Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Soft, gentle chirps penetrated through the window of the dimly lit room. A tall cookie dressed in a long, sparkly robe peeked through a crack in the door. 

He never imagined that his guest bedroom would ever be used. But, now, there was a cookie peacefully resting in the space. He quietly passed the threshold and tiptoed close to the sleeping being.

He put a hand on the cookie's shoulder and shook it gently. "Helloo... It's time to wake up now, dear friend."

The blond cookie stirred, and his eyes fluttered. He gazed at the being above him.

The Sage of Truth (his nickname, much less of a mouthful than Blueberry Milk Cookie) smiled. He stood up straight, adjusting his robe.

"Well, hello! You've been sleeping an awfully long time now." The cookie on the bed, clothed in black robes, stayed silent. His eyes darted around the room, and despite his poor vision, he took a few seconds taking in all the furniture, decor, everything.

With a strained, quiet voice, he finally spoke. "Where... am I?"

"Well, you're in my tower! I saw your little body all tossed aside on the ground. And, instead of letting the soon-coming rain make you all soggy, I brought you here instead!"

The other's pupils shook after his weirdly enthusiastic explanation. He slowly pushed himself up into a seating position. "And... you are?"

The Sage put a hand to his chest as he gasped. "You don't know who I am?" He crossed his arms and turned his head away from him. 

"Hmph, do you perhaps not come from here? If you lived here, it is impossible to believe you couldn't have known my name."

The blond remained indifferent. "I know little. In fact, I remember little from before you..." He grimaced, his eyes narrowing at the tall cookie. "... found me on the ground. I know my name, but not yours."

The Sage reluctantly turned his head back to the other. "Well, I am formally known as Professor Blueberry Milk Cookie, but most of my students call me anything but." He sighed. "But, the nicest nickname they've ever come up with is The Sage of Truth."

He held his hand out towards the other. "Though, you can just call me Sage, to save on time."

The cookie on the bed kept his hand to himself, still plagued with uncertainty and suspicion. "... Alright."

The Sage huffed as he retracted his hand and put it behind his back. He snapped back to his original demeanor just as quickly as he had slipped out of it.  "And what might your name be?"

The other stayed silent for a moment. He shrank in his seat before hesitantly giving his answer. "Pure Vanilla Cookie. But... that name does not apply to me now. I prefer Truthless Recluse."

The Sage recoiled at his words, completely overlooking the former answer as his mind clung onto the latter.  “And that was a choice? Of all aliases, you choose something with "Truthless" in it?”

Truthless Recluse lowered his head. "I did not choose that name," Instead of displaying any defensive behavior, his tone kept even and calm, weirdly devoid of any banter. "rather, it chose me."

The tall cookie stared at him, his facial expression a mix of disgust and disbelief. He took a steadying breath as he readjusted his robe.  “Well... I will call you Recluse. I refuse to call a cookie something so... disgraceful."

The recluse’s mind hung on his condescending words for a moment before shrugging and adjusting himself to lie back down.

The Sage quickly reached out to pull him back up. "Woah, woah! We cannot have you going back to sleep now. We have a day ahead! Let me make you something to eat before I get to class. I insist."

The blond cookie let himself be grabbed out of bed without vocal protest. He remained silent when the professor wrapped an uncomfortable arm around his shoulder.

"I have some tea, sugar crystals, and a fair selection of jellies! All intended for the clarity of the mind! I cannot be drowsy when I am supposed to teach, can I?"

He chortled at his own humor. He led the shorter cookie toward another section of his tower. "Do not worry, Recluse, I will surely be able to change that mindset of yours."

“And you will sit right... there!”

The Sage pointed towards a cushion near the back of the circular room. "You can watch our lesson! I am sure you will learn a thing or two!" His smile reached his eyes, wrinkling their corners. 

Following instructions with mechanical precision, Truthless Recluse navigated the foreign space of the classroom, each detail washing over him in a meaningless blur.

Two long rectangular stained glass windows were at the back of the classroom, displaying one photo of the Sage of Truth himself, holding his arms out to a flock of young cookies. 

The other, much simpler, displayed a scroll of a subject he was unsure of.

The crystals decorated the room, a perfect balance of comfort and formality. There was also a selection of dense books in built-in bookcases, as well as various mirrors on the crystal-encrusted hardwood desks, each with a small gemstone to match, to clarify the cookie sitting there.

The professor's eyes brightened at his new guest's wandering gaze, seizing the opportunity to share his sanctuary. With scholarly enthusiasm, he guided Truthless Recluse's attention to his handiwork. 

"Taking a quick look around, are we? Well, I hope you recognize that these little desks are not just tree stumps!” He crouched down to gesture to the attributes.

“I meticulously carved each desk to include a side compartment, crystal holders, and a truth rune embedded into each desk! I work hard to make the classroom a sanctuary of peace and a learning environment. Purged of lies and deceit, and replaced with truth and healing.”

He bowed as he finished his monologue. He still, however, rambled on about the room even after the blond cookie had taken his seat. 

“You know, in the dark, these desks glow ever so softly. I picked out the best crystals and gemstones I could find, all for the youth. It is best to bless our younger generations the best we can, wouldn't you think?”

No response, but that did not bother The Sage.

“I think you will quite enjoy our practices today. I like to take a unique approach to things.” He waved his hand. 

“I'm not like those other academics. Spitting words at cookies for hours will do nothing in the long run.”

He strolled forward to his podium at the front of the classroom, which was made of gleaming, semi transparent crystal. He rested his arms against the structure.

“My students will be here any moment now, I have it down to the second.” 

He pulled out a golden pocket watch. His eyes intently stared at the ticking hands. “Three... two…”

A line of cookies filed through the entrance. He grinned at the entering children. Some dashed to their desks, while others waited around for their friends.

"Welcome, dear scholars! Who's hungry for knowledge?"

The lot of them raised their hands or exclaimed with no second thought, gaining an even bigger smile out of the professor.

“That's what I love to see! Now, now, get seated! My lecture is about to begin!”

The rest of the children ran to their seat cushions. Among the chaos, one student raised their hand. “Hm? Yes, young cookie?”

The student pointed to the back of the classroom, directly at Truthless Recluse. The cadence of their voice was infected with curiosity. “Who's that?”

The Sage glanced at the blond, his demeanor barely changing. “Why, that is Mr. Recluse! He will observe our lesson today! Everybody welcome him!”

The many young cookies enthusiastically waved at him. “Hello Mr. Reclusee!” He raised an unmoving hand, a simple act of acknowledgment.

One cookie raised themselves from their cushion.

“Can we give him a nickname? Oh, please, professor, can we? Just look at him. There's a lot to work with!”

The Sage narrowed his eyes at the student. A break from his usual demeanor, a scowl replaced his smile. "Unless you want to propose a reason to me on why we're giving a guest a nickname, I suggest you sit down."

The once enthusiastic child lowered themselves back down into their seat. The professor's face softened. "Thank you, young cookie. Now, let's get started with our lesson, shall we?"

The Sage's knowing glance swept over his withdrawn pupil, carrying a silent prayer that today's teachings might stir something within that dormant spirit.

Suddenly, their instruction had been relocated to a large rug much closer to the other adult in the classroom.

This was the “Truth Circle” (that he had just learned about because The Sage refused to elaborate over breakfast.) The professor sat the closest to the window, and his voice broke the short-lived silence.

“I’m sure my young sages remember what we do during this activity, correct?” A general sound of agreement filled the room, with a couple of straggling comments of wonder, since they had done this activity multiple times.

He clapped his hands together. “Wonderful! Since we are so knowledgeable, tell me, what is this activity? Our guest is the only one unaware!” He gestured towards the blond, still perched motionless in the corner.

A few eager children raised their hands, their eyes twinkling in kindling hope as they waited to be acknowledged. He called on the student closest to him, and the cookie faced the recluse as they excitedly explained.

“Basically, we all sit in a circle, and we all go around saying a statement, and the rest of us have to figure out if it's a fact or opinion!”

Truthless Recluse nodded. The Sage quickly interjected, “You should join us, Mr. Recluse! I'm sure this exercise would be helpful to you as well.”

He quickly shook his head in objection, but the children began to make pleading gestures and puppy-dog eyes, accompanied by a chorus of “please”s.

The young cookies' pleading faces stirred something ancient within him - a phantom ache, like muscle memory in a missing limb.

His body moved before his mind could protest, drawn into their circle by an instinct that felt both foreign and achingly familiar.

Once he had joined, one child had already spouted out a statement.

“Okay, I got one. School is fun!” Many voices overlapped at once. Some kids yelled “Truth!” and some “Opinion!” but The Sage calmed everyone down. 

“Now, now, I think this one is of the rare occasions that it's both! I'd like to believe school is fun with me as your teacher, correct?” Most of the children nodded. “Alright then! Next, please!”

The cookie tapped their chin for a bit before stating theirs. “Glasses help people see better!” The same child readjusted their glasses. 

Every cookie yelled, “Truth!”

The professor smiled. “In fact, it is, dear students.” He pointed to his monocle, the glass filling with the sunlight of the window behind him. "I have a seeing glass! It helps me read better.”

Every other student who had glasses also pitched in about how their glasses helped them, as well. 

This cycle continued. A student made a claim, the rest of the class said it was a fact or an opinion, and the professor explained why. 

This cycle persisted until it reached Truthless Recluse. 

The Sage of Truth put his hands in his lap as he stared at him. “Well? Mr. Recluse? What statement do you have for us?”

Every child had their eyes on him now. Their stares were mystified and curious, or slightly concerned and impatient. 

After a silence that seemed to drone on forever, he muttered an answer. 

“Some wounds cannot be healed.”

Many of the cookies cringed or leaned away from him. The professor kept his signature smile on his face. “What was that, Mr. Recluse? I'm afraid I might have misheard you.”

A beat of hesitation, a force telling him he should not, but a stronger one persuading him into repeating himself. “Some wounds cannot be healed.”

The careful mask of enlightened detachment slipped from the professor's features.

He deeply inhaled. “Well then. Class? What do we think that statement is?”

Some kids shrugged. Some kids mumbled out weak “Truth”s. 

The Sage adjusted his position before speaking. “While it is true, it's also quite morbid.”

His eyebrows furrowed. “Mr. Recluse, please stick to something more... light, next time, please? Next!”

And on the cycle went. Student to student. Fact, opinion, fact, fact, opinion. 

Truthless Recluse only registered the answers. Despite the short lapse in time, he had started tuning out those, too. He couldn't care less about whatever the students had to say. 

Then, it was right back on him.

All eyes were on him, again.

His mind rotated through every statement he could ever remember, all from the classic, simple grade school ones to the macabre, grotesque ones. 

And, for a reason he couldn't explain, his mind landed on…

“Deceit and truth are two sides of the same coin.”

The Sage raised from his cushion, like ancient pottery, his cultivated serenity gave way to the pressure. 

“Mr. Recluse, can you step outside with me, please?”

The blond cookie lifted himself from his seat and followed the professor out of the classroom. 

The taller cookie was quick to grab the wrist of the other the moment he closed the door, not tight enough to inflict damage, but firm enough to register as a warning.

