taking in her appearance.

She did not look like “the Storyteller” in this moment. Sure, she was wearing her mask on top pf her head, and the cloak she was wearing was one that his people could recognize as one of her own.

But she lacked the confidence that usually shrouded her like a veil.

Instead of the steadfast and unshakable bug that she presented herself as, she now had the air of any other tired and overworked retainer, cloaked and masked she may be.

She looked like the type of bug that had been yanked away from their bed too early, and longed to return to it like a lover.

It wouldn’t do to drag her though the White Palace looking like such, even if the servants and retainers had caught many glimpses behind the Storyteller’s mask before.

The Pale King began to curl his body beneath himself, settling himself on the floor instead of attempting to use one of the chairs that were not built for a body as long as his own.

“We can discuss here.”

Mary nodded before plopping her head in her hands and speaking toward the table. “So. I think that I might had possibly caused us some trouble last night.”

The Pale King tilted his head in acknowledgement, “Yes, getting that intoxicated in public certainly has caused some waves, but it seems as though most of the population is convinced that your actions were a response from being overworked by the preparations and needs of the Bazaar event. It is far from an irredeemable situation. No need to hide from your assistants.”

The fact that she had had so easily ripped spider silk was being purposely suppressed. An assistant had met with the Pale King earlier to inform him that the Workshop was already working to move the public’s attention off of her actions with other more distracting rumors.

The Pale King rather suspected that tearing silk bare handed was something that Mary would only be able to do while so deeply intoxicated.

When sober, she was unable to easily snap even a single thread unless she used both hands and her teeth.

Mary flinched, her red lips twisting to show her teeth in a show of guilt and displeasure. “Ah, no. I had caused some trouble a bit before that.”

“Oh?”

“Ah, Guldig? The bug that I gifted the dreamcatcher to? We, ah spoke, before I ever gave them anything.”

The Pale King had a sneaking suspicion that he was not going to like where ever this was going. “And what did you speak of?”

Mary turned her head away, looking at the oh so interesting blank wall instead of the Pale King’s face, “Oh you know, how they were enjoying Hallownest, the cloak they were wearing, the fact that they probably killed their former spouses and parent.”

Mary refused to look at the Pale King as his wings flared out, pausing for a moment in the air before loudly settling back to his spine.

“What.”

Mary covered her eyes with her hands. “I’m sorry okay! They just! They were acting like such a bimbo! Stupid and flighty and useless when I knew that they were a damn lynchpin for all of the trade in the North!”

Mary flung an arm out in exasperation. “He shows up on the damn Soulmaster’s arm like nothing but a piece of arm candy and- and- he was lying to me! He was lying to me so obviously! He was a good liar, yeah, but honestly, did he think that we hadn’t done any reconnaissance? That we hadn’t talked to any of the bugs that came from that direction?! And yeah, they tried to keep their mouths shut, but like, they weren’t good at it! Gossip is gossip and it always pays to talk about someone else’s business!”

The Pale King tucked away the information that Mary had no doubt that she had been lied to, and that the very concept of being lied to seemed to offend her more than the thought of the bug having killed his spouses.

She had become so sensitive to lies, able to catch out Hornet the moment the child had lied about not knowing what her siblings had been up to. Able to point out exactly which of his reporting nobles had been lying to him.

But . . . delicate half lies? Not telling the whole story? Gently using misleading words?

Such things could thankfully still slip by her, with only her frowning in confusion before shrugging at their use. She could still catch such things of course, but they were not the obvious things that a lie was to her.

“Should we be concerned about the Soul Master’s safety?”

Mary shook her head, and then winced, regretting the motion. “No ...  I think Guldig is just using him as an in to the noble class of the kingdom. As an opinion on the inside, not as a prospective victim. He’s smart enough to know that what works out in villages, wouldn’t work in a kingdom like this, and not with such a well-known figure. He knows he wouldn’t get away with it, even if we couldn’t find any evidence to prove he did it.”

Mary grinned at the Pale King, “That’s one of the good things about being a king, it’s better to justify your actions, but you don’t actually have to. If we wanted Guldig dead, we wouldn’t have to make much of a case for it. And a bug like Guldig? They always have more enemies than allies. They seem to be the type to keep control not by being liked, but by knowing things that they shouldn’t and holding it over other’s head’s. I bet that blackmail is half their bread and butter. That or uneven contracts.”

Mary’s grin widened, “I bet if we brought them to a trail, bugs would be crawling out of the woodwork to proclaim what a villain he was.”

Mary sighed, grin fading away as she lowered her head back to her hands, speaking to the table once more, “And honestly, what with how large the age difference is between his former spouses, I’m not really sure I can blame him for killing them. In my culture, that would be considered incredibly predatory from either side, and you would only deserve whatever end you got.”

Mary slumped farther, “But no matter his crimes, we need him. The problem is that I called him out on his crimes while acting as the Storyteller.”

The Pale King shifted his body, “You think we will need to smooth over your insult? It would be the smart thing to do . . .”

Mary waved her hand, as if trying to swat away the Pale King’s words, “No, no. You can’t get involved. If you get involved, it will spiral out of proportion, it will turn from ‘the Storyteller’ insulting him, to ‘the Kingdom of Hallownest’ insulting him. I’ll have to figure out something to do to smooth over the fact that I called him a murderer.”

Mary paused for a moment.

“Even if I’m about 90% certain that he is. “

The Pale King sighed, “And just how are you planning to apologize?”

Mary looked up and shrugged, “Depends. We really do need him, he has a strangle hold on all of the trade from the North and while they weren’t the ones bringing in a lot of meat this trip, from what my assistants have sounded out, they have a lot they could bring. They just didn’t want to chance perishables on an unsure trip, nor did they want the extra struggle of livestock, but they are available for trade. A few decent trips from them, and Hallownest won’t be comfortable, but we’ll be out of danger of starvation. The other merchants might be able to save us as well, but they won’t be as ordered, and it will be a much riskier move.”

Mary showed her palms; her hands being held out in a position that reminded the Pale King of bugs requesting knowledge from him. There were cuts and punctures from her handling of the thorns still on them, no longer bleeding bright red, but filled with a dark rust. “I figured I would meet him in private first, and make an actual attempt. Maybe prepare a gift? I’m prepared to swallow nearly anything in order to keep the trade up. At least until Hallownest is fed again.”

The Pale King nodded, but knew that he had to ask, “And if he does not accept your apology? Or make a demand of you that you cannot accept?”

Mary grinned, baring her teeth in more of a threat than a smile. “Then I take the apology public, make a grand production of it and use the eyes of the crowd to push Guldig into accepting the ‘promise’ of continued trade. Make no mistake, Guldig wants to be here. The kingdom of Hallownest is giving him a much farther reach than he had before, letting him meet and see bugs who he hadn’t known existed and I would bet that Guldig is the type to want as much control as they possibly can, and Hallownest is the only midway point between the lands.”

Mary leaned back in her chair, the tea seeming to have smoothed away her headache by the way her shoulders had relaxed. “The private apology should work, I only need to keep control over my tongue and let my pride die. And shit, I don’t have much of it in the first place! I’m still not sure what set me off so bad, it’s not like I have any personal stake on who they killed or the way they were acting.”

The Pale King looked away from Mary, hoping that she wouldn’t notice his wince.

He knew. He knew exactly why she had acted the way she had. Why she had lashed out despite knowingwhat was on the line.

It was a similar problem to why he himself couldn’t control himself.

His people know him as a god. As the Pale Light, as a Wyrm.

And while they know him as a god of knowledge and reason, they have not forgotten that he is also territorial by the nature of his past form.

The Pale King could not say if it was purely his own instincts or the belief of his people that made him act like this mindless territorial creature. But both seemed to be most likely.

And as for Mary?

For all that she believed herself untouched by magic. For all that she was a strange and unusual creature. For all that she knew herself and could spin tales with her words.

For all that she stubbornly remained mortal despite having long since passed the number of worshipers that she would need to become a god.

She was still being influenced by the belief of her worshipers.

Mary was a liar.

She was proud to proclaim this to him, half in a jest and half in confession.

And it was a common knowledge that liars recognize liars.

Mary is untroubled by her assistants lying, or for those that worshipped her lying to others. She does not even mind when she is lied to. She knows of course, but seems to find it funny rather than offensive.

But for someone not of her own to lie to her?

It invoked a response in her that reminded the Pale King of when he found a bug assuming that he did not know in depth a subject he was speaking of.

Of someone stepping into his domain, attempting to use it against him.

He had also lashed out at this bug.

It had been earlier on, much earlier on in his god hood, and it was only the fact that his wife had been next to him that had kept his teeth from sinking into the bug’s carapace, and only then because he had needed to climb over her to do so and had misjudged the distance.

The fact that Mary only attacked with words is better than he had managed the first time a bug had encroached on his godly domain.

Though perhaps that might have something to do with how her domain is mostly words.

Mary for all that she is a reactionary creature, she has to be pushed very hard before she resorts to physical attacks.

And reminded of such, the Pale King asked an important question, “Should Hollow go with you?”

Mary winced before shaking her head, “Oh, hell no! Taking Hollow? I bet they would scare the shit out of Guldig! I’m supposed to be humble, not a threat. No, no, maybe not even Tinsy? She would absolutely be willing to throw hands if Guldig wanted to insult me. No . . .I think I might need to go alone.”

“And if the merchant decides to hurt you?”

Mary waved away his concerns again, “Nah, that’s too short sighted. He doesn’t hate me enough to try and hurt me, and even if I picked at his probable murders, he knows that if he hasn’t already been taken in chains then he’s not going to be. We don’t have proof he’s killed anyone. Nor do we have a reason to enact justice. You’re a god of knowledge not laws, why would we care of his crime? It has nothing to do with us.”

Mary leaned on the table again, playing with her empty cup. “Nah, the worst that’ll happen to me is some cruel words. I don’t think he’s going to lay a hand on me, not when everyone would know he was the one who did it. My word against his on how I got injured? He knows I’m favored and that he’s in the seat of your power.”

Mary shook her head, “He’s not dumb enough to make such as mistake.”

The building was made of spun metal and curved glass. It looked like a lantern, light glowing from the inside and flickering like fire as the bugs inside moved between the windows and the source.

It was a gorgeous place, and as Guldig was through its halls, he had no qualms with praising it.

“Oh, this place is marvelous!”

Drak visibly swelled with pride, “Isn’t it though? My Great-grandfather was the one who had it built. My entire family line has been interested in the study of souls and so we created this institute to draw like-minded bugs together to learn from our wisdom. It is an honor to be invited to join our ranks and under my preview the sanctum had only become grander and more attractive to searching bugs.”

Guldig smiled and twittered even as they internally flicked their antennas sarcastically.

Drak was a bug who had been born into money and prestige, and thought that he had in some way deserved his status. That he had worked for it or had done something to show he was above others, instead of simply being lucky in his place of birth.

It was easy to see that he saw all bugs that were not of a noble linage as below him, and even then, he mostly likely considered most of the nobles to be worth less than him as well.

Guldig had not heard Drak mention a single name fondly, though some bugs that he obviously considered to be rivals or enemies got referred to by their titles.

Not an ally or friend existed to them.

Guldig was intimately familiar with this type of bug, someone who only saw others as tools or obstacles

Guldig’s deceased mother had been the same way.

It was obvious that even the bugs in his employee, who worked beside him, were thought of as inconsequential.

 Not a single one of them being introduced to Guldig during the tour, nor even mentioned by name while Drak monologed about the research being done in the sanctum.

Guldig thought it likely that Drak, despite having spent so much time with or around these bugs that he had not learned a single one of their names.

It was likely that whatever breakthroughs that these bugs made with their research, Drak took full credit for. Not a single name other than Drak’s would be allowed to be attached to any of these discoveries, not when Drak wanted to keep the secrets for his family linage alone.

Even then he seemed to be interested in all such praise and honor being reserved not for his family, but for himself alone.

Not even his grandfather, the one who built this place, was named.

Erasing names was always the first step to making people forget who came before you.

Guldig was familiar with the tactic.

There was a reason why no one remembered what his spouses had been called.

But it was incredibly short sighted of the bug to do such with an institute, even Guldig acknowledged that there will be a time when he will have to pass on everything he has worked so hard for to another.

It would be far worse to let his trade empire rot and fall apart if left to its own devices when he died.

Even he had plans in place for when he no longer continued living.

But Drak? He was hoarding everything to himself, seeming not to look toward the future and only able to see the present.

Guldig bent to get a closer look at one of the strange metal devices, making sure to keep his antennas far from the strange glowing parts of its body.

He could feel it doing something to the soul in its glass container, could see the glowing white fluid sloshing and pressing up against the side closest to Guldig.

He didn’t understand what he was looking at, simply enjoying the experience of seeing what he usually only felt.

He continued to only barely listen to Drak, making sure to cast him a look every now any then and gasp in excitement in the appropriate moments during the monologue.

Guldig continued to coo and gasp as Drak spoke, most of his attention already shunted to planning on what to wear to an event later tonight.

He didn’t notice at all, the way that the surrounded bugs all flicked their eyes from the glass tubes of soul, and him. A dozen eyes all noticing the strange and unnatural way that the soul was responding to his presence.

His antennas were too focused on Drak’s voice, his eyes unaware of the strange movements of the glow before him. He didn’t pick up the whispers of bugs all discussing him or the way they all stared behind their equipment.

He knew better than to ignore the servants.

They always noticed more than the master ever did.

Guldig sat in the carriage that was returning him to his temporary residence in the tunnels. His tour had been cut short by one of the many cloaked bugs coming up to Drak and interrupting him during his monologue on something about glass quality.

Drak had been angry at the interruption but whatever the bug had whispered to him while Guldig had been too far to hear, had replaced the anger with a pensive thoughtfulness.

Guldig had been sent home, and while he had played up the disappointment, he had been relieved to escape the building.

Guldig had made sure to at least half listen to Drak’s long winded rambling, and baseless bragging and the information that Guldig had needed being hidden amongst the words that had flowed from his mouth.

He had picked up a rather large amount of information, but not exactly the information that he was there for. He had acquired more information about how Drak saw the kingdom and himself, rather than the general impression of how bugs saw soul.

Guldig knew that some bugs, usually ones with close relationships with their gods, saw soul as something holy. That only those that were blessed by their gods could use it.

Some villages saw all soul use as heretical, as something that only a higher being should use, and as such it was a sin for a mortal to even attempt to encroach on the domain of the gods.

But there were also places where soul use was considered nothing but a neat trick! A little light show and barely anything more.

But here, in this kingdom ruled by gods, it was both a weighty practice and a light topic. Guldig had managed to catch from the flood of words coming from Drak’s mouth that it was to the general understanding of the denizens of Hallownest that every living thing produced some amount of soul, but that not every being could use it.

Despite what Guldig had been expecting, the bugs of Hallownest, or at least the bugs in the soul sanctum, seemed to regard soul as more a tool than as anything tied to worship.

From what Drak had said, soul was seen as little more than a resource and was not tied explicitly to a bug’s life or personhood.

‘Yes, a bug can’t live without a little bit of soul, but’ he had proclaimed, ‘it isn’t anything sacred. Soul is little more than water to drink or wood to be burned.’

It was . . . not what Guldig had wanted to hear.

He had been expecting, no- hoping for, a bit more reverence from the bugs of Hallownest.

This opinion of soul lessoned the worth of his information on the Storyteller quite a bit.

He now knew that the bugs of Hallownest didn’t value soul so highly, or hold many opinions on its allowed use.

He would still be able to use the information of course. No political figure wants to be spoken of in any way that they do not control after all! And even if the bugs from Hallownest would still love the Storyteller despite her soulless state, the bugs that traveled here would surely have different opinions than them.

 Guldig knew for a fact that many of his merchants had been keeping their teeth clenched despite the blasphemes uses of soul they had been seeing. Only their greed keeping them from denouncing the bugs in the tunnels as heathens and sinners.

He was sure that some of the other merchants from across the wastes would surely have similar views, and the news that one of the Pale King’s advisors, who held so much power in the kingdom, was soulless? That would surely be a push too far for them.

It wasn’t as shattering as he would prefer for blackmail, but it would damage the Storyteller’s reputation none the less and so it still had use.

Now he would only have to find some way to speak with the Storyteller alone to get a leash on her.

The carriage ride ended, and Guldig lightly stepped off of the covered cart to walk the short distance to his temporary home when one of his more trusted employees came rushing out to meet him.

Vent looked as put together as he always did, having always put appearance over anything else. It was probably one of the only reasons that he had managed to live through Guldig’s childhood while working so closely with his mother.

He was a bug that loathed touching anyone in fear of disrupting his delicate outfits of pressed leaves and dried petals. A small child who had been so fascinated with the colors he had worn had been deftly dodged.

Guldig had never managed to catch one of the pretty decorations that had dangled from Vent in their entire childhood. Had never touched them, and pulled the life from their shell like he had unknowingly done to so many of his mother’s workers.

When he had been utterly unaware and unable to control his parasitic nature.

“Master Guldig, the Storyteller had arrived a half a bell ago and is waiting for an audience in the sitting chambers off of your room.”

Guldig froze for a moment, before quickening his pace to enter the small building he had been afforded for himself and his employees, “Did she say why she was here!?”

Vent easily kept pace despite his older shell, “She has only said she wished to speak to you in private and was willing to wait for your earliest convenience.”

Guldig did a quick buzz of humor, he didn’t know what this was about, why such an influential member of the Pale King’s court had been willing to wait for a lowly merchant.

But he wasn’t going to let this go the way that the Storyteller wanted.

An opportunity had been dropped in his lap, and it was to his nature as a merchant and as a parasite to take it.

“Set up the privacy charms, I want no one hearing what we speak of.”

“Of course, Master Guldig, right away.”

Chapter Text

The room that the merchants had been forced to place the Storyteller within was simple. It lacked furnishings, comforts, and did not show the wealth that the head of a trading company had.

It had been prettied up of course. Candles, pillows and a carved bench made of light weight wood had been added to the room to clash oddly with the carved metal low table that had been left in the room for the merchants to use.

It was nowhere near grand enough to suit the bug who currently sat within.

But what else could they have done?! It was not as if the trading company had been expecting to entertain a bug from the Pale King’s court. Much less his most trusted advisor!?

Nobles? Sure!

 They had managed to seduce a small number of bugs into their temporary residence to tempt with deals that one cannot get in the market place.

Other merchants? Of course!

 It was expected to make connections with other traders even if there was a wasteland between them.

But a bug just a breath away from royalty?! Of course not!

They were not prepared, so they clung to their own rules and did their best to follow their masters orders of hospitality.

They were simple, just two rules.

Keep the bugs that were waiting company, and serve them refreshments.

The Storyteller was not to be left alone in the room, a pair of bugs stranding next to the door pretending to be there to satisfy any request she made, when truly they were there to keep the Storyteller on her best manners.

No matter their standing or prestige it was a rule set by their master to never leave a bug alone while they were in his place of business or in his home.

It was too likely that they would snoop if given a chance, no matter their status or upbringing.

It was simply the smart thing to do, and for all that the Storyteller was regal and had an air of refinedness, it was a possibility that she would be willing to crawl on the floor to learn Guldig’s secrets.

The Storyteller did not seem to mind their presence, nor did she seem to acknowledge them at all. The two beside the door were very thankful for this.

This just left the second rule to be followed, serving the Storyteller refreshments.

But what did they serve a bug who was perhaps the third most powerful creature in the entire kingdom? What refreshments could they serve a creature they could not identify?!

Would giving her plain water be seen as looking down on her?

But what if she couldn’t consume tea like some carnivorous bugs?

They couldn’t give her nothing!

So, they had brought her some juice that one of them had purchased for themselves during their free time. The merchants had figured it would be safe to offer her something from her own kingdom, even if they might be called stingy for not offering her a taste of their wares.

But despite the cup of juice that sat before her, accompanying the crystalized honey, the Storyteller neither ate nor drank.

She sat, still as stone and twice as unmovable.

It was only the gentle rise and fall of her chest that signaled to the watching bugs that she had not somehow expired right before them.

She neither spoke to them, nor did she fidget as she waited.

The Storyteller waited with a patience that seemed to imply that she could sit there for hours, for days, and fill no need to hurry the passing of time.

Serene as a sunrise, and unmovable as a mountain.

Mary very carefully breathed though her mouth to avoid the smell of the sweets before her.

She had thought that her hangover was mostly gone, but something about the sweet smell of honey and juice had brought the nausea back to her, if not the pain in her temples.

The tea supplied by the Pale King did wonders for pain, but sadly couldn’t quite manage to suppress her urges to hurl.

Mary hadn’t thrown up in her mask before, and she sure as hell did not want to add that to the experiences she’s had in the tunnels.

Mary zoned out, trying to distract herself from the saliva pooling in her mouth in preparation for vomiting by trying to remember all of the things she had planned to say to Guldig.

She had a few points that she wanted to go over, or well, a few points to hit during her apology?

Mary had figured that anything too polished would be taken as nothing more than a song and dance, and that a rough stuttering thing would sound more truthful.

If she was too good at saying sorry then it would have less impact.

She was the Storyteller, known for her words and her tales and her power.

The Storyteller did not apologize.

Being good at it would read as false, no matter how pretty the words she said.

But some of it would have to be a lie anyway.

She bet that Guldig would be able to catch her lies much better than any other bug she had met so far.

So, she needed to keep this as honest as possible, and minimize her lies. To use her words to twist things around and imply more than what she actually outright stated.

Like, Mary wouldn’t apologize for hurting Guldig’s pride, because she did not actually have any regret about that. But she could apologize for how she did it, because honestly there were much better insults she could have used then calling them stupid.

She could apologize for insulting him in public, but she couldn’t apologize for insulting him.

She would just have to hope that she was able to talk fast and pretty enough to make Guldig not question her wording.

Mary really did need to smooth things over, but something about Guldig made her think that a false apology would do more damage to their working relationship than no apology at all.

So! Mary needed to word an apology for him about insulting him in public. Imply that she didn’t mean to cause harm, while not outright saying a falsehood, and then somehow try and get into his good graces!

. . .  shit. Maybe she should have tried to practice something?

Would complements work? He had seemed to honestly enjoy talking about his dress . . .

But Mary didn’t have and more time to think, because the door to the room opened, and instead of it being another of the merchants, it was Guldig himself.

Showtime.

“Storyteller! What a surprise! If I had known you would be paying me a visit, I would have hurried back to keep you from waiting for so long.”

Guldig’s eyes flashed over the Storyteller, trying to get some hint as to why she was here and what he could anticipate from the meeting.

It stuck out to him that she was alone.

From what little he had managed to hear about the Storyteller that wasn’t just a bug singing her praises, the fact that she did not go out alone had come up numerous times.

Apparently, despite her vast magical power, she did not have much physical ability, making her unable to navigate the tunnels alone.

Guldig had seen first-hand her strength, so this information might be in some way exaggerated, but the fact that she was always in the company of a guard or an assistant had been universally agreed upon.

There was a message in her coming alone.

For her to be confidentially arriving alone into what one could consider his territory, especially what with how she suspected him of having killed his former spouses.

One does not put themselves in the grasp of a murderer without a way to protect themselves.

Or perhaps, being the soulless creature she was, she had no fear of death?

The Storyteller was wearing a cloak dyed a deep vibrant red, and unlike before, where her body was little more than the impression of a shape underneath, this time she wore white ribbons. They were crossed and tied around her torso, outlining her body’s strange shape beneath the fabric.

Guldig couldn’t help but take a moment to skim over her cloak, at the ways it was carefully folded around her. The ways that the fabric was tucked under the ribbons and gave the appearance of a grand blooming rose. As if she was somehow wearing an entire flower instead of a single piece of silk.

He would have to figure out where she got such a robe and if the effect could be replicated on his own body.

It must be her soft shell that allowed such gorgeous visuals, but surely with a thick enough fabric underneath . . .  

The Storyteller did not rise to meet him, but he did not expect her to.

She was above him in social status in this setting, despite how she was technically his guest. After all one cannot forget that the kingdom was the one providing the housing after all.

“Good evening Guldig. I have not waited long at all, and it was entirely my fault for coming to see you without sending a note in advance. You cannot be blamed for my own actions.”

Oh~? This is new . . .

The Storyteller was being polite and well mannered. She was taking the blame instead of shifting it away.

She was humbling herself before him.

Did she have some sort of request? Did she have an item that she could only get from the north?

Asking for help was the best way to create relations, but do not ever ask for so much that it would create a debt.

The ghost of his mother whispered in his mind as Guldig stared down at the still sitting Storyteller. Her mask tilted to gaze mournfully up at him.

The golden tears trailing down the porcelain approximation of a face reminded Guldig of the times he had been forced to rub onion juice on his eyes in order to sob at the funerals he had attended.

That he had caused.

Surely, she used the golden tears in much the same way that he has used his own. To invoke sympathy and pity.

But for what reason did she want his pity?

“You are far too kind Storyteller.” Guldig turned his head, as if just now noticing the two other bugs in the room. “You two! Shoo shoo! The Storyteller has come to speak to me, and speak to me she shall! Give us the room, give us the room! And make sure to straighten up on your way out.”

His employees scampered out, antenna’s twitching in nerves, but as they left the room he could feel the shift in the soul around him. They had obeyed his hidden order, and aligned the charms that had been hung on the wall beside the door. Making everything said in this room now inaudible to anyone outside.

It wouldn’t do to let his employees, no matter how loyal or how well paid, learn all of his tricks.

They would stay close by of course, to wait at the door for if he shifted the charms himself, or if he opened the door to call them.

It was an old dance, one they knew by heart, and yet still, every now and then he had to align the charms himself when one of his own just left them slightly off center.

The ones who did such, did not have a job after those meetings were over. He had trained them too well for it to ever be a mistake

Guldig smiled, folding his hands in front of himself and fluttered his antennas at the Storyteller in a flirtatious way, less to gain her affection, and more to keep up appearances.

He did not expect her to be swayed by his act, but one did not give up the scheme simply because someone called them on it.

“So, Storyteller, now that we are alone and can speak freely, how can this humble merchant serve you?”

The Storyteller stared up at him for a beat. And then with a smoothness that Guldig couldn’t help but envy, she stood from her seat with all of the dignity of a queen.

Guldig was struck suddenly by how small she was.

She was a touch smaller than the average height of the cave bugs here, but with her cloaks, she had seemed much broader.

But now, with the white ribbons keeping the fabric from flaring out around her, she seemed so slight for her height. All soft and delicate, like the rose bud she currently resembled.

The Storyteller seemed to take a deliberate breath, before bending at her waist and bowing to him.

Guldig’s antenna’s slapped to his head in shock, the trinkets that had been dangling from their ends tinkling loudly at the motion.

“Guldig. I have come before you to apologize. I lost control of myself at our meeting, and have come to plead for your forgiveness.”

Guldig managed to force his antennas back into the air, but he couldn’t stop his immediate response.

“A bug of your status will lower yourself before a foreign merchant?”

The Storyteller seemed to bow even lower at his words, her head dipping even closer to the low table, her mask in danger of tapping the still full cup, as she responded.

“I will lower myself as a host who has insulted an invited guest.”

Guldig watched the Storyteller with sharp eyes, his shock being forcibly swallowed as he watched the- the act that the Storyteller was putting on.

He could not believe that this bug was able to swallow their pride to do this.

Surely there was a trick in the apology somewhere that would save the pride of the creature before him. Was a bow an insult in her culture? Was there some meaning behind him being a guest in the kingdom?

He needed more information about what was going on, about what the Storyteller was trying to accomplish with this!

He would need for her to use more of her pretty words and see if she would misstep somewhere in her tale.

“And what insult did you give me?”

Oh, want me to say it out loud do you? Bitch.

Mary, not wanting to keep at this back pain inducing angle, slowly lifted herself back up into standing ramrod straight posture.

She tilted her masked face a bit, making it still look at Guldig, but was sure to make it appear as though she was not meeting his suddenly sharp gaze head on.

“Ah- I do suppose that I made many mistakes at the party, I am apologizing for all of them of course, but in particular I am speaking of our first interaction. I implied that you would be stupid enough to attempt to kill the Soulmaster while in our kingdom.”

The moment that the words left Mary’s mouth, she had pressed her lips together and took a deep breath through her nose.

Fuck, that could have been worded better.

Mary couldn’t stop herself from speaking more, trying to smooth over the rough words with even more words, the damn things unstoppably spewing out of her mouth.

“Your act is very good of course, and the play of the mindless fool is something that I myself have preformed before. But it is not a true show of your intelligence.”

Mary lifted a hand to her own face.

“It is a mask you are familiar wearing and use to your advantage. It was impertinent to treat you as if it was your real face. You are much smarter than you pretend, and it was an insult to imply otherwise, no matter the part you were playing.”

Guldig stared down at her, his antenna’s held stiffly, hands frozen in a girlish position as he thought about her words.

“. . . were you ordered by your king to lower yourself before me?”

Hmmm, let him think I still hate him, but can be reined in by the Pale King? Or try to sell an honest regret?

Mary discarded the second option immediately. It wasn’t true and it would be the hardest to sell to the merchant. But she couldn’t have the bug thinking that his tarnished dignity was a matter that the Pale King was invested in.

 . . . or . . . should she?

He was a merchant, he had to be greedy. His actions have shown that he was sly and smart, and if he was willing to deal with the Soulmaster’s huge ego for any length of time, then it showed that he could put aside his personal feelings for his goals.

This was the battle, not the war. As long as Guldig kept his trade in Hallownest, then it didn’t matter what he thought of her or of his own worth.

Once the kingdom was stable, then they could decide if he was worth retaining or not.

But for now, they needed him.

She wouldn’t let him know just how badly they needed him, but giving him some hint as to why she was apologizing to him would do her more good than keeping him in the dark.

Even if he would use it against her.

“My king has no ability to force me to do anything, Guldig. But he is aware of and does not agree with my actions. The Pale King is wise, and if he thinks it best to apologize to you in order to soothe your pride, then I will bend to his will.”

Guldig’s shoulders tensed and released, the wings he kept closed under his shell flexing for just a moment. “And would you be willing to indulge my curiosity as to why the God King of Hallownest cares for the pride of a merchant?”

A little truth goes a long way, and any lie should have a grain of truth at its core.

Mary resettled her stance, clasping her hands before her in the folds of her sleeves, doing her best to look as though she was simply relating common knowledge, and not baring the soft secret underbelly of her home.

“You are in possession of connections that Hallownest has a need of. You control the entirety of the north, and it would cripple the kingdom’s attempts to rejoin the world if you refuse to interact with us. We are desperate to reopen trade in fear of our home stagnating once again, and we will overlook much to become abreast of the rest of the world that left us behind.”

Mary tilted back on her heels for a moment, rocking her entire body as she laid flat just how much the kingdom she called her home was willing to ignore as long as it could get what it needed.

“Make no mistake Guldig, despite the Pale King’s attempts, death and violence are close companions to those that call Hallownest their home. We do not have the high ground to condemn you for permanently removing your enemies. I doubt that there are many bugs here who can claim to have clean, bloodless hands. I certainly am not among their number.”

Mary shook her head, knocking free the sense memory of her teeth cleaving though carapace, and the rancid taste of infected blood.

Her stomach rolled, nausea coming back with a vengeance, just as she had distracted herself from it. She swallowed the saliva that pooled in her mouth and continued on.

“But that is beside the point. It matters little what crimes you have committed outside the bounds of Hallownest, neither I nor the Pale King can claim any right to police the actions of others outside of the kingdom’s boarders. As long as your sins are not repeated in our kingdom, as long as the victims do not follow you here, then your past actions have no weight in the tunnels.”

And now Mary made sure to acquire some form of eye contact, to really hammer in that this blind eye approach was temporary at best, and that it was not an invitation to cause trouble.

“Not while we have need of you.”

Ah, Guldig thought, there it is.

The kingdom needed him for his connections. And the Storyteller had just confirmed that despite her suspicions against him, she would ignore the gossip.

For as long as Guldig was useful for the kingdom

Hmmm. Not the worst trading relationship I have brokered.

With any other Kingdom, this would have been enough.

He would have taken what he could, and made sure to encourage his employees to build relationships within the area. To make the trade personal and intimate, to learn names and faces and perhaps even romance a few of the bugs.

This had worked in the many villages that had been unsure of Guldig’s reputation, the divide in the status between him and his employees working in his favor, not to mention his strangle hold on all three major trading companies made working with him inevitable if one wanted to make a profit.

But here, in this kingdom? Where there were three more palatable directions to work with?

The moment that he was no longer needed, his business would be shunned and he wouldn’t be allowed access to the kingdom of Hallownest.

The Storyteller had confirmed, even in a roundabout way, that she considered herself able to make major decisions for the kingdom. The little slips of ‘our’ and ‘we’ when speaking of the kingdom of Hallownest showed that whether consciously or not, she thought she would be able to influence the Pale King’s decisions, or to go against them without fear of reprisal.

Confirming what he suspected of their power dynamics learned so long ago.

And the Storyteller had already bruised her pride coming here to apologize to him. The moment she could be rid of him, she would.

His blackmail will need to be used now.

It was best to start off the relationships badly, then to ruin them later. Guldig knew from experience that using a tool like blackmail only made the one being threatened hate you more if you had a congenial working relationship before.

