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There was a large temple hidden in the Queen’s Gardens.
The knight wasn’t very familiar with the area. After they finally found a way into the local stag station, past the traitor mantis adults and youth and those chaotic jumping bugs and the ghost of a bouncing caterpillar (and the walls covered in gnarled thorns), they immediately hopped on and left to lick their wounds. The infection-ridden bugs here weren’t to be trifled with, the mantises especially with how the infection augmented their strength. Combined with what remained of their warrior training, they were deadly to fight. Too many times their blades slashed and split their chitin, void leaking in thick clouds.
Repairing the shell was a simple matter, but replenishing the void lost required actual matter. Preferably organic.
So when they returned some time later to actually explore the area, they found something they missed. A small nearly invisible tunnel in the undergrowth led them to a large stone structure. Having seen the architectural influences of the Pale King, the mantis tribe, and the mosskin, the stone structure was noticeably unique. It was a large and wide dome shape, swirling patterns carved into it in a way that seemed to imply some kind of flow, like that of wind or water, further divided by ribbed columns reaching from the top of the dome to where it connected with the ground. The entrance, a set of stone double doors, was installed in an arched frame, but where the arch met the ground it was much wider than what they were used to seeing in the dead kingdom.
They didn’t have any interest in Hallownest’s deep and interconnected history, so they paid it little mind when they walked inside, nail at the ready.
The inside was poorly lit; lumafly lanterns were haphazardly strung up from the ceiling and walls with rope, too few in number and too random to provide decent or consistent lighting. The circular shape of the building allowed its builders to create an amphitheater within. The edges of the room had level flooring, but further towards the middle the floor sloped downwards, divided by stairs with a long run to rise ratio – such kinds of stairs were always inconvenient to walk across, being uncommon and needing a step pattern that the knight was unpracticed in. There were stone benches beside the flights of stairs that perhaps were once lined neatly, now knocked askew and, in some cases, partially destroyed. The plant growth from the outside wormed its way here too, though it grew sparse further away from the walls.
At the center of the building was a pedestal surrounded by stone rubble, and beside it was Quirrel.
The knight perked up and sheathed their weapon. Seeing the wanderer meant there were no threats in the immediate vicinity. Whether that was because the bug cleared out the area beforehand or they just happened to keep meeting in safe spaces, it was all the same to them.
The knight’s footsteps were quiet as always, but in the silence of the old structure, Quirrel heard them easily and turned. He seemed to brighten when he saw them. “Hello there, my friend! Come to see this hidden temple as well?”
The knight neither shook their head nor nodded. They didn’t come for the express purpose of finding ruins, but they also weren’t wandering for any reason other than to find useful secrets. They were content to stand beside the larger bug and listen to what he had to say about the place instead.
Quirrel took their lack of response in stride. “It seems the ones who built this place worshiped a deity apart from the King or any of this land’s known gods. There are no symbols of the king here, or the one the mosskin worshiped. No depictions of any kind, in fact, except for the remains of this statue.” He gestured to the rubble of what once was surely a large carving of some kind. “I thought this a pedestal to speak from before the stone here caught my eye. Though worn by time, this was clearly a sculpture of some kind, destroyed long before either of us came. I wonder what happened to it?”
The bug picked up a piece roughly the size of his head, grunting slightly from the effort. “The temple itself has been ravaged by time, but this stone was deliberately destroyed. Were it a natural cause, it hardly would’ve spared the building that housed it. The true mystery is why the only depiction of whatever was worshiped here was destroyed. Was it done by intelligent bugs, or simply a beast that found it threatening?” After turning it around in his hands, observing from all angles, Quirrel set the stone piece back down. “I suppose we might never know without further investigation, and even that has the potential to bear no fruit.”
Quirrel hummed as he thought, no longer offering further words on the matter. The knight looked around the temple. The structure of the place was still a curiosity, the benches offering whoever sat there a clear view of what was once at its center. If it was more information Quirrel sought, perhaps there was something hidden there.
The knight walked away to look and Quirrel turned to watch them. “Leaving already?”
