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Chapter Text

————1————

The afternoon light of Bellheart filtered through the glass window, casting warm patches upon the floor of the Bellhome.

Lace was sprawled across the table, taking a short nap, a blanket draped over her.
A soft,rhythmic knocking at the door shattered the tranquility.

Lace stirred groggily, rolled over, and pulled the blanket over her head. "Not delivering to Bone Bottom today..." she mumbled under her breath, voice thick with sleep. "...Not going to the Sands of Karak... Let Shakra get lost on her own..."

Yet, the knocking continued with patient persistence.

Finally, with great reluctance, she squirmed her way upright. Dragging her feet, head drooping and eyes bleary, she shuffled to the door and pulled it open with an air of one deeply aggrieved.

"I already said I'm not—"

The rest of the sentence caught in her throat.

Standing outside was not the expected, anxious courier, but the sister she had been pining for—Phantom.

She stood there quietly, a gentle, familiar smile on her face, the afternoon breeze softly stirring her black strands.

Lace was instantly, fully awake.

She blinked, then rubbed her eyes vigorously, doubting if she was still trapped in a dream.

Then, she did something that took Phantom slightly by surprise—she reached out and carefully, yet firmly, pinched Phantom's cheek.

Her fingertips registered a real, warm solidity, along with the silken smoothness unique to another creature of silk.

"It's real... It's really you, sister..."

Lace was momentarily dazed.

For some inexplicable reason, a strange feeling faintly stirred in the depths of her heart—a hazy memory, as if she had once been deceived by a similar illusion, conjured by some loathsome, wicked creature.

The thought flashed by, too fleeting to grasp.

The next second, all hesitation and confusion were swept away by a tidal wave of emotion.

As if terrified she might vanish again, Lace threw herself forward and wrapped her arms around Phantom with all her strength, burying her face deep into the crook of her sister's neck, greedily inhaling the familiar, comforting scent.

Phantom was taken aback by this overwhelmingly fervent reaction, then let out a soft chuckle, returning the embrace and gently patting her sister's slightly trembling back.

"What's all this?" Her voice was laced with gentle teasing. "Has it only been a few days? Did you miss me this much?"

"At this rate, it will be hard for me to ever feel comfortable letting you travel alone again."

Phantom softly stroked Lace's head, just as she had when Lace was but a small child.

Lace didn't answer. She only held on tighter, as if the figure before her would dissolve into a flock of butterflies the moment she let go.

"Can you tell me what happened?" Phantom asked patiently. "Did Hornet bully you again?"

"N-no... It's just... it's so good to see you..." Lace's voice was choked, though more with joy than sorrow. Silken tears welled continuously in her eyes, this overwhelming emotion difficult to suppress.

Though parts of her memory told her she had grown up side-by-side with Phantom, inseparable since childhood, another part of her emotional core was completely dominating in this moment.

Just as Lace was immersed in the joy of her reunion with her sister, another voice came from behind her.

"Ugh..."

Hornet was holding her head as she slowly sat up on the bed.

She felt as though she had awoken from a long dream, yet everything about it felt so real.

But the sensation of numerous memories flooding back in a short time was worse than the splitting headache from downing thirty bottles of Flea Mead in a row.

"Hornet, are you alright?" Phantom asked, turning her head slightly. "I heard you were struck on the head by a falling flea (wearing a helmet) on your way to Weaveland. You've been unconscious for days."

"You are... Phantom?" Hornet's tone was uncertain.

"It seems you haven't fully recovered," Phantom mused, narrowing her eyes slightly as she began considering if there were any suitable medical facilities in either Pharloom or Hallownest to recommend to Hornet.

————2————

Inside the Bellhome, the lighting was soft. Hornet and Phantom sat side by side on the edge of the bed, while Lace had deliberately placed a chair directly opposite them. The moment she sat down, she clung tightly to Phantom's arm, her face radiating unabashed satisfaction and dependence.

As Phantom spoke in her steady, measured tone, a sealed-away memory from the "other timeline" began to clear in Hornet's mind, like a crystalline gem being gently wiped free of dust.

"...And so, your primary purpose in coming to Pharloom this time is to assist us in repairing several core Soul-Silk Looms," Phantom's voice carried a tone of rational persuasion. "After all, throughout the entire Weavers clan, no one surpasses your mastery in combining machinery with runic arts. Furthermore, you were personally involved in the research and design of the core framework of this very system in the first place."

Her words held genuine praise, her gaze resting on Hornet and affirming her irreplaceable value.

Then, she tilted her head slightly, casting a look of mixed helplessness and affection at Lace, who was stuck to her side like stubborn adhesive, and let out a soft sigh. "Ah, if only this sister of mine could learn even half of your independence and reliability, I might finally be able to rest truly at ease."

"No way~" Lace immediately nuzzled her cheek against Phantom's arm, dragging out the syllables in a sugary, honeyed voice. "Why would I ever need to be independent when I have you? Holding onto you like this is the hap-pi-est thing!"

Her words carried a long-absent, utterly uninhibited willfulness, as if she were trying to compensate for all the lost time for affectionate clinging.

Phantom shook her head with a resigned sigh, though her eyes held a trace of indulgent amusement.

Yet, this conversation about "memories" had struck a chord within Hornet. In the time that followed, she and Lace, with their shared cloud of doubt, began a seemingly casual yet purpose-driven tour of Bellheart. They needed to verify their startling hypothesis.

Their first encounter was with the Pondcatcher Reed, who was leisurely strolling across the plaza. He greeted them warmly upon sight. "Ah, Lady Hornet, and Miss Lace. It's so good to see you recovered," Reid said, his tone full of relief. "Heard you had a bit of an 'incident' on your way here? Doesn't happen often these days, a flea falling right out of the sky."

His words flowed naturally, and the content matched the "flea incident" Phantom had mentioned earlier. It was clear that this event, which should not have existed in Hornet's memory, was now established fact.

Next, they visited Frey's cluttered general store, so packed with various oddities that there was barely room to stand. Hornet and Lace pretended to browse the shelves with interest—from the faintly glowing luminescent moss to the makeshift lanterns crafted from polished Karak coral. The air was thick with the unique scent of dried herbs, metal bells, and a faint, spicy fragrance.

Frey was on her tiptoes, arranging items on a high shelf, but her sharp peripheral vision caught the interesting scene unfolding behind her: Lace wasn't looking at the merchandise at all. Her gaze was firmly glued to Hornet, and the look in her eyes was as complex as a spilled palette of paints.

This was absolutely not a look one gave a mere friend.

A knowing, playful smile curled at the corner of Frey's lips. She nimbly hopped down from her stepping stool, brushed the dust from her hands, and casually sauntered over to Hornet, giving her a gentle nudge with her elbow.

"Hey, Miss Hornet," Frey leaned in closer, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, though her eyes darted meaningfully towards Lace not far away. "You're looking a bit pale, just waking up from such a serious coma. Your energy reserves must still be running low." She pointed towards a discreet corner behind the counter where several small bottles sat, labeled "Potent Vigor" and "Energy Surge".

"Sure you don't want some of my special nutritional tonic? Fresh stock. Remarkably effective, guaranteed satisfaction." She winked, adding, "Especially... helpful for recovering from certain specific types of... exertion."

Hornet frowned slightly, feeling a touch of impatience with Frey's excessive enthusiasm and pointed insinuations.

She straightened her spine, the inherent pride of a warrior evident in her posture. "Thank you for the offer, but no. I know my own body, and it has recovered quite well."

Frey's smile widened. She crossed her arms, her gaze sweeping between Hornet and Lace—who remained oblivious, still lost in her own thoughts—and the teasing in her voice was nearly palpable.

"Oh? Really not needed? It's just... my business intuition, honed over many years, gives me a feeling..." she deliberately drew out the words, "...that you might be facing a rather... arduous and protracted a difficult fight tonight. It never hurts to be prepared, right?"

Hornet's frown deepened at this, though her expression showed more confusion than alarm. She glanced around the peaceful, tranquil town, her tone brimming with undeniable confidence. "I don't believe there is anyone left in all of Bellheart foolish enough to pose any kind of 'threat' to me, let alone warrant what you call a 'difficult fight'."

Frey let out a meaningful chuckle. She didn't press the sale further, merely looking at Hornet with a "you have much to learn" glint in her eyes as she slowly settled back behind her counter.

"Alright, alright, call me meddlesome," she said, picking up a soft cloth and beginning to polish a crystal ornament, not bothering to look up. Her voice, however, was full of anticipatory amusement. "Well then... I'll be watching with interest. I wish you... a pleasant evening, my esteemed Guardian."

After leaving the general store, they had just reached the town's edge when they encountered the courier brothers,.Tipp and Pill, who were organizing their cargo boxes and preparing to depart.

The moment Tipp spotted them, he immediately raised a forelimb in enthusiastic greeting. "Hey! Miss Lace! We really owe you one lately!" He patted the neatly stacked goods beside him, his tone filled with genuine gratitude. "The path to Bone Bottom's been overrun with Mosscreeps recently. We couldn't have made our deliveries on time if you hadn't been willing to help out."

This heartfelt praise made Hornet turn her head slightly, her sharp eyes settling on Lace beside her, a flicker of surprise and inquiry in her gaze, as if silently asking, "Since when did you become so helpful?"

Lace, naturally, didn't miss the question in Hornet's look.

The same innocently sweet smile remained on her face as she unhurriedly closed half the distance between them, pressing almost flush against Hornet's side.

She tilted her head up, fixing Hornet with her wide, dewy eyes, her tone a perfect blend of playful coquetry and well-measured reproach, pitched just loud enough for the brothers to overhear.

"What else was I supposed to do?" she sighed softly, her expression a mix of helpless resignation and fond indulgence. "It's all because of a certain irresponsible someone who slept for days on end, completely unresponsive... Leaving me too worried to go far. I had no choice but to stay put in town, 'looking after' our sleeping beauty here," she deliberately emphasized the words "looking after," "while finding little things to do to pass the time, that's all."

Pill and Tipp exchanged understanding, kindly smiles upon hearing this.

Next, they visited the meticulous Pinmaster Plinney.

His workshop still carried the distinct scent of metal, lubricating oil, and whetstones. Various precision tools gleamed coldly under the lamplight, each sorted and arranged with scrupulous care.

"Ah, Lady Hornet. It is excellent to see you recovered," Plinney said, his gaze habitually falling upon the needle strapped to Hornet's back, a craftsman's instinctive appraisal in his eyes. "Your needle is very well-maintained; the edge remains keen. However, should you require it, I could re-sharpen the tip for you, ensuring it is in optimal condition."

Hornet was about to reply when her gaze inadvertently swept across the interior of the Bellhome.

A subtle sense of dissonance surfaced in her mind—this room seemed somewhat more spacious than the one in her memory, the layout slightly different, and there was even a faint, sweet aroma of food lingering in the air.

Just as she was quietly pondering the source of these changes, the curtain to an inner room was drawn aside.

A female bug with a gentle demeanor, wearing a clean apron, emerged carrying a tray of freshly baked, steaming pies, a soft smile on her face.

"Oh, we have guests?" she said, her voice warm. "Would you care to try some of my fresh-baked Woodfruit pies? They're at their sweetest right now."

Hornet looked at the unfamiliar face, a natural confusion showing in her eyes. "You are...?"

Plinney quickly stood up, wiping his hands on a soft cloth. "This is my wife, Melatolla," he introduced, his tone natural and filled with warmth as he gently placed a hand on his wife's shoulder. "She was away for a time, staying with her family to care for her elderly aunt, which is why you didn't meet her during your last visit. Mela, this is the highly skilled Lady Hornet I've often told you about."

"Melatolla...?" Hornet repeated the name, a sealed-away memory instantly resurfacing in her mind—she remembered Plinney once venturing into the Shellwood under the Void Scourge to pay respects to an old friend named Melatolla, who had been laid to rest there long ago.

Upon hearing her husband's introduction, Melatolla's face immediately lit up with recognition and profound gratitude. She carefully set the pie tray down on a nearby table, wiping her hands on her apron.

"So you are the huntress in red who saved Plinney from the beast's claws!" She stepped forward briskly, warmly clasping Hornet's hands, her eyes even glistening with unshed tears. "Oh, my memory! Plinney has told me so many times about your heroic bearing. I should have recognized you immediately from that cloak and remarkable presence! Thank you so, so much. If you hadn't happened by that day..."

Melatolla continued to express her thanks effusively, while Hornet quietly let her hold her hands.

In this renewed world, the departed had returned. The sorrows of the past were now overlaid by the warmth of a new reality.

Plinney no longer needed to make solitary trips to the Shellwood to mourn. His workshop was now filled with the scent of his wife's baking, and the tangible, regained happiness that was once lost.

Later, they stepped into the antique collector Scrounge's quaint little house.

Scrounge enthusiastically gave them a tour of her treasures. The collection was dazzlingly diverse: not only ancient texts documenting the history and weaving techniques of Pharloom, intricately patterned Citadel Seals, and strangely shaped Weaver effigies, but also, prominently displayed on a velvet cushion, stood a meticulously crafted King's Idol emanating an aura of authority—the symbol of Hallownest's Pale King.

Hornet's gaze lingered on the idol for a moment, and understanding dawned within her. It seemed that during her "absence," her father, the supreme ruler of Hallownest, had indeed spared no effort in fostering deeper exchanges between Hallownest and Pharloom. Even the exchange of items bearing such potent cultural symbolism had become this natural.

"So? Quite a collection, right?" Scrounge puffed out her chest, her antennae quivering with pride as she pointed to a row of newly acquired pieces. "These are all treasures I personally hunted down across various ruins and marketplaces, authenticating and haggling for each one myself!"

"When I hold the next joint antique appraisal contest with that always-snooty Lemm from the City of Tears, I'll make sure he loses convincingly! Let's see if he still dares to mock our Pharloom collection for 'lacking historical gravitas'!" Her tone was brimming with competitive spirit and absolute confidence in her own discerning eye.

Hornet's eyes swept over these artifacts that spanned regions and cultures, now coexisting harmoniously in a single room. They silently spoke of the increasingly close ties between the two kingdoms.

She gave a slight nod, her tone calm yet carrying an air of approving expectation. "Indeed, the collection is quite extensive. I look forward to you taking the top prize in the next competition."

This simple affirmation made Scrounge even more animated, and she launched into a detailed account of the provenance of a particular fragment. Meanwhile, Hornet and Lace found further confirmation, amidst these material witnesses that bore both old and new memories, of how solid and real this remade world truly was.

When the travel-worn Shakra returned from surveying Mount Fay, Hornet and Lace found her on a bluff overlooking half of Bellheart.

The seasoned warrior-cartographer was sitting on a flat rock, carefully honing the edge of her signature golden ring with a whetstone while making detailed marks on her spread-out, still-damp new map.

The glow of the setting sun cast a warm, coppery sheen over her golden carapace.

"Shakra," Hornet began without preamble, walking directly up to her, her gaze intense as she cut straight to the core question. "Do you remember how we first... truly met?"

Shakra looked up from her map, her face—smeared with a few ink stains—showing genuine confusion. She even set her whetstone down, giving Hornet a thorough once-over. "Hornet wielding Needle, what's gotten into you? Did that helmeted flea really knock your memories loose?"

Her tone carried a warrior's characteristic bluntness, even a hint of teasing. "Our first meeting? Of course it was back in the tribe. I was still too young then, the specific details are a bit hazy, but I definitely remember that striking red cloak of yours." She paused, a glint of concern in her sharp eyes. "Why ask this so suddenly? Did something happen?"

"Nothing," Hornet replied, her tone flat. "I just felt like asking."

Shakra tapped the tip of her ring thoughtfully against a mark on her map, producing a clear, sharp sound.

"You... shouldn't push yourself too hard," her voice lowered, taking on a familiar, concerned tone, like that of an old friend. "You should rest properly when it's time to rest. You've always had this tendency, ever since the old days, to push yourself and carry too much on your own shoulders. This world... doesn't have that many things you need to bear alone."

Hornet nodded, offering nothing more in reply.

As the night deepened, Hornet closed the door of the Bellhome. She turned, her gaze calm as she looked towards Lace, who was sitting on the bed.

"The residents of the town, including Shakra, they only possess the memories of this new world," she stated, her tone reminiscent of a post-operation debrief. "I altered the past, and it appears the effect has been thorough."

She looked directly at Lace, asking the only question that mattered: "And what about you? Do you remember?"

Lace tilted her head, a sly and knowing smile spreading across her face. She hopped lightly off the bed and walked over to stand before Hornet.

"Of course I remember~" Her tone was light, but her eyes were utterly clear. "All of it—that puppet controlled by Mother, yearning only for death, and the battles you fought, the choices you made... I remember everything."

She leaned in a little closer, adding with a hint of teasing, "And of course, that includes, in this world, the foolish sight of you drowning in the Blue Lake as a child, only to be fished out by the Pure Vessel?"

Hearing this definitive answer, Hornet gave a slight, slow nod.

A peculiar sense of relief washed through her.

She didn't mind being the sole rememberer, but having a companion to share this heavy past with... didn't feel bad at all.

"...Well," she said quietly, her voice steady with a released tension. "That puts me at ease."

————3————

In the deep of night, the Bellhome was enveloped in complete silence, save for the cool light filtering through the window, casting a sheet of silver upon the floor.

Hornet was immersed in sleep when she suddenly felt a weight settle upon her, as if something warm was pinning her down.

Her eyes snapped open with instinctive alertness, her blurred vision gradually clearing to reveal Lace's face, up close and personal, wearing a sly smile.

"What are you doing?" Hornet's voice was husky with sleep. She tried to sit up, only to find Lace straddling her waist, hands planted on either side of her pillow, effectively trapping her against the bed.

Lace tilted her head slightly, her silver-white hair cascading down and tickling Hornet's cheek.

"Nothing much," her tone was light, but her eyes sparkled with reminiscence. "I just suddenly remembered some things from when we were younger."

"Oh?"

"I remembered how, back then, you defeated my sister. I was so angry, I swore I'd get my revenge on you." Lace's fingers idly twirled a strand of her own hair, as if sharing an amusing anecdote.

Hornet let out a sigh, a note of exasperation in her voice. "So, what does that have to do with you waking me up in the middle of the night, and in... this particular position?"

Lace's smile instantly shifted into one that was downright feline, like a cat that got the canary. She leaned down, bringing her lips close to Hornet's auditory organ, her warm breath ghosting over it as her voice dipped into a lazy, yet dangerous drawl:

"My dear little spider~ I never said 'revenge'... had to be limited to fighting, now did I?"

Without waiting for a response, she continued in that cloyingly sweet whisper, "Besides, during that long, long time you were lying there unconscious... it's been so, so very long since I've had a proper replenishment of silk~"

Her fingertip gently tapped against Hornet's abdomen, right over one of the core sources where silk gathered.

"I seem to recall... you promised me, with your own words when we were young, that you'd take care of me for life, you know~"

"?!"

Hornet's body went slightly rigid at the words. Her mind raced, frantically searching through dusty corners of her memory.

A moment later, a flicker of chagrin crossed her face—There really was such a thing!

It seemed to be on some forgotten afternoon, all those years ago, meant to placate a younger Lace who was crying inconsolably over some trivial matter. She really had said something along the lines of, 'Stop crying, I'll take care of you from now on.'

"Th-that... that was just childish banter between kids," Hornet attempted to salvage the situation, turning her head away to avoid Lace's blazing gaze. "Bringing it up now is far too late. It doesn't count."

"How could it not count?" Lace's smile deepened. She extended a finger, gently guiding Hornet's face back, forcing their eyes to meet. "I remember it clearly, and you, my dear little spider, you remember it too~"

Her gaze grew serious, carrying a trace of unwavering certainty. "For someone who values promises as much as you do, aren't words once spoken the most binding contract of all?"

"You wouldn't... be thinking of breaking our agreement, would you?" She narrowed her eyes slightly, her tone a masterful blend of feigned hurt and accusation.

Bathed in the moonlight, Lace's eyes shone brilliantly, filled with expectation and a hint of something else, a fragility born from long waiting, carefully concealed yet not entirely invisible.

Hornet looked at her, remaining silent for a long moment.

Finally, as if surrendering to the inevitable, she let out a long, resigned sigh, raised a hand to rub her temples, and conceded in a low voice:

"...Alright."

Lace's face instantly blossomed into a triumphant, radiant smile, as if she had been given the sweetest honey in all the world.

Satisfied, she leaned down, ready to commence her long-awaited "revenge" and her wholly justified "sustenance."

Chapter Text

————4————

The first light of dawn filtered through the windows of the Bellhome, falling upon the two figures sleeping in each other's arms.

Hornet was the first to wake, feeling something both heavy and warm weighing on her chest.

She looked down to find Lace clinging to her tightly like an octopus, her silver-white head resting on Hornet's chest, face adorned with an utterly content and peaceful smile, sound asleep with even the faintest hint of a snore.

With extreme care, moving bit by bit, Hornet extracted her arm from Lace's embrace, anxious not to disturb her pleasant dreams.

She rose quietly, hopped up the steps, and slipped into the Bellhome's hot spring tub.

The misty, warm vapors dispelled the morning chill and soothed the fatigue—both physical and mental—that had accumulated over recent days.

The hot water enveloped her body, making her feel her energy slowly returning.

Just as she was finishing her soak and preparing to get out to reach for her red cloak lying on the edge of the tub—

A small head suddenly popped up over the tub's rim.

Lace, awake at some unknown point, wore a mischievous, triumphant grin. Her small hand shot out with lightning speed, snatched the cloak, and she immediately turned to flee.

"Hey!" Hornet exclaimed, both annoyed and amused, leaping from the spring in a splash of water.

Not even bothering to dry off, she gave chase directly.

Clutching her "prize" and giggling, Lace had just pulled the door open, intending to turn back and stick her tongue out at the pursuing Hornet, when—THUD!

She collided squarely with a hard, cold, golden object.

"Oww ow ow..." Lace clutched her smarting nose, tears nearly springing to her eyes.

This was followed by a firm, but not harsh, tap on the top of her head.

"Yowch!" Lace yelped, releasing her hold on the cloak in her surprise.

Hornet seized the opportunity to reclaim her garment, swiftly fastening it back in place before turning her gaze to the doorway.

There stood the Second Sentinel.

Its golden carapace gleamed in the morning light as it tilted its head slightly, its tone concerned as it asked:

"Friend Lace, are you unharmed?"

"I'm fine..." Lace mumbled, rubbing her nose and pouting. She shot a somewhat aggrieved look at Hornet before curiously examining the Second Sentinel.

Hornet's expression softened considerably as she regarded her loyal companion.

She remembered how, after she had returned to this "present" that belonged to her, the Second Sentinel had still chosen to remain by her side.

During the relatively peaceful time in Deepnest, this powerful war machine had learned to apply its precise computational abilities to managing household chores, and had also served as her escort to and from school during Hornet's younger years.

Naturally, when she came to Pharloom, the Second Sentinel had accompanied her.

It was clear that during her coma, this loyal companion had been terribly worried.

"Friend," the Second Sentinel turned to Hornet and began reporting its findings from the past few days. "During your comatose state, this sentinel searched a total of thirty-seven medical facilities within Pharloom and consulted fifty-three registered physicians. Over ninety percent of these individuals stated they lacked the capability to treat complex cerebral anomalies."

Its eyes flickered for a moment, as if accessing an important piece of data.

"However, near the conclusion of the search protocol, this sentinel encountered a physician who called herself 'Yarnaby'. She claimed the ability to handle any manner of difficult or obscure malady. While her demeanor seemed... less than cordial, medical proficiency is not necessarily correlated with bedside manner."

"This sentinel was preparing to escort you to her residence."

Yet the moment Hornet heard the name "Yarnaby," an intensely complicated expression flashed across her face—a mix of gratitude, awe, and an absolute, resolute determination never to experience it again.

"No. That won't be necessary. Thank you for your diligence, gilded one," she hastily declined, her tone leaving no room for doubt. "The effects of Physician Yarnaby's treatment are indeed... remarkably immediate and thorough. But in my personal opinion, the, uh, 'ancillary experiences' that accompany her procedures... once is more than sufficient."

The Second Sentinel's head tilted slightly, its processor flashing with a fragment of confusion.

Its database contained no record of Hornet ever receiving treatment from Yarnaby.

But for it, the most important thing was to respect its friend's personal wishes.

"Directive updated. The plan to proceed to Yarnaby's residence is cancelled," it stated, offering no further questions and calmly accepting the decision.

Lace listened from the side, her eyes darting between Hornet's indescribable expression and the Second Sentinel's serious demeanor. Though she didn't understand the specifics, her intuition screamed that this doctor, Yarnaby, must be truly, truly terrifying.

At the same time, she felt profoundly grateful that she wasn't an ordinary creature. As a being woven from silk, most ailments were completely ineffective against her kind.

The only thing she ever really had to worry about was a deficiency of silk itself—and now, that was no longer a problem.

————5————

According to the original plan, Hornet's next destination was the Underworks, where several malfunctioning precision instruments awaited her repair.

No sooner had Hornet stepped off the final hanging ladder connecting to the Bellhome, her feet landing firmly on the bell-paved plaza of Bellhart, the morning dew still fresh in the air, than a figure enthusiastically approached her.

She adjusted her red cloak and was about to set off towards the Underworks when the figure hurried up to her.

It was a slender, well-mannered bug, his head-shell adorned with an exquisitely crafted brass bell that emitted a clear, pleasant "ding-a-ling" with each step.

This was Pavo, the Mayor of Bellhart.

"Miss Hornet! It is so wonderful to see you recovered and standing here, looking so vigorous!" Pavo's face beamed with genuine delight, his small eyes crinkling into mere slits from his smile.

He stepped forward briskly, his tone filled with concern and respect.

"You are the greatest benefactor to all of Bellhart, our most honored guest. We were all terribly worried during your days of unconsciousness. Just think, if any misfortune had befallen you while under our care, how deeply distressed and heartbroken our entire town would be!" As he spoke, he gently tapped his chest plate with a claw, producing a soft knock knock sound.

His gratitude was palpable, rooted in a harrowing event from years past.

Several years ago, Pharloom was struck by a catastrophic earthquake, the likes of which hadn't been seen in a millennium.

The earth shook and mountains trembled. Not only were many buildings destroyed, but the deeper, more profound consequence was the awakening of an ancient beast that had long slumbered deep within the ley lines—the "Bell Eater."

This colossal creature possessed a near-insatiable appetite and greed for bells.

And Bellhart, being the place in all of Pharloom with the greatest quantity and variety of bells—from wind chimes under eaves and shop door bells, to the decorative bell accessories worn by its residents—instantly became the most tempting "feast" in the eyes of the awakened monstrosity.

Just as the Bell Eater was savagely assaulting the town, with bells tolling in lament and the situation critical, Hornet and her unique companion, the Bell Beast, arrived in the nick of time.

After a fierce battle, she ultimately defeated the Bell Eater, saved the town, and rescued countless bugs.

To repay this immense debt of gratitude, the residents of Bellhart pooled their efforts to construct that lofty Bellhome for her in the safest and most scenic location in town.

It is not merely her residence, but an eternal monument, symbolizing her status as the recognized guardian and most honored guest of all Bellhart.

Mayor Pavo's effusive greeting was the most direct reflection of this profound bond.

He would have liked to have come to offer his congratulations yesterday, but unfortunately, he too had numerous official duties demanding his attention.

After bidding Pavo farewell, Hornet turned a corner in Bellhart and immediately spotted two familiar figures being cornered by a fast-talking sales-bug.

It was the old warrior Garmond, who sat, as usual, steadily perched upon his old friend, the gentle and thick-shelled Zaza.

Zaza seemed utterly uninterested in the commotion before him, slowly chewing on something.

Garmond, meanwhile, wore a look of pure resignation, his grizzled beard swaying gently as he shook his head.

The sales-bug pestering them had a carapace polished to a high shine. He brandished a small bottle, spittle flying as he pitched his product:

"My esteemed elder, please reconsider! This is our newly developed beard conditioning serum! Extracted from flower buds, the effects are immediate! We guarantee it will restore your beard to the supple sheen of its youth!"

As he spoke, he tried to bring the bottle closer to Garmond's beard.

"And look, the price is most reasonable, a mere 20 rosaries! Miss today, and this offer is gone for good!"

Garmond, gently steering Zaza to take a slight step back, waved his hands dismissively. "No, no. Young fellow, I'm this old, a fossil halfway into the ground. What do I need with such fancy frills? This beard has been with me through wind and rain. It's fine just as it is!"

"Oh! Sir, you couldn't be more mistaken!" The sales-bug exclaimed with profound dismay, as if hearing sheer fallacy. "It's precisely because of your advanced years that you must pay more attention to your appearance! This isn't just about a beard—it's about your vital spirit! Look at your upright posture, your dignified bearing—it's clear you were a dashing and heroic figure who captivated countless bugs in your youth! Don't you wish to reclaim even a glimmer of that former brilliance?"

Garmond, somewhat amused and exasperated by this flattery, patted Zaza's neck, signaling to his old friend to just move on. "Alright, alright, I said I'm not buying, so I'm not buying. 'Former brilliance' is all in the distant past. Zaza, let's go..."

"Eh—Eh! Sir! My esteemed guest, please don't go!" Seeing them about to leave, the sales-bug grew frantic, quickly following while pulling more jars and bottles from his satchel. "Don't like the beard serum? No problem! I have other excellent wares! Look at this shell-polishing wax, specially made for your, uh... majestic mount here! And this joint lubricant—any bug of a certain age knows its benefits..."

However, Garmond paid no further mind to the sales-bug's incessant chatter behind him. He gave Zaza's neck another gentle pat.

The good-natured quadruped then stepped forward with a steady gait, carrying his old friend and ambling slowly past Hornet, who had stopped to watch, as if merely passing through an insignificant part of the scenery.

But just as they were passing by, about to merge into the flow of bugs on the street, Garmond suddenly seemed to sense something. He sharply turned his head, his grizzled beard trembling slightly in the breeze.

His eyes, though somewhat clouded yet still sharp, examined Hornet's face with pure, unadulterated puzzlement:

"Young miss... Wait. Have we... met somewhere before?"

Hornet's heart seemed to skip a beat. Shards of memory from another time screamed through her mind.

Memories of fighting side-by-side with him.

But she quickly steadied herself, letting no ripple of emotion show on her face. She merely gave a slight nod, answering in a perfectly even tone:

"No, sir. I believe this is our first meeting."

"Oh... My memory, truly getting addled in my old age." Upon hearing this, Garmond clapped his own forehead with a sharp smack, as if suddenly realizing something, his face breaking into an elderly, somewhat abashed, yet hearty laugh.

But he didn't leave immediately. His gaze still rested on Hornet, carrying a warrior's appreciation for a fellow warrior.

"Still," he added cheerfully, a note of nostalgia in his voice, "judging by your bearing, your stance, and the look in your eyes... you must be a seasoned veteran yourself. A pity, really. If I were a few decades younger, when my bones were still supple, perhaps I could've sparred with you, given these old joints some exercise."

He paused, then asked as naturally as making casual conversation, "Young miss, by your look, you don't seem to be a local bug from Pharloom. Are you also from that Hallownest side?"

"Your intuition is sharp." Hornet's reply remained terse, confirming the old bug's guess.

"Hallownest... I've heard it's a fine place too, with clear waters and green mountains." Garmond gazed into the distance, a traveler's yearning in his eyes. "Good, good. Once I've shown Zaza all the interesting spots here in Pharloom, our next stop will be your Hallownest!"

As he spoke, he patted Zaza once more.

The old companion understood, stepping forward and carrying the contented old warrior on his back, slowly disappearing into the bustling crowds of Bellhart.

Hornet stood silently in place, watching the leisurely figure gradually recede into the distance, a tumult of emotions swirling within her.

She remembered all too clearly.

In another timeline, soaked in blood and darkness, it was this very same, seemingly ordinary elder who, when the Black Scourge swept through Pharloom and Void creatures surged forth like a tide, charged at the very forefront of the resistance, brandishing a weapon much like a trumpet.

Yet, individual valor could only go so far against an endless, corrupting tide.

She had witnessed it with her own eyes—this respectable warrior, ultimately exhausted, being swallowed by the all-consuming Void, falling heroically upon the very land he had sworn to protect.

His end was meant to be a heroic elegy.

But now, in this reborn world, he had forgotten all the brutal memories of the past.

Now, he was merely an ordinary grandfather enjoying a peaceful twilight of his life, planning his next journey with his longtime friend, curiously observing this world filled with sunlight and free from calamity.

This ordinary, peaceful existence—this was the most precious treasure she and countless comrades had fought for and ultimately succeeded in reclaiming.

———— Little Easter Egg ————

"Miss Hornet, a moment please." Frey, the owner of the general store, leaned against her counter with a knowing smile. "It seems there were some... unusual noises coming from the Bellhome last night. Perhaps you might be interested in investing in a specialized 'stability device'?"

Hornet stopped, her red cloak swaying slightly in the morning breeze. After a brief moment of consideration, she asked, "How many rosaries?"

"A mere 2000 rosaries," Frey's smile widened brilliantly. "That includes installation and lifetime maintenance. An absolute bargain."

Upon hearing this, Hornet turned as if to leave. "I'd rather discuss relocating the Bellhome to ground level with Mayor Pavo. Seems more cost-effective."

"Wait!" Frey hastily leaned half her body over the counter. "The price is negotiable!"

With her back still turned to the shop, Hornet raised her right hand, flashing a decisive 'V' sign with her fingers. "200."

"That doesn't even cover the cost!" Frey clutched her chest dramatically. "1000! That's already a loss for me!"

Just then, Lace dropped down from above like a gust of silver wind, latching perfectly onto Hornet's right arm.

"Little spider~" She nuzzled her face into Hornet's cloak, then looked up with a pleading tone. "Aren't we leaving yet? I've been waiting for so long~"

Feeling the weight and warmth on her arm, and catching Frey's deeply meaningful smile, Hornet fell silent for a moment.

Finally, she let out a soft sigh and rubbed her temples wearily with her free hand.

"800... Install it. The rosaries... I'll pay later."

Frey immediately broke into a triumphant grin. "A wise choice! Guaranteed to your satisfaction."

Chapter Text

————6————

Hornet traveled via the Ventrica, constructed by the Weavers, transferring from Bellhart to the Grand Bellway Hub (formerly the Grand Bellway station) before arriving inside the Underworks.

Most of the old Bellways had fallen into disuse, as the mode of travel via the Bell Beasts was too strenuous for the vast majority of bugs to endure.
The repeated bell impacts during transit were nothing short of disastrous for the elderly or frail.

After Wyrm contributed to improving the infrastructure, it was converted into a Stag Station akin to those in Hallownest.
The Bell Beasts now congregated and lived in a wilderness area outside Bellhart,where visitors would occasionally come to feed them.

The Ventrica had also been refurbished and was now a smooth transport system, allowing for quick travel throughout the Citadel.

The doors opened, and Hornet's group stepped out of the Ventrica into a clean, tidy rest area. Several worker bugs were getting water, while a few others slept soundly on benches.

The Underworks, once a cruel grinder that consumed bugs whole, was now entirely different.
Where bugs once had to work incessantly until they were utterly spent,chairs were now free to use, the daily wage started at two hundred rosaries, and the confession chambers had been dismantled and replaced with a free medical clinic.
Soothing music played over the speakers,alleviating the fatigue from the workers' diligent labor.

The lower levels of the Underworks operated in an orderly fashion, using the intense heat of magma to temper and forge metal into suitable components, which were then sent to the assembly level above.

Hornet followed the signs to the assembly area, whose topography was now completely different from her memory, largely because the Second Sentinel had accidentally obliterated over half of it.

After being rebuilt, the entire factory was transformed. Where it once resembled a millstone grinding everything down, it now functioned like a precise instrument with specialized divisions of labor, each component fulfilling its role for the facility's smooth operation.

Alongside ordinary worker bugs, there were also mechanized bugs dedicated to operating in hazardous zones, and others designed for delicate, precision tasks.

Shortly after entering the assembly area, Hornet heard a familiar, murmuring voice. She knocked on a door and entered after receiving a response.

Seated at the work station was the Twelfth Architect, who gave a slight nod of acknowledgment upon recognizing Hornet.

"Your Highness, welcome."

Thanks to proper maintenance, the Twelfth Architect's speech functions were operating without glitches, allowing for very fluid conversation.

"Is there anything I can assist you with?"

"Actually, I'm heading further in to help repair the Soul-Silk Looms."

"Understood. Do you require directions?"

"That won't be necessary. I still remember."

According to Hornet's memory, her "last" visit to this factory was over a decade ago, when she directed worker bugs and Weavers in the construction of the Soul-Silk Looms.

The machine operated mostly automatically, primarily serving to enhance the factory's operational efficiency while acting as an energy core, providing it with a continuous power supply.

It significantly reduced the over-reliance on magma during the forging process and lowered the probability of workplace injuries for the bugs.

However, even the most precise instruments develop faults after years of wear and tear, and this machine was no exception.

What made it more frustrating was that aside from Hornet, almost no other bug could comprehend its structure, let alone repair it.

Hornet walked up to the entrance of the "Core Area." A beam of white light slowly scanned down from a sphere above.

[Identity confirmed: No. 001, Hornet.]

Once Hornet's identity was verified, accompanied by the sound of interlocking gears, the door to the Core Area automatically opened.

Witnessing this, Lace couldn't help but remark with some amazement, "Your Weaver technology has already advanced to this level?"

For some reason, Lace had a premonition that if given a little more time, Hornet might just cobble together something capable of piercing through the heavens themselves.

————7————

The air in the Core Area hummed with the low drone of the Soul-Silk Looms and the constrained warmth rising from the deep magma.

The First Sinner stood silently beside the massive machine, like a priestess tending to a sacred altar.

Seeing Hornet and her companions arrive, she approached promptly, her voice laced with concern, "Child, I heard you met with some trouble on your journey. Are you well now?"

"A minor inconvenience. It's nothing," Hornet waved a hand dismissively, her gesture as crisp and decisive as her character. Her eyes held a trace of curiosity. "Aunt, what brings you here in person?"

The First Sinner didn't conceal her motives, stating frankly, "I wished to observe your repair methods firsthand. If I can learn how to maintain it, you won't need to travel so much in the future." Her tone was even, yet it held a faint hint of regret at her own inability to fully grasp the marvel of this creation.

Hornet said no more and walked directly towards the complex but currently dim Soul-Silk Loom.

She extended her hand, her fingertips not touching the physical structure, but instead drawing forth countless white strands of silk from her palm.

These threads, as if possessing a life of their own, precisely sought out and delved into the seams and energy nodes within the loom's internal structure.

They did not connect or pull roughly, but rather, like the most deft weaver, they meticulously "re-wove" the broken energy circuits on a microscopic level, smoothing out chaotic fluctuations and guiding the clogged energy to flow freely once more.

The entire process was utterly silent, yet brimming with a fluid, effortless beauty, akin to an exquisite dance of the fingertips.

Within moments, the loom's core reignited with a steady, warm glow, and its low hum regained a strong, even rhythm.

"Can you follow the technique?" Hornet retracted the silk and turned to ask.

The First Sinner gazed at the revitalized loom, falling silent for a moment, her own light dimming slightly. "Unfortunately, while I can perceive the flow of energy, the timing of the silk's intervention, the weaving paths, and the choice of nodes... It seems I truly cannot grasp it." Her voice carried the acceptance and faint disappointment of a profound scholar facing her sole blind spot in knowledge.

Lace, standing nearby, couldn't suppress the pride in her tone, a slight smile touching her lips. "After all, Little Spider's skill is the greatest among all Weavers! That kind of talent is innate."

Hornet looked at the First Sinner—this pioneer who had essentially forged the path of runic arts, now showing disappointment at her own lack of aptitude for mechanical engineering.

She stepped forward, her voice clear and sincere. "Aunt, you needn't dwell on this. While mechanical engineering may not be your strength, you are the first bug to ever create the art of runes. You opened another path for us to harness power."

She paused, placing a hand lightly over her own chest, as if gathering the gifts of the past. "I am deeply grateful for the power you bestowed upon me back then. It still protects me to this day."

Years ago, during the period of most harmonious relations between Hallownest and the Weavers, Hornet underwent her Coming of Age ceremony, reckoned by Weaver reckoning.

It was not a boisterous celebration, but a quiet rite held in a serene Deepnest hall adorned with glowing white silk cocoons and soft phosphorescent light.

The Weavers—her kin—gathered around her. Through an ancient and sacred ritual, they wove the essence of their respective skills into the very fabric of her being, one by one, like passing on a torch.

· Silkspeak, from an elder skilled in assault, its threads unyieldingly sharp.
· Swift Step, a gift from a mentor wanderer, allowing her to move like the wind.
· Cling Grip, granting her the power to traverse any barrier with ease.
· Thread Storm, a combination of control and devastation, originating from a tactical master.
· Clawline, capable of plucking melodies and delving into dreams.
· Sharpdart, an acrobatic technique of agile evasion concealing lethal intent.
· Rune Rage, sourced from the First Sinner, channeling volatile runic energy into her silk to unleash power transcending physical limits.
· Silk Soar, transforming threads into a ladder for ascent and great leaps.

And it wasn't only the Weavers.

Phantom, Lace's sister, bestowed upon her the "Cross Stitch," derived from her unique fighting style.

Even the ancient Light God, the Radiance, somehow persuaded the Grand Mother Silk to grant "Pale Nails" as a celebratory gift.

There was also the ethereal, ancient melody "Sylphsong," which she had quietly mastered at some unknown time.

Furthermore, throughout her subsequent growth and adventures, she gradually acquired six Charms, each perfectly fused with her own power.

Each bearing different laws and properties, they acted as six cornerstones, collectively building and solidifying her current powerful and versatile strength.

All these gifts, trials, and insights ultimately wove together, shaping the Hornet of today.

————8————

With the Soul-Silk Loom repaired, the hum within the Core Area regained a stable and powerful rhythm.

Hornet nodded to the First Sinner and made to leave. Yet, the moment she took a single step, she felt a gentle but definite tug on the hem of her cloak.

She turned to find the First Sinner, who had at some point discreetly hooked a finger into the corner of the garment.

"Aunt?" Hornet raised a brow slightly.

The First Sinner hesitated for a moment before speaking, her tone somewhat tentative. "Actually, child, my purpose here wasn't solely to observe your repairs. I also have an important task I wish to entrust to you."

"Please, go on," Hornet said, turning fully to face the First Sinner, her expression focused.

Instead of answering directly, the First Sinner raised her hand. A box, roughly the size of her palm, materialized within it.

The box was crafted from a material that was neither shell-wood nor metal, its surface flowing with a pale lustre. More strikingly, its body was tightly enveloped by a layer of intricate and precise runic wards.

"This is something your father, Wyrm, requires," the First Sinner explained. "Its structure is highly unique. Any severe impact or improper energy shock could damage it. Entrusting it to a common messenger is simply too great a risk. After much consideration, we concluded that placing it in your hands is the most secure option."

Hearing this, Lace, who had been standing nearby, couldn't hold back a soft chuckle. "My, my, Little Spider. It seems the role of 'courier' is one you're simply destined to fulfill, isn't it?"

Her words held an intimate tease, clearly recalling Hornet's numerous past experiences of delivering crucial items for various factions.

Especially a certain glutton's food orders, for which Hornet had traveled extensively, often being harassed by various enemies along the way.

However, Hornet did not immediately accept the task as she usually would, nor did she fire back a retort at Lace's teasing.

Her gaze remained locked on the rune-covered box, a slight frown creasing her brow as she asked two critical questions:

"On which instance of me getting injured would it break?" Her voice was cool, almost sharp. "Or will it deteriorate and break down on its own over time?"

The unusual questions clearly gave the First Sinner pause, making her ponder if Hornet's query held some deeper meaning.

After a moment's thought, the First Sinner replied, "Neither. The wards are sufficient to block the vast majority of external and internal interference. Unless..." She paused, seemingly searching for a sufficiently extreme example. "...Unless you deliberately throw it into the largest crusher at the factory's lowest level, it will not break easily."

Hearing this definitive answer, the tension in Hornet's shoulders relaxed almost imperceptibly.

The overly cautious gravity on her face finally melted away, replaced by a look of relieved acceptance.

"Great."

She reached out with both hands and steadily took the box from the First Sinner.

The runic wards brushed against her fingertips, transmitting a gentle, pulsating energy.

"Something this important," she murmured, as if to herself, yet also explaining to the First Sinner and Lace, "I must be certain it won't be destroyed by any unforeseen or uncontrollable accident on my part."

She could not bear the weight of failing a heavy responsibility entrusted to her due to her own battles or negligence.

———— Short Skit ————

In some corner of reality, Mergwin, waiting for Hornet to deliver his smoked meat, opened the "Got Grub?" delivery app on his phone to check the rider's status.

"Your rider is currently dueling the guards."
"Your rider has encountered a ghost wall."
"Your rider is eliminating a dark criminal organization."
"Your rider is saving the world."
"Your order has been cancelled."

Mergwin was deeply confused.

Chapter Text

————9————

After leaving the Underworks, Hornet didn't head directly to the station. Instead, she decided to take this opportunity to see with her own eyes what the rebuilt Citadel had become.

The group followed a newly laid pathway, imprinted with soft glowing patterns, leading towards the central plaza of The Choral Chambers.

The closer they got to the plaza, the more magnificent and grand the surrounding architecture became.

Golden light formed soaring arches and upturned eaves, carved with ancient, intricate patterns depicting the history and legends of Pharloom.

Sunlight (courtesy of The Radiance) filtered through the crystalline glass dome, casting a kaleidoscope of shifting colors upon the floor.

The air held a quiet, sacred atmosphere, a faint echo of the time when this place was the first stop for countless pilgrims entering the Citadel with devout hearts.

Back then, they would be granted pure white Choral Robes before joining the seemingly eternal song dedicated to the gods.

However, that "eternal song" had long since fallen silent. What lingered here now was no longer religious fervor, but the light chatter and amazed exclamations of tourists.

The primary function of The Choral Chambers now was to serve as a tourist attraction, a vessel for history and art.

Just as they were about to step into the central plaza, a figure nimbly darted in front of them.

It was a well-dressed beetle, carrying a pack on his back and holding an open case in his hand, inside which row upon row of stylish sunglasses were neatly displayed.

"Distinguished guests!" the beetle salesman greeted them enthusiastically. "One look tells me you have impeccable taste! Might you be interested in a pair of our Choral Chambers specialty 'Sanctuary Shades'? Not only do they protect your eyes, they make for the perfect souvenir!"

Lace instinctively moved to wave a refusal, and Hornet likewise showed little interest.

They sidestepped the salesman and continued forward.

However, the moment they stepped into the central plaza—

An intensely violent wave of light slammed into them, as if a miniature sun had been placed right in the plaza's center.

This radiance wasn't merely bright; it carried a sacred, oppressive weight that made it impossible to look at directly, causing their eyes to ache and nearly bringing tears to them.

"My eyes!" Lace cried out, sharply bringing her hands up to cover her face.

Hornet, too, was forced to squint, enduring the discomfort as she looked ahead.

There, in the center of the plaza, stood a statue of The Radiance, carved from some special luminescent material.

The effigy was lifelike and imposing, its entire form emitting a dazzling, unbearable radiance that perfectly replicated the glory of the mythical Goddess of Light.

"...This is just excessive," Lace muttered, peeking through her fingers at the "brilliant" statue.

Hornet was silent for a moment, then decisively turned and strode back to the sunglasses salesman. She pulled out her rosaries. "Three pairs."

It was only as she handed a pair to the Second Sentinel that Hornet noticed its "eyes" had long ago been modified—presumably by a past version of herself—to filter out intense light.

With the sunglasses on, the world finally returned to its normal colors and clarity.

Only then could they approach the statue calmly and examine it closely.

"The artisans' skill is masterful," Hornet observed objectively, before her tone shifted, carrying a hint of barely perceptible disdain. "But I find the actual Radiance preferable. This statue is... rigid. Lacking vitality."

The true Radiance's light was warm and pulsating, irresistibly fuzzy. This statue didn't capture even a fraction of her charm.

Just then, a familiar, hypnotically rhythmic song reached their ears.

Following the sound, they saw a familiar figure standing not far from the statue—Sherma.

He too wore a pair of sunglasses, his golden bowl resting on his head as he faced the radiant statue of the Radiance. He continuously struck his instrument, using his endearing, emotionally rich voice to fervently sing praises to the deity.

♪fai ri du la thi ma net♪
♪do li pua na vo li net♪
♪pi na so mi mai ni set♪
♪dai na fun su lo!bon~♪

Inspired and led by him, some of the tourists around them, also wearing sunglasses, were moved by the solemn atmosphere and began to hum along softly.

Gradually, more and more bugs joined the chorus, merging into a somewhat uneven yet quite loud wave of sound that reverberated across the sacred plaza.

Meanwhile, in a distant dream...

The true Radiance, lazily drifting through the golden dreamscape she had woven, suddenly jolted as if pricked by something.

She covered her non-existent ears, rolling irritably on the soft dream-clouds before letting out a mournful cry:

"Save me! It's so noisy! It must be that damned Wyrm sending bugs to torment me! Who in the world wrote these shameful lyrics?!"

And back in the physical plaza, Sherma's singing grew even more vigorous, and the tourists' chorus became even more engrossed.

Standing quietly to the side in her sunglasses, Hornet could only shake her head slightly, almost as if she could faintly hear the distress of a certain fuzzy being.

————10————

Whispering Vaults.

The name itself carried the weight of a past deliberately sealed away.

During Pharloom's prosperous yet isolated era, this place was less a hall of knowledge and more a meticulously constructed cage.

Its founding did not stem from a love of wisdom or a desire to share it, but from a fear of power and the need to control it.

Now, it more closely resembled a grand library open to the public. Many bugs chose to sit directly on comfortable cushions, immersed in the ocean of knowledge.

The great hall of learning was so quiet, one could only hear the soft rustle of turning pages, the air filled with the unique scent of old paper and ink.

Yet, this tranquility was abruptly shattered.

"I saw it first!" a tall, thin centipede hissed, his voice low but sharp, his forelimbs pressing down on a heavy copy of 'A Study of Hallownest's Geological Evolution'.

"Nonsense! My hand touched the spine first!" a stag beetle shot back, not yielding an inch, using his body to block the shelf and defend his "claim."

The argument quickly escalated from hushed debate to agitated shoving.

They completely forgot they were leaning against a tall bookshelf.

CRASH!

With a heavy thud, the bookshelf toppled like a domino, collapsing entirely.

Books cascaded down in a noisy heap, scattering across the floor and covering the walkway, sending up a cloud of dust.

"It's your fault!"

"You pushed it!"

The two culprits, faces flushed red, were on the verge of escalating from a war of words to a physical fight.

Just then, a tall, somewhat cumbersome figure strode over quickly.

His name was Loam, a custodian of the Vaults, possessing a large frame and long, powerful legs.

He didn't attempt to shout over the argument. Instead, he walked right between the two, and under their stunned gazes, raised one foreleg high and brought it down in a sharp chop!

CRACK!

A sharp sound rang out—not from striking a bug, but from his leg cleanly hitting the wooden floorboards directly between the two contenders.

A clear fissure instantly snaked across the floor.

Loam retracted his leg, his voice low and earnest. "Please stop arguing."

This simple, yet visually stunning, method of "mediation" had an immediate effect.

The two arguing bugs froze instantly. They looked at the crack on the floor, then at Loam's large, unassuming form, and a cold sweat practically broke out on them.

"W-we're sorry!" the thin centipede immediately said, grabbing the stag beetle in a hug.

"Y-yes! We've made up! You have the book!" the stag beetle reciprocated the embrace tightly, his tone full of sudden deference.

"No, no, after you!"

"Please, you first!"

Watching the two instantly become as close as brothers, deferring to each other as they scrambled away from the scene, Loam scratched his head, seemingly quite satisfied with the effectiveness of his "mediation."

"LOOOOAM!"

The Vaultkeeper's screech cut through the air as he practically slid over, pointing a trembling claw at the fissure in the floor, utterly distraught. "This is the third time this month! The third time! The cost of repairing the floor is nearly going to deduct your entire salary! If you keep this up, I will truly have to let you go!"

Loam's large frame immediately slumped, like a child who had done wrong, and he could only stammer awkwardly, "Sorry, Mr. Vaultkeeper... I-I won't do it again..."

"You say that every time!"

"Wait a moment." A calm voice interjected.

Hornet stepped forward, her gaze level as she looked at the Vaultkeeper. "Have you ever clearly instructed him on the proper procedure for handling such situations? For instance, first using verbal commands to stop them, or physically restraining the combatants, rather than chopping the floor."

The Vaultkeeper finally noticed Hornet, and particularly the unique aura of a Weaver about her, which made him instantly swallow his complaints. His tone became somewhat apologetic. "This... this sort of thing, one should realize on their own. Who needs specific teaching for that..."

"Since he wasn't taught, the primary responsibility does not lie with him," Hornet stated, her tone leaving no room for argument. "He was merely using the most direct and effective method he could think of to solve the problem. You can criticize his method as inappropriate, but you cannot place the full blame on a bug who hasn't been properly guided."

She turned to the dejected Loam, her voice softening slightly. "Loam, if this job becomes untenable, you can go to Bellhart. Just mention my name to the Mayor, and he will arrange suitable work for you. Your intention to maintain order is good, but you need to learn more appropriate methods."

