Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“You know, Princess, I’d rather walk on my own two feet than be carried by you.”

Lace’s voice rang out in the desolate corridors, words echoing against the damp stone walls. Her tone carried that familiar teasing lilt, a melody of mockery that never seemed to tire.

They had only just escaped the void—her siblings, her dearest kin, having risked themselves to help them—and now they were trudging back through the abandoned halls, searching for a safe place to rest. Hornet had insisted on helping the artificial bug, though her patience was wearing thin as Lace’s spirit slowly rekindled with every step.

A faint sigh slipped from Hornet’s mouth, her eyes narrowing beneath the veil of her mask. Such little jabs were growing more frequent. Hornet was already weary, every bone and sinew in her body aching, and her patience for Lace’s antics was dwindling.

“Last time you tried to wiggle out of my grasp you could hardly stand,” she said sharply. “It is easier this way, Child.”

Her claws pressed tighter into Lace’s frame, stilling the small, deliberate squirming. Hornet kept her gaze forward, cold and unyielding. Lace could tell at a glance that the spider was not in the best mood. She deliberately ignored that fact, giving one more insolent jerk in her grip. Hornet’s head snapped down, her fangs bared as a low growl rumbled from her throat.

“Cease your movements. You will knock us both over if you continue.”

Silence followed, broken only by the soft patter of Hornet’s steady steps and the occasional drip of water echoing through the hollow. The weaver welcomed it, grateful for even a shred of quiet to gather her thoughts. Her body longed for rest, every muscle threatening collapse, but her mind remained sharp, vigilant.

Lace, on the other hand, was busy scheming. She had made a game of it—prodding Hornet, searching for cracks in her resolve. But even she had noticed how difficult it had become to provoke the spider. Exhaustion clung to Hornet like a shadow, her movements heavier than usual, her silence more cutting than words.

For a fleeting moment, Lace almost pitied her. She always had, in some small way, though she would never admit it aloud. But watching the proud spider slowly unravel before her eyes struck a nerve she hadn’t realized she possessed.

She banished the thought with a shake of her head. Pity wasn’t in her nature. Instead, her grin slithered back across her face, sharp and playful as ever. Shifting in Hornet’s arms, Lace rested her chin on the spider’s shoulder, voice dripping with feigned sweetness.

“You carry me like a burden, dear spider. Yet you don’t let go. Makes me think you need me more than I need you~”

Hornet’s steps faltered, just barely, her claws digging harder into Lace’s side. The artificial bug flinched back with a laugh, narrowly avoiding the sting of her grip.

The weaver’s fangs gleamed in the dark as she hissed, her voice a low snarl.

“Do not mistake endurance for desire.”

Lace leaned into Hornet’s shoulder, smirk tugging at her lips.
“But holding me like this,” she purred. “Someone might think you like me.”

Hornet tensed. A tremor rippled through her arms, but she did not loosen her hold. Her jaw tightened beneath the mask, steps turning rigid, every motion sharpened by restraint. Still, her claws shifted with reluctant care, adjusting Lace’s weight so she rested more securely in her arms. The contradiction made Lace grin wider.

“You’re trembling,” Lace teased, voice a low hum. “Not used to carrying a beautiful maiden, dear spider?”

The spider’s silence was sharper than words. Her patience had been wearing thin since the first jab, and now her fangs ground together behind her mask. She refused to look at Lace, eyes locked on the dim corridor ahead.

Then her footing faltered. The stumble was slight, but enough for Lace to clutch her collar, steadying herself with a laugh. Their faces drew close, close enough for Lace to see the faint fractures webbing Hornet’s mask, tiny cracks that caught the dim light.

For a moment, Lace said nothing. Her grin softened, just barely, as her gaze lingered on those cracks. Then she leaned in again, her smirk returning, voice silk and thorn all at once.
“Careful,” she whispered. “You might break~”

Hornet’s claws pressed tighter against her side, not enough to wound, but enough to warn.
“Enough,” she hissed, her patience thinning to a fraying thread. 

Lace gave a sudden twist in Hornet’s arms, wriggling with practiced ease. This time, the spider didn’t stop her. Her claws loosened, not out of choice but from sheer exhaustion, and the effort of holding her finally slipped away.

The artificial bug landed on unsteady feet, knees buckling as she wobbled to catch herself. For once, no sharp remark came to her lips. She simply steadied her stance, silent, her grin absent as she cast a sidelong glance at Hornet. 

Hornet made no comment. She simply turned and started forward again, steps steady despite the weight dragging at her limbs. Lace blinked, then hurried to catch up, her shorter strides quick against the stone.

For a time, Hornet did not look at her. But when Lace stumbled on a loose rock, the spider’s claw shot out without thought, steadying her before she could fall. The touch was brief, almost brusque, yet careful all the same.

Hornet withdrew her hand at once, her silence unbroken.

The silence between them stretched, heavy and sharp. Hornet kept her gaze forward, each step deliberate, as if focusing on walking alone could drown out the weight pressing in on her chest. Her claws flexed around her needle, the faintest tremor betraying how near the edge she was.

Lace noticed, of course. She always noticed. And silence had never been her friend. Her smirk returned, sharp and coaxing, words spilling from her lips in a lilt of false lightness.
“All this effort for me though? Tsk, Princess, you’ll ruin your reputation if people think you care.”

The words echoed in the corridor—casual, teasing, meant to mess with the spider once again.

But Hornet stopped.

It wasn’t a stumble this time, but a sudden halt, her entire frame rigid. For a moment, Lace thought she’d misstepped. Then Hornet’s voice tore out of her, shattering the silence like glass.

“Do not mock me!”

It rang with a sharp, trembling edge, the fury raw and startling. Her head snapped toward Lace, fangs bared beneath the mask, eyes burning with a grief that made the words bite deeper.

“I have carried corpses in worse condition than you,” she spat, her voice breaking with the weight of it. “And every one of them deserved my strength more than your reckless tongue. Quit mistaking my duty for affection.”

The air went still. The echo of her words clung to the walls like smoke, heavy and suffocating.

Hornet’s steps faltered after the outburst, her breath uneven, shuddering once before she forced it into rhythm again. Her claws tightened around her needle until her hands shook, the metal creaking faintly in her grip. She kept her head high, but Lace could see it—the fragile line between control and collapse.

For once, the artificial bug was silent. Her smirk had slipped away, leaving only a hollow pang in her chest. The jab she had thrown so carelessly replayed in her head, mocking her now. She hadn’t meant it—at least not like this. She hadn’t meant to drag grief to the surface, hadn’t meant to touch a wound so raw it bled through Hornet’s fury.

Lace swallowed, her throat tight. The usual glib words would not come, not when faced with the sight of Hornet’s trembling hands. She opened her mouth, her voice uncharacteristically small.

“Hornet, I didn’t—”

“Save your breath.”

The interruption was swift, cutting, her tone brittle but sharp enough to sting. Hornet didn’t look back, didn’t slow. She simply pressed on, stride stiff, her silence heavier now than any insult could have been.

And Lace followed quietly for once, guilt coiled tight in her chest, the weight of Hornet’s words pressing down harder than any grip ever had.

The corridor swallowed them again, the echoes of Hornet’s outburst still clinging to the stone like smoke that refused to clear. Her strides were sharp, deliberate, each step carrying her forward as if sheer momentum alone could outrun what she had said.

Lace trailed behind her, uncharacteristically silent. Her sharp tongue lay still, her usual grin nowhere to be found. Instead, she watched. She noticed how Hornet’s shoulders rose and fell with every measured breath, how the needle at her side trembled in her grasp though she willed it still. The spider’s head remained high, her posture rigid, but there was no mistaking it—the cracks were there. Not just in the mask, but in the woman herself.

Hornet’s thoughts stormed behind her silence. Foolish. Reckless. Always prying at me with words that cut deeper than she knows. But the image of corpses dragged across cold stone clung to her mind, unbidden, each face blurring into the next. She had carried too many—friends, kin, warriors—each heavier than their broken shells should have been. She had buried their weight in silence, sworn it would not slow her. And yet… the words had slipped free, raw, torn out before she could smother them.

Her jaw tightened, forcing her breathing steady again. She could not afford to break, not here, not now.

Lace’s eyes narrowed, though not with mischief this time. The silence between them was loud enough to choke on, and for the first time she found herself unsettled by it. She had teased, prodded, needled Hornet countless times before, always savoring the spark it lit—but this was different. This fire burned cold.

She watched Hornet’s hands flex around the needle, saw the faint quiver in her claws before they locked rigid once more. The sight pulled at something unfamiliar in Lace, something almost like guilt, though she loathed to name it.

She’s unraveling, Lace thought. And I pushed her closer to the edge.

For once, she said nothing. She only kept pace behind the spider, eyes lingering on the cracks in her mask and the weight she carried even when she no longer held Lace in her arms.

The silence stretched on as they wound their way through the hollow corridors. Step by step, the stone gave way to the old paths of the bell-way. Moss and pale roots clawed down the walls, the ground slowly being littered with bells— the air cooler here, touched with the faint hum of something ancient. Hornet slowed at last, her stride steadying into stillness.

She did not turn to Lace. Her mask remained forward, unreadable, though her voice—when it came—carried the faintest quiver beneath its monotone.

“It is your life now,” she said, the words low, deliberate, as if spoken from somewhere far away. “I only willed us to get out of there. You may go on your own… or follow with me.”

Her claws flexed once at her side, but she offered no glance, no softness to temper the statement. Only choice.

Hornet lifted her head, drawing in a breath before she called, her voice ringing out into the dim air.
“Eira!”

The name cut through the stillness, echoing until it seemed the very stones carried it away. A pause followed, the kind of quiet that settled heavy in the chest, before the faint stir of movement answered from deeper in the bell-way—the telltale sound of something vast and living responding to her summons.

Hornet remained as she was, shoulders squared, waiting. She did not look to see what Lace would choose. She did not ask.

And Lace stood a few steps behind, staring at the proud line of Hornet’s back, at the cracks in her mask catching the low light, and felt the weight of the decision settle like a stone in her chest.

The silence hung heavy until the bells below gave a low, resonant shiver. From their hollow mouths leapt a vast, pale shape—Eira, the bell-beast, gliding up with a grace that belied her size. The air stirred as she landed, claws curling against the stone, her body draped in the shimmer of dust and moss. From the folds of her mantle, smaller shapes tumbled free—tiny bell-creatures, her young, their chimes ringing softly as they scampered at her side.

Hornet’s claws lowered, and for the first time since their escape, her posture eased. She stepped closer, her hand brushing along the curve of Eira’s masklike face. The beast leaned into the touch, a deep hum thrumming from her chest. Hornet’s other hand reached down to one of the smalllings, who chirped faintly before pressing itself against her palm.

It was fleeting—just the barest glimpse of softness—but Lace felt it like warmth against her own chest. For once she didn’t quip, didn’t tease. She only watched, her usual grin absent, and something quieter rising in its place.

Hornet drew back, her voice calm but firm as she spoke.
“Wait just a moment.”

Eira settled low to the ground at the command, her offspring chittering around her. Hornet vaulted onto her back in a single, fluid motion, her claws steadying against the beast’s mantle. Yet she did not signal Eira to move. Not yet.

Her head turned just enough for her gaze to fall on Lace. She didn’t speak—no command, no plea. But in the tilt of her mask, in the stillness of her waiting, the question lingered clear: Would she follow?

Chapter Text

Dust motes drifted lazily through the corridors of the Bell Way, catching the faint light like tiny sparks against the shadowed stone. The air was heavy, thick with silence, each step they had taken before still lingering in the walls around them. Unspoken words clung to the space between them, fragile and tense.

Then, without warning, Lace leapt. Her landing on the Bell Beast was light but deliberate, a sudden intrusion into the quiet. Hornet stiffened, shoulders tensing, claws twitching near her needle—but she did not speak. Her eyes stayed forward, sharp and unreadable, though the faint line of surprise betrayed her.

Lace shifted slightly, smirking despite the tension, careful not to brush against Hornet. She balanced herself with a fluid grace, aware of the subtle weight in the air: the exhaustion in the spider’s posture, the taut alertness that spoke of both worry and restraint. She let her gaze wander for just a moment, noticing tiny cracks along the Bell Beast’s armor, faint scuffs and dents that whispered of old battles and new dangers waiting ahead.

The beast beneath them shifted, its low hum vibrating through their steps. Hornet’s hand hovered near her weapon, poised, ready, though she made no move. Lace could feel it—the careful control, the tight rope of patience the weaver was walking, and for the first time, Lace felt the weight of the spider’s restraint pressing against her own restlessness.

Hornet’s voice finally broke the silence, low and measured, carrying the faintest quiver beneath its monotone. “Eira,” she said, and the Bell Beast’s jaw twitched, attention snapping to her. “Take us to Bellhart, please.”

The command was simple, precise, yet held a weight that made it clear Hornet’s will was absolute. The beast hummed in response, shifting beneath them, muscles tensing as if sensing the gravity of the journey ahead.

For a moment, they moved in silence together, the quiet so sharp it almost hurt. Lace’s smirk softened, just a fraction, replaced with a flicker of curiosity and caution. Hornet’s stillness was almost suffocating in its intensity, but it was also… protective. Watching her like that, Lace felt something unfamiliar—a tentative warmth, a fragile thread of trust she had not expected to find here, on the back of a living beast, suspended above shadow and stone.

The Bell Way stretched ahead, hardly sunlit and dusty, full of unseen turns and lurking uncertainty. Every crack, every echo, every motion carried weight, but for now, they moved together, wary, alert, and tethered by the unspoken.

Eira’s long, powerful strides carried them deeper into the Bell Way, the corridor narrowing and twisting as sunlight faded to a pale, filtered glow. Dust swirled around their path, disturbed by the beast’s heavy steps. Lace’s eyes flicked everywhere at once—balancing, observing, curious—but she resisted leaning toward Hornet, keeping just enough distance to respect the tight line the spider maintained.

Then, a faint rustle echoed from somewhere deeper in the passage, followed by a soft chittering and the glimmer of tiny eyes catching the light. Hornet’s hand moved toward her needle instinctively, and she guided Eira slightly to the side, her body stiffening as the Bell Beast lowered into a defensive stance. The fine hairs on her chitin stood on end, each muscle poised for sudden movement.

Lace’s smirk widened, soft and teasing, though she did not press.

“Still protecting everyone, huh?” she murmured quietly, voice light, almost playful. But she let the comment hang there, letting Hornet’s quiet vigilance speak for itself. She could feel the careful restraint, the energy barely held at bay, and she realized she was learning—to read the weaver, to see the subtle lines of boundary she dared not cross.

As they moved on, Lace’s eyes caught something unusual etched into the stone: jagged markings that pulsed faintly in the dim light, almost like a heartbeat in the walls. They were old—older than the Bell Way itself, worn yet deliberate—and they whispered of something unseen: danger, old magic, perhaps a secret tied to Hornet’s home, or to Bellhart itself.

Hornet, unaware of Lace’s curiosity, kept her gaze forward, her body straight and alert, letting the Bell Beast navigate with careful precision. Eira’s low hum reverberated through the corridor, steadying, yet full of awareness, attuned to every flicker of movement around them.

Lace swallowed, feeling that familiar mix of fascination and unease, the corridor suddenly alive with possibilities, threats, and unanswered questions. She stayed quiet, letting the moment linger, letting herself notice—not just the creatures and the markings, but Hornet, and the fragile control she maintained over both beast and rider.

The narrow corridors finally gave way to open space. Bellhart’s core light spilled outward in gentle waves, bathing the vast chamber in a soft, golden glow. Dust floated like tiny sparks in the air, catching the illumination and making the expanse feel almost sacred. The low hum of the Bell Beast resonated with the rhythm of the space, and even Lace, perched lightly on its back, felt the tension ease slightly in the awe of it.

Hornet guided Eira toward the station with a practiced tilt of her hand and a slight shift of her weight. The Bell Beast slowed smoothly, claws brushing lightly against the bells before settling with a soft thrum that echoed through the chamber. Hornet’s eyes scanned the space as she dismounted, checking each step, her movements precise and measured. She flexed her fingers near her needle, alert even amidst the beauty of the place.

Around them, small shapes emerged from the shadows and glowing alcoves—nameless bugs, the denizens of Bellhart. They moved with a mixture of curiosity and respect, some stepping lightly toward the arrival, others watching cautiously from a distance. The weaver’s presence clearly carried authority, but there was no fear in the bugs’ gaze, only recognition: she was someone who had helped them, protected them, earned their cautious trust.

The nameless bugs shifted with her movements, their tiny bodies a living reminder of the web of lives Hornet had touched, a network of loyalty and subtle acknowledgment. Lace could feel the pulse of it, and for the first time in a long while, she felt the smallest flicker of… comfort.

Hornet left Eira behind in the Bell Station, giving the great beast a soft, commanding hum. The spider didn’t glance back, her focus entirely forward as she led Lace out into the open expanse of Bellhart.

The settlement stretched before them, sunlit and alive. Buildings rose from polished steel, bell-like structures chiming faintly in the breeze. Tiny bugs moved between homes and shops, some carrying baskets of goods, others offering delicate gifts or gestures of deference toward Hornet.

One small bug hurried up, carrying a tiny cup of hand-squeezed juice, its glow catching in the light. She took the cup carefully, fingers brushing lightly against the bug’s own, and inclined her head politely.

“Thank you,” she said, voice calm. “I will attend to this later.” She handed the cup back with measured precision. The bug gave a small bow and scuttled away, leaving her path clear.

A pair of siblings approached from a nearby stall, holding a bundle of fresh herbs and flowers. Their antennae quivered with nervous energy as they presented their offering. Hornet’s eyes flicked over the bundle, noting its quality and freshness, then she gave a small nod.

“These will be useful. I will see them put to work soon.” Her words were brief, careful—not dismissive, but unhurried. The siblings relaxed slightly, retreating with murmured thanks.

Lace stayed quiet, lingering softly behind the spider, observing everything. She noticed the precision in Hornet’s gestures—the way she inclined her head just enough, the subtle shift in her posture that signaled both attention and restraint. Hornet was exhausted, Lace could tell, but still every movement was deliberate, measured, carefully calibrated for the comfort or respect of those around her.

From a nearby corner, another bug emerged, holding a small vial of nectar, offering it with a polite, expectant bow. Hornet’s jaw tightened slightly, the faintest tremor passing through her fingers near the needle, but her voice remained steady.

“I am a little tired,” she said evenly, meeting the bug’s gaze for only a moment. “This will wait until I am well enough to have something of the sorts. Right now, I need to get my guest somewhere she can rest.”

The bug inclined in understanding, stepping back without complaint. Lace’s eyes puased on the small exchange, noting the care in Hornet’s tone despite the exhaustion threading through it. There was no arrogance, no irritation—just patience and quiet authority, tempered by an awareness of the needs of others.

As they continued through the settlement, the artificial bug saw more small gestures: a denizen waving, a youngling scampering to show her a polished bell, another nudging a tiny offering of baked goods toward Hornet’s path. Hornet accepted some with careful hands, declined others with a soft, “Later,” and always kept her focus forward, guiding them through the gentle bustle of Bellhart.

Lace, unusually quiet, let herself take it all in. The little gifts, the respectful bows, the subtle interactions—they spoke volumes about Hornet’s life here, her influence, the quiet reverence of those she had helped. Even in exhaustion, she carried herself with a discipline that impressed Lace, a constant vigilance and awareness that Lace couldn’t help but admire.

For Lace, the warmth of the place—and of Hornet’s attentiveness—was subtle but undeniable. The faint glow of Bellhart, the quiet hum of the settlement, and the rhythm of Hornet’s calm authority wove together into a strange comfort. And though the weaver never looked directly at her, the silken being felt the weight of her care in every step, every polite refusal, every measured gesture toward those who depended on her.

The streets of Bellhart gradually thinned as the two headed toward the quieter edge of the settlement. The hum of the town softened, the warm glow of the bell-like buildings reflecting faintly against polished stone, and the chatter of small bugs faded to distant murmurs. 

At last, they reached a sturdy bell-shaped structure, slightly set apart from the rest. Hornet paused at the entrance, shoulders easing just slightly—a rare moment of release—but the edge in her posture, the sharp readiness in her gaze, remained. She scanned the surrounding area, then opened the door and stepped inside, motioning for the artificial bug to follow.

The interior was intimate, warm, and alive with the subtle rhythm of Hornet’s life. Small keepsakes lined the shelves: a faintly glowing, living heart pulsing softly, delicate charms and trinkets collected from unknown places, each carefully preserved. Lace’s eyes lingered on the objects, noting the scratches and repairs, the evidence of hands that had maintained them with care.

“You… keep a lot of things,” Lace murmured, her voice quiet.

Hornet’s eyes flicked toward her briefly, expression unreadable beneath the mask. “They matter,” she said evenly. “Some more than others.” She returned her gaze to the beating heart, deliberately keeping the conversation minimal. Her tone was polite but distant, walls still firmly in place.

Lace’s smile softened into something more thoughtful. She noticed the small traces of Hornet’s softness: a tiny dent in a bell charm, a carefully folded piece of cloth, the gentle pulse of the heart on the shelf. The pale bug realized Hornet was more than just a warrior or the sharp-tongued spider she had sparred with—it was like glimpsing the underside of steel, delicate yet still strong.

Hornet moved with practiced precision, setting her needle aside and adjusting her cloak in a quiet routine. Then she paused, slipping her cloak from her shoulders with fluid efficiency. Lace’s eyes widened slightly, catching the movement, and a faint warmth crept into her chest. Hornet didn’t glance at her, didn’t acknowledge her observation, but the subtle tension in Lace’s posture spoke volumes.

