...Father?...

By Nym P. Seudo

1

I am alone.

This temple that is my domain—my prison—was built with claw and hammer and spell. It is vast. And it is empty. Beyond these walls the world persists, time flows its river's course. But within this egg there is no such thing. Eternity is an indivisible unit. And I will endure.

But…

I am burdened.

There is a weight upon me. Within me. It strains my shell, with such force that I might rip to pieces. Iron links press against the fulcrum of my body. Chains suspend me like a long-extinguished lantern.

I am weakened.

A dullness coats my limbs. The might that I once wielded has rotted away. My fingers can barely grasp the Long-Nail that has served as my only companion through this vigil.

I am haunted.

Within this cracked mask resounds a song. A desperate, keening thing, ever yearning for escape. It chimes and trembles and knells, growing louder. Always louder. It pounds against this fracture between my eyes, sometimes slipping through like a sickly roar.

I am alone.

But the King has left me my purpose, one that only I can fulfill. And I will see it to the end. I must.

His final words to me were as his first. And I remember them…

No cost too great…

No mind to think…

No will to break…

No voice to cry suffering…

Born of God and Void…

You shall seal the blinding light that plagues their dreams…

...You are the vessel…

You are the Hollow Knight…

From somewhere far beyond, the words came to me. They rippled through the inky dark and washed over my sleep like waves on a beach. And I stirred, for the very first time. A compulsion arose within me, one that suffered no dissent. Something sought my presence, and the words had come to collect me.

I followed them. Without thought. Without hesitation. Flotsam drawn on the tides.

I moved through a world of nothingness—an infinite, midnight sea—with those echoing words ever before me. There was no doubt of the destination, but progress was indiscernible. Distance. Time. All meant nothing in such a place. But as I drifted, something tugged at me: an ebony mass of tendrils and pincers that grasped out of the dark. They whispered to me. Begged. That I not go, that I let them tear me apart and scatter my being like wet clay. But such pleas held no sway over me, a greater purpose demanded. I tore away from the living shadows and pressed on.

A sudden wall loomed up before me, concave and immaculate like the interior of an egg. I collided with its unyielding surface and came to a halt. In its obsidian curvature I spied my own reflection: the horns, the ivory mask, the empty eyes. And I stared, for it was the only thing that I could do. The words, which until now had been so much like squall-tossed leaves, merged into a single voice. It boomed from beyond the wall, commanding me to appear, but I could not obey. My reflection refused to step aside and let me pass.

A force like a pounding fist reverberated along the barrier, and a crack formed to slash across my reflection's face. Gray light seeped from the crack like blood, only to be drawn and dispersed into the eddying void. A second blow fell, and with a shivering crepitiation the crack widened. My reflection distorted into a nightmarish facsimile. The third blow fell, and the crack exploded. The barrier flew apart, revealing a luminous rift that threatened to swallow me. The darkness all about surged toward it like water through a burst dam. And I tumbled along with it, helpless and ignorant.

The heavy weight of disparity bore down on me. Light and shadow. Heat and cold. Sensations that I had never known accompanied the birth of an alien world. I fell to a floor of brittle, white shards that crackled and sagged beneath my body. A torrent of black spilled over me. It sloshed and splattered against the floor, seeping through as if into parched soil. I lay there for a time, but for how long I could not say. There was no command to rise. And no reason to.

But a being stepped forward into my view. It towered over me, regal and still, like a lighthouse on a cloud-choked night. Draped around its shoulders was a cloak the color of steel that obscured its body and trailed along in its wake. The being wore an ivory mask—so much like mine—topped with seven slender horns resembling a crown. Its two dark eyes lurked in the mask's recesses, inscrutable. With a tilt of its head, the being regarded me and spoke—with that same voice that had shepherded me through the void.

"Rise, Vessel, so that I might see you."

