Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The path to the Spire of All Knowledge is welcoming. A wide, open road, stretching into the distance. Pristine, smooth stone makes up the structure, polished and unblemished as if it was built yesterday. Apple Faerie Cookie stands at the head of their group, skipping forward with a soft smile on her face.

For a faerie cookie, she was awfully comfortable entering the domain of a Beast. The road ahead is level and almost suspiciously clear of obstacles.

“....has it always been like that, or is it all thanks to Apple Faerie Cookie’s guidance?” He ponders to himself as they slowly approach the outer areas of the Spire, sticking close to White Lily.

Their group pauses to a halt right at the boundary's gate and Carameleon Cookie clears his throat, announcing his departure. It’s met with mixed feelings from the younger cookies in their group, but White Lily’s reassurance smooths down any ruffled feathers from the sudden departure.

The corners of his mouth quirks up, a fond feeling warming his chest at the sight of his best friend interacting with his new friends. Despite everything that happened, it’s a welcome change of pace to see White Lily on good terms with some of his friends. Apple Faerie Cookie ushers them into an inn up ahead, skipping forward and trying to open the door for them.

Except, the door handle refuses to budge.

Apple Faerie Cookie twitches. She attempts to open the door again, twisting the handle with more force. It stays locked.

Gingerbrave frowns and steps forward, “Maybe it's closed for the day?” He suggests.

The faerie cookie bristles, “It's not supposed to be.” She attempts to open the door a second time, to no avail. With a surprisingly harsh growl, she tries to kick the door open—and stops, her head snapping towards the forest to their right.

A blur of blue crashes into Apple Faerie Cookie and she screeches. Her form melts, green morphing into red, a lollipop staff materialising in one hand as she clashes against her assailant. Instinctively, Pure Vanilla casts a shield, covering the younger cookies and White Lily.

“You—! You're ruining things! Why are you even—UGH—GO AWAY! SHADOW MILK COOKIE ISN'T GONNA BE HAPPY ABOUT THIS.” Apple Faerie Cookie screams at her attacker, who takes her down with ruthless efficiency, twisting her arms behind her back and pinning her down with their body weight.

“Yeah, like I care what that clown thinks.” The stranger hisses.

“What—what is happening?” Wizard sputters.

The new arrival is decidedly not a Faerie cookie, but it would be hard to tell with the blue cloak covering them, a hood obscuring all identifiable features. He spots a staff clutched in one hand. Perhaps the new cookie is a mage of sorts. Their other hand is wrapped around Apple Faerie Cookie to keep her down, but it’s gentle and done with the ease of familiarity that removes all the concern Pure Vanilla had about the attacker.

“I thought I warned you against messing with travelers.” They pinch Apple Faerie Cookie’s cheek and she screams out her displeasure in a volume that leaves their entire group wincing. The two then squabble in a language that is entirely foreign to Pure Vanilla's ears. He turns towards his best friend and sees her furrowing her eyebrows, something like recognition flashing in her ruby red eyes.

White Lily clears her throat and tries to get their attention. Her soft-spoken voice goes unheard, the squabbling only growing louder and more vicious in tone. Clearly pitying her fruitless attempts, Gingerbrave decides to try stepping in,

“Hey, hey—uhm, sir? Mister? Sorry, uh, but, why did you attack Apple Faerie Cookie?—” He asks in a louder voice, but it goes unheard still.

Wizard clears his throat and inhales, “CAN YOU TWO SHUT UP FOR ONE SECOND AND TELL US WHAT’S HAPPENING?!”

The stranger flinches and Apple Faerie Cookie’s screams immediately die down to silence.

At least, one of them had the decency to look sheepish. The stranger snaps their fingers and a portal opens next to Apple Faerie Cookie.

“Go home, Candy Apple Cookie.” They grumble and stands up, picking the wayward perhaps-not-so-faerie cookie by the scruff of her collar and tossing her into the portal. She screeches at them like a disgruntled pet but gets to do nothing else in retaliation as the portal closes the moment she’s tossed in.

Sensing no threat from the stranger other than their sudden disposal of Candy Apple Cookie, Pure Vanilla removes his shield over his group.

The new cookie turns towards them and the first thing he sees of their face is a pair of mismatched eyes. A flash of blue and pale white, almost like Pure Vanilla’s own. He doesn't catch the rest of their face, the sight obscured by the hood. Then, the stranger abruptly turns around and starts walking away.

“..you're kidding. Fuck. Nope. Not dealing with this. Why. Why now, of all the times in this Witch-damned—”

Wizard bristles and shoots a bolt of lightning at the stranger’s feet, pausing them in both their tracks and their monologue. Pure Vanilla steps in and blocks the counter spell aimed at Wizard, the blue lightning reflecting off his shield and hitting the ground.

Suddenly, White Lily drags both himself and Wizard away, leaping back with a magic-assisted jump just in time to watch the ground they were standing on burst with Electricity.

Strawberry eeps and pulls Gingerbrave away.

The stranger pauses in their tracks and turns around slowly, and while their face is covered, the way they stand practically radiates fury.

“Have you not learned that it’s a terrible, horrible, no-good idea to shoot a mage in the back?! I could have crumbled you.” They twirl their staff with one hand, stabbing it to the ground with a snarl. The newly formed field of Electricity crackles, cracking the ground and the grass around it bursts into flames, before the field dies entirely.

It is, admittedly, an amazing display of magical proficiency. Not many can block a spell, amplify it and reflect it back towards the caster in under five seconds.

“Uhm. We're really sorry!” Gingerbrave winces and continues,

“It's just—you’re.. you kind of came out of nowhere, ..sir?” The young cookie trails off.

Pure Vanilla decides to step in, “Indeed—if.. well, you just attacked our guide with seemingly no reason. I think that you owe us an explanation, if nothing else.”

The cookie sighs, shoulders slumping.

“Look. Just. I don't know. Turn back. You do not wanna be here. Ovens, even I wouldn't wanna be here if I had a cracking choice.” They grumble.

“Who was Apple Faerie Cookie?” White Lily cuts in, narrowing her eyes at him.

“It's Candy Apple Cookie. A menace, that’s what she is. She was trying to lead you to him.”

Even as they finally answer questions, the stranger stays a distance away from them, standing eerily still. He blinks and sees the cloaked Cookie's form wobble, as if he isn't really there. Pure Vanilla frowns, wondering if they’re seeing another illusion.

“Him?” Gingerbrave questions.

“The one you met earlier. Y’know, this tall, annoying voice, loves to fuck with people? Ego the size of Earthbread?” The cookie raises a hand up to their own height as they describe who is clearly Shadow Milk Cookie in a rather unflattering way. That’s one way to know this cookie isn’t on the Beast’s side.

“Shadow Milk Cookie, you mean. Can you not talk straight?” Wizard sighs.

They pause and stare Wizard down before answering,

“Nah.”

“.....seriously?!”, the young mage sputters at the admittedly straight answer.

“May I ask your name and pronouns?” Pure Vanilla interrupts, making sure to sound polite.

“...call me Blue. Just Blue. He/him.” Blue mutters and abruptly pauses. He turns around again, rushing deeper into the forest.

Gingerbrave and his friends look among each other. Wizard is still bristling, clearly displeased with Blue’s disregard. Strawberry stares at the retreating figure of their new acquaintance with an expression that can be described as resigned, at best.

White Lily puts a hand over her forehead, “I… don't think he wants to be followed.”

Pure Vanilla doesn't know why, but something tells him that Blue wouldn't mind being followed anyway. With the way he had rushed away so suddenly, it could be something important.

“Let's follow anyway.” He proposes.

“Uhm.. is it really okay?” Strawberry asks, the reluctance clear.

They hear an explosion in the distance. Alarmed, Pure Vanilla recasts his shield over his friends. White Lily takes off deeper into the forest, Gingerbrave and Wizard hot on her tail and Strawberry following suit. Just barely a distance into the thick trees, they see Blue snarling at monsters in that strange language he spoke to Candy Apple Cookie in.

The mage raises his staff and a vortex summons itself in the crowd of monsters. It's followed with a quick series of spells, one of which casts a barrier between their group and Blue as he annihilates the monsters with ruthless force.

By the time he's done, there's nothing but a crater left.

“....” Blue mutters something under his breath, clasping his hands together. Moving closer and straining his ears to listen, Pure Vanilla catches the last few words.

Judging by the stricken expression on White Lily’s voice, she recognizes it for what it is—a funeral rite for mages. That has certain implications that Pure Vanilla is decidedly not too comfortable thinking about. The rite was made in a different time where war was common, where cookies fought each other for territory and over jam feuds.

He remembers White Lily saying the same words, kneeled next to a dying soldier who had taken a fatal hit from one of the rare cake monsters who could cast magic. The rite was to cleanse the magic cast with intent to harm, so that its remnants wouldn't build up in a battlefield and corrupt the nearby Life Energy.

It is also said to ensure that the cookie harmed with magic would pass on peacefully, their soul and body cleansed.

“...and may their hearts be at peace.” He finishes, voice low, wobbling at the last few words as if it physically pained him to say it out loud.

They had been fighting the same monsters as early as the moment they landed in the Faerie Kingdom, Pure Vanilla thinks, and swallows the bit of dread he feels at this realization—because the rite is strictly for mages, cookie mages.

Blue sinks to his knees in a movement that looks almost practiced, as if he's done this a thousand times before. If what he said about being stuck in Shadow Milk Cookie’s domain was true, it wouldn't be out of the question.

White Lily cautiously approaches him, making sure to stay in his line of sight. A wise move, because based on this and the earlier display, Blue can be nothing but a war mage.

“....who are you?” She asks, voice quiet as a whisper. It's not accusing, just—curious, somehow sounding rhetorical despite it being a legit question. Maybe his best friend had already figured out the answer.

“A murderer.” Blue responds, the bitterness evident in his voice, gaze still stuck to the fresh crater. He drops his staff onto the ground carelessly, exposing a scarred arm that glows with a dim yellow-white light.

The ground around the crater moves, gently covering it and leaving even ground. Even the grass grows, fully fixing the damage of the spell from earlier. Bushes of milkcrown flowers bloom at the center of the once-crater. Then, it was as if there wasn't ever a fight there.

“....that’s.. some really impressive application of magic.” Wizard mutters, the awe thinly hidden despite his earlier misgivings about Blue.

“That’s really cool!! How did you do that? I didn't know one mage could cast more than one element!” Gingerbrave exclaims, starry-eyed.

“Technically, he reflected my Electricity and didn't cast it. You can't cast an element that isn't in tune with you.” Wizard huffs, earlier awe suddenly gone in the face of something he deems as ignorance.

Blue pauses, standing and brushing dirt off his dark blue robes. The hood of his cloak covers enough of his face that they can't truly tell what he looks like. However, his magical presence is still oddly familiar. It reminds him of the quiet strength of White Lily, the resolution of Dark Cacao, the pride of Golden Cheese—all blanketed under a presence that feels almost domineering, much like Shadow Milk’s mocking-domineering presence, but somehow less malicious.

“I have no element. I just manipulated the shit that's already there. Manipulating more than the element naturally attuned to the caster is possible, but it's a one way ticket to magical exhaustion.” The mage explains, a lot more crassly than Pure Vanilla himself would have, but he can tell it's not meant to be condescending.

“But it's—it’s possible?” Wizard furrows his brows.

“Yeah.” Blue holds out a palm, and a pillar of flame bursts into being, reaching up towards the sky. He does the same with his other palm, but forms a gust of wind around it that shapes the flame into a tornado-like structure.

The young cookies or their group gasp in delight. Even the usually reserved Wizard looks impressed at the display.

The little tornado of flame suddenly crackles with Electricity. Blue tosses it to the ground, stepping one foot and raising a platform of Earth for the flame to spin on top of. Pure Vanilla glances towards his best friend and finds her similarly enraptured.

While it's practically foundational elemental magic, the last time either of them saw a display like this was centuries ago, back in the Academy. It was one of the rare classes they had actually attended through the whole semester, solely because the professor was famous for being able to cast multiple elements.

“Professor, how is it that we were taught that we shouldn't cast elements we aren't attuned with when it's possible to do so? Wouldn’t it be better to master multiple elements?”

“Excellent question, White Lily Cookie. It simply comes down to the fact that elements don't quite appreciate it when you put them together. Of course, there are complements, such as Fire and Wind, but wielding another element, even one complementary to your affinity, can be very taxing towards your magical reserves. One of my own professors liked to say that it was the quickest way to magical exhaustion, which, well, it is! So be warned, my dear pupils, I do not want to see anyone end up in the infirmary for magical exhaustion. If you do—”

The flame tornado spins around the round, elevated platform, spontaneously lighting up and dimming every now and then, a subtle display of both Light and Darkness. Blue stops it in its tracks and douses it with Water. Another flick of his wrist freezes the tornado in Ice, leaving behind a tasteful sculpture.

It's exactly the same as the one their professor had made. White Lily moves closer like she did that time, examining the sculpture with a keen eye. Compelled, Pure Vanilla follows suit.

The three younger cookies clap happily and join them, huddling together in a circle around the elevated Earth to admire the sculpture. Blue chuckles, crossing his arms and hiding them in his cloak.

“That’s the most elemental application I can reasonably get away with. It's showy, ineffective and unsustainable for combat. Really, I don't recommend trying it. It's not worth the magical exhaustion. You'd be better off mastering your own element.” He advises to Wizard, who abruptly takes out a notepad and a pen to begin furiously scribbling.

White Lily levels Blue with an unreadable expression. He puts a hand on her shoulder, to dissuade her from trying something impulsive if nothing else. His best friend’s curiosity has always gotten the better of her.

Blue twitches and calls his staff back into one hand, brandishing it at White Lily and taking a step back. Realising her error, she rises to her feet but is startled as Blue aims his staff at her. He doesn't cast anything yet but with the impressive show of reflexes, Pure Vanilla very well could have missed something being cast. The healer tenses, ready to cast a shield at a moment’s notice.

White Lily tucks her own staff behind her and raises both arms, guilt practically radiating off of her. The young cookies of their party similarly tense, and it doesn’t go unnoticed by Blue, because the mage vanishes his own staff and sighs,

“Do ask before you scan someone. You're clearly no Healer, but at least have basic decency.” He scolds, clearly uncomfortable.

Pure Vanilla gives her a look. A scanning spell, while standard procedure for Healing, can also be used to detect illusions. The spell can scan someone without them ever noticing—provided the caster is skilled and the target is none-the-wiser.

“Also, you really should get that Healer friend of yours to take a look at those hands and get them purified.”

Blue crosses his arms, glaring at White Lily. Pure Vanilla—he didn't even know the standard scanning spell could be reflected back to its caster.

White Lily stills.

Pure Vanilla tucks his staff away, puts a hand on his best friend’s shoulder and gently takes hold of her hands, giving her a pointed look. She knows how he feels about hiding injuries. As a healer, stubborn patients and mages who think they know better are unfortunately common—and his dearest friend happens to be both.

“Hm. You know about them.” Blue guesses, inclining his head towards Pure Vanilla.

“....unfortunately. Lily, has it—” He hesitates.

“Not—not now, Nilla.” White Lily murmurs.

She bows to Blue, much deeper than she does to most cookies, “I'm sorry for scanning you without permission. I.. my curiosity got the better of me.” she murmurs, lip wobbling.

Blue’s expression isn't visible with the hood still obscuring his face, but his earlier apprehension melts into amusement, “You’re just like one of my old apprentices. Y’know, she immediately tried to scan me the moment I taught her the spell. Exhausted herself immediately.” He snickers.

An uncharacteristic gasp stops Blue mid-speech and he tilts his head at the source—Wizard, who is looking up to the mage with stars in his eyes.

“You're a teacher!” The young mage exclaims, and the earlier tension melts away entirely as Blue converses with the three young cookies.

Pure Vanilla watches all of this while scanning his best friend. The standard scanning spell is one of the most intuitive and basic spells in Healing. It involves sending a pulse of energy through the recipient, and analysing the way the energy courses through their dough to detect abnormalities. In his own experience, it’s the most effective way to assess both physical and magical injuries. To cookies inexperienced with casting, it’s also easy to give too much energy in the initial pulse and exhaust oneself.

He turns his attention towards the interaction unfolding in front of him. Blue answers the young ones’ questions with the ease of an experienced teacher, be it about magical theory or how long it took him to learn to “make the cool tornado”. He’s clearly fond of young cookies, and it brings a smile to Pure Vanilla’s face.

He never thought they'd have such a pleasant break mid-journey, in this continent no less. His eyes follow Wizard in particular, taking in the young mage's delighted response at meeting an actual professor of magic.

While they have met many professors and mages alike, most had specialized and time constraints made it impossible to quiz any of them in general foundational magic. Pure Vanilla had tried his hand in explaining the concepts to the young mage, but he found that his Knowledge of the foundations of magic was far outclassed by his own Healing specialisation—to the point he had gotten the basics of both mixed up.

“—most mages have something to channel magic from. Usually, it takes the form of a staff, like in my case and those two friends of yours. But! It can be literally anything. I’d suggest something of personal value, because a lot of magic needs you to channel your emotions—most like to go with something made of their ingredient to fulfill this requirement—”

The mini lecture continues for quite some time, before dying down some minutes later and leaving only the sound of Wizard’s furious scribbling to fill the silence.

White Lily regards Blue silently, clearly still wondering about the identity of their mysterious acquaintance. A war mage who feels out of time in both Knowledge and demeanor—Pure Vanilla had caught things in that lecture that he knows was lost in the Dark Flour War.

Blue seems to sense her curiosity, because he meets her gaze from underneath the hood and practically nudges her mentally, “Any questions?”

White Lily hesitates, biting her lip.

“Really, c’mon, I don't bite. I love questions. And talking in general, really. It was literally my job for a very long time.”

“I—Apple Faerie Cookie—no, Candy Apple Cookie. She's a follower of Shadow Milk Cookie, but who are you?”

A murderer, he had said. Pure Vanilla frowns, remembering the bitter tone.

“Nobody.” Blue beams a little too enthusiastically, and continues before anyone could get a word in,

“Look, it's been nice talking to you batch and all, but you all really should go. Who knows when that clown will send someone else.” He melts the frozen tornado and resets the ground back where it belonged, much to the displeasure of the younger members of the party.

“We still need to go to the Spire.” White Lily informs him.

“For the Beast-binding Ritual, yeah?” Blue guesses. Not for the first time, Pure Vanilla wonders how he knows as many things as he does. None of his group even bat an eye at the casual reveal of Knowledge.

“...yes.” She nods.

“I'll teach you and your healer friend, but afterwards, you have to go. You can't win against Shadow Milk Cookie as you are.” The mage warns.

White Lily nods her assent, but Pure Vanilla doubts that she has agreed to that latter part. She isn’t taking Elder Faerie Cookie’s death easily, and if anyone is stubborn about standing up to a perceived injustice, it's his best friend.

“I want a magical vow to go with it, so you don't saunter into the Spire anyway and die stupid.” Blue drawls.

White Lily hesitates.

“I know you want revenge for the faerie king’s death, but this isn't the way to do it.” The mage says, words making its intended mark because his best friend flinches, unused to being called out.

“...alright.” She agrees, clearly still reluctant but seeing no other choice.

Blue inclines his head towards Pure Vanilla. He returns it with a nod,

“I'll swear.”

Chapter Text

As far as near death experiences go, this is certainly one to remember.

It's not every day that one survives a Fall that steep, but he supposes there’s a first time for everything. He wakes up caked in jam, crumbs around where his head had hit the ground right at the bottom of the tallest tower of his Spire.

The headache is awful, made further worse with how there are shards of his broken monocle poking into his bad eye. He can't see out of that eye now. His entire dough is soaked with sticky jam, the stench of burnt flour still stark in the air. If he survives the aftermath of this, he thinks that scent of death may haunt the Spire forever.

He coughs harshly, his entire body shaking with the exertion. Head ringing, arms trembling, his chest feeling like it’s about to cave in at any moment. His hands burn, the injuries from his earlier fight with Spice finally deciding to grace him with their presence.

Everything hurts. Heart, dough, soul—he tilts his head and his vision doubles as he forces himself to sit up, his hair falling around his head like a curtain, sticky with jam. He blindly puts a hand against his chest, tracing where his Soul Jam is.

It's cracked, and it's screaming at him. Knowledge hammers at his battered brain, squeezing his heart.

Why why why why why—

“I'm sorry, professor.”

“Blue— Cookie—!”

“I told you so—”

His breath hitches and his vision blurs further, tears mixing with jam, hiccups blocking his airway and making the cough worse. His head pounds and he curls up into himself, wishing that it will all just go away.

He doesn't know how long he stays like that. Injured, overstimulated, overwhelmed—it could have been just a few hours. It could have been days, weeks, months. Time matters not to immortals, and it matters less when all he can do after committing the greatest mistakes of his life is cry and sob and choke on his own lifejam.

So many cookies. Students, professors, refugees. Children, the elderly—people he had known their entire lives. His own apprentice. Trampled by the Spice army he brought to his own doorstep, the last remaining refuge of the stupid global war Spice started because he was cracking bored.

Killing half of them with his own two hands. Their jam splattering across his jamstained robes. Screams of mercy, sobs of pain, questions he can't answer for once in his life because—

Why why why why—

It doesn't matter anymore. Knowledge is in the eyes of the beholder. He is Knowledge, and Knowledge is him—

Why didn't you save us?

Save us, oh great Virtue.

All the Knowledge in the world is at your fingertips, yet—

You killed them, you killed them all!—

Don't you regret it?

He claws at his own head, voices growing louder. His Soul Jam screaming at him, his conscience gnawing at the bleeding wound that is his entire being. He hopes he’ll run out of tears to cry soon. He hopes he'll bleed to death soon. He hopes something will happen because surely death is preferable than existing like this.

It lasts for a minute. It lasts for a millennia. It's everything and nothing all at the same time. His guilt consumes him whole and spits him back out, his soul screaming for mercy that will never be granted because who is he to beg for mercy when he never gave any himself—

His world is pain, and then—

It stops.

“Professor, are you alright?” He hears that voice.

That Cream-based cookie. The one he almost expelled for cheating not a decade ago. One of his fastest messengers back in the war. Talented in Charms, eager to learn, quick at it to boot. Popular with their peers and a patient tutor to their underclassmen.

His latest apprentice—Candy Cream Cookie.

“I'm sorry, professor.”

His last kill in the massacre, and it was met with apology. Remorse, when they are the last cookie who should feel a shred of it.

His throat tightens, words coming out in hiccups. Hands gently tug him closer and he can barely focus enough to hear their voice. He coughs and chokes and sobs into their arms, uncaring for propriety nor dignity.

He must be going crazy by now. There's only so much pain one can be in before it takes them whole. Their touch is an illusion against his dough, gentle against his back and warmer than the red jam in his hands.

“....pathetic. Can you even see me right now?”

The voice morphs, no longer his sweet apprentice—the caring young thing whose head he had lopped off just a few hours ago.

“....” He raises his head, numbly noting that his bad eye is truly dead now. The one who spoke is familiar-yet-not. It's the Beast, born from his greatest sins and his own weakness.

Shadow Milk sneers at him, his pair of mismatched blue burning with hate. The gentle touch now burns as hands wrap around his throat, pinning him onto the ground. His hands claw up against his assailant, an unexpected reflex of survival that he didn't even know he still had.

It would be so, so much better to die now—his hands tremble. He doesn't think he can live with what he did—not without turning into the thing in front of him. His sins are numerous, and much too heavy to simply do away with without consequences.

Death would be a mercy—a mercy he doesn't deserve. Perhaps that is why it does not greet him at that very moment, because if he survived that Fall, why wouldn't he survive this?

Shadow Milk had squeezed for not even a minute before he pulled away, as if the contact had burned him. He stares at him—himself, wasn't that strange—and the way he traces a hand against his throat and realises.

There’s this strange thing about fighting oneself. It can't really be done without hurting yourself, and turns out it applies even if he has split himself into two at the wake of his Fall.

His counterpart lets out a scream of frustration and the next thing he knows, there’s a sharp pain in his chest and a staff poking out of his torso. Then, the last thing he hears is a thud of a body spontaneously dropping to the floor.

He wakes up who-knows-how-long later and forces the staff out of his heart, and it brings back his counterpart in the same minute. The Beast growls at him, eyes wild and fearful, because apparently, neither of them can die without the other following suit.

How—ironic.

At that expression and the following curses, murder attempts, and everything—he laughs until his throat is sore and his voice is all but gone. He laughs at the face of the enraged Beast, through their shared pain, even though all inflicted injuries remain his own.

🌿

The war ends just a few years after his Spire falls, and he spends most of it stuck in constant battle against himself.

Or well, his counterpart—the Beast, Shadow Milk Cookie.

He stops minor wars, feeds intelligence to what remaining forces of resistance there are, steers travellers away from his and his former friends’ domains. He provides a temporary cure for Flour’s Plague, soothes the war-torn land with what magic he can do. It doesn't make any difference in the grand scheme of things, but it's better than wallowing in despair and it has the welcome bonus of pissing the absolute shit out of his Beast half.

Shadow Milk doesn't let his attempts to ‘do good’ go without consequences, of course. The Beast gets creative with punishments whenever he’s caught and dragged back to their Spire. With no moral compass and a conscience in tatters, he has too much fun coming up with all sorts of ways to hurt.

His personal favourite is waterboarding. The second is poison. Sometimes the Beast does both, force-feeding him with a lethal dose that'll have him gagging on his own bile and sticking him in a water tank, sitting back and watching as he drowns again and again. Laughing, relishing in the hurt he causes in spite of them sharing pain.

It leaves him with a deadly fear of water, and being soggy in general. One time he had his feet bound and his body tossed into the river. The current dragged him far and he had hoped to never wake up again—only to wake up to find that he had been taken in by the neighboring Faerie Kingdom.

That was the beginning of the end. He meets and befriends their leader, the Elder Faerie Cookie—the one who found him drowning and nursed him back to health.

Faerie is kind, and his followers kinder. As faeries favoured by nature itself, they are the last batch of cookies who has any chance of standing up against the Beasts. They look at him and they don't see Shadow Milk, because his entire body is a patchwork of scars and he is told he feels too much to be called the same as the Beast of Deceit. He never tells them, covering one eye and masquerading as just another refugee of war.

He lives with them and assists in their wars, rebuilding settlements and taking care of the wounded. He settles into his old role of teacher, but stays far away from leadership positions no matter how many times they nominate him for it.

He builds a friendship with Faerie, trading Knowledge and experience, helping draft plans for battles because he’s the sole remaining cookie who knows how to maintain and protect a settlement from a war of this scale. He Knows he's good at it—war, planning, leading. The only reason his Spire had fallen was because he had betrayed them.

Many reach out to him, wishing to build a closer relationship with someone they’re starting to look up to—not many can be as useful as he is, so it wasn't a surprise. Even Faerie himself had approached with offers of company and friendship.

All of which he denies, too fearful of what he can become—of what he could become. Of what he already is, in another form. He keeps them at an arm’s length and focuses on being useful, but not indispensable. It's lonely, and it's a new feeling, but it's nothing that he doesn't deserve.

In his third year with the faerie cookies, he tells them he has been working on a ritual to seal the former Virtues, but that for it to work, there must be a medium to lock them in, preferably magical in nature.. A prison—a temporary solution, because he and his former friends are unfortunately completely immortal.

Elder Faerie offers up the Silver Tree, a testament of trust. No faerie opposes this for some reason incomprehensible to him, because they’re willing to sacrifice a major historical landmark to their culture for the purpose of something as crude as a prison.

It’s the perfect medium just by magical potential alone, and they all know he can't refuse it—not when he has no better alternatives to give them.

They prepare, and until the very end, he tells nobody of who he actually is.

“Call me Blue. Just Blue.”

He gives them something to call him. Not a true name, but the only one that matters. They spend those three years only knowing him as ‘Blue’, and similarly, he keeps them at an arm’s length for long enough that they all stay away out of respect. Nearing the end of his third year with the faeries, he leaves them to complete the ritual, retiring early knowing that it will be the last time he will ever see most of them.

He doesn’t say his farewells, letting them think that he will be there tomorrow. It is cowardly, but he has never claimed to be brave.

In spite of his wishes to be left alone, Faerie approaches him that same night. Out of all the faerie cookies, their leader is most stubborn and the only one who can wheedle anything out of him. The closer relationship isn't by choice, simply starting from the circumstance of Faerie being his savior, but they only grow closer because even he finds it hard to stay distant when faced with such a sincere offer of friendship.

“Will you promise me something, my friend?” Faerie asks that night, voice full of warmth and his expression fond, but the hint of concern is hard to miss when that's the most common emotion people feel when they look at him.

Many cookies bear scars from the war, but none as much as he does—none to the extent of the mess that is his dough, full of aches and pains that weigh almost as heavily as the guilt that permeates his every waking hour.

“...y’know I don't do those, Fee.” He replies instead of choosing to run away. A bad decision, but he has never made many good ones anyway.

“Still. Indulge me?”

His scarred hands are tugged gently, fingers intertwining with his. His heart jumps to his throat as Faerie moves closer until they're eye-to-eye and practically heart-to-heart. His cracked Soul Jam hums steadily under his cloak, remaining unseen but frustratingly noticeable to himself.

“...sure.” He swallows.

“When you wake up again, please find a way to be happy.” A finger gently rubs circles on his palm and his world goes still, his stomach churning at those damning words.

“I know who you are—” Faerie says his name. His True name. The one nobody remembers anymore. The one he threw away the moment he became Shadow Milk. The words are warm, the syllables sweet in his friend’s voice, tone soft like he is saying something precious.

Blue breaks there, held in another cookie's arms, and confesses his countless sins. He isn't foolish enough to hope for salvation, but the warmth of the hug and the gentle whispers against his ears almost feels like it.

By the time the dawn breaks, he wakes up to execute his plan, forgoing a farewell to Faerie.

He doesn't think he can take the heartbreak.

🌿

Blue wakes up in the prison he will share with his Beast half and they spend the next millennia in conflict.

It’s as if nothing changes at all. Shadow Milk is constantly angry. About losing, about their Fall, about their selfish followers, about how half of their power had been ripped from them and cleansed to be reborn anew. He is filled with hate and his words are poison, bringing Destruction wherever he steps because there's only so much one can do, stuck in this recreation-but-not of their old Spire.

Blue is constantly sad. It’s a juvenile word to describe his state of being, but he can think of no other word that best describes the constant pain in whatever is left of his heart. He drags his feet throughout the day and forces himself to function through the aches and pains of his battered form, wishing for reprieve from the agony of his current existence.

Shadow Milk thinks him pathetic, but Blue knows his Beast half grows wary and lonely just as he does. Stuck for eternity in constant clash against each other, be it physically or mentally. Neither of them can win against the other, for they are two halves of a whole.

Knowledge and Deceit, though he now can hardly claim to be any sort of representative of his old Virtue.

He spends his days writing destroyed books from memory, and doing it again after Shadow Milk finds the new copies and sets them on fire. He similarly retaliates against the Beast, stealing his things and ruining his plans to reach out into the rest of the world through their other realm.

Shadow Milk steals his Soul Jam often, though it always refuses to work for him. It's a cause of endless frustration for the Beast, because forcing it to obey does not work and it is practically indestructible despite being cracked.

Some centuries after their initial imprisonment, Blue steals a baby dough from the Spire. He knows not how Shadow Milk had managed to create, but he certainly isn't going to let his Beast half raise a child with how unstable his moods are. Blue himself isn't any better, but he finds solace in how his own instability never results in needless Destruction.

Black Sapphire grows up away from the Spire, but not enough to fully rid him of Shadow Milk’s influence. Blue doesn't know how well he does in parenting, but it turns out to not be enough to keep his pseudo-son around because he leaves for the Spire as soon as he reaches the age of majority.

After him comes Candy Apple, and she hurts to look at because all he can see in her is their old apprentice. He can't bring himself to steal her away like he did Black Sapphire, fearing that he might lose himself in old memories were he to be left alone.

Knowing this, Shadow Milk drags him to the Spire and for a time, they coexist together with Black Sapphire and Candy Apple like a fucked up family of four. He and his counterpart still maul each other with words and violence, cultivated hatred for the other and themselves too strong to give up so easily.

Wisely enough, Black Sapphire takes Candy Apple away when the worst fights happen, leaving them to clean up the aftermath and pretend nothing ever happened at all.

The seal weakens as the centuries go by, and Shadow Milk decides it’d be most amusing to send their children out to cause havoc. Candy Apple to entice the travelers into the Spire, Black Sapphire to spread rumors and Deceit in some demented quest of Shadow Milk’s to prove to the world that his ideal is superior.

Blue can't do much to interfere—not without consequences—but he makes a plan that he should have started on long ago.

If the centuries spent with himself has taught him anything, it's that there really is no saving nor reasoning with Shadow Milk. He doesn't know if it's because he took all the conscience and morality in their little split accident, but arguing with the Beast will do nothing when he never wants to listen.

Thus, there is one solution to all this and coincidentally, it's one that Blue has wished for the longest time since Shadow Milk first stabbed him with their staff and he welcomed sweet oblivion.

To truly defeat the Beast, something must be sacrificed.

Blue sits in his laboratory, tucked underground in a hidden part of the Spire that he had built in secret. Away from prying eyes, away from Shadow Milk and his schemes. He rubs a gentle hand against his cracked Soul Jam and for the first time in a while, he smiles.

What a fine gift it would be, indeed. The soul of something that was Divine, sacrificed to appease the Beast.

It will undoubtedly upset the balance of powers in their world—especially considering the existence of the new Virtue of Truth. Except, he—doesn't really care about it. The moment his plans bear fruit, there will be no Knowledge nor Deceit.

Just Truth, the one who will have to maintain the balance in their stead because Blue can’t be bothered to stay long enough to witness the aftermath.

He sighs and picks his Soul Jam back up, sensing a commotion in the upper levels of the Spire. No doubt something has happened—he freezes, feeling a pulse of energy scattering across the entire continent.

The continent, that he's supposed to not be able to access or sense anything from because they're locked away in this space that is the former Spire of All Knowledge-yet-not.

His Soul Jam glows, pulsing a bright blue that it hasn't since their imprisonment.

“....”

Blue shudders, swallowing the taste of fear as he rushes outside and sees the clear, bright blue sky. Not the fake-sky that was of the prison realm, but the beautiful splatter of colours that make up the real thing.

Free, once more—but at what cost?

His Soul Jam pulses, for once not crying in pain. It sends a startling wave of happiness towards him. He swallows, ignoring the strange feeling and turning back to the Spire. He needs to locate them—all three of them. Shadow Milk, Black Sapphire, Candy Apple. Who knows what they're doing with newfound freedom.

In the back of his mind, he feels a seed of worry grow. It's too early, yes, but no plan ever survives first contact with the enemy. There are new factors that come with freedom, and none of them are predictable or easy to plan around.

It will be a challenge, but he will just have to make do like he always has.

🌿

Truth takes the form of a sweet little thing in robes of white and gold.

Pure Vanilla Cookie, his Soul Jam whispers its Knowledge. His true counterpart. The Truth to Deceit. The Healer to the Murderer. The one who will end it all, if things go according to plan.

He mentally crosses out his former plans of tracking down the Virtue of Truth, seeing as the aforementioned cookie has decided to come to him before he has even done anything.

Though, he really would have appreciated it more if he could meet this batch of cookies on his own terms and not through saving them from Candy Apple’s shenanigans. He hadn't even realised they weren't the usual group of random travelers until he caught sight of Pure Vanilla.

This considerably speeds up his plans, especially if White Lily Cookie can learn the Beast-binding Ritual quickly. She’ll need to be sent away to not rouse suspicion in Shadow Milk, but that should be guaranteed considering she had sworn.

Magical vows are nifty, convenient little things. Essentially a promise, but one sealed with jam to ensure that it cannot be broken without severe consequences.

White Lily Cookie had sworn without hesitation, determined to learn and take her vengeance. It's admirable, if not a little foolish considering none of her party even Know who he is.

He keeps his face covered, hood constantly up even during meals. They've relocated to a nearby abandoned inn. Mostly intact courtesy of his own travelling around the thick forests surrounding the Spire. It's different from the one Candy Apple was going to lead this group to—that one is but an illusion made to fool travellers and give them a sense of security.

This one is small and dusty, but it's livable and without any unpleasant surprises.

The younger cookies of the group have all gone to sleep, Pure Vanilla having tucked them in like he’s their parent and reciting them an old story. Similarly, White Lily has retired early, citing that she must recuperate in preparation for tomorrow.

It leaves him with the healer of the group, sitting across from him in the common room of the inn. There’s only one lit lantern and it’s set on the table as he sits and writes. Having only entered minutes prior, Pure Vanilla takes his time observing.

Blue dips his quill in ink and continues writing. He writes in code—a habit, and something to make sure that only he can read it. He feels eyes follow the movements of his wrist and he glances up to see the same pair of mismatched eyes staring at him in curiosity.

“Not going to sleep?” He decides to ask, making sure to sound quiet and speaking in a lower tone to avoid any resemblance with Shadow Milk.

“No. I.. find myself struggling to. Would you mind the company?” The healer admits, a hint of guilt in his voice.

He pauses for a moment, setting his quill in the bottle of ink before answering, “No. I.. get not being able to sleep. It evades me often.” more than it is healthy, even. But the waking world is much more merciful than the world of his dreams, so he wouldn't have it any other way.

“Does it?” Pure Vanilla chuckles, continuing,

“You don't strike me as the type to lose sleep over things.” He smiles with easy camaraderie. A natural charmer, this one, though his pretty face certainly helps.

Blue huffs, “I don't usually, but we don't exactly get to pick and choose our emotions.”

For him, going to sleep has never been a problem. Sleeping itself is the problem, and the aftermath makes it worse. It's not rare that he wakes up covered in sweat, reeling from one nightmare or some bad memory that has decided to make an appearance.

“...I suppose so.” Pure Vanilla hums.

Sensing another incoming question, Blue decides that they should get over it without beating around the bush. He’s always disliked unnecessary cushioning, as if the question will hit less hard when it is finally said.

“What is it that you wanna know, nilly?” Blue leans forward against the table and asks.

To his credit, Pure Vanilla doesn't flinch at the directness. In fact, he only looks sheepish as he confesses,

“I… you're helping us, but you’re clearly familiar with Candy Apple Cookie and Shadow Milk Cookie. You don't tell us who you are, but you haven't harmed us and you cared enough about the children to answer their questions.” He hesitates,

“I just.. I wish to know if—”

“If I am being genuine with my intentions?” Blue guesses.

Pure Vanilla nods. It's—one thing to know that one of this batch actually was suspicious of him, but it's another thing to be confronted about it in such a straightforward way. He tries to squash down the amusement he feels, because it is good that they’re not throwing all caution into the wind.

“Hm.. I could always lie about it, but I see no point when I'm invested in the same goal you are.” He answers.

“...and that is..?” The healer tilts his head for show, waiting for his answer.

“Killing Shadow Milk Cookie, of course.” Blue smiles with teeth.

Chapter Text

Sitting amidst a field of white flowers, Pure Vanilla could almost fool himself into thinking that he isn't in the feared continent of Beast-Yeast.

He brushes his fingers against the crown of a small, white flower. Milkcrown flowers, freshly bloomed, smelling faintly of blueberries. His eyes stray towards the cookie next to him, his best friend, her brows furrowed as she tries to replicate the sigil Blue had just taught her.

The ritual is surprisingly simple—sans the required materials and the presence of the Beasts themselves, they only need to draw a single sigil with magic.

“Y’need to cast it well and cast it fast. They'll be familiar with this thing and it's easy to get around if they know it's coming.”

White Lily pauses in the midst of carving a glyph into the dirt with her lily staff, “...Pure Vanilla?” She calls and he makes a noise of assent, setting the flowers he had gathered to the side to give her his full attention.

“Yes?”

“Can you.. do you still remember that sigil Elder Faerie showed us?”

Pure Vanilla pauses. The late Elder Faerie Cookie hadn't had much answers for questions about the Beast-binding ritual itself, citing that the one who had done the ritual was a good friend of his, and that it took a great sacrifice to be accomplished. He had shown them the early designs of the sigil, but noted that the final version remained unknown even to him—because his old friend had departed without a single farewell and left him without the opportunity to ask.

“...I remember that he said it was only the initial drafts of the sigil.” He rises to his feet and stands at his best friend’s side.

Carved on an empty patch of land next to the field of flowers is a half-finished sigil that startlingly resembles the one he remembers seeing in Elder Faerie’s books. Though it was decidedly more complete, the entire circle covered in symbols instead of just scattered little scribbles.

“Elder Faerie said that only his old friend knew the finished version of the sigil, because he was the one who had done the ritual.” White Lily muses, her eyes scanning the sigil and fixing the little imperfections with magic.

Pure Vanilla pauses, “...Blue. Do you think..?”

“He’s.. he has been helpful, but I can't deny that his appearance was a little—convenient. I don’t know if we can trust him. It’s even more suspicious that he knows how to draw this seal when he has admitted to being an associate of Shadow Milk Cookie.” She raises her head and turns her gaze towards the other side of the field.

In the distance, Blue is tossing harmless projectiles of dirt at the three young cookies. Gingerbrave is laughing, batting away balls of mud aimed at his face with his candy cane. Strawberry uses her lollipop to defend Wizard from projectiles aimed his way, but one can tell she isn't quite defending seriously from the sound of her soft giggles every time a mud ball bounces harmlessly off of her.

Wizard is by far taking the little training exercise the most serious, waving his candy staff and trying his best to hit Blue with his lightning strikes. To his credit, Blue plays fair and only defends by dodging.

It's—yet another unexpected display of fun in this trip that Pure Vanilla was initially dreading. Blue is often crass with his words to the point of sounding rude, but it’s clear that he means well.

“...maybe.. do you think he’s..” Pure Vanilla pauses.

Elder Faerie had spoken little about his old friend. Neither he nor White Lily had dared to push, sensing that the topic is associated with too many bad memories. All they knew was that he was a talented mage, and precious to the Faerie Kingdom of old.

“He is a mage. A war mage, to boot. It would fit the timeline—but the ritual demands a ‘great sacrifice’.. with the way Elder Faerie had spoken about his friend, I had thought that sacrifice meant his life. If he was Elder Faerie's friend, he shouldn't be alive.” White Lily adds quietly.

Pure Vanilla scrutinizes the distant form of Blue. The mage still hasn't shown his face, keeping his hood up constantly. He only knows that the other has heterochromia similar to his, and that his form occasionally flickers as if he isn't quite there.

Except, he had ruled out illusions the moment White Lily had scanned Blue. It was impossible to scan an illusion and get actual results—the spell would simply fail if attempted. But, if Blue isn't an illusion, the way his form flickers could indicate that he's something else entirely.

Something like the form Shadow Milk Cookie had taken the first time they faced him after that rift in the Silver Tree had opened. A soul, without a true physical form, but solid enough to interact with the physical world.

“...maybe the sacrifice wasn't death, but being imprisoned alongside the other Beasts.” Pure Vanilla concludes.

White Lily’s eyes widen, “...it must be conducted by someone who is ready to pay the price..” she recites a passage from the book.

The healer nods, “A great sacrifice doesn't necessarily mean death.”

Because sometimes, there are worse things than death. Being imprisoned alongside the enemy should count as one. It would also explain why Blue is so familiar with Candy Apple Cookie and Shadow Milk himself. He would have spent centuries living with them in the same prison.

One would think that’d cultivate some attachment between Blue and the cookies of Deceit, but from their conversation last night, it doesn't seem like there is any lost love between them.

“You think killing is going too far? Oh, you sweet soul—you’re too good for this world. You can't always solve your problems through conversations, silly vanilly.. there is no reasoning with a Beast.”

In a way, Blue is right. Sealing is but a temporary solution, and they can't keep doing it until the end of time—immortal or not.

“It’s a small price to pay for the entire cookie world. What's one life compared to the thousands he's killed?”

It was said with barely concealed disdain, bordering on hatred. Whoever Blue was to Shadow Milk, any good relationship they might have had is a thing far in the past and unlikely to be fixed—especially if the mage had really lived through the Virtues’ initial Fall.

Not for the first time, Pure Vanilla wonders what it is that makes cookies deserving of immortality. He and his friends were granted the privilege by their Soul Jams, and Elder Faerie had attained it through his role as the guardian of the Silver Tree—blessed by the Millennial Tree himself.

Blue, if he really is who they think, would be an outlier among immortals for being alive at all. Perhaps it was a curse—or some side effect of the Beast-binding ritual. Immortality isn't always a blessing, after all.

The image of a scarred arm flashes in his mind. As immortals, they aren’t spared from injury or sickness—but it will never take them the same way it might other cookies. Wounds heal quicker, barely leaving any scars. Sickness pass after a day or two. They remain fresh and crisp, unbothered by mortal ailment.

Though, scarring is still possible if the damage is extensive enough. He has a few from the Dark Flour War, and sometimes his knees ache when the weather is particularly cold.

Blue, if he was a true immortal in the same way Pure Vanilla was, shouldn't have so many scars on just one limb. Unless he practices some form of jam magic that requires self-harm—the healer frowns.

An uncomfortable thought comes to mind, but he doesn't know enough about both Blue and Shadow Milk to judge its reliability.

“...I can't imagine. If he was trapped here for as long as Shadow Milk Cookie was…” White Lily murmurs.

Their conversation is cut short by the sound of laughter. Pure Vanilla’s lips quirk up as he hears Blue wheeze, doubling over in the air to the sound of indignant protests. His hood miraculously stays on through the wild cackling. The laugh sounds familiar, awfully so, and yet he can't quite tell where it was that he had heard the sound.

“That's not fair!” Wizard exclaims, waving his candy staff in a humorous attempt to whack Blue out of the air.

“Oh foolish heroes, all is totally fair in war!” Blue snickers and dodges a swing from Gingerbrave, then sidesteps a hit to his side and trips Strawberry in the same move.

“Besides, you're not always going to go up against monsters, silly. You’ll have to fight other cookies eventually, and those are so, so much harder.” He twirls his staff and uses it as a bat, hitting a running Gingerbrave and pushing him against Strawberry, breaking the younger cookies’ formation.

“Plus, the monsters around this place aren't as dumb as cake hounds. They can strategize. They learn—” Blue pauses and aims his staff high, shooting a magical projectile across the heads of the trio of cookies.

Pure Vanilla tenses.

One of the monsters they've been fighting appears out of the bushes with a dying scream. A horde of them follows. White Lily tugs him forward, dragging him into formation as Gingerbrave charges ahead. Strawberry joins him, spinning her lollipop around to break the enemy lines.

Blue—doesn’t settle into formation. He simply raises his staff high in the air and destroys the monsters in one fell swoop before Gingerbrave could even reach the horde. The young brave cookie stops just before the powerful blast of magic hits and it is only thanks to Pure Vanilla’s shield that he doesn't get hurt.

White Lily seems to realise this because she whips towards Blue with an angry expression, “Watch where you aim—!” She hisses, her fury a contrast to her quiet voice.

Blue is awfully still where he stands, just behind Pure Vanilla and decidedly out of proper team formation for mages. At the odd reaction, White Lily’s fury extinguishes itself.

“...right. You're a war mage. I.. apologise. You must not be used to fighting in formation.” She murmurs, quietly enough to almost be mistaken as her pondering to herself, but not enough to go unheard because Blue flinches at the title.

“War mage?” Wizard furrows his brows.

Pure Vanilla steps in, “It is a title reserved for mages with high offensive capabilities. In wars, they are placed in the front to break the enemy lines and lead assault battalions.”

The young cookies stare at Blue unabashedly at this new revelation. The mage breaks his silence,

“I need to do the cleansing ritual.” It comes out quiet, his voice wobbling.

White Lily steps closer, “I’ll help.”

“...isn't the Life Energy cleansing ritual for cookies, though?” Wizard asks the dreaded question.

His best friend and their new acquaintance exchange a forlorn glance.

“....they were cookies.” Blue admits, pulling his hood further over his head. What visible part of his hands are gloved, but it doesn't hide the way they tremble.

Pure Vanilla feels sick—he tries to shake the disturbing thoughts out of his head. This reminds him a little too much of—he turns to his best friend and sees a resigned expression on her face alongside the sad smile that has become custom for her.

“...but. But—we’ve been—” Gingerbrave staggers.

Blue cuts in ruthlessly, “There’s no saving them. Their consciousness is gone, and all that’s left are morphed bodies puppeted by the lingering magic around the Spire.” he gestures at the smoking remains of the monsters—the former cookies, warped beyond recognition.

White Lily clasps her hands together, eyes downcast, “...I'm sorry, Gingerbrave.”

Pure Vanilla strolls towards the young, brave cookie and settles a hand on his shoulder, “You weren't hurt, were you?”

“No. I'm just—I’m sorry. I—I know that—we’re.. I never—I thought they were illusions.”

Not for the first time, Pure Vanilla mourns the childhoods they are robbing from these young cookies. None of the three has even reached the age of majority, but they're already running their own kingdom and agreeing to contribute to the future war effort.

Strawberry covers her face in her hands and lets out a soft sniffle. White Lily is at her side in an instant, pulling her into a comforting hug.

Pure Vanilla gently takes Gingerbrave’s hands, checking on the boy anyway in spite of his earlier claims of being uninjured. He sends a soothing wave of magic over the younger cookie, hoping that it might ease his heart just a little.

In the corner of his eyes, he sees Blue talking to Wizard. Unlike Gingerbrave and Strawberry, Wizard has always been adamant on acting more mature than he needs to be, priding himself on being the ‘oldest’ of the trio.

“—so it’s all because of Shadow Milk Cookie?”

“Not.. necessarily. Shadow Milk definitely contributed to the death toll, but the battle that took place here was large in scale. Hundreds and thousands of cookies died on this very soil. A battle like that, let's say.. hm, it leaves a lot of ghosts roaming around.” Blue chuckles darkly.

“...g-ghosts?!” Wizard blanches.

“...wait, no—you're not lying to me, are you?” The young mage narrows his eyes.

“No, I see one standing behind you right now.”

A puppet materialises into existence behind Wizard and Pure Vanilla has the privilege of witnessing Wizard scream the loudest he has ever heard him. The poor thing starts wildly batting at the puppet with his candy staff before realising that it is not actually a ghost.

Betrayed, Wizard refocuses his efforts on smacking Blue, who is holding up one hand, strings connected to the puppet. He dodges the initial hit and cackles. It starts a humorous chase between the two mages.

“I can't believe you—! TO THINK I ACTUALLY BELIEVED YOU—” Wizard yells out his displeasure, forgoing casting any spells in favor of physical violence. The puppet sticks out its tongue at him.

Gingerbrave laughs in bewilderment, earlier tension broken at the sight of his friend being led around in circles by a puppet.

“Ghosts aren't real, silly. If they were, hm, let's say my life would be very, very different.” Blue wheezes again, the sound of his amusement bringing a smile to Pure Vanilla’s lips.

It’s a nice laugh. The kind that invites you to laugh along or quirk up a smile. Strawberry giggles at the silliness, earlier distress all but forgotten.

Suddenly, Wizard jumps up, brandishing his staff like a club and finally hitting Blue over the head. Surprised at the sheer audacity, the war mage drops the strings of the puppet and guffaws as Wizard rushes back out of his immediate range after the hit.

“Oh my Witches. I can't believe it. I thought I’ve seen it all but never have I thought—” Blue’s guffaws amplify into more wheezing and for a moment, Pure Vanilla is concerned over his lungs because the sounds he’s making sound a little painful.

Wizard glares at him, “...teach me how to reinforce my staff so it doesn't break when I do that.”

“I'm so proud. You finally see the merits of brute force, my young apprentice.” He laughs so hard he starts coughing.

Seeing that Pure Vanilla and White Lily are understandably confused, Strawberry chimes in an explanation,

“...earlier, Wizard was really offended that Mr. Blue used his staff as a blunt weapon. He said it’s a good surprise strategy and only mages with sticks up their asses wouldn't do it.” She giggles.

White Lily puts a hand over her face, “I… it’s.. a.. valid strategy. Strawberry, do keep your language in mind.”

“OH SHIT—hey now, chill out—you little gnats—! You can’t tag team me like this, this is unfair—” Blue screeches in the background as Gingerbrave enters the fray with a loud war cry,

“I'll save you, Wizard! Let's take down the evil mage!” He brings his candy cane staff over his head and joins Wizard in attempting to hit Blue.

“The fucking audacity of you baby doughs—”

Pure Vanilla has a feeling that he may have to start a swear jar if they're keeping Blue around. Strawberry giggles louder at the swearing—scratch that, perhaps two jars will be required. With how independent the three younger members of their party already are, it would be a tall task to stop them from cursing.

White Lily sighs wearily, “...if he really was a teacher among other things, I do wonder how he got certified with that mouth.” she says wryly.

The healer clears his throat, “Well, our companions do not exactly have a traditional upbringing.. I say it's—”

“Bitch. If you use magic, I’m using magic. Don't test me—”

“—....fine?” He says helplessly.

“We will have to see, Pure Vanilla. Though, his Knowledge is worth putting up with the profanity. Besides, I think this is a good change of pace.” White Lily chuckles.

Pure Vanilla shakes his head, “...right. I—let’s prepare for the cleansing ritual.”

Chapter Text

In war, battlefields aren't always an open plain.

Sometimes, they're villages. Homes. When this is the case, it makes the aftermath of battle much worse. The Spire of All Knowledge stands in the middle of the Yeast continent, and contrary to popular belief, it was surrounded by dozens of settlements housing mostly scholars and pilgrims.

All the major educational institutions of the time period were located within walking distance of the Spire, its treasure trove of Knowledge unrivalled.

In the present, the Spire is surrounded with dense forests, clear of any sign of civilization. Anyone who sees it as it is now would never know that where they stand, there once were bustling cities and homes. Where there isn't dense forest, there are wide grass plains covered with milkcrown flowers.

They’re standing in one such plain now. The smoking remains of the dead horde from earlier lays to the side, slowly disintegrating. Done with their playful exercise, the three young cookies listen carefully as the new Virtue of Freedom—a branch of Salt’s former Solidarity, wasn't that something—explains the rite.

“It… is no longer done in recent years.” She ends the little explanation slowly, her voice maintaining its demure tone, almost quiet as a whisper. In the same breath, her bright red eyes gaze upon him thoughtfully.

The question remains unsaid but clear. Out of this party of five, only White Lily was open with her suspicion of him. For good reason, as well. if she has had contact with the Faerie Kingdom, she would undoubtedly be familiar with the kind of trickery his Beast half likes to pull.

In fact, he's willing to bet that she is only allowing him around for the Knowledge he is offering. A talented mage in her own right, she would be able to tell if the sigil he had taught her was a fake or not. It is the real thing, of course—he is Knowledge-yet-uncorrupted, not Deceit.

None of these cookies know of this fact, but if he were to hope for understanding from any of them, White Lily would be most open to the idea, being half of a soul herself.

“...no, I suppose it shouldn't be. It's most effective in war-torn land, not—peaceful fields.” Blue answers, and it's a confirmation, in a way.

War mage, they had called him. He never considered himself one, but the title fits like an old, well-worn garment. It is true that he had gone to lead battalions after the split-accident with his Beast half. He never was able to settle into the standard team formation of five, always getting in other cookies’ way or having them get in his way.

It was much easier to fight alone. With the power he had, he could level entire battlefields solo and remain unstoppable if no other Beast came into the fray.

“This land… well, it only looks like this now because I regularly clean house.” He gestures at the fields of milkcrown flowers.

Staring at the small little things makes his eye hurt. They're—new, to say the least. Before the Fall, these flowers didn't exist.

🌿

“Aw, what's wrong? Does it hurt?” His own voice taunts, the hand in his hair pulling tight enough for some strands to be ripped out.

His sole working eye remains frozen to the sight in front of him. His knees ache, scraping across the hard terrain. His lungs burn with exertion and ache from water damage. Everything hurts more than it usually does, but nothing is as painful as the sight in front of him.

Cookies. Theirs. His cookies. Their broken and burnt bodies, who are supposed to be gone and buried, laid to rest in the worst night of his life. The same ones standing there now, unrecognizable if not for the distinct scent of blueberry and the scattered toppings he recognizes at first sight.

Candy canes, fruits of all kinds, creams, icings he remembers fondly—mauled and mixed in an abomination of something that isn't cookie nor cake.

“What have you done.” He chokes out, trying in vain to look away because he Knows what stands in front of him. It screams, sobs, cries—

Why why why—

Pain, so much pain. His eye burns and he fails to stop the tears from flowing as he bows his head, his entire body shaking as he begs the thing in front of him for mercy. Forgiveness. As if robbing them of their lives wasn't enough, he had to deny them a peaceful death. Condemn them into an existence of cookie-but-other.

Shadow Milk’s hand loosens its grip and the Beast steps over him, floating over to the monster and chuckling,

“Don't you like it, Berry? I thought you would. I made them just for you. It's a masterpiece.” Deceit extends his arms, as if presenting this as a grand gesture of goodwill and not something that will be part of his night terrors.

Cursed with Knowledge, he can only weep.

It hurts. The souls whisper through their mangled and broken bodies, only heard because they were his and he once was theirs.

I know, I know it does. I'm sorry. He can only say; meaningless platitudes upon useless apologies.

His tears fall upon the jamstained grass and there, a flower blooms.

🌿

“What happens if we don’t do the ritual?” One of the children asks, the one with the traditional name—Gingerbrave.

Before he could answer, Pure Vanilla jumps into the conversation, “The remnants of magic cast with the intent to harm will corrupt the Life Energy around, rendering the land barren permanently.” he kneels next to the remains from earlier, putting one hand over the still bodies.

The healer’s voice is soft, reverent, as his staff glows with a gentle, golden light. His Soul Jam resonates alongside it, the bright blue a near-match to the one hidden under his robes. He bows to the scorched earth, the air still heavy with what lingers unseen—despair, sorrow, pain.

“By the Light that binds all things, I ask this place be made whole again. Let the echoes of hatred fall silent, let the pain that stains this ground be lifted. May the roots of life take hold once more, and may their hearts be at peace.” The remnants of the monsters fade into particles of magic under Pure Vanilla’s spell, scattering into stardust.

Blue settles next to the healer and recites the same words, but in the language of old. He swallows the lump in his throat, used to the heavy feeling he gets whenever this rite needs to be done. He coaxes the land to rejoin and grow, leaving no sign that there was ever anything there. A bush of milkcrown flowers sprouts from the ground and he muffles a sigh at the sight of them.

White Lily crouches next to them, inspecting the flowers. She takes one by its crown, gently brushing a thumb against the soft petals, “I've never seen this flower before.” she murmurs.

“They’re called milkcrown flowers.” Pure Vanilla responds, delicately cupping a hand over a bud, “I read about it in one of the books we found earlier.” He quotes the passage and Blue ignores it, stuck in his own remembrances of long gone cookies he had failed.

“They smell like blueberries.” Strawberry notes.

Blue clears his throat, “Anyway, Beast-binding ritual. Have you or have you not memorized that sigil? We can't continue to the next step until you have it perfect.”

Out of all the components of the Beast-binding ritual, the initial magical sigil was arguably the easiest. It took not even a week to finish, and thinking back on it now, he often regrets not starting on it earlier.

He traces a hand over his Soul Jam, dimly glowing under his robes. It's—happy, and wasn't that something?—he glances at Pure Vanilla and the Soul Jam of Truth, a clear, lighter blue than his own; uncracked, untainted.

White Lily, forgoing any words, simply raises her staff high and waves it in a perfect circle, recreating the sigil he had taught her with a nifty application of Light magic. The magic circle floats in the air for a moment, the details and various glyphs morphing into existence. Noises of awe fill the air from the impressionable young, and the Virtue of Freedom smiles as she sets the finished circle on the ground, magic carving the shapes into the Earth.

Ignoring some wobbly lines, it’s nearly perfect. An impressive first attempt, considering he had only spent a total of ten minutes drawing and redrawing the sigil to show her, and only properly casted it himself twice.

“A quick study, aren't you?” Blue whistles, moving closer to inspect the magic circle.

“I used to regularly cast sigils like these, but I must admit that there are some glyphs in this one that I don't recognize.” White Lily steps into line beside him, scrutinizing her own work. With a wave of her hand, she straightens some of the wobbly lines, “I.. honestly, I have many questions for you.”

The magic of their world is divided into two main classifications—elemental and non-elemental magic. Every cookie naturally has an element they are in-tune with from the moment they are baked, but there are some who are without an element at all. Elemental magic is straightforward, from simple manipulation of the existing elements of their world to the more advanced generation of certain elements through energy manipulation.

Non-elemental magic is a little more complicated. It can be channeled in two ways, directly through the mage with the use of a medium or for those less magically-inclined, indirectly through potions or sigils. The art of sigils—also known as seals—involve drawing shapes to bend the naturally existing magic around them. It's a step up in difficulty from direct channeling, but opens more possibilities of magic application with how they can operate independently of the caster.

“The art of sigils is ancient, and a lot was lost about it.” Pure Vanilla hums, crouching next to his friend to inspect the newly created sigil, carefully carved into the dirt.

“...if that's the case, I'm impressed you got this far. You're gonna need to do that, but faster and without mistakes. This is just the first step.” He flicks his wrist, magic reaching out to reinforce White Lily’s, straightening the lines of the sigil. It glows with his signature gold, before fading into the custom blue.

“You're awfully familiar with this ritual.” The green Light of Freedom glows, taking over his own magic and making the sigil glow silver—Blue staggers back a step, the familiar magical signature washing over him.

“—Milk Cookie.“ A warm voice. The calloused hands of a warrior, the steady presence at his side, bright silver lights and a heavy feeling in his heart—he swallows the ever-present lump in his throat, choking back a noise and the bitter taste of something he doesn’t dare name.

Logically, he knows what happened. The only way for the seal to have broken fully would be if the guardian had died. That’s the second part of the Beast-binding ritual. A lock, a warden, and the prison itself—the sigil, the guardian, and the Silver Tree. The prison cannot be opened without a lock, and the only way to get it is through its warden.

“Heh. So you were involved with that foolish king, hm? I should’ve known from that sigil—”

Blue sees something move out of the corner of his eyes and he slaps the hand reaching out for him, jumping back and brandishing his staff—a shield materialises into existence and his instincts scream at him to dodge, move, get out of the way, cast a counterspell—

He's in the present one moment and somewhere else the next. His eyes catch the blue of Soul Jam and his breath hitches as he blindly casts a stunning spell.

It's blocked with a well-timed shield and someone dashes forward, snatching his wrist and pulling him close—his brain catches up to the present and he yelps as he stumbles into whoever just ran into him and they crash down in a pile of limbs and half-casted spells.

Blue’s blurry vision clears to reveal a dishevelled Pure Vanilla on top of him. Their eyes meet for a brief moment and he shoves the healer off before the other cookie could catch a glimpse of his face. Pulling desperately on his hood, he curls up into a ball and takes deep breaths, willing the panic away.

It's safe. There's nobody here but three young cookies and two mages, all who know nothing about him or who he is. Getting rid of them would be quick—easy, for someone with his abilities.

“Blue, can you hear me?” Someone says and he finds that he can't register whose voice it is. He trembles, shaking uselessly as his panic grows and his breath hitches, any noise coming out choked and hiccuped.

A warm presence envelops him and he inhales sharply, his Soul Jam whispering through the panic and the frantic beating of his own heart,

Safe.

He stills.

“It's okay—we’re alright—” The voice continues, soft and soothing, warm.

“Can you tell me five things you can see?”

Yellow and blue eyes. The slight downturn of lips. A kind face, framed with pale hair. Robes of white and gold. One hand reaching out towards him but not quite touching—the accursed blue of that Soul Jam, glowing just like the cookie that stands in front of him.

He voices none of this, instead reaching to take the hand offered to him. It's soft, uncalloused—the hands of a healer. The hand gently squeezes his own and the touch is so—something—that it clears his thoughts instantly, his attention caught by the marvel of something as simple as hand holding.

The fog of his panic clears and he runs himself through the rest of that little grounding exercise. Four things you can touch—Pure Vanilla’s hand, the staff clenched tightly in his other hand, the gentle hand on his shoulder, and the soft grass against his knees. Three things you can hear—Pure Vanilla’s soft murmurs, the distant chatter of the other cookies, the hum of his Soul Jam.

Two things you can smell; the sweet scent of vanilla and the distant-but-strong scent of lilies. Something you can taste—the jam on his tongue—he swallows, tasting sweet strawberry-iron. He must've bitten something without realising.

“...sorry.” His voice comes out, rough and scratchy. The hand holding his rubs gentle circles around his palm and he numbly observes as Pure Vanilla raises his head and inquires,

“May I do a check-up?”

He bites back a reflexive “no” and jerks his head, not quite nodding but not an immediate refusal. Blue takes some time to gather himself, making sure that his voice won't sound as wrecked when he speaks. Enough dignity has been lost in the past who-knows-how-long, and he isn't keen on losing more.

He debates the pros and cons of letting Pure Vanilla, a healer, do his job. It would be a lie to say that he doesn't need a check-up, especially considering his last one was a millennia ago and only happened because someone had insisted on it—but he isn't exactly comfortable letting someone else poke at his patchwork of a body.

“...I will only be making sure you didn't hurt yourself earlier. I won't do anything else.”

Blue’s shoulders sag and he leans a little too heavily against the healer. Eventually—though it takes longer than he’s more comfortable to admit—he nods, but warns Pure Vanilla in the same breath, “I'll allow you to scan me, but if you don't find any fresh injuries, back off, and absolutely no comments about my health. Capiche?”

He gets a nod in response and a wave of Light washes over him, providing a cool balm over his aches and pains—he shivers, unused to the feeling. The hand around his tightens and he’s tugged closer, “I—” he hears a sharp intake of breath and regrets his earlier decision the moment he sees the stricken expression on Pure Vanilla’s face.

“No. Comment.” Blue snaps and regrets it the moment the words slips out of his mouth, but he isn't in the mood to explain anything to the healer.

“...you’re.. I—”

“Is everything okay now?” Gingerbrave asks, interrupting the moment at the perfect time. Silently, he thanks whatever power had arranged for that to happen and slips out of Pure Vanilla’s hold, rising to his feet and leaving the healer sat on the grass.

“Yeah. Sorry about that. I… overreacted.” Blue winces.

White Lily steps into view, standing next to Gingerbrave, “...you knew Elder Faerie Cookie.” she states like it is a fact. Not accusatory, no finger pointed at him for being terribly vague about who exactly he is. It's as if she had expected the answer.

“...he told you about me.” He deduces.

“You’re the one who created the Beast-binding ritual.” Freedom shoots back, certainty in her voice. Whatever it is that Faerie had told her, it clearly has put him in good light, because now she looks the most relaxed he has ever seen her since their first meeting—like any suspicion she has of him has been cleared for the simple fact that he was friends with her mentor.

“...I did.” Blue confirms.

“You left without a farewell, he said.” Pure Vanilla stands on wobbly feet. Before he could think much about it, he shifts closer to put a hand on the healer’s shoulder to balance him. He doesn't know what the healer had picked up from the scanning spell, but the last healer who had done a similar check-up had not reacted well.

“I have my reasons, none of which I'm comfortable sharing with any of you. So, anyway, once you have that sigil down and can cast it without thinking, we’ll need to figure out a way to heal the Silver Tree and get every single Beast here somehow.” Blue ignores how Pure Vanilla’s hand settles on top of his, trembling ever so slightly but not commenting on the change of topic.

Nothing like patient-healer confidentiality to avoid awkward conversations. But judging by the look on Truth's face, he won't be getting out of that conversation anytime soon. White Lily, bless her, continues with the more important part of their conversation,

“Then.. we might have to part ways sooner than I thought.” She sighs, tucking her staff close.

“Ah..” Pure Vanilla frowns.

Blue grimaces, “..unfortunately. You—well, you have Fe—Elder Faerie Cookie’s magic, and Shadow Milk isn't the only Beast making a move right now.”

Freedom nods, determined as ever.

“Two things have been on my mind since the Faerie Kingdom..” She murmurs and inclines her head towards him, “First, the secret to the Beast-binding ritual.” He hums. No doubt that none of them had expected to learn the ritual through him.

“Second, the Guardian’s power.. or, better said, the Witches who granted such a power. I have inherited it from Elder Faerie Cookie. It is only right for me to learn everything about the source of this strength.”

At this, one of the children finally breaks their silence, “If master Blue is Elder Faerie Cookie’s friend, shouldn't he know the answer?” Wizard states, looking at him expectantly.

Blue muffles a chuckle, “With some Knowledge, it is best to figure out the answer yourself. Otherwise, the lesson will remain unlearned.” He shrugs, giving away nothing.

White Lily nods, “I agree. Our paths no longer align from here. I must.. seek the Truth on my own.”

“Can't you at least take some of us with you?” Strawberry suggests, to the agreement of both of her friends. Ah, children. Always eager to help.

Personally, between Silent Salt and Shadow Milk, Blue would rather deal with the devil he is more familiar with.

“It won't make a difference.” He states, and the children turn on him with matching indignant expressions. He returns it with a stern expression of his own,

“White Lily is an accomplished adult mage. You three are experienced, but you're children. It would be best for you to stay with me and Pure Vanilla. He’s a healer and I know my way around Shadow Milk.”

Wizard glares at him, “We'd still be in danger either way!”

“But you won't die, and White Lily will not have to face the pressure of protecting others while facing a Beast.”

“How can you be so sure that Shadow Milk Cookie won't hurt us?” Gingerbrave, of all people, points out.

“Shadow Milk likes to play with his food. Between me and Pure Vanilla, we can get you out of his range of fire the moment he decides to stop fucking around. Silent Salt is... less inclined. Plus, nilly here is a healer and can patch up any injuries you might get. It's the safer option until you brats can fend for yourselves.”

Silence follows after the end of his little rant. Pure Vanilla looks down solemnly and it occurs to Blue that they're still holding hands. He pulls his hand away and is met with the amused smile of the other cookie,

“I thought you wanted us out of the Spire.” Pure Vanilla chuckles.

“I did, but I have no doubt that you would try sneaking in anyway.” Blue answers bluntly.

Either way, Shadow Milk will want to see their counterpart. Perhaps steal the Soul Jam of Truth, though he doubts the thing will work for the Beast when his own shards of Knowledge still refuses to. Despite his earlier misgivings, they do need to enter the Spire sooner or later, and it’s much better for his plans if he accompanies this batch of cookies to that point.

“Do you think we could do it? Defeat Shadow Milk Cookie?” Pure Vanilla asks, the hesitance clear in his voice.

On their own, probably not. Shadow Milk by himself is plenty powerful, and being in his domain makes him all the more dangerous. In the Spire, morphing reality is as easy as flicking a finger. But if anything can rid this world of himself, it would be the very cookie made to be the antithesis to him.

It doesn't hurt that he finds Pure Vanilla tolerable enough to assist.

“Yeah—” a side-eye from White Lily. He rolls his eyes, “I know what I said. People can change their minds, okay? Just, well, at least you were the only one to swear that you’ll leave. Besides, it's really no loss when you are leaving anyway. Better get the preparations on your end done and we can regroup later.”

White Lily huffs, “Very well. I leave Pure Vanilla and the others in your care.”

“Sure, broody bloom.”

Strawberry giggles at the nickname. The newly named broody bloom simply sighs, “Until we meet again, everyone.” She bows and vanishes in a dramatic flurry of white lilies, leaving behind the sharp scent in her wake.

Pure Vanilla shakes his head, “Mages.”

“It was a solid dramatic exit, honestly. 10/10.” Blue snickers.

“....can you teach me how to do that?” Wizard pleads.

“Say no more, kid.”

🌿

Blue spends the rest of the day busying himself with the three youngsters and avoiding Pure Vanilla’s attempts to corner him into a conversation.

By evening, he has successfully pawned Pure Vanilla off to the children, starting an impromptu first aid magic lesson while he takes a break from socializing. He settles on a tree branch and leans back, staring off into the distance at the setting sun.

It's a quiet evening. No monsters, just crickets and the distant sound of Pure Vanilla talking. He shuts his eyes to enjoy the calm, and then, as if the world itself objects to giving him peace, something lands in front of him.

The swing of his staff is blocked by another and he’s dragged off the tree branch, stumbling to the ground alongside his attacker. Shadow Milk—because who else could it be—laughs.

“Aw, c’mon, now! Can't I visit my favourite cookie?” The clown snickers, snapping his fingers and summoning a couch, of all things. The furniture lands on the grass with a soft thump and an arm wraps itself around Blue’s shoulders and pulls him down. He lands back first on the couch and chokes as an elbow digs itself into his stomach, keeping him down.

