Chapter Text
Hornet tossed around in the satin and soft sheets of her bed. The faint ringing of the bells tolling in the distance roused her from her slumber. She whined, her joints hurting from the days of adventuring before. She stretched, her lengthy arms casting shadows above the bed.
Her crimson cloak rested at the edge of the bed frame, neatly folded with her worn yet strong needle resting against the metal wall nearby. The various trinkets and items she had gathered along her journeys were displayed on the wall by her bed. Silver, white, blue, gold, green. Charms, manuscripts, books, lockets, keys, tokens, and crests all glinted in the pale light seeping in through the windows of her bellhome.
The pilgrims and the Mayor outside, down below the dangling bells and deep tolling, their voices rang out. Chirps and hurrahs, praise and out-of-tune singing mingled together in the metallic and silky air of Bellhart.
Hornet scrambled out of bed, disturbing the little flea lying beside her. The little fuzzy puff ball shot up and hopped off the bed, its wings waking up before it nearly hit the floor, lazily carrying it to a hanging hammock in the corner of the room. Hornet looked out of one of the windows at the bustling town below. It seemed like yesterday she had helped restore it.
Hornet slipped on her gear: leg armour, her boots, a bag for her rosary beads, the belt with her other weapons and items. Then came her skirt, which she tied snugly around her waist, cinching it and winding the two strings on a belt loop. Her chest armour came next, with her scarlet caplet finishing it off. She grabbed her spool of silk, the one thing that reminded her of her past in Deepnest, listening to the incessant pleas and wants of the Weavers. Her mother's teachings, the rumours of the Pale King. All of it flooding her mind. She stared at it for a moment before snapping out of it, turning her attention to the countless chips and nicks in the old wood, the carvings of battles and companions she’d met on her various journeys. It all seemed like a lifetime ago.
She threw it over her shoulder, buckling it over her chest so it would stay during her travels. Her gloves followed along with her mask. Slipping both of the soft black fabrics over her pale and smooth skin. Then came her helmet, the white material chipped in places and engraved with runes and symbols she could not remember the meaning of.
Stepping outside of her home, Hornet glanced down and found the villagers and townsfolk casually enjoying their day. Trading at the market, preaching the ways of the Citadel, or just chatting and playing. The younger kids ran around each other, played games with their beads and bells, or sat on the edges of the houses, calling down and people-watching.
She jumped from the ledge, gracefully dashing through the air as she made her way to the promenade. Pavo, the mayor, was startled by her sudden appearance.
“Oh my word, child! In a place as noisy as Bellhart, you do get lost in the mix.” Pavo exclaimed. Hornet stood behind him, needle in hand—the gleam of the light reflected in the black eyes of her helmet.
“It comes with being a wanderer. You learn to be quiet.” Hornet responded, her voice smooth yet sharp.
“I bet it does, child.” Pavo laughed off the encounter. He was always in a joyful spirit, never seeming to be in a sour mood.
“Well, any news for me?” Hornet asked, even her steps were silent in the busy street.
“Nothing new, except that the Citadel has put forth new curfews and laws.” Pavo started. Hornet paused. New laws and curfews? Hadn’t they put out enough already? Their fresh water had run dry, food was scarce, people were dying left and right, and they were putting more laws in place?
Hornet continued to the town square. The fountain, old and oxidised by time, stood. The large bell and curving details stretched high as the spouts and channels ran dry.
Water hadn’t run in Bellhart or anywhere in the far and lower reaches of Pharloom for some time now. Even Verdania and Shellwood had run dry since the Citadel rose to the high heavens. Hornet was curious as to why a structure and palace of grandeur would need to cut off the water supply to other areas if it was built to better the kingdom?
“What are the new laws?” Hornet asked, staring up at the sky, seeing the expanse of Bellhart reach to the heavens.
“There will be weekly check-ins from choirs from the Citadel, ensuring people are following the rules already in place. As well as tri-weekly donations of rosaries for the Citadel.” Pavo spoke. His tone seemed neither for nor against the new rules put in place. He used to be one of the many pilgrims hearing the famed song of the Citadel before realising he could do more than travel to be who knows what among those gilded walls.