The command flowed into my limbs and soaked them with purpose. I stood, and the world reoriented itself. The white shards were all around me, not just the floor but the walls and ceiling as well. They were everywhere. Everything. In staggering mounds, they rose, creating a landscape with nothing but themselves. Tunnels and caves and pillars formed from their endless procession. They were mask fragments… so much like mine. Intact horns and empty eye holes protruded from every surface. It was as if my own face were staring out at me, a thousand, thousand times.

And beside me, wreathed in bramble-black tendrils, sat an orb. It was huge and impenetrably dark yet possessed of a nacreous luster. I saw myself within it, but the being standing beside me did not cast a reflection. It was as if I floated alone in an empty expanse. A jagged wound—like a maw of broken teeth—marred the orb's otherwise flawless surface. Viscous shadow leaked from it like some vital force. And just as the being had… the orb beckoned to me. Faintly. So faintly.

The being paced about me, in a slow, methodical ring, noting the curvature of my horns, the slate-gray of my cloak, the darkness of my body. "I behold the apotheosis," it murmured. "The culmination of all sacrifice. This day shall be known, now until forever, as my Kingdom's superlative achievement." The steel of the being's cloak parted to reveal a carapace that gleamed like silver. It reached out an arm to touch me gently on the shoulder. "All my efforts shall never surpass what has been done this day. Come. Hope flutters like a dying Lumafly. The common bugs must see you—my triumph. They must believe in their King once more."

And I followed the being… the King.

No other desire presented itself.

My feet crunched against the uneven ground, cracking the faces like fragile ceramic. But the King glided effortlessly, leaving no trace or sound. The orb's whisper faded to nothing behind me, and we emerged into a sort of cavern, made of the same staring masks. On the far side, near a gaping, black tunnel, stood two more beings, even larger than the King. Both sported armored shells that shared the King's silver brilliance. One—the bigger of the two—wielded an enormous mace covered in spikes. The other wielded nothing but his own hooked claws. Their voices carried through the stagnant air, quiet, but perfectly clear.

"Our King keeps a rather grim collection, does he not, Hegemol?" The clawed one asked, eyeing the walls. "So many masks, but for what purpose?"

"Is this your first foray into the pit, Ogrim?" The mace-wielder murmured.

"Yes. I had not been given the—" Ogrim tapped a claw against his chest. "—honor until recently. Does it descend much deeper? I toil to imagine."

"That I do not know." Hegemol said, as he planted his mace on the ground and leaned. "I have never accompanied the King to the bottom. It is his custom to venture forth alone beyond this point. Many long vigils have I endured in anticipation of his returns. Perhaps the common bugs should take to calling me 'Patient Hegemol' and not 'Mighty'."

"It bears a pleasing ring Patient Hegemol, but I doubt the common bugs will be hearing of those vigils. I knew nothing of this place before joining the Knights. And believe me, I was quite the intrepid adventurer. I believed myself to have scoured every speck of dirt and turned every stone within this land, but now that I know of this place, I see how closely the King keeps his secrets…"

"You speak the truth. And I would not have it any other way. Certain things are best never known. The common bugs need not concern themselves with this. They have enough on their minds already with that affliction."

Ogrim grunted. "If that was a joke it was in poor taste."

"Joke? Oh, pardon. That was not my intent."

The pair lapsed into silence, and the King paused mid-step. They did not notice him lingering on the edge of the cavern. I stood behind him and waited. For what, I could not imagine.

"But still," Ogrim muttered. "Hours have passed us by. How many more?"

Hegemol shrugged. "As many more as the King deems necessary."

"But is he truly safe in this place? We have a duty to uphold, after all."

"Do not doubt our King. If he were so frail a thing that this place could threaten him, then Hallownest would never have come to be. Our presence here is more for ceremony than protection."

"Very well." Ogrim crossed his claws tightly about himself. "But tell me in earnest, does this seem… wrong to you? The smell. The weight to the air. All these broken masks."

Hegemol pondered. "Not particularly. It isn't the most festive locale, but there are far more unsightly corners in the Kingdom. I'd take this gloomy hole over a patrol through those stinking fungal tunnels any day."

"What is the King's business here? Has he told you of it?"