Yes, the blackmail would have to be used immediately to keep her from stopping his employees from integrating with the other merchants and the bugs of Hallownest.

He would dig himself and his company in deep so that if she ever managed to make the blackmail moot, she wouldn’t be able to drag his influence from Hallownest.

Not without the damage of doing so outweighing her wounded pride.

She seemed to be a sensible bug, or at the very least a clever one. And she was possessive enough over this kingdom to not want to harm it by pulling his influence out by the roots.

Yes. She would bear with his presence, as long as he could help her kingdom.

But first he must dig deep and make himself unremovable from this treasure trove.

 “Oh Storyteller, I think you will find that my companies many wares and talents will always be needed! I have endeavored to make it so! In fact, it has been at my own personal expense that I have learned about all of my customer’sdesires and needs!”

Guldig shifted his body and leaned forward just a touch, as if sharing a secret, “Even the hidden desires, those tucked away secrets that my customers would rather not say.”

What?

That hadn’t been the response Mary had been expecting?

Mary blinked behind her mask, brow furrowing as she tried to figure out the message behind Guldig’s suddenly friendly words.

She had been trying to imply that Guldig needed to be on his best behavior, not that he needed to buy her favor.

What on earth could he offer her that would make her overlook a murder anyway?

And what the hell did he mean by ‘tucked away secrets’?

And why had he leaned toward her when saying-

Oh!

Guldig thought that he had blackmail on her.

 . . . how could he have blackmail on her?

No really, what the hell could he possibly know about her that the rest of her assistants hadn’t seen before?

It’s not like she has a criminal past, and she hasn’t killed anyone like he had! All of her exploits had been witnessed in front of crowds and all of her embarrassments have mostly only been witnessed by the royal family.

What did this foreigner who had only a spent a week in the kingdom know about her? What leverage could he possibly think he had?

“Hidden desires? Now Guldig, what makes you assume I keep any of my desire’s hidden?”

Don’t think about Hollow.

Guldig fluttered his antennas at her, looking all demur and pretty as he spoke, his words stabbing Mary like a knife.

“Well, one would assume you have desires? Unless being utterly without soul keeps such things from you?”

Mary froze.

“Truly, I do not know why the Pale King would have a soulless creature as his advisor, but you have made use of yourself! Though I imagine that the bugs in the kingdom that don’t know you personally won’t be so forgiving of your . . . lack.”

Mary wasn’t breathing.

“Oh, but do not worry! My company will surely be willing to trade whatever you want, as long as you pay in full of course. I’m sure a bug of your talents can settle any debts you obtain while buying from me?”

Mary managed to respond to the banter, her body cold in horror.

“Like the price of your silence perhaps?”

Guldig tittered, wings buzzing for a moment, “Oh! That will not be cheap Storyteller, but I’m sure we can make a deal.”

Mary was in shock.

Guldig knew.

HE KNEW.

But.

How?! How did he know?!

Fuck, had she said something while making that dreamcatcher!? Surely not? But . . . when else could it have happened?

Mary needed to try and control the situation.

The fact that she had no actual magic power could not be released. It would ruin her, strip her of everything.

Mary took a half step forward and slammed her shin into the low table, knocking the cup of nectar over, but both bugs ignored the way the thick clear liquid spread over the table and dripped to the floor.

The pain of slamming her shin knocked her out of her mindless shock and forced some clarity back into her thoughts.

Fuck, can I wiggle out of this?!

“Are you threatening me Guldig? With your words alone, do you truly think you can get away with such a thing, with me? Do you truly think such accusations will be believed?”

Proof.

Did he have any proof?

“How, exactly, do you plan to prove this . . . lack that you claim I have? It will be your word against mine, and mine carries more weight than yours ever could.”

Guldig smirked and Mary wanted to punch him in his smug bastard face.

 “With your native bugs it does. But your kingdom is currently filled with visitors, visitors who have different views than the tunnel denizens and have not been saved by you. Bugs who will find something more in common with a merchant of similar standing than with a bug so close to royalty they might as well be wearing a crown. You plan to keep trade going strong don’t you? And as long as these bugs come and go in this kingdom then the rumor of your soulless state will linger in your tunnels, never to be forgotten.”

Doubt.

Doubt is all that it would take to steal her power.

If enough bugs doubted her, then nothing she made would work. It didn’t matter if they disbelieved Guldig immediately.

It wouldn’t matter if most bugs discarded the words.

All it would take would be a single bug to doubt her while alone for the tricks she had to fail. And with that proof, everything she had built would tumble to the ground like the stake of cards it was.

Fuck.

This is it. This is the end of the charade.

Mary was . . . she was not as fucked as she could have been.

It would be bad for the fact that the Storyteller was nothing but a charlatan to get out. But in the grand scheme of things?

The Storyteller could die.

The Storyteller could be banished from Hallownest, never to return.

The Pale King could burn the Storyteller at the stake or lock her in the dungeon to rot.

Because the Storyteller was a mask.

A mask Mary was attached to, but a mask that could be cast aside.

She would still have to leave the White Palace of course, and would probably not be able to visit for quite a while, but . . . . to have the fact that her magic is fake get out?

It would not be a death sentence.

Well, it might be, but she doubted that the kingdom would actually call for her head. She might have lied to them, but no matter how she had done it, she had helped the kingdom be saved.

They just might not want a liar to stick around.

The Storyteller seemed to collapse on herself, her shoulders sagging and her head tilting down as the tension she had been carrying released all at once.

 “And what will you do with this knowledge Guldig? With this chip in my shell? What do you wish to gain from me? What do you think I have the power to give, now that you know?”

Guldig, having long since given up his charade of a ditz, crossed his arms before the Storyteller.

“I want honest and true information. No matter where I send my people, it is always filtered through your hands before it can ever reach them. I want you to leave my employees alone and not to mettle in their affairs as they make deals and contracts. You have a strangle hold on this kingdoms perspective, and I want you to use it for my advantage. I want you to whisper into the antennas of these bugs what words will make me the sweetest choice for any trade.”

Guldig shifted his weight, pulling his foot away from the slowly growing puddle of nectar dripping off of the table that sat between them.

“You have power here, the eyes and antennas of the bugs here will all look where you point and listen to what you say. But if I share my knowledge of your . . . lack with them, then I am sure that your power will diminish. And we both of course do not wish for that to happen.”

Guldig leaned toward the slumped form of the Storyteller, rudely invading her space with his antennas.

“Because I want to use your power as my own, and you will be useless to me once you are cast out.”

The Storyteller lowered her masked face farther, but Guldig got the impression that her eyes were only glaring at him harder, “You realize of course, that my power won’t work for you now that you know?”

Guldig paused. Was she- was she attempting to call his bluff?

“You are refusing to make a deal with me? Are you really so prideful as too damn yourself, your kingdom, for a petty squabble?”

The Storyteller made a noise like a teakettle and rose from her slump, stepping around the table and stomping toward Guldig like she planned to crush him beneath her foot. Ignoring the nectar that splashed beneath her feet as she made her way toward the bug who had drawn her ire.

Guldig instinctively backed up, remembering her strength as he was corned against the door to his bedroom, gritting his teeth to keep from pressing himself to the wall in fear at her sudden movements.

She thrust a silk covered hand at his face, a snarl in her voice as she went within inches of touching him.

“Pride?! What does pride have to do with it!? You’ve put yourself at the same level as the Pale King, knowing what you do! On the same plan as a GOD. Did you think it would have no consequences!? Now that you know, you can never unknow! You can’t believe anymore! And without that, no matter what pretty words fall from my mouth, no matter the trinkets I create, I can do nothing for you!”

What.

What is she- what is the Storyteller talking about?!

THUNK

Both Guldig and the Storyteller flinched from the loud sound that came from behind Guldig.

Guldig’s eyes reflexively searched for the quiet charm, and upon finding it undisturbed looked over his shoulder.

Those were his private rooms.

Who would dare-?

The door was wrenched open, and both the Storyteller and Guldig gave matching shrieks of shock when the mouth of a large silk bag was pulled over the top of them. They were both yanked off their feet. Guldig fell into the soft body of the Storyteller, pressing the breath from her as they were flipped upside down.

They both managed two strangled screams with what air remained within them before the world disappeared.

It felt like everything was spinning in circles and they were falling through the air.

They landed with a harsh thump on a hard surface.

Guldig and the Storyteller smacked into one another as they fought against the bag, eventually forcing the closed mouth open once more and shoving themselves out of it.

Guldig managed to look around, confused as to where he was and what was going on.

It appeared as though he was in . . . a glass jar?

There were bugs and machines all around the outside of the jar.

Familiar bugs and machines.

Guldig recognized these bugs, he recognized these machines. After all, he had seen them less than an hour ago.

Drak hovered off the ground at the front of the group of bugs, and Guldig could only watch in shock as he tapped on the glass and proclaimed in a jovial voice, like he was paying Guldig a visit. “Oh my. How lucky of me! To catch two interesting subjects at once!”

The loud clear voice of the Storyteller spoke up from beside him.

“What the FUCK?!”

Four little white faces all stared at each other, able to recognize the sudden shriek of the mysterious bug they had been eaves dropping on, and the familiar cry of the Storyteller.

Something had gone wrong, but all was silent from the small ball now.

Vlad was the first to “speak”, their hands quickly moving. But the others were not far behind.

Storyteller?!

Danger-

loud voice

What siblings do?!

Help Help Help-

stranger storyteller stranger loud voice

Curly smacked their siblings hands down, stopping the nonsensical chatter before very carefully and purposely signing,

Find Hollow, Hollow find Storyteller

The other three stared at Curly for a moment before all three of them nodded.

The small group rushed to the door and pattered though the halls.

They had a to find their biggest sibling, and once they did, Hollow would find the Storyteller.

Hollow always knew where the Storyteller was after all.

But . . . where was Hollow?

Sprout signed the question to the others, and it made them pause in one of the long hallways of their home.

It was Ghost who answered this time.

 sad falling wet

And so, the small group moved as one, and headed to where they knew the hidden stag station was.

They had a sibling to find and a Storyteller and stranger to save.

Chapter Text

Tiso was getting used to the rain.

The constant sound of falling water that had once been an intolerable roar, had now been regulated to a comforting background noise.

Tiso had never had very good hearing, and in a city like this? Neither did anyone else.

In a place where you couldn’t hear anyone walking toward you, or any whisper around a corner, it was his above average eye sight that gave him a leg up over the other bugs.

And that’s what Tiso was counting on while he sat cradled in a strange overhang along a wall. He had a decent view of the open space where he was supposed to be meeting up with Sore Spot and Spooky.

It was almost the time when they always showed up, and while usually Tiso was the one who was at the meeting spot later, today he had come early in order to find a place to hide.

After the uncomfortably close brush with his sister from yesterday, Tiso had figured that it would be smarter to try and keep out of sight.

And bugs, even the ones who flew, rarely looked up when there was a roof over head.

Combined with the water falling?

As far as any bug knew, it was useless to look up. A ceiling protected them from any attacks from above, and the water blinded them if they even tilted their heads up an inch.

So yeah, no one would spot him up here.

Tiso had been forced to climb up a bit farther than he was really comfortable with, but with how tall the bugs in this kingdom could get, he had to work a bit harder to get above everyone’s eye level.

The climbing was slick, but the fancy curls and patterns that the metal decorating the walls of the buildings had given him something to get a good grip on.

A flash of white jerked Tiso’s eyes toward a corner of the street he was watching, but the masked bug rushing by was not nearly tall enough to be spooky, and so was not the one he was waiting for.

Tiso settled back in his make-shift perch, wondering if he would be able to wheedle another meal out of Spooky.

His money was running low, and he didn’t have anything else to trade for the weird currency that the bugs used here. But he loathed the thought of returning to his family’s caravan, even if to take more supplies. It would be too risky, and he didn’t want to even see them until he had to join them once more on the trip out of the kingdom.

Tiso frowned. He really disliked remembering that this was temporary, and that at some point he would be forced to rejoin his family, shoulder his punishment and march out of this wonderous place with the rest of the visiting merchants.

But that was a problem he would deal with later, the main priority now was making sure he would be kept fed during his remaining time in Hallownest.

 . . . maybe he could get some kind of temporary job. This place didn’t seem like it had any kind of forging office, but maybe there was some other cheap and quick job a bug could do with minimal training.

Tiso’s attention was jerked downward again before he turned away once more. That bug, running frantically down the street and checking every alley, was not the one he was waiting for, no matter their masked face.

So many bugs in Hallownest wore those masks, and he still couldn’t quite figure out what they were for. They seemed to do the combined job of hiding a bug’s identity while also being their entire identity.

It was weird. Wouldn’t it just be better to get used to what was underneath? No matter how weird they looked?

Another flash of white and Tiso’s head was jerked down once more. He discarded the bugs he saw as not Spooky, once more returning to his thoughts, but then his eyes widened and his head snapped down.

Were those children?!

They looked . . . not exactly like Spooky.

They were tiny for one, and had short stubby proportions that made Tiso think of grubs and the newly hatched.

Their horns were all different from each other’s and one of them even had three!

But Tiso could think of no other bug he had ever seen in his life who didn’t have a mouth, whose eyes looked like that.

Four little white heads, all with different horns ran down the street. They had little grey cloaks fluttering behind them, and from Tiso’s perspective he could perfectly  see their dark, black, empty eyes.

And from his higher perspective he could see the two masked bugs, the ones had been running around before, that were chasing after the four kids.
Tiso wasn’t a hero.

He was used to turning his gaze away from other’s suffering. And when he had needed to, he had profited off of other bugs’ hardships.

He wasn’t kind hearted. He didn’t care about the plight of bugs that he didn’t know.

He didn’t have enough strength to care.

But he still found himself dropping to the ground and sprinting through an alleyway that would put him in front of the fleeing children.

It was one thing to turn away from a stranger, but these bugs might be Spooky’s little brothers or sisters.

And younger siblings get protected.

Siblings got a chance.

Even if only the one.

Tiso managed to scoop the kids up, two in each arm, when they passed close to the mouth of the alley, darting out and in before the masked bugs chasing after them could turn the corner. They were slack in his grip but he thought it might have only been the surprise of the action that let him snatch them so easily.

They were weirdly soft, not quite like grub skin but there wasn’t much shell in there either. It was like they were floppy sacks.

But they were light, and that’s all that mattered when Tiso ran back the way he came, the sounds of his hurried footsteps lost in the sound of rain as the two masked bugs ran past the alleyway looking for four small figures, not one bug clutching a large burden.

Tiso stayed pressed to a wall for a few breaths, eyes watching the bugs disappear around another corner, the masked bugs become visibly more frantic as they realized they had lost sight of the children, and slumped in relief.

A small hand smacked him in the face.

“-OW!”

Tiso’s shell was soon having blows rain down upon him, the soft little hands of the bugs making up for their lack of shell with the quantity of their hits.

“-sto- STOP! I- FFF- I know your sibling!”

The smacks didn’t stop instantly, one of the kids still going at him until their hands were caught by their siblings, and once Tiso stopped getting hit he slowly opened his eyes to look down at the double armful of kid that he had.

Oh, yeah. These kids are related to Spooky.

They had empty eyes that seemed to stare though Tiso and their white heads were that same perfect substance. Not to mention what little he could see of their bodies, they had that horrifying living darkness thing going on that Spooky did.

It was somehow worse with how small they were. The darkness seemed more ominous, more vicious, when it was adorning such short creatures.

They were staring at him.

“Yeah. Your sibling. Real tall right? Same eyes as you all, but taller than any bug needs to be. A pair of horns, with some points on the inside? Real quiet, likes to wear veils and feed anyone who even mentions food? That one yours?”

The one with curly horns let go of the more aggressive one’s hands and began to wave their own at Tiso.

Tiso stared, but . . .

“I don’t understand?”

The little curly horned one seemed to rear back in affront, showing more emotion with the single movement than Tiso had seen Spooky project in an entire conversation.

The flared horned one shoved their hands in Tiso’s face, moving them in such a way that gave off the impression that if they could be, they would be yelling their opinions in Tiso’s face. But then they were shoved over by the tall horned one and Tiso’s vision was filled with little hands waving with intent and Tiso lost his grip on the wiggly little creatures.

They tumbled to the ground, splashing in puddles and getting their cloaks soggy, but in a flash they were back on their feet and clinging to Tiso’s legs.

The curly horned one got a very firm grip on his leg and as Tiso stared down into their empty eyes he could feel himself getting dragged into some sort of mess.

Hours had passed.

Hours where the merchants had been standing awkwardly in the hallway, until they finally managed to lure the bug who had driven the carriage that the Storyteller had arrived in to the doorway so that they could have some tea together.

They all sat around the stoop, one bug half inside the house in order to keep an eye on the closed door and listen for any demands.

It was a standard assignment to speak with the other servants whenever Guldig was making deals, so they knew they wouldn’t get in  trouble.

They were just pumping him for information, as was their job, but so far it seemed as though he really did just drive the carriage.

He didn’t know more than any other bug in Hallownest, but the sheer amount of time he was spending in their presence was allowing the merchants to wring a few more details about their situation from him.

They finally had the time, and the excuse, to ask as many questions as they wanted!

The Storyteller, of course, was the preferred subject.

The carriage driver had told them that he didn’t know the Storyteller in any personal manner, but he worked at the White Palace, and the gossip never stopped flowing there.

He had a few tales to share, a few details he had unearthed.

And who didn’t like to speak to a interested group of pretty foreign bugs as they fawned over you and poured you tea?

“Oh yes, it was a very tense day in the White Palace when the Pale King and the Storyteller had their first argument. They were yelling at each other so loudly that it could be heard through the doors and down the hall! All of the retainers were scared to death, and the White Lady had been summoned to help with a resolution. But by the time the rest of the castle was told what was going on it had all ended with a truce. The Storyteller was nippy for days, but she seemed to have gotten over it, not worse for wear.”

A pretty red shelled bug rushed forward to refill the carriage bug’s only half empty cup, asking a question as they poured.

“What was the argument about?”

The carriage bug took another sip of the sweet tea and answered, “The details never made their way down through the White Palace, but what we all learned was that the Storyteller had not previously known that the Pale King and White Lady had been gods! Can you believe it? She was so used to such grand power that she didn’t realize she was living with Gods! She had thought they were keeping secrets from her.”

There were a chorus of gasps.

“What!”

“But how could she have missed it?”

“That can’t possibly be true!”

The carriage bug gave a hearty laugh, “It’s true I swear! I’m no Workshop Assistant, but from what gets passed around the kitchens, it has become apparent that no matter how powerful and intelligent the Storyteller is, she’s not terribly . . . sharp. At least not while she’s relaxed and comfortable.”

The carriage bug’s eyes lit up and he leaned closer to the others, the merchants all leaning in as well in response. “I’ve even heard that when the Storyteller is particularly relaxed and comfortable then she’ll just fall asleep in public! Not that many can tell with her mask and cloak on.”

A blue shelled bug fluttered her antennas’ in surprise. “Is she really so trusting? I can’t imagine sleeping in public like that!”

The bug scoffed and drained his cup, puffing up in pride. “Trusting isn’t a part of it! You see as lax as the Storyteller is with her personal affairs, she’s dangerous in all others! No one dares antagonize her! Nothing gets past her when she’s in the Pale King’s court! No noble can slide a lie by her, and she can stop any false information cold!”

The carriage bug leaned in again, giddy like he was sharing a secret, his eyes bright with mischief. “The Storyteller hates liars. From all the stories that come from the courts, she particularly enjoys dragging the truth out of a bug’s mouth and making the real story bask in the Pale King’s light.”

The bug snorted and leaned back on the stoop, “The fact that the Storyteller hates liars has become so well known that it is even making its way into the common mouths of the bugs in the tunnels! Parents have been warning their children that they better be telling the truth or the Storyteller will know that they’ve been lying and will make them tell the truth before the Pale King himself! Ha!”

The merchants twittered along with the carriage bug, even as their backs tensed up.

They weren’t sure just how truthful the bug’s words were, but if the Storyteller had some way of knowing when she was being lied to . . . And in this strange place, perhaps she did.

That could spell disaster for their boss.

He was a liar of the first degree, an absolute professional in falsehoods, as all merchants must be.

Had he known that the Storyteller might be able to tell when his words were false? Did he know to stay as truthful as he could?

Was it possible that he had offended the Storyteller and was now having all of his truths dragged from him alone in that room?

It had been quiet for so long, surely it wouldn’t have taken this long for their boss to finish discussing the more sensitive topics? He would have usually called for tea or snacks or something by now . . .

Maybe  . . .

The red shelled bug, one of the longest in Guldig’s employ was nervous enough to rick checking. Surely Guldig would understand when he told him his reason, new information had been learned and he was simply acting on it the way that he had been taught.

“Ah, excuse me. I believe that the Storyteller and Guldig must have finished the snacks we left in there by now! I’ll just bring them some more.”

The carriage bug didn’t seem to find anything strange about he red shelled bug’s words, and the others around the table gave him significant looks, understanding his true purpose.

They all turned back to pumping the carriage bug for more information while the red shelled bug left to set up a tray of refreshments.

He could still hear his co-workers continue to talk to the bug as he made up a tray, deciding to bring some dried edible petals and plain water.

It was simple to balance the tray and walk over to the silent door that hide his boss and the Storyteller behind it.

He knocked.

Silence.

He waited.

And waited.

Knock, knock?

There was . . . there was no answer?

He hadn’t expected much, but surely the door would have opened, or for Guldig to misalign the charm to allow for a quick remark through the door.

But.

There was nothing.

The red shelled bug braced himself before pushing the door open.

He could take any angry response, but now he was worried.

The door swung open and . . .

The room was empty.

The room was empty.

The red shelled bug held a firm grip on themselves, walking toward the low table and delicacy stepping around the puddle of nectar.

He set the tray down next to the over turned cup and headed immediately to where the door to Guldig’s private chambers was open.

There were only a very few reasons for why there would be a bug in Guldig’s private rooms, and there were rules about entering while he was entertaining but this hadn’t been discussed beforehand.

Guldig hadn’t even hinted about attempting to seduce the Storyteller! And the discussion couldn’t have gone that well.

Could it?

“Hello? Pardon me but-“

Empty.

The room was empty.

There had only been one exit, there were no windows in either room. The door had been in view the whole time, at least one bug always watching or listening for a signal.

The red shelled bug’s antennas began to shake, ice trailing up their shell as they realized that their boss was gone, and to make it even worse, so was the Storyteller.

“what do I do? what do I do?”

What can one even do in such a situation! What- what would Guldig want him to do?

What would help him the most?!

Make a fuss, keep it loud so that no one can keep it quiet.

The advice had been about something else, some small slight that Guldig had been expected to swallow. But by him being loud and offended in public, he had managed to turn the insult back on the attacker ten-fold. Outing them as having been using the silence of the good mannered bugs to allow them to walk all over them in the name of politeness.

The bug hoped that it would work here as well.

He went back to the other room, and carefully misaligned the charm keeping the room silent. He once more picked up the tray and went back to the door.

He took a deep breath, and with all the might in his body, he smashed the tray to the floor while screaming as loud as he could.

“THEY’RE GONE! THE STORYTELLER HAS TAKEN GULDIG!?”        

Chapter Text

Mary had never been in the Soul Sanctum before. Had never gotten an invite, had never had cause to come. But from what she could see, it followed the same aesthetic rules that most buildings in the City of Tears did. Lots of curling, shined metal, some cloth covering the walls to deal with the chill or to muffle noise. A few pieces of expensive wooden furniture.

Truly, the only things that seemed to be unique were the many glass objects that were filled with glowing soul that lined the walls of the fairly large room that Mary was in.

Mary kept trying to find something in the room, anything at all, to distract herself from the rising tension in her body.

Something for her to think of that would bleed off some of the rage that hummed in her blood.

But despite how her eyes skated over the sights in the room, her ears continued to catch clips of the Soul Master’s droning monologue.

“-my destiny-”

Mary grit her teeth.

“-soul is the true way to acquire immortality- “

She took a deep breath, held it for a few seconds and then let it out slowly.

“-the Pale King was stifling my work- “

Seven counts in, seven counts out.

“-denouncing my discoveries- “

Mary’s fists clenched in her sleeves.

 “-the lives of a few dozen common rabble- “

Mary sucked in a hard breath through her nose.

“-I will learn the truth behind your immortality and power- “

“SHUT THE FUCK UP!”

Mary’s scream rattled the jar she was trapped in and echoed in the room. She was already close to the wall of glass, but now she lunged forward with a dramatic billow of her red cloak. She slammed her hands into the curved glass that separated her from the damned Soul Master and wished desperately that she was strong enough to put cracks in it.

The Soul Master and the bugs that had been silently watching all of this all jerked back, instinctual fear breaking their fronts of dispassionate stoicism.

Mary had been intending to wait patiently. To let the Soul Master monologue and lay out his plan. She had been planning to make some grand statements that would let her save her pride and put the fear of the Storyteller in the bugs that had captured her.

But the fat bug had just kept stroking his own ego, going over the things that he thought he was owed. Proclaiming his crimes to the full room and acting as if he wasn’t killing people, but just sweeping some dust under a rug.

Like the Pale King wasn’t going to rip him apart for killing his people the moment he found out.

Mary might have been able to keep her cool if she was alone in the situation, if she had been only amongst the bugs who believed that she had power, even if they had surrounded the jar with carved and glowing runes to keep her from doing any ‘magic’.

It would have been simple to just talk them into circles and make them think that she had some way out of here.

But the bug who had stumbled to the back of the jar at Mary’s scream made all of those plans impossible to follow through with.
These bugs had no idea just how lucky they had gotten.

How lucky they had been to trap her with the only bug that knew her secret, and wasn’t a god.

Mary had gone to see Guldig alone, she had expected to be gone for a while and had made no plans to meet another for quite a while.

No one would be looking for her, not until Guldig’s own bug’s sounded the alarm.

And even then, she bet that the kingdom would focus on the outsiders, Guldig’s group in particular, before they ever looked toward their own. And there was no reason that they would look toward the Soul Master as a possible suspect.

She had no doubt that Hollow would tear the kingdom apart to find her, but whether or not they would find her before the Soul Master killed her on purpose or on accident was up in the air.

Mary was strangling her fear with rage, even as her thoughts made her come to the conclusion that Hollow and the Pale King were mostly likely only going to find her by following the smell of her stinking and rotting corpse.

Mary was trapped and powerless.

She was terrified of this fact and she was panicking. But she was doing her best to funnel all of these negative emptions into anger.

The stress had gotten to her, and if she was already fucked, she might as well shatter the pristine image of the Storyteller and menace the bastards with the shards.

Mary wished that she had claws she could scrape on the glass as she snarled at the Soul Master from behind her mask.

“You stupid dumbass fools! You think that any life has less worth than another!? You think that you will survive what you have done!? You think that this slight will be just another crime you can hide from the Gods of your Kingdom?!”

The Soul Master didn’t seem to know what to do with that.

He was so surprised to see her yelling to see the one titled ‘Storyteller’ losing her cool and screaming with rage in her fucking glass jar prison.

But he tried to rally and pretended that the Storyteller’s visible loss of her shit was some kind of win in his favor.

“So quickly your pretty words vanish Storyteller. You are, in fact, nothing but a common bug under those cloaks and pained masks. I- “

Mary slammed her clenched fists to the jar again making him startle back and his mouth click shut. She could feel her cuts from yesterday, only just scabbed over, pop open with the force she applied to the glass. But she was too pissed to be concerned with a little blood.

In fact, it felt good to bleed, to add another reason to be angry at her situation to the pool of rage inside of her.

The pool of rage that had overflowed and was flooding out though her screams and her actions.

She was throwing a tantrum during a dangerous situation, during a moment where she should be trying to maneuver herself to a favorable position.

But it’s not like it mattered.

She was trapped with a bug who knew she was a liar, rendering her words to be nothing but words.

Making her powerless.

“I told you to shut the FUCK UP! You listen here you- you slimy turd! I am going to get out of here, and you better fucking hope that you have already been caught and killed by the Pale King before then. Because if I get my hands on your still living corpse, I am going to rip your antennas off and make you eat them. I’m going to crack your shell open with my teeth and scoop your insides out, just to see if they’re as rotten as the dirty fucking words spilling from your mouth! The Void itself will refuse the wreckage that you will become!  I am-! I’m gonna-! I! I curse you! I curse you with a fate less forgiving than death! I curse you to lose all that you think you have earned! I curse you- I curse you- I curse you!”

Mary was just incoherently screaming at this point, howling with all the air in her lungs as anger clouding her mind and she shouted senseless threats that carried no weight at the Soul Master.

She was powerless, she was mortal, she was trapped in a jar.

All she had were her words and her impressive lung capacity.

So, she just . . . screamed.

She screamed, beat her hands on the glass, and she had the breakdown that she had been putting off for days.

It was cathartic to scream and spit vitriol at a bug who deserved it, but she wished that she could have just cried in Hollow’s arms instead.

It would have hurt less.

Guldig was trapped with a lunatic.

He was pressed back against the glass as the loud shrill creature raged at Drak and his minions.

With every hit of her hands on the glass the runes carved into the top of the glass, the runes that protected the fragile jar from breaking, glowed brightly, sending the room into a kaleidoscope of light as she shrieked out her rage.

Hit after hit, scream after scream.

Bright red began to be left behind from where her hits landed on the glass. Just small splatters that turned into smears as she ignored them and continued to rage against the glass that kept her from beating Drak to death.

Guldig was sure that he would never hear silence again. That the sounds of her screams and curses would echo in his head for the rest of his life. That there would never be silence again. Not when a creature like this still had the power to scream.

But then it seemed as though the power was yanked from the Storyteller and she collapsed to her knees, her screams going silent and her body heaving as if she were molting beneath her cloak.

Like the power that she had been using to sustain her rage suddenly ran out, and she was left empty and bereft of it’s heat.

No bug moved as the Storyteller’s breathing echoed in the glass.

But Drak, the damn bastard that had caused all of this, and the only one with the ego to not be paralyzed in fear at the dangerous creature currently trapped, eventually stepped forward from where he had flinched back.

“Are you done with your . . . outburst Storyteller? Are you willing to converse like a civilized bug now?”

The Storyteller did nothing but breath, seeming to ignore Drak, and either out of pride or a well-hidden desire to not trigger another terrifying fit, he turned his attention to where Guldig was still pressed as far from the Storyteller as he could get while confined in the curved glass.

“Guldig, darling, perhaps you will be more . . . coherent to discuss with. If you agree to willingly take part in my experiments then we need not keep you so tightly contained. Only a few restraints, and not a jar could be used! And it would be no hardship to bring you a few dresses so that you can stay pretty while in my sanctum.”

Guldig turned his gaze from the monster in the jar with him, and to the murderer in front of it.

If it had been a few moments ago, he would have taken the offer.

But now, stuck in a jar with a monster of a bug, he didn’t even considered it.

Because no matter how well Drak was hiding it, he feared this creature. This raging vicious bug who would be missed.

This bug, who Guldig did not doubt, was important enough for the entirety of Hallownest to be ripped apart in order for her to be found.

Guldig would be missed by his caravan, but ultimately no one was beholden to find him. He would be difficult to replace of course, he had not yet appointed an heir, but if push came to shove he would be left behind in order to insure the safety of the others.

It’s what he would have done, no matter who went missing from his caravan. What he had done before when the locals of an area had looked at him and his people like they were the merchandise for sale.

Guldig knew, knew deep in his shell, that if he allowed himself to get separated from the Storyteller, then he didn’t have a chance of surviving this.

He would be ‘experimented’ on. He would be cracked open, drained dry and tortured.

He would be used up, and if he wasn’t used to nothing than he would be thrust in the path of the raging God King as the one who would be blamed for the disappearance of the Storyteller.

He was the logical choice when wanting to make someone shoulder the blame. He was the last one seen with her. He was the one who had a motive, as petty as it was.

Guldig wasn’t sure how powerful the Pale King was, but even a minor god could torture a bug enough to make them confess to anything and beg for death.

Though he doubts that Drak would give the God King anything but his corpse. Couldn’t have him pointing toward the real culprit.

So.

No.

The Storyteller had obviously gone mad.

She was angry at him, angry at the world, and only just out of the throes of a raging fit.

But he was only likely to die if he stayed in the glass jar with her, while leaving it was an assured death.

Perhaps he would even survive long enough to see the Storyteller make good on her promise of violence to Drak.

Guldig turned his attention from the still huddled form of the Storyteller, and smiled at Drak. His deeply embedded instinct to be flirty and flippant surviving even in these dire circumstances.

“I think I will keep the Storyteller company! She obviously can’t be left alone at this moment, the poor dear has worn herself out! But if you insist in having my company, then perhaps you can join us in here instead?”

At his sweet words, his offer of putting Drak in the Storyteller’s reach, a low noise filled the glass. A noise like rocks grinding on each other.

A threat.

Drak couldn’t stop his flinch at the confirmation that no matter that the Storyteller’s words had stopped being spat at him, she was still listening.

He shook himself out of his fear and frowned at Guldig, whose smile hadn’t even twitched even as he continued to press his body to the back of the jar, as far from the Storyteller as he could get.

“Perhaps I will leave you two alone for a while. Let you get better acquainted with the Storyteller’s manners. Then you will change your mind, I’m sure.”

