Chapter Text
“M-My King, The Watcher’s Report has come in for you to look at.”
The King blinks out of his musings as the voice rings out through the silence, and he looks over to see the trembling visage of the advisor, holding up a stack of stone tablets, all of them bearing the insignia of his disciple’s mask, before carefully extending a claw to tap the surface of his work desk. “Thank you, Wek. Set them down here.”
“Y-Yes, My King.” The little bug scrambles to do exactly that, placing each tablet down like they’re made of spun glass, giving one last, long, reverent bow before quickly shuffling her way out of the room, visibly flustered to be in the presence of her great God.
He couldn’t help but sigh a little after watching her leave, giving a little shake of his head; sometimes he wished his nobility wouldn’t act so fearfully reverent towards him whenever he walked by. It was almost tiresome to be around those that worshipped the ground he walked on, especially when they acted so very nervous around him and his visage. He lets his gaze stray to the tablets and let out another, heavier sigh, before walking over to his desk and sitting down in his chair, taking a moment to let his tail hang over the arm rest and for all his legs to tuck against his carapace, before he picks up the nearest stone. The tablet was encased in a grey slate, displaying Lurien’s mask, acting as a fail-safe, preventing anyone lacking his divine touch from opening them and reading the contents inside. He idly presses his thumb against the outline of the mask, watching as the slate cracks and crumbles, before dissipating into white fragments of light that dissipate from view. The writing of the tablet glows white against the smooth black surface, and the King begins to read.
“Lively Crossroads: Temperature was around 72 degrees, with a mild breeze coming in from up above. A minor confrontation broke out involving two drunken pill bugs outside of a tavern, one of them being arrested while another was sent to the local hospital for minor wounds and cracks to the shell. A family of newcomers were properly settled down into their homes, and repairs had to be made to several street signs after being dented inwards by a group of rowdy adolescents.”
The King couldn’t help but hum to himself as he read over the transcript, giving it a once over at least two or three more times before finally setting it down, deciding that nothing in the Crossroads needed his attention as of this moment. Nothing needed to be fixed, no crimes needed to be judged, all the subjects seemed relatively happy, going about their daily lives. Perfect. He picks up the second tablet, repeating the unsealing process and beginning to read once again.
“Greenpath Gardens: Temperature around a steady 86°, with a light fog surrounding the Lake Of Unn. Gardeners are hard at work taking care of the various fauna, including the lilies and the tulips. There was a small breach in one of pipes in the north-west side of the Gardens, in which the acid had eaten away at the surface of said pipe, which had rusted due to what seems to be negligence in cleaning duties. No one was greatly injured, however one of the Menderbugs was sent to the City hospital for minor acid burns.”
The King couldn’t help but curl his lip in a soft sneer, not out of anger or disgust, but simply irritation. The damnable acidic liquid was a rather unavoidable aspect of the Kingdom, and one he couldn’t help but need to work his way around. He had his suspicions that the acid originated in the depths of the Fungal Wastes, where the spores of the mushrooms and the chemicals of the soil somehow mix into the water pouring in from underground streams, creating some kind of foul reaction that causes the water to turn acidic, which in turn begins to leak into other areas of the kingdom. He would’ve sent Menderbugs to attempt to plug up the water, perhaps work on making pipes that would funnel the water into other sections of the kingdom, but he had a suspicion that the mushrooms subsisted entirely off of this bubbling broth, and the Mantises wouldn’t exactly take kindly to their home lands being slowly killed off due to starvation. Best to not ruin the treaty, especially one that they worked so hard to forge.
He finally lets out a sigh upon re-reading the last section, before making a mental note to have one of his advisors send a message to the managers of the Gardens; he wanted to make sure that they covered the cost of the injured bug’s medical bill, as well as the broken pipe, if it wasn’t already fixed. The fact that the Report didn’t say was almost unusual. He picks up yet another tablet, but pauses in opening it, looking up from his work to tap a claw against his desk in idle thought before simply nodding to himself in silent agreement. He picks up a hand-held bell off of the surface of his desk, ringing it briskly, at least three times, and there was a small bit of silence before the soft fluttering of wings is heard, and two bright white eyes peek out from beneath a spherical shell. The King merely glances back to his work and undoes the next seal, speaking loud enough so that his creation would hear him. “Go down to the kitchens and bring me my meal.”
