Chapter Text
Hornet jumped down through a tunnel and into the bellways.
Cupping her hand over her mouth, she shouted into the vast space that was lined with numerous bells. “Eira!”
From within the sea of bells came a deep rumble. And as soon as the rumbling started, the Bellbeast emerged from the floor, sending bells crashing all over the place. The Bellbeastlings also scuttled out along with their mother, hopping around the bellway and crawling up to Hornet. The Bellbeast itself purred loudly, shaking the entire tunnel.
Hornet giggled softly as the little Bellbeastlings smothered her underneath their hard, pearly shells. “Yes, yes. I’m glad to see you too.” She gently freed herself from the bundles of energy and walked up to their mother, petting it lightly. “The Grand Bellway, please.” The massive bug nodded, and as soon as the hunter sat on top of its back, it took off through the bellways with impressive speed. The Bellbeastlings ran along its side, chirping all the way.
Once having arrived at her destination, the Bellbeast stopped abruptly and flung Hornet off its back. She somersaulted and landed with ease, waving goodbye to the beast before opening her map.
Bad as the map was, Hornet gave its maker some credit.
It led her through a relatively short route towards Trobbio’s Stage, not too far from the bellways, and was in an area she’d already helped clear of enemies.
She looked up from the map and swung her needle as an afterthought, cutting down a Haunted bug.
Okay so it was mostly clear of enemies.
Hornet sheathed her needle and continued walking down the corridors, glancing at felled bugs that dotted the landscape with morbid curiosity. Some had died from natural causes. Others were slain by the unforgiving hazards that make Pharloom so treacherous to explore (cough, trapped benches, cough). A handful were obviously a result of her doing, whose wounds were too clean to be done by passing pilgrims.
Killing was just an everyday requirement to fulfil for her. Self-defence had been ingrained into her from young, to prepare her to survive the world as a fierce hunter. But sometimes… sometimes in the dead quiet of long nights, when Hornet sat alone on hard, cold benches, she wondered what it would feel like if she wasn’t a hunter.
Would it be luxurious? Exciting? Mundane? Would she have been safer? Happier? Would her blade have been stained with blood still, and would she even have a blade to begin with?
It was a little hard to imagine.
Those nights of contemplation felt quite strange. Peering into another life, a life based on what ifs. It felt a little like some child playing pretend, seeking solace in something that never was, or will be.
Hornet had never been discontent with what she has grown into. She had regrets, yes, but would also never trade the world for what she has learnt, in spite of everything that has happened. She herself impressed the White Lady with her wisdom, even if their interaction was only in memory.
“One can only dream,” she said, walking past the corpses. “But to live in dreams is folly.”
Hornet glanced at the crude map again. So, the Stage was where the fleas were? Interesting. She didn’t think Fleamaster Mooshka was one to enjoy theatrical performances. None of the smaller fleas struck her as particularly well-read individuals either, what with them getting stuck and lost in the most random places around Pharloom ever.
Seriously, how did one of them manage to get lost in the caverns in Mount Fay?
The entrance to the Stage was also mysteriously shut by a closed door. Hornet didn’t recall seeing a door there previously. Must be a new addition, she thought. What puzzled her more was the sound of many bugs behind said door. It sounded like a gathering of sorts. She could even make out faint music and the pitter-patter of hurried steps across the wooden floorboards.
She could also hear the occasional “Trobbio!” proclamation, no doubt from the actor himself.
This was not something she was expecting in the slightest.
Wary of a potential ambush, Hornet readied her needle and Silk, placing one tentative hand on the door and slowly swung it open.
The Stage looked extremely different from the last time she’d seen it.
The tattered drapes were replaced by curtains, dyed a shade of red that matched her cloak exactly. A gramophone in the corner was playing a song she hadn’t heard of in a long, long time. Gleamlights were strung across the ceiling, providing a softer ambience than harsh spotlights. The stage itself shone with evident polishing and unexpected maintenance.
