Chapter 1: Words Left Unsaid
The White Palace was as dazzling as ever. White vines coiled around pale white pillars and the entire place seemed to glow with the faint light of soul.
Grimm squinted against the brightness as he walked through a hallway. The various bugs, all of different types and all dressed in white robes that marked them as servants of the royal family, paid him no mind as they went about their business.
He was a common sight in Hallownest, either escorting one of his children or simply taking in the sights and given the thriving state of the kingdom and its inhabitants, the moth couldn’t be more pleased to have somewhere where he and his kin were welcomed.
He entered a room off to the side, the lights dimming as he did and curtains drawn shut over the windows. It was a modest office, one of many used by the various officials that worked in the palace, and the furniture was elegant in craftsmanship.
Seated behind the desk was a bug in a flowing white robe. His mask-like face bore several prongs atop his head like a crown, and he had his hands clasped together as he nodded politely at Grimm.
“Troupe Master,” the bug said, voice soft and sounding older than he looked. “I’ve been expecting you.”
Grimm blinked as his eyes adjusted to the darkened room, the only light being that which the bug before him naturally emitted. He slid into the empty chair across from his host.
“Should I be worried?” Grimm asked with a smirk. “Come now, Alba, what has you worried so?”
The Pale king looked at him flatly. He sighed. “This summit I just received news of… You are aware that every matter that concerns us all will have to be brought to light.”
“I know, I’m already making preparations for my finale.” Grimm explained.
“And yet you don’t simply sire another… child,” The Pale King commented. “Have you even tried?”
Grimm rolled his eyes as he leaned back into his seat. He knew where this was going and he was not eager to admit the truth. “You think I haven’t tried? My dear wyrm, not a single living soul in the waking world is willing. And both parties must be for my seed to take.”
“None at all?” here the monarch frowned. “There must be more to it than that Grimm, you’re—”
“The god of pleasure, yes I’m aware…” Grimm cut in tensely. Silence fell between them, the wyrm patient as he waited for an explanation.
Grimm felt tired. And so, with no one but the one bug who may understand it at all, Grimm poured his heart out and shed light of but one thing that weighed him down.
One thing amidst countless others.
“… I am tired of The Ritual, I tire of seeing friends and family put their lives on the line for my sake. I tire of never taking a mate to love and care for… I tire of so many things Alba…” he admitted, and The Pale King nodded at him to continue. “There are days where I feel myself slipping, where I fear I may pull the world into an everlasting slumber to save myself the heartache my job so often entails…To protect those I hold dear.”
“So, my theory was correct, your madness lies not in anger or denial… but out of love and grief…” The King surmised. “And you are content with ending your cycle of rejuvenation?”
Grim nodded. “The Heart can be sustained purely from The Nightmare Realm, it will be an adjustment, but with my Scarlet Changelings handling most of my former duties, I am only needed in an advisory capacity…”
He leaned forward, staring at the notches in the wood of the desk. “All that is left is ensuring my children have a future without me.”
“Could one of them not take on the mantle of Nightmare King?” Alba asked, the monarch sitting up straighter. “Or perhaps one of your subjects?”
Grimm scowled at the notion, snapping his gaze up to glare at the monarch. “No, The Nightmare Heart is only compatible with one of my line and I would not subject the children nor my changelings to such a fate.”
It would be cruel, for a creature of the waking world to take on The Nightmare Heart, their minds not built to handle a force that existed in both the waking and dreaming worlds. Those that wielded nightmare essence only shaped the flames to their will. Whereas Grimm called upon the bottomless well of power fuelled by the myriads of mortals that lived and dreamed across the world.
It was the difference between a lit fireplace and a raging forest fire. The heart, his will, kept the fire contained. Not even the mind of a Scarlet Changeling, a race born of his magic, could fathom the depths of such power.
“Then is there a way to revive that which was lost?” The Pale King suggested. “You are not of the physical realm after all.”
