Chapter Text
Undaunted by the task ahead, the warrior leapt into battle, intent on defending her new home with her life.
The beast before her was more maw than creature, stalking, with limbs so strong its pounce alone could kill. Its bulging eyes and bellowing roar would fill the heart of any bug with fear and unrest. The urge to flee flickered within her, uncertainty coloring her actions…
Then, before she could hesitate any longer, her Glistening Knight lunged forward and pierced the frog’s slick hide, causing it to shriek and face its new assailant with an unmatchable fury and ravenous hunger.
Suddenly fueled by more than just determination to save her home, the young dame struck out with all of her strength; her blade carried forth by love.
Bretta yelped, startled out of her writing flow by something thudding heavily against the roof of her little home.
Quietly convincing herself that it's nothing whilst actively reaching for her little baton, she tried to shake off the thoughts of invading frogs. It was too dry here, far too long a journey - it couldn't be. Right?
Breathing in hard, she threw the front door open and yelled a cry that tried to be ferocious as she swung the stick wildly through the air.
Opening her eyes, she found nothing there. Next, she looked up.
It looked like a mossball had fallen down and perched onto her roof. Confused, she stepped away from her shelter-
-then squeaked in horror as the ball jumped, extending pointy legs as it threw itself from the rooftop down into the street.
Nervously, Bretta poked it. It responded by leaping away from her touch.
“...Huh…?”
Suddenly, she heard another, shorter thump from behind her, and she looked to find a second creature, identical to the first.
Scanning her surroundings, Bretta's eyes widened as she processed that the whole town was completely surrounded by these lush tumbleweed creatures, all bouncing about happily in the dry breeze and totally taking over the space for themselves.
Her first thought was that she should wake someone up who could deal with this properly.
Her second had her quickly return home and shut the door.
When she awoke, it was to the sound of a very familiar voice shouting angrily at the pests outside.
Bretta sighed, rolling slowly out of bed to go wrangle the knight she used to spend hours listening to, again and again, his adventures fueling her writing. Her old muse now only made her feel exhausted.
The moment she opened the door, sound became clearer, and her eyes widened as she tried to process everything at once.
Firstly, there must have been thousands of them. Countless mossy hoppers spanning as far as the eye could see, frolicking about in a stampede of pointy limbs and soft green bodies.
Secondly, everyone that she'd ever met was there, and everyone was swinging their weapons like they were the last chance of saving their home.
The intensity of the war being raged right outside her door frightened her nearly to the point of retreat - to hide back in her home, to wait until it all blew over-
And then one of the creatures pounced, nearly landing on her face…
…stopped only by a gleaming longnail cleaving the creature into two perfect halves.
Hollow - or the Hollow Knight, in full - stood tall amid the chaos, each pest barely coming up past their ankles and leaping up to their knees. They swiped out in one graceful motion, and the swarm parted like a wave, barreled through and scattered in their wake.
Ghost darted past and began dispatching the stragglers, working in tandem with their sibling to do as much as possible.
Bretta's heart gave a flutter, and she subconsciously reached back and grabbed her baton.
Stepping out into the chaos, she was prepared to-!
The Hollow Knight leapt off to protect Hornet next, the three siblings taking good care of one group.
Oh.
Bretta stood, alone and armed with nothing but the closest stick and her wit, facing the swarm.
And then someone stepped in to save her, strong at her side, nail outstretched in challenge.
“Fear not!” Zote crowed, “For I could take on a hundred - nay, a thousand of these pests all on my own! Stand your ground!”
Great.
Now no longer alone, Bretta struggled to decide whether that change made this worse or not. There were certainly pros and cons.
“Where's your nail?!” Zote interrogated, heavily skeptical of her weapon of choice.
“I don't have one?” Bretta answered reasonably. It was her job to be the damsel in distress, as far as she was concerned! This newfound interest of hers was a change in status quo that she wasn't one-hundred percent certain on how she would execute it. She was a bit behind the mark.
After all, she had no idea where she was supposed to even get a nail. And in order to find out where to start, she'd have to… well… ask.
The impossible weight of asking briefly settled over her with a deep-set dread before it was startled out of her by the pounce of another green monster.
Zote, seeing no peril in this, stuck his shellwood nail out far ahead of him with a loud cry, and the creature landed on the point hard.
And also on top of him.
Based on the way it leaped back off immediately afterwards, slightly unsteady as though made uncomfortable, possibly hurt, by the blunt edge, he had managed to accomplish something. Barely.
Picking himself back up off the ground was a noisy affair, dislodging himself from where he'd been shoved into the dirt. He angrily rubbed at the points where the creature’s legs must have sank into his shell, but otherwise seemed unharmed.
Hm. Getting jumped on wasn't any good, but maybe these creatures weren't nearly as deadly as she'd made them out to be.
“Do these things bite?!” she cried out, because fear was much harder to overcome than that and asking would always be terrifying.
“No!” Hornet called out in the midst of her own battle, frightening the little beasts off with wisps of Soul and silk.
Ghost signed something with a bit of aggression. Quirrel spotted it out of the corner of his eye and shouted out, “Very annoying, they hurt!”
“Come on!” Zote shouted, once again raising his nail high, “What are you, a coward?! Fend them off!”
He proceeded to make the same mistake again.
If her inaction was cowardice, but his actions were… ill-advised, Bretta would aim for a middle ground.
She had no idea what she was doing, but neither did Zote, so she was gonna have to figure it out on her own.
