Chapter Text
She is–
Floating.
Strange, that. Hornet doesn’t remember getting into a body of water. A warm one, even, yet clearly not a hot spring. She would feel the Soul flowing into her if it was.
There’s a strange pressure of sorts, that builds and builds as it pushes against her mask, trying desperately to escape outwards. As much as Hornet wishes she could reach up and tear her mask in two, to let the pressure out, she finds that she cannot move her arms.
Hm. The fact is not as concerning as it might’ve been, had Hornet been more conscious and alert.
And so, she drifts, in warm, welcoming darkness that reminds her so much of when she was younger, safe in the arms of the woman she called “mother”.
She drifts, and drifts, and lets herself fall into the unending dark.
Hollow is pacing again.
Ghost is left to work on Hornet’s cloak all by themselves, with Iselda casting a glance toward their much taller sibling every now and again. It’s not as if Hornet had gotten worse, but…
The situation is all too familiar. Ghost and Hollow, and Hornet lying unconscious on the blanket-covered couch. Ghost doesn’t say so out loud (at least, through the connection they share with Hollow), but they suspect that the only reason Hollow was not having a full breakdown was Iselda’s presence.
Iselda, who is clearly rather uncomfortable with the entire situation. Who, upon hearing the whole story from Ghost and Hollow, had let out a very, very long sigh, and dragged a hand down her face.
She’s been silent ever since, but Ghost can feel impatience and concern radiating off her in waves. She shifts, and clears her throat, and practically jumps out of her skin as Hollow whips around with unnatural speed.
“Great caverns below, kid,” she gets out, every part of her body language screaming stiffness, “you’re going to give some poor bug a heart attack like that.”
Hollow, for their part, seems very apologetic about startling her, hunching over slightly more for a moment before returning to pacing.
Iselda waits a moment longer before beginning to speak again. “Anyway. Your… father,” she starts, glancing between Hornet and Ghost, “is an interesting bug.”
Ghost gives an uncaring half-shrug, not looking up from their sewing.
Iselda sighs. “I mean it, kiddo. That bug… he’s not quite that, is he?” Her voice drops, becoming softer. “I’ve seen that face before. Corny brings them up from his travels, sometimes– idols. Carvings of the old king, before everything fell to the Infection.”
Ghost pokes themselves with the needle. They try not to show how upset they’re quickly becoming, and are very much failing.
Iselda’s voice is quiet. “You don’t like him very much, do you?” She sighs and leans back, gazing up at the ceiling. “Guess me calling him a deadbeat was rather deserved, huh?”
Ghost just nods sharply. Hollow’s pacing becomes ever-so-slightly faster.
Iselda takes a moment to think. As if she was having a hard time forming the question she wanted to ask, as if she was deciding if it was worth it. Ghost shakes out their pricked hand while she thinks, and Hollow continues their task of wearing a path in the floor deep enough to lead them to the Abyss.
“Is he…” She swallows, and finally asks, “that bug. He’s a god, isn’t he?”
It’s Hollow’s turn to nod. Iselda looks rather pale at that, and lets her head fall into her hands. “Right. Alright. That’s fine.”
Ghost looks over at Iselda, tilting their head to the side. They bring up one hand to sign why?, setting Hornet’s cloak down as they shift their attention fully to their friend.
Iselda chuckles, shaking her head. “No, kid, it’s nothing… just.” She sits up, looking between Hollow and Ghost. “That means you’re… princesses? All three of you?”
Hollow and Ghost share a look. After a moment, Ghost shakes their head, and points at Hornet.
Iselda spends a minute looking at Hornet, before she hums. “Alright, then. I suppose that helps things make a little more sense.”
Ghost only nods again, and picks Hornet’s cloak back up. Hollow doesn’t start pacing again immediately, instead going over to kneel by Hornet’s side and gently tap their mask against hers. They close their eyes, their hand going up to carefully rest against the side of one of Hornet’s horns.
