The Young Lifeblood Vessel

Sini gives their sibling as much privacy as they can allow in the Snail Shaman’s great room, turning their attention to the old weaver of spells and soul. Politely and with care, they give a bow in thanks.

“Thank. You.”

“No thanks are needed. I certainly have no need for the cocoons myself. Very few things would trouble me here, oho.” Even so, his gaze flickers to the much taller Hollow Knight, presumably pondering. “Yes, I do see the family resemblance between you too, though there is…ah, never mind, it must be a trick of the light. But you are most welcome here, friend both old and new. Ohohoho!”

They nod, padding back to their sibling’s side. The bottle of lifeblood droplets weighs heavy in their small cloak. 

They should depart for Sheo’s hut. He’ll be worried if they’re out much later.

But sibling…

Their sibling is better, now.

Even if they are the only two who remain, Sini has other duties.

They do not. They should not. They do not want to leave.

The stasis on Hallownest is broken. It is safer now. 

Fate allowing, they will see each other again.

“Have. To. Go. Others. Wait. For. Sini. All. Help. Can. Give.”

A gentle hand on the edge of their cloak. 

“Be. Safe.”

The Hollow Knight…knows of friends. The Great Knights; Herrah and Vespa. They are unsure of this term, but if they’re told this is what they and Sini are to the Shaman, then that is what they’ll be. 

They may have to be. They–they…are reluctant…to return here, but Lifeblood is the greatest healing they have had. They shall.

They bow as well, albeit far less fluidly.

Sini comes close, and speaks words they–wish, they wish they didn’t hear.

Others. Others? Other Siblings? Other allies? Other friends? 

Never have they ached to be capable of asking as much as now. 

Or begging. 

Stay, little Sibling, dear Sini, the world is dangerous, the world is lonely, please stay–but they are only one, and if there are others in Hallownest’s ruins that still live…they cannot be selfish, trying to reduce their focus to only themselves. No. 

If the Shaman is friend, evidence of their defect in emotion as well as body should not matter. Everything in them screams not to simply let them walk away with not even a farewell, and they allow themselves to listen.

They reach down to cradle their claws around Sini’s mask. 

Gentle tapping, in what the Hollow Knight desperately hopes can be understood as a mirror to their words. Be. Safe. A soft stroke along their horns. 

They’re both so alone, the Hollow Knight even moreso than them.

It is safer. The paths are safer.

The ancestral mound is easy to find. Perhaps it could be a meeting place.

They struggle to find the words.

“Sini. Go. To. Green. Path. Have. Friend. There. Will. Be. Back. At. Cross. Roads. Promise. Will. Be. Back.”

They give a mirrored bow.

A quick nod and they flitter away, down the winding tunnels that are finally quiet and no longer infested with light-crazed bugs. Before, this path was treacherous, a test of skill and speed to get through unscathed. Now, they hop up the scaffolds and rocks towards the top of the mound.

Blue butterfly-like plants light the way to a shining cocoon. 

Sini has always felt a twinge of pity for the small creatures. Lifeblood must be harvested from the living, and lifeseeds live all the same. Still, the cocoons grow back quickly, and there must always be a price to survive. 

Their stroke is quick, precise. From inside their cloak, they produce a small bottle to collect the falling droplets; it’s good for making paint and regenerating the surging blue within their small body. The seeds they catch, docile in their presence. 

This cocoon has only two seeds to spare, but two is enough. They will not need its soothing properties.

As quick as they arrived, Sini travels back, flying as best they can to their waiting sibling and the good shaman. 

The shaman nods approvingly as they emerge from the darkness. “Oho, I see the cocoon still grows! A good thing to know that rancid air did not do it any harm. It’s most delicious for a treat, and even better for soothing wounds.”

Sini does not respond, but they do give a small nod. Another quick padding of feet, this time to their larger sibling. Small hands offer up the seeds, once again freely given.

They wait with an outward facsimile of patience. 

It’s all they can do to clutch at old habit, to tamp down their mind, to focus on a single thing, and that single thing is the sound of Sini’s wings fading away, and then back. The endless chuckling of the Shaman is a near-distraction, but one bearable compared to looking downward.

They must, when their far shorter sibling comes back, but their mask and the glowing seeds are closer.

