One day.
Hornet had been gone for one day and three of the five great knights had moved in. She didn't even know they were alive, but here they were, walking around some tiny little town on the outskirts of Hallownest and it likely would not be long until they realized they had truly settled down.
Earlier, she had spotted Ogrim attempting to move his dung piles in, but she halted that with such strict authority that he didn't bother to talk back until an hour later, where he requested to dig himself a large cave right outside of town and put it there. Normally, she absolutely would have shot the idea down but she spotted Isma, Quirrel, and Myla encouraging for him in the background.
Ghost was there too, huddled at the front, but as they didn't have a nose, consideration of their opinion became forfeit.
The other two great knights seemed to be far more manageable. Isma may have dripped acid occasionally, but could easily handle the situation. When prompted to take a house by Elderbug, she chose one near the stag station. Hornet blinked and it was suddenly covered in vines and foliage.
She turned to ruminate on the other newcomer, a quiet, hulking fellow that mostly only spoke when spoken to.
Hegemol had initially been somewhat of a difficulty. As he didn't fit through the well's opening and stubbornly refused to leave his armor behind, he had to come in via stag station. The old stag looked as if he would snap his legs clean off if he attempted to carry him, so Hegemol had to walk through the tunnel on his stout little legs.
Quirrel told her not to question it too much. There was a distinct irony in being told that by one of Monomon's disciples.
And while he had refused a house since he claimed that "my armour is a good enough residence," it didn't take much pushing for him to accept. She wondered what Ze'mer would say. Likely something dramatic but gently chastising.
Ah, she forgot. It was a good thing the couple were out when the other knights were settling in or else it'd have been a larger fuss. She and they had bid farewell for a temporary journey; hers was mostly out of the wish to observe Greenpath and the Queen's Gardens and they were paying a visit to the Resting Grounds, though she questioned why they had been gone for so long.
The sound of the Stag Station Elevator creaked. Speak of the Devil, there they were. And more. The pair emerged with armfuls of white flowers and old bags that seemed to be filled with odds and ends. More accurately, Flena watched her tug along the bags herself as she was not corporal.
The signature blade now rested on Ze'mer's back. It gleamed valiantly bright and sharp despite its long cracks, signaling its esteemed craft.
"What was the cause of your delay?" questioned Hornet.
Flena dipped her head. "We changed our minds midway and visited my father. He now rests among his uncontaminated kin."
Curious. She must've been quite persuasive to convince the prideful Mantis Tribe to take a traitor's body and almost wanted to ask, but knew it would be prudent not to. "I see, and you have retrieved Ze'mer's belongings?"
"Che' now possesses all important things."
"Do you call five empty picture frames and a glass lumafly jar important?"
"Ohh? Does Me'hon remember when she clung to a broken charm for many days?"
For a moment, Hornet believed the couple, now staring intently at each other, might start quarreling, but the two laughed in a undignified manner and easily shattered the silence. There was an ease and understanding in it that almost made her envious. Neither time nor distance could fade their commitment.
A loud, joyous bellow sounded from behind and she could feel the annoyance cross her face. In resignation, dodged the tumbling ball barreling straight for a certain someone.
"Ze'mer!" Ogrim cried. "It has been too long since I've seen you last!"
Manly tears poured out of his face as he squeezed the unfortunate knight in his embrace. Ze'mer patted his head gently.
"How fares Me'hon, fellow knight?" she commented serenely. "Despite how much che' missed thee, please.. lessen…"
"Ogrim! Tame your grip, she's suffocating!" shouted Isma, who was making a beeline for the crowd.
Hornet watched with mild amusement as the already pale knight paled further and slumped over. Fortunately, Flena retained a calm demeanor as she ordered him to let go.
By the time Ze'mer sat, propped up on a signpost, Hornet heard the telltale nose of clanking footsteps nearby. He stood awkwardly as they all awaited for her to notice him. Finally, she stirred and tilted her head.
"...Hegemol? Such a wonderful thing, this! Isma as well? Me'hon, how fare these past years?"
Isma relaxed when she returned to consciousness. "Oh, I've missed your odd speaking tics, dear Ze'mer! I'm grateful there was no need to heal you," she said, shooting a look at Ogrim, who rubbed his head sheepishly. "And I see you have returned to your dear Flena? Where had you gone?"
"I was merely trapped in my grave," she replied. Good answer that was.
"Grave? I was wondering why you were so see-through. How did your ghost break away?" she asked, ignoring the sputtering Ogrim beside her.
She squinted her eyes, appearing to laugh silently. "Why don't you ask the little grub who freed me?"
Confused faces greeted her.
"Flena, dear," Isma said. "The vessel cannot speak."
"Truly? I can understand well and clear. How do you think I knew of my father's death?"
Hornet started. That is true, how did she know that? But the news was unwelcomingly shocking. How in Hallownest did she manage to communicate without blood ties. She got up and called for the ghost.
Sure enough, within ten seconds she saw them walk out from behind a house. "Ghost, can you say something to her?" she asked, pointing. The others stared on curiously.
Ok? Hello.
"They said hello. Can you not hear it?"
Ogrim shook his head. "No, but the strong need only understand through actions!"
Hornet ignored his pose, arms akimbo, and plowed on. "Do you understand why you can only speak to her? I'd be glad to know of it."
?... Feels like me.
"...Void?"
Wait a moment. Those thin, dark, tear-like streaks she assumed was simply unusual markings? She knew mantises sometimes painted patterns on their faces, and simply believed this to be another case. However, more than that, it was unnerving that-
"Why couldn't I sense its presence?"
Imprint. Ghosts are imprints.
