Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

They feel a call and pursue it.

…

They free an ungrateful bug. He isn’t appreciative, and they hope he can forgive them.

…

They don’t recall having a name, but she calls them Ghost, so they bear it the same way they bear the mothwing cloak.

…

After they find the Mantis Claw, they wind their way back through the Fungal Wastes and to the very top of Greenpath. They try to cross the lake of acid and thorns, but they can’t make it past the flying Durandas. They remember a path that stretches ever up, and they think maybe there’s something important up there. They don’t notice Hornet enter the City of Tears, and they don’t run into Quirrel by the Mantis Village.

…

As they climb up, the world grows emptier and emptier. The wind howls, and something about the dreary atmosphere feels like home.

…

They pass a bug’s corpse and an archway of nails, but they are most surprised to find the bug who lives inside the cliff itself. They hadn’t thought anyone lived up here, or that anyone could.

Passionately, the Nailmaster offers to train them; dispassionately, they agree. He calls them his child, and they don’t know how to respond. He invites them to visit anytime, and they nod respectfully, knowing they will never visit. They leave a little stronger, and they stay a little safer.

…

They meet Myla in Crystal Peaks, and she invites them to visit her whenever. Her cheerful disposition reminds of the Nailmaster in the highest place they’ve explored, and they sit with her a little longer. She believes they’d have a good singing voice, but they can’t even sign. Still, she waves goodbye, and her song stays with them long after they leave her company.

They make their way back up to the Howling Cliffs.

…

Mato is the Nailmaster’s name. He invites them to sit, and so they do. He offers them food and drink, but they refuse. He doesn’t seem to mind, and he doesn’t seem to expect them to help. This is odd; everyone seems to expect them to help.

He cheerfully teaches them how to care for their nail, and they think they will show Quirrel, if he doesn’t know already. Mato talks enough for them both, and when they leave, they put a pin on their map. Just in case.

…

They find Paintmaster Sheo, but do not learn to paint. He invites them to stay, and so they do. He seems to expect them to do something, and they know they’ve overstayed their welcome. They leave but put a pin on their map. Their gaze drifts to the matching pin.

They visit Myla.

…

She’s happy that they’ve returned. No one’s ever been happy to see them before, not unless they have something to give, whether it be their help, time, or a listening ear. She doesn’t expect them to listen, and she asks them questions they cannot answer. But most of all, she invites them to join her, in song, task, and company.

They listen to Myla sing and wonder whether she lives in the houses under Gruz Mother or up in Dirtmouth. They try to stay until she leaves, but their patience wears out before she does. They decide that the next time they visit Iselda, they will purchase some spare paper so they can ask.

…

They make their way back to the Fungal Wastes, but wind up locked in the City of Tears. They find Quirrel here and gladly accept the offered spot on the bench. His cheer brightens up the room, and they listen to him chatter about the City. They hadn’t thought about it before, but they agree—the sound of rain on glass is beautiful.

They remember to show Quirrel how to care for his nail, and he thanks them for sharing the expertise. “Our nails are made out of different metals,” Quirrel explains apologetically. “But it’s wonderful to learn in an academic sense. I’d never have thought to use mask fragments to sharpen a blade.”

They spend more time with Quirrel than strictly necessary, but it’s been a while since they’ve truly rested. Quirrel reassures them that they’ll see him on the road ahead, so they prepare to explore. He waves goodbye, and something about his posture seems off. He turns to look back out the window, relaxing as he listens to the sound of splattering raindrops.

Maybe he’s simply tired.

…

They venture on and pay the Nailsmith to strengthen their weapon. Something about it pulls at them; out of nowhere, they think of the mothwing cloak bearer. Before they can give it too much thought, he’s handing back their nail and sending them into the rain.

…

It takes them longer than necessary to find their way back to a Stag Station, but the bench near Cornifer is welcome. They recover their shade twice while trying to venture into the Soul Sanctum and nearly lose all their Geo. They head back to Dirtmouth to regroup; maybe Sly has some charms that will prove useful.