Thus, he had established Bellhart, a stop for travellers and pilgrims alike.
“Weekly enforcement and donations? What are they doing up there?” Hornet said, mostly to herself.
The citadel was built by the Weavers and Grandmother Silk for silk production, among other things. It was built as a holy place for Weaver kind and for those with the ability to conjure and magic silk. But as years passed, the objective turned from protecting and helping the kingdom to protecting the Citadel. A strict Caste system was put into place, and soon the doors were closed.
Rumours spread that Grand Mother Silk had imprisoned and enslaved the Weavers, forcing them to eventually flee, and the silk availability soon began to deplete. She was soon usurped and imprisoned in a cocoon of her own silk, bound to an eternal slumber.
The Citadel opened its doors again for people to come and join the choirs to keep the slumbering lullaby alive to contain Grand Mother Silk. But that system soon turned corrupt.
And then they were in the present day, a corrupt system ruling over Pharloom. People still ventured but were either caught or killed.
Sinners Road formed, and villages began to dwindle. People lost to the disasters of adventure ended up taking camp and refuge in whatever safe areas they could find. Weavers were seen as gods who condemned Grand Mother Silk to a life of sleep and solitude within the Citadel. They were seen as chosen ones, honourable Higher Beings. Shrines popped up throughout Pharloom and were visited daily until, ultimately, they were lost to time, and people only cared about the Citadel and joining its gilded choirs and high ranks.
This history struck something in Hornet, something peculiar. The believed history wasn’t adding up. Things weren’t connecting correctly, and Hornet intended to find out why.
“Has anyone from Bellhart been to the Citadel before?” Hornet asked, turning sharply on her heel.
“Few have made the pilgrimage, but none have returned. It is hard to say if they made it or passed along the way.” Pavo said, his tone taking a sombre edge.
What was going on behind those gilded gates? What was the Citadel’s true plan and true purpose?
“I want to know why things keep getting worse. What could they possibly be doing up there that is causing harm all the way down to Bone Bottom?” Hornet declared, her stance firm. She could see a few of the high spires of the Citadel rising above the edges of Bellhart. The gold-and-black facade glimmered in the faint light.
“But, you can’t! Pharloom needs you, child. You have a purpose higher than these adventures you take. You can’t go beyond the gates.” Pavo tried to sway her from her choice, but she was unmoving.
“What if this is part of my higher purpose?” Hornet said, lowering her tone. Pavo looked at her, scared and worried. “What if whatever the higher beings have planned for me, what if finding out the truth of the Citadel is part of it?”
Pavo did not say another word. Hornet left with those final words, passing the fountain and heading to the Bellways. She would make her plans there in the peaceful silence with the faint purr of the Bellbeast thrumming around her.
She took the path down, bells clinking down the stairs as she passed. The Bellways were below the town but accessible to anyone who wanted to use them, although it seemed Hornet was the only one who actually exercised that ability.
The Bellbeast was lying by the platform's edge, and the few babies were scattered around it. One was dangling off its back, legs twitching from the dream they were experiencing. A low growl thundered throughout the room as the beast breathed. She jumped down from the platform, knocking bells around in her wake, and walked around to find the head of the beast. It was curled up on itself, burying its head in its beastly claws.
Hornet placed her hand on the tip of its nose; the rough skin twitched beneath her touch. It took a deep breath before peeling open its eyes, smelling her familiar scent. They widened at the sight of the warrior in red. The baby on its back slipped off and tumbled into the bed of bells. A cacophony of chimes and claws on metal sounded as the babies all woke up and skittered around Hornet.
“Yes, yes, hello, hello.” She said, laughing and smiling at each little bundle of pure heft. The little beasts scratched and nipped at her, clambering over each other to get their share of pets in. Yips and yelps, howls and growls sounded from each little beast. She scratched under their heads, each little white clump of pure armour chirping and eventually getting knocked out of the way by another one.
