Chapter Text
————1————
The afternoon light of Bellhart filtered through the glass window, casting warm patches upon the floor of the Bellhome.
Lace was sprawled across the table, taking a short nap, a blanket draped over her.
A soft,rhythmic knocking at the door shattered the tranquility.
Lace stirred groggily, rolled over, and pulled the blanket over her head. "Not delivering to Bone Bottom today..." she mumbled under her breath, voice thick with sleep. "...Not going to the Sands of Karak... Let Shakra get lost on her own..."
Yet, the knocking continued with patient persistence.
Finally, with great reluctance, she squirmed her way upright. Dragging her feet, head drooping and eyes bleary, she shuffled to the door and pulled it open with an air of one deeply aggrieved.
"I already said I'm not—"
The rest of the sentence caught in her throat.
Standing outside was not the expected, anxious courier, but the sister she had been pining for—Phantom.
She stood there quietly, a gentle, familiar smile on her face, the afternoon breeze softly stirring her black strands.
Lace was instantly, fully awake.
She blinked, then rubbed her eyes vigorously, doubting if she was still trapped in a dream.
Then, she did something that took Phantom slightly by surprise—she reached out and carefully, yet firmly, pinched Phantom's cheek.
Her fingertips registered a real, warm solidity, along with the silken smoothness unique to another creature of silk.
"It's real... It's really you, sister..."
Lace was momentarily dazed.
For some inexplicable reason, a strange feeling faintly stirred in the depths of her heart—a hazy memory, as if she had once been deceived by a similar illusion, conjured by some loathsome, wicked creature.
The thought flashed by, too fleeting to grasp.
The next second, all hesitation and confusion were swept away by a tidal wave of emotion.
As if terrified she might vanish again, Lace threw herself forward and wrapped her arms around Phantom with all her strength, burying her face deep into the crook of her sister's neck, greedily inhaling the familiar, comforting scent.
Phantom was taken aback by this overwhelmingly fervent reaction, then let out a soft chuckle, returning the embrace and gently patting her sister's slightly trembling back.
"What's all this?" Her voice was laced with gentle teasing. "Has it only been a few days? Did you miss me this much?"
"At this rate, it will be hard for me to ever feel comfortable letting you travel alone again."
Phantom softly stroked Lace's head, just as she had when Lace was but a small child.
Lace didn't answer. She only held on tighter, as if the figure before her would dissolve into a flock of butterflies the moment she let go.
"Can you tell me what happened?" Phantom asked patiently. "Did Hornet bully you again?"
"N-no... It's just... it's so good to see you..." Lace's voice was choked, though more with joy than sorrow. Silken tears welled continuously in her eyes, this overwhelming emotion difficult to suppress.
Though parts of her memory told her she had grown up side-by-side with Phantom, inseparable since childhood, another part of her emotional core was completely dominating in this moment.
Just as Lace was immersed in the joy of her reunion with her sister, another voice came from behind her.
"Ugh..."
Hornet was holding her head as she slowly sat up on the bed.
She felt as though she had awoken from a long dream, yet everything about it felt so real.
But the sensation of numerous memories flooding back in a short time was worse than the splitting headache from downing thirty bottles of Flea Mead in a row.
"Hornet, are you alright?" Phantom asked, turning her head slightly. "I heard you were struck on the head by a falling flea (wearing a helmet) on your way to Weaveland. You've been unconscious for days."
"You are... Phantom?" Hornet's tone was uncertain.
"It seems you haven't fully recovered," Phantom mused, narrowing her eyes slightly as she began considering if there were any suitable medical facilities in either Pharloom or Hallownest to recommend to Hornet.
————2————
Inside the Bellhome, the lighting was soft. Hornet and Phantom sat side by side on the edge of the bed, while Lace had deliberately placed a chair directly opposite them. The moment she sat down, she clung tightly to Phantom's arm, her face radiating unabashed satisfaction and dependence.
As Phantom spoke in her steady, measured tone, a sealed-away memory from the "other timeline" began to clear in Hornet's mind, like a crystalline gem being gently wiped free of dust.