Matching Zote’s own battle cry with one of her own, she whacked one of the leafy things as hard as she could in the side of the head.
The lady who ran the map shop next door cheered and hollered at her little victory, holding her spear high before driving more of the horde back. Bretta blushed bright pink at the acknowledgement-
Oof!
Still under attack. And now, they knew she was there.
Although, from what she could tell, her shouting had caused a lot of them to scatter - from her new viewpoint, flat on the ground, she could see that the critters seemed to be trying to flee, but weren't sure where to go.
By the time she was able to get back up and keep swinging, embarrassed at how her combat style was greatly similar to the way Zote held Life Ender, the herd had thinned significantly, those odd little tumbleweeds all scattered loosely around the town instead of through it.
She glanced over at the Hollow Knight, watching as they planted their nail in the ground with a heavy thud and then wiped their brow.
She very quickly looked away after that.
“Well, that was interesting, hm?” Quirrel noted, looking exhausted. He was supposedly a few hundred years old. It took a lot of work to clear out just one of those things.
Hornet sighed, wiping blood and sweat from her face. “I suppose those of us inclined to meat will have plenty to eat for some time now.”
Sly kicked aside a grassy lump and hmph'd. “Greens, too, from what I can tell. Where did those things-”
Zote promptly shouted loudly over him, “Where did all of those beasts come from!?”
Bretta turned away sheepishly as Sly shot him a look.
“I've seen them in the deeper parts of the gardens,” Hornet informed them both with a skeptical look aimed towards Zote. “There's more water down there, from when this cavern used to belong to the sea.”
“Why would they leave?!”
She clicked her fangs together. “They could have had some sort of migration path. The sickness may have damaged their minds enough to make them try and find some new home. Or perhaps the mantids that also live down there pushed them out of their shared space.”
“They should have stayed where they belong!” Zote shouted triumphantly, placing a foot onto a corpse he was not responsible for.
“Where they belong may have been very, very far from here!” Quirrel cheerfully noted, “This entire cave was once underwater - nothing truly belongs here except for the snails and slugs. Hallownest welcomes all creatures from all lands.”
"Well, then, where did all the bugs come from?!" Zote questioned, throwing his hands in the air in exasperation.
Frustrated with him for beginning to talk in circles, Hornet simplified, "They journeyed here from their old homes."
He scoffed. "What about before that? Or what if they're from Hallownest to begin with?"
"When two beings agree with each other very much, they make a deal in exchange for partnership and loyalty. That's where bugs come from."
Quirrel paused. "...You are aware, Hornet, that that isn't quite how it was told to me when I was young."
She rolled her eyes, and, in a slightly lecturing tone, flatly delivered, "Not everyone's parents love each other, Quirrel."
Bretta worried her mandibles together, silent in spite of her many, many questions. Were more of those coming? Was anything else? What if those mantids followed them up? Were they safe? Did she need to protect herself? How could she fight?
Instead, she just listened to them talk from afar. Ogrim discussing possible walls or barricades that would help, Hornet asking Quirrel if he knew how to cook, Ghost signing about exhaustion and mossball-creatures in pointy helmets.
She stood there, alone, watching and listening. Always in the background, less real than all these other bugs. Less important. Distant, ephemeral, transparent. On the outside, looking in.
…
She didn't want to be outside. But joining in seemed like such an impossible task.
There was nothing she could do.
“You know,” Sly elbowed Zote a little, “You'd likely have a lot less trouble in battle with a steel nail.”
“Hah! And abandon my weapon of choice, which I've carried and slain my foes with since I was young!? No chance!”
“Really!” Quirrel chirped, “There are plenty of bugs down below who aren't exactly using their weapons anymore - removing the burden of their nails and shell-shields would be a kindness, if you haven't the geo to afford whatever Sly may be trying to pull!”
Immediately, a little play-argument broke out between Quirrel and the shopkeeper as he blamed him for sabotaging his potential sales and the other complained about exorbitant pricing. All it did for Bretta was send the gears in her brain spinning.
Zote probably wouldn't. But she might like to lighten the load of those fallen warriors…
“What sort of a map are you looking for?”
Bretta hadn't thought this far ahead.
Sure, somewhere down below she’d be able to find armor and weapons to fight off any future hordes with, but how was she supposed to find them? It seemed reasonable to go looking for a map of some kind, at least of the crossroads below.
But that didn’t mean they’d be on the map at all. In fact, if these maps were made before all the husks stopped walking, they couldn’t be on the maps. How would she even begin looking?
“Um,” she nervously started, trying to let her thoughts catch up before offering some sort of answer and failing, watching as her ideas trailed off behind her, hopelessly at a loss. “I need… a map I can use to find a nail for myself…?”
The shopkeeper, Iselda, raised an eyebrow a bit. “I don’t think we have any sort of nailsmith marked off here, though I know one does exist around here. D’you want me to check with Corny to see if he still remembers where that old soul is?”
“No, you won’t find him there,” Bretta murmured shyly, “The nailsmith is out of work now, he retired to live with a painter in greenpath. I need a weapon off of someone who, uh, isn’t using it anymore.”
“...Where’d you learn that from, huh?”
She flushed a bright pink. “I, um… there’s this old poet I really like, who talks about how, the more you speak, the less you listen…? I, uh… I think about that a lot. I don’t talk too much, and I hear a lot because of it, um… is that, uh, weird?”
A pause. Then, Iselda shrugged. “Not the strangest thing I’ve heard today, even. You’re alright, honey. Now,” she leaned forwards over the counter, resting on her elbows, “Why are you in need of a weapon, then? Someone out there been bothering you?”
