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Chapter Text

The Sage of Truth had first noticed the dark figure halfway through his lecture.

He had been in the middle of his sentence when he felt a tingling sensation in his Soul Jam, something cold and prickly. He had frowned ever so slightly, a crease forming between his brows, and felt his gaze being directed to a specific spot of the crowd without really knowing why. He felt his breath catch in his throat.

The mysterious cookie wore a tall, triangular hat, his head bowed low. His robes were dark except for the thin threads of gold that shimmered in the sunlight like fireflies. A key glimmered at the base of his throat. The center of it looked as if there were something missing in its center.

The Sage swallowed, his fingers trailing to rest on his own Soul Jam. He traced the outline of the shape, cool to the touch.

He realized, with a start, that he had fallen silent, his words fading. The young cookie scholars in the hall began to chatter softly. The Sage cleared his throat, drawing their focus and attention once more with such ease as if he were collecting threads of fabric, and started speaking again. “The blade that separates Truth from Deceit…”

When the lecture was finally over, the young cookie scholars all packed up and left the hall, the figure remained. The Sage took his time, opting to ignore him at first. He made a show of opening the flap of his bag, pulling out a water bottle, and sipping from it casually, feigning an air of nonchalance. His Soul Jam tittered, causing his heart to race in his chest.

Finally, he mustered enough courage to confront the cookie. The Sage turned around, his sparkling hair of blue and white colors tossing over his shoulder. He pasted a smile on his face, grinning a little too wide, his fang on display. “I don’t believe I’ve seen you here before, my friend! Alas, today’s lecture is over. Care to come in the morrow?”

The hilariously large hat that the cookie wore cast a dark shadow over his eyes. The features of his face were obscured by darkness, and the Sage found himself readjusting his monocle in a futile attempt to see him better. “No,” he said quietly.

The Sage stiffened. “Oh well…” he allowed his voice to trail off. He gripped his staff with both hands, hesitant for some reason.

The cookie finally cut to the chase. “Stop teaching the Truth,” he said, his voice low.

The Sage titled his head to the side, his curiosity piqued. “Why must I?” he asked.

The cookie finally lifted his head. A single sliver of light from the window finally crossed over his face, revealing his mismatched eyes of yellow and blue.

“Ah!” The Sage of Truth pointed at the cookie he now recognized with his staff. “The Truthless Recluse! To what do I owe this pleasure?”

“Pleasure this is not.” The movements of the Truthless Recluse were slow and methodical. His long robes dragged on the floor behind him, his lips twitching. “You truly are a fool, you know that?”

“A fool?” The Sage chuckled softly, dragging his heels on the ground. “I have been called many things, dear friend, but rest assured, a fool I am not.”

“I am not your friend,” the Truthless Recluse snapped. His nostrils flared.

“Ah, quite a temper we have there.” The Sage of Truth watched the Truthless Recluse, like prey watched predator.

But which was the prey? Which was the predator?

One could entertain onesolves with such musings for quite long lengths of time.

“The Truth.” The words of the Truthless Recluse felt like the stabs of a sharpened dagger. “It is a terrible, terrible thing. There is no salvation from Truth, as I had to learn the hard way. At the Peak of Truth is nothing, I know so all too well, as I am sure so do you.”

The Sage remained silent. The Truthless Recluse stalked closer and closer to the Sage, until he was towering over him.

“Why?” His voice broke ever so slightly as he croaked out the single word. “Why set others upon such a path when we both know that it leads to nothing good, nothing of worth?”

The Sage hummed quietly to himself as he spoke. “Truth is a kaleidoscope. How it works, we might never know. Turn it left, turn it right, even upside down, it’s beautiful somehow. It’s never simply just a shape. It’s a kaleidoscope.”

The Truthless Recluse blinked down at him, slowly. His eyes were unfocused, and the Sage wondered how much of him could he see. He’d heard rumors about the state of the Recluse’s poor vision.

“You truly are a fool, that you are,” said the Recluse finally.

The Sage of Truth shrugged. “People have been telling me that a lot, times of late.” He tried for a lopsided smile. It felt genuine, unlike the first.

The Truthless Recluse scowled. “Idiot.” He swirled his robes and made his leave, the rise and fall of his feet and staff falling into a rhythm, the sound fading away as the distance between the two cookies increased.

The Sage of Truth didn’t linger after the Truthless Recluse left. He grabbed his stuff and headed home, retiring for the night. As he left, he noticed a small plushy lying in the corner of the room. It resembled the cookie he had just engaged in a conversation with. Truthless Recluse. Without a second thought, he slipped it into his bag and left.

Time passed. Days turned into months and months turned into years, and eventually, the Sage of Truth nearly forgot the visit he experienced with the Truthless Recluse. Almost, but not quite. The memory of it, albeit fuzzy around the edges, like an old photograph, remained buzzing in the corner of his mind.

It was exactly sixteen hundred thirteen days the day the angry mob came. The Sage of Truth had completed his lecture hours ago. He had been writing at his desk in his office and had fallen asleep, his face squished against the pages of his journal, snoring softly.

Over the years, cookies with feeble minds had grown fearful of the empowering knowledge held by the Sage of Truth. When people are scared, they act, often in violence. Fight fire with fire, they say. Until the entire world burns.

It was raining as they broke into the hall of the spire, tearing down the door with angry feet and pounding fists. They used their torches to set everything ablaze. Angry red flames licked at the walls, burning up priceless research and papers.

The Sage awoke to the smell of smoke. Gasping, he tried to grab his most important stuff before leaving. But there was too much, too much he refused to leave behind. He couldn’t carry it all, the fire eating up his stuff before he could do anything. Soon he was burning, too, his dough sticky and raw, tears blurring his vision. Dropping the stacks of papers in his arms, the Sage collapsed, coughing as he struggled, with no success, to get up.

After a few minutes of fighting the fire killing him and his belongings, the Sage finally gave up. True wisdom is knowing when one is fighting a losing battle and resigning to one’s inevitable failure. He accepted his fate, that he was going to die. He curled up into a ball, pressing his face to the hardwood floor as the air around him burned and he slipped into oblivion.

The Sage wasn’t expecting to wake up. His mind felt hazy, and his chest shuddered as he tried to sit up and ended up in a fit of coughs. A steady hand held his back, a warm presence lowering him onto a mattress filled with warm, fluffy blankets. He squinted up at the figure in the dim light of the room, his neck aching as he craned his neck over his shoulder. He recognized the stranger from the silhouette of his pointed triangular hat, his messy blond hair that stuck out in various unkempt directions.

The Sage exhaled a breath of air, relaxing his tensed muscles to a certain degree of normalcy.

“The Truthless Recluse.” The Sage’s voice felt raspy, his throat dry from disuse. He tried to clear his throat with little success to show for the action.

“Finally woke up, eh, princess?” The Recluse arched an eyebrow at him. “You’ve been asleep for days, Sleeping Beauty.”

“Mm.” The Sage rolled his head back, sinking into the warmth of the pillow. He closed his eyes. “Alas, still sleepy, I am.”

“Heh.” The Sage chuckled. His dough still felt slightly cracked from the burns. The two cookies sat in silence for a few beats, then the Sage spoke again. “I wasn’t aware that you were a healer cookie.”

He heard the Recluse swallow hard. “And?” he asked, venom dripping like acid from his words.

The Sage placed a hand over his Soul Jam, eyes still closed shut. It felt unusually cool to his touch. He didn’t like that, his body was already plenty cold, though he felt smoke roll off of his dough. It confused his mind a bit, but he didn’t want to pay that any mind, not right now. He cuddled deeper into his blankets and sheets.

“Nothing wrong with that,” he muttered into the fabric. “Just surprised.”

A pause. Then, “How’d you know I was the one who healed you?”

The Sage shrugged. The movement made his dough feel weird, so he stilled his body. “A hunch, I suppose. A feeling, some sense. Does it truly matter?”

“Yes,” said the Recluse immediately. The Sage was taken aback by the heat in his tone.

The Recluse seemed to have surprised himself too. He fell into silence once more, and the Sage nearly drifted off to sleep until he felt a finger nudging at his shoulder.

“Wake up,” scowled the Recluse, shaking him.

The Sage groaned, burying his face deep into the silky sheets. “Must I?”

“Yes, you must.” The Recluse gave him a final shove before practically lifting his head up. His fingers cupped his chin with some level of gentleness that made the Sage’s heartbeat practically roar in his ears. The Recluse shoved a glass of water in front of his face. “Drink. Your body is dehydrated.”

The Sage would’ve protested, but his throat tasted like parchment paper and he felt quite thirsty, so he gulped down the contents of the glass. It felt nice and cool on the way down.

The Sage exhaled, sinking back down into his bed. “Can I sleep now?” he asked grumpily.

The Recluse eyed him dubiously as he watched the Sage snuggle back into his sheets. “Why ask,” he mused, “If you will do however you wish anyway?”

The Sage began to respond, but his grumbling words slurred as he slipped into syrupy sleep once more, the beast of slumber claiming him as his own. Soon enough, he was snoring softly.

The Truthless Recluse sat there, watching the Sage of Truth. His eyes studied his body, scanning for any other visual injuries. When he didn’t find any, he still remained there, silent and ever present.

His presence was sensed in the Sage’s dreams, like a warm blanket covering him, a sun shining its rays down on him as he danced in the fields, blades of grass cutting at his ankles. A small smile formed on his lips as he dug his face deeper into the pillow, colors and shapes swirling underneath the lids of his eyes.

A kaleidoscope.

Chapter Text

The Truthless Recluse watched the Sage of Truth as he slept, observing the way his chest rose and fell with each breath, the way his face was squished as he lay on his side, the occasional twitching of his long pointed ears.

It wasn’t creepy or obsessive, the Recluse told himself. It was simply his healer instincts, prodding him to observe his patient.

That was all, he told himself.

For some reason, the Recluse didn’t believe the seeds of deceit he was feeding himself.

The Sage stirred in his sleep, pressing his face closer, sinking deeper into the pillow as he murmured to himself. Something about grading papers?

The Recluse drew in a sigh as he came closer, using his seeing staff to help him observe better.

A thin line of drool had formed from the Sage’s mouth, and the cookie shivered, despite having kicked off the covers earlier with complaints of being “too hot,” before proceeding to fall back deep into slumber.

“Now you’re too cold,” grumbled the Recluse as he tugged the blanket up to the Sage’s chin, tucking him in.

As the Recluse bent down, the eyes of his staff traced a path down the cracks of the Sage's dough, the blackness of the burns, the darkened edges. The Recluse had done his best to heal them using his White magic, but the wounds still remained as scars, faded into ghosts of their former selves.

The Recluse ran a finger down one of the cracks, lost in thought.

Maybe if…

That was the exact moment the Sage decided to wake up.

Cursing his luck, the Recluse quickly withdrew his hand, face now set aflame with embarrassment.

The Sage groaned as he rubbed his eyes with the back of his hand. “Urgh,” he said, ever the eloquent cookie.

“You’re awake,” observed the Recluse, stating the obvious as he averted his gaze to study anything but the Sage currently laying in bed.

“I am now,” mumbled the Sage. In his peripheral vision, the Recluse saw him roll his shoulders, rubbing at sore muscles. “Everything hurts,” he complained.

“That usually tends to be the case,” said the Recluse dryly. “When one gets burned alive.”

The Sage blinked once, his mismatched eyes of gold and cerulean glimmering with something that looked an awful lot like…sadness.

“Yeah,” whispered the Sage as he sat up and tucked his head in his folded legs. “That happened.” He stared blankly straight ahead, chewing on his lip absentmindedly.

A strange feeling crept up on the Recluse, the same feeling that had compelled him to rescue the Sage from the fire of his spire in the first place. Some odd sense of protection stirring deep inside his soul.

He chalked it up to the bond of their Soul Jams, nothing more than that.

“Are you hungry?” the Recluse asked. He remembered that most cookies tended to eat, especially when recovering. He couldn’t remember the last time he had a proper meal himself, though.

“Not really,” admitted the Sage. He smiled, a little. “Though I’d be willing to eat if you join me, too.”

“I can’t make any promises,” chuckled the Recluse humorlessly.

The Sage fluttered his eyelashes. “Pretty please?” he asked in a falsetto sing-song voice.

The Recluse rolled his eyes. “I’ll go get some jellies.” He left without looking back even once.

— — —

When the Recluse came back with a plate of slightly stale stamina jellies in his hands, the Sage was up and out of the bed, now standing next to the window. His hair of swirling shades of blue and white shimmered in the fading sunlight as he stood, gazing out into the scenery.

The Recluse was setting down the plate onto the tiny desk in the corner of the room when he heard a soft sniffle. He paused, frozen.

It struck him, then.

The Sage of Truth was crying.

Unsure and hesitant about what to do, the Recluse cleared his throat, announcing his presence.

The Sage stilled and turned around slowly. He forced a smile onto his face, flashing sharp teeth of white. “Ah, Recluse! You’re back with the food?” He wiped the tears of his face subtly with his sleeve, hoping the Recluse wouldn’t notice.

The Recluse narrowed his eyes. He wasn’t stupid; he knew the Sage had sent him away for food not because he was hungry but because he wanted some time for himself. But if the Sage wanted to take comfort in this small act of deceit, who was he to take away this privilege of his?

“Yeah.” The Recluse ran a hand through his hair. “They’re a little bit old, a little bit stale. I hope you don’t mind.”

“It’s okay,” said the Sage, his smile only widening. He curled up onto the floor, patting down the spot next to him. “Bring it here, and we’ll eat together.”

“I’m not hungry,” the Recluse told him, but he still obliged to his wishes.

The Recluse felt like he owed it to the Sage, after accidentally intruding upon such a fragile moment.

One’s own guilt was often one’s ruin.

The Sage nibbled on the jelly delicately, eyes darting towards the Recluse ever so often.

Annoyed, the Recluse asked, “Is there something wrong?”

The Sage shrugged, cheeks coloring a deep shade of blue. “Nothing, friend.” He gave him that strange look again, though.

“Just tell me, already,” growled the Recluse, clenching his fists until they turned white.

“Why aren’t you eating?” The Sage tilted his head to the side, in the manner of a curious cat. “I’ve observed you. Your only food is stale, implying that you haven’t eaten in a while. Do you wear big robes to hide how thin you are?”

The Recluse grew quiet, fidgeting with the golden embroidery of the sleeves of his robes, suddenly exponentially interested in it. “You know nothing,” he whispered.

“Okay.” The Sage shrugged. “I’m okay with that.” He gave the Recluse a sideways smile. “Over the many years that make up my lengthy life, I’ve come to learn that sometimes, the answer is no answer.”

When the Recluse didn’t respond, the Sage went back to eating.

After the Sage finished his meal, he got up and stretched a bit. The Recluse watched him silently.

“Do you want to have some fun?” the Sage asked the Recluse.

The Recluse raised an eyebrow, letting his gaze skirt over the bed behind them. “What do you mean by fun?”

“Get your mind out of the gutter, Recluse,” chuckled the Sage. “I meant to play a game, or something of that nature. Do you have a chess set?”

“I do.” The Recluse frowned. “You aren’t just sending me away, though, are you?”

The Sage fluttered his eyelashes. “When have I ever done such a thing?”

As a response, the Recluse hit him with his shoulder (gently, since his wounds were still healing).

“Ow,” complained the Sage, but he was laughing.

— — —

The Recluse opened with the queen’s pawn opening, pushing his piece forward.

The Sage whistled under his breath and mirrored the move on his side.

The Recluse rolled his eyes. “Really?” he asked as he offered up the queen’s gambit.

The Sage declined the gambit, solidifying the center with pawns. “I was going to do that anyway,” he protested.

“Sure,” said the Recluse, rolling his mismatched eyes again, moving his knight.

After a few back and forths, it seemed to appear as though the Sage was winning. “This is fun,” the Sage said, grinning as he castled, ensuring his king’s safety.

“Shut up,” whispered the Recluse as he aligned the queen to support his central pawns.

“We’ve entered the middlegame!” announced the Sage. He wasn’t smiling anymore, pressing hands against his face, grimacing.

“What’s wrong?” The Recluse smirked as he pushed another piece forward.

“Nothing,” snapped the Sage, glum as another piece of his was overtaken.

“You seem less enthusiastic,” the Recluse crowed. He moved closer to the king, until.

The Sage inhaled sharply, staring at the board.

The Recluse knocked over the Sage’s king unceremoniously.

“Checkmate,” said the Recluse as he leaned back, satisfied with himself.

The Sage’s eyes were comically large, his mouth hanging open in shock. “You,” he said slowly. “Beat me?”

The Recluse chuckled. “You’re right, chess is fun.” The Recluse tugged at the Sage’s hair playfully, which the other had put into a braid earlier, claiming the hair in his face “interrupted his focus.” “And don’t act so surprised, I’m getting offended.”

The Sage scowled, crossing his arms over his chest. “No one has ever beat me in chess before,” he told the Recluse.

“Too bad your winning streak is over,” snorted the Recluse.

“I will rebuild my empire,” swore the Sage, already rearranging his pieces, returning them back to their rightful black and white places.

The Recluse smiled for the first time in what felt like years. “Careful, Sage,” he told him, placing his king back to its square. “Mighty empires often fall when faced with worthy adversaries.”

— — —

“Goodness, it’s so late!” The Sage finally looked up from the chessboard and towards the window. The sky was a sea of black, save for the moon, which glimmered upon them, smiling.

“It is,” agreed the Recluse begrudgingly. He moved a castle piece forward. “Your move, Sage.”

The Sage chewed his lip. “We should be retiring to bed, though.”

The Recluse eyed the Sage dubiously. “And this statement of yours has nothing to do with the fact that you are losing? Again?” he added.

The Sage rolled his eyes, the gold in them flickering. “Completely unrelated.”

“Let's pretend I believe you.” The Recluse reclined back, a smile twitching on his lips once more. He gestured to the bed. “You’ve been hogging my bed for the past thirty six hours.”

“Oh, it’s yours?” The Sage blushed, looking down. “I assumed it was like, a guest bedroom, perhaps?

“No, of course it is,” drawled the Recluse. He spread his arms. “I have so many welcomed guests visiting my spire, here at the Peak of Truth. I have a plethora of rooms awaiting them.”

“You’re insufferable,” complained the Sage, twirling a pawn between pale fingers.

“You’re bold,” countered the Recluse. “Bolder than most cookies tend to be, anyway. Especially with me.”

“Thank you,” replied the Sage with a lopsided grin, flashing sharp teeth.

The Recluse pinched the bridge of his nose. “That wasn’t a compliment.”

“I have the freedom to interpret words as I wish,” sniffled the Sage as he flounced onto the bed, making it shudder upon impact.

The Recluse stood up, too. He remained there, awkwardly towering over the Sage. “Don’t you think you’ve overstayed your welcome?” he asked, clearing his throat.

“I don’t know.” The Sage propped himself up on his elbow, smiling. “Have I?”

The Recluse’s mouth went dry, and he cleared his throat. “Yes.” He made a hand gesture. “Get it.”

“But I’m hurt!” The Sage fluttered his eyelashes and made a coughing sound. “I’m in a critical condition.”

“My ass, you’re hurt.” The Recluse glared at him. “You’re not fooling me.”

Something flickered in the Sage’s expression, a phantom of the few moments of vulnerability the Recluse had seen him display. Then he scowled, pushing himself up.

“I know when I am not wanted,” the Sage said dryly. The deep blue coattails of his coat swayed behind him as he angrily stomped out. “I’ll show myself the way out.”

“Okay,” bit out the Recluse. He didn’t like the bitterness forming a pit in his stomach. He clenched his fists. “Don’t let the door hit you on the way out,” he called out, fixing his gaze upon the discarded chess set at his feet. The fleeting happiness of that moment was already long gone, no more than a memory.

The Sage harrumphed, and the door was closed with a loud slam.

Drawing in a shaky breath, the Recluse sat down onto a plush chair, sinking into the cushions. He rubbed at temples, his eyes burning.

The Truthless Recluse didn’t know why the Sage of Truth affected him so.

It terrified him.

Chapter Text

The fact that he was now homeless only properly registered in the Sage of Truth’s mind when he had already exited the Truthless Recluse’s Spire of Deceit.

He paused, faltering, standing in the entryway, hovering. Should he…go back?

No. The Sage shook his head, biting his lip until he drew blood. The jam tasted sweet in his mouth.

If he didn’t go back to the Recluse and beg him for shelter, he’d be losing at least a night’s worth of sleep and potentially safety.

If he did go back, though, the Sage would suffer losing his pride and dignity.

After his spire burnt down, the Sage wasn’t sure how many more hits his now-fragile ego could take before it crumbled to pieces, irrevocably damaged.

Drawing in a sigh, the Sage tore a hand through his hair, the stars swirling around in the sky of cerulean blue strands sparkling with frustration.

Was he really that stubborn, that he would rather spend a night in questionable places?

The answer came clear in the Sage’s mind immediately.

Yes.

The Sage realized, with a start, that he was still lingering in the doorway. As a child, the village elders would warn him that it was bad luck to stand in between doorways, neither leaving nor entering, stuck in the middle of the threshold in between the world of the living and the spirit realm.

A child the Sage was no longer, but old habits tend to die screaming.

— — —

Sparkling Cookie looked up when he heard a jingle of a bell. He grinned, already reaching out for a bottle of berry juice as he eyed his inn’s newest visitor.

He cleared his throat. “Welcome to~”

“No drinks.” The cookie in front of him was drenched from the rain, his wet blue and white hair sticking to his face, his eyes stormy. He slammed a few coins onto the table. “May I have a room?”

After a quick blink, Sparkling Cookie recovered. “Of course!” He scooped up the coins, tucking them into the pocket of his trousers, where they jingled against each other. “Any preference?”

The cookie squinted, the slits of his eyes contracted. “Any will suffice,” he decided.

“Okie!” Sparkling Cookie grabbed a key from the key rack and tossed it to the cookie, who caught in their hand with ease. “Room 205.”

“Thank you.” As the cookie turned, though, recognition flared up in Sparkling Cookie’s mind.

“Say,” he called out. “Are you the-”

“No,” interrupted the cookie immediately. “You must be confused.”

The firmness of his words discouraged any further conversation. Sparkling Cookie nodded, already moving onto the next task of wiping the glasses. Herb Cookie was coming later tonight, so he had other things to entertain himself with other than the fact that the Sage of Truth himself was staying at his inn tonight.

— — —

The inn was a humble one, as inns in the outskirts of Blueberry Village tended to be. Preferably, the Sage would’ve liked to stay in the village itself, but he wasn’t stupid. Everyone knew him there and he wasn’t sure if the angry cookies who had burned down his spire were still, well, angry.

The Sage turned to the mirror hung not too far from the queen sized bed. Its frame of silver was corroded from age, but the Sage’s reflection in the mirror was as clear as a summer’s day. The Sage blinked at himself, his doppelganger mimicking the moment. He lifted a hand to his face and ran a finger over the surface of his black burns and cracks of his dough.

Tears welled up in his eyes.

The Sage wasn’t exactly narcissistic, but he would be lying if he denied that he loved his appearance. He loved his lovely sparkling blue hair, his smooth pale dough skin.

But his wounds?

He looked hideous now, his face and body a web of ugliness he couldn’t look at any longer.

The Sage dropped his arms to his sides, where they hung awkwardly. He drew in a shaky breath as he collapsed onto the bed.

He stared up at the ceiling, tears making his vision blurry.

“It’s okay,” the Sage whispered to himself. “You’re okay.”

He didn’t believe it.

The rest of the night saw the Sage curled up in his sheets, hugging his blankets as he sobbed and cried himself to sleep.

— — —

For a cookie who had spent the night bawling their eyes out while feeling horribly bad for themselves, the Sage woke up in a marvelous mood.

The storm clouded up his head felt miraculously cleared, now that he had emptied that bucket of bottled up emotions last night.

It was a wonderful day to reclaim his dominance, the Sage decided.

The Sage exited his room whistling a jingle to himself, tossing a few more coins onto the front desk, where Sparkling Cookie was chatting up a cookie with green hair, holding a potted plant. Sparkling Cookie pocketed the coins without missing a stride, still chattering.

The Sage chuckled to himself as he pushed open the front doors and sunlight flooded his vision.

Yesterday’s showers of rain had brought forth one of the sunniest days Blueberry Village had seen in a while. The Sage practically skipped his way back to the village, occasionally stopping to observe the chirping blueberry birds, who happily flapped their little wings as they hovered closer to him.

Except for, of course, one blueberry bird, who remained on the branch of a high tree, where it almost angrily glared at its siblings, who all surrounded the Sage.

Something about the blueberry bird felt oddly…familiar?

The Sage wasn't sure, but he needed to keep going, if he were to reach the village square at its peak activity time; noon.

So he bid the blueberry birds good day, promised to bring food for them at a later time, and went on his way.

— — —

Typically, at this time of day, the town square was buzzing with commotion. Filled with stalls clamoring for the attention of passing customers, children running around with their toys, friends chattering as they caught up on whatever gossip they had missed, it was the busiest the Blueberry Village would ever be, save for the occasional town meetings when the other Virtue Cookies came to visit.

Today, however, it was eerily empty. All of the stalls were abandoned, the Sage the sole cookie standing in the square, hands placed on jutted out hips.

“Truly peculiar,” muttered the Sage to himself. He kicked at an apple core. “Where is everyone?”

The Sage walked around, peeking here and there, as if a cookie were hiding in an alleyway.

This did, however, turn out to be the case.

Strong large hands reached out from behind a wall and pulled a yelping Sage into a dark alley before he could blink.

The Sage cried out, or at least tried to. For who, he wasn’t sure, but surely there was a cookie out there with functioning ears, right?

Another hand clamped over his mouth, silencing his scream before it could even be released.

The Sage prided himself on his mathematical mind. Three hands touching him all at the same time didn’t add up, if there were only one cookie here. So either there were multiple cookies, or-

“Warming Spice?” The Sage’s words were muffled by his palm, but he twisted his body to get a closer look at his captor, none other than the Herald of Abundance.

Warming Spice grunted, releasing him. “Shh.” He pressed a finger to his lips and looked from side to side.

The Sage mimicked his fellow Virtue cookie’s movements. He didn’t see anyone.

“I do not believe that there isn’t anybody in the area at this time,” the Sage was saying, but Warming Spice shushed him again. A flush of anger crept up the Sage’s neck, and he inhaled sharply.

“The enemy could be lurking in the shadows,” said Warming Spice, wiggling the fingers on two of his twelve hands.

“Sure,” said the Sage, much too annoyed for a debate at this time. He crossed his arms. “Why are you here, Spicy?”

“That’s a good question.” Warming Spice grinned.

“Of course it is a good question; good questions are the only sorts of questions I ask.” The Sage flicked his hair behind his shoulder. “Well?”

“Well what?”

“Are you going to answer me?”

“Oh, sure.” Warming Spice dug into the pocket of his yellow pants in search of something. He now held a crumpled piece of paper, which he extended out to the Sage. “Here.”

“That’s still not an answer,” the Sage hummed as he smoothed out the paper against the wall. He narrowed his eyes. “What am I looking at?”

“A map,” said Warming Spice proudly.

The Sage stared at him. “A kindergartner could have drawn a more cohesive map.”

“Hey!” Warming Spice’s face turned red. “I did my best.”

“And yet your best is still the worst.”

Warming Spice frowned. “That’s quite rude of you to say, Blue.”

The Sage pinched at the bridge of his nose. He could really go for a cup of tea right now. “Spicy, I sincerely apologize. Can you please tell me what’s going on?”

Warming Spice’s expression softened, though his scowl remained. “Fine,” he relented. “Just lower your voice. I don’t want anyone seeing me in my disguise.”

“Disguise?” The Sage eyed the Herald’s outfit, composed of a hooded cloak and rags. For a kingdom filled with riches, his ensemble surely seemed like it was formerly owned by a peasant long dead.

“Yeah.” The Herald grinned, then spun around. The Sage nearly snorted at the sight of seeing such a large man spin around like a princess. “I’m playing the role of an unnamed hunter.”

“Lovely.” The Sage’s eye twitched. “Spicy?” He gestured back at the map.

“Ah!” Warming Spice ceased his twirling and pointed a finger at the dark blotches staining the parchment, his long black nail creasing the texture. “You see these?”

The Sage tried his very best to remain patient. “Yes, I do.”

“These represent areas possessing abnormally high levels of Dark Moon magic,” said Warming Spice.

Frowning, the Sage said, “There’s always Dark Moon magic in the Blueberry region, though. That’s my influence, remember?”

“Yes,” said the Herald, tilting his head to the side. “But this seems…different from yours. I’m not entirely sure, but my spices say they smell… different. Also, it’s not just the Blueberry Region.” Warming Spice nodded to the other splotches all over Beast Yeast, his long black hair out of his hood with the movement.

“How awfully peculiar.” The Sage worried his lip in between his teeth, drawing sweet tasting blood. It filled his mouth and he sloshed it around before swallowing.

“Have you noticed anything odd?” the Herald asked. “Anything disorderly occurred recently?”

The Sage’s face heated. “Um.” He laughed awkwardly. “My, um, spire might’ve gotten burned down.”

Warming Spice stared at the Sage.

“Don’t worry,” the Sage rambled. “I only got burnt a little bit.”

“You got burnt?!”

The Sage flinched at the sudden loudness of the Herald’s voice. The Herald noticed and lowered his volume.

“You got burnt?” he whisper-yelled.

“It’s already healed?” the Sage offered weakly.

“Blueberry Milk.” Warming Spice sighed, wringing his hands in weary frustration. “Why aren’t you ever careful?”

“I am plenty careful.” Anger flared up, the Sage’s dough flaring up, consumed with the emotion. “I’m alive, aren’t I?”

He conveniently left out the part where he had to be rescued by the Recluse, of course.

“Whatever,” grumbled Warming Spice, waving his hand, though he clearly wasn’t over it. He turned away, his broad shoulders and back the only thing in the Sage’s sight now. “It clearly seems as though you have everything handled here, so I suppose I’ll be making my leave.”

Guilt is a curious beast. Unlike its loud siblings, it creeps up on oneself, breathing down one’s neck, one not realizing one is being consumed until they are already in its belly.

The Sage found it difficult to breathe, his vision suddenly blurry.

“Wait!”

The Herald paused in his step.

The Sage inhaled. “May I have the map?”

Hesitance. A beat of silence. Then, a mumbled reply, “I need to show it to the other Virtues, Blue.”

“I’ll create a duplicate with my magic,” offered the Sage, testing the fragile glass bridge dangling precariously between the two cookies.

“Okay.” The Herald turned and handed the Sage the yellowed paper.

The Sage hoped he didn’t notice how his hands shook with nerves as the piece of parchment passed from one to the other.

Smoothing out the corners against the wall, the Sage began to chant softly under his breath, brows creased in concentration. A golden light showed, and the Sage blinked, and it was not one but two maps now he held.

He handed over the original back to the Herald. “Here,” he said, his voice turning out croaky. The Sage cleared his throat.

“Thank you.” Warming Spice pocketed the map, then shyly offered the Sage a gap-toothed grin. “Take care of yourself, ‘kay?”

The Sage swallowed the lump forming in his throat. “I will,” he promised.

As he watched his friend leave, the Sage of Truth wondered if he was slowly but surely becoming a liar.

Chapter Text

Over the years, the Truthless Recluse spent much more time than he ever cared to admit watching the Sage of Truth.

Like most obsessions, it had first begun with small things. He’d enchant himself into little creatures and follow the Sage around as he walked through the Blueberry Village. Then it progressed to the point where he’d use his magic to spy on him throughout the day, observing the Sage go through his daily routines, the monotony and frequency of such events leading to the Recluse learning all of the Sage’s little quirks and habits.

The Recluse knew that after a long day of work, the Sage liked to curl up in his bed piled with fluffy pillows and thick blankets, sipping a warm cup of milk before bed.

The Recluse also knew that the Sage would not be enjoying staying outside somewhere other than his comfy quarters, now rendered homeless, in the pouring rain.

As he stood by the window, watching droplets of rain trace their paths down the glass, the Recluse sighed audibly, rubbing at his eyelids.

Absent-mindedly, the Recluse slid a hand into his pocket, running his fingers over the cool surface of his Soul Jam.

Ever since the Recluse had abandoned Truth and embraced Deceit, his Soul Jam had gone cold and devout of both warmth and color.

The Recluse swallowed back the bile rising in his throat. He stepped away from the window, robes swirling at his feet. He stared at his bed, at the indents of where the Sage had been laying down mere hours ago. After quickly stripping himself, the Recluse fell into the bed, burying his face into the silky sheets.

“Urgh,” complained the Recluse, voice muffled. He lazily turned to his side, staring back out the window. He couldn’t see anything properly even if he had his flower staff in hand, the view far too obstructed by the night’s darkness and the storm’s clouds.

The Recluse couldn’t help but wonder how the Sage was faring.

Mentally, he kicked himself for that line of thought.

But he couldn’t help himself.

The Recluse groaned and pressed his face closer into the pillow.

He wished he could suffocate himself right there and then, end his miserable existence.

Unfortunately, death was a reprieve sinners like the Truthless Recluse did not have the mercy of receiving.

— — —

The Recluse woke up with a pounding headache. As he sat up, stars sparked behind his eyes, and he cringed, running a hand through his hair. Witches never bothered to mention to cookies how much corruption hurt bodies, the Deceit running through the corrupted cookies’ viens of jam like lazy poison.

Perhaps such a warning would’ve discouraged cookies from falling to Deceit.

The line between naivety and hopefulness is nearly invisible.

Who’d be surprised, that going against one’s own nature could be painful?

The Recluse’s joints creaked in silent complaints as he stretched himself out and dressed himself. He squinted, the sun flowing through the windows making his blurry vision even worse. With a flick of the wrist, the curtains fluttered shut.

As he grabbed his flower staff, the shifting eyes gave him a certain look.

“What’s your problem?” snapped the Recluse, always on the defensive.

Obviously, the staff didn’t reply, but it continued to glare at the Recluse judgingly.

The Recluse made his way through the big and empty halls of his Spire, the rise and fall of his feet and the occasional thud of his staff the only sound echoing throughout, reverberating against the walls.

Solitude was the Recluse’s sole companion.

Not for much longer.

With a twirl of his staff, White magic washed over the Recluse and he closed his eyes as he transformed.

— — —

Over the years, the Recluse had come to favor the blueberry bird as his preferred form of choice. Something about its soft ruffled feathers, small body, and tiny orange beak felt comfortable to the Recluse.

It also reminded him of his past, the blueberry birds always a constant companion of his in the now long gone Vanilla Kingdom, but that was emotional baggage the Recluse didn’t feel like unpacking not right now nor at any other time, really.

He joined a flock of fellow blueberry birds circling around a tree, all of them chirping cheerfully to each other. After a few glares flashed with predatory anger, all the other birds wisely ignored the Recluse, tending to each other. The Recluse watched as the mates preened each other’s wings, pecking their beaks into the other’s feathers.