Silence falls over the three once more, as Iselda, curiosity sated, lets herself lean back against the wall again.
There is something there, against her.
Hornet cannot think enough to dredge up the instinctual urge to push whatever is touching her away, cannot even gather the strength to move her hands even if she could. Though everything was still fuzzy in ways she couldn’t quite pinpoint, she felt… sharper, than she was earlier. Her thoughts were more clear, and she could pick them out of the sludge that was her brain more easily.
The feeling of floating has been replaced by the feeling of softness, all around her. Restricting, in ways she can feel more clearly now that she isn’t drifting.
She breathes in, then out. A soft sound escapes her with the exhale.
Shifting. Moving.
…so, so warm…
Hollow has not stopped staring at Hornet. It would be a welcome change from the pacing, had they moved any more than a statue would in what had been quite some time.
She had made a sound, after all. A sign of life, no matter how small.
“Kiddo,” Iselda breaks the silence with a careful, gentle tone. “I don’t think she’s going to wake up just yet. You don’t…” She trails off, thinking over her next words. “...you don’t have to watch over her. You won’t miss anything.”
Ghost holds up Hornet’s cloak. Though they declared it finished, they had continued to look over the details, trying to find if there was anything they could fix, something they could add, a part they could polish up a little further.
…nothing. Just as many as there have been, the past seven times they’ve looked.
They can feel it. The rising anxiety from Hollow, the longer they lean over Hornet, the longer they spend staring at her as if expecting her to disappear if they look away. They know they feel the same, for every time they check over Hornet’s cloak, for every stitch they count and recount.
Ghost makes an executive decision. As the eldest, most responsible sibling (and that draws an amused-disbelieving feeling from Hollow, on both counts), it falls to them to pull things together when they are falling apart.
They stand up, and gently put Hornet’s fixed cloak aside, wandering over to grab Hollow’s hand and tug. After some hesitation, Hollow lets themselves be pulled up, and Ghost starts to lead them to the kitchen.
“We’re making food,” is all Ghost says to Hollow, and signs as much back at Iselda, adding on a ‘watch her’ to their mortal companion.
Iselda laughs at that. “Wasn’t planning on going anywhere.”
Ghost lets go of Hollow’s hand as they enter the kitchen. They climb up onto the counter to open a cabinet– something Hornet always disliked, insisting they use the little stepladder– grabbing some sort of greenery out, turning it over in their hand before shrugging and handing it to Hollow.
“...what are we making?” Hollow asks, not setting the bundle of leaves Ghost gave them down.
Another shrug from Ghost. “Dunno what to eat. I don’t cook. Salad?”
Hollow spends a moment longer looking at the leaves, then looks up at Ghost. “This isn’t edible, Ghost.”
Ah.
Ghost crosses their arms. “Well, you cook, then!” They jump down from the counter, continuing to pretend-pout.
Hollow laughs, and Ghost can see them slowly relaxing as they begin to take a few ingredients out of the cabinets, an idea of what they’re going to cook forming in their head as they work. “Alright, responsible one,” they tease.
Ghost can, at least, help Hollow with the chopping of ingredients. This, at least, they know how to do. Hollow guides them, less with words and more thought-images, passed between the two in their void connection. It was a helpful method of communication for times like these, when neither really wanted to put in the effort of speaking, or wanted to convey more complex thoughts than they knew how to put into words.
As they’re cooking, the front door opens, and the Pale King steps in.
Immediately, some tension returns to Hollow’s body, and Ghost can’t help but raise their guard as well. They stop themselves from fully glaring at the god, though, despite their hackles instinctively raising at his light.
He looks over at them, and simply bows his head. “I spoke with Hornet’s mother,” is all he says, as if giving them a status report. Then, he slips away, into the room Hornet is sleeping in, likely checking to make sure Ghost and Hollow hadn’t ended up making her worse again.
“You don’t know that,” Hollow gently points out. The tautness in their body does not leave, despite their words.
“...sure.”