“Um, no…”
“Really? Not even that little man who claims to be a knight? What’s his name again-”
“Zote?” Bretta laughed, waving a hand loosely through the air. “Zote, uh, doesn’t really bother anyone. Not, like, threateningly, at least.”
Iselda practically cackled, throwing her head back and clapping her hands as she tried to get ahold of herself. “True-! True enough!”
Her face was going to explode if it got any hotter. Alas, she couldn’t exactly get ahold of herself, either. Being funny was terrifying.
“So why do you need a nail?”
She shuffled from foot to foot. “Um…”
Her mind pictured, so crystal clear, the image of the Hollow Knight, fighting off swarms of those hopping pests. Them alone, their companions too tired to defend them, left to be trampled by the things.
And then there she was, tall and striking, the grey maiden turned warrior princess, shield raised high to defend them, their unlikely ally in what would have otherwise been their final hour. She’d swing forward a heavy nail, and whatever foe before her would be destroyed. She’d save her wounded warrior, the gleaming knight…
“...just… because…?”
There was a bit of a pause.
Then, Iselda leaned down even closer, a knowing twinkle in her eye. “Alright then. Who is it.”
“Um-?!”
“Someone out there has got you willing to fight for them. I can see it in your eyes. Listen, it isn’t worth it, alright?”
She blinked rapidly, so thrown off her guard. “What? Why not?”
Iselda shook her head, softly laughing to herself, chuckling at Bretta’s utter loss. “I used to be like you. A young, spry little fighter, ready to hunt down the world’s evils in the name of love. But you know what? Meeting a bug like Corny? It taught me that bloodshed wasn’t all there was to the world.”
Bretta watched, starry eyed, as Iselda leaned back, gaze unfocused as she reminisced. “There’s a saying out there - it sounds a little strange, here in Hallownest. When you have a hammer, everything looks like a nail.” She shrugged, explaining, “Makes more sense when you’re in construction. You know why they call them nails here?”
She shook her head.
“Old fairytale. An old kingdom of war on the brink of collapse had all their weapons lost or destroyed in combat. As a last stand, the King himself pulled one of the metal rods holding their structures together and used that as a weapon. All of his soldiers followed suit. Those metal posts? Those are nails. Hallownest just makes two kinds - one for building, and one for fighting.”
She clicked her tongue, continuing her explanation. “But- hey, what’s your name, honey?”
She flinched back just a little, hesitant. “Bretta,” she squeaked.
“Bretta! Look, if you’ve got a weapon? You try to solve all your problems - try to prove yourself - by destroying things. Breaking down the world into something that makes sense. What Cornifer taught me,” her voice took on a sweet, wistful tone, “was that there was much more to creation than destruction. More to life! I laid down my weapon for him. And, while I do sometimes get a little fidgety… things are better. A lot better.”
It took some time to consider everything she’d said.
Thinking of an answer took longer.
How would she respond if she were one of the characters in her stories? What could she write in answer to such a profound belief?
That made it easier.
“I’ve… always been defenseless, though. I’ve never had the opportunity to break the things that try to break me - to hurt the things I care about.” She took a shaky breath. “I’m tired of being the thing everyone fights for. I wanna fight for them now. Is…” she gulped, “is it wrong of me to want to take that chance?”
Iselda’s gaze softened. She seemed to consider that for a long moment herself.
“...No, I’d suppose not. Learning to fight isn’t easy, though. You have to really stick to it.”
Bretta puffed out her chest a little, determination a fire in her eyes. “I’m ready to try,” she asserted.
“Alright!” Iselda chirped, a little amused, “I like the enthusiasm! I’m not sure where you’ll get your weapon from… but I’ve got all these maps, and if you know how to use ‘em, I’m sure you’ll be able to look.”
She nodded, picking out a map just of the space below the well - she’d been down and around there before and had managed to escape when she’d wandered far afield, but a map was quite the luxury for a journey like this.
Another thought occurred to her. One that had her pinching her mandibles shut, resisting the urge to, terrifyingly, horrifically, ask.
But would it be so bad to ask?
The thought shocked her more than anything else.
Iselda was patient, willing to explain so much to her, eager to help however she could. She’d offered her advice, and had supported her even when she hadn’t taken it. Could she really-?
“I’ve got no idea what’s eating you up now, but I’d suggest asking before it kills you,” she joked.
Bretta made a frightened little chirp, then, with all of her courage, asked, “How, um, how do you fight?”
She snorted. “Quickly,” she answered.
“Huh?”
“I said, I fight quickly. In and out. You wanna find the thing that’s keeping your enemy going, whatever source of strength or life or what have you, and break it. Then, you leave. They usually don’t recover.”
“O-Oh.”
That seemed like sound advice to her.
Armed or armored bodies were not, as she suspected, marked on this map.
It made more and more sense as she traveled through the crossroads - the amount of corpses left from that light leaving the husks’ eyes were too numerous to count. If they were to be marked, there would be no room for paths on the paper.
It left her somewhat shaky. It hadn’t been all that long ago when these were walking corpses, to be dodged and watched quietly from a distance. Seeing them all still on the ground like this reminded Bretta of their true nature.
These had been bugs. Bugs like her.
Bugs who went about their day, foraging for scraps of food and drops of water, laughing and joking. Bugs who went home and wrote in their journals. Bugs who felt happy, bugs who felt lonely, bugs who got lost and afraid.