The creature doesn’t say a word, and merely disappears out of sight. The King starts to read once more.
“City Of Tears: Temperature around 67° degrees, no winds, and a steady rain throughout the day, week, month, etc. Soldiers had to apprehend a thief that tried to mug one of the citizens in one of the many back alleys of the city, and he is now being held in the capital’s prison. One of the houses over in the Elevated District is in dire need of repairs due to water damage, and several doctors had been seen wandering the City making house calls due to an undetermined sickness, seeming to affect the old and the young.”
That last part immediately grabs the King’s attention, and his claws stiffen. Illnesses were unfortunately common from within the capital’s depths; constant, endless rainfalls tend to soak through even the toughest of metal plating or expensive cloth, so doctors and medical professionals were always busy tackling the common cold and such. Nothing too out of the usual in that regard, but sick subjects wasn’t exactly something he wanted, nor was it something he needed, especially if children were getting ill, as well as the fact that the illness in question had yet to be properly identified. The water damage to that one building was concerning as well, especially since most of them were crafted from stone and glass. Perhaps he would have to have his architects try to figure out a way to more appropriately funnel the rain, to make it so that it wouldn’t lead to such inconvenient problems.
There was also Lurien himself. He had read the Reports for as long as he had bestowed him the title of Watcher, and they were usually much more detailed than this. Much more thorough. It was strange, though it didn’t exactly concern him; he knew Lurien better than anyone, and he knew that the oddity of a bug happened to be somewhat of a workaholic, the type that tended to not rest all that much, and when there is no rest, work tends to get sloppy. Perhaps he ought to pay him a visit, just to see how he’s doing. After all, it’s high time he steps out of the Palace grounds, at least for a little while. Being cooped up for too long was something he could never really tolerate, as vexing as it was, but he couldn’t blame himself for his little quirk; it was nothing more than a primal instinct from his long dead days.
He sees a flicker of movement in the corner of his eye and looks over to see the little creature floating back in again, its beady white eyes narrowing behind its shell, tendrils of black slipping out of the seams, holding up a plate of roasted meat and cooked vegetables, as well as a goblet of sparkling wine. He reaches out to take the platter from the creature, nodding to it before moving to set his dinner on the desk, next to the rest of his unopened Reports. He speaks, barely with any thought in mind, his voice quiet and unassuming. “Thank you.”
The little Wingsmould floats there, no indication that it heard anything at all, before moving to float away, the tendrils of black slipping back into its core, like they were never there to begin with.
••••
A week passes in the kingdom’s depths, slow and steady, before the King finally realizes that something is wrong. He began to see it in the Reports as the days went by, small, almost inconsequential details, ones that slipped by his grasp and grew to become troublesome problems.
“A Doctor from the City came to the Crossroads to visit a sick child, one who had been displaying several odd symptoms, including sleep deprivation.”
“A bug fell asleep on one of the benches in the Western side of the Garden and began to display what seemed to be sleeping fits. When he was woken up, he seemed delirious, as if not knowing where he was.”
“There was a mining accident over in the Crystal Caverns, one that resulted in the hospitalization of at least 2 miners. A third had sleep-walked and activated a dormant machine, one that the previously mentioned workers had been relaxing on taking their lunch break, and as a result, were nearly crushed under the weight of the pistons. The third bug has been taken into custody at the City prison. The injured bugs are in critical condition.”
That last Report was enough to have him finally decide to get himself involved; it was troublesome enough that this odd phenomenon was somehow occurring amongst the local populace, but the sheer fact it was impacting the focus and the minds of his workers had the potential to be dangerous, especially considering they were responsible for the cogs of the kingdom running smoothly. He could not afford to have this unforeseen affliction getting in the way of his work, the work of the people, and he needed to put a stop to it. Of course, in order to learn how to do such a thing, he first had to learn of this sickness, what it was, and how it worked, how it affected the body of those that were infected, and he needed to learn of it quickly, in order to avoid the potential of this sickness spreading to the populace.
It was his duty as King to analyze and eliminate any possible threats to his kingdom, to his people, and it was a duty that he would see through.
“Send a message to Lurien and Lady Monomon at once. Tell them I wish to discuss a matter of great importance.”
