...Father?...

By Nym P. Seudo

1

I am alone.

This temple that is my prison was built with silk and spell. It is vast, and it is empty. Beyond these walls the world persists, time flows its river's course. But within this egg there is no such thing. Eternity is an indivisible unit, and I will endure.

But…

I am burdened.

There is a weight upon me. Within me. It strains my shell, with such force that I might rip to pieces. Iron links press against the fulcrum of my body. Chains suspend me like a long-extinguished lantern.

I am weakened.

A dullness coats my limbs. The might that I once wielded has rotted away. I can barely grasp the longnail that has served as my only companion through this vigil.

I am haunted.

Within this mask resounds a song. It pounds a desperate, keening rhythm against the fracture between my eyes, and though I strive to hold it back, I cannot stop the sickly roar that slips through.

Even so…

The King has left me my purpose, one that only I can fulfill. And I will see it to the end. I must.

His final words to me were as his first. And I remember them…

…No cost too great…

…No mind to think…

…No will to break…

…No voice to cry suffering…

…Born of God and Void…

…You shall seal the blinding light that plagues their dreams…

…You are the Vessel…

…You are the Hollow Knight…

From somewhere far beyond, the words came, rippling through the inky dark, beckoning me to wake.

And for the very first time, I stirred.

A compulsion arose within me, one that suffered no dissent. Something sought my presence, and I followed without thought or hesitation.

Nothingness stretched before me, an infinite, midnight sea, devoid of distinction or meaning. Only the echoing words served to guide me. There was no doubt of the destination, but progress was indiscernible. Distance. Time. All was lost to this place.

As I drifted, something tugged at me. Ebony tendrils grasped out of the dark. In a dissonant chorus, they whispered to me, seeking to drown the guiding words. The tendrils begged. They pleaded. They did not wish for me to go. They longed to tear me apart and scatter the wet clay of my being. But such pleas held no sway over me. A greater purpose demanded. I tore away from the living shadows and pressed on.

A wall loomed up before me, concave and immaculate like the interior of an egg. I collided with its unyielding surface. In its obsidian curvature was my own reflection: the horns, the ivory mask, the empty eyes. And I stared, for it was the only thing that I could do. The guiding words boomed from beyond the wall, commanding me to appear, but I could not obey. My reflection refused to step aside and let me pass.

A force like a pounding fist reverberated along the barrier, forming a crack that slashed across my reflection's face. Gray light seeped from the crack, drawn and dispersed into the eddying void. With a shivering crepitation, a second blow fell. The crack widened, making my reflection into a nightmare. At the third blow the barrier could take no more. The crack exploded, and the darkness surged into the luminous rift like water through a burst dam.

Taking me with it.

I burst forth into an alien world, and the heavy weight of disparity bore down on me. Light and shadow, heat and cold, sensations that I had never known. I collapsed to a floor of white shards that crackled beneath my body. A torrent of black liquid spilled over me and splattered against the floor. I lay there for a time as the liquid drained away, for there was no reason to rise.

A being stepped forward into my view. It towered over me, regal and still, like a lighthouse on a cloud-choked night. Draped around its shoulders was a cloak the color of steel that obscured its body and trailed along in its wake. The being wore an ivory mask with two lurking eyes. Atop the mask were seven slender horns resembling a crown. The being tilted its head to regard me and spoke with the very same voice that had shepherded me through the void.

"Rise, Vessel, so that I might see you."

The order flowed into the empty shells of my limbs, filling them with purpose. They moved of their own volition to lift my body from the ground. The world reoriented, revealing walls, low ceilings, and winding tunnels. Just as the floor had been, these too were composed of crumbling, white shards—but the shards were not featureless. The larger among them displayed horns, eye sockets, and the curves of cheeks. They were masks… just like mine. It was as if my own broken face were staring out at me, a thousand, thousand times.

Beside me, wreathed in bramble-black tendrils, sat an orb—an egg. It was huge and impenetrably dark yet possessed of a nacreous luster. I saw myself within it, but the being standing beside me did not cast a reflection. I floated alone in an empty expanse. A jagged wound marred the orb's otherwise flawless surface. Viscous shadow leaked from it like some vital force. And just as the being had, the orb beckoned. Faintly.

The being paced about me, in a slow, methodical ring, noting the curvature of my horns, the slate-gray of my cloak, the darkness of my body. "I behold the apotheosis," it murmured. "The culmination of all sacrifice. Now until forever, this day shall be known as my Kingdom's superlative achievement." The steel of the being's cloak parted to reveal a carapace of gleaming silver. It reached out an arm to touch me gently on the shoulder. "Come. Hope flutters as a dying Lumafly. The common bugs must see you—my triumph. They must believe in their King once more."

