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They think, they drift, and they remember.
They are young, younger than they can remember being. Darkness wraps itself around them, swaddles them as if they are but a hatchling. It feels soft and warm as it sinks into them, as it swallows them whole. Ghost sighs and relaxes into the void. An eggshell shatters.
Unconsciously, they leap. Down, down, down they fall, the path before them wide and unknown to many. This will be their home, their life, their death. King’s Pass stretches out before the Ghost. They walk.
An egg reforms, dark and glimmering in the very depths of the abyss. The first sibling begins the climb up. Ghost watches as if it is a memory, as the sibling climbs higher and higher. The younger ones watch them as they prepare to leap onto the highest ledge. They jump, and their hands scrape the edge of it, and they fall. Ghost watches.
They settle on the bench within the Temple. Monuments describe the king’s great sacrifice, all that he gave up for the sake of His kingdom. They only briefly mention the Hollow Knight. Fury surges through Ghost, at the reminder that only the King will be remembered. Their nail cuts through the tablets with ease.
“Come no closer, Ghost,” Hornet mutters, a mimicry of her first words to them. They wonder why ─ is she not glad for their progress in containing the Infection? “I wish for some privacy. Some… peace.” They tilt their head. “I suppose Deepnest is mine, now, mine to rule?” She drives her nail into the ground, only to pick it up again. “I am not thankful for that responsibility.”
Why? Ghost wants to ask, but they have no voice to say the words. Why not? Do you not desire the power of it, why do you fear it so? Perhaps they should not make the comment, in any sense or any meaning; they have never understood emotions as other bugs do. They tap their quill. Hornet falls into silence.
The large egg in the Abyss blinks invitingly at them. What do they have to do? Somehow it calls to them, like Monomon in the Archives and the songstress in the Pleasure House. Her voice had always been soothing and provided them respite when they could not handle the burdens placed upon them. The Dream Nail is warm against their back.
Oh. Suddenly they understand what they have to do. They strike the egg, once, and fall into slumber. They climb. Ghost does not know what else to do, after all; the abyss is home to nothing but the bodies of their siblings and the endless climb up, up, up into the Ancient Basin.
Father is sat on his throne. He moves a hand, as if to beckon them closer. They do not fear him.
Void drips from his eyes, claws its way around his hands. Ghost does not understand how it made it into the dream. Did it infest the kingsmold until its thoughts were consumed by the darkness? They suppose they will never receive answers. Calling out to them, the void murmurs, take the throne. Claim it, claim your birthright. Our king. Lord of the void.
They do not want to be a king of anything. Was this how Hornet felt, when her mother’s seal finally broke? When her body broke apart and her position was left open for the taking. Did she not want to be queen, just as they do not want to be king?
Ghost’s nail digs into the king’s corpse. He falls down, dead and unmoving. No heart beats in his chest. They claim the Kingsoul from his corpse. He never deserved the title of father.
Their sibling screeches in the Temple; Monomon scatters beneath the force of their nail. She whispers Quirrel’s name. sorrysorrysorry, they think as they awaken. Tears are in the bug’s eyes. He does not deserve to have watched her die. lovecaresorry, they murmur in a voice that Quirrel does not hear.
Father raises them with a strict hand and cold orders. They do just as he says, they train and do not stop until Father tells them to. He says that they are nothing but a tool and so they do what a tool must. They break open beneath kingsmolds’ weapons and it hurthurtssorryhurts but Father tells them that they must fight when they wake.
They never stop fighting. Father names them Hollow, and says that they are a knight made to fulfil a grand purpose. “My greatest creation,” he says in a tone almost fond when his advisors ask him what to make of them, when he thinks that they are not nearby. “It carries out orders perfectly. Our grand kingdom will be kept safe as long as the Infection is contained within its mind.”
But they remember being the Ghost.
The Radiance howls. Lances of light shriek past them, the cold metal skimming over the void. Her beams of light, emitted directly from Her body, leave them blinded and bruised. Ghost does not let that stop them. Their siblings are dead at the hands of the Wyrm but they only have the Radiance to blame.
They fight.
Their nail digs into her skin, fur coming away from the grand ruff at her neck. She voices no thought, no feeling as Ghost strikes her once more. Their siblings are dead at the King’s feet. Her subjects are dead, all gone by the Wyrm’s hand. Their nature tells them to strike her down.
Ghost abandons their shell, and breaks the goddess into pieces.
An egg forms within the abyss. Its shell is unlike any of the others ─ it glows white as snow amidst the darkness. Yet when it hatches it is pure, untouched darkness. It climbs with precise movements, not once stopping to readjust itself. It does not care about the siblings falling around it.
