"Again, vessel."
The clang of nails striking armor echoed through the training salle. Sand flew in showers as the pair of combatants skidded to and fro across the floor. The lanterns hanging above swayed back and forth slightly on their chains, their light dazzling against the metal of their nails.
Dryya moved with a swiftness and struck with a brutality that would have been the envy of any mantid warrior. Every blow that managed to connect shook like a gong through Hollow's shell, and they paid dearly for even the slightest opening they gave her. She was a merciless warrior and an even harsher instructor. Little wonder she was the most feared amongst the Great Knights.
Parry, block, strike. Parry, block, strike. Light as the wind, sharp as a stinger. Never turn your back to your enemy. Parry, block, strike. Do not think. Do not feel. Do not do not do not-
Another rattling clang! The whistling of a nail as it went sailing through the air, only to the clatter dully upon the floor. Clouds of sand billowing around the pair of them. The steely glint of Hollow's nail, as the dust settled, against Dryya's throat.
Slow clapping broke through the quiet. Hollow's head turned ever so slightly, the sound coming from the other end of the salle. Their father stood at the other end.
As always, the Pale King had a faint white glow about his presence. The sand and the stone he walked upon took on the cast of starlight as he made his way towards the dueling pair. A host of retainers followed after him, echoing their king with polite applause of their own.
"Your Majesty," Dryya addressed him, standing up and then bowing low at the waist in two swift motions.
Father, Hollow thought in address they would never be able to voice aloud.
Hollow bowed in the same manner, their nail already sheathed at their waist. They were only on their second molting, yet even hunched over they were already taller than their sire. Their head had already lost the roundness of larvahood, having grown narrow and long in an uncanny likeness of their mother. A third tine was just beginning to peek through along the arc of their horns as well.
"Your work speaks well of you as always, Dryya," the king said, inclining his head at her.
"The calibre of my work is merely as my king and queen require," she replied humbly. "Your Majesty's construct takes instruction well and without fail. It will not be long before it surpasses every knight in our order."
As close to direct praise as Hollow would ever receive from her. She could never - must never - conceive of them as anything more than an automaton, only a little more advanced than the kingsmoulds that attended upon the Pale Court. Any good Hollow accomplished in her eyes was to the credit of their sire and dame, not themself.
Yet they found they could not hold it against her in the same way they did with Lurien. While arguably the most brusque of their mentors among the Five Great Knights, Hollow could no more hold a grudge against her than the rest. They were fond of all their mentors: Mighty Hegemol, Fierce Dryya, Mysterious Ze'mer, Kindly Isma, and Loyal Ogrim. They imparted their wisdom and skills and honor to Hollow, helped to make the vessel into that perfect weapon they wished to be for their father.
"Even so, you will indulge your king if he wishes to laud your acumen as an instructor." Their sire's tone was congenial, though his words brooked no argument. Dryya simply dipped her head once again before rising from her bow. Hollow rose in unison with her.
Their eyes met their father's for the briefest of moments. There Hollow saw what the king could not voice in front of his retainers and knight. His approval, his pride even, at his creation as they continued to excel in the curriculum he had set before them.
Always that gaze reminded them of the moment of their emergence from the noisome dark of their birthplace and into his light. Reminded and kept them to the purpose for which he had created them in the first place. Reminded them that all doubt and fear and hurt could and would be endured for their king's sake and the land he presided over.
Their father needed them, valued them. What more could Hollow want or ask for?
"You could ask them to stop speaking as if you were not there."
The now-familiar scent of incense and coffee hit them before they saw the flash of magenta out of the corner of their eye. Grimm lay perched in an alcove on the nearest wall of the salle. On his back, he appeared to be studying the cracks in the ceiling far above. He flipped one of the practice throwing daggers between his fingers, the sharp edge whispering dangerously against his carapace as it moved.
"Do not deny it," he continued, not stirring from where he lay. "I know well by now how it wounds you. You wished to be an object - to be 'hollow' - and yet you also wished for personhood. A very miserable contradiction, don't you think? More miserable yet, you wished to be praised for both but did not dare to ask for it."
