AN: Sorry, a short chapter after a long time, but hopefully this will be updated a bit more regularly :)
He could hear the phantom voices, an ever-present hum amidst the eerie stillness of dust and deep shadows. It had taken some careful maneuvering to get where he was, the vivid glow of a completely different world of constant noise and electricity juxtaposed with the beautiful sight before him. A stag station of considerable size, with many halls leading to the labyrinth of tunnels. It was in ruins now, of course. The structure had begun to crumble in some places, and he wondered how many of the tunnels had collapsed from neglect, or if the stags even still wandered them.
If he listened closely enough, he could hear the bells ringing. Even those great stags bowed to Hallownest's King. What devotion he must have inspired.
He didn't need to look up to feel the shadow behind him. Somehow Quirrel always managed to be ahead of the small bug.
As usual, his shadow didn't speak. It just stared up at him, soaking in every word. In the better lighting, he could see the same nail, but it seemed his young friend had picked up a different cloak somewhere along the way.
"Isn't this something. I'd not expected to discover so huge a Stag Station after that foggy descent. The bugs of Hallownest must've been an impressive lot, building such grand structures so far into these wilds." Unfortunately, few would ever be able to see its glory. It wasn't the worst he's fought through, but the journey wasn't easy, and was sure to only get harder.
Quirrel watched as his friend walked to the edge and looked at the structure before him.
"That's a special thing I suppose, to cherish these sights, even in their decay." There was no visible reaction, and perhaps it was foolish, but he had a distinct feeling that the child agreed with him. If only he'd give me his name.
"Is it that, just faintly, you can still hear the echo of the bells?" Do you hear them too, ringing forever in these ancient chambers?
Quirrel reached out for him, but his friend was already gone, leaping down into the station. Perhaps it was time for him to explore as well. Something about the foggy place just above had left him unnerved, the crackling still biting at his shell. Maybe there was peace to be found deeper still.
An odd bug had greeted him in one of the closer tunnels, still chewing on some plant growing out of the ceiling. He tried to make conversation, but it seemed she was much more interested in eating. Fine by him, Quirrel supposed. The signs of the stag stations were battered and worn, some laying in the dirt and dust at his feet. Most of the tunnel entrances were caved in, as he expected, but one seemed to be intact.
Satisfied with his observations, Quirrel had leapt back up towards his original post, only to hear once more the ringing of a bell, more pronounced this time. Real, even.
The heavy gait of a stag haunted him as he left.
