"Is there anyone home?"


"Ow ow ow… Careful! ...Ok, ju- yowch! Don't touch it there!"

Chance grunted as the Knight gently poked and prodded at his mangled leg. He was laid against a cavernous wall, his pant leg rolled up so Tusk could get better access to the wounds. While Chance grimaced in pain, small tears squeezing out of his eyes, Tusk was spreading lifeblood over the afflicted area. They had already gone through two bottles of the substance, but the leg didn't appear to be getting better. The pain had receded somewhat, though it still hurt way more than it had any right to. Even with the lifeblood's soothing effects, his thoughts refused to function beyond admissions of the pain and silent curses.

Once again, though definitely not for the last time, he lamented the lack of humanity's medicine here. While the lifeblood was good and all, some actual bandages and painkillers may have been worth more. And a splint. And a trained physician too, because if he was going to wish for impossible things, he may as well go big.

At their current junction though, they didn't have much choice but to brute force the healing of the injury with lifeblood. It was either that, or leave himself behind while Tusk ran to get help, and with the pissed off knight in the previous room, help was unlikely to come. Not to mention he didn't even know where they were. After escaping through the broken gate, everything got… foggy, so to speak. They jumped… they… yeah, definite memory gap there… something something, a bit of staggered running, then here they were, trying to save his leg. Here's hoping lifeblood took care of infection… Microbial infection, not the orange infection. Oh, and the bone setting properly, now that he thought about it. Damnit, where was a brace when you needed one?

Tusk had finished the third bottle's contents, and was moving onto a fourth dose. The last bottle, if his math was correct. Yeah, yeah… one bottle earlier after those flies, and now four of them for his leg. That made sense.

Well, better to use all of it to survive than save some and die as a result, right? Though even all of it may not be enough from how things were shaping up. His leg still looked like a bloody hamburger run over at a demolition derby held by the local county fair, but the pain had eased up to a hot stabbing burn. Still hell, but manageable. Hopefully the bones hadn't fused together incorrectly. It seemed to do that with skin, so what would stop his bones from following suit?

With the last empty bottle placed back into his bag, Tusk helped him to his feet. His nail went from a weapon to crutch, providing poor support, but once again, better than nothing. A sharp lance of pain struck through his leg as he stood up. While the pain remained, the bones did hold. Small blessings, right? Now that he was back up and in (terrible) okay shape, they could finally move on. Another pulse of pain ran through his leg. Slowly. Yes, they could move on slowly.

With the pain that plagued him reduced, Chance finally managed to get a good look around. They were in a dim, dank tunnel, one that was actually rather cramped. While it was composed of natural stone, a bit up the tunnel he could see it connect to the architecture of something surprisingly intact. At the very end of where they came from, durable iron bars blocked the path. So much for the "go back the way we came" plan.

Chance tentatively put a step forward with his good leg, but the extra pressure put on his bad leg sent him stumbling. He grit his teeth, fighting off the pain as he tried not to blurt out a swear. "C-C'mon," he seethed in agony. "We… Fffttt wegottaget… help…"

Tusk put their hands on his good leg, trying to support him despite the difference in stature. He limped along deeper into the darkness, the only noise echoing from their footsteps and the dripping of his blood on the ground.


"H-Hello?" Chance called. Neither of them knew their exact location; they were most definitely to the left of the large knight's room, but their map unhelpfully marked their area with just a plain rectangle. Their surroundings were an ominous looking place, decorated with the skulls of bugs littered across the ground and impaled onto pikes. He shuddered; this was the exact opposite of what he was looking for. If someone or some thing lived nearby, they might be happier to turn his leg into a meal instead of healing it…

Unfortunately, he was kind of out of options at the moment. If there was even the slightest possibility of help being found down here (or an exit), they had to at least check. That and this was the only path they could find.

The path of skulls and lanterns had eventually led them to the mouth of a massive structure made of bone, almost as large as the Black Egg Temple. It towered over the two of them, menacing skewers like a crown of thorns jutting from the apex. A pale light could be seen through the gaping maw; a sign of life? His nerves were all screaming at him to limp out of there as fast as he could, but-

"Oho! Who is that creeping out of the darkness?"

Chance nearly jumped out of his skin at the sudden voice. His eyes darted over to a small, dark form standing beside a bony bench. The being's face was obscured under a large helmet that resembled a snail's shell, though the thing's light pinpricks for eyes stuck out clear as day. Hanging around its neck as well was a necklace of skulls. Their body was just shorter than his; the shadows of the space seemed to warp around and conceal it. They also wielded a long staff with a similar skull impaled on the end, not unlike the pikes outside.

