It was a bug of some sort, but different. Not a commoner or an attendant. Not a warrior or a Knight. It did not even stand upon two legs as the bugs of the Kingdom did, but instead hopped about on six. Out of the overlapping plating of its back sprouted a pair of wings. They were shriveled and useless but flapped with every hop. Its belly, a fluid-filled sack exposed to the open air, stood out vividly orange against the lifelessness of the landscape.

By restless instinct, the bug patrolled one clifftop after another. Its pointed feet and lance-like proboscis pierced into the stone with every impact, leaving a permanent record of its passage. Something like ash tumbled out of the gray sky over its head, in slender flakes that collected on the ground and muted the echoes of its hopping. Periodically the bug stopped as it came to a vantage point over the plunging chasms. It leaned and strained against the rigidity of its own body, searching. But whatever it sought with those shell-veiled eyes went unfound.

For something descended from on high. A streaking, silver shadow punctured the bug's body, down through its back and out the gory, orange mess of its stomach. A thin shriek rent the air, and the bug's legs beat a hideous rhythm against the stone. It lashed out and up with its proboscis, but the inflexible plating about its neck made the gesture futile. With a thrust and a twist, the assailant brought the bug's noises to a halt, and its life ebbed away.

Fierce Knight Dryya stepped back from the slain bug. She swung her Long-Nail through the air and splattered blood like the clumsy stroke of a paintbrush. Her armor rasped faintly as she looked about, scanning the clifftop for threats.

Upon my perch, at the edge of a cliff far above, I observed as I had been bidden. I watched the discipline and efficiency of Dryya's movements, both in and out of combat. She took great care with the economy of every tilt to her head or heft of her Nail. It seemed as if she were constantly poised to begin a duel that she expected to last for eons.

"Superlative!" Ogrim blurted out of the silence, startling a nearby nest of Maskflys. "What felicity this day is!" He was sitting beside me, legs tucked beneath his round shell, gaze set as firmly upon Dryya as mine. "It is a rare treat to bear witness to the sword skills of the Fierce Knight! Even I, a fellow Great, have seen it only twice. I count myself a lucky bug. And you should as well, Little Knight."

I offered Ogrim a glance before returning to my task. Dryya's will weighed heavily upon me, and the urge to observe was overwhelming.

"We two seem to be common companions of late," Ogrim observed. "It is the King's will, of course, but to what end I cannot fathom. He ordered we Knights to provide instruction so that you might aid the Kingdom, that much I know, but my presence is a feeble thing when matched against the likes of Isma or Dryya. The lessons I might offer would be of no use to one such as you. And yet here I sit…" He ruminated for a time, his posture growing more and more hunched.

Dryya completed her survey and craned her neck to lock eyes with me from across the trench. She pointed at the ground beside her with the tip of her Long-Nail, but no command smoldered in my head. I continued to observe, unmoving.

Ogrim discarded his thoughts with a shake and hopped to his feet. "It appears we are summoned." He leaned forward to peer over the cliff's edge and into the spiraling depths. Far, far below rested a small lake of greenish acid that sizzled and popped as it made contact with the flakes of ash. "No time for a leisurely descent, I'd wager. But worry not. The gap may appear harrowing, but it is no great obstacle for those lordly wings of yours. Have you already come to master them in the scant time that we've been apart? As I recall, your flight out of the pit was a trace… wobbly."

I did not reply, remaining focused on Dryya. She jabbed her Nail a second time, more emphatically.

"It is unwise to keep that one waiting," Ogrim cautioned. "For all her wisdom and strength, Dryya's grasp of patience is that of a novice. She is said to be an ancient, the eldest of the Great Knights. One would expect a bug with such a wealth of years to exercise more forbearance…"

Dryya shouted something up at us, but her words were lost in the chasm's gusts.

"What is it, Little Knight?" Ogrim asked. "Are you fatigued? Or could it be that hesitance stays your step?" He eyed the gap a second time, gauging the distance. "It took but a word to send your rushing into battle against Isma. Yet, are you stopped now by a mere height?"

I said nothing.

Ogrim clacked his claws ponderously. "I suppose that even one as valiant as you might conceal a private fear."

The scream of metal rebounded against the chasm walls as Dryya buried her Long-Nail into the stone at her feet. She pointed a third—and seemingly final—time.