The Recluse wondered how a creature could trust another to do something so intimate, so touching to the other.

He doubted he could ever let anyone in that close ever again.

The Recluse sighed, or at least, as well as he could in this form. He closed his eyes as he perched on the branch, the wind ruffling at his feathers. He felt almost at…peace.

That peace was quickly disrupted.

First the Recluse heard the cheerful humming. Without even looking, he immediately recognized the jingle that he’d only ever heard one cookie singing along to (not that he had listened to many cookies, though, but that's besides the point.)

The Sage of Truth.

All of the other blueberry birds, once they saw him, fluttered to him, landing on his outstretched arms as the Sage laughed, his mirth sounding like the happiest silver bells singing in the wind. He even spun around a little bit, the birds all flying around him as he giggled, hair flying in all directions.

Only the Recluse remained in the safe haven of the tree, a silent observer.

As if drawn by his thoughts or aura or something, the Sage locked eyes with the Recluse. He blinked slowly once, twice.

The Recluse shifted, refusing to falter.

The Sage finally broke his gaze and returned his attention to the other blueberry birds, chattering something about bringing jellyberries the next time he came by.

Something panged in the Recluse’s chest, tugging at the depths of his soul.

He wanted the Sage to leave him alone, and he had done so.

So then why did the Recluse feel so unsatisfied, a starving man abstaining from eating at a feast of food?

— — —

The Recluse had already long retired to bed when he heard a pounding on his bedroom door. He stirred, groaning and squinting in the dim light.

Who was it? His sleep muddled mind tried to sort through his thoughts. No one had direct access to his spire, let alone his private chambers.

Fumbling blindly in the darkness for his staff, the Recluse cursed softly under his breath.

“Clusey!” The pounding only grew louder and more insistent. “It’s me, and I know that you’re awake, so don’t even try lying to me!”

The Recluse froze. “Sage?” He didn’t even try hiding the indignant disbelief in his voice.

“Yes?”

The Recluse stalked over to the door, scowling at the Sage behind it already even though said door was still in between them. “Why in the name of the witches are you here, in my spire?”

“That’s a good question,” hummed the Sage. “One I’ll be willing to answer if you open the door.

The Recluse rolled his eyes as he swung open the door with way more aggression than strictly necessary, nearly hitting the Sage with it.

“Hey!” complained the Sage, then his eyes went wide and his face red. “Oh! Um, Recluse?”

“What now?” The Recluse glared at the Sage, rubbing at his temples.

“You’re, um, nude.” The Sage giggled awkwardly as he averted his gaze.

Shit. The Recluse crossed his arms over his bare chest, just now realizing his state of undress. “I was sleeping,” he reminded the Sage. “Until someone decided to pull up randomly to my house. How’d you get in, anyway?”

“Magic,” said the Sage simply, as if he broke into people’s abodes on a nightly basis using this exact method. “Can you, um, get dressed?”

Despite also feeling increasingly discomforted by the current situation, the Recluse raised an eyebrow. “Why must I, Sage? Are you uncomfortable?”

“Yes,” replied the Sage immediately, without even thinking twice.

The Recluse couldn’t help but chuckle as he reentered his room, grabbing up his robes from the bundle where he had thrown it earlier. “I didn’t know you’re such a prude, Sage,” he teased gently.

“Just get dressed,” the Sage said with barely concealed relief.

“M’kay.” The Recluse made sure to stare the Sage dead in the eye as he pulled his clothes over his head. “But you better start explaining things as soon as I’m done, and then get the hell out of here, before I kick your ass.”

“I promise I’ll be quick,” swore the Sage.

— — —

The Sage’s definition of quick was not, it turns out, very quick.

After the Recluse was clothed, the Sage summoned an entire tea party for them, complete with a fancy golden tea set and little mini sandwiches and other unnecessary items set upon a table he had, too, summoned.

The Recluse stared at the set up. “Gee, Sage. All of this for little old me? I’m blushing.”

The Sage beamed, ever the oblivious. “I’m pleased you like it.” He poured a cup of tea first for himself, then for the Recluse. “Sugar?”

“Don’t call me that,” said the Recluse absentmindedly as he fingered his Soul Jam, still hidden in the depths of his pocket.

The Sage laughed that infectious laugh of his once more. The Recluse was hit by the sudden urge of want, to bottle it up and store it for years, until it would age like fine wine and he’d drink it up, until there was nothing left to consume.

“I wasn’t calling you ‘sugar,’” explained the Sage, his face still overly joyous. He gestured to the table. “I was offering you some, to go with your tea.”

“I knew that,” snapped the Recluse, a little too quickly. He scowled. “I was simply…toying with you.”

“Okay.” Judging by the Sage’s little smirk, he didn’t believe the Recluse’s feeble attempts at Deceit. “Sugar?”

“No, thanks,” said the Recluse, opting out of picking the sugar simply out of spite and, after grabbing his cup, aggressively sipping at his tea.

The Sage chuckled to himself as he delicately lifted the cup, pinkie jutted out, and drank.

After draining the cup, the Sage set it down onto the table with a gentle clink. He held his head in his hands and sighed, eyelashes of black and white fluttering.

The Recluse held the Sage’s gaze. There was something glimmering in his mismatched eyes, something the Recluse didn’t quite understand nor did he like.

“What?” the Recluse asked, falling for the Sage’s bait. He didn’t really care at this point. He was growing tired of this waltz they danced. He just wanted to have a simple up-front conversation, then be left alone for the rest of his miserable life of eternity.

The Sage waved a finger, commanding the teapot to refill his cup. “What do you know about Dark Moon magic?” he asked, answering the Recluse’s question with another.

The Recluse narrowed his eyes. “Enough.” In his mind, he shuffled the pieces of the puzzle he currently held. The Sage was notorious for his affinity for Dark Moon magic, widely considered the most skilled user of it in all of Crispia. If the one who held the most knowledge on a certain area of magic had questions about said magic…

“That’s a non-answer,” said the Sage, wrinkling his nose.

“Apologies, but I don’t particularly like extending certain courtesies to others when they won’t do the same to me.” The Recluse reclined in his chair, studying the Sage. “The knife cuts both ways, Sage.”

“I suppose you’re right.” The Sage ran a hand through his hair. “Let us find even ground, then, and ensure neither of us bleeds out.”

The Recluse’s sole response was a grunt of agreement.

The Sage took this as an answer enough and reached into his pocket. He took out a yellowed piece of paper, which he smoothed across the table.

Unable to contain his curiosity, the Recluse leaned forward, squinting. He bent low, his eyes straining to see. “What am I looking at?”

“A very crudely drawn map,” said the Sage.

“Calling this monstrosity a map is generous,” snorted the Recluse. “And an offense to all maps and their respective makers.”

“I know,” sighed the Sage as he waved at it. “The Herald drew it, but its hideous appearance isn’t what is important.”

The Recluse duly noted that somehow in the nearly full day the Sage had been gone, he had found the time to convene with the Herald of Abundance.

The Recluse didn’t have his staff in hand, so he struggled to see the details of the map properly, opting to study the shapes and outlines.

“It’s Beast Yeast,” realized the Recluse, recognition flaring up.

The Sage clapped his hands together, making a crisp loud sound. “Correct!” His eyes twinkled with that teacherly glimmer of pride as their student answered a question to their satisfaction.

“Why, though?” the Recluse wondered aloud as he stroked his chin. “You mentioned Dark Moon magic earlier. Does this map have anything to do with it?”

“Indeed it does!” The Sage looked positively pleased. He tapped a sharp nail to certain darker areas of the map. “These are areas with excessively high levels of Dark Moon magic.”

“The Blueberry Region,” said the Recluse immediately, without even properly examining the map. “That’s your influence, though, isn’t it?”

The Sage curled his lower lip, his expression sour. “That’s the thing.” He fidgeted with the brooch at the base of his throat, where his Soul Jam of Truth rested. “Spicy– the Herald– said that his spices reported that this magic ‘smelled different,’ or something of that sort.”

Bristling slightly at the Sage’s fond nickname for the Herald, the Recluse said, coldly, “I don’t know what that means. There’s only one sort of Dark Moon magic I am familiar with, and that’s yours.”

Lifting up a brow, the Sage queried, “One sort? Does this imply that there’s others?”

The Recluse blinked at him. “What? No, of course not.” He made a dismissive wave. “And besides, Sage, you must remember; even if you have control over Dark Moon magic, it is a terrible beast no cookie can tame.” Something dark passed over the Recluse’s face.

The Sage shifted in his seat. “Okay, then.” He stood up, waving his hand once more. The tea party set disappeared, twinkling into darkness, summoned back into the Other Realm. “I suppose I’ll be off. Wouldn’t like to intrude anymore than I already have.” He gave a little nod before walking towards the window, pushing it open, and flying out.

The Truthless Recluse didn’t bother watching him on the way down.

He could only pray that the Sage of Truth couldn’t see through his thinly spun web of lies.

Chapter Text

The Sage of Truth held many a grievance against the Truthless Recluse.

First and foremost, the Recluse had beaten him multiple times in chess, something the Sage was still sour about and probably would be for a while.

The Recluse had also blatantly lied to his face multiple times. From his general passiveness to straight up denying the existence of other sorts of Dark Moon magic, the Recluse was quite the teller of fibs, though perhaps that was to be expected from the holder of Deceit.

It didn’t make the whole situation any less infuriating to the Sage, though.

The Sage turned his options over in his mind. It was the middle of the night, crickets chirping loudly as the soundtrack of his churning thoughts, and he didn’t quite feel like pulling up to the inn again. One night at such an establishment, no matter how charming it may be, one too many for him. If anyone, especially the Recluse, was to find out he was spending nights at humble inns, he’d never be allowed to live that down.

The Sage himself wouldn’t allow himself.

Crickets chirped loudly, and the Sage sighed, exhaling a breath of air. What was he to do?

He glanced back wistfully at the Recluse’s tower. He doubted the Recluse would take it kindly if he broke into his house for the second time in one night.

That didn’t make it any less infuriating, though.

The Sage considered his options. He wrinkled his nose at the prospect of returning to the inn; no matter how charming it may be, the Sage had spent one night too many there.

Stuffing his hands into his pockets, the Sage licked at his lips. He knew what he had to do. Ever since his run in with the Herald, the silvery strands of a plan began forming in his mind. His meeting with the Recluse only proved some of his theories true.

Now all he had to do was act.

— — —

Shapeshifting was one of the few areas of Dark Moon magic that never failed to make the Sage nervous. It wasn’t that he wasn’t skilled enough to properly execute it; he was the Sage of Truth, after all.

No, it wasn’t that.

It was that changing one’s form felt all too much like a lie.

The Sage took a deep breath, counting down from ten.

Ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five, four, three, two, one.

Truth is a kaleidoscope, the Sage reminded himself. Truth is a kaleidoscope.

And with that thought in his mind, all other doubts cast away, he shifted.

— — —

The stableboy at Biscotti Horsies Inc., Blueberry Ricotta Cookie, wasn’t asleep, he was just…resting his eyes. Yeah, that’s what he was doing, and anyone who claimed he was snoring while on the job was just straight up lying!

He awoke, no, opened his eyes, at the sound of someone clearing his throat.

“Five more minutes,” he mumbled, then a female voice asked, “Excuse me?”

Blueberry Ricotta sat up straight immediately, his back a metal rod. “Oh, sorry ma’am,” he said sheepishly. He fumbled for his tie, straightening it in a vain attempt to look professional. He prayed to the Witches that his boss wasn’t around.

The cookie standing in front of him smiled, all earlier frustration melting away from her features like a stick of butter out on the hot summer sidewalk. Her silvery white hair shimmered in the light of the rising sun.

“I’d like to rent out a carriage,” she said as she began to fan herself with a blue embroidery.

The dig of a cash register went off in Blueberry Ricotta’s mind as he silently plotted. This lady was clearly rich. His mouth practically salivated at the thought of the sorts of tips she’d leave…among other things. The cookie was quite stunning.

“For how many days?” Blueberry Ricotta asked, not even bothering to stop his eyes from straying down from the cookie’s face to a rather prominent part of her body.

The cookie curled her blue stained lip. “My journey will be a long one,” she said. She continued to fan herself as she spoke, “You know how unpredictable Beast Yeast can be sometimes, don’t you, darling? You seem quite intelligent for your years.”

Sometimes, it was hard to tell a cookie’s age just by looking at them, but judging from her manner of speaking, this one was an older lady. Blueberry Ricotta puffed out his chest. “Yeah,” he said, agreeing. “I am quite the catch, aren’t I?”

The cookie laughed, a twinkly little sound that sounded like a slice of heaven. “Sure,” she giggled. Then her features molded back into something mysterious, a question mark shrouded in beauty.

“Where in Beast Yeast are you going?” Blueberry Ricotta asked, leaning over the table, desperate for more crumbs.

The cookie batted her eyelashes. “My fiance and I are going to Sweetest Sugar’s Paradise.”

With that one word, fiance, all of Blueberry Ricotta’s hopes and dreams crumbled. “Ah,” he said, his voice off. He cleared his throat, returning his attention back to the desk. He extended a clipboard of papers to the cookie. “You’ll need to fill this out.”

The cookie’s smile widened, revealing sharp canines. “Thank you,” she said as she reached out, and Blueberry Ricotta noted her unnaturally long nails.

As she turned, her skirt swishing with motion, Blueberry Ricotta called out. “Wait!”

The cookie turned, her smile still affixed upon her face and utterly enchanting. “Yes?”

He swallowed. “Um. Who’s your fiance?”

“I beg your pardon?” The cookie blinked.

“Curiosity begs the mind,” laughed Blueberry Ricotta nervously, picking at a splinter. “Perhaps we’re familiar?”

“It truly is cookiekind’s greatest weakness, isn’t it, curiosity?” The cookie nodded. “My fiance,” she said slowly. Then her smile evolved into a wide grin. “None other than the Truthless Recluse himself, of course!”

— — —

It seemed as though the Recluse couldn’t get a moment of rest and peace to himself, apparently. When he awoke the following afternoon and groggily walked over to the window to throw open the curtains, he was greeted by a carriage, complete with drawn biscuit horsies, parked right in front of his doors.

“What the–.” The Recluse stared out the window. If he squinted, he could see two cookies standing near the carriage, one of them fanning themselves excessively. He saw blue and gold eyes flash in the sunlight, and recognition flared up.

He stomped all his way down the stairs and out the door. He stalked over to the Sage of Truth, ignoring the confused expression on his, or hers, apparently, companion.

“Explain.” The Recluse crossed his arms over his chest, anger fuming. “Right now.”

The Sage fluttered his eyelashes. “Oh, darling fiance of mine!” She draped an arm over the Recluse, pulling him in close enough for him to sense the warmth of her breath. The Recluse blinked, much too caught off guard by the manner of address.

“You-” stammered the Recluse.

The Sage smiled tenderly. “I can’t wait for our wedding in Sweetest Sugar’s paradise, my dearest,” she purred.

The Recluse’s face turned bright red as he fumbled to push the Sage away. “Get away,” he growled.

Then he reconsidered the situation, and grabbed at the Sage’s arm. “Actually,” he said, adopting the persona, slipping into the deceit as easily as if it were a glove tailored especially for his hand. “My…darling bluebird, I must have a conversation with you. Urgently.”

The Sage lifted an eyebrow, clearly fighting down laughter. “Of course, my pookie bear,” she said with utmost affection. Nausea churned the Recluse stomach as he led the Sage away from his companion’s sight, who didn’t even try to hide his disheartenment.

Once they were behind the wall, the Recluse whirred around to face the Sage. “What are you doing?” he hissed.

The Sage placed her hands on her hips, and the Recluse tried his very best to not to stare at any particular part of her new form. “Doing what?” she asked innocently.

“This!” The Recluse gestured to the Sage’s body. “First you break into my home-”

“-That was technically yesterday,” interjected the Sage.

The Recluse glared daggers at him, and the Sage mimed zipping his lips.

“Now you pull up to my house with a carriage and a new body and claim that we are engaged.” The Sage continued to blink back at him as if there was nothing wrong with the situation. The Recluse’s frustration only grew.

“I’m sorry,” whispered the Sage, before the Recluse could even explode. The Recluse faltered, watching as the Sage fidgeted with the ends of her sleeves, now blinking more rapidly than before. She was stupid enough to try and hide it, but the Recluse was all too familiar with the look of one on the verge of tears.

The Recluse worked his jaw. “Sage,” he said softly.

The Sage swallowed visibly. “I know you’re lying to me,” she said.

Deciding to play dumb, the Recluse said, “I don't know what you’re talking about. I’m the cookie of Deceit; you must be more specific with your accusations and claims, for I tell many lies.”

“Oh, with all due respect, shut your mouth,” sniffled the Sage, eyes tinged with red turned sharp as blades. “I know you’re fibbing about the Dark Moon magic.”

The Recluse stiffened.

“For a cookie of Deceit, you sure are a horrible liar,” laughed the Sage hollowly. “I wish to seek the Truth, and e-even if it is bad, or dangerous, I want that to be a conclusion I reach on my own accord.” The Sage straightened her spine, standing up to her full height, which was still a good head or two shorter than the Recluse.

“I only wish to limit the suffering of cookies,” sighed the Recluse, running a hand through his blond hair. “I know the Beast of Truth is one not easily tamed, and how could you blame me, for not wanting more to be crumbled under the weight of its harsh ruthlessness?”

“Some say ruthlessness is mercy upon ourselves,” countered the Sage.

“Must all our conversations spark a debate?” asked the Recluse, exhaling.

“Oh, my pookie bear.” The Sage patted the Recluse’s shoulder fondly, eyes sparkling again. “You do know I love a good debate.”

“Stop calling me that,” complained the Recluse. “Also, isn’t telling people I’m your fiance a mean of Deceit?”

The Sage bit her lower lip. “There are other ways of persuasion, there are other modes of control.” She lifted an eyebrow. “This is the story of my persona; I am merely but playing a role.”

“Funny.” The Recluse leaned in close. “You strike me more of a puppeteer than a puppet.”

“Trust me, darling.” The Sage tilted her head to the side, smiling serenely. “I don’t play. I puppeteer.”

The Recluse felt phantom strings tie around his wrists. He swallowed the bile rising up his throat. “And what role do I play in this little show of ours, mind my asking?”

“Oh, Clusey.” The Sage’s smile widened. “You already know. You’re my fiance.”

— — —

“Just so you know,” the Recluse was saying as he opened the door of the carriage to allow the Sage in. “The only reason why I agreed to come with you is to make sure you don’t spread too much Truth to cookies who don’t need to hear it.” He didn’t even try to hide his frustration, disgust, and begrudging respect. “You’re like a freaking infection.”

“Dear, I love you, too, future husband of mine,” said the Sage dryly, accidentally stepping on the Recluse’s toes with her heel as she climbed into the carriage. “Oops!”

The Recluse gritted his teeth. “Screw you,” he whispered.

The Sage fanned herself. “Oh darling, I know you’re impatient, but please, wait until after the wedding?”

Mouth hanging wide open, the Recluse fruitlessly tried for a response, with little success to show for his efforts. Face red, he simply said, “Screw you,” again and sat down in the seat opposite from her.

The stable boy, Blueberry Ricotta, lingered. “Do you-”

“Oh, you’re free to go,” said the Sage cheerfully.

Blueberry Ricotta somehow looked both chastened and relieved simultaneously. “Really?”

“Yes, your work here is done. Now skedaddle.” The Recluse made a shooing gesture with his tan hands.

That earned him an elbow to the gut from the Sage. “That was rude, darling,” she said, clicking her tongue.

“Sorry, mother,” hissed the Recluse, clutching his surely bruised ribs. As he often found himself doing, he wished he could heal himself. Alas, that was the curse of the healer gift. It was both a blessing and a curse.

Ignoring her so-called fiance, the Sage turned to the stable boy. “You have been utterly helpful, but as my darling Recluse had made adamantly clear, you are relieved of your duties.” She tossed him a few coins, which he scrambled to catch. “Keep the change,” she called out as the horses began to pull the carriage away.

The Recluse turned around in his seat and when he was sure he had Blueberry Ricotta’s gaze and attention, he flipped him off through the window. He turned back before he could see his reaction.

The Sage sighed dramatically as she continued to fan herself. “You are so immature,” she said, wrinkling her little nose.

“That’s rich, coming from you,” snorted the Recluse, which earned him a slap on his wrist. “You’re rather touchy today, aren’t you?”

The Sage rolled her eyes, and with a flick of her wrist, she transformed back to normal. Himself again, he slouched against the cushions. “I don’t like that form,” he complained.

“You did that to yourself,” laughed the Recluse.

“I did.” The Sage stared blankly ahead. “Sometimes I get too much into the role, though. Sorry.”

The Recluse frowned. Two apologies in one day from one of the most hubristic cookie he knew was not common. He decided to change the subject.

“Why are we going to Sweetest Sugar’s paradise, anyway?”

“Besides the Blueberry Region, her domain seems to be experiencing the highest levels of Dark Moon magic.” The Sage took the hat off his head and held it in his lap. “It is quite unusual in her lands, where Passion rings out loudest.”

“That is odd,” agreed the Recluse, stroking his chin thoughtfully. “Any theories?”

“Of course I have theories.” The Sage looked offended that the Recluse would dare to suggest otherwise. “But what’s the point of sharing them with you, of all people? You’ll never share your true thoughts and opinions with me.”

“You’re right,” admitted the Recluse. “But don’t you want to share them, anyway?”

The Sage crossed his arms over his chest. “I hate that you know me so well.”

The Recluse watched him carefully, observing as his pointed ears twitch slightly, trembling with emotion. “We are two halves of the same soul, Sage.” As if a trance, he reached out to run a hand over the Sage’s Soul Jam of Truth. He rubbed at it, gently, feeling up its cool surface. It wasn’t enough. He wanted to get closer, consume it- “Deceit cannot exist without Truth, and vice versa.”

The Sage laughed nervously, gently pushing away the Recluse’s hand from his chest. “Now look who’s getting touchy!”

The Recluse’s eyes hardened. He drew back his hand and clenched his fists at his sides.

The rest of the ride was spent in silence.

— — —

After about forty eight hours of awkward carriage ride passed before the Sage began to complain once more.

“I’m hungry,” he whined, kicking out his feet in the air.

The Recluse opted to ignore the Sage, staring out the window instead.

“I’m hungry,” repeated the Sage, now kicking the Recluse.

“Stop that,” snapped the Recluse, wrapping his fingers around the Sage’s foot to stop it from hitting his legs again.

The Sage twisted his face. “Make me.”

The two held heated eye contact for a beat, before the Recluse broke away his gaze. “Fine. I have no energy to fight you at this time.” And so, he pushed open the door.

The Sage’s eyes widened. “The carriage is still in motion,” he was saying, but it was too late.

The Recluse hopped out of the carriage, landing gracefully on his feet. He wobbled a bit but gained sure footing once more as he continued walking forward, his staff proving to be helpful, for once.

“Wait up!” called the Sage. The Recluse rolled his eyes but slightly slowed his pace. The Sage was still injured, after all.

Common courtesy. The Recluse wasn’t a monster, after all.

“Where are we going?” the Sage asked, a hop in his step.

“I dunno, but definitely not the small town right up ahead,” deadpanned the Recluse. “Come on, Sage. I thought you were smart?”

“No need to be rude,” grumbled the Sage, bristling.

“Just living my Truth,” the Recluse chuckled humorlessly.

The Sage’s sole response was sticking out his tongue, ever the mature cookie.

The Recluse sighed and affixed his attention to the rise and fall of his feet as he walked down the path leading to the heart of the town.

— — —

Stepping into the bustling marketplace, the Recluse was quickly reminded how much he hated being around people.

Stall owners clamored for the attention of passing cookies and shoppers pushed through crowds as if they all had somewhere important to be, when in reality, they didn’t really have anything but the narcissistic ideal that they were entitled to get places first.

The Recluse detested it.

The Sage, on the other hand, seemed to have come alive, eyes sparkling almost as brightly as his hair in the day’s sun. He chattered with the locals, asking veiled questions disguised as casual banter. The cookies seemed thrilled to speak with him, but once they realized who he was, he’d flinch inwardly and abruptly end the conversation. Politely, of course.

The Recluse watched the process play out a few more times before he got annoyed by the Sage’s light flush as he talked to a female cookie who was trying much too hard to be subtle with her flirtations. He grabbed the Sage by the arm, hooked his elbow in his and said, loudly, “Fiance, don’t we have somewhere to be?”

The lady immediately stiffened, and the Sage opened his mouth.

“We’re still doing that fiance schtick?”

“Of course.” The Recluse practically dragged the Sage away, towards a stall selling jellyberries. The scent was heavenly and reminded him of his youth, when jellyberry season was the best season. He closed his eyes, inhaling and recalling. “We’ve already started the preparations, so why cancel the wedding?”

The Sage frowned, tucking a strand of hair behind his ear. “I suppose,” he said. “But I’m no longer Lady Cream Berry, and being your fiance was her role.”

The Recluse considered this. “And this Deceit no longer sits well with you, because of a changed form?”

“It wasn’t Deceit,” protested the Sage. “It was merely a role. I was acting.”

“Sure,” said the Recluse, flashing white teeth as he reached out for a jellyberry. “For a cookie of Truth, you sure are a good actor.”

“Two halves of the same soul, remember?”

The Recluse froze ever so slightly, but sank his teeth into the berry regardless. “How could I ever forget?”

“Hey!” The cookie owning the stall, a stout little thing, stared down the Recluse. “You’re going to pay for that, aren’t ya?”

The Recluse shrugged.

“I apologize for my partner,” said the Sage, and gave the cookie a few coins as compensation.

The cookie’s eyes widened. “I-I’m so sorry! Are you the Sage of-”

“No, he not,” interrupted the Recluse, and led the Sage away once more.

“You’re so prickly,” complained the Sage. “Like a cactus.”

“And you’re annoying,” countered the Recluse. “Like a wet cat.”

“Then why’d you come?” The Sage stood up to the tips of his toes, challenging the Recluse.

The Recluse clenched his fists. “I don’t need to tell you anything.”

The two stared each other down. A small cluster of people stopped to watch the two cookies, their tension palpable in the air.

The Sage was the one who broke away first, this time around. “I’m still hungry.” He sideyed the jellyberry in the Recluse’s hand as if it were the source of all his troubles.

A stall owner cleared his throat behind them. He gestured to the bear jellies laid out on display. “Care for a free sample, Sage of Truth?”

The Sage brightened. “Thank you!” He walked over to the stall and grabbed two bear jellies.

“Biggie,” snorted the Recluse, but then was surprised when the Sage extended one of the bear jellies to him. “Oh, I’m not hungry.”

The Sage only pushed the bear jelly closer to the Recluse’s face. “I don’t care,” he said, pouting. “You haven’t eaten properly in days, Clusey.”

“Why would you care?” snapped the Recluse, words much too harsh.

“Because,” said the Sage simply.

When it was clear he wouldn’t relent, the Recluse sighed and took a bite. “Happy?”

“Jubilant,” beamed the Sage.

The feeling forming in the pit of the Truthless Recluse’s stomach as the Sage of Truth regarded him with that warm fondness was simply his body reacting to the food, his stomach unused to being full after years of being victim to his eating disorder.

That was all.

Nothing more.

Chapter Text

The Truthless Recluse rarely dreamt, but on the occasion he did get a visit from the Beast of Sloth, it was in the form of memories.

Tonight’s recollection was one from his past, in the days before his friends grew corrupt, before his own Soul Jam grew cold, before he was even known as the Truthless Recluse.

Pure Vanilla Cookie was out on a stroll, leaning on his flower staff for support. He hummed to himself as he walked through his garden of lilies, the sky a perfect shade of serene blue, his kingdom peaceful.

A pained cry broke through the silence, making Pure Vanilla wince.

“Curious,” whispered Pure Vanilla as he twirled around, robes swishing with his movement, as he made his way towards the source of the sound.

Pushing hair out of his eyes as he bent down, knees creaking from age, Pure Vanilla had found a little blueberry bird, lying wounded on the ground. It appeared to be that it had fallen from the branches of a tree, its wings rendered useless as its bones bent at awkward angles, punctuating flesh.

Pure Vanilla stared at it.

He hadn’t seen so much blood in ages…

More memories of the dark days of war pushed at Pure Vanilla’s skull, making stars burst behind his eyes.

Taking in a deep breath, Pure Vanilla exerted as much healing White magic as he possibly could into the poor little thing.

His efforts were for nothing.

The magic was too weak and too slow; it didn’t work.

Pure Vanilla was too late.

Try as he might, he couldn’t save his bluebird.

— — —

The Truthless Recluse woke from a bump in the road, the carriage bouncing up and down from the rocks below. He groaned, pressing a hand to his forehead, which was drenched in sweat.

He heard a soft, “Mm,” coming from Sage, and he looked down at him, his heart skipping a beat.

The Sage of Truth was curled up close to the Recluse’s body, his body warmth enveloping the other in a blanket of comfort. As the Recluse shifted, the Sage only moved closer, mumbling in his sleep.

The Recluse sighed, resigning himself to the fact that he wouldn’t be able to properly move for a while.

He watched the Sage sleep, just as he’d done for years.

The Recluse always thought everyone looked so much younger in slumber than in life.

Something about how the muscles of their face relaxed, their expression rendered peaceful.

Sage’s blueberry scent paired with the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest helped lull the Recluse back into sleep, his eyelids growing heavy and his vision blurry.

The Beast of Sloth took pity upon the Recluse.

He didn’t dream again.

— — —

The following morning, they didn’t talk about it.

— — —

“We need to start buying more food, more often,” the Sage was saying, but the Recluse was hardly listening. He had stumbled upon a flower stand and was studying the white lilies on display.

“I heard jellybeans have a long shelf life,” the Sage said, poking at the Recluse’s ribs.

“Mhm,” said the Recluse, not even sparing him a second glance.

The Sage bit his lip. “You really like those flowers, don’t you?” the Sage asked, teetering on the edge of frustration.

“Hmm?” The Recluse’s mismatched eyes flickered towards the Sage for a moment before returning to the lilies.

“Did you know, when I cry, my tears are made of milk, and when they make contact with the ground, milkcrown flowers grow?”

This finally captured the Recluse’s attention. He raised an eyebrow. “Really?”

Now that he finally had the Recluse’s regard, the Sage suddenly felt nervous. He wiped his sweaty palms against his pants as he laughed awkwardly. “Yep!”

“That’s why there are so many milkcrowns in the Blueberry Region,” hummed the Recluse, stroking his chin in thought. “You sure do cry a lot.”

“Most of it was when I was younger,” said the Sage defensively. “Now I’m more careful about where and when I cry.”

The Recluse considered this. “Okay.” He reached out and grabbed the Sage’s hand, oblivious to the deep blue flushed rising to the Sage’s face. “Let’s go get those jellybeans you were talking about.”

A thrill of satisfaction struck the Sage. “You listen to me,” he said, smiling.

The Recluse rolled his eyes. “Even though my vision is shitty, my other senses have yet to dull. I can hear perfectly well, regardless of whether or not I want to.”

“My dear Recluse, there’s a stark difference between hearing and listening,” grinned the Sage.

“Mere synonyms,” dismissed the Recluse.

“Quite the contrary!” The Sage then launched into an unnecessarily deep conversation about the difference between “hearing” and “listening,” spanning everything from the definitions of the words themselves to the roots of the Cookie language.

The Recluse complained, but he secretly enjoyed the sound of the Sage’s voice, soothing to his ears.

Not that he’d ever admit that aloud, though.

— — —

As the two cookies approached the jellybean stall, a scene broke out.

“Thieves! Thieves!” a shrill voice yelled out.

“Where?” gasped the Sage as he whirled around, only to be grabbed out of the way by the Truthless Recluse.

The Sage’s eyes widened as a giant lollipop made of magic whizzed past them and deteriorated into red sparkles of candy shards as it hit the wall just where the Sage had been standing mere seconds ago.

“What magnificent skill!” exclaimed the Sage.

“Do you have no self preservation skills?” asked the Recluse, eyebrows creased together. He had no idea how this cookie survived Earthbread so long?

The Sage opened his mouth to respond, but then huge gems of poison magic flew in the general direction of the stalls, sending cookies scrambling for safety.

“Such great control!” the Sage gushed.

The Recluse used his staff to deflect a gem that was about to hit the Sage in the face. “You’re suicidal,” surmised the Recluse.

The Sage stuck out his tongue at the Recluse, then ran in the direction the attacks were coming from.

“What are you doing, you idiot?” hissed the Recluse as he raced to catch up with the Sage, who was already floating away. “Normally, cookies run away from danger, not towards it!”

“I need to see the amazingly talented cookies responsible for this!” shouted the Sage, as if this were enough explanation.

“Fool,” growled the Recluse, reaching out to grab at the Sage, but he was far too high up in the sky for that.

So he stood in the town square, like an idiot, watching as the Sage flew further and further away, closer to possible peril.

— — —

Using his magic as a tracker, the Sage quickly found the hideout the cookies had found refuge in. Landing gracefully on the roof, he waited for them to return, humming to himself and sipping on tea he had summoned from his Other Realm.

After about five minutes of waiting, the Sage heard the door kick open, and a pair of cookies waltzed in, the shorter of the two excitingly chattering.

“We’re going to be so rich!” she cheered.

“Be quiet,” the taller cookie scolded the other, but he was smiling.

His smile, however, faded from his face when he saw the Sage.

“Get behind me, Candy Apple Cookie,” the cookie said, dark purple hair falling to his eyes.

“What is-” Candy Apple’s eyes widened and she squeaked. “Black Sapphire! There’s an intruder-”

“Yeah, no shit,” scowled Black Sapphire. He waved his staff menacingly in the Sage’s direction. “Not a step closer.”

The Sage raised his hands up placatingly. “Don’t worry,” he chuckled. “I come in peace! As the kids say nowadays, no cap!”

Black Sapphire and Candy Apple blinked at the Sage in confusion.

The Sage frowned. “Ah, is that outdated slang? Sorry, my younger students try to explain their words to me, but their meaning always tends to evade me.”

“Students?” Recognition flickered in Black Sapphire’s eyes. “Shit. You’re the Sage of Truth.”

“He’s the Sage?” Candy Apple studied him with scrutiny. “I thought he’d be taller.”

Black Sapphire elbowed Candy Apple, and she yelped, stepping on his foot with her heel. He howled and tackled the other to the ground, where she pulled at his hair to escape.

“Oh my,” chuckled the Sage, watching the scene unfold.

“Stop it, you brat,” growled Black Sapphire, holding Candy Apple at an arm’s length. “Air jail for you, now.”

“Noo!” wailed Candy Apple, clawing at the air.

“Cookies, calm down.” The Sage cleared his throat, immediately drawing their attention. “I’d like to offer you two a deal.”

“A deal?” Candy Apple asked dubiously.

