VOLUME 2

“For so long I’ve felt drawn here. So many tales full

of wonders and horrors. No longer could I resist. I
just had to see it for myself.”
-Quirrel

2
 table of Contents
Mods Writers
Evie | Head & Writing In Mourning by frolicinq 7
@evielutione Spot Art by Machine Finch

Dianna | Social Media The Era of an Archive

@o_montz by SnapdragonsYearRound 17
Spot Art by cm_
@wormdomination
Help Desk by Rainbow Scarab 27
Vanilla | Graphics
Spot Art by Charli.JPEG
@valHamHart
Menderbug’s Adventure by Peachdoxie 35
Lecsi | Art & Formatting Spot Art by lonelysheepling
@maeberry_arts
Shadows of an Era’s Past by astorichan 40
AKnightOfAGoodKing | Spot Art by Slimes
Organization
@flame_chiyo The King’s Servant by Machine-Finch 47
@the-kings-of-games Spot Art by frolicinq

Barely Breathing (But Still Alive) by reveks 56

Spot Art by Willow Wormwood
Cover Artist We Don’t Need to Eat at the Colosseum, We
bluequills
@bluequills_
Have Food at Home by Vaultbuggo 63
Spot Art by Night

Check out our Carrd Daughter of Deepnest by HopeStoryteller 69

for all contributor’s socials Spot Art by bluequills
3
Artists boyyardee 38
Juniper Chuang 5 Sora 39
will0wispy 6 Sevilai 44
Fraud 11 dragon_nyx 45
Lunathrix 11 Oneli 45
Willow Wormwood 12 thecornermushroom 46
Arthur Zhang 13 Little Ghost 46
Sokil 14 Pineapple Ink Art 52
Kat 15 forged cold 53
Shea 15 Zazi 53
Charli.JPEG 16 DerpaTure 55
Jack Kozitza 16 ButterflySist3r 55
Night 23 Mic Salmon 60
Nerd_enough 24 Lime 61
Lucika 25 lonelysheepling 62
MEBI 26 TheAnonymousMystery 67
Schatten-Light 32 Oranjmesh 68
Pineflower Art 33 Boompf 74
Ophiuchus 33 cm_ 75
NotaMato 34 Slimes 76

4
Juniper Chuang 5
will0wispy 6
In Mourning The Vessel came to a stop, staring out into
the emptiness. Where… was it? Where had it gone? It
FROLICINQ wanted to look to its sister for answers, but it found it
could not will its gaze to leave the yawning cavern.

“It just disappeared one day.” The answer came

without needing to be asked. “It, and our father. Nothing
has been seen of either since. Not even a whisper.”
“Steady, sibling.”
She walked away. It lingered for a moment still, a
It slid slowly off the saddle of the Old Stag, its legs flicker of… something, igniting deep within its core,
shaking as it touched the ancient ground beneath. buried well and true, as it was taught. But in that
Its sister stood beside, holding her arms out as if she moment, it allowed itself to dig it up. Anger. Flexing its
would be able to catch it would it fall. “There.” remaining hand, it glared down the empty visage, and
turned to follow.
It lifted its head and took in its surroundings.
Broken, decrepit, nothing like it once was. Was this The rest of the walk was short, if not easy. Its
even the same place? “It… will look different than what shaking limbs did not like to accommodate the crawlids
you remember. Prepare yourself.” and steep drops. It was no matter, though, both were
short-lived. Soon enough, Hornet came to a stop,
They waited for a moment for it to catch its and so did her sibling in kind. In front of them was a
bearings, and then Hornet began moving. It followed doorway. Huge, black, it gnawed at its very core. Called
dutifully. They passed by cracked walls coated in to it.
dust and cobwebs hidden in corners. They passed by
corpses of retainers; did they know them, before it all? “This is it.”
And then, they came upon it; a gaping abyss where the
grand palace of its childhood once stood. Yes. It remembered.

“I cannot accompany you beyond the ledge. I will

linger and watch over your journey, though.” She

7
stowed her needle, turning to look at her sibling as she It looked back at her, and then took the plunge.
walked through the door. It hesitated.
Darkness. A journey it had taken so many ages ago,
It remembered. It remembered being on that ledge, passing by its head and whipping up its cloak. It landed,
blinded by a pale white light. It remembered being jumped again, landed. The first of many broken shells,
whispered to, given purpose, given form. It remem- discarded so callously, lie in its path. It was careful to
bered looking back, and seeing a sibling. It remem- avoid it as it continued on its path.
bered leaving it behind.
Jump, land, walk, jump again.
“Sibling?” The Princess coaxed. It lifted its head,
shaken out of its thoughts. After another long moment It landed with a thick crunch. Could it shiver, it
of staring, it walked forward to join her. would have. Straightening up, it prepared itself for its
surroundings, and looked around.
Looking down, the darkness seemed to swallow
everything. It clawed up from the depths and tore at Boundless corpses, empty masks, lined the cavern.
its very core. But it did not scream- not any longer Beneath its feet, countless more shifted under its
It remembered the shrieking as it clawed its way to weight. Unable to fight it any longer, it shuddered and
so-called freedom. It remembered spending so many made its way on unsteady claws to the nearest steady
hours lying awake hearing its call, before the End. surface.
Why was it quiet now? It shook as it turned to face the graveyard. Time
“It seems calmer now that the Infection is dead.” had blurred it’s memory, and returning to this place…
It’s sister murmured. “Do you feel it too, sibling?” it was worse than it had allowed itself to remember. It
knew the suffocation upon hatching, it knew clawing
Yes. to the surface, and it knew the excruciating climb to
damnation while its siblings fell and died around it.
It took a step forward and peered further into the There were so many. Uncountable…
Abyss. Gnawing, grabbing. Wanting. It prepared.
It covered its mask with its hand and looked away.
“Good luck, my sibling.” Another shudder heaved through its body.

8
 art by: machine-finch
After taking a moment to gather its strength, it
returned its gaze to the sea of broken bodies. What was
it meant to do, in the face of all this?

It watched, then slowly kneeled. It let itself heave

out a sigh it need not take, and carefully pushed a hand
into the surface of the ocean. It lifted its hand, and up
with it came the mask of a sibling. It raised the mask to
its own and stared at it for a good, long while.

Had this sibling been the one to escape, would it

have met its own fate? Would it have been chained to
that temple for eternity?

It was glad it was the one to have climbed free.

It closed its eyes, and touched its snout to the mask

ever so gently. It felt something break inside it, and void
began to pour out of its eyes. It… felt… heavy. So heavy.
It rubbed its nose against the mask, pouring all of its
regret and shame and love and guilt into the motion as
it cried its own ichor into the sea.

It spent a long time nuzzling this mask. It hoped,

maybe, if it did so enough, it would bring this sibling
back… but no such luck. It heaved another sigh and It gently returned the mask to its resting place and
slowly lowered its hand, finally opening its eyes once stood up. Defeated and sad, it got to its feet and took a
more. Tears stained its mask now; it would have to last glance around the unending ocean. It knew what it
clean that up before it returned to its sister. must do now.

9 9
 The climb back up was difficult with only one arm, Together they walked to the graveyard across
but manageable. Easier than the climb down, having town, where a new, large stone slab was erected. Tiny
to see the corpses slowly come into view from the fog. bouquets and little candles were already at the foot of
Now, its sister slowly came into view, a pillar of times it, no doubt left by the residents of Dirtmouth. Right
changed, of eons survived. in the middle, however, lay the remains of their last
remaining sibling, a mask cracked in two. The little
She tilted her head to look down at it as the noises ghost that haunted Hallownest and rescued what
of its ascension finally reached her ears. It met her remained.
gaze, then took the final leap.
Hornet knelt at the foot of the grave first and set her
As it hit the bridge, it dug its claws into the edge candle next to the rest. She closed her eyes and bowed
desperately before gravity could drag it back down her head for a moment, then opened them and stepped
to its first grave. Hornet jogged over and grabbed its back. She looked to her sibling.
cloak, pulling back with all her might, and it finally
collapsed on the bridge after a great effort. The Hollow Knight stepped up to the grave and
knelt, just as its sister did. It closed its eyes and bowed
“You are inexplicably heavy.” She said, catching her its head, sending all of its love into the flame, willing
breath. It sat up and brushed the dirt off its cloak, then it to burn forevermore, before it opened its eyes and
looked at her. “You’re back, sibling.” She continued. “... placed the candle beside the broken mask.
How are you?”
Finally, it stood, and stared down at the grave.
It waited for a moment, thinking on the question. Hornet moved closer and rested a hand on its arm,
How was it? then leaned against it in an attempt at comforting. The
“Changed.” Hollow Knight reciprocated the lean- if only a bit- and
let out a breath it didn’t realize it had taken.
The Hollow Knight lit the candle atop the counter
then carefully scooped it up. Candle in hand, it turned Together. Together, they would remain. For their
to Hornet, and together they left their abode in siblings.
Dirtmouth once more.