Maybe the naturally-occuring essence in ghosts washed it off? Or it could simply be that the impact remained even when the spirit left the body. Regardless of her uncertainty, they seemed to unalarmed so she decided to leave the issue alone, despite how they could seem to sense it regardless.
Too much interaction was happening at the same time and Hornet was not one to hover around the bustle. She'd see the results later and right now, Flena had reminded her of something she'd been putting off.
Her shifting movement had alerted the ghost.
"Come along if you wish. I will not stop you."
The ghost tugged a taller figure into view, and she sighed in resignation. "You too, Quirrel."
He smiled good-naturedly. "I do apologise for the intrusion," the bug said, tone completely unapologetic.
Like teacher, like disciple. She remembered a time when rumors claimed him to be far more respectful and longed for it. He would not cause any real harm if her judgement of him rang true.
They headed for the Stag Station as usual, and Hornet was glad for how her father built a stag station directly in the Distant Village. It would be an annoyance to travel through Deepnest as a crowd, even if there were no infection-tainted bodies tottering around.
When they all stepped arrived, Quirrel let out a low hum. "Even with my recollection, I never knew there was a stop here. I assume it was kept secret?"
"Indeed. The King had it built to strengthen the relationship between him and the last dreamer." Hornet suppressed a slight shudder, but it seemed he noticed anyway. Whether or not he knew of the relationship between the two, he quickly clammed up.
Hornet returned to her thoughts. She should pay respects to her mother, as last time she did not have to time to do so. There was also this creature that she spotted a long period ago that attempted to mimic the appearance of her mother, but she had heard old stories and refrained from investigating. It was no less dangerous than the rest of this place.
The old webs spun decades past upheld weaver quality, still holding up the empty nests scattered throughout the unusually open cavern. A slight pang of lament for things lost, then she made her way to her mother's empty grave.
The trio remained silent as she navigated the twisted confines of the nest, as if they sensed the heavier atmosphere. Beside occasionally peering behind her to check that the other two had not wandered, she barely acknowledged their existence.
Finally, an open room was reached. A single beam of light fell upon a bare bed surrounded by candles. She lay down a single delicate flower, lent by Ze'mer, on top and turned away.
"Done already?" asked Quirrel.
A solemn nod. "There is no need to do more. I have grieved enough and I will more, but shan't let it hinder me."
He reached up, seemingly to shift a hat, but grasped at thin air. "I understand."
She had no doubt he did.
A small flash of dulled silver glinted as she took a charm, weaversong, from under her cloak. Sentimental value was enough for her. She was a little more fortunate, in a way. At least she retained a memento whereas Quirrel's, no, Monomon's mask faded away with the sacrifice.
The ghost appeared to be observing it with an unusual studiousness.
"Why do you show so much interest? I know you have one of your own," commented Quirrel.
Saw one. Weaver.
" Did you?" asked Hornet, quickly snapping her focus on them. "A live one?"
The knight nodded and ran off as they were wont to. She and Quirrel, of course, began their usual pursuit.
"Yet again? How many more times will this our friend do this?" inquired Quirrel. It was with not a tone of exhaustion, tired of the ghost's tendency abruptly leave the trail, but one of mild admiration and appreciation. She would have to say the same.
Through the tangled maze-like paths of her ancestral lands they travelled, not quite running but not walking either. Soon, Hornet recognized the location. Right behind the body of a stalking devout it lay. Her birthplace.
Here, here, said the ghost pointing behind a well hidden wall.
She hadn't been here ever since the kingdom's fall. This was the place her mother cradled her when young and taught her of the soul-bearing abilities she possessed. How lucky she was, Hornet remembered her saying, that you were gifted with soul and the ability to craft with the same substance only higher beings could, and have their blood in your veins.
Biological origins should not mean much, but she was glad to have been born regardless.
Did she lose herself in recollection? Glancing around, the bodies of her caretakers were scattered about. A sad sight, but that was not what she was here for.
As of yet, the only movement she had spotted was from her own party. Only a sober stillness lay beyond them. By the time they had all scoured the place, every little nook, cranny, and corner etched into her memory from days past, nothing was gleaned of the possible life that may still exist here.
Actually, there was still one place not searched.
She shot a glowing thread up at the ceiling and darted upward. A small, unassuming patch of the wall became her target, and with a few sharp blows it caved in and a path opened to a secret room. She did it once more, but this time, only a small room was came into sight.
Light feet landed beside her. Quirrel, carrying the little ghost in his arms, blinked when he saw.
A weaver lay atop an off-white bundle of eggs. While that was a sufficient enough shock to fill the mind for days, another lingered right above it.
"My my, such a pleasant surprise!" cried a deep, womanly voice.
Hornet fixed her eyes on her. "The midwife, are you not? You have not succumbed?"
"Oh, you wound me, princess! I'd be a fool to." she said with false drama. "Such a while you've been away and our spirits have fallen accordingly like any good servant."
"Don't act so cloyingly, Madam. I know your nature."
The midwife's mask tilted, contemplating the statement. "Fine. Then I shall not hold any words. Why are you accompanied by that pilfering thief?"
"They saved the kingdom. A single charm would not be a bad exchange for that."
An unchanging, piercing stare answered her, and a period of quiet followed.
"You have grown soft. Still, as my position dictates, I will not go against your wishes. Take the unhatched young. Its dead mother will not care for it, after all."
She withdrew and disappeared into the bountiful darkness and was gone, leaving the grayish tinge of the egg sac glowing faintly in the dim lighting.
A small prod. Hornet could feel the life pulsing within it and strung it to her back.
Quirrel watched on, smiling faintly. "It looks as if Ze'mer won't be the only one taking something from home today."