Shadow Milk’s voice drops its high tone, amusement gone in the blink of an eye, “You've been having fun without me.” he accuses.

He glares at the clown, “Says you. Pray tell, which one of us fucked around in the Faerie Kingdom, again? Not me.”

“You still butthurt about that? Oh, Berry, you're so silly. I was simply saving you from the boring parts.”

“Boring? You killed Elder Faerie.” Blue spits at his face, earning himself a snarl.

“Me? A bold accusation. Who did you hear that from, hmm? Did silly-vanilly tell you that, or did his little girlfriend?”

He snorts, “Like hell they did. You didn't exactly make the breakout subtle. Any mage worth their salt would be able to tell the guardian of the seal died the moment that shockwave occured.”

“So he did. Disappointing, really. Super anti-climactic.” Shadow Milk sighs, draping himself over Blue’s lap. He resists the urge to strangle the clown. It would be immensely satisfying, but it would also invite another panic attack for himself.

“Anyway, how are they? Attached already, are you? Did you get a good look at nilly?” He wiggles his brows.

“Fine. No. Yes.” Blue deadpans.

“Ooooh~ now isn't that nice? So you've met our heroes and become a sort of mentor figure to them, hmm?” Shadow Milk claps his hands and sits up, climbing over him and pulling his hood down with one hand—Blue fails to slap the offending hand away and he growls, feeling too exposed with his face out in the open.

“Though, that makes me wonder, do they even know who you are?” He smiles, cupping Blue’s face with one hand and tracing the scar over his left eye. It matches the one on Shadow Milk's right.

“....” Blue doesn't grace him with a response. The Beast’s eyes widen, “Oh.. they don't know who you are. That's—that’s fucking hilarious.” he laughs, giggles morphing into full-blown laughter.

“Shut up.” He snaps, grabbing the Beast’s hand and twisting his arm. It gets him a slight wince, but no other reaction as Shadow Milk continues speaking,

“Oh sweet, sweet Berry, you've been keeping that hood up all day, haven't you? Too bad you can't lie to me.” The hand on his cheek curls to the side, grabbing a fistful of hair.

“You sure about that?” Blue sneers at his own face, twisting harder. This time, it gets a hiss. He ignores the pain echoing itself in his own arm and tugs Shadow Milk closer, whispering into his ear,

“We are pretty good liars. Can't lie to others if you can't even lie to yourself, no?” His sneer morphs into a sharp grin.

“That's true.” Shadow Milk tilts his head and in a blink, he stands in front of Blue instead of on top of him.

“I look forward to playing your game, Shadow Milk.” He beams at Blue, and the couch vanishes with the Beast, leaving him to land painfully on his bottom.

Blue exhales sharply, brushing hair from his face as he glares at the spot the Beast vanished from.

“…Next time, I’m punching me first.”

Chapter Text

After the exercise and impromptu healing lesson, Pure Vanilla and his new friend rear the children back to the inn they were staying at the previous night. The three chatter happily among each other along the way, smiles on their faces as they excitedly talk about what they learned today.

“I’m going to need to review my notes tonight—there’s so many things to learn!” Wizard leads at the head of their party, for once being the most excited to return to their temporary lodgings. At this proclamation, however, his two friends groan,

“Please don't stay up too late, Wizard..” Strawberry sighs.

“Yeah, some of us need sleep. Can't you save the reviewing for tomorrow?” Gingerbrave grumbles half-heartedly, nudging his friend with an elbow.

“I promise I won't take too long! Come on, you two, when else will we get the chance to learn from a war mage? I want to learn everything I can.” Wizard whisper-yells, no doubt the message meant for his friends’ ears only. It goes heard still, and the way Blue’s lips quirk up suggests that he had heard it too. Ah, the unsubtle youth.

“Besides, my turn on keeping us all up is long overdue! We literally haven't met anyone who can teach proper foundational magic. You two have had your turn with so many other cookies!”

Pure Vanilla ponders that statement for a moment and finds it to be true. Out of all of the cookies the trio had stumbled upon in their journey, many had been Defense and Charge-types. There were Magic-types, of course, but Magic is unique in that oftentimes, most seasoned mages choose to specialize. This creates conflicting definitions of what could be considered ‘basic’ magic, especially among cookies with an elemental affinity.

As a novice mage, Wizard would benefit the most from the guidance of a mage without an aligned element—of which they have not met so far in their journey. Pure Vanilla himself has a Light affinity, which is similar enough in some ways to Electricity, but has an entirely different dogma when it comes to basics.

“You three are sharing a room?” Blue butts into the conversation, cutting off the three young cookies mid-argument.

“Yeah?” Gingerbrave tilts his head in confusion.

“...y’know you can just. Get your own rooms, right? It's not like we have to pay for it.”

Silence.

Embarrassingly, Pure Vanilla had completely overlooked that the previous night—though, it was never really a question that the children would all room together. As far as he knows, the trio has been sticking together for the entirety of this long journey.

This new realisation sinks in for a minute, before Wizard exclaims, “Dibs on our old room!” the young mage saunters forward, staff in hand and rushes to the inn, already visible in the distance.

“Hey! At least let us get our things first!”

“I'll take Miss Lily’s old one.”

Before long, the three aren't even visible anymore. Squinting at the distance and angling his staff towards the inn, he spots Wizard opening the door and rushing in.

“...and there they go.” Blue snickers, stopping to straighten his robes. Pure Vanilla follows suit, slowing down to chuckle along, “Ah… to be young again.” he shakes his head and gets a playful nudge on the shoulder.

“You sound ancient when you say shit like that.” His friend huffs and takes a running stance, much to Pure Vanilla’s own confusion. It seems evident on his face because he only gets a barely visible grin on response,

“C’mon. We may be old timers, but surely you have enough pride to not lose to children?”

Pure Vanilla muffles a laugh, “Are you challenging me to a race?” He giggles, suddenly overcome with the urge to indulge in a little bit of mischief.

It has been a while since he could mess around like this. He subtly gathers Light magic from the nature around them and pools it below his feet, making sure nothing is visible to not give anything away to Blue.

“Yeah, get with the program, nilly. C’mon. Ready, set, g—”

In the blink of an eye, Pure Vanilla is standing in front of the door of the inn. He waves at his new friend and fails to muffle a laugh at the sight of Blue standing still where he was just a moment ago. A wave of magic cascades across Pure Vanilla, carrying the amusing emotion of pure disbelief.

He waits where he is and continues giggling to himself, watching Blue fly across and land right in front of him.

“You—Witches, I completely forgot you have a Light affinity, that's—Light-speed, really?! Aren't you a Healer?” A finger is pointed at him in accusation.

“The skill isn't exclusive to Ambush-types, my dear.” The term of endearment slips it's way past his lips with such ease that he wouldn't have noticed it if Blue didn't sputter at his reply, clutching at his own staff and grumbling his displeasure, “I'm gonna check on the kiddos.” he says, and immediately takes off before Pure Vanilla could say anything.

🌿

It takes until the moment he has tucked the children to bed and made sure they're all comfortable in their own rooms before he manages to get Blue alone again, still in the same common room where they had their conversation the night before.

Thoughts swirl around Pure Vanilla’s mind, all of them centering around the other cookie.

Earlier, had Blue rejected his request for a check-up, he would be perfectly willing to respect the answer. Panic attacks aren't uncommon among veterans, and with Blue being a war mage to boot, it would make things all the more worse.

There is a saying among Healer circles about how mages are the hardest patients to treat. In his own experience, he finds this to be mostly true. The more skilled the mage, the more stubborn they are about powering through. Especially if they can cast some light healing spells of their own.

Blue has no element naturally attuned to him. But being a war mage, he would be on a different level of stubbornness entirely. The rare mages Pure Vanilla had known to qualify for the title were always the first on the field and the last to leave, often with mild to heavy injuries that go unaddressed until the end of the battle. They pride themselves in pure firepower, often to the point of disregarding health and safety. He has lost many good friends to that terrible habit.

His new friend sits where he did last night, writing in looping cursive with a quill. His hands are exposed for once, gloves set to the side. At Pure Vanilla’s arrival, Blue doesn't stop writing, simply nodding his head in acknowledgement.

He slides into the seat across from the mage and ponders for a moment about how he should approach the topic. If he even should bring it up, considering how defensive Blue had gotten earlier.

His Soul Jam hums a sorrowful tune, a mere echo of its intense reaction earlier. It feels livelier than usual, though it doesn't speak to him, sending a faint sense of grief and pain instead. Truth whispers its worries to Pure Vanilla, tendrils of magic flowing out towards the cookie sitting across from him, as if wanting to reach out. It’s a strange, unfamiliar feeling—but it isn't bad.

There’s something about Blue that has always been familiar, ever since their first encounter. Pure Vanilla can't quite put into words how or why, but his Soul Jam seems to know the answer, sharing with him a single word.

Knowledge.

It croons against his ear, as if that sole word is all the answer he needs.

A hand waves in front of his face and Pure Vanilla breaks out of his stupor to see a glimpse of an amused smile under the hood. Caught off guard, he feels his cheeks flush.

“Not that I don't appreciate the company, but surely ya need some sleep for what's coming tomorrow?” Blue chuckles.

“I could say the same about you.” Pure Vanilla counters.

“Psh. The Spire is hardly scary to me.” He rolls his eyes.

Not for the first time, he wonders where exactly Blue gets that confidence from. It’s—oddly reassuring, now that they've confirmed that Blue is an ally and not someone who is looking to trick them like Candy Apple Cookie did. Yet, he still feels a seed of doubt in the back of his mind.

His Soul Jam seems to disagree with this very notion, urging Pure Vanilla to trust.

Trust in Knowledge.

But what kind of Knowledge, exactly? He tries to ask the Light of Truth, but it keeps its silence still.

“Alright, I see you have questions.” Blue sighs, leaning back against the backrest of his chair, one leg up. He rests his elbow on the table and leans in, resting his chin on one palm, work temporarily ignored.

“C’mon, hit me. Just don't stray into too personal territory. I don't do that on second dates.”

Pure Vanilla coughs, hiding his smile behind one hand, “May I ask on the third date, then?” he giggles. He can't see Blue’s face, but he gets the feeling that the line manages to fluster him, because the mage looks away with a huff,

“Whoa, pal. You may be pretty, but I'm not that easy. …but seriously though, you should get some sleep. You barely got any last night.” He points out.

It was true. After their conversation, Pure Vanilla had struggled to sleep. Although, it's not exactly anything new. Sleep has evaded him as early as his days masquerading around as Healer Cookie. In those days, too occupied with running from reality, sleep had been less of a respite and more of a constant reminder.

As an immortal, he technically doesn't need sleep to function. It is still required to maintain health, but he can forgo sleep for days without severe consequences that normal cookies might face. As a Healer, he doesn't make a habit of skipping out on sleep—it is important to rest every now and then.

“....” Pure Vanilla hums, “...I don't think I could. There are many things on my mind.” It's true, especially with how odd his dreams have been ever since meeting Shadow Milk. But, he does still need to rest if he wants to face the Beast in optimal condition tomorrow.

“Huh. Guess we’re on the same boat.” Blue muses.

For a moment, Pure Vanilla wonders if Blue sleeps at all. He knows for certain that the mage had stayed up yesterday. Each cookie has a magical signature that fluctuates often based on their physical condition, and as a Healer, it is an important skill to be able to monitor patients in this way. Asleep or awake, he has trained himself to be constantly aware of the state of other cookies.

Blue’s signature is a constant, near stagnant thing. He could almost call it overactive, and after the earlier scan he did, it’s painfully obvious why. His Soul Jam pulses, and Pure Vanilla is overcome with the urge to just ask.

He wants to respect Blue’s wishes to not talk about his health, but with what he had seen—felt, it feels as if he is carving out his own heart in an effort to stay ignorant.

“You didn't sleep last night.” He prods and hopes that it isn't the wrong choice to.

To his surprise and seemingly Blue’s own, the mage admits, “No.”

“At all.” Pure Vanilla adds, stressing the words.

“Yeah.” The mage shifts uncomfortably in his seat, “I just—look, I'd rather not sleep if I really don't have to.” He mutters, voice quiet.

“And why is that?”

“The same reason you can't sleep.”

“Would you try? I don't think it’s a good idea to face Shadow Milk fatigued.”

At that, he gets a snort.

“Oh, trust me, fatigue doesn't make a difference. I've dealt with that clown since forever. He's half the reason I—” Blue cuts himself off.

“...I..?” Pure Vanilla leans closer.

“...look, I feel like you'll keep bothering me with this until I actually agree, so fine. Let's… sleep.” The mage scrunches his face, as if he can't quite believe the words that just came out of his own mouth. The sight of it is humorous enough to make Pure Vanilla chuckle.

“My room has a second bed.” He offers.

“I'll take the room next to yours.”

“There is no room next to mine, nor are there any suitable rooms that remain untaken.”

“...well shit. The kids took all the available rooms?”

“I'm afraid so.”

“...if I wake you up in the middle of the night, it's on you.”

“I wouldn't mind.”

“You should.”

“I really wouldn't.”

Blue grumbles, “You have an odd way of inviting someone to your bed, nilly.”

Pure Vanilla chokes, “I—you know that's not what I meant—!” His face burns with jam and he gets no reprieve, because next thing he knows, Blue is tugging his hand and forcing him out of his seat, steering them to the inn’s living quarters.

“Your eagerness says otherwise.” He snickers, much to Pure Vanilla’s growing mortification.

When they get to the bedroom, Pure Vanilla finds that it is missing the second bed that was supposed to be there. He doesn't dare face Blue, because he really hadn't lied, but the fact remains that there is only one bed in the room.

“...maybe you should get your memory checked, nilly, cause that doesn't look like two beds to me.” Blue wheezes at his misfortune. The sound of his delight is infectious, but Pure Vanilla really wishes that it wasn't at his expense.

“...this works.” He says in as straight a voice as he can manage through his embarrassment.

“..oh? Propositioning me now, are you? My, my, nilly.. you haven't even seen my face.”

“Oh, no. I will respect your wishes and wait until our third date. But for now, I suggest we get comfortable and rest.”

“In one bed? How scandalous of you.”

“Get your head out of the gutter.”

Blue bursts out into laughter that is cut off midway with a wheeze, the mage realising that they probably should keep the noise down considering the children are only a hallway away. His attempts to stop ends in harsh coughing and he doubles over, collapsing onto the bed.

“Fuck.”

His voice sounds wrecked. Pure Vanilla swallows and thinks back to all the times Blue had laughed—wheezed, even. It had sounded painful, and now he uncomfortably knows why exactly that is.

“Sorry. I'm fine.” Blue clears his throat and sprawls himself on the bed, staring up at the ceiling. He settles next to the mage,

“...Blue, can I be honest?”

“No.”

That was—well, entirely expected.

“You're clearly in pain.”

“It’s my default state of being.” Blue snaps and it's said harshly enough that Pure Vanilla almost feels bad. However, something urges him to keep pushing.

So he does, “It doesn't have to be.” he shoots back and it gets him a flinch as his friend scoots away, sitting up with his back to Pure Vanilla.

“....I don't care, nilly. Go to sleep.” The mage lies down on his side, facing away from Pure Vanilla and grabbing a pillow to cover his own face.

“I could help ease your pain.” Pure Vanilla insists, thinking back on what his scanning spell had picked up.

Scar tissue, an absurd amount of them. Broken bones that didn't heal quite right. Standard veteran injuries, if not for the sheer amount of them. It's impressive that Blue can still speak, let alone stand with how much pain he must be in constantly.

The worst of all was by far the state of his lungs. Intensive water damage from what is most definitely torture. His heart squeezes itself in his chest just thinking about it—he fears even imagining what every day must be like, living as an immortal with such a battered body.

“I don't want to get addicted to it.” He hears Blue say, voice muffled by the pillow.

“...pardon?”

“Painkillers.” Blue elaborates.

“I’m not giving you painkillers—I don’t have any at hand. I’m just.. offering some reprieve.” He clarifies.

Light magic is inherently pure, but purity comes at a cost. It seeks out corruption, pain, and weakness like water seeks the cracks in stone. When used for healing, it doesn’t numb, it exposes. It illuminates every splinter of damage and coaxes the dough into mending it, not by dulling the pain, but by making the path to recovery unmistakably clear.

For the unready, it can feel like being flayed by mercy.

That’s why it demands trust. The healer must tread gently, and the one receiving must allow themselves to be seen—not just physically, but wholly. Because Light doesn’t just touch the wound. It touches everything around it.

Pure Vanilla doesn’t offer Light like a potion or a spell. He offers it like a hand extended in the dark—something you must choose to take.

“...Light magic, huh.” Blue murmurs, voice quiet.

He shuffles back into a sitting position, finally facing Pure Vanilla once more. It’s clear that the other cookie is still reluctant, but it’s a miracle that he even wants to allow it at all.

Pure Vanilla’s hands glow faintly as they hover just above his shoulder. The Light is warm, but not comforting—not yet. It lingers like a question unspoken.

Blue watches him, tense, but still. Then, he finally speaks, “I’ll let you do it. But—don’t.. don’t poke around where you shouldn't, okay? I'm sure you know how uncomfortably.. invasive, Light magic can be.”

Determined, he eagerly nods, “Of course.”

“And… I know you want to ask, but don't—don’t ask me who I am. Please.” He tugs his hood further and shies away from Pure Vanilla, the usual bravado lost in a rare moment of vulnerability.

Pure Vanilla looks up, gently frowning. “...you said that you're ‘nobody’, but I refuse to believe that.”

Not when Blue was friends with Elder Faerie. Not when his knowledge of magic nearly rivals White Lily—one of the best mages he knows. Not when he clearly was a teacher with the way he spoke to the children, profanity aside. He was someone, no matter how much he insists on otherwise.

Blue exhales a shaky laugh, but there’s no humor in it. His eyes dart away, “If you knew who I was, you’d wish I wasn't anybody.”

There’s silence for a long moment, and then Pure Vanilla dips his head slightly, voice quiet but certain. “…then I won’t ask. Not until you want me to know.”

And with that, the Light begins to sink into Blue’s pains—gentle, but unrelenting. They settle next to each other, hand-in-hand. Out of respect, Pure Vanilla tries not to stare, no matter how much he wants to see his friend’s reaction.

Blue lets the silence stretch, then snorts. “This Light stuff’s got hands, huh? Kinda feels like getting a full-body hug from a judgmental cloud.”

Pure Vanilla blinks, caught between offense and concern.

Blue shrugs, smirking faintly. “What? Gotta cope somehow before I start sobbing on your robes.”

Pure Vanilla raises an eyebrow, trying very hard not to smile. “Well, if you do cry, I won’t mind lending you my robes. They're very absorbent.” he gently squeezes Blue’s hand, “Judgmental clouds included.”

Blue snorts again, quieter this time. “Great. Sanctified napkins. Just what I needed.”

Pure Vanilla chuckles under his breath, “I’ll have you know, they’re enchanted to resist fire, jam, and the aftermath of bad decisions.” he gives Blue a pointed look.

It might be unfair of a speculation to make, but he’s sure much of Blue’s current chronic pain could have been avoided had he went straight to a Healer at the moment of injury. No doubt Blue himself knows this, because he acquiesces, “We’ll see if it works against my bad decisions.”

Much to his dismay, the damage on Blue is extensive enough that his Light can only soothe, not Heal.

Pure Vanilla hums. “Well. No enchantment’s perfect.”

They sit like that in the silence, the Light still gently flowing into old wounds and soothing over aching muscles. To the healer’s delight, Blue doesn’t pull his hand away until he quietly nods off, sinking into sleep after not even ten minutes.

A tear slips down his friend’s cheek and Pure Vanilla reaches for the other hand, gently holding it and settling himself to sleep.

Chapter Text

“—Milk Cookie.”

Groaning, Blue opens his eyes to see a pair of dark eyes and a small hand shaking him awake.

Black Sapphire frowns at him, his hand curled against Blue’s own. He blinks, vision clearing slowly as he picks the boy up, setting him on the bed and gently stroking his back,

“What's wrong, my little gem?” He asks, keeping his voice hushed.

“He’s here again.” Black Sapphire answers timidly, hand clutching the sleeve of his robes and body curling up against him. With one arm, he pulls the little one into an embrace and presses a soft kiss against black hair.

At those words, Blue’s sleep-addled mind jumps into alertness. His smile twitches, but he projects an aura of calm, blanketing Black Sapphire in it to soothe his worries.

“Is he? Well, don't you worry. I’m here now, and you know he won’t hurt you.” The smaller body huddles closer, arms wrapping around his middle. Blue pulls the blanket over them both, gently ruffling the boy’s hair.

“...I know he won't, but you will.” He murmurs the response, almost inaudible with how softly it was said.

This again. The thought travels through his weary mind. It’s hard to fault children for their curiosity, and even harder to explain why things are the way they are when there’s no better example available to draw from.

“...you know why I do. He’s not a good cookie, Sapphire.” Blue sighs.

“I thought you said it was bad to hurt others.” The child’s hands fist the fabric of his sleep clothes, his head tucked under Blue’s chin.

“It is, but—”

Hands wrap around his throat and the visage of Black Sapphire morphs into someone else. His breath hitches and a body pins him against the bed, the hands around his neck tightening as the other cookie looms over him, a wide smile on his face.

“But it's fine if it's you, isn't it?” Shadow Milk giggles, finishing the sentence.

He chokes out gasps as his airway is cut off, his hands coming up to claw at the Beast. An ugly expression overtakes the clown’s face and he tilts his head, letting go of one hand to tug at his own collar, exposing his neck and the matching handprint on it.

“So much for being the better parent huh, Berry? You and I, we are the same at the core.”

Blue stares him in the face and laughs, “Big words coming from a shadow. Who is running from who, really?” He reaches a hand out, grabbing Shadow Milk by the cheek and pulling him down into an embrace.

Leaning in, he whispers into one ear as if sharing a secret, “Lies can only get you so far. How long do you think it’ll be before reality catches up with you, me?”

The hands around his throat loosen their grip. Before long, the pressure on top of him vanishes entirely, retreating into the shadows.

“....coward.”

Blue sighs and sits up on the bed. Glancing around, he recognizes the house as the little cottage he had built for the sole purpose of raising Black Sapphire away from Shadow Milk. The world shifts and morphs around him, the details distorted. He swings his legs off the bed, settling his feet on the wooden floors and his hand reaches out for the lantern on the bedside table.

The room is dark, casting shadows across the walls. There’s a mirror in front of his bed that isn’t supposed to be there–he frowns, taking slow steps until he stands in front of the mirror.

There’s a reason he doesn’t keep any mirrors around–

He stepped in front of his vanity and saw his reflection. His true reflection, and what a wretched Beast it was.

He raised a hand to his own face, staring at the pair of blue. Albeit, two different shades of blue, but it was a clear change. Part of his face was stained with red jam. Most of his clothes were ruined beyond recognition. He had lost his hat sometime in the past week, his hair falling down his shoulders and nearly dragging across the floor.

He almost didn't recognize himself. It was—something. Hilarious. Funny. Even in his busiest days, he had never looked this unkempt. He tried for a laugh and it came out much too similar to a pathetic sob. He bit the sound back, unwilling to cry over something so inconsequential.

“... don't you regret it?”

Blue swallows.

Shadow Milk smiles back, “Deep down, you know I’m right.”

“..if you truly were, I wouldn’t be here.” He retorts.

“On the contrary, your existence is just proof of it.”

“Pulling arguments out of your ass doesn’t befit cookies of our station.”

“Aren’t you tired of only being looked upon for your role? Why care so much when everyone will believe whatever they’re told?’

“You say that, but you can’t deny that you still regret the way things went. We can make our own Truth, but one Truth remains that I only exist because you–”

The mirror breaks, and the entire world follows suit. Blue yelps as he loses his balance, the ground cracking around him and crumbling down into the void of nothingness. He’s in the cottage one moment, and then the Spire.

It’s the little square in the middle of the Spire’s many towers. A fountain sits in the middle, and Candy Apple stands before it, her back to him.

He remembers this memory. It’s ingrained within him, and has been replayed in his own mind so many times that he can repeat the script almost as easily as breathing. He sees Candy Apple, her back to him, and the next thing she’ll do is turn around and say,

“Why does Shadow Milk Cookie hate me?” She says, her voice uncharacteristically low, almost wobbly.

He never got to know Candy Apple much. Not when every single time he looks at her, he thinks of someone else. Black Sapphire was her caretaker for most of her life, both he and Shadow Milk being too busy with each other to properly parent. Even with Black Sapphire, he doesn’t think he ever made a stable parental figure.

Though, it does not mean their children stop seeing them as one.

“I don’t hate you, Candy Apple.” Blue responds, but he does nothing else, not knowing Candy Apple enough to know how she would accept comfort.

She has always been a mystery to him. A child-yet-not. A student-but-not. Not an apprentice, either, but with the hero-worship typical of one and the clinginess of a child who lacked the attention of her parents. He knows not what kind of approach Shadow Milk had taken in raising her, having mostly stayed away like a coward. All because whenever he looks at her, he sees jam in his hands and feels a freshly dismembered head in his hold.

“Liar. I thought you weren’t supposed to lie.” She accuses, turning back towards him and pointing an accusing finger at him, her eyes wet with unshed tears.

“You said you’re not Shadow Milk Cookie, but you’re just like him.” Candy Apple sniffles.

“....” He doesn’t know what to say to that.

“I’m sorry, professor.”

That same cookie said, all those years ago—just a few moments ago—for what? For cheating on an exam. For standing their ground against a Beast.

“...I’m sorry.” His words come out dry as his throat, and he gets no other response. The word tastes bittersweet on his tongue.

It feels like failure.

Blue shuts his eyes, breathing in deeply for a moment. It’s but a memory, one of his many regrets, yes, but there is nothing that can be done to change it. His heart clenches still, Soul Jam glowing dimly, echoing his own grief of having failed yet another child. When he opens his eyes later, he sees another child standing in front of him.

“Master Shadow Milk Cookie.” Black Sapphire bows with a flourish, no longer the gentle child he was, the small thing that barely measured up to his waist.

“...don’t call me that.” Blue stiffens, hiding his hands in the sleeves of his robes. The line is familiar on his tongue, and all the more bittersweet for it. This is yet another memory—their first meeting after Black Sapphire had set off for the former Spire of All Knowledge.

He knows not what compelled Black Sapphire to seek out Shadow Milk. Perhaps it was curiosity, perhaps pity. Whatever it is, the boy had gladly entered the lair of the Beast and offered himself as a servant. Somewhere along the way, he had figured out Blue’s true identity—and alongside it, his true relation to Shadow Milk.

His next line should be an acknowledgement. He could already hear it before it was said, and the hidden question of why.

Except, Black Sapphire breaks the script.

“Father.” He corrects himself, the corner of his lips quirking up as he nods at Blue, who freezes as if he was struck.

“I—little gem.” He forces out and realises that he no longer has to stick to the script. In these dreams, he never calls Black Sapphire by his childhood nickname.

“For someone who so insists on not partaking in Deceit, you certainly like to shy away from Truth.” Black Sapphire says, taking one step forward.

He fails to suppress a flinch.

“I Know your plan, and I want you to know that I still don't like it. I hate that you think there's no other way. That you've given up on finding another way.”

He shies away from Black Sapphire's gaze.

“Master will be awaiting your return. I hope you’re sure of what you're doing, father.”

“I am.” Blue snaps, and he regrets it the moment the word came out of his mouth.

“Yet you won't look at me.”

“...you know why.”

“Do you even care about me? I know you can't care less about Candy Apple, but you must Know what—”

“Of course I fucking care about you, you—”

“Then why do you insist on this jellybrained—”

“Someone has to stop your master and it certainly isn't going to be you or your sister—!”

“You’re my master! My master, my creator, my father—”

“Shut it.”

“You're so—”

“Selfish, I know. I can't—I can’t do this anymore. You've grown, and so has your sister. You'll be fine—”

“Fucking bullshit. You won't even listen to me.”

“You say that as if you always listen to me.”

Black Sapphire inhales. Magic pools around him, the familiar signature of loyalty-determination mixed with the distinctive scent of poison.

“Get out of my head.” Blue demands and raises his staff against him.

“I will stop you.” He hisses, staff glowing purple and a sneer on his face that is much too reminiscent of Shadow Milk.

He turns away and snaps his fingers, opening a portal behind Black Sapphire, “You won't if you know what's good for you. Goodbye.” he uses magic to drag the boy through the portal, forcing himself to look away.

It shuts without another sound.

“....” Blue lets out a shaky breath and buries his face in his hands.

If a tear slips out from his sole functioning eye, he chooses not to acknowledge it.

🌿

Returning to the waking world is a quiet affair.

Although his dreams are no more peaceful than usual, for once, waking feels kinder. There’s a hand clasped in his, and a warm body tucked against his side. He shifts, pulling off the blanket covering them and turning his head to the side.

Pure Vanilla is there, eyes shut. Even in sleep, the healer has a smile on his face. It makes him look even softer, somehow. He feels his own lips twitch up to a smile and brushes a gentle hand against the other Cookie's face, tucking stray strands of hair behind his ear.

The hand in his twitch slightly as he gently untangles their limbs. Absently, he realises that his hood had tugged itself off sometime in the middle of the night. He looks away from Pure Vanilla before he tries to separate their hands, wary of waking the healer if the other is a light sleeper.

True to his suspicions, he’s soon met with a pair of yellow-blue groggily blinking awake. He keeps his gaze locked to the wall and he sits up, back to Pure Vanilla.

“Good morning.” He greets, not looking back as he cards fingers through his hair.

It's long—not nearly as long as he had it during his days as the Fount, but long enough to reach his lower back. The colour is a lighter blue to Shadow Milk’s, but it’s different enough that he worries little about Pure Vanilla honing in on the resemblance.

“Good morning.” The healer echoes.

“Had a good sleep?” Blue asks as he winds the strands of his hair into a messy braid.

“Surprisingly, yes.” Pure Vanilla answers, the smile evident from the sound of his voice. He shuffles behind him, rustling the sheets, “The best I've had in a while, actually..” he continues. The feeling of eyes on his back is obvious, even without him having to look back at the healer.

“Say... your shade of blue is.. oddly familiar. I feel like I've seen it before.” His voice trails off and Blue scoffs,

“It's the common blueberry blue icing, of course you have.”

“Not in the colour combination that you have. It's—oddly similar to Shadow Milk Cookie’s.”

Blue tenses, and it doesn't go unnoticed. Maybe the healer is more observant than he's given him credit for. Or perhaps, he's not being subtle enough.

“...it makes me wonder.. I was just a normal cookie before receiving the Soul Jam of Truth. I didn't have any family that I knew of, but many of my friends had.”

He doesn't know what exactly pushes him to share, but the words come out of his mouth before the question could be asked, “I am related to Shadow Milk… in a way.”

“Siblings?” Pure Vanilla asks.

“N-not.. quite.” He winces.

“But you're family.”

“Yes. Kind of.” It's rather hard to explain the relation when the aforementioned relative is actually himself. Kind of.

“...I see.” The healer hums solemnly.

There’s silence for a moment, the new Knowledge no doubt sinking in Pure Vanilla’s mind and leading his thoughts to who-knows-where. He would rather not know, really, except the next thing that comes out of the healer's mouth is a carefully worded—

“Are you twins?”

Blue chokes.

“I—” Yes. No. Both and neither, actually. What a wild conclusion to come to—but one that has enough logical reasoning based on what Pure Vanilla himself knows that he can't quite argue against it.

At this reaction, the healer only seems more convinced, “That's why you hide your face, isn't it? You look like him.”

“.....” It's not wrong, but it's not entirely right either.

This—this could work to his advantage, if he plays his cards right. He carefully schools his face into a neutral expression, squashing any amusement he might have felt at Truth’s misguided conclusion. It makes him feel just a little guilty, but this will be good for his plans.

A hand gently places itself on his shoulder, gently taking the strands of his hair from his frozen hands. Suddenly, his throat feels dry as gentle fingers card through his hair, winding it into a much neater braid.

Despite the earlier conclusion he had made, Pure Vanilla doesn't attempt to sneak a look at his face. He wonders if Shadow Milk had traumatized the healer enough to fear that same face.

“...none of us will fault you for being related to Shadow Milk Cookie.” He murmurs, voice as gentle as his—everything.

“...sure, nilly. Like he hasn't traumatized the kids to the oven and back.” Blue winces at his own crass words—he really should learn to think before he says anything.

“The children are hardly the judgemental sort. But—if you’d like to, you don't have to hide. They’re good children, they won’t see Shadow Milk Cookie in you.”

“...aha..” Blue coughs into one hand.

It would be less of a hassle if he doesn't have to hide his face. Besides, either Candy Apple or Black Sapphire would have outed his identity at first sight. Shadow Milk might even appreciate the Deceit.

Between himself and them, it’s obvious which party this batch of cookies are more likely to trust. If they believe he is Shadow Milk’s twin, then they won’t continue questioning the mystery of his true identity.

“...still, my face isn't exactly pretty to look at.”

“Really? I thought Shadow Milk was quite handsome.”

Blue barks out a laugh, “You're—aren’t you being a little too honest, now?”

“Can I not be? I am supposedly the Virtue of Truth.” The healer says innocently.

For a supposed paragon of virtue, Pure Vanilla has an unexpected fondness for mischief. It's honestly endearing—he had thought the other to be a more uptight, stiff, righteous sort.

His braid is wound up in a bun at the back of his head and Pure Vanilla shuffles to sit next to him. He reaches a hand out to inspect the bun, poking at it and finding it surprisingly secure without a hair tie.

“You're good at this.” Blue turns to face his counterpart.

Pure Vanilla keeps his gaze staring straight ahead, “I used to help White Lily with her hair.” He admits.

“Makes sense.” Blue leans in until he's close enough for Pure Vanilla to feel his breath against his cheek. The other cookie doesn't even turn back, somehow resisting the curiosity even with his own reassurances earlier.

“Hm.. for someone who wants to see my face, you're really hesitating to take the opportunity.” He teases, poking at the healer’s cheek.

“I am simply respecting your wishes.” Pure Vanilla shuts his eyes, still smiling.

“You can look.” Blue sits back and waits.

His heart does something funny when those eyes finally face him, taking in the sight of his bare face. There's no judgement in those eyes, much to his own surprise. Instead, a wider smile graces Pure Vanilla's face.

“Hello. It's nice to meet you properly.” He says and it must be the silliest response anyone has ever given at the sight of his scarred face.

Blue muffles a guffaw, “You're—you.”

“Yes?” He bats his eyelashes. He knows what he's doing, Blue is sure.

“I was expecting more horror from you.” He admits.

“It really isn't that bad.” Pure Vanilla huffs, reaching a hand out to trace a scar on his cheek. It's—awfully intimate, considering they've only met two days ago. He finds that he doesn’t mind at all. Even his Soul Jam sings its approval, hidden from plain sight but always frustratingly present under his robes.

“Is this eye..?” He frowns, gently brushing a finger against the glassy eye. It's his left, and a dead milky white compared to Shadow Milk’s deeper blue. His right remains gold, still, though a more muted yellow compared to the bright sheen of Pure Vanilla’s.

“Dead, yeah.” Collateral damage from the Fall, and thankfully also his bad eye. The other eye has full vision, which stays clear to this day even with compromised depth perception.

Their little moment is interrupted with a loud crash. Alarmed, Pure Vanilla stands up and he doesn't make it two steps towards the door because right at their door is a pile of three cookies, stacked on top of a fallen wooden door.

Blue stares at the children for a moment, then at the fallen door, then at Pure Vanilla’s bewildered-concerned expression. The children stare back, eyes widening at the sight of his face.

He breaks the silence with a painful wheeze, “How—how long were you eavesdropping for?” he laughs, his eye burning with tears from sheer amusement. He hadn't—stuck in their little moment, both himself and Pure Vanilla had completely missed their presence at the door.

“Wait wait, Mr. Blue, please don't cry—we don't—” Strawberry fumbles, trying to get out of the pile of her friends. Gingerbrave jumps up and yells,

“IT’S TOTALLY OKAY THAT YOU’RE RELATED TO SHADOW MILK COOKIE—!”

“He's not you! We won't treat you any less because you look like him—” Wizard adds quickly as he and his two friends shuffle to their feet, faces red but their words painfully earnest.

Blue’s amusement only grows and he tries to cut off his own laughter, “N-nono, I—it’s alright—I’m not–” he coughs. Pure Vanilla rushes to his side, hands glowing with magic. He raises a hand to stop the healer,

“No—I- you're all killing me. I’m—I’m not crying, you little gnats.”

“We're so sorry for eavesdropping.” Strawberry bows at her waist and her friends follow suit.

These children. They're really going to be the death of him.

Chapter Text

Blue has many smiles. Now that he goes without his hood more often than not, his smile is a common sight. The differences are subtle, but there are two he sees most often.

The one he has recounting the past; the small, wry thing, tinged with the bittersweetness of regret. The one he has while teaching; a wider, delighted smile that reaches his eyes—the kind of smile that encourages others to smile, as well.

Free with laughter as Blue often is, his smile often feels like a balm to Pure Vanilla’s soul.

It's an embarrassing feeling to have for someone who he just met not three days ago, but with the recent revelations, he thinks there could be another explanation as to why he finds Blue so familiar.

Aside from the mage's relation to Shadow Milk, of course. He frowns, thinking back on scars and the implications of Blue being Elder Faerie’s friend—not on the side of his twin at the wake of his Fall. Shadow Milk himself has never mentioned a twin, but the Beast seldom talks about anything relating to himself.

The road to the Spire is smooth as always, almost welcoming, in fact. The children saunter at the front, always in proper formation despite their lack of formal training. Being a Healing class, Pure Vanilla is assigned to the rear by default. It gives him a good view of his entire party, and any danger that lies ahead.

Blue walks a few steps in front of him. Mages are usually put in the middle, but where he stands is closer to the front. Considering he had been a war mage, Pure Vanilla is surprised that he is even respecting the formation and letting the children take front.

Gingerbrave and his friends are, as they often do with new additions to the party, talking Blue’s ears off. Luckily for Pure Vanilla, Blue is very willing to humor them—many other cookies had often been overwhelmed by the sheer energy of the three children.

His friend takes it all in stride, shooting back questions of his own as the group make their way towards the Spire, already visible in the distance.

Their conversations seem to cover everything from the mundane personal questions to obscure historical knowledge. Pure Vanilla listens with one ear and keeps the other on the lookout because while it has been peaceful, there's no telling how long that will last.

“I’ll have you know, I actually have a teaching license. I was there when they made it a thing.” Blue grumbles out at an indirect question about his competence.

“What did you teach though?” Gingerbrave voices the question, raising one hand up as if they were in a classroom. The three cookies are walking slower than usual, with only Strawberry fully at the front while Gingerbrave and Wizard stay closer to Blue.

“In my earliest days: magical theory. I also taught beginner classes in elemental specialization, but only for Fire and Poison. Other than those, just some scattered general education classes. Afterwards, the school got bigger and I got pushed into an administrative position instead.” The mage sighs mournfully and Pure Vanilla chuckles in sympathy. Admin work, while necessary, is always dreadfully dull.

“School?” Wizard hones in on the word.

School, Pure Vanilla turns the word in his mind. Shadow Milk had been known as the ‘Fount of Knowledge’, it would make sense for his twin to have pursued a similar career path. Perhaps they had ran the school together before the Beast’s Fall.

“My baby; the Blueberry Yoghurt Academy.” Blue muses, his voice tinged with something that feels like resignation.

Pure Vanilla freezes, and so does the rest of the party. Surprised, Blue stops walking before he could bump into Strawberry.

“...oh.” Wizard mumbles, fiddling with his scarf.

“Gee, what are those sullen looks for? I know it's gone, there's no way any institution can last a millennia.”

Except Blueberry Yoghurt Academy had. Or, at least, it had lasted up until Pure Vanilla’s time—which is already centuries ago by now—but it was an impressive feat. The institution only fell because of an incident that was entirely avoidable, an incident that Pure Vanilla had a hand in.

The healer swallows, realising that the little show of elemental magic on that first day was so similar to his professor’s because it might as well have been the original version.

“Even you, nilly? Okay, seriously, what's up? I’m not upset. Grief and loss is like, an every day thing for immortals.” Blue waves a hand in front of his face.

“No, I.. I’ll tell you later.” Pure Vanilla mumbles, the guilt weighing heavily in his heart.

The three young cookies trade looks, looking as guilty as he feels. Gingerbrave steps forward and takes hold of Pure Vanilla’s hand,

“It's okay, Pure Vanilla Cookie.” He offers a kind smile.

Another hand places itself on his shoulder and Pure Vanilla looks up to see Blue, huffing softly and squeezing his shoulder with a gentle hand, echoing his words just some days ago, “I won’t ask. Not until you want me to know.”

“...thank you.” Pure Vanilla returns the gesture with a smile.

After that little interruption, the group continues along the road to the Spire. Standing just outside the pristine perimeter of the building, Pure Vanilla fails to hide the awe in his expression.

It’s a grand palace, with multiple towers as tall as the sky is high. The structure looks straight out of a storybook, with winding hallways and bridges, draped in milky white and dark blue. The main castle is surrounded by a river of what looks to be yogurt.

There is a bridge leading up to the large gates, but it is barely intact.

Blue takes one look at the destroyed bridge and releases a litany of sounds that are most definitely profanity—though in a different language. Probably to spare the children’s ears and to respect Pure Vanilla’s feelings about such language. His lip twitches at the thought.

Stepping forward, he puts a hand on Blue’s shoulder to catch his attention, “It’s alright. We can always fix the bridge, or perhaps find another way in?”

The mage shakes his head, “The bridge is the sole way to enter the Spire. We're gonna have to fix the bridge, and if I know that fucking clown, he isn't going to make it easy for us.”

The three words said to refer to Shadow Milk are enunciated with such hatred in each syllable that Pure Vanilla almost feels concerned if he didn't know that the reason for that hatred was most likely justified.

Gingerbrave inches closer to the river and sinks one foot into it. The limb sinks all the way up to the boy’s knee before he pulls back. “....whoa.. that's really deep.” He frowns, backing away.

“....” Blue takes Gingerbrave’s earlier spot and does the same thing. This time, the river only reaches up to his knees and ends there, much to the surprised noises of the children. The mage stills for a brief moment, muttering something inaudible under his breath before he puts his other leg into the river.

His friend stands in the supposedly knee-deep river and goes painfully still. Concerned, Pure Vanilla tries to follow, putting one foot into the water—only to sink all the way past his waist—hands catch him by his waist and pull him up, but he doesn't feel solid ground under his feet despite Blue standing right there.

“...it’s—this might be a test for you.” Pure Vanilla concludes, clinging to his friend's arms.

There’s an odd, hazy look to Blue’s eyes that tells Pure Vanilla his friend may not be all there, lost in some demented memory—he gasps and right at that moment, a torrent of fear washes over him, a feeling not his own but felt all the same.

Choking, gagging on his own bile. The burning feeling of water in his mouth, his throat, his lungs—screaming into the water until his throat feels hoarse—settling in with the dull aching pain before being pulled out of the water. Gasping for air that won’t come, vomiting water and jam and—

The stricken expression on Blue’s face. Guilt, grief, pain—but not for himself. That look is directed at Pure Vanilla, as if Blue had just done something unforgivable to him.

With a burst of magic, Pure Vanilla is flung away from his friend's hands. He lands on his back at the shore and the memory stops abruptly. Shaken, he coughs, putting a hand over his mouth as his entire body shakes, his gaze locked on the figure of his friend, still standing in the river, facing away from them.

“What's—what happened?” Strawberry voices.

“I’m.. gonna need to do some impromptu diving, kids.. hahah..” Blue says, and he doesn't sound reassuring nor confident at all. In fact, his tone inches more towards hysterical.

“I—you don't sound okay, Mr. Blue.” Gingerbrave fumbles.

“Maybe there's another way? Surely the river doesn't only work for you—” Wizard insists.

The mage jerks his head even as his shoulders furiously shake, clearly on the verge of a panic attack solely by being in water. Pure Vanilla feels bile rising in his throat and he swallows it back down, standing up to try and be the other responsible adult.

“I—we can fly through the river?”

“No. The Spire has magical wards preventing flight for unauthorized cookies.” Blue explains, his voice taking a drastic turn to a dead monotone. He hears a sharp inhale from the mage as his shaking shoulders still, “I’ll—it’s okay. I'll be—”

The last they see of Blue is of him sinking down into the river and the three younger cookies’ scream. Gingerbrave jumps into the river but it freezes spontaneously, the boy hitting his face on the frozen yogurt.

“Heh.” A familiar voice giggles.

Their eyes snap to the new arrival. Two-toned blue meets his eyes and Pure Vanilla’s Soul Jam screams. Deceit twirls his staff and pokes it onto the hard ice, grinning at them,

“Welcome, welcome! So glad to have you all finally here~ you sure took your sweet time.” Shadow Milk leans back against the air, laughing at their faces.

“I hope you haven't gotten bored of little ol’ moi~ cause there's more where that came from.” He winks and Pure Vanilla breaks out of his stupor to shield the children, the three of them immediately rushing into formation at the sight of the Beast’s sudden appearance.

“What did you do to Mr. Blue?!” Gingerbrave accuses, bold as his name suggests.

“Oh, is that what he’s calling himself? Psh, I don't get why he so insists on not using his actual name. So silly, really.”

Personally, Pure Vanilla thinks it’s to avoid further association with Shadow Milk—if their names resemble each other’s, which is likely considering they're twins.

“...how could you do that to your own brother?” Strawberry joins in, tone equally bold despite the slight shakiness to it.

The word ‘brother’ seems to completely catch Shadow Milk off guard, because his smile immediately drops and he mutters, “...my what now?” he mumbles to himself and Pure Vanilla suddenly realises that the thing he thought were nonsensical mumblings at their first meeting was, in fact, the language Blue and Candy Apple had been speaking.

“...oh.” Shadow Milk’s entire face brightens, his Soul Jam glowing as if sharing his amusement. He doubles over, laughing, wheezing just as his twin does—although, notably, it sounds a lot less painful.

“You—he told you that? Out of his own volition? I'm touched, really!” The Beast looks positively delighted.

“Oh, Berry… I never thought I'd see the day.”

“Get him out, Shadow Milk.” Pure Vanilla cuts him off, reaching out with his magic to see if he can sense where Blue is under the ice.

“Boo hoo, he's fine.” Shadow Milk sniggers at being interrupted, snapping his fingers. The world shifts around them, their surroundings morphing into walls and the floors changing from dirt into pristine marble.

Pure Vanilla sticks close to his young charges as the platform below them rises, large curtains slowly open in front of them, letting sunlight into this little outdoor hall they suddenly find themselves in. On the other side is a tall tower—perhaps the tallest one they've seen so far.

“You want little Berry? Then come get him. It’ll be like a fun quest!~ reach the top of the Spire, and I’ll return him to you.. provided he doesn't drown first and knock himself out for another century, HAHAHA—” Shadow Milk opens his arms as if revealing something grand, floating in front of the tower.

If he had any doubts about Shadow Milk’s capability to be cruel, it’s certainly been cleared now. Blue’s empty expression flashes in his mind, and that feeling of terror—Pure Vanilla swallows a lump in his throat and tries to not feel sick.

Maybe it really was a mistake to come here.

“And, of course, we do have to make it fair.” The Beast grins and with another snap of his fingers, Pure Vanilla is ripped away from his young charges and tossed roughly into a cage made of glass.

Winded, he tries to climb back out but his exit is blocked by another cookie dressed in purple-black, magical presence reeking of poison. The cookie twirls his staff and smiles at him, locking the cage and directing it upwards.

The prison swings around dangerously and Pure Vanilla embarrassingly fails to keep his balance, falling onto his knees without anything he can grapple onto. His cage is hung on one of the towers and Shadow Milk floats closer, poking at the glass separating himself and Pure Vanilla’s face.

“You. My silly-vanilly. I believe we have unfinished business to attend to—”

“Pure Vanilla Cookie!” Gingerbrave shouts and the boy is silenced immediately.

“Sssshush you. The adults are talking. Black Sapphire, be a dear and take them away, will you?” The Beast glares at the children.

The new cookie—Black Sapphire Cookie—bows with a flourish, dramatic as his master, “Right away, my Lord.”

Pure Vanilla watches as the platform his three young friends stand on collapses and he pushes himself against the glass, trying in vain to break out. He only hears the screams as the poor children fall down, Black Sapphire jumping into the void with them.

“Now, I want to know what it is that my dear twin has told you. Did he mention me at all, hm?” Shadow Milk beams from the other side of the glass.

No, actually. The topic of Shadow Milk seldom comes up in conversation, the children realising that it's a sensitive topic and one Blue is likely to step around in answering questions about.

“Huh. From the look on your face, I guess not. Not surprising. He's alwaaaaaays hated talking about us.” The Beast singsongs, circling around the cage he has trapped Pure Vanilla in like this is some sort of game to him.

“Did he mention the children? Gosh, he worried them sick, y’know~” Despite not getting any reply, Shadow Milk rambles on as if he is having an entire conversation with Pure Vanilla.

It's not—entirely unlike Blue, who does talk just as much. Except the other cookie actually gets replies as opposed to the dead silence his twin is getting. Pure Vanilla keeps his own mouth shut, unwilling to encourage the clown.

Children, though. That also went unmentioned, but it could just be attributed to how they've only known each other for a few days and never broached such a personal topic—the children were much more interested in adventure stories, or in Wizard’s case, more magical theory.

But, thinking back on how Blue had affectionately ruffled Wizard’s hair and the easy way he wrangled the children—it does speak of an experienced parent.

Pure Vanilla’s mind runs a mile a minute, split on listening to Shadow Milk and worrying about his friends. Blue is the most worrying case, considering the obvious drowning-related trauma. He could be actively drowning as they speak and Pure Vanilla wouldn’t be able to do anything.

The other is the three children, who he is less worried about solely because Shadow Milk is not near them and the three have proven to be outstandingly competent for cookies their age. They should be able to handle Black Sapphire, who looks on the younger end himself. If Pure Vanilla had to guess, from magical presence and appearance alone, the other cookie should be barely in his mid-twenties.

“So! Anyway, I see you got really attached to Berry. I can see it from the look in your eyes.” Shadow Milk giggles, leaning against the glass dramatically.

“Lovable, isn't he? Just knows how to get people wrapped around his little finger.” His face twists into something uglier, the more familiar sneer that Pure Vanilla has never seen in Blue.

Blue—for Blueberry, if Shadow Milk is to be believed.

“...you enjoy hurting him.” Pure Vanilla states.

The other cookie freezes, his sneer dropping into a completely neutral expression. With a scoff, Shadow Milk slams his staff against the glass of the prison, growling out, “Is that your Truth? How.. nice. Care to share how you came to that conclusion with the rest of the class?” He hisses, unexpectedly defensive.

Instinctively, he raises both hands in an attempt to soothe what he can feel as growing rage. It does nothing to temper Shadow Milk’s wrath. In fact, he thinks he only makes it worse because the next thing he knows, his glass prison sways dangerously as Shadow Milk kicks at it.

He falls again, face first to the floor of his prison and the previously solid metal morphs into glass, revealing a void of nothing down below.

“How about a trip down memory lane, nilly?” Blue’s voice says from behind him.

Pure Vanilla snaps his head back and his back hits another cookie. Not-Blue chuckles, smiling down at him as he slides one arm around his waist and places a gentle hand on his shoulder.

“I'll even wear the face you prefer.” Blue—Shadow Milk—purrs, cupping his cheek and squeezing.

“S—stop.” He stammers out, trying to pull away from the Beast’s hold. The hands around him push him to the ground and he lands on something soft.

The scenery morphs again, reality bending to Shadow Milk's every whim. They stand in the cage, then in the Spire, and back in that same inn where he had helped with Blue’s hair.

Pure Vanilla stills, hands pinned against the bed, not-Blue looming over him with that soft expression. His smile is the kind one, yet his words are anything but, “You know, you trust so easily for someone who knows he’s in the lair of the Beast of Deceit.” a gentle whisper in his ear, the same slightly-hoarse voice contrasting the clearer sound of Shadow Milk’s.

There’s a hand cradling his face, fingers curling against dough, “Did you think I wouldn't know what goes on in my domain?” Blue whispers, pressing a gentle kiss on his cheek.

Pure Vanilla flinches.

The seeds of doubt he thought were gone rekindles itself, winding around his heart and clenching painfully. He inhales sharply, reaching out with magic to try and feel out Blue’s signature. The one that reminds him so much of his friends—the quiet strength of White Lily, the resolution of Dark Cacao, the pride of Golden Cheese, the passion of Hollyberry—domineering, larger than life, an ancient figure of myth—not a normal cookie.

Blue was someone, and whoever that was, it was not just a normal cookie. If he even existed, the-cookie-that-was had had his identity repurposed. But—

“Come on, think. The Witches don't grant immortality to nobodies, silly. None of your friends’ families had survived. Why would mine be an exception?” The Beast smiles, a dark satisfaction in his eyes as he realises how easily Pure Vanilla had believed him.

Liked him, even. Though they didn't know each other for very long, Blue was a charming cookie. There was something between them, and the answer was the worst of his suspicions—it was nothing good. The connection was there solely because of Shadow Milk, the original owner of the Soul Jam of Knowledge.

Trust in Knowledge.

His Soul Jam had whispered, intentionally trapping him into a lie.

He was a fool.

“....aw, look at you. I can't believe all it took to get you on my side was a pathetic sob story. I didn't even have to try making one up. How… disappointing.” Blue—Shadow Milk sighs.

The world shifts again and the bedroom changes into something that matches the aesthetic of the Spire better. Pure Vanilla lays there numbly, his mind hurting from the possible betrayal.

No—but—there’s no way. His mind runs a mile a minute, but the doubt feels heavy in his heart, threatening to consume him whole.

Shadow Milk snickers, as if this was all one grand joke. To him, it might as well be.

Chapter Text

Peace.

Under the water, he could almost convince himself of it. Where all his senses are dull and muted, beyond the burning pain of water in his lungs and the weakness in his limbs—there is peaceful quiet. Here, it is easy to panic, trapped beneath the unforgiving pressure that makes him feel both heavy and weightless at the same time.

Usually, he would panic. It's a natural flight or fight response, a survival instinct—because as immortal as he is, there is a limit to how much his body can take. His mind would cloud, control slipping, fear overtaking his entire being because not again, please—and yet.

This time, it feels different.

As the body has its limits, so does the mind. Blue has spent millennia at war with himself, and he Knows that scars of the heart can be just as wounding as those of the body. There is only so much one can take before they break.

He thinks he may have reached that point somewhere in this millennia. His Soul Jam cracks, flickering, wavering as his morale wavers.

Everything hurts, but it has been that way for so long that he doesn't remember how it's like to not hurt. At least, under the water, he can focus on how only his body hurts. For once, his heart gives him reprieve, lacking the aching guilt that carries him day by day.

He looks into himself and finds nothing there, no feeling that is not pain, but even then, he’s sure he will grow to be numb to it in time.

For a moment, he wonders if Shadow Milk ever lets himself feel. It's like a game between them. How much Blue could push Shadow Milk into feeling. How much Shadow Milk could hurt Blue in return until he can't feel anything anymore.

Remembering the cruel smile of his Beast half, the winner of that game seems obvious now.

“...what am I doing?” He hears his own voice.

There's—no point to all of this. Truth, if he survives the trials Shadow Milk is undoubtedly putting him through, would be enough to take out the Beast. As a Healer, he would undoubtedly be more merciful to Shadow Milk than Blue could ever be.

Even if he doesn't deserve mercy. Neither of them, really—it isn't as if being the fragment of the former Virtue of Knowledge who is still somewhat virtuous absolves him of all their crimes. He is just as responsible, just as guilty—the least he could do is to prevent Shadow Milk from unleashing Deceit into this world.

Truth, Deceit, Knowledge. There was a time where he had prided himself in Knowledge, sharing the Truths of this world as he Knew it. By time, he grew disillusioned by it. What use is Knowledge, when so many avoid the bitter Truth in favor of sweet Deceit? It is as his counterpart says, cookies will believe whatever they're told, Truth or not.

Blue opens his eyes underwater. It's dark, nothing visible to his one eye. He isn't restrained, so getting out would be as easy as finding the nerve to do so and painstakingly swimming back to the surface.

“.....” Without the panic, he doesn't feel like he needs to rush escaping. Maybe staying here would be the better option. The simpler option, certainly. The one he should be selfish enough to make considering he is selfish enough to want to kill himself in spite of the greater consequences.

No Virtue has ever died. They were sealed for a reason. Who knows what will happen if he dies. He numbly wonders if the other four would care if his plan bears fruit, or if they're too far gone in the paradise of their vices.

Whatever might happen, he can't bring himself to really care about it. After all, it won't be his problem.

A flash of a kind smile passes through his mind.

But it will be his.

His Soul Jam whispers the Knowledge.

Like so many other cookies before him, Blue turns away from that bitter Truth, shutting his eyes to lose himself in the water. It is but a momentary respite, but one he will indulge in regardless.

🌿

Blue wakes to the sound of breaking glass and the feeling of his body hitting the floor. He gags, doubling over and choking on the water in his throat. A hand gently pats his back, coaxing the water out.

He sees absolutely nothing as he spends the next few minutes of his terrible existence purging water from his body yet again. By the end of it, he collapses onto whoever is holding him, his head ringing and his lungs screaming in pain.

A wave of soothing magic washes over him, carrying the distinct feeling of determination-loyalty that can only be one cookie.

Black Sapphire cradles him in his arms, staff set to the side. He vaguely hears the sound of muffled conversation somewhere on the other side of the room they're in. With another harsh cough, he raises one hand and signs to Black Sapphire, not trusting himself to speak just yet.

“Shadow Milk?” He mouths, signing ‘milk’ and covering his right eye.

At that, the boy twitches, “I can't believe that you just drowned and that's the first thing you ask.” He sighs and rolls his eyes, but answers anyway, “Master is busy with Pure Vanilla Cookie. I’m in charge of fucking with the babies.” It’s said with a flat tone and followed by an incline of his head towards the other side of the room.

Blue tilts his head to the side and sees the aforementioned cookies, who are—conversing with Candy Apple. From the lack of fighting and the reasonable volume of it, they might actually be having a civil conversation.

“.....” He eyes Candy Apple and nudges Black Sapphire, furrowing his brows.

“Don't look at me like that. I made her promise not to tattle and be good. Besides, she needs friends her age.” His pseudo son grumbles and Blue suppresses a smile.

“You, however..” Black Sapphire grabs him by the collar. Blue sighs and dramatically goes limp, letting the other cookie take his weight.

“Father, I mean it. Your plan is fucking stupid.”

Blue twitches, his smile dropping entirely. He glares back at Black Sapphire, “Don't think you can get me to change my mind by playing the father card.”

“They don't even know, do they?” The question is hissed unkindly but Black Sapphire releases his hold to pull him up to a proper sitting position, pressing Blue’s staff back into his hands and casting a drying spell on him. His relief at being dry lasts not a minute as a glass of water follows, Blue grimacing at the sight of it as the thing is pushed into his hands.

“No. I told them the plan is to kill Shadow Milk. I’m not lying.” He defends, half-heartedly taking a sip of the water and trying to not cringe at the feeling. Knowing he won't be able to drink it all, he banishes the glass to another part of the Spire.

Black Sapphire crosses his arms, “Lying by omission is still lying.”

“While I love to see that your debating skills have improved, I believe we have better things to do.”

“Yeah, like what? Proceeding with your awful murder-suicide plan?” Black Sapphire emphasizes the word as if it causes him physical distress.

The sound makes him feel guilty, but his commitment to the plan has always outweighed his guilt. It's a coward’s plan, a way out that only leaves problems for everyone else to solve, but Blue was never really into the Virtue thing anyway.

“You don't even know what master has planned. He's changed it since he last moped about it to you.”

It would be far more surprising if he hasn't, actually. Shadow Milk has a tendency to abandon all plans and do whatever it is he feels like doing at any given time. He’s quite sure the planning skills had all gone to Blue at the moment of their split.

Blue snorts, “Right. Of course.”

Black Sapphire bristles, “Yes. Look, I don't know how you're planning to execute your plan, but it’s just—please.” the boy’s hands curl against his clothes, gripping tightly—it reminds Blue of how the boy had done the same thing as a child.

His next few words should feel like a stab through the heart, the tone low, both a confession and an admission of weakness, “I can't lose you.”

“....” It doesn't. His heart, whatever remains of it, feels nothing at those heartfelt words. This should trigger alarm bells, but he ignores them for now to play his part and pull his s—his protégé into a hug. No words come out of his mouth, but he hears his own voice echo in his mind a single word, whispered into his ear.

Coward.

Black Sapphire’s breath hitches, all bravado and anger thrown away to sink into his hold. His fingers grip Blue’s freshly dried robes tighter, digging into his dough so tightly it was almost painful. He brushes the boy's hair back, gently cradling him closer.

He should feel guiltier. It’s—fucked up, to say the least, to insist proceeding on one’s murder-suicide plan at the sight of such an earnest request from someone who is practically his child. It’s already terrible that Black Sapphire even knows about the plan.

Except, he doesn't feel guilty enough to stop it. Not when the value of the many, many lives he’s slaughtered far outweigh his own. The First Demon, legends call him, with a body count of thousands. Atonement is all but impossible. Living is even harder.

With this body, it is easy to ignore pain when it’s a constant. Like a muted, dull thing, always present in every limb, weighing down his heart and soul. In bad days, it leaves him immobilized, helpless under the heavy weight of bad decisions and improperly healed wounds.

However, it does not get anywhere bad enough that he would wish for death when the pain flares particularly badly. It’s, to say the least, livable—as in, it is a pain he can technically live with.

It just comes down to the matter of willingness, and he has lived far too long and grown too weary to keep going. Everything is just too much. The burden of his sins, the ache that is existence. An inelegant solution death might be, but it would free this world of him.

Whether that meant himself or Shadow Milk, Blue can't care any less. They are one cookie, after all—no matter how much the two of them deny it.

For a moment, he wonders when exactly he had gotten so desperate to die that he’d be willing to forsake everything for it. Blue gently strokes his boy’s back, an empty comfort that is so much less than what Black Sapphire truly deserves.

“You're not going anywhere out of my sight. We’re going with master’s plan.” His little gem says, voice fierce, laced with determination—always loyal, even to those undeserving of it.

What a sweet, precious boy; Blue hums, acknowledging the fact. His Soul Jam whispers something to him and he turns away from the Knowledge, for once wanting to remain ignorant.

Though, if he would acknowledge anything, it is that this won't end well.

As if Knowing what he is thinking, Black Sapphire desperately hugs him tighter, like Blue will vanish the moment he is let go. Considering where they are, it is not a baseless worry to have.

The Spire, being a magical entity in its own right after millennia of built-up magic, acknowledges Blue as its master as much as Shadow Milk is. However, it is sentient enough to have favourites—who is, sadly to say, not him. It obeys his commands most of the time, but for some reason unknown to him, it will occasionally flat-out refuse.

Even if he runs right now and tells the Spire to cover for him, he has a feeling it won't let him separate from Black Sapphire just yet. He could always force it, but he doesn't like to do so unless desperate circumstances calls for it.

So he stays, indulging in the comfort, brushing a hand against soft black hair and playing the part of a good parent, even when he is anything but.

Some minutes later, another cookie silently sneaks into the hug, tucking herself between him and Black Sapphire. The boy releases one arm and pulls her in, Blue following suit, his own hands brushing back messy white hair and straightening the candy lollipops in her hair.

“Shadow Milk Cookie isn't going to be happy.” Candy Apple mumbles, her smaller hands clutching onto him tighter than Black Sapphire had dared to.

“He won't hurt you.”

“There is more than one way to hurt.” Black Sapphire snaps.

“....” Blue doesn't flinch, but it was a close thing.

“Black Sapphire.. told me about your plan.” Yet another quiet confession, Candy Apple’s voice wobbling as she gets the words out.

No wonder she’s oddly cooperative. While she does as she pleases most of the time, Candy Apple obeys Shadow Milk—and surprisingly himself—unquestioningly. She dislikes their fights as much as Black Sapphire does, aware of it no matter how much her brother tries to shield her.

She—looks up to them. Himself and Shadow Milk, despite their minimal role as her parents. Putting on a show most of the time, she doesn’t show her care as obviously as Black Sapphire, but clearly, with this display—she does care.

Blue doesn't know how to feel about that. To him just a few centuries ago, maybe it would feel nice. To him now, it is yet another tie that he will need to sever for the sake of his plans.

This will hurt, his Soul Jam mourns.

He can't even bring himself to admit that he won't stop for their sake.

“....” Blue puts a gentle hand on the top of her head, ruffling the soft white strands. He says nothing, yet again.

“Mr. Blue, you're awake!” Gingerbrave interrupts their little moment with a cheerful greeting. Trust them to get him out of awkward situations—it sure is convenient that the ginger trio always interrupt at just the perfect moment.

“I’ve always been, kid.” Blue responds and he winces at the sound of his own voice.

“...you don't sound okay.” Strawberry voices the thought.

“Drowning will do that. I don't recommend it. 0/10 experience.” He jokes, but it falls flat because the children look positively devastated.

Ignoring the looks, he clears his throat and turns to Black Sapphire, who has pulled himself and Candy Apple out of Blue’s hold the moment the younger trio arrived. The boy—the young man, he corrects himself—raises a brow not unlike how Blue himself does.

“I… hm.. question, was there a way for me to break out of that trap myself?” He asks.

Shadow Milk had ambushed them immediately at the gate, which was rather uncharacteristic. After their last meeting, he thought the Beast would bide his time and see what they're going to do before jumping into the fray. Not a good thing for his plans, but there's not much he can do about it.

“No. Master Shadow Milk Cookie made it impenetrable from the inside.. though, I think he Knows I was going to break you out.” Black Sapphire informs dutifully.

“He did?”

“He separated us from Pure Vanilla Cookie, but led us to you.” Wizard chimes in.

That was, surprisingly enough, not out of character for the clown. A Beast he may be, but he is one that prides himself in playing fair. Separating Pure Vanilla from the children rids the healer of any support and offers the children a match more of their level.

As close as Black Sapphire can get to the level of untrained children, anyway. It's still not completely fair, but it is definitely better than pitting them up against Shadow Milk himself.

Though, as for the breaking out part—that doesn't quite fit in the puzzle. If he were Shadow Milk, he would keep himself as a hostage. Something to motivate Pure Vanilla to go along with his games. In the same line, Pure Vanilla would serve as motivation for the children to play along.

Blue hums, looking over both Black Sapphire and Candy Apple. It seems the Beast had overlooked how much their two children would object to letting him drown. Though, it is also a pleasant surprise that the two aren’t stringing along the other three children in some demented game Shadow Milk told them to play.

“You would betray your master?” He questions. He doesn't know what they've done in the time he was occupied with drowning, but it doesn’t seem that anything much happened considering they're all in one shape and getting along.

“...technically speaking, you are my master.” The brat answers, a shit eating grin on his face. Candy Apple giggles.

Not for the first time, Blue wonders what it is that drives Black Sapphire to keep up with this charade of playing servant for Shadow Milk while insisting on a parental title for Blue.

“Master Shadow Milk Cookie will still want to see results, though.” Candy Apple points out, fiddling with her fingers.

“Oh, are you doubting me now? I am nothing if not a consummate professional. I will do as my master bids.” Black Sapphire smiles down at Gingerbrave and his friends, who cringe away from him.

“H-hey now..” Gingerbrave laughs nervously, hiding behind Blue. His friends follow and now Blue is stuck between three children not his own and another two who are technically his. What a way to relive playground fighting—he sure does not miss rearing a classroom full of children.

“He’s messing with you.” Blue sighs and flicks Black Sapphire’s forehead, much to the young man’s displeasure. His sister cackles, reaching out to do the same, but her hand is batted away.

“I digress, we do need a plan. Black Sapphire, we will have words about your true intentions with Shadow Milk. I hope you know what you're doing.” He levels him with an odd expression.

In the past, Black Sapphire has never hesitated to carry out Shadow Milk’s commands—no matter how absurd. He picks up the clown’s mannerisms easily, settling himself as the Beast’s second. He still treats Blue as he did when they lived together, sticking to the parental title for him no matter how much Shadow Milk sneers at him for it.

Though, the young man rarely gets between their arguments, plastering a calm disposition that Blue doesn't think he truly feels. In fights that leave Blue injured in any kind of way, Black Sapphire would be there, first-aid kit at hand and his hands glowing a dim purple.

Naturally attuned to Poison, traditional Healing is all but impossible for him. Nevertheless, Black Sapphire had learned substitutes anyway, spells to soothe and numb pain—alongside the classic substitute for any Poison-aligned cookies looking to learn Healing: potions.

Blue himself has never taught his boy potions. Black Sapphire had figured it out by himself, from what scraps of Knowledge that remains in the now Spire of Deceit. It’s a commendable achievement, especially since the young man had done it right under Shadow Milk’s nose.

“You don't get to question my decisions considering what you plan to do.” Black Sapphire glares, his tone final, ending that little discussion before it could even begin.

Fair enough. He has never budged the first hundred times Blue asked, and it’s no surprise that he isn't telling now. Blue shrugs, “Either way, you’ll need to put on a show. I do not take betrayal lightly, and neither would Shadow Milk.

“It is hardly betrayal, father.” A scoff, followed by three matching gasps.

“Father?!” Wizard points at him with his candy staff, his friends crowding closer, also surprised.

“Technically, Shadow Milk is his father.” Blue grins.

Black Sapphire twitches, “You raised me. Take responsibility.”

The three guests of the Spire continue gawking at him. Really, it's as if these children have never seen an actual parent-child duo before—though, considering they're all orphans, that would make sense.

“You’re an adult now, son. Your life is yours to live.” Blue says innocently and blocks a half-hearted swing towards him with a forearm, cackling at the look on the children’s faces.

“Is it really hard to believe that someone as old as Shadow Milk and I would have children?” He raises a brow at the three, who start,

“Em—”

“Well—”

“I mean—”

The three pause for a moment, and then Strawberry and Wizard nudges Gingerbrave forward. The boy sweats, “It’s… you don't seem like the type.”

“How so?”

“Uhm. You are very charming…”

“And a good teacher, but…”

“You're not really.. uh, a very responsible adult?” Gingerbrave finishes and immediately blanches,

“Wait—no, that came out wrong—”

Blue stares blankly at them and then Black Sapphire wheezes, slapping one thigh and clutching onto his sister, “Wh—HAHAHA—” He makes an offended noise through the sound of his pseudo son’s roaring laughter, “Excuse me?! See if I teach you little gnats anything anymore.”

“I think he’s an okay parent.” Unexpectedly, Candy Apple contributes.

“I think that's because you guys have never had a better example.” Wizard counters.

Bold words coming from someone without actual parents, he doesn't say, finding the entire conversation amusing enough to let the jab slide.

To his surprise, Black Sapphire stops laughing on his own, “Considering our circumstances, I would say he did as well as he could have.” He shrugs a tad too casually and aims a meaningful look at Blue.

Ah. So that's the game he’s playing. Nothing like some nice guilt-tripping to get what one wants from another cookie. He really has raised that boy too well. Unfortunately for him, however, Blue is not inclined to humor it, “...yeah, so, anyway—”

“Yes, plans. I have just the one.” Black Sapphire beams, but the way his brow twitches gives away his exasperation at Blue’s dismissal.

“Can I go now? I don't wanna listen to your boring plan again.” Candy Apple chimes in.

“Brat. You better have not forgotten everything I told you earlier—”

“But you've repeated it a hundred times already! I can recite it word-for-word!” She whines.

“Just because you can memorize it doesn't mean you can do it—”

“Well, listening to it one more time won't make a difference! Besides, I wanna talk with Strawberry more! I need more friends other than you.”

“...little shit, after everything I've done for you—”

“Pleeaaasee, big brother?” Candy Apple bats her eyelashes at her brother.

“...fuck off. See if I care.”

“Gladly!”

Candy Apple hops to her feet and saunters towards Strawberry, immediately striking up a conversation. Strawberry’s previous sheepish expression morphs into a beaming one as she responds with more eagerness than Blue would expect. Gingerbrave and Wizard inch away from the two girls, spooked expressions on their faces.

“...can you believe that she was Apple Faerie Cookie.” Wizard furiously whispers to Gingerbrave.

“No, I honestly thought she'd be a bit more… unhinged than this. She's getting along with Strawberry really well too, I wonder what changed.” Gingerbrave ‘whispers’ a reply, though the volume doesn't really leave much guessing for them to do. Someone really ought to teach these children how to be subtle.

Black Sapphire sighs, “I can still hear you.”

The two of them startle.

“I—you know what, come closer. I might as well go over the script one more time.”