"As He always says, we are here for 'the good of the Kingdom'. That should be enough for us."

"Even so," Ogrim persisted, "what is the meaning of those ghosts? I have never seen their like in all my travels."

"Did I not just say that some things are best never known? Do not trouble yourself with these shadows. They may bite and nibble, but they are no match for a Great Knight. Those claws of yours are not merely for show, as we are both aware. There is no need to quake."

"'Quake'? Do not turn your jests on me now. I have never quaked in all my years."

Hegemol chuckled, a low, reverberating sound that fought with the oppressive stillness. "Don't be so quick to bristle, my friend. It is all in mirth. Such a thing is needed here."

"I suppose."

"That being said," Hegemol continued. "I do seem to recall a few quakes from you at the Battle of the Blackwyrm."

"Now wait just a moment! That is hardly fair! Everyone quaked on that day. Even our Pale King."

Hegemol suppressed another chuckle and began to reply, but something stirred in the tunnel beyond.

It was a shadow, so much blacker than the surrounding darkness that its outline was visible from a great distance away. It had no wings or means of flight, but it hovered like a storm cloud. As it neared, the shape of a horned head and luminous white eyes became distinguishable. Yet its lower body possessed no structure or symmetry. It dragged a knot of tendrils through the air like unraveling silk.

Hegemol and Ogrim readied themselves, brandishing their weapons and widening their stances. The shadow emerged from the tunnel and drifted forward. It glanced about the room, as if confused. The spotlight of its gaze settled first on Ogrim, then Hegemol, then the King, and finally… me. A whisper pressed against my shell, some plea in a language that I could not understand, and the shadow rushed toward me. It moved right between the two Knights, heedless of their existence, so focused was it on me. But they did not let it pass. The smashing mace and sweeping claws descended on it. And the dark mass of its body shredded into opaque bubbles that scattered in all directions. It wailed as it flew apart, and the sound echoed on inside my head.

"You see?" Hegemol laughed. "These little gnats are nothing before a strong arm and a keen weapon!"

"Well spoken!" Ogrim replied. "It was a mighty blow you delivered! Your namesake is well-deserved."

Hegemol snorted and hefted his mace over his shoulder. "I would rather you not heap so much praise on me. It is uncouth for a Knight to blush in the heat of battle."

"Ha! I'd pay good Geo for such a sight."

The King crossed the room and approached the Knights. For the first time, the masks cracked beneath his feet, announcing his passage. The Knights spun, weapons raised, but as soon as they caught sight of the King, they fell to one knee and spoke in relieved unison. "You have returned, Pale King."

"Indeed. You are unharmed?" The King lifted an arm, gesturing for the Knights to stand.

"Assuredly," Ogrim replied. "The Champion's Call was far more harrowing than this ghastly little romp."

"I am relieved," The King said. But he glanced about the room, his expressionless mask taking in the broken collage. "Ghastly?…"

"I had begun to wonder, your Grace," Hegemol interjected. "Your previous searches have never taken quite so long. Did this one prove more auspicious?"

The King shifted aside without a word and revealed me. His curt command of "Step forth" took possession of my legs and sent me marching forward. The two Knights suddenly noticed me, as if I had manifested from the ether.

Hegemol buried the head of his mace into the floor with a wrenching crack and crossed his arms over his chest. He spent a long while in silence, watching me.

Ogrim startled. "A child? Down here of all places? My Lord, how did you come across it?" He crouched at my level. "Are you frightened, little one? Hurt? Do not fear. Your King and his Royal Knights are here to protect you. Are you from The City? We could have you home in a matter of hours."

The King did not register the question.

And I did not reply.

"It is larger than the others," Hegemol observed. "Sturdier. Even from here I feel it is much more powerful."

"What others do you speak of?" Ogrim asked.

Hegemol gave a forbidding shake of his head.

"Again, your keen eyes peer into the truth of things, Hegemol," The King said. "Before you stands the apex of my labor. The greatest Vessel to yet be conceived. Revel in this moment, for it betokens Hallownest's most sublime victory."