"They did not know any better," Hollow countered. "The details of my conception were kept from all but my dame, and the Dreamers. My sire had made empty constructs animated by the power of the Void before. How could anyone guess that I was any different, save in appearance? They cannot be held responsible for my own inner struggles."
They turned to face him fully, the Pale King and Dryya and the retainers from their memory having already disappeared like so much mist. Grimm's appearances in their dreams were becoming as commonplace as a lonely breeze through Dirtmouth. It was uncanny how, with each encounter, the god was feeling less like an enemy to guard against and more like a layabout acquaintance coming to weedle a bit of geo out of them.
"Those constructs were no more lacking in a soul or a right to basic decency than yourself. You know that better than most." He turned his head slightly to peer shrewdly at Hollow. With a flick of his hand, he sent the dagger flying their way. "Defend your sire and those knights all you like, but there is no excuse for bad manners."
They caught the blade between their fingers a mere inch from their face. The act struck an echo of their first meeting, though ostensibly neither had intentions to kill the other this time. Hollow let the dagger fall from their grip where it made a muffled thunk as it was buried to the hilt in the sand.
"Bad manners? Such as, oh, waltzing into another bug's dream and head unannounced as if you own the place?" they pointed out, though not unkindly.
"Touché," Grimm shrugged, sitting up and stretching lazily. "Though, for the record, that is only true of our first meeting. Every one since has been under the terms of our agreement. Which brings me to our business for tonight."
A snap of his fingers. Another blur, another passage of the years.
A sunny and airy chamber, the open doors of a balcony letting in the wind and the artificial light from outdoors. Mirrors lined the walls and reflected the light tenfold, giving the illusion of a much wider space than it really was. Hollow recognized it as the recital room, in the opposite wing of the palace as the salle.
"I have heard it said we are a product of our parents," Grimm remarked as he came to stand in front of Hollow, "but I find that we are more often the children of our experiences and the ones who teach us and help us most to grow. So I thought taking a closer look at the latter would be the most constructive tonight."
He nodded to the side, and they followed his gaze to see two bugs in the room with them now. One was themself, though a little other than they had been in the memory with Dryya. The other was a tall and lithe warrior of a silverfish veiled in grey. Hollow's heart fluttered a little in their chest.
"Ze'mer…"
Their old mentor stood as resplendent and beautiful as ever. The gauzy fabric she wore over her armor flowed like quicksilver, swaying with every teasing breeze that brushed by her. Her four antennae stood up proudly, not yet weighed down by grief. Nacreous white eyes stared out from beneath her veil, half-concealed in shadow. Her famous greatnail was propped up in the corner, and she had a hand held out to their younger self.
"Remember this you must, nym'student," she said in her sweet, lilting voice. "Grace. Grace you must have in all ways. As you are a prince in all ways, save in name. Grace of manner, grace of movement, grace of deed. Che' shall teach you, nym'King commands."
Their younger self nodded at her. Perhaps a little too quickly and a little too enthusiastically to be the acknowledgement of a truly empty, soulless vessel. Yet she only smiled at them, offering her hand again.
"We begin now, Hil'mer," she continued, addressing Hollow with the affectionate little by-name she only ever used for them. "Many and complex are the steps of the Court. Lifetime could be spent and still you would never learn it all. Simpler are the steps of the waltz, however, so there we shall start."
They finally slipped their hand into hers. First Ze'mer guided them through the proper starting posture, both for the leading partner and the other they led. How to keep their back straight as an arrow, how to gently rise and fall on their heels and toes through each step. How to maintain eye contact with their partner while taking care not to go whirling into another pair of dancers. How to seamlessly end a dance with one partner and begin the next round with another.
"Quick, quick, slow…" she said, counting out the rhythm as they played the lead in one session. "Your feet you must watch, lest you trod on another's claws. Yes, like that. Good, good."
Of all their mentors among the order, she was perhaps the most liberal with her praise. Ze'mer never failed to rightly correct them on a mistake, but neither did she fail to give credit where it was due. Strong yet flexible, fierce yet sweet, and just yet kind. Never too much or too little of one or the other, the very picture of balance and serenity in one bug. In the years that would follow, Hollow would always find themself striving to emulate that - to emulate her - in their own fashion.