Bugs that held a light in their eyes, wandering as if in a dream, unable to understand the world around them.
She wrung her hands together, anxious, as she thought and rethought about being woken up in the fungal wastes, so far from home, by a kind stranger in a pale, white mask-
Bretta shook her head quickly. Don’t let it get to you. Don’t let it.
Creeping down and around and through, she thought she could hear something. Quirrel had mentioned offhandedly at some point - not like she’d been eavesdropping - that the caves had gotten really, really quiet below town. But that wasn’t quite Bretta’s experience of things.
Sure, there was a lot less scuttling, less movement altogether, only the occasional tiktik or the like trying to scramble out of view. No bodies shuffling around, trying to find their way through a fog in the dark. But there was this sort of undertone that echoed across the walls, sometimes fuzzier, sometimes clearer.
Something buzzing.
She set aside that strange observation when she got a glint of light out of the corner of her eye.
Chasing after what she’d seen, assuming it was probably just a fallen lamp or something, she instead found… an old nail.
Just the right size for her.
Bretta looked around cautiously, deeply concerned. What were the odds, right?
But if all the bugs down here were bugs like her…
She shook away the thought, trembling at the idea of some poor beetle thinking to protect their family from the Infected, taking up a nail despite having never fought in their life in an attempt to save the ones they love…
Without further contemplation, Bretta grabbed the hilt of the nail and held it high.
This thing was heavy. The point sank lower after a moment, and with a little sigh of effort, she let it tink! against the floor completely.
Breathing with mild exertion, she realized that just beside the weapon was a shell-shield, of all things. She supposed that, akin to trash and treasures, one bug’s terrible circ*mstances were her luckiest moments.
Reaching out to take it, she found that her foot landed unsteadily on the surface of whatever ground she’d tried to step on, and she tripped forward with a startled note. Scooping up the carved shield and hoisting it up - also heavy - she glanced back to give whatever pebble an offended look.
There, blending in perfectly with the rocks around it, was the corpse of a small bug. Their arm outstretched towards where she’d taken the nail.
Blanching, Bretta restrained the urge to shriek in horror as she got out of there fast. Suddenly, her stolen equipment felt a whole lot lighter.
Eventually, though, the adrenaline rush ran out. Bretta leaned heavily against the wall, panting for air and nearly laughing in her panic.
From where she stood - mostly - she could hear that buzzing again. It reminded her of some machines, stored charge exerted through cables and wires. It was persistent like one, at least. It couldn’t have been something winged; the sound never stopped to land.
One of those hopping pests jumped past her vision.
The last time she’d noticed something in her solitude and hadn’t bothered to let anyone know, disaster had struck. Disaster that could’ve been in part avoided, if she’d just gotten over her fears and told someone, anyone else about what she’d found.
Determined, Bretta’s antennae swiveled, trying to pinpoint the noise.
She walked, with both nail and shell slung over her back and shoulder, tracing one hand along the wall as she let her sense of hearing lead the way. Looking up, she found a passage in the ceiling, and the moment she angled her head that way, the buzzing grew much, much louder.
Up there, then?
She supposed that, if it was really nothing, it wouldn’t be worth going back to town to tell someone, knowing that she could just check herself right now and then spread the word. Using that judgment to guide her, she opened her elytra and flitted up the ledge, climbing up and over.
An aspid quickly darted past her, making her flinch and yelp. It ignored her entirely, but still seemed like it came out of nowhere.
She laughed to herself. She couldn’t hear the buzz of its wings over all the other whirring, she supposed.
…
…hold on.
It was getting louder.
Tentatively, Bretta hoisted herself up over the lip of stone to see-
Oh.
Oh, no.
Spending only a brief moment in stunned silence, Bretta began sprinting off to go find someone capable of handling this issue.
Quirrel sat there, head in his hands, staring out into the distance, mind abuzz and yet also silent. Unable to process whatsoever.
"Greetings, Quirrel," Hornet approached. "Is there something wrong?"
"...I am haunted by knowledge, my dear Hornet. I have no idea how to begin approaching this."
Raising an eyebrow with some mild concern, she hopped up onto the bench's armrest and took a seat there. "You are always free to begin with me."
Was he though?!
Quirrel pulled a face, hesitant, and then blurted out in a hiss, "Are vessels capable of sexual intercourse?"
Hornet reeled a little, giving him the most bewildered, incredulous look he'd ever seen on a living bug. "I-?! Wh- why would I know the answer to that question."
"Because you know more about vessels than any other being alive?"
"Do I? Have you first asked this of a Vessel?"
No. No, he had not.
Shaking away her shock, she implored, "What made you even think to ask at all?"
"Ah. Well, you see, the Hollow Knight was in a bit of a mood earlier - you have seen how they get when things are too quiet, they tend to fret - and Ser Ogrim thought to perhaps take their mind off of things. He joked that if they needed a force to reckon with, they could waltz with Grimm."
"Hm. I was under the impression that they were not all that fond of the Troupe Master. Of which I do not fault it."
"Certainly not. Despite the lighthearted tone, they whipped about and declared that Grimm could, and I quote, 'go have sex with himself.'"
Hornet snorted.
"I know, right? But of course, Hornet, you must remember; their only available language is entirely visual. So to convey their quite literally translated insult, they had to perform a particularly lewd hand gesture."
She made a slightly strangled noise of shock at that, seemingly unable to comprehend the thought of the notably prim, proper, and patient Hollow Knight doing such a thing.