The Hollow Knight plucks them from their grip. Too quickly; they freeze, since it’s not only Sibling watching, but this other bug, this one they do not know, this one surrounded by so many glaring eyes from the ground and on stakes–

No, no, no. Not mean, Sini said. Sini is the one who matters the most. 

Yet still–

“Thank. You.”

“No thanks are needed. I certainly have no need for the cocoons myself. Very few things would trouble me here, oho.” Even so, his gaze flickers to the much taller Hollow Knight, presumably pondering. “Yes, I do see the family resemblance between you too, though there is...ah, never mind, it must be a trick of the light. But you are most welcome here, friend both old and new. Ohohoho!”

They nod, padding back to their sibling’s side. The bottle of lifeblood droplets weighs heavy in their small cloak. 

They should depart for Sheo’s hut. He’ll be worried if they’re out much later.

But sibling...

Their sibling is better, now.

Even if they are the only two who remain, Sini has other duties.

They do not. They should not. They do not want to leave.

The stasis on Hallownest is broken. It is safer now. 

Fate allowing, they will see each other again.

“Have. To. Go. Others. Wait. For. Sini. All. Help. Can. Give.”

A gentle hand on the edge of their cloak. 

Sini pads on ahead, knowing the path is short and easy to traverse. It is not long before they stand in a great open room presumably carved from a much larger bug. The Snail Shaman stands towards the back of the room near what they presume is a bed, looking at them expectantly. 

He always did seem to know when company was coming.

Perhaps that was just part of being a shaman.

The snail shaman laughs again as they approach, staff shaking and rattling in time. “Oho, the little blue one has returned! Perhaps to find something else you may need deeper within the temple? And I see you have brought a friend!”

A quick nod, turning back to the Hollow Knight for a brief introduction. “Sibling. In. Need. Life. Blood. Stay. Not. Long”

“A sibling, you say? It seems you have much growing to do, my friend if you are to get that big someday! Ohohoho!” The shaman then turns his attention to their sibling, pondering for a moment. “Ah, I am afraid you’re much too big for the rest of the temple. The tunnels are narrow, much better for a small shadow. But you are welcome to stay in this more open space.”

Sini nods, though does not yet proceed. They do not know how their sibling will feel about being along with the shaman or the shaman himself.

They half-stumble to a halt in the center of the room.

…There is something familiar about this being. The darkness of his body, the shape of the shell balanced on his head.

Does not seem to be a threat to Sini, nor them. 

–Of course not. This was already said.

The Hollow Knight averts their gaze to the floor, and then, at the continued sight of many more masks, to the wall.

The voice directed to Sibling and them is…different from what they’ve heard in so long. Sifting through memories, they alight on Ogrim’s voice, though he and the Shaman were nothing alike in pitch. Kindly? Nearly–friendly. Friendly.

A friendly voice, surrounded by all this…discomfort. Signs of death, of past that seems earlier than most Hallownest. The dissonance rattles them.

Too large? Very well. They do as they always must at rest, sinking their nail (between the masks) into the ground, using it to lean all their weight upon.

Blue butterfly-like plants light the way to a shining cocoon. 

Sini has always felt a twinge of pity for the small creatures. Lifeblood must be harvested from the living, and lifeseeds live all the same. Still, the cocoons grow back quickly, and there must always be a price to survive. 

Their stroke is quick, precise. From inside their cloak, they produce a small bottle to collect the falling droplets; it’s good for making paint and regenerating the surging blue within their small body. The seeds they catch, docile in their presence. 

This cocoon has only two seeds to spare, but two is enough. They will not need its soothing properties.

As quick as they arrived, Sini travels back, flying as best they can to their waiting sibling and the good shaman. 

The shaman nods approvingly as they emerge from the darkness. “Oho, I see the cocoon still grows! A good thing to know that rancid air did not do it any harm. It’s most delicious for a treat, and even better for soothing wounds.”

Sini follows.

The path to the snail shaman is a place of death and remembrance. Dark and shadowed, made with the bones and shells of the dead, but not particularly hostile. It is mostly unusual. There have never been many bugs well versed in spellcraft, and Sini does not know enough of spells to truly understand the shaman.

Had their sibling met a shaman before? Sini had only met the one at the Ancestral Mound, or at least, they only remember meeting this shaman. Perhaps there were others in Hallownest in earlier days.