“And you think I would encroach upon the sanctity of Eternal Rest for my sake?” Grimm countered. “I may guide the deceased to their final destination, but I do not cross the veil myself…” He thought back to the haze of sorrow-rage-grief that had consumed him shortly after the disappearance of The Crystal Empire. “I do not know if my son had enough of a soul to even make it that far. I never found him in the aftermath and presume his spirit merely ceased to be.”
“Could he still be wandering somewhere, as a memory?”
“I’ve looked everywhere, the possibility hasn’t eluded me, wyrm,” Grimm replied. “Unless his will was trapped within the empire as it vanished, there is no other way he could be brought back.”
“And by then it will be too late,” the king mused. “Perhaps… your children will have an answer that we elders have missed?”
“You’ve already told Hollow,” Grimm snarked. “If I arrive home to find them in a worried tizzy because of something you don’t even fully understand, then I will most certainly hold you accountable.”
The Pale King raised his hands in surrender. “They live without Purpose, a Higher Being with no drive, no title, no will other than what they cling to. I do not wish to see them meet the same fate as that which their old shell now contains.”
The wyrm looked at him sharply, undeniable truth in his words. “I have nearly torn my own kingdom to pieces in my blind panic to save my people, even after a thousand years, Ghost reminds me every chance they get that I was one that paved the way for them to ascend… And you have every right to curse me with a tormented rest...”
“And yet I do not,” Grimm said. “You do that to yourself enough as it is dear wyrm, I think you’ve been punished enough.”
The Pale king sighed, shoulders sagging as he leaned against the desk. “Sometimes I need to hear it. Not a day goes by where I wish I could have done things differently…” He reached into the desk drawer and pulled out a slip of paper. “These are the refined runes for the ageing spell for the vessels, as promised.”
Grim accepted the offered sketch and looked over it. “Thank you, I’m sure Petal and Javelin will jump at the chance to follow their dream careers.”
The monarch before him chuckled. “Root has been insisting that Petal be given a job in her garden once they are old enough and Herrah has all but adopted Javelin.”
“I’m glad things will work out for them,” Grimm replied, mood brightening at the mention of his children. “I take it Ghost has been causing all sorts of mischief while I was away?”
“Only chirping at me incessantly every morning, no more than usual,” The wyrm replied. “Ever since you taught them krik, they use every opportunity they can get to be as loud and noisy as possible, possibly out of spite.”
“I prefer that than them trying to attack you,” Grimm said with a smile, “As much as I dislike your past actions, I don’t want you dead.”
“And yet you welcome your own?” The king shot back.
Grimm scoffed. “Haven’t I already said enough?”
“No, I find it difficult to believe that no mortal in this world wouldn’t accept a night of sharing a nest with the infamous God of Carnal Desire.”
“Fine!” Grimm snapped. Frustration reached its peak as he snarled out the truth. “I don’t know! I can still hear the call of The Ritual as if the empire was still there, but it isn’t and my son is lost. I have no idea if my sister did something during the attack or if Ghost did more than what we think they did when they ascended. But I will not press them for answers they cannot give,” He continued to explain reluctantly while The Pale King listened calmly. “I have tried to father another child with every species under the damn sun! There is nothing to be done but ensure my realm can be managed with as little input from me as possible”
“All the while you slowly burn from the inside as your own power gradually feeds on your desire to protect,” The Pale Kind said, and Grimm slumped into his seat. The monarch shook his head ruefully. “And you won’t consider telling anyone else this?”
“What is there to tell?” Grimm retorted. “This is something I need to handle myself. I will not see any more lives hurt by my… meddling, as The Sun puts it.”
“Ah… You hope Luna will kill you before you are driven to madness, and if she gains command of The Nightmare Heart?”
Then I will do what needs to be done.
The Pale King visibly jolted in fright at the telepathic intrusion, white butterfly wings snapping open in alarm. Grimm twisted around in his seat to look behind him.
And sure enough, there was Ghost.