"Which begs the question. Where did they learn what that would even look like?"
Hornet's shocked amusem*nt gave way to an utterly blank stare.
"You see?"
"...Huh."
"Indeed."
"Well…! Just because they were raised in the Palace does not mean they could not have encountered any crude language. Perhaps they learned the concept from Ogrim himself, or the rest of the Five - they were all quite close friends with each other, so the casual language would make sense."
Quirrel shook his head. "But not the visual component. Even if they perfectly understood every explicit term, what's to say they would have any idea what it looks like?"
"...This is a puzzle. But it is most definitely not one I intend to solve."
"And for that, I do not blame you!"
Hornet squinted down at the dirt with a sort of scrunched-up, thoughtful glare. "...Although. For your initial question - Vessels are genderless. That is a social concept, yes, but perhaps they also lack any sexual characteristics whatsoever as well?"
Quirrel blinked.
The door to the Stag Station popped open, and Little Ghost stepped out, heading for Sly's shop, it seemed.
"Ghost!" Quirrel called out and then immediately regretted.
They stopped and looked at him expectantly, a pleasant sort of curiosity behind those round eyes.
Convincing himself that he had now unfortunately committed to this, he took a deep breath, sighed, then asked, "Forgive me for this - do you have, erm, reproductive organs?"
Ghost's patiently neutral expression immediately twisted into an indescribable series of emotions.
Hornet looked at him like she was quite frankly amazed at the gall.
Ghost glanced around as though searching for a reason, gave him another odd look, then seemed to ponder for a moment. Raising a hand, they slowly answered, "I have a charm that gives me a-" and used two hands to outline an inverted triangle onto their lower torso, likely designed to mean, "-womb."
"I don't want that translated," Hornet flatly told him.
"Okay. Alright. That- is not quite what I had in mind, though that is very interesting. Anything else?"
Ghost shrugged, signing, "I don't think so? Not to my knowledge."
"The answer is no, Hornet."
She puffed out an odd sort of sigh - relieved, maybe? "This was your question, scholar. The answer does not pertain to me… hm. But… Little Ghost is little. Perhaps it comes with molting, or hormones?"
"I am not a baby."
Quirrel huffed out a laugh. "They object. Perhaps they're neotenic?"
"But neotenic species like grubberflies still gain those mature features - if Ghost has none, that would rule it out."
"Regardless of physical characteristics, Ghost is certainly an adult with retained larval features. That is the definition of neotenic."
Ghost held up a finger and gestured for Quirrel to scoot aside, which he did. Sitting beside him, they put their left hand behind their back and started rummaging around as if looking for something. After a moment, he heard the clicking of charms changing notches from under their cloak.
Ghost got up, stepped back, held out their hands, and promptly sprouted a tiny hatchling without any fanfare - or breaking eye contact.
"Oh," Quirrel stated simply.
Another baby promptly materialized.
"I am a mother now. Look how grown up I am!"
Neither of them were quite sure how to respond to the situation at this point.
Luckily, it was promptly crashed by Bretta shooting out of the well and stumbling up to the three, clearly panicked. “What are you supposed to do if you find a nest of aspids?!” she blurted out all at once.
Quirrel blinked. “What?”
“A nest of aspids! What do you do as a warrior?!”
It was then that he began to process a distant buzzing noise, rapidly getting closer.
Ghost practically hurled themself back at the bench and began frantically rearranging charms again. Ordinarily, Quirrel would find them expressing fear as they would any emotion that wasn't happiness - blank staring. However, now, becoming more and more familiar with the subtleties of Vessel expressions, the terror was clear in the slight widening of their eyes and the uncoordinated movements.
“Are- are they still aggressive?!” Quirrel looked to Bretta for answers.
“Um-! I-! Uh!”
“They always have been,” Hornet blurted, stringing her needle with thread. Oh boy.
Looking back at Bretta, drawing his nail, he asked, “They followed you here?!”
“Uh- yes!”
“How many?!”
She blanched. “Many,” Bretta gulped.
And then the swarm emerged like a flood of green water from the well.
The buzzing mass of bodies all hissed and spat viciously, apparently deeply offended by Bretta’s trespass and unwilling to let it slide. Some crawled along the ground, trying to escape the mass that hovered ominously and spilled forth from the little structure, trying to find room for takeoff.
Ghost made some sort of not-a-noise, like a stifled click in the back of their throat and then a dip in volume, and then charged forward in a crystal-powered frenzy. Surging out into the middle of the horde, they spread their arms wide and cast an enormous spell above them, producing a howling, visceral shriek that practically evaporated half of the bugs.
Unfortunately, that just made them all scatter into the open air, panicked and agitated.
The noise - strange and deeply unsettling as it was - drew out Sly, Iselda, and Ogrim, looking in varying degrees of confusion and horror, dawning slowly with the appearance of so many bugs.
“Ready yourselves!” Hornet shouted back at the crowd, launching her needle up into the fray and letting out a burst of Soul of her own - silk lashing through the air with enough force to split open their soft abdomens, venom spilling from open wounds.
Quirrel drew his nail, sights set on a cluster of little pests just above him. Mentally, he began calculating a leap that would be the most effective…
“Wait!” Bretta placed a hand on his elbow, “What- what can I do?!”
He looked between her and the swarm, back and forth. Time was a bit short for a proper explanation, here.
“Fight!” Quirrel answered.
He then leapt into action.
Watching his companions all easily dispatch these little menaces, Quirrel couldn’t help but notice far below him that Bretta still seemed at a loss.