••••
He lets out a sigh, soft and subtle, as he walks along the Pathways to the Archives, an ocean of fog flowing around his feet, his gait regal and refined, just as it always has been, his tail idly twitching beneath his robes. The atmosphere was thick, heavy, and though the path was made of stone, there was evidence of nature growing all across it, patches of dew and moss that felt cold, soft beneath his feet. Bubbles grew out from the flora-laden walls, the ceilings, no doubt due to strange abnormalities of the atmospheric conditions that occurred this deep underground, and he couldn’t help but crane his head up ever so slightly to gaze at a particular one, thicker than the other ones he’s seen, less transparent, more plump, almost...spongy looking in texture, as if there some form of flesh contained within. Perhaps the bubbles were some kind of odd fungus that wrapped its prey up in its own mass to absorb the creature’s organic structure into its own? He wouldn’t put it past Monomon to cultivate such strange creatures, not with her and her scientific wiles.
As if even thinking of its gracious and ambitious mistress was enough to rouse it, the entrance to the Archives was revealed to him, a golden archway of light overrun with the moss and lichen of the canyon, looking as if it hadn’t been touched with a gardener’s shear or trowel in ages, and knowing Monomon, that very well could be the case. He casts one more glance behind him, to check if the equipment was secure, and that his guards from the City were still present, before turning to make his way into the glamorous bronze building, the bubbling and frothing of deadly acid so vigorous that he could feel the vibrations beneath his feet. Even as he walked amongst the narrow tunnel of the Archives’s entrance, he could hear distant conversation, the tone loud, one sounding much more irritated than the other, and he couldn’t help but let out a sigh and shake his head. Right from the start of his reign those two always seemed to be at each other’s throats, and it seemed that would never change. In a way, it was amusing, heavily so, (were circumstances different, he gladly would’ve sat back to watch) but it still didn’t change the fact that now was not the time for a petty squabble. He could begin to make out the words now, slowly walking closer, seeing the dark figures of his two closest disciples illuminated from the glow of the acidic pipes.
“And you’re absolutely certain that your experiments won’t end up causing any unnecessary deaths?”
“Oh don’t be silly! Whatever gave you such an outlandish idea? Like my precious creations could even hurt a lumafly.”
“Are you not aware that I see your so-called progress on these...things, and how they have a tendency to literally explode?”
“Oh, pfft! How cares about a little rattling of the pipes or two?”
“I do! And you should too! I know you have an odd tendency to bathe in this horrid acid, but I’ll have you know that most bugs die when coming into contact with it! And those are just the lucky ones!”
“...Ok, I will admit that there are a few...quirks, to the Ooma’s designs...”
“Quirks is putting it lightly, Monomon. Very lightly.”
“It’s nothing I can’t figure out. It’s probably an instability in their inner cores, some type of chemical reaction or rapid increase in pressure that causes it to react so violently.”
“I certainly hope you’re right. I wouldn’t want to send in a Report to the King about how the entire Canyon is flooding with acid because your Archives got blown up.”
The King finally reaches the end of the tunnel, walking into the main room, one of his hands slipping free from his cloak to lift to his mouth, letting out a soft clearing of the throat, the guards behind him immediately freezing to a stop and moving to position themselves on either side of the doorway. “Ehem. If you don’t mind, I’d like to bring this conversation to a different topic.”
Both Monomon and Lurien blink upon seeing their ruler, the former half-submerged in a vat of acid, the rim of the tank level with that of the floor, her upper tendrils resting against it, while the latter was standing at least a few feet away, his robes sparkling with that of gemstones and glamour, clearly having adopted the look from the nobles of the City. Monomon was the first one of the two to speak, her mask shifting into that of a grin, one of her tendrils lifting up to give the King a soft pat to the forehead, the sensation warm, almost slimy, with the slightest hint of an electric tingle. “Oh, terribly sorry, King. I just got a wee bit distracted is all while we were waiting for you to arrive. My little creations have been coming along nicely, and I suspect that by the end of the year, this Canyon could be a living electrical network!”
“You mean living time bombs.” Lurien shakes his head, his mask remaining as passive as always.