They buy some mask shards and stop by Elderbug’s bench. He seems lonely, so they listen, only remembering that they wanted to buy paper from Iselda once she closes the shop for the day. Oh well, there’s always tomorrow.

Elderbug rambles on, but he never mentions Myla. He thanks them for bringing back the Shopkeeper, though. Their gaze drifts up and over, and they decide to head to King’s Pass once Elderbug tires of their company.

…

 King’s Pass is a more efficient route to the Nailmaster’s hut. They decide to update their map once they reach the safety of Mato’s home.

…

“You honor me, my dear pupil!” Mato cheerfully declares when they enter. They aren’t sure how they honor Mato, but they sit next to him silently. They start to tuck away their map, but Mato insists they show it to him. They obey. Their map is still incomplete, but Mato doesn’t seem to mind.

“Ah! So, my brother Sheo has taught you his Nail Art, the Great Slash! How lucky you are to have trained with him!” Mato is rather loud, which is made even more apparent in the quiet room deadened by the winds outside. Not that they mind; they don’t mind much of anything, really.

“Sheo and I were very close when we trained together under the Great Nailsage. He often spoke of becoming tired of the Nail Arts and wanting to try something new. I'm glad to see he changed his mind and continues to bear the proud title of Nailmaster along with me!”

Sheo is a Paintmaster, not a Nailmaster, but they don’t wish to upset Mato. They simply watch as he looks over their map. He doesn’t try to pocket it or rip it, so they suppose there’s no harm in it. He asks about their various pins, but there’s nothing really to share. Most are markers of what challenges they have yet to overcome, so they don’t forget where to return to as they wander.

When they leave, they stop by Dirtmouth and purchase some paper and a few duplicate maps from Iselda. She seems surprised but hands over the maps anyway. They head back to Crystal Peaks, but this time they don’t pass by Myla. They’ll see her on their way out.

…

The Crystal Heart makes travel expedient. They wished they’d found it sooner.

…

Myla doesn’t seem to feel like herself today. They’ll visit her again tomorrow.

…

She isn’t better. They gently lay a hand on her shoulder, but she doesn’t want to follow them. Myla is determined to find the Singing Crystals, and so they let her. They’re not one to force their will on someone else. Perhaps she’ll let them take her to Dirtmouth another day.

…

They find their way back to Fungal Wastes. There is a bench down at the bottom that they hadn’t found before. They acquire a new charm and hear murmuring. What could Myla be doing down here?

It isn’t Myla; they help Bretta escape. They lead her to the nearest Stag Station, and the Last Stag helps her up to Dirtmouth. Elderbug can help her better than they can.

…

Myla still doesn’t want to leave.

Maybe they make her uncomfortable, like Paintmaster Sheo?

…

They visit Paintmaster Sheo, but he simply seems content. They watch him paint for a few minutes, and trek back across the acid and thorns. The Crystal Heart makes the journey easier.

…

Mato seems happy to see them again.

They pull out the extra maps, which have been updated with their own. Maybe they should do the same for Cornifer? They don’t want to have to purchase maps a third time, though. Maybe they’ll just give him their maps when they’re ready to leave Hallownest.

“What’s this?” Mato asks when they hand him the duplicate pages. They couldn’t spare any pins, but Mato probably doesn’t need them, anyway. At least, they don’t think he would; just like Myla, he’s always been where they’ve left him. Mato holds the map loosely, but he is holding it. They sit down and pull out their own map.

“Are these… for me?” Who else would they be for? They nod, looking up at Mato, and find him teary. Have they done something wrong? Mato rushes forward and grabs them, and they startle. But he isn’t hurting them, and so they simply wait for him to stop.