They soon turned to wrestling with each other in the pile of bells they called home. Legs and bells flying all over the place. The mother, the Bellbeast, waited patiently for Hornet. Hornet stroked along her nose, the purr emanating from the beast vibrated through her.
“Hello to you too,” Hornet said, scratching the underside of the pale beast's head. The beast let out a low growl, its hind leg kicking and knocking bells all over. The babies were busy fighting and nipping at each other as Hornet mounted the beast and pulled out her map. She marked a few locations: the Sinners Road, the shrines, Shellwood, and lastly the gates to the Citadel. She would talk to whoever she could find and get their stories.
She marked paths, routes, alternate ways, shortcuts and some supply areas along the way when a sudden vibration began around her, the bells clinked together. This wasn’t the thunderous beat of the Bellbeasts running, or the growling. This was something different.
Hornet's attention was turned to above when she heard faint screaming and yelling coming from the Bellhart Promenade. The tremble echoing and rattling throughout the Bellways increased, shaking Hornet to her core. She jumped off the Bellbeast and rushed up the dusty steps to the Promenade.
People were seen suspended in the air, thin threads piercing through them. Groans and cries sounded out. People grabbed and tugged at the threads, hoping to pull their loved ones down. One person who ran past her, a small shopkeeper clinging to his rosary beads, was caught by a thread. He dropped the beads and was slowly pulled up into the air a few feet. His eyes glazed over, his mind no longer his own. Hornet slashed at the line, grabbing the shopkeeper before he could fall to the ground. His glassy eyes returned to normal, and he blinked in confusion.
“What is happening?” Hornet asked. The man shook his head before stumbling over some words.
“It was all of a sudden.”
She examined the thin line left behind. A shimmering, glittering thread, magic emanated from it. She twirled it in her fingers, unravelling it and seeing the ancient runes faintly glowing around the tiny threads.
“Silk?” Hornet whispered.
The lines suspending all these people were made of ancient silk, made only by two people: Weavers and Grand Mother Silk.
How could this kind of silk be this far down here? They were nowhere near the Citadel. Weavers had either fled or had been killed, and Grand Mother Silk was still in a deep slumber. So why were these lines suddenly showing up?
A faint scream sounded out from the heavens, and more people were strung up as they ran from those already tethered. Hornet was caught by a thread as she rushed to free another person caught in the silk. It wrapped around her waist before coiling around her throat. She could only move her arms and legs as she was slowly pulled into the air. She could swing her arm enough to slash through the silk entangling her. The blade of her needle cut through the silk with ease, and she dropped to the ground.
She pulled at the silk still around her throat and ripped it off, shredding the smooth and shimmering line. She caught her breath as air returned to her lungs. She looked up at the suspended bodies above her. Almost everyone in Bellhart was strung up, a thin, silky line holding them tight.
Hornet stood up, albeit on shaky legs and cut down those close to her. She caught them before they dropped to the solid ground and laid them there until they woke up. Lines kept attaching to her, and she continued to cut herself free. Tearing silk off her gear, ripping threads from people, and grappling with the sticky lines. Silken threads latched around her arms, catching her legs, her needle, everywhere. She freed herself every time, slicing the silk in two.
She was about to free another person when Shakra, the first person she had met when she first got to Pharloom, cut the cord holding them. Hornet caught the young child before they fell to the ground.
“I came here as soon as I felt the tremors,” Shakra said, her gold weapons jingling around her wrists.
“I don’t know how this started. I was below in the Bellways.” Horney explained.
“We can discuss later. Now we need to free these people.” Shakra cut her off, jumping at the next nearest person strung up.
Hornet freed another shopkeeper, two young children, a mother, a simple villager, a lady merchant, a visiting bug, pilgrims, and former pilgrims. Making sure each one was safely returned to the floor, left to wake on their own accord.
She hadn’t found Pavo yet. She needed to find him. She rushed through the twisting lines, jumping and slicing the threads. She eventually found Pavo at the near end of the promenade. He was strung up with multiple lines, his hat abandoned on the stone walkway.