10 10
11 Fraud Lunathrix 11
Willow Wormwood 12
Arthur Zhang 13
Sokil 14
15 Kat Shea 15
16 Charli.JPEG Jack Kozitza 16
The EraY ofR an Archive
Snapdragons ear ound Quirrel hummed as he turned the relic over in
his hands. Ordinarily, one would not ‘hum’ among
scholars absorbed in texts. But the rules here were
different. There was always sound, in the Archive.
Whether it be from the Oomas, the Lumaflies, or one
of the many experiments the Madam was working on.
Quirrel watched as light waves rippled across
the lake’s surface. He could just barely make out the It was distracting, at first. They were still
shape of the small knight, who had accompanied dangerous creatures, and Quirrel had taken to
Quirrel by the water’s shore, in the distance, dashing bringing his sword with him, which was currently
their way across the lake. They had been kind, propped against his desk. But after many months and
listening to Quirrel’s musings. years working with the Madam, Quirrel had grown ac-
customed to the sounds, to the point where he found
They had been even kinder before. When they it comforting. Even as he frowned at the stone in his
had helped Quirrel slay the teacher he had sworn to hands.
protect.
“You needn’t be so frustrated, Quirrel,” the Madam
For Quirrel, his life before his travels was still said. “All research worth pursuing is one worth
murky. Like a vial clouded by thick ink. But as he pursuing with patience.”
stared at the ripples of Blue Lake, a scene played in
his mind. For the movement of the water was like that Quirrel turned in time to watch Monomon glide
of Uomas and Oomas, gliding across an ever-growing toward him. One of her luminescent arms, half-hidden
Archive. behind her cloak, reached out to squeeze Quirrel’s
shoulder. “You have been studying that artifact for
weeks. Perhaps a change of focus would do you
good.”

17
 Quirrel sighed. “I know it would. But this is the if their era had not ended, ours would never have
only artifact we found near Blue Lake! There isn’t begun. Though we may strive to remember what we
anything else we can compare it to, and I…” have lost, that should not distract us from what we
have now.”
Monomon tilted her head. Her mask, with a finely
carved expression, always made her look serene. But Gently, she tugged on the artifact Quirrel still held
that was not enough to hide the chuckle as she said, in his fingers.
“And you are wise enough to know when to end a
Quirrel let her take it. Art by: cm _
pursuit, my apprentice.”

Quirrel’s shoulders
sunk. As per usual, the
Madam was right. There
was little to be gained
by studying the artifact.
But even so. “It’s just
disheartening. There’s
this whole civilization
that was here before us,
and we know so little of
it! Isn’t it heartbreaking
to know that what they
knew, who they were,
has been forgotten?”

“It is,” Monomon said.

“But such is the cycle
of life And remember,

18 18
 “Now.” Monomon placed the stone on Quirrel’s the third attack, Quirrel lowered his stance, dashed
desk. “Let us go to my lab. I have a hypothesis I would forward—
like your opinion—”
And sliced the Husk in the side.
“GRAAAAH!”
The Hornhead fell with a thud.
The scream was the only warning of the attack.
By the time Quirrel had spotted the Husk Hornhead, Quirrel spared the Husk only a moment—enough
the bug was already charging toward Monomon. The to see a strange orange glow fade from his eyes—
Madam spun at the last moment, but the Husk’s horn before he turned to his teacher.
had pierced her cloak, pinning her to the wall. “Madam!” Quirrel rushed over to Monomon,
Quirrel pushed himself out of his chair. With a careful to keep the edge of his blade away from her.
twist of his feet, he snatched his sword from its place “Are you harmed?”
against his desk. Monomon tugged at her cloak, but “I am fine, Quirrel. But worry more for yourself!”
as the Husk pulled its horn out of the wall, the motion Monomon pulled off the remains of her cloak and
tangled the fabric, making it impossible for Monomon went about bandaging Quirrel’s arm. “Does it hurt?”
to free herself.
Quirrel shook his head. “It does not, Madam.”
The Hornhead twisted and charged.
“Then it is adrenaline carrying you through it.”
They met Quirrel’s blade.
Quirrel stayed silent as Monomon went about
The Husk stumbled as the horn cracked upon tending to his arm. By now, commotion had spread
contact with the sword. With a stretch of his arm, through the Archives. Other researchers had come
Quirrel sliced Monomon’s cloak, freeing her from the into the room, asking questions Quirrel and Monomon
bug. The Husk turned and charged again, but Quirrel did their best to answer. Someone went to fetch a
was ready. He parried the first attack. The second, he guard. Another yelled about informing the White
was unlucky, and the Husk clipped his left arm. But at Palace.

19
 “Madam…” Quirrel said. “What was that? That
glow… I’ve never seen anything like it.”

Monomon finished binding the makeshift

bandages around Quirrel’s arm. She looked at the
Hornhead, lifeless on the floor, and whispered, “I… I Quirrel’s fingers tapped against the hilt of his
don’t know.” blade. “Madam, why must this duty fall to you?”

“It did not ‘fall’ to me, my apprentice,” Monomon

said softly. “This task is one I chose. And one I chose
willingly.”

The Archive was never quiet, but today was

Quirrel gasped as the force of the memory sunk different. While no one could silence the ever-pres-
into him. ent Lumaflies, there was no talking, discussing, or
humming. The scholars that were usually hunched
That was the Madam. His Teacher. The woman he over their desks were now lined up in front of a large
knew he trusted, who had called him to Hallownest. tank, where their mentor and teacher would spend
Quirrel suddenly remembered details of her that had the rest of her life. The only noise they made were
been lost to him. How gentle she was, even when cor- hushed whispers, restrained sniffles, and quiet sobs
recting her pupils. How she preferred studying relics that echoed off the walls.
than studying the blade. How Quirrel knew that, if
anything happened in the Archives, he’d be the first to “Why must it be you?” Quirrel asked. “Are you
defend her. For he was a warrior, while she was not. truly more valuable to us when sleeping? I—We need
you here.”
“Madam, I remember,” Quirrel said softly. “I
thought you began to study the infection after Monomon placed a single luminous arm on
meeting with the King. But you… You must have Quirrel’s face. She turned him toward her, even when
started your investigation that very day.” Quirrel tried to plant his gaze on the floor.

20
 “Quirrel. When I told you of Uumuu, did you not She turned to the room, taking the time to look at
train for days on end? So you could pierce its shield in everyone before her. “I know this is trying, for all of
case it ever chose to attack me?” you, but I have faith in every one of you. You are my
pupils. My legacy. And I know you will all make me
Quirrel tightened his grip on his blade. “I did, proud, no matter what happens. Remember that. And
Madam.” remember what I taught you.”
“When I journeyed to the White Palace, did you At last, Monomon looked back at Quirrel. She
accompany me? In case I ran into any infected citizen gripped the edge of her mask, the final security
on the way?” measure that would keep her safe while dreaming,
“I… I did, Madam.” and said, “Are you ready, my apprentice?”

Monomon’s arm brushed the edge of Quirrel’s And without hesitating, Quirrel replied, “I am,
mask. “And when I asked you to leave Hallownest with Madam.”
my mask, did you not accept the task immediately?
Even when I begged you to consider it thoroughly, for
you would be leaving your home?”

“I did.” Every instinct in Quirrel made him wish to

look away. But he couldn’t. Not now, when Monomon
needed him. She needed to know that Quirrel could Quirrel laughed. “How is it,” he said, “that the few
keep his promise, and Quirrel would show her that he memories I’ve recovered make me awe in wonder?”
could. “Madam, must you make everything a lesson?” It was improbable. Near impossible. There was
Monomon chuckled. “It is not on purpose. But… if no reason for Quirrel to remember so much, nor why
this is the final lesson I am to impart, then it is one I do he remembered those moments in particular. But,
so gladly.” whatever the reason, he did. And they only furthered
the peace Quirrel felt, staring at the shores of Blue
Lake.