She turned and stepped up toward the shallow heated bath that steamed gently above a small platform. The faint hiss of warm water filled the room, curling upward in soft wisps. Hornet checked the temperature carefully, then eased herself in, steam rising around her in a protective veil.

Lace shifted in place, a little flustered, but careful to remain quiet and respectful. Hornet’s eyes remained forward, guarded, yet her posture relaxed just enough to betray the slightest release of tension. The warmth of the bath seemed to seep into her shoulders and back, a rare allowance of comfort in a life otherwise governed by control and vigilance.

“You can… sit down if you like,” Hornet said softly after a moment, her voice steady but measured, still keeping the wall firmly up. There was no invitation to intrude, only acknowledgment of Lace’s presence.

Lace moved slightly, careful not to overstep, and perched on a low bench at a safe distance. “I’m not going anywhere,” she said lightly, though with genuine sincerity. Hornet’s gaze flicked toward her briefly, then returned to the water and her routine.

The room was quiet save for the soft hum of Bellhart beyond the walls and the faint hiss of the bath. Hornet just relished in the warmth of the water, deciding she should allow herself this moment of relaxation. The artificial bug watched, absorbing the subtleties—the tension still present in Hornet’s shoulders, the walls around her voice and gaze, the faint glimmers of vulnerability she allowed in the sanctuary of her home.

It was a moment suspended in quiet understanding. Hornet maintained her distance, guarded and controlled, yet her actions—allowing Lace to follow, tending to small routines in her presence—spoke volumes. Lace realized that, despite the walls, Hornet was offering fragments of trust, letting her witness life beyond duty, beyond battle, beyond the mask.

And the pale bug felt the weight of it all—the careful balance between restraint and comfort, strength and fragility, and the silent, unspoken connection starting to form between them.

Hornet stepped out of the bath, steam curling off her chitin like mist over stone. Her cloak, which had been draped nearby, stayed put; the warm water had left her slightly damp, glistening in the soft light of the room. Lace’s eyes flicked away for a moment out of respect, a faint flush creeping up her face. The spider noticed nothing—or pretended not to.

After wrapping in a towel, she moved to the bed, smoothing the blankets with careful precision, checking the frame and fluffing the pillows. Every motion was deliberate, as if even in vulnerability she maintained command.

“You can… rest here,” Hornet said finally, voice steady but clipped. “It’s prepared for you.”

Lace stepped closer, smirking faintly. “Prepared, huh? Noticed you went through the trouble.”

Hornet’s eyes flicked briefly toward her, expression unreadable beneath the mask. “It is always prepared.” She straightened and gestured toward the bath. “If you wish to clean yourself, the water’s ready. Towels are on the rack. Make your choice.”

Lace’s smirk faltered slightly, curiosity flickering. “And you’re not going to… supervise?”

Hornet’s gaze was flat, unflinching. “I’ve already seen enough of you for one day, and I am not a perverse bug,” she said evenly. “Make yourself comfortable.”

The room was quiet except for the soft hiss of the remaining steam and the faint hum from Bellhart beyond the walls. Lace noticed the small cracks in the floor near the bed, faint symbols etched into the wood. She crouched slightly to inspect them, curiosity tugging at her fingers.

Hornet’s eyes flicked down for a brief second, a subtle tightening in her stance, then she returned to smoothing the blankets. “Don’t touch that,” she said quietly. “It’s fragile.”

Lace straightened, smirking faintly again. “Fragile, huh? The great Hornet, delicate floors.”

Hornet ignored her, adjusting a pillow one last time, then stepped back to survey the small quarters. Her movements were precise, measured, as if every gesture mattered. Lace followed her, instinctively mirroring her motions, careful not to intrude yet staying close.

Even in silence, Hornet’s control and subtle care were clear. She had made space for Lace without saying more than necessary, leaving the younger bug to decide for herself. The silken bug couldn’t help but feel the quiet weight of the weaver’s attention, the unspoken acknowledgment that despite the walls, she mattered—even in small, practical ways.

Hornet moved toward the small wardrobe tucked into the corner of the room. From it, she produced a simple robe, soft and fluffy, far removed from the sharp edges and intimidating red cloak she was usually seen in. Lace’s eyes widened slightly, barely believing what she was seeing. The robe was… almost comforting, like something ordinary, domestic, even vulnerable. Hornet didn’t notice—or didn’t care—letting the garment fall over her chitin with a quiet rustle.

“I’m not… going to join you,” Lace murmured, yawning, her body too heavy from exhaustion. She dropped onto the neatly made bed, curling beneath the blankets. The warmth of the mattress was inviting, and for the first time since leaving the void, she let herself relax.

Hornet, now dressed in the soft robe, moved over to her desk, a small, sturdy piece of furniture covered in papers, small tools, and scattered keepsakes. She sat carefully, methodical, her hands moving over her work with quiet efficiency. There were no words, only the soft scratching of pen on parchment and the occasional low sigh as she adjusted something on the table.

Minutes passed in silence. Lace let her gaze drift to the room around her, taking in the faint beat of the living heart, the gentle steam lingering from the bath, and Hornet quietly working at the desk. The steady rhythm of the small space was calming, a quiet contrast to the chaos of the Bell Way and the void they had escaped.

And then Lace realized something—the bed was small, and there was only one. Where would Hornet sleep?

She opened her mouth to ask, but before a single word could leave her lips, she noticed the subtle slump of Hornet’s shoulders. The claws that had been so precise a moment ago rested limply on the desk. Hornet’s head tilted forward, mask brushing the surface, and the soft rise and fall of her chest told Lace everything: she had finally succumbed to exhaustion.

Hornet was passed out.

The pale bug blinked, caught between surprise and the odd tenderness that rose in her chest. For all her walls, for all the discipline and control, Hornet had finally let herself fall apart—right here, in the quiet safety of her home. Lace leaned back against the pillow, feeling the strange weight of comfort and warmth settle in. She didn’t move closer, didn’t wake her, just watched quietly, letting the room and its silent occupant cradle them both in a rare, fragile peace.

The hum of Bellhart outside was distant now, a soft backdrop to the gentle breathing of the exhausted spider. For once, the world could wait. And Lace let herself drift toward sleep, the tension of the day slowly unspooling, knowing Hornet was only a few steps away—vulnerable, real, and soft beneath the mask.

Chapter Text

Hornet woke to the weight in her neck and the ache in her back, the rim of her mask pressed awkwardly against the desk where she had slumped. The air was still, warm with the faint hum of Bellhart outside, a steady rhythm that reminded her she was home.

She pushed herself upright, movements deliberate and measured. The soft robe she had allowed herself the night before clung strangely against her chitin, too gentle, too unguarded. That small indulgence had ended the moment she rose. Her claws found the clasp of her red cloak, and she slid it over her shoulders with practiced precision. The familiar weight and firmness settled over her, and once again she felt like herself.

Only then did her gaze turn, drawn irresistibly to the bed.

Lace lay there, motionless, her chest rising and falling in slow, even rhythm. No sharp grin, no biting words spilling from her tongue—she looked… softer. Her mask of mischief absent, leaving behind something fragile. Hornet’s dark eyes lingered, sharp but not cruel, tracing the lines of Lace’s rest. A flicker stirred within her—an ache, perhaps. Peace was rare, and seeing it worn so plainly on another felt dangerous.

She turned away before the thought could root itself.

At her small kitchen alcove, Hornet set about her task. A wrapped bundle awaited her: two moss grubs, shells pale beneath a fuzzy layer. She had stripped their barbs the night of the hunt, but the fuzz remained, damp against her claws. Methodically, she peeled it back in strips, exposing the gleaming surface beneath. She laid each grub on a stone plate, arranging them with quiet precision, then added a cluster of moss berries, dark green and firm.

Nothing cooked. Nothing softened. She preferred it raw—unaltered, true. Eating was not a necessity for her, nor for Lace, she suspected. But still she prepared. The ritual tethered her to ordinary bugs, to a life she often observed but never lived.

A faint rustle caught her attention.

The spider did not turn immediately. She placed the last berry onto the plate, claws steady, before glancing back.

Lace was waking. She shifted against the sheets, silk whispering faintly as she pushed herself upright. Her eyes blinked open, finding the plate almost immediately. At the sight of the raw grubs, stripped bare and fuzz discarded, her expression faltered. A wrinkle of distaste flickered across her mouth, subtle but impossible to miss.

Their eyes met—Hornet’s steady, unreadable behind her mask, only the black gleam of her gaze visible.

“Not to your taste?” Her words were quiet, even, but edged with something sly.

Lace froze, caught off guard. Her usual grin never came; instead, she shifted beneath the blanket, eyes darting away as though the comment had left her off balance. Her silk-smooth features betrayed a rare flicker of unease.

Hornet’s gaze lingered a moment longer before she turned back to the food, lifting one of the plates with a measured hand. Inside, though, she allowed the faintest stir of amusement.

Hornet carried the second plate across the room and set it on the low table beside the bed.

“Yours.”

Lace sat up further, blanket pooling around her waist. She looked down at the offering in silence. The grub lay skinned of its fuzz, its pale shell glinting faintly in the light, berries placed carefully at its side.

Her jaw tightened. How was she supposed to eat that? It wasn’t roasted, or even warmed by a flame—just raw flesh staring back at her.

Before she could voice the thought, movement caught her eye.

Hornet had already taken her place at the other end of the room, plate balanced easily in one hand. Without hesitation, she brought the grub up, angled it beneath her mask. Her mandibles moved, fangs glinting for the barest instant as they pierced the flesh. Lace caught the faint, mechanical scrape as it tore, feeding the meat back under the dark curve of the mask.

It was quick, efficient. But she had seen.

A flash of mandible, the briefest glimpse beneath the veil every bug wore—something so strangely intimate, something never meant to be witnessed. Lace found herself staring, almost forgetting her own plate until the weight of the moment pressed back into her chest.

She tore her gaze away, heart ticking faster than she wanted to admit. 

Lace looked down at her own grub. She hesitated, then tugged gently at the soft outer shell, peeling it with stiff fingers. It didn’t feel right, but she forced herself to try, nibbling half-heartedly at the flesh before pushing it aside for the safer option. The berries burst tart on her tongue, their mossy sweetness lingering.

The silence held for a while, broken only by the faint sounds of Hornet’s steady chewing and Lace’s reluctant picking.

It was Lace who spoke first, voice softer than her usual lilt.

“…You really do eat it raw.”

Hornet’s gaze lifted, dark eyes cutting across the mask toward her. A faint pause, then a quiet reply:

“It is simplest. The body takes what it needs.”

Lace snorted under her breath, rolling a berry between her fingers before popping it in her mouth. “Figures. No patience for seasoning, hm?”

“Patience is for other things,” Hornet returned evenly, tone not quite sharp but not soft either.

A beat passed—Lace smirking faintly into her food, Hornet watching her just long enough to note the expression before turning back to her plate.

It wasn’t much. Barely a thread of conversation. Yet it was something—more than the jabs, more than silence.

By the time the plates were empty, the silence had softened. Hornet rose first, gathering the remnants of shell and berry stems. She moved with her usual efficiency, but there was no bite in her steps—just quiet rhythm as she rinsed the plates and set them back to dry.

Lace leaned back against the wall, arms folded loosely. Watching. Always watching.

Hornet broke the quiet herself, her voice level but not unkind.

“I have tasks to see in Bellhart before the day grows late. Repairs, requests… they will not wait long. Will you be joining me, or finding your own diversions?”

Lace tilted her head, a grin tugging at her mouth. “What, afraid I’ll get myself lost without you?”

“No,” Hornet replied without missing a beat, still focused on arranging the cleaned plates. “Afraid you’ll get others lost with you.”

Lace blinked, then laughed outright. “Did… did you just make a joke?”

Hornet finally turned, dark eyes locking onto her with an unreadable steadiness. “If I did, it was your fault.”

“Oh, so the mighty Princess has a sense of humor after all,” Lace teased, smirking as she leaned forward, chin in her hand. “Took me long enough to drag it out of you. Maybe I’m rubbing off on you.”

Hornet tilted her head ever so slightly, claws folding behind her back in practiced composure. “Tainted, more like.”

The word landed heavier than it should have, but the faintest hint of dry amusement clung to it—enough to make Lace pause, surprised. For a moment she thought she saw something crack in Hornet’s composure, a thread of warmth that hadn’t been there before.

She pushed it down quickly, smirk reasserting itself. “Well, if I’ve ruined you, at least you’ll be ruined in good company.”

Hornet’s eyes lingered on her a moment longer before she turned toward the door, red cloak trailing behind her.

“Come, then. If you are so intent on my company, best you keep pace.”

Lace rose with a spring in her step, more amused than she cared to admit. The walls around the spider were still firm, still braced tight. But for once, Lace felt she had brushed close enough to glimpse beyond them.

The bell home’s door shut softly behind them, the faint clink of Hornet’s needle settling against her back filling the silence. Lace drifted after her in easy steps, hands loosely clasped behind her, eyes flicking over every passing bug and detail as though she had all the time in the world.

“You always walk so stiffly,” Lace remarked after a few moments, voice lilting, amused. “Straight-backed, shoulders squared… like you’re marching into battle, even when it’s just a stroll through Bellhart.”

Hornet didn’t so much as tilt her head, though her tone was dry. “It is called posture. You should try it.”

“Oh, but mine is perfect,” Lace countered, giving a graceful spin mid-step, silk threads fluttering faintly as she moved. “Effortless, fluid. You look like you’re balancing a crown you don’t want anyone to see.”

Hornet’s mask turned just slightly toward her, eyes narrowing in silent warning. Lace only grinned wider.

They walked on, weaving through the morning bustle. A pair of beetles passed them with baskets of supplies, nodding respectfully to Hornet as they went. Lace leaned closer, dropping her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “Everyone here looks at you like you’re already their queen. All that bowing and nodding—don’t tell me you don’t enjoy it, even a little?”

“I do not,” Hornet answered flatly, though there was the faintest shift in her stride. “It is acknowledgement, not worship. And I would prefer they saved their reverence for the work, not the worker.”

Lace let out a theatrical sigh. “So humble, dear spider. Though, I must say, a crown would suit you. Red and silver, perhaps? With a veil for mystery—”

“Lace.” Hornet’s voice cut in like a blade, but there was no venom in it. Just firm dismissal.

“Fine, fine,” Lace relented, hands lifted in mock surrender. “No crowns. Not yet.”

They passed a group of younger bugs clustered around a small stall, laughing as they bartered for trinkets. Lace’s eyes lingered, thoughtful for a moment. “You know, you could try laughing like that. Loosen your mask, join in. Imagine it: Hornet, scourge of beasts and shadows, caught chuckling over a bauble.”

Hornet didn’t miss a step, her reply crisp. “Imagine harder, for that is the only place you will see it.”

Lace chuckled, shaking her head. “Ah, but you’re improving. Yesterday you would’ve ignored me outright. Today you actually answer. Progress.”

Hornet finally turned her gaze on her, steady and sharp as her needle. “If you call being worn down by your incessant chatter progress, then perhaps I have.”

That earned a triumphant grin from Lace. “Tainted, as you said. And it’s only the beginning.”

By then, the wish board came into view ahead, crowded with its slips of parchment swaying faintly in the breeze. Hornet exhaled softly, as though relieved for the interruption, and angled her steps toward it.

The wish board was a layered quilt of scraps tacked one over another, corners curling from the damp air. Hornet stopped before it, arms folding beneath her cloak as she began to read each one with quiet precision. Lace came to stand at her side, though her posture was far less serious—leaning in, head tilting, making a game of scanning the requests.

“‘Help needed repairing a collapsed roof,’” Lace read aloud, tapping a slip with a fingertip. “That sounds noble. Imagine you and I, perched atop some poor bug’s house, hammering away side by side. You with your… let me guess, impeccable posture, even while fixing shingles.”

Hornet didn’t glance at her. “My skills are not in carpentry.”

“Pity,” Lace mused, moving to the next note. “‘Escort for a supply run to the western ridge.’ Sounds more your style. Danger, long roads, the chance to frighten off a thief with your needle.” She paused, smirk tugging at her silk lips. “Or frighten your escort instead.”

That earned her the faintest sideward glance from Hornet. Not quite a glare, not quite amusement—somewhere between.

Lace kept reading. “‘Someone to accompany me for tea.’” She blinked, then burst out laughing, covering her mouth with one hand. “Oh, I love that. Imagine if you took this one. The warrior spider, sitting across from some lonely beetle, sipping tea and making polite chatter.”

Hornet shook her head once, firmly. “Frivolity.”

“I call it character growth,” Lace teased, sing-song.

Hornet’s eyes returned to the board. She skimmed past requests for guard duty, for delivery assistance, for help chasing pests from gardens. Then her gaze paused at one note, pinned with extra care:

‘Nectar house running low. Seeking berries for fermenting and draining. Urgent before next batch spoils.’

Without hesitation, Hornet tugged the slip free.

Lace’s brow arched as she leaned closer to read. Her grin crept wider. “Nectar? You?”

Hornet’s response was immediate, cool. “They requested aid. It matters not what for.”

“Oh, but it matters very much,” Lace countered, circling to face her. “The great Hornet, dignified and sharp, running errands for a tavern so bugs can drown themselves in sweet haze.” She let out a laugh, soft but incredulous. “I didn’t think you’d so much as set foot near such a place.”

Hornet slipped the parchment into her cloak, mask unmoving. “Bugs drink it. Therefore it sustains them. A need is a need.”

Lace tilted her head, studying her. “Spoken like a leader, or someone trying very hard not to admit she’s done it before.”

Hornet’s pitch eyes glimmered faintly beneath her mask, just enough to hint at the truth. “Perhaps… once or twice,” she murmured, voice soft, almost dismissive.

Lace’s jaw went slack for a moment. She stepped back, blinking, caught between surprise and intrigue. “What… what would that even be like? You, drinking nectar?” she giggled, more to herself than to Hornet. Her mind raced—images of the spider, untouchable and precise, letting herself fall into something ordinary, something domestic in its indulgence.

Hornet didn’t answer. She merely adjusted the slip of paper in her cloak and started walking, needle strapped neatly across her back, her posture firm and controlled as always. Lace fell into step behind her, eyes wide, still pondering the thought of Hornet letting herself… relax like that.

For the first time in a long while, Lace wondered not about the battles or the skill, but about the quiet, hidden moments—the parts of Hornet that no one else saw. And the curiosity was both thrilling and unnerving.

Chapter Text

The path from Bellhart into Shellwood wound forward in long, pale stretches, the stone smoothed by countless steps but broken in places by roots pushing through from above. Hornet walked at the front, posture tall, movements precise. Her stride was neither hurried nor relaxed; it carried a rhythm of vigilance, each step laid down with the quiet certainty of someone who knew the way and would not falter from it.

Yet beneath the familiar moss-and-mineral damp of Shellwood, her senses caught something faint. A trace, elusive, slipping in and out of the air like a half-remembered scent. She dismissed it at first, setting her jaw, refusing to let it slow her pace.

Lace followed a short distance behind, not quite close enough to touch the crimson hem of Hornet’s cloak. Her eyes darted over the architecture of the tunnels — the arched ceilings, ribbed like the inside of some great beast, the lines of moss glowing faintly in the dim. It was beautiful in its way, though there was an unease to it too, something in how the silence seemed to stretch and cling to the walls.

Neither of them spoke. Their footsteps were the only sound, Hornet’s a steady, measured cadence, Lace’s lighter, almost playful but never careless. After a time, the silence pressed in too tightly for Lace to keep it.

“You always walk like that?” she asked, voice carrying in a lazy echo. “Like you’re being watched.”

Hornet didn’t break stride. “Because one always is.”

That answer hung in the air longer than Lace expected, and she didn’t laugh at it. Her eyes narrowed faintly, a smirk tugging at her lips but not reaching her voice.

The path narrowed, stone walls pressing close, ridged with lines that could have been natural fractures — or something carved long ago. Lace’s hand twitched toward them, tracing without touching. Hornet’s voice cut through the hush, low but firm.

“Leave it.”

Lace’s smirk sharpened, though she drew her hand back. “Touchy.”

The tunnel sloped downward, the air dampening, rich with the smell of moss and faint decay. Beneath it, Hornet caught that other note again — faint, familiar, wrong. She tilted her head slightly, gaze scanning, though her pace never faltered.

Here the silence shifted. It wasn’t empty — it was waiting, like the pause between the strike of a bell and its echo.

A faint tremor whispered through the ground, barely enough to rattle the loose pebbles by the walls. Hornet’s stride did not falter, but the smallest turn of her head acknowledged it. Lace noticed and cocked her brow.

“...That normal?”

Hornet didn’t answer.

The corridor widened again, beams of pale light slicing through from cracks above, dust drifting in their path. Hornet passed beneath them in clean rhythm, her mask and cloak slipping in and out of shadow. Lace trailed in her wake, her grin dimmer now, her eyes darting more often to the dark at the edges of the tunnel.

“It’s too quiet,” Lace muttered under her breath, though she wasn’t sure if she meant for Hornet to hear.

Hornet gave a small hum in acknowledgment. She simply walked on, her crimson cloak brushing stone, her movements unwavering as though the silence itself were nothing to her. Yet deep within, she could not shake the ghost of that smell.

The tunnel spat them out into Shellwood’s main cavern, and the space yawned wide before them. The ceiling arched so high it vanished into shadow, dripping with moss and faint glimmers of bioluminescent lichen. A great pool stretched out from the cave’s center, its surface still and black, broken only by the faint ripple of dripping water from above. The air carried a faint tang of minerals, sharp against the tongue.

