Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

When they hatch, the Abyss is dark, deep, flat—empty, except for the Egg and their Siblings. They find a small alcove and curl up defensively, hiding away from their Siblings’ movement near the Egg. It is dark, and they are otherwise alone. The silence is confusing.

When they hear movement above, they peek out of their hiding spot. There are voices, noises they have never heard before. They see the most beautiful, bright figure above. Instinctively, they know He is Light. He hurts their eyes, but they are drawn in, overwhelmed with his presence. They begin climbing, struggling to get closer to Him.

They are halfway up when they hear frantic clawing and the falling of loose rocks. They turn, their gaze leaving the Light. One of their Siblings cannot climb onto the platform below them. They look up at the Light, then back at their Sibling. It begins to slip, and they jump down, hoisting it onto the platform. It does not look at them, focused only on the Light. It jumps gracefully high, powerful legs on a too-small frame. They watch it for a moment, before their gaze returns to the Light as well.

The Light is obstructed from their view for a moment, and they see one of their Siblings falling, falling straight past where they stand. Carefully, they reach out and grab it, pulling it onto their rock. It looks at them, and nods once. They begin to climb together. As they go, they begin to collect more of their struggling Siblings. None of the others join in helping, preoccupied by the Light as they are. Nevertheless, their Siblings follow behind them, accepting their help readily.

They reach the top. The Light is blinding, beautiful, all-consuming; they turn to help their Siblings behind them, struggling to avert their gaze from the Light. Their Siblings push and pull and climb over them, and they do not mind. They understand completely.

The Light approaches their group, passing by their Siblings. He gently grabs their face in His claws. He examines them, turning their face in different directions. They are overwhelmed by the attention of the Light. They wish simultaneously that they are always under his gaze and never under it again. It is piercing, calculating, discerning; they are consumed by it, and want to look away, at their siblings for guidance. They feel exposed, weak.

Somehow, He senses this, and they feel His disappointment seep into them like a brand. He releases His gentle grip, and steps back. They feel cold.

“Already weak,” He says. They do not know what they have done wrong, what test they have failed in His eyes. He moves onto their Siblings, and none of them fare any better.

Only when they are picked up do they realize there were other bugs on the platform with the Light. The bug holding them is burly and armored, completely gray. His grip is rough and painful, so different from the Light’s. They squirm, and the bug only grips them tighter. They freeze, trying to avoid more pain.

“Do not waste your nails on them anymore,” the bug says to the others nearby. “The fall will take care of them. No need to dull our blades.”

They watch the Light as they are thrown back into the Abyss.

…

They do not fall far, unlike most of their Siblings. They stay where they are, hearing a sickening crack from the darkness below. A shadowy figure rises towards them, and it looks just like their Sibling with the graceful jump. The figure in front of them floats, drifting upward.

No more jumping, they think, and they want to curl up in their alcove again.

Their Sibling’s shadow does not notice them and rushes up towards the Light instead. They climb up after it cautiously.

The shadow swings at the Light. He barely looks at it as a pattern flashes around the platform. Their broken Sibling writhes as they’re absorbed into the symbols, turning it momentarily black. They stare, watching the pattern return to white before fading away. It’s like their Sibling never existed. They feel afraid.

They begin climbing down, trying to stop their Siblings—both broken and unbroken—from rising to the top. None of them listen, either absorbed by the Light or their anger. One falls right past them, and they pull them onto their platform. Their mask is slightly cracked, and their Sibling shoves them back angrily. They fall back and watch in horror as their Sibling jumps; they peer over the edge, just in time to watch their Sibling’s mask split in half. Their Sibling’s shadow floats back up to them and continues past, up, up towards the Light.

The other shades don’t hesitate to swing at the Light. This one does. It watches as the others are absorbed into the patterns. It pauses, then speeds into the barrier. It doesn’t even try to attack, and barely writhes as it’s absorbed. They watch it unfold with horror, and it is only by luck that an unbroken Sibling shoves them back from the edge of the platform. They tear their gaze away and stagger their way back down to the bottom.

They hide under one of the ledges, fearful of the bodies falling from above. Here, towards the bottom, some of the shadows interfere. Their unbroken Siblings ignore them, fighting against the growing number of Shades. The broken shells of their kin begin to pile up, unnoticed by those trying to ascend.

They curl up under the platform, unable to tear their gaze away from each falling body, unable to ignore the shattering shells in front of them. Each splintering, painful death echoes into them, and they wish there was something they could do to stop it. Eventually they are unable to push aside the broken shells any longer and must climb above them instead.

At some point, the bodies stop falling. The Abyss grows silent. They peer out, seeing two of their unbroken Siblings starting to climb up. These, they know, are different—while the others blindly sought out the Light, these are more present. These ones look around at their surroundings and pick their paths with intention. These ones are like them; these, they think, could be spared.