They didn’t offer an answer, focused on looking through the many aisles. The benches were made of solid stone, so they’d have to look through each one individually to make sure nothing was missed. Already they couldn’t help but remember the metal benches found all over Hallownest, easily seen through and easily scoured for hidden things. If only these were made in the same style.
“Ah, you’re looking for something.” They could hear Quirrel’s smile. “I admit there’s little left to be gleaned from this statue’s remains. Perhaps it’s time for me to look around as well.”
They continued to walk through the aisles as Quirrel meandered through the building. His commentary was welcome background noise for their otherwise dull task. He spoke of the lanterns, how it was amazing that they held up so long after the place was abandoned, how their dim light lent to the mysterious atmosphere of the place. He noted that the carvings on the wall, more of those swirling patterns, probably had some meaning beyond just aesthetics, but not one he could glean. He said the bugs were bold to build such a structure in the Gardens; even hidden as it was, even built after Hallownest’s fall judging by the comparative lack of plant growth, this was still an area not kind to weaker bugs. All the while the knight walked in wider and wider circles, kicking away small rocks in their path.
They finished looking some time after Quirrel fell silent. There was nothing of interest to be found, besides a stone journal, so they returned to the amphitheater's center to find the scholarly bug resting on one of the benches, off to the side and with ample space for them. They hopped up next to him and offered him their find.
“Hm? A journal?” Quirrel took it into his hands and held it up in the dim light. “The text has faded some, but it seems to be an account on what the writer found here. Another explorer or just a bug looking for shelter, there’s no way to tell. Whatever end they eventually met wasn’t within these walls. This place is devoid of dead. Let’s see...” The knight watched Quirrel trace over the text with a gentle finger, hesitant to damage the stone further. The knight never used such care with the objects. Their value was instilled by Lemm, who paid more for less damaged items, but it was a 50-100 geo difference in most cases so they simply placed the relics within themselves and promptly forgot about them until they passed by the crotchety bug’s shop. 100 geo wasn't enough to exert the extra effort.
“It speaks of lever at the statue’s base,” Quirrel said, surprise coloring his voice. “I saw no such thing, but perhaps I missed something?”
The knight immediately set to searching again. The thought of leaving an area unexplored grated on them somehow, and if there was a lever of some sort, then like the rest of Hallownest, it likely opened a door to a new room. They hopped off the bench and walked to the old pedestal, drawing their nail. If they swung quickly, they could clear the rubble away in no time at all. With the Mark of Pride, their sweeping strikes reached further, flinging cracked stone in all directions.
Quirrel made a startled noise behind them. “Ah, wait! Please don’t damage the pieces further, my friend!” The knight halted mid-swing and looked up to see Quirrel scrabbling to reach them, journal and nail forgotten on the bench. They tilted their head at him.
He hurried to their side and made to push their nail down. “There’s already so little to be gleaned from these remains, no need to knock them around even more. Not to mention they will blunt your nail faster than anything.” He put his hands on his hips and looked at the remaining debris. “Moving it all by hand will take some extra time, but it’s well worth the wait to leave everything as intact as possible for future adventurers.”
The knight hadn’t thought of that. They sheathed their nail.
Quirrel breathed a small sigh of relief. “Good! I can start moving some of the stones here.” He picked up one of the fragments and set it on the pedestal. “Since you seem eager to help, why don’t you start on the other side? We can work our way around until we meet on the other side.”
That was fine. The knight walked to the stone and, seeing as Quirrel wanted them as undamaged as possible, they were slow to remove the rubble from the edges. Some stones were hardly in the way of the detailing on the stone slab, barely worth the effort of moving them aside, and in other areas they were piled higher than the slab itself. Most of the statue’s remnants were in large pieces, allowing them to see the smooth form that statue must’ve had once. They weren’t able to understand what was the shape of it though. The individual pieces were so small when compared to what must've been a massive statue, the only clue they gave was that the thing worshiped here was smooth in some places. That covered over half of the creatures the knight had ever slain. Useless.
Quirrel’s ‘oh!’ of surprise drew them out of the task. They lifted their head up to see him on the other side, looking down at something.