Loam looked up, a grateful light shining in his eyes. "Th-thank you!"

In a quiet corner of Hornet's memory lay fragments of this tall figure.

During the grim years in the Underworks, he had been like a cold cog, laboring his entire life on the never-ending assembly line. His fate had ended with him being buried by a sudden earthquake—a large rock serving as his simple tombstone.

Now, fate had given Hornet a chance to rewrite that ending, and she would never again allow that regret to silently crush her heart.

With the disturbance settled, Loam began cleaning up the toppled bookshelf and the scattered books.

His movements were somewhat clumsy, but very earnest.

Hornet gave a nod to the Second Sentinel, which immediately stepped forward and used its considerable strength to effortlessly right the bookshelf.

Hornet herself bent down and started gathering the fallen books.

Lace watched everyone busily working, pursed her lips, and reluctantly crouched down to help.

She picked up books absentmindedly, her eyes scanning the vast assortment of titles.

Suddenly, a book with a vividly colored cover and an exceptionally eye-catching title jumped into her view—

My Childhood Friend Can't Be This Cute!

The cover illustration depicted two bugs in an intimate pose, their eyes practically sparkling with drawn-out lines of affection, the atmosphere so charged it could make a bug blush.

Lace shot a furtive, thief-like glance around. Confirming no one was paying her any attention, she couldn't resist quietly cracking the book open a single page.

Just a few lines in, she snapped it shut as if her fingers had been burned.

The content inside was a hundred times more explicit and direct than the cover suggested!

"Th-this is terrible!" she muttered under her breath, her face feeling warm. "How can the Vaults have such... unhealthy books!"

Yet, her actions completely contradicted her words.

She cautiously scanned her surroundings once more, verifying that Hornet had her back turned while sorting other books, and that Loam and the Second Sentinel were also focused on their tasks.

She swiftly slipped the book to the very bottom of a pile of books awaiting reshelving, then pretended nothing had happened and continued tidying up.

A little later, holding a stack of "ordinary" books, she dawdled over to the Vaultkeeper's desk. In her most casual tone, she said, "I'd like to borrow this long-term... um, the one at the very bottom."

The Vaultkeeper looked up at her, then glanced at the distinctly familiar, garish book corner peeking out from the bottom of the pile. His face remained completely expressionless. He silently took the stack, expertly stamped the loan seal without a word, asking nothing and saying nothing.

Lace, feigning composure, accepted the book now disguised with a plain brown paper cover—her contraband "mental sustenance"—her heart pounding as if she were hiding a raging fire within her chest.

————11————

The Pale Lake, the current gathering place for the Flea Circus, also known as Fleatopia.

They regularly held a Flea Festival here for visitors to enjoy.

Most of the time, the fleas would run around everywhere, especially the young ones who hadn't fully grown.

Hornet had previously been struck by a particularly large, huge flea, which led to her prolonged coma.

She probably should have scolded them loudly, but she was utterly disarmed by their round, plump bodies and that fluffy, soft fur. That tiny bit of resentment vanished instantly, leaving her no choice but to forgive them.

"Welcome, Miss Hornet! To what do we owe the pleasure?" The fleamaster, Mooshka, greeted his enthusiastically.

"I just felt like wandering around this area," Hornet replied, her gaze already irresistibly drawn to the bouncing balls of fluff around her.

"No problem at all, look around freely. Make yourself at home."

"Awwoo~"

"Awwoo~"

Seeing Hornet's arrival, many fleas, as if drawn to a familiar fuzzy magnet, joyfully leapt over, actively nuzzling her hands and cheeks.

The warm, fluffy sensation made Hornet's heart bloom with joy, and a relaxed smile unconsciously spread across her face.

Then, she noticed Lace had appeared beside her.

Lace clung tightly to Hornet's arm, mumbling with a hint of jealousy, "Aren't I good to touch? Why do you like petting them so much?"

Hornet was amused by this. She offered an objective assessment while reaching out to feel Lace's slender, soft waist. "Hmm, your texture is very soft, completely different from fluffy."

But her honesty ultimately won out. Her hand instinctively returned to the fleas, giving them a satisfied rub. "But my favorite really is still fluffy."

Lace was immediately sulky.

Suddenly, she noticed several spare helmets sitting in a nearby cart. A "wicked" plan formed in her mind, and a sly smile curled at the corner of her mouth.

She pulled aside a few fleas that were circling Hornet and whispered something into their ears.

Moments later.

Hornet was immersed in a sea of fluff, enjoying the bliss of being surrounded by warm fur, when a sharp intuition sent a chill down her spine—she sensed "killing intent."

She reacted with lightning speed, shoving the fleas beside her away and twisting to the side just as several helmeted fleas shot past where she had just been standing, whistling through the air like cannonballs.

Unlike the straightforward Flea Dodge game, these "projectiles" followed tricky, arcing trajectories, clearly the result of careful "ballistic design," making them much harder to evade.

Hornet was busy dodging and weaving, her eyes tracking the trajectory of the fleas back to their source. There, at the origin, she spotted the mastermind—Lace was brandishing her pin like a baseball bat, swatting the helmeted fleas one by one, sending them flying towards Hornet on those bizarre paths.

A glint of sharp intent flashed in Hornet's eyes. She swiftly evaded another wave of flea projectiles, her form moving like lightning as she closed the distance to Lace in an instant, her own needle already raised high.

Lace's face stiffened, immediately realizing she had taken the prank too far.

The next moment, she found herself sitting sulkily between Hornet's legs, several small, skillfully placed holes—none causing serious harm—now dotting her form. Hornet was patiently using soul-silk to mend the punctures, a sigh of resignation in her movements.

"Really now. All this back and forth, and in the end, I'm the one who has to do all the work," Hornet complained softly as she deftly wove the silk into the gaps.

"Hmph!" Lace turned her head away, refusing to look at her in a fit of pique.

Then, she felt a slight weight settle on her head.

It was Hornet, gently resting her chin atop Lace's head.

The clamor of the surrounding fleas seemed to fade away at that moment, and Hornet's voice became soft yet earnest:

"You don't need to compare yourself to the fleas. You will always be you. Even without a fluffy exterior, I have never seen you as something that can be replaced or compared against."

"The feeling of fluff is a simple pleasure, like sunlight and a gentle breeze; it helps me relax. But you, Lace, are different."

"You're my friend, aren't you?"

Hornet deliberately emphasized the word friend, fully aware of the weight it carried for Lace.

Their journey through the Abyss had left a deep impression on her.

"I do like fluffy things," Hornet admitted frankly, the pressure of her chin on Lace's head increasing slightly, carrying an undeniable warmth, "but I care about you, too. These two feelings have never been mutually exclusive."

After mending the final hole, Hornet gave Lace's back a gentle pat, her tone returning to its usual evenness. "There. Next time you want my attention, you can use a more direct method. No need to trouble these fleas or my needlework."

Though Lace didn't turn her head, the tension in her shoulders visibly eased.

Only after Hornet had stood up and walked away did Lace murmur softly, a smile in her voice:

"I don't believe a word you say, you fluff-loving maniac~ I'll still do it next time."

————Little Easter Egg ————

"Earlier, when Lace was attacking me with the fleas, why didn't you react?"

Hornet posed the question to the Second Sentinel.

"Was that not playful interaction between Friend and Friend Lace?" the Second Sentinel responded matter-of-factly.

"Did Lace tell you that?"

"Affirmative." The Second Sentinel nodded.

Chapter Text

————12————

A breeze from the Pale Lake, carrying the scent of moisture and fresh grass, swept across the cheerful bustle of Fleatopia.

While Hornet was still basking in her fluffy bliss, a striking golden figure intruded into her line of sight.

It was Shakra.

This warrior, usually so decisive and firm in expression, now wore a slight frown, her gaze anxiously scanning the grassy ground and gaps between stones.

"Shakra? What are you doing here?"

Shakra looked up at the sound, a flicker of embarrassment crossing her face.

"Dondak, Hornet wielding Needle? I've lost something very important—a token given to me by my mentor." She clenched a fist briefly.

Her tone held a rare note of frustration. "It wasn't just a gift. It represented my mentor's recognition, a milestone on my training path. I remember securing it firmly; I don't know how it came loose."

Just then, the Fleamaster, Mooshka, came hopping over.

After understanding the situation, he puffed out his chest with pride and patted it with a hand. "Finding lost items? That's our Flea Circus's specialty! Our little ones have a keener sense of smell than the craftiest of hunters!"

With that, he let out a series of short, sharp whistles.

Several small, fluffy fleas immediately converged from all directions, gathering around Shakra and yipping excitedly.

Mooshka presented Shakra's hand to the little fleas, letting them carefully sniff the lingering scent.

"Alright, little ones!" Mooshka commanded. "Lead our friend back to her precious treasure!"

The little fleas, as if entrusted with a sacred mission, pressed their noses to the ground, emitting a series of tiny chirps, and began tracking the scent trail.

The path of the scent was winding and circuitous, clearly showing that Shakra had already retraced her steps many times during her search.

Hornet and Shakra exchanged a glance and immediately followed the fluffy search party.

The scent trail ultimately led away from the Pale Lake area, pointing towards a more dangerous region.

The surroundings grew progressively wilder, the air beginning to carry a mix of boggy scents and a faint, prickling sense of hostility.

"This direction..." Shakra's frown deepened. "It's the territory of the Stilkin tribe."

No sooner had the words left her mouth than a murky puddle ahead erupted without warning.

Several dark figures surged from beneath the water, accompanied by foul-smelling spray—ambushers from the Stilkin tribe.

They were lean, their skin smeared with mud like camouflage, and they held blowpipes in their hands.

Thwip! Thwip! Thwip!

Poisoned, explosive darts shot towards them like a sudden squall.

Hornet reacted with lightning speed, her needle becoming a whirling barrier that deflected the incoming projectiles.

Shakra, using her rings, effortlessly parried the darts.

The deflected darts landed on nearby plants and rocks with dull thuds, bursting into small clouds of corrosive poison.

"Watch your step!" Shakra suddenly shouted.

Hornet looked down to see nearly invisible vine tripwires scattered across the muddy path.

She leapt into the air, firing a strand of silk to pull herself towards a nearby rock wall.

Almost simultaneously, massive, spiked logs swung out from the undergrowth on both sides, whistling through the air before smashing into each other with a sickening crunch of splintering wood.

This was only the beginning.

Every step forward risked triggering a new trap: poison-nets dropping from above, sharpened bamboo stakes springing from below... The Stilkin warriors were like phantoms, striking once before retreating, never engaging directly, expertly using the terrain and traps to wear down the intruders.

But compared to these nuisances, the greatest annoyance was already gone.

It was the disgusting maggots that once infested the foul waters. They had a particular taste for consuming silk.

If one were to carelessly fall into the water, the ensuing situation would become truly dire.

To be covered head to toe in those irritating pests, unable to concentrate, with the very silk needed for healing devoured by them in moments... it was arguably the most aggravating aspect of the entire region.

Fortunately, that would no longer happen.

Thanks to Wyrm's renovations, the Underworks no longer discharged pollutants into other natural ecological areas. Instead, waste underwent thorough treatment before being released into the lakes.

"Did you ever come to this place before?" Hornet asked, turning to Lace.

Her 'before' referred to the time before the world was changed.

Lace shot her a look. "Do I look that foolish to you? Those bugs would have eaten me alive."

"But your sister's domain was..."

Lace paused, muttering under her breath, "It wasn't this bad... before she was sealed away."

————13————

The little fleas, leveraging their small size and keen sense of smell, weaved through the gaps between the traps, eventually leading them to a low-lying area enclosed by a palisade wall at the tribe's center.

The air here was damp and clinging, the ground beneath their feet soft marshland. Hornet scanned the surroundings. Though the topography had been drastically altered by the tribe's modifications, the remnants of foundational structures and the layout style still stirred vague, fragmented memories within her.

The lead flea let out an excited "Awwoo!"; its nose told it the target was very close.

It flew unhesitatingly towards a dark, murky pond. Just as it neared the water's surface, trying to pinpoint the scent's origin—

SPLASH!

A massive, tooth-filled maw erupted from the inky water, lunging forward with a foul-smelling gust of wind, intent on swallowing the small ball of fluff whole.

"Awwoo!!" The little flea froze mid-air, terrified by the sudden assault.

In the nick of time, a strand of silk, like a silver lightning bolt, wrapped around its body and yanked it back to safety.

Hornet gathered the startled creature into her arms, feeling its violent trembling from fear, and gently soothed it.

"GRRAAAHHH!" the attacker let out a deafening roar.

The massive figure hovered over the pond, its wings beating.

It was none other than Groal the Great, chieftain of the Stilkin tribe.

He glared down at the intruders from his elevated position, a menacing glint in his eyes.

"None may trespass the hallowed grounds of the Stilkin!"

"That's my token!" Shakra immediately noticed the pale emblem hanging at his waist, clearly engraved with her tribe's mark and glowing faintly in the dim light.

"Chieftain Groal," Hornet stepped forward, attempting to avert conflict, "we mean no offense. Return my friend's token, and we will leave immediately."

"Oh? You want this?"

Groal lifted the pale emblem, a greedy sneer spreading across his face. "Dream on! A treasure like this belongs to none but me!"

"What an arrogant brute," Shakra rarely showed anger, but her ring was poised and ready.

"It seems negotiations have failed." Hornet handed the flea in her arms to Lace, then gripped her needle and settled into a fighting stance.

"I told you not all bugs here in Pharloom are nice," Lace shrugged helplessly, then found a good spot to watch the impending fight.

The coming battle was likely to get her wet, and given the disparity in strength, her participation wasn't needed anyway.

Without another word, Groal initiated the assault. He took a deep, powerful breath, his chest swelling like bellows, and a tremendous suction erupted from his gaping maw.

Loose stones and dead leaves on the ground were swept up and pulled towards the dark throat.

Hornet and Shakra immediately lowered their centers of gravity. Hornet drove her needle into the earth to resist the terrifying devouring force.

Just as they were straining against the suction, a sly glint flashed in Groal's eyes. He roared, his words garbled by the immense draw of air, "Quit gawking and do something!"

From the palisade walls surrounding the clearing, dozens of Stilkin warriors instantly appeared, their blowpipes aimed squarely at the two figures immobilized by their resistance to the vacuum.

A hail of poisoned darts rained down.

"Not a shred of warrior's honor!" Shakra spat in disgust, using her agile footwork to swiftly evade the projectiles.

Hornet swung her needle rapidly, weaving a net of soul-silk in front of her. But the sheer volume of darts was overwhelming. The clouds of poison from their explosions quickly spread, obscuring vision and hindering movement.

Seizing the opportunity, Groal snapped his mouth shut. The suction vanished instantly, and his massive body was already in motion, charging forward with a sweeping attack meant to crush everything in its path!

BOOM!

Hornet caught the blow head-on with her needle, the tremendous force sliding her back several steps.

Shakra tried to press the attack from the flank, but the ground gave way beneath her—a hidden pitfall trap. Her lower leg sank into the mire instantly.

Groal let out a triumphant roar, his maw gaping wide once more, ready to swallow the now-vulnerable Shakra whole.

At the critical moment, a sharp glint flashed in Hornet's eyes. Instead of confronting Groal head-on, she shot strands of soul-silk towards the Stilkin warriors reloading their blowpipes on the walls.

The silk precisely entangled their blowpipes or arms, then yanked hard—

"Ah!"

"My dart!"

Cries of confusion and the sound of collisions erupted, instantly disrupting the previously dense hail of poisoned darts.

Simultaneously, Hornet flung another strand of silk with her other hand, wrapping it around Shakra's arm and forcibly hauling her out of the trap.

Freed from the pit and the ranged harassment, Shakra's fury was fully ignited.

She exchanged a glance with Hornet. No words were needed; their tacti understanding was innate.

As Groal puffed his cheeks, preparing to spit venom, Shakra lightning-fast hurled two of her rings.

The rings traced precise arcs, smashing heavily into Groal's eyes.

"My eyes!" His vision blurred abruptly, throwing him into instant confusion. Instinctively, he tried to dive into the water to escape.

But Hornet wouldn't give him the chance.

Several strands of soul-silk had already silently entangled his legs. With a powerful pull, she hoisted him upside down in the air like a captured animal.

Shakra leapt up, snatching back the pale emblem with perfect accuracy.

Groal roared with futile rage, struggling violently.

The cold tip of Hornet's needle pressed against his throat. The utterly merciless killing intent in her eyes made him freeze instantly.

Shakra clutched the reclaimed pale ore emblem, feeling its familiar, cool texture.

She turned to Groal, her eyes filled with contempt. "The honor and resilience this emblem symbolizes—you possess not a single shred of it. You are unworthy of it."

With that, she paid no further mind to the defeated chieftain's impotent fury. Together with Hornet and the others, she turned and left the treacherous swamp behind.

After putting considerable distance between themselves and the Stilkin territory, Shakra securely fastened the emblem and tucked it away in a hidden compartment.

She then turned, her expression grateful, and addressed Hornet and their fluffy little guides. "Thank you. Without your help, I might have truly lost it forever."

"There's no need for such formality. You've often appeared to aid me when I needed it too."

During times at the Hunter's March and the High Halls, Shakra had fought by her side, memories that still shone brightly.

Though, for this world's Shakra, those events had never happened.

Shakra rubbed her chin, contemplating. "If you mean those things that happened back in the tribe, I don't really feel like I was much help."

When Shakra was very young, Hornet and Lace had visited her tribe. Due to certain events, they had become friends.

Ever since then, Shakra had always wanted to test her skills against Hornet, though she had never managed to defeat her in a direct fight.

"The help you gave... perhaps you weren't aware of it yourself," Hornet said, a hint of laughter in her tone.

"Oh? Now you've confused me," Shakra said, tilting her head slightly, the puzzlement on her face deepening.

"No need to dwell on it. I'm grateful, regardless," Hornet said softly.

"Alright," Shakra accepted the kindness with her characteristic ease, her golden carapace gleaming in the sunlight. "If you say so."

———— Little Easter Egg ————

On the road.

Shakra's gaze shifted between the two of them, a look of pure curiosity on her face as she suddenly asked, "So, speaking of which, you two have been together for so long... have you done it?"

"Pfft—!" Lace nearly choked on her own saliva, her dark cheeks instantly flushing crimson.

She jumped up like a cat whose tail had been stepped on, brandishing her pin. "F-first of all, we are not together! And second... what kind of, what kind of nonsense things are you, a tribe warrior, thinking about?!"

Shakra blinked innocently, scratching her cheek with a forelimb. "Oh, really? I just see you two always together, coming and going as one. I thought your relationship was very... intimate." She deliberately drew out the word "intimate" slightly.

"Who wants to be intimate with a workaholic who's always busy with her duties, with only Hallownest and Pharloom on her mind!" Lace crossed her arms, turning her face away in a huff, though the tips of her ears remained red.

Hornet, who had been listening quietly until now, slowly lifted her eyes, her tone flat and even, yet precisely dropping a bombshell: "Hmm. I'm also not particularly fond of that white mushroom who always uses me as her personal body pillow."

"I am not a mushroom!" Lace immediately turned her head to retort.

The corner of Hornet's mouth lifted in a barely perceptible curve. Her eyes swept over Lace's flustered face as she calmly added, "So I wasn't talking about you, either."

Lace was momentarily speechless, realizing she had fallen for the bait. Even more embarrassed and annoyed, she pointed a finger at Hornet, sputtering "You... you...!" for a moment, unable to muster a more powerful comeback.

Finally, she could only stamp her foot and mutter under her breath, "...Who else in all of Pharloom but me would hold you until you fall asleep! You ungrateful...!"

Hornet, watching her like this, finally let out a soft chuckle. The laugh was quiet, but held obvious teasing. "Of course... it's that mushroom."

Lace was completely stumped, her entire face turning as red as a ripe berry. She could only glare at Hornet, stammering "You..." repeatedly, unable to form a complete sentence.

Shakra watched their back-and-forth: one calmly and composedly provoking, the other bristling and hopping mad but utterly defenseless. She crossed her arms, gave a knowing nod, a flicker of amusement in her eyes, and thought to herself, "As I thought... their relationship is anything but ordinary."

Chapter Text

————14————

Shellwood rests quietly in a corner of Pharloom, distinctly different from the resplendent gold of The Choral Chambers or the vibrant life of the Pale Lake.

It forms a realm of tranquility unto itself. Tall, grey-toned flora create deep, shadowy corridors, dotted with clusters of pure white flowers. They bloom in silence, like moonlight scattered amidst the shadows, lending the scenic area an aura of secluded mystery.

The sound of murmuring water from within the forest guided Hornet's group to the edge of a clear stream.

And it was here they encountered a surprising figure—Seth.

He stood focused by the water's edge, his posture erect, his gaze sharp.

With a fluid motion, his hand shot out, a cold glint flashing as a pin flew. A pond skipper skimming across the surface was pierced cleanly, offering no chance for struggle.

His movements were economical, efficient, possessed of a hunting rhythm that seemed instinctive. The dozen or so pond skippers piled beside him were testament to his skill.

It was Seth who noticed their arrival first.

He retrieved his thrown pin, a bright, genuine smile breaking across his face, shattering the forest's quiet.

"Hah! If it isn't Lady Hornet? A rare encounter indeed. Have you finally managed to tear yourself away from that mountain of official duties for a stroll?"

"Seth?" Hornet's tone held some surprise. "What brings you here?"

After Nyleth, with the White Lady's assistance, achieved complete stability, the Lord of the Blooming Woods no longer required a guardian standing watch behind him at all times.

Seth, the guardian who had been chosen to dedicate his entire life to this duty, was finally freed from that long and heavy responsibility.

However, the price of his liberation was immense—he lost all his memories. Like a newly hatched grub, he wandered aimlessly through the lands of Pharloom.

Ultimately, through Hornet's referral, he found a new home in the hospitable Fleatopia.

His battle-hardened skills, tempered through countless trials, remained intact. When the need arose to hunt large beasts threatening the tribe, he was still the peerless warrior of old.

"I'm here to improve the menu for everyone in Fleatopia," Seth explained, gesturing to his pile of "trophies." "The bugs from the Pale Lake are fine, but they get a bit bland after a while. The pond skippers here have a particularly sweet and firm meat the little ones really enjoy."

"Remember to follow nature's balance. Don't over-hunt," Hornet reminded him out of habit.

"Don't worry, I know my limits," Seth nodded earnestly. Then, shifting the topic, his sharp eyes swept over them. "But you don't look like you came to Shellwood just for the scenery. Is there something else going on?"

"Just wanted to see with my own eyes what Pharloom has become," Hornet replied, as concise as ever.

"My mistake, then," Seth said with a laugh.

"It's good to see you're doing well."

"Thanks. But," he suddenly shifted, his tone gaining a competitive edge, "next time there's a contest, I'll give it my all and break your records again."

"Contest?" Lace, who had been listening nearby, latched onto the unfamiliar word and looked questioningly at Hornet. She'd never heard the other mention participating in any contests.

Seth eagerly explained, "It's the three most popular contests during the Flea Festival. Lady Hornet came alone to participate back then; she probably forgot to mention it." His voice held unconcealed admiration. "She held all the original high scores single-handedly. It took everything I had to break every one of them."

Hearing this, the corner of Hornet's mouth tightened almost imperceptibly.

For her, that memory was quite "vivid"—after easily winning all the championships in the first festival, she had left Fleatopia perfectly satisfied.

Later, however, she happened to return and found Seth's name prominently topping the leaderboards, firmly pushing her scores down.

A powerful competitive spirit instantly ignited within her, compelling her to stay on the spot and "battle" Seth continuously for several days across the various events, not leaving until she had reclaimed every record, finally departing "pleased."

Now, she maintained a facade of complete calm, merely responding flatly, "Your records were impressive as well. I needed to calm my mind and study the techniques carefully to find a way to surpass them."

"Don't you worry!" Seth, hearing this, seemed even happier. He chuckled cheerfully and promised, "This year, I'll train even harder and set even higher records for you to challenge!"

He genuinely admired Hornet's unyielding spirit and was delighted to "create" more challenging goals for her.

However, Lace, standing to the side, clearly saw Hornet's hand, hanging at her side, clench quietly, her knuckles turning white from the force, as if she were desperately restraining some impulse.

Lace sighed helplessly, walked over to Seth, and gently nudged him with her elbow. She lowered her voice, saying, "Hey, you should probably say a bit less. With 'encouragement' like that, you might get someone killed."

"Huh?" Seth turned his head blankly, his face filled with pure confusion. "My words... possess the power to kill bugs?"

Lace rolled her eyes. "A few more sentences, and they just might."

"Alright..." Still not quite understanding, Seth wisely chose to close his mouth.

After Hornet and the others had disappeared into the depths of the forest, Seth turned his gaze back to the prey gliding peacefully in the stream.

He recalled Lace's strange comment about the "power of words," hesitated for a moment, then aimed at the nearest Pond Skipper and experimentally barked in a low voice:

"Become food!"

The pond skipper, startled by the sudden noise, tilted its head and gave him a couple of puzzled looks before changing direction and continuing its watery stroll as if nothing had happened.

Left standing alone, Seth scratched his head in confusion and muttered under his breath, "Didn't work... Guess I'll have to stick to the old method." As he spoke, he raised his gleaming pin once more.

————15————

The revival of Shellwood's impact extended far beyond the beautification of a single scenic area.

Like the first domino to fall, the virtuous cycle of the ecosystem it triggered began silently spreading to more distant regions.

Nutrient-rich soil traveled south with the river, saturating the once dry and cracked, barren landscape of Karak.

Resilient fluorescent moss was the first to spread across this land again, like a star chart of green being lit. Then, various red corals, adapted to the area's unique mineral environment, re-emerged in full vitality, draping a new, vibrant veil over the weathered crimson earth.

However, ecological revival can sometimes awaken slumbering ambitions. Karak's nominal ruler—the Crust King, Khann—saw this gift from nature as a sign of his returning power.

After lying dormant for countless seasons, his warlike nature stirred once more. The clouds of war began gathering over this land that had only just begun to rejuvenate.

News quickly spread among the various factions.

Just as the Crust King's armies were nearing completion of their mobilization, on the eve of war drums sounding, a solitary figure appeared at the base of the Coral Tower—the treacherous path leading to the Crust King's palace.

It was the Pure Vessel.

It brought no army, issued no formal challenge. It simply issued its challenge to the king's authority in the most direct, most ancient way possible.

The specifics of the battle that took place at the Spire's summit are details none dare recount.

Witnesses only remember that pure white figure moving through the sharp, coral-formed thicket like an absolute light tearing through the gloom.

Its power was not one of raw annihilation, but something closer to a natural law itself—an irresistible suppression.

The military might of the Crust King, sufficient to shake mountains, was utterly dismantled before the flawless assault of the Pure Vessel.

There were no cheers from a victor, nor wails from the defeated.

When the Pure Vessel sheathed its nail and turned to leave in silence, it had already used its absolute martial power to convey a crystal-clear message to Khann, and indeed to the entire world—

Any attempt to shatter the existing peace would be met with the most thorough termination.

Khann sat upon his damaged throne, facing his terrified, unsettled subjects and the only-just-revived land, and for the first time, truly understood the meaning of "cost."

His inflated ambition melted away before this absolute power like icicles under the sun.

The spark of war, never given chance to kindle, was forever snuffed out in its infancy.

Continuing upwards from the Karak region, the temperature plummets and the world is blanketed in pure white—this is the perpetually snow-capped Mount Fay.

At its base, the Slab, the prison constructed by the Citadel to hold its most dangerous beings, was preserved intact.

In this new era, it has been assigned a new purpose.

In Hallownest, Wyrm's approach to crime, with its judicial system overly focused on order and "civility," occasionally revealed unexpected flaws.

The conditions in its prisons were sometimes even better than ordinary dwellings in some outlying towns. This led a subset of shameless pests to view prison as a "worry-free retreat with room and board," feeling no compunction about re-offending after release in hopes of returning to that "comfortable" cage.

This absurd cycle was ultimately resolved by Hornet's proposal.

Following discussions between the various factions, a new judicial addendum was enacted: repeat offenders who deliberately exploited the system's mercy would, after trial, be transferred to the Slab at the foot of Mount Fay for "experiential sentencing."

No hard labor or physical punishment was required. The Slab's eternal, unchanging cold, its absolute silence, and its most basic subsistence-level provisions were alone sufficient to force those bugs who had tried to "vacation" in Hallownest's prisons to profoundly re-evaluate their life choices.

Typically, a single sentence was enough. They would leave in tears, swearing to reform and ensure they never, ever found themselves back in this place "where even breathing feels like it will freeze."

————16————

The Fields of Karak.

Hornet's steps fell upon moist, firm earth as her gaze swept over the familiar-yet-altered scenery before her.

Fragments of memory surged forth. This was one of the locations she had passed through when captured by the fanatical white-robed bugs.

In another, overwritten timeline, this place was despairingly known as the "Blasted Steps," a stairway to ruin worn by endless sands, a vista of nothing but lifeless desolation.

Now, however, a completely different, vibrant vitality greeted her eyes.

The landscape was dominated by a palette of fierce reds and tranquil blues. Magnificent, strange red coral formations rose in layered tiers, forming the very skeleton of the land, while countless clear streams and pools wove between them, reflecting the sky.

The air was damp and fresh, filled with the scent of aquatic plants and wet soil, exuding a wild, vigorous energy.

Naturally, the local "residents" embodied this unbridled vitality.

They had barely set foot in the area before being surrounded by a dense, droning hum—a large swarm of red Driznargas. Their carapaces were a vivid crimson, their eyes gleaming with hostile intent, like a mobile perimeter flowing across the land.

"Be careful," Hornet warned, her needle already subtly held ready. "These Driznargas are not to be trifled with."

"They're just oversized flies. What's there to be afraid of?" Lace pursed her lips, her tone carrying its usual dismissiveness.

However, as if understanding her taunt, several dozen Conchcutters—razor-edged—shot towards them like crimson whirls of death, whistling sharply through the air.

Lace let out a light laugh, her body swaying nimbly as she easily avoided the initial trajectory of the first wave.

But she had underestimated the hunters' cunning—the Conchcutters slammed into the coral wall behind her and rebounded at a vicious angle, shooting directly towards her back.

At the critical moment, a silver streak flashed. Hornet's needle, moving with startling speed, intercepted the ricocheting blades with precise deflections.

The deflected blades flew back into the Driznarga swarm, causing momentary chaos.

Simultaneously, Shakra's golden ring shot out, whistling as it carved a deadly arc through the air.

With the two working in tacit coordination, the enthusiastic "welcoming party" was soon subdued.

The moment the danger passed, Lace immediately attached herself to Hornet like a soft, white limpet, wrapping her arms around Hornet's neck and pressing her cheek affectionately against the cool chitin. "I knew it~ You'd never let me get hurt."

"Repairing you is more troublesome than protecting you," Hornet replied, her tone still flat. As she spoke, she firmly pried the "white mushroom" off herself.

Shakra couldn't help but feel a sense of wonder at this little white creature's mercurial nature. Not long ago, she was sulking at Hornet, and now she could act affectionately without batting an eye.

Perhaps this was just their normal way of interacting.

But soon, Shakra's attention shifted. More curious about the purpose of their trip, she looked at Hornet and asked, "Hornet wielding Needle, you didn't come all this way just for the 'thrills,' did you?"

For her, this aggressive land was a decent place to hone one's skills.

"Hmm," Hornet nodded, her gaze turning towards the depths of the plain. "I came to visit a mentor. Although our time together was brief, I'm grateful for the skills she taught me back then."

She paused, then added, "But she lives in a rather remote spot. The path to her dwelling isn't easy."

"I can see that," Lace quipped from the side, rubbing the spot where the Conchcutter had nearly grazed her. "What kind of sane bug builds their home next to a Driznarga nest?!"

Although the Driznarga harassment was annoying, they had to admit that with the ample water supply, the terrain of Karak had become much flatter and more stable than remembered.

At the very least, they no longer had to constantly watch their step for giant sandworms to burst from the ground, take a bite, and vanish in an instant.

Overall, the land had truly become more settled, even bordering on "friendly."

The fractured platforms from memory, which required precise timing and split-second leaps to cross perilously, were now naturally connected and covered by lush coral formations, becoming unique sights along the journey.

Following the direction from her memory, they soon arrived before a peculiar dwelling—a tented hut suspended in the air by several balloons, cleverly constructed from wood, cloth, and coral stone, brimming with a whimsical, untamed fantasy.

Hornet stepped forward and knocked gently on the door.

Instead of an "Enter," clear sounds of pulling and bickering came from inside:

"Big sister, please, have mercy! I really, really don't want to go to that boring gathering!" A clear voice, filled with utter resistance, rang out. It was Pinstress.

This was followed by a calmer, though currently exasperated, female voice trying to persuade her. "This gathering is important. We've all been formally invited by a Hallownest noble. The three of us should attend together." This was Seamstress.

"Isn't it enough for you and Lurkstress to represent our order? Why must you drag me into it?!" Pinstress's voice was practically a wail.

"Do you think I want to waste time wrestling with you here? The noble specifically requested your presence!" Seamstress's tone intensified slightly.

"Then you pretend to be me! We look somewhat alike anyway!" Pinstress began offering terrible ideas.

"The height difference is too obvious. We'd be seen through immediately," Seamstress ruthlessly shot down the proposal.

"Then send Lurkstress! She's about my height!"

Just then, the door was yanked open violently from the inside.

Pinstress shot out of the hut like a bolt of lightning fleeing for its life, not even noticing the visitors outside the door. In a few leaps and bounds, she vanished over the colorful horizon of Karak.

Seamstress walked to the doorway, gazed in the direction Pinstress had disappeared, and let out a deep sigh, rubbing her temple.

It was then that she noticed Hornet, Lace, and Shakra standing quietly outside.

She quickly composed her expression, a warm and slightly apologetic smile appearing on her face. "My apologies, guests, for you to have witnessed such a commotion. Please, come in."

After ushering the three visitors into the cozy and uniquely decorated hut, Seamstress poured them cups of fragrant floral tea.

"The intrusion is ours," Hornet said, accepting the teacup with thanks.

Seamstress smiled, her gaze lingering on Hornet for a moment before she asked with understanding, "Judging by your demeanor and presence, I assume you came looking for my second sister?"

"Your intuition is sharp. Could you elaborate on what just happened?" Hornet inquired, following the lead.

Just then, Lurkstress (in green), who had been quietly staying in the inner room, emerged. She explained succinctly:

"A noble from Hallownest ran into some trouble while exploring Karak a few days ago and was coincidentally saved by Second Sister. To express his gratitude, he's hosting a formal banquet in the Citadel. But as you know... Second Sister absolutely detests crowded, noisy gatherings."

Seamstress's expression turned grave. She sighed softly and lowered her voice. "To be frank, this banquet is far more than a simple thank you. The one who issued the invitation, Count Marctus, is a figure of substantial authority within the Hallownest military... and our Order of the Pinstress has had quite a few... 'disagreements' with his faction in the past."

Her words were understated, but everyone present understood the implication.

For an order renowned for assassination, "disagreements" often meant they had been hired to eliminate key figures within Count Marctus's camp.

The Hallownest authorities had typically turned a blind eye to such underground activities, but this fragile balance was now being thrust into the open due to Pinstress's good deed.

"Pinstress saved his most beloved child. It's only because of this that he's willing to set aside past grievances and extend this public gesture of goodwill through the banquet. Countless eyes are watching, many waiting to see us fail or seize an opportunity to cause trouble." Seamstress's fingers unconsciously traced the rim of her teacup, a barely perceptible worry in her tone. "If we reject this 'kindness,' it would be a direct insult. I fear... those with ill intent would make a huge issue of it. The consequences would be unthinkable."

She knew all too well that an organization like theirs was no match for the vast military machinery of Hallownest.

This understanding was something she had paid a painful price to learn, back in the shadows of the Citadel.

"I understand," Hornet gave a slight nod.

As a princess who understood the power structures of Hallownest all too well, she knew better than anyone that a noble's banquet was never just about wine and song. The undercurrents swirling beneath were enough to swallow any bug who wasn't cautious enough.

While she could use her status to forcibly suppress any overt accusations, the covert retaliation—the silent daggers and schemes—would be impossible to guard against completely.

She couldn't protect Pinstress forever. The safest solution was to snuff out the root of the problem before it could even sprout.

Lurkstress, standing with her arms crossed, added worriedly, "The problem is, with Second Sister's stubborn, fiery temper, even if we dragged her there by force, she'd most likely make a scene on the spot, or outright punch some insolent noble... That scenario would probably be even worse than outright refusing the invitation."

For a moment, the atmosphere in the small hut reached an impasse.

It was then that Hornet, who had been listening silently, lifted her gaze. Her eyes swept over the concerned Seamstress and the helpless Lurkstress as a bold idea gradually took shape.

"Perhaps," her cool voice broke the silence, "I could impersonate Pinstress and attend the banquet in her stead."

The suggestion left both Seamstress and Lurkstress stunned.

Hornet continued her calm analysis. "While our builds differ, with appropriate disguise and the dim lighting of a banquet hall, it wouldn't be impossible to conceal. I am versed in noble etiquette and understand their ways well enough to handle any situation that might arise. Most importantly—"

Her gaze sharpened. "By sending me, we can meet the Count's expectations, maintain the facade of peace, and I can identify and neutralize any potential 'accidents' at the first sign. This is likely the option with the lowest risk given the current circumstances."

These well-considered words rekindled a spark of hope in Seamstress's eyes.

Chapter Text

————17————

The night in Bellhart was tranquil and peaceful, a world apart from the clinking glasses and social maneuvering likely unfolding in the Citadel.

Lace was curled up on the soft bedding within the Bellhome. The star-like fairy lights on the ceiling cast a gentle glow throughout the room.

She lay there for a while, but eventually, her curiosity got the better of her. Carefully, she retrieved the novel she had "long-term borrowed" from the Whispering Vaults, its plain brown paper cover a careful disguise.

The scent of old paper rose from the pages as she eagerly opened it, quickly becoming immersed in the dramatic storyline.

However, as she read on, her brow gradually furrowed.

The book depicted a scenario where the heroine, after a heroic rescue, caught the eye of a powerful noble who fell for her at first sight. The noble subsequently launched an ardent, even obsessive pursuit, intent on making her his bride. The heroine had to expend great effort to navigate the situation and barely managed to extricate herself...

Lace's breath hitched slightly.

Why did this plot feel increasingly... familiar?

An absurd and unsettling thought, like a stone tossed into still water, sent ripples spreading through her mind.

Pinstress saved a Hallownest noble. The noble hosted a grand banquet of thanks... The beginning was strikingly similar to the book's setup!

"Wait a minute..." she murmured to herself, her fingers unconsciously tightening on the page. "That noble who was saved... he wouldn't also...?"

Panic, like fine vines, instantly twisted around her heart.

What if—just if—that Count also developed feelings for his "savior," Pinstress, similar to those in the book... feelings that went beyond mere gratitude?

And even worse—the one currently playing the role of Pinstress at the banquet was Hornet!

This realization almost made her bolt upright from the bed.

Her mind began uncontrollably conjuring all sorts of dreadful scenes: the noble earnestly asking for a dance, expressing excessive admiration in front of everyone, or even... proposing a marriage alliance?

"No, no, no!" She shook her head sharply, trying to dispel these absurd imaginings. "What am I thinking?" she muttered to herself for comfort. "That's Little Spider we're talking about! The one who radiates 'stay away,' the one who'd slap anyone daring to get too close! How could she ever let something like that happen?"

Yet, another voice immediately countered in her heart: "But she's impersonating Pinstress right now!"

"To avoid blowing her cover, to maintain that fragile peace... faced with a perfectly proper invitation from an important noble, could she really reject it outright and mercilessly like she usually would? What if, just what if, she forced herself to play along for the sake of the bigger picture?"

This thought, like a tiny splinter, pricked at her until she could no longer sit still.

She imagined Hornet, for the sake of the mission, having to offer a (even if feigned) polite smile to another bug, allowing them to touch the back of her hand, perhaps even having to dance with them at the banquet...

"Ah—!" Lace let out a frustrated groan, feeling as if a tangled knot in her heart was being pulled tighter and tighter.

Contradictory emotions and images warred in her mind: worry, jealousy, and a sliver of annoyance at herself for feeling so anxious. They all mixed together, throwing her heart into complete disarray.

Finally, she simply tossed the book aside, threw herself face-down onto the bed, grabbed a soft pillow, and pressed it tightly over her head, as if she could block out all those vexing imaginings.

A muffled whimper, tinged with both grievance and agitation, escaped from beneath the pillow:

"That workaholic... better not create any weird situations..."

————18————

The Citadel's banquet hall was brilliantly lit, the melodious music intertwining with the soft chatter of the nobility.

Hornet, clad in her "Pinstress disguise," entered the hall accompanied by Seamstress and Lurkstress, immediately drawing numerous gazes.

Count Marctus—a beetle noble with a thick carapace and an authoritative presence—approached with a booming laugh.

"Lady Pinstress! You've finally arrived! It is excellent to see you safe and sound!"

Hornet, mimicking Pinstress's languid tone, gave a slight bow.

"Count. Thank you for your invitation."

"It is I who should thank you!" the Count said enthusiastically, gesturing to a young beetle beside him. "This is my son, Phile. Go on, thank your savior!"

The young Phile stepped forward, his eyes shining with reverence.

"Lady Pinstress, if you hadn't intervened that day, I'm afraid I would have been..."

"A minor effort," Hornet interjected succinctly, perfectly portraying Pinstress's socially awkward, taciturn nature.

Just then, a stag beetle noble in military attire approached slowly, his antennae swaying gently.

"I've long admired your reputation, Lady Pinstress. I've heard you favor a pair of unique needles. Why don't I see them on you today?"

The atmosphere grew slightly tense. Seamstress, standing behind Hornet, felt a secret trickle of cold sweat.

Yet Hornet remained unruffled, her voice calm and even.

"Carrying weapons to a peaceful banquet would be disrespectful to the host. I trust that at the Count's gathering, there is no need to prove anything with arms."

This appropriate response earned an approving nod from Count Marctus.

"Well said! Tonight, there are only friends here, no enemies!"

Just then, a discordant voice rang out:

"I am rather curious, does the Order of the Pinstress still accept those... special commissions?"

A weevil officer with sharp eyes raised his glass, his question laden with implication.

His words caused the surrounding area to quieten slightly.

Hornet looked directly at him, her voice still steady. "The past is past. The Order remembers the Count's magnanimity. We place greater value on the path ahead."

Count Marctus interjected at the opportune moment:

"She is correct. Tonight, we shall not dwell on bygones, but look only to the future."

As the banquet progressed, many bugs engaged "Pinstress" in brief conversation. Among them, an ornately dressed moth noblewoman inquired curiously, leaning in slightly:

"Dear Lady Pinstress, I hear you reside in the Fields of Karak. What are your favorite spots to frequent there?"

"Second Sister rarely ventures out. She might find that question difficult to answer."

A cool voice interjected. Lurkstress stepped forward precisely on cue, skillfully deflecting the overly personal question.

The moment Lurkstress finished speaking, a subservient-looking server approached with a silver pitcher filled with wine to refill the glasses of the distinguished guests.

As he drew near Hornet, the situation shifted abruptly.

From the spout of the silver pitcher, a blade as thin as a cicada's wing shot out silently and swiftly, like the strike of a venomous snake. It aimed with deadly precision for the vulnerable, unarmored spot at the junction of Hornet's waist and abdomen beneath her cloak—an extremely tricky and lethal soft point.

The strike was vicious and swift, concealed by the server's body and the din of the banquet, making it nearly imperceptible.

However, in the split second the blade cut through the air, a hunter's keen sensitivity to being watched made Hornet's nerves twitch—aside from the immediate killing intent, she distinctly felt a calm, focused gaze observing the area from an elevated position, firmly locked onto them.

Yet, this flicker of thought did not hinder her body's reaction in the slightest.

Hornet's hand moved with a speed barely perceptible to the naked eye, so fast it seemed to transcend vision itself, appearing as nothing more than a natural, effortless turn of her wrist.

The next moment, her index and middle fingers were firmly clamped around the section of blade gleaming with a sinister purple sheen.

"!"

The assassin's pupils contracted in shock and horror. He tried to push forward or pull back, but discovered, to his terror, that those two seemingly slender fingers held monstrous strength. The trapped blade was immovable, as if cast into solid rock.

Hornet didn't even glance his way. Her gaze remained calmly fixed on the moth noblewoman before her, as if she had merely brushed away a speck of dust.

Then, her fingers holding the blade gave a seemingly casual twist—

Snap!

A sound crisp like cracking ice, and the specially crafted thin blade broke cleanly in two.

The entire sequence happened in the blink of an eye, too fast for the surrounding guests—or even the nearby Lurkstress and Seamstress—to fully comprehend what had occurred.

Not a single ripple disturbed the wine in the glass held in Hornet's other hand.

She pressed the broken blade tip soundlessly back into the server's violently trembling hand. The cold touch of her finger made him nearly collapse on the spot.

Only then did Hornet turn her head slightly, casting a glance at him with eyes concealed by her disguise yet now piercingly cold. Her voice, carrying an undeniable authority, clearly reached the assassin's ears:

"Take a message back to your master—"

"If you wish to challenge the hunter, first be prepared to become the prey."

The server's body stiffened violently, all color draining from his face. Overwhelming fear nearly choked him, but his remaining professional instinct forced him to maintain a facade of composure.

He drew a deep breath, mustering all his strength to control his trembling hands. He steadily placed the silver pitcher back on a nearby cart and, like any other server finishing their task, gave a slight bow. His steps were somewhat stiff but still maintained a basic rhythm of propriety as he retreated step by step into the shadows of the guests, as if merely heading to the kitchen to fetch more wine.

His figure was soon swallowed by the flowing crowd, leaving no trace.

Not far away, the weevil officer who had earlier asked the discordant question narrowed his eyes slightly, then unobtrusively averted his gaze, downing the wine in his glass in one go.

This minor incident was like a small pebble tossed into a lake—the ripples it caused quickly dissipated within the banquet's prevailing atmosphere.

Most guests continued their conversations and laughter. Only a few perceptive nobles (including Count Marctus) seemed to notice that fleeting anomaly, but seeing "Pinstress" unharmed, they tacitly maintained the surface peace.

As the banquet reached its climax, Count Marctus tapped his glass, and the hall fell silent.

"Friends!" his voice boomed. "Today, I wish to formally thank Lady Pinstress. Not only did she save my son, but her presence here proves that friendship can transcend the past!"

He retrieved an exquisite wooden box and presented it solemnly to Hornet.

"This is my family's heirloom, the 'Heart of the Vein,' mined from the deepest seam of the Crystal Peak. I now gift it to the warrior most worthy of it."

Gasps of admiration echoed through the hall.

The gift was not only valuable but also symbolized profound recognition.

Under the watchful eyes of all, Hornet opened the wooden box. Inside lay a dazzling, naturally heart-shaped crystal.

She closed the lid, her voice clear and firm:

"The value of a life surpasses all treasures in this world. This bond of friendship, the Order will never forget."

The words were so fitting that even Seamstress's eyes widened in surprise.

As the banquet drew to a close, Hornet noticed a figure on the rafters. She took her leave from the Count: "Please excuse my departure. Matters within the Order require my attention."

The Count nodded understandingly. "Of course. But remember, the House of Marctus will always welcome you."

After leaving the banquet, guided by a hunter's intuition, Hornet quickly found Pinstress perched high on the lofty eaves of the banquet hall.

Sure enough, she was clutching her signature needles, sitting alone in the cold moonlight, gazing boredly at the brilliantly lit hall below.

The faint sounds of boisterous music and laughter drifted up from below, only accentuating the silence of their secluded spot.

"You certainly know how to find a quiet place," Hornet remarked lightly, landing gracefully beside her, her cloak stirring slightly in the night breeze.

Pinstress started, nearly dropping her needles.

Recognizing Hornet, she relaxed, then immediately put on a stern face. "How did you find me?... How is... 'I' doing down there?"

"Everything went smoothly." Hornet looked at her, adding in her flat tone, "Except for a server who didn't know his place. His hand was a bit unsteady while pouring."

Pinstress froze for a moment, then seemed to glean something from her understated delivery. Her expression shifted. "Are you alright?"

"What do you think?" Hornet countered, her tone carrying its usual haughtiness, though her gaze seemed to drift almost imperceptibly towards the needles Pinstress still held tightly. "After all, besides me, it seemed there was another pair of 'eyes' watching at the time."

Pinstress's hand twitched involuntarily. She then feigned composure, turning her face away. "...I was just passing by. Thought I'd see if my sisters were facing any trouble at the banquet..."

Pinstress looked Hornet over a few times, confirming she was indeed unharmed, and finally relaxed with a soft mutter, "...Seems things really were fine down there without me worrying."

"Rest assured, they are more adept at handling such matters than you are."

Hearing this, Pinstress's head drooped slightly with a hint of dejection, the moonlight casting a faint shadow on her blue shell.

"Do you think I'm a coward?" Her voice held a rare vulnerability. "It was such an important banquet, concerning the Order's future, yet I abandoned them and hid up here alone..."

Hornet slowly removed the cumbersome disguise, revealing her original, agile form.

She turned to Pinstress, her keen eyes exceptionally clear under the moonlight.

"Why would I?" Her voice was calm yet certain. "Every bug has battles they must face head-on, and every bug has the right to guard their own peace. There is no shame in avoiding what you're not good at—"

She gently patted Pinstress's shoulder, her tone gentle yet firm:

"—Besides, you didn't truly run away. You were here, guarding them in your own way. They will surely have felt that sentiment."

Pinstress stared at her blankly, the tension in her shoulders gradually easing. After a long moment, she let out a soft sigh, a self-deprecating smile touching the corner of her mouth:

"To think... I, the master, would end up being comforted by my student instead."

The moonlight flowed quietly between the two bugs, stretching their shadows long across the rooftop.

————19————

The night in Bellheart was tranquil and serene. Having left the banquet's disturbances and noise behind, Hornet returned to her dwelling in Bellheart, her figure bearing a trace of fatigue yet still standing tall.

Inside, a lamp cast a soft but cold glow, illuminating the empty room.

"Lace?" Hornet called out softly, but only silence answered her.

She frowned slightly. Given the other's nature, she should have pounced the moment she knew Hornet was back.

Feeling somewhat puzzled, though not overly concerned, Hornet stepped further into the room and moved to unfasten her cloak.

In that very instant—a faint sound came from above.

A white figure, like a bat emerging from the night, dropped suddenly from the shadows of the ceiling with a resolve tinged with pique.

"Oof!"

Caught completely off guard, Hornet was solidly pinned, face-down into the soft bedding.

The familiar sensation, carrying a faint, sweet scent, enveloped her, but the force behind it held an unusual emotion.

"You actually..." the voice on top of her was muffled, with a distinct nasal quality, hot breath ghosting against the seams of her neck armor, "...went to that boring, hypocritical banquet all by yourself and left me behind!"

Hornet turned her head slightly, catching a glimpse of Lace's red-rimmed eyes from the corner of her vision, which seemed to hold traces of moisture.

Her puzzlement deepened. This reaction seemed to be about more than just being left alone.

"Lace," her voice was somewhat muffled with half her face pressed into the bedding, yet it remained calm, "you know I wasn't there for pleasure. It was necessary..."

"But I still hate it!" Lace interrupted her. Her arms, like soft yet unyielding vines, tightened around Hornet's waist. She buried her face deep into Hornet's backplate, her voice trembling with grievance. "I hate that you wear a shell that isn't yours for other bugs! I hate other bugs looking at you with strange eyes! Even if they're looking at 'Pinstress'!"

Hornet fell silent for a moment.

She seemed to begin understanding the source of this sudden outburst.

She didn't try further to explain the necessity of the mission. Instead, she slowly turned over to face Lace directly.

In the hazy lamplight, Lace's white eyes, usually full of mischief or teasing, were now misty, holding a forsaken unease and a potent possessiveness.

Hornet looked at her, her own expression unreadable, but her movements softened.

She raised a hand. Her fingers, distinct-knuckled and covered in hard chitin, moved with an uncharacteristic gentleness as they touched Lace's soft white hair, stroking and combing through it slowly, deliberately.

"There won't be a next time," she said quietly, her tone even yet definitive, as if stating an established fact.

Lace sniffled, seeming to calm slightly from her soothing, but still insisted stubbornly, "...And if there is, you're not allowed to help like that again!"

Hornet didn't directly answer this childish demand.

Her fingertips brushed past the sensitive skin of Lace's neck, feeling the slight shiver it elicited.

She rose slightly, gently pressing her forehead against Lace's, breaking the usual, almost imperceptible distance she maintained.

"Look at me, Lace." Her voice was extremely close, their breaths nearly mingling.

Lace's eyes lifted instinctively, meeting those deep, bottomless eyes.

"That was just a mission," Hornet's tone was as steady as ever, yet it seemed to carry a force that could anchor a bug's heart. "The shell was fake. The identity was fake. The words and actions at the banquet were fake."

She paused slightly, letting each word imprint clearly on Lace's perception.

"The me before you now is real."

These words acted like a spell, instantly smoothing away all the anxiety and agitation in Lace's heart.