“I told you this was a private meeting.” Grimm stressed and the smaller bug shrugged.
Hollow was getting anxious, you haven’t been back at the manor for a week. They explained. So, I came looking for you.
“I needed some time to myself after what happened with Celestia.” Grimm said gently and Ghost crossed their arms.
You needed time to get yourself under control.
“I—" He could sense them staring at them, displeased. “Yes, I suppose. But this is still a private meeting.”
He gestured at The Pale King, wings once more tucked under his cloak and trying to act as if he wasn’t startled by a bug half his height.
Ghost looked between the two of them.
Sorry.
The Pale King cleared his throat. “I do not mind, but what is it you were suggesting should The Moon gain access to The Heart?”
Ghost put a hand to the bottom of their mask, thinking.
I’d take The Heart back and give it to someone who’d take care of it.
“And can you do that?” The wyrm asked.
Ghost nodded. Their mask shifted into one with many curved horns and eight eyes, what little light in the room was snuffed out, save for the dim red glow of Grimm’s eyes.
The Moon is nothing before The God of Gods. I ascended to protect those dear to me, and I will do the impossible if it means I fulfil my Purpose.
And the room returned to normal, Ghost appeared the same as ever with only two horns and two eyes, with no trace of their power as a Higher Being.
They looked at Grimm expectantly.
You need to talk to Hollow. They told him and vanished into the shadows.
Just as he was about to apologize for Ghost’s behaviour, The Pale King waved him off.
“Go, I believe I’ve stressed you enough, my friend,” The Pale King said. “We have enough time before the summit to finalize that plan of yours and make adjustments should we need to.”
Grimm got up, giving his fellow god a respectful nod. “Very well, until we next meet, Alba.”
It was high time he and Hollow continued their conversation from Canterlot.
Hearth sat in the library, levitating a book as she focused on improving her control over her magic. Her antennae were curled forward, the heart-shaped, fuzzy tips glowed faintly with red light. Bookshelves were crammed against every wall, shelves filled with tomes, and a desk along with a couple of soft couches were in the middle of the room. Progress had been slow in the week since the confrontation with The Sun. Either she wouldn’t pick up an object at all or use too much force and send it hurtling towards the ceiling.
Now though, she grabbed and moved things about at will, and was more focused on ensuring she could do so without losing her grip. Levitating an item for extended periods of time was something she taught changeling grubs, a trick any child who grasped the basics of magic could learn, and while the technique was simple, it was effective.
Ghost popped up from the shadow beneath the writing desk in the middle of the room.
“Did you find him?” She asked and the small bug nodded. She looked at them sternly. “You didn’t interrupt him or something right?”
They shrugged. The book she was floating wavered in her grip. It was difficult for the mothling to divide her attention between her practice and the conversation.
“Ghost,” she chided. “You can’t just keep popping in unannounced, I know you’re worried about him and your sibling but what if Grimm was in the middle of something important or private?”
Ghost tilted their head to one side as they considered her words. In the week she’d known the bug, she quickly figured out that they went wherever they wished and did whatever they pleased. It was something of a pet peeve for her, used to everyone around having a routine, even if said routine was strict and uncompromising, it was familiar, a sense of normalcy within the fear-hunger-dread that permeated The Badlands Hive.
“At least make sure he’s not busy next time,” she pleaded. “And remember that some bugs like their privacy.”
They nodded, sensing that it was a sore spot for her.
Is Hollow still in their room?
“Still trying to figure out how to talk to Master Grimm about this Ritual thing? Yeah,” she said. The siblings hadn’t said anything more on topic other than it was an important facet of Grimm’s rule as The Nightmare King, and the moth should be the one to explain it to her. “I think you running off to go get him only made them worry more.”
Ghost looked sheepish, as sheepish as a bug of their kind could look and darted out of the room to comfort their sibling.