21 21
 “I know my time has come,” Quirrel said aloud.
“But what is it you said, Madam? That, if one era had
not ended, another would never begin?”

Quirrel pushed himself to his feet. The blade in his

hand, which he had used to strike down Uumuu, felt
heavy.

“Madam,” Quirrel said. “Thank you. Thank you for

your kindness, your wisdom—everything you did for
us. And… thank you, for giving my life a purpose.”

Quirrel looked at his blade. Just like Quirrel, its

purpose was done, and its time had come to an end.

With a swish of his wrist, Quirrel sunk the tip of

his blade into the ground. It stayed there, upright, and
Quirrel turned away. He did not look back, and his
steps did not falter. He simply walked away, leaving
his blade—the one he used to protect his teacher all
those years ago—at the shore of a beautiful blue lake.

22 22
Night 23
Nerd_enough 24
Lucika 25
MEBI 26
Help Desk She got out from behind her desk and approached
the moth.
RAINBOW SCARAB
“Need any help?”

The moth jumped, apparently unaware of her

approach. They recovered quickly though.

“Ah…no. No, I’m just looking, thank you.”

“There’s your book. Return it in two weeks. Bye.”
“Oh. Okay. Mmm…I’ll be right over there.” She
Kinti watched the bug scurry off as fast as she was
pointed to indicate her desk, before returning to it. That
sure he thought polite. She could’ve tried to have been
was that then. They seemed on edge. Another who was
too, but she could tell he’d’ve been intimidated by the
uncomfortable with her. Whatever.
Archives’ only mantis no matter what she did.
She dug into a stack of reading materials she had
She sighed, getting her bearings again. There was
behind her desk for the slow times. The Archives had
more work to do. Even if that work was standing at a
so much knowledge, and she wanted to know it all.
desk waiting for a patron to need something. And she
What today, aquifers? Breadmaking? She was just
didn’t have to wait long.
picking up the tube on mushrooms when she looked up
A new patron walked in. Fluffy green wings topped to the sight of the moth, right in front of her desk.
with even greater fluff around the neck, long, soft
“Changed your mind?”
antennae…that was a moth, wasn’t it? A first since
she started her work in the library. They were clearly They nodded. “What do you…have on gods?”
unused to the space, looking around, going back and
forth, checking the lines of shelves. Surely they saw the “Hmm, let’s see…” She got to her terminal, an
big “help” sign over her desk. But whether they came acid tube display set up on the desk, and entered the
over or not, she may as well do her job. subject.

“Anything more specific? The Pale Beings, Unn?”

27
 They glanced quickly to each side before leaning She paused. “How about…a mailing address to
closer, speaking softly. inform you of the subject if anything new comes out?”

“Related to moths?” “No. No forms.”

“A…moth god?” She hadn’t heard about anything Kinti looked over the moth, and realization dawned.
like that before, but entered the keywords. And then She’d never met a moth before now, but they were
tried ‘higher being’, ‘deity’, ‘religion’…’Resting Grounds’? spoken of as not fully Hallownestian—outsiders. They
‘Crystal Peak’? Oh! were far from home, farther than she from her home
village, seeking restricted knowledge. It wasn’t her they
“I found one. But…” were scared of.
“But?” She leaned in closer. “I’ll look into it. If you come back,
“It’s restricted. You need proper authorization to ask for Kinti—I’ll tell you personally if I find anything.”
access it.” There was nothing like this in library policy, but she
The moth’s face fell. couldn’t regret the look of relief that came across their
face.
“Can you tell me anything about it?”
“Thank you. I…I won’t forget it!” They turned around
She hummed, turning the terminal so they could and walked out, looking much lighter on their feet.
see. “Sorry. Even the catalog entry is redacted.”
Kinti’s mind swirled with how to actually fulfill what
The look on their face was one of anguish. she offered. But she didn’t have long to dwell.

“You can fill out a form to request access if you Another bug was coming into the library, heading
like.” She started leaning towards the cabinets on one for her desk. And then more, as child after child
appeared trailing in a line.
side of the desk, but was interrupted quickly.
“Afternoon!” The apparent mother drew her
“No! …No. That won’t be necessary.” attention back to the front of said line. Her voice
28
carried a melodic quality, even as it sounded tired No one else came in for a good while. Kinti finally
underneath. “I’m looking for the book ‘A Case Study in had time for some of her own reading.
Soul Use’?” She read off a note in her hand.
The article she selected was one of Monomon’s
Kinti nodded and entered it into the terminal. Some older ones. She hoped she could learn from it. About
of the children were pointing at her and staring. She the topic, sure, but she also aspired to be a real scholar
gave them a smile and a wave back. Childish curiosity someday, not just working at the library desk.
couldn’t offend her.
She’d study from the best.
Momentarily a match appeared on the acid screen.
…Ah. The article was even older than Kinti thought. The
Teacher acquired a fungal sample from a tram worker,
“Um…I’m sorry. It looks like this article has been but that old project failed long before she was born.
deemed lost.” Still, for her, the subject of the article brought about
more recent memories. She’d had her stint at the
“Lost?” border same as any other mantis. She recognized the
“Yeah. Checked out and never returned.” The pale, glowing mushroom, by its features if not its cited
checkout history was private to patrons, but she name.
spared a private moment of judgement for this “Soul Monomon speculated on its nature. Tested it for
Master”. The name had come up before, in the same relation to mushrooms of the Wastes (none found).
context. She could only imagine what hidden basement Asked if it’s how the beasts of Deepnest survived
of stolen books he must have. without a guiding Light. Kinti didn’t know. Her only
“Oh…what a disappointment. Thank you anyway.” thoughts at the time were of gratitude that the glow
could bring some relief to the gloom. To Monomon it
Unlike the moth, this bug filled out a request form had been something distant she had never experienced
for a new copy. She rounded up the children, and Kinti in the wild, enthusiastic to learn about the unknown.
couldn’t help but count (15 in all!!) as they filed out To Kinti it was something common, viewed at from
behind their mother. another angle.

29
 These were the reasons she was here. The deep Words failed her. She could only stand there, article
well of knowledge and learning and discovery the in hand, as she stared up at the two figures. Those two
Archives had to offer, put down into an ever growing were not struck with the same affliction. Monomon put
collection of records. The reasons why a short trip a tentacle up to her mask as if to hide a mouth.
away from her village turned into permanent reloca-
tion. Her fascination did not stop. Even if she barely felt “Oh my. There’s someone left.”
like she fit in, she wasn’t here for that. She was here for “It would seem so.”
the books!
Kinti could hear the mirth in the Teacher’s voice,
She had to wonder if there had been any newer but it was drowned out by her focus on the Beast. Her
scholarship on Deepnest as well. people’s long enemy. A predator to make any mantis
So absorbed in reading and her own thoughts, Kinti warrior feel small. She could just imagine the sharp
didn’t notice the shift in the atmosphere around her. fangs that mask hid.

She didn’t notice patrons and coworkers alike “While you’re here…how about you help our guest.”
leaving. Only once her desk was approached did she Kinti looked to Monomon, and then back to Herrah.
look up from her reading. The guest. Oh my gods the guest. Herrah was the
Kinti froze as her mind processed what—and who— special guest.
was before her. It was bad enough that one of the two “I dunno…do you think she can handle it?”
was Monomon. Her boss’s boss’s boss. Catching her so
absorbed in reading she hadn’t noticed her approach. “Herrah! Our staff is well trained. I’m sure she can,
can’t she?”
Worse was the figure besides Monomon. Beast
Queen Herrah herself. Kinti just wanted to melt. Perhaps it would’ve been
better had the queen decided to eat her.
Sudden flashes of an announcement at the start of
her workday—“special guest”, “early closing”, “tour”— “Alright. Show me.”
went through her mind, far too late to be useful.

30
 Kinti nodded and took Herrah’s
request silently, not trusting her
own voice. She looked up the
materials and rushed off to collect
them. Monomon knew the Archives
better than anyone, could’ve helped
the Queen faster, she was sure.
But now Kinti was part of the tour
and she would not let her Teacher
down!

Even if that meant facing the

Beast Queen.

She returned with a stack of

records in her arms. Herrah looked
them over and selected a few to
check out, and soon it was all over.
Art by: Charli.JPEG
The two were walking away,
talking, laughing. Monomon offered
to lend Herrah a record player for
her checked out materials. It would
stick with Kinti for a long while.