They truthfully do not know how much their sibling has seen. How much they remember.

No one deserves to be alone for that long.

They have wanted to tell their sibling about Hallownest. Their words are limited, but they can try anyways. 

“Snail. Shaman. Use. Soul. Make. Spells.”

Small feet pad up to the great open door made of old carved shells. The purple light casts strange shadows over their person. 

“They. Are. Strange. But. Not. Mean. Have. Life. Blood. In. Mound.”

Soul. They knew the Pale King used Soul; he had been the one taught them how to use it, hone it. 

The Vessel in their memory tore through them with something that felt like Soul and Void at once, though the idea is shaky. 

They believed it was only the King and his creations that could utilize it. It’s…an odd thing, realizing that others are capable of the same. Uncomfortable. Nearly a twinge of failure, that ever-familiar sensation, yet they don’t have something to properly pin it to.

…Is there a way–

–they must not–

–they–they can barely use Soul. Perhaps a solution to why could come from this being.

The Hollow Knight crushes the hope down. It’s enough to be given the boon of Lifeblood to use.

Their head tips in acknowledgement. Guilt stirs, as they realize this is half for delay over genuine thanks to their sibling.

The arch of the Snail Shaman’s home(?) appears high enough they barely bend to avoid knocking their horns against its top. They end up doing so anyway, a light tap and shower of dust.

He always did seem to know when company was coming.

Perhaps that was just part of being a shaman.

The snail shaman laughs again as they approach, staff shaking and rattling in time. “Oho, the little blue one has returned! Perhaps to find something else you may need deeper within the temple? And I see you have brought a friend!”

A quick nod, turning back to the Hollow Knight for a brief introduction. “Sibling. In. Need. Life. Blood. Stay. Not. Long”

“A sibling, you say? It seems you have much growing to do, my friend if you are to get that big someday! Ohohoho!” The shaman then turns his attention to their sibling, pondering for a moment. “Ah, I am afraid you’re much too big for the rest of the temple. The tunnels are narrow, much better for a small shadow. But you are welcome to stay in this more open space.”

The climb is long, slow, careful, and Sini stays close to their sibling all the way to the top. Their want to hurry is dampened by the knowledge that this journey is painful for the Hollow Knight. It is worry, because they know little else to feel in this moment. 

Sympathy. That might be the word. 

The emotions are foreign. They are not used to caring for others. They have not had other people to worry about. Sheo is a master with a nail, even so retired from the art of battle. Their sister is strong and agile, and Sini cannot say they have ever been close with the gendered child. To be weak in Hallownest is to die or succumb to the Infection.

That light is now gone. They can afford to care about those who would not make it.

Their sibling needs help. They want to help.

They hope their sibling understands.

It feels like an eternity, but the long vertical hall eventually empties out to a larger ledge. Though closer to the surface, the corridor is darker than nearly everything else around it, lit only by torches and a soft purple light further down the way. A plethora of masks litter the ground even this far from the mound itself.

A pause as they glance up to their sibling, one arm pointed down the hall. Sini does not mind the snail shaman, peculiar as their mannerisms and nature are. They do not know how much their sibling knows of the strange spellcasters, versed in Soul and Void.

“Life. Blood. This. Way. Near. Shaman. Home.”

Along with their usual throbs of pain, their back protests, unused to the weight of the massive Nail resting upon it. 

They do not give up. The trail is a beacon. Sini stays near.

Despite their Sibling’s tiny size, logically entirely unable to save them if they did fall, they are reassured. They do not know why, and they have no need nor desire to currently examine it.

They don’t drop. It takes an eternity, but they make their way up.

They clamber and fall gracelessly to their knees once it’s over, still. 

It would be for the best if there aren’t many more of these climbs.

Their gaze follows where Sini aims, and they stiffen. 

The masks are an awful sight. The flames throw shadows, giving the appearance of subtle movement.

How many dead–?

No. Not now. Stop.

…They don’t know what kind of bug a Shaman is. They’re equally uncertain about coming near someone’s home. None but family know they still live. None may even know they have ever been.

Certainly, they will not turn their back on Sini after they’ve done so much to bring them so far. They stand, again with their Nail as a cane, and gingerly begin their path forward.