“Recluse.” He sighed. “Why... why are you doing this? I sort of understand your whole edgy thing, but…” His gaze faltered, his hold on the others wrist giving way.

“We're in front of kids. Our youth is supposed to be exposed to the truth, but not in the way you're phrasing it. These cookies are young. You cannot be traumatizing them at such an age.” His eyes flicked up to look at the other.

The weight of that expectant gaze left Truthless Recluse truly wordless, not with calculation but with genuine emptiness. His usual labyrinth of evasive answers had dissolved, leaving only the raw truth of his uncertainty.

After a period of careful choosing of his words, his voice echoed more than it came from his own body, still tainted with hesitancy.

“I fear I cannot come up with anything else. My mind is hard-wired in a way I cannot control.”

The Sage pressed his fingers against his temples, his usual wisdom offering no answers. "What am I going to do with you?"

The words carried the weight of genuine despair rather than their usual gentle chiding.

He looked back at the blond. “Let's go back in. But this time, sit outside the circle. You can just spectate.”

Before he opened the door, he muttered something under his breath. “However, I hope you will be part of another one of our activities in the future…”

No response. 

They walked back into the room. 

“Sorry about that, class! Mr. Recluse is going to spectate the rest of this exercise.”

He sat back down in the circle. “Now! Let's get back to it, shall we?”

Chapter Text

"Goodbye, dear scholars! I hope you all have a wonderful weekend!"

As he waved goodbye to the kids, one of them went up to him and hugged him tightly. They nuzzled their head into his suit, and their voice was muffled as they said farewell. "Goodbye, Mr. Sage."

The professor threw his arms up in surprise before slowly returning the embrace. "Heh... I'll see you next week, young cookie. Goodbye now."

The child unlatched themselves from him and ran after the rest of their friends.

His signature grin faded, and his head drooped onto the top of his podium, sighing deeply once his head reached the chill crystal.

"I do love the kids, I really do." He lifted his head back up, rubbing his eyes. "They can just be... a handful at times."

In the corner of the room, Truthless Recluse sat motionless, his vacant stare piercing through the wall as if it weren't there at all.

His eyes, glassy and unfocused, seemed to be looking into another world entirely.

The professor's footsteps echoed in the empty classroom as he approached the distant figure, each step measured and careful, as if approaching a spooked animal.

He leaned over the other. "Hello? Are you... still here with me?" He administered a few firm taps to his shoulder. 

The touch shattered his distant reverie like breaking glass. His shoulders tensed and his breath caught sharply in his throat as reality crashed back into focus.

When his eyes finally found The Sage's face, they were wide with momentary confusion, like someone awakening from a deep dream. 

"…Hi," he managed, the word barely a whisper, still trying to anchor himself in the present moment.

The Sage straightened himself with a practiced grace, though the warmth in his smile didn't quite reach his eyes.

"Ah! There you are! Zoned out, did you? Understandable, if I could, I would have too." His hand fell limply to his side as he turned away, shoulders sagging ever so slightly.

The familiar crease between his brows deepened as he studied the empty classroom's far wall. "Though, I assume that means you did not catch most of our lesson today."

Truthless Recluse shook his head, confirming what the professor had dreaded.

"Aw. What a shame." The Sage's fingers drummed thoughtfully against his thigh, his usual confident posture wavering for just a moment.

He brightened suddenly, as if struck by inspiration, though a hint of uncertainty lingered in his voice. 

"Perhaps… I can go over some of our material?" His head tilted hopefully to one side, hands clasping together in that characteristic way teachers do when trying to spark interest in a reluctant student.

The Recluse stayed silent.

He remained perfectly still in his corner, perched on the cushion like a statue, offering neither acknowledgment nor rejection.

The emptiness of the classroom seemed to echo his blank response, creating a void that even The Sage's warmth couldn't penetrate.

His hands lay motionless in his lap, his posture unchanged - a living portrait of pure indifference.

Despite the (lack thereof an) answer, he began studying the classroom for something simple the two could practice.

“Hm..." The professor’s eyes lit up as he noticed the gleaming crystal of one of the mirrors and grabbed it off of one of the student's desks. "Let's start with at least one exercise."

He crouched down next to the recluse and faced the mirror towards him. "We always do daily affirmations right before we get started with anything else. And, of course, they're related to truth and reconciliation..."

The Sage's words became meaningless white noise as Truthless Recluse stared at himself in the mirror.

He had not seen his face so clearly in so long.

His reflection was a stranger's ghost - eyes now pools of darkness where light must have once lived, haunted by shadows that carved deep hollows beneath them.

His hair spilled past his shoulders, wild and unkempt, nothing like… something distant in his memory. 

But it was his soul jam that made his breath catch painfully in his throat. Where that vital essence should have been, there was only… nothing. 

The emptiness struck him like a physical blow, leaving him frozen before the mirror, trapped in a spiral of half-formed memories and mounting dread.

The Sage's hand cut through his spiraling thoughts, waving frantically before his eyes.

"Hello? You have an awful problem of tuning things out, you know."

The professor's voice yanked him from the abyss of dark thoughts. His head jerked away from the mirror with such force that his hair whipped against his face, as if the reflection itself had burned him.

Every muscle tensed with the desperate need to escape his own image. "Now, please, pay attention."

Like a man facing execution, The Recluse forced his gaze back to the mirror, each moment a battle against the urge to flee from what awaited him there.

His reflection stared back, a dark testament to everything he couldn't remember - and everything he didn't want to see.

Still, he anchored himself to the present, though every fiber of his being screamed to look away.

"Repeat after me, okay?"

The blond cookie drew in a shaky breath, as if preparing himself for poison rather than simple words. 

"I choose to speak my truth with honesty and integrity."

Truthless Recluse's hands fidgeted. "...I choose to speak my truth with honesty and integrity."

"Good. Next. I am open to listening to others' stories, even if they challenge my own."

A beat of silence was complimented with a shaky breath. "I am open to listening to others' stories, even if they challenge my own."

A hand rested itself on the recluse's back. "I am committed to learning from the past and building a more just future."

"I... am committed to learning from the past and building a more just future."

The professor's smile widened, pride radiating from his posture as he watched the other progress.

His hand remained steady and encouraging on Truthless Recluse's back as he continued, "I am forgiving of myself and others, including those who have caused me harm."

"I am forgiving of myself and others... including those who have caused me harm."

He patted the other cookies back. "Good. Last one. I am a vessel of love, light, and truth, and I will share it with the world."

The final affirmation hung heavy in the air as Truthless Recluse's gaze sank back into that haunting reflection.

Something in those darkened eyes seemed to mock the very notion of being a "vessel of light."

His head moved in a slow, deliberate rejection - not of The Sage, but of the lie he couldn't bring himself to voice.

"No? This is the last one, Recluse. You can do it."

He couldn't. The mirror held nothing but shadows where light should be, each darkened feature a silent accusation against such noble words.

Something ancient and wounded stirred in the depths of his fractured memory, recoiling at the very suggestion that he could be anything but tainted.

Every fiber of his being rejected the affirmation with a finality that left no room for argument.

He didn't deserve to be referred to so highly.

"No."

The Sage's shoulders fell slightly, but his voice remained carefully measured, carrying the practiced patience of an experienced teacher.

"Alright. This is a process of healing, after all. I cannot expect you to progress so quickly. We will try again tomorrow."

With fluid grace that betrayed years of routine, he rose and returned the mirror to its compartment, each movement deliberate - as if giving himself time to rebuild his optimistic facade.

When he turned back, his smile had returned, though it carried a shadow of concern.

He extended a hand toward the blond, beckoning him up.

"Come on. Let's have some dinner. I didn't see you eat much during breakfast or lunch."

Patterns of golden light danced across the marble floors of the tower's kitchen and dining area.

Vines slithered around the windows and pillars, and the flowers sprouting from them seemed to silently hum as the professor set the table.

Among the other serene decorations was a small fountain in the corner that always provided wonderfully clean water, which served as the foundation for all of his teas.

He took a whistling teapot off his stove and poured the boiling water in two, porcelain teacups. He placed the teapot back on the cool stove eye.

He observed as the herb blend from the tea bag seeped into the water. He pointed at the china cup with a grin. "This blend is supposed to promote warmth and healing."

He slid into his seat, barely two feet from the recluse because of the little rounded table.

On both plates sat a carefully arranged meal: pearly white rice nestled beside a steaming bowl of translucent broth, its surface catching the golden light.

Scattered across the dishes were jewel-toned jellies, their surfaces gleaming like polished gems, each one promising a different subtle sweetness. 

A delicate dusting of crystallized sugar sparkled over everything like morning frost, the essential minerals catching and reflecting the room's warm glow.

"You know, these little crystals are crucial for maintaining a cookies crunchiness, that's why I have them in about every meal of mine!"

His hand gestured to the recluse's food. "I sprinkled some over yours, too. I'm not sure of your past dietary habits, but I'd better stay safe than sorry."

The Sage lifted his spoon to his lips, barely tasting the sweetened rice despite its quality. The silence stretched thick and heavy between them until he could bear it no longer.

"You know, despite the students, and the frequent trips I take outside my tower to gather supplies... I'm actually quite lonesome up here. My weekends, especially."

He took another spoonful of rice, chewing thoughtfully before swallowing, as if the simple act helped him gather his words.

"You're quite the saving grace, you know? Being isolated for long isn't adequate for any cookie."

Truthless Recluse's head bobbed in automatic agreement, his spoon pushing aimless patterns through the untouched rice. "Yes. It isn't."

The words fell from his lips like stones, hollow and heavy with unspoken meaning. His consciousness seemed to drift further with each mindless circle drawn in his food. 

His head rested wearily on his hand, and his pupils were unfocused and unmoving.

The other cookie watched in slight annoyance as the recluse shifted his food around. It all went against his morals, his teachings, and everything he advocated for. Letting a fellow cookie suffer felt like a personal failure.

Eventually, he couldn't take it anymore.

The Sage put his spoon down, the metal clink against the plate a precursor to his frustrated response. "Recluse."

Reality snapped back into focus as he dragged his head upward, a simple "Hm?" falling from his lips before his mind fully returned.

"I need you to eat. If there's one thing I will not tolerate, especially since we are on a journey of healing, is you not eating." He lifted himself from his chair.

In three swift strides, he reached the other cookie and pried the spoon from limp fingers. With practiced authority, he scooped up a precise portion of rice and thrust it before the other's mouth. "At least one spoonful. Eat."

The blond looked at the utensil with heavy resentment before taking it into his mouth - not from hunger, but from a desperate need for the professor to cease his unnecessary attempts at rehabilitation.

The Sage withdrew the spoon with newfound gentleness, placing it on the plate with delicate care.

His earlier forcefulness melted away as he rubbed soothing circles on the recluse's back. "Good." The word emerged soft as a whisper, heavy with relief.

The rice slid down his throat in a way that almost made him sick. He couldn't remember the last time he had ever had such a form of sustenance; or if he had even had it at all.

Truthless Recluse refused the urge to cough it back up, choking every grain down. He shakily inhaled, his eyes never leaving the plate despite it being the second most hateful thing to look at in the moment. "Happy?" The word came out bitter and raw..

The Sage picked up one of the squishy blue jellybeans. "Maybe after a few jellies. Come on, open up."