When he noticed their gaze, he waved them over.
“Come! I believe I’ve found the lever the journal spoke of.”
The knight dropped the stone fragment they held and made their way to Quirrel’s side, careful not to step on stray bits of rock. There, like the journal said, was the lever. It was fixed to the side of the pedestal, it’s large handle a plain rounded shape with few embellishments to speak of, unlike similar switches they found across the kingdom. It was made of stone, just like everything else in the temple. They wondered if it'd even move.
“Curious. There are no locked doors anywhere in this place – in fact not a single door besides the front entrance – so what could this possibly open-?”
The knight hit it with their nail, the abrupt movement making Quirrel jump.
He looked at them. They looked back.
They would not apologize.
Before Quirrel could reprimand them (or simply accept their chosen method of interacting with the world), something rumbled overhead. The two looked upwards to the domed ceiling. It shook under the force of some powerful thing, something besides whatever mechanism was at work. They heard the scuttling of a many-limbed beast, and then heard its hoarse cry.
They hadn’t noticed that the slope of the ceiling inside didn’t match that of the outside when they first came in.
A hatch opened slowly, many times larger than what would’ve been built with the common bug in mind. Limbs, ending in two claws, poked out and scrabbled at the edges, impatient with the hatch’s pace. As it opened further, the beast grunted and hissed, struggling to get its body through as quickly as possible. It head, and then its whole front, came through. It screeched, violently clawing at the stone, heedless of any damage it did to itself. Not even a second went by before it fell from the ceiling, shrieking and hissing as it tried to right itself. The knight observed the new threat, nail in hand.
It was a spider, but unlike the ones the knight found in Deepnest. The Deepnest spiders, Hallownest natives and the weavers included, all opted to wear masks, having not been hatched with faces, and were of a mid-to-large sort of build. This one had no mask. Its four frontal eyes, pedipalps, and fangs were proudly displayed, and clearly indicated when the spider spotted the two that released it. Its pedipalps waved erratically, its fangs flared outwards, its eight furred legs tensed, and it shrieked once more into the temple.
It was also much bigger than any the spiders the knight previously encountered.
They heard Quirrel hiss a curse and dart back to the bench where he’d left his nail. The knight dashed forwards, drawing back their own nail to slash at the new threat’s legs.
The spider was quick. It leapt back, but with how small the temple was compared to it size, it crashed into the stone walls, its legs flailing to readjust itself. The knight raised their nail, hesitant to advance. They’d never fought a spider so large. The only spiders they’d fought were ones whose minds had been relinquished to the infection. Was this spider the same?
Similarly, the spider seemed to study them as well, pedipalps brushing over its fangs. It’s head did not cock, nor it’s eyes move in any way, but the knight knew when they were being observed. It made a low chittering sound somewhere behind its mouth parts.
It twitched. The knight jumped to avoid the beast’s lunge, but they weren’t high enough to avoid it completely. It didn’t grab them with any of its limbs, but they were clipped by its massive body, sending them hurtling through the air. They flailed, trying to gain some form of control before the spider realized what happened, before it could lunge again.
Something slammed into the knight mid-air, clamping around them, holding them tight. They struggled, (beast’s jaws, fangs pressed against chitin, they would not end here) but then Quirrel’s voice sounded right by them. “I have you,” he said. They relaxed.
They landed and took cover behind the pews. The spider screeched again as Quirrel gently set them down. “Alright?” He didn’t wait for an answer before moving the knight’s cloak aside and patting them down. He seemed to hesitate after the first touch of their shell, but whatever thought passed through his mind was tossed aside and he continued to press firmly on their chitin.
The knight pushed his hands away and nodded. They didn’t have time to waste. Already they heard the freed arachnid racing around to find its prey, spitting in frustration.
Quirrel cautiously peeked his head out, eyeing the spider. “This is no native, my friend. This sort of beast is more common outside this land, and efficient hunters, practically designed so. We need to be swift.”
The knight was swift. The knight might not have fought something so large just yet, but they would kill the spider as they have killed everything else that tried to end them.