The strange creature put a hand to their mouth and chuckled. "My, you're looking grim! A strange, empty face and a wicked looking weapon! And you," they turned to Chance, "Well, you've certainly seen better days, haven't you, strange fellow?"

In all honesty, Chance may have found the exchange humorous if not for his busted leg. As the situation stood, his mind fervidly kept returning to it, breaking any concentration that tried to worm its way to the forefront. Must… rest…

Limping past the two, he single-mindedly went to the bench ("Oho, not even going to give a simple hello?"), then plopped himself down upon it. His head went down to his torso, where his hands cradled it. He just needed rest.

While he sat there, dead to the world, Tusk and the being struck a conversation. Despite his hibernation, their words probed at his consciousness, but he merely tuned them out. For how long they spoke - or rather, the snail person rattling on - he couldn't say, but one phrase finally made its way through his mind.

"-ay no more, friend. I'm going to give you a gift, a nasty little spell of my own creation. It's just perfect for a little one like you! Ohoho!"

'Nasty little spell'? Nothing named that could be good. Chance thought about getting up to intervene, but... Tusk could take care of themself… yeah… they were a grown up… Wait, no, scratch that. He forced his eyes open and his head up, peering back at the two with dry, exhausted eyes.

The creature was waving its bug skull staff to and fro. Vaguely, the whole procession reminded him of a witch doctor performing a ritual. Perhaps this bug was a shaman of some sort? Was he about to witness the raising of the dead? Tusk transformed into a newt? The addition of their skulls to the shaman's collection? This bug did seem to enjoy its skulls, after all. Perhaps a bit too much.

The skull on the staff glowed a pale, white aura as the staff's dance intensified. In front of the shaman and Tusk, more of that pale light materialized in small globs, quickly rushing together faster and faster, coalescing into an unnatural, blobby shape. Soon enough, the form was complete, white wisps sweeping off of a floating, bright oval-ish bug face, giving the illusion of it being bathed in pale flame.

Before any form of protest could escape Chance, Tusk, without even hesitating, walked up to the apparition and firmly grasped it. Immediately, they jerked back, arms spread wide out and cloak swirling to and fro, as if it was caught in a fierce gout of wind. The Knight rose into the air, pale particles of the same type forming around them, then smashing into Tusk. More and more kept appearing, bathing the area in brightness. A flash of the same light suddenly exploded forth, blinding Chance. He raised his arms in a vain attempt to block out-

-that blinding, searing, tangerine brilliance...

Just as quickly as the light had come, it faded away back to the murky light of the area. Blinking the residue from his eyes, his eyes widened when his vision cleared. Tusk lay motionless on the ground, limbs askew. No no no no no...

Ignoring his pains and weariness, he quickly rose from the bench, hand grasping his nail.

"What did you do!?" he roared. Though in actuality, it came out more as a raspy cough.

The witch doctor, for their part, stared down at the Knight as well, one hand rubbing its chin, "Perhaps I overdid the soul power. It seems to have knocked your little friend out!"

Chance stumbled over his words for a moment, unsure what to make of what the witch doctor said. "Wh- Bu- Soul- Whaddya mean?! "

The figure gave a laugh, "What do you mean, friend? Surely you jest, as someone of your nature."

Someone of your nature? "I don't- What? Wh..." He almost asked 'what do you mean' again, but caught himself. This conversation was headed nowhere fast, on loop like a broken record. He needed answers.

"Ah, but you'd best get some rest," the shaman suddenly piped up. "You won't be accomplishing anything worthwhile with that bloodied leg, I assure you." It placed a hand on its hip and glanced down at the unconscious Tusk. "Speaking of, perhaps I'd best bring the hollow one to a more… comfortable, place to sleep."

His confusion was interrupted by the odd sight of the shaman lifting Tusk up onto its shoulders. It carried the bug through an opening in the wall, where they were unceremoniously deposited onto the ground. While the snail was fumbling with a switch on the wall, Chance staggered over to them. A gate slammed over the opening, trapping Tusk inside, and Chance's stagger turned into a limping ru-

Chance howled in pain as he stumbled on his injured leg, collapsing to the ground. Why the hell had he done that? His leg was practically mincemeat; he wasn't in any condition to stand up, much less try to fight. Tears welled up in his eyes as he reached out for the gate where his only friend was trapped behind, desperation growing inside him.