“Yes. And like all good deals, this benefits both parties.” The Sage grinned, a flash of pointed white teeth. “You two study and hone your skills under me, and I won’t turn you guys in to the authorities.”

Black Sapphire’s eyes narrowed. “You’re threatening us.”

“It’s not a threat. Think of it more like…a warning.” The Sage smiled as he picked dirt from underneath sharp nails.

Candy Apple tugged at Black Sapphire’s clothes. “Saph,” she whispered. “Isn’t the Sage the best teacher in all of Beast Yeast?”

“And?” whispered back Black Sapphire. “Since when do you care?”

“If he’s the best teacher, then he’s probably very rich,” said Candy Apple.

Black Sapphire considered this. “Fine,” he told the Sage. “We’ll take you up on your deal.”

“Splendid!” The Sage practically beamed, his hair sparkling with excitement. He grabbed the two cookies into a tight hug, which both tried to escape from, with little success. “I wasn’t expecting to pick up two new students while on the road, but I’m happy nonetheless!”

— — —

The Recluse was not happy nonetheless.

“Sage.” The Recluse took in a deep breath and looked up to the sky, as if he were asking the Witches for guidance. Or for lightning to strike him at this exact moment, who knows. “You can’t just adopt random kids you find on the street.”

“I can, and I will!” replied the Sage cheerfully.

“We’re not kids,” complained Candy Apple, who was shushed immediately by Black Sapphire.

“And besides,” the Sage continued. “I didn’t adopt them, I just took them under my wing.”

The Recluse’s eye twitched. “Am I right to presume that they’ll be traveling with us to Sweetest Sugar’s paradise?” He prayed he was wrong, even though he already knew.

“Yup!”

Black Sapphire eyed the carriage. “That’ll be a tight fit.”

“Well, apologies, but we weren’t expecting unwanted companions,” said the Recluse coldly, tilting his head to the side unsettlingly.

He held Black Sapphire’s gaze until the other turned away, shivering.,

“Recluse, don’t be rude,” tsked the Sage, clicking his tongue.

“Don’t tell me what to do,” snapped the Recluse. “I didn’t even want to be here, remember?”

“Then why are you here?” Candy Apple asked.

Heat rose up the Recluse’s neck and with a huff, he turned towards the carriage and slammed the door closed behind him.

“That went better than expected,” said the Sage cheerfully.

Black Sapphire sighed. “What did we get ourselves into?” he wondered aloud.

— — —

The Recluse refused to talk to the Sage for the rest of their journey.

No matter how much effort the Sage put as he extended olive branch after olive branch towards the Recluse, he would not speak a word.

As the days of silence turned to weeks, the Sage’s Soul Jam began to ache with emotion and yearning for the unbridled company of his other half, some days being so bad that he couldn’t even leave the carriage.

On one of these days, Candy Apple Cookie had come to the Sage, offering him water to drink. She was surprisingly caring.

“What’s wrong?” she’d ask him.

The Sage would always change the subject.

“Did you read the books I’ve assigned?”

Candy Apple would wrinkle her nose. “No.”

The Sage’d sigh. “Well, at least you’re being honest. Most cookies would lie.”

“Like the Recluse,” guessed Candy Apple.

The Sage stared off into the distance, letting his vision grow fuzzy from defocus. “Yeah, like the Recluse.”

— — —

The Recluse was growing increasingly concerned for the Sage, though he refused to voice any of his worries.

The Sage had been staying in the carriage more and more often, deciding against visiting the villages they passed, even though the Recluse knew he enjoyed doing so. He barely ate, and nearly always had a hand pressed to his Soul Jam.

One day, the curiosity and general concern got the better of the Recluse. He walked over to the dark haired cookie, who was currently piling a plate of jellies.

“What’s wrong with the Sage?” the Recluse murmured as he took a seat next to him.

Black Sapphire gave him a sideways glance, then returned his attention to his food.

“Don’t ignore me.” The Recluse leaned closer. “Or you’ll live to regret it.”

Despite himself, Black Sapphire flinched as he slid his seat a few inches away from the Recluse. “I dunno, why don’t you ask the Sage himself, if you’re wondering.”

“You’re his student,” grunted the Recluse.

“And you’re his partner,” Black Sapphire countered.

The Recluse clenched his jaw. “No, I’m not.”

“Sure.” Black Sapphire stuffed a jelly into his mouth and took his time chewing. “I don’t know what lover’s quarrel you two are having, but whatever it is, it’s making Candy Apple nervous.”

Crossing his arms over his chest, the Recluse scowled. “I don’t care about her.”

“And I don’t care about the Sage, yet we both find ourselves in positions to help the other help those they care for.” Black Sapphire swallowed before taking another bite. “So go talk to the Sage.”

The Recluse stood up. “I will, but not because you’re telling me to.”

Black Sapphire shook his head, amused. “Say as you wish. Don’t shoot the messenger.”

“And I don’t care for him,” clarified the Recluse. He wasn’t sure why he felt the need to clear up the air, but he did so nonetheless.

“If you say so.” Black Sapphire looked up at the looming figure of the Recluse, whose shadow cast darkness over his head. “May I enjoy my meal in peace?”

The Recluse left without another word.

— — —

Near the carriage, just outside its open window, milkcrown flowers had bloomed, its delicate petals curled downward like tears.

The Recluse stared at the flowers before stepping over them to enter the carriage.

— — —

The Sage was wiping his face with his sleeve when the Recluse stepped in.

“Ah! Clusey! What a delight to see you,” exclaimed the Sage, with way too much enthusiasm. His smile reached his ears, yet his eyes lacked that sparkle of his. “Er, weren’t you visiting the village?”

“I was.” The Recluse sat opposite of the Sage. “But there was something missing there.”

“What was missing?” asked the Sage, confused, then his mind caught up. His cheeks heated as he mumbled. “Oh.”

The Recluse fidgeted with his sleeves, suddenly sheepish. “I-I’m not good with words.”

The Sage laughed nervously. “I’ve noticed.”

The Recluse tried for a glare, but the points of his daggered gaze were dull. “I didn’t handle it well,” he said quietly. “I wasn’t expecting you to bring more people, and I think it’s obvious that I’m not very good with people.”

“Yeah.” The Sage studied his shoes. They were nice shoes. “Me neither,” he confessed.

“You’re so good at talking to people, though,” said the Recluse. “I used to…” His words trailed off as he got lost in some memory or train of thought.

“I’m good at pretending.” The Sage sighed. “I learned social cues by studying other people, but I still don’t understand them. My friend, Sweetest Sugar, jokes that I was baked like a robot, with all the brains yet lacking the emotions.” He laughed, trying to casually play off his words.

“You are quite insensitive,” agreed the Recluse.

“Hey!” The Sage hit the Recluse’s shoulder. “I thought you were trying to make me feel better, not worse!”

“When have I ever?” the Recluse smirked, earning him another slap. “Owie.”

The Sage hesitated, then asked, “Can we start over?”

The Recluse grunted. “For us to do that, there must’ve been something that ended in the first place.”

The Sage’s Soul Jam grew warmer as he squealed and hugged the Recluse close to his chest. “Oh, Cluesy!”

“You’re breaking my ribs,” complained the Recluse, but he did not push away the Sage as he’d usually do.

The Sage took this as progress.

— — —

“Is it even legal for a single place to be so…pink?” The Recluse wrinkled his nose as he gazed at the Garden of Delight cropping up into view ahead of them.

“Lemme see!” Candy Apple pushed the Recluse out of the way and pressed her face into the window. She gasped audibly. “It’s so pretty!”

“I hate to agree with the Recluse, but it’s obnoxiously pink,” said Black Sapphire. He flicked his hair out of his face, only for his bangs to return over his eyes. “It’s hideously designed.”

The Sage chuckled. “Don’t let Sweetest Sugar hear you say that,” he warned. “She takes quite a lot of pride in her Paradise.”

Black Sapphire sniffed as he slid back into his seat. “I don’t see why.”

“That’s rude,” the Sage frowned.

“And I’m a rude person,” grinned Black Sapphire.

The Recluse couldn’t help but snort.

“You both are meanies,” declared Candy Apple. She tugged on the Sage’s sleeve, eyes wide. “Can I braid your hair?”

The Sage felt honored. “Of course.”

Black Sapphire fluttered his eyelashes. “May I braid your hair, Recluse?”

The Recluse’s sole response was to flip the purple cookie off, then returning his attention out to the window. He frowned as small winged creatures of various pastel colors flew closer to their carriage.

“Sage?” he asked, hoping his voice didn’t betray his nervousness.

“Hmm?”

The Recluse gestured out.

“Oh!” The Sage giggled. “I see Sweetest Sugar has already sent out her helpful sugar angels.”

“How did she know we’re here?” Candy Apple wondered aloud.

“The sugar peacocks!” answered the Sage cheerfully.

Black Sapphire was skeptical. “Their eyes are closed, though. How do they see us?”

“Ah! That’s all part of the secret, my dear student.” The Sage punctuated his words with a flick of his wrist, nearly hitting the Recluse in the face with his hand. “Their true eyes are those on the tips of their tail plumes.”

“Ooh!” Candy Apple waved at the peacocks as they passed. “Can they see me right now?”

“Probably,” replied the Sage. He turned to Black Sapphire. “Even if Sweetest Sugar’s Garden may seem tasteless to you, everything has a purpose. It is a tough job, after all, to run a Paradise as such.

“The peacock thing is clever,” admitted Black Sapphire.

The Sage straightened his shoulders, clearly satisfied.

The Recluse rolled his eyes. “Congratulations,” he deadpanned. “You just won a debate against a teenager.”

“A win is a win, regardless of how small it may be,” the Sage said.

“I suppose when success is so little, one must take joy in the little things.” The Recluse stared off into the distance. “Eventually, you will come to learn that competition is but only meaningless agony.”

The Sage blew a raspberry, sending spittle flying. “What a buzzkill!”

The Recluse would argue that the Sage, too, would be a buzzkill if he also carried the heavy burden of Truth on his shoulders alone, but he was too tired to argue.

A pale pink sugar angel tapped gently on the window, which Sage lowered for them.

The sugar angel cleared its throat, then spoke in a high pitched voice. “Blueberry Milk Cookie, the Sage of Truth, you are humbly welcomed by Sweetest Sugar Cookie, Muse of Passion, into her Garden of Delight!”

“Consider me honored,” chuckled the Sage. To the Recluse he whispered, “She always insists on these formalities.”

The sugar angel turned to study the other cookies. “The Muse of Passion wishes to know who your comrades are.”

“Oh, that’s the Truthless Recluse, that’s Black Sapphire Cookie, and the one braiding my hair is Candy Apple Cookie!”

A bright yellow sugar angel quickly jotted the names down.

“Okay!” The lead sugar angel smiled warmly. “You may enter Paradise!” And with a wave of its tiny arm, pink magic descended upon the carriage, consuming it in a sugary haze.

The Recluse’s eyelids grew heavy and he blinked.

When the Recluse opened his eyes once more, he was no longer in the carriage, but standing inside the heart of the Garden, his companions surrounding him, all dazed except for the Sage.

“Welcome!” An airy voice greeted them. A cookie with soft pink hair, big white wings,and a glimmering Soul Jam affixed by a diadem flew over to them, her smile never faltering. “Welcome to my Garden of Delight!”

“The Muse of Passion,” Candy Apple breathed.

“Sugar!” squealed the Sage and ran over to the Muse, hugging her tight to his chest, not even giving her a chance to properly land.

The Muse took it all in good stride, laughing and wrapping her thin arms around the Sage in return. “Blueberry! It’s been too long!”

“It has,” the Sage agreed.

The Recluse suddenly felt awkward, clearing his throat.

The Muse released the Sage. “Oh! And who are your friends over here?”

“I’ve already introduced them to your Sugar Angels,” said the Sage, giggling. “You already know their names.”

The Muse pouted her cheeks. “I may know their names, but not their identity, their role in your life! Come on, Blueberry. You always come alone, and this is the first time you’ve brought people along. You can’t blame me for being curious, can you?”

The Sage’s features softened. “Of course not.” He pointed at Candy Apple and Black Sapphire. “These two are my newest students! We picked them up at a nearby village on our way here.”

“I see!” The Muse peered at the cookies. “Blueberry is one of the best teachers in all of Earthbread.”

The Sage blushed. “I wouldn’t say the best…”

“Oh, don’t be humble.” The Muse playfully swatted the Sage’s shoulder. “Give yourself some credit.”

The Sage preened. “You’re too kind, Sugar.”

The Recluse couldn’t stand another second of this back and forth conversation. He cleared his throat again.

“Hmm? Right, I forgot to introduce you to the Recluse, Sugar!” The Sage pointed to the Recluse. “That’s the Truthless Recluse, and his name is really all you have to know about him.”

“And he’s here because…?” The Muse’s question hung in the air.

“I’m not exactly sure myself,” chuckled the Sage.

“The Sage of Truth, not knowing something?” The Muse’s tone, although teasing, seemed…veiled?

“I came for my own reasons,” interjected the Recluse, squaring his shoulders. He tilted his head to the side. “The Sage, on the other hand, came in hopes of discovering Dark Moon magic in your Garden.”

The Muse gasped. “Dark Moon magic?”

The Sage winced. “Now you don’t hesitate before speaking the Truth?” he mumbled under his breath, pinching his nose. Then he molded his lips back into a wide grin of comfort. “Sweetest Sugar, worry not!”

The Muse sniffled dramatically. “How could I not worry, if your friend speaks of great danger in my Garden?” She looked as though she were on the verge of tears.

The Sage shot the Recluse a dirty look, who simply shrugged in response. He turned back to the Muse. “Spicey said that his spices have been detecting Dark Moon magic all over Beast Yeast in general, not just your Garden. I came here for research purposes, and to assist!”

Trying for a weak smile, the Muse said, “Well, if you’re here to assist, I feel infinitely better.” She placed a hand over her heart. “There have been monster attacks recently, more than usual, but I didn’t spare them a second thought. It is mating season, after all.”

“That is true,” agreed the Sage. “Perhaps it’s merely nature running its course, that’s all.”

“How does mating season have anything to do with the frequent attacks?” Black Sapphire asked, then immediately regretted it once he saw the glimmer in the Sage’s eye.

Luckily, a yellow cookie interrupted the Sage before an impromptu lesson on the mating cycles of cake hounds could be sprung. “I apologize for intruding-”

“Sugarfly Cookie.” Sweetest Sugar addressed her warmly. “No need for such trivial apologies. Tell me, what is it you need?”

Sugarfly Cookie’s wings trembled. “Pavlova is disturbing the residents of the Garden- again.”

The Muse sighed. “Come on, friends,” she said, a hint of tiredness creeping into her tone. “I’ll take you all to visit the springs on my way.”

“Okay!” said the Sage cheerfully as he floated after his friend.

“Something’s off,” grumbled the Recluse as he followed the Sage and the Muse, who were excitedly chattering to each other.

“I know,” whispered back Candy Apple, to the Recluse’s surprise. She pursed her lips together. “Why is she always watching everyone?”

“Be quiet, both of you,” snapped Black Sapphire.

“Don’t tell me you too have fallen under her charm. Even the kid didn’t.”

“I’m not a kid!” protested Candy Apple.

“I’m not that easily swayed,” Black Sapphire assured. He crossed his arms. “I’m taking my time, watching, observing. I don’t like going all in until I know all of the odds stacked against me.”

“Smart,” granted the Truthless Recluse. He stared at the Sage of Truth, who was still talking animatedly to the Muse of Passion about his encounter with the Herald of Change.

“Fortunately for me, though, I have nothing left to lose.”

Chapter Text

There was rarely an occasion presented when the Sage of Truth could actually spoil himself, since he was quite the diligent hard worker, so when it did arise, the Sage couldn’t help but indulge in it. He handed over his hat to one of the sugar angels floating nearby and accepted a glass of berry juice from another. He took a sip from it as they walked.

The Muse of Happiness led the group deeper into the garden, singing softly a song about their Divine Creators. Sage bobbed his head along to the tune cheerfully as the Truthless Recluse sulked behind them. Candy Apple ran ahead, only to be pulled back by a scolding Black Sapphire when she tried to eat the glazed sugar off the leaves of the bushes.

“Pavlova?” Sugarfly called out, the syrupy colorful wings attached to her head trembling. “He was trying to shoot an arrow at a few residents,” she informed the cookies.

The Recluse squinted. “An…arrow?”

“Yes,” said Sugarfly calmly, as if this made perfect sense.

“Ah, Pavlova has a tendency to be…forceful with his matchmaking,” giggled the Muse, hiding her smile behind her pale hand.

“I remember once, he tried to give me one of his love diagnoses,” the Sage said, recalling. “He was extremely disappointed that the only thing in my heart was my thirst for knowledge.” He could conjure up the ghastly offended expression of the cookie of love in his mind, the disbelief painted in his features as clear as day.

“To be fair, you don’t seem the sort to fall in love, Blue,” said the Muse lightly, though she cast a side glance at the Recluse. “Of course, you’ve always been one to…surprise.”

The Recluse bristled, yet remained silent. He did not wish to interpret that sly sparkle in her eyes.

The Sage shifted his shoulders and took another long sip from his glass. “This is a strong drink,” he commented.

“Pavlova?” Sugarfly called out, the Recluse’s half hearted certainty of ever finding the young cookie dwindling from low to lower.

“I don’t think he wants to be found,” chuckled Black Sapphire, flicking his bangs to the side with a gloved hand.

“I think you might be right,” sighed the Muse, her soft white wings twitching at her sides. Then she brightened. “Blue, wanna go visit the springs?”

Had the Sage been more sober, he might’ve protested, perhaps requested to further research the monster attacks, maybe even observe them firsthand. But the berry juice already ran sluggishly through his veins, and his smile came on easily as he exclaimed, “Sure!”

The Recluse squinted. “Sage, are you sure-”

“Yes, I am.” The Sage tried to take another sip, but his glass was now empty. He frowned, unsure of when that had happened.

The Muse fluttered her eyelashes. “Will you be joining us, Recluse?”

The Recluse response was a quick, blunt, “No.” He elaborated, “I don’t like getting wet.”

Pursing her lips, the Muse nodded. “Okay…” She glanced at the children. “How about you two, hm?”

“No thank you,” said Candy Apple cheerfully. “I wanna explore with Sapph.”

Black Sapphire rolled his eyes, but allowed Candy Apple to drag him away, towards some maze made of candy, already complaining about the likelihood of sullying his pants with dirt.

The Sage smiled softly, watching the pair walk off into the distance. The Muse elbowed him, redrawing his attention. “To the springs?”

“Sure you don’t wanna go?” The Sage tilted his head to the side, allowing his lip to jut out in a pout.

“I’m sure,” retorted the Recluse.

The Sage reached out and held the front of Recluse’s robe, pulling him closer. “I’ll miss you,” he whined.

The Recluse’s eyes widened, ever so slightly. “You had one drink,” he said, not being too gentle as he practically shoved the Sage off of him. “And you’re acting completely delusional.”

“The drinks at the Garden of Delight are most certainly stronger than what you’d find in the Blueberry Region,” chuckled the Muse. “The cookies here, at my paradise, express different ways to…forget their worries.”

The Recluse sorted the meaning of her words. “They get wasted,” he interpreted. “That doesn’t sound healthy.”

The Muse shrugged. “I am not one to deny their path to Happiness.”

Getting drunk wasn’t true happiness, the Recluse wanted to argue, but the Sage had wrapped his arms around him and pulled him close again.

“If you came with me to the springs,” the Sage murmured into the Recluse’s robes. “I’d be happy. Reallllllly happy.”

“I’m not coming,” the Recluse said firmly, putting his foot down. He twisted out of the Sage’s grip, the Sage’s arms dropping to his sides in clear disappointment.

Ignoring the stab of guilt jabbing at his heart, the Recluse turned on his heel and set out in the opposite direction.

After all, he had a mission of his own.

— — —

A few more drinks in, and the Sage’s words were flowing easier than cookies slipping on a floor covered in oil.

“I don’t get Clusey,” the Sage was saying. He was half submerged in warm water, a glass in his hand being refilled by a sugar angel. He waved his hand in the air, nearly hitting the sugar angel. “He’s always changing, y’know? Sometimes he’s so kind, and others, he’s soooo cold.”

To the Muse’s credit, she continued nodding along with minimal amusement displayed on her face, though the Sage probably wouldn’t be able to tell in his current state of mind. “Mhm.”

“He left me a plushy, y’know that? It almost got burned with my spire, but I cleverly hid it in my pocket dimension.” If the comment about the burning of spires distressed the Muse even the slightest, she did not show it. “I miss him, but he’s also…” The Sage’s slurred words trailed off as he got lost in thought. “So…”

“You really like him, don’t you?” The Muse asked, gently as she bumped the Sage’s bare shoulder with her own.

Tears threatened to spill from the Sage’s eyes as he nodded. “I like him a lot. Like, like a lot.” He lifted his hands and showed the distance between them, to display how much. “A lot.”

The Muse rested her head on the Sage. “Mm. I know how you feel.” She sighed. “Did you know, I have a dear friend of my own.”

The Sage gasped and sat up straighter, causing the warm water of the springs to splash a little with his movement. “Do tell,” he begged.

“Oh, I don’t know.” The Muse smiled shyly, her wings subconsciously folding in on themselves, squished behind the small of her back. “My darling likes keeping things…private.”

“I won’t tell anyone,” swore the Sage.

“Even if you get drunk?” teased the Muse, tapping the Sage on the nose with her index finger.

The Sage blinked, once, twice. Then he laughed. “Oh, Sugar! Y’know you can trust…me!” He hiccuped in the middle of his sentence.

The Muse laughed, too. “Perhaps later, when you’re sober. I doubt you’ll remember anything right now, anyway.”

“Only more the reason!”

The Muse considered this. “Oh, okay.” She glanced around, even though they were alone save for the sugar angels. She leaned in close and whispered in the Sage’s ear. “She showed up in my garden one day and from the moment I saw her, well, she practically stole my heart.” She blushed.

“Awww, love at first sight,” giggled the Sage. “How…” his voice trailed off as he furrowed his brow, the rest of his sentence eluding him. “It really is…”

“It is, isn’t it?” agreed the Muse, sighing.

“It is.”

— — —

Not many cookies tended to realize this, since he did rather a good job of hiding his disability with his cloak of Deceit, but the Recluse was blind. He could only see things close to him, and relied on his seeing flower staff for the rest.

However, his staff had a mind of its own, often.

The staff didn’t even try to hide its displeasure at the Sage leaving. It had enjoyed tilting towards the Sage, the way sunflowers tilted to the sun. Without the Sage there, the staff refused to look exactly where the Recluse needed it to, allowing him to blindly rely on peripheral vision.

“You’re being such an ass right now,” complained the Recluse.

The staff, incapable of speech, remained silent, naturally.

“I don’t even know why you miss him,” continued the Recluse. Long years of solitude left his staff often his sole listener. “He’s nothing but infuriating, a constant headache.”

“Seems like you really like him,” a soft voice chuckled. The Recluse whirled, immediately on alert, holding his staff not as a guide anymore but as a potential weapon.

“Who goes there?” he demanded.

“Just a friend.” The flutter of wings whizzing by made the Recluse hair strands fall into his face. The Recluse gritted his teeth hard enough against each other to give a dentist a heart attack.

“I have no friends,” the Recluse growled.

A cookie of short height, fluffy pink, red and white hair and cream wings of unusually small size, landed close by, a smile on his face. “I am Pavlova Cookie,” he said with a bow.

The Recluse recalled. “The cookie the Muse was looking for,” he surmised.

Pavlova’s face twisted into something unpleasant. “Um. Don’t tell her I’m here.”

The Recluse resisted the urge to roll his eyes. “I have no intention to do so,” he assured the young cookie. He tilted his head to the side, recognizing an opportunity at hand, one he wasn’t willing to let go of. “At least, not if you answer my questions.”

“Questions?” Pavlova stiffened ever so slightly.

“Yes.” The Recluse allowed a sly smile to overcome his face as he tilted his head. “You were hanging around here all day, mm?”

“I have been, yes,” Pavlova said slowly.

“I, too, have been drawn here. The aura of the Dark Moon magic by this tree is quite powerful, is it not?”

Fear set into Pavlova’s eyes, making the hearts in his eyes crack with emotion. “Dark Moon- there’s no such thing here!”

“Little liar,” breathed the Recluse, stepping uncomfortably closer to Pavlova.

Pavlova’s wing trembled. “Ah, the Muse is looking for me, so-” he made a desperate hand gesture while nodding. “I’ll be off.”

The Recluse watched the cookie fly off into the distance, his question already answered, his suspicions proven correct.

Sighing, the Recluse knelt to the ground, studying the knots in the roots of the tree. One of them, closer to the center, looked peculiarly shaped like…

A heart.

The Recluse’s heart sank.

He recognized that symbol all too well.

“Shit,” he whispered, rubbing the bridge of his nose. He needed to focus.

Blinking back the threat of tears, the Recluse took his staff and shattered the knot of the tree, just as he had done all those years ago as Pure Vanilla Cookie, hunting down the Beasts that were once his friends. The wood shattered into millions of shards of pink sugar, revealing a tunnel beneath the tree.

Taking in a deep breath, the Recluse crawled into the small dark space.

Following the path because he had no other choice, the Recluse found himself falling into a mindless state in which he didn’t think about anything, wouldn’t think about anything, his thoughts dull and sluggish as he put one hand in front of the other, shuffling forward.

Eventually, the tunnel began to turn up again, and the Recluse could make out thin threads of light. He blinked, having left his staff behind since it hadn’t fit with him, trying to readjust his vision with little success.

Once he entered the room, the Recluse stood awkwardly, dusting off his robes. Squinting, he saw the general shape of a cookie with large pink hair lounging on what appeared to be a daybed.

“Hollyberry Cookie.” The Recluse kept his voice even, despite the rising speed of his heartbeat.

“Old friend!” Hollyberry grinned, though her eyes did not sparkle like they had used to as she sat up, making the fruits weaved in her hair jingle with movement. She held out a chalice filled with dark berry juice. “Long time no see!”

The Recluse couldn’t help but flinch. “How are you here?” he asked. It wasn’t possible, her presence. It shouldn’t be possible. And yet…

Hollyberry’s expression twisted into something sour, then she took another swig from her chalice and her face relaxed. “My Soul Jam, of course! My, even that wretched tree of silver cannot prevent the inexplicable pull of my other half.”

The Recluse flinched once more at the subtle dig.

It’s your fault, a voice whispered in his ear.

Your fault, that they’re all in the tree.

Taking in a deep breath, the Recluse confirmed, “You’re not physically here, are you though?”

“Of course I’m not.” Hollyberry tilted her head to the side, her eyes turning to daggers as she said, “You ensured that, didn’t you?”

Clenching his fists at his sides, the Recluse refused to look at Hollyberry. “I will not allow you to guilt trip me, Hollyberry Cookie. I did what I had to do, for the betterment of the cookie kind.”

“And how has cookie kind repaid you for your sacrifice, eh?” Hollyberry spat at the Recluse’s shoes. “They forgot you, the great Truthsayer, now reduced to, what? A hermit?”

The Recluse stood his ground. “And what about you, former Protector of Happiness? Lazing around in Sloth. It’s almost a good thing that your kingdom is all dead. They would have to see their Queen Mother like this.”

Hollyberry flung her chalice at the Recluse, who, expecting an outburst, nimbly stepped out of the way just in time. It shattered upon impact with the wall.

“How could you say this!” she hissed. “I still protect Happiness, albeit with a different method.”

The Recluse raised an eyebrow, ignoring his rising fear. “How? By sitting in a tree, getting drunk?”

“No.” Hollyberry stalked over to the Recluse, chest heaving with her rapid breathing. “Why do you think I’m here, Pure Vanilla Cookie?”

The Recluse wanted to curl up at the sound of the name, but he still stood tall with his shoulders square. “Enlighten me,” he challenged. With little meaning to his life, he now lived for the thrill of hitting others where it hurt.

Hollyberry waved her arms around. “Look where we are! The Garden of Delight! Sweetest Sugar’s Paradise.” She grinned slowly to reveal sharpened canines. “Where all cookies may be happy.”

An unsettling feeling crept up on the Recluse, breathing down his neck like a psychotic snowman. He fought to control his breathing.

“And?”

“We will be expanding soon, of course.” With a flick of her wrist, another chalice appeared out of thin air in her hand. Hollyberry returned to her lounging position from earlier. “With the assistance of Dark Enchantress Cookie.”

The Recluse would’ve loved to say he was surprised. He allowed his eyelashes to flutter shut. “I recognized the aura of her Dark Moon magic,” he whispered. “I’ve suspected…”

“Of course you knew already,” chuckled Hollyberry before letting out a belch. “Oh! Excuse me! As I was saying earlier, you knew her best, after all.”

Trauma was a funny little thing. It splits your life into two halves. One from before the event, and one after. The two halves seemed like almost separate entities, circling one another, yet never truly touching each other.

“I was close with White Lily Cookie,” corrected the Recluse. “Dark Enchantress Cookie is but a separate entity.”

“Keep telling yourself that,” grunted Hollyberry. “You think you’re so high and mighty, don’t you? Giving up your own Soul Jam, abstaining from using it, so that Corruption never bled into your soul. Even if your form didn’t change, Pure Vanilla, you’re the real monster out of all us Beasts.”

The Recluse finally opened his eyes and held his former friend’s gaze. What he saw there, he did not like, but it wasn’t exactly anything new. He drew in a sigh.

“When I was younger, I used to question. When does a ripple become a tidal wave? When does the reason become the blame? When does a man become a monster?”

“The stupid musings of a scholar, musings that never get truly answered,” Hollyberry dismissed.

Recalling the words of another wise scholar, words echoed in his mind. “Sometimes, the answer is no answer,” echoed the Recluse.

Hollyberry glanced up at him, bleary-eyed and annoyed. “You’re only further proving my point.”

“And you, mine.” Swift as lightning, the Recluse grabbed Hollyberry’s shield, and, before the other could react, shattered it against the floor. It broke into a million pieces, one shard of wood cutting deep into the palm of the Recluse’s hand.

He watched the red jam drip down his tan dough as Hollyberry bellowed out a scream, flickering in and out of existence.

“It was nice seeing you,” the Recluse said finally, his voice implying the opposite as he made his leave, robes swishing behind him.

“Y-yo-you monst-er!” stammered Hollyberry as her essence drained, her soul returning back to consciousness in recollection at the Silver Tree, probably.

Although his friend could no longer see nor hear him, the Recluse smiled, a smile with no lips and all teeth. The smile of a serpent, oh so different from the smile his past self wore, all warm and fluffy, like a sheep.

“Bold of you to assume I still care.”

— — —

Throughout the Garden, a shudder of energy was felt, waking even the most happily drowsy of cookies out of their stupor.

A cookie with pink hair and horns blinked rapidly, dropping the tray of cheeses it had been holding. “Gah! What am I doing here?”

Another, a cookie with a purple pony tail, gasped loudly. “My cream sheep! I’ve abandoned them!”

A cookie of yellow sobbed. “I don’t know how I got here,” he whined.

The Sage of Truth watched everything unfold, the chaos only growing as more cookies grew aware of the situation, rubbing the sleepiness out of his eyes as his skull throbbed. Urgh, how he hated hangovers. “Sugar?” he asked. His friend was silent, eyes downcast. “Care to explain?”

The Muse of Passion lifted her head, her face streaked with tears, her mascara dripping down her cheeks in clumps of white. She sniffled tragically, “My darling has left the Paradise.”

The Sage frowned. “Your…darling?” His memory was hazy as he tried to sort through their earlier conversation at the springs. “Sugar…”

Before he could prod her another further, the Truthless Recluse spawned from behind a bush. Brushing leaves off his robes, the Recluse looked up at the Sage. “Our work here is done,” he informed him.

“What ever do you mean?” The Sage plucked out a twig from the Recluse’s hair, stifling his amusement.

“I rooted out the Dark Moon magic source.” The Recluse addressed the Muse, “Apologies that your plans of expansion have been thwarted.”

Realization dawned on the Sage. “Oh, Sweetest Sugar, what have you done?”

“I didn’t want her to leave,” whined the Muse, entirely breaking down on the Sage’s shoulder. She was a mess of snot and tears, and the Sage wrinkled his nose at the thought of the mess on his clothes. “She told me she’d stay, be my Protector of Paradise, but then she left!”

“How awfully tragic,” said the Recluse flatly. He tugged on the Sage’s sleeve. “Let’s go.”

The Sage raised a hand. “Wait. Sweetest Sugar needs consolement. And besides, where are you in such a rush to be?”

Straightening his spine, the Recluse said, “Fine. Tend to your friend. I’ll be waiting for you at the carriage, and when you’re back, we will make our leave to the Silver Kingdom.”

Chapter Text

For all his great qualities, the Sage of Truth truly only had one shortcoming, really. In matters regarding empathy, he was as useless as an empty box with no lid, incapable of holding anything of value.

“I can’t believe she left me, left my Paradise,” wailed the Muse of Happiness, furiously wiping her dripping makeup with a handkerchief the Sage had offered her. “I offered her so much, so much!”

The Sage awkwardly patted her back. “You did your best,” he said with a grimace that was meant to be an encouraging smile.

“It wasn’t good enough! Not for her.” The Muse took in a shaky breath. “I wasn’t good enough.”

“Ah, Sugar.” The Sage wished for any other situation than this one. “Don’t say that.”

“But it’s the truth!” she sniffled, brushing her bangs out of her face. During her breakdown, her hair had become a fluffy pink mess. A thought occurred to the Sage, and he began to help her undo her hairdo, hoping the rhythm of the brushstrokes would help ease her emotions.

“Truth is like a kaleidoscope,” said the Sage, thoughtfully. “Tilt it left and right, both upside and down, it’s different every time, yet constantly beautiful.”

The Muse pouted out her lip. “It doesn’t feel beautiful right now.”

“Truth, thou art a cruel one,” the Sage sighed. He cupped his hand against the Muse’s cheek. “You’ll come to see its beauty, my dear friend, still cloaked in ignorance.”

It seemed that the Sage had said something wrong, for the Muse broke down in tears once more, even stronger than before. Hoping to preserve the cleanliness of his top this time, the Sage stepped back, offering her a plush pillow to hug instead. The Muse buried her face into it, her sobs muffled by the fabric.

The Sage glanced out the window, watching the horizon turn a hazy orange as the sun set. He worried his lip between his teeth. The Recluse was waiting for him, and only witches above knew how long his patience would last. He wondered, again, what exactly had happened while he had been inebriated. He didn’t like being kept in the dark, especially not for long.

The Muse noticed the Sage’s longing glances. “Blue,” she whispered. “If you wanna leave,” she curled her fingers in the ruffles of her dress, “I won’t stop you.”

Something shifted in the Sage’s gut. “Uh, are you sure? You still seem distressed.”