Lace slowed, staring at the scene. Across the water, stone ledges climbed the walls in sharp tiers, jagged and slick with moss. At the very top, barely visible, a narrow path seemed to snake upward into the higher reaches of Shellwood.

She cocked her head, letting out a short, incredulous laugh.
“And just how are we supposed to get up there? Swim across and hope for wings after?”

The spider almost gave a smirk. She stepped to the pool’s edge, scanned the walls once, then crouched. Without warning, she leapt — a clean arc, cloak slicing through the air as she landed on the first ledge. She pushed off again before Lace had even finished blinking. Stone to stone, higher and higher, until her silhouette was just a shadow against the cavern wall.

Lace gaped, then threw her arms out. “Oh, of course. Just jump like some bloody spider. Easy!”

She tried to mimic Hornet’s path, but her movements lacked the same precision. Her boots skidded on the moss, and she nearly pitched backward into the pool. She cursed, scrambling, nails biting into damp stone.

Hornet reappeared above her in an instant, landing lightly on a nearby ledge. Her mask caught the cavern’s glow, angled down at Lace with cool patience. Without a word, she crouched and extended her hand.

Lace hesitated — then grinned crookedly, gripping Hornet’s wrist. Hornet pulled her up with smooth strength, steadied her by the arm until Lace found her footing. The moment stretched just long enough for Lace to notice the faint heat of Hornet’s hand, the closeness of her mask, the stillness in her crimson cloak.

She laughed, breathless. “Well. You’ve got the legs for it, I’ll give you that.”

Hornet released her abruptly and turned, leaping upward again without reply. Lace shook her head, still grinning, and hurried to follow.

By the time they reached the cavern’s upper ledge, the pool below looked like a dark mirror. The silence pressed thicker here, broken suddenly by another tremor — this one stronger, a low vibration that hummed through the stone beneath their feet. Small pebbles rattled loose and skittered down the ledges, plinking faintly into the water below.

Hornet froze mid-step, her head tilting as she listened. Her hand hovered near her needle, her body held taut. For a breath, she looked almost… unsettled. That faint scent brushed the back of her mind again, almost mocking in its familiarity. Then the trembling faded, leaving the cavern silent again, too silent.

Lace opened her mouth, but Hornet had already moved on. Her gaze had caught something near the cave’s far wall — a patch of foliage clinging to a high crevice. Among the glossy leaves, faint clusters of berries glimmered pale, touched by the lichen’s glow.

Hornet’s stride shifted, intent.
“Those,” she said at last, voice low but firm. “They may serve for Nectar House. I must examine them.”

Lace squinted at the cluster, then at Hornet, then back again. “Risking your neck for berries. Not what I pictured from the great protector.”

But she followed her anyway, boots crunching over the ledge stone, the echo of her words fading quickly into the waiting dark.

Hornet slowed near the stone outcrop, her gaze flicking upward. A pale cluster of berries gleamed faintly where the roots clung to the ceiling. She lifted her chin toward them, then turned, her voice clipped but firm.

“Wait here.”

Before Lace could reply, Hornet leapt. Her ascent was all sharp lines and clean arcs, cloak trailing behind her like a crimson slash. She vaulted from root to stone, catching the smallest ledges without faltering, moving as though every foothold had been carved just for her. The higher she went, the quieter the cavern seemed to grow, until she vanished into shadow.

Lace tilted her head back, lips parting despite herself. For a moment she forgot to breathe, caught up in the fluidity of it — precise, measured, beautiful in its control. She only snapped out of it when Hornet dropped down again, landing without a sound, a small bundle of pale berries gathered in her claw.

“Here.”

Hornet crouched, turning them carefully in her hand. Her eyes lingered on their pale, waxy skins before she gave a short nod.
“They’re good.”

She tucked them neatly away, glancing at Lace only briefly.

“Mm.” Lace smirked, arms crossing. “So — Mae berries, then. Potent little things. You know, they make quite the… drink.” Her grin widened, playful. “You’re a bold one, little spider. Spirited. Must be how you keep yourself burning so bright.”

Hornet’s head tilted, unimpressed. “I haven’t had such nectar in a very long time. Do not assume me reckless.”

Lace laughed softly, a low hum in her throat. “Touched a nerve, did I?”

Hornet brushed past, unwilling to humor her further, though in the edge of her awareness the faint trace of that scent curled back, more insistent now.

The cavern narrowed before opening into a small chamber. Moss lit the walls in faint ripples of green, roots trailing from above like strands of silk. More berry patches clung to the higher reaches, faintly glowing in clusters.

Hornet eyed them, calculating, then vaulted cleanly up the first ledge. She hooked her claw into a crevice and swung herself higher, swift and efficient. Lace followed more loosely, laughter echoing once as she stumbled, then caught herself.

“Careful,” Hornet called down curtly.

“Careful?” Lace shot back, grinning. “I’m silk-made. I bounce.” She landed beside her with a light step, brushing dust from her cloak.

For a moment they moved in rhythm — Hornet’s needle-sure grace paired against Lace’s fluid, teasing mimicry. Back and forth across the stone, up and over ledges, pausing only to pluck another handful of berries, Hornet always testing their skins with a critical eye before stowing them away.

It almost felt easy.

..

Too easy.

Hornet landed on the cavern floor again, berries in hand, but this time she didn’t rise. Instead she froze, her mask tilting toward the shadows in the far corner. The air carried that faint trace again — stronger now, undeniable.

Her whole frame went taut.

But Lace, trailing at her side, didn’t catch the change. She twirled on her heel with a smug little grin, brushing dust from her silk-wrapped arms.
“Not bad vaulting for someone so serious,” she mused. “Do you practice looking that graceful, or does it just—”

Her words cut off in a startled gasp.

From the dark corner of the cavern, something lunged.

A blade — crude but swift — sliced through the air, aimed squarely for her.

Hornet was already moving.

Her claw closed around Lace’s wrist and tore her back with startling strength. The strike hissed past, close enough that Lace felt the air split against her cheek. She stumbled into Hornet, chest colliding against the spider’s shoulder as Hornet shoved her behind.

The crimson cloak flared as Hornet planted her feet, needle snapping up into guard. Her voice was sharp, cutting through the silence:

“Show yourself.”

The unseen figure shifted in the gloom, blade dragging faint sparks along the stone. Lace’s heart raced as the reality sank in — this wasn’t some harmless shadow, it was someone hunting.

Behind the weaver, Lace managed a shaky laugh, still masking nerves.
“Well… that’s one way to ruin a perfectly charming stroll.”

Hornet didn’t glance back. Her stance never wavered. The line of her needle gleamed steady and unyielding, a wall between Lace and whatever stirred in the dark.

The attacker lunged without pause, their blade shrieking against Hornet’s needle as the clash reverberated through the cavern. Sparks sprayed across the stone, the force of the impact driving Hornet back a step. She gritted her teeth and shoved forward, countering with a slicing arc that split the air in a crimson blur of cloak.

They circled, swift and merciless. Steel rang again and again, each strike echoing in Shellwood’s hollow gut. Dust trembled loose from the roots above, glittering faintly as it drifted down.

Lace stood frozen at the edge, her eyes wide, lips parted but voiceless. She could do nothing but watch as Hornet’s movements grew sharper, more furious — a dance of precision honed by survival. Yet still, the thought sank in like a stone: Hornet could leave. She was fast enough to vault away, vanish, and leave Lace cornered. Leave her to die to the blade of this stranger— Leave her to a fate she deserved. But every pivot, every step, kept Hornet between the attacker and the silk-born girl.

For once, Lace’s tongue failed her.

A sudden feint caught Hornet off guard — the stranger’s blade darted low before flashing upward. She twisted, barely avoiding a killing blow, but the edge skimmed her shoulder. Her breath hissed through her teeth as black bled into her cloak. She retaliated with brutal force, needle plunging forward, grazing her opponent’s side and tearing through chitin.

They both stumbled back, panting, red and black smearing across the stone.

The attacker let out a rasping laugh, low and guttural. “Still fighting… even after everything?”

Hornet’s chest rose and fell in sharp bursts, her claw tightening on her needle. She didn’t want to answer.

Then a third hand lashed out.

Claws closed tight around her throat, lifting her clear from the ground. Hornet gagged, claws flying to the arm that hoisted her up. Her needle quivered in her hand, threatening to slip free as she kicked violently against empty air.

The enemy stepped forward, dragging her closer into the pale glow. Hornet’s eyes widened.

A spider.
Her own kind.

The scent hit her in a wave — faint, muddied, but painfully familiar. Familiar from so many years ago. Something primal twisted in her chest. The scent had been following her all day– or rather her following it all day. How had she not known before?

Her struggles weakened as her lungs strained for air. The needle tumbled from her claws, striking stone with a ringing crack that echoed far too loud in Lace’s ears.

“Hornet—!”

Lace’s voice was raw now, panic snapping her into motion. She lunged forward, hands closing on the fallen weapon. The weight nearly dragged her down — heavier than she expected — but she gritted her teeth and lifted it anyway.

The spider’s claws dug deeper into Hornet’s throat. Her vision darkened, edges blurring. Her arms slackened, claws falling limp against the hold.

“No—” Lace gasped. Her chest burned with desperation, fury mixing with fear. With a cry torn straight from her gut, she drove the needle forward.

It plunged deep into the spider’s chest.

Their body arched violently, a wet gasp ripping from their throat. Blood gurgled over their mask as they staggered, grip tearing free of Hornet. She collapsed to the ground, coughing and dragging in ragged breaths, while the attacker clutched at the wound, staggering backward.

Their eyes flicked to Hornet, unfocused but piercing, a dim glow fading fast. Their voice was fractured, heavy with blood.
“Ah… you know.. you.. can’t save another.. o-one…”

They choked, a bitter laugh wheezing past their broken chest. Claws twitched once, then fell still. The body crumpled against the stone, mask dimming until nothing remained.

Silence crashed down, heavier than the battle.

Lace’s hands shook as she let the needle clatter from her grip. Her chest heaved, the weight of what she had done pressing down like a vice. She turned, heart in her throat, to where Hornet lay crumpled.

“Hornet?” Her voice cracked as she scrambled to her side, claw hovering, hesitant to touch. “Come on… answer me.”

Hornet’s eyes were shut, breaths shallow and uneven, her body slack.

Unconscious.

For the first time since they’d met, Hornet looked small — fragile, even.

Lace pressed a hand over her own chest, trying to steady the frantic beat of her heart. Whatever game this was, whatever dance she thought she’d been playing… it had ended here.

And now, for once, it was her turn to truly shield Hornet.

Chapter Text

Hornet startled awake with a sharp gasp.

Her body jolted upright as if pulled by a string, her claws snapping to her throat. Air tore into her lungs in frantic bursts, too shallow, too quick. The cave spun around her, shadows warping at the edges of her vision, every muscle coiled like she was still locked in that suffocating grip.

Her breath hitched — once, twice — teetering on the edge of a sob.

“Hey—” Lace’s voice cut through, calm but firm. “Breathe. You’re safe.”

Hornet flinched as Lace appeared at her side, silk hands hovering before daring to settle gently against her shoulders. The touch was tentative, not restraining but steady, like a tether pulling her back to the present.

“Look at me,” Lace murmured, softer now. “In… and out. They aren't here anymore. Just breathe.”

It took time. Far too long for Hornet’s pride to bear. But eventually, her breathing slowed, dragging from ragged gasps into something steadier. She dragged a claw down her mask, as though it might scrape away the phantom feel of the stranger’s grip. Her chest still heaved, but she was no longer drowning in her own lungs.

Silence pressed between them for a moment, the cavern too still.

Hornet’s gaze darted toward the place where the body should have been. Stone, roots, dust — nothing else. The corpse was gone, as if it had never been there at all. The spider grabbed her needle that had been set behind her- and strapped it to her back. A cold weight sank in her chest, but she forced herself to focus on Lace instead.

“How long…?” Her voice rasped, raw from strain.

Lace tilted her head, studying her with uncharacteristic patience. “A few hours. Not more.”

Hornet’s claws curled into her knees, shame flickering beneath her mask. Hours lost. Hours unconscious in the hands of another.

She pushed against the ground, trying to rise. Her limbs trembled, a hiss slipping between her teeth as pain flared in her shoulder where the blade had cut.

“Easy,” Lace said quickly, reaching out in reflex. Her tone carried no bite this time, no jest to hide behind — just concern. “You shouldn’t be moving yet.”

Hornet shook her head, stubborn even as her balance wavered. “We cannot lie idle. Not here.”

Her legs carried her halfway upright before faltering. Lace caught her elbow without hesitation, steadying her with a strength that belied her slender frame. For once she didn’t make a jab, didn’t twist the moment into mockery.

Her voice was low, even. “Then at least lean on me.”

Hornet’s mask tilted slightly toward her, unreadable. The offer was unexpected, and perhaps that unsettled her more than the fight had. But her body gave her no choice — her pride couldn’t change the trembling in her limbs. 

Slowly, she allowed Lace’s support, the weight shared between them.

For a fleeting moment, neither spoke. The silence was heavy, not empty — filled with the echoes of what had nearly been lost, and the things neither yet dared to say.

Hornet leaned against the cool stone wall as they moved, her steps still uneven. Her body obeyed, but her mind dragged behind, as if part of her were still trapped in that moment — claws at her throat, the rush of air cut short.

Lace hovered close, for once taking the lead. Her movements were measured, slower than usual, as if she feared rushing Hornet would topple her outright. The usual laughter was absent from her lips, her silken figure cutting a surprisingly steady path through the winding cavern.

Hornet forced herself to focus — to breathe, to draw her senses back from the haze. The tang of blood clung thick in her mouth, copper-sour and unmistakable. The smell of death lingered too, something she knew all too well.

They reached the cavern’s exit, the tunnel mouth spilling them out into the open chamber of Shellwood. From this height, the water stretched far below, black and rippling faintly in the dim light.

And there — faint, small against the vast expanse — drifted the body.

Curled up tight, limbs folded inward like a spider in death. Floating, lifeless, turning slowly with the water’s pull.

Hornet’s gaze lingered only a heartbeat. No words rose to her lips. No comment, no prayer. Only that bitter taste rising again, sharp and familiar. She looked away, cloak tightening around her shoulders.

She reached into one of the cloak’s hidden folds, claw brushing against the small bundle she had stowed away earlier. The berries. Pale and intact despite the fight. She turned them gently in her palm, studying their skins for bruises. To her surprise, they were unmarked.

A flicker of relief passed over her. Then practicality.

“We will need more.” Her voice was quiet but firm, breaking the silence for the first time since waking. “What I gathered is not enough to fulfill the wish.”

Lace slowed, glancing back over her shoulder. Her lips pressed together, the corners twitching — not in a smirk, but in reluctance.

“You just almost got strangled to death by one of your own kind,” she said, a sharp edge undercutting her calm tone. “And your first thought is to keep berry-picking?”

Hornet’s mask tilted toward her, unshaken. “The task does not vanish because danger rises.”

A sigh slipped from Lace, soft but exasperated. She dragged a hand across the silk threads that framed her face, looking at Hornet with something complicated in her expression. “You’re impossible.”

Her tone wasn’t mocking, though — just resigned. She knew she couldn’t stop Hornet, not even if she tried. And deep down, she wasn’t sure she wanted to.

Lace adjusted her grip on her cloak, falling back a step so they walked side by side again. “Fine,” she muttered. “But you’re not lifting a claw until I say you’re steady enough. If you collapse again, I’m not dragging your spindly frame out of another cave.”

Hornet’s stride steadied, her head held high despite the faint tremor in her steps. She didn’t reply, but the faintest hum of acknowledgement passed through her throat.

The path narrowed into a strip of stone no wider than Hornet’s own stance, crumbling at the edges and slick with old moisture. Their footsteps carried in hushed echoes, the silence of the cavern pressing close around them. Lace moved ahead without pause, balancing on the ledge with a dancer’s ease, arms slightly lifted for poise. Hornet followed, her cloak brushing faintly against the wall, its red folds damp at the edges.

She kept her stride steady, body precise, but her thoughts were elsewhere.

You know you can’t save another one.

The voice of the dying spider clung to her like cobwebs, words rasped with the faintest curl of triumph even as their lifeblood spilled across the cave floor. She could still see their eyes, glassy yet sharp, the faint twist of their mouth as if the truth they carried was more important than their life itself.

Her jaw tightened.
What had they meant?

Her steps faltered for just a beat before she steadied herself again. The echo of those words pressed against a deeper place in her, stirring the bitter recognition of failure—of something she did not wish to name. Her lungs felt tight, as though she still fought for breath against the grip of that claw at her throat.

She pressed forward. The cave left no room for hesitation.

When Lace stopped abruptly, Hornet nearly clipped her heel. She caught herself just in time, cloak swinging forward with the sudden halt. Lace raised an arm, finger pointing upward to a narrow ledge overhead where a patch of berries clung stubbornly in the rock’s creases, their skins dark and ripe despite the thin air.

Hornet’s focus sharpened. She shifted her weight, muscles coiling in readiness. One leap and she would have them—quick, efficient, done.

But before she could spring, Lace turned, one hand catching Hornet by the forearm. “Hold.” Her tone was even, not mocking this time, but firm.

Hornet’s head snapped toward her, a sharp retort already rising in her throat. It was instinct to cut, to reassert her will: Do not command me. Do not slow me. The words pressed hard against her tongue, but she forced them back, breathing them down into the tightness of her chest.

Her mouth stayed locked.

The silence stretched taut between them. Then, slowly, Hornet inclined her head, a clipped nod. The gesture cost her more than she liked to admit.

Lace wasted no more words. She adjusted her footing and began the climb. Without cloak or protection, she moved with surprising confidence, silk-threaded limbs curling into small cracks and edges, pulling herself higher. Dust rained down in faint trickles as she went, the ledge creaking faintly under her grasp.

Hornet stood below, cloak brushing her boots, needle tilted loosely in her grip. She kept her gaze lifted, eyes following Lace’s ascent, but her thoughts drifted despite herself.

You know you can’t save another one.

The words pressed deeper this time, bitter in her mouth, almost metallic, like the air after a battle. Her grip on her needle twitched, the weight of memory heavier than the cavern stone. She wondered—if she had hesitated a breath longer, would Lace’s body now be lying still instead of the other’s in the water below?

Her jaw clenched. No. She forced the thought aside, watching as Lace reached the lip of stone, her fingers plucking carefully through the patch for berries unspoiled by rot.

Hornet said nothing. She did not need to.

Lace climbed down with delicate grace, though something about the way she moved set Hornet’s teeth on edge. Too measured. Too slow. Each placement of her limb against stone carried the faintest squeak of silk, like threads straining under weight.

When she landed, she did not look at Hornet at first. Instead, she cradled the berries close to her chest, her head bowed as if in prayer. Then she lifted them up, extending her hands toward Hornet in offering.

“Take them,” she whispered.

Hornet obeyed, reaching out. But when their fingers brushed, a spark of wanted warmth jolted through her— yet it was sharp, invasive. She flinched hard, nearly spilling the berries as she snatched her hand away. The fruit rolled into her cloak pocket, soft against the fabric, yet the touch lingered on her skin like a brand.

Her pulse leapt.

Lace. Too much like Lace. Yet every fiber in her screamed wrong.

Lace’s head tilted at Hornet’s reaction, slowly, like a doll whose strings had been pulled. A faint smile pulled at her lips—crooked, wrong-angled, the expression carved instead of lived.

Her voice came low, threaded with something that did not belong to her. “Wrong, yes. You can feel it, can’t you? You always could.”

Hornet’s throat went dry.

Lace turned her gaze downward, muttering words so faint Hornet almost didn’t catch them. “You try and try. But you know…” Her tone thickened, twisting until it rasped with the echo of another voice. The dying spider’s voice. “…you can’t save another one.”

The words hollowed the air. Hornet’s heart lurched, her claws curling tight against her palms.

Then the seams began to split.

It started at her jaw—a subtle crack, silk fibers parting at the corner of her mouth. Then along her arms, her chest, her torso, her silk body tearing in jagged, hungry lines. The sound was soft at first, like thread pulled taut. Then came the ripping, the wet snap of fibers breaking under pressure.

Hornet staggered back.

Lace’s head jerked too far to one side, her neck bending at an unnatural angle. Her smile widened, splitting her cheeks until the expression nearly reached her eyes- threads writhing beneath like veins. Her eyes dulled to pale glass, yet burned with a flicker of knowing.

From the open seams crawled movement. Dozens of legs. Skittering, twitching, clawing. Small black weaverlings forced their way through her hollowing frame, pressing against the cracks until the silk gave way entirely. They poured from her chest, her arms, her stomach—tiny bodies writhing over one another in a flood. The air filled with their sound, a chorus of legs tapping against stone.

Hornet’s needle slid into her hand, her body coiling in instinct. Yet her feet would not move.

Lace raised her hands, palms open, as though in supplication. The weaverlings swarmed over them, dangling from the splits in her body like grotesque ornaments.

“Run, Princess,” she crooned, her voice fractured, doubled, layered with something deeper and hungrier. “Run, before they eat you alive.”

Hornet’s chest clenched.

The weaverlings swarmed closer, spilling across the ground, their skittering building into a deafening storm. Lace stepped toward her, her frame tearing further with each movement, silk unraveling in grotesque waves.

Her head twitched again, the warped smile twitching wider as she leaned close enough that Hornet could feel the reek of her breath.

“Run…” The voice cracked, splitting into a shriek and a whisper all at once. Her face contorted, jaw unhinging too far, threads snapping as her mouth gaped unnaturally wide.