The Snail Shaman approached him, sighing with their arms crossed. For once, their voice took on a more serious tone."Tsk-tsk-tsk. An inspiring display, surely, but you're clearly in no state to move. Come, return to the bench where your leg can heal, without your foolishness."

Chance merely groaned, struggling to pull himself up on a shaky arm before falling to the ground again. At this, the shaman gave a soft 'tut-tut' and walked past him. Chance thought it had given up on him, until he felt something catch onto the back of his jacket as the Shaman dragged him through the pile of bones on the ground by the end of its staff and over to the bench. For a small snail bug thing, it was surprisingly strong.

He was dragged along until his back was resting against the bench, head lolling back. Though that was quickly rectified by the snail pulling his head forward with the end of its staff. It was certainly uncomfortable, but what could he do at this point? He had already been reduced to a ragdoll to be dragged about.

"You really are a wreck, aren't you?" chuckled the shaman's voice from beside him. "Battle-weary, crippled, and to top it off, I see you've caught that accursed Infection." Chance wearily rolled his head over, but jumped when he saw the shaman sitting beside him on the bench, uncomfortably close, staring up at him from under its massive helmet. His knee-jerk reaction caused his leg to flare up in pain, and he hissed as he doubled over, struggling not to grab the wound in his hands.

The shaman covered its mouth, inspecting his leg. "Oooh, ohohoh, that's quite a gruesome…" It trailed off for a moment, trying to pick a fitting word for his wound. "Bah, why even try? An injury like this defies description." And it wasn't wrong; even with the four bottles of lifeblood, his leg looked like it had been mauled, grinded, smashed, and left to bleed out and rot. It was hard to tell in the dark arena at the time, but he must've been hit by one hell of a boulder.

The shaman reached out to touch his arm, but the instant they made contact, Chance could only feel their cold flesh for a split second before they flinched back as though they were just electrocuted. The shaman's eyes were wide, flickering back and forth between their shaking hand and Chance's arm.

"...How strange…!"

Before Chance could ask what she meant for the umpteenth time, the shaman was on him, grabbing his face and peering into his eyes and mouth in a frenzy. Chance yelped and pushed the shaman away.

"W-Wh-H-Hey! B-Back off!"

"A-Ah, forgive me," the shaman said, before grabbing Chance's hand in their own. "It's just… this flavor , this spirit , I've never felt anything like it…" The shaman took Chance's hand and rubbed their cheek against it.

Chance tried, but failed, to hide a disturbed grimace. He yanked his hand away from the shaman's grasp.

"What the hell's wrong with you?" Chance demanded. He slid away from the shaman, now sitting on the furthest reaches of the bench opposite from the snail. As he did so, he felt a weight shift around at the edge of his pocket, and looked down to see the glossy surface of his phone peeking out. He reached down to stuff it back in, not wanting to try to explain what a phone was to the eccentric shaman, and-

A brief thudding of drums, and the downright demonic riff of an electric guitar exploded from his pocket.

"Oh?" The shaman looked down at the source of the noise, and ripped his phone out of his pocket before he could stop them. They examined the reflective surface as Chance struggled to reach for his phone back, all while wildly chaotic tunes danced around the cavern like lightning.

"What bizarre item is this? Such a noisy thing!" The shaman turned their back from Chance to prevent him from stealing his phone back as they studied the device. They made a small "Ooh!" when they discovered that pressing the home button turns on the screen, awash with color and light.

Chance made a particularly bold lunge for his phone, but seethed as his leg erupted in red-hot agony again. "Yeah, bully the powerless cripple…" he grunted.

"Cripple…?" The shaman looked up and turned to see his injured leg. "Ah, right. I forgot."

"WHAT DO YOU MEAN, YOU 'FORGOT'?!"

The shaman only chuckled. "Ohoho! But while your wound is indeed severe, perhaps you aren't quite as 'powerless' as you claim!" Chance took the opportunity to steal his phone back, but not before the shaman grabbed his arm again. "After all, your soul … it's so unique, so… enticing… " They stroked the skin on his arm delicately, in the same way a diabolical monarch would stroke a cat lounged across their lap.

Chance tore his arm away with speed he didn't realize he could muster.

"I listen to rock 'n roll, not soul…" Chance mumbled.