“Thank you,” he says tearfully, and they nod, not knowing how to respond. He sits down clumsily, and they are glad they haven’t opened their bottles of ink yet. Mato pores over the map, and they try not to feel uncomfortable at it. There isn’t really anything else to add, but they pretend to focus on their map, so they don’t have to acknowledge Mato.

“This is incredible,” Mato declares. They shrug. Cornifer did most of the work. “No, it really is—it’s truly magnificent. Or map-nificent, I should say!” They simply observe him.

Mato loops his arm around them again, and they let him. Mato isn’t one to hurt others, so if he wants to…manhandle them, they suppose there’s no harm. It isn’t unpleasant; after all, Quirrel had pulled them into a similar embrace when they shared a bench in the City. Mato pulls them closer to his side, and they quietly tuck their own map away.

He babbles on about different memories he has about his brothers and the Nailsage, and they listen attentively. It seems to make Mato happy when they do. He points to different parts of his map to accompany his stories, and they make note of areas he mentions that they haven’t found in their own explorations.

When they leave, Mato waves at them from the door. It’s rather unnecessary, but they don’t mind. They don’t mind at all.

…

Myla no longer sings. They nearly walk past her alcove completely; they’ve never heard it silent before. She still doesn’t want to leave. She’s babbling about needing light, but Myla doesn’t accept their Lantern when they offer it. She doesn’t acknowledge that they’re there, really. They look at their map and figure they might as well head back to the City of Tears. Maybe there’s something there that can help.

…

They upgrade their nail and equip some of their newest charms. The fight is challenging, and they barely make it, but they beat the Soul Master. They test out their new spell, and collect the Geo littered around the Soul Sanctum. They head up to the Stag Station, and fight the flying sentries on the way. They find a key, and head back to Dirtmouth.

They unlock the door past the graveyard, despite Elderbug’s apprehension. They don’t need their shade retrieved but give Jiji an egg anyway. They head down to visit Myla.

…

Myla is infected.

They dodge her attacks and run back the way they came.

…

They find themself outside Mato’s hut. They go inside, and Mato cheerfully greets them before he studies them intently. They sit down next to him, as they normally do.

“My pupil, what troubles you?” He asks. They shake their head and fold their legs underneath them. “Clearly you are troubled,” Mato continues. They aren’t sure how he could know. They are always the same, impassive creature, and they never break routine.

Mato pulls them closer, and they let him lean them against his side. They see Myla’s orange eyes, and tense as they realize they were wearing their Thorns of Agony charm. If she had happened to land a blow…. Mato starts to rub their back. They focus on brushing their thoughts aside. Nothing happened, so there’s no point in dwelling on it.

“My pupil, why do you do this?” Mato interrupts. “You must feel your troubles before you can move past them. You are upset. Let yourself be upset.”

They shake their head. It is over and done, now. They will not use the charm, and they will not visit Myla. They will see if there’s something they can do to help her. There’s nothing more to dwell on. They cannot change the past, and they cannot change the present.

“Your stoicism is admirable, but you must not let it overtake you,” Mato continues. “If you do not feel your emotions, they will return tenfold.” That isn’t their experience. But they listen, because Mato is wise, and they would be foolish to not at least consider his advice.

“Think of it like a cup,” Mato says. “If you keep adding water without pouring any out, it will eventually overflow and make a mess.”

They consider this, but they’ve already found a path forward. There’s nothing left to feel. They’ve thought it through, and they know what actions they need to take. And if they can’t find a solution in their travels, then they will continue to look. Maybe bringing Myla some spring water will help. Maybe there are answers in the Soul Sanctum or hidden behind their map pins. They know what they need to try. What else is there to discuss?

Mato stands, letting them go. They stand, and follow; he pulls out some drawers, and eventually finds some loose papers and a quill.

“Here, write what you’re feeling,” Mato says, handing them the papers and sitting back down in their meditation spot. Write…? What is there to write? They sit back down as well.

TO DO:

BRING WATER TO MYLA; IF THAT DOESN’T WORK, FIND ANOTHER SOLUTION.