Ogrim waited a second, and then chuckled. "Well, if you are unwilling to carry yourself, then perhaps I have found my purpose in being here." He crouched before me and locked his claws behind his back, presenting them as a foothold. "Climb aboard, Little Knight. I will make short work of this dreaded ravine. You needn't fret. I will not fail."

Though fragile, little more than a whisper, Ogrim's order took hold of me. I rose, planted my feet in the crook of his claws, and wrapped my arms around his neck.

Ogrim's chuckle bloomed into a hearty laugh, and he leapt from the clifftop with only a single step of momentum. The wind made a plaything of my cloak as we plummeted toward Dryya.

At first, it appeared that we would not clear the gap, and the roiling lake of acid rushed at us. But Ogrim threw out a barbed claw and caught the edge of the cliff upon which Dryya stood. A shearing crunch sent gravel tumbling, but we lurched to a stop. Ogrim loosed a sound of pain, yet his claw remained firmly embedded into the stone.

"Climb up," Ogrim grunted. "I will join you shortly."

Though I possessed enough force to jump up to Dryya's side, Ogrim's command guided me, and I made a scrambling ascent of the rock face. Dusty and scuffed, I rose unsteadily to my feet.

"You did not acknowledge my summons," Dryya said, arms crossed. "Even the lowliest of the other Vessels accomplished that."

Ogrim puffed and labored against gravity, hauling himself to the cliff top with a great gasp. A cloud of ash billowed about him as he sprawled onto his back and stared into the sky. "Now I better understand your fear, Little Knight." He paused to breathe. "That feat was more alarming than I anticipated. A running start might have better served me…"

"Fear?" Dryya asked.

"Yes, I believe our champion in training grapples with that particular adversary." Ogrim rested his claws on his chest. "Odd that a thing with wings would hesitate so, but I have no right to cast judgment. In my youth I harbored my fair share of silly terrors."

"Do not be foolish, Ogrim. Vessels cannot fear. If that is a great strength or a terrible weakness, I known not. But they are incapable of such hesitation."

Ogrim struggled to a sitting position. "Just now, the Little Knight observed your summons quite plainly, but it did not budge. Considering how quickly it has answered all other calls, something must have held it in check. My presumption is fear."

Dryya shrugged. "It simply must not have heard me, for it heeded your command easily enough. If you had ordered it to soar the gap, then it would have done so in an instant."

"Are you so certain?"

"I was told that Isma had educated you about these Vessels. Was I misinformed?"

"Isma and I…" Ogrim cleared his throat. "Experienced a disagreement on that matter."

"You can disagree with the setting sun all you please, but that will not stop the coming night."

Ogrim tilted his head. "Pardon?"

Dryya wrenched her Long-Nail from the stone and wiped it clean of dust. "This exchange is a waste of words. My Lady gave me a task. And enlightening you was not a part of it. Come along, Loyal Knight. You are my escort after all. Lady only knows why…"

With a heave, Ogrim rolled backward and landed deftly on his feet. "If I have offended, then I beg forgiveness. I intended no disrespect."

Dryya waved a dismissive hand through the air and set off toward the gaping mouth of a nearby tunnel. "Come, Vessel," she barked. The serrated edge of her conviction dug into my body, dragging me along like a hooked fish.

The tunnel we traversed was damp and fanged with stalactites and stalagmites. A variety of small, mindless bugs skittered out of our way, seeking shelter beneath tumbled rocks. I watched them closely, the curvature of their shells, the haste with which they clung to life.

Ogrim was the first to break the stretch of silence. He trotted up to Dryya's side and donned an esteeming tone. "You dispatched that Hopper with a superb blow, Fierce Dryya. It was so swift that my woeful reaction could not track it. Do you hunt about Kingdom's Edge frequently? It seems a suitable place to sharpen one's skills."

Dryya did not respond at first. She paused at a fork in the tunnel to consider her path. "I chafe against all this courtly talk. Do not praise me by belittling yourself. I have no purpose for adoration."

"I see. I apolo—"

"Nor do I have purpose for apologies," she snapped.

A chuff of laughter escaped Ogrim. He rubbed at his chin with the flat of a claw and nodded. "Understood."