The shaman looked confused by his words for a moment, before laughing. "Ohohoho! I speak literally, strange one. The power stored within your soul, the incredible things you could do with your magnificent spirit... " They smiled. "Why, I'd wager you could even heal your leg with that willpower alone!"

...Really?

The shaman chuckled. "Ohoho, caught your attention now, have I?" The shaman wasn't blind; they could see the way Chance's Infection-laced eyes lit up when an easy way of healing his leg presented itself. "I'm well-versed in the technique. I could teach you, if you would like-"

"Please." Chance practically begged.

The shaman barked yet another laugh. They must've found him a real fuckin' funny guy. "Well, I'm afraid I don't do these things for free. I can give you your leg back. But what could you give me in return…?"

The faint smile that had just started to grow on Chance's face immediately crashed down as he felt his gut wrench and a cold shiver wash over his skin. Of course it couldn't be that easy. It was one step forward, two steps back with everything in Hallownest, it seemed, and every step of the way was taxing. Would he ever reach the end of his journey if he kept going backwards like this? It was like some sick cosmic paradox, a rabbit hole he had only just started to descend into. He bit his lip as he averted his gaze from the shaman. "Uhm, I think Tusk's holding all our Geo…"

"Do you truly believe a desolate hermit such as I has any use for such currency? No, I don't want your Geo. Rather, you could say this is an exchange of 'knowledge,' no?" The shaman stood up on the seat of the bench, their short stature allowing them to come to just slightly above eye level with Chance as they held their hands behind their back like a shrewd businessman. "From me, you will learn how to heal yourself. What could I learn from you, I wonder?"

"U-Uh…" Chance tried to think. Was there anything that he knew that the Shaman didn't? He had to have learned something useful in school that he could use here, right? Something so firmly drilled in that amnesia wouldn't affect his understanding of it. The sum of all interior angles of a triangle was 180. The Catcher in the Rye was written by J.D. Salinger in 1951. The mitochondria is the powerhouse of the cell-

"That dark box of yours is quite intriguing. Allow me to study it for a time, and I will teach you how to heal."

"Wha- Hell no!" Chance immediately exclaimed. He held the phone protectively to his chest.

"And why's that? Is it so valuable to you that you're unwilling to part with it for even a brief time?" The shaman asked.

Chance opened his mouth to retort, but pursed his lips as he looked down at the device in his hands. He couldn't just say why. He couldn't just say that he was an amnesiac and the only leads he had on his past were locked away somewhere on this phone. Any life he'd ever had prior to a few days ago was here . It was literally his life, his world, his only link. It was everything to him.

"I'm not demanding anything, you know," the shaman spoke. "You don't have to hand anything over. Instead, I'd be glad to give you a simple amputation for free…"

Chance felt his gut lurch. He hadn't even thought about that; his leg may be too badly scuffed to heal naturally, especially with Hallownest's no-doubt less-than-modern medical prowess. Even now it was still bleeding, and it was nothing short of a miracle that he hadn't passed out or even died from blood loss already. If he didn't get it treated soon, he could very well fall dead before he even walked out of this place.

And this shaman, that scumbag con-artist, offered him two treatments. One; he could have his leg sawed off, but he couldn't just hobble around like a living pogo stick while searching for a cure to his sickness, and he didn't expect the shaman to have any suitable prosthetics on hand. This was medieval medical Hallownest, after all.

Or , he could get his leg fully healed as though it were never injured to begin with, using a technique that he could re-use in the future if he got hurt again. But it would cost him his life; his old life, stolen from him and with only traces remaining in his phone.

With a shudder, Chance realized that this dilemma boiled down to what he valued more: his past, or his future?

...And when he worded it that way, the answer was easy enough.

"Just… Don't break it, alright?" He tried to give the shaman the most threatening glare he could, which must've looked pretty silly, judging by the shaman's giggle.

"I wouldn't dream of it... How about this, once you slay the beast that wrought this wound on you, I will return it whenever it is convenient."

That knight. Chance felt his chest tighten at the mention of it. Even with Tusk's aid, it had swept the floor with them. They only survived because they got lucky, and nothing else. Would this new healing technique really be enough to take it down? Or whatever that 'nasty little spell' Tusk apparently had now?

A thought popped into his head. He reached down and pulled out Cornifer's map from his pocket and examined it. After a few seconds of studying it, he nearly started sobbing.