“Run—before you become a beast like her.”

The weaverlings surged, rising like a tide of claws and silk. Hornet screamed, needle flashing upward—

—and her eyes snapped open.

The cave returned at once, heavy and still. Her lungs heaved, sharp gasps tearing from her throat. The bloodstained stone was quiet, the air stagnant.

No Lace warped, no weaverlings.

Only Lace, lying peacefully a short distance away, curled as though in a child’s sleep. The faint rise and fall of her chest was steady, serene.

But the taste of dread lingered, bitter in Hornet’s mouth.

And the body from before… it was still gone.

Chapter Text

Hornet sat upright against the cave wall, cloak pulled tightly around her shoulders, the edges brushing against the stone floor. The memory of the nightmare clung to her like a second web—every image, every word from Lace’s warped voice replaying in her mind. Her fingers tightened against her knees, claws pressing faint scratches into her own chitin, grounding herself in the physicality of the cave.

Slowly, almost reluctantly, she lifted her gaze toward the opening of the cavern. The ledge fell away sharply, the black water below rippling faintly in the dim light.

And there it was.

The body. Curled, arms and legs folded inward in the exact same position she had seen in her dream. Her stomach tightened, a coil of ice and dread crawling up her spine. The resemblance was uncanny—terrifyingly precise—as if her nightmare had reached into reality and planted the image there for her alone to see.

Hornet’s breath caught in her throat. The coppery tang of dried blood in the air mixed with the faint, almost sweet scent of decay from the water, a bitter reminder of what had already passed. Her claws flexed against the stone, pulling her needle from its sheath. The metal felt cool, steadying her against the flash of panic rising in her chest.

She moved to a low crouch, positioning herself between the ledge and Lace, needle held ready but relaxed enough not to endanger the girl beside her. Her senses strained, searching the cavern for any sign of movement, any hint that the nightmare might not be finished. The hours stretched slowly, the silence of the cave oppressive, yet Hornet stayed alert, every instinct sharp, every breath measured.

Lace slept on, undisturbed, and Hornet felt a flicker of warmth toward the silk-born figure. Protective. Determined. Even the lingering dread from her dream could not break that focus. She would not allow anything to touch Lace while she watched, not here, not now.

Her gaze drifted back to the quiet opening of the cavern. The stillness of it was almost hypnotic, mirrored so precisely from the dream that Hornet’s mind wavered between disbelief and terror. She clenched her jaw, forcing herself to breathe, forcing herself to anchor herself in the reality of the cave.

The hours passed in heavy, silent tension. Hornet remained crouched, needle ready, cloak wrapped tightly, watching over Lace and the water below. The dream’s echo haunted her, but she would not let it overtake her judgment. Not while she could guard. Not while she could protect.

Finally, a subtle shift beside her signaled life stirring. Hornet’s eyes flicked toward Lace as she blinked awake, stretching her arms, yawning softly. Hornet’s needle stayed in hand, body still taut and ready, but her eyes softened just slightly.

Hornet’s grip on her needle relaxed just slightly as Lace stirred beside her, blinking against the dim light of the cave. Her voice was soft, still thick with sleep.

“You’re… up,” Lace murmured, a faint smile tugging at her lips. “And looking… reasonably functional. That’s good.”

Hornet let the tiniest hint of amusement pass, a subtle nod. “I am. And you?” Her voice was careful, quiet, but steady.

Lace yawned, stretching lazily onto her side to face Hornet. “I’m alive. Mostly intact. Could be worse,” she said, voice half-joking, half-serious. Her fingers traced absent-minded patterns on the stone floor. “Though I still think we should find somewhere warmer. My legs are cold, and I’m not about to pretend I don’t notice it.”

Hornet’s jaw twitched, a faint trace of humor threading through her tension. She didn’t reply, only allowed herself a fraction of relaxation as Lace rolled onto her stomach, arms tucked beneath her head.

After a few moments, Lace lifted herself slightly, voice quiet. “You know… Bellhart’s going to be very pleased when we bring back more of those berries. The nectar there is… well, it’s more than just helpful.” She let out a soft chuckle, brushing dust from her arms. “Strong stuff, I hear. Might be enough to make even the dullest of nights worth it.”

Hornet’s eyes flicked toward the cave mouth, the black water below. She considered, then slowly inclined her head. “Yes. Bellhart will want it. We should get the remaining berries while we can.”

Lace sat up fully now, brushing the damp stone from her legs. “Good. Lead the way,” she said, voice easy, stretching her arms above her head. “I’ll try not to trip over anything this time.”

Hornet allowed herself a faint smile in return, the edges of her cloak brushing lightly against the stone as she rose. Needle remained loose in her grip, ready but relaxed. She moved first, surveying the cave carefully, senses attuned to every shadow and echo. Lace followed closely, stepping lightly, occasionally tilting her head to observe the way the faint light caught on the stone or how moss clung stubbornly to the walls. They wasted no time to exit the cave.

“You know,” Lace said after a few steps, voice carrying just above a whisper, “this place isn’t half bad. If you squint, it almost looks… cozy. In a creepy, moldy kind of way.”

Hornet’s lips twitched, a small exhale escaping. “Cozy is… subjective.”

They continued along the ledges toward the patches of berries, moving carefully. Hornet’s gaze flicked to the black water below only once, noting its stillness, then returned to the path ahead. Lace moved with steady confidence, occasionally pointing out a small cluster of moss or a particularly tricky ledge.

They moved steadily through the winding stretches of Shellwood, ledges giving way to small outcroppings and patches of mossy stone. The light shifted faintly as hours passed, thin beams filtering down from cracks above. Along the way, they came across clusters of shrubs, their branches heavy with ripe berries of varying colors—deep purples, reds, and soft yellows.

Hornet reached carefully, plucking the fruit with precision, letting a few fall harmlessly if they were overripe. Lace followed, filling her own small pouches, occasionally teasing Hornet with playful commentary. “You’re far too careful,” she said with a grin, “it’s just berries, not a treasure chest.”

Hornet didn’t reply, only allowed herself the faintest twitch of amusement before returning to her task. Their movements were quiet, efficient, yet not hurried. Each patch of berries they passed, they collected what they could, their pouches gradually filling.

The sound of their footsteps echoed softly across the forest floor, mingling with the distant rustle of unseen creatures and the faint drip of water from above. The day waned gently, light fading gradually, but neither spoke much—words felt unnecessary, the rhythm of collecting and moving enough to fill the space between them.

By the time they began retracing their steps toward Bellhart, their pockets were heavy with berries, a small harvest of the forest’s hidden bounty. The transition from cave to open Shellwood, from tense wakefulness to steady task, marked the slow passage of hours as they moved together through the quiet, sprawling woods.

—----

Hornet and Lace pushed open the heavy doors to the nectar house, the soft creak echoing in the warm, dimly lit interior. The scent of fermenting fruit hit them immediately—sweet, sharp, and heady—mixed with the faint tang of nectar and the warm, musky air of the busy establishment. Sunlight slanted through high windows, catching motes of dust that drifted lazily above the polished wooden counters.

The large beetle behind the bar, Mowa, looked up with a faint click of his mandibles, antennae twitching as he registered their arrival. His polished carapace gleamed under the lantern light. “Back so soon?” he rumbled, voice low but welcoming.

Hornet stepped forward, shoulders straight, bearing the pouches of berries like a soldier carrying spoils of war. “Mowa,” she said, voice steady. “We have brought a harvest.”

Mowa leaned in, antennae flicking over the fruit, inspecting the colors and textures carefully. “A harvest, huh? Let’s see what you’ve gathered.”

Together, Hornet and Lace set the berries down on the counter, small piles of red, purple, and golden fruit forming a patchwork of abundance. Lace’s smaller hands lingered over the clusters, brushing lightly over the smooth skins as if admiring their vibrancy.

“Look at these,” Lace said, a soft grin spreading. “Perfectly ripe. You can almost taste the nectar already.”

Mowa hummed in approval, clicking his mandibles in a sound that could have been a smile. “Not bad at all. These will ferment beautifully. Plenty for Bellhart, and more than enough to spare.”

Hornet gave a curt nod. “We aimed for quality over quantity, though we collected a fair amount as well.”

Lace leaned lightly on the counter, her arms crossed, her expression playful. “We made a good haul, didn’t we? I’d say this is our best day together yet.”

Mowa’s gaze swept over the berries, then to the two of them. “Indeed. And because you’ve done such a fine job, I think the house owes you a favor.” He tilted slightly, antennae flicking as his mandibles clicked in amusement. “A night on the house. Drinks—however many you want. All of them. You’ve earned it.”

Before Hornet could respond, Lace’s grin widened, her eyes sparkling with delight. “Well, that’s settled then!” she exclaimed, reaching for the nearest mug. “I call first sip.”

Hornet’s jaw tightened, a faint crease appearing between her brows. She opened her mouth to decline, to remind Mowa they weren’t here for frivolities, but Lace had already slid a mug down the counter, laughter spilling over into the quiet hum of the room.

Hornet let her voice remain silent, only shifting slightly to stand behind Lace, cloak brushing her legs, needle still sheathed at her back but ready. She watched as Lace spoke with Mowa about the berries, the fermentation process, and the strong nectar they would produce. Each word Lace spoke carried the faintest note of mischief, teasing Hornet with the casual ease of someone who knew how to enjoy life, even briefly.

“Don’t let the free drinks go to your head,” Hornet said softly, almost a whisper.

Lace’s grin turned toward her, eyes bright. “Oh, don’t worry. I won’t—too much. Besides, you should join me.”

Hornet merely tilted her head, cloak shifting, taking a small step closer to the bar. Her senses remained alert, noting the soft clatter of mugs, the low hum of conversation, the faint sweet tang of fermentation in the air. Everything felt safe, warm, almost ordinary—but the edge of vigilance never fully left her.

Mowa chuckled, a deep, rolling sound, and placed a second mug in front of Hornet. “You’ll join, I suppose? You’ve earned it too, even if you don’t like it.”

Hornet’s lips twitched faintly. She didn’t take the mug immediately, letting the moment stretch, observing the flickering lanterns and the steady movement of patrons around them. The cave and Shellwood, the danger and the nightmare—they felt far away in this warm, lively space.

Lace raised her mug, glancing at Hornet with a playful smirk. “To berries, to nights off, and to the best collection in Bellhart!”

Hornet allowed herself a slow exhale and finally lifted her mug, the faintest of smiles tugging at her mouth. She did not drink yet, only acknowledged the gesture, letting the warmth of the moment sink in. For once, the long day and lingering dread felt distant, and even Hornet could almost relax—at least for now.

The night stretched before them, full of warmth, chatter, and possibilities, and it was clear that the night was well lived.

Chapter Text

Hornet woke first.

A dull roar of pain pressed behind her mask, a steady pounding that seemed to keep time with her own heartbeat. She groaned, dragging a hand across her brow as if she could scrape the ache away. Her head felt thick, heavy, each thought sluggish as it dragged itself to the surface. Nectar—too much nectar. That was the only explanation.

She pushed herself upright, every movement deliberate, and the weight around her waist shifted. Hornet froze, eyes darting down. Lace. The construct was draped over her like a silken net, limbs loosely entangled with hers, clinging as though Hornet were nothing more than a pillow. Her breathing was slow, her face calm, entirely at peace.

Hornet sat still, watching for a long, uncomfortable moment. She hardly remembered what had happened after the second—or was it the third?—cup of nectar. Her memory fractured into blurs: Lace trying to scale the counter and declaring herself the “star performer,” Mowa’s booming laugh somewhere behind them, the taste of sharp sweetness on her tongue again and again. And then… nothing.

She blinked.

This wasn’t the nectar house.

The beams overhead were her own, the smell of moss-wood faint in the air, the soft murmur of Bell Heart outside filtering through the shutters. Her cloak peg stood by the door. The few belongings she kept neat and orderly in the corner had not been touched. This was her Bell House. Her den. Somehow, in her haze, they had made it back.

But she had no memory of the walk here.

Her claws curled tight against the blanket. To lose track of her own steps… to have to assume that Mowa or one of the attendants had guided them back when she became too far gone to resist. Shame bit sharper than the headache.

Careful, quiet, she disentangled herself from Lace’s limbs. The smaller bug murmured in her sleep, shifting, but did not wake. Hornet drew back, standing slowly, letting her gaze sweep across the room as if to assure herself nothing had changed while she had been… unmoored.

Her cloak was not where it belonged. Not over her shoulders, not folded on its peg. It hung instead across the back of a chair, thrown carelessly, one edge brushing the floorboards. Hornet stiffened.

More regret, sharper now. She snatched it up and wrapped it back around herself, needing the familiar weight. But no sooner had it settled against her frame than a wave of nausea twisted her insides, nearly buckling her knees. She gritted her teeth, one hand braced against the chair, and forced herself to breathe through it until the sickness ebbed.

She had not indulged like this in years. And this—this was why. Nectar loosened her vigilance, stripped away the clarity she prided herself on. For one night she had laughed, she remembered that much—laughter that had sounded alien in her throat. But now the morning had come, and with it the reminder of why she did not allow herself such carelessness.

Hornet’s gaze shifted toward Lace again. She was still sprawled in the bedding, limbs splayed with none of the grace she liked to pretend she carried, breathing evenly. Peaceful. Oblivious.

Hornet’s mandibles pressed together. She pulled her cloak tighter around herself, spine straightening. Whatever had happened last night, however they had stumbled back here, she would endure the morning.

A rustle behind her broke the silence.

Hornet stiffened, turning sharply. Lace had rolled onto her side, one arm curling over her abdomen as she groaned low, her silk form folding in on itself like she was trying to hide from the daylight sneaking through the shutters.

“Ugh… why does the ceiling feel like it’s spinning?” Lace muttered, her voice hoarse and thick with sleep. She let out another groan and draped an arm dramatically over her face.

Hornet blinked, her pulse jumping. She had been so certain the construct was still asleep—silent, motionless, spun up in her strange mimicry of rest. The sound of Lace’s voice, sudden in the quiet, startled her more than she cared to admit.

“You’re awake,” Hornet said stiffly, her tone meant to sound calm but edged with that faint catch from being caught off-guard.

“Mhm,” Lace hummed, slowly lowering her arm from her face. Her single, tired eye blinked open, glassy from nectar’s cruel aftermath. She smirked weakly. “Don’t sound so shocked. Did you think I’d stay like that forever?”

Hornet exhaled through her mask, willing her heartbeat to slow. “You were… still. I assumed—” She cut herself short, shaking her head. “It does not matter.”

Lace shifted, pushing herself upright with slow, clumsy movements. Every gesture looked like it tugged against invisible threads. She winced and pressed a palm to her temple. “Oh, I regret standing up,” she groaned, then let out a laugh that turned into another groan. “But not the nectar. Definitely not the nectar.”

Hornet’s mandibles twitched. She remained where she stood, cloak drawn close, her gaze stern. “You should regret both.”

“Maybe you should regret less,” Lace shot back, her voice softer than usual, though still carrying her teasing lilt. She tilted her head slightly, looking up at Hornet. “I remember you laughing.”

Hornet froze. Her claws flexed against the hem of her cloak. “You misremember,” she said quickly, too quickly.

Lace chuckled under her breath, though the sound cracked as if the headache bit through it. “No. Clear as crystal in my head. A little slurred maybe, but—gods, Hornet. You sounded… alive. Free.” She let her words trail off, but a faint smile tugged at her lips, unguarded and warm.

Hornet’s throat tightened. She turned her face toward the window instead, letting silence fall between them.

For Lace, the memory replayed like a soft ember warming her fogged mind. Hornet’s laughter—sharp and rare, unexpected as sunlight through a break in clouds. It sparked something she couldn’t quite name, but she clung to it even as her body groaned from too much nectar.

“…You don’t remember much, do you?” Lace asked finally, tilting her head, still half-draped over the bed.

Hornet adjusted her cloak and exhaled slowly. “Only enough,” she replied, her voice clipped but not unkind.

Hornet’s claws pressed against the back of her neck, her crimson cloak drawn close as if it might shield her from the lingering shame Lace’s words stirred. “Surely,” she muttered, “I could not have behaved in such a ridiculous manner. I recall… fragments, at best. But not enough to justify what you claim.”

Lace, propped halfway upright with her thin silken limbs bracing her against the bedding, let out a low chuckle that quickly turned into a groan as her head ached. “Oh no, dear princess, you most certainly did. You laughed. Full and unguarded.” Her voice was hoarse but tinged with airy mirth. “I’d call it divine, had you not followed it up with an attempt to… what was it again?” She tipped her head back, blank white eyes narrowing in false thought. “Ah, yes. Dance.”

Hornet spun to her with such alarm that Lace had to raise a silken hand over her mouth to hide a grin. “I did not.”

“You most certainly did.” Lace’s grin widened, though she angled her head aside to keep Hornet from seeing how uncomfortably warm that memory left her. There was something she had never expected to feel—the sight of Hornet so… loose and lively, and it lingered in Lace’s woven chest.

Hornet folded her arms tight, cheeks heating beneath her composure. “Nectar clouds the mind, distorts the senses. I would not…” She trailed off, hissing softly. “Dancing, indeed. Unthinkable.”

“Unthinkable? Hardly.” Lace leaned forward slightly, silk threads in her frame flexing with subtle creaks. “You moved with a certain grace even while stumbling. I daresay you were… charming.”

Hornet shot her a sharp look, unsure whether it was meant as insult or compliment. The flicker of disbelief in her eyes almost made Lace laugh again. Almost. She pressed it down, letting that strange fondness buzz through her instead.

“And,” Hornet countered swiftly, “I recall you attempting to sing.” Her mandibles twitched, betraying a hint of reluctant humor. “Off-key, slurred. Quite the performance.”

Lace only spread her hands in smugness, her silk-woven body shifting with a faint ripple of threads. “And I remember every note. I had a marvelous time, thank you.” Her grin sharpened. “I’ll have you know, silk carries resonance beautifully. Perhaps I should have sung louder.”

Hornet groaned, dragging a claw down her face. “Spare me.”

“Oh, don’t look so cross.” Lace tilted her head in that foxlike way, her white eyes gleaming. “You were radiant, you know. I don’t regret a thing.”

Hornet froze, her breath caught on the edge of her chest. Lace felt it then—that strange tightening in her frame, threads drawing taut with something she refused to name. Warmth pooled where no true heart beat. She buried it beneath her grin, airy and mocking.

“Perhaps,” she went on, “I should keep singing for you. See if I can coax that laugh out again.”

Hornet’s glare sharpened, but the faint color in her face betrayed her. “You will not.”

“Oh, but I will. You see, princess, unlike you, I hold no shame for joy. No regrets.” Lace’s grin faltered just enough to betray the truth behind her words—a fondness she wasn’t ready to reveal.

Lace shifted, one of her long silken arms curling around her middle as she leaned forward with the faintest creak of threads. “Oh, but we’ve hardly scratched the surface, princess. There was also the matter of you trying to—”

“No.” Hornet’s voice snapped out faster than she meant, her hand rising as if she could physically cut the words off. She drew a deep breath, collecting herself, her mask tilting away so Lace couldn’t read the faint color blooming at her cheeks. “Enough of that. We are not revisiting last night’s… excesses.”

Lace’s grin widened, knowing victory when she saw it, but she let the silence fall.

Hornet smoothed her cloak across her shoulders, trying to reassert the air of composure she always carried. “What we should do,” she said firmly, “is take it easy today. Neither of us is fit for much else.” Her claws brushed against her temple, the dull ache still gnawing behind her mask. “I… could use the reprieve.” The admission left her lips reluctantly, low enough that Lace might have missed it had she not been listening.

For once, Lace didn’t tease. Instead, she tilted her head back against the wall, threads in her frame settling with a sound like taut strands loosening. “An off day,” she murmured. “How novel of you.”

Hornet ignored the remark, her focus already shifting as she turned toward the small kitchen nook carved into the side of the bell-house. It wasn’t much—a shelf of jars, a battered pan, a stack of small wooden bowls—but it would suffice. The red of her cloak trailed across the floor as she stepped lightly, though each motion seemed weighted, slowed by the nausea coiling in her chest.

She opened one of the cupboards, claws brushing against stored roots and dried herbs, before pulling a jar into the light. A sharp pang rolled through her stomach at the thought of food, but she pushed it down with the same stubbornness she wielded in battle.

“Something simple,” she muttered to herself. “Something we can both stomach.”

From behind, Lace let out a low hum, her voice playful again though quieter, softened by the lingering haze of her own headache. “Ah, so the mighty Hornet will cook for me again? What fortune I’ve stumbled into.”

Hornet didn’t look back, but her shoulders tensed faintly. “Think of it as survival, not fortune.” She set the jar on the counter and braced herself against the edge, steadying her balance as another wave of dizziness threatened to overtake her. Her claws gripped hard, knuckles pale beneath the tension, but she stood firm.

“At least make sure it’s cooked this time, hm?” Lace mused, her voice light and teasing.

Hornet’s mandibles clicked. “Do not test my patience.” She bent to retrieve a small pan, preparing to heat the meal properly. A faint smell of roasted roots and soft spices began to fill the air. She worked in silence, methodical and deliberate, occasionally glancing toward Lace, who was perched lightly on the edge of the bed.

Minutes passed slowly, each sound—the clatter of the pan, the hum of a waking Bell Heart outside, Lace’s soft shifting threads—building the quiet, lived-in weight of the morning. Finally, Hornet plated their meals and, after a moment of hesitation, set them on a small tray.

Lace tilted her head, silk-form stretching slightly, “We take this to the bed, yes? Sitting here is far too… dull.”