Drak turned his attention from the glass, putting his back to the jar in a show of bravado.

“Keep an eye on them and run the standard tests. We should get as much data as we can while both subjects are still here. I suspect that we won’t be able to keep both for as long as we would like, but perhaps we can perform an autopsy on whomever doesn’t survive.”

Drak walked toward the door with purpose as the other bugs began to rush about to begin the tests. He stopped at the door and gave the inhabitants of the jar a once over.

“I will go and make sure to be seen. It wouldn’t do to be a suspect in a disappearance after all. Maybe if I am close enough to the Pale King when he learns of the disappearances, I will be granted leave to use some of my crueller devices to learn what became what became of you both. I’ll be back soon to share.”

And with that he turned and left, proud of himself at all he has and will accomplish with his new captive subjects.

Sure, that he would never face any consequences for his crimes.

He was far too smart to be caught after all.

Sore Spot wasn’t sure if she liked wearing clothes or not.

They weighed her down if they got wet, but she enjoyed the way that they swished when she moved. The long hems got caught on things when she walked, but they covered up her wings and kept the other bugs from realizing that she was a princess.

Her cloak for the day was long and made of black silk, it had been bought just a day or so ago by one of her worker sisters and it hung heavily from her shoulders.

But Sore Spot liked the way the matte black fabric contrasted with the shine of her red carapace.

Sore Spot turn from the mirror and couldn’t help but notice ways that the ‘townhouse’ that she and her sisters had been given to live in during their stay had changed while they had been in residence.

When they had first arrived, the walls had been bare metal. There had been only a few pieces of furniture. It had been cold dark and empty, truly reflecting the tunnels of Hallownest.

But now?

“Move!”

Sore Spot dodged to the side as two of her worker sisters rushed past. One of them was carrying a large a skein of thread, and the other a small knife.

All of her sisters were all in the large central room where most of the purchases they had made while in the kingdom of Hallownest sat.

Piles of cloth covered almost every inch of the floor, with only a few pathways made to allow one to transverse through the room. Dried herbs hung from the ceiling and off of the corners of the single table that had formerly been the only thing in the room.

The table itself was piled high with glass baubles, small pots of pigments and littered with grass brushes.

A warrior sister was standing still in the middle of the room while her worker and other warrior sisters scurried around her. They were all carefully tying multiple layers of sheer silk to the knobs and thorns of her carapace. Using her natural defenses to hold up the delicate material that they had scavenged in this strange place.

The bug who was being decorated antennas were the only things moving, as she nervously twitched them in the air. She spoke quietly and with more softness than Sore Spot would have ever thought a warrior sister capable of.

“Isn’t- isn’t this a bit much?”

One of her worker sisters, a class of bug that would only rarely talk to any who were not also a worker, pauses in herself appointed job and made a derisive noise.

Her voice rang out loudly in the room as she spoke with a confidence that Sore Spot would have never seen in the nest.

“Of course, it’s a bit much. That bug has been singing your beauty to the moon and stars since he saw you in road dust and cranky from travel. This is going to shock him silent, and then maybe we can finally get some peace around here.”

Sore Spot’s sisters all laughed together at the smaller ant’s words, their thoughts all casting back to the constant visits that the male cave bug had been making to their town house.

He had been so determined, always hounding their sister for attention. Reciting poems for her beauty outside the door and sending her gifts of weapons and food.

Their sister had not been sure what to do with the attention, but no matter how she had threatened him with her spear, he had just stood before her and stared at her, speaking such embarrassing things to her that she had been left with no choice but to allow him to invite her to various places in the kingdom.

No choice at all.

And to make it worse, no matter how little she had said, or how she had insulted him, he had still gazed at her in wonder. Even when she had killed a hostile bug on one of their walks through green path he hadn’t been frightened off at all!

And so, it had conglomerated in this. Wearing a delicate outfit and going out to have a fancy dinner with him.

Their warrior sister insisted that she didn’t want to do this. That the bug that was chasing her so feverishly was an annoyance! No, I am not giving off happy pheromones shut up!

The rest of Sore Spot’s sisters had also been enjoying and exploring the kingdom. A few of them had managed to wander down to Deepnest and had become enamored with the cloth available, at the sheer choice allowed to them and the encouragement to touch and take whatever they wanted. Provided they had the geo of course.

Their purchases had created the mess in the room, though none of the sisters could say anything against it, since they had all been plucking cloaks from the piles to use themselves.

Some of her other sisters had become enamored with the variety of food available to them. At the tastes and smells that they hadn’t known existed. At all of the different ways that one could take the same ingredient and make it taste completely different just by applying heat or tiny amounts of mysterious dried leaves or cracked seeds.

Just as Sore Spot had been exploring the kingdom and casting off the enforced behavior of the nest, so had her sisters.

They all were no longer interchangeable, like they had been in the beginning.

They had been allowed the space and freedom to grow from their roles. They now all wore something, a bauble, a flower, a bow, that set them apart from their sisters, made them unique amongst their own.

Sore Spot doubted that any of them would be willing to return to the nest, to the place that would surely break them apart in order to make them fit back into the slots they had once lived in.

And she didn’t know what she was going to do when the Kingdom of Hallownest no longer welcomed them, and they were forced to return.

Knock-Knock

The Warrior Sister being draped in silk let out a frightened chirp.

“Is that him!? He’s early! I was supposed to have more time!”

Her leg was hit by the Worker Sister kneeling at her feet, “Calm yourself! That’s obviously the Princess’s friend!”

She twisted on her knees to face Sore Spot.

“Go and play with your friend! You’re useless at fiber work and won’t be any help with getting your sister ready for her date, and you’re just getting under foot being here.”

Sore Spot huffed a bit, but moved to do as her sister ordered. She was right, and ever since Sore Spot had followed the first order given to her, even if it had been put forth as more of a request, her sisters had taken some kind of delight in nagging her about.

Sore Spot was fairly certain that she should be angry at them for it. But well, they were often right and Sore Spot had usually been trying to figure out how to ask for help or advice anyway.

Sore Spot opened the door to the water drenched street and saw the Hollow Knight, her friend Spooky, bent slightly to rap their hand against the metal of the door.

They were wearing another silk veil, and a light green cloak that only went down to their hips, leaving their legs almost entirely free and their hands exposed at the wrists.

Oh, that’s smart. Less drag that way. Perhaps I could get one like that, or cut one of the other cloaks to that length.

Sore Spot closes the door behind her and begins to walk away, and the moment that she steps onto the street and the large and thin bug steps into her space from behind, Sore Spot feels herself become happier.

The sound of pouring water, and the presence of her friend walking close beside her buoying her spirit higher and higher with every step and drop.

Sore spot thought that she might have the shape of an idea as to why the bugs who lived in the City of Tears did so. It was loud, wet, crowded but so very beautiful.

It was . . . a sad city.

Mournful.

At least when seen from a distant, but when you were on the street and dodging around all of the other bugs who were rushing to their destinations to avoid getting too wet, or the ones who had actually prepared for the constant wetness and walked slowly.

The city was only sad when seen from a distance, but it was too crowded and full of bugs to be anything but lively up close. It’s streets were loud with more than just the sound of rain, and the vibrant colors adorning the bug’s robes heartily pushed back the shadows that clung to the falling water.

The city was a marvel, but it was the bugs within it that made it a place to live.

Spooky and Sore Spot both arrived to the mushroom stall that Tiso had decided to make their usual meeting spot and Spooky immediately walked up to the vender and held up two fingers.

By this point the vender themselves was familiar with this routine and handed over two skewered mushrooms over in trade for a few geo.

Spooky returned to Sore Spot’s side and handed her one of the skewers, and she began to nibble on the mushroom, fond of the taste even if she hadn’t been particularly hungry.  

They stood next to each other in comfortable silence, just waiting for Tiso to appear with his snapping words that would draw Sore Spot into an argument and give Spooky something to flutter about.

Sore Spot was comfortable with Spooky, but it was Tiso that drove the both of them to action. For all that the bug proclaimed himself someone who could mind his own business, he was often the one to head toward a problem first, with Sore Spot hounding after him and Spooky following close behind, always prepared to draw them back or launch themselves ahead.

Sore Spot tilted her head to the side as she watched the flow of foot traffic.

Tiso was usually the one waiting on them to arrive, and he had never made them wait this long before-

A small object smacked into Spooky’s horns.

Sore Spot and Spooky both jump, Spooky managing to catch the item before it falls to the ground.

It’s a small white stylus, something to carve into stone tablets with.

“Wha- “

Another small item soars past and this time they notice it without it hitting Spooky. They turn around to see a pile of strange items piled up behind them, the sound of them hitting the ground having apparently been swallowed by the sounds of rain.

All of the items looked both high quality and inexpensive. Small wads of silk, metal buttons, a number of writing supplies.

As one, Sore Spot and Spooky turn back toward the street and look toward where the object had come from.

They see Tiso half dangling from a decorative coil of metal already pulling his arm back to thrown something else.

Once he sees them looking at him, he waves wildly at them, and reaches up to pull himself back behind the edge of the overhang that must have been hiding him.

Spooky and Sore Spot cast a glance at each other before making their way to where they saw him.

They both stood below where he disappeared, and it only took one hissed, “Get up here!” to convince Sore Spot.

She immediately began to climb the side of the building and with little struggle pulled herself over the side, where she was quickly joined by Spooky, who had to huddle on their hands and knees in order to keep their horns from banging into anything.

Sore Spot hadn’t really been expecting anyone besides Tiso to be waiting for them, so when she finally looked up and saw four pairs of black eyes staring at her, she let loose a sharp noise and almost threw herself backwards back into the street in surprise.

It was only the hand Spooky put behind her that kept her from falling.

“Who are they?!”

The question was aimed at Tiso, who had two of the little white-headed bugs hanging from his shoulders.

“Don’t ask me that, ask Spooky! They’re the one who’s obviously related!”

Tiso turned from Sore Spot, the children swinging with the motion, and staggered toward the curled-up bug.

“I found these kids in the street, running from some bugs. They obviously didn’t want to go with them, so I snatched them up and told them I knew you. They are your siblings, right? They look too much like you to be anything else.”

He reached up and grabbed one of them, struggling to make them detach from his arm, “The little horrors are even clingier than you are.”

Spooky just was just still on the ground, staring at the smaller bugs that were nearly their mirror image. The raised up a single hand from the ground and made a sharp harsh motion.

Sore Spot had no idea what it meant, but it was obviously some type of angry demand.

The two children that weren’t hanging from the struggling Tiso, stepped toward Spooky and began to wave their little dark hands in the air, stopping every now and then to push the other away as they got in each other’s space.

“Are you getting anything from that?”

Sore Spot tensed for a moment, before turning her head toward Tiso.

He had apparently give up on dislodging the children from his body, and had moved to stand next to her, craning his head to watch the children’s hands wave in the air.

“No. I don’t- nothing is getting through. But. They are speaking to one another, aren’t they? They certainly are acting like they are speaking.”

Tiso nodded, his eyes flicking over the hand motions, Spooky now making more sharp movements back at the children, having raised their other hand to join in to the fray.

“Yeah. The kids were doing that to me earlier, and were mad when I told them I didn’t understand. I think it might be another layer of whatever is going on with Spooky. With them being made without a voice, not even the ones that aren’t actually voices.”

The conversation stopped there. Not because it was over, but because suddenly it felt like the moisture filled air was charged with murderous intent.

Sore Spot and Tiso both tensed, instinct making them bring up their hands and bar their teeth to the unknown threat.

But there was nothing.

Nothing but Spooky swinging around and dropping from the alcove, leaving Sore Spot, Tiso, and the kids behind.

They blinked at the spot where Spooky had once been, but when one of the children tossed themselves over the side after their sibling, they scrabbled closer.

Spooky was marching down the street, giving no thought to who was in their way or the direction they were going. Their rage singing in the air despite their lack of body langue insuring that any bug who was in their path quickly moved out of the way.

They were walking oddly, like they were pulling themselves along by a string. A string that cared not for bugs or buildings it seemed as Spooky pressed a hand to a wall that was in their way and their sharp finger tips dragged against the metal, leaving lines behind.

As Sore Spot and Tiso watched Spooky’s action in confusion, the rest of the children dropped to the ground and rushed over to their sibling, following behind them as Spooky began to drag their hand against the side of the building, apparently looking for a way to get around it while still trying to head in as straight of a line as they could.

Tiso and Sore Spot shared a glance before following the children over the edge, hurrying to catch up with whatever was going on.

Their friend was obviously bothered by something, and while they didn’t know what was going on, they were determined to help out.

They were friends after all.

Even if they still had no idea what they were getting into.

Chapter Text

Bugs and politics 14

The Storyteller had begun pacing.

Well, pacing would imply that she had turned around at some point to double back the way she came.

What she was actually doing was simply walking in a large circle in the glass jar. Just circling the edges of the space she was trapped in, occasionally bumping into the arched ceiling when she misjudged the distance with her sliding steps.

Guldig had been forced to retreat to the center of the jar to keep out of her way.

The dizzying, constant motion had set off Guldig’s instincts, and he couldn’t stop himself from slowly to always keep the Storyteller in view.

But despite his slow spin to keep her in view, Guldig still made an effort to focus on the bugs running around outside the jar rather than keep all of his attention on the slowly circling predator inside of it.

The drab gray cloaked bugs with bulging eyes would bring shining metal instruments to the sides of the jar and watch the gentle motions that they made.

Sometimes they brought small round vials of soul and frowned as they waved the vials about, watching as the glowing fluid ignored the pacing Storyteller but would always unerringly press toward Guldig.

It was strange.

In all of his time, in all of his dealings and close calls and casual siphoning of another’s life, he had always thought that when he was found out as the parasite that he was, he would be killed instantly.

He had imagined nails stabbing into him, great weapons cracking his shell, perhaps bugs even burning him alive in an oven or forge with their haste to purge the parasite from their village.

But he had not ever thought that he would be kept, trapped in a jar while experimented on.

And he had never thought that he would be the less dangerous creature being kept.

The pacing was going to give him a headache, his senses stretched in a dozen directions, trying to watch and listen to everything at once.

He didn’t need the Storyteller adding her own needless elements.

“You’re just wasting energy you know.”

“Shut up Guldig, it’s either this or another screaming fit, and my throat hurts.”

It was not terribly surprising that whatever regal façade that the Storyteller had been maintaining during their meeting fell apart the moment a bigger threat reared its head.

Guldig’s threat of revealing her soulless state, of ruining her reputation, didn’t hold as much weight as Drak’s intent to torture her to death.

Not threat, not plan, intent.

After all, there was still a chance that she would just be summarily killed to throw the Pale King off of Drak’s scent while still keeping Guldig to experiment to death. She might get the quicker death of the two.

The Storyteller stopped her pacing abruptly.

“You’re a beetle. You have wings. Can you fly to the top of the jar and- and force the lid off?”

Guldig’s antennas tucked in with disgust at the Storyteller’s ignorance.

“With what leverage Storyteller? You obviously have no flying ability if you’re asking such stupid questions.”

The Storyteller had no antennas, but from the way her shoulders came up and the ruffling of her sleeves as her hands clenched, it was obvious she was angered by his words.

“Well, excuse me for attempting to not die in a glass jar! If you have a better plan then by all means, tell me your ideas!”

“We’re not getting out of here until they open the jar Storyteller. We need to conserve our energy till then.”

The Storyteller shifted her weight, a hip popping out and her arms crossing over her strange chest. Her entire body radiating contempt at him.

“They can teleport Guldig. They’re not going to open the jar.”

Ah.

He had not.

Thought of that.

These bugs used magic so freely and wastefully. He had not considered that the trick that had brought them to this cage would be used again. He had thought it a trump card, an expensive action.

But . . . to these bugs it might be a much more . . . common practice.

But his pride wouldn’t let him simply swallow her response.

“And what will being free of the jar do for us Storyteller? We are surrounded.”

The Storyteller made a strange noise before flicking a hand toward the bugs outside the jar. The one closest flinched and scurried away.

“These are scientists. They have numbers, sure, but they’re not actually trained fighters. They probably can only use spells to attack. And as a side effect of my . . .unique state all magic meant to affect me bodily does not work.”

Guldig flicked his antenna at her in disbelief, already catching the Storyteller in her senseless lie.

“You were teleported.”

The Storyteller groaned, a hand coming up to her mask to drag down in with exasperation. Her action left a streak of red on the white material, adding red tears to her gold.  

“Our cloaks were teleported, a rock can be teleported! It’s similar to that. But attacks are for the living only, and soul doesn’t acknowledge me as anything but an object. Magic like that sloughs off of me like water.”

Oh.

That was . . . an actual possibility for an escape then.

The Storyteller was physically strong, this was something Guldig knew. If she was loosed into the room then surely she would cause enough chaos to allow him to sneak away?

But still . . .

“. . . be that as it may, I still would not be able to remove the lid by myself while flying.”

The Storyteller hissed in frustration. “You’re useless! Surely a villain like you must have been jailed for some crime before, what did you do to get out of that!”

Guldig tensed.

“Excuse you?”

The Storyteller did not attempt reel back her insults, in fact she seemed to delight in adding more poison to her voice.

“Oh please. You blackmailed me at our first moment alone! You can’t tell me that you hadn’t done the same to others. You must have been caught out at your crimes before. Tell me, did you seduce your way out with some fluttering eyes and waved antennas? Or maybe you simply managed to frame someone else to take the fall? I bet you figured out how to stay pretty while you cried on demand just to get some poor sympathetic soul to come within reach.”

Guldig hissed back at the Storyteller. She wasn’t entirely wrong but she phrased it like it was something other than his own desperate attempts to survive a world that would kill any bug who wasn’t cunning enough.

“How dare you-!”

“Oh, are you offended at being called out on your crimes? Or is it just that I assume you’ve been caught?”

“Crimes?! You wish to talk crimes!? What about how you have lied to the entirety of this kingdom! How you have strung along all of these worshipping bugs, and how their prays do nothing but echo into worthless words, not even doing the deed of feeding the creature you are.”

The Storyteller flinched back, Guldig’s words hitting something inside of her, some weakness that Guldig would strike at again.

But she rallied quickly and replied with vitriol.

“Creature I may be, but at least I’m a threat! These bugs fear me even trapped as I am! They know I can do damage, but you? You’re nothing but a weak damsel to them! The Soul Master thought he could sway you with a pretty dress! You’ve spent you entire life moaning and crying for help, and then killing your ‘saviors’ when the help runs dry. Without the element of surprise, you’re nothing but a burden”

HOW DARE!

“Well, better a damsel than a monster. At least I can be called a bug, but whatever you are is a soulless corpse animated by nothing but lies!”

“You Whore!”

The argument was stupid.

They were both just taking their stress about the situation out on each other. Neither of them had caused this particular problem, but both of them knew that they couldn’t do anything about it.

They were both trying to find any measure of control by asserting dominance over their cell-mate.

Guldig had a habit of using cutting words on any soft spots they could find until his opponent unraveled, and Mary had a habit of bodily throwing herself at creatures when she was stressed beyond her ability.

So, it was inevitable that Mary eventually shrieked out in anger and flung herself at the bug.

She had no plan, was using no technique, and Guldig had sharp enough reflexes to flinch out of the way of her reaching hands, but didn’t manage to avoid her body entirely.

The both of them slammed into the side of the jar, Mary’s soft body not doing much damage to Guldig’s shell, her hard bones cushioned by her soft fat.

But the combined weight of both creatures, and the powerful force that they slammed into the side of the jar caused the entire thing to tip.

For a few startled heartbeats the world shifted and the jar was tilted at an angle before smacking back to the ground with a jarring clank, sending Mary and Guldig rolling back to the middle.

Mary landed on her back, Guldig slamming into her stomach, forcing the air from her lungs.

She chocked and gasped for a bit, her body shacking the befuddled bug as they both tried to get their baring’s, all the anger and rage shocked out of them by a new revelation.

The jar.

The jar could be tipped.

Guldig was the first one to gain his back his sense, rising from the Storyteller’s oddly soft body and waveringly getting to his feet.

“Get up! We must be quick!” He hissed, snatching up a handful of the Storyteller’s robes and yanking on them, trying to force her from the ground.

A single bug would not usually have the weight or forced needed to turn a jar this size on its side, but two bugs?

Especially one as dense and heavy as the Storyteller?

There was a chance.

There was a good chance that this was their way out of the jar!

And Guldig knew exactly how to shove aside his personal feelings in order to strike deals.

In order to survive.

They could argue another day. They needed to corporate now.

The Storyteller rose, seemingly still confused, but Guldig didn’t need to say anything else to her.

The Storyteller was smart, and just as desperate to escape as he was.

It took a moment for her to regain her feet, but then she was the one dragging him to the back of the jar, keeping him close to her.

“We run on three. One, two, three- “

And they ran.

They slammed into the side of the jar with even more force than before, and once again the jar tipped.

But yet again it righted itself, tossing the two of them to the bottom of the glass with the force of its correction.

At this point the surrounding bugs had stopped their activities entirely. Having slowed down in the beginning to watch the two bugs snarl insults at one another and all actions grinding to a halt in order to watch the bugs struggle together to overturn the jar.

They appeared unconcerned, just watching the desperate actions of the bugs in the jar, which should have tipped something off for the one’s inside.

But this was the first chance they had gotten, and they were too distracted by the hope of escape to notice the lack of action around them.

They righted themselves from the bottom of the jar once again, the Storyteller with a snarl and Guldig with a hiss.

The Storyteller stared at the top of the jar for a moment before turning to Guldig.

“Could you fly to the top while it tilts? Put your weight up higher?”

Guldig caught onto her idea quickly, nodding his head, “Yes, yes, I can reach. Once more?”

The Storyteller dragged the both of them to the back once more, “On three.”

“1, 2, 3.”

And they ran.

The Storyteller slammed into the side of the jar, but Guldig was a second behind, launching himself upwards with a single beat of his wings, giving him enough height to clumsily slap into the upper edge of the jar, his feet catching onto the Storyteller’s head and shoulder, knocked her mask half off with his struggles to gain friction.

And with a loud clatter, the jar slammed onto its side.

Guldig was already scrambling at the lid by the time the Storyteller managed to crawl over. But even with their combined strength they couldn’t budge the lid.

And now, from a different angle Guldig could see the metal latch on the outer rim of the jar’s mouth.

Guldig looked up and saw that the bugs in the room had simply returned to their work, uncaring that the two captives had succeeded in overturning their cell.

The nonchalant way that the bugs turned away, that indifferent and unconcerned attitude from the bugs in the room at large, that was hopeless what finally managed to make Guldig realize that the whole endeavor had been useless.

The lid was latched onto the jar, and no amount of force from the inside was going to force it open.

They were just as stuck as they had been a moment ago.

Guldig collapsed back, antennas wilting in a terrible combination of defeat and embarrassment.

His desperate attempts at freedom had been fruitless, and now he didn’t even have his dignity! All of these bugs having seen him struggle so desperately and so uselessly to escape, shedding his pride and working with a bug he had just moments before been condemning as a monster.

“Fuck.”

The Storyteller’s muffled curse signaled her own acceptance that the lid wasn’t coming off, and Guldig expected her to join him in his defeat. Perhaps to even restart their argument.

Maybe even finish him off so he wouldn’t have to sit in his shame for too long.

But instead she plopped down beside him. Her soft hot body pressed against him, their bodies forced together by the slope of the glass, giving them less room to exist than when it was standing up right.

He looked up and was momentarily struck dumb by what he saw.

The Storyteller’s mask had been knocked at an angle, and he could see the pale soft looking flesh of her face, and a burst of red like her blood outlining her mouth.

The view didn’t last, the Storyteller reaching up to her mask to correct the angle, but the visual of that red mouth seemed seared on Guldig’s eyes.

He could so easily imagine it on the featureless half of the Storyteller’s mask.

A red, exaggerated mouth. Twisted in a sneer.

One of the soul sanctum bugs approached, stopping to the side of the jar with their hands folded behind them.

“Did you truly think it would be that easy? Did you really assume you were the first to try and tip your jar? That we did not think to make the receptacles that we kept our experiments in only openable from the outside?”

Guldig shook himself out of his daze to glare up at the bug. He hoped that they could see the contempt simmering in his gaze.

He contemplated if he would be able to invoke a similar response that the Storyteller had managed if he gave into the growing urge to rage and scream at the bugs outside of the glass.

 “Plan b it is then.”

The words next to him distracted him from his attempts talk himself into shedding the last dregs of his pride.

Plan Bee?

“What do you- “

The rest of the sentence was choked from his mouth when the Storyteller reached for the hem of her rob and dragged it up her legs and out from under her body.

While she was deftly tying the loose fabric in a knot on her hip, the rest of the bugs both in the jar or in the room were all staring at her uncovered legs.

They were, they were like nothing they had seen before.

By this point, the bugs of Hallownest, and even most of the visitors knew that the Storyteller had no shell, no carapace.

That her body was soft and her color pale.

But they had not been prepared to actually see the soft, almost slug like flesh, with dark moth hair dusted over it.

Her legs bulged and flexed as the Storyteller shifted her body and reached down for her feet, removing the strange woven grass that had been threaded through the- the- stubby fingers on the broad flat ends of her legs.

And then she carefully began to stand, and all of the researchers all stared, fascinated with the sight of the awkward appearing appendages in action.

Guldig himself had a hard time looking away from the things, his stomach rolling at the sight of the way the flesh would move and bulge as she stood, like there were things inside of her, like she was infested with- with- parasites that were moving and living beneath the pale covering of her skin.

But he was yanked from his repulsed confusion by her reaching down and pulling him to his feet. He came face to face with her mask, the sad eyes both seeming mournful and . . . ominous from so close.

His mind applied a flash of a red mouth again, and he couldn’t stop his quick jerk backwards, his mind insisting that a predator’s teeth were far too close.

He had always known that it was a painted mask. But for the first time, he was vividly reminded of the fact that there was in fact a face underneath.

Guldig had no idea of what creature this Storyteller could possibly be. But he knew beyond a doubt that she was the type of predator that could afford bright colors because it did not matter if her prey could see her coming.

“Do your best to try and keep up.”

With those words the Storyteller let go of Guldig, rolled up her sleeves and took a step forward.

And instead of having her foot slide down the frictionless glass like any other insect’s would, the broad flat appendage slapped to the side of the jar and stuck.

The Storyteller threw her weight forward and to the surprise of every single bug in the room, the entire jar began to roll.

Hollow was the child of Root, of Wyrm, and of Void.

Hollow was a creature who touched godhood by virtue of their birth.

Hollow was a creature who’s defining decision of power had been of greed.

And someone had touched the only being that they coveted.

Someone had stolen Mary.

They were her keeper, her protector.

Her guard, her companion, her caretaker.

Her knight.

Her Hollow.

And someone had taken her from them while they had been away.

Someone had taken her from them.

It did not matter that Hollow had not been in the room, it did not matter that Mary had been alone.

What mattered was that someone in the Kingdom had thought that they had the right to steal the Storyteller even when it was the most common of knowledge that she was guarded by The Hollow Knight.

It was a mistake that would have them meet their end at the tip of Hollow’s nail.

So deep in their rage, Hollow was only slightly aware of the world around them.

They could no longer hear the rain. They could no longer see the lights on the street.

They could not feel the ground below them, nor could they see the bugs dodge out of their way as they stalked forward.

They were only as aware of the world as they needed to be to continue walking, only a wisp of thought remained in their body.

Nearly all of their focus was centered inside of themselves instead. Inside of the darkness that they carried within themselves. Of the boiling Void that made up the infinite inside of them.

They were following the thin coil of Void that stretched out and away from them.

The coil that stretched across the ethereal god realms of Hallownest, the realms that lay empty now that all of the gods in Hallownest were either dead, corporeal, or sleeping.

There had been enough power in what they were to allow Hollow to access to the god realm, to let them follow the coil to its end.

At the end of that coil, was Mary.

This was the bit of void that was entirely Hollow’s. The slice of void that they infused with their greed and shackled to the Mary the Storyteller during the fall of her godhood.

They had been two almost-gods.

A foreign creature artificially risen to god-hood and then stripped of power, but who had still had just one last kernel of godhood lodged inside of her. Just enough to have kept her for a few more breaths in those realms of the gods.

And Hollow, an artificial creature with all of the potential of two god parents and the Void to rise, but who had no believers. A creature who was both a born sacrifice and an animated sliver of something infinite.

And in that god realm, in that shattering, falling apart moment where Mary was to be ripped from their hands, ripped from their reach, taken to a place where they could never go. Hollow had taken all of the power they were made of, they had taken their own newly embraced greed. And they had latched it onto the Storyteller.

Trapping the dredges of godhood within her, like how Void had trapped Life, and keeping her moored to this world with the tie between them.

Hollow had kept Mary, had latched onto her with the very make of their being.

They were following that connection, but while they were given a straight line to where ever the Storyteller was being kept, that was a straight line though the God Realm.

 And in the corporal world things were in the way.

Buildings and walls and unrelated bugs who did not know why Hollow was baring down on them with an air of wrath and bloody vengeance.

It was nearly painful for Hollow to get a few feet closer to Mary, only to have to back track once more after they reached a dead end.

They . . . they could go through the walls.

They could pull on the void inside of them. They could grow larger, grow stronger, have hands that ended in claws as long as nails and force their way through the city, following a straight line to Mary, damn all in their way.

But. no.

No no no.

Mary, -father-, would be disappointed in them.

They would hurt the bugs who have done nothing to deserve the wrath of an almost god. They would cause damage that would be almost impossible to repair and . . . whoever had Mary would know they were coming.

The thieves might hurt her in their efforts to either escape Hollow’s wrath or cover up their crime.

Mary could already be hurt.

Hollow did not know how long-ago Mary had been taken. Their siblings did not have a word for the progress of time yet, did not have a way to tell Hollow if it had been only moment or if it had been hours.

However long it had been, it must have at least been the time it would take for their siblings to escape from The White Palace to the City of Tears, but even then, Hollow was unsure of how long their siblings had been searching for them.

Hollow had bound their Void to Mary, had made it so they would always know what direction to head in order to find her.

They did not have a way to tell if she was in pain.

If she was injured. If she was scared or desperate or screaming in horror.

Would they-

Would they even be able to tell if she was dead?

Would they make their way to her only to find her ghost hovering over her cold and still corpse?

Would there even be a ghost?

Mary didn’t believe in ghosts despite fearing them. Would she be aware like some ghosts are? Would she be confused and scared about why she could not be seen or touch things? Would she be vacant and unmoving, her own disbelief keeping her from realizing what she was?

Would there not even be a ghost, but simply a wad of glowing godhood. Nothing left of her but the dredges of the stolen power that Hollow’s Void was latched onto within her?

There was a gentle tapping on their leg.

When had they stopped walking?

Hollow looked down to see the little faces of their siblings. They were crowded around Hollow’s legs and were staring up at them.

As Hollow stared blankly down at them, their little white faces became dotted in Void.

Hollow could only stare at them. The rage that had been fueling them having petered out to stagnating horror when they had begun to think of what might have happened to Mary.

That perhaps they had only delayed the inevitable and she had finally gone somewhere they would be unable to follow.

They were frozen, both desperate to go find Mary, but terrified at what they might discover once they do.

“Are you crying ink!?”

Tiso’s shrill cry dragged Hollow out of their own head and toward the two bugs who had been following them.

“How are you crying ink!? Why would someone make a bug that can cry ink?! Were you made for a painter!?”

Tiso and Sore Spot had caught up to Hollow, and now that they saw that the tall bug was actually responding to outside stimuli they approached them.

Sore Spot like a solider approaching an unknown element, equally concerned and wary, while Tiso stomped forward like a beleaguered mother, angry at their children’s actions but thankful that they seemed unharmed.

Tiso went right up to Hollow, reaching up at their face.

Hollow only just managed to catch his hands before they began wiping at their tears.

It wouldn’t do to have their tears corrode their friend’s fingers away.

Sore Spot sidled up to the two of them, laying her hand on Hollow’s arm, looking up at their Void stained face.

“Are you ok Spooky? You- your siblings told you something and then you ran off?”

Hollow stared down at their friends.

At quick Sore Spot, an ant princess who was vicious with a nail and utterly willing to leap into a fight just for the thrill of it.

At clever Tiso who used his sharp words and sharper eyes to solve problems both social and physical.

. . . Hollow wasn’t- was not the best at planning. At deciding things. At thinking through problems.

But their friends? They helped fill in the gaps of Hollow’s abilities.

They released one of Tiso’s hands, leaning back to make sure that he wouldn’t reach toward them again. They touched their own face, and dipped their fingers in the thick Void that dripped from their eyes.

Then they scrawled on the wall with the black liquid, not caring that it would surely leave a mark.

Mary was taken.

The words did not stay, the constant movement of the void mixing quickly with the water and oozing down the side of the wall, but it lasted long enough to be read.

The part of the wall where the Void had been thickest was a visibly different color even after the it had washed away entirely.

Sore Spot was the first to speak.

“Mary? Taken? A friend of yours got . . . kidnapped?”

Hollow nodded, beginning to walk once more, still driven to go and find Mary, but now beginning to think of all the ways that their friends could perhaps help them.

Beginning to think through the path they were walking, skipping over the alleys that were obvious dead ends and the streets that would curve away from the direction that Hollow was being led.

