Chapter Text
Hornet has lived a very long time.
That much should be obvious to most bugs.
She was there when Hallownest was in its prime, just as wind of the Infection made its way to the White Palace, and the Plan was conceived. She was there when the Five Great Knights patrolled the City of Tears, whose doors were open to any wandering bugs. She was there when the Plan started fraying at the seams, as one of the last few bugs who’d kept clear of the Radiance’s influence.
Heck, she was stuck guarding the corpse of a massive Wyrm for months on end, slowly losing hope of ever being freed from her duty as a sentinel until Ghost showed up. And promptly beat her up.
In essence: she’s lived through a lot.
And yet, for reasons she could only guess, around half of every bug she’d met in Pharloom had mistakenly called her something akin to “child” (Shakra) or “little” (Lace). Passing pilgrims would stop and stare for a moment, likely wondering how so “young” a hunter like her had survived the Haunting and Unravelling unscathed.
Hornet had just attributed her lack of noticeable scarring to her unique heritage and the ability to heal with Silk. Silk in Pharloom was always abundant, so patching herself up now and then was no issue.
Regardless of scars, all bugs had a start to their lives. A date of birth. And Hornet’s was right around the corner. Not that it really mattered anyways.
Following the events of a certain tracking incident involving an abundance of white flowers and Lace, Hornet now found herself constantly pestered by the latter.
Lace (originally uninvited) slept in a makeshift pillow mattress within Hornet’s bellhome but often spent her day going around Pharloom doing her own things. The hunter herself was busy with either hunting food, or fulfilling the endless stream of wishes on Bellheart’s wishboard.
The wishes slowed down somewhat, seeing that it was now more than a month after the Unravelling. However, Pharloom was far from stable, and she wanted to give it some semblance of normalcy first before making the long journey back home.
To Hallownest.
Where it all started.
Hornet heaved a heavy mental sigh, glancing over the overlapping pins on the wishboard. That day was a long day.
Mainly one filled with courier runs.
After every package she was sent to deliver, the hunter contemplated asking for more payment from Tipp and Pill. The routes post-Unravelling were newer and Shakra had yet to map them, increasing the difficulty of her job.
But her fondness of them, a weakness that not many hunters would keep, dictated that Hornet shut up about it and help to the best extent she could.
Alongside the deliveries, Hornet had helped clear out parts of the Underworks from remaining Haunted workers.
Tired and dusty from her errands, she felt that a good soak in her spa was warranted and so made a beeline to her bellhome, flinging the door open with little regard for the echoes it made throughout Bellheart.
It was a bell, after all.
Her red cloak cast aside, Hornet exhaled sharply as both her strength and Silk were restored upon stepping in the water.
Wyrm above, that felt amazing.
The small creatures within the gleamlights overhead buzzed around aimlessly, their bioluminescence brightening up the otherwise-dim bellhome. They reminded her of lumafly lanterns used to navigate Deepnest.
And so, for twenty whole seconds, Hornet was at peace.
Then the door swung open again as Lace, once again, invited herself in, throwing her pin aside with dramatic flair.
From outside Hornet’s bellhome, the residents of Bellheart covered their ears from the ringing echoes of the door slamming.
Lace plopped herself upon her makeshift pillow-bed just underneath the small basin that served as the spa. She looked around, momentarily confused.
Strange. The hunter was nowhere to be–
Lace glanced furtively at the edge of a red cloak hanging right in front of her, which was no doubt dangling from the edge of the spa basin.
Aha.
“Seems like the itsy spider was out exploring the Underworks,” she teased, twiddling the edges of Hornet’s red cloak in her hands. “Did she find anything else noteworthy to keep? Another beating heart, perhaps? The one on your shelf in a jar could use some company.”
From somewhere above came the reply, though now it was not laced with venom, not even spite. Hornet just sounded plain tired. She barely lifted her head to regard Lace, waving one hand to brush off the attempted jab at her odd bits and bobs sitting on her shelf.
“No, I didn’t. And I’m hardly an ‘itsy’ spider, foolish child. If you will barge into my home unannounced, at least address me correctly.”
Lace laughed airily. “Sure you are. The mysterious stranger from lands beyond the Wastes claims to be much older than meets the eye! Truly, a classic.”
Hornet sighed audibly. She didn’t feel like dealing with Lace’s banter today. She couldn’t quite pinpoint why. It floated out of reach for her rationale, which was extremely annoying.
Just as she was about to turn around and scowl at Lace who sat directly below the spa basin, the sudden splash of water and a familiar high-pitched giggle prompted Hornet to reach for a needle that was too far away as a reflex. Lace had slipped into the waters as well.
Okay that was not something Hornet was expecting to happen. Ever.
