A pale, bulbous head bobbed sleepily as Isma rocked the maggot gently, attempting to wake him. His body looked unusually soft for a bug and as it would be very rude indeed to poke at the thin, hardly opaque skin, Quirrel restrained himself from doing so.
"Hegemol, are you there?" she asked in an anxious tone. "Hegemol, if you can, please respond."
Ogrim tilted his head confusedly. "Why are you so concerned for him? He has been under your care many times before."
"Simple. None of the bugs I've attempted to heal that were tainted with the affliction ever did," she explained.
Quirrel watched as her claim sent a wave of shock washing over her fellow knight. "The affliction?" he gasped dramatically. Only those who possess enough weakness or let it into their-"
"Hush! He's stirring, we can ask later," Isma chided.
Slow squirming. A quiet groan trickled from Hegemol's mouth as he struggled to lift his disproportionately large head. When the bug spoke, it was surprising to note the deepness of his voice.
"... Isma? I knew it."
A slow sigh of relief escaped from his two friends.
"Oh, thank Hallownest you're alive," said Isma, pulling him into a hug.
A small, sad smile crossed Hegemol's face. "I apologise for being such a burden on you. I know the cause of it all and I am at fault."
"Away with that thought!" rumbled Ogrim. "Isma chose to aid you in your time of need, not you! Though I am uncertain as to why it took so long for you to heal."
"I was touched by the affliction, or more rather, I accepted it into myself in a moment of weakness."
How odd, would bugs ordinarily retain the knowledge that they were infected, or is he an outlier? Quirrel saw a slight tremble in the maggot's body and lifted a hand. "I know I'm more of an acquaintance more than anything, but if you feel uncomfortable with sharing, there is no need to do so."
Hegemol looked up, mildly stunned. "You are kind even to a lowly maggot? But I must disregard your advice and continue, as I should at least inform my friends of what happened as they likely suffered from the consequences."
For a second, it appeared that Ogrim had something to say, but the press of of a vine against his mouth silenced him.
"I… was resting as I awaited your visit in the crossroads and carelessly went under. I remember the clanging of my armor, familiar from when I was still inexperienced, and knew that some other had stolen it."
His shaking had grown with a vengeance. "I'm sorry, so sorry- I failed my oath and all of your trust."
Both Isma and Ogrim had reached over to place a calming grip on their friend.
"And then everything hurt and I couldn't move and something just told me to-"
"That's enough," they said in unison.
"You never failed us, you just made a mistake like so many others," said Isma emphatically.
Ogrim nodded with a similar spirit. "You had a will to survive, and that is good enough and all we need."
Quirrel blinked, but said nothing. He felt a small pat on their back as high as the knight could feasibly reach, and rubbed their head in return.
The two knights consoled their fellow friend for a while, trying to encourage him and assure that they didn't mind, which they probably didn't, considering what he'd seen of their personalities, and slowly, Hegemol regained his bearings.
"I'd hate to ask, but may we go to retrieve my armor?" he requested, rubbing his first two pairs of legs (hands?) together. "I would be of greater help if we do so."
A throaty laugh echoed above the hissing of the acid. "Would you expect me to turn you down?" Ogrim replied as he scooped Hegemol up and took off. Isma tailed along, the vine attached to her head bouncing as she ran.
Ah, so it was time to leave? His legs were itching to run anyway.
The ragtag group quickly made their way up through the waterworks and through the City of Tears, where they took the lift up. The run seemed to refresh Isma and Ogrim; old, sluggish movements were replaced with the sharper, practiced steps of the royal knights, and soon enough, they reached the crossroads and the location of the armor.
"This was where I saw it last," she remarked. "And thankfully, it appears that the thief never strayed far."
Quirrel nodded. "It would've been a slight hitch if he were to have left entirely, but it must've too irritating to move away in unfamiliar garb."
The maggot dropped onto the floor and walked over to it, then popped in, softly grabbing the helmet which lay just in his grasp and fitting it over his head with ease.
It was a curiosity on how well he was able to control the thing, though. Considering how massive it was compared to his body size there must've been some extra part of the design beneath the seemingly simple armor. Quirrel may have passed it in his original exploration on the way down, but did not pay it any heed as it initially appeared to be ordinary. Large, yes, but not particularly interesting.