Hollow was no longer drowning in their own rage and fear, stumbling over their feet as they dragged themselves along behind the string that they had connecting them to Mary. They could think they couldreason.

Tiso, now back in possession of his hands sped up to walk next to Hollow as they continued to eat up the ground with their long legs.

“Does the kingdom have something for that? Some bugs to ask for help or . . . can you not have the authority in the kingdom look for your friend? Would it be worse- more dangerous for your friend if we got the city guards involved?”

For a moment Hollow thought about going for to the city guards for help, having the entire Kingdom of Hallownest go looking for Mary, to have an army with them while they went to rescue her from the thieves.

But then they thought of the time that would take. The ways that the other bugs would slow them down or get in their way.

How Mary’s reputation might not recover if the kingdom learned she had been taken so easily.

They shook their head.

“Right, right. Ok. Did your little siblings tell you where they were? Or only that they were taken? Do we know who took them? Were your siblings taken too and just escaped or . . .? Give me more information here Spooky, we have to start planning now.”

“Do we know if there is danger? Would it be difficult to kidnap your friend?  Would they have put up a fight? Tell me how powerful our enemies will be!”

Hollow did not stop walking, but left words in the trails that their fingers left behind on the walls they walked along. Answering Tiso’s questions, or responding to Sore Spots demands.

A general plan began to be formed.

They would find the building that Mary was being held in, and they would try and use Hollow’s ability to pin point exactly where she was to figure out where they should enter from. Sore Spot and Tiso would act as distractions while Hollow snuck in to retrieve their friend. The kids would wait in an alley for them to return and then they would work from their what to do from there once they met up again.

It was a decent plan.

All they could really accomplish with so little information on what they were going into and what dangerous awaited them.

Too bad that it would never be used.

Hollow led them around one last corner, and then they could all hear a commotion over the roar of the rain.

An absolute cacophony of shattering glass, screaming bugs, and a high loud and rhythmic noise of maddened glee.

For a moment the entourage joined all of the other bugs who were standing in shock, heads leaned back into the rain in order to see though the distant high windows of the Soul Sanctum that towered above.

At the bursts of soul light that came with each shattering noise, the loud rumbling noise of something huge and heavy rolling over the floors. At the sight of Soul Sanctum bugs teleporting out of the building and dropping a few feet before teleporting back in.

 “Spooky is that- “

Hollow didn’t wait for Tiso to finish his sentence, darting forward through the crowds toward the currently unguarded entrance to the Soul Sanctum.

Mary was not out of danger.

But she was without a doubt, alive and well.

Mary was already in the thick of trouble, and it wouldn’t do to let her go at it alone.

The rest of the group quickly followed behind, all plans abandoned to the wayside at the realization that with that much chaos going on, a stealthy entrance was entirely unneeded.

Chapter Text

When the Soul Master had led a brightly dressed bug through the Soul Sanctum, the scholars who worked and lived within had not given it much thought.

The Soul Master liked to show the Soul Sanctum off to any bug he could convince to go on a tour. He loved nothing more than the sound of his own voice as he lectured about his Sanctum and the activities that went on inside.

It was a familiar droning that the all of the scholars could easily tune out, having long since become numb to the sound of the Soul Master’s voice.

There were always more important things to focus on. Experiments to monitor, or filing to be done. Both of which were much more engaging than listening to the Soul Master shine his own shell once again.

But seeing as their attention had been focused on their experiments, it was noticed immediately when all of the bottled soul began to move in ways that had not been formerly recorded.

Instead of pooling at the bottom of the vials, the soul had pressed to the side of the glass and had stayed there for a time until slowly pooling back to it’s original position.

It was a bit of a jump of logic to assume that the Soul Master’s guest had anything to do with it, but as the single unaccounted-for variable it was concluded that they had to be the one causing the strange effect.

Also, the soul was literally followed the bug around the room from within the bottles, always pressed to the side closest to where the bug stood, no matter how the bottle was turned or walked around the room.

Not exactly a conclusion that one needed an enlightened mind to draw.

One of the scholars of higher standing had approached the Soul Master, and a plan was made in whispers to obtain (kidnap) the bug.

After they had him publicly and safely returned to his residence in the kingdom of course.

They were well versed in the importance of alibis at this point, and it was always best to take subjects either from their homes on the rode after they had made contact with other bugs that would be able to tell others that they had been far from the Soul Sanctum when they had gone missing.

The bug had entered his temporary residence, and after an appropriate amount of time, a Soul Knight had been dispatched to capture him as quickly and efficiently as possible.

This bug had strange, unrecorded effects on soul and the scholars had not known if those effects would disrupt the teleporting or if the bug had any kind of other natural physical abilities to dissuade predators.

A sack made of spider silk had been supplied for capture, both for its textile strength and it’s resistance to magical damage.

The Soul Master had insisted on being there for the capture. Though the scholars did not know if he was planning to try and comfort the bug that had been on his arm just hours before, or to once more gloat at a bug that would soon be nothing more than an empty shell after being put through the paces of the Soul Sanctum.

Though it didn’t really matter.

Not with how things changed.

Instead of a single bug, there were two that were dumped out of the sack in the containment jar.

One of which was the bug that had been in the Sanctum only an hour or so ago.

And another was the bug that had never been invited, and that the scholars and Soul Master had actually taken some measures to keep out.

The Storyteller herself had been caught by one of their own and stuck in one of their jars.

A boon and a death sentence all in one.

The things they could learn from her!

The way that she manipulated soul was entirely unique, and yet so easy to copy. Anyone could fashion a Dreamcatcher and yet no one could change its purpose!

No matter the variation of patterns woven nor the material used, a Dreamcatcher did nothing more than guard sleep.

And yet the Storyteller herself could change it from a barrier to a cage, trapping the infected in threads that both confined and guarded the body.

But despite how the scholars had worked to replicate her patterns, even when they managed to create perfect copies! They could not create a similar result.

The Storyteller was doing nothing more than twisting silk and yet she was causing miracles.

The scholars of the Soul Sanctum had come to the conclusion that she was able to manipulate the string and hoops to do near anything, and yet she chose to make nightlights for children.

And that is to say nothing of the sheer amount of knowledge that she must have.

The stories that poured from her mouth like water, the magics that she hints at knowing from the feats performed in the stories. Wonders of alchemy and enchantment far beyond what could currently be achieved with the runes that the scholars or even the students of the Teacher Monomon could currently use.

If they could hear her every tale, and have her answer their every question then surely, they would catapult themselves into a new age of knowledge, able to do wonderous feats above even the Storyteller’s!

And then there was her body.

From what little reports they had managed to find, what little gossip was repeated enough to be cautiously allowed as fact-

The softness of her carapace, the tales of her shell being hidden underneath the give of her white flesh, the warmth that stayed constant within her as if she was holding a fire within her chest . . .

She was a mystery. Surely as different from any common bug as one could get, as close to a god as one could become, and yet seeming to stay mortal by her own choice.

But could one be called mortal when they have lived for as long as she has?

The students of the teacher did not regard the scholars well. They were jealous of the scholar’s funding and permission from their master to do what must be done to learn about soul, but even they could not help sharing the information about how long one of the Storyteller’s species must stay alive to be considered an adult, and that the Storyteller had admitted to having long since passed that point.

A unit of measurement so grand as to eclipse the lifetime of generations of bugs, and yet she just considered it to be just one tick of many on a clock.

If the Storyteller was only a mortal then what would she consider an immortal?

Was she the natural step between a god and a common bug? Another rung on the ladder between godhood and true mortality?

Or was she something entirely different? As different from a god as a grub was from a spider?

Had she been born like this? Or had she become like this?

Could it be studied? Could it be replicated?

All of these were questions that had haunted the scholars’ minds, and finally they had the Storyteller in their grasp to question and study.

For a time.

It was not a question of if the Hollow Knight would come for her, only a question of when they would learn of her absence.

The Scholars could, perhaps, plant the Storyteller’s mask somewhere, splattered with her vivid blood to fake her passing and keep her longer . . .

But what creature would be able to kill the Storyteller? What bug could be framed for her murder? It would take a master of magic to out maneuver her, or a stroke of luck like the one that the Soul Sanctum bugs were currently benefiting from.

But without a body, would the searching ever stop? Would the Hollow Knight ever give up without something to take vengeance on?

Best not to risk the wrath of a mourning demi-god.

The scholars had decided to use what time they could to study everything they could while she remained in the safety of the jar, even with the other bug in there with her, tainting the results.

They had just begun to measure the amount of soul fluctuation, though admittedly with fragmented results from how the Storyteller paced in the jar and the anomaly set off the soul with its mere presence, when the Storyteller and the other bug began to argue.

It wasn’t an uncommon sight.

Bugs who were placed together in a cell often went one of two ways.

They either began clinging to each other for comfort, or attacking the only creature that they could reach whether or not they were responsible for the predicament.

When the jar first shifted, the only surprise was that the two bugs had enough weight between them to shift it. Usually it would take at least three bugs, or one significantly larger bug to shift that particular jar.

But the pair of them managed to do it, scrabbling at the glass like mindless lesser beings as they gave into their instinctual desperation to be free, instantly casting aside their petty grievances to join forces.

To join forces in a useless endeavor.

The jar eventually overturned from the effort of their struggles, and both bugs had pressed themselves uselessly to the lid. THey only realizing that it was latched on when they failed to force it open and could see it at a different angle.

A Scholar had approached them after that. Using the Soul Master’s teachings to expertly rubbing it in that they were trapped here, stuck to be the experiments of the Soul Sanctum until they were all used up.

But.

The Scholars had been lacking all of the fact of the situation.

Instead of responding to the Scholar’s taunts, the Storyteller had rolled up her cloak to free her legs from the fabric.

The Soul Sanctum bugs had been treated to the sight of her impossible pale flesh. The thick legs threaded through with shots of blue veins and with every movement giving glimpses of the shell that hid beneath the soft flesh.

Then she had stood up and stepped forward.

And her soft pale flesh had clung to the jar, forcing it to roll.

And that is what the Soul Sanctum currently had only barely contained within it. The Storyteller trapped in a jar, but not trapped in their grasp. Smashing instruments and howling battle cries as she ricocheted down hallways, destroying everything in her unstoppable path.

Scholars were dodging in and dodging out with flashes of soul.

Some of the researchers had attempted to stop the jar in the beginning. But after the first few deaths, bodies crushed underneath the glass, they had stopped attempting to do so.

Tables and shelves did nothing to stop or slow down the reinforced glass, and spells washed off of it like water.

The Soul Sanctum bugs had placed the Storyteller and the other bug in the one reliably soul proof substance in the entirety of Hallownest.

The glass was thick, and had been carved with runes and sigils to keep it from shattering. It was a cage that they had taken many pains over to ensure that nothing in the kingdom could break.

They had created the jar as a way to ensure that no trickery could be done by the captive, so that no infection could leak out and harm the bugs who would be researching the unusual creatures that had been taken captive.

But now?

It had become both a shield to protect them, and a weapon against them.

In the chaos, a Soul Sanctum bug teleported himself much farther away than needed. Partially because he had lost control of the spell after the jar had grazed him in passing, and partially in a desperate need to put distance between the rolling chaos and himself. He stood alone in a far off but not silent hall as struggled to regain his focus and sense of calm.

He could hear the echoes of- of the monster’s cries, and hear the shattering of all of their hard work. And if he could hear it from so far away, then surely the bugs in the busy square could hear something as well.

How were they going to contain the rampaging Storyteller? How were they going to explain the havoc that could surely be seen and heard outside of the Soul Sanctum?

What lies could they tell to fix the mess that that this situation had unraveled into?

But as the doors next to the Soul Sanctum bug slammed open and a bug dripping in water and veiled in white burst into the room, the burden of solving those problems were relived from his shoulders.

Along with his head.

Guldig had thought that things could not become worse.

His parasitic nature had been discovered.

He had been captured with a newly made enemy and imprisoned in the same cage.

He had lost his dignity in front of his captors while he had squabbled with the soulless creature that he had been imprisoned with, and then he had lost all his pride at the way he had uselessly scuttled around the jar to tip it over.

Guldig had thought, for a moment, that his life was over.

That he had cast aside his dignity for no gain and that there was nothing left for him but a slowly approaching death and a desperate companion that would leave him not even a scrap of pride as she uselessly flung herself against her fate.

At least, that’s what he thought, before the soulless Storyteller took a step forward and forced the world to turn to her will.

It had taken Guldig an embarrassing amount of time to realize that the Storyteller wasn’t turning the world around her, but that the jar itself was rolling along the ground.

Both instances had just moments ago seemed to be equally impossible, so why couldn’t the grander feat be the one happening?

Guldig had lost his feet quickly as the Storyteller had picked up speed. He had ended up tumbling forward, trying to catch himself on the glass around him, but the frictionless material only slipped under his fingers.

Guldig had quickly ended up on his hands and knees, his chitin clicking and sliding over the spinning glass beneath and around him.

She had not going terribly fast in the beginning, the bugs of the Soul Sanctum able to outrun the jar’s rolling pace quite easily, but as the jar continued its unstoppable rampage, it gained speed. A few unlucky bugs were crushed beneath the glass then. The crunch of their shells a terrible noise, but Guldig could only take pleasure in knowing that some of his captors were paying for their crimes in blood.

Guldig’s eyes were blinded over and over again by the sudden washes of bright white soul light bursting over the jar’s surface. The soul spreading and trickling down like water being dumped over it.

The bugs were blasting the jar with spells and soul, either in an attempt to stop them or at least slow them down, but there was no apparent effect and the Storyteller continued to pick up speed.

Guldig was forced to use his wings to keep himself upright, but more importantly, to keep himself from sliding into the Soulless Storyteller who was at this point making a noise that must be her specie’s battle cry.

It was a jagged noise, rising and falling like blows against an enemy, each crescendo of the sound lining up with the next step she took, spinning the jar around the both of them to the rhythm of a war cry.

It would have been a sound that haunted Guldig’s dreams, if it were not for the fact that currently it was a sound of victory. He would welcome the sound of this war cry while the Soulless Storyteller was on his side.

The enemy of his enemy was his friend, and while this friendship won’t last once they were free of the cage, it was invigorating to have a Monster on his side of the fight.

Mary had a stich in her side.

It was her own fault, trying to split herself between breathing and laughing, but the situation was so absurd that she couldn’t stop herself from scream laughing.

She was a human, trapped in a glass jar by evil insects, with her only companion being a gold-digging blackmailing beetle floozy.

She had been hopeless a few minutes ago.

And now she was a weaponized hamster ball, bowling down bugs and fragile equipment left and right.

“Hee~ he he Ha Ha HAAAA!~!”

Mary was breathless and half mad with how stupid this all was. It had turned from a horror movie to a slapstick comedy pretty quickly, but Mary couldn’t exactly forget the fact that if she stopped running to catch her breath, then it was likely she wouldn’t be able to get the jar rolling again.

She had to figure out a way to get out of the building.

Or baring that, cause enough of a fuss that other uninvolved bugs came to investigate in great enough numbers that the incident couldn’t’ be covered up.

When she was finally noticed to be missing, this place would pop up as the obvious place to search first.

It might not save her life, but it sure as hell would get the damned bugs caught.

And fuck, maybe she’ll get lucky and actually escape.

So, property damage and volume was the name of the game.

So, Mary was breaking as many things as she possibly could and creating such a ruckus that the entire City of Tears would come to see what the hell was going on.

Mary had been aiming for any and all glass vials she saw, any tables stacked with tablets and, of course, the Soul Sanctum bugs themselves.

She had managed to hit a few, rolling over them with an uneven bump and crunch. It threw off her trajectory, and partially blinded her as their blood would coat the outside of the jar in a cloudy mix of their blood and other fluids.

She . . . was probably killing them. Most likely killing them.

She could feel the give of their shells underneath the glass of the jar, and it was unlikely that they were surviving.

Mary was killing sentient and living bugs- people.

But.

They were torturers.

Bugs who had decided to go along with the Soul Master’s mad experiments, despite how they had ended in the deaths of all that they involved.

She had read the reports, had seen how the Pale King himself had forbidden more research in the field, claiming that it was nothing more than a list of terrible ways to kill a bug.

Mary wasn’t going to think of the casualties now, of the bugs they had killed and the bugs she was killing.

Not while she was still stuck in captivity.

Not when she was still in danger.

She only hoped that she would have the time later, to cry in Hollow’s arms like the soft-hearted wuss she was.

The bugs who died here deserved a worse fate than Mary could give.

But she wasn’t strong enough to be an executioner, only a part of the jury.

-oh shit corner!

Mary threw herself to the side, slamming into the glass with enough force to change the trajectory of the jar, causing it to spin wildly for a moment before Mary forced it to roll forward once again.

The sudden spin had also caused Guldig to be fall under her feet, nearly tripping her over as she half danced to keep from putting her full weight on the bug.

He hissed at her, either in surprise or pain at being half stepped on, before pushing against her thighs with his hands, using what leverage he had to keep her upright and moving.

The bug had been skittering around the bottom of the far like a rock in a tumbler, half curled into a ball as he had scrabbled to keep from falling on his face.

He wasn’t helping with the escape but Mary could respect the fact that he was doing his level best to not hinder her movements.

Even if his level best looked a lot like flailing.

Mary continued down the hallway she had found herself in, thankful that the damned place was made with wide enough doorways and hallways to let the big jar roll sideways down them all.

. . .  fuck, they had probably been built with this kind of activities in mind. It would be easiest to just move a bug with their cell in order to keep them from having to chance an escape.

Though currently, the captives were taking a significantly more active ‘roll’ in the proceedings.

Mary snorted, coughed and then tried to get her breath back as she continued to speed down the hallways.

The decorations on the walls were beginning to change, this newest turn having taken their journey toward what looked like the fancier parts of the building. More decorative carved walls with tapestries and less flat undecorated metal walls.

A few paintings of bugs were even on the walls!

At least they were for a moment before Mary rolled by and the shaking from her passing made them drop to the floor.

“STOP!”

Mary spooked, but didn’t pause in her running, glancing down to where Guldig was attempting to right themselves at the bottom of the jar, their knees spread wide and their body having fallen backwards, only propped up by their elbows.

“Wh-hah-why!?”

“I recognize those pictures! Any further and- “

But Mary hadn’t stopped.

And neither of them had been looking ahead.

Which meant that it took them both by surprise when the jar slammed into a something before it dropped out from underneath of them.

The jar had just passed beneath an arch and was at the top of a long staircase they spiraled in a grand marvel of engineering down to the ground floor.

It was only by the grace of some past bug’s aesthetic sense that supplied the stair case with tall and sturdy banisters that kept the jar from dropping down numerous floors. Instead, it just slammed into the curved railing, and began to roll down the stairs.

And with all of Mary’s hard-earned momentum, the jar rolled QUICKLY.

Mary began to scream, using air she didn’t know she had, as she tumbled down the stairs in the jar.

Mary lost her footing as the jar spun too quickly for her, casting her to the ground. The combination of the fast momentum and her own skin, plastered her to the jar as it spun, sending her in dizzying circles.

Guldig wasn’t half as lucky, skittering around in the jar and bouncing with every step it jumped off of. He eventually smacked into Mary, and dug his hands into any part of her that he could grip, desperate to try and ground himself in the spinning hell he had been cast into.

The two creatures clutched tightly to one another as the jar began to roll faster and faster, violently ricocheting down the stairs.

Sore Spot was exhilarated.

She had followed Spooky into the strange glass building and had followed their lead when they beheaded the first bug that they came across on their way deeper into the halls.

Whatever was happening, it was obvious that Spooky was treating all of the bugs here as hostiles, and that deadly force was preferred.

Which suited her just fine.

Sore Spot did her best to keep pace with Spooky, but while the bug wasn’t moving with the same decisive speed as before the direction they would head was unpredictable.

Their long-horned head was tilted toward the ceiling, and they would be heading down one hallway before their head would suddenly jerk at an angle and they would either take a turn or double back the way they had just come.

Sore Spot didn’t pay much attention to their disjointed route, more focused on striking down any of the bugs that would suddenly appear in a burst of light.

Most were struck down instantly either by her nail or Spooky’s, but occasionally one would appear at a far enough distance to give them enough time to throw some strange glowing orbs in their direction.

The glowing orbs moved slowly through the air, but hit like a club strike.

Sore Spot had dodged wrong at one point and had taken a glancing blow to her hip. And while her shell had stayed together she could feel the fractures in her body.

It wouldn’t be enough to stop her, but she would have to make sure to keep herself from getting hit the same spot again. Her shell would surely buckle if she was hit near that spot again, and then she wouldn’t have use of that leg at all.

It was exhilarating!

To be so deep in danger with nothing but her companion and her nail, to be hemmed in by the hallways and always hyper aware and on the lookout for another enemy.

Surely the stars must have been mistaken! She was far from a princess, much more suited to be a solider!

“Do you two have a plan or are you just enjoying the bloodshed!?”

Sore Spot and Spooky both looked behind them, noticing for the first time that Tiso was carefully trailing in their wake.

The bug, who had looked frazzled since the moment that they had first seen him today, had become worse.

His antennas were twitching every which way like prey that knew it was being hunted, and he was hunched over in order to hold the hands of two of Spooky’s siblings while another two were piled on his back.

At the sight of the little white faces and the way that Tiso so firmly held those small hands, Sore Spot had an instance of horror, realizing with a shock that they were in danger in this place. That there would be worse consequences than her own death if they meet a too strong opponent in these halls.

“Why did you bring the kids here!?” She shrieked, flinching at the sound of her own voice, before remembering that it was unlikely that her shout could be separated from the crashes and screams echoing through the halls of this place.

Tiso immediately tensed up in affront, his antennas slapping the small white heads as they swept backwards. He dragged the other two children from the ground for a moment as he raised from his hunch in anger, before remembering his burden and slumping over once again dropping back down and letting the children’s small feet touch the ground instead of dangle them a few inches above.

“Bring them?! You think I had any hand in this!? The little egg shards rushed in after you two, and I only just got ahold of them all a few turns back! And it’s not like I can just leave, I wouldn’t make it out alive if I came across a single enemy! I don’t even have a nail!”

He was- he was right.

In these circumstances, already in the enemy’s fortress, it would be stupid to split off from the group with the weaker sisters- no siblings- while unarmed and lost.

Sore Spot wilted, realizing her mistake instantly.

“I- yes. Ok.”

Tiso huffed at her, before turning his attention to Spooky.

“Do you have any idea where your friend would be? Or are you just planning to murder the entire population of the building as you search?!”

Spooky shifted their grip on the long bright nail that they had pulled from somewhere and raised a hand with a single finger extended.

Tiso and Sore Spot stared in confusion as the hand slowly tilted. The finger continuing to point upward but did not stay still, tipping from side to side.

Sore Spot spoke first.

“Your friend is . . . on the move?”

A nod.

Tiso broke in then, “But they’re still above us. We need to be searching for stairs. Places like this, where the builders were directed by bugs with more riches than sense always have stairs in two places. The back, where the servants use them, and in the grandest places possible to make it a statement.”

Tiso hissed, shifting the children on his back with a practiced move that spoke of lugging small clinging children around quite often. “There were probably stairs back toward the main entrance and we just took the wrong hallway. Spooky, do you think it would be a good idea to double back or should we look for the servant stairs?”

Spooky didn’t respond immediately, their head tilted back to stare up to the ceiling. Just standing there, looking upward while clutching a sword that nearly glowed in the patchy light.

Water still dripped from their cloak and the veil still hanging from their horns, the wetness casing the fabric to cling to their long limbs, giving an illusion of wings.

Sore Spot could see their strange reflection-less body from where their raised arms had pulled their cloak upward. It was only by the virtue of the water that clung to their legs and hips, the water that reflected the light from the vials, that gave them any shape in the darkness.

The thin fabric of the veil had turned translucent with water but had been stained by their inky tears from before, making it look as though they continued to cry thick rivers of tears from where it clung to their face.

And looking at their visage, illuminated by the strange vials of flickering soul, Sore Spot had a moment where she realized that Spooky was a creature very much so unlike a regular bug.

She often forgot that Spooky was known by another name in this kingdom. That they were the heir to gods in this place.

But looking at them now, darkness incarnate, standing beside the body of their more recent kill and blood still dripping from the palest nail she would ever see?

She could believe that they were just a breath away from being a god.

“Well! Give me an answer! We can’t afford to be in one place for too long!”

Sore Spot flicked a look back to Tiso, but he wasn’t looking at either of them. One of the children whose hand he had snagged was trying to tug away from him to reach a severed arm nearby, but Tiso was firmly keeping his grip and leaning his weight against them.

Sore Spot chittered in humor, feeling grounded from her odd moment of rapture.

After all, who cared if Spooky had another name in the kingdom? If they were almost a god?

What was a god to a frazzled merchant’s son, who was busy and had no time for such dramatics?

“We should double back. At the very least, then we will be able to get you and the children out of the building while me and Spooky search deeper. The bugs haven’t been too difficult to fight, but we’ve been getting them only one at a time. A group of spell-casters would surely be difficult to fight in such tight quarters.”

Spooky didn’t move for a moment, almost making Sore Spot believe that they had been lost in their own head once again. But then they lowered their hand and nodded once, heading back down the hallway.

Sore Spot and Tiso followed, Tiso lifting the small struggling, three horned child into the air to keep the severed arm they had been reaching for out of their grasp.

The group only made it two turns before the chaotic noise that had faintly been in the background gained both volume and a high-pitched scream of fear.

The sound made Spooky dart down a different hallway, finally finding a direction that led them toward the noise.

The group followed of curse, abandoning the plan, and soon the hall expanded into a large circular room lined with a grand spiraling staircase.

And rolling down the staircase was a large glass jar, with vibrantly glowing runes that warned of how close the glass was from shattering.

And inside the jar were two bugs being tossed about, one of them surely the source of the screaming.

Spooky didn’t pause, they rushed to the base of the stairs, arms wide and prepared, as the jar finally rolled to the end of the stairs.

Spooky, somehow, managed to catch the jar. Their arms spread wide and their feet braced to the ground, giving it a much gentler stop than what it was heading for, the runes that had been glowing so brightly began to dim as the strain on them was lessoned.

It was likely that if the jar had hit the wall with such speed, then it would have shattered, wounding the bugs inside more than they already were.

There was silence as Spooky carefully settled the jar on the ground and peered into it, tilting their head and dragging the wet veil over the surface of the glass as they tried to get a good look at the bugs inside.

With the stopping of the jar’s tumble, there was a deafening silence as the bug who had been screaming went quiet.

The quiet didn’t last.

There was a chorus of ‘voorps’ as what must have been the remaining population of the building all teleported around them at once.

Bugs standing on the ground or floating in the air appeared around them all, surrounding the group who had gone farther into the room to see the jar that Spooky had caught, and were now trapped by the enemy.

Sore Spot gripped her nail tighter, and couldn’t stop the feral grin that split her face as she threw herself at the closest opponent.

The jar’s sudden stop was a blessing and a curse.

It was much gentler than Mary had been expecting, no loud smashing impact that would finally shatter the glass, but a soft give.

Mary still slammed against the side of the jar of course, but it was nowhere near as violent as she had been preparing herself for.

Mary had laid on the bottom of the glass, still clutching Guldig to her chest and trying to realign her world with gravity.

She wasn’t in pain yet, but she knew that she was going to look like she had been painted blue with how many bruises that were going to bloom on her skin. Her elbows felt like they had been ground down on a mortar, and her legs felt like beaten jelly.

Her brain felt like it was upside down, and her lungs felt bruised.

So, it was no wonder that Guldig, made of a bit tougher material, managed to take stock of the situation first. He managed to wiggle out of her numb grip and stumble to his feet, stepping on Mary for a moment before righting himself against the glass. He blinked a few times at whatever he saw outside of the jar.

Mary, who at this point had ended up sprawled on her back, arms and legs spread as her entire body spun while staying still. She had looked up at the bug and thought that this was the most out of sorts she had seen him.

Even when he had been kidnapped, he had tried to keep his coquettish look, and when they had been brawling he had still managed to keep his cloak and body in order.

But now?

Now he had a one of his wings flipped awkwardly out of his shell, an antenna that was painfully bent at a right angle and his cloak was only still hanging from his body by virtue of getting tangled around his neck and arms.

He was a mess; his eyes were wild and he hadn’t stopped a low hissing since Mary had started rolling the jar.

His eyes and antennas flicked at whatever he was watching out of the jar, but he spared a quick glance at Mary when he accidentally stepped on her.

He looked away before seeming to pause for a moment and jerked his head back down to her.

Mary stared back, still dazed and confused from getting knocked around.

“. . . what are you staring at?”

But the bug didn’t answer her half-wheezed question, and just kept staring at her like- like her face had fallen off or something.

But the staring match couldn’t continue, not with the chaos going around the jar, and not when a something smacked into the glass with a loud TINK.

Guldig jerked his attention away from Mary and glared off to the side at something that Mary couldn’t see from her sprawl.

“Who are you!? Get us out of here!”

But the bug’s frantic shout was ignored, or at the very least not answered as there was no response but for more sharp TINGs as something smacked into the glass repeatedly.

Mary managed to force herself to roll over and was greeted with a very strange sight.

There was an epic battle going on, with bright flashing lights of the soul sanctum bugs casting spells and teleporting to and fro, dodging the nails that were being wielded by two cloaked and veiled bugs.

The smaller bug was fast, darting forward underneath the sword their companion, using the slower but longer reaching movements of their companion to cover their back while they attacked the bugs that were dodging the taller bug’s blows. And then the veiled bug would jump backwards, leading any attacker right into the reach of the taller bug. Acting as both the trap and the bait.

But while the smaller bug darted around, the taller bug moved . . . not exactly slowly, but in such a way that telegraphed their movements. Either as a way to inform their companion what their next move would be, or simply because they didn’t need to hide their actions.

After all, even with the long buildup, their every strike still managed to hit scores off of the floating bugs with every swipe of their long white nail.

Mary couldn’t quite see straight, but she would have to be blind to not recognize the arching horns of her Hollow

But while the battle in the background was something that would usually be considered the most interesting thing in the room, what took up most of Mary’s field of vison was the small little flared horned baby who was smacking their tiny nail into the glass jar with all of the force in their small body.

And right behind them, was a very frazzled looking bug who seemed to have taken refuge beside the jar while desperately clutching the hands of two other voidlings while a third was attached to his back.

His attention was split between anxiously watching the battle and flicking glances at the jar.

He seemed to decided that he had to focus on one or the other, and turned his full attention to the jar.

“Are you Mary?”

Guldig, still confused, still desperate, and not truly thinking more than a second ahead, didn’t have the time to even think about lying.

“What? Who’s that?!”

Mary, still sprawled on the ground weakly raised a hand.

“Me, that’s me. Why- why do you know my name?”

The bug looked down, seeming to only now realize that there was a bug lying on the bottom of the jar.  He visibly goggled at her and Mary just stared back, the world having stopped spinning but still not trusting herself to attempt standing just yet.

The bug cast his eyes heavenward for a moment muttering something about how ‘of course Spooky managed to befriend the only bug weirder than they were’, but then refocused on Mary and shifted the kids still clinging to him.

“We’re here to save you? I guess? These little egg shards showed up, waved their hands at Spooky and suddenly they were on a tear through the city. I assume, judging by the violent reaction to our presence here, that you’re not in that jar willingly?”

Mary looked up again, her gaze having slowly drifted downward to where Vlad continued to whack their tiny nail against the glass. Her daze holding fast, and she was beginning to think that she might have a concussion.

Which would not be a good thing.

Do bugs even know anything about head injuries?

 . . . did bugs have brains?

“I- yes. I am not here willingly?”

The bug nodded, and then asked the worst question.

“How do we open the jar?”

“. . . can you not just pull it open?”

“What? No. It’s got some metal device at the top keeping it closed. Either that or those runes are doing it.”

 “. . . fuck.”

Guldig began hissing louder.

Tiso has no idea how this is how he had ended up in this situation.

In the middle of a magical battle ground with his hands wedged under some metal wires attached to a strange contraption and a foot wedged in on the lip of a glass jar as he tried to free what had to be some kind of experiment gone wrong and some rich beetle from a jar.

“Pull harder.”

Tiso found the breath somewhere within him to respond.

“I’m- pulling- as- hard- as- I- CAN-!”

Tiso’s fingers slipped off and he stumbled over onto his back at the sudden release of his grip. He laid on his back for a moment before a trio of small white faces all poked over his him.

He pushed the little faces away before he stumbled back to his feet.

The brightly dressed beetle was pressed to the jar, his single antenna waving as the other hung limply. The distressed hissing that he had been making seeming to reverb in the jar as his hands scratched at the glass.

“You’re getting nowhere with that! Try something else!”

Tiso snarled back at him, panicked and flustered and aware that he wasn’t strong enough to pry the jar open with his meager strength.

“Oh, what do you suggest!? I don’t have anything else to work with!”

“Sprout.”

Tiso and the beetle both looked down at where ‘Mary’ had managed to raise to her knees, wobbly getting to her feet even as she looked toward one of the kids that were standing next to the jar.

The bug was . . . weird. Pale and soft and too thin to be a slug. With multicolored eyes and a red mouth, she looked like a one of the disgusting and vicious creatures that Tiso had seen Spooky destroy on sight when the three of them had wondered into the sprawling bug made tunnels under the city.