She had likely come closer to guessing the truth of their nature than any other, save perhaps their sire and dame. Yet she had never revealed as much to anyone else, at least to Hollow's knowledge. She was a noble lady and knight, through and through.
Well, perhaps they had possessed a bit of a crush, after all.
"Ah, wonder after wonder. She actually talks to you like a person. I am beginning to see why you liked her best. " Grimm brought a fist to his mouth and tried in vain to smother a laugh. "I was jesting before, but Heart take me, you truly did fancy her."
"Cease," Hollow growled as they hid their flushing face behind their hands. "I am not having this discussion with you a second time."
"'Discussion' would imply that there is something to debate here," he said, reigning himself in with an effort.
"Is there a point to this," they asked, a little shrilly, "or do you simply enjoy watching me suffer?"
"There is always a point, my friend, and-" His fanged smirk was downright devilish as he clasped his hands together. "-and I do, in fact, enjoy watching you suffer. If by 'suffer' you mean 'pining like a little schoolgrub.'" His smirk softened somewhat into a self-satisfied smile. "Only a little, of course, but these two things are not mutually exclusive."
Sighing, Hollow glanced up again. The dream had shifted once, though this time they moved only in time rather than space. Still they stood in the recital room, this time watching one of Ze'mer's lessons on posture.
Hollow's younger self was in their fourth molting now, their crest wide and tall and making up a third of their height now. Between their horns was balanced a book, upon the book was a small stone orb. They cringed slightly as they watched themself take wobbly steps forward to keep both the book and orb balanced on their head. Or rather attempted to do so, as the orb kept clattering to the floor, again and again. And again and again and again...
"I understand she was your general instructor on etiquette, but…" Grimm tilted his head to one side, bumping slightly against Hollow's side. "This looks less like a lesson on manners than an introductory lesson in the rudiments of tightrope walking. Care to elaborate for the uninitiated?"
"A general remedial course on the subject of balance, actually," Hollow replied. "I confess I was terribly… top-heavy in that stage of my youth. The rest of my body had not yet caught up with my head, as it were, and I was constantly tripping over my own feet or giving myself a concussion. Stairs and low ceilings made for deadly enemies indeed." They huffed. "This was Ze'mer's attempt to correct the issue."
As they spoke, their younger self had managed to drop the ball for what must have been the two-hundred-and-twenty-fourth time. When they bent to pick it up, however, the heavy book on their head fell over as well. Right onto their foot. Which sent them stumbling back, their other slipping forward. Right onto the ball. And there they went falling. Right onto the floor.
Hollow and Grimm both cringed in sympathy as their younger self went flying. They landed face-first into a heap on the floor, dust and bits of their mothwing cloak flying. Their mask made a sound like porcelain clattering on stone as they landed, cloak thrown over their face. All the better to hide their embarrassment in front of their favorite teacher, Hollow supposed.
"Oh, bless you and that sainted silverfish both…"
"Indeed, else I might have fallen and broken my neck a hundred times over ere my training was completed." They laughed, in spite of themself, though the sound lacked any real levity. "Ze'mer's patience was legendary. She had to be, in order to teach someone like me. "
"Well, she is not exactly complaining, is she?" Grimm asked, tapping their shoulder to draw their attention back to the scene.
Ze'mer was kneeling beside their younger self now. She deftly flipped their cloak back into place as they pushed themself up onto their knees again. Offering her arm for support, they gratefully accepted as they stood up together.
"No harm done, and a brave attempt. Try again we shall." She spoke kindly, voice wavering a bit as she expertly repressed a chuckle for the sake of their dignity. "Though, I pray that you wouldst be more gentle with yourself, Hil'mer."
"She is not the only one," Grimm said, glancing up at Hollow pointedly.
They found that they could not bring themself to return his gaze. Mato's words came back to them, and their gut churned.
But if you are hurting, if you are suffering, don't you think standing idly by and watching harms us just as much?
They turned away from the scene in silence, walking towards the door. At their approach, it swung open soundlessly onto the hallway beyond. Just as well, for they were not really paying attention to where their feet were taking them anymore.