"What's got you making that face for?" the shaman asked.

"... Twice… " Chance whined. "That hallway opened up into a bigger room twice before the knight…" He collapsed his face into the map. "And I thought that smaller knight in the first room was the guy we were looking for…"

Chance's misery was compounded by the Snail Shaman's echoing laughter throughout the bony cavern.


"The process of focusing your soul is a simple one," the shaman stated, staff in hand, "Twisting the energy of the soul to your own ends. And in your case, the process of healing."

Chance was still seated on the bench, leg extended and propped out in front him. The shaman was seated next to him. "So… how do I do this 'focusing' thing, then? Do I have to close my eyes or something?"

"It is not literal focusing. You could say it is akin to... stretching a muscle. Tapping into your own energy, and bending it. I must admit, the prospect of using your particular soul… it's exciting ..." The shaman trailed off, one hand reaching for his leg. "Of course, I shall do this by proxy, but what I wouldn't give…" Chance's own hand had stopped the Shaman's from touching him.

"Can you stop making this weird?" He asked bluntly. His phone was already forfeit in exchange for this; he felt he was at least entitled to keep what little dignity he had.

"Oh, hush! For this time, at least, I require physical contact to assist you. We're taking a tiny shortcut in the learning process."

"...And how would that work?" Honestly, the idea of a shortcut in this regard was less than comforting. Sure, one could gloss over history notes or pieces of literature and call it a 'shortcut', but the downsides of doing so were obvious. Here, taking shortcuts to learning how to heal a grievous wound may not be the best of ideas, especially since this involved his 'soul'. That didn't even get into the point of how one took a 'shortcut' when it came to this sort of thing. Even then, it would be just his luck to botch the healing attempt and be killed instantaneously. Or become a ghost as his body rejected his soul, he didn't know.

"Learning to focus on your own is exceptionally difficult, especially for one so... oblivious, to the soul. I shall rectify that by providing a helping hand. Blazing a trail, so to speak." With that, the shaman firmly placed its hand onto the center of his good leg. "Now, concentrate on what you feel."

An odd, pulling feeling suffused itself into his core. But it wasn't quite physical; rather, it felt almost mental, like stretching a muscle you had never tried stretching before. The snail grunted in satisfaction as the aura grew brighter, the entire leg lit up in a weaker light. Small mutterings and incantations, weak at first, but growing stronger, made themselves known as the shaman did its work.

The flesh of the leg began to slowly patch itself up, smaller cuts and bruises stitching themselves together. Even the bones, still fragile despite the earlier applications of lifeblood, grew warm and began to strengthen. As the larger gashes began to grow smaller, however, the shaman removed their hand. "Now, you try."

"But… how…?"

The shaman groaned in exasperation. "Oh, please . I gave you a demonstration, but I can't hold your hand throughout the entire process. If you can't learn to do this on your own, you won't stand a chance, Chance!" They chuckled at their little pun-

Wait. "How do you know my name?" Chance asked.

The shaman only laughed harder. "Caught on, have you? Your name is embedded into your soul. A name is just a simple word, but it's the greatest representation of who you are. Your identity, your beliefs, your will, your life, all bundled together in a word. I knew who you were the instant I touched you."

That… actually kind of made sense.

But if everything that made him, him , was all packed into his soul, then… maybe he didn't even need his phone to find out his past. Maybe it was, literally, inside him all along. And if he could learn to tap into his own soul's energy, he could uncover his history on his own.

All the more reason to take this "focusing" lesson from the shaman.

Setting aside any more questions about soul for the time being, he closed his eyes, scrunching his face. He tried clutching his gut inward, seeing as the pulling sensation had come from around that zone. But all of that came to a halt when he heard the shaman sigh beside him.

"You believe the process of focusing to be too physical ," they noted. "Perhaps it was a mistake to describe it as stretching a muscle. There's no need to be so tense." Being in the same room as the creepy shaman made Chance disagree, but he let himself relax anyway. The shaman closed their eyes and thought for a moment, trying to piece together the right words for him.

"Hmm… It may be best to throw out the idea of a 'process' entirely. Instead, think of it as... truth . Your leg is injured. You're going to heal it. You are going to heal it. It will heal. The healing of your leg is not a process or a skill to be learned, it is simply the truth ."

