(and i'll bring about the end)
Word Count: 2762 words
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Relationships: Lurien the Watcher & Monomon the Teacher (Hollow Knight)
Characters: Monomon the Teacher (Hollow Knight), Lurien the Watcher (Hollow Knight)
Series: Part 2 of Strained Relations
This fic has an audio fanfic by sector-z-knd! (link)
Summary:
“It could fail,” Monomon says urgently. “You could be giving your life for nothing.” Lurien simply stares at her, hands clasped in front of him.
“I trust you.”
As the weight of the words sinks in, Monomon wonders, briefly, if this is how it feels to drown.
The quarantine has been lifted, but the streets are empty as Monomon makes her way through the capital. She does not see anyone except a few sentries on patrol, and even though the street lights are shining bright, the whole place has a desolate air to it. It’s surreal seeing the typically bustling city like this, and Monomon can’t help but feel like she is in a ghost town.
The guard at the entrance doesn’t bother checking Monomon for clearance and lets her into the Watcher’s Spire with barely a nod. She takes a moment to shake off the water from herself and heads off towards the elevators. Lurien isn’t in his usual spot, and the scribes in the Spire pay her no heed. Eventually, she manages to corner his butler, and they lead her to a small balcony overlooking the city.
Lurien stands in the rain, a dark shadow against the muted blur of the city lights. He does nothing to acknowledge her presence as she moves to his side. Like this, he almost looks like one of the stone statues that line the Watcher’s Spire, his rain-soaked cloak hanging heavily from his frame and his face tilted upwards to the black ceiling above, silent and unmoving.
“This world is ending.” The words are soft, nearly drowned in the steady murmur of rain. She shifts to face Lurien, but he only turns his head to look down at the city below.
“The rain knows,” Lurien sighs. “It is already mourning the end of an age.”
Monomon takes a moment to scrutinize Lurien. The Infection has taken its toll on all of them, but Lurien had never shown it before. Now he looks forlorn, leaning heavily on the railing as if he is too weary to keep himself upright. She watches as a drop of rain runs down Lurien’s mask and drips from his eye in a parody of tears he is not capable of. Of all the people to be resigned to the end, Lurien is the last person she expected. It gives her a chill. Making up her mind, she moves one of her tentacles to rest on Lurien’s hand.
“I have a plan.”
Lurien leads the way to his rooms, heedless of the wet trail he leaves on the floor. His butler shakes their head in exasperation but does not comment, going off in search of a mop. The room is dark compared to the bright haze of the city outside, and Lurien busies himself lighting the candles scattered around the cluttered space. Monomon huffs and sets out to find a desk that is not completely covered in stone tablets. It is a familiar routine, and the tension eases from her with each candle that springs to life. By the time the butler comes back with a tray of tea the room is filled with cozy warmth, and Monomon can almost pretend that this is one of her friendly visits.
The illusion is broken when Lurien pins her under his gaze without even touching his tea. Monomon pushes down the urge to stare down into her cup and looks back at him, exuding confidence she does not feel. “So,” he says, resting his chin on one hand, “tell me of this plan.”
It went like this.
The King was trying to create a vessel to trap the Radiance, a pure empty shell with nothing that could be corrupted by the old light. In Monomon’s opinion, this was impossible as you could not house a god without a mind to dream. If that were possible they could have just sealed the Radiance inside any inanimate object and be done with it, but that was not the case. Indeed, every one of the vessels that had succeeded in taking in the light had become Infected in time. The King was willfully ignoring the paradox, but Monomon had different ideas. The vessels had all failed to stop the Infection, yes, but they could hold the Radiance inside them. They had managed to force a god, an abstract dream , into a physical body. What they needed to do was find a way to contain it.
The obvious answer was a seal of binding. But setting a seal around the vessel would be useless if the Infection started to spread through dreams. They needed to set a seal in the dream realm, where the Radiance was. This was a problem as the seal of binding could only be cast on a physical being. In the end, Monomon had found the answer in the Radiance’s own legacy. The Moths had a way to achieve a sort of in-between state, ‘dreaming’, where one is suspended between this world and the dream world, existing in both at the same time. If a seal was cast on the dreamers while they were in this state, the seal would extend to the dream. As the bodies of the dreamers become the seal to the vessel, the minds of the dreamers would become the seal upon its mind.
"Dreamers, not dreamer," Lurien notes. "How many do you think you will need?