"...And so, your primary purpose in coming to Pharloom this time is to assist us in repairing several core Soul-Silk Looms," Phantom's voice carried a tone of rational persuasion. "After all, throughout the entire Weavers clan, no one surpasses your mastery in combining machinery with runic arts. Furthermore, you were personally involved in the research and design of the core framework of this very system in the first place."
Her words held genuine praise, her gaze resting on Hornet and affirming her irreplaceable value.
Then, she tilted her head slightly, casting a look of mixed helplessness and affection at Lace, who was stuck to her side like stubborn adhesive, and let out a soft sigh. "Ah, if only this sister of mine could learn even half of your independence and reliability, I might finally be able to rest truly at ease."
"No way~" Lace immediately nuzzled her cheek against Phantom's arm, dragging out the syllables in a sugary, honeyed voice. "Why would I ever need to be independent when I have you? Holding onto you like this is the hap-pi-est thing!"
Her words carried a long-absent, utterly uninhibited willfulness, as if she were trying to compensate for all the lost time for affectionate clinging.
Phantom shook her head with a resigned sigh, though her eyes held a trace of indulgent amusement.
Yet, this conversation about "memories" had struck a chord within Hornet. In the time that followed, she and Lace, with their shared cloud of doubt, began a seemingly casual yet purpose-driven tour of Bellhart. They needed to verify their startling hypothesis.
Their first encounter was with the Pondcatcher Reed, who was leisurely strolling across the plaza. He greeted them warmly upon sight. "Ah, Lady Hornet, and Miss Lace. It's so good to see you recovered," Reed said, his tone full of relief. "Heard you had a bit of an 'incident' on your way here? Doesn't happen often these days, a flea falling right out of the sky."
His words flowed naturally, and the content matched the "flea incident" Phantom had mentioned earlier. It was clear that this event, which should not have existed in Hornet's memory, was now established fact.
Next, they visited Frey's cluttered general store, so packed with various oddities that there was barely room to stand. Hornet and Lace pretended to browse the shelves with interest—from the faintly glowing luminescent moss to the makeshift lanterns crafted from polished Karak coral. The air was thick with the unique scent of dried herbs, metal bells, and a faint, spicy fragrance.
Frey was on her tiptoes, arranging items on a high shelf, but her sharp peripheral vision caught the interesting scene unfolding behind her: Lace wasn't looking at the merchandise at all. Her gaze was firmly glued to Hornet, and the look in her eyes was as complex as a spilled palette of paints.
This was absolutely not a look one gave a mere friend.
A knowing, playful smile curled at the corner of Frey's lips. She nimbly hopped down from her stepping stool, brushed the dust from her hands, and casually sauntered over to Hornet, giving her a gentle nudge with her elbow.
"Hey, Miss Hornet," Frey leaned in closer, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, though her eyes darted meaningfully towards Lace not far away. "You're looking a bit pale, just waking up from such a serious coma. Your energy reserves must still be running low." She pointed towards a discreet corner behind the counter where several small bottles sat, labeled "Potent Vigor" and "Energy Surge".
"Sure you don't want some of my special nutritional tonic? Fresh stock. Remarkably effective, guaranteed satisfaction." She winked, adding, "Especially... helpful for recovering from certain specific types of... exertion."
Hornet frowned slightly, feeling a touch of impatience with Frey's excessive enthusiasm and pointed insinuations.
She straightened her spine, the inherent pride of a warrior evident in her posture. "Thank you for the offer, but no. I know my own body, and it has recovered quite well."
Frey's smile widened. She crossed her arms, her gaze sweeping between Hornet and Lace—who remained oblivious, still lost in her own thoughts—and the teasing in her voice was nearly palpable.
"Oh? Really not needed? It's just... my business intuition, honed over many years, gives me a feeling..." she deliberately drew out the words, "...that you might be facing a rather... arduous and protracted engagement tonight. It never hurts to be prepared, right?"
Hornet's frown deepened at this, though her expression showed more confusion than alarm. She glanced around the peaceful, tranquil town, her tone brimming with undeniable confidence. "I don't believe there is anyone left in all of Bellhart foolish enough to pose any kind of 'threat' to me, let alone warrant what you call a 'difficult fight'."
Frey let out a meaningful chuckle. She didn't press the sale further, merely looking at Hornet with a "you have much to learn" glint in her eyes as she slowly settled back behind her counter.