“Calm yourself, dear spider. I was getting quite tired from running my errands too,” the silken being announced as she took the other end of the spa, elbows propped against the edge. “With all the traveling you’ve been doing lately, I fear this luxurious amenity of yours might fall into disrepair quickly. I’m merely seizing my opportunity!”
Lace then took the moment to scrutinise Hornet up close, more curious than anything else.
Hornet looked pretty silly without her cloak on.
Her white mask was just slightly too big to seem proportional with the rest of her black body. And her horns were actually absurdly long. The fearsome hunter, who’d bested her twice, now looked more like a child’s first pencil scribbles than a warrior of renown, as she was known to others outside Bellheart.
Lace giggled at the notion.
Hornet sighed in exasperation but chuckled along, if only briefly. Irritating as she might be, the silken fencer was a much needed respite from the empty walls of her bellhome. Whether it be laughter or just another rustling presence amidst her pillow bed, it helped break the monotony of solitude.
Back in Hallownest, alone as she was, there was never a real quiet moment. Husks' groans and the buzz of some flying creatures overhead were all but background noise. The popping of bubbles in acid lakes. The wind that rushed through Kingdom’s Edge.
There was always some sound to tune into, or ignore.
Not Pharloom.
Sounds were too loud to ignore and the silence was the type that swallowed your mind whole.
The Abyss was deafeningly quiet. The fringes of Verdania, now robbed of its two princes, were dead and cold. The border of Pharloom itself was far lonelier than Hallownest’s edges. Not to mention, the lack of a certain vessel made her wanderings much less fun.
So, all in all, Hornet really did miss company. Lace’s presence was bearable. For now.
Alright, that was enough reminiscing.
Hornet reached a hand over to her red cloak, donning it with one graceful twirl as she hopped out of the spa, refreshed and rejuvenated at last. She sat in front of her angled desk, pulling out a pouch worth of tools and shards to tinker with.
Lace knit her eyebrows together in mild frustration. She really didn’t like the noise made whenever Hornet was fixing her tools, but would rather not risk getting kicked out of her semi-permanent residence. She stayed in the spa, staring at the gleamlights.
“Say, spider. You–”
“Hornet.”
“Sorry?” Lace sat up, assuming she’d misheard the hunter, who was now focused on some beetle-shaped machines.
The spider – Hornet – didn’t look up whatsoever. “My name is Hornet. Not “spider”. Or has your time away from the monarch dulled what little manners you have?” she said, slipping several shell shards into various mechanisms.
“You don’t seem very bee-like. Nor do you wear much yellow,” Lace countered, huffing softly. “And you insist on calling me a child! How rude.”
The hunter swapped the cogflies out for a comically large buzzsaw to tinker with. She chuckled softly under her breath, hearing the sharp gasp that Lace gave.
Whether it be to get Lace to tread more carefully or just simply coincidence, the silken being took it as a sign and refrained from mocking Hornet further.
Hornet decided to elaborate. Fixing her tools and weapons always puts her in a better mood than most. Lucky Lace.
“As a child of Wyrm and Weaver, I’ll likely outlive you by a century or so. One kingdom has fallen within my time: I don’t see why another would be spared such a fate after a similar encounter with a Pale Being.”
Lace hopped out of the spa, drying herself off with a clean rag. “Intruiging! I knew of your origins, but not of your age. Could you have been as old as the Weaver shrines that dot the landscape?”
“Maybe. Even so, I suppose today would be of some importance, if I was more diligent in recording the ages. Today seems to be my date of birth," Hornet said calmly, like how one would comment on passing scenery.
She then looked to her shelf full of mementos and oddities. “It’s been a while since I celebrated it.”
Lace nearly dropped her silken jaw on the floor. Hornet revealing something about herself, unprompted, willingly, in a non-taunting manner? Silk and stars above, she must be dreaming!
“I don’t see how this information would benefit me, spider,” she retorted somewhat, looking over Hornet’s shoulder in interest as the buzzsaws were fixed one at a time. “I’m not a birthday expert. I have yet to pass my first century of existence, and here you are, pale and Weaver, boasting about your unmatched lifespan.”
“Hm, yeah. Forget I said anything.”
Hornet’s nimble hands seemed to slow as she fixed her remaining tools with a hint of hesitation, as if finding an excuse for her to not look Lace in the eye.
She didn’t think her words through, dang it! What was she doing, going all open and vulnerable to Lace, of all people? Now she thinks Hornet must be a weird, edgy and depressed princess of a faraway land who hasn’t celebrated her birthday in a long, long time.
Great.
Lace didn’t say anything. A mercy to poor Hornet. She merely grabbed her golden pin and sauntered out the door, closing it slowly behind her.
Her afternoon plans to wander the Citadel could wait. Lace opened a copy of Hornet’s map and quickly charted a course for Songclave.
She had a surprise to throw for the spider.
But first, she needed help.