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It was a prestigious institution—ancient, intimidating, and built for Cookies who possessed the spark of magic in their dough.
Prune Juice Cookie was not one of them.
He had no fireballs hidden in his fingertips, no telekinetic flair or flashy illusions. No runes lit up at his touch. No touch of magic answered his call. While the other students soared through arcane lessons with glowing palms and enchanted chants, Prune Juice sat quietly at his workbench—his magic not born.
The professors called his methods “alternative.” The other students had less kind words.
Potions were his only language.
Other students called him names behind his back—Fake Caster. Dustborn. Brew Rat. He didn’t react, didn’t give them the satisfaction. He poured his irritation into his work, perfecting every formula, every subtle brew, until even the professors had to admit he made up for his lack of magic with genius-level precision.
Still, he didn’t belong, not really. Not in their eyes.
And maybe that was why the rumor hit so hard when it first started.
“They say his father was Shadow Milk Cookie.”
The whisper slithered through the school like smoke through a keyhole. It came from enchanted stairwells and hovered in the corners of classrooms. Everyone heard it. No one said it to his face.
“The Shadow Milk Cookie? The beast of deceit? The one that Pure Vanilla Cookie defeated not long ago?”
“Makes sense, doesn’t it? That’s where he gets his creepy vibe.”
“But Shadow Milk was all dark magic. Prune Juice doesn’t even have magic.”
“Maybe it’s dormant. Maybe that’s what the potions are hiding.”
He tried to ignore them. He always did. But rumors had a way of slipping past his defenses, especially this one—because it wasn’t born from total fiction.
Because it was close.
One grey-skied weekend, the classroom windows trembled from a distant magical mishap on the far side of campus. Prune Juice sat alone in his dorm, distilling a particularly nasty batch of potions when the door flew open with a bang.
“Prune!” came the familiar bellow.
Capsaicin Cookie, trail of smoke behind him, burst in like a thunderclap, waving a paper bag of something that smelled aggressively illegal in three counties.
Prune Juice sighed, not looking up. “My hinges will never forgive you.”
For a while, the two of them just sat—one all flames and laughter, the other methodical and quiet as he stirred a simmering cauldron.
Despite being opposites in every imaginable way, they made it work. Capsaicin was the only Cookie alongside Kouign-Aman Cookie, who was out training for a special trip to a mountain or something, who didn’t treat Prune like a defective experiment. Maybe that’s why what he said next landed with a weight Prune wasn’t ready for.
“So,” Capsaicin said, very casually, “what’s the deal with your dad?”
The stirring stopped.
Prune Juice didn’t look up. “Which deal would that be?”
Everyone knew Capsaicin Cookie’s father was Burning Spice Cookie. It grew prominent when Golden Cheese herself talked to him about defeating him at Scovillia, and he had a whole breakdown completely. News moved like wildfire.
“You know,” Capsaicin said, leaning in, “The Shadow Milk Cookie, Beast of Deceit thing.”
Prune slowly turned, ladle still in hand. “Excuse me?”
“You haven’t heard? Pretty much the whole school’s buzzing about it,” Capsaicin said. “They think Shadow Milk Cookie is your dad. Or at least your bloodline.”
He gestured vaguely to the room—the potions, the cursed plants, the faint magical humming that came from the walls, even though Prune Juice never cast a single spell.
Prune Juice stared at him. “You believe that?”
Capsaicin shrugged. “I don’t care either way. I mean, yeah, you’ve got the ‘brooding mystery’ thing down, and your potions could probably resurrect a rock—but you never talk about your family, and that makes people curious. You’re a walking riddle.”
“There’s nothing interesting about my family,” Prune replied, almost too quickly. “And I don’t have magic. Shadow Milk did. If I were his son, wouldn’t I… glow or curse someone just by existing?”
Capsaicin opened his mouth, paused, and sat back. “You do kind of curse people just by existing, but point taken.”
Prune’s expression didn’t change, but the silence that followed was stiff.
“So,” Capsaicin said, slowly, “you’re saying it’s just a rumor?”
“I’m saying,” Prune replied coolly, “that I didn’t choose this path to live in anyone’s shadow. I make potions because they work. Not because I was born special. Because I wasn’t.”
That was that. Or at least, it was supposed to be.
But Capsaicin knew his friend well enough to see it—that faint tightness in his jaw, the way his hands lingered over the cauldron like it was the only thing tethering him to the ground.
So he let it drop. For now.
Capsaicin stood and stretched, his cloak catching on a jar of powdered ingredients of who knows what. “Still think it’s a dumb rumor,” he muttered. “But I get it. If you ever do wanna talk about it… y’know. I’m not just good looks and hot sauce.”
“Debatable,” Prune said, but his voice had lost some of its edge.
With a lazy wave, Capsaicin headed for the door. “Later, potion boy.”
“Try not to set anything on fire on your way out.”
“No promises!”
…
That night, Prune Juice pulled out a silk-wrapped object tenderly in his hands.
A photograph. Old, warped at the corners, but still intact.
This particular piece of a picture had a cookie, dressed in gold yellow and blue, holding a staff. The man’s eyes glowed pale under the moonlight, and a faint smile tugged at his lips. Not warm. But not cold either.
Shadow Milk Cookie. Or…What he formerly went by. Blueberry Milk Cookie.
Prune stared at it in silence for a long while, the photo trembling slightly in his hand. He thought about all the times he’d stayed up brewing until his fingers burned, trying to find something—anything.
Capsaicin remembered his childhood well, having…severe trauma from how he went to Scovillia.
Well…Prune Juice could barely remember anything else than the faint memory of his father with him before being sealed in the silver tree.
During the Triple Cone Cup, he barely recognised Capsaicin, sure he had a nudge that the Spice Overlord was related to his past, somehow, but he was too busy with the cup to realise!
Then when Capsaicin told the two others that his father was the beast of destruction, Prune Juice inwardly freaked out.
…
Alongside Capsaicin Cookie, Burning Spice Cookie managed to convince Shadow Milk Cookie to bake his own son.
After multiple attempts, (and encouragement from the pre-corrupted beasts) Prune Juice Cookie was born from the oven.
Immediately, he fell into his fatherly duties, despite being the fount of knowledge, which really angered his people.
They were so just so impatient! So annoying!
After a long, frustrating conversation with Burning Spice Cookie, the two wholeheartedly agreed to exchange duties every week, between parental and professional work.
Its not like he can pull answers out of his ass, stupid cookies!
…
Being…locked in the silver tree had been…difficult. Burning Spice and Shadow Milk had a rather aggressive fight, only to be pulled away by Silent Salt after gaining multiple injuries. Jam was dripping on the base of the tree, Shadow Milk panting as Burning Spice was held back by Silent Salt.
Mystic Flour had healed the two, of course, after a painfully long lecture.
That night in the silver tree, Shadow Milk heard Burning Spice cry softly when he thought everyone else had fallen asleep. Shadow Milk didn’t bother, didn’t try to help the other beast, because he was feeling his own despair.
But…he needed to keep up his character. The beast of deceit? Crying over a small matter it wasn’t small? Pathetic!
Was it really pathetic?