The Muse tried for a smile, though it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “I’m fine,” she told him, before amending, “I’ll be fine.”

The Sage tried his very best to cloak his relief. “Ah, are you sure, though?” he repeated, just in case, though his fingers already twitched from impatience at his sides.

With a nod, the Muse said, “I now realize I can’t force anyone to stay at my Garden.” She laughed, hollowly. “Besides, you’ve always been a restless spirit. Go ahead, your dearest is awaiting you.”

A lump formed in the Sage’s throat, and he chuckled nervously to hide his discomfort. “I wouldn't call the Recluse my ‘dearest…’”

The Muse had the nerve to pat the Sage on the head, as if he were a misbehaving child, a child who didn’t know better. “Of course not, Blue.” She made a shooing gesture. “The matter still stands. Go to him.”

The Sage stood, rolling his eyes at her insistent urging. “Fine, I will.”

Blowing a kiss at him as he left, the Muse called out, “Good luck!”

“I won’t be needing it,” grumbled the Sage, but the Muse was already long out of earshot.

Cookies milled about the Garden, the panic from earlier fading. Some cookies had chosen to leave, but to the Sage’s surprise, most had stayed. Perhaps they had gotten used to Paradise. Perhaps they had nowhere else to go.

Regardless, the crowds made it unnecessarily hard to locate the Sage’s students.

The Sage pushed and squeezed through the bodies, squeaking, “Excuse me!” and “Apologies!” when he stepped on toes with his heels.

He was used to crowds parting like seas in his presence, cookies stumbling over themselves to make way for the great Sage of Truth, noble Truthsayer.

Here, in the Garden, though, the Sage was nothing but another cookie, a mere droplet in the roaring sea.

There was something comforting in the inferiority, the blandness of blending in as one.

The Sage scanned the masses, eyes widening as they zeroed in on Pavlova Cookie. “Pavlova!” he exclaimed, pushing forward to reach said cookie.

Pavlova turned towards the sound of his name, then quickly turned around, feigning ignorance.

The Sage closed the distance between them, clapping his hand on the young cookie’s shoulder. “Pavlova! Sugar’s been looking for you, y’know that?”

Pavlova wrinkled his delicate little nose. “Oh, trust me, I know.” He rubbed at the red bands fastened around his wrists.

The Sage rocked his heels. “Say, have you seen-”

He couldn’t get his words out before Pavlova squealed. “Sage!” he gasped, grasping at the Sage’s clothes and pulling him closer. “Your heart!”

“Whoa!” stammered the Sage, gently pushing the youngster off of him. “Be careful, there!”

“It’s full of love,” gushed Pavlova, eyes sparkling. “I’ve never seen your heart so full!”

The Sage’s brain short circuited. As he tended to do when caught off guard, he began to ramble. “Uh, did you know, in Norse-Cookian, being full translates to being drunk? And I was. Drunk, that is. Earlier.”

“You’re not drunk right now,” Pavlova dismissed. “It’s even better than that! You are in love, true love!”

“Hah! That’s funny.” The Sage immediately regretted interacting with Pavlova Cookie. He searched, desperately trying to find a way to escape this situation. “You and Sugar, with your little theories built up from barely any ground, save for your delusions!”

“Hey!” Pavlova puffed out his cheeks. “It’s not delusional; it’s love.”

“Sure.” The Sage rubbed at his neck, suddenly interested at the grass trampled flat underneath his feet.

“Soo…” Pavlova leaned in, close enough for their noses to touch. “Who’s the guy?”

“There’s no guy,” blushed the Sage, avoiding eye contact.

“Sure,” Pavlova echoed the Sage’s earlier dismissal. “That’s what they all say. Next thing you hear, though, wedding bells!”

“I-I’m not getting married!” The Sage stared at Pavlova in shock, his face colored a deep blue. “You need to lay off the fanfiction, young man.”

“My consistent ingestion of slash fic is not to blame here.”

“Keep telling yourself that.” The Sage pointed behind him. “I, uh, need to find my students, so if you excuse me-”

Pavlova Cookie let out an exaggerated sigh. “You’ll be off, then, I suppose.” His face brightened. “Good luck with your beloved!”

“He’s not- I don’t have-” the Sage began to protest, but Pavlova had already fluttered off elsewhere, probably to harass other cookies.

Pinching the bridge of his nose, the Sage turned on his heel and began to call out, “Candy Apple Cookie? Black Sapphire Cookie?”

There was no reply, but he figured if he was annoying and loud enough, they’d turn up eventually.

After a few more minutes of desperate searching and little success, Candy Apple poked her head out from behind a bush. “Sage!”

“Candy Apple!” The Sage, who hadn’t expected her to spring up from out of nowhere, clutched a hand to his chest. “You startled me!”

“Sorry,” she giggled, stepping out and allowing Black Sapphire to appear as well. He was shaking sugar out of his hair, complaining about syrupy stains.

“We’ve got to go,” the Sage said, taking Candy Apple’s hand in his own.

“Already?” Candy Apple looked upset, while Black Sapphire seemed the happiest the Sage had ever seen him.

“Oh, thank the witches! This place is so humid, it’s doing a number on my hair.”

“Your hair is always hideous, no matter the weather,” snapped Candy Apple, sticking her tongue out at her brother.

Black Sapphire returned the gesture in kind.

“Don’t squabble,” said the Sage, but his stern words carried a warm tone.

“What’s the rush, anyway?” prodded Candy Apple. She began to swing her arm, leaving the Sage no choice but to swing along with her.

“The Recluse is awaiting us, in the carriage,” the Sage told her, pasting a patient smile on his face when he felt anything but. His conversations with Pavlova and the Muse had left a sour taste in his mouth, his emotions feeling more tangled up than ever before.

Black Sapphire exchanged a look with Candy Apple. “Where to?”

“The Silver Kingdom of the Fae, apparently.” The Sage thought back to the map the Herald had given him, still hidden safely in his pocket. He patted it down to confirm its presence. “The Recluse says we must go there.”

“And just because he said so, you will?” Black Sapphire appeared skeptical, and rightfully so. “You’re the Sage of Truth, and you’re listening to the advice of some hermit?”

The Sage hummed. “Ah, but the Recluse isn’t some hermit. If I tell you two a secret, will you promise to keep it?”

Candy Apple frowned. “Isn’t that a form of lying?”

“No one will assume you know this information, and so you won’t be asked. There will be no opportunity presented to you in which you’d have to lie, unless you feel the inexplicable desire to fib for no reason. Though I suppose I am in no position to dictate you on what to do.”

With a bounce in her step, Candy Apple urged, “Tell us!”

“Oh, I don’t know.” The Sage covered his mouth with his hand, deep in thought.

“Do as you wish, Sage,” said Black Sapphire, feigning nonchalance as he flicked his bangs, despite the rising curiosity curling in his chest like a cat.

“The Recluse used to be a king,” the Sage finally said.

“A king?” Candy Apple gasped. “But we have no kings nor kingdoms, here in Beast Yeast!”

“That is true,” smiled the Sage. Candy Apple beamed at the prospect of a question well answered. “He was a king in Crispia.”

Black Sapphire frowned. “Crispia’s abandoned though, isn’t it? Wasn’t there some war, or something?”

“Yes, you are correct,” said the Sage, and even though Black Sapphire wasn’t nearly as expressive as his sister, he couldn’t help but preen. “It was called the Dark Flour War, and Crispia took many hits. Most of the land there, nowadays, is destroyed, reduced to crumbs.”

“Does that mean that all of the Recluse’s friends are dead?” asked Candy Apple, eyes wide.

Her words hung in the air like a wet blanket. The Sage nodded stiffly.

“I am not sure how involved in the war he was. All I know is that as long as any cookie remembers, the Truthless Recluse has lived in his Spire, at the Peak of Truth, here in Beast Yeast.”

“He’s no longer king, I suppose,” guessed Black Sapphire.

“Correct again.” As they neared the area where the carriage was parked, the Sage warned, “Not a word out of you two, okay? The Recluse wouldn’t want me sharing this information with anyone.”

The siblings nodded in understanding. The Sage smiled, a small fanged tooth peeking out from his lower lip.

“Why does it have to be a secret, though?” Candy Apple inquired.

Black Sapphire checked out his nails, pretending not to listen in on their conversation.

The Sage let out a laugh that bordered on nervousness. “Ah, you see. The Recluse never told me this Truth himself.”

The siblings gaped at the Sage. “How’d you find out?” Black Sapphire couldn’t refrain from questioning.

A sly smile paired with the ominous response of, “The Truth always comes out,” was all the two got as a response.

— — —

The Recluse had dozed off in the carriage. He had curled up against one of the seats, laying down on his side, eyes closed and chest rising and falling slowly.

The Sage stared at him. Over their extensive course of a journey, he never had caught the Recluse in slumber, the other always waking up just before him. Now here he lay, defenseless and vulnerable, the muscles of his face relaxed.

“Sage?” Black Sapphire's voice knocked the Sage out of his stupor. “Should we wake him? How else are we to sit?”

The Sage pondered this. “I’ll wake him,” he decided.

Black Sapphire took a few healthy steps back, taking Candy Apple with him.

The Sage rolled his eyes. “Calm down, you two. It’s not like he’s a feral animal of some sorts.”

“Yes, he is,” said Black Sapphire, his eyes very serious.

Ignoring the drastic measures his students were taking, the Sage bent down close to the Recluse. From this closeness, he could see tiny freckles dusting the Recluse’s tan skin. He swallowed hard, then poked the Recluse with his finger, careful not to pierce dough with his sharp talon-like nails.

When that didn’t elicit a reaction, the Sage shook the Recluse by the shoulders, until the other groaned and opened his eyes groggily.

The Sage opened his mouth to greet his friend, only to be hit over the head by the Recluse’s flower staff.

“Ow!” The Sage fell back a bit, clutching the sore spot and rubbing at it. He glared at the Recluse, who was now sitting up. “Why’d you do that?”

The Recluse blinked, then molded his features back into a mask of flat emotionlessness, efficiently hiding his sleepy surprise that had been displayed earlier. “Ah, Sage.”

“You hit me.” The Sage’s words dripped with personal offense.

“Apologies.” The Recluse dropped his staff, where it fell onto the ground unceremoniously. “Simple self defense instincts.”

“Who requires self defense in their sleep?” Furiously, the Sage readjusted his hat upon his head.

“You’d be surprised,” retorted the Recluse.

Black Sapphire nudged his head through the door. “Is it safe?” When he saw the Sage, he smirked and mouthed, “I told you so.”

Looking back, the Sage had to admit his response was immature, but at the moment, he felt perfectly justified in flipping Black Sapphire off.

The Recluse tsked. “Sage, I thought such behavior was ‘inappropriate and rude.’”

The Sage turned around and redirected his fingers at the Recluse, who simply glanced up in exasperation, as if praying to the witches for assistance.

Candy Apple was a cookie who waited for no invitation, so she ran into the carriage excitedly, bouncing onto a cushion. “Let’s go!” she exclaimed with a clap. “I really wanna go to the Silver Kingdom.”

Black Sapphire wrinkled his nose. “I don’t. More time in a stuffy little carriage with these two? No thanks.”

The Sage was offended. “What’s so bad about me? I mean, I suppose I see the disallure the Recluse’s presence brings to the table-” this earned an attempted kick in the shin from the Recluse that the Sage nimbly danced away from. “-but I like to think that I’m pleasant enough company.”

Pursing his lips, Black Sapphire explained, “Watching you two dance around each other in circles, like some kind of couple that always argues in a television show, a couple you just know will end up together in the end, so the whole back and forth thing just gets annoying.”

Both the Sage and the Recluse blushed. “A couple, we are not,” the Recluse said, but he wouldn’t meet anyone directly in the eyes.

The Sage chewed his lip. This was the third time this day that someone had implied, not so subtly, that the Sage and the Recluse had some sort of tension or chemistry. He wasn’t sure how to feel about it.

And so, the Sage did the same he always did on the rare occasion he wasn’t sure about something. He changed the subject.

“Clusey, care to share with the class, why are we going to the Silver Kingdom?”

The Recluse shifted. “We need to check on something.”

The Sage waited. “Care to elaborate?”

The Recluse reclined, smirking. “No, I don’t think I want to. It’ll be a nice surprise, hm?”

Drawing in a breath, the Sage said, “Recluse. My pookie bear.”

The Recluse’s expression darkened immediately. “Don’t call me that.”

“I will, if you continue to refuse enlightening me.”

“The Sage of Truth, asking for enlightenment?” The Recluse smiled, though his eyes lacked the sparkle that generally accompanied the expression. “My, how the tables have turned.”

“And the turns, tabled.” The Sage wrung his hands. “Please tell me, Recluse. I need to plan properly.”

“You’re smart. Make a hypothesis, or something.”

The Sage was rapidly losing patience. “How am I to make a hypothesis, if I am unaware of the situation at hand?”

“You’re smart,” repeated the Recluse. “I’m sure you’ll figure something out.”

Black Sapphire rubbed his forehead. “See what I said?” he told Candy Apple. “Back and forth.”

The Sage was far too flustered to properly respond.

The Recluse turned to the biscotti horses in front. “To the Silver Kingdom,” he directed. They let out a neigh each as a response. And then they were off.

— — —

The Sage was, actually, well acquainted with the Silver Kingdom. His dear friend, Silver Salt Cookie, had travelled to the Silver Kingdom of the Fae. After he had finished his schooling, the Sage had gone to visit them to study the life tendencies of the cookie fae in comparison to the regular cookies. It was still a concept that continued to interest him.

Reaching into the pocket realm of his Other-Realm, the Sage pictured a brown leather journal, and when he took out his arm, he held the very thing itself. He grinned, then realized a few things had fallen out along with it.

“Is that a bunny?” Candy Apple lunged for the plush.

“No!” the Sage screeched as he grabbed his plush and tossed it back into the Other-Realm. He attempted to compose himself when faced with odd expressions. “Uh, that’s a rabbit.”

The Recluse snickered. “Sage, you didn’t strike me as the sort to sleep with a plushy.”

A warm flush rose up to the tips of the Sage’s ears. “I will not tolerate any bullying nor belittling,” he sniffled. “Especially regarding such a childish manner.”

Black Sapphire hid his choked laugh of amusement with a cough.

Choosing to ignore everyone in the carriage, the Sage flipped open his journal, cringing at the sloppy handwriting of his overly enthusiastic younger self.

“What’s that?” Candy Apple asked as she poked her head over the Sage’s shoulder.

Gently, the Sage pushed her out of the way. “A journal, in which I had recorded my past findings concerning the Faerie Kingdom. How to find it, the livelihood of its citizens…”

“Is it hard to find?” frowned Black Sapphire.

“Oh, yes it is.” The Sage flicked over to a certain page and showed it to the young adult. “It’s located in Faeriewood, sitting at the beginning of the River of First Silver and Southwest of the Silver Mountain.”

Black Sapphire and Candy Apple shared a look of confusion. “That means nothing to me,” said the purple haired young adult, speaking aloud for the both of them.

The Sage chuckled, ruffling Candy Apple’s short cropped white hair with his empty hand. “That’s the whole point, my poor and ignorant students. No one knows exactly where it is located, since the entire area of Northwest Beast Yeast is undocumented save for whatever the Faeries have mapped.”

“How are we to find it, then?”

The Recluse opened his mouth to respond, but the Sage interjected. “I’ll send word to my fellow Virtue, the Guardian of Freedom, Silver Salt Cookie. They’ll make sure that someone meets us, and guides us to where we need to go.” The Sage couldn’t help but shoot a heated look over the shoulder at the Recluse.

The Recluse scowled. “I have a plan, y’know.”

“Do I know that, though?” The Sage lifted his chin. “Where’s the guarantee, if you won’t tell me, excuse my language, if you won’t tell me shit?”

Black Sapphire whispered not so quietly in Candy Apple’s ear. “Back and forth, like a yoyo.”

Candy Apple giggled, yet quieted immediately when both the Sage and the Recluse shot her a glare.

“Anyway.” The Sage cleared his throat. “As I was saying. I’ll alert Silver Salt.”

“And you, Sage, oh great noble Truthsayer, are so much better than me. Would you mind sparing a few seconds of your valuable time and tell us just how you are going to contact them?” The worst part of it all was the way the Recluse fluttered his eyelashes of white to punctuate the end of his blatantly sarcastic sentence.

The Sage turned his nose up in the air. “Humph! Nice play on my ego, touche.” He addressed his students, “I will enchant a blueberry bird.”

“There are no bluebirds occupying this area of Beast Yeast,” the Recluse couldn’t help but point out.

The Sage grinned. “Ah, but I can create one!” He snatched a black ribbon from Candy Apple’s hair, who let out a complaint that was quickly silenced by Black Sapphire, and closed his eyes. He whispered an incantation underneath his breath and when he allowed his vision once more, in his hand sat a chirping blueberry bird.

“Fascinating,” breathed the Recluse, reaching out to the bird, hesitating a few inches before making contact. “How-?”

“Dark Moon magic,” beamed the Sage.

The Recluse’s expression immediately soured. He turned to his side and faced the window.

“Will I get my hair tie back?” Candy Apple asked hopefully.

“Soon,” promised the Sage. He ripped out a yellowed yet blank piece of paper from his journal and quickly scribbled with the ink of a pen he summoned before letting out a sharp whistle, calling the bird’s attention. He wrapped the paper around the blueberry bird’s foot and with a wave of his hand, the bird was off.

“I miss my hair tie,” whined Candy Apple.

“Shh,” chided Black Sapphire, ripping out a piece of cloth from his sleeve and attempting to pull Candy Apple’s hair into a small pigtail.

Candy Apple’s eyes widened. “Sapph! You ruined your outfit, for me!”

Black Sapphire simply grunted in response.

The Recluse asked the Sage, without looking back, “What’d you write to the Guardian of Freedom?”

The Sage was nothing if he wasn’t petty. “Apologies, but I don’t particularly like extending certain courtesies to others when they won’t do the same to me,” the Sage quoted the Recluse.

The Recluse whirred around then, lip curled. “Using my own words against me? You truly are insufferable.”

“I’d like to think that that’s one of my most attractive qualities.” The Sage smiled, tentatively.

After a moment of silence, the Recluse said, in mock surprise, “You have attractive qualities?”

That earned him a slap to the wrist.

Eventually, the chatter quieted down. Candy Apple had fallen asleep, resting on Black Sapphire’s shoulder, while the young adult himself snored softly. The rocking of the carriage was starting to get to the Sage, as well. Pure stubborn pettiness wanted him to stay awake, to refuse to fall prey to Sloth before the Recluse did.

But the Recluse had taken a long nap before, and the Sage hadn’t. The Sage also had ingested a large amount of berry juice earlier, which was finally starting to catch up on him once more. Drowsiness filled his head like cotton and before he knew it, he was fast asleep.

At some point during the night, the Truthless Recluse had taken his own cloak off of his shoulders and layed it over the Sage of Truth’s shivering shoulders.

“Rest up, bluebird,” whispered the Recluse. He glanced out the window, where the moon seemed to almost wink at him. “You’ll be needing it.”

Chapter Text

The Master of the Ivory Pagoda, Pale Flour Cookie, felt that something was off in the air. She might have dismissed it as a particularly chilly breeze of the wind, or a soured peach in the garden wafting its scent towards her window, had her haetae not bound to her room.

“Cloud Haetae Cookie?” The Master blinked down at them, curled up in her lap, whimpering softly. She ran a hand through their fluffy white fur. “What ever is the matter?”

“The spices are here,” whined Cloud Haetae, covering their ears with their paws. “I wouldn’t have bothered you during your meditation otherwise, Master, but you know how loud they can be…”

The Master stood, carefully holding her haetae close to her chest. “I see.” She pursed her lips. “The Herald did tell me he had news to share. I just didn’t realize it was so dire, that he’d show up in person so quickly.”

Cloud Haetae looked up at the Master with wide yellow eyes. “Is something wrong?”

Gracing her haetae with a rare smile, the Master gently set them down. “Worry not, dearest.” Her robes swished around her ankles as she made her way down the ivory steps. “Whatever situation draws near, I shall handle it.”

— — —

The Wild Spices were causing a mess, the Master noticed immediately. Even though her servants had done their best to accommodate such unexpected guests quickly, there wasn’t nearly enough food nor room for all. To make matters worse, one of the spices’ begun to pass around a jug of berry juice.

The Master narrowed her eyes. The only thing worse than mercenaries with no manners were mercenaries with no manners under the influence of alcohol.

She quickly located the Herald of Abundance, Warming Spice Cookie, who was chattering quietly with one of the priests of the Pagoda. Once the priest saw the Master, his shoulders visibly sagged in relief and, after a quick yet polite goodbye, the priest was off. The Master watched him leave before addressing her fellow virtue.

“Herald.”

The Herald chuckled to himself, crossing large arms over his bare chest. “No need for such formalities, old friend.”

The Master ignored his request and forged on. “What is your business here?”

With a blink, the Herald laughed, glancing down at his feet. “Ah, Pale Flour, always going straight for the jugular, eh?” He fidgeted with a gold piercing in his ear. “I have something I must share with you. Urgently.”

Not allowing her face to betray her curiosity, the Master tilted her head to the side, prompting the Herald to go on.

“May we go somewhere private?” hesitated the Herald.

The Master nodded, leading the Herald to an obscured room. She shut the door behind him as he entered, muffling all sound from outdoors. She waited, patiently.

The Herald unraveled a weathered down piece of paper and smoothed it out against the wall. “Before you ask,” he said, rushedly. “Yes, it’s a map of Beast Yeast, and yes, I’ve been informed it looks hideous.”

“You’ve visited the Sage before me,” guessed the Master.

The Herald grunted, “Indeed I did. He was very…truthful with his thoughts.” With a sigh, he ran a sharp black nail over the surface of darkened areas of the map. “Dark Moon magic,” he informed her.

“Impossible,” the Master said immediately. “There’s no such sort of magic in the Pagoda. Flavor matters not here. You know this.”

“I know this,” the Herald echoed, running a hand through his long black hair. “But my spices have been finding traces of Dark Moon magic in all of Beast Yeast. You felt the burst of its energy coming from the South West, didn’t you?”

The Master fidgeted ever so slightly. “I did,” she admitted slowly. “But I assumed that was the Sage, in the Blueberry Region.”

The Herald shook his head. “No, that was sourced from Sweetest Sugar’s Garden.”

Eyes widening the fraction of an inch, the Master considered this. The Muse of Happiness, with her sugary pink hair and delicate white wings, would never use something so arcane like Dark Moon magic. The only Virtue who used it, with such control and power, was the Sage. Nothing else made sense, unless…

“It’s not a Virtue responsible for this,” concluded the Master, finger pressed to her lips in deep thought.

“Then who?” the Herald asked as he finally tore his attention away from the map.

The Master said what the both of them were, inevitably, thinking.

“I have no idea.”

— — —

The terrain of Northwest Beast Yeast was one of the most unruliest the Sage had ever seen, and he had seen many an unruly terrain in his lengthy lifetime.

After enchanted vines kept on curling around the wheels of their carriage, the group had to abandon it.

Teary-eyed, Candy Apple asked, “What will become of the biscotti horsies?”

“Fret not, dear student!” The Sage waved his golden staff and the horsies shrunk to the size of his palm, and he tucked them into his pocket.

“They’re so cute and tiny!” Candy Apple shrieked, clapping her pale hands against her face. “May I carry them.”

“No,” the Recluse responded before the Sage could. “You are a mere child. If you lose them, we probably won’t get back home.”

Pouting, the Sage turned to Candy Apple and said, “As much as I hate to agree with the Recluse, he’s unfortunately right. We can’t afford any risks at this point of our journey.”

Black Sapphire kicked at a rock with his foot. “How is this part of our ‘journey’ any different from the rest of it, hmm?”

The Sage and the Recluse exchanged a look, both holding different secrets of dangerous information. The Sage said, “Not much, but you know what they say. Rather be safe than sorry, right?”

“That’s boring,” complained Candy Apple.

“So is being dead, I heard,” the Recluse said. “How about you go ahead, and let us know what the experience is like? On a scale of one to ten, rate it.”

The Sage elbowed the Recluse. “That’s not funny.”

“Look who’s becoming the buzzkill now, Sage.” The Sage did not return the Recluse’s teasing smile, huffing as he stepped forward.

The Recluse stared after his other half. The Soul Jam in his pocket thrummed with energy. What was wrong with the Sage? And, more importantly, what was wrong with him, himself? The Recluse groaned silently into his hand as he followed the others.

“Let’s play ‘I spy,’” Candy Apple was saying.

“Let’s not,” suggested Black Sapphire. Candy Apple grabbed at her brother’s wings and tugged, making him let out a high pitched shriek.

“Children, please do not fight,” said the Sage, tiredly. The siblings complied, though they continued to shoot daggers at each other with their eyes.

“Are you still hungover?” The Recluse asked the Sage, quietly.

The Sage shrugged his shoulders. “I don’t think so.” He frowned, his eyebrows making that adorable crease that filled the Recluse with the inexplicable urge to reach out and smoothen it. “What, do you care?”

“I don’t,” said the Recluse hurriedly.

“Back and forth,” said Black Sapphire in a sing-songy voice.

“That got old, quick,” the Sage informed. “Come up with something new.”

Black Sapphire hummed. “You’re not denying it anymore.”

“Because you’re being a little bitch,” snapped the Recluse.

“Hey!” Candy Apple glared. “Don’t you dare call my brother a bitch!”

“I just did. What’re you going to do about it, hmm?”

“Peace, please,” pleaded the Sage, stepping in between the two of them before another fight could break out. “I have a headache.”

“Again?” Black Sapphire’s earlier teasing melted into concern. Over the course of their journey, both siblings had grown more fond of the Sage than they would ever care to admit. It made the Recluse sort of jealous, how much time the Sage’d spend with teaching them, making him almost miss the days when it was only the two of them, together, alone. Almost.

“Worry not,” assured the Sage, smiling softly. “I’ll be fine.”

For some reason, the Recluse wasn’t convinced. He could tell Black Sapphire wasn’t, either, but he let the matter drop. At least, for now.

“How much longer?” whined Candy Apple as she dragged her feet. “I’m tired, and we’ve been walking forever.”

The Recluse frowned. As much as the child’s theatrics annoyed him, he had to agree with her. The forest seemed to stretch as far as the eye could see, with no discernible changes in their environment. They were relying on the Sage and the Sage alone for directions.

“We’ll get there when we get there,” Black Sapphire hissed, pushing his sister along forward.

“That’s a non-answer,” the Recluse and the Sage said at the same time.

Black Sapphire blinked, then smiled in amusement. “Look at you two. Thinking the same things.”

“His insanity is rubbing off on me,” scowled the Recluse. “I’ve been infected.”

“Oh, shut your mouth.” The Sage tossed his sparkly hair over his shoulder. “To be on the same brainwave as me is a blessing most cookies dream of.”

“A blessing, or a curse?”

The Sage stuck his tongue out at him, before gasping. “Silverbell Cookie!”

The Recluse turned towards where the Sage was staring and sure enough, out of nowhere, seemingly, a small faerie archer had appeared, his silver wings shimmering in the strands of sunlight peeking out from the canopy of trees overhead.

The knight did not run to meet them, instead waiting for the group to make their way over. He nodded when he saw the Sage. “Sage,” he greeted.

“Silverbell, you’ve been promoted, I presume?” The Sage told the Recluse, “Last time I was here, he was but a mere page.”

Silverbell’s cheeks colored as he clutched his bow. “Sage, you were here years ago. I’ve grown since then.”

Black Sapphire had gone noticeably quiet, his cheeks flushed a light purple as he stared shamelessly at the faerie boy, in clear admiration and fascination.

“Of course, of course.” The Sage chuckled as he fixed his monocle. “How’s Silver Salt faring, hmm?”

“Well enough.” Silverbell’s wings twitched. “Why don’t you ask them yourself, when you see them?”

“Where’s the kingdom?” Candy Apple interrupted, tilting her head upward. She was by far the shortest of them all.

Silverbell’s expression softened. “You’ve got new students, Sage?”

“I do,” confirmed the Sage, smiling.

Candy Apple crossed her arms and pouted. “My feet hurt,” she complained.

Silverbell laughed, a soft tune that carried in the air. “We’ll be there soon.” He gestured forward. “Follow me.”

Black Sapphire made a scratchy sound in his throat and nodded along, ducking his head.

The Recluse rolled his eyes. “Teenagers,” he grumbled under his breath.

“You don’t like adolescents?” asked the Sage in amusement.

Glaring, the Recluse said, “I don’t like people in general.”

“I’ve noticed.”

Silverbell glanced over his shoulder. “I hope you don’t mind my asking, Sage, but who’s your companion?”

“The Truthless Recluse.”

Silverbell hesitated. “That…doesn’t give me any information.”

Black Sapphire spoke, finally. “Yeah, he does that often. Answers without really doing so.” He extended his arm out to the faerie. “Black Sapphire Cookie, at your service.”

Now it was Silverbell who was blushing. “Ah, I’m Silverbell.” He shook his hand, then let go, quickly looking away. “But I already said that, didn’t I?”

A hand covering his mouth in amusement, Black Sapphire confirmed, “Yes, you did.”

Candy Apple frowned at her brother. “You suck at flirting.”

Black Sapphire flushed. “I-I wasn’t trying to!”

“Good, then.” Candy Apple smirked. “Because you suck at it.”

The Sage watched the argument unfold. “Glad we’re out of the hot spot for once,” he said.

The Recluse shrugged in indifference, but he was thinking the same thing.

“Children, quiet down!” the Sage commanded, before the situation could escalate.

With pointed looks, Black Sapphire and Candy Apple distanced themselves from each other, lapsing into silence, though Black Sapphire drew a finger across his throat.

“Is that a threat?” growled Candy Apple softly, balling her fists at her side.

“Candy,” warned the Sage, tiredly.

Silverbell laughed again, fingers pressed against his lips. “My, Black Sapphire, your sister is adorable.”

Even though the faerie’s compliment wasn’t entirely directly intended at him, Black Sapphire melted at his words. “You think so? I mean, she is, isn’t she?”

“Don’t call me adorable!” Candy Apple screeched. “It’s belittling!”

“You are little, though,” argued Black Sapphire, turning to the Sage. “Professor, tell her the truth.”

The Sage felt the weight of everyone’s eyes on him. He saw the threat of tears and a possible breakdown in Candy Apple’s expression, the hopefulness in Black Sapphire’s, the slight blush in Silverbell’s as he subtly darted his eyes back at Black Sapphire, and the genuine curiosity in the Recluse’s. The Sage swallowed.

A little white lie never hurt anyone, did it?

But the way the Recluse was watching him, carefully…

This was a test, the Sage realized.

“Size depends on the context,” the Sage told Candy Apple. “To your brother, yes, you may seem small, but to, say, a jelly worm, I think you’re quite big.”

“Hah!” Candy Apple poked Black Sapphire. “See? I’m not small!”

“Did you-you didn’t even listen to what he said!” Black Sapphire fumed.

“Cookies hear what they wanna hear,” tittered Siverbell.

The Recluse nudged at the Sage’s shoulder, drawing his attention. “Nice save,” he whispered into his ear. The Sage shivered at the Recluse’s lips gently grazed at his ear, feeling his hot breath on his neck. “Though I think you’d call that a ‘non-answer.’”

The Sage shivered as the Recluse took a step back out of his personal space bubble and continued walking as if he hadn’t been dangerously close mere moments before.

Pressing a cool hand to his flaming face to compose himself, the Sage wondered what was wrong with him. There was something about the Recluse that made him some sort of a mess. He didn’t understand it, and personally, he did not tend to like things he did not understand.

This, however, proved to be an exception. It wasn’t…unpleasant.

The Sage fell into silence, barely listening to Silverbell as he talked of the recent party the faeries had thrown. The faeries had so many celebrations, so often, that the few the Sage had witnessed during his time in the Silver Kingdom had already blended into one. Instead, he chose to focus on the plants as they passed.

As he reached out to cup a flower with beautifully iridescent petals the Recluse asked, in his grumbly voice, “What are you doing?”

The Sage blinked. “I-I’m looking at this flower.” He gestured to it, then began to ramble, as he often did when faced with a social interaction. “Did you know, flora and fauna native to the Silver Kingdom exhibit a variety of colors and flavors, while some specimens demonstrate no color or scent at all!”

The Recluse grunted. “I knew that. I used to keep a garden, after all, and have quite the extensive knowledge of plants.” He titled his head to the side, the ghost of a smile on his lips as he gently took the flower from the Sage and brought it close to the Sage. “Does this one smell nice?”

The Sage sniffed, only for his senses to be bombarded by pollen immediately. “Achoo!” He sneezed, dropping the flower to the ground.

The Recluse let out a rare laugh, and the Sage quickly realized that he would do anything to hear that lovely sound again, even if it were at his own expense. “Sage, don’t you know the plants of the Silver Kingdom are known to make cookies sneeze excessively?”

Glaring, the Sage let out another sneeze and rubbed at his now runny nose. “If you knew this, then why’d you bring up to my face?”

The Recluse simply laughed again and gave the Sage a handkerchief from his pocket. “Here.”

As he moved, the Sage noticed something faintly glowing in the folds of the Recluse’s robes. “What’s that?” he asked as he wiped his nose with the cloth.

“What?” The Recluse glanced down, panic painted on his face for a split second before his mask of coolness went back on. “Ah, nothing,” he said as he tucked the “nothing” deeper into his cloak.

The Sage frowned, “Sure looks like something.”

Before the interrogation could go on any further, Candy Apple cried out. “We’re finally here!”

The Sage looked up, disoriented for a moment, to realize that they had made it to the Silver Kingdom, the gates glistening in the sunlight as Mercurial Knight Cookie met them at the entrance, nodding stiffly.

“Mercurial Knight!” The Sage knew better than to try to hug the cookie. He had made that mistake the first time. The cookie just stared at him, blankly. “Why are you here, and not posted at the Tree?”

In his peripheral vision, the Sage could see the Recluse tense up at the mention of the Tree. The Sage pocketed that information to be studied properly at a later time.

Monotonously, Mercurial Knight said, “The Guardian has commanded me to escort you and your companions directly to them.” He turned to Silverbell. “You. Go scan the perimeter, in case they were followed.”

“We weren’t,” the Recluse said, eyes glinting with slight threat. “I made sure of it.”

The Sage let out a nervous giggle.

Mercurial Knight remained stoic. “Nevertheless, we need to make sure. Go off on your duties, Silverbell Cookie.”

Silverbell saluted his superior. “Will do!” In a blink, he was gone.

Black Sapphire visibly deflated, now that his new friend had departed. He asked the Sage, “Why are we here, again?”

The Recluse groaned into the hand he was face-palming himself with. Did he mention how much he detested teenagers?

Wordlessly, Mercurial Knight began to lead them deeper into the kingdom.