But in the moment she only had

one question.

What did the spider queen need

with children’s songs?
31
Schatten-Light 32
33 Pineflower Art Ophiuchus 33
NotaMato 34
 Dearest Diary,
Menderbug’s Adventure Tomorrow starts one of the grandest days of
PEACHDOXIE the year! I’m going to the Fungal Wastes! The Mend-
erscouts report some strange new damage to the
signposts dotting the Wastes that I get to fix. The only
thing that would make this better is if Mender Berri
could join me. But I wouldn’t dare take her away from
mending the statues in the Resting Grounds. She loves
mending them as much as I love mending my favorite
sign.

Dear Sweet Diary,

It’s been a long and tiresome day hauling my

supplies through the Wastes, but a satisfying one! I
made it all the way from the upper entrance to the
eastern caverns outside of the Mantis Village. Like
usual, they’re letting us Menders sleep on the bench
so long as we don’t try to enter the Village itself. They
seem tense, though. Maybe they should give mending
posts a try!

I took my time on the way down here making

notes on each piece of damage, and wow, the Mender-
Art by: lonelysheepling
35
scouts weren’t kidding! I counted 38 broken posts and Cherished Diary,
signs—that’s nearly all of them in the eastern caverns. I’m taking a break for lunch at the end of the
Some were broken in the normal way, but others were Pilgrim’s Way, and you’ll never believe this! Someone
crumbling into bits like the end of a piece of charred activated the ancient bridges outside of the City Gates!
wood. What could do that to metal and stone? I’ve They weren’t like that yesterday! I didn’t dare walk
stowed a sample to show the Grand Menders when I across them. Though they looked steady, we Menders
return to Mendertown. Perhaps they know. have been forbidden from fixing anything beyond the
Oh, Diary, speaking of the Grand Menders, I end of the Pilgrim’s Way and I didn’t want to risk them
checked the sign at the end of the Pilgrim’s Way breaking. The Menders of the past were great at their
for damage, and it’s okay! Phew! It’s one of the few jobs, but acid has a funny way of corroding even the
remaining examples of art from the Late High Wayfin- strongest of metal, and it’s been so long that we don’t
ding era of Hallownest! But between you and me, I’m a even have records of the last Mender to touch them.
bit disappointed. I would’ve loved to watch the skill of a But Diary, I must confess, I’m starting to get
Grand Mender in action! They’re the only ones allowed nervous. Usually fixing things helps calm my nerves,
to mend such rare and delicate pieces of art. but I just can’t settle down. First this strange damage,
I ought to get to sleep. Fixing signs starts early for and now the ancient bridges are activated! And the
me tomorrow! stoic Mantises are fretful, which can’t be a good sign.

Ah well. I can’t spend too much time worrying

about it, not when I still have so much to mend. There’s
always a danger to leaving Mendertown, after all. The
best I can do is finish my work so I can get home to
Mender Berri!

36
 My Loyal Diary, Diary, My Friend,

I’m back at the bench outside Mantis Village for I’m back in Mendertown, and I have news for you!
the night, though I don’t think I’ll be sleeping much. I saw the bug that’s caused the strange damage I told
Something has the Mantises all riled up. One of them you about, and you’ll never believe it—it’s the same bug
almost skewered me before they realized who I was! that keeps breaking my favorite sign! I saw it dash its
From the whispers I caught, it seems that something way through the Crossroads and attack the Vengeflies
important was stolen and then someone actually with a burst of…well, I’m not sure what I saw, but it was
fought the Lords and won. Now that’s scary! No a terrible darkness that sent a shiver across my shell.
Mender alive remembers the last time the Lords were Once the bug was gone, I investigated the statue it
defeated in combat. broke and found the damage identical to what I found
in the Fungal Wastes!
(But we do remember that they won’t let us fix the
throne belonging to the Traitor Lord. They won’t even I can’t help but wonder if this is the bug that fought
let us give the throne the dignity of a respectful decom- the Lords and won. With that darkness, I imagine it
missioning! They sure are a strange lot!) must be a formidable foe, even to such warriors as the
Mantises. It scares me a bit to think of a bug running
What’s more, the sign for the bench I’m resting on around with that much destructive power, but at the
was broken again, even though I fixed it this morning same time, it’s exciting! It’s not every day that we
Thankfully, as you well know, Diary, I had packed Menders get to figure out how to fix a new kind of
enough spare parts to repair the sign several times damage! The Grand Menders are already scheming
over, so no problem there. away.
Still, I hope I don’t find anything else broken It’s not too late here in Mendertown. I think I’ll
tomorrow. As much as I would love to continue stop in to say hi to Mender Berri and take to bed early
mending in the Fungal Wastes, I do have a schedule to tonight. I have the feeling we Menders are going to be
keep! very busy bugs these coming days….

37
boyyardee 38
Sora 39
Shadows of Eras Past mess of stubborn agony it is woven of; its persever-
ance is a testament to strength and an admission to
ASTORICHAN weakness at the same time. He expected it – there are
always smouldering embers left after a wildfire – yet
it is unpleasant to witness all the same. Like a stain
that cannot be washed away, memories linger in the
place of their demise, crying out for help that will never
come.

What are you doing here, little one? Why tarry

where all your pains stem from? he wishes to inquire,
gentle like the flame thrashing in the air does not
expect. Yet speech would be a desecration to this place
of ruin, and otiose questions have no place in a moment
of mourning.
art by Slimes
And so, he coos – a melody, perhaps a mocking
Grief is an odd feeling. comfort to the tangle of grief swivelling in front of him.
His summoner nudges the mass of scarlet essence
An aching absence, a sorrowful melody, a wound
with their nail, inquiring without words: “collect?”
weeping love yet trying to keep it all inside. He’s seen
and gone through his fair share of grief – enough so Collect.
that the lingering wisps of crimson light do not tear him
asunder. He breathes in; not for the scent of charred embers
cutting the heavy veil of rainfall and bouncing off
Beneath the steady pitter-patter of rainfall, rusted platforms underfoot, but for something much
he reaches out for the crackling flame coiling and purer. Grief does not smell of smoke - it smells of
twisting in mid-air. It clings to him in turn, impossi- haemolymph and burnt carapace, of rotting flesh and
bly alive under the onslaught of water and time alike. sickly-sweet infection. Of course, it does: this kingdom
Its warmth cannot be explained by anything but the has fallen prey to his sister’s radiance, after all.
40
 The flames engulf him, their heat entwining with anything but the silence; and into the elevator where
his own – fuelling one another, his essence dances with pheromones’ closeness bit antennae in a discordant,
the mass of lost anguish and desperate will to live; and clustered mess of sensation – there used to be so many
he feasts. bugs here, alive, together, unbroken-
He feasts on the spires stretching to the cavern’s He halts atop one of the spires, where the insuffer-
ceiling. He feasts on the noise all around him, voices able nobles licking the King’s robes once resided, and
lingering in this world much beyond the bugs they once breathes in. The choir is never the quieter, yet many a
belonged to. He feasts on the grief, bitter and sharp - it voice of grief hesitates with a horribly familiar inquiry
is not unlike consuming tiktik shells, not unlike being frozen on their minds:
impaled by crawlids, over and over again. It aches right
where his absent heart lay, and he embraces the pain – Is this all my fault?
he lives it, every shard of loss Hallownest’s capital city
is not yet ready to let go of. Grief is an odd feeling. Its veil makes colours shift
– in place of hatred reigns tender ache, grasping for
The soft blue fog gives way to gleaming silver. It anything left to love.
hasn’t always rained in the city, a discordant choir
laments. It used to be glistening with riches, not tears. He does not have the impudence to speak, nor the
compassion to reassure. Any words would be empty
It is like being dragged in every direction at once. in the face of this question, and so he offers knowledge
Never is he so wanted as during the consumption instead: it is not the commoner’s hatred that brought
– never is there such endless need for the herald of Hallownest unto ruin. It is not annoyance with life
terror as when hundreds of voices cry out at once, that chases it away. Hallownest had not fallen prey to
desperate to be heard in their searing hatred. He contempt, just like these poor bugs have not fallen prey
lets the swelling tide guide him through the narrow to loyalty.
streets where the scents of spices once mixed into
an unholy concoction - but we’d much rather that Grief is an odd feeling. How can an absence ache;
than the emptiness, we didn’t mean it; onto the large how can a lost limb hurt?
central plaza where feet stomped feet and chatter His efforts do not satisfy them. Not that the indif-
spread deafening – we’d talk and listen away days,
41
ferent distrust is shocking, but still – his hopes are fight for their bare lives.
crushed in the blink of an eye, and the choir of grieving
embers picks up the tempo once more. One-two-three, The embers calm. The city of tears shines through
one-two-three, like an ardent dance he is an unwilling once more, spires shattered like the promises of its
part of. On the upbeats, the world shifts before his foundation; he stares at the husks prowling about, wills
eyes; on the downbeats, the voices all plead with him, theirs no longer yet loyalty undying. To the cracked
desperate- pavement once kissed by something much more
important than silver light: loving steps. To the broken
Then what did ruin Hallownest? windows where candlelight will shine nevermore. To
the overgrowth kept prospering by loneliness, choked
How expected the question and the pain to crash some places by the rot and destruction, yet unbroken.
into him, leaving him breathless and ablaze. But he is
not new to burning – he’s been set alight many more It can’t end like this, the discordant chorus pleads.
times than he can count anymore. Oh, how many a time has he heard this plea, drenched
in horror and love alike – who, who will be there to care
Even the pyre smouldering with too many agonies about my home when I’m gone?
to count cannot get close – for many are not all. The
embers’ anger bites his senses, shrouding the world in But he can promise one thing, and one thing only.
a horribly familiar stench: rotting carapace a testament To every of the lost souls trapped within the scarlet
to the horrors that had taken place, spilled haemo- flames he consumes, he always promises the same
lymph a reminder etched in ink much too precious for thing; to every forlorn undead now trapped in a
its waste, the flame struggles to consume him from nightmare of their home gone and their efforts useless,
the inside out. It gnaws; it claws; it thrashes and wails, he has the same solace to offer.
setting his feeble body on fire – he has naught but a
rasping, awful squeak to show for himself, and who is To you, common bug having once lived at the very
to say that noise is not reassurance? foot of the Pale Spire; to you, common bug to have
defied his sister’s deceit for so long you’ve watched
What ruins kingdoms? Lies woven into beautiful your family decay from within, brittle shell one final
tapestries; greed draining cities’ lifeblood and castles’ place of rest instead of the comfortable bunk bed those
stability; fear searing away the resolve to fight, fight, grubs once shared.
42
 To you, stag routes worker having witnessed your expectant – his wings tense, flinging wide in a mocking
only friend decline, memories corrupted by the searing invitation for an embrace. He has no salvation to offer,
sunlight until legs broke and saddle was a formality of no relief to gift – such is not his nature, scarlet flame,
the ages past. the bane of lands forgotten and decayed.