Truth. Was that the secret to unlocking focus? He closed his eyes, took a breath, and looked down at his leg. It was covered in blood and gruesomely injured. That was true. But it was going to heal. That was also true. He was going to heal it now. He slowly moved a hand to hover over his injured leg, and watched as wisps of a cool, pale light, barely visible, began to dance around his fingers.

He almost jumped in shock, but didn't. Because he shouldn't have been surprised. Because his leg healing was a truth that he knew would happen.

He watched as the wisps turned to a greater light, and the blood on his legs began to recede back into the rapidly closing wounds. He felt dark bruises soften and his flesh stitching itself back up.

And before he knew it, his leg was just fine. And that was truth.

Chance blinked, breaking away from his concentration to look at his hand in awe, struggling to believe that he had really just done that himself. "Woah…" he whispered softly.

The shaman began laughing like a hyena, clutching at their gut as they struggled to contain themselves. "Ohohohoho! Ahahahaha! I knew you had it in you! The unique and alien power of your soul finally shines through!"

While the shaman struggled to stand from how hard they were laughing with joy, Chance blinked. They'd called his soul 'unique' a couple of times now, hadn't they? He assumed that souls were relatively common, and if healing was such a low-level spell, what made his soul stand out so much from others? Tusk apparently had one, too, since he had tried to use the same pale light to heal him twice before. "Hey, what do you mean by-"

Shhhink!

Both of them went silent and turned their heads over to the gate on the opposite side of the room. Tusk stood in the doorway, but they weren't looking very good. Thin, dark cracks ran along their mask with black fluid seeping out of them, and they staggered forward a few steps before collapsing into the bone-covered ground.

"TUSK!" Chance shouted, bursting out of the bench and dashing over to his companion's fallen form. In the back of his mind, he noted how much better his leg was feeling for him to be able to run like this. But that wasn't a concern to him as he fell to his knees next to his small friend.

His eyes darted up and down Tusk's dark form, noticing further injuries all over their body. Whatever they went through behind those gates roughed them up badly. With a panicked breath, he held a shaky hand over Tusk's body and focused on the cool wisps around his fingers again.

Tusk was going to heal.

He was going to heal them.

He was going to save his friend.

And that was the truth.

The cracks thinned and fused back together, and the dark fluid slunk back into the wounds they had come from. Seconds that felt far too long ticked past, and soon, Tusk was in peak condition again.

"A-Are you alright?! C'mon, talk to me-" Chance's pleas for an answer were interrupted as Tusk reached up with a tiny and ruffled his dark brown hair. Chance stared for a moment, before chuckling, and eventually broke out into a heavy laughter. He rolled over onto his back, laying beside Tusk in the bony ground, laughing into the open air like a maniac.

"And that's why your soul is so special!"

Chance's laughter started to die down, and he propped himself up on his elbows and looked at the Snail Shaman that stood before them. "Huh?" he dumbly mouthed.

"To heal oneself is among the easiest of soul spells there is," the shaman explained. "But to heal someone else is something different entirely. In fact, it's supposedly impossible."

"B-But I did it just now!"

"That, you did," confirmed the shaman. "You did something impossible and healed your friend. Nobody else in Hallownest's history has ever been able to do that."

Chance was surprised by this, and yet, it wasn't too hard to believe. It explained why Tusk's earlier attempts to heal him had failed; it wasn't because they couldn't do it, it was because nobody could.

Nobody except him now, he supposed.


From what he understood of Tusk's little foray deep into the shaman's ancestral mound, it had been relatively simple; weaving through hazardous obstacles, dodging bugs and spikes as they went about. And at the end, slay a seemingly "invincible" armored bug-mole of sorts with the use of their new little spell. He still wasn't quite sure how that worked, but he wasn't one to argue with results, especially if it resulted in Tusk coming back to them alive. Nearly dead, but alive. Silver linings, right?

Of course, Tusk wasn't the one who communicated this to him. Rather, the shaman had eagerly recounted said obstacles, complete with a blow by blow account of Tusk's fight with the mole-bug thing. Or rather, its imagined idea of what went down; the shaman had flat out told him it actually had no idea what exactly had happened, and was just having fun with guessing, though he failed to see the humor in it.

But what was gained certainly was interesting, and perhaps worth its weight in gold, or was it now Geo? Bah, whatever. Anyways, one; Tusk had found another one of those lifeblood cocoons (the goo had stained their cloak with its scent), perfect for restocking his lifeblood supply, he just needed to get there. Two; the Knight had brought back an odd relic. It was a metal badge of sorts, various intricate carvings adorning its smooth surface. The badge fit snugly in Tusk's palm; perhaps around 2 1/2 inches in diameter.