She stared blankly at Hornet, at the tranquil sea of flowers revealed in her eyes only at this moment, only for her.

Her tense body finally relaxed completely. Lace, as if all the strength had been drained from her, slumped softly back against Hornet. She muttered quietly, with a hint of triumphant coquetry, "...That's more like it. Then you have to compensate me. Don't think you'll fall asleep easily tonight."

Her words held a soft threat, like a kitten extending its claws to gently scratch a palm.

The response was an extremely soft, almost inaudible chuckle.

The laughter emerged from deep within Hornet's chest, carrying a dangerous vibration that traveled to Lace's ear, pressed tightly against her.

"Oh? Is that so?"

Hornet's voice lowered, like the heaviest fog settling over the night.

Her hand, which had been gently stroking Lace's hair, stilled. Then, it moved to press firmly against the center of Lace's backplate.

"I think," she continued, her pace slow and deliberate, each word carrying immense weight, "what you should be worrying about next..."

Before the sentence finished, the world spun.

Lace only felt an irresistible, skillful force instantly overturn their positions.

One moment she was lying atop Hornet; the next, she was pinned firmly into the soft bedding, with Hornet's form looming over her and a pair of eyes gleaming with a predator's light in the gloom.

"...is yourself."

The latter half of the sentence landed on Lace's cheek alongside a wave of scorching breath.

Lace's heart leaped violently, her breath catching.

An instinctual shiver ran up her spine—the natural reaction of being locked in the sights of a superior predator.

She felt a thread of fear.

But even more so, it was a sudden, wildfire-like surge of excitement.

She looked up into those eyes above her, now stripped of their usual calm and detachment, churning with a raw, aggressive intensity she had never seen before.

She tried to struggle slightly, but her wrists were effortlessly pinned by Hornet, fixed firmly on either side above her head.

This seemingly trapped posture, however, strangely ignited an even deeper fire within her.

"Wh-What are you trying to do,little spider?" Her voice trembled noticeably, but her white eyes shone brilliantly, holding no trace of retreat -only provocative challenge.

Hornet leaned down, her cold chitin brushing faintly against Lace's warm skin, raising goosebumps.

"Fulfilling a hunter's duty," her lips neared Lace's ear, her voice low and magnetic, "...to ensure my prey has a 'memorable' night."

———— Little Easter Egg ————

The first light of morning filtered through the Bellhome's windows, casting dappled pillars of light in the air.

Lace lay lazily on her side on the bed, propping her head up with one hand while the fingertips of her other hand gently traced a few faint, already-mended red marks at the junction of her shoulder plate and arm.

She lifted her eyes, her gaze slanting towards Hornet, who was checking her luggage not far away.

There wasn't a trace of annoyance in that look, only a ripple of satisfied contentment.

"Little spider," her voice was husky from recent sleep, the syllables drawn out long, "your claws really need some trimming."

She paused deliberately, watching for a reaction. Seeing that Hornet hadn't even twitched an eyebrow, she continued leisurely, "You don't actually think... when I kept yelling 'stop' last night... it was just to add a bit of ambiance to our evening, do you?"

Click.

The luggage case snapped shut. Only then did Hornet turn around. The morning light outlined her sharp profile, her face still wearing that unshakable calm.

She walked towards Lace, her steps steady until her shadow completely enveloped the other.

"As a hunter," she began, her voice low and clear, her eyes resting on those red marks as if inspecting her own handiwork, "one's claws must remain sharp at all times."

Instead of shrinking back, Lace met her gaze, tilting her chin up slightly, a provocative curve lifting the corner of her lips. "Oh? And what about using your damnable silk—that can come out of anywhere—to tie me to the headboard like some prized trophy, forcing me utterly still... Is that also part of the required curriculum for hunters?"

Hornet leaned down, bracing one hand on the bedside, caging Lace within her shadow.

The distance between them was close enough to feel each other's breath.

"Of course," Hornet's tone held no fluctuation, as if stating an eternal truth, "before partaking, ensuring the prey has no means of resistance or escape is a hunter's fundamental skill, and the most crucial... required lesson."

Her exhaled breath brushed against Lace's cheek. Lace could no longer suppress the deeper blush spreading across her face, yet she still mustered her bravado. She raised a finger and tapped it pointedly, not too lightly nor too heavily, against a more discreet mark on the side of her neck.

"Alright then, Huntress. So tell me," she tilted her head slightly, her expression a mix of innocence and temptation, "how do you suggest I explain to any other curious bugs we might meet on the road... these suddenly appearing, unique 'decorations' all over me? Hmm?"

This time, Hornet didn't answer immediately.

She reached out, her cool fingertips brushing with extreme gentleness over the spot Lace had just indicated, the movement carrying an undeniable finality.

Then, she lowered her head until their foreheads were almost touching. In her eyes, usually sharp as a hawk's, flashed a nearly feral, utterly possessive light.

Her voice dropped even lower, like the most dangerous whisper:

"Simple. It's about placing a clear mark on the prey that belongs to me."

"...Lest other hunters, who don't know the rules, get any ideas."

As the words fell, with an air of irrefutable authority, she claimed the "territory" she had just declared her own in a searing kiss.

Chapter Text

————20————

In the early morning, as Hornet and Lace were still organizing their belongings, the door of the Bellhome was knocked upon.

Standing outside was the Second Sentinel, absent for the past few days. Its polished body appeared as reliable as ever in the morning light.

"Friend," it reported in its consistently even tone, "the return train to Hallownest departs this afternoon. This sentinel came to remind you."

Over the past few days, the Second Sentinel had accepted an invitation from the First Sinner to assist with a series of extreme tests on defense systems, hence its absence.

After all the luggage was packed, with some time to spare, Hornet fell silent for a moment before turning to Lace. "Before we leave, I want to visit Eira one more time."

Hornet's group arrived at the Bell Beast gathering grounds.

It was, as always, a scene full of vitality and peace.

Some of the massive Bell Beasts were curled up, emitting deep snores; others ambled about with heavy, aimless steps; some even treated the large bells on their heads as toys, clumsily nudging them back and forth, producing sporadic, not entirely melodious, chimes.

In a corner, a few adult Bell Beasts were leisurely enjoying freshly hunted meat.

Hornet walked forward, cupped her hands to her mouth, and let out a clear, long call: "Eira—!"

The moment the sound faded, the ground trembled with a joyful vibration.

The large Eira immediately lifted her head and, recognizing the source of the call, let out a low, joyful rumble in response before trotting over, followed by four stumbling, jingling little ones.

Eira affectionately rubbed her massive head against Hornet's faceplate, the warm chitin meeting with a soft scraping sound.

Hornet, unusually, showed a completely unguarded, soft expression, gently stroking the hard plates on Eira's neck and the softer underbelly.

The four little Bell Beasts excitedly hopped around her feet, butting their small heads against her legs as if vying for her attention.

Lace, watching the warm scene from the side, crossed her arms. Her tone held a mix of puzzlement and teasing. "If you like her so much, why not just take her back to Hallownest to raise? It's not like you couldn't manage it with your capabilities."

Hornet's hand didn't stop its motion, her gaze still fixed on Eira. Her voice was calm yet firm. "They belong here, Lace. Bell Beasts need vast space to run. They need this kind of... unrestrained clamor. The order and structure of Hallownest wouldn't be a home to them; it would be a cage."

"You certainly consider their needs thoroughly," Lace pursed her lips. In her view, given Hornet's status in Hallownest, designating a nature reserve to house these large creatures would be effortless.

But deep down, she understood this was precisely what set Hornet apart from those rulers who abused their power—she never lightly altered the natural state of things based on her own preferences, nor was she willing to misuse her authority to restrain any free life.

That being said, Lace also had to admit she rather enjoyed those moments in private when Hornet displayed a certain unquestionable, lofty authority.

After bidding a reluctant farewell to Eira and her family, Hornet's group finally arrived at the Pharloom train station.

The grand station was a symbol of the friendship between Pharloom and Hallownest. The streamlined train lay quietly on the tracks like a long silver worm.

It was said Wyrm designed it with reference to the discarded shell located at the edge of the Hallownest kingdom, and it was built utilizing the Weavers' advanced technology.

It could travel between the two lands at astonishing speeds, shortening a journey that would have taken an ordinary bug a month of trekking to a mere four days.

Naturally, this track connecting the two great civilizations wasn't a boring straight line.

It wound like an intelligent vein, passing by several important locations, including the tribe renowned for its martial prowess that was Shakra's hometown.

However, according to Shakra, the warriors of her tribe, when venturing out for training, traditionally value relying on their own strength to traverse the land, so they had never ridden the train.

————21————

The ticket hall of the Pharloom train station was bustling with bugs. Crowds of various bugs formed several long queues, waiting to purchase tickets for different destinations.

The entire hall was orderly. Passengers who had completed their purchases needed to pass through a detection gate emitting a soft blue light—a crucial checkpoint for ensuring the train's safety.

If any bug carried undeclared dangerous items, the gate would emit a piercing alarm.

Several security bugs in uniforms patrolled the hall, maintaining order.

Among them, a golden figure stood out—a cogwork sentinel of the same model as the Second Sentinel, though the designation on its chestplate identified it as the Third Sentinel.

As Hornet's group approached, the Third Sentinel's sensors immediately locked onto the Second Sentinel. It strode over with swift steps, emitting a synthesized, though slightly more rigid than the Second's, voice:

"Second. Database indicates you are scheduled to return to Hallownest."

The Second Sentinel turned to its counterpart, replying calmly, "Affirmative. Friend is returning."

The Third Sentinel's optical lenses adjusted their focus slightly, as if analyzing the statement. "You hold a high preference for your friend. Logic records indicate you have accompanied her far beyond standard mission parameters."

"She granted this sentinel the freedom of choice," the Second Sentinel's reply was simple and direct.

Hearing this key phrase, the Third Sentinel's chassis emitted a low hum akin to acknowledgment. "On that matter, this sentinel's operational logic also contains a gratitude protocol regarding her."

It scanned the busy yet peaceful station hall and continued, "Comparing against the historical database's 'Abduct' and 'Slaughter' directives, executing a 'Guardian' protocol here feels... preferable. Efficiency and positive feedback both exceed projections."

Its focus returned to the Second Sentinel, with a hint of inquiry. "According to logical projection, the initial probability calculation in this sentinel's core placed the likelihood of your unit sequence being the first to 'betray' the original directives at less than 0.01%."

The Second Sentinel's head tilted slightly, as if recalling. "It was an anomaly." It paused, its core processor flashing with the memory of its first encounter with Hornet and the subsequent rewriting of its programming, then added, "But this sentinel liked (that) anomaly."

The moment the words left its vocalizer—

BEEEP—!!

BEEEP—!!!

A piercing alarm sliced through the hall's noise like a blade. The detection gate erupted in frantic red light, flashing violently.

The Third Sentinel looked questioningly at the Second Sentinel, whose own frame stiffened noticeably as it immediately declared, "This sentinel did not trigger it!"

No further explanation was needed. The Third Sentinel shot towards the detection gate like a golden streak of lightning.

A bug with an unusually "portly" carapace, looking somewhat panicked, was being detained by several quick-reacting security bugs at the detection gate.

"Sir, please cooperate with the inspection!" a security bug said sternly, beginning a thorough search of the passenger.

The first item pulled out was a massive wrench.

"I... I'm a maintenance bug!" the portly bug explained hastily, his voice slightly shrill. "It's... it's normal to carry a wrench, right?"

The security bug didn't respond, continuing the search and pulling out a pair of long-handled shears used for trimming tough plants.

"Th-this is a common tool in the Greymoor! I'm from Pharloom, it's normal to carry this!" His explanations were growing increasingly feeble.

When the security bug finally retrieved several Pimpillos glowing with an ominous red light from deep within the folds of his bloated carapace, the atmosphere on the scene instantly froze.

The moment the Pimpillos were found on him, a look of desperate madness flashed across the "portly bug's" face.

He knew he was completely exposed.

"You brought this on yourselves!" he let out a sharp shriek. His bulky body erupted with an agility belying its size as he violently shoved the security bugs beside him away. Simultaneously, he crushed the trigger mechanism of one Pimpillo in his claw.

"Stop him!" the Third Sentinel immediately issued an alert, its body surging forward to intervene.

But the portly bug wasn't trying to detonate it there—he knew the consequences of setting it off in an open station.

Instead, he threw the sizzling, primed Pimpillo with all his might towards the massive, decorative crystal chandelier in the center of the hall.

"Everyone, get down!" The Second Sentinel reacted faster. It instantly positioned its body in front of Hornet's group, entering its highest alert mode.

The red Pimpillo traced a dangerous arc through the air.

BOOM—!

A deafening explosion reverberated under the hall's dome! The intense flames and shockwave, though relatively high above the ground, successfully shattered the enormous crystal chandelier to pieces.

Countless shards of crystal and metal components rained down like lethal hail, triggering waves of terrified screams and chaos.

"Protect the civilians!" The Third Sentinel immediately shifted its priority. Along with the other security bugs, it rapidly deployed temporary protective barriers, shepherding the panicked crowd away from the falling debris.

Smoke billowed, fragments flew, and cries mixed with the blaring alarms, throwing the entire ticket hall into disarray.

All security forces, every bug's attention, was completely captured by the sudden explosion and ensuing chaos.

And under this perfect cover of confusion, on the other side of the station, several shadowy figures—almost simultaneous with the blast—melted into the darkness like flowing water, silently infiltrating the dimly lit cargo carriage at the rear of the train.

The door lock clicked shut behind them, unnoticed by anyone.

It didn't take long for the portly bug, now disarmed, to be swiftly subdued and pinned to the floor. Yet, a grim, triumphant smirk flashed across his face.

Hornet noticed his fleeting expression change and frowned slightly. Perhaps this return journey would hold some unforeseen developments.

————22————

An announcement echoed through the Pharloom train station, informing all passengers that departure was indefinitely postponed due to an emergent security inspection.

Amidst the grumbling of some passengers, Hornet sought out the train conductor and revealed her identity.

"Your Highness, this is..." the conductor said, his expression troubled. "The schedule is already set. Delays will cause significant complications..."

"Safety is the highest form of efficiency," Hornet stated, her tone calm yet brooking no argument. "Do as I say. Conduct a thorough inspection of all trains. Also, have all passengers who have already boarded disembark and wait in a secure area."

Her orders were swiftly carried out.

Passengers, confused and reluctant, streamed off the trains in a bustling crowd.

Lace watched idly from the side when a familiar white figure caught her eye.

"Sister!" Lace's eyes lit up, and she fluttered over like a cheerful white moth.

Phantom turned swiftly at the sound, but before she could react, Lace had already wrapped her in a solid embrace, the impact making her sway slightly.

"Lace?" Phantom's voice held surprise. "Are you taking this train today too?"

"Mm-hmm!" Lace nodded vigorously, beaming. "With Little Spider~"

Just then, Phantom's sharp eyes swept over Lace's face and finally settled on a faint, distinctive mark on her neck. It seemed subtly accentuated, as if by something precise.

It was decidedly not a wound. It looked more like a... declaration.

A glimmer of understanding flashed in Phantom's deep eyes, and the corners of her mouth lifted slightly, revealing a touched expression.

"I see," her voice softened a touch. "It seems things are progressing quite well between you and her."

At the very least, for a long time to come, Phantom wouldn't need to worry about Lace's well-being.

"Ehehe," Lace buried her face briefly in Phantom's shoulder, a bit embarrassed, then looked up again, declaring earnestly, "But I'll always love you the most, sister~" She clung to Phantom just like she did as a child, her feet leaving the ground as she wiggled happily a few times before Phantom "plucked" her off with a resigned sigh.

"The delayed departure... it was Hornet's request, wasn't it."

Phantom straightened her clothes, which had been rumpled by Lace, her gaze turning towards the distant red figure still conversing with the conductor as she made her calm deduction.

After all, very few bugs in the entire station could issue orders to the conductor so easily.

"Mm-hmm!" Lace leaned closer, lowering her voice. "She said there might be dangerous individuals or explosives on the train. All very mysterious."

Prompted by Lace's words, Phantom seemed to remember something.

She pondered for a moment before walking steadily over to Hornet, who had just finished speaking with the conductor.

"Hornet," Phantom began, "while I was resting in my compartment earlier, though my eyes were closed, I sensed a few blurred figures moving quickly past my door."

Her slender finger pointed towards the rear of the train. "The direction they were running... it should be towards the carriages further back."

Hornet's eyes sharpened instantly. She nodded. "Thank you for the information." Then, coolly and swiftly analyzing, she deduced: "Then the most likely location is the cargo carriage."

She immediately issued the order: "Gilded One, Third Sentinel, scan the cargo carriage from the front and rear respectively. Focus on detecting life signs and anomalous energy readings."

"Directive confirmed." The two golden cogwork sentinels sprang into action immediately. Their eyes projected deep blue scanning beams, combing through the carriage from both ends towards the center with precise, inch-by-inch thoroughness.

Meanwhile, inside a dimly lit cargo carriage in the middle of the train, several figures huddled behind crates grew tense.

"B-Boss... they've spotted us!" one voice whispered, unable to suppress its panic. "That blue light is coming this way!"

"Stay calm!" a bug with a grating voice hissed back, though his own breathing was equally labored. "Didn't our partners give us a 'special tool' for exactly this situation? Activate it. If we can't handle a little scan, we shouldn't be in this business."

A nearly imperceptible machine whirring sound started up. An invisible, distorting wave emanated outwards from their position.

Outside the carriage, the scanning blue light from the Second and Third Sentinels met in the middle section of the carriage. The data feedback was identical to that from the other carriages.

"Scan complete. No standard life signs or high-risk energy sources detected within the cargo carriage," the Second Sentinel reported.

"This sentinel's scan results are synchronized. No anomalies detected," the Third Sentinel also concluded.

Hornet frowned. She then had them scan the passenger carriages ahead, but the results were equally fruitless.

By now, the conductor had hurried over again, his face etched with anxiety. "Your Highness, we truly cannot delay any longer! The passengers are growing very restless, and it's impacting the schedule for subsequent trains. You see..."

Though her doubts lingered like an unshakable cloud, faced with the consistent scan results from both sentinels and the mounting time pressure, Hornet had no choice but to temporarily suppress her unease.

Perhaps she really was being overly sensitive?

She waved a hand, signaling to the conductor that he could prepare for departure.

Lace, who had been quietly observing nearby, sidled up to Hornet. In a teasing tone, she whispered, "Little Spider, don't you think... you're becoming more and more like your stubborn old man?"

Hornet immediately turned her head to retort, a rare note of vexation in her voice. "I am nothing like him in his stubbornness and rigidity! If I had to become like him, I'd rather deliver smoked meat in Nameless Town！"

Although synchronizing memories with this world's "Hornet" had somewhat improved her impression of Wyrm, she still didn't particularly like her father, and she certainly didn't wish to become like him.

———— Little Easter Egg ————

The White Palace, Wyrm's office.

"Ah—CHOO—!"

A loud sneeze shattered the hall's tranquility, even scattering a few documents from the piles on the desk.

Lurien, the City Lord attending nearby, immediately stepped forward. His steady voice held unmistakable concern. "Your Majesty, you must take care of your health. You haven't slept for days coordinating resources across the districts. This is excessive strain."

Wyrm slowly raised a hand, indicating it was nothing. His deep voice carried a note of undeniable authority, and... a certain knowing, misplaced blame.

"It is of no consequence." He paused, as if sensing some intangible connection, then added with definitive certainty, a conviction that sounded almost like shifting responsibility:

"It must be the Radiance. That restless puff of light is certainly speaking ill of me within the Dream Realm."

He adjusted his posture slightly, his throne emitting a low hum as if in agreement.

"Hmph. Let her be. I shall not stoop to engage in such trivial vexation with her."

Yet, his still slightly itchy nose and the subconscious furrow of his brow seemed to betray a different truth—that this esteemed Pale King was, in fact, somewhat bothered after all.

Chapter Text

————23————

The train traveled smoothly along the tracks connecting Pharloom and Hallownest.

As a key liaison between the two lands, Hornet even had a private carriage reserved for her use.

It was less a carriage and more a luxurious mobile suite, complete with a soft bed, a private bathroom, a neatly arranged desk and chair for work, and even a small bookshelf holding emergency documents and books.

All of this was arranged under Wyrm's directive, for the convenience of his daughter who frequently traveled between the two kingdoms.

However, even the most luxurious space could feel somewhat cramped when occupied by four not-insignificantly-sized bugs.

Phantom sat gracefully in the only single-person armchair, her elegant demeanor creating a subtle contrast with the carriage's lived-in atmosphere.

She looked towards Hornet, who was studying a route map by the desk, her voice tinged with apology. "My apologies. Lace insisted on dragging me here. I hope we aren't intruding."

"What's the big deal?" The instigator, Lace, was currently sprawled inelegantly across the bed covered with soft fabrics, swinging her legs. She munched noisily on crispy fruit slices while flipping through a garishly covered magazine she'd taken from the bookshelf. "It's not like you managed to get a sleeper ticket anyway. Squeezing in with us is much better than cramming into a hard seat with those smelly worker bugs, right?"

No sooner had the words left her mouth than the magazine was whisked out of her hands with a swish.

Hornet held the magazine, her brow slightly furrowed, her tone brooking no argument. "How many times must I say it? No snacking on the bed. Do you have any idea how troublesome it is to clean out the crumbs?"

Lace immediately puffed out her cheeks in dissatisfaction, glaring at Hornet with an accusatory look, her mouth still half-full with an unswallowed crispy fruit slice.

Just then, the Second Sentinel stepped forward. Its towering frame felt even more imposing in the limited space.

Notably, the combat shears it usually carried had been removed at some point, replaced with a very domestic-looking... long-handled bed whisk.

"Friend need not worry," it stated in its consistently even tone. "This sentinel will handle it. All crumbs will be removed with maximum efficiency."

Observing the metallic gleam of the "cleaning tool," Hornet felt a wave of speechless frustration and pressed a hand to her forehead. "It's my fault for equipping you with too many functions. It just encourages Lace to be even more reckless."

The Second Sentinel's eyes blinked innocently. "This sentinel is merely assisting Friend in cleaning the bedding. The behavioral target object is the 'bedding,' not 'Friend Lace.'"

Hornet let out a deep sigh and waved a hand. "...Never mind. I've given up on correcting your peculiar logical pathways."

Over their "years" of association, Hornet had gradually grown accustomed to the Second Sentinel's unique way of thinking—or rather, she'd had no choice but to get used to it.

The only silver lining was that the Second Sentinel was, indeed, very free.

Seeing Hornet seemingly "defeated," a triumphant smile had just begun to bloom on Lace's face when suddenly—

Thump.

A soft, dull sound.

Phantom didn't even turn her head. She simply used the pommel of her long self-defense pin, reaching back with precise gentleness, to tap Lace on the back of the head.

"Do not create unnecessary trouble for Hornet," Phantom's voice remained even, yet carried a sister's distinct authority.

"...Fine," Lace, who had been so defiant moments ago, deflated like a pricked balloon and immediately behaved.

She obediently climbed off the bed, brushed the snack crumbs from herself, and then settled demurely onto the carpet beside Phantom, not forgetting to shoot a resentful glance Hornet's way.

Tranquility returned to the carriage, broken only by the rhythmic clack-clack of the train's movement and the faint, careful sound of Lace taking small, quiet bites of her crispy fruit slices.

After finishing the entire bag of fruit slices, Lace brushed the crumbs from her hands and stood up, bored. She walked straight towards the carriage door.

"Where are you going?" Phantom's voice came from behind her.

"It's so boring stuck in here," Lace replied without turning back, her tone tinged with the frustration of being cooped up. "I'm going to explore the other carriages, see if there's anything interesting."

Hornet, who was reviewing documents, didn't look up as she delivered a bland dose of reality. "If this carriage cannot satisfy you, the conditions in the standard carriages will be far worse."

She was stating a fact. The train wasn't equipped with any entertainment facilities. Most passengers could only rely on limited reading material or sinking into sleep to pass the long, monotonous journey.

Lace crossed her arms and let out a defiant snort. "Hmph, I'll be the judge of that after I see it for myself." With that, and without waiting for a response, she pulled the carriage door open and slipped out.

It wasn't her first time on this train, at least according to her memories.

Her current excursion was motivated more by a subtle irritation—having just been "corrected" by both her sister and Hornet, she was feeling a bit petty and urgently needed a change of scenery to vent.

She wandered aimlessly down the narrow corridor, her gaze sweeping across the carriages.

The scenes inside were exactly as Hornet had predicted—monotonous.

Bugs were either dozing, leaning against seats or each other, chatting in low voices in small groups, or some were gathered around playing simple games with a worn-out deck of cards.

Seeing the cards, Lace's lips curled further downwards, her interest waning even more. She had challenged Hornet to card games more than once, and the result was invariably a crushing defeat.

That bug's mind operated like a precision machine; her gaming prowess was terrifying. Playing against her was pure masochism.

She continued walking backward, passing through carriage after carriage. Gradually, the surrounding passengers grew sparser, and the chatter faded into near silence.

She finally stopped, realizing she had reached the very end of the passenger section. Ahead lay the dim, quiet area of the cargo carriages.

Lace recalled the sudden disturbance at the station and how Hornet had reacted as if facing a grave threat, ordering the two mechanical sentinels to repeatedly scan this very area.

Although it was ultimately deemed a false alarm, the term "dangerous individuals" had left a faint, lingering trace in her mind.

"Well, I've never been inside the cargo carriages before anyway," she muttered to herself, a mix of rebelliousness and curiosity welling up inside her. "Since I'm already here, might as well take a look."

With that mindset, Lace stepped into the cargo area.

The environment here was even more oppressive than the passenger carriages. The air held a faint dustiness, and the only light came from widely spaced, dim safety lamps on the ceiling.

Large cargo crates, secured by ropes, swayed gently and rhythmically with the train's motion.

The "scenery" here was even more monotonous than in the passenger carriages—nothing but inanimate goods.

Out of sheer boredom, Lace started a game of "guess the cargo."

She reached out, using her sense of touch to guess the contents of the crates.

She patted the first crate; its shell was hard, with irregular edges.
"Probably some kind of ore,"she guessed.

Next, she felt the second crate. The surface was very soft and silky.
"Hmm...this texture feels like silk. Probably the Weavers' handiwork, I bet."

The third crate was cold to the touch, exceptionally hard, but with distinct, serrated protrusions on the surface.
"This feels...definitely a gear set from the Underworks, no doubt about it."

She continued like this, moving from carriage to carriage, guessing the contents based on touch alone.

While the variety of goods was extensive, they were largely the usual trade items common between Pharloom and Hallownest—utterly unoriginal.

Just as Lace was growing bored and preparing to turn back, her palm accidentally pressed against a crate that felt... warm.

The highly unusual sensation made her freeze instantly.

Train regulations explicitly forbade transporting any items capable of spontaneous heat generation or causing high temperatures; it was a fundamental safety rule.

She leaned down, examining the crate closely.

What raised her suspicion further was that this crate seemed particularly crudely sealed. A noticeable crack ran down its side, as if it had been damaged during rough handling.

Intense curiosity overpowered that tiny flicker of unease. Lace hooked a finger into the crack, preparing to carefully pry it open and see what was inside.

Her full attention was fixed on the abnormally warm crate before her. She remained completely unaware that behind her, a figure hidden in the shadows of the cargo was silently approaching, holding a Voltspontoon crackling with purple arcs of electricity.

————24————

Steam filled the small bathroom, the moist, scented air soothing Hornet's slightly weary carapace.

She immersed herself in the warm water, the rare tranquility momentarily washing away the burdens of official duties and the fatigue of travel, allowing her taut nerves to relax slightly.

However, when she stepped out of the bathroom, damp and drying herself with a towel, she belatedly realized—the carriage was unnaturally quiet.

The familiar white figure, who should have been sprawled on the bed flipping through a magazine or chattering complaints about boredom, was still absent.

Even Phantom, who had been elegantly reading on the sofa earlier, was now nowhere to be seen.

"Gilded One," Hornet stopped drying herself, a tension in her voice she herself hadn't noticed, "has Lace not returned yet?"

The Second Sentinel turned to her, reporting steadily. "Negative. Friend Phantom departed the room ten minutes ago. Stated reason: to locate Friend Lace. Has not yet returned."

A vague sense of unease, like icy droplets, quietly seeped into Hornet's mind.

While Lace could be playful, she rarely stayed away this long, especially on a moving, relatively confined train.

And now even Phantom had gone out personally to look for her.

Hornet swiftly pulled on her cloak, her movements efficient but tinged with impatience.

"Gilded One, you remain here," she ordered, her tone brooking no argument. "If Lace returns, instruct her to stay put."

She worried that if the carriage were empty, given Lace's nature, she might start overthinking upon not finding them, or simply wander off again.

Hornet strode out of the private carriage and into the train corridor.

She hadn't gone far before she encountered a frowning Phantom returning at the connection between carriages.

"Did you find her?" Hornet asked directly.

Phantom shook her head, a veil of worry clouding her masked features. "I asked many passengers, but most didn't recall seeing a white bug like her pass by." She paused, her voice lowering slightly. "It's unusual. Her appearance is quite distinctive."

A sense of foreboding grew heavier in both their hearts.

"Split up," Hornet decided instantly. "You go towards the rear, I'll head forward. Search everywhere possible, including corners and restrooms."

"Agreed."

Without further discussion, the two figures immediately moved swiftly in opposite directions.

Hornet moved through carriage after carriage of passengers, her gaze sharp as a hawk's, sweeping over every seat, every compartment, not even missing the spaces under seats or on the luggage racks.

Her presence caused some minor stir, but she paid it no mind.

She knocked on the driver's cabin door, questioning the focused conductor; she checked the staff rest area, startling a dozing attendant.

But the answers she received were uniformly, disappointingly, shakes of the head.

Meanwhile, Phantom searched the rear passenger carriages with equal thoroughness, with the same result.

Finally, they met again at the connection point in the middle of the train, reading the same outcome in each other's eyes—nothing.

Lace's presence had vanished like a drop of water, evaporating without a sound amidst the bustling carriages.

This outcome plunged the two searchers into a brief silence, before they took drastically different yet equally anxious actions.

Hornet returned to the private carriage, her expression grave.

She forced herself to calm down. The hunter's logic began operating at high speed.

She no longer focused on obvious, visible areas, but turned her attention to smaller, more cramped spaces.

Perhaps she had overlooked a blind spot right under her nose?

She began re-examining every corner of the carriage with an almost obsessive meticulousness—Was there still space under the bed? Were the compartments within the storage lockers large enough to hold a bug with a soft, flexible body? Could there be a cleverly concealed crouching space behind the decorative drapes?

She knew full well Lace's body was highly flexible, capable of squeezing into places deemed impossible by conventional judgment.

At this moment, she would rather believe this was one of Lace's pranks, hiding away in a sulk after being scolded earlier, than entertain the possibility of a worse scenario.

If she believed the situation had deteriorated to an irreparable extent, perhaps she would resort to more radical, cost-be-damned measures to search the entire train.

Meanwhile, Phantom did not return.

She drifted through the passenger carriages she had already searched like a silent, dark specter.

Anxiety, like cold vines, twisted around her heart. Each time her gaze fell upon an empty seat, the weight grew heavier.

Unwilling to give up on even the slightest possibility, she repeatedly questioned the passengers she had spoken to before, describing Lace's features, hoping for some overlooked clue.

Unconsciously, her steps led her back to the end of the passenger section once more.

The door leading to the dim cargo area stood like a silent, black question mark.

Hornet's instructions had been clear—search the passenger carriages.

As long as Lace wasn't a complete fool, she wouldn't venture into the cargo carriages after causing the station disturbance.

But Phantom didn't consider Lace particularly clever.

So Phantom had also stubbornly barged into the cargo carriages earlier and conducted a quick inspection, only to find the same disappointing emptiness.

Yet...

A perception beyond sight and hearing, a vague but stubborn stirring from the depths of her bloodline, lingered in her heart.

It whispered silently, tugging at her senses, as if an intangible thread was stretching out from those very shadows, tied to her heart.

Lace is there.

This is what her sister's intuition told her. Though the thought seemed baseless, it was crystal clear.

Rules and intuition warred briefly within her.

Ultimately, the deep-seated worry in her bones and this uncanny premonition overruled everything else.

She hesitated no longer.

Taking a deep breath, Phantom pushed open the somewhat heavy partition door once more and stepped resolutely into the unknown, unnervingly silent expanse of cargo carriages.

This time, her search would not be superficial. She trusted her feeling. Even if she had to tear open every single crate, she would find the sister who filled her with such dread.

Chapter Text

————25————

Consciousness pieced itself together with difficulty, like fragments sinking up from a deep sea.

Lace awoke in an impenetrable darkness.

The first sensation was restraint.

Her hands and feet were bound tightly by tough ropes; her mouth was sealed with some porous cloth that carried a strange odor, preventing even a muffled whimper from escaping fully.

The second sensation was a soft, suffocating envelopment—she was buried deep within a large pile of fluffy cotton. What seemed soft now became the most effective cage, absorbing and nullifying every tiny movement her body made.

She was like a forgotten seed, buried deep in dark soil.

Yet, contrary to her own expectations, after the initial panic, what rose within her wasn't despair, but a nearly blind trust.

"It's alright," she told herself inwardly. "Sister will notice I'm gone... Little Spider will, too. They will definitely come for me."

This belief became her only light in the darkness, propping her up, allowing her to barely maintain composure.

Time lost all meaning in the absolute silence and darkness.

After an unknowable duration—perhaps a long time, perhaps only a moment—an extremely faint sliver of light, sharp as a blade's edge, suddenly cut through the darkness before her eyes. It seemed to be a narrow crack from outside the crate.

Her heart leaped violently, and hope rose with it.

Then, a familiar, cool, and elegant figure appeared within that narrow slit of her vision.

It was Phantom! Her sister had come for her!

"Sis! I'm here! Look at me! I'm here!"

Lace screamed the words in her mind, putting every ounce of her strength into struggling, into trying to make even the slightest sound, even if it was just the faintest rustle from the cotton.

But the ropes restricted her range of motion, and the thick cotton acted like a greedy, sound-deadening sponge, swallowing all her desperate efforts whole. She couldn't even manage to twitch a fingertip.

She could only watch, a complete bystander, as Phantom's hand gently brushed against the cargo box's outer wall.

Perhaps Phantom touched the soft cotton on the outer layer, but remained utterly unaware of her despairing sister hidden beneath it.

She watched as her sister stopped walking, as those always-placid eyes scanned the surroundings, and finally, as a look of profound disappointment and dejection—one Lace had never seen before—settled onto that beautiful face.

And then, Phantom turned away.

That white figure, whom she saw as her salvation, left without the slightest hesitation, step by step, until she finally vanished from the narrow crack of Lace's vision, seeming to disappear completely from her world.

The light faded with her, and darkness rushed in once more like a tide, colder and heavier than before.

In that moment, all her composure and trust burst like a punctured balloon, instantly replaced by a chill that seeped into her very core.

A powerful regret, like twisting vines, coiled around her heart, tightening until she could barely breathe.

"I shouldn't have run off like that..."

"I'm sorry... Sis... I'm sorry... Little Spider... I've been so foolish..."

Now, truly, no one could save her.

For the first time, a cold, icy despair—so clear, so real—seeped into every last fiber of her being.

Phantom returned to the private carriage. A single glance exchanged with Hornet was enough; the grim atmosphere hung in the air as thick and tangible as fog.

The search for Lace had reached a dead end, and a sense of foreboding loomed over their hearts like a storm cloud.

Just then, the carriage door was knocked upon urgently.
Outside stood the Conductor,his face bloodless, clutching a crumpled note in his hand. His voice trembled uncontrollably: "Y-Your Highness! Look at this..."

Hornet took the note. The scrawled handwriting was full of threat:
[Once the train enters the Dark Tunnel,stop immediately. Cut all lights for two hours. Do this, or we detonate the explosives.]

The Conductor seemed on the verge of collapsing: "I... I came to inform you the moment I found it..."

Hornet took a deep breath, forcibly pushing down the frantic anxiety of searching for Lace.
The immediate crisis concerned the lives of every bug on the train.

"Do as they say," she decided immediately, her voice icy. "Stop the train. Cut the lights. Tell everyone it's an urgent mechanical failure requiring inspection. Do not mention the explosives. The consequences of a panic would be worse."

The train slowly came to a halt within the long, Dark Tunnel. As the main power was cut, the carriages were instantly plunged into pitch-black darkness, swallowed by an absolute gloom where one could not see their own hand. Only a few faint white emergency lights provided meager illumination.

Outside the window was pure, suffocating darkness, the tunnel walls so close they felt within reach.

The restless murmurs of the passengers echoed softly in the enclosed space.

"Why the tunnel? And why two hours?" Phantom's voice cut through the darkness, laced with cold suspicion.

It was the very question troubling Hornet.

She and Phantom had searched almost the entire train. How had the hijackers left no trace, like ghosts?

Unless... they were never moving inside the carriages to begin with.

Just then, her sharp eyes caught a small pile of out-of-place grit on the restroom floor.

Her head snapped up, her gaze fixing on the emergency exit in the ceiling – a passage almost universally overlooked.

"The roof..." Hornet's voice grew tinged with excitement. "They're moving across the roof."

Without hesitation, she climbed up to the exit and hauled herself out into the cold air currents at the top of the tunnel.

Outside was utterly dark, but as one born of Deepnest, Hornet's eyes were long adapted to such environments, allowing her to see to a certain extent.

Although high-speed travel would have erased any clear trail, through Hornet's persistent effort, she finally discovered a loose emergency hatch near the middle of the cargo carriage.

She slipped inside silently. The oppressive darkness did not completely hinder her perception.

Suddenly, her spirit quivered—a faint, yet familiar, strand of silk aura lingered in the air.

It was the silk from Lace.

It was a remnant from when she had once mended Lace's wounds, now becoming her only guide in the darkness.

She followed that wisp of a sensation, navigating the maze of cargo crates.

Finally, she stopped before a large, bulky shipment.

This was the one. It emanated a strong aura of silk, tinged with what seemed like... remorse.

With a flick of her wrist, Hornet's needle traced a precise, sharp arc through the air, effortlessly slicing open the heavy packaging. The stuffing cotton inside, now freed from its confines, burst forth like a long-suppressed avalanche, pouring out in an instant.

Amid the flurry of falling white "snow," a figure, tightly bound and trussed up with ropes, slid out as well—it was the missing Lace.

The moment she saw the light again, Lace's gaze instantly locked onto Hornet. Her white eyes shone with the brilliant light of one rescued from certain doom, as if she had a thousand things to say. Her body leaned forward involuntarily, yearning for a reassuring embrace.

However, her movement halted abruptly upon seeing Hornet's expression.

The expected concern and relief were absent from the other's face. Instead, Hornet's body was slightly tensed, poised in a state of high alert. Her usually calm eyes were fixed, with unprecedented intensity, on Lace's chest.

Following her gaze, Lace looked down, confused.

The next moment, she froze solid.

Around her chest was a complex, intricately built device, firmly strapped to her. At its core, an ominous red light pulsed with a steady rhythm, like the heartbeat of a demon, casting a faint crimson glow on her pale shell and reflecting in Hornet's constricted pupils.

"Thought she was just some rich bug's kid, an easy mark for a hefty ransom..." a rough voice grunted with a smug sneer from the shadows behind them.

Hornet whirled around. A hulking beetle chieftain with a vicious scar over his right eye emerged, offering a mocking, exaggerated bow.

"...Never imagined she was a friend of the Princess herself. Even better. I'm sure the King will be most eager to pay a far higher price for his precious daughter's safe return."

Several shorter bugs emerged alongside the scarred one, all brandishing weapons. Their eyes gleamed with avarice, as if they could already see the wealth Hornet represented.

"Do you truly believe you will leave this place alive after what you've done?" Hornet's voice was low, simmering with stormy fury, her right hand clenching tightly around her Needle.

"Hahaha—" The scarred beetle let out a grating laugh that echoed through the freight car. "By the time King Wyrm is done dealing with the 'mess' back in the Hallownest, he'll have no attention to spare for a few petty thieves like us~"

In the instant his words faded, a sliver of silver light shot from Hornet's hand.

CRACK!

The refined metal dart, as if alive, struck the remote in the scarred beetle's grasp with unerring accuracy.

Sparks flew as the remote shattered, its screen instantly going dark.

"Now," Hornet's voice was cold as ice, "your final bargaining chip is gone."

Her figure blurred, and the tip of her Needle was already pressed against the throat of the nearest bandit.

In the darkness, her movements were so fast they left only afterimages. After a few dull thuds, every single bandit except for the scarred leader lay incapacitated on the ground.

"You...!" The scarred bug was both shocked and furious, but a vicious ruthlessness quickly replaced his panic. He stared daggers at Hornet, a grotesque smile twisting his features.

"The Princess lives up to her reputation. But—" he drew out the word, his tone dripping with the triumph of one ready to burn everything down, "do you really think smashing the remote is the end of it?"

He pointed aggressively at the device strapped to Lace. "This here is the 'Shatterer', the latest development from Hallownest Armory! Without the remote, it's a firecracker ready to blow! I specially modified its detonation system. The disarming procedure is extremely complex—one wrong step and it instantly explodes! No one in this world can disarm it except for me!"

He laughed maniacally, as if he could already see the helpless expression on Hornet's face. "So now, whether your poor little friend lives or dies still depends entirely on my mood!"

However, the panic he expected did not appear on Hornet's face.

Instead, she smiled.

It was a faint smile, yet it carried a composure and confidence that made the scarred bug's carapace crawl.

In the ghastly white glow of the emergency lights, that smile seemed downright chilling.

"You are correct. The 'Shatterer' is indeed one of the most advanced explosives currently available," Hornet said, taking a slow step forward, her voice as calm as if she were stating a simple fact.

"While you may know of me, it seems you haven't learned a thing about me."

She stopped before the scarred bug, looking down at his confusion-twisted face, and asked, enunciating each word clearly:

"Do you know who designed this explosive?"

Without waiting for an answer, she delivered the soul-shattering reply:

"I did."

Two words, uttered lightly, yet they struck like a sledgehammer, shattering every last bit of his bravado.

The color drained from his face. The triumph in his eyes morphed into pure, unadulterated terror and disbelief.

"No... Impossible! How could you—"

"It seems your intelligence gathering was severely lacking," Hornet said, her tone dismissive as she turned her back on him and walked towards Lace. "Foolish, to try and threaten me with my own creation."

She reached out and pressed a series of swift, precise sequences on the complex detonation device.

With a soft click, the entire apparatus that had stymied them all came loose and fell to the floor, discarded.

The entire process took mere seconds.

Hornet cleanly severed the binding ropes. Lace flexed her newly freed wrists and neck; aside from some numbness from the tight bonds, she seemed otherwise unharmed.

Yet, the moment Hornet confirmed she was safe, the air around her shifted abruptly.

She slowly straightened up, tilting her head slightly. Her eyes, reflecting the dim light, gleamed with a bestial coldness, as if a tangible fury burned in the air.

"You just now... mentioned the Hallownest." Her voice was low and measured, yet carried more threat than any roar. "I trust you won't mind if I... listen to the details personally."

Before the words had fully faded, she had turned completely around.

Her steps were steady, one after another, neither hurried nor slow, as she advanced toward the scarred bug.

The sound of her Needle tapping against the carriage floor cut through the deathly silence like a tolling funeral bell.

The scarred bug, paralyzed by the terrifying, almost palpable pressure radiating from her, instinctively tried to retreat. His back slammed with a dull thud against the cold carriage wall.

There was no escape.

He could only watch, helpless, as the death-bringing figure loomed ever larger in his vision, like Death itself closing in.

————27————

The piercing screams coming from the rear freight cars quickly sowed panic among the passengers.

The Conductor, not daring to delay, immediately gathered the security bugs and led them towards the source of the horrifying sound.

A few minutes later, when the Conductor and a group of fully-armed security bugs cautiously followed the continuous, inhuman wails of agony to the scene, the sight that greeted them was burned into their memories forever.

Under the ghastly white glow of the emergency lights, a bloody, mangled figure was crawling out of the freight car with its last ounce of strength.

Its carapace was shattered, its limbs twisted, collapsing at the Conductor's feet like a pile of refuse. It clutched the Conductor's ankle with its one remaining forelimb, its eyes wide with a terror that surpassed the fear of death itself, and begged in a ragged, hoarse voice:

"Please... I'm begging you... Quickly... take us away! Lock us up! Send us to prison! Right now! Please!!"

The security bugs rushed into the freight car, only to freeze in their tracks, stunned by the scene before them.

The entire space resembled a makeshift torture chamber.

The previously arrogant scar-faced bug now lay on the ground like a limp rag, barely breathing.

And amidst the carnage, Hornet was slowly rising to her feet.

Dark specks of what could only be hemolymph stained her face, looking particularly ferocious under the pale light.

Her bright eyes gleamed in the darkness like a predator awakened from the abyss.

Like a victorious queen, she stepped down from the back of the now-unconscious scarred bug, each footfall carrying a terrifying aura of menace.

Scattered around her were several tools that had been... put to full use—a high-speed cogwork wheel coated in shell fragments, a voltvessel sizzling with a charred surface, and soiled tacks littering the floor. Each tool bore clear signs of recent employment, silently narrating the events that had just transpired.

Hornet took Lace by the wrist, pulling her up from the ground.

As she passed the Conductor, her voice was icy, devoid of any inflection:
"Tell the passengers those noises were just disturbances from wild bugs living in the tunnel."

Just as she was about to exit the carriage, she stopped, turning her head halfway.
Her eyes,glowing in the dimness, swept viciously over the scattered forms of the defeated bandits. Each word she spoke seemed dredged from a frozen abyss:

"Lock this scum away. All of them. To the Slab at the foot of Mount Fay."

"I want them to reflect thoroughly in the ice caves on every single mistake they made today."

With that, Hornet strode away, leaving behind a terrified Conductor and the broken, barely conscious criminals.

Lace tilted her head slightly, glancing at the silent Hornet.

She had witnessed everything, had seen firsthand how those arrogant, swaggering bandits were reduced to wailing, begging captives.

She hadn't made a sound, hadn't tried to stop it. She had simply watched—watched as those who had dared to harm her paid the price in shrieks of agony.

As Hornet led her through the bloodied freight car, stepping over the wreckage, Lace could feel a simmering, unappeased anger radiating from her.

In the silent corridor leading back to the private carriage, the emergency lights cast their long shadows.

Hornet suddenly spoke, her voice lower than usual.

"You saw everything." It wasn't a question, but a statement. "Are you afraid? After seeing that... do you still wish to be my 'prey'?"

Her tone was calm, but the arm holding Lace tightened almost imperceptibly.

Lace shook her head gently, her hair brushing against Hornet's jaw.

"Afraid? Why would I be afraid?" Her voice, though still carrying a trace of weakness, was unwavering. "They got what they deserved. If you ask me, you went too easy on them."

She tilted her head back further, looking up at Hornet's profile, which appeared especially sharp in the thin white light.

"You've never seen the way they 'treat' bugs in Whiteward," she said. "Now that's true terror. It can make a bug regret ever being born."

Then, she gently pried Hornet's hand open and interlaced their fingers. "Besides, you'd never do that to me. You've fought me plenty, but you've never once tried to deliver a killing blow."

Hornet looked down at her, the stains still on her face, and offered a grin that was utterly at odds with the moment—a mischievous, almost wicked smirk.

"If you'd like to experience it, we could certainly give it a try. My 'hunting techniques' are quite... varied."

Lace gave an exaggerated shiver and immediately tried to shake her hand off, pretending to bolt. "Wah! In that case, I'd better make a run for it now!"

But before she could even lift a foot, the back of her neck was caught in a firm, cool grip, easily pulling her back like an unruly kitten.

"Stop fooling around," Hornet said, her usual calm returning. "Your sister is waiting in the carriage. She's been worried sick about you."

————Little Easter Egg————

Night had fallen within Hornet's private carriage.

"Sister... It's a bit crowded... Can you move over a little?" Lace's voice held a note of complaint. She was sandwiched tightly between Phantom on her left and Hornet on her right, barely able to move.

Although Wyrm had specifically widened and enlarged this bed for his daughter's comfort, accommodating three fairly sizable bugs was still a squeeze.

The cool chill of Phantom's body seeped into her from the left, while Hornet's faintly scented breath ghosted over her right cheek. It should have been a cozy scene, but right now, it just felt constricting.

"No."

Phantom's refusal was absolute, leaving no room for argument.

She turned onto her side, gazing at her sister in the darkness. "What if you try to sneak out again when we're not paying attention?"

"I won't!" Lace hurriedly assured her. "I swear, I won't run off tonight!"

"Oh?" Phantom caught the loophole in her words. "So you're saying you will run off tomorrow?"

Lace was momentarily speechless, scrambling for a retort, when the previously silent Hornet spoke.

Her voice was calm, yet brooked no argument.

"She won't be going anywhere."

With that, she lifted her head slightly and issued the order.

"Gilded One. From this moment until we arrive in Hallownest, cease standby mode. You are to guard Lace for the entire duration. She is not to set foot outside this room without my permission."

In the darkness, the Second Sentinel's sensors lit up with a steady white light, its tall frame by the door like the most loyal of sentinels.

"Directive updated. The Sentinel will ensure the safety of Friend Lace. Please rest assured, Friend."

Its voice was, as ever, perfectly even, but it drained the last of Lace's hope.

She let out a mournful groan and slumped back onto the bed in resignation, knowing she was truly trapped this time.

Phantom gave her shoulder a gentle pat, her tone softening slightly. "Get some rest. You can have your freedom back once we reach Hallownest."

Hornet said nothing more, but silently tightened her arm around Lace's waist, securely locking the restless little creature against her side.

Quiet settled over the carriage once more, filled only by the rhythmic sound of the train's progress and Lace's faint, discontented muttering.

Chapter Text

————28————

For Lace, these were undoubtedly the three longest days of her life.

Since her reckless exploration had led to her kidnapping and nearly being blown to pieces, she had been stripped of all freedom of movement.

To prevent the troublemaker from causing any more chaos before they reached Hallownest, Hornet had issued a strict confinement order, enforced by the Second Sentinel's 24-hour watch.

In theory, given Lace's cunning, finding a loophole in the Sentinel's rigorous yet inflexible logic to sneak out shouldn't have been difficult.

But...

"Was it really necessary to tie me up like this?!"

Lace's protest echoed through the private carriage.

At that moment, she was wrapped from head to toe in tough, elastic,specially-made silk, resembling nothing so much as a white worm trapped in its own cocoon.

What made it even more despairing was that the other end of the silk was firmly tied to the headboard, completely eliminating any possibility of her inching away.

"If you find this form too restrictive," Hornet said, standing by the bed with her arms crossed, her tone flat as she offered an alternative, "we can consider this one instead."

She snapped her fingers crisply.

The silk around Lace flowed and reshaped itself in response, finally transforming into a delicate white collar locked securely around her neck.

Although her body was free again, the implication of the collar sent an even deeper chill down her spine.

"This is even worse!" Lace tried to pull the collar from her neck. "Don't you think your interests are a bit too twisted!"

Phantom, who had been quietly observing until now, slightly furrowed her brow and spoke up: "Hornet, I really don't think this is entirely appropriate."

As she spoke, she leaned down to untie the silk fastened to the headboard.

"See, I knew my sister would be on my side!" Instantly, a light of hope ignited in Lace's eyes, and she cast an immensely grateful look towards Phantom, feeling that finally, someone was here to uphold justice.

However, in the very next second, she watched as Phantom deftly handed the now-loosened end of the silk to Hornet.

"This seems more suitable." A faint but unmistakable smile appeared on Phantom's face. "You can take her for walks like this, satisfying her 'need' to go outside."

Lace froze completely on the spot, as if instantly turned to stone.

She looked at Hornet, holding the silk with a slight upturn of her lips, then at her sister, who seemed quite pleased with her own solution, and finally realized—in this carriage, she was at the very bottom of the food chain.

To her relief, Hornet showed no intention of going out anytime soon, sparing her the humiliation of being seen by the entire carriage in this state.

The brief commotion in the carriage subsided, replaced by a heavy silence.

Hornet sat back down at the desk, her fingertips unconsciously tapping a rhythmic pattern on the smooth surface.

Her gaze fell upon the wild, fleeting landscape outside the window, but her thoughts had long since returned to that dim freight car, lingering on the scarred bug's cryptic, pointed words.

"The mess in Hallownest..."

The phrase echoed relentlessly in her mind.

She swiftly filtered through all recent intelligence and administrative briefings in her head—the borders were stable, all districts were functioning normally, and there were no major financial discrepancies. Within Hallownest itself, at least on the surface, there was no crisis that could be described as a "mess."

Therefore, only one conclusion remained.

This "mess" wasn't something that already existed, but rather one that was about to unfold, or more precisely, one that these bandits and their mastermind intended to create.

Their actions were the first lightning strike of an approaching storm.

Then came that extremely peculiar demand—stopping the train for two hours inside the Dark Tunnel.

This wasn't merely to sow panic or facilitate the ransom.

The tunnel blocked outside view and shielded most long-range communication signals.

Those two hours were like a carefully engineered "information blackout."