“I have much to discuss with Silver Salt Cookie,” the Sage told his student, his patience wearing much thicker than the Recluse could ever muster himself.

“And them, with you,” Mercurial Knight commented.

The Sage cocked his head. “Are there problems?”

“When aren’t there, is a better question,” the Recluse retorted as he kicked at a stray pebble with his shoe.

“I agree with your partner’s words,” said Mercurial Knight.

The Sage blushed, and he threw his hands up in the air. “Why must everyone always call him my partner?”

Mercurial Knight’s face twitched, the barest betrayal of emotion. “Do you prefer the term ‘mate’?”

Black Sapphire barked out a laugh as the Sage grew increasingly more flustered. “What? No-”

The Recluse stared off into the distance and sighed. He wondered if this was now his fate, eternally being mistaken for the Sage’s partner.

It didn’t bother him as much as it should have.

He glanced at the Sage, at his pointed ears dusted with a dark blue blush that spread to his face. At the hair that curled around his neck, sticky with sweat. He wanted to reach out, to brush the knots out of the strands.

Clenching his fists at his sides, the Recluse set his jaw.

He needed to stop his emotions from getting in the way again. He couldn’t afford to let anyone in close, not again. It was much too dangerous, he realized.

The Recluse made himself a mental promise. As soon as he was done resolving the Dark Moon magic situation in the Silver Kingdom, he’d go back to his Spire at the Peak of Truth, just as before, and never interact with another cookie again. Not even the Sage. His heartbeat tittered at the thought. Especially not the Sage.

When he walked past the Sage of Truth, the Truthless Recluse allowed his shoulder to hit his.

One last touch.

Chapter Text

As they reached the silvery doors of the Guardian’s palace, Mercurial Knight Cookie turned and said, “From this point forward, the Sage alone can come.”

Candy Apple opened her mouth to argue, but the Sage stopped her, placing a gentle hand atop her head. “I understand,” he told Mercurial Knight. “Allow me a moment.” He bent down so that he was eye level with the child, who was clearly holding back tears. He smiled softly at her.

“I don’t want you to go, not again,” sniffed Candy Apple. “I thought the Silver Kingdom would be cool, but…” she hesitated.

“Go on,” urged the Sage.

“It looks weird. It gives me a headache.” Candy Apple scrunched up her nose in blatant disgust and discomfort. “Also, I don’t like it.”

The Sage didn’t bother turning around, for he already knew the Recluse would be rolling his eyes at the young one’s complaints. “I see. But Candy Apple Cookie, you are my student, are you not?”

Candy Apple nodded, slowly. Black Sapphire narrowed his eyes ever so slightly.

The Sage forged on. “I need your assistance in research. It’s very important, and I would like you to help me out.”

Lighting up immediately, Candy Apple asked, excitedly, “What is it?”

The Sage took out a blank notebook from the pocket dimension of his Other Realm and gently placed it in her pale hands. “I want you and your brother to document the plants you see here. A lot of new ones have grown since I’ve been here last, and my curiosity has been sufficiently piqued, to say the least.”

Black Sapphire groaned in exasperation. “Must we really do such a chore?”

“You can ask Silverbell to show you guys around.” The Sage didn’t even try to hide the slyness in his voice.

Fidgeting and blushing slightly, Black Sapphire threw his hands up in the air. “Ugh. Fine.” He grabbed Candy Apple by the arm and, with a little bit too much enthusiasm, said, “Let’s go find Silverbell, shall we?”

“And flowers,” said Candy Apple, already skipping ahead.

“And flowers,” agreed Black Sapphire, though to him, that part of their task was clearly but an afterthought.

The Sage turned to the Recluse. “What will you be doing, my friend?”

The Recluse scowled. “I’m not your friend, remember?”

A beat of silence passed between the two, carrying much more weight than any realized nor acknowledged.

“Apologies.” The Sage rested his hand on his Soul Jam of Truth. It was feeling cool, again. “Will you still grace my query with an adequate response?”

“I don’t see how this information is important. You’re not my caretaker or a babysitter of some sorts, anyway,” scoffed the Recluse, arms crossed.

The Sage’s face softened with fondness. “I never suggested anything of the likes. I was simply curious where I could find you after my meeting with Silver Salt. I believe…we have much to discuss, the two of us, don’t you?”

The Recluse searched the Sage’s face, and whatever he saw, he clearly did not like. He pursed his lips. “Fine. I’m going on a stroll, if you need to know so badly.” And with that pleasant farewell, he was off, in the opposite direction of the children.

The Sage stared after him, only being properly jolted back to reality when Mercurial Knight cleared his throat. “Ah! Pardon me, I got lost in a train of thought. Lead away!”

— — —

To most cookies, Silver Salt Cookie, the Guardian of Freedom, cut an opposing and intimidating figure.

To the Sage and the other Virtue Cookies, though, they were more akin to a soft kitten.

Unlike the rest of the Virtues, the Sage had met the Guardian in his youth, back when he was still simply known as Blueberry Milk Cookie. He had been traveling, still a young scholar, fresh as green summer grass, when he stumbled across a village, where whispers spoke of a cookie, half fae, an excellent warrior. Curiosity getting the better of him, the Sage had purchased a ticket to watch the gladiator-type fight, and had been amazed by the ease and the gracefulness in which the Guardian took down their enemies.

Enchanted by his dance-like strategy, the Sage had waited until the crowds milled out before paying the fighter a visit.

The Guardian had been flattered, to say the least, that the Sage had dissected every part of their approach, over analyzing each movement, even more so when the Sage had asked them the honor of sparring against them.

“I-I’m not sure,” stammered the Guardian, having taken off their helmet to reveal a face of scars and warm purple eyes. “No offense, Blueberry Milk, but you don’t seem to be much of a fighter.”

“Ha! Worry not.” The Sage had rolled off his sleeves and proudly showed off his own array of scars. “I’ve got more on my back. I’m more than capable of holding my own in a fight.”

The Guardian tilted their head to the side, humming softly. “If you were, then you wouldn’t have had that many scars, hmm?”

Despite the gentle teasing, the Guardian agreed to the Sage’s request, and although they easily won, they were impressed by the Sage’s incorporation of magic into his fighting. The two had gone out for drinks that night, and a steady friendship had grown.

— — —

Standing before the council room the Virtues used on the rare occasions they actually met up at the Guardian’s kingdom, the Sage couldn’t help but hesitate. Then he remembered Mercurial Knight’s silent presence, and, with a deep breath, he pushed open the doors.

The Guardian sat at the head of the table, surrounded by empty seats. They were dressed from head to toe in battle armour. The Muse was always trying to tell them that it wasn’t always necessary to be dressed so prepared, but they either didn’t understand or chose not to. The Sage took the seat across from the Guardian.

“Soo…” The Sage tapped on the table. “Greetings, old friend! Long time no see, eh? I really wish we could’ve reunited under, ah, better circumstances.”

The Guardian nodded stiffly. “Nice to see you, Blueberry Milk. I received your letter.”

“Evidently.” The Sage let out a nervous chuckle, eyes darting around. “Did you do some redecorating here? I don’t recall those curtains-”

“Blueberry Milk.” The Guardian didn’t raise their voice, but efficiently collected the Sage’s attention. The Guardian took off their helmet to reveal a face grown tired and weary from the years of ruling. “We have much to discuss, and curtains aren’t on that list of things, I’m afraid.”

“If only they were,” sighed the Sage, resting his head in his hands. The friendly chitter chatter segment of their meeting was clearly over, so the Sage just jumped right in. “I’ve already informed you of the different sort of Dark Moon magic infesting Beast Yeast, yes?”

“You did, but I need more information.” The Guardian waited for an elaboration.

The Sage summoned his magic. Strands of light formed, creating two lines. In the first box, he wrote, WITCHES.

“The very original source of Dark Moon magic came straight from the divine Witches that had baked us,” the Sage told the Guardian. “They strung it from the Dark Side of the Moon, and it is very rare for cookies to use it.”

The Guardian nodded his understanding, and so, the Sage moved onto the next box.

Here, he wrote, COOKIES. “The only living cookie to use Dark Moon magic in modern day is, well, c’est moi.” The Sage smiled softly. “The reason why is because this forbidden magic had a cost on the cookie body.”

The Guardian nodded once more. “I know. That’s why you’re physically weak.” Their expression softened slightly at this. This information used to be a well kept secret the Sage held close to his chest, until one day when he had passed out and Pale Flour had evaluated him.

The Sage felt suddenly uncomfortable, and he moved on. In the third and final box, he wrote, THE REBORN. He let his arm hang by his side as he waited for the Guardian to read the letters.

“The Reborn?” His friend’s confusion was clear. “I-I don’t think I’m sure what that is supposed to mean, Blueberry Milk.”

“The Reborn,” the Sage repeated. “I am unsure of the reliability of this story, but when I was visiting a certain cookie, an old and mysterious cookie, at their Spire, I had found a scroll with a retelling.” He drew in a breath and sat back down.

“There once was a cookie, with a thirst for knowledge.”

“Like you?” asked the Guardian, hesitant to interrupt.

“Sort of.” The Sage fidgeted with his sleeves. Some part of him wondered if this was, truly, his story to tell. His Soul Jam thrummed, its energy reminding him that he was the Sage of Truth. His sole purpose was to tell the Truth, no matter the circumstances involved may be. He cast away all feelings and continued,

“Her name was White Lily Cookie, and she was a Soul Jam holder. Dark Moon magic had always been a point of curiosity for her, and she always wondered why the Witches baked cookies. An age old question, and one she was determined to answer.”

The mention of other halves of Soul Jams would’ve concerned any other cookie, but the Guardian remained stoic. They already knew some of this, and connected the dots for the rest. After all, it was their kingdom that housed the infamous Tree.

“Her friends, the rest of the Ancient Heroes, warned her of the dangers presented. But she did not listen, and off to the Silver Kingdom she went.”

“Blueberry Milk,” the Guardian said, carefully. “I think I know this story already.”

The Sage let out a hollow laugh. “You might know threads of it, but not the full length. And besides, Salt, I thought you knew it was rude to interrupt one while one is speaking?”

The Guardian’s cheeks colored slightly. “Apologies. Please continue.”

“While at the Silver Kingdom, she met with the Guardian at the time, Elder Faerie. She helped him plant a magical sapling, which eventually would grow into the Tree you and your people now sought out to protect. Elder Faerie had wanted to repay White Lily for such a grand gesture, such a grand gift. She asked for only one favor.”

The Sage paused, holding his breath for dramatic effect.

“The way to the Witch’s Banquet. Every one thousand years, on the Night of the Witches, the Witches meet up to share a delicious meal.”

The Sage had lapsed into silence again, and the Guardian tested the waters carefully. “Blueberry Milk, may I ask a question?”

“Of course.” The Sage’s eyes were still unfocused as he spoke, though.

The Guardian cleared their throat. “Why did White Lily Cookie want to go to the Banquet? And how is the way there as valuable as the Tree itself?”

“Excellent question!” The Sage smiled, but it felt off. “The scroll didn’t explicitly state the reason why, but I presume she went to observe, or perhaps ask a few questions about the purpose of the baking of cookies. The Witches only shared the information concerning the Banquet with very few Fae, so it was quite valuable, my friend.”

“But you know about it,” guessed the Guardian.

The Sage straightened his spine. “Well, I do not know exactly everything.”

“You know enough about it,” the Guardian amended.

“Eh, I suppose so. Anyways, the Banquet…wasn’t exactly what White Lily envisioned, to say the least.” The Sage tugged at his side bangs absentmindedly.

The Guardian waited, leaning forward subconsciously in anticipation. The Sage was quite the crafted story teller, pausing at all the right parts, drawing suspense as easily as one braids their hair.

“She found out the reason why the Witches bake cookies,” the Sage said finally, the register of his voice so low the Guardian had to strain their ears to hear.

“Why?” breathed the Guardian.

The Sage’s words were barely above a whisper.

“To eat.”

The Guardian stared at the Sage. “No. You’re pulling my leg, aren’t you?”

The Sage swallowed hard, nausea rising back up in waves eager to claim him, as they had done the first time he had read the scroll he had nagged from the Recluse. He felt as though he might retch. He dug his pointed fingernails into the plushness of his seat.

“I wish I were lying, but unfortunately, it is true.”

No longer able to sit still, the Guardian began to pace, still reeling and digesting this information. “Our Divine Creators. Who gave us life, the tools we need for prosperity.”

Tears threatened to come up, and the Sage blinked until the prickling burning sensation in his eyes subsided.

“I have yet to finish my story,” he said, tone remaining light even as he sunk deeper into his cushion. Maybe he’d get lucky, the atoms would align perfectly, and he’d sink completely, claimed by the matter below his bottom.

Faltering in their step, the Guardian asked, incredulously, “There’s more?”

The Sage could not help but flinch. Echoes of the Recluse’s words from all those years ago pushed at his skull, threatening to overtake him. He pushed through, trying his very best to ignore them.

He didn’t exactly succeed, but he didn’t fail, either.

“In her shock, White Lily Cookie had stumbled from the table.” The Sage let his eyelids flutter shut. “She fell into what the scroll calls the ‘Ultimate Dough,’ and was reborn as Dark Enchantress Cookie.”

“Dark Enchantress Cookie,” repeated the Guardian. They ran a hand through their hair. “Blueberry Milk, are you sure of the credibility of this scroll?”

“Yes,” the Sage said immediately. He had no doubt that it was true, the whole horrible ordeal. He saw no other reason for the Recluse to hide the scroll away, to hide himself away.

The Guardian wrung their hands. “I see,” they finally said.

The Sage fidgeted awkwardly. “See what?”

The Guardian couldn’t help but roll their eyes with slight affection. “It’s a figure of speech, Blueberry Milk.”

Recoiling slightly, the Sage fumbled to cover up his slip up. “Ah, my bad!” He thrummed his nails against the table, making a much too loud of a sound. He winced and sat down on his hands instead, not entirely sure what to do.

After all, he had just shattered the core of the very belief all cookies hold dear to their hearts, purpose.

What was he supposed to say, now, after that drop of a bomb?

The Guardian finally ceased their pacing, sliding to sit not in their usual seat at the head of the table but closer to the Sage instead. The Sage released the breath he was holding.

“So…” The Guardian tried for a smile, but it was too torn to be genuine. “Am I correct in assuming that the recent bursts of Dark Moon magic are sourced from this ‘Dark Enchantress?’”

“You are correct.” The Sage bit his lower lip. “At least, that’s my theory.”

The Guardian reached out and squeezed the Sage’s shoulder in a gesture that was meant to be read as comforting but only made the Sage’s skin crawl with nerves. “We both know that you’re probably right.”

“Yeah,” said the Sage, but he didn’t quite believe it. He stared at his feet.

He knew the Recluse hated the spreading of Truth. He had even come down from his Spire at the Peak of Truth just to tell the Sage to stop telling it. And he had refused, resulting in the eventual burning of his own Spire.

The Sage felt his nose prickle as the threat of tears rose again. He sniffled. Would things be different if he had listened to the Recluse?

And more importantly, would the Recluse ever forgive the Sage, for the raw and painful Truth he had told the Guardian, a Truth he wasn’t even supposed to possess knowledge of?

He could only hope so.

Unfortunately, the Sage had always been more of a realist rather than optimist.

— — —

The Recluse didn’t exactly lie to the Sage, when he had told him he had gone off on a stroll.

He just hadn’t specified what he’d been doing on said stroll.

He stood now, facing the very Tree he had sealed his friends inside all those years ago. Bile rose in his throat and his already poor vision blurred as he gazed upon it.

The Recluse hated how beautiful it looked.

A silver knight cookie hovered close to him, others still standing at their post. They fluttered in front of him, silent, their face betraying nothing.

The Recluse suddenly felt uncomfortable. “I’m a friend of the Sage’s,” he told them.

The knight did not react. They simply waited.

The Recluse shifted his stance. “If you want me to leave, then just tell me.”

More silence.

Growling, the Recluse threw up his hands in defeat. “Alright. I’m leaving.”

Still silent, the knight watched him leave.

The Recluse shuddered as he left. He always thought there was something unnatural about those knights. It was either their emotionless expressions, or their flavorless bodies. He wasn’t sure, and frankly, he didn’t want to think of them any further.

He’d be back later that night, the Recluse already decided, stuffing his hands into his pockets. He groaned out loud, already dreading the portal spell he’d have to cast.

Even though he too possessed access to the same Other Realm as the Sage, it felt unnatural for him to use, like cockroaches crawling up and down his spine.

The Sage.

Just thinking his name in his mind made the Recluse’s mouth go dry, his heart skipping a beat.

He shook his head, mentally berating himself.

“What is wrong with me?” he whispered aloud.

His staff’s eyes gave him a sideways glance that read, What isn’t?

“No one asked for your opinion,” he snapped at his staff, earning himself another eye roll.

Frustration getting the better of him, the Recluse threw his staff onto the ground, his vision stuttering as it tumbled down the path.

Great. Now he was annoyed and blind.

It was all too much, all at the same time.

The Recluse leaned against the trunk of a nearby tree, originally standing but quickly sinking to the ground, sobs heaving his body. He was tired, so tired. He rubbed at his eyes, gasping for air.

Why couldn’t it all just end?

Why must he suffer so much?

The Recluse sobbed harder, pressing his forehead against his knees, fingers tangling up in the sparkly strands of grass.

Hasn’t he suffered enough?

He wasn’t sure how long he sat there, curled up in a fetal position, crying as if he were being cut up alive.

Eventually, with one final hiccup, the Recluse sat up, brushing back his muddled hair. He sniffled tragically, standing up to shaky legs.

He still felt numb inside, his sorrow and grief and pain so strong it nearly overtook his body.

Overwhelmed, the Recluse reached out for his staff, leaning on it for support.

“I’m sorry,” he told his staff, his poor vision blurred with tears. “I shouldn’t have thrown you. You’re all I have left, after all.”

The staff rolled its eyes again, but warmed significantly as the Recluse hugged it against his chest.

A few beats passed, and the Recluse returned his staff back to his right hand, as he usually did. Wiping his face, he began to male his way back to the center of the Kingdom. Perhaps the Sage was done with his meeting. The two had much to discuss.

Even though his soul still ached, the Truthless Recluse no longer wept.

He felt as though he had no more tears left to cry.

Chapter Text

The Sage of Truth and the Guardian of Freedom were walking out of the palace, the Guardian attempting half-heartedly to chatter senselessly about the weather or whatnot, but the Sage wasn’t exactly listening. He was much too busy craning his neck in search of the Recluse to properly pay attention to his friend.

“Blueberry Milk?” The Guardian gently placed a hand on the Sage’s shoulder, making the Sage jump with surprise as he was jolted back into reality.

“Ah! Salt, apologies. Were you talking to me?”

The Guardian chuckled softly, though there was still clear tension knotting their brow into a frown as they released their grip on the Sage. “Worry not, it was nothing important.”

“I’d argue that all words spoken aloud carry weights of importance, albeit on varying levels of importance,” said the Sage, brightly.

“If words aren’t important, they shouldn’t be said, don’t you think?” For the second instance in the short period of time, the Sage was nearly spooked out of his own skin as the Truthless Recluse seemingly spawned out of nowhere, appearing right behind them. The Recluse smirked at the Sage’s surprise and added, tugging playfully on the Sage’s hair, “You, however, always seem to be yapping.”

The Sage opened his mouth, stammering for words. “I-How awfully rude, Recluse! Popping out like that, unannounced?”

The Guardian watched the two, an odd expression passing over their face. “Blueberry Milk, is this the mysterious cookie who owns the scroll you told me of?”

The Recluse subtly froze, his quiet panic nearly indiscernible to anyone save for the Sage, his eyes widening a fraction. His voice hitched up a few registers with slowly but surely rising hysteria as he asked, “What scroll?”

The Sage’s face heated up. “Ah, I believe you might be mistaken, Salt!”

Catching on, the Guardian said, “I probably got confused. Sorry.” They smiled at the Recluse, sheepishly, with shyness.

The Recluse didn’t return the gesture, his lips twitching downward instead. He grabbed the Sage by the elbow and told the Guardian, “I’m borrowing your friend for a moment.”

It was phrased as a statement, the Sage noted. Not a question.

Left with no other choice, the Guardian nodded stiffly, practically powerless as he watched his fellow Virtue get dragged away by the Recluse.

Once they were sufficiently out of earshot, the Recluse whirled on the Sage. “You took a scroll from my Spire, didn’t you?”

The Sage flinched inwardly, but he maintained a calm exterior on the outside. He pasted a sweet smile on his face. “What scroll?”

Striking as quick as a snake, the Recluse slammed his arm into the Sage’s chest, and within a blink, the Sage was pinned against the back of a tree by the Recluse, who was breathing heavily now. The Sage, too, found himself struggling to breathe. He swallowed, hard.

A bead of sweat rolled down the side of the Recluse face as he stared the Sage down. “You know what scroll,” he rasped.

The Sage closed his eyes. Well, there was no point in dancing around it any longer. “Clusey,” he whispered. He felt the other’s hot breath looming over his body. “I’m sorry.”

“Sorry is not enough,” gasped the Recluse. He was shaking now, like a rabid dog. “You invaded my privacy.” His voice cracked with emotion. “You violated my trust, what little trust I had left.”

Opening his eyes, the Sage said, “I understand, perhaps sorry isn’t enough, but is this?”

Before the Recluse could even react, the Sage leaned in, closing the distance between the two cookies, their lips brushing against each other.

For a moment, everything stilled, the world around them fading into insignificant nothingness. The Recluse made a little sound of indignant surprise in his throat, and the Sage couldn’t help but smile as he reached out with his hands, cupping the other’s face.

That touch seemed to be too much for the Recluse. He broke away, gasping for air, stumbling back a few steps.

“Y-you-you.” The Recluse couldn’t seem to process words properly. All he could do was point at the Sage and nearly fall backwards.

“Careful, there.” The Sage stepped forward, catching the Recluse just in time as he was about to fall. His heart felt as though it might leap out of his chest as he helped the hermit stand up to his feet.

Scowling, the Recluse shoved the Sage away, still tripping over his own feet. “Don't,” he snarled, baring his teeth. “Don’t you dare touch me again.”

Lifting his hands up in a placating gesture, the Sage assured the Recluse, “Don’t worry. I won’t.”

He himself was much too confused with what had just happened, his head all spinning and dizzy with emotions that only confounded him further.

Wrapping his hands around himself, the Recluse murmured, “I need to…be alone.”

The Sage understood. “Do you…want me to leave?”

“Yes,” the Recluse said immediately, though there was some sadness and regret and perhaps…longing? In his eyes as he spoke the words.

But the Sage had transgressed too many barriers recently. The Recluse had told him to go, so go he would.

With a small little awkward wave of the hand, the Sage was off to the path, leaving the Recluse to steam and digest in his solitude.

— — —

Although the two halves hadn’t spoken for the rest of the day, the Recluse did silently slide into the seat opposite the Sage during the dinner feast the Faeries had set up for them, in celebration of the Sage’s arrival.

The Sage really wanted to speak with the Recluse, not only about the Dark Moon magic situation, but to also apologize, and perhaps reevaluate the status of their precarious relationship. Although the thought alone of discussing any of those was enough to make the Sage sick to his stomach with nerves, he knew it had to be done.

As he watched the Recluse shrink in on himself, barely touching anything set on his plate, however, the Sage couldn’t bring himself to bring it up just yet.

It can wait, he told himself.

Clearing his throat, the Sage said, “Clusey, are you not going to eat those jellies?”

The Recluse blinked, the hazy fog in his eyes barely clearing. “Uh, no, I don’t think so. Do you want them?” He was already sliding the plate over to the Sage.

With a click of his tongue, the Sage slid it right back over. “The only thing I want to do with your jellies,” he said cheerfully. “Is for you to eat them, or I’ll shove it down your throat myself. Maybe I’ll shove one or two up your ass, too, while I’m at it.”

Amused, the Recluse shook his head. “While I appreciated your…relentless enthusiasm, Sage, I am not hungry.”

The Sage was more than willing to continue to argue, but it seemed like he wouldn’t have to. A sad little Fae child fluttered her wings and she wiped her nose as she whimpered, “Mr. Recluse. I set the plate up for you, and you won’t eat it?”

Upon seeing the child on the threat of tears, the Recluse nearly melted immediately. “Ah, don’t cry, little one.” He searched around, almost desperately, for a parent or guardian. When he didn’t find one, he curled his lip as he reluctantly stuffed a jelly into his mouth. “See? I’m eating it. No need to cry.”

Tears immediately evaporating from her face, the Fae child exclaimed, “Thank you, Mr. Recluse!” She even ran up to hug the Recluse, who stiffened before slowly returning the hug back to the child.

The Sage watched the interaction play out, a strange look on his face.

He felt a nudge on his shoulder, and it was Black Sapphire, shaking his head in mock disappointment. “Professor, I’m afraid you are completely smitten.”

Blushing, the Sage shrugged. “I…cannot fully say you are wrong anymore, my keen student.” He groaned, burying his face in his hands. “Unfortunately, I’m afraid the feelings of affection are one sided, on my part.”

Candy Apple blew a raspberry, blowing little drops of spittle everywhere as she stabbed at her berries with her silver fork. “Blah! Don’t say that, I’m almost sure he likes you back.”

“Almost doesn’t count,” teased Black Sapphire, earning him a pinch to the arm from his sister. “Ouch, that hurt!”

“Either way,” continued Candy Apple, ignoring her brother’s complaints. “Just tell him how you feel. What’s the worst that could happen, anyways?”

The Sage sunk deeper into his seat. “I’m not sure. I’ve never really felt this way towards anyone before.”

“Am I even surprised?” grumbled aloud Black Sapphire, flicking his bangs to the left.

“Surprised about what?” The Faerie child had finally flown away, and the Recluse’s attention had finally returned to the conversation held at the table.

The Sage felt a flush creep up from his neck to the very tips of his ears. “Ah, worry not, it’s not important.”

A faint glint appeared in the Recluse’s eyes. “But I thought you said all words are important?”

“The importance of words is conditional,” the Sage deflected.

“Sure.” Now that the child was gone, the Recluse had slid his plate away again. The Sage frowned. Well, at least he had eaten something, that was better than an empty stomach again. He’d have to convince his other half to eat more often, he decided. It’d be his goal.

At the very head of the table, the Guardian had stood up to their feet, gently clicking a piece of silverware against their glass. A sound reverberated across the dining hall, ushering everyone into silence immediately. Clearing their throat, the Guardian said, “I’d like to thank the Sage of Truth, and his friends, of course, for visiting our kingdom.”

Cheers bursted as they paused, but respectful silence fell again as they tapped their glass again. “Mercurial Knight Cookie will show our guests over to their rooms so they may turn in for the night.”

A voice from a young Fae adult cut through the crowd. “But we can still party, yes?”

These drew out a few chuckles from the crowd, even one from the Guardian themselves as they nodded in confirmation. “Yes, you may still party.”

The Sage and the others stood as Mercurial Knight neared.

“Follow me,” the cookie said. They complied, letting him guide them through the maze of hallways towards one full of guest bedrooms. “You two share,” he told Candy Apple and Black Sapphire. He then pointed at the Recluse and the Sage. “You two share.”

Letting out a high pitched laugh, the Sage squealed. “Me? And the Recluse? Share? Like, a bed?”

Mercurial Knight barely reacted to the outburst. “No. There are two separate beds in each room. However you wish to use the rooms is not of my concern.”

Blushing the Sage said, “Ah, of course! I was just…making sure.”

Snickering, Black Sapphire whispered something in Candy Apple’s ear that the Sage could not quite make out with his ears, but it made the young girl squeal and giggle behind a pale hand.

“Unless you need anything else from me, I will be off.” Not even waiting for a response, Mercurial Knight turned on his heel and down the hallway he went.

“Come on, Sapph!” Candy Apple was already bodily dragging her brother to their room. “I need you to fluff my pillows.”

“Fluff your own pillows,” he grumbled, closing the door behind them.

That left the Sage and the Recluse alone in the hallway, just the two of them.

Rocking back and forth on his heels, the Sage asked, “Sooo…Would you like to talk about before, or?”

“No,” answered the Recluse immediately.

Relieved, the Sage nodded, then gestured towards the door to their bedroom. “You go in first.”

Adam’s Apple bobbing, the Recluse shook his head, “You may enter before me.”

The Sage’s smile only widened. “I insist.”

“Fine. I refuse to waste time arguing with you over such a trivial manner.” The Recluse pushed past the Sage and walked into the bedroom, the Sage floating after him, humming peacefully to himself.

“Why are you always doing that?” snapped the Recluse suddenly.

The Sage blinked. “Doing what?” he asked, innocently.

“Humming.” The Recluse tightened his grip on his staff until his knuckles turned white. “It’s annoying, and frankly, infuriating.”

Beaming, the Sage flounced onto the nearest bed, and said, “Thank you!”

“That wasn’t a compliment.” The Recluse sat down on the opposite bed, smoothing down the front of his robes.

“In your pretty voice, it sure sounds like one.” The Sage pressed his face against the bed. “My, these are nice sheets.”

“Don’t say stuff like that.”

“Like what? Acknowledging the niceness of the sheets?”

“No.” The Recluse dug his fingers into the blanket, twisting the fabric in his hands. “You know perfectly well what I am speaking of.”

Smiling coyly, the Sage finally allowed himself to meet the Recluse’s eyes. “I’m not sure I follow.”

With a grunt, the Recluse threw a pillow at the Sage, making the other squeak as they rolled out of harm's way. The Recluse couldn’t help but smile to himself, though the joy was fleeting as he stared off into the distance, his thoughts prevailing once more. Sighing, he said, “You can’t just…compliment me like that. So…casually.”

All the giggles from before vanished as the Sage sat upright, his expression one of seriousness for once. “Why not?” he asked, quietly. He swallowed. “I am merely speaking my thoughts aloud.”

The Recluse fell into silence. The Sage wanted to talk more, but he could see that his other half needed this moment to himself. So he waited.

Finally, the Recluse said, “It’s late.”

“It is,” agreed the Sage, rocking back and forth slightly. A stray strand of hair had snuck its way into the corner of his mouth, and he had begun absentmindedly chewing on it.

“We should be going to rest.” Although it was phrased as a statement, something about the Recluse’s hesitance allowed it to pass through as a question.

With a patient smile, the Sage asked, “Do you want to go to sleep, Recluse?”

“Yeah.” The Recluse rubbed at his own arms, clearly lost in thought. He repeated it again, firmer, for himself to properly hear. “Yeah.”

Nodding, the Sage flicked his wrist, causing the candles to extinguish themselves, the curtains to draw. The room was shrouded in darkness, just the way the Sage liked it for bed.

“Sleep tight!” The Sage bid his other half pleasant dreams as he tucked himself into the covers. The only response he got in return was a simple scoff of the air.

— — —

There were few things that unnerved the Recluse nearly as much as darkness. After the Sage had wished him goodnight, he had tried his very best to succumb to slumber, but all he could do was stare at the ceiling, his already blurry vision muddled by the lack of light.

During the day, his thoughts were already plentifully bothersome. At night, they were practically intolerable, stretching from haunting memories of the past to the passive suicidal thoughts that plagued his every living moment.

Closing his eyes shut, the Recluse turned to his side, coincidentally the one facing the Sage. He could hear the other snoring softly, having fallen asleep much faster than usual. The Recluse allowed one eye to flutter open, and he could barely make out the silhouette of the Sage. The day must’ve been particularly tiresome for the Sage.

The Recluse couldn't help but wonder if he had something to do with the tired state the Sage seemed to have more and more often.

Curling his blanket closer to himself, a voice in his mind whispered softly yet cruelly, You are a burden to everyone.

“Shut up,” the Recluse whispered back, the sound of his voice cutting through the silence. The Sage shifted slightly in his sleep, letting out a mmm sound.

The Recluse held his body and muscles as still and taut as possible until he heard the Sage’s breathing even out again. Only when he was sure the other was truly fast asleep did he allow himself to relax.

It was suddenly too hot in the room. The Recluse kicked back his covers, his body drenched in sweat. It wasn’t enough. He considered peeling off his robe, but he didn’t feel quite comfortable doing that when he wasn’t truly alone.

Casting another look over his shoulder at the Sage, the Recluse considered his options. He recalled, back at the Spire, when the Sage had been sleeping over, that the other’s body seemed to always be cold. Perhaps he could help cool off the Recluse?

It was a stupid idea, a terribly self-indulgent one. The Recluse knew this, acknowledged the fact that it was extremely unnecessary. Yet he still slipped out of his bed, quietly creaking over to the Sage’s.

The Sage’s mouth lay slightly open as he slept, and the sight of it was…

Adorable.

The Recluse shook his head, banishing the thought from his mind. He was hot, and he needed to cool off.

That was what he told himself as he climbed into the Sage’s bed and hugged the cookie of Truth close to his chest. He’d been right, the Recluse smiled to himself as he pressed his body against the Sage’s sleeping one. The Sage’s dough was nice and cool, a wonderful contrast to the burning sensation of his own dough.

A mumble escaped the Sage’s lips, and he opened his eyes halfway. “...Recluse?” he asked, sleepily.

The Recluse ran a hand through the Sage’s hair. “Shh.”

If the fact that the Recluse was so close to him bothered the Sage, he didn’t show it. He simply closed his eyes and let out a sigh of what could have been interpreted as content as he drifted back off to sleep, still locked in the Recluse’s embrace.

— — —

That night, Dark Enchantress Cookie visited the Recluse in his dreams.

The dream started simple and ordinary enough. The Recluse was once again Pure Vanilla, as he often was in his dreams. He had been tending to the lilies in his garden, smiling and humming to himself as blueberry birds chirped cheerfully in the distance.

However, as he bent down to water a particular patch of lilies, before the liquid could even come into contact with the delicate white petals, they wilted right before his eyes, turning droopy and faded of color.

Withdrawing his hand immediately, Pure Vanilla stared at his once beautiful garden, reduced to hideous wrinkled plants of brown.

A soft cackle filled his ears, and Pure Vanilla whirled, already grabbing his trusty seeing staff. In front of him, Dark Enchantress Cookie stood, but she wasn’t exactly…

There was something wrong with her. On the left side, she was entirely Dark Enchantress; dark horns laced with red, sugar skull cane in hand, a sleek dress on her body. But if Pure Vanilla put a hand over one eye and focused on only the right side, it was White Lily Cookie once more, her delicate features tinged with pink, her white hair pulled into a braid, her green silky dress.

“White Lily Cookie,” breathed Pure Vanilla. His vision tunnelled and he stumbled forward, towards his dearest friend.

The world flashed an angry red, and Dark Enchantress cackled again, bringing her cane over her head and striking fast before Pure Vanilla could react. Blaring pain erupted in his shoulder, and he gasped, desperately trying to regain his bearing.

Her form flickering, Dark Enchantress/White Lily Cookie taunted him. “The once great king, Pure Vanilla Cookie, reduced to…what? This useless hermit?”