The blond pried his eyes from the ever-growing depressing meal to look at the cookie he despised most at the moment.

For the first time since his arrival, The Sage's persistent coddling had pushed him past the void of his emptiness into something raw and real: rage.

His shoulders drew taut as bowstrings, fingers curling into white-knuckled fists against the table's edge.

The air around him seemed to grow heavier, colder, as if something long-buried had been forcibly dragged to the surface.

The other's eyes widened at the sight. Suddenly, his tone, which he hadn't noticed had grown excessively irritated, softened immediately. "I apologize. One jelly, then? Just as a starting point."

Truthless Recluse snatched the jellybean from the taller cookie's hands, crushing it between his teeth with deliberate, savage force - a small act of defiance in the only way he could manage.

The Sage's gaze lingered, heavy with pity, before he retreated to his seat. The remainder of dinner passed in a silence thick enough to suffocate.

Their tea sat forgotten, growing cold in the hollow aftermath of their confrontation.

Chapter Text

The sun had started to rise. A strong orange hue made its way through a split in the curtains, casting an arc of light across the bedroom.

Classic chirps of the birds outside could be distinctly heard, even through the closed windows.

Back in the room where he had first woken up, Truthless Recluse lay limply on the plush bed. His hat rested on one of the bed stands, hardly ever worn since his time in the tower.

His hand traveled up to his chest, resting it on the soul-jam-less outline on his robe. There was no way his soul jam could truly be gone. After all, if it was, how would he even be alive?

He inspected further. He lifted the front flap of his robe and let his fingers navigate their way to his sternum.

His fingers found the jam - cold and squishy beneath his touch - but where there should have been a deep, soul-stirring connection, there was only emptiness.

Like touching a stranger's hand instead of his own, his fingers registered the texture and temperature, but the vital spark, the essence that made it his, had vanished.

It was as if he were reaching for his own heart only to find it belonged to someone else.

He hesitantly pushed the fabric out of the way, fully exposing the jam.

A pale, shadowy blue replaced the once bright color. Each press against the surface brought only a hollow sting, like pressing on a healing bruise that wasn't quite his own.

This numbness felt wrong - soul jams were meant to be centers of feeling, of truth, of life itself. Yet his responded with barely a whisper of sensation, as if it too had forgotten what it meant to truly feel.

His soul, the very culmination of his being, had transformed into something so dreadful, so appalling. It had been rendered useless; its only function was keeping him alive.

He swiftly covered it back up with his robe, retreating to his original position as if distance could somehow undo what he'd seen.

The silence of the room pressed in around him, broken only by the continued chirping of birds outside - and notably absent of any knocking from The Sage.

A complex relief washed over him at this solitude. After yesterday's interaction, the thought of facing The Sage - of having those knowing eyes study him while his own soul felt so alien - made him want to sink deeper into the bed's embrace.

Yet something inside him twisted at the thought of complete isolation. The Sage, despite his unwanted advances, had broken months, years, of crushing loneliness.

Rejecting the professor meant choosing solitude again, but accepting his presence meant confronting emotions he wasn't sure he could trust anymore.

Theoretically, his past state of seclusion was fine. If he had gone so long without socializing, it shouldn't have bothered him if some cookie he had just met stopped talking to him.

Yet even as he tried to convince himself of this logic, an unfamiliar pain bloomed in his chest, forcing him to clutch at his robes.

He groaned in pain as he sat up. He rubbed his eyes, though he wished he hadn't, because it felt like impaired his vision even further.

The sight of his transformed soul jam left him with questions that gnawed at his mind. There had to be answers somewhere in this room - The Sage wouldn't have left any corner of this tower without resources. His gaze drifted to the towering bookcases lining the walls.

He stumbled as he stood up from the bed and proceeded toward one of them. Unsurprisingly, it was strewn with self-help books, mystical wisdom, and aged Cookie Kingdom histories.

With trembling fingers, he traced along the book spines, eventually stopping on a book filled to the brim with information on ancients, and their precursors. As he began to pull the book out, he felt an overwhelming sense of dread.

The leather-bound volume seemed to pulse in his quaking grip. Illustrations of the five ancient heroes and the five baked before them were scratched into the cover.

He gulped.

The sound of him flipping through the pages got progressively louder. The pages of the book fluttered as his hand quivered underneath it.

Quicker than he expected, he landed on the page. In cursive, written at the top, was "Pure Vanilla Cookie."

Several sketches of the cookie littered the page. Even through drawings, the ancient exuded a sublime grace that was truly captivating.

Small captions that complimented the photos had the unstable cookie barely choke back tears.

"Pure Vanilla Cookie, although the youngest, had already spread his wisdom and the gospel of truth among cookiekind. His austere grandeur had already left its mark on hundreds of cookies, and he is one of the most respected and loved among his kingdom."

The next page made him stop dead in his tracks.

"His precursor, Blueberry Milk Cookie, is rumored to be the fount of all his knowledge. It is unknown if the two ever personally interacted."

His body stiffened, and he dropped the book.

Blueberry Milk Cookie.

Blueberry Milk Cookie.

"Agh..." He dropped to his knees as a wave of pain plagued his entire body. His head spun, and it felt like his chest was being rearranged from the inside out.

A fist tugged at his hair as it persevered, not once providing mercy or even a brief pause.

His vision was the worst he could ever remember it being, and intense flashes of light tortured him if he dared to close his eyes.

After what felt like an endless period of suffering, it finally stopped. Truthless Recluse panted heavily as his tight grip softened and eventually let go.

Violent coughs erupted from the cookie. After the headaches and gut-turning sensations subsided, he could finally think.

Blueberry Milk Cookie, not yet a professor when he had first met him, was the first cookie to have ever introduced him to the light of the truth.

Blueberry Milk Cookie, not a friend but not a foe, was the first cookie to have presented the path of healing and knowledge to him.

His memories stopped there.

If he knew the cookie who brought him in and cared for him, if he finally remembered after all these years, why was he the way he was now?

Why was he Truthless Recluse?

Pure Vanilla Cookie led the bleating sheep around the outskirts of the town.

Once he had reached a busier section, another cookie, barely much older than him, skipped towards him with a huge grin plastered on his face.

The papers between his thick stack of books threatened to fall out as he cradled them.

His tone, which could have been misinterpreted as scripted and overly meticulous, seemed genuine as he spoke enthusiastically to the other cookie. "Hello! How are you doing today?

"I'm well! I am just herding the animals about..." Pure Vanilla gestured to the large flock of sheep gathered around him.

The taller cookie weaved his way past the animals to get closer to him. "If I could take you away for a moment, would you like to hear about the light of truth?"

Pure Vanilla crooked his head, puzzled by the question. "Light of truth? What is that?"

Blueberry Milk removed the paper from the top of the stack and presented it to the other cookie. "In other words, the true happiness that truth provides you!"

The shorter cookie took the makeshift flyer from the other, scribbled in messy cursive was "The Steps to Healing." Seven steps were written with detailed, in-depth instructions, resembling a how-to guide.

He took great care in observing and processing the information in the list. After a minute or two of reading, he granted a smile as a token of his appreciation. "Thank you. I'll keep this for as long as I can."

Blueberry Milk clutched his books close once again. "You're welcome! Before you go on your way, I must say this. Always reinforce truth in your life, even if it slips out of your grasp. It will always lead you back on a positive path. I added that in." He smirked.

"If you ever need or see me, my name is Blueberry Milk Cookie!"

They both waved goodbye as the taller cookie left him, and he was already trying to catch another passerby.

Pure Vanilla folded the paper and stuck it in his satchel. Silently, he wondered if he and that cookie would ever cross paths again.

He must have collapsed there on the floor, his consciousness slipping away as the weight of these revelations crushed him.

The room had grown slightly darker, shadows stretching across the fallen book and his crumpled form. How long had he been there, lost in the void between memory and mystery?

Gentle knocks that sounded like bangs awoke Truthless Recluse. The Sage's voice drifted through, "I felt your distress from across the tower. May I enter?"

Truthless Recluse glanced between the fallen book and the door, his newfound knowledge making The Sage's presence both more necessary and more threatening.

A pained answer, barely any louder than a whisper sounded. "...Yes."

The professor carefully opened the door, his eyes widened as he discovered the other on the floor. He hurried over and got down on his knees, a hand resting itself gently on the other's back. "Whatever happened?"

All newfound information felt like it had left him once the question arose. The revelation left him hollow, each breath catching in his throat as his mind struggled to reconcile who he was with who he had been.

His mind struggled to formulate a single sentence, barely able to gather more than a string of words.

Rage bubbled beneath his surface - not the hot, explosive kind, but a cold, creeping fury at having been robbed of his own history.

Words failed him entirely. His body language spoke volumes - shoulders hunched protectively, gaze fixed on the fallen book, trembling fingers pressed against his transformed soul jam. The Sage's presence only amplified his internal chaos.

He pulled away from the professor's touch.

Shivering hands reached out for the book and pushed it underneath the darkness of his robes, hiding it from the other.

Truthless Recluse looked up at The Sage, his usual stoic demeanor crumbling. "I was someone else once. Someone who understood truth, who knew light. How did I become... this?"

He gestured to his being, a form that he now found disgraceful. His voice caught in his throat, and he wept.

Helplessness etched itself across the professor's features as each broken sob tore through the heavy silence, the space between them both too vast and too intimate to bridge.

"Stay."

The word escaped before he could stop it, barely audible but heavy with meaning. His fingers unconsciously gripped the edge of the Sage's sleeve, surprising them both. "Please... I need to understand."

The 'with your help' remained unspoken but hung in the air between them.

The professor gently took the other hand in his and spoke with an unfamiliar tender tone neither of them had heard since their first meeting.

"Of course. There are truths," the Sage began, choosing each word with deliberate care, "that must be approached gently, like morning light after darkness."

His eyes held a mix of concern and understanding. "We'll face them together, but at a pace that won't shatter you further."

Chapter Text

Morning light filtered through the tower windows differently now that Truthless Recluse had begun listening more intently to The Sage's lectures.

No longer did it feel like an accusatory finger pointing through his curtains, but rather a gentle reminder that another day of routine awaited him.

The familiar weight of his hat - recently reclaimed from the bedstand - rested comfortably on his head as he made his way to the dining chamber.

A week of sharing meals with The Sage had established a peculiar rhythm: breakfast before lectures, lunch in contemplative silence, and dinner filled with careful discussions about the day's teachings.

It was... structured. Safe. A framework that felt both foreign and necessary.

He sat quietly at their usual table when the professor had left early to get the classroom ready. Only crumbs and drips of honey littered the porcelain plate.

The Sage had learned to let the blond cookie eat at his own pace, albeit slowly.

In contrast with the way he had first walked to the classroom, his steps felt light and imbued with an energy that was lost upon him long ago, finally welcoming him anew, like an old friend.

The Sage caught his eye when he entered, offering a slight nod that carried their now-usual understanding - no pressure to participate, just an invitation to absorb.

Today's lecture focused on the third step of healing: "Practice self-care." The irony wasn't lost on him as he settled into his usual corner of the classroom, far enough to be an observer but close enough to hear every word.

Students filtered in; bright and pulsing with life, as usual.