As Hornet stepped through the door, two plumes of red smoke announced her arrival, shooting up from some hidden mechanism underneath the floorboards. A single spotlight pointed right at the spider, who was clearly the most important thing in the room. She could hear Trobbio’s mutterings from behind the Stage, who was no doubt manning the mechanisms.
“Happy birthday!” cheered the entire room, filled with friends and faces Hornet had seen throughout the kingdom.
Hornet didn’t know what to say. Years of avoiding interaction to do her sentinel duties didn’t exactly give her chances to practice her royal manners. With some shyness of being greatly surprised, the hunter smiled and addressed everybody with a simple “thank you”.
She hoped it sounded sincere.
Thankfully, it seemed like that was enough for the party goers.
The fleas were present, as promised, and circled the air lazily, some yipping and awoo-ing as Hornet walked through the crowd. She suppressed a gigantic grin at their presence, especially upon seeing the Huge Flea asleep on the stage.
Fleamaster Mooshka approached her, followed by others like Grishkin and Vog. “Oh! Oho! The esteemed fleafriend has shown herself at last! We were wondering when you’d show up!” He patted her on the shoulder. “When your short, bell-ringing friend sent word to us, I took a handful of our members to attend this grand celebration. I also took the liberty to leave Kratt behind.”
Mooshka laughed heartily upon seeing Hornet’s sigh of relief when he mentioned Kratt’s absence.
“Many thanks, Fleamaster,” said Hornet. “Your attendance wasn’t expected, but I doubt a party thrown for me would be more complete than one blessed with the presence of fleas.”
The fleas then left to host a mini-flea carnival on the stage, inviting some bugs to try their hand at the Flea Juggle. Nearby them were a few tables worth of food and drinks, likely sourced from all across the three three main settlements. The hunter wondered how long it took for everything to be prepared in such short notice.
Wading through the crowd, Hornet saw others like Seth, Nuu, the courier brothers, Grindle and more. Trobbio was busy trying the Flea Juggle game, racking up a formidable high score that she sought to contest later on. Sherma was attempting to rally the room in song with his bell and stick, singing that old tune she has long since memorised.
And after sifting through the entire room, she found Lace.
She was standing near the gramophone, conducting the air, surrounded by her glowing butterfly companions. When Hornet approached, she flung her pin down with a hint of anticipation. “Finally! Some nerve you have, showing up to your own party fashionably late.” She gestured all around the Stage. “Do you like it?”
For once in her many interactions with Lace, Hornet was at a genuine loss of words.
She looked around. The decorations were definitely themed after herself. The food and drinks on the table were enough to feed everyone. The gramophone was playing an old Weaver song she heard back in Deepnest. The guests attending weren’t some handful of strangers, but bugs that mattered greatly to her.
Lace certainly put in a lot of effort for this, which could explain her nervousness. She really wanted to know if Hornet liked the party she threw for her.
Hornet took a moment to think before replying. “Lace. I think this is the best thing someone has ever done for me.” She took a step forward and hugged her tightly, before quickly stepping back to contemplate her life choices.
"...!"
Now it was Lace’s turn to be surprised. No matter what she did or said, that pesky spider would always find ways to surpass her expectations. Truly an enigma of a being. Not quite what one expects, but in a good way.
For the silken being, that one hug was all she was looking for. It was more affection than Mother had ever shown in her entire lifetime. It made her feel seen and heard, not like some random creation to be tossed out when it didn’t live up to expectations she didn’t want. Lace only threw the party out of gratitude to Hornet, but somewhere deep down, she longed for attention, and wished to be noticed by someone, anyone, to fill the void in her heart left by Mother.
Hornet appreciated her. And that was more than enough.
Lace blinked away her shock and grinned cheekily, swiftly returning to her usual demeanour. “I’ll take that as a yes, hm?”
The hunter cracked another rare smile of hers and exhaled deeply. Lace swore she saw weeks of tension and stress simply melt away in her shoulders. “I’ll admit. I’m rather impressed. Is that gramophone playing what I think it is?” Hornet eyed the music player with wonder. “Where did you get it?”