"But, yes," Dryya said, continuing down the left-most tunnel. "I do invest much of my time in this place. Kingdom's Edge is what remains of the old world, where instinct and strength of claw still reigns. It is so far unchanged by the newest god, but we will see with time."

"What god do you speak of?"

"The King, of course. As He works toward that impenetrable goal of His, the land becomes warped around him. Rarely for the better."

Ogrim processed her words, and when she did not continue, prodded. "Why do you say that?"

"Despite all His romantic intentions, the King weakens those that He touches. The warriors, the commoners, even the low creatures of the earth. Here, beyond where He has staked His claim, bugs still vie against each other in that lethal dance. Every instant is lived a mere step before death's hungry jaws."

"For one in no need of adoration, you speak with some of your own," Ogrim observed. "But is the King's civilization not a favorable thing? A place where the strong protect the weak instead of preying upon them?"

"Perhaps. It is a debate that will not be decided here. But note, that if the weak are not required to protect themselves, then they are never granted the opportunity to become the strong. And if the strong are not regularly challenged by the weak, then they become the weak themselves. That is the reality that the King has wrought."

Ogrim's voice grew faint and thoughtful. "Strength is a useless thing in a peaceful world. It is the greatest hope of a Knight to watch his Nail rust from lack of need."

Dryya scoffed. "I understand why the King is so fond of you."

At that, Ogrim stumbled, catching his weight on a stalagmite. "The King speaks of me? What else has he said to you? Nothing reproving I hope."

"His words were not to me, but to my Lady. She has grown enamored with gossip of late." Dryya shook her head. "So very enamored. I listen dutifully, and She tells me of the King's many triumphs and woes. The picture she paints is… warm. Love truly is a blinding thing."

"I see," Ogrim said, righting himself. "The Pale King is cast in many lights. The distant lands that I once called home whispered of Him as a savior, a realm-builder, a god. Even in the City He is still hailed as such, but among His Knights and advisers… it is different."

"No castle is without imperfection, no matter how it might gleam from afar. One need only step close enough to spy its cracks."

"You do not think very highly of our sovereign," Ogrim murmured.

Dryya slashed at a nest of brambles obstructing our path, felling them in a single swing. "Should you come to know something intimately enough, then you will either adore or abhor it. I have witnessed many mighty warriors die for the King's misconceived visions. You will understand if I do not fawn over him."

Ogrim swallowed a deep breath as if conjuring some confutation, but a moment passed and it did not come. He let the air hiss away and returned to silence.

The tunnel peeled open, and the stalactites gave way to another clifftop much like the one we had left behind. Sheer walls rose above and before us, cutting the sky down to a sliver and casting much of the area in shadow.

Dryya ushered us forward, until our steps kicked rocks and dust over the precipice. Below, curtained in mist, was a canyon. Weathered spires of stone thrust out of it like spikes on a carapace, and thickets of grayish plants made the floor into a forest.

Above, in scattered groups, hovered the swollen forms of yet another sort of bug. Indolent and inattentive, the bugs drifted this way and that, bumping into one another. Upon their backs were affixed three pairs of wings that beat in frenzied tandem to keep them aloft. Some among the bugs observed our appearance, with all the curiosity of a dirt clod.

Ogrim peered down the length of the canyon. "Have we arrived, then?" he asked.

Dryya planted her Long-Nail and rested her wrists on the pommel. "Indeed. This place is a crucible of sorts, where the distinction between predator and prey is made. I will test this Vessel here. Like all the others. Whatever may come."

"Well, we have already wagered our lives and leapt a chasm, what else does your test entail?"

"Skipping that crack was not a part of the test," Dryya sighed. "There are thousands like it in this wasteland."

Ogrim hummed. "Really? Then the Little Knight best overcome its fear of heights quickly. For I doubt you'd allow me to remain its impromptu Stag."

Dryya shot Ogrim a sidelong glare. "You spend too much time with Hegemol. Any more and you threaten to become a clown."

"'When peril steals the strength from your legs, laugh. So that you might take a step forward,'" Ogrim said. "It was you that offered me that wisdom. At the Knotted Grove."

"And I would not have given it had I known it would make you so flippant."

"My good cheer is not mockery, but merely a means to put one foot before the other."

Dryya gestured at me. "You are aware that this 'Little Knight' of which you are so partial is to undergo the challenge and not you, yes?"