Hornet hesitated, fingers curling around the tray. Then, with a sigh that was almost defeated in its resignation, she nodded. “If it must be so. But only for efficiency.”

They moved together to the bed, Hornet carefully balancing the tray while Lace shifted to make room. Hornet set the plates down, and for a quiet moment, they ate in companionable silence, the hum of the morning carrying them gently into the day. The shared space, the simple act of feeding and being fed, held a softness neither had expected.

And for the first time since the haze of last night, Hornet allowed herself to linger in it, the weight of the cloak, the warmth of the room, and the presence of Lace grounding her more than she could have admitted.

Chapter Text

A few days had passed since the haze of nectar and laughter in Nectar House, and the world had shifted beneath Hornet’s claws. The air was cooler here, thick with the mossy scent of Far Fields, the rolling expanse of green shadows stretching farther than the eye could see. Hornet and Lace moved in tandem, bodies coiled, senses sharp, each step measured as they advanced across uneven tufts of moss and scattered rocks.

The creature before them was immense, its back arched like a jagged ridge, scales glinting faintly in the dim light that filtered through the low-hanging canopy of moss. Hornet’s needle struck, a flash of silver against chitin, and the creature recoiled with a hiss that sent vibrations through the soft earth. Lace’s silken limbs danced around it, striking precise, controlled blows that drew out short, angry snarls.

For minutes that felt like hours, they battled. Each lunge, each parry, was a careful negotiation between predator and predator. Hornet’s legs dug into the moss, claws hooking against hidden roots to maintain balance, silk threads taut across her form as she maneuvered, anticipating the creature’s next strike. Lace spun and lunged, her artificial body flexing with impossible precision, weaving around the creature’s attacks with a fluidity only a being of silk could manage.

The moss beneath them squished and gave under every movement, tiny stones dislodging and rolling as the creature pivoted, horns scraping against the ground. Hornet caught the faint tremor beneath her legs, a subtle vibration that she initially ignored as part of the creature’s weight and the rhythm of battle. But as the fight dragged on, the pulse underfoot grew more insistent, almost alive, thrumming through her body with an ominous insistence.

The creature lashed out, forcing Hornet to leap back, needle clattering against stone, claws scrabbling for purchase. Lace struck again, a glancing blow that left a shallow scratch across the creature’s flank, and for a moment, it faltered. Hornet pressed the attack, every movement precise, eyes darting for an opening. Their rhythm was flawless, practiced over countless encounters, yet something in the air began to gnaw at Hornet’s focus.

A sound first faint, almost lost to the wind, drew her gaze skyward. A high, piercing shriek threaded through the moss-laden fields, ethereal yet impossibly sharp. Hornet’s body stiffened mid-lunge, her needle frozen in the air. Lace faltered, silk threads rippling with tension, her movements stilled as her eyes widened.

The creature froze as well, nostrils flaring, claws digging into the earth, but before Hornet or Lace could react further, the shriek returned, louder now, all-encompassing. It was a sound that should not exist in the natural world—whispering yet deafening, shrill yet heavy, pressing down through the moss, through the soft earth, into their very limbs.

The ground trembled beneath them, subtle at first, then growing into irregular quakes that sent clods of moss flying. Hornet’s claws flexed, tightening against the soil, needle raised instinctively, yet even she sensed the futility of attacking the invisible source.

The massive creature, confident a moment ago, now reared back in terror, eyes wide, and without hesitation, fled. Hornet barely registered its retreat, the sound of its claws churning the moss fading into the distance. Lace froze as she tracked its departure, silk threads vibrating faintly in response to the unearthly pulse in the air.

Hornet’s gaze swept the shadowed green fields, searching for any sign of what could have caused the scream. There was nothing—no shape, no silhouette, only the lingering echo, twisting and pressing against her mind. The tremors continued, irregular, heavy, like the fields themselves were thrumming with warning.

Her claws dug into the moss, silk tightening over her limbs. Hornet’s senses screamed at her: something vast, incomprehensible, and terrifying was coming. Lace mirrored her pause, moving only slightly, a tension in her artificial form as though even she could feel the oppressive weight that now blanketed the fields.

The artificial bug exhaled slowly, though every fiber of her being remained on alert. “Did you hear that?” she murmured, voice low and cautious, carrying the urgency of unspoken warning.

Hornet’s eyes scanned the rolling moss, every shadow and tuft of green flicking across her vision. “It’s… not natural,” she murmured, her voice tight, almost reverent in fear. “There is no creature… nothing alive that could make that sound.”

The spider’s gaze hardened, needle still poised, legs coiled like springs. The tremors grew, small clods of moss and soil floating in the air with each shudder. Her mandibles pressed together, a rare flicker of unease in her expression. Whatever had passed over them, whatever had screamed, was larger than anything she had ever faced.

And beneath it all, the aftershocks rolled like the echo of a heartbeat too vast to comprehend. Hornet’s mind traced the vibrations, connecting them to the shriek that had silenced the battlefield. Something immense, something terrible, was approaching. That thought was eventually what convinced them to return to Bellhart.

—

The air in Deep Docks shimmered with heat, rising in lazy, oppressive waves off the rivers of molten rock that snaked between blackened cliffs. Hornet’s claws clicked against the jagged stones as she led the way, each step deliberate, calculated. The heat pressed against her exoskeleton, but she barely registered it; her focus was entirely on the path ahead. The jagged rocks and molten rivers made the journey precarious, but the Bellway lay just beyond the next ledge—a station littered with bells of all shapes and sizes, their metallic surfaces gleaming dully in the faint glow of the lava.

Lace’s silk form followed fluidly, her threads shifting with every movement, keeping her balanced atop the uneven, glowing rock. She moved lightly, almost floating across the heat-baked stones, but her pale eyes flicked constantly over the molten channels, catching the faintest vibrations in the rock. “The heat’s worse than I imagined last time I was down here,” she murmured, voice low, almost lost in the hiss of molten flows. “But I suppose it’s nothing for you.”

Hornet’s gaze didn’t waver from the path. Her legs flexed to steady her, claws digging into the uneven stone. “I tolerate heat better than most,” she replied, voice clipped, though not unkind. “Focus on the footing. The station is up ahead.”

The Bellway rose before them, a metallic maze littered with hanging bells of every size, some small enough to fit in a claw, others massive, their weights straining the rafters that held them aloft. Hornet wasted no time to call out the Beast’s name. Normally, the station would thrum with vibration the moment Eira approached, the sound and tremor of her enormous leap reverberating through the stone floor, signaling her imminent arrival.

But today there was nothing.

Hornet paused at the edge of the platform, needle raised instinctively. Her gaze swept over the shadows beneath the massive bells, over the molten glows that reflected faintly on the metal, and even over the distant reaches of the docks. Nothing moved. No quiver of stone, no low rumble, no clanging of bells. Only silence.

Lace halted beside her, silk threads quivering faintly as she shifted her weight. “She should be here,” she said softly, white eyes scanning the air and the heat-warped metal. “I’d expect vibrations at least… something.”

Hornet’s claws dug into the stone beneath her, muscles taut, every sense alert. The absence of tremors, the unnatural stillness, it all gnawed at her, a low, insistent unease curling in her chest. She could feel the fleeing instinct rising at the edge of her mind, the old, primordial warning of danger, of predators, of something beyond comprehension. And beneath it all, something else—something familiar in the shadows that pressed against the edges of the Bellway.

“I feel it too,” Hornet murmured, almost to herself, voice low. “Not fear… not yet. But something is wrong.” She let her gaze flick to Lace, noting the way her silk frame tensed, threads coiling in subtle shifts as she read the field with unnatural precision. “Stay close,” she added firmly, tone sharper now. “Do not separate. Whatever this is… we cannot afford to misstep.”

Lace’s pale eyes scanned the hanging bells, flicking from metal to metal, then down at the stone and molten veins below. “It’s… waiting,” she murmured, threads tightening slightly around her limbs. Her movements were cautious, almost tentative—a sharp contrast to her usual playful energy. “The stillness… it’s deliberate.”

Hornet’s mandibles pressed together, her eyes narrowing behind her mask as she let her gaze drift to the shadows stretching across the platform. The molten rivers below reflected them, but the shapes in the flickering glow seemed… wrong. Shapes lingered in ways they should not. Shadows seemed to bend toward her, curling like familiar predators long thought gone. The gnawing recognition was subtle, almost imperceptible, but it churned her stomach.

She exhaled slowly, steadying herself. “Eira should have arrived by now,” she said, her voice firm despite the tension tightening her chest. “If she does not come, we will have to make another way back. But—” Her claws flexed around the needle, bracing her stance. “We wait. Together.”

Lace nodded, silk threads coiling tighter, the faint creak of her woven body breaking the silence. “Together,” she echoed softly, voice almost swallowed by the heat and stillness.

The platform beneath them remained unmoving. The bells hung silent, glinting faintly in the orange glow of the molten veins. Hornet’s pulse quickened. Every instinct in her frame whispered warning. Something was coming, something far beyond their other foes. And beneath it all, a sense of dread curled tightly around her mind—the shadows of Deep Docks, the eerie stillness of the Bellway, carried a memory, a familiarity she could not shake.

A bead of molten sweat slid along her side, but she did not wipe it away. She did not dare move too hastily.

Silence stretched.

And Hornet knew, deep in her base senses, that when it broke, nothing would be the same.

The silence dragged, heavy and oppressive, until Hornet finally lowered her needle. Her posture remained taut, ready, but her stance shifted—acceptance, not surrender. “She isn’t coming,” Hornet said at last, the words clipped but steady. “If we stay, we waste time we cannot afford. We walk.”

Lace’s pale eyes lingered on the still bells, their surfaces warped by the glow of the molten rivers. She hesitated, silk threads twitching faintly, as though reluctant to admit the same truth. But she inclined her head, her woven frame swaying lightly as she fell into step beside Hornet. “Then we walk,” she echoed, her voice low. “The Bellway will still take us back, even without her.”

The two moved forward, claws and silk finding their rhythm on the scorched stone floor of the station. The bells loomed above, their shadows drawn long and jagged by the shifting glow of lava. Each clang of their steps echoed strangely in the cavern, bouncing back with a hollowness that made the air feel too large, too empty.

They pressed deeper into the Bellway. Here the tunnels stretched wide, curving paths carved by old stone and reinforced with metal ribs that gleamed faintly in the firelight. Some bells lay toppled and broken on the floor, their rims cracked, edges darkened by centuries of heat. Hornet’s gaze scanned them as she passed, always sharp, always alert, though her mandibles worked with a quiet thoughtfulness.

After some distance, Lace’s voice broke the silence. “If Eira doesn’t answer the call, then Bellhart will be without her strength.” Her tone was soft but edged with practicality. “That leaves us vulnerable. If something… happens again.”

Hornet’s claws flexed against the stone. “It will happen again.” She did not hesitate, her voice like steel scraped across stone. “That shriek… it was no accident. And it drove even predators to flight.” Her gaze shifted briefly toward Lace, eyes sharp beneath the mask. “We will not be spared its reach when it comes.”

Lace gave a small tilt of her head, her threads shifting in faint ripples. “Then Bellhart needs walls. Traps, perhaps. Something more than scattered guards with blades. If the worst presses in…” She trailed off, her pale gaze narrowing with thought. “I can weave nets strong enough to hold stone. Even stop what hunts larger prey.”

Hornet’s stride slowed briefly, her attention flicking toward Lace as though measuring the offer. At last, she gave a short nod. “Good. You’ll show me the technique. We will weave the defenses together.” Her tone softened, almost imperceptibly. “Bellhart will not fall easily.”

For a while, they let their plans carry them—speaking of walls, of nets, of weaving silk into the very bones of the city. Hornet’s voice was steady, practical, her focus trained on preparation. Lace’s tone, in contrast, carried a spark of her strange, fluid energy, her eagerness almost lightening the air, even here in the suffocating heat. The conversation moved with them, filling the tunnels with something more than silence, more than dread.

An hour passed this way, their claws and threads marking steady progress through the winding arteries of the Bellway. The tunnels grew narrower, hotter, the molten rivers running closer beneath the stone until the air shimmered with their glow. The clang of distant bells still echoed faintly, warped and hollow, but it was no longer the silence that made Hornet slow her steps.

It was the smell.

Faint at first, threading through the smoke and ash, it crept into her senses like a whisper of decay. Her stride faltered, claws scraping lightly against the stone as her mandibles drew tight. Lace paused too, silk threads stiffening as she tested the air.

The odor thickened with every breath. It clung, foul and cloying, to the back of the throat. Not the sharp burn of molten rock or the acrid sting of smoke—but something older. Something rotted.

Hornet’s chest tightened as the realization pressed in. It was the stench of flesh left too long in the heat, bloated and blackened, but stretched across the vastness of the tunnels as though entire chambers had soured with it. It seeped into the bells themselves, coating metal in a sickly tang.

Lace’s pale eyes narrowed, her voice quieter now, the playfulness long stripped away. “Something’s dead. Many things.” The silk of her body trembled faintly, instinctive, repulsed by the weight of it.

Hornet’s claws curled against her needle. She did not speak immediately, only let her gaze sweep over the shadowed path ahead. The smell thickened still, turning the air into a choking miasma that made even her spider’s lungs burn. And beneath it all was a familiarity that hollowed her chest, a wrongness she thought long buried.

She exhaled, slow and measured. “Stay close,” she whispered, her voice as taut as her stance. “Whatever waits in this tunnel, it will not be carrion alone.”

The Bellway stretched ahead, heavy with silence and the stench of rot.

The air grew heavier with every step. The stench pressed into their shells, acrid and sour, crawling through their senses until it seemed to coat their tongues and burn their throats. Hornet pressed forward all the same, her movements rigid, claws scraping faintly against stone. Lace followed, though her silk form shifted with discomfort, threads trembling faintly as if trying to shake the smell away.

“It’s… unbearable,” Lace murmured, her voice tight, nearly choked. She lifted a limb, pressing it lightly to the side of her face as though she could shield herself. “Something huge… to make the air this foul.”

Hornet said nothing. Her mandibles pressed tight, her breath drawn slow and deliberate through her chest to steady the rising unease. The tunnel ahead curved sharply, shadows bending with the molten glow. The smell thickened there, as though the very air bled rot.

When they turned the corner, they both stopped.

At first it was only a shape, a dark bulk slumped across the stone. A mound that filled the center of the Bellway, indistinct in the distance but heavy enough to choke the air. Even from where they stood, the reek of it rolled in waves—sweet, sickly, clinging rot. Lace shifted, her frame recoiling instinctively, threads drawn tight as though bracing against an unseen wind.

Hornet’s claws dug into the rock beneath her feet, anchoring her as her gaze fixed on the shape. She did not move forward immediately. Her spider’s instincts whispered warnings—predator, carrion, danger. The smell of death was an old, primal alarm.

But it was not the kind that told her to ready her needle. It was the kind that made her chest tighten with something heavier. Something she dared not name.

Slowly, step by step, they approached. The closer they drew, the more the mound resolved itself—bloated curves and folds of flesh stretched too wide, too taut, as though something immense had been left to rot under the weight of its own body. The air was thick with the wet, cloying scent of decomposition, the kind that coated the tongue in bitterness.

Lace made a sharp sound in her throat and turned her face away. “Spirits—” she whispered, her voice frayed. “It’s—” She broke off, silk limbs tightening around herself as if to ward away the reality before her.

Hornet did not flinch. Her gaze stayed locked, sharp and unwavering, though her stance grew tauter with every step. She did not allow herself to recoil, though the air clawed at her senses, though the ground beneath her claws seemed to vibrate with the memory of what once had been here.

Then, as the stench deepened into choking suffocation, other shapes came into view. Smaller lumps, scattered close to the larger mass. Their outlines were clearer—legs curled stiff in death, small forms bloated, skin stretched thin. The sight of them twisted something in Hornet’s chest.

Lace stopped moving. Her pale eyes went wide, shimmering faintly in the molten glow, and she let out a faint, strangled sound. “Not just one…” she whispered. “There are—” Her voice broke, the words spilling out uneven, desperate. “They’re her younglings.”

Hornet halted at last, standing rigid only a few lengths from the grotesque heap. She stared in silence, her claws trembling faintly where they pressed into her needle’s haft. Her breath was steady, but the stillness of her form was absolute, a stillness that betrayed how much warred within her.

The smaller shapes lay curled close to the larger, their little forms collapsed and sunken, pale in places where the rot had eaten through. The larger mound loomed behind them, massive and grotesque, a body that had once moved with impossible power now collapsed in ruin.

Hornet’s gaze lingered on the sweep of its frame, the curve of its mask, the great bulk of its form. Memories pressed against her—thunder in the stone as it leapt, the ringing of the bells, the presence that had always answered her call. The weight of silence now was unbearable.

Her claws curled tighter against her needle until the joints ached. She did not speak. She did not allow the grief clawing at her chest to break her voice.

But Lace’s did. The silk-woven bug pressed a limb to her face, her threads trembling in waves. “It’s her,” she whispered, as though naming it aloud was a cruelty. “It’s… Eira.”

The Bell Beast. Dead. Her body and her children left to rot in the tunnels she once called home.

Hornet couldn't hold back her gag.

Chapter Text

The Bellway stretched long and dim before them, the clang of their own claws and silk threads echoing faintly off the iron walls. The air still carried that sour stench of rot, clinging to Hornet’s mask, sunk deep into the lining of her cloak no matter how she tried to breathe past it. She led the way, her frame rigid, her needle angled at her side as though ready, though her movements were mechanical, empty of urgency.

Behind her, Lace was silent. Her steps were lighter, but the soft pull of her threads across the stone could still be heard, weaving their faint rhythm into the hollow corridor. For once, she didn’t fill the silence with words. Perhaps she saw it in Hornet’s gait—the stiff shoulders, the way her claws bit harder than usual into the stone with every step.

Hornet’s thoughts coiled tightly, the silence of the tunnels pressing her inward. Death was not new to her. She had walked among corpses since the first days she’d learned to wield her needle. She had buried strangers and kin, watched beasts fall, and struck many down herself. Death was part of Hallownest.

And yet… this was different.

Eira had always been there. A presence more ancient than many of the kingdom’s structures, her leaps shaking the ground like thunder, her bell-call reverberating like an old song through the stone. To see her still, bloated, rotting, her children curling beside her… it was like seeing the bones of a mountain ground down to sand.

The ache of it pressed hard into Hornet’s chest, but she would not allow it to show. Her steps stayed firm, measured, each placed with intention though her mind swam elsewhere. She kept her mandibles tight, her breath slow and even, the mask of composure she had always known.

Lace’s pale eyes had lingered long on the scene, her woven frame trembling with something close to horror. But Hornet hadn’t dared to meet her gaze then, and she didn’t now. To look would be to risk breaking the wall she held over her own grief.

Her claws flexed faintly against the shaft of her needle, the familiar weight grounding her. If even Eira could fall… The thought gnawed at her, relentless, like a parasite digging deep. Then what force struck her down? What prowls these tunnels now, strong enough to silence a beast who has answered bells since time immemorial?

It was not death itself that chilled Hornet—it was the unknown. The thing that could have done this, unseen, unchallenged, perhaps still near.

The bells around them hung silent, their dull metal glinting faintly in the dim glow. Normally, Hornet would have found comfort in their presence, their weight a symbol of call and answer, of the great beast’s watchful service. Now they seemed hollow. Empty. Mere shells of meaning.

The walk stretched on, both of them silent but for the sound of their steps and the faint hum of molten rivers far beneath the stone. Hornet’s thoughts pressed heavy, a drumbeat of grief and unease she could not shake. She dared not look back—at Lace, at the direction of the corpse, at anything but the path forward.

Hornet kept her eyes forward, sharp and unyielding. Her claw tightened and loosened around the shaft of her needle every so often, a reflexive gesture that steadied her—but the silence pressed deeper each moment, heavy as stone.

Lace shifted at her side, her pale gaze sliding toward the princess of Hallownest, reading her silence as though it were written across her frame. At first, she said nothing. Then, softly—carefully—she spoke.

“You’re quieter than usual.”

Hornet didn’t answer. Her steps did not falter.

Lace’s silk threads whispered faintly as she adjusted her gait, trying to catch Hornet’s eye from the corner. “I mean,” she went on, her voice kept low so it would not echo too far, “you’re usually measured. Clipped. But now… you’ve folded into yourself.”

Hornet’s mandibles pressed faintly, the only sign she’d heard.

Lace let the silence linger a beat longer before she murmured, “You don’t have to carry it alone.”

That earned a glance—sharp, amber-red eyes narrowing through her mask. “I am not carrying anything,” Hornet said flatly, though the rasp in her voice betrayed her restraint.

“Mm,” Lace hummed, unconvinced. “Then why do you look like your own thoughts might cut you sharper than that needle of yours?”

Hornet halted mid-step, just long enough for Lace to nearly brush her side before the princess continued forward again, her legs stiffer now. “I have no need for pity,” she said.

Lace tilted her head, her silk frame shifting with quiet creaks. “It isn’t pity.” A pause. Her voice softened. “It’s recognition.”

The words slipped into Hornet’s guard like a thread through a seam. Her claws curled tighter against the metal of her needle. She wanted to push the silence back between them, to wall herself off again. Yet the memory of Eira and her young, sprawled lifeless on the stone, pressed against the back of her eyes like a thorn she could not ignore. The grief coiled hot and bitter in her chest, and it scraped at her throat until she let out a slow, steady breath.

At length, she said, “You would not understand.”

“Maybe not,” Lace admitted gently, silk threads quivering faintly as if shrugging. “But you could try me. And if not for me—then for yourself.”