To you, devoted butler whose lord had tasked He will remember, though. He will remember
you with the impossible shard of his own impossi- lovers’ tender touches, a balm to exhausted carapace;
ble burden; to you, dear friend whose hopes of being he will remember mornings’ greetings, silver light
awaited on the other side must be crushed, for your streaming into windows half-shut. He will remember
will has kept you shackled much too tight. the noise to have once plagued the dead streets; he will
remember hatred for the more fortunate. He will recall
To you, lost wisp of flickering light without memory it all, Hallownest doomed to live on a fiery visage of a
of yourself – only one of your love, imprinted much too kingdom destroyed – by hate, by lust, by indifference
deep to ever be undone. and overconfidence, he will keep its reflection alive in
To you, little scholar to have helplessly observed nightmares, the only place to outlast the mightiest foe
your friends perish in chase of rotten eternity. To you, of all: time.
mentor who’d bore witness to your students’ corrup- But within the confines of Hallownest’s cavern,
tion by forces opposing yet entwined in their malice all he will rest his smouldering wings and marvel at
the same. the rainfall erasing all remnants of home never to be
To you, and you, and you… returned to, never to be embraced, never to be forgiven
and never to forgive its prodigal bugs.
It is a cruel mercy, but nothing has ended. Do
you see the overgrowth piercing the paths paved
in decayed carapaces and pyres’ ashes? Do you
remember what stood there, what lay in the nameless
graves you have rejected?

The embers grow hotter. He squeaks once more,

43
Sevilai 44
45 dragon_nyx Oneli 45
46 thecornermushroom Little Ghost 46
The King’s Servant —

MACHINE-FINCH The mood greeting me in the servant’s dining hall

continues to be enduringly sombre. I do not exactly
miss the constant clamour of giggling pages, but it is
disheartening to see this quiet seriousness on their
small faces. My customary table companions were
equally glum. We barely exchanged
1ST BELL any words, although that is not
The morning comes too soon, as it always does. unusual.
Yet, it is still a marvel to meet it in bed, writing by
the lantern light slowly growing brighter outside my
window. It did not seem long ago that I was the one
walking the corridors and courtyards, coaxing the
lumaflies to wake. Now, I get to lay in the warm blanket
nest almost until the 1st bell has finished its chiming.

What a luxury. I doubt I will ever take it for granted.

As I am about to rise, there is another new comfort

that unavoidably comes to mind – this room itself.
Never before have I had an entire space all to myself. Of
course, His Majesty has always been generous with the
accommodation for his servants, none of us would find
it in themselves to complain… But… I admit, it is good
to be able to close the door on the rest of the palace, to
have somewhere I don’t need to listen to anything but
my own thoughts.

Especially now.
Art by: frolcinq 47
 Sometimes I wonder if the only reason we grav- of a role to wear for a common bug like me. It would
itated towards each other is because we do not fit be more befitting to His Majesty’s priest than a simple
anywhere else - too common to sit with the noble-born servant.
staff, too high of rank to sit with the commoners. _
The hierarchy and rules of the palace had always 2 3 lanterns on the third floor of the north wing
been a steadfast guide but sometimes- need complete replacement.

_
3RD BELL …At times, I admit, I entertain the thought of my
Tasks for the day: work as a dedication to His Majesty. There isn’t much
a mere mortal can do to repay him for his gift of mind,
- Assess the new staff.
but perhaps being a keeper of his palace’s lights would
- Finish inspection of the north wing. make for a worthy attempt.
- Complete procurement forms for the polish and feed.
…
They finally fulfilled my request to add a few extra
My father would have slapped me for this arrogant
hands to the department. The novices seem so eager
thought.
to prove their worth as to be almost fearful. A posting
in the palace has always been both prestigious and He had spent his entire life scrubbing the endless
demanding, but Wyrm knows, now it is also the safest halls of the palace, knowing it for his life’s duty, never
place in the kingdom. Still, this eagerness will prove complaining nor considering himself above those
useful. further from His Majesty’s light.
…I just wish they would stop using my full title. And here I am, thinking myself better.
_ …
“Master of the Lights” has always seemed too lofty Thinking too much was always my folly.
48
 6TH BELL The tears always made me uncomfortable. I do not
understand how one can break down openly like this.
The midday meal. The entire palace is tense as a If I ever felt a need for it when I was younger, I would
bowstring. Barely anyone is touching their food as we seek out a deserted room or some quiet corner.
wait for the arrival of the messengers. The news from
the rest of Hallownest is rarely good, but any news is Thinking about it makes me once again grateful for
better than this silent waiting. the refuge of my room.

_ Now, I have been blathering enough, it is time to get

back to work.
I have left the servant’s hall early. One of the maids
(I am afraid I do not remember her name) was crying At least it offers a distraction.
while the others tried to comfort her. It seems that her
home settlement had been struck by the plague.

In times like this, I am glad to no longer have any 8TH BELL

family to speak of… The Hall of Vines inventory:
A heartless thing to think. Yet it is true. - 12 large standing lamps
- 6 large hanging lanterns
After my father died there was no one else left to
call kin. Maybe the palace staff should have become - 21 small hanging lanterns
my family… But even after growing up amidst them,
Most of the lanterns are still in good shape,
I cannot help feeling the distance separating me
however, some of the harder-to-reach hanging ones
from the rest. If it is not social class or rank, then it is
have not been properly maintained. I shall speak to my
something innate in me, something not quite right…
staff about it.
Perhaps I should have stayed and tried to help the
_
poor maid.

