Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

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You are washing dishes.

You were sitting on the floor, as the sink was much too low for you otherwise. You put out your hand once you gently placed the dried dish on the rack, patiently waiting for the cook next to you to place the one he was washing into it.

You had recently returned from making an important delivery entrusted to you by the King. Predictably however, you were currently unable to report this fact back to him, as he was in a meeting with some people (bugs, your subconcious supplies helpfully,) from the capital. But which ones were it this time? – you continued thinking – last week it was a group complaining about something along the lines of the sentries’ station platforms, being so high up, not having guard rails. It was a valid concern until it was realized that those platforms weren't walkways, but resting perches for the sentries able to fly.

The time before that, it was Watcher Lurien. The man was basically the City’s president, from what you understood. At least that's the closest thing you would associate with his position. You were actually personally introduced to him, when His Royal Majesty called for you to carry a letter to Great Knight Hegemol – who was patrolling in the City at the time – when they reached a particularly important point in their meeting. Your first impression of him was a somewhat uptight, formal, and yet somehow shockingly pleasant individual. He was soft spoken and polite when he introduced himself to you.

“We’re finished.”

The voice beside you had spoken. Apparently you had been holding your hand out for the next dish for a while without realizing. The bug was looking up at you with palpable amusement, in response to which you huffed and stood.

“Thank you for your help, Maskfly!” He said.

“Anytime.” You sighed back.

And just like that, you were off to the courtroom to check on the meeting proceedings.

The doors of the room were guarded by a pair of Kingsmoulds standing eternally at attention. These things were… a little dumb, but pretty efficient as guards, in your opinion. They hit like a semi-truck, and were blindly obedient to their Liege; model knights, really. They couldn’t talk, but they did nod affirmative when you asked them if the meeting was still ongoing. Having stood there with them while waiting for meetings to end so often, they were perfectly used to your presence. You had even taught them how to play rock-paper-scissors. They would always stomp their feet in a brief tantrum when they lost a few times in a row.

Suddenly, the doors opened, interrupting the match you were having with ‘mould 2. You two froze in position as a clearly high class bug floated out of the meeting room. The newcomer regarded you with so much judgment you could taste it in the air. It tasted remarkably foul.

Not moving an inch, you watched as they floated off, followed by two other floating bugs, and one with a sword following on foot after them. Once they passed, you turned back to you and 2’s match. It was their rock against your paper.

“HAH–!”

“Maskfly?” The King’s voice carried from inside at your joyous exclamation, reminding you of why you were even there. You quickly gave the two Kingsmoulds a few pats on their shoulders before sliding into the view of the doorway.

“My Lord! Yes, hello-” You quickly brushed off some spores you noticed were still clinging to your white cloak. “I return from Mantis Village, Your Brightness. Your message has been delivered.”

He was an imposing figure, the King of Hallownest. Not in height- he was remarkably short, even among his subjects not to mention yourself, but in presence alone. His pale shell gave off its own light, only intensified by the shimmering silver walls around you. He was a being of power, in every way it mattered. You had only recently stopped being afraid of him.

“Some good news at last…” The King sighed, and you could tell just how tired he was.

“Goodness... Did the meeting not go according to plan, Your Majesty?” You fretted.

“No, no it has not. It was hardly planned, even. They just barged in demanding an audience.” You could tell he was frustrated by the muffled sound of his voice behind grit teeth…mandibles? “Have you a reply for Us?”

“They said ‘it did not require one.’ If it was an invitation somewhere, I'm going to assume their answer is a resounding "No".”

The Pale King chuckled and shook his crowned head in good-natured amusement. “We were not expecting one. It was merely a report on the territories surrounding theirs.” He elegantly brushed his robes off and folded all his arms behind his back. “Thank you, you are dismissed. Remain on standby as always.”

You bowed in that fancy way you practiced, and turned heel out of the conference room.

This is how your days went. You woke up, sat around until someone needed you for something, did that thing, then went to bed at the end of the day. You supposed it wasn't all that different from when you were back home. The only change was your self-assigned part-time job of babysitting. Speaking of, how long has it been since you've been home? Two months? Three? You barely think about it anymore. Though your method of arrival was anything but forgettable.

In a freak act of rebellion, you decided to make a point on leaving a hormonal teenager without supervision by stealing your father's car. Now, you didn't have a license, and while you did spectacularly on the highways due to being perfectly sane and sober, the narrow mountainside roads were just a bit more difficult. But you did fine!

…Who are you kidding, you swerved right off the edge. 

And that's about how you ended up lost in the forest blanketing the valley about a hundred and fifty miles from your hometown. Ironically, it was your lack of a seatbelt that saved you, having fallen out of the vehicle through a shattered window and landed face down on a small overhang while the car fell further down, and exploded upon impact. You carefully maneuvered the rest of the way down yourself.

Somewhere along the way of your wanderings you came across a bare clearing. Boulders taller than yourself towered over you from where they stood in an imperfect ring. You could only barely make out a faint humming over the rustling of the leaves above.

You were in pain. A lot of pain, and on the verge of passing out, but it barely compared to what came next.

You heard a voice, much too loud, speaking right into your ears from inside your mildly concussed head. It kindly welcomed you "wayward traveler" in "The Kingdom of Hallownest", gave you "the gift of understanding", told you not to break laws, and proceeded to shrink you.

The aforementioned process was wildly unpleasant. Excruciating, even. But you lived.

And much to your surprise, upon arriving bleeding and exhausted on this foreign fantasy kingdom's doorstep in the middle of the night, the insectoid residents immediately catered to you.

They didn't ask questions, they didn't turn you away, only rushed you to the nearest little house (which you did not fit into, so they brought some bedding outside instead), sat you down, and patched you up to the best of their ability. They were confused and maybe a little weary of you, but fretted over you nonetheless. You were…apprehensive, is the lightest work you could use, but knew better than to question it when it was the very last of your sacrificable blood supply on the line.

You learned the little village's name was Dirtmouth. It was serene and cozy, with little lanterns hung up around the huts like fairy lights. 

All your attempts to apologize for barging in like that in the dead of night were shut down, and one of the older women even scolded you for trying to. They just paired you up with a young man and shooed you down into the actual kingdom to seek medical attention for the injuries they didn't have the tools to aid you with. You visit them whenever you are able.

The bug's name was Quirrel. He was tiny compared to you, but eager to help. Apparently he was only spending the night in the little town after an errand, and didn't mind heading back down a little sooner than anticipated. You could tell he was some kind of researcher before he even told you – as polite as he was, he was masking his curiosity about your general self with concern just poorly enough for you to pick up on it.

The best healer in the kingdom was stationed in the capital. It was constantly raining there, but you hardly minded when you were on the very edge of consciousness by the time you reached the hospital. Or, the healers' coven, rather. Hospital wasn't a word that was used here.

You quickly learned the city folk were a lot less considerate of a stranger of ambiguous species and origin stepping foot in their precious home, as they basically called the cops on you.

Great Knight Hegemol did not fit inside the clinic. He just pushed the door open and stared at you from behind that empty-eyed helmet like a predator and honest to god, you were afraid of him – you hadn't met anyone even close to your general size until then. Quirrel was quick to come to your defense and explained to him that you were the farthest thing from dangerous, while the doctor angrily muttered about "that brute barging in and frightening her patient."

Of course, as some sort of code dictated, as soon as you were no longer in danger of not waking up in the morning, you were brought to the King, where your poor companion was not allowed to accompany you. 

To your pleasant surprise, the Queen took one look at you wrapped up in bandages, kneeling on the pristine white tiles flustered and on the verge of tears, and gave all your escorts the scolding of their life. Her husband didn't even move to stop her. 

That was the only time you've ever felt like Hegemol was in any way small.

After a few days of allowing you healing respite within their halls, they offered to help you get home. You did not want that for several reasons you preferred not to discuss, so you opted to make a deal instead.

You offered to work at the Palace. You'd serve, and all they had to do was house you.

The royal couple was surprised at your insistence, but it really didn't look like you'd be backing down, so they accepted your proposal. The king had a wonderful idea on what you could do for them as well.

And so you became a royal messenger.

Formally it was only a test to see whether it'd work, but apparently you did it so well, it stuck. Your stamina seemed to far outlast the average bug's so you could make several trips across the kingdom in one sitting if you really wanted to. Maybe not with a grin, but you could. Thus, you were nicknamed "Maskfly", after a little bird-esc critter they generally use as messenger doves.

That brings you to now, standing in a random hallway and watching the occasional retainer rush by. They were always in such a hurry…then again you nary needed to run, your strides were long enough to keep pace with them walking.

What were you standing around for? Why, you were waiting to be dispatched, of course. Little did everyone know, this random hallway was in fact a very specific one, where you would receive a very special commission on a daily basis. They should be there any second now.

A rapid tapping noise got your attention from above. You looked up, small smile hidden behind the mask Kindly Isma had made you. There they are.

Above you, a tiny pale head poked out from a little tunnel built into the wall directly below the ceiling. There were many of these, their purpose being ventilation. Of course, instead they mainly served as hidden walkways for the King's many children.

The little head sported two horns curved inwards, letting you know who it was. Not that you had to guess.

“Good afternoon, your Highness. Punctual as always.” Prince Ghost tippy-tappied their little hands on the edge of the vent tunnel and pulled out a little pouch. They held it out, and simply let it fall into the waiting hand you had raised above your head.

The pouch seemed comically small in your palm, but you knew it was just the right size for what was inside. Ghost got your attention with the tappies again, and dropped a single 5-geo into your hands. Your payment.

“Pleasure doing business with you, my Liege. To the grounds as usual?”  You were rewarded with an eager nod, and the little vessel disappeared into the hole again. You weren't disheartened by the lack of conversation, for Ghost was mute. In fact, all of the royal children were born voiceless. Unfortunate, but they were otherwise perfectly healthy.

You tenderly tucked the pouch safely away in one of your many pockets, and made your way towards the training grounds, where one of the Five Great Knights was currently training the firstborn in the art of the nail.

Well, not exactly. They were holding a fifteen minute break at the moment, having started it just about two minutes ago. Coincidentally, that break lines up with when the younger children are let go from tutoring.

The pouch contained candy. What kind or what flavor you didn't know, all you knew was that you were to smuggle it to Prince Hallow under the noses of his teachers. The difficulty of this assignment varied with who was holding the lesson that day. If it was Dryya, you would have to leave the pouch behind the nail rack nearest the door after break was over and she was occupied. You mustn't let her see you. If it was Ze'mer, the same applied, just for a different reason. Unlike Dryya, who would interrogate you on what you were doing there and why, Ze'mer would go mother-hen on you. You'd expect it to be Isma, but no, it's the tall lady with the claymore.

Where have you been today? How long have you been out? Did you get hurt anywhere? Did you get enough sleep last night? Have you eaten yet? You missed lunch again haven't you, stay here, I'll take you after training.

You appreciated her, but you had things to do!

Case in point: smuggle sweets to Hallow. You stuck your head through the gateway of the training grounds, and did a little victory cheer in your head.

Today was easy mode: you got Ogrim.

The companionable dung beetle was a chatterbox for sure, but in a lovable way. He let you go when you said you had to, and though you've never been caught, you knew if he was the one to reveal your scheme, he'd be in on it in a heartbeat. But still, you would take your job seriously.

Of course there were times you could avoid interaction with him entirely, namely when he actually stepped out for a while. This time though, he was sitting with his trainee in the middle of the grounds. So, you joined them.

“Your Highness, Defender Ogrim,” You did a silly little curtsey with your long cloak “Fine day, no?”

The way both of them perked up like flowers after fresh spring showers amused you greatly.

“Maskfly! I was wondering when you would stop by!” Ogrim laughed heartily as he took you by the hand, pulling you down into the newly formed circle. Hallow bounced a little where they sat and shuffled closer to you. “Where did your duties bring you today?”  

You wrapped yourself in your cloak and discreetly began shuffling the candy pouch from one of your pockets underneath. "I've delivered to Lady Radiance this morning, and have just returned from Mantis Village a few hours ago.” You stated, pointedly ignoring the fact how the two were leaning in like curious children, lest you start going into detail. “As pretty as it is, if I had to choose between Crystal Peak and the Fungal Wastes, I'd pick the Wastes every time. No offense to the moths but these legs weren't made for climbing.” You complained while dramatically leaning on Ogrim's shoulder in pretend exhaustion, causing him to laugh and pat your head comfortingly. You quickly slipped Hallow the pouch while he was distracted.

Prince Hallow was your age. You barely believed it, but really, you should come to terms with your disproportionate scale sooner than later. They were only a few months younger than you, but they had a fair bit to grow if they wanted to catch up to you. You had no doubt they would, eventually.

You three chatted for the rest of the break, and eventually, you had to go.

You stood up and said your farewells, but staggered to a stop after the first three steps and turned heel. “Oops, I almost forgot! Here.” You carefully slipped a shard of pink crystal into the surprised vessel's grasp. “I remember you saying you wanted to see them the other day. This was the biggest one I could find.”

That was a lie. It was much larger when you picked it, but you severely overestimated the strength needed to separate it from the wall. That shard was the largest of the remains. It popped like a wine glass at an Adele concert.

Saying goodbye for real (while trying not to be too distracted by Hallow clutching the crystal shard like you'd just handed them the world), you shuffled out of the training hall and made a beeline for the Palace Garden. You had to give the geo Ghost gave you back to the Queen. You didn't stand for them giving any fraction of their allowance to you then, and you don't now.

Chapter Text

“I'm sorry, how long?” 

The man balked at the secretary, who sunk just a little further into her swivel seat to hide her grimace behind the monitor.

“Two months and a bit, sir.” She confirmed, glancing back down at the open file on the computer desktop. The Detective scratched at his stubbled face in discontent.

“And the time of submission is right?” He asked, just to be sure, and the woman nodded. He blinked a few more times, counting days, and quickly instructed her to print out the file for him.

They remained silent over the rumbling of the printer, the lady at the desk drumming her carefully manicured nails on the wood. She shuffled the singular sheet of paper into a folder and handed it to the investigator, who furrowed his brows upon opening it. The cherry red polish looked a whole lot like the red flags rising in his head right now.

“...That's it?”

“That's it.”

He blew a long exhale, cheeks puffing up, and made his way to he and his partner's office. Said partner – a scruffy middle aged man with a bushy mustache – was already present, sipping a large mug of black coffee and reading over the file of a recently solved case, admiring the big green "FOUND" stamp over the little black letters. He looked up when the office door swung open.

“Sam,”

“Alex,” Detective Mulligan shuffled into the room and waved the new file in the air, lightly kicking the door closed with his heel. “We have a new one.”

“Mh,” Detective Stockholm hummed and slipped the old papers back into the filing cabinet. He pulled out a notebook and leaned back in his chair after removing a pen from behind his right ear. “What do we have?”

Mulligan sat down across from his partner and lazily flipped the file open. The other raised a brow at his lack of usual enthusiasm.

“Fourteen year old kid, took off with their old man's car and didn't come back. Parents reported them missing a week after.” He summarized, pushing the document over. Stockholm took one look at the date and nearly choked on his coffee.

“They've been gone for how long!?” He wheezed out as he snatched up the paper. Mulligan muttered something along the lines of "that's what I said" “Why are we only getting to this now?”

“It was deemed a low priority case due to lack of information.” He sighed, gesturing to the file with a scowl. “Look at it.”

The document was almost empty. No photo, no last known location, no suspected leads. Except, “You are telling me…that they couldn't give us one family picture, not one recent yearbook photo, not a keychain or something,” he ranted, just a little upset, “but we have the full specs and make of the car they took.”

Mulligan cringed and occupied his hands with clicking the end of the pen in his breast pocket. There was no placating the indignant rage of a father.

Stockholm took a deep breath to arrange himself – it wasn't ideal to get emotionally involved in a case – and jotted down the car's brand, color and license plate number into his notebook.

“Then we'll look for the car. Come on.”

-

“I'll help you look for it. Come, my Liege.”

You obeyed the grabby hands and ever so carefully picked up the vessel and perched them on your shoulders. They had four little horns curving upward from the sides of their head, and a deep green cloak dirtied with soil from the gardens. Their name was Thorn, but you insisted on calling them Petals.

Petals had misplaced their favourite stick.

Obviously you couldn't ignore such an emergency, so you jumped at the opportunity to help them locate it. You knew the stick was a grayish brown color, wiggly and smooth, with some happy green moss growing on the end of it. Petals said they last had it in the garden, so you looked there.

While they carefully manouvered between rose bushes, you looked in bird baths and tree hollows. You had no luck in your endeavours however. Somewhere along the lines, a few more children joined in on the search, but got similar results.

Next, you moved on to the children's quarters. You noted with no little amusement that most of the little ones insisted on sharing a room, resulting in the making of a very large blanket nest in the corner. This mass of bedding was ideal for consuming small objects, so while the siblings ruffled through it, you checked everything else, from the highest shelves to the lowest drawers. No stick.

After helping the kids clean up the mess they made of their bed (briefly amusing them with the way you tossed each sheet up and slowly descended it upon them), you split up.

Three children to the dining hall, two to the reading room (where the king held story time every night, you had the pleasure of sitting in on a few of them after getting captured and dragged in by the little tykes), and you alone into the hallways. You kept your eyes trained on the floor, running your gaze along the lines where the ground met the wall, behind pedestals and decor curtains, anywhere a small stick would fit. You briefly considered, in horror, the possibility that it's been thrown away by a clueless maid, but none of the appropriate staff you asked recalled anything about finding a random stick where it shouldn't be.

You were just about to turn a corner when you bumped into somebody. They arrived face first into your abdomen, causing you to briefly stumble with an "Ouff". They hurriedly rattled off a string of apologies, though they trailed off when they realized who exactly they ran into.

“Oh, Maskfly! I was looking for you!” You looked back up from clutching your stomach with a "hah?", and were greeted with the visage of a fellow messenger, a stocky, warm hearted ladybird named Suzu. You didn't talk with her very often.

“Oh, hey. What can I do for you?” You played it cool and leaned one arm against the wall. You learned this was the best way to get smaller bug's survival instincts to ease up. Suzu's wings fluttered happily behind her.

“So, my sister's nymphs hatched! I'm an aunt now!” She announced as she fiddled with the hem of her cloak. You perked up.

“Oh, that's nice! I'm happy for you… but I don't really see what that has to do with me?” You attempted to gently prod at the reason you were sought out. She rubbed the back of her neck with a nervous chuckle.

“I was just wondering if you'd be willing to take over my assignment so that I could leave early and visit them? O-Only if you have nothing else to do, of course!” She explained hopefully. You resisted the urge to groan. You did in fact have nothing else to do.

“Yeah, I'll take it. On one condition.” You raised a finger in importance, and she quickly nodded. “Before you leave, you must finish patrolling this wing of the palace for me. I've been that way, and that way. Petal- ah, Prince Thorn has lost their favorite stick, and we're looking for it. Grayish, wavy, little mossy? Just fly along and look for it on the floor. Deal?”

She took a moment before eagerly nodding up at you with newfound determination.

“Deal!”

“Fabulous. Now, where's the letter to?” You leaned down slightly in vague interest. She fished the envelope from her little bag and handed it to you. The wax seal on it was a deep, matte red.

“It's for the Soul Sanctum. It must be handed directly to the Soul Master.” She explained with much seriousness.

“To the what to the who?” You narrowed your eyes behind your pale mask, not having heard about neither the location, nor the person.

Suzu blinked up at you, and you could almost see the loading symbol between her eyes.

“...Ah! Here, give me your map, I'll mark it for you.” You complied, handing her the map of the capital, and watched as she quickly scribbled the name of the Sanctum next to the appropriate building.

“There it is!” She said proudly, and you pocketed the map to start on your way.

“Oh! A'ight, I can get in there, I think. Get someone to tell the King where I went, okay?” You asked over your shoulder, and she waved you off with a thanks and a confirmation.

The newly acquired envelope burned a nasty hole in your assigned pocket. You had to adjust your cloak several times to get rid of the feeling.

-

The City of Tears sucks.

Is it pretty? Absolutely. Is the rain perfect for ambiance? For sure. Do you enjoy trying to keep your precious documents from soaking every time you walk through here? No!

You should really put your savings to use and invest in, say, an umbrella. Or at the very least a waterproof lining for your uniform. Sure, the stiff, thick lining of the pockets keeps them from crumpling or tearing while you move around, but it's far from water-resistant. Hopefully they get around to fixing those cracks in the ceiling soon.

You ducked under an overhang to look at your map again. A few more blocks west, a turn right, take an elevator…several elevators.

The bridge walkway was long and slippery as always (thank the stars your boots had good friction). Sentries patrolled the area from a bird's eye view, their methodical footsteps clicking on the metal walkways above to the beat of the steady rainfall. The strolling citizens avoided your personal space by a wide arc, which you didn't particularly mind; though you weren't sure if they knew to give way to messengers, or were just flat out refusing to get near you. 

You mentally readied yourself to a few long and embarrassing elevator rides. You leaned down as you stepped into the one that you knew would take you to the entrance floor, flicked the lever above, and plopped down. The little fence gate closed as you began your ascent, forcing you to pull your knees up. You passed a guard hovering mid-air nearby, who snickered at your predicament. 

“Cramped up, Maskfly?”

“Yeah yeah, laugh it up. I hope someone locks you in a washroom stall.” She simply kept giggling.

You shuffled out of the elevator at your earliest convenience, and went for the next. You just had to climb some stairs first.

“Hey, Lemm!” You shouted from across the hall at the shop owner, who you could see was fidgeting with something behind his counter. He usually kept his door open because his window was jammed. He narrowed his eyes at you.

“You. Have you brought something?”

“No? I'm just saying hello.” You weren't disheartened by his attitude. He valued his relics more than socializing.

“Move on then. I'm busy.” He dismissed you, and went back to grumbling at the thing in front of him.

Lemm was an interesting character. A historian by passion, but an artist by profession. He was the one that carved the sculpture that was the centerpiece of Fountain Square – a beautiful statue of the Queen herself. His commissions undoubtedly paid well, since he could afford to run this little place where he never sold, but is sold to. Antiques, old texts in older tongues, ancient statuettes, he gladly opened his purse for them. You were pretty sure he ran a side hustle with the Archives too, as you've recognised his handwriting in one of the open records there the last time you've been.

“What are you doing?” You kept pestering him, and he sighed in visible annoyance. He knew better than to snap at you though. It never worked.

“I am trying to decipher the text on this tablet, but it makes no sense. So I ask that you leave, because I need to focus.” He briefly held up the flat stone for you and then went back to ignoring you.

“Have you tried reading it backwards?” You asked. You knew some languages are written from right to left – though you didn't know what the proper direction was in the squiggles bug writing was made of. Lemm gave you a deadpan look, but seemed to decide to humor you and looked down at the relic again. You grinned when you saw his shoulders twitch, just slightly, as he leaned a teeny bit closer to the stone slate. You weren't there when he looked back up again.

The entrance to the Sanctum was not a door. You blinked, not by confusion but because of your assaulted retinas, for the entryway to this place was a silver arch so very shiny the nearby lanterns inflicted proxy damage upon you.

You awkwardly meandered your way into the welcoming hall, where you were greeted by a staircase whose steps hovered mid-air without foundation. The true entrance was above, shut.

Hopping up the steps, you knocked on the metal hatch to the beat of shave-and-a-haircut. You had made it your signature rhythm (If only because your dear friends open their doors to you with a smile already shining in their eyes, for they know it's you).

The bug who opened the hatch, however, did not know you. He knew Suzu, which is likely why he regarded you with such perplexion. 

“Who might you be, dear stranger?” He asked you kindly, his antennae twitching in curiosity above his head. You briefly wondered what kind of creature he was supposed to be. He appeared to be a mix of several. 

(Were interspecies relationships actually fruitful down here? Screw biology, apparently. More magic fuckery you reckon, though it would explain the curious case of your King and Queen.)

You bowed to the insect with that little flair of your cloak that never failed to boost your serotonin, and introduced yourself.

“I am a messenger here in the name of His Majesty. I arrive with a letter to the Sanctum's Master.”

“It's not usually you, who comes. What of the other one?” You chose not to bristle at that sweet woman being dismissed as "the other one".

“Lady Suzu is preoccupied with personal matters as of now. I am here as her substitute.”

He remained silent for a moment. Silent and unmoving, making you wonder what he could be thinking so hard about.

“Very well then. Do come inside.” He finally concurred, and moved aside for you.

“I would prefer not to. My size makes it quite inconvenient for me to traverse spaces as intricate as this grand tower. If you could possibly fetch your Master instead?”

“My Master is a busy man. I cannot.” Drat.

“Unfortunate. No matter– ally-up!” You heaved yourself up the hatch, and took the moment your host graciously allowed you to have to reorient yourself and your clothing before following him deeper into the building.

He looked you up and down now that you stood before him proper. “I see now that your concerns were more warranted than I gave credit for. We shall take the stairs, if only for convenience's sake.” No more elevators for you! Hah!

As you walked, you did not strike conversation. You were more comfortable simply partaking rather than leading, and your temporary companion seemed content with the silence for now. But the Sanctum had a lot of stairs, and even he couldn't hold his tongue that long without squirming.

“I've been meaning to ask.” he began “You wear that Seal proudly, messenger. The few who have it usually wear it on the inside of their attire. Pray tell, why don't you?”

You were starting to think he only greeted you so pleasantly downstairs because while it's clear you're from the palace, seeing your white uniform, he didn't know what your rank was. Apparently he deems messengers low enough to count as "below his station".

“I wish I had some noble or sentimental explanation, but really, this is the only pin I've found that could keep my cloak on my shoulders.” for the carefully polished Hallownest Seal was indeed acting as a clasp for your uniform. “A large amount of fabric weighs a lot, especially this kind. Our cloaks are reinforced to protect the documents we carry. Any other pin I tried snapped by the week mark.” You explained, trying to accentuate just how much fabric was needed to sew a cloak that would fit you by raising its bottom hem to your side. Many times you've used it to cover gaggles of sleeping children. 

The bug – floating up the stairs instead of walking like a normal person – scoffed at your explanation.

“You would dishonor a mark of our King's trust in this way? Bold, you are. What have you done to earn it to begin with?”

“That is not something I am obligated to disclose to you, sir.” You didn't like him.

He didn't push further, thankfully. Clearly, you weren't worth his time. Good. You didn't want it.

At the tower's apex was the Soul Master's personal office. About time. As beautifully ornate and sparkly this place was, you preferred not to spend another minute in the company of the classist prude beside you.

Your guide opened the door for you, carefully pushed you inside (how dare), and closed it behind you. You hit your head on the frame, but your mask dampened it for you.

The infamous Soul Master was a robust, well rounded man with shiny Soul-stones embedded in his brow. His gray shell was covered with elegant deep blue robes only noblemen could afford. The lustrous fountain pen in his hands stilled as he laid eyes on you, almost as if he recognised you.

You recognised him too. This was the motherfucker that barged in on the King uninvited the other day.

You bowed nonetheless.

“I bring a message to you, from His Majesty the Pale King, Soul Master. You may call me Maskfly.”

“Interesting, that it should be you who delivers to us today. Come, sit for a while.” Shockingly hospitable, he is. You wouldn't have bet on it when you first saw him.

You do so, and flick the envelope from one of your inner pockets with practiced elegance. You had no reason to do this, but who was stopping you? The letter is slid over to its recipient.

“May I ask why that is so interesting, sir?” You inquire, hoping to the stars that he was actually not as bad as his first impression made him appear. Dealing with snobby assholes once a day was enough for your social battery.

“I dare say I am rather superstitious. We have recently come so very close to a breakthrough in our research, and for you to be the one to enter our Sanctum after such progress, I can only regard as a sign.” The smile in his voice was genuine. You tilted your head.

“How so?”

“Are you familiar with what we do here in the Soul Sanctum, Maskfly?”

“Not particularly, no. Though from what I know of Soul itself, I'd assume you're a healer's coven.”

“Yes! Though the Sanctum is strictly a research facility, there are several clinics across the city to our name.” That's nice. You still weren't seeing his point. “Am I right to assume you do not know much of how the magic works?”

“No, sir. I'm afraid my affinity with it is nonexistent.”

“Most unfortunate. See, Soul is what animates one's body – the larger the body, the more Soul it contains. I'm sure you see now, what I meant by "sign".”

“Could it be that you are calling me overweight, good sir?” You joked, and he laughed. Are you actually making friends with an aristocrat? In this economy?

“All jokes aside, thank you for your service. Would it be possible to convince you to stay for a cup of tea?” Tempting.

“Thank you, but I mustn't. I need to return to the palace. Stars know where else I will be traveling today.” You declined, speaking of your duties fondly. He seemed somewhat disappointed, but didn't object when you stood from your seat.

“As you wish.”

“Thank you.” You walked towards the door, glad that the uncomfortable non-weight of the envelope was gone from your inventory. You turned back one last time to bow before turning the handle of the ornate door.

Nothing happened.

You blinked and gently rattled the door a little, but it didn't budge.

“It appears the door is stuck.”

The Soul Master's eyes glinted with… what you assumed was mirth as he ascended from his seat at the mahogany desk.

“Here, allow me.” He insisted. White magic flickered at his fingertips. Was he about to blow his own door off its hinges for you? Not on your watch.

“No need sir, please, remain seated.” With a sharp yank of the handle, the door swiftly came free of its jam and allowed you exit. The noise it made in the process was rather concerning.

“You may want to look into maintenance on your doors, good Master.” You fretted

“a...Ah...yes, certainly. Of course, I will. Thank you.” He stammered uncharacteristically. With one last chuckle and a final bow, you were off.

You ignored the gawking researchers waiting for whatever it was they were waiting for in the hallway, took a seat on the railing of the staircase, and made your swift escape.

Meanwhile, the Master and his subordinates gazed dumbly at the broken lock of the office door.

-

Your parade was being rained on again. Both literally and figuratively, as though you've barely dried, you are soaked again.

See, you lied. You weren't going back to the palace yet, though it's a small detour.

You knocked delicately on the old, rickety door of the hut, so far from the living district of the city. A rough voice invited you inside.

The noise of hammering metal strengthened as you stepped inside, bowing respectfully to greet the old beetle toiling away at the anvil. He grunted in acknowledgement, never ceasing his work. He only turned to you (still patiently standing there) when he dumped the red-hot nail he was working on into a bucket of cold water at his side.

“You're here. Follow me.” He stood from his little chair and motioned for you to follow him to the back. The ceiling was way too low for you, but you obliged nonetheless. “Watch your head.”

Countless weapons wrapped in protective cloth lined the walls here, from commissions waiting to be picked up to works still in progress. Some were simply practice pieces. The Nailsmith carefully lifted a greatnail off its holder.

“Here it is.” He uttered, placing the weapon onto the table in the middle of the room with great care. He swiftly unwrapped it, revealing the pale, shimmering masterpiece beneath. “Are there any adjustments you wish for me to make?”

The nail was gorgeous. Pure, sharp and expertly engraved. You were right. None of the palace's own blacksmiths could have made anything like this.

“It's perfect.” You said, impossible giddy, and ever so carefully ran your fingers along the rivulets on the handle. The Nailsmith sighed, pride and satisfaction radiating off of him in waves.

“It has been an honor to work on such an important project. In truth, starting out I was worried, but your blueprints were incredibly helpful. I wish more bugs would hand in orders like this.” He said, gazing at his work like his own child. You chuckled.

“I knew I was right to trust you with it. Are you still sure about the price though? You barely took half of what I offered.”

“For a commoner like myself, the experience of forging a pure nail is worth more than Geo ever will. What I took was already plenty for me to buy some better equipment.”

You smiled, wrapped the nail back up securely, and gently shook the man's hand.

“Thank you so much for your work. I'm sure Prince Hallow will be over the moon.”

-

One successful candy delivery later, you were sitting in the garden in the company of Her Majesty, trying to console Petals with your combined efforts.

Midnight black tears flowed down their little cheeks as they shook with silent sobs, the soft coos of their mother doing unfortunately little.

They didn't find the stick.

Your heart ached watching them grieve their favorite toy. It was a very specific shape too, any new stick will never be the same.

Forgetting that the large woman beside you was royalty, you shuffled closer and halfway into her lap in order to reach the child. You tenderly cradled their head in your palms, and they slumped forward. This always worked. You ran quite a bit hotter than anyone else down here, and these impossibility cold void children all but immediately fell asleep to such warmth. The White Lady didn't seem to mind your intrusion, judging by the way her hand now rested comfortably on your back. You tried not to fidget.

Except you had to, because something was digging into your knees.

You grunted in discomfort and straightened to remove the obstruction, only to see you were kneeling on the Queen's dress. You stiffened, but still reached down to feel what it was through the fabric.

Surely not?

With an uncertain glance to the Queen, who only tilted her head in subdued curiosity, you folded the long skirt away from what it was blanketed over.

“Oh!” You couldn't help your laughter as you carefully detangled the elusive stick from the threads of the dress. “Here it is!”

Chapter Text

Magic.

An absurd concept in theory, entirely fantastical, fictional, yet perceived in things as mundane as life. Humanity sought it and rejected it throughout its history. Culture, beliefs, religion – they spoke of otherworldly powers, yet have never seen it.

You have.

You see it every day, in the protective runes around the palace, in the movements of bugs jumping higher than they otherwise could, in the bursts of combative spells on the training grounds.

You see it in yourself.

Well, at least the side effects of it.

Magic is chaotic and hard to control. Spells fail or malfunction if their caster doesn't know what they're doing. But even when they know, and have known for centuries, one has to be very specific in what they want their spells to do; for advanced magic, though formless, has a mind of its own.

Case in point, the Pale King.

In his infinite kindness, His Royal Shortness cast a magical border around his kingdom. He instructed the spell to do two things: keep those of ill will out, and welcome those who aren't in.

That's where his wording lacked.

When you crossed the invisible border set, the spell was confronted with a conundrum. 

This one is not of ill will, so it must welcome them in…but they cannot fit in.

It did its best.

Truth be told, you couldn't fault it for just doing its job. It had to break the laws of nature in order to make you small enough so it may fulfill its duty. The problems stemmed from the fact that it didn't do it correctly.

One thing that didn't scale right was your stamina; though you've become a tenth of your original height, it was only cut in half. A useful feature for one in your profession, you weren't complaining about that.

What you were complaining about was that your strength didn't scale at all.

Though at full size your physical capabilities were average at best, now surrounded by fragile bug people living in glorified doll houses, you held the strength of a Titan, and you couldn't do anything about it.

One broken plate here, one curtain torn from its support there, one retainer's arm broken over that way.

There was ample reason you were once terribly anxious to play with the King's children. Thankfully you've since gotten better at restraining yourself. Even if it meant dropping things because you were holding them too lightly.

You listed these kinds of phenomena under the label "Magic Fuckery". It fascinated you beyond belief, but unfortunately you had no means of causing fuckery of your own. Your kind had no access to the Soul reserves you apparently had.

Could you imagine if they did though? The world would have ended a while ago.

And while you couldn't activate those beautiful, detailed magic seals yourself, you know what you can use them for? Coloring pages! 

The pristine white of your room had been bothering you from day one, so you took it upon yourself to decorate it. There was already a good amount of color on your walls, most of them drawings the children made for you, but some were seals you'd copied out of the beginner's spell books you found on your shelf and coloured with crayons like mandalas.

That's precisely what you are working on adding to at the moment as well.

Sitting at your desk, you carefully traced along the lines of a seal you didn't know the purpose of with the blunt end of a fine paintbrush. There was a sheet of parchment under the page you were working on, which the pressure of your movements transferred the lines onto for you to paint over with ink later.

A hesitant knock sounded at your door. You didn't look up from your work.

“S'open!”

“Maskfly?” A shy gentlebug peeked his head into your room. “I need help. Again. Sorry.”

“Hi Timeus.” You hummed as you shut the spell book and moved to twist the cork out of your inkwell, “It's okay. What do you need?”

“Uh,” he looked down at the letter in his hands, “what do the different colors mean again?”

It was the wax stamps he meant. The poor guy had only been employed at the palace for a week, and there were many things he hadn't caught up with yet. You've been getting a lot of new messengers lately, actually. They preferred coming to you for advice, as you were the only one they could regularly find.

“Reds are standard issue messages, yellow ones are urgent, those you gotta run with as soon as you get them, and white ones are diplomatic letters. Those only go to important leading figures like Queen Vespa or Lady Unn. The only time you'd ever get one of them is to bring it to me though. I usually handle those.” You explained, carefully drawing black lines on the silky paper.

“Oh! This is for you then?”

You looked over your shoulder. He was tentatively holding out an envelope sealed with pearlescent white wax to you.

“Yep! Who is it for?”

“It says, Lords Aneerith, Ishtaa, and…uh.”

“Kallistri?”

“Yeah.”

“Mantis Village then. Just leave it on the counter there, I'll get to it in a minute.”

He muttered a timid "okay" and slid the letter onto the countertop by the door, straining himself to reach it without having to properly enter your room. He ran off soon after.

You did not move to go just yet. Not until you finished this page. You needed something to do while waiting at the village gates, and coloring was a perfect activity. The mantids always took forever to let you in.

-

“Now is a really bad time, Maskfly.”

The lady at the gate was indeed intending to make it take forever.

You huffed and stuck your hands out from under your cloak, only to take it by the length and twist an egregious amount of rainwater out of it.

“If you can fetch me a blow-dryer I'll gladly wait.”

“...a what?”

“Nevermind.” You twisted in the opposite way next. A small puddle was forming under you. “Look, honest to God, I usually don't mind sitting here and waiting for you to get through your 20-person "last-one-standing-lets-the-motherfucker-in" russian roulette extravaganza event you do in there, but the rain in the city had gotten heavier over the past week and if I don't hand this letter over soon it's going to soak through my pockets and ruin it and other important documents I'm carrying, do you want that, Vivian?”

“I…” The poor mantis looked you up and down with a mixture of pity and apprehension, before moving to unlock the gate. “Fine, come in. But you must be quick about it.”

“Yes ma'am.”

The track through Mantis Village was a tad more uncomfortable than it usually was. The residents stared more intensely, many moved to actually stop you, but ended up stepping back. You fidgeted.

“So...What exactly makes this a bad time, Vivi?” You dared ask, and your escort shook her head forlornly.

“You would have had to meet sooner or later. I just didn't think it'd be like this.”

“Eh?” You gave up on trying to decipher her ominous bullshit and continued to mind your own business.

You soon arrived at the entrance to the throne room, accessible to you via a mock fireman's pole, most definitely installed because they got worried about you when you hurt your ankles jumping down that one time.

[“No. It was simply hard to watch you make a fool of yourself.”

“Ah-”]

You gave a silly salute to Vivian before jumping onto the pole and bringing your hand up to imitate pinching your nose closed as if you were going diving. She didn't seem to find it funny.

Your boots made contact with the ground with a subtle 'splat' noise, as they were soaked through. Wet socks were an experience you never wanted to encounter again, but here we are.

You quickly skipped before the thrones and bowed, hand already moving to whip the hopefully still somewhat dry envelope out–

“Who are you?”

You paused and looked up. The sisters' three thrones were empty. Instead, a figure sat upon the fourth, one that you often forgot was there because any time you've seen it it's been empty.

Right, they had a brother.

“Ah- I am a messenger here from the White Palace, my Lord. It will only be a short business, then I'll leave as usual.” You explained, desperately searching your brain for what this guy's name was. Nobody ever talks about him when you're around.

“As usual?” The shadowy silhouette of the fourth Mantis Lord stood from his throne. “So you've been here before? My sisters have not spoken a word of you.”

“I'm sure I have no idea why–”

“I have reason to believe you are lying to me.” You jumped back with a yelp when the mantis suddenly appeared before you, his movements too fast for your eyes to follow. “You will have to leave. Immediately.”

He was…Smaller than you were expecting.

“I assure you, I'm not.” You picked the letter out of your pocket, lifting your cloak so he could see what you were doing, and handed it over. “I only brought this.”

He whipped the damp paper from your hand with a swift elegance you would have appreciated if not for the circumstances.

He took a long, evaluating look at the document clutched between his razor sharp claws…and proceeded to shred it.

“What the fuck, dude!” You found yourself exclaiming, perhaps a little hysterical over your precious cargo getting torn into sad silkparchment confetti.

“I have no interest in the pale worm's attempts at chit-chat, nor in entertaining his pawn with my time.” You started to panic as he reached for the lance on his back. “And since you refused to leave when ordered, you are an intruder.”

“H-Hold on now–” you bit back a squeak as the tip of the nail was suddenly pointed straight at your throat  “–I'm allowed to be here, I swear! They let me in!”

“So you're just challenging my authority.”

“Eh?? No, I'm just trying to do my job!” Was, at least. Your job is currently in a few dozen pieces on the floor.

“You delivered your puny little letter already, yet stayed to argue with me.” He accused, and thrusted his lance towards you. You barely stumbled backwards.

“Please, come on, I'm non-combatant–”

“Your attitude seems pretty combatant to me.” 

Oh, let's not get started on yours, mate.

Seeing that you did not have a weapon, the Fourth Lord must have had a spontaneous neuron activation, and zipped away. You didn't even have time to turn tail before he appeared again and tossed a lance into your arms.

“There. You have a weapon, now you're a combatant.”

“What is wrong with you–”

“Let the official duel begin.” Barred metal walls descended from the ceiling, and you were starting to regret not listening to Vivian.

“It couldn't be official if one of the opponents never consented the last time I checked!”

“Did you ever outright refuse, little messenger?” This sly motherfucker.

“It's starting to sound a lot like you just really want an excuse to fight something bigger than you–” your opponent's weapon swiftly embedded itself in between the bars of the arena wall a mere inch from your head “–Oh shit!”

The loud thump of the walls falling down must have alerted the rest of the village, because the next thing you know, Vivian comes sliding down the wall.

“Lord Iphiel! Why are you fighting the royal envoy!?” She yelled, watching as you ran around in circles to avoid the madman's continuous attempts on your life. 

“No no, I am fighting a challenger! You are welcome to watch!” He yelled back at her, not once lifting his attention from you. You managed to block a strike out of pure dumb luck by wielding the lance like a longsword.

“You challenged him!?”

“I didn't challenge shit, man's gone proper mad!” You swung the nail at him like a bat, but he simply side-stepped your attack. 

The fight was proving to be quite one-sided, as all you could do was either run away from him, or swing at him with those untrained hands of yours and risk getting stabbed. His skill was no joke, even if he had no right to have it. You were starting to wonder how you haven't been cut into ribbons yet.

His and Vivian's conversation continued throughout your suffering, and you got the distinct feeling he was flirting with her while trying to kill you.

Thankfully, your valiant protector was eventually able to strike a nerve within Iphiel.

“My Lord, see reason! If they are harmed the Wyrm might–”

“I do not care what the worm does!” He roared, finally distracted as he whipped around to face her. Not that that mattered, he could beat you with his hands bound and blindfolded. “Since when have we given a singular dung to what the Pale Bastard was doing? When did we start abandoning our pride, Vivian? I for one–”

He was unable to finish his monologue, as you took the opportunity to shed your water-heavy cloak from your shoulders while he was distracted, and proceeded to fling it over his head.

Ignoring the profanity that followed, you quickly retreated to the far side of the arena, balancing precariously at the edge of the spike pit.

“What sort of underhanded tactic is this!?” He growled as he tore your cloak from his person, his claws shredding holes into the fabric. This struck a nerve in you.

“Oh, yes, you sure are one to complain about proper sportsmanship, you absolute lunatic–” You quickly shut up as he angrily tore your cloak in half.

“I am going to tear every single stand of fur from your head, you insolent cretin!” And with that final promise, Iphiel raised his weapon above his head. You froze in place as you watched the metal light with white specks of Soul, presumably gathering to end your career.

“Oh, mama–” You muttered, looking around for where to run, but received no help from mama as usual.

Enraged, the mantis swung his nail, and with it a boomerang of Soul magic in your direction.

You heard Vivian yell something as the white engulfed your vision. Your short life flashed before your eyes, lingering on images of training dummies on the palace grounds scorched near to ashes by volatile magic.

Desperate, you raised the lance in front of you, shut your eyes, and hoped for the best.

...

...

Hello? Death? No?

You hesitantly cracked your eyes open again just in time to catch the last speck of Soul disappearing through your shirt. You smacked your hands dumbly against your chest. Iphiel lowered his weapon with a likewise dumb expression.

“What is going on here!?” A feminine voice bellowed, and in the moment of silence that passed, the walls of the arena slowly ascended. The wave of relief had you sitting down where you stood.

“...This creature –”

“He was trying to kill me!” You cut him off. You've been doing that a lot today.

The three remaining Mantis Lords returned at last, cloaks soiled and weapons dirtied from a fruitful hunt. They looked less than pleased.

One of the sisters, Kallistri, took in your state of undress. At least, what she likely assumed to be undress. You wore all black, with ankle boots and gloves. She probably thought it was your carapace.

“Is that you, Maskfly? Where has your cloak gone?”

“Oh, it's just over there, in that sad pile of fabric scraps on the floor. If you turn left, you can also see what remains of the letter I brought you.” You said shakily from your seat on the floor, pointing to each sight with the trembling tip of the lance you still clutched like a lifeline. Kallistri turned to glare in her brother's direction, who was currently being grilled by Aneerith and Ishtaa in a heated exchange of clicks and whirrs you didn't understand.

As the three continued to argue in the tongue of the mantids, you allowed Kallistri to arrange your hair into what she assumed it was supposed to be like while muttering apologies to you. Only then did you realize your hood was gone. Sure, you're gonna miss that cloak, it was your first, but now you had an excuse to get a waterproof one. You saw this as an absolute win.

Shortly thereafter, the two sisters hauled their brother over to you with serious expressions on their faces. You stood up, nervous.

“Apologize.” Ishtaa demanded, to which Iphiel simply glared off to the side. 

“Very well, then. Maskfly, you may strike him.”

“Excuse me what–” This was not how you were expecting your day to go at all. And there's still the fact that you also had a letter to take to Lurien. Keyword: had. You glanced at your ruined uniform again.

“By refusing to admit his wrong, he has dishonored himself. He may only regain it once he allows you to strike him for his injustice against you.” Aneerith explained, clearly unaware how much you didn't want to do that.

Immediately, images of Iphiel splattered on the ground, dead, flashed into your head. You stuck your hands in your pockets.

“I really don't think that's a good idea.”

“He will not harm you.”

“That's not it–”

“Do you take me for a weakling you can down with a single strike, "Maskfly"?” He interjected with a sneer, spitting out your title with all the venom he could muster.

You swept his feet from under him with a quick swing of your leg without missing a beat.

“Did that count?” You asked, pointedly ignoring his pained noises on the floor.

“...Quite, yes. You may go... Stay safe.”

As you turned to leave, readying yourself to somehow climb a pole with gloves on, Vivian leaned closer to you.

“Will you be listening to me the next time I say it's a bad time?”

“Yes ma'am, sorry ma'am.”

You tied the remains of your cloak around your waist as best you could, and jumped onto the pole.

-

You will reiterate again: the City of Tears sucks. But now, without a cloak, it sucks a thousand times more. You never thought this possible.

The stares you got while grumpily trodding down the slick streets didn't help either. You held your torn up, dirtied rags over your head as you walked, glaring ahead of you like a person on a mission.

Curious guards asked about your ruined uniform several times as you passed each of them, to which you would default your answer to "deranged hobo attack”, every time. It was weird having everybody in the City know who you were while you didn't know even one of their names, but you supposed it just came with the reputation of being a telephone pole of a fella dressed in royal colors running through the city on occasion.

Your current objective was to head back to the palace and get the King to rewrite the letters Lord Iphiel ruined so you can go and take a midday shower in cave water a few more times today.

You hoped to the stars that by then, Vivian will have forgotten the way you struggled to climb back up from the throne room with how much you were trembling from the adrenaline crash.