They hand it back to Mato.

“No, write what you feel,” Mato says. They nod and return to their paper.

I WILL CURE MYLA. I WILL NOT LET HER STAY INFECTED.

“Oh,” Mato says sadly. “Oh, my child, I’m so, so sorry.” They look up at him, and he runs a claw down their back. He pulls them to his side again; they don’t respond. Mato’s eyes are watery, and they look up at him. They quickly write.

I HAVE HELPED OTHERS. THE SHOPKEEPER AND BRETTA ARE OKAY.

“But… were they fully infected?” Mato asks. NO. But that isn’t the point. They will find a solution. “I’m so sorry,” Mato says again. They shake their head. It doesn’t matter if she’s fully infected, they will still find a solution. There must be something they can do.

I WILL HELP HER.

“Oh, my student, if anyone could, it’s you,” he says. “But do not destroy yourself in an attempt to… to help.” They are irrelevant. They destroy themself all the time and retrieve their shade when they fail. It’s no problem. If that’s what they need to do to help, they will do it. Mato pulls them closer, and they lean against him.

“For my sake, will you stay and rest?” They look up at Mato and hesitate. Myla needs them. They look down at their paper. They don’t have a clear idea of what to try. They suppose for now, rest is a good option. They will be more efficient if they’re rested. They nod.

They spend the night at Mato’s hut and leave early the next morning. Mato is sad to see them go. Before they truly leave, he pulls them into a hug and reminds them to take care of themself. It niggles in the back of their mind for the rest of the day.

…

The spring water doesn’t help. They can’t get her to drink it, so they throw it on her instead. It only makes her angry, and they must run away.

…

They stumble into a trap, and they’re locked inside a dream. They emerge with a new ally, a dream nail, and a plan.

…

The dream nail doesn’t free Myla. She sings her song inside; something wants her to kill them. She gives them a deep scratch, and they leave her alone again.

…

The Soul Sanctum doesn’t have any answers. They run into Hornet, and she asks them to meet her somewhere foreign. They will try, but for now, there are more pressing matters at hand.

…

They do not find anything useful in the City. They unlock a new Stag Station and take it back to the Resting Grounds.

They break into a grave and find their way to a Mourner. She asks them to make a pilgrimage, and they can’t find it in them to say no. They return with a damaged flower, and she weeps. But she opens a closet and separates another bloom from hundreds.

…

They do try to take it to a grave first. But none of the graves in the Resting Grounds match the name the Mourner gives them, and the Dirtmouth graveyard doesn’t fare any better. They don’t know where else to look, and they’re not sure they can take it back to the Mourner intact.

So, they take the flower to Myla. She takes it gently and looks at it, mesmerized. They start to think maybe it’s worked—

She rips it to shreds.

……

They aren’t watching their step. They arrive on the Nailmaster’s doorstep leaking void.

…

“My student, are you okay?” Mato rushes forward and picks them up. As always, they let him hold them, and he whisks them inside. He starts to bandage their wounds, but they shake their head. They just need a moment to knit themself back together.

They can’t focus; they see the flower ripping apart.

KILL, KILL, KILL, Myla’s mind cries. These days, there’s barely a hint of her song.

 They try to stumble back outside. Maybe they just need soul; they don’t know what they have, but—

 “My child, no,” Mato says, and he sets them back on the pile of cushions. “You are in no condition to leave.”

 They’ll be fine, they’re sure, they just need to keep moving. They stand, and Mato stops them again. “No, I really must insist—”

But they walk past him, back outside. They feel off-balance, but they have their nail in their hand. They stumble, and Mato catches them before they hit the floor. Despite this, they still try to escape when Mato starts attempting to bandage their wounds. They grow more desperate with each moment, they need to leave, now—

Mato finally manhandles them to the ground, gently pinning them in place.

“Why are you so insistent on leaving? You are injured; if you leave, you will only get hurt worse!” Mato pleads. “Don’t you care that you’re hurt?” They shake their head, still trying to squirm away. Mato’s grip falters, but not enough for them to escape.

