It had been a while since the knight had decided to take off on their own, and for good reason too. They had been feeling oddly unstable despite being in control of the void, not that anyone knew. Nobody had asked upfront, and they weren't attempting to change that.
Currently, the void had solidified completely without much change from their previous self, aside from the fact that the voidheart charm seemed to have quite literally fused into their body, and the sense of sureness in their strength had returned. In response to that, they began to peek into nooks and crannies they might have passed on their first foray into the underground, something their sister probably would not have the patience to oversee.
The resting grounds, filled with graves and spirits, soon became a target due to its relatively easy to traverse grounds. It would wrong if the bugs of old had to hop and climb obstacles every time they wished to visit a departed one, after all.
A new discovery came quickly. After giving a somewhat one-sided greeting to Revek, the guardian of the resident spirits, and poking around the back, a hidden whispering root showed itself. Not terribly exciting, but who were they to turn down extra essence even if it possessed no use? Why else would they pick up little trinkets here and there if they didn't like collecting things?
After descending to the floor, they stood still for a moment. One might have mistaken them for yet another statue of a dead citizen if they kept the position for long enough. However, a strange pull drew them to a what appeared to be a stone coffin.
The top was cracked.
The obvious conclusion, of course, was to blast it open and see what was inside. Which they did.
If they had a nose, the catacombs likely would have held a wretched odor considering what was inside. Hefty, bandage-plastered corpses littered the path in the claustrophobic tunnels, and they could tell more were buried within its derelict walls, roofs, and floors. If the infection were still around, would there be murderous shambling mummies lying in wait?
Despite the knight's slight discomfort, they continued forward. A fresh breeze made their cloak flutter at the tips. The exit was close.
The airflow was from a hole at the top of the tunnels, and they eagerly poked their head out and spotted large building. Was it a house? Time to take a look.
There was a tall, stooping figure that had probably seen better days. As they moved forward to get a closer look, the figure straightened with an alarming speed and a wail-like call.
"Ahhhh... Me'hon. This world, this intolerably cruel, sinful world. Why does che' even wake?"
The knight craned up to face her as she told the woes forced upon her and her lover. From what they could guess, she appeared to be a dead mantis in the Queen's Garden. They could remember it well. A grave surrounded by unforgivingly sharp vines, requiring a short bout of good reaction time to reach.
"Le'mer, could che' perhaps ask for a thing? The trek is long and wearisome, che' knows well that a quest is a kindness rarely granted," stated the Grey Mourner. "Mayhaps you take it upon yourself?"
A nod answered her and she gave a delighted cry.
"Mi'! One's heart does flutter from such kindness, little creature-"
She paused abruptly as she felt a tug on the edge of her long cloak. It grew stronger and stronger until it tugged her from her sitting position. "Wai-? Does that mean my request denied?"
The knight quickly shook their head, but kept pulling. The unsubstantial mourner calmed but tilted their head quizzically until they breached the door's threshold.
Resistance strengthening, the mourner became more frantic. "Le'mer! I cannot go! Beasts roam the felled kingdom and to die before a sacred gift delivered-"
She quieted and shivered. They dropped her cloak and thought. Dropping on their knees, they used the layer of dust on the floor as their canvas. A generic bug with slanted, angry eyes was drawn, and then a hand deliberately cut through it with a diagonal slash.
"Neme…? Dost the child claim to protect me? Che' has wasted away and weakened greatly."
The knight paused and weighed the choices. Try to make her understand without words, or simply run with her assumption which would eventually be overturned anyway? They resumed pulling the mourner's cloak, and she appeared to take it as a yes.
Equal parts overjoyed and fearful, she sang, "So the deal struck? It'd be wise to ward oneself and I with caution, but let us go, Me'hon!"
They checked the map for a short path, and stashed it away. There was no need to be paranoid at the moment, so they proceeded swiftly. Fortunately, the mourner appeared to have maintained their light, quick steps and did not tire easily.
It was not long until they set foot upon the bank of the blue lake. A very familiar pill bug sat on the ground directly in their path.
The vast, clear lake was just as beautiful as he expected it to be. Instead of questioning where all that water came from like what he assumed his past self would do, he simply took in the sights.