Speaking of Iphiel… you pat at your chest again. Surely you didn't absorb that spell, did you? You didn't absorb the border one. Did it matter that one was cast by a demigod and the other by a very much mortal bloodthirsty asshole? As you absentmindedly wiped your wet hands on your shirt, your fingers brushed against the seam of your breast pocket, one that you tucked your DIY coloring pages into.

Curious of its current state, you extracted one. The paper immediately tore in half from how wet it had gotten. You huffed, but paused in your step when you noticed a clear discrepancy.

The seal you'd drawn was gone.

You stared down at the paper in dumbfounded amazement for a moment, before folding it back up and stuffing it back where you pulled it from. You can experiment with that at a later date.

Now, how to avoid Ze'mer on your way in…

-

“What on earth happened to you?” 

Mulligan sighed heavily as he tossed a folder onto the desk. He looked tired.

The two had split up to interview people who knew the missing child today. Detective Stockholm had gone to their school, while Detective Mulligan went after the family.

“They're insufferable, Alex.” He moaned, frustrated, and sat down at his desk after yanking his chair out with a little more strength than necessary. “They cannot give a straight damn answer! "I think", "Probably", "Last time I checked", I've never talked to anyone so incompetent before, I swear! The whole time it was "Aargh, they are in so much trouble when they get home! I'm unplugging the wifi right now!" as if they just snuck away to a party past midnight!”

Stockholm stared down at the new folder on his desk for a second before flipping it open.

“...The name is different.”

“Yeah, because they gave us a wrong one the first time.” Mulligan grinded his teeth together. “The guy dug their birth certificate out for the interview. Turns out they're also two years older, crazy right? We need to have someone look at this stuff and make sure this ain't an old kidnapping case too.”

Stockholm took a moment to process this information, flipping the page back to pull out the plastic card slid into the folder's document pocket. It was a student ID. Granted it had expired some years ago.

“...At least we have a photo now.”

“How optimistic of you.” Mulligan squeezed at the hard foam ball that lay on his desk, the frowny face upon it scrunching into a grimace. “Allow me to remind you that we haven't found any trace of the car yet.”

“And we won't, if you keep up that attitude.” He scolded paternally, “We've talked to all the stations in the area, they're combing through files of teenagers driving without a license as we speak; we just need to correct the age we gave them. They'll come up eventually.”

“And who's to say they got pulled over?” The younger man challenged.

“Don't be a fool.” He shook his head good naturedly, “A kid's first time behind the wheel? How far do you think they could possibly go?”

“You'd be surprised!” Mulligan threw the ball at the corkboard on the wall in front of his desk. It bounced back into his hands. “Amelia did shockingly well when she started her driving course last summer. The instructor told me she could have driven out to the border and back, and nobody would have batted an eye.”

“She is a grown woman, Sam.”

“And? It was her first time driving. My point still stands.”

“Are you still arguing for the kid's road manners, or are you just bragging about your baby sister?”

“Yes.” He concluded in all seriousness. “Come on, you know we've seen weirder things.”

“Alright,” Stockholm stood from his desk and slowly began walking over to his partner's, “Let's say, hypothetically, that this 16 year old child had such amazing driving abilities, that they were able to run the car out of gas without getting stopped by an officer.” He pulled a pin from the corkboard and calmly attached the Student ID card next to the map with it. “That's two hundred miles on a full tank. Where would you look first?”

Mulligan remained silent, his eyes frantically searching at the map pinned onto the corkboard. A circle marked the child's home town. Two hundred miles in all directions was too much ground to cover.

“...I heard there are great colleges on the east side–”

“My ass.” Stockholm smacked his younger colleague lightly over the head. “We don't run these cases on hypotheticals, Samuel.”

“I know, I was just saying!” He rubbed at the struck spot on his skull, if only to smooth over the displaced hair, “We can't rule out the possibility. It's been two weeks and nobody we asked recalls seeing a bright red car driving like a total asshole. Which means,”

“That they were not driving like a total asshole?” He humored him.

“Exactly! So yes, this makes our job infinitely harder, but now we're not just running in circles chasing dust particles anymore!” Mulligan stood up, and grabbed the red marker from the nearby pen holder. “We gather a few teams, send them along the highways leaving and entering in all directions. Tell them to look for the car abandoned on the side of the road, parked somewhere inconspicuous, we just have to do something.” He ranted, drawing red arrows pointing outwards from the town along the roads.

Stockholm appraised his colleague with due judgment, but the furrow of his brows let up the longer he thought about it.

“...You're right.” He concluded, “Kids these days can learn how to build a bomb from the interwebs, why not driving?” He quickly walked back towards his desk. There, he stood still for a minute, before suddenly snapping his fingers. “A runaway usually has a plan on where they want to go. However, they also may have no other idea than to get as far away from the house as possible.” He opened the file with renewed vigor, the confidence drawing his partner from his seat to go look alongside him. “If the escape is unplanned, then it's, …come on Sam,”

“Aah, last straw?”

“Yes! An intense emotional response from the final drop in the bucket will steer them along a single road in a single direction. The road next to their house goes from north to south, north ends in a dead end, where did they go?”

Mulligan turned back to the map on the corkboard, and quickly traced the highway from the small town to the south with his eyes. “...The mountain range! But how do you know it was a last straw situation?”

“From this.” Stockholm tossed the open folder on the desk, and pointed to a specific line on the photocopy of the birth certificate that corresponded perfectly to another on the case file.

“They left on their birthday.”

-

“What in the world happened to you?” Dryya asked as you passed by her, looking you up and down with mild, well-hidden concern.

“Deranged hobo attack.”

Chapter Text

You were trying very hard to focus. Your King was talking to you, this is your job, and you should listen.

It was proving to be a challenge.

Mostly because of how the royal family was stacked upon each other, here in the calm of the Palace Gardens.

Your Liege had sat himself in his beloved Queen's lap, and was cradling a child in his own. Most of your attention was on the teeny tiny egg this child was holding.

“–and so I must advise you to be careful. Understood?” No. You didn't catch a singular thing.

“Yes, Your Majesty. How quick shall I be?”

“Take all the time that you need. And please, stay safe.” The White Lady answered for him, earning a confirmative nod from the King. The tyke in his arms bobbed their top-heavy little head along with him, waving at you as you bowed and turned to leave. You did wonder sometimes how Prince Brooks even navigated with their asymmetrical horns pushing their point of gravity to the left. They seemed to manage fine, anyhow.

The Palace halls glittered and shone as usual, though this never stopped the maids from scrubbing over them again anyway. It was even worse than the arch at the Sanctum. Nevermind the complete lack of color, how did the retainers even remain sane here at all? At least you could leave regularly.

The Palace seemed emptier than usual, likely due to it being quite early. You preferred it that way – less people trying to stop you from doing your job.

You approached the Kingsmould standing guard at the gate with a bright "hello" as usual, before briefly lowering your head to address them directly.

“Just in case. If Prince Hallow comes through here after me alone, don't let them out. They've been trying to use me to sneak out lately.” You whispered, and the guard nodded dutifully.

You hated throwing your partner in crime under the bus like this, but while they may be trained with the nail, they've never stepped foot outside the Palace before. So naturally, you weren’t going to let them. Not without an adult.

Now. Where were you going again? 

You dug around in your new waterproof pockets, which proved unusually disorienting as their placements have changed with the cloak, and pulled out the mysterious letter. You squinted at the words written upon its backside. The longer you stared, the illegible squiggly lines and symbols revealed their meaning to you in the form of a little translucent line of white text floating above them in a language you could actually read.

Her Majesty, Herrah the Beast

Deepnest it is, apparently! This will be your first time venturing down there.

You've heard of it through ramblings of the young Princess Hornet when she was over at the Palace. You kind of missed her energy. Good thing you'd be seeing her again soon. Maybe she'd even come back to the Palace with you – it is around month's end, after all.

Hornet was the sole child of Herrah and the Pale King. She was born as a kind of "proof of allegiance", from what you understood. Though it sounded awfully objectifying to you at first, you were assured that she was a dearly loved child. You were now more interested in how that particular talk went between the King and the White Lady. "Hey honey, can I knock up our neighbor to make sure they don't eat us?" "Sure darling, be home by dinner"

You emerged from the stairwell with a dry cough, forcing you to lift your mask at the bottom a little. You blamed Lurien for this. He and his damn rain. 

The tram was present in the station, shiny and relatively new. The massive gears and ornate designs on the metal doors never failed to distract you. But those weren't the first thing you noticed this time.

Standing at attention with the tip of her greatnail embedded in the rocky earth was Ze'mer, guarding the station from any of ill will. It just so happens that you've forgotten she was the one on duty here today.

“Goddamnit, nope, I'm not here, I'm going back–”

“Me'hon?” Said the danger to your plans.

“Fuck– Hi Ze'mer! Pleasant day we're having, ain't it?”

The tall woman tilted her head to the side inquisitively as you shuffled towards her from where you were trying to run away.

“Are you alright, Maskfly? You seem disturbed.”

“Oh, no, I'm fine. Just – ahm – heading to Deepnest, y'know how it goes. Messenger duties.” You rocked back and forth on your heels, hoping to god she'd let you go.

“What is wrong with your voice?” She raised a gentle hand to your mask, which you swiftly dodged around.

“I just woke up. Yeah. It's a little rough around the edges still.” You held your breath as you felt a sneeze creep up. You were successful in its avoidance.

Stubbornly, Ze'mer took you by the shoulders and slipped a hand under your mask anyway. You let her.

“You are warm.” She noticed.

“I'm always warm.”

“No, warmer than usual. Are you ill?”

Busted. You couldn't get away from her now.

“...I may have contracted the common cold, yes.” You admitted, resigned. She didn't seem to understand what you meant.

“Che is unfamiliar with this ailment. What does it entail?”

“Nothing serious. I'll just be a little feverish for a while, make some weird noises too, but that's normal.” You could basically feel her disappointment in the air around you.

“And you were intending to embark to the Deepnest in this condition?”

“...Please ma'am, let me do my job–”

“Absolutely not. You will return to the Palace and wait out this disease.” She didn't sound like she could be moved on this.

“Ze'mer, I implore you-”

“You may implore Che all you want, Me'hon, Che will take you back to your quarters herself if she has to.”

You didn't want to go back to the Palace, you wanted to do your job. You kinda had to do your job. And so, you did the mature thing in this situation.

You crossed your arms and did not move a step from where you stood.

-

The whirr of the coffee machine disturbed the silence of the office with its obnoxious sputtering. They really needed to get a new one.

Mulligan was scrolling through his phone, slowly sipping the black tea he had made himself from a flamboyantly glazed handmade teacup. The rising mist swirled in abstract shapes as they drifted towards the ventilation grate in the ceiling. His scrolling ceased as he read something, following which he slowly put his cup down and leaned closer to read it again.

“...Hey, Alex.” He alerted his partner, who was tapping his foot impatiently by the coffee machine. Stockholm made a disinterested questioning noise, to which he glanced up from whatever had caught his attention.

“So I was scrolling through my Twitter likes to find this one meme I saw last week so i could show it to Amelia,”

“Scrolling your what to find what now?”

“And I came across this article I randomly liked a few months ago. About that accident, you know?”

The older man gave his colleague a blank look, not breaking eye contact as he flicked the coffee maker’s glowing red switch off.

“I can list you seven different road accidents I’ve read about just this month off the top of my head, Samuel. Narrow it down, I beg you.” Mulligan rolled his eyes and tossed his phone onto the desk, turning around in his swivel chair.

“Fuck’s sake– Burrow road, broken guardrail, massive smoke pillar in the sky?”

“Oh, that one! What about it?” He poured himself a cup of joe as he waited expectantly for an answer that didn’t come. He turned back towards his partner when the silence stretched on a little too long. “...You think it’s the kid?”

“That would depend on the follow-up article, which I don’t have. But yes, I think so.”

Stockholm wasted little time as he moved to his desk, quickly unlocking the computer he turned on barely a minute ago.

“And you just couldn’t wait until our shift started, could you? Come here. Bring a chair.” He instructed, not waiting for him to actually get there before searching up the specific accident.

“Did you find it?” Mulligan asked over the squeaks of the chair’s wheels before falling back into the cushion. Stockholm did not answer, as he was busy skimming over article headlines. “...I wonder why they call it Burrow road…”

“Shhhhut up.” He whispered, clicking on one of the links. “Here it is. Someone crashed through the guard rail and rolled down the mountainside. The car exploded.”

“We already knew that. Were they able to identify the car?”

“Not even its mother would have recognised it, Sam, look at it.” Indeed, the image of the wreckage that was supplied showed nothing but burnt, melted scraps that would seldom pass for a car.

“Yeah, no… Did they find a body?” He dared ask.

“No remains were recovered from the wreck, or the surrounding area. Not that it matters, the date isn’t right.” Stockholm gestured to the screen, then to the case file he flipped open in the same breath. “The accident happened the day before they disappeared.”

Mulligan couldn’t help but read over the text on the screen over and over again in search of an answer. But it came back the same: the accident happened at around 11 PM. The child ran away the day after.

…or did they?

“What if, and hear me out,” Began Mulligan, “Our date is wrong?”

“Elaborate.”

“It’s not like their folks have been reliable with their information so far. What if they didn’t leave that day, just were gone by the morning? We’ve been assuming they haven’t been pulled over because they were driving too well, but what if it was just dark? Not many officers do night patrols around the South. They’d have been under the cover of night regardless if it was past dusk, or nearing dawn.”

It was a bold claim, but it had substance to it, which is why he didn’t shoot it down immediately. However,

“Let’s say that is the case. How would you prove it? The car is unidentifiable, and we have no body to confirm anything.”

Mulligan quiets. He really didn’t have a way, did he? Could he really just come up with something? Would it be worth it to risk derailing the investigation by pulling something out of his ass?

Absolutely.

“So we know the father’s a car slut, right?” He ignored the way Stockholm choked on air at his abrupt statement, “Those guys always have some fancy smancy ornament on the hood. Now, when I was at their house, you know what I saw?”

“What did you see?”

“Crucifixes. Above all the doorways, Jesus pictures on the walls? Now, they certainly didn’t come off as religious folk to me. It’s most definitely to put on a facade for the stuck up neighbors or something. Scummy, I know.”

“Where are you going with this?”

“The car’s description mentions a golden ornament on the hood of the car. With how expensive that model is, I’m willing to bet that it referred to more than just its color. You know how damn high gold’s melting point is, that won't be hit by a measly little diesel fire. Paired with what I’ve witnessed? We need to look for a golden cross around the wreckage.”

“...I cannot tell if you’re a genius, or just desperate.”

“Let’s go with the latter. We going to check, or not?”

-

“I completely agree with Lady Ze'mer in this situation.” Spoke Timeus, “Deepnest is dangerous with a clear mind, let alone a sick one.”

She ended up throwing you over her shoulder and carrying you back like a sack of potatoes.

“So what if she's right, I don't have to like it.” You muttered into your collar, unbelievably salty about being denied. Timeus hid his amused chuckling behind his hand.

“You know, you remind me a lot of my children when you get like this.” He mused, looking over you from where you sat sulking against the wall of the hallway. You choked on your disbelief.

“You have kids? No, back up– You’re married?”

“Yes? Happily so. And indeed, I do have little ones running around at home.” He smiled as he reminisced about his family.

“Oh my god– How many?”

“Seven! We expected maybe five to make it, but we got lucky.” Holy shit.

“I genuinely never would have guessed! You don’t have the ‘family man’ air, y’know? So shy all the time.”

“I grew up in a tiny village in the Crossroads. It’s peaceful there; nothing ever happens. Here, something is happening all of the time. It overwhelms me.” He rubbed at his arms. “Moreover, and please don’t take this the wrong way, you are certainly not the most approachable bug I’ve met.” 

“That is completely fair.” You’d be weary of yourself in his position too.

“Back on track… Do you have children, Maskfly?” He asked you, opting to sit down on the floor as well. You coughed a little.

“Nah. I'm too young to even think about having kids.”

“Why, how old are you?”

You didn't have a chance to explain yourself, as you heard the rush of footsteps approaching. You and Timeus barely had the chance to glance at each other with shared 'wtf' energy before a black mass ran into the hallway and skidded to a stop in front of you.

“Oh, Your Highness!” Timeus quickly descended into a comically low bow. You simply straightened up.

“Greetings, My Liege. How may we help you?”

Hallow crouched down in front of you, signing slowly and deliberately so you could read it.

*Didn't you just leave? How come you're already back?*

“I've unfortunately fallen ill. Lady Ze'mer caught me and forbid me from going any further.”

*So you went to deliver while sick.*

“Yes. I still would have if I was not forcibly returned.” They were looking at you like you were stupid. “I got quite an earful from your mother as well.”

*You're dumb.* Yup, there it is.

“I prefer the term 'diligent'.” You deflected, reaching over to tug your friend up from the bow he was still in by the scruff of his uniform.

Hallow looked entirely unimpressed by your blatant disregard of your own well-being, and stood up.

*So you're free today?*

“Yes, and will remain so for as long as my sickness persists. Should be no more than a week.”

*Is it contagious?*

“Not to you, no.”

Your answer must have confirmed something in their head, as they took you by the arm and began dragging you away.

“Wait, what– no–” You struggled dramatically, but were actually letting yourself be abducted without issue. “Timeus! Save me, I'm being kidnapped!”

But Timeus didn't move, and instead did something you never thought you'd see him do.

He smirked at you.

“I'm afraid I hold no authority here, Maskfly. I shall pray for you.”

“You traitor! I won't forget this!” You shook your fist at him, already about to turn the corner. “I will have my revenge!”

You held back your giggles as you heard him laughing, simply walking beside the Prince now that you didn't have an audience. You cleared your throat.

“So, where are you taking me? Surely not the dungeons.”

*I might .* They signed, not even glancing in your direction.

“Is that the way you treat your sole provider of illegal confectionery?” You teased, the hand on your chest mocking offense. Their shoulders shook with a silent laugh as they shook their head.

*You're having a playdate with us. No, you don't have a choice.*

“Why would I ever miss it?”

You two walked in comfortable silence as you steadily approached the playdate's mysterious location. You could already hear the clutter of toys being banged together in the distance.

“There's a balcony this way, no? Are we having it there?” You inquired, surprised. The playroom was the other way.

*Yes. We had the retainers help set it up with blankets for us.*

Sounds cozy. It reminded you faintly of times the nannies would do the same on the porch during summer days in kindergarten. The dramas that were born on those piles of carpets… they put telenovelas to shame.

Reaching the ornately frosted glass doorway of the child-proofed balcony, you opened the left door and allowed the young royal outside first, watching their form disappear between the billowing curtains before following after. The sight before you was hopelessly adorable.

The majority of the balcony's floor was covered in pale blue silver embroidered blankets, which were similar to the ones the children made their shared nest out of, only those were red. They rotate between them, perhaps. Maybe there were more colors too. You looked forward to seeing the elusive periwinkle blankets.

Vessels of various smallness were play-fighting across the plush battlefield, building towers with blocks, spinning spinny things, and throwing Knucklebones jacks at each other.

“Hey, stop that! Such misconduct will lead to loss of human-game privileges!” You warned, and the two vessels battling it out with the jacks quickly disengaged.

You may have asked the Palace's nailsmith to make those as a favor. He owed you one for the time you helped him around the smithy when his arm was injured.

You introduced a lot of games you knew to the children, and they adored each and every one of them. Hell, you even drew a full deck of playing cards for Hallow when they showed interest. You can see them play solitaire in the sitting room sometimes.

Settling down in the middle of the cacophony, Petals immediately climbed into your lap and hit you with the grabby hands.

“Well, hello there. What can I do for you?”

Petals was the youngest of the total of seven vessels. They couldn't sign well yet, so they had no way of telling you what they wanted. Of course, you somehow still understood what they meant. It befuddled everybody.

“You want uppies? The up-uppies? The uppiest? Gotcha.”

They wanted you to throw them. Toss them straight up in the air. So you did.

Thorn flailed in the air like they were free falling from a fifth story building. Granted they kinda were, given how high you threw them unintentionally, but they asked for the "uppiest" of uppies didn't they? When you caught them, they immediately demanded to go again. You were compliant.

As you were putting this poor child through more G force than they probably will experience in their entire life, you felt a presence behind you. This presence tugged your hood down and grabbed a fistful of your hair without hesitation.

“Uhh, hello?” You were informed of the perpetrator's identity by Hallow's hand reaching over your shoulder to sign to you.

*Don't mind me.*

You weren't going to mind them. Sniffle.

“Okay– No Brooks, I'm sorry, I can't throw you too. You're too big.”

Brooks, who had shuffled closer and was also demanding uppies, crossed their arms under their deep purple garments.

“Look it's not that you're too heavy, I just couldn't possibly get a grip on you sitting down. Thorn is easy, they're the size of a soccer ball.” You attempted to placate them while ignoring the hands tying ribbons into your hair in stupid places.

Briefly settling Petals into your lap for a break, you looked around to do a headcount of the children.

Ghost was scribbling on a stack of papers with charcoal, Brooks and Thorn are with you, Hallow is messing up your hair, Shie was infatuated with a letter block beside you, and the twins were…either not there, or just beyond your field of vision.

“Are Shade and Satin gone with the winds, or can I just not see them?”

*Still here. They conked out a minute ago.* Hallow answered you helpfully. You used the opportunity of the hands being gone from your hair to properly turn around and check.

Yep, sound asleep. Precious little shits.

“They didn't last long.”

*Yeah. When they're not causing chaos, they're sleeping.*

“Something to live by.”

Their hands returned to your hair, and you directed your attention to a mildly fussy Petals. You cradled them, only for a moment, before handing them off to Brooks.

“Here, toss them around for me, would you?” They nod, and shuffle aside to play with their little sibling. 

You sat in silence for a moment.

“...So, Hallow.” You address them casually, as is playdate etiquette.

They made an inquisitive chirping noise.

“How exactly did you know that I left, and that I returned before schedule?” Their hands stilled in their work. Guilty. “Hallow…”

*Once, okay? Just once, please, take me with you!* They signed frantically, having moved more beside you.

“I was going to Deepnest, Princey, you don't want that to be your first trip–”

*I don't care where it is, as long as it's not here!* They fussed.

“What's wrong with the Palace?” You earned a blank look for that. “...okay it's a little dull, but at least it's safe!”

*Boring, is what it is!*

“I'll give you that. But did you ask your father?” They seem to scoff.

*What's the point? He never lets us do anything.*

You sighed and took them by the sides, effortlessly lifting them into your lap to rock them like a small child. Their frame stiffened in your arms.

“Shhh. Look at you, throwing a tantrum. We don't talk like that. You know what those were, Hallow? Those were lil' pissbaby words. You're better than that.” Their face darkens with embarrassment.

*I just want to see the Kingdom. I want to go somewhere exciting for once.* They signed, battling with the ash gray blush on their cheeks. You tut.

"Allow me to simplify it, so that you little pea brain can comprehend. Outside: exciting. Danger: Exciting. Outside: Danger.” They're giving you a look. You don't let it stop you. “Safe: Boring. Palace: Boring. Palace: Safe. Yeah?”

*You're horrible.*

“Okay fine– Pray tell, why do you refuse to ask permission?”

*I know he won't let me. Ghost regularly asks him to go on field trips, and he always says no!*

“I'm gonna stop you right there sweetie, Ghost is six years old. You have almost a decade on them. The circumstances are vastly different.” You quickly waved Ghost off when they chirped at you at the mention of their name.

*Still–* You stopped their hands.

“Listen. I'm not gonna pretend to know your father, 'cause I really don't. And if you are deadly serious about this being useless, I'll believe you. But–” you sat them upright in front of you, “In my experience as a fellow firstborn, granted I'm an only child, I stopped having to so much as tell my parents where I was going as soon as I turned 13. You should be fine.”

They seemed to think your words over.

*You think so?*

“Yeah! Better yet, your birthday is coming up next week, right? Ask him then. He should be more lenient on your Sweet Sixteenth.” You suggest, leaning forward and resting your elbows on your knees. Hallow appears content with this.

*That's not a bad idea, actually. I will try.*

“Atta void creature! Now, fix the atrocities that you committed to my hair, would you?”

*No, I think you look fine.*

“I will throw you off this balcony.” They only laughed at you.

And now, have these silly little doodles I made in class!

Chapter Text

The sound of scribbling filled your humble bedchamber as you worked away at your newest project with a teeny vessel at your side, sat upon your desk.

To be precise, Shie wasn't helping you with exactly that, they were just coloring one of your old ones while they waited for it to get to the good part.

Your health still not entirely restored (therefore still on house arrest), you instead took up babysitting duties (as if you didn't do that on the side already). Shie didn't feel like going to class today, so you volunteered to watch them instead.

“Okay buddy, it's finished. Let's see if it works.” You announced, causing the child to drop their crayons and tap rapidly on the desk in excitement. You placed the handmade copy of one of the seals you could find in the spell book in front of them. “Do your thing.”

Shie was helping you prove a magic theory.

The child rubbed their little paws together rapidly until they started to glow, little white sparks flying out from between their palms, before slapping both their hands down on the paper.

The wisps of white energy seeped out from their hands into the ink, spreading along the fresh lines like growing branches. Once the whole seal was white, it flashed and simply disappeared.

“It works!!” You exclaimed, snatching the likewise elated child up into your arms.

“So this is what happened with Lord Iphiel! The Soul from his boomerang thing got sucked up by the drawing I brought.” You noted to yourself, setting the giddy tyke down on your bed. “Now, phase two.”

You stood up from your seat. You hovered above the poor escritoire like a martial artist preparing to strike a stack of bricks, for the seal you had just activated was a blunt attack ward, and you had to know if it really worked. The youngin shrunk into the collar of their cloak in anticipation.

You brought your hand down.

In a flash of white, intricate lines of magic appeared once more, sized appropriately to stop you from destroying your own furniture. You yowled in pain as you snatched your freshly bruised hand to your chest, but grinned all the while as you watched the beautiful spell you two had created hover over the pale wooden desk protectively…before shattering.

“Awh, they're single use? That's unfortunate.” You pouted, Shie crossing their arms in agreement to the statement. “Though I do wonder…”

Shaking your hurting limb beside you, you reached for the spell book with the other. You weren’t exactly sure which seal it was that the bloodthirsty arthropod activated, but you did remember the little crescent moon it had towards the top. You carefully backed into your bed and sat beside the little vessel, flipping through the pages in search of the specific spell.

“Ah!” You found it! “There it is! It appears I am…” (you squint at the lines.) “fireproof, right now? Cool! Let’s not test that one.”

You spent the rest of the morning trying out different seals, which resulted in the following: a shrunken down bedside lamp, a then appropriately resized bedside lamp, a floating quill that fluttered back down after three minutes, and a repaired picture frame that you broke accidentally a few days prior.

“This is so cool…” You whispered to yourself as you glinted the light of the traumatized lumafly within your lamp off the now intact glass of the picture frame. Shie climbed into your lap with moderate difficulty in order to observe the repair job a little closer.

The picture within the frame was a drawing Ghost made for you a few weeks after your arrival. It immortalized the moment you finally caved to the begging and put your fears aside in order to gather all the children and lift them up, all of them, at once. You were messily drawn with young children sitting on your extended arms like birds on a wire, Princess Hornet standing triumphantly on your shoulders like she just climbed Mount Everest, and Hallow hanging off your left arm like a toddler on monkey bars, knees brought up and trying to swing.

After this little game of climb-the-messenger, Ogrim came up to you and asked you if you could lift him, too. Dryya scolded him then, because obviously not, how could they? They'll break their back, Ogrim. Don't be silly.

You hadn’t gotten a chance to lift him since. But you will, one day. You swore it to yourself.

A knock on the door snapped you out of your reverie, now cognisant of the quiet purring of Shie as you absentmindedly patted them between the horns.

“Yeah?”

The door gently creaked open, and in peeked Brooks, hand fidgeting like they wanted to ask you something. Seems classes are over. You're late to your delivery.

“Greetings, your Highness. Are you here to take Prince Shie off my hands?” They shook their head. That wasn't it. “Go on then.”

Brooks' hands raised hesitantly.

*Would you like to come to the nursery with me?* They signed, surprisingly not here to tell you about Ghost's impending wrath.

“The nursery? Sure, why?” 

*Just because. I want to spend time with you.*

“Well when you put it that way, who am I to deny?” You said calmly, like someone who wasn't jumping at an opportunity to avoid the righteous fury of a six year old. You got off the bed and gingerly placed Shie on the hardwood floor. “We'll be out momentarily.”

When the door closed, you spared no time and dropped to your knees, taking Shie by the shoulders with utmost importance.

“I'm in trouble and I need your help.” You spoke, voice low as if you were fearing for your life. The vessel salutes. “I need you to go to the second floor's west side commune hallway to pick up something from Ghost. Do you know which one that is?”

They shook their head.

“You go down the main stairs from this floor and take a right. The second hallway is the one.” They paused for a second before nodding. “You'll find Ghost waiting in a vent somewhere along the middle of it. Tell them I sent you. They'll give you a geo and a pouch. Take the pouch to Hallow. You know where Hallow is?”

They nodded affirmatively, hands shaking with newfound determination.

“Fantastic, now go! Quickly, there's little time!” You clapped as you sprung up and quickly opened the door, watching as Shie bolted out like a little remote control race car and rolled down the hall. You took a moment to apologize to the very confused Brooks waiting outside your room. 

“Shall we?” You offered your hand to them, and they happily took it before beginning to lead you towards the nursery.

You walked in companionable silence, occasionally swinging your arms back and forth like the playground besties you were.

“What does one do in the nursery?” You ask, curious as to how it qualified as a place to spend time with someone at.

*We’re going to check on Baby.*

“Baby? That little egg you carry around sometimes?”

*Yes. Baby is late, so they need to be carried around often. That’s what Mom said.*

You chew on your lip as you work on phrasing your next question appropriately.

“Is Baby…how late are they?”

*A few weeks.*

In a different time, you had an eerily similar conversation with somebody online who was doing an experiment. They bought a carton of quail eggs at their local farmer’s market, and popped one of them in a makeshift incubator slapped together from a blanket nest, a heat lamp and an old aquarium. At first you congratulated them on being a bird parent, since you knew this project had been done before countless times with great success. Then they told you “Thank you! Sure the little guy’s a bit late, but I'm sure he’ll like the little enclosure I prepared for him <3” So you asked, How late is he? “A few weeks, I think”

It ain’t gonna hatch, buddy. Throw that thing away before it stinks up your bedroom.

*Are you okay?*

Think of magic fuckery.

Sweating bullets under your mask, you hum. “Yeah, just–” You try not to choke “Oh look, we’re here!”

Brooks perks up and breaks away from you in order to open the nursery door.

Within the room was a large bassinet carved from driftwood and cushioned with copious amounts of bedding. A single large chair sat next to the cradle, and in it rested the Queen. She raised her head at the sound of the door opening.

“My child. I see you brought company.” She spoke softly, and you bowed in greeting. She smiled at you. “Hello, Maskfly.”

Brooks tugged you forward by your cloak as they went to sign one-handed to their mother. You ignored the conversation in favor of searching for the small shape within the quicksand of blankets. It wasn’t that hard, due to color contrast, but…

“It’s so small…” You mutter, and the exchange beside you ceases.

The White Lady sighed fondly as she leaned forward in the chair, motioning for you and Brooks to do the same.

“Yes… We are not quite sure why.” She mused, resting her hand between her child’s branch-like horns. 

“Oh? Are they not usually like this?”

“No, this one is an outlier. The others were twice the size, maybe more.” She explained as the vessel reached out and carefully lifted the spherical egg into their hands like a fragile little tennis ball. “Despite this, the hatchling feels healthy. They’re just taking their sweet time.” She chuckled.

“You can tell?” You raise a brow, kneeling down comfortably on the somewhat padded floor. Brooks cradles the egg to their chest.

“We all can. Higher beings are quite a bit more sensitive to Soul than others.” She clarified, “How are they, Brooks?”

*Good. Sleepy.*

You were right, there is magic fuckery involved!

“Would you like to hold them?” The question caught you off guard.

“Oh, no, I couldn’t possibly–” You stammer, but Brooks is already offering what is literally their unborn sibling for you to hold in your destructive hands.

“It’s alright.” The Queen consoles, her eyes shining with endearment at the sight of you fretting. “I trust you.”

Brooks nods in agreement with their mother, and feeling outnumbered, you still your shaky hands and cup them together to receive the egg.

It sits weightless in your hands much like everything else, yet it feels heavier than anything you’ve ever held. The cold shell warms at your touch, and by a tiny movement you almost don’t even notice, it’s almost like they’re snuggling into it. 

-

“Oh, that’s… a bigger drop than I was expecting.”

“How big of a drop did you expect? The car exploded.”

Our two detectives stand in dying daylight, staring down into the abyss at the base of the mountain. The darkness that replaced what would normally be a beautiful woodland does not yield to the measly flicker of Mulligan’s flashlight.

The younger man keels, gloved hands perched on the recently installed guard rail, and gazes hopelessly into the darkness that swallowed their only lead.

“There’s no way they survived that.” He concedes with great dismay.

“Not really, no.” Stockholm agreed as he calmly lit a stick of tobacco.

The preparations of throwing together a team to go searching for the hypothetical cross stretched way into the afternoon, so the two decided to drive out themselves to at least examine the scene first.

Picking up a pebble, he lightly tossed it into the void. The rock clicks and clacks against the cliff face before going entirely silent upon falling too far. They do not hear the impact of the small stone bouncing off the remains of the blood red Maybach. Mulligan’s face scrunched up into a disturbed grimace.

No more words are said as the men continue staring into the void, holding onto some wild hope that it would look back and tell them what they should do.

Detective Stockholm sighs, squeezing the cigarette between his calloused fingers.

“We need to tell their parents to expect the worst.” He states.

“What?” Mulligan doesn’t seem to agree. “We can’t, it’s way too soon! We aren’t even sure this is the same car!”

“You are the one that so heavily insisted it is until now.”

“I…” For just a moment, Samuel feels like a child again, helplessly grasping at straws just to avoid something he didn’t want to do. To admit what was basically defeat. “You haven’t met them yet, Alex. They’re so sure the kid just ran off with a school friend, or, or something, and will be back once they drank themselves ragged– I don’t know how they’ll react to being told otherwise. I don’t want to know.”

Stockholm regards his young partner with pity. “I know you haven’t been in the force long enough to know how to accept this sort of thing. A success streak like yours will set you up for a nasty fall from the pedestal when you come across a case like this.”

Mulligan can only scowl.

“We all start somewhere, Sam. This is just your first case where they might not make it. You’ll get used to it.”

“So you already accepted it.” He accuses lowly.

“I accepted it the moment I was handed a file without a photograph.” Stockholm clarifies, “I’m seasoned and pessimistic, son. I’m always ready for the worst. We got this far at all because you refused to even consider it.” With that he pats his partner’s sagging shoulder, and after a reassuring squeeze, turns back towards their car.

A minute later Mulligan stands, and after a heartbeat more of gazing down into the valley, follows suit.

Chapter Text

“Please, Maskfly?”

“Not now, Suzu.”

Today was a busy day. You’ve been on your feet since dawn, running around making sure all your miscellaneous errands were finished by the time of the main event. Of course you weren't the only one, the palace’s maids and retainers were in one hell of a tizzy as well. Your fellow messengers were the only ones without a worry in the world.

Well, most of them. Suzu apparently had letters to deliver today, but seemed to find the time in her schedule to bother you.

“Come on!” She whined as she fluttered around you, struggling to keep pace as you speed walked down the hall. “I’m literally begging! I have something very important I have to do!”

“Join the club, bestie!” You laughed, sharply turning a corner. She yelped when her momentum almost sent her into the wall. “It’s a twenty minute trip, you can do it!”

“Yeah, for you!” The ladybird screeched after you like an offended parrot, but didn't follow you any further.

Entering the welcoming hall with a slight skid of your heels, you watched with anticipation as guests slowly trickled in through the open gates. A few nobles who knew you from your city runs greeted you with polite smiles, each of which you returned with a bow of your head.

You stood patiently in the corner like one of the guards, towering over the loyal subjects of the King as they made their way towards the ballroom. Your fingers tapped restlessly against your thigh as you awaited a specific someone's arrival.

And then you saw it.

A flash of red in the crowd!

“Your Highness!” You shout suddenly, causing the little blip of color to jump. Black feet scamper towards you from between flowing robes and dresses, until Princess Hornet appears before you with her arms out and ready to tackle you. And tackle you she did, leaving you momentarily breathless as you knock against the wall.

“Maskfly!! I missed you!” She giggled as she looked up from where her chin was buried against your stomach. You made a strangled noise in her strong grip, but kept your hands firmly attached to the legs of your pants.

“I missed you too, Princess- pleasereleaseme-”

“Refrain from strangling the messenger, Daughter.” Spoke a deep feminine voice approaching. Hornet released you in order to address the newcomer. You wheeze.

Queen Herrah tutted fondly at her teenage daughter, dressed regally in furs and leathers. The silence with which she walked seemed impossible for one with as many legs as herself, carrying such a large body with them. Her six eyed mask was matte and scarred, but you couldn't help imagining your cowering reflection upon its surface. A big, dangerous woman.

Be still, heart–

“I greet you, Maskfly.” She spoke to you, and you were grateful your mask didn't allow her to see how rapidly you were blinking in response.

Now, you wouldn't say you had a thing for older women– you didn't–

Oh, but she could kill you so easily–

“L-Likewise, Your Majesty.” You bent at the waist, bowing low. She gestured for you to rise.

“It was quite the confusion, the other day, when it was a stranger who brought the invitation to us. We were told it would be you. Hornet was quite dismayed.” She mused, and the heir of Deepnest agreed with a snappy “Yeah! Where were you?”

You chuckled uncomfortably at being interrogated.

“I was going to, but inconveniently fell ill. City shenanigans.” You explained. You still had to stick it to Lord Iphiel somehow.

“Poor thing. You are well now, though, yes?” The Queen made sure, to which you gave a flustered nod. 

“Yeah, yeah, glad you're okay Masky, can we go now? I'm hungry!” Herrah merely chuckled as Hornet grabbed onto your cloak and began dragging you in the direction of the ballroom.

Prince Hallow's birthday is today.

It was an open house in the palace, the people free to attend the celebration at their leisure. Everything was expertly decorated and even shinier than usual, which admittedly hurt your eyes, but you didn't want to complain.

Hornet all but tossed you into the ballroom before skittering inside herself, gaze scanning the room for either food or siblings. For a little thing barely up to your hips, she was surprisingly strong.

The commoners and upper nobility mingled idly in separate groups. You could tell which was which because you happened to have eyes, but even if their attires weren't on two entirely opposite ends of the formal-fancy spectrum, their behavior spoke for them as well. The average bug was laughing with their peers and actually having fun, wings buzzing and antennae bobbing to the music that played from the balcony overhead. The nobles were more focused on their eternal game of dick measuring. Who wore the most expensive dress or robe, who had the most scandalous gossip on hand, and who could keep a poker face the longest when they were supposed to be enjoying themselves.

You followed Hornet around like a shadow. You weren't particularly concerned about harm coming to her anytime soon (you could see the devouts crawling in the rafters), but you were an excellent deterrent from people obliviously trampling over her by accident.

Locating a neatly made table, the Princess promptly grabs onto your cloak again and tugs you in its direction. The pristine white tablecloth was adorned by trays upon trays of delicacies, none of which you knew what it was made of. 

Hornet did not hesitate. The ferocity with which she attacked the food was as amusing as it was improper, but she didn't really seem to care. You just giggled and politely stood guard beside her as she did her thing.

“So–” She started abruptly, her mouth full, “ –where are the others?”

“Hallow and Co.?”

“Mhm?”

“Getting dolled up still, I reckon.” You guessed, carefully leaning back against the tabletop. Your hands found a crystal glass, which you paused to fill with water. “I saw the maids chasing the twins around with formalwear earlier. I don't think they're making it easy on them.” 

Hornet snickered around her mouthful as she took a piece of what looked like deep fried tennis balls to you in her claws, debating if she should swallow her current bite before going for it or not.

“They're not going anywhere, Your Highness. You'll choke.” You warned, delicately pushing the nutrient orb away from her as you tipped the edge of your mask up with the glass and sipped your drink. She pouted.

“I know, I know, but they're so good! We don't have this back home–”

“Is that supposed to be the heir of Deepnest?”

Your ears twitch.

As Hornet passionately rambles on about arachnid cuisine, you discreetly shift your eyes towards a pair of noblewomen talking too loudly a table over.

“Look at how she's stuffing her face…”

“So loud, too. And did you see how she dragged that messenger around like a ragdoll?”

“What did you expect from the spawn of a barbarian? Damn beasts.”

“Why did His Majesty even bother–”

A collective silence washes over the immediate crowd as the glass in your hand shatters. 

“Masky?”

That hurts. Oh, that hurts a lot, actually!

“Maskfly?? You're bleeding–” Hornet shakes your arm in concern. You release the shards digging into your palm.

Quick, evasive manoeuvre!

“No worries, Princess!” You announce cheerfully as you snatch her up and balance her on your hip. She yelps and locks her arms around your neck as she babbles in confusion. “Clumsy me, breaking my cups– can't have you stepping into that mess, Your Highness!”

You need to get out of here before you jump those two.

Ignoring the stares and side-eyes, you carried Hornet to the doors, where Queen Herrah was standing idly as she surveyed the crowd.

“Oh? Now Hornet, I thought you grew out of biting…” She assumed that was the case as she noticed your injured palm. You chuckled and put the still very confuddled Princess down on the floor.

“It was my own carelessness, Your Majesty. Please excuse me while I go clean this up.”

“Wait– Wait, Maskfly what was that, what happened–?”

You didn’t care to entertain Hornet’s questioning, and swiftly left the scene through the open doorway. 

Once you were a fair distance out of earshot you slipped into the nearest washroom, clutched your cut up hand and screamed in lower case.

“God– fuckin– OW–” Damn those prejudiced prudes! Damn them AND your grip! Arnold Schwarzenegger’s a damsel in fucking distress next to you! 

You fumbled uselessly with the flaps of your uniform for a moment before pulling out a tiny tear-shaped glass vial from one of your many pockets. Glowing white flecks of soul flickered within. 

You popped the cork out and jabbed the mouth of the vial against your hand. It stung, but the cuts eventually closed up and scarred over, allowing you to wash your hands properly.

Cheering, faint as a storm through a closed window echoed through the hallways of the palace, alerting you of the event having gone underway. The royal family has at last joined the crowd, and the celebration has truly begun.

So you were late.

“Fantastic. Fucking spectacular.” You mutter angily as you hastily wipe the water from your hands. “I leave for three minutes and the shebang starts immediately.”

Since you were already late, you might as well stop by your room to fetch Hallow's gift. You'd rather go get it now than later.

Sulking down the hall, you run into Timeus as he was showing a newbie around the Palace. She was a lanky dragonfly looking gal, towering over him.

“Hey Tim.” You greet moodily, to which your friend perks. His companion seems to shrink, somehow.

“Oh, Maskfly! We were just talking about you!” He gently pushes the woman forward. “This is Rogue. It's her first day!”

As you see the flaming orange color almost drain from her carapace you realize you might not look all that friendly right now.

You (with immeasurable smoothness) lean against the wall and cross your legs.

”Hi Rogue! I trust Tim has been treating you well?”

She stammered at the sudden change in attitude, but took it in stride.

“Ah– Hi! Yes, he has been very helpful.”

“The student becomes the master… He used to be so shy!” You whimper theatrically as you wipe a faux tear from your eye. Timeus stuck his tongue out at you.

“It's more the general quietude of the Palace than any actual character development.”  He muttered.

“You sell yourself short, my friend.” You state sagely, stiffly patting his head like you were blessing him. Rogue giggled quietly.

“Yeah, yeah–” he pushes your hand away, “Speaking of the Palace being quiet, shouldn't you be at the party right now?”

“Shouldn't you?” You retort.

“I have to finish giving our new coworker here a tour.”

“You've been doing that a lot lately.”

“Yes, well, you've been sick. It would have been your job otherwise.” Timeus pointed out factually.

The turnover rate for the messenger position has reached an all time high. Everyone's quitting, and the King has been scrambling to keep the headcount at a reasonable amount. There hadn't been any room for negotiation either, as all of them (fittingly enough) had quit over letters.

“Fair enough. I'm out because I ruined my glove, and thought I'd fetch Prince Hallow's gift while I secure a new one.”

“Oh right, you were quite excited about that.”

“Still am! They'll love it.” You say proudly, resuming your stride after steering around the pair. “Oh also, if you end up joining soon, just know Queen Herrah is here. Try to keep our new friend from fainting.”

You cackle as you abscond with an indignant "rude!" calling after you.

Barely five minutes pass as you acquire a change of gloves and fish the still carefully wrapped nail from where it was discreetly shoved into your closet and covered with your other cloaks.

…you should wear those sometime, actually. You liked your uniform just fine, but it was, well, a uniform. You received additional clothing for a reason. You weren't on duty. 

What color was considered formal? The blues looked more casual, the black ones you really liked but could only imagine being appropriate for a funeral, so that left you with this…odd purple-red-ish shade that the nobles wore. 

You'll stick with white for now.

You carefully lifted the nail over your shoulder, and let it attach itself to your back. It was a neat feature, something about soul resonance? Though in your case they'd slowly start slipping off after a while. You'd just adjust it as you go.

Gradually approaching the ballroom, you notice how oddly quiet it is.

The music paused, nobody's laughing, and the only life signs you can hear is the dull rumble of conspiratorial murmuring. Your steps were almost uncomfortably loud, too. And much quicker than you were walking.

Wait, those aren't yours–

Someone running in the opposite direction collides with your side as you turn a corner, leaving you spinning around your axis for a moment.

“WhOah! Careful there–”

The flash of a silver robe.

“...Hallow?” The steps grow farther the longer you take to gather your senses. “Hey, wait–!”

What happened? Did they get something spilled on their outfit? Did someone sabotage the event?

“Your Highness please–!” You call to them as you run, reaching back to instead clutch the nail against your chest once you feel it slipping. “What's wrong?? Let me help!”

Alas, Prince Hallow did not seem to appreciate how quickly you were catching up to them. Stopping only briefly, they pivoted around and released an angry, grating shriek of a spell in your general direction.

Thankfully you were out of its range, but the shockwave it delivered still sent you tumbling onto your behind as you heard a door slam under the fading echo of the casting.

You sat dumbly in the middle of the hallway for a few seconds, hood blown off your head and hair frazzled from the Soul wind, clinging to the cloth-wrapped nail like it was the only thing keeping you from blowing out the back window.

Evidently, Hallow was not having a great time.

With some effort, you teetered back to your feet and cautiously approached the firstborn's bedroom door. A moment of pressing your ear against it cued you in that they were throwing things around in there. Your attempt at knocking didn't put a stop to it either.

You slowly opened the door.

Prince Hallow's room was in disarray. Half their bookshelf was on the floor, their desk was swiped of all occupying contents, and the vessel themself was almost vibrating with anger.

You barely opened your mouth when they suddenly swung, and struck the nearest wall.

You heard a lot of things at once.

The metallic clang of their fist connecting with solid silver, the quiet crack of their carapace, a pained warbling keen, the whoosh of soul as they healed it right after.

The tearing of wallpaper, the crack of drywall, the deafening song of cicadas ringing in your ears.

Your face hurts.

“Hallow?”  The vessel jumps, whipping their head towards you.

You approach carefully, leaning the nail against the desk and reaching out to the trembling Prince.

“C'mere. Talk to me.”

After a moment of hesitation, they fall into your arms.

You maneuver them to their bed, settling down side by side as they do their very best to bury their face into your chest. You gently play with their previously injured hand as they gather themself.

Once they were calm enough, they pushed off of you.

*He said no.*

That alone didn't tell you much.

“Who?”

*Father. You said to ask him today. He said no.*

Ah! The field trip thing.

“Oh. Why?”

*He said I'm not ready.*

Well that's just utter bullshit, isn't it? They knocked you on your ass with the mere afterthought of a spell a minute ago.

In the following minutes, Hallow explained what had happened.