With the wave of a hand, Gingerbrave and Wizard are promptly dragged next to where Blue and Black Sapphire are. Blue snaps his fingers, summoning some cushions for them to sit on—he may not be the Spire’s favoured master, but it rarely denies him small comforts.

He settles back on the comfortable cushions, watching in amusement as the two younger boys stumble over each other and crash into a stack of cushions. Wizard glares at Black Sapphire for the manhandling, getting only a grin in response.

The young mage’s ire doesn't last long because Gingerbrave gasps, squeezing one pillow and marvelling at the softness. Black Sapphire plops himself down next to Blue, brushing gloved hands against the purple fabric of the cushions and then shamelessly leaning against one of Blue’s shoulders.

Clingy, aren't you.

Blue mentally nudges him and receives a biting response.

This allows me to assure myself that you're still alive. Can you blame me?

This time, he fails to suppress the flinch. Thankfully, it goes unnoticed by the younger cookies, occupied as they are with the cushions. Black Sapphire clears his throat and waits until the two have settled themselves before speaking,

“I’ll keep this brief.”

Chapter Text

Pure Vanilla takes deep breaths, trying to clear his own thoughts.

He is in the lair of the Beast of Deceit. Anything Shadow Milk says isn’t necessarily the complete Truth, no matter how convincing it may seem. While it’s true that it would be plausible that ‘Blue’ was Shadow Milk this entire time, what with their near-identical magical signatures–he can’t discount the fact that they’re twins. Identical twins, and while it is rare that they would have such a similar magical signature, it’s not out of the realm of possibility.

His magic reaches out again, Soul Jam glowing as he tries to feel for a difference—and there it is. The quiet strength of White Lily, the resolution of Dark Cacao, the pride of Golden Cheese, the passion of Hollyberry. Passion; something that Blue lacks, but his twin has in spades.

“You’re not your brother. I don’t–I don’t know how you knew what happened between us, but you’re not Blue.” He cups that face anyway, inching a finger against the milky left eye. It blinks at the brush of touch, confirming his suspicions.

Blue’s visage vanishes, melting into the familiar form of Shadow Milk, who cackles at his answer, “My, my! Aren’t you a smart cookie? Thought I had fooled you already! Full marks, nilly.” he snaps his fingers and Pure Vanilla stumbles, clutching into a nearby wall to keep himself standing as the space around them changes yet again.

Now, Pure Vanilla stands in a grand hall, a pond of milk at his feet, ankle-deep. The hall glows with magic, the blue and gold of Knowledge echoing his own. He looks down and is faced with a reflection not his own.

The Fount of Knowledge meets his eyes, matching their colours. There is a wistful smile on his face that resembles one of Blue’s. A hand reaches out towards him and he gets no time to respond as the hand pulls him down and through the pond.

The scenery shifts again and he is in the sky, looking down at the wide expanse of civilization. The Spire, stationary and unshifting, standing in the middle of a bustling city. From here, he could see many cookies of all icings and flavours, strolling along parks, filling the busy town square.

“Beautiful, isn't it?” The Fount speaks, his voice somewhere in the middle between Shadow Milk and Blue in tone.

The Spire—in the present, it is surrounded by densely-packed forest, no sign of anything that could indicate that before, it had been this. Amused at his surprise, The Fount snickers, nudging his shoulder with his staff—Blue’s staff, as opposed to Shadow Milk’s.

“What? I wasn’t joking about the trip down memory lane.”

“I–this place..” Pure Vanilla’s eyes roam across the vast land, covered in buildings and structures that reach towards the sky. Mages flying around in brooms and teaspoons, vendors selling their wares, the furious debate of scholars, the laughter of children–a picture perfect image of a lovely city, almost reminiscent of the modern day Crème Republic.

“Now, I Know what you're thinking. How come there are no remains of any of this, hm?” He hums.

The Fount raises his staff, waving it around in a circle. Identifying the spell as a destructive one by magical aura alone, Pure Vanilla grabs the Virtue’s hand, trying to stop the spell before it could be cast but his hand goes through them, grasping at the air.

What follows can only be described as annihilation. Screams, fire, death and Destruction. Buildings falling apart all around them, families torn apart, some cookies burning alive. The destructive spell burns through a good part of the city before swarms of cookies—an army—rush in through the protective walls, reigning fire and death–a cookie stands at their helm, reeking of Spice and burned dough.

Pure Vanilla staggers back, flashes of his own kingdom coming to mind.

His hand is taken gently and the world around them morphs once more. Now, they stand in the center of the Spire; a large, desolate clearing free of any structures—

If one doesn't count the pile of dead sitting in the middle, corpses stacked on top of each other, jam and flour mixing. The stench is foul and Pure Vanilla drops to his knees at the sight of it. His eyes follow the mountain of bodies and he is horrified to not see the end of it.

Someone tosses a dead body into the pile.

He stares and sees that it's Blue—or at least, he thinks so. With the single golden eye, he’s probably correct. His friend looks like he has seen better days, covered in flour and jam, his expression utterly dead, movements mechanical as he adds into the pile of bodies.

“....” Pure Vanilla swallows.

Blue continues working, and it is way too long before the mage stops, sinking into his knees in front of the mountain of corpses. There is a head cradled in his hold, a cookie with white hair and apples attached to either side of their head. His staff is discarded next to him and he makes not a single sound, shoulders shaking and his head bowed.

Shadow Milk steps out from behind Blue, picking the staff up and pointing it at the pile in silence. The pile of bodies burst into flames, the fire licking at the twins’ faces as they watched it all burn.

The Beast whistles and Pure Vanilla flinches at the sound.

“Look at him, nilly. Isn’t it pitiful? This is how the war ended. Us, the sole survivors.” Deceit stands, staring down at his brother, who remains kneeling as the fire grows larger. The Fount is nowhere to be seen.

There’s a sound of hitched breath and Pure Vanilla stills, watching as Shadow Milk wraps an arm around his twin, taking the severed head away and tossing it into the fire. Blue chokes out a sob, clinging to the now-Beast like a lifeline. The sound makes his own eyes water–it’s the type of crying that is viscerally ugly, leaving one gasping and hiccuping non-stop, choking and stifling with grief and pain.

Shadow Milk’s grin morphs into a neutral expression as he holds his brother, stroking Blue’s back gently. It’s not the image he expected to see considering how much hatred was in Blue’s voice when he uttered his twin’s name.

“Poor thing. He was inconsolable for centuries. Did you Know, while I am not my brother, we are one in a different way?” He laughs, “Being family to an immortal doesn’t guarantee you the same privileges, yes, but Berry and I? It wasn’t the issue of family.” Shadow Milk raises a hand, cupping his twin’s cheek and brushing his tears away with a gentleness Pure Vanilla never expected.

“He is as much the Fount of Knowledge as I, we were bound by the same role.”

Pure Vanilla stills. He–can’t tell if that’s true or not.

“Surprising? I mean, it’s sooo easy to be mistaken for one cookie when you have the same face. Cookies believe whatever you tell them.” Another snap of his fingers, and they stand in the middle of a grand hall.

As the scene settles into being, the first thing Pure Vanilla notices are books. Hundreds, thousands of them, filling shelves as tall as the ceiling. Candles mounted on the walls lit up, revealing the hall to actually be an office. He stands at the foot of the area, looking up at the elevated platform in front of him where a desk sits, with a familiar figure behind it.

Gold and blue, just like Pure Vanilla’s own. Blue’s kind smile, Shadow Milk’s bravado–all in one cookie who can only be the Fount of Knowledge. The Virtue rests his chin against one palm, elbow propped up as he leans forward over the desk. With another hand, he ushers Pure Vanilla closer.

He takes a hesitant step, “This.. it’s.. so the Spire of All Knowledge was real.” he murmurs, eyeing the spines of the books–most are in scripts he doesn’t recognize, but there are a few he could read.

“Was it? None of this exists now, you know.” Shadow Milk tosses a book from behind the desk and he raises a hand to catch it, flipping through the pages and finding it empty.

“....” So much Knowledge of the past, all gone.

“Oh, come on. What’s with that look?” The Beast scoffs.

He ignores the other cookie, walking up to a shelf and retrieving another book, flipping through the pages yet again–nothing. Another, and another, it’s all the same–blank pages upon blank pages, even though their covers are anything but blank. Names of long gone cookies he has no chance of recognizing, the only sign that the book ever had anything written in it.

“This was his life, you know. Every day we spent in this same office, writing, talking, teaching–sharing Knowledge.” Shadow Milk retrieves a book from the shelf next to him and tosses it back carelessly. It’s only Pure Vanilla’s quick thinking that saves the book, but even then–he jumps back, sticking close to the shelf as he realises that sometime when he was preoccupied with the books, a fire had started in the office.

The Beast snickers, “Scared? You think any of this is real?” he huffs and takes another book, tossing it into the growing fire behind him.

“Wait–no- you’re–how could you do that to the books?” Pure Vanilla stares as the thrown book enters the flames, burning up instantly.

“I have no use for them. Why do so much work when it’s all for nothing, anyway?” Shadow Milk scoffs.

“It isn’t–so many cookies spent time writing each and every single book here.” He argues, casting a shield to try and protect what remains from the fire. To his own frustration, it doesn’t work, the fire seeping past his shields and setting the shelf ablaze anyway. The smoke is thick in the air, but he breathes easily as if they aren’t really there.

Shadow Milk, however, coughs from the smoke as if it does affect him before slamming a hand against one of the shelves, the books inside tumbling down and joining the flames as he hisses out his reply, “All of whom are dead and gone with nobody remaining to remember them!”

“You do.”

“And I am but one cookie who can't care any less.” A flash of a smile, and they move on to the next scene.

It's the same office, but packed full of people with them at the head of the table. Blue sits there now, the smile on his face twitching as the crowd’s voice grows louder and louder. Shadow Milk sneers at the mass of cookies, “Look at them. All they can do is ask for things. I want this. I want that.” He crosses his arms.

Pure Vanilla takes a cautious step closer to the scene, watching as Blue—calmer, younger, still unfractured—tries his best to address the sea of voices calling his name.

“Is this... what it was like?” he murmurs. “You gave, and gave, and gave—”

“And it was never enough.” Shadow Milk’s voice cuts in sharply, venom curling around every word. “I—we worked ourselves hollow, and what did it get us in return? Whispers. Doubt. Then silence.”

Pure Vanilla doesn’t look away, even when the younger Blue’s smile visibly falters, his hands tightening on the desk as cookies shout over each other.

“You were their leaders.”

“Their servant, you mean.” Shadow Milk snaps. “Their scapegoat when things went wrong. Their hero when things went right. No in-between. No room to be ourselves.” He laughs bitterly, “Eventually, we stopped existing altogether. They praised a ghost and tore the rest of us to pieces.”

The scene burns again. The table, the crowd, the hopeful voices—all swallowed by flame and smoke until nothing remains but ashes at their feet.

“You chose to forget this place,” Pure Vanilla says quietly. “So you wouldn’t have to feel the weight of it.”

“I had to forget,” Shadow Milk growls, turning away. “Remembering means pain. Remembering means knowing I failed. Remembering means I won't be free.” His eyes stray towards Blue, standing further away, his back towards them.

“But forgetting doesn’t mean it didn’t matter,” Pure Vanilla replies gently.

Shadow Milk flinches as if struck. For a moment, his expression falters—uncertain, vulnerable beneath the mask and then the world shifts again. The fire goes out. The ashes settle. The two of them are left alone in the darkened ruins of memory, surrounded by the echo of voices long gone.

“It no longer does.” He huffs.

“It does to Blue.” Pure Vanilla counters.

A glare, then another snap of the Beast’s fingers, and they appear somewhere else entirely. The uncertain expression twists into an ugly snarl as they appear in a bedroom. There’s still a desk here, just a few steps away from the bed.

Pure Vanilla doesn’t move. He can’t. There’s something suffocating in the room, something heavier than just the scent of ink and old paper. It coils around him like smoke, like regret, like everything left unsaid.

Shadow Milk towers over the scene like a storm barely held at bay, rage and grief knotted into every line of his frame. And Blue—Blue is trembling, broken beneath the weight of his own devotion. They stand in the middle of the room, the light from the windows casting a shadow over the Beast as he steps forward, somehow towering over his brother despite them being the same height.

“Don’t you see?” Shadow Milk’s voice cracks, and for a moment, it’s not anger, but desperation. He clutches onto his twin’s shoulders, shaking him. “This—this isn’t noble. This is ruin. You're tearing yourself apart for ghosts that don’t even remember you. For books no one will ever read.”

He lets go of Blue roughly, and the other stumbles, barely catching his balance before sliding to the floor, sinking onto his knees.

“I have to do it,” Blue whispers again, not even looking up. “If I don’t—then what was the point of everything we sacrificed? What was the point of me?”

The silence is deafening.

Then, the firelight flickers strangely, dancing along the walls like a heartbeat.

“You’re not a sacrifice,” Pure Vanilla finally says, softly, stepping forward. “You’re not meant to be a sacrifice.”

Neither of the two reply. One broken by burden. The other by fury. And between them, only ashes.

Then the Beast snaps his fingers, and the world changes again.

“You see that? To this day, he's still clinging to it. Our curse, our role as Knowledge.” Shadow Milk murmurs, voice blank as he stares at Blue, now sitting behind a desk and mindlessly writing. The clock on the wall spins, days passing in a matter of seconds.

The shadows under Blue’s eyes grow deeper, but he never once stops, working through the day, the night, and more.

“I wanted to throw it all away. I realised how shackling it was. That we were but birds in a gilded cage, made for one purpose and nothing else—” He slams a hand against the table and Blue’s hand finally stops, freezing in place, silently staring up at Shadow Milk.

“‘Stop.’” The Beast says.

“There's—so much of it. I can't.” Blue responds, his hands shaking. His head is finally raised and Pure Vanilla can see tear marks trailing down one cheek, his friend’s single eye unfocused, clearly exhausted.

“Why do you insist on this fool’s errand? You’re not going to finish rewriting them all in our lifetime.” Shadow Milk—kicks the desk away, grabbing his brother by the scruff of his robes and lifting him off the chair.

Blue sags in the hold, weakened from his writing binge. He grasps at Shadow Milk’s hand, ripping it off him, “I have to—I–”

“No you fucking don't. Stop. You're affecting both of us.”

Blue's breath hitches at that—at both of us—and for a second, his expression contorts, something raw and almost childlike flashing through the fatigue. “I know,” he says, voice barely more than a rasp. “I know. But if I stop, then it means it was all for nothing. All of it. The war. The Fall. Him—me. You.”

Shadow Milk’s grip falters.

“That’s not true,” Pure Vanilla says quietly from the edge of the room. He’s trembling now, hands clenched at his sides. “The value of your life isn’t measured by how much you can fix. Or preserve. Or atone.”

Blue finally looks at him, properly. There’s so much pain in that gaze it nearly knocks the wind out of Pure Vanilla’s chest. “But it’s the only thing I have left,” Blue whispers. “If I let this go, then what am I? Just another broken thing.”

Shadow Milk lets out a sharp exhale, shoving him back down into the chair—not out of cruelty, but because he doesn’t know how else to keep him still. He crouches in front of Blue and grabs both his wrists, just tightly enough to ground him. Clearly worked up, he switches to that other language, snarling out the words.

Blue stares at him, stunned.

“We are not tools,” the Beast growls. “Not anymore.”

Pure Vanilla’s breath catches, just for a moment. The words echo—familiar in a way he hadn’t expected. He forces a soft smile, but his eyes betray something heavier.

“Then why is he still punishing himself like one?”

Shadow Milk’s sneer twitches—cracks. “That’s his choice. He’s the one who keeps throwing himself into work, burying himself in their names, their words, as if that’ll undo anything.”

“You and I both know that’s not what this is,” Pure Vanilla says, voice low. “He’s not rewriting for legacy. He’s doing penance.”

A silence stretches, thick and heavy. The air grows still. Blue’s visage vanishes, scattering into dust the moment he is let go.

Shadow Milk looks away first, jaw tight. “He thinks he cheated fate. That he should’ve been among the ones who Fell.”

“He survived,” Pure Vanilla whispers. “And instead of letting that mean something, he’s decided to turn it into a prison.”

“I told him,” Shadow Milk bites out. “Told him it was useless. That there was no atonement. No absolution. We did what we were made to do—and now he wants to be forgiven for surviving it?”

Pure Vanilla steps forward, his voice sharper than before. “Is that what you believe? That being alive is something to atone for?”

Shadow Milk’s expression twists. “Not me. I believe we were built to burn. That any moment we spend pretending we’re more than what the Witches made us is delusion, Deceit—mercy. ”

Pure Vanilla’s hands clench at his sides. “And does Blue believe that?”

“No.” Shadow Milk snorts.

“No.” Pure Vanilla repeats quietly. “You tell him your truth. The one where guilt is identity and pain is currency.”

He steps closer, gaze burning now. “But I do agree with you, I believe we are more than what we were made for. It is no delusion nor Deceit. And I think, deep down, so does Blue. Or he wouldn’t keep trying to remember them all.”

Shadow Milk looks at him, something unreadable in his gaze.

“You don’t hate him for caring,” Pure Vanilla finishes. “You hate that he hasn’t given up like you have.”

“No, I hate that he refuses to free himself.” A snap of fingers, and they're once again somewhere else.

Pure Vanilla shuts his eyes, the image of Blue, hunched over the desk, writing feverishly comes to mind. In that grand office, in this bedroom—in the common room of the inn they were staying in. When he wasn’t talking, teaching–Blue was always writing.

The image of Blue is doing the same thing, writing, working—like a sinner desperately reaching for absolution. His hands are chapped, dough rubbed raw, but he writes as if it's the last thing he’ll ever do, “He’s still hurting himself with it. With Knowledge. You see that, don’t you?”

“He’s doing what he’s good at,” Shadow Milk snaps, continuing on the tangent, “The only thing either of us were ever good at. Writing. Recording. Preserving. Useless, in the end.”

“I used to think that too.” Pure Vanilla’s voice falters, almost too quiet. “Back when everything fell apart. I kept healing. Not because I believed I could fix anything… but because I didn’t know how to stop.”

The Fall of the Spire had mirrored the Vanilla Kingdom’s fall a little too closely. The image of death and destruction was burned into his mind—flames licking the walls of once-sacred halls, the sound of crumbling stone echoing like war drums, the heavy scent of burnt butter and jam carried on winds that used to sing with peace.

He remembers the silence afterward most of all. How it rang louder than the screams. The way the golden light of the sun felt cruel when cast upon shattered stained glass. How the cookies he’d sworn to protect lay still beneath rubble, names he’d never forget attached to faces he couldn’t save.

Pure Vanilla swallows thickly, eyes blinking as if to push the memories away. But they come anyway, unbidden: the bitter taste of failure, the crushing weight of survival. Of being the only one left to bear witness.

After his last ditch attempt to defeat Dark Enchantress Cookie, he had woken up beneath a sky he didn’t recognize, the scent of ash and magic thick in the air. His robes were torn, his staff lay cracked at his side, and his mind—his mind was a void. Names slipped from his grasp like water through trembling fingers. He didn’t know where he was. He didn’t even know who he was.

But when he found a wounded cookie lying nearby, bleeding and frightened, his hands moved before his thoughts did—glowing softly, steady and sure. Healing came to him like second nature, even when his own name did not.

He didn’t remember the war, but the world left in its wake told him enough. Shattered towns, empty homes, whispers of a lost kingdom once ruled by mercy and Light.

He clung to the only thing that remained: the instinct to heal.

So he had wandered.

From ruin to ruin, he offered aid without ever asking for names. He couldn’t bear the weight of history, not when his own past was a blank page. And perhaps that was a blessing. Because as he began to piece fragments of memory together—smoke, screams, a throne room soaked in silence—he understood just enough to know he had failed something. Someone.

He didn’t know what redemption looked like. But he thought, maybe, if he saved enough lives, mended enough wounds, gave enough of himself—

He might not need to remember what he’d done.

The Pure Vanilla of now swallows, his earlier admission surprising even himself. He doesn’t look at Shadow Milk when he says it, but he does continue on, “I thought… if I just kept going, it would mean something. If I kept helping, maybe I’d stop feeling like it was my fault. For not saving them. For surviving when they didn’t.”

Shadow Milk doesn’t respond. But the air feels sharper, tense.

Pure Vanilla forces himself to look up. “Blue feels it too. That guilt. That weight—he’s punishing himself. But I can’t blame him.”

Shadow Milk’s voice lowers. “Then do you think he's right?"

“I don’t know,” Pure Vanilla whispers. “Maybe he is. Maybe you are. I only..” His hands tremble at his sides, “You say you’re not tools anymore—but just like Blue, I still act like one. I do what I’m told. I hold things together. I smile. Because if I don’t, who else will?”

Shadow Milk looks at him now, really looks.

“And yet you still believe there’s meaning in all that?” he asks, half-mocking, half-genuine.

“I want to,” Pure Vanilla breathes. “But I don’t know if I do. Not all the time.”

They fall into silence. The flickering image of Blue returns to writing, unaware or uncaring that the argument is about him.

Shadow Milk’s lips twitch—not quite a sneer. “You’re more like us than you pretend.”

Pure Vanilla closes his eyes. “I know.”

Blue’s image flickers between them like a ghost. Eyes sunken, hands shaking, scribbling line after line of knowledge that no one would ever read. Holding on, not to hope, but obligation. Shackled to a name and a virtue that demanded everything of him—until there was nothing left.

“I don’t want you to end up like that,” Shadow Milk says, and the sincerity in his voice is startling. “Stuck pretending your pain has meaning. Trapped in a cycle of fixing everyone but yourself.”

Pure Vanilla looks down. He knows that exhaustion. That ache behind the ribs. That desire to mean something in a world where meaning has been wrung dry. “You don't have to fall, not like I did,” Shadow Milk continues, “Just… let go of the illusion. Accept that it’s all lies. That Truth doesn’t heal anyone. That sometimes—”

He tilts Pure Vanilla’s chin up with a gloved hand.

“—Deceit is the only way to survive.”

There’s a long silence.

“…And if I don’t?” Pure Vanilla whispers.

Shadow Milk’s smile dims. “Then you’ll break. Slowly. Quietly. Like he did. And I’ll have to watch it happen all over again.”

Pure Vanilla's heart twists. Not because he believes Shadow Milk—but because a part of him already understands.

Chapter Text

Turns out, Black Sapphire’s idea of ‘obeying his master’s plans’ is a Spire-wide game of treasure hunt and training them to lie. It is surprisingly age-appropriate when the main objective is supposed to be rendering the young cookies hopeless and having them turn to Deceit.

In the treasure hunt, he serves as the lorekeeper for whatever it is each young cookie needs to search for. Candy Apple has sauntered off at the beginning of the game, off to set up the traps and hide the treasures. The young trio are currently trying to do their best impression of ‘intimidated main characters facing a villain’.

Standing in the corner, Blue doesn't even try to remain hidden as he stares up at Black Sapphire, who stands on an elevated platform and is trying his darndest to deliver.

“I, Black Sapphire Cookie, shall serve as the writer, director, and main antagonist for tonight’s game! We have a fine selection of contestants here with us, will they be able to—”

“Give us back Pure Vanilla Cookie!” Gingerbrave yells, raising his candy cane up high, the picture perfect brave hero.

“We don't wanna play your game, you.. evil wizard!”

“...uhm.. Wizard, I don't think Black Sapphire Cookie is an evil wizard…”

“Huh, wait, is he not? He's a mage, right? Oh, is he a double-class like White Lily Cookie? Bomber-mage? He doesn't look like it, though—”

“Nono, Wizard, Candy Apple is the Bomber. Black Sapphire Cookie is… uh.”

“I’m.. pretty sure he’s a Support-mage.”

Blue fails to muffle a snicker. The Spire’s walls glow dimly around them, as if sharing his amusement. His pseudo son glares at the walls and waves his hand down to lower the podium. The Spire does, but it stops halfway down, making Black Sapphire poke at it before the platform simply drops.

Echoing his sister, he screeches as he loses his balance and falls face-first onto the now-even platform. Pitying the young man, Blue uses his magic to nudge the Spire, radiating his disapproval.

It answers by dropping a curtain on top of him, sending back waves of disapproval.

“....” Blue sighs. It seems like everyone but Shadow Milk knows about his plans now.

Black Sapphire groans, shoulders sagging as he begrudgingly picks himself back up to the laughter of the children, “Why do I even bother… he’s not here anyway. Father, can you ask the Spire if master is listening?”

He pauses. The Spire, while aligned with Shadow Milk, has no qualms about lying to him. Being quite literally a magical place brought to life by magic, it is more often on the side that is most entertaining to them, basing decision-making based on its favoured master’s belief system.

“...you're not lying to me, are you.” Blue glares at the floor. It rattles, the tiles clacking at him. The Spire says no words, but sends the impression of Shadow Milk standing elsewhere—the other realm, perhaps. That's—ideal for them, less so for Pure Vanilla.

The thought of the healer and his soft heart worries Blue. Depending on how Shadow Milk decides to approach him, this could either end very well or very badly. Either way, it should go his way no matter the outcome.

“...he's.. likely not. Wherever he’s taken Pure Vanilla to right now, it isn't in the same space as us. Shadow Milk probably won't know that I've escaped for a while, or how your shenanigans are doing.. unless he checks on you. But I have a feeling that might not be for a while just yet.” Blue hums.

Black Sapphire lets out a sigh of relief and starts giving it to the children straight, abandoning all dramatics like a tired babysitter who’s had to face overexcited children for half the day—which, well, he is.

Blue chuckles and sits back, letting his thoughts wander.

Considering that they've waited for the day of the new Virtue of Truth’s appearance since the moment it was revealed, Shadow Milk would no doubt take his sweet time with Pure Vanilla.

“....” He silently raises a hand up, tracing lines on his neck. It still burns with remnants of water, and each breath stings his rubbed-raw throat. A dark thought comes to mind, but he banishes it as quickly as it came.

They were never prone to violence. If anything, he and Shadow Milk like to avoid it whenever it is unnecessary. The exception for the rule has only ever been one, and there is no reason to believe that Pure Vanilla will be the second.

Truth will be fine. If he lives up to his golden reputation, getting him to Fall would be all but impossible.

“....”

Though, if Pure Vanilla could be pushed to the point of snapping—it’d go much, much better for his plans. He thinks Shadow Milk might be able to manage it, especially with how much Pure Vanilla parallels the both of them.

The Beast just needs time, of which they have plenty to waste now.

A flash of the healer’s face passes through his mind, but Blue pushes the guilt away all too easily. This entire experience will not be fun for Truth, but pain is a teacher like no other.

🌿

Black Sapphire’s instructions leave much to be desired.

“You're good at mind games. Just.. come up with something that’ll get them thinking. It doesn't need to be anything Deceit-related, I know you avoid those out of spite.”

The treasure hunt game is really less of one and more of an obstacle course where he is the final boss before the main objective. It was clever to separate the trio, though. Even if they aren't taking this seriously, it could still be good character development for the children.

Fortunately, though Black Sapphire serves Shadow Milk willingly, he is as keen as Blue on torturing children—which is, to say, not at all.

The first cookie to make it through is, of course, little Brave. Gingerbrave, who is laughing as he barrels into the last chamber, covered in dust and sparkling glitter from Candy Apple’s bombs.

“Phew! I made it, yeah!” The boy cheers, raising his staff with a beaming smile on his face.

Blue finds himself chuckling, “Not yet, you haven't. One more chamber left to go, young one.” He proclaims somewhat dramatically.

Black Sapphire’s earlier words come to mind.

“I know you don't believe that there is any good left in master, but we both know he is fair, if nothing else. He will not object to us letting the children off easy—it isn't as if we’re giving them a free pass.”

It was a fair enough assessment, really. Besides, this is a nice break before the inevitable confrontations that will happen in the next few hours.

Call it sentimental, but he might as well take the opportunity to teach the children something before utterly traumatizing them. It doesn't make it fair to them, but it would be a good learning experience.

Gingerbrave, as the brawns of the trio, often charges ahead without thinking. It is typical for Charge-types, but a good Charge cookie knows when and when not to charge ahead. One can only get so far with force, or in the young ginger Cookie's case—force and bravery.

Both admirable traits to have, but it could prove detrimental without moderation.

“Okay! Lay it on me, Mr. Blue!” Gingerbrave grins, clearly confident. No doubt the boy had spent the entire obstacle course charging through and succeeding.

He’ll find himself surprised with this one, that's for sure.

With a snap of his fingers, the chambers darken and three creatures of Poison materialize in front of the door.

“...oh, they're just.. Poison enemies? That's easy.” Without thinking much, Gingerbrave charges ahead, prepared to attack with force as always—except, instead of fighting back, the creatures screech and run away from him.

Blue leans back against the air and watches as this continues for a moment. Gingerbrave would charge at the creatures, and they would shrink away like he had actually hit them. It results in an endless chase around this chamber they're in before the boy grows exhausted from running,

“I—they won't fight me.” He frowns.

“Want a hint?” Blue offers.

“Oh! We get those?”

“Well, it's gonna be a riddle you have to solve first, but yeah kid.”

“Okay! ..please. I don't think I can run for much longer..” Gingerbrave’s shoulders sag. Charge-types, really. Always rushing ahead and exhausting themselves early.

Blue shakes his head and just smiles at him, “Better solve the riddle fast, then:”

“You charge ahead, both bold and brash,

But not all walls will fall with a crash.

What breaks not stone, nor opens gates—

But bends the will of fickle fates?"

Gingerbrave pauses.

“The answer will help you get through.” He says vaguely. It's not fun to spell out the answer, after all.

The brave young cookie furrows his brows and promptly sits down, pondering the riddle in his mind. The Poison creatures, things resembling licorice oozes, cautiously maneuver around him, sticking close to the exit gate of the chamber.

“...I think.. I get it. Is it, uh.. intelligence?” He guesses.

“Nope.” Blue immediately replies.

“...uh.. okay, I guess that doesn't make sense if it's related to how I'll get through.. do I have to trick the oozes? But they don’t really, uh.. can they even understand me? I've never met any monsters who can.. talk.” Gingerbrave scratches the back of his head sheepishly.

“Have you ever tried?” He raises a brow.

“....no.” The boy admits, shuffling his feet guiltily.

“Go ahead then.”

Gingerbrave carefully takes a few steps closer, but the oozes flinch away at his approach. Flashing a smile, the boy drops his weapon and raises both arms, standing still in an effort to reassure the little things that he does not mean to harm them.

The oozes take a few minutes, but they calm considerably the moment the weapon is out of their sights.

The next few minutes are spent in dead silence, cookie and oozes staring at each other. Somewhere in those minutes, Gingerbrave has a bright idea to move closer, taking one step. Seeing this, the oozes curiously do the same.

Soon enough, the boy and the group of oozes are standing practically eye to eye. Cautiously, Gingerbrave reaches a hand out, “Uhm… hi?”

Two oozes back away, but one brave ooze approaches, extending a hand-like appendage to meet Gingerbrave’s hand. The brave cookie gasps in delight, “You do understand me! I'm so sorry for attacking without thinking.” He bows his head and the ooze makes soft barbling noises at him.

It starts a one-sided conversation in which Gingerbrave asks everything from what it is like to be a licorice-poison creature to what they eat in a day. The other two oozes even join in, but as they are simple manifestations made by the Spire, one of them cuts the conversation short to bring Gingerbrave to the gates of the exit.

Blue stands there, waiting, finding himself smiling at the young cookie who had so easily befriended creatures many would consider monsters.

“I.. think I know the answer.” Gingerbrave says, hand in hand with a happy warbling ooze.

“It's kindness! Being bold and brash is good, but we have to remember to be kind too.” He beams, raising his hand alongside the little ooze.

Reaching a hand out, he pats the boy’s head and congratulates him, “Full marks, Brave. You’ve done well.”

The resulting smile he gets is so bright it was almost painful to look at. Shutting away his feelings about it, he sends the boy away to face the next youngster who has found their way past the obstacle course.

It is, surprisingly enough, Strawberry.

He had expected Wizard to get here early, but perhaps the young mage got the harder obstacle course. Strawberry enters in a less exuberant way than Gingerbrave, her steps quiet but still giggling from whatever it is she faced earlier.

Out of the three, she is the silent Defense, resilient and protective over her friends, but often outshined because of her quieter personality. She strikes him as the type to be often brushed aside, her voice going unheard. It probably wasn't a coincidence that she had seemed closest with White Lily, who was arguably also the quietest of her own group.

It makes her less brash than Gingerbrave, with glaring flaws perhaps simply being her unassertiveness—though, he wouldn't call that a flaw, considering her friends always strive to include her. With her separated from her friends, he can't challenge the overprotectiveness that often plagues Defense-types either.

But, there is one issue that she struggles with that the other two don't—confidence.

Wasting no time, Blue nods at Strawberry and changes the chamber to suit his needs. They now stand in a field of flowers, the vast night sky looking above them, sparkling with stars. The flowers remain unbloomed, and the chamber is silent, giving away the illusion of the outside world—but the effect remains because Strawberry lets out an awed gasp.

At the sound of her soft voice, the flowers twitch, swaying slightly, white petals furling further into themselves.

More observant to the little things, Strawberry frowns, “...the flowers are..” she pauses as more of them spontaneously wilt.

“No—” Her eyes widen as little petals fall.

“...what’s.. what's happening..?” Distraught, she sinks onto her knees, one hand gently brushing against the petals.

With her every word, they only seem to shrink, shrivelling up.

“They—but—oh.. it's.. me..?” Strawberry blanches, flustered. She puts a hand over her own mouth and bows her head to the field of flowers, looking almost ashamed of herself.

“I do not shout, nor lead the way,

But still, I rise and choose to stay.

Not louder voices, nor grandest flair,

But steady hearts that choose to care.

What walks with me, unseen, unheard—

Yet grows with every spoken word?"

Blue recites, choosing to give the hint right out the bat. With sensitive little Strawberry, a gentler touch is required.

“....” She frowns, hands still over her mouth, no doubt afraid to speak because of the effect it has on the flowers.

The kind young cookie murmurs, voice quiet as ever, “...grows with every—” she cuts herself off, disheartened by the wilting flowers.

“Every spoken word.” Blue recites, keeping his voice at his normal volume. The flowers do not wilt at the sound of his voice, and Strawberry seems to take note of that because her next few words come out louder,

“It’s.. but, every time I say something—” The flowers perk up.

“Oh..” She furrows her brows not unlike the way Gingerbrave did earlier.

“But—my voice..” Strawberry returns to her quiet tone, and the flowers wilt once more.

“Mmhm.” Blue makes a non-committal noise, not wanting to give anything away just yet.

“You're smart, c’mon. This should be easy.” He makes sure to say as obnoxiously loud as he can—really, the answer cannot be more obvious by now.

By the look in her eyes, he thinks Strawberry knows it, too. Though, her success entirely depends on her actually speaking the answer out loud.

“I..” Strawberry says, her voice growing just a little louder. The flowers remain wilted, but they do not deteriorate further.

“...this is too much.” She buries her face further inside her hoodie, shrinking into herself.

“Well, can't get past me if you don't solve the riddle, sweetie.” Blue teases.

Unintelligible noises come from the hoodie, Strawberry's face now no longer visible at all. It's honestly adorable, and for once Blue feels a little bad for pushing the child.

“I can’t do it.” Strawberry’s voice wobbles dangerously, as if she is on the verge of crying.

“....” It is terribly striking his sympathies, but he can't just give her a free pass.

“You can.” Blue pushes again, trying to encourage her.

“Just take your time.”

There’s a long silence, made somewhat unsettling with how there is absolutely no noise. Blue watches the hoodie, trying to read something from the way it trembles.

He shifts his weight, glancing at the half-wilted flowers. The riddle still hangs in the air like a fog that won’t lift until she speaks.

“I know it’s scary,” he says, quieter now. “But you already know the answer, don’t you?”

The hoodie gives the smallest of nods.

Blue smiles gently, though she can’t see it. “Then it’s just a matter of saying it out loud. That’s all.”

A shaky breath escapes from the depths of the fabric. Then—

“CONFIDENCE!” Strawberry shouts, the loudest he has ever heard her speak. It is so unexpected that Blue staggers back as the young girl starts rambling at maximum volume.

“THE ANSWER. IT’S CONFIDENCE. BECAUSE—FHDBF I HAVE TO LITERALLY SPEAK OUT LOUD SO THE FLOWERS WON’T WILT. I’M—SORRY FOR BEING SO LOUD, THIS IS VERY EMBARRASSING FOR ME.” She finishes the monologue and spontaneously sinks into the soft grass, absolutely mortified over her own actions.

The garden holds its breath. Then, slowly, as if stirred by an unseen breeze, the petals of the wilted flowers begin to lift. Their color returns quickly, fully blooming thanks to the earlier yelling.

Blue tries to not laugh. Laughing might be a terrible hit to the poor girl’s confidence.

He presses a hand over his mouth, biting back the grin that’s determined to stretch across his face. “You, uh… nailed it,” he says, voice muffled with the effort.

Strawberry groans from the grass. “Please let the ground eat me. Right now.”

“I mean, the flowers are back, so technically, you saved the garden,” he continues, crouching beside her. “And maybe gave it a minor heart attack. But still. Hero stuff.”

She peeks up at him through her sleeves, face red enough to rival her name. “I didn’t mean to yell it.. or uhm, at least that loudly. It just… exploded out.”

“Explosions can be valid communication strategies,” Blue says with a wink. “Besides, that was probably the most effective answer I’ve ever heard. The flowers loved it.”

“They better,” she mumbles, trying to burrow further into the grass. “...I think I'm going to explode from embarrassment.”

Blue laughs softly this time—carefully, kindly. “Take it from me: confidence doesn’t always look graceful. Sometimes it’s messy and loud and... kind of amazing.”

Strawberry lifts her head just enough to glance around. The garden is in full bloom again, vibrant and alive, as if it had never wilted at all.

“...I actually did it,” she whispers.

“You did,” Blue nods. “And all it took was scaring me half to death with sheer volume.”

Strawberry lets out the tiniest giggle, despite herself. “...sorry.”

“Don’t be.” Blue stands and offers her a hand.

“You’ve earned your pass.”

She hesitates only a moment before taking it. Her fingers are still trembling slightly—but when she stands, she’s a little taller somehow.

“..thank you, Mr. Blue." she says quietly.

Blue gives a small, proud smile. “Anytime, little one. Now go on, Brave is waiting for you." She nods, beaming at him before setting off, rejuvenated with the confidence to walk ahead.

The last young cookie who finds him in the little treasure hunt game is none other than Wizard. The boy is obviously annoyed, soaking wet from one of the earlier traps. Blue waves at him the moment the young mage enters, and the displeased expression morphs into a relieved one.

“Finally..” He sighs, leaning against his candy staff.

“Had fun?” Blue snickers, waving his staff to cast a drying spell on the poor thing.

“No. We're—we are wasting precious time. Who knows what Shadow Milk Cookie could be doing to Pure Vanilla?” Wizard groans, brushing down his robes with one hand and adjusting his scarf.

Adopting an exaggerated voice, he proclaims, “Patience, my young apprentice. Time and space are but constructs in this labyrinth of Deceit.”

Wizard sighs, “Just give me the riddle.”

“Now, now, I don't want to make it too easy for you… so why don’t you go get it yourself?” Blue grins, summoning a parchment of paper in one hand and tossing it up in the air. It forms a little paper crane and flies up as the room morphs around them once more.

“Oh, come on! At this point, you’re doing this on purpose!” Wizard screeches as the ground falls around him and he lands on a Witch-sized book. He digs his fingers into the paper and drags himself back to his own feet, still determined even if absolutely pissed off.

Flying to the top of the little floating arena he’s created, Blue snickers at the sight of the young mage, way down at the bottom.

“I thought you wanted to learn how to fly? C’mon, just gotta reach the top.”

“You're—I take everything back. I hate you.” Wizard tugs his hat over his face.

Blue lets out an exaggerated gasp, clutching his chest. “How could you say that to your favorite teacher-slash-tormentor? My heart! Broken!” He lets the paper crane land delicately on his shoulder like a smug parrot.

Wizard deadpans, “Then suffer.”

With a snicker and a wave of his staff, the floating platforms start to move. Hovering tomes, shifting scrolls, and dancing inkwells forming a spiraling climb up to the top, where Blue summons a cloud to sit on.

“If you don't wanna fly, then there is always the other option..” He shrugs.

“You can't be serious. What—what if I fall to my death?!” Wizard sputters.

“Oh ye of little faith. You won't crumble here, you have my word. Besides, if I allow you the use of magic, this would be way too easy.”

“So you're making me climb. Me. A mage. We’re not exactly known for our physical strength—” Despite the complaining, the young mage gets to it anyway, grabbing the edge of a scroll as it floats by and pulling himself up.

“No, but magic does require a lot of mental fortitude, no? It is still a kind of strength. Plus, this will be a good learning experience.”

Ticked off, Wizard screeches unexpectedly, “Fuck your learning experience!”. Blue guffaws—Pure Vanilla is going to kill him if he heard that, but hey, anything to motivate the children.

With spite and anger to fuel him, Wizard moves from platform to platform grumbling, slipping, nearly falling—he catches the edge of another book with one hand and muffles a scream as he slips,

“BLUE—” The young mage lands on a tome and it bounces him back. A scream, and Wizard lands higher up than he was on a soft cloud. It makes a squeaking noise the moment it receives his weight.

“....oh Witches, I thought I was going to die.” A cough, and he leans back against the cloud with a loud groan.

“You're taking this way too seriously, kid.” Blue comments, lounging on top of his own cloud. The paper crane chirps at Wizard from his shoulder.

“Am I not supposed to?!” Wizard grumbles.

“It's good to work hard, but you need to remember to play hard, too.” He advises.

Between the three, Wizard is arguably the most mature. Simply for the reason that the mage has decided to present himself that way, priding in being the ‘responsible one’ out of the trio. He is most eager to learn, the brains to Gingerbrave and Strawberry’s brawn. It is a good trait for a mage, but his over-responsibility is often excessive. Indicative of someone who had to grow up too quickly—a trait he doesn't quite like to see in children.

“Play? We're at war! Well, nearly at war, anyway.” Wizard mumbles, getting up to continue his climb. Before he could, the clouds push him up, depositing him on the top of an inkwell. He clings to the lid and carefully stands, keeping his balance well.

“Psh, details. Besides—when was the last time you actually had fun?”

“I’m having fun hating you.”

“Progress!” Blue claps.

With an exaggerated groan, Wizard leaps to a passing scroll, grabs a ribbon as a vine, and swings himself onto a nearby floating page. It bounces. He nearly falls. Somewhere, a cloud honks like a squeaky toy.

Blue grins. “Good form. Excellent drama. You’re a natural acrobat.”

“I’m a mage, not a circus act!”

“You can be both. Magic is a performance, you know. Just… with more glitter and fewer flaming hoops.”

Wizard mutters something decidedly unmagical and tugs his hat lower—but he’s smiling, just a little. He continues forth and Blue watches silently until the boy finally reaches the top, panting, arms shaking but eyes alight with a stubborn pride.

The paper crane jumps from his shoulder and flies up to Wizard, who reaches for it with a sigh. Inside is his riddle:

“You chase the stars with practiced hand, And speak like one who takes command. But what you seek you left behind— The play, the laugh, the open mind. A magic lost, yet still inside— What do you call the spark you hide?”

Wizard blinks. “…you are doing this on purpose.”

Blue cackles and winks at him, “Maybe.”

After a pause, Wizard sits cross-legged on the floating page they're on, reading the riddle again. The stars above twinkle like knowing eyes.

He thinks aloud, quieter now. “What did I lose…?”

Blue only shrugs, the paper crane flying in slow circles above their heads. “You tell me, kid. You're so serious all the time, studying and working when you have another twenty years to graduate. What have you been neglecting?”

Wizard pauses. His frown drops, before he sighs, almost uncharacteristically bashful, “…childhood. It's—or something related to that. That's why you said work hard and play hard."

And with that word, the entire room glows—soft, golden light spreading from the parchment. The flying books freeze in place, the air stills, and the arena begins to lower.

“Ding ding ding! Good job!”

“Your idea of fun is an obstacle course. You're—I believe that Black Sapphire and Candy Apple are yours now.” Wizard covers his face in his hands, sighing like a world-weary old man even though he is the child between the two of them.

Snorting, Blue ruffles his hair, “What? Surely their obstacle courses weren't that bad.”

“...I don't wanna talk about it. I'm going. Isn't there still some crazy last part we need to do?” Wizard asks.

“Oh, yes. You'll have to see Black Sapphire for that one. Go right ahead through the door.” A snap of his fingers, and a door materialises in front of Wizard.

“...I'll.. admit, that does not get any less cool.” The young mage mutters, twisting the handle of the door knob.

“Doesn't it? Maybe you should invest in a magical sanctuary of your own sometime.” Blue jokes.

“...yeah, that'd be nice. I.. let's just hope we survive the war first.” Wizard jokes back and waves at Blue, entering through the door.

As the door shuts, Blue’s smile drops.

The war—well, if Dark Enchantress Cookie is looking to start one, all he can do is make sure that Deceit will not be part of it. The rest would be up to those who remain.

Knowledge whispers into his ear, a tone almost mournful. With a flick of one wrist, he opens a portal to where Candy Apple should be waiting, ignoring the lingering voice of his heart.

The portal leads to a corridor, and Blue takes his time strolling through it. It has been a while, even if time can be twisted in the Spire, Shadow Milk should be done presenting his argument.

He doesn't know Pure Vanilla well enough to accurately predict how it would go, so he stops his thoughts from straying towards the healer, unwilling to worry too much and trip himself into a pit of guilt for leaving the healer in the clutches of the Beast for so long.

Avoiding one problem, as it often does, invites another. It isn't often that Blue lets himself think about his Beast half, but his thoughts stray there anyway, if only because it is the least painful option.

🌿

“Oh, Berry~ you won't believe who I met today.” Shadow Milk singsongs, walking up to his desk and ripping the book he was working on out of his hands.

Before he knows it, it is tossed into the fireplace and shot at with a Fire spell, burning it to ashes instantly. Setting down his quill, Blue stares down his counterpart with an unimpressed expression.

“Did you really have to do that?” He sighs, failing to keep the irritation at bay.

An arm slings itself around his shoulders, the Beast hugging him from behind. Someone’s in a joyful mood today. He stands, dragging his counterpart with him as the Beast starts talking,

“Oh, you know why I do that. C’mon, don't be such a downer. Aren't you excited? Our little thief’s arrival could be a matter of days!”

Grimacing, Blue makes his way out of his rooms, his annoying fly of an other-half still sticking to him like a stubborn stain on white clothing. Knowing there will be consequences if he doesn't respond, he gives something half-hearted, “Even if he comes here, he’s unlikely to humor you.”

“Oh, I don't doubt that. It would be so, so boring if he's easy.” Shadow Milk cackles, and with a snap of his fingers, Blue walks right into a couch and doubles over, falling face-first onto the soft cushions.

The Beast plops himself next to him and Blue sighs, snapping his own fingers to obtain his earlier objective. A glass of wine materialises in his hands and he takes a sip. Now, it's his counterpart’s turn to look unimpressed, eyeing the alcohol with absolute judgement in his eyes.

Blue raises a brow and takes another sip. It's good stuff, and he'll be damned if he has to listen to Shadow Milk sober.

“So much for frivolous use of our powers.” The clown harrumphs, crossing his arms as if he has any room to judge.

Another snap of his fingers, and Shadow Milk has a duplicate in his hands. Snickering, Blue humours the Beast for once and clinks their glasses together. The look he receives at that is one of rare pleasant surprise, though it is quickly wiped away as his counterpart lays his head on his lap, crossing one leg over the other and twirling the glass of wine in one hand.

“I think you'd like him. Goody-two-shoes type. A Healing class, too. Little saint Pure Vanilla Cookie, former king of the very creatively named Vanilla Kingdom. Not bad looking either.” Shadow Milk sips the wine, his expression oddly contemplative.

Like this, Blue could almost pretend that they were friends. These moments are far and few in between, but it often makes him feel a certain way. Something he can't—won't—describe. For all that Shadow Milk is cruel, he only ever goes far with Blue, the only true match to himself.

They argue more often than not, but there are times that they don't. Ones like these, where they would sit next to each other and talk. In the times where both of them are too exhausted to fight, to squabble endlessly. They sit down, they talk about mundane things like there is nothing between them.

It never lasts long, of course. Sooner or later, one of them would chime in with a sharp comment, and then their little chat would take a sharp turn in tension, ending with jam, screams—usually both. He shakes the inevitable out of his mind, focusing on what Shadow Milk had revealed instead,

“Healing, you say?”

Pure Vanilla Cookie, the Virtue of Truth. If his group parallels their old friend group, the healer would also be the leader. An uncommon, yet oddly befitting title—what is a leader if not the servant of their people? Being a healer, he would fulfill that role even more.

“Yep. Might have to revise all my plans about combat, ugh.” Shadow Milk sighs.

“He could be a combat medic.” Blue points out.

“Against me? He still stands no chance.” With another groan, the Beast tosses his head back to drink more of the wine. It splashes against Blue's robes and he simply rolls his eyes at the dramatics, magicking away the stains.

“Isn't that good, then? Easier to steal his Soul Jam.” Blue chuckles, “...not that you'll be able to use it anyway.” He adds nonchalantly, taking another sip of wine.

Shadow Milk pauses for a moment, his expression neutral. Then, he tosses back the glass of wine and it only does not make a mess on the floor because Blue reaches out to catch it last minute, setting it gently on the floor even as the Beast looms over him.

“....you love making it hard for me to be nice, don't you.” He hisses and snatches Blue’s glass out of his hands, tossing it quickly enough that he can't save it. It shatters on the floor with a loud crash and Blue eyes the wine now staining the floors.

In this angle, it almost looks like red jam.

“You always have a reason to be nice.” Blue counters, maintaining his calm and further infuriating his other half.

“Really. Can't I have one nice conversation with myself?” Shadow Milk inhales, and to his credit, he doesn't immediately turn this to violence.

Really, it's not as if Blue started it. Shadow Milk of all cookies should Know how spiteful they can be, considering the Beast is ridiculously petty himself. Either way, sue him, he had spent nearly a month rewriting that one book by hand. He was on its last page. He has a right to be mad.

“Can't I have one nice day without you fucking up my things?” Blue gives the Beast his sunniest smile.

Shadow Milk, in a very rare display of patience, simply glares at him before deciding to unleash his frustrations by poking at his face. Sighing, he lets it happen—it’s much better than any alternatives, anyway.

“Why, you—Berry, my sweet sweet Berry, I've told you time and time again. I’m saving you from the prison you've created for yourself. Do you want to spend eternity writing?” He stresses the last word, spitting it out as if it is something foul.

“Do you want to spend eternity lying to yourself?” Blue says, and he does not even get to finish his sentence before Shadow Milk’s temper snaps and the couch blows up between them.

He casts a last minute shield, hissing at the fresh burns of an explosion spell. The Beast growls at him, twirling his staff in one hand and pointing it towards him. Echoes of injuries-not-his sting at his senses, giving away that the impulsive magic had hit Shadow Milk as well.

“Now we're talking.” Blue grins with teeth.

Feeling particularly motivated, even if it is because of spite, Blue fights back properly for once. However, he doesn't attack, choosing to annoy Shadow Milk by dodging. It starts a nice, somewhat high stakes game of cat and mouse around the Spire.

He talks as they fight—a little habit of his that he never quite gave up on despite the ensuing consequences. Shadow Milk, being the one with an intact Soul Jam and a passion in his beliefs, is more powerful. As he is right now, Blue doubts he could beat Shadow Milk in a fight.

Although, it's not really a loss—violence was never his style, not when he has spent most of his life around words and finding meaning in them. To him, it is much more satisfying to taunt.

“You can play the fool all you want. Burn the books, lie to everyone, smile like the world is your joke—but I know what you are.” Blue giggles.

It says something about him that he feels so giddy pissing the absolute shit out of someone who is himself, but there is nobody to judge here but the two of them.

“You’re the part of us that couldn’t take it. That ran from the truth and dressed it up in glitter and fire so you wouldn’t have to feel it. You love to pretend nothing from the past matters. I wonder why that is? Oh, yeah, because you’re terrified that it still does.”

Abandoning magic, Shadow Milk runs forward and crashes into Blue. They both tumble down the hall, clawing at each other like animals. It ends as it always does, eventually, when they grow too injured to inflict more pain and come down from the height of their emotions.

Blue laughs, laying on the cold floor of the Spire, his body broken and bleeding, but he still wheezes out the words, “No matter how much you burn, the ash still settles.. and you know the best part? …it still reeks of guilt.”

Shadow Milk doesn’t speak. His eyes gleam too brightly. Something bitter twists in his smile. He thinks that had the clown had any energy left, he would have been strangled for those words.

He sneers at the reflection of himself, who stares blankly into nothing, having exhausted the both of them in yet another pointless fight. “Go ahead. Set this place on fire too. But don’t think for a second that you’re Free.”

🌿

Blue blinks and finds himself sitting.

Candy Apple is holding his hand, looking up at him in concern. She—she looks fine. Much better than the various states of dishevelled Pure Vanilla’s charges had come to him in. The girl has a rare, contemplative expression on her face.

“...you know that, even if I am a servant to Shadow Milk Cookie, to me.. you're just as important as him, right?”

“....”

Chapter Text

Shadow Milk brushes a thumb over his cheek, his gaze never leaving Pure Vanilla.

Eyes downcast, the healer thinks back on everything that was said. Blue, if he was the Fount of Knowledge alongside Shadow Milk, would represent the ashes of Knowledge, left after the flames of Destruction.

Two, instead of one Beast to represent the cookie who is supposed to be Pure Vanilla’s antithesis. Blue—Blueberry Milk, he supposes, and whatever Shadow Milk’s original name was.

Living for as long as he had, Pure Vanilla prides himself in being able to read people well.

“And… I know you want to ask, but don't—don’t ask me who I am. Please.” Blue’s voice echoes in his mind. At the time, the earnest tone had dissuaded Pure Vanilla from pushing, but he did think that the question had been oddly specific.

If the two represent opposite sides of the coin of Knowledge and Deceit—he pauses, trying to sort his thoughts. There is one main difference between the new generation of ‘virtues’ and the now-Beasts, and it is how they were given that role. If what Shadow Milk says is true, they were baked for it. To embody their very Virtues, just as they embody their vices as Beasts.

That would make the current Blue Knowledge to Shadow Milk’s Deceit, the part of the Fount of Knowledge that remains unfallen, but where does Truth fit into all of this? He frowns, pondering the thought.

While Knowledge had not been forthcoming with who he was, he was honest to a fault. None of what Blue had taught the children had been wrong, and while he often sidesteps certain questions or gives vague answers, he has never lied—or at least, Pure Vanilla would like to think that he hasn’t.

In comparison, Deceit has been straightforward. Almost terribly so, he thinks, with how much information Shadow Milk had just dumped on his lap the moment they were alone. It’s certainly a change from his approach at their first encounter, but that was before Pure Vanilla had met Blue.

Blue, whose relationship with Shadow Milk is supposedly bad, were one to look at it from what little the war mage had spoken about his twin. Shadow Milk, on the other hand, centered his argument entirely around his brother, speaking little of himself.

Shadow Milk, who looks forward to the future, of what they now have. Leaving behind his old role, condemning it, even. Perhaps the Beast sees Blue as a reminder of the past, a physical manifestation of his own regrets, the part of him who still clings to the past, trying to find meaning in what was lost.

He can hardly fault another cookie for wanting to be more than they were made for—not one cookie is supposed to be made for a purpose, after all. It is more important to live happily instead of wasting one’s life chasing some greater purpose.

"You see it now, don’t you?" His voice is quieter now—low, almost soothing. “What good did all that Knowledge do? We remembered everything. Preserved everything. And still, it wasn’t enough—it was never enough. Not enough to stop the Fall. Or the war. Or the Witches.”

Pure Vanilla doesn’t answer.

“We wrote their histories. Guarded the archives. Preached truth and wisdom like it was holy. And still…” The Beast gestures around the warped memory, scorched and full of ash. “What did we get in return?”

He swallows hard, throat tight. “We got hope. We helped them remember who they were.”

Shadow Milk laughs—cold and bitter, “Hope?”

The Beast takes one step forward, and Pure Vanilla one step back. The world changes again and this time, they stand in a balcony in what appears to be the very stop of the Spire. He gasps at the sight of the bright stars splattered across the sky, the moon bright and full. There is a cookie sitting on the railings of the balcony, dangerously close to the edge.

His hand is gently tugged forward and Shadow Milk gestures at the cookie–Blue–who sits on the railings with one leg tucked against his chest, dangerously balancing on the edge of the structure. His single golden eye is distant, clouded–stuck elsewhere, unable to see the beautiful sight above them.

“Does he look hopeful to you?” He tells Pure Vanilla, a rhetorical question, sneered out like he can’t quite believe he had to say it.

“You’re hurting,” He simply replies, holding the hand in his gently, rubbing circles on Shadow Milk’s palm.

He thinks of the many, many scars on Blue–obviously torture scars, and Pure Vanilla had thought about what kind of cookie would be able to capture a mage of Blue’s caliber long enough to leave such marks. He had even considered the possibility of self-harm, considering war mages aren’t exactly known for their self-preservation instincts and his friend had an obvious history of trauma.

Another answer had passed through his mind, but knowing of the family relation, he had refused to even consider it, wanting to hold onto hope that he was wrong.

Blue is hurt, yes, but so is his brother.

“Is that your Truth? How.. nice. Care to share how you came to that conclusion with the rest of the class?”

‘Your’ Truth, Shadow Milk had said. It is–true, in a way. There are many Truths, and he is only privy to his own, unless others decide to share their Truth with him. But, still, the situation bugs him terribly–the scars, especially. If he were to help either side of the former Fount of Knowledge, he would need to gather all the pieces first.

“I can practically hear your questions. Done thinking?” Shadow Milk pokes him.

He hesitates.

“Let’s see.. hm. You think I hurt Berry, right? You wanna know why?” The Beast smiles.

“....” Pure Vanilla stills.

For someone who knows he is being accused of torturing his own brother, Shadow Milk remains remarkably calm, giving nothing away from expression alone—not even the slight fury that had flared the first time this topic was brought to the table.

“Go on, then. Do your healer thing and find the answer for yourself.” He releases their hands before taking one glove off, then offering it to Pure Vanilla. Unlike Blue’s scarred hands, Shadow Milk’s hand is clean, nearly unblemished if not for the calluses that are noticeable even from this angle.

Taking that as permission and to sate his own curiosity, Pure Vanilla reaches out with his Light and a familiar torrent of fear washes over him, a feeling not his own but felt all the same—the burning feeling of water in his mouth, his throat, his lungs—pain-not-his-yet—dull, aching, constantly present—breathing yet choking on the air as if his lungs can’t process that it isn’t water he’s breathing in.

It takes all of Pure Vanilla’s self-discipline to not pull away like he was burned at the moment of contact. Shadow Milk giggles at his reaction and tugs his hands away first, slipping the glove back on smoothly, “I don’t know what he’s told you about little old me, but you should know that dear Berry hurts himself more than I ever will.”

“You—but–your connection.” His breath hitches.

“It wasn’t the issue of family, remember? He and I share more than you think. Did you think it was completely one-sided on his part?” The Beast tilts his head, a wide smile on his face.

“He loves penance, as you said. He punishes both of us for decisions we made collectively, always stuck on what was lost. Living in the past when we could be looking to the future.” He opens his arms wide, and the world morphs around them; the present, the many new kingdoms and cookies that didn’t exist in the time of the Fount of Knowledge.

“And why is that, do you ever wonder? It’s the same reason you reek of guilt, nilly.” A snap of fingers, and they stand in the ruined throne room of the Vanilla Kingdom. Chairs upside down, banners torn from walls half-collapsed, the scent of death and jam lingering even to the present day.

“You couldn’t save them all. He couldn’t save them all.” A battlefield, crumbling bodies stacked on top of crumbling bodies.

“Despite all your power, all his power. Your need to be the better cookie, that saint everyone looks up to.” A crowd of people, led by one cookie at their helm. One moment, it is the Fount of Knowledge–the next, it is Pure Vanilla himself, freshly crowned king of his own kingdom.

A moment, and they stand amidst the crowd, who pulls and pushes at Pure Vanilla and asks and tells him—

“Oh, Virtue. Why didn't you save us?”

“I lost my home because of you.”

“You promised to protect us.”

“Aren't you supposed to be a hero?”

“We believed in you.”

“You dare call yourself a hero?”

The whispers grow in volume and he shrinks into himself, trying to shut out the ever-growing cacophony of questions. One voice is loudest among them and it is Shadow Milk who pulls him out of that crowd, floating above the rest of the cookies,

“Even now, you’re shackled to it. What kind of life is that? Is this how you choose to live out the rest of your life? At the feet of the people? For the good of the cookie world?” He mocks.

“We’ve done that. Every single thing you're doing, every path you've taken, it leads to one thing. You can insist on continuing along this forsaken path, but in the end, you'll become him.” Shadow Milk grabs him by the chin and forces him to look ahead, and it is another memory of Blue.

Blue, who sits with a blade in his hand and drags it across his dough as he chants verses upon verses of remembrances. Penance, even though he is but one cookie who couldn't have done anything else—guilty for being alive, for surviving when nobody did.

Pure Vanilla sinks onto his knees. Guilt, it always comes down to that. That aching feeling of not being good enough, never being enough, giving and giving without getting anything in return, smiling along through it all because cookies rely on him to do exactly that.

His friend is muttering, sole working eye blank, staring at his own bleeding arm. Shadow Milk steps to his brother’s side, “Does it make a difference?” He recites the question like an actor saying a line, something rehearsed.

“...the guilt overwhelms me less, like this.” Blue responds, his voice quiet, not even looking at his twin as he answers.

“We’re already in enough pain as it is, and you think we deserve more?”

“...I’m sorry.”

“I don't want your sorry—!”

Shadow Milk sneers and with a snap of his fingers, the visage of Blue vanishes. He stands there for a moment, fists clenched, emotions curled in a tight ball of something that feels like fury. He hurls back, “You’re right about the hurting. We all are. But you and him are the only ones still pretending it’s worth something.”

The Beast crouches, placing a hand against Pure Vanilla’s cheek. His gloved palm is cold.

“Let me tell you something I learned after the Fall,” he whispers. “Knowledge? Truth? It’s a burden. A cage made to keep you obedient. But Deceit…” His smile is razor-thin. “Deceit is mercy. It lets them believe what they want. And you—you don't have to bear their brokenness anymore.”

Pure Vanilla flinches, the hand on his cheek burning with memory and doubt.

“You lie, and they smile,” Shadow Milk murmurs. “You lie, and they sleep peacefully. You lie, and you don't have to carry every piece of them anymore.”

The light around Pure Vanilla dims, his heart stumbling beneath the weight of it. For the first time, Truth falters and Deceit does not smile at it. The question is a whisper, crooned against his ear, “Isn’t that kinder than the Truth?”

“...the scars… you.. you don't have any.” He says weakly.

Shadow Milk snorts, “Really? After what I just showed you? Berry is the only one with a physical form between the two of us, silly.” The Beast holds an arm out and flicks his wrist, a knife materialising in one hand. He grabs Shadow Milk’s wrist but not quickly enough to prevent the knife from grazing dough.

It does not leave a mark.

“.....” Pure Vanilla’s eyes widen.

“This is my Truth. Will it prevail over yours?” A smile, and the knife—the same one that the visage of Blue had—is tossed upwards, vanishing into nothing.

“...I..” He doesn't know what to think anymore.

“Unless you want to repeat history, and become another martyr for the greater good.” Shadow Milk sneers.

The scene warps, and they now kneel on a softer surface. There’s a gentle hand at the back of his neck, fingers almost curling into his robes. It doesn't feel threatening, so Pure Vanilla leaves it be, his thoughts still swirling around in his head, leaving him aching with the pressure.

“No answer? Heh. I'll be nice and give you some time.” A gentle pat on his back, and Shadow Milk pulls away from the bed they’re sitting on, sweeping his legs over the edge of the mattress and standing up.

Another look, and a smile that feels almost sinister. In spite of the earlier revelation, Shadow Milk does not have the bearing of someone who is actively in pain. It could have been a lie, but some part of Pure Vanilla says that it isn't.

Blue is in constant pain, but similarly, he never lets it show, every movement carefully choreographed. It wouldn’t be too far-fetched of an assumption that Shadow Milk could do the same.

“Oh, and don't worry your pretty little head about dear Berry. He's fine. The kids probably broke him out hours ago.” Shadow Milk rolls his eyes, though it doesn't sound much reassuring to Pure Vanilla.

The question remains now on who to believe between the two brothers. At this, Truth is silent, urging him to make his own conclusions with the presented facts. The two brothers, so similar yet contrasting in demeanor.

“Killing Shadow Milk Cookie, of course.”

“Remembering means I won't be free.”

“Nobody.”

“Does he look hopeful to you?”

“I'm gonna check in on the kiddos.”

A rift in space opens next to Shadow Milk—the same portal Blue had used to send Candy Apple home. He snaps from his reverie but gets no word in before the Beast vanishes through the portal, leaving him alone in the room.

“...” Pure Vanilla grips his staff, his hands feeling clammy.

It’s—he has to sort out his priorities. Shadow Milk clearly wants him, Blue, or both of them to believe that he’s in the right for going down the path of Deceit. Blue, on the other hand, wants his brother dead. He hadn't elaborated much on the reason, but nobody wants their sibling dead for no reason.

He needs to talk to Blue, to get his side of the story before he makes any conclusions about Shadow Milk’s.

His Soul Jam flickers, light blue dimming. He swallows, throat feeling dry at everything he’s just witnessed. It isn't—it isn't as if he had believed most of it, cautious of Shadow Milk’s Deceit aspect.

But, it would be a lie to say that he couldn't understand.

Pure Vanilla lays back on the bed, staring up at the canopy and taking a deep, shuddering breath. He should—do something. He was here for a reason, and that is to stop Dark Enchantress Cookie. Save the world, for the good of the cookiekind—something he had failed to do that all those years ago.

Penance.

The image of Blue flashes by, scars covering his arms, choked sobs and the burning feeling of water in his lungs. Guilt, so much guilt—so much pain, and what was it all for?

Stuck in the role given to him, bending over backwards to accommodate other cookies, a smile on his face, a gentle touch, trying to believe in hope and the Light. Sharing that hope, extending a hand towards the helpless and the lost.

Being scorned for his failures. Demands stacked on top of duty and responsibility, shackling and nearly choking him with its weight. Running away from it all, wanting to get away because he no longer feels worthy of what was given to him.

Returning anyway, back to his ruined kingdom, forcing himself to face his old friends and own up to his own mistakes. Finding new hope in the new generation, in the bright-eyed determination of Gingerbrave and his friends.

It isn't—there are many cookies, good and bad, and it would be unfair to say that they are all not worth fighting for.

Pure Vanilla exhales again. Slowly, carefully, settling down his body and mind. His Soul Jam flickers and he takes it off for a moment, brushing his fingers against the smooth surface of the gem.

“....” There is hope yet, and while it isn't the easiest role to uphold—being the one to hold onto hope when all is lost—it is one that he has held willingly.

It is not a shackle—it shouldn't be.

Though, that is not the answer the Fount of Knowledge wants to hear. Shadow Milk is dangerously volatile, and they stand in the lair of the Beast. He knows not of the children’s condition, but they are strong for their age.

“Shadow Milk likes to play with his food.” Blue said, and from this encounter alone, Pure Vanilla knows it to be true.

The Beast might be more receptive if he is to play along with his game.

Pure Vanilla sighs, sitting up. He places his Soul Jam on the bedside table and stares at it for a moment. A decision must be made, and while he isn’t sure if it is the right one, he does know that playing along will make Shadow Milk less of a threat—if nothing else.

“....” It makes him feel a little guilty, but this bit of Deceit will go a long way for the safety of all his friends.

He just has to make sure that nobody finds out, and play his part with enough confidence to fool even himself.

Chapter Text

There was a time when feeling hope was as easy as breathing.

It grows heavier as time drags on, the damage in his lungs mirroring flickering hope, where breathing gets harder as living does. Every breath stolen from him, choked and wheezed; every time he would sit in silence and feel absolutely nothing.

For a moment, he thought it would be how he finally fell. Giving up hope for the temptation of ignorance, to finally stop feeling and give his mangled heart a break. Maybe it would have happened, if it weren't for poison-laced determination and sweet candy apples.

Black Sapphire was a quiet baby and a quieter child. Thoughtful, careful with his words, tactful because he grew up with a sad excuse of a parent who breaks down every other day. Cursed with the memory of Knowledge, Blue remembers every moment like it was yesterday.

Soft curly hair, big eyes and little hands, a small smile and a face that looks up to him like he is its entire world. To a child, freshly baked, it isn't wrong, per se—though never having a parent of his own prevents him from relating to the feeling.

Father, the child calls him.

Father, the young adult still does, in that same reverent tone, with a hint of exasperation that comes from the weariness of getting older. Black Sapphire, for all that he had left Blue’s care to serve a Beast, did not do it to spite him like he had initially thought.

A direct opposite from her brother, Candy Apple does not call him father. She did once and it didn't—it had triggered a bad reaction in him, and she never said the word again. The girl was more communally raised by the three older cookies in their little fucked up family, with Blue arguably giving the least contribution.

It is—something of a regret. Thinking about it fills him with shame, because for all that Blue tries to not be her parent, she will still see him as one. Being the more approachable and meeker of the two adult figures Candy Apple has, it’s a given that she would seek Blue out more than the rest of them.

He had spent a lot of her early childhood leaving her in the care of Black Sapphire. Being back in the Spire hadn't been good for him, the memories associated with the place proving too much to handle. Shadow Milk had been shameless in taking advantage of it, pushing and prodding, trying to see if he'll break from the pressure.

He still tries to spend time with her. Little Candy Apple Cookie, with Candy Cream’s face but Shadow Milk’s personality. A playful, mischievous child, with a temperament much wilder than Black Sapphire. It never gets easier to look at her and he knows she deserves so much better—yet they are all that she has and all she has ever known.

It would be cruel to forsake her just because of his own apprehension, so he didn't. Although, he never grew as close to her as he did Black Sapphire. Even Shadow Milk had kept her at a distance, the resemblance to their old apprentice too much even for the Beast.

She, despite her caretakers’ misgivings, had grown up to be a happy child anyway, but not entirely without her issues. With her, it is always approval that she craves. Be it Black Sapphire’s, Shadow Milk’s, Blue’s—she wants them to acknowledge her.

It is evident in the look in her eyes and the way she stands before him now, shoulders slumped and a dejected expression on her face.

Oh, child. I really have failed you; he thinks to himself, berating his own silence.

Some good parent you are. The bitter thought slips past and his mind blanks, not entirely focused just yet. Even if he was fully present in the moment, he doesn't think he has any answer that would be appropriate to that particular statement.

“...I.. sorry, sweetling, I need a moment.” Like the coward he is, Blue dodges the question, his hand slack in Candy Apple’s gentle hold.

She bows her head and while she doesn’t let it show on her face, he could practically taste the disappointment.

“...okay. I'll wait with Black Sapphire.” Candy Apple lets go of his hand.

“I'll be right with you.” Blue offers a smile, but it goes unseen, his dau—Candy Apple turning around to face the door and placing her hand on the doorknob,

“...okay. Don't take too long.” She says and leaves, not letting him see what kind of expression she has on her face.

He is left alone with the silence, screaming louder than his own guilt.

🌿

Freedom.

What a quaint word; the right to act, speak, or think as one wants. Or, alternatively, the state of being uncaged; unbound. A privilege many are born with yet take for granted. To be Free, to live as one desires, without the burden of responsibility and guilt—he wonders what kind of life would that be for him.

As a Virtue, he has been bound by the role from the moment he took his first breath. He is Knowledge, embodied in the fragile form of a single cookie. It is all he Knew, and for a moment, he had been content with it. Resigned to an existence where the most important thing about him is the role he was assigned.

Even now, it might still be the case, because he finds himself slipping into that role easily among other cookies. Knowledge; teacher, guide—always eager to share, to learn.

Shadow Milk had thrown away that same role the moment he came into being, embodying the part of them that hated.

For all that the Witches made them more than the average cookie, no Virtue was insusceptible to resentment. At the common cookies, for treating them as nothing but their role. At the role itself, for being something of a gilded cage, because no matter how much enjoyment they had found in Knowledge—it does not always go appreciated.

Knowledge. What was the point of that, Shadow Milk often says. Preaching Truth, preserving every single piece of discovery, new and old. There is no meaning in fighting for things that only he cares about, no use in insisting on bitter Truths when so many would pass it over in favor of sweet Deceit—sweet ignorance.

