Chapter Text
The Pure Nail.
He’s done it. He’s made it. The most powerful and durable nail that can ever be forged.
The Pure Nail, made from pale ore, the mysterious colorless metal that permeates the air with an icy chill. Despite having hammered away at the nail to forge and shape it, his hands don’t feel any warmth from the blade. He stares at the intricate marks and grooves throughout the weapon. He made those marks, those details, those swirls. It was his hands that etched thought and meaning into them, but now he was tracing the metal as if he’d never seen it before.
The Nailsmith looks at the bug standing beside him. They’re a small bug, with eyes as big and as hollow as an inky dark abyss. He calls them The Knight, although he’s never learned their real name. He doesn’t so much as know the sound of their voice, as they’ve never spoken. Even among the silent types The Nailsmith has made weapons for, this bug truly makes no sound. Even without talking, bugs make a plethora of noises, whether that be from them sighing, humming, groaning, or hell even breathing, there’s always something.
But this is the first bug The Nailsmith has ever met to be completely silent.
The Nailsmith calls this strange bug The Knight because, well, that’s what they seemed to be. When he first met them, The Knight walked into his hut with a nail by their side, (a rather ugly and horribly damaged nail at that,) and although they lacked the words to do so, they asked him to repair their nail.
Customers were hard to come by these days. Even if there were many still wandering around Hallownest, they most likely weren’t aware his hut even existed, much less that The Nailsmith inside was still alive. So needless to say, he was rather surprised to have a new visitor. He accepted their request, repairing the nail with a price. Even though the use for geo had become near obsolete, that didn’t mean he was going to take work for free.
The Knight had shown up a few more times after that, getting their nail upgraded and becoming more confident with it. The Nailsmith, always alone with his thoughts, couldn’t help but wonder where the small bug went time and time again. They would be gone for long stretches of time and would always return with their cloak in worse condition. The Nailsmith didn’t worry much though, as long as the bug carried a nail made by him, he was confident they’d prevail in any dangerous encounter.
The Nailsmith snaps out of his thoughts. He sees The Knight, looking at the Pure Nail expectantly, and wonders what they think of his work. If they’re happy, the Nailsmith can’t tell. The Knight wears no expression on their face and never has. He gives them back their nail, almost hesitantly, almost eager to get it out of their possession.
“Well, there you are. A Pure Nail just as requested.” The Nailsmith’s casual tone does nothing to portray the overwhelming amount of emotions he’s feeling. That nail is the culmination of his life’s work, the centerpiece to his life itself. It’s a representation of all he’s studied, the countless nails he deemed failures, the countless nails he sold to travelers. That Pure Nail not only marks the peak of his career as a nailsmith, but the end of it as well.
The Knight holds out their tiny hands and takes back their sword. The perfect weight of the metal is shown by how easily The Knight sheathes it despite their small size.
“You know, I never thought this day would come,” The Nailsmith talks to mostly himself. He can see The Knight take interest in his words as they lean in and tilt their head ever so slightly. “With pale ore so hard to come by, especially nowadays, I figured I’d never be complete.”
The Knight does not comment.
The Nailsmith stands up, his breathing suddenly becoming heavy. He avoids The Knight’s gaze, although he can feel it as if it’s boring holes into his shell. “Excuse me, I must step outside for a moment.”
Without further explanation, he rushes out of the hut. When The Knight follows him, they see him standing on the cliff just outside. From there, The Nailsmith can see the entrance to the city, below him roams only a handful of bugs with the fatal orange glint in their eyes. As The Knight approaches they pass many nails stuck up in the ground, almost as if they were put there to mark territory.
From where the two stand, the weeping of the city cannot be heard, only the few groans of the infected bugs below. The water just under the stone is deathly still and silent.
“With the Pure Nail forged, my life’s work has come to an end.” The Nailsmith starts when he’s sure The Knight is behind him. “My only remaining desire is to feel its strike firsthand.”
The Knight does not comment.
“I beg you, cut me down. I’ve wanted nothing more than to feel its edge slice through my shell.” The Nailsmith doesn’t look back at the small bug behind him, he doesn’t look at anything. His eyes are peacefully shut, as if recalling a pleasant memory. “After all this time, all this toil… haven’t I earned it?”
Although it’s come sooner than expected, the end is here. The Nailsmith couldn’t imagine himself dying any other way. Being taken by the infection has to be the worst way, while passing of age in his hut is almost just as repulsing. At least here when he falls, he’ll feel the wind in his beard. He’ll feel the razor sharp pain on his back, showing him just how great of a nailsmith he is. He’ll land into the cold water with a splash and sink to the bottom, to be washed away and forgotten. He’ll be remembered only by those who he serviced. He’ll live on in the nails he forged.
After a moment of silence, the Nailsmith can hear The Knight unsheath their sword. Happiness swells throughout The Nailsmith’s shell.
But when the nail goes through him, there’s no pain, no wound, no nothing. He barely felt anything, only the sensation of a light breeze. He turns around, confused, seeing that it was in fact the Pure Nail he had just been hit with.
Unbenounced to him, The Knight had used their Dream Nail instead. They looked directly at the Nailsmith with the same blank expression they always did, but for some reason, the Nailsmith thought they were checking for something.
Usually, when The Knight used their Dream Nail on bugs, they were able to get a glimpse of their hopes and dreams, their current train of thought, or maybe their deteriorating mental state. But when they looked up at the Nailsmith there was nothing, not even the faintest glimpse of a dream of any kind.
Just… blank.
Then, without any explanation, The Knight bowed to him and turned to leave, sheathing their sword yet again.
“What the- hey wait! Where are you going?!” The Nailsmith called out. “Strike me!”
The Knight didn’t seem to hear him, as they kept walking without even the faintest flinch.
“Come back!” he called again, growing desperate. “Come back!”
The Knight disappeared out of view and a moment later they could be seen from the cliff making their way to the city, defeating enemies with their newly crafted nail.
Even when The Knight disappeared out of view, The Nailsmith couldn't stop from staring in disbelief.
They left.
They just left.
He didn’t know how long he stood there for, maybe minutes, maybe hours. The whole time there was only one thought on his mind.
What now?
The Nailsmith went back inside his hut, passing the copious amounts of nails stuck in the ground and scattered inside. At his desk, he picked up his hammer and examined it as if it had changed since he last held it. It was exactly the same, but the thought of forging another weapon made him frown. He was done, done with blacksmithing, done with nails. He had imagined and envisioned the way things should have ended his whole life, so why did they walk away?
Filled with rage and frustration, The Nailsmith threw the hammer out of his hands and aimed at the wall. A shelf broke and fell apart, nails clattered and scattered on the ground. Everything in his immediate line of sight was either thrown or thrashed, by the time he was done, the hut looked as if a tornado had gone through it. Breathing heavily he collapsed to the ground, covering his face in his hands.
He had fulfilled his purpose, he did all the work, he did everything right. There’s no other job he’s good at, he earned his end.
Why didn’t The Knight see that?
Still lost, The Nailsmith packs a bag. He fills it with food and water and picks up a nail when he steps outside. When he stares at the nail, he considers, just for a moment, if it’d be worth it to end things with it. It wasn’t Pure but-
No. It loses all meaning if the nail isn’t the Pure Nail he crafted.
The Nailsmith takes his bag and leaves without another thought, shutting the door with a thud.
He’s going to find The Knight, he’s going to find his Pure Nail, and he is going to die.