"Oho! I thought I lost that!" the shaman exclaimed. It quickly swiped the emblem from Tusk's grasp, "Now where did you find this?" Tusk, for their part, shrugged. Would it be worth teaching them how to write? Maybe after he was cured.

Surprisingly, the shaman tossed it his way. He fumbled the catch, the badge clanking onto the ground. "I suppose it does not matter. Consider this a gift; it is not as if I need this trinket anymore. And besides, finders keepers!" Having stooped to pick it up, he finally realized what the pattern was. It was a snail shell, similar to the helmet the shaman wore, viewed from the front. Dull silver twisted it into the shape, the "inside" of the helmet smaller, crude shells. An interesting crafting project, but just that.

"Um… thanks? I guess," He went to put it into his bag, but the shaman quickly piped up.

"And you're not going to put it on?" For whatever reason, the shaman seemed disappointed, and even Tusk gave him what felt like a look of scorn. Or maybe that was coming from him indirectly stealing their prize.

"And… why would I?" It wasn't like one of those flimsy, cheap little buttons that would be handed out freely at a high school job fair; this one was actually sort of heavy, large, and he wasn't even quite sure how he could pin it on him at all, as there simply was no pin.

"It is a charm, my boy! In this one's case, a little project of mine that I no longer have use for.' It must have seen his confused expression, so the shaman continued, "A charm is what it sounds like. In short, it draws power from your soul to use its latent effect. If I remember correctly, that one allows the easier harvesting of souls." Yeahhh… he was going to back away now a little. There was no way in hell he was going to use this thing. Maybe this whole "soul magic" wasn't all that it was cracked up to be.

Luckily for him, Tusk stepped forward, hand eagerly reached out for the charm. Without hesitation, he placed it back into their hands, happy to get it off of his own. Tusk gave the badge a quick look, before pinning it firmly onto their cloak. How they did it he couldn't tell; he was just going to assume magic and leave it at that. The shaman huffed a little, but that was okay, maybe.

"I suppose you will be leaving soon," the shaman actually sounded a bit sad, "It is not often I get visitors, especially such interesting ones." Just as suddenly as the shaman had shifted moods, it did so again, "Wait! Before you go, I almost forgot I needed to show you one last thing." Of course it wouldn't be so easy to leave.

"Sure, I guess. Just one second please." He turned to Tusk, and knelt down to them, handing them his bag, "Would you mind running back to that lifeblood cocoon and refilling the bottles?" Tusk obediently nodded, running back into the spiky bone cave.

"That should buy you five minutes, at least. What did you need?"

"Ah, it's just… I realized that I haven't even introduced myself yet!" Chance took a moment to register this and could only respond with a blink; all of this, and he hadn't even bothered to learn the shaman's name. He felt like an antisocial moron.

"Oh. Well, uh…. What's your name, then?"

"I won't say."

...What was with this shaman? "And… why's that?"

"Well," the shaman explained, smugly crossing their arms, "How'd I happen to learn your name, Chance? " They turned around to face away from him, proudly looking over their shoulder at him.

"You, uh… Touched me, and… read? You read my soul." He silently regarded the shaman's expectant gaze before he blinked in realization. "...Oh. Did you want to…?"

The shaman turned back around to face him. "It's not hard," they explained. "If you can learn to focus your soul so easily, this should come naturally to you. A gentle tap is all it should take."

Chance found himself seriously doubting it'd be that easy, but shut himself up as he reached down and gently laid a hand on the shaman's shoulder-

A family of shrouded faces.

A desolate cavern.

All alone.

A brilliant land of pink crystal.

An overgrown hole, swarming with life.

All alone.

The pale, ethereal soul, twisting in ghostly fractals.

All alone.

Chance stumbled back, tripping and falling flat into the bony earth. His hand that had touched the shaman was shaking violently, and his breathing was rapid and uneven. He could feel his own heartbeat in his ears as he pulled his shaking hand into his chest, clenching it to keep it steady. And with his orange eyes, he stared up at the shaman, standing expectantly before him.

"Ophelia…" he whispered.

The shaman, Ophelia, cackled with madness and glee. "That wasn't so hard to learn, was it?" Chance didn't feel like he actually learned anything, though; it was more of an experience than a lesson. For all he knew, Ophelia just used their own soul power to do… that , to him. He supposed that he couldn't really tell until he tried it on someone else.

