I don't think we're going to make it out of this. Not this time...
Ghost cast a resigned mournful look up at their sibling as their doom truly began to sink in. Everything in the hunching of their shoulders and the shadows of their face said that this was it, that this was the end.
If… If you make it and I don't, will you take care of Grimmy for me?
Hollow gently laid their hand between Ghost's horns and nodded solemnly.
Of course, little one, of course. Even if it is the last thing I do, I will see it done. I promise.
"If you two are quite finished with your dramatics," came the voice of their captor and torture-master, like a crack of doom, "shall we return to the lesson?"
Hollow sighed quietly as they slumped in the chair that was entirely too small for their tall and lanky frame. Ghost's head pitched forward to thunk audibly on the shellwood desk the two of them sat behind. Hornet stood in front of them, arms crossed and foot tapping as she waited for their attention to return to her.
"As I was saying, this is the sign for 'to drink.'" Loosely curving her right hand into a crescent, she slowly brought it up to her face. She repeated this gesture several times for her siblings, slowly the first few times and then moving more swiftly with the motion.
"The simplest way to remember this is to think of your hand as the cup," she explained before nodding at them. "Now you try."
Hollow went first. They copied their sister, a bit stiffly at first but getting the general idea of the sign.
"Keep your eyes on the person to whom you are speaking," she reminded them. Reaching over, she carefully molded Hollow's fingers so that they were more in line with one another. Hornet gestured at them to continue. "And keep your thumb separated from the rest of your fingers. Yes, good, good."
Hollow's eyes narrowed in delight at the praise. They repeated the gesture a few more times. When she was satisfied with their progress, she nodded and turned to Ghost.
"Now you," she instructed, repeating the sign to prompt them.
Ghost mirrored their siblings. Or at least tried to, the successful execution of which was questionable.
"N-No, Ghost," she said, sounding like she was caught somewhere between a repressed laugh and an exasperated sigh. "You just signed that you wanted a drink - specifically spirits."
"Why would I wanna eat a spirit?" Ghost signed, tilting their head at Hornet. Before she could reply, however, they went on, hands moving rapidly. "Okay, so I accidentally poofed that spirit over in the graveyard one time, but that was because I was still figuring out how my Dream Nail works. He didn't even taste that good! Kinda like dirt and sadness. And old socks."
Hollow and Hornet stared at their little sibling for a moment. The silence stretched on for a minute, then another. Ghost began to fidget in their seat. They tilted their head to one side and held out their hands, palm up - "What?"
"That is not- I-" Hornet shook her head. She took Ghost's hands between her own before they could continue. "Nevermind. I think that is enough for one day, and I may be in need for a drink of spirits myself."
I still don't know what that means! Ghost groused to Hollow along the Void-borne connection they shared.
I will explain later , Hollow soothed as they lifted their little sibling up to sit on their shoulder. Until then, however, I think it would not hurt to practice a little more outside our lessons. Unless you have reconsidered taking Quirrel up on his offer of remedial lessons?
The single-fingered gesture Ghost sent their way at that told Hollow that, no, they were most certainly not considering the offer and Hollow could mind their own business thank-you-very-much.
"School sucks!" came a shrill, raspy voice from the window. "School sucks!"
Grimmchild lay draped over the windowsill. Smoke dribbled like so much drool at the corners of his toothy mouth. His wings batted impatiently at the wall and his whole little body wiggled like an excited grub. He was "not much more than a grub himself," as Hornet liked to remind them. In Hollow's opinion, he was "quite capable of taking care of himself," and all Ghost ever had to add was "he can do what he wants."
"And the prodigal son returns," Hornet announced flatly. Reaching into her cloak, she produced a small pile of ash and held her palm out in his general direction. Grimmchild's body was a black-and-cerise blur as he shot across the room from the window. Much excited chirring and nyah-ing ensued as he licked at the ashes, a favorite treat.
"Hello to you too, Grimmchild," she said as she rubbed a finger between his horns. "Judging by the lack of smoke and screaming outside, I take it you did not commit arson while we were otherwise distracted?"
"Burn!" he squeaked between licks. "Burn!"