“What?” Mato’s voice sounds strangled, and that’s what finally snaps them out of it. They stop, looking up at him. Mato looks…devastated. “What do you mean you don’t care?”

They freeze, not knowing how to respond. Mato is looking down at them with such hurt in his gaze that they start to feel uncomfortable. They regret their answer, but they hold fast to it. They try to hold Mato’s gaze, but they end up looking away.

Mato lets them go, and they sit up.

“My child,” Mato says wetly. “How can you not see your own value?” Their gaze jerks up. The Nailmaster reaches out and cups the side of their shell. They are boxed in, overwhelmed; they don’t know how to escape. Their gaze darts around, falling on everything and anything besides Mato. He rubs their cheek, and they freeze, though they feel as though their Crystal Heart is about to beat right out of their chest.

“You are so, so important,” Mato says, and they don’t want to be here, they don’t want to hear this, not from Mato, especially not from Mato. “You are a kind, compassionate child. You are humble, selfless, attentive; you put everyone before yourself, and you shouldn’t, because you matter so much.”

Their heart is beating faster and faster; Mato is making them face him, but they’re not looking, they can’t look—

“You matter so, so much, and I don’t know what I’d do if something happened to you.” Mato’s words are measured, intentional, dripping with anguish; it’s more deliberate than he’s ever spoken before. “My child, you are so incredibly special. You are talented, intelligent, clever, kind, so, so kind. I’ve never met someone as full of love and kindness as you.”

Their mask feels cold, and they know what that is, and they don’t want it to be happening, they don’t want to cry. Not ever, but especially not in front of Mato. He wipes away their tears, and it only makes them cry harder. They feel out of control, and they hate it, they hate how weak they are, and that Mato is the one seeing it. Mato keeps wiping away their tears with his thumb, and eventually they reign it back inside them.

Mato sighs, and they do not allow themself to interpret it. Mato strokes their cheek a few more times, before turning back to the medical supplies. He starts to apply healing paste and bandages, and they stiffly let him bandage them up. They try to take the supplies from him to do it themself, but he gives them a stern look. They do not try again.

Ages later and yet all too soon, they are done being treated. Mato continues kneeling in front of them, and they try to pretend he isn’t there. They are usually so still, but they feel themself trembling. Mato lays a claw on their shoulder.

“My child, will you promise me something?” Mato’s voice breaks, and they can’t avoid him any longer. They do not nod, not knowing what he plans to ask, but they give Mato their full attention, even if they cannot hold his gaze. Mato is grim, determined.

“Promise me,” his voice catches, “promise that you will visit if you ever forget you are valued. Come to me if you’re ever injured, or upset, or need anything. Please?”

They blink rapidly and try to still their frantic heart. They’ve never… no one’s ever offered…They close their eyes and push the thoughts away.

If it will make Mato happy… They nod solemnly, meeting Mato’s gaze.

“Thank you,” he says in a whisper, and pulls them into a tight embrace. They feel awkward, aloof, and try to wait for the hug to end. But then the Nailmaster is shaking quietly, and they want to stop his silent sobs. Carefully, they raise their arms and give him a quick, deliberate squeeze back.

Mato releases them shortly after, wiping away his tears. He gives them a genuine smile, and his tears vanish. They wonder at this; how is he able to lock them away so quickly? Mato is calm, collected, whereas moments before he was not. Worried, anguished, stern, determined, crying, smiling—Mato changes in each moment, yet stays completely the same.

How…? They aren’t sure what they’re trying to ask. It’s really none of their business, anyway.

Oh, they should—they reach into their belongings and pull out a small cloth. ‘A handkerchief,’ Iselda had called it. They hand it to Mato. His smile widens, and he lets out a watery laugh as he accepts it.

“Thank you,” he says. They sense some sort of invisible tension dissipate from the Nailmaster’s posture.