(excepting the mantis tribe, but they always retreated before they could land a killing blow and they saw no point in chasing them down)
(they also bowed as they walked past now, which was interesting)
The knight, nail at the ready, bunched their legs to spring back out. Quirrel’s hand on their arm stopped them short. They looked at him.
“Do you have a plan beyond slashing it until it stops moving?”
They did not. This was no problem though. They raised the flat of their blade to Quirrel.
Quirrel raised his hands in a peaceful gesture. “I don’t doubt your strength, but I would feel better assisting you. It can’t chase two prey items at once. If one distracts, another can pierce its abdomen to end it quickly.”
They thought for a moment. They’d never seen Quirrel fight before. He must have exceptional ability, to have survived journeying the dead kingdom for so long unaided (as had Zote, a treacherous thought whispered), so they wouldn’t need to think about protecting the other bug, most likely. The knight was unused to fighting alongside another though.
Against the spider, it could be useful, and they couldn’t delay any longer. They nodded their assent and jumped back to the fight.
The knight stood on the stone backrest of the bench, nail gripped tight once more. The spider, as a creature built and bred for the hunt, noticed them immediately and stilled, watching. It made that chittering noise again, soft behind its fangs.
They heard Quirrel sneak away from them, using the stone seating as cover and muttering something under his breath. Just as well, because they had little time for distractions when the spider lunged again with an unholy screech, legs spread wide, no warning beyond the slight bunching of its hind legs. The knight darted out of the way, off to the side, barely dodging the spider’s two-pronged legs.
The spider shrieked it’s displeasure and clawed at the stone seating it landed on, knocking them askew. Quirrel needed those for cover. The knight drew on their collected soul and fired a spirit at the spider, the force of it knocking it into the stone wall. The building shook under its impact.
Unless they wanted to bring the whole temple down around them, that’d have to be reserved for dire situations.
The spider already knew where they were and wasted no time in leaping for them. They dashed away as fast as they were able, only just missing its claws again. There were too many close calls. Quirrel said to act as bait (not it so many words, but it was all the same to them), but they had to strike. Something to make the spider hesitate and give them a chance to breathe.
It leapt and they dashed, and they struck out at the closest furred leg before retreating further. Their nail barely made a dent in the spider’s thick hide, only seeming to agitate the beast further. It hissed violently and leaped before the knight had a chance to dash away, and they were forced to use the stone benches as cover.
The spider landed above them and its jaws tried to clamp around them. But the knight was small, and the benches were built to accommodate larger bugs. The aisle in between had just enough space for them to squeeze into. The backrests created a defense against the spider’s fangs, dripping with the beast’s venom. They watched the spider above them spit and hiss as its fangs scraped at the stone, its prey only just out of reach.
They needed to get out. They were safe for these few seconds but they needed to get out. They could feel soul building, ready to scream.
They heard a cry and the spider screeched. It abandoned it’s siege on the knight’s shelter and jumped somewhere that the knight couldn’t see with their limited view. They took a moment to steady themselves, then rose up to look around.
The spider’s abdomen had a large puncture wound at its side, a little smaller than the knight’s head. Hemolymph bled from it and clotted in the sparse fur around the area. They managed to see Quirrel in their peripheral darting behind the stone benches, but he was too large to hide the way they did. They need the spider’s attention again.
The knight jumped and ran towards it, drawing their nail to slash at it’s legs again. This time they managed to nick something, and they dashed back to the relative safety of the benches. It’s enraged cry followed as it leaped high into the air and slammed its body into the ground. The floor under their feet shook, some of the stone actually shifting down from where it’d been placed. As though there was no earth underneath.
The floor wasn’t stable. They needed to fight the spider on firmer ground.
But Quirrel made a plan. They didn’t know how many more stabs the spider would need before it died.
They weren’t sure what to do, but the stone would hold up long enough until they did.
The spider wouldn’t wait. It hissed and spit and launched itself at the knight. They had a brief thought of jumping right at it and slicing its underbelly before dashing though the aisles. The stone shook again, less this time, but concerning. The floor was weaker than they thought.