The path to the snail shaman is a place of death and remembrance. Dark and shadowed, made with the bones and shells of the dead, but not particularly hostile. It is mostly unusual. There have never been many bugs well versed in spellcraft, and Sini does not know enough of spells to truly understand the shaman.

Had their sibling met a shaman before? Sini had only met the one at the Ancestral Mound, or at least, they only remember meeting this shaman. Perhaps there were others in Hallownest in earlier days.

They truthfully do not know how much their sibling has seen. How much they remember.

No one deserves to be alone for that long.

They have wanted to tell their sibling about Hallownest. Their words are limited, but they can try anyways. 

“Snail. Shaman. Use. Soul. Make. Spells.”

Small feet pad up to the great open door made of old carved shells. The purple light casts strange shadows over their person. 

With no more need for battle, Sini stores their nail and flies. Not far, not well, but they make it up higher along the ledges and cracked steps. Certainly not an easy climb for their sibling, but the steps are reasonably large.

They want to help.

It’s not like they could haul their sibling up, anyways. They’re in pain. Needless contact would just make it worse. 

What they wouldn’t give for rope. For a working elevator.

For someone else.

There is no one to help. Not here. Not for a long while yet. Sini was used to being alone, and they would figure this out on their own too. 

Find the easiest path for them both. Not an easy path, the easiest path.

Large steps in the ground. Easy handholds from the old scaffolding. Places to rest for a moment if needed. They can see where the Hollow Knight can step, can grab, can pause, but their sibling is already struggling.

Quicker than they have been thus far, Sini pulls out a small paintbrush, tucked away deep inside their cloak. From another pocket, they find a small pot with a lid sealed tight. The last remnants of their blue paint, kept close as a tool to navigate the almost maze-like halls if needed.

It would be put to good use.

“Sibling. Follow. Blue. Path. Less. Hard.”

The liid cracks with a pop.

They mark the way with gentle strokes, simple crosses on the ground and walls.

The Hollow Knight drags themselves up, pausing only when Sini flutters closer. They’ve already made it up about the length of their own body. Considerable, for a normal bug, but they are not. They need to be better than this.

They listen, fixing a stare on their sibling, and. 

Oh.

Sini is helping.

They are unused to assistance in this way. Or of assistance at all.

It jars them from their pointed focus. They are tense. They are–

–angry. 

They shy away from it, as that was Her most terrifying, damaging emotion. They have no right nor need of it. 

Sini is here. They are…not alone. 

Unable to truly bow, they duck their head awkwardly, and begin following the marks of blue. 

A weak hand and inexperience mean slips are inevitable. They still catch themselves before fully falling. They will not die if they do, but more injuries are undesirable. 

Sympathy. That might be the word. 

The emotions are foreign. They are not used to caring for others. They have not had other people to worry about. Sheo is a master with a nail, even so retired from the art of battle. Their sister is strong and agile, and Sini cannot say they have ever been close with the gendered child. To be weak in Hallownest is to die or succumb to the Infection.

That light is now gone. They can afford to care about those who would not make it.

Their sibling needs help. They want to help.

They hope their sibling understands.

It feels like an eternity, but the long vertical hall eventually empties out to a larger ledge. Though closer to the surface, the corridor is darker than nearly everything else around it, lit only by torches and a soft purple light further down the way. A plethora of masks litter the ground even this far from the mound itself.

A pause as they glance up to their sibling, one arm pointed down the hall. Sini does not mind the snail shaman, peculiar as their mannerisms and nature are. They do not know how much their sibling knows of the strange spellcasters, versed in Soul and Void.

Sini does not care for fighting; they are proficient in it by necessity, not choice. To fight is to survive, and so they only fight as much as they need. So many have died needlessly for them to consider anything more acceptable. Had their sibling not been with them, they would rather have run through the room and leave the territorial vengeflies in peace. 

For now, though, they will fight. 

Their sibling crushes one in a powerful stroke, but the other flies do not seem to take notice of their fallen kin, swooping in for the smaller target between the two of them. Three remain.

Focus. Charge. Attack.

One stroke like a painter’s brush.

They jump into the air, wings launching them nearly level with their sibling’s head, and bring their nail in a shining white arc, much larger than their thin blade would suggest possible. 

It connects with two of the flies, and the cut is clean. Precise. Sharp. Their bodies hit the ground nearly simultaneously. 