Truthless Recluse found himself wondering if this too was a form of self-care: learning how to exist in spaces without dissolving into them.

Despite his personal growth, his reputation in the classroom stayed the same. His first impression had never truly been lost among the children.

Most students had grown accustomed to his presence in their own ways. The braver ones would steal glances when they thought he wasn't looking, their whispers barely contained behind cupped hands.

Some treated him like a living shadow - present but purposefully ignored, their eyes skating past his corner as if meeting his gaze might turn them to stone.

The younger ones were different altogether. They regarded him with that unique mixture of fear and fascination reserved for ghost stories and midnight legends.

Their whispered tales about his origins grew more elaborate each day - he'd heard at least three versions claiming he was The Sage's long-lost research partner, and another suggesting he was an ancient cookie in disguise, studying modern teaching methods.

At some point, their false narrative of the recluse's identity became their truth. How ironic it was, that months of lessons had been lost upon them. All of their morals made a 180 all because of a singular, new, unfamiliar vessel they knew nothing about.

He pried himself from the train of thought and instead refocused all of his attention on the professor.

The Sage's lecture echoed against stone walls: "Self-care isn't merely about comfort - it's about acknowledging your own existence as worthy of maintenance."

His words carried a weight that settled uncomfortably in Truthless Recluse's chest. Maintenance. As if he were a garden that had been left to grow wild.

The professor drew a circular diagram on a floating panel, each segment labeled with different aspects of care: Physical, Mental, Emotional, Social, and Spiritual.

Truthless Recluse's hand moved unconsciously to his notebook - another recent addition to his routine - and began copying the shape. His lines wavered compared to The Sage's confident strokes.

"Today's practical exercise," The Sage announced, "will focus on identifying one small act of care in each category." The students began their usual shuffle of paired discussion, their excited murmurs filling the air.

Truthless Recluse stared at his empty circles. Physical - when had he last tended to anything beyond basic existence?

Mental - did his recent reading count, even if it had led to collapse? Social... his grip tightened on his quill.

He flipped his book shut. The sound was enough to startle some of the pairs near the back of the classroom, yet the professor seemed unphased.

After class, as students filed out with their usual mixture of furtive glances and careful distance, The Sage approached his corner.

"Would you join me in the garden?" The question held no pressure, just possibility. "The herb beds need tending, and I find physical tasks often clear the mind for deeper work."

Something in the invitation felt different from their usual mealtime routine. Perhaps it was the prospect of purpose - of caring for something that wasn't himself, until he remembered how.

The garden tools felt foreign in his hands, like relics from someone else's life.

The Sage didn't rush to correct his awkward grip on the trowel or comment on his hesitation before each plant.

Instead, he demonstrated with his own hands: how to test the soil's moisture, how to distinguish beneficial growth from harmful, and how to support without smothering.

"Many of these herbs," The Sage explained while gently loosening the soil around a struggling mint plant, "are used in healing teas. They require consistent care, but they're remarkably resilient."

He paused, allowing the parallel to hang unspoken in the air between them. "Even when neglected, their essence remains unchanged. They simply need the right conditions to thrive again."

Truthless Recluse found himself kneeling before a patch of wilting lavender, its color faded but its scent still present.

His shadowy soul jam pulsed faintly as he worked the soil with gradually steadying hands. For the first time in recent memory, he was creating something instead of withdrawing from it.

The afternoon sun warmed his back as he worked, and he realized he had removed his hat without thinking, letting light touch his face directly.

Small steps, he thought, recalling the diagram from class. Small, deliberate acts of care.

Each time his thoughts drifted to his transformed soul jam or fragments of memory about his first meeting with Blueberry Milk Cookie, the physical sensation of soil beneath his fingers pulled him back.

The Sage seemed to notice these moments of drift, gently redirecting with simple instructions that anchored him to the now.

"Tell me what you observe about this herb," The Sage suggested, indicating the lavender Truthless Recluse was tending.

Not what he thought about it, or what it reminded him of - just what he could see, smell, touch in this moment.

Truthless Recluse hesitated, then forced himself to focus solely on the plant before him.

"The stems are... bent, but not broken." His voice grew steadier as he continued. "The leaves have a silver-gray coating. The flowers are faded, but the scent is still..."

He inhaled, letting the present moment fill his senses. "...still strong."

"Good. Stay with that observation." The Sage demonstrated how to properly prune the struggling plant.

"When we garden, yesterday's growth and tomorrow's potential matter less than what the plant needs right now."

The parallel wasn't subtle, but it settled into Truthless Recluse's thoughts like a seed taking root.

He found himself noting simple, immediate things: the different textures of each herb, the way sunlight created shadows between leaves, and the subtle changes in temperature as clouds passed overhead.

These observations left less room for the spiral of questions about his past that usually consumed him.

When his hands started trembling from the unfamiliar work, he noticed that too - not with his usual shame or frustration, but with the same observant distance he'd been applying to the plants.

His body was telling him something about this moment, and for once, he listened.

"Perhaps," he said quietly, sitting back on his heels, "I should rest." The words surprised him - not for their content, but because they addressed a present need without judgment or resistance.

The Sage's approving nod carried the weight of a lesson learned. "Self-care and present focus often work in harmony," he said, setting aside his own tools. "One teaches us to recognize our needs, the other helps us respond to them as they arise."

As they cleaned their tools and prepared to return inside, Truthless Recluse found himself already cataloging small details he would have missed weeks ago: the specific way afternoon light hit the tower windows, the rhythmic tap of tools being stored, the gradual easing of tension in his shoulders.

The Sage paused at the garden entrance. "Tomorrow's lecture will explore how present focus can become a natural state rather than a conscious effort. But perhaps,"

He added with a knowing glance at the newly tended herbs, "you've already begun to understand that through experience rather than theory."

Truthless Recluse looked back at their work - not thinking about how the garden used to look or wondering how it would grow, but simply seeing it as it was in this moment.

For a brief instant, his shadowy soul jam seemed to pulse in sync with the present, neither reaching backward nor forward in time.

The professor's voice was tranquil as he pulled out a chair for the other cookie to sit in.

"The ritual is simple," The Sage explained, arranging three white candles in a triangle on Truthless Recluse's desk.

"Focus on the flames, let your breathing match their steady rhythm, and allow your thoughts to settle like leaves on still water."

He demonstrated the proper meditation posture, then moved toward the door. "I'll return in an hour. Remember - stay present."

Alone with the flickering lights, Truthless Recluse attempted to follow the instructions. But as his breathing steadied, the candles' glow seemed to dim as his eyes gazed at a historical tome he hadn't noticed before, bound in white leather now faded to gray.

His hands moved before his mind could protest about staying present.

Unlike the other books, this one bore the symbol of the Vanilla Kingdom on its cover - a mark he'd seen somewhere before but couldn't quite place.

The pages fell open naturally to a section marked with a pressed vanilla flower, its fragrance still faintly present after all this time. The text, written in an elegant hand, documented the fall of the ancient kingdom:

"Dark Enchantress Cookie's assault on the Vanilla Kingdom marked the beginning of an era of darkness.

Her corruption spread through the lands like poison, destroying not just structures and lives, but the very foundations of truth and trust that Pure Vanilla Cookie had spent years building.

Despite his immense power and wisdom, Pure Vanilla Cookie could not prevent the loss of his kingdom, his people, or the young cookies he had sworn to protect and guide.

The tragedy wasn't merely in the physical destruction - it was in watching his life's teachings about truth, loyalty, and empathy crumble in the face of such calculated malice.

After the kingdom's fall, Pure Vanilla Cookie simply... vanished. No trace remained of the ancient who had once guided countless cookies toward truth and light .

Some say he retreated to solitude, others believe the weight of his failure drove him to abandon his principles entirely.

His final moments in the public eye were documented by a young scholar who witnessed him standing amidst the ruins of his kingdom, his usually bright presence dimmed by despair.

The last recorded words of Pure Vanilla Cookie, spoken to no one in particular as he gazed at his destroyed kingdom: "What use is truth in a world where darkness prevails so easily?"

He was never seen again."

Truthless Recluse's hands trembled as he turned the page, finding a detailed illustration of Pure Vanilla Cookie.

The familiar robes, the gentle expression, the soul jam glowing with truth and purpose - it triggered something deep within his shadowy essence.

His own soul jam pulsed painfully as fragments of memory began to surface: the screams of his people, Dark Enchantress Cookie's laughter, and the crushing realization that all his teachings about truth and goodness had failed to protect those he cared for most.

The candles flickered violently as understanding crashed over him.

He wasn't just someone who had lost his way - he was Pure Vanilla Cookie, who had disappeared into darkness until truth itself became poison to his soul, transforming him into what he was now: Truthless Recluse.

The realization hit him with physical force, each memory striking like lightning through his shadowy soul jam.

The room began to spin, darkness creeping in at the edges of his vision - but this wasn't like the previous blackout that had brought fragments of memory. This was different. Violent.

His soul jam pulsed with an agony that threatened to tear him apart. He tried to call out, but his voice failed him.

The book slipped from his trembling hands as he collapsed.

Through rapidly dimming consciousness, he watched the vanilla flower flutter from the pages, landing beside his outstretched hand.

The last thing he registered before darkness claimed him wasn't a memory, but a terrifying certainty: this wasn't just another blackout.

This felt like truth and lies waging war inside him, threatening to destroy whatever was left of both Pure Vanilla Cookie and Truthless Recluse.

And he wasn't sure either one would survive.

Chapter Text

The Sage's return to check on the relaxation ritual was met with an unsettling stillness.

The candles still burned steadily in their holders, their flames casting long shadows across the floor.

But it was the absence of energy - the complete void where Truthless Recluse's presence should have been - that made him rush into the room.

He found him collapsed beside the desk, one hand still reaching toward a fallen book.

The professor's breath caught at what he saw next - beneath the parted folds of Truthless Recluse's robes was something impossible: a soul jam, fluctuating wildly between a shadowy blue and something brighter that seemed to fight against the darkness before being swallowed again.

The Sage's own soul jam, a steady beacon of truth that had remained constant since his birth, pulsed with shocked recognition.

In all his years of study, he'd only encountered a handful of cookies with soul jams - they were marks of ancient power or mystical significance. To discover his troubled guest possessed one, hidden all this time...

"What in the name of truth..." The Sage knelt beside him, carefully turning him onto his back for a better look.

The recluse's soul jam appeared to be an inverse of his own, making something deep within the professor stir.

His fingers brushed against an old book lying open beside Truthless Recluse, its pages marked with what appeared to be a pressed vanilla flower, but his attention remained fixed on this newfound revelation.

There wasn't time to process this discovery. The erratic pulses of the soul jam were growing weaker, each flash of brightness seeming to drain more energy than the last.

The professor had dealt with many troubled souls in his tower, but this was different - this was something he'd never encountered, never even suspected during their weeks of healing work.

His study, he decided quickly. Whatever was happening, Truthless Recluse needed to be somewhere stable, somewhere with resources. Not the research kind, but the nuturing, caring kind.

The professor gathered his unconscious form carefully, noting how light he felt despite what he assumed was heavy robe fabric.

The book that had apparently triggered this laid forgotten on the floor, its pages fluttering closed as The Sage carried his charge from the room.

