Chapter Text
Dirtmouth has always been subject to the howling winds of the cliffs above, stirring dirt and dust up into the air more and more with each passing day, the sound haunting as it flows in and out of abandoned buildings, growing louder and louder as more and more bugs descend into the crossroads below, leaving Elderbug in a town of shrödingers ghosts, both dead and alive until either their corpse is found in the ruins, or they find their way back to town. He'd learned to keep the doors closed, eventually.
Though its use as an entry point for passing travelers has long since expired, Elderbug finds himself constantly gazing up towards Kings Pass, reminiscing on the times before the fall of Hallownest, when the streets were bustling with life. Of course, he liked the quiet, but the collapse of the stairs had truly solidified Hallownest’s status as a fallen kingdom.
Which is why, it was a surprise to see a figure walking towards the edge of Kings Pass, a strange looking bug, clad in a tattered blue-gray cloak.
Elderbug’s heart all but jumped out of his chest when the bug leapt off the ledge without a moment's hesitation, cloak thrashing in the wind as they descended. He looked away before they could reach the bottom, not wanting to be witness to any sort of gruesome death.
But soon enough, the pitter patter of approaching steps echoed through the abandoned town, and Elderbug looked towards the figure, promptly freezing.
This bug is no more than a grub, he thinks, opening his mouth to speak.
The grub just.. keeps walking, however, and not for the first time, Elderbug questions his sanity. A child, coming away from a 100 foot drop without so much as a scratch, and now they’re treating him as if he doesn't exist? Surely this is a hallucination. Or maybe I really have faded into obscurity. The pitter patter of steps stops when he experimentally waves, however, and when Elderbug blinks, the child is in front of him, staring up.
He blinks again. The way this bug carries themself is… odd, he decides. Their body far too still, and eyes far too empty, not necessarily in a sad way, more… unsettling. Regardless, they're the first traveler Dirtmouth has had since Elderbug was a grub, and he'd rather not scare them off with crummy manners. Quiet was lovely, sure, but the loneliness could be.. a bit unbearable at times.
“So you can see me!” He says with an air of humor, the cheeriness of his voice sorely misplaced in the howling ghost town. “You'd walked straight past me, I thought maybe I'd faded away along with this town.” His voice takes a much more solemn tone, though he tries to stamp it down.
The grub continues looking at him wordlessly, empty eyes boring into his with an intensity that seemed unbecoming of a child, and Elderbug gets this.. feeling. That this grub isn't going to stay for very long.
His stomach twists for a reason he can't quite place, but he nods towards the well regardless. “The other residents have all disappeared down that well. Perhaps you'll find what you're looking for, down there.” The grub stares for another moment, and if it were any other bug, Elderbug would have thought it was hesitation.
But the bug walks away, drawing their nail with such an air of danger and experience, that Elderbug doubts his initial impression of them.
Perhaps not a grub after all.
Still, he can't help himself from calling after them before they can descend, warning them to be wary of infection.
The second time the little knight shows up, Elderbug is more than a little surprised, especially when they walk directly into Sly’s now open shop, like they'd known he'd be there. The sound of a one sided conversation carries out the door, and they walk out carrying a shiny new charm, and a quill. He honestly expects them to just descend back into the ruins, but instead they seat themself on the bench just next to him, pulling out a meager map and jotting improvements down with so much speed it's a wonder they get anything actually helpful down.
Peaking over the Knight’s tiny shoulder, Elderbug can't help but chuckle at what he can only describe as the Knight's toddler grip on the quill. It really isn't his place, this bug surely has had someone teach them to write properly, but still he can't help himself from asking, “Little Knight, do you know how to hold a quill?”
They stop writing, empty, void-like eyes boring into his skull, a cold chill traveling down his spine.
Regardless of the inherent discomfort this bug instills in him, he reaches for the quill when no response comes, and sits on the bench next to them.
The Knight peers over the map as Elderbug flips it to the blank side, the off-putting aura of danger they normally exude quickly fading away into something almost akin to curiosity, leaning over Elderbug’s thigh, two tiny hands resting on his arm to observe.
He smiles despite the chill running up his side, demonstrating proper grip and writing a short message in the corner for the little Knight to read when they need some encouragement in their journey, placing the quill back into their hand when he's done.
Instead of writing something like he expects them to, though, they simply shove the quill into their cloak… somewhere, and take the map from Elderbug, turning it this way and that, bringing it close to their face as if that will make it clearer, until finally they place it on their lap, turning their gaze to Elderbug.
It takes a few more moments of their blank stare for him to connect the dots. “Can you not read?”
The way their head turns back to the map reeks of shame, and Elderbug quickly backtracks, placing a reassuring hand on their back and making a note to attempt to convince them to give their cloak a wash. “That's ok, little one.” He rubs along the fabric with his thumb. “There will be plenty of opportunities to learn on the road.”
As if reminded of what they'd initially set out to do, the Knight efficiently rolls up their map and tucks it away in their cloak, and hops off the bench, clearly intent on returning to the crossroads.
Elderbug barely has time to wave goodbye before they're down the well.
He sits a few moments longer, dumbfounded. “Best of luck on your travels..” He says to the howling wind.
“A strange bug, aren’t they?” Says Sly from the doorway of his shop, nearly startling Elderbug into an early grave. Placing a hand on his racing heart, he stands with a grunt, still facing the well.
“Aren’t we all?” He replies simply, dusting off his cloak and resuming his spot next to the cold iron bench. “It’d be a miracle to survive this long and not turn out a little strange.”
“True as that is, there’s something off about that grub.”
Elderbug hums, noncommittal.
“...Kind, though. I owe them my life, now.” Sly moves to stand next to Elderbug, placing a small hand on his arm, not unlike the little Knight just a minute ago, drawing his gaze. “It’s good to be back, Elder. I’m sorry if you were worried.”
The moment that passes is heavy with a silent regard to all those Dirtmouth had lost.
“..Perhaps you could celebrate my return by parting with some of your geo, hm?”
Somehow, the weight in his chest lessens.