The last vengefly that remains seems to understand a loosing battle and retreats to their nest higher amongst the caverns. The other creatures have paid no mind to the short scuffle. 

Landing softly on the ground, they look to their sibling. It is hard to tell their thoughts on such conflict, but they are able to fight in some respects. That is good to know. They do not know how their sibling feels about such an action, and they do not have the words to ask such a thing. 

It is better to do what they can.

“No. More. Flies. Gone. Should. Move.”

Now for a long climb upwards.

Sini is deeply capable. Wings functional, blade working with arcane force. Truly a survivor.

The Hollow Knight’s chest twinges with their every strike.

They should not–

They nod in acknowledgement. They are now paying attention to Sini. They are not looking at the corpses. 

The crawlids skitter, easily stepped over. Nudged away with their Nail, once they can briefly hold their weight. 

It isn’t pain that stymies them now. 

Fear. Of all emotions, that was one of the least palatable. They were skilled at hiding it, but it still felt unpleasant and distracting. 

There is not even enough to fear, now.

The Hollow Knight ignores it. They force their body to move faster. And once they reach where the climb was to begin, they barely pause.

Their Nail is slung onto their back.

They have dragged their way through worse than this. 

Their claws sink into the wall. Their pointed feet brace. 

It may hurt. It will hurt. But they will make it.

(They have lost track of the goal, being to stop that they hurt.)

They want to help.

It’s not like they could haul their sibling up, anyways. They’re in pain. Needless contact would just make it worse. 

What they wouldn’t give for rope. For a working elevator.

For someone else.

There is no one to help. Not here. Not for a long while yet. Sini was used to being alone, and they would figure this out on their own too. 

Find the easiest path for them both. Not an easy path, the easiest path.

Large steps in the ground. Easy handholds from the old scaffolding. Places to rest for a moment if needed. They can see where the Hollow Knight can step, can grab, can pause, but their sibling is already struggling.

Quicker than they have been thus far, Sini pulls out a small paintbrush, tucked away deep inside their cloak. From another pocket, they find a small pot with a lid sealed tight. The last remnants of their blue paint, kept close as a tool to navigate the almost maze-like halls if needed.

It would be put to good use.

“Sibling. Follow. Blue. Path. Less. Hard.”

The liid cracks with a pop.

Their sibling is distracted.

When they almost fall, Sini has to hold back from lunging forward into a precarious situation. They’re too small; they can’t support their sibling’s weight, and they certainly can’t push them to safety. Thankfully, even if painfully, the Hollow Knight manages to make it across.

Keep closer then. Announce everything in their path. 

Make sure nothing is left to chance.

They scramble up the ledge, tapping their nail on the steps as they do. 

“Ledge. Small. Use. Nail. To. Get. Up.”

As far as they can see, there are no other immediate dangers within this corridor. No spikes, no broken paths, no hidden enemies.

Again, they scout ahead, peeking into next hall. They hear some noise, chittering and skittering feet on the stone below their feet. Sight confirms the presence of crawlids and some vengeflies, though no signs of anything larger or more dangerous.

They turn back, keeping their voice low as low as possible.

“Small. Bugs. Crawlid. Flies. Be. Ready.”

Their Nail carries their heft, and they’re nearly tall enough to step over it without. They may have tripped over it. 

There is guilt and gratefulness at Sini’s warning, both discarded. A foolish mistake. They must balance mindlessness with mindfulness, to keep this from happening again.

They pause for Sini, and listen, and follow.

Tiny things. Barely dangerous to them, even injured, at least on the ground. 

They are not alone.

One step into the hall beyond, the Hollow Knight is visible. Their height is outstanding. Crawlids and Tiktiks care little.

Vengeflies, territorial and vicious, do.

One immediately diverts its path to dive towards their mask.

They lash out at the Vengefly–

(Light danger dark hungry hungry, little fluttering thing burning inside out and it will not fear long, She will warm them burst them inside out, eat when, kill the empty one, it swells and it understands only pain and bright and hungry and scared)

–and miss. 

The Vengefly squawks its displeasure at the eddies the blade creates, backing off for a moment, away from them.

But Sini is here, Sini is important. It circling back bursts flares of light across their vision.

Fury.

They do not miss the second time. 