After the royal family entered the ballroom, most of the guests got so enthusiastic, they decided they MUST hand over the gift they brought IMMEDIATELY or they might combust.

The King found this really amusing, so he moved the gift giving segment forward from later in the night to right then.

Hallow expressed to you that while it was somewhat overwhelming, they wholeheartedly appreciated all the gifts they received. Until it was time for the big question, that is.

His royal Majesty stood in front of his eldest, and said; "As my gift to you, my child, I shall grant you a wish. Anything you want, I will make it happen for you."

Hallow, confident in their success, asked for nothing more than to explore the Kingdom they will once inherit. They wished to see, to experience, and to have you as their escort.

In your mind, the request was reasonable. Hallow was responsible and well trained, and you knew every scenic route in the kingdom like the back of your hand. You were perfectly qualified to steer them away from potential danger.

But the King refused.

He said they weren't ready yet. That they don't know how dangerous it is outside the Palace. To wait another two years. To ask for something else.

Your brows furrow with indignation. So that's why they ran off– to be fair you didn't blame them in the slightest. He says to ask for anything, then immediately breaks his word. He humiliated them in front of their future subjects.

You glance towards your gift. The sympathetic anger coursing through you washes away any rational thought as you reach over, take the nail, and deposit it in their lap.

“Open it.” You instruct as you stand, finally pulling the hood back onto your head. You ignore the choked noise they make as they lay eyes on their gift while you throw their wardrobe open and pick out a less decorated cloak from its confines.

When you turn to them, they're staring up at you with a look you can't decipher. The nail is cradled to their chest like something precious, the cloth it was wrapped in still clutched between their claws.

You toss the cloak to them.

“Change.”

*Why?*

You grin.

“We're going on a field trip.”

-

“I don't want to do this.” Detective Mulligan moaned as he bonked his head against the wall beside the doorbell.

“Want to sit this one out, son?” His partner asked, bemused. Mulligan threw him a dirty look as he immediately straightened his back and hit the button. “There you go.”

The men stood on the front porch of a tidy little buttercup yellow house. The lawn grew not grass but clovers, the tiny plants framing the occasional wildflower peeking through the green. A white picket fence framed the front of the house with a matching mailbox standing beside it, the family's surname etched into its side in cursive.

The tune of the doorbell was a windchime rendition of Amazing Grace, ringing through the home as Mulligan stared down at the Live-Laugh-Love doormat he refused to step on, lest he contract the cringe.

…

“They aren't in much of a hurry, are they?” Stockholm mentions offhandedly after the unreasonably long chime fizzled out with no indication that it roused anybody.

“Yeah. They did this last time too.” The younger man muttered, remembering how they made him wait about ten minutes before opening the door.

Though this time it seems something possessed them to get off their lazy asses, as the door opened only a heartbeat after the faint scrape of a peephole cover.

“Yes? Can I help you?” A woman opened the door just enough to stick her upper half out, glancing between them with obvious apprehension. Mulligan noticed the flash of recognition in her eyes as her gaze momentarily settled on him.

“Senior Detective Alexander Stockholm, ma'am." The older man introduced himself, flashing his badge as per usual. “You've met my partner. We're here with news on the investigation.”

The woman nodded and stepped back to let them enter the home, quickly walking away and calling for her husband upstairs.

“Senior–" Mulligan snickered, “You're old, gonna croak any moment, man.”

“Shut up.”

The detectives stood around the living room idly as they waited to be shown where to sit.

The room was arranged like the set of a boring TV show; pale blue pinstripe wallpaper, light oak furniture, and a dull gray L shaped couch next to a little glass table. There were no knick-knacks, no mess, no houseplants, no indication that people lived here. Just a whole lot of dust.

The woman soon returned from upstairs with her husband in tow, clinging to his arm as they descended the steps of the creaky wooden staircase. Mulligan started towards the kitchen, intending to beeline towards the table he saw the corner of through the amber bead curtains, but the husband quickly steered him away by physically stepping in front of him with a polite smile. Again.

“This way, sirs. It's much more comfortable here than those creaky old chairs.” The man gestured the detectives towards the dusty mass of gray cushions.

The three men sat down on the couch as the lady of the house went to fetch the guests coffee, unprompted.

“I want to thank you again, for helping us find our child. I don't know what we would do without you.” The man spoke gratefully, his voice low. Mulligan furrowed his brows.

“We are only doing our job, sir. Though I'm afraid we came with bad news today.” Stockholm sighed, taking initiative to begin removing a handful of items from his bag. A notepad, a pen, a document folder, and a ziplock bag whose contents were shielded by a large sticker on the front marking it as evidence. He had to awkwardly half-stand and lean over to reach the coffee table.

Mulligan resisted the urge to spitefully wipe his shoes on the beige rug under his feet.

The woman returned after an awkwardly long time of staring at the biblical paintings on the walls (and Mulligan shamelessly migrating to sit directly beside the little table on the floor), and set two cups of coffee on the table. Judging by the drops of water rolling down their sides and forming rings upon the glass tabletop, she had just washed them.

Stockholm patiently waited for her to sit beside her spouse before he began.

“We have made significant progress in the investigation, though – ashamed as I am to say – we had to rely on some rather far-fetched speculation and dumb luck to get this far. I'll take this as an opportunity to ask if you have anything else you can provide us.” He spoke, subtly prodding the parents for their lack of proper cooperation so far.

The couple shamefully shook their heads no.

“We have nothing. I looked through the entire house, I couldn't find anything past what I already gave you.” The mother wiped a tear from her eye as she spoke. “They must have taken everything with them.”

The explanation was met with a short hum on Mulligan's part, as he readily took over the conversation.

“Regardless, we know where they went.” He flipped open the folder and slipped a newspaper clipping across the table. “This details a road accident that occured on the mountainside down South. The car swerved through the rail and exploded on impact.”

The father's brow noticeably twitched.

“How…” He trailed off as he glared down at the picture of what apparently used to be a car. “How can you possibly know that's my car?”

Mulligan pursed his lips and raised the ziplock bag off the table.

“This yours?” Inside the bag was a scuffed, beat-up golden cross. The pin with which it was once attached to the hood of the car was there beside it, broken off.

The silence was resounding.

“Calm down, honey.” The woman consoled her husband as he started trembling. From what – fear, anger, or something else – was unclear.

“We found this at the site of the wreckage. If you could confirm that you recognise it, then we in turn can confirm that the car was yours.”

Finally, through grit teeth, the husband replies.

“It's mine.”

“On that note,” Stockholm continues, “I'm sure you may already suspect, but this is the news we came to deliver. If your child was truly the one who took your vehicle and remained inside by the time of the crash, there is a high chance that they hadn't made it out.”

The parents freeze.

“We didn't find any human remains in the car itself, but that doesn't change anything. Even if they managed to get out before the explosion, they couldn't have gotten far with how big of a drop it was.” Mulligan clarified grimly. “The team wasn't equipped for searching the woods at the time. Further investigation will have to take place after the terrain hardens back from the recent storm.”

A large rainstorm had passed through the designated area only a day prior. It was ill advised for anyone to wander the forest in knee deep mud.

“What he means to say is…” The older detective interjected, a touch softer than his partner had been, “It would be best to prepare for the worst.”

“No, no.” The man started , “I'm sure they're fine. They're probably hiding out at their friend's again–” His wife harshly buries her face in his chest. “That is to say, we pray for their safety in the meantime. By the Lord's will, they'll come home safe and sound.” He quickly switched gears as he brushed his fingers through his spouse's hair.

Stockholm nodded sympathetically before he stood up.

“And we will do everything within our power to help. Now, if we could step outside? I feel some sunshine would do us well.” He took his pen and notes but left the bag behind, signaling for Mulligan to pack the evidence together as he and the parents walked out to converse more in the garden. He could hear them through the half-closed door, thanking him profusely, and Stockholm asking them more about that friend they mentioned.

“Yeah, sure. Will the Lord also make you give a shit about your damn child, or does it only apply when you want it to?” He muttered under his breath in frustration. They weren't nearly as accommodating when it was just him. Where did their passive aggressive bullshit go?

Lifting the cut out page of newspaper, he glowered at the dreary picture of melted metal and burnt grass even as he slipped it back in the file. For a morbid second, he wonders if he'll feel just as horrible seeing that child's face in an obituary as he does this one image. He takes a deep breath.

…something smells in here.

It's faint, but there. He wasn't surprised he hadn't smelled it over the coffee that neither of them touched. A brief look around the room yielded nothing that could smell like that. The place was dusty, sure, but otherwise completely clean.

Was it coming from the kitchen?

…

He shouldn't.

Though he was already moving he knew he shouldn't, he didn't have a warrant and this was very illegal, but damn it, he can pin it under reasonable suspicion if he gets caught. There has to be a reason they didn't let them in there.

He glanced back at the front door, confirming that the other three were still happily conversing about the kid's classmate who they liked to run off to when they wanted to escape their chores, and brushed the beaded curtain aside. Peeking in, he just about tripped over his feet.

The kitchen was an absolute disaster.

In contrast to the well kept living room, the heart of the house was a filthy mess. Just about every plate and dish the average household contains was dirty and stacked precariously into the twin sink, and on the counters and table since it was apparent the towers couldn't grow any taller. Used pots and pans were further stacked on the stovetop, and as he dared venture closer, he found that the majority of the silverware drawer's contents were housed within the chunky (in places fuzzy), opaque water inside the largest saucepan.

He almost yelped when the toe of his shoe landed in something wet, only for the offending liquid to be a simple puddle pooling from the fridge and its still dripping water dispenser rather than anything else. That one puddle was likely the cleanest thing in this damn kitchen, if he considered the suds in it.

Spills and stains tainted the floor, tablecloth, and just about every other horizontal surface there was. A small mountain of take-out boxes grew from the wastebasket, and it seems that wasn't even the last of them, as Detective Mulligan was certain he saw several of the reoccurring restaurant brands peeking through the tinted glass of the microwave.

"Out of sight out of mind" didn't mean much in this situation.

Especially with the smell. Tugging the collar of his shirt over the lower half of his face, he stepped over a dead roach and equipped a wooden spoon whose handle was able to be touched without a hazmat suit, and used it to carefully jostle the stack of dishes in the left sink.

He saw green and black underneath. The faint buzzing in the other sink didn't convince him to try the same with that stack as well, so he dropped the spoon back into the slop in the saucepan and disrespectfully Nope™-d the fuck away from the moldy sink.

He all but ran out of the kitchen, only stopping to try and still the swinging bead strings to mask his intrusion.

“What the fuck??” He quietly demanded from the still air of the blessedly nicer smelling living room.

“Samuel?” Stockholm calls in, to which Mulligan quickly grabs the packed bag and starts towards the door.

“Uh– yeah?” He pushes the door completely open, squinting a little from the lighting change.

“Got everything?”

“Yessir.”

“Well then, however brief, thank you for your hospitality. Hopefully we'll have better news to bring you next time.” The senior detective wished farewell to the couple, who watched in each other's arms as they got in their car and pulled away from the house.

“At least they pretended to give a shit this time.” Mulligan grumbled as he belatedly strapped himself in. His partner sighed.

“They're in denial, Sam. I've seen this before.”

“The guy's in denial about his precious metal baby, maybe. This is NOT how they presented themselves when I was here. I told you how they acted!” He gestured along indignantly.

“Sam, please,” Stockholm raised a hand from the wheel to pinch at the skin between his eyes. “I'm not saying they are the best of parents, I'm fairly certain they aren't. But you saw how they reacted to the news. Nobody wants to hear that their child could be dead.”

He…may have a point there. 

Mulligan muttered something illegible.

“What was that?”

“I said, Okay fine, you're probably right, what's for dinner?” 

“Oh, you're coming over?” The older man cracked a smile. “I think Miriam made casserole today.”

“Oh, hell yeah.”

-

“Keep pace, Hallow.”

Ever-falling rain patters on your cloak as you hold it over the Prince's head. Hallow whips their attention to and fro excitedly, waving at shocked locals and silently ooh-ing at the sights. Their hands never slow, but you've given up on reading them in favor of actually paying attention to where you were going.

You turn to them when they poke at your side.

*So it's true that it never ever stops raining?*

“Unfortunately. Hopefully they'll fix it soon.” You grumble moodily.

*Why should they? It looks like it's supposed to be like this. Look at all the fountains everywhere!*   Hallow attempts to excuse what is a massive safety hazard in your eyes as you steer them under the parasol of a small building.

“Yeah, well, it's still gross negligence.” You articulate with exaggerated head movements as you take the empty Soul vial from your cloak and insert it into a little nook in the mechanism installed on the wall. “It's bad enough they're relying on blind hope that the LITERAL CRACKS in the ceiling the rain is coming from won't just give way for the entire lake up there to come down on the City one day. But then you have erosion to worry about too!”

Hallow watched with fascination as you shoved the cork into a slot, a geo in another, and cranked the lever. Soul dispensed into your vial.

*Erosion?*

“Yeah. Running water likes to carve lines into things. The things in this case are…literally everything.” You grimace as you put your first-aid tool away. “Plus its rocky relationship with metal- have you seen the guard platforms? They're rustier than the old bed frame in Sara's dad's garage.” You've spent many nights crashing on that thing. It creaked every time you even looked at it.

Hallow had no clue what you were talking about, but empathized anyway.

“You know those things almost killed Timeus? One of them damned platforms collapsed when he was subbing for Suzu last week. Poor guy was so frightened he came back without completing his delivery.” Your poor buddy. That was when you swore you would strangle Lurien the next time you saw him.

*What!?* So that's how you get them to see your concerns about the rain. Fair enough! 

“Yeah. So that's why I'm so sick of the rain here. Pun intended.” The vessel somehow scowls at you. “So how about I take you to the driest place in the city?”

Hallow and yourself soon stood in a relatively deserted area of the capital, faced with a collection of pipes thrice as wide as yourself, arranged in a half circle with openings facing outwards, stretching infinitely into the sky. This section of the city no longer overlapped with the lake above. The Vents, wonderful magic powered contraptions serving as the Kingdom's ventilation system.

Occasionally, as if Hallownest itself was breathing, the pipes lit up in intricate carvings before propelling a gust of fresh air from the surface out into the cavern. 

You barely reacted as the sudden winds almost blew you over. The Prince however ended up on the ground, bewildered.

“Yeah! That's about how I looked when I first saw them too!” You giggled, helping them up as sparkles lit up in their eyes.

*Show me more.*

You were all too happy to oblige.

You showed them the Fungal Wastes. You told them about the mantises and gave them about a million reasons why you wouldn't be visiting them right now, you bounced on the rubbery purple mushrooms together, and chased baby funglings around. You showed them your map of the area, all your little pins and doodles of landmarks you couldn't show them due to risky acid blockages, and introduced them to the game of Mushy Roulette; an activity of your design, in which you make a guess whether a mushroom would get up and run away after lobbing a pebble at it. Hallow's favorite thing seemed to be swinging their nail around and watching how the floating spores moved in response.

You showed them Queen's Station. The rumbling of activity as bugs from all over the Kingdom made friends with total strangers while they waited for the next stag, how the time tables worked, and what benches were more comfortable than others. You even briefed them in travel etiquette in preparation for taking the stagways up to the surface. (You did not ride with Hallow. Though the stag insisted that he could easily carry both of you, the vessel looked awkward enough in the seat designed for bugs much shorter than the two of you. Instead, you challenged the stag to a race. You lost, but the older bug still seemed very impressed with you.)

Though they got a little dizzy, they all but ran out of Dirtmouth Station when you arrived. You took your time introducing them to all your friends, and watched them run around with the children while you caught up with them. You showed them the cemetery, the market, and the sky. You spent about an hour just cloud gazing from Lady Iselda's rooftop. You don't think you've ever seen them so peaceful before.

You showed them the mines of Crystal Peak. It was a brief visit, it was an active workplace after all, but you still wanted to show them around (if not just to see them freak out over all the shiny rocks all over the place. They were cute when they did that). You assured them that while you would not be visiting Her Majesty The Radiance and her moths today, you would bring them along the next time you deliver to them.

You did not have a map of the Crossroads. This resulted in the young heir experiencing being lost for the first time, as you two wandered around aimlessly, acting like you were just tourists looking at sights that weren't there to avoid admitting it. Most of your journey was filled with shrieks and giggles as you ran from territorial vengeflies.

Your wandering eventually landed you on the lush trails of Greenpath. After clarifying that you actually had a map for this area, you lead Hallow along the scenic routes. Their collection of random things has gradually started expanding to your pockets once theirs were filled. The growing stock of gizmos consisted of mushrooms, rocks, gems, a cute tiktik themed keychain, a motley assortment of plants (mostly weeds), and a charm. The charm was immediately pinned onto the vessel’s attire upon purchase, and they’ve been just slightly faster than you ever since.

You watched fondly as they sat at the edge of a platform and tossed sticks and moss giblets into the acid below. You stood silently a few feet away, birdwatching. The creatures of your namesake soared through the humid air in packs, all landing in a hole in the cavern wall above.

You saved the best for last.

Now, you sit, criss-cross applesauce on the edge of an overhang in a cradle of bubbles. The soft pinks and blues of the Fog Canyon were almost ethereal compared to the rest of the Kingdom. Hallow was absolutely captivated, hands still for the first time in the past few hours. Giant jellyfish float around like living helium balloons. It’s quiet. You twirl a dandelion between your fingers.

Your companion’s attention subtly shifts to you.

Hallow was feeling a lot of things. On one hand, this is the happiest they think they’ve ever been. On the other, they felt…a little disappointed. They wanted to see even more, but if you said it wasn’t the time, then they’d believe it. Your hands laid comfortably between the two of you.

This probably isn’t the time– they thought as they slowly inched their hand towards yours anyway.

You startled a little when you felt your pinkie fingers twist together.

*So…*

“Yeah?”

Their face flushed at the intensity of their own awkwardness, but they knew it’s best to accept the consequences. They held your finger a little tighter.

*How was it like where you’re from?*

You tilt your head. The expressionless mask shielding your face did absolutely nothing to tell the Prince whether they're crossing a line or not.

“Hm…” You started, not moving to separate your hands, which they figured was a good sign, “T’was warmer, sometimes. A few months a year it snowed. Mostly it was just louder.”

*I see…do you miss it? Your home?*

Why are you laughing–?

“Ehheh… not really, no.”

*Oh.*

Great job Hallow, you hit a sore subject. How do you rectify this?

*Well, mother says home is where you feel like you belong. Surely you have a place like that?*

Your prolonged silence was far from reassuring. The vessel felt their heart break a little. 

*But, you have the Palace! You have us! Does…that not count?*

The silence was getting louder. Hallow faltered.

*...You don’t think you belong here?*

You sighed.

“Of course not. I’m nothing like you.” You took their hand, bringing it up between you, palm to gloved palm. The pinkie they held so tightly a moment ago hung free. “I’m an outsider. The retainers make that very clear. How could I?”

The Prince was at last faced with the reality of their friend’s situation. They’ve long learned to ignore the judgemental gossiping habits of the royal retainers, but even they caught wind of the things they muttered about you. They called you a monster.

They never believed that.

Threading your fingers together, they signed,

*I think you do.*

Chapter Text

A pair of figures sneak past the open gates. They stick to the shadows, hiding behind corners and communicating via nonsense hand gestures that neither really understand but go along with anyway. 

The music still played faintly in the ballroom. It seems the Prince's absence was written off as a mere teenage tantrum. Perfect. Nothing could possibly go wrong from here.

“And where exactly have you two been?”

I spoke too soon.

You and Hallow freeze mid step, heads slowly panning over to stare at whoever caught you.

“...Dryyaaaaa–” You start, decidedly NOT suspicious, “Friend, my gal pal, my sister in arms! How are you doing tonight?”

“Maskfly…”

“Is the party still going? You've taken some time off to enjoy yourself, right? You should really take it easier sometimes, you'll run yourself into the ground–”

“Maskfly!”

“Ughh…” You slump in defeat as Hallow stiffens beside you even more. “Yes, ma'am?”

“What were you thinking!?” She shows her displeasure by whacking you upside the head. You were a fool to have lowered yourself to within her deadly reach in your dramatising.

“You kidnapped a royal heir!”

“Kidnapping implies it was non-consensual.”

“Be serious!” Dryya hissed as she restrained herself from hitting you again. “You cannot just go against the King as you please!”

“You're sorely mistaken, girlfriend. He's my boss, not my King. I have full right to question him.” You scoffed, defiantly turning away from the loyal Knight to brush away the spores clinging to the edges of Hallow's cloak. “I acted in Their Royal Highness’ best interest.”

“Their best interest.”  She echoes, unamused.

“Yes. Do you have any idea how dizzying just being in this place is? Does it not hurt your eyes?” You gestured to your general surroundings. “My kind uses white rooms like this as a torture method!”

“We are not like you.” Dryya hissed, and Hallow frantically waved at her to rephrase what she just said.

“Clearly.” 

Hallow, bless them, determined that now would be a good time to separate you two before either of you does something stupid.

“Even if you have the right to question His Majesty, what right do you have to question a father?” She seethed as the vessel pushed you apart.

“I recognise that I have a very skewed perception on what a parent should and should not do, Dryya, but I did as I thought was right.”

“That is no excuse!”

“They asked him for one thing.”

“And that one thing would have endangered them! Come to your senses, Maskfly!”

“You don't honestly believe that, do you?” The Knight stands silent for a heartbeat. “As their tutor, you know better than anyone how capable they are. Denying them the simple pleasure of leaving their own fucking house is bullshit and you know it.”

“Language.”

“Don't fucking ‘language’ me.” You ignored Hallow's valiant attempt at physically pulling you away by the cloak, and only leaned closer to poke Dyya in the armoured chest. “Stop being an ass for five minutes and take a look at them, for God's sake! Do they look hurt to you? Are they shivering in fear? Did I traumatise them by letting them pet Mosscreeps in Greenpath?”

The way her eyes took on an odd glint cued you in that your speech was slowly devolving into a mix of Hallownestian and Queen's old English, but you didn't particularly care.

Dryya let out a long suffering sigh.

“I'm aware that from an outside perspective His Majesty’s decisions may seem, dare I say, unreasonable. But he has his reasons, and those reasons you are not privy to as a mere messenger.” Her glare reminded you way too much of your mother. You grit your teeth.

She continued with a sigh.

“But I do know you mean well, however much of a fool you are. I'm willing to vouch for you this once.”

You barely took a breath before she resumed,

“Do not let me catch you doing something like this again. You have to promise me.”

“...”

“Do you swear, Maskfly?”

“Yes, ma'am.”

“Good.” She pinched at the space between her eyes. Part of you hoped her headache would persist. “Return Prince Hallow to the ballroom at once. This conversation did not happen.”

“As you say, ma'am.”

You and Hallow walk slowly towards the ballroom, their head bowed in shame, your own held high. They startle when you rest your hand on their shoulder.

“I’m still taking you to see Lady Radiance the next time I go.”

*But you just promised you wouldn't?*

“I promised that I'd take you first. Order of operations apply.”

As your hand left their shoulder, Hallow found themself fidgeting.

*...are you going to get in trouble?*

“Not for this, no. I might later, if I feel like letting my frustrations out on the tree in your mother's garden.”

They gasp.

*Not the tree!*

“No, did you not see how it was looking at me last time? Old thing has it coming.”

The Prince's shoulders shook with silent giggles, and you huffed quietly in satisfaction.

As you arrive in front of the closed door, you pause to face each other. Hallow's hand rests upon the handle, but you make no indication that you would follow them any further. The music is slow, muffled through the wood.

*Are you not coming in?*

“No. I dunno about you, but I'm beat for tonight.”

*But I wanted to dance with you.*

You swallow a laugh as you shake your head.

“Maybe next time. You just go and enjoy yourself.” You brush one last spore off their clothes, adjust their collar, and gently pat them on the head. “Happy birthday, Hallow.”

You didn't even get a chance to retract your hands.

The vessel pulls you flush with them in one swift motion, arms locking around your waist in the tightest hug you've ever received. Your own arms hang in the air, unsure of what to do.

You don't end up reciprocating by the time they pull away.

*Thank you.* Is all they sign, before they push the door open and slip inside.

You barely hear the sudden commotion that erupts in the room through the ringing in your ears.

-

The next morning you half expected to wake up to armed guards ready to shank your ass at your bedside, but it seems Dryya did keep her word.

Thus, your morning routine went about as normal. Throw your clothes on, rinse your mouth out with spring water, and avoid the mirror until you don your mask. Though when you do come across your reflection at the end of your preparations, you note that your hair is reaching a pretty awkward length.

You had chopped it really short (rather sloppily) when you got here, so it wouldn’t stick out of your hood. Technically it was a good thing to rid your poor neglected hair of split ends, but you did look a wee silly afterwards. You’d have to ask somebody to tidy it for you this time.

Pulling your white hood on properly, you headed out of your room for breakfast.

“Good morning, Maskfly!”

“GAH–”

You clutch your pearls and become one with the hallway wall as your coworker innocently wishes you good morning. Suzu blinks up at you in dumbfounded silence, to which you chuckle nervously.

“Ehehehe, eyyyy Suzu! Sorry, I got caught a little off guard there…” 

“Are you…okay?”

“Yeah, yeah! Peachy, even. Anyhow-” You fix your attire as you regain your composure. “Did you need something?”

You expected her to shyly ask you to substitute for her again (you need to have a talk with her about responsibility sometime), but she just smiled and gestured to the general direction of the cafeteria instead.

“I just came to ask if you’d join me and Timeus for breakfast? I know you usually eat with the children, but they’re sleeping in today.”

Oh! They must have stayed up late with the festivities as an excuse.

“Ah– Sure! Do we know the menu?” You ask as you start walking together.

“I heard it’s fried boofly eggs. Lunch is supposed to be stuffed aspid, but you’re never here for lunch anyway, sooo–”

“Hey, I get back in time for lunch occasionally!”

“Will you today?”

“...Probably not!”

Approaching the bustle of the canteen, your stomach helpfully reminds you that you went to bed hungry yesterday. Your ladybug friend startles at the noise, but you reassured her that it’s just a thing your body does sometimes.

The cafeteria was busy with recently-woken retainers munching on their eggs and guards preparing themselves for morning training over a glass of honey mead. You and Suzu were quick to get your hands on your trays and join your fellow messengers at their usual table.

Timeus and Rogue were already there, patiently waiting until the gang was all together before they started their meal.

“Good morning Tim, new girl,” You greet, slipping behind the bench beside Timeus, and Suzu taking a seat by the sleepy dragonfly.

“Good morning.” Timeus greeted you quietly, and you lamented the return of his shy demeanour. You gave his back a gentle pat.

“Where’s Mister Pimo?” You inquire upon realising there was supposed to be a fifth messenger with you. The kindly old grasshopper was nowhere to be seen.

“He didn’t come back from delivery yesterday. Maybe he pulled a leg and decided to retire a little early?” Suzu speculated with a soft frown, and Timeus seemed to agree.

“Aw. Good for him though. He can spend ample time with his grandbabies now, at least. He always said he missed them.” Poor guy. Though you never did talk to him much. “So, Rogue was it? Did you settle in alright?” You ask, knowing the first night in a new place can be uncomfortable.

“Hm?” She perked up, and rubbed her eyes. “Oh, yeah, the nest is soft and the people are nice. I just didn’t sleep well.”

“Aw, how come?” The ladybird asked empathetically. Rogue made a strained noise.

“Ngh… can I overshare real quick?”

“Go on,”

“My mom’s pretty sick. My sister and I take care of her, but she works long hours, and now that I also got a job, there’s nobody at home with her. I guess I’m just worried that I can’t even go to check on her during the week since we have to live on site.” She complained, and you shared a look with your coworkers.

“You don’t have to stay at the palace all week.” Timeus assured as he took a bite of his food.

“Huh?”

“Yeah, coming in to work from home is a negotiable option.” You continue, “Timeus commutes from the Crossroads. You’re a City gal though, aren’t you? Right next door, basically.”

“Yeah!” She brightened significantly.

“So go talk to the King about that! As long as you’re here on time in the morning he won’t have any objections about it.”

Rogue seemed happy with that, and your breakfast resumed with peaceful conversation.

Once you've all eaten your fill, the four of you headed to the courtyard to receive your assignments for the day.

Royal messengers acquired their deliveries from tidy little mailboxes sitting built into the wall on the west side of the courtyard. There were a total of nine compartments in the 3×3 block, and ideally there were supposed to be nine messengers, but that headcount was tragically low at the moment.

You fished your key out from your pants’ pocket, and went to unlock your box in the top row.

“Where are you guys headed today?” Suzu inquired conversationally.

Timeus hummed as he lifted a few envelopes from his compartment. “All City folk, here.”

“I gotta head to Dirtmouth.” Rogue muttered as she read over the parchment in her hands, “I’ve never been up there.”

As Suzu helped the poor dragonfly with marking the fastest way to the surface on her map, you purse your lips at the sight of a very empty mailbox.

“I got nothin’.”

“Aw, lucky…” The newbie complained.

“I wouldn't say that…” Timeus shivered at the mere thought of why you didn't have any letters in your box. Rogue grew visibly concerned.

“Uh…?”

“He's tweaking because he'd rather die than deliver diplomatic letters. You get those in hand.” You explain, shutting the compartment and turning heel to head to the throne room. “I keep telling you, they're all very nice!”

“You came back with your uniform in tatters from one of them!”

“That was an anomaly, I swear!”

-

It was his day off. He should not be working right now. In fact, he should be paying attention to something else entirely! But alas, Detective Mulligan was furiously typing on his laptop instead of being of any help to his sister.

“Sammy.” Said the exasperated woman, deadpan. “Sammy have you listened to literally anything I just said?”

The man didn’t even glance up from his screen. “Yeaaah, uh, something about murder? I’m not that kind of detective, sorry. My condolences to whoever it was though–”

Mulligan yelped as his laptop slammed closed on his hands, uncovering the unimpressed face of his younger sibling. She retracted her hand from his computer to gesture at the pile of papers in front of her. Her navy blue nails glinted pointedly in the comically timed flicker of the lightbulb above.

“My paper. For the criminology course.” She demanded evenly.

Huffing, he rubbed his strained eyes and opened his laptop again. “Sorry, sorry. What was the issue?”

Amelia regarded her brother with her brows furrowed in concern. She didn’t doubt that his work was important, but was it so important that it must follow him home? They barely see each other as is.

“...You know what, forget that. What are you working on?” She asked, propping her elbows on her draft.

Mulligan blinked dumbly at this question for a moment, glancing between her and the screen.

“...The case.”

“Well, yeah, obviously. What are you looking at though?”

“Err,” Something he shouldn’t be, actually. “...promise of secrecy?”

“To the grave.”

They sealed it with a pinkie promise.

This could help her with her paper, he reasoned. Plus, a promise of secrecy cannot be broken. Nobody has to know how many laws he’s breaking by letting a civilian into the case proceedings.

And so he stood from his seat across the dinner table with a loud scrape of his chair, grabbed said chair, and moved to sit beside her. The table rocked a little. He leaned down to adjust the paper tissue that was propping up the shortest leg.

“So,” He started, tilting the screen towards her as she squished her cheek to his shoulder in interest. “I hacked into CPS.”

“W h a t.”

“Hear me out–” He quickly de-escalated, “I just need to check something.”

He couldn’t tell if the way she was looking at him meant she wanted to curse him out, or applaud him.

“And you couldn’t just… call them? To tell you whatever you want to hear?”

“We already have. We always do, when a minor is concerned. But in this case, the only visit they have made to that house was an, ‘inconclusive welfare check’. The kid wasn’t hit or starved, and that’s all we got. They keep all the fine details to themselves.” He explained as he scrolled up the the top of the specific file he was reading.

“And will these fine details help with finding them?”

“Not really, no.”

She gave him a Look.

He had no actual idea how to properly explain himself, or what he’d seen at that house. So it was best to just roll with it.

“So– Child Protective Services was apparently summoned by one of the kid’s teachers, a few years ago, because they, and I quote, ‘reeked of chlorine.’ You can imagine how that would be concerning when dealing with a then-thirteen-year-old, yeah?”

As she nodded, he scrolled further to open the attached gallery.

“The CPS-peeps arrived at the most inconspicuous house ever– boring, spotless, stocked with food, bills all paid, all appliances in tip-top condition, housing a wholesome family of three– though the kid did smell distinctly of bleach. All their neighbours loved them, they had no criminal records, the kid’s grades were alright, they even searched the house for anything illicit from top to bottom and found nothing. So they just…apologised for the intrusion, advised them to keep the tyke outta the chemical cabinet, and left.”

Mulligan could almost see the gears furiously turning in his sister’s head. She squinted sceptically at the pictures of the most average home she had ever seen. “Did they check the kid?”

“Their parents didn’t consent to a physical exam.”

“They can do that?”

“When there is no reasonable suspicion, they can. Icky legal stuff.” He scoffed.

“And all this means…what?”

“I’m… not entirely sure. Not that it matters much, the investigation doesn’t depend on whether the kid liked chugging Windex in their free time or not. I was just hoping to find some dirt, y’know?” He sulked as he made a thankful little patting motion at the icon of his VPN at the top of his screen with his cursor, and started closing his tabs. Amelia snorted.

“You really dislike them that much?”

“Oh my god, YES. They’re worse than your friends from middle school, I swear!”

At his sister’s insistence that nothing could top those girls in the field of being assholes, a very serious debate sparked at the dinner table. At the very least, it distracted him from work for a while.

-

You always were fascinated by the pearlescent wax of the seals they put on the diplomatic letters. The subtle shift of pastel colour in the light was really nice. As to why you were inspecting your delivery so closely, you were trying to act like you didn’t know Hallow was following you.

That is until you slowly turned around like a mob boss in his big leather chair, and caught them peeking out from behind a stalagmite.

“Your Highness.” You start, trying not to sound annoyed, “What are you doing?”

They just giggled silently like the cheeky bastard they were, and skipped over to you with all the enthusiasm of somebody who just successfully snuck away from home to go to a frat party.

*I’m accompanying you!* They signed happily.

“No. No you’re not, actually. You were on your way back to the Palace. You just gotta take a left, the Grounds should be right there.”

Hallow gave you an incredibly unimpressed look. You did not budge.

*But you said you’d take me the next time you go!* They tried to reason, but there was a glaring flaw in their argument that you had to point out.

“I said I’d take you to the Peaks. I’m going to Greenpath. You can’t come with me.” You stood your ground as you grabbed them by the scruff and gently placed them a more respectable distance away from your personal space. “Plus, we got caught literally like 12 hours ago with a promise that the next time at least one of us is eating shit. And frankly, that has a significantly higher chance of being me!”

*We’ll be more careful this time! We should be fine as long as we make it back before my training!* They insisted, and it wasn’t as if you didn’t want them coming along– you really wouldn't mind! But you didn’t want to die.

“Listen to me closely, Hallow.” You speak lowly as you grab them by the shoulders with utmost seriousness, leaning down to lessen the distance between you. “I get that being outside is very fun for one as sheltered as you, but you gotta understand that if I’m caught smuggling you out again, I’ll get in A LOT of trouble. I’m still coming up with a plan for the Peaks Operation. I need you to be patient, okay?”

You may have gotten a little too close there, but- oh! Their entire face had a grey tint to it. They weren’t sick, were they?

Regardless of whether Voidspawn could become ill at all, you manually turned the stiffened Prince around and patted them on the back like you were sending them off. “Go on, then. Have you even had breakfast yet? Honestly.”

The nod they gave you in response was fast and tiny, but a nod nonetheless, and you sighed in relief as they started teetering back towards the Palace. You watched them until they disappeared behind the corner, and even a little while after, just to be sure they actually left, before you continued your journey.

Your climb out of the Basin was relatively uneventful, save for the loooong elevator ride up to the City. A contraption big enough you could somewhat lay down in it! You lamented the fact that almost all others were so tiny…though really you were just too big, is all.

The guard stationed at the landing greeted you with a polite nod.

“Good morning, Maskfly! Where will your travels take you today?” She asked, wings buzzing noisily behind her.

“I'm visiting Lady Unn today. If I find her awake, that is.”

“She really sleeps that much?”

“Or she's just an introvert. Not our place to judge.” You shrugged, and the guard chuckled in agreement and waved you off as you stepped out into the rain.

You still need to invest in an umbrella.

Doing some quick routing in your head, you consult your map to double check, and determine that taking the elevator at King's Station up to the Crossroads is a faster way to Greenpath than crossing through the Fungal Wastes– and so you start going that way. Granted you never really explored this part of the City much before, as the noble district made you want to punt someone across the cavern.

As you walk between the tall, dark stone spires, a slight breeze from the Vents in the distance blows a sheet of parchment across the sidewalk. You stop, muttering about littering and how a community as high strung as this one outta keep its dang streets clean, and lean down to pick the paper out of a muddy puddle.

Why were there no trash cans around here? You never noticed it before, but you'd have to bring it up to Lurien the next time you see him.

As you hold the soaked page away from you by two fingers like a dead roach, you squint at the smudged ink below what seemed to be a portrait, and wait. The magical little subtitles take a wee bit longer to appear for you than they would on something easily readable...

Ah.

It's a missing poster.

You find yourself very much not surprised. It's a capital city, after all. Though, down here, a disappearance likely had much less to do with other people's animosity and more with being eaten by something or falling into acid.

Still, you can't help but feel bad. The City folk are so reserved to their little crying safe haven. This poor fellow wandered off one time and got munched on or blown up. (Because things also have a tendency to explode here. Case in point, the belfly infestation in the Storerooms.) Then again, he could just be lost somewhere, waiting for someone to find him…

You need to put this back on the wall.

Following the periodic breeze of the ventilation back towards where it likely tore the poster from its rightful display, you try to ignore said breeze blowing the rain through the sockets of your mask and straight into your eyes. And into your collar. And soaking into your shirt– you need a scarf. You should ask Timeus where he got his.

Another gust of air, and you see another page detach from the wall of a building to the left in front of you. You quickly switch to a run to catch it before it could faceplant into the water, and don't stop until you're in front of the wall.

…

You take a step back.

Then another. Tilting your head up, and up, you breathe a shaky sigh.

In front of you, the dull blue-black wall is filled. At least sixty, maybe more, so many you barely see the wall itself between them. Carefully drawn faces of bugs dead or alive glare down at you.

“What…?” You mutter faintly under your breath as you scan the posters.

Bugs are colourful creatures. You have trouble recognising them by their faces alone, and rely on body shape and the signature aspects of their attire. But names, you do your best to remember. So it's only natural your eyes would catch on one you recognise.

Erwin Pimo.

You can't help but drop the two you were holding in favour of snatching it from the wall. Then another. And another. And another.

In the end, it's fifteen different missing person's posters you hold in your hands. Each of them bear a name you recognise.

One marked your first route for you. Another accompanied you to your first white-seal delivery. Yet another fashioned your Hallownest Seal into a pin to hold your cloak together.

The messengers of White Palace weren't quitting en masse.

They were being targeted.

edit: june 20, '24

I apologize for the notification spam anyone who has them suffered- i fixed the artwork! They should be permanent now. Thank you for suggesting that postimages site to me.

Here are some doodles to make up for it- I wanted to practice drawing Hallow because their head is so oddly shaped hehe

Hang tight for the next installment! I'm graduating middle school and exams are kicking my entire ass-

Chapter Text

Soggy paper posters clenched tightly between your fingers, you run. The silken fibre tears under the tension of your grip as you desperately focus on your newest task; stop the others from leaving the Palace.

The rain hammers relentlessly as you propel yourself through the streets, vaulting over anything in your way as you beeline for the entrance of the Basin. These obstacles occasionally included clueless pedestrians, who either froze at your display of acrobatics, or ran for cover.

As the ominous dark silhouette of the Watcher’s Spire comes into clear view, so does the tunnel to the Basin elevator – along with the familiar figure of Timeus, clutching the hem of his uniform’s hood for dear life to shield his long antennae from the downpour.

Though you mean to yell for him, you do not immediately find your voice. Not that it was needed, as he’d have to be blind not to notice you approaching his location at Mach 2.

As you slow down to a jog, heaving from sudden exertion, he eyes you curiously. The tail of his scarf sways gently in the faint vent-breeze.

“Maskfly?” He mutters, as if he needed confirmation, “You’re still here? You’d usually be halfway through the Wastes by now.”

You ignore his astute observation. Still breathing heavily and trying your absolute damndest to sound calmer than you were, you point him back the way he came.

“You need… to go back.” You say between huffs, “Stop…the girls from le…leaving.”

You can see his brows furrow beneath the shadow of his hood as he nervously glances over his shoulder.

“...Why?” He drags out the Y with a clear inflection of concern, to which you present the posters in a sharp motion.

“Because something is HUNTING US, and I need you three to NOT be on a paper like this by next Monday.” Kingsday, not Monday. Honestly, you've been here for three months now. You can revise them later. 

The poor man stammered up at you with pure fear in his eyes, and you almost felt bad for the bluntness of your explanation.

“B-But–” He starts, hands moving to grip at his scarf like a lifeline, “Rogue already left!”

You proceed to further scare the poor guy by yelling an impulsive “FUCK” at the news that the newbie had already volunteered as tribute. You quickly grab him firmly by the shoulders, the silk parchment still in your hand folding against the side of his head.

“As your senior, I instruct you to return to the Palace and go to the King. You will tell him that he must issue a palace-wide lockdown. No one leaves and nobody enters. Can you do that?” You order, quickly loosening your hold on him when he hisses in pain. You can curse yourself for that later.

“I-I can’t–”

“Timeus, this is important.” You swear he cursed at that.

“R-Right!” He pulls away as soon as he’s able, awkwardly lingering for a moment. “Right…I-I’ll do that.”

“Good. Hurry, before Suzu decides to get off her ass.” He looks like he wants to reprimand you for that specific profanity, but you give him no time to.

“Go!” You shoo him off while already on the move yourself, jogging backwards until you see him turn tail and run back to the elevator.

Good.

Now you can focus on returning the escapee dragonfly to the nest.

As you run past the Spire, you make a mental note to go up there and strangle Lurien for keeping this obviously documented problem to himself on the way back.

“Rogue!?” You yell over the rain. The surrounding bystanders look at you oddly, mainly because most of them never actually heard you speak before. Which was their loss, really, you're a delight. 

Unfortunately for everyone involved, you didn't feel all that delighted at the moment.

“ROGUE! Fuck’s sake– YOU!” You point at an innocent bystander, who immediately drops her grocery basket and tries hiding behind a lampost to escape your scorn. “Have you seen a messenger pass through? Dragonfly. Pilot goggles.”

The stranger stuttered before shakily pointing in the direction she recalled seeing someone like that going.

“THANK YOU! Holy shit, something is going my way today!” Your celebration likely didn't do much to ease the poor woman's nerves, but it certainly helped you. Back on the road you go.

Eventually, thanks to your impressively loud yelling of her name, you finally catch sight of your target as she comes flying around the corner searching for you.

“There you are!” You cry with clear exasperation. Rogue zips over to you with clear intrigue on why she's needed so…loudly.

“Hi?? People are looking at you all mean, you know. You shouldn't yell like that in public.”

You take a moment to calm yourself and your breathing, before realising something odd.

“Yeah yeah…wait. Where did you come from?”

“Oh, just over that way.” She points nonchalantly back the way she came.

“...The fuck were you doing there?” There's a dead end that way. Did she not get a map?

“Isn't that our route?” She asks, uncertain. Bless her heart.

“No– here.” Entering mentor mode, you put the posters away and pull out your map scroll instead. You roll out the large parchment and show it off like you were giving a geography presentation.

“This line marked in blue is the courier route to the crossroads. I don't have a map of that place yet, but it's not difficult to find your way to the surface from over here. Just go upward where you can.” You explain, gesturing to where your map ends at the edge of the Wastes. “Our routes are optimised with traffic in mind. You could technically also take the elevators in the Storerooms and King's Station straight there, but we don't use those.” 

The Storerooms lift has been out of order for a hot minue, but why don't you use the Station elevator? …Is it because the way there cuts through the residential district? Probably. It's all nobles, they'd likely have a few things to say about lowly messengers flitting around their property.

“Oh…” Rogue whips out her own map and glances back and forth between it and yours with visible confusion.

“Yeah. Not that you'll be going there today.” You reassure, remembering that you're supposed to be doing something.

“Eh?”

“The Palace is on lockdown effective a few minutes ago. We're going back. Come on.”  You explain vaguely as you put your map away and immediately turn to leave.

“WHAT!?” Rogue shrieks with what you could only process as indignation. 

“Not exactly your place to argue, Rookie. The City is temporarily too dangerous.”

“Wha– Why??” With a frantic buzz, she was suddenly blocking your path. You casually pushed her a few inches to the side as she hovered in front of you.

“I'll tell you everything when we get there.” You insist. She didn't like that answer at all.

“Absolutely not! I have a delivery to make!” She reasoned, like that was a good argument.

“We all do! Tim had several and he didn't argue! Honestly.”

“T-They might be urgent!” She tired, and failed.

“Then they'd be yellow.”

“Ughh, stop!” She furiously pulled at your cloak to stop you, but ended up just getting dragged along. “You can't do this to me! It's only my first day!”

“I'm trying to make sure you have more.”

“Maskfly!” She sounded upset, but you didn't feel like dealing with a tantrum today. Just keep going. You're halfway there.

That is until Rogue, with the righteous fury of a 21 year old toddler, yanked your hood down in retaliation. Your hair immediately began to soak through.

“Oi–”

“You have no idea what this means to me!” She seethed, almost hissing at you. “Hundreds of open positions in this city and I chose messenger, do you have ANY idea why!?”

“I did not consent to a tragic backstory, girlfriend–”

“Because only THIS, this ONE job offered any training on how to survive outside the city walls. You know how it goes. I've not left this damned cavern ONCE in my life.” She was getting a little too comfortable breaching your personal space, so you took a step back to put some distance between her angrily chattering mandibles and your face. “I want to GO.”

“It's an honour to be the first ‘no’ you've been told, princess.” You drawl, unamused.

Suddenly, the dragonfly seemed to remember that you're technically her supervisor, and calmed down very quickly.

“I– I'm sorry, just…please? Please please please, I’ve been so excited for today. I can't wait any more, and who knows how long this lockdown is going to last!” She was begging you. Did it truly mean so much?

Though you can't say you don't relate, in a way. The letter in your pocket is burning a nasty hole in your chest. You need to deliver this. It's your job.

…But you'd rather be alive to deliver late than die delivering on time.

“Look.” You begin after heaving the mother of all sighs, “You want to go, but with what training? There has been nobody to train you because there's so few of us. Hell, you're supposed to be chaperoned throughout your training period, but there's just nobody available for it! The wilds are dangerous to anyone, nevermind someone who's never seen them before. You got lost before you even left the City, for fucks sake!”

You try to reason, but the girl is stubborn as a mule. 

“I'll be fine! Just let me go, I can do it!”

Ah…

‘I can do it!’ You chime in, arms wide as if to accentuate your entire being. ‘I'll be back within the hour!’

Your mentor frantically tries to shield you from the King's view.

‘Absolutely not! Your Majesty please ignore them, they'd get themself killed–’

‘But I'm the fastest! Just give me your map and I'll go!’

The girl is stubborn…like you.

The student really does become the master.

“...Dirtmouth, was it?”

“Huh– yeah! Yes!”

You can't believe you're doing this.

“I know a shortcut.”

-

“ARE YOU INSANE!?”

“It's the fastest way up!”

The air around you was thick with the smell of mould and refuse. Litter trembled in the breeze at your feet.

You had dragged Rogue to the Vent…singular, a whole different machine than the shiny, ornate ones you had gone to see with Hallow. The place was damp and gross, as every discarded knick-knack and trash across the City eventually ended up here, carried on the back of the air currents (unless they got washed down into the sewers first, of course). 

You slipped your fingers between the slimy grates of the Vent’s opening, and yanked it right off.

“Chill out, I've done this before.”

“You HAVE??” Rogue seemed to be evaluating your mental state.