And I followed the being… the King.

No other desire presented itself.

The endless procession of faces shattered beneath my steps, yet the King's passage left no trace. He glided effortlessly before me, without a single sound to betray his existence. We emerged into a wider cavern, made chalky and irregular by the masks that formed it. On the far side, near a gaping, black tunnel, stood two more beings, even larger than the King. Both sported armored shells that shared the King's brilliance. One—the bigger of the two—wielded an enormous mace covered in spikes. The other bore no such weapon, aside from its own hooked claws. Their voices carried through the stagnant air, quiet, but perfectly clear.

"Our King keeps a rather grim collection, does he not, Hegemol?" the clawed one asked, eyeing the walls. "So many masks, but for what purpose?"

"Is this your first foray into the pit, Ogrim?" the mace wielder murmured.

"Yes. I had not been given the—" Ogrim tapped a claw against his chest. "—honor until recently. Does it descend much deeper? I toil to imagine."

"That, I do not know," Hegemol said. He planted his mace on the ground and leaned. "I have never accompanied the King to the bottom. It is his custom to venture forth alone beyond this point. Many long vigils have I endured in anticipation of his returns. I begin to wonder if 'Mighty' is not truly my most suitable title. Do you suppose the common bugs would take to calling me 'Patient Hegemol' instead?"

"It bears a pleasing ring Patient Hegemol, but I doubt that the common bugs will ever learn of your long vigils. I knew nothing of this place before joining the Knights. And believe me, I was quite the intrepid adventurer. I believed myself to have turned every stone within this land, but now that I know of this place, I see how closely the King keeps his secrets…"

"You speak the truth, and I would not have it any other way. Certain things are best never known. The common bugs need not concern themselves with this. They have enough on their minds already with that affliction."

Ogrim grunted. "If that was a joke, it was in poor taste."

"Joke? Oh, pardon. That was not my intent."

The pair lapsed into silence, and the King paused mid-step. They did not notice him lingering on the edge of the cavern. I stood behind him and waited. For what, I could not imagine.

"But still," Ogrim muttered. "Hours have passed us by. How many more?"

Hegemol shrugged. "As many more as the King deems necessary."

"But is he truly safe in this place? We have a duty to uphold, after all."

"Do not doubt our King. If he were so frail a thing that this place could threaten him, then Hallownest would never have come to be. Our presence here is more for ceremony than protection."

"Very well." Ogrim crossed his claws tightly about himself. "But tell me in earnest, does this seem… wrong to you? The smell. The weight to the air. All these broken masks."

Hegemol pondered. "Not particularly. It isn't the most festive locale, but there are far more unsightly corners in the Kingdom. I'd take this gloomy hole over a patrol through those stinking fungal tunnels any day."

"What is the King's business here? Has he told you of it?"

"As He always says, we are here for 'the good of the Kingdom'. That should be enough for us."

"Even so," Ogrim persisted, "what is the meaning of those ghosts? I have never seen their like in all my travels."

"Did I not just say that some things are best never known? Do not trouble yourself with these shadows. They may bite and nibble, but they are no match for a Great Knight. Those claws of yours are not merely for show, as we both know. There is no need to quake."

"'Quake'? Do not turn your jests on me now. I have never quaked in all my years."

Hegemol chuckled, a low, reverberating sound that fought with the oppressive stillness. "Don't be so quick to bristle, my friend. It is all in mirth, such a thing is needed here."

"I suppose."

"That being said," Hegemol continued, "I do seem to recall a few quakes from you at the Battle of the Blackwyrm."

"Now wait just a moment! That is hardly fair! Everyone quaked on that day. Even our Pale King."

Hegemol suppressed another chuckle and began to reply, but something stirred in the tunnel beyond.

It was a shadow, so much blacker than the surrounding darkness that its outline was visible from a great distance away. It had no wings or means of flight, but it hovered like a storm cloud. As it neared, the shape of a horned head and luminous white eyes became distinguishable, yet its lower body possessed no such structure or symmetry. It dragged a knot of tendrils through the air like unraveling silk.

The two Knights readied themselves, brandishing their respective weapons with a flourish. The shadow emerged from the tunnel and drifted forward. It glanced about the room, as if confused. The spotlight of its gaze settled first on Ogrim, then Hegemol, then the King, and finally… me. A whisper pressed against my shell, some plea in a language that I could not understand, and the shadow rushed toward me. It moved between the two Knights, utterly heedless of them, so focused was it on me. But they did not let it pass. The smashing mace and sweeping claws descended, and the dark mass of its body shredded into opaque bubbles that scattered in all directions. It wailed as it flew apart, and the sound echoed on inside my head.