They walked in silence for another long stretch, the bells above hanging motionless, the tunnels swallowing their steps. Then, at last, Hornet exhaled again, lower this time, almost like a surrender.

“My father,” she began, her voice quiet but clear, “was a Wyrm. The Pale King. My mother, Herrah, was a spider—queen of Deepnest. I was born of their bargain.”

Lace’s pale eyes lingered on her, wide and steady, but she didn’t interrupt.

Hornet’s claws flexed against her needle. “Hallownest was built upon sacrifice. I learned this early. My kin were made for a single purpose: vessels of the Radiance. Empty, unfeeling, without will. That was their burden.” Her mandibles clicked faintly, her gaze hardening at the memory. “When that burden failed them, when cracks formed, I… ended many myself. To spare them from a worse fate.”

Her tone remained even, but each word weighed heavy, as if pulled from her with force.

Lace’s steps slowed, her silk frame swaying faintly with the weight of the confession, but still, she said nothing—only listening.

“But not all of them,” Hornet continued after a beat, her voice low and steady, though something faintly trembled beneath it. “Two remained. Hollow and Ghost. They… they were different. My siblings. Born of the same purpose, yes, but they were more than that. Hollow was the first I knew. Ghost came later.” Her eyes flickered to the shadows pressing against the walls, but she did not falter. “They were both meant to be nothing. And yet, they meant everything.”

Her claws tightened faintly around the shaft of her needle, enough to creak the metal.

“I miss them,” she admitted, the words like poison forced from a wound. “I miss them with every breath, though I will not allow it to weaken me. They… endure in ways I cannot. And yet, the silence without them…” She trailed off, mandibles pressing tightly together. “…it is a wound that does not close.”

The tunnel swallowed the confession, bells above catching faint echoes of her voice. Hornet exhaled slowly, the breath rattling faintly with the weight of what she had allowed herself to speak.

Lace was quiet for a long time, her pale eyes fixed on Hornet’s masked face. Then, softly, she said, “That doesn’t sound like weakness.”

Hornet’s head tilted faintly toward her, gaze sharp.

“That sounds like love,” Lace continued, her voice hushed, gentle. “And if you’ve carried all that alone until now… maybe letting even a thread of it out is strength, not failure.”

Hornet said nothing. But her stride eased, just slightly. Her mask turned forward again, her silence no longer as sharp, no longer as impenetrable.

They walked on through the still Bellway, the heavy quiet broken only by the faint creak of silk threads and the click of claws against stone.

And though Hornet did not reply, her chest ached a little less for having spoken.

Chapter Text

The journey back had stretched into hours. The tunnels of the Bellway gave way at last to the cool night air, and the distant shimmer of Bellhart came into view through the haze of the upper docks. Yet as Hornet and Lace emerged from the final archway, the spider’s steps slowed.

Something was wrong.

The air—usually thick with the hum of insects, the faint chatter of night merchants, the creak of bell harnesses—was still. Completely still.

No sound of chimes. No drifting lanternlight moving through the alleys.

Just the soft rasp of wind through empty stalls.

Hornet stopped at the edge of the main square, her claws tightening around her needle. The lamps still burned in their sconces, dim but alive, and yet there was no one tending them. Fabric canopies hung limp and torn, swaying slightly in the draft from the docks below. A table had been overturned near the square’s center, the remains of half-sold wares scattered across the cobbles—trinkets, jars, and folded silks left to gather dust.

Lace stepped beside her, threads in her frame vibrating faintly against the cold air. “It’s… quiet,” she said, her voice barely a whisper.

“Too quiet,” Hornet replied.

Her mandibles clicked softly as she scanned the streets ahead, her eyes narrowing. Bellhart had never been silent, not even at its emptiest hours. The scent alone told her how long the stillness had lingered—cold air, stale nectar, faint trails of dust kicked up by vanished feet. Whatever had happened… it wasn’t moments ago.

Lace crouched near one of the stalls, her pale claws brushing over the ground. “There was panic here,” she murmured, her threads trembling as she brushed against faint scuffs on the stone—drag marks, broken glass, the faint, sticky residue of spilled nectar. “They left in a hurry.”

Hornet didn’t answer. Her gaze had lifted to the bell towers above—their bronze faces hanging crooked in their frames, one of the great ropes cut clean through as if torn by force. The shadows between the rooftops seemed to twist unnaturally in the low light, and her stomach tightened.

She could smell it now—the faint tang of fear still clinging to the air, sharp and metallic beneath the heavy staleness.

Her claws flexed.

“Lace,” she said quietly.

The silk-born bug turned to her, sensing the sudden shift in tone.

“Stay close,” Hornet continued, her voice barely more than a breath. “There’s something here. Or… there was.”

Lace nodded, rising silently to her feet. The faint sheen of her silk shimmered in the dying lanternlight, her pale eyes darting from alley to alley. “Do you think it’s tied to what we found in the Bellways?”

Hornet’s expression darkened, her thoughts briefly flashing back to Eira—the stillness, the rot, the unnatural silence that had followed. The air here felt much the same.

“I think,” she said at last, her voice low and hard, “it’s all part of the same storm.”

They moved forward together through the main square. The only sound now was the faint scrape of Hornet’s claws and the soft hiss of silk brushing stone. Every open doorway they passed revealed the same thing—abandoned homes, tables half set, meals left untouched.

The streets of Bellhart were ghosts of what they once were.

Hornet’s steps echoed off the hollow cobbles, the faint click of her claws the only sound between the shuttered walls. The banners that once lined the main causeway hung limp and torn, their dyes bleached from the constant heat of lanternlight now long extinguished. A broken sign swayed from one hinge, creaking as it twisted in the faint draft.

Lace followed a few paces behind, her silk frame pale against the darkened wood and stone. Her eyes caught on every abandoned trinket—shawls left tangled in doorframes, cups spilled mid-meal, a scattering of berries crushed beneath clawed feet. “They left everything,” she whispered, voice trembling faintly. “No time to pack, no order to it… they just ran.”

Hornet didn’t answer. Her gaze was fixed ahead, on the faintly sloped path that led upward toward her bellhome. Her needle was drawn, resting against her shoulder, but there was no threat to meet it—only the press of emptiness, and the weight of a silence too deep to be natural.

She could feel it in the air.
That absence.
The kind that hums behind the senses, almost alive.

Lace quickened her pace until she walked beside her. “Hornet,” she murmured, “what if this wasn’t just here? What if—”

“Don’t,” Hornet cut softly, though her voice carried no anger. Just exhaustion. “We don’t know what it was. Speculation helps nothing.”

The words were steady, practiced—habitual armor more than certainty.

When they reached the upper tier, her bellhome stood waiting, quiet and untouched. The door hung half open, the wind stirring faint dust across the threshold. Hornet hesitated, her mandibles pressing faintly together, before she stepped inside. The air carried her scent still, faint but present, along with another—old ash, the sweet decay of dried nectar, and something faintly metallic beneath.

Lace lingered at the doorway, her pale eyes tracing the shadows within. “You really think no one stayed?” she asked softly.

Hornet didn’t look back as she crossed the main room, setting her needle against the wall. “If anyone did,” she said, “they would have made themselves known by now.”

Silence stretched between them, broken only by the dull hum of the breeze outside. Hornet brushed her claws across the table’s surface, finding faint streaks of dust and the outline where a cup once rested. She stared at it a moment longer than she meant to.

Lace stepped further in, her silk threads quivering faintly in the cool air. “What now?” she asked. “The Bellway’s off-limits, Eira’s gone, and Bellhart’s empty. There’s… no other path through Pharloom besides our own feet.”

Hornet’s gaze flicked to the window. The horizon past Bellhart was nothing but darkness—no lanterns, no sign of life, only the faint glow of distant magma veins far below.

“We venture,” she said finally, though the words felt brittle even to her own ears. “Someone will remain. They must.”

Lace’s expression softened, her head tilting slightly. “You don’t believe that.”

Hornet’s mandibles shifted. “Belief doesn’t matter.”

A faint tremor passed through the floor—just the echo of the wind through the town—but both of them froze for a heartbeat, eyes snapping toward the sound. When nothing followed, Hornet exhaled and moved to light the small lantern by the window. The flame caught weakly, flickering in the stale air.

Lace sat down beside the doorframe, her silk threads dimming slightly in the low light. “You think it’s spreading,” she said quietly.

Hornet didn’t respond. She stood by the lantern, eyes tracing the faint shapes of the empty street beyond, her mind turning over the thought she wouldn’t voice aloud.

If the Bell Eater didn’t kill Eira, something else did.
Something far stronger.

And if that same force had reached Bellhart…

She pushed the thought down, burying it beneath the same calm mask she’d worn since she learned to fight. But the unease had weight. It pressed against her chest, cold and dense, growing heavier the longer she stood still.

Lace watched her for a long moment, her voice lowering to a whisper. “You’re worried.”

Hornet’s claws flexed against the table. “…The unknown,” she admitted softly, almost to herself. “It’s never the death that frightens me. It’s not knowing what comes before it.”

—

The draft outside hung cold and distant, its hushed whispers slipping against the bell windows and moving through the streets. Lace had fallen asleep not long after they’d settled—her form half-curled, the faint rise and fall of her chest steady in the quiet. But Hornet couldn’t sleep. Not with the silence pressing in. Not with Bellhart hollowed and still as a tomb.

Her eyes followed the faint cracks in the ceiling, her mind refusing to settle. Every sound—every soft creak of steel, the whisper of wind through the chimes outside—seemed louder than it should be. Her claws fidgeted with the edges of the blanket, the weight of the fabric somehow heavier tonight.

Sherma. Shakra.
The names came unbidden, quiet as a whisper in her mind. Faces followed—moments of laughter, shared hunts, simple words exchanged in passing. Were they safe? Had they fled before the quiet came? Or had they been caught in it—whatever it was that had swept through Bellhart, leaving nothing behind but ghosted streets and open doors?

She swallowed hard, mandibles tightening. She shouldn’t think like that. But even as she told herself so, she felt the ache swell deeper. She missed Hallownest. The air there had been thick and still, but it had been alive. Familiar. There had been purpose. Here, there was only endless unknowns—vanished towns, hidden paths, and whispers of things that shouldn’t exist.

Her chest felt tight.
Too tight.

She turned onto her side, watching Lace’s sleeping form. The silk-borne bug looked so peaceful, her strands of silk rising and falling softly with each breath. For a moment, Hornet envied that peace. She wondered what it was like to rest without the ghosts pressing close, to dream without remembering what was lost.

Then—she felt it. Dampness beneath her mask.

She blinked, hand lifting instinctively to touch the edge of her cheekplate. It came away wet. She hadn’t even realized she’d been crying. The tears pooled inside her mask, warm against her chitin, the faintest tremor leaving her breath.

With care not to wake Lace, she slid from the bed, her steps nearly silent as she crossed the room. The bellhome was dark, save for the faint shimmer of moonlight through the windowpanes. She stepped into the small washroom and reached up—hands steady at first, then trembling slightly as she unlatched the hooks of her mask.

It came free.

The reflection that met her in the dim mirror was one she seldom allowed herself to see. Her face, streaked with tears that gleamed faintly in the light, revealed the truth of her blood. Black chitin glistened where a faint fuzz should have been. Only two eyes stared back—sharp, tired, nothing like the eight of a true Weaver. She had never looked enough like her mother to truly feel at place. And yet her father’s influence—his pale essence, his cold divinity—clung to her in the shape of her crown, in the sharp lines of her gaze.

She despised it.

A soft, broken sound left her—something between a breath and a sob—as she sank to the tiled floor. Her claws curled weakly around the mask in her lap.

“I was never meant to carry this,” she murmured, voice low, rasping in the quiet.

The tears fell freely now, tracing thin lines down her face before pattering faintly against the floor. She thought of the weight she’d carried since she was barely grown. The duty of a dying kingdom. The loss of every friend she’d failed to save. The endless struggle to hold herself together so that no one else would have to.

It all pressed down on her now, raw and unhidden.

Her mask sat in her lap like an empty promise, its smooth white surface catching the dim light. She brushed a thumb over it absently, as though the gesture alone could wipe away everything she didn’t want to feel. But it couldn’t.

Her breath hitched once, then again, until it came out uneven—quiet, sharp, and trembling. She pressed her palms to her face and let herself break, silent and unseen, in the dim light of the forgotten room.

For tonight—just tonight—Hornet allowed herself to be small. To be tired.
To be something more than the steel and duty she’d been forged to be.

—---------------

The first light of morning came soft and dull through the mist—an anemic gray glow rather than sunlight, filtering weakly through the bellhome’s window slats. Hornet sat at the edge of the bed, adjusting the fastenings of her cloak. The fabric still bore faint stains from the day before, but she paid them little mind. Her mask—cool, dry now—rested back against her face, once again sealing away the night’s weakness.

Lace stirred behind her, groaning faintly as she stretched. “You’re up early,” she mumbled, voice still thick with sleep.

“I’m always awake early,” Hornet replied evenly, fastening her cloak pin. Her tone gave nothing away. “Best we move soon. If anyone still remains, we’ll find them faster with the daylight.”

Lace watched her a moment longer. The weight that had hung over Hornet last night—the tension she’d felt even before Bellhart’s silence—seemed to have lifted. Her movements were steady again, her voice calm. Lace assumed she’d finally gotten the rest she so desperately needed.

They left Bellhart in quiet, the air crisp and damp with morning fog. The streets looked no less empty than they had the night before, though the daylight softened the horror of it. Still, something about the town felt wrong—the stillness too deep, the silence too perfect.

Hornet led the way. Lace followed close behind, the pair moving past the bell tower and out toward the northern hills. Their destination was Greymoor, the marshland settlement that rested beyond the ridges—a quiet place built among reeds and wood bridges, often cloaked in mist even on 'clear' days. If anyone had survived… surely someone there would know what had happened.

The path wound upward before descending into the moor. The closer they drew, the heavier the air became. Mist gathered in thick curtains, brushing against their legs and cloaks like ghostly hands. The sky above was dim and colorless, the natural light no more than a pale smear through the haze.

Lace broke the silence after a time. “You really think we’ll find someone?”

Hornet’s gaze stayed forward. “We’ll find something.”

The tone was not entirely hopeful—but there was something in it. A quiet resolve, a need to see whatever awaited them.

They crested a rise, and the first signs of Greymoor began to take shape through the fog. The ground flattened out, damp and soft underfoot. Thin channels of murky water reflected the gray of the sky. For the first time since Bellhart, they saw a trail—small impressions in the mud, light and scattered.

Lace perked up slightly. “Someone came through here,” she said, kneeling to inspect one of the prints.

Hornet crouched beside her, mandibles twitching faintly. “They did. But… not recently.” She brushed her fingers against the edge of one. The mud crumbled, dry despite the moisture in the air. “Old.”

Still, she didn’t voice her disappointment aloud. Any sign was better than none. They pressed forward, the sound of their steps muffled by the mist and damp soil.

Soon, something new began to litter the ground. Feathers.

At first just a few—black, soft, scattered along the reeds. Then more. Dozens. Whole clusters, some still tangled with thin threads of sinew or torn cloth. Lace slowed, glancing uneasily around. “Craws?” she murmured.

Hornet’s pace faltered. “Yes.” Her eyes scanned the reeds. “But craws don’t leave their dead behind.”

The air seemed to shift—thickening, darkening. The mist around them began to feel… heavier, as if it carried weight or intent.

They reached the outskirts of Greymoor proper before they saw it: the village’s stone archway, half-collapsed, coated in lichen. The houses beyond it were hollow shapes, their windows dark, their doors ajar. No sound. No scent.

Hornet slowed to a stop, her gaze sharp beneath her mask. “Stay close,” she said quietly. Lace nodded, hand drifting near her rapier’s hilt.

They stepped beneath the archway. The ground here was thick with mud, reeds, and feathers. Every structure looked abandoned mid-motion—a half-hung laundry line swayed in the breeze, a cart lay tipped on its side in the main square, its contents scattered.

Then—Lace froze.

“...Hornet.”

The spider turned, following her gaze. There—at the far end of the square, where the mist gathered thickest—stood a figure.

It was tall. Or perhaps thin. Its form wavered faintly, as though the air itself struggled to contain it. Its edges were indistinct, bleeding into the fog. It might have been shaped like a bug at one moment, and like something else the next.

It watched them. Or at least, it felt like it was watching.

Hornet’s claws flexed slowly. She didn’t move closer, nor did she retreat. Lace’s breath hitched faintly beside her.

The figure tilted—just slightly—and the mist around it rippled. Its surface shimmered as if made of water and shadow. Then, without sound, it simply dissolved—fading back into the air as though it had never existed at all.

Silence fell heavier than before.

The two of them stood still for a long moment. Lace swallowed. “Did you—did you see that?”

“Yes.” Hornet’s voice was low. “I did.”

Her eyes narrowed, scanning the place where it had stood. Something glimmered faintly on the ground.

They approached together. There, settled among the scattered feathers, was a piece of parchment—edges damp from the mist, its surface marked with ink dark as pitch.

Hornet reached down, careful as if the thing might vanish at her touch.

The note was small. Simple. But the handwriting—
Her breath hitched behind her mask.

Her name was written across the top.

Hornet.

It was unmistakable.

She turned the note over in her hands, the faintest tremor in her claws. Lace leaned in, voice soft, cautious. “What does it say?”

But Hornet didn’t answer yet. Her gaze remained fixed on the writing, the air between them growing colder by the second. The ink seemed to shimmer faintly under the light—alive in a way ink shouldn’t be.

Something deep within her stirred—a flicker of dread, and a memory she couldn’t quite place.

Whatever this was… whoever had left it—
They knew her name.
And they’d been waiting.

Chapter Text

Hornet,

You are needed.
The stillness you knew has shifted, though its face remains the same. Listen carefully: what waits does not breathe as we do, but it moves, and it watches.

I have awakened. My strength is faint, my voice thin. But there are others—shadows that wear the shape of what you once called known, yet they are not. What is familiar is fractured. You may feel it. You may recognize it—but do not be deceived.

The threads that hold the remnants of this world are fraying. What once lingered in the quiet has been taken, and what now stirs beyond the edge is patient. It knows what you fear. It waits for hesitation.

You have survived long enough to hear this. Trust only your senses, but know that even they may falter. What walks here may imitate, may whisper, may cry as before—but it is not what you remember.

You may wonder what I have seen, what I have felt. It is enough to say that I am weak. And yet, something inside calls me forward, as though there is still a thread to follow. Do not mistake me for the thing that twists its way through the remnants of the old order.

Hallownest needs you. It always has, though it may be quieter than you think. The balance falters, the air carries tremors, and the shapes in the dark are hungry for misstep.

Watch the stillness. Trust the motions you do not see. And remember: even those who were taken may still call to you, though their voice is no longer their own.

Move carefully. Survive. And know that I am here, though I may be barely a shadow of what I once was.

— H.

Hornet’s claws trembled as she folded the letter back along its creases. Her touch was precise, almost reverent, but her hands would not stop shaking. She tucked it against her chestplate and rose, movements sharp and deliberate, as if each one helped her hold herself together.

Lace was staring at her. “Spider,” she said, soft at first. “What did it say?”

Hornet didn’t answer. She turned toward the faint light that filtered through the haze, her steps already carrying her toward the edge of the settlement.

“Wait—” Lace’s tone hardened. She caught Hornet’s wrist. “What did it say?”

The spider froze. For a heartbeat, it seemed she might tear away, but instead, her voice slipped out, low and threaded with something tight. “It means Hallownest calls again.”

Lace blinked. “Hallownest?” she echoed, disbelieving. “You’re not serious.”

Hornet turned to face her fully. Her mask reflected the weak, gray light— expressionless, but her stance betrayed the tension simmering underneath. “I am.”

“No,” Lace said quickly, shaking her head. “No, you can’t— Hornet, look around you!” She gestured at the empty, hollow homes, the abandoned carts, the silent bells swaying faintly in the stagnant wind. “Pharloom is falling apart. Everyone’s gone! We don’t know why, we don’t even know if we’re safe, and you want to go chasing some—some phantom message?”

Hornet’s claws clenched. “It was no phantom.”

“How can you know?” Lace’s voice cracked slightly. “How do you know this isn’t some trick—some cruel, stupid lure from whatever’s out there?”

Hornet turned sharply, fangs baring. “Because I know who wrote it!” she snapped, louder than she meant to. The sound echoed through the hollow streets, ringing off the distant bells like a curse.

Lace flinched but didn’t back down. “You think you know. You’ve seen what this thing does—what your kingdom’s infection did! You told me yourself that it twisted everything it touched. Maybe it’s doing the same now, pulling at your memories, your grief.”

Hornet’s claws trembled once more, but not from fear this time—from fury barely contained. “You dare speak of grief as if you truly understand it?”

Lace’s voice rose too, brittle with desperation. “Don’t you think I do?! You think you’re the only one who’s lost someone, the only one who’s watched everything you love rot away?!”

“You have not watched your private home be torn apart by the people you cared for,” Hornet spat, stepping closer, voice shaking. “You have not killed and buried your kin with your own claws. You have not—” Her words faltered. Her mandibles tightened, her voice breaking into a whisper. “You have not heard their cries from beneath the soil– only wishing it had been you instead.”

The silence that followed was suffocating.

Lace’s hands fell to her sides, her threads trembling faintly. “Then why?” she asked softly. “Why run back into it? Why go toward something that’s only ever hurt you?”

Hornet’s answer came slowly, her voice hollow but steady. “Because it still calls. Because even in ruin, it was mine.”