“Sure! 

Unlike the other Vents, this contraption acted like a vacuum, sucking up as much air as it could in one long session, rather than in short bursts like the import. This allowed you to use it as an…unconventional elevator of sorts. 

“There is no way in the freezing pits of the Abyss that I am getting in there.” She crossed her arms, visibly shivering with disgust. You gave her a sly look.

“It’s either this or nothing, Rookie.” Rogue whined pathetically at the ultimatum, eyeing the very damp inside of the chute. “Well?”

“It…it’s safe, right?”

“Oh, no. But it is fast.”

“That did nothing to reassure me.”

“Just get in before the program starts! I’ll protect your little head.”

Steeling her nerves (but mostly her stomach), the dragonfly inched toward the opening...slowly. Too slowly for your liking, so you took her by the waist and tossed her in feet first like a log.

Ignoring her loud protests, you clambered in after her with minor difficulty, pulling the grate back onto the frame after you.

The space was tight with two of you in there. The grate didn't let in much light, but you didn't need any to know you were being glared at with murderous intent.

Soon enough, a deep whirrr started up around you, white lines of spells running up the surrounding metal walls, shining through the microflora growing on the moist surface.

You clutch Rogue protectively to your chest. She grumbles as she accepts her fate.

“How did you even think of this…”

“The impulsive thoughts won.”

“I dread to think what other impulses you haAAA–”

Rogue's terrified screaming was drowned out by the howling of the air that shot you upwards. You cackled at her torment.

“I HATE YOU SO MUCH RIGHT NOW!”

“FIRST FLIGHT IS ROUGH, YOU’LL GET USED TO IT!”

“FUCK YOU–”

The further up you travelled, the less gross and damp the chute became. You braced yourself as you rapidly approached the dim sunlight.

“BRACE FOR IMPACT!” You yell over the wind, raising an arm to shield yourself.

“IMPACT!?”

The grate covering the top of the Vent shoots off as you barrel through it. The air current finally weakened, leaving you and your shaken colleague hovering for a moment, before gravity took effect once more. You land safely on the thin edges of the pipe.

[lazy art is lazy but i wanted to draw this scene so badly lmaooo]

Still clutching Rogue in an amateur chokehold, you hop backwards and land on the dusty earth of the surface. Sweet, sweet fresh oxygen.

“Here we are! See? That wasn't so bad.”

“Hhhhhhhhhhh”

When you released her, she fell to her knees and heaved, looking a lot like she wanted to kiss the ground in joy of seeing it again. You roll your eyes as if you also hadn’t sat against the Vent contemplating your choices for a while the first time you did that.

“Don’t be such a drama queen. Get on with your delivery so I can do mine.”

“Right– Right, just, gimme a moment–” She muttered weakly before getting to her feet and stumbling towards the village.

The Vent was a ways away from the actual settlement for obvious stench related reasons, so she had more than enough opportunities to fall on her face on the way there. You decide to let that happen. Strengthening resilience is a crucial part of training.

You follow Rogue at a distance. She periodically glanced back at you like she was waiting for you to tell her where to go. You encouraged her to ask the locals for directions herself. She slumped dramatically, but bravely marched forward.

It’s a cloudy day today. You stare up at the sky, allowing yourself to lose sight of your trainee and just…breathe.

Don’t think about the faces in your pocket.

“Oh? Oh! Hello!” You perk up, tearing your eyes away from the sky to see one stocky lad.

“Hey, Mr. Cornifer.” You greet casually. “Looks like a storm is rolling in, no?”

“Maybe! The air certainly feels heavier.”

Small talk was not your specialty. The cartographer seemed to rock awkwardly back and forth as you stood there, staring at Rogue fluttering around the village aimlessly.

“Who is that young lady?” He asked curiously, as you clearly knew her.

“Newbie. I’m chaperoning her.” You reply, standing stock still like the emotionally constipated lamppost you were.

Cornifer chuckled at your response, prompting you to stare down at him questioningly.

“What?”

“Do you not feel dejá vu?” 

You glance between Rogue and Cornifer.

“I don’t get it.”

“You used to wander around like that not long ago.” He gestured humorously at Rogue’s pathetic traipsing, “And Margot would stand riiight there, judging you.”

You laughed weakly at his remark.

Margot. She was not one of the faces in your pocket.

She’d had to have a family to notice her absence for that.

“She’s one of those people you can’t help but take after, I guess.” You mumble, and calmly walk away from the man now quizzically tilting his head at you. “Rogue!”

You call to her, and she pauses in her effort to angle her letter into the wrong mail slot.

“Hey–” She bristles as you take the letter from her and deposit it in the slot of the neighbouring hut. “What gives?”

“We dawdled enough. We’re going back. I am already in for a lecture.”

-

“Are we there yet??” She whined, teetering after you awkwardly as if she was pulling a towed car after herself. You pause your quiet muttering.

“Patience, Rookie.”

“But I have to pee!”

“That sounds like a you problem. Go in a bush or something.” You offer hypothetically, to which she buzzed her wings indignantly back at you.

“Are you mad!? The last bush we saw got up and ran away!”

Indeed, the journey through Greenpath was quite the enjoyable one, as you had forbidden Rogue from flying during the majority of the trip. She’d have to learn not to be squeamish about getting her feet dirty one way or another. Her bitching was very entertaining. Though you did give her some slack after she foolishly foolished into a Fool eater.

Unfortunately, as much as you would have loved to chill out at Unn’s temple and forget about your worries for a few hours, you were indeed in a hurry, so you ended up entrusting the letter to one of her knights. Now, you were on your way back to the City.

“Hold it then. You can go when we get back to the Palace.”

“This is some sort of violation of worker’s rights…” She muttered, and you couldn’t help but laugh at her expense.

“You can’t be a messenger with a fast metabolism, Rogue, we’re on the road all day. You go before you leave, and maybe when you get there IF you’re lucky. The state doesn’t operate designated poo-poo stations for us at every corner.” Satisfied with your lecture and the shameless groan produced by your colleague, you went right back to muttering to yourself.

“Would you stop that?” She tactfully demanded.

“No can do, I need to rehearse.”

“For what, kindergarten?”

You giggled before ignoring her completely and continuing to rattle off what was essentially a nursery rhyme to teach grubs the days of the week, taught to you by Ze’mer, obviously. Your steady footfalls take on a metallic echo as you step onto the bridge leading to the capital.

It’s led by the King and raised by the Queen, it dreams with the Light and thrives in the Green. It goes to the Market to sell all its wares, then rests with the Void like everything else.

The bug week only had six days, which was horrible to get used to at first. Moreso when it became apparent that the “green” referenced in the rhyme referred to “Unnsday” and not “Greensday”. Technicalities.

Ah, you probably won’t be able to go out this Marketday. A shame. You saw a little trinket last time you thought Hallow would like. Oh, and crochet thread for Hornet! She was spending the month at the Palace as per the custody agreement.

…Herrah should probably be notified about the lockdown too. She may want the Princess home.

Rogue's insistent nagging did have you cease your practice eventually, though you were quite annoyed to do so.

“One more detour, Rookie. Have you ever been to the Watcher's Spire?”

“What are we doing there? I thought you needed an appointment to see the Watcher.” She is not wrong– but today is an emergency.

An “I'm going to throttle that guy” kind of emergency, but an emergency nonetheless.

“I have an appointment, don't worry.” Your left fist is called Appointment. Your right is Hospital Bill. The twins. The deadly duo.

Of course there's your two feet, The Nutcrackers. We don't talk about them.

“Why am I picking up murderous intent?”

“I have no idea what you're talking about.”

The downpour is relentless. You briefly consider taking off your horned mask to be able to tug your hood into your face more, but quickly abandon the idea. Rogue, with her soaked wings, mutters angrily at your side about clogged drains. Seems she had enough of trampling through waterlogged streets as well.

The blurred silhouette of the Spire comes into full view at last. It's quiet, as opposed to the rest of City you have just traversed. There seemed to be a common consensus about treating the Watcher's grounds like a library.

When you reach the gorgeously carved yet quite subdued front gates, you do not knock, much to Rogue's astonished horror.

“Royal envoys have free passes anywhere they go, my friend. Do not abuse this knowledge…much.” You reassure as you step in from the rain, and are immediately greeted by one of Lurien’s servants.

“Hello, hello, can I help you?” He greets in an exaggerated posh accent which you can't help but purse your lips at under your mask.

“I need to see the Watcher.”

“WE need to see the Watcher, they mean.” Rogue interjects, but you shove your hand in her face as a solid ‘no’. “Ack-”

“No, just me. She'd stay here.”

The servant frowns and shakes his head sagely at your request.

“Watcher Lurien is currently on vacation.” He says, and you can't believe your ears.

“Lurien? On vacation? Are we talking about the same guy?” You beg to differ, leaning down closer to the man's height, to which he does a practised noncommittal motion with his arms.

“We were shocked as well. There was a sudden change to the schedule and suddenly we were all on PR duty for the time.” That sounds agonising. You wince sympathetically.

“Did you at least get a good eyeful of Lurien with his little pink suitcase and big brimmed beach hat?” You joke, to which both the servant and Rogue exclaim a frazzled “Maskfly-!” Like you just spoke blasphemy. You blew a raspberry at the latter.

Once he regained his composure, which was thoroughly lost at the mere thought of his master with such a humorous descriptor, the servant shook his head.

“We did not see the Watcher depart. We only received a written notice on the bulletin board.”

“Ah. You're safe for now.” You mumble conspiratorially, but quickly change gears when the servant tilts his head at you. “You mind if I hop up to his study anyway? I'll just leave the letter on his desk.”

“What lett–” [smack]

“It must be handed directly to the recipient, after all. I couldn't in good conscience have one of you take it. You know how it is.” Rogue nibbles angrily at your hand.

“Oh, by all means! Though do forgive the amount of dust you will likely find. We do not venture up there when the Watcher is absent. It is a rule of his.”

“I know, I heard.” From the King, specifically. Lurien is quite self conscious of his unfinished paintings, so he doesn't let anyone near his study when he isn't there.

“Cool, let's go!” Rogue starts, but you catch her by the cloak and drag her back a few paces.

You hand the fistful of uniform to the servant.

“Babysit her for me while I do my job.”

“Of course!” He replies cheerfully .

What Rogue said to that, I will not say, because it's ugly.
I can hear the air piano from here.

You start up the stairs, and honestly, you're not sure what you're doing. You don't actually have a letter, this is just for show now. Though…you could write a note yourself. Leave a strongly worded letter on his desk for when he comes back from his little sabbatical. Yeah, that sounds like a plan.

The higher the floor, the less staff you found. Even Lurien’s famous knights were missing from their posts with nobody to defend. Only makes it easier to get up, you supposed. They always gave you trouble during delivery.

You ran a hand along the silver trimmed decor paper blanketing the walls of the hallway as you approached the elevator that would take you to the topmost room in the Spire. A long, long elevator ride awaits. Thankfully, there will be nobody around to make fun of you in the process this time.

Reaching the dreaded metal contraption that would trap you for the next few minutes, you take a seat and let your legs dangle off the side, as there were no little safety gates on this elevator. With a flick of a lever, you ascend.

Rain falls past you as droplets race down the tall window panes. The ambient city lights cast a dim pinkish glow on your silver uniform as you stare out into the hazy distance segmented by the shadows of skyscrapers. Your thoughts want to wander. You don’t let them.

Instead, your attention is caught by a smell.

You narrow your eyes and stare accusingly above you as the stench grows stronger with every inch upwards, because Jesus Christ, they could have at least cleaned up the remains of his last dinner–

It hits you.

Soot, decay, and rainwater.

The elevator comes to a halt. The rush of water is loud, almost ringing in your ears. The smell is making your stomach churn.

You don't want to turn around.

Slowly, carefully, you rise to a crouch within the elevator, and turn. 

The study is in ruins .

The rainfalls drums loudly through the broken window at the end of the room. Rough patches of black mar the wallpaper where it had been burned by Soul, Lurien's desk is upturned, its edges scarred with claw marks, documents are strewn about the floor, a chandelier lies shattered in the middle of the room and–

Slowly, you step out of the elevator. The misplaced papers crumple under your soles like quiet warnings as you approach the broken window.

You do not look down at the charred body of Lurien's butler curled on the floor.

You do not.

The rain is heavy. You stop at the edge, descend to your knees in a pool of shards, shaking hands resting on the metal supports of what was once a window, and heave.

The Watcher had been taken.

-

You are scared. 

Which may have been an equally terrifying sight to everyone around you, when you burst into the throne room dragging your aghast trainee behind you, because Maskfly was never scared.

An emergency meeting had taken place in the canteen, as it was the only place the entire court could fit besides the ballroom. Of the children, only Hallow was allowed to attend, so that hopefully they could sugarcoat the proceedings to the siblings through the Void link. The Queen had stayed behind to watch over them.

It dragged on far into the afternoon. You were asked to recount everything you saw in more detail than you were hoping. You needed to figure out what to do next . 

“Lurien is a powerful mage– how could he have been abducted?” Asked a frazzled retainer.

“Only by other powerful mages.” Answered the King, who was masking his emotions spectacularly despite circumstance. “We will launch a formal investigation into the graduates of the Academy immediately.”

“What of the civilian casualties?” Wondered Isma as she restlessly ran her hand up and down her spear, “How come we hadn't received notice? Especially about our own?”

“It's an inside job.” You spat, glaring ahead into the middle distance as your hands knead at your arms. “They had someone who could copy his handwriting and post a false notice of his absence. With those kinds of connections they could easily prevent information from getting down to us.”

“This is hardly a time for speculation, Maskfly.” Scolded the King. You turned your head away from his disapproval.

*I think they have a point.* Hallow signed after getting the room's attention with a few loud snaps of their fingers. *Didn't all the messengers “quit” over letters? It could very well have been the same person forging them all.*

Predictably, people were faster to accept the same theory from a Prince than from you– but you didn't mind. You appreciate the support regardless.

“That implies there is a traitor in the Spire.” Observed Hegemol, to which the room got considerably louder for a moment. 

They all hushed at the wave of the King's hand. His expression darkens as he scans over the members of his court.

“No…there's a traitor in the Palace .”

…

You doubted that anyone slept that night. Least of all Timeus, who hadn't spent a night away from home in his life.

You had invited your fellow messengers over for the night. A childish little sleepover to get their minds off the situation at hand, just for a little while. At least, that's what you told them. You wanted to stand guard over them all.

You lie awake clutching the trembling form of Suzu against your chest, watching Rogue and Timeus curled between a nest of pillows and blankets on your bedroom floor. The only light in the room was the dim glow of the Queen's branches cradling the Palace outside. 

Occasionally, a pale green leaf would separate and drift through your open window, settling on the top of your escritoire. She wasn't sleeping either.

You hold the ladybug closer, and she nuzzles desperately into the soft fabric of your nightshirt.

Tomorrow is another day.

Chapter Text

Your right ankle aches dully as you lumber on after the young woman leading you through the Palace halls. She speaks really quickly, and you can barely keep up with what the foreign words mean.

The pristine walls give you the general feel of a doctor's office. With the retainers gawking at you reminiscent of soccer moms ogling the children of rival moms for imperfections, even more so. You adjust the mask on your face self-consciously.

“And– Oh!” She pauses her rambled explanation of something or other, “There she is! Hey Margot!”

You see another woman – who's name you recognise, she's the Head Messenger – standing idly in the courtyard as if she's waiting for something.

She seemed to be an upper-middle aged silverfish with a chronic case of resting-bitch-face, wearing a frilled grey shawl over her uniform. Maybe she’s cold too? 

She said nothing as the ever-enthusiastic ladybug dragged you over to her.

“We were just talking about you!” You interject with a small ‘we were-?’, but it goes unheard. “This is our new recruit. Say hi!”

As you stiffly wave your hand, your boss looks you up and down, before settling on a healthy dose of prolonged eye contact. You bite the inside of your cheek in discomfort, but don't look away. It's probably a test.

…She seemed entirely unimpressed with your existence.

“You have a name?” She asked, her voice rough and about as warm as the surrounding air. Before you can answer however, she turns and motions for you to follow. “No matter. You'll just be Rookie to me.”

Margot continues the tour after leaving the previous lady behind. She doesn't talk nearly as much, which you can't decide is better or not.

It was in the midst of the silent journey through a very long corridor that you heard…giggling? A little girl was rapidly approaching your location. Your guide seemed unbothered by this.

It very quickly turns out you're wrong. It's not just a little girl, but a little girl riding on the shoulders of who was likely her sibling, followed closely by several others. Ah. These must be the King's children…at least you think so. There's a mild resemblance.

It took Margot's elbow in your hip to realise that they're coming your way and you should be bowing, so you followed her example.

The group stops next to you.

“Who is this?” The girl asks from her perch on her much taller sibling, and you re-evaluate your assumption about her age, as her voice rings more like an early teen’s than a toddler's– she's just tiny.

…Or you're just too big to make a valid judgement. Probably.

“A new recruit, your Highness.” The older woman answers as she slaps you on the back to get you to straighten back up from where you were still observing your scuffed up leather boots. “I am just taking them to their room at the moment.”

“Ooh, you're tall!” She marvels, and you chuckle awkwardly. You do pause when you lock eyes with her steed however. The eldest royal tilts their head at you, and you mimic the motion like a confused puppy. You say hello, but they just…make an odd hand motion at you. Or was that sign language?

You look over to Margot in question, to which she helpfully goes, “If you'll excuse us, Children, I must still brief this neophyte on their duties.”

Alas, you are let go, and as you walk past, you can't help but glance over your shoulder at the retreating youngins. The eldest does the same. You offer a small wave to each other

You are led to the servants’ quarters, where you are introduced to your brand new shiny bedroom, which looks just as dull and lifeless as the rest of the Palace’s decor.

“Alright, Rookie.” She started, “I expect you to be bright and early tomorrow. You will be briefed about the basics first thing, after which you will be accompanying someone on their assignment as a part of your training.”

“Yes ma'am.”

“Good. Don't disappoint me.”

You’d like to think you didn't.

She was cold, but not cruel. She taught you everything you know. If she had any expectations of you, you'd never know, but…

When you passed your exam, you saw her smile for the first time. She gave you your new name as a trophy.

You wonder…

If she saw you now, would she still be proud?

-

You did not sleep.

The others had fortunately managed to pass out at some point through the night. Not worrying about them gave you enough time to come to terms with, and prepare for the things to come.

Your ornate grandfather-esc clock quietly ticks to the hour you usually rise. You welcome this occasion by unceremoniously shoving Suzu off your bed from where she was still cuddled up in your arms. Her spontaneously-awake yelp startled the others out of dream land as well.

“Good morning!” You greet casually as they groggily sit up and question their reasons for being awake, “Happy first day of lockdown, everybody! How are we feeling?”

“Mortal dread.” Replied Timeus optimistically.

“Seconded.” Added Rogue, likewise pumped for the day ahead.

Suzu did not contribute much more than sleepy gibberish.

“How charming. Sincerest apologies but I need y'all out of my chambers now! Shoo. We may still have work today.” You instruct, wanting to have some privacy to get dressed.

“What would we even dooo?” Rogue moaned pathetically as she tried to disentangle the blankets from her wings. “We can't go anywhere!”

“That never stopped them. How many side hustles do you have?” Timeus interrogated, eyes still adjusting to being open.

You started counting on your fingers, and he shook his head and waved at you to not even bother answering.

“What, this is nothing! You know how many extracurriculars I had in school? Too many.”

“Stars, when do you eat?” Rogue narrowed her eyes at you as she gathered her little overnight bag together.

“You've seen me eat befo–”

“When someone physically drags them away to do so.” Chimes the ladybug as she finally peeled herself away from the floor.

You clutch your pearls and stare Suzu down in betrayal. She smiles innocently. Timeus tuts and glares at you with the distaste of a disappointed father.

“You'd think such a large bug would need to eat more often.”

“Falsehood. I can survive on the dew of a single ginko leaf and the energy of the universe.” You defend, not bothering to explain what a ginko leaf is before you put your foot down and shoo your colleagues out of your bedroom.

By the time you're finished with your morning activities, the others are ready and waiting at your door outside. It didn't seem like they wanted to be separated today, which was fair enough.

Heading for the canteen, your fellow messengers follow after you like ducklings, clutching each other's cloaks in an effort to stay together while keeping up with your stride. Rogue holds onto yours, Timeus to hers and Suzu to his. The sight elicits some giggles from the Palace staff, though the retainers seem especially gossipy today.

They're glaring, muttering to each other as the four of you approach, and give a wide berth as you pass. You had learned not to pay them any mind by now.

“What's their deal…?” Rogue mutters with a scowl. Timeus glances back at them as the distance grows, and furrows his brows.

They're all glaring at you.

-

The air in the cafeteria is uncomfortably tense today. You suppose that is to be expected, given the state of things.

Today's breakfast is some sort of salad. It just looks like moss to you. You're not sure if you can even eat it.

As you poke at the squishy greens in your bowl, you glance between your comrades.

You…still don't know them that well.

Timeus is shy but playful, Suzu is tardy but sweet, and Rogue is childish and stubborn, but that's all you know. You just…don't have the time. Work is your priority. You call them your friends, but these people are pretty much strangers to you. 

Perhaps you'll have a chance to rectify that during this lockdown.

“Say, Rookie.” You nudge the dragonfly next to you, “Did you get your living situation settled with the King?”

“Hm?” Rogue perked up, mouth full but already ready to shove the next forkful of greens in her pie hole, “Oh- mno-” – She quickly swallowed to free her tongue – “He sent me back to you. Said that's your job.”

“Eh?? No, it's–” You pause, “...used to be Margot's job.”

She and Timeus tilt their heads in confusion, as they had not a singular clue who you were talking about.

“Maskfly?” Suzu prodded carefully, a strange look on her face. “You…you do know you are the Head Messenger now, right?”

What.

“You are!” She repeats at the flabbergasted look you give her, “You were her best student, you were next in line!”

“But– But you're my senior! Shouldn't it be you?”

“You think I could handle that? I can barely handle my own assignments.” She seemed bewildered that you'd even suggest it.

“I…kinda just assumed the duty went back to the King–” 

“You cannot be serious.” Suzu points at you, almost as bamboozled as you felt. “You got promoted to delivering diplomatic letters! What did you think that meant?”

Oh, now you feel stupid. Though if all this time you were in charge and nobody complained that you were doing it wrong, then you were probably doing good!

Rogue snickered and pat your shoulder comfortingly. You in turn promised her you'd see to it that her contract be updated so she can commute from home…however that goes. Can you even sign official documents? You can't write Wyrmglyph. You'll have to ask.

You did not end up eating any of the moss. You assured your colleagues that this was fine, because the importance of breakfast was a myth. Timeus seemed especially unamused.

The conga line then migrates to the courtyard, crowding in front of the mailboxes. A tiny parchment stuck to the front of the middle cubby informed you that regular deliveries were postponed. 

“Soo, free day?” Asked Suzu cheerfully. Rogue seemed to deflate, and Timeus only frowned, conflicted.

“Now now, being grounded doesn’t bar you from helping out around the Palace. This is your workplace, not a vacation home.” You wag your finger like an elementary school teacher, and Suzu goes limp like a powered down car dealership balloon guy.

It took…a surprising amount of effort to convince your team that you’d be fine in the case that you’re sent out alone. The postpone notice didn’t specify white-seal letters, after all. It was an inconvenience, but it felt kind of nice for someone to worry about you. When they eventually did let you go, you made a beeline towards the throne room.

Giggling ringing through the long hallway you were currently traversing gives you a profound sense of déjá vu.

“Hi Masky!” Hornet calls as she is carried to you by Hallow, who very enthusiastically waves at you, causing their sister to tip off their shoulders and just barely catch herself on their horns. You snicker and bow your head.

“Princess, My Liege,” You greet, debating whether to stop and chat with them or move on to satiate your itch to work. “Just you two?”

*The others are cooped up in the garden. Mother is keeping close watch of them.* Hallow fills you in, and you hum in acknowledgement. Figures, you wouldn’t let small children run around unsupervised knowing there’s a traitor running around somewhere either.

“Yeah, and dad sent us to bring youuuu–” She clumsily dug around in the many pockets in the inside of her dress, “–this!”

It’s a letter! The pearlescent wax glints in the light of the lumafly lamps.

“I’m shocked you two are not under mom-watch as well.” You muse as you take the letter from her claws. “Considering how, pardon my phrasing, wildly overprotective your parents are.”

*They have enough trouble keeping the twins confined, they know better than to try with Hornet and I.*

“Yeah! We’re the deadly duo of violence!” She exclaims, throwing her hands above her head.

*Not deadly, but there is violence.*

You try not to laugh as you tuck the envelope away.

“Well, thank you for the delivery– I shall go make mine.” You bow your head once more, and turn to head off, but stop when the Prince grabs your hand. They look…concerned, all of the sudden.

*Will you be alright?* They sign one handed, the other anxiously gripping at yours. You find yourself minding their worry much less than your coworkers’.

“Sure they’ll be, Deepnest is super safe!” Hornet chimes in, saving you the non-effort of having to read the recipient off the paper. “As long as you mind the traps, it’s basically a straight shot from the tram station! Most beasties don’t go for big targets.”

That’s actually kind of reassuring.

“Plus, if anything does attack you, you can just go– POW, and BAM, and they’ll be squished!!” She continued animatedly, bashing imaginary beasties in the air. The vessel did not seem convinced.

“I’d rather spare my cloak from any stains the ‘pow’ and ‘bam’ may produce if I can.” You joke, lightly stroking the back of Hallow’s hand with your thumb. “I’ll be fine, Your Grace. You don’t gotta worry.”

They nod hesitantly, averting their gaze as their cheeks dust grey. Hornet narrows her eyes.

Oblivious, you bid the siblings goodbye and embark on your first journey to Deepnest.

Ironically, it was once again Ze’mer who was standing guard at the tram station. As soon as you came within arm’s length, she stuck her hand under your mask and checked you for a fever. Only after finding nothing of the sort did she let you go.

The tram was a little dusty, save for the seat closest to the door where you liked to sit. You took this ride to the Hive on occasion, and always made sure to thoroughly dust it before sitting down, lest it leave a mark on your robes. You did the same now, and lowered yourself onto the plush cushion of the bench.

Fortunately, it wasn't all that long of a ride at all.

The idle bounce of your knee pauses as the door opens to the next station. You exit the tram, and take in the cradle of cobwebs you found yourself in. You never minded creepy crawlies; you’d even say you kept the cellar spiders in your bedroom corner as pets once upon a time, but you’re not sure how to feel about them potentially being the size of a housecat. 

The faint rumble of something large thundering by in the distance drowns out your steps against the stone. The ceiling is low, and only getting lower– you’ve never been spelunking before, but there’s a first for everything, you suppose. A glance at your map confirms your location, marking you within the cave system with a little white dot. It’s a pretty simple path, which eases your worries a little.

There's some narrow passages ahead, so running ain't on the table this time. Looks to be one of your more lengthy operations

You'll give it two hours tops.

-

The car slowly pulls in front of a quiet suburban home.

Mulligan's eyes sweep over the front garden. The lawn is moderately kept, the grass littered with weathered dog toys and plastic construction cars. Murky rainwater sits in the box of a tiny dump truck tangled in the longer, wild grass clump at the base of a wooden swing set.

Detective Stockholm takes one last sip of his too-sweet black coffee as he squints at the house number on the wall.

“This the place?” He asks, glancing at the younger man in the passenger seat. Mulligan jolts as if he'd just been woken.

“Huh– oh, yeah, this is it.” He scrambled for the door handle as if he was on top of his game, and got out of the car. His partner followed suit, and together they made their way up the driveway. A little DIY wraith decorated the front door, circling the peephole in a frame of fake flowers, chestnuts and dry farfalle pasta. Mulligan stuck his left hand in his pocket, and casually rang the doorbell with the right.

A short chime reminiscent of a school lunch bell sounded off. Heralded by the barking of an enthusiastic shiba inu, a brunette woman in a sharp maroon suit with a still-undone tie opened the door, eyebrows raised in question at her visitors. Her grey eyes immediately caught on the younger man, and she opened the door a little wider in familiarity.

“Officer Mulligan! And…”

“Alexander Stockholm, Madame.”

“Pleasure. Can I help you?”

The senior detective dutifully showed her his badge, and elbowed his partner to do the same.

“We’re sorry to bother you so early in the morning, but we were hoping we could ask you a few questions.”

“About?” 

“We are investigating a missing person’s case. We are hoping you could provide us with any information.” She paused.

“...Come in. I’ll be with you in a moment.”

They were let in. The woman disappeared to finish tidying herself, and the men remained standing around in the living room. Mulligan took the liberty to scratch the curious pupper behind the ears.

“You know this woman, Samuel?” Stockholm questioned as his partner was now smushing the dog's face like playdough.

“Yeah, Mrs. Angelina Dicesare. She’s a prosecutor– we met a few times in court whenever I was scheduled as a guard there. She’d bring us coffee sometimes.”

“Ah, she’s on her way to the office then. We may have come at the wrong time.”

The dog eventually thought to go check on its humans, so Mulligan was left to instead survey the room. It was so…warm, here. The living room was painted in soft autumnal colours, the pale orange walls decorated with an array of oil pastel landscape paintings. There was a box of toys stashed in the TV cabinet, and colourful plastic cups forgotten on the coffee table from yesterday’s movie night.

Mrs. Dicesare shortly returned with her husband in tow, who in contrast looked like he’d just woken up and put on the first shirt and pants his wife threw at him. Despite his surely rude awakening, he was all smiles and shook their hands as if he was greeting old friends. A big burly marshmallow of a man.

The husband, whose name was Mitchel, invited them to sit down in the kitchen.

“I don’t have long.” Angelina warned as she took a seat by her spouse. “Will you take care of them if we don’t finish before then, dear?”

“Sure, no problem.”

“Great, if I may?” Stockholm initiated, tugging his notebook out of his bag.

A rundown of the situation was presented. Curiously, as soon as the child’s name was mentioned, the couple’s faces screwed up in an uncomfortable grimace.

“Is something wrong?” Mulligan dared ask, to which they shook their heads and insisted they finish their explanation of the case.

“They visited here on occasion, yes?” Came the older Detective’s first question.

“They did.” The woman confirmed. “Not too often, but they did.”

“When was the last time?”

“Maybe six, seven months ago?” Answered Mitchel after a moment of pondering. “ They stopped coming all together around then.”

The pen scratched quietly against the paper.

“Any clue why they might have stopped?”

“They weren’t the talkative type.” Mrs. Dicesare shook her head, glancing at her watch. “The most they’ve spoken to us is to ask if we’d drive them home.”

“Their parents, have you met them?”

“We spoke when I dropped them off. A pleasant bunch, if a little excitable. Made me wonder if I was at the right house.” Mitchel mused.

“Oh?” Mulligan interjected, “What was odd about that?”

“The kid was a walking funeral.” At those words the man received a mortified shoulder smack from his wife. “They were!”

The detectives share a look.

“All they did was glare at space in silence, and when they did speak it was all monotone.” He continued, more trying to prove his point to his wife than explaining it to the detectives. “I'm honestly shocked Howie liked them so much!”

“Howie is…?”

“Our son. He’s only five.” The woman’s tone gave the hint that they will not be allowed to speak to the boy anytime soon.

“Speaking of your children.” Mulligan got her attention, trying to be careful with his phrasing. “We have been told that they and your daughter Sara were friends? Is there any way we could have a talk with her? Supervised, of course.”

Angelina gave it a fair bit of thought, drumming her fingers on the tabletop as she stared down at the marks in the polished wood, before sighing.

“I suppose.” She relented, standing from her seat. “Mitch, wake her up and brief her. I need to go.”

The woman smoothed down her dress pants and took her leather briefcase from the rack at the door. After a few sweet kisses from her husband and her dog, she was off to work. The pooch whined and trotted off to sleep off the daily loss of its mom in the cushion in the corner.

“I’ll be right back.” Said Mitchel, and left to awaken his daughter.

The detectives weren’t sure what to do with this.

“This doesn’t get us any closer to finding the kid.” Mulligan griped, cursing the absolute absurdity of their lack of information.

“They clearly weren’t keen on speaking with adults, Samuel.” Stockholm hushed, tapping his pen on the miserably empty page of his notebook. “I expected this. Their schoolteachers almost didn’t even know who I was talking about when I paid a visit there. The girl will surely know something they don’t.”

“And if she doesn’t?” He challenged, throwing his hands up in exasperation. “We already know where they went! They’re lost in the forest somewhere and we need to get the K9s out on the field and look for them!”

“The more we know about them, the more we can think like they do. Make the same choices. We may as well do our homework while the Captain approves our expedition.”

“Which she should hurry the fuck up with in my opinion.” Grumbled Mulligan moodily.

“...yes, but mind your language.”

Eventually, the father returned with his daughter. She was a lithe thing, dressed like a highschool mean girl with her brown roots peeking through the blonde locks on her head. She looked anxious and uncomfortable, but allowed her father to lead her to the table. It looked like she had been awake for a while.

“Good morning, young lady.” Stockholm greeted kindly, which seemed to ease the tension in her shoulders a little.

“Hello…” She muttered after sitting down, and Mitchel took her hand to ground her.

“We need to ask you about your friend. Is that okay?”

“I guess…”

“You were classmates, yes?” 

“No, just in the same grade.” Sara muttered, keeping her eyes locked firmly on the dinner table.

“Have they been acting any different the last time you saw them?”

“I don’t think so?”

“Have they ever spoken to you about any going-ons at home?”

“Not really.”

Mulligan leaned over to his partner and attempted to quietly tell him how this was going nowhere and they should just stop here, but he persisted.

“Did they come over often?”

“We’d study together when there was a big test coming up.”

“Did they ever stay the night?”

“Sometimes.”

“When would that happen?” She shrugged.

“When they didn’t feel like sleeping home, I guess?”

The girl was stiff. Her answers were blunt and short, which didn’t seem fitting for her character. Perhaps, Stockholm thought, she didn’t feel like she could speak freely?

“Sara.” He started carefully, “Would you like your father to leave us?”

The girl looked surprised, and glanced at her father, who looked back at her expectantly. She chewed on her lip for a moment before squeezing his hand.

“Would you, Papa?” She pleaded sheepishly, nervous that he'd take it the wrong way. The man only smiled and stood from the table, excusing himself to somewhere else. The pup in the corner decided to get up and tag along with him.

Now alone with the detectives, the girl seemed infinitely more like she'd spontaneously combust any second.

“It's alright, dear.” Soothed the older man, “Whatever you know, please, tell us.”

It was as if a dam broke.

Sara's eyes watered, face screwing up as if ready to start sobbing, and said,

“It's my fault.”

…That's not what they expected to hear at all.

“Y…Your fault?” Mulligan stammered as the teenager began aggressively wiping at her face.

“It's my fault, it's my fault!” She sobbed hysterically, repeating the phrase over and over again. 

“Hey, hey, it's okay,” Stockholm tried, “Talk to us, Sara. What do you mean?”

“I told them they weren't allowed to stay over anymore.” She admitted, her voice fragile with nerves, "They'd have come here instead of…wherever they went, if I hadn't!”

After a beat of silence only broken by the girl's tearful whimpering, Stockholm clasped his calloused hands around hers in an attempt to get her to calm down.

“Did you have a fight with them, Sara?”

“No…”

“Then what happened?”

The girl shamefully bowed her head towards the floor.

“We…we weren't really friends.” She started, refusing to meet their eyes. “The girls in school were mean to me, so I hung out with them because they were…unsettling? They scared the bullies away.” 

He let her speak. She clearly needed it off her chest.

“Their grades were nice, so I thought I'd invite them over to help me study, and they did. I asked them to help with homework, and they did– I asked them to do my homework and they did! They just…they did everything I asked them to– I… it got to my head, I guess?”

Stockholm had little reaction to her confession past nodding encouragingly. Mulligan sat in silence.

“Then they started asking to stay over, and sure why not, but…mom and dad didn't like them much. They said they ‘suck the light out of the room’.”

That explains that uncomfortable look they gave at the mention of their name.

“We set up my old bed for them in the garage, and they'd sleep there…and I guess…eventually I thought I'd make it worth it. I told them they'd have to start paying for it.”

She sounded so dreadfully, overwhelmingly ashamed of herself.

“T-Told them they couldn't come back until they paid for all the previous nights…I-I didn't know this would happen!” She quickly devolved into sobbing again, but didn't stop speaking this time. “I-I just thought their parents were like, really annoying, and that's why they wanted to stay over! I'd never have tried to– to extort them– if I knew they were being hurt, I swear! Because that's why they ran, right? They were hurting them?” Stockholm shook his head.

“We don't know that. And you couldn't have known that either.” 

“But what if I could? What if there were all these signs that I ignored or missed, or, or…oh my god the gloves, who the fuck wears gloves in the summer!?” She wailed, burying her face in her hands. 

“Hindsight is 20/20, isn't it?” Mulligan said lowly, surprising the girl out of her misery.

“..Huh?” She stared at him, tears still streaming down her face, but he only glared at her.

“Are you actually worried about them? Or are you only like this because it makes you look better?” 

“Samuel!” Stockholm’s appalled calling of his name failed to deter him. The girl shrunk back in her seat.

“I–”

“They could be dead, you know. You were our last option for someone who knew literally anything, but you had to end up being a dead end too, didn't you? All because you were too selfish–”

“Stand down, Mulligan!” Stockholm shouted, stunning him into silence. “Out! If you can't behave yourself then wait in the car!”

“Alex–”

“Take a walk. Now.”

Seething, Mulligan shuffled out of his seat and stomped out of the house, leaving the girl frozen, staring at where he's just been.

“I'm so sorry for my partner, Ms. Dicesare. I have no idea what has gotten into him.” He tried, fearing that the interrogation may have to come to an abrupt end.

Sara remained silent for a beat, before just…deflating.

“He's right, isn't he…?” She whispered, her voice thin, “I'm a horrible person…”

“Come now.” Stockholm shook his head, levelling the girl with a stern look. “You're young. You are bound to make mistakes. You may have done wrong, but you did not cause this to happen. Not at all.”

She sniffled, grasping at the sleeves of her blazer as she started down at the table.

“Do you recognise your wrongs, Sara?”

“...yes.”

“Then talk to me. Help me, and I will find them and bring them home so you can apologise.”

“…right, okay.”

-

“What was that?” Came the accusatory tone from one.

“I dunno man, I got pissed!” Defended the other.

Stockholm started the engine and pulled away from the house, his brows furrowed in rare anger. They spoke no more as they drove back to the station. When the building came into view, Samuel suddenly opened his mouth to speak…and faltered just as suddenly when they passed it.

“Uhhh Alex? You missed the station.”

He did not answer.

“Alex??”

The road trip continued without any results in getting his partner to talk, up until they stopped in front of a shabby, bare brick apartment complex.

“Go home, Samuel.”

“Wh– huh?”

“I'm having you taken off this case.”

The younger man choked, whipping his head around to stare at the other so fast he may as well have snapped his own neck.

“What!?’

“The way you conducted yourself today was completely unacceptable!”

“Was I wrong!?” He demanded, refusing to move from his seat.

“You were childish!” Stockholm countered, slamming his fist down on the dashboard. “One speaks that way to murder suspects, not misguided teenage girls!”

Mulligan couldn't even find his next words before the other continued.

“You've grown so emotionally invested in this case that it's impacting your judgement. You need to step away.”

“No! Okay, look, I shouldn't have said that to her. I get it. That was stupid. It won't happen again.” He swore, hands anxiously gesturing with his words. “Didn't we get this far because of me? You can't just– just ditch me for one fuck up!”

“I'm sorry, Samuel.” Came the forlorn answer, causing the man to pale. “This was already your second chance.”

A moment of silence passed, before Mulligan dared speak again.

“You saw me go in the kitchen.” He muttered in realisation.

“I did. I gave you the benefit of the doubt then. It seems I should not have.”

He tried to plead, but nothing worked. Was this really it? Had he really fucked up this badly?

“...did you at least get anything out of her?” He asked tentatively, grimacing when his partner glared at him. But, with a sigh, Stockholm did pull out his cellphone.

“We have a picture now. One that's..up to date. Here.”

Mulligan leaned over the screen. Upon it was a picture taken in what must have been Sara's bedroom, with a darkly dressed figure standing out like a sore thumb against all the surrounding pastels. They were huddled in a fluffy beanbag chair, holding a book in hands clad in fingerless cyclist gloves, glaring up at the camera from behind long unkempt hair with tired, empty eyes. Their runaway.

-

This place was kinda creepy.

In the maybe thirty minutes you’ve been crawling around in these tunnels, you have been ambushed by dirt-carving creepy crawlies exactly 12 times. It was more of an inconvenience than anything, as you easily dispatched them with a ‘pow’ and a ‘bam’, but the general cleanliness of your person has greatly suffered as a result, your pale cloak stained with dirt and greenish hemolymph. Not to mention the amount of times you narrowly avoided bashing your head against the ceiling when exiting crawlspaces, thanks only to the horn of your mask, which you were sure was chipped at the end by now.

You curse loudly as yet another critter bursts forth from the ground with mandibles primed in your general direction. 

“AY FUCKIN–” You yell, bashing your first against the pest, flattening it against the ground with a gross splatter. Your hand is starting to hurt from all this squishing. “Hornet said ya’ll don't go for big prey! What gives??”

Of course your question did not receive an answer. Did you smell too much like injured fodder with all this bug juice on you? Is that it? Whatever it may be, there’s way too many of these things on your ass.

After another minute of crawling, the passage finally opened up, allowing you to stand. The cavern was tall, its bottom full of sharp scuttling worms in between platforms and short walkways. You check your map. You’re almost there.

You walk around the ledge you stood on, measuring the jump you had to make to get to the next platform. Is making a bridge here that much of a hassle? Honestly.

You jolt at the noise of a pebble being kicked aside behind you. Expecting another dirtcarver, you raise your foot in preparation to cook yet another meat pancake, but freeze when you see…

“Hallow!?” You exclaim in bewilderment at the eldest Prince idly standing by at the mouth of the passage you just left. The smug bastard was just staring, challenging you. “What the fuck are you doing here!? How did you get past Ze’mer?”

They didn’t so much as sign ‘lmao’ before they turned and slipped back into the darkness.

“Oh, no you don’t!” You hiss, and bolt after them, “Do you have any idea how dangerous this is? Your father will have my head if something happens to you!”

Your estimate of 2 hours for this trip is steadily increasing the farther back you go. You almost trip over a clump of glowing mushrooms as you hurry after them, but the lowering ceiling prevents you from running.

“Hallow! Stop running, you idiot!” Never in your right mind would you speak to them this way under normal circumstances, but this was a different level of irresponsibility. “You didn’t even bring your nail, do you have a death wish!? You know how many pests I got attacked by on the way here?”  

They kept evading you, taking random turns and slipping behind corners. Did they think this was some sort of game?

At every step you expected a critter to jump out, but they never came. If anything, the Deepnest was silent– devoid of the ambiance of many, many scuttling legs to which you travelled until now.

“Your Highness, please!” You are at your wit’s end– you don’t recognise your surroundings anymore. “I know wanderlust is a powerful force but this is not the way to fulfil it!” You try to reason, but they don’t stop. “Look, you’re already here, I’ll take you to the Village– You’re safer with me, I don’t want you hurt!”

Lecturing them about the dangers of stalking after you to places even you’ve never been before can wait. You have to stop them before they run into something’s nest.

…Which is something you are late on, it seems. 

The narrow tunnel you had just been chasing the vessel through abruptly opened to a wide cavern filled with silk webs and empty shells. Hallow stands in the middle of the room, staring ahead, their back to you. They pay no attention to the corpses strung from the ceiling.

“Jesus fucking Christ…” You mutter, feeling as if the empty eyes above are all staring at you in warning. “Look, Hallow? Let’s get out of here before whatever this nook belongs to comes back, okay? Please?”

The vessel turns to look at you… and extends a hand.

“What– no, I’m not coming over there. I’m serious dude, we need to leave!”

They do not move. Their hand remains outstretched towards you. 

“God…” You groan as you trot up to the platform, hoping they can feel how hard you’re glaring in the dark. “Had you not ran the first time we could have held hands all the way to the Village, you know.”

More than a little miffed, you hastily grab their hand as gently as your nerves allow, and tug them towards the tunnel you came from.

Their claws sink into your hand.

Your pained yelp is shadowed by a loud crack as Hallow’s head twists too far to the right.

You rip your hand away, legs tangling in your cloak as you attempt to scamper away from the rapidly unfolding beast, watching in horror as the Prince’s visage twists and morphs into a grotesque man-eating monstrosity. Hidden limbs emerge, existing ones elongate, and spines burst forth as the monster’s head twists around, what were once horns cracking and segmenting into mandibles clicking hungrily at the coppery smell of your blood.

You scream, kicking up a cloud of dust as you push off the ground, aiming to retreat into the tunnel like a frightened animal. You hear the rapid stabs of sharp feet against the ground as you slide into the passage, only to be dragged right back out by your ankle.

Sharp teeth dig painfully into your flesh, lifting you effortlessly off the ground and shaking you in its jaws like an angry dog ready to tear its prey apart. You frantically kick your other foot at the creature, managing to square it in the face with your heel. The splintering of its shell draws an agonising wail from the beast as you are dropped, allowing you just a few seconds to crawl your way to the exit.

A trail of blood paints the earth behind you as you try to dog-walk away with a dislocated knee from the earlier manhandling. You slip into the tunnel and drag yourself through, cursing when you hear the thing trying to clamber after you. It has grown too large in its transformation to fit through, which grants you only a sliver of hope, but you don’t dare enjoy it just yet. Adrenaline pushes you forth, and you climb out of the winding tunnel with heaving breaths and three out of four limbs in working order. Your injured leg is growing numb. The feeling steadily climbs upwards, now tingling against your side as venom slowly paralyses the left side of your body.

You still hear the monster, screaming at the loss of its meal. You desperately claw your way further still, but cower when the wall behind you erupts with the enraged mimic crashing its way out of the too-narrow passage. A flying chunk of debris nails you in the head with a crack.

It had folded itself back up to a degree to aid its efforts, dark shell discoloured in patches in what wanted to be some imitation of a skin tone. Sharp arachnid legs took the shape of taloned hands sinking into your right thigh as it grabs a hold of you, dragging you towards the unhinged jaws of a demon that was trying to be something that looked human. Long, thin spines sprouted rapidly from its disfigured head, and as you faintly recognise the shape into which they are converging, you realise with sheer horror that it was trying to look like your mother.

It screamed, a bloodcurdling sound that was nowhere near any noise a human should be able to produce, and you realised at once that you were about to die.

“Ungrateful child,” It did not say, in fact, it only continued to scream, but her voice still echoed in your ears. “You would abandon us? After everything we’ve done for you?”

She would have called your responding whimper pathetic.

The alarmingly human teeth slowly grew sharper in its maw as it dragged you closer with clear effort, for you had sunk your fingers into the earth beneath you. Primed and ready to mangle you further.

Briefly, amidst your primal urge to escape, you wonder if you should simply let it. Perhaps aided by the adrenaline in your veins, you decide that you shouldn't.

You would be damned if she were to be a last thing you see.

You kick your captive leg, landing it as purchase on what was meant to be a shoulder as you lurch forward and grab the beast by the sides of its stolen head. Your grip weaves hairline cracks across the flesh tinted shell before, with a forceful push, you crush the monster’s skull between your hands. The noise sickens you.

The massive body falls limp, and with it, you feel the fight likewise leave yours. You collapse, breaths ragged as you weakly try to dislodge the dead claws still stabbed into the meat of your thigh. You are unable.

Your ragged breaths break into whines of pain as your blood seeps between the rocks. The smell of iron is nausiating, and you would have dragged your sleeve over your nose had you been able to move your limbs at all.

Was there any way out of this? Your thoughts, clouded with agony as they were, ran wild trying to come up with one- but found only an echo of you promising you'd be safe.

Your return is awaited, you remember. You were to finish your delivery and go back to them, for that was your duty.