On either side of them was not the white-paneled hall that should have been beyond the recital room, but rather a sort of corridor of mirrors. However, they did not reflect Hollow's passage as they walked past. Like the scrying glasses of old, the mirrors instead flashed yet more scenes of their youth.
In one was Isma, guiding them through the Queen's Gardens, teaching them how every herb and weed might be used to help and to harm. In another was Ogrim, conducting a combat lesson in avoiding (quite pungent) projectiles. Here was Hegemol training them to be as stalwart and unmoveable as the bedrock of the Ancient Basin. There was Dryya showing them how to pin a foe to a wall with flying daggers with drawing so much as a drop of blood. Over there was Ze'mer accompanying them to their first formal dinner before the Pale Court, fondness and pride radiating from her expression.
All had strived to make Hollow a worthy weapon and protector of the kingdom, and all had been in vain.
Something bitter boiled down in their belly. It was not the agony of their birthplace, watching their siblings fall in scores about them. It was not the dull despair of knowing the nobles of the court or the citizens of their kingdom would never know or see them as more than a tool to be sacrificed for their salvation. No, this pain was something different.
"Come now, no going off to brood by yourself," came Grimm's call beside them again. Warm claws slipped through their own. Not to stay Hollow's progress as they strode along, but rather to walk alongside them. When they looked down, the god was staring back, that strangely soft look in his eyes again.
"Speak your mind, Hollow," he bid them quietly, softly, "and unburden your heart."
Once again they felt their throat instantly seize on them, as if to keep the words choked inside their chest. Breathing in once, twice, they sighed deeply. That pain again, and now they looked at it properly they finally knew what to call it: shame.
"My teachers," they began slowly, their pace slowing as they struggled to articulate their muddled thoughts. "They were the greatest warriors of Hallownest. The very best in their arts that this kingdom had to offer, some of the most trusted of my sire's attendants. They put everything of themselves into training me, to sharpen and hone and perfect the weapon their king had created.
"The knights taught me everything they knew, and in some respects I achieved an even greater mastery than even they had. Yet no matter how studious I was, no matter how diligently I applied myself, no matter that I used every ounce of self-discipline that I possessed… There was always a boundary I could not cross, a level I could progress beyond. I always fell short of achieving that… that perfection, that true mastery of myself and my body that might have saved this kingdom. Instead, I shamed them with my weakness, broke at the most critical moment."
Their breath was shaky as they continued. As they walked near one flashing wall, they leaned heavily against it. Their mask rested against the cool glass, and they closed their eyes against the memory playing upon it. Grimm said nothing, and they might not have known he was there at all save for the hand that still held theirs.
"I was… I was so tired." They slowly slid to the floor, and they felt Grimm move with them. "Tired of hiding my imperfections, tired of pushing myself to the breaking point day after day to kill those same imperfections. Tired of being tired, truth be told, and hating myself for it." They laughed shakily. "I am still tired, Grimm."
"Then, why not let those who love you carry you for a while?"
Hands framed either side of their face, tugging gently. Hollow's eyes cracked open to see Grimm pulling them over and down towards him. Their great head was brought down to settle into his lap. The rest of their body, pliant and exhausted, followed suit.
Soft cushions were nestled under them. The low red light of the lamps glowed around them, and faintly they could see the shape of the ceiling of the tented room again. Strange, how these sessions always seemed to end up with the two of them here.
"Because I do not deserve it," they whispered harshly. "Not when my own failure allowed for the spread of the Infection and the ruin of this kingdom. Why should I enjoy any peace or comfort when the same was denied to so many others?"
Their hands balled into fists in the pillows beneath them. "So many died because of my shortcomings. My people, mentors, the Dreamers, even my own sire… Ghost nearly paid the same price to salvage what was left of the mess I had made. I nearly lost them a second time.
"And beyond all hope, I have been given a second chance, a way to redeem myself. I can protect my kith and kin now. I can build a world where they will finally be safe and happy. So I must be strong for them - for Ghost, for Hornet, for Grimmchild - for all of them."