Lace stepped closer, her silk-framed body trembling with something between anger and heartbreak. “And what about here? What about Bellhart? About—about me?” Her voice caught, a thread pulling too tight. “You said we’d rebuild. That we’d help what was left. That we’d make something new.”

Hornet’s breath hitched. She looked at Lace—truly looked—and her composure almost cracked. “We cannot build atop ashes still burning,” she said quietly.

“You just don’t want to stay!” Lace shouted. Her voice echoed, raw and jagged. “You can’t stand still long enough to face what’s in front of you!”

Hornet’s mandibles twitched, her eyes narrowing behind her mask. “And you cannot bear to leave comfort behind. You think that by pretending this place can be saved, you’ll keep yourself from breaking.”

That cut deep—Lace’s expression twisted, her silk threads drawing taut across her frame. “At least I’m trying to save something real,” she hissed. “You’re chasing ghosts.”

“Perhaps,” Hornet murmured, the fight draining from her voice, replaced by something colder. “But those ghosts are mine.”

Lace’s breath stuttered. She shook her head, voice trembling. “You’ll get yourself killed, Hornet. Whatever’s there—it’s not the same place anymore.”

Hornet looked toward the distant horizon, where the sky above Greymoor had darkened into a heavy, roiling gray. “Neither am I.”

Lace’s hands balled into fists. “So that’s it, then? You’ll just leave?”

Hornet didn’t answer. The silence was heavier than any word she could have spoken.

The wind shifted, carrying the faint scent of looming death.

Hornet turned back, her mask unreadable. “At dawn,” she said, voice quiet but resolute. “I leave.”

Lace stood there for a long moment, trembling, unable to speak. Her threads seemed to hum faintly with tension, words she couldn’t form tangling in her throat.

When she finally found her voice, it was a whisper. “Then I hope whatever’s left of your home still remembers you.”

Hornet paused, but she didn’t look back. “So do I.”

The spider said nothing for a long while. The path through Greymoor was lined with crooked posts and hollowed dens, their entrances gaping like open mouths. She moved forward with rigid precision, her steps sharp, driven by anger that refused to quiet. The note trembled faintly in her grip, edges crumpled where her claws had pressed too tightly.

Lace followed behind, silent at first, her usual brightness dimmed beneath the weight of what had passed. The air in Greymoor seemed to thicken—no wind, no song of wing or insect, only the faint whisper of fabric as Hornet’s cloak brushed against her legs.

Hornet’s breath hitched once, the emotion behind it strangled. Her thoughts churned in a restless blur—they were awake. They were awake, and something had gone horribly wrong. The truth she had fought to bury clawed its way back to the surface, scraping at her composure. She could feel it—the faint thread that tied her to what remained of Hallownest—pulling taut again.

The ground shifted from broken stone to softer, cracked soil, and the outline of a house came into view. What once had been a resting place for travelers—its sign long fallen, its walls weathered by mist and time. The Halfway Home, though no voices lingered now.

Hornet stepped through the open doorway, brushing aside hanging roots that swayed like cobwebs. Spilled drinks lay thick upon the few remaining tables, and a lone lantern guttered weakly, its flame a trembling ghost of light. She set the note upon the counter, staring at it for a moment too long, before pulling her cloak tighter around herself and sitting near the wall.

Lace hesitated in the doorway before stepping inside. “You sure this place is safe?” she murmured, though her voice was quieter than usual.

Hornet didn’t answer right away. Her head tilted slightly, eyes glinting faintly in the gloom. “Safe enough,” she finally said.

She lowered her head, claws tightening around her knees. “Tomorrow, Im heading west.”

Lace shifted uncomfortably, her tone soft but uncertain. “Back toward the border?”

“Past it.”

Hornet let out a sigh. Her gaze stayed fixed on the faint light flickering across the table, the edges of the note just visible within its glow. She could still feel the weight of its words in her chest. Every line written in that precise, unsteady hand. Every echo of what it implied.

—------

Morning bled softly through the warped windowpanes, painting Greymoor in dull hues of ash and pale blue. The air was heavy and wet, carrying the faint scent of moss and rust. Nothing stirred beyond the walls—no birdsong, no market noise, just the distant drip of water and the soft rasp of metal against stone.

Hornet sat at the edge of the low table, her movements steady, careful. Her needle dragged along a whetstone in rhythmic, deliberate strokes. Shhhk. Shhhk. The sound filled the emptiness where words didn’t belong. Her cloak lay open beside her, its pockets half-filled—small tools, coils of thread, a folded scrap of cloth still damp from tears shed the night before.

She paused, letting her gaze drift across the small home. Dust caught the thin light like falling motes of ash. Lace was still sleeping—or pretending to—her form curled beneath a threadbare coverlet, soft breaths in the early light. Hornet’s chest tightened faintly.

She stood, fastening her cloak with precise motions. The fabric fell over her shoulders like armor, every fold in its rightful place. Her mask hid what her face could not. She lingered by the doorway, cold claws brushing against the wooden frame. She thought, for a moment, to say something—to leave a word, a promise, even a lie. But silence felt truer.

“Leaving without a word?”

The voice, soft and wry, made Hornet stop. Lace had propped herself up on one elbow, her gaze hazy with sleep but sharp enough to pierce through any pretense.

Hornet turned slightly, the faintest hitch in her breath. “You were resting.”

Lace pushed herself to her feet, moving closer, her tone lighter than her eyes. “You’re not very good at goodbyes, you know.”

Hornet hesitated, mask tilting downward. “You’ve chosen to stay.”

Lace’s mouth twitched, halfway between a smirk and something sadder. “You really think I’d let you walk out into all that alone?”

“I don’t expect you to follow.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

The silence that followed was thick and uneasy, like the air before a storm. Lace crossed her arms, stepping into Hornet’s path. Her voice softened, a rare sincerity threading through it. “You think I don’t see it? The way your hands shake when you think no one’s watching? You’re terrified, Hornet. Whatever’s happening out there—it’s more than you can face alone.”

Hornet’s jaw tightened. “This is not your fight.”

“Maybe not. But it’s yours.” Lace’s tone cracked then, the humor falling away completely. “And I care enough to make it mine.”

Hornet looked at her for a long, wordless stretch. Beneath the porcelain sheen of her mask, her throat worked once—swallowing whatever words threatened to surface.

“…You don’t even know what waits beyond these walls,” she murmured.

“Neither do you,” Lace replied softly. “That’s why I’m coming.”

Something inside Hornet’s chest loosened, just slightly. The fight in her shoulders waned, replaced by quiet exhaustion. She turned away, letting her cloak settle around her.

“Then we leave when the mist lifts,” she said, voice barely above a whisper.

Lace smiled faintly, brushing her fingers along the doorframe as she followed. “You say that like it ever does.”

Hornet didn’t answer. The two stepped out together into the dim, shrouded streets of Greymoor—the world waiting silent and strange before them.

Chapter Text

The air in Greymoor hung thick and damp when they left, the morning fog catching the faint glint of dew off Hornet’s cloak. Neither of them said much as they passed through the overgrown stone paths, their steps softened by the water and earth below. The road ahead wound long—back through Deep Docks, across the Marrow, and onward toward the Moss Grotto. Toward Hallownest.

Hornet kept her eyes forward, the heavy weight of her needle resting against her back. She didn’t look back once. Lace trailed behind, her silk-threaded frame gleaming faintly in the dim light.

“So this is it,” Lace murmured after a while, her voice thin against the silence. “The great journey back to your home.”

Hornet didn’t answer immediately. Her claws brushed across a wall slick with moss as they passed through one of Greymoor’s narrow arches. “It’s not home anymore,” she said quietly. “But it’s still mine to return to.”

Lace’s mouth quirked into a small, humorless smile. “Always so poetic when things are dire.”

That earned her a soft chitter—half amusement, half exhaustion. The spider’s cloak shifted as a breeze whispered through the tunnel. Somewhere deep within, something clattered—stone against stone—and both froze, listening.

Nothing followed. Only the soft hum of the earth and the faint drip of condensation from the ceiling.

Still, Hornet’s claws flexed. She glanced over her shoulder, mask angled toward the darkness behind them. “Did you hear that?”

“Mm.” Lace’s silken limbs adjusted their grip on the strap of her pack. “Could’ve been an echo.”

“Or something that breathes quieter than we do.”

They moved faster after that—neither running, but with that deliberate urgency that comes when instinct begins to whisper. The path sloped downward, the air growing warmer as they neared the caverns that led toward Deep Docks. The scent of minerals and dust filled the air, cutting faintly through the lingering damp.

Hornet’s mind wandered as they walked. The letter. The quiet ruin of Bellhart. The way every place they had passed seemed to hold its breath. Lace tried to speak again once or twice—small remarks, observations—but each word seemed to fall dead against the walls. Even she could feel it now: the weight of unseen eyes.

Hornet led the way, the edges of her cloak damp from the mist. In one claw, she held the folded scrap of parchment — worn, stained with oil and ash. The note had survived something it shouldn’t have.

Lace eyed it from behind. “You haven’t put that thing down since we found it,” she said lightly, though her tone carried curiosity’s sharp edge.

Hornet didn’t answer. The fog rolled in thicker, blurring her outline.

“Its from someone you knew?” Lace tried again, stepping closer. “It looked… personal.”

Hornet’s voice came after a pause. “It is.”

Lace tilted her head. “And?”

“And it is not yours to know.”

The words weren’t cruel — just firm, clipped, final. But the silence that followed carried its own kind of tension, the sort that filled the spaces between them more than sound ever could.

They kept walking, the faint outlines of stone and wooden builds rising like bones through the fog. Lace’s threads tightened unconsciously, as if bracing against the chill. “You don’t hide things without reason,” she said after a while. “But whatever’s in that note — you look like it’s already following us.”

Hornet’s gaze flicked toward her, unreadable. “Some things don’t follow,” she said. “They wait.”

The way she said it — low, quiet — made the stillness around them suddenly feel too aware. Lace’s steps slowed. “Wait for what?”

Hornet didn’t respond. Her claws flexed slightly, and her eyes flicked to the side — not at Lace, but at the stretch of still fog in front. 

A ripple disturbed the surface, though there was no wind.

Lace’s silken fingers brushed the bottom of the spider's cloak. “…Hornet?”

“Keep walking,” Hornet murmured. “Do not pay it mind.”

..

At one point, Lace glanced back the way they’d come. “Feels like the walls are listening.”

Hornet’s tone was low, steady. “If they are, let them. I’ve nothing left to hide.”

A pause. Then, softer—

“You sound tired.”

“I am,” Hornet admitted. “But not enough to stop.”

The path ahead opened slightly, revealing a wide building dotted with old bell roots and patches of pale moss that shimmered faintly in the dim glow from the hole in the ground. The tunnel in front of it would lead into the Deep Docks—tight, echoing, and steep. Hornet stopped there, looking out over the narrow drop ahead.

The silence pressed in again. Thick. Alive.

Lace finally broke it with a whisper. “Something’s following us.”

Hornet didn’t turn her head. “I know.” 

.

Chapter Text

Chapter Text

The Abyss was still.

It always was.

No current, no air, no weight to the world. Only the slow drift of shades — fragments of thought adrift in endless silence. They floated without effort, without purpose. Their forms brushed one another like smoke meeting smoke. And when one vanished into another, no sound marked its end.

Ghost drifted among them. They were quiet, as all were, but not mindless. A faint glimmer of thought still flickered within — a dim ember that remembered warmth, remembered light. They did not long for it, only watched. Watched the others — their kin — drift in peace.

It was enough.

Until the dark began to breathe.

It came subtly at first, a slow swell through the endless nothing. Ghost felt it pass through them like a shudder through water. The shades stirred, edges trembling, their quiet drift disturbed. The darkness was not meant to move.

Something had woken beneath it.

Ghost’s form tensed — shadow curling around them like instinct. The faint presence of kin pressed closer, as if seeking safety in numbers, but there was no direction to run. The Abyss had no walls. No floor. No escape.

Then the dark pulsed again — deeper, closer.

It rippled through the void, and something inside it answered. A groan too vast to hear, yet it pressed through every being that floated in the deep. The shades convulsed, their forms splintering apart in silent terror. Ghost moved between them, reaching out — a wordless gesture of gathering, herding, protecting. They pushed one away from the thickening black, another, and another, their essence flaring faintly like dim light in the suffocating dark.

But the dark moved with purpose.

It noticed.

At first it was formless — a shift in the texture of shadow. But then, from the distance (though distance was meaningless), something began to coil. The dark folded inward, drawing itself into a single line — long, impossible, alive.

Eyes opened along it.

Hundreds of them — white, ancient, lidless, too predatory in their stillness. Each blink sent ripples through the Abyss. The eyes did not glow; they illuminated by sheer wrongness, making the nothing around them feel shallow, like a surface stretched over depth.

The shades froze.

 The thing did not.

Its body stretched on forever, its length curling through the endless dark until Ghost lost track of where it began. From its sides, tendrils unfolded — smooth at first, then tearing open at the ends into pitch talons. They flexed, testing the concept of shape.

Ghost moved forward — not with courage, but with the instinct to stand between. They could not speak, but they pulsed faint light through their form — a signal, the way their kin used to call to one another.

The shades gathered behind them, trembling.

Then, the false void exhaled.

Every part of the Abyss tightened. The space itself seemed to recoil, like the creature’s breath was pulling reality inward. The shades began to slide toward it, their outlines distorting, the edges of their forms unraveling like threads. Ghost pushed back, forcing against the pull, their form brightening — and the thing looked at them.

The stare was a wound.

Dozens, hundreds of eyes turning in unison, narrowing, curious. It had no face, yet it wore an imitation of understanding. Something learned in that stare, something hungry.

From its spine came the first sound the Abyss had ever known.

A wet, tearing hiss.

The white eyes blinked, and the body cracked open. A long mouth split the dark, teeth unfolding like blades, glistening though there was no light to catch. And from that mouth came tendrils — dragging shades into its gullet, twisting them into its flesh as it swallowed.

The Abyss, eternal and still, screamed — without air, without noise.

Ghost’s kin scattered. The weaker ones dissolved immediately, absorbed. The stronger fought, their forms shuddering with defiance, trying to cling to one another. Ghost struck at the tendrils — bursts of willpower, shadow meeting shadow — but it was like fighting water.

And the thing laughed.

It didn’t make sound. But its eyes trembled in rhythm, and the void vibrated with the suggestion of mirth.

A tendril wrapped around Ghost. The pressure burned cold, too rea, too solidl. They thrashed, cutting against it, but the tendril was part of the dark itself. It bled black when torn, and from that wound, more tendrils poured.

They reached for the shades, pulled them close, studied them. The creature’s body began to mimic them — vague shapes rising along its sides, shadows taking outlines of heads, limbs, wings, as though it was making mockeries of its prey.

Ghost screamed in silence — not for pain, but for the others.

Their form shuddered, trying to gather the nearest kin, to push them back — but the Abyss itself betrayed them. The thing was inside the void now, wearing it like skin. The shades vanished into it one by one, until Ghost felt the endless weight of solitude crush in.

The creature loomed over them — endless, shifting.

From deep within it, something moved wrong. Like a heartbeat, but not — more like an echo of something long dead pretending to live again. And through that false rhythm, a whisper pressed into Ghost’s mind. Not words. Not a voice. Just meaning:

I come from you all.

It drew closer, and Ghost’s form wavered, threatening to break apart. They reached out one last time, hoping to find another shade — a sibling, a remnant — anything. But there was nothing left.

Only the creature, and its infinite, slow smile.

………………………

Present….

The Deep Docks were quiet now—too quiet for a place that once screamed with work and fire. The molten channels that once fueled the great forges had cooled in places, forming glassy veins of crimson beneath cracked grates. The air was thick with metal and steam, a ghost of the industry that used to live here.

Hornet and Lace made their way down the long, skeletal catwalks. Each step echoed across the vast chamber, swallowed quickly by the low hiss of pressure vents. Hornet moved with deliberate care, her clawed feet finding each patch of stable ground before shifting her weight. Lace followed behind, the faint shimmer of her silken body catching what little light still burned.

She didn’t mention that it felt wrong. They had established as such since the first tremor in Far Fields. Pharloom’s silence under the haunting was one thing—but the stillness now wasn’t peace. It was waiting.

They came to a rusted stairway that wound downward, half-collapsed into the metal below. Hornet tested the edge, then dropped lightly onto the next level. Lace followed, landing without sound. Their path led toward a narrow opening in the far wall—a faint glimmer of light, pulsing like a dying lantern.

Inside, the air cooled sharply. The molten glow was replaced by a pale blue shimmer, bouncing off slick metal walls. It was a small service cave—storage, maybe, once—but abandoned for ages.

Hornet slowed. Something hung there, suspended above the floor.

A figure.

It hovered just out of the light’s reach—small, still, its edges dissolving into the dark like smoke. Hornet froze. For a heartbeat, her mind refused to think; her body simply knew.

“…Little Ghost?” she breathed.

The shape stirred, twitching once as if recognizing her name. The sound it made—soft, wet, like breath passing through water—echoed faintly. Lace frowned, stepping up beside her.

“You know that thing?”

Hornet didn’t answer. Her chest was tight. The figure was the same size, the same fragile frame—she knew that silhouette, even blurred by distance and heat distortion. But when the light shifted, her hope twisted and died.

The eyes.

They were white. Not glowing with that soft inner light she remembered—just pale, opaque, disturbingly organic. Like something had painted over what used to be empty.

The shade’s tendrils unfurled slowly, drifting like smoke before they fell into form—long, twisting limbs that ended not in smooth points, but in hooked talons, scraping faintly against the metal floor.

Hornet’s every instinct screamed to retreat, yet she stepped closer. The movement made the shade’s head tilt, mirroring her in perfect stillness.

Then it shifted—its body rippling in strange, delayed motions, as if the space around it lagged behind the thing itself. A low creak filled the air. The light dimmed slightly.

Lace spoke again, tension creeping into her voice. “Hornet, what is it?”

The spider’s throat tightened. “They… shouldn’t be here.”

The shade twitched again. Its eyes—those wrong, fleshy eyes—seemed to focus on her, and something deep in Hornet’s chest went cold, she knew it wasn't them.. But her body screamed, wanting to reach out towards her kin.

It began to drift forward.

Lace’s silk snapped into readiness around her shoulders, sharp threads glinting. Hornet raised her needle but didn’t strike. She couldn’t. For one terrible second, she thought she saw something behind those eyes—recognition, or memory, or pain.

The stillness that followed was unbearable. Even the molten channels outside seemed to go quiet, the world holding its breath.

And Hornet whispered, barely audible—

 “Whatever you are… you are not them.”

The figure stopped midair. It tilted its head again, a slow, deliberate motion—almost mocking.

The air in the Deep Docks was already heavy — molten heat rising through the grates, the scent of scorched metal and oil sinking into every breath. But the moment that thing moved, the air itself felt alive — trembling, tense, watching.

Hornet’s claws twitched around her needle, gaze locked on the black shape that had once reminded her—painfully—of kin. It floated inches off the ground, its outline rippling like liquid shadow, white eyes crawling up its spine like lanterns.

For a moment, it simply stared. Its chest—or what could be called one—expanded with a quiet, dry hiss, as though drawing air it didn’t need.

Then, faster than thought, it lunged.

More tendrils split from its sides, fluid at first, then snapping taut—each one ending in a hook, black and sharp as obsidian. They coiled around Lace before Hornet could move—one snaring her waist, another her throat.

The silk-born bug gasped, her hands clawing at the tendrils, feet kicking against open air as the creature lifted her from the ground. The sound that left her was strangled, high, a blend of fear and mechanical strain.

“Lace!” Hornet shouted, the word echoing sharp off the iron walls.

Her needle was in her hands, pointed, steady, though her breath shook through her mask. “Release her.”

The thing didn’t react.

It only turned—slowly—toward the sound of her voice. The head tilted one way, then too far the other, a low crack following the motion. Its wound began to open, wide and soundless, the edges fraying into mist.

“Release. Her.”

This time her voice came like venom—low, heavy, carrying the weight of countless battles.

The shade’s tendrils twitched. The ones around Lace’s throat tightened. Her legs kicked harder, frantically now—her voice breaking as she tried to choke out words. The hooked ends dug in—too deep. Silk began to tear. A sound like fabric ripping echoed beneath her scream.

“STOP!”

Hornet dashed forward, faster than most could see, needle driving upward in a streak of white light. But the shade’s movement was wrong—off. It didn’t recoil like a living thing; instead, it bent back at the middle, body twisting to avoid the blow like liquid drawn away by gravity.

The tendrils coiled tighter in response, pulling Lace’s body taut—one around her waist, one up her throat. The silk along her abdomen began to strain, threads splitting like cracking ice. Hornet saw the panic in Lace’s eyes, the faint shimmer of her internal light pulsing wildly, flickering like a candle in wind.

Then came the sound.

A wet tear, muffled but sharp enough to echo. One of the tendrils jerked downward and twisted. Lace’s body convulsed as her right arm came apart at the shoulder—silk strands snapping, silver threads unraveling into the hot air like smoke.

The limb fell from the shade’s grip first. It hit the metal floor with a hollow thump, still twitching faintly before dissolving into loose strands. The smell of burnt silk and something sour filled the room.

Lace screamed—short, sharp, before her breath gave out. Her one remaining arm scrabbled weakly against the tendrils, the fine silk of her body splitting where the creature’s grip dug in.

Hornet’s eyes burned red with fury. The control she so carefully held cracked. “ENOUGH!”

She lunged again, needle thrusting through the air—this time guided not by precision, but wrath.

The blow struck true. The needle tore through the thing’s side, the impact echoing like a bell. The shape shuddered, its body rippling apart in a dozen liquid ribbons, the tendrils retracting violently.