With the last of your strength, you drag as much air into your lungs as you are able, and scream. Scream, and pray someone hears you. If nobody does, you can at least rest knowing you've tried.

You are not one to break a promise.

Chapter Text

Wakefulness comes slowly, but when it does, it just about rams into you with the force of a laden semi. You find yourself staring up at a ceiling carved with tiny little spiders. You groan as you squint against the dim light of the small chandelier hanging above you.

Silk sheets and fluffy pillows cradle your body. Unfortunately, you are unable to fully enjoy their comfort, as you feel like absolute shit.

Your cloak is missing. In fact, most of your clothes are, your regular attire replaced by a soft nightgown a little too baggy for you. You strain to sit up, the rather masterful lacework on the collar of the nightdress shifting lazily like a curtain. You’d admire it closer had your neck not ached so badly. Must have slept on it wrong.

Speaking of your sleeping arrangement, where are you even?

You gaze around the room. The walls are lined with shelves of storybooks and embroidered portraits, one depicting a group picture of the vessel children, and one of Hornet and her mother. On one of the cabinets lie your clothes, neatly folded and cleaned of the grime and fluids they were soiled with during your journey. You tap your face. Your mask is missing. This is unacceptable, so you toss aside the blankets layered on top of you. 

Your attempt to stand up was…pathetic at best, rising on a pair of shaky legs, one of which punished your crime of putting pressure on it by shooting a white-hot bolt of agony straight up your spine. With a pained yowl not unlike a dog that got its tail stepped on, you went down, flailing arms reaching out to catch yourself on the nearest piece of furniture. Not that that helped much, as you simply slumped down on the ground, your chest just barely lifted off the floor by your arms keeping you dangling from the edge of the cabinet. This precarious position revealed to you the locations of aching muscles that you didn't even know you had. The numerous bruises on your body flare with disappointment at your decisions.

You just about accept your fate and let yourself fully become one with the floor when you hear the door open. Your situation does not allow you to turn and look, so you just…kinda wiggle like a fish out of water to try and get up. Sharp legs click in rapid succession, and before you know it, you're being lifted up by the pits of your arms like a cat.

“My, you’re up! And so active already, that’s a good sign!” A rather pleasant voice hummed behind you, smoothly manoeuvring you around to cradle you in too many arms. Your size made this a little hard to do, but they did not seem to mind. “Good morning child…well, it is after lunch, but that matters little.” The irony of missing lunch again does not escape you.

You blink startled up at a four-eyed mask gracing you with a soft unmoving smile. A long, sleek body twists underneath to support you like a snake coiled around its eggs.

“Gh–” God your voice is messed up. You clear your throat, trying not to look as uncomfortable as you felt. “Good morning…ma’am?”

“How polite you are! But let us get you back to bed. You are not ready to wander just yet.” She gently placed you down in the cot and checked over the numerous bandages covering your bare legs. You were then tucked back in with utmost tender care by the bug’s(?) numerous sharp appendages. “I must go tell dear Herrah that you yet wake!”

“Q-Queen Herrah? Wait, what happened?” You try to sit up again, but you’ve been effectively swaddled.

“Oh, yes, you must be so confused! Forgive me darling.” The strange woman leans in close to smooth your messy hair down against your head, and you try not to flinch, lest you further strain your poor neck. “Our dear diligent little scouts found you and brought you right back here! You were in such poor shape, why, we did not think you would make it!” How comforting the thought- “And when She came, why, she was furious!”

“She came to see me? Why?” You fretted, your throat scratchy. You barely even thought to mention it before she skittered over to the other side of the room and began pouring you water from a pretty glass pitcher into a little wooden cup.

“Do you no not remember? Oh dear, you must have been delirious. Nosk venom can have that effect.” She cooed sympathetically as she moved back to your side and freed your arms from their blanket prison so you could hold your drink. “ You were asking for her specifically. You wanted so badly to give her that silly little letter.”

You hummed into your water in confusion.

“Did I?”

“Give it to her? No, I did. You would not settle until it was in her hands. As soon as she held it, you flickered right out like a light.”

Your eyes widen as you stare into the bottom of your cup, an embarrassed blush spreading across your cheeks. For her credit, she acted like she didn’t see it. With a final pat to your head, she skittered to the door.

“I will be back shortly. Do not try to get up again!” She scolded lightly and you nodded, watching her massive black form slither out the room, leaving you to your devices.

You stare down into your cup. Your reflection flutters in the mirror of the last sip’s worth of liquid still inside. You put it aside on the nightstand.

With a sigh, you rest your hands in your lap. The skin is marred with scars old and fresh, the angry scabs of the monster’s claws in your palm framed with the raised cuts of crystals, glass shards, and the discoloured patches of chemical burns. You never had pretty hands. You want your gloves back.

A loud growl interrupts your brief bout of self pity. Your stomach is upset at its gaping emptiness, and deemed it necessary to punish you with a well placed stab of acidic pain. You clutch your poor tummy and double over, cursing yourself for not eating that plate of moss at breakfast. 

Soon enough, while you were stuck doubled over because it hurt when you tried to straighten up again, the strange lady returned, bringing company. Queen Herrah entered in all her royal glory, and you instinctively reached to tug on the hood you did not have.

“Maskfly…I am relieved to see you conscious.” She spoke, her tone hinting at a smile hidden behind her mask. “How are you feeling?”

You wanted to say something improper to that question, but stopped yourself. ‘Horse shit, Your Majesty’ did not seem like an answer she may appreciate.

“I’ve been better, Your Grace.” You end up saying, slowly, slowly sitting up properly in your little bed. “But I’ll be alright.”

The masked woman who served as your personal nurse skittered over to you and started fussing, checking you over as if you had been harmed in the maybe five minutes she was gone. She was humming jovially while she did this, so you decided not to mind. 

“We were worried you may never wake.” Herrah sighed, stepping closer and pulling your mask out from under her cloak. It had a nasty crack on its forehead, and you could see where small shards were broken off and glued back together. You clutched the blankets nervously as she gently placed it on your face for you. A tension you didn’t know you held disappeared from your shoulders.

“I appreciate your concern, Your Majesty, though I feel it is unwarranted.” You assure, reaching up to hold your mask tight against your cheek like an old friend. The other woman stopped her humming to tut at you.

“It is too, child, you have been down for the past three Moons.”

You choke.

“You could not have told them this any sooner, Midwife?” Herrah scolded, and the lady – Midwife, apparently – chuckled innocently.

Satisfied with the state of your bandages (again), Midwife tucked you right back in.

“I will go get something for you to eat. You must be starving, yes?” She asked, and you tried not to nod too hard. She chuckled and lovingly patted you on the head.

She slithered out like a woman on a mission, leaving you alone with the Queen of Deepnest, who was looking at you with a strange, pondering look. You wanted to ask, but decided it would be rude to converse so casually with her in her own house.

You were still trying to wrap your head around the fact that you were apparently in a coma for the past three days. The implications of this were slow to sink in, and none were necessarily pleasant. For example, the massive scolding you were gonna get when you got back. From everyone.  

“I hope you do not mind the change of clothes.” The Beast began, jolting you out of your thoughts, “We did not have a spare gown that would fit you, so I lent you one of my own.”

“Oh–” Shit, no wonder this thing was so pretty! She even sleeps in style. “No, thank you, I appreciate it–”

Your flustered hand waving got a deep chuckle out of her, and you wheezed like a deflating balloon. Once her amusement died down, she spoke again.

“Tell me…how fit do you feel to travel?”

You weren't sure what that had to do with anything. Were you being kicked out already?

“I can't walk, My Lady.” You mutter in mild confusion.

“I did not ask whether you could. I ask if you are in any state to return to the White Palace as soon as tomorrow morning.”

You did not have an aversion to the idea, as loathe you are to think about the absolute earful you were going to receive from Ze’mer specifically…and everyone else you said you'd be fine to.

Oh god, Hallow will be furious–

“I…suppose I wouldn't mind?” You end up deciding, though your tone was unsure. “Is there a reason my departure is so urgent?”

Queen Herrah visibly scowled under her mask as she drummed her claws on her crossed arms.

“It is more a matter of myself wanting to pay a visit. I would take you with me.” She said, assuring you that you would not be thrown to the proverbial and literal wolves while still so banged up.

As if on cue, Midwife returned with a little tray of meat cuttings of questionable origin, and gently placed it on your lap. Your stomach growled impatiently at the mere sight. You thanked her like she just bestowed you a blessing, flicked your mask up, and tore right in. The women watched with great amusement as you ignored the fact you were given a fork.

“They eat like Hornet does.” Herra mused fondly as she watched you pull the meat apart like a little beast. 

“And look at those teeth! Clearly a predatory creature. I dread to think what those vegetarian simple-bugs at the Palace are trying to feed them.” The Midwife dramatises, not really caring that you could hear them muttering over there like moms at a playground.

With your mouth full, you tactfully inform them that they do in fact serve meat at the Palace, just not that often. She remarks that her point still stands, and you are inclined to agree. You don't like moss.

-

When Midwife came to wake you in the morning, you were already up, wrangling your sweater on to the best of your ability. She seemed surprised and asked whether you slept at all. You did not– but she didn’t need to know that.

Though embarrassed, you allowed her to help you get dressed. Your pants were…a lot shorter than you remember them being, as they had to be cut up and away to grant access to your wounds. You looked a little silly with your half-shorts, but Midwife insisted you looked adorable. Soon enough you were sat on her back as she skittered through the silken halls of the Beast's Den. Some little weavers hurried after you – or perhaps they were just following Midwife, she was probably the most experienced nanny in history – and attempted to climb up on her as well. She didn't seem to mind.

When you arrived out at the landing platform, you had a pair of squirmy spiderlings in your lap, who really liked headbutting you in the stomach. You just kept lightly pushing them away in an amused effort not to be sent tumbling off from your perch.

Queen Herrah waited for you outside, dressed in the same hunter’s garb you usually saw her in when she visited the Palace, needle at her side.

“Good morning, Maskfly.” She greeted, and you bowed your head in response, your neck thankfully hurting much less.

“Good Morning, Your Grace.”

“Yes, yes, it is a beautiful day!” Midwife sang as she twisted around to manhandle you like a kitten again. “Oh! And what are you two doing here? Shoo!”

She playfully batted at the stowaway children, who giggled and skittered off you to run and hide somewhere.

Carefully, you were lifted from your seat, and had your stammering protests flat out ignored when you were deposited on the Queen's back instead. You were expecting a carriage, but no, Herrah the Beast carried herself to battle – and by extension, she would carry your sorry self as well.

Midwife positioned you with great care, leaving you perched on Herrah’s fluffy abdomen like the most anxious equestrian in the world, clutching at your own uniform instead of anything that would actually stabilise you.

“I'm so sorry, Your Majesty, this is wildly inappropriate–”

“Hush. You cannot walk, can you?” She challenged casually as if this was an everyday occurrence and you were working yourself up for no reason. “Hold on properly. You will fall.”

Ears burning, you hesitantly grasped the strap of her satchel. She must have thought that was good enough, because she clicked her mandibles together in some sort of “let's go” signal, and you were off.

You weren't going alone either; a pair of devouts were flanking their Queen as usual, and you wondered if they were the same two every time. They paid no mind to you– you may as well have been just a bag on their Queen’s back rather than…whatever they thought you were. You far preferred this over getting stink-eyed.

The caverns were unfamiliar to you, as you never got this far yourself, but you had an inkling you were taking a slightly more roundabout route than the one you came on. This likely had to do with the narrow tunnels that you with your beanpole build could somewhat traverse, but Herrah could not.

Travelling like this felt kind of like a stag ride, if more leisurely. The Queen's many legs provided a constant stability that helped you balance yourself without needing to cling to her too much, which was as much of a convenience as it was an ease on your poor heart.

“Maskfly.” She spoke, startling you out of your staring contest with a timid deephunter on the wall.

“Yes, your Majesty?”

“Do they treat you well at the Palace?”

The question threw you off, but blankly staring at the back of her head didn't prompt her to elaborate.

“I am merely a servant.” Was the answer you gave, but it didn't seem to be what she was looking for.

“Are your needs met? Are you spoken to in a decent manner?” She prodded further, and you scratched at the side of your head in confusion. Where was this coming from?

“Yes? If anything, I enjoy privileges I'm not sure how I deserved.” … Actually that may be a result of your month's worth of voluntary overtime. Your pockets are certainly heavy after payday.

Either way, Herrah seemed pleased with your answer.

“Good. I do not have to kill him.”

“What–”

-

The Palace is mourning.

That is to say, it was hard for anyone to keep a smile when the royal children were so woefully downtrodden. As silent as they were, their running around and gleeful troublemaking were dearly missed amongst even those who had to clean up after them. Now all there was to clean up were the black streaks of tears on those poor hatchlings’ faces

Their favourite playmate had gone missing.

Their absence did not go unnoticed for long. It was after lunch service, on the day they departed for the Deepnest, that Timeus looked around the halls outside the canteen with furrowed brows.

“Where's Maskfly?”  

His quiet question would soon be asked again, and again, as more and more of the Palace's residents noticed an inconsistency in their daily routine.

Retainer Abalone regularly saw them trot down this one hallway at a specific time.

The kitchen brigade always had their help after meals during cleanup.

At least one of the Great Five would seek them out to share a meal in the barracks at supper.

And Prince Hallow, ever vigilant of their schedule, knew it best:

They should have been back by now.

It was first proposed that they were abducted. This theory was shot down by Ze'mer, who verified they were the only one to take the tram to Deepnest that day.

The idea that they simply got lost was outright refused by the King, as they possessed a compass charm as a part of their messenger uniform. Their path had even been marked on a map. They were more intelligent than that.

The mere thought that they may have fallen to a beast was loudly shot down by Princess Hornet, who vehemently insisted that that was impossible, because nothing could hurt Maskfly. 

“Maybe they ran away.” Suggested a retainer innocently as they and their fellows walked down the corridor on the second day of the Head Messenger’s absence, “The timing is certainly interesting.”

“You may be right.” Another followed, “I always knew there was something off about them.”

“That's what I'm saying! There was never any good to come of keeping a beast like that within our ranks.” Continued the first. “Good riddance, the damn traitor.”

This retainer would find the blade of a pure nail aimed at their throat by a furious vessel who happened to walk by and hear their malicious accusations. Had they not begged for mercy with promises of such never happening again, they certainly would have been beheaded right there.

None dared speculate again after that.

By the end of the third day, it was widely accepted that they had simply fallen victim to the clutches of Deepnest. Some were devastated, but the royal children were inconsolable. They spent the entirety of that day huddled together in the world's saddest cuddle pile, grieving their dearest friend.

The morning of the fourth day was unassuming. The tragedy had fully sunk in, and there were plans being made for a little ceremony in their honour…

So of course nobody expected the Queen of Deepnest to come barging in with a frightened Maskfly riding on her back.

Startled Palace staff scrambled to jump out of the way of her warpath. You clutched her shoulders in a desperate attempt not to fall off while she angrily stormed towards the throne room. The pleading look you shot the devouts was just as useless as asking her to slow down yourself, as they seemed like they were enjoying themselves.

The kingsmoulds guarding the throne room’s doors moved to open way for Herrah as if they were used to this, but they weren't fast enough. The poor tin men ended up toppled on the floor as the weaver Queen threw the grand doors open in her raging fury– an anger you had no idea what prompted. It was as if stepping foot on the Palace grounds snapped some sort of restraint she had been holding the entire way there.

“Wyrm!” Queen Herrah’s voice was thunder in the quiet halls. The King looked like he was in the middle of summoning some sort of weapon before he recognised her, and immediately accepted his fate while not even knowing what he was about to be yelled at for.

It was only after she stopped a few feet from him that he seemed to register you clinging to her back, arms and legs locked around her torso for dear life. You only untangled yourself when one of the devouts extended a hand to help you down, which you shakily took and carefully slipped off the fuming Queen's abdomen. They guided you to lean on them so you wouldn't have to stand on your bad leg.

“Maskfly…!” Uttered the King with palpable relief as he stood from his throne. “You live!”

Herrah took personal offence to this.

“No thanks to you.” She spat, shielding you from him with an arm. “You glittering fool. Do you have any idea of the trials you have put this child through?”

The Pale King took not another step as he glanced between your general state of being and the glowering weaver.

“Child?”

“I cannot tell if you are playing with me or are actually this dim.” Herrah proceeded to grab you by the arm and shake you around a little to make a point. “This– This behemoth of a creature, this is a teenager, did you know? I did not. I would have liked to.”

“What…” You mutter, shoulders seizing up in dawning horror. She shot you an unimpressed look.

“Do not act all clueless, Maskfly, the Midwife can tell.”

“O-oh…”

You chanced a look at the King. He was…for lack of a better word flabbergasted at the information presented to him, and he seemed to be struggling deciding between questioning you and simply steeling himself to weather the fury of his daughter’s mother.

“It seems to me you did not. I can forgive you for that. But that is where the leniency ends.” The Beast continued, pointing an accusatory claw at the monarch. “You would send a warm blooded creature into the Nest? Are you out of your mind?”

Some tidbit of information you were not privy to seemed to click into place for the King. He turned his head away from you.

“We...I have forgotten…”

“What, that you would be all but strapping a target on their back? How rich.” The Queen's mandibles clicked angrily beneath her mask. “You know the critters of the deep are heat seeking. It is most fortunate they apparently have some resistance to Nosk venom, else I would have brought you no more than their mask today.”

The King listened, holding eye contact with the seething spider as she listed his sins. His shoulders were rigid, a telltale of his state of mind. You wanted to tell him it was fine, but interrupting an angry Herrah seemed like a terrible idea.

Thoroughly riled up, she dragged you in front of her, lifting you just slightly off the ground for a moment to spare you the pain.

“Look at them, Wyrm. See what you have done.”

And he did. You tried your best not to squirm under his gaze as he surveyed you, lingering on angry bruises, bandaged wounds and tattered fabric. When your eyes met, he stared long at the crack marring your mask. He only stopped when you lowered your head.

You powered through the pain and bowed, one hand flaring out your cloak, the other crossed over your heart. That fancy way you practised.

“At your service, Sire.”

Herrah made a surprised noise behind you.

“Would you look at that.” Herrah thought aloud, pulling you up from the bow with a hand on your shoulder. “Your messenger is kinder than most, Wyrm. Treasure that. You do not deserve it.”

The King, with a look in his eyes you've not yet seen, reached over to take your hand. His thumbs ran across the divots left in the palm of your glove with a weighing sense of guilt. 

Wisps of Soul fluttered up your arm like lumaflies, and all at once, you felt the constant ache in your body lessen.

“Be sure to visit the bathhouse today.” He spoke softly, letting go of your hand and hiding his own in his sleeves. “The springs will do you well. You may go.”

You nod, and find with some satisfaction that you can actually walk now as you step away and turn to the door. Some pain was still there, but you assume healing everything completely all at once may not be that good for you. That's what the springs are for…and bedrest. You dislike that part.

Herrah's eyes followed until the door closed behind you, and turned back to the King.

“Now then.” She began, and he narrowed his eyes like he was challenging her to speak out of turn. “Here.”

A familiar letter landed in his waiting hands. The pale seal was unbroken.

“Read me the message that was worth your Maskfly's life.”

Unaware of your boss being relentlessly antagonised even in your absence, you wandered down the hall, your feet taking you in the direction of your bedroom almost automatically. Your poor trousers were too short to warm you in the cool air of the Basin now, and you didn’t have another. Your best bet was to just…try to sleep. The blankets were warm enough.

You didn’t get too far though, as your path was intercepted by Ze'mer and Isma.

“Me’hon!” The taller cried, clutching you to her chest as the other frantically looked you over. “Ullll, waiii! Our poor ward, beaten and bruised! Che’ was worried we may never see you again!”

“What in the world happened to you? Oh, Gods above, you look like you've been through a crystal mill!” Isma’s choice of metaphor made you really hesitant to find out how a crystal mill worked, but you couldn't really make any witty remarks with your face buried in Ze'mer’s bosom. Your mask pushed hard against your mouth, so you only made disgruntled microwave noises at them in response to their fretting.

The Knights were…not your friends. They were protecting you like they did everyone else, as was their job. They just happened to want to protect you more . You suspected it to be purely Ze'mer’s influence. She and her obsession with making sure you ate something…and weren't sick, and stuff.

You pulled away before they could escalate the reunion into a lecture and ducked under the grey Knight’s arm, continuing down the hall with a noncommittal wave over your shoulder. They stared after you, worried. Alway so worried about you.

You really didn’t feel like dealing with them. Perhaps that made you a jerk. You had some right to be selfish with your time right now.

When you reached your room, you found that the door wasn’t shut properly; like someone had just trusted that lightly knocking it closed with their hip would actually latch the bolt after leaving. You didn’t find anybody inside. Someone must have checked if you were here and didn’t bother any further.

With a huff, you enter the room and pull the door closed behind you.

A few dragging steps take you to your little nest. You sit, finally, in your own bed…and stare.

You’re tired.

A lot has happened since the last time you sat in this bed, even if you were asleep for most of it. You want to be mad at Herrah for blowing your cover…but it was never a secret. They never asked, and you merely hoped it stayed that way.

There is no way you would be allowed to continue service. Would they send you away? Where would you go? Would it be safe for you to leave? You clearly weren’t as indestructible as everyone thought you were. And if they could take Lurien…

Your staring contest with the opposite wall was interrupted by your door being thrown open. You flinch, turning to see who had come to barge in so rudely to see–

Hallow.

The poor Prince, bless their heart, didn’t know why you reacted so adversely to them. News travelled fast in the Palace, and when they heard you had returned, they ran all the way from their room to yours– but now you were trembling, pressed against the wall on the floor like you had seen a ghost.

Any ounce of excitement they had vanished in an instant.

*...Maskfly?*

You still, but do come to your senses.

“Your Highness– Please, forgive me. I don’t know what came over me.” You apologised shakily, grabbing onto the edge of the bed to pull yourself up. The Prince carefully approached you and offered a hand, moving slowly as if you’d run away at the slightest sudden movement. You hesitate, but shake your head clear of doubt and take their hand. They pull you up, gently, and you try not to think about how perfectly their fingers slot into the holes in your gloves.

*Where…how…* They didn’t seem sure which of their questions they wanted to sign first, as they took a step back. They looked you up and down, and looked so… dismayed, to see you harmed.

Some days, one may be just barely holding themself together. It was a deceitful calm, a tight hold on one’s nerves that was so much more fragile than it felt. And all that is needed to shatter such a composure, was three words.

*Are you alright?*

You clutch at your sleeves. Your hands shake, and you are eternally grateful for the deep shadows your mask casts over your eyes. You watch as the vessel grips the front of their cloak, as if seeing you in pain was enough for their heart to shatter.

Slowly, they open their arms.

A beat of silence, as what they mean processed in your head under all the static, before you tentatively stepped forward and let your head fall on their shoulder. They rested gentle hands on your back, guiding you to sit on your bed as they gathered your quivering form into their arms.

“I’m sorry.” You whisper, bunching the fabric of their robes in your fists, “I was late to your candy delivery again.”

The humour of your attempt at a joke was lost in the tremble of your voice. Hallow only holds you tighter, a tremor in their shoulders as they almost desperately nuzzle their face into your neck.

A sob forces its way out of your throat.

-

There was a lot the Pale King wished to discuss with his Head Messenger. There were apologies that had to be made which he felt would only be appropriate in a private setting away from the officiality of a courtroom. But when he arrived at their room, he found the door wide open.

His Maskfly was not alone, joined by his eldest child as they lay curled against each other in a haphazard mess of sheets. They were both asleep, holding onto one another as if the other would disappear if they let go. Tears dried where he could see under the messenger’s crooked mask, but he dared not touch them while wiping alike tears from the closed eyes of his spawn.

Quietly, the monarch folded the unoccupied half of the blanket they lay on over them as far as he could. Let them rest. 

His poor children.

-

DOODLE TIME! Collage classes are long so I made a lot XD

Chapter Text

Detective Stockholm was in a foul mood.

True to his word, he had requested that Mulligan be removed from the case. Temporarily on paper, but indefinitely in practice. He wasn’t sure what had gotten into that boy.

Of course, he was aware that Samuel was…troubled, as a child. Perhaps he felt some relation to their runaway. But if Stockholm could square away his own prejudices about their case, surely his junior should be able to do the same. His actions had no real excuse. Still, the lack of chattering in the car was almost tragic.

He was driving down a steep, narrow dirt road not meant for a car, a van carrying his search team behind him. According to the forest rangers, this area was generally avoided by predators, meaning they had little to worry about. This originally failed to surprise him, as any animal would quickly note to avoid an area where something like a car exploded recently– but was quickly perplexed as he realised the rangers had meant they never did wander closeby.

Not something for him to find out, he huffed, steering his thoughts back to the situation at hand.

The cars had nowhere to park in the valley– the trees were much too dense to accommodate much more than a motorbike as soon as the ground began to assume a more horizontal angle, so they were forced to stop on the slope and pray the brakes didn’t give out while they were away.

As Stockholm stepped out of his vehicle, the back door of the van swung open to make way for a trio of excited search dogs. Tails a-wag, clearly the K9s didn’t feel as morose about their quest as their handlers were, who nodded at him seriously when they locked eyes. Alongside the three officers, four more volunteers from the local community dressed in visibility vests stepped out cautiously from the van. They had each been equipped with a radio, a water bottle, and visible apprehension.

He didn’t blame them.

He led the team down to solid ground once the fourth officer driving the van ensured the wheels wouldn’t be taking it anywhere. Once down, he folded his hands behind his back.

“Alright, everyone. The plan is the following.” He commanded attention, turning halfway towards the woods behind him. “Nobody goes in the woods just yet. We must first make our way further South to the crash site on foot. Stick close to the rocks and do not wander.” He addressed the civilians directly, to which they murmured in assent. He gestured to the group to follow as he began walking. He raised his voice slightly over their footsteps.

“Once we do, we go inside in pairs. Nobody enters the forest alone.” He continued, “Three of our volunteers will pair up with a K9 handler each. The fourth will join Officer Mallard and myself as our third. You may pick your pairs now if you wish.” He instructed, briefly motioning to the only officer not leading a dog walking beside him.

He could hear the group shuffle around briefly behind him before a brunette man in a bright orange vest hurried to join him in front without further word. He briefly glanced over his shoulder to see the pairs have assembled.

“Good. The officers have been given a map of the area and a compass for navigation. Do not separate. If you see something, say something.” With this understanding reached, Stockholm returned to silently counting down the minutes until they made it to the crash site.

Hesitantly, a woman around his age piped up from behind. 

“Excuse me, detective…” She began, and he merely grunted in acknowledgement. “I understand more eyes is always better, but with three dogs at hand…why are we here?”

Stockholm hummed morosely. 

“You, are here looking for a lost child.” He stated, taking a deeper breath when he finally caught sight of what remained of the stolen car up ahead. “They, are cadaver dogs.”

Nobody spoke after that.

-

Your eyes open to the tolls of the Palace bells.

The details of the dream you had faded rapidly- you could not recall it now if you tried. But the empty, unpleasant feelings they conjured remained.

You sit up in your bed, a dull ache still lingering in your limbs as you wipe at your tear-marred eyes. 

You squint at the face of your grandfather clock for the time. It has been…twelve hours, since you passed out. With a heavy sigh, you lay back down and stare blankly at your ceiling, attempting to assess your situation.

You're hungry.

You're in pain.

You're lying on your bed in an entirely jank direction with your blanket trying to escape the bounds of geometry.

…Oh and you don't have intact clothes anymore.

“God…” You cut yourself off lest you offend somebody listening, and roll out of bed in a heap of righteous teenage anguish.

The bells tolled for curfew. The halls are rapidly emptying of retainers.

As great a time as any to visit the court springs, you think, as you grab your nightcloak to bring with you.

…

You made it, let's say, fifteen steps out of your room before you were ambushed.

A less sleep drunk you would feel embarrassed at how jumpy you were, when you flinched away from Suzu’s distraught tackle into your midsection– but the current you only stared confused at the trio of messengers as they appeared out of thin air and immediately began to fret .

Timeus fussed over your torn attire as if you were one of his brood back late from roughhousing a little too hard in a thorn patch. The ladybug who was currently firmly attached to you rubbed her teary eyes into your ratty sweater as she babbled something about being worried about you– and Rogue, bless her heart, stood to the side awkwardly with her hands hovering mid air like she wasn't sure what to do with herself.

You, albeit hesitantly, cradled the sniffling woman in your arms.

“What are you guys doing here?” A fair question, their quarters were in the entirely opposite direction of where you were going.

“It's curfew.” Timeus stated obviously, his usually timid voice now laced with an almost scolding tone. “We came to see if you were still asleep. You have not eaten yet.”

“I had a bite back at Distant Village earlier.” You defend.

“I don't know how to tell you this, but that's like…nothing.” Rogue interjected, her eyes narrowed, clearly wondering how you were still alive. You wonder the same.

You briefly debate whether cracking a joke about you regularly missing meals anyway was a smart move right now.

Gently, you lower Suzu to the ground and take a step away from your worried colleagues.

“I appreciate the concern,” You begin, adjusting the nightcloak draped across your forearm, “But I am fine. You all go rest.”

You could tell they didn’t believe you, but you left them no room for argument.

As the girls reluctantly backed off, Timeus lingered back, staring you down even as you towered over him. You had nothing more to say. It didn’t seem like he had either, as the silence stretched on, even after the others turned the corner.

“You are tired.” He said finally. He held your gaze, and you resisted the urge to stare at the floor instead. “More than someone like you should ever be.”

He knows.

With how fast word travels in the Palace, you were sure everyone did.

“Why do you refuse to let yourself be helped?”

You didn’t answer immediately. Finally breaking eye contact, you turned away from him, unable to look at him any longer.

“I made it this far without it.” You muttered, staring numbly down the empty hallway. “Nothing good ever came of accepting it.”

“I don’t know what you have been through. I can only hope you will tell me one day.” He treaded carefully, making no move to approach you. “But things are surely different now. What would it take for you to finally rest?”

You mull over his words for a moment. With a soft shake of your head, you begin to walk, leaving Timeus standing in the hallway alone.

“Death, probably.”

-

The bathhouse was empty.

Shimmering water trickled from vents in the walls into a series of pools too shallow for you. Flecks of Soul flitted about in the air from the infused springs, some swaying towards you and sticking to your bruised skin before disappearing. Unfortunately, they had no actual healing effect like this.

You kicked your boots off at the door (lest you drag muddy footprints along the wet floors), and stuffed your plain grey socks into their leather collars. You made your way through the room, passing over the main pool on a mercifully dry stone bridge, ending up in front of an ornate wall carving. Limestone relievos of the King and Queen stood proudly to your right, and the ethereal form of Her Majesty the Radiance to your left. Carvings of their respective subjects filled the space behind the rulers, displaying curiosity, peeking over each other's shoulders, or frozen in a timid wave to the bugs on the opposing side. A depiction of the day they swore their mutual alliance, you muse.

A silver ring hung off the wall where the King’s hand grasped the God of Dreams’ feathered wing. Carefully, you hooked your fingers through the ring and pulled, watching as the carvings split, a large section of stone emerging as it slid on a track before it was allowed to swing open on its hinges.

You squint.

The room on the other side is a large, glimmering silver chamber with a single deep pool encased in pale trees within. Fairy lights, strings of bells and rope swings hung from their branches, their roots snaking down the stairs of the pool where their fallen snow white flowers and silver leaves swam in the pearlescent water. This was a place for royalty…and occasionally, you.

You had once expressed concern that no pool in the bathhouse was deep enough for you to use– and that you had to use them at least every few days. Understanding, they permitted you entry here; but only after curfew.

There was no place you dared hang your clothes. Not when they were in a dignified state, and especially not now– so as always, you simply left them folded on the floor by the pool, on the far side of the drains.

The water was always warm. You sank down with a sigh, until the water slipped over your shoulders. Your knees tucked to your chest, you took a moment to simply listen to the gurgling of the small waterfall across from you, your back leaned against the smooth roots of the silver trees.

The pain in your battered body slowly lessened. You watched your bruised knees intently, but the dark purple blemishes never faded from your skin. You poked at them experimentally. They no longer hurt at all. You supposed that made sense.

As you sat, no thoughts succeeded in forming in your head to keep you occupied. All you had was the oily shapes in the water, and your masked reflection.

…

Before you could reconsider, you reached up, droplets rolling down the back of your hand as you slipped the mask off your face. When placed in the water, it did not sink; it simply drifted away from you.

You looked in the water.

Someone else stared back.

How long can you keep this up? They asked. You didn’t know.

This is not safe anymore. Maybe. But what other option did you have?

Go back. They suggested. You shook your head. You had no place there.

Your reflection scowled, their matted hair shadowing the disappointment in their eyes.

You are playing the same role you already swore to abandon once. It was fruitless then, and it will be now. Nothing will change. They warn, their clumsily bandaged hands coming up to rub at their cheek as you did the same, washing away the uncomfortable dry streaks of tears that remained there.

That isn’t entirely true. At least now you were a pawn, instead of a trophy.

It was better when you were neither. They lament. When you were neither, you were them. You couldn’t be them anymore.

It was safer that way. You knew that. But being safe was no longer something you could afford. You had a purpose here, one that lives depended on. You couldn’t be selfish anymore.

Couldn’t you? You look away.

Leave them behind. All this place has done is hurt you. It is no different from that house. All that changed is that your life is now in danger. Your life was in danger regardless. You cannot leave.

Your reflection flutters in frustration as you shift in your seat.

What about being someone’s tool keeps you so?

You…didn’t know.

-

The Palace halls were quiet. 

You weren’t sure whether to drop your clothes off at the laundry or the garbage disposal– you ended up choosing the laundry. You may need to keep using them until you get your hands on new ones.

The twelve hours you had slept did not seem to be enough. You could not upkeep the immaculate posture with which you usually carried yourself, staring at the floor as you counted the steps back to your chambers. You just needed a little more. Then you could finally return to your duties in the morning.

You find your door just slightly ajar. Whether it was your own mistake when leaving, you honestly could not recall. You peer inside.

Prince Hallow sits on the edge of your bed. Their folded hands fidgeted softly in their lap before they noticed your arrival, upon which they stood and met you in the doorway. You do not meet their searching gaze– reminded as you were of the disgraceful lack of self control they had witnessed from you earlier.

They do not ask how you are– they knew already. Instead, they took you by the hand, and pulled you away from your bedroom. You did not resist this. It didn’t seem like they would argue. 

You kept your eyes on your held hands as you approached a familiar hallway. You knew where you were being taken now– you just didn’t know how to feel about it.

The guard stationed outside the children’s bedroom bowed his head to the Prince as he pushed the door open for them. He regarded you with what you could only assume was pity, but you were too tired to feel at all annoyed about it. At least he didn’t question why you were brought here.

Once the door closed behind you, the empty black eyes of tiny vessels locked on you and their eldest sibling. Those already half asleep sobered up remarkably quickly for toddlers as they climbed out of their nests, gathering at your feet like puppy dogs, clutching the hem of your cloak with teary eyes or reaching their tiny paws up for you to pick them up. You looked at Hallow for aid. They only smiled.

Slowly, you knelt down, the tiny vessels immediately clamouring into your lap. You gently wrapped them up in your arms, pulling the slightly taller Brooks into your side where they grasped your sleeve. Their many tiny chirps were muffled in your chest as Hallow knelt beside you, their attention elsewhere.

You notice, though belatedly, that there is a child missing from your arms when you hear a quiet sniffle.

Princess Hornet stands across the room, her hands balled into fists in the fabric of her nightgown. Fat tears rolled down her flushed cheeks, just about trembling with the need to sob, but was clearly holding herself back. Ghost shuffled to the side to make room before you even asked.

“Your Highness…” You prompt quietly, your heart aching a little when her breath hitched. “Why do you cry? Come here…”

That opened the floodgates.

With a hearty “oof–” from you, the young weaver catapulted herself into your arms, knocking half her siblings out of your lap and into Hallow’s, who, it seems, was ready to catch them. You fretted over her as she began to babble, soaking the front of your cloak with tears that you barely even noticed between all her apologies.

Your brain finally caught up to you.

“Hey, hey, hey, what–?” You stammer, perhaps a little frantic as you gently remove the sobbing princess from your front. “Why are you sorry–”

This only served to make Hornet even more hysterical, so Hallow helpfully reached over to pat her back.

“I– I told you that– that it was safe–” Another sob, another chip in your heart, “T-that nothing would hurt you, and, and that–”

“Shhhh, no, no–” You hug her close again, cradling her as much as you can while keeping hold of the rest of the children in your arms, “None of that was your fault! You couldn’t have known, it’s okay–”

“But–”

“I’m okay, Hornet.” You counter before she could try to take the blame again, “I’m here. Please, never think any of this was your fault. You were responsible for nothing.”

The princess whimpered as she wrapped her arms around your neck, hiding her face in your shoulder as you rocked yourself slowly back and forth.

“It’s okay… Really, guys, you all should be sound asleep already.” You mutter, wiping an inky tear from Satin’s eyes. Hallow huffed and knocked their shoulder against yours.

*So should you.* They sign one handed, the other cradling an increasingly sleepy Thorne to their chest.

“Excuse you– I was engaging in thermal bath therapy. It’s good for the joints.” You snark, patting Brooks between their mismatched horns. This seemed to lift the mood a little.

Hallow, thoroughly amused, gathered up the four vessels in their arms and stood from your side. You bundled up your own and followed their example. The exhausted children were soon deposited in the large nest of blankets. 

As you tucked tiny blankets over them, Hallow gently took a hold of your arm. You met their eyes as they were trying to search yours through the shadows of your mask. 

*Are you certain you are alright?* They asked finally, and you sighed, diverting your attention back to the younger vessels.

“I invoke the fifth.” You end up saying, nonchalantly grabbing them by the sides and placing them in the nest with their sibling. They seemed to sputter, though their only protest to you laying a blanket over them as well was a dirty look.

*What does that even mean.* 

“I cannot say. I signed an NDA.”

*What are you SAYING–*

Your impish chuckle was cut off by a firm grab to your arm, followed by a startled yelp as you were dragged down into the nest as well. Hallow tugged half their blanket over you with a self satisfied look on their face that you had half the mind to smack them with a pillow for. 

Before you had a chance to accept your fate, which you planned on doing anyway, Ghost and Hornet climbed over their eldest sibling and made themselves comfortable between you. You shared an amused look as you tugged the closest sibling to your chests.

You got Hornet. She sank her little claws into your cloak as she held onto you, and you hummed quietly as you tucked the blanket around her as much as you could.

“Little snugglebugs, all of you.” You mutter, feigning annoyance that was as see through as the glass of the window above you.

With the rest already passed out, only Hallow gave you a chuckle in response.

Chapter Text

“What exactly is it we're looking for?”

Officer Mallard sighed, clearly displeased to be stuck “babysitting a civilian” as he had so eloquently put it that morning. Stockholm shook his head disapprovingly at his colleague’s annoyance and decided to answer their volunteer’s question himself.

“Torn clothes, lost shoes, makeshift shelters. Anything they may have left behind that the rain couldn't have completely washed away.” He listed, narrowing his eyes at a wildflower that looked out of place from a distance. “It has been months since they've been here, after all. If they're still in this forest, there will be signs of it.”

“And if they aren't?” The brunette man – whose name was Oscar – asked, doing his due diligence of scanning the underbush as they walked. 

“Then they made it back to civilization. I believe that to be a better outcome.”

He had made a call a few days back to the station down at Windfall if they'd found anyone wandering out of the forest, as they were the closest town to the wood line. They hadn't. Samuel had told him they could have just gone another way. He did his best to hold on to the young man's eternal optimism.

He glanced at his current partner.

Elliot Mallard was older than Mulligan, stone faced and mildly temperamental as opposed to the other's brash, flamboyant charm. He bore a lighter complexion, but a darker expression eternally carved into his stubbled face, his teeth slightly yellowed by nicotine. Stockholm supposed if nothing else, the two had their inability to grow a beard in common.

Intermittent shouts of the missing teen’s name rang out in the distance as they continued down their path, occasionally shouting out themselves. To his continued expectation, the answer never came. Solemnly, he wondered if there was anyone at all who answered to that name anymore.

The search continues. 

They had found nothing of value so far– bar the occasional bullet shell this season's hunters left behind. Oscar grimaced at the caliber of one, noting how it was much larger than someone hunting for rabbits would, or should use. Stockholm agreed. The deer lived further down, away from the mountain.

“We should mention that to the rangers later.”

Two hours had passed. Only minutes apart, the search teams reported through the radios that they reached the point from which they will circle back on another route. Stockholm's team arrived last. 

“Alright.” He began, studying his map as Mallard returned his radio to his belt. “We go back around this way. We meet with the other teams for lunch and head back in this way” He narrated to the volunteer, who nodded in understanding as he watched the detective draw his finger along marked paths on the paper. 

They resumed their search.

“This is pointless.” Muttered Mallard.

“This is necessary procedure, Elliot.” Corrected Stockholm tactfully. “We cannot rule out any possibility.”

The officer rolled his eyes. A small, discreet motion that he almost didn't register, and almost forgot to ignore.

“They've been gone for how many months now? After this long of a time the dogs would have been enough. After a week , the dogs would have been enough.” 

Stockholm frowned.

“You sound as though you hope the child died down here.”

“No. After draining this much in resources, they better be alive.”

Stockholm was unsure what resources Mallard was referring to. This search is the first time his department had heard of this case at all.

“I think you're being insensitive.” Oscar observed bluntly. The detective thought the same, but didn't voice as such lest he garner Mallard's wrath. He loudly cleared his throat to dissuade the policeman from saying something unsavoury.

It was but forty-five minutes later that the radio buzzed.

“Shepherd reporting. We found something.”

A ray of hope lit up in Stockholm's chest. He quickly asked for Mallard's radio, but,

“Well…Layka did.”

That hope was dashed just as quickly.

Oscar made a pained noise. Mallard showed little reaction, but had the decency to not say anything.

“What did you find?” Stockholm dared ask, trying to fight down the dread that had welled up in his stomach with the acceptance he already carried with him.

There was a too long pause on the other end. He thought he could faintly hear the woman who had accompanied Officer Shepherd retching in the background.

“You okay? …Okay. Sit down on that rock there… there you go. Drink.” He listened to the officer instruct his companion patiently. Clearly he was going to get to the point if he forgot to release the PTT. “I'm…not sure what I'm looking at exactly.”

That…didn't sound promising.

“Please try.” Instructed Stockholm. The line fizzled out for a moment.

“It's not the kid.” He finally said, no doubt prompting a wave of relieved sighs across the woods from the other teams listening to the conversation on the open channel. “At first I thought someone had raked a pile of leaves over it to hide it, but I just noticed it's a camo suit. It's a hunter– birdwatcher maybe. Not…that old. Still smells something awful.”

Considering the news he was expecting to hear, Stockholm should be relieved.

He wasn't.

He was quite the opposite of relieved, actually.

“Great.” He grit, lifting the radio again. “Don't touch it. Mark your position on the map. Everyone, return to the rendezvous point at once. We're ending the search here.”

Confirmations from the other teams. Confusion from his own.

“Why are we stopping?” Asked the civilian. Mallard turned away from his view– no doubt rolling his eyes again. 

“We need to–”

“Do I find his head first?” Officer Shepherd interrupted over the radio. Stockholm slowly lifted the device he was in the middle of handing back to Mallard.

“...I’m sorry?”

“His head. Or hers. I'm really not sure. It's missing.”

Stockholm glanced at Mallard for aid, in case the procedure had changed since his own foot soldier days. He only nodded.

“Yes. Mark that too if you find it but join us once you do. We'll wait.”

“Copy.”

The line goes silent, and Mallard reclaims his radio. Stockholm leads the team back to where they started.

“We need to hand the area over to the homicide department. These woods are their jurisdiction now.” He answered belatedly.

“Can we not just avoid it?”

“Protocol is we leave immediately. It's a much fresher case than the one we are working on. We could destroy evidence.”

The man didn't seem to like that answer any more than he did, but understood nonetheless.

They were about a half hour from the crash site when the radio buzzed again.

“This is Reed– I lost my K9. I repeat, my K9 is gone–”

The group staggered to a stop.

“The fuck you mean you lost it?” Mallard demanded, continuing the walk as he listened to his college.

“You got Lucky right? He's smart, he'll come back.” Chimed in another officer.

“No, I know, but he's never done this before! He just started pulling, and when I didn't let him he took off! Snapped the carabiner right off! I've been chasing him for a while but I think I lost him.” Officer Reed dismayed, audibly winded. In the background, his partner volunteer could be heard finally catching up to him, out of breath.

Stockholm snatched the radio away from Mallard before he could curse the poor man out.

“Shepherd, have you found your head yet?”

“No, sir.”

“Leave it then. Your route was adjacent to Reed's, go help him find his dog.” He instructed, his pace turning brisk. “Reed, don't abandon your partner again. You're the one with a compass.”

“Ah– I'm sorry.”

“Meet us at the crash when you find him.” There were a pair of confirmations. Stockholm sighed heavily.

Everything was going wrong today.

-

“Good morning, children~” She sang, softly rousing her sleepy spawn from their restful slumber.

This was one of her favourite parts of the day. 

The White Lady, slowly as if her little vessels were wild birds she was afraid to chase, tugged blankets away one by one, watching in amusement as they all either curled around each other tighter or stretched like kittens after their well deserved nap.

She didn't expect to see your ruffled head of hair emerge from the mess of blankets.

“Oh-! Why, hello there!” She chuckled, and you blinked blearily against her pale light. “I was not expecting to see you here…how are you feeling?”

Her kind words took a moment to translate in your foggy head. You barely opened your mouth to answer when you were interrupted by a loud yawn from Hornet, who you have unconsciously sat up in your arms with. She took a fleeting glance at her second mother, waved, and snuggled right back into your chest.

Her question continued to hang in the air as you slowly panned over all the vessels just now waking up, lingering on Prince Hallow as they rubbed their eyes beside you.

“...better.”

“I'm glad to hear that.” The Queen said quietly, and you muttered some sleepy nonsense as one of her branches reached out to smooth down your hair. A grunt of thanks was all she got when she fixed the previously crooked mask on your face, before the weaver in your arms braced her little feet against the mattress and tugged you back down with all the strength her half asleep body would allow. You went down like a slice of bread.

You proceeded to tune out the rest of the Queen's one sided conversation with her children as you stared up at the ceiling, hands silently working to swaddle the Princess back into the blanket, much to her amusement. You were just about done making her into a little spider burrito when Prince Hallow’s pale mask came to hover over you from the side. They signed something, but it was just outside your field of vision to read.

“Hm…?” To that, they raised their hands a little higher and signed again.

*Did you sleep well?*

Ah. You took a moment to mentally assess the general quality of last night's slumber. It was surprisingly satisfactory, considering the circumstances.

“...Yeah, I slept good. Thank you.” You think that may have been the first thing that came out of your mouth since your return that wasn't at least partially a lie.

They seemed very pleased with your answer, their empty eyes narrowing with what you learned was a smile. A painfully soft expression.

The light of just-waking lumaflies is dim. Against the shadowed ceiling, Hallow's mask gives off a faint, but just about visible glow. You hadn't noticed that before.

*I'm glad.*

There is a strange squeeze in your chest.

That odd tightness followed you to the royal dining chambers, where you joined the children for breakfast. You hadn’t done that in a while.

The Pale King sat at the head of the long table, the Queen to his right and Prince Hallow to his left. Normally, the younger vessels sat just about anywhere they wanted, though they clustered in the designated “Pale Court side” of the table that day, as the other was occupied by Queen Herrah and her entourage. Self-conscious of the fact you had been forced to wear your nightcloak under your uniform today, you tugged your white cape tighter around yourself, awkwardly shuffling in your slightly-too-small chair where you were seated between Prince Brooks and a poker faced Devout.