"Fool of a vessel," came Grimm's reply, and it was unmistakably a rebuke. "And do you imagine you will do them any good by slowly killing yourself?"
Hollow fell silent. They had no answer for that.
Grimm tilted their chin up slightly so that they were forced to meet his gaze. His gaze was stern and unyielding, and they felt more than a little like a child being scolded. And yet it was not disappointment or anger in his eyes, but something more akin to exasperation and… worry?
"You will never be able to defend your home and loved ones if your own foundations are crumbling," he continued. He hissed softly and stroked his thumbs in small circles under Hollow's eyes. "You are a paragon of a prince and knight, Hollow, but even you have your limitations. Even the healer needs healing, even the protector needs protecting. Continue to push yourself beyond all reason and need, burn every bridge you have built thus far, and you will surely be granted that death wish of yours.
"Or, instead... You can let them help you. You can let their strength become your own, trust that you can protect each other. No one bug was meant to do it all alone, not even the child of gods. "
"Accept their comfort and concern, and stop questioning whether you 'deserve' what is given to you freely and gladly."
"I…" Hollow swallowed hard against the lump in their throat. "I am not certain that I can. I am not certain that I even know how to do so."
"You do not need to know how." Grimm shifted underneath them, deftly moving so that he lay on his back in the nest of cushions and Hollow's head lay on his chest. "Only allow yourself to trust them, as fiercely as you love them. The rest will follow."
"I can make no promises," they replied honestly, eyes closing again. "But… but for them, I will… I will try."
"That is the place to start, and that is all I or anyone can ask of you." His arms wrapped tight around their shoulders, hands resting on their head. "Only try."
The two of them fell into silence. Hollow expected him to send them spiraling into a dreamless and restful dark again. Instead Grimm merely held them there in the warm and comforting darkness of the tent. The rise and fall of his chest lifted their head up and down, sure and steady as the slow tides upon the Blue Lake. Still true sleep eluded Hollow as one thought gnawed at them.
"Grimm?" they asked after a while.
"Hm?" His claws, which had been gently scraping a pattern along their carapace, stilled a moment.
"You are leader to an entire cult of acrobats and artists and arsonists, and yet you always walk alone in my dreams." They slowly rubbed one cheek against his abdomen and opened an eye to peer at him. "Why is that?"
He was quiet for so long that Hollow thought he might not answer them, or that they had overstepped and offended him in some way. Yet he only tugged them closer and continued to stroke their shell.
"The position of troupe master comes with its own... attendant duties and privileges, shall we say? Without the one, I may not have the other. As such power no longer belongs to me but to my son, the pleasure of my troupe's company is something I must also do without."
That took them aback and surprised to no small degree, and they were quick to voice as much. "So your reward for sacrificing yourself in the Ritual is to not only be denied your son but your folk as well? A cruel and thankless master is your Heart, then."
Grimm's chuckle rumbled up through his chest and straight into their skull, leaving their shell tingling oddly. "You might think of it that way, yes, but you neglect to consider the pleasure in performing the Ritual itself. The applause and adoration of the crowd, the thrill of dancing with a worthy partner, the euphoria of losing oneself in the performance. And through my son, a hope for the future, a certainty the show will go on even when my part in it has finished.
"In the end, for all that I might wish I could linger a little longer, that is reward enough for me." He sighed. "My time here will be short enough, and even less time I have for regrets."
"What do you mean-?" Hollow tried to ask before fingers were pressed to their lips.
"I think that is enough questions for one night," Grimm said, blithely bulldozing over any further attempt Hollow might have made on the subject. "You should rest while you can. You really are worrying your siblings sick with that insomniatic streak of yours."
"No." They did not know what made them speak up, or made them wrap their arms around his middle to keep him from leaving. Whether it was a newfound pity for him or their own selfish wish not to be left alone just yet. "No. Just… Stay with me a while longer, please."
"Hm, very well," he rumbled. After a moment or two, he chuckled softly. "If I did not know any better, I would suspect you are starting to grow fond of me, my friend."
"Not a mosscreep's chance in a mawlek den, you conceited thing," Hollow yawned, burrowing them both further into the cushions. "Not a single… bloody… chance…"