Shopkeepers were much easier to talk to than other bugs, Bretta had found.
There were a few reasons for that, she could imagine, but maybe the most obvious was that to sell things, they had to interact with people, and wouldn't turn them away without ample reasoning. It was much harder to be rejected by a cashier.
That being said, asking them about anything other than their job took away some of that protection, the person becoming more real as that layer of expected professionalism was stripped away to reveal the opinionated bug underneath.
“Are you going to buy anything?” Sly shot her a slightly mischievous look, “Because you have to speak to, or at least look at me for that. I've plenty of wares to show you!”
Once again called out for her shyness, Bretta hesitated.
Iselda had been… well, not patient with her. Or maybe she'd been patient in the sorta condescending way, where someone was confident that they knew better and intended to show it. But she'd been kind, tolerant, willing to tell her of her own perception of right and wrong.
She'd been willing to answer, really.
Would Sly be just as approachable?
“Um. I, uh, might want something, but I, um, have a question first…?” It was like plucking hairs from her antennae.
“Ask away.”
“You, um… you've taught people how to use a nail before, right?”
An understatement, from what she'd been able to glean from her quiet observations. Sly was either a Nailmaster or a Nailsage, with lots of skill in the arts and seemingly doing his best to keep that somewhat under wraps. He hadn't just taught others; he was a teacher.
And yes, there was a difference. Probably.
Sly's expression darkened. “In the past, I have.”
Bretta gulped. “Could you-”
“Nope.”
She shrank away, heart beating out of her chest. “Okay… sorry…”
Something like pity flashed over his features and he sighed, heavily. “No, I should be apologizing. I'm in retirement, you see - in a perfect world, I'd not need to teach another ever again, but here we are in an uncertain and dangerous one. Have you ever held a nail before?”
Shyly, Bretta nodded.
“Great start. Try hitting something with it. Now,” Sly hopped up onto a shelf to pull a drawer open, “regarding my wares!”
Bretta tilted her head a little. “Is… is that all?”
“Hmmm, no,” he rifled through for anything she'd be interested in, “but you have to start somewhere. So you can start by doing what you think you should do with a weapon, and then figure it out from there.”
She tapped her fingers together. “And… what if I get hurt?”
“How?”
“From not knowing how to use it…?”
Shy shrugged. “Live and let learn.”
Perhaps she didn't want any advice from Sly.
In spite of her assessment of his helpfulness, Bretta did actually go start hitting rocks with her stolen nail. Spitefully.
She drew unsteady cuts across boulders and drew lines in the dirt, lifting the heavy weapon up over her head and swinging it so far that she had to twist completely around whenever she did. She let herself get used to the size of it, the pain of how hard she had to grip the steel, the ache in her shoulder from the weight of the shield.
Sly didn't seem to think she was worth helping.
Maybe a grim assessment, except that she had seen him offer some form of actual help or advice to-
“You!”
Zote.
He paused with his mouth open for a moment, missing a beat, and then continued, “What was your name?”
She scowled. “Bretta.”
“Bretta!” he failed to notice her unamused look - luckily for her, as if he'd called her out on it she might've passed out from panic at her mistake. “That swing won't do you any good!”
Blinking, she steadied her tone into something less impolite. “Why… not?”
“If you turn about in battle, you won't have your eyes on the enemy! And that is what matters! You cannot turn tail as if to flee; they'll sense the weakness!”
…Alright. That did make sense. Some of his Precepts did have some merit, after all, even if it wasn't very many.
“Point your nail forward, like so!” He hoisted Life Ender in front of him as if daring someone to run straight into the dull edge. “Make sure you're always swinging it in front of you - that way, your weapon and the enemy will be in the same place!”
She eyed his strategy carefully as he demonstrated it. Glancing at her own nail and briefly lifting it to feel the heft, Bretta easily determined that even if she were strong enough to hold it like that, it wouldn't do her any good.
“Thanks…” she murmured anyway. Being rude was so, so much worse than asking a question, after all.
“Hmph! Finally, a bug who recognizes the merit of actually holding their nail forwards!”
She wasn't paying too much attention to him at that point, but with such a deliberate comment, she glanced at him to see what he was on about.
Bretta almost screamed when she realized he was giving a smug look to the Hollow Knight.
Who was holding the point of their nail downwards behind their back.
“Isn't that right?” Zote continued digging his own grave with a satisfied grin.
The Hollow Knight stared at him blankly. Then, after a moment, their gaze shifted onto Bretta.
So dark. So deep. Unfathomable.
To her amazement, they very lightly shook their head, and then went about their business.
Zote was shouting something after them, but Bretta couldn't care less. The gears in her brain had started turning.
Oh, no.
There were two whole bugs around here who'd actually seen her, without her approaching them first, and willing to help her with her fighting skills.
One of them was Zote the Mighty, who, at the bare minimum, had skills that didn't translate to a metal weapon.
The other was the Hollow Knight.
“What do they know - have you seen that ghastly mark on their face? Hah! Clearly, they aren't skilled enough to have avoided whatever struck them so viciously then.”
Something snapped. “Like how you avoid getting hit by letting loodles pounce on you?”
It got very quiet. Oh, gods.
“...That was strategic!” Zote bellowed, then stomped off, still grumbling under his breath.
It was amazing to think about how she would have killed to have him speak to her not all that long ago. Would have yearned for him to truly see her.
And now that he finally had, she'd shrugged him off and insulted him.