"You have that much faith, my Lord?" Hegemol murmured.

"Faith? No." The King strode past the armored bulks of the two Knights and into the far tunnel. "Vision… Now, come. There are many preparations to be made."

We traveled in relative silence, broken only by the snap of the masks underfoot. The tunnels twisted in sinuous patterns, looping over one another and ending without warning. But at no point did the King pause to reconsider his path. He moved with a relentless purpose, ever upward, ushering the group through the dark with that pearl bioluminescence that suffused him.

Eventually, as Hegemol's breathing grew haggard, we emerged into an immense, rectangular shaft that seemed to stretch endlessly into the shadows overhead. Grooved stone and titanic, fossilized shells made up its walls. At irregular intervals were clusters of spikes, each one nearly as tall as Hegemol. Their reflective, chitinous material made them gleam in the low light.

And yet more masks coated the floor.

"Again, our King guides us infallibly," Hegemol puffed. "Though we yet have a journey before us." He looked up at the erratic concretions of stone that jutted from the shaft's walls. They resembled giant stair steps and served as the only means of ascent. "Quite a journey indeed…"

"Muster your fortitude, Mighty Hegemol," the King said, "The time has come to depart this place, but another task yet remains for you." He reached into the folds of his cloak and drew out a four-pronged sigil of clouded quartz. Light spilled all about it like roiling fog. "As my will decrees, you shall recruit the aid of Loyal Ogrim and venture east to the lighthouse overlooking the abyssal sea. The light-keeper's long vigilance is done. Command him to disable the lighthouse and return with you to the White Palace. Nothing of worth yet remains in this festering morass. We shall leave it to its own devices and cast our gaze upon it nevermore. Take this simulacrum of my Brand. Once your task is complete, use it to forever seal the entrance at this shaft's summit. Ensure that it is done."

Hegemol knelt and lifted an armored palm to receive the sigil. "I understand, my King. Upon my honor, I will not fail."

The King stepped away from us and onto a more level section of the ground. "The Great Knight's Council shall be held in two days. Dryya, Ze'mer, and Isma shall be returning from their assignments in the other kingdoms. The White Palace's vestibule shall serve as our place of conclave. I need not remind you to be timely." He nodded. "Until then."

"Pardon, Majesty," Ogrim blurted. "But what of the child? The trek out of this chasm is arduous even for we Great Knights. Should we send for winged sentries to fly the little one to safety?"

"You do this little one a disservice, Loyal Ogrim," the King said. "Let not its meager appearance delude your senses. It is far more capable than you comprehend." The King turned to me and locked eyes. He pointed up the shaft toward what appeared to be a metal balcony. "Observe and follow," he commanded.

The King flared his cloak about himself with a flick of his arms, and a corona of light encircled him. Overlapping steel gave way to translucent white, and in an instant the King's cloak had transformed into a pair of wings. Shed feathers hung in the air, twinkling like constellations before fading into nothing. But just as the King tensed in preparation for flight, an object—small and bug-like— plummeted from on high.

The object crashed into a heap of masks, launching fragments all about. Hegemol lunged forward, planting himself before the King and making a shield of his own body. The shrapnel bounced harmlessly off his carapace and clattered to the ground. A cloud of gray dust hung in the air, obscuring the fallen object.

"Another foe!?" Ogrim shouted, charging over to stand beside Hegemol.

"Steady yourselves, Knights," the King said. "That thing is no threat. No consequence to you. It is mere refuse being disposed of. Banish it from your thoughts and remain sworn to your charge. We shall speak again soon."

The King stretched his incandescent wings and flapped, with enough force to scatter the cloud of dust and send himself soaring into the air. He climbed without looking back, not even pausing to rest upon the stone slabs protruding from the walls. I watched him with unwavering intent, absorbing every movement of his body and slant to his wings. I could not wrench my gaze from him, nor did I wish to.

As the cloud of dust dissipated, Ogrim took a hissing breath and slid back a step. His attention was not drawn to the King, but to the fallen object.