Pausing only to extinguish the candles with a quick breath, he turned toward his study. "Hold on," he murmured, his own soul jam glowing with newfound purpose.

"Whatever truth you've been hiding, whatever's causing this reaction - we'll figure it out together."

He couldn't have known then how profound that promise would prove to be, or that the book left behind held answers to questions he hadn't even thought to ask.

Consciousness returned slowly, like dawn creeping over horizon.

The first thing Truthless Recluse registered was that he wasn't in his room - the light fell differently here, and the air carried the distinct scent of old books and brewing tea.

"I thought a different view might help you settle," The Sage's voice came from somewhere nearby, tinted with concern and something else - confusion, perhaps.

"My study has always been a place of clarity for me, though I admit I'm at a loss about what triggered such a severe reaction."

Truthless Recluse managed to focus his vision enough to take in his surroundings.

Unlike the austere organization of the classroom or the structured comfort of his assigned room, The Sage's study felt alive with controlled chaos.

Towering bookshelves created intimate alcoves, their contents spilling onto reading stands and small tables.

Papers covered nearly every surface, filled with theories and observations about soul properties and healing practices.

A comfortable chaise had been positioned near the largest window, where he now lay.

The Sage sat at his desk nearby, surrounded by a thin, open book about soul jam properties and several other historical accounts he appeared to be frantically consulting.

"How long..." Truthless Recluse's voice felt raw.

"About a day," The Sage replied, setting down a particularly ancient tome.

"I found you collapsed among those historical texts I'd traded for long ago, I..." He hesitated, choosing his words carefully.

"I didn't realize they might contain something so triggering. Perhaps I should have reviewed them more thoroughly before placing them in your room."

Truthless Recluse nodded weakly, noting the genuine concern in The Sage's expression.

Even in his diminished state, he could sense the professor's frustration at not understanding, at not being able to help more effectively.

This was where The Sage worked to unravel mysteries - yet here was one he couldn't solve.

"Rest," The Sage instructed gently, turning back to his research. "We'll figure this out when you're stronger."

As exhaustion pulled him back under, Truthless Recluse's last thought was of how strange it felt to know more about his own mystery than the professor trying to solve it.

Sleep came and went like waves, each period of consciousness slightly clearer than the last. Sometimes he'd wake to find The Sage reading quietly nearby, other times to an empty study filled with afternoon light.

The professor had left a brass bell within reach, though Truthless Recluse never found the strength or desire to ring it.

During one particularly lucid moment, he watched through half-lidded eyes as The Sage sorted through what appeared to be the books from his room, creating careful stacks on his desk.

The professor's movements were methodical, yet held an urgency that seemed at odds with his usual measured demeanor.

Another wave of exhaustion pulled him under.

When he next awoke, the light had shifted to evening gold. His mind felt clearer, though his soul jam still ached dully beneath his robes.

The sound of rustling pages drew his attention to where The Sage sat amidst his research, now surrounded by even more books than before.

Truthless Recluse managed to push himself into a sitting position, the movement catching The Sage's attention.

The professor looked up from his work, relief visible in his expression at seeing his guest more alert.

"Most of these were trades," The Sage began, gesturing to the books around him.

"Cookies passing through often bring interesting volumes to exchange for some of my crystals or teachings. I've made it a habit to collect them for future visitors - the tower can be... isolating without proper reading material."

He paused at a particularly ornate book, its spine decorated with the Vanilla Kingdom's crest.

"I admit, I only briefly review them for general content before placing them in the guest quarters. My own studies focus more on the present - soul properties, healing techniques, and practical applications of truth."

A slight frown crossed his features. "Though, perhaps I should have paid more attention to these historical accounts. I hadn't realized they contained such... significant events."

The Sage's fingers traced the book's cover with newfound reverence, though his expression revealed no recognition of its true importance.

"It's strange to think such a massive tragedy could have occurred without my knowledge. But then again, I spent my younger years focused solely on truth studies, barely leaving my own township before establishing this tower."

He carefully set the book aside, returning to his organization. "The past has its place, of course, but I've always believed that truth exists most purely in the present moment. Though..."

He glanced at Truthless Recluse with concerned curiosity, "Your reaction suggests these historical truths might be more relevant than I realized."

The blond's fuzzy gaze never truly landed itself back on the professor in that moment. His body still felt fragile, like any sudden tragedy would end his life right then and there.

The dimming light seemed to highlight his physical vulnerability, his tan dough seeming golden as the hue of the sky peeked through the window.

Tiny shadows of his trembling hands cast on the chaise, and The Sage seemed to take great notice of it.

"Oh, I'm sorry. Do you need a pillow or something more soft to rest your head upon? I can fetch you some tea too, if needed." He rose from his chair, letting his offer linger in the atmosphere.

He stiffened slightly at the offer, but reluctantly relaxed as his exhaustion overtook him. A quiet, "…If it's not too much trouble." left from his lips.

The Sage nodded, his footsteps fading as he left the study. The moment of solitude allowed Truthless Recluse's carefully maintained composure to slip.

With trembling fingers, he parted his robes just enough to examine his soul jam - the familiar shadowy blue now interrupted by pulses of something brighter, something that felt both foreign and hauntingly familiar.

This new pattern unsettled him more than the original transformation ever had.

The distant sound of approaching footsteps sent his hands rushing to readjust his robes, concealing this strange new development.

By the time The Sage returned with a pillow tucked under one arm and a steaming cup of tea that filled the air with notes of lavender and vanilla, Truthless Recluse had resumed his earlier position, as if he hadn't moved at all.

He moved with careful precision, setting the tea aside before turning his attention to Truthless Recluse.

"Lean forward, just slightly," he murmured, his voice gentler than usual.

When Truthless complied, the professor's hands were surprisingly delicate as they positioned the pillow, one palm briefly supporting the back of his head while the other arranged the cushioning.

The touch was professional, yet held an undertone of care that made Truthless Recluse's soul jam pulse with long lost warmth.

Once satisfied with the positioning, The Sage retrieved the tea, his fingers brushing against Truthless's trembling ones as he passed the cup.

"This blend helps settle spiritual disturbances," he explained softly, maintaining his proximity perhaps a moment longer than necessary. "It's heat should help ground you in the present."

The tea's aroma seemed to wrap around them both like a protective veil, creating an intimate pocket of calm in the dimming study.

As Truthless Recluse took a careful sip, he felt the warmth spread through him, easing not just his physical trembling but something deeper - something that had been cold and tight since his collapse.

The temperature of the teacup was a stark contrast from the evenings growing chill, compelling him to continue sipping from the cup.

As he silently enjoyed the welcoming warmth, The Sage absently organized the remaining tomes, preserving his closeness to the other cookie.

Eventually, he had begun regularly checking up on the recluse's physical form.

What began as scholarly precision in the professors's healing touches slowly gained a gentleness that spoke of something beyond professional concern.

Each time he reached to check the recluse's temperature, or steady him when weakness threatened his balance, the clinical nature of his touch seemed to soften - though whether he was aware of this change himself remained unclear.

Even then, as he paused in his organization to ensure the tea hadn't grown cold, his hand lingered near Truthless's forehead longer than strictly necessary for a medical assessment.

The gesture was subtle enough that either could have dismissed it, yet distinct enough to make Truthless's soul jam flutter beneath his robes - a sensation entirely different from its earlier violent fluctuations.

These new pulses felt unnatural, but were considerably more pleasant than the war that was unfolding earlier.

As the sky grew dimmer, the study's academic clarity mellowed into something softer.

The Sage turned on a lamp and moved it closer, ostensibly for better light, though it created a smaller, shared circle of warmth between them.

Outside the circle of lamplight, the rest of the study fell into comfortable shadow, creating an intimate pocket of space that made their earlier professional distance feel like it belonged to a different time entirely.

Eventually, Truthless Recluse had finished his tea, and his quivering fingers had found peaceful stillness.

His hands, still clutched to the cup, set it upon his lap. His voice distrupted the tranquil silence. "Would you like me to leave from your study?... I wouldn't want to intrude any more than I already have."

The Sage looked up from his work, genuine surprise crossing his features. "Intrude?" The word carried a gentle contradiction in its tone.

"No, your presence here is..." he paused, choosing his words with scholarly care, "...rather grounding, actually. Unless you'd prefer to rest in your room?"

Truthless Recluse's hands stilled on the teacup, caught between his instinct to withdraw and an unfamiliar desire to remain in this peaceful sphere they'd created.

"If my presence is not disruptive to your work," he finally managed, the formal words softened by the quiet way he settled back against the pillow - a physical admission of his desire to stay.

"Here is..." he paused, unused to voicing preferences, "...preferable. If you're certain."

The Sage's soul jam brightened subtly at the dual response, casting a warmer glow over the texts he'd been organizing.

His shoulders relaxed - a tension he hadn't realized he'd been holding. "More than certain," he assured, his scholarly tone gentling at the edges.

"Your presence might actually help me focus. Sometimes these old volumes need..." he gestured vaguely at the scattered research, "...a different perspective."

The words were professional enough, but the way he adjusted the lamp to better illuminate both their spaces spoke of something more welcoming than mere academic interest.

His movements as he returned to his work were more settled, more purposeful, as if Truthless's decision to stay had somehow made the study feel more complete.

As the evening deepened around them, The Sage found his mind drawn to their soul jams' contrasting lights - his own steady glow against his memory of Truthless Recluse's fluctuating shadows.

Perfect inverses of each other, like two halves of some truth he was only beginning to understand.

Perhaps that was why every protective instinct in him seemed to resonate when near the other cookie, why maintaining professional distance felt increasingly like denying something fundamental about their nature.

He watched as the recluse's eyes grew heavy, the day's discoveries taking their toll once again.

The other cookie fought against sleep, trying to maintain his composed posture even as exhaustion pulled at him.

It struck The Sage then, how familiar this felt - not just their shared space, but the way Truthless's presence filled a void in his tower he hadn't known existed until now.

The professor had spent years studying truth in all its forms, but this - this quiet moment with someone whose very essence mirrored his own in reverse - felt like the kind of truth that couldn't be found in any of his books.

The thought settled over him like the comfortable silence of his study, a quiet revelation he wasn't quite ready to name, but one that echoed with a certainty that made his soul jam glow just a little brighter in response.

Chapter Text

The dream came in fragments of memory, softened at the edges like old parchment...

A younger version of himself, though not by much, organizing newly acquired books to go in his guest room.

Afternoon light streamed through the windows, casting familiar warmth across his work.

His movements were automatic, practiced - a ritual of briefly scanning texts before designating them to the lofty bookcase.

One book caught his attention, its cover adorned with an unfamilar kingdom crest.

He remembered pausing, fingers tracing over an emblem that now, in the dream, seemed to pulse with significance.

Just a quick glance inside, as was his habit - something about kingdoms, about truth and light...

But the memory-self did what he always did: closed the book, placed it with the others meant for guests.

Such a simple action, yet now it felt heavy with meaning he hadn't grasped then - a missed sign of what would enter his tower years later.

His dream-self wanted to linger, to look closer, but the moment slipped away like water through fingers.

The scene shifted, overlaying past and present - that same book now lay open in his study, its pages reflecting the inverse glow of two soul jams. A voice, neither memory nor quite real, whispered: "Look closer..."