They needed to find Quirrel before the spider collapsed the stone from under them. The spider chased after them, opting to try running them down instead of leaping this time. They dashed through the aisles as quick as they could, but the spider was steadily gaining ground. It was more intelligent than the infected husks that shambled through Hallownest’s tunnels – they couldn’t chance leaping above it and striking its back, not with its reflexes. They couldn’t make a break for the door without regrouping with Quirrel. They couldn’t lead the spider to the larger bug. The spider got closer.
Too many dead ends, no solutions came to mind, not enough time. They nearly lashed out their nail in frustration, but they couldn’t waste the energy.
They heard him shout and they risked turning their head to watch him stab at the spider’s abdomen once more. The spider roared, or as much as a spider could roar, and Quirrel hung on to its side and stabbed down again. The knight ran towards them. The spider slammed its abdomen down to dislodge its attacker, again and again. The stone groaned and Quirrel could hang on no longer. He fell to the floor, his nail clattering away from him.
The knight stopped just short of running in between the downed bug and the spider. It howled, maddened by pain, by hunger, by the years it spent isolated in the roof of the temple.
Quirrel looked at the knight, breathed in to say something. The knight stood still as they looked back.
Then the floor fell.
* * *
It was dark.
They’d lost awareness at some point. Not concerning by itself. They didn’t often lose awareness, but if they hadn’t died then there was no cause for worry. Often it could be attributed to a simple loss of focus when sitting still for too long. Existing as a being that required no sleep but housed within a shell with the instinct ingrained meant such compromises were necessary.
But it was dark. Much too dark.
They were practically blind in the suffocating blackness. Their unfocused gaze stared upwards, the uneven press of the floor against their back their only clue at to what was up and what was down. The eerie silence gave them no such blessing. Not even a drip of water. It was as if all sound had been swallowed.
Their chest felt tight. Their thoughts struggled through the haze.
It was too dark.
They felt something akin to panic bubble beneath their shell. Their claws tensed to rend and tear and grip tight. Where was their nail? Something pressed against them, on top of them, surrounding them. The weight of the world above was choking them.
They never left, did they?
They relaxed on the floor they laid on, almost against their will, had they possessed such a thing. They never left. They were still at the bottom of the pit, waiting to wither away into the ether they spawned from like the rest of them (them?). They failed that final directive and were cast down. Already any sense of imagined feeling was being suffocated by smooth nothingness, those fabricated experiences soon to fade from memory, they were sure.
They hadn’t been aware they could dream. Interesting. Irrelevant.
Had they been capable of it, they would’ve sighed as they laid on the uncomfortable floor. They should’ve probably been standing. They weren’t supposed to be laying on the floor. But they couldn’t rise without command. Couldn’t even want to rise from this cold uneven floor. This floor made up of thousands upon thousands of the similarly rejected. All of their hollowed shells, empty of their ghosts, carpeting whatever stone was there before. Rotting away, as they were fated to do, as they would soon follow, as they were expected-
“My friend? Where are you?”
… a voice. In the dark.
There were no voices in the dark.
The last voice there had left just moments ago, centuries ago. There could be no voices in the pit.
And yet the voice was so deafening in the silence, nearly painful, it couldn’t be imagined. They were incapable of imagining such a complex thing as words, tone, emotion, never dream that odd waver in that voice’s words. Though apparently they were not incapable of disbelief.
They struggled to find where it was coming from, but their body was leaden and their will lacking. Their sense of direction was nonexistent for how helpful it was in understanding where the voice came from. It was muffled somehow. Quiet in some way, despite how it rung in their head. They almost would rather drift off into incognizance again than continue to struggle.
“Little friend, please.”
Still, they felt compelled to answer that call. Perhaps they recognized it as an order of some kind. They moved to sit up. They only managed to tense their body. Something above them moved. The world shifted to the left.
There was a sharp intake of breath and quick steps, getting louder, approaching them. It turned labored as the weight above them became lighter. They heard grunting as stone scraped stone.
When the last of the rubble was removed, they realized they’d been buried under something.