Pure Vanilla felt his body and clothes transform. Even though he had no mirror nor means to glance upon himself, he knew, deep in his soul. He was the Truthless Recluse again.

“No,” he gasped.

“No, what?” Dark Enchantress contorted White Lily’s face into an expression of hate as she struck him again. The Recluse buckled in on himself, instinctively pressing a hand against his ribs. It came back sticky and covered in red jam blood.

“No,” repeated the Recluse again, louder. He took that one word, that sweet lie, and wrapped it around himself, a protective cocoon. “NO!”

Dark Enchantress was readying to strike again, but then…

— — —

“Recluse, wake up!”

With a start, the Recluse’s eyes flew open as he desperately gasped for air. Despite his expanding lungs, he couldn’t seem to fill them. His heart was racing a thousand miles an hour.

Someone was squeezing his hand, he noted dimly. He traced it with his eyes and foggy mind until the fingers connected to a hand, which connected to an arm, which connected to a body.

The Sage.

“Oh, thank the Witches, you are awake!” The Sage hugged the Recluse close to his chest, and it was only then the Recluse realized the Sage was sobbing. Sobbing…because of him.

“Sage…” The Recluse voice broke with guilt as he selfishly buried his face into the small space between the Sage’s shoulder and neck. He didn’t deserve this comfort, he didn’t deserve the Sage. “I’m sorry.”

“You’re sorry?” The Sage pulled away, cupping the Recluse’s face and forcing him to look at him. The Recluse’s lip quivered. “You nearly gave me a heart attack, how you were screaming in your sleep!”

Flushing in embarrassment, the Recluse murmured, “I had a nightmare.”

“Clearly!” The Sage shook his head, making his white bangs fly with the movement. The Recluse watched, halfway mesmerized. The Sage really had to cut his hair, it had gotten quite long during the span of their journey. “Oh, but it is nothing of your fault, really. Plenty of cookies have night terrors, myself included.”

Intrigue filled the Recluse, and he couldn’t help but ask, incredulously, “You?”

The Sage nodded once, then twice, just for good measure. “Mhm! Lucky for you, I have just the solution!” He let go of the Recluse then, who immediately missed the touch of the other, and bounded for his bag, which he had left discarded on the ground. He retrieved a small bottle and bounced back onto the bed.

“What’s that?”

“It’s a tonic!” the Sage explained, excitedly. “Just a few drops to be ingested, and even the most insomniac of cookies will fall asleep immediately, falling into dreamless slumber.”

The Recluse stared at the Sage. “And you…take it every night?”

Chuckling under his breath, the Sage said, “Well, I wouldn’t say every night…”

“But often enough,” the Recluse surmised.

“Yes.”

Allowing himself a moment to think it over, the Recluse finally said aloud, “May I borrow it?”

The Sage let out a little bark of a laugh, quickly covering his mouth, having forgotten the children were still asleep next door, their sleep miraculously unprovoked by the Recluse’s screams. “Of course! Why do you think I showed it to you, you silly willy nilly?”

Ignoring the other’s light teasing, the Recluse reached for and pocketed the Sage’s tonic. “Thank you,” he whispered.

His earlier beaming turned to blushing, the Sage finally broke away from their prolonged eye contact as he rubbed at his neck, mumbling, “It was nothing, really.”

The Recluse reached out and squeezed the Sage’s thigh, making the other squeak in surprise. “I appreciate it.”

He stood from the bed, letting his hand slide down the Sage’s leg and back to his side.

“Oh, are you leaving?”

Nodding, the Recluse said, “I don’t particularly feel like returning to sleep once more. Believe it or not, I’m actually well rested.” A lie, obviously. “I’m thinking of going on a stroll.” A half truth, not necessarily a Deceit.

“Ah, okay.” The Sage smiled at the Recluse. There was a soft shyness to the expression. “See you at breakfast then, hmm?”

Another nod, and the Recluse was off.

He had grand plans for this tonic, plans that needed to be put properly into place, the gears of his mind already moving like those in a well oiled machine.

The Recluse left the hallway silently without looking back once, but he couldn’t help but think of the Sage, that strange look on his face. This was surely a betrayal of his trust, wasn’t it?

“I don’t care,” the Recluse reminded himself aloud as he turned a corner. He clenched his fists at his sides. “I. Don’t. Care.”

For some reason, the repetition of the words only seemed to convince him less.

With an already sour expression on his face and a tested patience, the Recluse threw open the doors to the kitchen. A short plump faerie wearing a chef’s hat perked up and floated over to the Recluse, hands placed sassily on her hips.

In a nasally voice, she said, “Excuse me, sir, but you can’t be here.”

Lifting an eyebrow, the Recluse said, “Oh?”

The faerie nodded so vehemently that she didn’t notice as the Recluse whirled his staff and hit her on the back of her head with the butt of it. She crumbled immediately, passing out in the Recluse’s arms. The Recluse set her down carefully on the floor, making sure her skirt was down and that she was out of harm’s way.

For witches sake. He was a monster, not a beast, after all. Common decency was not beneath him.

Tampering with meals, however, was an entirely different matter.

The Recluse cracked his knuckles as he made his way towards the big pot of porridge he was sure was intended for the day’s breakfast meal. All the fae in the kingdom ate from the kitchens, this he knew. Even the guards.

Smirking slightly to himself, the Recluse poured the tonic into the porridge, the colorless liquid disappearing immediately.

Afterwards, the Recluse would look back on what he had done, and the events that followed. He might even grow to regret his actions, but at that very moment, you couldn’t convince him it was unnecessary. He tended to get tunnel vision, when he thought he was doing something right, protecting what needed to be done.

Just because the Recluse believed it to be right, though, didn’t necessarily make it so.

— — —

At breakfast, the Recluse, as usual, did not touch his meal. He stared at the porridge with a distinctly sour expression on his face, as if he were insulted by its very presence.

Stifling a giggle, the Sage poked the Recluse with his spoon. “Clusey, are you not hungry?”

The Recluse curled his fingers into fists. “I’m not, evidently.”

Smiling, the Sage returned his spoon to his plate and shoveled another mouthful down his throat. The porridge tasted almost sickeningly sweet, something about it almost…familiar?

The Sage wasn’t sure, there was something about the porridge that he couldn’t quite put his finger on, and if his mind wasn’t feeling as foggy as it was, perhaps he would’ve thought a little harder about it. Alas.

Candy Apple Cookie was noticeably quiet this morning, yawning and covering her face with her hands. Black Sapphire had fallen asleep shortly after finishing his own share of porridge.

Odd, the Sage thought to himself. He opened his mouth to ask the Recluse something, but the question died on his lips, all words flying from his mouth. His eyelids grew heavy and he blinked.

Just as he was about to drift off, the Sage knew it.

The tonic.

Reaching out, or at least, trying to, the Sage slurred, “Recluse.”

In his rapidly increasingly blurry vision, the Sage saw the Recluse flinched as his fingers met his dough, grazing it before falling limply to the table.

Sleep, as thick as syrup molasses, swallowed the Sage whole, the sight of his other half getting up to his feet the last thing he saw before darkness.

— — —

There was something morbidly poetic about a kingdom full of sleeping fae. The fae were usually such lively and loud people, but now, as the Recluse walked down the path to the Silver Tree, his ears were met with only silence, save for the occasional sound of snores as sleeping chests rose and fell with each deep breath.

Skin crawling, the voice in his mind, which sounded eerily similar to the one belonging to Dark Enchantress Cookie, reminded him, “This is all your fault.”

Swallowing hard, the Recluse focused on putting one foot in front of the other. “I know,” he said, hating the way his voice sounded, the way it shook.

“All your fault.” The voice split into two, White Lily and Dark Enchantress speaking in unison. “All your fault.”

“No need for repetition.” The Recluse sighed, rubbing at his temples. “The message got across efficiently the first time.”

Surprisingly, the voices fell silent, at least, for now.

The Recluse decided to take this as a good omen.

His mind wandered off as he walked down the path, and before he knew it, he was standing right in front of the Silver Tree, unguarded, unstopped, unprotected.

The Recluse blinked up at it. From the distance, it almost seemed beautiful, but up close, he could see the peeling bark, the scar-like cracks in the wood. The Tree was hideous, really. It just did a good job of parading as otherwise.

Crouching down to his knees, the Recluse knelt down just as he had done before, in the Muse’s Garden, when he had found Hollyberry Cookie. Funny, he thought, how the place she chose to hide herself in her other half’s domain was a smaller twin to her own prison.

Once his fingers found the knot of the Tree, the Recluse grabbed his staff, ready to strike.

He knew what was going to happen, and had already seen it happen before. The power of the Soul Jam pulsed like blood in veins in this Tree. He’d have to be careful about where he’d apply the pressure, for shards of magic could bounce back out at him.

The Recluse found a good enough spot, his calculations and instincts telling him he’d have to duck quickly to the left to prevent himself from getting injured.

He was so locked into the task at hand, that stupid tunnel vision taking over once more, that he hadn’t noticed the slight crunch of leaves as someone landed behind him.

He didn’t notice the blue figure creeping in the corner of his peripheral vision as he took his staff and, with all his might, stabbed into the knot.

He didn’t notice the Sage until it was far too late, until he himself, the Recluse, had rolled out of the way of the incoming shard of magic and allowed it to fly behind him.

He turned just in time to see the shard bounce from the ground and see the Sage’s eyes widen as the shard of Silver Tree pierced straight through his chest to his heart.

Chapter Text

Over the years, as the loss of lives close to him became a near constant in the Recluse’s terrible and long life, he had learned that panic is a luxury.

Panic, at its core, mainly consists of intense fear. Panic consists of thinking, of reactions, of something.

What was happening to the Recluse right now, was not panic.

His mind was completely empty, devout of any thought, rational or irrational, as he just stood there and watched. Watched like a damn idiot, a Witch forsaken fool. Watched as the Sage’s body tipped from the impact of the shard’s powerful piercing and fell to the side with a thud.

That sound, that thud, was more than enough to partly move the Recluse from his stupor. He ran towards the Sage, sprinting despite the ache in the muscles of his legs, reaching out with his hands, opening his mouth only for no sound to come out.

There was so much jam blood pooling from the body. So much jam blood.

It was all over the Sage’s fancy clothes, the clothes the Sage had loved so much. He had tailored them himself, the Recluse dimly recalled the other telling him. The long process of selecting all the right fabrics, the meticulous and painstakingly careful practice of stitching it all together until it looked good and right, until it looked perfect, just as perfect as its creator himself. All that hard work, now ruined, eternally soiled by this. This. This.

The Recluse’s breathing was so heavy, so fast, so loud, his heart leaping from his chest into his throat, that he didn’t even notice the Sage’s own breathing, or, more exactly, the lack of it.

“Sage,” the Recluse whispered, tears rapidly streaming down his face as he leaned over his body, wanting, yearning to touch him, to embrace him, yet too afraid to disturb the scene layed out in front of him. The tears fell from the Recluse’s cheeks unceremoniously onto the Sage’s face, rolling down his nose and mixing into the jam blood coming out of the corners of his mouth, slowly and soundlessly. The Sage should be coughing that jam blood out, his lungs fighting for air, his body fighting to live, to survive.

But he wasn’t. He was still, deathly still.

“Your clothes,” the Recluse gasped. He moved to take them off, to save whatever was left to be saved, but his hands were so stupid and slow, he couldn’t undo the buttons properly, fumbling and messing up each time. It didn’t help that his crying was making his already poor vision even worse than usual, a blurry mess of colors and shapes. Red, red, red. So much red. He hated that color, hated it so much, hated seeing it on the Sage especially.

“I’ll help you take them off,” the Recluse told the Sage. “They’re already ruined, and I-I don’t want them to be ruined even more. You’ll be upset when you wake up, so upset.”

The Sage did not respond. The Recluse’s racing heart began to calm, slowly. The Sage was asleep, he told himself, the Sage was asleep. He repeated it over and over, until it was engraved on his tongue, engraved in his brain, permanently. He needed to change the Sage’s clothes, so that he wouldn't be upset when he woke up.

Deceit, in its lies, tended to serve as a warm blanket to hide from reality the same way a child hid from monsters living underneath their bed at night.

If only the Recluse’s problems were as little as monsters inhabiting the dark underneath the belly of his bed frame.

Finally, after an embarrassing amount of time put in and effort exerted, the Recluse undid the last of the buttons and took off the vest, the cloak, and the pants, gently peeling them off of the Sage's body. Everything, discarded in a bundle tossed over his shoulder. The Sage lay in front of the Recluse, fully nude and oh so vulnerable, his skin unnaturally pale.

“You’re probably cold,” the Recluse said aloud, though he wasn’t exactly sure why. The Sage was asleep, and sleeping people weren’t conscious enough to hear another’s words, much less reply. But he spoke aloud nonetheless. “You’re always cold.”

Choosing to ignore the bloody mess that he refused to believe was the Sage’s chest, the Recluse shrugged off his own robes, leaving himself bare save for his thin leotard. He helped slip the Sage’s limp body into the robe. It was much too big for him, and it nearly swallowed the small little cookie in its sea of dark fabric.

The sight of it, so akin to a child playing dress up, made the Recluse chuckle. The laugh nearly stole all the breath from his lungs, and he had to cough it off. Once he recomposed himself, he pressed his lips against the smoothness of the Sage’s hand.

“You’re still cold,” he murmured against his Sage’s dough.

His Sage did not respond.

The Recluse frowned. He did not like that his Sage was sleeping with his eyes open. It looked wrong, the way they stared off into the distance, unblinking. It was unsettling, and not right. His Sage was always right, he had always prided himself on that fact, that fact that used to infuriate the Recluse for reasons he could not remember now. He reached out and closed the lids, allowing his Sage to look more at peace. The Recluse relaxed. That looked infinitely better.

“You’re so…beautiful.” The Recluse reached out and carefully set his Sage into his lap. His muscles were all limp, like malleable dough, and soon enough, his Sage was in the perfect position he was aiming for. “So…perfect.”

Smiling, the Recluse ran a hand over his Sage’s Soul Jam of Truth. It looked dimmer now, but that was probably just because of the shadow cast by the Silver Tree looming behind them. “I can see why they chose you as my replacement. You’re such an upgrade from me. They took all my good and none of my bad and gave it to you, eh?”

It was so quiet, the Recluse’s voice the only one filling the air.

“Why did you come after me, hmm?” The Recluse began to rub the Sage’s back in counter clockwise circle motions. “You should’ve stayed, stayed sleeping with everyone else. You got hurt now, and that’s not good.” A manic laugh escaped the Recluse’s lips, and he moved his hand to stifle it.

He would hate to wake his Sage like this, sounding like a madman. His Sage deserved much better than that, than him, after all.

“It’s okay, though,” the Recluse mumbled, eerily calm once more, though the ghosts of his laughter still danced on his lips. “I will protect you. I will heal you, just like I did before when that Spire of yours burnt down, take you in, and then you will be safe, forever, with me. My eternity, and yours, together.”

The Recluse took his Sage’s lack of response as silent agreement.

Planting a soft and gentle kiss on his Sage’s forehead, brushing back stray strands of hair, the Recluse murmured, “No one will hurt you once more, I assure you,” he promised.

There was such firmness in his words spoken, that there was no denying the truthfullness of his words. How the tables had turned, and the turns, in like, tabled. The Cookie of Deceit, being honest to the Cookie of Truth.

If only the Sage were alive-no, awake- to witness this properly.

This time, the Recluse heard the crunch of leaves underfoot. He turned, calmly, still holding his Sage close, as he watched the Guardian of Freedom stumble forward from behind the tree, armed with their sword yet still clearly under the influence of the tonic placed in the porridge, as they swayed from side to side.

Faltering in their step, the Guardian took a double take, pausing to remove their helmet from their head. Their eyes nearly bugged out as they took in the sight in front of them. “Recluse? What happened to Blueberry Milk?”

The Recluse smiled a smile of a serpent, all lips and no teeth. “He’s resting,” he told the Guardian.

“He’s dead.” The Guardian’s voice shook with emotion as they dropped their helmet to the ground, the metal landing with a thud that made the Recluse flinch, though he would never admit the little twitch his body made at the sound, not even privately to himself. “He’s not resting, he’s dead.”

The Recluse frowned. He did not like the way the Guardian was talking about his Sage. “He’s resting, and I do not know what you are talking about,” he said defensively.

The Guardian’s tone bordered histeria. “Don’t you see the blood? He’s hurt, don’t you realize?” Shaking their head, the Guardian said, no, he yelled, “No. You do realize, don’t you? You killed him, didn’t you?”

The Recluse wasn’t sure when he had started crying again, but his face was wet with cascading tears as he sobbed, “No! He’s not dead, and I most certainly didn’t kill him!” As the Guardian took a step closer, the crazed Recluse only nudged more and more backwards, shaking his head furiously as he dragged his Sage’s body along with him. Soon, his back met something hard; the Tree. “No, I did not kill him. NO!”

Running a hand over their face, the Guardian said, their voice cracking with grief, “Recluse, you’re clearly in a state of delusional denial right now. Blueberry Milk Cookie is dead.”

When the Recluse did not reply, the Guardian dared to come closer. This time, the Recluse did not try to run away. He had nowhere to go, after all. He slumped against the trunk of that wretched Tree, powerless and defeated and empty. The Guardian kneeled nearby, gently lifting the Recluse’s hand and guiding it to press it against the side of the Sage’s windpipe. Where there should have been a pulse, there was nothing but dead silence.

Drawing in a shaky breath, the Recluse let his arm fall back down to his side, aggressive and heartbroken sobs that sounded like a dying animal’s last choked cries of help raking his body as he hugged his ribs, crying hysterically. There was no more denying it, eh? The proof, the evidence, the Truth, was irrefutably set in stone in front of him, even he, the Cookie of Deceit, the Truthless Recluse himself, could not use Deceit to dance around this horrible Truth. His Sage was dead. Dead, dead, dead.

It couldn’t be. His Sage had been so alive, and had been so full of life. He’d always encourage the Recluse to greet the world with open arms, to try new things, to go on adventures, dragging him along without giving him any other choice, really. And the Recluse would let him, though he would not so quietly resent him, and complain. Why did he complain? He’d give anything right now, would go on as many detours as the Sage demanded from him, so long as he could see him like that again.

This corpse, this lifeless body, it couldn’t possibly be his Sage, could it? The Recluse dared to steal a peek at the blank staring eyes before burying his face in his robes again. No, that wasn’t his Sage.

His Sage was gone, wasn’t he?

Tugging as hard as he could at his hair, scratching at his scalp, the Recluse let out a scream. He needed this pain, needed to hurt. Anything physical was so much better than facing this Truth.

Deceit, Deceit, Deceit.

He pulled harder, his nails digging into his dough, drawing bright red jam blood.

Truth, Truth, Truth.

Two sides of the same coin, two faces of the same moon.

One lived, and the other died.

The Recluse screamed again, but this time, it came out shrill and breathless. He was running out of air, just like his Sage, who didn’t really need air anymore, did he?

He had warned him. He had warned him, oh so long ago, that no good came from the telling of Truth. That he should stop. Curiosity had killed the cat, after all. And yet, his Sage, his wonderful, beautiful, stubborn Sage, did not listen to him.

Stuffing his fist into his mouth, the Recluse gasped desperately. He didn’t deserve to breathe, not when his Sage didn’t anymore. The Sage was so much better than him, so much more pure. Why did the sinner get to live, walk away unscathed, while the saint died?

Dimly, the Recluse recalled an old proverb whispered in his village. Death doesn’t discriminate between the sinners and the saints, it just takes and it takes and it takes.

Take me instead, the Recluse wanted to yell. Take me instead, and bring me back my Sage, my Sage of Truth.

Finally, the weight of a hand was pressed against the Recluse’s shoulder. The Recluse wanted to shrivel away from its heavy touch. It was much too warm, nothing like the comforting cold of the Sage’s dough, dough that would never really touch his the same way again.

“Look at me,” a voice directed, and the Recluse had no choice but to comply, his tears making everything a blur of shapes and colors. The Guardian was right next to the mess of snot and tears that was the Recluse, and they handed him a handkerchief to wipe his nose with.

“I need you to be calm for me right now,” the Guardian was saying.

The Recluse let out a manic laugh, twisting his fingers in tangled strands of his disheveled and bloody hair. “Calm? I don’t think I’ll ever be calm, not again, not after this.”

The Guardian took in a deep breath, and it was clear they were fighting for patience. “Listen. I know you and Blueberry Milk were close.” Their voice cracked. “He was my friend too, after all. But I need you to listen to me, if not for your sake or mine, but for his.”

The Recluse shrugged hollowly. “I don’t think…” His voice trailed off into nothingness, the rest of the words that made up the end of his sentence forever lost in an endless void of numb thoughtlessness where the Beast named Grief kept its victims.

The Guardian ignored the Recluse. A wise decision at this time, the Recluse was acting hopeless right now. Long gone was the radiant Vanillian king, this hollow shell of a person the only thing remaining of the bright past. The Guardian pointed at the Sage’s body, more specifically, the Recluse realized, at the Soul Jam of Truth, still resting at the base of the Sage’s throat.

“It’s still glowing,” whispered the Guardian.

The Recluse lurched forward, having to see this for himself. “Witches,” he whispered feverishly, running a hand over the surface of the Sage’s Soul Jam. He began to sob once more, though this time, instead of ripping his hair out of his scalp, he continued to feel up the Sage’s Soul Jam of Truth. “It’s still cool to the touch, it’s still cool. It hasn’t been pierced, it’s still cool.”

The Guardian nodded, gently steering the Recluse away from the Sage’s body. “We can build him a new one,” they whispered, the Recluse much too far away and much too close to properly pay attention to their words, but they squeezed his shoulder reassuringly nonetheless. “With some dough and some life powder, we can surely figure something out.”

“Some dough, and some life powder.” The Recluse repeated the words under his breath like a mantra, like a prayer to the immortal divine creators above. “Some dough, and some life powder. And then my Sage will come back.”

Bristling slightly at the Recluse’s slightly frantic worship of the Sage and the implication of ownership in his words, the Guardian nodded along anyway and said, “Yes, he will.”

Despite the fragile hope building up inside the two cookies, they both knew, in some corner of their mind, that obtaining the resources for building the Sage a proper body would be nearly impossible, at least, ethically possible nor safely.

That wasn’t exactly a problem for the Recluse. He had discarded trivial things like ethics and safety a long ago. He was more than ready to use ruthlessness as his own weapon, tired after years of being at its expense.

Hope, however, no matter how fragile and shaky it may be, is always a spark that could burst into a flame, if nurtured right.

And the Truthless Recluse was willing to do anything he could in his power to ensure his Sage of Truth came back to him.

Chapter Text

The Guardian of Freedom did not allow the Truthless Recluse to keep the Sage of Truth’s body in his room.

“Why not?” the Recluse had whined, almost like a child as he stopped his foot. Although he was, on some level, self aware of how he was currently acting, as well as the irrationality of his demands, he did not really care, not anymore, not after this. “He’s my Sage and I want him to stay with me.”

Pursing their lips, the Guardian reminded the Recluse, “He’s dead. Also, he’s not exactly yours.”

Face twitching slightly, the Recluse begged, his voice barely above a whisper, “Please. Just for one night, only one night.”

The idea of allowing the man who killed their friend keep his dead body with him overnight did not sit well with the Guardian, for obvious reasons. They shook their head, putting their foot down firmly. “No.”

Tears pooled in the Recluse’s eyes once more as he clenched his fists at his sides until his knuckles turned white. “Where are you going to keep him?” he finally asked, quietly, throat burning with emotion.

The Guardian considered the query for a moment or two before responding, “We’ll find a coffin to keep his body safe in, until we find the life powder we need.”

The blood drained from the Recluse’s face as he shook his head side to side, hair flying in all directions like a madman’s wild mane. “No! You can’t put him in a coffin. Not my Sage.” The Recluse bit down on his lower lip hard, drawing the sweet taste of blood that filled his mouth with its sickening flavor. “He loves sunlight, you can’t put him in a coffin!”

“Relax.” The Guardian held up their hands in what they hoped was a placating gesture that instilled calmness. It didn’t seem to work on the Recluse, who had begun to shake like a cornered animal. “It’s a glass coffin,” the Guardian said, hurriedly. “He’ll be, er, able to see the sunlight, and you can even visit him.”

Those words seemed to do the trick. The Recluse began to still, his rapid breathing finally returning to some state of normalcy as he blinked up at the Guardian through blurry tears. “I can…visit him?”

“Yes.” The Guardian wondered if they’d regret these promised words, but there was no use in crying over spilled milk. No amount of remorse expressed would ever put the liquid back into the carton. “But I have to take him now, okay?”

After a moment of hesitation, the Recluse nodded slowly. “...Okay.” He squeezed his Sage’s cold hand one last time. “Can I keep his Soul Jam, at least?”

Blinking, the Guardian considered this. “I suppose…” The Guardian rubbed at their neck with a certain sheepishness in the movement. An odd request, truly… “I mean, so long as you are careful, I don’t see the problem?”

Slowly, the Recluse’s lips spread into a smile, a smile of all teeth. Even though his canines were nowhere near as sharp as the Sage’s once were, it unsettled the Guardian nonetheless. “I’ll be very careful, I assure you,” said the Recluse as he reached out and undid the Sage’s brooch, gingerly holding it close to himself.

Although the words spoken were meant to be comforting, they only further unsettled the Guardian. They fidgeted with their silver gauntlet, mumbling awkwardly, “Well, I’ll be off.”

They reached out and heaved the Sage’s body over their shoulder, careful as to not damage the dough any further. It was not lost on them how the Recluse watched the Guardian’s movements with the Sage the way a predator watches its prey, studying and observing before striking.

Waving his hand at the Recluse only because the gesture felt right and the air thick, the Guardian turned around on their heel and made their way down the hall, trying to be subtle as they hurried along a little quicker than strictly necessary.

The Recluse’s gaze did not falter even once, affixed upon his Sage up until the final moment, until the Guardian took his love far, far from his view.

The Soul Jam of Truth throbbed slightly in the Recluse’s grip. Dully, the Recluse allowed his eyes to lazily slide over to it. It was glowing with the strength of a thousand fireflies.

Before the Recluse could react, the light grew, and consumed him, swallowing him whole.

— — —

The Recluse was falling, falling, falling…

Time seemed to slow and speed up simultaneously, giving the Recluse a nauseated feeling that he felt deep in the root of his gut. Fighting to stay upright against the push and pull of the messed up gravitational forces, the Recluse swallowed hard, swatting blindly with his staff.

Suddenly, the magic was immediately gone, and the Recluse fell down with a thud.

Biting down a curse, the Recluse bounced back to his feet immediately, despite the growing aching pain in his lower body. Studying his surroundings, taking them in with the help of his seeing staff, the Recluse noticed he still held the Soul Jam in his hand, though it was no longer serving as a flashlight, and returned to a semi-normal state once more.

The muffled sound of children laughing outside was the first thing the Recluse noticed. He moved towards the window as if in a trance, floorboards creaking underfoot. His eyes widened a fraction as he gazed at the sight in front of him.

Freshly baked cookies, the oldest appearing to be just a bit older than Candy Apple Cookie, and the youngest still crawling and cooing, chased each other round and round in circles on a colorfully decorated playground. Children cried and were pushed off swings. Others slid down gummy slides. A sign in the distance read, in hazy faded letters of red the Recluse had to squint at to properly decipher, Creme Orphanage.

“An orphanage,” the Recluse breathed. His jaw tightened ever so slightly, the muscles in his face feathering with the small gesture. “Why, in the name of the Witches, would the Soul Jam, the Light of Truth, send me here?”

His question was answered quickly enough.

A soft voice began to hum a familiar melody, and the Recluse froze, his whole body deathly still. There was someone else in the room with him.

Could it…be?

The Recluse turned, slowly. Sitting on a bed in the corner of the room was a child with big frizzy hair of blue and white, sparkly freckles dusting his nose as he hummed to himself, kicking his short feet as they dangled off the side of the bed. He was reading a book, but his oversized glasses kept on sliding down his nose, so there was clearly a struggle.

Despite the Recluse’s shadow looming over the child, the younger version of the Sage did not acknowledge nor notice him, still contently reading along, tracing his fingers over the words to help readability.

The threat of tears made the Recluse’s throat close up, and he took a feverishly desperate step forward, towards the Sage, his Sage, before sinking to the ground, wanting to bury his face in his hands, wanting to bury himself in the ground, but no, he couldn’t, because then he couldn’t see his Sage.

His Sage.

His Sage.

His Sage.

The Recluse whispered the words to the sound of his heartbeat ringing in his ears.

Ba dum.

His Sage.

Ba dum.

His Sage.

Ba dum.

His Sage.

The child finally lifted his head, startling the Recluse with the false hope that he could see him, could hear him. But the youngster ran, quite literally, right through the Recluse, sending a wave of cold air down the Recluse’s spine as the other passed straight ahead, as if his atoms had rearranged themselves specially for him.

Turning halfway, his head swiveling to the side as his body remained rooted to the ground, the Recluse watched as Sage pressed his nose against the glass of the window, his breath causing it to fog up. The Sage sighed, pulling in a plush rabbit that had been resting on the window sill close to his chest.

“I don’t get why the other kids don’t want to play with me, Mr. Rabbit,” sniffled the Sage, standing on the tips of his toes to have a proper view. He lowered his voice a few registers, moving the rabbit’s head as if it were talking for itself. “They don’t get you! You’re too smart for them, remember what Mother Pearl had said?”

The Recluse had thought he had no heart, after all of the pain and loss and tragedy he had gone through. But seeing his Sage, at such a young age, hearing him say these words, expressing his loneliness…

His heart melted into a puddle the way ice cream does when left outside in the sweltering heat.

Suddenly, the memory warped around the Recluse, the edges of it blurring and whirling around until nothing was visible again, until up was down and left was right and the Recluse lost all sense of direction.

He was spat back out in another memory, no longer at the orphanage, clearly. Cursing the witches, the Recluse stood on shaky legs and examined his new surroundings.

He now seemed to be in what he assumed was a classroom, judging by the scruffy desks with children sitting on rubber chairs seated behind them, appearing to be taking some sort of test or examination. The Recluse chewed his lower lip. Something about the cream beige color of walls seemed…familiar. A ghost breathing down his neck, making him shiver, as the recognition of this place wavered in front of him, teasing him and fading into nothingness every time he tried to grasp it within his hands.

Growing increasingly more frustrated, the Recluse fought to keep his breathing even as he scanned the room for his Sage.

There. Seemingly a few years older than he was in the previous memory, the Sage was no longer wearing that same drab flour sack of an outfit he was before. Now, he was dressed quite nicely in a well pressed dress shirt and neat black pants, his once messy hair coaxed into an elaborate braid of sorts.

While the other students seemed to be struggling with the test, the Sage was flying through it at a noticeably faster pace, even smiling to himself as he kicked his legs in the air.

The Recluse couldn’t help but smile along as he watched his Sage at work. This test, whatever it was, was clearly very easy for the Sage.

Curiosity piquing his interest, the Recluse took a few steps forward and bent down, squinting to see the contents of the test.

His eyes widened as he took in the mathematical equations, the magical hypotheticals, and essay prompts. He recognized this testing format…because he had helped create it.

Memories flashed through his mind, forcefully pushing painfully against his skull. Back when he was Pure Vanilla Cookie, the Great Vanillian King, guided by the Light of Truth, one of his first proclamations as Ancient Hero was for there to be a school to be instated. A school, of such large proportions and high standards, had been overly ambitious, his advisors had warned him. But Pure Vanilla had ignored them, and made his dream a reality.

He swallowed hard as he watched the Sage flip over his test to the final page. The Sage was taking the entrance exam to the Vanilla Creme Academy.

Before either of them had known, the two halves of Knowledge had been intertwined and connected for far much longer than either had anticipated. Fate worked in funny ways like that.

The Sage bounced off of his chair and, with uncharacteristic quietness, walked up to the half asleep examination proctor sitting in the front desk. He gently reached out and nudged the proctor’s head with the butt of his pencil, startling the older cookie into wakefulness.

“Ah, do you have a question?” The proctor readjusted his spectacles on his nose as he spoke. “As I have reviewed before the test had begun, I am not permitted to assist you in any way concerning the contents-”

“I don’t have a question,” the Sage interrupted. He fidgeted, shuffling his weight from one leg to another. He whispered, softly, “I’m finished.”

The proctor stared at him, as if he had grown a second head. The other students were trying their best to look like they weren’t eavesdropping, but they clearly were. The Recluse, too, couldn’t help but twitch his ears in anticipation, the soft ticking of the clock’s hands as seconds trickled by the sole sound in the quiet room.

Finally, the proctor snapped out of his daze of surprise and cleared his throat. “Well, I suppose if you’re ready to turn it in…” He reached out for the test paper, faltering, the corner of his mouth twitching downwards. “Did you double check?”

The Sage nodded, a few flyaway strands of hair escaping his hairdo. The Recluse smothered a snort. He looked more like himself now, more chaotic, more like the self hidden behind the shiny exterior. He liked this side of his Sage. “I triple checked,” the Sage said cheerfully, handing the papers over to the proctor.

The proctor exhaled his breath. The Recluse wrinkled his nose in disgust. “Well, I suppose if you’re sure, then I guess you are free to go.” The proctor made a shooing motion at the Sage, who didn’t see it, since he was already happily skipping out of the room. “This should be fun to grade,” grumbled the proctor as he prepared a red marker he had stowed away in his front pocket.

The Recluse did not have to stick around for the grading. He knew the Sage had passed with flying colors, and didn't doubt it for a second. He’d even be willing to wager all valuables he had, even his own Soul Jam, that was how sure he was, that his Sage had gotten a perfect score.

That was the Sage, after all. Perfect.

The memory grew fuzzy again, and the Recluse was falling, falling, falling…

The sound of a school bell ringing snapped the Recluse out of the haziness, and he was back in another classroom. This one was designed differently, and the students filing out of it with their backpacks slung over their shoulders were significantly older. The Recluse surmised that a few years had passed since the last memory, three at least.

In the front of the room, the Sage sat quietly. He was wearing a pale yellow uniform, and his hair was still in a braid, albeit a far more simpler and messier one. His hands were placed in front of him, folded neatly across the table. He seemed calm, too calm. Only when the Recluse took a deeper look, he could see the light tremor running down the Sage’s spine, the slight trembling of his shoulders.

The teacher sighed loudly, his arms held behind his back as he stood from his chair with a grunt and walked over to the Sage. All of the other students had left by now, but the Sage didn’t even move to touch his books from the earlier lesson, still laid out neatly on his desk.

“Blueberry Milk Cookie, you threw this water bottle, correct?” The teacher waved said water bottle in front of the Sage’s face. The Sage winced ever so slightly. A twitch in his facial muscles, only recognizable by someone who knew the Sage very well, which the Recluse liked to think he did. The Recluse growled softly. He did not like this teacher, did not like how he loomed over the Sage’s frame, making him feel even smaller than he was.

