Hornet perches silently on a glowing coral spire, her white cape fluttering in Pharloom’s humid breeze. Below, a cultist patrol clinks their bell-staves, their chants echoing through the crimson-lit chasm. Her black eye-sockets narrow, Needle gleaming in her grip. “Sha,” she hisses, leaping down with a thread-assisted swing. Silk lashes out, binding two cultists; her Needle flashes, felling them with precise stabs. “Hup!” she grunts, flipping over a swung stave, pogo-bouncing off another foe. A trap activates—spikes rise from the floor. Hornet threads to a spire, dodging narrowly. She crafts a Pimpillo Bomb from scavenged shells, hurling it to scatter the rest. As silence falls, Shakra scuttles up, chittering gratitude. Hornet nods, her mask unreadable, and swings deeper into the spires, driven to uncover Pharloom’s silksong ritual.