They aren’t sure what to think about that.

…

Mato guides them to their meditation spot, then turns and pulls out one of the drawers of his desk. He sets some papers, inks, and quills in front of them before sitting down as well. “Just in case,” he says, but doesn’t push them to write.

They nod and close their eyes. They try to empty their mind, but nothing they try keeps it empty. Their conversation with Mato hangs over them, and they can’t brush past it like they normally do. Every time they shove it aside, it resurfaces, and eventually they give up on suppressing it.

They start at the beginning. They stumbled into Mato’s hut, and he wouldn’t let them leave. When asked, they told the truth; Mato got upset, and… and… he said… They shove their feelings aside. Think, they tell themself. Think through it instead.

Why does it bother them that Mato thinks so highly of them? They don’t necessarily disagree with him, they’ve just never thought of themself like that, like anything, really. They start to tally up their interactions with Mato. At what point did he decide they were kind? Was it because they gave him a copy of their map? Or because they sit and listen to him? They always thought they were imperceptible; that’s how every other bug has treated them. Why does Mato see them differently?

They don’t make the decision to pick up the quill, but it’s in their hand, and so they put it on the page in front of them. They sneak a glance at Mato, but something about his body language tells them they have complete privacy.

MATO THINKS I AM:

• VALUABLE
• KIND
• ATTENTIVE
• SELFLESS
• SPECIAL
• TALENTED
• CLEVER

They look at the list. They know he said some other things, but these are the ones that come to mind now. Despite everything, Mato believes these things about them. He’s entitled to his opinion; they just aren’t sure on what basis he’s formed it. They fold up the paper and tuck it beside their extra charms. They’ll consider it again later when they aren’t sitting next to Mato.

They look back down at the blank pages in front of them. What else is there to write?

They pull out their map, and right away, their attention is drawn to the pin marking Myla’s location. Yes, that would be useful; maybe they can find their way to a solution. The ripped flower jumps to mind, and they give themself a moment to carefully tuck the memory aside. It will not do them any good to dwell on it now; soon, Myla will be better, and the memory will fade into distant obscurity.

They return their attention to their map. The Shopkeeper doesn’t have anything in his shop to help, nor do Iselda or Salubra. They have explored the Crossroads thoroughly; maybe Grubfather has something? After all, none of the grubs get infected. The Mantis Tribe isn’t infected either, come to think of it; perhaps it’s time to return there.

Perhaps the Lifeblood Cocoons could work? Oh—they have a charm for that, don’t they? Maybe they can try giving that to Myla. But the spring water didn’t help, and the Lifeblood masks are for physical wounds, not… not whatever is plaguing Myla. They need something for the mind, for her dreams.

They look over at Greenpath. Sheo’s art…they picture the flower in Myla’s hands. Their heart beats a little faster. No, not that.

Maybe the answer is music? Cornifer sings; maybe the next time they find him, they can ask him to sing to Myla. He can be hard to find, though. Maybe Bretta…? No, they make her nervous. They couldn’t ask her.

They pick up the quill again.

SAVE MYLA:

• GRUBFATHER, MANTIS TRIBE
• LIFEBLOOD?
• CORNIFER

The list is shorter than they would like. Too short, they think, but push the thought aside. They don’t yet know if any of these things will work, so perhaps the list is sufficient. And they have so many pins scattered across their map; maybe there are other answers hidden in the world below.

But still, they stare at it.

What if…? They shove the thought aside, but it resurfaces anyway. What if they can’t save her? What if they’re already too late?

They think of all the other infected bugs they’ve fought. None…none of those ever recovered. Not that they’d really tried to help. They look back down at their list, but don’t really see it. How many Mylas have they already killed? How many of those bugs could have been saved? What if none of them can be saved? What if Myla really is gone?

No, they can’t think like this, they won’t let themself think like this. But they are, and no matter how hard they try, the thought stays. Their tears return, and they drop the quill like it has burned them. Some of the ink splatters across the page, marring their precise handwriting. Their hands tremble.