You were initially surprised to see her still here– though you made no assumptions, if you had, you would have assumed she left after delivering you. Turns out, she was staying for a while. Her presence with an alleged traitor loose in the Palace made everyone feel a little better.

Breakfast came out shortly. The servers moved with professional ease, balancing multiple plates in their multiple arms. One laid a plate of beautifully dressed salad in front of you. You had no time to reach for your fork before the Weaver Queen interrupted on your behalf.

“Give the messenger something more nutritious, if you would.” She addressed the server, who masked their slight flinch with admirable swiftness. “They need some meat in them if they want to heal.”

You were about to assure her it was fine, but the server already took your plate away without question.

“Oh? You never mentioned you were of the omnivorous palate, Maskfly.” Noted the White Lady, delicately lifting a little blue honeyed flowerbud to her mouth. You restlessly rubbed your thumb and forefinger together under your cloak.

“I didn’t think it was that important.” You deflected politely. 

Herrah shot the King a look. He met her gaze, but instead of returning it, calmly spooned a bit of greenish white sauce onto his pickled mushroom cutlets. He has yet to say a word, which was unusual. He was normally quite talkative during private meals.

The server returned within a few minutes with a quiet apology for his self perceived tardiness, leaving what looked like a lightly roasted steak in front of you. A tad odd to have for breakfast, but you figured they didn't have many options when it came to meaty foods here. You wondered what sort of creature this was from.

Your knife was blunt as a stick, but the meat was tender enough that it didn’t matter much. You shifted your mask up a little and took a bite.

It was bland. Painfully so– What you ate at the Village was too, but you hardly noticed then on account of your coma-perpetuated starvation. Is this what people thought the British cooked like? Surely, they didn’t actually. Surely, they didn't wage all those trade wars for the spice routes just to eat everything plain. Still, it was good food, so you did not complain.

“Could you pass me the salt please, Your Highness?” You murmured to Brooks, who readily reached over the table and snatched the salt shaker for you. Shake shake. You tried again.

Still bland. You shook more.

Now it was too salty. You can’t win.

Your defeated huff proved entertaining to Hornet, who was giggling in her seat beside her mother at your misfortune. You gave her an unamused look from across the table. She laughed harder. Given how quiet meals were when half the attendees were mute, this attracted some attention. You shrunk back into your seat and started scraping off what salt you could from your food.

Breakfast passed otherwise unremarkably. Despite its oversaltedness which was entirely your fault, the steak really wasn't bad. Food down here was generally average all together, but that was your spoiled tastes in spices they had no access to talking. It wasn't usually a problem with the salads, as they had something akin to vinegar (that you suspected was just diluted acid), and salt was abundant. 

Did any spices grow in these woods? If they did, the bugs would have to leave their magically protected clearing to get them. You didn't blame them for not doing so.

You declined the serving staff’s offer to take your plate, and headed to return it yourself. You made it not two steps out the room when your name was called.

“Maskfly.” Spoke the King, and you almost dropped your fork. “Since this is one of very few moments both you and I are unoccupied, I wish to speak with you, if you do not mind.”

You felt the temperature of your blood drop a few degrees. You had a few ideas of what he would want to talk about, and you liked neither of them.

“...no, I don’t mind. Please allow me to return these first though.” You briefly lifted your dirty dishes, and he nodded silently before returning to the dining room.

You deposited your things in the kitchen with a noticeable air of dread. The cooks looked like they wanted to ask, but refrained– you were thankful for that.

The King waited for you at the table by himself.

“Take a seat, please.” He instructed, and you obediently did so in the chair he gestured to. You sat where Hallow usually did.

“Firstly.” He wasted no time, resting his hands on the tabletop. “How did you find your meal?”

An odd first inquiry. Maybe he wanted to let you down easy.

“It was…” Do you lie? Would he know if you did? “...underseasoned, for my taste. But it was wonderfully cooked. I enjoyed it.” You admit. He tilts his head slightly.

“Is that so? They have made it the same way for years.” He mused, “Do your people make it differently?”

His question was entirely innocent– you recognised that much, and tried to remember a recipe you often made for dinner.

“It was usually me doing the cooking. I liked to marinate meat in…a mixture of things, neither of which does Hallownestian have a word for.” You thought back to the last time you cooked something. It was instant noodles with salami slices. Your parents were unamused. “A lot more than just salt.”

You would enjoy one of your famous steaks right now. You hadn’t made one in years.

“Interesting.” The King hummed thoughtfully, snapping you out of your thoughts of soy sauce and minced garlic. “Perhaps when the traveling merchants return once the wet season passes, we could trade for more of their exotic ingredients than usual. We do run out quite quickly.”

You were tentatively curious about that. Were there other bug kingdoms in the woods? Would you have ended up elsewhere if you went a different way?

“Secondly.” He continued, “Why did you lie to me?”

Your frame goes rigid. You couldn’t tell what he was thinking from his tone alone.

“...I have done no such thing.”

“A lie by omission is still a lie, Maskfly. Surely you know what I mean.”

Your only solace was his lack of use of the royal We. It meant he wasn’t angry , but that alone didn’t mean you would get off scot free.

You laced your fingers together on the edge of the table in front of you, trying to find the words. At least your audience seemed patient.

“...I was worried.” Is what you ended up saying. When you didn’t clarify, the King gently prompted you to do so with an expectant wave of his hand. “...that you would insist on sending me away, if you knew.”

“Send you away?” Echoed the King. You nodded stiffly.

“Yes. Maybe you would have wanted me to stay with my guardians, or refuse to let me serve here. I know I’m technically too young to work yet.”

“Is that why you think I am upset?” The King asked, his brows furrowing at your explanation.

“...Isn’t it-?”

“No. You are perfectly employable, Maskfly, that is not why we are having this conversation.” It had never occurred to you that child labour laws may be different down here than what you were taught. “I am upset, because had I known, I would never have allowed you to shoulder as much responsibility as you have– and I would especially never have sent you anywhere remotely dangerous. What I had always thought was a simple bad habit of yours has now been recontextualised as self-destruction.”

You thought that interpretation of your workaholic tendencies was greatly exaggerated.

“That is…an over-statement, My Liege.”

“It really is not.” You decided not to argue further.

He was looking at you expectantly, but you didn't speak.

“Did anyone at all know about this?” He asked.

“The kids did.” You mutter. You had told them during the first playdate you attended as a favour to their usual supervisor. You thought clearing up that you weren't an adult would put them at ease.

“Have you told them to keep it secret?”

“No. I think they just assumed you knew. They had no reason to suspect you didn't.” His only answer was a hum of understanding.

In the resulting silence, you stared down at your gloved hands, uncomfortable. You only looked up when he cleared his throat.

“Lastly…” His voice was softer now. “I wish to apologise to you.”

Oh.

“I was ignorant, and that ignorance had put your life in danger. For that, I truly am sorry.” He spoke earnestly, trying to find your eyes, which you had evaded.

“My life was in danger regardless.” You mutter, “ You needn't apologise to me.”

“No, child. This could have been prevented entirely.” The King corrected patiently, “I need you to understand that you were wronged .”

You did not agree. He could tell, but his expression left no room for you to argue.

“...Does that mean I cannot be a messenger anymore?” You asked quietly, your voice more tender than you had intended. The King of Hallownest looked up at you with an expression that read…something purer than pity. You had no name for such a thing.

“Of course you can.” He promised, his pale hand gently grasping your shoulder. “I made you Head Messenger for a reason. You had proven yourself more times than you had ever needed to.” 

You followed his gaze to your scuffed up Hallownest Seal when he said that. 

“Though I certainly will not be sending you to the Deepnest again.”

“Dang.” 

He chuckled at your sarcastic remark, even as his eyes hardened with importance.

“But you must promise me you will take it easier on yourself.”

You made an uncertain noise.

“I don’t think I can promise such a thing.”

“Then at least allow people to stop you. I do not wish to see my Maskfly break their own wings.”

…You supposed that was a fine enough compromise.

-

The Palace was in chaos.

You weren’t sure what caused it, and it seemed neither were the retainers, as they kept asking each other if they knew what was happening. None did, but they did know that there was an emergency. Something urgent.

You decided to investigate.

You found no Knights on patrol, and no guards who had any more of an idea of the happenings than you did. Most worryingly, you found the throne room empty as well.

Just where could the King have gone? You didn't think he had any meetings today. Did he? Which way was the conference room again?

When you eventually found him, it was amidst a heated discussion with Head Messenger Margot. The Wyrm was visibility agitated, which was highly disconcerting considering his usual level headed demeanour. His translucent wings flared behind him as he and the old woman threw words back and forth almost too quickly for you to follow from where you were eavesdropping from behind the conference room doorway.

“Is there not a stag you could take!?” The King demanded, his clawed hands balled into fists to stop them from tearing into his own robes.

“There are no stags scheduled to run to Queen's Station at this hour– we have no time to wait for one.” Margot was likewise disquieted, but she seemed leagues more clear headed than the monarch currently was. 

Where did he want her to go? What was at Queen's station? The mushroom place…and the bubble place, right?

“Find a way, Margot!” He exclaimed, his light flaring up harshly from what you could see of Margot's abruptly elongating shadow . “ We could barely have an hour left!”

“Surely you cannot expect anyone to be able to make such a trip on foot in this little time! Few can fly, and neither fly that fast–”

“You must try! You must only get there, Monomon may be faster alone–”

Oh. He needed someone to run to the Archives. Could you make it there and back in that time? You didn't know the way by heart, but you've been there once before. If you had a map, you might make it. 

“I can do it!” You find yourself blurting out, stepping into view before you could finish comparing your personal best times to distance. “I'll be back within the hour!”

Margot gasped, frantically lifting the sides of her uniform in a useless attempt to shield you from the King.

“Absolutely not! Your Majesty please ignore them, they'd get themself killed–”

“But I'm the fastest! Just give me your map and I'll go!” You insisted, already rolling your ankles in preparation.

“And have you trample into acid? With your squishy shell? This is no time for jokes, Rookie–”

“Truly? You believe you can?” The King interrupted, pushing the silverfish to the side with a hand on her shoulder. She seemed incredibly unhappy with this development.

“I am fairly confident, yes. What must I tell her?” You doubted you would be getting a written letter to hand Professor Monomon, considering the urgency of the situation. You were ready to memorize.

Margot wasn't ready to let you walk into your doom.

“Your Majesty, please– they are just a trainee! They hadn't even been on tour to the Canyon yet! It's too dangerous!”

“Listen closely.” He ignored her. “Find the Teacher. Tell her there is a ‘Code yellow’. She will know what it means.”

The moment you received your assignment, to attempt to physically stop you would have been treason. Margot knew this well. You saw the moment in which she accepted she wouldn't be seeing you with all four limbs again.

You had little time to ponder that as you were already out the Palace gates, a map in hand and a message on your tongue.

Margot had made it seem an impossible task…

But you succeeded.

Within a record breaking 45 minutes, you had run to Fog Canyon and returned – exhausted as you were – with the Teacher and some machine she had you carry in tow.

You stared down at the Hallownest Seal in your hands. You had removed it from your cloak so you could attempt to buff out its scratches.

This brooch was the reward for your service.

“What do you think of this?”  

You looked up from your polishing to see the Royal Tailor slide a piece of parchment in front of you. The draft pictured your vague silhouette surrounded by measurements, with sketched lines dressing it in charcoal.

“We will reinforce the outer sides of your sleeves here and here– some plating on the chest and stomach there, same place on the back– are you sure what's there on the legs is enough?”

You observed the plans. You had requested that she skimp on the protection on your new pants a little, not wanting to restrict your movements. All that was there was some reinforcement on the side of the upper legs and some light padding for the knees in case you fall.

“Yes, I'm sure. The boots will make up for it.” You asked them to add steel plating to the back of its collar down to the heel. The tendon would be safe, and that was more than enough. “Also, here–” you pointed at the plating assigned to your torso, “I need you to segment these more. Cut the stomach and lower back plates in three horizontally, like this–” (she nods attentively) “I wish I could bend my spine in half at a right angle but it unfortunately curves in an even arc–”

She giggled at your jest, quickly jotting down lines and notes on the parchment.

“What of the gloves?” You asked, seeing as they were not drawn on the silhouette. Your own had seen…much better days. You already had her sew them up once.

“Oh, Queen Herrah had insisted she can get you those herself.” The Tailor informed as she drifted across her studio to pick out fabrics.

“Has she?”

“Yes! I am quite curious what she is planning with them. Weaver clothing is always very practical.”

Well, now you were curious too.

Your change in wardrobe, though you weren't at all opposed, was entirely Lady Ze’mer’s idea. You had needed new ones anyway, but now you were getting some extra protection built in. You had thought it entirely paranoid of her at first, but quickly reconsidered your stance when Lord Iphiel’s face flashed in your mind's eye like an omen.

You had been a fixture in the Tailor’s studio for the past hour or so, taking your measurements and consulting you on your preferences in fabric. You were reluctant to part from your usual look of black trousers and turtleneck, so you ended up coming up with a way to sew armour into them. Some fitted metal, a tiny bit of chainmail, and a whole lot of style. Not to mention spider silk was a nice upgrade from polyester.

The design set, you said your farewells and left The Tailor to her work. Making two sets of clothes of your proportions – as she insisted she make you a version without the armour patches too – would surely keep her busy for a while. She also told you to go visit the Palace Blacksmith to pick what you wanted him to make the plates out of later…but you knew someone better for a job like that.

It could wait.

You leaned into one of many sitting rooms, where amidst gaggles of whispering retainers sat Prince Hallow in the midst of a game of solitaire. Due to the lockdown’s increased security measures, their training instructors were all preoccupied patrolling the Basin and lower City, meaning they had an awful lot of free time. Free time spent alone, as their sibling did unfortunately have live-in tutors to hold their classes. Usually, you would be gone on your deliveries as well.

Not today, though.

How inappropriate would it be for you to disturb them right now? They surely wouldn’t mind, they seemed awfully bored, even if they did like your odd human card games. You were more concerned with the retainers, who by now have surely noticed your lingering.

You decided that someone like Maskfly had little reason to care.

You slipped inside, dancing between desks and armchairs to reach the Prince, who has paused their game in favour of watching your approach with some carefully measured glee. Dropping down into the cushions beside them, you quickly fought to come up with a good reason as to why you came in here.

…why did you come in here?

Hallow’s attention was now solely and intently on you, putting you on the spot. You couldn’t unsee their faint unearthly glow now.

“...you don’t have training today, right?” You asked quietly, weary of the retainers’ keen ears. Hallow shakes their head. “Good, okay. That’s what I thought.”

You pause, wracking your brain for one, single thing you could drag the Prince away to do, now that you interrupted their card time. All the other vessels were busy, and Hornet was either with them, or taking an after-brunch nap with her mother. What was something just you two could do?

…

You lean closer to Hallow, a slight wave of your hand prompting them to do the same. You lower your voice to the slightest whisper, lest anybody hear you.

“How do you feel about taking a hike?”

Chapter Text

*How are we meant to do this?*

“I have no idea.”

It took atomically little to convince Hallow of another secret outing– the question was how you were supposed to go about it.

You were both seated in your bedroom, cooped on the edge of the bed, thinking. Your first thought, almost instinctually, was to say you were going on delivery and smuggle the vessel out under your cloak somehow. Regardless of how much greater Hallow's dimensions were than the hiding capacity of your uniform, there would be no deliveries today– or tomorrow, or the day after.

The thought drove you just a little mad.

“We don't exactly have the empty halls of festive blessings this time.” You grumble, staring into your lap. “Security is tight. The only thing that would give us a chance is to like…teleport outside.”

*I know a spell for that!* Hallow signed enthusiastically.

“Oh?”

*...I can only use it on myself though.*

Well that's unfortunate.

“Alright, do you think there's a seal for that spell I could draw?”

Hallow pondered for a moment, but vehemently shook their head once they found their answer.

*There is, but if it isn't exact it might kill you.*

Ah. You didn't feel like risking death again this soon.

You rested your chin in your hands. They mimicked your thoughtful position. Were you just stumped? If anyone knew squat about running away, it was you.

You glanced around your room, searching for inspiration. Your lamp did not help, though you did note you should feed the lumafly soon. Your desk also shrugged proverbially. Your wardrobe straight up scoffed at you.

Your eyes eventually landed on your window. It was open halfway, the lace curtain deathly still in lieu of any breeze to move it. A stray speck of Soul drifting by outside glinted mirthfully on the silver frame.

“...I have an idea.”

-

“Where are you two off to with all that?” 

“Fort. Please inform the Knights that a royal nap is in progress.”

“Ah, understood. Carry on.”

You walked right past Hegemol with a polite nod, Hallow returning the respectful bow of his head with one of their own, both your arms laden with silken sheets and patterned blankets. You had performed a most bountiful heist of the laundry room, and were now headed back upstairs to Hallow's chambers.

You were not intending to make a fort, no, though that did sound fun. This was all a part of your master plan.

You ushered the Prince in ahead of you, glancing up and down the empty hallway suspiciously before following. You locked the door behind you with the simple slide of a latch.

“Do you have any darker clothes, Your Highness?” You ask as you plop your armful of fresh laundry onto the floor. Hallow looked down at their sparkly white robes.

*I…should? Somewhere.*

“Please find it. As plain as possible would be best.”

As the vessel dug through their wardrobe (which contained a comical amount of plain white), you freed the black cloak you brought along from where it was hidden in the sheet tangle and tossed it aside for now.

Keeping your back turned to the Prince, you sat down on the floor and began tying the ends of the blankets together.

It was advantageous to use Hallow's room for your escape for several reasons. Though while it was a story above your own quarters, your room was infinitely more likely to be disturbed by…literally anyone. Not to mention your own window was small and high up. Hallow, on the other hand, had something much better than just a bigger window.

A balcony.

Who's to begrudge a larger number of blankies with such an opportunity?

As you worked away on the sheets, Hallow eventually joined you to start tying on the other end, now dressed much more appropriately for illegal activity in a simple gray cloak. 

Of course the darkest thing they own is that mid gray. You try not to snicker.

“Would it kill them to give you some colour to wear?” You joke, trying not to tear the sheets while tightening a knot.

*I like mono though…* They moodily sign one handed.

“Light mono only?”

*...maybe a dark gray would be nice sometimes–*

Oh, the poor repressed youth. You'll get them all the emo clothes they could ever need.

Desperately fighting away the intruding mental image of Hallow dressed like a scene kid with an ill fitting wig and all, you focused back on your handiwork. It took longer than you initially thought, but you eventually managed to tie all the blankets together successfully.

The escape rope is ready.

You tied the contraption to the silver railing of the balcony as Hallow gazed down onto the Grounds below. Getting down from here will be the easy part– you still have to make your way across the gardens and scale the outer wall.

“Alright.” You clap your hands together, “Who goes first?”

Prince Hallow anxiously glanced between you and the four story drop without giving you an answer.

“Okay, I'll go. Put away my cloak for me in your little pocket dimension would you? Thanks–”

You barely threw your leg over the rails when they caught your arm.

*Wait! What if you fall? Or the rope breaks? Or someone sees–*

“Woah! Slow down Princey–” You calm their fretting with a steadying hand on their shoulder. “It's fine, when has an idea of mine failed?”

*I can name several.*

“That– hey!”

They had the gall to laugh at you! 

You grumbled in mock offence while they got all their giggles out, still halfway over the railing.

“Your worries are unfounded, your Highness.” You huff, lifting your other leg over. “What adversity could possibly befall me with such a powerful knight as my companion? I'm all but untouchable.”

All your blatant flattery achieves is crossed arms, an unimpressed glare, and a blush they were hoping you wouldn't acknowledge. You sigh in defeat.

“Look, I've done this before. Just watch what I do, ‘cause you're gonna have to repeat it.”

With that, you lightly pushed off the edge of the balcony with a loose hold on the blankets. Hallow hurried to the edge to watch you swing back and land against the wall feet first. You gave them a thumbs up. They held onto their horns in agitation.

With all the expertise of a rock climber, you slowly walked down the wall, silently praying nobody was currently present in the rooms your escape route passed by the windows of. You continue.

The first window was dark, its curtain drawn and silent inside. The second, not so much.

You choke on air and throw yourself to the side,  keeping your body flush with the wall as you balance yourself at an angle with one foot on the corner edge of the windowsill. Faint voices from inside carry out to you through the open window.

“I don't know. It could be weeks, maybe months.”

“Well, fix it!”

“How!? What authority do you think I have?”

The voices were too faint for you to make out who all was talking, but they seemed unhappy with each other.

“Figure it out. Use the beast if you must. We cannot fail here.”

“I– You can't make me do that–”

“Then find a way.”

You shouldn't be eavesdropping…but this sounded too suspicious without context. How much of a risk were you willing to take to get a peek at them? Would it be worth it?

Tuning out the distant conversation, you glanced up at Hallow still keeping an eye on you from the balcony. They noticed your pause, and gave you an inquisitive motion with their arms. You saluted like a captain ready to go down with his ship. They made their previous gesture more exaggerated.

You steeled yourself and unlocked your knee, letting gravity slowly return you to a vertical axis on your rope when–

Flash!

You almost fell. You frantically grabbed onto the rope with both hands and caught its slack tail end between your feet. A sudden bright light was what startled you, almost like a camera flash. You hesitantly peeked inside the room.

It was empty.

-

*Never do that again!* 

Hallow was smacking your shoulder in anger repeatedly. Your almost-fall had damn near given them a heart attack, so as soon as they were down on solid ground (they jumped the last twenty feet and landed like a superhero, the damn creature–), they were on you immediately.

“Okay, okay, sorry-” You dodged their wrath with a swift shimmy, giggles diminishing as you glanced up at that looming window on the Palace wall. “I just…thought I heard something worth listening to.”

You elaborate when they narrow their eyes in confusion.

“I don't have the context, mind you. It may as well be nothing.” You start, fixing your jostled collar, “But it sounded like an ongoing conspiracy. I'm sure you know what I mean.”

The mood took a nose dive as you began leading the Prince through the tall silver flora, avoiding the stanchioned cobblestone paths the guards patrolled on and cutting through the bushes to reach the outer wall.

A tap on your shoulder gains your attention.

*Maybe we shouldn't go.* They sign, glancing back at the Palace.

“Don't let this ruin your adventure mood, Hallow. We'll be back in a few hours anyway.”

*Yeah…but maybe we should tell Father first.*

You frown. They're right, you should tell him about this – especially since it possibly concerns either Herrah or Hornet.

“Okay…your call though. We can't do both.”

They cringe in displeasure. The battle between want and need was a bloody one, and you could see it all on their face. Both sides put up a valiant fight, but eventually…

They grabbed your hand, resolutely dragging you along the wall to find the best place to climb.

It seems want has won.

You didn't have much of a plan for scaling the wall. You could get up with just your very fingertips finding purchase between the bricks, but could Hallow? 

“Can you teleport to the other side?” You ask quietly.

*Yes. It would be nice to know if the coast is clear or not though.*

You'll go first again then.

“Keep watch. If you see a guard coming, hide. I'll uh…act like a plant, probably.”

*On it.*

You nodded and clawed into the wall with your gloved fingers, hoping you won't break a nail. You made it a few bricks up before warning Hallow over your shoulder.

“Look up my gown and tomorrow's City Scriptoria headline will be regicide.”

They froze like a statue, and shielded the sides of their vision even though they weren't turned your way in the first place. You try not to laugh too loud.

It took you a good five minutes to scale the wall. It wasn't horribly tall, but you were taking it slow, not wanting to frighten Hallow again.

…Or fall.

You rolled over the edge, landing in the walkway and whipping your head this way and that in a frantic search of an approaching guard. Finding none, you peeked over the other edge to survey the outside Grounds. Kingsmoulds patrolled up and down the perimeter like videogame enemies following a set path. You curse.

While searching the ground for any solution, you notice that the ‘moulds do not stray all that far from the main gate. The stalagmite garden at the edge of the cavern, near the station no less, was unguarded.

Jackpot.

You wave to Hallow, directing them to run along the wall as you do the same, watching as they trip over roots and shrubs trying to watch you and where they're going at the same time.

You put your hands up, palms out.

They skid to a halt. A wide, slow swing of your arm over your head towards the outside signals their next step.

Flash!

They appear on the other side, immediately stumbling into the rock formations at the bottom but remaining unharmed. They put their arms up for you, not unlike their younger siblings asking to be carried, calling you down.

That's…easier said than done, but if you made it up, you could make it down too.

In your current form, you weigh no more than an apple. That coupled with your very human sized strength, it's really no surprise that you miscalculate sometimes. This is evident in the way you, about halfway down the wall–

“sHIT—” 

–do not grasp the brick line hard enough.

You flail after the shining silver running past you, uselessly breaking off shards where your fingers catch as you plummet into the batch of spikes below. Instead of the sweet release of impaling death however, you find yourself afloat, a pair of spindly black arms clutching you awkwardly as gravity stalls. 

You blink at Hallow.

They blink back.

And then you’re falling again–

Though thankfully unhurt from the decreased elevation, you both land gracelessly in a crumpled heap inside a small basin between the miniature mountains of limestone. Hallow attempts to sign to ask of your well being, but you quickly shove a hand to their mask as if that would do anything. Heavy armoured steps approaching prompt you to push your backs tightly against the stone columns.

*Highness-* You sign clumsily, glancing between your partner in crime and the blank stone behind you as if it would open to let you see your approaching doom. *You glow- turn it off-*

Hallow panics, uselessly dragging their hands to and fro on their permanently luminous horns before getting an idea and hastily digging a hand into their suddenly malleable chest cavity. Out came your black cloak, which you quickly grab the other side of and drag it over your heads in hopes it would turn you invisible somehow.

The footsteps approach with robotic tempo, the stomping growing louder as your breath stalls in your lungs. There is silence for a moment, then two, and just as you're about to start praying, they begin to retreat. You don't move an inch as the construct lumbers off, farther and farther…

Before both slumping with sheer relief once you can't hear it anymore.

“Thank GOD those things aren't the brightest–” You whisper loudly, “I was about to start writing my will–”

Hallow, who had experienced more adrenaline in the past ten minutes than they had their entire life, clutched at their chest with an incredulous grin in their eyes.

*Would you call me crazy if I said that was fun?* They signed shakily as you carefully stripped the cloak from their horns.

“Crazy? No. Susceptible to my horrible influence? Absolutely–”

You took this downtime as an opportunity to don your Sneak Cloak™. Not to be confused with your Stealth Socks™, which you were also wearing. You feel your stats increase.

The next step of your master plan was just around the corner.

…Literally. You cautiously emerge from the stalagmites to gaze upon the heavy door keeping your next destination, the stag tunnels, away from you. It had no handle nor lever, just a plain shell plated wall with one way to open; a Soul brand. Something you did not have.

A Soul brand was like a password. The sole key to the lock of a powerful sealing spell. For example, the Palace treasury was sealed with a brand, accessible only by the king himself. The only person with access to the key to this lock, was the guard stationed on the other side of it. The only way to open it was to get them to do it for you.

Your first idea was to throw rocks at the door. You can't exactly just go up and knock– but as pebble after pebble harmlessly plinks off the metal with little success, you call that one quits.

…That was your only idea.

“Well that's disastrous.” You bemoan, propping your elbows on the rocks you were now hiding behind. “We may as well sneak back in and make our report to your dad at this point. I am taking NO risks gallivanting through the City right now, not like we'd make it past the elevator would you STOP drumming your claws so loudly please??

Prince Hallow raises their hands innocently, only holding the throwing rock they were fiddling with as the noise that bothered you continued.

Your gazes pan to the side to see a stocky little creature skitter past on the wall. Its shiny black shell looked as tough as its legs must have been, leaving dents in the cavern wall as it walked noisily across the surface.

You share a look.

-

You cover your ears.

Hallow ran back to your side after placing the innocent Shadow Creeper on the door, grimacing in kind at the wildly unpleasant noise its tiny steps produced. The door, protected by a seal as it was, sustained no damage like the wall did, but that mattered little when, within a minute, it suddenly disappeared.

You yank your cloak over the vessel's head as the critter plonks onto the floor, much to the confusion of a tall assassin bug of a guard who stood weapon ready on the other side. 

“Well, hello, little guy…” He muttered as he bent at the waist to pick the creature up. “How did you get over here?”

The critter did not answer even as the guard started walking, presumably to toss it back into the greater Basin it came from. Its beady little eyes followed your silhouettes as you slipped into the station just before the door re-materialised at the wave of a stone plate in the guard's lower left hand.

The Hidden Station echoes with the resounding slap of a victorious high five, followed by frantic apologies and the faint rustle of fabric from a rapidly shaking hand.

“Man…” You start after making sure your Liege healed their poor hand properly, “This place is a mess.”

This station has recently been undergoing massive renovations. That being, getting connected to the kingdom wide network. It used to only be a back and forth trading route with Deepnest, but the King decided to take a security risk and connect it to the rest of the tunnels one day. That being said, it wasn't done yet, and you could tell. 

Massive piles of earth were stacked temporarily in the corners, the lumafly lamps were emptied to spare the small bugs from the stress of construction, and there was a stag stable being carved into the wall beyond the platform on the far side.

There were a few direct connections the menders were hoping to make, but only one of them was open yet.

King's Station.

That's where you're going.

With no time to waste, you and Hallow jumped down onto the tracks and ran into the dark tunnel, your only light source the vessel's own unearthly glow.

-

The unfinished tunnel was unsettling and mildly claustrophobic.

Wooden beams held up the fresh ceiling, and the deeper you went the less bulbs were hung up, devoid of glowing flies as they were. The tracks were carved like a shallow staircase on the gentle incline. You walk slowly, watching your feet for the occasional rock or stray pickaxe. The distant rumbling of stags running by was felt only faintly under your soles. 

“By the way.” You say after a while of walking in silence, “Thanks for the save earlier.”

Hallow rubbed at the back of their neck. 

*Could have been smoother.*

“Hey, you saved my ass! I'd say that's pretty smooth!”

They giggled at your insistence, and you huff in satisfaction.

*Will you ‘save my ass’ when I get in trouble too?* They sign cheekily.

“Of course. Your ass has never been safer.”

Airy, silent giggles continued as you made back to back proclamations of being the most esteemed “ass protector” Hallownest has ever seen when your eyes caught a light at the end of the tunnel.

“Oh look, we're almost there!”

The dark passage crossed into a properly lit one, iron support beams carved with simple patterns, the track paved with tightly packed cobblestone. You lifted the security cordon barring entry to the darkness for the vessel to pass before ducking under yourself. Hallow seemed as relieved as they were winded from the continuous uphill climb.

“Damn, where did all that squire stamina go?”

*Silence knave–*

You cackle, but stifle your amusement in favour of trying to guess which way the station was.

“Hear any pompous drivel nearby?” You ask, hands on your hips as you swivel. You don't expect Hallow to confidently point to the right.

*Yeah, actually.*

You allowed the Prince to take the lead with a grandiose sweeping bow. They snobbishly turned their chin up as they passed, and you followed them in the direction they perceived noble chatter to come from. Eventually, you could hear it too.

Some baron was loudly complaining about his wife's affair with their butler when you and Hallow casually sauntered out of the tunnel. The sole occupant of the platform aside from him was another very bored noblebug who nodded along to his spiel but was clearly not paying attention. It seems most travelers were still home having their lunch cooked. You managed to slowly inch by behind them without them even noticing.

*Are we going through the City again?* Hallow signed eagerly, not at all dissuaded by the threat of soaking. You shook your head.

“Nope. We're taking a shortcut!” A point of your index finger brought their attention to the stairs leading to a lounge in the ceiling. “There's an elevator up there that goes straight to the Crossroads. The Peaks are a skip and a jump from there!”

Little did you know, there was a small problem with this plan.

You had never been here before. This elevator was severely out of the way of your marked routes, and you had always assumed it was because of foot traffic or the nobility’s general consensus.

But as the elevator slowly rattled to a halt in a dim, unfamiliar hanger, you realised it might be because it didn't lead to the Crossroads at all.

“...Okay.” You mutter to the dusty air, “Where the hell is this.”

Should you just turn back and take the one in the Storerooms you know takes you there? Surely running past there and startling a few dozen belflies into exploding would speed up the extermination efforts that kept it closed off. But that would put the Prince in danger, so you discard the idea.

Before you had the chance to whip out your map, Hallow tugged at your cloak. You turn expecting for them to sign, but they were looking at you expectantly, pointing down a tunnel to your left, a blue light dancing mesmerisingly on its walls.

No way…

Equally intrigued, you lightly kick open the elevator door, ushering the vessel ahead. A rocky shore and swaying grass greets you on the other side.

The tunnel opened up to a lake. A shimmering blue reservoir buried deep underground, leaking down into the City below, but refilled by seemingly nothing. A few stray vengeflies buzzed about in the rocky ledges above, occasionally swooping down to steal a fleeting sip before returning to their dens. 

You always wondered where the Blue Lake was…

*It's so pretty…” Hallow signed in awe, crouching at the edge of the shore staring at their reflection. *I didn't know this much water could be in one place.*

“You should see the ocean.” You muse, sitting down by their side to swirl your own mirror image with a finger. “It's so big you can't see the end of it.”

*There exists that much water?*

“Oh yeah. So much you couldn't possibly wrap your head around it.”

*Will you show me?*

Their hopeful question gives you pause. You've never been to the ocean yourself, but you couldn't possibly take them with you even if you had. The thought itself is amusing though…

“...I couldn't, no. It is much too far away to visit on a whim.” You quickly change topic when they deflate. “But! This lake is even prettier than the ocean, I think. It's so pure it's almost glowing.”

Hallow squints against the liquid aquamarine.

*You can see the end of this one though…*

Indeed, while it was obscured by the wild sparkling of the water surface, the opposite shore was just a few minutes away…by paddle boat. Which you didn't have.

“Welp.” You stand, “Clearly I was wrong, so back down we go. As much as I loathe taking you to the City with a kidnapper lo–”

A hand on your arm stops you.

“–ose yes?”

*Vengeflies live in the Crossroads don't they?* They sign, still looking out at the water.

“I mean…on the outskirts of it yeah.”

*So we're on the Crossroad's outskirts?*

“I genuinely have no idea, Your Highness.”

They turned to you resolutely, a smile in their eyes.

*Let's go across.*

You blank.

“Across. The lake??”

*Yes.*

“With what raft??”

*I'll make us one!*

Before you had the most fleeting of chances to ask how in the world they would accomplish that, they took a daring step towards the edge of the water.

“Your Highness–”

*Watch!*

They lift a foot above the water. What kind of raft making is this–

“Hallow no–”

*Just watch!!*

Their step met a solid surface when brought upon the water. Your protests die on your tongue as you watch a Soul platform spread out at their command, the underwater visible through the gaps between the spell lines. They sit down in the middle, patting the glowing seat next to them.

Menace behaviour. 

“...Scooch over you gremlin.”

You hopped on the SoulBoat and sank down next to them with a  judgemental side eye. They shrugged jovially.

Next thing you know, the raft is sailing.

The energy dies down a little as you drift, the vengeflies overhead hiding from your approach in the nooks and crannies of the ceiling. The silence is comfortable, but fragile as Hallow fidgets with their hands. You prompt them to start with a short hum.

*I was just wondering…What's Lady Radiance like? Since we're going to see her and all.* They ask, signing with one hand and idly tracing the lines of their spell with the other.

“You've never met her?”

*I'm not sure. If I have, I don't remember her.*

She hadn't come to the Palace in the past 16 years? You wonder what kept her. Perhaps gods just don't meet up often.

“Well, I think you'll like her. She's nice.” Or at least cordial with you. You never stayed long enough to experience her out of hostess mode.

*That's good then…*

The waters were still. The SoulBoat moved more like a conveyor belt than a raft, feeling almost as if you were still sitting on the shore watching the other side slowly approach you.

Hallow was fidgeting again. Your prompting hum did not encourage them to speak their mind this time. Instead, with great hesitation, they leaned onto your shoulder, their restless hands now clamped into the fabric of their cloak nervously.

Your chuckle as you lift the end of your cloak over their back.

“Please don't worry, Your Highness. I’m sure she'll adore you.”

-

The lake led to the Crossroads after all.

After crawling through a hole in the wall with monumental effort, you find yourself sliding down the roof of a hut you recognise.

“Oh, I know where we are!” You help Hallow off the roof of that cooky charm seller, allowing them a moment to marvel at the little village tucked under the rocks. “Timeus lives here.”

Maybe you could say hi to his family? Hallow thought you should. You comply.

You led Hallow down the small hill and into the village. They kept a firm hand gripping the end of your cloak just to assure they won't lose you (as if it'd be hard to find you again), happily waving at all the villagers who came up to greet you.

Knock knock, went your fist on a door. It was a bigger house than the rest, with a lush little front garden and a slide pushed against the wall. A slender woman with tired eyes opened the door for you.

All exhaustion left her immediately.

“Maskfly!” She gasped, her hands frantically clinging to your arms. “Please tell me you come with good news!”

She was a bit taller than Timeus, with a lighter shell and shorter antennae. Tiny children peeked at your conversation from around the living room corner anxiously.

“Huh–”

“Why are you in black?? Did something happen? Why isn't he with you–”

Her terrified fretting had you and Hallow share a look of concern.

“Timeus? He's fine, Lady Mariette– he's at the Palace! Did nobody come to alert you?”

While she narrowly managed not to collapse from relief at that, the children certainly didn't, falling out of their measly cover behind the wall in a heap.

“Is he– alert me of what? What happened?” She shook you lightly, voice a little choked.

“There is trouble in the Capital. We’re all temporarily confined to the Palace for our safety. The entire court is on lockdown.”

Mariette was flabbergasted.

“Lockdown? Why?”

You granted her a short explanation, trying to downplay a little with the gaggle of youngins eavesdropping from the back. Hallow was staring at the floor.

“I see…that's troubling. Hopefully it will be resolved soon…” She murmured, kneading her hands. “Thank you for telling me.”

“Of course, ma'am. I would have come sooner had I known they never sent out alerts.”

Not that you could have come earlier with having been in a coma in Deepnest for three days straight–

*They have.*

You and Mariette were startled by Hallow's silent interjection.

“Huh?” 

*The day after you left for Deepnest, the dragonfly lady's family servant came by with an escort to bring her spare clothes.* They signed, seeming as confused as you were. *And Miss Suzu's sister sent her a care package via post. Someone told them about it.*

Oh. You understood now.

“Well then. It's good we came by! It seems the knights are tardy.” You diffused, draping a hand across Hallow's shoulders. “It was nice to see you Lady Mariette, but we didn't really come for you– we must get going now.”

“Oh, yes I understand. Stay safe, Maskfly, …who's your friend?” She trailed off at the vessel's apparently unknown moniker.

“Oh, this is Prince Hallow.”

“Right, stay safe Pri-” Mariette seemed to only realise mid sentence what you said, breaking into a stammer. “p– P-Prince Hallow???”

“Bye Lady Mariette it was nice you see youuuu!”

Quick as lightning, you left the flustered woman behind, dragging the vessel after you in a flurry of giggles appropriate for a pair of teenagers doing something they shouldn't be.

-

The surface air was crisp and cool today. 

A brief meeting with Mr Cornifer confirmed that the residents here didn't know about the lockdown either, so you instructed him to tell the retainers’ families they shouldn't expect any letters for a while.

The elevator to the mines was up at the moment. You kicked the lever to call it down.

*Why weren't they told anything?*

The contraption rattles noisily on its chains as it descends.

“I don't know. Maybe the ones responsible thought it wasn't important.”

The metal lift hits the landing with a loud clatter. You hop on, and hold out a hand to Hallow once it begins ascending at your weight. You swing them up to hold on to the bars next to you.

*They didn't think it was important to tell a wife her husband was okay after five days?*

You think back to Mariette, and they way she was desperately trying to hold in her relieved tears until after you were gone. How she must have broken down, clutching her children not moments after you fled. Children lead to believe their father was missing because someone didn't feel like making the trip.

The elevator rattled to a stop.

“No, they must not have.”

You didn't say more on the matter. Let them ponder on what it means– planting seeds like this in a future monarch's head was a good thing.

“Don’t think about that now, though. Look!”

A long stone bridge stretches on before you, massive pink crystals acting as railing to keep you from the pit of glittering gems below. Spotlights dot your path as you walk forth on the natural runway, delighting in the Prince’s sheer awe. 

You couldn't help looking around like some starstruck tourist yourself. The beauty to the Crystal Peaks amazed you every time you had the pleasure to see it. It alone was worth the pain of climbing to the top. It seems Hallow was also floored, despite having gotten a glimpse on your first trip already.

They stopped to push their face against the mirror sheen of a large crystal. Their pink tinted reflection grinned back at you. 

*I didn't know they could get this big!*

“That isn't even the biggest one I've seen.”

*Seriously???*

They ran to and fro, marveling, and you decided there was little harm in taking it a little slower upstairs. But then they ran directly under a crystal-cast spotlight, and whipped around to present themselves to you like a piece of art.

Arms out and smiling so much their eyes closed, the light from above making their own glow so strong it was like their surroundings darkened to accommodate it. The morning star, right in front of you.

There's that ache in your chest again.

“Come along, Your Highness. We have an arduous climb ahead of us.”

Of course you were exaggerating, but man, you really didn't like climbing…

As you walked through narrow tunnels and deserted climbs up platforms, Hallow felt the need to inquire,

*Where are all the miners?*

You give them a funny look.

“You didn't think the courier route went through active mineshafts did you-?”

*I'm not sure if you already realised, but I know literally nothing–*

You snort, carefully stepping around sharp minerals in your path.

“We could check it out on the way down if you want?”

*Please???*

“Sure!”

On the way up, you held a brief introductory to the local fauna, and in the same breath deeply advised the Prince not to go near ANY or them. Did that stop them from playing baseball with a crystal hunter? To your dismay, no. You still played referee in their entirely unbiased favour.

The rough natural caves slowly took on a more bug-made shape. The rocky terrain transitioned into a smooth path, the glowing crystals lighting your path changing their rosey colour to an etherial gold as you ascended to Hallownest’s Crown.

Moth Village was a breathtaking place. 

You emerge from the stairway you took to the village square, holding securely to your excitable charge’s hand. Compared to the barren rocks of the Peaks below, the surface of the Crown was blanketed in a fine carpet of flowering moss, the greenery spreading onto the roofs of the many crystal-lit houses nestled against the glowing monoliths that ensured the seep-over of essence from the dream realm to create a pseudo domain for the Goddess of Light to maintain her divine form.

Floating islands hovered off the side of the cliff and above you, keeping more houses aloft midair. Moths of all colours and patterns flitted between them, some coming down to mingle with their kin idling in the square, or flying out to the massive island in the upper distance, too bright for you to directly look at just having left the darkness of the underground.

“See that there, Hallow?” You lean closer, pointing up at the second sun, “That's where we're going.”

Hallow was physically vibrating with sheer excitement. You were happy to see they got over their nerves of meeting the Radiance already.

After a quick run around the square just to let them look down the edge of the cliff and marvel at the flowering rooftops, you lead them to a mural of the ground at the edge of the square. It was a large circular carving, intricate lines weaving over each other in the shape of an elaborate dreamcatcher.

“Step on.” You instruct, encouragingly pushing them ahead.

*What happens if I do?*

“You'll see.”

At your insistence, they hopped onto the mural. It burst into a bright glow, a staircase of golden light sprouting forth to take you up, fading out of existence after a moment of nonaction.

“Go on!” You urged, drumming your fingers on their shoulders, “It's still there, it'll appear as you go! Just climb, you won't fall.”

*Will you catch me if I do?*

“Of course, Your Highness.”

Confident in your promise to rescue them, they quickly began their climb up the dream-like staircase, you following after. The essence steps flared to life under your feet as you ascended in a spiral around the square, eventually arriving at a large platform that bathed the village below in a dim warm light. 

More and more little dream sigils floated in the air the higher up you went, now chasing the vessel up a skybridge to the sun, their eagerness evident in their hold of your hand as they dragged you behind.

The harsh glow of the distant island dissipated the closer you got, until you were standing right underneath a giant, beautiful tree. Its branches wove themselves into a cradle, red leaves cushioning the basin and granting shade from the actual light of day alike. Moths, so very tiny compared to this wooden goliath, sat in its branches, dozing off on each other’s shoulders peacefully.

In the giant cradle slept the God of Dreams.

The whispers quiet as countless eyes warped into the beige bark all moved to stare at you.

“Good day, Your Radiance!” You greet with a flourishing bow that Hallow scrambles to copy, “How do you do?”

The colossal mass of downy feathers twisted in its nest, a giant wing coming down to brush the fallen leaves on the ground with the first stretch of someone who had just woken up from a restful night's sleep.

“Hmmm? Maskfly…hello again.” The moth yawned, softly glowing golden eyes regarding you fondly. Her voice was a slow, gentle caress in the back of your head, loud as your own thoughts but quiet enough to lull one to sleep. “I see you brought company. Not here on business today, are you?”

The Radiance rested her cheek in her folded wing as she watched you, the tips of her feathers still idly brushing the floor as Hallow hid behind you like a frightened puppy, their previous enthusiasm vanquished. 

“No, My Lady. Today, we're only here to visit.” You tugged the vessel out from their cover and showed them off. The Goddess' closed eyed smile seemed to put them at ease. “I hope we aren't intruding.”

“You, little loves? Never, never…” She arched her back with a leaf rattling yawn, sharp metallic legs kicking out to prop themselves on the branches. Sleepy moths poked their heads out of her down at the jostling.

*Is she always like this?* Hallow signs discreetly.

“Yes.” You confirm .

The eepy moths were buried back into the fluff as the Radiance twisted around again, pushing a swimming pool’s worth of leaves out of the cradle just to face you better.

“Why, Prince Hallow, I hadn't seen you since you were a grub…tiny little thing you were, so small, so precioussss…” She trailed off. She seemed to fall asleep for a moment here, but resumed as normal after a moment. “How come your father allowed you to visit?”

“Oh, he didn't. We're here illegally right now.” You chuckle, and the moth's wide eyed look of surprise is perhaps the most awake you've ever seen her.

“Are you now? How scandalous of you, Maskfly…”

“Mhm, professional anarchist here. They're my accomplice.” 

Hallow nods enthusiastically 

( *What's an anarchist?* “I'll explain later.”)

“Mmm what time is it, noon?” She asked nobody in particular as she readily welcomed another moth flying into her seemingly infinite floof for a nap. “Have you children eaten yet?”

“We had a snack at brunch so I'm fine. My Liege?”

Hallow gives you a cheerful thumbs up. It seems they aren't hungry either.

“Good, good…make yourselves at home then. The neighbouring island's brewer has amazing berry tea…” And just like that she curled right back up, ready to resume her slumber. “Or, you could join us for a nap…I certainly wouldn't oppose you…”

“Thank you, Your Radiance. Please resume your rest.” You bow, tugging the Prince back towards the bridge with you. “Come, let's let her sleep.”

*Why can't we join her?* Hallow pouts, glancing back to the tantalisingly comfortable feathers you were handed an open invite to.

“I mean…technically nothing’s stopping you, but I wouldn't dare. No matter how many times she offers…which is every time.”

*Isn't this a chance to make our lie into a half truth?* They sign giddily as they cling to your arm in preparation to drag you back.

“Uh—”

*You told Hegemol we were having a ‘Royal Nap Time’. Let's go take a nap! Just imagine the (they make a wide sweeping gesture with their free hand) QUALITY of a nap patroned by the God of Dreams herself!*

“Are you arguing in favour of a little sleep or trying to sell me something–”

*I'm selling you the idea of sleep! Come on, you know you want to!* 

You find it incredibly hard to say no to them. Like…to be fair, a nap couldn't hurt, could it? And she was incredibly soft looking…oh but the blasphemy–

“Ah, what the hell– you know what, sure. Okay. Nap time ahoy. Lead the way, Cap.”

Hallow, incredibly satisfied, took you by the hand and confidently led you back to the cradle, in which the slumbering deity stirred at your approach.

She didn't say anything this time– you doubted she even really woke up as she extended down a long lustrous feather for you to grab onto. 