Maybe that’s what she was? Just one of those creatures given a mind by the so called ‘God’ that ruled this place?

 “Sprout, baby, do you-. Do you have something that can help us?”

The bug had turned her head toward one of Spooky’s siblings, the one with three horns.

The two unnatural creatures stared at another before the child seemed to reach into its cloak and pulled out . . . a short nail.

Tiso started forward, swiping the nail from the kid’s hands, “Did you have this the whole- no. no. It doesn’t matter.”

Tiso immediately dropped to his knees and began to wedge the nail around the thin parts of the metal device. It took effort, but he managed to get enough leverage to cut through some of the wires.

It took a few moments, the sounds of the battle going on only driving Tiso’s nerves tighter, but soon almost all of the wires holding the cork in place were cut.

Maybe, just maybe he would manage to get Spooky’s friend free and they could leave this forsaken place.

But almost as if some cruel god had heard his hopeful thoughts, the sounds of battle changed behind him.

There was a sound like skidding behind him, and he threw himself to the side in instinct, just barely dodging the body of one of the enemies.

The bug smacked into the jar’s lip, spinning it a bit and making both bugs inside stumble against the glass, the beetle falling to the ground while ‘Mary’ manage to keep her feet by virtue of her weird flesh clinging to the surface glass.

The bug on the ground didn’t waste any time, rolling to his hands and knees, and then scrambling to his feet, just barely managing to fling himself away from the nail of the flared horned kid that stuck out at him.

The bug disappeared in a burst of light, but reappeared much closer.

He reappeared inside the jar.

The bug stepped on the fallen beetle, and then wrapped his arm around the pale bug’s body, clenching a hand around her throat as he pulled her against him. His other hand began to brightly glow, a spell being held a moment from release in his fingers.

Mary made a strange noise when her throat was grabbed, but it was drowned out by the shout of the enemy.

“Stop! Stop or I’ll kill her!”

The fighting stuttered to a stop, everyone turning to see who exactly this threat was aimed at, and Tiso flinched backwards, snatching the hands of the kids and pulling them away from the jar, unhappy to suddenly be in the way of so much attention.

And as he moved away from the jar, something happened.

It felt like something important had shifted, like something heavy had dropped, like the room was holding its breath and hiding.

The air turned thick, fear spreading out like perfume in the wind and Tiso searched the room for whatever it was that had been added to an already terrible situation. What new tragedy had been added to the pile?! What new creature was being added to this cluster fuck of a mess!?

But nothing had changed, there was no new enemy.

In fact, it looked as though the only difference was that the fighting had stopped and Spooky was staring toward the bugs in the jar. They appeared to have stopped mid strike, nail still outstretched and have dug into a still living but unlucky bug’s shell.

Spooky let go of the nail, the weight of the weapon finishing the job, the bite of the blade finishing cutting through the shell of the bug. But as the nail clattered to the ground, Spooky didn’t turn their head away from the jar.

They took a step forward.

“St-stay there! Come any closer and I’ll- “

Spooky took another step, and another, ignoring the frantic bug’s shouts as they picked up speed.

Spooky soon fell to their knees before the jar, hands reaching out to clutch at the glass.

The runes that had dimmed burst back into life, belaying just how much force was behind Spooky’s seemingly gentle touch.

“What are you- I’ll kill her! I’ll kill her if you don’t- “

The bug choked on his next words, and Tiso just choked.

From within Spooky’s cloak, another hand had reached out to press its claws into the glass.

And another.

And another.

Limbs were sprouting from Spooky’s body, limbs that Tiso had known to not exist only moments before.

As he watched from far too close for comfort, Spooky’s entire body seemed to be dripping like hot honey, their form changing and shifting as they pressed on the jar. The runes on the glass glowing blindingly bright. There was a horrifying screech and for a moment Tiso thought that Mary was screaming once more, but a glance at her red but closed mouth face showed that it was not her.

Tiso looked for the source of the noise and gaped in horror at the sight of the metal floor buckling beneath the glass jar.

Tiso had known that his friend was strange. That they had tricks and abilities outside of a regular bug’s power.

But as he watched his friend’s form change, and the power they were exerting he thought that maybe he had been underestimating their ability to protect themselves just a bit.

Mary wasn’t breathing.

The bug had pulled Mary tightly to their body, and clenched their hand tightly on her throat.

They were choking her, probably unaware of the fact that even as they were using her as a hostage, they were killing her themselves.

Mary had instinctively scrabbled at their hold but gotten nowhere. She had tried to wedge her fingers beneath their panicked grip, but her stupid sleeves kept getting in the way and her dumb animal panic and concussion was keeping her from thinking anything through.

Mary was dying in a glass jar.

Dying while Hollow was less than a foot away, pressed to the glass while their body began to melt to entirely cover the surface. Arms and eyes and thick ropey tendrils sprouting from their void, as they clutched the jar, the runes glowing like a beacon as they struggled against the force of an almost god, and the bug just squeezed Mary’s throat harder as they panicked at the sight.

It was a race.

A race to see what would happen first, Hollow shattering the jar keeping them out, or if Mary would suffocate.

Thankfully though, it didn’t come to that.

The Soul Sanctum bug had forgotten that there was a reason such a heavily warded jar had been used.

And it wasn’t because they had expected to have the Storyteller inside.

Guldig, who had been fallen to the ground and been forgotten in the Soul Sanctum bug’s desperation, curled a hand around their foot.

When he had been a child, they had not been able to control their instinctive urge to drain other bugs of soul, but as an adult they had learned how to lessen the drain to be entirely unnoticeable.

He had also been forced to learned how to pull the soul from a bug till they were nothing but a withered shellin a matter of seconds.

While the Soul Sanctum bug was concerned with the Storyteller and the horror that was the Hollow Knight unraveling before them, they had thought that the weakness that they were feeling was simply the fear flooding through them.

But when the Storyteller managed to break from their weakened grip and the spell went out in their hand, they realized that they were too- too- empty to try and reach for her again.

They finally realized that what they were feeling was more than just fear.

Mary backed to the other end of the jar, coughing and choking, trying to force air into her lungs, even as her watering eyes stuck to the mess she had just managed to free herself from.

Guldig had managed to raise himself to his knees, his hands clutching the bare shell of the Soul Sanctum bug that had fallen backwards against the jar.

The Soul Sanctum bug that was visibly withering, their shell buckling as the soul was dragged out of them and into Guldig.

And as the Soul Sanctum bug died, Guldig thrived.

The scuffs in his shell began to heal, their bent antenna straightening out, and their torn and bent wings straightening with a dull glow.

The Soul Sanctum bug finally toppled to the ground as a mummified husk, and Guldig stood with a faint glow in his eyes and looking as fresh as a daisy even with a still mussed cloak and flecked with drops of Mary’s blood.

Guldig glared at the surrounding bugs, as if daring them to say anything about what they had just seen.

But could speak in the deafening silence left behind as all of the bugs tried to internalize what back to back horrors they had just seen.

The true, messy, form of the Hollow Knight. And the gruesome death of one of their own, at the hands of a Parasite.

And in this silence Mary finally found the breath to speak.

“You can’t win here.” Her voice came out in a croak, but still loud enough to be heard around the room. The eyes of the bugs all turned to where Mary was still only just barely propped up against the glass.

“By this point the whole City would have heard of a commotion going on here. The moment that anyone becomes aware of me being missing they will all come here to search.”

The Soul Sanctum bugs shifted, the ones on the ground taking a step back and the ones in the air rising just a bit higher.

“You might manage to kill us. Maybe with your numbers two or three of you will live through your wounds. You might even manage to live long enough to have the kingdom learn of all of your crimes.”

Mary turned her head to smile at the majority of the bugs, and as one their antennas all slammed to their heads.

They were unfamiliar with her face, with what that expression meant.

But they all got the meaning that the gesture was not meant to be nice.

“But then the Pale King himself will be coming for you.”

The bugs all froze and the scent of panic, already prominent in the air, grew stronger.

“You might survive us, but do think you’ll survive him?”

Despite the crimes that these bugs had done, they still worshipped the Pale King, still reveled in his light.

Still feared him as their God.

“You should use the time it will take us to return to the White Palace to begin running. If you leave now, you might even make it beyond the boarders before he begins to hunt for you. A much worthier use of your remaining hours, don’t you think?”

There was a moment when nothing moved, and then the first Soul Sanctum bug disappeared in a burst of light, causing a chain reaction of them all disappearing until only the jarred individuals and the rescue squad were left.

And the moment that Mary was no longer playing a role for the enemy, she fell to her knees.

“Oh, thank fuck! I wasn’t sure that would work.”

Mary stayed collapsed in the jar, relief making her head float as she dully watched Guldig straighten up his cloak.

Mary’s face hurt. From smacking into the side of the jar and also from how hard she was smiling.

She was tired, out of breath, lightly strangled, with a stitch in her side and covered in bruises and cuts. But that was fine, everything was fine because Hollow was here!

Hollow had come for her!

The male bug outside the jar had started yelling, seemingly at anyone and everyone, but Mary wasn’t there enough to parse out his actual words.

She only realized that he must have been giving Hollow directions, because the cork to the jar was finally removed.

When Hollow’s large black hands reached for her, Mary could do nothing but breathe a sigh of relief, her body relaxing so completely that she was asleep before Hollow even managed to touch her.

The peace of knowing that Hollow would be able to keep her safe now being the only assurance that her body needed before doing an emergency shut down.

Hollow caught her before her head hit the glass.

They pulled her sleeping body to them, clutching her soft body in their arms as their own relief began to overwhelm them.

Black tears of void began to once more drip from their eyes, this time not as a sign of anguish, but as relief.

But their friends and Guldig didn’t think to equate the tears to happiness, so when they saw the strange bug suddenly slump over and close her eyes, only to have the Voidling begin crying, they all had a similar thought.

Tiso shrieked.

“Did she just DIE!? AFTER ALL OF THAT?!?”

Chapter Text

Thump-thump-thump

Hollow could feel the steady beat of Mary’s heart.

They could feel the way that her body gently expanded in their hands as she drew only slightly strained breaths through her mouth.

The warmth of her body was seeping into their shell, melting the ice of horror that had been encrusting their mind.

Mary was alive- alive- alive!

She was hurt, her skin turning colors as her blood pooled under her soft flesh. She was obviously exhausted, her immediate descent into sleep the moment that they had reached for her. She had been forced to outmaneuver her enemies without them. Had been forced to push herself for survival and had nearly died at the hands of a bug who hadn’t even realized that they were killing her.

Hollow’s mind had turned as empty as the void when they had seen the bug’s hand around her neck, cutting off the constant bellows motion of her breathing.

Everything had faded away but the sight of Mary, her face uncovered and turning red from her suffocation as she had uselessly scrabbled at the hand killing her.

Hollow only remembered the feeling of hard glass on their fingers as they had stared at Mary, so close but unable to touch, putting more and more power behind their grip, dragging on the infinity inside of them to shatter the barrier that was keeping them from her.

But then Mary had pushed away from the bug, gasping for breath and retreating to safety as the beetle who had also been imprisoned in the jar ate the soul sanctum bug’s soul.

The power flowed from where the beetle was touching them and even when there was no more soul the beetle continued to take and take until nothing, not even a hint of life was left inside of the bug and it’s dried husk fell to the ground, leaving not even a ghost behind.

Hollow’s worst imagining had been visited upon one of Mary’s captors.

And it was so deserved.

Hollow felt the lick of the void inside of them, not yet settled back and calm. Still surging like distended water inside of them as they clutched Mary to their chest, still ready to be called upon at a hint of danger being near her once more.

Hollow tried to become aware of their surroundings, forcing their sense away from Mary in order to keep track of their friends and siblings in the room.

The longer they lingered over the feelings inside of them, the more likely it was that their rage would bubble over and they would go and hunt the bugs who had fled.

But no.

No.

It was more important to keep Mary safe. To stay near their friends.

It was better to be a guard then a hunter.

Safety was more important than revenge.

 . . . perhaps they could ask their father?

A thought to revisit later, but now they needed to- to-

. . . what did they need to do now? Mary was in their arms, but was she ok? Was she safe?

She had bled, they could see and smell that. She had been strangled, they could see the red marks on her neck, and hear the odd pained hitch when she breathed in.

The soul sanctum bugs could return, was this the best place to be? Where was the best place to go?

Should they return to their family? Should they go hide?

“Spooky! Come on! We need to get out of here before bugs come to see what the commotion was about and find us all standing in the middle of a massacre!”

Tiso was standing in front of them, Sprout and Ghost struggling in his arms while Sore Spot stood behind him holding Vlad like a sack hanging from her elbow while her other arm still held her nail aloft. The bug that had been in the jar with Mary held Curly by their armpits, arms stretched far from her body and staring into their black eyes. He looked both concerned and disgruntled as Curly gently kicked their little feet in the air.

Tiso- yes Tiso! Tiso was good at plans, good at figuring out what to do next. They would follow his orders until Mary was awake, and then she could talk to Tiso and they could both make a plan for what to do about everything!

Hollow stood from their crouch, tucking Mary’s lax body beneath their wet cloak. They took a step toward Tiso, who immediately turned on his heel and began to rush out of the room, skirting around the bodies of the fallen.

The small group followed after him, Sore Spot right behind, followed by the unknown bug and with Hollow bringing up the rear.

The ground disappeared into the hallways and then the wet streets.

They all left behind them nothing but the dead, and a single cracked mask splattered with red and forgotten at the bottom of a glass jar.

Guldig had decided that he hated being wet.

The water made the fabric hanging off of him heavy, and it worked the chill of the caves deeper into his shell.

Not to mention the way that the water trailed down his antennas and wings, playing hell on the sensitive nerves. He glanced down, wondering how the trialing water wasn’t bothering the creature in his arms.

The small child he was carrying continued to stare up at him, water pooling into their empty eyes as they tilted their head upwards. Not a hint of discomfort in them at the way the water disappeared inside of their head.

A hissed out, “This way!” was heard around a corner and Guldig resettled the small weight against his chest as he darted forward.

Guldig was unsure how things had ended up like this, with his arms full of an unknown child, darting through the rain drenched back alleys of a mythical city.

When the Storyteller had suddenly collapsed and been taken into the arms of the crying Heir, Guldig had thought that it had all been for naught. That the soulless bug had fallen down dead, that maybe for all of her bravado and her loud voice, she had truly just been hanging onto the mortal coil by the tips of her fingers, and that the moment that her enemies had fallen for her tricks and left her, she had died.

Her death would have been a boon for Guldig. He would have lost his most powerful leverage, but he didn’t need it anymore! He had been kidnapped while in the kingdom of Hallownest by one of their more influential figures! They would give him whatever he wanted in order to make themselves look good again, to smooth over the crimes in their kingdom and keep their reputation intact.

If the Storyteller lived then he would always have their arrangement sitting between them. The tension of his blackmail would always be hanging over his head like a nail in a loose grip.

His only handhold on the power of the kingdom has become a noose and a stray twitch will only tighten it around his neck.

But still . . .

Being on the same side as all of that power. Standing beside a creature who could turn the tables on a smug bug so chaotically . . .

It was something he wanted to feel again.

Guldig ducked behind a curtain of water, tucking the small child closer to his chest as he skirted away from the heavy water.

The child cuddled into his arms, and once more Guldig marveled at the fact that he wasn’t- wasn’t hurting them.

He could feel their soul, feel it in ways that he usually couldn’t in common bugs. But something about this species that he was holding put their soul much closer to the surface of their shell, but also held it so tightly.

He was not attempting to, and he would not attempt to, but he was not siphoning from the child at all. No wisps of soul were draining from them, and he . . .

He could touch them, and he might not need to fear for their safety?

It was a strange and new, to touch another bug and not feel their life slowly drain out of them. He could do so with the Storyteller, yes. But her lack of soul was startling and uncomfortable while the child . .

This small little creature in his hands wiggled with life and . . . he was not harming them.

He quite liked this feeling as well.

Tiso’s mind was a whirl of half made plans and curses.

His antennas were nearly snapping with how tense he was holding them, and his eyes felt like they were spinning in his head, darting from side to side as he made sure that no one was looking their way as he led his dumb group down a dozen different back alleys of the city.

They couldn’t stay in the kingdom. They couldn’t.

Spooky and Sore Spot had just killed a dozen bugs each, and Tiso knew how this sort of things went. It didn’t matter why, or for what reason, or who was the one who struck first.

Those bugs, no matter what crimes they were doing going around kidnapping others, were probably from some kind of important or rich families. Their crimes would be swept under the rug and his friends would be tried in a stacked court and probably killed in a mob.

He had seen it happen before, someone striking back against abuse, but making it too permeant and the rest of the village more concerned with the dead than the reasons that the living had.

He had to get them out of this kingdom before the deaths were traced back to them.

Back to a strange and unnatural bug that some noble might want to get rid of in order to forget their mistakes, and a one in a million ant that no colony would miss or throw a fit over losing.

A fine would be demanded maybe, and even then, he knew it would be insultingly cheap.

They always were.

There was a smack against his chest, and Tiso nearly launched himself straight into the air in surprise.

He jerked one of the small bodies he was holding away from him and looked down at them.

Spooky’s little three horned sibling stared up at him, still holding their little hand up and getting ready to smack him again.

Tiso hissed at them before smooshing them into their sibling in his other arm and returned his attention to looking around him. The hit had woken him up some, and now he was able to actually take in where he had been leading them beyond just where the other bugs on the streets were looking.

He had stopped in a narrow alley with a few boxes stacked haphazardly next to a wall, and with just enough overhang to keep the group from getting even wetter.

Sore Spot seemed to take his sudden stop as a signal that it was time to stop, leaning against the wall and shifted her own child in her arms, always making sure to keep one hand free for her nail.

Spooky sank into a crouch next to her, the weird pale bug hidden beneath their cloak as they seemed to focus all of their attention on the wet lump in their arms.

Tiso knew that they weren’t going to be much help. Sore Spot probably wasn’t even aware that they needed to hide the fact that they had killed bugs.

Ants weren’t very good at self-worth, and even worse at the value of another’s life. It usually wasn’t too much of a problem out on the roads really, everyone knew that in the places between towns and villages it was every bug for themselves and anything goes, but when you were in a town? Then you had to obey the rules, and no town wanted outsiders killing them. It didn’t matter for what reason, if you killed then you were put down as a threat.

And Spooky, they might understand that what they had just done was going to be considered a crime, but judging by the way they had been acting?

Spooky was probably made for violence and it was only pure luck that they were such an easy going and friendly bug. That they had never been pushed to take a nail against another for a personal slight.

Though . . . maybe they hadn’t been made to ever really defend themselves?

Problems for later, problems for later.

Tiso side eyed the well-dressed beetle who was standing stiffly, obviously tired but always visibly unwilling to touch the wall. Not like it would matter, they were always soaked through and the ends of their cloak had been dragging along the ground where ties had come undone.

Tiso contemplated them for a moment before deciding that they were not going to be his problem.

They were obviously a rich merchant, and it was unlikely that they would get in much trouble.

The rich often didn’t pay the same price as the common bugs, and that bug was obviously expensive.

They would detach themselves from the group at whatever point they felt safe and that would be the last he would have to think of them.

Tiso decided to not acknowledge the way that the bug was cradling the child in the arms, and the way they kept darting startled looks down at them, like they kept expecting the kid to disappear.

Tiso stepped toward his personal problems and asked the first question.

“How much geo do you have? We’re going to need to buy supplies before we leave the kingdom and I’m broke.”

Mary was choking.

Struggling and squirming, her hands attempting to tuck under the fingers that were wrapped around her neck.

Gasping, gasping, gasping.

The hands seemed to tighten and loosen in a pattern, never letting go and never staying clenched long enough to finally put her out of her misery. Chocked and given reprieve only to be strangled again.

Mary was dying, was surviving, was only hanging on through the amusement of her tormenter.

She couldn’t see, the world a smear of senseless gray and black through her tear-filled eyes and she couldn’t rip her attention away from the fact that she was dying to see where she was.

She was dying, dying, dying, and no one was there to help her.

Mary struggled, wiggling her entire body like a worm on a hook, but it did nothing but yank her neck around and add another pain to the list.

She couldn’t get free, she couldn’t save herself, and she wanted- she wanted-

“H-hol-holl- “

And her neck was released.

Mary slammed to her knees and gasped for breath, her own hands now clenching on her throat as she forced her starved lungs to inflate with air. Her chested ached with the greedy way that she drew breath, and her head fell back, as if to help make a clearer path for the oxygen that she had been so starved for.

She stayed one her knees for a few breaths before fear pounded in her chest along with her lungs.

Mary fell to her butt, her legs scrambling against the rough ground, pushing her away from the place she had been kneeling. The moment she could think past her need for air she was running away from whomever had been strangling her just moments before.

Her blinked past the tears in her eyes and looked up to see-

To see-

There was no one.

She was alone.

Mary jerked her head this way and that, searching for her attacker, but she saw no one. In fact, she saw nothing at all. The was nothing but the dark empty sky and the concrete below her.

Where was she? Where had her attacker gone?

She hadn’t just imagined those hands strangling her.

Mary dug her hands into her arms, hugging herself in fear and becoming suddenly away from the feeling of skin on skin that she was naked in this strange and empty place.

Mary stared downwards.

Concrete.

There was. There was something about concrete.

Wasn’t there? Something about . . .

Oh.

She was dreaming.

Why was she dreaming? She only saw darkness when she dreamed.

The only time she had dreamed of concrete was when the Radiance had been . . .

No.

She was dead.

She was dead right?

H-hollow had been with her just a moment ago, right? They had!

So maybe . . .

Mary coughed, choked, and forced out a thin sound.

“H-Hollow?”

Silence, silence, and more silence.

“HOLLOW!”

Nothing.

Mary coughed, her throat stinging in punishment for her scream. A few tears being forced from her eyes in the pain of forcing the scream out of her damaged throat.

Mary felt like a child, sitting naked on her ass and calling for Hollow, like they would be able to follow her into her bad dreams and protect her.

As if they could shield her from every misfortune in the world.

But no, not even her loyal protector could follow her into her own mind.

Mary spent a moment trying to keep it together, trying to shove the tears back inside of her, trying to force the broken remains of her pride back into the mask she always wore but . . .

This was a dream.

If she couldn’t cry here then, where could she?

So, Mary, the one titled Storyteller, the woman who had somehow saved Hallownest, the Kingdom of Bugs, fell on her ass with her legs spread wide and bawled like a child.

She sobbed and cried and hiccupped out her meager screams as she wailed to the empty gray place her dreams had taken her.

 She cried about her recent strangling, she cried about how Guldig had blackmailed her, she cried about her kidnapping, her aches and pains and how scared she had been while locked in that jar-

But most of all, she cried about the fact that she missed Hollow!

She missed them, she missed them, she missed them!

She wanted to hide in their arms, and bury her face in the velvet of their neck! She wanted to whisper her thoughts to them and have them give her those looks. She wanted to have them hover behind her, never more than a breath away! She wanted her companion, her shadow, her friend!

She wanted the bug she loved to be as constant and close as breathing again!

 . . .

Oh.

That’s why she had dreamed of choking.

Mary’s sobs slowly drained into laughter even as hot tears continued to drip down her face.

Despite her freedom.

Despite the absence of her ‘nanny’.

She felt like she couldn’t breath and that she couldn’t relax!

Hollow’s absence was like hands around her neck, and the longer they stayed gone from her, the more her own emotions lodged in her throat and strangled her!

Mary flopped backward, letting her head bounce off the hard ground of her dream land concrete, and was shocked when it was accompanied with a loud splash.

Mary looked around her and was startled to find herself in a pool of liquid gold.

It was a few baffled moments before she realized that the hot tears coming from her eyes were not the usual salt water, but glittering gold.

This realization forced a few more giggles out of her.

She knew she was dramatic, but really? She had cried herself a golden puddle.

What nonsense was this?

Mary star-fished in her stupid golden puddle, tears still leaking from her eyes even if she didn’t really feel as sad now.

She stared up at the empty darkness that made up the sky in her dream and wondered, idly as her blinks became longer and longer, how exactly one woke up from a dream?

As her mind became fuzzier and fuzzier Mary’s heart beat seemed to become louder and louder until-

It was- shouting?

Mary’s face scrunched up at the noise her thoughts still blurry and dipped in gold.

She turned her face away from the noise, burrowing her nose into the cool and damp velvet of Hollow’s side.

At her movement the arms around her tensed for a beat before tucking her snuggled against them. A hand made its way into her hair and Mary felt her body relax even more at the feeling of their fingers petting her scalp.

But despite the comfort of their hand, a million other discomforts began to seep past her melted gold exhaustion.

Her feet felt like they had been beaten, her knees and elbows hurt and her legs felt like they had been opened up and scrapped with sand paper. She was cold and wet.

Her neck was sore and tender.

Like she had been strangled.

And it was that thought that reminded Mary that she had, in fact, been strangled.

That there was a very good reason for why she felt like shit.

Mary gently pushed back from Hollow’s stomach and began to focus less on being pet, and more on what those voice’s outside of the little dark space were actually saying.

“-can’t just leave!”

“Oh, we absolutely can! It’ll be more difficult with how big Spooky is but it wouldn’t be too hard to tuck the kids away. You and I can just walk out, and . . . maybe we could use something to hid their horns? That’s going to be the most distinguishing- “

“No! Not how hard it would be to hide them! The kingdom would come after them!”

“All the more reason to run now! All of those bugs that were fighting us are going to run to! The kingdom is going to focus more on the criminals rather than just a few runaways!”

“Did you not hear that bug!? She said that the king would come for her himself!”

“Scoff! She was bluffing! Why would a king care so much for a bug, even if it is a weird as hell one!”

“The bluff worked so there must be a reason- “

“Hollow?”

This new voice seemed to shatter the tension for a moment before ramping it back up much higher than it had been before.

Mary twisted a bit, just enough to pull the corner of Hollow’s cloak to the side and see what was outside of the safety of Hollow’s hold.

The angle was pretty bad, but Mary was able to see a cloaked ant with her back to them. She was standing with her legs spread and Vlad dangling from her arm tucked behind her back.

She could also see Guldig from her angle, the bug shoving Curly into their rumbled and soaked cloak as they crouched behind a box.

And in front of them all was a short bug who had one leg awkwardly kicked out to the side that was pressing Sprout and Ghost into a corner as he snarled at the opening of the alley.

A bug was standing at the mouth of the alley, a bug who was heavily cloaked and drenched in water. A bug whose face was covered with a smiling mask that only looked sinister in the uneven lighting of the water drenched city.

Was this an enemy? An ally?

“Hollow! It is you! You must return to the White Palace! The Pale King is calling for you! Your siblings have disappeared and some merchants are claiming that the Storyteller has kidnapped their master! The Workshop has been searching the city ever since we got a report of a sighting of your siblings, but no one has seen the Storyteller and now it appears as though the Soul Sanctum has been attacked!”

The bug ignored the others in the alley and headed straight toward Spooky, either not noticing or not caring that the ant had a weapon out. Just focused on the Hollow’s horns and desperately reaching for the help that they knew Hollow would provide them.

They took a few steps forward before the shorter male bug grabbed their sleeve.

He seemed to have his best threatening glare on as he curled his hand into the cloak of the unknown.

“I think you are confused there. My friend here is not any of your concern. Now why don’t you just turn around and leave before my ant friend here shows you how sharp her nail is?”

The bug paused for a moment more in the shock at being touched than fear, looking the bug gripping his sleeve up and down, “You’re the merchant’s son?”

The male bug froze.

“OH! Yes, the merchant’s son! You are Hollow’s friend, and have an invitation to the White Palace extended by their parents but-, but the situation isn’t really- “

The bug cut themselves off, head jerking down and staring at the small child that had managed to wiggle away from where the male bug had shoved them in order to tug at the bottom of their cloak.

The bug cursed, ducking down and trying to grab Ghost, but was beaten to the punch by the masked bug, who expertly scooped the child from the ground to hold in front of them.

“Ghost! Ghost you’re- but then- where are your siblings!?”

Carm had become a Workshop assistant after the death of his parents.

His father had fallen to the dream, and his mother had taken it upon herself to keep him contained.

But his mother had not been a jailor nor a fighter, and his father had killed her while his eyes had glowed orange from infection.

Carm had called for help from the guards, and they hadn’t been able to capture him without harming him.

His father had died in the grip of the infection after killing his mother.

And it had been such a short time later that the first Dreamcatcher’s had begun to be spread throughout the kingdom.

Carm thought sometimes, what if the Storyteller had been faster? What if his father had held out for just a few more nights? What if his mother had taken more care with what she had known to be a danger? What if Carm had never called the guards and had just locked his father up in the room that had his mother’s body in it?

What if, what if, what it?

Carm had been angry at first, that the Storyteller had been here in time to save his parents. Had been angry that she had managed to save the rest of the kingdom, but not his parents.

 . . . but.

But then he had seen her work.

Had seen her body hunched over the desk, clumsily crossing threads as she talked the group through how to tie them. She had spoken about how one couldn’t make a dreamcatcher for themselves, and must think of who the maker wanted to protect while it was being made.

That the protection being made could only be given away. And that it must be given away selflessly.

A dreamcatcher could not be sold, borrowed or stolen.

The Storyteller had worked tirelessly, knotting for hours as she made and made and made.

And she gave them all away.

Carm’s anger had cooled, his grief drying up as he had worked beside the Storyteller in the workshop.

He had learned that for all of her power, for all of her ability, for all of the miracles that the Storyteller could tease from the threads in her hands.

She was only a single bug.

A single bug who had come too late for him, but had still arrived in time for the rest of the kingdom.

A bug who had continued to serve the kingdom even after she had saved it, though now she served it in a very different compacity.

The Storyteller had taught the Workshop how to lie, and in doing so had either on purpose or by accident revealed much about herself.

Lessons on how to steady a nervous tone. Lessons on what movements could hide shaking hands.

Lessons on how to pretend that you knew what they were doing even while you lied, lied, lied.

It had been eye opening to realize that the Storyteller wasn’t just a bug who was more relaxed while more isolated from the rest of the kingdom, but who had purposely hiding just how much she didn’t know.

The Storyteller wasn’t a powerful mystic that has arrived too late to save his parents.

She was a panicked bug who had only barely arrived at all.

She was not some powerful creature.

She was a very good liar, who had done her best to help everyone with what she knew.

And now she was missing.

One of Carm’s fellow assistants had burst into the Workshop and had gasped out that a group of merchants had arrived at the White Palace and were claiming that the Storyteller had kidnapped their master.

The entire workshop had gone to the doors of the throne room to listen to the frantic and mangled accusations of the merchants, the lack of polish on the story only adding to its credibility as they had waved a vicious dreamcatcher in the air.

It had been made of thorns and torn silk fabric, tinted red and messily tied.

And all of the assistants could recognize it as the Storyteller’s messy work.

And as the Assistants had watched, one of the Queen’s Gardeners had run up, shrieking that the children had gone missing from the White Palace, that no one could find them!

The assistants had not needed to hear more, they had all flooded away and out into the kingdom, splitting up to search not only for the children but for any mention of the Storyteller as well.

Carm had ended up in the City of Tears, meeting up with a few of his fellow assistants and learning that the children had been spotted some time ago and then lost in the alleys.

Carm had been searching for around an hour when he had darted by an alley and then doubled back.

He had seen long white horns.

The Hollow Knight had also been missing, but that was expected. It had become common gossip in the workshop that the Heir to Hallownest had been exploring the kingdom with some of the visitors and that if you were to come across them, then you were to pretend like you didn’t recognize them at all.

But this had been an emergency.

Carm had barreled into the alley calling out for them. They had needed to know about the children’s and the Storyteller’s disappearance.

But then the barely disguised Ant Princess and the merchant son that had been the heir’s companions had barred his way.

Blood still clung to the ant princess’s nail, and the merchant’s son fearlessly lied to Carm’s face.

They had formed a barrier between him and the heir deeper within the alley, the merchant’s son attacking with words while the princess threatened with weapons.

Carm had made a mental note to make sure he mentioned the heir’s good choice in companions.

Carm wasn’t sure what was going to happen, what the outcome of this confrontation was going to be, if he should run now or try and explain.

But then Ghost had popped from nowhere and Carm, well trained in what to do if one saw one of the royal children where they should not be, scooped them up into his arms.

Other small white faces popped out. From behind the Ant Princess, over the top of a box and around the leg of the merchant boy.

“You- you’ve found them. Oh, threads and knots you found them. But- But the Storyteller! She’s still-”

Carm stopped cold.

The Hollow Knight’s cloak was parted just slightly, only enough for Carm to see white where every bug knew only void was.

There was a single, glittering eye visible in the gap.

“My assistant- t-tell us more of the situation.”

The eye was rimmed in gold. Just like her mask.

“Of- of course Storyteller.”

Carm felt like he was seeing something he shouldn’t. Like he would be cursed by seeing even a sliver of the Storyteller’s face.

But he couldn’t tare his eyes away.

He had been wrong.

The Storyteller might have been a liar and unprepared for her role of a savior.

But she was far more than just a bug.

She was holy holy holy

“-wasn’t her name supposed to be Mary?!”

Chapter Text

The seat beneath Hollow bucked and swayed with the movements of the Stag.

