(Rescue - Return - Departure - Loneliness - Disturbance)
~~~ are used for changing the perception of vision (POV)
••• denotes flashback
*** denotes time skip
'...' denotes internal thought
() denotes layered perception
===
There she is-
Sister.
Thou move through the ragged linings wrought of nothing but something—Void.
Wild. Ununified. All-consuming. All-absorbing. All-devouring.
And yet—her.
The Void accepts. It requires no words, only presence.
Lord of the Void. Lord of the Shades.
It bends to thee as an extension of thine own hand-because it is thine hand. As thou pass, it reshapes itself within itself, parting not by force, but by recognition.
Calmer now. Unified. All-consuming. All-absorbing. All-devouring.
But her.
Who is she? It asks, without speaking.
Sister.
Strong. Fierce. Enduring. She has suffered greatly in these wicked lands.
Therefore—let her rest.
The tendrils answer thy thought before it finishes forming. For it is thou, and thou art it.
Set her high-where none may reach.
May the coming epoch be gentle upon her.
As thou shift thine awareness, another presence tugs upon thee.
The Silk-Born.
Maniac. Cretinous. A child still-mushroom-shaped little-
...Enough.
Sister deems her life of worth.
Therefore, she is of worth.
Sister cares.
Let us care also.
Thou couldst have turned away... yet thou didst—that is care.
For her.
For sister.
Set her near. May she find abundance in fair introspection.
Thou withdraw thy tendrils as the Gendered Child's senseless form begins to fade-slowly engulfed by the surrounding essence of nothingness.
Thou turn.
Tiny orbs of pale light gaze from the dark linings where shadow blends into shadow.
Watching.
Waiting.
Nothing more. Nothing less.
As they were meant to be-no expectation, no thought, no worry.
Once part-pale. Part-root.
Now—Pure Void.
Like thyself—yet not quite.
Failures, all.
Siblings. Let us go.
They do not nod.
They do not refuse.
They offer no sign at all.
As expected.
Yet they understand every meaning of thy command. And so they return—to where they belong.
To rest.
To stillness.
Thou among them. At last, The Abyss calls thee—
And yet, as thou prepare to surrender to thine earned quiet, another presence makes itself known.
Thou feel him.
He who was loved.
This time, thou dost not turn. Instead, thou let the Void realign around thee, forcing thine gaze upon them.
The Hollow Knight.
Thou dost not speak.
First, acknowledgement.
Thou inclinest thy presence; they nod—slow, restrained—hoping thou wouldst not notice the tension in their form.
But thou didst.
A subtle pull, not of fear nor surprise, but of inner conflict.
Thou knowest why, even before words are given.
And they know thou knowest.
He who sinned by being loved.
Still, thou wait. Let them speak, that they may ease themselves of it. Yet they hesitate, seeking from thee—a nod of reassurance.
Thou dost not give it.
They understand why.
At last, words break the silence.
"We wish to protect what remains."
...
Anticipated—yet so soon. A pity.
They have resolved themselves, willing to leave thee behind to fulfil what remnants of purpose yet linger.
By their own will.
A thing many would desire... had they been capable of desire at all.
Thou feel no betrayal.
Never.
Not now.
Not ever.
Not that thou can truly feel it regardless. Still, thou understand.
Void-bound are ye both—created for a purpose long since erased.
Yet only one was granted-or developed-the tendency:
To do.
To accomplish.
To desire.
To want.
To be filled with expectation, acknowledgement, and approval.
Again.
And again.
How... alluring.
Would not thou too feel temptation, were thou whole of feeling?
A promise that argues against thine future—that is temptation.
...
No answer? Yet thy silence begs to differ even still.
Perhaps thou dost not feel jealousy, for thou claimest thou cannot feel it at all—nor hast thou reason to.
That is what thou insist upon believing, dost thou author?
Them.
Yes... thou hast not yet decided what to tell them. How to answer. What words would suffice.
...
Thou nod—once.
The Void realigns at thy response.
The beloved one nearly falters, doubt tugging at them—again, a thing thou refusest to believe.
Time passes.
Then they nod in return—and turn away.
Once more, they show thee their back.
Because thou allowest it.
The Void opens a passage-one already used, long since deemed unnecessary.
Until now.
The Trek to The Ruins of Hollownest.
The Hollow Knight steps forth. The Void guides them, for there is no light within the dark—only the dark, folding endlessly into itself.
At last, the tall one reaches the threshold of their relinquishment.
They look back.
This time, thou nod for them to go on—what thou failed to do before. Both times thou wert late, though in different ways.
They return the gesture—grateful, knowing fully what they choose—and what has chosen them.
They seek understanding, though there is nothing left to know.
And so, they depart.
Thou let them leave.
Truly, thou didst.
The passage closes—once more.
***
What is wrong with thee?
Thou hast always been silent-yet now, thou art quieter still.
Emotions? Laughable.
And yet... do we know a thing once we name it? Is it frustration? Regret? Sorrow? Envy?
Nay. None of these.
It is something newer. Something painful. Something thou hast not felt enough-because thou couldst not.
...
Thou art lonely.
The absence of shared existence—that is loneliness.
Why? How?
It makes little sense, does it not?
Curious, art thou? As thou shouldst be.
The pull of the unknown when fear does not win—that is curiosity.
Where temptation says Take,
curiosity says Look.
Be reminded: thou art not truly hollow. Impure thou art… and gloriously so.
Thus, it is only natural.
Know also that thy thoughts enjoy no privacy here. In this endless, directionless nothing, they lie open; pages for The Void to tear free.
We know what thou feelest.
This is the ache of being left behind—once more.
Yet unlike the last time, this was thine own doing.
Thou couldst have said no.
A simple word.
A simple refusal.
And this numb suffering would not linger.
Instead, thy silence carves deeper into thee.
So answer us this—
Wilt thou remain still? Wilt thou persist as thou art while all else reshapes around thee? Wilt thou fade like a collapsing statue—thy darkness thinning into nothing?
...No.
Excellent. Then thou shalt-
...
Tunes.
Have they begun already? Again? So soon; and yet so late.
They seek audience once more.
And our descent must wait.
Thy followers are stubborn things—loud, even. Annoying. We cannot feel, but distraction we certainly know.
They had best bear reason enough for such insistence. Express our displeasure; else their fixation wouldst grow excessive.
Thou envision a passage—one that leads to where mortals yet living reign unseen, through focus and dream.
A realm thou hast invaded, and been welcomed into all the same. Hence, the path opens.
The path to Godhome.