During that time, all contact between the train and the outside world was lost. No matter what happened here, Hallownest would be unable to know immediately.

What did they need that time for? Was it to ensure some simultaneous action in Hallownest could proceed uninterrupted? Or was it to... conceal some scheme that had to be carried out under the cover of darkness?

A chill crept up her spine as she thought this.

These bandits were far from ordinary desperadoes.

She recalled the scene of the interrogation, her brow furrowing even tighter.

Their willpower had been unnaturally strong.

Even after she employed methods that would break the most hardened criminals, they'd rather writhe and howl in the depths of agony than reveal a single word about their mastermind or the true plan.

This near-fanatical loyalty, or perhaps... fear, couldn't be explained by a simple employer-mercenary relationship.

They were far more terrified of the consequences of leaking secrets than they were of her torture.

Finally, and most crucially—the technology.

Her gaze swept over the Second Sentinel standing quietly by the door.

That signal jammer, capable of perfectly shielding the scans of two top-tier mechanical sentinels, was technologically quite advanced, certainly not some common black-market goods.

It was a sophisticated piece of tech with military undertones.

Any faction that could access such equipment and provide it to a group of bandits must have roots deep within Hallownest's power structure or technological core.

All these clues, like scattered puzzle pieces, gradually formed a vague yet deeply unsettling picture in her mind.

This wasn't merely a simple kidnapping for ransom, nor was it just a train hijacking.

It seemed more like the prelude to a vast conspiracy, a meticulously planned feint targeting Hallownest itself.

All these clues, like scattered pieces of a puzzle, gradually assembled into a vague yet disquieting outline in her mind.

This was more than just a simple kidnapping for ransom, or even a mere train hijacking.

It felt more like the overture to a grand conspiracy, a meticulously calculated feint aimed at Hallownest itself.

These bandits were nothing more than pawns on a chessboard, sacrificed solely to create a smokescreen, to draw her—and all of Hallownest's attention.

The true conspiracy had likely already begun unfolding in the shadows, unknown to her.

She leaned back slowly in her chair, taking a deep breath.

"Whatever you are plotting..." she vowed silently, "I will tear it out by the roots."

Hallownest, her home, would never become any conspirator's plaything.

Just as Hornet's thoughts were deeply mired in this analysis, a faint stirring reached her from beside her.

She didn't need to look to know who it was—that familiar presence, carrying a hint of a light, sweet fragrance, was cautiously approaching.

"Little Spider..." Lace's voice came, tinged with a plaintive tremor, "I've truly learned my lesson, really... Could you please not keep watch over me like this anymore?"

It wasn't that she genuinely resisted Hornet's control. In fact, in private, this kind of dominant oversight gave her a strange sense of security.

But this moment was different. Phantom was quietly reading her script not far away.

Being leashed like a disobedient pet in front of her own sister made her already scant dignity voice a feeble protest.

She hoped to salvage a little "dignity," even if it just meant removing the collar.

Hornet's train of thought was brutally yanked away from the tangled web of clues.

She gave the silk in her hand a sharp tug, the force substantial, carrying a barely suppressed irritation.

Lace let out a muffled "whimper," caught off guard as the pull forced her to lean down. Her chin was then tightly gripped by Hornet's cool, shell-covered fingers, forcibly turning her face to meet Hornet's gaze.

Reflected in those white eyes wasn't the usual resignation or indulgence, but pure anger.

"You should be grateful," Hornet's voice was low, taut like a drawn bowstring, each word carrying a heated intensity, "grateful that Phantom is still here."

Her fingertips pressed down slightly, making it impossible for Lace to look away, forcing her to confront the turbulent emotions in Hornet's eyes.

"Otherwise, given what you did yesterday—reckless, foolish, nearly blowing yourself to pieces!" She practically spat the words through gritted teeth. "Do you think a collar is enough? The 'punishment' you've received is nowhere near enough to repay the worry you made me... us... endure."

It was a rare occasion where Hornet expressed such direct and intense anger towards Lace.

The panic she had been forced to suppress during the crisis, now mingled with her anxieties over the conspiracy and confirmed safety, finally found a vent.

She had come so close to losing this noisy, troublesome, yet utterly irreplaceable presence forever.

"I... I was just going out to get some air..." Lace, intimidated by her fury, instinctively lowered her voice, attempting a final defense. "How was I supposed to know the freight cars of a train would hide those kinds of desperadoes..."

But her words gradually faded into silence as she met the complex fire burning in Hornet's eyes.

She keenly sensed that Hornet's foul mood today wasn't solely due to her unauthorized outing. There seemed to be a deeper, heavier reason.

Just then, the commotion near them attracted the attention of Phantom, who had been studying her script not far away.

She glanced up from her heavy script and happened to see this very scene.

Lace was leaning down towards Hornet, who sat in the chair, and Hornet's hand was cupping Lace's cheek in an intimate manner.

From her angle, their faces were almost pressed together, their posture strongly resembling a kiss.

Phantom's gaze paused for a brief moment.

She had initially been concerned that Hornet might be too harsh with Lace over her recklessness. Now, it seemed... she had worried unnecessarily.

This method of "disciplining" was clearly beyond her expectations.

She closed her script unobtrusively, stood up gracefully without making a sound, and decided she should perhaps leave temporarily, offering them some privacy.

"It seems my sister usually... has her hands quite full," she mused silently within her heart, gaining a whole new understanding of Hornet's... initiative.

As Phantom rose silently and prepared to leave the carriage, her gaze swept over the Second Sentinel standing by the door like a golden statue.

Its tall frame and faintly glowing eyes seemed particularly obstructive at that moment.

Without breaking stride, Phantom very naturally reached out, took hold of the Sentinel's cold metal arm, and with an undeniable force, began guiding it toward the door as well.

"You don't belong here right now either," she said as she pulled, her voice calm, as if stating the most obvious fact.

The Second Sentinel's eyes flickered with confusion, its frame offering slight resistance due to the unexpected directive.

"But Friend stated," it reiterated in its even tone, focusing on the core command, "'Guard Lace.' Ensure she 'does not set foot outside this room.'"

Phantom didn't look back, directly interrupting its logical loop with an irrefutable solution.

"It's the same from the outside," she said flatly. "To leave this carriage, one must pass through this door, correct? Guarding the doorway achieves the same effect."

The Second Sentinel's core processor whirred for a moment.

[Directive: Guard Lace. Prevent target from leaving room.]
[Logical Derivation:Room's only exit is this door. Guarding doorway ≈ Guarding room exit ≈ Preventing target from leaving room.]
[Conclusion:Friend Phantom's proposal aligns with core directive objective. Execution position offers tactical advantage.]

"You are correct," the Second Sentinel accepted this reasoning, ceased resistance, and allowed itself to be "escorted" out of the carriage by Phantom.

Phantom gently closed the carriage door, leaving the space entirely to the two inside.

She glanced at the loyal and powerful mechanical sentinel beside her, a faint smile flickering at the corner of her mouth.

This way, no matter what happened inside, there would be no... tactless observers.

Meanwhile, inside the carriage, completely unaware of this misinterpretation, Lace tried to gently hook her finger around Hornet's hand, which still held her chin, and mumbled in a small voice, "...Don't be angry anymore, alright? I really won't dare to do it again."

However, the response she received was an even sharper gaze from Hornet, one that seemed to pierce right through her soul, and a cold, emphatic declaration:

"There won't be a next time."

Each word felt like an ice spike, hammering into Lace's heart.

Before the words had even fully faded, Hornet stood up abruptly and tugged mercilessly on the silk, pulling Lace along as if she were a weightless doll, striding directly towards the bathroom.

Lace stumbled as the collar tightened around her neck, forced by that irresistible strength to stagger along behind, her heart filled with trepidation.

————Little Easter Egg————

The corridor outside the carriage was relatively spacious, with an echo that lent a somewhat theatrical quality to the acoustics.

Phantom chose this spot to rehearse for her next performance during this waiting period.

Holding a faded copy of The Phantom of the Opera script, she took a deep breath and instantly slipped into character.

When she spoke again, her voice was no longer its usual calm self, but filled with the Phantom's tormented, yearning, and destructive passion.

She tilted her head back slightly, raised a hand towards the empty air, her pose elegant and full of tension:

"Sing, my Angel of Music!

Heed the oath you swore to me…

Your spirit and my voice in one combined!

The Phantom of the Opera is there – inside your mind!"

Her performance was full of emotion and expression, every syllable imbued with the character's soul, as if she had truly conjured the phantom of Christine into the train corridor.

However, it was immediately followed by the Second Sentinel's turn to deliver its line.

The Sentinel paused for a few seconds, then, in its consistently steady, monotone voice, "recited" line by line:

"That curse will bind us all."

Its voice was as calm as if reporting a scan result, rendering a line meant to be full of dramatic tension into something resembling a machine's self-diagnostic log.

The corner of Phantom's mouth twitched almost imperceptibly.

But her professionalism as an actor kept her from laughing. Instead, she patiently instructed:

"No, not like that. Imagine your core system is being invaded by an unknown virus, your logic circuits facing the risk of permanent damage—that kind of feeling."

The Second Sentinel's head tilted slightly, as if seriously considering the analogy.

Second Sentinel: "Understood. Damage to logic circuits constitutes a high-priority threat. Should this situation occur, standard response protocol is: immediately initiate isolation procedures and send the highest level alert to the Chief Sentinel. Does this sentinel need to demonstrate the alert audio now?"

Phantom looked at the Sentinel, earnestly preparing to play the piercing alarm, and finally let out a helpless sigh.

She closed the script, realizing that rehearsing an opera full of passionate emotion with a machine of rigorous logic was perhaps a task more daunting than simultaneously saving Hallownest and Pharloom.

"...That won't be necessary. Just focus on carrying out the 'guard' directive. I'll continue the rest of the rehearsal on my own."

The Second Sentinel, receiving the clear instruction, immediately resumed its standard guard posture.

"Directive confirmed. The Sentinel will focus on its core task."

Chapter Text

————29————

Whoosh—

Hornet turned the faucet, and a rush of warm water cascaded into the empty bathtub, striking the bottom with a hollow, unsettling echo.

She stood silently with her arms crossed, watching the water level rise inch by inch. The silence itself was more oppressive than any scolding.

Lace watched her back, then looked at the steadily rising hot water, a sense of foreboding growing wildly in her heart like weeds.

Just as the tub was nearly full, Hornet took an exquisite glass jar, scooped out several spoonfuls of emerald-green bath salts, and tossed them into the water.

The crystals dissolved rapidly, tingeing the clear water with a translucent, pale green hue and releasing the crisp scent of pine needles and fir.

Does she think forcing me to take a bath is the punishment?

Lace couldn't help the internal grumble. Sure, she disliked water, but it wasn't that bad...

Before the thought could fully form, she saw Hornet take a soft white towel from a nearby shelf and casually drop it into the pale green, hot water.

What happened next made Lace's heart turn cold.

After soaking in the hot water for a few moments, the structure of the seemingly ordinary towel began to disintegrate on its own.

The woven threads, as if losing their bonds, slowly loosened and unraveled. In mere seconds, it dissolved into countless soft, strand-like white fibers, drifting and floating in the light green water like a bizarre, spectral jellyfish.

This was no ordinary bath salt. Its components could break down woven material.

The realization struck Lace instantly.

She was a unique life form composed of pure silk, and these specially formulated "bath salts" were a solvent designed for beings like her.

Even if Hornet could, with her superb skill, "re-weave" her afterward, the process of her bodily structure slowly disintegrating would bring unimaginable agony—a torture that would reach deep into her very soul.

Fear seized her completely.

Instinctively, she tried to turn and flee, only to realize with a start—the collar around her neck had vanished without a trace.

In its place, an invisible force wrenched her hands behind her back, binding them securely with Soul Silk.

Simultaneously, a new strand of silk coiled tightly around her right ankle. The other end shot upward, looped over a sturdy beam on the bathroom ceiling, and finally landed in the grasp of Hornet, who had now turned to face her.

"You...!" Lace began to protest, but in that instant, as her mouth was open, Hornet precisely shoved a complex and secure knot from the end of the silk right into it.

"Less talking," Hornet's voice was icy and devoid of emotion, "This way, you might last a bit longer."

"!!!"

Lace's pupils contracted sharply. She understood Hornet's intention completely now.

She was suspended upside down over the bathtub, her entire body weight supported solely by the strand of silk clenched desperately between her teeth.

And less than twenty centimeters below her was that pool of "green water," capable of inflicting pain akin to being slowly dismembered.

"Mmph—!" A terrified whimper escaped her as her body began to thrash and struggle violently, trying to express her utmost protest and fear.

However, any significant movement caused the rope clenched in her teeth to slip, making her body lurch downward, her toes nearly brushing the surface of the deadly water.

She immediately froze, not daring to struggle anymore. She could only desperately, with all her might, tilt her head back and clamp her teeth down on that life-saving, yet endlessly torturous, strand of silk.

Every fiber of her being was taut and trembling from the extreme tension.

"If you can last an hour without falling," Hornet announced the rules, her voice devoid of any encouragement, only the cold statement of a fact, "I will come to release you."

She took one last look at Lace, suspended upside down and trembling from sheer terror and strain, a complex emotion flickering deep in her eyes before it was replaced by absolute calm.

"Now, I need to focus on official matters."

With that, she turned without hesitation, walked out of the bathroom, and returned to her desk as if what had just happened was no more significant than fetching a glass of water.

She picked up the documents on her desk again, completely shutting out the faint, suppressed whimpers and tremors of sheer terror and exertion coming from the bathroom behind her.

The inverted position made dizziness surge relentlessly into her head, bringing waves of disorienting, throbbing pressure.

Every fiber of Lace's being, every strand of her silk, screamed in protest from the prolonged, extreme tension. Like bowstrings stretched to their limit, they trembled, threatening to snap at any moment.

But even more torturous was the steam.

The warm, watery vapor was insidious, coiling around her body like countless tiny, living tendrils. It condensed into fine beads across her white hair and silk-like shell.

With every droplet that formed, she felt her body grow heavier.

What began as a slight burden steadily accumulated over time. The sensation of weight escalated from 'damp' to 'soaked,' until it felt as if countless icy lead weights were dangling from the tip of every single strand.

Yet, compared to the psychological pressure exerted by the pale green pool of water below, the physical agony was almost negligible.

That water sat less than twenty centimeters below her, quietly steaming.

"Falling... means dissolving..."

The thought circled in her mind like a vicious curse.

She stared fixedly at the shimmering green expanse, as if she could already see the horrifying vision of her body's threads floating apart, disintegrating within it.

It wouldn't be an instant of pain, but a slow, lingering process of dissolution—a conscious awareness of watching herself 'die.'

Fear became the heaviest shackle of all.

Her teeth ached with a dull numbness from clenching the silk so fiercely, but what choked her more than the bitterness in her mouth was the icy dread creeping up from the depths of her heart.

Every breath became a monumental struggle, not just from the inverted position, but from the clinging steam that felt like it was already strangling her in advance.

She was holding on purely by a thread of will—the refusal to admit defeat, to let Hornet's punishment break her. But even that will was being slowly, inexorably eroded under the menacing gaze of that green abyss below.

Time itself seemed stretched thin, every second rolling over a blade's edge. The threat of the hot water beneath her gnawed incessantly at her nerves.

One hour later.

When the soft sound of the bathroom door being pushed open right on time reached her, Lace almost wept with relief.

Mustering the last of her strength, she strained to shift her gaze towards the figure in the doorway. Her eyes were filled to the brim with tears, a mixture of sheer terror and desperate plea.

Hornet stepped inside, her gaze calmly falling upon her.

Seeing Lace, trembling like a leaf in the wind yet still stubbornly biting the silk, still hanging in place, the icy severity in Hornet's eyes finally thawed, replaced by a flicker of approval and something akin to pride.

"Mmmph... Mmmph..." A muffled, sob-choked plea escaped from deep in Lace's throat, her eyes screaming with the urgency for release.

She'd done it. She'd held on. Now, please, let her down!

Yet, what she saw was Hornet slowly raising her hand, the hard chitin of her fingertips parting to reveal sharp claws glinting coldly.

Lace's pupils contracted sharply, terror completely overwhelming her.

What was she doing?!

Before she could even react, a cold glint flashed—

Ssskritch!

A crisp snapping sound echoed through the room as the silk strand supporting her entire weight was severed!

"Ah—!" Lace's cry was choked off by the rush of falling air, followed by a loud splash as she plunged completely into the pool of "solvent" she had feared for an entire hour.

"Aaahhh!" she screamed instinctively, flailing frantically in the water, waiting for the anticipated agony of her body dissolving and melting away.

However...

Seconds passed. Nothing happened except for the sensation of warm water enveloping her body.

No excruciating pain, no disintegration—only the unexpected comfort of water flowing over her tense form.

She stopped thrashing, stunned, standing chest-deep in the water, staring in disbelief at her perfectly intact hands and body.

"While it can break down ordinary woven material," Hornet's voice came from the edge of the tub, calm and even, "you are no ordinary weave. The silk you are made of is woven from soul itself. How could it be the same as common thread?"

Moreover, much of the silk used to mend Lace's body originated from Hornet's own essence, incredibly resilient—far beyond the ability of such a concoction to dissolve.

Lace snapped her head up, her wet white hair plastered to her cheeks. She glared at Hornet, indignation and anger surging within her. "You tricked me!"

"But you learned your lesson," Hornet looked down at her, her gaze profound, as if seeing into the depths of her soul. "The fear, helplessness, struggle, and despair you felt in that hour... that was what Phantom and I felt when we discovered you were missing."

"..."

Those words struck like a hammer, instantly shattering all of Lace's defenses.

She recalled the torment of every second within that hour, the feeling of being suspended over an abyss of despair...

And the time she had made Hornet and her sister endure those feelings far exceeded a single hour.

An intense shame washed over her, making her wish she could disappear.

She abruptly sank deeper into the water, until only half her face was visible, blowing a stream of bubbles, unable to meet Hornet's gaze any longer.

"...I'm sorry," her voice was muffled, distorted by the water, yet utterly sincere. "I won't run off again, and I won't go to dangerous places anymore." This promise came from a place of deep, genuine reflection.

Seeing her in this state, both pitiful and earnest, the last trace of sternness finally faded from Hornet's eyes.

She reached out and gently stroked Lace's soaked head, her voice returning to its usual gentleness. "As long as you understand."

With that, Hornet unfastened her red cloak from her shoulders, letting it slip silently to the floor.

She stepped into the bathtub, and the warm water immediately enveloped her.

The tub's temperature control kept the water just as comfortable and pleasant as when she had left.

However, the moment she entered the water, a slight movement caught her attention.

Lace had subtly, almost imperceptibly, flinched backward.

Though she tried to control it, attempting to disguise the motion as a natural ripple, the faint, quickly suppressed circle of waves that suddenly spread out didn't escape the hunter's eyes.

Was the punishment too harsh? The thought dropped into the still lake of Hornet's mind, sending ripples across its surface.

She gazed at the white figure hunched at the other end of the tub, head bowed low, and suddenly realized with clarity—the lesson had indeed been carved into bone, but along with it, an invisible barrier born of fear had also been erected.

Lace's current quietness wasn't entirely the compliance of reflection. It was more like the stillness of a startled bird, afraid to make any move under immense pressure.

She sat rigidly there, even her breathing softened, as if any slightly louder sound might invite unknown, more terrible consequences.

This understanding tightened Hornet's heart slightly.

She wanted Lace's growth, not her fear.

At that moment, the water stirred.

Lace felt a familiar tightness around her wrist as Soul Silk coiled around it once more.

Before she could even process it, an irresistible force yanked sharply. With a gasp, she was pulled off balance, tumbling instantly into a warm, firm embrace.

Water splashed around them.

The scolding or new punishment she expected never came. Instead, it was replaced by a hug so tight it was almost suffocating.

Hornet's arms wrapped around her like the toughest vines, firmly locking her trembling, drenched body completely against her own.

The strength behind it felt as if Hornet wanted to crush her, to press her right into her very shell.

There was no desire in this embrace, only a powerful, overwhelming emotion—the raw feeling of having lost something and regained it, mixed with residual fear, anxiety, and absolute possession.

The rigid tension in Lace's body, the string in her mind that had been pulled taut, suddenly snapped loose within this near-brutal embrace.

Her fear began to vanish without a sound, like morning dew meeting sunlight.

She could feel the heartbeat under Hornet's thorax, faster than usual, and the slight tremor in the arms holding her.

Was that... fear?

So the ever-capable Little Spider could be afraid too.

She was afraid of losing her.

After a moment of silence, the warm embrace loosened slightly. Finally gathering a bit of courage, Lace tilted her head back and muttered a small, plaintive complaint:

"Little Spider... You know I hate water..."

Her voice still carried a hint of a sob, the aftermath of her ordeal.

Hornet looked at her deeply for a moment, offering neither explanation nor comfort. She simply released the embrace, her voice returning to its usual calm. "You're clean enough. Go wait for me outside first."

Lace blinked, then obediently, albeit a bit clumsily, climbed out of the bathtub.

She slowly dried her body and hair with a soft towel and, as instructed, walked out of the bathroom.

It was only then she noticed that the carriage was now empty save for her and Hornet.

She initially thought about heading to the sofa, but her feet, as if with a will of their own, carried her towards the bed instead. She sat down quietly on its edge.

A strange, intense premonition stirred within her, like countless tiny strands of silk gently tickling her heart—something seemed about to happen.

Something... she deeply yearned for in the depths of her being.

Inside the bathroom, Hornet listened to the faint sounds from outside and slowly sank into the water until it covered her jaw.

She needed a moment to settle the turbulent emotions within her, and she needed a moment for the startled little butterfly outside to flutter back into the safe web she had woven.

————30————

Hornet stilled her breath and focused her mind, her consciousness sinking deep until it found that familiar realm of dreams, woven from pure light and shifting colors.

She pinpointed the most radiant presence with precision—the Radiance.

However, the sight before her was somewhat unexpected.

The Radiance was not, as she had imagined, weaving grand dreams. Instead, she was lying prone, utterly absorbed before a game board made of flowing aurora.

Her opponents were nothing short of illustrious.

Unn of the Green Path, whose pieces were mossy plants glowing with a soft green light.

Grimm, Nightmare King of the Troupe, whose pieces were Nightmare minions pulsing with baleful flame.

And the Lord of Shadow, from the Abyss, whose pieces were simply small, writhing spheres of darkness that devoured the light.

As for the Radiance, Goddess of Light, her pieces were fluffy, miniature moths.

They seemed to be playing a game that resembled... Ludo?

"Six! I rolled a six!" the Radiance exclaimed excitedly, her piece of condensed light zipping forward six spaces, threateningly close to one of Grimm's pieces.

"Hmph." Grimm let out a low grunt, tossing the dice himself—a perfect "four."

Another of his Nightmare pieces moved, landing squarely on the Radiance's cute moth piece, "capturing" it and mercilessly sending it back to the starting line.

"No—!" the Radiance wailed, her brilliant light dimming momentarily. "Not again!"

In stark contrast to her misfortune was Unn.

Her luck seemed average, her dice rolls modest, but her plant pieces always managed to nimbly evade every dangerous square, as if blessed by fate, advancing steadily across the board, never once "eaten" by any god.

Grimm's dice, meanwhile, seemed bound by some pattern, always landing on even numbers like two, four, or six, carrying a precise rhythm.

The most unpredictable was the Lord of Shadow. Its turns were filled with uncertainty.

Sometimes it would roll astonishingly high numbers, its dark pieces spreading like a plague, consecutively devouring the pieces of both the Radiance and Grimm.

Other times, it seemed plagued by misfortune, rolling pitifully low numbers, leaving that mass of profound darkness to writhe futilely near the starting line, unable to even cross the "threshold."

"Your turn. Stop daydreaming." Grimm's crimson eyes glanced toward the Radiance, who had just been "killed" and was respawning, urging her on.

"So noisy! I know!" the Radiance retorted irritably, only then noticing Hornet standing quietly to the side for some time. Her tone immediately took on a hint of embarrassment at being caught. "...Child, what brings you here?"

"Lady Radiance, I have a matter I wish to seek your advice on," Hornet said respectfully.

The Radiance put down the dice in her hand, her eyes narrowing with pleasure. "It's been so long since you last came to me. Have you encountered another difficult problem?" She deliberately lowered her voice, asking with a touch of playfulness: "It must be that Wyrm is useless, so you have no choice but to seek my help, right~"

Facing the Light God's undisguised smugness, Hornet maintained proper decorum: "Actually, I believe you, as a deity, possess great approachability and inclusiveness. The predicament I currently face requires your..."

Before she could finish speaking, she suddenly felt herself grow weightless.

The previously silent the Lord of Shadow extended tendrils of condensed darkness, gently lifting her up before those immense, starry eyes.

(Little sister, it has been too long since I last saw you.)

A warm, familiar thought resonated directly in Hornet's mind, carrying joy and a tinge of loneliness.

Hornet's cold mask softened. She reached out to stroke the void-formed "cheek," her touch gentle. "It has only been a week. I will return to Hallownest soon."

The Lord of Shadows, like a comforted child, gave her a soft embrace with the darkness before reluctantly setting her back down.

Hornet turned to the Radiance, subtly signaling with her eyes her wish for a private conversation.

"Ahem," the Radiance, understanding, elegantly stood and announced to the other three deities, "Well, I stand no chance of winning this round anyway. I forfeit. You may continue."

She led Hornet to a secluded nook woven from solidified twilight, where the soft orange-red glow separated them from the noisy game.

"Alright, we are safe here," the Radiance's light flickered slightly, brimming with curiosity. "Now, tell me, what troubles our little princess?"

Hornet gathered her thoughts and briefly explained how Lace had been frightened by the kidnapping, and how she was unsure how to properly comfort her after administering punishment.

"I see~" The Radiance's light grew exceptionally warm and soft after listening. "At times like these, the most important thing is to provide a sense of security. You must patiently soothe her emotions, wrap her in your light... ahem, I mean, in your gentleness."

She spoke like an experienced elder offering earnest guidance:

"Speak in soft tones, use more physical contact, like gentle hugs, or stroking her hair. Let her feel your unconditional protection and care. Trust me, with the right approach, you will surely calm her heart."

Hornet's consciousness receded from the dazzling dreamscape like a tide, returning to reality.

The warm water still enveloped her body, but the confusion in her eyes had vanished, replaced by clear resolve.

She stepped briskly out of the tub, dried herself, draped the red cloak over her shoulders, her face now carrying confidence and composure.

Lace sat primly on the edge of the bed, hands folded on her knees, like a gift waiting to be unwrapped.

When the soft sound of the bathroom door sliding open reached her, she immediately looked up, her white eyes shimmering with expectant light, as if ready to meet a storm-like "battle."

But Hornet's actions made her freeze.

The hunter didn't pounce directly as she had anticipated. Instead, Hornet sat down beside her, her movements so measured it was agonizing.

A warm palm gently cupped her cheek, the pad of a thumb lightly tracing the curve of her cheekbone.

The touch was too gentle, so much so that Lace felt somewhat unsettled by it.

"Lace."

Hornet called her name, her voice slightly lower than usual. She leaned in close, her warm breath ghosting over the skin of Lace's neck, eliciting a faint shiver.

"Have I ever told you..." Hornet's lips nearly brushed against the shell of her ear, her voice laced with a dangerous sweetness, "...that your scent is quite special to weavers?"

Lace felt every strand of her silk begin to heat faintly.

She feigned composure, allowing Hornet to linger near her neck. "You mean... how you replenish your strength by consuming silk?" It was one of the weavers' traits she'd heard about.

"Mhm." Hornet's nose lightly nudged her collarbone, as if savoring the aroma of a delicacy before tasting it. "But you are different. You don't smell like ordinary silk..."

She drew back slightly, her black eyes gleaming in the dim light, enunciating each word clearly:

"You smell like a freshly baked, utterly irresistible cream cake."

The words made Lace's heart skip a beat.

She watched as Hornet drew near again, and this time, a kiss descended.

But it wasn't the conquering kiss she had anticipated.

This kiss was as light as a breeze.

Like a dragonfly skimming the water's surface, it landed on Lace's temple, the tip of her nose, before finally, cautiously, settling upon her lips.

There was none of the usual dominance, only a prolonged and meticulous solace.

What left her even more flustered were Hornet's fingertips.

Those fingers, sheathed in hard chitin, capable of wielding a needle and manipulating deadly silk, now traced over her spine with astonishing gentleness.

Following the weave of her silken threads, they slowly, repeatedly mapped the terrain of her back. Each touch plucked at the strings of Lace's heart, yet failed to truly stir her.

This near-reverent tenderness stood in stark contrast to her usual decisive and direct demeanor.

She even seemed to be consciously moderating her breathing, making the soft rustle of her cloak against the sheets seem exceptionally quiet.

Yet, within this artfully woven silence, Lace suddenly raised a hand, pressing it lightly against Hornet's shoulder to stop her advance.

"Wait... please, Little Spider," Lace's voice held confusion and a barely perceptible note of disappointment, "what's wrong with you today?"

Hornet's movements halted. She drew back slightly, genuine puzzlement in her dark eyes.

"What is it?" She didn't understand why this comforting was being interrupted.

"You..." Lace weighed her words, brow furrowing slightly, "why are you being... so gentle with me?"

The question clearly took Hornet by surprise.

She blinked, stating frankly, her tone even carrying a note of obvious logic: "I felt the earlier punishment was excessive. Now I wish to make amends."

She believed this was a clear, logically sound, and well-motivated explanation.

However, instead of feeling pleased by this explanation, Lace seemed almost irritated, as if a hidden nerve had been struck. Her dissatisfaction became even more apparent.

She practically puffed up with indignation as she retorted:

"What I mean is, why are you so... listless today, with no strength at all! You soaked in the hot spring for so long, didn't you recover all your energy?" She even reached out and poked Hornet's solid arm shell, not too lightly nor too heavily, as if testing her condition.

Hornet grew even more perplexed and answered truthfully, "Yes, I feel I'm in perfect condition right now."

Physically robust, mentally focused—absolutely perfect.

Seeing that Hornet still wasn't getting it, a faint blush spread across Lace's face, her eyes darting away. She could only steel herself and reveal a bit more of her true thoughts, her voice growing softer and softer: "C-Can't you just... act more like a spider?"

The request made Hornet's brow arch slightly.

"I don't need to resort to any particular method to prove I am a weaver," she said, thinking Lace was questioning her identity or capabilities.

"That's not what I meant!"

Lace grew flustered, stammering as she finally squeezed out the secret desire buried in her heart. "It's just... you should comfort me... in a more forceful way!" The final few words were practically gritted out between her teeth.

The air fell silent for a moment.

Then, the look of confusion on Hornet's face melted away like ice and snow, gradually replaced by a knowing, somewhat wicked grin.

She leaned forward, her voice a low, playful murmur almost directly into Lace's ear:

"Oh—? So what you're saying is... you like it when I treat you more roughly?"

"!" Lace's face instantly flushed a deep crimson, the color spreading all the way to the tips of her ears. She jerked backward, crying out in embarrassed frustration, "Don't make me spell out something like that!"

Hornet chuckled softly, watching her with great amusement. "I thought you disliked being handled forcefully." She hadn't forgotten Lace's vehement protests against her restraining methods just a short while ago.

"Th-That was different!" Lace retorted, her neck stiff, but she couldn't meet Hornet's gaze, her voice muffled. "That was punishment! This is... is comfort! The situation is completely different!"

Every word she spoke now felt drenched in an unspeakable shame, making Lace wish she could sink right through the floor.

"Alright," Hornet finally relented, her tone shifting to one of complete control. "Since you insist..."

Before the words had fully faded, from beneath her red cloak, several grey-green roots emerged like awakening vines, silent and stealthy.

Full of vital energy, they slowly, inexorably coiled around Lace's wrists, ankles, waist... loop after loop, never hurting her, yet utterly stripping her of the ability to move freely.

The roots gently lifted her body, suspending her above the bed. She hung in mid-air like a butterfly caught in a spider's web.

Hornet's eyes gleamed with a predator's light in the dimness, offering one last chance:

"You can still regret this now."

Lace's heart hammered in her chest, a mix of nervousness and some indescribable anticipation.

Summoning the last shreds of her courage, she met Hornet's gaze and said defiantly:

"How would I know what to regret without trying it first?"

The curve of Hornet's smile deepened, a grin full of wildness and possession.

"Good," she declared, her voice leaving no room for doubt. "You chose this yourself."

Chapter Text

————31————

The train had passed through swamps and valleys, and was now speeding across a vast plain, offering some of the finest scenery along the entire route.

Phantom leaned against the window in the junction between carriages, her gaze sweeping over the fleeting wilderness and the herds of running beast-bugs outside. She enjoyed this detached observation; it helped settle her tumultuous thoughts.

However, a strange sensation of being watched, like a cold, viscous fluid, lightly adhered to her right side.

The feeling was extremely faint, fleeting, yet it precisely triggered Phantom's sharp nerves.

She didn't turn around immediately, maintaining her posture of enjoying the view, but all her senses were instantly heightened to their peak.

Her peripheral vision, the flow of air, even the most minuscule sounds from behind—all became data points constructing her mental map of the surroundings.

A moment later, as if on a casual whim, she naturally turned towards her right and reached out to open the connecting door to the adjacent carriage.

The scene inside was utterly ordinary.

Passengers sat in their seats in various states—some dozing, others staring blankly out the windows, some conversing in low tones.

No unusual gaze met hers; the prickling sensation from a moment ago seemed to have been just her imagination.

Phantom's eyes, like the most precise scanners, swept swiftly and discreetly over every face, every corner.

A few seconds later, she gently closed the door as if she had merely been checking the route.

Perhaps I was overthinking it, she thought. Maybe the pre-performance nerves and her worries about her sister had left her a bit too on edge.

She shook her head and turned to walk back towards Hornet's private carriage.

Just as the connecting door clicked softly shut and Phantom's figure vanished behind it—

From the shadows of a seat near the front, a "passenger" who had seemed deeply asleep slowly raised his head.

His hood was pulled low, revealing only a jawline clenched tight.

His gaze, like that of a Stilkin lurking in the depths of a swamp, fixed with ominous intensity on the direction Phantom had left, and did not waver for a long time.

Judging that enough time had passed, Phantom smoothed non-existent wrinkles from her clothes outside the carriage and rapped lightly on the door three times.

Only after Hornet's calm "Come in" sounded from within did she push the door open.

The scene inside wasn't vastly different from when she had left, though the air carried the faint, dissipating scent of silk, and one could almost see tiny, lingering motes of it drifting in the air.

Her gaze first fell upon Hornet at the desk. The hunter had her back to her, meticulously maintaining her weapons—the lethal needle.

Her movements were methodical, her red cloak swaying slightly. Her posture was no different from usual, as if nothing at all had just transpired in the room.

She polished her weapons with meticulous care, her red cloak swaying faintly. Her demeanor was no different from usual, as if nothing had just happened in the room.

However, when Phantom's gaze shifted to the spacious bed, she understood everything.

Lace lay there as if asleep.

But "unconscious" was a more fitting description than slumber.

She resembled a soft puppet whose bones had been entirely removed, her white hair splayed messily across the pillow, a faint blush still lingering on her cheeks.

One arm hung limply over the edge of the bed, fingers slightly curled, as if they had been trying to grasp at something even at the last moment.

Her breathing was deep and heavy, clearly indicating she had completely lost consciousness, submerged in profound exhaustion.

The entire scene exuded a sense of utterly defenseless vulnerability, the kind that follows being thoroughly "used."

Phantom's steps halted for a moment at the doorway.

Her calm eyes swept once between the unhurried back at the desk and the utterly "oblivious" body on the bed.

She asked nothing. Instead, she walked quietly to the bedside, deftly picked up the thin blanket that had slipped down, and draped it over Lace again, carefully tucking in the corners.

Then, she turned to Hornet and said, with a tone of understanding, "No wonder your bellhome required additional stabilizing fixtures."

It takes considerable force to set a large bell swinging, even if it's suspended mid-air.

Hornet's needle-polishing motions didn't falter in the slightest. Without looking up, she replied in an even, unmodulated voice:

"She requested it."

Her tone held no inflection, as if she were merely stating an objective fact.

Though Hornet's exterior was unruffled, inwardly she felt a flicker of unease, worried Phantom might discern something from the details.

Phantom, however, didn't notice Hornet's internal state. She simply glanced back at Lace and shook her head with a mixture of resignation and amusement.

To be so clearly "overmatched," yet ultimately "get exactly what she wished for"... it was hard to say whether one should be pleased or concerned.

She said no more, turning instead to pour herself a glass of water before settling into the sofa farther from the bed and picking up her unfinished script once more.

————32————

Under the grand dome of the Hallownest station, a river of bugs flowed ceaselessly.

Passengers with all manner of luggage disembarked from the train one after another, merging into the bustling crowd.

Hornet's group also stepped onto the platform with the flow.

She surveyed her surroundings: the wide, bright hall, the clearly marked glowing signs, and the uniformly dressed guides—all of it was starkly different from the more decayed Hallownest of her memory.

She didn't need to see the entire capital city; just the scale and order of this transportation hub allowed her to imagine how much more prosperous and flourishing Hallownest had become under her father Wyrm's governance and the advancement of weaver technology.

"We part ways here," Phantom's voice sounded beside her. She gently pulled Lace, who was still clinging to Hornet's side. "It's time to go home."

"Eh?" Lace was clearly reluctant, leaning back slightly in resistance. "You can handle all those matters at home easily by yourself, Sis. Why do you need to drag me along..."

Phantom offered no lengthy explanation. She simply leaned down and whispered a few words into Lace's ear.

Miraculously, Lace's previously unwilling expression softened instantly, even flashing a look of sudden understanding.

She stopped resisting, nodded obediently, then turned back to look at Hornet. The corners of her lips curled into a meaningful, somewhat mysteriously sly smile, and she secretly winked.

"?" Hornet felt slightly puzzled but didn't press the matter, attributing it to some private talk between sisters.

She nodded in farewell, then prepared to head for the Stag Station with the silent Second Sentinel to return to Deepnest.

However, the situation at the Stag Station platform was even more overwhelming than in the main hall.

The crowd of waiting bugs had formed a winding, almost impenetrable queue.

Hornet had no intention of requesting special treatment and was preparing to wait in line like any ordinary passenger when—

A clear voice, tinged with excitement, suddenly rang out from the crowd: "Look! It's Her Highness!"

The voice was somehow familiar, but before Hornet could locate its source, the surrounding tourists erupted like the surface of water struck by a stone.

Countless eyes instantly focused on her, and the crowd immediately swarmed, surrounding her and the Second Sentinel.

"Oh my god! It's really Her Highness in the flesh!"

"She looks just like the statue from the travel guide! Even more imposing!"

"Your Highness, c-could I please have your autograph? Right here, in this Guide to Hallownest!"

"Is a photo possible? Just a quick one!"

The wave of enthusiastic voices instantly swallowed Hornet.

She had faced countless battles and the most dangerous foes, but she was rarely confronted with such direct and pure admiration and enthusiasm from the public.

She instinctively took a slight half-step back, her retreat subtly blocked by the Second Sentinel's solid frame.

Faced with the guidebooks thrust towards her and the eyes full of hopeful anticipation, the usually decisive and composed Princess found herself uncharacteristically, and somewhat awkwardly, flustered.

Just as Hornet found herself trapped by the enthusiastic crowd, even considering whether to swing away using her silk from above, the Second Sentinel played a crucial role.

Its tall frame stepped forward, acting like a sturdy shield that deftly inserted itself between the overexcited tourists and Hornet. It didn't employ any weapons, merely issuing a steady, cautionary announcement: "Please maintain a safe distance. Her Highness is occupied with official duties. We appreciate your admiration."

Its presence alone was like an invisible wall. Combined with its authoritative tone, it cooled the fervent atmosphere slightly.

Seizing this opportunity, Hornet made a swift decision, whispering to the Second Sentinel, "Let's go."

She abandoned the idea of joining the queue, quickly turned, and strode swiftly along the edge of the platform.

The Second Sentinel followed closely, effectively blocking the few tourists who still tried to follow.

Only after rounding a corner, completely leaving the main platform area behind, did the surroundings grow quiet again.

Hornet let out a soft sigh of relief and adjusted her cloak, which had been slightly ruffled in the crowd.

Recalling the earlier scene, she still found it somewhat beyond her expectations.

"I should have stopped Father from publicizing my identity back then," Hornet said, massaging her forehead, her face etched with weariness.

As a watcher accustomed to solitude, it had been a long time since Hornet had been surrounded by so many bugs at once, and she found it difficult to adjust to momentarily.

She would rather cleanse another infected burrow than experience another "ambush" of autograph and photo requests.

The Second Sentinel's eyes flickered slightly as it explained, "Data indicates that public adoration is a positive indicator of ruling stability. However, the friend's safety and comfort are the Sentinel's highest priority."

Hornet shook her head, deciding not to dwell on it further.

She pulled her thoughts back to the matter at hand, her gaze turning towards the direction leading to Deepnest.

"Let's go, Gilded One. It's time to go home."

Yet, deep in her heart, a sliver of doubt remained—

Who was that bug in the crowd who had first called out her identity, the one with the familiar voice she couldn't quite place?

And that mysterious smile from Lace... was it hinting at something?

A faint intuition told her that this return to Hallownest might not be the simple homecoming she had anticipated.

————33————

The closer she got to Deepnest, the more Hornet's unease grew and spread within her like weeds.

She clearly sensed that invisible hands seemed to be hindering her journey home.

Blocked main pathways with unusual piles of rubble, seemingly accidental bridge collapses—these could still be explained away as mishaps.

But when a gyrating figure, shaking an empty jar and emitting piercing laughter, lunged at her from the shadows, it was far beyond coincidence.

The Collector.

This being, barely considered a void-kin, who should have been permanently sealed away in the Abyss for his obsession with stealing grubs and creating unbearable noise, was now here.

"Woo-hoo hahahaha! Woo-hahaha~"

The Collector let out a joyous laugh, then spread its four arms wide and charged at Hornet as if to give her a massive hug.

"Who released you?" Hornet easily dodged its lunge, deflecting the jar it swung with her needle, her voice sharp as she demanded, "And why are you targeting me?"

"Hehehe! Can't say, can't say!" The Collector nimbly leaped back, its jar clattering noisily in its hands. "A sacred mission! For the most brilliant... hehe... 'surprise'!"

"Am I the target?" Hornet pressed forward, her silk at the ready.

"Of course, you are! Why wouldn't you be? Hahaha!" The Collector dodged and weaved, shouting in its manic tone. "Everyone wants you! Because you deserve... deserve the grandest... 'performance'!"

"What is their actual goal?" Hornet swept his legs out from under it, then pinned it firmly to the ground with her knee.

"Purpose? The purpose is... Boom! Whoosh—! Hehehe!" Even pinned, it wriggled excitedly, its hands miming explosions and blossoming motions. "A 'surprise attack' that you'll never, ever forget! There will be many 'gifts,' many 'decorations,' and... hehe... a tremendous 'bang'!"

After attempting to communicate for a few more moments, Hornet felt a wave of futility. She released the Collector, stood up, and rubbed her temple.

"I shouldn't have expected to get anything coherent from a lunatic's ravings," she muttered to herself, watching him scramble away.

All that crazed talk about "surprises," "performances," "gifts," "decorations," and a "tremendous bang" sounded to her more like the prelude to a malicious terrorist attack targeting her.

Her doubts and unease grew even heavier because of it.

And this foreboding solidified into something tangible when she finally reached the entrance of the Beast's Den.

The den was empty. Completely devoid of any bug.

Silence.

A heart-gripping, deathly stillness had replaced the usual clamor.

Hornet, unable to believe it, hurried through the familiar corridors, pushing open door after door—no sign of her mother Herrah, no trace of the other weavers busy at work, not even the faint sound of breathing.

"Mother... Everyone..." An indescribable anxiety, like tightening vines, constricted her heart, nearly suffocating her.

A terrifying conjecture formed in her mind—could the "mess in Hallownest" the bandits mentioned refer to Deepnest being attacked?

"Mother, you must be alright!" she cried out silently in her heart, her nails digging deep into her palms.

She rushed into the central hall. It remained empty, but a faint, lingering sweetness hung in the air, and the long table still held a trace of residual warmth to the touch—clearly, bugs had been active here not long ago.

This did not reassure her; instead, it felt more like an ominous foreshadowing.

Then, her gaze froze—lying in the shadows beneath the long table was one of her fellow weavers. Their carapace was covered in shocking wounds, their breath faint, hovering on the edge of death.

Hornet's heart plummeted. She rushed over and lifted them urgently. "Hold on! What happened?"

The weaver, as if using their last ounce of strength, trembled as they grasped her arm, spitting out broken words in gasps: "Quick... get... away... from here..."

Before the words fully faded, they lost consciousness.

Hornet immediately began emergency treatment with her Soul Silk, then forcefully suppressed her surging anxiety and ordered the Second Sentinel: "Gilded One, you stay here and care for her! I must find Vespa to discuss a plan immediately!"

Without pausing, she headed for the Hive, only to receive even more unsettling news from the bees, all talking at once—Queen Vespa and the Hive Knights had vanished without a trace since yesterday.

The unease grew larger and larger, like a rolling snowball.

She then hurried to the White Palace, but the news she received from Ogrim and Isma plunged her into an even deeper chill—the White Lady and Wyrm had also simultaneously announced they would be away for some time.

All the powerful elders and allies she relied on had mysteriously vanished within a single day.

A wave of immense panic and a feeling of utter isolation instantly seized her.

Just as her anxiety was reaching its peak and she was on the verge of losing her composure, the silent figure of the Pure Vessel appeared before her.

It said nothing, merely silently raising a wooden sign on which a line of text was clearly written:

「Come to the Beast's Den.」

Hornet tried to get even a single clue from it: "What exactly is happening? Do you know who is behind all this?"

However, the Pure Vessel just silently held up the sign. Its hollow eyes showed no fluctuation, and it remained uncharacteristically tight-lipped.

All clues seemed to have been forcibly bent back to the starting point.

It felt like a clumsy trap, but she had no other choice.

Carrying a heart full of doubt, a heavy sense of foreboding, and a shred of the resolve born from being cornered, Hornet returned once more to the entrance of the Beast's Den.

She took a deep breath and shoved the door open—

Bang! Bang! Bang!

The sudden roar of party poppers erupted, and a cascade of colorful streamers fell from above like a cheerful waterfall.

The formerly gloomy den was illuminated as bright as day by warm lights and dazzling decorations.

"Happy Birthday, Hornet!" Lace's cheerful voice rang out ahead, her face beaming with a brilliantly triumphant, mischievous grin.

Hornet froze completely on the spot, her mind a total blank.

She looked around in bewilderment. There was Herrah and numerous weavers, Vespa and the Hive Knights, the White Lady and Wyrm... All the "missing" friends and family she had been so desperately worried about were gathered here now, smiling at her.

The Beast's Den was meticulously decorated like a celebratory hall. The sweet scent of cake drifted through the air. A massive, ornately decorated cake sat on the long table, surrounded by piles of gift boxes of all shapes and sizes, tied with ribbons.

"Well," Lace said, stepping up to her, seeing her expression shift from shock and panic to utter confusion. Her tone held a fond smugness and a touch of heartache. "You're always so busy with work, you forgot your own birthday completely. This surprise party was specially prepared for you by everyone."

————Little Easter Egg————

In a small corner of the party.

The Collector danced around gleefully, its empty jar clattering noisily in its hands, its voice full of pride as it sought praise: "Hehehe! So? I did my job perfectly, right? I successfully... 'delayed' her for a long time, didn't I?"

The Knight stood with its arms crossed, looking at it with disdain.

(You were way too weak. You didn't even last two minutes.)

"Hey! That's not fair!" the Collector squealed in protest, as if its tail had been stepped on, shaking the jar even more vigorously. "If you'd let me bring my precious ones—twenty Primal Aspids! Plus thirty Armoured Squit! Set up an inescapable net! I definitely could have held her for much longer! Hehehe! It would have been a magnificent sight!"

It gestured excitedly, as if seeing the spectacular scene of bugs filling the air.

The Knight planted its hands on its hips, radiating authority.

(And would I have let you hurt my sister?)

"......" The Collector's laughter cut off abruptly, as if it'd been choked.

It sullenly hugged his empty jar and muttered under its breath, "Can't do this, can't do that. This boss is so hard to please."

Chapter Text

————34————

Confetti fell like colorful snow, piling upon Hornet's head and cloak.

She stood perfectly still, her face dark, resembling a volcano on the verge of eruption.

Initially, the hall was filled with the excitement of success and joyous cheers, but this fervent atmosphere quickly cooled, as if doused with cold water.

The assembled bugs realized the guest of honor's mood seemed... not quite right.

A silent, oppressive pressure radiated from her.

At first, it was just a faint disturbance in the air, but gradually, countless strands of resilient silk materialized and writhed around her. Like clouds churned by a gale, their movements grew wider, more violent, as if about to transform into a storm of pure destruction capable of tearing everything asunder.

Just as every bug held its breath, believing her thunderous wrath was imminent—

She drew in a deep, deep breath, a sigh so heavy it seemed to carry the weight of the world.

As she exhaled, the restless storm of silk vanished instantly, smoothed away by an unseen hand, returning to utter stillness.

When she lifted her head again, her face bore a smile that could almost be described as serene.

"I am pleased," her voice was steady, betraying no emotion, "that you have organized this party for me."

She paused, her gaze slowly sweeping across the room, each word seeming carefully measured before being uttered:

"However, I would have been... happier... if the 'prelude' had involved less terror."

Despite her efforts to suppress it, the tense line of her jaw and the fleeting glint of cold light in her eyes still betrayed the turbulent anger lurking beneath the surface.

Herrah was the first to step forward, opening her arms and gently embracing Hornet's seemingly calm yet rigid body.

"Sorry, my daughter," Herrah's voice held genuine remorse. "We were only thinking of giving you a surprise. We didn't realize it would cause you such distress."

"It's fine, Mother," Hornet hugged her back, her voice muffled against Herrah's abdomen. "I'm not angry at all."

She lifted her head, her gaze sweeping over the crowd once more, her tone unnaturally gentle:

"On the contrary, I would very much like to 'properly thank' the mastermind behind this party."

"That was me," Herrah admitted directly.

In an instant, all the remaining anger clinging to Hornet deflated like a punctured balloon.

Faced with her mother, she couldn't bring herself to utter a single word of blame.

With a touch of helplessness and confusion, she asked, "Then, those 'minor obstacles' like the blocked paths and broken bridges... were those your arrangements too?"

"Oh, that," Herrah said offhandedly, pointing towards a corner. "That was the Knight's idea. It thought it would delay your return, giving us more time to prepare."

Hornet's sharp gaze immediately shot towards the Knight, who was trying to hide in the shadows, like two heated needles.

Its body stiffened abruptly. Its mask turned away slowly, inch by painful inch, completely unable to meet her eyes.

"...To be honest," Hornet's tone relaxed slightly, carrying a thread of genuine resignation, "those obstacles didn't really hinder me much." Her gaze swept meaningfully over the Knight. "Including that deranged void-kin you sent."

With that, she seemed to remember something, looking around with pure confusion in her tone:

"Strange, why haven't I seen that 'critically injured, dying' fellow weaver? If her performance hadn't been so convincing, I wouldn't have been so frantic about everyone's safety."

She had always been confident in her perception. Even under extreme stress, it was unlikely she would misjudge a creature's state of near-death.

The visual impact of the shattered carapace and the palpable sense of life fading had felt utterly real.

"That was Wyrm," Queen Vespa chimed in from the side, her tone carrying a hint of schadenfreude as she mercilessly revealed the truth. "Making an 'artistic judgment call' and providing 'on-site direction' in the heat of the moment."

Understanding dawned on Hornet instantly. She whipped her head around to face the Pale King standing in the center of the hall, her voice filled with incredulous demand:

"Father, please tell me truthfully—in this grand party of yours, no one was actually injured, were they?"

"......"

The supreme Pale King, Wyrm, ruler of Hallownest, upon facing his daughter's scorching gaze, subtly and very slowly averted his own eyes.

—— Three Hours Ago ——

Inside the Beast's Den, a scene of hectic chaos unfolded.

A massive cake, emitting a tempting sweetness, stood ready in place. But the surrounding decorations—piles of balloons, rolled-up banners, twinkling fairy lights—were still heaped messily in corners, not yet hung.

The bugs tasked with decorating, their faces and shells splattered with blotches of paint, looked disheveled as they scrambled frantically to speed things up.

Just then, a weaver assigned as a lookout tumbled inside, her voice shrill with urgency: "She's coming! Her Highness has entered Deepnest and is approaching rapidly!"

"What?!"

"How is she so fast?!"

"Oh no, we still have so much left to set up!"

Panic spread instantly, like ink dropped into clear water.

The bugs scurried around like headless flies. Some tried to grab balloons, others moved to hang the banners, only to end up jammed together in the doorway.

"Silence."

A low, authoritative voice, not loud, swept through the chaos like a cold current, instantly freezing all the disorder and noise.

The Pale King, Wyrm, slowly raised his pale hand. The chaotic scene settled immediately, all eyes focusing on him.

His calm gaze swept over the disarray, and he began issuing a series of clear, rapid-fire commands, as if directing a military campaign:

"You," he pointed to the worker bugs inflating balloons, "stop immediately. Box up all unopened decorations on the floor and hide them in the side chamber."