The Sage's eyes opened slowly, the dream's clarity lingering rather than shattering away.

His soul jam casted uncertain light across his desk where he'd fallen asleep among his research. Barely a foot away from him, Truthless Recluse slumbered on the chaise.

That whispered urgency from the dream still echoed: "Look closer..."

The Sage rose quietly from his desk, drawn by both the dream's lingering command and an almost magnetic pull toward understanding.

His soul jam's light guided him as he approached the sleeping form on the chaise.

The professor hesitated, his usual ethics warring with the persistent feeling that something crucial lay just beyond a single touch.

To examine another's soul jam without permission... and yet, the nature of their essences seemed to call to each other, even now.

He pushed the front flap of the robe to the side, revealing a pulsing glow, lighter than the dark shadow he had originally discovered.

His own responded instantly, its steady glow faltering for the first time in his memory.

The sensation was foreign yet undeniable, as if his soul jam had been waiting to encounter its perfect opposite.

The resonance between them was impossible to ignore, like two halves of an ancient text finally brought together.

His soul jam's light seemed drawn to the brief moments when Truthless Recluse's darkness gave way to that brighter essence, creating a dance of light and shadow that made the air itself feel charged with unspoken truth.

Then, a memory came bubbling to the surface, forcing its way through any other thought processes he had.

"Pure Vanilla Cookie..." The name felt familiar on his tongue. Not only from their very first conversation, but from the book that now lay open on his desk.

The distant call drew him back to his desk with careful urgency, each step measured despite his racing thoughts.

His hands found the book and tightly gripped it, holding it close to his chest.

His finger underlined the text as he hushly read it, his gaze skipping over many of the words, yet still clinging onto the key details.

"Pure Vanilla... Kingdom destroyed... Vanished?" The word perplexed him, compelling him to finish the document.

"Retreated to solitude... Never seen again."

The Sage's hands trembled slightly on the weathered page, his eyes moving between the historical account and the sleeping figure on his chaise.

Everything suddenly shifted into sharp focus - their soul jam's inverse nature, the violent reaction to these texts; the profound understanding of truth that lay beneath all that carefully maintained distance.

Pure Vanilla Cookie. The ancient who had disappeared after his kingdom's fall lay here in his study, transformed by tragedy into Truthless Recluse.

The professor's own soul jam dimmed to barely a glimmer as memories stirred - fragments of a chance meeting in his younger years, when he came up to a young cookie and had bestowed one of his truth lectures.

That same cookie had appeared again and again, drawn to his teachings like a moth to flame, until his presence became as natural as the tower's shadows.

Pure Vanilla Cookie, who had once absorbed his teachings about truth with such earnest dedication, had taken those lessons and built them into something greater than The Sage could have imagined.

How had he missed the signs?

The guarded responses in their sessions, those eyes now clouded with shadow instead of bright with curiosity, even the forthright way Truthless had introduced himself - all of it had masked the truth hiding in plain sight.

His gaze settled on the recluse's sleeping form with new understanding, watching the shadowy soul jam's occasional pulses of lighter energy - glimpses of who he had been fighting against what he had become.

The weight of this truth pressed against The Sage's chest, making even his measured breathing feel too loud in the quiet study.

His feet, heavier than they have ever once felt, trudged over to the sleeping being, taking his cheek gently in his hand.

"A lost soul... so greatly changed by tragedy. Oh, how didn't I pick up on this before?"

The whispered words caught in his throat as tears finally broke through his scholarly composure.

They fell silently, each one carrying the weight of missed signs, of lessons taught and transformed by darkness, of a student he had failed to recognize even as he tried to heal him.

His soul jam's light wavered with each tear, casting trembling shadows across Truthless's peaceful features - features that now held echoes of the earnest young cookie who had once hung on his every word about truth.

A soft sound escaped the recluse in his sleep - not quite distressed, but unsettled - and The Sage quickly withdrew his hand.

Even unconscious, it seemed, his former student carried the weight of his past. The professor stepped back, wiping away tears with practiced discretion, though his soul jam continued to pulse with unveiled emotion.

He returned to his desk, movements careful but purposeful now. Pure Vanilla Cookie had ended up here, transformed into Truthless Recluse...

The Sage's research into soul properties and healing had never felt more vital.

His gaze drifted to the books scattered across his desk, to all the observations he'd made during their sessions, watching the recluse struggle through each step.

"This time," he promised in a whisper that barely stirred the air, "I won't fail you." His soul jam brightened with quiet determination.

"We'll find your way back to truth together."

The night deepened around them, keeper of secrets and witness to promises.

The professor began to plan their path forward with newfound purpose, a burst of unwavering will was the only thing that helped him through the night.

Truthless Recluse woke to morning light and The Sage's steady presence nearby.

The professor sat in his chair with an air of patience that suggested he'd been waiting for this moment, his usual warm demeanor carrying an edge of deliberate anticipation.

"Before we discuss anything else," The Sage began softly, his tone careful but direct, "I'd like to know how you came to be outside my tower that day."

A pause, measured and thoughtful. "How you find yourself at the beginning often illuminates the path you need to follow."

The request hung in the air between them, deceptively simple yet heavy with implication.

The recluse felt his soul jam pulse anxiously beneath his robes - the professors's phrasing suggested he knew more than he had yesterday, though exactly how much remained unclear.

Truthless Recluse's hands tightened slightly in his lap, his gaze fixed on some distant point beyond the study windows.

The inevitable confrontation shouldn't have surprised him - it was a truth he'd been avoiding since his arrival, though he'd known it would eventually surface.

Something distant flickered behind his empty eyes before he answered.

"The location was…" Truthless shifted slightly, choosing each word with careful precision, "…intentionally distant from where I had been."

A pause, his soul jam flickering with the burden of confession. "The weather forecast suggested rain."

His voice grew quieter, but didn't waver. "I had no intention of being found."

He left the implications unspoken, though they filled the space between them clearly enough. Some truths were easier to acknowledge in absence than in direct statement.

"I see," The Sage said quietly, his own soul jam dimming slightly at the admission.

The simple phrase carried the weight of understanding - not just of Truthless Recluse's words, but of the despair that had driven him to such lengths.

His fingers traced absently along the edge of his desk, a scholar's habit when processing uncomfortable revelations.

"I found you unconscious near the tower that day," he reflected softly. "Carried you inside before the storm even began."

His voice held no judgment, only a careful blend of professional concern and something deeper - an aching desire to mend what had been shattered. "You were waiting for rain to find you, but wisdom and shelter found you first."

He turned away from the other cookie, his focus now on the thick book that now rested shut on his desk.

"I made some... personal discoveries last night." The Sage gulped, despite his careful choice of words up until now, vocal manifestation of his curiosity blurted out from his throat.

"Pure Vanilla Cookie, right? I remember you using the name to refer to yourself, but it must've gotten lost upon me." His rambling had not yet ended, and his eyes stared at the other cookie.

"I'm assuming you also recall... your..." The guilt of randomly dropping such information had settled upon him, but he fought to finish his sentence. "... transformation, of sorts."

Truthless Recluse stiffened at the sudden shift in conversation.

Of course he would have discovered it - his reaction to the books, his blatant introduction - everything pointed to a truth he'd been carrying alone.

"Yes," He managed quietly, fingers curling into the fabric of his robes.

"I... remember mostly everything." A pause, heavy with unspoken weight. "Including your teachings, before..." His voice trailed off, unable or unwilling to directly name the tragedy that had changed him.

The morning light seemed too bright suddenly, too exposing.

His soul jam flickered between shadow and something brighter, matching his internal struggle between hiding and finally being known.

The silence that followed felt both heavy and fragile. The Sage leaned forward slightly in his chair, his own soul jam steadying as he found his composure again.

"The healing steps we've been working through," he began carefully, making sure he had thought through every word, "I believe they're more vital now than ever. Particularly the seventh step - embracing growth and transformation."

His hand gestured subtly toward Truthless's soul jam, currently covered.

"Your last words before disappearing... about truth being useless in the face of darkness - that wasn't just about rejecting truth, was it? It was about refusing to move forward, choosing to remain frozen in that moment of loss."

The observation was gentle but direct, born from years of understanding both light and shadow.

"But those fluctuations in your soul jam suggest something different is possible. That perhaps Pure Vanilla Cookie and Truthless Recluse don't have to remain at war within you."

He paused, allowing the weight of his words to settle. "The path forward isn't about denying the darkness you've known, but understanding how both light and shadow might find balance. Would you be willing to work toward that?"

Something in The Sage's words resonated deeper than Truthless expected, stirring awake a reality he hadn't been ready to face until now.

He felt his soul jam's fluctuations steady for a moment, as if both shadow and light within him were listening.

"I've been..." he started, his voice quiet but steadier than before, "hiding from both what I was and what I've become."

His fingers loosened their grip on his robes, a small but conscious release of tension.

The morning light fell across him gently, and beneath his robes, his soul jam pulsed with a rhythm that felt different - neither fighting against itself nor trying to change, but simply existing as it was.

His next words came with difficulty, but also with a certainty that surprised him. "I... would be willing to try."

It wasn't quite a promise, but the way something within him responded to the admission suggested something shifting within - not a rejection of darkness or a desperate reach for light, but the first acknowledgment that perhaps both had their place in who he was becoming.

The Sage nodded, reaching for a collection of papers on his desk - notes written in his careful hand, though the slight smudges suggested late-night urgency.

"I spent some time considering approaches that might help navigate this... particular situation."

He spread several pages on his desk, each filled with observations and possibilities. He held a couple up to the recluse as he read them.

"The healing steps remain our foundation, but with adjustments." His finger traced along one line of text.

"Instead of fighting against your transformed state, we acknowledge it. Each session could explore both aspects of your nature - not to separate them, but to understand how they've become part of your whole."

The pages detailed meditation techniques, methods of self-care, and carefully outlined steps for acknowledging and embracing change.

Some notes were clearly new, the ink barely dried, while others had been reworked with fresh annotations.

"These sessions won't be easy," he added, his tone gentle but carrying purpose, "but they might help us find a path where both shadow and light have their place."

The morning light traced gentle patterns across the scattered pages.

For the first time since arriving at the tower, Truthless Recluse felt something unfamiliar stirring beneath his robes, in his shadowy soul jam - not quite hope, not yet, but perhaps the quiet beginning of acceptance.

Weeks passed in the tower, marked by steady progress and subtle changes.

The most noticeable was in Truthless Recluse's eyes - once clouded with shadow, they now held a lighter quality, as if some internal dawn was gradually breaking.

His previously unkempt hair now fell in neater waves, a small but significant sign of returning self-regard.

Their sessions had evolved, becoming less formal with each passing day. Truthless's responses, once clipped and guarded, began to flow more freely, as if his voice remembered its old purpose of sharing knowledge.

When they worked in The Sage's study, their comfortable silence felt less like a wall and more like a shared language, punctuated by exchanges that lingered just slightly longer than necessary.

The professor noticed other changes too - how Truthless would now bring his tea to the garden benches, spending quiet mornings in the open air rather than behind closed doors, how he'd started maintaining a small journal of daily reflections.