King merely lifts a hand to take Monomon’s tendril in his claws, giving it a soft squeeze before letting go. “That is pleasant to hear, Monomon, though it is best that we end that topic as of right now. Currently, as far as I know, the unexplained sickness has begun to build within the populace of the kingdom, and I need to see to it that I cure it.” His gaze shifts to that of Lurien. “Tell me, are there any new cases in any of the sections of the kingdom?”
His gaze peers into that of the King for a moment before he tilts his head up, and the small hole that’s been cut into the polished white surface of the mask begins to glow, the faint whispers of divinity beginning to fill the air. It was a sight that was both familiar and yet also not, and he felt the slightest of tugs within his being as Lurien’s blessing began to bloom to life once more. He merely watches, the dim memories of bestowing the blessing upon his second disciple, of flooding his body with his own divinity, his piercing bright light, flickering at the back of the King’s mind like a dying ember. Those times were somehow simpler, in all of it’s endless chaos, though they were days the King did not wish to revisit.
Finally, Lurien’s head lowers, and his expression somehow gains a more rigid look despite the mask never once shifting or changing. “...Two more cases as we speak, in the Crossroads. Two kids, one 10 years old, the other one 6.”
The King’s hands clench, his knuckles growing tight, before he turns to face the guards, giving them a stern nod. They silently drag forth a golden box in front of the two advisors, plated on all sides, marked with a large key hole, and place the key in the King’s now outstretched hand, before exiting the building in its entirety, never once looking back. Monomon went still, her mask tilting never so slightly, her tendrils curling in on themselves slowly, her voice slightly more quiet than usual. “..So, we’re starting off with that method, are we?”
The King merely moves to place the key in the lock. “No. This is merely a check-up; the doctors in the City are only experienced with minor illnesses or a cracked shell. They won’t know how to deal with this new sickness, not unless the information on how to do so is sought out and spread. And the only way to do that, is to examine an infected individual.”
He turns the key, swiftly, and the plating falls away with a loud clatter to reveal a beetle, no cloth to be seen on his body, his limbs bound in white chains, securing his arms behind his back, rendering him incapable of struggling. The bug didn’t make a single noise, and merely looked downwards, his expression looking vacant, with just the sheer vestiges of guilt dwelling within his eyes. Monomon slowly raises herself up on her tendrils, the tank she was submerged in rippling and sloshing, waves of acid spilling down the sides of the metal to drop to the floor, though she paid no mind to it. Instead, she merely lowered her mask closer to the face of the bug, and she went silent for a few moments. “..This bug is infected, is he?”
The King watches, his own expression growing steely, almost cold. “Indeed. He worked in the Upper Sector of the Mines, when he had fallen asleep. Apparently, in his sleep, he activated a machine that ended up nearly killing two of his coworkers.”
“...A sleep-induced sickness? I’ve never heard of such a thing.”
“Neither have I. And that’s what troubles me.“
Lurien slowly walks forward as well, bending down to stare the bug in the face, his expression unreadable beneath his mask. “...So, you called the both of us here to examine this fellow?”
“Essentially, yes.”
“Do we have any limits on what exactly we can do?”
The King lets out a sigh, lifting a hand to rub at his forehead, swearing he could feel a headache about to come on. “You cannot kill him, nor can you perform any acts towards his body that requires cutting him open.”
“But taking a look at all of the inner organs would be a viable way to examine how this virus operates.”
“For once, Lurien and I agree.” Monomon leans back to glance between the two of them, and when the King gives her a sharp glance, her mask twists into that of a sheepish look. “..From a scientific standpoint, it would make more sense. The flesh is going to show wear and tear from fending off the sickness, especially if it’s theoretically induced by sleeping.”
The King’s headache grows, and he can’t help but let out a groan, shaking his head in exasperation. “....You understand that cutting open my subjects is the exact opposite of protecting them, yes?”
“Of course, but we also understand that just looking him over from the outside won’t do much good.” Lurien shifts, and his hand lifts free from his robes to put a hand on King’s shoulder. “This might be the only way we can go about things.”
“You haven’t even tried yet.” The King’s hand comes up to rest upon his Watcher’s, but his gaze is unwavering.
“We don’t need to try, King. That’s the thing.”
Before the King can reply, the bug lifts his head to gaze at his mighty ruler, and shakes his head. “...I...I don’t want to hurt someone again.”