"You," he turned to the workers arranging the fine tableware, "move all the utensils and food on the table to the back kitchen. Ensure no trace remains."

"Everyone, clean the paint from your bodies immediately. Extinguish all non-essential lights."

Though puzzled, the worker bugs' long-ingrained absolute obedience to their King made them carry out the orders without hesitation.

The scene swiftly shifted from frantic preparation to an orderly "battlefield cleanup."

However, the core problem remained unsolved—how to delay Hornet, who was about to arrive home?

Just as the bugs looked at each other, unsure what plan their King had, Wyrm's gaze, sharp as a probe, locked onto a relatively sturdy-looking individual among the weaver crowd.

"You," he pointed casually at the weaver, "will play the part of the injured. You must keep my daughter away from this place, for as long as possible."

The chosen weaver stared in stunned disbelief, pointing a trembling finger at itself. "M-Me? Your Majesty!"

Wyrm gave a slight nod, his tone brooking no argument.

"I can't, Your Majesty!" The weaver frantically waved its hands, almost jumping out of its shell. "My acting is terrible! The Princess sees through everything! She'll know instantly!"

"It is of no consequence. Because..." Wyrm's voice remained calm. He snapped his fingers crisply, then gestured to the Pure Vessel, who had been standing silently by. "...you will not be acting."

The Pure Vessel's tall figure stepped forward in response. It faced the terrified weaver and gave a silent, slightly apologetic bow.

In the next moment, it raised its frigid Pure Nail.

"W-Wait! Your Majesty! Have mercy— Aaaah—!!!"

A piercing, utterly genuine scream instantly tore through the den's silence.

The surrounding bugs winced, turning their heads away or covering their eyes with their claws.

The White Lady sighed softly, using her gentle roots to shield her own vision, whispering, "Oh, Wyrm..."

And Wyrm merely watched it all expressionlessly, a cold, determined light shining in his eyes, all for the sake of achieving the "surprise."

"No cost too great," his low voice sounded particularly ruthless against the backdrop of the screams. "My daughter must be kept away until the party is ready!"

————35————

After Wyrm solidly took a needle strike from Hornet—a jab laden with reproach—the party's atmosphere finally shifted from slightly tense theatrics to a genuinely lighthearted and festive celebration.

The massive, artistic cake on the central long table became the focal point. At its summit, seven intricately crafted, lifelike sugar figurines of Hornet were particularly striking.

The keen Hunter, the swift-moving Wanderer, the scythe-wielding Reaper, the wild-roaring Beast, the tool-laden Architect, the dangerously enchanting Witch, and the deeply mysterious Shaman.

The Pure Vessel silently and efficiently took on the role of cutting the cake.

Its nail became the most precise cutting tool, each descent perfectly measured, dividing the cake evenly into numerous slices, neatly arranged on plates.

It carefully avoided the sugar toppers, leaving them completely intact and indicating that any bug who wanted one could take it.

Hornet received the "Hunter" topper, the one that most embodied her essence.

She examined this sweet representation of one facet of herself and took a small bite.

The crisp sweetness of the icing and the soft fluffiness of the cake melted in her mouth. She gave a slight nod; the taste was very sweet.

Just then, Lace sidled up to her with a sly grin and asked, "How does it taste?"

"Very sweet," Hornet replied succinctly. No sooner had the words left her mouth than Lace suddenly leaned in close and, with lightning speed, darted her tongue out to lightly lick away a smudge of white cream from the corner of Hornet's lips.

"!" Hornet's body stiffened, and she jerked back slightly, a faint blush instantly coloring her cheeks. "Hey!" she scolded in a low voice, clear embarrassment in her tone.

Though she inwardly acknowledged and cared for Lace, such an intimate and even slightly provocative act in front of her mother, father, sister, and so many elders and allies made her feel intensely embarrassed. Her hard shell seemed barely able to contain the heat rising beneath it.

Lace, however, was completely unbothered. She licked her own lips as if savoring the taste, then gently pressed her right index finger to them. Her eyes sparkled with the glee of a successful prank and a hint of something mischievously alluring as she whispered, "What does it matter?~ They'd find out eventually anyway~"

Hornet looked up in mild exasperation, scanning the room. Just as she suspected, the reactions varied, but without exception, everyone had noticed the scene.

Herrah's eyes held a soft, approving warmth, seeming genuinely pleased to see her daughter with an intimate partner who could evoke such different sides of her.

Phantom simply offered a knowing smile and a slight shake of her head, as if her sister's bold behavior was neither surprising nor unexpected, perhaps even fitting.

Vespa, however, assessed Lace with a scrutinizing gaze, her sharp eyes seemingly measuring the white bug's strength and potential, judging whether she truly had the qualifications and capability to be a reliable partner standing beside the Princess of Hallownest.

The Pure Vessel remained thoughtless and desireless, quietly continuing its duty of slicing the cake, as if the emotional ripples around it were of no concern.

The Knight was completely absorbed in the delicious cake, its head nearly buried in the plate, utterly oblivious to the "minor incident" beside it.

The Second Sentinel and the Hive Knights were engaged in conversation and seemed not to have noticed the recent event.

Further away, the White Lady was using her softly glowing, healing roots to carefully tend to the spot where Wyrm had been "kissed" by Hornet's needle earlier.

Hornet took in everyone's reactions, a complex mix of emotions swirling within her.

She glared at Lace, but upon meeting those laughing white eyes, most of her annoyance inexplicably melted away, leaving only a sense of helpless warmth, as if suddenly filled with sunlight.

After enjoying the sweet cake, the party moved into the most anticipated segment for any bug—gift unwrapping.

A mountain of ornately wrapped gift boxes stood before them. Hornet's eyes were first drawn to an extremely conspicuous, enormous box.

It nearly scraped the den's ceiling, making one wonder how much effort it had taken to bring it inside.

Curious, she opened it first. The sight inside made her hold her breath—it was a life-sized plush doll of the Radiance. Its golden fur cast a soft halo under the light, its expression remarkably lifelike.

"The Radiance sent this via the moth tribe," Herrah explained with a smile. "She said it could give you a 'solid hug' on her behalf."

Hornet couldn't resist reaching out to touch the doll. The fluffy, soft texture almost perfectly replicated the fuzzy appeal of the Radiance herself. If there hadn't been so many bugs present, she might have hugged it right then and there.

"She also considered the doll might be too large," Herrah added, pointing to a delicate small box beside it. "So she specially prepared a portable miniature version."

Hornet opened the small box. Inside was a chibi-style Radiance doll no bigger than a small flea. It seemed she'd found something perfect to hold while sleeping at night.

Next, she unwrapped an orange-yellow box patterned with honeycomb markings. Inside was an exquisitely crafted music box shaped like a bee.

Winding the key produced clear, tinkling notes accompanied by the faint, buzzing hum of the bee's vibrating wings.

"The Hive Knight and I prepared this together," Vespa said. "We hope its gentle melody can bring you a moment of peace when you're weary." The Hive Knight happily waved nearby.

A white gift box tied with pale roots contained a set of carefully formulated mask care products. "Child, though you are busy with governance," the White Lady said, gently stroking Hornet's cheek with her soft roots, "do not forget to care for yourself. Your mask has seemed somewhat dry and cracked lately."

Inside a red box lay a miniature statue of Hornet, every detail meticulously carved. The base was inscribed with the names of its creators: Sheo and the Nailsmith.

"Ogrim asked me to convey," the White Lady added, "'though we did not have much time to prepare a gift for you, our regard is as solid as this statue.'"

The grey gift box from Phantom contained a set of tool upgrade components, reflecting her consistently practical nature. "I consulted the finest architects. These should improve your efficiency when maintaining your gear."

The first golden box held a fragment of a beast's horn bearing deep claw marks, radiating a sense of primal power.

Phantom explained, "Shakra couldn't make it in time and specifically asked me to bring this trophy—from the Savage Beastfly you hunted together."

The second golden box contained a mechanical pocket watch assembled from discarded parts, each gear polished to a shine. "These are the components you, Friend, replaced for this sentinel," the Second Sentinel's eyes glowed softly. "This sentinel reassembled them into a timepiece, hoping to mark the time we have experienced together."

Hornet carefully tucked the pocket watch inside her cloak. "This is the most thoughtful gift I have ever received."

Finally, she picked up the pure black gift box. Opening it revealed a dark Void charm resting on the velvet lining, its surface swirling with nebula-like hues.

The Knight and the Pure Vessel stepped forward then.

(Little sister, this charm was forged by pooling the power of all our void-kin.)

The Knight conveyed the thought. (Wear it, and you are an ally recognized by the Void. No kin will harm you again.)

Remembering her previous peril in the Abyss, a warm current flowed through Hornet's heart. "Thank you. Although I likely won't have occasion to venture into the Void again, I will cherish this sentiment."

As the last gift was carefully put away, Hornet looked around, a faint sense of something being amiss suddenly crossing her mind.

It seemed a gift from one important bug was missing.

She instinctively turned her gaze towards the Pale King, who had been standing quietly to the side all this time.

Wyrm seemed to have anticipated her question. He stepped forward slowly, his massive form casting a solemn shadow in the den's light. "My daughter," his voice was low and grave, "I believe you have noticed."

Hornet stood up as prompted, a strange premonition—a mix of anticipation and unease—quietly gripping her heart.

She looked up at her father, waiting for him to continue.

Wyrm slightly raised his forelimbs, making a gesture that seemed to encompass everything. His gaze seemed to pierce through the den's rocky walls, looking towards the boundless distance.

"The gift I intend to bestow upon you," he declared, his voice carrying undeniable weight, "this den... nay, even the entirety of Deepnest... cannot contain it."

He paused slightly, letting the words hang in the silence. Then, word by word, he uttered the gift that surpassed all imagination:

"For it shall be—the entirety of Hallownest!"

The moment the words fell, it was as if a soundless clap of thunder had exploded within the den.

Herrah's eyes widened slightly, Vespa's frame trembled with shock, and even the usually unflappable Phantom wore a look of surprise.

Lace instinctively covered her mouth to stop a gasp from escaping.

Hornet froze completely in place, her mind a total blank.

Hallownest? The entirety of Hallownest?!

Amidst the stunned silence of the room, a crack appeared in Wyrm's majestic mask. He let out a low, distinctly amused hum.

"Just a joke."

He looked at his daughter's utterly flabbergasted expression, a rare glint of mischievous triumph in his eyes.

"Hallownest will always be your home, not your burden. My actual gift to you is—" He pointed out the window. "—I have arranged for the tram line to be extended to the Beast's Den. Your travels will be more convenient from now on."

Just as the bugs were still reeling from Wyrm's shocking "gift" of the entire kingdom, Hornet suddenly remembered something. She turned her gaze to Lace beside her, a hint of teasing in her voice: "Wait a moment. What about your gift?"

Upon hearing this, Lace immediately struck a pose that was all unearned confidence, hands on her hips. "I only found out it was your birthday recently too! It was so last-minute, how could I possibly have had time to prepare a proper gift?!"

She paused, then a brilliantly sly smile instantly bloomed on her face. She spread her arms wide and made to pounce on Hornet. "So I've decided... to give you myself!"

Hornet was bumped back half a step by the impact, instinctively reaching out to catch this enthusiastic "gift." She then pressed a hand against the restless white head nestled against her, calmly pointing out the logical flaw:

"You already belong to me," her voice held an undeniable finality mixed with a touch of amusement. "How can you re-gift something that's already owned, and already marked?"

"Eh?" Lace's movements froze. She lifted her head from Hornet's embrace, blinking, seemingly genuinely stumped by this logical conundrum.

But after only two seconds, her gaze swept past her sister, Phantom, who was quietly enjoying her cake as if completely detached from the situation.

A spark of inspiration instantly flashed in Lace's eyes. With lightning speed, she grabbed Phantom's arm and, before the other could react, yanked her forward in front of Hornet, announcing loudly as if presenting a treasure:

"Then I'll package my sister up and give her to you too! Buy one, get one free! That should work, right?!"

"?"

Suddenly dragged into the eye of the storm, Phantom, still holding her small cake fork, displayed a rare moment of blank confusion on her normally placid mask.

She looked at her sister, whose face radiated "I'm such a genius," then at the equally somewhat stunned Hornet before her, ultimately responding with a very faint, resigned sigh.

She didn't even attempt to free her arm from Lace's grasp, merely using her free hand to elegantly adjust her own mask, as if confirming the world was still operating normally.

As the "receiving party," Hornet looked at the "sister set" forcibly presented before her, then at the expression in Phantom's eyes that clearly read "I don't wish to be part of this childish transaction, but fine, whatever." Finally, she couldn't hold back a low chuckle.

Chapter Text

————36————
After the birthday party ended, Hornet returned to her cozy cottage.

After seeing Phantom off, Lace also made her way to Hornet's room, only to find Hornet seated at her desk, carefully writing something.

"What are you still working on?" Lace asked softly as she approached.

"The repair manual for the Soul-Silk Looms," Hornet replied without looking up, her quill moving steadily. "The machine's structure is quite complex. I need to make sure every step is clear and easy to follow." She let out a light sigh. "I'll also need to dig through the old design drafts later to verify the details."

Before Lace could respond, Hornet pulled out another sheet of paper and began writing on it. "And I need to assign someone to investigate what happened on the train, check if any suspicious groups have been active in Hallownest recently. These matters are rather urgent."

Suddenly, she stood up abruptly. "Oh no, I forgot to give Father the item Aunt Midwife entrusted to me. I need to go now—" Before she could finish, she was already heading briskly for the door.

In that very instant, Lace suddenly reached out, wrapped an arm around her neck, and with a clever application of force, pinned her back onto the bed. Hornet, caught completely off guard, sank into the soft bedding. The lumafly lantern swayed slightly from the sudden disturbance.

"Let me go, there's still so much to do..." she protested, struggling to push Lace away, but Lace used her entire weight to hold her down.

"You've only just returned to Hallownest. Take a proper rest for a few days," Lace's voice held an unyielding firmness. "Stop thinking about all that official business."

In the fragmented shards of Lace's memories, she saw clearly how, in another timeline, Hornet had mercilessly driven herself to catch up to her "future self."

Relying on her demigod stamina to push past exhaustion, that almost obsessive diligence seemed to have intensified in the present Hornet after the timelines merged.

"Even true gods need to rest, let alone someone who's only half," Lace whispered, the pressure of her hold not easing in the slightest.

"...Alright." After a long moment, Hornet finally relented. "I'll take the item to Father tomorrow."

Soon, cradled by the soft bedding, Lace was the first to fall asleep. Her steady breathing soon sounded beside Hornet's ear, and the arm draped around her gradually loosened its hold.

But Hornet's thoughts were like wild horses unbridled, galloping through the silent night.

Her eyes were closed, yet her mind vividly conjured up those unfinished blueprints.

The redesign of the signal tower was particularly nagging at her—currently, it only transmitted audio. If she could convert the signal to carry images, the efficiency of information dissemination across Hallownest would see a qualitative leap.

Another problem that had long troubled her was remote communication between Pharloom and Hallownest.

In theory, she could establish an ultra-long connection using silk, but this solution faced a dual dilemma: it would consume a vast amount of silk resources, and she had to consider the destructive potential of those burrowing sandworms in the wastelands along the route.

While she could request the Radiance's assistance in emergencies, Pharloom wasn't her domain after all. Asking the goddess to frequently project dreams across such a distance was truly asking too much.

These unfinished endeavors were like so many hungry grubs, waiting for Hornet to nurture them into butterflies.

Hallownest's development still had a long road ahead. Every technological breakthrough would bring some improvement to the lives of the bugs here.

Moonlight flowed like water, spilling quietly over the two figures nestled together. Gazing at Lace's peaceful sleeping face, Hornet's turbulent thoughts finally began to settle.

She had to admit, proper rest did allow the mind to become clearer.

With this realization, she unconsciously tightened her arms, holding the warmth in her embrace even closer. Lace, in her sleep, seemed to sense this affection, the corner of her mouth curving into a soft arc.

Yet this tranquility didn't last long.

Gradually, Lace's brow furrowed in her sleep.

A certain fuzzy, feathery sensation lightly tickled her cheek, carrying a sun-warmed scent. Groggily, she reached out to feel, her fingertips sinking into a cloud-like softness—it was the meticulously crafted Radiance plush, its fluffy fur glowing faintly in the moonlight, now comfortably wedged between the two of them.

Hornet, completely relaxed, had long since sunk into slumber, her breathing even and deep. She even unconsciously nestled her cheek closer towards the plush.

Lace looked at the fuzzy intruder, then at the peacefully sleeping Hornet beside her, and let out a soft, resigned sigh.

To be honest, she really wanted to toss the bothersome doll off the bed. But Hornet liked it very much... so it could stay.

————37————

The City of Tears.

Phantom walked alone on the cobblestone path leading home. Raindrops pattered against her umbrella, a rhythmic, tranquil sound.

Yet her heart was anything but calm.

That feeling had returned.

A clinging, unfriendly gaze, like a spider's silk hidden in the shadows, lightly adhered to the edge of her perception.

It was identical to the one on the train—not particularly skilled, yet marked by an unpleasant persistence.

She didn't quicken her pace, nor did she reveal any sign of noticing. She maintained her signature, elegant and steady gait, as if she were merely an ordinary resident out for a stroll in the rain.

However, her senses were already spread like a net, catching every subtle movement from behind: slightly hurried breathing, footsteps deliberately lightened yet still out of sync with the rhythm of the rain, and that sense of excitement, trying to hide but growing more apparent.

At a street corner, Phantom's figure seemed to melt into the shadow of the wall.

When the stalker hurried to catch up and peeked around the bend, a pale yet surprisingly strong hand had already settled silently upon her shoulder.

"Why are you following me?" Phantom's voice was calm, yet it carried an undeniable chill.

The one caught was a small ladybug, her red shell dotted with striking black spots. Confronted with the sudden restraint, a flicker of panic crossed her face. But unexpectedly to Phantom, that panic was soon replaced by a strange look—a mix of excitement and satisfaction.

"Lady Tearling! It really is you!" The ladybug's voice trembled, not entirely from fear, but more like the incoherence of a fan meeting their idol. "I... I'm Yumi! Please don't misunderstand! I'm not a bad bug!"

Phantom slightly furrowed her brow, her surprise genuine.

"You recognize me?"

When she performed on stage, she always wore elaborate costumes and a meticulously crafted mask. This was a specific request she had made to the theater, precisely to prevent fans from learning her true identity and to maintain her peaceful life.

Yumi nodded vigorously, a proud light shining in her eyes. "It's my special talent! I can recognize bugs by their walking posture, their silhouette, even tiny habitual movements. You walk with your shoulders and back perfectly straight, your steps perfectly even, carrying a unique sense of rhythm... just like on stage! I could never mistake it!"

Her words tumbled out in a rush of admiration. "I've seen all your performances! Your sorrow in Elegy of the Abyss shattered my heart, your radiance in Dance of the Blazing Sun awed me... You are the Nightingale of the City of Tears, the true 'Tearling'! I... I adore your performances so much!"

"P-Please, would you be willing to give me an autograph?"

Phantom looked at the little ladybug before her, its antennae quivering with excitement. The pure, unadulterated admiration shining in its eyes made the faint irritation that had risen from being followed quietly dissipate.

Her masked face revealed no expression, but her voice carried a trace of an almost imperceptibly soft amusement.

"That can be arranged," she agreed softly. "However, in exchange..." She leaned forward slightly. The sudden closeness made Yumi hold her breath. "I wish for this appearance of mine to remain a secret between us alone. Can you keep it for me?"

It wasn't a request, it felt more like a gentle entrustment, a special privilege belonging solely to the "one who knows."
Yumi felt a rush of blood to her head. She straightened up abruptly, and in her extreme excitement, her forelimbs flailed awkwardly for a moment before she tightly clasped them over her chest, adopting an extremely solemn, almost oath-like posture.

Her voice rose with utmost sincerity, even carrying a hint of a sob:

"I will! I swear on my life, I will never reveal your true face to another bug! Otherwise, may my shell crack under the blazing sun, and my soul never find peace!"

With that, Yumi sprang into action, albeit a bit clumsily.

She tugged over her seemingly bulky little satchel. In her haste, the zipper caught for a moment, prompting a small, distressed whimper.

Finally getting it open, she carefully rummaged inside—among some small trinkets were old, well-preserved opera playbills. Eventually, she retrieved a hard-backed autograph board, impeccably preserved and wrapped in soft velvet, along with a pen that looked quite expensive and was polished to a shine.

She meticulously wiped away non-existent dust with a forelimb before presenting them to Phantom with both hands, as if offering a tribute, her manner utterly reverent.

Those bright, shining eyes were fixed unblinkingly on Phantom's hand, about to move, filled with endless anticipation.

Phantom took them and smoothly signed her stage name—"Tearling"—on the board, her penmanship elegant and distinctive.

She handed the autograph board back to Yumi. "Thank you for your admiration," her voice returning to its usual calm. "Now, it's late. You should head home."

Yumi clutched the board tightly, as if holding a priceless treasure, her face beaming with irrepressible joy. She gave Phantom a deep bow before skipping away, looking back every few steps.

Watching the small red figure disappear into the curtain of rain, Phantom gave a slight shake of her head, treating this encounter as a minor interlude.

She righted her umbrella and continued towards home, the faint suspicion in her heart temporarily settled.

Meanwhile, Yumi did not head towards the well-lit main road leading to the residential district. Instead, hugging the autograph board and humming a fragment from one of Phantom's operas, she turned into an increasingly secluded, dimly lit alley.

She expertly parted a curtain of camouflaging vines, revealing a narrow crevice behind, just wide enough for a single bug to pass through, leading underground. She slipped inside.

Beyond the crevice was a different world.

It was a secret hideout fashioned from disused pipes and natural caverns. The air was chilly and damp, carrying the scent of rust and decay.

A few lumafly lanterns emitting an unstable, ghostly light were the only illumination.

"You're late."

A cold, utterly emotionless voice sounded from the shadows. Another bug stood there, wiry in build, its shell a dull grey that almost blended with the surrounding rock.

Yumi, however, seemed completely unfazed by the dissatisfaction in the other's tone. She excitedly held up the autograph board, shaking it like a trophy. "Look! A personal autograph from 'Tearling'! I met her in person! She's even more elegant than on stage!"

A flicker of unconcealed disgust and contempt passed through the grey bug's eyes.

"What a pointless, meaningless hobby," he assessed coldly. "What about the task assigned by our superiors? That's what matters."

The infatuation vanished from Yumi's face in an instant, replaced by a cool, efficient demeanor that made her seem like a completely different bug.

She swiftly put the board away, her tone turning businesslike. "Rest assured, I've always kept work and personal interests separate. The task, of course, was completed perfectly. All the 'components' have been placed at the designated locations, guaranteed flawless."

"Hmph. It better be." The grey bug's tone eased slightly but remained icy. "As long as the plan proceeds smoothly, our dear King Wyrm will soon receive a 'grand gift' from us—one carefully prepared to shake all of Hallownest."

In the ghostly light, a sinister smile of impending conspiracy spread across the grey bug's face.

————38————

The Citadel, the First Sinner's room.

The air within was thick with the scent of paper and ink. The First Sinner sat at a desk, reading a newspaper.

Apart from important official announcements, it also contained some gossipy news.

· SHOCKING! The Reason Formerly Renowned Nailsage Sly Abandoned the Nail to Go Into Business Was...

(Reported by Beetle, Staff Reporter) Recently, our reporter conducted an exclusive interview with former Nailsage Sly. This legendary figure, who once ran a dojo in the City of Tears and trained many excellent Nail Masters, now operates a general store named "Sly's Emporium" on a bustling street corner.

"It was actually a very natural choice," Sly said, polishing the counter while showing our reporter his latest shipment of scented candles. "You see, teaching an apprentice takes years, but selling an item only takes minutes. And..." he lowered his voice, "...these days, young bugs are more willing to spend 500 Geo on a glowing brooch than 5,000 Geo to learn how to swing a nail."

When asked if he would ever return to his former profession, Sly shook his head, pointing to the somewhat dusty nail hanging on the wall. "Hallownest is peaceful now, and that's good. Besides, I've found running a shop is actually quite similar to training apprentices—both require patience, both require understanding the customer's needs, and most importantly..." he gave a shrewd smile, "...you have to learn how to haggle."

It is reported that Sly's shop is currently running a "buy three, get one free" promotion, accepting various ores, artifacts, and intact Hallownest Seals in exchange.

• EXCLUSIVE REVEAL! Does the Pale King Have Multiple Illegitimate Children?!

(Report by our Special Correspondent, Glowfly) Recently, our publication has received tips from multiple readers claiming to have witnessed mysterious white figures resembling the Pale King's form in various parts of Hallownest.

These figures are taciturn, move with agility, and all bear the signature pale mask.

A Stag who wished to remain anonymous stated: "I often transport these 'special passengers.' They never speak, simply sitting quietly in a corner, but that innate, majestic aura is impossible to mask."

Another City of Tears guard revealed: "I once saw one of these white figures standing motionless in the rain, letting the water wash over its body. That stoic resilience was simply identical to His Majesty's."

Although the royal court has yet to issue an official response, seasoned royal observers analyze that these mysterious figures are likely descendants left by Pale King in his earlier years. "Considering His Majesty's lofty status, these offspring may have been scattered abroad due to certain special circumstances."

It is noteworthy that all observed "illegitimate children" share a common trait: absolute silence.

To date, not a single one has uttered a single word.

(Editor's Note: What is the truth? What connection do these mysterious figures truly have with the royal family? Our publication will continue to follow this story.)

• In-Depth Analysis! What Lies Beneath "That Princess's" Red Cloak? A Fashion Expert Breaks It Down!

(Special Feature by our Fashion Observer, Chrysalis) As is widely known, Princess Hornet's red cloak has become a fashion icon of Hallownest.

This cloak not only signifies her noble status but has also sparked a fashion trend within Hallownest that equally values functionality and aesthetics, thanks to its unique, pragmatic design.

According to an insider source, this seemingly simple cloak actually contains hidden complexities. The interior is meticulously designed with at least six concealed pockets.

"This cloak is the ultimate embodiment of functional aesthetics," the Dean of the Citadel Fashion Institute commented. "Every detail showcases the Princess's pragmatism and foresight as a ruler."

However, since we cannot meet with the Princess, the exact purpose of each pocket remains unknown. Our publication will continue to follow up on this.

(Preview for the next issue: We will exclusively reveal the special treatment process of the cloak's fabric and the secret of why it remains intact during intense battles! Stay tuned!)

• Grey Marsh Wing-Beast Crisis Resolved! Mysterious Elder Knight and Loyal Partner Show Their Prowess

(Emergency Dispatch) The giant Wing-Beast that was recently wreaking havoc in the Greymoor region has been successfully subdued. According to eyewitnesses, an experienced Elder Knight and his loyal mount partner joined forces and engaged the beast in fierce combat yesterday evening.

"Their coordination was flawless," a villager living on the edge of the marsh described. "The elder warrior's skills were precise and seasoned, each strike aimed at a vital point; his mount displayed astonishing stamina and courage, traversing the muddy marshes as if on solid ground."

The battle lasted less than half an hour before the ferocious Wing-Beast, which had destroyed several farmsteads, crashed to the ground. Notably, the Elder Knight did not leave his name after the victory. He simply checked the beast's condition before departing quietly with his companion, leaving behind only a reassuring silhouette.

Residents of the Greymoor region have spontaneously organized to express their gratitude to this mysterious elder hero. "We know who he is," an elderly bug said with a smile. "In this peaceful age, one who maintains such skill and chivalry can only be that legendary gentleman."

The Citadel's Ministry of Agriculture reminds the public that controls on domesticated Wing-Beasts will be strengthened in the near future to prevent similar incidents from recurring.

• The Art of Far Fields Hunting: Skarr Tribe Elder Shares Survival Wisdom

(Special Field Report by our correspondent, Sting) In the vast Far Fields of Pharloom, the hunters of the Skarr tribe have passed down unique hunting techniques for generations.

Recently, our reporter ventured deep into a Far Fields camp and had the privilege of interviewing a tribe elder, listening to the hunting wisdom he has accumulated over decades.

"The Far Fields are not a hunting ground; they are a classroom," the elder, who wished to remain anonymous, said, stroking the spear that had accompanied him for many years. "Here, an impatient hunter will always return empty-handed."

He shared three precious Far Fields principles:

First, learn to befriend the wind. "The wind tells you everything—the scent of prey, dangers in the distance, changes in the weather. A true hunter can read the language of the wind with their antennae."

Second, respect the rhythm of the land. "Every rock, every patch of flora in the Far Fields tells a story. One misstep can startle all living things in an entire area."

Third, know when to stop. "We take only what we need, never greedily. Remember, you are not conquering the Far Fields; you are dancing with it. If you slay a mature beast, you must spare the young in its nest; if you gather ripe fruit, you must sow seeds in that same place."

When asked about modern hunting equipment, the elder smiled slightly. "No equipment, no matter how refined, can compare to the connection between a hunter and the land. I've used my spear for twenty years, not because I cannot find a better one, but because it has become an extension of my arm."

It is worth mentioning that Skarr youth are blending ancient wisdom with modern knowledge. "Our hunting school recently added ecology courses," the elder's eyes shone with pride and satisfaction. "The best hunter not only brings back food but also protects the land that nurtures us."

(Hunting Safety Notice: The Far Fields region is home to numerous wild beast-bugs. It is advised that the general public refrain from venturing there casually.)

Just as the First Sinner was reading the follow-up report on the "Pale King's illegitimate children" with great interest—

Bang!

The door was flung open, and her old friend and colleague, Atla, barged in, grease stains from the workshop still on her clothes.

"There's been an incident!" Atla's voice carried a rare urgency. "That thing is missing!"

The First Sinner lifted her gaze from the newspaper, asking unhurriedly, "Which one are you referring to?"

"Which one could it be?!" Atla nearly jumped. "The sample we were supposed to send to Wyrm!"

"Oh, that." The First Sinner set the newspaper down, her tone as casual as if discussing the weather. "I took it a few days ago. By my estimate, Hornet should have delivered it to Wyrm by now."

Atla stared blankly for a moment, then let out a long sigh of relief, leaning against the doorframe. "So it was you... No wonder the workshop's alarm system wasn't triggered at all." She wiped her brow. "Good thing it wasn't stolen by some incredibly skilled thief."

The atmosphere had just relaxed when Atla suddenly remembered something, her face growing tense again. "Wait... When you gave it to Hornet, you did tell her the lockbox's combination, right? If that box is forced open..."

Her words cut off abruptly.

Because she saw a look of something like "hesitation" flash across the First Sinner's face, her gaze shifting away.

A brief silence fell in the room.

A muscle twitched in Atla's face as she squinted, pressing further. "You didn't... forget the combination, did you?"

"...I forgot it had a combination."

The two weavers stared at each other. An awkward silence filled the air.

Finally, Atla let out a heavy sigh and turned to leave. "I'll dispatch a flying messenger right now. Let's hope we're in time to send the combination before Hornet attempts... forceful entry."

The First Sinner watched her old friend's hurried departure and murmured softly to herself, "Perhaps... Wyrm would appreciate such a direct method of unboxing?"

Atla, already halfway down the corridor, obviously heard this. She glanced back with a look of utter exasperation. "That's a protective device capable of leveling half a lab!"

The First Sinner took a sip of her hot tea and picked up her newspaper again. "Then let's trust the next generation's ingenuity."

Chapter Text

————39————

The White Palace, within Wyrm's workshop.

Wyrm and Hornet, father and daughter, stood wordlessly facing a small box across from each other. Its surface shimmered with intricate white runes.

"So..." Wyrm's low voice broke the silence. His head tilted slightly towards his daughter, his eyes conveying a sense of helplessness. "...the First Sinner told you nothing? Not even a hint?"

Hornet stood with her arms crossed. The hem of her red cloak swayed with a slight, frustrated movement. She sighed, her tone carrying a hint of exasperation at her elder's unreliability. "Father, she didn't even tell me the box had a combination."

"And," she took a step forward, her fingertip hovering above the box, sensing the not-inconsiderable energy contained within. "Judging by the rune structure and energy circuits, the self-destruct mechanism attached to this is quite sophisticated and... temperamental. If forcibly broken, its contents would likely be shredded by the chaotic energy flow in an instant. Or worse."

Considering the First Sinner's forgetful nature, Hornet rubbed her temple. "It seems I'll have to find time later to make a trip to Pharloom and ask her in person."

Wyrm, however, waved a hand, displaying his regal composure. "It is of no consequence. I can dispatch the palace's swiftest flying messengers to relay the message. In the meantime, the box will remain here." His tone held absolute confidence. "With the White Palace's security, no petty thief could steal anything from this place."

Upon hearing this, Hornet looked up, her eyes holding clear amusement. "Oh? Really? But I recall the Knight once strolling right into the White Palace and 'borrowing' the Pure Vessel."

Wyrm's frame stiffened instantly. He let out a muffled, almost choked hum, clearly discomfited by his daughter's precise "reminder."

He turned his head away, his voice sounding slightly strained as he defended himself. "That... that was a special case! Though flawed, it drew part of its power from me. To some extent... it possessed partial 'access permissions'." He quickly steered the conversation away from this embarrassing topic.

"Ahem." Wyrm cleared his throat, forcefully steering the conversation back on track. "To return to the matter at hand. Regarding the train incident you experienced, I've already dispatched agents to secretly audit all cargo manifests. As expected, aside from some ordinary supplies serving as a cover, some items are indeed missing."

"What's missing?" Hornet immediately became alert.

"A highly reactive substance extracted from a specific type of luminescent moss," Wyrm's tone grew grave. "The quantity was small, but the purity was extremely high. It was originally intended as a precious serum for critically ill patients, but under specific conditions, it can also become highly dangerous."

Hornet's brow furrowed deeply. "They went to such lengths to steal that? What exactly can it be used for?"

Wyrm shook his head, a flicker of light from recalling the past passing through his eyes before quickly dimming again.

"If... if my ability to foresee the future still remained, perhaps I could give you a definitive answer now." His voice held a touch of melancholy, but he quickly rallied. "However, with only the existing clues, wild speculation is meaningless."

"What about the other investigations? Regarding the bandits' backgrounds, or any possible accomplices who might have infiltrated Hallownest?" Hornet pressed.

"All reports so far indicate that within Hallownest—whether the City of Tears, Greenpath, or the Royal Waterways—everything is unusually calm. There are no signs of any suspicious groups operating on a large scale." Wyrm pondered. "They are hidden very deeply, or... their organizational structure is more covert than we imagined."

Seeing the undiminished worry on his daughter's face, Wyrm reached out and gently patted her shoulder, attempting to transfer a sense of reassurance.

"Daughter," his voice softened, filled with undeniable steadiness. "Listen. Investigating these conspiracies, safeguarding the kingdom's peace—this is my responsibility. Your father is not so incompetent that he needs you to shoulder such heavy burdens the moment you return home."

He gazed at Hornet, his eyes holding both a monarch's authority and a father's affection. "You have done more than enough for Hallownest, for Pharloom, for everyone. For now, you can at least enjoy this rare period of leisure."

Under her father's firm yet gentle gaze, the tension in Hornet's shoulders finally eased slightly.

She was silent for a moment before eventually giving a slight nod. "Alright."

However, as her gaze returned to the rune-covered box on the table, and the memories of the train's peril and the missing dangerous substance flashed through her mind, she knew deep down that this "leisure" likely wouldn't last long.

A storm was quietly gathering strength in unseen depths, and she was fated not to remain apart from it.

————40————

Hornet stepped out through the solemn gates of the White Palace and immediately spotted Lace and the Knight waiting in the palace square.

To pass the time, the two of them were actually squatting by the roadside, playing a game of Old Maid.

Lace held her last two cards, brow furrowed, her eyes darting between the two cards held face-down in the Knight's hand, as if making a life-or-death decision.

The Knight, as ever, was silent. No expression showed on its white mask, but its slightly forward-leaning posture and utterly still hand holding the cards somehow radiated a tense pressure.

"This one... no, it should be this one..." Lace muttered under her breath, her fingertip hovering indecisively in the air.

Finally, she steeled herself and drew the left card—a King of Hearts. It paired perfectly with the last card in her hand, which she promptly played.

"Wah! I won!" Lace instantly jumped up, waving her hands triumphantly. "Yay! As long as the opponent isn't that computing monster Hornet, my win rate against other bugs is still pretty high with this game!"

"That's because you've had oddly good luck since you were small," Hornet's voice came from behind, carrying amusement. "But my victories never rely on luck."

The Knight silently gathered the scattered playing cards, then simply stuffed the entire deck into one of its eye sockets, as if it led to some extradimensional space.

"Do you like your life now?" Hornet asked.

The Knight crossed its arms, and a wave of clear dissatisfaction projected directly into Hornet's mind.

(It's alright, I suppose. That big oaf, the Pure Vessel, keeps stopping me from beating up Wyrm. If I could find a chance to give him a good, solid thrashing, then life would be perfect.)

"Alright, our busybody Miss has finally finished her first official task of the day. So, what's next on the grand agenda? Are you planning to immediately throw yourself into the next great undertaking? Perhaps inspecting the mines at Crystal Peak, or overseeing the guard forces at the Kingdom's Edge?" Lace's tone held a note of good-natured teasing, clearly accustomed to Hornet's relentless work schedule.

However, Hornet's answer took her by surprise.

"I heard a new playground was recently built in the Crossroads," Hornet said flatly, as if stating an ordinary itinerary. "Would you be interested in going to play?"

"Of course not... Huh?! Wait! What did you just say?" Lace slammed on the verbal brakes, almost convinced she was hallucinating. She dramatically cupped a hand to her ear. "Pl-a-y-g-r-o-u-n-d? You mean... you want to voluntarily go to a facility that serves no practical productive purpose, meant purely for leisure and entertainment?"

She quickly leaned in, reaching out to rap her knuckles not too lightly against Hornet's chitin-covered forehead, producing a crisp tap-tap sound. Her face was a picture of utter disbelief. "No fever here. Temperature's normal. So why the nonsense talk in broad daylight?"

Seeing Lace's exaggerated reaction, Hornet couldn't help but feel amused, tilting her head slightly to avoid the "diagnosis." Her tone remained even. "What's so strange about that? Haven't you been the one constantly nagging in my ear, telling me to relax more and stop focusing so much on work?"

"In theory, that's true, but hearing it from you is just bizarre!" Lace was still reeling from the shock.

"Seems you're not interested," Hornet said, feigning a turn to leave, her tone indifferent. "Then I'll just go with the Knight by myself."

These words acted like a charm breaking a paralysis spell. Lace instantly snapped back to reality, darting forward in a single stride to tightly wrap her arms around Hornet's arm, as if afraid she'd change her mind. She cried out repeatedly: "I'll go! I'll go! Of course I'll go! How can I let you and that little one enjoy such a fun time alone?!"

On the way to the playground, Lace looked at Hornet's signature red cloak and couldn't help but ask: "Hey, Little Spider, are you just going out dressed like that? Your color is so eye-catching, aren't you afraid of being mobbed by enthusiastic citizens halfway there?"

Hornet didn't answer directly. She simply raised a hand and pointed towards the bustling crowd of bugs in the square.

Lace followed her gesture and looked, surprised to find her field of view filled with a sea of red—bugs of various heights, many dressed in different shades of red clothing, from cloaks to scarves, and even grubs carrying little red backpacks.

A few young ones were excitedly waving toys made of shellwood that closely resembled the shape of her needle.

"This..." Lace was stunned.

"It's become something of a fashion trend," Hornet explained calmly, a note of helplessness in her voice. "With so many imitators, I actually stand out less."

The realization dawned on Lace. She clapped her hands together. "No wonder! That's what all that fabric in the train freight car was for—raw materials to churn out this batch of trendy clothing!"

The three "bugs" made their way to the playground ticket booth, queued up, and purchased their tickets—two adult tickets and one grub ticket for the Knight (even though its actual age likely surpassed that of most attractions present).

Entering the playground, they were immediately enveloped by the din of noise and laughter. Various amusement rides were scattered throughout the grounds: slowly rotating "Spinning Grubs," winding rollercoaster tracks, and a "Giant Swing" arcing high through the air.

Near the entrance was a designated grub zone. Many young bugs were bouncing on highly elastic fungal balls or competing to climb loosely woven nets, their cheerful laughter filling the air.

These mild attractions clearly couldn't satisfy their appetites.

Continuing further in, a ride with a long queue immediately caught their attention—the notoriously thrilling rollercoaster.

Its winding tracks twisted and looped high above, accompanied by waves of excited screams, a testament to its popularity.

"I want to try this!" Lace's eyes lit up. Without waiting for a response, she grabbed Hornet's wrist and pulled her towards the end of the line.

"Isn't your life already exciting enough?" Hornet allowed herself to be pulled along, her tone teasing. "Escaping from the Abyss should have left a far more vivid impression than this."

"That's completely different!" Lace countered. "I was muddled back then, with no clear awareness. I couldn't feel any sense of danger at all!"

"In that case," Hornet said leisurely, "I'll take you deep diving in the Abyss next time. You'll definitely get a full dose of 'thrills.'"

"Aren't you afraid I'd get infected again down there and turn back into that black version?"

"No matter," Hornet's tone was as casual as discussing the weather. "I'll just knock you back to your senses again."

Just then, the Knight tugged at the hem of Hornet's cloak, pointing towards a nearby snack stall wafting sweet aromas.

(Are you buying food? I can get it for you.)

Lace looked at the Knight curiously. "What's up with it? Not interested in this ride?"

"It's asking if we want to buy some snacks," Hornet translated.

"Oh!" Lace perked up instantly. "Then I want a bag of Crisp Fruit Slices and a Honey-Candy Stick! Thanks~"

Hornet shot her a glance. "You certainly don't stand on ceremony."

"Haha, well, you're certainly not short on money here, are you?" Lace said with a playful grin. "The Princess of Hallownest wouldn't be lacking for Rosaries in her own kingdom, right?"

"So, you found my money troubles in Pharloom amusing?" Hornet raised an eyebrow.

"Absolutely hilarious!" Lace nodded without any attempt to hide it. "Especially that expression you made when you wanted to rest on a bench but realized you were just one Rosaries short!"

"You know," Hornet's voice lowered slightly, carrying a dangerous edge, "deliberately provoking me might make for a difficult night for you."

"That's exactly why I keep trying~" Lace winked mischievously.

"Well, unfortunately, this level isn't enough to anger me."

"In that case..." Lace pretended to ponder, then suddenly flashed a wicked grin. "...I guess I'll just have to figure out a way to cause a little malfunction on this rollercoaster, add some 'extra surprise'..."

With that, she made a move as if to slip towards the control panel. Hornet, quick as lightning, grabbed her right wrist and pulled her back, a clear warning look on her face. "If you dare run off and cause trouble again, I won't mind tying you up nice and tight with silk right in front of all these bugs."

Threatened so directly, Lace finally settled down, mumbling quietly, "Alright, alright, I'll behave and stay put."

At the same moment, from behind a decorative thicket of grass not far away.

Buna, a reporter for Hallownest Gossip Weekly, held her breath, meticulously recording everything that had just transpired in her notepad. Her antennae quivered with excitement.

Though the distance was too great to make out specific words, the interaction between the two figures was crystal clear to her—the red-clad one (undoubtedly the esteemed Princess) and the white-clad one were physically intimate, showing no sense of personal space. The Princess had even actively grabbed the other's wrist.

That kind of natural physical contact was absolutely not the behavior of mere friends.

What excited her even more was the presence of a small, mysterious figure (one who had purchased a grub ticket) accompanying them.

Though its face was unclear, that height... that build...

"Oh my god..." Reporter Buna trembled with excitement, scribbling furiously in her notepad. "EXCLUSIVE: The Princess is suspected to already have offspring! Relationship with companion is undeniably close!"

She tried to calm her pounding heart. While there was no precedent for same-gender reproduction, considering the Princess bore the dual heritage of both the Weavers and the Pale King, making her a unique existence, no miracle seemed out of the question.

"Big news... this is absolutely the biggest news of the year!" She resolved to follow this story from start to finish. She had to unearth the truth behind this royal secret!

————Little Easter Egg————

The Knight took small, deliberate steps up to the snack stall wafting tempting aromas.

Colorful wooden signs hung from the stall, depicting various snack options.

Its gaze was first drawn to the small mountain of Crisp Fruit Slices.

One side of the stall was neatly lined with over a dozen different colored bags, each bearing a picture representing its flavor:

the classic fruit chip, a vibrant moss clump for moss flavor, a shiny cured meat drawing for smoked meat flavor, plus mushroom spice, fire pepper, salted tuber, honey-blossom, and more—an impressive selection.

Next, it looked at the Honey-Candy Sticks standing upright in a wooden bucket on the other side. These translucent candy sticks also offered many choices:

the classic honey flavor in a warm amber hue, fruit sugar in bright rainbow colors, berry in vibrant viridian green, along with mint, creamy honey, mixed fruit juice, and others, shimmering enticingly under the light.

(Lace wanted a bag of Crisp Fruit Slices and a Honey-Candy Stick...) the Knight pondered. (But... which flavors?)

Its small head tilted slightly before the piled snacks. The two eyeholes in its white mask seemed to grow deeper with thought.

Original was classic, but moss sounded novel, smoked meat seemed popular too, blazing pepper might be interesting... The Honey-Candy Sticks were the same—every color looked delicious.

(...) After a brief silence, a clear thought emerged: (Only children make choices.)

It took out the portable text-to-speech device it carried, typed a message on it, and hit play: "I'll have one of each flavor, please."

The vendor, a plump beetle uncle, was taken aback for a moment before asking uncertainly, "One of every single flavor?"

The Knight nodded firmly.

A look of surprise and delight spread across the beetle uncle's face. "Haha, certainly! You have excellent taste, little customer. Every flavor here is delicious!"

As he deftly packed one bag of each Crisp Fruit Slice flavor and one of each Honey-Candy Stick flavor into a large paper bag, he couldn't help but chatter. "But little one, while snacks are tasty, they can't replace a proper meal. Do the big bugs at home know?"

The Knight didn't reply. It simply handed over the exact amount of Geo required to the vendor, then extended its small hands to accept the snack bag, which was nearly as big as its own body and stuffed to the brim.

Turning to walk back, it thought, (This way, no need to be indecisive.) The Knight nodded, feeling wise about its decisive action.

Chapter Text

————41————

After the long queue, the three bugs finally reached the entrance of the rollercoaster, only to be politely stopped by a worker bug in uniform holding a height-measuring stick.

"Apologies, folks. For safety reasons, there is a minimum height requirement for this ride." The worker bug placed the measuring stick on top of the Knight's head.

Sure enough, the marker clearly indicated the Knight's height fell far short of the required line.

The Knight froze in place. No expression showed on its white mask, but a potent wave of frustration and resentment almost solidified, making the surrounding air feel slightly heavy.

(...Not allowed?)

The next moment, the Knight violently shed its small white shell. A torrent of Void surged forth from within, transforming into the immense, distorted form of the Lord of Shadow, countless void tendrils whipping through the air like banners of death!

Terrified screams erupted. The previously orderly tourists were instantly scared out of their wits, scrambling and tumbling away from the scene. The area before the attraction was emptied in an instant.

(Who dares stop me now?!)

A second later, Hornet's hand chopped down on the Knight's head.

Rubbing its head, the Knight looked up at Hornet sulkily. Hornet, unmoved, shattered its illusion. "I must remind you, even in your shadow form, the primary increases are in the length and number of your void tendrils. Your overall height does not change significantly. So, you still wouldn't be able to ride this attraction."

This was a detail Hornet had noticed during their "meeting" in the Abyss. Though its form within the Dream Realm was towering, what it could manifest in reality was much smaller.

Besides, if the true Lord of Shadow were to appear in reality, Hallownest would likely cease to exist.

"Pfft—!" Lace beside her couldn't hold back her laughter. She bent over, patting the Knight's shoulder, her voice brimming with schadenfreude. "Oh my, oh my. Who would have thought the mighty Void Deity would be barred from entry over something as trivial as height~"

"Here, be a good bug and hold our snacks while your big sisters go have fun. We'll tell you all about how thrilling it was when we get back!" Lace placed one of the snack bags on the Knight's head, her eyes full of playful mockery.

"......" The Knight said nothing. Its hollow eyes just stared fixedly at Lace, as if a storm were brewing within.

In the end, only Hornet and Lace were able to board the rollercoaster.

The Knight, holding its massive snack bag, stood alone in the waiting area. Even without an expression, the sense of forlorn resentment it radiated was almost tangible.

The ride started. The coaster slowly climbed to its highest point.

Lace was excitedly anticipating the coming drop. However, when the train plunged downward at incredible speed, something unexpected happened—

Her body was too soft and lacked a hard shell for support. Under the powerful centrifugal and gravitational forces, she slipped right under the safety bar across her waist like a slick eel!

"Waaaahhh—!" Lace's shriek was instantly swallowed by the wind and the screams of other bugs.

At the critical moment, a strand of silver silk shot from Hornet's hand, perfectly catching Lace by the ankle.

Thus, throughout the subsequent high-speed spins, flips, and rapid dashes, poor Lace swung and flailed outside the car like a terrified, released white kite in the roaring wind, her shrill cries piercing the sky:

"Heeeeeelp—! Liiiiittle— Spiiiiider—! Puuuull— meeee— baaaack—!"

Hornet struggled to maintain the stability of the silk strand, ensuring Lace wouldn't slam into the nearby support structures while also bearing the extra pull from her body's weight. The entire process was nothing short of heart-stopping.

By the time the rollercoaster finally rolled back into the station and came to a smooth stop, Lace, having been yanked back in, was already seeing stars. The world spun around her as she slumped limply into her seat like a puddle of melted white cream.

"I... I'm never riding that again..." she groaned weakly.

Just then, the Knight, who had been waiting below and witnessed the entire ordeal, ambled over holding the snack bag.

It stood before the now-prone Lace and tilted its white mask up slightly.

Though no sound was made, Lace could faintly sense it was experiencing intense satisfaction, filled with vindictive glee.

(Thrilling? Surprising? Kiiiiiiiiite— Seeeeeesteeeeer—?)

"......" Lace glared back furiously, but she didn't even have the energy to retort. She could only glare.

————42————

To accommodate the Knight, restricted by its height, their second choice was the gentler "Spinning Grubs."

The attraction resembled a giant rotating disc, fixed with many large, good-natured and chubby, brightly colored grub models. Their plump bodies slowly rose and fell with the disc's rotation, simulating the sensation of riding a real creature.

Though far less thrilling than the rollercoaster, the Knight seemed to have a particular fondness for this "riding" sensation.

It lay quietly on the back of a vibrant azure-blue grub model, its small white body swaying slightly with the rotation. Hornet and Lace sat on the back of a red grub beside it, enjoying this rare, leisurely pace.

It was on the back of this slowly spinning grub that Lace gently wrapped her arms around Hornet's waist from behind, pressing her cheek against the sturdy warmth of Hornet's back shell.

This familiar posture couldn't help but remind her of the "past."

The slightly rough texture of Hornet's cloak, mingled with her scent, subtly entered Lace's senses.

The surrounding noise of the playground—the joyful shouts of children, the whir of machinery, the distant strains of music—all seemed to fade away in that moment.

This close contact, the red cloak fluttering lightly in the breeze, this comforting warmth... perfectly overlapped with a fragment from the depths of her "memories."

Within that shared, fragmented memory from another timeline, there was no bustling playground, no slowly spinning mechanical grub.

Instead, it was beneath the vast, boundless skyline of Pharloom. They rode together on the great Bell Beast, Eira, galloping freely across the wilds and tinkling pathways.

The wind howled past their ears, Eira's heavy footsteps drummed out a reassuring rhythm, and she, too, had held onto Hornet just like this from behind, burying her face in Hornet's cloak, feeling that wordless bond.

Then and now, danger and peace, wilderness and playground... vastly different scenes, yet in her arms was the same presence that made her feel utterly secure.

Hornet clearly felt the warmth and weight pressed against her back. That unreserved attachment flowed through her like a warm current, penetrating her hard chitin shell.

A hunter's instinct had sent a faint alarm tingling along her nerves for a fleeting moment—the back was a vulnerability that should never be exposed to anyone.

Yet, another, more irresistible thought prevented her from pushing this weight away. It wasn't a lack of strength, but because... she, too, craved the tranquility this touch brought.

There was a time when she had longed for companionship. But her lifespan was simply too vast compared to that of ordinary bugs.

Even when she managed to form connections, she could only stand still, watching one figure after another fade with time, like sand slipping irrevocably through an hourglass.

And when Hallownest fell into decline, even such brief encounters became a luxury.

Among the ruins, finding a conscious bug grew rare, with only infected husks wandering the broken remnants. Day after day, she swung her needle, repeating a hopeless cleansing in an empty underworld.

When those shattered forms fell, not even a whimper remained.

In her eternal vigil, she had personally buried that yearning for connection deep within her heart.

To expect nothing was to avoid disappointment; to have no attachments was to have nothing to lose.

She had forged herself into an island, building a hard shell from duty and purpose.

But now, as a warm presence leaned genuinely against her spine, as another heartbeat gradually synced with her own rhythm, those frozen emotions began to stir violently within.