Above them was Quirrel, looking more haggard than he appeared in their memory. His shell, not normally an obscenely shiny thing but not unkempt, was scraped raw in places. Dust seemed to cling to him, making his muted blue shell an even duller color, practically gray in the light of the dim lantern some ways away. He seemed to relax minutely when their gazes locked, though there was still a shaking tension in his legs.
What was Quirrel doing at the bottom of the world? And speaking into the all-consuming silence, as if he wasn’t aware of where he stood? This place demanded silence. The one with voice had left. They couldn’t speak in their absence, couldn’t do anything after they’d all been cast down. They considered covering the portion of his mask where his mouth must surely be, but the desire faded as quickly as it came.
He’d been the voice calling them. With the obstruction gone, they sat up, to the other bugs apparent distress.
Quirrel waved his hands around them, as though he couldn’t bring himself to lay his hands on them despite seeming to want to. “Please don’t move,” he said quickly. “It’s come to my attention that your shell is much softer than I’d previously thought.” He knelt and checked them over. “Where are you hurt? You hardly moved, and being so silent I’m not sure how long I might’ve taken to find you among the rubble. Anything broken?” Quirrel finally took their limbs and started to feel gently. He huffed in frustration. “It’s so dark I can barely see your shape. The lumafly in your lantern is too knocked around to provide much by the way of light just yet, though it seems hardier than most.”
They tilted their head as they looked at him. Soft shell? Broken things? His words made little sense to them. They supposed it didn’t matter. They didn’t have to understand everything said to them.
Quirrel looked at them and huffed a breath of laughter. “Of course one as unflappable as you would be confused at my genuine concern. Am I correct in interpreting this as a lack any serious injury? You were partially buried under rock, so I believe I am justified in my worry.” They continued to stare at him. He seemed to be waiting for something. Had he commanded something of them? After a drawn-out moment, he slowly stood with a wince. “Well then,” he said, hesitant to draw his eyes away, “if there are no other pressing matters, it may be prudent to leave quickly. I’m not sure the spider was killed in the fall or simply knocked unconscious, and I’d rather not stick around to find out. It’ll be easier to recover elsewhere, in any case.” He started to pick his way across the floor, careful of where he stepped. “Maybe then we can take better stock of our injuries.”
They felt they had to follow. They always followed. They got up on their unsteady feet, possibly weak from so long unused. They swayed slightly where they stood, but they tensed their limbs and it was minimized. They were empty. They were pure.
They started to follow.
The world blurred, tilted, and they were on the floor.
Something was wrong.
Quirrel hissed something under his breath and rushed to their side. They realized nothing made sense. Quirrel couldn’t be here. It was impossible. And yet there he was, saying something to them as he lifted them from the floor. The floor made of rock. Not a mask in sight.
They were confused.
“I found no hot springs here, but there is a stag station nearby,” Quirrel said quickly. He held their body close and walked, feet slapping the stone as fast as he dared. “We’ll go to the Crossroads. It’s a bit of a walk, but it’s the only other place I know. Just hold on.”
Leave? Leave??
Their limbs trembled. Something was wrong.
Suddenly their memories came into focus. The wastelands. The King’s Pass. The gardens. The temple. The spider. The fall.
Whatever haze they were in cleared, at least partially. There was a sharp, throbbing pain at the back of their head that only just came to their attention. They struggled in Quirrel’s grip to reach it. Their hand touched something wet and cold. Quirrel moved their hand away.
“The back of your head is cracked and bleeding,” he said, breath labored. “Touching could aggravate the injury. Be still.”
This wasn’t the first time the knight had sustained a head injury. They couldn’t recall any times previous, couldn’t really recall much at the moment, but they were somehow certain that they’d survived this sort of thing before. It’d heal with just a little time, like all their other injuries, so they felt no urgency. They had no way to tell Quirrel this though, and their lethargy made them more than content to wait for the other bug to calm in his own time.
In the meantime, they figured a small rest wasn’t a bad idea.
* * *
Quirrel did not let them rest for the whole journey.
