Flena never really had a quiet presence. That's why many often said she was the fire to match Ze'mer's calm whimsicalness, and also was mostly predictable for the same reason. However, even they would have difficulty predicting her next action.
Although the two were finally reunited despite the mounted odds and even grouped back up with some of her fellow knights of old, there was still a sort of emptiness hanging over them all. The initial high could only mask it for so long.
If they were able to find each other again, then maybe, just maybe Dryya could be out there after all. No doubt Ogrim believed, possibly in an attempt to ward off more pain, that she was still alive the whole time, but the rest seemed to have formed doubts during their time apart. None would mention why some of them separated either. Not even her beloved, who danced around the subject whenever she did ask.
It was… slightly frustrating, but if none were comfortable sharing, then it was their choice. She would not drag them around and test their tempers, even if she would have when she was younger and brasher.
She had been mumbling to herself right outside of town about it, and the knight soon sat beside her and began to listen to her rambling. Quite thoughtful. Or nosy.
In all honesty, she wasn't sure what to make of them. That silent little fellow was odd in their own right, and appeared to lack a proper name. They couldn't talk and never wrote it down it they were ever granted one, so everyone seemed to call him something generic or even make up nicknames. Even Hornet, who could directly communicate with the knight, still referred to them as "little ghost" or simply "ghost."
The fact that they had an aptitude and a will to aid others was a comfort, though. Still, she had not a single clue why they were so drawn to these actions.
An passing whim to ask the knight about Dryya passed through her mind and the thought immediately took root. Who knows? She reasoned. If anyone could help, it was most likely going to be them.
"Hey, knight," she said. They tilted their head and stared back with unnervingly empty eyes.
Attention gained, she continued. "On all your travels, have you ever encountered a female bug plated in all white? She has a three-pronged head and wields a simple long nail."
The knight paused for a few seconds, and drew their nail. She watched on as they used it to draw a bunch of linked lines on the ground, connecting them to a sort of oval with two large dots in the center. A blatant abuse of such a well-honed blade, but whatever.
"Just what in the name of Hallownest is that?" she asked. It clearly wasn't Dryya by any stretch of the imagination.
The knight tilted their head once more, then tore some grass from the ground and pointed at the roots. Then pointed at the cluster of lines.
"So those are roots? Then is the circle is-"
Wait. Roots? Dryya?
"Could that be the White Lady?" she said in a rushed whisper. Flena was rewarded with a swift nod of confirmation.
Yes! "So you know where Dryya resides? Can you lead me to her?"
Another nod, and they took off with Flena hot on their heels. It was only in the middle of the ride to Queen's Station that she realized that she neglected to inform the rest of her discovery.
Oh well, they would find out in due time.
The thorn-covered expanse of the Queen's Garden. Of course she was in the Queen's Garden. She felt as if she could beat herself upside the head with a broomstick. Dryya was the Queen's personal guard.
It wasn't long for their destination, and with a few glances at their map, a horde of dead traitors, some she recognized, soon lay before her. Little pity she possessed for them too, having willfully accepting that terrible disease in promise for physical power.
The one that felled the pile of mantises lay mere feet away. Unfortunately, she looked as spritely as her dead foes did.
"Good lord," she sighed heavily. "What should I tell Ze'mer? Hegemol?"
Rusting grass drew her gaze from the corpses. The glint of the knight's nail flashed in the light as they disappeared into a hole in that, that patterned cocoon sort of thing. She followed.
The White Lady had not been expecting a visitor, not so soon.
She gingerly stroked the cracked head of the Hollow Knight with a loosened root. Some time ago, her child returned to her in a weakened frenzy, and having reached her, collapsed on the floor of her prison-turned-home.
Its strength, severely diminished, prevented the vessel from completely reforming and the rest of its body did not seem to keen of regenerating, even in the presence of soul humming in the air. She suspected that it was not merely lack of strength preventing it.
Possibly something mental, perhaps. The other vessel seemed capable of such a thing and it would not be too much of a stretch for the Hollow Knight to possess it as well. Quite the oversight she and her wyrm made with their already egregious actions.
Regardless of her child's failure, she gratefully received it into her arms. This could be a chance to ease away some prior wrongdoings. Now if only it was conscious so that she may comfort it.
Right before the entrance of the other vessel and its companion, she got her wish. As if it quickly gained a rush of will and power, the black liquid suddenly oozed out of the mask like a spring and took shape.
A slight twitch signaled its consciousness, and she rubbed its chin.
The vessel drew back quickly and lowered its head, a sign that she had associated with shame in her child, but wouldn't let herself believe until recently.
She closed her eyes slowly. "To the best of your ability you fought. The infection escaped, though not a fault of your own. I implore you, forgive yourself."
It looked down, it looked up at her, down and up, down and up. Eventually, its gaze settled on her, and a rough, shaky noise filtered from it. She started.
A voice? Not possible, unless perhaps the Radiance-
"F-failure. For-give," it rattled out.
"Yes," she urged. "Forgive. It is the fault of mine and our king."
A paused ensued.
"Forgive," it said moments later, with a slightly stronger voice.
She nodded, and even though that would likely not be the last of it, her child could begin to heal beginning with that.
The two suddenly snapped their eyes on the entrance. And it quickly withdrew into the shadows.
The distinct signature of the void, not of the Hollow Knight, made itself known, and oddly enough, a highly mobile ghost seemed to have come in as well.
"Oh? Returned, did you?" she said as they entered. "A bow would be appropriate had I not been restrained. I thank you once, I thank you once more. To do it enough is impossible."
Of course, she received no response from the addressee, but there was a sort of apprehension seeping into the room.
The culprit appeared to be the ghost. She turned to face her, locating her despite her clouded sight.
"What may the issue be?"
She seemed mildly startled at being addressed, but responded smoothly. "Dryya, my lady."
How curious. "What of her?"
"She's-" the ghost seemed to struggle with herself, but completed her thought. "Dryya is dead, and the rest of the five will grieve."
How silly to assume based on appearance.
"No, she lives. My roots tell."
"How?" she exclaimed.
"Details. Soul is an ephemeral, strength-deeming energy. Her armor, infused with it, is tied to her life. If it were to disappear, no more would she be.
The White Lady could hear slight mumbling and hushed whispers, but did not inquire. There was no malice in the air.
"How long will she remain like that?"
"The scuffle was a short affair. Recent and brutal. She shall recover within weeks' time lacking aid."
Relief flooded the air.