"Alright, alright, call me meddlesome," she said, picking up a soft cloth and beginning to polish a crystal ornament, not bothering to look up. Her voice, however, was full of anticipatory amusement. "Well then... I'll be watching with interest. I wish you... a pleasant evening, my esteemed Guardian."
After leaving the general store, they had just reached the town's edge when they encountered the courier brothers,.Tipp and Pill, who were organizing their cargo boxes and preparing to depart.
The moment Tipp spotted them, he immediately raised a forelimb in enthusiastic greeting. "Hey! Miss Lace! We really owe you one lately!" He patted the neatly stacked goods beside him, his tone filled with genuine gratitude. "The path to Bone Bottom's been overrun with Mosscreeps recently. We couldn't have made our deliveries on time if you hadn't been willing to help out."
This heartfelt praise made Hornet turn her head slightly, her sharp eyes settling on Lace beside her, a flicker of surprise and inquiry in her gaze, as if silently asking, "Since when did you become so helpful?"
Lace, naturally, didn't miss the question in Hornet's look.
The same innocently sweet smile remained on her face as she unhurriedly closed half the distance between them, pressing almost flush against Hornet's side.
She tilted her head up, fixing Hornet with her wide, dewy eyes, her tone a perfect blend of playful coquetry and well-measured reproach, pitched just loud enough for the brothers to overhear.
"What else was I supposed to do?" she sighed softly, her expression a mix of helpless resignation and fond indulgence. "It's all because of a certain irresponsible someone who slept for days on end, completely unresponsive... Leaving me too worried to go far. I had no choice but to stay put in town, 'looking after' our sleeping beauty here," she deliberately emphasized the words "looking after," "while finding little things to do to pass the time, that's all."
Pill and Tipp exchanged understanding, kindly smiles upon hearing this.
Next, they visited the meticulous Pinmaster Plinney.
His workshop still carried the distinct scent of metal, lubricating oil, and whetstones. Various precision tools gleamed coldly under the lamplight, each sorted and arranged with scrupulous care.
"Ah, Lady Hornet. It is excellent to see you recovered," Plinney said, his gaze habitually falling upon the needle strapped to Hornet's back, a craftsman's instinctive appraisal in his eyes. "Your needle is very well-maintained; the edge remains keen. However, should you require it, I could re-sharpen the tip for you, ensuring it is in optimal condition."
Hornet was about to reply when her gaze inadvertently swept across the interior of the Bellhome.
A subtle sense of dissonance surfaced in her mind—this room seemed somewhat more spacious than the one in her memory, the layout slightly different, and there was even a faint, sweet aroma of food lingering in the air.
Just as she was quietly pondering the source of these changes, the curtain to an inner room was drawn aside.
A female bug with a gentle demeanor, wearing a clean apron, emerged carrying a tray of freshly baked, steaming pies, a soft smile on her face.
"Oh, we have guests?" she said, her voice warm. "Would you care to try some of my fresh-baked Woodfruit pies? They're at their sweetest right now."
Hornet looked at the unfamiliar face, a natural confusion showing in her eyes. "You are...?"
Plinney quickly stood up, wiping his hands on a soft cloth. "This is my wife, Melatolla," he introduced, his tone natural and filled with warmth as he gently placed a hand on his wife's shoulder. "She was away for a time, staying with her family to care for her elderly aunt, which is why you didn't meet her during your last visit. Mela, this is the highly skilled Lady Hornet I've often told you about."
"Melatolla...?" Hornet repeated the name, a sealed-away memory instantly resurfacing in her mind—she remembered Plinney once venturing into the Shellwood under the Void Scourge to pay respects to an old friend named Melatolla, who had been laid to rest there long ago.
Upon hearing her husband's introduction, Melatolla's face immediately lit up with recognition and profound gratitude. She carefully set the pie tray down on a nearby table, wiping her hands on her apron.
"So you are the huntress in red who saved Plinney from the beast's claws!" She stepped forward briskly, warmly clasping Hornet's hands, her eyes even glistening with unshed tears. "Oh, my memory! Plinney has told me so many times about your heroic bearing. I should have recognized you immediately from that cloak and remarkable presence! Thank you so, so much. If you hadn't happened by that day..."