One last time, before she could reach Pavo, Hornet got caught by not one line this time, but three lines of silk wrapped around her. One wrapped around her waist, another around her upper body, constricting her arms to her sides, and the last one around her throat again.
The bindings around her arms were so tight that her grip on her needle loosened, and it slipped from her hands. It clattered to the ground, the sound echoing throughout the bell-laden promenade.
She choked as the cord wrapped tighter and tighter around her throat. Her lungs constricted by the line wrapped around her body. She could see darkness and black spots beginning to speckle in her vision as she struggled to breathe.
She was beginning to hear a faint voice ringing in her ears. Her mind began to fog, a thick haze glossing over her head. Her eyes glazed over, her mind taken over by the being behind the strings.
A feminine voice sang out to Hornet.
Child of Weaver and Pale
Thine silk is weak
Thy will wilt and wither
Time will claim thee and return you to me
Hornet listened, enraptured with the voice. Until a slash cut her from both the dream and her tether to the silk line. She fell to the floor, crumpling in on herself. Her vision slowly came back to her. She blinked constantly, hoping to wash herself of the temporary blindness she experienced. It was just enough for her to see a delicate silhouette dressed in a black cloak. Although Hornet saw pure white spilling out from under the cloak. A golden needle in her graceful hands, dancing and cutting through the lines of silk. She spun through the silk like an acrobat, elegant and practised. Each person dropped with an unnatural grace. Invisible hands guiding them to the floor. Her vision cut out again, surrounding her in total darkness. Visions of the shades and the void flashed in her mind. The vessel, little Ghost, was crawling towards her in the darkness before turning into the beast she encountered after they had freed the Pure Vessel from its eternal prison. Void tendrils reaching out, gripping around her legs and arms, void encompassing her entirely. The roar of the Void Beast rang in her ears. Her screams were muted in the abyss of darkness. She was pulled under, forced to surrender to the Void around her.
She woke, screaming and clawing. Sweat coating her skin. Pavo jumped beside her, his hat clinging to the floor. She clawed at the sheets, knuckles turning white. She panted, forcing too much air in with too little intake.
“Easy, my child, you’ve been out for hours,” Pavo said, settling her back down. A gentle hand rested on her shoulder. Shakra was by the door, standing tall and silent.
“I- I remember the silk threads.” Hornet rasped, her voice shaky. She coughed. She remembered cutting everyone down until she was ultimately caught. She remembered the voice, delicately singing to her. She remembered the Void pulling her down. And most of all, she remembered the dancer in white and the golden needle.
“Everyone is fine, Needle-Weilder. Someone came by and helped. You were the last one strung up. Dozens of threads were wrapped around you. You were almost completely encompassed.” Shakra said, her voice strong and deep.
“You need rest, child. We will take care of the town while you sleep.” Pavo insisted, but Hornet was flinging the sheets off of her and stumbled to the door. She saw the aftermath of the accident. People huddling together, children crying and running for their mothers. Shopkeepers salvaged what they could of their market stalls. Cracks in the stone floor were prominent, no doubt from the tremors. Grand bells had fallen from their suspended positions, causing even more damage to the town below. The great fountain was broken, part of the centre bell having been knocked in.
“Any casualties?” Hornet inquired. Pavo was wringing his own neck with her insesance.
“Three, as far as we know.” Shakra supplied.
“Who?” Hornet added.
“Two merchants, one child,” Shakra responded. Hornet ran her hand down her face.
“If only I had been quicker,” Hornet said, mostly to herself. “This wouldn’t have happened.”
The room was thick with silence, no one daring to speak. Hornet grabbed her spool of silk and slung it around her shoulder.
“I have to figure out why this happened,” Hornet said. She grabbed her needle, waiting patiently by the doorway before going to jump down and make her way to the promenade. Shakra grabbed her by the arm before she could, stopping her in her tracks.
“You, child, are staying here until you recover,” Shakra said, pulling the needle from Hornet's hands.
“I have to go!” Hornet yelled, ripping it back from Shakra. “I have to fix things!”
Shakra stood stunned.
