Chapter Text
Hornet had only the vaguest idea of what these parts would be used for, but the documents she had found in another Weavenest provided some clues. Its name had been… difficult to find, but with the documents, blueprints, and even these parts… Its name was most likely Weavenest Keelal. What a Weavenest named after the Weaver of the path was supposed to do… she had no idea. But it had strange parts that were supposed to be delivered to Weavenest Atla, and, well, the secrets behind the Weavenests were too tempting of a mystery for her to ignore.
Well, unless there was something larger at stake, such as an awakening Goddess or rampaging Void. Neither of those were problems anymore, though, so that left her with plenty of time to explore other mysteries scattered around Pharloom. She slipped through the silent hallways of Weavenest Atla, heading for the hidden workshop. Hopefully, that workshop contains blueprints for assembling this… instrument? Device? Well, probably a mixture of both, knowing how Weavers are. A device powered by the song of a needolin to… do something with paths.
Hornet shrugged, gently laying out the parts on her favored workbench. She’d find out in due time… once she located the blueprint. She gazed out along the smattering of workbenches and other unorganized messes the Weavers had left behind. This might take a while.
#
It absolutely took a while. The blueprint was scattered into parts, for one, either by time or a disorganized Weaver, Hornet would never know. What she did know, however, was that once the blueprint was acquired, it was surprisingly simple to assemble the device. Then hook it up to a power supply, which the Weavenest had only one — the main silk-soul generator. Luckily, there were conduits that allowed her to connect the intricate device (that she still hasn’t found a name for) to the rest of the Weavenest.
“And… done,” she said, locking the conduit in place. She tilted her head as her latest project began to glow.
It was singing.
That was to be expected, but… the music from this device, idling on her workbench, was strange. Like she was hearing it from somewhere else — not from vibrations through the air, but as if it was echoing in her mind.
“This feels oddly similar to areas with powerful memories… yet slightly different! How fascinating,” Hornet mused. “As it does have a similar feeling… Elegy of the Deep it is shall be.”
Hornet gently raised her needle from where it was resting next to her workbench and started to play. The mournful notes of the Elegy dragged her in; the familiar feeling of entering a memory crawled through her body. The device glowed brighter and brighter as she played, a white light that threatened to overwhelm even her fading sight. She tried to stop playing as the device screeched, rattling on the workbench.
It was too late — the Elegy had gripped her too strongly, forcing her limbs to continue the melody even as her body wanted nothing more than to slump over and sleep. With a final note, everything faded to white.
#
Quirrel was taking a break. Not his usual one, but an extra one, because his teacher was being a menace once again. This break, unlike the usual ones that he takes, was not inside the walls of the Archives. He had a book, a nice place to relax and watch the Uoma and Ooma drift by, and plenty of time to kill while Monomon obsessed over her recently discovered idea. Hopefully, no one would be sent to find him anytime soon, he mused as he started the next chapter. His book was just starting to get to the good part.
A loud thud startled him from his reading. The sound of something heavy hitting the ground wasn’t common in the Archives, but it did happen often enough for him to recognize the sound. Though, why he could hear that noise out here, in a nook of the Fog Canyon with a good view of the lake the Archives sat upon, he had no idea.
But he was going to find out. His book could wait for later; investigating strange sounds had piqued his curiosity. A narrow stretch of tunnel opened up into another peaceful part of Fog Canyon, lush greenery making the inside of this natural room a beautiful resting place. Despite its size, no Uoma or Ooma called it home, as unlike him, they were not fond of passing through the slight tunnel to reach this place.
As he took a look over the room where he heard the sound from, the large shape of a metallic table, half buried in the dirt, drew his eye.
“It looks like it fell from quite a height, but…” he glanced up — there was no hole above him to allow something of that size to fall. So how had it gotten here?
He hopped down, intending to get closer to the source of this mystery. But, as he neared, more and more little trinkets could be found among the greenery. Tools, half-built projects, broken projects… It was as if an entire workshop had been dumped out into the canyon.
Something red caught his eye as he neared the workbench. “Is that… a bug?”
Rushing over, Quirrel found that it was a bug — not one he could recognize, with its red cloak and long, white horns on their mask — but a bug nonetheless. And if that crack was any indication, they were injured! He quickly scooped the bug up, and their strange weapon that lay next to them, and made for the Archives.
He may not know how to treat this bug’s injuries, but his Teacher was the most knowledgeable person he knew. She would know what to do.
#
She awoke as she usually did, with a gasp and a body that refused to move. It faded quickly, as always, allowing her to… stand? She blinked in confusion as she sat up, a blanket falling off her. She didn’t remember putting a bed at her workbench… and even if she did, how would someone move her to it? It’s not like anyone else was able to access Weavenest Atla.
So how did she wake up here, where was here, and…
“Where are my clothes?” she growled. She did not want a repeat of the last time she woke up without anything on.
“On the table!” Hornet stilled. She knew that voice. How did— “It’s good to see you awake so soon, you had quite a few bumps when my apprentice brought you in!”
Hornet turned her head to take in the bright form of Monomon the Teacher, a bug who should have been long gone after her role as a Dreamer.
“But now that you’re awake, I have questions! Like what species you are, how did you manage to fall into an enclosed area, or even — what is that strange silk material all over your, I’m assuming it’s yours, workbench? Can you make more of it? Is it natural, or manufactured? Oh, I can’t wait to find out!”
“You are… far too bright to be a memory,” whispered Hornet.
Monomon stilled, obviously having heard her, but, well, that was expected when Monomon was leaning so close their masks practically touched. If Monomon was still alive… then she either came back to life, which was highly unlikely, and she probably would have recognized Hornet if she did, or…
Atla and Keelal.
Paths and Time.
It was… not implausible. And if it was true, then… allies could go a long way. With that in mind, her choice was simple.
“It has been a while, Monomon the Teacher. A long, long while.”