The great leaping steps rocked the creature of Void as the Stag moved with confidence as he made his way through the tunnels that curled through the kingdom of Hallownest. The long barren corridors perfectly crafted perfectly for the bodies of the running Stags.

“Can’t they run any steadier?!!”

Hollow curled their arm a bit tighter around Tiso, the bug himself strengthing his death grip on the handles of the Stag Saddle and the loose fabric of Hollow’s cloak. Anchoring his tense body to his friend as his antenna’s curled even tighter to his head, his discomfort blaring loudly with each jolting leap.

“At least not run quite as fast?”

Sore Spot wasn’t as panicked as Tiso, but even she had a wild look around her eyes as she kept a firm grip on the saddle and her other hand on her nail.

Hollow tightened their grip on her as well, one of their arms behind her back, careful of the still hidden wings, and their large hand wrapped around her outer thigh to help keep her pressed to their body and to her seat.

“Not really. Their bodies are made to run and they can’t go at any other speed. I’ve asked.”

Mary’s voice was a bit tight from where it sounded from beneath Hollow’s cloak, and they tightened the four hands that they had manifested to hold her to themselves.

Only one had been needed, but they were not going to ignore an excuse to put as many of their hands-on Mary as they reasonably could.

The lower set had her firmly by the hips and the upper set were crossed over her chest. Mary’s own hands were grabbing onto their knees, her arms nearly straight out in order to press herself firmly to their abdomen as she sat between their legs.

Their cloak was still draped over her face and hiding her from the world. The green fabric shorter than their usual cloaks, and as such only covered her up to her hips, forcing her to be so close to their body in order to continue to hide her face.

Mary had fixed her cloak, letting it drape over her arms and legs once more, but upon realizing that she no longer had a mask, she had remained hiding behind the curtain of Hollow’s cloak.

She could have asked for one.

A mask that is.

Mary knew that Hollow carried spares, that they would always have what she needed. That anything she asked for, any desire or demand that she had, Hollow would rise to fulfill it to the best of their ability.

But she did not ask. Did not voice the need.  Did not force Hollow to offer up the tools she would need to leave the safety of their shadow and stand on her own once more.

They could give her the mask of the Storyteller and let her walk separate from themselves.

But she hadn’t asked and they hadn’t offered, the two of them clung to each other beneath the thinnest veneer of an excuse.

She pressed close to their body and spoke through their cloak and occasionally buried her face in the softer parts of their body, as if hiding away from the world.

The situation was not good.

They needed to get revenge on the Soul Master for even thinking of hurting Mary. They needed to tell their father of the horror that had taken place beneath his notice by one of his own.

They had to get everyone somewhere safe.

Hollow still had to find a way to explain to Tiso that they were a member of the royal family, and they had to separate their siblings from the merchant beetle before they picked up too many bad habits.

But despite all of this, Hollow couldn’t help but take a moment to be happy.

They had their three most favorite creatures in the kingdom in their arms, pressed close to their body and, at least for this moment, safe.

Mary was still in pain.

Everything was bruised and achy and she couldn’t decide if she wanted to go and sit in a hot spring or if she wanted to put something cold on her various bruises. She was chilly on average, but she felt like she needed ice for the places where her blood was pooling, where it felt like she was burning.

Mary turned her head to the side and rubbed her cheek on the velvet of Hollow’s chest.

The hands that they had on her tightened for a moment before loosening. They began to gently knead what parts of her that they were touching, and Mary felt a bit of tension leave her body.

It was ok now. Hollow had her firmly in their grip.

Mary let the comfort of being in their hold seep into her bones, her eyes drooping a bit as her stupid hindbrain insisted that now that she was in Hollow’s arms, it was the perfect time to continue her nap.

But then a familiar voice spoke up.

“Ah. Mary. I’ve been thinking on it, and I would like to know. Why did you send your . . . assistant away?”

And there goes my sense of peace.

Mary sighed before carefully pulling Hollow’s cloak to the side.

Mary peeked out from the gap in Hollow’s cloak, and the smile that cut across her face wasn’t exactly wholesome.

She doesn’t know how or why Guldig was the one that ended up being the one responsible for the babies, but it was a hilarious sight to see the most prideful bug that she had ever been forced to meet just covered it little babies.

Sprout and Ghost sat of either side of him while Vlad had made their way to his shoulders and Curly had the seat of honor squarely on his lap.

But what was even stranger was the way that Guldig appeared to be genuinely pleased at being hemmed in on all sides by the little voidlings.

That wasn’t the usual reaction of a bug meeting the quiet as a grave and eyeless child for the first time. Even the friendliest bugs usually had to warm up to them a little.
It wasn’t impossible that he simply liked children but . . . it was still an odd sight.

“I needed him to collect my assistants and tell them that I have been found but to keep the knowledge to themselves. The confrontation with the Soulmaster will need as many witnesses in our corner as possible, but we can’t tip off to him that we have been found alive yet.”

“Do you not trust the servants in the palace?”

“No, I do, but I want my people there. Situations like these are easier to control if you stake the deck in your favor. My assistants know how to put on a show and will be able to help us control the situation when we confront the Soul Master.”

Mary shifted in Hollow’s lap rolling her shoulders as she pressed her spine to their slender torso, “To be perfectly honest, there’s nothing that the Soulmaster can do to survive this. Even if he started running before we arrived he would still be chased down and killed by the kingdom, and even perhaps the Pale King himself. Ignoring his most recent crime of kidnapping us, he must have killed a lot of bugs and hidden their deaths under the guise of the recent infection. The Pale King is not going to let him have any mercy but death.”

Mary barred her teeth in the darkness and privacy of Hollow’s cloak. “But I don’t want him to have even that escape. After all, you were there Guldig. I promised him a much worse fate than death.”

One of Hollow’s hands slid from her hips to Mary’s stomach, thumbs gently pressing into the softness of her body, and Mary removed one of her hands from their knees to pat the hand gently even as she continued her ominous words, “And I am petty enough to see it through.”

Mary couldn’t see them from her current position, Hollow’s cloak shielding them from her sight, but both Tiso and Sore Spot were looking at the place where Mary was hidden in Hollow’s lap, apprehension on their faces as they wondered about the company that their friend kept.

But Guldig just scoffed, curling one of his hands over the head of Sprout, the voidling pressing into the gentle touch. “Oh yes, your threats. You said rather a lot of things while bleeding all over the glass in your anger. What was it again? Feeding him his antennas? Using your teeth top crack open his carapace? Making him so wretched that death itself would reject him?”

Mary blushed a bit, the embarrassment of her break down coming back to her now that she was safe. “Ok, so maybe I’m not going to do quite that. I do not want to put my mouth on that disgusting bug.”

Tiso who had been tense as the two vicious bugs had talked together relaxed a touch at Mary’s admittance. “So, you were just angry and saying things. Right?”

Mary turned toward his voice, even if she couldn’t see him, “Well, yes. But it’s important to go through with your threats about things that matter. The kingdom does not abide traitors, and he needs to be punished on pare with the Mantis Lord.”

At the mention of the Mantises Sore Spot chimed in.

“The Mantis Lords? What did they do?”

Mary shook her head, even aware that no one could see it. Well, at least Hollow could feel her do so against their chest.

“No, the Mantis Lord’s you would have seen did nothing. But there used to be a fourth, their brother. He succumbed to the infection on purpose in order to overthrow his sisters. He was betraying their tribe’s values and cheating at their hierarchy battle. He also tried to kill me when I arrived to gift dreamcatchers. So, in order to make a lesson out of him I strung him up in a tunnel to stay forever.”

Or, at least that’s what the Kingdom thought she had done

Mary resettled herself in Hollow’s lap, mind mulling over the reminder that it hadn’t been her own intention to do such a thing to the traitor.

She had wanted him to stop his attacks.

It had been Hollow who had wanted him punished to such a degree.

This thought cemented her half-made plan.

She could talk a good game, but she wouldn’t be able to really go through with something so . . . vicious.

Sure, Mary had lashed out in moments of high tension, panic, and immediate danger. But when you really got down to the core of it, she didn’t have the stomach to do something really bad to someone on purpose.

Hollow though.

No matter how sweet they were, no matter how they were willing to help anyone who got the courage to ask, no matter how gently they could handle others.

They were the type of bug to get cruel bloody revenge against the ones who had wronged them or the ones they loved.

Mary wouldn’t need more than just having Hollow in the room while making a production of pinning the blame on the Soul Master. Their own bloody-mindedness would take care of the rest.

Just a few words to guide their imagination and some strings to . . .

Wait.

Fuck.

“Fuck. Fucking shit, god-damnit!”

Guldig jolted a bit in surprise as the Storyteller began to curse. The heir seeming to nearly snap their neck as they peered down at the lump on their lap and the two bugs at their side tried to lean away from the squirming lump.

Tiso, an old hand at dealing with problems that one would swear at spoke first, “What? What is it?”

“Fucking teleportation! My dreamcatchers can’t stop the Soul Master from teleporting! Fuck fuck fuck. How are we going to pin him down? The moment he realizes that Guldig and I aren’t still trapped he’s going to run! If he gets out of the kingdom then he might actually be able to get away!”

All of Hollow’s hands tightened, their friends making chirping noises in surprise while Mary made and ugly guck noise as their fingers dug into her stomach and thighs.

They quickly loosened their grip but now everyone knew their thoughts on the Soul Master escaping.

Sore Spot, her hand still on her nail, offered her thoughts after a slight pause. “Must you make an event of it? Can you not just immediately attack?”

“If it were anywhere else but the White Palace then that might work. But you remember how it’s built right? Wide open spaces and sneak attacks do not mix well together. And they’re absolutely going to be in the conference room, and that place is nothing but open space to let as many bugs a possible have a voice.”

Mary shifted, her and poking out from Hollow’s cloak to make a vague motion like a strike. “If he’s not killed in the first strike then he’s going to escape, and he has to have some sort of shielding, all Soul users do. Any strike powerful enough to one shot him would be seen coming, or end up killing bystanders, and we cannot do that.”

Tiso broke in.

“Do you have to attack him in the White Palace? Why not try and ambush him when he leaves?”

Mary grit her teeth.

“I don’t remember how the Soul Master moves around the kingdom. There is a VERY significant chance that he simply teleports around. If we lay a trap it is possible that he would just teleport directly to the Soul Sanctum where he’ll just find the bodies and our absence. No, we have to do this at the White Palace.”

Guldig spoke up next.

“What if we warned the Pale King? If we are afraid of him teleporting, then surely your God King would be able to stop him.”

Mary bit her lip.

“The Soul Master would notice that . . . any bug that went up to him to give a message would make the Soul Master nervous. I mean, it would make sense for him to be suspicious of any messengers, surely he wouldn’t stick around if he thought that there was a chance of them finding out about his crimes . . .”

Tiso tapped his fingers against the saddle for a moment before speaking. “What if we just burst in? Yelled that he was the one who did it? Would your King be able to stop him in time?”

“I . . . maybe? The Pale King can cast magic very quickly but I don’t like that plan, it’ll all come down to who responds the quickest and . . . listen, I’ve gotten the drop on the Pale King before and I am not the fastest! If the Pale King knew the plan, then I wouldn’t be worried about it, but the Pale King doesn’t exactly have the quickest reaction time ok? He might not think to keep the Soul Master from teleporting and just strike at him, and I wouldn’t be a killing blow. As much as the Pale King trusts me, he believes in higher thought. We would need to prove that he had kidnapped us, or at least tell the whole story. My word would be enough to get the Soul Master imprisoned, but once more it all comes down to how the Pale King would react. And I’m not going to bet one that.”

The carriage became quiet once more, all of the bugs thinking on what they could possibly do. Mary was going over all of her tricks, all of her lies that would be believed and all that she remembered about the Soul Master.

She hadn’t ever really interacted with him before, never spent any time with him despite knowing him for so long.

Hell, it’s more likely that Guldig would have a firmer grasp of his character than she did.

Wait.

Guldig.

“. . . Guldig. What you did before. That . . . withering thing that you did to kill that bug who was strangling me. Were you taking their soul?”

Guldig froze, their hand stilling in the action of petting over the side of Ghost’s head and didn’t begin moving again until the child headbutted the appendage to get it stroking once again.

Guldig’s hand returned to its pattern even as his antenna’s went tight and his eyes narrowed at the bulge in the Heir’s cloak.

“Why.”

A gap once more appeared in the fabric of the heir’s cloak, and Guldig’s harsh stare was met with a gold rimmed eye.

“Because I want to know if you can do it again.”

Mary parted the gap a bit more. Guldig had seen her at her worst already, had seen her turning purple from a lack of air and screaming her head off in thwarted rage.

Her uncovered eyes seemed miniscule compared to the other kinds of bare she had been before the bug.

“To teleport, the Soul Master will need soul. Most bugs have rather small reserves, but I imagine that the Soul Sanctum bugs must have done something to give themselves the ability to store more soul within themselves.”

The gap widened to show the strange red mouth of the Storyteller. At the way her white teeth dug into the strangely soft material of her lips.

“I don’t know how much soul it takes to teleport, but surely it can’t be anything too small right? Surely it has to be big? I know that the Soul Sanctum bugs were doing it a lot, but they had a lot of bottled soul just sitting around, and I know that I had been breaking a lot of those vials. Maybe it was more readily available to them? Whatever. Can you do it again? Or are you . . . full?”

Guldig didn’t look relaxed exactly, but his hand kept stroking over Ghost’s head and Curly had pressed themselves deeper into his body, contentment oozing out of the Voidling.

“I . . . could do it again. I have never found a limit to what I could . . . take from another.”

A plan was forming. A way to keep the Soul Master in place long enough to bind, long enough to acquire vengeance on.

“Can you give me a time limit? How much can you drain in . . . thirty seconds? Enough to kill a regular bug or . . .?”

Guldig frowned in thought, seemingly getting more and more relaxed as Mary questioned their abilities. Not taking offense or trying to justify them like Mary thought he would have.

“It will depend. If I pull hard I can drain a regular bug in around . . . twenty or so seconds? I would need to have physical contact with them to get direct access, but that is a bug with smaller reserves, and they feel it when I pull that hard. It’s less a problem with a regular bug, they get scared but are usually weak enough to keep in my grip by that point. But the Soul Master . . .”

“Yeah, that might not work. He’s got to have big reserves and if he tries to teleport away before you’re done draining him then we’ll lose him. What about slowly?”

“If I don’t pull as hard . . . I can drain a regular bug in around . . . five minutes?”

Mary tapped her fingers against Hollow’s leg in a fast tempo as she thought her plan through, adjusting it and twisting it as need be. “We should at least double that time for the Soul Master, so ten minutes to drain him dry. But we might not need to get him that low. We only really need him unable to teleport, and then my dreamcatchers would be able to do the rest . . .”

The gap in the cloak shut, Mary taking her hand back to bite her thumb as she tried to iron out the hardest part of her plan.

“But how to get you close enough to him? And to make an excuse for you to touch?”

Mary’s eyes rolled around, but what excuse could there be? The Soul Master wouldn’t let a bug touch him, and it’s not like Guldig could just tackle the bug to the floor. But surely a light touch could be ignored? Something small, just a tickle on one of the bug’s less sensitive areas . . .

“Guldig, does it have to be your hands? Can you just have any contact at all?”

“As long as my body touches the Soul Master’s directly, it doesn’t matter which part it is.”

A plan was forming in Mary’s mind, a plan that shouldn’t put anyone in danger, but might not work all the same. It would hinge on how good a show that Hollow and their friends could put on, and how stupid the Soul Master was.

But come on, he had been dumb enough to kidnap a visiting merchant that everyone could connect to him. He was absolutely dumb enough to stick around and watch the show rather than do the smart thing and run.

She would need to speak with her assistants before going in, but she would only need to speak with one and the rest would get the idea. They were good like that.

She would need some supplies to make it work, but between everything that Hollow held for her and Spout’s own stash she should find what she needed.

Mary turned her head up, directing her eyes toward where Hollow’s head would be behind the cloak.

“Hollow, which of your friends is the better liar? I think we’re going to need to put on a show.”

Court in the White Palace was an event where the common bugs were invited into the Rulers of Hallownest’s home to either request guidance on a decision or to bring important matters to the Pale King’s attention.

Every now and then the White Lady would be in attendance, and though her input was always valuable and sought after, it was rare to see her residing in the throne next to the Pale King’s.

Court was a common but ritual event, not only a moment of governance, but a time of worship. A time for the bugs of Hallownest to interact with their God King and pay tribute to him by casting themselves into his domain. By requesting his knowledge and basking in his light.

But court today was not common.

Anyone would be able to tell that the Pale King was tense. His long body was slow curling and shifting before him, and his wings were just a moment away from buzzing.

He had some of his arms out from underneath his cloak and was gripping the side of his throne with many of the alabaster hands.

Court had started simply enough, just a few cases that needed the God’s ruling, and a couple of unforeseen incidents that would surely need new laws made to ensure that they would not happen again.

Fairly common incidents that had been arising since the first time the Pale King ever held court in the White Palace.

But then a group of foreign bugs had forced their way through the doors, screaming accusations against the Storyteller. Proclaiming that she had stolen away their master all the while waving the most gruesome dreamcatcher that any bug had ever seen.

And if that had not been enough, but while the Pale King had been attempting to get a sensible story from the bugs, he had been informed that his children had gone missing.

Many retainers and guards had left at that point, obviously leaving to go and search the White Palace and surrounding area’s for the Storyteller and the Voidlings.

But despite the need to search, the Pale King had stayed and demanded more details from both bugs, trying to learn how the Storyteller had gone missing, and when his children had been discovered missing.

Many bugs in the room couldn’t help but assume that whatever crime had happened involved both the Storyteller and the royal children. That the sudden disappearances must be connected.

Surely the Storyteller hadn’t kidnapped all of them . . .

Right?

The room was wound tight, the Pale King obviously only keeping his manners by the tips of his fingers, becoming tenser and tenser as the time passed and his children remained missing and the Storyteller and merchant continued to not be found.

Bugs entered and left the room in droves, messages being sent and arriving from all corners of the kingdom. The white cloaked retainers of the palace arriving to inform their God that another section of the White Palace had been searched and no children found. A guard marching in to inform the Pale King that the Storyteller had not been seen in the fungal wastes. A spider scurrying in carrying a warning from Herrah the Beast that no more of his guards would be allowed to enter Deepnest and that his brood or Storyteller hadn’t come to visit either.

A few important bugs had been in court before the mess had begun, the Soul Master from the City of Tears, a few delegates from the Hive. But as time passed the room seemed to fill even more with bugs, until it was packed with seemingly every bug that could make an excuse to be there.

And through it all, the merchants ranted and raved their panic only climbing higher as they master and his kidnapped continued to not be found.

The bugs in the room could all instinctively feel the weight of the Pale King’s power, as the air in the room became heavier and heavier as it was saturated with the Pale King’s power as it leaked from his coiled body.

It was in this atmosphere that the side doors of the room were thrown open and a bug nearly fell into the room. The bug who had burst in stumbled into the room and a few of the surrounding bugs recognize him as the bug who had been seen with the Hollow Knight. The merchant’s son.

The bug got a pace or so from the door before wailing out in a loud voice-,

“THE STORYTELLER IS DEAD!”

And all of the heavy power dense air in the room disappeared, leaving the shocked audience in a vacuum.

The Pale King’s wings were arching in the air even as his body tightened on his throne, his many legs digging into the stone as his hands clawed on its arms.

“WHAT.”

The bug’s words were obviously not believed, and it was apparent to all that the Pale King had finally reached the end of his patience at this – this- lie being trumpeted about, and that this bug was a moment away from being embraced by the void, cast into its depths by an angry god.

But the Pale King’s hand was stayed by the second bug entering the room.

It was the Hollow Knight.

The Hollow Knight who was leaking void from their eyes like tears, trickles of black liquid streaming from their eyes and dripping to the floor as they slowly entered the room, their head gently tilted downwards and staring at what they held in their arms.

At the small soft body that was carefully tucked against their chest. A familiar body adorned in the deep red cloak that the Storyteller had been wearing when she left this morning. A soft body wearing the mournful white visage of the Storyteller.

A body with a small sword stabbed within it, standing proudly from center of the Storyteller’s chest.

At the sight of the undeniable proof that the bug’s words were true, the Pale King froze, the horror plain on his face as he saw the corpse of his friend being cradled in the arms of his child.

The Hollow Knight walked slowly and with care, deeper into the room, all of the bugs flinching back from them as they smoothly approached the Pale King, their gait slow and ponderous. Almost as if they were afraid to disturb the body in their arms. As if they thought that the Storyteller had simply fallen asleep somewhere and the Hollow Knight only needed to take her to her bed.

As if they thought that she was going to wake up again.

While the Hollow Knight carefully brought the Storyteller’s body forward, the bug who had burst in ahead of them continued to stumble forward, as if unevenly weighted down by the knowledge they had to share. Obviously unused to tragedy and frightened at having the Pale King’s attention on him.

“We were just playing! We were just walking around and- and exploring when we saw- saw RED in the water!”

The bug paced and staggered in front of the Hollow Knight, before the Pale King. He was pulling at his antennas and casting his gaze around. He tried not to look anyone in the eye and every time he looked behind him he would flinch away from the sight.

“She- she was just floating in a canal in the City of Tears! She was upstream in the canal, and everything down stream of her was dyed red with her blood. We weren’t sure what- we didn’t know that it was her! We thought that it was some trash that someone had tossed in, perhaps a bag that had been dropped! There was so much red! How can a bug bleed RED! How could it have all come from a single body!?”

The bug’s voice was heavy with horror, his words stuttering and tripping over themselves with his nerves.

The bug was haphazardly telling the story of finding the Storyteller’s corpse. Doubling back and repeating himself as he fell apart in front of the still frozen Pale King whose eyes never strayed from the sword stabbed through the Storyteller’s chest.

The bugs in the crowd couldn’t help but press closer and closer, though they didn’t breach the circle of space that separated the Hollow Knight from the crowd.

Bugs ignored the social conventions that discouraged touch in this moment, pressed close, shell against shell as they huddled as close as they could to hear the stuttering and circular story of the Death of the Storyteller. Or really the Discovery of the Death of the Storyteller.

No one was given space.

The noble bugs were pressed against the common, and no one’s title saved them from the touch of their neighbor.

Some bugs, like the Teacher’s student seemed not to care, simply craning his neck to see over the crowd, while others like the Soul Master sneered at the rabble tainting his shell, but even he knew that now was not the time to enforce personal space.

He needed to know what way his servants had chosen to dispose of the Storyteller, and to see if perhaps he could make away with the body. Now was not the time to pull focus on himself.

As such he ignored the rudeness of the bugs surrounding him. He didn’t have any notice of how it was the masked bugs who had started to press closer from the outside, forcing the bugs in the center to compress down.

He never noticed how the bug at his side, heavily cloaked in black and wearing a mask with a broad grin. No, he like many others were too focused on the rabbling story of the bug speaking, and the obvious mourning of the Hollow Knight.

He never noticed his soul reserves oh, so slowly, drain away.

Chapter Text

Sore Spot didn’t know whether to be put out or relieved that she had been left in a side room away from all the action.

It wasn’t a pleasant idea, being front and center in a crowd of bugs while lying to the God king of the kingdom.

But she didn’t like how this felt, like she was being hidden away and protected by others. Like how her sisters would have treated her at the nest.

She didn’t like idea of her friends going out there without her.  With only that swarthy merchant and that strange bug as back up if things went badly.

They were obviously noncombatants and while Tiso could hold his own, he wouldn’t be able to have a weapon while in the presence of the God King. Not that he would have a chance at attacking the god, but it would still be considered an insult, if not threat.

So Spooky would be forced to go into a situation that could turn hostile with three bugs to protect, and Sore Spot bet that only Tiso would have the sense to run away from the Soul Master.

That merchant beetle was obviously holding a grudge, and that strange soft-shelled bug was obviously crazy.

Sore Spot sighed, weighing the pros and cons of busting into the court room. Nails waving, as she rushed the Soul Master.

She knew it was a bad idea, but it still seemed like one that could work.

The small body she had clenched tight to her side wiggled.

Sore Spot glanced down at the child that she had under her arm.

She had been warned by the soft bodied bug to keep this child named Ghost on her body at all times or else they would be lost.

Sore Spot understood, the children all walked lightly, barely any sound coming from their movement, and their bodies were much lighter than what one would expect from their size.

If one of them had the inclination to sneak away, then it would be a fairly easy feat to achieve.

They would make very good spies.

Or really, Sore Spot thought thinking of how much Spooky could pull from the nothing that was their body, even better thieves.

Sore Spot absently patted the head of the child in her arms, looking around the small room, counting white heads.

The flared horned child was bouncing in the middle of the floor crouching and then gently hopping up, over and over again. Sore Spot wasn’t sure why this seemed to entertain it so, but whatever kept it in the room.

The curly horned child, on the other hand, laid flat on their back. Their little limbs were spread wide the action being done seemingly in protest at their confinement.

The little curly horned child had not enjoyed being removed from the merchant’s lap, clinging with more arms than it had originally had until Spooky had finally managed to dislodge them.

Sore Spot trilled a bit at the memory. The child, despite not moving their face or making a sound had made it very clear that they did not agree with these turns of events.

And humorously enough, the merchant had seemed to be just as put out at their separation.

And the tri horned child-

Sore Spot squeezed the body in her arms harder in horror, invoking more wiggles.

“Where is your other sibling!?”

Sore Spot managed to dive toward the partially opened door and stick her head out into the hall just in time to see a little black body go around a corner.

She gave chase.

Tiso was not happy about this.

He didn’t know how he ended up as the one to-

Ok, no.

He knew exactly how he ended up as the spokesperson for this terrible idea.

 Of their group of nine, five of them couldn’t actually speak. Mary- Storyteller? - had to play dead and the merchant beetle had to get mixed into the crowd, leaving it as a choice between him and Sore Spot.

So yeah, he knew why out of them all he was the one who was being forced to stand before the King of Hallownest and lie his shell off, but he still wasn’t sure how he ENDED UP IN THIS SITUATION!

Tiso continued to stutter over his vague explanation of how he and Spooky had found the body floating in the canal. Doing his best to keep everything, from where it had happened, to when it had happened, incredibly vague.

Mary had coached him on how to lie before she had slumped in Spooky’s arms and played dead. She had insisted that the less details the better, and that the more jumbled and disconnected his story was the more likely they would have the time they needed to drain the Soul Master.

Tiso hadn’t been sure, had been insisting on getting the story locked down and memorized, but the strange bug had insisted that everyone would know he was lying if he acted in any way other than panicked, horrified, and frantic.

She had explained that they were all going to be horrified and panicked at her death, so they would expect Tiso to be horrified and panicked.

If he didn’t match their expectations then they would look closer at him, and while all of her ‘assistants’ would be in on the secret, it would be bad if the King caught on.

Apparently, it would be a best-case scenario if the King didn’t immediately call him out on his lie, but Mary insisted that the King was a terrible liar and would give up the game if he knew.

Worst case scenario would be the King striking out at him for lying and not waiting for an explanation, but Mary had said that Spooky would be able to protect him.

He had second thoughts about all of that now, the worst-case scenario holding more weight than before.

When Tiso had first agreed, no matter how reluctantly, to this plan, he had been convinced that no matter who the King was, that Spooky would be able to beat them in a fight. Spooky was a bug like no other, a fighter that could take an entire ant hill with reflexes sharp enough to cut glass.

Tiso had been comfortable with the knowledge that if the King figured out his ruse, then Spooky could protect him.

But apparently the King of Hallownest, was an actual God.

What the hell?

What was a God doing ruling a mortal kingdom?! Why had no one warned him that the King was a god!?

Spooky couldn’t take on a god! They were still mortal no matter how strange they were!

Tiso’s need to put on a good performance became more and more important as his eyes kept flicking to the horror frozen god on his throne.

Tiso’s words became even more frantic, his movements tenser and tenser, his story tangled and with many more exclamations that underlined his own and Spooky’s innocence.

It was a good thing that he was supposed to look scared, because he sure as hell was!

Tiso’s half made plans to escape the kingdom began to become more and more important.

Tiso wasn’t sure if they would be forgiven for lying to a god, no matter for what reasons. Royalty were fickle, and gods even more so.

A God King? He must be as easy to offend, as it was easy to disturb water.

Tiso would desperately have liked to pray for forgiveness, but he thought it would be a bad idea to pray with a god so close.

Wow. He’s a really good actor.

Mary listened to Tiso’s performance as she continued to flop like a dead fish in Hollow’s arms. She was impatiently waiting for one of her assistants to ring a bell, signaling that enough time had passed to have drained the Soul Master enough to have kept him in the hall.

Mary continued to breath as shallowly as she possibly could, doing her best to not shift the broad hand that was pressed between her tits.

Hollow had a pair of manifested hands tucked under her cloak, a thin gap sliced into the side to allow them to enter. One hand was on her chest, the handle of Sprout’s stolen nail kept from vanishing within it only by the hilt suspended by the fabric it was stabbed into, while the hand on her back had the point protruding from it

Hollow’s cool skin had caused her skin to turn to goose flesh, her body hyperaware of every place that they touched her. Apparently in the days that they had spent away from her, her body had become sensitized to the feel of them.

Mary was desperately fighting the urge to twitch and flinch, to curl up and protect her stomach from the gentle gliding touches of the half-dissolved void that dripped down her ribs. Their hands seeming to be more liquid than solid and having trouble staying in place.

Mary was focusing so hard on being still, on being quiet. Just her the sound of her breathing could give the act up as a farce.

The room wasn’t exactly quiet though, what with how the bugs were all giving off low sounds of distress and with Tiso’s stuttering testimony bouncing off the walls.

But this chamber was made to echo, to allow all speakers to be heard. It would take only a single sharp inhale, something only as loud as a whisper, to alert someone to the fact that there was something wrong with the corpse.

Mary didn’t need to worry about that though.

What she needed to worry about was someone else entirely breaking the silence.

Tip-tip-tip

At first no one paid it any mind. Just another frazzled soul moving outside of the room.

TIP-TIP-TIP

But it soon began attracting attention from the bugs who hadn’t been hit quite as hard by the Storyteller’s death.

To hear someone running in the White Palace? Surely something must be going wrong.

TIP-TIP-TIP

It was the last few moments of echoing steps that alerted most of the crowd of their soon to arrive guest, that had a number of bugs diverting their gaze from the corpse or the frantically speaking bug and turning their eyes to the door.

The door that was already opened, a small black bodied child standing just inside of the room.

Only a few bugs managed to understand exactly what they were seeing before the doors were forced open and a soggy cloaked ant nearly threw herself on the Royal Child.

“I caught you, you little egg shard!”

The ant was dangling Sprout from the back of their cloak, Ghost pinned to her side by her spare arm. Her antennas flicked in victory before she seemed to finally become aware of where she was.

She met the gaze of the Pale King across the heads of the crowd.

Her antennas slammed to her head and she took only a single step backwards before the Pale King, a bug whose emotions had been frozen under the glacier of shock that had overcome him when he had seen the Storyteller dead in his child’s arms, reverted to the emotion that had gotten him through the worse times in his life.

Territorial rage.

The Pale King threw his wings wide and hissed, seeing nothing beyond the fact that there was a foreign bug holding two of his missing children. Finally finding a target for the storm inside of him.

The Pale King lunged off of his throne arms outstretched and wings beating the air as he dove for this interloper who was putting his children at risk, only to be yanked back to the ground, head bouncing off of the floor and filling his mind with a sharp ringing.

Wait, no.

That ringing wasn’t inside of his head.

The Pale King managed to look to behind him, look to where his oldest child was gripping the end of his tail in a single hand, the Storyteller’s body drooping haphazardly in their other.

And half of the nail that had been impaling her, bouncing across the floor.

Do you know what happens when something is in the process of being taken into the void?

It is in a state between states, it is half frozen and half moving. It is in the timeless embrace of the void and in the decaying grip of life.

Being taken into the void is never supposed to last more than a breath, more than a moment. It is an action that is also an end. Not a long drawn out ordeal.

It took concentration and care to keep the nail both entering and leaving from different parts of their body, it took so much effort to do this seemingly small trick.

Hollow was it up only by the tips of their fingers.

It was difficult, it strained something inside of them.

But for Mary?

For Mary they would strain themselves to the ends of the kingdom and beyond to fulfill her requests.

But . . .

At the sight of their friend suddenly appearing and snatching their sibling, their concentration had wavered yes, but they had stayed strong!

But at the realization that their father was about to rip their friend apart, his mind having obviously been stretched too far at the perceived threat of his children on top of the faux death of Mary?

Hollow hadn’t even had a thought in their head, but somewhere within them there must have been a comparison, some scale that had weighted their actions against each other and chosen this one.

Completing Mary’s scheme and getting revenge on the Soul Master weighted against the life of their friend?

The scale had tipped in the ant’s favor.

Sore Spot’s life was worth more than Mary’s orders.

Hollow had flung their arm out, grabbing the end of their father’s tail, that only part that Hollow could reach, having almost missed their chance.

Their finger’s dug into their father’s body, and their void solidified, cutting the nail into three parts.

The handle that didn’t move from where it now rested on Hollow’s hand, the thin sliver of metal that would now reside in their void for the rest of time, and the end of the nail that dropped to the floor with a loud clatter.