It destroys the Hollow Knight without a care. Without a thought, really. Its nail glistens with their blood, even as it drips off it. It knows its duty. It accepts the Radiance into itself and does not think about the consequences. The vessel does not think. It does not feel. It simply contains.
Hornet points her needle towards the vessel approaching her. She faces the corpse of the last who attempted to kill the dreamers ─ will it meet the same end as that one, who split open on her needle? “Come no closer, ghost,” she says, “I’ve seen you following me, stalking me through the undergrowth.”
It shakes as it draws its nail. “You will meet the same end as this vessel here. The seals must remain.” Hornet keeps her needle trained onto it. She is prepared to fight for as long as she needs to ─ but is the vessel prepared to fight her? She does not think it is.
There is a clatter. Hornet stares at the nail on the floor, and then at the vessel. Void has clustered in its eyes and drips down its shell. It shakes, as if it is wracked by sobs, and falls to the floor.
This vessel will not suffice, she knows. It is weak. It is pitiful. Hornet stabs through its shell easily, and watches as it slumps to the floor. She does not feel any pity for it, nor any sympathy. She does not question what brought the emotionless vessel to tears.
An egg is dropped into the Abyss. It hatches, a swell of void and shell and Wyrm and Root, compressed into a small being. They feel much too large for their body, as if they are about to spill out of their shell and break it into pieces. They bury the feeling and walk.
Do not think. Do not feel. Do not hope. The words are embedded into their head. Come no closer, Ghost, whispers the void. The ghost ascends, falls, but does not die. They breathe and live and think and drift and remember.
Ghost’s nail is drawn when they decide they must fight. No other option presents itself to them: their sibling is dead and the Radiance glows before them. Her wings outstretch into the sky of the Dream Realm.
WYRM!
The voice is loud and echoes clearly throughout their head. No bug speaks the words, and yet the Ghost hears them as if they are real. Their grip on their nail tightens, and they peer around nervously. Where had the voice come from?
YOU DARE INVADE MY REALM, MY SANCTUARY OF PEACE! AFTER YOU HAVE TAKEN SO MUCH FROM ME. MY PEOPLE AND MY HOME… YOU BURNED THEM, WYRM.
DO YOU SEEK TO BURN ME TOO?
Ghost turns wildly, looking around themselves. The voice is speaking to their father. Father, who is dead. Father, whose corpse they had struck down and torn into pieces. Whose very soul is branded into their body.
Suddenly, they feel sick. How much of their limited life is controlled by that false idol, their creator? They drop their nail onto the floor. The clatter rings out throughout the Dream. Dropping to the floor themselves, they look frantically at the brand on their body. Four prongs of glowing white; the king’s brand, marking them as his. Almost as if they are property.
Ghost feels almost violently ill.
YOU DO NOT SPEAK TO DEFEND YOURSELF. DO YOU ACKNOWLEDGE YOUR GUILT AND THE DEBT YOU OWE ME? I SHALL BURN YOU AS YOU BURNED MY LOYAL SUBJECTS.
Ghost gags. The Infection clogs their throat and thickens their breaths, clouding around them. Coughing, they fall to the floor and spit. Over and over and over again. Infection spills onto the floor, until the pool of it surrounds them. Tears spill over their shell and mingle with the orange light.
Yet they feel strangely acceptant of the fact that they will die here. Perhaps it is an atonement for their father’s sins: to die at the Radiance’s hands, when it was he who signed the execution order for her people. They make no move to lift their nail.
YOU DO NOT FIGHT ME, AS YOU SHOULD. ARE YOU PREPARED TO DIE? YOUR KINGDOM WILL REAP THE BENEFITS FROM YOUR ROTTING CORPSE.
The Ghost sits upright. Their legs are crossed and their neck is tilted downwards. sorrysorry, they murmur, voice quiet, but somehow thunderously loud. The sound crawls up their spine until they itch. asacrifice. atonementforsins.
Looking up, they find a lance of light pointed towards their small shell. The mere sight of it calls fear to their bones: these lances have split them open countless times, though they have never seen them in this life. In this time they have not once entered the Temple of the Black Egg, only encountered the Radiance through her calling in Godhome.
sorry, they repeat. It is all they can say, with their executioner staring towards them. imsorryimsorryimsorry.
YOU ARE NOT THE WYRM.
The goddess’ voice has changed. Once cold and sharp, it now feels somewhat warmer. Clearer and brighter, as if it is bells chiming. Ghost sighs and slumps down as the lance retreats from their shell.
amnot, they affirm. amghost. vesselvoidlight ─ fromabyssfromwyrmroot.