Ever since Quirrel laid eyes on the city, he'd always felt a desire to see where all that rain came from, and now that he satisfied that wish and fulfilled his teacher's goal, what was left? There was no bustling archive to return to and none of his old friends remained. He could always leave the kingdom, but what would that bring? Repeating the same cycle of rinsing and refilling his mind seemed to feel rather empty with no goal at the end.
The glow of the water was burned into his eyes. His head felt bare. He'd always gleaned comfort from the mask atop his head, but it had been sacrificed to end the world's stasis. Besides, it wasn't even his in the first place.
He got up, and walked to the edge of the water. A plain mask, distorted by the natural movement of the water, stared back. He looked back up.
All his goals had been accomplished, and though he'd said it before, this place had a sort of enticing calm beauty not found throughout the rest of Hollownest or what he'd remembered of the beyond. How difficult could it be to-
Something just latched onto his hand. He started and immediately turned to look at the perpetrator.
It was the little traveller. Somehow he wasn't surprised. Even after the ordeal with the cause of their creation they emerged, not unscathed, but stronger than ever before. Maybe more intuitive, even, he thought as the deep blackness of the vessel's eyes bore suspiciously into his own.
He did receive a shock, however, when a towering creature suddenly bowled into him and sent all of them crashing into the lake below.
"Le'mer!" she burbled, head poking out of the water. "Why didst you take off with such swiftness?"
Knowing full well what the traveller's response would be, he answered by proxy, albeit somewhat falsely. "Ah, might I suggest they were excited to see me?"
They all climbed ashore, and Quirrel was a mix of annoyed and amused that the knight was still glued to his arm. It looks as though whatever journey they'd undertaken, he must come along as well. When he asked the tall, grey lady if it would be permissible, she nodded enthusiastically.
"Another nail-wielder? Such luck to encounter yet more safeguards, nemenoo..."
So on their way they all went. He felt a painful pang of longing as he passed the Fog Canyon, but did not let it show. Still, it almost felt as if they clutched his hand just the slightest bit tighter until the Queen's Gardens came into view.
A hop, skip, and a jump away lay the entrance to a path littered with mercilessly sharp thorns. He still had no idea what they were trying to do and who this lady was, but who was he to inquire?
They all braved the daggers embedded in the vines (except the knight, who clung to his back like a strapless backpack) and found themselves in a vast room. In its center rested a pointed stone epitaph bearing the words "Here lies the traitor's child." Was this the destination?
The grey mourner took slow steps, an almost reverent tone lacing her voice. "Could… che' truly be here? My love? In such dispassionate reality?"
It was only now that she pulled out a single flower. It looked fragile, beautifully so. There must have been much care poured into such a delicate thing.
A ghost materialized, her void-stained eyes widening. "My Darling! Ze'mer!"
Ze'mer replied in kind, throwing herself forward. "Flena! My love!" Her antennae began to stand up.
If both were solid they would have embraced, but settled for drinking in each other's appearances. The couple wasted little time in trading heartfelt words, and poured their souls out with abandon in a way only the tragically bereaved could.
A sort of warmth filled Quirrel as he watched. It almost felt as if he were intruding on the scene, and tried to turn away before he remembered what was attached to him.
"-but Ze'mer, you can't stay with me forever! I can't leave here so you'd starve and die!"
"And be with Me'hon til then? 'Tis enough."
Oh dear. An argument now could be disastrous. Maybe it was time to step in?
The knight got there ahead of him. There seemed to be little particles of void swirling around what appeared to be a glowing sort of nail (moth-made, his mind supplied), congealing on it and blocking out portions of its light as they dashed forward. They made a slashing motion right below, and Quirrel, expecting a blinding flash, reopened his eyes when there was none.
"Ai? What result did the charge bring?" Ze'mer questioned curiously.
Flena blinked and tilted her head. "I.. I'm not sure? Something feels different, though."
The mantis hovered for a few moments until a jolt seemed to jump up her. "Could it be...?"
Quirrel watched as she tentatively flew a foot away from her initial position, then two, three, then more until she was joyfully zooming around like a mad gnat. Then, he looked down at his little miracle-worker of a friend.
They almost seemed to be smiling.