Ogrim let out a wavering laugh. "Oh, I am quite aware…"

Dryya made a disdainful noise and grasped the hilt of her Long-Nail in both hands. She drove its tip deeper into the clifftop and began to twist the crosspiece in a clockwise manner. Unseen mechanisms clinked and jangled within the Long-Nail, and as a keening snap rent the air, the blade separated halfway down its length. Dryya stepped back, holding what appeared to be a broken Long-Nail with a tip that resembled a blacksmith's trough. And still embedded into the stone was a second Nail, much shorter than the first, but complete with hilt and pommel.

"Impossible!" Ogrim cried. His gaze snapped from one Nail to the other in such rapid succession that he seemed to grow dizzy. "By what means did you come upon this miracle of Nailsmithing?"

"I must admit that civilization has certain advantages," Dryya said. "The King's artificers redefine 'impossible' with every passing day."

"Oh! Would that I could wield such a thing." Ogrim lowered his eyes to the inarticulate hatchets that were his claws.

"Your natural weapons have their own merits," Dryya said, her voice somewhat softer. "You will never find yourself unarmed in the event of an ambush."

Ogrim chuckled. "A frail consolation."

"But enough of banter," Dryya said. "We are not here for pleasantries." She tore the Short-Nail from the stone with her free hand and tossed it to me. "Take this, Vessel. I am not so cruel that I would send you forth unarmed."

I caught the blade and held it at my side. It was stouter than the one I had wielded in my fight with Isma, less likely to fracture.

Dryya considered me before clearing her throat and squaring her shoulders. "Let us begin. We have wasted too much time already. Listen, Vessel, for I give you a command that you are to follow until the very end, even should that end be your death. Just as I struck down that Hopper moments ago, you are to explore this place in search of another of its sort. Wield that Nail I have provided, and slay the creature with one, cunning blow. The King calls you perfect, but that verdict will fall to me this day. Should you fail, then this place will devour you as it did the others."

"You lay a heavy ultimatum upon the Little Knight," Ogrim whispered. "Isma's method of training was similarly harsh."

"As you have already been told, if the Vessel lacks the power to overcome this challenge, then it is of no use to us. Do you believe this to be any different from the Champion's Call?"

Ogrim bristled. "Yes, actually. And in many ways. From the beginning the consequences of the Call were plain. And we each made our choice. But here, what choice is granted the Little Knight?"

Dryya scoffed. "Anything I might say to you would be but an echo of what you have already refused to acknowledge. Perhaps agreeing to your escort was a mistake. A Kingsmould might have served just as well, or at the very least more quietly."

My grip upon the Short-Nail tightened as Dryya's command flowed into me. A murderous pressure—the same that I had experienced at the mustering grounds—soaked my shell like a rain of hot tar. I looked about for the thing that I might kill. All other objects were muted and insignificant in my vision.

Dryya and Ogrim were only blurs before me. They were unsuitable prey, for they lacked the correct number of limbs, the proboscis, the wings. Overhead, the fat, floating bugs were likewise unfit. Though they possessed the armored shells and six pointed legs, their functional wings invalidated them.

The pressure swelled, as if my chest contained a boiling sea. My search hastened, and just as I tensed in preparation to leap from the cliff and into the canyon below, I spied a creature beside my foot. It was a tiny thing, round-bodied and simple. It did not share the precise size of the creature Dryya had slain, but still had the same traits: six legs, useless wings, an armored body, and a sharp proboscis. It did not hop as it moved, but scuttled from one stone to another, prodding beneath in search of prey of its own.

Without a trace of reluctance, I speared the tiny bug with the tip of the Short-Nail and lifted its still-twitching body to Dryya for inspection. Its orange blood trickled down the blade's length.

With my task complete, Dryya's directive left me, and the killing heat dissipated as quickly as it had appeared. My sight normalized, bringing the world back to focus.

The two Knights were staring at me.

"…Wh…What?" Dryya stammered. She cocked her head to the side, as if the new angle might reveal more information. "Are you—Is that what you consider your prey?"

Ogrim circled around Dryya's statue-like form and crouched beside me. He leaned in close to inspect my kill, lifting the tip of his claw to count its legs. After a pause for reflection, he burst into a resonant guffaw that sent every lesser bug within range scattering. "Behold, Dryya! With its discerning eyes, the Little Knight has already dispatched its quarry. And nearly before you even completed your edict!"