His soul jam's fluctuations, while still present, carried a different quality now. Rather than fighting against itself, it seemed to pulse with a rhythm that suggested growing acceptance.

Sometimes, when The Sage was explaining a particularly complex meditation technique, he'd catch the recluse watching him with an expression that held echoes of their shared past, yet wasn't bound by it.

These moments would make his own soul jam brighten unconsciously, though he maintained his professional composure with practiced care.

Their evening discussions often stretched longer than intended, neither quite willing to be the first to suggest ending them.

The Sage found himself creating increasingly elaborate reasons to adjust the lamp light or rearrange books, anything to preserve the gentle atmosphere they'd created between them.

Truthless Recluse, in turn, had developed a habit of helping organize research materials, his movements deliberately unhurried, his questions about texts providing perfect excuses to remain.

Even now, as evening settled around them once again, they maintained this careful dance.

The Sage adjusted a crystal's position near Truthless's usual seat, though it needed no adjustment.

The cookie sitting on the chaise traced the spine of a book he'd read twice already, asking about a passage he'd long since memorized.

"This section about truth's relationship with time," Truthless began, his voice carrying none of its former heaviness. "You've explained it before, but I find myself drawn to it again."

The professor glanced up from the crystal, a subtle smile touching his features. "Some truths reveal themselves differently each time we encounter them."

His hand lingered on the crystal's surface. "Like how the same light can cast new shadows depending on when we observe it."

"And what truth are you observing now?" The question slipped out softer than the recluse intended, making him pause in his movements.

The Sage's composure wavered only slightly at the unexpected gentleness in the query. "That healing rarely follows the path we expect it to."

His eyes met the others with careful warmth. "Sometimes it leads us to discoveries we weren't seeking."

In these quiet moments, they existed in gentle harmony - The Sage's nurturing presence and Truthless Recluse's thawing reserve reaching tentatively toward each other, though neither acknowledged this fragile understanding taking root.

"Indeed," the seated cookie murmured, his fingers still tracing the book's spine, creating reasons to remain in this shared space. "Though, perhaps some discoveries are worth the unexpected path."

The tower itself seemed to hold its breath around them, as if aware of the delicate balance they'd created - this space between healing and something else, something neither was quite ready to name.

This comfortable silence settled between them before Truthless spoke again, his voice thoughtful. "When we first discussed transformation, I thought it meant leaving everything behind - who I was, who I'd become."

His fingers stilled on the book's spine. "But it's not about abandoning either, is it?"

The Sage turned from the crystal, giving Truthless his full attention. Something in the other's tone suggested this wasn't just another academic discussion.

"No," The professor replied softly. "True transformation isn't about loss. It's about growth, about carrying forward every version of ourselves we've been."

Truthless's gaze lifted to meet his, and in the evening light, The Sage could see that familiar gleam of understanding - the same one he'd witnessed in a much younger cookie, years ago.

"Like shadows deepening as light grows stronger. Neither diminishes the other."

The evening light traced gentle patterns between them, highlighting the careful way they'd drawn closer over these weeks of healing, neither quite acknowledging the gradual decrease in professional distance.

"Exactly." The Sage breathed, the word carrying more weight than its simplicity suggested.

In this moment of shared understanding, the space between mentor and student, between past and present, felt both vast and insignificant - a threshold neither was quite ready to cross, but both were slowly learning to accept.

The walk to Truthless Recluse's room was quiet, their footsteps echoing softly through the tower's evening stillness.

What had begun as a simple suggestion to continue their discussion somewhere more comfortable had evolved into this - The Sage perched carefully on the edge of the bed while Truthless sat against the headboard, their usual distance softened by the intimate setting.

Conversation flowed easier here, away from the academic atmosphere of the study.

Truthless's posture had relaxed, his usually rigid composure gentling in the room's cool, dark atmosphere.

The Sage found himself noticing small details - how Truthless's hair fell differently when he tilted his head in thought, the way his hands moved more freely when he spoke.

As evening deepened into night, the recluse's responses grew slower, his words carrying the gentle weight of approaching sleep.

The professor watched as his former student's eyes grew heavy, fighting to stay open even as exhaustion pulled at him.

"Perhaps we should continue tomorrow," The Sage suggested softly, though he made no immediate move to leave.

Instead, he remained still, caught in a moment of yearning he hadn't allowed himself to acknowledge before.

The distance between them felt at once too vast and too small - a simple lean forward would be enough to gather Truthless into an embrace, to press a gentle kiss to his forehead.

But he didn't move. Couldn't move. The fragile trust they'd rebuilt felt too precious to risk, even as something in his chest ached with the desire to bridge that final gap between them.

Even as he asked himself why he felt this way, he couldn't come up with an answer.

Perhaps, it had been the day where he saw another soul jam almost identical to his.

Maybe it had been the way the other cookie had listened and grown, even with their rocky beginning.

Or the way he still carried wisdom, even in his transformed state.

Who he was and who he was becoming entranced the professor deeply, it made him realize that both versions of him had held equal beauty.

He couldn't help but wonder if he, too, also felt the same way.

The Sage rose from the bed with careful slowness, each movement measured to avoid disturbing the recluse's approaching sleep.

At the doorway, he paused, allowing himself one last look at the peaceful figure bathed in shadow of the room.

The questions in his chest felt too large for his ribcage, too profound to voice in this delicate moment.

How did one navigate this space between mentor and something more? Between healing and holding? Between professional distance and the overwhelming urge to stay?

He closed the door with silent precision, letting his hand linger on the handle perhaps a moment too long.

The walk back to his study felt longer than usual, each step carrying the weight of things left unspoken, of gestures left unmade.

His own room would feel too quiet tonight, too empty with these questions echoing unanswered.

In the darknesss of the room, something within Truthless Recluse started to stir.

It began as a whisper, a gentle acknowledgment of every truth he'd ever known - the light of his teachings, the shadow of his loss, the quiet strength of his survival.

Each memory, each version of himself rose like stars appearing in evening sky, no longer fighting for dominance but existing together in perfect clarity.

His soul jam pulsed with understanding that felt ancient yet new. This wasn't about choosing between who he had been and who he'd become.

It wasn't about erasing darkness or chasing light. It was about accepting that he had always been all of these things - teacher and student, light and shadow, Pure Vanilla Cookie and Truthless Recluse.

This didn't feel like changing, but like remembering. Like finally acknowledging that every step of his journey, even the painful ones, had led him to this moment of complete acceptance.

His soul jam's fluctuations steadied into a new rhythm, one that carried echoes of both his brightest and darkest moments.

He felt the weight of his kingdom's fall, but also the strength it had given him. The pain of lost truth, but also the wisdom gained in finding it again.

Every lesson learned, every truth shared, every moment of doubt and revelation - they weren't separate chapters of his story, but essential parts of a whole he was only now beginning to understand.

The darkness that had been his shelter didn't fade away - instead, it merged with the light he'd once embodied, creating something entirely new yet fundamentally true to who he'd always been.

This wasn't an ending or a beginning, but a continuation, an acknowledgment that transformation meant carrying forward every version of himself he'd ever been.

In this moment of profound clarity, he understood that awakening wasn't about becoming something different - it was about accepting everything he already was. 

Chapter Text

The blond cookie stirred as the morning light filtered through the blinds. As his eyes fluttered, he could feel that something was different.

Long tendrils of blonde hair spilled across the soft sheets on either side of him.

He lifted his hands to his face, watching as white and gold fabric cascaded where dark robes had once been. Shocked by the discovery, he instinctively looked down at his soul jam.

Where shadowy blue once lurked beneath robes, now brilliant light hovered above delicate golden metalwork, each pulse of energy making the ornate patterns beneath it gleam.

His fingers trembled as they reached toward it, gently tinking against the metal frame. The soft, clear sound confirmed its reality - this wasn't a dream, wasn't another fluctuation between states.

Pure Vanilla Cookie traced the intricate patterns of gold that now housed his transformed soul jam, the framework flowing like frozen streams of light.

The brightness of his essence pulsed with quiet certainty, a perfect expression of everything he had become.

As he struggled to push himself up, tears flowed from his eyes - not out of sadness, but out of pure satisfaction.

For the first time in years, a wide, beaming smile spread across his face. The weight of hiding, of resistance, of maintaining walls had lifted, leaving behind a clarity that made even the familiar confines of his room feel new.

Even with the unfamiliar joy, his thoughts drifted to The Sage, still unaware of what had transpired in the night.

How would he share this transformation? The professor had guided him toward this acceptance, and if he were to be aware of anything, it had to be this.

The Sage would be in his study by now, likely already immersed in his morning research.

Pure Vanilla rose from his bed with newfound purpose, each movement carrying an energy he hadn't felt in ages.

The walk to The Sage's study felt different now - not a journey of healing or hiding, but one of revelation.

He paused at the doorway, watching the professor bent over his texts, morning light catching in his soul jam's steady glow. How many mornings had they shared like this, each carrying unspoken truths?

The ancient paused at the sight, his careful composure yielding to something warmer, more personal - a recognition of all the moments that had led to this one.

He thought of their conversation last night, about shadows and light, about transformation. About discoveries worth the unexpected path.

Taking a breath that felt like beginning, he stepped forward.

At the sound of footsteps, The Sage looked up from his work - and froze. The quill slipped from his fingers entirely, forgotten as it rolled across his desk.

Where Truthless Recluse had stood just yesterday in dark robes and shadowed presence, now stood someone transformed beyond mere spiritual enlightenment.

Flowing white robes caught the morning light like captured moonbeams, and hair like spun silk, nearly white in its paleness, cascaded past shoulders that no longer carried the weight of rejection.

The once-dark hat had become an elegant crown of white and gold, framing features that held both ancient wisdom and newborn joy.

Above it all, a brilliant soul jam pulsed within its ornate golden framework, no longer hidden but displayed as proudly as a star.

The professor sat frozen in his chair, his own soul jam flickering wildly at the sight before him. This was more than recognition - this was witnessing a truth he'd always known possible but never dared to hope for.

"You..." he began, but for perhaps the first time in his scholarly life, words failed him entirely.

A gentle smile graced the awakened one's features - nothing like the careful, measured expressions he'd maintained as Truthless Recluse, but something bright and knowing.

He took another step forward, and even this simple movement carried new grace - his golden-white robes swaying as if caught between earth and air.

"Words failing the great professor?" His voice carried a warmth that hadn't been heard in the tower for ages, playful yet tender. "And here I thought you had teachings about every truth imaginable."

The teasing lilt in his tone was new - or rather, ancient, a glimpse of the young cookie who had once delighted in challenging his mentor's perspectives.

The spirited charm remained, but now it carried the gentle wisdom of one who had walked through shadow to find light again.

The Sage found himself caught between analytical instinct and something far more personal as the other closed the distance between them.

Each step was deliberate but unhurried, robes flowing like liquid light, his presence filling the study with such profound grace that the professor's composed facade began to crack.

Before him stood every version of the cookie he'd grown to care for - the eager student from his past, the wounded soul he'd helped heal, and now this transcendent being who moved with the quiet assurance of one who had finally found his truth.

His hands trembled against the desk's edge, betraying the riot of emotions beneath his professional facade - wonder, attraction, and a deepening affection that no academic distance could disguise.