Melatolla continued to express her thanks effusively, while Hornet quietly let her hold her hands.
In this renewed world, the departed had returned. The sorrows of the past were now overlaid by the warmth of a new reality.
Plinney no longer needed to make solitary trips to the Shellwood to mourn. His workshop was now filled with the scent of his wife's baking, and the tangible, regained happiness that was once lost.
Later, they stepped into the antique collector Scrounge's quaint little house.
Scrounge enthusiastically gave them a tour of her treasures. The collection was dazzlingly diverse: not only ancient texts documenting the history and weaving techniques of Pharloom, intricately patterned Citadel Seals, and strangely shaped Weaver effigies, but also, prominently displayed on a velvet cushion, stood a meticulously crafted King's Idol emanating an aura of authority—the symbol of Hallownest's Pale King.
Hornet's gaze lingered on the idol for a moment, and understanding dawned within her. It seemed that during her "absence," her father, the supreme ruler of Hallownest, had indeed spared no effort in fostering deeper exchanges between Hallownest and Pharloom. Even the exchange of items bearing such potent cultural symbolism had become this natural.
"So? Quite a collection, right?" Scrounge puffed out her chest, her antennae quivering with pride as she pointed to a row of newly acquired pieces. "These are all treasures I personally hunted down across various ruins and marketplaces, authenticating and haggling for each one myself!"
"When I hold the next joint antique appraisal contest with that always-snooty Lemm from the City of Tears, I'll make sure he loses convincingly! Let's see if he still dares to mock our Pharloom collection for 'lacking historical gravitas'!" Her tone was brimming with competitive spirit and absolute confidence in her own discerning eye.
Hornet's eyes swept over these artifacts that spanned regions and cultures, now coexisting harmoniously in a single room. They silently spoke of the increasingly close ties between the two kingdoms.
She gave a slight nod, her tone calm yet carrying an air of approving expectation. "Indeed, the collection is quite extensive. I look forward to you taking the top prize in the next competition."
This simple affirmation made Scrounge even more animated, and she launched into a detailed account of the provenance of a particular fragment. Meanwhile, Hornet and Lace found further confirmation, amidst these material witnesses that bore both old and new memories, of how solid and real this remade world truly was.
When the travel-worn Shakra returned from surveying Mount Fay, Hornet and Lace found her on a bluff overlooking half of Bellhart.
The seasoned warrior-cartographer was sitting on a flat rock, carefully honing the edge of her signature golden ring with a whetstone while making detailed marks on her spread-out, still-damp new map.
The glow of the setting sun cast a warm, coppery sheen over her golden carapace.
"Shakra," Hornet began without preamble, walking directly up to her, her gaze intense as she cut straight to the core question. "Do you remember how we first... truly met?"
Shakra looked up from her map, her face—smeared with a few ink stains—showing genuine confusion. She even set her whetstone down, giving Hornet a thorough once-over. "Hornet wielding Needle, what's gotten into you? Did that helmeted flea really knock your memories loose?"
Her tone carried a warrior's characteristic bluntness, even a hint of teasing. "Our first meeting? Of course it was back in the tribe. I was still too young then, the specific details are a bit hazy, but I definitely remember that striking red cloak of yours." She paused, a glint of concern in her sharp eyes. "Why ask this so suddenly? Did something happen?"
"Nothing," Hornet replied, her tone flat. "I just felt like asking."
Shakra tapped the tip of her ring thoughtfully against a mark on her map, producing a clear, sharp sound.
"You... shouldn't push yourself too hard," her voice lowered, taking on a familiar, concerned tone, like that of an old friend. "You should rest properly when it's time to rest. You've always had this tendency, ever since the old days, to push yourself and carry too much on your own shoulders. This world... doesn't have that many things you need to bear alone."
Hornet nodded, offering nothing more in reply.
As the night deepened, Hornet closed the door of the Bellhome. She turned, her gaze calm as she looked towards Lace, who was sitting on the bed.
"The residents of the town, including Shakra, they only possess the memories of this new world," she stated, her tone reminiscent of a post-operation debrief. "I altered the past, and it appears the effect has been thorough."
She looked directly at Lace, asking the only question that mattered: "And what about you? Do you remember?"