"Nonsense," Dryya shouted. "If this is a jest, then I will see your name amended to Clown Knight Ogrim! And that is no idle threat!"

"You doubt? Come, come. Look! I do not consider myself a wizened sage, but even still I wager my own title with confidence. This foe that our Little Knight has slain is indeed a Hopper. A nymph Hopper. Creatures of its kind begin their itinerant lives as minute copies of what they will grow to be."

Dryya stomped closer and descended to one knee. She prodded the nymph Hopper with a digit and proceeded to rip one of its legs off and roll it in her hand.

"If you hold no confidence in me," Ogrim continued, "then be aware that this knowledge comes from Isma herself. Few are as well-versed on flora and fauna as she."

With a snarl, Dryya tossed aside the bug's leg and wiped her palm against the stone. "That is a Hopper, yes, but that was not the task that I set forth!" She rose and paced back to the edge of the cliff. Her voice descended to a burning whisper. "What does this mean? Did it misconstrue my intent? Willfully? But it lacks the capacity. No mind to think… Yet!"

"Fierce Knight?" Ogrim asked, still chortling. "Is this to be considered a victory for the Little Knight? In many ways, cunning is as vital a skill as raw strength, would you not agree?"

"Vessel! Come!" Dryya yelled.

I bolted to my feet and across the expanse before Ogrim had time to turn his head. Again, Dryya's will was upon me, and I stood taut like the string of a harp.

"Stay here," she said, pointing to the very lip of the precipice.

I complied.

"You seem impassioned," Ogrim said, suddenly mirthless. He stood up and dusted his legs with the back of a claw. "Was the Little Knight's performance on your test unsatisfactory?"

"Be silent, Ogrim," Dryya said. "And you might yet learn something." She looped her stunted Long-Nail through a thread-fine belt at her waist and crossed her arms tightly against her chest. "To be deemed worthy enough to undertake this trial, a Vessel must have proven itself to be powerful and hollow in equal measure. Among these two traits, power is easy enough for a Knight to understand, but rarely does the King explain what it is to be hollow." She glanced over her shoulder, as if to confirm that Ogrim was still there. "Isma has told you that these things do not think as you or I. That emotion and reasoning are beyond them."

"That is what she claims."

Dryya made a low, feral noise. "Before today, I would have called Isma's words the irrefutable truth, and not a mere claim. But this Vessel casts doubt upon that assumption."

"Never have I been called wise or keen-eyed, but I feel that the Little Knight's mind was fairly obvious. It—"

In a blur of motion, Dryya whipped her Nail from her belt and leveled it at Ogrim. "Not one more quip. Not one more word of frivolity. Or you will taste my blade."

"It was no jest," Ogrim said, with barely enough breath to utter.

"In my years I have subjected many Vessels to this trial, and the inevitable doom it entails. But not one among them behaved as this Vessel has. The King's dark tinkering has made these things into what they are: tools that obey absolutely and in perfect accordance to the wielder's desire. Yet this one interpreted my words. It did not absorb them as their kind is meant to do. How it managed to parse my message and perceive it in such a way is not clear, but that act is not something that a hollow being is capable of."

"You bleed menace, Fierce Knight," Ogrim whispered. "You seek to deliver death. It is as salient as a strong wind. But only we three stand here. I do not comprehend. Do you bear this bloodlust over something so minor as spearing a nymph Hopper?" He raised his claws in a gesture that was equal parts pleading and combative.

Dryya turned her Nail away from Ogrim and positioned herself behind me. "When circumstance and my Lady's mandate required that I appraise this march of puppets, I was told not to tolerate weakness. But even more so, I was warned of the jeopardy that might be brought about by a Vessel not truly hollow. And it became clear to me that above the petty tasks of gatekeeper and proctor, I was to be an executioner."

Dryya hefted her Nail, leveling it for a lethal strike at my neck. "Look forward," she rasped to me. "Be still. Though pain means nothing to you, I will ensure there is none."

As I had been told, I did not move. The shackles that had become such a familiar thing held me firm. From the corner of my vision, I witnessed the descent of Dryya's jagged Nail.

The canyon stretched out before me, like a vast, open grave.