The naked blade seemed to be making a mockery of them with how it danced, jumping away from Hollow and drawing out the ordeal. Letting all of those in the room know, at volume, exactly where to look.

Hollow couldn’t help their instinctive action of drawing Mary even closer to their body in an attempt to hide her from so many eyes even as their hand tightened on their father’s tail, ensuring that he wouldn’t try and attack their friend again.

Mary, from the supine position she was still forcing herself to be in couldn’t really see anything but the white ceiling with how her head was thrown back, but it wasn’t hard to figure out why it felt like the entire room was suddenly pressing down on her.

Why Hollow had drawn her even closer.

Fuck. Fuck!

Everything had gone to shit!

Oh man, she couldn’t keep playing dead, could she? It sounded like the Pale King had gone into rage mode! But had enough time passed? Had the Soulmaster been drained of enough power to keep him here?

What could she even say to explain why she was- well no, the truth would absolutely work, but was it timefor the truth?

“The- the nail fell out of the Storyteller!”

“How could- “

“My King! Are you alright!”

“She has the children! Get her!”

“Wait! It’s only half of a nail!”

“Does that mean that some is still inside of- “

“Is the Storyteller healing?”

“Wait, where are the others- “

“But she is DEAD! The dead don’t- “

“But her story! Remember how if you make a bet with the Void- “

“The Hollow Knight is holding her- “

“They do love her so much.”

“And they are of the void.”

“Sore Spot! Don’t just stand there!”

“Wait, does he know her?”

The chatter of the crowd, the random court goers approaching the ant princess who was still holding two children in her arms, seemingly frozen in fear at how close to godly retribution she had come, of the Hallownest’s denizen’s insatiable need to gossip, cut off when there was a sound like a bug’s best impression of a cat’s yowl.

The attention of the room was once more yanked to the side as the Soul Master pushed a masked bug away from them with enough force to make the bug fall into the open space around the Hollow Knight and the Pale King.

The bug fell to the ground with a clatter and a yelp, nearly falling on the sheared blade that had come from the Storyteller. They flipped onto their back and scrambled towards the possible safety of the Hollow Knight. Kicking out at the bug who had thrown them to the ground.

But they didn’t move fast enough to keep the Soul Master from stepping on the edge of their cloak, anchoring them down.

“Murderer! Assassin! This bug was trying to kill me! To suck the soul straight out of me! To use the distraction of the Storyteller’s death to kill me as well! They must be a part of the devious group that killed her!”

The Soul Master raised his hands up.

“You will not kill me as well! The power of Hallownest will not be gutted this day! They must be targeting the most influential bugs in Hallownest! Well, I will not allow them to take any more lives!”

Mary’s eye’s widened.

Oh fuck!

Everything was spiraling out of control!

Guldig must have pulled harder once he realized that the time for subtly was quickly coming to an end. A hard yank since a slow siphon was soon not going to be an option, but fuck, now he was the center of attention!

And we still didn’t know if the Soul master was too low to teleport!?

Fucking shit, what to do, what to do? Does she reveal herself? Does she proclaim the Soulmaster the true villain what- what- what-!

Mary just shivered in Hollow’s arms mind racing while her body was paralyzed in panic, adrenaline flooding her veins even as her body froze.

She wasn’t good for situations like this! The stakes were too high, there would only be the one chance!

Mary’s hands dug into Hollow’s cloak even as she panicked.

But thankfully, someone else was thinking.

Tiso let out a sound that was probably supposed to be a battle cry, but was really something closer to a panicked scream and threw himself at the bug whose hands had begun to glow in an obvious preparation for an attack.

He managed to slap his hands over the Soul Master’s eyes and wrap his legs halfway around the bug, all the while screaming loud enough to bring the house down.

The Soul Master made another yowling cat noise, the soul in his hand dissolving into the air as he flailed and tried to drag the bug off of his head.

At the sight of Tiso distracting the Soul Master, Guldig lunged forward and clasped his hands around the ankles of the Soul Master, draining the bug as hard as he could, grimly letting himself get dragged across the floor as he kept his grip.

No one was sure what to do in this situation, it was almost comical.

Their God King flat on the floor, his tail in the grasp of his oldest child. The Storyteller’s body flopping about in the Hollow Knight’s arm. A screaming bug nearly riding the shoulders of the Soul Master. The Soul Master making a noise like a mindless being while ineffectually beating at the bug’s body, and a third bug latched to his ankles on the floor.

One could laugh if lives weren’t possibly at stake.

Amidst the chaos, the screaming and mindless noise, the sound of a bell rang out. It was nearly inaudible beneath the noise, but certain bugs had been listening for it very hard.

The bug on the floor, Guldig, turned their still masked face and gave an order to his bug, a bug who he had spent many a long day and even longer night training to follow his commands. No matter how strange.

“THROW THE DREAMCATCHER AT THE SOULMASTER.”

And the bug did. Tossing dreamcatcher at once, seemingly not thinking beyond the urge to obey their master’s voice.

The action was so startling that no one could do more than stare as the dreamcatcher soared through the air.

The dreamcatcher, the thorned, blood stained, pulsing, dreamcatcher.

If you could even call it a dreamcatcher anymore.

During its flight it lost its shape, the circle of thorns seeming to unbind and the ragged silk unraveling from its design, so that when the tangle of fabric and thorn smacked into the side of the Soul Master, they all lashed tightly to his frantically flailing limbs.

Tiso yelped, falling off of the Soul Master, flinching away from the thorns. But they slid over his shell like they were greased, leaving not a single mark on him as he fell through their embrace and hit the floor.

He scrambled back, smacking into the Pale King and then flinching away at the instinctive chitter that the God let out.

Guldig remained latched onto the Soul Master’s ankles draining as much soul from him that he could, just to make sure. But eventually the Soul Master finally kicked out hard enough to dislodge the bug, even as the Soul Master fell backwards to the ground.

Thorns scrapped across his shell, and silk tangled his joints until he was left lying in a haphazard tangle, his noises consolidating into words as he began to both curse at Guldig and demand assistance.

“Lowly creature! What have you- seize them! Kill them! Cut me free! Get me loose! Once I am free I will make you face my wrath you lowly, mindless- How dare you besmirch the Storyteller’s last dreamcatcher by- “

“I gave them that Dreamcatcher.”

The Soul Master choked on his words.

The Storyteller no longer hung limply from the Hollow Knight’s arm, but had pulled herself upwards by her grip on their shoulder, her free hand removing the sheared hilt from her body.

There were screams.

Some bugs fell to the ground, scrabbling backwards in horror, their minds awash in what happened the last time the dead rose in this kingdom.

Others fell to their knees in rapture. Their Storyteller, their miracle worker returning from the void, under her own power or through the grace of the Hollow Knight they did not know, but it didn’t make the feat any less wonderous.

The Pale King, still on the floor, became shocked anew, staring up at her. His mouth hung open and his hands seemed to reach out toward her.

But the Storyteller ignored him, ignored them all.

The Storyteller gently pushed herself out of the Hollow Knight’s grip and dropped to the floor with a slight stagger.

“How- Who are you! You are an imposter! A deceiver who has stolen the Storyteller’s mask and turned the Hollow Knight against the kingdom!”

The Storyteller went toward the Soul Master, walking past the Pale King whose head swiveled to follow her, past the merchant boy who scrambled a bit to stay out of her way.

Past the bug who now sat on the floor, who had removed his mask and was watching the Soul Master’s struggle with hungry eyes.

“Oh, a deceiver, am I? A thief? Such words from a kidnapper and murderer. In comparison, your crimes are much worse than whatever you could try and convict me of.”

The Soul Master withered in the tightening bonds as the Storyteller approached, sparks of soul dancing around him before extinguishing, whatever he had been attempting to do, failing at his lack of power.

Only faint trickles of soul left in him.

Not enough to die of, but enough to leave him powerless.

As the Storyteller moved toward the restrained Soul Master, she did not stand tall. She did not stand steadfast.

She wobbled, seemingly unsure of her balance. She had a single hand, braced against the matte carapace of the Hollow Knight who had released their hold on their father in order to follow her, dropping to their knees in order to allow her to prop herself on their body.

Her cloak seemed to drip in void, in red blood, in soul. Stained with the Hollow Knight’s tears, wet from the rain still, and now under the bright light of the White Palace. A trail was left behind her as she stumbled forward, the Hollow Knight willingly letting her use their kneeling body as a pillar of stability.

The Soul Master continued to struggle while she approached howling accusations even as the dreamcatcher wove tighter around him, silk and thorns covering more and more of him as he continued to strain.

Eventually the silk reached his mouth, stopping his words.

The Soul Master had a spider silk in his mouth, his mandibles nearly woven shut with the silk threads, but despite this he made noise still. He had reverted to instinct, his body making those deep primal sounds that lacked true meaning, just a high buzzing noise to ward of threats and warn of danger.

A useless display that just let all those who couldn’t rip their eyes away know the exact depth of his fear.

A fear that he should have felt way before he had ever reached this point. Before he had betrayed his God King.

Before he had stolen who the Hollow Knight, Void given form, coveted.

Before he had threatened the Mysterious Storyteller, whose domain remained unknown.

“You’re a very lucky bug, did you know that?”

The Storyteller stumbled closer, her movements swaying and uneven, the Hollow Knight’s hands moving to her sides, hovering beside her, to catch her if she would fall. But she managed to keep her feet as she spoke, ignoring the audience and focusing on the bug who had given her such trouble.

“You were born lucky. Given every tool to be comfortable. You could have lived a comfortable life. You could have been content!”

The Storyteller tripped, the Hollow Knight’s hand shot out to hold her up, their hand curling under her arm and spanning her back as she got her feet back underneath her. But still she ignored everything but the bug before her.

“But you wanted, more didn’t you? You looked at all that you had and thought you deserved more? You wanted more power, more time, more more more.”

“You looked at all you could accomplish as a mortal, and decided to be a god instead? And you thought that you could ascend by amassing power? By ripping the soul out of bugs? By adding bodies to the piles during the plague? By committing atrocities! In secret?”

The Storyteller threw her head back, her hood falling from her head, and laughed.

The bugs all watching stared at the pale throat, at the strange thick cords that were braided together like rope hanging from her head, a few thinner strands wisping out and lashing the air with her every movement.

“Secrecy! Secrecy!? No god has ever ascended in private! No God has ever shed mortality with only a close circle aware of them!”

The Storyteller’s head righted itself even as her body slumped against the Hollow Knight, a hand lifting to wave in the air, motion accompanying her words.

“You do not become a god when you bend the world to your will, but when your will matches the world’s! A God is not something that you can become on your own, you cannot become great by yourself, you cannotbe a god secretly!”

Th Storyteller leaned forward over the Soul Master. The Hollow Knight bracing a hand against her chest to keep her from falling on top of him.

“No . . . you have done nothing but make yourself a villain. You have done nothing but commit crimes in secret, hide from your king’s light and create unimaginative, feeble, lies.”

All of the bugs in the audience stared at the show in front of them. They all knew something momentous was happening before their eyes.

 “You’re no fledgling god. You’re not even a good villain. You’re barely even a footnote in history, nothing but a vague memory to be generalized and forgotten.”

Tiso snapped his head to the side, yanking his attention away from the display in front of him when something touched his arm. He blinked in confusion at the three horned child that had decided to latch onto his side before looking up to see a horrified but enthralled Sore Spot.

She had somehow made her way over to him, probably seeking out someone familiar instead of doing the smart thing and getting as far away as she could from the still confused god sitting right next to him!

“Do you know why I always used your title, Soul Master? Why I even now give you that ‘respect’?”

The Storyteller lifted her mask, just a little, just enough for her red mouth to be seen. She smiled down at the bug whose eyes widened.

Teeth, not sharp, not dangerous, but flashing like a threat all the same.

“Why, it’s because you always meant so little to me that I never bothered to remember your name! Oh yes. That would be the most fitting punishment for you wouldn’t it? To make you remembered, not for your accomplishments, but your unearthed secrets. You will be spoken of, not by name, but by a title that you have shared with many others. I, the one titled Storyteller, strip you of your name Soul Master! I expunge it from the memory of this kingdom. You no longer have a name! Only the title of Soul Master, never to be passed on and shackled only to you with the shame of your hubris, envy and thoughtless actions. You won’t be forgotten, your crime must be learned from, but no one will ever speak of you ever again. Only your title. Everything but your crimes will be stripped from you, nothing more than a one-dimensional villain from a story.”

The Storyteller turned her eyes away from the terrified Soul Master and looked toward the bug on the floor.

Guldig was sitting up straight, looking regal even as he kept a near shattering grip on the mask in his lap.

“Guldig, the Dreamcatcher is yours, and will answer to you alone. Command it by name and this bug will no longer be anyone’s concern.”

Guldig’s grip tightened just a touch, their antenna’s curling, He didn’t like being cast in the spot light like this. It hadn’t been discussed and he didn’t know what exactly the Storyteller meant with her words.

But she must have a plan.

So, with the practice of his lifetime, he forced his body to relax and with the refinement of a queen, he tilted his head back to look down at the Soul Master’s panic mad eyes and said,

“Puncture? Swallow.”

And with a last panicked and shrill noise, the Soul Master’s body disappeared beneath a sudden swarm of thorns and silk, the withering mass convulsing on the floor for a few seconds before shrinking down.

The Soul Master no longer remained.

All that was left in his place was the dreamcatcher.

Thorned, ragged, bloodstained, and giving off an air of a content predator who had just eaten a rather large meal.

Chapter Text

If this was a story, then it would have ended with the climatic death of the villain.

But no matter how strange and mythical it was, this was Mary’s real life, so there was still a lot of problems to deal with.

But thankfully, she had some very good helpers.

In just a few moments her assistants had cleared out the room of all the uninvolved bugs. Sending them away with smiles on their faces and soothing words.

A few of the more practiced ones had even started to make plans for sending bugs to the Soul Sanctum to capture any bugs who might still be there and begin collecting extra evidence of the crimes committed.

There was a single hitch when one of her assistants tried to touch Guldig’s dreamcatcher, the thorned hoop shifting just a bit.

It gave off the impression of a dog silently barring it’s teeth, but then the beetle himself scooped it up and it seemed to calm down.

Guldig and his own employees were offered a room in the White Palace, but they politely declined, an air of hanging onto their calm by the tips of their fingers hanging over the pair, and were given a carriage to return to their townhouse in the City of Tears.

Mary, in a rare moment of forethought, insisted that the carriage drop them off at the Hot Springs as an apology for all of the trouble, citing the waters as being healing and the singing being good for the nerves.

She would of course foot the bill.

Mary didn’t know what the fuck was up with Guldig’s weird soul sucking powers, but they could probably use a good topping up after all of the crazy shit that went on today and in the jar. She wasn’t done with him yet and needed to begin bribing him again, and that was as good of a place to start as any.

But even with the foreign bugs gently swept out of the White Palace, there were still a million things to do.

Mary needed to get started on finding records of the crimes done in the Soul Sanctum. She needed her assistants to begin damage control about the situation. She needed a bath.

But Mary didn’t manage to do any of that, because the Pale King finally woke up from his befuddled daze on the floor and Mary was standing too close to escape his grasp.

The moment that Mary had gotten into grabbing distance she had been snagged in his coils, yanked right out of Hollow’s hands.

All of the court bugs hadn’t even been ushered out yet, many of them getting an eyeful of the God-King of Hallownest snarling in her face and not letting her go. Dragging her away deeper into the White Palace, hissing at anyone who had gotten too close.

He had even tried to drag the babies into the strangle hold, but they had dodged away, apparently considering Mary enough of a sacrifice to calm their father’s nerves.

Ahh children, truly the cruelest of creatures

“Ok. I know you’re mad- “

Chitter.

“I get it, I would be angry if you faked your death as well.”

Snarl.

“We didn’t want the Soul Master to get away! He had done a lot of harm and we didn’t have a way to stop his teleporting!”

Grrrr.

Mary gave up on trying to excuse her actions and just slumped as much as she could in the Pale King’s coils.

The both of them were laying on the dirt floor of the royal chambers. Mary flat on her back, and the Pale King mostly wrapped around her.

His tail was wrapped all the way around one of Mary’s legs and some of his arms were grabbing her around the waist. His fingers twisted in the ripped up and still damp cloak.

He had both of her arms yanked over her head keeping her thoroughly restrained after she had almost wiggled free while he had dragged her to his hole in the ground room.

And now she was caught in his tender grooming mercy.

He had basically licked her face clean, Mary having had to press her lips together to keep him from trying to groom the inside of her mouth.

And now he was working through her hair, his weird little mandibles combing through the strands as he atethe dried blood caught in her hair.

It was a sign of affection, but it mostly just felt like a cat biting her hair.

The Pale King hadn’t quite gone verbal yet, still too shocked and angry. Reduced to an instinct driven fuss as he gave into his urges to gain equilibrium once again.

Mary huffed as the Pale King’s sharp teeth scrapped her scalp, the sensation more ticklish than threatening.

She cast her eyes toward the one other person in the room, the White Lady, who was calmly ignoring her husband putting his mouth all over another woman right in front of her.

“Help me? Please?”

The White Lady looked up, squinting her eyes at Mary in a smile, “Oh? Am I hearing the pleas of a ghost? No, it must simply be the wind. After all my dear husband saw the dead body of the Storyteller only an hour ago. Perhaps her spirit lingers?”

Mary whined and wiggled more in the Pale King’s grip, but he held fast and just chittered at her even with his mouth full of her hair.

“I’m sorry, okay! I didn’t frighten you on purpose! I won’t do it again, okay?!”

Ch-ch-ch-cht!

Mary groaned, held captive by her friend as his wife ruthlessly ignored her pleas. Her children sitting in her tendrils like birds in a tree, four little eyes watching her with empty but interested gazes. And the White Lady not looking at her at all, reading the tablets that probably had information about the incident that just went down.

Mary sighed as the Pale King shifted his grip on her, shoving more of her hair in his mouth.

At least someone was getting some important work done.

Hopefully Hollow was faring better with their friends then she was.

Hollow had a room in the White Palace.

It was given to them more as a formality than anything else.

Well, their parents absolutely meant for it to be a real gesture of affection. They wanted to give Hollow their space, a place to have as their own. For them to have a sanctuary.

But . . .

Hollow did not enjoy privacy.

They did not like silence or solitude.

If given the choice between resting in a quiet room sequestered away in the White Palace or waiting in a public hallway for one of their loved ones to awaken from their sleep?

They would always choose to wait.

They could carry their entire lives, everything they would ever need inside of them, what did they need for storage?

What does a creature that neither tires, sleeps, or has any needs beyond the company of another, do with a private space only for themselves?

Hollow . . . Hollow had eventually turned their room into a shrine dedicated to their loved ones.

There were . . . not exactly many things in the room, in fact the only two pieces of furniture in the room were a table and a couch. Standing alone in the wide and high-ceilinged room.

The couch was simple, a piece of furniture large enough to hold the entire length of their body, long enough for them to even lay down on, and overstuffed.

The couch was nearly overflowing with soft silk pillows, the colorful squares piled high.

It had obviously been included in the room with a certain soft bodied bug in mind.

Th table though, was oddly modest for the White Palace.

Made of a slightly tarnished metal, and standing only to Hollow’s mid-calf, it was nearly sagging under the weight of the many items placed upon it.

A crudely carved King’s Idols sat next to a glistening white plant cutting, and piled around them were inexpertly woven silk tapestries and a variety of child drawings.

These were not Hollow’s favorite gifts from their siblings, nor their best attempts to make a King’s idol.

They kept their favorite items in their void.

But those were the only cuttings that they had from their mother.

The only living cuttings.

Nothing that enters the void of their body leaves it alive.

Things stay perfectly persevered within themselves, but not living.

Hollow had a rather large amount of time to themselves. Their siblings enjoyed fringing sleep but Hollow had never enjoyed the long hours of emptiness.

But bugs needed sleep and while their mother had often stayed awake with them, Hollow had understood that she had missed spending time with their father, asleep he might have been.

Hollow had looked for activities to fill the empty hours, trying their hand at gardening, and while they could go through the motions, only plants that had sprouted from their mother could withstand the touch of their void.

Other plants else would wither sooner than later if constantly around them.

The hadn’t wanted to kill the gifts from their mother, so they had placed them in their room. But the cuttings had looked so lonely, something seeming to be wrong with seeing the presence of their mother without their father close by.

But it had felt . . . wrong to leave the parts of their mother alone. So, Hollow had begun their attempts to carve a King’s idol.

It . . .  had not gone terribly well.

Their fingers had been too large and the knives too small, but they had many hours to practice the art while their family slept.

Once Hollow had made a passible carving of their father, it had seemed strange once more to see their parents alone.

So, they had added some of their gifts from their sister, and then some of the works from their siblings. More and more trinkets had made their way to Hollows room until the surface of the table was nearly entirely covered in mementos of their family.

Half carved figures sporting their siblings horns, half mangled piles of silk that Hollow had attempted to weave into toys

 . . . there was nothing from Mary on the table.

They were greedy with anything that Mary gave them, anything they made for her.

It would make sense to put something of hers on the table, but . . .

They wanted to keep everything of Mary’s as close to them as possible.

 . . .

No one went to Hollow’s room.

Mostly because Hollow was the one who often went to theirs.

They had needed to scramble to find a light source, searching within themselves until they found a lantern that would be bright enough to light the room, having never needed to replace the luma flies in the lamp in the ceiling when they had all eventually died.

 If one needed to find Hollow then their process of searching often went as such, go to where the Storyteller was, then go to where the children are, then go to where the King was, and if in the process of searching one hadn’t seen the queen then to check with her last.

If they hadn’t been found at that point then the entire White Palace would be searching for them and their room would have never even been considered as a place to look.

So, when Hollow brought Tiso and Sore Spot to their room, it was the first time that a bug had entered other than themselves since it had been gifted to them.

Hollow had a moment, just a small one, where they were embarrassed at the sight of their many failed handy crafts sitting out in the open and cluttering the only table in the room, but beyond a quick look the table was soundly ignored.

Tiso began pacing around the couch and Sore Spot wedged herself amongst the pillows, her entire body nearly disappearing in the fluff.

In fact, as Hollow stepped back once, and then again as Tiso angrily stomped toward them, hiding might be exactly what she was doing.

Hollow stopped backing away and instead stared off into a corner, pretending like they were completely unaware of what Tiso might possibly be mad about.

They were pretending to be nothing more than the cold unthinking item they had been created to be. A thoughtless automation unmoved by any outside influence.

“I KNOW YOU CAN HEAR ME SPOOKY!”

“ROYALTY!?! YOU WERE ROALTY THE WHOLE TIME!?”

“A CHILD OF GODS!?”

“YOU JUST LET ME INSULT YOUR PARENTS SPOOKY!”

“DON’T IGNORE ME!”

Hollow finally looked down at their wild-eyed friend as he paced in front of them, his antennas flailing at his thoughts and his voice echoed around Hollow’s room.

After Mary had been snatched away by their father, Hollow had been left with the choice of fighting him for her, or taking his friends deeper into the White Palace and keeping them from leaving before they could explain everything they needed to.

Hollow had graciously allowed their father the time he would need to calm himself and had given into their own urges to hide away their treasures.

It would be better to have Mary here with them, but they were constantly tugging on the connection that they had with her, confirming that she was nearby and hadn’t moved from their parents’ rooms.

They would retrieve her when she began to move around more, whenever their father finally let her go.

It would take some time.

And so, for now, Hollow would focus on their friends.

Hollow had already healed them with soul, had watched the cracks in Sore Spot’s shell disappear and had watched as Tiso’s shoulders had untensed just a touch when the white liquid had soothed whatever aches and pains he had acquired during the rather long day.

It calmed something within them to help their friends feel better, to wipe away their pains and steady them back on their feet to once more stand by Hollow’s side.

Even if currently Tiso was having a badly contained panic about them being royalty while Sore Spot guiltily looked away.

Guldig hadn’t let go of Puncture even though one it it’s thorns had been digging into his hand.

His employee sat across from him, her body held rigidly despite the gentle swaying of the carriage.

Guldig knew that she was waiting for him to talk to her, to tell her his plan or for him to scold her for doing something wrong.

But Guldig just stayed silent, gently flexing his jaw, feeling the various moving parts rub against each other.

They didn’t feel any different, but . . .

When he had given the order, that command to ‘Swallow’ he had felt something in his mouth.

It had felt oily and thick, but had flowed out as easily as air.

Is that what using soul feels like? Like drooling oil?

How did anyone do any magic without vomiting?

Guldig wasn’t sure how the Storyteller managed to make his parasitic body give up the soul needed to command Puncture, but he knew that he wouldn’t be able to do such a thing under his own power.

The carriage slowed to a stop, too soon to have reached the townhouse gifted to him, and Guldig took a deep breath and began to fit back into the persona that he often wore.

He didn’t know why the Storyteller was forcing him to go to this establishment after the trials he had gone through, but it wouldn’t do to allow her a win though his own tiredness.

Guldig stepped from the carriage, making a fuss about the water that ruined his cloak and the aches he felt.

His employee was familiar enough with Guldig’s ditz act, and adjusted her behavior accordingly, going from an employee fearing her boss and donning the act of a long-suffering employee who was just allowing their airheaded boss run them ragged.

Guldig had a short interaction with a simpering sycophant of a desk bug before being led into an elevator and rising high above the city.

The moment the doors opened, Guldig was engulfed in a thick steam that was already making his joints relax just from proximity.

As he was led though the decadently decorated luxury business, his antennas picked up small snippets of various conversations.

~

“-happening at the Soul Sanctum? First it sounds like a war is taking place and then it’s over run by white guards!”

“Well, has anyone heard from the researchers? They would know.”

“That’s just it! No one has seen even their shadows for hours- “

~

“-heard that there was a commotion at the White Palace as well!”

“Oh? What happened?”

“Well, it’s not a clear picture yet, but from what little has gotten around so far it sounds like- “

~

“the Storyteller would absolutely win in a fight against the White King.”

“Oh, Come on, she’s powerful sure, but in a physical fight- “

“Ahh, but the Storyteller doesn’t need to protect herself physically, the Hollow Knight would protect her, and she would only need her soul power.”

“If you’re bringing the Hollow Knight into this then it’s only fair that the Pale King has the White Lady with him and two full gods verse two un-ascended would- “

~

The conversations faded out behind him as he entered a steam choked room where a sweet singing made it impossible to have conversations.

The Storyteller had sent him to a gathering place of the rich and influencal.

How kind of her, but he would have preferred to have visited this place after he rested.

But visiting once would help him visit again when he was in a more social mood.

He had finally arrived at a large shallow pool of water were a few more bugs were all sitting, either alone or in small groups, relaxing in the hot water.

Guldig was indecisive for a moment, his costume was half of his mask and without the frills it was harder to sell the ditzy persona, but well, the hot water was welcoming and as long as he didn’t talk to anyone this visit then it wouldn’t much matter then would it?

Guldig hung his cloak on one of the provided hooks on the wall, after a moment of indecision, hung the dreamcatcher as well.

Perhaps it would guard his things?

Guldig finally wandered back over to the hot springs, and carefully placed a single foot in the water.

oh.

Soul began to seep into him, filling him with more power than he had ever had in his life.

No wonder she sent me here.

 “-think it’s going to have any massive effect on the trading. It won’t look good don’t get me wrong but I don’t think that it’s going to effect the merchant’s perspectives a lot.”

A hand, sharp clawed and with hard chitin stroked through her hair as she continued to ramble about her expectations for the results of what happened.

“From what hints I’ve gotten from the merchants, a bit of bloodshed in a kingdom is-. Well, not expected, but it happens and they’re used to it.”

The body underneath her shifted, the coils that still held her captive loosening a bit as the Pale King listened to her ramble.

“I’ll need to check the records, but I think that we managed to get a significant number of merchants to commit to a return trip by having some of their wares turned to geo and opening bank accounts for them. The fact that their money is going to be held in the kingdom will go a long way to insuring that they will return, and of course they’re going to bring others with them.”

The low hum that had started about ten minutes into her chatter throbbed against her back as the Pale King calmed down, his nerves finally settling as he was wrapped up in his favorite things.

The company of his wife, the presence of his children, a warm dark hole to curl up in, something fiddley to groom with his teeth, and the soothing drone of Mary discussing the minute details of the kingdom.

“As long as there isn’t an unprecedented disruption in their actual trade routes, then we should have plenty of return visitors. They don’t care about our politics, only their profit and as long as the drama of Hallownest does not affect their bottom line then they won’t give a shit about us having a turbulent political scene.”

The Pale King finally, FINALLY, took his mouth off of Mary’s hair and responded with his words.

“The meat stores aren’t as full as I would like, and we will have to prioritize the food merchants for a while yet, but Hallownest is no longer in danger of starving. Not as long as we continue to have contact with outside traders.”

Mary hummed and subtly pulled her hair away from the Pale King’s face. She didn’t want him swallowing the strands down again.

“I’m certain that nothing short of the Kingdom shutting its doors will keep them out. We have resources they can’t get anywhere else, and through us, contact with multiple other kingdoms. Even if none of the traders that arrived return, the mere fact that they survived the experience and brought back treasures will drive others to make the trip.”

The Pale King shifted once more, and despite the feeling of solid ground below her, Mary restrained herself from tossing her body away and escaping his grip.

“I think that while the kingdom is not quite clear of the crisis, we are no longer in such immediate danger.”

Mary got her legs underneath of her. Carefully lifting her body upwards onto her knees.

“The kingdom is recovering.”

“It is certainly heading that way. “

Mary carefully lifted herself upwards, turning toward the Pale King who had been at her back.

He had calmed down, his wings relaxed behind him and his eyes in a droopy contented cat squint.

At some point the White Lady had twined some of her tendrils with some of the Pale King’s arms, Ghost and Vlad had also made their way to the Pale King’s side, each other them claiming a hand for their own.

There would be a need for more talk later, plans to be made for how to address the kingdom after the Soulmaster’s betray and death. Plans to spin the tale to be more palatable and cast the two of them in a better light.

Some lie created to smooth over all of the oversights and fuck ups.

But that was for later, for now Mary needed to sleep in her own bed.

“I’m going to sleep. We’ll talk more tomorrow.”

The Pale King twitched a bit, like he was thinking of snatching her up once more, but the combined force of his children and his wives’ tendrils that visibly tightened after his twitch kept him lying on the ground.

With no more than a parting nod to the white lady and a few pats for the kids, Mary finally made her way out of the royal chambers and began to the walk back to her room.

The White Palace was quiet, not even an echo of another bug’s footsteps in the distance. They must all be clumped up in the main areas gossiping, or out doing damage control.

Mary was alone as she walked.

Mary was relatively certain that she knew the way back to her rooms. It wasn’t like they had changed places, but . . . Mary was tired.

Mary was tired and seriously contemplating if she should go straight to sleep or if she should take the time to bathe.

She would feel worse in the morning if she didn’t, but the only reason that she was on her feet right now was that sleeping on the Pale King never left her well rested.

He was a fidgety sleeper and she was too soft to stand up to it. She would wake up with bruises and scratches unless Hollow separated them and brought her to her room at some point.

But they were with their friends tonight, so Mary needed to get herself to bed under her own power tonight.

Mary felt her shoulders drop a bit as she remembered that Hollow was off with their friends again.

And it was fine! They had a hard night too!

The three of them had come to save her and Guldig!

That was good! She owed them!

They deserved the time together!

Mary rubbed the sharp ache on her head, the dull throb that denoted that split skin.

The Pale King had basically given her a spit bath, scraping the blood off of her skin with his teeth, getting down her neck and her hands, Mary having managed to force him away before he started to shred at her cloak to get to more skin.

Thankfully he got tangled in her hair and got side tracked by the many tangled strands.

But now she felt like she was covered in spit and really really really wanted to take a bath.

But she was so damn tired.

Mary stopped, staring at a statue of the Pale King with one of the horns broken off.

She knew this statue.

The kids had climbed all over it one day, playing ‘king of the hill’ and in their games, too many of them had dangled off of one of the horns at the same time and it had snapped under their combined weight.

This statue was nowhere near her rooms.

Frustrated tears began to bead in the corners of Mary’s eyes.

She was tired. She was dirty.

She just wanted to curl up in bed and sleep!

But she couldn’t even find her own room!

Why did all of the halls look the same!?

But before she could give into the urge to curl up at the base of the statue and cry herself to sleep, there was a gentle touch against her back.

Mary felt a tear crest and slide down her face even as she leaned her full weight back into Hollow’s hands.

She grinned up at Hollow as they peered down at her. Their large head casting her mask in a shadow as they curled their body over her own.

“There you are.”

Mary’s eye lids immediately began to grow heavy, her mind sinking down as Hollow scooped her up, soundlessly striding down the halls.

Mary pushed her mask aside in order to press her face into the parts of Hollow she could reach, the soft velvet of their body soothing the faint memory of the Pale King’s teeth on her skin.

Mary didn’t quite go to sleep, but she was fading in and out, awareness slipping in and out.

Snap shots of Hollow opening her door and laying her on the couch, only to come back to herself as Hollow dipped her in the now filled glass jar.

She had a few moments of awareness as Hollow washed her hair, the glorious feeling of their hands in her hair quickly dragging her back down despite the sight pain of their fingertips skating over her cuts.