All three of them turn their heads to glance at the forlorn man, and Monomon is the first to speak. “..You think it can happen again? Your... sleep walking?”
The bug nods, softly. “I know it will. It…It’s been happening for a while. My... My sleep, I mean. It... It’s been weird..”
“How so?” The King steps forward, eyes narrowing in thought, in suspicion.
The bug visibly flinches away, a faint twitch of involuntary reflex, and his eyes show of both fear and awe all at once, and his voice, already hoarse and soft, starts to crack. “I...W-Well, the thing is...I never dreamt. Never had a dream once in my life. Just...I j-just fall asleep and wake up. But, at least a week ago, m-maybe two, I started dreaming. D-Dreaming of this...I-I don’t even know what it is...All I know is that it’s bright and hot and...and strong and...” He starts to shake, and his eyes start to fog over. “It...It..It’s in my head..It..It won’t go away...”
The King couldn’t help but stare for a moment at this, and a moment was already too long. He feels his knuckles clench under his robes, his tail quiver, and he straightens his spine, taking one deep breath, two, before finally speaking once more. “...Are you sure you want this? This can likely mean your death. Surely dreams aren’t worth that of death.”
The bug’s eyes snap back into focus after at least a moment or two of breathing, and he shakes his head, rapidly. “No, no, I want this. Do it. Kill me, tear me open, do anything you want. If it means ridding me of these dreams, of that horrible..That horrible...” He shudders, a full-body quaking that leaves the chains rattling like an unsteady pebble that’s about to fall from the lip of a cliff, his voice rising in volume, in desperation. “Do it, for the good of the King, for the good of Hallownest, do it! If this is an illness, I...I need you to find it! Find it and kill it! Before it gets the chance to hurt anyone else!”
The King finds himself unable to say a word, turning his head to glance at both of his disciples, to judge their reactions. Monomon was looking the slightest bit disturbed under her mask, her tendrils tensing and clenching in a nervous, almost skittish manner, while Lurien simply watched the whole exchange, his face forever covered within the depths of his mask, his head shifting to stare into his King’s eyes. He slowly nods, as does Monomon, and no words are spoken. None needed to be. The King tried to keep his gait as impeccable as it always was, even as he heard Monomon call for her assistant, even as Lurien began to question the Teacher where she kept her tools. He never looked back.
When he was sure that no eyes were watching him, no eyes were perceiving him, he stumbled, sagging against the wall, as if he had just been struck by a fatal blow, lifting his hands to his face to see that they were shaking, shaking and trembling like a gods-damned child. He had just watched a bug, teetering on the scalpel’s edge of his own sanity, cry and beg for death, to be cut open and have his guts ripped out of his bleeding husk. Something within that sickness had contorted his mind, his thoughts, his very being until death seemed like a blessing, until he found himself staring into the figurative abyss and jumped head first into it.
And all he, the King, could do was sit there and watch. Sit there and let it happen. That bug, insane as he was, in essence, gave his life for him. For him and the glory of his kingdom. And all he did was walk away.
His hands clench.
...No. No, he could not let this cloud him. Cloud his mind. It was just...It was just one simple procedure. One bug. One sacrifice, for the sake of untold lives saved. That infected body had chosen his fate, chosen to die, chosen to sacrifice. He could do nothing to change that, and as his duty as King, he needed to focus his mind to the future. He could not show weakness. This was all it was. A momentary bout of weakness. A momentary cost.
His claws clenched so hard he could feel the soft shell of his palms creak, before he finally took a deep breath, and his emotions fell, cast down by unseen blades. Then he began to walk once more.
Not even a day later, he had received a Report from his Watcher, one that he had left alone for hours before finally opening.
“The Miner was examined with a simple glance over at first, and nothing seemed to be out of the ordinary. He looked and seemed completely healthy, aside from a slight fatigued look to the carapace beneath his eyes, and his jittery, skittish nature. Monomon’s assistant first took blood in an effort to see if there was any visible contamination, any oddities, and when, finally, the operation was made. His organs were worn, slightly so, as if put under significant stress, but aside from that, there was nothing. The sickness, as far as we know, is completely invisible to our eyes. My only question to you, My King, is this.
What do we do?”