It was a bug corpse.

One that resembled me in every way.

It too was a creature of white horns and black eyes, with a slate-gray cloak that concealed the darkness of its body. But there were minor differences. It was half-again smaller than me, and possessed four, diminutive horns that curled down to frame its face.

"What is the meaning of this?" Ogrim whispered. He looked from the corpse to the masks to me in quick succession.

Hegemol clapped a claw on Ogrim's shoulder and nodded eastward. "You heard the King's decree. That thing before you is of no concern. Come. We mustn't tarry."

Ogrim tore his shoulder free of the grasp. "No concern? In what way is this of no concern? Does that not resemble a citizen of our Kingdom? Stone-dead upon the ground?"

"Heed my advice. If the King sees fit to enlighten you, then he will. But for now, it is not your responsibility. Accompany me as you were instructed."

Ogrim knelt and lifted the still form in his arms. Its head lolled at a grotesque angle, revealing several cracks that ran the length of its mask. "It is a child, Hegemol! If this is not my responsibility as a Knight, then nothing is!" He seemed to recall my presence and shifted the corpse out of my field of vision.

Hegemol let out a growling sigh. "The King commanded us to—"

"He called it refuse. That it was being disposed of."

"Do not allow yourself to be distracted!" Hegemol shouted. "We have a duty to uphold! Now rise! This is unbecoming of a Knight."

"Our duty is to the Kingdom. To protect those that lack the means of protecting themselves." Ogrim lifted his head. "What is this place, Hegemol? Is it a mass grave for the weak? Is it a Knight's failure?"

Hegemol clamped Ogrim beneath the arm and tossed him to his feet. Their faces hovered an inch apart. "That. Is not. A child. This. Is not. A grave. And the only failure a Knight can know is to disobey the will of his King!" He swatted the corpse from Ogrim's arms and it sailed into a nearby heap of masks with a crash. The outline of its body wavered and frothed, like water just beginning to boil. Black bubbles separated from it and floated away on an imaginary breeze. "You are Loyal Ogrim of the Five Great Knights!" Hegemol snarled. "You have been granted a task by your King. Your Sovereign. Your Lord! Will you see it done? Or will you abandon your only purpose as you fret over the remnants of a broken tool?"

Ogrim's body trembled, so much that his shell rattled like a metal hut in a windstorm. He looked to me again, but I did not meet his gaze. My focus was elsewhere.

"Well, what say you?!" Hegemol slammed his palms against Ogrim's chest.

The King ended his flight at the summit of the shaft. His wings crumbled out of existence, replaced once again by the steel cloak. He tightened it around himself and resumed his austere posture. Even from that vast distance, I felt when he turned to look down upon me. His will echoed on and took hold of my body yet again.

Follow.

I responded like a marionette. My legs bent, my cloak fluttered, and a power that I did not know I possessed surged up within me. I jumped, straight up, and as I did so, the substance of my cloak transmuted into a pair of ephemeral wings, shorter than the King's but nearly as bright. They flapped, launching me clumsily into the air. I landed on the stone slabs, one after the other, planting my feet, bracing my body, and leaping up for another brief flight. Over and over, in mechanical repetition. And as I went, my movements grew smoother, more elegant, closer and closer to the King's.

I did not look back, toward Ogrim or Hegemol. I did not hear the last dregs of their debate, or Ogrim's reply. Every ounce of me was invested in the climb. Exertion burned in my limbs but I did not slow. I could not. The King was watching me, urging me ever upward.

No cost too great.

The words boomed inside my head as I glided from one platform to another.

Ten thousand failures have preceded you. And should you fall, then ten thousand more shall follow.

I kicked off a wall and soared over a cluster of chitinous spikes.

No mind to think. For to possess a mind is to possess a vulnerability. So easily subverted. So easily manipulated.

I grabbed a ledge and hauled myself to my feet.

No will to break. For time degrades all intent. Purpose, no matter how unflinching, is nothing before those ceaseless waves. Will is not enough. It must be discarded.