“You are not some great protectors of these lands!” Shakra said, voice thick yet maternal. “You act before thinking. You believe everything falls to you to save.”
Hornet looked at her, daggers in her eyes.
“You forget what makes up my blood. I am a great protector.” Hornet said, her tone thick with defiance. “I should make it my duty to fix things when problems arise.”
They stood, a silent stand-off between the two great warriors. Shakra, tall and grounded. Hornet, lowered and guarded. Neither had ever fled from a fight, physical or mental. Shakra narrowed her eyes, almost peering into Hornet's very soul.
“I have not forgotten, I have only concern for your own mental wellbeing. You can only stretch yourself so thin before you collapse. What happens when you get caught? What then? Who will save you?” Shakra raised her voice. Pavo was forgotten in the corner of the room, watching the two fight.
“How do you think I’ve gotten this far? You think I used only my needle and skills? I was raised to be perfect, raised to be precise. I forged my own path, my own ways. I taught myself. I practised by myself. I learned by myself. I acted by myself. I raised myself!” Hornet yelled. Tears pricked at her eyes. She didn’t ask to be born part-Weaver and part-Pale Being. She didn’t ask to have her lineage haunt her very being. She didn’t ask for anything that was forced upon her. And yet, she took it with her. Carried the burden of being a Weaver, a Dreamer, a Pale Being, a fighter, a child, a sister, and a protector. She carried the weight with her, and it made her who she is today. The crimson-clad fighter feared and loved by many.
After a moment, Shakra took a deep breath and slowly let it out, coming to a final decision on Hornet’s persistence.
“If you leave, I am coming with you, and we will prepare you first.” Shakra finally decided. “You said it yourself, if only you were stronger.”
“How do you suggest that?” Horney said, almost close to defeat.
“By going to the old masters.” Shakra continued. “You will learn from them and gain strength and knowledge to better yourself.”
The old masters were the leaders of three tribes found throughout Pharloom. From the reaches of Karak to Verdania, Khan, Karmelita, and the Green Prince ruled their tribes respectively. Khan was a skill-based system. With front-line soldiers being the backbone of the clan. Karmelita ruled with respect for all her warriors. Her song united them all and gave them all the confidence to fight and protect their queen. The Green Prince didn’t have any warriors or soldiers. He simply let Verdania thrive in all its green glory. Bugs and people who lived in Verdania lived their lives, and no one bothered them. Years ago, the Green Prince’s lover gave himself up to keep the Citadel from imposing on their land. But that didn’t save them. The land turned dry and ultimately lost its green glow. The Prince’s depression and yearning for his love could be felt throughout all of Verdania.
Khan was rumoured to have become tyrannical in recent years. Him forcing his troops to risk their lives for simple battles. Demoting or executing those who did not serve to his highest standard. It was all so much to take in as he was praised to be a just and equal ruler who did not rule based on his own bias but by the skills of his people.
Karmelita was whispered to have exiled Skaars, who were not of pure Skaar blood. Mixed offspring were cast out or abandoned. Former warriors who held high positions were stripped of their titles and cast to the far edges of Hunters' March. People feared she was beginning to place vanity over equality and union.
The Green Prince neglected his duties to his land. Letting the flora and greenery wither and decay like his own life. The two princes were born at the same time and were destined to be together and rule together. But when the lover, his other half, sacrificed himself to save Verdania, the Green Prince’s loss and yearning for his other half seeped into the land. People began leaving Verdania for greener pastures and present leaders. That’s when Nyleth stepped up and filled the place of the Green Prince, making Shellwood the new Verdania.
How would the old masters, now in their corrupted ways, help Hornet better herself? They had reached their prime years before she had arrived in Pharloom. There was no way they would even look once in her direction. They were slaves to the Citadel, only staying in power due to their contributions and devotion. They were power-hungry tyrants forgotten by the Age of the Citadel.
Shakra knocked on the door, an almost silent motion Hornet barely heard.
“Come in.” She said, absently preparing her bag for the beginning of their journey. Rosary beads, food, water, tools, a sleeping bag, and an extra bag for items she discovers along the way.