“Correct.” The Sage’s voice wobbled, and he cleared his throat to fix it. He repeated the word again, smoothly this time. “Correct.”

Sighing again, the teacher lazily tossed the water bottle in the Sage’s direction. Flinching as it narrowly missed his head as it whizzed by, the Sage fell into silence, his mismatched eyes wide.

“And why did you throw it, Blueberry Milk?”

His Adam’s apple visibly bobbing, the Sage answered, “The other students were passing it around, and they wanted me to, too. I…” he hesitated. “I didn’t want to seem like a buzzkill, so I threw it.”

With a shake of his head, the teacher struck so quickly that neither the Recluse or the Sage had any time to react. His hand delivered the slap across the Sage’s face and returned back to his side in the blink of an eye.

Tears swelling up, the Sage gasped as he pressed a palm against the swollen spot. The Recluse could do nothing but stare. That was most definitely going to leave a mark, a bruise of some sorts.

“I hope this teaches you a lesson,” the teacher was saying, but the words were not registering in the Recluse’s mind, his vision framed red with anger.

“The other kids,” the Sage gasped. “They wanted me to lie, to pin the blame on someone else. I-I told the truth!”

“Perhaps you shouldn’t have.” The bastard of a teacher had the nerve to smirk. “Then you would’ve spared yourself this pain.”

The Recluse lunged at that moment, despite the rational voice in his mind reminding him he’d just phase right through the teacher. His nails were ready to serve sharpened claws as he jumped for the teacher’s face…

Only for the Light to choose that exact moment to transport him into another memory.

Reality swelled around him, and when the thrumming stopped, the Recluse landed in a heap of limbs, straight into the trunk of a tree.

Groaning as he blearily opened his eyes, the Recluse decided he did not like this memory transportation thing at all. However, it did allow him to see his Sage again, although in a strange way. His heart swelled at the mere thought of his Sage, aching with such pain and emotion he didn’t think was even possible.

The Recluse swallowed hard. He supposed, as the old saying goes, you lose some, you gain some.

For some reason, the Recluse seemed to always be losing.

Pushing himself back to his feet, the Recluse heard voices chattering over themselves, one of the louder ones being a distinctive one he immediately recognized as his Sage’s. Walking towards the source of the sound, the Recluse pushed aside a few tree branches obscuring his view and drank in the scene laid out in front of him.

A campfire was lit, lighting up the faces of five cookies he recognized as the Virtues. They all looked around the same age as they were now, the Recluse noted, so he assumed that they must be getting their Soul Jams soon, since the owner of the Soul Jam stopped aging upon reception.

The Recluse’s perception of time only seemed to grow more and more clouded the further he fell into this rabbit hole of memories. How much time has passed in the realm of the living? Had he been gone seconds, or hours, maybe even days? How long has it been since his Sage had died?

Spiraling, it was the sound of the Sage’s snorting laughter that knocked the Recluse out of his turtles all the way down esque descent into madness. The Sage’s tie was undone, his hair disheveled and his monocle askew as he leaned on the Guardian who was, for once, not dressed fully in battle armor. Holding a bottle of berry juice, the clearly drunk Sage seemed to be offering some of it to the Guardian, who kindly denied his offer, scooting over subtly just a bit.

Oblivious, the Sage slurred, “Your loss!” and downed the rest of the contents.

Barking out a laugh, the Herald asked, “Blueberry Milk, is that not too much for you?”

With a smile that held the warmth of a thousand suns, the Sage exclaimed, happily, “Nope!”

In his peripheral vision, the Recluse could see the Master rolled her eyes, but there was clear affection in the movement as she said, softly, “Sage, you will be horribly hungover tomorrow, as you always are, and you will pester us all day with your complaints.”

Swinging his arms wildly and nearly hitting the Guardian in the process, the Sage said, “Nuh-uh! I’ll be very un-pestering tomorrow, thank you very much!”

Giggling softly into her palm, the Muse took a swig of her own drink. “And here I thought you’re not a liar,” she teased gently, squeezing the Sage’s shoulder.

“I’m not!” the Sage protested, his face flushed violet from the alcohol.

The Recluse watched the Virtues continue this back and forth conversation, suddenly struck with this sense of jealousy. These cookies had been graced with the luxurious pleasure of spending so much time with his beloved Sage, and they dare still complain about it? Clenching his jaw, the Recluse moved closer and closer to his Sage, who ignored him, as if he wasn’t there. Because he wasn’t there.

A scream tore its way from the Recluse’s throat and out his lips. It wasn’t fair.

He pulled at his hair, his scalp screeching in pain as he tugged viciously.

What had made the Recluse so undeserving of happiness?

He pulled harder.

The Sage had tried, tried to connect. And the Recluse had pushed him away.

Why would he push him away?

The Recluse was a sobbing mess of tears and snot, and still, the Virtues paid him no notice, still continuing on with their wholesomely cheerful night. His Sage paid him no notice at all.

He would do anything to bring the Sage back, but he wasn’t coming back, was he?

The Recluse was suddenly struck with the image of the Sage, laying in the coffin the Guardian had prepared him, unblinking forever.

The Truth hit him finally, with its full force of pain.

The Sage was dead.

The luxury of panic finally set in, running wildly through the Recluse’s veins.

— — —

At some point, the memory had bled away, leaving the broken shell of the Recluse laying on the cold floor of the Silver Palace. He did not bother moving, not even as the Soul Jam’s warm light faded, dissipating into the air as if it had never existed in the first place. He just lay there, staring at the ceiling, his vision growing fuzzy from disfocus.

Of course, the Recluse could not have this haphazard quiet moment of peace to himself, if one could even call this peace.

Candy Apple Cookie poked her head into his view, quickly accompanied by her brother. They both shared a look of concern before Candy Apple turned and opened her mouth. “Recluse, where’s the Sage?”

That simple question, only four words, was enough to make the Recluse snap.

His body jerked upwards, cackling like a madman, running a hand over his face. Black Sapphire instinctively grabbed Candy Apple and protectively shoved her behind himself, eyebrows furrowed.

“Where is the Sage?” the Recluse repeated. He laughed joylessly as he rocked his body back and forth. “Where is the Sage?”

Not even looking at the Recluse, the purple haired adolescent whispered to his sister, “We should get out of here.”

“No!” The Recluse reached out suddenly towards them, but the movement ended up with him falling forward with a thud. He tried to untangle his body, but his limbs felt as though they were made of lead, all numb and painful. “Don’t leave me, not like he did!”

“What’s wrong with him?” For the first time, Candy Apple seemed to have the sense to look scared.

His frown deepening, Black Sapphire said, “I don’t know! Let’s get out, Candy.”

But Candy Apple did not move.

“What happened, Recluse?” she asked, crying. “What happened to the Sage?”

The Recluse was also now crying, but he wasn’t exactly sure when he had started. Had he even stopped in the first place? “He’s dead,” the Recluse sobbed, pressing his forehead against the cool surface of the floor. His voice raised as he practically screeched. “He’s dead, because I killed him!”

Candy Apple gasped in horror, and even Black Sapphire paused, his calm exterior finally cracking. “The Sage is…dead?”

“Yes, he’s dead. That’s the Truth you were all oh so desperate to hear!” The Recluse was laughing again, shaking his tear stained head. “He’s dead! I killed him! I killed him, I killed him, I killed him.” The Recluse was laughing as if he had told the funniest joke in the world, but judging by the looks of Candy Apple and Black Sapphire, his audience did not find his words amusing.

“How cruelly ironic, isn’t it?” The Recluse slumped against the wall, still laughing, still crying. “I hid away in my Spire, in hopes that by withholding the Truth, no cookie would get hurt again. And yet, I ended up being the one who caused the hurt, not the noble Truth Sayer himself!”

Candy Apple’s lip quivered as she finally allowed Black Sapphire to whisk her away, who wasted no time as he practically ran away from the hallway with his sister.

Although the audience had already left, the Recluse continued mumbling to himself. The show must go on after all, hmm?

Spitting out blood, the Recluse continued, “It was always laid out in the cards for me, wasn’t it? I was destined to suffer, to bring suffering. This was my fate, and now I must lay in the grave the Witches have prepared for me.”

And with that, the Recluse stilled, ready to accept his death.

Minutes trickled by. The Recluse frowned. He was still very much alive.

Standing up, the Recluse let out another scream, kicking at an expensive looking vase. It shattered upon impact into a million shards.

It was not fair. How did he still get to breathe, while his Sage didn’t?

The Recluse grabbed at one of the shards and dug it deep into his skin. He needed to feel this pain, and, more accurately, deserved to.

Blood ran down his arms and dripped onto the floor.

It was the sight of that bright red jam that froze the Recluse in his tracks.

He remembered the splash of red staining the Sage’s beautiful hand made clothes.

He remembered the Guardian’s mentioning of a means to save the Sage’s life.

He remembered the weight of the Soul Jam of Truth, still heavy in the pockets of his robe.

He remembered he still had to live, to save his Sage.

He remembered his purpose.

Dropping the shard to the floor, the Recluse took out both Soul Jams, both halves of Knowledge, and stared at them.

He was not going to sit around and wait for the Guardian to hopefully stumble upon some ethical way to return his Sage back to the realm of the living. That would take ages, considering if there was even such a way.

No, the Truthless Recluse was ready to act now.

He decided it was finally time to pay a certain friend from the past a proper visit.

Chapter Text

The Truthless Recluse had always detested accessing the Other Realm. Just the sensation of summoning a portal, shredding part of one reality to access another was more than enough to make his skin crawl with discomfort and his stomach churn with nausea.

Even as he now held the Sage’s half of the Soul Jam of Knowledge, he knew he’d never be able to utilize the Other Realm as effortlessly and gracefully as his Sage had once had.

His Sage, after all, was perfect, and the Recluse was anything but. There was no way a broken hermit of a man could ever hold a candle to the most skilled magic user in all of Beast Yeast.

Allowing his eyelashes to flutter shut, the Recluse took in a deep breath from his nose, holding it for a few counts of ten, before exhaling out his mouth. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten. Repeat. He curled his fingers tight around the Soul Jam halves, then visualized exactly where he needed to go.

When he opened his eyes, in front of him levitated a swirling portal of gold and blue. The ghost of a smile danced on the Recluse’s lips as he forced his body to move forward. He nearly tripped over his own feet in anticipation as he dove straight into it, headfirst, almost fearless.

Almost.

— — —

The portal spit him out exactly where the Recluse needed to be at that moment.

That fact, however, did not necessarily mean that he particularly liked the place he was at.

After taking an embarrassing moment to puke nearly all his guts out, the churning of the portal unfortunately too much for his delicate stomach to handle, the Recluse wiped the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand as he stood to shaky legs and drank in the sight in front of him.

The once great and prosperous Vanillian Kingdom, now completely reduced to rubble and ruins, save for the castle in the center, held together by nothing but the sheer willpower of Dark Enchantress’s magic.

Curling his lip in disgust, the Recluse tightened his grip on his flower staff.

He should’ve known he couldn’t run from the ghosts of his past for long. Moving to Beast Yeast might have physically put distance between him and Crispia, but the cards of Fate had already been dealt for him.

He was always going to come back here, wasn’t he?

There was no point in delaying the inevitable, the Recluse supposed. As he begrudgingly began the trek down the Raisin Hill to the cookie castle, he allowed himself one last glance at the Soul Jam of Truth clenched in his palm. It glowed faintly, and the Recluse felt as though he could feel the Sage’s presence.

That may be the lack of food and sleep as well as dehydration talking, but the Recluse truly sensed as though the Sage was watching him right now, in this exact moment.

He could only wonder what his Sage was thinking of him right now.

Was his Sage shaking his head in disappointment as the Recluse made yet another mistake?

Or was he beaming with pride, the same way he did when a student answered one of his trick questions correctly, his smile wide and his dimples flashing with genuine, simple and unbridled joy?

One could entertain oneself with such musings for quite long lengths of time, and that was, unfortunately, one thing the Recluse did not have enough of right now.

Time.

If only his Sage had enough of that left over.

That doesn’t matter, the Recluse reminded himself. He was going to get the Sage his time back, even if he had to fight the Witches themselves for it.

The Recluse found himself face to face with the large doors of onyx, blinking blearily at them. He hadn’t realized he’d already gotten there, his mind had grown so fuzzy with disassociation.

Chiding himself, the Recluse reached out to knock on the door. He needed to remain sharp and alert, if not for his own sake, then at the very least, for the sake of his Sage.

His knuckles met stone as he knocked the door, eliciting a loud crisp sound. He heard whispers behind the door as well as feet shuffling and couldn’t help but smirk faintly. Even after all these years, the grandiose that was inevitably brought with the presence of Pure Vanilla Cookie has yet to fade.

Finally, the doors slowly opened, to reveal a cookie of average size and stature, though her back was as straight as a needle, making her seem taller than she actually was in real life. Her hair was pinned back in a graceful crown and red jewels hung from her robes. She bowed her head slightly forward; a begrudged sign of respect.

The Recluse’s skin felt suddenly far too warm, and he scratched absentmindedly at the inside crook of his arm, his nails accidentally catching on one of his self-inflicted scars. The thin layer of scab peeled off, the faint scent of blood filling the air.

If the cookie noticed, she did not speak of it. She simply said, “My master will see you now,” before turning on her heel, red hair flowing behind her gracefully as she made her way down the hall.

The Recluse had no choice but to follow her.

As he walked down the halls and up the staircases that once belonged to him, the Recluse was filled with a dreadful sort of nostalgia. He recalled fond memories of the past, of meetings with his friends, assisting his people. Other, not so fond memories, also bubbled up to the surface. Looks of betrayal flashing on trusted faces, blood so red it almost appeared to be black, war shaking the very foundations his kingdom stood on.

Brother turned against brother, friends turned to foes, love turned to hatred.

No one was spared the agony of war.

Not even Pure Vanilla himself.

He couldn’t help himself, the mental pain far too strong to handle. The Recluse reached into his sleeve and continued to scratch off the remaining scabs.

Suddenly, Pomegranate Cookie whirled around. The Recluse froze in half horror.

Had she seen him in the act?

No, it appeared she had not. She gestured to the door behind them airily with her hand. The Recluse relaxed his tense muscles ever so slightly.

“My mistress, Dark Enchantress Cookie, is just behind that door,” she informed the Recluse.

Throat gone dry with nerves, the Recluse could only manage a stiff nod of the head.

There was no point avoiding the inevitable, he realized. So he pushed past Pomegranate Cookie, ignoring the way her eyes narrowed in silent scrutiny when his shoulder hit hers, and shoved open the doors.

The force he exerted was a bit too strong, and the doors swung wide open and hit the walls opposite, making a loud sound. All the heads of Dark Enchantress’ accolades turned at the noise. Dark Enchantress herself glanced up casually and simply sipped at her wine, as if the Recluse’s appearance were no more important than a waiter coming in with the food.

Bristling slightly inwardly, the Recluse walked up the length of the table, snatching up a bottle from the front of a jelly worm, not paying attention to its protests as he swung it and took a long sip.

He did not stop until he was standing directly in front of Dark Enchantress Cookie. Wiping the leftover berry juice from the side of his mouth, the Recluse let out a burp.

Wrinkling her nose, Dark Enchantress said, dryly, “Pure Vanilla Cookie. I see you’re still ever the gentleman?”

Grinning, slipping into the act of false thickheadedness, the Recluse nodded. The alcohol settled into his stomach, there to help him out, hopefully. He allowed the bottle to slip past his fingers and shatter into shards. No one save for a few cake hounds flinched. “No need for pleasantries, I’ve come here for a reason and one reason only.”

Swirling a spoon around in her bowl of soup, Dark Enchantress hummed noncommittally, feigning nonchalance, but her sharp eyes glimmered with a slyness the Recluse was accustomed to all too well. The Recluse knew her mind was already sorting through the situation like a child sitting down with a rather complicated puzzle set.

She finally said, as she set down her spoon onto a napkin, “And, pray tell, what is this…reason of yours, you speak of?”

Forcing himself to maintain eye contact with the cookie that was once his closest friend, the Recluse slowly slid the Soul Jam of Knowledge out of his pocket and held it up for all to see. A few gasps lifted in the air at its sight, but Dark Enchantress simply stared at it, the hunger in her face plain as day, her passive act immediately shred as greedy desire overtook her body.

“Where’d you get the other half?” She half breathed, half growled, nails digging into the wood of the table.

The Recluse took his time before answering, allowing his eyes to glance around the walls that once sported the symbols of the Vanillian Kingdom, now donned with the banners supporting Dark Enchantress, who now held court in his very own castle. It was almost sickening to think about, although not as sickening as what he was going to say next.

“I murdered the Sage of Truth,” the Recluse declared. Bile threatened to rise up his throat, but he pushed forward. “Seeing him lying there, the life leaking out of his eyes, is certainly something I will never forget.”

The best lies always have seeds of Truth planted deep into their soil.

Dark Enchantress’ eyebrows of white rose up in clear surprise. “I must say, I’m rather impressed.” She flashed a smile of sharp teeth. “I never would have thought you’d have the balls to do that sort of thing, Pure Vanilla Cookie.”

It was almost funny, how the sharpened canines seemed almost cute on his Sage, yet so downright disgusting and repulsing on the Dark Enchrantress.

Fighting to keep his breathing even, the Recluse continued, “Regardless, I now possess the full Soul Jam of Knowledge, and I am willing to give it to you.”

Barking out a laugh, Dark Enchantress said, “Why the change of heart? After all, need I remind you, you were the one who had taken the rest from my grasp and sealed our friends away in that wretched Tree of Silver.”

Recent memories of his encounter with Hollyberry pushed against his skull, the sound of her agonised scream echoing in his hollow mind. The Recluse was hit with the urge once more, to dig his nails into his skin until he ripped it all up into shreds, until nothing was left save for his pearly white bones. But no, he could not do that right now, not in front of Dark Enchantress, could not afford to display such a sign of weakness.

“The Witches have forsaken me,” the Recluse said blandly, staring off blankly into the distance. “I haven’t heard their voices of guidance in decades.”

“Good riddance, if you ask me,” snorted Dark Enchantress. She didn’t even try to hide her disdain towards their divine creators, so unlike the feverishness of which White Lily used to talk of their gods with.

Forging on, the Recluse said, “I will give you the Soul Jam, in exchange for something else.”

“Ah, there’s a catch.” Dark Enchantress folded her hands in her lap and leaned forward, that wicked grin still pasted on her face. “Please, elaborate. The suspense is just killing me.”

The Recluse angled his face closer to her, their noses nearly touching. He could see every wrinkle set in her dough, the years clearly had not been as kind to her as she was letting on. Although, the Recluse himself was not one to judge, he supposed.

“I want to see your labs,” he whispered softly.

“The labs?” Dark Enchantress repeated as she leaned closer. The Recluse could feel her warm breath against his lips.

Even though it took every fiber in his body to not push her away in disgust, the Recluse forced the corners of his mouth to twitch upwards. “The ones in which you build the bodies,” he clarified.

Reaching out with her clawlike fingers to play with the Recluse’s blond hair which had gotten far too disheveled, chuckling to herself. “Wanna build yourself a new one, gramps?” She teased.

Stiffening ever so slightly at her touch, the Recluse said, “I need not to explain myself further.” He lowered his voice to a low grumble, one White Lily herself had admitted once was apparently “seductive.” “Do you want the Soul Jam, or not.”

Dark Enchantress’s lips parted ever so slightly. “Of course,” she growled, then sealed the distance between the two of them.

The Recluse hated it immediately. Unlike his moment with his Sage, this kiss felt all too wrong. Her mouth did not feel as though it were perfectly modded for his, and it was far too sloppy as Dark Enchantress slid her tongue part his lips and into the Recluse’s mouth.

Still, the Recluse let it happen, let her put her hands on him as she pushed him onto the table, spilling plates of food in the process as she wrinkled his robes with her death like grip.

The Recluse needed to get what he needed, and would do all that was necessary to bring his Sage back.

Little things like his own preferences and restrictions were not relevant.

And so, cradling his sworn enemy in his arms with the tenderness of a lover, the cookie who had taken everything he ever had from him allowed into his passionate embrace, the Truthless Recluse kissed the Dark Enchantress back, the image of his Sage of Truth the only thing floating in his mind’s eye.

Chapter Text

Leaning back without sparing the Truthless Recluse a second glance, the Dark Enchantress slid off the table with much more grace than most cookies mustered after a makeout of such. Wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, she snapped, “Pomegranate Cookie!”

The priestess immediately abandoned her post near the door and practically spawned right next to Dark Enchantress. “Yes, Master?”

“Lead Pure Vanilla Cookie to the Labiratorium,” she commanded. She skimmed the Recluse a sly look as she not so subtly angled her hand in his direction, her palm open and waiting.

The Recluse decided to play dumb for just a little bit longer, dragging a hand through his disheveled hair. Beads of sweat began to collect just above his brow. “Lead away,” he grunted.

“Ah-ah!” Dark Enchantress swung her skull headed cane right in front of the Recluse, preventing him from exiting. Her eyes narrowed to slits. “How about the Soul Jam, eh?”

“Did you really think I’d give it to you, right now?” The Recluse let out a low, hollow chuckle. “I’ve made the mistake of trusting you before, Dark Enchantress Cookie. Trust that I will not make it again.”

Throwing her head back and laughing, Dark Enchantress said, “Oh! Pure Vanilla Cookie, holding a grudge? I admit, you’ve gotten smarter over the years, hmm?”

The Recluse chose to remain silent, his sole response an involuntary twitch of his clenched jaw.

Seeing that he would not relent, Dark Enchantress muttered something under her breath about stubborn mules and finally lowered her staff. “Go to the labs,” she snapped. “And as soon as you return, I expect that Soul Jam to be in my possession.”

The Recluse allowed a smile to take over his lips. “Of course,” he lied sincerely.

Pomegranate Cookie whispered something in her master’s ear, who only swatted her away. “Bah! He’s nothing but an old fool, a stubborn one, too! Worry not, I’ll be watching.” She tapped the corner of her eyes knowingly.

Bristling, Pomegrante Cookie said, “With all due respect, Master, I wasn’t worried.”

The Recluse suspected this was as heated their arguments got.

After a wave of Dark Enchantress’s hand and a verbal dismissal, Pomegranate Cookie finally bowed, stood back up unnaturallt straight, and led the Recluse down to the labs.

The Recluse followed, and even though he didn’t dare look back, he felt eyes on his back, a lamb for the slaughter.

— — —

Admittingly, the Recluse did not pay as much attention to the route down to the Laboratorium as he probably should have. As Pomegrante Cookie led him down widning staircases and twisting hallways, the Recluse allowed his mind to wander, thinking fondly of his Sage.

Surely, if he were here right now, he’d be complaining horribly about the long way of walking. No, he’d surely abandon walking all together by now, using his levitation magic to float just inches from the ground. It was almost… adorable, how easy and quick it was for his Sage to grow tired.

The ghost of a smile danced on the Recluse’s lips, only fading when he realized where they were.

Cookies clad in coats of white bustled around pushing lab carts and carrying stacks of papers. The putrid scent of acid and burnt dough filled the air, making the Recluse wrinkle his nose in disgust. A stockily built cookie with goggles on his head and big hair resembling bread greeted them with a smile far too warm for the environment they were currently in.

“Greetings, Pomegranate Cookie!” The cookie made a move to hug the other, but immediately recoiled once he saw the murderous look on her face. He let his arms hang by his sides instead. “I wasn’t expecting you to come today, and with a friend, too!”

“I am no one’s friend,” grumbled the Recluse, raising the collar of his robes higher to his chin.

“And I’m everyone’s!” The cookie extended his hand out for a handshake. The Recluse simply stared at him disturbingly with mismatched eyes until the cookie finally lowered his hand, settling to run it instead through his hair. “The name’s Butter Roll Cookie, nice to meet you!”

“The pleasure is not shared,” the Recluse murmured.

“The Soul Jam holder is looking to have a tour of the lab, for reasons that elude me.” Although she spoke of him, Pomegranate Cookie did not look at the Recluse even once, her eyes trained directly at Butter Roll Cookie instead.

Already nodding with much too enthusiasm, Butter Roll said, “Oh, it’d be an honor, I’d love to!”

Pomegranate Cookie nodded back slowly, a stark contrast to Butter Roll’s fervor. “Then I’ll leave you to it.” The Recluse watched her depart up a staircase, almost sad to see her go. She was one of the only somewhat sensible people in this hell hole.

Clapping his hands together to make a crisp loud sound, Butter Roll exclaimed, “Follow me this way, please,” completely oblivious to the way the Recluse flinched at the action.

Closing his eyes, the Recluse reminded himself what he was here to do. His Sage was waiting for him, his Sage needed him. The self-inflicted scars on his forearm prickled with trepidation, beckoning him.

He forced his feet to shuffle forward.

“I had gotten kidnapped by Pomegranate Cookie,” Butter Roll was saying. “Dark Enchantress needed a brilliant scientific mind to run her lab, and I was the right cookie for the job, they said!”

“I’m surprised they wanted to have you, willingly,” mumbled the Recluse under his breath.

Blinking, Butter Roll asked, “I’m sorry, I didn’t quite catch that.”

“Do you even get compensated?” The Recluse changed the subject, his eyes scanning the shelves lining the walls as they passed them. Of course what he needed wasn’t here, just his luck. “Like, in money, in return for service.”

“I get compensated in experience and knowledge,” Butter Roll responded cheerfully.

A sinking filling pooled up in the bottom of the Recluse’s stomach. The response was so similar to something his Sage would’ve said, if presented with such an inquiry. It made the corners of his eyes burn with emotion.

“These are where we keep the bodies,” Butter Roll was saying. The Recluse looked up, finally.

He was standing face to face with a wall of suspended chambers, with lumps of mishapen dough floating around in greenish liquid in each of them. He leaned closer, using his flower staff to inspect them closer.

“What is this?” he asked Butter Roll, though he did not look at him, eyes locked in on the sight before him.

“Ah, this is where we grow the bodies!”

No shit, the Recluse thought. But he waited, patiently, for Butter Roll to elaborate furhter. After all, he still had time, though he was aware it was starting to run out, the sand trickling down and down, slipping past his fingers.

“It takes a grand total of six hundred and sixty six steps to complete a body,” Butter Roll continued. He directed the Recluse towards a particularly distinct chamber, gesturing towards it with a gloved hand. “This one is the furthest along we’ve gotten so far, this one’s up to the six hundredth and sixty fourth.”

“Why’s it not yet complete?” The Recluse could see the significant difference. It was a cookie’s base, nearly finished, with vague lumps for arms and legs.

Letting out a nervous chuckle, Butter Roll rubbed the back of his neck. “Um, the other dough we’ve been testing on did not take the life powder well, and we’ve sort of, uh, run out of it?”

“You’ve run out of life powder?” The Recluse frowned. It seemed stupid to him, that a lab dedicated to the building of bodies, didn’t have such a vital ingredient.

“Pure Vanilla Cookie.” That unmistable voice, with thinly veiled anger. Resigning himself, the Recluse turned, slowly. Dark Enchantress Cookie stood there, swinging her cane from side to side, the way a child plays with a yoyo.

“Ah, Dark Enchantress!” Butter Roll put a healthy distance between himself and both Dark Enchantress and the Recluse. “You two seem like you guys have much to discuss, so…” With those last words, Butter Roll quickly and conveniently scurried out, slipping out to where Dark Enchantress had crawled out from.

“What do you want, now?” The Recluse growled despite his nerves, protectively clutching his flower staff close to his chest.

Dark Enchantress smiled, a hideous smile of all teeth. “My Soul Jam, of course. I believe I’ve made that quite clear, haven’t I?”

The Recluse shook his head. “White Lily Cookie,” he began.

At the sound of that name, Dark Enchantress flinched like a wounded animal. “Don’t-don’t you dare call me that,” she snarled, though there was something akin to fear in her eyes as she almost backed up, then remembered where she was, leaning back forward again, as if she were fighting with herself. “She’s long dead and gone!”

“Yet, some part of her still lives on in you.” The Recluse walked over closer to the Dark Enchantress. “It does not have to be this way, White Lily Cookie.” His voice was soft, sounding just like Pure Vanilla’s for the first time in years. “Maybe we can learn to forgive.”

The Recluse watched Dark Enchantress. He saw her eyes harden where White Lily’s would’ve softened, her lips twist where White Lily’s would’ve parted, her arm’s muscles tense in preparation for an attack where White Lily’s arms would’ve reached out to embrace her friend.

It was at that moment that the Recluse got irrefutable confirmation of the Truth he’d been so desperate to dance around, choosing to instead cloak himself until he was rendered blind by that blanket of Deceit.

White Lily Cookie was dead.

Dark Enchantress Cookie was not White Lily Cookie, at least, not anymore.

In that moment, he had, desperately, searched one last time for any remaining fragments of his friend.

He did not find anything he didn’t already dread to know, and so, he finally let her go.

When Dark Enchantress lunged toward him, already half swinging her cane to hit the Recluse in the ribs, the Recluse was already prepared for that. Dropping his staff and grabbing at her instead, he used the motion of her attack and turned it against her, and, in a swift motion, twisted it around and stabbed her with the sharp butt of it.

Clenching his jaw, the Recluse twisted the weapon in Dark Enchantress’s gut, making a sickening squelch sound. Dark Enchantress gasped as jam blood and life powder leaked out of her body.

The Recluse grinned at the sight of the mess that was her body. He extracted the weapon, taking chunks of dough along with it before striking again, in a very close spot. More squelching, more gasps.

“How does it feel to be helpless?” The Recluse breathed as he dug it deeper into the Enchantress’ dough. “How does it feel to know pain?”

“Stop,” she almost whimpered, trying to twist her body away, but she was too weak. She was losing blood and life powder extremely rapidly, at a rate that would’ve been concerning if that wasn’t the Recluse’s exact goal.

There was almost a sorrow in the Recluse’s voice as he continued stabbing ruthlessnessly at the cookie that was once his closest friend. “Look what you’ve turned me into, look what we’ve become.”

“Enough.” Dark Enchantress had ceased wiggling, her arms limp, her words nearly pleading.

“All of the pain that I’ve been through.” The Recluse shook his head, staring at hands stained permanently red. “Haven’t I suffered enough?” He wondered aloud, musing to himself.

“M-mercy,” begged Dark Enchantress, her words barely above a whisper.

The Recluse stilled his body, the eerie calm before the storm. “Mercy? Mercy?”

And with that, he grabbed the cane one last final time and drove it straight into the Dark Enchantress’s heart. The life faded from her eyes nearly immediately.

Laughing hollowly as he dragged a bloody hand through his messy hair, the Recluse said, “My mercy’s long since drowned.”

For a few beats, he simply stood there, allowing the cane to slip past his fingers. It landed with a clank on the ground, but it barely registered in the Recluse’s mind. He felt as though he were underwater, everything around him muffled.

Then he saw the faint sparkle of the life powder leaking out of what once was the great and terrifying Dark Enchantress Cookie, and remembered himself, remembered his mission, remembered his Sage.

Grabbing a pouch he’d prepared in advance especially for this situation, the Recluse carefully extracted the life powder and transferred it, eyeing the contents to make sure it was enough for his Sage to return, to come back to life.

A scream of anguish tore through the Recluse’s throat, and he quickly muffled his hand over his mouth, remembering he was still in the Labortorium.

Falling to his knees, the Recluse sobbed silently.

He had collected all of the life powder leeching out of Dark Enchantress’s body; there was nothing left from her to offer.

Yet the pouch was only half way full.

He needed more.

Get up, a voice in his mind commanded him. The Recluse obeyed, albeit shakily. He needed more…

The Recluse glanced one more time at Dark Enchantress, making sure that she had nothing left. He wanted to rip the hair out of his scalp. Stupid half cookie, only half alive.

Well, she wasn’t any amount of alive now, huh?

That thought, for some reason, seemed extremely funny to the delirious Recluse. He began to giggle as he reached for the shard still kept in his pocket, guiding it to his chest just below his heart.

He used to be a healer. He knew everything about the cookie’s body, from how to keep it alive to how to kill it.

Slashing deep into his skin, the Recluse grunted as he slid down the wall, legs gone weak. This was the way he’d bring his Sage back, he reminded himself. There was no more time to find another cookie to kill, he wasn’t sure of his capabilities of even making it out of the Laboratorium with Dark Enchantress in this state. He shuddered to think of what would happen if her minions would walk in now and find their master’s body.

And so, he’d use his own life powder. He only really needed half of it.

Watching the silvery gold sand like substance trickle out his dough into the pouch, the Recluse couldn’t help but smile.

Once the pouch was enough, the Recluse used his magic to seal the gash he’d created, wincing as his skin knit itself together. He knew he should’ve waited at least a few hours before he moved again, but he had no time to waste doing small things like resting. He limped towards one of the chambers, the one that Butter Roll had been oh so fondly showing off earlier, using the wall for support as he had long discarded his staff.

Stumbling forward and nearly falling onto his face, the Recluse cursed softly, clutching the pouch with a deathlike grip. He retrieved the Soul Jam of Knowledge from the depths of his cloak, carefully removing his Sage’s half from his own. The half of Truth glimmered in the dim light, as if it, too, knew the significance of this moment.

The Recluse was no scientist. He wouldn't even pretend that he was as smart as his Sage. But he felt as though an ancient force’s hand was guiding him, helping him out, telling him quietly what to do.

And so, he listened to it.

He gently opened the door to the chamber and carefully pushed the Soul Jam deep into the dough floating in front of him. The dough absorbed it hungrily, as if it were waiting for this very thing to happen.

The Recluse couldn’t help but gasp as he watched what was once a lump of near nothingness transformed into his Sage’s body. The pale dough turned a smooth blue, limbs grew until they were the proper proportions, a mane of white, blue, and cerulean shiny strands of hair sprouted from the head.

“Sage,” the Recluse whispered feverishly, his voice so quiet, as if he were afraid he’d break the fragile spell cast. He remembered the pouch of life powder and quickly poured that into the dough, too.

Even though some deep sense in his bones knew what was going to happen, nothing in the world would’ve prepared the Recluse for the first time his Sage opened his eyes to the realm of the living once again.

Chapter Text

Everything that had happened seemed to be a blur to the Sage of Truth. From the moment he woke up from the sleeping draught the Recluse had slipped into the porridge, he had felt… odd.

His mind was obviously fuzzy from the draught, his movements all sluggish and slow. He woke groggily, rubbing at his eyes with the back of his hand, his head so heavy it took him a while to sit up without a flare of pain exploding inside his skull. When his brain finally caught onto what was happening, the first emotion the Sage felt was anger, lashing out like a snake made of red flames.

The Sage had trusted the Recluse, had let him in closer than anyone else he had before, revealed parts of himself he’d never laid bare before. And in return, the Recluse did this, this betrayal?