That yearning had never truly vanished. It had merely slumbered in the long solitude, waiting for a warmth sufficient to thaw the ice.

She could feel Lace's breath regularly stirring her cloak, sense the absolute trust conveyed by the arms wrapped around her waist.

This trust was heavy and precious, bridging the chasm of time, healing old wounds.

In that moment, Hornet chose to yield to the deeper impulse.

The muscles of her back, always taut like a drawn bowstring ready to respond to crisis, relaxed ever so slightly.

She didn't turn her head, nor did she speak. She simply maintained the posture, letting the spinning grub carry them along its gentle, circular track.

After getting off the Spinning Grubs, their attention was caught by another lively stall—"Dart Toss."

The wall was covered with circular targets of various sizes and colors, but they weren't stationary. Powered by mechanisms behind them, they slid up, down, left, and right along irregular paths, increasing the difficulty of hitting them.

"This looks kind of fun!" Lace was eager to try.

With that, she picked up a dart, took aim at a moving red target, and whoosh—threw it. The dart skimmed past the edge of the target and stuck into the wooden board behind.

"Tch, harder than it looks when they're moving," she grumbled, undaunted, trying a few more times with mediocre results.

When it was the Knight's turn, its aim was slightly better than Lace's, but not by much. After all, with the Shaman Stone, the hitbox for its Shade Soul was absurdly large, allowing it to hit enemies almost anywhere.

Plus, it preferred using its nail for close combat, and for spells, it favored Abyssal Shriek and Descending Dark. Its accuracy for horizontal projectiles was practically non-existent.

However, it was willing to try (and had plenty of Geo), eventually managing to win a small prize.

"You tried very hard, little one," the stall owner praised as it handed the prize to the Knight.

The Knight silently accepted it, then offered the small crystal ornament it had won to Lace.

Lace was genuinely surprised, pointing at herself in confusion. "For me?"

The Knight nodded. (I haven't seen little sister look like that in a long time. You did that.)

Finally, it was Hornet's turn.

As a hunter, her ability to predict and hit moving targets was masterful.

She didn't even glance at the rapidly sliding targets. She simply picked up three darts and, appearing almost casual, threw them in quick succession—

Thwack! Thwack! Thwack!

Three darts struck the bullseyes of three different targets moving in different directions at different speeds, all with uncanny precision.

"......" The stall owner stared at its now instantly emptied top-tier prize section, its face turning black.

After stuffing all the won prizes into the Knight, they moved on to the adjacent "Mirror Maze."

The maze, constructed from countless mirrors, reflected infinite copies of them, making it easy to lose one's bearings.

Lace felt disoriented almost immediately upon entering and nearly bumped into a mirror. "Which way is the real path?"

The Knight looked at all these fragile surfaces and felt a strong urge to smash them all, its small hands twitching near the pommel of its nail.

Fortunately, Hornet possessed excellent directional sense and memory, leading the other two out of the maze quickly.

After playing through this series of attractions, though not physically exhausting, they felt remarkably relaxed and cheerful.

Having had their fill of the rides, the three "bugs" were drawn to the lively prize draw event in the center of the square.

On a platform decorated with streamers, the host was enthusiastically shouting through a megaphone: "Use your playground ticket to enter the prize draw! A grand mystery prize awaits the grand prize winner! One entry per guest!"

They happened to have three tickets, allowing one draw each.

The line was long but moved quickly.

When it was finally their turn, the Knight went first. It reached its small hand into the red prize box, fumbled around for a moment, and pulled out a small ball.

The staff member took it, cracked it open, and read:

"Congratulations, young guest! You've won the Consolation Prize—a pack of Crispy Fungus Chips!" the staff member announced cheerfully, handing over a small, sealed packet of snacks emitting a faint mushroomy aroma.

The Knight took the fungus chips and retreated to the side, looking less than pleased.

Next was Hornet. She reached smoothly into the box and, almost without hesitation, retrieved a ball.

"Wow! Congratulations, esteemed guest! You've drawn the Third Prize—a set of discount vouchers for the Fluffy Sporebloom Tea House! Enjoy multiple discounts at our most popular tea house in the Hallownest!" The staff member handed over a stack of beautifully made vouchers.

Hornet took them, glanced at them, and casually slipped them into an inner pocket of her cloak—at least this prize was somewhat practical.

Finally, it was Lace's turn. She rubbed her hands together, full of confidence. "You two were just the warm-up! The grand prize is definitely here!" She took a deep breath, thrust almost her entire arm into the prize box, rummaged around for a long while, before solemnly selecting a ball that looked the most "lucky."

The staff member took it with a smile, cracked it open, and pulled out the slip inside. When he saw the words on it, his voice instantly shot up an octave as he announced with all his might:

"Unbelievable! Congratulations, white-clad lady of fortune! You have drawn the GRAAAAAND PRIZE of this event!"

As soon as the words fell, a wave of envious gasps and applause rippled through the crowd! A spotlight whooshed onto Lace, and the background music switched to a triumphant celebratory fanfare.

A brilliant smile instantly bloomed on Lace's face. She shot a triumphant glance at Hornet, as if saying, "See?!"

"And our grand prize is—" the staff member drew out the words. An assistant stepped forward carrying an object covered by a red cloth, "—an officially licensed White Palace, meticulously crafted by Hallownest's top artisans: The Deluxe Collector's Edition King's Idol!"

The red cloth was dramatically yanked away.

A King's Idol, exquisitely carved with imposing solemnity, polished from some expensive white stone, gleamed with a sacred yet cool radiance under the lights.

The statue captured Wyrm's classic, sternly upright posture, radiating undeniable majesty and authority.

The crowd's envy reached its peak. Many of Wyrm's devotees even uttered pious murmurs of admiration.

However, under the spotlight, the smile on Lace's face visibly stiffened, froze, and then completely fell apart. She stared at the idol emanating "paternal authority," her white eyes filled with disbelief and a clear sense of "...seriously?"

She didn't like Wyrm one bit, and was certainly not a devotee. This idol held even less appeal for her than a pack of fungus chips.

She silently accepted the cold King's Idol and stepped down from the platform amidst the staff's cheerful "Congratulations! Congratulations!" with a completely blank expression.

Returning to Hornet and the Knight, she directly thrust the idol towards them, her tone utterly flat:

"Which one of you wants it?"

Hornet glanced at the statue that bore such a strong resemblance to her father and decisively shook her head.

The Knight simply turned its head away, refusing to even look at it.

(Who wants a statue of that old fossil!)

A few seconds later, Hornet offered a reasonable suggestion. "Give it to the Pure Vessel. It would probably like it."

After all, the Pure Vessel genuinely adored Wyrm. Its room was practically filled with Wyrm-related items. It would undoubtedly be delighted.

Lace looked at the King's Idol in her hand, her face a mix of frustration and disgust, unable to hold back a complaint. "Whose idea was this prize?! The grand prize is less practical than the consolation prize! Who even wants this?!"

Meanwhile, far away in the Watcher's Spire in the City of Tears, Lurien, who was reviewing documents, suddenly and without any warning, sneezed.

Chapter Text

————43————

The Resting Grounds, within a certain warm cottage.

Zote sat with an air of great importance by the window, pretending to browse a menu. Thistlewind stood quietly beside the table, her antennae slightly inclined forward, maintaining a professional posture of attentiveness.

Without looking up, Zote tapped the table with the menu. "Do you stock premium whetstones here? The kind that can hone a perfectly sharp edge?"

Thistlewind shook her head gently, her antennae moving with the motion. "We do not."

"Well then, you must have cloak repair kits, at least?" Zote finally looked up from behind the menu, an expression of utter, self-evident certainty on his face. "My cloak suffered minor wear during my recent glorious quest. It requires the toughest thread for mending."

"We do not have those either," Thistlewind's tone remained calm, though her antennae instinctively drew back slightly.

"You have nothing?" Zote snapped the menu shut, his voice suddenly rising. His sharp, grating noise drew disapproving looks from several other customer bugs.

But he seemed oblivious to the unfriendly gazes and continued to ramble. "How can this pitiful establishment even stay in business without stocking such essential supplies?"

Having reached this point, Thistlewind's antennae were fully retracted to the back of her head. She stated earnestly, "Esteemed guest, this is a floral tea house."

Hearing Thistlewind's rebuttal only angered Zote further. "Why can't a floral tea house also sell essential adventuring supplies? Do you not know that Zote the Mighty himself can hold multiple roles simultaneously—an invincible warrior, a wise tactician, a beloved legendary hero! How can a single shop be so lacking in ambition?"

Perhaps hearing his unreasonable clamor, the sound of heavy footsteps approached from the blending room in the back.

A moment later, Markoth's tall figure appeared beside Zote's table. His powerful forelimbs were still stained with fresh plant sap. His deep voice carried a clear warning: "This guest would be wise not to be looking for trouble."

Zote wasn't even slightly intimidated by Markoth's physique. He immediately puffed out his chest. "So what? You have no grounds to expel a perfectly ordinary customer offering valuable suggestions! This is discrimination!"

Markoth's sharp gaze swept over Zote's empty hands and worn equipment. "You're right. We don't expel customers without cause." He leaned forward. "But if this so-called 'customer' has done nothing but ask questions since entering, and clearly doesn't possess a single Geo to his name—"

He grabbed Zote by the scruff of the neck. "—then he is not our customer!"

"Wait! How dare you treat Zote the Mighty—!"

The next second, accompanied by the frantic jingling of the doorbell, Zote was unceremoniously tossed out of the shop by Markoth, tumbling twice across the Resting Grounds floor.

Markoth stood in the doorway, dusting off his forelimbs. "Come back when you've saved up enough Geo, and learned how to place a proper order, 'Mighty' sir."

The door slammed shut with a bang, shutting out the pitiful vagrant.

Inside the tea house, the customers exchanged amused, resigned glances before returning to their peaceful moments, as if the discordant interlude had been nothing more than a buzzing fly that had accidentally flown in and been shooed out again.

Zote picked himself up from the ground with a scowl, vigorously brushing the dirt from his shell. He muttered phrases like "utter ignorance" and "failing to recognize true greatness," ready to seek out his next audience who might listen to his "glorious exploits."

Just then, the figures of Hornet, Lace, and the Knight appeared at the end of the path, heading towards the tea house.

Zote's eyes instantly lit up, particularly recognizing the small, white figure—the very "champion" who had won the ultimate victory in the Colosseum of Fools.

Finally, a perfect adversary had arrived to highlight his own greatness.

He immediately darted into the middle of the path, striking an exaggerated and teeming with openings battle pose. Pointing a single arm at the Knight, he declared in the loudest voice he could muster:

"Ah! You come at a most opportune time! Having just effortlessly dispatched the insolent riffraff inside, my limbs are nicely warmed up. Come then, you watered-down champion! Let us engage in a true contest between masters! Let Zote the Mighty test your true mettle!"

Lace watched this sudden, chattering figure burst onto the scene and rolled her eyes so hard it was a wonder they stayed in her head, her disdain overflowing.

"Tch, whose circus crawling insect got loose?" she muttered under her breath.

She had quite the "impression" of this annoying little bug. He had once tried to hit on her, and she, finding it amusing, had replied. It was as if she had flipped a disastrous switch. Zote immediately launched into a minutes-long, relentless barrage of his Fifty-Seven Precepts.

Even after Lace had walked far away, that irritating voice seemed to linger in her mind. It had taken considerable effort to scrub that noise from her memory.

Faced with Zote's provocation, the Knight and Hornet's reactions were strikingly identical—complete and utter disregard.

They didn't even break their stride, treating Zote as nothing more than a noisy stone by the roadside, calmly walking past him on either side as they headed straight for the tea house door.

Left completely ignored in the dust, Zote stared blankly for a moment before a wave of humiliation washed over him. He shouted at their retreating backs, unwilling to let it go. "R-running away? As expected, no one dares accept the challenge of Zote the Mighty! Mark my words, this is your loss! A monumental regret for your entire careers!"

To salvage his dignity, he immediately turned to a few tourists who had been drawn by the commotion and were watching. He thumped his chest plate vigorously and boasted, "See that? No matter how fearsome these so-called 'strong ones' are, none dare face a true legend in combat!"

A passing motherbug watched his pitiful yet determined display, shook her head, and perhaps out of pity, took a few Geo from her bag and gently placed them on the floor in front of him before quickly leading her little grub away.

————44————

Fluffy Sporebloom Tea House.

The moment she pushed open the tea house door, a wave of warm air, infused with the fresh scent of plants, greeted her.

However, what caught Hornet's attention more than the tea aroma were the fluffy creatures moving freely inside the establishment.

It was a paradise for lovers of all things fluff: mosscreeps from Greenpath crawled leisurely about, the emerald moss on their backs resembling a natural fur carpet; specially cultivated mossgrubs with all their sharp spikes removed curled up on specially made soft cushions, exposing their soft, moist undersides; and even furms and winged furms from Bellhart, having made the long journey, lounged contentedly at the guests' feet, emitting satisfied purring sounds.

"These little ones are all very gentle and won't attack guests," Thistlewind explained with a smile.

Hornet's eyes instantly lit up.

She had long heard about this tea house's unique feature. Now that she could finally experience it firsthand, she quickly reached out to pet each of the fluffy creatures in turn:

The mosscreep's back was dry and fluffy, like touching a pile of sun-dried moss; the mossgrub's belly carried a slightly sticky coolness, a unique texture; the frum's shell had the cool smoothness of jade; the winged furm's wing edges, though soft, still held a somewhat prickly internal skeleton.

Though none could compare to the Absolute Fluffiness Deity, each had its own distinct charm. The novel experiences further lifted her spirits.

After thoroughly enjoying the fluffy hospitality, Hornet finally made her way to the table and sat down beside Lace.

"What would you like?" Lace asked, shaking the menu in her hand. "The Knight and I have already ordered."

Hornet browsed the menu and finally decided. "I'll have a Soothing Green Tea and a Lumifruit Cake."

Thistlewind noted the order and left with a polite nod.

During the wait for their tea and treats, reminded of the commotion outside, Lace couldn't help but tilt her head curiously towards the Knight sitting quietly across from her. "Speaking of which, that noisy fellow outside was clearly challenging you, right? Given your temper, why didn't you just pull out your nail and start hacking away?"

The Knight looked up. No expression showed on its white mask, but it seemed to say something.

Hornet, sitting beside them, translated calmly. "It says—'My nail does not like to get dirty.'"

Lace was momentarily stunned before immediately grasping the brilliance of the statement. She couldn't hold back a sudden "Pfft!" of laughter, drawing curious looks from the neighboring table.

"Hahaha..." she laughed, rocking back and forth. "To think I'd find common ground with you on this, of all things!"

The Knight seemed quite satisfied with this reaction, gently swinging its little legs, which dangled in the air.

Just as Hornet's group waited for their order, the light at the tea house entrance was blocked by two figures.

One was the Elder Warrior Garmond, riding his loyal companion Zaza. He looked travel-worn, his shell bearing the marks of long travel. Zaza emitted a docile, rumbling purr, seeming quite expectant.

Thistlewind approached with a smile, saying apologetically, "Welcome. My sincere apologies, esteemed guests. The seating is a bit tight at the moment. Would you mind sharing a table with other guests?"

Upon hearing this, Garmond first instinctively looked down at his old partner, as if seeking its opinion.

Zaza shook its large head and let out a low, approving snort.

"Not at all," Garmond laughed heartily, his grizzled beard quivering with the motion. "A livelier atmosphere is better. Tea is always more enjoyable with friends."

Thus, guided by Thistlewind, Garmond nimbly dismounted from Zaza's back, and the two bugs followed her towards a larger table deeper inside the tea house, which already seated three other guests.

A warm, convivial atmosphere already filled that table: the scholar Quirrel, from the Teacher's Archives, was leisurely sipping his tea. Beside him sat Myla, the miner from Crystal Peak. Across from them sat the Viridian Prince, out on his travels, with some Hallownest local specialties placed beside him.

Seeing Garmond and Thistlewind approach, Quirrel was the first to offer a warm smile, elegantly gesturing with a "please." "We welcome the two of you to join us."

A playful light shone in Myla's eyes as she gently nudged Quirrel beside her with her elbow, teasing, "We were just guessing when our fourth tablemate would arrive. Talk about a double surprise—two came at once!"

Hearing this, the Viridian Prince sitting opposite shrugged helplessly, a friendly smile on his face as he squinted. He picked up the bill on the table and lightly tapped it. "Alright, alright. It seems today's afternoon tea is destined to be on me. A bet's a bet."

Looking at these three "tablemates," each with their own distinct style yet equally amiable, the wrinkles on Garmond's face smoothed out. He let out a booming laugh. "Hahaha! In that case, I won't stand on ceremony! Seems my luck is good today—not only good tea and new friends, but someone else is treating!"

Seeing the atmosphere quickly grow harmonious, Thistlewind also smiled reassuringly before turning to prepare tea sets for the new guests.

This table, which might have initially seemed somewhat crowded, was now brimming with cheerful energy thanks to this unexpected gathering.

————45————

The Resting Grounds, a secluded path.

Two bugs in simple work clothes were struggling to crawl through a narrow, damp passage.

Surrounding them were cold rocks and soft earth, illuminated only by the faint glow of their headlamps.

"Move faster," the bug in front urged in a low voice. "This batch of 'goods' must be delivered to the designated location before nightfall."

"I-I know..." the bug behind stammered, his voice trembling. He carefully shielded a small pouch at his waist containing several sealed vials that glowed with an ominous, cerulean light.

Just then, the unexpected happened.

The soil beside them erupted violently. A sandworm that had been lying in wait lunged forth, its maw full of sharp teeth gaping wide with a foul, stinking gust.

"Look out!"

The bug in front reacted swiftly, rolling to the side to dodge. The bug behind, however, was petrified with fear, scrambling backward in a panic. His pouch thudded heavily against the rocky wall.

Crack!

A sharp, clear shattering sound was jarringly loud in the narrow passage.

A blue vial slipped from his pouch and smashed onto the damp, muddy ground, instantly breaking apart.

The viscous, almost animate, glowing cerulean liquid quickly seeped into the dark soil.

Almost immediately, something horrifying occurred—the patch of soil saturated by the liquid began to visibly sprout clusters of bizarre, cerulean plants that bore an uncanny resemblance to butterflies.

They swayed slightly, emitting an eerie, fluorescent glow.

The sandworm, seemingly startled by this sudden transformation, swiftly burrowed back into the earth and vanished.

A deathly silence fell within the passage. The two bugs stared, dumbfounded, at the patch of blue, "butterfly-shaped" flora, the color draining from their faces.

"You... you fool!" The first to recover was a mix of shock and fury, his voice distorted by fear. "Th-This is highly concentrated 'Active Essence'! If our superiors find out we broke a vial... we... we're finished!"

The bug who had broken the vial had already collapsed to the ground in terror, his body trembling uncontrollably. "W-What do we do...?"

His accomplice stared fixedly at the unnatural blue patch, his eyes filled with struggle before finally flashing with ruthlessness. "Listen... we act like nothing happened! We just encountered a sandworm attack and sustained minor injuries... yes, that's our report! Let's go, get out of here!"

The two bugs dared not look back at the blue plants that seemed to be watching them. They scrambled forward, crawling and stumbling as if pursued by malevolent spirits.

Unbeknownst to them, the blue reagent that had seeped into the soil had not ceased its activity.

Like a living entity with awareness, it continued to permeate downward along the soil's crevices, skillfully mingling with the Resting Grounds' intricate network of underground water sources.

One of the pipes supplying water to the greenhouse of the "Fluffy Sporebloom Tea House" happened to draw from this very aquifer.

The tall and sturdy Markth went to the greenhouse behind the tea house as usual. He expertly selected a batch of the freshest leaves for the day's floral tea.

"Growing very well," he remarked with satisfaction to himself, placing the harvested leaves into a basket before leaving this vibrant, green space.

However, not long after he departed—

The plants began to mutate.

The first to show signs of abnormality were those recently watered by the sprinklers. Vein-like, web-patterned cerulean markings began to surface along their leaves.

Then, the entire plants started growing and swelling at an unnatural, frantic pace.

Stems became grotesquely bloated. Leaves twisted and deformed, their color shifting entirely to an ominous, faintly shimmering deep blue.

Even more unsettling, these mutated plants seemed imbued with a sinister vitality. Their vines writhed slowly like tentacles. Thorny branches sensitively oriented themselves towards any moving object. Some even grew "maws" lined with sharp thorns, emitting terrifying hisses.

The once tranquil and peaceful greenhouse had, within a remarkably short time, transformed into an eerie and dangerous cerulean jungle.

Chapter Text

————46————

Thistlewind gracefully brought their ordered drinks to the table.

Hornet elegantly lifted her teacup, taking a small sip of the soothing green tea. A refreshing, crisp aroma instantly spread through her mouth.

However, the expected sense of tranquil peace did not follow. Instead, she felt a strange, burgeoning vitality, as if tiny electrical currents were flowing through her body with the tea, sharpening her senses and even giving her an urge to rise and fight immediately.

"Hmm? This tea..." she frowned slightly. The effect was drastically different from the anticipated "soothing."

Beside her, the Knight couldn't taste anything at all. It simply held the teacup with both small hands, pouring the tea into its "eyes." No expression showed on its white mask, but its little legs, dangling in the air, swung happily, clearly enjoying the ritual of "drinking tea."

Lace had little interest in the tea. She was focused on demolishing the fluffy fruit cake before her.

The soft sponge and mildly sweet jam were highly satisfying. Only when her throat felt dry from eating did she reach for her cup of now slightly cooled tea.

The moment her fingertip touched the cup's handle—

"Grrraaaaah—!"

A roar, unlike any made by a bug, filled with agony and frenzy, shattered the tea house's tranquility.

At a table not far away, a customer abruptly stood up, his body convulsing unnaturally.

His eyes were completely covered by an ominous, cerulean glow. Revolting, translucent blue blisters rapidly swelled within the seams of his shell.

Without warning, he opened his mouth, bared his fangs, and viciously bit down on the companion beside him who had been trying to check on him.

"Ah! What are you doing?!"

The bitten bug screamed in pain, struggling fiercely. But within mere seconds, its struggles weakened. Its eyes quickly dimmed, only to be reignited by the same cerulean glow moments later.

The two "infected" turned their heads stiffly, their hollow, insane blue eyes locking onto the next target.

"Markoth!" Thistlewind reacted with lightning speed, her voice calm but urgent. "Get your nail and Dreamshield! We have a major problem!"

Instantly, the atmosphere within the tea house became intensely tense.

Quirrel's gaze sharpened. With gentlemanly yet swift movements, he placed himself between the threat and Myla behind him, his nail already drawn and gleaming with steady light.

The Viridian Prince shed his playful demeanor. He unsheathed his claws, a cold glint flashing from their tips.

Elder Warrior Garmond let out a low battle cry, nimbly remounting the broad back of his loyal companion Zaza. Zaza emitted a menacing growl, pawing the ground with its forelegs, ready to charge.

"Don't approach them!" As the words left Hornet's mouth, several strands of white silk shot from her palms like perfectly aimed lassos, instantly binding the two frenzied infected bugs in tight coils.

Yet, the restrained infected seemed to have lost all sense of pain, still writhing and roaring ferociously, their jaws snapping uselessly, their sole focus fixed on attacking the nearest living thing.

"No reason, only a desire to destroy..." Hornet's brow furrowed. She was about to lift them with her silk to suspend them. "We need to take them to the Archives for Monomon to study—"

BOOM—!!!

Before her words could finish, the rear wall of the tea house connecting to the greenhouse exploded! Countless thick, cerulean-veined vines, like rampaging pythons, burst through the wooden wall and glass, bringing a wave of soil and shattered plant debris as they surged violently into the room.

And Hornet, Lace, and the Knight's seats were closest to the greenhouse.

"Watch out!" Hornet only had time to shout the warning before her vision was filled with a tidal wave of blue vines.

The Knight didn't even have time to react. Its entire white, round head was ensnared by a particularly agile vine. Tremendous force lifted its entire body off the ground, dangling it upside down in the air like a small pendulum. Its little legs kicked helplessly, and its nail clattered to the floor with a clang.

Hornet reacted with lightning speed, slashing at the vines coiling towards her with her needle.

The sharp blade successfully cut through the vine's outer layer, but what was startling was the blue flash at the wound site. It healed almost completely in the very next second, not even allowing time for sap to seep out.

More vines seized the opportunity to wrap around her, constricting her joints and her weapon, giving her a suffocating sense of restraint.

"These things... their regenerative ability is too strong!" she gritted her teeth, struggling fiercely, yet it felt like being trapped in thick, viscous mud.

Lace's situation was equally dire. Her reaction was even slower than the Knight's, so she quickly found her movements restricted as well.

The sound of Markoth's heavy footsteps came from the back kitchen, breaking the brief, deathly silence.

The tall moth warrior appeared fully armed—his left hand gripping a metal shield that bloomed like a flower, his right hand holding a wide, hefty nail with a gleaming edge, better suited for chopping than thrusting.

Flecks of unwashed soil still clung to his shell, but his eyes were already as cold and hard as tempered steel.

"Catch!" he roared, his arm swinging forward.

Thistlewind's antennae twitched as if she had anticipated it. Her slender arm reached out and steadily caught the object flying towards her mid-air—it wasn't a nail, but a long spear crafted entirely from dark metal, its spearhead a point of cold starlight, creating a stark contrast with her furry frame.

The shaft felt slightly heavy in her grip, the familiar sensation instantly sharpening her gaze.

Without the slightest hesitation, the two partners instantly entered the fray.

"To my side!" Markoth's voice boomed like muffled thunder. He took a large step forward, shifting the nail to his shield-bearing left hand. The muscles of his right arm tensed powerfully as he violently thrust the Dreamshield forward.

Hum—!

The shield's concentrated Dream Essence surged violently, manifesting as a translucent, pale-gold curved barrier. Like a moving fortress wall, it solidly collided with several thick, wildly thrashing vines.

The vines' sharp thorns and cerulean sap struck the luminous wall with a terrifying hiss-crackle and dull thuds, yet they could not advance an inch, being forcefully held at bay.

Using the forward momentum, Markoth swung the shield sharply to the side. The immense force slammed several vines off course, carving out a narrow pocket of relative safety behind him.

In the very same instant the shield blocked the frontal assault—

Thistlewind followed up.

She did not use the spear's conventional thrust. Instead, gripping the shaft at its midpoint with both hands, she coordinated the power of her waist and arms, pivoting on her own axis to spin the spear horizontally at tremendous speed.

First came the howl of wind. Then, the spinning spear became a blur of silvery-grey.

The spearhead tore through the air with a high-pitched shriek, the generated gale strong enough to lift the surrounding scattered wood splinters.

This was no flashy, impractical flourish. The rapidly rotating spearhead created a seamless, lethal zone of severance—like a horizontally oriented, silver-sparkling metallic storm-blender.

This "cyclone" precisely sliced into the gaps of Markoth's shield defense, pushing against the thinner vines attempting to infiltrate from the sides, overhead, and even through cracks in the floor.

Shhhhk-shhk-shhk-shhk—!

A dense, rapid series of satisfying cutting sounds erupted.

Any vine that touched this silvery storm was instantly shredded into countless finger-length segments. Cerulean sap sprayed out like a violent downpour, only to be flung away by the spinning vortex of air.

Thistlewind's footwork was light and swift, moving in tight formation with Markoth. Her "blender" perfectly compensated for the weakness of the heavy shield, which struggled to deal with rapid, multi-directional assaults.

The two bugs fought as a seamless, unified entity, a defensive formation that seemed almost flawless. Yet several exceptionally cunning vines avoided the frontal engagement, darting out from beneath an overturned table with lightning speed to coil towards a few patrons who were frozen in terror, too slow to flee far enough.

“Look out!” Thistlewind caught the movement from the corner of her eye, but the range of her “cyclone” couldn’t cover the distance instantly.

Markoth, however, seemed to have eyes in the back of his head. While maintaining the frontal shield block, his right hand moved with astonishing speed to reclaim the nail. Without looking, relying on battle-honed instinct, he delivered a powerful, sweeping backhand slash towards the rear flank.

Swish! Swish! Swish!

Blindingly bright arcs of light flashed, and the ambushing vines were severed cleanly.

Simultaneously, the range of Thistlewind’s spinning spear extended to cover the area, further grinding the still-twitching stumps into pulp, ensuring they could not regenerate.

The terrified patrons scrambled away, aided by a clever, sweeping motion from the edge of Markoth’s shield that nudged them towards a safer zone.

In these split-second moments of their desperate stand, the once-docile, adorable fluffy creatures within the tea house were finally completely scattered and driven to flight by the overwhelming surge of menacing energy and the eerie blue light. They scattered in a panic, fleeing in all directions.

And at that very moment, Hornet's sharp eyes noticed a slender, blue root, slightly different from the other vines, slithering silently towards Lace like a venomous serpent.

The tip of this vine slowly split open, revealing a hollow, lethally glowing blue stinger, precisely aimed at the back of Lace's neck—clearly intending to inject that blue liquid into her body.

The realization struck Hornet with full force.

"Lace! Behind you!" Hornet's eyes widened in fury, and she struggled even more desperately, but the vines binding her only constricted tighter.

Hearing the warning, Lace whipped her head around and found herself face-to-face with the venomous stinger mere inches away. A flicker of fear passed through her white eyes.

In this moment of critical peril, a figure swept past like a gale, accompanied by a clear, resounding battle cry:

"Kassa—!"

A flash of white blade-light cut through the air.

Swish!

The main vines entangling Hornet and Lace were severed cleanly. The malicious stinger was also shattered into pieces by the white light, mere inches from Lace's skin.

It was Quirrel. He stood imposingly, his nail in hand.

From the severed ends of the vines, thick, cerulean sap gushed out like blood, splattering onto the wooden floor and tables with a hiss-crackle of corrosion. It quickly sprouted clusters of eerie, butterfly-shaped blue plants.

A few drops landed squarely on Lace's head. The icy sensation made her shudder, and the blue liquid, as if alive, quickly seeped into her shell and vanished from sight.

It all happened too fast for anyone to notice.

Freed from the vines, Hornet immediately grabbed the still-stunned Lace with one hand. With the other, she swiftly pulled out the Knight, who was embedded head-first in the floor like a thumbtack.

"Get back!"

The three of them quickly retreated, moving out of the attack range of the mutated flora.

From the severed ends of the vines, cerulean light surged madly. Fleshy, bud-like tissue grew and intertwined at a visible pace, regenerating almost completely within a single breath.

The massive core, a conglomerate of countless twisted plants, emitted a bone-chilling roar—a horrifying mix of rustling leaves and bestial snarls—as if thoroughly provoked.

Quirrel stood with his nail at the ready, watching the ceaselessly writhing, expanding blue mass with a grave expression. "Such astonishing regenerative power... It seems we have no means of thoroughly destroying this thing anytime soon."

The Viridian Prince nearby let out a helpless sigh. His emerald form appeared somewhat frail against the backdrop of the eerie blue glow. "A pity my Beloved is not here with me now. Otherwise, our duet might have stirred a tempest powerful enough to annihilate this abomination."

The force he and the Green Prince could unleash through their partnered dance was potent enough to form a cyclone capable of shredding anything to pieces, but here and now, he was on his own.

Garmond stroked his beard, deep in thought. "We cannot approach it, yet it seems to hold a great deal of interest in us."

Surveying the scene before her, Hornet fell into contemplation. She had to halt the further spread of this flora. Left unchecked, it wouldn't be long before these mutated plants encroached upon the moth tribe's settlement. Yet remaining here any longer was clearly not a wise decision.

Just then, a small black hand tugged at the edge of her cloak.

She looked down, meeting the Knight's hollow eyes.

It made no sound, but a clear and resolute intent resonated directly within her mind.

(Little sister, take all the bugs and leave this place. I will handle it.)

Hornet nodded. At this moment, she had no choice but to place her trust in the Knight's power.

"Everyone!" Her clear voice cut through the roaring of the plants, carrying the irrefutable authority of a leader. "Do not linger here any longer! Evacuate immediately! Follow me!"

With the command given, the instinct for survival ignited instantly.

The patrons mustered their last reserves of strength, staggering toward the exit. Hornet turned, her right arm swiftly wrapping around Lace's waist. "Hold on!" Before the words fully faded, a thick strand of Soul Silk shot out, adhering to a distant high beam. With Lace in her grasp, Hornet moved like the most agile of dancers, tracing a swift, crimson arc through the flailing blue vines. In a few fluid motions, she swung out through the tea house's main door.

"Young lady, up here!" Garmond let out a sharp whistle. Zaza lowered its body in perfect understanding. With a precise flourish of his long staff, the elder warrior used its smooth end to hook and lift, effortlessly and securely sending the still-stunned Myla up onto Zaza's broad back.

"Hang on tight!" As Garmond spoke, Zaza gathered its strength and surged forward like an armored war machine, battering aside sporadic vines as it charged through the encirclement.

Quirrel's nail flashed, severing pursuing tendrils. He gave a quick nod to the Viridian Prince, and the two bugs transformed into streams of white and green light, retreating close behind.

Markoth and Thistlewind covered the rear. Shield and whirling spear made one final sweep, clearing the path for the last few patrons before they leaped backward, disengaging from the fray.

The cacophony—the clamor, the terror, the roars—seemed to be instantly sucked away.

Within the shattered, debris-strewn tea house now marked by eerie blues and wreckage, a deathly silence abruptly fell. Only the massive, still-writhing mass of mutated flora at the center, glowing with a faint cerulean light, remained... along with the impossibly tiny white figure standing before it.

The Knight stood quietly, "looking" up at this mountainous monstrosity.

And then—

Click.

A faint, crisp sound, perfectly audible in the silence.

The smooth, pale mask on its face cracked. A fine fissure appeared, right down the center.

The crack spread like a spider's web, fragmented, then flaked away. It was not a disintegration borne of pain, but rather the active shedding of an unnecessary restraint.

Beneath the mask was not flesh and blood, but a seething, boiling, abyssal Void.

Pure darkness, the kind that could devour light itself.

His form slightly elongated, his contours growing indistinct and fluid. Countless slick, pitch-black void tendrils, their ends dissipating faintly, unfurled from his back and sides, swaying soundlessly.

There was no roar, no wind-up. The Knight simply lashed out with a void tendril, striking a nearby colossal vine with brutal force.

Ssssh—!

There was no clang of metal, but rather a sound like a hot blade cutting through fat, or darkness devouring light.

Where the void tendril struck, the garish blue light instantly dimmed and snuffed out. The tough outer layer withered, charred, and crumbled to ash as if subjected to millennia of decay in an instant.

Most crucially, no blue light surged from the wound. Regeneration was completely suppressed, as if the very "activity" constituting the plant had been partially erased by "nothingness."

Another of the Knight's tendrils coiled around a large, still-writhing piece of blue debris on the floor and effortlessly drew it into the Void within its own body.

It was as if a miniature black hole resided there. The debris was swallowed without a ripple, utterly consumed.

It began its silent, efficient "cleansing."

The void tendrils lashed out like countless greedy, precise black whips. Each strike carried away a massive swath of living tissue; each coil consumed another chunk of debris.

The blue flora shrieked in agony, lashing out in a frantic, desperate counterattack. But when its vines struck the void tendrils or the Knight's true form, it was like hitting a bottomless quagmire. Force was absorbed. Vitality was eroded.

However, the power of an individual always has its limits.

This mutated flora was a behemoth formed by absorbing the life force of the entire greenhouse and the uncanny reagent, a thousandfold larger than the Knight in volume.

As the consumption continued, the Knight's void-formed body began to subtly "swell," and the speed of its swaying tendrils showed a trace of imperceptible sluggishness.

It had "eaten" too much. While the Void could contain it, digesting such a massive amount of rebellious "activity" required time—something it was running short of.

The overall volume of the plant had not noticeably decreased. More vines were regenerating from other directions, encircling it.

Just as the Knight's consumption rate began to fall behind the plant's regeneration and encirclement, and its void form grew slightly sluggish from "over-satiation"—

The side wall of the tea house was suddenly shattered by a tremendous impact. As the dust settled, the figure of the Pure Vessel appeared in the breach.

And following behind it were dozens of vessel kin, similar in stature to the Knight.

There was no communication. They merely saw the Knight's current state and immediately understood everything.

The vessels collectively "shed" their shells, revealing the shadowy void forms within, and drifted to the Knight's side.

All except for one vessel—the Pure Vessel itself.

It raised the nail in its hand, forged from concentrated pale light, high above its head. After a brief moment of focus—it thrust downward with tremendous force.

The nail's tip did not directly strike the plant, but the instant it pierced the ground, a concentrated, substantial force of pure power was channeled into the earth.

Crack—

With the nail's tip as the epicenter, the ground fractured with pale, spider-web-like fissures. Then, several spikes composed entirely of pale light, like the fangs of an ancient subterranean beast, erupted through the soil and splinters, blooming upward from below.

These light spikes thrust forward with destructive angles and speed. They ignored the layered barriers of vines, precisely piercing through the most bloated trunk of the mutated plant, leaving it no room to escape.

Thud! Crack! Splash—!

The dull sounds of penetration, the brittle snaps of tearing, and the viscous noises of bursting sap mingled together.

The massive blue conglomerate was like a hunk of meat simultaneously impaled by countless steel rods, instantly and firmly pinned upon the cruel rack formed by these pale thorns.

The garish blue glow rapidly dimmed and dissipated under the corrosive power of the pale light spikes. The plant's roars turned into wheezing, death-rattle-like whimpers.

The next moment, a pure, concentrated pale blade of energy swept out in a fan-shaped arc, cleaving the blue flora into multiple smaller chunks, making it easier for the other kin to "feed."

Soon, through the vessels' efforts, the volume of the mutated plant shrank at a visibly rapid pace. Its shrieks shifted from fury to pain, finally dwindling to dying gasps.

When the last trace of cerulean light was devoured by the Void of one vessel, when the last piece of charred, withered debris crumbled to dust, all that remained in the center of the tea house was a large, cratered pit. Beside it lay dozens of shadowy forms, now swollen into round balls, and the Pure Vessel.

————Little Easter Egg————

In a corner of the tea house, the two "infected" bugs who had earlier been bound into cocoons by Hornet's Soul Silk, later forgotten in the chaos of battle, were now huddled tightly together, unable to move.

The frenzied blue light in their eyes had dimmed considerably, and the fear belonging to a living creature was now apparent.

Their stiff limbs were not due to infection, but to sheer terror—they had witnessed the entire silent feast of consumption.

Those small white figures, calmly "shedding" their shells to reveal an abyssal interior, devouring the mountainous, terrifying plant like a snack... This scene was deeply branded into their simple minds.

But for these two forgotten "cocoons," the most terrifying moment had just begun.

In the ensuing absolute silence, they suddenly felt something "looking" at them.

Stiffly, inch by inch, they shifted their eyes.

On the ravaged ground where the mutated plant had once stood, now only a large crater remained, the densest patch of shadow was slowly "rising" up.

The Knight rolled leisurely over to their side. Its hollow eyes stared at them, as if contemplating something.

The pupils of the two "infected" bugs instantly contracted into pinpricks from sheer terror. They desperately tried to shrink back, succeeding only in making the silk bindings tighten further, letting out only the faintest, choked "hkk... hkk..." sounds.

The night wind swept through the ruins, rustling a few withered, darkened leaves.

In the corner, the two pitiful "cocoons" completely abandoned thought. They could only pray desperately in their hearts, hoping the red-cloaked hunter or any normal bug would remember they existed before this terrifying "black sphere" decided to have them for dessert.

Chapter Text

————47————

The Citadel, Central Workshop.

The hum of gears had not yet fully subsided, and a faint smell of energy overload lingered in the air.

Atla stood before her latest model of the "Image Recorder," her forelimbs twitching with agitation.

The test had reached the most critical stage—energy pathway calibration—when the main power core melted down without warning, leaving nothing but a small pile of dim, smoldering crystal residue on the workbench.

"Spare core, spare core…" she muttered, turning toward the reinforced safe in the corner.

Password entered, identity scan complete—the heavy door slid open silently. Inside was empty.

"Huh?" Atla froze.

She clearly remembered placing it there herself last week. Had she misremembered the spot? She was a meticulous craftswoman, but occasionally, her intense focus on projects led to moments of forgetfulness.

So, she began searching around the workshop: under the workbench, in the gaps of the material racks, even near the trash bin—but there was no trace of it.

Maybe she'd left it in the common lounge? Or perhaps she'd forgotten it at Keelal's place yesterday when they were discussing structural dynamics.

Soon, Atla arrived at Keelal's room door.

It was slightly ajar. She knocked—no response.

Pushing the door open, she found the room neat to the point of being stark. Only a massive, half-finished road blueprint lay spread across the work desk.

The lines were precise and rigorous, stretching from Shellwood to Verdania. Yet, several key intersections and transport hubs remained blank, the drafting pen resting right beside the unfinished curves.

A flicker of unease passed through Atla’s mind.

Whenever Keelal immersed herself in such macro-designs, she entered a near-hermit state—mechanical servants had to feed her, and she would never pause until a complete section was finished.

Abandoning a drawing mid-way? That wasn't like her at all.

"Was she called away for something more urgent?" Atla wondered to herself.

Next, she made her way to Whiteward. Normally, this place was filled with the faint scent of herbs and the echoing lilt of Camora's gentle singing. But now, it was eerily quiet, save for the electronic beeping of medical equipment.

The same was true for the High Halls. Cindril, who should have been there tending to rare species and whispering to the plants, was nowhere to be seen.

Even the corridors felt emptier, missing the usual young weavers who would always greet her warmly and ask all sorts of questions.

A vague unease began to stir within her.

It wasn't until Atla ran into Karn, who was eating alone in the dining hall, that her mood relaxed ever so slightly.

"Karn, have you seen Keelal or Camora? And... does it feel too quiet today?" Atla asked as she approached.

Karn set down her meat cutlet, a frown creasing her brow. "I was thinking the same thing. It's not just them. Several sisters mentioned someone came looking for them early this morning, and they haven't been seen since."

"And..." she pointed out the window toward the Hallownest Sanctum, where visitors should have been strolling, "look. There's not a single tourist outside. The Citadel is never exactly bustling, but this level of silence... I've never seen it before."

Hearing this, Atla's unease swelled rapidly. She bid Karn a hurried goodbye and strode swiftly toward the Citadel's main entrance.

Passing through the grand colonnades, the sight that met her eyes brought her to an abrupt halt—

The two massive Grand Gates, which were usually open day and night to welcome visitors from all corners, were now sealed tight.

The cold light of the wall lamps glinted off the ancient patterns etched into the heavy metal doors, completely severing the inside world from the one beyond.

"No way..." Atla rushed to the sentinel post beside the gate.

The mechanical sentinel tasked with guarding the entrance and recording all entry and exit information stood silently in its place, the light in its eye sockets pulsing steadily.

She quickly accessed the log of today's entry and exit records—the screen was completely blank.

[Log Search: No Data. Last Backup: Previous Midnight. System Status: Normal. No Signs of Forced Deletion Detected.]

It was as if nothing had happened since dawn—no one had entered or left, no command had been recorded.

A sense of foreboding quickly tightened its grip around Atla's breath.

The more she thought about it, the more unsettling it felt. Her steps involuntarily carried her deeper into the Citadel, toward the Memorium area where important research samples and ancient records were stored.

At the very least, Murglin should have been there—she almost never left her post.

Just as Atla was about to turn the corner toward Murglin's archives, a flicker of movement caught her peripheral vision. It was the heavy, usually sealed alloy door to the sample storage room—now slightly ajar, leaving a narrow crack.

Atla's heart sank. She immediately changed direction, pushed the door open gently.

The faint hum of the climate control system was still audible inside. But when her eyes fell upon the central containment unit—a transparent vault meant for storing the highest-risk samples, now completely empty—it felt as if her blood had frozen solid.

The label on the containment unit was unmistakably clear: [S-07: Highly Active Lifeblood Factor (Extract)].

A rush of memories flooded her mind: years ago, the Skarr Tribe and Verdania had jointly delivered a batch of peculiar blue plants.

Countless efforts had been poured into extracting this substance, one with terrifyingly potent life energy.

It could instantly trigger a life form's regenerative abilities, but the price was the complete incineration of reason, reducing the subject to a frenzied shell driven only by destruction and proliferation.

Once the research was completed, this extremely dangerous sample was permanently sealed away, strictly prohibited from any form of use.

And now, it was gone.

From one of the most heavily guarded areas within the Citadel, it had vanished under inexplicable circumstances—without triggering any alarms, without any signs of forced entry.

A chill seeped through the gaps in Atla's carapace, piercing straight to her core.

A stolen sample, multiple key weavers simultaneously missing, the Grand Gates sealed shut, records wiped clean... these fragments pieced together pointed toward a conspiracy she dared not dwell upon.

She had to tell the First Sinner immediately! As the original weaver, the first chosen by the Grand Mother Silk, she always possessed the insight to grasp the heart of the matter and make decisive judgments.

Atla practically ran to the serene gallery where the First Sinner resided. She took a deep breath, suppressing the churning panic, and raised a hand to knock on the door.

Just as her fingertips were about to touch the wood—

A distinct sound of something heavy descending came from above.

Atla looked up in shock, only to see a three-dimensional cage, shimmering with pale light and composed of intricate runes, plummeting down from above. As if anticipating her arrival, it captured her with pinpoint accuracy.

The bars of light formed by the glowing runes were searingly hot and unyieldingly solid, completely isolating her from the outside world.

Before her shock could even turn into a cry, the sound of footsteps began to echo from the shadows of the corridor, approaching with deliberate, unhurried pace.

As the approaching figure's face gradually became clear in the light, Atla's pupils contracted. An overwhelming sense of disbelief, far greater than her fear of confinement, seized her.

Her mouth opened, and her voice emerged, dry and trembling:

"How could it be... you?!"

————48————

On the winding path at the edge of the Resting Grounds, leading to the elevator to the City of Tears.

Buna clutched the notes in her hand tightly, the "journalist's heart" beneath her carapace pounding with excitement.

An exclusive! An absolute exclusive! Not just a monster attack, but also those... those white figures that seemed to have stepped out of myth, and the terrifying power they displayed as they consumed the creatures.

Once this report was published, it would surely shake the news industry—no, the entire kingdom of Hallownest!

She had already begun drafting the headline in her mind: "Upheaval in the Resting Grounds! Mysterious White Guardians Clash with Mutant Flora!"

Just as she was wholly absorbed in this vision of future glory, passing by a bend shadowed by a massive stone monument—

A sharp pain pierced the back of her neck, followed instantly by an intense paralysis that seized her entire body. She didn't even have time to glimpse the outline of her assailant before darkness swam before her eyes and she crumpled to the ground.

The notes scattered from her slackened grip, only to be picked up by a hand clad in white armor.

Buna didn't know how much time had passed when she awoke on the cold floor.

Her head throbbed painfully. Struggling to sit up, she found herself in a sparsely furnished room—just a bed, a table, and a chair. There were no windows, and the only exit was a solid iron door, tightly shut.

Peering through the grate in the door, she saw a Kingsmould standing guard outside, seemingly keeping a close watch over her.

Her heart sank.

This wasn't a simple robbery. This was... official detention by the Kingdom of Hallownest.

Meanwhile, in the conference hall deep within the White Palace.

The atmosphere was as heavy as iron.

The Pale King sat slightly forward on his throne, his pallid face unreadable, yet his voice carried an authority that brooked no argument. "I have already dispatched someone to intercept that journalist who followed you. Vessels, the Void, forbidden mutated flora... these sights cannot be allowed to spread for now. Panic can destroy a kingdom far more effectively than any monster."

The White Lady's elegant form rested nearby. Her roots extended gently, coiling around Hornet who sat beside her. The tips of her roots glowed with a soft, pale light as she meticulously examined her daughter's condition.

"My child," the White Lady's voice was filled with concern, "you were not tainted by that forbidden substance, were you?"

Hornet sat upright, her expression calm. "There might have been some mixed into the tea. But the amount was so minute, it likely has little effect on me."

The White Lady's roots pulsed with light as she probed carefully.

After a long moment, she slowly withdrew them, her tone one of relief. "Indeed. There are only the faintest traces of residual activity on the surface, which your body is already naturally purifying."

Her gentle gaze then shifted to Lace, seated on Hornet's other side. "Now then, child, let me examine you as well, to ensure your safety."

Just as the root, radiating maternal warmth and powerful life energy, was about to touch Lace's arm, Lace flinched back as if burned, almost retreating completely into Hornet's shadow.

"I'm fine too," her voice was somewhat stiff, her white eyes avoiding the White Lady's gaze. "Your daughter protected me well."

A vague, almost instinctive resistance churned within her. The light on the root made her uneasy, as if something hidden deep within her might be illuminated, scrutinized, or even... purified by it.

The White Lady paused for a moment, her root hovering in mid-air.

She quickly understood this wariness of an "outsider" and turned her gaze back to Hornet, her voice still gentle. "It seems this child trusts you more. Perhaps she would be more willing to accept your examination."

Hornet glanced at Lace. She let out a sigh, then turned to Lace and extended a hand. "Lace, come here. This isn't a request. We must confirm you haven't been infected."

Lace's lips moved as if to argue or evade, but Hornet's look made her swallow her words.

There was concern in that gaze, but also an undeniable firmness. Under such scrutiny, she could only reluctantly, sluggishly shift back.

Just then, a side door to the hall swung open. A City of Tears sentry strode in quickly, dropping to one knee to report.

"Your Majesty, Your Grace. Patrols have apprehended two individuals exhibiting suspicious behavior, attempting to infiltrate via a concealed trail in the northeastern Crossroads. They were carrying non-standard reconnaissance equipment and refused to disclose their identities or purpose."

"Based on preliminary rapid tests," the sentry's voice faltered slightly, "faint traces of Lifeblood activity were detected within the carapace seams and on the tools of one individual. While the concentration was extremely low, it has been confirmed to be associated with the forbidden substance."

The air in the hall instantly solidified.

The sentry's voice dropped lower, tinged with frustration. "However... while escorting them back to the White Palace, passing through the abandoned pipework in the lower levels of the City of Tears... they were struck by poisoned darts fired from the shadows. The toxicity was too potent. Both suspects... died on the spot. We... were unable to locate the attacker."

A deathly silence fell over the chamber.

The Pale King leaned back slowly, his pale fingers beginning a soft, rhythmic tap against the armrest of his throne. Each tap seemed to strike the heavy air itself.

"Silenced." The word left his lips slowly, carrying the chill of an impending storm.

"Lifeblood..." The White Lady's voice was laced with deep-seated worry and the ache of memory. "That nightmare was sealed away by our own hands. It once spread like wildfire, consuming reason and warping life itself. Back then, we paid a great price to forcibly relocate its core to the Abyss, relying on the pervasive Void energy there to barely suppress its activity."

She looked toward the Pale King. The gazes of the two ancient beings met in the air, each seeing the same weight reflected in the other's eyes.

The Pale King's voice was like a frozen river—calm, yet filled with overwhelming pressure. "And now, there are those who have not only rediscovered it, but may even be... attempting to wield it, to stir a tempest within Hallownest."

His eyes swept over everyone present—the White Lady, Hornet, even the visibly uneasy Lace.

"Though their specific goals, their mastermind, remain shrouded in mist," the Pale King's conclusion was absolute, "this is no longer mere crime or disorder. This is a conspiracy that must be taken with the utmost seriousness and crushed with our full force, immediately."

A brief silence settled over the hall, broken only by the rhythmic tap of the Pale King's fingers against the armrest, like the pendulum of a countdown.

Just then, Hornet's eyes suddenly sharpened, as if she had seized upon a dangerous piece from the fragments of her memory.

"If I recall correctly—the 'highly reactive substance' extracted from luminescent moss, when blended with the Lifeblood factor in specific proportions, acts like a catalyst. It violently stimulates the Lifeblood's activity, causing it to exhibit explosive proliferation and mutation rates in an extremely short time."

Her words fell like a shard of ice into water, sending ripples of deeper chill through the room. This secret belonged to the realm of advanced applied biochemistry—dangerous and strictly regulated.

The Pale King nodded slowly, turning slightly toward his daughter, confirming her deduction. "Correct. That is one of the reasons the weavers ultimately abandoned further research into Lifeblood."

His voice grew heavier. "Viewed in this light, the previous attack on the train, where the thieves targeted and stole that specific shipment... was likely the work of the same group. From the very beginning, they were preparing for the use of Lifeblood."

Mention of the train incident caused Hornet's brow to furrow even tighter, the frustration of that failure washing over her once more.

"Though I couldn't pry more details from the captured thieves," she said, her claws unconsciously scraping against her armguard with a soft rasp, "their original plan was clear: after moving the target cargo, they were to immediately rendezvous with their contact and evacuate the scene swiftly."

"If not for those fools' greed, their spur-of-the-moment idea to kidnap Lace for ransom... perhaps, before I even sensed the anomaly in the cargo hold, they would have vanished with the goods without a trace."

She closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and when she opened them again, her dark eyes simmered with palpable irritation. "If I could have gotten just a little more information from them—a description of the rendezvous point, a method of contact, even a vague codename—we wouldn't be so helpless now!"

This sharp sense of impending crisis, tangled with the powerlessness of severed leads, left her deeply agitated.