Gods, look at her now. Maybe she could do this whole talking to people thing.
Unfortunately, that thought only reminded her of the new challenge ahead.
She would need to speak with the Hollow Knight directly to get what she wanted from them.
To ask anything from them, especially something so absurd, seemed like the most daunting task she would ever have to endure.
“So, just to be sure I'm understanding you correctly,” Quirrel tilted his head, eyes narrowed in deep thought, “you don't, except your previous molt had some complications regarding your hormones that required you to get something removed. So you had them at some point, but no longer do.”
The Hollow Knight nodded. “It does not matter in relation to your previous question, however - this Vessel has never had any sort of vent or access.”
“...so you physically cannot mate.”
“No.”
“Alright then. What poor souls did you walk in on, then?!”
They shook their head, insistent. “This Vessel would not wander without being permitted! And no bug would act that way in its presence. It was considered unnerving.”
“Which begs the question; Hollow, why do you know what sex looks like?”
Just as they had before, they looked pointedly away from him and sat on their hand, stifling any answer.
He threw his hands up. “Somehow, actually asking for an answer only made me even more confused!”
They managed a slight laugh despite their embarrassed refusal to elaborate.
“Fine, fine, you don't have to tell me, I suppose. I would just… refrain from using language like that when your hands - or hand - are all you have to work with. Yes?”
The pale of their mask seemed a touch darker, a sort of lavender staining their expression as they lightly flushed. “Noted. Bad influences, old habits. This Vessel would never have been so crude in times past.”
“Oh- I don't mean to restrain your language, of course! Or your manners, really,” he laughed slightly nervously, “You're right in that times have changed. You have been through a lot, and I am unsurprised you'd have quite a bit to say about that. Don't let me stop you.”
“No no, it is alright - this Vessel prefers to be patient and kind. The observation of its anger getting the better of it is deeply important. Thank you.”
Quirrel laughed a little. “Alright, then. I certainly won't stop you on your journey of self-improvement or discovery. Thank you for humoring my curiosity, friend.”
They waved him off a little, smiling slightly. “Do not degrade yourself. Your curiosity is a blessing.”
“It is considered rude to ask others about their mating habits unless you are a doctor or a partner.”
They shrugged. “It is also rude to insult people along the lines as well.”
“That too!”
Quirrel glanced over out of the corner of his eye to see if Bretta was still watching the conversation from afar. Yep. Still out there.
“If you'll excuse me, my friend, I believe Bretta wants my attention. She's been lurking.”
The Hollow Knight tilted their head slightly. “This Vessel's attention?” they questioned.
“I somehow doubt it. She'd faint.”
They huffed a little in amusem*nt and confusion and gave Quirrel a friendly little bow as they slowly got their feet back under them and walked off. Their hand supported the back of their horns, then slid down to the base of their neck. He wondered idly if there was anything he could do about their discomfort, and put a pin in it for later.
For now, he turned to look directly at Bretta and gave her a smile and wave, letting her know that he knew she was there.
She stumbled and nearly fled before taking in a deep breath and approaching with her head held low. It reminded him of wilder creatures’ submissive poses, exposing their weaker sides to show they meant no harm.
“Um… hello,” she greeted, unsure.
“Hello to you too, Bretta! Is there something you need?”
She wrung her hands together, hesitant. “Uh, yeah, I… have a very weird question. Sorry about that.”
Quirrel tilted his head. “Surely nothing stranger than I've dared to inquire as of recent. Go ahead!”
“...how do you talk to the Hollow Knight?”
For a moment, he blinked in confusion. Then, with a bit of a laugh, he assured her, “Oh, sweetling, they aren't deaf! Only mute! You can simply just speak to them. They'd be happy to listen.”
“No, I-” she sighed a little, in surrender and embarrassment.
“Ah, did you mean how to understand their signs? That might take some time to learn. I suppose I could teach you if you're willing - I do have notes!”
“Not quite that either,” she went back to fidgeting.
“Ah?” he gently inquired, waiting for her to explain.
“They're so… so… much.” She briefly buried her head in her hands, brushing back her antennae as she took a deep breath in. “They're so powerful, and tall, and patient and kind. They're literally divine, I- I don't know where to start.”
Hm! Perhaps she would have fainted, then. Shame on Quirrel for assuming she'd never try, though.
He softened his smile. “I see now, yes. It helps me to remember that kindness - they are happy to listen, as I said before, I promise. They grew up in a Palace as someone who takes commands but is unable to speak; I'm sure you won't be the most annoying bug they've encountered. Not even close!”
She giggled a little at that, spirits raised.
“They are patient to a fault and deeply dedicated. They want nothing more than to help. I'd start by asking them a question. You can do it.”
For a moment, she was quiet. Then, softly, she repeated herself, “I can do it…”
At her wit's end, Bretta had convinced herself that she was willing to do anything to pursue this newfound dream of hers.
She'd cross the Wastes, she'd fight through hordes of hopping pests, she'd run from unending swarms of buzzing aspids, she'd do it all with a smile!
But speaking to people was maybe her limit.
She'd been doing great at it! She had!
But now, facing down her greatest challenge yet, Bretta found herself hesitant.
People… were not as complicated as she thought. Sometimes, people were wrong. Or they didn't believe in themselves, or in her. And that was their own fault.
Zote had seemed entirely unapproachable before, out of her league by unfathomable margins. Now, she had no issue with insulting him to his face.
Maybe an extreme example, but a good enough one!