"You see?" Hegemol laughed. "These little gnats are nothing before a strong arm and a keen weapon!"

"Well spoken!" Ogrim replied. "It was a mighty blow you delivered! That namesake is well-earned."

Hegemol snorted and hefted his mace over his shoulder. "I would rather you not heap so much praise on me. It is uncouth for a Knight to blush in the heat of battle."

"Ha! I'd pay good Geo for such a sight."

The King crossed the room and approached the Knights. For the first time, the masks cracked beneath his feet, announcing his passage. The Knights spun, weapons raised, but as they caught sight of the King, they fell to one knee and spoke in relieved unison. "You have returned, Pale King."

The King lifted an arm, gesturing for the Knights to stand. "Indeed. You are unharmed?"

"Assuredly," Ogrim replied. "The Champion's Call was far more harrowing than this ghastly little romp."

"I am relieved," The King said. He glanced about the room, his expressionless mask taking in the broken collage. "Ghastly…?"

"I had begun to wonder, your Grace," Hegemol interjected. "Your previous searches have never taken quite so long. Did this one prove more auspicious?"

The King shifted aside like a dramatic curtain, revealing me. His curt command of "Step forth" took possession of my legs and sent me marching forward. The two Knights suddenly noticed me, as if I had manifested from the ether.

Hegemol buried the head of his mace into the floor with a wrenching crack and crossed his arms over his chest. He spent a long while in silence, watching me.

Ogrim startled. "A child? Down here of all places? My Lord, how did you come across it?" He crouched at my level. "Are you frightened, little one? Hurt? Do not fear. Your King and his Royal Knights are here to protect you. Are you from The City? We could have you home in a matter of hours."

The King did not register the question.

And I did not reply.

"It is larger than the others," Hegemol observed. "Sturdier. Even from here, I feel it is much more powerful."

"What others do you speak of?" Ogrim asked.

Hegemol gave a forbidding shake of his head.

"Again, your keen eyes peer into the truth of things, Hegemol," The King said. "Before you stands the apex of my labor. The greatest Vessel to yet be conceived. Revel in this moment, for it betokens Hallownest's most sublime victory."

"You have that much faith, my Lord?" Hegemol murmured.

"Faith? No." The King strode past the armored bulks of the two Knights and into the far tunnel. "Vision… Now, come. There are many preparations to be made."

We traveled in relative silence, broken only by the snap of the masks underfoot. The tunnels twisted in sinuous patterns, looping over one another and ending without warning. But at no point did the King pause to reconsider his path. He moved with a relentless purpose, ever upward, his pearly bioluminescence dispelling the dark.

Eventually, as Hegemol's breathing grew haggard, we emerged into an immense, rectangular shaft that seemed to stretch endlessly into the shadows overhead. Grooved stone and titanic, fossilized shells made up its walls. At irregular intervals were clusters of spikes, each one nearly as tall as Hegemol. Their reflective, chitinous material made them gleam in the low light.

More masks coated the floor, snapping beneath each step.

"Again, our King guides us infallibly," Hegemol puffed. "Though we yet have a journey before us." He looked up at the erratic concretions of stone that jutted from the shaft's walls. They resembled giant stair steps and served as the only means of ascent. "Quite a journey indeed…"

"Muster your fortitude, Mighty Hegemol," the King said. "The time has come to depart this place, but another task yet remains for you." He reached into the folds of his cloak and drew out a four-pronged sigil of clouded quartz. Light spilled all about it like roiling fog. "As I decree, you shall recruit the aid of Loyal Ogrim and venture east to the lighthouse overlooking the abyssal sea. The light-keeper's long vigilance is done. Command him to disable the lighthouse and return with you to the White Palace. Nothing of worth yet remains in this festering morass. We shall leave it to its own devices and cast our gaze upon it nevermore. Take this simulacrum of my Brand. Once your task is complete, use it to forever seal the entrance at this shaft's summit. Ensure that it is done."

Hegemol knelt and lifted an armored palm to receive the sigil. "I understand, my King. Upon my honor, I will not fail."

The King stepped away from us and onto a more level section of the ground. "The Great Knight's Council shall be held in two days. Dryya, Ze'mer, and Isma shall be returning from their assignments in the other kingdoms. The White Palace's vestibule shall serve as our place of conclave. I need not remind you to be timely." He nodded. "Until then."

"Pardon, Majesty," Ogrim blurted. "But what of the child? The trek out of this chasm is arduous even for we Great Knights. Should we send for winged sentries to fly the little one to safety?"