The enemy lurked behind a thick fog. They had struck twice, yet they hadn't even managed to brush against the hem of the foe's cloak.

This vexing position of being "exposed in the light while the enemy hides in the dark" was particularly torturous for a hunter accustomed to controlling the situation and taking the initiative.

The White Lady's gaze, tender yet clouded with worry, swept past her daughter and settled on the Pale King, raising another practical concern. "And what of the Moth Tribe... Markoth and Thistlewind, and the other shaken guests? How do we explain the damage and the... irregularities at the tea garden? They will not be easily deceived."

The Pale King's reply was pragmatic and carried a touch of coldness. "The ancient underground fuel reservoir beneath the tea garden deteriorated and ruptured, leading to an accidental explosion that caused a fire and damaged some of the greenhouse flora. The situation is now under control. That will be the official statement for now. Specific matters of compensation and reconstruction will be handled by Lurien in consultation with the Moth chieftain."

He paused briefly, steering the conversation back to the immediate threat. "Moving forward, I will order the guards to focus on inspecting all recently arrived outsiders, particularly those with erratic movements or unclear purposes. Simultaneously, a stricter regime of random checks on their personal belongings will be implemented. Key areas, transportation hubs, and especially zones near water sources and plant cultivation sites will have their patrols reinforced, with additional sentry posts and mobile patrols."

His voice was ironclad, brooking no argument. "Unless they can become completely invisible, they will not easily slip through this multi-layered surveillance net."

Yet, this ancient monarch understood better than anyone that even the tightest defenses have gaps.

One can be a thief for a thousand days, but one cannot guard against thieves for a thousand days. Passive defense can never secure victory; it may even consume one's own strength through excessive strain.

The most crucial task remained finding more leads—a living informant, an untampered trace, a moment when the enemy is forced to reveal a clue.

————49————

The heavy meeting finally concluded. Stepping out of the hall, the icy air of the corridor brought Lace somewhat back to her senses.

She looked at Hornet beside her, at the still-tight line of her lips and the faintly creased brow—even before her father and the White Lady, she hadn't fully shed that layer of agitation and helplessness.

"I'll walk you back," Hornet's voice was somewhat hoarse, her mind clearly still tangled in the unsolved mysteries and looming threats.

"No need," Lace stopped walking, deliberately lightening her tone. "I want to go buy a few things. You go back and rest first. Today... you must be tired enough."

Hornet turned to look at her, her eyes holding scrutiny and a trace of barely perceptible worry. "Buy what? I'll go with you."

"Just some small things, it'll be quick." Lace avoided her gaze, her tone carrying a hint of deliberate, almost petulant insistence. "Let me have a little time to myself, okay? I'll be back soon."

A silence of several seconds hung between them.

Hornet seemed to want to say something, but in the end, she merely let out a soft sigh and nodded. "...Come back early. Be careful."

"Got it." Lace gave her a small wave, then turned and merged into the sparse flow of bugs on the City of Tears streets.

Only after confirming that the crimson figure had vanished around the palace corner did the strained semblance of ease slip from Lace's face, replaced by a deeper, more somber worry.

She wanted to buy some ingredients. High-grade flour, fresh lumafly berries, and that Claw brand tree-fruit jam from Greenpath that Hornet had once mentioned liking in passing.

She wanted to make something delicate and sweet. Perhaps a fluffy cake topped with shimmering jam... like a vague, warm fragment from a memory.

She'd heard sweets were the best for soothing a bug's heart. She hoped this tactic would work on Hornet too.

Lace moved carefully through the shops of the City of Tears, selecting items and placing them in her basket.

However, just as she reached for a spice jar on a high shelf, a heavy, burning sensation suddenly bloomed in her chest.

It wasn't exactly pain. It was more like a sponge soaked in warm water, swelling and blocking the space, making her breath catch and her vision swim briefly.

She leaned against the shelf, breathing shallowly.

"...This isn't right. I felt a bit off during the meeting too..."

A clear thought surfaced: "I should have let Hornet check me. That strange blue substance... maybe it really did affect me."

But that thought was like a stone dropped into a deep pond, failing to even ripple completely before—

"…"

"...Join…"

"...Evolve…"

A vague, cold will, not heard through ears but buzzing directly within the depths of her consciousness—like an invisible iron clamp—savagely crushed her self-awareness.

The feeling wasn't invasive from outside. It felt more like thorny vines erupting violently from the very soil of her own thoughts, strangling and grinding the sprouting suspicion to dust.

The stifling heat remained, but the desire to investigate was drained of strength, dissipating rapidly.

Lace shook her head, her eyes going briefly vacant before regaining a semblance of "normalcy."

She picked up the spice jar as if the earlier discomfort had been nothing but a momentary dizziness.

Except, on the shelves of this City of Tears shop, the spot for Claw brand tree-fruit jam was empty, marked only by a small "Sold Out" tag.

"Tch." With no other choice, Lace left with her basket and headed for the stag station to Dirtmouth.

Another general store of comparable size had opened there. Perhaps she could find the jam.

Sly's General Store had a decent-sized storefront, its glass windows cleaned well enough to reveal the well-stocked shelves inside.

Next door was Iselda's map shop. In its display case, alongside maps, there truly were a few bats and brightly colored surfboards hanging, creating a peculiar sight.

Lace quickly found the desired jam in the condiments section and walked toward the checkout counter.

Standing behind the counter was a somewhat surprising figure—the Lost Vessel.

That vessel, who had once saved their lives long ago, was now standing dutifully behind the counter. Seeing her approach, it even raised a small hand and gave a slightly awkward wave.

"He can't speak... how did he become a cashier?" Lace wondered to herself.

The Lost Vessel deftly picked up the jar of tree-fruit jam along with an accompanying metal punch card. It inserted the card into a slot on the side of the register.

A series of brisk clicks came from within the machine, as if something precise was being engaged. The numerical dials on top spun rapidly, settling on "22."

"Claw brand tree-fruit jam. One jar. Twenty-two geo. Total: twenty-two geo."

A clear, slightly mechanical female voice issued from a speaker on the side of the register, while the screen simultaneously displayed the price and item name.

Lace raised an eyebrow. As she paid, she couldn't help but glance at the expensive-looking register with its sleek casing and glowing screen, then back at the silent Lost Vessel before her.

"I remember," she began, her tone tinged with the common knowledge about Proprietor Sly, "Sly is pretty stingy, isn't he? How could he bring himself to buy such a high-tech cash register?"

The Lost Vessel seemed to consider the question for a moment. Then, a synthesized electronic voice issued from the text-to-speech device hanging on its chest. "Because, he does not want, any single transaction, to be miscalculated, or missed."

Lace blinked, then understood, even feeling a flicker of amusement.

That reason... was utterly in line with that miserly proprietor's logic.

In his eyes, this probably wasn't a "luxurious expense," but a "necessary investment to ensure every single geo of profit reaches the granary."

"That does sound like him," she murmured, accepting the paper-wrapped goods the Lost Vessel handed her. "Thanks."

As she stepped out of the shop, the Lost Vessel's movements paused briefly. Its hollow gaze shifted toward the doorway, silently watching Lace's retreating back, as if lost in thought.

Dirtmouth's gray sky hung like a curtain that would never clear, pressing low overhead. Lace carried the heavy bag of sweet ingredients meant to craft solace, turning into the alley leading to the stag station.

The moment she stepped into the alley's shadow, the stifling heat that had been lurking in her chest erupted.

It was no longer a vague discomfort. It felt like a red-hot iron rod had been plunged into the core of her chest and then violently twisted.

A searing flow, carrying a bizarre vitality, spread like awakened root tendrils from the region of her heart. It surged madly toward every part of her body, toward her mind, toward every corner of her consciousness.

She could sense it—not with touch, but with a more terrifying, life-essential perception—something foreign was moving within her silk, writhing beneath her carapace, greedily gnawing at the boundaries of the being called "Lace." It was trying to smother her own thoughts with a cold, fanatical, other will.

A wave of intense dizziness washed over her. The edges of her vision began to flicker with the same eerie blue luminescence as the mutated flora.
Once again, that indistinct murmur sounded in her ears, but this time it was no longer a suppressed buzz. It was clear, cacophonous, a summons and command layered with countless overlapping echoes:

"Join… Evolve… Embrace wholeness…"

"...Become a higher existence…"

No! Get out!

Lace clenched her jaw tightly, her nails digging deep into her palms, trying to use pain to combat the nauseating sense of "fusion" rising from within.

She staggered a step, leaning against the cold, damp wall. The paper bag slipped from her weakening grip. The glass jar of jam struck the ground with a heavy, crunching shatter. Thick, sticky jam mixed with glass shards spread in a garish red smear through the cracks in the stone pavement.

Just as her consciousness teetered on the brink of being completely swallowed by the boiling blue tide, a figure slowly emerged from the deeper shadows of the alley.

It was a bug, but its form was somewhat... aberrant.

His gaze was fanatical and hollow. More importantly, his eyes gleamed with an eerie blue light.

"There is no need to struggle so painfully, lost sister," his voice held a note of pity. "We sense your 'longing' and your 'incompleteness.' Welcome... to the true home."

Lace forced a hoarse demand through gritted teeth. "You... who are you? Get away!"

"We are the evangelists of the 'Gospel of Lifeblood,'" he gave a slight bow. "We sense your pain, your confusion. Haven't you always felt... that you are an incomplete product? A fragile shell forced to rely on foreign soul-silk just to barely maintain existence and mend wounds...?"

Each word was like a poisoned needle, striking with precision at the fear and self-loathing buried deepest in Lace's heart—feelings she had never fully revealed even to Hornet. Her pupils contracted with shock and rage.

"But if you simply open your heart, accept 'Mother's' blessing, and join our glorious path of evolution, all of this... will vanish like mist." His voice was dripping with temptation, painting a terrible blueprint.

"The shackles of your old shell, the wounds of the past, the confusion of identity... these trivial troubles will all be cast into the crucible of evolution. You will gain a new, healthy, perfect body brimming with infinite vitality and potential! You will no longer be a fragment in need of mending, but a part of something whole, powerful, and eternal!"

"From where..." Lace's voice trembled from the churning agony within and the provocation without, "from where do you know these things about me?!"

The Lifeblood evangelist took another step forward, the faint blue glow shimmering in his eyes. "Because we can 'feel' you, dear sister. Your hesitation, your resentment, your deep-seated craving for 'wholeness'... and the 'Lifeblood' within you now, singing joyously, calling for return to the Mother. You... are joining us of your own accord. Resistance is merely the final, futile pang before evolution."

"'Feel,' is it?" Lace suddenly lifted her head, the last glimmer of fierce resistance flashing in her blue-tinged eyes. "Then can you 'feel' this?!"

Before the words had fully left her lips, she summoned the last of her strength and will. Her left hand shot to her waist, drawing the golden pin, and thrust it with lightning speed toward the bug's throat.

The strike was swift as a flash, carrying all her fury and unyielding resolve.

However—

Just as the needle's point was about to pierce the bug's carapace, the rampantly multiplying "Lifeblood" within her seemed to be thoroughly enraged by this action, or perhaps some "defensive mechanism" was triggered.

"Gah—!!!"

Indescribable agony blossomed simultaneously from the depths of her marrow, from every strand of her silk.

This was not injury from an external source. It was her own body, her own life force, tearing itself apart from within, seeking to betray her own consciousness.

Her vision was instantly flooded with dark blue blotches. The muscles in her arm spasmed uncontrollably. The thrust twisted irreparably at the last moment, skimming off the evangelist's shoulder guard with only a faint shower of sparks.

The weapon flew from her grasp, clattering to the ground.

Lace could hold on no longer. Her knees buckled, and she collapsed heavily onto the cold stone. Her hands clawed at the ground, nails scraping a harsh, grating sound against the rock.

Her vision narrowed rapidly, darkened. The evangelist's voice, sounding as if from a great distance, became the final echo before her consciousness sank into the dark:

"See? Such pointless struggle. The great 'Mother' has chosen you. This is the highest honor. Cease your resistance, accept this gift... it is better for you, and for all your 'siblings'..."

In her last flicker of awareness, she seemed to hear the sounds of a struggle, and the sensation of something cold touching her.

————Little Easter Egg————

Some time earlier...

Sly's "recruitment office" was set up on a few crates stacked by the shop's back door. The atmosphere was decidedly "pragmatic."

The first applicant was a Millipede.

"State your specialty," Sly asked directly.

"Boss, look!" The Millipede proudly displayed the dense array of varied appendages lining its body, some tipped with tools. "I come with a built-in toolkit! Stocktaking, hauling, shelving, bookkeeping, even packing for customers... I can do it all simultaneously! Efficiency is geo, boss!"

Sly's small eyes swept over the waving "hands," seemingly calculating the daily three-meal requirement for this prospective employee. He said nothing, merely making a scratching motion with his hand on a notepad, indicating "Next."

The second was a Mosquito in a smart, though slightly worn, coat. He cleared his throat, his voice carrying a hypnotic cadence. "Esteemed Mr. Sly, my specialty lies in unearthing and elevating the latent needs of the customer. I can make a warrior who initially only wanted a whetstone realize he also requires a vial of invigorating tonic, the latest map, a set of spare cloak clasps, and leave fully convinced these are all indispensable to his adventuring career. In short, I can significantly increase the average transaction value and customer satisfaction."

Sly's antennae twitched slightly, seeming somewhat interested in "increasing transaction value," but he curled his lip at "customer satisfaction"—in his view, maintaining customer satisfaction was also a high hidden cost, requiring future training for every hire to sustain it.

He still gave no verdict, his hand making another scratch on the pad.

The third was the Lost Vessel. It stood quietly, its white mask slightly blurred in the warehouse's dim light.

Sly followed the routine. "State your specialty."

The text-to-speech device on the Lost Vessel's chest lit up, emitting a steady, synthesized voice. "I apologize, I have no specialty."

This answer caused both the waiting Millipede and Mosquito to pause in surprise.

Sly, however, set down his notepad. For the first time, he actually stood up. He began to slowly circle the Lost Vessel, his small eyes gleaming with shrewd appraisal as he inspected it closely.

"Hmm... Doesn't speak. Saves time on idle chatter, and avoids arguments with customers over discounts."

"Not very tall. I won't have to strain my neck looking up. Cervical comfort is part of management costs too."

"Eyes... well, no particular expression. Won't give the stink-eye to shabbily dressed customers, nor fawn over seemingly wealthy ones to the discomfort of other patrons. Emotionally stable. Zero gossip risk."

He even rapped a knuckle against the Vessel's shell, hearing a solid thunk. "Sturdy build. Unlike some bugs," he glanced at the Mosquito's delicate wings, "who look like they'd get bruised by a cargo box and demand work-injury compensation."

Sly finally stopped in front of it, a look of immense satisfaction spreading across his face as if he'd found a treasure. He gave the Lost Vessel's shoulder a firm pat.

"Clear logic, distinct advantages. You're hired! Probation period is unpaid but includes room and board. Specific details refer to Employee Handbook, 38th edition. Any questions... oh, you won't ask."

"Why?!"

"That's not fair!"

The Millipede and the Mosquito cried out almost in unison, one waving all its limbs, the other buzzing its wings in agitation.

Sly turned to look at them, his hands, and said in a tone of absolute reason, "Why? Because he—"

He pointed at the Lost Vessel, standing quietly as if completely detached from the dispute.

"—won't ask me 'why,' like the two of you are doing right now. Saves time, reduces managerial friction. That's the greatest specialty of all. Alright, interviews are over. Dismissed."

The Millipede and the Mosquito looked at each other, speechless. They could only watch helplessly as Sly, hands clasped behind his back, led his new "no-specialty" employee away to leisurely inspect his shop.

Chapter Text

————50————

Distant Village, Hornet's room.

Hornet sat at her desk, a simplified map of Hallownest spread out before her. Her finger traced the sewer network of the City of Tears, the abandoned tunnels of the Crossroads, the deep, untrodden reaches of the fungal carpets in the Fungal Wastes...

Her brow was furrowed as she considered the possible hideouts the shadow-lurking enemy might have chosen.

There were too few clues, the enemy was in the dark—this feeling of passivity was grating on her nerves.

Just as she was fully immersed in her thoughts, an incongruously sweet aroma drifted from behind her, accompanied by a faint peculiar scent that her sharp senses caught.

She whirled around.

It was Lace.

She stood quietly in the doorway, holding a plate steadily in her hands. On it was a meticulously decorated cake, emitting a soft, fluorescent glow. The faint light of Lumafly berries shimmered across its fluffy surface, like a small patch of solidified starry sky.

"I made it myself," Lace's voice sounded softer than usual. "Hurry up and try it~"

Hornet's tense nerves relaxed slightly, surprise replacing vigilance. "I didn't expect you to know how to make this."

It was true she rarely saw Lace cook; her companion was more adept at nimble combat and blunt remarks.

"I just don't do it often," Lace approached, placing the cake on the desk and tilting her head slightly, her tone carrying a hint of provocatively charming defiance. "You didn't really think I was some kind of clueless mushroom, did you?"

Hornet didn't answer immediately.

She scrutinized Lace. Her companion's white eyes were clear, her expression expectant, showing none of the resistance or oddity she had displayed earlier during the meeting.

Perhaps she was overthinking things? Or maybe it was an illusion born of her own excessive tension.

She picked up a small spoon beside her, scooped a piece, and brought it to her mouth. The texture was soft and fluffy. The sweet-tart taste of the Lumafly berries melted on her tongue, but following closely behind was a subtle, yet undeniable, hint of charred bitterness—like the trace left behind when syrup has been lightly scorched at the edge of the flame.

"Hmm," Hornet set down the spoon, offering a fair evaluation. "Better than I expected."

Hearing this, Lace blinked, as if caught off guard.

She looked at Hornet, her eyes flickering with a brief moment of complex emotion, seemingly unprepared for Hornet's response. But quickly, that fleeting strangeness was covered by a sweeter smile.

"In that case," her voice became even softer, carrying an urging tone, "eat more. I'd be very happy if you finished it all."

The odd feeling in Hornet's heart stirred again. This didn't sound like Lace's usual way of speaking; she preferred provoking Hornet with challenging words.

Yet, looking at Lace's expectant eyes, then at the not-too-large cake, Hornet felt she might truly be being overly suspicious. Perhaps Lace was trying to comfort her agitated self in this way, just not very practiced at it.

"Alright." She didn't probe further. Picking up the spoon, she ate the cake, bite by bite, finishing the entire piece with its distinct burnt-bitter aftertaste. The flavor accumulated in her mouth, and that subtle sense of dissonance seemed to be temporarily suppressed along with the sugar, sinking into the depths of her mind.

After finishing, she wiped a crumb from the corner of her lips with a fingertip, her attention swiftly returning to the map on the desk, her brow furrowing once more.

She did not see the expression on Lace's face behind her, which rapidly dimmed the moment she turned away.

Those white eyes fixed on Hornet's back, so focused on the map, churned with a mixture of disappointment and helplessness.

Lace pressed her lips together tightly, as if steeling herself to make some kind of resolution within her heart.

She walked silently over to Hornet's bedside and sat down. Lace took a deep breath, then began to speak as if murmuring to herself:

"Hornet... do you ever think I'm a burden?"

Her voice was very soft, yet it pierced the current quiet like a fine needle.

Hornet quickly looked up from the map and turned around.

She immediately sensed something was off—not the slight tremor in Lace's voice, but the use of that distant "Hornet." Normally, Lace would use a more intimate, even slightly teasing form of address.

"That day, when I forced your hand using our old 'promise,' I was actually terrified," Lace said, not looking at Hornet, her gaze fixed on her own faintly trembling fingertips. "What would I have done if you had refused me? The other 'me' and I have always been worried about something like that happening."

Her thoughts drifted back to that night.

In the cool moonlight of the Bellhome, she lay beside Hornet, listening to her even breathing, yet a storm raged within her.

Fragments of memory and present desires intertwined into a web, tightening around her more and more.

In the end, it was the courage of last resort—or perhaps the desperation born of fear—that made her choose to "lay it all on the line."

"It's strange, isn't it? You and I are just friends who've been together for a long time, yet I feel this way about you," she finally lifted her eyes, her gaze appearing exceptionally fragile. "And in the original timeline, you and I were practically mortal enemies. I don't even understand why you saved me."

Some images flashed uncontrollably through her mind: moments of chasing and roughhousing with Hornet, sneaking out together, or memories of being caught by the Phantom and punished afterwards—all were as clear in this moment as if they had happened yesterday.

"But the 'you' in my memories was truly so kind to me, so kind that I couldn't restrain myself, couldn't wait to form a connection with you."

She paused, her voice dropping even lower. "Actually, after doing all those things to you, I felt immense regret. You must have hated me, loathed me back then, right?"

"Even so..." she bit her lower lip, "...I still hoped to capture your attention, wanted to receive more of your gaze."

Her fingers lifted unconsciously, gently touching her own neck. There, on her carapace, was a distinct, unique mark belonging to Hornet.

When her fingertips brushed over the slightly raised pattern, her body trembled almost imperceptibly, as if reliving that night—when Hornet, unlike her usual restraint and composure, had displayed a rare, even startling aggressiveness, branding this mark deep into her very soul.

"Until you left this mark on me," her voice mixed a tremor with a strange sense of peace. "From that moment on, I felt immensely secure. You were willing to accept me, to let me become a part of your life."

The corner of her mouth tried to curve into a smile, but it seemed fragile. "I'm truly happy, that you can be so good to me. This is something I never even dared to dream of before."

Hornet listened silently. She had already walked over and now stood before Lace. She extended her arms, drawing the slightly trembling Lace into a full embrace.

The hug was firm and warm.

"Fool child," her gentle voice murmured near Lace's ear, "you have no idea how important you are to me."

Lace's body stiffened for a moment.

Hornet continued, her fingers lightly stroking Lace's back. "Without your companionship, my childhood wouldn't have been as vibrant. Those adventures, those pranks, even your clumsy concern... they were all real."

"But..." Lace's face was buried in Hornet's shoulder, her voice muffled and choked, "...that was the other 'me's' doing... You don't like the current me, do you? This selfish, troublesome me who even used a past, offhand jest to blackmail you."

Hornet pulled back slightly, cupping Lace's face in her hands, forcing her to meet her gaze.

Those deep eyes held no reproach, no pretense, only sincerity.

"Whether it's the you from back then," she said, word by word, clearly, "the you now, or even a you that might change in the future... I have never felt disgust."

"Lace, you are you. And the one I know, the one I care about, is the you standing before me right now."

Lace, held in Hornet's embrace, felt herself almost drowning in the warmth and firmness.

She closed her eyes, savoring this hard-won peace, greedily breathing in the other's scent, wishing time could freeze forever in this moment.

Then, remorse rose within her.

"I'm sorry."
"I had to do this."
"For..."

The next second, she opened her eyes.

In those eyes, a strange, eerie blue light rapidly coalesced, like a lake instantly sheathed in frost.

Her movements were fluid yet carried an unnatural "precision." Slowly, she opened her left hand. Nestled in her palm was a small electrode crackling with dangerous electricity.

Then, steadily, mercilessly, she pressed it against the back of Hornet's neck.

Zzzzt—!

Amidst the sharp crackle of electricity, Hornet's body convulsed violently. Her pupils contracted to pinpoints, disbelief and shock momentarily overwhelming the physical agony.

Before her consciousness sank into darkness, the last thing she registered was the marionette-like expression on Lace's face—and, deep within that icy countenance, a flicker of sorrow, there and gone in an instant.

Lace supported Hornet's slumping form. The electrode slipped from her hand, landing on the floor with a soft clatter.

The surrounding air fell into a deathly silence. Only the wind whimpered through the window cracks, as if mourning all that had just transpired.

————51————

Howling Cliffs, a secluded cave.

The air was thick with the heavy scent of soil and a cloyingly sweet, nauseatingly potent aroma of life.

Once a prison for the most grievous offenders, this place had now become the headquarters of the Lifeblood Cult.

The rough stone walls had been modified, embedded with Lifeblood flora that emitted an eerie blue glow. This light illuminated the entire area, also revealing Hornet, unconscious and restrained by specially crafted shackles.

Her consciousness slowly surfaced from the darkness. The first sense to return was hearing—the drip of water, the sound of muffled footsteps, and... the low, murmured chants of countless bugs in unison.

Then came smell. The sweet, bloody stench churned her stomach.

Finally, sight. She opened her eyes, meeting the gaze of a face covered by a bony mask, yet whose eyes shone with fanaticism and smug triumph—he was the Bishop of this place.

"Ah, the esteemed princess awakens," the Bishop's voice rasped like rough stones grinding together. "Welcome to the cradle of rebirth. Your arrival is truly... most timely."

Hornet struggled. The suppression runes on the shackles immediately tightened, sending a searing pain through her, preventing her from gathering her strength.

She forced herself to remain calm, her sharp gaze sweeping the surroundings before finally settling on the Bishop.

"What... is your goal?" Her voice was hoarse from dryness and anger, yet still clear. "Creating chaos, stealing forbidden substances, now kidnapping the princess... What do you want from Hallownest?"

Hearing this, the Bishop let out a low, gravelly chuckle, as if he'd heard a childish question. "Goal? It is, of course, for the glorious evolution, to welcome the full awakening of the 'Mother,' for..." He suddenly paused, his eyes shifting cunningly beneath the mask, his tone turning mocking. "...Ah, why should I tell you anything at all?"

He took a step forward, his posture relaxed as if in casual conversation. "Perhaps, during the very time you are imprisoned here, some unexpected event will occur—maybe a guard suddenly has a crisis of conscience, or some mechanism fails from disrepair, or perhaps your own clever mind finds a flaw... Then you escape successfully, cutting through all obstacles back to your father, revealing all our carefully laid plans and causing our entire scheme to collapse." He spread his hands. "You see, isn't that how the stories always go?"

A nearby guard, tasked with sentry duty, couldn't help but mutter softly, "Lord Bishop... how do you know all this in such detail? It's as if you've experienced it yourself..."

The Bishop tilted his head slightly, his tone carrying a touch of lament. "Because in the stories, nine out of ten villains die just like that! They die from talking too much, from arrogance, from giving the hero time."

His voice suddenly turned icy, filled with unquestionable authority. "But we have learned the valuable lessons paid for by our predecessors' failures. We will not repeat their mistakes."

Another, younger acolyte scratched his head and asked, "Bishop, isn't it a bit off for us to identify as the villains?"

The Bishop heard this foolish question, but he didn't grow angry. Instead, he continued in a tone of compassionate mentorship:

"Child, what do you think constitutes 'righteousness,' and what constitutes 'evil'?"

Without waiting for the disciple's answer, he spread his arms wide as if to embrace the entire dim cave.

"Is it 'righteous' to obey the old order established by the Pale King, that rigid, decaying system that shackles life within fragile shells and fleeting lifespans?"

"Or is it 'evil' to embrace the 'Mother's' blessing, to shatter all barriers of form and consciousness, granting life infinite potential, potent vitality, and even... eternal existence?"

His voice suddenly rose, filled with fervor:

"Look around us! Hallownest decays. The Radiance's nightmare may be contained, but the Void's shadow still whispers. Creatures eke out a bewildered existence! The old gods are dead, the new gods are not yet risen! This world needs a thorough 'purification' and 'remaking'!"

He pointed toward the pulsating, massive azure core deep within the cave, his eyes gleaming with absolute devotion:

"The 'Mother's' will is the will of evolution! Lifeblood is not poison, it is the key! The stairway to a higher form, a more perfect unity!"

"Those bugs who resist, who fear, who would label us 'villains'—they are merely afraid of change, afraid of losing their narrow sense of 'self.' They do not understand that discarding the old self, merging into the great whole, is life's ultimate destination and glory."

The Bishop lowered his arms, his tone returning to calm, yet carrying an unyielding resolve:

"Therefore, do not trouble yourselves with such narrow labels as 'villain.' We are not destroyers. We are... scavengers and architects. Clearing away the deadwood of the old world, building a new, robust, eternal paradise for all life."

He looked at the disciple, his gaze sharp. "Now, does such a worldly title still trouble you?"

The last trace of hesitation vanished from the disciple's eyes, replaced by a fanatical blue glow. He bowed his head deeply. "No, Lord Bishop! I understand! We are the pioneers! The glorious heralds of evolution!"

Immediately, the Bishop sharply waved a hand. "Enough, idle chatter ends now. Take our esteemed little princess away and lock her in the specially prepared cell. Remember, aside from the necessary 'nourishment,' no one is to speak with her, nor is she to overhear any words that might reveal our secrets. Her value lies in her 'existence,' not in her 'knowledge.'"

As the Bishop's words fell, two burly cultists stepped forward, roughly pushing Hornet toward a side passage.

The cell was a modified natural cavern. Its only door was a heavy metal grate covered in suppression runes. Inside was nothing but a hard stone slab meant for a bed.

The one assigned to guard—or perhaps "accompany"—the prisoner was Lace.

She had been ordered to remain inside the cell, strictly monitoring Hornet's every move.

The iron door clanged shut behind them, sealing off the inside from the outside, leaving only the two figures who had once been so close, now separated by an invisible chasm, facing each other in the oppressive blue-lit silence.

————52————

The White Palace, the Pale King's throne room.

The atmosphere was as heavy and cold as an ice cave. The Pale King sat upon his throne, brow deeply furrowed. The letter clutched in his hand was crumpled at the edges from the unconscious force of his grip.

The message on it was concise and malicious, the handwriting neat yet unsettling.

To the Pale King:

Recall all additional patrols and inspections you have deployed. Open the four checkpoints at the junctions of the City of Tears, the Crossroads, Greenpath, and the Resting Grounds.

Should these actions not be seen by sunset tomorrow, we will administer a full 'blessing' to your cherished daughter. Even a demigod's body will, amidst eternal rapture and chaos, forget its original self.

— The Gospel of Lifeblood

The "blessing" mentioned in the letter was, of course, the highly active Lifeblood factor.

The Pale King understood the terror of that substance better than any bug. It was not a poison, but something far worse—the most violent catalyst and corrosive agent.

It could drag the most resilient will into a vortex of madness, churn a clear soul into a chaotic slurry.

Hornet might resist a trace infection, but a "full" dose... that meant complete overwriting. An irreversible transformation.

She would become something else. A monster devoid of all Hornet's memories and personality, aware only of proliferation and destruction. She could even become the most troublesome enemy Hallownest would have to face.

"Abandon one heir, secure the peace of the entire kingdom. It is a cost-effective trade."

A voice—cold, rational, belonging to that ancient king of a bygone era who would sacrifice anything for the sake of order—echoed deep within his mind.

If it were many years ago, that version of himself who would stop at nothing to preserve Hallownest's stability, who even viewed his offspring as plannable resources, he might have agreed with that voice without hesitation.

Sacrifice one to save the whole. It was the coldest, most "efficient" calculation.

But...

He could not do it.

The moment that icy scale began to tilt towards the side of "Hallownest," countless images and sounds surged forth, forcefully weighing down the opposite tray.

He remembered the faint glimmer in the empty eyes of the Pure Vessel when it first clumsily attempted to grasp the meaning of "protection." He recalled the warm resonance passing between the other small vessels as they drew close. He thought of how, over the long ages, these existences originally considered "tools" or "incomplete products" had gradually revealed traces of independent "being."

He was no longer the "Pale King" who could dispassionately quantify all emotions and bonds into values.

Then, clearer, more vivid memories crashed in: a small figure in a red cloak, stumbling down the palace corridors, holding up a clumsily woven "flower" made of soul silk, a brilliantly unclouded smile on her face, calling out in a clear voice, "Father! Look! For you!" ... And the memory of her favorite toy, after he had repaired it, her excited lunge toward him, eyes shining as she said, "Father is the best!"

These memories carried a scalding heat, making his hand holding the letter tremble slightly.

The scale swayed violently.

On one side: the safety of all Hallownest, the potential disaster for countless subjects if the defenses were relaxed, the risk of collapse for the order he had built over a lifetime.

On the other side: Hornet. His daughter. The life who would smile at him, depend on him, stubbornly defy him, yet always carried his blood within her, bearing a part of his hopes and tenderness.

The responsibility for Hallownest weighed a thousand jun, pressing the scale's needle slowly toward that side, almost about to settle.

Just as the needle was about to touch the mark representing "sacrifice"—

Bzzz...

An extremely faint, mechanically rhythmic buzzing of wings approached. It was a gleaming, metallic cogfly, emerging from some entrance or crack in the palace unknown.

It wobbled through the air, then landed lightly and precisely atop the Pale King's crown-like, forked head.

Chapter Text

————52————

As the last patrol squad from the City of Tears withdrew into the city following orders, disappearing into the labyrinthine network of pipes and architecture, a Lifeblood cultist hidden in the shadows swiftly relayed the message back to headquarters.

"Lord Bishop! It's done! All dispatched patrols have been recalled! The key checkpoints we were monitoring are now completely unobstructed!" The cultist's voice trembled with excitement, blue light flickering in his eyes.

The Bishop, seated on his high chair, leaned back slightly upon hearing this and let out a low, hearty laugh.

The laughter echoed through the cavern, filled with the satisfaction of having everything under control and the fanaticism of a grand purpose nearing fruition.

"Good... very good!" He slowly rose to his feet, his gaze sweeping over the core members gathered around him from behind his bone mask. "The Pale King... has grown old, after all. He cannot let go of that laughable sentimentality. A monarch's weakness is our sharpest weapon!"

He paced forward, his voice suddenly rising as if delivering a divine proclamation. "Pass the order! All 'brothers and sisters' are to begin final preparations immediately! At dawn tomorrow, we head for the Blue Lake."

His arm swept toward the depths of the cavern, where large quantities of blue liquid, sealed in special containers, emitted an ominous glow.

"We will pour the 'Mother's' purest blessing into the Blue Lake! Let every drop of rain in the City of Tears carry the gospel of evolution! Let this city steeped in tears radiate with a new, eternal brilliance of life! Let all bugs, noble and common alike, join together in this glorious evolution!"

The cultists roared in unison, their eyes blazing with intense blue light like stars answering a call.

The next day, before the deepest darkness of dawn had faded.

The Blue Lake, the source of the City of Tears' water, a place where many bugs had once sought inner peace.

However, at this moment, the tranquility of the place was utterly shattered.

Lifeblood cultists wearing simple protective gear poured out from hidden paths, silently and efficiently transporting the dangerous containers.

The Bishop himself, overseeing the most crucial container of "Lifeblood Active Factor Extract," stood upon a protruding rock by the lakeside.

Almost simultaneously, from a pipe leading from the Crossroads direction, another group of cultists arrived, escorting several containers of "Luminescent Moss Highly Active Extract" that shimmered with an unstable glow.

Once these two substances were mixed and poured into the Blue Lake, the resulting catalytic reaction would be unimaginable.

The sky was just beginning to lighten, the lake's surface reflecting a cold blue.

The Bishop scanned his surroundings, confirming everything was ready. He took a deep breath, preparing to give the final order—

Clomp. Clomp. Clomp.

Uniform, heavy, and dense footsteps suddenly erupted like a sudden downpour from every entrance, every pipe, every patch of shadow surrounding the area.

The scrape of metal armor, the light ring of nails being drawn instantly tore through the morning silence.

An extraordinary number of elite City of Tears sentries seemed to sprout from the ground itself. Armed with sharp spears or heavy nails, they formed an airtight encirclement, their cold gazes locked onto every cultist by the lake.

They had clearly lain in ambush here, waiting for this very moment.

A brief, deathly silence was followed by panicked stirring among the cultists.

The Bishop was stunned for a moment but quickly composed himself.

He straightened his posture, facing the countless spearpoints aimed at him, his voice filled with offended anger and a certain, threatening conviction:

"You... you dare treat us with such disrespect? Do you not care about the life and safety of your princess?! With a single thought from me, she will—"

"Why should they care?"

A calm, slightly mocking voice, sharp as an icicle, pierced down from above, cutting him off.

Every bug, including the Bishop, jerked their heads upward.

On a rocky ledge overlooking the entire Blue Lake, two figures stood side by side.

To the left, a red cloak fluttering in the wind—it was Hornet, who should have been imprisoned. Her posture was composed, her eyes held not a trace of coerced weakness, only silent contempt.

To the right, a white figure with a playful stance—Lace. Her face wore a bright, almost radiant smile. She even gave a vigorous wave to the dumbfounded Bishop below, calling out in a clear voice:

"Surprise~ I was only pretending to join you~"

Her words struck like thunder, exploding in the ears of the Bishop and all the core cultists.

"No... impossible!" the Bishop cried out, his voice behind the mask cracking for the first time. "I checked personally! The 'Mother's' blessing flows within you! Your consciousness was guided! Your eyes once shone with the blue light of evolution! How could you possibly...?"

Lace blinked, the "you're so naive" expression on her face growing even more vivid.

Imitating the Bishop's own mocking tone from when he had taunted Hornet, she replied slowly, word by word:

"Same goes for you—'Why should I tell you anything at all?'"

"You—!" The Bishop understood instantly.

From the very beginning, this had been a trap.

A trap to lure the snake from its hole, to invite the guest into the jar and then seal it shut.

Lace's defection, Hornet's capture, even the Pale King's supposed compromise—all of it had been to lure them all out of their lair, along with their most dangerous "weapon," exposing them in this inescapable dead end.

A crushing sense of failure, the fury of being fooled, and the panic of his plan's utter collapse swallowed him in an instant.

"In such a situation, there is only one course left!" He let out a hysterical roar, grabbing the largest dose of the extract, intending to inject it into himself.

But it was already too late.

The well-trained City of Tears sentries surged forward like a tide, subduing every cultist attempting to resist or flee.

The "battle" (or rather, the arrest) was practically over before it began. Under the absolute numerical advantage, meticulous deployment, and the complete psychological blow they had suffered, the Lifeblood Cult's resistance was pitifully weak.

The Bishop himself was pinned by several spearpoints. Two elite sentries swiftly approached, securing his limbs and mouthparts with metal shackles, preventing any extreme action.

His final gaze remained fixed on the two figures on the rocky ledge, his eyes filled with resentment and the dying embers of madness. But any roar was now trapped behind the restraints.

————53————

One day earlier, at the Howling Cliffs prison.

The cold stone walls muffled most sounds from outside, leaving only the eternal wind's lament through the rock fissures.

Inside the specially crafted cell, the suppression runes glowed faintly in the darkness. The air was stiflingly oppressive.

Hornet sat with her back against the wall. The shackles were heavy, but heavier still was her heart.

Her gaze rested on Lace, who stood opposite her. Lace exuded an aura of detachment, a faint azure glow clinging to her.

That familiar vibrancy and liveliness seemed encased in an invisible shell, leaving only a silent, unfamiliar outline.

Guilt, like cold vines, twisted around her heart, tightening its grip.

"It's all my fault... If I had been more vigilant then, if I had checked her immediately... If I had noticed her abnormalities sooner..."

Regret and a sense of powerlessness threatened to swallow her whole.

Against something like Lifeblood, which directly corrodes consciousness, physical force felt so utterly inadequate.

Even if she thwarted the Lifeblood Cult's plot, could she still rescue Lace... that Lace who could laugh and get rowdy, who could be stubborn yet express genuine concern?

Just as her thoughts churned wildly, nearly drowning in the dark tide—

The tip of her horn was gently bumped.

Pssst.

An extremely faint hiss of air sounded.

Hornet jolted, her head snapping up. "Hm?"

Across from her, Lace had somehow moved to her side. Though her eyes still held a dim blue haze, deep within them flickered a familiar, mischievous light.

Lace playfully winked her left eye. "I was tricking them," she whispered, the corners of her mouth twitching upwards uncontrollably. "I'm perfectly fine."

The massive impact left Hornet frozen in place, her blood seeming to solidify before roaring to her head.

Her mouth opened, but only a sharp, choked question escaped. "You... how?!"

Before Lace could answer, an even more startling scene unfolded.

The seams and joints on Lace's carapace began to ooze a viscous, pitch-black liquid that seemed to possess a life of its own.

Like a stream flowing backwards, defying gravity, it gathered upwards, rapidly coalescing and taking shape in the air beside Lace, finally forming a quiet, vaguely outlined shade of Void—it was the Lost Vessel.

He gave Hornet a slight, silent nod, as if in greeting.

Rewinding to an earlier time, the dark alley beside Sly's shop.

Just as Lace collapsed in agony from the Lifeblood eruption within her, her consciousness sinking into darkness, and the fanatical cultist leaned down to claim this "valuable prize"—

A white shadow flashed from behind a pile of discarded goods. The Lost Vessel's movements were supremely economical. His hand chopped straight toward the cultist's nape.

The blue light in the cultist's eyes abruptly stilled. Without even time for a look of surprise to form, he crumpled limply to the ground.

The Lost Vessel stood quietly beside the two fallen figures. He glanced first at the unconscious cultist, then let his gaze linger on Lace for a long moment.

Back at the shop's counter, when Lace had approached, the unstable Void within him had stirred with dissonant ripples.

Out of concern for her, he had decided to skip work temporarily to ensure she got home safely. He hadn't expected to encounter such a situation.

Now, up close, the thick, violent, relentlessly invasive and assimilating aura of Lifeblood on Lace was even clearer.

This aggressive "vitality" was fundamentally at odds with the "stasis" and "nothingness" at the core of his Void essence, even causing him instinctive discomfort.

He didn't hesitate. Extending a cool hand, he gently pressed it against Lace's forehead, allowing a trickle of pure Void energy to seep into her.

The power of the Void and the frenzied vitality of the Lifeblood met in a silent yet intense clash of neutralization and cancellation.

The searing, spreading tide of blue was halted as if by an invisible dam, gradually suppressed within a zone of icy stillness.

"Ugh..." A faint, pained groan escaped Lace's throat. Her fingers twitched several times before she struggled to open her eyes.

Her blurred vision slowly focused on the quiet, white mask. Memories gradually returned—the alley, the cultist, the excruciating pain, the blue light... and the current heaviness in her body, the lingering chill.

"Was it... you who saved me?" Her voice was hoarse and weak, carrying a tone of incredulous relief. "You've saved me again..."

The text-to-speech device on the Lost Vessel's chest flickered. "What, happened? Why, do you have, so much, Lifeblood, on you?"

Lace pushed herself up, her body still feeling weak, and leaned against the cold wall. She described the incident at the tea garden, the meeting, her own discomfort, the ambush in the alley, and the cultist's whole "evolution" spiel as concisely as she could.

After listening, the Lost Vessel was silent for a moment. "I did not, know, such a dangerous cult, was lurking, in Hallownest."

His first thought was: I need to inform my siblings immediately, so they can be prepared.

Thinking this, he turned to leave.

"Wait!" Lace suddenly reached out, grabbing his cool wrist.

Her eyes, still weak, ignited with a determined flame. A bold idea was taking shape in her mind.

"I have an idea that requires your help. Will you... assist me?"

Her plan was simple. And mad.

Time jumped back once more to the interior of the cell.

After listening to Lace's explanation, Hornet crossed her arms. Her black eyes narrowed slightly, flickering with the suppressed fire of averted disaster and a sharp, appraising light.

"So," she said, her voice low yet each word distinct, "you hid the Lost Vessel within your... body?" Hornet's brow furrowed even tighter at the word. "While he used Void energy to help suppress the rampant Lifeblood within you, you relied on that Lifeblood—which couldn't be eliminated, only suppressed—as 'camouflage' and your 'ticket,' to waltz right in here?"

"A-at least it was effective, wasn't it?" Lace hunched her shoulders slightly, her voice dropping, but a flicker of pride for her successful plan remained in her eyes.

"Effective?!" Hornet's pitch suddenly rose by several degrees. She reached out sharply, pinching Lace's cheek firmly and pulling it to the side. "Do you have any idea how risky this plan was?! The Lifeblood itself is constantly eroding your consciousness and body! The Void energy is also a foreign substance to you—it's suppression, but also a burden! To have these two extremely dangerous, mutually antagonistic forces maintaining a fragile 'balance' inside you... you were practically gambling with your very existence!"

Lace's face was distorted by the pulling. "Mmgh... ouch... but I succeeded, didn't I..." she protested, her words muffled.

Looking at Lace's pinched, misshapen face and the little bit of stubbornness in her eyes, Hornet's grip unconsciously loosened. Her gaze softened, becoming sorrowful yet immensely relieved.

Hornet gently stroked the reddened area on Lace's cheek. "Thank goodness..." she murmured, her voice so quiet it was almost inaudible. "All of that was just an act..."

She didn't even dare to dwell on the "what if."

If the Lost Vessel hadn't noticed the anomaly, hadn't followed, or had arrived a moment too late... what would Lace be like now? An empty shell devoured by Lifeblood? A fanatical cultist? The mere thought sent a chill down her spine.

After a brief moment of tenderness, Hornet swiftly reined in her emotions, returning to a state of calm. "Alright, down to business. What did you hear over there?"

Lace also straightened up, sharing everything she had overheard near the "Bishop." "They plan to go to the Blue Lake, to disperse the Lifeblood factor. The Blue Lake is directly above the City of Tears, one of the primary water sources. Once it spreads through the water supply system... everyone below would be in danger."

"A simple plan," Hornet said after hearing it, her eyes icy, "but very effective."

The more elaborate and complex a conspiracy, the more likely it is to reveal flaws during execution.

But this kind of straightforward, vicious plan that strikes directly at a vital point, utilizing existing geographical conditions, is far harder to guard against.

The Blue Lake itself is just a tranquil, scenic lake. Aside from occasional patrols, the kingdom hadn't stationed significant forces there.

If the mutated flora at the tea garden hadn't unexpectedly exposed the presence of the Lifeblood factor, alerting the highest authorities, the cult's chances of succeeding with a quiet operation at the Blue Lake would have been extremely high.

With sufficient information in hand, Hornet retrieved a Cogfly from inside her cloak. She condensed the information, loaded it into the Cogfly, then pulled the pin and released it, issuing a clear command: "Take this message back to the White Palace. To my father."

————Little Easter Egg————

Sly hummed a little tune, his steps light and quick as he returned to his shop.

For some reason, the patrols in the City of Tears had withdrawn. This meant customer flow would pick up rapidly, especially as all those frightened bugs would need to buy something to calm their nerves, right?

He might even be able to raise the price on those backlogged "Explorer's First-Aid Kits."

Pushing the shop door open with a happy heart, the smile on his face instantly froze, then shattered.

The interior was a mess. Several shelves were knocked askew, goods were scattered across the floor. The worst part was the "Portable Food & High-Grade Supplies" section near the entrance—a significant chunk was clearly missing.

A thief! And a bold, idiotic one at that, currently engaged in a "no-cost shopping spree"!

The bug, its back to the door, was frantically stuffing the last few packs of "Durable Rations" into a bulging sack, completely unaware of the death glare fixed upon its back.

"M—Y—S—T—O—C—K—!!!"

Sly's roar was like that of a tiger whose tail had been stepped on. His eyes instantly bloodshot. Without a moment's hesitation, he dashed behind the counter, grabbing the nail he usually kept for "store security"—its edge gleaming but mostly symbolic.

Now, infused with 100% of the proprietor's fury and heartache, it radiated palpable killing intent.

"You little thief! Stop right there! Drop that stuff! And don't think you're getting away without paying for wear and tear, emotional distress, damage to store image... not a single geo!"

The thief was scared witless, dropping the sack and trying to bolt for a side door. But Sly in his enraged state was astonishingly fast, and with his intimate knowledge of the shop's layout, he blocked the path in a few strides. The nail swept through the air with a whoosh.

It didn't strike the bug, but it cleanly severed a strap on the thief's backpack. The sack hit the floor with a thump, its "spoils" scattering everywhere.

The thief was so frightened by the commotion that his legs gave out, and he collapsed on the spot, begging for mercy repeatedly.

Sly had no time for his excuses. He pointed the nail at the culprit, trembling with rage.

The losses were severe. He had to give that irresponsible employee a piece of his mind.

"ROST! Get your carapace out here! Your wages for this month—no, for the rest of your life—are going toward covering this!"

Cursing and grumbling, he turned with thunderous intent toward the checkout counter, ready to drag the absent Lost Vessel out and make him work off the damages.

However, the space behind the counter was empty.

There was only a... "Delicious Ration."

The thing was pale, plump, soft, and squishy, with no obvious limbs. Its entire body was round, huddled behind the cash register, just tall enough for half its head to peek over the top.

Its skin was smooth, with a larval-like texture. At its top were two black, bean-like eyes, currently filled to the brim with terror.

It was a Maggot.

A Maggot that looked quite well-fed, pale and plump.

Sly's furious tirade caught in his throat, turning into a strange, choked gasp.

He blinked his small eyes, wondering if he was seeing things out of sheer anger.

The plump Maggot, seeing Sly's ferocious, nail-wielding appearance, trembled all over. Its already rotund body shrank into an even tighter ball. The terror in its bean-like eyes threatened to spill over as it let out a tearful "Mmmph...!"

Just then, Sly's sharp eyes spotted a note stuck beside the cash register. On it, in neat handwriting, was written:

[Boss, urgent matter, had to leave. Found a replacement. He says he can count. — Rost]

Sly looked at the note. Then at the Maggot, terrified to the point of fainting. Then at the mess on the floor and the captured thief.

The nail in his hand clattered to the ground.

A full ten seconds of silence passed.

Then, he erupted with a roar even louder, more hysterical, and more incredulous than the one he'd let out catching the thief. The sound even shook dust loose from the shelves:

"R—O—S—T—!!!"

Chapter Text

————54————

Deep within the Teacher's Archives.

Lace lay quietly on the platform, the cool fabric conforming to her carapace.

Monomon, the erudite and composed Teacher, operated a complex extraction device.

Under Phantom's nervous gaze, a slender, hollow probe slowly pierced a marked spot on Lace's arm—an area with the most significant residual Lifeblood activity.

A sharp, deep, acidic soreness spread through her. Lace's body involuntarily tensed.

It didn't feel like pure pain. It was more like a living, viscous substance being forcibly torn from the very "soil" of her body, accompanied by a reluctant, tearing sensation.

She let out a muffled groan, the fabric beneath her bunching into wrinkles.

"Relax, child, it will be over soon," Monomon's voice was steady, doing her best to soothe, but her eyes were intensely focused on the transparent tube connected to the probe.

Within the tube, a strand of thick, ominously glowing blue fluorescent liquid was slowly drawn out and injected into a sealed glass container.

The liquid pulsed faintly inside the container, as if possessing an independent heartbeat.

Phantom's heart ached as she watched her sister endure such discomfort. All she could do now was hold her sister's hand, offering what little comfort she could.

Lace's tense muscles relaxed slightly. She cast a grateful glance towards her sister beside her.

The extraction process wasn't long, but for Lace, it felt particularly grueling. Once the probe was removed, Monomon immediately applied salve to the wound and carefully wrapped it with a bandage.

"The sample's activity is high, but it's also quite... 'tenacious,'" Monomon placed the sealed container into a larger analyzer. The device hummed lowly as it began scanning. "It has integrated to a significant degree with your own silk structure. Forcibly removing it would cause you serious damage."

She turned, retrieving a syringe filled with a clear liquid from a nearby reagent shelf—a preliminary stabilizer she had developed based on samples collected from the two infected bugs the Pure Vessel had brought back earlier.

"This 'stabilizer' can temporarily suppress the Lifeblood's activity, reduce its corrosive nature, and lower the risk of it being triggered by external substances of the same kind," she explained while injecting the solution into Lace.

A cool sensation spread throughout Lace's body with the fluid. The smoldering heat and restless palpitations that had been troubling her quickly subsided.

Lace let out a long sigh of relief. The persistent heaviness and the faint, maddening whispers that had haunted her finally retreated, at least for now.

"However," Monomon's tone shifted, her expression turning grave, "this addresses the symptom, not the root cause. The Lifeblood has already altered part of your foundational life structure. To 'eradicate' it completely or find a way for you to safely coexist with it will require deeper research, and... likely some crucial knowledge or materials we do not yet possess."

After a few follow-up checks confirmed Lace's physical condition had stabilized, Phantom finally brought Lace back home.

The moment the door closed, Phantom's long-suppressed emotions erupted.

She turned around, her expression outwardly calm, but her flame-like hair wavered intensely, betraying the storm within.

"Do you have any idea how reckless you were this time?!" Her voice was sharper than usual, laced with pent-up fury. "Keeping that dangerous substance inside your body, letting it coexist with Void energy, and then infiltrating that cult of lunatics alone... every step could have been your last!"

Lace hunched her shoulders, offering a meek defense. "I... I didn't think that far ahead at the time. And the Lost Vessel helped me..."

"Which makes it even worse!" Phantom cut her off. "You needed to rely on a... a silent vessel, using powers he himself may not fully understand, just to barely maintain that fragile balance! That's walking a tightrope in itself!"

She then took a step closer, her shadow enveloping Lace. "At the very least, before carrying out such a mad plan, you should have told me, or told Hornet. That way, we wouldn't have been consumed with worry, completely in the dark."

Lace looked up, her white eyes meeting her sister's. Her reply was calm yet hit a nerve. "But if I had told you, would you have agreed? Would you have let me carry the Lifeblood, hide the Lost Vessel inside me, and go undercover?"

Phantom was momentarily speechless, then responded firmly, "Of course not! It's far too dangerous!"