Their tears are cold, and they quickly wipe them away. This can’t be happening. They do not cry, and they do not feel uncertain. They always have a solution; there’s always been a way to help. This just can’t be…they can’t just fail. They can’t fail Myla, they just can’t. What if they never hear her sing again? What if she only ever cries out in pain?

And then Mato is laying a claw on their shoulder, and they start crying even harder. They angrily wipe at their tears, but no matter how much they want to stop crying, they can’t.

“Shh…let yourself feel it.”

But they don’t want to, not this. If they feel it, then it’s like admitting it’s true. Their list—there might still be an answer somewhere, maybe Cornifer’s singing will really help…

Mato rubs their back, and they crumple. They turn their face away from him, not wanting him to see them so helpless.

“You have nothing to be ashamed of,” Mato says. “Your feelings show how much you care. They are a part of you, and there is nothing about you to be ashamed of, my child.”

My child. Why does Mato insist on calling them that?

He pulls them to his side again, and they rub away their tears. They force themself to stop crying.

“Would you scold a friend for their tears?” Mato asks neutrally. They look up.

Well, no, but…they aren’t comfortable with anyone’s emotions. Ghost, Hornet calls them. Quiet, cold, other—it’s who they are. After all, how many times has Mato’s loud, cheerful personality seemed excessive, unnecessary? They would never scold him for it, of course not, it makes Mato himself. It would be wrong to deny anyone their nature. They cautiously shake their head.

“Then why do you scold yourself?”

Oh. It was a trap. Okay.

They think about this. They wouldn’t call it scolding, not really. They’re simply adhering to the rules that keep them safe, separated from the world. Isolation stops the world from hurting them; it puts them in control. Why would they give that up? They look up at Mato. He chooses isolation too, just a different type. What does his isolation keep him safe from?

It seems rude to ask or dwell on. They understand the desire for privacy more than most.

They shift and reach for the quill, quickly shoving the inked page to the side.

NOT SCOLDING, they write, then hesitate. They look up at Mato, but he is politely looking away. That’s considerate of him. They pull lightly on his cloak and point to their paper.

“Oh,” Mato says, and leans forward. “I hadn’t thought…” They look up and find him wearing a pleasantly neutral expression. They turn back to their paper.

I AM GHOST. They hope it’s enough.

“Well, it’s nice to officially meet you, Ghost,” Mato says, warmth creeping into his tone. They nod, uncertain, and turn back to their paper.

I DO NOT FEEL. I JUST AM. Mato hums.

“I disagree,” he says. “I think you feel very deeply, in fact.” They shake their head, though they don’t particularly commit to it. Mato is allowed to think whatever he wants. They turn back to their paper.

I FIND SOLUTIONS. THAT IS ALL.

“Why would you find solutions for others if you don’t feel for their pain?”  They rub the quill along its stem. That…is a good question.

BECAUSE THEY NEED HELP. I CAN HELP, SO I DO.

“Yes, but why help at all?”

BECAUSE THEY NEED IT. Mato chuckles.

“No, why do you help? What do you gain from helping them?”

It takes them much longer to answer this question. They think about the maps they got for Mato. Why did they do that? They purchased the maps instead of saving for their lantern, after all. And each time they updated their map, it took them twice as long. They did it because it seemed like the only answer. Mato liked their map, so they gave him a copy of his own. They couldn’t just let him not have a map.

But why?

I DON’T KNOW. Their handwriting is uncharacteristically wobbly. There are lots of things they don’t know; pins scatter their map of all the areas they haven’t yet explored. Why is this difficult to admit, even when compared against their own failures? They are fine leaving a fight so they can improve; they are fine revisiting an area once they’ve learned a new skill. Why is this so much different?

“It takes a lot of courage to admit when you don’t know something,” Mato says. “I think I might have the answer. Would you like to hear it or figure it out for yourself?”