Lace dropped, hitting the floor hard, rolling onto her side. Hornet stumbled forward, claws out, catching her before she hit the metal grate again.

By the time she looked up, the shade was gone—split into mist, slipping back through the cracks in the walls. Only the faintest wisp of black lingered, fading into the molten glow.

Hornet’s breath came in short bursts. The world was silent now, save for the faint hum of heat. She looked down.

Lace trembled in her arms, silk around her shoulder pulsing faintly where the tear still gaped open. Her voice came weak, pained, her body half-curled in instinct.

“I—hah—I think it liked me.”

“Quiet,” Hornet hissed, though her voice broke halfway through the word. She pressed a claw to the wound, trying to hold the strands together. The silk stuck to her fingers, damp and half-melted from the heat.

Her mask tilted down, shadows hiding her face.

“You’ll live,” she muttered. “You will live.”

Lace gave a broken little laugh, though her body quivered. “You… sound awfully sure.”

Hornet didn’t answer. She pulled her cloak free, wrapping it around the wound as tightly as she dared, her movements sharp but trembling.

For a moment, neither of them spoke.

The air stank—burning silk, oil, iron, something fouler still. The sound of Lace’s breathing—shallow, strained—was the only proof she was still there.

Hornet’s eyes flicked once toward the shadows, where the thing had gone. Her gaze returned to Lace, only finding her unconscious. 

…

Hornet’s silk still trembled between her claws as she worked, fine strands glinting faintly in the molten light leaking through cracks in the stone. Lace lay limp across her lap—too still, too quiet. The air reeked of burnt silk and void, the metallic tang biting at Hornet’s senses as she pressed trembling hands against the ruined edge of Lace’s arm.

“Stay with me,” she muttered under her breath, though there was no sign Lace could hear her.

The limb was torn halfway up the threadline—silk frayed to wisps, the joint a shredded mess of fiber and pale filament. Hornet gathered every loose strand she could find, her own silk spilling from her fingertips in steady, shaking threads. She wove them together with deliberate care, patching the tear, forcing the fibers to align even as her own strength began to ebb. Her silk was strong, but it wasn’t meant for mending another—it fought her, fraying at the edges as fast as she could bind it.

Still, she refused to stop.

The faintest pulse of warmth answered beneath her hands when the weave finally held. The fraying slowed; the edges stiffened into something like stability. Hornet exhaled, unsteady, and at last let her claws fall away from the wound.

For a long moment, she just stared at her work—messy, imperfect, barely functional—and then at Lace’s motionless form. The once-bright fencer, always taunting, always smiling in the face of danger, was now nothing more than a tangle of pale silk and silence.

Hornet adjusted her hold carefully, lowering Lace’s head more comfortably against her lap. The movement stirred faint ripples in the molten reflection beside them, painting them both in dull amber light.

Her breath caught.

So much had happened in so little time—too much—and now here she sat in the half-light, her chest tight with a feeling she hadn’t wanted to name. Hornet brushed the back of her claw against Lace’s shell, tracing the edge of a seam that ran along her neck. It wasn’t hair she brushed back, just smooth silk, but the motion felt grounding.

“I warned you,” she whispered, voice catching faintly. “You never listen.”

No response. Just the soft hiss of distant vents.

Hornet leaned back against the cave wall, exhaustion pressing into her frame. The heat from the Deep Docks curled around them, but she barely noticed. Her body folded slightly over Lace’s, shielding her out of instinct more than logic—legs curled protectively, arms tightening around the smaller form resting in her lap.

Her eyes drifted toward the edge of the cave where the shade had stood, that awful thing with white, flesh-like eyes and hooked tendrils. The memory of it still clawed at her, but now, holding Lace close, she could almost quiet it.

Her voice softened, almost too low to hear.

 “I won’t let you be taken. Not ever.”

The cave filled again with silence, broken only by the faint hum of cooling silk and Hornet’s slow, unsteady breathing. For once, she didn’t move—just sat there, still and watchful, keeping vigil over the one who refused to stay still even in rest.

And though the shadows still lingered beyond the cave’s edge, Hornet’s hold did not falter. 

Chapter Text

When Lace stirred, the first thing she noticed was the ache. Her arm burned—every thread pulling tight, every fiber straining with each small movement. She hissed through the pain, looking down to find the rough, uneven stitching laced through the torn limb. It wasn’t pretty, but it held. Hornet’s silk, unmistakable in its texture—stronger, darker, more elastic than her own.

A strange mix of gratitude and guilt twisted in her chest. Hornet must’ve drained herself to do this.

Lace turned her head slightly, catching sight of the spider not far from her. Hornet stood at the mouth of the cave, gaze set on the molten horizon beyond, her shoulders stiff with exhaustion she wouldn’t admit. Lace opened her mouth to say something—anything—but the words died before they could form. Hornet moved first, stepping away, cloak pulled close.

They traveled in silence.

The journey away from The Deep Docks eventually gave way to something quieter, colder. Bone Bottom stretched before them—a hollow expanse of sun-bleached remains and collapsed structures, the air heavy with dust. Bones jutted from the ground like the ribs of some long-dead creature, everything tinted the pale grey of decay.

Lace’s footsteps echoed faintly against the stone. No voices. No distant clatter. Not even the hum of life.

It wasn’t the first empty place they’d passed, and somehow that made it worse.

Hornet’s eyes darted upward as they entered a clearing—a ledge jutting high above, and on it, a lone post with a golden ring gleaming faintly in the dim light. Her breath caught.

Without a word, she moved—claws digging into the rough wall, scaling the height in a flurry of precision. Lace watched from below, the faintest spark of curiosity flickering in her tired gaze. Hornet reached the ledge, brushed the dust from the ring, and struck it sharply with her needle.

The sound rang out clear—a beautiful, resonant tone that hung in the air far longer than it should have.

It faded.

Silence.

Hornet stood still for a moment too long. The faint tremor in her hands was the only sign of what she’d hoped for. A friend. A voice. Something.

Nothing came.

She reached forward, almost reluctantly, and pulled the ring free from its post. The sound of the metal sliding loose echoed faintly through the chamber. Hornet turned the golden piece over in her palm once before slipping it into the folds of her cloak.

When she dropped back down beside Lace, her expression had hardened again—composure sealed tight like armor.

“Anything?” Lace asked quietly.

Hornet didn’t look at her. “No.”

Lace hesitated, glancing at her arm. “You… used a lot of silk. You shouldn’t—”

“I’m fine,” Hornet cut in, too quickly. Her tone carried no sharpness this time, just weight. Finality.

The conversation fell dead. Lace’s gaze lingered for a heartbeat longer, something unreadable flickering in her eyes before she dropped her head and followed. Her footsteps trailed just behind Hornet’s, quiet, hesitant, as the two figures disappeared deeper into Bone Bottom’s stillness.

The air in Bone Bottom hung heavy—like dust suspended in silence. Every step echoed faintly, the hollowed metal beneath their feet groaning with age. Hornet led, her cloak flaying slightly behind her, catching on the broken rails and scattered bones of long-dead creatures. She didn’t speak. Not a word since the ring had fallen silent.

Lace followed at a slower pace, one hand clutching the patch of silk where her arm had been torn apart. It still throbbed—threads pulling tight and loosening with every motion—but she didn’t complain. Not after seeing how pale Hornet had looked when she’d finished mending her.

Still, the silence was unbearable.

Lace’s gaze stayed fixed on Hornet’s back—the way her shoulders squared, always tense, always ready to fight. The spider looked so certain, so determined, but Lace could see the weight dragging at her movements. Hornet was tired. Worn thin by loss after loss.

And yet… Lace couldn’t help but feel something simmering beneath her pity.

Because she was tired, too.

Lace’s throat tightened as the memory of the shade’s talons flashed through her mind—the sound of tearing silk, the sharp, empty pain. She was still unraveling from it, even now. Everything since her freedom had been chaos, loss, running. There hadn’t been time to breathe, or to feel.

And Hornet—Hornet never let her.

Never once had the spider turned and asked if Lace was alright. Not once. She had stitched her back together with trembling hands, yes, but after that—nothing. No words. No warmth. Just quiet, and that endless drive forward.

Lace wanted to understand her. She wanted to reach out, maybe even thank her. But she also wanted to shout—to demand some acknowledgment that she was hurting, too.

Her voice stayed buried behind her teeth.

The two of them pressed onward through the grotto, the dim light of the fungal lanterns painting their path in washed-out green. The wind whistled through the narrow shafts, carrying whispers that could almost be mistaken for voices.

Hornet didn’t flinch. Lace did.

She looked to Hornet again, noticing the faint drag in her step, the way her head tilted slightly toward the sound but didn’t react. Maybe she was just pretending not to hear it—like everything else.

Lace sighed, the sound soft but sharp in the stillness.
“...You don’t have to pretend you’re fine all the time, you know,” she muttered under her breath, not even sure Hornet could hear her.

Hornet didn’t turn.

The silence returned, heavier than before.

And for the first time, Lace wondered if maybe it wasn’t only grief that kept Hornet’s voice buried—maybe it was fear.

Not of dying, or failing. But of feeling anything again.

They walked until the dirt of Bone Bottom gave way to mossy paths, and the mossy paths gave way to ash.

The air grew drier, heavier. It clung to their lungs like dust.
When the path finally opened up, it wasn’t to a horizon or city or any sign of life—only an endless plain.

A field of grey sand stretched below them, smooth and silent, dotted here and there with the shapes of old bones. Some were small—fragments of carapace, half-buried mandibles—others were massive, ancient, ribcages big enough to have once sheltered cities. The wind slid across them with a faint, whining groan.

Hornet came to a stop at the cliff’s edge, the faint chime of her needle striking against her back as she turned her head toward the view. She didn’t say anything for a long time. The emptiness stretched on, matching the silence between them.

Lace drew in close beside her, a faint shimmer of silk catching what little light there was. She followed Hornet’s gaze out across the wastes. It was… unreal. The land felt hollowed out, as if the world itself had been carved open and left to dry.

Neither of them moved.

Finally, Hornet exhaled—a sound halfway between a sigh and a whisper.
Her voice came quiet, careful, like she was measuring the weight of every word.

“I am not making you follow.”

She turned, her red cloak dragging faintly through the dusty atmosphere, pitch eyes dim beneath the mask’s glare.

“I will continue on with or without you.”

..

“Are you sure you want to come?”

Her words weren’t cruel, but they were sharp, brittle with exhaustion. She didn’t look at Lace right away—perhaps afraid of what she might see there.

For a moment, neither spoke. The wind stirred around them, carrying sand through the empty field below like drifting snow.

Lace stared at her, expression unreadable.

She thought back—to the heat of the Deep Docks, to their first clash of needles that had ended in cuts and bruises. To the dim pale glow of the Cradle, when Hornet had stepped in front of her without hesitation. To the cold weight of the Abyss, when Hornet had reached for her through darkness itself.

Through all of it, Hornet had never once faltered.
Never striked to kill. Never demanded anything in return for her mercy.

The spider before her was proud, yes—but she was good. Worn, bitter, scarred by too many losses, yet still good. And something in that realization burned bright and tender inside Lace’s silken chest.

She stepped closer, the sand crunching underfoot. Her threads shimmered faintly in the half-light, catching like threads of dawn.

“Yes,” she said softly, voice steady despite the ache that trembled in her frame.
“I’ll follow until we both shatter.”

Hornet froze. The wind seemed to catch its breath with her.

For a heartbeat, she couldn’t move. Couldn’t speak. Those words—simple, foolish, loyal—hit her like a blade through the ribs. She’d spent so long being the one to lead, to shield, to walk alone ahead of everyone else… that the thought of someone choosing to stay despite everything felt foreign.

Something uncoiled in her chest, something warm and long-buried.
Her throat tightened. She swallowed it down quickly, but not fast enough for Lace to miss the way her shoulders trembled.

Hornet looked away first, gloved claws tightening around her needle hilt.

“Then… we continue together,” she murmured, voice barely audible.

The two stood side by side at the cliff’s edge, the world around them silent except for the sighing wind and the faint rustle of silk against silk.

Hornet turned her head slightly, the corner of her mask lifting just so—a hint of a smile that Lace had rarely seen from her.

She extended a clawed hand, pale fingers glinting faintly in the washed-out light.

For a heartbeat, Lace just blinked, unsure if the gesture was real. Then she took it, silk-threaded digits curling carefully around Hornet’s. The spider’s grip was firm, grounding—like the world itself had steadied for a brief, miraculous moment.

Lace tilted her head toward the sheer drop below them.
“...So,” she began cautiously, “how exactly are we getting down from here?”

Hornet said nothing. She only turned her gaze toward the cliff’s edge, her crimson cloak fluttering in the dry wind.

That silence—paired with the faint twitch of her leg—was all the answer Lace needed.
Her eyes widened.

“Oh no.”

Hornet stepped closer to the edge. The air was sharp, the ground loose beneath her boots. Lace stared, realization dawning in slow horror as the spider bent her knees ever so slightly.

“Wait—WAIT, WAIT—!”

The last word became a shriek as Hornet launched herself from the ledge, the sudden drop tearing the breath from their throats.

 Air whipped past them, the cliff racing away above as the wasteland below drew closer and closer. Lace’s silk frayed in the wind as she thrashed, struggling against gravity’s pull—until she felt the sudden weight of Hornet’s arms pulling her close.

The world blurred. The howl of the fall became a steady roar in Lace’s ears. She buried her face against Hornet’s shoulder, claws clutching desperately at the spider’s cloak.

“Before we die, I just wanted to say I’m sorry for everything I did and that I—”

Her voice was cut short.

There was a sudden burst of motion—a low thrummm as Hornet’s cloak rippled outward like a living thing. Two pale, feathered appendages unfolded from beneath, thin as blades and glimmering faintly against the gloom. They caught the wind with an audible snap.

Their descent slowed, weightless for a moment.
Dust spiraled up around them as they glided to the ground, Hornet landing with a grace that belied the chaos moments before.

Lace clung to her still, trembling, her chest rising and falling in quick, shallow bursts.

When Hornet finally set her down, she looked at her companion—really looked—and for the first time in what felt like days, amusement glimmered behind her pale eyes.

“You can trust me,” Hornet said softly, wings folding back beneath her cloak.
“I won’t be letting you die anytime soon.”

The sand whispered around them, the faint wind tugging at the edges of Hornet’s cloak.
Lace blinked up at her, her silk still tangled around Hornet’s arm, face flushed with the aftershock of terror and something else—something gentler.

Lace stayed quiet.
Her gaze lingered on Hornet, the shimmer of the pale light catching against her silk form. For a moment, neither of them moved—the world around them muted, heavy with dust and the faint whistle of wind weaving through the bones scattered across the wastes.

It wasn’t often silence felt… safe. But this one did.

Hornet’s hand lowered, claws brushing lightly against her cloak as she looked away first, the faintest curve forming beneath her mask. Lace didn’t need to see her face to know—something small and rare had flickered there.

The warmth that had been creeping up Lace’s chest spread to her face now, a strange, glowing pulse she couldn’t quite place. She gave a small nod, unable to trust her own voice not to betray her.

The spider let out a soft sound—a laugh so quiet it could’ve been mistaken for a sigh. It was weak, worn around the edges, but genuine.

Almost… fond.

Even drained of silk, Hornet still carried herself like someone who refused to yield, though her limbs trembled faintly with fatigue. She tilted her head slightly, as if amused by Lace’s flustered stillness, her chuckle dying into a low hum.

“Come,” she murmured after a pause, voice gentler than before. “We’ll rest when it’s safe to.”

The warmth of the moment faded into motion again as Hornet stepped forward, the soft drag of her claws across the dry stone grounding them both back into the harshness of the world around them.

Lace followed in silence, fingers brushing the edge of her mended arm. Despite everything—the pain, the exhaustion, the loss—they were still together.

And somehow, that was enough to keep her moving.

Hornet walked ahead, the last ghost of her laugh caught in the air like a fading ember. She brushed off the feeling lingering in her chest, pushing it down beneath the weight of survival and purpose.

The wastes stretched on in every direction — a blank, gray sea of dust and bone. The air hummed faintly, still but alive with some distant, unseen current. Every step Hornet and Lace took sank softly into the fine grit, leaving shallow trails that the wind immediately devoured.

Neither spoke.

Lace trailed a few paces behind, her pale form nearly blending with the gray light. Her thoughts drifted with the air. She hadn’t realized how empty Pharloom would feel until she left it — until silence became her only companion besides the soft rhythm of Hornet’s steps.

She should’ve felt free.
Instead, she felt hollow.

Pharloom had been a cage, yes, but it had been alive. Now all she could think about were the bugs who’d been left behind. Families. Hatchlings. Servants who never had a choice. Lace didn’t care for Pharloom, not truly — but she couldn’t help pitying the ones still trapped there.

And then came the memory she’d been trying not to focus on.

The Bellways.
Eira.

The smell of rot. The sticky air clinging to her shell. The bell beast’s body collapsing into itself, her children motionless beside her. 

Hornet had been there too. She’d said nothing — just stood beside her in silence. Her gaze sharp but filled with something Lace didn’t know how to name.

Loss recognized loss.

Lace’s steps slowed slightly, and she looked up. Hornet was walking a little ahead, her crimson cloak dark against the gray, her pace measured and unwavering.

Hornet’s mind was quieter, though no less full.
Each step came with a thought she refused to dwell on for too long.

The letter. The one dashed with a mark she knew.
Its words had been spare — but their meaning heavy.

A call home.

To Hallownest.

She didn’t know what she would find when she returned, or if she would be too late. But she hoped. Hoped that it was still standing. Hoped that it wasn’t suffering the same decay she’d seen in Pharloom. Hoped that the voice in the letter — that familiar hand — still lingered in truth.

It was foolish, she knew. Hope always was. But she clung to it anyway.

Her gaze flicked briefly over her shoulder. Lace followed, silent, her movement careful.

Hornet could see how she favored the arm she’d lost — the one she had mended herself with the last of her silk. The patchwork wasn’t perfect, but it held. It was a small victory in a long stretch of failures.

She wondered if Lace was truly fine.

They had never talked about what happened in the void. About the thing that had taken shape there. About Grand Mother Silk and the things she had done.

Lace had never brought it up, and Hornet hadn’t pushed.

Feelings were not her strength.

She didn’t know how to console — only to protect, and fight, and move forward.

Comfort was something she could give only in silence.

Still… she felt that strange ache again. A dull, reluctant fondness that sat somewhere under her ribs. The same one that rose whenever she saw Lace smile faintly, or make some small, useless comment just to fill the air.

Hornet hated it.

It made her feel weak.

It made her remember she wasn’t just her purpose.

The wind picked up again, brushing across their shells. Hornet adjusted her cloak, the red fabric whispering faintly against the sand. The sky above them was a flat, cloudless gray, bleeding into the horizon like ash.

A bone rattled in the wind — hollow, fragile. Both looked up, though there was nothing around. Just the endless plain, the ruins of things long gone.

Lace looked uneasy, but Hornet pressed forward. Her body was weary, her silk reserves almost gone, but she refused to let it show. She couldn’t. Not now.

Lace watched her a moment longer, the silence between them heavier than the sand.

Finally, she spoke, her voice soft:

“How much farther?”

Hornet didn’t answer at first. Her eyes stayed fixed on the horizon, distant and unreadable.

“…Farther than it looks,” she said finally.

Lace huffed softly. “Figures.”

Hornet didn’t smile, but the corner of her mask tilted almost imperceptibly — a ghost of amusement she didn’t let reach her voice.

They kept walking.

After a long pause, Hornet’s voice cut through the quiet, careful but soft enough that it felt almost fragile.

“Are you… doing alright, Lace?”

Lace stiffened slightly, caught off guard. Her pale eyes flicked toward the spider, studying the way Hornet’s gaze stayed fixed forward, sharp and unreadable. For someone so deliberate and controlled, this sudden softness felt strange.

“W-what? Oh… well, my arm hurts a bit. But I—” Lace hesitated, unsure how much to say. She didn’t want to dwell on the pain, the lingering sting of Hornet’s silk mending, or the exhaustion that still hung over her like a shadow.

Hornet’s voice cut her off, softer this time, deliberate:

“I meant… with everything that’s happened.”

Lace froze, the weight of the question sinking into her. She blinked, taking in the rigid, precise posture of the spider. Hornet wasn’t one for softness. Not like this. Not for words that had no purpose but to touch a feeling instead of a fight. This… was new. Strange. Almost unsettling.

Her silk frame shivered faintly—not from the wind, but from the uncertainty of it. She wasn’t used to Hornet asking about feelings. She wasn’t used to anyone caring enough to ask.

“I… I don’t know,” she admitted, voice barely above a whisper. Her words carried the exhaustion and grief of everything they had endured — the Bellways, the wastes, the endless stretch of empty in Pharloom, the loss, the note, the threat looming over Hallownest and Pharloom. She felt raw and fragile, but she also felt… understood, in the simplest way.

Hornet didn’t respond immediately. Her steps slowed just slightly, deliberate as ever, but her gaze softened ever so subtly. The wind carried the faint rustle of her cloak, and in the quiet, the two of them moved together, the silence almost companionable.

For a long moment, neither spoke. The wastes held them in their stark, empty embrace, and the desolation around them only made the shared quiet feel heavier, more real.

Finally, Hornet let out the faintest exhale—a whisper of acknowledgment. Lace didn’t know if it was for her, for herself, or for the weight of the world pressing down on them both. But it was enough.

Enough to let her lean slightly closer, trusting the spider beside her, and to know she wasn’t alone in the gray silence.