There is a point to what the Beast says, even far-fetched as it is. To give up on Knowledge, on their role, in favor of living the way they want—it is a kind of Freedom.

“Deceit is mercy upon ourselves.” His own voice whispers, a hand curling around his own, pulling him close. The rare moments where Shadow Milk is not overcome with hate the moment they lock eyes.

Blue is never fully convinced of his dogma, always slipping back to old habits. Writing, rewriting, teaching. It is easy, because it is familiar. It is all he ever knew, once upon a time. After the destruction of nearly all of the Spire’s archives, he had taken to trying to revive it; one book at a time. It is a tall task, all but impossible—he could spend the rest of his miserable existence writing, and it may still not be enough.

He does anyway, scribbling words onto pages, because it keeps him occupied and because this way, he has an outlet for Knowledge. They're all often destroyed, Shadow Milk hating every reminder, despising how he still tries so uselessly.

Somewhere along the way, his own motivation degrades into something uglier. His willingness to write slowly morphed into a compulsion, and he found himself writing more often than not. Before Black Sapphire and Candy Apple, days in the Spire stretched for a long time.

Neither he nor Shadow Milk ever had to sit still for long. As the Fount, there was always a problem to solve. As the Beast of Deceit, unleashed upon the world, there was no shortage of mischief to get to. As Blue, a nobody among the faeries, seeking out a task was as easy as talking to another cookie.

In imprisonment, they only had each other. It was a strange experience, to be alone-yet-not with another who embodies the parts of yourself you hate most. Shadow Milk, upset at the way they were once again trapped, had taken it out on him.

It would be a lie to say that Blue did not do the same, because he hated Shadow Milk as the Beast hated him. Two halves of a whole, in constant clash among each other because they couldn't decide which one of them was right. To wish for more, or to settle for less; to be trapped in the boundaries of a role assigned to them, or to set themselves free to be something beyond that role.

Blue often wonders if it was ever possible to both be Free and keep their role. It was a burden, yes, but that weight had never been a problem before. Or, at least, if it had been, he was good at convincing himself that it wasn't.

Shadow Milk thinks it impossible, he knows. Between the two of them, they had shared one common goal and it was meaning; born from a shared wish that everything they had done was not for naught.

Deep down, Blue knows it wasn't all for nothing. There is meaning to be found, hidden in the crevices of this new life they lead. It is in purple-poison and sweet candy apples. It is in three pairs of bright eyes. Proof that Knowledge still lives, still appreciated, beyond his own life.

Having separated from Pure Vanilla’s young charges after setting them on a quest to climb to the top of the Spire, Blue is finally left with young cookies that are entirely his own. Both who are insisting on holding his hands like they are still children, even though Black Sapphire is well into his mid-twenties and Candy Apple had just reached the age of majority.

It is rare for them to be so affectionate, and he Knows the reason why in the way Black Sapphire curls their fingers together tightly and how Candy Apple often glances at him from time to time, as if checking that he is still with them.

What cute, sweet little things. They haven't been this clingy since they were small enough for him to hold, he hums the observation.

“Master Shadow Milk Cookie doesn't know, does he?” Candy Apple asks, and her brother flinches.

All Shadow Milk knows is that Blue plans to assist Pure Vanilla in defeating him. All Pure Vanilla knows is that Blue plans to kill Shadow Milk, somehow. It is straightforward, honest Knowledge, and technically speaking, both of them know what is going to happen.

They just don't know how exactly his involvement in it will play out. Black Sapphire and Candy Apple know that he plans to die at the peak of their little show tonight, but even they don't know how.

Blue just smiles at her, and it gets nothing but a frown in return, “No.” He shrugs out a reply.

Her response comes out stilted, lacking confidence, reminiscent to the way she had asked, once upon a time—in that square and in the restlessness of Blue’s sleep,

“Why does Shadow Milk Cookie hate me?”

“...you want to kill yourself and him. I... don't understand why.” Candy Apple’s lips wobble.

Silence, again. It must feel heavy for them, but Blue cannot quite bring himself to be the one to clear the air. Not when he can't promise them anything.

“How are you planning to do it.” Black Sapphire finally asks, suddenly high strung. No doubt his sister asking that question had made it too real for him.

“...you think I'll tell you?” Blue raises a brow.

“How. The Spire won't let you kill yourself. Killing master is all but impossible with the Spire favouring him. You're—no, someone has to be the murder weapon and it isn't you… is it.” His older child snaps, squeezing his hand so tightly that it almost hurts.

“No, it isn't.” The answer comes stumbling out of his lips and Blue swallows, memories of being cornered the same way flashing in his mind.

It was how Black Sapphire had found out about his plan in the first place. In a rare moment of weakness, fresh after another one of their little bouts that Blue had lost before losing himself in a mirage of memories and pain. Black Sapphire had been there, and he had unassumingly taken full advantage of his winded state.

“Why is Shadow Milk so cruel to you?”

“Because I am him. There is nobody we hate more than ourselves.”

“But hurting you means hurting himself, I never understood that.”

“Be grateful that you will never come to hate yourself to the point that we do, my little gem.”

“You're not cruel to him.”

“You think I'm not? We are one, and I can be as cruel as he is.”

“I don’t see that. You—master always seems to want you dead. He tries to kill you every other day—you don't do that.”

“Haha, he does, doesn't he? But that's where you are mistaken. I do that. I am going to do that.”

“You're—you can't kill master Shadow Milk Cookie… can you?”

“No, not directly.”

“Do you want to?”

“Yes.”

“Why?

“...I grow weary of our games, little gem.”

“But killing him means killing yourself.”

“Yes, it does.”

“Is that your plan to stop all this? Killing yourself?”

“I—yes.”

Now, Black Sapphire does the same thing, but the concern in his voice has morphed into anger. His magical signature fluctuates wildly, almost amplifying his emotions. Blue tries to send a wave of calm, but he winces as it is swatted away with vengeance.

“Who is it. Who are you going to use as a murder weapon?” He growls and Blue bites his tongue before he could answer.

“Father. Answer me.”

The answer is bitten back with ferocity Blue didn't know he still had. Tasting jam, he swallows the words and rips himself away from the children, putting a hand over his mouth and tensing.

“Stop. You know I don't like it when you blatantly exploit—” Blue hisses, a hint of red slipping past his lips.

“Well, you know that neither of us like that you want to die so badly—” Black Sapphire’s voice rises in pitch and Candy Apple flinches, then they both stop, biting back words and hurt feelings for her sake.

His son releases his hand, running fingers through his purple-black hair and taking a deep, shuddering breath. His shoulders shake, in anger or grief or something else entirely—Blue isn't sure.

“I—fuck, sorry, sis.” Black Sapphire murmurs, his voice raw.

Candy Apple clings to Blue’s arm, hugging his side tightly, as if out of the two of them, her brother is the one to fear. He tugs her closer with his now free hand, gently ruffling her hair. Like her brother, she shamelessly moves closer, now hugging his front and burying her face in his chest.

“I hate this.” A soft voice, an almost pathetic sniffle. It’s an admission of weakness that is surprising to see, considering Candy Apple hides behind her mask of playfulness almost as often as Shadow Milk does.

“....” This time, he can't quite bring himself to hug her back.

The space between them shifts and a portal rips itself open next to him. Blue tenses, stepping in front of Candy Apple to greet their new arrival.

Shadow Milk steps out with swagger, brightening at the sight of the three of them. Ever the actor, Black Sapphire schools his expression, bowing with a flourish to his master. The gesture is waved off by the clown, who beelines for Blue and coos,

“Aw! Would you look at that? A little family reunion and you didn't think to invite me, Berry?” He beams and Candy Apple tucks herself behind Blue, hands still curling into his robes.

“Done with playing with your new toy?” Blue asks impassively.

“Oh, no, not yet. But it was quite fun, I must say, silly vanilly had a lot of thoughts in his head, y’know!” The Beast puts an arm on his shoulder and leans his head against Blue, who rolls his eyes.

Black Sapphire tugs at Candy Apple from behind him and she reluctantly releases her hold on his robes, following her brother to stand off to the side.

“That's typically how it is for most people.” Blue sasses.

“Oh, but none as funny as some of the little ideas he had, my dear brother.” Shadow Milk wraps an arm around his shoulders and practically croons the word into his ear.

“....” Right. That was a thing he had told Pure Vanilla.

Really, it isn't as if it'd do any harm to admit that he and Shadow Milk are the same cookie, but he finds himself unwilling—for the sole reason that it would make Truth see him in a different light. It's an awfully foolish, spontaneously made decision now that he thinks about it.

It isn't as if he is going to keep pretending to be a good cookie in front of the healer. When his plans are revealed, crushing disappointment is inevitable. It would be cruel, unfair to Pure Vanilla, but it isn't as if Blue hasn't been frank about what he is going to do from the very beginning.

“Black Sapphire, status update on the little gnats?” Shadow Milk continues.

Dutiful as always, Black Sapphire reports, adopting the usual dramatic theatrics Shadow Milk often insists on, “The brats are contained, my master. As per your orders, we’ve sent them on a fetch quest to retrieve Pure Vanilla Cookie.”

The young man continues, weaving a tale that is the version specifically tailored to please Shadow Milk. The Beast still clings to him in a mirror of how their children did, but it is decidedly much more uncomfortable to Blue. Surprisingly enough, his Beast half does not comment on anything related to Blue.

At the end of the report, Shadow Milk waves the two children away, “Go prepare for the next game. I need a moment with Berry.” for once, both Black Sapphire and Candy Apple pause, clearly hesitant on leaving him alone when Shadow Milk is none the wiser to Blue’s plans.

“What? Skedaddle, children. I’m not going to—” The Beast coughs, cutting himself off. Blue rolls his eyes and speaks for him,

“It's just going to be a talk, yes?”

“No.” Shadow Milk glares at him.

“Right.”

The children trade looks before bowing in unison, seemingly convinced. At this, the Beast’s expression only sours further. Blue sighs and waves his hand, opening a portal to wherever it is they need to go.

Shadow Milk’s magic curls around him, taking control of the portal and giving it an actual destination, “Alright now, go and wait for me there. I won't be long.” He shoos the children and raises a brow when all they do is solemnly nod and walk through the portal somewhat dejectedly.

“...what in the oven is up with those two?” The Beast furrows his brows when the portal finally shuts.

“Both of us are in active opposition for the first time in centuries and you expect them to not be conflicted?” Blue crosses his arms and the Spire morphs around them, moving them to their shared quarters.

“We're always opposing each other. What difference does this time make?” Shadow Milk grumbles and drags him to the bed, sprawling down lazily.

“Truth being here, I guess?” He shrugs, laying down next to Shadow Milk. It's not his favourite place to be, but he might as well humor the clown before the peak of the show tonight.

“Heh. They haven't even met him yet. Y’know, he's awfully gullible for being the Virtue of Truth. Such a soft, soft heart! Reminds me of a certain someone.” The nudge at his side is so unsubtle that he doesn't even grace it with a response.

“I'm you, idiot. If I'm soft, so are you.” Blue deadpans.

“Oh, but silly-vanilly is so, so much more soft. …and kinda cute, not gonna lie. I get why you wanna help him. He has that adorably helpless look to him.”

Blue makes a face.

“What? I'm you, whatever I think is what you think.” Shadow Milk sasses back.

“Bullshit.”

“That was literally your argument, you hypocrite. Besides, we both know neither of us really think of us as one cookie anymore, hmm?~” The Beast spins around, grabbing one wrist and looming over Blue.

“Get to the damn point.” Blue glares. He doesn't break out of the hold—he hates to admit it, but that would take too much precious energy he is currently lacking.

“Yes, yes, so! You know, as we are, our existence isn't really stable.” Shadow Milk reaches down, pushing his robes aside and placing a hand on Blue’s Soul Jam.

He tenses and the grip on his wrist tightens. The blue of Deceit gleams above him, magic reaching out for its missing half. As they are, both he and Shadow Milk only have a quarter of their original Soul Jam. It is, technically, not a natural existence—an affront to magic, almost. Were he and Shadow Milk any normal cookie, they would have lost their minds long ago from the sheer pain of existing in parts.

Being split in two the way they are now is costly, and as Shadow Milk said, invites instability. Weakness. It's why Shadow Milk's plan is to unite their old Soul Jam, and the only way to do that is to drag both Blue and Pure Vanilla down with him.

“I doubt you've noticed, but it’s getting worse.” He hisses and leans down, pressing their Soul Jams together and Blue’s breath hitches as briefly, he is Shadow Milk and Shadow Milk is him—something digs into his thoughts and he chokes, ripping them apart and throwing himself off the bed.

He stumbles onto the floor, falling painfully, dislocating one shoulder. Blue forces himself up anyway, fight-or-flight instincts going haywire as he calls up his staff and points it at his counterpart.

“...you're hiding something.” Shadow Milk stares up at him in familiar anger, waves of furious magic rolling off of him.

Blue takes deep breaths, trying to not hyperventilate. That was close—too close. He had been too lax on putting boundaries between him and the Beast. He clutches his shoulder and forces it back into place with a wince—it just had to be his dominant arm.

“What is it. Tell me. You know all my plans, it's only fair.” The Beast snarls.

He has to run.

Shadow Milk seems to realise this and his magic winds itself around the Spire, commanding it to stand down—Blue rips the control from him, reminding the Spire who exactly was its original master.

The Spire swirls around them, the space wavering, conflicted between which master to obey. But faced with force, especially from him, it chooses to follow his orders, opening a portal elsewhere. He doesn't know where it leads—doesn’t really care as long as it brings him out and away from Shadow Milk.

“Blueberry—!” The Beast screams after him and the portal shuts.

Hide me. He commands. The Spire obeys.

Chapter Text

Shadow Milk returns in silence, entering through the door instead of a portal. His steps are quiet, the only thing giving away that someone had entered was the sound of the door clicking shut.

Pure Vanilla sits on one side of the bed, his Soul Jam set to the side. He steels himself at the sight of the Beast, who looks oddly solemn as he stops right in front of him. The room’s lights brighten for a moment, shining down on the Spire’s master.

He meets Deceit’s gaze easily, matching the forlorn expression. The Light of Truth dims, ringing like bells in the back of his mind, trying to tell him something. He ignores it for now, turning himself away from Truth and forcing its light to dim.

This needs to be convincing. He needs to be convincing.

“...how are you?” Shadow Milk asks, and it stands out to Pure Vanilla how calm he is suddenly. His magical presence gives nothing away, tightly coiled to himself.

“...I’m.. fine, I suppose. I think I know my answer.” He answers tentatively, watching the other for anything else that’s strange. He thought Shadow Milk would have sauntered back in high spirits and told him all about what the children were up to.

There's an odd gaze to Shadow Milk that isn't there before, something calculating, like he is trying to assess Pure Vanilla’s next move.

The Beast sits down on his left, raising a brow, “Oh? Care to elaborate?”

“I thought.. I could be what they needed. I’ve lived my entire life trying to be what other people need me to be.” Pure Vanilla starts, turning towards his counterpart. He keeps his own gaze hazy, staring into the distance instead of into Deceit’s eyes.

The two-toned blue blink slowly at him, arms crossed and waiting. There's no smile on his face, and he supposes it should be appropriate considering they aren't exactly talking about light-hearted things.

“I've experienced similar.. disappointment, towards my own people. Even now, after this second chance, I don't—the cookies I fought for are long since gone. Their descendants have built a new country, leaving the Vanilla Kingdom behind.”

The Creme Republic, a union between the remnants of his people and cookies of the sea. Prosperous, thriving, far away from the desolate lands that once housed his and his friends’ kingdoms. He remembers hearing of them, of seeing Clotted Cream Cookie step out of an airship.

One of the first clearly Vanilian-born cookie he has met since his days as Healer Cookie. The relief he felt that anyone had survived at all was one he would never forget, and yet, his guilt over failing them in the first place outshined his gratitude by a large margin.

He wonders how Blue would feel, had some of his people survived the massacre. Pure Vanilla was never pushed so far that he would destroy everything he built with his own two hands, but the guilt of being personally responsible—it is no wonder the war mage hardly values his own life.

“I'm happy for them, but it makes me wonder.. if I was ever needed in the first place. As their leader, their Virtue.. their servant. I thought that.. if I could hold onto hope, be that beacon of Light everyone needed—” Pure Vanilla cuts himself off, keeping his voice quiet, sincere—the best lies always contain a grain of Truth, and he must spin his narrative as convincingly as possible.

“It's—you’re right. It is tiring.. to hope so much, to be patiently, endlessly kind to those who would not return the gesture. It is draining.” He chuckles lowly, staring at his Soul Jam. It's still set aside on the bedside table, the usual glow of blue faint.

“I'm.. I understand what you mean now. I.. want to be Free. I don't want to end up like—Blue, destroying myself for the sake of penance for things out of my control.” His voice trails off and his heart skips a beat as Shadow Milk stills, putting an arm over one shoulder, looking oddly self-conscious.

There's a strange silence between them for a split second, the Beast staring off somewhere, eyes distant. It's broken quickly, a wide smile gracing Shadow Milk’s face as he laughs, “Isn't it? Stupid of him, right? I know you’d see my point, nilly.”

His shoulders slump and Pure Vanilla fails to suppress the urge to ask, “...is everything alright?”

“Peachy.” The smile twitches.

“...you seem.. disappointed.” He notes.

Shadow Milk’s eyes light up in amusement, “Oh, no, I’m glad you agree. It's good for you. I simply never thought it'd be so easy.” He laughs, running a hand through his hair.

Pure Vanilla grips his staff, angling the flower towards his counterpart. It provides a clearer image of the Beast, though strangely enough, there’s a slight, subtle tremor that wasn't there before. Perhaps a flare-up of chronic pain—he frowns.

“No matter! Anyway, you should get some rest. We've got a lot to do on the agenda.” Shadow Milk rises to his feet.

“...of course.” He simply nods, keeping his expression as blank as possible. Even if the Beast is injured, he doubts the other cookie would accept any form of assistance.

The response comes out softer than expected, “...yeah.” Shadow Milk murmurs, tugging at the curtains around the bed. With one last glance at Pure Vanilla that lingers strangely, he leaves without another word.

“....” The curtains are thick enough that he can't quite see what the Beast does next, but soft footsteps and the sound of the door clicking suggests he left the room immediately.

How peculiar.

Pure Vanilla lays back against the soft mattress, staring up at the ceiling. That conversation had gone well, but the Beast’s reaction was far from what he had expected.

Either way, that is one down and three left to go—he grimaces. While he doesn't like it, putting up a good act means everyone must believe in it. Including his three young friends. Perhaps that was part of Shadow Milk’s plan—to push him over the edge and have his friends follow in his footsteps.

He sighs, putting a forearm over his eyes and setting his staff aside. There should still be time before the next part of their little game, so he might as well rest when he can.

Although, not knowing the condition of his friends is rather—no, he shakes his head. Needless concern is something he must abandon for now. It hurts to do, like carving his own heart out because he’s always cared a little too much—but, he sets the feeling aside anyway, sinking himself deep into the small bit of resentment he has in his heart.

Pure Vanilla inhales deeply, and when he exhales, his heart is as empty as can be.

Staring back at him from the polished ceiling is no longer Pure Vanilla the Hero, Savior of Earthbread, Virtue of Truth—but the Truthless Recluse, a silent observer; one who has given up on everything he once believed in.

🌿

Despair tastes both familiar and bittersweet on his tongue.

Urged and watched by the keen eye of the Spire of Deceit, he is told to put on a show the moment his young friends make their way to him. Shadow Milk did not return after their earlier encounter, but he supposes the Spire’s word should be as good as its master's.

The children, though he knows not what they were put through, walk into the grand hall with loud steps and bright hopeful magical presences. In the guise of the Truthless Recluse, Pure Vanilla could almost convince himself that they are foolish to cling onto hope.

Gingerbrave is beaming as always, happily chattering away at his two friends. He waits at the end of the hall, cloaked in a dark robe that hides most of his features. It resembles the one Blue had worn when they first met, ironically enough.

This far away, he shouldn't be able to hear them, but the dead silence of the hall allows for the sound to travel quicker. It is supposed to make for an eerie atmosphere, but his friends remain surprisingly unconcerned as they walk side-by-side.

All three are in various states of dishevelled, but none of them seem hurt. It relieves him just a little, because that means he won't have to ignore their wounds to keep his act.

“I made friends with some licorice oozes! They're kind of cute when they're not attacking you.” Gingerbrave beams. It's—a strange story to share, but he does remember Black Sapphire’s magical presence had the distinct scent of poison. He wouldn't put it past little Brave to befriend Poison summons, of all things.

“Oh.. so what was your riddle, Gingerbrave?” Strawberry asks, her voice just a little bit louder than usual. It echoes throughout the hallway, and for once, she doesn't shrink at the sound of it.

“Uhm.. I don't remember enough of it to repeat it word for word, but the answer was kindness.” The young Charge cookie offers.

“Kindness..” Wizard furrows his brows, contemplative, “But.. you're not really lacking in kindness?”

Gingerbrave flails, “I.. well, no, I don't think so.. but I think I do have a tendency to charge ahead before really thinking. I had to make friends—to be kind to the oozes instead of fighting them.”

“...you charged ahead and attacked them at first sight, didn't you?” Strawberry giggles, much to Gingerbrave’s embarrassment.

Wizard snickers, “Charge-types. You're really sticking to the stereotype, Brave.”

The boy pouts, “Hey, now! I still solved it. What about you two?”

Riddles. They were—instead of anything terrible like Pure Vanilla was assuming, they were doing riddles.

Strawberry flushes, “...my answer was.. confidence. Mr. Blue made me yell it out loud.” she mumbles, her voice shrinking in volume as she buries herself inside her hoodie.

“...of course he did. He made me do parkour.” Wizard rolls his eyes, arms crossed and grumbling.

“...obstacle courses..” Strawberry unfurls from herself to grumble out in displeasure.

“That entire family is way too fond of those. What did Candy Apple make you guys do?” Wizard sighs.

“Eheh.. just dodging glitter bombs? They were fun. Though uh, I did charge through most of them.” Gingerbrave admits sheepishly.

“Secret.” Strawberry simply says.

Wizard groans, “Of course. Anyway, I know it’s been… more fun than we expected, but we still need to be on guard, guys. Shadow Milk Cookie isn't going to be as nice as the rest of his family.”

“Oh yeah.. uhm. What did Black Sapphire Cookie say we should do again?”

“...go to the top of the Spire and act as terrified as possible, and.. find Pure Vanilla Cookie.” Strawberry replies, nudging Gingerbrave with a huff.

“Oh, yeah! Uh. I am super terrified.” Gingerbrave exclaims with a little too much enthusiasm, followed with a sigh from Wizard and a soft giggle from Strawberry.

Pure Vanilla’s lip twitches. Turns out, Shadow Milk really didn't lie about the children breaking Blue out. Not to mention, the mage is still looking out for the children—and so are Blue’s own children. It fills his heart with a great sense of joy, a flicker of hope kindling inside him.

He shakes his head. It wouldn't do—to play a character well, he must embody it. Taking a deep breath, he pushes the little seedling of hope away, keeping it locked in a metaphorical mental box. He needs to be in a different mental state entirely to play this convincingly.

The children soon stop in their tracks, their chatter dying down the moment they catch sight of him.

To his surprise, it is Strawberry who breaks the silence,

“...Mr. Blue?” Her voice trails off, no doubt the sight of the robes catching her off guard.

The Truthless Recluse shakes his head, “No.”

The earlier light-hearted mood fades as the three take formation, cautiously staring at him. The Spire morphs around them, but it does not move yet. There are eyes around them, in the walls, the ceilings, the space around them.

“Whoa—what’s happening?” Gingerbrave startles.

Sensing no threat, he strolls past the young trio and the visage of Truth follows at his steps. It feels nostalgic, almost—like he has done this before. Another cookie rushes by him, steps hurried, almost limping through the halls, long blue hair a frazzled mess behind their back.

His back. Blue’s, because there could be nobody else. The ghost of Knowledge strolls through the halls, leaving a trail of red jam where he steps. He looks down at himself and finds ruined, jam-stained robes. Startled, he pauses in his steps, turning his head towards a wall.

Staring back at him is the familiar pair of yellow-blue, a near mirror to his own had it not been a few shades off. The Fount of Knowledge stares back at him, his eyes reddened with tears.

“I'm sorry.” Blue murmurs, but his voice is the clearest Pure Vanilla has ever heard it—it is Shadow Milk’s voice, lacking the distinct rougher sound Blue usually has. The apology does not sound any less raw for it, the smile on Knowledge’s face almost painful to look at.

He raises a hand, pressing his palm up against the wall. The reflection does the same, and they stare at each other for a moment as the world changes around them.

The Spire’s magic curls around Pure Vanilla, softly embracing him. It pulls the children along, manifesting a long hallway as it urges him to walk forward.

I will tell you my side of the story. It echoes in Blue’s voice, Shadow Milk’s voice. Both blending into something that’s almost a mix of both. Hearing it, he almost falters in his steps—he had suspected the Spire was alive in some form, but not truly sentient.

Why? The question slips from him, unvoiced but heard all the same. He does not look back at the children, knowing that his resolve must stay strong if he is to remain the Truthless Recluse.

There is no answer, but he gets the impression that whatever it is the Spire wishes to tell him, it is important for everything that will happen in the next few hours.

So he follows, tracing the Fount’s steps like they are his own, Shadow Milk’s earlier words echoing inside his mind.

“In the end, you will become him.”

Gingerbrave and his friends are silent behind him, only the sound of their soft footsteps tell Pure Vanilla that they are still following. The corridor is pristine now, lined with red carpet, rows of artifacts and paintings on display on the walls.

The Fount leads their little party, but his eyes are looking at something else. A batch of cookies follow at his heels, firing questions about this and that every other minute. They're all answered with a kind smile and the enthusiasm of Blue, though the playful attitude is very much Shadow Milk.

Another minute, and they stand in an office. The same one Shadow Milk had taken him to, but this time, the windows are open and it feels much lighter. The Fount is there, humming a soft tune as he re-sorts books with one hand and scribbles on a floating scroll with the other.

The next minute they stand in a classroom, where the Fount speaks at the front, magic swirling around him; the passion for his role is startling, much stronger than Shadow Milk’s passion for Deceit. He teaches like Blue does, but without the grief that constantly plagues the war mage.

He wonders what it took for Blue to lose so much of that Passion, and how much Shadow Milk had contributed.

The scene after that is of the Fount and a cookie who greatly resembles Candy Apple Cookie. They stand next to each other, the Fount with one hand outstretched and the young cookie with her brows furrowed. Her hand is gently wrapped around the Virtue’s wrist and there is a burst of magic before suddenly, her shoulders sag and she faceplants on the table in front of her.

The Fount laughs and flicks his apprentice’s forehead, snickering at her mistake.

“You're just like one of my old apprentices. Y’know, she immediately tried to scan me the moment I taught her the spell. Exhausted herself immediately.”

Pure Vanilla swallows a lump in his throat and proceeds to the next vision, pushing away any emotion triggered by that earlier scene. The children break their silence,

“...she looked a lot like Candy Apple Cookie.” Gingerbrave observes, his tone awkward.

“You sure that wasn’t Candy Apple Cookie?” Wizard whispers.

Surprisingly, it is Strawberry who offers an explanation, her voice remarkably calm if not a little shaky, “No. I… that was her older sister. The one they lost in the war. Candy Apple said she’s why Mr. Blue looks at her weird sometimes, like she's another cookie entirely.”

Pure Vanilla exhales, trying to hide the way his breath hitches at the new revelation. He remembers the head clutched in Blue’s arms as he kneels in front of the pile of dead. It feels like there is only tragedy after tragedy with this family.

The next vision has the Fount standing on a balcony, overlooking a large crowd. There is an entire city surrounding the Spire, reminiscent of the brief glimpse Pure Vanilla had been shown just a few hours ago.

The bustling city is adorned with lights, decorated with flowers and accessories. There are stalls around the many parks, indicative of celebration—perhaps a festival of sorts.

His suspicions are proven correct minutes after as the Fount starts his speech, announcing the start of a festival. His playful tone is present even in the formal setting, speaking to his people—his cookies, who meets the enthusiasm with equal vigour.

It's an entertaining little speech that takes a sharp turn in fun, the Fount bowing and reappearing in the middle of the largest square of the settlement, putting on a show of magic for the people. It ends with applause, laughter, and the Virtue making his way around town.

Pure Vanilla follows at his heels, the children at his tail. They phase through the cookies around them, seeing as this is but a memory—even if it is one that feels awfully real.

Knowledge greets his people with familiarity, and most return his greetings warmly. There are some cookies who shy away, but it is nothing atypical—Pure Vanilla gets the same treatment mingling with his own people.

The Fount of Knowledge makes his way through the people, walking away from the festival and curiously, away from the settlement. Another blink, and they are back in the Spire—in a room that feels almost familiar, and it is, because it is the same bedroom he and Shadow Milk were in just moments ago.

A cookie stands there, bathed in shadow. A body at his feet.

The beginning of the end. Someone’s voice echoes.

“...is that—” Wizard stammers.

“What—what happened? Everything was so good earlier…” Gingerbrave gasps.

There's a laugh, and Pure Vanilla’s jam runs cold when he realises who exactly is standing over that body.

It’s the Fount, still with the mismatched blue-yellow that is so similar to his own. The Spire almost trembles, reality shaking as it tries to bend time and space to its will. Whatever memory it is trying to share with them, it is painful enough that the Spire is actively struggling to recall it.

Instead of scenes, flashes of feeling are shared. Disappointment, at the common cookies, their flaws—their greed. The wish to be more, to want more, never content with what they have. That want, that need being so strong that they would resort to lies and trickery to get what they want.

Whispers of doubt, among the followers of Knowledge. In the heart of Knowledge himself, faced with cheaters and cookies who want everything but are never willing to work for it. The distance between Virtue and follower growing wider, the Fount turning away from his people, just as the other Virtues fall one by one.

A great war, spanning across the entirety of Earthbread. Worse than the Dark Flour War solely because of the involvement of the Virtues—Beasts, now four out of five. Destruction, Silence, Apathy, and Sloth.

Knowledge remains standing as the last bastion of Virtue, but it does not last long. The doubt too much, the pressure too hard for any single cookie to withstand. It takes a while, too long, but eventually, as water wears away stone—something cracks.

The forces of Destruction fill into the once-bustling hub of Knowledge, slaughtering every cookie standing in their way. In the Spire, a familiar cookie stands and he cannot tell if it is Shadow Milk or Blue, because the next thing that cookie does is swing his staff and take off the head of another.

Pure Vanilla stills.

The massacre of the Spire—it had seemed odd to him, before, because it had happened so fast and Shadow Milk did not dwell on what happened to make the Spire fall so easily at the drop of a hat.

He remembers standing next to the Fount and trying to stop him from casting that spell on the settlement below, and realises.

The Spire cries, and they can only watch as Blue—Shadow Milk—the Beast makes his way through the corridors of the former Spire of All Knowledge, slaughtering every cookie in his way, eyes clouded over by madness.

Betrayal. The sole living witness whispers into the air, many eyes staring mournfully at the back of its very own master. The lord of the Spire, the Virtue of Knowledge—the demon, the Beast of Deceit.

Pushed too far, gone too far in turn.

The last scene is of the aftermath, the former Fount of Knowledge standing in front of a mirror in an untouched bedroom and cracking it in half with a fist. The reflection splits down the middle, and then there wasn’t a single cookie who stands there but two.

Shadow Milk stands over Blue, a foot poised over the sole hand keeping Knowledge from falling to his death. The children whimper and Pure Vanilla forces himself to look away.

With a loud, sickening crack, the scene fades entirely. The world morphs again around them. It takes Pure Vanilla a few seconds, but he exhales and braces himself to open his eyes once more, revealing a clearing filled with tents.

The scent of death and pain looms in the air. Blue almost shrinks into himself as he exits one tent, another cookie behind him. The war mage is clearly injured, leaning heavily against the cookie next to him. He is frowning, lips downturned, a stubborn expression on his face.

The other cookie stands straighter, taller than the mage. Flowing silver hair and faint wings fluttering behind him, Elder Faerie frowns at Blue, one hand on the mage’s shoulder and another arm wrapped around him to support his weight.

“My friend, believe me when I say that you have done more than enough for us today. What you need now is rest.”

“I'll rest when I'm dead, Fee.” The memory of Blue responds, voice hard and shying away from his friend.

The faerie cookie rolls his eyes and Pure Vanilla double takes at the absurdity of it. Granted, he wasn't familiar nor friendly enough with Elder Faerie to know the man’s playful side, but seeing such a juvenile gesture from the dignified faerie king is very surprising.

“Must I force you to?” Elder Faerie’s hand drops from Blue’s shoulder, trailing down his forearm and wrapping around the mage’s own hand.

Blue huffs, pulling himself away from the faerie king. Admirably, he does not sway as he stands straighter on his own two feet, folding his arms against his chest, “You would dare disrespect my wishes?” he raises a brow.

“If it is for the betterment of your health, I very much would.” A pinch to the arm and the war mage sighs, his hard expression softening,

“...very well. I could use a break—but that goes for you too, your highness.” The mage gives the king a pointed look, and it is met with a fond laugh. The two friends walk away, shoulders brushing against each other.

Pure Vanilla takes another deep breath and shuts his eyes. When he opens them, they have returned to where they were, before all the visions had started. He stands there on shaky feet in front of the three ginger children, and carefully watches their reactions.

With him, the Spire waits, echoing the sound of a conversation it couldn't have heard.

“Who are you?”

“Nobody.”

“...Mr. Blue?” Strawberry asks again, her voice louder.

Faced with the Truth on a silver platter, the Virtue of Truth could only stare in silence.

“I'm sorry.” Blue’s voice echoes, carrying a new meaning entirely after what they have just seen.

“Who are you?”

“A murderer.”

The trio flinch at the sound. Ah, so they can hear the Spire. That is—unfortunate. It means they saw everything. Heard the same story, though not from two perspectives the way he had.

The full picture is clearer to him now, but there is still one piece of the puzzle missing. The Fount of Knowledge—both Shadow Milk and Blueberry Milk had held the role, but throughout the memories, they only ever saw one cookie until the very end.

It is certainly a strange choice, but it is even stranger that the Spire itself has decided to seemingly interfere on Blue’s behalf to tell his side of the story—or, perhaps, the story as the Spire itself had seen it.

He sends a pulse of magic, echoing his appreciation-gratefulness to the sentient magic of the Spire.

It does not go acknowledged, the Spire instead sending him a vision of Blue and a vague direction of where to go, then nothing. The children pause, clearly confused over the state of events.

Taking a deep breath, he weaves a story from that vision, “...do you see it now, children? The Truth.. this history, this tragedy—it parallels mine.” The Truthless Recluse states, and the moment he turns towards them, he pulls down his hood.

“Pure Vanilla Cookie!” Strawberry gasps.

“No—but.. we—damn it, we took too long!” Wizard curses.

“What—what happened to you?! Where's the old Pure Vanilla Cookie?” Gingerbrave demands, brandishing his candy cane staff.

The Recluse pauses, but any response he might have had is interrupted because the next thing anyone knows, the Spire goes completely silent as a rip in space forms at the end of the hallway. Moments later, Shadow Milk steps outside, his magic tightly bound, silently seething as his two children cautiously settle on either side of him.

“Truth.” The Beast smiles, but the way his eyebrow twitches tells something else.

“You've got a lot of time to think already, no? How about we play another game?” The smile widens, sharp teeth peeking out. The room grows cold, and Blue is nowhere to be seen.

Chapter Text

It was stupid to run.

The Spire practically screams into his ears, magic swirling around him and hammering him from all sides. Curtains, books, anything the Witch-accursed sentient building could summon on its own accord is promptly dropped over his head in an admirable attempt to rebel.

Blue ignores it, curling his magic around the Spire and tugging at it like a collar. He is not its favoured master, but as the ‘original’ Knowledge, he has a way to control the structure that Shadow Milk does not. He does not like to do it, using force on another sentient. It is costly and one can only force another so much before they snap.

However, desperate times call for desperate measures. The wards and magic circles making up the very foundations of the Spire were written by his hand, and he had built failsafes that would override any takeover attempts and hand control back to him.

Although, it is extremely taxing and even more so if the Spire refuses to cooperate. His hand trembles and he grimaces over it, palm clasped on his freshly dislocated shoulder. The fresh pain is making him more sensitive to the already existing aches, leaving him on his knees and feeling like one big bleeding wound.

Blue grits his teeth and forces himself up on shaky knees, still tasting jam on his tongue. If Shadow Milk had found out earlier, he—doesn't know how the Beast would have reacted. Maybe it wouldn't even be a surprise to him, considering Blue doesn't exactly try when it comes to self-preservation.

“....” He lets out a shaky breath.

The children should have reached the top of the Spire by now. He has to find either them or Pure Vanilla before Shadow Milk does.

Directing the Spire, he opens a portal to his little hideaway, collapsing on the other side. His head rings and he coughs, choking on jam. Clutching his own head, he takes deep breaths even as his vision doubles when the pain grows sharper.

Truly the perfect time to have a flare-up.

Worse yet, nobody knows where he is, so he’ll have to handle this alone. Trembling and forcing his hands to stop shaking, he tries to crawl to the closest chair in the room.

This entire place is a sanctuary, but one dedicated entirely to his old Virtue. A laboratory—a workspace, one could say, and thus there are only rows and rows of shelves, tables and some scattered chairs. Nothing much for comfort or entertainment, even though he does occasionally fall asleep in this same room from time to time.

After a few moments of trying and failing to crawl, he decides to forgo dignity entirely and lay on the floor. Besides, it's not as if there will be anyone coming in. He curls into himself and squeezes his eyes shut, trying to will away the pain if nothing else.

It's easier not to feel, and it would be so much better if he could tune out his pain like he could his own emotions. Most of the time, it is possible, though flare-ups tend to utterly trash his self control.

“.....” It hurts.

“It totally does—n't hurt.” Blue mumbles to himself, opening his eyes and seeing something blurry come at him full speed—he cringes and braces for more pain, but instead, something soft lands on top of him.

“...huh?” He grabs at the thing and funnily enough, it's a pillow.

“...aw, you do care about me.” Blue jokes and pets the floor tiles to show his appreciation. For his efforts, the Spire drops a book on his face. It smacks him before he could catch it and his sentient sanctuary echoes the feeling of offended indignation towards his words.

He hears another echo, and it's his own voice, hissing out in frustration, “Of course I fucking care about you, you—”

Blue rolls his eyes and carefully tucks the pillow under his head, making himself comfortable on the floor. His flare-up doesn't seem to be dying down anytime soon, so he might as well read the book while waiting for it to ease up enough that he can function again.

The book is one he had written himself, of course. It's the only kind of book that remains in the Spire. He squints at the cover, “My journal.. that's convenient. I might as well review the plan—ow.” Something hits him on the side and it's another soft pillow.

Blue glares at the ceiling, “If you don't want me to review my plan, you shouldn't have given me this book.” he winds his magic tighter around the Spire, to make sure it doesn't find a way to destroy the book if nothing else. It's met with great displeasure, but he ignores it easily.

Skimming through the pages, he reaches the last page and starts reading.

The plan’s end goal is to kill Shadow Milk, but there are a few hurdles that must be overcome along the way. The original Beast-binding ritual sealed away their physical forms, but being the one who had done the ritual, it was a little different in his case.

His current body is their original, with Shadow Milk having manifested his own somewhere along the way during the world war Spice had started. It had made sealing the both of them convenient, because he didn't have to seal his own body—only their shared Soul Jam, alongside the other Beasts.

But an issue arises now in that Shadow Milk does not technically have a physical form. It ties him back to Blue as the ‘original’, which is something of a problem, to say the least.

“I doubt you've noticed, but it’s getting worse.”

Knowledge might be pounding at his head, but between that and every other pain he feels, he truly can’t tell. He sighs, sinking his head back into the pillow.

His original plan, while crude, entirely depended on Pure Vanilla being the stereotypical righteous hero. Brave, bold, brash—the type to not hesitate striking down monsters. The archetype of Gingerbrave, preferably with less heart and more ego to twist to his needs.

Knowing Pure Vanilla as he does now, it is unlikely for Blue to trigger his anger enough to bait him into a killing blow—not to mention, Truth is a healer and murder tends to be something that class of cookies avoid. Though, perhaps if Shadow Milk threatens the children—he frowns.

Either way, that plan is no longer plausible. The narrative is now out of his control, and even if he had gone through with the original plan, Truth not being the typical stick-up-their-ass Lightbearer would have thrown that plan down the ditch anyway.

His Beast-half's plan, on the other hand, should be much more successful. All he has to do to win the game is convince himself or Pure Vanilla to join him. Simple, but a hassle for the sole reason that he’s failed to convince Blue alone for the past millennia.

With Blue being the half of the former Fount of Knowledge that had refused to Fall, it was easy to see past every trick Deceit had thrown his way. Likewise, his own attempts to prove Shadow Milk wrong had never been fruitful. They Know too much about each other to truly push the other over the edge.

He curls his fingers against a page, tracing the looping words of what he had written so long ago.

Everything revolves around the Soul Jam. It is Light given form, the culmination of their very being as Virtues, the physical manifestation of a Virtue’s bond with their ideal. It strengthens as their belief does and a cookie’s Soul Jam will only shine brightest when their heart is aligned with their purpose.

Belief, however, requires faith. Faith in Truth—in Knowledge, which would be a struggle considering Shadow Milk is controlling the narrative.

It leaves Pure Vanilla with only what little Blue had told him and whatever tale the Beast is spinning. Whether or not Truth believes Deceit is up to chance, but he should have a reason to be cautious from previous encounters with Shadow Milk.

Though, it is very concerning that the healer supposedly didn't even know of the Beasts’ existence before setting foot on the continent for the very first time. With his soft disposition and kind heart, it would be much too easy to—

He swallows at the thought, tasting thick, sweet jam. The more he thinks of Pure Vanilla Falling, the more he cringes at the thought. He inhales slowly, shoulders shaking as his lungs burn with exertion. Fingers digging into the pages of his journal, he tries to push the guilt away.

They've only known each other for a few days, even if Pure Vanilla is supposedly their other half.

Though, if Pure Vanilla does Fall, it would no doubt be delightful vindication for Shadow Milk. The healer would be dangled in front of his eyes like a trophy, proof that Deceit will always triumph over Truth.

Proof that Knowledge was pointless, with all its faults. Something to push Blue into giving up his own Soul Jam, push him off that ledge and let him fall to his death like he did all those centuries ago. Or, perhaps, rather than killing him, Shadow Milk would keep him around as another trophy.

They've always gotten lonely easily, and what better company can one have than oneself? Better yet, it would be a reunion of the former Soul Jam of Knowledge under the Light of Deceit.

“....” Blue hums for a moment.

For all the times Shadow Milk had tried to kill him, he Knows that it was only ever done to prove a point—or when the clown’s temper got the better of him. Sharing pain gets in the way of that, and for all his bravado, the Beast still fears death the way Blue no longer does.

Unfortunately for him, he does not plan for either of them to walk away tonight. He shuffles himself into a sitting position, leaning on a nearby cabinet and pushing his back up against it to properly sit up.

The Spire stacks more pillows on top of him and he shuts his eyes, ignoring them for a moment.

It took a lot of research, but there is another way that doesn't involve straight up murder. A more elegant solution, so to speak, and one that would be very poetic if it was to succeed.

The theory comes from a passage written in one of the most precious books from his old collection, penned by the hand of the very Witch that had baked them into existence. That same book has been lost, and much to his own shame, doesn’t quite know how, considering he has taken measures to protect it from Shadow Milk’s hands.

It is a good thing that he's memorized the entire book cover to cover, really. He shuts his eyes, recovering the memory and zeroing on a certain part of the text:

A Cookie may relinquish their first Virtue and, in time, be reborn to a new one.

If the Light of Truth triumphs over Deceit, accepting it as part of Knowledge, it would allow a different kind of union for their Soul Jams. He hadn't considered the possibility, deeming it too dependent on Pure Vanilla to be able to accurately predict the outcome.

But, with enough compassion—perhaps, the healer would be able to see something in Deceit that Knowledge himself cannot. Acknowledging them beyond their roles, accepting both conflicting ideals as Truth—it would allow the original Soul Jam to be reborn as a whole.

Wiping jam from the corner of his lips, Blue shifts in place, taking his Soul Jam into his hands. The sight of it brings a grimace to his face—the crack on the gem has grown wider, deeper, almost as if it is about to split in two yet again.

All that is left of Knowledge is in tatters, yet it still remains. A stubborn stain on Earthbread the way Blue himself is. He huffs at the thing, ignoring the whispers of Knowledge pounding at his head. To think it can survive everything from a deadly fall to being hammered over and over, but crack on its own for seemingly no reason.

He remembers the night of the split, where he shattered a mirror in half and the ghost of his mistakes came into being. The moment when he woke up after who-knows-how-long and forced his staff out of his heart, out of his Soul Jam.

Shadow Milk, though he doesn't think either of them had realised it, had been the one to break the Soul Jam of Knowledge, truly splitting them in two at the very moment of their first true death.

To be reborn, one must die.

A flash of memory passes in his mind, a little whisper of Knowledge that slips past the wall he has built between him and his old Virtue.

It is of Pure Vanilla, holding a staff against his own heart, his Soul Jam—the healer stares at him, their eyes mirroring each other, an empty expression on his face. Shadow Milk is there and for the very first time, Blue sees a terrified expression on his Beast-half’s face.

Pure Vanilla, dead-eyed, opens his mouth—with the most bitter smile Blue has never seen on him.

“I may have given up on hope, but I’m afraid I cannot go on without absolving myself of the guilt of it.”

“I hope you understand.” A glance at Shadow Milk, and then he turns to Blue with a softer, kinder smile,

“I’m sure you understand.” He echoes the statement and in a blink, drives his own staff into his heart and—the memory cuts off, leaving Blue suddenly nauseous.

He puts a hand over his mouth.

“....” Surely, Pure Vanilla wouldn't. It’s—breaking the Soul Jam, while theoretically required to achieve an ‘awakening’ of sorts—could go a few ways. Either achieving a new understanding of oneself and the Virtue one embodies, or corrupting the original Virtue entirely.

He and Shadow Milk had done the latter, and by the look of Pure Vanilla and the way his magical presence had felt—dead-eyed, hopeless, broken—as if he had given up on everything he once believed—the healer did not appear to have reached either enlightenment nor corruption.

It was the final, worst option—breaking the Soul Jam fully, because the blue of Truth had cracked in that vision and Blue could swear he saw the gem shatter.

Caught too off guard to shield himself, Knowledge takes the opportunity to whisper into Blue’s mind, hammering at him, pleading to be heard.

You don't know what lies he's been told.

Time does not matter here. A heart like his cannot stand against cruel Deceit.

He ignores the words, too caught up in his own turmoil and that vision. His head rings and he leans against the pillows, stuck in some form of denial of what he saw because if the Soul Jam breaks, shatters—it is quite literally a death sentence.

“I—no. He—he has no reason to want to kill himself.” Blue argues, brushing his hair back. It's awfully grimy and he winces at the feeling of it. The bun it was in has long since unwound itself, his long hair now simply falling past his shoulders in messy waves.

Does he need to? When you think all hope is lost, it is easy to fall. You did.

“I didn't originally want to—!”

Do not lie. You have always seen this as penance. Even now, you think that this is the only way for absolution.

“And he would see it that way?”

Blue pauses, pondering the thought. Pure Vanilla, stupidly kind as he is, would be the type to give up his own life if it meant the betterment of the world. They're somewhat similar in that way, but he doubts the healer would resort to such a selfish decision—unless it is between his life or other cookies’.

The words echo in his mind.

“I cannot go on without absolving myself of the guilt of it.”

“...no. I'm. I refuse to allow him to—” He fumbles over his words and shuts out the Light of Knowledge, erecting mental shields to prevent more words. It's—while they are useful insight, it isn't what he needs now.

He has to find Pure Vanilla.

In the back of his mind, Knowledge sighs mournfully.

Hypocrite.

🌿

The door clicks shut behind him. No portal. No shadowy flair. It might be a bit suspicious, but he doesn't want to waste unnecessary energy and Pure Vanilla wouldn't know Shadow Milk well enough to tell what's out of character anyway.

Blue steps inside the room with a silence that isn’t his own. Every movement is measured, every step chosen. He forces himself to walk like the Beast—like Shadow Milk—even as the very weight of the role presses against his dough like too-tight armor.

Coming here as Shadow Milk is but a simple precaution, something to judge Pure Vanilla’s state of being and see what kind of effect the Beast has on the healer. He could come as himself, but—he doesn't Know if he could take the concern, let alone the questions.

Coward. His own voice echoes, going ignored as always.

The room’s lights shift in response, flickering brighter with the presence of a powerful magical entity. The disguise is holding. For now. The Spire is very displeased about it, but he is hardly going to let the sentient building ruin his plans. He keeps the entity leashed tightly with magic as he slowly approaches the healer.

For whatever reason incomprehensible to him, Shadow Milk had decided to be a good host and offer Pure Vanilla a room. That room, of all places. The Spire's magic sharply bites at the edges of his very being, displeased at being forced to give answers.

Pure Vanilla sits at the edge of the bed, his Soul Jam placed deliberately to the side. Blue’s breath catches at the sight of it—the usual blue glow of Truth muted. It reminds him of his own, once. Before the war. Before everything.

He doesn’t let the mask slip. Can’t. Not now.

He walks forward, letting the silence drag behind him like a cloak. There’s a strange gravity in the way Pure Vanilla looks at him—cautious, alert, like someone who knows better but isn’t sure what they’re looking at.

The Light of Truth flickers faintly in the air, a soft chiming note that doesn’t go unnoticed by either of them. Pure Vanilla doesn't seem hurt nor scared—that’s, that's good.

Blue pushes forward.

"...how are you?" he asks, and is disturbed by how easy it is to mimic Shadow Milk’s detached cadence. It leaves a bitter taste in his mouth.

Pure Vanilla studies him carefully, and his response comes out measured, almost monotone compared to his usual voice, "...I’m... fine, I suppose. I think I know my answer."

He pauses. Whatever tale Shadow Milk had spun must have gotten to the healer, because Blue surely hadn't expected an answer like that. Not so soon. Not so—resigned.

He keeps his expression neutral, but behind the mask, his mind races. Was it real? Did the Beast already break him?

With an ease he doesn't feel, Blue lowers himself beside Pure Vanilla, still careful not to show hesitation. "Oh? Care to elaborate?" He asks, raising a brow.

There's silence for a moment, then a confession comes quietly, like a worn tapestry unraveling thread by thread. Pure Vanilla speaks of disappointment, of abandonment. Of a people lost and a kingdom replaced—and every word strikes Blue like a slow-moving dagger.

He knows this song. He’s sung it himself—he swallows and hopes the healer doesn't notice, desperately keeping a tight grip on himself for the sake of holding the charade.

"I'm happy for them, but it makes me wonder... if I was ever needed in the first place," The healer admits, voice calm but far too sincere. "As their leader, their Virtue... their servant."

Blue doesn’t breathe.

"I thought that... if I could hold onto hope, be that beacon of Light everyone needed—" He falters. Pauses. Then continues, slower, his voice dying down the way his hope flickers, "You’re right. It is tiring... to hope so much, to be endlessly kind to those who would not return the gesture."

Pure Vanilla smiles, and it is a bitter thing.

"I'm... I understand what you mean now. I... want to be Free. I don't want to end up like—Blue, destroying myself for the sake of penance."

The name lands with a cruel sort of weight. More painful than anything he's ever felt—Blue’s chest tightens and he almost forgets to react the way Shadow Milk would. The silence sits a second too long and he haphazardly covers it with a grin he doesn’t truly feel.

"Isn’t it? Stupid of him, right?" he says. "I knew you’d see my point, nilly."

It hurts more than he thought it would. Hearing it. Saying it.

Pure Vanilla’s eyes flick to him again. Quietly, he asks, “...is everything alright?”

He tenses, wondering if he really is acting out of character—he forces an answer out, "Peachy," Blue says tightly, just as bitterly as Shadow Milk would—but not quite the right response.

“...you seem disappointed.” The healer murmurs.

Blue backtracks, ignoring that small statement, "I’m glad you agree. It's good for you. I just never thought it'd be so easy,” he deflects, laughing. It sounds hollow to his own ears, but it should be passable.

His hand twitches. He hides it in his hair like Shadow Milk would do when concealing pain. But this isn’t physical—this is worse.

He stands too quickly. “No matter! Anyway, you should get some rest. We've got a lot to do.”

Pure Vanilla’s nod is slow, reserved. “...of course.”

Then that softer note. “...yeah,” Blue echoes.

He doesn’t mean to tug the curtains so gently, but something stops him from closing them harshly. From playing the part completely.

One last glance. One last look. His eyes meet Pure Vanilla’s, and he wonders—did he buy it?

Blue banishes the thought, shutting the curtains fully. He swallows the lump in his throat and stands still for a moment, trying to process—all of that.

Pure Vanilla’s blank expression twists something inside him. It's wrong on the healer, like he wore clothing a few sizes off, his kind face downtrodden and his eyes clouded. It's an expression Blue sees in himself, often, in the rare moments he is brave enough to look in the mirror.

He had been honest with Blue, but it was hard to truly get a read on the healer with how different he was. He should be happy with this, he thinks, but that wish for Pure Vanilla to snap was never truly a wish—cookies as kind as Truth are one in a million, and he wouldn't have wished Shadow Milk’s fate on the healer.

It would have made things easier for his plans, but only if the snap had birthed anger. Anger at himself, at Shadow Milk for being right. Perhaps some threats towards the ginger trio, to push Pure Vanilla further into the offensive.

It seems foolish now, Pure Vanilla wouldn't hurt a fly to save his life.

Instead of anger, he had gone straight into despair. Hopeless, broken in mind and spirit—it hurt to see him like that.

You let that happen to him. His conscience whispers, and he Knows it to be true.

His eyes catch a gleam of blue on the bedside table. In plain sight, still innocently lying there is the Soul Jam of Truth, a darker tint to it that wasn't there before. It—almost resembles his own cracked Knowledge in colour, uncannily so.

Blue has a terrible idea.

A flash of Pure Vanilla’s dead eyes and bitter smile come to mind and his heart clenches in his chest. It’s—it will only be a precaution, he tells himself as he takes his own Soul Jam into his hands. If not for the crack, it's an exact mirror of the one lying on the bedside table.

With a little magic, it looks practically identical.

The Soul Jams hum in unison, their glow matching each other. He takes Truth into his hands, treating it gentler than he has ever treated his own Soul Jam, who now lies on the table inconspicuously as if it had always been there.

Hiding it under his cloak, Blue exits the room, abandoning Knowledge once and for all.

Chapter Text

Whatever happened between their last conversation and the present time, it had put Shadow Milk in a foul mood. Even having Pure Vanilla convinced to his side hadn't lightened his mood a bit, the Beast practically seething through it all.

His rage quiets his own children and makes Pure Vanilla’s young charges similarly cowed. The Spire is oddly silent, its previously active magic now swirling around Shadow Milk in an attempt to soothe his temper. It does not work, and the raging presence of the Beast’s magic only grows more vicious.

Blue remains nowhere to be seen.

Sinking into his role as the Truthless Recluse, he does not let himself feel concern. It is a delicate balancing act, to let himself feel hopeless enough to act apathetic; but not so much that he loses sight of his true goal.

They are playing a game of chess, now mostly to amuse Shadow Milk if nothing else, though he could tell that originally, the plan hadn't been to play this game for fun. It was right there in the rules, where the winner gets to ask a question the loser must answer truthfully.

“....” He thinks it was aimed at pushing him further over the edge, especially with how Shadow Milk is toying with the ginger children, turning them into chess pieces while having his own son take the same role.

Black Sapphire has not been smiling since the very first moment Pure Vanilla had seen him. The real young man stands where the queen piece is, surrounded by clones that serve as other pieces. He is watching over the game with a faraway look in his eyes.

Candy Apple sits off to the side in the stands of the little arena they're in. She swings her legs idly, no smile on her face. Instead, her expression is—oddly dejected.

Silently, Pure Vanilla sends an apology to the children and moves another piece. He isn't half-bad at chess, but it is rather inconvenient that the pieces all three children inhabit are important, functional pieces. While he’s sure that Shadow Milk probably wouldn't hurt the children, it does not hurt to make sure that there won't be a chance of that happening.

He manoeuvres his pieces and puts them as lines of defenses for all three cookies, keeping them out of the frontline of the chess match. It has proven to be mostly effective, but there are times where he knows he's cutting it a little too close.

Such as now, when the pawn in front of Gingerbrave collapses, much to the boy’s horror. The clone of Black Sapphire who took down the pawn bows with a flourish, still smiling unlike his original counterpart.

The game has been silent for a while. Whatever happened with Blue, it has made Shadow Milk much too distracted to enjoy the game. His anger grows with every minute of silence, and Pure Vanilla does not know if he is the type to take it out on children.

Another move, and Black Sapphire stands in front of Strawberry. Internally, Pure Vanilla almost curses—he had blundered and left his queen piece open for Shadow Milk to take. The young man looks at his charge for a moment, assessing, and he could tell Wizard is about to say something—but instead of cutting her down, Black Sapphire turns to the Beast and says,

“Master, I propose we take a break.” He waves his hand and Pure Vanilla’s young charges shift back into their cookie forms. The three gasp and immediately make their way to each other, huddling in a little group.

Shadow Milk’s face twists, “You’d dare defy me, Black Sapphire Cookie?” the Beast snarls, summoning his staff into one hand and floating his way over.

Black Sapphire, admirably, stands his ground, and he spots the young man eyeing his sister, who immediately skips her way over to the ginger trio, speaking in hushed voices. Pure Vanilla stays where he is, tense, observing the incoming confrontation.

“I wouldn't dare, my Lord. It's… if your lowly servant may share his humble opinion.. I believe a break would do us good.” The young man bows, weapon remaining undrawn, clearly a peace offering.

One that Shadow Milk doesn't seem very keen on taking, his magic lashing out around them and shaking the chessboard. However, before Pure Vanilla could step in, Black Sapphire says something else—a simple sentence, in that old language Blue often slips to—and it is as if someone tossed a bucket of water over the growing flames that was Shadow Milk’s rage.

What follows is an entire conversation that silences Candy Apple, who is still sticking with the ginger trio, her hand gripping Strawberry’s as she stares at the two members of her family with a hard expression.

A voice whispers to him, in unison with every sentence said. Startled, he realises after a moment that it is the Spire who whispers to him their words,

“Dad. Just stop. Your temper is getting the better of you.”

“You—”

“You've gotten what you wanted with Truth. Father will show himself sooner or later.”

“Brat. You really dare pull that card on me?”

“I did it on father. Why should you be an exception?”

“Your dear father doesn't happen to be planning something, does he?”

“He is. Before you ask, I don't know what his plan is.”

“....you—ugh. Doesn't he know he's ruining all my plans?!”

“...do you really need me to answer that.”

Pure Vanilla steps in, “....I could also use a break.” he cuts in before a fight could break out—it seems unlikely now, what with how Shadow Milk’s anger had spontaneously died at that one word—a parental title, of all things—but one can never be too sure.

Looking between him and Black Sapphire; Shadow Milk pauses, lip twitching, “Oh, but we're just getting started.”

“Instead of a boring break, why don't we play another game?” He snaps his fingers and the arena changes.

Shadow Milk stands on an elevated platform, looking down upon both of them—and the rest of the children, who were seemingly dragged back here with the Spire’s magic. The arena is a large circle, with rows upon rows of spectators around them. It resembles gladiator arenas of ancient times.

Pure Vanilla himself stands in a little circle, one of the three drawn on the floor of the arena. Inside the circle with him is Black Sapphire, whose eyes are—decidedly unimpressed, a rather anticlimactic reaction.

There is a screen behind the platform Shadow Milk stands on, and the crowd cheers as he bows at them, an ugly smile on his face as he gestures at the screen.

“A little treasure hunt. Just like the one you little traitors played earlier. Sounds fun?” He taunts, keeping his eyes locked with Black Sapphire. The young man doesn't flinch at the accusation, his dead-eyed expression morphing into an unnaturally calm one.

From the circle on their left, Candy Apple clings to Strawberry, almost intentionally hiding from her brother’s gaze. The older of the siblings doesn't look her way, keeping his attention on Shadow Milk.

The screen turns on and it is an image of Blue, smiling down at them. It looks to be from a different time, judging by the fancier robes, but it is undeniably the Beast's twin.

“As the gracious host I am, I'll even make it easy for you. All you have to do is find Berry, bring him here and make him spill whatever it is he's planning. Quickest team wins. I won't even punish the losers if you can complete all three objectives.” Shadow Milk keeps his gaze trained on Black Sapphire in particular, an empty smile on his face.

“...” Black Sapphire is silent, something conflicting in his expression.

“Something you wanna tell me?” Shadow Milk raises a brow.

“....no.” The young man shakes his head.

“Reeeaaally?” He leans over the podium, eyeing Black Sapphire. The response is said very flatly, clearly unamused, “No matter what I say, you'll still force us to play.”

Shadow Milk snickers, “Aw, you know me too well! But yes. Come on, go on. Chop chop! We don't have all day, ladies and gentlemen.” He shoos them all and with another snap of the Beast’s fingers, they appear in another room entirely.

Holding onto his staff, Pure Vanilla silently assesses the cookie before him. The team match-ups are interesting, but being matched with Black Sapphire could prove to be fruitful if he is to get any information about Blue’s whereabouts.

“Before you ask, I really don't know where father is. If even master Shadow Milk Cookie doesn't know, it is a fool’s errand to try and seek him.” With a frustrated sigh, the younger cookie paces around, muttering things under his breath Pure Vanilla can't make out.

It takes a few minutes before Black Sapphire turns towards him, “What did father tell you of his plans?”

Pure Vanilla answers, “That he is going to kill Shadow Milk Cookie.”

“And?” A raised brow, echoing both Blue and Shadow Milk.

“...nothing else. I'm afraid that.. I did not ask him to elaborate.” He hesitates.

“...of course you didn't.” Black Sapphire groans, throwing his hands up in the air rather dramatically.

“Look, I—with your new getup and all, I don't know if you even care anymore but I'll be frank with you because honestly, I am getting sick of all this shit.” He runs a hand through his hair, letting out a shaky exhale,

“Candy Apple and I, we didn't do anything to Gingerbrave and his friends. Father—Blue, he was with us until master appeared and they had a talk. He sent Candy Apple and I away to meet you batch at the top of the Spire, then he came back in that mood. Without father in tow, which means he fucked off mid-conversation.”

The tone suggests that this isn't the first time something like this has happened. Were he actively not distancing himself, perhaps he would have reached out for the poor young cookie. Squashing what guilt he feels, Pure Vanilla remains a silent observer.

“I… have personal interest in not letting master have his way fully. Father, as well. Logically, that means I should be supporting you, as the third party in this situation.. but you..” Black Sapphire's face scrunches.

“It's—surely this world isn't so hopeless that you’d crumble to despair after not even a single day of exposure to Deceit?” The tone hinges on hysterical,

“You immortals and—Witches, gods, I just—” The young man takes a deep breath and the room is silent for a moment as he clearly fends off something resembling a panic attack, “I—I don't know what master did to you. I hope he didn't torture you, but if he did, I’m—sorry. I just… I need your help, Truth.”

Truth is silent for a moment, considering his options. Although, if Pure Vanilla is known for anything, it is for his weakly soft heart and faced with such an earnest request—it is hard to turn down.

“....” So much for keeping his little facade a secret. Though, he is supposed to be Truth—and he thinks that Black Sapphire could use an adult figure who he can rely on.

The thought of Blue passes through his mind. The more things Pure Vanilla uncovers about his friend’s identity, the more he feels he doesn't know.

A brother he hates, but who does not quite hate him, instead speaking of Blue with frustration but never resentment. A son, stuck between both of them, clearly struggling to keep everything together and shield his sister from the fallout. He can't imagine what sort of fights Black Sapphire would have had to step between in the past.

“...I'll help you.” Pure Vanilla says.

The relief is stark on Black Sapphire’s face and he ushers Pure Vanilla to follow, “I’ll brief you on what my plan is. You—I don’t know you enough to know if you'd approve, but this is the only way I've found that will do the least damage. Just.. trust me.”

Considering the plans of the two brothers involve world domination and murder respectively, this third plan from their son should probably be better. If nothing else, Black Sapphire would ensure that the plan does not involve the death of one of the twins.

Black Sapphire walks ahead, but occasionally looks back as if making sure he is following. He silently walks quicker, matching the other cookie’s pace so they can walk side-by-side instead. There’s a flash of surprise on Black Sapphire’s face, but he says nothing as he stops at their destination.

The floor’s tiles clack, and the door opens to show a room that matches Black Sapphire’s fashion aesthetics from the colour down to the decorations. Walking with purpose, the young man beelines towards the fireplace and the entire thing turns around as they approach, revealing a hidden bookshelf.

Black Sapphire fetches a tome and ushers Pure Vanilla to follow, setting the heavy book on a coffee table right across the fireplace. On the cover is a sigil he recognizes to be a shrinking spell.

His current companion opens the tome, rummaging through it quickly and stopping at a page.

Pure Vanilla settles on his knees, angling his staff towards the book for a better look. There, written at the very top of the page in all capital letters is ‘SOUL JAM’. Intrigued, he quickly reads through the entire passage.

The Soul Jam is not merely a power source—it is the spark of the self. A fragment of our very own magicks, refined and set within those select few whom we deem worthy to bear a Virtue.

Each Soul Jam is tailored, one-of-a-kind. To embed one in a Cookie is to bind them to an ideal—a Virtue so deeply imprinted into their dough that it weaves into thought, instinct, memory. It is Light given form, but Light that obeys only belief. That is its price.

A Cookie’s Soul Jam will shine brightest when their heart is aligned with their purpose. Change, Solidarity, Volition, Happiness, Knowledge—these are the first five Virtues we have cast into crystalline form.

But beware. If belief falters, so too shall the Light. If doubt takes root, the Jam will crack. If the Virtue becomes warped—if the bearer deceives themselves, resents the ideal, or twists it into cruelty—then the Soul Jam shall grow corrupted. A sweet shell hiding bitter poison.

Through many trials, I have seen Soul Jams darken into pitch. I have seen them split and scream. For the Jam is as fragile as the Cookie’s mind, as brittle as their hope.

Should a Cookie’s faith in their Virtue collapse entirely—should they despair to the point of renouncing all purpose—then the Jam shall shatter. And with it, the vessel dies. No magic can restore what no longer believes in itself.

Yet, there is a rare path—difficult and seldom tread—where a Cookie may relinquish their first Virtue and, in time, be reborn to a new one. This birth is not gentle. It is fire. It is undoing. It is pain.

But from ruin, sometimes, comes light anew.

“...who wrote this?” He stares at the book, wide-eyed.

“A Witch, supposedly.” Black Sapphire whispers the Knowledge quietly, as if afraid of getting caught.

“I—so your plan is?” Pure Vanilla’s breath hitches, his fingers tracing the letters on the page but not quite touching it.

The pages are worn, and if a Witch had written this book, who knows how old it is. Black Sapphire seems to have less reservations, but the other cookie is wearing gloves. He gazes at the text with a wistful expression, continuing,

“To unite the former Soul Jam of Knowledge under Deceit. I—as you read here, a Soul Jam’s stability entirely depends on belief. Father is… he isn't well, to say the least, and he doesn't believe enough in his own Virtue to win against master.

“...really?” Pure Vanilla blinks in disbelief at that. If anything, Blue has only ever shown how much he likes sharing Knowledge.

The response comes flat, “He's told me he wants to kill himself, multiple times. It's—Witches, did you know his Soul Jam is cracked? It could shatter any day now and I wouldn’t be able to do a thing about it—he would let it shatter.” it’s said with barely concealed distress, Black Sapphire running a hand through his messy black hair.

“He—he told you.” He repeats.

While Blue isn't always child-friendly, he doubts the other cookie would straight up tell his son about any suicide plans—even if he had any. Similar to Shadow Milk, the war mage seldom talks about himself.

Pure Vanilla only knows anything about Knowledge's mental state because it had been something that's frequently brought up during his time in the Spire. He has no way to confirm either, having not seen Blue since the first time they were separated.

But—self-harm to the point of wishing for death? Telling his child about it?

His disbelief does not deter Black Sapphire, but the young man does elaborate, “...I made him tell me.”

“...explain, please.”

“It's—funny, really. If you ask father any direct question, he will be compelled to answer whether he wants to or not. He told me it was ‘part of the job description.’ I… simply took advantage.” He winces, murmuring the last part to himself, but not quietly enough that Pure Vanilla can't catch it.

Compelled—that was the keyword. The Virtue of Knowledge, baked and bound to the role; in a more literal sense than he had originally expected.

“I—how does that work exactly?”

“For example, hm.. a yes or no question. Ask him ‘did you sleep yesterday?’ and he’ll tell you even if he doesn't want to. He can still stop the answer from coming out, but—well, it hurts him.”

“You didn't sleep last night.” He hears his own voice echo, a conversation that feels like so long ago now.

“No.” The answer, coming almost immediately and with less apprehension than he had expected.

Pure Vanilla takes a deep breath, “...I.. then you know of his plans beyond just killing Shadow Milk.” He states, looking up so their eyes can meet.

It's answered with a nod, but Black Sapphire breaks eye contact almost immediately, exhaling. His shoulders slump, weary as if he is carrying the world on his shoulders.

“I—I know he means it. He wants to give up—he’s already given up. He thinks that the only way to ‘save this world’ is to kill Shadow Milk and kill himself after. He—ovens, for all I knew his Soul Jam hasn’t shattered itself because he wants to kill master before kicking the damn bucket.” A pause, furrowed brows and trembling hands.

Pure Vanilla puts a gentle hand on one shoulder and carefully observes for any negative reaction. It doesn't earn him any flinches, but Black Sapphire does lightly lean into the touch, not denying himself the comfort even as he continues talking,

“My plan.. is to stop both of them. I… perhaps prevent master’s world domination plan, but it isn't high on my list of priorities. I just… I just want both of them to live.” His voice breaks in the end and Pure Vanilla feels his heart break a little in return.

This poor boy. Stuck between both parents and a hard decision, not to mention with a younger sibling he must shield from the crossfire. He gently squeezes Black Sapphire’s shoulder and sits closer, projecting calm-reassurance with magic.

“...sorry. I.. should get a hold of myself.”

Pure Vanilla shakes his head, “You are allowed to feel, Black Sapphire.”

The boy, because he really is just a boy—much too young, like most they are dragging into this centuries old feud—laughs, a bittersweet sound that is devoid of all the confidence and dramatics he had on their first meeting.

Black Sapphire takes another deep breath, “My plan… it's… crude, but if father is the one to fall and join master in Deceit—it would put their half of the Soul Jam entirely under master’s control.”

“...and prevent Blue from taking drastic actions.”

“Yes. There's—well, there's also the issue of you. If you've truly Fallen, then there's no hope for this world—”

“Is there a way to allow me control of my own Soul Jam even after I Fall to Deceit?”

“...I.. don't really know. Ovens, I don't even know father’s plan. Master is obvious, he just wants you and father to Fall and join him, creating a world of Deceit and all that. Father tells me he wants to kill master to prevent that plan but I've no idea how—”

Silence. Black Sapphire turns pale, his eyes widening as he stares up at Pure Vanilla like he had finally found the answer to a question he's been asking his entire life.

“It's you. His plan—it centers around you. You're the murder weapon—there is literally nobody else. Witches, how could I have been so stupid—” His breath hitches and Pure Vanilla stops breathing entirely.

“I—I wouldn't.” Pure Vanilla stammers.

“That doesn't matter. He—...of course that's his plan to offset whatever imbalance that’ll happen with the death of Deceit and Knowledge.” Black Sapphire mutters, exhaling with bone-deep exhaustion.

“..I—...he.. no, if I have half of the former Knowledge and they break theirs—would… would that give me the whole of the original Soul Jam?” Pure Vanilla pales.

“I haven’t the faintest idea of how exactly this entire Soul Jam thing works, but theoretically, that would only happen if your belief triumphs over theirs—Knowledge and Deceit both.”

Yet, there is a rare path—difficult and seldom tread—where a Cookie may relinquish their first Virtue and, in time, be reborn to a new one. This birth is not gentle. It is fire. It is undoing. It is pain.

“My belief…”

His Soul Jam glows dimly. It isn't buying his act, and he doesn't think he's even keeping it up anymore—doesn't think he can, not when it only gets harder to keep acting with every piece of information he receives.