The feeling of cogs turning in his head surprised him. It had dusted off an old, incontrovertible urge to understand so vital to himself so long ago that he thought he lost. He may have admired the sights, but never truly thought much about the "how."
Quirrel shoved down the urge to inquire about it. Save it for later, he told himself.
Somewhat scratched but still in good shape, the armor didn't even creak as he tested the joints' mobility and stretched. As expected from Pale King-approved works, he thought as Hegemol strode with regained confidence.
...Wait, something felt off. He gave the room a once-over and a certain absence struck immediately.
"Where did Mikkel go?"
The confused stares were a swift reminder that only he and the knight knew the name.
"That little fellow travelling with us."
"Oh, the warrior?" said Ogrim. "They ran off over there, but I'm sure they can handle themself."
Quirrel conceded. "Decently sound logic, but we should probably find them regardless."
Ogrim shrugged and led the way. Before they could even leave the room, however, a recognizable sort of blubbering echoed in the tunnel ahead. The words became clearer and clearer as the figures tottered closer, but Quirrel could hear the panic in their tone before that
"-beg you, please don't hurt us!"
He noticed Hegemol stiffen, at least as much he could wearing that. The action did not go unnoticed by his cohorts and their expressions sharpened suspiciously.
Two white figures were being unwillingly shepherded forwards by the knight. More maggots. Who could they be to garner such a reaction?
"Those two, they're the thief's siblings."
That would do it.
"We don't want to hurt you, please don't kill us!"
Hegemol twitched.
"We swear, we'll do anything you ask!"
"We'll be good!
"We might have some stuff you'd want-"
"Stop."
Quirrel's eyes snapped onto Hegemol, and it was clear he wasn't the only one to do so. He must have snapped if he gave such an irrefutable order.
The two had gone silent, having snapped their mouths shut the moment the words filtered out of his helmet. They were now trembling in trepidation.
Hegemol paused, sighed, and kneeled to shorten himself as much as possible.
"I'm not resentful toward you, and you will not be harmed. The actions of your brother were not your own."
An audible sigh rushed from the maggots as they sagged down with relief. How tense must they have been for such soft bodies to loosen even more?
Startled, unintelligible words fell from them as Hegemol lifted the two up in his hands. "What are your names? I never did ask."
"I'm Niah."
"I'm Durb, his sister."
It was hardly a wonder why so many thought highly of the towering figure. Soft-spoken and gentle, he possessed appealing qualities in the mighty, but those same facets of him were looked down upon in a maggot in times past. How ironic.
At this point, Quirrel knew to look down before the knight could poke at him. "What do you want?" he asked in advance.
The knight did not appear to be too shocked at the preemptive response, and pointed at the group of maggots, now conversing tentatively, and jabbed upwards. Understood.
"May I request something?" asked Quirrel, catching the eyes of their current companions. "If you would like a place to rest, possibly stay at, Dirtmouth may be a good option. It is the place of our residence and would love newcomers."
Ogrim and Isma exchanged glances and shrugged. Hegemol seemed to be of similar opinion, but turned to face the siblings.
"Durb, Niah, what of your opinion?"
They looked down. Finally, Durb raised her head and said "In truth, being here feels heavy. The presence of our… brother," she paused, waiting for a reaction. When it was clear Hegemol hadn't been angered, she continued. "Might weigh on our minds."
Niah nodded. "Here, I can't stop thinking. Maybe leaving would help us."
With everyone in relative agreement, they all started up for town. The knight had hopped back on him, and in honesty, while they may not have been Monomon's mask, the slight weight felt somewhat comforting.
"Hegemol, I'd hate to ask what could be a personal question, but why did you respond so favorably to your assailant's kin?" asked Quirrel.
A huff. "Do you think so little of me? As I said before, a family member's actions do not extend to their family. If you are judging me based on my visible instability from before, know it was merely a passing phase. It shall bother me no longer, and I will not be a hindrance."
His response almost seemed flawless, suspiciously so even despite the personality shift displayed between his armored and unarmored self. There must still be deeper mental problems lying within. Those are never resolved that quickly.