A few moments later, and Iselda waves goodbye to them. No longer needed, she needs to get back to the store and her husband.
“After all,” she says dryly, “I left in quite a rush after hearing what Corny told me. I’m sure he’s slightly concerned.”
As the door shuts, the house goes silent once more, except for the sound of Ghost and Hollow cooking. They don’t even speak in their void connection, and it’s not needed– they’re at the very tail end of their task.
All that’s left is to plate the food, and then wash the dishes. The latter task, Ghost knows, will likely fall to them, despite their hatred of it. They never liked getting their hands wet, but their hands were steadier than Hollow’s, and they doubted they’d be getting the Pale King to wash dishes.
(They amuse themselves with that thought for a few minutes, the image of the Pale King bent over the sink and washing their plates stuck in their mind. Would he even know how? Sure, he was a god of mind and all, but that hardly meant one was good at things. Given his skill in fatherhood, at least.)
Hollow glances down at them at that thought, nudging them with a little more force than they usually would. Ghost, being almost as dense as Hollow despite their smaller stature, does not move despite it. “Be nice,” Hollow warns, though there is no real threat behind their words.
Ghost rolls their head back and forth in a very clear gesture of “whatever”.
As Hollow moves to put the food– cooked meat, some vegetables, and a pile of blanched greens that was much smaller than what Ghost would’ve expected, for the amount they grabbed– on the plates, a loud crashing noise erupts from the living room.
Along with a sound that resembles something Ghost could only describe as a strangled shrumal warrior.
Hollow is moving immediately, before Ghost can even process what happened. All they know is that they feel a stab of horror through the void connection, and they’re moving in step with their sibling (as well as they can, with how small they are comparatively).
Hollow stops short, and Ghost runs into the back of their legs, almost bowling over their sibling in their haste.
The scene is… alarming.
Hornet stands, one hand pressed against her bandage-covered side, the other holding her needle. Her needle, whose blade has found its mark inside the Pale King’s chest.
“Why,” she growls out, voice raspy and cracking from disuse, “are you in my house.”
The Pale King looks down at the needle embedded in his chest, examining it as one would an interesting piece of art. He does not answer her question, and instead hums, wrapping his hands around the blade. “I do suppose I deserved that.”
Hollow steps forward, their distress clear in the way they carry themselves, in how their gaze is locked onto where silvery, black-spotted blood beads up from the Pale King’s chest.
Seemingly unbothered, the Pale King looks up at Hornet, who still holds onto her needle. “I mean you no harm, daughter of Hallownest. I was invited here by your half-siblings in order to aid your recovery. You had fallen quite ill due to your wounds, and they saw fit to summon me here.”
Hornet seems to realize that Ghost and Hollow are standing in the threshold then, turning around to look at them. Hollow’s gaze is drawn almost immediately from the Pale King as they step forward, holding out a hand in a calming gesture.
“Does he speak the truth?” Hornet asks, voice quiet, shaking.
Hollow nods, and slowly kneels by Hornet, so that they could lean forward and carefully, oh-so carefully, press their mask against hers in a tender, loving gesture. After a moment of this, Hornet visibly relaxes, her grip on her needle loosening as she returns the action.
Ghost, feeling very left out, shoves themselves in between their siblings, wrapping their arms around Hornet’s midsection to hug.
(Gentle, gentle, they do not want to hurt her any more than they already have, and they know personally how fragile mortals can be.)
They stay like this for several breaths, embracing. Relief and joy, from both Hollow and Ghost, intermingle in their void connection until they cannot tell if the emotion they feel is theirs or Hollow’s.
They didn’t know if Hornet was ever going to wake up again. Ghost tightens their hold ever-so-slightly, and presses their face against her. Her free hand drifts down to rest on the top of their mask in a soothing gesture.
For a moment, everything is perfect.
Then, the Pale King clears his throat. “I do greatly apologize for the interruption, but if you could remove your needle from my chest, I would appreciate it.”