“So, I really hope you’ve been acting this entire time.” Black Sapphire interrupts his musings wryly.

Pure Vanilla sighs, feeling wrung out and overwhelmed. In a rather childish display, he leans forward against the table and buries his face in his hands, muffling a wish to scream.

“...I may need some time to process this.”

It hasn't even been a day.

His response is met with a guffaw, “Sure, old man. Don't take too long, we have clowns to wrangle in a few hours.”

Making a non-committal noise, Pure Vanilla hides his face on the table and tries to spend the next few minutes just breathing.

Chapter Text

Anger.

It's a feeling much too common, and one oh-so familiar. Since the start of his days as a fool, anger has morphed from a juvenile emotion to something akin to an old friend. It plagues his waking hours, clouds his judgement with its easy temptations, fits like something well-worn even though his temper has never been worse.

It shows now with how his steps crack the pristine marble tiles, with how the Spire cowers under the weight of his anger but still refuses to obey him.

There is no explanation given, because while he is its favoured master, Blueberry with his stupid failsafes would be prioritized over him even if the Spire itself is unwilling. Simply for the fact that between the two of them, the remnants of Knowledge is the one with their original body—

With the same hands that had penned and built the very foundations and magicks that make up the Spire’s structure. The broken, patchwork mess of a body that he is unfortunately tied to.

Shadow Milk snarls at his own hands, his shade of a form flickering. Like this, he isn't completely material—and with the Spire’s magic refusing to obey him, it is even harder to siphon energy off the sentient building to keep a physical form.

In the earliest days of their imprisonment, he had been nothing but a spectre stuck to Blueberry's side. It was entertaining to play with the fool, but being tugged around and forced to stick to his ‘brother’’s side was downright humiliating.

As time went on and he cultivated Deceit, it became easier to manifest himself physically—though it was never quite possible to maintain for long without the Spire’s assistance.

Which he lacks right now, and the worst part about it isn't even that—because he could tell the Spire itself wishes to assist him, or tell him something with the way it tugs him here and there but stops midway as if it had been interrupted.

It was obviously Blueberry interfering, putting the Spire on a leash and pulling on it whenever he thinks it is trying to help Shadow Milk. He gnashes his teeth and grips his staff tightly enough to break it in half.

Blueberry, wherever he is now, is doing something and any plan of his can never be good. Especially one that he is trying to hide with such vigour. It's suspicious, and awful that he never even noticed that the other cookie was hiding something.

With how pathetic and hopeless he is on a daily basis, it’s a miracle Blueberry even functions from day to day. Coaxing information from him was as easy as pestering him with questions he can't avoid answering, and even if he can still lie to Shadow Milk, he is never subtle about it.

To make it fair, he never lies to Blueberry, either. It’s counterproductive to lie to oneself, and no matter what the tattered remnants of Knowledge says, it is only a matter of time before they reunite under the banner of Deceit.

Thus, it is not a question that they know everything about each other. Or, at least, Shadow Milk had thought it that way, because he has never had to hide anything from Blueberry and his dear ‘twin’ can hardly hide anything from him.

Except, he is. A hitched breath, wild eyes, their Soul Jam uniting briefly and their minds melding before in a split second they're violently ripped apart once again—he swallows, clutching his own Soul Jam. It’s still stronger, whole, powerful and strengthening as his belief does.

He takes a deep breath, trying to calm the raging storm that are his emotions. It’s—overwhelming, almost, especially compared to the brief glimpse he caught of Blueberry’s head.

Compared to him, the-once-Fount of Knowledge was painfully numb. Blueberry has always been like that since the split, he knows, preferring to keep his emotions at a distance the way he keeps everyone else out thanks to his misplaced sense of guilt.

Shadow Milk himself does not get the same luxury, his emotions turbulent and fickle, temper only growing worse as centuries go by and he watches the both of them decline into something ugly.

Their argument remains a long-standing one. The true worth of Knowledge against the mercy of Deceit. Neither of them backing down no matter how much of the other's arguments they acknowledge. It's a war of attrition, and one Shadow Milk is determined to win because Blueberry is only growing more hopeless by the day and seeing Truth Fall should be the last straw.

Whatever plan his other half has, it has to involve Pure Vanilla. It was an unspoken Knowledge between them that when the time comes where Truth steps into their door, he and Blueberry will oppose each other one last time to prove their own ideals.

Shadow Milk brushes a hand over his Soul Jam, tracing the fracture lines. Existing the way they are—it is not sustainable. A Soul Jam is strongest when aligned with its belief. Without destroying the remaining piece of Knowledge, it is impossible to attain the true Freedom that he desires.

There can only be two outcomes to their little game, and he knows that the victor will be the only one walking out of this. So far, he has been winning. Truth is faltering, and he needs but one hard push before cracking. All Shadow Milk needs to do now is locate Blueberry and make him witness Truth's devastating Fall.

Perhaps then, his dear brother would be swayed to his side. Then, they'll be one again like they were always meant to be.

Pure Vanilla and the children are still searching around the Spire. It's a futile effort if Blueberry doesn't want to be found, but it would coax him out faster than if Shadow Milk was the one looking for him.

He walks through the long halls of the Spire, twirling his staff in one hand in an effort to distract himself from his own anger. Really, it isn't as if Blueberry is hiding something big. For all he knew it could simply be information about Pure Vanilla that he doesn't want Shadow Milk to know.

Pure Vanilla. The ever-patient healer. The self-sacrificing saint. A righteous fool with too soft a heart and far too much faith in things that don't deserve it. Shadow Milk clicks his tongue at the thought, the sound echoing faintly off the Spire's pristine walls.

He had seen the look in the healer’s eyes—worn thin, tired, but still clinging to some shred of hope that everything could be salvaged if he just believed hard enough. If he just healed one more wound, saved one more soul. If he kept being kind, then maybe—maybe—he wouldn’t have to feel the weight of all those he had failed.

Shadow Milk almost envies him.

Almost.

Because that belief—no matter how noble—was the very shackle that bound Pure Vanilla to endless suffering. Mercy in excess became self-inflicted punishment. Shadow Milk knew it intimately. He had lived that cycle. He had broken it.

Pure Vanilla hadn't. Not yet, even if he is cracking already.

Pure Vanilla, despite his flaws, is central to all of this. Not just to Blueberry’s quiet schemes—but to the world itself. The Virtue of Truth. If he can Fall, if someone like him can abandon the Light, then it will prove what Shadow Milk has Known all along.

That it’s all a lie. That Virtue is a farce, and survival—a true existence—lies in embracing the ugliness, the Deceit, the Freedom of abandoning what everyone expects you to be.

Beside, there’s something deeply satisfying about watching someone so disgustingly kind begin to crack. He knows the signs. Pure Vanilla has started to question things—really question. And doubt is the first step toward liberation.

If Blueberry truly wants to protect him—then he should let him go. Let him fall. Let him become something more than a glorified bandage over the wounds of the world.

Shadow Milk smiles to himself, “I wonder,” he murmurs, tapping the end of his staff against the floor, “How much longer you’ll keep pretending you believe, little Virtue..”

The Spire answers him only in silence, but the hallway shifts suddenly, the earlier path in front of him suddenly blocked. Frowning, he raises a brow at the ceilings. The tiles clack at him, urging him to continue onward. He does, because it isn't like he has anything better to do.

Turning around a corner, he stops in his tracks.

Blueberry is there, tucked against a corner and curled in a ball, shaking on the floor and his sole eye unfocused. His shoulders are trembling and his arms are wrapped so tightly around himself that Shadow Milk could feel phantom bruises echoing in his own form.

He rushes closer and it gets no reaction from Knowledge, ringing alarm bells in his head.

It's a flare-up, clearly, and the fool has decided to power through it alone on the floor. As if he doesn’t have a sentient Spire that he can order to get him somewhere more comfortable.

Shadow Milk scoffs and crouches, picking up his other half. Blueberry’s hands tremble and they grapple onto him immediately. Breath hitching, squeezing his eyes shut and leaning heavily against the Beast, he is effectively helpless.

It would be much too easy to hurt him more.

But, he doesn't, floating both of them over to a nearby room and placing Blueberry down on a couch as gently as he could with the other cookie clinging to him for dear life. There's not a word said between them, but he does not need to feel the echo of Blueberry’s pain to know that he is most likely in too much pain to talk.

Not for the first time, he feels grateful that the secondhand pain he gets from Blueberry is nowhere as intense as the real thing.

The pathetic remnants of Knowledge whimper, curling into himself again. The phantom pains grow stronger and Shadow Milk muffles a hiss as he tries to untangle their limbs and get Blueberry into a more comfortable position.

Hurts. The thought echoes in his head.

“I know, you idiot. I feel it too.” He snaps.

For once, Blueberry doesn't shy away, leaning into his hold with his head bowed. It's a rare moment of vulnerability, made stranger by how he isn't actively cringing away from every touch. His Soul Jam glows, but it does not get a response from its twin.

His own body shivers and Shadow Milk clenches his teeth, trying to ignore the intensifying pain. He reaches a hand out and brushes his fingers through Blueberry's hair, grimacing at the state of the strands.

“You really have no sense of self-preservation, do you? Do you want to die stupid?” He snarls, words barbed, though he keeps his movements gentle as he brushes the grime out of his other half's hair.

With Blueberry’s battered form, chronic pain is but one of his many ailments. Although, contrary to popular belief, most of the scars do not come from Shadow Milk himself. The majority are trophies from war, because the fool had thrown himself into battlefields as if they were a war mage.

Which, thinking about it again, they might as well count as one. They certainly don't lack the firepower, though Shadow Milk has never acted as one himself.

The rest of the scars are self-inflicted. Either from a stint with jam magic or in a guilt ridden haze of self-punishment. Any injury that had come from Shadow Milk did not leave any scars—or, well, bar the drowning—which was another thing entirely, really.

Shadow Milk helps him lean back and in a rare moment of helpfulness, the Spire itself drops them a few pillows and a blanket, radiating approval.

Glaring at the ceiling, he accepts the offerings anyway, wrapping the blanket around Blueberry and himself—only because the fool is gripping his arm hard enough to bruise. Knowledge lets out a shaky breath, leaning back against the couch, shoulders still trembling.

To his own surprise, he projects a wave of calm for Blueberry, wrapping their magic together. The two fit like puzzle pieces, Knowledge curling against Deceit, the closest it has ever willingly been.

He maintains it for a moment and finds the gesture returned with a wave of confusion-appreciation. Shutting his eyes, he leans against his other half, for once feeling oddly peaceful. In the back of his mind, he thinks about forcing an answer out of Blueberry—it isn't as if the other cookie can fight back now.

He doesn't, if only because their connection is the only thing tempering the wildfire that were his emotions.

A moment passes, and the pain dies down slowly, fading into its usual dull ache. There is silence for a while, but neither of them move, still tangled up with each other.

Eventually, Blueberry speaks, voice rough and scratchy, but his tone is soft, “...thought you'd shake the answers out of me the moment you found me.” he jokes, leaning his head back against the couch and taking a deep shuddering breath.

Shadow Milk rolls his eyes, “Oh, don't get me wrong sweet Berry, I will. Just… not now, I guess.” He shrugs. It isn't exactly a good idea when he isn't the one with control over the Spire.

“Why not? You don’t often hesitate.” Blueberry huffs, tucking the blanket closer.

“I know better than to interrupt one of your flare-ups. Why? Oh, I don't know, it's not like I feel everything you do.” The biting words come out more bitter than he had intended, earning him a flinch that doesn't feel as satisfying as he hoped it would.

“....hah, I wouldn't be able to tell with the way you act sometimes.” He chuckles, but his words lack the fire it usually has.

Silence, again. Most of the time, this is where their argument escalates and his temper gets the better of him. This time, he doesn't start anything, keeping his anger leashed as he grabs Blueberry’s hand, squeezing it instead.

“...is it so wrong of me to want us to move on?” He asks, turning his head to look himself in the eyes.

“... …do we deserve to?” Blueberry asks in return, voice small.

“It isn't about deserving. It's not—I refuse to say it's selfish to want to live for yourself. To want to be Free.” Shadow Milk snaps.

“Even if living for yourself also means lying to yourself? I… I don't want to live like that. That—that isn't true Freedom.”

“Heh. With how you shackle yourself, I'm starting to think you don't want to live at all.”

The confession comes quickly and without hesitation, “I don't.”

A pause.

“...I do. I want to be Free. Where does that leave us?”

There is no answer. Blueberry only looks away, tugging himself to the other side of the couch. He watches Knowledge curls into himself again, shutting his eyes as if trying to ignore the world itself.

Shadow Milk sighs, getting up to his feet, “Pull yourself together. I'm recalling Pure Vanilla and the children. Just—think about it, I’m sure I don't need to repeat my argument to you. Once you see Truth, you'll Know.”

“...know what? That Truth is but a farce? That this world is as hopeless as it was all those centuries ago?” Blueberry murmurs from where he is, his gaze fixed at Shadow Milk’s back.

“That Deceit is mercy upon ourselves, and it’d do you good to Free yourself from the shackles of your own guilt.” He does not turn back, opening a portal in front of him to return to the little arena he had made when announcing the beginning of the treasure hunt game.

It might be a bad idea to not push Blueberry for answers, but if he is going to convince the remnants of Knowledge to Fall, it would do him better to play nice for now.

Besides, seeing Pure Vanilla alone might be enough to fully convince him to the other side. Shadow Milk steps through the portal and the Spire’s magic swirls around him the moment he is on the other side.

Unexpectedly, the portal stays open even after he orders it closed—a familiar signature curls around his magic, keeping the little gateway open as Blueberry steps through to join him.

Knowledge looks wrecked, but he is standing on his two feet stubbornly, using his staff as a makeshift cane. Shadow Milk sighs and wraps a hand around Blueberry’s arm, keeping him steady.

“I thought you had a show prepared for me.” Blueberry says innocently, for once not pulling away. Suddenly, it's as if they didn't have that earlier conversation at all.

Shadow Milk huffs, playing along despite his apprehension, “I do, but it isn't right now. I was going to be a gracious host and let you rest before it starts.”

A snicker, “My, my, you're much too kind. You know I don't mind waiting.”

“Bullshit.” He scowls.

With a snap of his fingers, he summons an armchair behind the little podium they stand on. The arena is still packed with the puppet spectators, but none of the contestants have arrived yet.

Blueberry takes the opportunity to plop down on the seat, leaning back with a snicker. He rolls his eyes at his ‘brother’ and settles against the air, keeping himself afloat with magic.

“What did you make them do?” Knowledge asks.

“I made them go looking for you.” Shadow Milk shrugs, his magic reaching out to locate the three groups of cookies.

“..really?” Blueberry’s familiar signature curls against his own, calling forth their Spire to assist. To his annoyance, it responds to Blueberry almost immediately—albeit with an apology tossed his way.

He squashes down the feeling, to keep his mood if nothing else, “Is it so surprising?” he drawls at Blueberry as their magic locates the groups. Three portals manifest at the center of the arena.

“You sent them on a wild cakehound chase. I thought you'd play around with them more.” He points out. To that, Shadow Milk simply shrugs, not keen on offering much explanation.

The group of two ginger cookies are somewhere south, in the lower levels of the Spire. They stumble through one of the portals one after the other, crashing in a heap. The hatted one immediately jumps up, scowling at his friend who scowls right back, an argument starting immediately—or perhaps, picking back up.

The two girls return much more calmly, Candy Apple stepping through another portal and surprisingly enough, turning around to offer a hand to the other girl. She steps through cautiously, eyeing the portal with a suspicious glance.

At least one of the ginger gnats has some sense.

Blueberry sighs, “Brave, Wizard.” he calls, voice ringing loudly despite the background noise of the puppets. The argument dies down almost instantly, both ginger boys perking up at them and waving enthusiastically.

“....hm.” Shadow Milk floats closer, leaning one elbow against the chair’s armrest. It gets him a flick on the forehead and an unimpressed expression,

“It's only polite to Know their names.” Knowledge says, like a liar.

He snorts, “Sure.”

Someone gasps and points at him, “Shadow Milk Cookie!”

Now Blueberry snorts.

“I've been here the whole time. Who do you think got you here?” Shadow Milk guffaws.

The children start whispering among themselves. Really, these brats do not have a single subtle bone in their dough. The last portal remains open, not a single cookie stepping through.

His eyes dart to Candy Apple, who scrutinizes the last active portal. She steps out of the circle of her group, sauntering to the portal with Strawberry right behind her.

It glows, but neither Pure Vanilla nor Black Sapphire step through.

“....” Blueberry rises from his seat and jumps down into the arena, leaving Shadow Milk to stand alone on the elevated platform.

Candy Apple immediately rushes for him and for a second he expects them to hug right there. Dear Berry has always been awfully sentimental. Except—this time, Knowledge does not, carefully side-stepping their daughter-apprentice to step closer to the last open portal.

A flash of poison-laced magic flickers, coating the portal, and someone finally steps through. Black Sapphire is put together as always, staff tucked to his side as he walks through. The boy is grinning, despite knowing that he had failed the game Shadow Milk set.

Although, Black Sapphire would know that the game was a farce from the very beginning. If Blueberry did not want to be found and he has forced the Spire to hide him, finding him is basically impossible.

The only reason Shadow Milk had found him was because the Spire had blatantly directed him to his other half. Which was an odd decision, to say the least—he thought Blueberry would have called for Pure Vanilla or Black Sapphire instead.

Something clicks in his brain and he sighs, realising that it was most likely the Spire's way of dousing the flames of his anger. He never did like to pester Blueberry mid flare-up.

He watches from his platform as Black Sapphire’s smile only widens at the sight of his ‘father’, who furrows his brows at the boy and steps back, anticipating their last arrival.

Unlike Candy Apple, Black Sapphire does not attempt to move closer, seemingly acting more normal now than he had been this entire night—it must be related to whatever plan Blueberry has, he knows. Whatever it is, it involves Pure Vanilla, and it is bad enough to make their children cling to Blueberry the way they do in the aftermath of every time Knowledge did something stupid.

The cookie who steps out after Black Sapphire is not Pure Vanilla, but the way Deceit deliciously clings to his magical presence almost makes his heart skip a beat.

The other half of the original Soul Jam of Knowledge walks into the arena cloaked in black and blue, a dead-eyed expression on his face. Blueberry staggers back at the sight of him, face dropping. Black Sapphire is there in an instant, grabbing Knowledge’s arm to keep him steady.

The costume change isn't anything new—he had noticed it earlier, but was too caught up in his own anger to comment. Now, he lets his eyes glaze over Pure Vanilla shamelessly, taking in the sight of Truth in his colours.

Blueberry does not seem to share his opinion, because all he does is blankly stare at the healer. Candy Apple tucks herself to his side, taking over for Black Sapphire, who steps to the center of the arena and bows Shadow Milk’s way, declaring,

“I present to you, the Truthless Recluse.” His smile widens and the crowds of puppets cheer.

Chapter Text

The plan was simple.

In theory, that is. In practice, it’s fickle and the most important variable for its success is more so. Neither of them know how Blue will take the news of Pure Vanilla’s ‘fall’, and less can be said about what he will do afterwards.

Blue has been resisting Deceit for millennia, and he could very well choose death over giving Shadow Milk the satisfaction of a unified Soul Jam. If Black Sapphire is right, the only thing tethering his friend to the living is the burning desire to end the Beast of Deceit’s reign before moving on.

Otherwise, if all he wanted to do was die, Knowledge would have broken long ago.

Pure Vanilla’s own Soul Jam glows dimly, its magic trying to catch his attention. Reflexively, he turns away, not wanting to face his own Virtue just yet.

“...if he truly wanted to die, his Soul Jam would have broken long ago.” He states this slowly, repeating the Truth for himself. It’s–well, suicidal ideation is not uncommon among war veterans, but if he weren’t told, he would not have thought Blue to be the type to even consider suicide.

Although, it isn’t as if he knows Blue very well, in spite of their connection.

Sighing, he leans against the table, pondering over every new information he’s gained in the past few hours. It’s honestly a little too much, but they are short on time as it is. Perhaps that was even why the Spire had taken upon itself to tell its side of the story. With Blue missing after whatever happened with Shadow Milk, he doubts they will get an opportunity to hear Knowledge’s side of the story.

“Yeah–” Black Sapphire nods at his statement, expression sullen–then, he suddenly stands.

Alarmed, Pure Vanilla straightens his back as the space around them flickers, the Spire’s tiles rattling at them. A rip in space opens a few meters away from them, a familiar blue portal forming. Black Sapphire curses, his magic taking hold of the portal and shifting its colour into a deep purple.

“We’re out of time–who the hell found father?” He furrows his brows.

The Spire clacks the floor tiles of the room, nudging over the table and flipping it over. Pure Vanilla reaches out and grabs the tome before it could fall onto the ground. Black Sapphire bristles, “Hey now, quit that–!”

Hugging the book to his chest, Pure Vanilla tries his best to dodge the moving floor tiles, “...uhm–I think it’s trying to tell us something?” he suggests.

The portal makes a sharp noise, regaining a hint of blue. Black Sapphire winces, “Right–probably. Unfortunately, we do not have time to figure out whatever it is the Spire is trying to tell us. Master is calling and we have to go, remember the plan–”

Another book flies from some corner of the room to hit Black Sapphire on the back of the head. To his credit, the young man barely flinches at the hit and simply stomps on the floor to express his frustration, “Books? What? You’re telling me father found himself?” he sasses and floats the fallen book towards him, eyes brushing over the cover.

“...oh.”

Curious, Pure Vanilla returns the tome to the shelf and makes his way towards Black Sapphire–this time much more easily as the floor tiles have spontaneously stopped moving the moment the young mage had picked up the book. A quick angling of his staff reveals it to be a book about chronic pain.

Black Sapphire buries his face in his hands, “He had a flare-up. The Spire probably directed master to where father is. Well.. that’s–one way to end the game, I suppose–”

As if reminding them of its presence, the portal continues to glow ominously, more blue overtaking the purple. It gets a dirty look from Black Sapphire, who floats the book back where it belongs and waves his hand at the portal, turning it a deeper purple,

“Alright, we’re out of time. He’s–I honestly have no idea what’s going to happen, but your objective is to talk to father and convince him. I.. I’ll try to help where I can, but don’t count on it.” Black Sapphire takes a step forward, facing the glowing portal with a grimace.

Feeling a little dread, Pure Vanilla can only nod, “..I’ll–well, I’ll do my best.” he offers the young man a smile.

It only gets a sigh in return, “Not like you have any other choice. Though–one more thing. Father..” he hesitates.

Pure Vanilla inches closer, waiting for the next few words.

Bowing his head, Black Sapphire exhales, shoulders slumping as if he is carrying a heavy weight. He turns to Pure Vanilla with a grim expression, finally revealing, “...remember this: father can only tell the Truth, but it’s the Truth as he sees it. I’m sure you’ll want to talk to him, but do not take his words at face value.”

That—that is quite the bombshell of a revelation. He forces out a nod, telling himself to process that later.

“Alright, let’s go. Put on your best miserable face, old man.” Black Sapphire declares.

Despite everything, Pure Vanilla manages a half-hearted chuckle. The next few hours are going to be something, certainly.

🌿

The first look he gets of Blue feels crushing.

It's that same blank, hopeless expression he had kneeling in front of a mountain of bodies. The lone golden eye stares at Pure Vanilla like he can't quite believe what he is seeing.

A hand reaches out and it takes all of Pure Vanilla’s willpower to not reach back, forcing himself to turn away and feeling his own heart clench when it earns him a flinch. Someone lands next to him and it is Shadow Milk, who wraps one arm around his shoulders and grins at Blue with an ugly sneer,

“Like his new look? Much easier on the eyes, right?” The Beast taunts, his hand settling on one shoulder as he leans over Pure Vanilla to taunt his brother.

“...what did he tell you?” Blue states, ignoring Shadow Milk entirely. It does not get the angry reaction he would expect, the Beast simply scoffing.

“....” Pure Vanilla pauses.

The plan. Black Sapphire’s plan. It's—it is not one that he likes, but it is the best option considering he does not have time to figure out a better one. It goes against his very own belief, to lie and lead Blue into believing that he has Fallen to the side of Deceit.

It will be cruel—it is cruel.

A glance from Black Sapphire, and Pure Vanilla steels his own nerves, “The Truth.” He says, the lie feeling bitter on his tongue and all the more convincing for it.

“The Truth.” Blue repeats softly, his voice breaking at the last syllable.

Shadow Milk hums, floating a little further away to observe his twin, his gaze focused on the both of them. The children are mostly silent, but he can hear whispered conversations in the background even as the air tenses around the three of them.

Knowledge stands on shaky feet, but it is a subtle thing. He is holding himself steady, shoulders slumped, one slightly higher than the other. There is a slight tremor to his frame, and his hair is surprisingly not a mess despite having been dunked in water just a few hours ago. It's dry and combed back messily, a far cry from the bun he had styled it to.

Blue does not move closer, not after the initial rejection. Instead, he continues speaking, his voice low as if sharing with him a secret,

“Do you believe it, then? That Deceit is the only way forward? The only way to be Free? That this world as it is is not worth fighting for?”

Pure Vanilla swallows the lump in his throat and hopes the way his heart clenches does not show on his face. He answers, keeping his voice composed, “...I saw your memories.” He starts, and the usually confident war mage only shrinks into himself further.

“...you did.” Blue answers, voice hollow. He runs a hand through his hair much like Black Sapphire did earlier, letting out a shuddering breath.

“And what a show it was, hm?” Shadow Milk chuckles, stepping forward.

“It was a tragedy.” Pure Vanilla corrects.

Blue steps closer to meet his brother, but he keeps his gaze locked on Pure Vanilla,

“A tragedy you don’t want to repeat, but is that really your Truth?”

“...I grow weary of trying and finding reasons to be kind. I no longer wish to burden myself with responsibility, with the weight I must carry as a ‘hero’. Why try so hard when in the end—” He cuts himself off as Blue speaks over him,

“It doesn't even matter, right? New cookies will be baked, and the world will move on with or without us.” Knowledge grips his own hair, digging his fingers into his scalp.

The Spire stills, clearly sensing the distress of its master. Pure Vanilla bites his tongue, deeply unwilling to distress his friend further. Shadow Milk seems to have less reservations, his expression only growing more amused the further their conversation goes.

It’s clear that Blue is on the edge of the cliff of hope, barely hanging on as it is. If he wants the plan to work, he has to be the one to stomp on the remaining thing keeping Knowledge afloat and doom it to a cruel death.

Pure Vanilla fails to hide the way his breath hitches, but it comes out as a sigh as he forces out, “...indeed. I do not wish to become another tragedy. I.. this way, letting go of everything I once believed in.. my Truth, my hope to heal the world..” his voice trails off and he shuts his own eyes, hoping to hide the way they burn and willing his voice to not crack,

“I… I do not wish to fight for those things anymore. Just as I shall no longer lie to myself or wander in the fog of the fear within my heart.” He continues and does not dare open his own eyes before he delivers the last line, playing his part to the best of his ability,

“...from now on, I will be known simply as ‘Truthless Recluse.’ A silent observer.”

Silence.

Shadow Milk’s delight is so stark it could be felt across the room. It gets no reaction from the children, but then there is the sound of choking and the rustle of clothing, before something falls onto the ground with a thump.

It's Blue, on his knees, staring up at Pure Vanilla like a believer who has been forsaken by his god. Candy Apple remains loyally at his side, clutching into her father's sleeve, lip wobbling. Not even a glance is spared her way as Blue breaks the silence, his gaze brushing over Pure Vanilla to meet the Beast standing next to him,

“Congrats. You won.” The words come out forced, the resignation clear.

Shadow Milk snorts, getting down on one knee in front of his brother, “So I did… and yet, you still can't see it.” The Beast’s smile vanishes as he grips Blue’s arm, pulling him up to his feet.

“There is nothing you can tell me that I do not already know.” Blue staggers on shaky feet, but he does not fall. Not yet.

Tugging Knowledge forward, Deceit presses in, their Soul Jams now close enough to make contact. There is an odd feeling in the air—something akin to dread. The Soul Jams glow in unison, Pure Vanilla’s faded Truth joining them.

“Do you feel it.” Shadow Milk asks, but it is phrased like a statement more than a question, as if this is something Blue should know.

Unexpectedly, Blue laughs out his answer, burying his head on his brother’s shoulder as if he had just been told a great joke, “Consequences, yeah?”

The Beast grips his collar, “Instability. Continuing as we are is a death wish, remember. Haven't you noticed? In the moment we were separated, your flare-up returned.” He points out and at that, Pure Vanilla’s eyes roam across his friend's form.

The way his shoulders shake, the sweat on his brow, how he is leaning heavily against Shadow Milk as if it hurts to even stand. Candy Apple, still ignored by both parents, supports Blue well enough to keep him from falling over.

Shadow Milk cups Blue’s cheek gently, cradling him close and taking his weight off of Candy Apple, “I want to be Free. Where does that leave us?” He asks, and it almost sounds like he is repeating a line.

Blue flinches. He doesn't move, his entire form still shaking under the weight of the question—under Shadow Milk’s magic, winding around the Spire and coaxing it to obey, ripping control from Knowledge.

A flick of the wrist, and Shadow Milk teleports Blue up to the little platform above them, pushing him onto an armchair and forcing him to sit. He turns around, taking calm steps towards Pure Vanilla and offering him a hand, “Join me. Witness my mercy, a taste of the true Freedom we could have together.” A smile, and it strikes Pure Vanilla how genuine it is, not even a trace of mockery hidden.

His hand trembles and he hesitates just for a moment, his eyes searching for Blue’s gaze. Knowledge is silent on the little pedestal he has been put on, meeting his eyes with a blank expression, almost dead to the world.

I'm sorry. He finds himself repeating, a confession and a prayer all in one. There is no answer—no absolution.

Pure Vanilla takes the hand of Deceit, and the world fades around them.

🌿

He wakes in a familiar bed and the ceiling of a canopy he hasn’t seen in forever. Taking a deep breath, Pure Vanilla clutches at his Soul Jam, carefully surveying his surroundings.

It's his room in the palace. His old palace, which has been destroyed and rebuilt anew. A few things immediately stick out to him as wrong. The white lilies on his bedside table are not there, replaced with milkcrown flowers. His bed canopy is made from a different type of wood.

Yule log. Which was supposed to have gone extinct centuries ago. He had it replaced with roll cake at Gingerbrave's recommendation. Pure Vanilla sits up, rushing to the full length mirror he knows was broken, only to find it intact.

For a moment, he fears the sight of his own reflection—flashes of blue and black coming to mind instead of yellow and white. A quick spell retrieves his staff from its place against his bedside table. Adjusting his hold, his vision slowly clears.

Pure Vanilla sees his own face staring back at him, sans the robes he had as Truthless Recluse. Instead, he's wearing a night robe he used to wear centuries ago, back when he was still king.

“....” Frowning, he raises his staff and casts a spell to break the illusion.

The magic is reflected back at him, the scanning spell picking up nothing. Suddenly, the doors of his bedroom slam open and in walks a familiar cookie, talking loudly as he approaches,

“Rise and shine, sunshine! We’ve got a big day today—what are you doing?” The cookie with the appearance of the Fount of Knowledge asks, tilting his head in polite confusion.

“Rather early to admire yourself in the mirror, no?” He teases, stepping to Pure Vanilla’s side with a grin on his face.

Sensing no threat, Pure Vanilla pauses in his tracks, his magic reaching out to the other cookie—just to make sure, he tells himself. The other cookie’s magical presence registers to his senses as Shadow Milk, but it feels off just because of how Light it is.

Still, it could be faked—he is still in the lair of Deceit. For a moment, he wonders if Shadow Milk even bought his act. It wasn't as if they had interacted much after Pure Vanilla had taken on the guise of the Truthless Recluse–though, one would have thought literally taking his hand would have meant the Beast had fallen for it.

“...Shadow Milk?” He frowns.

The reaction he gets is entirely unexpected. Eyes wide, the Fount laughs and pats him on the back, doubling over in amusement, “Did you—okay now, what's happening? Did you seriously just call me that?”

“I—” Pure Vanilla sputters, “Isn't that your name?” He argues.

“You forgot my name? I'm hurt, nilly. But seriously, even if you did forget somehow, Shadow Milk? Really? That's the edgiest shit I've ever heard since Black Sapphire got out of his emo phase.”

The laughter continues for a while and all Pure Vanilla can do is stand in confusion while this iteration of his friend—who doesn't seem to be Shadow Milk nor Blue—slowly calms himself down.

“Leave it to you to make me laugh so much at six in the Witch-damn morning.” The Fount sighs, wiping the corners of his eyes, his expression full of mirth.

Impulsively, Pure Vanilla reaches a hand out and cups his friend’s face, brushing his thumb over his left eye. Not milky white, not even the deep blue of Shadow Milk—but something else entirely: a much Lighter, pure blue that is nearly identical to his own. His face is unscarred, sharing neither Shadow Milk nor Blue’s marks.

That eye blinks and unexpectedly, a hand clasps itself over his own and the Fount leans into the hold, meeting his eyes with a smile. It's the soft, kind smile—the one Shadow Milk can never quite replicate.

The hand is ungloved. He grabs the hand, scrutinizing the thing and drawing comparisons. It isn't as scarred as Blue’s, nor as clean as Shadow Milk’s, lacking the calluses of both. It is the smooth, clean hands of a scholar, unscarred from war.

He turns it over for further inspection but his musings are interrupted when the Fount tugs at their joined hands gently,

“...not that I don't like whatever this is, but we really should get going. Lily and Fee are waiting for us.” His friend gently reminds.

Pure Vanilla’s mind races. He tries the scanning spell again, but it doesn’t pick up anything. Even the cookie in front of him registers as real when he is supposed to be dead and long gone.

He is real, without the injuries of either Shadow Milk nor Blue. It is as if the cookie standing in front of him is the ideal version of the two that he knew. Happy, bright, untainted with the wounds of war and the bitter taste of regret.

This reality—it does not have the wobbly feeling or the constantly shifting atmosphere of Shadow Milk’s space manipulation. Wherever they are, it must still be the Spire. The Beast couldn't have manipulated reality to this extent just by having his Soul Jam’s assistance.

He tugs his hand away from the visage of the Fount, raising his staff. There is one effective way to break an illusion this advanced, but a shield casts itself over him and his staff is ripped from his hands.

Pure Vanilla gasps and blindly bats at the other cookie—the Fount, who holds him gently as he keeps his staff away. His vision blurs as it always does without the staff and he squints his eyes at the other cookie.

“There is something seriously wrong with you.” The Fount states and a wave of magic washes over him—the scanning spell, again.

“I—sorry, it's—” He bites his own tongue.

Calm down, Pure Vanilla, he tells himself. Blue wouldn't let the children get hurt. Shadow Milk won't hurt Blue when his plan hinges on his twin’s cooperation. This illusion hasn't been harmful towards him either—just incredibly confusing. It is definitely not what he thought would happen when he took Shadow Milk’s hand.

“Look, why don't we get some breakfast? Maybe that’ll help take your mind off that nightmare.” His staff is gently pressed back into his hands and his vision clears just in time to see the Fount up close.

The concern, if it is faked, is done very convincingly. It almost makes him feel bad, but distancing from his Soul Jam as he is, the feeling is easy to ignore. A hand curls against his and he is led to the vanity just in the corner of his room.

One look at the vanity and many differences stand out to him. The white lilies in the little pot on the table, a tiny bush of milkcrown flowers next to it, and a third pot full of silver flowers he distantly remembers seeing in the Faerie Kingdom.

Even his accessories have changed slightly, having more colours than just his customary yellow, white and blue. The box for his Soul Jam sits where it usually is, but it is different—now with a distinct magical presence that is nearly identical to the cookie standing behind him.

The Fount brushes his hair quickly, styling his bangs in the way Pure Vanilla himself would do. It is done with the ease of practice, and not five minutes later he is fully dressed. He stares at his own reflection. Undoubtedly, it is still himself, but there are minute details that stick out.

Mainly the absence of eye bags from sleepless nights, but he swears he has less frown lines on his face. He even feels less exhausted–as if he had gotten a full night’s rest between the time he took Shadow Milk’s hand and the moment he woke up here.

“...you okay?” The Fount asks him gently.

If not for the circumstances that landed him here, this could have felt like a very nice morning. Pure Vanilla forces himself to nod, stepping in line with the Fount and turning towards the door,

“...I.. let’s.. let’s just get breakfast.” He tries for a smile, but it might not have come out quite right because the Fount places a gentle hand on his shoulder,

“If there's anything bothering you, I'm here to listen. Or, you could always confide in Lily or Fee.” He says kindly, like there is nothing wrong in this world—to this illusion, this is reality, even if Pure Vanilla does not belong in it.

Faced with kindness, Pure Vanilla’s shoulders slump, “I.. I will, thank you. I just.. I need some time.” He lies, and he can tell the Fount does not buy it, but their conversation ends there anyway as they step into the hallway.

The hallway is much the same as it was back in Pure Vanilla’s time, but the decorations stick out as different. There is more blue in the castle walls, the flowers he sees are a mix of the three on his vanity.

Even the cookies are different. Though the castle staff are mostly vanillians, he sees some distinctly blueberry-flavored cookies and even some faerie cookies roaming around the halls. Every cookie they pass greet both him and his companion, either with a smile, a giggle or a quick wave before they make their way to where they need to be.

It’s the perfect image of a bustling castle right in the morning rush, complete with the soft lighting and the birds chirping outside. Hand in hand, they walk through the garden to get to the dining hall, and it strikes Pure Vanilla just how colourful his garden is in this new reality.

“....” He swallows.

Originally, he never intended to start a garden in the Vanilla castle. It started as just one pot of lily flowers, a gift from his best friend that he had kept alive long after their separation. That single flower grew into multiple, until he had an entire garden of it in the castle’s backyard.

Then, some servants had started taking the excess flowers to decorate the castle with. He never objected, because just as he loved his best friend, he too loved the flowers that resembled her.

This new garden looked like it was made intentionally, or perhaps renovated to be so. Most of it are milkcrown flowers, but there are multiple others, arranged tastefully in a mix of whites and blues. He even spots a speck of yellow, green and purple mixed between.

“Notice anything different?” The Fount asks, nudging him with a grin.

“...I.. a lot.” He answers ineloquently, aiming his staff around the garden to get a better view. The fresh scent of flowers is almost breathtaking in its intensity–there is still a faint scent of lily, but not as overwhelming as it often was in his original garden.

“I rearranged it personally. We got a new shipment of silverbells just yesterday.”

“Silverbells..” Pure Vanilla shuts his eyes, listening closely to the sound of the wind.

The weather is awfully nice in this illusion of a morning. Almost as if it was curated to his tastes of what makes a good morning specifically. He hears the gentle chime of the wind brushing against the silverbells, the soft sound almost sounding like laughter.

“Yeah. Your very own musical garden. Did you know they make a different note depending on petal size?” The Fount beams at him.

“...oh, they do?” He opens his eyes, blinking owlishly at his friend.

“Shush and listen closely. I did so much math for this.”

Muffling a somewhat awkward laugh, he does, shutting his eyes again to focus on the twinkling bells. True to the Fount's words, the chiming of the silverbells create a simple melody.

Amazed, Pure Vanilla genuinely smiles at the gentle music, “I hear it.”

“I tried to make the melody longer, but I kind of didn't have the time to finish it.” His friend sighs.

“I—it’s alright.”

For a moment, he remembers that they don't necessarily have to go through the garden to get to the dining hall. At this, he levels a look at his companion, who returns the expression with a mischievous grin.

It’s—touching, certainly. The Fount had intentionally brought him through the garden to show him the flowers.

“You made this for me?” He asks as they reach the end of the garden, their backs against the last hallway they need to walk through before reaching the dining hall.

“Duh. Who else? Though, I was gonna also show this to Fee. He told me it wasn't possible to make music with silverbells, but HAH. Can't wait to see the look on his face.” The Fount snickers.

“...thank you—” Pure Vanilla says genuinely, but cuts himself off before he could say a name.

He doesn't—the cookie in front of him is clearly neither Blue nor Shadow Milk. Theoretically, that'd mean his name could either be Blue’s original name or whatever Shadow Milk’s name was. But, he saw no recognition at the sound of ‘Shadow Milk’—which was odd, to say the least.

One would think that in this ideal world, the twins would have a good relationship.

“...” His friend smiles at him. It's–a happy smile, one entirely unique to this version of the former Fount of Knowledge.

“Blueberry Milk.” Someone calls, unexpectedly giving him his answer, and the two of them turn towards the hallway where another cookie stands, bathed in white. Freezing in place, his heart drops at the sight of that demure smile and the faint scent of lilies.

Chapter Text

There was a time when fear felt familiar.

In fact, it was the first emotion ‘Shadow Milk’ had been born with. One step, a stumble, one push, the feeling of a free fall–the ever-consuming fear of what will happen when he hits the ground–then, the satisfaction of finally, finally killing that last weak link in his heart.

Except, it hadn’t lasted long. Not when he had felt the moment Knowledge hit the ground. It didn’t last, that dark nothingness. At the time, he thought it to be a fluke, because surely, now that his Soul Jam had corrupted into something else, it’d mean the end of Knowledge. Perhaps, he had underestimated his own stubbornness–no, he did, it was an impossible task to lie to oneself when his life’s purpose was to be the literal embodiment of Knowing.

Still, it couldn’t be said that he didn’t try, anyway. There was no going back after all of that, and there was really nothing to go back to with how he had destroyed it all with his own two hands. And yet–the moment he arrived at the bottom of the Spire, there he was.

Clinging to the remnants of their life’s purpose, the cage that was Knowledge.

He remembers seeing Blueberry for the very first time, after manifesting fully as Shadow Milk. It was a strange experience, akin to looking in the mirror except the reflection does not quite match. Knowledge, laying on the ground, jam caked around his head. His eyes staring up at nothing, dead to the world.

The sight of it was unsettling, to say the least. It's not every day that one can stare at their own dead body in the face.

For a moment, he had been ready to toss the corpse into the pile of ashes in their backyard, fully looking forward to discarding that last shackle—before it quite literally returned from the dead to haunt him, arms wrapped around his then barely-solid form, the ghost sobbing into his robes as if crying would change anything.

The sight of the tears–the bitter taste of regret, it had tainted that entire day. With that remaining link quite literally reviving itself, Freedom felt further than it ever was–even after forsaking everything that ever mattered to him.

It was then that his fear morphed into anger.

Out of all the Beasts, he remains the sole one to be so indecisive. The only one with a part of him still hung up on his old Virtue. Guilty for serving, guilty for surviving–guilty for living. Blueberry serves as a constant, physical reminder of both his failures. The failure to fulfill his original purpose–and the failure to forsake it.

Worse yet–he can’t even get rid of that stain. Being two halves of a former whole, they shared all. Memories, feelings, pain. No matter how much he tries to get rid of Blueberry, he always returns.

Their first death only confirmed it. No matter what either of them does, it will affect the other. He remembers Blueberry’s deranged laughter during that night, fresh in his mind as if it had happened yesterday. The feeling of his hands wrapped around his own throat, the uncomfortable pressure of being choked.

A staff right through his heart, through the Soul Jam—that accursed thing breaking in half and fully sealing the little split—the agony that came afterwards, a pain that was so intense he couldn't even scream at the face of it.

He thinks a part of the pain of that initial first blow has stayed with him, even long after they've stopped trying to kill each other. It's different from Blueberry’s pain, less visceral and more—something, equally gut-wrenching and leaving a burning feeling in his heart.

It was part of Blueberry’s design, he knows. In their earliest days, the hatred they had for each other was very mutual. So far from the embers it is in the present, where their argument seldom ends in much injury outside ruffled feathers from a screaming match.

Back then, choked with fresh guilt as they were, it was much too easy to take out that pain on each other. With words, with violence—with whatever way they can use to hurt each other.

Although, words were never very effective in inflicting much pain on Blueberry.

“There is nothing you can tell me that I do not already know.”

He’s much better at hurting with words. It’s a source of endless frustration for Shadow Milk, because he knows most of what his twin says are true—even if Blueberry can lie to him, the little shit actively chooses not to.

Whatever Shadow Milk can throw at him verbally, it would never hurt as much—not when Blueberry remains the ‘Virtue’ out of the both of them, the holder of the moral high ground.

Their spat evolved into something almost like a game—a competition. Of which one of them can hurt the other more. Unknown to him at the time, that first meeting of theirs had set a precedent.

Knowledge’s survival had guaranteed one thing, and Blueberry made that clear the moment he had stopped laughing through all of Shadow Milk’s attempts to kill him.

“For as long as I live, you will never know peace.” He had wheezed out, choking on his own jam, bleeding in every possible way—the pain echoing itself in Shadow Milk’s own form, but never as intense.

As the Fount of Knowledge, their pain tolerance was nothing impressive—but Blueberry took it a step further, being able to take virtually anything from stab wounds to having his neck snapped without even pausing a single sentence.

In contrast, Shadow Milk finds himself somewhat more tolerant of the opposite—the pain of words, all because it was the only thing Blueberry could do to hurt him back when his form was barely corporeal.

He could have easily tuned most of it out, of course—but his dear brother had even found a way around that. To this day, he does not know what curse was cast, but one thing he does know is that his dreams have never been peaceful.

It's less of an issue than Blueberry’s chronic pain, of course, but the lack of sleep gets to him. It makes the shadows grow deeper, his paranoia taking over at times, derealization settling in every second he finds himself alone.

With Black Sapphire and Candy Apple, it gets—better. When Blueberry had moved back into the Spire, it no longer became a problem at all. At the cost of Blueberry himself being a problem, that is.

Although, he prefers it to being alone by a long mile. If Blueberry is being too annoying, the solution to shutting him up is as simple as dunking him in water.

Contrary to whatever his brother believes, drowning is unpleasant for both of them. It isn't as if he had come up with the idea, either—the first time Blueberry drowned, it was not by his hand. He was the one to fish him out.

It was the first time he had seen Blueberry truly shaken—worse than the moment of their split, leaving him convulsing and unresponsive for days. Shadow Milk had looked his twin in the eye and instinctively knew that this was the one way to hurt Blueberry most.

More than any other physical hurt, more than words—with everything else, he grew numb to them eventually. With the water, it hurts Blueberry just as much as the sleeplessness of his existence hurts Shadow Milk.

The unpleasant secondhand pain became a price he gladly paid every time Blueberry got under his dough. It’s—cruel, spiteful, petty—but really, he is a Beast. Isn't that to be expected?

And so their game continues, words and violence throughout the centuries, the two halves of what’s left of their Soul Jam cracking under the weight of their indecision every year that passes.

Shadow Milk brushes a hand over his Soul Jam. It’s not without damage, but it probably looks much better than Knowledge. He takes a deep breath, ignoring the raw gaping wound in his very being to focus his attention on his ‘brother’.

With Truth’s assistance, it is easy to shape the world to his vision—but, there is something odd about it. The Soul Jam of Truth, although it is but half of the original Virtue of Knowledge, does not feel as powerful as he remembers it being.

While it could very well be the issue of the missing quarter that is Blueberry’s Soul Jam, it is still odd that Truth feels no more powerful than his own Soul Jam when Pure Vanilla holds half of his old power instead of the quarter he has under Deceit.

He doesn't know why, but his instincts tell him that Blueberry had something to do with it. Even though it should be impossible, as he had interfered early on to remove control of the narrative from Blueberry.

Presently, Blueberry remains seated in the platform above, no doubt still reeling from the shock of what Pure Vanilla had turned into. Or, perhaps, having another flare-up.

Shadow Milk sighs, leaning against the air and waving his hand, the scenery around them changing, morphing from an arena into a beautiful night sky. The change catches Blueberry’s attention, Knowledge painstakingly sitting up, his hands clenched tightly on the armrest—flare-up, then.

“I won, you said.” He says conversationally, leaning close to his twin.

Twitching, Blueberry gives no response.

“But you don't seem ready to admit it to yourself.” He continues, eyes scanning over Blueberry's form—his Soul Jam is nowhere in sight.

“I don't believe Pure Vanilla has fallen.” Blueberry states, for once being the one to reach out for his hand.

This time, Shadow Milk twitches as their hands make contact. That—really, he always knows just what to say, doesn't he? Eyeing his other half cautiously, he leans close, Soul Jam glowing with magic, “Why, I almost fooled myself into thinking that you were telling the Truth there. Come on, the saint has fallen. We've never been one in the first place, so for whom will you keep playing pretend.”

“Pretend? I'm not the one deluding myself into thinking that the fake dreams you've made is Freedom.”

Shadow Milk squeezes that hand, “You sure love to get on my nerves, don't you? Need I remind you that we're alone here. Everyone is off living their sweet lie, everyone except for you.”

Blueberry raises a brow, unflinching, tilting his head up towards him almost in challenge, “So what? Your ‘true’ plan needs my cooperation, dear brother.”

His Soul Jam hums at the back of his mind, whispering something. Too caught up in his own emotions and how easily Blueberry pushes his buttons, he ignores the hum, focusing his attention on his twin.

“That's true. I need your cooperation. But there's one thing you've forgotten, Berry.” Shadow Milk grabs him by the collar, dragging him close and hissing,

“I happen to be the one to hold three quarters of our original Soul Jam. I need your cooperation, but I don't need your mind intact for that.” He smiles with teeth.

Instead of the fear—or anything else he was expecting, really—Blueberry laughs. It’s the same sound it was a millennia ago at their first meeting, but somehow more ear grating with how hoarse his twin’s voice had gotten through the constant drownings.

He doubles over, leaning into Shadow Milk’s grip, his laughter growing in intensity and volume. Knowledge laughs so hard the pain is noticeable on his end. It lasts too long—but not long enough that it'd trigger him into violence, stopping just before his temper boils over only for Blueberry to kick the metaphorical boiling pot with his words,

“Do your worst.” He returns the smile, gleeful.

Shadow Milk snaps his fingers and in a blink, where Blueberry once sat is now a little blue orb of Light. He snatches it from the air, snarling.

Instead of a lovely dream, he pulls long-buried memories to tailor the world into how it was a millennia ago. Perhaps this would be the thing to finally break Blueberry—reliving their glory days as a caged bird—over and over again, repeating their little tragedy pointlessly and endlessly—he grips the orb tightly enough that he briefly fears he might crack the thing.

It doesn't, of course. The little dream can't be broken from the outside.

Taking a deep breath, he tossed that blue orb away, focusing on his surroundings instead. The Spire’s magic shines like a beacon around him, echoing something—something that feels like a warning, and then, before it could say anything, that echo vanished as if it was never there.

“....”

The feeling is almost identical to how Blueberry would silence the Spire whenever it does something that particularly frustrated him. He dismisses the odd thought—that shouldn't be possible, not with Blueberry now trapped in a nightmare of his own making.

Now alone, the silence is more noticeable than ever.

“.....”

Shadow Milk sits down.

It's—not ideal, but until he’s sure he can truly trust Pure Vanilla, he’ll have to bear with being alone. He takes another deep breath, brushing away the remnants of his anger and other mixed feelings that always come up around Blueberry.

Leaning back against the armchair, he stares up to the sea of little stars—all orbs of Light, each representing a dream. Reaching a hand up, he calls the brightest orb into his hands, grasping it gently with both hands once it floats into his palm.

He stares at the thing, the little orb that hosts the dream world Pure Vanilla is in. Somehow, despite this being the culmination of centuries of waiting and planning—having Truth in his grasp does not feel as satisfying as he had hoped it would.

Shadow Milk’s shoulders slump as the little orbs of Light float all around him. The room shifts into a void of nothing, a blank space somewhere between the Spire and his other-realm, now lit up with dotted Lights, illusions trapping every single cookie on Earthbread inside an ideal dream.

It is not a permanent solution–not the world of Deceit that he truly wants. To reach that dream, he needs to make sure that the others won’t be able to interfere in their respective quests to fulfill their own ideal. To do that, he needs the full power of his Soul Jam.

Shadow Milk sighs, waving a hand and opening a one-way portal to the outside world. With only three quarters of the Soul Jam, he can only make the dream worlds that—a simple dream. The real cookies stay asleep in the real world, sustained in stasis with magic.

His friends, stuck in their own domains with only half of their Soul Jam, wouldn't be affected by the spell. Once he regained his full power, it would be too easy to trick them into falling for the same dream. In fact, he'd probably be doing them a favour with it.

This way, none of them would have to clash over whose ideal was best.

With the power of Pure Vanilla’s half of the Soul Jam, it had been easy to trap Blueberry in an illusion he won’t immediately be able to break out of. Now, it’s just a game of waiting for his dear twin to break.

As for Pure Vanilla—while it isn't too far-fetched to believe that the healer may have Fallen so quickly, especially with control of the narrative in his hands, a certain degree of precaution must still be taken.

“I don't believe Pure Vanilla has fallen.”

It is why instead of keeping him around, Shadow Milk had decided to make him his own dream world. Eyeing the bright orb in his hands, he wonders how the healer is reacting to the dream.

The world must no doubt be confusing him by now. But if he has truly Fallen, he should be enjoying his little dream with no apprehension. The ideal world, where they're all friends and nothing was ever a problem.

Although, such a world would need to stretch out logic. Forcing everything in a singular place, lining up the stories, morphing characters into idealised versions of themselves as Pure Vanilla sees them. It is a non-issue, not particularly hard to do when he was Knowledge once upon a time—but it isn't perfect.

He looks into the little orb, catching an interaction between Pure Vanilla and—himself. Or, that idealised caricature of the Fount of Knowledge. Unscarred, bright, with no hate in his heart.

“...Shadow Milk?”

Shadow Milk tenses at the sound of his own name. He leans forward, shutting his bad eye to listen closely to the conversation.

“Did you—okay now, what's happening? Did you seriously just call me that?”

“I—isn't that your name?”

“You forgot my name? I'm hurt, nilly. But seriously, even if you did forget somehow, Shadow Milk? Really? That's the edgiest shit I've ever heard since Black Sapphire got out of his emo phase.”

He makes a face and tosses the orb away, scowling. It's—well, the caricature is not wrong per se, and crass humor was practically his signature. There wouldn't be a ‘Shadow Milk’ in Pure Vanilla’s dream world, even if he still thinks Shadow Milk and Blueberry are two different cookies.

It's another funny thing about this ‘dream’, it will cover up gaps in logic and go along with whatever the host says in order to protect the illusion. Except, it can only do so within the boundaries of what is Truth.

It will not make two versions of the former Fount of Knowledge, because there was only ever one. It will, however, play along and do whatever it could to make Pure Vanilla want to stay. Even if the healer is aware that the reality he’s trapped in is fake, the only way to get out is if he truly wishes to.

This will be the final test for Truth—a way to confirm his allegiance.

He eyes the floating orb again. Seeing that old face and knowing ‘Blueberry Milk’ will hardly leave Pure Vanilla’s side, he decides against watching. It isn't as if he has a shortage in worlds to watch, now that most cookies are trapped in dreams of their own making.

Sifting through the countless lights, he separates five orbs from the rest. The children, being neither Virtues nor wise immortals, would be much less likely to break out of the illusion.

He wonders if Truth would still care what happens to the trio of children under his care, or if he has forsaken them entirely. Judging from their earlier chess match, it's most likely the former. Really, healers and their bleeding hearts.

Three of the five orbs float forward, gleaming with visions of each of the worlds it hosts. Unfamiliar and admittedly bad with children as he is, he doesn't particularly care what they dream about.

Not for the first time, he wonders exactly why Pure Vanilla had chosen three children as his entourage and nobody else. Somewhat mature and experienced they may be, but surely actual adults are better than babies.

It's an astonishing act of child endangerment that would get dear Blueberry foaming at the mouth. Though, they were pretty useful to use against Pure Vanilla, even if they didn't play that game for long.

Now, however, with Blueberry accessible once more as a chess piece and Pure Vanilla’s obvious attachment to his ‘twin’, Knowledge would take on that role much better than the children.

Still, he can't help but be a little curious about the three ginger cookies. Ginger is practically ancient as an ingredient, and in this new world under the ‘ancient heroes’, there are seldom any cookies with such a base ingredient.

Their names stuck out to him too, having heard each name being shouted out multiple times since he first met this batch of cookies.

Gingerbrave; following an old naming convention for ginger-based cookies. The prefix ‘Ginger’ followed with a trait whoever baked them hoped they would have. True to his name, the boy is both a Charge cookie and a brave hero archetype.

Folding a hand out, he reaches for the boy’s orb, looking into the dream.

The first thing he is met with the moment he manifests in the dream is the face of a Witch. Staggering back, the only thing that doesn't kick his fight or flight instincts into overdrive is the Knowledge that this is all but fabricated reality—one not his own to boot.

Darting under a giant book, he hides there as he takes in the area around him. Knives. Kitchen tools, spellbooks, a cauldron—and most damning of all, an active oven tucked in one corner of the room.

What the fuck.

Shadow Milk doesn’t voice, his eyes searching for the owner of this dream. He spots the other cookie just ways next to him, on this Witch-sized workbench they're on.

The Witch is sitting, one elbow propped up against the table. Gingerbrave stands in front of the Witch, fearless as his name suggests. The boy is beaming at the Witch. He moves closer, darting behind a giant beaker and keeping himself invisible with magic—he would not be seen by anyone in the dream unless he wills it so.

Snippets of conversation draw him even closer, and to his own surprise, that conversation isn’t one-sided at all.

“—what did I bake you for? What kind of question is that, little Brave?” The Witch laughs and it stuns Shadow Milk how joyful it sounds. A finger gently taps Gingerbrave’s head and he giggles in return, sheepishly rubbing the back of his head,

“It’s just.. um, you know how I was running away earlier? I—there’s a reason for that.” The boy steps back, looking flustered. He bows his head down and confesses,

“I.. had this awful dream where you… where you ate a cookie in front of me.”

Feeling the familiar dread, Shadow Milk’s breath hitches as he waits for the Witch’s answer. That little tidbit is no secret to him—not when he used to be Knowledge.

Instead of the mocking laughter or anything else he was expecting, the Witch frowns, tilting her head up and exposing her face. For a moment, she looks terribly sad,

“Oh, my… how terrible! Rest assured, little one. I have granted you a gift, and I will hardly take it away from you in such a cruel way.”

Inhaling sharply, Shadow Milk clenches his jaw, unwilling to say anything to that. He continues waiting as Gingerbrave does, though while he keeps his gaze away from the Witch, the boy is looking up at her expectantly, bright-eyed as ever.

“As for that other question.. I.. well, I did not bake you for any one purpose, my dear.” The Witch lays her palm on the table.

Gingerbrave looks at the hand, and back up at the Witch. She smiles at him, and the only thing assuring Shadow Milk that she won't just immediately eat the young cookie is that this is supposed to be the ideal world for little Brave and getting eaten alive is hardly the dream.

She stands up with him in her palm, and just then she picks up the beaker he was hiding behind and he could swear she was looking at him as she says,

“I baked you to live your own life. To laugh, to scream, to cry, to be happy.”

Shadow Milk stares.

He raises one hand up, snapping his fingers and getting him out.

Landing back on the armchair in the other realm, he tries to not think about—whatever all of that is. By name alone, Gingerbrave is no regular child. That elevates the boy from random tagalong into a minor supporting character at the very least.

The five orbs of the children glow brighter in front of him, as if coaxing him to check the rest. Hovering a hand over the other two ginger gnats, he hesitates.

Yeah, no. Who knows what else he’ll see for the other two. He scrambles his memories for names, recalling Strawberry and Wizard—a second-base ingredient and an occupation. Much like ‘Gingerbrave’, they're also no longer conventional names.

Turns out, the random war orphans Pure Vanilla had tailing him are not regular children, who would've thought, he laughs to himself almost hysterically.

Leaning back, he pushes the image of the Witch to the back of his mind. That—he is not dealing with that whole mess today. Something familiar should do him better, really. He reaches for Candy Apple’s orb, teleporting himself there instantly.

He lands in front of a familiar cottage and gets another unpleasant metaphorical slap in the face. It’s the same little hideaway he had visited all those centuries ago—after Black Sapphire was baked and Blueberry stole him away.

Candy Apple—she was raised in the Spire. She isn't even supposed to know this place existed. Or, well, she might know it did—who knows how much Black Sapphire had shared to her about his own upbringing.

The front door opens unexpectedly and too shocked to react, Shadow Milk fails to hide himself in time. Someone steps out the door and it's Blueberry.

“Oh, you're back early!” Blueberry greets him with a smile. Not his usual mocking smirk or insane shit-eating grin, but a genuine smile.

His twin steps closer and Shadow Milk can only stare in bewilderment as the dream actively forces him to be part of it, forcing him into the house. Even his clothes had changed sometime without him noticing, Blueberry tugging at his coat and leaving it on the rack behind the door.

“You came home at just the perfect time.” His twin sighs and Shadow Milk stares at the apron he's wearing.

This is—something entirely different from the earlier dream, but somehow much worse. The domesticity of it all is almost disgusting. A flash of Candy Apple’s downtrodden expression passes in his mind, and he bites his tongue.

Fine. He’ll play along with whatever this is.

“Haha, really.” Shadow Milk answers and kicks himself for sounding a little too sarcastic. In his defense, he's never had to act much around Blueberry—not to mention sassing each other is practically reflex at this point.

“Yes.” Blueberry rolls his eyes. It would have reminded him of the real Blueberry, but the real one would probably rather die than play house with him.

“Candy Apple has been upset all day. She keeps asking about when you'll be back.”

“...huh.” Shadow Milk pauses, setting his shoes on the rack.

The rack has multiple pairs of shoes. Some clearly belong to Candy Apple, a few pairs he knows are Black Sapphire’s—and another unfamiliar pair that triggers a very uncomfortable memory in him. He looks away to focus on that little detail.

“When I'll be back?” He repeats, turning towards Blueberry.

That—this reality should have made Candy Apple think that there's only ever one of them. Not whatever this is. Dragging him into the dream, forcing him to participate, playing house with this version of Blueberry that's actually happy—

Blueberry just nods, “I think she's missed you. You know she's been lonely ever since Black Sapphire left for university.”

That girl is definitely aware of this dream. Otherwise, he wouldn't have been forced to participate. She’s always loved the idea of family—even if none of them had played into it much in the past.

“I'll.. talk to her.” Shadow Milk offers.

“She's just upstairs in her room. I'll call you two down once I'm done with dinner.” Blueberry shoos him off and all he can do is walk to wherever her room is supposed to be in this recreation of that old cottage.

The original building didn't even have a second story, but this cottage is really less of one and more a family house. He spots picture frames hung around the walls, seeing both him and Blueberry, and a mix of three other cookies.

Candy Apple and Black Sapphire are a given, but tucked in the corner of the living room is a little shrine.

Candy Cream’s image is placed in a standing frame on top of the altar, incense filling the room with a soft scent. Closing one eye, he catches the words carved on the altar and his breath hitches.

Beloved daughter and best(est) oldest sibling, Candy Cream Cookie.

Shadow Milk wants out.

His heart hammers in his chest and he puts a hand over it even as it beats loud enough for his ears to ring. It clenches painfully in his chest, almost bringing tears into his eyes. He takes a deep, shuddering breath, hoping that the illusion of Blueberry won’t notice.

He turns towards the stairs tucked in the hallway directly connected to the living room and bolts it out of there. It's—this entire dream thing has been less than ideal, but he needs to focus on the most important objective right now.

Which is—figuring out whatever the hell Blueberry’s plan is. Black Sapphire was definitely lying about not knowing anything, so there's a chance he might have told Candy Apple something.

He stops in the hallway that is the start of the second floor, taking in the sight of doors—conveniently, they all have a sign attached to each door. His and Blueberry’s rooms are just opposite of each other. Black Sapphire’s is next to Blueberry’s, and there is an empty room next to his.

Then, at the end of the hallway is Candy Apple’s room, her door decorated with stickers and glitter.

“....” He stands in front of that door, hand hovering over the doorknob.

Shadow Milk spends not a few minutes there before the door opens to reveal Candy Apple, her hair bare without accessories and wearing pajamas. Her eyes are puffy, the dough around them redder than the rest of her face.

“....” Silence.

“...I’m surprised you didn't run away after seeing father.” Candy Apple states, her expression impassive, almost resembling Black Sapphire—no, she’s resembling Blueberry.

“You.. you never call Berry father.” Shadow Milk states, too dumbfounded to say anything else.

“Not in the real world, silly. He gets all panicky when I do. But here? Here, I can call him father without feeling guilty about it. Can you blame me?” Candy Apple shrugs, stepping back to give him space to walk in.

Put off by how out of character she's being, Shadow Milk steps in, swallowing his nerves.

Her room is—well, a mess would still be understating things. It looks like a tornado had flown through the entire room, every furniture turned over and he's quite sure he can't see the floor at all.

Candy Apple doesn't look too apologetic at the mess, simply kicking over a stack of pictures and making space for them to sit on the floor. She plops herself down with a sigh,

“I ratted out Black Sapphire and told you about the treasure hunt game. Did you really think I wouldn't tell you the moment I know what father’s plan is?” She tells him, her voice uncharacteristically hard despite its childish sound.

Shadow Milk sits down, caught off guard just by how serious she sounds. Between the two children, he likes to think that he knows her better—but this is so far out of his predictions it wasn't even a thought.

In hindsight, it does make sense. Candy Apple loves approval and the idea of a family. What better way of fulfilling that then making them a true family? Except—it doesn't seem like she's enjoying this dream very much.

“But, there is something I didn't tell you.” She confesses, her hands gripping her knees tightly, almost trembling.

He keeps his silence, waiting for her to continue.

“I know his true… motive. Black Sapphire does, too. We just don't know how he’ll go about achieving it.”

Catching on to her sudden hesitance, he pushes back, “I know it involves Pure Vanilla and is key to stopping me.”

That much was obvious.

What wasn't, however, is Candy Apple’s next few words.

“He plans to die.” She reveals, stating it like a simple fact.

Chapter Text

Pure Vanilla’s heart stops for a brief moment and he reflexively squeezes his companion’s hand as he takes in the sight of his best friend in her faerie form.

The Fount—Blueberry Milk—smiles brightly at her arrival, “Broody bloom! My favourite flower girl! Best friend of my bestest friend!” He declares dramatically and breaks off from Pure Vanilla to greet White Lily with a hug.

A hug that is immediately reciprocated, and with a gentle poke at Blueberry Milk’s forehead, “What took you two so long? We were getting worried. Pure Vanilla?” She asks after him, her voice soft as ever.

Her eyes—they’re a lot less sadder than he remembers.

“I'm—sorry, I had a nightmare.” Pure Vanilla quickly responds, walking towards the two of them.

Blueberry Milk sighs, “He’s—” he whispers something to White Lily in that foreign language. Unlike his White Lily in the real world, this version of his best friend nods in understanding, not even struggling to piece together the meaning of the foreign words.

Separating from the hug, White Lily steps forward to greet him. Her hands—her hands are clean, unmarked, as if her experiments never happened in this world.

“Everything is alright, Pure Vanilla. We’re here for you.” She says, her tone sweet as she gently takes one of his hands.

Blueberry Milk takes the other hand, “Yeah, so stop worrying your pretty little head about whatever it was you had a nightmare about and let’s get some food. I'm starving!”

White Lily’s smile twitches and she knocks Blueberry Milk over the head with one fist, “Berry, dear. What did we say about tact?” she glares at him.

“He’s Pure Vanilla, not a foreign dignitary! Besides, who the hell would ever be offended over me if they're all too busy trying to not offend me?” Blueberry Milk whines, clutching at his head.

His best friend rolls her eyes and lets go of his hand to pinch Blueberry Milk’s face. The Fount—if he still even is the Fount of Knowledge in this world—whines like a child, “Ow—Witch damn it stop—! I get it! You know I'm shit at feelings, come on!!”

Right at that moment, another cookie steps out of the dining hall. Wings fluttering behind him, little has changed about Elder Faerie Cookie in appearance. Though, he does have an amused smile instead of the stern expression he often adopted,

“Is everything alright?” The faerie king asks, clearly a rhetorical question.

“Fee. Help. Lily is bullying me!” Blueberry Milk whines.

“I am not.” White Lily bristles, pinching harder.

“Ow ow ow—!”

Pure Vanilla fails to muffle a laugh. It's—this entire interaction, it could happen nowhere else but in his dreams. His Soul Jam glows gently, nudging at his conscience as if reminding him that no matter how nice, none of this is real.

“....”

It is all but a world of lies, crafted masterfully by the Beast of Deceit. Designed in a way to make him want to stay.

His friends take note of his sudden inattention, and he lets himself be pulled into the dining hall, keeping silent as he shamefully delights in seeing their playful interactions.

The dining hall is packed with cookies, nobles and other staff alike mingling freely as they feast together. A table of four has been set off to the side for their group and Pure Vanilla sits down absently, his attention stuck on how exactly to break this illusion.

All illusions, no matter how masterfully made, have inconsistencies. If he cannot harm himself to get out of the illusion, it would simply be a matter of locating that crack and breaking it to get out. Or—perhaps, this is a test of loyalty from Shadow Milk.

To see if he would really want to stay in a world of lies instead of returning to the real one.

“....” Pure Vanilla swallows.

A hand places itself on top of his own and it's once again, Blueberry Milk, who sets a cup of tea in front of him and encourages him to eat. There is the sound of conversation between the other three, but he can't quite focus on what is being said, his gaze stuck on the face of the cookie who had started all of this.

Blueberry Milk interacts with other cookies with smiles and laughter. Without pain, grief, anger. He cracks jokes at nobody’s expense and lights up the table with laughter, ironically making for a better joker than Shadow Milk who plays at being a jester.

He constantly checks on Pure Vanilla despite his crass words. Gentle gestures, little actions full of meaning, even if he does not outright state his intentions, Pure Vanilla knows all of it is genuine.

As genuine as an illusion could be, anyway.

“....” He turns away from the kindness to focus on locating the cracks. With how perfect this world appears, it really shouldn't be hard.

As if proving him right, he spots a shadow in the corner of his eyes. It is subtle, moving through the curtains and past the other tables. He follows it carefully, tracking the thing with magic, but it vanishes into the balcony just minutes after.

Pure Vanilla stands up, startling his three companions on the table.

“Pure Vanilla?” White Lily furrows her brows.

“Sorry, I.. give me a moment.” He gives the half-hearted excuse and makes his way to the balcony. One look at his back confirms that someone from his table had followed—Blueberry Milk, yet again.

Pure Vanilla pretends to not have noticed the other, stepping into the balcony quickly and seeing that it is the one facing behind the castle with a nice view of his garden. The shadows grow deeper and suddenly, the sky no longer resembles the bright blue of morning it is supposed to be.

The balcony’s doors shut with a click behind him and he whips around quickly, brandishing his staff at—Blueberry Milk.

“Okay, you've been really, really weird since I got you this morning. Seriously, what's going on? You're scaring all of us.” Blueberry Milk frowns, not even flinching at the sight of the raised staff. He doesn't even summon his own.

“I—no, it's. You're—” Pure Vanilla exhales, frustrated with himself.

This new reality—it would be much too easy to lose himself in it. It makes it all the more dangerous, because if he truly Fell—then maybe the twins would be safe, but the world wouldn't be.

“You’re not real.” He states outloud, more of a reassurance for himself than any answer for Blueberry Milk.

The frown on the Fount’s face grows deeper and he takes one step closer, reaching a hand out to Pure Vanilla,

“...what.. what do you mean by that?” Blueberry Milk furrows his brows, his hand latching onto the sleeve of Pure Vanilla’s robes. He doesn't pull away, standing still.

The shadow is still there, tucked under the windowsills on the side of the balcony. It is no longer moving, blending into the building, its magical presence silent—if he hadn't tracked it earlier, he would have thought it to be a normal shadow.

“Pure Vanilla.” The Fount calls and he startles as a hand gently cups his cheek, forcing him to look into the mirror image of his own eyes.

“I am perfectly real. I—I don’t know how a nightmare has upset you this much, but—”

He cuts him off, “Where’s your brother?”

It's the one odd thing here. If this was a perfect world catered specifically to him, he would think Shadow Milk would also be here—especially when Blueberry Milk is clearly Blue.

“...brother?” Blueberry Milk tilts his head, seeming even more confused, “I.. I don't have a brother, nilly.”

Pure Vanilla’s heart skips a beat, “...what.”

Shadow Milk's words ring in his mind, “I'll even wear the face you prefer.”

His hands are gently taken, fingers interlacing with his own. Blueberry Milk’s hands are still bare, clean. Completely unlike Blue and Shadow Milk both. This Fount of Knowledge looks up at him with the concern of a close friend—or perhaps even something more solely by how comfortable he is touching him.