But that line of thought begged another question. Why did the Recluse do this, and what, exactly, did he do?

As quickly as it had come on, the Sage’s fury fastly faded into genuine curiosity. Standing up on shaky legs, he decided to trace the Recluse’s tracks and find out the answers to his questions.

And so, track him down he did.

Using a simple tracking spell, the Sage was able to find the Recluse soon enough, albeit at a slightly unexpected place.

Quiet as could be, the Sage crept up on the Reclus, who was studying the Silver Tree, kneeling down and looking at its roots, his flower staff in hand. Smiling to himself, the Sage levitated just an inch above the ground, so that his movements would be totally soundless.

He could already imagine how it was all going to play out. The Sage would spook the Recluse with an enthusiastic “Boo!” The Recluse would be startled and roll his eyes with affection yet feign annoyance, as he always did, hiding his blush behind his long messy bangs of blond. The Sage would tease him, his probing questions thinly veiled as teasing jabs. And maybe, just maybe, he could get the Recluse open himself up to him, just this once.

The Sage had no doubt that given enough time, freedom and opportunity to use magic, he could figure out on his own just what the Recluse had been doing at the Tree.

But for the first time, the Sage didn’t feel oh so desperate to find out the Truth, his usual driving curiosity fading to something… different. He wanted the Recluse to tell him himself, using his words and feeding them slowly to the Sage. He was starving, the Sage realized, for his connection to the Recluse.

That realization both excited and terrified him, filling his veins with an adrenalinic sensation.

Much too preoccupied with his own thoughts, the Sage did not see the shard of silver flying in his direction, did not hear the warning the Recluse’s lips were barely forming as he whipped his head around, did not feel the pain exploding in his chest, until it was far too late.

— — —

Death was a hard thing to describe. It is something no cookie should experience before their time of departure from the Land of the Living, and obviously, one could not take a head out of a casket, ask it a question, and get a response. The best you’d get is a “Uh, do whatever you want, I’m super dead!”

And even the chances of that response happening and reaching your ears were depressingly low.

The Sage was known for building lavish palaces out of words and paragraphs. He was more than capable of describing anything, really. It was rare for the turns of proper phrase to evade the Sage like this, slipping past his fingers like slimy goo.

For this feeling, though, he could only think of two words, really.

Pure oblivion.

Death was an abyss in which he floated, aimlessly and thoughtlessly. Nothing hurt. Nothing mattered.

Days blend to one, one blend to days, the Sage became dead and the dead became Sage.

Nothing made sense, and nothing had to.

Because now, the Sage himself was nothing.

That is, he was nothing, until he wasn’t no more.

— — —

Stories and fairytales told to you as children lead you to believe that coming back to life felt like waking up from a refreshingly long nap, or a good night’s rest of sleep.

But that was not what it had felt like to the Sage, not at all.

The moment he opened his eyes, he felt trapped, as if a noose were tied around his neck and he was running out of breath. The Sage gasped, his body thrashing violently, his lungs screaming for air yet refusing to be filled with it. He fell out of what some subconscious part of his brain recognized as a suspended chamber, his limbs all spinning out of control as he stumbled, heading head first straight to the ground.

He would’ve fallen flat on his face had strong arms not grabbed him around the waist and lifted him upright.

A shaky voice whispered, almost feverishly, “Sage?”

The Sage froze, blood cooling in his veins. He recognized that voice immediately, would recognize it anywhere, anyplace, anytime, no matter the universe or situation he’d be in.

Squinting his eyes, trying his best to see despite his blurred vision, the Sage croaked out, “Recluse? Is…Is that you?”

The sound of broken sobs erupted from the Recluse’s throat as he grabbed the Sage and pulled him close to his body, burying his face into his shoulder, wetting his dough with his snot and tears.

Stunned, the Sage had no choice but to lean into the Recluse’s touch. He was never good at emotional stuff, but even an oblivious fool like himself knew what to do in this situation.

The Sage hugged the Recluse back.

A gesture that was meant to be comforting, the Recluse only sobbed harder, clutching the Sage’s frail body tighter, as if he were afraid he’d crumble right there in front of him. Well, the Sage supposed that wasn’t an irrational fear. It did happen already before, after all. He chuckled humorously as he inhaled the Recluse’s vanilla scent, his nose twitching at the sensation as if his body hadn’t ever smelt anything before. Odd, but he’d dwell on that later.

Sniffling, the Recluse asked, still holding the Sage, “What’s so funny, my Sage?”

Shrinking in on himself slightly, the Sage assured him, “Nothing, don’t worry, Clusey.” He couldn’t help but hiccup. His body felt all… weird, almost as if it were new and unused to any sort of, well, anything.

“I will worry,” the Recluse said, cupping the Sage’s face in his hands. The Sage couldn’t help but flinch when he felt something wet graze his cheek and horror dawned on him when he realized the Recluse’s fingers were covered in blood. The Recluse remained oblivious, his pupils dilated and blown wide as he murmured, “How could I not worry for you, my Sage? I want to know every thought you think in your head, to accompany you in everything you do.”

A lump formed in the Sage’s throat. This was what he wanted, wasn’t it? Everything he’d just realized he’d been longing for and dreaming of.

He knew this, acknowledged it, even, and yet, it all still felt so…wrong.

Even though every part of his body groaned in protest, the Sage forced himself to push away from the Recluse, stumbling a few steps back, steadying himself using his hands on the Recluse’s body. Once he realized he was still touching the other, the Sage’s dough flushed and he immediately let go.

“Sage,” the Recluse said. If the Sage didn’t know any better, he’d think the Recluse were almost pleadingly whining as he reached out and tried to embrace him again.

“Don’t touch me right now,” the Sage snapped, wincing at the harshness of his words, but he could not take them back, it was too late. His eyes darted around the room, widening when he saw a mess of a dead body laying on the floor. So much red jam blood, spilling everywhere… Bile rising in his throat, the Sage hugged his own ribs, rubbing at his elbows as he asked his dreaded question, “Recluse, what did you do?”

For every step the Sage took in the opposite direction, the Recluse took two closer to him, cornering him in a trip. The Sage felt his back hit the wall behind him, the air becoming hard for him to breathe in again. The cloyingly sweet stench of blood made his head feel dizzy. The Recluse was smiling at the Sage, almost eerily. “Please, my love, tell me whatever the problem is.”

“Problem?” The Sage’s voice bordered hysteria as he nearly fell over backwards in his attempts to get away from his own other half. His body screamed as he twisted it in his desperate attempts in search of escape, the room seemingly growing claustrophobically small. “Y-you did something to me! You killed someone, and you did something to me!”

The Recluse caught the Sage again, this time holding on so tight that no matter how hard the Sage wriggled, he could not escape. His eyes had lost that enchanted lovestruck look from before, now gone dead serious. “I did what I did,” his voice growled. “To bring you back. I do not regret a single thing I did, for I did it to bring you back to me.”

The Sage shook his head vehemently. Then a thought occurred to him. He rolled up his sleeves, then tore his shirt off his chest in frustration, ran his fingers over his skin. It was too smooth, too perfect, too new, like the skin of a freshly baked new dough.

“This isn’t my body,” the Sage whispered. His scars were gone. He had loathed them so much before, but now, without them…

He felt naked, felt exposed.

He felt wrong.

“This isn’t my body!” The Sage shrieked, tears running down his cheeks. Mucus dribbled down his face from his nose as his body heaved with labored breaths, shaking all over. “You did this to me, you did this to me!”

The Recluse fell silent, staring at the Sage, an odd expression the Sage could not identify on his face.

The Sage hated how calm the Recluse’s demeanor was, how his eyes seemed to glimmer with delight as he watched Sage spiral. Overcome with emotion, the Sage slammed his fists into the Recluse’s chest, cursing his own weakness as the Recluse barely even moved an inch, not a single reaction flapping over his features.

“I hate you,” the Sage gasped, his vision flickering in and out of focus. “I hate you, I hate you, I hate you.” Suddenly, he felt so… tired. He collapsed against the Recluse, letting go and going limp, allowing the Recluse to bear the whole weight of his body. He was so tired… “I hate you.”

The Recluse traced the outline of the Sage’s mouth with his fingers. “If you say that, that’s okay,” the Recluse whispered. “You can yell at me. You can beat me. You can do whatever you wish to me, so long as you are with me.”

The Sage looked into the Recluse’s eyes. He could see it, could sense it, could tell he was tired, too.

Even though his new body barely had any energy, the Sage stood on the tips of his toes and pressed his lips against the Recluse’s, holding his face in his hands.

The Recluse made a scratchy sound in his throat, then he returned the kiss, even nipping with his teeth at the Sage’s lips.

The sharp pang of blood startled the Sage, and he broke away, bringing a hand to his mouth in mild surprise.

“We should get out of here,” the Sage said as it occurred to him, glancing down at the dead body still sprawled on the floor. A muscle feathered in the Recluse’s jaw. The Sage wasn’t sure what the Recluse had done here, or where they were, exactly, but he did know that they probably shouldn’t linger.

“Fine,” the Recluse sighed, running a hand through his hair. He had traces of the Sage’s jam blood on his lips, and the Sage leaned close to wipe it with his fingers. He smiled when he felt the Recluse’s skin heat up underneath his touch, his face a blushing mess.

With a flick of his hand, a portal using the Other Realm appeared. A strong feeling of nausea lurched in the Sage’s stomach, unlike anything he usually felt when summoning portals. He hunched over and barely had enough time to angle his face away from the Recluse before he vomited whatever contents were in his stomach, projecting them out into the already dirty floor.

Petals of varying shades of blue and yellow spilled out from his mouth instead of puke, immediately withering away into dust as soon as they made contact with the ground. The Sage stared ahead, his body shaking.

The Recluse bent down and held him by his shoulders. “Hey, Sage, are you okay?”

If the Sage wasn’t feeling so sick right now, he would’ve felt some sort of delight at the worry he detected in the Recluse’s trembling voice. “I-I’m fine,” he assured the Recluse, but his overall shakiness did not convince the Recluse.

Narrowing his eyes, the Recluse said, “You’re a shitty liar, you know that, don’t you.” It wasn’t phrased as a question, instead as a statement of fact. Before the Sage even opened his mouth to respond, the Recluse scooped him up, carrying his bridal style as he ran straight into the portal.

As soon as they went out the other side, the portal flickered out of existence, and the Sage threw up again, this time puking out full on flowers complete with stems and leaves.

“I don’t know why this is happening to me,” the Sage whimpered, pressing his forehead against the Recluse’s soothingly warm skin.

“Me neither,” the Recluse said, but judging by the look in his eyes, the Sage knew he was holding pieces of vital information back.

Twisting his body around, the Sage murmured a simple, “Tell me.”

Within seconds, the Recluse melted. “Your new body isn’t exactly complete, and I have no doubt it was not properly compared to house a Soul Jam holder as yourself. You will probably experience some sorts of bodily malfunctions from time to time.”

Fidgeting with his hands, the Sage decided he didn’t want to know more, at least not now. He was tired of thinking about…things. He just wanted to be.

Gesturing behind them, the Sage smiled somewhat shyly, his mind still torn around the edges from the weight of all that had just come crashing down on him. “I took us back to your Spire,” he told the Recluse.

“I see,” the Recluse said, returning a shy smile.

They were an odd sight, the pair of them. Two Soul Jam holders, one revived in an unknown and new body, the other drenched in the blood of a former friend turned foe, stumbling through the pages of their relationship arc, ignoring tornado warnings.

The Recluse offered the Sage his hand, and the Sage took it, not even realizing his palm had been waiting to be held by another.

And so, the two broken halves, united together as one whole, crossed the threshold together.

— — —

The afterglow of it all faded after about a day or two.

Every morning, the Sage would wake up in the Recluse’s bed, curled up in silk sheets. The Recluse would already be long awake, pressing a kiss to his head, laughing softly when the Sage grumbled sleepily.

It was the happiest the Sage had ever, or would ever, see the Recluse. Those early moments of quiet in the morning.

Then, after the Sage would finally crawl out of bed and into his clothes, the Recluse would have prepared a delicious breakfast for him that somehow consisted of his favorite foods (the Sage hadn’t even had to tell him them!), though the Recluse would not touch a crumb himself.

It bothered the Sage to such an extent that he didn’t even know he could be bothered, that the Recluse was so careless to himself, yet monitored every movement of the Sage’s.

He decided he would make it his mission to make sure the Redluse would eat often enough.

The Sage had tried to leave the Spire, that day. As he neared the door, he felt the weight of a hand on his shoulder. He turned to see the Recluse staring at him, smiling ominously.

“Recluse,” the Sage giggled breathlessly. He tried to explain, “I was going to the village square, to get some of those jelly berries I know you like-“

Not even hearing him out, the Recluse immediately said, “No.”

The Sage paused. “I beg your pardon?”

Pressing his mouth against the Sage’s neck, the Recluse murmured, “Don’t leave. Stay.”

Enveloped in the Recluse’s overwhelming warmth and the inevitable pressure and weight of his asking words, the Sage had no choice, really.

He leaned into the Recluse’s embrace, mumbling, “Okay.”

He did not leave to get any jelly berries that day,

This proved to persist as an ongoing thing, Recluse’s pleading disallowing of the Sage’s leaving.

Every time the Sage would get out of a chair, the Recluse would bolt up too, asking casually, “Where are we off to?”

It irked the Sage, that use of “we.” As if the Sage were not his own person.

In fact, the whole possessive act was a little bit disturbing, if the Sage admitted to himself. He dismissed the Recluse’s calling of him as “My Sage,” as nothing more than affection, but deep down, he knew the roots ran thicker and deeper than that.

It was simple to see. The Sage was both in love, and in denial.

The Sage did not realize how sweet Deceit tasted on his tongue until the Recluse helped him eat a spoonful of it everyday.

It wasn’t until the Sage had already read every book in the Recluse’s own private library that he looked up, glanced around the room, and allowed the Truth of the situation to finally sink in.

The Recluse was keeping him in there, and the Sage felt stifled.

Slowly getting up to his feet, the Sage closed the book he had just finished reading and set it gently down on the table.

The Recluse peeped up. “What are we doing now, my Sage?” he asked, standing to his feet as well.

The Sage took in a deep breath. “I’m leaving,” he said, putting emphasis on the I.

The Recluse blinked slowly, as if the words did not compute properly in his mind. “I beg your pardon?”

The Sage laughed nervously. “Don’t get me wrong, Recluse, I love my time here-”

“Then why are you leaving?” The Recluse was close now, too close. He caught the Sage’s wrists and held them by his sides. The Sage could feel the heat of his breathing down his neck.

“I have so much I need to do,” the Sage tried to explain, but he could see that the Recluse was not paying attention. He grasped, desperately, at whatever strings he could reach to pull, twist and tug at. “I need to rebuild my Spire, and it’s been so long since my last lecture, my students must all be so worried-”

“To hell with those students of yours,” growled the Recluse, and the Sage fell silent. The Recluse looked scary when he got so serious, the spark in his eyes gone dead and flat. “Where were they when you died, huh?”

The Sage grimaced. “Recluse, you’re not being fair-”

“Fair?” The Recluse grabbed the Sage and brought him so close to his face, their noses were nearly touching. The Sage could count every spot of freckle dotting the Recluse’s face. “Did you think it was fair, that everything I had and everyone I loved was taken away from me?”

“Of course not, but you must understand me,” the Sage started, only to be interrupted again.

“Understand?” The Recluse shook his head. “It is you, my dear Sage, who does not understand. I sacrificed so much during my life. I gave and gave and gave. I bent over for people until my back broke. But you? You are the last thing I have, the last thing that is mine.”

Their lips were barely an inch away from each other, though the feeling of adrenaline coursing through the Sage’s veins was more akin to fear and anticipation than love itself.

The Recluse closed his eyes, allowing his eyelashes to flutter against the Sage’s unnaturally smooth skin. “I will not lose you, not again.” His voice was hoarse with emotion.

“Oh, Recluse.” The Sage’s voice dripped with genuine sympathy. “You’ve lost so much, haven’t you?”

The Recluse made a sound in his throat.

“I’m sorry,” the Sage said, and he meant it.

With a snap of his fingers, he melted into the shadows.

— — —

The Recluse fell to his knees, his tears falling faster than his heavy body, though, hitting the floor with a soundless splash just before he did.

— — —

Guilt ate away at the Sage’s soul as he stumbled out the portal, falling to the ground. He was just outside the Spire at the Peak of Truth, not too far from where he had left the Recluse, yet the distance between them felt like a cavern so large and deep. The Sage collapsed in the grass and stared at the sky. The sun was setting, painting the atmosphere with beautiful streaky shades of pink and blue.

“It’s all my fault, isn’t it?” the Sage asked aloud, though he wasn’t talking to anyone in particular. He rolled over to the side and buried his face in his hands, crying softly.

He had caused the Recluse so much hurt, and still continued to, try as he might to not. He always said the wrong thing at the wrong time, always did the wrong stuff at the wrong instance. Why couldn’t he be good enough for the Recluse, be good enough for anyone?

Those cries slowly broke into sobs that made his ribs feel like they were going to explode inside of his chest.

Witches, how the Sage hated this new shell of a form. It felt all wrong and too smooth and much too perfect. It felt like a costume, not a real life body. It wasn’t his, and yet it was.

If only he could go back in time, and fix things to be right. If only his Spire had never burnt down, then maybe none of this mess would have happened. His Recluse wouldn’t be hurting right now, and neither would the Sage himself.

If only he could go back in time…

The Sage sat upright immediately, a thought nagging at his brain like a worm eating away at an apple.

Back when he was a young scholar, the Sage had read reports of peculiar devices known as time jumpers. Even nowadays, whispers still were passed around occasionally about mysterious devices falling from the sky during balloon expeditions.

They were called time jumpers, and witches be damned, the Sage of Truth was going to get his hands on one.

Chapter Text

Under normal circumstances, the Sage of Truth would’ve probably shifted his form by now as a means to keep a low profile while booking a balloon expedition. However, with this new body still unsuited and unused to his Dark Moon magic, he’d rather not take his chances. If summoning a mere portal was enough for him to puke out flowers, he was afraid that a more complicated spell, such as shapeshifting, would’ve resulted in a full garden, or worse. Opting to rather be safe than sorry, the Sage instead donned a simple hooded cloak.

As he caught his own reflection in a storefront window as he passed it, a numb sensation panged at the Sage’s chest. His makeshift disguise reminded him all too much of his fellow Virtue, the Herald of Abundance, Warming Spice Cookie.

It seemed like ages ago, when the Herald had pulled up to Blueberry Village and first warned the Sage of the Dark Moon magic threats arising. That one little event rippled through time and caused so much more pain than either of them could’ve anticipated.

Subconsciously, the Sage’s brisk walk slowed ever so slightly as he pressed a hand against his mouth, sufficiently stifling any cries that tried to escape past his lips. Did any of his friends know he had died? Did they know he came back to life? Was his old body still in the Silver Kingdom, perhaps with the Guardian? What had become of his young students, Candy Apple Cookie and Black Sapphire Cookie?

Each question was like a punching blow to the gut, and the Sage forced himself to move forward. He had a mission, after all.

He pushed aside all pestering and pounding thoughts of his companions to the back of his mind. He needed to lock in and focus right now.

Running through the plan in his mind, the Sage whispered under his breath like a mantra, “Get a balloon, find a time jumper, go back in time, fix what’s wrong and make it right. Get a balloon, find a time jumper, go back in time, fix what’s wrong and make it right.”

The most daunting of tasks more often than not sound simple at first, then the gravity of its complexity comes crashing down on you like a tsunami of water cast by an angered sea god.

— — —

Turns out, booking a balloon expedition for himself proved to be much more difficult than the Sage had first anticipated.

“Apologies, sir,” the head pilot sat at the desk said in a tone that adamantly proved he wasn’t quite sorry for what he was about to say. “I’m afraid I cannot allow you to go fly the balloon in this sky alone.”

Hiding his frustration barely underneath the shadow of his hood, the Sage hummed to calm himself down. His role required him to appear as rational and composed as possible, or the pilot would never grant him the permission he needed. “Is that so?”

“Mhm.” The pilot grinned cockily as he leaned forward, chewing his gum in such an obnoxious way it took nearly all of the Sage’s willpower to not slap it out of his mouth. “You see, I was taught under the tutelage of the notorious Sage of Truth himself in the means of manning this fine aircraft-”

Whatever else the orange haired pilot was saying fell on deaf ears. The Sage narrowed his eyes.

Attitude he could stomach. But straight up lying about one’s credentials, even using the Sage’s own name for clout?

That was far too much.

The Sage flicked back his hood and felt a thrill of delight watching the pilot’s face pass through all the stages of shock as he slowly recognized who the cookie standing in front of him truly was.

The pilot immediately dropped into a low bow, his nose nearly kissing the ground from how low he was bending. “S-Sage of Truth! Haha, I wasn’t-I didn’t realize-”

“Shut your sorry mouth and get up,” the Sage snapped, jaw clenched tight, his teeth grinding against each other. He wasn’t in the mood right now for games, which was a tad bit unfortunate, because perhaps another version of himself at another time would’ve enjoyed toying with the pilot. Alas.

Standing on shaky feet, the pilot laughed nervously. Visibles beads of sweat collected at his brow, and he wiped them with the back of his hand. “Y-yes?”

“I won’t tell anyone of your lies,” the Sage growled, eyes flashing. “If you allow me to fly the balloon all on my own. A win-win situation for both of us, isn’t it? You get to keep yours and I get to keep mine.”

Nodding so feverishly the Sage almost could’ve worried his head would fall off (that is, worried if he’d cared, which he didn’t), the pilot basically walked the Sage all the way to the balloon. “Of course!” His smile was so wide, his cheekbones must’ve been hurting from the motion.

The Sage didn’t bother thanking him, instead waving him off the same way one does with an annoying fly. The pilot scurried off immediately, all too eager to make his leave. “Little gnat,” the Sage grumbled under his breath.

He glanced one look at the controls and decided he was better off without them. It would take much too long to figure them out and besides, most reports claimed that time turners were found around the setting of the sun, and the sky was already tinted a hazy pink.

Calling upon his magic, the Sage fought to ignore the rise of nausea up his throat at the action and used the swirly mass of dark blue to propel the balloon upward. He must’ve miscalculated the proper amount of magic necessary for flight, though, for he skyrocketed into the atmosphere immediately.

A scream tore through the air as the Sage wrestled for a rope dancing nearby, grabbing at it and hoping for the best, praying to the Witches he wouldn’t fall off. Dying after coming back so soon would’ve been embarrassing, and crumbling upon impact was not a preferable way to die, not for the Sage or any other cookie, for that manner. The balloon continued its rapid ascent into the heavens, the Sage’s whole body shivering as wind beat at his face and ripped at his hair, his long bangs of white obscuring his vision.

“Stop it, witches be damned, stop it!” the Sage cried out, but, try as he might, his magic did not cut off, only swelling in size and power.

At this rate, he’d be skyrocketing out of the exosphere within mere minutes.

The Sage needed a plan. He frantically scrambled for ideas when…

His eyes latched upon a set of gardening pruners sliding down the floor of the basket. What they were doing in the balloon he had no idea, but he wasn’t one to question such a blessed coincidence. He ran for it, grabbing it in his arms, yelping when he accidentally cut himself with the sharp blade.

“Owie,” the Sage mumbled as he stuck his bleeding finger into his mouth. The sweet taste of blood filled his mouth and he immediately spit out his bloody saliva. “Gross.” The Sage couldn’t help but grin somewhat maniacally at the pruners in his hands.

This was either his best idea yet, or his worst. There was no in between.

He ran for the ropes attaching the inflated balloon to the basket and with a few quick snips here and there, the threads unraveled and the basket plummeted back to the ground at lightning speed.

Breath stolen by the sudden drop, the Sage fought to keep his eyes open as he squinted, in desperate search of what he was looking for. His stomach clenched again, and the Sage groaned inwardly. “No, not again-”

Petals burst from his mouth as whatever magic that had been suspending the balloon severed and reentered his body. The Sage ran to the side of the basket, hunching over the edge, his hair flying above his head in some sort of defying gravity ish way.

In that split second of relief after heaving out his flowery guts, the Sage’s vision caught onto something golden and shimmering and small.

The time jumper.

Everything around him seemed to be both sped up and in slow motion as the Sage leaned as far as he could without toppling over the edge, his fingers grazing cool metal and barely catching on as he and the basket he was in fell victim to the claim of Earthbread’s inevitable gravitational pull.

The balloon basket crashed onto the ground and into the center of the town square unceremoniously, wrecking a few stands and selling vendors in the bustling market center in the process. The Sage coughed as the dust settled, wiggling his way out of the wreckage, careful not to cut himself on any shards of glass. Shocked cookies and villagers stared at him agape, much too flabbergasted to properly comprehend what was happening.

It just occurred to the Sage that the majority, if not all of them, hadn’t seen him in months, not since his spire had burnt down. He wasn’t even sure if they knew if he’d been alive this whole time, let alone died and come back to the realm of the living. Not wanting to make a bad first impression now that he was back (albeit, temporarily) the Sage made a little wave, slipping the time jumper safely into his back pocket before he quickly used his magic to teleport directly to the Recluse’s spire at the Peak of Truth, as fast as possible, for he could not afford to be held back by trivialities such as small talk and whatever else the villagers might have forced onto him.

After delegating a quick moment to puke more flowers in the bushes, the Sage shook the lingering dust off his clothes, fixed his hair and, after a quick moment of hesitation, finally knocked on the Recluse’s door. A crisp loud sound, three short times.

The door swung open nearly immediately.

The Sage couldn’t help but hang his mouth open in surprise.

In the few hours the Sage had been gone, the Recluse had become a total mess. His hair was sticking up in all directions, his face clearly all puffy and red from crying. Bright jam blood dripped down his arm to his sleeve, and he clutched a shard of glass in his palm, which he dropped as soon as he laid his eyes upon the Sage.

The Recluse lurched forward, grabbing the Sage and hugging him close. The Sage stiffened, the vanilla scent of his other half so… intoxicating.

The Recluse buried his face into the Sage’s shoulder, his voice breaking as he hiccuped, “I thought you were gone, forever gone.”

Oh, witches. The Sage swallowed back the lump forming in his throat. The Recluse wasn’t going to make this easy, wasn’t he?

Trying to wriggle out of his grip, the Sage gently suggested, “Let’s go inside, my dear Recluse, we have much to discuss-”

“No.” The Recluse snarled, his hold on the Sage only tightening. If he pressed his chest closer to the other, they’d almost appear to be conjoined, the Sage’s Soul Jam clinking against the Recluse’s empty key of gold. “I’m not letting you go again.” His words cracked with raw emotion.

Expelling air from his mouth in a huff, the Sage awkwardly patted the top of Recluse’s head. “Fine, then.” He reached into his pocket to retrieve the time jumper, angling his palm so that the Recluse could properly see what he held. “Recognize this little trinket?”

The Recluse’s eyes widened just a fraction before his features molded back into his mask of neutrality, but it was more than enough for the Sage to properly discern his true unspoken answer. “No,” the Recluse lied.

The Sage tilted his head to the side. “Oh? Because I’m sure you do.”

The Recluse frowned, biting down on his lower lip. “Sage, why do you need that time jumper?” he asked, his exhaustion and tiredness clear in his tone as he gave in to the bait.

“I will go back in time,” the Sage said simply. “And fix everything.”

“No.” The Recluse let out a manic laugh, pressing his lips against the Sage’s throat. The Sage felt like melting when he felt his hot breath on his skin, but he fought to stay resolute. He’d come here for a reason. He would not fail to do what was right, not again. The Recluse dreadedly said, “I won’t let you leave me again.”

“Why won’t you just listen to me!” The Sage finally broke free from the Recluse, stumbling back a few steps. When the Recluse reached out to steady him, the Sage merely slapped his hand away. “You think you always have to be the one who makes sacrifices, who saves everyone. But I am my own person!”

Blinking slowly, the Recluse stared at the Sage, as if his words weren’t properly registering in his mind.

The Sage continued, pent up anger and frustration finally bursting to the surface in a fiery explosion. “Everyone’s always worrying for me, but I am a grown adult! Witches be damned, I’m the fricking Sage of Truth, I can do things myself!”

“Sage,” the Recluse started to say, but the Sage interrupted him.

“No, you’re still not listening to me.” Tears formed in the Sage’s eyes as he choked out his words. He needed to get them out in the world and out of his system. “You say that you love me, don’t you?”

“Of course I do!” The Recluse was now crying, too. “You are the only light in the sea of darkness that has consumed my existence.”

“Then let me go!” Silence filled the atmosphere, both halves heaving air.

The Recluse’s mismatched eyes flickered with something broken. “I-I don’t know if I can.” He looked down at his feet, ashamed and full of self loathing.

The Sage forced him to look at him, gently caressing his face with his fingers. Even after all that had happened, they were still cool to the touch. “I’ll find my way back to you,” he whispered. “I promise.”

The Recluse made a strangled sound in his throat. “Okay,” he managed. He reached out and curled the Sage’s fingers around the time jumper, a heavy emotion neither of them could quite place hovering over them like a wet blanket, their hearts aching with affliction. “I place my trust in you, that you’ll make your way back to me, and me to you.”

The Sage leaned in, for a whispered goodbye or one last kiss, the Recluse did not know. But he pushed him away nonetheless.

“Leave right now.” The Recluse said through sobs, his already poor vision blurring even more. Right now, the Sage looked like nothing more than mere blobs of blue and white, and yet he’d never seemed more beautiful to the Recluse. “If you don’t leave now… I don’t know if I could let you go again.”

The Sage nodded, his beautiful face streaked with the trail of tears making their way down his cheeks, his skin flushed a faint violet. “Okay,” he said, twisting the arrows on the time jumper. He felt the weight of its magic pressing against his dough, hot and frenzied.

As he sensed time slow and dull around him as it warped its path backwards, the Sage knew he had to say something to the Recluse, one last time.

“Remember, it’s only goodbye for now,” was all he got out, before the swirling vortex of time swallowed him whole.

— — —
The Sage of Truth had first noticed the dark figure halfway through his lecture.
He had been in the middle of his sentence when he felt a tingling sensation in his Soul Jam, something cold and prickly. He had frowned ever so slightly, a crease forming between his brows, and felt his gaze being directed to a specific spot of the crowd without really knowing why. He felt his breath catch in his throat.
The mysterious cookie wore a tall, triangular hat, his head bowed low. His robes were dark except for the thin threads of gold that shimmered in the sunlight like fireflies. A key glimmered at the base of his throat. The center of it looked as if there were something missing in its center.
The Sage swallowed, his fingers trailing to rest on his own Soul Jam. He traced the outline of the shape, cool to the touch.
He realized, with a start, that he had gone silent, his words fading. The young cookie scholars in the hall began to chatter softly. The Sage cleared his throat, drawing their focus and attention once more with such ease as if he were collecting threads of fabric, and started speaking again.

“Class is dismissed,” he told them all, his usually chirping voice blunt.

This only raised more commotion and confusion. It was extremely rare, if ever, for the Sage of Truth to halt his lectures halfway like this. And yet, there he was, shooing them away. “Dismissed, I told you!”

Left with no other choice, the young cookies packed up their things and made their leave from the hall. Only the figure remained, standing in his corner all alone, tall and mysterious.

The Sage smiled easily, taking a few quick sips from his water bottle before setting it down onto his desk and making his way to the figure. He placed his hands on his hips and felt the corners of his mouth twitching upward, his grin widening despite the flip flapping sensation of his heartbeat.

“I don’t believe I’ve seen you here before, my friend! Alas, today’s lecture is over. Care to come in the morrow?”

The hilariously large hat that the cookie wore cast a dark shadow over his eyes. The features of his face were obscured by darkness, and the Sage found himself readjusting his monocle in a futile attempt to see him better. “No,” he said quietly, yet firmly.

The Sage was not swayed, not faltering even once, his words flowing as steadily as ever. “Then, would you care to join me for some afternoon tea, my dear Recluse?”

The figure visibly froze. “How-”

The Sage let out a high twinkly laugh, grabbing at the figure’s arm. He winked conspiratorially at the Recluse. “I am the Sage of Truth, after all, I know all!”

“I’m afraid I’ll have to decline your invitation.” Although he was clearly shaken, the Recluse still remained stubborn, pulling his arm out of the Sage’s grip.

“I don’t see a reason why you’d have to,” the Sage chuckled to himself, pressing a finger to his lips. “I know you’re not otherwise occupied, all you’d be doing is sulking at that spire of yours at the Peak of Truth. By the way, you’re in dire need of redecoration. Your curtains are horribly out of season.”

Now that he’d moved into the generally sunlit part of the room, the Sage could make out most of the Recluse's features. His eyebrows shot up as he asked with thinly veiled annoyance, “Is that so? Tell me then, Sage, have you been sneaking around my Spire?”

“One could say that,” giggled the Sage behind his pale hand, delighted to be back in this game of back and forth. What was it Black Sapphire had said? Squabbling just like a couple in a show, the sort everyone knew was destined to be together.

Letting out a sigh of exasperation, the Recluse ran a hand through his hair and said, “Whether or not I have something to do, I’d rather, as you said, ‘sulk’ than waste away the day with you.” He turned to make his leave.

“Wait!” The Sage pulled at the Recluse’s robes, making the other groan audibly in vexation.

“What now?”

“Why did you come here?” Mismatched eyes of cerulean and gold met their paler twins swaddled in shadows. “There must’ve been a reason, save for wanting your ears to be graced by the magnificence of my lectures.”

Despite himself, a snort escaped past the Recluse’s lips. “Your lectures are subpar at best, Sage. And if you must know, I came here to issue you a warning.” He inclined forward so close to the Sage’s face, his heart skipped a few beats. “Stop teaching the Truth.”

The Sage wasn’t fazed. “Why must I?” he asked, indulging into the conversation he knew was to come.

The Recluse studied the Sage. The Sage waited, patiently. Whatever the Recluse found, it must’ve not satisfied him for he sighed again. “You truly are a fool, you know that?”

The Sage blushed, dragging his heels on the ground. “My, Recluse, you flatter me. No cookie before was so bold as to call me a fool to my face like that.”

The Recluse recoiled at the look the Sage gave him, one of pure adoration.

“I-” the Recluse was clearly at a loss for words. “That wasn’t meant to serve as a compliment, you fool,” he managed finally, humphing to himself as he whirled around, his cloaks swirling at his ankles as he made his leave.

The Sage watched him depart, smiling to himself as the rhythmic click clack of his feet and his staff rising and falling faded as the physical distance between the two halves grew. He called out half heartedly yet mustering some level of enthusiasm, “Words can and are meant to be interpreted as one wishes!”

If the Recluse heard him, he did not respond. But that was okay.

The Sage was not delusional. He knew there was no way for him to prevent all that was bad from happening again.

He could only fix what he could and hope for the best.

After all, he had an eternity with his Recluse to get it right.