He couldn't help but feel a bit frustrated, however; this power was the exact opposite of what he wanted. Narcissistic as it may have sounded, he wanted to know about his own life before anyone else's.

It was then that he heard the patter of tiny footsteps behind him, signaling Tusk's return with five bottles filled with lifeblood. They were all clinking around in his bag, looking comically large strapped around Tusk's smaller form. Chance quickly relieved them by transferring them into his bag. "Oh, back already," he commented. Tusk only nodded, lifting the bag's strap over their head to hand back to Chance.

"Hoarding lifeblood so shamelessly? I see you hold little regard for… higher society's taboos." said Ophelia.

Chance sighed. "It's not that I 'hold little regard' for them. They're just… so alien to me. That, and I need all the help I can get if I'm going to find a cure for this Infection."

The shaman seemed genuinely surprised by his words. "A cure for the blasted Infection? I didn't take you for the ambitious type, nor a hopeless madman!"

"Is it really that hard to believe?" Chance asked calmly. He'd had this conversation before. "If my life is on the line here, I may as well do everything I can to try and cure myself."

"It's hard to believe because as I said, it's hopeless! " Ophelia cried. "You think nobody else before you has tried? There is no cure."

Chance froze for a moment, feeling his gut clench. He suddenly felt strangely angry, his fists clenching. He refused to look the snail shaman in the eye as he spoke. "And what makes you so confident about that?"

"The Infection is no earthy plague," Ophelia explained. "It spreads not through filthy hands or uncovered sneezes. It is a disease of the mind , one that infiltrates an unsuspecting bug's dreams and grows within them, consuming them until they are but a mindless husk. There is no 'proper hygiene' for the mind, Chance. The only reason any sane soul still walks this earth is because of simple resilience, and nothing more. Every conscious person you've encountered so far got lucky . And you didn't."

With every word, Chance felt his anger dissipate and weaken, and by the end of the shaman's speech he felt very small. There was no magical flower that could cure him. There was no top-secret antibody in a vial locked away in a lab. No ancient spell that would purge the Infection from his body.

Was there really no cure after all?

Ophelia was silent, their gaze facing the floor. From under the mask, Chance could just barely hear them mumble under their breath,

"...Well, I suppose it wouldn't be the first impossible thing you've done…"

They suddenly turned to look him dead in the eye. "Chance, I cannot help but feel as though I have made a new friend on this day!" Normally, Chance would've politely, but vehemently disagreed with this prospect, but seeing the fire in the shaman's eyes, he found himself unable to argue.

The shaman took his hand in theirs and gave it a firm squeeze. Through the contact, Chance could feel the hope in their soul, a small spark of a candle's flame, but slowly growing into a grand bonfire. "Go defeat whatever monster struck you down, and then cleanse yourself of that accursed light. And know that I will be rooting for you every step of the way."

They trailed off, pulling out Chance's phone and rubbing its smooth, glossy surface with their thumb. "Well, that, and studying this neat little toy of yours~" they said, stroking it with their cheek.

Chance's deadpan didn't fade until long after he and Tusk had left the shaman's lair, but he steeled himself. After all, they had a certain someone who needed to be knocked down several dozen pegs.


Chapter name and summary are a reference to Comfortably Numb by Pink Floyd.
Other musical references in this chapter include:
Eruption by Van Halen (The instrumental song Chance's phone played on accident)
Ophelia by The Band

It's apparently been about 28 days since our last upload, and this chapter is a little over 7k words. So much for "shorter and more frequent," I guess.

Though, to be fair, this is one of the more important chapters, in which some concepts that'll have larger impacts later on are first introduced. I admit that the whole idea of using "truth" for healing was a spur-of-the-moment idea, but I think it worked out pretty nicely.

A lot of this chapter was spur-of-the-moment ideas, but one that wasn't was the name Ophelia for the Snail Shaman. I thought that the Shaman was a female in-game, but according to the Hollow Knight Wikia, they're actually a hermaphrodite, probably leaning male due to a note hidden in the game's files referring to the Shaman as a "he". Despite this, we decided to keep the name Ophelia but refer to the Shaman as being of ambiguous gender.

We're deeply sorry about the wait. Hopefully, the next chapter will be shorter and quicker. And we're expecting it will be. But until then, please leave a comment and we'll see you next chapter.