“Seriously. I—I really don't know what to tell you. I don't have a brother. Did you—surely not.. but—you didn't remember my name.” Blueberry Milk frowns, his expression downcast.

The feeling of a scanning spell washes over him again and this time, he notices just how at ease his own magic is to the intrusion. As if he has been on the receiving end of this many times.

“I—you’re still you.. I.. surely that was a joke right?— I'm.. haha.. I—I don't understand.” Blueberry Milk stutters.

Pure Vanilla takes a deep breath, “...I—the Fount of Knowledge. Was it..”

Flashes of that last scene pass in his mind. Of the vision the Spire had shared with him, the former Fount of Knowledge standing in front of a cracked mirror, the reflection splitting in half and then—there was not one, but two.

“None of your friends’ families had survived. Why would mine be an exception?”

“Was it only ever.. you?” He swallows.

Blueberry Milk pauses, squeezing his hand, “Of.. of course. There can only ever be one cookie for one Virtue, nilla. There’s—nobody else. It’s always been just me.” He musters up a smile.

“....is.. if a Soul Jam were to corrupt, but not fully—would it be possible for it to split?” Pure Vanilla mutters to himself.

The Fount of Knowledge catches the question anyway, frowning, “I—it’s never happened before, but it could be possible? Perhaps, if the corruption isn't complete—if the bearer of the Virtue still holds on to a piece of their old belief, the Soul Jam can split, half remaining with the old Virtue while the other half succumbs to corruption.”

Oh.

Pure Vanilla—laughs. He rips himself away from Blueberry Milk’s hold, wrapping his arms around himself.

“That’s—it’s just a theory though. Look, nilly—” The hand stops where it is and Pure Vanilla freezes, a loud crack ringing in his ears.

There is a staff sticking out of Blueberry Milk’s chest, stabbing right through his Soul Jam. The eyes that are so much like his own widen and the Fount chokes, jam pouring out of his lips and he slumps onto the ground.

Pure Vanilla’s back hits the railing and it is only his healer training that breaks him out of the shock. A hand holds itself out in front of him, palm splayed in a clear sign to stop.

Blue stands behind the fallen body of Blueberry Milk, holding the hand out. The war mage grimaces at the jam, kicking the body to the side and pulling his staff out not too gently.

“....I—wha—” Pure Vanilla sinks into his knees, and the corpse between him and his friend vanishes into nothing, leaving a stain of jam on the balcony’s polished floor.

Knowledge meets his gaze, the familiar white-gold echoing the counterpart he had just killed. Blue’s face is as impassive as it was at their reunion, though now he makes for a more intimidating figure with jam splattered across his robes and face.

Blue grimaces, wiping jam from his cheek and taking a few steps forward, “I—Pure Vanilla.”

“I—Blue?” He asks, sounding near hysterical even to himself.

“Yeah. I'm real, don't worry—I broke out of my delululand and came here to get you.”

Pure Vanilla stands and walks up to his friend.

“...uh?”

He slaps Blue over the cheek, hard. Clearly not expecting that, the war mage does not even defend himself nor counter the attack, simply standing there in silence with a hand clasped against his wounded cheek.

There's silence for a moment, before Blue steps closer and seizes him by the shoulders, “I fucking knew it. TRUTHLESS RECLUSE MY ASS—”

Pure Vanilla scowls, grabbing his friend’s hands. Knowing that his ruse is basically done for, he ignores the consequences for now to scan his friend. This completely ruins the plan, but currently, he can only care about making sure Blue does not injure himself further than he already is.

“Did you even convince the clown? I—god, to think for a second I actually thought you—” The war mage stammers, but he doesn't pull away.

Just in case, Pure Vanilla drags him closer, almost squeezing his friend’s hands as he runs several scanning spells and one to soothe the angry torrent of pain coursing through Blue’s entire form. Really, it's a wonder the stubborn mage is even standing, let alone arguing with him.

He finds himself biting back, defaulting to anger after this entire mess, “Like you weren't equally as dramatic in front of Shadow Milk. You—”

Blue hisses and tugs his hand away, his magic lashing out at the forced healing, “Excuse you, I did absolute jack shit—”

Pure Vanilla grips tighter, stopping his ministrations to look Blue in the eyes—eye. Gold and white, and the magical presence checks out. This can be nobody but the actual Blue. If it somehow isn't, he really might scream in frustration.

The look on his face must be something, because Blue shuts up near immediately. He winces, but does not pull away anymore, cowed in the face of Pure Vanilla’s fury.

He continues, words coming out much more calm and composed than he truly feels, “You just killed someone in front of me. You just—you killed yourself in front of me.” Pure Vanilla inhales, gripping Blue’s hands tighter.

It is quite literally the worst possible thing to witness when their entire conflict has been running on the basis that the cookie in front of him wants to die and is making it everyone's problem.

Though, one good thing is that the little murder earlier practically guaranteed that this is indeed his friend. He doubts any perfect dream world catered to him would ever have that happen.

Blue opens his mouth. Emotions run across his face, but then all he says is, “...okay you do have a point.”

Eyebrow twitching, Pure Vanilla resists the urge to shake the life out—no, no death-related metaphors allowed—he doesn't think his heart can take it. He just—he sighs, shoulders sagging, “I can't believe you.”

As if this situation cannot be any worse, White Lily’s signature presence hovers at the door. Really, it's lucky that they have those glass doors covered with a curtain. Otherwise, he really, really doesn't know how to go about explaining the random jamstain on the floor.

Or the dead body that was there. Or ‘Blueberry Milk’’s sudden change in appearance. Or anything, really.

Pure Vanilla shuts his eyes, looking up to the sky and asking whatever god there exists for patience.

Blue stands there in silence, but he’s definitely sensed White Lily as well. Pure Vanilla ponders on what to do for a moment.

If they are interrupted now, who knows when he can have another conversation with Blue. A flash of Blueberry Milk’s soft smile comes to mind and he feels his heart clench, interlacing his fingers with Blue’s and holding tightly.

It occurs to Pure Vanilla that he and Blueberry Milk have been holding hands since he had left his bedroom this morning. Not to mention, nobody commented on it. That surely says something about his relationship with Blueberry Milk. One does not simply hold hands with anyone that much, even if they're the best of friends in this world.

“...is that White Lily at the door? Well, I guess I shouldn't be surprised since this is your—” Blue cuts himself off, raising a brow at Pure Vanilla when he takes one step closer.

This decision might be very impulsive, and he could have been wrong about it, but there is no way there wasn't anything between him and Blueberry Milk in this reality. He doesn't know what that says about himself personally, but he has better priorities to get to in the moment. That is, to talk to Blue to confirm what he Knows.

Preferably before the war mage decides to run for it.

The balcony’s door clicks open and Pure Vanilla abandons his hesitation to drag his counterpart forward and crash their lips together. Face burning, he forces himself to commit to it, leaning into the kiss and gently cupping Blue’s face as the mage freezes in his hold.

The door is slammed shut. He gets an impression that is a mix of disbelief and indignation from White Lily. Sending a mental apology to her, Pure Vanilla breaks the kiss immediately and bows his head to his friend.

“Wh—huh. HUH?????” Blue staggers, taking a step back.

“It was to get White Lily to leave us.” He explains, still keeping his hold on Blue just in the case the war mage gets the bright idea to book it out of here.

He doesn't, instead reaching a hand to brush against his own lips. His face is a brighter shade of blue Pure Vanilla has never seen—it's—it’s honestly a good look on him. Taking pity, he releases their hands, not quite satisfied over the rushed check-up but knowing he won't be able to do more until they're truly alone.

“You just—you know what. That makes us even… kind of. I killed someone, you kissed me out of nowhere, sure, yeah. Haha. That happened—oh my fucking god did you really have no better plan what the hell was that?!” Blue grabs onto his own hair and turns away from Pure Vanilla in mortification.

The mage sways in the air, not quite falling. It's similar to how Shadow Milk often floats. Pure Vanilla catches his hand again to ground him, now feeling concerned that maybe he did go too far.

In his defense, it was the quickest way to get this White Lily out of their hair. Otherwise, if she is anything like his actual best friend, she wouldn’t have left them alone. Especially with how different Blue looks compared to Blueberry Milk.

Still—surely a kiss is not deserving of such a bad reaction.

“...was the kiss really that bad?” Pure Vanilla asks.

“No—”

An intrusive thought comes to mind. Feeling somewhat mischievous if not wanting a little revenge on his friend for the day he has been having, Pure Vanilla allows it to be voiced,

“Did you like it?”

“Ye—eXCUSE ME. You are ruining the tone of this conversation.” Blue screeches, clutching at his chest with one hand.

“Are you going to run away from this conversation?”

“Probably not, unless it gets really unco—” Blue cuts himself off, eyes widening in realisation, “...I know what you're doing. You’re—I knew you were in cahoots with Black Sapphire, there's no way you fell that quickly.” He accuses.

Tired of lying, Pure Vanilla just sighs, “Yes. I—” he squeezes his hand.

“Please don't run away. I… we need to talk. You're the only one whose story I haven't heard.” He pleads.

Blue pauses, conflicting emotions crossing his scarred face.

“You already know most of it, no?”

“All secondhand accounts. I want to know what you think.

“...I..” Blue hesitates.

Someone knocks at the door and both of them pause. White Lily’s voice comes through, her exasperation clear even if they can't see her face, “Are you two done? The festival can't start without both of you. Please save your.. activities for later.”

The two of them look at each other.

“Right. Time to break out of here—” Blue hisses, keeping his voice quiet.

“No.” Pure Vanilla shakes his head.

“What.”

“I'm not breaking this illusion until we have that conversation.”

Blue clenches his jaw, “...are you serious? Pure Vanilla, the entire world is—”

He cuts him off, “It can wait. Shadow Milk needs you on his side. I need you on mine, and preferably alive.” Pure Vanilla grips his hand tight, pulling Blue close.

The war mage's shoulders slump. Finally, he leans into Pure Vanilla, mumbling out, “We barely even know each other.”

“I know your entire life story.” He counters.

Blue chuckles. It’s a bitter sound. “That doesn't mean you know me, silly.”

“I want to know you. Would you let me?” Pure Vanilla levels his friend with his most earnest expression. This time, Blue doesn't look away, but he doesn’t respond either.

Then, before Pure Vanilla’s eyes, Blue’s form shifts. It's a subtle thing, and if they aren't facing each other, he probably wouldn't have noticed the transformation. The scars fade, the dead milky eye morphing into a familiar blue, and even the robes change—jamstains vanishing in the blink of an eye.

The one who looks at him now is Blueberry Milk, as he was just moments ago. Blue blinks at him and his dead eye immediately sticks out, not quite focusing the same way his healthy eye does. Pure Vanilla’s eyes widen,

“I.. you—you can also shapeshift.” He mutters.

“I—yeah. It's, well, it's not a Deceit-exclusive thing. I've always been able to.” Blue shrugs.

White Lily knocks on the door again, this time more insistently. Flinching at the sudden noise, Blue turns towards the door and inhales sharply. On the other side of that door next to White Lily is the distinct, dignified presence of Elder Faerie.

“Blueberry Milk Cookie. I know Pure Vanilla had a bad morning, but you shouldn't impose your terrible tardiness on him just to make him feel better. Our guests have arrived.” The scathing tone comes to Pure Vanilla as a surprise—White Lily rarely ever raises her voice, expressing her anger through tone. Even then, her anger is reserved for cookies she truly cares for.

Which Blueberry Milk is evidently a part of in this reality.

“...I don't know her that well but the tone of that ‘cookie’ suggests we should go now.” Blue stares at the door with an expression of trepidation.

“Yes. I hope you can act better than your ‘brother’.” Pure Vanilla says, having absolutely no pity for Blue at this time. He makes the air quotes obvious, just to drill in it the mage’s head that they are having that conversation.

“....haha, sURE—”

Chapter Text

“...haha, you're joking right—” Shadow Milk says, not feeling quite all there. Candy Apple shakes her head. It feels damning.

His Soul Jam screams at him, as if agreeing with her. Confirming her words. It's, really, that conclusion shouldn't have been as surprising as it is. Blueberry has always had a death wish. Blueberry lives for penance.

Witches, he probably sees death as a fucked up way to atone.

His mind runs a mile a minute. While Blueberry is not actively suicidal, there are signs that point to—to that. All that he had missed or simply dismissed because surely, Blueberry wouldn't. Not after the horrible experience that was their first death.

He swallows, his throat feeling dry as more things click in his head at an uncomfortable rate. Candy Apple sits there, her expression still that same impassive thing. She’s hugging her knees to her chest, looking smaller than ever.

“I—” Shadow Milk does not know what to say to her. He—he never does, really. Even if Candy Apple was raised in the Spire, both Black Sapphire and Blueberry had still pulled most of the weight in raising her.

“That’s his plan, dad. He’s going to kill you by killing himself. Black Sapphire didn't want me to tell you because who knows what you'll do or how you'll react. I—I just…” Candy Apple inhales, burying her face in her knees.

It is then that someone gently knocks on her bedroom door, calling out, “Dinner’s ready, you two.” Both of them flinch at the sound of Blueberry’s voice.

Candy Apple schools her expression and calls back, “Okay! We’ll be right there, father. Just give us a moment.” Suddenly, it is as if a switch was flicked, Candy Apple sounding appropriately cheerful.

She turns back to him, and all that cheer is gone, “I want to leave this dream, but I know I'll only be annoying you if I do. I.. just, do whatever you want with that information, I guess. Black Sapphire probably knows more, he was planning to ask for Truth’s help in stopping both of you.”

Without waiting for his response, Candy Apple stands up, walking towards the door. For once, Shadow Milk finds himself asking after her, his eyes trained at her back,

“Do you want me to join you for dinner?”

She pauses at the door, hand hovering over the handle, “....it’s okay. You're—I know you're not supposed to be here. My dream made you participate.”

To her surprise and his own, he gets up, “We’re on no time limit, are we?” He says stiffly, now standing behind her.

“...I guess not.” Candy Apple doesn't turn back, but she does not deny him the opportunity to join her, either.

The feeling is oddly bittersweet.

Both of them exit her room, Candy Apple holding the door for him. He stops in front of her for a moment and places a hand on top of her head, gently ruffling her soft white locks. She blinks at him owlishly, but she doesn't lean away from the touch.

“I’ll… make sure Berry doesn't do anything stupid.” Shadow Milk finds himself saying.

“....” Candy Apple’s lip wobbles.

“Don't make promises you can't keep.”

“You're really underestimating me?”

“I'm not. You're underestimating father.”

“...guess I did, but let’s not have a repeat of that, hm?”

Candy Apple huffs, grabbing his hand and tugging him down the corridor, “Let's go. Father gets annoyed if you make him wait too long.”

Shadow Milk follows, “You been here long enough to know that?”

“He's the same in the real world. You are too.” She answers wryly, echoing her brother.

He muffles a snort, stepping in line with her. She walks by his side and seems almost surprised at herself for a moment. Uncomfortably, Shadow Milk knows why—both Candy Apple and Black Sapphire almost always walk behind him. Playing the roles of servants and all.

Even with Blueberry, they're the same.

He shakes the thought, unwilling to ponder on that too much just yet. Walking down the hallway, he takes his time looking at the various decorations. Notably, the blank bedroom door next to his own.

“It's Candy Cream’s room.” Candy Apple tells him.

“....they’re still dead here, aren't they?” Shadow Milk asks, even though he doesn't particularly want to know the answer.

“No. The shrine is just for shits and giggles.” She replies and he guffaws.

He can't tell if she's being serious or not.

“I'm serious.” Candy Apple huffs.

“Then I can totally ask dear Berry about this and he won't spontaneously combust, right?” Shadow Milk grins.

That gets a smile from her, but it's a small thing, “We can test that theory.” She jokes back.

They arrive at the start of the stairs and Candy Apple stops, “You.. you don't have to pretend, y’know. Don't you have better things to do?” she mumbles, her head bowed.

“Yeah, but do you want me to answer that? Really answer that?” Shadow Milk pinches her cheek.

She slaps his hand away, scowling, “Fine. Dinner. Are you going to find Black Sapphire after this?”

He wonders when exactly she had gotten so good at reading him. Time sure flies by once the children are grown. His heart clenches, but he forces out a nod.

“Take me with you. I’m sick of being left out.” Candy Apple demands.

“You don't want to stay here?” Shadow Milk winces at his own question. Really, it's very obvious that no matter how nice the dream is, Candy Apple still doesn't want to stay.

It's—it’s honestly surprising. Between all the children, he would have thought she would want to stay in a perfect world the most.

“No.” Candy Apple sighs,

“I.. don't get me wrong, I like this world. It's everything I've ever wanted from our family, but I.. I think I prefer the real one anyway.” She mumbles, looking away from him.

“....” Shadow Milk pats her head, for lack of any words to say.

Their conversation is interrupted by a holler, “Brother. Candy Apple Cookie. Don't make me come get you upstairs.” Blueberry’s caricature warns.

Candy Apple grabs his hand and starts promptly dragging him downstairs. Embarrassingly, he nearly trips over his own feet trying to follow, “Hey—slow the fuck down, holy—”

“I HEARD THAT.” Blueberry yells.

“Are you seriously chewing me out for cursing? You?” Shadow Milk yells back.

Somehow, this rolls into a domestic recreation of their usual arguments. But really, it's less of an argument and more bickering now. The thought of Blueberry, as it always does, invites complicated feelings, and it's a lot more complicated now knowing exactly what his twin’s end goal is.

But, hearing the sound of Candy Apple’s giggle, he knows the important thing right now is—her. The entire mess with Blueberry can wait a few more minutes. Whatever way he plans to execute murder-suicide, it is going to involve Pure Vanilla.

One thing Shadow Milk can assure himself of is that Pure Vanilla would be the last cookie to agree to such a plan. If not because of his attachment to Blueberry, then out of the goodness of his heart because of course, he wouldn't want to kill if there is any other way.

Death should be a last resort.

For now, Shadow Milk bickers with this happier version of his brother easily, ignoring the twitch in his Soul Jam to play the part of family. It's not—hard.

Especially when Candy Apple looks so genuinely happy to see them bicker.

By the end of dinner, Shadow Milk has excused himself to ‘tuck their daughter to bed.’ They return to Candy Apple’s ransacked room and he waves a hand, directing magic to clean up the entire place. It's negligible when the world will just vanish once Candy Apple isn't in it, but—it’s really more for the sake of it than anything else.

Candy Apple snaps her fingers to change her outfit back to her customary suit. She doesn't comment on the clean-up job, but she's smiling.

Shadow Milk doesn't quite smile back, but it's a close thing. The dinner was pretty nice, all things considered.

“Ready?” He waves a hand and Black Sapphire’s orb appears in his hands. Holding it out to her, he waits until her hands make contact with the little Light.

“Ready.” She nods.

The world vanishes around them.

🌿

Between the five children, he was sure only Black Sapphire would probably be able to recognize the dream. Candy Apple knowing wasn't a surprise, but it was a surprise that she wanted out.

Black Sapphire, like Pure Vanilla, would be able to immediately tell that the reality he’s in isn't real and try to break out. Unless he decides to stay, of course—which can probably go either way.

Shadow Milk frowns, realising that he isn’t quite sure what Black Sapphire would do. He isn't—to say that he isn't the best with kids would be an understatement. With his ever terrible temper, child rearing is not a skill he can boast.

For both Black Sapphire and Candy Apple, he was never involved much in their youngest years. It was all Blueberry for the former, what with him kidnapping Black Sapphire away the moment he was baked.

They didn't go far, of course—and while he could have forced Blueberry to raise the boy in the Spire, he had decided against it, choosing to observe from afar.

Back then, his interactions with Black Sapphire was limited to whenever Blueberry was occupied. With how secretive Blueberry often is when it comes to certain things, it was all too easy to lure the boy with Knowledge of his father.

Despite not being baked in his nor Blueberry’s image, Black Sapphire had taken to learning like fish to water. It was—something that made him apprehensive, at first—seeing as the boy would only tolerate him if he was willing to share Knowledge about Blueberry.

He remembers the first words Black Sapphire had said to him, that first moment they met in the forest. He was in the form of a snake at the time, but it hadn't fooled the boy.

“Show yourself.”

A pair of dark purple eyes, scrutinizing him from under the tree, already observant even at a young age. Blueberry had warned the boy against interacting with him, he knows—and yet, curiosity brought Black Sapphire to him anyway.

“I know you won't harm me. Aren't you my creator?”

Such faith. It was so genuine that he couldn't refute it. Hurting Black Sapphire would have accomplished nothing, and it didn't hurt either of them to build rapport with each other right under Blueberry’s nose.

He freely tells Black Sapphire what he can, sharing Knowledge the way Blueberry still does, to his own surprise at the time. In his defense, being alone in the Spire without Blueberry had—annoyingly, taken a toll on him.

It was never Knowledge worth much to him, but it was also all Black Sapphire had asked. Everything about Blueberry, from their true relationship down to how they ended up where they are in the present day.

“Don't you want to know anything else? All you ever ask me is about Berry.”

“If I wanted to know anything else, I could just ask father. As for you, he won't even tell me who you are until you quite literally showed up at our doorstep.”

He doesn't think it's uncommon—to not know much about one’s parents. He can't fault the boy for being curious, though, considering their circumstances had basically robbed him of a proper childhood in the actual world.

The world of their prison is the section of the Yeast continent that formerly houses the main hub of his territory. With the Spire at the very center, serving as both a prison tower for himself and a watchtower for Blueberry, who had been the one to seal the Beasts.

Time moves strangely under the prison seal, and though it didn't matter much to immortals like them, to Black Sapphire and Candy Apple, it would have been all they knew.

Blueberry had done something to help them age normally, and then halted it once Black Sapphire had reached his mid-twenties. Always the sentimental fool, even when he actively has a death wish.

He doesn't even know if Black Sapphire had noticed—chances are, he probably has, but he’s most likely chosen to ignore that fact to focus on the current events.

With how strange the young man had been acting the entire night, there’s really no way he was being entirely honest about not knowing Blueberry’s plans. Not when Black Sapphire knows exactly how to pry answers out of his dear father.

After his conversation with Candy Apple, it’s practically confirmed that the boy knows more than his sister.

Though, in spite of that, Blueberry is still notoriously hard to interrogate. So really, it's a fifty-fifty chance on whether or not Black Sapphire is telling the Truth. He’d like to think the young man would never lie to him, what with how he had sworn his allegiance with a jambound vow—but still, there are ways around that.

The world of his son’s dreams is, surprisingly enough, set in a school. Breath hitching, he realises it’s the old academy Knowledge had built. Floating through the familiar halls, Shadow Milk is invisible to every cookie he passes.

Candy Apple, similarly invisible, looks around the halls with thinly concealed awe. To her, it must be quite the sight—the grand hallway, cookies of various flavours walking back and forth, the beautiful carvings on the walls. The hub of Knowledge, once upon a time.

Perfectly replicated, to go with his perfect memory even if he is no longer Knowledge. Almost uncannily so. He thought he had buried the memory of this place entirely.

“This is… the old Academy.” Candy Apple guesses, brightening up at the sight of other cookies. Similar to himself, she’s always gotten lonely easily—the other ginger girl was good for her.

Shadow Milk just nods, silently putting one hand over a pillar to trace the smooth carvings.

With how long he spent trying to forget the past, one would think the memory of this place would be blurry at best. Though, Blueberry would certainly remember—it is part of their job to quite literally know everything.

“Are you sure we're not in father’s dream? Did you even put him in one?”

“Nope. Yes.” Shadow Milk answers, deliberate in his tone.

Getting out of her dream seems to have lightened up Candy Apple’s mood. Though, he can tell she's not fully cheered up just yet—might as well annoy her back to normal.

Candy Apple furrows her brows, “...so what did you put him in? You—you didn't drown him again, did you?”

“An absolutely wonderful dream and I totally did.” He grins.

Brow twitching, his daughter’s face flattens, her annoyance clear as she grumbles out, “...I hate it when you do that.”

“When I do what?” Shadow Milk snickers.

“The talking thing. Can't you talk straight?” Candy Apple throws her hands up.

“You know I totally can…’t.” He deadpans.

It's another funny thing about their roles. While Blueberry can only tell the Truth, he can only lie. The rule applies to everyone except for each other—which, really, is the most frustrating thing about it.

“How did you even convince Truth of anything? You can't have lied about all of it.” She points a finger at him accusingly.

“Y’know, if you wanna have a proper conversation with me, don't ask—agh. Direct questions are a bitch to ask me, you know this.”

“You're avoiding my earlier question.”

“I was going to get to that—also, walk.” Shadow Milk takes her hand and tugs her forward through the hallways.

While he doesn't mind a good chat, they do need to find Black Sapphire. Who really could be anywhere, including not in the building at all. If he had to guess, he's probably somewhere near the Fount of Knowledge.

“To not answer your question, I told him the truth.”

“Half-truths, you mean?”

“No.” Yes.

Candy Apple rolls her eyes.

“Now you're giving me attitude? Have some pity for your old man, won’t you?” Shadow Milk snarks.

“You can talk normally!! You just have to make everything a question. Or, think another thing when you say something.” She points out.

“I totally don’t know what you're talking about. I’ve not always been like this. Woe is not me. I just had to corrupt to Deceit, huh.” He sighs.

“You're doing this on purpose!!” She screeches.

Shadow Milk cackles. Hearing the familiar ear-grating screech, his own heart feels just a little lighter. He ruffles her hair with his free hand, making sure to mess it up as much as possible. She gives him a dirty glare, squeezing his hand as tightly as she can.

To spite her, he doesn't let any reaction slip. She gives him a middle finger—the brat.

“Whatever, ugh. I wanna explore. Tell me when you find Black Sapphire.” Candy Apple tugs her hand away, snapping her fingers and changing her costume again—this time, a uniform to match the illusion of students wandering the halls.

“You don't wanna join me?” Shadow Milk raises a brow.

“No. I… I think I've had enough emotionally-charged conversations today. I wanna take my mind off things before. Y’know.” Candy Apple makes a very unsubtle motion of slashing her throat.

Shadow Milk stares. Her humour is just as awful and inappropriate as his, great. Seemingly realising that, Candy Apple scratches the back of her head, “...too soon?”

“No fucking shit, you brat. Get out.” He barks.

Candy Apple gives him a mock salute and runs away, uncasting the invisibility spell and bowling through the crowd of students. She cackles the entire way through the corridor. His eyes follow after her retreating form and he feels his lip twitching in amusement.

Unwilling to stay too long in this recreation of the past, Shadow Milk continues onward, casting a tracking spell for Black Sapphire’s magical signature. He doesn't bother looking at anything else, single-mindedly strolling towards his destination.

Black Sapphire is in one of the smaller gardens of the Academy. Ones often used by students as study areas or to simply sightsee. He remembers having tea often with his staff in the same gardens—he pauses, his magic picking up another presence next to Black Sapphire.

It's the ‘Blueberry Milk’ of this world. That's—not ideal, but he will have to make do.

Stepping out into the garden, he finally spots Black Sapphire, clad in the uniform of the old academy. Standing across from him is the Fount of Knowledge of this world, one hand clasped on the young man’s shoulder, his face scrunched in worry.

He can't see Black Sapphire’s face from where he stands, but with the way the young man’s shoulders slump, he could only assume the kind of conversation they are having is not a very fun one.

“...it's funny. You're supposed to be both of them, yet to me you are neither.” Black Sapphire finally says, tilting his head up to meet the Fount’s two-toned eyes.

Shadow Milk stills.

A soft, gentle voice. A gentle pat on the back, the picture perfect concerned parent, “...son, I think that—” and yet, Black Sapphire tears himself away, as if the touch burned him.

“Don’t call me that. Neither of them call me that. Father doesn't, master—dad, doesn't. You're the only one who does, and I—god, I just… this is everything I've ever wanted, but I can't even bear to look at you.” Black Sapphire brushes his hair back, his breath hitching.

The Fount’s hand twitches, still outstretched in front of him. He tries again, moving closer, but Black Sapphire shies away, “And you know what the worst part of it is?”

“..I’m.. I don't understand.” Knowledge fumbles, clearly confused over his son’s behaviour.

“I still can't break out of here. I don't—I keep telling myself I don't want this, but every time I look at her—I can't. Even when I know she isn't the real her—” Black Sapphire chokes.

Shadow Milk inhales sharply, his heart clenching.

“It doesn't feel the same. It would be easy to pretend and play along, but god, I can’t even do that knowing father can die any time and I wouldn't be able to stop it.”

“I'm right here.” The Fount says, helpless in the face of his son’s distress.

Black Sapphire muffles a laugh. It sounds anguished, “You're not my father.”

Shadow Milk forces himself to step in, uncasting the invisibility spell. The Fount’s eyes immediately snap towards him and he rushes forward, brandishing his staff and swinging.

He hits his mark and the illusion of Blueberry Milk vanishes in a puff of cloud. Having snapped into a defensive stance but without the reflexes to react quickly enough, Black Sapphire can only gawk at him.

Shadow Milk waves a hand in greeting.

Eyebrow twitching, Black Sapphire raises his staff—and knocks him over the head with it. Like a demented bat. His magical staff. The move was so far out of his expectations that he didn't even have time to react.

“...did you seriously just fucking hit me over the head with your staff?!” He screeches.

Black Sapphire smiles at him. It’s not a kind one, his son’s anger rolling over both of them in waves, “It's a good surprise strategy.” he drawls.

“You're a mage! Who taught you that shit?!”

“Only mages with sticks up their asses wouldn't do this at least once.” He continues in the same lazy tone, but the look in his eyes betray his fury.

“...you just wanted to hit me, didn't you?”

“Yes. Yes I fucking do. You sure took your sweet time, dad.” Black Sapphire hits him on the side with a fist, his voice breaking at that last word.

Then, the little shit pulls him into a hug.

Shadow Milk puts a hand on his back, gently wrapping an arm around him. He leans close as the young man plants his face on his shoulder, trembling. Hands curl into his clothes, fingers all but digging into his dough.

“I fucking hate you.” Black Sapphire weeps.

This is really not a level of emotion he is prepared to deal with. On any other day, he probably would have booked it out of here. Or just tease Black Sapphire for crying, because he's never done that in front of Shadow Milk.

Case in point: he's never done this before. Not even when Black Sapphire was a snot-nosed brat who barely reached Shadow Milk’s knees.

“....” He awkwardly pats his son’s back, not trusting himself to say anything. Considering the circumstances, he's willing to—put up with this, or really, whatever Black Sapphire needs to stop crying.

“So much for being a good parent, huh.” His own voice sasses, sounding suspiciously like Blueberry.

“..you can't break out, you said?”

He finds that little tidbit rather ironic, considering how willing Candy Apple had been to break out of her dream. It's another part of his design for these worlds—one cannot fully break free from this reality if they don't want to, both consciously and subconsciously.

“Your dream world is awful and yes.” Black Sapphire breaks out of the hug, wiping his eyes and straightening his uniform. His staff is dismissed in the same move, vanishing in a flash of purple.

“Thanks. Anyway, we really should talk about Berry.” Shadow Milk conjures a glass of water, holding it out for Black Sapphire.

The young man takes it, sipping the water with a sigh, “I… did you go to Candy Apple? What else did she rat me out on?” He scowls.

He hums, floating back against the air, “Oh, I don't know, certain murder suicide plans of a certain brother of mine?”

The information does not seem to surprise Black Sapphire, who drinks the rest of the water and tosses the glass back, the thing vanishing before it can hit the ground. He crosses his arms, one brow raised,

“I thought it'd be rather obvious to you, considering you two try to kill each other on a daily basis.” He drawls.

Shadow Milk winces, “I… well, on hindsight yeah, kinda?”

Black Sapphire groans, “Just–god, I’m serious when I said I don’t know his plans. I can’t tell you anything else.”

“Did he tell Truth anything?”

“No. Truth knows about as much as we do, if not less.” He grumbles and grabs Shadow Milk's hand, tugging him to a nearby pavilion. Following, he says nothing until the both of them are sat down opposite each other.

The pavilion brings back memories. Of eager students, nervous staff, and fellow teachers inviting him out to share the occasional lunch or for a simple meeting. He steps inside, admiring the flawless recreation. It's awfully detailed, down to the chips on the table and the little carvings on the pillars.

For a moment, he wonders how such a degree of perfection is possible without Knowledge's assistance. Between Deceit and Truth, only his Soul Jam would have any idea of where to start in recreating this first academy.

After his fall, his memory isn't as good as it once was—he doubts he could have remembered such minute details, but he supposed even he won't know how much his subconscious had buried.

Black Sapphire leans forward and it's then that Shadow Milk finally gets a good look at his face. The boy isn't smiling, but he doesn't cower away either, shoulders slumped and looking more exhausted than he has ever seen him.

“I know the brat tattled to you on the treasure hunt game, and that she probably told you father’s true motive too. So you're most likely here to confirm that, and interrogate me on what I know.” He lays out, wasting no time for small talk just as Candy Apple did.

Shadow Milk pauses, somewhat caught off guard. He would have thought after the display earlier, Black Sapphire would take his time.

It isn't as if you're close with either of them.

Blueberry’s voice echoes. It's true, really—he can't refute that. Still, it does make him feel a certain way to see the two children in such melancholic moods.

Black Sapphire inhales, putting a hand over his chest. He tilts his head, “I swore my loyalty to you on my jam, dad. I don't know how father is going to kill himself. All I know is that whatever that plan is, it involves Truth and it will end in his and your deaths… if it succeeds.”

Nothing new, then. Unsurprising, really. If Blueberry had such a plan, he would have kept it under lock and key. Hidden away, tucked in the crevices of his mind so that it isn't even a thought in any of their little family unit’s minds that he would do such a thing.

“Did you force that answer out of him?” Shadow Milk guesses. His son nods solemnly, guilt flashing briefly across his face.

“He won't tell me anything else.” Black Sapphire murmurs, his hands clasped tightly at his front.

Then, it leaves dear Pure Vanilla or Blueberry himself to provide them some answers. Either way, Blueberry won't be in any danger as long as Shadow Milk himself isn't. It isn't as if they haven't tried the whole murder suicide thing throughout the years.

It's just that Truth’s presence makes a difference, because while they cannot destroy each other’s Soul Jam—not for an awakening nor corruption—another Virtue can.

Theoretically, that is. The Witches weren't very clear on the whole Soul Jam business, and he's sure the only book with any information about them has been lost in the fall of the Spire of Knowledge.

Although, he severely doubts Pure Vanilla would kill Blueberry. After hearing their entire life story, he’d be more likely to kill Shadow Milk. Even so, he would definitely still hesitate on that, knowing his bleeding heart and Deceit’s connection to Knowledge.

His train of thought is interrupted with a soft question, “I have one question for you, ‘dad’.” Black Sapphire slowly states.

Shadow Milk inclines his head, encouraging him to speak.

“Which one do you value more? Your world of Deceit, or your ‘brother’’s life?” He asks.

The weight of the question settles between the both of them. The choice—it should be easy. His ideal or his life, because of course he can't possibly keep both. This is not an ideal world.

“You think there's a choice?” He counters.

If he gives up Deceit, it will only be more power to Blueberry. Power he would throw away in pursuit of his foolish quest to atone. If he chooses life, it will still put them in the same cycle, the same never-ending argument. Although, it will still allow his dream to exist.

He will never know peace with Blueberry around, both a reminder of the past and the voice of his conscience—but it isn't as if he has much choice in that.

Between the two, the choice is easy. Especially if Pure Vanilla truly has fallen. From there, he only needs time to break Blueberry and corrupt the remnants of Knowledge.

The fact that Black Sapphire is even asking this is cause for suspicion.

“...I’ll..” Black Sapphire sighs, running a hand through his hair.

Shadow Milk leans back against his chair, “What did you talk about with Truth, boy?” he demands, lacing his words with magic to call on the jam vow.

Freezing, Black Sapphire swallows but the answer is forced out of him, “I asked him to help me—” He bites his tongue and Shadow Milk raises a hand, taking back the question so the boy won't foolishly hurt himself.

“What’s so wrong with telling me, then? You don't trust me to help you?” Shadow Milk pushes.

“I—nothing. Yes. Fuck—look, quit it with this. I'll tell you.” Black Sapphire hisses, clutching at his head.

He eases the magic forcing Black Sapphire to answer, allowing him to breathe freely again. Sagging against the table, he half-heartedly gives his answer, “Truth hasn't Fallen. Not.. really. I don't think he can Fall, honestly.”

Shadow Milk stills.

“He agreed to pretend that he did, to help you achieve your world of Deceit. Our plan is to get father to Fall—” Black Sapphire says,

“To put dear Blueberry under my control, so he can't kill himself, yeah? Hm, not bad.. but then, were you planning to turn on me afterwards?”

Silence.

Unwilling to let his emotions get the better of him, Shadow Milk leashes his anger as he waits for Black Sapphire’s answer. The young man winces at the added pressure, but he forces out,

“No. But I wasn't going to stop Truth when eventually reveals that he never Fell.” Black Sapphire confesses.

That’s—a better reason than he was expecting. Better than straight up betrayal from his own kin, at least. It can't be said that they didn't raise Black Sapphire without the concept of honour, as flawed as his childhood was stuck with him and Blueberry.

“Then, what? Is Truth aiming for an awakening?” Shadow Milk snarls.

“Yes, but it.. depends on how things go. He could still Fall in that dream world you made for him. Either way, the only difference that makes is that the world is saved by Truth's definition.” Black Sapphire’s lips thin.

Shadow Milk regards him for a moment. Even if Black Sapphire had lied by omission, he has the advantage of being kin—makes him more likely to get away with something like this than if he'd been a simple minion. Though, Blueberry makes that complicated.

Blueberry always makes things complicated. But, one caveat is that with Candy Apple still firmly loyal to him even without a jambound vow, Black Sapphire will follow.

Even if either of them has any sort of fondness for their broken world, it’s certain they’d still stick to him and Blueberry out of familial loyalty if nothing else. They are trying to prevent Blueberry’s stupid plan, after all.

The Witch-damned plan that they know absolutely nothing about. He doesn't even know where to begin to guess. Whatever it is, in theory, it shouldn't work if both him and Pure Vanilla are in agreement.

Blueberry, being a quarter to their three-quarters, would be overpowered by that alone. He could still try, of course, but that'll only end in hurt for him—and he doubts Pure Vanilla, a healer by trade, would ever allow him that.

So, there's really nothing to worry about if Pure Vanilla is on his side, temporarily or not.

Something clicks in his mind and he voices the thought, “You asked me which one I value more because if I say life, that’d mean I won't be a threat to yours and Truth’s plans, yes?”

It would mean giving up on his little dream, conceding to Truth, all to prevent Blueberry from making a stupid decision that really shouldn't be possible in the first place. Not with him still alive.

“Yes.” Black Sapphire winces, continuing,

“And… I.. while this dream is a perfect recreation of the world, you know it really isn't…” He clenches his jaw, cutting himself off entirely.

The boy's earlier words come to mind.

“You're supposed to be both of them, yet to me you are neither.”

“Foolish boy, you know that we aren't meant to exist the way we are now, right?” Shadow Milk sighs, but his words lack the usual bite.

It's—awfully sentimental. In the way that he's never liked. In the way that he always refuses to ponder on. In the way he can never entirely avoid because Blueberry is always constantly present.

“...I know.” Black Sapphire bows his head, suddenly wistful. There are still tear marks on his cheeks, but neither of them comment on it.

Taking a deep breath, Shadow Milk stands, waving a hand and forming little shadow figures of Pure Vanilla and Blueberry. Black Sapphire’s gaze follows him and he explains,

“No matter which one of our plans prevail, in the end, Blueberry and I need to be in agreement. Ovens, maybe his plan is disagreeing with me until both of us die from this—” He gestures at his own Soul Jam.

Deceit, while stronger than Knowledge—has been cracking just as much. Both of them have taken the strain of separation for millennia. He doesn't think either of them can take more. Shadow Milk had only stalled this long for Truth's prophesized arrival.

To solve two problems in one fell swoop. Corrupting Pure Vanilla’s shining example of virtue to push Blueberry over that final point of no return.

“....” Black Sapphire pales, eyes stuck on Blueberry’s shadow and the cracks on Deceit.

“It.. so it really does depend on father.” He sighs.

“We know what Pure Vanilla will do, no? So yes, it’s always been dependent on his stubborn jellybrain.” Shadow Milk grabs at Blueberry’s shadow, resisting the urge to squeeze the life out of it.

No matter how much hatred had been cultivated between them throughout the years, he's really never been able to commit to it. He blames it on Blueberry quite literally being the embodiment of what’s left of his sentimentality.

But, it's not like he's been hovering over your shoulder this entire time.

Deceit croons into his ear, calling him out on the lie. Shadow Milk drops back to his seat, letting his Soul Jam feel his annoyance.

You know I'm right. You didn't have to cheer up Candy Apple. You didn't have to hug Black Sapphire. You're having doubts, master.

Black Sapphire buries his face on the table, “Then what the hell do we do?! Wait and see what Truth does? I don't know if he’ll even stick with the plan.”

“You stay here, I'll look for dear vanilly.” Shadow Milk decides.

At that, his son’s expression immediately sours. As if the thought of staying here is the last thing he wants to do, perfect dream world or not.

“I still can't break out of here.”

Biting his tongue, he decides to reveal, “You mentioned something about Candy Apple, yeah? Check in on her again, you might find yourself surprised.”

Hypocrite.

Shadow Milk ignores the voice, opening a portal on the side to return to his other-realm. He does not spare another glance at Black Sapphire, but the boy returns the gesture, leaving to seek his sister as ordered.

Stepping back into the void of stars, Shadow Milk calls for the two orbs he needs—the one of brightest gold and the light blue of his ‘brother’.

Only a single, brightly shining orb comes to him.

The golden sheen is nearly blinding, and looking into the little dream, he sees Pure Vanilla and the incarnation of the Fount of Knowledge of this dream world.

His heart drops, because while the difference is subtle, something tells him that is not the cookie who is supposed to be there. The Knowledge is almost instinctive, like it was back when he was the Fount—whoever that cookie is, he does not belong in Pure Vanilla’s world.

Somehow, Blueberry had broken out. Somehow, Blueberry had found a way into Pure Vanilla’s dream.

“There is nothing you can tell me that I do not already know.”

“Do your worst.”

Shadow Milk curses.

Chapter Text

The moment White Lily has access to his friend, Blue is dragged away from Pure Vanilla’s side by the cheek. She starts chewing him out in that old language, scowling all the while rearing their entire group to wherever it is they need to be. Enjoying the show, he steps back to walk beside Elder Faerie, whose usually impassive face is carved into a soft smile.

“I take it you two had a good time?” The king teases.

Cheeks flushing, Pure Vanilla coughs into one hand, “I… I suppose.” he replies, keeping things vague. He isn’t too familiar with this lighter, playful version of Elder Faerie.

Elder Faerie chuckles, “Ah, dear Blue always fails to resist the opportunity for mischief.” the faerie king’s eyes turn towards Blue’s back.

For not being very familiar with White Lily, the war mage is doing a pretty decent job of bantering with her. They’ve switched to the standard language sometime along the argument, with Blue now actively scowling at his best friend. White Lily has released him, but she still looks disapproving.

“It wasn’t as if I initiated.” Blue grumbles, now eyeing Pure Vanilla.

Pure Vanilla meets his gaze easily and feels a flash of pleasure when the mage’s face gains a deeper tint of blue. At this, White Lily turns towards him in something that feels like disappointment, “Pure Vanilla.” she sighs.

“I couldn’t help it. He looked very cute.” He defends half-heartedly, still eyeing his friend.

Call it spiteful, but it surely doesn't hurt to tease Blue a little. Especially when the mage reacts so well to it.

Pure Vanilla quickens his steps, now falling in line with his best friend and Blue. Casual as ever, he slides his hand into the war mage's. It earns him a glare, but the touch is reciprocated. Next to him, White Lily just sighs again in exasperation,

“You can have your date after the speech. And after Pure Vanilla welcomes our friends.” She reminds, nudging him on the shoulder with her staff.

Elder Faerie settles next to her, looking upon White Lily with barely concealed fondness. For a moment, he wonders what kind of relationship they have in this world. Looking at the two faeries, Blue grips his hand tightly, avoiding the gaze of the other two.

Another scene flashes before his mind, his Soul Jam acting as a mournful reminder. Two friends, walking away, shoulders brushing against each other. Quiet laughter and fond-but-worried smiles. The king and his general.

“..what event are we going to again?” Blue chimes in, and his question gets matching looks of confusion from the faeries.

“....” White Lily exhales.

Elder Faerie jumps in, “The festival of peace, my friend. Surely you could not have forgotten so quickly? I had thought you appeared most excited about the event than the rest of us.” the king questions, his last sentence somehow feeling pointed.

Both of them pause.

“Oh… oh shit, that's today?” Blue laughs. It sounds a tad too nervous to be convincing.

“Yes, it is—” White Lily furrows her brows, but any further word is cut off when Blue seizes his arm and tugs him the other way,

“I know we're late and all but hey, the festival can't start without us and you know what I just remembered?” Blue’s hand tightens around Pure Vanilla’s forearm.

“We need to change. He's literally wearing his default outfit.” He points at Pure Vanilla with an almost offended tone.

Bewildered, he plays along with the terrible act—to save face for himself if nothing else, “Ah, yes. Of course. We’ll be right back.” He curls his hand against Blue’s and tugs him the other way, which is awkwardly enough, the way they were already walking towards earlier.

Thankfully, Blue follows and it only takes them a few minutes before they're far enough away that the faeries won't overhear their conversation. Shaking his head, Pure Vanilla leads the way to his room, the path there familiar even with the little differences in his castle.

“..that was awful.” Blue voices his thoughts, and to that, Pure Vanilla can only level him with his most unimpressed expression.

“You didn't even give me any time to prepare.” The war mage hisses, face still flushed.

“Shadow Milk didn't have time to prepare for his little shows.” Pure Vanilla counters, feeling oddly spiteful.

“On the contrary, he had a millennia to plan. To him, everything is going exactly to his machinations. He even knew to separate me from you early.” Blue grumbles.

Now that's an interesting thought. Pure Vanilla stops in front of a door. While the corridor that houses his private quarters is mostly the same, it’s been expanded to accommodate more rooms. Originally, it was only his room in this one corridor—now, there are multiple doors and he finds himself not quite sure which one was his.

He opens the door to peek inside the room quickly and it turns out to not be his room at all. In fact, it almost resembles a certain other room he’s seen before. From the decorations down to the colour scheme.

“...I think this is my room.” Blue voices the thought, squinting his sole working eye at the blue-gold colour scheme. He walks past Pure Vanilla, stepping into the room like it's really his own.

“If I didn't know any better, I would’ve thought they ripped this room straight from the Spire.” His friend muses, glancing at the decorations, though his gaze doesn't stay along as he beelines for a nearby desk.

Pure Vanilla steps in and shuts the door behind him, following Blue towards the desk. The little office space is just a few ways away from the bed, surrounded by bookshelves on all sides. Just as he gets close enough to see the table, Blue sets a book on top of it, immediately flipping through the pages.

Eventually, he stops at a page and Pure Vanilla squints at the handwriting before the book is promptly ripped from his view.

“I was reading that.” He scolds.

Blue holds the book close, staring at the writing in disbelief, “This is a fucking diary. I haven't written—oh this is awful. You're not reading this. No.”

Curiosity peaked, Pure Vanilla tries to steal the book from his hands with a grin. Blue holds it as far away as he could from him and promptly sets the thing on Fire. Gawking, he can only watch as the diary burns into ashes in the war mage’s hands.

It leaves a messy trail of soot that is promptly magicked away. How—efficient.

“It's just a diary, Blue.” Pure Vanilla guffaws.

His friend frantically shakes his head, “No. I read what we needed to know. You don't need to know anything else.”

“What did the other you write?” He asks, making sure the question sounds pointed.

“Everything about how you—” Blue shuts his mouth and sends him a dirty look.

“Me? Surely not all the entries are about me, right?” Pure Vanilla giggles.

“They ar—Witches, fuck off.” Scowling, Blue covers both his ears as if that'd help tune out Pure Vanilla’s questions.

He opens his mouth to tease his friend some more, but the war mage grabs his hand, “If you're asking me more questions, let's sit down for it.”

Curling his hand around Blue’s, Pure Vanilla expresses his silent agreement by pulling Blue back towards the bed. He leans back to sit down, tugging at Blue to do the same.

Blue huffs, but he doesn't argue, sitting down next to Pure Vanilla on the soft mattress. It nearly mirrors the way they were sitting in that inn’s bedroom who knows long ago by now. The passage of time feels odd within the Spire, for all he knew it could’ve been weeks already.

Though it definitely feels longer, he muses as he takes in the sight of Blue in the disguise. Caught up in trying to break out earlier, he hadn't paid much attention to Blueberry Milk’s attire. Now, the monocle sticks out like a sore thumb, Blue gently taking it off and inspecting the thing.

“I didn't know you could shapeshift a monocle.” Pure Vanilla comments, eyes trained on the way Blue handles the monocle like he still regularly wears one.

His response is a soft snort, “No, this is my original monocle. I can only ‘shapeshift’ my clothes, but even then it has limitations.” Blue gently puts it back on, adjusting the lens on his dead eye.

There’s silence between them for a moment as Pure Vanilla turns over this new information in his mind. Thinking back on his interactions with Shadow Milk, the Beast didn't seem to have any problems with his vision—not ones that Pure Vanilla could see just from observing him anyway.

If the ‘brothers’ were the same cookie once upon a time, it should go without saying that the monocle was really theirs.

He voices this thought, “Why doesn't Shadow Milk wear one?”

Blue raises a brow, but he doesn't seem too surprised at the implications behind Pure Vanilla’s words. Instead, he chuckles, his tone sounding almost sarcastic, “Because he hates any kind of reminder to our former identity and his prideful ass would rather walk around blind to maintain the clown aesthetic.”

Crass as ever—really, he thought Shadow Milk was quite rough with his words at their first meeting but Blue is somehow even worse. It cracks a smile from him anyway, though he gently nudges his friend’s shoulder to show his silent disapproval.

Blue snickers, appearing entirely unapologetic, “I speak nothing but the Truth.”

At that, he remembers that last message Black Sapphire had left him with. So far, it seems right, but there is one other thing he wants to confirm.

“You're bound by your role to speak nothing but the Truth. Is Shadow Milk bound the same way?” Pure Vanilla asks.

Whistling, Blue nods, “Yeah. The clown can only lie, but there are many technicalities around it. He can say something that's half-true, or only technically wrong, and it will still count.”

“Can you give me an example?”

“Ask him ‘is the sky blue yes or no’ and he'll say no.”

“Is the sky blue?”

“Yes.” Blue answers flatly, “You really love abusing my whole thing with direct questions, huh?” He squeezes Pure Vanilla’s hand, and he can only let out an apologetic giggle.

It might be a little mean, but they probably don't have enough time to take it slow. He brushes his thumb against Blue’s palm, leaning in closer to the mage until their shoulders are brushing.

“Also, we can probably only get away with ten minutes before White Lily comes barging in again. This festival thing is very important, and we happen to be the hosts this year.” Blue adds, leaning into the touch easily.

“What is the festival for?” Pure Vanilla questions. His old kingdom weren't lacking in festivals. There was one at least every half a year. Though, he hadn’t had the chance to look at a calendar earlier, so who knows which one it could be.

“...to celebrate world peace, apparently. The me in this world went into a lot of detail about it.” Blue huffs and Pure Vanilla could swear the mage’s cheeks had darkened saying that.

Now he wishes he had snatched that book much faster—even if Blue probably still won't let him read it.

“You got all of that information from just glancing at the book?”

“Photographic memory. Comes with the job, m’afraid.” Blue taps his forehead with a finger.

“Hm.. then, would you mind if I ask a lot of questions in quick succession?”

Although it'd feel more like an interrogation than he’d like, it would save them the most time and most likely also give him the clearest answers. Still, he doesn't want to make Blue too uncomfortable. Witch knows it's the last thing the other cookie needs.

Shrugging, Blue agrees easily, “...sure. That’d help me figure out what you already know.”

“Alright. Then, what's your name?”

“Blueberry Milk Cookie.” The answer is said with much less hesitance than Pure Vanilla would expect, Blue simply smiling at him wistfully.

“Why don't you use it?” He pushes.

“It’s easier to pretend I'm a nobody. And, well.. it isn't really entirely mine, is it? It was Shadow Milk’s too, no matter how much the both of us deny it.”

“Do you really believe that you're a nobody?”

Blue pauses, “....can I not answer that one?”

Pure Vanilla hums, “You still owe me a lot of answers.” he reminds. While it isn't very kind to hold something over someone, he thinks he deserves this much after going in without all the information Blue could have told him.

The mage seems to realise that, "... you're lucky I like you.” he grumbles, looking away.

His magic subtly tugs at Blue’s, washing over him to soothe his pain. His friend doesn't protest the intrusion, simply leaning heavier against him. Pure Vanilla snickers, “You do?”

Blue flips him the middle finger, answering, “Yes. I can't lie about it. You're likable. Who wouldn't like you?”

“Do you like me more than you like your murder-suicide plan?”

Pure Vanilla’s voice is quiet, but there’s a hard edge to it—sharp enough to cut through the silence of the room. He grips Blue’s hand a little tighter, and Light continues to flow between them, a soft golden pulse that soothes the chronic ache in Blue’s dough.

Blue flinches like he's been slapped. His muscles tense, jaw tightening. “N—what kind of question is that?” he snaps, yanking slightly against Pure Vanilla’s hold, but not enough to break free.

“A perfectly valid one,” Pure Vanilla says, firm but calm. “Considering your death wish has been a recurring theme since I got here. Blue, you—”

“I’m not hearing it.” Blue’s voice cracks around the edges. He turns his face toward the wall, away from Pure Vanilla’s eyes. “I don’t want to hear it. I'm tired, nilly.”

“You’re still here.”

“Yeah. Not for lack of trying.”

Pure Vanilla pauses. The Light between their hands flickers slightly, falters—then steadies. “Surely not enough to try again.”

“Nope,” Blue says quickly, too quickly. He shakes his head as if brushing away the thought, “Next question, please.”

Pure Vanilla doesn’t let go. “How do you feel about Shadow Milk, really?”

“I hate him. I thought I made that very clear.”

“To the point your hatred for him is the only reason you're still breathing?”

Blue lets out a bitter laugh. “Something like that. How much did that brat tell you?”

“Enough,” Pure Vanilla says. “And Shadow Milk didn’t hold back either. You’re the only one who keeps dodging.”

“I told you I’m going to kill him.”

“But not that you’d kill yourself with him.”

Blue exhales hard through his nose. “What difference does it make?”

“It matters,” Pure Vanilla says. “Because you’re not just collateral. You’re choosing this.”

Blue’s hands twitch, and he finally turns his head back, staring up at the ceiling. “Of course I am. This is my mess too. You think he’s the only one who betrayed his Virtue? I gave up. I looked away. I let it happen.”

His voice wavers, low and ragged. “I could’ve stopped us before we became what we did. But I was too scared. Too tired. I closed my eyes and let it all rot. Now it’s just consequences. He wants to set the world on fire and start over. I want to disappear and leave no trace.”

Pure Vanilla watches him, heart aching. “You want to die to make up for it.”

“Yes,” Blue breathes. “Isn’t that what atonement is?”

“No,” Pure Vanilla says. He cups Blue’s cheek gently, guiding his gaze down to meet his.

“No, Blue. Atonement is living through the guilt and still choosing to do better. Even when it hurts.”

Blue’s throat bobs as he swallows. His eyes are glassy now, lashes wet. “You make everything harder, you know that?”

Pure Vanilla gives a sad little smile. “Then let me be the reason you live long enough to hate me for it.”

Blue laughs—just once, sharp and exhausted—and doesn’t pull away when Pure Vanilla leans in to rest their foreheads together.

“I can’t promise forever,” Blue whispers. “But… I’ll give you a little time.”

Pure Vanilla smiles, “That's all I ask.”

Blue leans back, laying down on the mattress, the tension in his body unspooling by degrees. His friend appears more relaxed now, but he knows the pain hasn’t disappeared entirely—it probably never will—but Pure Vanilla’s Light should have dulled it to a low, manageable throb; a temporary mercy.

His eyes flutter shut, and his breathing slows to something close to calm.

Pure Vanilla doesn’t speak. He lays down, his hand in Blue’s, resting their joined palms gently over Blue’s chest, right above where his heart beats. The Light between them dims to a soft ember, no longer working to heal but simply being there. Quiet. Warm.

“I don’t deserve this,” Blue murmurs, so softly it’s barely audible.

“You keep saying that,” Pure Vanilla replies, voice equally soft. “But that’s not how this works. Deserving doesn’t enter into it.”

Blue opens his eyes, the sole gold looking at him with something that feels fragile, “Then what does?”

“Need,” Pure Vanilla says. “Choice. Hope, even if it’s a foolish one.”

Blue looks away again. “You really think I can get better? After everything I’ve done?”

“I don’t think it’ll be easy,” Pure Vanilla admits.

"But I think you can. And I want you to. I want to believe the story doesn’t have to end in fire or silence."

A pause. Blue’s fingers twitch in his grasp.

“…Shadow Milk thinks he can rebuild from the ashes.”

“I know,” Pure Vanilla says.

“And I think I can only make things right by vanishing.”

“I know that too.”

“So what happens,” Blue asks, a bitter little edge to his voice, “when it turns out neither of us is right?”

“Then you try again,” Pure Vanilla says simply.

"Try something else. Together.”

Blue doesn’t answer. His lips press into a tight line, but there’s something raw and fragile flickering in his eyes—something that hasn’t quite died yet.

And then, with a tired sigh, he mutters, “Gods, you're persistent.”

Pure Vanilla smiles, small and worn but true. “It's one of my better flaws.”

Blue lets out a faint huff of air—almost a laugh—and then slumps forward slightly, his forehead pressing against Pure Vanilla’s shoulder. Not for show. Not out of defeat. But as if the weight of his own body is finally something he no longer has to bear alone.

The silence between them hangs like a curtain just drawn shut, soft and oddly intimate after the whirlwind of their earlier conversation.

“...hope you're prepared for that speech,” Blue says, his voice muffled by Pure Vanilla’s shoulder, and he flops back, laying down with all the grace of a cat in sunlight.

Pure Vanilla lets out a breath of laughter, following him and threading a hand through Blue’s hair, glowing faintly with the lingering traces of Light magic. “I’ll—well, I’ll figure it out.”

Blue leans into the touch with an exaggerated sigh, his sole golden eye glinting up at him. “Or… we could skip out.” His grin spreads slow and mischievous. “Play hooky. Be bad.”

“I—what?” Pure Vanilla blinks. “We can’t just—”

“Sure we can. You don’t even know what the speech is about.” Blue sits back up, tugging his hand as he rises. “Either way, the world will adjust to whatever it is we do the moment we diverge from the storyline it set. It'll be fine.”

Pure Vanilla hesitates, torn between responsibility and the gleam in Blue’s eye that spells nothing but trouble. He glances toward the open window. The town stretches beyond, a lovely little patchwork of two places long lost—the Knowledge settles in his mind, even when he hasn't seen it for himself.

“...I guess skipping out wouldn't have prolonged consequences,” he admits at last.

Blue claps once. “Now you’re talking! Rebellion suits you, nilly.”

“Oh, you—"

Blue’s already halfway to the wardrobe, tossing him a soft pastel cloak with floral lining. “Put this on. No one suspects a cookie in lavender.”

They’re out the door five minutes later, Blue leading the way down cobbled paths and through quaint alleyways that somehow smell like both ocean salt and fresh bread—almost resembling the Crème Republic, if not for the picture perfect everything.

The sight of the town further unsettles him, stalls filled with goods that cater to oddly specific memories, streets named after phrases they used to say in passing. Pure Vanilla almost doesn’t notice at first—too caught up in Blue’s effortless enthusiasm.

He continues following anyway, pushing his unease away.

They stop in front of a building carved in both marble and polished stone, domed in soft gold with spires that shimmer like dreamlight.

“Behold,” Blue announces, sweeping his arm grandly, “the Museum of Misremembered History.”

“That’s not what it says on the plaque,” Pure Vanilla says, peering closer.

“Read what your heart sees,” Blue replies, already pulling him toward the entrance.

Inside, the museum is awash in warm lighting and hushed voices, the kind of silence made holy by shared awe. One wing displays Pure Vanilla’s legacy—tomes he thought had been lost forever, a replica of one of his old sanctuaries’ healing garden, glowing models of battles he barely remembers winning.

He lingers at one display where a crystal recreation of himself stands beneath a golden beam of light, shielding other Cookies with his staff raised high.

“‘The Day He Held Back Death Itself,’” he reads aloud. “...that’s not how it happened.” he frowns, recalling the moment he had shielded his friends and his kingdom from Dark Enchantress’ final attack.

Blue is beside him, hands tucked in the sleeves of his robes, rocking slightly on his heels. “Well, that version sells better.”

“It’s dishonest.”

“It’s a dream,” Blue says with a shrug. “Truth isn’t required reading.”

The answer doesn't satisfy Pure Vanilla, but they move too quickly for him to dwell on the thought.

The two of them meander deeper into the museum. One display shows a distorted vision of the founding of the Vanilla Kingdom, and another tells a bedtime-story version of the day Blue—Shadow Milk—first turned against his Virtue.

“Oh, look.” Blue stops in front of a dramatic painting where he’s rendered with billowing robes and flaming eyes, towering over a shattered tower. “‘The Betrayal of the Century.’ Catchy.”

“They’ve... romanticized everything,” Pure Vanilla murmurs, unsettled. “Even the pain.”

Blue flashes a crooked grin. “Pain is easier to swallow when it’s framed in gold.”

But Pure Vanilla notices the way Blue’s shoulders have gone tense, just for a heartbeat. He notices the way he doesn’t linger.

The final exhibit is a hall of imagined futures—paintings of the two of them rebuilding the world, side by side, their hands clasped in a way that feels far too prophetic.

“You’ve got a nice smile in this one,” Blue says lightly, but something in his voice falters.

Pure Vanilla turns to him. “Blue, this place—it’s beautiful, but it’s not real. None of this is.” He says, more of a reassurance to himself than anything else. Their stories have changed for a beautiful, less painful ending—but it does so in a way that feels hollow instead of fulfilling.

Beautiful on the surface, but with cracks underneath when looked at too long.

Blue’s mask slips for half a second—his smile almost falters. But then he throws an arm around Pure Vanilla’s shoulders and leans in.

“That’s why we enjoy it while it lasts.”

They exit the prophecy hall to a little café tucked into the museum’s west wing, as if it had always been there—because in this dream, maybe it always had. The sign above the counter reads "Legends Brew Free."

“Is it... legal to just take drinks here?” Pure Vanilla asks, eyeing a floating tray of sparkling tea and caramel fizz bobbing temptingly near the ceiling.

Blue steps behind the counter like he owns the place. “My good sir, in this museum, you are history’s favorite flavor. Drink whatever you want. Steal a muffin. Marry the barista.” He dons a cap he found on a hook and bats his lashes.

“Hello, sir. May I take your heart—order?”

Pure Vanilla snorts. “You are absolutely shameless.”

“And you're cute when you’re scandalized,” Blue replies, handing him a teacup that reads ‘World’s Softest Revolutionary’ in fancy cursive.

"Drink up. Light magic tastes like fluffy clouds, right? This one's jasmine and guilt.”

Pure Vanilla eyes him but takes the cup, and—he has to admit—it’s exactly right. Down to the guilt, but maybe that’s his own heart talking.

They find a table beside a little decorative pool, where koi made of stardust swim in lazy spirals. Their reflections shimmer and distort, glancing back at them with eyes that know too much. It almost resembles the countless eyes of the Spire.

“I still think we should’ve gone to the haunted diorama section,” Blue says, tossing crumbs to a koi that immediately morphs into a duck, then back into a koi. “It reenacts the Scorching Battle of Obsidian Hill in interpretive dance. With sock puppets.”

“Absolutely not,” Pure Vanilla says, laughing softly. “I’m already half-convinced this place is going to break into song.”

At that, music does swell faintly in the background—a lilting piano loop with faint choral hums. They both freeze.

“...okay, that’s mildly terrifying,” Blue mutters, but he’s grinning, and so is Pure Vanilla.

They leave the café and wander into the interactive exhibits next. One room projects memories like holograms. Pure Vanilla turns a dial labeled “Era of Awakening” and sees himself—stumbling into battle with White Lily, Dark Cacao, Hollyberry and Golden Cheese by his side, looking young and impossibly bright-eyed.

Blue flicks the dial to “Age of Secrets” and watches himself emerge from shadows, face half-covered, grinning as if every plan is a game only he understands.

“Your dramatic villain arc.. seems like some things never change.” Pure Vanilla remarks.

“My fashion-forward phase. Besides, you can’t deny that it’s better than dressing like a clown.” Blue corrects, gesturing at his old embroidered cloak.

Pure Vanilla snickers and watches his friend laugh—it’s bright, somehow lacking the bitterness that ever perpetuates Blue’s presence. Something loosens in his chest. Maybe this isn’t a trap. Maybe this can be good.

Eventually, they reach the last room: a mirror hall. Dozens of reflections stare back—some as they are, some as they once were, and others as they might be.

Pure Vanilla pauses in front of a mirror where his reflection stands with Blue, both of them older, quieter, yet content. Their fingers are just barely brushing.

Blue says nothing for a moment.

Then he breaks the silence with a soft, “We look kind of domestic.”

Pure Vanilla laughs. “We do.”

“Ever think of retirement from the Virtue thing? We totally deserve a picket fence and a herb garden.”

"You wouldn't survive the yard work.”

“Oh, I’d burn the fence and kill all our plant children. Even your green thumb wouldn't be able to save me."

"Wanna bet?"

They both laugh, snickering like children.

Turning away with a cheeky smirk, Blue tugs Pure Vanilla along to the exit. But, something lingers in the mirror behind them and Pure Vanilla catches their reflections again, who hold hands for just a moment longer than they did.

He shakes his head, dismissing his worries.

For the first time since arriving, Pure Vanilla lets himself believe that maybe, just maybe, things could turn out alright.

They spend the rest of the day this way. Exploring the town, stealing some food here and there, stumbling over each other like a pair of teenagers on their first date. At the end of it, Pure Vanilla has laughed himself sore by the time they return to the castle.

Blue leads them back to his room, and they find that it's directly connected to Pure Vanilla’s own through a door right between them. He distantly tries to recall whether Blueberry Milk had entered through that door or the actual front door, but can't quite care about it in his exhaustion.

“Well, that was fun.” Blue chuckles, splaying his limbs on the bed, Pure Vanilla sitting next to him.

“It was.” He smiles, laying down next to Blue and staring up at his bed's canopy. The familiar sight no longer bothers him the way it did this morning.

Exhaling slowly, he shuts his eyes. Their little getaway had taken a weight off his shoulders, but there won't be any peace for him until their main problem is taken care of.

He's sure he can break out of this world easily. The Knowledge is whispered to him quietly. It only needs—intent. Willingness to break out, destroy the ideal dream, consciously and subconsciously. It will not be hard to do, not when this dream was only ever enjoyable with Blue at his side.

“...we’ll go ‘tomorrow’. Time is funny here and in the Spire, so we might as well make the best of it. Plus, I'm pretty sure some good sleep will do you nicely before. Y’know.” Blue shuts his right eye and signs ‘milk’.

“...you gave him a sign name?” Pure Vanilla chuckles.

“Why not? But yeah, he’s still a problem. How were you going to go about the whole stopping him thing, anyway?”

“I… Black Sapphire told me that the best way was to get you to—”

Blue’s expression darkens, “...fall, huh? That brat. I told him not to interfere. I haven't caved in to the temptation of Deceit for a millennia, and I'm certainly not going to now.”

Pure Vanilla winces, “I.. well, he was hoping that you'd be convinced otherwise after seeing me.”

“....hm.” Blue huffs, continuing, “Either way, that plan is bust. We need a new one.”

He rolls to his side, staring Pure Vanilla in the eyes. His next few words come out quiet, with a certain weight to it that makes his Soul Jam nudge him mentally, as if trying to tell him something.

“Do you trust me, Pure Vanilla?” Knowledge asks, putting his hand on top of his.

Their Soul Jams glow dimly, as if awaiting with baited breath for his answer. After everything, this entire day, it should be enough for him to give a clear answer—he wants to give Blue the benefit of the doubt, so he says, in spite of all warnings,

“Yes.”

He hopes it's not the wrong choice.

“—do not take his words at face value.”

Instead of a smile, Blue just squeezes his hand, “There’s one last way to fix this mess. You need to reach an Awakening. I'll be on your side, and together we can overpower Deceit’s dream world.”

Pure Vanilla swallows, the passage from the book he read with Black Sapphire coming to mind. The rare path, the difficult one—to relinquish one’s first Virtue and be reborn to a new one.

But from ruin, sometimes, comes light anew.

“...and how do I do that?” He asks, his voice sounding faint even to himself.

“Believe. Believe in your Truth, your hope to heal this world. I know you can do it. You're stronger than anyone I've ever Known.” Blue grips his other hand, tightly locking their hands together,

“Believe, and break your Soul Jam. If your faith is True, it will Know.”

Watching Truth’s back as he sleeps, Blue ignores the twitch in his heart.

Sleep will not come to him tonight, so he does not bother, getting up from the bed and exiting the room as quietly as he can. Truth may be a light sleeper, but exhausted enough, anyone will sleep like the dead.

He strolls back into the other room, the one that resembles the little place in his nightmares. Stepping up to the vanity, he discards the illusion entirely, meeting his own face in the mirror for the first time in a while.

Reaching a hand up, he curls it into a fist and nudges his own face in the mirror. He doesn't break it—not when it will only cause unnecessary concern and risk waking up Truth.

The plan—it’s gone according to his wishes, but somehow in the worst way possible.

The Soul Jam of Truth cries from where it's attached to his robes, almost echoing the warning Knowledge had given him much earlier.

This will hurt.

He sighs, sitting down on the vanity’s little stool, eyes roaming over the various trinkets scattered on the table and singling in on a little box, tucked in the corner next to a pot of fresh flowers that smell distinctly of vanilla.

“....” Picking it up, Blue almost wishes it was just a box for his monocle.

The ring staring back at him feels damning, and he drops the box like it burned his hands. The diary—it had talked about this day with such—happiness.

He remembers one throwaway line from the faerie king, it hitting harder now that he knows the stupid context. Of course that caricature of himself had been looking forward to the event. No wonder he had written so much about Truth's—everything.

He shuts the box, calling on Fire.

There's no turning back now, and sentiments like this will only hold him back.

The box burns away in his hands, and Blue turns away, returning to Truth's side. It will all be over soon, he tells himself. This is nothing but a dream, no matter how much Knowledge was involved in crafting it to perfection.

If his heart twitches in guilt, he does not acknowledge it.

Chapter Text

Deceit rings in his ears, almost mirroring the distinct ringing bells of Truth.

It warns him of what’s to come in soft whispers and flashes of a mocking smile. His grip tightens on the bright golden orb, the silence of the other-realm creeping deeper into his mind the longer the dream refuses to grant him entry.

Why does it refuse me?

He doesn't voice the thought, not wanting to hear his own voice echoing back at him in this empty void. Suddenly, it's much too quiet. There is nothing here. No soft wind blowing in the background, the rustle of trees, the chirping of small critters.

Only the silence of this void and his own mind.

Inhaling sharply, he tries to take his mind elsewhere. There must be a reason that the dream is blocking him out. Perhaps, it's even part of Blueberry’s plan. Or, it could also be Pure Vanilla’s doing—Truth does need to be actively assisting for the spell to work.

Deceit to manipulate the space, shaping the reality around the heart of the orb—the cookie ensnared inside. Truth to convince them, building a story around the ideal in their hearts, making all their wishes come true—except now, that doesn't seem right.

It's the one odd thing about the dreams. They're detailed, terrifyingly so, and each dream had pulled from Knowledge Pure Vanilla shouldn't have known.

That cottage on the border of the Spire in Candy Apple’s dream—he knows Truth has never seen it. The little group was staying at an inn further into his territory. The entire Academy, perfectly recreated when Truth couldn't have been alive to see it at its prime.

His heart drops.

There is only one explanation for the extent of Knowledge the dreams had had. He grips his Soul Jam, regretting trusting the thing as it laughs at him and his dawning realization. The other Soul Jam—the little wisp of it lent to him by Pure Vanilla the moment the healer took his hand, finally speaks,

You've been played for a fool.

It sighs, the mournful tune familiar as an old friend. It does not obey him, it never will—not with his ideal being what it looks down on. In the same vein, if Pure Vanilla had never Fallen, Truth wouldn't have obeyed him in the first place.