…
49
 The sight of the great halls standing empty, the How many more will…
lanterns shrouded in their white covers, the branching
vines unadorned with decoration…. It makes something I trust in His Majesty’s plan. I trust that his Pure
in my chest clench. Even now, I remember hiding Vessel will save us.
behind a tapestry with the other servant children as we
watched the hall sparkle and gleam, hoping to catch at
least a hint of the Majesties among the noble guests. All 12TH BELL
those rich fabrics, the swirls of dye on chitin, the smells
of food we could only imagine tasting… Whenever I need a cure for the arrogance of my
position, the paperwork happily provides. Perhaps the
… ability to deal with all the endlessly complicated bu-
reaucracy is what the nobility breeds for.
Best to not get lost in the memories. The entire
kingdom knows, now is not the time for parties. Yet, …
since Her Majesty left for the gardens, the palace
barely sees any public events at all. Even the royal The tiredness seems to make me brutishly bitter.
court hasn’t been held in full for a few years now... Just a few more forms and I will be able to finally retire
for the day.
With most of the palace left in shadowy waiting,
my duties are made easy – inventory and maintenance, —
instead of the constant race to keep every hall aglow. I am…
Still, it’s hard to be thankful for this respite when I am back in my room.
the empty silence waits behind every corner. The
plague is far from the heart of Hallownest, but it is im- I...
possible to forget about it even here.
I… I was making the rounds.
Would things ever return to how they were?

What if the plague reaches us?

50
 I do not need to anymore, but the habit is hard to Your Highness.
break. When the lights are covered, the halls’ silence
does not seem out of place. It is peaceful. …

… It flinched.

How could... For a moment only, but I swear I saw it.

The door was left open! I thought… Those guest As if I struck them.
rooms have not been used for a year now. I thought a I left then. Did not bother to finish the rest of my
maid had forgotten to lock it or the pages were causing round. Just came straight back.
trouble again…
I am glad no one can see me now.
How could I have known?
I am glad…
...
I am glad I have my own room.
It was just standing there.

I could have believed it was a statue, but it turned to

face the light from my lantern. Its eyes were completely
black, devoid of any expression. I could not move, I…

I heard about it, I had seen it beside His Majesty…

But not like this, having found some dark corner

to… To…

And I must have been out of my mind with shock

because there was no other reason why I… I should not
have, should not have said what I said, should not have
called them, it…
51
Pineapple Ink Art 52
53 forged cold Zazi 53
DerpaTure 54
ButterflySist3r 55
 very best, and he’s grown to love this particular one. “I
Barely Breathing (but still alive) will handle it. Wait outside the Glade— I will be just a
REVEKS moment.”

He turns and stalks away from them, waving them

off with a clawed hand, nail tucking into its sheath at
his side. The waterfall at the end of the cavern burbles
softly, but to him, it sounds off.
“Revek, sir! The suspect is passing Row Four as we
speak! Shall we pursue?” It churns, it’s angry, it asks “Who dares step upon
terrain not meant to be traversed?” The Glade is meant
Revek remains seated on the rocky outcrop jutting to be empty of all life— no, he does not count— and even
from the wall, his nail in hands, a third running a one throws off the balance.
cloth up and down the blade while the fourth taps
the stone in a repeat rhythm. His eyes stay trained on The suspect is a scrawny cockroach, clad in tearing
the polishing of his blade. A soft chitter escapes his leather, accented with little rusting metal pieces. A thin
covered mouth, one of questioning. spear hangs precariously in its straps, loudly clanging
against stone with an ear-piercing noise that would
The two guards before him shift from foot to foot bother any other bug. It’s a miracle they have made it
anxiously, awaiting his response. When none comes, this far, with how clumsy and inexperienced they seem
the shorter of the two turns to the taller. to be.

“Should we… ask again?” they whisper, glancing Experienced or not, Revek has a job to do, and so he
between their compatriot and the guardian. pounces.

“No need.” Revek stands, tossing the cloth behind The cockroach lets out a startled scream, barely
him and hiding his lower set of arms. He rarely lets whipping their spear around to meet his nail with a
them be seen, but sometimes, these guards just sneak clang! that sounds louder than it really is. To them,
up upon him. He adjusts his cloak, pulling the hood up Revek looks like a cloaked warrior competing for their
over his horns. It’s ripped and worn, but it’s one of his steal, so they waste no time reaching into their pouch,
56
unsheathing a dagger with a slight twist of their hand, a borderline feral sound, one that would reveal his
and plunging it into his arm. spider nature had the four eyes and arms not done so
already. An irritated click escapes him, then continues
The feeling is instantaneous, and he grunts as it until it is a rattle. He trembles, pushing back onto his
registers. But while he is many things, he is not a failed nail and driving it through the roach’s neck.
guardian, so he ignores it and sweeps a spindly leg
forward. It catches on the roach’s, taking theirs out Or rather, that is his intent. His aim is off, hindered
from under them as it goes by, and they fall, letting go by his blurry vision, and the tip of the Gladenail sinks
of their spear and their dagger. The latter is ripped out, into the dirt instead. His third and fourth arms slip
tearing its way through exoskeleton with a strange out from under his cloak, grabbing the roach’s arm,
sound. Like leather being punctured. wrapping around their wrist, squeezing. He’s strong—
he’s a spider— and that’s all this robber needs to know
It. Hurts. to look absolutely terrified.
Revek vaguely contemplates that his arm is losing “Let go,” Revek whispers.
its vital life juice as he searches inwardly for the
word to describe what he’s feeling. He does not let his They do, scrambling back, out from beneath him,
emotions show often: he is used to the stoicism that face shining with tears and antennae drooping. “I’m
comes with being the guardian of such a sacred place. sorry!” they cry. “I didn’t mean— I just— I didn’t— you—”

“If you ever get hurt, if you’re ever in pain, step “Get out,” Revek hisses. His instincts are screaming
away immediately. We don’t want you to die on the at him, searing in his head with painpainpain. He
job— that would just look bad!” doesn’t watch them go. Instead, he closes his eyes,
trying to ignore the strange shrieking noise register-
Revek finds the word. Four letters. Single syllable. ing to his ears, one that should not be in the Glade, and
Yet, the biggest word he could fathom: pulls the dagger from his abdomen.
Pain. The sensation is pain. It drops to the floor, as does he. By the time Markoth
The dagger returns. They’ve stabbed again, this gets to him, he realizes the screaming is his own.
time aiming for his side and striking true. Revek snarls,
57
 Seer’s hand, surprisingly cool, traces the wound.

She extends her hand toward a nearby table, and

Thistlewind hurries to place a shallow bowl of water in
her grasp. Seer dips her hand in, the water trembling in
“Make him stop screaming!” her touch. The liquid shimmers faintly, then darkens, as
if absorbing the shadow of pain itself.
“Revek, please!”
She spreads the water over the wound in slow,
Revek locks his jaw but can’t stifle the sound of sweeping strokes. Revek lets out a soft cry, but then his
agony, the burningburningburning radiating out from breathing slows, evening out into something gentler.
his abdomen and swallowing him whole. He can barely The wound begins to knit together, tiny particles
make out the forms of Markoth and Thistlewind above shaped like dreamcatchers twirling around it.
him, pressing a silk bandage to his wound, trying to
stifle the stream of blue. Seer places a hand above the wound, and her palm
begins to glow faintly—golden, warm, pulsing in time
He lays on a bed of silk. His armor had been with Revek’s heartbeat. Seer’s eyes narrow, but she
stripped away, revealing his stained chitin, one spot does not falter.
splattered where the blade had bitten deep. He is
swaddled in a way that prevents him from doing worse Minutes pass, or perhaps hours—it’s difficult to
damage, arms pinned beneath blankets. tell. When the glow fades, the room is brighter. Revek
blinks, his eyes clearing, the tremor in his limbs stilling.
The tent flap flips, and heads turn as Seer enters, He gasps softly as he feels his side, where chitin once
cloaked in simple gray robes that ripple like smoke. split, now slowly stitching itself back together.
She knees beside the cot, brushing a wing over Revek’s
face. “Be still, child,” she murmurs. “The pain is the Seer swats his hand away and presses her hands
body’s cry for help. We will quiet it soon.” together. Then, she sways slightly, catching the edge
of the bed for balance. “You will live,” she whispers,
Revek opens his mouth to form an apology or offering him a faint smile. “But life is fragile—remember
perhaps a plea, but no words come. He winces as this moment and be wiser for it.”
58
 “Thank you, Seer…”

She inclines her head. “No thanks are needed.

Only a promise that you will not waste what has been
mended.”

Revek tries to sit up, but exhaustion threatens to

overwhelm him, so he drops back down. “And the
thief?”