Well, that wasn’t entirely true. He let them drift for certain periods of time, only to bring them back to full awareness, which might’ve been worse than simply forbidding any form of rest. Normal bugs, apparently, were prone to declining at random where head injuries were concerned. It was a wonder any bug survived long enough to continue their family line, though in all fairness, the knight’s ‘softer shell’ might’ve been exchanged for near limitless regenerative abilities. They didn’t know. Nor were they particularly interested.
The point was that Quirrel kept prodding them and asking them to engage in communication the whole way to the Crossroads hot spring, despite the fact that their void had long since stopped escaping their shell.
Nevermind that they were severely lacking in that department when compared to the common bug. They had nothing of interest to communicate. Quirrel’s prompting questions were impossible to answer; often having to do with family, or interests, or opinions on specific points of Hallownest’s history that the knight was only just introduced to by the very same bug. They had no family of which they were aware, no interests beyond their goals, and no opinions about much of anything. The only opinion they had was on particularly annoying enemies, and that required more than just their hands to do justice. If Quirrel allowed them to hold their nail, then maybe they could try.
“What about that map of yours?” Quirrel asked. They were nearing the hot springs, not more than a few minutes away, and Quirrel had calmed significantly since they left the stag station. The knight at this point had given up on ‘napping,’ as the larger bug called it. They had to periodically fidget so that Quirrel didn’t jostle them again (which the bug hadn’t hesitated to call ‘oddly mechanical and calculated’), but a small annoyance in comparison. “Surely you have something to say about that. The last time I saw it, I was impressed by the detail you added to it, and its accuracy too! You have an economic method of documenting your travels. If ever you need a source of income, I suspect map-making to be a viable option for you, though not in these ruins. Hardly a soul left to buy one, and, though his name escapes me, I know this place already had quite the dedicated cartographer. His maps aren’t completely finished, but there is charm to discovering places all on your own. It’s the primary reason why I haven’t bought one myself.”
Quirrel’s rambling made them think. Their map-making skill? Placing lines on a page was hardly a challenge, and it didn’t bring them the joy Cornifer described. They usually had no need for money either. The shambling corpses had enough geo for them, and in their wanderings outside the kingdom money was never a concern. They fought, occasionally saved a bug or two, and was gifted things with varying levels of utility as thanks. Money had never held any value to them before the cartographer, with his refusal to trade for anything but geo.
Not that they’d tried to trade with anything else. They hardly cared to, with geo so easy to acquire.
They shook their head (gently this time; they were forcibly reminded a short while ago that sharp head movements were unpleasant). No, there wasn’t much to say about it, nor were they interested in that sort of work for a living – especially when they definitely didn’t need one. They were thorough in all things, and the map needed to be precise to be useful. Quirrel just happened to notice it.
Quirrel hummed at their response. “Hmm. Are you perhaps simply detail-oriented, then? I spoke truthfully that it’s an impressive work. No matter though,” the knight imagined that if Quirrel’s hands weren’t occupied with them, he would’ve physically wave away the one-sided conversation, “there is one last question I have before we finally reach our destination. Your nail.” The knight made to reach for it where it was strapped to Quirrel’s hip, but the bug gently slapped away their hand with practiced ease. “Well, perhaps not your nail, but your skill with it. I’ve had little opportunity to observe you in combat, but from what I’ve seen you are very simple with your swings, and yet precise with where you strike. Were you not still alive after traveling so deep into Hallownest, I’d fear you were headed for an early grave.”
They were finally approaching the entry to the hot springs. The knight watched it, already anticipating being free. They’d never been carried by another bug before (that didn’t want to eat them at least) and was eager to escape the confining feeling. Were they in their right mind at the start, they suspected they would’ve viciously struggled out of Quirrel’s grasp.
Oblivious to the knight’s thoughts, Quirrel continued to speak. “Against the beast, you displayed some interesting techniques, but I must say – and I mean this as friendly counsel – they didn’t seem to come naturally to you. Were they skills you only recently learned? Not that it matters, more knowledge can only help.” They were walking under the archway to the springs and Quirrel continued to speak as though it barely registered. “More to the point, should we cross paths again in the future, I’d like to offer my time to show you a few simple strikes that might make your nail a more fluid weapon. Watching you hold your own against the spider was in parts terrifying and awe-inspiring, and it would ease my mind to give you a more deft hand.”