She resumed her practice, the book held aloft, and her focus returned to it in full. She needed to regain control of her magic as soon as possible. In her mind, it was one step to being more useful, to being able to help and perform her duties as a mothling.
Though she balked at the idea of facing another angry god. Her encounter with The Sun had been brief, but it was a different beast to simply speaking up to a tyrant of a queen. It felt like Chrysalis’ beating had removed her spine and any with it any semblance of bravery she once possessed.
It was a bitter pill to swallow.
She took it one step at a time, a mental checklist to follow. Regain control of her magic, follow Grimm to learn of his duties, and find something she could confidently do or learn. It was all she could do to not wallow in self-loathing at her own faults and failures.
“Just do what you’re able…” she reminded herself as she picked up a second book in her magic, a dull ache forming behind her forehead at the added strain.
She pushed herself despite the pain. She needed to get better, she wanted tangible proof that she could pull her own weight.
Hollow had returned to their shade form. Said form felt the most comfortable, the most like themselves since leaving their old shell behind in The Black Egg Temple. They paced around their bedroom, a cozy space with a large round bed in the middle, a desk in one corner, and several bookshelves filled with tomes, ornaments, and a few instruments of varying types taking up the rest of the wall space.
It had been a week since their father had fought with The Sun. A week since they’d taken up their nail in defence of The Troupe Master. They knew, logically, that there was nothing to worry about. Grimm often remained with the troupe for weeks at a time, but Hollow had already checked with Brumm, the bug in charge when Grimm was away.
Father hadn’t returned to the troupe. No one knew where he’d gone, and Ghost had simply shrugged when asked but had gone to check up on the moth at Hollow’s request.
Hollow had chosen to remain at the manor on the off-chance Grimm returned. They would have gone looking, yet after the fight with The Sun, now in the safety of the manor they called home, the reality had hit them.
The Sun could have killed them.
The Sun could have killed Grimm.
They could have killed The Sun.
It had taken this long for them to make peace with what had happened. They needed the time to process, to think.
And now they were unsure how to talk to their father about The Ritual. They knew he wasn’t angry at them, his ire aimed at The Pale King and even then, the two kings had gone from bitter adversaries to reluctant allies as the years went by. Yet it was not as simple as pinning the blame on the wyrm for telling them of The Ritual. Hollow’s own fears and doubts, the uncertainty of what would befall their father and his realm upon Luna’s return had led them to ask The Pale King for advice, for knowledge and had received it.
All they were certain of was that Grimm was going to die, and that alone frightened them more than anything.
The door to their room opened and they looked over to see their sibling walk in. Hollow stared at them expectantly.
Ghost nodded and the shade sagged in relief, flopping down onto their bed, and staring at the bookshelf in their view.
They heard their sibling close the door behind them, and felt Ghost jump up onto the bed and lie on their back beside them. They tilted their head to look at them. The telepathic link between the two void beings was a slew of emotions that Hollow took a moment to parse out.
Did you overhear something you shouldn’t have? Hollow asked.
Ghost let out a silent sigh. I don’t know… Sometimes I wish I could remember what I did when I ascended.
They thought back to a thousand years ago. They were not present when Ghost became The Lord of Shades, they barely remembered that time, but they knew that it had taken some time for Ghost to return to themselves. While Hollow was slowly healing from their time as The Hollow Knight, Ghost had been struggling, drowning in the unrestrained power of Void.
Have you asked father for help? Hollow looked over at Ghost and the smaller bug shook their head. They could feel their sibling’s apprehension, the nagging thoughts of the many what if’s going through their head.
Whatever you did sibling, you did not mean to. Hollow reminded them. Ghost accepted the sentiment begrudgingly. And Hollow gave them another mental nudge. This is why Father is teaching you what it means to be a Higher Being, so you can control yourself.
I know, but…
Ghost trailed off, thoughts dissolving into a series of emotions and concepts.
Calm-peace-safe. The joy of discovery-learning-exploring. Friends-family-siblings-father safe.