“One could work, but ideally, at least three.” Monomon can hear the gears in his head spinning, braces herself for the inevitable conclusion.
“You have not told his Majesty.”
Lurien gazes at her, his tone void of inflection. Of accusation. She inclines her head.
For the seal to work one would have to use their very mind as a barrier against a higher being. It would break a lesser bug. There are precious few people in the kingdom with a mind capable of holding a seal. The King and Queen, unavailable for they are gods themselves. The Queen of the Beasts, though Monomon is not sure what it will take to convince her. Herself. Lurien.
She did not have to tell Lurien about the plan. She could have given the King a private report or mentioned it at the monthly council, and Lurien would have been the first one to know. The first one the King would have asked. That is why Monomon is here, before this goes to the King and comes as an order he can not refuse. She is giving him a choice. At least, that is what Monomon tells herself as she waits for Lurien’s response.
“How long….” Lurien starts, then stops. Traces a finger along the rim of the teacup, the tea cold by now. “How long would the dreamers need to remain in that state?”
“As long as need be.” Lurien is silent for a long time. And then.
“I will make sure to have my affairs in order then.” He says lightly. “Such as they are.” Monomon is too busy reeling at the words to appreciate the familiar crack at Lurien’s non-existent personal life, however. She had thought that she would feel relieved if Lurien agreed. That this way, she would not be guilty of forcing him to sacrifice himself against his will. But all she feels is an inexplicable dread.
“It could fail,” Monomon says urgently. “You could be giving your life for nothing.” Lurien simply stares at her, hands clasped in front of him.
“I trust you.”
As the weight of the words sinks in, Monomon wonders, briefly, if this is how it feels to drown.
Against all odds the King announces that a pure vessel has been created, then goes through with Monomon’s plan anyway, belying the confidence of his words. The three Dreamers are chosen - one bound by faith, one bound by will, and one bound by bargain.
The last days are hectic, with the King making last-minute negotiations with Deepnest and the city in an uproar about the upcoming absence of the Watcher. Monomon is busy preparing for her own not-quite-death. Because Monomon is never sure of anything, not even herself, she makes a backup plan just in case.
The last thing she sees is her mask held tight in her apprentice’s claws. She sinks into sleep, safe in the knowledge of things going as planned.
Being aware of two worlds is a nauseating experience. After a few dizzying days, Herrah tunes out everything except her daughter and Deepnest. She pulls back from both Monomon and Lurien, and her mind fades into a backdrop of shadows against the blinding light of the dream realm. Lurien goes about it in his meticulous fashion, organizing his mindscape into the familiar rooms of the Spire. He builds windows to separate visions of the waking world from the dream and sits at his old telescope as if nothing has changed.
And Monomon. . . Monomon swings wildly between needing to know everything and being overwhelmed by the sheer amount of information.
In a way, it is everything she has ever dreamed. Every mind and every thought is open to her, and every eye is a doorway to a part of the world Monomon has never seen. Monomon feels as if she can see the whole of the world at once, be every bug in Hallownest at the same time, find out every bit of knowledge that has ever been discovered and it’s thrilling and exhilarating and intoxicating and too much . How could gods live like this and not lose themselves and go mad? Then again, considering how she got into this mess, maybe they did go mad and she was suffering the consequences.
Throughout her existential crisis, Lurien is a steady, unwavering presence in the back of her mind. He isn’t floundering like her, nor has he withdrawn into himself like Herrah. Indeed, if the journals littered around the rooms of his mindscape is any indication, he is still keeping track of both worlds - and yet he is the most stable one out of all three of them. Monomon watches him in amazement until she can’t hold back her curiosity any longer.
“How do you stand it?”
Lurien looks up from his telescope and quirks his head in her direction. “Being. . . aware ,” she specifies, in answer to his wordless question. Lurien stares at her, then tilts his head in a wry smile.
“I am the Watcher. This is my duty.”
Confusion gives way to horror as she realizes the implications of those words, and Monomon is suddenly very, very grateful that she was made to be the Teacher.
(Once, Monomon breaks down and just screams until she can’t hear anything over the sound of her own voice. By the time Lurien finds her, the temporary relief of numbness is already fading, and Monomon wishes she could go mad so as not to feel anymore. She meets Lurien’s inscrutable gaze from where he is silently standing amidst the shambles of her mind and chokes out, “I’m so tired.”
And Lurien pulls her in and holds her until her world narrows down to thin arms grounding her and a low voice murmuring I know, I know .)