“Oh, nothing too fancy. I just had to bargain with an extremely insufferable centipede to get that psalm cylinder. He said something about it being a Weaver song. The gramophone is one of Trobbio’s.”
Lace then recounted her misadventures throughout the Citadel, narrating the series of unlikely events that culminated into Hornet’s birthday party. They sat near the others, watching as many tried the flea’s games or picked apart the tables full of food. Hornet didn’t know what to focus on: Lace’s ramblings or the festive scenes around her.
Both were equally endearing.
Shakra stopped by the duo and handed Hornet a stackful of maps. “Poshanka! It is customary for gifts to be given to the birthday bug, is it not? I was made privy to the party a tad bit too late for me to get a suitable gift. Take my remaining stock, and consider it your present.” The hunter was floored, but only managed a soft gasp. Wyrm above, this would save her so much time farming for rosaries! Shakra didn’t know how much it meant to her.
She stood up to return Shakra’s greeting with a clash of two throwing rings. A warrior’s thanks. “I’m glad to call you my friend, Shakra. Thank you.”
Little Sherma tiptoed from underneath the taller bug, having doffed his white robes in exchange for his wide hat and pilgrim’s robes. He hit his bell with a steady rhythm, the ting-ting-ting floating over the party chatter. “Hoy, red maiden! ‘Tis heartening to see you in good health and spirits. I don’t have much to give, so have a song instead!”
Lace held back her giggles as Sherma serenaded them with his iconic signing. Even Hornet found it cute.
“Fari do la si ma net, doni pwa na vo mi net… Pi na sa ni ma ni set… Dana fou siu lo bon!”
Shakra hummed in approval and started singing too. Trobbio’s Stage boasted of great acoustics, which further amplified the map-maker’s rich voice.
“Kai, lai lai lai… Ooohshka dou… Kai, lai lai lai… Oooshka dou ai…”
Lace then picked up her pin, waving it in the air, pantomiming a conductor. She smirked and made bigger gestures, urging Shakra and Sherma to sing louder. She gestured to Hornet, as if cuing her to come in and join the song.
The hunter sighed in mock exasperation and hoisted her needle over one shoulder, adjusting its flat end against her crossed legs. She strung a length of Silk through its eye and secured it underneath its tip. Graceful hands plucked notes from the needolin, joining the two singers as accompaniment.
Their small band drew the attention of the crowd, in part also due to the properties of Hornet’s needolin. One by one, voices overlapping with many different melodies, the Stage was filled with a majestic makeshift choir. The fleas yipped and awoo’d loudly. Even Lace couldn’t help but sing.
As “conductor”, she smugly thought that the heartfelt singing rivaled the Citadel’s threefold melody. If only Phantom were here to hear this. She would have loved it too.
Sometimes there was dissonance, where the different songs clashed imperfectly. Other times, they harmonised, striking unrehearsed chords with ease. Regardless of the nuances, everyone in the room was having a blast. Many voices and faces were united in a song, singing for the one who’d freed them from the cursed Silk from above. The one who’d bested them in combat. The one who may have saved their life.
The one that they could all call their friend.
The needolin allowed Hornet to pry into every bug’s thoughts unintentionally. She opened her mind and allowed herself to listen in to everyone’s thoughts.
“Audience… in a long time… witness me…”
“Saviour… friend… red maiden…”
“Friend from afar… matched my strength… fearsome warrior…”
It was overwhelming to listen to, but Hornet didn’t want to stop at all. She’d forgotten what it was like, receiving attention instead of giving it. To be treasured and held in high regard, not due to her lineage, but rather through her interactions with them. Sincerity at its best.
She wanted to cry.
“Rescued many… friend of fleas… safe travels…”
“Great hunter… my journal… helped cut down many…”
“Child of Wyrm and Weaver… saved… Abyss…”
They continued singing long after Hornet put her needolin down.
Slowly, somehow, the unique melodies merged into one united chorus, led by Lace. They sang the traditional birthday song for the hunter, who sat there in awe and gladness. Her heart was touched.
It was the best birthday ever.