Confusion. Who were they? What were they? What is Void? How could they be All of Void and still Them?
Hollow could relate to their sibling’s uncertainty. They too didn’t know what their future was. They were born of Root, Wyrm, and Void. They, like Ghost and the rest of their siblings were Higher Beings in all but name.
Even The Gendered Child, Hornet, was starting to show signs of inheriting The Pale King’s divinity. Yet unlike them, she knew what her purpose was, where her destiny lay, carved out by her own claws and tied in place by her own silk.
Hollow returned Ghost’s confusion with their own concerns about what lay ahead and reminded them with a gentle nudge that all they had to do was master their power and use it as they saw fit.
You do not wish to harm those in either the waking or dreaming worlds. You need not follow the examples set by the gods of ages past. They pointed out and an image of The Pale King came to mind. Ghost mentally shuddered at the idea that they would ever end up like their biological father.
I’d rather jump on one of his sawblades than be anything like him. Ghost stated and the conversation lapsed into simple silence. Worries to be set aside for another day.
Minutes dragged on, Hollow’s mind wandered aimlessly, as it often did when they weren’t focused on a book or some creative endeavour. Snippets of ideas were shared between the two siblings, meaningless yet providing a sense of solidarity between them.
Eventually, Hollow sat up, Ghost followed suit, and the pair of bugs shared a knowing look.
A second later, there was a knock at the door. Hollow teleported and opened the door to find Grimm and Hearth on the other side.
Wordlessly, they moved aside to let the two of them enter the room and sat on the bed next to Ghost. Hearth looked around the room, clearly having no idea what to do with herself.
Ghost waved her over and gestured for her to join them on the bed. Hollow nodded in agreement and the mothling clambered up into the bed and tucked her legs beneath her body, laying on her stomach.
Grimm waited for the three of them to settle before he spoke.
“… I apologize,” he began. “There is an aspect of my nature, of my duty as The God of Nightmares that I have been neglecting for some time now.”
He summoned red smoke with a wave of his hand, the glittering, gaseous magic taking the form of a small grub that bore his face. “I am a symbol of rebirth. When a kingdom moves into a new era, my subjects collect the nightmare essence born of the land's final days and lingering memories of the closing age.”
Hollow listened in rapt attention as their father continued, voice melancholy.
“The gathered flames are fed to my child, and when enough has been gathered… I burn my old self to fuel the growth of my next body and cleanse the kingdom in preparation for the new era.” The image of The Child wavered into that of The Nightmare King and Hollow could swear they heard the steady beat of The Nightmare Heart just on the edge of their hearing.
“Upon my pyre being lit, my soul is transferred to my son, and I return renewed to travel and experience the joys of life,” Grimm said and dispelled the smoke with a flick of a wrist. “The Ritual is the gathering of the flames, the strengthening of my son into a worthy vessel, and my last dance in my old body. A final celebration of the life lived and welcoming of the life yet to come.”
From her spot next to Ghost, Hearth nodded, though she still looked unsure. Hollow couldn’t blame her, they knew of this portion beforehand, and they still struggled to come to terms with it.
“…So, you die?” she asked hesitantly.
“Ah, in a sense,” Grimm replied. He clearly didn’t want to upset anyone. “My soul lives on and though the burning of my old body is painful, it is necessary. Without the transition from one life to the next my power would unravel and become as wild and untamed as the very terrors it spawned from.”
Ghost voiced their opinion gently. But, Grimmchild died, didn’t they?
Hearth’s confusion melted into sympathy which was echoed by the two siblings. Grimm let out a soft sigh and a bitter smile marred his features.
“Yes, as far as I know my son has long passed from this world and alas, my own precognition does not include the fate of myself nor my child, such is how my power works,” Grimm said. “And though I have tried to sire another in the hopes of continuing The Ritual when Luna returns… I have not been successful, and the reason why eludes me still.”