You did so, as firmly as your nerves allowed, hooking an arm over the vessel as well should they slip and fall as you were lifted up, up, and up still, until you were gingerly deposited in the soft expanse of airy pale gold grass that was the field of the Radiance’s chest.

Hallow couldn't help but snuggle in immediately, and you startled at the ocean wave of a sigh that lifted you for that moment.

You couldn't feel much of the softness with all your layers, but she was very comfy… You end up laying back, stiff as a board, landing with an almost silent puff.

…man. This was great, actually.

Hallow snickered at you from behind their grubby little hands. You flick them on the forehead as you settle in properly, anxieties quelled by just how warm it was.

Maybe a nap really is a good idea, you think, as a massive wing comes to gently smooth over you like a colossal blanket.

-

The dream realm was a gorgeous place, with islands nestled in cotton clouds, bathed eternally in her golden light. The bugs of Hallownest and beyond came to her every night, floating in the endless horizons and muttering peacefully about their hearts’ dearest desires. She would drift by, listening to their tales, learning about the happenings of the world by cradling the slumbering in her feathered wings. There was nothing she did not know.

…Almost.

There was just one thing, one dream she could never decipher.

They sleep unmoving and silent, a mountain between her islands, curled into themself where they emerge from the bed of clouds at the bottom of the realm. 

They were the one thing she didn't understand.

She knew what they were, of course. But their kind was a rare sight in her domain– human dreams existed in a world of their own making, rather than appearing in the dream realm. 

Not Maskfly. They came to her every time, from the day they first arrived.

But they didn't drift, they didn't murmur their dreams to her– they laid still, silent as if dreaming of death. Normally, she would investigate if she was curious, but she could not simply peer inside as she would the common bug. Humans worked differently. She couldn't enter their mind, not unless she was granted permission to.

She landed softly in the weightless tangle of their hair, kicking up scarlet flakes of essence from their locks, searching for their expression, but only finding their face buried in their hands as if they were hiding from the world.

What do you dream of?

They answered not.

Why do you hide from me?

The Radiance flew down, hovering, caressing a wing over the back of their giant hand.

She wasn't expecting much. After all, they never did react. They may as well have been little more than a monument, another island in her endless sea.

Would you show me, just once? Tell me what ails you so?

Maybe it was the fact that their body in the real world rested over her heart. Perhaps it was just chance that they heard her. But whatever the cause, their finger slid aside, and a single dark eye opened – staring through her, rather than at her – to allow her perusal.

She accepted the offer readily, and suddenly, she was no longer the God of Dreams.

She was only a child, long before they became what they are today.

-

“You are a disgrace.”

The house is silent. The only noise in the bare room is the cross voice of a woman, her dark eyes glaring down at you from where she stood.

“We didn't buy you all these expensive clothes for you to ruin yourself like this. Look at what you've done.”

You said nothing as she reached out, her hand tightly gripping a lock of your long, matted hair, ignored as she tugged on it sharply, as if it would restart you somehow. You kept your eyes locked firmly on the blue diamond patterns of her sweater.

“Can we not take our eyes off you for a second? We leave for a week and you think you can do whatever you want? People talk. You should know this by now.”

You remain still. Your scarred hands lay folded neatly in your lap.

“Where did we go wrong with you…”

She may as well have been talking to a wall.

She said a name, then, indignant of your silence. 

You did not recognise it.

“Honestly. Get up, I'll fix it. I have to do everything for you.”

You let her drag you up and out of your bedroom, her grip on your wrist not bruising, but inescapable.

It is not like you would try.

It never works.

She sat you in front of a mirror. You glared numbly through the writhing shadows obscuring your face from view, its insectoid legs clawing and tangling into your hair, attaching itself firmly to you like a mask. Her hands phased right through it while she worked.

“What will you do when we leave again next month?” She complained, making no effort to be careful with her ministrations. Your head is yanked back painfully. She shoves it back upright. “Do we need to hire someone to look after you? Aren’t you a little too old for that? Huh?”

The hairbrush tears at your scalp, but you don’t protest. 

“If you put in even a fraction of effort on your looks, we could take you with us, you know.” You do not react to her sweet talking. She scoffs. “Gosh, you’re difficult. Fine, go stay with the Dicesares again, if we’re not good enough. That prudish shyster must spoil you rotten.”

A harsh yank leaves the hairbrush stuck in your hair.

“Damnit.” She hissed, her useless tugging making you squeeze your eyes shut in pain. “That’s it, get in the tub. I’ll wash it out somehow.”

You stand from the chair robotically and are dragged away again.

…

The scene shifts. The cold light of the washroom shifts into the fuzzy droning of a television screen, the blank static bathing you in its artificial light as you sit on the couch. A black turtleneck and trousers is all you wear, clicking through the channels with intermittent pushes of the remote. Every channel a different flavour of static, the machine disconnected from any service.

They should have been back by now.

The sun was setting soon. You glanced at the front door, expecting entry, but nobody came.

You…worried, somewhat.

You should go outside, wait for them out front. You can come back in when you see the car, can’t you? They didn't like you going outside in clothes like this, they shouldn't see you… No, you shouldn’t care. You told yourself you’d stop caring.

You shouldn’t care.

You shouldn’t, but you still stand, moving slow as you approach the front door, reaching for the handle…

When it opens on its own.

You stagger, stepping off to the side to let the two adults in, dragging suitcases, arms full of plastic bags of souvenirs already assigned to people they know. 

“What are you doing here?” Is the first thing she said to you, “Isn’t it a school night? Go to bed.”

You stand frozen as your father drops the baggage at your feet. He didn’t even look at you.

“Take these with you since you’re on your way upstairs anyway.”

Your mother does the same, ignoring your existence as they headed for the kitchen.

Your hands ball into fists.

“No.”

They stop.

“What did you say?” She demands, offense written across her features.

“Take it yourself. I’m not your bellhop.”

You shouldn’t care. You don’t care.

Anger blooms in your father’s eyes. You do not move as he advances back towards you.

“How are you speaking to your mother, you brat?” He raises his voice, leaning down into your face. You fight every instinct to flinch and remain still. “We barely walked in and you’re already starting one of your episodes!? Take the bags and scram! I refuse to deal with you tonight.”

Your hands tremble as you reach into a bag, gripping a snowglobe, repeating the mantra of indifference in your head. The globe is tossed through the television screen on enraged impulse, and your lips open with venom before you have a chance to reconsider.

“Fuck you.”

Slap.

The sound rings clear with the static silenced. You stumble, tripping over your own heel as you clutch your face, wide eyed as you watch a drop of your blood linger on the sharp gem of  your father’s diamond ring.

Your mother’s yelling is garbled nonsense as you shuffle back towards the wall for your safety. 

You shouldn’t have done that. 

Fear and regret cloud your vision as you watch the vague shapes of your parents argue. You remain curled in the corner all the while, any attempt to get your attention ignored with your head buried in your arms. You don’t know how long it lasted.

They weren’t there when you looked up again.

The living room is dark as you stand. The luggage is where they left it, the broken shards of the television screen glinting with the light of the rising moon.

Blood continues to drip from your split lip, the taste of copper fogging your head as you struggle to hear your own thoughts over the deafening song of the flocking cicadas outside.

They never hit you before.

Will they start to, now?

Red drops splatter on the hardwood floors as you turn and rest your forehead on the cold wall.

You will pay for tonight. Of this, you are certain.

What would they do?

You already know better than to expect breakfast tomorrow. Would they allow you lunch? Will they lock you in your room again?

Your hands involuntarily ball up once more.

You said you wouldn’t care. Stop caring. Two more years, and you can leave. Just two more…

Would you make it that far?

You strike, fist sinking into the drywall, the tear of wallpaper returning you to your senses. You wipe the white debris from your hand into your shirt.

You cannot predict what they’d do to you. They already gave up on you being their show horse. You no longer had a use. 

You need to leave.

Tonight.

-

You awake to the stroke of feathers on your cheek. You mutter nonsense as you tighten your hold on the pillow you were clutching. It squirms in response and throws an arm over your torso. The cool touch is a nice contrast to the warmth of the nest.

Bang.

Huh???

Your eyes shot open as the memories rush back, springing up in your seat as Hallow, frightened awake, rolls aside.

“Oh? Good morning children.” The Radiance coos, surprisingly more awake than you. A few whispering moths sit on her shoulders.

Bang.

The heck is that noise?

“Uh…”

“Nothing to fear, little love. It’s just some animal.”

…Oh, you see now.

Hallow sits up and looks around in search of an animal that could possibly make that noise. You slowly turn their head to it.

In the far distance, from your vantage point on the mountaintop, you could see the edge of the clearing. There was a creature there, throwing its body against the barrier spell, whining faintly as it flashed white and repelled it every time. When tackling didn’t work, it resulted to scratching, which also did nothing.

“It’s rather curious. Predatory creatures are usually naturally averse to even approaching the barrier.”

You squint.

“Oh. It’s a dog.”

All eyes turn to you. You stutter.

“O-oh– Uh–” You fix your bedraggled cloak as you recollect your composure. “My kind keeps those animals as pets, or has them do jobs. It’s domesticated. See, it even has a little vest. This one’s a working dog.”

The Prince leans closer in interest as the Goddess hums in thought.

“Jobs? What  job could it be doing here?”

“Well, this breed of dog is usually used by the police– guard force, peacekeepers. They’re trained to attack criminals, or find stuff, like drugs or…” Your sentence trails into silence as you stare at the animal trying to dig under the barrier only to get pushed back again. “...people.”

The canine stops, as if it could feel you watching. It barks, the sound startling everyone present as you freeze.

It was looking right at you.

It couldn’t see you. There is no way it could– You certainly didn’t see any villages and floating islands from outside the barrier, there was an illusion– But then why were you so sure it was zeroed in on-

The white police text embroidered into its blue-black vest mocked you like some cruel joke.

Oh god.

It was looking for you.

-

Hello!!!

I hosted a fun little art event in the community discord server last month, and was granted permission to show off everyone's beautiful works here!

Please enjoy the view, they all worked very hard on them.

By:moth_moss_moth

By: onlynx.

By: caramel_sauce

By: uquaza9

By: yourshyguy

By: stolen_nametag

By: dartanyon16

By: gargamelius_der_gute

By: .ceaseless.watcher.

By: rokori_ikka

The community is very friendly (and chaotic, jesus christ please dont take them seriously), so please consider joining us! You can find the invite link in the end notes of chapter 11.

Chapter Text

“Are you alright, Maskfly? You seem shaken.” Frets the Radiance, caressing your back with her wing. Do you? You can't imagine why.

“These dogs aren't supposed to be alone.” You eventually mutter. “It has a handler somewhere nearby.”

“Oh? Then we have nothing to worry about!” Her cheer did not comfort you.

“Oh, we do.” Your slightly hysterical tone gave the Goddess pause. “They cannot find me. They can't–”

Hallow fusses over you as your breathing quickens unnaturally. 

“If they find me, they'll find the Kingdom too– Hallownest is at risk! We have to do something– ”

“Hallownest is safe, child. The Barrier keeps it so.” She attempts to soothe you, but you know your kin. 

“Forgive me for being skeptical of that–”

She was in no position to doubt you. She looked back, staring thoughtfully at the whining dog scratching insistently at the dome.

“Shall I chase it away?”

“As long as I'm here it will come back.”

*It can sense you??* Hallow interjects frantically. You give them a distained look that tells them just about everything.

“What do you propose, then?”

You let the vessel hold onto you as you run though scenarios in your mind.

“I could… I could take it away from here? Back to its master, and lead them away until I lose them…somehow.”

“And this is safe?” The Radiance asks, sounding uncertain about your plan. “I am not about to put you in danger.”

You pause. Your first instinct is to say yes, but you can’t exactly promise that, can you?

“...It will be fine. I will come back as soon as it’s done.”

Though with great hesitation, the moth took your fear of danger seriously, and you were taken to the kingdom outskirts in a burst of light. You and Hallow clutch at each other in fright, teetering for your lost balance. 

Away from the Crown, the Goddess’ size had changed, now only towering over you instead of dwarfing you completely (where did all the napping moths go?). Hallow remained clinging to your arm, unwilling to let you go.

*Must you do this? The Barrier can’t be crossed by those of ill intent, what danger could we face?*

“We are a creative bunch, Your Highness. It is a most unfortunate quality.”

“I give you thirty minutes for this mission, Maskfly.” Said the Radiance, the sleepy slur of her voice entirely gone. “If you do not return before that, I will go to retrieve you myself.”

“That only comforts me, Your Grace.”

The impatient K9’s scratching and barking had increased at your approach, and you covered your ears. It could clearly smell you now, further proof that it was you it was searching for. The perspective of a rat being sniffed at was a little frightening.

Why now?

You hesitate. A familiar static fills your ears as you gulp shallow breaths, your hands trembling under the merciful shade of your cloak. The white, intricate lines of the barrier spell remind you of a chain link fence you weren't supposed to jump.

Come on. This was your idea…

*I'm coming with you.*

Huh–

“Your Highness…”

“Absolutely not!”

You and the Radiance protest in tandem. Hallow sinks their claws into the fabric of your gown and drags your arm flush against their chest. Their eyes were fixed on the beast, glaring like it was threatening everything they had.

“Are you mad!? It's dangerous enough for me to go, and I'm going to be bigger than that thing!”

“I must agree with Maskfly here, Prince. The Ancient Woods are a godless place.”

The quiet growl that trills in the vessel's chest reminds you of a cornered dog. How ironic of a comparison.

Aiming to diffuse the Prince’s agitation, you smooth your free hand over the side of their mask. The growling sputters out like a dying engine.

“It won't take long.” They lean into your palm. “I'll be back before you know it.”

Claws unhook from your person, and the Goddess helpfully slots her wing between you, pushing them back a step. They seemed to suddenly regret their surrender, but you were already off.

Expecting pain, you screwed your eyes shut as you felt the spell engulf you. Shockingly, while it was definitely uncomfortable, the process of changing back to your original proportions did not hurt as much as it did when shrinking– you only got some minor vertigo. You took this as a good omen.

Dry leaves crunch under your feet.

The dog was absolutely flabbergasted at your sudden appearance, jumping into some kind of zoomie fit. You watch with little amusement as it stops low on the ground, butt up and tail a-wag.

“...uhh.”

You take a step back as it jumps up and runs a circle around you before obediently sitting at your feet, looking up at you expectantly, panting with pride at a job well done. You nervously glance back at where you assume Hallow and the Radiance stood. 

“Alright buddy, let's go–” 

The pup yelps in surprise as you yank the handle on its vest, the action doing shockingly little. You were expecting to be able to just…carry the poor thing like a handbag. But no, the little guy was heavy. How long has it been since something was heavy to you?

The K9 snaps at your hand in retribution.

“Oop! Sorry, sorry– here, come along.”

You start walking, now only pulling the dog along with you. Seeing as its target was moving, it had little to protest as it trotted peacefully beside you.

Hallownest grows farther and farther with each step you take. The pit in your stomach grows along with it.

Where is it you are going? Back to the mountains? That's where the police must have come from, if they were sent after you. Were they, even? Was this dog just curious about your faintest of smells specifically?

You had let go of the handle by then, walking beside the obedient K9 like it was a stroll to the park, en route to amass second degree burns on the scorching metal slide at the playground of doom. If you bit your lip any harder, it would have bled.

“Luckyyy! Where'd you go, boy!?”

You freeze in your tracks, flinching violently when the dog (absolutely delighted at the voice) barked loudly to announce your position to who must have been its missing handler. A second dog barked back, followed by the delighted shouts of multiple people.

“Lucky!! There you are, buddy! Hang tight, I'm comin’!”

With no time to waste, you hissed for the dog to sit and dashed behind the thickest tree you could see in your immediate vicinity. The dog, however, did not sit, because the dog could not understand Hallownestian.

“There he is!”

“C’mere you rascal! Why I oughtta– you're not getting snuck bacon at dinner today, no sir!”

The dog – Lucky, clearly – seemed torn between barking at the tree you were hiding behind and running to tackle his handler. You mentally urged him to do the latter. This attempt at telepathy seemed to have worked, because you could hear the telltale sound of a grown ass man hitting the ground, rustling loudly in the leaves underfoot. His companions laughed heartily at the reunion. You only bunched the fabric of your cloak up in your hands.

You're trembling.

You could go back, your shadow whispers, you only have to step out and let them see you. They'll take you. It could all end right here and now.

You shake your head. You've talked about this before, you cannot leave. You've just made a promise you'd return.

You will die here.

At least you'll be mourned.

They mourned too, if they sent these men to find you.

God– shut the fuck up, would you?? You're busy!

“Okay,” spoke the other officer, “We should really head back now.”

“Yeah… man, the detective is gonna kick my ass so baaad–”

“I dare say you deserve it–” A third voice piped in. The careless policeman groaned dejectedly.

A small, strangled part of you wanted to find this amusing. Every other part proceeded to beat the shit out of said part.

There is a noise of frustration behind the tree. A rustle of leaves as a man attempts to pull his dog away, but the canine doesn't budge.

“Lucky…come on, don't do this again.”

No.

“Layka? Don't start too girl, we need to go!”

No, no–

“Hey–!”

The K9s bark, straining against the hold of their masters.

“What has gotten into them?”

The dogs are restless, barking from behind, slowly dragging their handlers forward.

God…

You did not think this through, did you?

“What…is someone there?”

The unruly search dogs yank their humans behind the tree, barking up a storm. Officers Reed and Shepherd, however, did not see anything that would warrant such a reaction.

“Great, they're seeing ghosts now.” Snarked Reed, leaning down to scratch his partner on the head. “What ghoul have you been chasing, Lu?”

Shepherd hummed, tugging his own back a few paces with a stern no. Layka whined.

“It might be a squirrel, since they wanna get up the tree so badly.” He squints into the branches. There's…certainly something in there, but the foliage is too thick to make it out. It's probably a bird's nest.

“I thought they trained squirrel chasing out of them at the Academy.”

“You cannot train squirrel chasing out of a dog.”

The disappointed pups sulked at the base of the tree, glaring up at the target they apparently weren't supposed to care about. To be fair, it wasn't dead…do they need it to die first before they can care?

“Alright, we dawdled enough. Stockholm's gonna radio in any minute now, I don't want to tell him anything other than ‘on our way’.”

“Yeah…come on, guys. Since we're leaving early, we could stop by for pizza for lunch?”

“Ooh that sounds good!”

“Your treat, or…?”

“Hell naw, y'all pay for yourselves–”

And as the search party grows quieter the further they tread on the forest trail, you let out the breath you had been holding, panting for air as you wipe at your forehead. You lay prone on a thick branch, feeling like a cat waiting for the firefighters as you watch the last of the soft pink dreamcatchers fade from the air around you.

You didn't know the Radiance could see you from this far away.

However she ported you up there, she didn't feel like you needed help getting down, so you composed yourself enough to at least think of an escape plan.

The tree is…really tall. You aren't the fondest of heights, due mostly to the returning visions of falling down the mountainside to your certain doom before comedically flopping onto that overhang– but all these months staring curiously down into the pure nothing beneath the Palace Grounds bridge managed to quell most of that budding phobia before it became anything.

You wonder if that pit even has a bottom. How long would you fall if you jumped down there?

Certainly not as far as if you hopped off this branch, but the fall still looked like it may be a blight upon your ankles.

Just do how Hallow did, with that Spiderman jump from halfway up the damn wall–

“This is Officer Shepherd, we have found the runaway.”

You fall gracelessly into the leaf litter.

“Happy to hear that. We're waiting for you at the crash site.”

You jump up in a surge of adrenaline, your head whipping this way and that in search of the policemen you were sure already left, but found absolutely nobody.

“Copy that.”

Are you hallucinating?

You desperately try to calm your heart before it goes into arrest, suspiciously scanning your surroundings for hidden guys as you circle the tree. No guys were found.

“Hey boss, can we have a group pizza party since we're getting off early? You know, since we were supposed to have been here all day.”

You flinch again, striking a pose more reminiscent of a ragdoll that fell off the bed than a battle stance.

“Are you paying?”

“I was hoping we'd keep the team spirit…”

The voices were, now that you're more confused than frazzled, coming from the ground a few steps away. You tiptoe between the leaves to investigate.

“I suppose I wouldn't be opposed.”

“Whoop!”

“Yesss–”

“Nice!”

Oh!

There’s a radio.

You carefully lift the device in your hands, fearful of even grazing the talk button. You turn it this way and that in mild fascination as you listen to the search team suggest a plethora of toppings and flavours to each other.

“Not everyone likes hot peppers, dude…”

“Clearly not everyone is of superior taste.”

How funny would it be to interject with a request for Hawaiian right now?

“I like sardines on mine–”

“Y'all are an affront to pizza.”

Restrain yourself, Maskfly.

After a moment of debate, you carefully tuck the walkie talkie into one of your (disgracefully few) pockets.

About time you started heading back.

-

Back at the border, The Radiance watched passively as the vessel paced a groove into the ground. The poor thing was clearly agitated. She was too, but at least she was subtle about it.

“So.” She started, aiming to lighten the mood. Her young companion stalls in their step. “You and Maskfly, huh?”

Prince Hallow's entire face erupts in a deep gray.

“Mhm, so I'm right.~”

*THAT HAS NOTHING TO DO WITH THIS–*

“Huuhuhu, why the explosive reaction, little love? Do they not know?”

Hallow defiantly turns their back to the moth, squats down, and curls in on themself like an angry echidna. They moodily sign one handed over their shoulder.

*Of course they do! They started courting me first!* Hallow argued.

“Did they?”

*Yes! They bring me gifts all the time and everything! We haven't danced yet but they promised we would next time…*

“...I see.”

A beat of silence. Hallow fidgets at the Goddess' uncertain tone.

*...what.*

“Are they… aware, of that?”

*…what does that mean–*

The conversation is unfortunately interrupted by your arrival, your (comparatively) colossal form emerging from the forest shade like a storm cloud on the skyline.

You step through the barrier eagerly, arms already out in preparation for a tackle you knew was coming. To your surprise, you feel yourself almost embraced by the spell before Hallow ever could, the transition from Titan to Teeny entirely painless this time around.

Welcome back. A whispery voice droned in the back of your head.

Oh.

Hello to you too, Barrier.

“Oof– “

Not that you escaped your fate of tackling at all.

You land on your ass before you could make it two steps in, your back knocking against the helpfully solid spell wall as Hallow latches their arms around your torso like a carabiner. 

“Hi– what’d I miss?”

“Oh, nothing.” That's not suspicious at all– “Was your mission successful?”

“Oh, yes. Hallownest's safety is assured.”

You announce as you scritch at the base of Hallow's horn. They always purr when you do that, the silly creature.

“That is a great relief. I thank you for your service, Bird of Wyrm.” The God of Dreams motions a curtsy in your direction, and you choke on the blasphemy. She seems to find your fluster hilarious.

Before she is able to tease you any further however, a massive yawn cuts her off from doing literally anything else. It seems the wakefulness once fueled by the sense of danger has been finally squashed by the eternal eepy.

“Well.” You take your cue, bringing the vessel up to your feet with you. “Thank you for bearing with us. I apologise our visit ended so…chaotically.”

“Nonsense, little love…” She pat you and Hallow's heads sweetly. “Any visit from you two is a pleasure.”

Hallow bashfully hid their face back into your chest. You only glance off to the side before sighing.

“Could I ask of you one last favour, Your Radiance?”

“Anything.”

-

Flash!

Now much more ready for it, the anarchist duo lands safely in Hallow's bedroom in a burst of golden light and a faint angelic choir.

“Whoo! And look at that, we're back before dinner!”

*I could have gone for a cup of that berry tea she mentioned before we left…*

You could too, but you had about enough adventure for one day.

“You two had fun?” Asked Dryya.

“Oh yeah, it was fun for the most pa–AAH??”

Hallow jumps comedically into your arms as you both ascend about three feet off the ground in fright. Fierce Dryya sat wholly unamused at the Prince's desk, tapping her claws against her crossed forearms.

“Dryya!? How the hell did you get in here??” You demand.

You were sure you latched the door before you left!

“I climbed up the glaring patchwork of an escape rope you left dangling off the Palace wall.” She explained as she gestured pointedly to the massive clump of blankets she had reeled in.

Oh.

Fuck.

The Knight stood, and in the same breath did you and Hallow back away from her. Your backs hit the wall, and however much you tried to focus on the fact she was just a tad shorter than both of you, you still felt small under her glare.

“Maskfly.” Said the danger to your job.

“Who's Maskfly? Not me–” You deflect uselessly.

“If I recall…” There is barely three inches between the Knight and yourself now. You try not to squirm. “You and I had a deal.”

“About that–”

“You swore you would not perform such a stunt again.”

“Okay, but hear me out–”

“And in exchange, I would keep my mouth shut.”

You will not be getting a word in, will you?

“And that was very nice of you, Ma'am–”

“And yet you test me.”

Hallow attempts to get her attention, but fails miserably. 

“Do you have any idea what you have done? What could have happened today?”

“I think–”

“Not only did you go against His Majesty's wishes again, you also broke lockdown protocol.”

“Listen–”

“You removed a royal heir from the Palace with a dangerous criminal at large, Maskfly!”

“We didn't step one foot in the City, Dryya!”

“That means nothing!”

It was then that Hallow had enough of their mentor grilling you, and stepped forward in your defence.

*They promised me they would take me out again before they swore anything to you.* They signed, shielding you with their body and forcing Dryya to take a step back. * I wanted to go. Breaking the rules was ultimately my decision.*

“They should still have known better, Your Highness.”

*Why? Why is it always them who needs to know better? They are no less of a child than I am.*

There is a beat of silence. Perhaps that struck the right chord? You didn't feel like that was fair reasoning but you would take anything over her reporting you.

“Hm.” That noise didn't inspire much confidence. “Perhaps you are right, Your Highness. It was foolish of me to entrust you to another minor's supervision.”

…Oh?

“In fact, it seems no good comes from leaving you two together.”

You both feel a sudden, immense urge to protest, but never get the chance.

“Maybe it would be best if we do not let you converge at all.”

“Now hold on–” 

“Furthermore,” Dryya continued her verdict as she took the Prince by the arm and dragged them away from you, “Seeing as our Head Messenger is yet of tender age, they should not be left alone either. I shall make sure somebody is accompanying them at all times, lest they make any…wrong decisions.”

*Wait, wait–*

“Dryya–”

“Would you rather I make a report to the King?”

The protests die out. Dryya frees Hallow from her grasp only to get a hold of you, swiftly unlatching the door.

“The Prince shall stay here. You, come with me.”

You share one last frightened look with your accomplice before you are removed from their sight.

The Knight walks you down the hallway by your wrist at a brisk pace. You follow helplessly, until you remember you don't have to.

You stop dead in your tracks. Like an anchored ship, Dryya is forced to stop as well.

“Do you have something to say, messenger?” Her tone suggested she wanted nothing to hear from you. You don't let that stop you.

“I understand some punishment is due.” You admit, “But forbidding us to meet at all is perhaps a step too far.”

She turns to you slowly.

“And today's escapade wasn't?”

“I was keeping a promise.”

“By breaking the one you made to me?”

You falter.

“...I just–”

“I heard enough from you.” She cuts you off, “I said everything I had to say. You will return to your chambers and remain there until the morning. I will arrange your escorts by then.”

You say nothing else. She tests your breaks with a tug, continuing unimpeded when you let her.

-

Hours had passed since then.

You lay in your nest, face down in the pillows. Miserable. You really fucked up this time, huh?

How long will she keep this going? A month? Several months? Forever?

You could maybe handle being chaperoned everywhere forever. Maybe. It was debatable. You might lash out eventually, but you would hold out for a while.

The difficult part will be not getting to see Hallow anymore.

That alone means you can't make Ghost's deliveries, nor join the kids for playdates, or for meals, or storytime, or ANYWHERE the eldest vessel happened to be– 

So, by all technicality,

You've lost your best friend.

Knock-knock

“Not now, I'm sulking.” You yell into the sheets, but it was evidently too muffled for whoever was outside to hear.

Your door cracks open uninvited. You sigh heavily at the metallic click of armour.

“Go away, Dryya…”

“Ulll. It is worse than che’ thought.”

You sigh for a completely different reason as you shift, begrudgingly giving Ze'mer your attention.

“What do you want…”

“Dryya has told us what happened. We are to aid her in deciding thine schedule.”

“And?” Surely she didn't come to tell you what you've already heard…

“And che’ came to make sure you are alright.”

Even now she coddles you. You can't help but appreciate it, given your current state of misery.

“I'm fine, My Lady…”

Ze'mer gracefully lowers to her knees at your bedside, her dainty claws combing through your hair as you return your face into the pillows. 

“Che' is unconvinced.”

“Mmmmnnnnh.”

“If it helps, che’ also believes Le’mer’s verdict to be…unfair.”

“Is it though?” You flop your arms incredulously. “I mean…at the end of the day she isn't wrong, or anything. Still being an ass about it though.”  You mutter the last half.

She only hums at this, the steady rake of her fingers in your hair doing your mood at least a little good.

“Dryya does not see why you and Nym’Prince’s separation is cruel, Me’hon. We could not make her if we tried.” She lamented, beginning to twist a few locks into a tiny braid. “But che’ will aid thee as much as che’ is able, with these new rules in place.”

“What do you mean?”

“Allowing you to leave the Palace, for one.” She mused, “Che’ is aware of your penchant for cabin fever.”

You lift your face from the pillows, mask askew. 

“Huh? But…but lockdown protocol…”

“Such rules do not apply to The Five, Me’hon.” She smiles as she fixes your mask, “We are Nym’King’s hands, and there is nowhere He cannot go.”

This is…a monumental development!

“Also…what is this thing?” She paused to scrutinize the radio on your bedside table.

“Human artefact, don't mind it– How would you do that?”

“If che’ is assigned as thine chaperone, you will go wherever che’ goes.” She chuckled, easily undoing the braid she tied in your hair with a swift flick of her claw. “Like say, a visit to the Mantis Village, in a few day's time. Would you like to join?”

“I…yeah! Yeah, I would!” Why she would be going there at all is unimportant. At least you won't be stuck here indefinitely! She ruffled your hair fondly at your eagerness.

“Do not lose hope, Me’hon. Dryya is not cruel, no matter what her methods may suggest.”

“I know…”

“In fact, che’ came by with her instruction to check on thee. You have not come to dinner. She noticed.”

“But she said I can't leave my room ‘till morning…”

“Surely you did not think that included participation in tonight's meal…Why would she ever forbid you to eat?”

“...uh–”

“No matter. Come, che’ shall take thee.”

Your stomach urges you to comply, slipping out of bed and politely helping the Knight to her feet along the way.

“Just…maybe not to the barracks this time…?”

“Of course, Me’hon.”

-

“Aw shit, wait, where's my walkie–?”

“Bro…”

Chapter Text

“7-Adam-15, possible 10-31 near your location, do you copy?”

“This is 7-Adam-15, show us responding.”

Interesting.

*What are they saying?*

“I understand the words, but they mean nothing to me…”

You wonder how this thing is still working.

You lay on your stomach in bed, head propped on your palms as you stare transfixed at your stolen radio. Beside you, in a similar position and focus, was Prince Brooks. They had come to keep you company with Baby, who was resting in a little bundle of handkerchiefs beside your lamp.

You are grounded. There's no other way to put it, and while you are allowed to leave your room, you cannot do so alone. Today's assigned chaperone was, as according to Dryya's morning brief, Timeus– but upon his arrival, he had politely informed her that he could not in good conscience supervise his own supervisor. This barred the other two messengers from baby sitter duty as well, so you were on room arrest until your jailer revised the schedule she drafted yesterday.

According to Brooks' retelling, Hallow did not suffer the same restrictions as you (of course). It seems their entire punishment, bar Dryya's increased daily scrutiny, was your absence. From what you heard, they aren't taking it well.

Either way, regardless of their eldest sibling’s suffering, the younger vessels said NO to the impending Masky prohibition, and decided to take turns visiting you themselves instead.

“7-Adam-15, status report. Do you need backup?”

“No, we're all clear. Two suspects in custody. Sorry, our hands were full of sweaty shirtless guys for a second.

“Sounds delightful.”

“It’s subjective.”

You scratch your head.

Weren't the range of these things like…5 miles at best? Did entering Hallownest cause some sort of Magic Fuckery to happen? Would other technology also act weird if you brought it in?

Your musings are stalled by Brooks pathetically rolling over beside you like a big lanky cat.

“What's up luv?”

*Hungry.*

Why, if it isn't the consequences of their actions!

“Oh, what's that? You should have gone and gotten breakfast instead of hanging around here all morning like I told you to??? Inconceivable.”

The vessel huffed and shot you the poutiest look a creature without a mouth can possibly convey.

*But then I wouldn't have gotten to see you all day…*

Your heart…it's breaking…

“...Well we can't have you starve! Lemme see…”

You expertly switched places with the vessel by gently tossing them over your shoulder like a plush toy, and lazily reached down from the nest to open your bedside table’s door. A woven basket of goodies padded with napkins sat inside.

“I got…breadsticks, breadsticks, also some breadsticks…oh, cookies! I thought I finished those.” You sat up with the two pastries in hand. “Man, these are dry as hell…you should eat these too or they won't be good tomorrow.”

You handed both of the cookies to the Prince, along with one piece of a relatively fresh breadstick you broke in half. You munched idly on the other.

Brooks watched intently as the bread slowly disappeared under your mask in bigger chunks than it would usually be possible for the average mandible user. Their head tilts in curiosity as they shove the cookies into their eye socket.

“Hm?”

They squint their eyes, leaning at an angle to see under your disguise. You fix it against your face.

“Anywhoo,” You begin, fixing the vessel with a sly look, “I hear somebody's birthday is coming up~”

Brooks…wilts, at that. Not the reaction you were expecting.

“Wh– am I wrong? What's the matter, babychild?” You fret.

*I don't want to have my birthday.*

What an odd sentiment. Though you've certainly shared it before, you were pretty sure they weren't against it for the same reason.

“Why not? It's not every day you turn eleven.”

*But I don't want to!*

They are steadily approaching fussy territory now, so you rush to change the subject.

“Uh–Hey, do you wanna help me redo my cooling seals? I think they’re expiring pretty soon.”

*Your what?*

You grin.

“My greatest invention (that already kinda exists in the Palace kitchens, but I did this one all on my own so it counts), the minifridge.”

“The huh???”

“Allow me to demonstra–”

“What are you two doing?”

You pause. Your hands stall in the air, frozen in a position reminiscent of choking something.

Dryya had entered your bedroom entirely uninvited. You deflate from your dramatising and glare daggers right through her unamused head.

“Trying to practice magic, before you interrupted.”

“I was unaware you were capable of that.”

Brooks suddenly seemed to find the patterns on your blankets incredibly interesting. You mockingly echo her jab under your breath and take a napkin from the basket to toss in her general direction.

“Feast your eyes and fingertips, Dryya. Behold. A really cold napkin.”

The Knight picked the paper napkin she let flutter uselessly to the floor up, and turned it this way and that in her clawed hands. She raised an eyebrow at you.

“How did you manage this?” 

“I drew a seal on it and fed it Soul from a first-aid vial.” You explain factually.

That earns you a scoff. You bristle in offence.

“That is a horrifically inefficient way to do spellwork.” Dryya demeans, rubbing her thumb across the paper's surface. A brief flicker of Soul recasts your cooling spell without as much as a drop of ink. “Whoever has time to hand draw something as complex and intricate as a spell seal every time they wish to cast?”

“Yeah, well,” You cross your arms, turning halfway away from her. “You try doing magic with no access to your Soul, see how you do.”

You think you see the vessel mime a cheer for you from the corner of your eye.

“You have no reason to be playing with spells at all. Especially now, since you're on your way to accompany Ogrim to his assignment.”

“Wait huh–”

“Dispatch, we've got a problem–” The officer comments observantly.

-

You flip open your journal.

Entry #124

Operation Steal the Prince 2: Electric Boogaloo was a colossal failure. Dryya caught us and now we're both grounded indefinat indefinitely.

…More like I am, but I digress. (Note: room arrest does not bar me from the kitchens apparently) I am forbidden to see Prince Hallow anymore. At all.

There are police searching for someone in the area. I suspect the target to be me. Why, I have no fucking idea.

I got a radio out of my brief excursion to the forest. I'll keep an ear out in case they decide to come back.

I can't let them find me.

Addendum: Dyyra’s an asshole.

Entry #125

The first day of purgatory.

I hung out with Brooks this morning. We listened to the radio for like an hour or so. The police are full of dorks. (Note: ask about the birthday thing) Then Dryya came to ruin my day again.

Got assigned to Ogrim. I was hoping we'd be leaving the Palace sure but the guy took me to the sewers??? I have never seen so much shit in my life. No wonder he smells like that all the time.

Turns out the Waterways are a massive security risk. You can get from any manhole in the City to the elevator chute through the tunnels, and that's a no-no. At least I found out where Ogrim goes every day. Only he could stand this. He did try to entertain me with the crafting of dungmen… I did not engage.

No amount of soap is getting that out of my nose for a hot minute.

Addendum: I need to kick Dryya's ass.

Entry #126

The second day of hell. Had a nightmare about that poor chap I found burnt in Lurien's tower. My mind gave him a posh British accent for some reason…

Shie and Petals dropped by to colour seals with me. The former informed me that the one I was working on basically just fucking explodes? I put it away in the drawer for now. (Note: do NOT bring that ANYWHERE NEAR mantis village)

Got stuck with a random guard I don't remember the name of. I think it was Thistle?? She followed me everywhere. The only time she spoke is when she snarked at me for something. She's a bitch, I like her.

I thought I saw a sliver of Hallow in the hallway for a second, but I got dragged away before I could really tell. Are people actively making sure we can't even catch sight of each other??? This is getting ridiculous.

Otherwise, nothing really happened. Calm day.

Addendum: Someone needs to ask Dryya if she's okay with that massive stick up her ass.

You turn the page.

Entry #127

I had a haircut and a nightmare I refuse to detail.

A real congregation assembled in my room this morning. The messenger gang came by to play cards along with Shade and Satin. They lounged in my lap while Suzu cut my hair– real steady hands on that one. Cannot style to save her life though. But Rogue can??? For a gal with no hair she certainly made me all pretty. I almost wouldn't mind going without my hood now.

I'm glad they came. Apparently my chaperone for today called off so I was just stuck in here all day.

The twins got the zoomies halfway through. I have tiny footprints on my ceiling. How have they done this?

They also got in a little fight. When Timeus tried to intervene they flipped a switch and glued back together like two magnets. Sold in a pair, please do not separate. 

Dryya also came by (joy of joys). She told me my clothes were almost ready, which is weird because I hadn't placed my armour order yet. I guess my preference doesn't really matter when it comes to protection though.

She said she's going to start “training” me after I get my fit. That's not worrying at all.

Addendum: Dryya wants to kick MY ass???

You dip your quill into the inkwell.

Entry #128

Day four in the Saw trap.

Bad night again. I dreamt of Nessie??? that what’s-his-name shapeshifting bastard again. I see it every time I close my eyes. It’s getting real old. 

When I try to remember my mother’s face, I see that thing instead. I mean, there IS a resemblance. Love what it did with her hair, real expressionist. 

Ghost dropped by with some candy for me to take to my little expedition with Ze’mer later today. I wonder where they get it from.

I asked Dryctator if I can take Rogue along so I can check her Wastes training tour off the list. Ze’mer said we’re spending the night at the village so I’d have more than enough time to teach her. She has yet to approve it, but she didn't seem against it when I proposed it.

I wish we could bring Hallow with us.

Addendum: I ran out of sentences that contain both “Dryya” and “ass”.

You close your journal.

-

A leather bound book is unlocked with a tiny silver key. The silkparchment pages flutter open to an empty section. A pale quill is dipped and gently tapped on the edge of the glass well.

Dear Diary,

It is the eleventh day of the Frost Season.

My resolve is weakening by the day. My misery melts steadily into frustration.

Dame Dryya is most cruel in her choice of reprimand. My respect for her is immense, but I find myself thinking unsavoury thoughts in her presence.

I had not caught sight of Them all week. It is as if Their very essence was wiped from this Palace the moment it was deemed I may meet Them no longer. I know this to be false, however, as my siblings speak to me of visiting Them. I am awash with envy. 

Ghost tells me They are leaving for the fungal groves today, and are to remain there for a day and a night. My heart aches as the distance grows yet greater.

I must find a loophole in the Dame's restrictions. Surely even she cannot think of everything.

I wish I had Their aid in solving this most upsetting conundrum. Perhaps my siblings would be able to help?

Thank you for your counsel,

       - Hallow

-

“Is that all you are bringing, Me'hon?” Inquired Ze'mer, eyeing your luggage of a singular satchel containing naught but your art supplies.

“This is baggage enough.” You conclude, resting your hand on the top of Rogue's head. She gives you an unimpressed side eye in response.

You are wearing your newly designated Travel Cloak over your PJ's this time, which turned out to be a dark blue one (Though you have been told to rest assured, as your clothes are being worked on with priority and will be finished by the time you return). You would have worn your messenger uniform (lovingly stitched and patched up by Isma) had you not been deathly worried that harm may come to it, as had to its predecessor.

Rogue came with her own bag, having packed rations (as if you wouldn't be fed there (will you??)), her maps, some kind of kit, and a spare uniform. You briefly wonder if you'd have gotten more than one at a time if you simply ordered more.

Ze'mer led you through the Palace foyer, the dragonfly behind you holding the edge of your cloak out of mere habit. You decide to grab a pinch of the Knight's cape yourself to complete the conga line.

Just before you step through the Palace gates, you are tackled. The conga line violently breaks apart as Princess Hornet barrels into your stomach at Mach 20 and sends you on your ass. Ze’mer visibly restrains herself from fussing.

“OuH-” is the noise you make.

“Hi!!” She chirps, sat upon you like a cat. Under cat law, you cannot move.

“Hhhhi Hornet-”

“Where are you going??”

“Mantis Village…”

“When will you be back??”

“Tomorrow…uhh?” You trail off.

“By noon.” The Knight finishes.

“Ooo can you bring me something cool?? I always wanted to go there but the mantises don't like us much!”

Oh god, bug racism.

“Uhh sure! I'll see what I can do.” You promise. She squeals happily and jumps off her perch, zooming off just as quickly as she came without so much as a goodbye.

…Highly suspicious.

Rogue, incredibly amused, helps you to your feet, and after a thorough inspection by your chaperone, you are off.

It felt great to be out of the Palace again (without a stinky destination). The somber silence of the Basin, the serene trickling of water from rain gutters in the urban jungle of the capital…the floating, glowing spores in the Wastes. You should have brought a jar to collect some in. 

“What's Mantis Village like?” Asks Rogue in anticipation, the pattering rain of the City growing ever distant as you march through the rocky fields of spotted mushies.

“What do you think?” You challenge.

She ponders for a while, seemingly having an internal conversation with herself on how to answer best… Or without coming off as prejudiced.

“Rumours are all I really know… There's only so much nobility talks about that doesn't have to do with city life.”

“Just going off those rumours, what are you expecting?”

“To die.”

What a straightforward answer! Ze'mer’s unamused huff did nothing to deter you from your impromptu lesson.

“A perfectly valid premonition to have. Some mantises can be a tad trigger happy.”

“Che’ did not take thee for a shallow thinker, Me’hon.” The Knight gently reprimands. You stare at the back of her head for a moment.

“...Lord Iphiel literally attempted to murder me the last time I was there.” Ze'mer's step stalls.

“WHAT–” Rogue exclaims, horrified.

“Did I never tell you about that? Oops. Anyway–”

“THAT’S what Timeus meant about your cloak being fucked up when you came back???”

“Heh. Yeah. But shhh I'm trying to lecture you.”

As you continue to explain to a shooketh Rogue that respect is very important and to, and you mean it, ALWAYS listen to the gate guard when she tells you to come back later, you never noticed Ze'mer pinching the space between her eyes in a bout of uncharacteristic frustration.

Speaking of Vivian, she seemed…you're not sure how to describe her expression when you arrived at the gates. It was a fine mix between annoyance, resignation, amusement(?), and ‘aw shit, here we go again’.

“Knight Ze'mer.” She greeted dispassionately, “I see you brought…reinforcements.”

“Che’ brought the messenger.” Ze'mer corrected, “They brought a plus one.”

“She’s new. I'll keep her out of trouble.” You swear, ignoring Rogue's muttering about being five years your senior.

Vivian narrows her eyes at you with a touch less disgruntlement than she was gracing the Knight with previously.

“This is not a ball.” She points out.

“I'm aware.” You don't see said point.

“What is your purpose in accompanying one of the Great Five here? This is not a diplomatic matter.” It isn't???

Ze'mer seemed to want to help you out, but you held up a hand to stop her. You cleared your throat to engage your best customer service voice.

“I was invited purely out of Lady Ze'mer’s consideration for my tendency to go… stir-crazy. I have no messages to forward at this time. However, with the White Palace under full lockdown for the foreseeable future, we have no feasible way to properly train our newly hired messengers– this young lady being such.”

You gesture at Rogue. She waves awkwardly. 

“I requested to bring her along so that I may introduce her to the established courier route of the biome and train her on the avoidance of specific hazards. I will keep her away from your hunting grounds as best I am able.”

Ze'mer clasped her hands together in pride as Vivian scrutinized you for a moment…before nodding in approval.

“Very well. I expect you to keep her on a short leash.”

“Yes ma'am.”

“I'm right here you know…” But Rogue's complaint went unanswered as the metal gates opened, allowing you entry.

Mantis Village was about as tense as the last time you were here, with the piercing looks to match…but you had a feeling it was for an entirely different reason than back then. Any attempt to prod Vivi about it only yielded you the same ominous non-answers. Rogue was growing more agitated the deeper in you were led.

“This is the guest lodging.” Announced Vivian, stopping your brief sightseeing at a large building on the border of the village center. Her explanation was directed entirely at you and your ward. It seems Ze'mer frequents this place. “It is scarcely used. I trust you can tidy up for yourselves.”

“Of course, ma'am.”

“Good.”

No ‘enjoy your stay!’s were said as the mantis turns abdomen and leaves the three of you to your devices. Rogue squints up at the building with clear distaste.

“Bury that rich kid pomp deep, Rookie. You're just a common outsider here.” You pat her head. She whines something about her wings getting dusty.

“Let us go inside.” Suggested Ze'mer, producing a key from her bag and casually unlocking the door. 

…Why does she have a key to this building.

The inside of the lodging was as Vivian insinuated: dusty as hell. The reception room was stocked with crates and fabrics, used as spare storage in lieu of visitors. There wasn't even anybody there to run it, or anything. Like the building existed solely for the purpose of being able to say it exists.

That might be the case actually. You sneeze on the air pollution.

“Che' uses that room, usually.” She gestured up to the second room from the stairs on the loft above. “It is in better condition than the rest. Che’ will allow you to have it this time, Me’hon.”

“I don't mind a little spring cleaning, Your Ladyship. Let Rogue have it. She's clearly in dire need.” You reason.

If the dragonfly had a nose, you imagine she'd be sneezing up a storm right along with you. Her fiery orange shell stood out unnaturally against the dull interior of the inn, and seemed just as uncomfortable as she was to look at with the unfavorable colour theory. Ze'mer seemed to agree with you.

With that small mercy, you decided to take the first room while the Knight took the third.

Your room wasn't much– just a shoddy little nest with a table and a weapon rack. You only had a satchel on you, so you deposited that on the table while you eyeballed if the nest would even be big enough to hold you.

…If you curled up you could make it work.

A fine layer of dust sat atop the blanket, so you shook it out as best you could. The resulting storm fogged up most of the small room, so you rushed to open the window up– it creaked painfully on its old hinges.

Given how there weren't that many horizontal surfaces in the room, the most you had to do was wipe the table off and sweep the floor, which you managed in the sum of ten minutes (most of this time was spent trying to fan the dust out the window). The weapon rack got a little love too, even if you had nothing to put on it.