This puzzles them. Why give an option at all?

PLEASE TELL ME. They look up at Mato expectantly.

“I think helping others makes you feel happy.” He sounds so certain when he says it.

BUT I DON’T FEEL.

“I think you do.” Right, he said that already. They press the quill against the page, but find they have nothing left to say. They still want to write, but there’s nothing that warrants a response. The ink starts to spread, so they try to quickly decide on something to write.

WHAT DO YOU FEEL?

“Hm, an interesting question,” Mato says cheerfully. “Right now, I feel happy that you are here, bandaged up, and safe. I feel honored that you want to share your thoughts with me. I feel sad because you are struggling. I feel a little lost because I wish I could fix your troubles but cannot. But mostly, I feel content, to be sitting here with you.”

How does Mato feel so many things?

HOW DO YOU KNOW?

“It takes a lot of practice,” Mato says. “But once you learn, it stays with you forever. It is a skill that takes effort to master, but the rewards are worth it.”

They hesitate. CAN YOU TEACH ME?

“I would be honored to,” Mato smiles, as though he was waiting for them to ask. They expect him to stand, but he continues to sit next to them quietly. They watch him patiently.

“Let’s start somewhere different,” he finally says. “What do you feel, through touch? Textures, temperatures, sensations…?”

They focus. They feel the smooth texture of the quill in their hands. They feel Mato’s soft cloak, and the heat from his side. They feel the soft cushion underneath them. They feel… they feel startled to realize that they are in pain. Had they never stopped to properly heal?

They close their eyes and quickly knit their wounds closed. They are not fully healed, but already they feel better. When they look up, Mato is watching them with interest and slight amusement.

“I was wondering when you would notice,” he says. They stare up at him; they’ve never healed in Mato’s presence before.

“I am not as imperceptive as you might think,” he chuckles. “I have seen you through the doorway once or twice, quickly healing at the bench before entering.” They duck their head, embarrassed. But Mato doesn’t seem offended, merely amused.

“Alright, next step. What do you hear?”

They hear the wind outside, Mato’s breathing, and the beat of their Crystal Heart. Easy.

“What do you see?” Their eyes begin to flit around the room, but Mato shakes his head. “No, focus on one thing you see right now. Really stop and perceive it.”

Their eyes fall on their list. No, they rip their gaze away, not that. They look at one of the beast masks. That works.

It is smooth, cracked, stained, old. It’s large, larger than even Mato, and something about the horns feels familiar. What…? There are stains under the eyes.

Oh. The mothwing cloak bearer. They were much smaller, and the mask doesn’t really look like them, but the cracks, the horns, the stains…

They wonder about the little bug. It was about their size, and it seemed familiar, even when they first laid eyes on it. But then they were fighting Hornet, and practicality stayed their conscience when they took the cloak. Maybe they should visit it sometime, though it would be impractical.

Their visits to Mato are impractical too, but that doesn’t stop them.

They will have to visit it.

They shake their head. Right. They’ve perceived the mask. They look up at Mato.

“Alright, well done,” Mato says. “You’ve finished your first lesson.” They tilt their head. That…was easy. Too easy. But if Mato says they are done, then they suppose they are. They nod and start to stand. Their nail is by the door, and they feel well enough to continue.

“Ghost, my child—that was the first lesson, not the only one,” Mato chuckles. “And I hope you aren’t planning on leaving just yet. Your injuries aren’t yet healed, and I believe you promised that you wouldn’t leave until they are.”

They reluctantly stop and turn back to the Nailmaster. He is amused, and they find themself relieved that he isn’t upset they nearly broke their promise.

“Why don’t you rest?” Mato suggests. “We can practice more tomorrow.”

They nod; they have been behaving uncharacteristically erratic today. They wander over to the pile of cushions Mato keeps out for them. They lay down and are relieved when Mato gives them a small nod before turning back to his own meditation.