Then what of The Ritual? Hollow asked, nerves and anticipation making them feel as if they still had a stomach as a shade. They felt unsettled.
“Then I will do what I did before I began my eternal dance of life and death my child, I will remain bound to the realm of nightmares, at it’s very heart. Burning and reforming from embers of essence as I did before I gained a physical form,” Grimm said. “The Scarlet Hive have already taken over most of my former duties and the few I have left I can do so from within The Nightmare Realm.”
“Just… how long have you been planning this?” Hearth asked. “Is there anything we can even do?”
Grimm looked at the three of them. Ghost chirped in agreement and Hollow slowly nodded.
“I won’t be going anywhere, and you all know how to navigate The Nightmare Realm to find me.” He spoke as if nothing would change, as if he wouldn’t losing one of the few things he cherished in life.
Grimm would be losing his ability to interact with the waking world. His days reduced to a thankless, sombre task which would end in death and begin again the next morn.
They thought it was a cruel fate for one so kind.
Hollow was done with him or anyone in their strange, wonderful family sacrificing anything else for the sake of an uncaring world and selfish gods. They rose from their place on the bed, floating until they were eye level with their father.
You deserve better than this.
You, for untold eons, have shaped and guided this world.
You have saved countless lives.
You have done so much for so little!
They rested their hands on his shoulders as Grimm just smiled at them sadly.
“I have, but all things come to an end Hollow, even me.”
“That’s a load of ashes!” Hearth snapped. “What about The Troupe? The Scarlet Hive? What about your children?”
Hollow watched as Grimm simply let her remarks wash over him. They wish he had more fight in him. They wished he wouldn’t just accept this.
Please. They begged. There must be another way.
Grimm patted their head fondly. “The Heart can only be transferred to a vessel of my lineage, without a child I must either immolate or slowly lose myself to the same madness that has plagued so many of my fellows.”
He looked past them, to Ghost as the smaller god stared at him unflinching. “I would rather burn and remain myself than lose my wits delaying the inevitable any longer than necessary.”
Hollow moved away and crossed their arms over their chest. They were not pleased, and they would do anything, give anything, for their father to reconsider.
There had to be something they could do.
Not if we find a way around it. Ghost stated.
“Yeah, we have time, right?” Hearth said.
“Ten years,” Grimm replied. “… Are you certain you all wish to pursue this? There is no guarantee you will find an alternative, or that you will be able to enact it in time.”
Hollow nodded. They did not have foresight nor did they need such a thing. For the issue wasn’t about whether they succeeded, though they hoped that was the case, they just wanted to try.
I care too much to not do everything I can to change your fate. They stressed. If we fail, then we can at least say we did everything we could, and give you a worthy final act.
“… I felt so helpless when The Sun tried to kill you,” Hearth said. “I had this plan in my head, that maybe I could be a voice of reason like you, or at least help in negotiations. But I was too scared to do anything.”
“No one here blames you for that,” Grimm reassured her. “You’ve been through a lot and now that you are somewhere safe, you can look back and realize how far you’ve come.”
“It feels like I had more courage when I was facing down Chrysalis, but... I think I just reached my limit for what I could tolerate,” Hearth admitted. “And I don’t want to reach that point ever again, I want to be useful, or something.”
Ghost summed up their thoughts in one sentence.
I’m The Lord of Shades, to me, that means being able to protect those I care about.
Finally, Grimm relented, sympathizing with the trio’s shared sentiments. “I won’t stand in your way and if you three do uncover another solution, then I will accept it. But take care to not endanger my realm or the waking world in the process,” He gave them a stern look. “The balance of power is a delicate thing. And it has taken many sacrifices and lives lost to reclaim that balance after my sister succumbed to rage and Luna fell prey to jealousy.”
We know. Hollow said.
They were content with this. They had time, they had help in the form of Ghost and Hearth, and they needn’t worry about their father refusing their aid.
It was a start.
“Wait…” Hearth blurted. "Ghost is The Lord of Shades?”