"As comforting an answer as ever," Hornet sighed.
When he had finished eating, she sent him flying away with a flick of her arm. Grimmchild fluttered over to perch between Ghost's horns. Ghost, in turn, had shifted and taken a seat between Hollow's own horns. It was a common configuration for the three of them these days. Moreover, it was still something of a marvel to Hornet and the rest of Dirtmouth's residents that Hollow had not yet developed chronic and irreversible pain in their neck and shoulders.
Hollow, for their part, cared less about the little passengers on their person and more about the low entryway that kept knocking their horns whenever they stepped out the door. While Hornet has chosen the largest abandoned house for them in Dirthmouth, it was still not quite big enough for Hollow to enter and exit comfortably. No matter how far down they ducked their head, their upper tines always managed to clip against the lintel. They hissed in discomfort as they stepped out now, the tok of the impact ringing through the veins of pale ore that held their cracked shell together.
"If that Menderbug does not come and enlarge this door as he promised," Hornet said, "I will hunt him down myself and pin his wings to our wall."
"Do not," they signed, hastily moving in front of her to get her attention. They knew their sister meant every word and would act upon the threat, no matter how undeserving the recipient. "Please."
"If the little gnat keeps true to his word, then I will not have to," was all she said in reply as she patted Hollow's hand. "Now, come along, or we will be late. Elderbug is expecting us for dinner, remember? I do not wish to hurt the old gentleman's feelings."
As she walked on ahead of them, Hollow and Ghost talked amongst themselves. Grimmchild in the meantime amused himself by gnawing at Hollow's horns. He was getting better about not biting down so hard as to cause them pain, but they would still occasionally wince at the little pinpricks of tiny eager fangs against shell.
You know, Ghost ventured, patting their hands with a rhythmic tip-tap-tip-tap on Hollow's head, I could just make the door bigger if you want? There's not a whole lot this pure nail can't cut through. Just... don't tell the Nailsmith I used it that way.
The offer is appreciated, but I am afraid I will have to decline. Hollow paused in their way to wave a quick hello to the map-making mosquito couple by the stag station. Not to cast doubt on your good intentions and ability, but the last time you applied that logic you nearly brought half of Deepnest down on top of us.
For the gazillionth time, I was trying to make a shortcut for us! That old support column came out of nowhere!
Ah, woe be to all of Hallownest, laughed Hollow, that its ghost and heir will never be a master builder!
If Ghost's tapping at their head became notably more aggressive after that, it did nothing to quell Hollow's quiet chuckling or the shaking of their shoulders.
Their dreams were restless, full of flames and old grief.
It was becoming rarer and rarer these days for Hollow to sleep in peace. So often had they accidentally woken up Ghost or the others with their constant fidgeting and labored breathing and outright night terrors, they had taken to making their bed some distance from their siblings. Hornet had offered to brew up a sleep-aid for them on more than one occasion, and Ghost insisted that Hollow's stirring did not bother the three of them one bit. Even so, Hollow had refused and after a while the others had respected their wish to be left alone on the subject.
Vessels, as a rule, could and would sleep if they chose but seldom ever dreamed. Perhaps it was simply because of that otherness , that bit of the Void they each contained. A bug's dreams were that no-man's between their body and their soul, and a vessel's shell and shade were not strictly one-to-one with a body and soul.
Yet ever since their internment in the Temple of the Black Egg, in that small eternity when the Radiance had been sealed within them, Hollow had done nothing but dream whenever they slept. Three curses She had left them before She had been slain. First, a fury and pain no vessel could ever contain, no matter how supposedly empty they were. Second, a voice ripped from their throat until blood and words dripped from their tongue. And third, dreams full of light and hunger and memory.
Hollow walked that night in white and marbled halls. Silver gilding on every windowframe and balustrade and chandelier. Pale vines and roots and flowers that never wilted. Myriad servants painted and garbed in white who bowed as they passed, each as faceless and simpering as the last. Pale godlight that shone from the great beacons in the halls day and night.
Grand, beautiful, cold. The White Palace was all of these things, and for much of their life it was their home and all they had ever known.