"You do this little one a disservice, Loyal Ogrim," the King said. "Let not its meager appearance delude your senses. It is far more capable than you comprehend." The King turned to me and locked eyes. He pointed to the shaft's apex, at a far-off speck that appeared to be a metal balcony. "Observe and follow," he commanded.

The King flared his cloak about himself with a flick of his arms, and a corona of light encircled him. Overlapping steel gave way to translucent white, and in an instant the King's cloak had transformed into a pair of wings. Shed feathers twinkled like constellations before fading into nothing. The King tensed his wings in preparation for flight, but an object—small and bug-like— plummeted from on high.

The object crashed into a nearby heap of masks, launching fragments all about. Hegemol lunged forward, planting himself before the King and making a shield of his own body. The mask-shrapnel bounced harmlessly off his carapace and clattered to the ground. A cloud of gray dust hung in the air, obscuring the fallen object.

"Another foe?!" Ogrim shouted, charging over to stand beside Hegemol.

"Steady yourselves, Knights," the King said. "That thing is no threat; no consequence to you. It is mere refuse being disposed of. Banish it from your thoughts and remain sworn to your charge. We shall speak again soon."

The King stretched his incandescent wings and flapped, with enough force to scatter the cloud of dust and send himself soaring into the air. He climbed without looking back, not even pausing to rest upon the stone slabs protruding from the walls. I watched him with unwavering intent, absorbing every movement of his body and slant to his wings. I could not wrench my gaze from him, nor did I wish to.

As the cloud of dust dissipated, Ogrim took a hissing breath and slid back a step. His attention was not drawn to the King, but to the fallen object in the corner of my vision.

It was a bug corpse.

One that resembled me in every way.

It too was a creature of white horns and black eyes, with a slate-gray cloak that concealed the darkness of its body. But there were minor differences. It was half-again smaller than me, and possessed four, diminutive horns that curled down to frame its face.

"What is the meaning of this?" Ogrim whispered. He looked from the corpse to the masks to me in quick succession.

Hegemol clapped a claw on Ogrim's shoulder and nodded eastward. "You heard the King's decree. That thing before you is of no concern. Come. We mustn't tarry."

Ogrim tore his shoulder free of the grasp. "No concern? In what way is this of no concern? Does that not resemble a citizen of our Kingdom stone-dead upon the ground?"

"Heed my advice. If the King sees fit to enlighten you, then he will. But for now, it is not your responsibility. Accompany me as you were instructed."

Ogrim knelt and lifted the still form in his arms. Its head lolled at a grotesque angle, revealing several cracks that ran the length of its mask. "It is a child, Hegemol! If this is not my responsibility as a Knight, then nothing is!"

Hegemol let out a growling sigh. "The King commanded us to—"

"How is this child mere refuse? Why was it being disposed of?"

"Do not allow yourself to be distracted!" Hegemol shouted. "We have a duty to uphold. Now rise, this is unbecoming of a Knight."

"Duty? Is not my duty to the bugs of this land? Is it not unbecoming of a Knight to disregard the death of an innocent before his very eyes?" Ogrim lifted his head and looked about, as if seeing for the very first time. "What is this place, Hegemol? A mass grave?"

Hegemol clamped Ogrim beneath the arm and tossed him to his feet. Their faces hovered an inch apart. "That. Is not. A child. This. Is not. A grave." He swatted the corpse from Ogrim's arms, and it crashed into a nearby heap of masks. The outline of its body wavered and frothed, like water just beginning to boil. Black bubbles separated from it and floated away on an imaginary breeze. "You are Loyal Ogrim of the Five Great Knights!" Hegemol snarled. "You have been granted a task by your King, your Sovereign, your Lord. Will you see it done, or will you forsake your purpose while fretting over a broken tool?"

Ogrim's body trembled. He looked to me again, but I did not meet his gaze, my focus was elsewhere.

"Well, what say you?!" Hegemol slammed his palms against Ogrim's chest.

The King ended his flight at the summit of the shaft. His wings crumbled out of existence, replaced once again by the steel cloak. He tightened it around himself and resumed his austere pose. Even from that vast distance, I felt when he turned to look down upon me. His will echoed on and took hold of my body yet again.

Follow.

I responded, the marionette. My legs bent, my cloak fluttered, and a power that I did not know I possessed surged up within me. I jumped, straight up, and as I did, the substance of my cloak transmuted into a pair of ephemeral wings, shorter than the King's but nearly as bright. They flapped, launching me clumsily into the air. I landed on the stone slabs, one after the other, planting my feet, bracing my body, and leaping up for another brief flight. Over and over, in mechanical repetition. And as I went, my movements grew smoother, more elegant, closer and closer to the King's.