As expected, the vessel fails. What Monomon did not expect, however, is that the dreamers are not enough. The second outbreak of the Infection is no less deadly than the first, and trapped in the dream as they are, the dreamers are helpless to do anything but slow the descent. Monomon watches the world she sought to save fall back into chaos and ruin and wonders what’s the point? If the world is doomed no matter what they do, why bother trying to stave off the inevitable?
Maybe this was fate. Maybe the world was destined to end. If the King truly had foresight, then had he predicted this too? If he had, then why had he done all this knowing it would be futile? Doubt plagues Monomon’s thoughts, but she does not voice them. She cannot bear to, not with Lurien throwing everything he has into containing the Infection. She wants to believe this will work, that this isn’t a pointless struggle, that his effort isn’t for nothing - and yet, in the space of her own mind, she doubts.
The King disappears, and rain follows Lurien to the Spire.
The Radiance does not break free. Hallownest still falls. The Pale King is gone, and the White Lady goes into self-imposed exile. The dreamers are stuck in an endless stalemate with the old light, with neither side winning. The Radiance cries out, whether in triumph or frustration Monomon does not know.
And something answers .
The world watches with bated breath as another vessel makes its way down from the windswept wastelands. Everywhere, corpses stagger back to life as the Infection flares with a newfound rage. The very air seems to hum with anticipation.
It is the beginning of the end. So Monomon does the unthinkable.
“What,” says Lurien, his voice dangerously soft, “is the meaning of this.” He is the eye of the storm, the center of calm in an emotional hurricane. The curtain of rain surrounding the spire has whipped up into a frenzy, driven by winds screaming betrayal rage despair . She doesn’t dare turn around.
“Isn’t this better?” She asks. “Better, an end?” Lurien doesn’t answer, but the storm rages to new heights, the rain so heavy it nearly blocks out the insistent light of the Radiance. For a moment, Monomon wonders if this is how it ends, the seals breaking apart from within the dreamers themselves. But then, abruptly, the rain stops. All around her, she feels walls draw up as Lurien withdraws from her mind, leaving behind empty, aching holes in his wake.
“Coward,” Lurien says with cold disdain. Monomon can imagine him standing behind her, can feel his judgemental gaze. She cannot bring herself to care. She is so tired. In front of her, the image of her apprentice wandering through Hallownest fades into the clouds.
Silence can be vicious, and Lurien had it down to an art form in his past life. He shuts her out of his mind, and there is nothing for Monomon to do. He does not accept her decision, and she refuses to apologize. So they watch and wait without a word as the vessel makes its way down Hallownest.
In a last desperate (and half-hearted in Monomon’s part) attempt the dreamers trap the vessel inside the dream realm, but somehow it escapes. It goes on to best Herrah’s child and takes the King’s brand as its own. This, more than anything, makes Monomon certain that she had done the right thing in calling her apprentice back. This vessel will bring the end - whatever it may be.
The next time the vessel is in the dream, it cuts its way through.
Lurien holds his head high as the vessel slips into the very core of his being, dignified in the face of death. He is still as the nail rips into him, even as the bonds binding his life to the seal start to fracture. It is Monomon who can not stand to watch because Lurien is right, she is a coward. She doubts everything, the King, the gods, her own plans, and Lurien --
Lurien meets her eyes across the dream, and for a moment he is there , his mind a whisper a caress against hers, unsaid words and untold thoughts, graceful letters in an elegant hand, low voice and thin, firm arms, rain-soaked memories of I trust you and --
(Coward)
Then he shatters into light.
After Lurien, the Infection floods over into the Crossroads, and Monomon finally acknowledges that while the dreamers hadn’t been able to stop the Infection completely, they had managed to contain most of it. She shudders to think what will become of the world if the Infection is fully unleashed. She can only hope that the vessel is strong enough to bring down the Radiance.
Herrah is next, and Monomon is left alone in the dream realm with no one but the old light for company.
She had thought that she knew eternity. But the ages she spent as a dreamer is nothing compared to the time she spends in isolation while waiting for her death. Time, she realizes, is a relative concept. Without anyone to ground her, it stretches out until every second feels like an eon. Even when Lurien had been giving her the cold shoulder, he was still with her inside the dream, an anchor on which she could brace herself. Now there is only a gaping hole where his mind used to be, and Monomon is still stuck in limbo. Just like the world, she is neither dead nor alive.
When the vessel finally, finally makes its way into the Archives, all Monomon can feel is relief.
Better, an end.