Knowledge, however, would recognize its old master. A Soul Jam’s loyalty is to their representative cookie Virtue first, their ideal second. It's more complicated in his and Blueberry’s case—but their situation is how they knew about that tidbit at all.

The Spire is silent. Too silent. Distantly, he can hear the sound of laughter in the background.

It was Blueberry. It was all Blueberry.

Soft laughter, with a hoarse undertone that grows louder and louder. Blueberry’s hands phasing through him. His words curling under his dough even days after it was said. Strangling the both of them just to get Blueberry to shut up—

Shadow Milk chokes, clutching at his chest. His head rings, his vision doubling as he stumbles back, dropping the golden orb. It floats harmlessly, rejoining the countless others, but not before a soft crack is heard.

He flinches.

He remembers dragging another body out of water, cringing at the feeling of Fire in his lungs. He remembers yelling, scowling at Blueberry because he had been foolish enough to get captured.

Knowledge cuts his train of thought off, scoffing at the idea. A mage of their caliber would die before getting captured on the battlefield. It was never that, he had only convinced himself otherwise because—

You couldn't take it. You never could. Face the Truth. Call it what it is.

Witch, he does not miss his old Virtue. The knowledge rams at his head anyway, and he swallows the bile rising up in his throat—so much for having a semi-corporeal body—and grips his Soul Jam tighter.

Deceit cracks under his hold, the ringing now louder than ever.

The laughter becomes so loud he can't hear anything else, the sound consuming the entire space of his other-realm. One moment, he stands here and the next, he stands where he was, a millennia ago, some days ago—a scene that repeats on loop every waking hour he’s alone because sleep will never find him.

“For as long as I live, you will never know peace.” Blueberry’s voice laughs.

That golden eye, appearing nearly as dead as the blank white next to it. The awful, awful blank expression. The way Blueberry had sat up the moment he was dragged out from his foolish endeavor and thrown up all the water in his lungs. That god—Witch-forsaken blank stare, staring down at his scarred hands.

His words going unheard, Blueberry not even flinching at his touch. Catatonic, unresponsive, he might as well be dead—he wanted to be, Knowledge echoes the Truth. Blueberry hadn't been the same since he returned from his little stint with the faeries. But that's not right either, he Knows.

Blueberry has always been the same. Stuck in the past, stuck in their regrets. He doesn't think Blueberry can be anything else. He doesn't think Blueberry wants to be anything else. It's the reason neither of them can be Free—of each other, of their respective roles.

That death wish. It shouldn't have been a surprise. Not when it was their first thought at the end of it all, that one night underneath the full moon.

Don't you regret it?

Snapping their neck hadn't worked. A stab through the heart was but temporary. Drowning was but a short-lived mercy. But this time—horror sinks into his very being, overtaking any anger he might have felt and morphing it into a deep, primal fear.

Don't you regret everything?

Blueberry’s visage asks him, leaning over one shoulder, whispering the question almost lovingly. Truth and Knowledge stand in front of him, identical in appearance, the cracks of the latter hidden with a clever trick.

He might even appreciate the Deceit.

Knowledge coos, echoing Blueberry’s thoughts—who knows how long ago now that is. He jerks his head, his magic latching onto the wisps of Knowledge, demanding answers. The request is met with a laugh, and the world spins around him.

He sits across Blueberry, a chessboard between them. He can almost hear his words, and his laughter makes it worse.

He moves a pawn. Blueberry's gaze feels bored, and he looks down at Shadow Milk as if he is but an insect at the bottom of his shoe. He meets that expression with a grin he doesn't feel, his heart not in it—not with dread choking him.

Who is running from who, really?

Knowledge taunts.

He knows he should—do something. Break out of the vision, this delusion crafted by his overactive mind. He doesn't, persisting through it the way Blueberry keeps going through his own pains and aches.

Penance.

How he hates that word. That shackle, the collar Blueberry insists on wearing because—

“If I don't—then what was the point of everything we sacrificed? What was the point of me?”

Trapped, like a bird in a gilded cage. By their purpose, their role. Knowledge, Deceit—all of it, the thought sickens him to the core. He doesn't shut his eyes, knowing nothing good will come out of that. Sleep will never find him.

No rest for the wicked.

The scene morphs around them again, and he stands face to face with that Witch. The one with the kind smile, who taps that ginger child—Gingerbrave’s head gently, fondly, saying,

“I did not bake you for any one purpose, my dear.”

Liar. Liars, all of them—but are they really?

Deceit laughs, the sound amplifying the laughter all around him. His Soul Jam cracks, wavers, and why, indeed. Coward, the former pieces of Knowledge whisper, echoing the mocking sound of his own voice, toned down and harsher.

“Lies can only get you so far. How long do you think it'll be before reality catches up with you, me?”

Shut up.

Shadow Milk inhales, curling into himself, hands covering both ears in futile effort to block it all out. The Spire is silent, it's supposed to be silent—yet only when it is silent does his personal demons come out to greet him.

He needs to—do something.

A visage of Blueberry materialises in front of him, matching Soul Jams floating in each palm. He's wearing that stupid hood, and underneath it only a smile is visible. It does not feel reassuring—it is not kind.

Blueberry is never kind, not to him.

He grabs blindly for that bright golden orb, spotting cracks all around it. It still does not let him in, even Deceit now refusing to listen. The awful thing coaxes him to—

Stop.

“No matter how much you burn, the ash still settles.. and you know the best part? …it still reeks of guilt.”

Knowledge sighs out mournfully.

Haven't you realised?

It’s—it isn't exactly something easy to admit. Not when he has spent so long planning, scheming, figuring out all the little details—the spell for his world of Deceit needs the entire Soul Jam to work, but being a spell, there are other logistics that must be considered.

The Soul Jam is but a power source. The spell is his magnum opus. The same spell that turns out to not be the solution.

Because it never was.

His old friend reminds, wistful. Knowledge has the voice of Blueberry, but somehow—without all the grit, the flaws. Not for the first time, Shadow Milk wishes the Witches had never baked them with such mortal ailments.

To play at being an immortal, wise Virtue—all while having flaws seen in any average cookie. Baked to an ideal, expected for perfection—built to burn. To think otherwise would be a fool’s errand and yet.

Candy Apple’s red-rimmed eyes. Her trashed room. The way she smiles a little less brighter at the caricature of Blueberry, betraying her true feelings.

Black Sapphire’s tears. His entire monologue. The Witch-damned hug, fingers clawing into his dough as the stupid boy sobbed. Saying ‘I hate you’ and yet.

“I believe we are more than what we were made for.” Pure Vanilla had said, the conviction in his eyes clear. He can't believe he ever believed Truth’s ruse.

“I baked you to live your own life. To laugh, to scream, to cry, to be happy.” The Witch had said, idealised version or not—everything in the dreams must be plausible, must be True in some way because only then will the ensnared cookie would ever want to stay.

But, even in those idyllic dreams, neither Black Sapphire nor Candy Apple had wanted to stay.

You're having doubts.

Deceit taunts, its tone echoing Blueberry. Knowledge sighs, wary of this same argument—no doubt, it has Known all along that this was never the right way. To think he thought himself the only one to have turned away from Knowledge.

The shadow of Blueberry grips his Soul Jam in his hands, squeezing, a sickening crack ringing out as Knowledge shatters before his very eyes.

Shadow Milk stumbles, clutching his own Soul Jam, nearly hyperventilating as a sharp pain pierces his very soul. Then, it is as if that shared power Truth had returned to him—Knowledge, not Truth—was ripped away from him in one fell swoop.

Eyes wild, he can only watch as the other-realm unravels before his eyes, dark blue overtaken by gold. The world shatters into pieces and he finds himself standing back in that little arena.

Then, a hand settles itself on his shoulder.

Shadow Milk flinches, turning around and swinging his staff at the other cookie—at Blueberry, who calmly dodges the hit with a tilt of his head. There is a blank, unnerving expression on that face they share, the sole golden gaze burning with familiar anger.

“You know, don't you.” Blueberry states, his fingers digging deep enough into his shoulder to hurt, even in this semi-corporeal form.

“If I knew, that all I needed to deter your faith in Deceit was to kill myself, maybe I would've done it earlier.” He grins, and it clearly was meant to be a joke—except, it doesn't sound like one, it doesn't feel like one.

Shadow Milk swallows. His throat feels impossibly dry. He wants to counter that, because it's not like this is the first time Blueberry has done something like this. Instead, he says nothing, the words stuck in his throat.

“You finally came around, brother. All this time, when I kept telling you that I only exist because you couldn’t fully commit to Deceit.” Blueberry’s hand moves towards his chest, brushing over his Soul Jam, fingers gently caressing the subtle cracks and chips.

“You’ve corrupted.” He interrupts, and not for the first time, he wishes Blueberry wears his Soul Jam openly. Even if he knows it will not be Knowledge that he sees at this moment.

“I have by now. Enough for Deceit to obey me. Fun, right?” Blueberry giggles.

“How does—Knowledge still obeys you.” His breath hitches and he rips himself away from Blueberry, feeling uncomfortable being the prey in this equation.

“Knowledge was never much of a virtuous trait, was it? It's called Virtue, but really, it's more of a domain. Though, it hardly obeys as much as you think it does. It told you everything in spite of my wishes.”

Blueberry lets him go, and he nearly stumbles over his own feet trying to turn around to face his other half.

“You want to know how I kept both of them, right? It's terrifyingly simple, really. As Knowledge, with our original body no less, it is bound to obey me as its embodiment in this world. It won't corrupt as long as I still have faith in it, however little that is.” He steps closer. Shadow Milk takes a step back.

He tries to call on his magic. Like Deceit, it does not answer him. Blueberry grabs his hand by the wrist, pulling him close, “Your Deceit, however.. it’s fickle. Almost like our dear Spire. It obeys whichever of us it believes in more, remember? Whichever one embodies that same ideal better, and you know what's funny about that?” he leans in over one shoulder, murmuring into one ear.

Shadow Milk can't move.

Blueberry’s voice drops to a near whisper, silky with venom.

“It believes in me now.”

Suddenly, it's as if they're back a millennia ago, freshly sealed in this realm—back where he was but a spectre stuck to Blueberry’s side.

“Y’know, it's funny. I didn't originally plan for it to go this way, yet all the pieces fell into place anyway. Truth went along with it all beautifully and I didn't even have to lift a single finger. Really, I should thank you for doing most of the work.” A hand gently places itself upon his Soul Jam and for a moment, he fears Blueberry will take Deceit from him—having won its loyalty, it would work for him much better.

“You swapped the soul jams. When.” Shadow Milk forces out. He can't move, not with Blueberry overpowering him with practically the whole of their old Soul Jam—but, he can still talk.

Blueberry chuckles.

A blink, and it is a reflection of himself standing in front of him instead of his dear ‘brother’. The two-toned blue blinks at him, the eye that’s supposed to be dead still unfocused—the only thing assuring him that it's still Blueberry.

“Why, you doubt my acting skills? We’re the same cookie, idiot. It doesn't take much, not when dear Truth had so much faith in me.” Blueberry sighs, and it is only at that last part that he sounds like himself.

Throughout this entire monologue, he—he doesn't quite see Blueberry in the cookie in front of him. Quiet, occasionally sassy, constantly wistful Blueberry—traded now for this, who resembles Shadow Milk more than the remnants of Knowledge ever did. He meets his own eyes, finding them alive with glee.

He's never seen Blueberry so delighted.

“He didn't notice.” Shadow Milk bites his tongue.

“Of course not, he was distancing himself from Truth to fool you.” Blueberry scoffs, grabbing his hand and snapping his fingers with the other hand, the scenery changing around them.

“Anyway, aren't you excited? In a moment, the blight upon this world that is you and me will be gone!” He beams.

It—that expression. It terrifies him.

“You can't do this—fuck, are you fucking crazy?! No Virtue has ever died—!” Shadow Milk hisses despite his fear—how he hates being utterly helpless under Blueberry’s spell.

The grip on his wrist tightens and he's pushed down to that same Witch-damned armchair he summoned at the floating platform above the arena merely hours ago. Shadow Milk’s breath hitches as his own voice cuts off mid-rant, Blueberry stepping one foot on the armrest and leaning down,

“Guess what? I don't care.” He announces gleefully, still wearing Shadow Milk’s form, Truth attached to the front of his collar, disguised as Deceit.

He tries to get up from the armchair, but to no avail, his entire body frozen with whatever spell Blueberry had casted. Screaming silently, his eyes catch his own reflection on the polished walls.

“....” Blueberry’s face stares back at him, his own Soul Jam now a lighter blue to mirror Knowledge.

Fuck.

It's but a moment before the familiar golden orbs—of course Blueberry kept them trapped, of course—float into view. The platform they're on lowers until it's almost on even ground with the rest of the arena.

Then, each of them shatter and with a puff of smoke, the children and Pure Vanilla appear where the orbs once were.

Too late.

Knowledge whispers, but its words are silenced just as quickly, the magic of its master ruthlessly forcing the thing to submit. The children—cages of glass envelop each of them, separating the group of young from Pure Vanilla.

At least his dear ‘brother’ had enough mind to keep the children out of this, Shadow Milk thinks hysterically.

As for Truth, his lavender robes stand out. If not frozen by his own fear and the awful spell, he would've laughed at the sight of it. To lay out in lavender; to prepare for burial. He’s always loved poetic irony, and Blueberry is even more fond of it.

Pure Vanilla stares up at them, but it feels like he's looking down at them instead, almost like a bored god, his stare impassive, staff clenched in one hand as the children stare up at him in horror, banging on the glass cages.

Black Sapphire and Candy Apple both stare at him, at ‘Shadow Milk’. He doesn't know if they can tell it isn't him. Blueberry doesn't spare either child even a glance.

What follows is a finale he would have called glorious. It's a show to behold, certainly, and had Knowledge not come to him with what it Knew, he wouldn't have suspected a thing. Though, it's not as if he can do anything now, really—he swallows back the hopelessness.

Surely—surely, Pure Vanilla isn't stupid enough to not know now—surely, there must be another way to escape this.

Deceit only continues laughing, the sound digging under his dough even if only he can hear it. It obeys Blueberry now, even with their deaths imminent if this awful plan succeeds.

Pure Vanilla raises his staff, an angel cloaked in the guise of a demon, keeping eye contact with the true demon among them. Blueberry tilts his head. Shadow Milk remains frozen, magic refusing to heed his call.

His Soul Jam cracks as his faith slowly crumbles. Deceit does not even react, too amused by the entire ruse. It has always loved drama, the stupid awful thing.

“Shadow Milk.” The angel bows his head.

He should—move. Do something. And yet, every limb refuses to obey him, as if bound by magic. Deceit does not respond, granting him neither mercy nor salvation. Knowledge is out of his reach, silenced by its madman of a master.

Even the Spire says nothing, witnessing this moment in silence.

“So, what do you think?” Blueberry asks casually, imitating his tone so perfectly that he can't find any fault in it.

“...I see your point.” Pure Vanilla nods his head, and a smile graces Blueberry’s face.

It looks fond. It looks genuine. It makes it all the more awful because he really thought that Blueberry would have been too attached to Truth and his ideals to use him like this.

He isn't looking forward to the moment Pure Vanilla finds out.

“But…” Truth bows his head,

“I may have given up on hope, but I’m afraid I cannot go on without absolving myself of the guilt of it.”

Both of them flinch at that. Without context he now has, it might have made a good argument. Pure Vanilla, as the Truthless Recluse, too tired to hope, yet feeling too responsible to let go entirely. Putting himself out of the equation—offering himself as a sacrifice to reduce the impact of his world of Deceit on the common cookies.

“I hope you understand.” A glance at Blueberry, and then he turns to Shadow Milk with a softer, kinder smile,

“I’m sure you understand.” He echoes the statement.

The children scream.

Blueberry rushes forward, his expression a masterful display of distress, but it's too late. It's always been too late. Shadow Milk shuts his eyes and awaits for judgement.

The Soul Jam cracks, the illusion around it shattering, and it is only then that Truth staggers back, paling and dropping his staff, but it is too late because the gem shatters.

Blueberry stops running, sinking onto his knees like a puppet with its strings cut. Shadow Milk clutches onto his own Soul Jam and chokes as the freezing spell breaks alongside his own Soul Jam. He doubles over, spitting out red onto the floor.

Distantly, he hears someone scream. Another one cries. Many voices yell and the glass cages break, the children rushing into the scene. Pure Vanilla’s eyes remain locked on the shattered Soul Jam, no doubt finally realising what exactly the plan had been all along.

Shadow Milk, with Blueberry’s appearance, whose eyes are wide open, staring at the actual Blueberry, both of them still as a statue. Knowledge lies shattered between Blueberry and Pure Vanilla, the former Knowledge’s earlier smile twisting into something ugly.

They're alive.

They're alive. It didn't fucking work—Shadow Milk wants to laugh, his eyes stuck on his own Soul Jam, finally shattered the way its counterpart is. Their disguises melt away, revealing the switch to all present in the room. Shocked, the children stop in their tracks.

“...of course.. to Fall is to be reborn anew.” Blueberry’s voice, hoarse as it always is, echoes around the room. It is toneless, without emotion. He looks up to meet Pure Vanilla’s eyes and what stares back is no longer that single golden eye, but a deep, darker blue. Even darker than his own.

That feeling of dread returns and Shadow Milk forces himself off that chair, abandoning the shattered pieces of Deceit to jump into the fray and cast a shield over the children. Wisely, they stay behind him, though Black Sapphire settles himself at his side, staff in hand.

As if proving that it was the right call to make, the shattered Soul Jams of Deceit and Knowledge glow, their pieces placing itself back together and melding into something different entirely—something that is dark, darker than Deceit.

Blueberry wraps his arms around himself and laughs. It's a bitter, hopeless sound. It's grief and pain, melded together into something that hurts to listen to.

Shadow Milk’s breath hitches as what remains of Knowledge and Deceit form a new Soul Jam, floating between the three of them like a beacon. Its presence is almost stifling, taking the air away from the room, suffocating any who dares get too close.

The gem itself is screaming, even as Blue stands and grabs onto it none too gently, still laughing as he digs his fingers into the cracks carved into the little gem.

Pure Vanilla sinks onto his knees.

“You were right. All this time, no matter how much I denied it… it was all for nothing.” A snarl and Blueberry tosses the gem to the floor, making both Shadow Milk and Pure Vanilla flinch. It doesn't crack, only landing harmlessly without a single new chip.

“This… thing. It won't even let me die. What do you want me to do?!” A hitched breath and it does not take a soul healer to know that Blueberry is about to spiral further.

The Spire’s floor cracks around them, as if reflecting its favoured master’s mental state. Blueberry takes Truth’s Soul Jam off of him, letting the little thing float above its fallen other half.

“I—you took my Soul Jam.” Pure Vanilla says in horror, staring up at his own Soul Jam.

Shadow Milk—he doesn't know how he's still here when he no longer has his own quarter of a Soul Jam. Refusing to think about it with an active threat in the room, he brandishes his staff and stands between Blueberry and the children.

Blueberry giggles, brushing a hand through his hair and gripping on it tightly enough to rip out some of the strands. The corrupted Soul Jam sends out a burst of magic, throwing everyone off balance and onto their knees.

Shadow Milk grimaces and catches Black Sapphire with one arm, barely managing to keep himself standing.

The reborn Soul Jam floats up, waiting for its master to take it, but the former Knowledge only hovers a hand over the little gem and it forms a beam of Light that shoots into the sky, covering the entire Spire with a heavy, oppressive feeling.

“So I did.” Blueberry tilts his head unnervingly towards Pure Vanilla, his smile empty.

Chapter Text

“Do you trust me, Pure Vanilla?”

It must have been less than an hour ago that Blue had asked that question. He wonders how the war mage had felt, asking Pure Vanilla that. Looking into his eyes, hand-in-hand, knowing he will betray that trust just a moment later.

All for the sake of his plan.

Thinking back on their past conversations, Pure Vanilla can't even tell if any of his words had gotten through to him at all. But, Knowledge is hardly a fool. He must've known—he had agreed with Pure Vanilla, sounding genuine at the time.

“I can't promise forever. But… I'll give you a little time.”

A little time. A clever misdirection. A non-answer that he didn't see as one simply because he had blindly trusted Blue, for all his faults.

Maybe he should've seen this coming, knowing that Shadow Milk and Blue are one and the same. For all that Deceit is cruel to his ‘brother’ and the games he played in the Faerie Kingdom, Shadow Milk has only treated Pure Vanilla kindly for his entire time in the Spire.

Blue’s death wish—it seems to overpower reason, because Pure Vanilla refuses to accept that Blue hadn't understood—that he hadn't been genuine in that entire conversation. His heart clenches painfully, his entire body feeling cold.

To wish to die so badly, that one would give up all reason—he can't even comprehend the thought, nor the things that would have had to happen to bring someone to that point. Frozen in place, hurt in body and heart, he can only swallow back the rising bile in his throat as conversation flows by him.

Shadow Milk stands between the children and Blue, Black Sapphire at his side. He's missing his own Soul Jam, Deceit having broken alongside Knowledge to create the new, oppressive thing filling the entire room.

His limbs feel impossibly heavy, his eyes stuck on the beacon of Light in the middle of the arena like a moth drawn to a flame. Suddenly, it's as if everything feels—pointless. For all that he tried, it still ended up this way.

“Right. You won the game, Berry. Now—just, fuck, you know that there was a very low chance of that shit working.” Shadow Milk says, posture still tense. His voice is trembling, and the fear in his tone strikes Pure Vanilla.

He never thought he'd hear that from Shadow Milk, of all people.

“Haha.. I guess so, huh? No Virtue has ever died. Even back then, I couldn't find a way to kill any of our friends.” Blue stares up at that pillar of Light, his expression unreadable.

“You—you wouldn't have, anyway.” Shadow Milk mutters, quiet enough that Pure Vanilla thinks it wasn't meant to be heard. In the tense silence of the room, it rings loud and clear.

Tilting his head to the side, Blue looks down on Shadow Milk with an amused expression. It doesn't feel light-hearted. “You think I wouldn't?” He laughs, summoning his staff—like the rest of his outfit, it hasn't changed in appearance. Though, it has a darker aura emitting from it that reminds Pure Vanilla of Dark Enchantress Cookie.

Blue fiddles with the staff, twirling it in one hand, “I would. I considered it with Burning Spice, but I know I couldn't have overpowered him with half a soul.” He confesses, and by the paling expression on Shadow Milk’s face—it’s true.

“I—still. You—you’re still loyal to Knowledge. You’d know better than anyone what a stupid ide—” Shadow Milk is cut off, the Beast reflexively raising his staff to block a swing from Blue.

Blue giggles, “I know. It's stupid. It's so stupid, but god I've never wanted anything else in my life.” His voice pitches at the end, nearly hysterical in tone as he continues swinging, forgoing magic entirely in favour of physical violence.

Shadow Milk matches him blow for blow, the two of them moving too quickly to track. The children huddle together, Black Sapphire casting a shield over them and herding the group away from the fight.

The first spell is cast by Shadow Milk—a shield, of all spells. Blue breaks through it with a ruthless swing of his staff, blasting Light magic straight at Shadow Milk, who jumps back and barely manages to get out unscathed. He bats at his singed coattails almost humorously until he's forced to redirect another spell—a torrent of Fire, sweeping at him in an arc.

“Fucking hell, stop casting elemental shit—” Shadow Milk screeches at his ‘brother’, reflecting the spell back with a well-timed swing of his own staff. Blue lets the Fire hit him, casually brushing the flames off his clothes.

He doesn't see what happens next, but it ends with Shadow Milk snatching the Soul Jam of Truth out of the air, kicking Blue back and sending him flying to a wall. The war mage lands on his feet with grace, breaking the momentum by stabbing his staff onto the ground.

“Don't you think it's time to stop? Aren't you tired of trying to die and failing?” Shadow Milk hisses, clutching at his shoulder, the hand gripping his staff is doing so tightly enough for his knuckles to turn white. He sees his Soul Jam attached to Shadow Milk’s collar, but that seems to be more for safekeeping than anything else.

“Aren't you sick of being alive?” Blue sweeps his arm to the side, casting a wave of thick, liquid Poison. Its range is more than wide enough to hit both Shadow Milk and the shielded children.

Pure Vanilla tries to take a step, but his body refuses to move—the spell is moving too quickly. He doesn't think he could make it in time to block it. Shadow Milk snarls and all but teleports there in a flash, blocking most of the attack and sending it back to Blue.

Again, Blue does not bother to block it, letting the mass of Poison wash over him. He doesn't even flinch as the spell falls apart the moment it hits. Shadow Milk, however, nearly falls over if it weren't for Black Sapphire.

“Father!” Black Sapphire’s voice rings out. He's supporting Shadow Milk with one arm, holding his staff with the other.

“Brat, stay out of it. There's no reasoning with him right now.” Shadow Milk grimaces and Pure Vanilla can tell he's leaning very heavily on Black Sapphire—injured.

In comparison, Blue moves fluidly, not hesitating in a single step. In spite of his singed clothing and the amount of pain he must be in. So used to pain that he can ignore it in an active fight—something Shadow Milk doesn't seem to share.

“I’m right here, y’know. Don't compare me to any of our friends, brother. I'm perfectly aware. I know my consequences. I’ve lived it in every waking hour since our split to the point I'm fucking sick of it. Everything—” Blue extends both arms, a stricken, wild expression on his face.

“Even your plan. Your world of Deceit. It wouldn't have worked. Not a single cookie was happy in there the moment they became aware that it was all just a dream. What's the point, then?” His breath hitches, and in a blink, he vanishes from where he is and reappears at the top of the Spire, floating in front of the beacon of Light that envelops the new Soul Jam.

“Maybe Flour was right all along… everything. All of this. It was all for nothing.“ Blue stares at the new Soul Jam, its oppressive aura turning heavier, feeling of raw pain and pure anguish. It's as if the gem itself is crying.

Pure Vanilla chokes, swallowing a lump in his throat. Tears run down his cheeks and he remains frustratingly frozen, his overwhelmed mind blanking suddenly.

Shadow Milk's breath hitches. Eyes stuck on the Light, Pure Vanilla can only hear snippets of the conversation,

“—Sapphire, fuck. Brat, don't do this to me, c’mon.”

“Feels… heavy. Fuck, what’s he doing—Candy Apple! CANDY APPLE—!” He hears the sound of someone crashing onto the ground, and Black Sapphire’s anguished voice.

“...he's right. It was all.. just.. pointless.” Candy Apple says, not sounding all there.

“Oh fuck. Fuck.” Shadow Milk curses.

The ginger children’s voices echo Candy Apple’s statement, sounding robotic but equally hopeless,

“...yeah.. cookies are meant to be eaten..”

“Why do I try so hard..? Peace will never last…”

“I.. I’m.. I’m sorry, everyone…”

Shadow Milk yells at the beacon, frustrated, “Are you fucking kidding me?! We're practicing nihilism now? Get your own fucking belief, loser! Or, like, I don't know, be more original?”

The Beast doesn't seem affected by the spell at all. He sees Shadow Milk rush forward, but an invisible barrier blocks the way to the beacon, enveloping the entire perimeter of the shining thing.

Blue just turns towards his brother with an empty smile, “This is not Apathy, dear brother. This is the culmination of the entire millennia we've suffered through with each other. This, is Despair.” He reaches a hand out towards the cracked, battered Soul Jam stuck in the center of the beacon.

It cries at him, but mercy is no longer within reach.

“So what?! What's the plan? We can't die, so you wanna kill everyone else?” Shadow Milk hisses, twirling his staff and hitting the barrier aggressively. It only reflects the hit, sending a shockwave that throws him back.

The Beast barely catches himself, stumbling over his feet and falling in front of Pure Vanilla.

“Why, yes. I might as well destroy the whole fucking planet. Remember what I said earlier? It doesn't even matter. None of it fucking does. New cookies will be baked, kingdoms will rise and fall, and it will all repeat until the day our star blows up and we all fucking die anyway!” Blue laughs, the sound of it growing more unhinged by the minute.

From where he’s stuck kneeling, he can see Shadow Milk’s expression twisting in horror, “Are you—holy fuck you're being serious.”

“You want to be Free, right? This is the way. This is the only way.”

“No, it's not. It’s really, really not. Stop before you get everyone else knocking at our doorstep.” Shadow Milk’s voice grows in pitch, his disbelief intensifying alongside his hysteria.

“They won't. It's not that hard to get them to fall into Despair. They might even appreciate it.” Blue giggles.

The beacon sends a pulse of magic, sweeping around the entire room’s perimeter. In a blink, Shadow Milk vanishes from where he was and he’s promptly pulled upwards just in time to avoid the blast.

Shadow Milk’s arm wraps around his waist, keeping him steady as they float in the air. The Beast snarls at his brother and turns Pure Vanilla around to face him, fixing something into his robes. He pulls away, keeping one hand wrapped around Pure Vanilla's forearm.

The Soul Jam of Truth sits back where it belongs, the glow still slightly dimmed from betrayal. It isn't corrupted, and there doesn't appear to be any new chips on it.

“....” Pure Vanilla’s head feels stuffed with cotton—or at least it did until Shadow Milk starts scowling,

“The fuck were you doing just sitting there?! Can't you see we got a boss fight incoming?” The ridiculous phrasing makes him pause and Shadow Milk gives an exaggerated groan, grabbing him by the shoulders.

“Look.” He shoves Pure Vanilla's staff at him and points at the beacon of Light.

It pulses with power, sending waves and waves of Light magic all around its perimeter. Blue floats above them, eyes stuck to the construct, a blank expression on his face.

The air feels thick, almost stifling. It's starting to get hard to breathe, and the heavy feeling in his chest makes it worse. His tongue tastes bitter, limbs heavy—though from the shock of the betrayal or the atmosphere, he can't quite tell.

He sees the children grouped together, Black Sapphire at the head of the party, a dark blue shield cast over them. They're—not acting as they usually are. All five children are on their knees, stuck staring at the Light, matching blank expressions on their faces.

Adjusting his staff towards them, he sees tear marks on their cheeks. He stumbles again and Shadow Milk catches him once more, grumbling, “Done looking? Honestly, I know what he did was fucked up, but you fucking scared me—”

“I—what happened to them, really?” Pure Vanilla asks immediately, feeling tired of never knowing the full picture.

To his immense relief, Shadow Milk gets to explaining things immediately, “So, my dear brother has totally not corrupted, as you can see. Our shitty new belief system has NOT changed yet again. Do you feel really heavy depression, like you just wanna give up and nothing ever mattered?”

Too exhausted to complain over how this new information is being presented to him, Pure Vanilla just gives a slow nod. It is true, really, he feels—not very good, to put it in a polite way. He relays this to Shadow Milk and gets a snort in return,

“You don’t feel like shit, you mean. But yeah, that's the—thing. He’s fallen into Despair.” Shadow Milk clarifies.

“....I.. I can see that. I think that's very obvious. Ah, and.. what’s with the negative sentences?” Pure Vanilla does not see his point.

“I can totally tell the truth, you gnat. Witches, are you this slow usually or is it the betrayal talking?” Shadow Milk snaps.

He stares at Shadow Milk, poking at his chest, where the missing Soul Jam used to sit. Really, it isn't as if he has forgotten about the ‘brothers’’ entire deal with truth and lies, but surely his dear counterpart could figure out this much.

Shadow Milk ohs.

“His Virtue corrupted into Despair.” The Beast says slowly, and perks up when the full sentence comes out without a single stutter.

“Oh thank fucking god.”

“What—”

As is unfortunately a common occurrence in his time here, he gets not much time to process that before Shadow Milk goes on another tangent and casually recasts the shield on the two of them and the children,

“You don't know how painful it is to not be able to present straight facts like this. But anyway, yeah, important lore time. I don't have a Soul Jam right now, but my theory is that I’m still here because I technically still have half of our actual soul. Meaning, I can still fight with what magic I have, but I’m still shittily underpowered compared to you and Berry.”

“I—hold on.” Pure Vanilla buries his face in his hands.

"Do you wanna save the world or not?! I'm on your side here! We've got not an hour before Berry gives the entire world chronic depression.” Shadow Milk throws his hands up.

Chronic depression, Pure Vanilla repeats in his mind, trying to not laugh at the absurdity, “You are not treating this situation with the gravity it deserves.”

“I know your type. If I treat this too seriously, you'll overthink, lose your mind and end up like the kids. You can't break out of that shit.” Shadow Milk scowls.

“I—but, the children…” He frowns.

If anyone could break out of a ‘chronic depression’ spell, he would have thought it’d be Gingerbrave. That boy’s positive energy is practically contagious.

“They have the advantage of being kids with fragile mortal constitutions. We are powerful immortals, exempt from most powerful spells thanks to constitution alone.”

“...oh, really?” Pure Vanilla blinks.

Shadow Milk snaps his fingers in front of Pure Vanilla's face, “Hey, now. Focus.”

He bats the hand away, disgruntled, “But you don't think I’d be able to break out of the spell once ensnared?” he bites back, disliking the assumption that he hadn't been listening.

He was, really. It's just the contrast between the somber atmosphere and Shadow Milk's unserious attitude messes further with the disaster trashfire that is his current emotional state of being.

“You reeling from the betrayal made me think you were already under the spell. You think?”

“How come you're not affected at all?”

“I already have chronic depression.” Shadow Milk deadpans.

Pure Vanilla twitches, “You're not funny.”

“Excuse you, I am the funniest cookie on Earthbread.” He harrumphs.

“Are you really on my side?”

“I’m on the side that isn't looking forward to world destruction, which happens to be yours.”

Pure Vanilla throws his hands up, “Can you be a bit more serious?!”

The sight of his anger only seems to make Shadow Milk more delighted. He now sorely misses the Shadow Milk that was wholly dedicated to manipulating him into believing in his cause. At least that one made some sort of sense.

Maybe the Beast lost it alongside his brother. Who knows. Anything seems likely by now. He’s beginning to hate surprises.

“You pissed off now?” Shadow Milk grins at him.

Tucking his staff under one arm, he grabs the clown, squeezing his shoulders tightly, “Yes. Can you stop. This is not the time to be having this conversation. Please.” To his own shame, his voice breaks at the end.

“....” Finally, Shadow Milk pats his head.

Blinking, Pure Vanilla can only stare at him with incredulity.

“Don't look at me like that. I needed you to be angry to stop that sad pathetic expression. I wasn't joking earlier, if you succumb to the depression spell, we’re fucked.” He grumbles out, cheeks tinting a deeper blue.

“...you really need to be more worried about this.” Pure Vanilla sighs, leaning against Shadow Milk. It's—not where he expected to get comfort from, but he’ll take anything at this point.

The Beast awkwardly pats his back, “Look, one of us needs to stay stable and you clearly can't right now. Humor is how I cope. We deal with the ugly feelings after, capiche?” he finger guns.

“...I hate you.” Pure Vanilla buries his face in Shadow Milk's shoulder.

“It's okay, I really hate me too, right now. Like, not the point of murder-suicide like a certain other part of myself, but still. I get the feeling.” Shadow Milk jokes.

“Stop talking.”

He stops talking.

Pure Vanilla resists the urge to punch him. Much to his own annoyance, this strategy of Shadow Milk’s to distract him from the ‘ugly feelings’ is actually working. He takes a deep breath, gathering himself for another minute before straightening his back,

“Alright. How do we stop Blue from giving the world chronic depression?” He sighs.

Shadow Milk wheezes, “You used my terminology.”

“Don’t get used to it.” He finds himself scowling, feeling too much of everything to find humor in anything.

He doesn't even know if he could trust Shadow Milk, but it isn't as if he has any better options right now. Their goals are aligned, and while the wound from the betrayal still stings, there are more important things to worry about. Shutting his eyes, Pure Vanilla takes a deep breath.

There's silence for a moment, before Shadow Milk speaks, his voice low, “....it’s not your fault, y’know.”

He doesn't respond, simply opening his eyes and waiting for the Beast to elaborate.

“Not knowing about the split, I mean. Or the switch. It's, well, I doubt Berry was very forthcoming about his relationship to me or that he even has a Soul Jam of his own. Hard to believe it may be, but his plan hinged on the chance that you and I won't notice until it's too late. If you have to blame someone, blame me for how this shit started.” Shadow Milk mutters, stiffening at the last sentence before he backtracks,

“Though, uh, fuck, okay this whole.. thing. It’s so weird that I can speak honestly now, huh.” He furrows his brows at himself. Despite himself, he finds it oddly endearing.

“Just… I.. I’ve had some revelations of my own recently that I can't quite process well thanks to everything happening in under half an hour but, uh. I don’t actually want to destroy the world, so you can trust me enough to work with you.” Shadow Milk ends the little speech with an awkward nod utterly unbefitting of his usual bravado.

Pure Vanilla finds himself smiling. That is probably as good an apology of sorts as he can get from Shadow Milk. It's utterly unexpected, but he grasps onto it as the silver lining in this situation.

At the sight of his smile, Shadow Milk looks away with a cough, “Yeah, anyway, we should. Y’know, get to saving the world and all that. I'll tell you what I know, and you’ll.. honestly, you might need to do the heavy lifting.” He frowns, pausing suddenly.

His form flickers as if it isn't really there. Shadow Milk looks down at himself and grips Pure Vanilla’s forearm. It phases through, leaving Pure Vanilla with nothing holding him up in the air—his heart drops, expecting a painful fall—but it doesn't happen.

He remains floating in the air next to Shadow Milk, “...oh.” Pure Vanilla blinks owlishly.

“Well, fuck. I'm on a time limit, great. No time for exposition, you’re.. first order of business. We need you to get an awakening somehow, because you are not overpowering that.” Shadow Milk points at the beacon, which has doubled in size, then turns to Pure Vanilla and his own Soul Jam,

“With this. It's just, well, it's just not happening. Maybe it could have been enough to counter my Deceit, but you’d sooner be consumed by Despair.”

Feeling an awful dread settle into his heart, Pure Vanilla confesses, “I… I don't know if.. if..” he grips his staff tightly, mind flashing back to how he had broken that Soul Jam—the Soul jam that wasn't his—and the sickening crack it made alongside the dawning realisation.

“...oh, we are so fucked.” Shadow Milk inhales, his now ghostly form flickering alongside his distress.

“Is there no other way?” Pure Vanilla asks helplessly.

“Theoretically, to stop the spell, we need to stop the caster. So, y'know, fight Berry there and between you and me and him, he’s the only one who’s an experienced war mage. And the one with a freshly corrupted Soul Jam.” Shadow Milk’s face pales with every new information that comes out of his mouth.

“So we cannot overpower him through combat unless I awaken my Soul Jam.. and even then, I’m not exactly a frontline fighter.” Pure Vanilla leans against his staff heavily, shoulders sagging. The situation only seems more hopeless the more they talk about it.

“Yeaaaahh.. haha.. and, I’m kind of. Actively dying and injured. My spells won't hurt as much and you saw how he brushed that shit off.” Shadow Milk winces.

“Oh…”

Then, it might really be hopeless, Pure Vanilla thinks in horror. The dread creeps in, the heavy feeling practically sinking into his soul. He hears Shadow Milk say something, but he doesn't quite catch it, mind swirling over the implications of this entire situation.

His head snaps back, shocking him out of his unpleasant reverie, “—!?”

Shadow Milk holds a hand up, “I'm so sorry for that but please get your head back in the game. If you Fall, this entire world is fucked. I have a limited amount of slaps to give.”

They stare at each other, the silence stretching long enough for Shadow Milk to squirm before Pure Vanilla inhales,

“...thank you, I very much needed the added pressure." He gives the clown his best dazzling smile.

Shadow Milk guffaws. Oh, how he wants to punch that face. Though with Shadow Milk’s form slowly vanishing, the hit most likely won’t register.

He does so anyway. His hand goes through and it only invites more laughter, but for once, it doesn't feel mocking.

Chapter Text

The more his form flickers, the more he fears his own growing instability.

It makes sense, he tells himself. With their quarter Soul Jams having reunited to form a whole, both Knowledge and Deceit overpowered by Despair, their actual souls would follow suit. It's another funny little thing they share with the common cookies.

Souls, to imbue them with Life outside of the power granted to them by Soul Jam. The very essence of their mortality, embodying it even more than their actual Soul Jam does. No matter the belief, their soul would be drawn to the body—it can't exactly exist outside of a mortal shell, even if their form is more durable than the average cookie.

Shadow Milk was only able to exist separate from Blueberry because he had a Soul Jam of his own, he's sure about it now. The thing had served as a crude replacement for an actual body, somewhere for his half-soul to attach to at the moment of their split.

Now, however, with Blueberry having reclaimed the whole of their Soul Jam, it goes to say that he would be slowly reabsorbed to finally fix their unstable existence.

The thought used to fill him with anticipation, but this time, it invites only dread.

Truth—Pure Vanilla, being traumatized from that cruel trick, would only invite trouble if they force an awakening. If he corrupts, who knows what his new ideal will turn out to be—they can't exactly afford a second Despair.

The only way to stop Blueberry is to incapacitate him by force, except they don't have enough firepower between them to do that. He can't even be sure that Blueberry won't hurt Pure Vanilla now, not when he had been casting spells without care of who it hits.

“....” A thought comes to mind.

Shadow Milk bites his tongue, considering the idea. It could—it will need a lot of elemental application he isn't sure Pure Vanilla could do, but it might be their best shot.

If the healer is even willing to do it, that is. Knowing his soft bleeding heart, it can go either way.

“What’s the plan, then?” Pure Vanilla asks, as if reading his mind. He hesitates, but it isn't as if they have any better choices—even this one is a gamble, especially with how Blueberry was shrugging off every hit earlier.

“I have one, but you’ll hate it.” He confesses.

There is one effective way to shut down Blueberry. One he has admittedly abused since the moment of its discovery.

He remembers the first time it happened, now clear as day the moment he admits it to himself. The moment he had stopped lying, accepting that Deceit has never been the way—he swallows the growing lump in his throat.

Dragging Blueberry out of the water, all while gagging and choking on nothing. Cursing his brother for his stupidity as he pats his back and they both choke on the water in their lungs. Blueberry’s tears, the awful silence, the way his body convulses and how he remained completely unresponsive until days afterwards.

That first one was the worst. It doesn't help that afterwards, Blueberry had straight up refused to acknowledge the event. He never outright said why, no matter how much Shadow Milk needled him for answers—but the bitter taste of guilt and the silence between them said enough. From there, it was easy to figure out.

The second time around happened on a battlefield. One of the smaller fights between the Spice swarm and the faeries where Blueberry was ambushed by a rare Water mage. It took Shadow Milk three painful days to find him, and he was similarly catatonic.

He only witnessed the aftermath for the third, but it set a pattern. Blueberry would drown, either by his or the war’s doing, Shadow Milk would fish him out, then they’d fight and hurt and repeat.

The fourth was his doing. A particularly bad argument, Blueberry not helping with his words. Him failing to reign in his temper, tasting ash in his mouth and cursing the aching burn in his heart as he takes out his anger on the two of them.

Hands trembling, he refuses to let himself dwell too long on it. There’s too much at stake here to not consider all their options, not when failure could mean the end of the world. So he turns to Pure Vanilla, swallowing back his own apprehension,

“...how good are you with Water magic?” Shadow Milk asks slowly.

Pure Vanilla pauses, “It’s not.. my best element. I'm attuned to Light, as you know. I do know some Grass, but my knowledge is elementary at best.”

Light. That'd mean Electricity or Grass would be the best options for his secondary, Water being a tertiary if desperate. Extremely unideal, considering they would need a lot of Water for the slimmest chance of this plan even working.

“....you're not thinking of what I'm thinking, are you.” Pure Vanilla narrows his eyes at him, looking oddly pale.

Thinking back on their previous interactions, Shadow Milk winces remembering that Pure Vanilla has had the pleasure of experiencing their little water game through him and Blueberry both. Great. He can only hope the healer’s morals are stretchy enough for this plan.

If he could even figure out the logistics of it.

For one, assuming Pure Vanilla has never had any formal training with wielding Water, the healer won't be able to conjure any at all—really, it’s a stretch to conjure an element not attuned to yourself, so he can't really blame Truth for it either.

As the Fount, they took years to master all of them, and that was with the advantage of not being attuned to any in the first place. Even to this day, they could only utilize Poison and Fire effectively. The rest is too much of an energy drain to be useful.

Though, if Pure Vanilla is a fast enough learner, some Water manipulation could still be plausible. Except they'd need a lot of water for that, and the only water source around is the river encircling the Spire.

What a troublesome, needlessly complicated puzzle. Where they are now is at the very top of the Spire, and to even access that pool of water, they'd need to—

“Hello?” Pure Vanilla interrupts, waving a hand in front of his face.

Shadow Milk blinks, “What?”

“I thought you said to focus, and here you are blanking on me.” The healer huffs, crossing his arms.

Shadow Milk snorts, “I'm figuring out the hows of the plan, if it isn't obvious.”

“You're thinking of stopping Blue by drowning him. That's why I’ll hate it.” Pure Vanilla says flatly, sounding utterly unimpressed.

“...glad to hear White Lily isn't the only one with the brain between the two of you, and yeah. That's why you'll hate it. Before you object, I really don't like this plan either.” Shadow Milk sighs.

Pure Vanilla grimaces, putting a hand over his forehead and sighing with all the grace of a world-weary old man. In that moment, the healer somehow appears even older than him. He doesn't laugh, thinking Truth may not appreciate it.

“Tell me something, Shadow Milk.” He says,

“How do you feel about Blue, really? Be honest with me.”

Shadow Milk twitches, “A therapy session? Right now?”

“Humor me. I'm not objecting to your plan, so give me this.”

Blueberry, of course it comes back to him again. The bane of his existence since their split, and yet—he bites his tongue, thinking back. It used to be hard for him, he knows, to think back on the past, to see Blueberry and not be reminded of failure.

It comes easier now, if only because Pure Vanilla is forcing him to think about it. He exhales deeply, feeling a bone-deep exhaustion that doesn't come from his sleeplessness for once. In the next moment, he finds himself answering honestly,

“Fine… I don't hate him. I think he's stupid for trying so hard, but I get it. I really fucking do, no matter what he says about it. What I don't like about him is how he's an ever present reminder that I can't escape—” He swallows that traitorous lump in his throat, scolding himself for feeling so emotional talking about this—he forces himself to continue,

“..but Blueberry himself? No, I don't hate him. I thought I did… but, no.” He shakes his head, and the words ring True to both himself and Pure Vanilla, the sole pure Soul Jam between them glowing in something that oddly feels like approval.

The answer seems to satisfy Pure Vanilla, and it's then that Shadow Milk realises the reason he even asked that question. He voices the thought, almost accusingly, “You think I'd drown him out of spite?”

He's met with a glare, “You did. Multiple times. Can you blame me for making sure this solution isn't entirely fueled by petty spite?”

Shadow Milk winces, “....okay, that's fair.”

“Yes. I still hate the plan, mind you, but I… I can’t deny that it’s most likely our best shot at incapacitating Blue.” Pure Vanilla buries his face in one hand.

“...yeah.” He nods, feeling both awkward and guilty at the same time. It's a terrible feeling.

There's silence again, and instead of the light-hearted one earlier, this one is dread and the awful crunching guilt in his heart. He bats at the feeling with a metaphorical bat, because if he indulges the thing, he knows it will only invite a breakdown they can't afford.

“We need a lot of Water, though.. and the only water source around is—”

“The river running around the Spire.” Pure Vanilla states, looking about as well as he feels.

It's there that the Spire itself decides to join their conversation, getting their attention with a clacking tile. Shadow Milk turns to it, feeling guiltier than ever now that he's acknowledged—things. The waves of Light magic have stopped emitting from the beacon, now only the dim glow of it illuminating the arena.

The children remain where they are, stuck on their knees with tears streaming down their young faces. Blueberry is still staring into the beacon, floating silently in front of the new Soul Jam, not even acknowledging their presence.

He wonders if that's because his dear brother thinks they wouldn't be a threat. It's a sound enough assumption, considering Shadow Milk is without a Soul Jam and Pure Vanilla would be in no state of mind to be a formidable opponent.

Or, he pauses for a moment, feeling the echo of pain as acidic Poison sunk into Blueberry’s dough—maybe he’s willing to accept the possibility that they might stop him. His dear brother would certainly not expect them to work together—it’s why Shadow Milk had suggested the idea to Pure Vanilla at all, aside from the obvious reasons.

He shuts his eyes, extending his senses outward. The beacon itself appears as a pillar of Light, standing right at the very center of the Spire. At the base, he can sense a mass of magic—a sigil of sorts, and then it clicks.

It’s a piece of clever spellwork to make up for not having the whole of the Soul Jam. Using the tallest tower of their Spire—the very center of the Yeast continent, as both a battery for power and a medium to channel the spell through. The Soul Jam on its own is plenty powerful, but a mere half isn't enough to assert its belief upon the world.

The Spire’s assistance, willing or not, more than makes up for it. During the war, they had used a similar method to deter the Spice swarm. Everyone knew the Spire of Knowledge was located right in the middle of the continent, but with the use of a little mind trick, broadcasted to the continent through the Spire—nobody could find it unless they allowed them to.

It made the Spire the perfect refuge, and maybe it could have stayed that way, had better decisions been made. Shadow Milk jerks his head, cut off from his train of thought as the Spire’s presence envelops them, a message ringing in their heads, quiet as a whisper.

Pure Vanilla tenses, eyes darting towards Blueberry. The Spire bristles at them, almost annoyed at their caution. Shadow Milk grumbles, giving the awful building a mental flick. It ignores this to straight up tell them how it will help, adding that it will take no argument against it.

Aghast, both himself and Pure Vanilla gawk at the clacking tiles in disbelief. Surely, it's not suggesting that—Shadow Milk scrunches his face, “I know I'm your favourite, but surely that doesn't warrant you giving me the metaphorical knife to stab you with.”

It drops a fucking chandelier on him. The thing phases right through and the loud sound of the crash scares only Pure Vanilla and himself. Both of them turn as one towards Blueberry, but the loud crash seems to have slipped by the idiot entirely.

That's one way to tell them that Blueberry won't notice, alright. Shadow Milk sighs.

“I—what did it just say?” Pure Vanilla sputters, inching away from Shadow Milk, probably to avoid another chandelier if the Spire decides it'd be funny to drop one again.

Spiteful sentient building, he growls. Idiot, it calls him in return. He regrets ever letting it form a consciousness of its own. Though, the message is clear, “We’re running out of time, that chandelier went right through me, which means I have up to one hour or less before I vanish—”

“What—”

“Listen. We're collapsing the Spire. The tallest tower is the biggest and happens to be the foundation this entire place is built on. And, the spell needs the Spire to work. Convenient, yeah, but details. My dear Spire has agreed, and it'll take down its protective wards to allow that. But first things first, we evacuate the children.” Shadow Milk snaps his fingers, teleporting them closer to the group of young cookies.

Turning to Pure Vanilla, he is astonished to see the expression on his face, “...are you.. are you okay? Nilly, kind reminder to not have that mental breakdown yet.”

“I know. I know.” Pure Vanilla’s voice cracks, he’s gripping his staff tightly enough for his knuckles to turn white. Not trusting the healer to not fall over, Shadow Milk awkwardly hovers next to him. He can't quite give physical support, but a cushioning spell or two will probably do fine.

“I—how are you doing this? Am I the only one going crazy? Am I the only one having too many feelings about this?!” He inhales sharply, brushing his hair back in distress.

Shadow Milk curses Blueberry in his head. Really, this whole emotional thing is not his forte at all. Unfortunately however, he needs Truth to be somewhat stable to prevent world destruction, so he painfully suggests,

“Just.. don't think about it.” He winces. The advice sounded better in his head, really.

Pure Vanilla blankly stares at him, “...you know what? Alright. I will not think about how apparently, the only way to save this world from mass chronic depression is to destroy this millennia old sentient building. Don't you—I don’t know, feel some sort of way at the idea? This is your home.”

Ah. So that's why.

Shadow Milk’s lips thin. It's not, well, for all he talks about abandoning the past—giving up the Spire isn't exactly a decision he'd make given any other alternatives. It may be his prison, but it is also his home.

“...sweet of you to be concerned about that when we're both barely hanging on as it is.” He finds himself chuckling as his eyes roam across the forms of the children. Taking out a handkerchief, he approaches Candy Apple to gently wipe her flowing tears.

Pure Vanilla’s eyes follow him, still silent, no doubt waiting for what else he's going to say.

“Look, I… I know I said all that stuff about forgetting the past, but believe me when I say that given any other option, I wouldn't—I wouldn’t give up the Spire. I'm just… coping by, well, not thinking about it.” He pauses, brushing a thumb against his daughter's cheek, his touch only brushing the surface of her dough. Her eyes remain unfocused, still stuck under the spell of Despair.

“Not a good coping mechanism, I know, but.. we're.. we don't have enough time. The Spire is a small price to pay.” Shadow Milk turns around to meet Truth’s gaze, hoping the more serious tone will convince the healer.

“Besides, it isn't as if we can't rebuild from the ashes, right?” He says, almost not believing the words coming out of his own mouth.

Judging by Pure Vanilla’s face now, he feels quite the same. Truth moves closer as Shadow Milk turns towards Black Sapphire, still frowning even with tears streaming down his face. Unlike Candy Apple, there’s a flicker in his eyes.

“Hope, you said. At the time, I brushed it off. I thought it was a fickle thing, coming and going easily like flicking a switch.” Shadow Milk murmurs, now wiping his son’s tears even as his hands struggle to hold onto something material.

“I didn't want to believe in Hope, because I.. couldn’t trust that it wouldn’t mean more pain.” The handkerchief falls from his hands, his grip now failing.

His eyes remain locked towards the children. His own. The ones not his, the knowledge of their names kindly reminding him of an important thing—something he doesn't think he's quite ready to acknowledge yet.

“I don't think I can believe in it yet, but… I..” He hesitates.

“For the future, right?” Pure Vanilla interrupts, eyeing the group of children.

“....something like that.”

“Your world of Deceit. You thought that was a solution because you lost Hope, no?”

Meeting Truth’s eyes, Shadow Milk resists the urge to look away. Running away won't do him any good, better have this conversation now than risk delaying things further. He exhales slowly, setting his feet on the ground for once before answering,

“...yeah. It—it wasn’t the solution. I know that. I think I always have, I just… didn't want to admit it.” He forces out, ignoring the way his heart clenches at his own confession.

Pure Vanilla simply hums, no judgement in his voice—truly a saint befitting of his reputation, really. He wonders how he could continue being kind in spite of everything. To be hurt, and not want to hurt in return—what a kind world it would be, if everyone could think in such a way.

“I'm surprised you changed your mind so quickly.” He states, careful in his tone.

Shadow Milk grimaces, “I was also Knowledge, like it or not. Ignorance was never a privilege of ours. I can admit when I'm wrong, even if it's a bitter pill to swallow.” He raises his head, staring up at Blueberry’s still form.

“Though, if you've learned anything about either of us, it's that he and I are stubborn assholes. Once set on a goal, we don't tend to look back until slapped in the face.” He jokes, recalling how he had experienced the metaphorical slaps through his children's dreams.

Pure Vanilla sighs, “If only that slap had worked, then.” he says wryly, much to Shadow Milk’s confusion. The healer elaborates no further, simply approaching the children and ushering him close,

“Hope… you're right that it can be fickle. Especially for cookies our age. The bad easily outweighs the good, and even my own faith in compassion wavers often.” He places a gentle hand on Gingerbrave’s shoulder,

“I… meeting the new generation, having to face my past and come to terms with it, it renewed that Hope.”

Shadow Milk raises a brow, “You mean your post-war crisis? Always wondered what happened in that part of your tragic backstory.”

He snickers as Pure Vanilla's staff goes right through him, the hit not registering at all. With a grumble, the healer answers, “You're not the only one who tried to run away from the past. As for my ‘tragic backstory’, it is too long of a story to tell, so let’s save it for another day.”

“You met the kids during the events of this tragic backstory though, right?”

“I really wouldn't call it a tragic backstory, but yes I did.”

“...question.” Shadow Milk pauses, thinking back on Gingerbrave’s dream in particular.

“Where did you get the kids?”

“...they found me first, actually.”

“Aren't they heavily involved in the whole war thing you're all planning against Dark Enchantress?”

Now Pure Vanilla pauses, “How did you know that?”

“Call it Knowledge perks.”

“Can you and Blue share knowledge?”

“It's complicated. Look, we’re actively wasting time having this conversation so let's get back to that earlier topic—”

Pure Vanilla twitches, “You're the one who derailed it in the first place.”

“...fair enough, but yeah. The kids.. I.. honestly, I never intended to have any.” Shadow Milk finds himself confessing, glancing at Black Sapphire and Candy Apple.

“It was… it just felt lonely, to be alone, even if I technically had Blueberry. So I baked them for selfish reasons.”

Back then, days in the Spire stretched long. Blueberry is often unavailable, too caught up in old memories of the massacre that occurred in their Spire. It left him with nobody to talk to, which led to the decision to attempt to bake a cookie in the first place.

He hadn't expected it to work—he doesn't think he remembers how it was done now. Only the aftermath. That little cottage at the edge of his territory, Blueberry regaining the light back in his eyes, then Candy Apple who came afterwards to both of their surprise.

Except, even the children hadn't been enough to make Blueberry give up his selfish wish.

He thinks back on his own selfish wish—a world of dreams, catered to every single cookie. A temporary escape. A lie he wishes to continue living in, because surely, everything was enough proof that this world was utterly hopeless—and yet.

Neither wanted to stay. They'd rather be with their real, fucked up family than the versions curated to please them. Neither had looked happy.

Happiness. He thinks of an old friend, then that Witch’s words. It started with that, didn't it? Dissatisfaction. Feeling trapped. Unhappy. Thinking that they were baked to be doomed to an unfulfilling role, cast away once their use has expired.

Was it?

Blueberry’s voice asks.

Not a single cookie was happy in there the moment they became aware that it was all just a dream. What's the point, then?

“..children do have a way of worming their way into one’s heart.” Pure Vanilla offers, sounding oddly sympathetic.

“...yeah. I.. I guess, I just.. I want them to be happy. That's one thing I'm sure of.” Shadow Milk says, and the admission feels like casting a terrible weight off his shoulders.

“Even if you still don't have hope in this world?”

“....” He huffs, “These five have enough between them to share with us old timers, surely.”

Finally, Pure Vanilla smiles, “Indeed. If you can’t hold onto hope yourself, let them be the bearer of that hope.”

“Hah.” Shadow Milk laughs, his heart for once feeling a little lighter.

“Am I wrong?” Truth counters, now much calmer than he was. It seems his little heartfelt confession had helped, somehow.

He shakes his head. It’s a bitter pill to swallow so soon, but between admitting that he's wrong and letting another tragedy happen because of his own indecision—it’s an easy enough choice to make.

“Which one do you value more? Your world of Deceit, or your brother’s life?”

To think he ended up having to choose one anyway—Black Sapphire would be terribly pleased about that. He can already hear the ‘I told you so’. His eyes turn towards his boy and he swears he could see a glint in those eyes, even shineless as they are now under the spell of Despair.

Then, Black Sapphire’s mouth moves, “I told you so.” he mouths, but no sound comes out.

Shadow Milk does a double take, “Oh—you utter brat. Nilly, come help me here. You need to—uh, your magic should work as Berry’s direct opposite so—” he turns towards Pure Vanilla, who steps forward and places a gentle hand on Black Sapphire’s shoulder.

A soothing, radiant glow of Light flows from his hand and Black Sapphire gasps, breaking out from his frozen position, “Oh—dear me.” He chokes, and Shadow Milk rushes forward to catch him—except his hands go through.

Pure Vanilla catches his son instead, gently letting a stream of healing magic brush over Black Sapphire as the young man reorients himself.

“God. Thank you, but are you fucking kidding me, old man?! You had one job!” Black Sapphire scowls at Pure Vanilla, who immediately winces.

“Lay off the grandpa, son. He's had a terrible week.” Shadow Milk snickers.

“Grandpa?!” Now Pure Vanilla scowls, “You're at least a millennia older than I am.”

“Details. But honestly, none of us could've predicted that Berry would swap the Soul Jams. Or that he would even have the opportunity to, so let's end the argument there and get going. Time’s ticking.” He reminds.

Black Sapphire sighs, “I—your magic seems to work well as a nullifier to father’s. Just, do whatever you did earlier to me to break the others out and let's get going.”

“...you heard every word we said earlier, didn't you?” Shadow Milk grumbles, and the only response he gets is a soft snicker.

Pure Vanilla moves ahead of them, breaking the ginger trio out of the spell easily. Gingerbrave blinks his eyes, “Whoa.. feels like I just got out of a really long sleep..”

Strawberry huddles closer to her friends, “...for me it was.. more of a dark, scary place.” She sinks into her hoodie.

Wizard groans, “Ugh.. I tried so hard to break out of that compulsion.. I—I can't believe Mr. Blue would—” he frowns, looking oddly solemn.

The last cookie remaining is Candy Apple, but unlike the rest—the spell does not instantly break. Pure Vanilla frowns. Black Sapphire moves closer, gently grabbing onto his sister’s hand, “Brat. Come on. You know it's a magical compulsion—”

She does not respond, her tears still flowing.

Shadow Milk’s heart clenches at the sight of it. He floats closer, settling himself in front of her and putting a hand over his children’s. Black Sapphire’s hand clenches around Candy Apple’s.

“...hey, kid.” He tries. There is no response.

This time, he can't help but feel like now, it is her who does not know what to say to him.

“C’mon. We gotta save your dumbass father.” He tries again. No response.

Black Sapphire bows his head.

Shadow Milk’s hand goes through both of theirs. They're running out of time, he swallows the building feeling of dread, forcing himself to speak again,

“Don't you wanna have that dinner in the real world? Black Sapphire can be part of it too this time. I promise.” He says.

Candy Apple’s dead stare feels cold.

Pure Vanilla settles himself behind them, the ginger children nowhere to be seen, “I—Shadow Milk, Black Sapphire. We may have to go soon. I've evacuated the other children.” He quietly reports, clearly not wishing to disturb the moment.

Black Sapphire curses, “Shit. I—we can't move her, can we? She's just—dad, Pure Vanilla. You can't leave her. We can't. I refuse to—” he grips her hand tighter.

Shadow Milk inhales, “Fuck, kid. Candy Apple. I'm sorry. I know I've been a shit parent more often than not, but please, kid—you need to want to break out of it.”

Silence, and then—

Black Sapphire’s breath hitches as Candy Apple’s hand twitches. She tilts her head up, greeting them with a cold expression,

“...you broke your promise again.” Candy Apple murmurs.

“Yeah. I know. I know—fuck, I know.” Shadow Milk hears his own voice break, and for once he does not feel disgusted at the sound of weakness—his relief overpowering any sense of shame.

“Keep this one, will you?” She grips Black Sapphire’s hand tightly. He could almost feel it himself.

“Bring him back, dad. That's all I want. That's all I've ever wanted.” Candy Apple raises her head, a gleam in her ruby red eyes.

“I—of course. Of course.”

Black Sapphire exhales, hugging his sister close, “We—we’ll leave the rest to you two, then. I'll get us to a safe place.” He picks her up, and they run off through a golden portal—Shadow Milk’s head snaps towards Pure Vanilla, who holds the portal open with one hand.

The healer just smiles at him mysteriously, "You're not the only one who's learned a thing or two in their time here.”

Shadow Milk snorts, sticking close to Pure Vanilla as the portal shuts behind the children, “Sure. Let's go, then.” he rises to his feet.

The two of them look up as one, towards the oppressing beacon of Light that is Despair’s spell. He swallows his own dread, brandishing his staff and sticking close to Pure Vanilla,

“...time to end this.”

Chapter Text

While not quite to the level of a true awakening, Pure Vanilla thinks he is at the cusp of it.

If Shadow Milk could still have Hope—surely Blue could, as well. They aren’t so different, the two of them. He floats high up, Shadow Milk right at his tail as the Beast explains the structure of the Spire.

It's all centered around the main tower they're in. Apparently, it is both the first tower and the foundation of the entire structure. To destroy it would bring down the rest of the Spire itself—and isn't that a dreadful thought. A millennia old building, with centuries of history, gone for the sake of this plan.

Remembering the awful feeling of drowning, he is hesitant to execute this same plan.

However, he isn't nearly confident enough that he can best Blue in combat even with Shadow Milk’s assistance. If he could even assist, at this point. A quick glance to the Beast confirms his fears, his form is nearly entirely see-through.

They're travelling to the base of the Spire to disrupt the sigil powering the spell and destroy the foundations. With Shadow Milk barely having enough magic left to be semi-corporeal, they didn't want to risk portalling there.

He had tried earlier after figuring out how to manifest a portal himself, but Shadow Milk had advised against it, stating that it's only safe to portal to places that they've been to before.

Thus, they're rushing down the spiralling staircase, the Spire creating shortcuts for them whenever possible.

“When the Spire starts collapsing, Berry is definitely gonna be a threat. I… have another plan for that, but I’m not sure if it'll work.” Shadow Milk says.

“How so?” He replies absently, making another sharp turn as the walls shift around them.

“The new Soul Jam—I might be able to bind myself to it to keep my form.”

His eyes widen, “Then—that’d solve the problem of your survival. But—” he hesitates.

It'd put Shadow Milk in the middle of the collapsing structure alongside Blue himself. It won't kill both of them, but there will definitely be more than a few heavy injuries.

Shadow Milk grimaces, “We’re already collapsing the building on top of Berry, I’d feel the pain from that, so it makes little difference. Besides, I.. don't think he'll stop any other way.”

“I—” Pure Vanilla bites his tongue.

“I'll have to bother you to patch both of us up, if this even works.” He chuckles, still much too casual about all of this.

“We might take days to find your bodies under the rubble.” Pure Vanilla warns.

“Not with a tracking spell.” Shadow Milk waves off his concern, blasé about things as usual.

Tracking spells. Right, the same spell that’s been lost to history with only amateur modern attempts to replicate it. Pure Vanilla sighs for the nth time, relaying this information to Shadow Milk, who seems greatly surprised at it,

“Black Sapphire can track me.” He reveals, and it is then that Pure Vanilla reminds himself that the cookie in front of him is from an era even more ancient than his—no matter how much he doesn't act like it.

“...alright, then. I’ll.. I suppose you’ll need to return to Blue’s side while I destroy the sigil at the bottom of the Spire?”

That’d be rather inconvenient—Shadow Milk would have to walk all the way back, and it might take more time than they have. As if reading his mind, the answer is presented to him moments later,

“Yes. The moment we get there, you do your thing and I'll portal to Blueberry to save time.” Shadow Milk says.

“Portal? Are you sure?” Pure Vanilla frowns.

“No other way, silly vanilly. Just.. Hope that it goes well.” He shrugs, and the conversation ends there as they arrive at the Spire’s ‘basement’.

Shadow Milk suddenly stops, scrutinizing their surroundings with an odd expression.

The room they're in feels more like a laboratory than a basement. It's surprisingly well-lit, candles lighting up around the foundational pillars surrounding the room. Between the pillars are bookshelves filled to the brim with titles he doesn't recognize.

There are several long tables in the center of the room, and a strange pile of pillows between two of the tables. Next to it is an open book, abandoned like whoever was here before them had left in a rush.

“...Blueberry.” Shadow Milk mutters, floating towards that sole fallen book. It's open on a page, but he can't read it—it’s the same old language Blue used to write in.

Sanctuary.

The word echoes itself in their minds, the Spire revealing the room’s true purpose. Shadow Milk’s eyes remain locked on the book before he jerks, ripping himself away,

“I—the base of the Spire should be right through those double doors there. I assume you don't need a tutorial on how to destroy sigils?” Shadow Milk asks, but his voice is oddly shaken.

Curious but not wanting to push, he shakes his head to both answer and to distract himself from the urge to ask.

“Okay. Then… I’ll get going.” He floats up, a portal forming behind him.

“...are—are you alright?” Pure Vanilla finds himself asking anyway, echoing the same question presented to him earlier.

What did he write? The true question rings between them, remaining unsaid.

“...no. I’ll.. be fine, though. Probably. I bounce back quickly, haha.” Shadow Milk offers him a half-hearted grin, stepping back through the portal until only his head is visible.

“I—we’re gonna have another talk about.. this.” Pure Vanilla gestures around the room just before Shadow Milk vanishes entirely through.

Though, he still gets a response by the form of an arm sticking out of the portal. The hand forms a thumbs up, and retracts itself, the portal shutting afterwards and leaving him alone in the room. Shaking his head in disbelief, he abandons the little sanctuary to proceed through the aforementioned double doors.

This close, the oppressive presence of Despair looms larger than ever. If it felt like being choked with grief earlier when he was freshly reeling from betrayal—this time, it felt like that same grief was about to consume him whole if he steps any closer.

Pure Vanilla swallows the ever present lump in his throat, willing his own tears away. At that moment, he is reminded of the passage from that book penned by the Witch:

Yet, there is a rare path—difficult and seldom tread—where a Cookie may relinquish their first Virtue and, in time, be reborn to a new one. This birth is not gentle. It is fire. It is undoing. It is pain.

Pain.

That seems to be a recurring theme in this entire journey. He shuts his eyes, thinking back on everything that has happened—the tragedy of Blueberry Milk, the Fount of Knowledge—and his own tragedy.

He remembers placing a hand on Black Sapphire’s shoulder, feeling a spark of Hope within the young man. The musings of an unfortunate son, the grief for his sister, fear for their family—determination, loyalty, resignation, pain—and yet, Hope shines through in spite of it all.

Gingerbrave. A bright little thing even under the spell of Despair. Always seeing the best in the situation, the beacon of positivity he didn't think he needed. The very cookie who was there through it all, his faith in Pure Vanilla unwavering.

It was easy to bring him out of the spell, not because he was aware of it like Black Sapphire was, but because of the boy’s sheer optimism. A heart even stronger, kinder, and full of Hope than his own.

It was the same with the other two. Sweet Strawberry, who he hadn’t even needed to take the hand of, simply lighting the path for her to see the Light at the end of the dark tunnel—shy yet equally brave little Strawberry, who faced the darkness with confidence.

Stubborn, gifted Wizard—realising the spell for what it was and trying to break out the way Black Sapphire did. Although both children are a long way from being able to break such a spell, their determination warms Pure Vanilla's heart.

Candy Apple—the child he is most unfamiliar with. Even her, despite the initial unwillingness to break out, hadn't truly believed in Despair. He remembers seeing flashes of her memories in that brief moment. Of a beloved older brother, a parent and a master. A little family of her own that she loves fiercely, and yet, one feeling stuck out amidst those warm thoughts of family.

Loneliness.

“It just felt lonely, to be alone... so I baked them for selfish reasons.”

The sole girl in a family of four, shadowed by an older daughter who is long gone. Constantly craving their approval, their love—her happiness being their happiness. Estranged in a family that is all she's ever known—Pure Vanilla couldn't bear the thought.

She had been the only one of the children to be unwilling, and yet—after just a few words from Shadow Milk, she gave him another chance. In spite of all the hurt he caused her—directly or not. A little spark of Hope, undying still despite everything.

Shadow Milk himself had done the same thing. Like father like daughter, he supposes. Losing faith—Hope, going so far to fix it when one knows it's wrong—then admitting that wrong, trying to make amends, all in under a few hours. It's honestly impressive, and an extreme enough change that he worries that Shadow Milk isn't being entirely genuine.

Although—

He remembers standing next to Shadow Milk, listening as he reminisced on Hope, all while gently wiping away the children’s tears until he no longer could.

“....”

“Do you trust me, Pure Vanilla?”

Pure Vanilla swallows, his heart feeling heavier than ever as he stands in front of the sigil. The room is circular, a sole chandelier hanging at the center, highlighting the glowing sigil carved into the floor’s smooth stone.

Hope, even if it's a foolish one. He had said to Blue, hoping, wishing his words would get through to him. Except, it turns out that he had been hoping on the wrong brother after all.

“It's not your fault, y’know.”

He shuts his eyes, taking a deep breath. Hope. It used to be an easy thing, before all the loss, the Dark Flour War, the personal betrayal of his closest friend. This second betrayal, though it hurts as much as the first, does not leave him alone in pieces.

He has the future—the children. Shadow Milk, who might prove to be an ally in future trials. Blue, too, if he could be convinced—if Pure Vanilla could even face him after all of this. His heart clenches painfully at the thought, but he refuses to feel resentment.

There is Hope yet, he tells himself. His Soul Jam glows gently, as if echoing its agreement. With a shuddering breath, he gently takes it off his robes, cupping it in his hands as it floats atop his palm.

He exhales slowly, reorienting himself as he moves closer to the very center of the shining sigil, his Soul Jam lighting the way. With it by his side, the awful creeping dread seems to vanish, leaving an odd sense of calm.