The knight was impatient. They wriggled out of Quirrel’s grasp, and if the larger bug hadn’t quick reflexes, they might’ve landed face-first into the stone floor. They nearly did anyway – after being set down by Quirrel, the knight took a few purposeful steps to the hot spring, then the world tilted again and Quirrel swiftly caught them.
“You might not be bleeding anymore,” the bug scolded, “but you’re far from alright. These springs have interesting properties, practically restoring a bug’s shell to it’s full shine within an hour. It might’ve been imbued with some magic during Hallownest’s time, but I hardly know where to start looking for such a thing. Quite curious too.” The knight stared at the distracted bug from where they were being held upright. Quirrel noticed and coughed into his hand. “Erm. Well. Anyway, a dip in these waters ought to help some. At least until we decide on any further first aid.”
They wouldn’t need anything else. Rest healed their shell, matter replenished their void. They’d have to find something to consume at some point.
Quirrel guided the knight to the springs and sat them down on a shallow stone, before turning to the bench that was placed not far from them. There he unloaded their equipment; the knight’s nail, their lantern, Quirrel’s own nail, and whatever other supplies he carried with him on his journeying. He seemed to think for a moment as he looked at the objects, humming something to himself, before returning to the knight.
The bug sighed as he lowered himself into the hot spring. “A small dip is just what I need for these strained muscles. Even without whatever unique properties these waters have, hot springs are lovely places to spend time in. One of the kingdoms I traveled through was famous for their hot springs, the main draw of their civilization being the absolute comfort the citizens lived in. The wealthy ones, anyway. I managed to worm my way into one of their more prestigious bath houses and it was absolute heaven. Nearly fell asleep,” he chuckled. “I was interrupted by an armed guard, unfortunately. Quite rude of them.”
The knight could feel the cracks at the back of their head begin to seal close. Soul saturated their small form and filled out the dents in their chitin, soothing pains they were only distantly aware of before. It wouldn’t be long now before they’d be ready to return to the Queen’s gardens. There were still some unexplored buildings there, and their geo wallet was a little light after they bought some of Sly’s stock. Surely the area would have at least one king’s idol lying around. Of a reasonable size.
“I did mean what I said about the extra instruction.”
The knight turned their head to see Quirrel looking at them, his relaxed posture and casual air softening what otherwise might’ve been an intense stare. “I don’t mean to offend, I’ve no doubt you could make it through these ruins just as you have been. Still, I’m compelled to offer you what knowledge I can impart.” He lifted a hand to his chin. “I believe I must’ve done some teaching in a past life for the urge to be so strong. I look at your form and see where you could improve if given the chance,” he mused. “Though if you find the thought unappealing, I won’t begrudge you. Adventure calls us both, and may not leave much time for whatever instruction I might provide.”
The knight cocked their head to the side and observed the other bug. Bugs offering things to them was always odd. Bugs interacting with them was odd. They would always listen to what they said, but when they wanted to know what the knight wanted, they were often at a loss. Thankfully most kept the questions to a simple ‘yes’ or ‘no’. It made it easier to stay separate from those real bugs, with their life and vibrancy.
Eventually, the knight nodded. They got up to retrieve their blade.
Quirrel stopped them with a hand on the top of their head, gentle but firm. “Ah, I appreciate your enthusiasm, but perhaps some time to recuperate wouldn’t be remiss? You were very distant when I dug you out of that tomb, and I admit I’m still shaken from the whole ordeal.” The knight sat back on the stone. Their shell was nearly healed anyway, but if Quirrel wasn’t ready to teach, then they gained nothing by going against his wishes. Quirrel smiled and leaned back, closing his eyes and sighing into the warm waters. They did their equivalent, staring out into the distance as the world faded just a bit.
Distant. Were they? They barely remembered it. Those moments before leaving the temple were blurred and only defined by an intense focus on the darkness.
They vaguely wondered why their trauma-addled mind was so focused on it, but it was quickly discarded as irrelevant.