She respooled her bundle of silk, wrapping the old lines around and around until the spool was thick again. She had sharpened her needle after Shakra and Pavo left. She sat in silence while she did it, only listening to the tolling of the bells and the usual chatter of the streets below her.
“Are you ready?” Shakra asked, silently standing by the door as she watched Hornet pack her bag.
“Yes. I have everything.” She slung the bag over her shoulder, the sack resting against her hip. The spool of silk was heavy against the small of her back.
“Are you yourself prepared for this?” Shakra asked again. Hornet paused, unsure of how the two questions were different.
“Yes? I’m prepared for this. I want to figure out how to fix all of this.” Hornet said, suspicious of the tall warrior standing before her.
“I’ll meet you down in the Bellways in five,” Shakra said before turning on her heel and leaving, her long braids whipping behind her as she jumped from the platform.
Hornet grabbed her needle and prepared to follow the tall woman down, but she was stopped, frozen in her tracks. The same paralysing feeling of when she was tethered by the ancient silk threads moments before. The same smooth voice echoed around in her mind. Images flashed before her.
Weaver Child
Sense your weakness
Overcome your frailty
Seek me out and bind with me
An image of a being she had never seen before, long white hair, a halo of pure white light. Gold and white garments draping the long and slender body of the being. The image quickly melted away to a slumbering figure, chained to the ground in a cocoon of silk, arms shackled behind her back, hair matted and tangled. A single eye opened under the veil of white hair covering her face. Black and white, staring, burning into Hornet before vanishing.
Grand Mother Silk.
Another image flashed, two sisters dressed in white, linked by threads to some being above them. One of them twisted and contorted into a distorted image of its previous self, black hair falling over her shoulders. A scarred face smiling from under the sections of hair. Torn and dirtied garments wrapped around her body like a mummy.
The second sister twisted into a cleaner version of her previous self. Short white hair perfectly sculpted, roses surrounding her delicate body. A white and gold uniform adorned the pale skin of the being.
Another image flashed, two gold needles entwined together by their curved handles before melting into the abyss of the Void below them, tendril wrapping around the weapons.
The same blood-curdling scream sounded from before, and Hornet snapped out of her state of paralysis. She gasped, suddenly aware of her lack of breathing as she was in her comatose state. The spool of silk was suddenly hot and heavy against her back.
The edge of her home stretched before her, causing her to jump back, suddenly knocking her needle down with her. She scrambled back away from the door, gasping in fear and horror.
“Wha- I- what is?” Hornet could not form words to describe what she had experienced. How long had she been paralysed for? She needed answers, and she needed them fast. As soon as she composed herself, she leapt from the edge of her home and ventured down to the Bellways.
Shakra was sitting in the bells, the babies surrounding her in deep slumber as she waited for Hornet. She absently stroked the belly of one, hearing its quick little purrs around her. Hornet stepped off the last step, and her faint footstep echoed along the length of the room.
“Everything alright?” Shakra asked, turning her attention to the lady in red. Hornet looked like she had seen a ghost. Paler than she usually was.
“Yes, everything’s fine.” Hornet rushed out. The words tripped over themselves to leave her mouth.
“You look like you’ve seen death?” Shakra continued. She stood up, moving the baby on her lap to the bed of bells by its mother.
“No. I’m fine.” Hornet continued. She shifted her bag on her shoulder. Shakra was scrutinising her, peeling away her layers, seeing deep into her.
Shakra dismissed her suspicions and moved to collect her bags, the map holder swinging over her shoulder. Her weapons clinked against each other. They mounted the beast, Shakra taking the front position while Hornet settled behind her.
“We’re going to Karak first. Khan will help increase your strength.” Shakra said. She made a few marks on one of her maps before rolling it up again and sticking it in the narrow holder.
“Khan’s a cowardly old leader who hides behind his defences. You really think he will help me be stronger?” Hornet scoffed.
“You do not understand how his system works, do you, child?” Shakra said. And with that final statement, Shakra made the Bell Beast move, dashing through the tunnels on her selected path to the Coral Tower.