Their footsteps echoed far down the hallways in spite of the mist that pooled on the floor and dampened the end of their cape. Upon their shoulders rested their old armor, gleaming and heavy. Their long nail was also peculiarly untouched by time at their side in its sheath.
Hollow's legs moved of their own accord, as they so often did in this particular nightmare. They knew their path would take them up the grand staircases and down the empty halls, and they knew what awaited them at the end. The knowing did nothing to lessen the dread that pooled like acid in their belly or the fear that made their hands cold and clammy. Worst of all was the guilt that tightened around their throat until they could scarcely breathe.
They wanted to run. Run, run, and run, until they had left these cursed halls and the ghosts within them behind. But there was no running for Hollow from their past, no running from their failure and their sin.
Soon the doors of the throne room were looming up before them, opening of their own accord. Dazzling light blinded them as they stepped forward. Pure white tile clicked underfoot, the great seal of Hallownest gleamed overhead. Four tall mandibles, relics of a once-greater form, stood arced and polished on either side of the throne.
There in the throne itself, sitting tall and larger-than-life, was their sire and liege - the Pale King.
Neither said anything as Hollow knelt before the dais. They prostrated themself until their face was nearly parallel with the floor, carapace aching as their back arched into the bow. Hollow's nail clanked against the tile as they shook, helpless against the tremors that wracked their body. All the while they could feel the eyes of their sire burning into them, branding them for the failure they were.
Weak.
No cost too great.
Defect.
No cost too great.
Refuse.
No cost too great.
Impure.
The same mantra that chanted in their mind each night, and yet each word came down like a blow from the King's own hand. Hollow buried their face in their palms, fingers digging painfully into their shell. They rocked back and forth upon the floor as they whispered to themself, trying in vain to block out the voices.
This was how their dream - their nightmare - always played itself out. Hollow upon the floor as their sire passed judgement upon them, begging for forgiveness and an end at the same time. So it would go until this nightmare faded into the next terror or they woke up.
What would come next, they wondered? Perhaps the wraiths of Her memory would come to shriek doom and destruction in their ear again? Maybe their emergence from the Abyss, of losing Ghost yet again? Or perhaps they would simply be left to rot in that tomb of a temple for an eternity?
"You are not here," Hollow rasped in a voice that felt oddly disembodied from themself. "You are not real. You are only a memory. You are not here..."
Yet something different happened this night. For this night, the King spoke.
"Ah, but even memories can hurt, can they not? And you, my friend, are full to bursting with them."
Hollow's head slowly came up. The room around them blurred, darkened as they moved. Red flames bloomed in flower-like sconces that hung from the ceiling. Dark heraldry stood emblazoned on magenta and maroon cloth that hung from the walls. Shadows danced at the edge of the glow the sconces cast, the darkness coyly flirting with the firelight.
When they looked upon the throne once more, their sire was gone. In his place was a much taller bug lounging over the arms of the throne, looking as if the seat were made just for him in spite of the way his legs spilled over it. His grey cape flashed magenta underneath as a breeze played at its tattered edges. Eyes a shade or two brighter stared out from behind a white mask. Two short horns curved inwards and faded into the shadows. A smile, jagged and toothy as a mawlek's, flashed at Hollow.
"Who… What are you?" they stammered as they got to their feet. Free from the hold of their nightmare, their hand instantly went to the hilt of their nail. Hollow did not immediately recognize the stranger, but there was something terribly, horribly familiar in that smirking face.
"Why, don't you know me, wyrmchild?" he laughed, standing up as Hollow did. "You know my son, at least." With a flourish of his cape, he bowed deeply at the waist towards them. Then, so swiftly that Hollow scarcely saw him move, he was in front of them, nearly nose-to-nose.
"Allow me to introduce myself properly, then. I am twin and brother to She who was bound, bright and burning, in your shell. I am king of that realm set apart, master of that troupe doomed to wander between the lands of waking and dreaming for all eternity. I am all these things, yes, but…"
One of those clawed hands came up to stroke down Hollow's jaw until he held their chin between his fingers. "You, my friend, may call me Grimm."