Seer looks at him from over her shoulder. “They will

have their own wounds to deal with.”

She shuffles away then, moving to prepare tea.

Revek watches her go, feels over his wound once more.
He lets his head fall back.

“Thank you,” he whispers.

Seer smiles.

Art by: Willow Wormwood

59
Mic Salmon 60
Lime 61
lonelysheepling 62
We Don’t Need to Eat at each other so loud that Bardoon wondered if he ought
to climb higher.
the Colosseum, We Have And they said:
Food at Home. “—WOULD YOU GIVE ME THAT!”
VAULTBUGGO
The cry could rival gusts of soul breaking on chitin;
its very baritone trembled with rage. With footsteps
of a bug twice his size, the bellower marched up and
grabbed the napkin from the offending hand.

ASH WAS FALLING ON KINGDOM’S EDGE. Quiet, “IT’S DRAIN,” he continued, practically vibrating the
cold feather-puffs, the moult settled over disem- ash around him in volume. “—THEN, DRY.”
boweled chitin and archaic corpses with a morti-
cian’s touch: laying gentle lines in harsh cliff-cracks, His two compatriots gave each other a look in
powdering barren ground as if smoothing away response. Oro, who had been in that moment ‘drying’
the death in the land. Nothing was spared from its the hopper-femur, rolled one shoulder. “I was doing
obsession. Carcass, teeth, roots – all were capped that,” he thundered back.
by the false snow, blurring together as the whistling Tiso sniffed. “You were mashing it, you cur, you
blizzard grew in strength. If this storm persisted for brute: look, it’s practically concave!” The femur was
another three hours, Bardoon thought they would uplifted and waggled before the Nailmaster’s nose.
finally approach something like burial. “How am I supposed to ma—OY!”
And yet. Despite the quiet of suffocation, the cold of A distraction. The ghost of Hallownest was stirring
a beckoning sleep, activity stirred below. Deep below. the marinade; or perhaps it was better to describe the
Three were fighting. Not with nails or teeth, as so often sight as attempting to utilise a wooden spoon as you
fought in this land, but with words. Strong words. So would a nail. The bowl, whose contents sloshed dan-
very strong they could be heard above the whistling gerously about, spat a clot of curd into the ceiling. The
wind. They bickered, and chittered, and waltzed about Ghost eyed the dripping offender, then leapt up to grab
63
it. Upon some consideration, they then tried to shove it Eventually, a fatal mistake was made; the Ghost
back into the sauce. cornered themselves on a table. Hope seemed nigh as
Tiso advanced, chitin bristling. “Your size makes you
“DON’T,” Tiso boomed, and struck out with the fickle, but we may have use of you as an appetiser,” he
spoon. growled. “Now, stay still and let Tiso –!”
The ghost of Hallownest dodged adeptly. Days “—ant,” Oro tried to interrupt.
of travel within the danger of the dying Kingdom
had made them slippery, but this stick of butter had He was ignored. “—do not even think of climbing the
met their match. Tiso struck out again, then again. curtains,” Tiso told the Ghost’s frantic gazing about.
Marinade splashed. Sauce sprayed. Oro retreated to a
safe distance where the curry lay abandoned on open- “Ant,” came the snap, louder.
flame, and crossed his arms. “—and for the sake of all, stop wagging that spoon
around—!”
Art by: Night
“Tiso.”

“—for gods’ sake, WHAT?!” the blue connoisseur

spat and spun around.

Oro did not need to reply. The sight was obvious

enough. From where the curry sat on the stove, a
sudden blackened haze had emerged. Fumes as thick
as an armoured squit’s chest swallowed the hut’s
ceiling.

It took a moment for Tiso to realise what was

happening. Then, with a yelp, Tiso grabbed the curry
pot and ran out of the hut. A wet splash and sizzling
noise followed. After a considerable sixteen seconds,
64
the ant returned. Boiling red curry dripped off one side erable deliberation, the ant wiped off curry from the
of his body. side of his body and flicked it at Oro. The sauce did not
entirely make the voyage to Oro’s face, but the intent
Oro fought laughter with every inch of his being. was there.
It wasn’t well-enough. Tiso’s eyes narrowed to slits. “No,” the ant finally spat. “No, I’ve had enough, I
The ant said, with considerable tightness, “Did you,” think. You win. Colosseum food it is.”
which came with such a squeak that honestly, put that
ant in the opera house, he could probably hit those Later, standing on the outskirts between bloodlust
high notes. “Did you not think to take it off?!” and fallen warriors, the little Fool would make mention
of the smoke he had seen before. “It was quite mag-
“The agreement was that I would observe the curry, nificent, seeing some black amongst the snowy grey,”
and follow your instructions to the trim,” Oro hummed he told them, even as he handed over the skewers of
back with a malicious click of mandible. “At no time did greasy goodness. “Quite a sight, quite a sight. Do you
we agree that I was to participate beyond an occasional know where it came from?”
stir.”
Oro held his tongue – which was fortunate, as Tiso’s
Tiso’s mandibles gnashed back. “I should use your furious glare may have cut it right off. “I was too far
vocal strings as flavouring.” to see it,” the ant lied, even as his curry-stained cloak
Awkwardly from behind, the Ghost flicked another indicated his guilt.
curd off the spoon. The fire spluttered, irritated embers The little Fool blinked. Then, he turned to Oro.
spitting from the rock-circle on the hut floor. The hop- Beneath him, the Ghost held up the greasy skewer and
per-femur, abandoned on the counter, laid undressed began to wave it as one would a wand.
and plain.
Oro reached for his skewer. “No,” he said, and that
“So, are we to remake it?” Oro offered with some was that.
dark glee.

Tiso’s chitin twitched, a full-body shiver of rage.

Still, his mouth remained clamped shut. With consid-
65
Tiso’s Curry Recipe FOR MARINATE

- Marinate hopper-femur with curd, salt, pulps

TO MARINATE TO MAKE THE CURRY paste, hopper-eye and acid-leaves for minimum 30
½ (1.1 lbs) hopper-femur, 2 spoons oil minutes. Preferable overnight.
scooped (cut to 1 ½ to 2 inch) 3 path-fruit, pureed or
2 spoons curd (maggot best) chopped FOR CURRY
¾ spoon salt (use as 1 cup path-thorn, finely - On low to medium flame, gently heat oil in pan /
needed) chopped
pot. Add the whole spices: path-thorn, acid-leaves and
¾ spoon pulps paste 1 to 2 acid mushrooms, slit or
chopped (leave out for low wing, followed by path-thorn & acid-mushrooms.
1 spoon hopper-eye, whisked
heat)
½ spoon acid-leaves (adjust - Sauté until path-thorn turns transparent. Lower
for heat preference, leave 2 spoons hopper-eye, whisked
the flame to very low as much as possible / remove pot
out for low heat) 2 sprigs acid-leaves or 1 wing
(optional) from fire. Then transfer the marinated hopper-femur
and sauté for 5 to 7 minutes.
½ spoon salt or as needed
1 to 2 spoons thorn-leaf, - Stir in path-fruit and hopper-eye, followed by
chopped to garnish
path-fruit.
2 to 2 ½ cups hot water over
regular pot - Increase heat and sauté for another 5 to 7 minutes,
until raw flavor of path-fruit is reduced. Pour hot water
& mix very, very well.

- Bring to gentle boil & let cook for 1 hour 30

minutes. Stir well every fifteen minutes, pour more hot
water if needed.

o DO NOT LET ORO NEAR THE POT

Art by: Night 66

TheAnonymousMystery 67
Oranjmesh 68
Daughter of Deepnest at a distance, with her needle.

H S
ope toryteller The little ghost of a sibling she never should have
had doesn’t seem fond of Deepnest, either. But their
trail’s simple enough to follow, after a few false starts.
Their strength lies in combat, though it didn’t always.
They’re not much for subtlety, perhaps paradoxically
for being without a voice or a mouth to use one.
Hornet isn’t fond of what Deepnest has become
without her mother, though she scarcely recalls what (Shortly before their previous meeting, Hornet
Deepnest was under Herrah the Beast. She was too would nevertheless swear she heard a shriek from
young, aware of little beyond her mother holding her within the inky, Void-ridden depths of the Abyss. Not
close and often. She didn’t yet know the circumstances long after that, her should-be-dead sibling crawled
surrounding her existence. out of their birthplace, sighted her standing at the
precipice, and nearly tripped back down the way they’d
Her birthplace now bears little resemblance to come.)
the fragmented memories of a childhood cut short by
necessity. Now, Deepnest is only inhabited by the dead Her sibling makes for the Beast’s Den. Hornet
and those that should be. She stalks past those once follows. They don’t know she is there. They can’t know
devout to her mother, creeps past corpses without that the Dreamer in question is her mother, and so she
turning her back, and stays well away from familiar waits outside after their entrance for as long as she
faces leading her to dark corners. dares.