Iselda was a retired warrior who was too impatient to really explain things well to her. Sly was a Nailsage, a teacher of teachers, endlessly skilled, and he had waved her off without a second thought like she didn't matter enough to teach.
They were approachable. Just not helpful.
And they'd seemed so daunting before.
Now, they were different. Demystified in a way she didn't know people could be. Not with any ill intentions or dashing heroism, just… indifferent. No less incapable, but so… normal.
Approachable. The worst they can say is no. The worst they can say…
She hesitated again.
In her procrastination, she tried to figure out what they were even looking at.
The Hollow Knight, tall, dark, and beautiful, was standing at their full height and gazing off into the distance. Longingly? Broodingly? Contemplatively?
Were they searching for something, or were they keeping watch, protecting the people of the town? Or were they pointedly ignoring them all, upset with something they'd done, yet unwilling to explain it? Maybe they were admiring the cliffside, eyes tracing up a path to climb it? Or maybe they were hunting for cracks in the facade, a weak place to strike to let it all come crumbling down?
How could Bretta even begin speaking to someone like them? Everything about them aside, she didn't know anything about what they might think or say or do! She couldn't even tell what they were looking at!
Oh, wait. Idea.
She took a step forward, realized what are you doing you crazy beetle you can't just talk to the Hollow Knight, and then froze as they turned to look at the noise.
She was definitely blushing.
“U-Um… hello… what are you looking at?”
A single question posed, and then all of a sudden fear washed over her like ice water and the words all came tumbling out like water from a broken pot:
“I mean, I'm sorry, that's not what I meant-! I mean, what were you looking at, or looking for, or whatever you were, um, uh, doing over here, ah, I just saw you searching and wanted to see what you could see, or, um, help you find what you're looking for, or, um, ah, sorry, I mean-!”
She gasped for air and promptly shut herself up.
The Hollow Knight blinked.
“...are you, um, doing anything important right now? I, uh, I can go, if you want…”
With a little tilt of their head, oh goodness, they turned around properly and then knelt down closer to her level, single arm resting against one leg, hand relaxed and open, watching her expectantly. In response to her question, they lightly shook their head.
“Oh! Um-! Good! I just, ah, I was wondering about, hm…”
Their nail, strapped along their back, looked like it was over three times her height. The little patterns carved into the long blade caught the light beautifully, shining cold steel reflecting an intricate level of detail that she would struggle to describe in prose. It was marred only by a few old cracks, so strong so as to not need any repairs in spite of the damage. The storyteller within her thought to compare the weapon to its wielder, elegant and unstoppable with the scars to prove it.
“...your nail.”
With a little flick of their horns as they glanced at the hilt of it over one shoulder, the knight drew it forth and lay it across their lap in lieu of presenting it with two hands, as was the custom. They watched her like they could see straight into her thoughts.
Bretta shuffled from foot to foot. Oh, Gods, it was too late to turn back now, wasn't it. “...can you… can you show me how you use it?”
For an instant, they tilted their head, confused.
Then, they planted it into the ground just in front of them for leverage, and hoisted themself back up to their feet, stepping aside to stay out of her way and tapping their fingers along the grip of it.
Now, despite being flustered beyond measure, Bretta had the chance to observe, picking up on details she couldn't possibly notice in the heat of battle. “...You're holding it backwards…?”
They clicked their fangs a little, then gestured with two fingers at the shape of the blade. Then to Bretta's own nail strung across her back.
Hers was short and angular, while theirs was long with a smooth curve from hilt to point. They tapped their fingers along the grip, still holding it upside-down, for emphasis.
Bretta carefully drew her nail, examined it for a moment, then held it as they did.
The Hollow Knight shook their head. Drew a triangle in the air, gestured flipping their hand over.
As she adjusted her grip, they gave her a nod, and- was that a smile? Oh gods.
“Because this one is short… I hold it forwards,” she spoke slowly, trying to interpret their simple little signs, “but since yours is as big as it is, you hold it backwards.”
They nodded again. With a little flick of their horns, they gestured off behind them.
She looked to find Sly and Quirrel were both out practicing. Sly's nail, while large, was shaped like her own, and he held it out in front of him when it wasn't slung over one shoulder.
Quirrel's nail, however, had that same length and point as Hollow's, and he held it accordingly.
“It’s about the type of nail,” she realized.
They huffed, satisfied.
“So, um- how would I swing a nail like this one?”
She knew then that she'd been pushing her luck. The Hollow Knight gave her an odd look - one she couldn't quite place.
She almost started a stream of apologies before they brought up their hand and showed her a few signs.
Now, it wasn't like she'd been watching them or anything. Not like she'd been keeping track of what Quirrel would say when he'd answer them, how he'd subconsciously start doing the same motions with his own hands while he spoke. It's not like she'd been taking notes, mental or physical, on their sign language.
“You want learn?”
That would be absurd. And Hornet would probably kill her.
“To learn… how to swing it?”
“Want learn all. You want fight learn, protect learn?”
Her face went beet red.
This entire time, she'd been begging to learn, teaching herself how to begin asking. Now that it was offered to her, so gently and openly…
“...yes?” she squeaked helplessly.
They offered her another sweet little smile and set aside their nail, planting it into the ground. With their hand free, they reached across their side, pulling a much shorter nail from pocket-land. It looked like Ghost could wield it comfortably.
They flipped their grip around, holding it like she held her own. Then, Hollow knelt down in front of her, and clashed the blades so gently it barely made a sound.
Hollow nodded, and then slowly, Bretta began to learn.