She was dried off and tucked into her bed, and for just a moment Mary jolted awake and managed to snag the last finger that had been lingering on her face, just ghosting underneath her eye.

Mary blinked over and over again, trying to make her eyes see in the darkness.

But there wasn’t even a sliver of light in the room. Mary knew Hollow was there, she had their hand in her own, but . . .

“Don’t go?”

She had had a long day. She wanted to sleep, she needed to sleep.

“Stay here? Please?”

She was so tired.

“I need you Hollow.”

It was ok to be honest sometimes, right?

There was silence, of course there was silence.

But after a breath of stillness the hand in her grip tapped her wrist a single time, and the bed dipped under the weight of the bug climbing in with her.

Their long thin arms wrapped around Mary and she was dragged to lay on their chest.

Mary quickly succumbed to a true sleep, one of Hollow’s hands clutched in her own and another stroking her back.

She was too tired to dream.

“-but what happened!? The Storyteller died, didn’t she? And then her ghost was given back by the void!”

“No, she was just faking her death in order to lure the Soul Master into a false sense of security!”

“But why?! She could have trapped him with her dreamcatchers! Why the charade? No, she must had been for real actually dead!”

“The Storyteller wouldn’t possibly die that easily! Her death would only come after a grand battle!”

“There was a grand battle! Did you not hear about what happened in the City of Tears!? The Soul Sanctum was where they fought, and there was so much destruction and so many bodies strewn about! The halls were destroyed, like a wyrm had been slithering through them, bashing the paintings off the walls and crushing bugs underneath it’s body!”

“How could the Storyteller have done that!? She deals in strings and magic!”

“I don’t know! I wasn’t there! But that’s what I’ve heard, and the workshop bugs all confirmed that she was there before she was brought to the White Palace!”

“. . . there was a rather big hoopla there, but I had an appointment to get to . . .”

“Ha! See!”

“But that doesn’t mean that the Storyteller DIED! She could have still been just faking!”

“Oh, Come on! She died and was resurrected!”

“No! She couldn’t have died! I mean think about it, what do you think would happen if the Pale King was killed? Think about what the White Lady would do!”

“. . . Hallownest wouldn’t survive . . .”

“Right? She would have ripped the tunnels apart if her husband died! She cares for us because the Pale King does, but if a bug killed him, no matter how impossible . . .”

“The destruction . . .”

“Yes! And in my opinion the Hollow Knight takes after their mother more than their father when it comes to matters of the heart. I mean, the White Lady is of the Root and only interacts with us because of the Pale King, right? She would be like any other god, distant and above us all, if it were not for her husband?”

“. . . an uncaring god’s rage . . .”

“So, if something had happened to the Storyteller for real, I’m sure that the Hollow Knight would have called upon the void and drowned us all in darkness! They would have ripped the life from us all and tried to use it to being the Storyteller back! Killing us all while they mourned and raged in loss!”

“ . . .”

“So, she must have been faking!”

“. . . I think I need to sit down . . .”

“I think about these possibilities a lot!”

Chapter Text

Hollow had Mary in their arms, her warm weight and gentle breathing affirming to them over and over again that she was alive, alive, alive.

She was slack and relaxed against them, and Hollow was happy.

Or well, mostly happy.

Time had passed since they had found Mary wandering in the opposite direction of her rooms, and while they had left Tiso and Sore Spot snoring on their couch in their room, they knew that their friends would wake up long before Mary was done sleeping.

They would wake up alone and hungry. They didn’t know their ways around the White Palace, and while any bug that found them would treat them with curtesy . . . hollow did not think it would comfort them much to be at the mercy of the retainers particular brand of hospitality.

Sore Spot, an ant princess, might be able to stomach the particular fluttery service that the retainers provided, but Tiso? Tiso would immediately assume that they were trying to make him uncomfortable on purpose and rush him out as riffraff. He would take every smile as a sarcastic jab, and every offer of service as belittlement.

Sore Spot, while uncomfortable with her place in the world, at least knew how to respond to servants attempting to make her more comfortable, but Tiso had lived in a situation where every offer of assistance had a price tag and a carefully weighted debt.

No, it would be best to be there when they woke up, a time that was surely fast approaching,

But even as Hollow decided on the best course of action, they still did not move from their position of cuddling Mary.

She had asked for them to stay.

And Hollow loved to give her what she wanted, and in this, they wanted to stay as well.

But . . . their friends.

But Mary!

Hollow, Hollow wanted BOTH. They wanted to take care of their friends, they wanted to stay with Mary, they wanted to make everyone happy.

But . . .

How?

They would have to disappoint one to satisfy the other.

How could they take care of everyone?

How could they be there for their friends while staying with . . .

Ah.

There was a way wasn’t there? An obvious way that they had been too panicked to think off.

Hollow carefully slid their arms out of Mary’s grip, and began to pull their longest and thickest cloaks from their void, seeing which one would work best.

“-can’t believe you’re a- a- royal child? Royal adult? No, that’s stupid- a Royal. That you’re royalty.”

Mary frowned, her mind being pried from the deep darkness of a much-needed sleep. Her mind desperately tried to cling to unconsciousness, but in the very act of doing so, she slowly became more awake.

“What does a royal child even do? Are you getting trained to take over? Are you going to rule Hallownest one day?”

Mary rocked slightly, as if there was a quick movement from somewhere close by that was a shaking her.

“Yeah, I figured that with your parents being gods the line of succession was . . . at a standstill.”

“Are you going to be like an ant then? Take some bugs from the nest and set off to make a kingdom of your own?”

More shaking.

Mary made a small noise of protest, and the rocking stopped and the cocoon around her tightened a bit, soothing her a little deeper into sleep.

“So, you’re planning to stay here your entire life? That’s . . . yeah that seems fair. This place seems like it would be comfortable to stay in.”

More sounds and sensations began to slowly seep into Mary’s awareness. The tap of metal against metal, the unmistakable sound of bubbling stew, the quiet sounds of gossiping at a distance.

Mary shifted, the warm cocoon that she was wrapped in flexed around her while she resettled herself.

Mary pressed her face deeper into the smooth velvet that her head had been leaned against, trying to run away from the noise around her.

She wasn’t done sleeping yet!

Her entire body shook gently again, like her bed was doing something above her head.

“Yeah, yeah, I get it! Quiet down. I don’t get why we have to be so quiet in the kitchens. It’s not like this is a place known for its silence.”

“Shut up Tiso! There must be a reason for why Spooky wants us to be quiet.”

“Well, if they would share the reason, then it would be easier to plan, now wouldn’t it?!”

Mary gave a loud moan in protest as she finally, finally, was yanked from the claws of sleep and was forced into full consciousness.

“ . . .  Spooky. What’s in your cloak.”

The cocoon around her tightened.

Mary lifted her head from what she knew to be Hollow’s chest and managed to grumble out, “Why am I not in my room?”

There was a nearly audible pause in the air, like everyone had tensed up at the same time.

“was that the Storyteller!?”

Mary felt her body gently swing through the air, as Hollow physically turned their entire body away. Probably avoiding their friends’ eyes.

Mary managed to get a hand up to her face, roughly rubbing her eyes as she tried to force herself to figure out what the hell was going on.

Ok, so.

She wasn’t in her room, but she felt clean and warm and comfortable. So Hollow must have taken care of her.

She was currently in Hollow’s arms, assumedly hidden in their cloak as they . . . had breakfast with their friends?

So why had Hollow taken a sleeping Mary from her room?

Well, she isn’t really sure that she likes having been removed from her room while she was sleeping, but she trusts Hollow enough and their judgment to assume that they must have been a reason.

Why Hollow was with their friends in the kitchen was simple enough. They hadn’t been here before and would have needed Hollow there to feel more comfortable. Not to mention that if you didn’t have a guide, getting lost in the White Palace was a given.

But why was Mary with them? Why had they taken her from her room?

“Uh, He-hello Mistress Storyteller?”

May pulled aside Hollow’s cloak and squinted out into the bright white kitchen.

It wasn’t terribly busy right now, seeing as how cooking was usually reserved for fancy occasions and not really a day to day activity to bugs.

but despite that, there was a lit stove with a cauldron of bubbling liquid all ready to go. Both of Hollow’s friends had a bowl in their hands, and when she finally got a good whiff of what was cooking, Mary’s stomach came to life with a vengeance.

She was starving.

“Give me some of that, would you? It smells wonderful.”

The two bugs jumped a bit at her words, and then the boy, Tiso, scrambled to fill up one of the bowls stacked off to the side for her.

Mary would have to talk to Hollow later about what they had done, but right now food took priority.

Tiso knew that today was going to be intense since the moment he had woken up with Sore Spot sprawled on top of him and with Spooky standing over the both of them wearing a thick black cloak.

It had only gotten more nerve racking as he had realized that Spook had smuggled their lover around in that cloak and that he had woken her up while fighting with Sore Spot.

But really Mary, or Storyteller, wasn’t that bad. She was a bit confused and grouchy, but she hadn’t been mean or stuck up. Just a bit whiney and Spooky had been entirely too willing to give into her every demand.

It was a bit sickening, watching the two of them flirt like that, giving no thoughts to the comfort of their audience.

Tiso wasn’t sure of he was going to be able to stomach that much PDA on the regular, but spooky was almost visibly happy every time they did something for her so . . .

He’ll get used to it he supposed.

But that was nothing on getting led farther into this white labyrinth and then suddenly coming face to face with the rulers of Hallownest.

Tiso had never felt more awkward in his entire life, and there had been some moments.

But no cultural mistake could ever measure up to meeting the God King the day after you had lied to his face about the death of one of his advisors, and then seen him fly into a feral wordless rage, only to be slammed into the ground by his child

He had seen this god looking like a king, and he had seen this god looking like a monster.

And now he saw this god looking visibly anxious as his wife, also a god, gently nudged him forward.

“I- ah, Hello? I am the Pale King. Hollow’s ah- Father. It is nice to meet you, I have been anticipating this for a while, but I ah, wish that I could have made a better first impression.”

The Pale King winced, seemingly regretting the fact that he had brought up their first meeting at all.

Tiso couldn’t help but stare in befuddlement.

This. This was a god?

This anxious, fidgety bug who looked like he was wishing that the ground would open up below him and swallow him whole?

Tiso would have thought that this was an entirely different bug, if it weren’t for the fact that the bug still had this . . . weight around him, like the air was thicker around him.

That even though he was no longer frightening to be near, he still had an air of power. But instead of it feeling like he would use the power to smite those he found disgusting, it now felt like he would use that power to run away if Tiso moved too quickly.

It was suddenly understandable, how this bug could be Spooky’s father. Tiso could recognize the strange duality that Spooky would show, being both merciless and the most caring bug he had ever met.

“It’s nice to meet you Sir, um- your majesty?”

There was silence as both Tiso and the Pale King had no idea where to go after this, both of them glancing away from the bug in front of them and looking toward where they hoped to acquire some social assistance. But alas, the Storyteller was passed out in the grass, piled high with babies and Sore Spot just stared back at Tiso with wide eyes and no clue on how to interact with the Pale King in this situation.

Tiso pulled his antennas tight to his head before forcing them to relax and going the tried and true method of smoothing over basically any conversation with a buyer.

Complementing something that they loved.

“Spook- Hollow- is a wonderful friend to have. They’ve been showing us around your Kingdom and keeping us safe.”

Tiso had only barely finished talking when the Pale King began to literally glow brighter in happiness. The Pale King smiled at him and seemed to relax as he began to speak of his child.

“Yes, Hollow is wonderful, aren’t they? I’m happy that they’ve found some friends that appreciate them. I had been . . .concerned that their giving nature would cause others to take advantage of them, but you have shown that you are quite loyal indeed. I thank you for being my child’s friend.”

That- that sure was a thing that the God King said to him! What bug thanks someone for being their kid’s friend!? Who does that?

Well, god kings apparently.

“It’s- it’s-, the honor is mine? Sp- Hollow is an easy bug to make friends with.”

At that the white wyrm laughed, chuckling as he turned his head toward where his child stood nearby, anxiously watching his friend’s meet their father.

“Tiso, you do not need to lie to me again. I love my child, but I know that they have sadly taken after myself in many aspects when it comes to social interaction. Combined with their lack of a voice, they have an even more difficult time making connections with others. I do not doubt that my child is wonderful to know, but I also know that you must have certainly made an effort to understand them. I know that you have taken some personal responsibility for my child and their interactions. They have told me about how you were concerned for their treatment and safety.”

Tiso wasn’t sure if he should tell the Pale King that he had basically latched onto his child because he was very food motivated and that they had fed him.

The Pale King turned smiling eyes back to him and then said something that shocked Tiso to his core.

“Your parents must know how responsible you are, to have left you alone in my kingdom.”

Tiso nearly choked on air.

“WHAT- cough- what do you mean they left me?”

Tiso nearly choked as he swallowed down the shout he wanted to deliver the question in. He had already been assured that the Pale King was a king before he was a god and a parent before he was a king and that as one of Spooky’s friends he didn’t have much to worry about.

He still was going to do his best to mind his manners though, that was just common sense.

The Pale King tilted his head a bit, the action seeming exaggerated by his crown of horns, a habit he picked up from Mary. “Did you not know? Yes, your family’s caravan left roughly a day ago. They had sold all of their stock and had already bought as much as their transport could hold. I had assumed that you had chosen to stay in my kingdom when you did not leave with them.”

Tiso did some fast math. His family left him here the same day that they had sent his sister out after him. She must have been sent to tell him they were leaving, but he had avoided her so perfectly that she never had the chance to tell him.

It made sense, it would just cost his family to stay in the kingdom if they had already sold their stock and bought enough to turn a profit somewhere else. The trade is all about how quickly you can move, and his family would want to clear out quickly in order to beat the others back and get the highest price for everything before the markets became flooded with the goods from this place.

It made sense for them to leave early.

Totally expected.

“they left me?”

Tiso saw the Pale King’s eyes widen at his words, and he felt a large hand lay itself gently on his back. Tiso blinked and turned to see Spooky crouching down to reach his back.

“I- I’m sure that is was a- a mistake?! They surely haven’t gotten too far yet, I can send out a messenger and have them turn around!?”

Tiso jolted, the idea of the god king sending a messenger put after his family too embarrassing to even contemplate. “What!? I- no. do not do that. It wasn’t a mistake, they left me on purpose and- “

“They abandoned you!?” The Pale King flared out his wings, angry at the lack of care shown for his child’s friend and willing to hunt them down himself.

Hollow placed one of their hands on their father’s shoulder, pressing him to the ground and keeping him from taking to the air.

Once again Tiso saw the Pale King turn into the god that he had thought he was, all teeth and searing light as he snarled at nothing, his teeth carefully pointed away from everyone.

The Pale King closed his eyes and began to count, a thing he had seen Mary do when she had been confronted with truly stupid reports and lies from the bugs in his kingdom. He needed to calm down.

His child’s friend had been abandoned in his kingdom, and now they were surely out of his reach.

But they might return on day, and that is when he could offer revenge to the boy.

But for now, he needed to take care of the bug who had shown his oldest child such loyalty as to lie to the face of a god.

He opened his eyes and did his best to appear calm and in control of himself.

“You’re welcome, of course, to stay in the White Palace! I certainly have the room, but if you want for me to acquire you a separate home like the Princess’s then it will be no trouble.”

Tiso was a bit overwhelmed by the offer. In less than a few minutes, this god had shown more concern for his wellbeing and personal preferences than his parents had in his entire life.

It was almost enough to drive a bug to devotion-

Wait.

“Princess? What do you mean princess?”

The Pale King blinked at him before getting an ‘aha!’ look on his face.

“Oh, that’s right. You have chosen the name Sore Spot, haven’t you?”

He turned toward the frozen bug and gave her a gentle smile.

“You of course are invited to stay in my kingdom for as long as you desire as well, you and your sisters.”

The sentiment was very nice, and later Sore Spot would no doubt be thankful for the confirmation that she would have a place to live since nether her nor her sisters wished to return home.

Bu in the moment all she could think was that the Pale King was an idiot.

Tiso spun around and grabbed Sore Spot’s cloak, yanking it up and to the side to finally see her back and the wings that twitched at the sudden movement.

He glared at her, eyes wild and teeth bared.

“PRINCESS?!”

Sore Spot winced, stumbling back a step as Tiso continued to yell, having seemingly forgotten the god who he had been so nervous to meet and focused all of his attention on her.

“You’re royalty too!? Ant Royalty!?”

Sore Spot couldn’t look him in the eye as she uselessly grasped for her words, “I- I- “

“What’s next! Are You a god as well?! What other secrets are you- are you BOTH keeping from me!”

Tiso was hissing angry, yelling at his friends as they cowered under his rage, and the Pale King seemed torn between rescuing his child and sneaking off to put off his own blame in reveling the situation before Sore Spot and Hollow were prepared to tell their friend.

He ended up scuttling off to watch from behind his wife’s body at a distance.

“That is IT!”

Tiso’s hands were curled into fists as he seemingly made a decision.

“No more! No more secrets, no more omitted information, no more misleading comments and gestures! You will both be telling me everything about EVERYTHING for the rest of your stupid little lives! You are going to always tell me exactly what happened every single day, and so help me if you keep something this important from me ever again I- I’ll! I’ll make you get out of the mess you made by yourselves! I won’t lift a hand to help! I’ll just sit on the side and laugh at you and tell you that you got yourselves into this mess and to get yourself out of it yourself!”

Tiso pointed at them, his hand jerking from side to side in order to switch from Hollow and Sore Spot.

“I won’t help! Not even a little bit!  Not unless you beg and plead!”

Tiso finally stopped yelling, seemingly having made his point, but still snarling at the wide-eyed Sore Spot, and the stone still Hollow.

“. . . you’re not going to abandon me?”

Sore Spot’s half whispered question just seemed to make Tiso even angrier, restocking the fires of rage inside of him.

“Abandon you? ABANDON YOU!??! After all of the trouble I went through to keep your sorry shells intact!? Of course, I’m stuck with you! With you both! I’ve sucking too much time and effort into you both to just walk off! No, no- you both are going to pay me back for all of the times I worried about figuring out how to smuggle you out of this place and take you with me on the caravan!”

Sore Spot’s eyes got wider.

“Y-you were planning to take us with you?”

Tiso just hissed louder, “Well, it’s not like I could just leave you two alone! You wouldn’t last on your own!”

And that was all he managed to say before Spooky scooped both Tiso and Sore Spot into their arms and didn’t let either of them go until the Storyteller woke up and made fun of them. She said something along the lines of, “Now you know how I always feel!”

Mary didn’t really want to be here.

Yeah, the party was her own idea, but it felt too soon. Her cuts had only barely closed up and she was still covered in bruises.

She looked more like an impressionist painting than a person, but at least that had been a good excuse to wear a thick dark cloak instead of the light white fabric that was her usual uniform.

Mary took another swig from her glass, the honey mead burning a little as it went down her throat, helping mellow her nerves and let her find the humor in the situation.

The situation being the Ant Princess, now named Sore Spot, having discovered the sweet alcohol and having drank rather a large amount of it all at once.

She had become intoxicated quite rapidly and now was having a nonsensical argument with Tiso while Hollow fluttered around them, trying to grab the drunk ant while not making it obvious that they were trying to snag her off the floor like she was a misbehaving child.

Mary wasn’t sure what had been said but it had apparently started Sore Spot up on a tear, yelling at both the Tiso and Hollow.

Mary hadn’t been abandoned exactly, but when Hollow had seen their friend start to stumble and reach for the place where she kept her sword, they had planted her at a table with a drink and some snacks, given her a “stay put” look and had gone to do some damage control.

Mary wasn’t exactly happy to see them go, but well, drunken shenanigans was every friend group’s god given right.

It was a new experience that Hollow was getting, and she encouraged it.

But what that meant was that Mary was alone and not particularly against that changing when Guldig gently stepped out of the crowd and made his way toward her.

Guldig was wearing blue. If one was willing to make a vast understatement.

He was wearing layers of sheer silks that dangled from his body. The silks were all different lengths, and a melding of colors that waved with his every movement. The silks danced through the air and flowed over and around his limbs as he moved, as if he was dressed in running water.

It was gorgeous.

And expensive.

Mary knew exactly the grade of silk that must have been used to get such thin and light weight fabric, and while not exactly any ordeal for a spider to make, the time and effort necessary for it to be woven into multiple pieces of solid cloth?

Agonizingly long.

The burden couldn’t even be shared like with some of the larger pieces that spiders take on! The thin cloth would come out uneven no matter how expert the hands if more than one spider was working on it.

Though, Mary thought as Guldig continued to make his way toward her, his outfit trailing behind him in the air like a wave given life, with how many moving parts there are, it’s impossible that it’s all connected together.

. . .

Sounds like a metaphor.

At this point Guldig had reached Mary and had given her a deep dramatic bow at the waist, done perfectly so to make his outfit flair out behind him and give him the appearance of delicate wings.

“Good Evening Storyteller. It is a relief to see you healthy and calm! After our last encounter I had been unsure of how you would be fairing.”

Mary felt her lips quirk up.

Such a polite way to say, “Last time I saw you, you had lost your mind and were bleeding. Good to see that you’ve collected your shit.”

“I appreciate your concern Guldig! It such a shame that we have both been too busy to meet again, especially since our last business meeting had been so abruptly interrupted.”

Don’t think I forgot that you had been trying to blackmail me, you bitch.

Guldig returned to his full height and easily slid beside Mary, plucking a still full drink from her table and relaxing beside of her, utterly relaxed.

“Oh yes!  Our business meeting. Ha ha! You know, with all of the chaos and stress that followed, why I don’t even remember what it was that we discussed!”

Mary stilled. She turned herself till she was fully facing Guldig, even as he continued to gently swirl his drink in his hand and look out at the crowd.

Oh?

It was a lie of course, Guldig wouldn’t just ‘forget’ attempting to blackmail her but what exactly did he mean by that? Did he want bygones to be bygones? Was he implying that he was abandoning the idea for now and would remember later?

Had she scared him into thinking she was a more powerful opponent than he had expected while they had been trapped together?

Was he thinking that they had bonded through their ordeal?

 . . . no.

Guldig was a businessman before he was a bug, and a bitch before even that.

There was something that he wanted, something that would be put at risk if he tried to blackmail her now.

Blackmail works best for short term, when the crime is fresh, as time passes it will lose its potency as whatever you’re being blackmailed about is no longer as bad as the crimes you’re being forced to commit by the blackmailer.

Guldig wants access to the kingdom for the long term. He wants something that he simply couldn’t trade for and take with him.

And that was a good thing.

Guldig was a huge name in trading and with his help alone Hallownest would be pulled out of the hole they were in and manage to survive at least this disaster.

Perhaps with a bit of maneuvering Guldig could even be declared a citizen and bonded a bit closer to the kingdom.

Mary didn’t know where his change of heart came from, and though she would love to know, it didn’t actually matter. He was staying, and he was bringing his trading empire with him.

A little personal anxiety on her part would not outweigh the benefits that this bug could bring.

Besides, he was the only bug in the entire kingdom that could keep up with her when she felt like being an evil bitch.

“Yes, it is a bit of a blur isn’t it? Well, I’m sure that since we both forgot, then it wasn’t too important.”

Mary and Guldig both gave each other their signature ‘mask’, Guldig’s fluffy and scatter-brained deception, and Mary’s mysterious knowing lie.

The two of them stood next to each other, not exactly comfortably, but both having agreed to a truce.

At least for now.

“Tell me Storyteller.”

“Mmm?”

Guldig did not turn to look at the creature beside of him. He kept his eyes on the three younger bugs as two of them attempted to calm down the third as he pointed, paced and yelled at them. Two royals being brow beat by a merchant child.

He kept himself forward even as his every sense was focused on the Storyteller beside him.

“What happened to . . . the Soul Master?”

His name was lost to Guldig. He knew that he had once known the bug’s name. He knew that he had spoken it aloud and had referred to the bug by name in his own mind.

But it was gone now.

Guldig had put out feelers, had asked questions.

But the Soul Master’s name had disappeared from every bug’s mind, and even when Guldig had tracked down a painting of Soul Master in the now deserted Soul Sanctum, the plaque that would have held the Soul Master’s name was . . .unreadable.

Something had been carved into the metal, there were shapes that were distinct and professionally made.

But there was no meaning in them. Guldig had been positive that he had been looking at the Soul Master’s lost name, but . . .

He could not read it.

All knowledge of the name had been lost.

“Oh.”

The Storyteller shifted her weight as she seemingly thought about her answer.

“Would you like the answer that I will be telling everyone, or the truth?”

Guldig gave up appearing as though he wasn’t tense and flicked a glare at her.

“Both, if you would. It would suit us both to give the same answer when asked.”

The Storyteller took a deep breath through her teeth before answering.

“Well, the official answer will be that the Dreamcatcher delivered the Soul Master directly to the void. We can just say that Hollow added a bit of void to the thing, and that’s how it can consume bugs many times its size.”

Guldig nodded once. Yes, that did sound like something that the Storyteller could accomplish with the assist of the Hollow Knight. A simple story that would slot easily into the minds of the bugs of Hallownest.

Guldig committed it to memory before girding his loins.

“. . . and the truth?”

The Storyteller smiled.

Guldig couldn’t see it, but he just knew that’s what she was doing underneath that crying mask of hers.

“The truth is- I don’t have any idea where the hell he went.”

“Ah.”

“You nearly figured it out Guldig, the secret on how my magic works. I rely less on my own power and more on the power of my observers. Especially for the big things.”

The Storyteller glanced over at the beetle, her body language open and relaxed despite the subtle threat of her words. The both of them looked as if they weren’t discussing anything more than the drinks in their hands.

Oh, the facades that they both held, so similar in how they hid.

 And your dreamcatcher eating a bug? That was something big. And the one who fueled it the most was the Soul Master himself. And remember what I had told him?”

Guldig cast his mind to that glass jar. To the Storyteller nearly losing her mind in rage. To the way she had screamed at the Soul Master and the look of fear on his face as he had flinched back from her.

“. . . I remember the shape of it, the void refusing him? You cursing him?”

The Storyteller made a strange noise and grinned at Guldig, showing her teeth in a decidedly unfriendly way.

“You probably remember more about it than I do. But, yeah. Where ever the Soul Master is right now, is a tortured existence tailored specifically for him, by himself. However, he interpreted my words is what happened to him. His own power is fueling his torture, and the more he convinces himself that he’s been cursed, been trapped, the tighter the bonds will be.”

Guldig stared at the creature before him.

Oh.

He had known that she was vicious. Had learned just how sharp her words were, but he had been lulled into thinking that she was all talk and rarely backed up her threats. At least not personally.

He had assumed that she simply sent the Hollow Knight out after the bugs who had wronged her.

But now he learned that she didn’t go after her enemies, not because she had mercy or was squeamish. But because she didn’t need to.

All of her enemies would torture themselves under the assumption that she had done something to them.

“Oh. You are much crueler than I had thought you were.”

“Aww, you flatterer.”

Guldig didn’t stick around long after that.

He wondered off to go and chat with some bugs that Mary recognized as some of the emptier brained nobles, the ones who only cared about gossip and fashion. They welcomed the vibrantly dressed beetle into their midst, obviously recognizing him from somewhere.

And so, Mary was left alone for a few more moments.

But then there was Hollow, walking toward her with their dress fluttering behind them. Looking like a vison in white, but with an incredibly drunk ant tucked under their arm.

Mary watched with a smile hidden under her mask as Hollow settled the ant next to her, the poor girl half flopped on the table.

“You should get some water in her. She’s going to have a terrible hangover in the morning, and water will help soften the pain some.”

“I- am! N-n-not drunk!”

Mary smirked at the ant as she bluntly lied to the room at large, but she didn’t need to call her out on her lie.

Not while Tiso was right there at least.

“Not drunk!? You’re absolutely pickled! I told you that you shouldn’t have been drinking so much mead!”

The ant rolled her head a bit to look toward Tiso, “But it t-t-tasted like honey! Nothing that t-t-t-tastes sweet could be bad for you!”

Mary snickered at the two bicker friends as Hollow carefully tucked a cup of water into their friend’s hand before raising it toward her only barely lifted head.

The ant guzzled the water down before laying her head back on her arms.

Once their friend had gotten hydrated Hollow stepped behind Mary and nearly caged her in with their arms and body, pressing the length of their body to Mary’s back.

Mary felt the tension that she hadn’t even known was there drain out of her shoulders as one of Hollow’s large hands cupped the back of her head, the black fingers tucking beneath her hood and digging into her hair.

Sore Spot watched these actions and said with a slight bit of wonder in her voice.

“Spooky really loves you, huh.”

Mary laughed, leaning back a little deeper into Hollow’s embrace. Their arm’s moving to accommodate her even as their shoulders bunched up out of her sight.

“Oh, course Hollow loves me! I’m their friend! They wouldn’t put up with how needy I am if they didn’t love me.”

Sore Spot’s antenna’s flicked in confusion, swatting at the table.

“Friend? No, I mean they love you like a- a- like way more than a friend. Right Tiso? You- you said that spooky had a crush on the storyteller.”

Tiso nodded, “Yeah, they were really obvious, it’s even worse when they’re with you. You two flirt a lot in public. It’s a bit disgusting.”

Mary laughed, pressing one of her hands to her mask as if trying to cover a blush.

“Oh no! You are misunderstanding, I’m just Hollow’s close friend!”

Tiso stared at Mary, and Sore Spot could actually see even in her drunken state the moment that he decided that Mary was an idiot.

“No, Spooky loves you. Romantically. I’m their friend, Sore Spot’s their friend, and I can assure you that neither one of us have been stared at like how they look at you.”

Mary held her body stiffly as she continued to laugh, “Oh come on, their face always looks like that! Don’t be mean, they can’t move it!”

“I know you aren’t blind. Come on, Spooky’s always willing to cuddle, but I bet you wouldn’t ever have to touch the ground if you didn’t want to. They would carry you everywhere and thank you for the privilege.”

“Wha- no- they- “

Sore Spot leaned over now, adding her own slightly tipsy opinion. “Spooky treats you like a queen mother, doting and attentive. They feed us every chance they can get away with it, but you only barely extend your hand before they fill it with whatever you desire.”

“No- they’re- Hollow’s just generous.”

“With things sure, they’re super generous, but they literally just threw their sibling away from you just so that they could monopolize your time. They’re greedy, and you have to realize this.”

“So, they had only child syndrome, that doesn’t mean- “

“They love you! Romantically! Why don’t you acknowledge that!?!?”

“BECAUSE WHAT DO I DO WITH THAT!”

The Storyteller’s shout didn’t quite reverberate around the room, but only just. Many conversations came to a sudden halt at her shout and Mary had just enough awareness to force her voice down to a more acceptable volume even as her shoulders stayed up to her ears and her hands were clenched into fists.

“What do I do with their love!? I can’t just keep it, I can’t demand that they love me, and that they stay with me forever! They’re still so young! They need to experience more things and meet more people before they decide on me! I won’t let them go, I won’t let them change their mind later!”

“I’m so much older than them! I’m- I’m ancient! They need a chance to be young! Not to be saddled with some weird old creature!”

“If you make me admit that you love me Hollow, then you aren’t going anywhere. Not without breaking my heart.”

Hollow looked down at her, in her wild eyes and her quickly reddening face, Mary becoming aware of the fact that maybe this was not the best place to have this heart to heart.

And then they scooped her up, tucking their large head into her neck and wrapped multiple arms and tendrils around her body as they pressed themselves to her, their hands tapping her where ever they touched her.

Tap!  . . . Tap! . . .Tap!

Yes-yes-yes!

“Are you- you have to be sure Hollow! You have to be really really sure!”

Yes-yes-yes!

Mary wrapped her arms around Hollow’s head, tucking her face into their own neck, both happy, overwhelmed and needing a place to hide from all of the bugs who were watching this all go down.

But let them watch! She was getting her dream come true, and having witnesses just meant that it was impossible for this to just be a lie!

“No take backs Hollow. You’re going to be stuck with me for forever now.”

Tap- tap-tap-tap-tap

“oh? What’s going on over there?”

“THE HOLLOW KNIGHT FINALLY GOT THE STROYTELLER TO ADMIT THAT SHE KNOWS THEY LOVE HER!”

“WHAT! Were they not already- “

“No! Apparently, the Storyteller was trying to ensure that the Hollow knight had the chance to decide for themselves.”

“But they love her so much!”

“Yes, but she’s ancient by her own words! And if the Hollow Knight pursues her then she’s not going to let them go!”

“Does she think that they were immature?”

“No- it sounds more like she wanted them to be immature! To be young, they didn’t have much of a chance for it really.”

“Well, that is right, but still it’s in the Hollow Knight’s breeding to be monogamous isn’t it? To find the one and be done.”

“. . . the Pale King, perhaps. But the white lady is a plant.”

“Are you implying that- “

“Listen, the Pale King made that deal with Herrah the Beast and the White Lady didn’t- “

“How dare you- “

“-I’m just saying that she didn’t make any fuss, she just wanted to help raise the child- “

“in all my time- “

“So maybe the Storyteller was right to be a little worried- “

“Can’t believe this at all”

“-if they take after their father it should be fine- “

“-not anther word- “

“But if they take after their mother then- “

SMACK!