One of my wings shed a clump of ghostly feathers as it clipped the edge of a spike.

No voice to cry suffering. Toil is the lot of the living. To live eternal is to toil eternal. If suffering is foregone, then it need not be heralded.

I redoubled my efforts, one wing flapping harder than the other.

Born of God and Void. No tool of inferior element shall suffice. Only the perfect may achieve the impossible.

The balcony upon which the King stood grew closer with every strain of my legs and every thrash of my wings.

You shall seal the blinding light that plagues their dreams. The Kingdom cannot coexist with such uniformity. It inhibits potential. It murders the ideal. It sees nothing beyond propagation.

With one final lunge, I crested the balcony and landed before the King. My body lurched from exhaustion, but I kept my feet. The King watched me—with approval or otherwise, it was impossible to tell. After a time, he spoke and the echo left my head.

"You are the vessel. None other shall rival your merit.

You are the Hollow Knight… You are my child…"

My wings shriveled, curling up like a dying bug. They reverted to a cloak and hung limply about me as I heaved. My body felt tenuous and insubstantial, as if I would deliquesce and drain through the grating of the balcony.

The King paused, until my breathing returned to normal and I stood straight. "Many trials await you," he said, "each one more brutal and unrelenting than the last. Should you prove… deficient, then this same end shall be yours."

With a slight turn of his head, the King signaled to someone behind him. The balcony ended in an archway that led into a tunnel, and within I saw several more beings, more bugs. They were silver from head to foot, with oval-shaped carapaces, short limbs, and vestigial wings that hung down their backs like capes. They stood at attention beside a large metal cart, completely silent. The King's signal set them all into motion, and they hauled the cart to the edge of the balcony. They removed the silken tarp covering it to reveal a mountain of corpses. All of which resembled me. Just as the other corpse had. Horns. White masks. Dark eyes. Cloaks.

The King nodded again, and the silver bugs set to work dragging the bodies out of the cart and hurling them over the side. They plummeted like stones, striking against the walls and floors of the shaft, shattering into a thousand pieces. White shards and horn fragments sprinkled down the dizzying drop and rattled to a halt at the bottom.

Hegemol and Ogrim were nowhere to be seen.

The King crossed his arms beneath his cloak and watched. He noted the mask of each and every corpse before it was pitched, halting a silver bug periodically in order to see more closely. He did not speak. Even after the last body had been disposed of.

The silver bugs retreated once the cart was empty. They hustled quietly down the tunnel and around a corner, leaving the King and I alone.

"But… you shall not prove… deficient," he finally said. "A different sort of destiny hangs over you. My prescience allows me that much. Do not fear, I shall ensure—" But he stopped, checked himself with a deprecating chuckle, and shook his head. "Come."

The King turned and left the shaft. He waved a claw in front of a large tablet beside the archway. Runes of white light blazed into existence against its dusky surface. They twisted, fading in and out, as if being rewritten. After a moment, the King slipped his arm back into the folds of his cloak and marched down the tunnel.

My feet drew me forward, with the same inevitable compulsion. But I heard a sound behind me: the scratch of limbs finding purchase upon the balcony's edge. And with that sound, a faint reverberation in my head. Like a voice, asking me a question.

I halted and glanced over my shoulder to behold another being. Like me, but diminutive, with underdeveloped horns and a tattered cloak. It looked at me, with wide, black eyes as it clutched against the pull of gravity.

…Did it desire something of me? Was it doomed to corpsehood like all the others? And was it… somehow my fault?

At the bend in the tunnel, the King stopped. "Come," he repeated, impatience creeping along the word's edge.

My purpose returned to me, and I strode down the tunnel after the King. The rasp of a failing grip and the flutter of a cloak in free fall resounded after me. And with it, a wail, haunting and silent.

But I did not look back.

I could not.


Author's Note: I hope you enjoyed the first chapter. There are several more to come... Please feel free to drop me a comment. Reviews are the author's proverbial carrot-on-a-stick.