They climb up after them, and gently grab onto their cloaks. Do not go, they plead, shaking their head frantically. One pauses and turns to look at them. The other jerks away and continues their climb, their tall, symmetrical horns visible for a few moments. The one watching them looks up at their Sibling, and back at them. The watchful Sibling hesitantly leaves, climbing after the other.

They hear the Light begin to speak; somehow, they know the tall one has made it to the top. They sense the Light shift from calculating to pleased. When He speaks, it fills the room, unignorable.

They feel frozen. Then suddenly, everything begins to move again, and they see the Light disappear. Everything is plunged into darkness. They curl up and hide amongst the broken shells littering their home.

…

Later, they find they are not the only Vessel to survive. They are, however, the only one to survive rejection.

There are not many of them, barely a drop compared to how many Siblings had hatched with them, but they are there, alive, together. The others somehow find it in themselves to play, running around with the shadows of their broken Siblings. They cannot find it in themself to do so, instead wandering around alone. Rarely, they find another Unbroken; those always choose to join the others and play. They stop the others from climbing onto the Light’s platform. Luckily, the other Unbroken listen, and none of the shadows are willing to test the enchantment.

…

In their wandering, they stumble across an Egg. There, in the back of the cocoon, is the small body of an Unbroken Sibling. It is tiny, a runt, and their gaze settles on it. It has two pairs of tiny bumps sticking out from its head; barely even horns, and barely even there. It is so small—it did not even survive long enough to hatch. They suppose it is for the best. They step into the Egg, unsure why they do it, and lean to rest their hand gently against their Sibling’s still form. They feel a faint pulse and rub their small hand against their little Sibling’s cloak. It is alive! For the first time since the Light arrived, they feel a spark of hope.

The little one turns, and blinks awake. Their Sibling is small, unblemished, and they wonder whether their little Sibling is lucky or cursed to have missed the Light entirely. They take their Sibling’s hand and help them climb above the broken shells. Some of the broken Siblings see them and race ahead to tell the others. When their little Sibling slips on a mask, they notice how it stiffens. Their little Sibling looks up at them, and they give a tiny nod. They feel their little Sibling’s grip tighten on their hand.

When they reach the others, the little one is invited to play. Their little Sibling turns to look at them when they do not follow to join in the game, and seems confused, distraught at their refusal. While they would normally leave to search for others, today they decide to sit and watch. For the little one, they think. Their presence is enough for their little Sibling to turn and play.

Their little Sibling is fast, they realize, faster than any of the rest of them. This is good, they think, because the little Sibling also gets knocked around more frequently. They notice how it treads carefully over the broken shells and watch as it fully stops before touching their Siblings to continue the game of chase. That Sibling is gentle, they think. While the little Sibling is small and swift, they think most of all it is gentle. The gentle one.

…

The watchful one, they find, has survived. It’s the last Unbroken they find; at first, they think it is dead, but its shell is intact, and it is there, whole. It does not want to move, so they curl around it, resting their head on top of the watchful one’s back. The gentle one finds them like this, and sits nearby, fiddling with a broken mask shard. The three of them stay that way until the watchful one decides to move.

When they rejoin the others, their watchful Sibling does not want to play, either. The gentle one runs off to play, seeming happy that the two of them stay together. Occasionally, the gentle one will check on them for a moment before sprinting back to re-join the game. Largely, though, it is just the watchful one and them—isolated but together, the rejected and the overlooked.

…

Sometimes, the watchful one grows restless, so they follow their Sibling around the edges of the Abyss instead. The watchful one will stop and tap against the walls, and they do not understand. But it makes the watchful one happy, so they do not mind.

…

They do not know how long they stay there, deep in the Abyss with their Siblings. It is quiet, peaceful, confining; it is a prison, and it is home.

…

The watchful one, they find, is well deserving of the title. On one of their walks, the watchful one finds a discarded, broken nail. They follow as their Sibling takes the pieces to the Void Lake, and somehow gets the Void Tendrils to crush the pieces together. It is not sharp or particularly pretty, but it is sturdy.

They follow the watchful one, backing away when their Sibling uses it to smack against a particular section of the Abyss. The wall breaks. They meet the watchful one’s eyes; together, they find the others. Some of the others try to get the Broken Siblings to follow them, but they refuse. Shades do not belong outside of the Abyss.

Their small group leaves together. But this, too, ends suddenly when the path branches off in two directions. One path feels dark, cool; there are hints of wispy silk fluttering on the walls. The other goes upward—it feels drier, crisper. They are not sure which path to take. The playful ones leave together, choosing the cool, dark path. They continue to play, and one trips over a spare strand of silk. The last they see of those Siblings, they remain playful, rejoicing in freedom. They hope their Siblings stay safe.