"I..." The Sage struggled to find his voice, trying to gather thoughts that seemed to scatter like pages in wind. "This transformation, it's..."

He gestured vaguely at the others radiant form, words still failing to capture the magnitude of the change before him.

Pure Vanilla's smile softened as he watched his mentor struggle for composure. "Complete?" he offered gently. "Though perhaps not quite in the way we expected."

His bright soul jam caught the morning light, casting ribbons of radiance across the study walls.

"You knew this was possible?" The Sage finally managed, his words hushed with wonder.

"No," The luminous being admitted, now close enough that the teacher could see the subtle shimmer in his pale hair, the pristine robes settling around him like mist.

"But someone very wise once taught me that truth reveals itself differently each time we encounter it." His eyes met the professor's with tender amusement. "Though I don't believe he meant it quite so literally."

The space between them felt charged with unspoken meaning, with questions and answers that transcended their usual academic exchanges.

The Sage found himself acutely aware of how near his former student stood, how the tower's usual academic stillness yielded to something more sacred in his presence, how even the familiar space between them felt different - not just changed, but charged with possibility.

The Sage had to tilt his head back further than before to maintain eye contact - Pure Vanilla's awakened form towered over him now, his heightened stature only adding to his ethereal presence, making him feel simultaneously small and somehow cherished under that knowing gaze.

"You know," The ancient began, his voice carrying that new blend of ancient wisdom and fresh joy, "I've been considering the matter of repayment."

He lowered himself slightly, one hand resting on The Sage's desk, bringing their faces closer despite the height difference. "For all your patience, your guidance..."

The professor tried to wave off the suggestion, though his soul jam betrayed his flutter of anticipation. "The pursuit of truth needs no-"

"The pursuit of truth," Pure Vanilla interrupted, his voice barely above a whisper, "also teaches us to be honest with ourselves."

As he leaned down further, his hair swept forward, framing the moment in silver and shadow. "And honestly? I believe some forms of gratitude transcend words."

The Sage's breath caught as the others free hand moved to tenderly cup his cheek, the touch feeling both reverent and inevitable.

He remained perfectly still, caught between his ingrained propriety and the overwhelming urge to lean into that touch.

"Perhaps," The ancient breathed, each word delicate as morning frost, "we could start with something simple." He leaned down, closing the remaining distance with deliberate slowness, giving The Sage every chance to withdraw - though they both knew he wouldn't.

The touch of Pure Vanilla's lips against his forehead felt like sunrise breaking through clouds.

The Sage's eyes fluttered closed at the contact, his practiced composure finally yielding to the moment.

His soul jam pulsed with an intensity that matched his quickening heartbeat, its gentle light dancing with the brilliance of Pure Vanilla's awakened essence in the quiet study.

When the blond drew back slightly, The Sage found himself following the movement before he could stop himself, not ready to let this moment end.

He opened his eyes to find Pure Vanilla watching him with such tender affection that words seemed to fade from existence.

"That was..." The professor began, his scholarly eloquence deserting him yet again.

"Just the beginning," Pure Vanilla finished softly, still close enough that The Sage could feel the words as much as hear them.

His pale hair fell forward like a curtain around them both, creating an intimate space that seemed to exist outside of time. "If you'd permit me to continue expressing my gratitude?"

The question hung in the air between them, heavy with promise and possibility.

The seated cookie was acutely aware of every detail - the way the radiant being's hand still rested against his cheek, how his golden accents gleamed in the early glow, the gentle pressure of his other hand on the desk that kept him perfectly poised above him.

The Sage's response came not in words, but in the slight tilt of his chin upward, a movement so subtle yet carrying such clear intention that Pure Vanilla felt his composed demeanor falter for just a moment.

The height difference between them felt meaningful now, sacred almost - the professor looking up at him with such open trust, while the ancient curved down toward him like a star bending toward earth.

His thumb traced a gentle arc across The Sage's cheek, each touch an acknowledgment of everything that had led them to this moment.

His other hand left the desk to card softly through the professor's hair, the gesture transforming their already intimate position into something that made even the tower's familiar sounds grow still.

"My dear professor," the words fell softly from Pure Vanilla's lips, the formal title somehow becoming the tenderest of endearments, "for someone who teaches truth, you've been quite careful hiding your own."

A hint of fond amusement colored his tone. "Though not careful enough."

The Sage's breath caught at the gentle accusation, feeling suddenly exposed under that knowing gaze. All his careful distance, his professional restraint, laid bare by a few simple words.

And yet... there was something liberating in being seen so completely, in having Pure Vanilla acknowledge what he'd been desperately trying to conceal.

"I..." he started, then stopped, struck by the rare feeling of inadequacy with words. His hand lifted unconsciously toward the ancient, a gesture as honest as any truth he'd ever taught. "No," he admitted quietly, "not careful enough at all."

Something softened in the others's expression at the professor's vulnerability - this proud professor who had guided so many toward truth, now offering his own with such tender uncertainty.

His hand caught The Sage's hovering one, drawing it to rest against the pristine white of his robes, just above where his transformed soul jam pulsed with gentle light.

"And here I thought I was meant to be the one hiding," he murmured, his voice carrying that same blend of playful wisdom and deep affection.

As he leaned closer, strands of silvery hair drifted between them, letting The Sage feel the steady rhythm beneath his palm. "Though I must admit, watching you try to maintain your distance these past weeks has been... rather endearing."

The ancient chuckled, slightly cracking his ethereal presence. "And here I am, breaking it. Ironic, isn't it?"

The professor couldn't help but smile at that break in his celestial demeanor - this glimpse of playfulness beneath the radiance reminding him that transformation hadn't erased the cookie he'd grown to care for, had only added new layers to who he was.

"Some rules," The Sage murmured, surprising himself with his own boldness as he let his fingers curl into the fabric of Pure Vanilla's robes, "perhaps deserve to be broken."

Pure Vanilla's eyes widened slightly at the response, clearly not expecting such willing surrender from his usually proper professor.

The study's usual academic atmosphere dissolved into something more intimate, the early sunlight bathing everything in soft gold as if creating a world meant just for them.

"In that case..." He leaned down once more, this time with clear intention, no pretense of gratitude or teaching to hide behind. The distance between them felt both infinite and insignificant, each moment of closure carrying the weight of every truth they'd ever shared.

The first brush of lips against his own made The Sage forget every carefully constructed boundary he'd ever built.

This wasn't just a kiss - it was every lesson they'd shared, every quiet evening, every careful distance now bridged. It was gentle as morning light but carried the depth of ancient wisdom, sweet as truth finally spoken.

Pure Vanilla's hand slid from his cheek to the back of his neck, supporting him as he tilted his face up further into the kiss. The professors grip on his robes tightened slightly, anchoring himself in this moment that felt both impossible and inevitable.

When they finally drew apart, it was with the same gentle deliberation that had brought them together. The Sage's hand remained clenched onto Pure Vanilla's robes, as if letting go might make this moment dissolve like morning mist.

The ancients thumb traced small, soothing circles at the nape of his neck, neither of them quite ready to release their points of contact.

"I..." The Sage began, then let out a soft laugh at finding himself once again without words. He who had spent lifetimes teaching truth now found himself unable to articulate this most precious one.

Pure Vanilla's smile held a warmth that rivaled the morning light streaming through the windows.

"Even the most eloquent professor must sometimes yield to speechless truths." He murmured, the golden framework of his soul jam catching the light like dawn on fresh snow.

Despite his transformation, he remained bent toward The Sage, as if unwilling to let even height create distance between them now.

The professor lifted his free hand to the ancient's face, allowing himself the liberty of tracing the features that held echoes of both past and present.

"And what truth would you name this?" He asked softly, his scholarly nature unable to resist seeking definition, even now.

Pure Vanilla's expression softened further at the question, his transformed presence somehow both grand and tender as he considered his answer.

"Perhaps," he said quietly, "some truths are better experienced than named." He punctuated this by pressing another gentle kiss to The Sage's forehead, an echo of the first intimate gesture that now carried the weight of everything that had followed.

"Now," he straightened slightly, though his hand remained a warm presence at the others neck, "I believe we have a tower full of students waiting for their morning lessons."

His eyes held a playful light. "Unless the great professor plans to cancel class in light of... recent discoveries?"

The Sage chuckled at the suggestion, the sound carrying none of his usual reserve. "And deny them the opportunity to witness truth in its most radiant form?"

He finally released his grip on Pure Vanilla's robes, smoothing the fabric with reverent precision. "Though perhaps we should prepare them for their spectators rather dramatic change."

The daylight began to strengthen around them, promising a day of explanations, of new beginnings, of truths both spoken and unspoken.

But for now, in this moment between what had been and what would be, they simply allowed themselves to exist in the quiet certainty of what they'd found.

The morning session was drawing to a close, though most of the students seemed more interested in stealing glances at their awakened spectator than in taking notes.

Pure Vanilla couldn't blame them - the change had been rather dramatic, from the flowing white robes to his pale hair catching light with every movement.

Their whispered theories about his transformation drifted through the classroom, each more elaborate than the last.

Some of the older students had already connected the dots, their eyes widening in recognition of the ancient they'd only read about in history books.

The younger ones simply stared in wonder, as if truth itself had taken physical form before them.

The professor, from his position near the front of the room, kept casting glances of his own, though his held a different kind of wonder entirely.

As the students filed out, The Sage gathered his teaching materials with careful precision. "The herb garden needs tending," he mentioned, his tone carrying that particular warmth that seemed reserved just for Pure Vanilla now.

"Would you care to join me there once you've settled from the morning's excitement? The lavender we worked with yesterday is coming along nicely."

Pure Vanilla nodded,watching as The Sage made his way toward the tower's garden entrance.

Once alone, however, he found his feet carrying him not toward the gardens, but down the familiar path to The Sage's study, guided by an almost magnetic pull.

As he crossed the threshold, he found himself gazing at the space in newfound wonder.

The room felt different now, as if his awakening had granted him new perspective on this familiar sanctuary.

Even the scattered papers on The Sage's desk seemed to hold deeper significance from this renewed perspective.

Lost in studying the familiar space with fresh eyes, he'd bumped into the desk, sending several papers sliding from their precarious stack.

As he moved to gather them, pale hair falling forward as he bent down, one particular sheet caught his eye - not because it was important, but because it was clearly meant to be discarded.

It was a crumpled page, crossed out multiple times as if The Sage had been frustrated while writing it.

Among the scratched-out observations and half-formed theories about his condition, one line stood out clearly: "why does he refuse enlightenment?"

The question wasn't addressed to anyone. It wasn't even properly formatted - just a hastily scrawled thought, likely written during one of their earlier, more difficult sessions when he had still been Truthless Recluse, fighting against every step toward healing.

The professor had probably never meant for him to see it, had likely forgotten it existed among all of his other resources and notes.

But there it was, an unintentional window into The Sage's own struggles with his healing - not as a professor or guide, but as someone who had genuinely wondered, perhaps even worried, about the cookie who had once been his earnest student, now transformed by tragedy.

He carefully replaced the paper, letting it settle back into its random position among the others. The Sage never needed to know he'd seen it.

Some truths, he was learning, were more powerful when they remained private revelations.