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The spire’s grand doors creaked as Shadow Milk Cookie stepped inside, his body aching from the fight with White Lily Cookie. His knuckles throbbed, still stinging from where his blows had landed—though not all the pain came from her. His head pounded, his limbs felt heavier than usual, and a dull nausea rolled through his stomach. Every step forward felt like walking through syrup, but he forced himself to move.
By the time he reached his chambers, his body had begun to betray him. The wounds Pure Vanilla had healed were gone, but the deeper aches—the ones buried beneath the surface—remained. His skull felt like it was caving in on itself, his vision swam, and before he could stop himself, he staggered to the corner of his room and collapsed.
His breathing was uneven. Ragged. Something in his chest clenched, tight and suffocating. And then—
The first sob ripped through him like a wound torn open.
He curled in on himself, arms wrapped around his knees, shuddering as the floodgates broke. It was raw, unrelenting, the kind of anguish that had been festering for centuries—buried under bravado, under rage, under everything but this.
For the first time in eons, Shadow Milk Cookie wept.
His entire body trembled violently, his fingers gripping at his hair as if trying to hold himself together. He didn’t even register the choked, animalistic noises escaping him, too consumed by the overwhelming tidal wave of emotions crashing over him. He had fought battles that shook the heavens, yet here he was, reduced to something fragile—something breakable.
The door creaked open.
Shadow Milk barely registered the presence at first, his mind lost in the spiral of panic and sorrow. A warm hand touched his shoulder, but his body recoiled violently, jerking away as though burned. His breathing turned erratic, his pulse hammering in his ears. His mind was screaming at him to get away, to fight, to run, but his body remained frozen in place.
“Shadow Milk—” Pure Vanilla’s voice was gentle, but laced with concern. “Breathe. You need to breathe.”
He couldn’t. His lungs refused to obey. The walls of the spire seemed to close in on him, suffocating, crushing. He barely felt Pure Vanilla’s hands gripping his own, trying to ground him, trying to reach him—but the touch only sent another wave of panic through his system.
Pure Vanilla wasn’t supposed to see this. No one was. He was Shadow Milk Cookie—one of the Five Beasts. Strong. Untouchable. Unshakable.
Yet here he was, shaking apart at the seams, unable to control his own body’s betrayal.
“I—I can’t—” His voice cracked, barely above a whisper. He barely knew what he was saying, the words tumbling out between gasping breaths. His vision blurred, black spots dancing at the edges. His heart pounded so violently it felt like it would burst from his chest.
Pure Vanilla’s grip tightened—not forcefully, but firmly, reassuringly. “You’re safe. You’re not alone. Just focus on me.”
Safe? The word felt foreign. Impossible. But something in the way Pure Vanilla spoke it, the way his presence radiated warmth, made part of Shadow Milk want to believe it.
His breaths remained uneven, but the sharp edge of panic began to dull under Pure Vanilla’s presence. He clung to the sound of his voice, the steadiness of his hands, the way his magic hummed softly around them like a comforting embrace.
After what felt like eternity, the storm within him settled—just enough for his body to stop shaking, for his breathing to slow to something less erratic. His head still pounded, his limbs felt weak, but he was no longer drowning.
Silence stretched between them, thick with unspoken words.
Pure Vanilla didn’t ask questions. Didn’t press. He simply stayed.
And for once, Shadow Milk Cookie let him.