The gentle one stays behind, which surprises them. They take their little Sibling’s hand, giving it a small squeeze. The three of them take the other path, the watchful one leading. Together they climb, and it is warm and sandy. When they suddenly see light, it takes their eyes ages to adjust. The gentle one especially struggles to adapt—they have never seen anything but the darkness of the Abyss.

They recover first and pull their Siblings back against the wall. A skinny, orange-eyed bug stumbles in front of them. When the watchful one approaches it from behind, it turns and attacks. The fight ends quicker than they can respond, their Sibling the victor.

They shudder to think what would have happened had the gentle one been in front of the orange-eyed bug instead, or if the watchful one had not found a nail. They glance back down the path, wondering whether they should return to the Abyss. The gentle one wraps their hand around their arm, and the watchful one looks back at them. They continue forward.

Their small group travels on, picking through the sandy terrain. The watchful one is strong and certain, leading with careful confidence. They are glad their Sibling is willing to lead. They remember when they did, and how many of their Siblings died from their help. They don’t want to be responsible for the deaths of two more.

Especially not these two.

…

The three spread out, exploring a particularly wide cave together.

They’re not particularly worried, not here. The three of them escaped the nest of Brooding Mawleks, and they are no longer afraid of the little Shadow Creepers, which only hurt when one doesn’t get out of the creature’s way. They keep their eyes on the floor, watching their feet make small indents in the dust.

Suddenly, there is a loud rumble, and they look up. They are farther from their Siblings than they realize, and they try to run to get to them. They trip on the edges of their cloak and fall, and they shove away their pain like they shove their way back onto their feet.

The gentle one tries to run towards them, but the watchful one catches them by the cloak. Just in time, too, as a large piece of the ceiling falls in between them. Their Siblings try climb over it, but it is not enough—more pieces begin to fall, and they all must run and find cover. With all the dust, they cannot tell if the pillar fell on top of both Siblings or if it merely fell between them.

The noise and sounds are terrifying—the sounds of the world falling apart. Somehow, they sense the Light is now totally and irrevocably gone. His distant presence vanishes, and so does the rumbling noise. They listen as a few rocks continue to fall.

As soon as it is safe, they run out, looking in every crevice and pile of fallen rocks. The once-large cave has been divided and walled off, and they scurry from one dusty pile to the next, searching for any signs of life.

They both hope and dread finding their Siblings; each tattered cloth in the rock piles makes them panic, and every soft noise in the room fills them with relief. They try to mimic the watchful one, and randomly tap the walls. They try to mimic the gentle one, by covering as much ground as possible. They try to make noise for their Siblings to hear; they fail miserably. No voice to cry suffering, the Light echoes from nowhere.

No voice to be found; condemned forever lost.

They find no comfort among the dusty debris. They find no signs of their kin.

…

They search, and search, and search, and never find their missing Siblings.

They once had hundreds, perhaps even thousands of Siblings. Then they had less than a dozen, and then only two.

Now, they are alone.

…

They find their way into a city swarming with orange eyes. Nails scatter across the puddled ground; they wish the watchful one was here to pick out a new one for themself. They imagine the gentle one refusing to choose a nail, and the watchful one insisting they take one anyway. They hope their Siblings find a way here someday, even if they never cross paths again. Brushing the thought aside, they continue through the city, hoping to see a pair of familiar masks.

…

They don’t know how they missed the hulking figure, but they are terrified of it. It is large, aggressive, scary—it looks like the bug who threw them into the Abyss, only a different set of armor. They run as fast as they can away from him, but he pursues them. Too preoccupied with the bug behind them, they run straight into the armored bug in front of them. They bounce back, injured.

She matches their pursuer. Her orange eyes show no mercy as she swings her nail. They try to block it, but they are no match for her strength. Her nail slices into their soft body, and they slam into the wall from the force of her blow.

Their pursuer catches up to them. They must run, move, now. They press their arm into their side, trying to keep their leaking void from spilling onto the pavement. They switch their nail to their non-dominant hand and dodge the next blow.

They slip on the damp pavement, and barely avoid tumbling to the ground when their cloak gets under their foot. They skid forward, away, and barely duck under one of the soldier’s nail swings. They run, ignoring the pain in their side, and somehow stay in front of the two guards, barely inches from certain death.

They dodge the other orange-eyed bugs shuffling in front of them, and leap across the puddles and gaps in the floor. They try to jump, but cannot reach the higher platform, not while injured. Instead, they run forward, blindly. They pass a broken bench, and skid to a stop. They face a wall and a pool of water; they have found a dead end. They turn.