She hasn’t the time, desire, or ability to reminisce. Though not often, only when she had to, Hornet has
Deepnest was dangerous in her mother’s time. It returned to Deepnest since Herrah began to Dream.
remains so today, even amid the throes of a plague She hasn’t dared enter her Den.
that puppets nearly everything—nearly. After so long, Consequently, she’s thoroughly unprepared for
a carefully-honed nail cuts through the cobwebs and the sheer weight of nostalgia once she steps over the
Infected towards a distant village. And Hornet follows, threshold. In a better world, a kinder world, she would
69
have lived here with her mother. “You,” she says at last. “Who are you?”

(In a better and kinder world, Hornet herself “Greetings,” says one, standing beside a bench.
wouldn’t exist. Knowing that truth makes it no easier to
bear.) “You are very tired,” says another. “We are friends.”

Gripping her needle tighter, Hornet presses on, “Sit and rest,” says the third. “Sit and rest.”
into an antechamber she scarcely remembers yet feels That is obviously a trap.
terribly familiar. Chandeliers hang from the high ceiling
above. …Hornet can see how others might fall for it.
Desperate for something, anything to serve as a refuge
Surprisingly, the antechamber isn’t deserted. Eight against the horrors outside, they would take the first
masks turn, facing her as she approaches. She recog- kindness offered, not recognizing it as false. There is
nizes none. Not from her childhood here, nor from her little kindness anywhere within Hallownest’s borders,
adolescence with her father, learning of the ancient these days. Certainly not within Deepnest.
sins that led to this.
“Must I,” Hornet says, “to see the Beast?”
The mask-wearers don’t look infected. They aren’t
attempting to kill her on sight, which would be a re- There is no response but a host of blank stares.
freshing change of pace if it wasn’t deeply suspicious. Hornet wonders, not for the first time, what is behind
Even before the Infection, Deepnest was a lethal place them. Is this Herrah’s defense, to Monomon’s creature
for those calling it home, a lethality only compounded and Lurien’s knights? How hasn’t it fallen to the
for those foolish enough to visit. Infection?
As much as Hornet would have liked it to be, once (Had her mother known, or suspected, that the
upon a time… Deepnest never was her home. It never Hollow Knight wouldn’t be enough to contain the
could be her home, not when it was her mother’s. All wrath of a goddess spurned? That, when the Infection
Hornet did was take Herrah from it, in a desperate reemerged, it would target those guarding its bindings
gambit that didn’t even work. first? Hornet gathered long ago that her father and
mother bore no love for each other, only a mutual
70
desire to save what little they could from annihilation.) “Yes.” Hornet inhales sharply. “Yes, I am. I can’t... I
don’t... I’m sorry.”
Cautiously, she approaches the bench. It reeks of
poison, and is largely covered in dust. The part not There is a noise of an opening passage far above,
covered in dust is precisely the right size for a certain yet her mother’s defenses come no closer. She won’t be
little ghost. Poison, she imagines, would have affected poisoned. Her mother knew she might come back.
them little.
Somehow, someway, Herrah the Beast knew.
However, Hornet is not made of Void. She’d rather
not knowingly poison herself. (Hornet feels no better about this situation.)

“Go,” the eight say in unison.

When she zips up, briefly
checking for the passage that must Hornet stands. She asks, “Did Herrah… say
be there, she finds nothing. This is anything? …For me?”
the only way forward.
She can’t and wouldn’t have, she certainly shouldn’t
She sighs, and resigns herself to have. And yet, maybe, if she knew…
her fate, and sits. The mask-wear-
ers, whatever they are, approach. Nothing but silence. Hornet should have expected
nothing less. She looks up, gauging how much silk she’ll
“Well?” Hornet says. “Do your need to reach the passage...
worst.”
“She loves you.”
They stop.
“Very much.”
“You bear the blood of the
Beast,” says one, in the same “If you are here,” yet another continues, “then she
detached monotone as before. “You has faith in you to do what you must.”
are her daughter. You are Hornet.”
Ah. Hornet understands too well. Beneath her
mask, there’s an uncomfortable, unfamiliar wetness
Art by: bluequills
71
she doesn’t normally allow herself to feel. not, for the rest of time, or else the great plague would
return.
“There is little I wouldn’t give,” Hornet replies, “for
her to know that I love her, too.” (But she’s already breaking free. Better to strike
preemptively, to still have a choice in what comes next.
The mask-wearers don’t respond. Neither does Hallownest is already in shambles. Hornet’s father had
Hornet. been insistent that the Infection without the Hollow
(As she zips upward, she hears several quiet thuds Knight holding it back would be catastrophic. Though
behind her. She doesn’t dare look back.) that was before he vanished with his palace, leaving
Hornet to pick up the fractured pieces of a kingdom she
was never meant to lead.)

Was it intentional on the ghost’s part to leave

Herrah for so long? Or was it simply a consequence of
the village being so far away from everything else?

…She’s certain what her father would want, if he

Though she’d intended for the little ghost to beat were here. A strong enough blow would rouse them
her there, Hornet isn’t prepared to watch them swing from the realm they—and her mother—are in. But he is
an ethereal nail at her mother’s motionless body. She’s gone.
just in time for them to collapse to the floor beside If she were to follow his guidance… what then?
Herrah’s bed, like a puppet with its strings cut. She
doubts they’re aware of knocking over multiple candles Hornet cannot kill them in any way that matters,
in their fall. She doubts they’d complain, if they were. something that daunted her considerably more back
in Greenpath. She’s since accepted that aspect of their
The little ghost mildly terrorizing what remains of existence, and committed to this path. Now, she must
Hallownest will get up again. Her mother, Herrah the stand by and let them murder her mother.
Beast, will not. But she never could have; that’s simply
how Dreaming works. They had to remain, living yet

72
 Nothing that crosses her mind convinces her even seated.
otherwise.
“What is it?” Hornet asks, exhaustion seeping into
She sits, resigning herself to waiting. The least they her words. More than anything else, she’s tired. But
can do is make it quick. she knows neither of them can rest yet. All she can
allow herself is a moment to mourn the mother whose
Hornet doesn’t have to wait long before her mother sacrifice was in vain.
fades away. It’s slow, the fading; Hornet hopes that
it’s faster on Herrah’s end. She doesn’t dare hope for The little ghost doesn’t speak; they never do.
anything more. Regardless, they step forward, a decision evidently
reached. Before Hornet can protest or fully register
what they’re doing, two small arms wrap around her in
a surprisingly tight hug.

Hornet’s first instinct is to stab them for their sheer

audacity, not that it would stick. Then again, they know
that. She’s assaulted them enough. It likely wouldn’t
even make her feel any better.
The seal is broken. Herrah’s life thoroughly
extinguished. Hornet wishes she could say she was So she exhales, allowing it to happen, and tries not
prepared for this. She wasn’t. to think of how long it’s been since anyone was close
enough to hug her.
With her piece said and her further intentions
made clear, she fully expects the little ghost to leave “That is enough, Little Ghost,” she says after a
her to mourn. This they do, dashing off in a burst of minute. To their credit, they do stand back then, though
crystalline speed. they don’t leave at once.

She doesn’t expect the little ghost to return, quickly, They aren’t hollow. That much is obvious. Their will
like they’ve changed their mind. They look her up and could hypothetically be broken; their father would have
down, considering. She’s still taller than them, slightly, considered it weakness. But their father is long gone.

73
 What happens next isn’t her decision to make, nor
should it be. She’ll assist if she can, but she cannot
linger within the Black Egg for long, even with the seals
broken.

This time, the choice will not be hers. It’s almost

a relief. Whatever they choose, it’s more likely that
something of Hallownest will survive than if Hornet
continued along the path set for her.

She’ll follow Ghost’s lead, when the time comes.

Soon, they’ll be prepared to kill the past in the name of
the future.

At least one of them can.

Art by: bluequills

Boompf 74
cm_ 75
Slimes 76
 VOLUME 2

Thank you for reading!