Their massive Nail is as large as its body. They less cut the Vengefly apart than crush it into nothing, white of useless Soul and a splash across the wall of of dark blue hemolymph-blood.

(bright, scared, scared)

It was not Infected. It isn’t Infected. It was not part of them. It was Her and Her mind linking them together. It is not now. It has barely emotion beyond hunt and breed and protect.

It doesn’t matter. 

It. 

It’s.

Dead. It is dead.

There are others around.

It should not matter.

For now, though, they will fight. 

Their sibling crushes one in a powerful stroke, but the other flies do not seem to take notice of their fallen kin, swooping in for the smaller target between the two of them. Three remain.

Focus. Charge. Attack.

One stroke like a painter’s brush.

They jump into the air, wings launching them nearly level with their sibling’s head, and bring their nail in a shining white arc, much larger than their thin blade would suggest possible. 

It connects with two of the flies, and the cut is clean. Precise. Sharp. Their bodies hit the ground nearly simultaneously. 

The last vengefly that remains seems to understand a loosing battle and retreats to their nest higher amongst the caverns. The other creatures have paid no mind to the short scuffle. 

Landing softly on the ground, they look to their sibling. It is hard to tell their thoughts on such conflict, but they are able to fight in some respects. That is good to know. They do not know how their sibling feels about such an action, and they do not have the words to ask such a thing. 

It is better to do what they can.

“No. More. Flies. Gone. Should. Move.”

Unsurprisingly, their sibling’s steps are loud, aided by the nail digging into the ground. Being so small, Sini is used to moving quietly, for they do not have the strength to afford attracting attention. But as they spoke earlier, the tunnels are safer now with the Infection gone. 

Instead, the corpses of those reanimated husks lie scattered around the halls, finally allowed rest from the Light. There are small nails littered here and there, though no evidence of any larger nails. Those would likely be in the City, not here at the Crossroads.

Nothing else seems to have noticed the Siblings thus far. Nothing within this room, and so far, no evidence of something else within the other room.

Sini would like it kept that way.

They scout just a little ways ahead, figuring out the easiest path and the needed jumps. They have to think about a much taller sibling now, and the Crossroads are relatively narrow (if also relatively easy to navigate). There are some spikes, yes, but the Hollow Knight should be tall enough to step over the pits. 

Should be. They hope their assessment is correct.

“Watch. Out. Spikes.”

A careful jump, a small burst of flight, and they clear the small spike pit. They scramble up a small ledge, though they go no further. They’d rather not move too quickly and lose sight of the Hollow Knight. 

Time. They both have time.

Slow and steady.

For now, there’s little to fear.

They do not look at the bodies left around. They did when they tore a scrap of cloth to clean with from where it lay beside a dead bug, filled with horror that they had done this, they had failed–

Do not think.

They step over the corpses as they move around jutting rocks as they duck beneath stalactites. Follow Sibling, who knows best. 

Do not feel, do not do not do not.

They barely hear Sini’s words, lurching to a halt on the precipice nearly too late. 

Not long ago, they had stared down into a bed of spikes nearly the same as this, halted and helpless.

They could not walk then. Their clawing descent from the Temple has left an ache in their working shoulder. They are functioning better.

Upwards means they may pass the Temple. They don’t–

They must keep going.

It takes steps to avoid falling and ruining the point. Swing the Nail over, first. Feel for an edge that will not crumble. Press their weight into it, to be absolutely certain. And only then, fully stretch their legs to move across.

They nearly fall on their face. It would be better than into the spikes, but their Nail is strong enough to lean and catch on.

When they almost fall, Sini has to hold back from lunging forward into a precarious situation. They’re too small; they can’t support their sibling’s weight, and they certainly can’t push them to safety. Thankfully, even if painfully, the Hollow Knight manages to make it across.

Keep closer then. Announce everything in their path. 

Make sure nothing is left to chance.

They scramble up the ledge, tapping their nail on the steps as they do. 

“Ledge. Small. Use. Nail. To. Get. Up.”

As far as they can see, there are no other immediate dangers within this corridor. No spikes, no broken paths, no hidden enemies.

Again, they scout ahead, peeking into next hall. They hear some noise, chittering and skittering feet on the stone below their feet. Sight confirms the presence of crawlids and some vengeflies, though no signs of anything larger or more dangerous.

They turn back, keeping their voice low as low as possible.