The soldiers have them cornered. They step backwards, into the water, but they know it is no use. These bugs are too big to drown in the shallow water. The soldier in front prepares to swing; the nail is long, and they press against the far wall, hoping the distance is somehow enough.

They cannot avoid the soldier’s blow. The force throws them backwards, and the wall gives. They squirm backwards through the small crevice, hoping the guards cannot follow.

They hear a splash. They see armored feet and a void-stained blade. They freeze. For once, they are glad they are incapable of making sound.

Time ekes by, and it feels like ages before the soldier’s feet disappear. His footsteps echo as he leaves, the water dripping on the platform. They do not dare to move until they hear nothing but the sound of rippling water.

When they stand, they see the dark water beneath them, and grow lightheaded. They lean against the wall, blinking away their daze. They peek out, and find their tunnel expands, away from the dangers of the City. They pull themself over the ledge, and flop wetly onto the stone. With great effort, they stand, and lean against their nail. There is light, and they follow its pale glow, dripping void and water behind them.

When they finally see the exit, they balk at the sight. The cavern is large, and several beasts drift overhead. They doubt they could win against the beasts if attacked. They lean against the opening and tie their cloak around their injuries. They start to hear distant, desperate laughter echoing behind, and panic. Which is less dangerous?

They pick up a loose piece of rubble and throw it near one of the floating beasts. It does not respond to the noise, and they think maybe they can make it through the area without battle. They spot an exit—there, at the bottom of the cavern. They secure their nail onto their back and prepare to jump.

Each jolted landing sends new pain through their injuries, and it takes them several moments before they can jump to the next platform. The beasts pay no mind, and they begin to relax, tentatively allowing themself to rest between jumps. Slowly but surely, they make it to the bottom, and hurry through the exit. They take little time to find a safe enough alcove, and even less time to drift off into painful slumber.

…

When they awake, they feel marginally better. Their cloak has become matted, dry, and crackles at their movement. The cloth is stuck to their injuries, and their attempt to peel it away only makes them bleed anew. They leave it as is; they’ll figure it out later. They delve further into the ashen area, ignoring the way the ash sticks to their wounds.

…

They accidentally stumble their way into a Hive. They didn’t mean to, they were just trying to find someplace safe, away from the Aspids and Hoppers…

The Bees swarm around them, and do not let them leave. They are injured and sore, but they fight back in desperation. The Bees do not attack, only press them forward deeper into the Hive. They are pushed into a small room and sealed away, the Bees efficiently building a wall around them. They try to push against the walls, but come away sticky, gold. There is nothing else in the room but them. Again, they drift off into nothingness.

…

The first time they dream, they are afraid. They do not know where they are, and the space is too open, too overwhelming. There is nowhere to hide; they are so painfully exposed. They pull their cloak tighter and hold their nail out in front of them.

A figure approaches, and She is bright, warm like honey. She is Vespa; she is a Queen. They do not know how they know this; it is instinctual, as though anyone in Her proximity would recognize Her instantly.

“Who are you?” She asks, analyzing them with intelligent precision. They shrink back. “I have not seen an intruder in my realm for quite some time.” They cannot respond. Instinct keeps them still, as if Her predatory skill could be fooled by such simple tactics.

“Speak,” She says, approaching. They shake their head, leaning closer to the ground in deference. They cannot back up any further without standing too close to the edge.

“You cannot,” She realizes, and they nod. She beckons them forward; they approach Her. They cannot refuse Her command. “You are injured,” She comments, but when they look down, they are wholly intact. They look at Her, confused, but She does not elaborate.

She examines them, somehow so similar and so different to the Light. The two Beings have the same observant, consuming attention. But while His gaze searched for flaws, Hers searches for strength. She looks at them, and nods gently. Whatever She sees in them, She approves.

“You are no intruder,” She decides. “You seek refuge, and my people have treated you as a prisoner. No, that will not do.”

Prisoner? They wonder. This is not the Abyss.

“I cannot heal you,” She says, “Nor can my people, though they will seal your wounds temporarily. But I will give you another gift, a different gift, to keep you from further injury.” She removes something from behind Her, as though it were a cloak made of light.

“I have no more use for these,” She says, sadness entangled in Her words. “I suspect you will find a better use for my Wings, now that I am gone. You will do well, I think, little grub.” She wraps Her cloak around their shoulders, and Her claws are soft, brushing their mask as She pulls back.

“Stay safe from the infection,” She says. “I can feel Her pushing into my people’s minds, Her infection’s presence at my kingdom’s door. Even a child’s mind is not safe in these times.” They do not understand Her meaning, but they cannot ask. She reaches out and taps their horns. And suddenly, they are falling away from Queen Vespa, falling back into darkness.