Lace tilted her head, a sly and knowing smile spreading across her face. She hopped lightly off the bed and walked over to stand before Hornet.
"Of course I remember~" Her tone was light, but her eyes were utterly clear. "All of it—that puppet controlled by Mother, yearning only for death, and the battles you fought, the choices you made... I remember everything."
She leaned in a little closer, adding with a hint of teasing, "And of course, that includes, in this world, the foolish sight of you drowning in the Blue Lake as a child, only to be fished out by the Pure Vessel?"
Hearing this definitive answer, Hornet gave a slight, slow nod.
A peculiar sense of relief washed through her.
She didn't mind being the sole rememberer, but having a companion to share this heavy past with... didn't feel bad at all.
"...Well," she said quietly, her voice steady with a released tension. "That puts me at ease."
————3————
In the deep of night, the Bellhome was enveloped in complete silence, save for the cool light filtering through the window, casting a sheet of silver upon the floor.
Hornet was immersed in sleep when she suddenly felt a weight settle upon her, as if something warm was pinning her down.
Her eyes snapped open with instinctive alertness, her blurred vision gradually clearing to reveal Lace's face, up close and personal, wearing a sly smile.
"What are you doing?" Hornet's voice was husky with sleep. She tried to sit up, only to find Lace straddling her waist, hands planted on either side of her pillow, effectively trapping her against the bed.
Lace tilted her head slightly, her silver-white hair cascading down and tickling Hornet's cheek.
"Nothing much," her tone was light, but her eyes sparkled with reminiscence. "I just suddenly remembered some things from when we were younger."
"Oh?"
"I remembered how, back then, you defeated my sister. I was so angry, I swore I'd get my revenge on you." Lace's fingers idly twirled a strand of her own hair, as if sharing an amusing anecdote.
Hornet let out a sigh, a note of exasperation in her voice. "So, what does that have to do with you waking me up in the middle of the night, and in... this particular position?"
Lace's smile instantly shifted into one that was downright feline, like a cat that got the canary. She leaned down, bringing her lips close to Hornet's auditory organ, her warm breath ghosting over it as her voice dipped into a lazy, yet dangerous drawl:
"My dear little spider~ I never said 'revenge'... had to be limited to fighting, now did I?"
Without waiting for a response, she continued in that cloyingly sweet whisper, "Besides, during that long, long time you were lying there unconscious... it's been so, so very long since I've had a proper replenishment of silk~"
Her fingertip gently tapped against Hornet's abdomen, right over one of the core sources where silk gathered.
"I seem to recall... you promised me, with your own words when we were young, that you'd take care of me for life, you know~"
"?!"
Hornet's body went slightly rigid at the words. Her mind raced, frantically searching through dusty corners of her memory.
A moment later, a flicker of chagrin crossed her face—There really was such a thing!
It seemed to be on some forgotten afternoon, all those years ago, meant to placate a younger Lace who was crying inconsolably over some trivial matter. She really had said something along the lines of, 'Stop crying, I'll take care of you from now on.'
"Th-that... that was just childish banter between kids," Hornet attempted to salvage the situation, turning her head away to avoid Lace's blazing gaze. "Bringing it up now is far too late. It doesn't count."
"How could it not count?" Lace's smile deepened. She extended a finger, gently guiding Hornet's face back, forcing their eyes to meet. "I remember it clearly, and you, my dear little spider, you remember it too~"
Her gaze grew serious, carrying a trace of unwavering certainty. "For someone who values promises as much as you do, aren't words once spoken the most binding contract of all?"
"You wouldn't... be thinking of breaking our agreement, would you?" She narrowed her eyes slightly, her tone a masterful blend of feigned hurt and accusation.
Bathed in the moonlight, Lace's eyes shone brilliantly, filled with expectation and a hint of something else, a fragility born from long waiting, carefully concealed yet not entirely invisible.
Hornet looked at her, remaining silent for a long moment.
Finally, as if surrendering to the inevitable, she let out a long, resigned sigh, raised a hand to rub her temples, and conceded in a low voice:
"...Alright."
Lace's face instantly blossomed into a triumphant, radiant smile, as if she had been given the sweetest honey in all the world.
Satisfied, she leaned down, ready to commence her long-awaited "revenge" and her wholly justified "sustenance."