You survey your work from the doorway with your hands propped on your waist in satisfaction. Not shiny, but clean. That was good enough for you.

After everyone was settled in, you met in the shared kitchen to discuss your schedule for the duration of the stay.

The plan was as follows:

…

There was no plan.

This wasn't a class field trip, nor family vacation. You could take Rogue just about wherever you wanted as long as you returned to the village by the admittedly strict curfew of 7 PM, while Ze'mer stayed behind to do…whatever it was she was here to do. Sure, you would be “without supervision” for that time, but what Dryya didn't know could not hurt her.

Basically, you were free. (Until curfew.) ((And you couldn't trespass))

Jackpot.

“Aight. Rookie!” 

“Hup!” Rogue straightens up with a jump and salutes.

“We move out in 120 seconds. Grab thine shit!”

“Yes siiii…” She trails off. You raise a brow.

“...”

“...ma’a..? No…”

“Take your time.”

You watch with great amusement as your trainee mentally delves into the frustratingly binary sea of formal titles.

She seems lost.

“...Go get your bag, Rogue.”

“Yeah…”

And with an only mildly concerned “Stay safe you two!” from Ze'mer, you were off.

-

“Are these edible?” Asked Rogue, cooped before a patch of yellow spotted mushrooms.

“Only if you cook it.” 

“What happens if you don't?”

“A nasty stomach ache, if you're me. You? I don't know. Don't try.” The look on Margot's face was almost worth that particular escapade.

You decided to allow her to wander aimlessly for a while. She had her map and compass (if she ever deigned to look at them, which she does not seem to want to do), and you knew off the top of your head where you shouldn't go. Case in point, you hop after her to close your following distance to gently nudge her away from a tunnel she was aiming to sneak into.

“What's in there?” She'd ask, at least knowing better than to try again.

“Mushroom nursery. There's warriors of the Shrumal Tribe on guard inside. Look up there,” You point up at the top of the opening, counting out three claw-made notches in the stone. “Look for notches like these when you're lost. The mantises leave them to mark specific rooms as no-go zones. Do you wanna go somewhere they don't?”

“Not particularly–”

“Then we move along.”

It's another few minutes of drifting and worried glances back at your stoic self following silently after her before Rogue realized she should probably use her map.

“You're very hands off with this mentor thing Masky…”

“This is how I was taught…and also I wanted to see how long it takes you to realise.”

Thankfully, she had the humor to be amused by your antics and continued in her unfamiliar position as lead of the conga line.

“I have a question, actually…”

“Mmyes?”

“If three notches in the stone means that you shouldn't go in, what do one and two notches mean?”

Oh, she's clever!

“Have you seen any of those?”

“I saw a two-notch a while ago so I didn't go that way..”

“Well, for us they ALL mean ‘don’t go that way’, so you did good. For the mantises, two notches mean ‘caution: dangerous terrain’ and one notch marks the start of their hunting grounds.”

“Aah…”

And alas, soon enough the rocky soil turns into pavement once more.

“Would you look at that, we found the Pilgrim's Way! Good job, Rookie.” You praise, gracing her with a pat on the shoulder. Her wings buzz happily.

“So we just follow the path?” She asks eagerly, glancing down the winding road.

“Yes, but no. You follow your map. Our route does merge with the PW (as I call it) for a time, but breaks off halfway to the Crossroads. If you want to follow it, it would take you out to fuck-off nowhere through Fog Canyon and Greenpath. Same destination, incredibly tedious detour.” You explain, reaching over her shoulder to run a finger along the path of the Pilgrim’s Way compared to the marked messenger route. “You can safely follow it if you ever lose your map though.”

The dragonfly hummed thoughtfully, tucking the parchment away in her cloak’s map pocket rather than back into her bag. You subtly nod in approval.

You follow the paved road for a time, urging your ward to check on her map frequently to make sure you break off at the right exit. She does go over, but saves it and turns right back around to get back on track.

As mushrooms grow fewer and soil turns to stone, you stop her.

“We won't venture into the Crossroads today. Great work so far though! You got the hang of it quicker than I thought you would.”

Rogue giggled abashed as she scratched at the back of her neck.

“I may have…snuck into the City library a few times, to look at maps…” She does not see the smile growing behind your mask. Good thing too, because that grin would make any bug nervous. “I figured, since I really wanted to travel one day, that I should try and learn how to read them. I guess I picked up some of it…”

“I'm so proud…” You sniffle, wiping a faux tear from the eye of your mask. “Now– let's turn back. We made good time, so we should make it back before dinner with an hour or so to spare.”

And with the objective of “lead us back to camp”, you allowed your trainee to navigate without any interjection whatsoever. You know, as a module closing test or something.

You kept a close eye on the surroundings in case she were to make a mistake, but to your delight, she was doing remarkably well! Though you did make a note to correct her on walking with her nose in the map when the area in question is full of acid later. 

“And we should be…exactly halfway there right now.”

“Very good. Continue.”

Is this how your own mentor felt when you did well? Man…

…You wonder if there was any way you could have prevented her disappearance.

“...Do you hear that?”

You do not ask her to clarify, because that sharp drone is unforgettable.

You duck as a burst of spinning soul whizzes past above you. Rogue panics as you shove her to the side to avoid the boomerang's return.

“You.” 

You tense at the venom in that familiar voice. Rogue's expression twists in horror when all you manage to say is a rather vile curse.

There, at the opposite end of the cavern, cloak soiled by the spoils of hunt, stands Lord Iphiel.

“You have the gall to show your face in my territory? You truly are a fool. I am almost impressed.” The mantis hisses, and you clutch your trainee to your chest. She does not protest this, her claws balling into your cloak.

“Is that–”

“The murder hobo? Yes. That's him.”

“DON'T IGNORE ME, MAGGOT!”

This is bad. Fucked, even. As fast as you are, Iphiel is just as quick– you have no chance of outrunning him, not with civilian cargo. He's already mad, hell, he might never have stopped since last time, and you are certain you're not getting out of this scott free.

The best you can do is make sure Rogue does.

“I have been waiting for an opportunity like this, you know.” Iphiel monologues as he stalks forward. You and your rookie take shuffling steps back towards the cavern wall. “The humiliation…to be disgraced in front of my sisters. By the likes of you.”

The sharpened nail lance clutched in his claw gleams in the glow of the fluttering spores. Stains of hemolymph whisper your demise.

“Pawn of Worm, some white-clad nobody named after a Slugspawn pest. How do you think the villagers looked at me after such a spectacle?”

You didn't particularly care– he brought that upon himself. But your mind was hardly on him, frantically searching for escape routes as it was. Your backs touch the wall. Rogue trembles in your arms.

“...Have you left your sharp tongue back in that glowing bastion, mite?” Iphiel taunts, and you have to physically restrain yourself from letting go of said tongue from its firm place stuck between your teeth. “Disappointing. I would have relished in cutting it from your maw. I suppose I must wrench the very chords from your throat instead.”

You pause. Ignoring the threat of de-baring you, you notice he…wasn’t addressing Rogue at all. The target was you, and she just happened to be there. It was like he hadn’t even noticed her, despite her vibrancy. He had stopped advancing, standing there, sizing you up. It vaguely reminded you of that one scene in Jurassic Park, a predator waiting for his prey to move before he pounces. If you broke the spell and sent her aflight right now, she would die.

You shift your hands from around her, slowly. Iphiel’s weapon snaps to aim in your direction. You try not to react.

“What are you doing???” Rogue whispered harshly, not daring to move even as you slowly shifted away from her. His gaze follows, almost seeming amused by your odd behaviour. He must liken you to a frightened animal.

“Yes, Maskflea, what is it you are doing?” He is playing with his food. That’s the only reason you’re still unharmed, he’s relishing in your fear. That will be his first mistake.

You pray your mental image of the layout of these caves is correct. If it is, then you know the wall behind you is a thin one. If you urged her to flee, whichever direction, he would shoot her out of the air like a bird with a slingshot– but if there was an exit right behind her…

You ball your shaking hand into a fist, and silently apologise to your phalanges in advance.

“Oh man, look over there–” You say, pointing somewhere behind the mantis. He deadpans.

“Do you really think I would fall fo–”

And you swing back, putting your whole body into a strike that shakes the entire cavern. Rogue screams, Iphiel staggers back, and you curse loudly at the destruction of half the bones in your hand.

Deep fractures branch across the cavern wall in a web of destruction, the stone crumbling under its own weight. You whirl around as the green glow of an acid lake seeps through the cracks. Rogue stammers hysterically as you grab her by the scruff, and in the same arching motion, throw her through the makeshift exit. She flails in the air, her wings stuttering before they settle in their frantic buzz before she lands in the acid below. 

“WHAT THE FUCK!?” She demands rightfully. You whip back to the mantis, who seems to be attempting not to get skewered in the torrent rainfall of stalactites your impromptu demolition had caused. He weaves between them with more grace than he should be allowed, batting some aside with his weapon as they come. You don’t have much time.

“GO!” You order with as much urgency as your shaking voice will allow. “Get out of here and get help–”

You are cut off by her desperate cry.

“MASKFLY!” 

You scream as another spell rushes past, tearing into your arm like a knife through butter. Crimson blood splatters across the vandalised wall. You bolt to one side before another spell could follow, just in time for Lord Iphiel to take your place at the opening in a dash, catching himself on the edges. You can hear the moment his glare found the dragonfly by the noise she makes.

“DAMNIT ROOKIE, FLY!”

Rogue foolishly stalled in the air for another second before zipping away. Thankfully, your efforts were not entirely in vain, as the mantis’ bloodthirsty gaze immediately returned to you.

“Just what kind of beast are you?” He uttered, bewildered enough to allow you to gain significant distance as he let the tip of his lance scrape the floor. “I do not understand…”

He stalks towards you once again, and your disoriented mind frantically searches which way it should go. If you run to camp, you might catch up to Rogue and just put her in danger again–

“...how a creature can be so powerful and so… pathetic, at once.”

“And I don’t get how one can be as much of a bellend as you, but the world is full of mysteries huh?” You free your snark at last in a last ditch attempt to preserve your cool. Iphiel barks a laugh.

“There’s its tongue! I was getting worried you were going to bore me!” The Lord spins his weapon in his hand, stepping around the rubble on the ground as nonchalantly as a walk through a park. You try not to trip over it as you back away in response.

“I was trying to be considerate. You didn’t seem to appreciate my witty comebacks the last time.”

A mirthful hum is all he makes before he disappears from your sight in a blur. You flinch violently as he reappears a mere inch from your face, all humour gone from his own. 

“The novelty does wear thin quite quickly.”

He reeled back and swung his nail, aiming to slice you clean in half. The long blade ends up caught in your hands. The metal bites into your palms, but you refuse to release it.

“Your blood carries the stench of rust.” Iphiel sneers, trying and, frustratingly, failing to yank his weapon from your hands. “I was going to tear you apart, but not if I’ll have to carry your nauseating malodor with me.”

“How gracious of you.” You grit, fingers tightening painfully around the blade as it creaks. You ignore the warrior’s indignance at his weapon’s sustained damage. “I’d be happier if our playing field was level. You were generous enough to give me a nail before, weren’t you? Or is this not about honor anymore?”

“Don’t you speak to me of honor!” He snapped, and your flinch finally broke the lance in half. He harshly tosses it aside. “A palace servant wouldn’t know honor if it kicked them in their cushioned ass.”

“Yeah? Do it then. Hand to hand, come on! Let’s see how brave you are without your toy.” You taunt as he jumps back, your arms out in invitation. “Let’s see how much strength is really in those stick-thin limbs of yours!” 

Iphiel chitters some kind of slur unknown to your dictionary before rushing forward, jumping up to kick at your head with a higher velocity than you suspect would be healthy for your cranium. Your raised arm ends up blocking the impact, leaving the mantis stalling midair.

If you weren’t pumped full of adrenaline, you think it may have hurt. In fact, you're pretty sure you felt it crack. But you didn’t let him know that. You just glared at him as if his attack did no damage at all, watching as he returned to his previous position.

“Is that all? I can take a few hundred more of those. You better get to work.” You take a step forward. For his credit, he does not back away. “It’s really no fun at all though, is it?”

You lurch forward and swing, fist whizzing past his head with a foreboding breeze.

“I only have to hit you once.”

How the tables turn. Your gamble of channeling his audacity miraculously worked in your favour, and it was now Iphiel making the distance between you.

It was a stalemate. The mantis was hesitant to place himself within your range, and you knew better than to try and hit him with his agility. He glares. You return the look in kind.

…You’re starting to feel woozy.

“Father!”

And the tension shatters. Iphiel immediately forgot about your existence as he turned towards the call, and you think if it was possible, he would have paled in horror.

“Ophelia!?”

The newcomer, Ophelia, clearly, was a delicate damsel of a mantis dressed in the palest yellow, fluttering towards the spectacle that was you and her father(!??) like a petal on the wind. You halfway expected her to rush right up to you, as you were the one bleeding all over the place, but you quickly find she didn't need to, as her arrival was followed by that of Ze’mer.

“Maskfly! Oh, —” And about there she devolved into the borderline hysterical ramblings of a mother having just reunited with her child after getting lost in the mall. You did not understand her words– clearly she was too upset to bother with Hallownestian, instead speaking in the flowing, admittedly beautiful tongue of her homeland as she tightly smothered your bleeding arm in a scrap torn from her own precious dress. Meanwhile–

“But my Flower–”

“Absolutely not! We talked about this! Aunt Aneerith talked to you about this!”

The sounds are beginning to blur together, but you take immense joy in Ophelia berating her dad for his bullshit and it actually working somehow. He seems genuinely distressed to be on the receiving end of her fury. You weakly shoot him a middle finger when he glances your way. He bristles.

“SEE?? Did you see that!? That had to be a rude gesture of some kind! It's clearly challenging me!”

“They’re a YOUTH, Dad! Get a damn hold of yourself!”

You suddenly lose all strength to remain standing, the adrenaline running dry and allowing the deep, pulsing pain to spread through your bones. The Knight readily catches you, and soon enough, you’re hoisted up in her arms. You’re not sure when, but she even starts carrying you back to camp (probably).

You slip into unconsciousness with satisfaction, lulled by the melody of the male Lord being torn a new one.

You so won that round.

Chapter Text

“Ughhhh…” 

Such distraught sound effects were emitted by Junior Detective Mulligan as he lay face down in his bed. That is if one would call such a contraption a bed, as all it was is a collection of second hand couch cushions with a sheet over them to mimic a mattress. Small discarded cartons lay abandoned on the floor beside him in a scene that was reminiscent of a washed up drunk the morning after drinking his sorrows away.

Samuel is sulking.

Alexander “GrumpyPants” Stockholm tragically kept his word, and was no longer his partner. Granted, after maybe the second stage of grief, he had realised how much he deserved this. He was lucky the old man didn’t write him down for misconduct. This doesn’t do much to comfort him though.

They went out with the dogs. They got the puppies out and he missed it! He should have been with them. But here he was instead, miserably marinating in his room and sipping on various kinds of milk as he glares at the powder snow slowly drifting outside his wondow.

Occasionally, he would peel his face away from the pillows, and numbly refresh the page on his laptop. The database he was stalking once again failed to come up with any new information on the case. He takes a long, dramatic sip out of a pinkish carton. Such a sad calcium rich existence.

…You’re laughing. He’s drowning in strawberry flavoured dairy and you’re laughing.

Several days, he’s been like this. It will soon become his younger sister’s problem, as she was due to return from campus any minute now. Thankfully, she was no stranger to her brother’s diva-esc behaviour.

“I’m home!” Speak of the angel and she shall appear. Mulligan willed himself to rise, and toddled out of his room with his arms out like a zombie to embrace his sibling. He found her laying her bags on the dinner table, one hand occupied with a stack of papers and envelopes.

“Hi, Sammyyy–” She sang as she twirled into his waiting arms, only to immediately recoil. “--aUGH YOU STINK!” 

Mulligan clutched his pearls with an indignant gasp. Amelia blew a raspberry at him in a cruel act of hug prohibition, and turned back to flipping through the papers in her hand.

“I do NOT!” He defended, hands on his hips in offence. He may have been sulking, but he did not neglect to shower! His skincare routine is nothing without it, and he was nothing without that. That being said, the one thing he may have neglected was the mail, which his sister was waving at him with a questioning tilt of her head.

“Mhm, sure, what’s all this?” The papers flip-flopped against each other noisily. “When was the last time you checked these? I thought we agreed it was your job. I only noticed because they were starting to not fit in the box.”

“Yeah, well, I’ve been busy! You try juggling three cases at the same time.” He defended, crossing his arms with a childish pout.

“Well, hop to! I’m hungry!” Amelia ordered as she dodged around the table and approached the kitchen counter. Mulligan huffed and plopped his lanky ass down in his chair, pushing the bags away to make room for himself and his letter opening endeavours.

The first envelope tears open.

“Utility bills, yay.” He cheered sarcastically before tossing the sheet aside.

“Ew.” Amelia agreed, shoulder deep in the fridge. “You said Mrs. Stockholm sent us jambalaya. Do we have any left?”

“Heh. No.”

“Ass.”

The second soon follows.

“Ahh, the folks found our address again.” He tossed the unread letter aside like a used tissue.

“Nooo, seriously? We were having such a nice streak this time!” The girl whined as she bonked the fridge door closed with her hip, a carton of eggs in her hands. “How do they keep doing it??”

“Your guess is as good as mine, sis.”

Amelia made a disgusted noise, narrowing her eyes judgmentally at the specks of orange flame on the gas stove.

The mood was soon lifted by the wafting aroma of frying eggs, prompting the detective to smile at the junk mail in his hands.

“Milk is 5% off at Aldi next week.” He grinned at the back of her head, and she snorted while poking at the eggs in the pan.

“Only you’d get excited about that.”

It was between newspapers and magazines much like the previous that he found another envelope. The flap was unsealed, the old glue too dry to keep it closed. 

He slipped the paper from its case, unfolding it to be met with a block of printed text that would have fit on a sheet much smaller than this one.

… 

The prolonged silence had Amelia glancing over her shoulder to see her brother nose-deep in some document.

“What’s that one?” She’d ask, languidly stirring the eggs in the pan. When he didn’t answer, she frowned and instead fetched a pair of plates from the wooden cabinet over the sink.

Only when she halved the scrambled goodness onto the two plates and delivered them to the table did she see Mulligan hunched over the letter with an alarmingly blank look on his normally so animated face.

“Sam?” She spoke cautiously, “What does it say?”

He read over the lines again just to make sure he understood them right. The words did not change.

“The bastard raised the rent again.”

Amelia lowered the plates onto the wood.

“...effective when?”

Mulligan averted his eyes to stare at the wall.

“Yesterday.”

The girl fell into her chair with a likewise blank expression, her hand reaching up to subconsciously play with the little amethyst crystal hanging around her neck.

“Just in time for winter, huh…” She muttered.

“When has he ever given a shit about that?” He scoffed.

“Can we afford it?”

“Not for long.”

After a moment more of silence, the siblings finally looked at each other.

“I’ll ask for more hours at the corner store.” Amelia said, turning in the chair to properly face her brother.

“Your college work?”

“You’ll help me.”

As if a switch had been flipped, the Mulligans went back and forth like a machine.

“Deal. I’ll try and worm into another case.”

“Didn’t you say you had three already?”

“One more person found, one more bonus.”

“True. The Stockholms?”

“Last resort. Hadn’t made up with Alex yet.”

“Anything else?”

“We can cut another meal but that’s about it.”

“Done.”

Like a hivemind, they nodded and each abandoned their plates to make the necessary phone calls.

-

What time is it?

That was your first through upon opening your eyes only to be met with the ceiling of most definitely NOT your inn room. The last time you woke up in an unfamiliar place in great pain, you had been in a coma for three days.

That last time was annoyingly recent, you note. You fear a pattern emerging.

A faint, repetitive scraping noise caught your attention as your senses returned, urging you to turn your head. The room you were in appeared to be a medical ward of sorts. Knowing you received some healing eased your worries a little.

In the chair beside the door adjacent to your cot sat Rogue, her attention entirely captured by a small wooden figurine she was busy carving at with a pocket knife. Bluish grey wood shavings littered the floor at her feet

“Good morning, Rookie.” You greet casually, as hoarse as your voice was. The dragonfly yelps, nicking the shell of her finger with the blade.

“Maskfly!” She exclaimed, clearly relieved as she rushed to your bedside. “Thank the Gods you're okay, I was so worried!”

“As if I'd kick it to some scrawny playboy, come on man…” You roll your eyes, the satisfaction of your self proclaimed victory tugging your lips into a smirk.

…Did you have your mask on? You did, confirmed the searching tap of your hand. The other seemed to be restrained in a sling. (He DID break it, that asshole!)

She did not seem consoled by your dismissal, fidgeting as she watched you for any sign of pain, the figurine still clutched in her claws. You manage a fond sigh.

“Hey. I'm fine.” You assure, smile clear in your voice as you gently pat the top of her head. “Thanks to you! You got me help, remember?”

She huffed, though no actual annoyance bled through as she took your wrist and removed your hand from her person. 

“I wish you'd stop making me feel like the kid between us.” She muttered, tucking your arm back under your blankets. “It's not fair for you to be the responsible one all the time.”

You hum, reminded of Dryya's speech of similar vein. You briefly entertain the thought of it having been born of the same concern as Rogue's.

…Nah.

“What time is it?” You change the topic, glancing around for any clocks you didn't see before.

Rogue walked around your bed to peer out the window, presumably at a clock installed somewhere outside.

“...Three in the morning.” She says. You whistle.

“The day after the fight or a week later?”

“The day after. You pretty much just had a really good night’s sleep, heh.”

You could argue that one.

“Why are you awake, girlfriend? A messenger should be well rested, you know.” You admonish, wagging a finger. She crossed her arms.

“You think I could sleep when you almost died for me?”

Oh, oof. Point most definitely taken.

You should change the topic again.

“...What's that you were working on?” You inquire, pointing at the work in progress in her hands. She looked down at it with a small embarrassed smile.

“Oh, nothing much.” She deflects, shuffling back up to you. “I needed something to do with my hands, is all.”

She tentatively handed the figurine to you, which you delicately accepted. It was rough, having not been sanded yet, and you weren't sure if it was meant to have a stand or if that slab at the bottom was just excess, but you recognized the shape. You can't help but smile.

It's a maskfly. 

“Do you…want it?” She asks unprompted, almost nervous. You pat the effigy's head like one would scritch a pet bird.

“Did you make it for me?”

“I didn't know any other way to thank you.”

You chuckle, handing it back to the artist.

“I want a little ribbon around its neck when it's done. A big red bow, if you would.”

Rogue smiles brightly, and the dim room seems that much lighter as she nods.

As sweet as the moment was, you insisted she go to sleep since you'd be going back to the Palace soon. She relented on the condition that she can bring your bag to you first, since you made it clear you had no intention of catching any more Zs tonight. Give you something to do with your hands too, as she put it.

You give the lamp by your bed a gentle flick to awaken to slumbering lumafly, its glow brightening to adequate reading light levels as you fish your wad of parchment and quill out of your satchel.

A pale envelope tumbles into your lap with them.

You pause. Had you forgotten to deliver something? You never brought this bag to work with you though, how did it end up inside?

The white wax on the seal was more…white, than usual. No mother of pearl gleam, just a silver sheen. This wasn't one of yours. You scrutinize the name upon the silkparchment. The translation appears slowly, and you can't help but lean back in confusion.

It was addressed to you.

When was this snuck into your bag? You are certain it wasn't there when you packed up that morning…

Hornet's mischievous little face flashes in your mind's eye. She would make a fine pickpocket with that slight of hand.

You feel a smile coming on as you break the seal. The letter inside was written on the whitest paper, with the tidiest calligraphy, smelling faintly of something floral. You shift closer to the lamp. The letter reads,

My Dearest, Maskfly,

I hope this letter finds you well, hidden within the fungal cradle of the Wastes. Please excuse Sister's intrusion on your belongings.

I have much I could tell you, but to pour my entire heart into paper would take more parchment than would fit within this envelope. 

If you suspected Dame Dryya to be cutting off our communication entirely, you would be correct. It was never within my intentions to avoid you in such a way. That said, I theorized having my siblings deliver you my thoughts in secret would slip by her ever watchful gaze. If you are reading this, it must be true.

I spoke to Father and Aunt Herrah about what you heard that day, after we returned. I hope it eases your worry to know that protective wards have been erected around she and Hornet's chambers in response to the threat. Such valuable forewarning almost tempted me to forgive you for scaring me like that.

My training has become more grueling than before. I believe this to be my part in the punishment, but as I am quite fond of the art of Nail, it is more of an advancement opportunity than retribution. I cannot possibly guess if this was the Dame's intended effect from the start or not.

I must apologize about this unfortunate turn of events. You did not deserve to shoulder the brunt of a punishment stemming entirely from my own selfishness. I never receive any concise answer when I question the duration of this precarious arrangement, but I will continue to attempt to negotiate its shortening regardless.

I sincerely hope that we may meet again soon. I miss your company most terribly. Without you by my side, the Palace seems that much emptier.

Stay safe, I beg.

PS: One of the cards in the deck you had gifted me has been gravely damaged, torn clean in half by rambunctious children. The Two of…Spades, is what you called them? Could I ask you to draw me a replacement? Thank you.

Yours, Hallow

What flowery prose! Though, honestly, what else did you expect?

You smile fondly, chest warm as you tuck the letter safely back into its case. Should you write them back? You should. Should you include your injuries? They'd find out from the kids anyway…

You lay your handful of parchment in your lap for some support, and pick the least crumpled one to begin writing a response to your estranged friend.

-

“Do I have to…I'on wanna…” You complain as you nonetheless allow yourself to be dragged forward by Ze'mer.

“Che' does not wish for you to face him any more than you do, Me'hon. But we must be respectful of their customs.” She reasoned unhappily.

“He wouldn't dare make a wrong move towards you while I am there, in that you can be certain. No more harm will come to you, sweetness.” Consoled Ophelia, latched onto the Knight's sleeve as you trudged through the village.

These two were…closer than you thought they'd be. 

Likely having the same thought, Rogue, having been following after you, leaned in close to your ear conspiratorially.

“So like…they're definitely shagging, right?” You choke.

“ROGUE–” Your appalled whisper-yell does little to actually deny the claim.

“Look at them and tell me I'm wrong!”

You did look. One of Ophelia's claws twirled a lock of Ze'mer's hair as they walked, quietly muttering to each other. The way the Knight's long antennae bent to tap against the mantis’ shorter ones was a gesture you weren't sure you were supposed to be watching so closely.

“...Oh my god, they are…” You mutter. “A lot of things make a whole lot more sense now…”

You didn't have much more time to ponder your epiphany however, because you soon arrived on the wooden platform of the Village Square. Most of the Tribe was gathered on the premises, silent, watching, judging the figures standing in the center.

The crowd parted for your arrival. You lean around Ze'mer to see what was happening. She simply stepped to the side, finally releasing your hand.

In front of you stood the Mantis Lords, Kallistri and Ishtaa keeping firm hold on their brother's arms as he glared at you with enough fire to scorch the hem on your cloak. It seems his first punishment by your hand, having been a relatively private ordeal down in the throne room, was very much unofficial in nature. A small mercy he did not get this time.

“How fare thee, Maskfly?” Spoke Aneerith, her voice booming in the silence of the public court. “Is your arm well?”

“For a limb halfway cleaved and twice as broken, I still have it, so I'm sure it'll be fine.” You report light-heartedly, pointedly not looking at Iphiel.

“How well can you use your other?” It's a true mystery why she would ask.

“It penned a letter for me in the wee hours, so it should do well enough.”

Taking that as some kind of consent which you most definitely did not yet give, the eldest Lord turned to her people.

“Honored members of the Tribe, we gather today to witness the consequences of one disgraced.” She starts, and you glance back at your posse nervously. Ophelia gives you a reassuring thumbs up. You do not feel comforted. “It is a shame like no other, that it must be my own kin. I would strike him myself, but his punishment is not mine to give.”

All eyes turn to you. You feel a bead of nervous sweat slide down the back of your neck.

“Iphiel– Lord of our Tribe and forever our blight, it seems, ambushed and sought the blood of noncombatant guests of our Village. This bug here is whose head he was aiming to take for trophy.” She points at you, as if you needed any more spotlight than standing in the circle with them. “A bug, I am told, who has not yet completed their adult molt. Is this true, Maskfly?”

You did not molt. You banish the thought of what that would even look like. But you know what she meant, and gave your answer accordingly.

“Yes, My Lord. I am adolescent, if only for a few more years.” A displeased murmur sweeps through the crowd. They didn't seem happy with this information. They must not take kindly to mindlessly harming youth. “...this is something I do my best to conceal, however, as it would reflect negatively on my position. Lord Iphiel could not have known.”

The murmur ceased.

“Why do you argue in his favor?” Aneerith inquired, tone lighter with a hint of curiosity. Why did you?

“I want him punished for his actual sins, without technical falsities, however little they may shift the verdict.”

“Then you have more honor than some of us.” She glanced at her brother with disdain. “Sisters, release him. Step forward, the both of you. This will be settled here, now, just as it was before.”

You hesitate. He does not, and you hurry to match his gait to meet in the center.

“Lord Iphiel has dishonored himself.” The eldest echoed, reminiscent of her brief explanation to you the first time. “He may regain his honor only once he allows his victim to strike him in retribution. As his slight is infinitely more severe this second time, you may strike him all of thrice, but no more. Begin.”

…But nothing happens.

He glared and you glared back. If looks could kill you'd both be dead.

“...I'm open to an apology.” You break the ice with passivity.

“I refuse to grovel to the likes of you.” He shatters the possibility.

“Oh my God, get off your high-horse man! I know it hurts your ego that I won but you're literally on trial–” You are cut off by the indignant interruption of the accused.

“What the Blazes do you mean you won!? The victory was clearly mine!” He insisted. You take a step back in sheer bewilderment.

“How could you have won??”

“Look at yourself you damn fool, you're broken! I'm unscathed! By law of First Blood, I won long before our battle was interrupted!” He argued, gesturing at your suspended arm.

“First Blood only applies in duels, that shit-show you staged was an assault! Neither of us died, but I had the last word, which means I won!” You reason. He looks at you like you've gone mad.

“That is ludicrou–”

“Enough!” Aneerith interjects heatedly. “Maskfly. Given the teachings of your Liege, your attempts at diplomacy are expected, but wholly unwelcome. The sooner you strike him, the sooner you may return to your recuperation, and he to his duties.

You wince, killing any more argumentative remarks you had.

“...is hitting him thrice a requirement or a maximum?” You mutter.

“It is but a choice you are given. If you feel particularly merciful, one may suffice.”

You reach forward, and with your middle finger braced against your thumb, raise your hand to his forehead. He tenses, closing his eyes.

Flick

The Mantis blinks rapidly, reaching up to feel the shallow divot you left on his forehead.

“...Wha–”

“Aaaand we're done here, yes?” You do not wait for an answer. “Great, good, time to head back to Headquarters gang, c'mon–”

You had only just turned away, marching back to your protesting entourage when Lord Kallistri rushed to catch your wrist.

“That– will simply not do, child.” Will they start calling you that now? It was only cute when Midwife did it. “That was hardly of equal worth to the damage you received.” You sigh.

“I don't want to harm your brother, Lord Kallistri.”

“I am afraid you simply must, Maskfly. He will remain honorless if you do not.” Ishtaa interjects. “Do you know what that means for him? It is much greater of a punishment than the humiliation of this trial. Would you subject him to that?”

Did they want this trial to become an execution?

No, you reason, they don't know what you could do to him. To them, you're just being pacifistic. Do you have enough control of your strength to hurt but not splatter him across the floor?

“...I propose an alternative, if your Lordships allow. It may be a deviation from the custom, but this is the only way I believe this to be fair.”

The sisters join, leaving you and their fourth out of their quiet discussion. The crowd seems interested enough…

“What in the world are you doing?” Iphiel whispers, as confused as ever.

“Trying not to orphan your daughter.” You hiss back, leaning back when Aneerith turns back to you.

“What is this alternative you suggest?”

“The duel he wanted.”

The wave of whispers wash across the crowd. Ze'mer makes a dismayed noise behind you.

“Explain.”

You take a deep breath, twitching the fingers of your injured hand. The Soul you were likely treated with fused your bones back in place, sure, but how durable that fix was, you didn't know. They did tie it up, after all. Still, you unhook the sling from your neck and tuck the fabric away in your cloak.

“He does not get a weapon. Neither do I. He can evade me, but he may not attack. I have ten minutes. If I manage to lay hands on him in that time, he loses.” You avoid specifying what happens if you lose. You don't have a plan for that.

The eldest Lord tilts her head.

“You wish to turn this honor trial into a game of tag?”

“With the speed we will be moving, any way I can tag him will hurt. And, if you remember our first encounter, all I did during it was run from him as well. I think the irony is satisfying enough.”

She turned back to her sisters. Iphiel looked even more confused than he had been.

“...very well. Let the width of the Square be your arena.” Aneerith relents, and you celebrate in your head. “Take positions on either side. The ten minutes will begin when I say.”

You back away, and he tentatively does the same. You have a smidgen more confidence in managing to get him now that your dominant hand isn't in dire need of repair– the battlefield being a fraction of the size also helps. By the way he eyes you, he sees it too.

A tense moment passes. You can faintly hear a foreign prayer from behind as you lower closer to the ground, ready to spring.

“Begin!”

Nobody expects the speed with which you launch yourself. Nobody spare for Iphiel it seems, as he is no longer there when you slide to a halt where he once stood in a small cloud of dust. You say a brief hello to the dumbstruck mantis in the audience in front of you. They do not return it.

You turn around slowly for dramatic effect. Iphiel now stood where you did, stance low and ready to zip away again. How does a layman predict the moves of a decades trained warrior? No way, that's how, and you weren't delusional enough to try. But you could gamble, and with all the misfortune you have built up, some kind of good karma is surely in order.

You dash left, he disappears the other way, and the cat-and-mouse begins.

He makes it look so easy. He jumps from here to there, so quick his form blurs in your untrained eyes, manoeuvring smoothly across the battlefield as you struggle not to launch yourself into the crowd every time you pounce at his afterimage. You come close at times– annoyingly close, but he's so incredibly slippery he continues to evade you.

You still for a moment, staring him down. Perhaps some trickery?

You twitch to the left, and he dodges the opposite direction– but so do you. You are finally looking to collide for a moment, and you reach forward…

Unfairly, he stops himself mid dash, somehow, and jumps back out of your reach. Return to square one. This is quickly turning into meaninglessly running in circles. You might have overestimated yourself.

You can't tag him aiming where he was, but you cannot tell where he is going to be… A glance at the grand clock above has you gritting your teeth. Halftime.

As if sensing your coming distress, the mantis decides giving you a migraine would solidify his victory. You unintentionally make an uncertain noise as he launches into a frankly impressive show of agility, dashing around you round and round as you stand in the middle trying fruitlessly to keep your eyes on him. How he doesn't get dizzy is beyond you.

You shuffle uselessly around the arena as you turn in circles, watching as Iphiel zips from place to place, never in the same spot by the time you blink. You almost trip on a raised plank as you step back, hesitating when you hear it creak.

By now, due to the excessive amount of running around you two had done, the Village Square was becoming hazy with kicked up dust and sand. It was thicker towards the ground, you note, your boots noticeably harder to see than usual. You pump your foot on the plank you tripped over. It dips low.

There’s an idea.

You close your eyes and listen. He doesn’t run in the same direction forever– changing courses randomly, never running more than three laps in the same…but he does always run one. 

A harder step against the wood signals his switch somewhere behind you. You stomp down on the plank.

Iphiel, immersed in his game of giving you motion sickness, does not see the other end of the plank shoot up in the fog in front of him. The Lord curses as he collides with the sudden obstacle, the direct hit to his knees sending him tumbling ass over teakettle with a mere second to recover before you launch at him again.

It hurts, you can tell. He is noticeably slower now.

You glance at the clock.

Two minutes.

Despite the obvious injury, he is still as skilled at dodging as they come. Your fingers just barely brush the edge of his tattered cloak, but it's a step up from not being able to get near him at all. He knows it too.

Does he get it now, you wonder? How it feels like to be the prey being chased for once?

One minute.

You'll run out of time at this rate. He may have been slowed down, but you are beginning to tire. Your knee, just recovered from being dislocated by a man eating monstrosity barely two weeks ago is beginning to ache terribly. You need to end this.

You take a gamble. You stomp hard on the ground, the wood cracking, splintering up around the impact. The arena shakes with the force, and the runaway mantis stumbles with the earth shifting under his feet.

You’d have had a clear shot of him, had he not taken to the sky.

Five seconds.

He jumped up high, and the time will have run out by the time he falls within your reach again. Unless, you follow him.

Four.

You crouch low, winding the spring in your legs again.

Three.

You jump, just as he begins to fall. He meets your eyes. You can see his widen.

Two.

He flails, but there’s nothing to kick off of in midair.

One.

You snatch him by the scruff.

A gong sounds out across the town square just as the combatants land, the impact scattering the fog of dust. There, The Fourth Lord was forced onto his back, the crouched messenger’s gloved hand keeping him down by the cloak. They stand smoothly, shaking out their arm with a hiss of pain. Iphiel rolls over lethargically. Deep fractures mar the shell of his back.

“May I go now?” Maskfly asks faintly, out of breath but determined to remove themself from the situation. Nobody protests.

Aneerith allows the child to walk past her, silent. She does not turn to witness their reunion with their chaperone, eyes fixed on her brother as he struggles to stand. Her niece joins her side, kneading at her own claws anxiously.

“Ophelia.” She starts, laying a hand on her shoulder. She flinches.

“Yes, Aunt?” Her voice trembles. The sight of her father in such a state must have shaken her.

“Accompany your Knight to the Palace.”

“But–”

“Your father will be fine.” They watch as Ishtaa offers her brother help getting up. He shrugs her away. “He would not want you to see him this way.”

With a firm hand, the Lord turns her niece away from the sight. They witness now the Knight and the messengers, fretting over their youngest.

“You must not hesitate so, Blood of Mine. We owe the Wyrm’s Knight some form of reimbursement for allowing harm to come to her ward. A few more days of your company is a price I do not believe she will bargain.”

Ophelia glances back…but acquiesces.

“Ms. Ophelia?” The Head Messenger utters in confusion.

“Seems like I’ll be joining you! You won’t mind one more, would you?”

“Oh, we wouldst never mind, never you, Meled’Lover.”

The red dragonfly whispers something to her coworker. Maskfly smacks her over the head. The older two women laugh at the exchange.

Aneerith stays as her niece flees, joining the bugs dressed in white. She cannot help the feeling stirring in her chest, a bittersweet thing. A confirmation of what she had always seen.

“You look more at home with them, than you ever did here.”

-

“Hallow, Hallow!!” Squealed Hornet, running through the palace halls with a crumpled letter held in her little hands. The eldest vessel perked up in their seat on the balcony, half buried in their younger siblings. “Masky’s back! They wrote you something!”

The letter was yoinked from her grasp before she could even offer it.

*How was Mantis Village? Did they say?* Brooks signed as Hallow busied themself with tearing the envelope open with a claw.

“No, they didn’t say much about that– but they brought me this!” The girl eagerly held up a small round mushroom. It was a vivid purple colour, and made a funny noise when she squeezed it. “They say it bounces!”

The children marvel over the rubbery fungus for a moment.

*What else, what else?* Prodded Ghost.

“They brought one of the mantises back with them! Apparently she’s Lady Ze’mer’s girlfriend and is gonna be staying for a while.”

*Oh, I know Miss Ophy!* Satin chimed in, *She visited once in the Bloom Season a few years ago! She didn’t stay long, but she was really nice! Shade and I painted rocks with her for a while.*

*And then we used those rocks to plant tripping hazards around the Palace.* Added Shade.

*Yeah! And she helped!*

*They’re unharmed, right?* Shie worried.

“Oh, they looked fine! Dryya was yelling at them for something, but Dryya is always yelling at Maskfly so that’s not that much of an anomaly.”

Thorne tilts their head curiously.

“Where are they now?”

Nod nod.

“Miss Rogue chased them off to bed. They probably got ordered on mandatory nap time.”

The children cringe sympathetically.

It then occurred to them that Hallow has just been staring at their letter unmoving that whole time. The Crown Prince is suddenly re-swarmed with tiny vessels and one spider, all clamoring to get a peek at the messenger’s written report.

“What does it say, Hallow?” Hornet demands.

Hallow narrows their eyes befuddled at the strange foreign symbols and odd, nail-straight lines of text.

*I…have no idea.*

-

Rhythmic thumping filled the silence.

Pulsing patchwork covered the ground, mountains, valleys, tents and obelisks breathing in time with the unseen heart. Within one of these valleys, blanketed by a fine sheet of red fog, lay a Titan. Ragged, cowed, hiding their face in their hands as they slept. Unmoving, as if dreaming of death.

Within the colossus' crown of long, unkempt hair, nestled the Nightmare King.

How peaceful he was, compared to the giant's deathly slumber. One leg propped upon the other, his long cloak laid atop him like a comforter. Few things could bother him like this.

“Grimm…”

His sister happened to be one of them.

The God of Nightmares sat up with a start, a strand of ratty hair hooked onto his flame-red horns. Crimson eyes opened to regard the newcomer with immature glee, arms thrown aside.

“Laetitia!” He'd cheer, ignoring the way the moth's golden eye twitched at being called by name at a time such as this. “To what do I owe the pleasure of your visit, Sister Mine? It has been so long, why, I hadn't even the time to make tea for us!”

“Brother, please…” Came the Radiance's tired reply. She seemed as uncomfortable in his realm as ever. “Cease with the theatrics. This is a serious matter.”

Deflating with a sigh, Grimm leaned back on his hands and regarded his sibling with eyes lidded with disinterest. 

“Yes?”

“When I asked you to watch over them…” Them being his current perch, he noted to himself, “This is not what I had meant.”

“What was it you meant, then?” He challenged, twirling the strand of hair draped on his head as if it were his own. “How much of my attention did you want me to sacrifice to a single mortal?”

“However you achieve it, pulling them into your realm each night certainly is not the way to do it.”

Grimm exaggerated the depth of his sigh.

“I am doing what you asked; they're charmed. When they feel mortal fear, they warp to safety. It is truly not a complicated enchantment.”

“Then why are they…here?” Her tone held a certain tilt of trepidation and general “ick” that had him raise a brow.

“Is it truly such a crime to seek some sort of reimbursement for my efforts? It is my power the warp draws on, after all.” He did not bother sitting up straight to gesture at the looming silhouette in the distance, a grin in his eyes. “Your Titanchild’s nightmares feed the Heart almost singlehandedly when they're here! You can ask your moths, I had not laid a single claw on either of them for the past several cycles.”

“You have been GIVING the Titanchild nightmares for the past several cycles!” She clarified, wings flaring in indignation. “They need to rest! You are going to worsen their insomnia!”

“It is not like their night-visions were any happier in your realm, Sister. What difference does it make if I pull them into mine?”

“There is much difference between an unpleasant dream and a nightmare, and you know it well.”

Grimm rolled his eyes with enough momentum to dislodge the strand from his horns.

“Still, I am doing a service– at your request! Their essence is not an outrageous price to ask.”

“Your service is lacking, Brother. That is why I came.” He furrowed his brows in confusion as she descended, landing gingerly in the tangle in front of him. “Your charm is faulty. The child is currently recovering from a deadly attack at the hands of another.”

That…should not be possible. He muttered as much, prompting the Radiance to lean over him.

“It already worked once. On that first day you called on me, their fear set it off. What could be the difference?” He asked nobody in particular as he tapped his claws along his mask. He raised a hand, an intricate sigil flaring to life in front of him that he began to inspect. “You say they got in a fight, yes? Do you know what they were doing on the first day?”

“An attempted murder is more the term.”

“Unfortunate. Please answer.”

“If it happened within the hour following my request of you, they should have been outside the border, attempting to misdirect a pack of their kin away from the kingdom.”

Grimm paused.

He…could not see the little messenger's nightmares. They provided excellent fuel to his flame, but their cause he could not decipher as he could with the terror of bugs. He had attempted to peer, of course! But their mind was a great stone door too heavy for him to forcibly open. He suspected his sister experienced much the same.

“Do you happen to know what event saw them to Hallownest?” He asked, as curious as he was eager to correct the fault in the unspoken contract.

“I have little right to say.” 

So she does know…why can't he see then?

“Humour me, Sister. I can keep secrets.”

The moth shifted, hesitancy written across her face.

“...their own blood, I believe, is what they were running from.”

Ah.

He knows the problem now.

“My spell is not at fault. The child is to blame.” He concluded simply, dismissing the seal. His Sister balked.

“What.”

“Do not be so quick to bristle, Dawn, I am explaining.” He diffused, hands raised in defence. “They feared, deathly so, contact with their own kin, but not in the face of a bug with intent to kill. The spell did not work because they dread returning to their old life more than losing it entirely.”

It was certainly an unpleasant explanation, because he couldn't exactly just change what they feared and what they didn't. He would have to lower his price. This irked him.

“...That is…unfortunate.” She ended up saying. How adorable she was, trying to mask her concern.

“It is what it is, I suppose,” He sighed, laying back in the makeshift nest, “But yes, I cannot very well have them every night if the charm is lacking. How about every other night?”

“That is still too much.”

“Every third?”

“Once a week.”

“Gah! Fine. I know that tone of finality when I hear it.” He grumbled, displeased at his shorter stick in the custody agreement.

The Radiance sighs, suffering, and lowers to sit beside her brother. The beat of the Nightmare's Heart commands silence as they gaze out into the foggy scarlet sky.

“...Is it pity that spurs you to act for this pathetic creature?” Grimm speaks after a while, contemplative, rolling a lock of hair between his fingers. The strands leave a slight residue on his shell before a spark of essence whisks it away. “It seems below you, as a God.”

“They do not look like this in the waking.” She corrects softly, her feathers tenderly smoothing over the shell of the ear beside her. “It is your influence that warps them so, back to how they were in a darker time. They hold more poise now. More life, than this.”

The Nightmare King remains respectfully quiet as his Sister searches for her words, his head tilted. He had never met them, after all. One could not fault him for wondering.

“They are as cherished as another child of the Wyrm, and the Wyrm is my friend. Surely, it is within my right to share some of his affection?”

“I suppose.” He mused, turning back to the horizon. “Though how wise I deem it is debatable, with how eagerly the poor fool seems to get in harm's way.”

The Radiance seemed to know what he was going to say next. The way she averted her gaze told him as much.

“Will you be able to bear the pain when they pass, from nail or from time?”

“I bore the wilting of my moths for eons. I will grieve for them as I had every other child before them. Though your concern is appreciated.”

He gave a light-hearted scoff at that. She simply chuckled and tugged him to lay against her side.

He envied her, sometimes. How used to loss she had become, how she had learned to accept the fading of those around her.

He was no stranger to death, mind you. In a sense, he was a herald of it. But his only purpose was to collect the scraps left behind, never to grieve what was lost. Anyone he had ever loved became a part of him before they could fade, striped masks severing their ties to their mortality. Never had he let a soul slip from his claws, once it was between them.

He didn't think that could ever change.

“...I liked this place better in rose gold.” Came the sudden confession from the Goddess. Grimm’s expression twisted into that of amused offense.

“Hey, you were that one that wanted to split realms!” He shot back, poking a finger into her fluffy midsection.

“I hadn't known you had such horrible taste.” She replied dispassionately, giggling when he pushed her away from him.

“That's it, get out!”

“Why, I thought you wanted me to visit more!”

“I rescind the invitation! You clearly cannot appreciate my flawless aesthetic!”

“Yes, flawless is the word I would use…”

The Godtwins bickered, ascending into a childish game of chase out of the realm. Without the King's tether, the visage of the Titan began to fade, golden wisps carrying them back into the clouds of the Dream from whence they were taken.

You finally slept at ease for once.