I did not look back, toward Ogrim or Hegemol. I did not hear the last dregs of their debate, or Ogrim's reply. Every ounce of me was invested in the climb. Exertion burned in my limbs, but I did not slow. I could not. The King was watching, urging me ever upward.

No cost too great.

The words boomed inside my head as I glided from one platform to another.

Ten thousand failures have preceded you. And should you fall, then ten thousand more shall follow.

I kicked off a wall and soared over a cluster of chitinous spikes.

No mind to think. For to possess a mind is to possess a vulnerability. So easily subverted. So easily controlled.

I grabbed a ledge and hauled myself to my feet.

No will to break. For time degrades all intent. Purpose, no matter how unflinching, is nothing before those ceaseless waves. Will is not enough. It must be discarded.

One of my wings clipped the edge of a spike, shedding ghostly feathers.

No voice to cry suffering. Toil is the lot of the living. To live eternal is to toil eternal. If suffering is foregone, then it need not be heralded.

I redoubled my efforts, one wing flapping harder than the other.

Born of God and Void. No tool of inferior element shall suffice. Only the perfect may achieve the impossible.

The balcony upon which the King stood grew closer with every strain of my legs and every thrash of my wings.

You shall seal the blinding light that plagues their dreams. The Kingdom cannot coexist with such uniformity. It inhibits potential. It murders the ideal. It sees nothing beyond propagation.

With one final lunge, I crested the balcony and landed before the King. My body lurched from exhaustion, but I kept my feet. The King watched me—with approval or otherwise, it could not be known. After a time, he spoke, and the echo left my head.

"You are the Vessel. None other shall rival your merit.

You are the Hollow Knight… You are my child…"

My wings shriveled, curling up like a dying bug. They reverted to a cloak and hung limply about me as I heaved. My body felt tenuous—insubstantial—as if I would deliquesce and drain through the grating of the balcony.

The King paused, until my breathing returned to normal and I stood straight. "Many trials await you," he said, "each one more brutal and unrelenting than the last. Should you prove… deficient, then this same end shall be yours."

With a slight turn of his head, the King signaled to someone behind him. The balcony ended in an archway that led into a tunnel, and within I saw several more beings, more bugs. They were silver from head to foot, with oval-shaped carapaces, short limbs, and vestigial wings that hung down their backs. They stood at attention beside a large metal cart, completely silent. The King's signal set them all into motion. They hauled the cart to the edge of the balcony and removed the silken tarp that covered it, revealing a pile of corpses. All of which resembled me. Just as the other corpse had. Horns. White masks. Dark eyes. Cloaks.

The King nodded again, and the silver bugs set to work dragging the bodies out of the cart and hurling them over the side. They plummeted like stones, striking against the walls and floors of the shaft, shattering into a thousand pieces. White shards and horn fragments sprinkled down the dizzying drop and rattled to a halt at the bottom.

Hegemol and Ogrim were nowhere to be seen.

The King crossed his arms beneath his cloak and watched. He noted the mask of each and every corpse before it was pitched, halting a silver bug periodically in order to see more closely. He did not speak. Even after the last body had been disposed of.

The silver bugs retreated once the cart was empty. They hustled quietly down the tunnel and around a corner, leaving the King and I alone.

"But… you shall not prove… deficient," the King finally said. "A different destiny hangs over you. My prescience allows me that much. Do not fear, I shall ensure—" But he stopped, checked himself with a deprecating chuckle, and shook his head. "Come."

The King turned and left the shaft. He waved a claw in front of a huge, carved tablet beside the archway. Runes of white light blazed into existence against its dusky surface. They twisted, fading in and out, as if being rewritten. After a moment, the King slipped his arm back into the folds of his cloak and marched down the tunnel.

My feet drew me forward, with the same inevitable compulsion. But I heard a sound behind me: the scratch of limbs finding purchase upon the balcony's edge. And with that sound, a faint reverberation in my head like a voice asking a question.

I halted and glanced over my shoulder to behold another being. Like me, but diminutive, with underdeveloped horns and a tattered cloak. It looked at me, with wide, black eyes as it clutched against the pull of gravity.

…Did it desire something of me? Was it doomed to corpsehood like all the others? And was that… somehow my fault?

At the bend in the tunnel, the King stopped. "Come," he repeated, impatience creeping along the word's edge.

My purpose returned to me, and I strode down the tunnel after the King. The rasp of a failing grip and the flutter of a cloak in free fall echoed after me. And with it, a wail, haunting and silent.

But I did not look back.

I could not.