"See?" Lace lowered her head, her fingers unconsciously fiddling with the edge of the bandage. "But... if we don't root out this cult completely, if we don't stop them, won't our lives always be under threat?"

"The first time was the tea garden. Next time it could be the City of Tears square, or somewhere else. What if their plot succeeded, and they poured that stuff into the Blue Lake..." She didn't finish, but the tremor in her voice said it all.

Phantom fell silent.

Her agitation gradually subsided. She looked at her sister's bowed head, the paleness beneath the bandage, the expression that was fearful yet still stubborn.

The anger receded like a tide, leaving behind a more turbulent and complex swell of emotion—lingering fear, aching heartache, but more than anything, a strange, intense pride, followed by an even deeper sense of responsibility.

Phantom suddenly stepped forward, wrapping her arms tightly around Lace in a fierce hug.

"Mmm..." Phantom's voice was muffled, a bit choked, but her tone had softened completely. "Even though your idea was reckless... there's no denying you did protect everyone. In your own way, you prevented a disaster."

She loosened the hug slightly, cupping Lace's face in her hands. Looking into her sister's damp eyes, she offered a smile mingled with tears and immense relief.

"My little sister..." she said softly, each word carrying weight, "you've really... grown up. You're no longer that little one who always needed her big sister standing in front, carefully shielding her."

"You have your own judgment, your own courage, even the willingness to put yourself in danger to protect something... I'm proud of you."

Lace was momentarily stunned, her eyes rimming even redder, but the corners of her mouth couldn't help curling upwards.

However, Phantom's smile suddenly turned a bit "dangerous." Her tone shifted, becoming absolute:

"But, one thing at a time. As punishment for your extremely reckless, unsanctioned, and completely self-endangering actions this time—and also as a necessary measure to ensure the 'stabilizer' takes effect and to monitor any subsequent reactions..."

She announced, word by word: "You. Are. Not. Leaving. The. House. For. A. Month! Stay home, rest quietly, and reflect."

The smile that had just bloomed on Lace's face instantly froze, turning into one of utter disbelief.

"What—?! A whole month?! Sis, that's way too much! I feel fine, Monomon said the stabilizer is effective, I..."

"Protest denied." Phantom let go, regaining her usual calm—even somewhat ruthless—demeanor. She crossed her arms, looking at her sister with an unwavering gaze. "I'll lock the door, check the windows. I'll deliver Soul Silk and food on time. If you need any books or things to pass the time, make a list. As for trying to sneak out..."

Phantom tapped the wall. Her long-handled pin rested nearby, its golden surface flashing a cold glint.

"...You can try."

Seeing her sister's utterly resolved expression, Lace finally slumped her shoulders in surrender, letting out a wail as she collapsed onto a nearby cushion.

————55————

Crystal Peak.

A mine echoing with the faint hum of crystal growth and extraction. Light filtering down from above passed through massive crystal columns, casting shifting patterns of light and shadow on the ground.

Yumi fluttered her wings, hovering at the entrance of a mining tunnel. She handed a securely wrapped small crate to Myla, who had just emerged from the tunnel's depths.

Myla took the crate, wiping crystalline dust from her brow with a smile. "Thanks, Yumi. Right on time, as always."

"No problem, Myla." Yumi put away her logbook. Looking at Myla's dust-covered carapace and the weary yet still bright look in her eyes, she couldn't help bringing up the old topic again. "Honestly, Myla, mining is just too tough and dangerous. Look at all the buzzing automatic drills and conveyor belts everywhere these days... You should think about switching jobs. Wouldn't something easier and safer be better?"

Myla opened the crate, checking the supplies and new tools inside.

Hearing Yumi's words, she shook her head, her tone gentle but firm. "I know you mean well, Yumi. But I like this job. Breaking through rock walls, discovering crystals, sending useful things to where they're needed... it makes me feel grounded."

"But..." Yumi circled Myla anxiously for half a loop. "You see it too. There are more and more mechanical miners—they're efficient and never need to rest. There's less and less work for regular miners. At this rate, sooner or later..."

"Sooner or later we'll be replaced, right?" Myla finished the thought. She attached the new detection device to her belt, her gaze clear. "I've thought about that. But there will always be some jobs those metal things can't do."

She pointed toward the deeper parts of the tunnel, toward areas with complex structures and dense crystal clusters. "Like tracing fine but valuable veins, assessing the stability of fragile rock layers, or doing precise manual extraction in narrow crevices... those require experience and judgment that machines can't match yet. As long as I can handle those, there'll still be a place for me."

Yumi landed on a nearby crystal, her antennae twitching with worry. "But don't you think... working alongside those mechanical bugs is... terrifying? They have no feelings, they don't get tired, they just buzz along their pre-set paths. What if... what if their programming glitches one day, or they get interfered with by something, and suddenly attack you? You wouldn't even have a chance to beg for mercy!"

Myla was amused by her friend's exaggerated imagination and brushed the dust off her carapace. "That kind of thing is impossible. Have you forgotten? Since the Weavers of The Pharloom perfected the underlying directives and protective protocols, there hasn't been a single incident of a mechanical bug actively harming another bug. They're reliable."

Seeing her friend so resolute, Yumi knew further persuasion was futile. She sighed, putting aside her arguments. "Alright, alright, I can't win this one. Just be extremely careful yourself. If you sense anything off, get out immediately, understood?"

Myla nodded with a smile. "Understood, don't worry. You be careful on the road too. The air currents in the peak are always so chaotic."

Just as Yumi prepared to take flight, a public broadcast speaker embedded in the tunnel wall crackled with static before a clear male voice rang out:

"[Hallownest Gazette] Following coordinated investigation by the City of Tears sentries and royal personnel, the primary members of the organization 'Lifeblood Cult,' which intended to sabotage public safety, conduct illegal research, and disseminate forbidden substances, were apprehended this morning at the Blue Lake. All involved hazardous materials have been securely contained. By His Majesty's decree, control measures in all regions will be restored to normal levels in an orderly manner. All citizens are advised to discern truth from falsehood and refrain from spreading rumors. The order of Hallownest is safeguarded by the crown and the law."

"Lifeblood Cult... captured?" Yumi repeated the term, her body suddenly stiffening, her wings forgetting to beat as she hovered in mid-air.

A look of utter, incredulous horror flashed instantly in her eyes. "Lifeblood... that legendary forbidden..."

She didn't even have time to bid Myla farewell. Whirling around, her wings flapped with full force, propelling her like a swift shadow toward the exit of Crystal Peak, leaving Myla's confused calls far behind.

Inside the hideout, the light was dim, the air thick with the smells of oil and old metal. The Grey Wyrm was half-crouched before a partially disassembled mechanical bug, welding its elbow joint with a torch.

BANG! Yumi practically crashed through the disguised partition door, stumbling inside. Her breath was ragged, her voice sharp with fury:

"Vesak, the bugs we're working with... they're the 'Lifeblood Cult'?! Those heretics who research forbidden things and want to turn all bugs into monsters?!"

The Grey Wyrm's movements paused for a moment. He didn't look up, his tone flat as if discussing the weather. "Oh, you found out. What's so surprising about it? They provide what we need, we provide what they need. A mutually beneficial arrangement."

"Beneficial?!" Yumi rushed up to him, her wings vibrating with agitation. "I thought... I thought we were just causing some 'minor trouble' for those high-and-mighty lords in the City of Tears, making sure they couldn't ignore our voices. But what you're doing now could destroy all of Hallownest! Do you even know what Lifeblood is?!"

Vesak finally looked up. His eyes behind the goggles were icy and resolute. "Of course I know. A highly efficient life catalyst, with some... minor side effects. So what? Achieving my goals with such a small sacrifice—they should feel honored!"

"You're insane... you're completely mad!" Yumi felt a bone-deep chill. She stumbled back several steps, putting distance between them, her voice decisive. "Our cooperation ends here! I won't be a part of this dangerous, mad scheme! I'm leaving right now!"

She turned, ready to fly toward the exit.

"Heh..." Vesak let out a short, cold laugh.

Almost simultaneously, from the shadows of the hideout and the connecting tunnels, came the sound of uniform, heavy, metallic footsteps.

Four modified mechanical bugs, larger than standard models with unnerving red lights in their eyes, stepped out. They immediately locked onto Yumi. The tool modules at the ends of their arms shifted, switching to sharp drills or claw-like pincers under command, blocking all escape routes.

"Ha ha," Vesak leisurely turned around, holding a remote control with an antenna. His thumb rested lightly on one of its red buttons. "Now that we're at this point, do you really think you can leave? How could I possibly stand by and watch you fly off to report to the patrols, or some other bug, and ruin years of my hard work?"

Yumi's heart pounded wildly. Surrounded by cold machinery, she felt a deadly threat.

But she wasn't entirely unprepared.

"You forgot—I hate these lumps of metal just as much as you do." With that, Yumi suddenly pulled a fist-sized, irregularly shaped metal sphere from a pouch at her waist—a high-intensity frequency disruptor.

She'd traded for it from a back-alley artisan long ago as a self-defense tool. It could temporarily disable most civilian-grade mechanical circuitry with low-level shielding.

She hurled the sphere with all her might at the nearest mechanical bug.

BZZZZZ—

The sphere detonated, releasing a visible ring of chaotic energy waves.

The directly hit bug's red eyes flickered violently, emitting a piercing electronic screech. Its movements froze instantly. The two others within the blast radius also showed obvious sluggishness and motor dysfunction.

Now!

Yumi didn't hesitate for a second. Seizing this fleeting opening, she unleashed her full speed, bursting through the gap in the mechanical blockade. She crashed through the hideout's disguised exit and vanished in the blink of an eye.

Vesak watched the direction Yumi had fled, then glanced at the few mechanical bugs slowly recovering from the disruption, shaking their heads clumsily. He showed little sign of annoyance or urgency.

He switched off the remote and tossed it casually onto a workbench.

"Run, little courier," he murmured to himself, a trace of disdain in his tone. "But someone like you could never reach the high figures in the White Palace. And the bureaucrats of Hallownest's officials certainly wouldn't listen to the ramblings of an unverified delivery bug spouting 'crazy conspiracies.'"

He turned his attention back to modifying another mechanical bug, the burning ambition in his eyes undiminished. To him, losing an insufficiently "committed" collaborator was merely a negligible loss within the grand plan.

After fleeing the hideout, Yumi huddled in a corner of a cheap rented room at the edge of Dirtmouth, her wings trembling slightly from tension and the frantic flight.

The icy aftershock hadn't faded. Vesak's cold gaze and the ominous red lights in the mechanical bugs' eyes were seared into her mind like brands.

"It's over... it's all over..."

She murmured weakly, her antennae drooping. She was just a courier, making a living off her familiarity with routes and wind currents.

Facing off against a madman like Vesak, paranoid and wielding dangerous technology? Taking on whatever shadowy forces behind him, who'd even collaborate with the Lifeblood Cult? She didn't dare think about it.

"Run..." The thought, once it surfaced, took root and sprouted rapidly, becoming overwhelmingly tempting. "Leave Hallownest. Go far, far away. To Pharloom, or to the uncharted edges beyond the kingdom's maps... change your name, start over."

The instinct for survival crushed everything else.

Yumi began mechanically gathering her belongings: a worn flight pack, a few changes of work clothes, the modest sum of Geo she'd painstakingly saved, carefully sewn into a lining, a few small mementos.

Her movements were hurried, carrying a sense of panicked flight. She just wanted to stuff everything she could take inside.

But as she picked up the autograph plaque signed "Tearing," her movements suddenly halted.

She was no match for Vesak. She knew that.

If she didn't escape quickly, other members of his group might come looking. But...

Her gaze lingered on the autograph plaque.

If Vesak's plan truly succeeded, many bugs would likely be hurt, or even killed, in the chaos.

She could almost see the buildings of the City of Tears crumbling in explosions, helpless bugs scattering in panic, and the magnificent opera house on the lake collapsing amidst the shriek of tearing metal.

Amidst the ruins, that exquisite costume she had admired countless times from the audience, dazzling under the stage lights, would now be stained and filthy, buried under cold rubble and debris, its brilliance extinguished forever.

That opera singer living in the City of Tears, the one she so admired, might become a victim of this senseless calamity.

This hypothetical image pierced through her panicked desire to flee like an ice spike.

At the very least... she should go and give her a warning. So she could be on guard.

After much deliberation, Yumi finally took a deep breath, shouldered all her belongings, and set off toward the City of Tears.

————Little Easter Egg————

The Mask Maker's Workshop.

Under the bright lantern light, the Mask Maker was completely absorbed. His carving knife traced intricate, flowing patterns across a piece of pale root material.

His work rhythm was steady and rhythmic, his movements skilled and practiced—clearly, he had been at this craft for many years.

Yet, starkly contrasting this tranquil atmosphere was the silent congregation of "customers" gathered before the workbench.

They were not ordinary bugs. They were a group of Void-born siblings, shades.

They floated in mid-air, queuing in silence.

They had been vessels, but in order to "eliminate" the mutated flora, they had been forced to abandon the Pale Masks—the very things that maintained their external forms and protected their inner stability.

The Mask Maker seemed long accustomed to this. He would occasionally glance up, his wrinkled but sharp eyes sizing up the next shade's "dimensions" and state before returning to his work.

It was an ancient, secretive covenant: providing a face for every existence in need.

Just then, the workshop door was pushed open a crack. Another shade slipped in silently, drifting to the end of the line.

The shades ahead seemed to sense its presence, turning slightly.

A curious shade looked at the newcomer, conveying a silent inquiry: (Sibling? You came too? Did your shell... also shatter?)

The Lost Shade gave a helpless "shrug." (No, not shattered. It's... lost.)

(Lost?)

(I temporarily left my shell in the employee break room. My employer, Proprietor Sly, thought it was... my corpse. He already had it buried in the public cemetery.)

Another shade chimed in curiously: (Then... why not just dig it up? It is your shell, after all.)

The Lost Shade's outline sagged a bit despondently. (I tried. I... borrowed a shovel. But as soon as I broke the soil, the groundskeeper bug spotted me. He was furious, thinking I was desecrating the dead. He came charging over with a lantern and a broom.)

(I couldn't explain that what was buried was my 'shell' and not a body. To avoid exposing myself and causing even bigger trouble... I had to give up and run.)

The other shades turned to look at him with a mixture of sympathy and bemused disbelief.

The Lost Shade's mental projection grew more urgent. (Also, if I don't get my shell back or find a replacement soon, I can't return to the shop. Proprietor Sly will hire another new employee very quickly... and I'll be out of a job.)

The shade directly in front of the Lost Shade was silent for a long moment.

Then, it slowly turned back toward the workbench, sending a clear request to the Mask Maker: (Mask Maker, could you assist this sibling first? His situation... he needs a new 'face' more urgently than we do.)

Simultaneously, the other shades ahead, one by one, parted to either side, creating a clear pathway through the crowded queue directly to the workbench.

(Go ahead, sibling.)

(Work is important.)

(Don't let that... Sly... find another bug to replace you.)

The shades all offered their silent encouragement.

The Mask Maker paused his carving knife. He glanced at this suddenly opened pathway, then at the Lost Shade, whose outline seemed to flicker with anxiety. The Mask Maker's face showed little expression, just a slight shake of his head—whether at the bizarre circumstances or the unexpected solidarity among the shades was unclear.

He tapped his carving knife lightly on the workbench, addressing the direction of the Lost Shade with brief words:

"Come over, then. Tell me your 'specifications' and 'work environment requirements.' We should finish before a certain stingy proprietor puts up a 'Help Wanted' sign, yes?"

Chapter Text

————56————

The City of Tears, Phantom and Lace's residence.

Phantom was reviewing the upcoming schedule of theater events, while Lace lay on the bed, sipping honey water through a straw and reading a romance novel (all-ages version this time).

The Lakeside Opera Hall wasn't just for opera performances; it also served as a venue for launching new products.

For instance, the highly praised text-to-speech device was a new piece of technology spearheaded by Hornet's development. There were also fixed climbing claws from the Mantis Village, and various silk products from Pharloom, among others.

Phantom noticed a product launch scheduled for two days later, focused on mechanical products. She skimmed through the related information.

"New model of mechanical bug, capable of running errands, doing household chores, and doubling as a bodyguard... isn't that basically the Second Sentinel?" Shade quipped.

The Second Sentinel was actually created a very long time ago. However, its development process was far from honorable, built upon the sacrifices of many bugs. Consequently, the weavers chose not to conduct further research based on it, shifting instead towards purer mechanical constructs.

It took many years for the intelligence level of mechanical constructs to catch up to that of "biomimetic mechanical bugs."

The next step in research was to move away from "older mechanical bugs" that used silk as their power core. The weavers' technology was highly dependent on the silk they themselves produced.

But the weavers' own reproductive capacity was limited, and the divine ability to imbue soul into silk would continue to weaken as their bloodline diluted across generations. This meant their silk-based technology was destined never to be mass-producible.

This was precisely the long-term research project for Hallownest's scholars: finding a new type of energy core to replace silk.

And this information sheet stated that scholars had successfully converted the unstable energy contained within Crystal Peak's crystals into a usable power source.

Next, they would promote mechanical bugs on a larger scale, integrating mechanical automation into every bug's life.

"Hmm... buy one to keep an eye on Lace?" The thought had barely surfaced before Phantom decisively dismissed it.

The reason was simple: the Second Sentinel's AI logic was already the most advanced available, and Lace still managed to frequently find loopholes in it.

Given Lace's mischievous nature, buying ten mechanical bugs probably wouldn't help.

Suddenly, a series of frantic, disorganized knocks sounded at the door.

Phantom set down the flyer and opened the door. Outside was a panting ladybug.

Her red carapace was dusty, the membranes at the edges of her wings quivered slightly from the high-speed flight, and her eyes were filled with panic and urgency.

This ladybug was Yumi.

She had managed to confirm Phantom's residence by remembering route details from a previous time she'd followed her, and by asking several nearby residents.

Yumi glanced around first, ensuring no one else was nearby, then lowered her voice. "Miss Tearing! I'm sorry for barging in like this, but I have something extremely urgent and important I must tell you!"

Without waiting for Phantom to fully react, Yumi launched into a rapid explanation:

"The City of Tears is in danger! The Anti-Mechanization League is colluding with the Lifeblood Cult, planning a terrorist attack within Hallownest! Even though the Lifeblood Cult has been caught, the bugs from the League haven't given up. They're going to incite a mechanical bug rampage soon! Everyone living here will be in danger!" Yumi practically poured out everything she knew. But Phantom merely frowned slightly, her gaze calmly appraising Yumi as if she hadn't heard a single word she'd said.

To Phantom, this ladybug seemed excessively agitated. Her words carried a tone of near-absurd dread, making her highly suspicious.

Phantom's gaze then slowly drifted toward Lace. Quickly, a clear hypothesis formed in her mind.

She didn't respond to Yumi's urgency. Instead, she tilted her head slightly toward the interior of the house and called out, her voice carrying a tone of exasperated amusement:

"La—ace—!"

She drew out the syllables.

"You've really grown bold, haven't you? Trying to sneak out by finding bugs to act out a script for you? Next time, come up with better lines. Such an exaggerated story—did you get inspiration from one of your novels?"

"...Huh?" Yumi was dumbfounded.

From the inner room came Lace's indignant, slightly flustered voice: "Sis! You control all my spending money! Where would I get the Geo to pay other bugs to put on a play?"

After a moment, processing the sisters' exchange, Yumi realized Phantom had mistaken her for a scammer. Frantically, she rummaged through her bag, pulling out the autograph plaque.

Seeing the plaque, Phantom finally recognized Yumi. "Ah... it's you. Miss Yumi... is that right?"

Yumi nodded excitedly. "Y-yes, I didn't expect you to remember my name."

"My apologies, I didn't recognize you immediately." Then, Phantom's expression turned serious. "So what you just said... is it true?"

Yumi nodded earnestly.

Phantom pressed, puzzled. "But how did you come to know about this?"

"That's... that's because..." Yumi stammered, unsure how to explain. Should she confess that she had once been part of the League herself?

But that would likely not only fail to gain Tearing's trust but probably make her despise her instead.

Yumi's lips parted slightly, trying to form words, but nothing came out.

Yet, seeing the gentle way Tearing looked at her, Yumi felt her guilt surge. If she didn't tell Tearing, and something irreparable happened, she would probably regret it for the rest of her life.

Finally, after a fierce internal struggle, Yumi decided to lay it all out. "I... I was originally one of the members of that League. That's how I know their plan."

Then she closed her eyes, waiting—waiting for the disgust, the rejection.

But Phantom's reaction surprised her. She didn't get angry; her tone became even softer than before. "I see."

"Thank you for telling me this."

Yumi's eyes snapped open, filled with disbelief.

Phantom didn't press further. She simply patted Yumi's tense shoulder. "Come inside. Find a place to sit. Tell me everything you know."

Soon, Yumi relayed the more detailed information to Phantom, though as a non-core member, what she knew was quite limited.

"I understand," Phantom said once Yumi finished. She stood up and walked toward the rotary-dial telephone resting on a cabinet.

It was a type of short-range wired telephone that transmitted sound through physical lines. Due to its extremely high installation and maintenance costs, it wasn't widespread in Hallownest. Currently, only the White Palace, some key institutions, and a few wealthy individuals possessed them.

Phantom picked up the receiver and skillfully dialed a number. A brief dial tone sounded in the earpiece before the call was answered.

Hornet's voice came through, tired but clear: "Lace? Or Phantom?"

"It's Phantom. I've just received an important piece of information."

Phantom succinctly summarized what Yumi had told her, emphasizing the key points: "impending mechanical bug assault" and "past collaboration with the Lifeblood Cult."

There was a brief silence on the other end.

"I understand. I'll inform Father as soon as possible."

Then the call ended.

————57————

The White Palace.

After hearing the information Hornet had relayed from Phantom, the Pale King's fingers tapped rhythmically on the desk, producing a low, steady sound.

"The information you bring pieces together with fragments the guards have extracted from the captured individuals," the Pale King's voice was steady. "Those caught indeed belong to two groups—the 'Lifeblood Cult' and the 'Anti-Mechanization League.'"

He paused briefly, a flicker of thought in his eyes. "What's interesting is that on the train they jointly planned to rob, among the cargo the League was responsible for moving, only the very first barrel contained the genuine 'moss active agent.' The rest were all ordinary moss liquids made to look similar."

"The rank-and-file members of the League are mostly ordinary bugs who joined out of hatred for machinery or fear of unemployment. They simply don't have the ability to distinguish between the two."

Hornet immediately grasped the implication. "So it seems the Anti-Mechanization League and the Lifeblood Cult aren't true allies. At the very least... the League's ordinary members were kept in the dark, used as pack mules for the dangerous substance. Or perhaps..."

"Or perhaps," the Pale King finished her thought, his tone carrying the confidence of one who sees through everything, "behind these two seemingly independent forces lies the same mastermind. A third party that needs both the chaos of Lifeblood and the panic created under the banner of anti-mechanization to ultimately achieve some goal."

Hearing this, Hornet crossed her arms. The hem of her red cloak swayed slightly as she leaned back. She looked at her father on the throne, her tone carrying a complex mix of emotions. "I suddenly realize your kingdom is truly disaster-prone, Father."

She counted them off. "First, the Radiance was stealing your subjects in their dreams. Now that's stable, these strange organizations keep popping up, each one more troublesome than the last."

The Pale King turned to her, his expression calm but his tone tinged with wry humor.

"At least you don't oppose me."

The words were spoken plainly, yet they contained immense affirmation and relief.

Truth be told, he had no doubt that if Hornet truly had the will and resolve to stand against him, given her capabilities, her reputation, her understanding of both Hallownest and Pharloom, and the divine power inherited from him... her chances of success would be quite formidable.

"Because I have no interest in becoming a 'monarch,'" Hornet's reply was straightforward.

"...Not even the slightest interest?" The Pale King's voice lowered a fraction, carrying a subtle sense of loss, as if a hard-earned fruit of success had been rejected.

Perhaps every powerful ruler, upon gazing at their exceptional heir, harbors a hidden expectation regarding legacy and acknowledgment.

"No," Hornet's answer held no hesitation. "I do not wish to be a 'Wyrm,' nor do I wish to become wholly a 'weaver.' I only wish to be 'Hornet'—to protect what I believe is worth protecting, in my own way."

The Pale King was silent for a few seconds. The fingers tapping the desk stilled.

"Let us end the discussion of self-identity here," he finally said, his tone regaining the steadiness and decisiveness of a monarch. "I will not interfere with your path. The priority now is to thoroughly pull out those 'nails' lurking in Hallownest's shadows, one by one."

"Before that," Hornet shifted the subject, asking about another detail, "Father, that journalist who was temporarily detained... how is she faring now?"

"She is doing well," the Pale King's reply was matter-of-fact. "The sentries deliver meals regularly. The environment is clean. She has not been mistreated."

"What I meant," Hornet pressed, "is regarding what she saw—vessels, the Void, the mutated flora—how do you plan to handle it? You can't detain her forever."

The Pale King offered a faint smile, his voice carrying an air of unquestionable authority:

"I have my own methods to ensure her silence."

————59————

The cell holding journalist Buna.

Buna huddled on the simple but clean single bed, using a small stone she'd found to scratch lines on the wall, marking the days of her confinement.

Though there were only two scratches so far, the unease within her was a constant torment.

Anxiety, curiosity, and the fear of an unknown fate left her restless.

She knew too much, yet her status was too insignificant—a most dangerous position.

Just then, the sound of a key turning came from the heavy iron door of her cell.

Buna whirled around to see the door slowly swinging open. A figure stood silhouetted against the light from the corridor outside, so tall it almost filled the entire doorway. The light from the hall outlined broad shoulder armor and a slender silhouette, yet left the face completely shrouded in darkness. All she felt was an overwhelming pressure, solid as a mountain, cold as stone.

Buna was instantly terrified out of her wits. The stone in her hand clattered to the floor. She immediately shrunk into the corner, trying to shield her head with her arms, her wings beginning to tremble uncontrollably.

The worst possible scenario flooded her mind: because she had glimpsed royal secrets, seen things she shouldn't have, she was finally going to be "dealt with." Like in the stories, silently disposed of and her body dumped in a forgotten trash heap.

The figure stepped inside. Its sturdy legs struck the ground with heavy, rhythmic thuds.

As it moved into the light of the room, Buna finally saw the visitor's face—it was the Pure Vessel.

The distinctive pale mask and angular form gave her a momentary pause, but then her fear intensified: was the King's "eldest" to carry out the task personally?

Before she could process this, a smaller figure slipped in silently behind the Pure Vessel—the Knight.

The Pure Vessel walked directly to the bedside. It extended its massive hands and firmly grasped Buna's trembling shoulders.

Its actions weren't rough, but they carried an absolute sense of strength and control, making it impossible for her to break free.

"No! Please don't! I won't say anything! I swear! Let me go—!" Buna burst into terrified screams, struggling desperately, but her strength was utterly insignificant against the Pure Vessel.

The Knight walked quietly up to her, its white mask tilted upwards as it looked at her.

Then, it drew the ritual weapon that emitted a hazy glow—the Dream Nail.

Under Buna's gaze of extreme terror, her pupils dilated, the Knight raised the Dream Nail. Not to strike her, but with a gentle swing.

An odd force instantly enveloped her. Her struggles, her screams, even the scene before her eyes quickly blurred and faded away as her consciousness was dragged into a swirling, fantastical mist...

Within Buna's dream consciousness, the Knight moved like a silent diver, searching through the faintly glowing sea of memories.

It quickly located the most recent "essences" of memory, shimmering with intense emotional colors—the pursuit in the amusement area, the shocking transformation at the tea garden, the arrival of the vessels, the Void's consumption... These images were like vivid pearls, linked together in a string.

The Knight swung the Dream Nail, its tip precisely touching the "tea garden incident" and the associated string of memory "pearls."

A warm light flowed through. The images weren't roughly torn apart or blackened out. Instead, they were absorbed by the Dream Nail's tip, becoming part of its energy, silently vanishing from Buna's chain of memories, leaving only a smooth, seamless break.

It was impossible to tell how much time had passed when Buna slowly awoke on a quiet bench in the Resting Grounds.

The afternoon sun filtered down from above, casting dappled light and shadow.

She blinked, feeling a faint, inexplicable sense of emptiness, as if she'd just had a very long, exhausting dream, but couldn't recall the specifics no matter how hard she tried.

"Strange... how did I end up falling asleep here?" She rubbed her slightly throbbing temple, muttering to herself. "Perhaps I've been overworked with the recent investigations and late-night article writing. Must be mental fatigue."

Out of habit, she opened the notebook she always carried, reviewing her previous entries. They detailed her findings at the amusement area—"Evidence suggests the Princess has a child! Relationship with companion appears intimate!"—along with notes about following them to the vicinity of the tea garden.

"Oh, right!" Buna smacked her forehead, her eyes reigniting with a journalist's zeal for the truth. "I followed the Princess here! And then... then I must have been too tired and accidentally fell asleep? Ugh, how careless!"

She harbored no suspicion about the completeness of her memory. That slight sense of missing pieces was naturally attributed to a fatigue-induced gap.

Now, her mind was completely filled with the "explosive news" in her notebook. All the unpleasant fragments of imprisonment, execution... everything had vanished as if they never existed.

Buna excitedly closed her notebook, brushed the dust off her clothes, and strode with renewed energy toward the offices of the Hallownest Tabloid Weekly, eager to compile the "exclusive scoop" from the amusement area into an article.

As for the tea garden? It was just an ordinary tea shop she'd passed by that happened to look a bit lively. Nothing particularly worth noting.

————Interlude————

Distant Village, Hornet's room.

Hornet sat quietly, processing the news she had just heard. Her gaze then shifted to the Second Sentinel, which was meticulously dusting the corners of the desk.

Highly intelligent mechanical sentries like the Second Sentinel were currently exceedingly rare.

This was because researchers in both Hallownest and Pharloom had long focused more of their efforts on energy cores rather than on enhancing computational capabilities.

Regarding this point, a younger Hornet had once asked the Pale King a question.

She had seen him "repairing" a fallen Kingsmould. He rubbed his palms together, forming a white sphere of light. The sphere floated slowly toward the Kingsmould, merging with it.

The Kingsmould's body twitched a few times before standing up again, resuming its usual imposing and solemn appearance.

Witnessing this, a thought suddenly struck Hornet. "Father, why don't you use this power on the mechanical bugs? Couldn't this energy serve as a stable power core?"

She remembered clearly that upon hearing this question, the Pale King hadn't answered immediately.

He pondered for a moment before speaking slowly, in a tone of guidance. "My daughter, your thinking is direct and effective. Yes, if we only pursued the 'result,' I could perhaps do that."

He raised one arm slightly. A pale halo gathered at his fingertips, coalescing into a small, ever-shifting ball of light, as if demonstrating that possibility.

"But," his tone shifted, and the light sphere quietly dissipated, "what would be the meaning of that? If I handled everything, like the god the common bugs most desire, granting them all they need from nothing—food, energy, safety, even knowledge—then what would my subjects become?"

Then he looked up, his eyes carrying a trace of weariness.

"They would become mere grubs, forever looking up, waiting for blessings. They would lose the wings and claws to find their own food, build their own nests, and withstand the storms."

"Their claws would dull from disuse. Their wisdom would slumber, having no need to think. Their courage would erode, facing no challenges. A kingdom whose prosperity and survival depend entirely on the divine power of its king alone, no matter how powerful that power may be, is destined to be fragile, impermanent from the moment of its birth. Because it has no roots, only clinging vines."

The Pale King's gaze seemed to pierce through the palace walls, extending across the vast expanse of Hallownest.

"True strength does not lie in how much I can give them, but in how much they themselves can create, protect, and understand."

"Let them prospect for veins of ore. Let them design new scientific technologies. Let them debate the optimal arrangement of runes. Let them rejoice over a successful refinement, or even feel discouraged by a failed experiment, then learn from it... This process itself is 'participation.' It is 'ownership.'"

His voice was low and powerful, each word carrying weight:

"When a bug personally chips ore from a vein; when a group of artisans argue through the night to improve a design; when a scholar finally obtains a result after lengthy experiments... what they gain is not merely 'energy' or 'technology.' They gain the conviction that 'this is our achievement.' They gain the confidence that 'we can change the world.' They gain a deep appreciation for the land beneath their feet, for this kingdom built upon countless such small efforts."

"That appreciation, that sense of value, is the kingdom's most solid foundation, more enduring than any light."

The young Hornet couldn't fully grasp all the meaning behind those words at the time. But she remembered the solemn expression on her father's face as he spoke, and the weight of words like "participation," "ownership," and "appreciation."

She also vaguely sensed that as her father spoke, a flicker of extremely complex emotion passed through his eyes. Perhaps it was the memory of older, more distant lessons about "bestowing" and "dependence."

However, letting bugs delve into these technologies themselves also meant these techniques would be learned and utilized more widely. And the application of technology often depends solely on the bug wielding it.

Clearly, members of the Anti-Mechanization League had acquired a portion of this technology. Yet they had no intention of embracing this progress; instead, they sought to destroy it.

There were already voices in Hallownest opposing mechanical bugs, as they displaced some simpler jobs, leading to unemployment for some citizens.

One reason the public still tolerated them was that these mechanical bugs did not harm other bugs.

If the League's planned attack succeeded, with numerous citizens being attacked by mechanical bugs, public opposition to their existence would inevitably erupt. Hallownest would be thrown into chaos.

In that scenario, the Second Sentinel and its kind would find themselves in a precarious position.

And the scholars dedicated to technological research would likely face the scorn of the common citizens.

To prevent such a situation, she needed to act quickly.

Hornet then stood up and headed for the White Palace.

Chapter Text

————58————

Leaving the White Palace, Hornet's red cloak cut a vivid streak through the damp air of the City of Tears. Her steps were swift as she made her way directly to Phantom's residence.

The door opened quickly. Phantom stepped aside to let her in, simultaneously handing her a towel.

"How is Lace's condition?" Hornet got straight to the point, wiping the rainwater from herself.

"Stabilized for now," Phantom's voice was calm. "Monomon used a specially formulated stabilizer to suppress the Lifeblood's activity. But she also said the substance has already integrated with Lace's body to some degree. It's difficult... perhaps nearly impossible to completely eradicate it without causing significant damage. For now, it's long-term observation and control."

Hornet gave a slight nod. This outcome was expected, yet it still weighed on her heart.

She entered the living room, her gaze habitually sweeping over every corner—then stopped behind the sofa.

From the edge of the sofa back, a pair of eyes filled with tension and wariness were peeking out. The moment they met her gaze, they "whooshed" back out of sight, making the entire sofa seem to inch backward slightly.

It was the ladybug. The "concerned citizen" Phantom had mentioned on the phone, who had provided the crucial warning.

"Is this the lady who provided the important information?" Hornet didn't approach directly, turning to Phantom for confirmation instead.

"Yes. Yumi." Phantom nodded, her tone carrying a protective note. "And also, my devoted fan."

Hornet then slowly walked over to the sofa. She could sense subtle trembling from behind it.

She stopped, her voice lowered slightly compared to usual, but clear enough to carry over:

"Miss Yumi, there's no need to be nervous. I am Hornet, a friend of Miss Phantom's. I am not here on behalf of the authorities to arrest anyone."

The trembling from behind the sofa seemed to pause. Then, Yumi slowly, cautiously, peeked half her head out. Her red carapace was still smudged with dust from her earlier frantic flight.

She looked at Hornet, her eyes a mix of fear, suspicion, and a kind of incredulous hope.

"You... you're really not here to arrest me?" Her voice was tiny, trembling.

"I swear upon my needle," Hornet's tone was calm yet firm. "Choosing to come forward and warn us took immense courage. Hallownest will not punish you for that; it should protect you instead."

Mentioning "protection," Hornet continued, "The information you provided touches the core of that organization's plans. It's very likely they have already noticed your defection and see you as a threat. Perhaps... you need to accept official protection? We can arrange a safe house or assign guards."

"No way!" Yumi's reaction was unexpectedly vehement. She practically leaped out from behind the sofa, her wings flaring slightly with agitation. "I don't trust them! Those... those uniformed ones! They won't really protect me; they might just turn around and silence me!"

Her fear ran deep. Her distrust of authority clearly outweighed her concern for personal safety.

Hornet looked at Phantom. Phantom gave a helpless shrug, as if to say, "I tried. No use."

Hornet didn't press the point. She simply nodded to Phantom. "In that case, until she changes her mind or the danger becomes imminent, I'll have to ask you to look after her for now. This place is relatively hidden, and you have the capability to handle emergencies."

"Leave it to me," Phantom's reply was concise and confident.

Having settled Yumi's situation, Hornet finally looked around, noticing a familiar absence.

"Where's Lace? Did she sneak out again?" she frowned. After such a dangerous ordeal, this bug still couldn't stay put?

Phantom pointed toward a firmly closed door. "I've grounded her. She won't be slipping out this time."

Hornet walked to the door and knocked.

A listless, drawn-out voice came from inside. "Co—me i—in."

Pushing the door open, she saw Lace sitting cross-legged on the rug. In front of her was an elaborate tower carefully constructed from playing cards. It was already five levels high, teetering precariously yet miraculously standing.

Her white eyes were fixed on the tower's peak. She held the next card in her hand, her movements cautious, utterly focused as if engaged in a grand endeavor.

But clearly, this was just because she had absolutely nothing else to do.

Hearing the door open, Lace didn't look up, just asked lazily, "Sis, what's for dinner... huh?"

She finally caught the familiar scent, whipping her head around. Seeing it was Hornet, her eyes lit up for an instant, but then she deliberately pouted and turned back to her card tower. "Oh, it's you. Here to inspect the prisoner?"

Hornet ignored the minor attitude. She walked over and sat on the edge of the bed, getting straight to the point. "How does your body feel? Any lingering discomfort?"

"Perfectly fine~" Lace gently placed a card atop the tower. The sixth level was a success. "After all, I'm not some ordinary bug. That blue juice wasn't that effective on me to begin with. Plus with Monomon's medicine, I barely feel anything now."

"Is that so." Hornet's voice gave nothing away. "You didn't hold back at all when you electrocuted me, did you? Full power?"

Lace's hand stilled for a moment.

"I... I did want to use a gentler setting," she muttered softly, a hint of grievance in her voice. "But who knew your constitution is so ridiculous? You ate an entire cake loaded with strong sedatives and were still sitting there analyzing the map with your eyes wide open! What else could I do? I had to use the heavy option."

"I have a naturally high resistance to most toxins," Hornet explained calmly.

Then, she shifted her tone, her voice lowering slightly. Her gaze settled on the side of Lace's down-turned face. "And those words you said in my room earlier... were they part of the act to lower my guard, or..."

She didn't finish, but the unspoken question was crystal clear.

—Or were they sincere?

Crash—!

Lace's finger jerked. The card at her fingertip brushed against the fragile structure.

The meticulously built six-story card tower instantly lost its balance, collapsing in a cascade. Multicolored cards scattered across the floor like a suddenly shattered illusion.

A deathly silence fell over the room.

Only the soft rustle of falling cards and the faint, continuous patter of rain outside.

Lace remained frozen, her back to Hornet, shoulders tense.

Seconds ticked by, oppressive and suffocating.

A full minute later, she slowly turned around. An exaggerated, almost flippant smile was plastered on her face. Her white eyes were curved into crescents, feigning nonchalance.

"Of course it was an act~!" Her voice was pitched higher, deliberately light and carrying a hint of bravado. "So? Wasn't my acting amazing? Even you were fooled! Seems like a waste of talent, not performing in my sister's theater~"

She laughed freely, but her eyes couldn't hold Hornet's gaze for long. They darted to the scattered cards, then to the window, finally sweeping quickly across the other's face.

Hornet was momentarily taken aback. Then, the corners of her mouth slowly curled into a knowing smile.

"If you insist on it being so," she said softly, her tone neutral, betraying neither disappointment nor belief, "then let it be so."

A wave of relief washed over Lace, though the inexplicable emptiness within her abruptly swelled.

However, Hornet's next words instantly made her tense again.

"But did you think having a 'justifiable reason' would exempt you from punishment for acting on your own, placing yourself in extreme danger?"

Hornet stood up, taking two steps closer. She looked down at Lace sitting on the rug, her gaze sharp as needles.

"W-wait..." Lace's bravado instantly deflated. She shrunk back, her eyes darting around, offering a weak protest. "Sis already grounded me for a whole month! Isn't that enough? I've been good, I haven't even tried to climb out the window..." The last part was said with no conviction at all.

"Whether the punishment is sufficient is not for you to decide," Hornet's tone brooked no argument.

In the next second, she suddenly leaned down, placing her hands on the rug on either side of Lace, trapping her within her shadow.

The distance between them closed instantly, so close Lace could see the fine details along the edge of Hornet's mask, could feel that familiar presence enveloping her.

Lace's heart skipped a beat, then began hammering uncontrollably. A surge of emotion—a mix of anticipation, nervousness, and a secret thrill—flooded her completely.

She held her breath, her white eyes widening slightly, staring unblinkingly at Hornet so close, waiting...

However, Hornet's movements halted.

A flicker of hesitation passed through her eyes. Then, the imposing pressure receded like a tide.

She slowly straightened up, putting distance between them.

"Forget it," she averted her gaze, her voice tinged with irritation and fatigue. "There's too much to deal with right now. Your 'punishment'... we'll address it another time."

Then she turned, seemingly ready to end the visit.

"Wait!"

The disappointment of an unmet expectation and a sudden, inexplicable impulse made Lace reach out sharply. She wrapped her arms around Hornet's waist, pulling her back.

She buried her face in the familiar red cloak, her complaint muffled, carrying an unconscious note of petulance and grievance:

"My silk hasn't been replenished! I used up a lot for the disguise, and I haven't had a chance with you since..."

Hornet's body stiffened. She looked down at the white bug clinging to her and sighed helplessly.

This was a legitimate need. And maintaining Lace's stable condition did require sufficient Soul Silk support.

"...Alright."

They moved to sit on the edge of the bed.

Hornet extended a hand. A soft, pure stream of silk gathered at her fingertips, slowly flowing into Lace.

The warm energy coursed through her, swiftly soothing the craving for silk in Lace's body, bringing waves of pleasurable shivers.

Lace's eyes narrowed with contentment, like a cat being stroked.

The replenishment process was quiet and focused.

However, just as the flow of silk was stabilizing and Hornet was about to withdraw her hand, Lace suddenly, without warning, lunged forward, pinning the slightly relaxed Hornet onto the soft bedding.

"Lace?" Hornet startled, instinctively trying to get up, but Lace cleverly used her own limbs and the still-connected silk flow to entangle her movements.

Lace leaned over her, her white eyes shimmering with a strange light in the room's illumination.

She reached out a hand. Her fingertips gently brushed against the pale mask Hornet never removed. The movement held a cautious, probing quality and a deep-seated fervor.

"All those troublesome matters... someone will handle them eventually," Lace's voice was very low, her breath whispering past the edge of the mask. "And you... what you need right now is to relax properly."

Her fingertips traced the cold curve of the mask. Her tone was a mix of temptation and a long-suppressed curiosity:

"And besides... I've always been a little curious..."

"Underneath this always composed mask that hides everything..."

"What kind of expression... is hidden there?"

————59————

Meanwhile.

Outside the door, Yumi was pressed flat against Lace's bedroom door like a gecko. Her antennae were raised straight, trembling at a high frequency as she strained to filter any sound through the thick wood.

The spirit of gossip blazed fiercely within her—just what was the relationship between Lady Hornet and Miss Phantom's sister?

The tense atmosphere when they entered earlier, the near-total silence inside now... what were they talking about? What were they doing?

After listening intently for a long while, she heard nothing but her own increasingly loud heartbeat and the faint, distant sound of rain.

However, this futile focus had the unintended effect of settling her initial flustered thoughts.

A neglected detail, like an ice block submerged in water, suddenly bobbed to the surface of her consciousness.

"W-wait a moment..." Yumi's body froze. Her cheek slowly peeled away from the door. Her eyes widened as she muttered to herself, "Did she... did she just say her name was... 'Hornet'?"

In all of Hallownest, there was only one being referred to by that name.

That dignified, composed demeanor, the aura of leadership that seemed to emanate from her effortlessly, that signature red cloak...

That was the Princess herself!

What had she just done? Yelling "No way! I don't trust them!" at the Princess, rejecting her proposal so vehemently... An icy chill shot from the soles of her feet to the top of her head. The blood beneath her carapace seemed to freeze solid.

In an instant, panic drowned her: How disrespectful! Could she be charged? Did she cause trouble for Miss Tearing? Would the sentries come any moment now...

Right at that moment, a slender hand rested gently on her tense shoulder.

"Eek—!"

Yumi was scared out of her wits, practically jumping out of her carapace. She spun around, her back thumping against the door.

Her startled eyes met Phantom's composed gaze—the other bug was looking at her with an amused, knowing expression.

"Eavesdropping on private conversations," Phantom's voice remained gentle, advisory, "is rather immoral, Miss Yumi."

"S-sorry! I'm so sorry!" Yumi's face instantly flushed a deep red. She scrambled to stand up straight, her antennae flattening tightly against the back of her head in shame, her wings folding close. "I... I just... got curious for a moment. My gossipy heart got the better of me... I, I won't ever do it again!"

Her voice grew smaller and smaller, ending in a near-whisper. Her eyes darted around, wishing she could find a crack in the floor to vanish into.

Phantom raised an eyebrow. She didn't press further, seeing her little fan was already reprimanding herself excessively. Instead, she asked curiously:

"So, what did they talk about?"

"..." Yumi was stunned for a second before stammering a reply. "The soundproofing on this door... is really too good. I... I had my ear pressed against it for ages, and I really... didn't hear a thing." All that mental preparation and internal debate, wasted.

A flicker of disappointment passed through Phantom's eyes—whether lamenting the door's excellent quality or its lack of romantic ambiance was unclear.

Phantom quickly regained her usual composure and said, "Why don't you go rest in the living room, or look at some magazines? I'll prepare some tea and snacks. Lace might... need to replenish some sugar later."

Phantom had a vague idea of what might be happening or might have just happened inside. It was all too typical of her restless little sister.

Upon reaching the kitchen, Phantom retrieved fine flour, fresh lumafly berries, and a jar of amber-colored honey from the cabinets, arranging them skillfully on the clean countertop.

Just then, a small red figure hesitantly appeared at the kitchen doorway.

"M-Miss Tearing... is there anything I can help with?" Yumi asked quietly, seeming to want to make up for her earlier "misconduct" and ease her inner unease by doing something.

Phantom glanced at her, didn't refuse, and handed her a basket of berries needing washing. "Then I'll trouble you with these."

The sound of running water filled the space. The berries tumbled in Yumi's hands, their vivid colors even more striking under the water.

For a moment, only soft sounds filled the kitchen. In this sweet-smelling space, Yumi's tense nerves seemed to relax a little.

"Yumi," Phantom spoke as she skillfully sifted the flour, her voice calm, as if discussing ordinary matters, "can you tell me why you joined that... 'Anti-Mechanization League' in the first place?"

Yumi's berry-washing paused. The water kept flowing, but she was silent for a few seconds before replying quietly:

"Actually... before that, I worked in security at a Hallownest stag station." Her voice was somewhat distant. "My specialty... you know, is observing bugs' postures, gaits, little mannerisms. Back then, I felt the work had meaning. I could rely on my own eyes to spot potentially bad bugs mixed in with the passengers."

She picked up a washed berry, unconsciously rubbing its smooth skin with her fingers.

"Later, the weavers introduced the new 'inspection gates.' Faster, more accurate, never tiring. So... I was let go." She tugged at the corner of her mouth, trying to form a nonchalant expression, but didn't quite succeed.

Phantom poured the flour into a bowl, not interrupting.

"If it were just losing my job, I might... not have hated the machinery so much," Yumi's voice dropped lower, carrying a tremble of resentment. "But not long after I became unemployed, an accident happened... at the Crystal Peak mines."

She paused, seeming to need a moment to gather courage.

Phantom waited quietly, simply handing her a paring knife while offering a reassuring glance.

"My dad... he worked at that mine. Worked his whole life, honest and straightforward, excellent skills, even won the 'Outstanding Miner' award several times." Yumi's voice gradually held a warmth brought by memory, which then swiftly cooled. "I always told him to quit. The mines are dangerous, and he was getting old."

"Later, the mine introduced large mechanical miners. More efficient, safer too. Many veteran miners were transferred or retired. I was actually... relieved."

She clenched her fist, her nails lightly pressing into her palm.

"But... one day, a newly calibrated mechanical miner, its calculation circuits seemed to have malfunctioned. It didn't calculate the rock strata's stress correctly. When the digging arm struck... it triggered a small-scale cave-in." Yumi's voice turned brittle. "My dad... he happened to be doing a final equipment check in that area that day..."

She couldn't continue, lowering her head, shoulders trembling slightly.

The kitchen was left with only the soft shush of sifted flour and the distant, muffled sound of rain outside.

A long moment later, she spoke again, her voice filled with suppressed anger and helplessness:

"What I couldn't accept the most... was what happened afterward. The mine management and the workshop responsible for mechanical maintenance... they... they covered it up. 'Operational error,' 'unfortunate accident.' The compensation came quickly, but there was no public explanation, no accountability."

"We families who lost loved ones wanted an explanation, wanted at least for everyone to know what happened, wanted to prevent similar tragedies... but there was nowhere to voice our complaints. It was like punching cotton, no—like punching a cold stone wall. Not even an echo."

She looked up. There were no tears in her eyes, only deep exhaustion and disillusionment. "I know His Majesty is great. But Hallownest is so vast. He deals with countless matters... how could he possibly oversee such a tiny 'minor incident' in a corner of the mines? Gradually... I just... gave up."

"Until a few months ago," Yumi took a deep breath, her tone becoming clear again, yet carrying an icy resolve, "I happened to hear about the existence of the 'Anti-Mechanization League.'"

"Rumors said they were planning to make the higher-ups, all of Hallownest, 'see' the problems machinery brings, to hear our voices. I thought, if normal channels couldn't draw attention, then... perhaps only by making things big enough, so no one could ignore it, would His Majesty... maybe... find out."

"Only then would our suffering, my dad's death, not be buried in vain."

She looked at Phantom, her expression complex. "I just... wanted justice. Wanted to prevent more bugs like my dad from getting hurt. I truly, truly never imagined the League would get involved with madmen like the Lifeblood Cult. I never thought their 'plan' would be so... so insane and evil. This wasn't what we wanted at all!"

Phantom hadn't spoken all this time, just listened quietly.

Now, she stopped her work, walked over to Yumi, and reached out, gently patting the shoulder that was trembling slightly from agitation.

That hand was warm and firm.

"I understand," Phantom's voice was soft, yet carried a gentle firmness that could pierce through gloom. "Thank you for telling me this, Yumi. This is not your fault."

She paused, looking into Yumi's reddened eyes, and continued:

"Seeking justice is not wrong. But walking alongside darkness will only lead to being consumed by it. You left. And you chose to come forward to warn everyone. That requires even greater courage. Your father, if he knew, would be proud of you."

Yumi stared at Phantom, stunned. The long-accumulated grievances, anger, and helplessness in her heart seemed, in this moment, to find a small outlet because someone understood, someone listened.

She blinked hard and nodded emphatically.

In the kitchen, the sweet aroma of pastries began to permeate the air, mingling with the slight tartness of lumafly berries and the warm sweetness of honey, slowly dispelling the heaviness brought by the recent memories.

Approximately two hours later.

The door to Lace's room finally opened again.

Hornet walked out. Her pace seemed slightly slower than when she had entered. Her red cloak was still vivid, but upon closer look, her shoulders were slightly more relaxed, yet also subtly conveyed a fatigue from overexertion.

And clinging to her side, practically draped over her arm, was Lace—a picture of complete contrast. Her white carapace seemed to have more luster, her eyes were bright, her spirits high, a satisfied and slightly smug smile playing on her lips. She radiated a vibrant, "thoroughly replenished" vitality.

Hornet's mind was indeed much more relaxed, but her body... not so much.

Phantom emerged from the kitchen carrying a tea tray. She took in the scene, her gaze lingering for a moment on her radiantly cheerful sister before settling on Hornet's face.

"Are you alright?" Phantom asked with concern, offering a cup of warm, calming herbal tea.

Hornet accepted the cup, letting out a soft sigh and rubbing her temple.

"I'm fine," she took a sip of the hot tea, a barely noticeable hint of hoarseness in her voice. "Perhaps... a bit excessive silk expenditure. I'll be fine after some rest."

Hearing this, Lace immediately pressed closer, saying with a grin, "Want me to give you a shoulder rub?"

Phantom watched them, a resigned smile on her face. She handed another cup—this one honey water—to Lace. "Don't be too greedy next time. Hornet's silk isn't limitless either."

Lace stuck out her tongue, apparently not taking it to heart at all.

Then Phantom looked at Hornet. "If needed, there's a spare room next door where you can rest."

Hornet shook her head, setting down her teacup. Her gaze regained its sharp, clear focus. "No. Next, based on the information Yumi provided earlier, I need to head to the signal tower at Crystal Peak."

She gently patted Lace's hands, which were still entwined around her. Though reluctant, Lace obediently let go.

"Phantom, Yumi and Lace... I leave them in your care for now."

"Mhm. I'll do everything I can to protect them."