AND YET YOU FEEL SO MUCH LIKE HIM. WHAT ARE YOU, SMALL CREATURE? WHAT BRINGS YOU TO MY REALM? TELL ME. ARE YOU AN AGENT OF HIS, SENT TO DESTROY THE LIGHT FOR GOOD? YOU WILL NOT PREVAIL.
Ghost taps their nail as they think. It produces an almost melodic sound, high and cold. They cringe away from it ─ it hurts their ears. notwyrms, they say blankly. ammyself. amghost. That is all that they have to say. They are nothing but themselves, after all.
THEN WHAT BRINGS YOU TO MY REALM.
Frowning, they think on their choice. A multitude of voices and reasons come to mind. They could pick any reason and the goddess would have no cause to doubt them. Though they suspect that it may be a poor choice to do so ─ if she could speak into other minds ( likemyla likethedamned ) then why could she not read them?
Yes. That reason, buried at the bottom of their mind. It sticks out beyond all others and glows like a beacon. How to put it into words…
Ghost hums, forfriendforsibling. forsister. forchild. Three basic reasons, three bugs important to them. Radiance will understand ─ she must, she has to understand that they care so much about them they will do anything to protect their family.
NOT YOUR TIES, YOUR OBLIGATION TO THE WYRM?
They shake their head. Ghost has no words for their hatred of that being. All they know is that it is all encompassing and burns through them, leaving them a hollow shell filled with their anger towards him.
YOUR ANGER SCARS THE VERY WORLD AROUND YOU, SMALL ONE. EVEN I CAN FEEL IT, FAR BEYOND MY OWN FURY. TELL ME… WOULD YOU BE WILLING TO HEAR A PROPOSITION?
Ghost frowns. They do not trust her. Below their shell their instincts scream at them, killitkillitkillher but they push the feelings deep down. The Radiance has done nothing to them ( notyetnotyet shewillkillyou ) and so they will hear her words.
A nod.
I WANT THE WYRM DEAD.
They nod once more, already thinking. Their… father, as much as they loathe the term, is already dead. Oh, how they wish they could make him suffer at their hands, and fall apart into ashes.
YOU DO TOO.
Another nod.
I WILL OFFER YOU THIS: TIME UNCONSTRAINED, AND YOUR FAMILY AT YOUR DOORSTEP. HALLOWNEST WILL BE YOURS TO EXPLORE ONCE MORE ─ YOUR FRIENDS WILL BE BY YOUR SIDE.
The bargain sounds almost too good to be true. Wariness settles into them: can they trust her offer, as perfect as it seems? Ghost tilts their head to the side. It is a gesture for the goddess to continue, and so she does.
IN RETURN YOU WILL SAVE MY SUBJECTS. I DO NOT DESIRE MUCH, ONLY FOR MY LOYAL PEOPLE TO LIVE ON IN BOTH BODY AND IN MIND. DO WHAT YOU MUST TO SAVE THEM, AND RESTORE ME TO MY FORMER GLORY.
Do they accept it? Restoring the goddess to her former glory ─ it will pose a risk to them. A great, severe risk, that they are unwilling to take. But the allure of family calls to them. No risk is too high, no cost is too great for their family.
No cost too great.
Ghost nods.
GOOD.
The Radiance’s wings flare. Light plumes around her, like a golden crown, or a halo. Ghost keeps their eyes fixed on the two eyes on her face. They wonder what she has planned.
Before they even realise it, a lance of light has been driven through their shell. They die. The void consumes the dream.
“What would you have me do, my king?” Lurien asks. His voice is soft, calm, peaceful. They focus on it. On him. The Watcher is… important. They know that. They do not know how. “I am forever your loyal servant.
The air around the king seems to freeze as he explains his plan. Their veins frost over as they look at the Watcher. donotdonotdonot! cannottrust. They howl, but neither bug hears their pleas.
“I will, my king,” says Lurien. Their eyes widen with fear. Scenes of death, the Watcher’s death, the Teacher’s death, the Beast’s death, play through their mind. He will die he will die he will die ─ “but, of course, I must profit from this exchange in some way.”
“What would you ask of me?”
They turn and flee. They were never truly there.
An egg is formed in the Abyss. It feels strangely light, as if it is empty. Of course there is no one there to feel that. It cracks too quickly. Pieces of eggshell scatter over the floor, not yet littered with broken bodies. No vessel emerges from the remnants.
The Ghost wakes over King’s Pass.