A dense clatter mixed with murmuring voices echoed continuously through the passage.
Simon arrived at the central area of this stone sphere, where several lightfly lamps hung from the ceiling, and strange masks of various sizes were piled on the ground.
Fine cobwebs were everywhere, and the air carried a musty smell, making it feel like an old study.
The Mask Maker was swinging his two long, slender hands, meticulously crafting masks on a workbench with his tools.
He wore a cyan cloak, and his back was so hunched that his head seemed to grow from his abdomen.
He wore a strange teardrop-shaped mask on his face, with four eye-holes arranged in a cross pattern, resembling a four-leaf clover.
The Maker was engrossed in his work, his right hand's chisel continuously tapping and striking one mask, while his left hand's paintbrush colored another, multitasking so intensely that he didn't notice a visitor.
Simon leaned over to look at the two masks on the workbench; both were just ordinary masks, one made of stone, the other of bone.
The Maker mumbled to himself, speaking mostly illogical words that weren't worth listening to.
Simon clapped the table, making an extra sound, which finally caught the Maker's attention, drawing him to the small, white figure.
He was still busy working, but he took a moment to address Simon.
"Another wanderer, what do you seek? No mask, revealing your true self, very good."
Simon said loudly, "I need you to make three masks!"
The Maker shook his head, still mumbling; he seemed to have an extraordinary ability to intersperse complete sentences within his rambling, releasing incredibly strange pheromones.
"Making masks... a false face... for what? This is work... with work, there's no need... pick from the ground, pick whatever you like, it won't cost you a single geo."
Simon listened to the tapping of the chisel, the scratching of the paintbrush, and the stream of nonsense, all blending into a cacophony that was sheer mental pollution.
He shouted, "I want to make Vessels! I have brought the roots of the White Lady!"
The Maker froze instantly.
He dropped the chisel and paintbrush – his two main sources of noise – and his mumbling ceased, making the area much quieter.
The Maker leaned out from behind the workbench, his long arms reaching out to embrace Simon, "Oh, let me see! It truly is the power of the roots.
Does she no longer find the Hollow Knight sufficient? Does she desire something even better? Or is this just another attempt? Are Wyrm's creations so harmonious and perfect, yet no longer recognized by her?"
Simon knew the Maker was speculating about the White Lady's thoughts, but he couldn't explain, as the White Lady's intentions were indeed unclear.
He could only steer the conversation back to the main topic, "Can you make them? Three Vessels!"
The Maker leaned back, saying proudly, "Of course I can!" He picked Simon up and placed him on the workbench.
"Three masks, yes, but this is not without cost! I need you to go to the Weaver's Den and find Deep Thread.
These are essential for sewing the Vessels, as they carry the Weaver's magic.
Go quickly, leave the roots here for now, three masks! Alright, what style do you want?"
"The style isn't important; the minimum requirement is to resist The Radiance's infection, and one of them needs to be as strong as possible."
The Maker laughed, "They are all the same; there will be no difference in strength, only in style."
Upon hearing this, Simon felt relieved, "Then a simple style will do, as long as it can fit on the face." He paused, "What payment do you require?"
The Maker chuckled softly, as if he had heard something amusing, "None, I will grant all pleas for faces.
This is not a mission, but an extension of help, a gift to a world worthy of this offering."
"You are truly too kind, sir," Simon said, marveling at the Mask Maker's high regard for his work, a great artist who communicated with the world through his creations!
"You are too polite, there's no need."
"Could you give me an approximate location for the Weaver's Den?"
The Maker turned and entered another small room, rummaging around for a while before emerging with a rolled-up map in his hand.
"Here, take it.
As a child, I always loved to run around and draw, so I recorded the surrounding terrain.
But I warn you not to try to go too deep; some places are extremely dangerous, especially now that darkness has swallowed Deepnest.
Be wary of those maddened beasts!"
Simon took the map, thanked him again, and then left the place.
...
The Mask Maker's map was indeed a bit crude, being a childhood doodle, but fortunately, important locations were marked with icons, such as the Weaver's Den, which had a six-holed symmetrical mask.
To reach the Weaver's Den, one needed to descend through a vertical shaft-like cave.
Deepnest was exceptionally dark, with only a few glowing fungi providing negligible light.
The platform steps were fragmented, covered in silvery spikes that clinked when struck, and getting impaled would surely be unpleasant.
Besides small Weavers scurrying about, there were also Deepnest Hatchlings and Deepnest Hunters that caused trouble for outsiders.
They resembled masked spiders and could crawl on any surface – walls, cave ceilings, everywhere.
Deepnest Hatchlings posed no great threat, but Deepnest Hunters could spray scorching venom.
Their eyes glowed like orange-red fireflies, but they were vicious predators.
Walking through the cobweb-strewn Deepnest, groups of spiders would occasionally emerge from underfoot, scattering and scuttling into the shadows with clicking sounds, creating an eerie atmosphere.
After getting lost for a while, Simon successfully passed through the vertical shaft and arrived at the lower level, which was essentially one of the lowest elevation areas in Deepnest and even all of Hallownest.
Jumping onto a platform very close to the cave ceiling, there was a large open space below, but Simon followed the map's instructions, moving along the platform.
The passageway was very low, and if he hadn't been small, he probably wouldn't have been able to enter many places.
The ground beneath his feet would occasionally collapse, and one careless step could lead to falling into a spike-filled trap.
Such an unfriendly path made Simon quite annoyed, so he simply floated low to the ground.
After a few steps, he saw a robust beast resting ahead.
This was a Stalking Devout, with a bloated body and twelve legs.
Four pairs of legs were used for movement, while the two pairs of legs on its chest and abdomen bore armor, shielding its front like a shield, like a strange six-holed mask.
This armor could block damage and also serve as blades to cleave prey in front of it.
Its only weakness was its inability to attack upwards; once prey got onto its back, it was at their mercy, which is why Stalking Devouts chose to hunt in narrow passages.
Simon gently approached this powerful predator.
The light from his lantern startled the Stalking Devout, and its six orange-red eyes opened, casting an eerie glow through its mask-like armor.
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