Pure Vanilla stops at the center of the room, Soul Jam in hand.

“Believe, and break your Soul Jam. If your faith is True, it will Know.”

Blue’s voice echoes in his mind. Once heartwarming, now but a cold comfort in the wake of betrayal. Still, he sheds aside his own hurt, peeling away the ugly feelings to focus on what matters more than the hurt.

It's practically instinct, to find Compassion even in the worst situations. Kindness has never come hard to him, no matter how heavy the weight. It is a mantle he has worn proudly and happily, through all the trials and tribulations.

Although he doesn't know yet how this story will end, he hopes that with enough Compassion, it will not end in tragedy.

Pure Vanilla lets his Soul Jam float to the center of the Spire and brings out his staff, pointing it at the little glowing gem. He opens his eyes, gazing at Truth one last time, and braces himself, inhaling,

The crack does not feel as painful as he thought, but the sound of it stings his senses, the wound from the betrayal still too raw—for a moment, his entire body burns as if he is being baked again, but the pain does not last long.

It is Fire. It is undoing. It is pain—but then, he sees that Light. The same Light he had brought to the young cookies. One he now reaches towards as his Soul Jam lets out a pulse of magic, reforming before his eyes and destroying the sigil in a single move.

Pure Vanilla lands on his feet, nearly stumbling over himself. The polished stone floors offer a glimpse to his reflection, and he is startled to feel his hair tickling his back. A glance at his staff confirms the transformation, and he nearly laughs with mirth at the sight of it.

Then, the walls start shaking. He retrieves his Soul Jam, reattaching it back to his flowing white robes, and opens a portal back to the top of the Spire.

The next part is up to Shadow Milk, but he is hardly going to let his counterpart Fall alone—not after everything. It will take time, he knows, but this time, it does not feel like the wrong choice.

When he arrives on the other side, the first thing he sees is Shadow Milk, the Soul Jam of Despair held in one hand and a staff on the other as he casts a torrent of Water. It materialises in the shape of a wave, washing over where the beacon of Light was and slamming Blue with full force.

The wave is blocked with a well-timed shield and Blue snarls, “You gnat—what did you do?!” He whips back as a piece of the roof nearly falls on top of him.

Shadow Milk attaches the Soul Jam onto his collar, waving his staff in a circle in front of him. Water bursts through the floors, gathering to the center and forming a small whirlpool.

Pure Vanilla casts a shield over himself to protect his head from the rubble as he makes his way towards Shadow Milk. The arena shakes, the floor tiles cracking as more water pours in from the sides.

Blue remains where he was, dodging rubble as the Spire itself turns against him, “You—!” his voice cuts off as another wave of water washes over him, knocking him back into a wall. It's followed by a waterfall, slamming into Blue with vengeance.

“Stay. Down.” Shadow Milk hisses.

Pure Vanilla barely manages to evade the wave himself, and the walls around them start collapsing as Shadow Milk calls on more Water. His eyes dart towards the ceiling, then the floors, seeing water quickly rising and large waves spontaneously forming from the pool.

Knowing that Shadow Milk is not Water mage, the sight makes it more than a little terrifying. He extends his own senses, trying to locate the both of them.

Shadow Milk remains floating at the very top, moving his staff in tandem with the waves. Blue is somewhere in the Water, moving but not visible from where Pure Vanilla himself floats in the air.

He flies up to Shadow Milk’s side quickly and the look on the Beast’s face immediately concerns him. Eyebrows crunched and clearly holding back pain, he says not a word, only jerking his head in acknowledgement as he continues to bury Blue under waves upon waves of Water.

Pure Vanilla grabs onto his forearm, to keep him steady if nothing else. He runs a scanning spell, wincing when he feels the telltale burn in his lungs.

Shadow Milk clenches his jaw, keeping his silence still. The Spire slowly collapses all around them, and Pure Vanilla recasts the shield over both of them before the rubble could break through.

He can still sense Blue down in the depths, but the thought of leaving him there for too long is—he shakes his head, turning towards Shadow Milk,

“I think that's enough.” He says, trying to coax Shadow Milk to stop. The other cookie is clearly in pain, and with the Spire actively collapsing, surely it'll be enough to bring Blue down.

Shadow Milk jerks his head, and he would have dropped his staff had Pure Vanilla not caught it quickly. Leaning onto him heavily, Shadow Milk could only wordlessly tremble, the Soul Jam of Despair still clutched tightly on his other hand.

He adjusts his hold, wrapping an arm around his shoulders to keep him upright. Shadow Milk is solid now—most likely because of the Soul Jam’s assistance, confirming that little theory. Opening a portal behind them, he gently brings them to the other side, leaving the crumbling Spire.

Once safe on the other side, Pure Vanilla collapses onto the grass, Shadow Milk slumping next to him. He gently moves him to a better laying position, settling down at his side to sit and breathe for a moment.

Pure Vanilla shuts his eyes. The sound of the Spire collapsing behind him is loud, and the death of its magic rings louder, but he does not let his heart feel grief over it just yet. Their tricky plan might have succeeded, but the hardest part is yet to come.

“...” He exhales again slowly, putting his hand over Shadow Milk to channel his Healing. It may not be effective to the faux-body Shadow Milk currently manifests, but he hopes the soothing feeling is enough to be felt by Blue, wherever he is under the rubble.

Footsteps approach, and Black Sapphire’s distinct magic flares itself, as if warning him of his arrival. He opens his eyes to see the young man sit on Shadow Milk's other side, grabbing his hand, a stream of purple magic flowing through him.

“Magical exhaustion.” Black Sapphire states, glancing at his master in exasperation, “I know the plan was to drown him, but surely collapsing the Spire was enough to do that.”

Pure Vanilla just sighs, “I’m afraid he was already conjuring Water by the time I returned to the top of the Spire.”

“He what?! Oh, no wonder he's out cold then.” Black Sapphire groans, “You're—once we find father, you're gonna tell me what the plan was. It wasn't very clear to me.” He demands.

Feeling somewhat off-kilter by this oddly normal conversation after everything he just did not an hour ago, Pure Vanilla can only nod in agreement.

The rest of the children come barrelling in one after the other, their faces full of worry—Candy Apple stands at the head of the group and she immediately joins them, reaching her hand out to lend her own magic into the pool.

Gingerbrave blinks, “Whoa.. what happened?” The ginger trio crowd around the group as well, both curious and concerned.

Pure Vanilla decides to assure their worries before it is voiced, “It’s only magical exhaustion, he’s alright. Though, as for Blue.. we will have to find him underneath the rubble. I was told Black Sapphire could help with that.”

At that, Black Sapphire simply shakes his head, “I’ll drag him out of the rubble myself. Let's just make sure my dear master here is stable first.”

“Ah, not to worry, he is. I'm simply channeling soothing magic to ease the pain.” He explains, much to the surprise of both Black Sapphire and Candy Apple, the implications not lost on them because out of the two ‘brothers’, only one of them really needs any kind of pain relief.

Though, unexpectedly, Candy Apple voices the question before her brother could, “...you’d do that? Even after he betrayed you so cruelly?” she asks, her voice oddly quiet.

Pure Vanilla pauses. For any other cookie, that might have been too much to forgive. It is foolish, he knows, to always forgive and forgive even to those who don't deserve it—but, with renewed Hope, and knowing what he does about Knowledge’s tragedy, surely he cannot be blamed for not wishing to hold onto resentment.

So, he answers as best as he can, “...I would. I… have many feelings about what he did, but I will not hold it against him.”

“He's a Healer by trade, brat. That's basic healer code.” Black Sapphire huffs.

Candy Apple shakes her head, arguing, “He’s stable and not dying, the Healer code doesn't demand you do more than that. It's him being a bleeding heart.”

Pure Vanilla snorts, interrupting the argument before it became one, “I am, now please settle down. This should be enough to assure Shadow Milk a good rest. We must find Blue as soon as possible.” He reminds the two children.

The ginger trio, having remained silent through the ordeal, finally interrupts—and it is Wizard who speaks, “We’ll watch over him. You guys bring back Mr. Blue.”

He takes a moment to gaze upon their faces. It's a mix of confusion and worry, and it's clear the three are still upset over what Blue did—but they do not argue with his earlier statement, and their eyes betray the relief that they feel. He can only hope that it's enough for now.

Pure Vanilla nods, “We will. It'll be just a moment, my friends.”

He rises to his feet and the entire group stops to stare at him for a moment. Now feeling oddly self conscious, Pure Vanilla opens his mouth to ask, but he is interrupted with a soft gasp from Gingerbrave,

“Whoa. You look really shiny, Pure Vanilla Cookie!!” He beams.

“..I like the new look.” Strawberry nods alongside him.

Candy Apple scrutinizes him, “More glitter could make you sparkle more.”

Wizard bristles at the others, “Wh—could you all not comment on that so suddenly?! Read the room, guys!”

Black Sapphire throws his hands up, “Thank you! Please, Witches, gods, learn some subtlety—and you. Come with me, brat, we have a father to fish out of the water.” He rises to his feet, grabbing Candy Apple by the collar of her shirt and dragging her towards the collapsing Spire.

Pure Vanilla buries his face in one hand and fails to resist the urge to laugh. That's one way to break the tension, he shakes his head, brushing down his new robes as the children argue over who exactly ruined the ‘mood’.

“Please take care of yourselves. We might not be back before dawn.” He advised, gently interrupting the argument.

The three of them nod as one,

“It's all good!! Black Sapphire and Candy Apple told us where to go.” Gingerbrave gives him a thumbs up.

“It's a bit far away from here, though..” Strawberry mutters.

“Not when he can portal. If Mr. Blue is back to his senses when you get him, he should know how to get there. We’ll regroup there for now.” Wizard finishes.

Heart warming at the sight of their familiar antics, Pure Vanilla simply chuckles, “Very well. I shall see you soon then.” He waves at the trio and sets off to follow Black Sapphire and Candy Apple, the two already walking a good distance ahead.

🌿

When they drag Blue out of the water, he is still conscious. His long hair pools around him in waves, his eyes red with tears and his face caked in jam, entire body covered in cuts and bruises from the debris.

It’s evening, by then. The sun is slowly setting in the distance, making for a somewhat dramatic backdrop to the Spire’s ruins. Black Sapphire remains silent next to him, a solemn expression on his face as he regards his father. The young man's sister had set off earlier, off to retrieve Shadow Milk.

He does not have a weapon at hand, but Pure Vanilla aims the end of his own staff at his neck as he assists in purging water out of Blue’s body. He won't hurt Blue—the war mage has been hurt enough—but he cannot let him move freely until they're sure he is no longer a threat.

Once the worst of it is over, Blue tilts his head up at him, “...if you want to kill me, this would be the best time to do it.” He wheezes out, his voice barely audible through his abused throat.

“I won't. You know I won't.” Pure Vanilla states, failing to resist the urge to brush his magic up against the mage to check his injuries. He bites his tongue, finding him in terrible condition.

Blue leans heavily against him, still faintly shaking from the water. He coughs harshly, spitting jam and bile. It's only his healer training that doesn't make him cringe away, carefully supporting Blue with one hand on his back and the other holding his, staff carefully tucked under one arm.

“Your—hngh.. with what you did, I would’ve thought otherwise.” He says, his hand lax against Pure Vanilla’s, but he does not refuse the healing.

“..I’m sorry.” Pure Vanilla says, his voice feeling faint, thinking of the terrible burn in his throat—it’s not as painful as drowning, but with the way his throat chokes on the guilt of exploiting such a weakness—it’s similar enough.

“...you're.. sorry?” Blue blankly stares at him, the disbelief clear even if his voice is barely audible, “Ah.. hahaha.. haha—” he coughs, doubling over into a sitting position, gagging on nothing.

“You're sorry.” He brushes his fingers through his hair, gripping the strands tightly, flinching away from Pure Vanilla.

“What a joke. What—you sure have a way of making me feel even more terrible.” He laughs, the sound of it painful to his ears, a far cry from the joyous laughter he once associated with the cookie before him.

“I make everything harder, don't I?” Pure Vanilla doesn't touch him, wary of war-trained reflexes even if Blue is considerably weakened.

“You do.. you do.” Blue buries his face in his hands, “I… Witches, I..” he laughs again, turning back towards Pure Vanilla with an unexpectedly wide grin, “Who came up with that plan? You? My ‘brother’? Haha..”

Black Sapphire tenses. He's remained unacknowledged throughout this entire argument, leaving Pure Vanilla terribly worried for that reason alone—it’s clear Blue still isn't all there.

“It’s smart, I'll give you that..” He looks at his own hands, still shaking from the experience. He’s dry, courtesy of a quick spell from Black Sapphire, but it can't be said that the water hadn't gotten to him.

“Father.” Black Sapphire tries to call.

“I can't. Fuck, I can't. I feel like I'm constantly falling apart, and you want me to live like this?” Blue’s voice cracks, but instead of the hysteria of his earlier breakdown, this is quieter, resigned.

“You saw what I did. I made us even more unforgivable than we already were.” He inhales, the effort of it shaking his entire body, “And here you are—here you are, offering me mercy like I didn't just—”

Pure Vanilla grabs his wrists, gently taking his hands down and away from his hair. Blue’s hands go lax and Pure Vanilla squeezes that scarred hand, brushing Blue’s hair back out of his face, “You deserve to live, too.”

“Live? … don't make me laugh.” He murmurs.

“It wasn't a joke.”

Blue laughs anyway, the sound cutting off with a harsh cough. He leans away from Pure Vanilla, spitting jam onto the grass, shying away from touch.

Then, Shadow Milk lands next to both of them, the Soul Jam of Despair attached to his collar. His feet make a sound as it lands on the soft grass. The Soul Jam has granted him a physical form, but he isn't sure how permanent that is.

“Brother.” He greets, and it strikes Pure Vanilla that despite it being a lie initially, it rings True now.

“...you.” Blue raises his head from where he sits on the grass, staring up at Shadow Milk like he can't quite believe the sight of him. He wipes jam from his mouth, laughing and coughing all the while.

Pure Vanilla grips his staff. Everything had happened quickly and their plan had gone smoother than expected, but he knew that was the easy part. This—this is the harder part, because it all depends on Blue and what the war mage does next.

“....hah.. it seems.. that we were both wrong, all along.” Blue chuckles.

“Blueberry Milk.” Shadow Milk states, and Blue cuts him off immediately, shaking his head even as his entire body trembles with the exertion,

“Blue. Or Blueberry, if you must. That name… we lost the right to it a long time ago.” Blue inhales, his breaths coming out short and stilted. He sways where he sits, but he does not fall, somehow keeping himself upright.

“...we did. Tell me, when are you going to forgive yourself for it?” Shadow Milk crouches in front of him, staff also held in hand—an unfortunate precaution, he knows.

“...forgiveness..?” Blue—Blueberry, chuckles.

“Don't give me that spiel about whether or not we deserve it.” He adds with a frown.

Compared to Blueberry, Shadow Milk is much better off after some time to rest and a change of clothes. He's dressed in robes that oddly resembles the ones Blueberry wore at their first meeting.

“It’s game over, for both of us. So let's—let’s stop.” Shadow Milk says—pleads.

Blue looks up at his brother. Pure Vanilla can't see his expression, but his next few words are quiet—faint enough to only be audible to Shadow Milk, who immediately jumps back in surprise.

Blue is in his arms one moment, then he rips himself away, descending upon Shadow Milk like an angry war god, weaponless but no less threatening.

“Stop?” He wheezes, already on his feet in spite of his many injuries. He doesn't cast anything, but his hands glow with magic as he rushes at Shadow Milk, who rolls to the side to dodge the initial punch.

Heart dropping into his stomach, he curses his own soft heart as he fails to step in to control the fight, the battle breaking out from the ruins of the Spire towards the forest surrounding them. Alarmed, he briefly catches the ginger children rushing into the scene.

“Stop. You say it so easily. Stop. Like that'd change anything?!” Blueberry hisses, and he thinks that would have been an ugly scream had his throat been able to make such a sound.

Shadow Milk blocks the hits with admirable reflexes, but he only barely dodges a punch to the stomach. Blueberry’s punch connects to the ground instead, cracking the Earth around them.

“You want penance, don't you? There are better ways of achieving that than—than this, senseless self destruction!” Shadow Milk snarls right back, waving his staff in a circle for a binding spell.

The spell is broken before it hits with a violent, magic enforced kick. Pure Vanilla hesitates to step in—Blueberry is fighting more like a Charge cookie than a Magic class, and while he could handle close quarters combat with a mage—facing a Charge-type is something else.

“Fuck my penance. Don't you get it?! I don't fucking care anymore.” Blueberry’s anger bubbles through the surface, making itself known once more as he rushes towards Shadow Milk too quickly, hitting him over the face with a punch, a sickening crack ringing throughout the field.

Shadow Milk curses, holding up his staff to block as Blueberry jumps on top of him, pushing his foot against the staff, “I thought I could dedicate myself to that. To penance. Forgiveness. Make amends for what we did. It was all I ever did throughout this entire millennia and for what?”

“You were right, you know.” He suddenly stops, putting his foot to the side and grabbing Shadow Milk by the collar, pulling him up.

There is a nasty bruise on Shadow Milk’s cheek, and he winces at the sight of it. He steps closer, intending to interfere—but Black Sapphire shakes his head, pulling him back with a hand,

“No. You—you’ll just get in the way. Let master—dad, Shadow Milk—handle it. He has the Soul Jam, it should even things out.” The young man advises, and he only agrees because he can tell the younger mage is similarly conflicted about not interfering.

Blueberry continues talking, “You were right. I’m tearing myself apart for ghosts who don't even remember me. Books no one will ever read. I'm shackling myself to my guilt and for what?!”

Shadow Milk gets up, grabbing his brother by the shoulders. The gesture seems to startle Blueberry terribly, the war mage stilling in the hold, “Enough.”

“...enough? I wish.” There’s a gleam in Blueberry’s eyes and he grabs onto Shadow Milk’s staff, ripping it from his hands and kicking the Beast down.

Black Sapphire yells, rushing forward—and then everything seems to happen too quickly.

He sees the two of them. Shadow Milk and Blueberry, one weapon drawn between them, and suddenly Candy Apple is there, running towards the fight. Pure Vanilla breaks out into a run, trying to pull the girl away before she gets caught in the crossfire.

Shadow Milk and Blueberry are screaming at each other, but this time, he can't understand a word. He sees Blueberry rush at Shadow Milk, at a pace way too quickly to see, stolen staff brandished in one hand—Shadow Milk, who is still arguing even as he tries to get away.

Shadow Milk, with the inferior reflexes, magically exhausted with a Soul Jam unsynchronized with him keeping him stable—Shadow Milk, defenceless, with a staff aimed right at his heart.

He won't be able to dodge in time, Pure Vanilla chokes out the realisation.

But—Candy Apple. Candy Apple runs between them, and Pure Vanilla fails to catch her in time. Then, the clearing goes silent.

“....”

Black Sapphire screams.

There is a staff crudely protruding out of Candy Apple’s torso. She coughs, spilling jam onto the grass as she collapses between Blueberry and Shadow Milk. By a glance, Pure Vanilla knows that the wound is most likely fatal.

Black Sapphire rushes towards them, screaming profanities, choking out sobs, and it is as if the world goes still around Pure Vanilla because he could have stopped this—surely, if he had jumped in earlier to interfere, no child would be hurt.

Shadow Milk slaps Blueberry. The war mage has blanked out, most likely in shock, but his sole working eye now has a gleam to it as he grips Candy Apple by her shoulders,

“You—you stupid, foolish child—!” He chokes.

Pure Vanilla breaks out of his frozen spell, rushing to the group of four and pulling out his repertoire of Healing spells. Many say that he is one of the greatest healers to ever walk Earthbread, and he will never forgive himself if he doesn't at least try—fatal wounds be damned.

Candy Apple giggles through jamstained teeth, and her voice immediately silences the rest of her arguing family, “...can you promise.. promise me something, father?” She coughs and Pure Vanilla's heart drops—she’s losing too much jam.

Blueberry’s breath hitches, “You—”

“Find a way to be happy again, will you?” She raises a hand up to his cheek, marking Blueberry’s face with an angry red handprint.

“....” Blueberry chokes out a sob, his shoulders shaking. Shadow Milk and Black Sapphire remain silent, but Pure Vanilla can’t be bothered to check on them, focusing purely on pouring magic into the wound to keep her from bleeding out.

“Why—you—”

“I forgive you. He forgives you. So you have to forgive yourself.” She continues rather childishly even as her voice slurs, her consciousness fading.

“My life… for yours. That… that counts, right?..”

“Stupid girl, Shadow Milk wasn't going to die even if I had stabbed him—!”

“I know… I like.. I like life, you know. I just.. needed you to stop being a doughbrain."

“And you do that by—!”

“I didn't know if.. it’d work.. but.. this. This is.. proof that you're not too far gone.. hehe..”

“Don't you ‘hehe’ me, you little—! Candy Apple. Candy Apple. Don't—don’t close your eyes—”

"..hehe.. I'm.. I'm sorr..y.."

Pure Vanilla tunes out the rest of the world, keeping only his patient in mind.

Chapter Text

At the end of it, with one child injured, another child’s trust broken possibly irreparably, their bodies battered and bruised, Shadow Milk can only half-heartedly hit Blueberry for being so fucking stupid.

Blueberry does not respond, catatonic from the very moment Candy Apple had lost consciousness. The entire event—it was something entirely avoidable. Witches, it wouldn't have happened if Blueberry had screwed his head back on and just stopped.

Candy Apple herself was—he doesn't even know if he ever knew that girl at all. To think she would jump in at that very moment, when she perfectly knew that no matter what he and Blueberry do to each other, the damage will never be permanent.

Or, perhaps, that was why she jumped between them. To give them a taste of their own medicine. An actual, physical consequence that comes from hurting each other after a millennia of doing so without interference.

It isn't a secret that the children aren't fond of their fights. Blueberry is aware of the fact himself, but it goes without saying that neither of them had wanted to stop. Too used to the routine. Too many feelings without anyone to take them out on but each other.

They hurt, but it was never truly a problem to both him and Blueberry. Not until this moment, where Candy Apple made it one and somehow snapped Blueberry out of his insane spiral by doing so.

“You're a fucking hypocrite, you know that? Now you snap out of it? You were going to bring down this entire planet with you.” Shadow Milk hisses.

Right now, they stand outside. In the forest just outside the little cottage Blueberry had built so long ago. The children have gone off to scavenge for supplies, Black Sapphire leading them. Pure Vanilla is stuck inside in one of the bedrooms, desperately trying to work a miracle.

It's been only a few hours, and Blueberry hasn't said a word since he portalled them to this very place. Black Sapphire had been too angry to talk to either of them, having immediately left with the ginger trio after making sure Pure Vanilla had everything he needed.

Here, it is just the two of them, having this awful conversation because after that, Shadow Milk can't stand the awful silence.

He inhales sharply as another minute passes without any word from Blueberry. He continues talking, “You didn't think, did you. So much for facing consequences. You won't hesitate to kill everyone on Earthbread but oh, to be responsible for the death of another daughter—”

Blueberry grips his hand.

“You can't pin this on me. The war, that faerie king you loved, the impact of my Deceit on the world—those you can blame me for, but this? This was all you.” He grips that hand back, squeezing tightly. He doesn't think Blueberry will turn to violence—not after that.

The grip loosens and Blueberry takes a step back, breaths coming out stuttered. Still silent, but he isn't actively losing his mind. Shadow Milk feels like he's the one losing it now, barely hanging on the threads of sanity as it slips past his fingers. He locks their fingers together, grabbing onto Blueberry like it's the only thing keeping him from that impending breakdown,

“Fuck. You. Fuck me. You're going to live, Berry. You hear me? That's your fucking punishment. Live.” Dragging Blueberry close, he almost shakes him physically just to emphasize that point.

Silence. It would usually frustrate him at this point, but this situation isn't exactly usual. This time, it’s the opposite of their song and dance, him leading with words, taking Blueberry’s former position in their little game.

“If she dies—if she dies, I'm going to—fuck. You're going to live. Fuck. You. We were never good to her. We were never good enough for her, and look at what she did—” Shadow Milk’s breath hitches, his words coming out in nonsensical babbles as he chokes, tears finally breaking through because of course, this is what gets him in the end.

To think he hadn't seen either child as his own until much recently—though, that could very well be another lie he had told himself. They've always been good at lying to each other, he and Blueberry.

He curls his fingers against Blueberry’s torn robes, wanting to hit him more yet not—they’re in enough pain, and there will only be more waiting in the future. A future he isn't even sure he'll be there for.

“She adores you, you fucker. Even more than me. Both of them do. Everyone does, and look at the shit you pull. All of this for what? Was it worth it, Berry?!” Shadow Milk clenches his teeth and slaps his brother on the cheek.

The children treat him as their master. Black Sapphire with obedient deference, playing by his rules and following his whims. Candy Apple with childish enthusiasm, constantly craving approval and attention, so eager to please that neither of them don’t quite know what to do with it.

Blueberry doesn't respond, but the tears say enough. He thought both of them would have ran out of tears to cry by now. His own cheek burns. Both from the earlier punch, and the following slaps.

“Was it worth it? Answer me, you fucking asshole—! You could’ve stopped. I could've stopped—fuck..” He hiccups.

“I.. I don't want to die. But if I have to so she can live, you'll be fucking damned I’ll kick that bucket myself. You, however. You wanted to die so bad you couldn't even bring yourself to care what it'll do to the rest of us.”

In spite of that death wish, Knowledge had persevered through it all. No, perhaps due to spite. A hatred so strong it keeps one alive when will itself fails. It isn't as if the feeling wasn't mutual. As Deceit, he had kept going for that very reason.

“How do you feel about Blue, really?”

Pure Vanilla’s question echoes in his mind. A long time ago, he would give the same answer as Blueberry. Now, he just—doesn’t. Somewhere along the way, the hatred had stopped even though the hurt continued.

For a moment, he wonders if Truth had asked that same question to Blueberry himself, seeing as the two of them definitely talked in that dream world.

“...hah.” Shadow Milk snorts, plopping down on the grass and dragging Blueberry with him.

Blueberry leans heavily against him as they sprawl on the grass. He turns towards the idiot, brushing his bangs back, “I can't fucking believe I have the moral high ground over you now. So much for your shitty concept of penance.”

It takes some time, but Blueberry's words come out quiet, though no less broken in tone, “...she wanted both of us to survive.” he mutters, the words croaked out painfully.

“You and I know that's not possible.” Shadow Milk bites his tongue.

“Don't you want to live?”

“I’ll live through you. We're the same cookie, aren't we?”

“Do you seriously still believe that?”

“...details.”

Blueberry snorts, “You say all this like you’re sure you’ll disappear the moment we fuse back together.” He shakes his head.

“Won't I? You're the one with our actual body.” Shadow Milk argues.

“I have the body, but I've always thought that you had more of the soul.” Blueberry raises a hand, fingers brushing against the new Soul Jam still attached to his collar. It had been a completely unexpected surprise that it had obeyed him so willingly, not to mention turning on its own master, directly or not.

“Soul, huh? I've always thought we had an equal split.”

“Why would we? It isn't as if you cracked Knowledge intending to split it in half.”

“What makes you think that I have more of our original soul?”

Blueberry hums, “You.. feel more than I do, don't you? I thought it was because I had numbed myself to my own emotions, but even strong feelings have always faded quickly.”

It's true, in a way. It was what Blueberry had taken advantage of, because he couldn't hurt Shadow Milk physically. Words; the painful bitter Truths. They always invite a visceral reaction from him—most prominent of all anger, then fear.

Though, it isn't as if Blueberry himself is lacking in emotion, he just has more control over it. He sits up, tugging Blueberry up with him, “That's.. probably your mental state talking, Berry.”

“I don't think it is. I know that.. I should feel something—I did feel something over Candy Apple’s actions, but it's… it's gone, now.” Blueberry blinks slowly, half-heartedly shuffling himself up to a sitting position.

He nudges Blueberry to the side, grabbing the strands of his hair and grimacing at the state of it, “Gone? The hell do you mean by that?”

“I don't feel anything. Not even guilt.” He states and Shadow Milk stops.

“....”

Putting down the filthy strands of hair, he takes the new Soul Jam off him and then holds Blueberry's hand, placing the gem on top of his brother’s palm and clasping his own hand over it.

Both of them gasp.

He feels—a burning sensation. In his lungs. In his entire body. The brief second of contact feels like eternity, as if the Witch had chucked him back in the oven and doomed him into an eternal hell of flames—then, it stops just as quickly the moment Blueberry grabs his hand and takes it off of the gem.

Shadow Milk all but keels over as the pain abruptly ends, leaving him choking out gasps. A few realisations come to mind, and it's that he—he isn't feeling Blueberry's pain.

“...ah, so my theory is correct.” Blueberry chuckles, wiping away tears—he wasn't crying earlier. He holds the gem gently in one hand, the other holding Shadow Milk’s wrist.

It should burn, he knows. He should feel the echo of Blueberry's injuries, and yet there's nothing but his own pain—the wariness of his sleepless mind and the visceral hurt from Candy Apple’s actions.

“....what.” Shadow Milk stares.

“Our instability.. we are two extremes without the ability to balance each other out.” Blueberry chuckles, tears still streaming down his face.

“You, who is more in tune with emotion, even if you constantly run from it. Me, who is more in tune with our form, making it easier for me to distance myself. I don't run, but that's really only because my emotions are never overwhelming enough. It's either nothing, or bursts of intense emotion.”

Shadow Milk inhales, “I theorized that I was only able to manifest a form thanks to the Soul Jam.” He hovers a hand over the thing, not daring to touch it when Blueberry is in contact with it.

The feeling of pain earlier, something tells him that it is what Blueberry is feeling now, at this very moment.

“But.. if what you're saying is true, then..” He hesitates.

“We can't continue as we are if we’d like to heal.” Blueberry states, and his dead monotone suddenly sticks out, greatly contrasting Shadow Milk’s own jumbled up emotions.

Their split existence has always had consequences, but just like their constant quarrels, it has never been a problem to them. Not when the most it had been was simply more pain than they're already feeling. Like a constant, ever bleeding, gaping wound.

Suddenly, Blueberry’s hands phase through his wrist and both of them jerk in surprise. Feeling himself fading, he tries to warn Blueberry—who immediately tosses the Soul Jam back at him. He catches it in his hands and the moment he makes contact with it, he feels solid once more.

“Oh.” Eyes wide, he doesn't get much time to react as Blueberry spontaneously collapses, convulsing on the grass. Flare-up—what great timing. Or perhaps, it wasn't the matter of timing at all.

Shadow Milk hurries closer, grabbing Blueberry’s hand and bracing himself for pain as the Soul Jam makes contact with both of them. This time, he grits his teeth through it, pulling Blueberry close,

“Wiches. Fuck. Okay, okay, let’s just—stay. Stay like this.” He wheezes out, leaning his head over Blueberry's shoulder and desperately trying not to pull away no matter how much it hurts.

Similarly, Blueberry clings to him, his messy long hair pooling over both of them as his shoulders shake. It doesn't take long before the tears follow, and then both of them are clinging to each other and sobbing like children.

It takes embarrassingly long to compose themselves, but by that point, he's adjusted enough to the pain to be able to talk again, “...well, seems like fusion is the only way to go..” he winces.

“Mmhm. I… I’m.. if you disappear, I don't think I can find that Hope again myself. Hell, I’m still surprised that you found it again.” Blueberry says, his voice still gnarly to listen to, but it is no longer the dead monotone it was earlier.

Shadow Milk snorts, “Not like I had much choice in that. It's either admit I'm wrong to work with nilly or let you destroy the damn planet.”

Blueberry winces, “...I.. well, I was rather single-mindedly focused on that objective.”

“No fucking shit. And you know the ridiculous thing about that is? They forgave you for it. Pure Vanilla. Candy Apple.” He sighs, reaching out to brush the strands of Blueberry's hair away from his dough. Really, that thing is way too grimy now.

A quiet hum and Blueberry just chuckles, “....haha. I know, right? I.. I don't even know what to say.”

“Start with thank you. Then go prostrate yourself in front of Saint Pure Vanilla to apologise for your stupidity. He's stupid to forgive you, by the way.”

“...thanks.” Blueberry says wryly, tilting his head to the side and nearly slapping him with his hair. Shadow Milk makes a face, disliking the sensory input now that he can actually feel how disgusting it is,

“...also, you're going to need to cut this mess.” He tries to separate the clumped strands of hair, but the grime leaves him cringing.

“Would you forgive me?” Blueberry suddenly asks, his sole working eye having some life in it for once. It's a deep dark blue now, almost black.

Shadow Milk huffs, answering without hesitation, “...there’s nothing to forgive.”

“You think so?”

“Between us, yeah. I… I don't think I ever truly hated you.”

“...hah.” Blueberry snorts.

“I'm serious. No, I won't elaborate. If this will end the way I think it will, you'll understand soon enough.” Shadow Milk grumbles.

Blueberry’s grip on the Soul Jam tightens, and along it the hold in his hand, “...you think we'll fuse back together.”

“We have to, no? It's better than risking me vanishing and leaving your unstable ass to fend for itself.”

“I.. I don't know how to feel about that.”

Feeling rather spiteful, Shadow Milk simply answers, “Just don't think about it.”

“...I get why people find us annoying now.” Blueberry flicks his forehead. Shadow Milk bats at his hand with a scowl,

“Look, we're short on time and there's no way we are solving all the shit between us in one conversation, you get me?”

“Mhm, so you think we might as well not have that conversation and leave it to whoever we become once we're one cookie again like we're always supposed to be.”

“Exactly.”

“Genius.” Blueberry deadpans.

“Thank you.” He returns the deadpan.

This must be the most civil conversation they've had in forever. Though, after everything that happened in this single day, he doesn't think either of them have the energy left to pick another fight anyway.

Blueberry leans heavier against him, shutting his eyes, “Forgiveness.. huh. Will this even work if I don't want to forgive myself?”

“You’re the only one who doesn't want to.”

“How do you deal with that? The guilt? Not thinking about it can only get us so far.”

“Yeah, but it isn't like we can change the past. I… before, I hated you for the reminder that you are. Now, I just.. fuck, you said it yourself. I'm tired. I want to be done with our game. Aren't you?”

“...so much for your world of Deceit, huh.” Blueberry mutters.

“So much for your penance.” Shadow Milk snaps back, nudging him not too gently—and hissing when the rough movement stings his skin with pain.

“We were both wrong, you can least admit to that. Let go of the past. The next thing that matters is.. whatever awaits us after this.”

He pauses, remembering his brief contact with Dark Enchantress Cookie. It’ll certainly be war, and if they're going to do right by this entire atonement thing, they'll most likely be heavily involved.

“War.” Blueberry says it aloud, the word settling heavily between them.

“...yeah. Between you and me, I honestly think you'd be more useful in that regard.” Shadow Milk sighs, thinking of Blueberry’s time acting as war mage for the faeries.

“Not without your will to live or any emotions to feel—I.. that part of our little split honestly still stumps me.” Blueberry sighs, brushing his messy hair back.

“I think you only lost your emotions the moment our Soul Jam reunited. The union severed your connection to me.” He theorizes.

“...huh.” Looking at their joined hands, Soul Jam between them, Blueberry hums in thought.

“Or, I hope that was what it is because you really crashed out harder than we did when we were one cookie. I thought I was supposed to be the villain here, but you had the gall to force me into a redemption arc early and steal that role for yourself.”

Shadow Milk grumbles, rambling away now that his emotions have settled. Mind you, he's not quite—happy or content about everything yet, not with one child’s fate left unknown, but surely he deserves to complain now.

Blueberry laughs, “You're really ruining this moment—I thought you'd punch me more.”

“I would if I didn't have to feel it too—everything fucking hurts by the way. Thanks a lot for that.”

His idiot brother just wheezes, hurting their already battered forms more. He nudges at him half-heartedly, “Stop laughing. If you injure yourself more, you're explaining it to Pure Vanilla.”

He stops laughing, the laughter dying down into coughing instead, “Ha—you think he'd heal us? Ah.. he did heal you when I was drowning..”

“You really felt that?”

“Mmhn.. only thing that kept me conscious.” Blueberry waves his hand.

“Fucking saint healer.” Shadow Milk mutters to himself, still no less in awe of the existence of a cookie like Pure Vanilla.

When they were rushing to the cottage earlier, Pure Vanilla had stopped the two of them right at the bedroom door before shutting it in their faces. It was to say one simple sentence, but he's sure that was the most threatening the healer had ever been to either of them during the time they've known him.

“Wait outside, and do not do anything stupid.”

Albeit, it was still worded very politely. Though, he was sure that was the closest Pure Vanilla had ever come to blowing up at another cookie in his life. The look on his face was terrifying.

“He’ll definitely heal us, he's much too attached not to. Which means I unfortunately can't punch you right now.” Shadow Milk sighs.

“...you can punch yourself once we're one cookie.” Blueberry offers.

Shadow Milk grimaces. The fusion—while he knows how it'd work theoretically, none of it can really be confirmed seeing as nothing like this has ever happened before. There's also the issue of their corrupted Soul Jam, still the dark blue of Despair—

He does a double take, holding up their hands to inspect the thing. The blue is lighter now. Not as light as Pure Vanilla’s newly awakened Soul Jam, but enough that he could have mistaken it for Knowledge.

“I think we might have to break it a second time.” Blueberry hesitates, staring at the gem with an oddly apprehensive expression.

“....” Remembering the passage of the book that Witch wrote, he frowns, “I… can we even uncorrupt?”

“....” Blueberry pauses, “I have no idea, but as long as you still have the will to live, I don't think we’ll die.. probably.”

Great. Neither of them has any idea what will happen. This most definitely counts as something stupid that Pure Vanilla will eviscerate them for.

“...if we die—” Shadow Milk inhales.

Blueberry pats his back awkwardly, “I—I can tell you that judging by the look on Pure Vanilla’s face when he kicked us out earlier, if we die now he’d bring us back from the dead just to kill us again.”

He really doesn't want to risk it, but it isn't as if there's much alternatives. With how he starts vanishing the moment their hands separate, they're too short on time to brainstorm one.

“What belief will the Soul Jam even end up having?” Shadow Milk buries his face in one hand, feeling a headache forming alongside all the other pain. Or maybe the headache is already there and he's just noticed it now.

“Are you really asking me?” Blueberry says wryly.

“You're Knowledge.”

“You're also Knowledge, dumbass.”

“This argument is stupid.”

“You started it.”

Both of them stop talking, realising that their conversation has derailed. Really, they have a surprising talent for bickering like children in spite of the situation—not that they can do anything but wait in said situation.

“...the kids. D’you think they’ll..” Shadow Milk frowns.

If their dreams had told him anything, it's that both children see himself and Blueberry as their own cookies. Post-fusion, they’ll be one cookie again, and there's no guarantee which of their personalities will be the one ‘in control’, so to speak.

If both of them will even stay at all. Perhaps their minds will simply fuse together and form a new personality. They'll be alive at the end of it, but not as ‘Shadow Milk’ or ‘Blue’. It'd still be a kind of loss—especially when they're not sure if they'll even keep their own memories as one cookie.

“...they'll have to get used to it.” Blueberry muses quietly, for once sounding aggrieved about their possible impending ‘death’.

“Pure Vanilla, though..”

“He'll only object if we actually die from this, I feel.” Blueberry jokes.

Shadow Milk sighs, “It's too damn early to joke about death after the shit you did—but yeah, I think so too.”

Their conversation slows to a halt after that, the two of them sitting on the grass and silently enjoying the scenery. Soon enough, there won't be another opportunity to do this—sitting next to the one cookie that knows him better than he knows himself.

He doesn't even know if he'll still be himself at the end, or if Blueberry will stay the same. Now, he can only wonder what kind of cookie they will be at the end of this.

Despite everything, it feels oddly peaceful.

Just a few hours ago, he’d never think that he and Blueberry would have such a peaceful end. With their countless clashes, the constant hurt and petty grudges—it was almost a guarantee that it’d end in Fire.

Even now, in this idyllic silence, many things remain unspoken between them. It's by design, he knows, they've always struggled with being open with—things. However, unlike the usual tense silence between them, there is a sense of understanding.

A willingness to forgive, even if given somewhat hesitantly. A little spark of Hope, ignited by their own sentimentality. He would have called it a weakness, but after everything—it’s become hard to hold on to that anger.

“...I’ll miss you.” Shadow Milk finds himself saying, before pausing at his own words, surprised at his admittance.

Blueberry opens his eyes, looking similarly surprised, “...is that sentimentality I sense from you?” He grins, then he coos at him, “Aww.. you do care!”

Face flushing, Shadow Milk hits him over the head, “Shut it. I thought you were supposed to hate me. You hate me so much it's the only thing keeping you alive.” he scowls.

Looking cowed, Blueberry winces, “I… it wasn't.. well, it was technically true. But I just.. I feel like most of that was me hating myself more than I hated you.”

“...we really are stupid, huh.” Shadow Milk says wryly.

Blueberry snorts, “Right, anyway. We're in agreement. Let whoever we become deal with the rest.”

Shadow Milk snickers, “Sure, sure. Ready when you are, then.”

Grabbing his hand, Blueberry pulls him up to his feet, careful to keep their joined hands still in contact with the Soul Jam. He stands, taking a moment to reorient himself, squirming at the flash of pain he feels with every movement.

Unlike him, Blueberry moves fluidly still, ignoring his pain as they hold the Soul Jam between them. Seeing as the last time they shared a Soul Jam he had stabbed Blueberry through the heart, he isn't quite sure what to do with it this time.

He doesn’t even know what to believe in, to power the Soul Jam itself. It could return to Knowledge, but a part of him says that it won't. It won't be Deceit either—not with how he's lost faith in it.

Blueberry appears similarly off-kilter, though he's much better at not letting it show, “...just, Hope that this doesn't kill us.” He says, and because the world has decided to fuck with them, a Light erupts from the Soul Jam that spontaneously consumes them both.

A crack, then both of them are no more.

“Are you fucking kidding me.” A cookie stands in front of a glowing Soul Jam, radiating a light, crystalline blue. Brighter than Pure Vanilla’s Compassion.

Bristling, he points at the thing in accusation. The Soul Jam hums, a cheerful ringing of bells. It's like the thing is laughing at him. He resists the urge to toss the stupid thing to the ground like Blueberry did—he doesn't think this one will appreciate it.

The cracks of their old Soul Jams are still there, but it is lined with gold. How poetic, really, both of his old personalities would love that.

But, still—to have Blueberry’s last words be that and have their Soul Jam reincarnate into this, it's just ridiculous. He doesn't even want to look at it, even as the stupid gem stares him in the face and taunts him with what it represents.

It's so far out of Shadow Milk’s predictions that it wasn't even a thought, but this outcome—it is infinitely better than what either of his halves had thought would happen.

The cookie stares at his own hands, then at the reflection of himself, visible in the awfully shiny, brand new Soul Jam. His blind eye is gold, now—though the other eye is as dark as Despair’s was.

This is clearly still Blueberry's body, however, with its patchwork of injuries and awful, awful pain—he nearly falls over himself, grabbing at the spontaneously materialising staff to use as a crutch. He groans, bowing his head and cursing,

“Fuck, Pure Vanilla’s gonna kill me—” he wheezes and decides to sit down slowly, the pain growing too much to bear now that he had paid it attention.

Blueberry’s body, but Shadow Milk’s shitty pain tolerance. He really got the short end of the stick—not to mention the sheer amount of bullshit that are the two's memories combined. It certainly gives a clearer picture now, and he gets why those two hadn't bothered to have a proper conversation.

Still, he really hates to be the one to have to deal with it now.

Then, a voice calls somewhere from the cottage’s direction, sweetly asking, “I'm going to what now?” a hand gently clasps itself on his shoulder and he whips around to see Pure Vanilla there, crouching on the ground, his brand new long hair brushing against the grass.

His face is obscured by the hair, making him feel all the more threatening as if his sheer, blinding magical presence isn't enough of an intimidation factor. He gulps as the Soul Jam cackles behind him. Awful thing.

“....haha.. hi?” He greets, paling rapidly.

The hand on his shoulder tightens its grip, “I thought I told you not to do anything stupid.” The healer raises his head, finally exposing his face—he has a smile, he always does, but this smile does not feel very reassuring nor kind.

“I—we didn't—! Or well, they didn't. I swear. We—I didn't know this was going to happen. We were only having a nice conversation, I swear—”

“You're coming with me—” Pure Vanilla sways suddenly, nearly falling over him.

He steadies the healer with a gentle hand on his back, even though he doesn't feel very steady himself. Still, with time, the pain should be easier to ignore. If Blueberry could do it, he should also be able to.

A quick scanning spell confirms that Pure Vanilla is on the verge of magical exhaustion. He grimaces, pulling the healer up to his feet only for Pure Vanilla to stumble more, “Ah—sorry. It seems.. I’ve overexerted myself. I thought I could make the journey—” he cuts himself off, shutting his eyes and stilling to reorient himself.

“They would've returned to the cottage by evening if I didn't happen, I assure you—you should've just gotten rest immediately.” He wraps an arm around the healer and hoists him up, finding renewed strength after the spontaneously stupid awakening. The Soul Jam floats next to him and he has half a mind to grab it with magic, tossing it somewhere in the other realm. That thing can wait, surely.

“I.. I don't trust you—or, you two—ah, what should I call you?” Pure Vanilla blinks before realising he's now in his arms, balking, “I—I can walk.”

“Between us two, you're the magically exhausted one. Let’s get you some rest and you can update me on things later.” He decides, ignoring the tidbit about his name—he isn't quite sure about that one himself.

“Shadow Milk was magically exhausted as well.” Pure Vanilla points out stubbornly, but the healer doesn't try to get out of his hold—no doubt too tired by now to fight him on it.

He starts walking back to the cottage with Pure Vanilla in tow, huffing at the healer as he does so, “Well, I'm not-quite Shadow Milk so I'm fine carrying you back home. Just.. did.. did everything go well?”

Pure Vanilla exhales slowly, “I.. yes. She lost a lot of jam, but she's stable. Her condition could change, so I plan to monitor her overnight—”

“Nope. I'll do that. You sleep.” He enters the cottage, opening the door with magic and making his way to the nearest unoccupied bedroom.

There are three bedrooms here, he knows. One for Black Sapphire—which is the room Candy Apple is in now. The other two were Blueberry and Shadow Milk’s. He decides to choose the latter, seeing as the Beast had seldom stayed here anyway.

Shadow Milk’s room was technically a guest room, but Blueberry had practically assigned it to him since they can't receive any guests while imprisoned anyway. Really, it's ridiculous how much like a divorced couple those two acted—he cringes at the thought, banishing it from his mind as he enters the bedroom.

When he sets Pure Vanilla down, the healer is still arguing. He pinches the other cookie's cheek, much to his annoyance, “Look, you're exhausted and you're the only healer around. Basic Healer code: don't die before everyone else. I—or I guess Blueberry, had enough experience tending to the wounded to not be entirely useless. I'll wake you up the moment I sense her vitals failing.”

At that, Pure Vanilla finally shuts up and sinks into the bed, clearly exhausted out of his mind. He pulls a blanket over the healer, magicking any dust away, “Sleep. I promise I will be the only result of a stupid thing that you see this week.”

Compassion—Pure Vanilla, grumbles out, “...you're awful.” he mutters, but he can tell the healer’s heart isn't in it.

To that, he just shuts the lights and makes his way to the door, “You stayed anyway. …though, hm, not like you had much choice in it. Still, I thank you for not fucking off the moment you had the chance.”

He gets no response after that, Pure Vanilla no doubt too drowsy to bite back with a retort. Chuckling to himself, he gently shuts the door to make his way to Candy Apple's room.

He only gets as far as the door before running into another cookie.

Black Sapphire stares at him with eyes as wide as dinner plates. His son looks more than ruffled, clothes dirty from the Spire’s debris and stained with the jam of his sister. The young man steps closer, and he forces himself to stand still, greeting Black Sapphire with a tone that's a little too cheerful,

“...hi, son.”

Chapter Text

He immediately regrets the words the moment he says it, hitting himself mentally for being so crass. Black Sapphire steps up to him, and slaps him over the face. He falls right over immediately, sinking onto the ground in pain.

“I—wh—” His son sputters at the dramatic reaction, kicking at him—ow, “You—! I was only gone for a few hours! Father—I swear—stop being dramatic.”

Wheezing, he curls into himself on the floor, uncaring of how pathetic it makes him look, “I'm not—! Oh my god it fucking hurts. How does Blueberry deal with this.” He whines.

“...you're not joking.” Black Sapphire inhales, “We… I—I don't know how to feel about this.” He brushes his hair back, turning away from him, “How did you even—Witches, it hasn't even been a day and you've already—!”

He winces, “I realise this does feel very sudden from your perspective—it was really sudden on mine, too, but uh, Shadow Milk was dying—”

“No fucking shit, dear me—” His son laughs, curling his fingers into his hair and taking deep breaths.

“I can tell you that this wasn't planned to happen today.”

“It better have not.” Black Sapphire bristles, his anger spiking as he leans down, pulling him up to his feet.

“Candy Apple. Update now or I will never forgive you.” He hisses.

Swallowing, he nods, “Stable. Not out of the woodwork yet, so I need to monitor her vitals while Pure Vanilla rests.”

The tension relaxes slightly, but Black Sapphire doesn't ease his grip, “Okay. Then. The plan. But first, do you have both of their memories or are you just one of them?”

“The former. I’m.. not sure about the latter, it happened so suddenly. We—or, well, they didn't even break the Soul Jam.”

“...where is that thing?” Black Sapphire blankly stares at him, clearly unimpressed.

“The other realm.”

A face palm, and Black Sapphire clenches his jaw, “Okay. The plan, then? Pure Vanilla didn't exactly have time to update me on that.”

He pauses for a moment, sorting out the thoughts in his mind. He doesn't think Black Sapphire will appreciate any derailing of this conversation—for good reason too, remembering the young man’s less-than-pleased reaction to the Blueberry Milk in that dream world.

“Blueberry was using the Spire as a beacon to transmit the Despair spell in place of Pure Vanilla’s half of the Soul Jam. So Shadow Milk and Pure Vanilla went to the bottom of the Spire to disrupt the foundation sigil there to collapse the Spire, and portalled back to.. drown Blueberry.” He scrunches his face, the mix of both memories making the events clearer from both perspectives but not quite—not quite resolving things the way his component personalities had probably hoped it would.

That one conversation was infinitely rushed. Running out of time or not, surely there could have been a better way. Really, a part of their awful coping mechanisms definitely had a hand in that quick decision.

“And you know all of that.. but you don't. You don't sound like you've experienced it first-hand.” Black Sapphire frowns, tugging his hand close. His son’s familiar signature courses through him—yet another scanning spell. Whatever result he got makes him clench his teeth, sighing,

“You're father’s body, but.. master’s personality?” He furrows his brows at him.

“..I think it's more of a half-half case because I feel a lot less angry than Shadow Milk, but I don't feel the way Blueberry does, either. And, how to put this.. I.. their memories, I know them, and I know they should be mine because I am them, but—”

“You see them in a third person perspective.” Black Sapphire finishes.

“...yeah. Well, that.. I don't think that'll do now, would it?” He frowns.

Black Sapphire sighs, the disappointment clear in his tone, “I.. well, I’m just glad it wasn't entirely intentional. Because that'd mean they chose to run away again after all the shit that happened. I—I’m already having many feelings about this, and frankly, your presence is not helping.”

“...sorry.” He mutters.

The apology is waved off, “It's—it isn't fine, but since you're neither of them, I.. I can't really say anything to that.”

“...you do see both of them as their own cookies, huh?”

Black Sapphire snorts, “Of course. They're similar in some aspects, but I've always known them as two separate cookies. You're.. a strange mix of both, but you.. I.. I don't know. Maybe I'll learn to get used to you.” He says, the tone sounding a tad bitter.

He pauses at that. It had happened so spontaneously that neither Shadow Milk nor Blueberry had had the chance to really think through the consequences of it. It was briefly mentioned, he remembers, but knowing the results now—he frowns.

He cannot be the one to solve their problems for them. To keep them stable and out of danger from disappearing, maybe, but each of them have their own separate issues to sort through and he is different enough from both to know that he cannot step in to do it for them. No matter how much they want to avoid the responsibility.

“...which one of them do you want to talk to?” He finds himself asking, a plan in mind.

“...sorry?” Black Sapphire furrows his brows.

“I have an idea. I'm the main personality when we're fused, but my creation is.. new enough that I think I can do something about.. them. It's not like I appreciate being the one saddled with their responsibilities now.” He opens a small portal to the other realm, sticking his hand through and pulling out the shining Soul Jam.

Inspecting it carefully in his hands, he sees its most prominent feature: a straight line crossing the middle of the gem. The Soul Jam itself glows almost smugly at him, as if trying to tell him something he doesn't know, but he ignores the thing to try and pull it apart—Black Sapphire grabs his wrist,

“What the hell are you doing?” His son hisses, trying to pull his hands away from the Soul Jam.

He shakes his head, “Trust me. I know it's—a lot to ask, but I think this might work. I'm not supposed to be here this early. It just.. it’s cruel to leave all of you without the opportunity for closure, and I can't provide that. Not in the same way they can.”

“So you're just going to—what? Break it again?” Black Sapphire’s breath hitches.

“No. Just.. give me another chance? Please?”

“....” His son trembles, shoulders shaking.

There's silence for a moment, before Black Sapphire swallows, “...fine. I fucking hate you for this, by the way. You included, not just them.”

Quirking up a smile, he chuckles, “Happy to be included in your hatred. Though, I hope to get to know you better to be actually deserving of it.”

“..I've watched you die at least three times and you're making me do it again.” Black Sapphire lets go of his hand and shuffles closer, pulling his battered body into a gentle embrace. He keeps his hand over his boy’s back, letting the Soul Jam float in front of him as he gently returns the hug.

“To die is to be reborn, remember?” He grins, and Light envelops his form yet again.

When the Light dies down, the first thing Blueberry notices is that the scenery has changed. They're no longer in that forest, Soul Jam between them. Shadow Milk is still at his side, but there is now another cookie between the both of them alongside their Soul Jam.

The perfectly split Soul Jam that is glowing a ridiculously bright blue, both pieces identical.

Then, the memories of their fusion returns and Blueberry only has a few minutes to process all of that before Black Sapphire punches him across the face, sending him crashing to the floor. Shadow Milk guffaws, and his laughter cuts off for a moment.

I probably shouldn't laugh. Pure Vanilla might wake up from that.

The thought rings in his mind. The thought that very much isn't his own. He blankly focuses on that as Black Sapphire descends upon him in anger,

“Father. I—I have no fucking idea how that worked or how permanent this is but I swear—!”

Shadow Milk pauses.

You hear me?

….what is happening. What. What.

Yeah, I—I thought we were dead for a minute. Also, go have that talk with Black Sapphire. I'm gonna check on Candy Apple—

Shadow Milk gives him a mock salute, visible from where he stands next to the newly split Soul Jam. Black Sapphire is—crying, and yelling at a very appropriate volume, considerate of the fact that they have cookies resting in the rooms connected to this hallway they're in.

Blueberry feels like his mind will explode any minute now.

His brother steps away for a moment before something pulls him back and the former Deceit crashlands on top of him and he can only wheeze at the added pressure on his aching form, “Fuck—”

“So much for tossing responsibility, huh?” Shadow Milk groans, sounding as equally in pain as he feels.

“...I don't think this is permanent.” Blueberry stares up at the ceiling.

He—he really should feel more complicated emotions about all of this, but most of everything is just searing, burning pain. That is, until he's made contact with Shadow Milk again. Then, the pain of everything else returns and he finds himself choking on tears the way he was earlier.

Though, this time, there isn't the impending consequences of their instability to distract him from the guilt. Of his own actions, and of running away. Seems like the world will not allow them to take the easy way out. Their Soul Jam cackles from where it floats, the identical pieces hovering off to the side.

Black Sapphire grabs both of them by their hands, dragging them up to their feet and into his room—the room Candy Apple is in, he knows. Blueberry follows on wobbly feet, and he finds Shadow Milk immediately latching on his other side instead, breaking away from Black Sapphire.

“Sorry, but I don't think we can stay separate for long.” Shadow Milk says gruffly, clearly displeased about this. This being having to sit in on his and Black Sapphire’s soon to be very emotional conversation, he knows.

For an odd reason, he feels like the world itself is laughing at him. Of course things can't be that easy. When has it ever been so easy, really?

Black Sapphire pushes him to a chair on the side of Candy Apple’s bed, and pulls another chair to sit down himself. It's there that he gets the perfect view of Candy Apple. With the blanket tucked over her small form, he could almost fool himself into thinking that she is only sleeping.

Except, the jam in his hands feels fresh as ever. With the filth and grime covering his entire body—his being, even, he can only choke on the sight of her, for once grateful that Shadow Milk is there so he finally, finally won't feel as detached looking at her.

It was just a few minutes ago. Just an hour or three ago. The staff poking through her chest—his staff. The jam on her lips. That little promise she pulled from him, a callback to another promise he thought he had buried for good—he bows his head, hands curling on the bedsheets.

The fusion had explained things. A new understanding of Shadow Milk’s perspective. The clown’s own relationship with the children. His perception of Blueberry, himself. It was—enlightening, but all too much in one go. His heart feels like it had been ripped apart and crudely put back together.

He doesn't know how Shadow Milk deals with it. Physical pain seems like nothing in comparison.

“...glad to see you can at least still cry over her.” Black Sapphire says, but the words lack the bite it should have. That boy really is too good for him.

“All she ever wanted was for both of you to look at her and see her, you know.” He continues, staring at his sister’s prone form with an unreadable expression, placing his hand on top of hers.

“...I know.” Blueberry answers, his throat feeling drier than ever.

“I know you do. I know master does, too. Yet you two could still find it in yourselves to be cruel when you know it will hurt more than just the two of you.” Black Sapphire snaps, his anger clearly rising, but it dies down admirably quickly, “I can't forgive you what you did to her. Maybe I will, one day, but it isn't like I have much choice in that—”

“—because at the end of the day, I still care for your stupid asses.” He bites out the words bitterly, a piece of honesty that is more than either of them had ever taught the boy.

“....” Blueberry fails to swallow back the lump in his throat, and he already feels the tears flowing. Shadow Milk is silent, floating behind him like a spectre—not quite solid anymore, a part of him tells him.

“...I'm sorry.” He chokes out the words, for lack of anything better to say.

Black Sapphire doesn't look at either of them, “Make up for it. I don't want to hear just words, father. I—I can't claim to understand how you feel, or why you'd be driven to such stupidly extreme lengths to die—but god, please. Just. Try again. That's all I ask.”

“If not for yourself or for me, then do it for my fool of a sister who tried to give her life for yours. She still may not survive, and I will hate you for the rest of my life if you waste her sacrifice.”

Blueberry stills.

He's right, you know.

Shadow Milk’s hands are in his hair. It's no surprise considering the clown was complaining about it rather loudly earlier. He lets his brother mess with the thing, not really caring much considering everything feels like dirt and grime. Most of it will wash off eventually, but staring at his own hands, he can’t help but feel the red jam that isn’t there.

Swallowing back his own guilt, he forces himself to face Black Sapphire. Throughout his time raising the boy, he had tried to spare him from the worst of it. His own doubts, the ever present guilt, his own hatred–many things still slip through, of course, because Shadow Milk hadn’t been able to take being left alone in the Spire.

They had talked right under his nose to build rapport with each other, he knows that now. It gives further context to why the boy had turned to servitude despite supposedly not being very familiar with Shadow Milk. It was–it was all for his sake, for the sad excuse of a cookie that had raised him.

Black Sapphire grabs his hand, squeezing tightly, “No more of that now. I can hear your self-deprecating thoughts. Just.. I've.. I guess I've said all I wanted to say to you. There's.. other things, but I really don't have enough energy to address any of that now.”

His shoulders sag, and at that moment, his boy almost looks older than him. Hesitantly, he puts a hand over his back in an imitation of what their fusion did earlier, but he doesn't quite make the contact.

Shadow Milk watches, a silent observer even as he keeps his hands busy with his mess of hair.

A part of him doesn’t really like that Black Sapphire is the one who keeps compromising. It's supposed to have been the other way around. It could have been, had he cared enough to be a better parent. Had better decisions been made. Had he not insisted on being selfish, just to be free of this pain.

Even now, a small part of him resents that he still has to stay, even through everything. To face old sins, new mistakes, and balance relationships he had ruined in the course of not even a week. Shadow Milk clasps a hand on his shoulder.

No more running, yeah? I won't, so you can't.

Blueberry takes a deep breath. He isn't planning to run. Not when he has reclaimed his own name, discarding that false lie he had weaved to make himself feel better. He is not a nobody, not to anyone but himself—and even that can be argued with, considering both the fusion and Shadow Milk had disagreed with that very opinion.

He faces Black Sapphire, “We.. we can talk again, later. This.. separation, it can't be permanent, and Shadow Milk will have to stay for our conversations—but I… I won’t run from it. I’ll take responsibility like I should have.” The words feel bittersweet on his tongue, and he can tell it isn't exactly satisfying for Black Sapphire—the wound is too fresh for this to be resolved in one conversation.

“But not to the point of destroying yourself. Keep that in mind.” Black Sapphire squeezes his hand, and leans in for another hug.

It pulls a broken laugh out of him and he gently brushes his fingers through soft, purple-black curls, placing one hand on his boy’s back, now not denying either of them the comfort. The hug itself tightens, even though he knows Black Sapphire would hate it when they're both grimy and dirty,

“I thought I'd never get to talk to you again.” His son’s voice cracks, muffled as he buries his face in Blueberry's shoulder.

“I'm here now. I'm.. I'm not going anywhere, little gem.” The childhood nickname slips past his lips easily, and Black Sapphire only clings tighter, relief and other complicated feelings washing over the three of them in waves.

He hears Shadow Milk sniffle. Black Sapphire is most definitely crying, but he doesn't point the fact out to either of them, stroking his boy’s back the way he did when the young man was but a baby dough.

Holding one child gently and watching over the other in spite of his exhaustion, Blueberry feels—something. Not anger, not hatred, not fear. Not even the crunching Despair that had kept him going, that had pushed him past his breaking point and into the most terrible decision he's ever made in his life.

He feels—something akin to peace. It's not quite there, not with the many conversations to be had and unresolved feelings remaining, but it does not feel as dreadful as he thought it would.

The silence remains for a while, and Black Sapphire slumps into his arms, having exhausted himself throughout this entire ordeal. Blueberry gently hoists him up, tucking him in bed next to his sister.

Still awake, even if drowsy from exhaustion, Black Sapphire gives Shadow Milk his best glare, “I'm not done with.. you.”

His brother pokes their son in the forehead, “I know, but you heard your father. We're not going anywhere, so sleep for now. We can talk again later.” Shadow Milk pulls a blanket over him, and Black Sapphire dozes off the moment his head hits the pillow.

There's yet another silence as the conversation sinks into their minds. For once, Shadow Milk does not follow it with an inappropriate, crass comment, letting them have this moment. Both of them watch over the two children in silence. He raises a hand over Candy Apple’s prone form, casting a quick scanning spell just to confirm her status—breathing, stable for now, but no signs of regaining consciousness.

He brushes her white locks away from her face, taking a spare handkerchief from the drawer next to the bed to wipe her jamstained face. Shadow Milk huffs, now back behind him, and he realises it mirrors what the Beast had done, in that conversation with Pure Vanilla before they executed that horrid plan.

“....” The irony isn't lost on him, to be the second to offer consideration to their children when he was their primary caretaker.

“...wow, we really are like a divorced couple.” Shadow Milk says, finally deciding to destroy the tender moment. The idiot can never appreciate sentimentality even after it's slapped them both in the face—he tries not to feel too irritated about it.

He snickers, “Hey, now, I know you appreciate the drop in tension. C’mon, lighten up."

“I cannot wait for it to be your turn to have these talks.” Blueberry sighs, settling back against the chair, keeping his senses attuned to the state of both children.

“I’m only their master.” Shadow Milk huffs, winding the strands of his hair into something more manageable—seems like he's done combing through the grime.

“Not with the way they were calling you dad.” He points out, much to the clown’s irritation.

“Either way, you've been their parent more than I have. I'm more like… the weird uncle.”

“...glad to know you have some self awareness.”

Shadow Milk scowls, wrapping his arms around Blueberry and poking his head over one shoulder. Feeling somewhat spiteful, he tilts his head to the side to bonk his brother’s head, “Ow—”

“So much for avoiding consequences, huh? In the end, we still have to do all this.” Blueberry sighs, changing the topic before it could derail into a childish back and forth.

“...honestly, I—yeah. Thinking about it again, our fusion had the right idea. That conversation wouldn't have gone the same if it happened with.. the fusion. They see us too differently for it to hit the same, if you get what I mean.” Shadow Milk leans closer, careful to keep physical contact—it’s an unfortunately necessary precaution, and thankfully one he's quite used to. He's always been awfully clingy.

Blueberry rests his head against Shadow Milk’s, “...still..” he raises a hand up, placing it over the floating pieces of their Soul Jam. Born from a spark of Hope, and now a wish to be deserving of forgiveness.

He shuts his eyes, “...we're stuck together literally and metaphorically now.” he doesn't know how to feel about that. After spending so long cultivating hatred between them, to end it this way feels almost impossible.

“Gives us enough time to properly forgive each other, no?” Shadow Milk counters.

“...I guess so.” He takes a deep breath, ignoring his pains for a moment to settle himself. Taking the hint, Shadow Milk shuts up, hovering behind him silently.

It passes for a few moments before there’s a gentle knock on the door, quiet enough to almost go unheard. Shadow Milk raises his head, turning towards the door and keeping a hand on Blueberry,

“We have guests.”

Three distinct presences stand at the door, radiating a mix of wariness, exhaustion, and concern. Without even acknowledging their names, Blueberry knows who stands at the door.

You want me to tell them to scram for now?

The offer is tempting, especially after the heavy conversation he's just had. He had spent most of that short talk listening, and while it did take a weight off his shoulders, it's still too early for his feelings to settle.

Not for the first time, Blueberry curses the Witch who had baked them this way. The soul of an immortal, yet the bleeding heart of any mortal. Capable of hurt and to be hurt. Though, perhaps, that's just part of this existence that was meant for them.

Happiness, he turns the word over in his mind, recalling what that Witch had said to Gingerbrave—to Shadow Milk, even indirectly as it was.

“I baked you to live your own life. To laugh, to scream, to cry, to be happy.”

His promises. One he thought was long forgotten, the one he wanted to forget because at the time, it had felt so hopeless that he couldn't shoulder the thought that it could be a possibility.

“When you wake up again, please find a way to be happy.”

The one promise he made earlier. To a child who wants him to live more than she wants to live herself, a child he had willfully neglected, left forever wanting nothing but the love he couldn't find it in himself to give.

“Find a way to be happy again, will you?”

Happiness. Hope. What a fragile, transient thing, and yet—he swallows, memories flashing through his mind too quickly to process. Shadow Milk’s touch remains a steady, grounding thing. Ready to pull him out of that place of pain, in spite of everything that happened between the two of them.

They haven't even talked about it, both of them. The spite, the grudges, the pain they constantly inflict upon each other because of their own hatred. The easy, light-hearted conversations they have now are but a temporary reprieve.

Ugly feelings won't just go away at the drop of a hat—or in their case, a simple fusion. It may have granted mutual understanding, skipped many conversations they would've had—but feelings have a way of defying rationale, and knowing both of them, they could easily use it as a weapon against each other even more effectively than they did before.

No.

He tells himself. Himself, and Shadow Milk. Beyond the pain lies something better, and he is tired of denying himself the reprieve. He calls back, facing his fears, bracing for pain, swallowing the thought that he hardly deserves any of this after everything,

“Come in, you three. Please keep quiet.”

The door opens with a click, and there the last three children stand, awkwardly shuffling their feet as they fill into the room. The three of them look considerably better than the children asleep, having washed themselves after their supply run.

“...um, hi. Mr. Blue. Shadow Milk Cookie.” As always, Gingerbrave speaks first, breaking the silence by greeting both of them. It's polite, if not awkward by the tension in the room.

Then, unexpectedly, Strawberry follows it with a frantic question, even if still worded as softly as ever, “Are.. are you all doing alright? Is Candy Apple okay?”

“...we don't know when she'll wake up, but she's stable.” Shadow Milk answers for him when his throat closes up.

The three ginger cookies' eyes turn towards him. Between him and Shadow Milk, they're more familiar with him, but he is also the one who betrayed their trust. Blueberry steels his nerves—at his age, one would think he wouldn't fear the judgement of children this much, yet the dread still clings to him as he stands in front of the trio.

Shadow Milk moves to the side, giving as much privacy as he could, though grabbing his hand to maintain contact.

He swallows, and bows to the children, “I'm sorry. I took advantage of your trust for my own selfish desires.” The words come out unstuttered, but the way his voice cracks saying it makes him wince. He holds the bow, not daring to look at the children.

They may be young, and not very heavily involved in the grand scheme of things—but it cannot be said that they aren't left entirely unaffected, and that was entirely his own fault.

The silence stretches, and he keeps himself still before one of the children steps forward.

Wizard levels him with an odd expression. He can't quite tell what the younger mage is feeling, half of his face covered by the scarf he wears—but, he's sure one of those feelings is disappointment.

“We heard your stories.” He starts, “The Spire.. told us. I… we talked about it earlier—everything that happened. I don't think any of us have the right to pass judgement on you, seeing as we're mere passerbys. But—we, I understand why.. in a way. You were pushed too far, but you went too far in return—and that's … that's the part that's not okay, Mr. Blue, but I think you know that already.”

Gingerbrave nods, following after his friend's words. Except, unlike Wizard, he skips forward and grabs Blueberry’s free hand, holding it tightly, “Yeah. I… I can't say I know how you feel exactly, but under Despair’s spell, it—it was peaceful, even though I knew it was wrong. After so long—I can't imagine living that long, really—I.. I get why you'd want an out, but.. for—for their sake, Mr. Blue, I think it'd be better if you stayed.” He shoots a look at the sleeping duo, who remains out cold even with the not-so quiet conversation.

Strawberry’s gaze follows Gingerbrave, landing on Candy Apple. She fiddles with her hoodie’s strings, clearly nervous to be speaking next, but her voice comes out admirably steady,

“...I.. yeah, I.. I don't think we have the right to give you any forgiveness, we don't really, uhm. Have enough of a stake in this, I- I think. But.. after.. after everything, even though it's hard and the future is scary.. it'd.. it’d be nice to have you around.” She sinks into her hoodie.

That is—a lot more merciful than he had expected, considering everything. Though, these three are Pure Vanilla’s charges. It should be no surprise they share the healer’s belief system.

Shadow Milk snorts, and the younger cookies turn towards him with matching offended expressions, clearly thinking the worst of him. He tries to speak, but no words come out, because what the hell is he supposed to say to that?

“See? Fucking idiot. Everyone's giving you a second chance and these three aren’t even judging you that hard for the shit you did.” He drawls and his tone would have irritated Blueberry greatly, if he doesn't feel like crying right about now.

He sniffles.

The trio panic in a rather comedic recreation of the moment they all learned of his relation to Shadow Milk. They all barrel over each other, tumbling over both him and Shadow Milk, making them crash onto the floor in a pile of hugs.

Shadow Milk ows. Blueberry laughs silently as more tears stream down his face—really, he may run out of tears to cry soon.

Strawberry fumbles, trying to stand and get out of the pile. The other two mutter apologies, struggling to untangle themselves. Shadow Milk just sighs, casting an invisible barrier over them to block the sound so as to not disturb the sleeping duo.

“I—uhm! Mr. Blue, it's okay. Everyone’s alright. I know the incident with Candy Apple was an accident, you were really not on your right mind!!” The sweet child tells him and Blueberry can only pathetically weep on the floor, leaning on his brother heavily.

“YEAH!! I—we heard the earlier conversation with Black Sapphire. Uhm. Sorry about eavesdropping again—though, uh, we are willing to forgive!! As long as you're really sorry for it! And! You are willing to make amends, so it's okay!” Gingerbrave adds cheerfully.

Shadow Milk buries his face on the floor, one hand still locked in his, muttering something about disgustingly sweet totally undeserved encouragement. Wizard is blocking his view of his brother, but the disgust is practically radiating off of the clown.

So much for sentimentality, really. If only he could stop crying about it.

Wizard hits him on the forearm, but very gently. It doesn't even register as a hit to him, “Yeah. Just.. just don't do that again. And… we probably really need your help for the upcoming war. Your Knowledge will be priceless.” He adds, finishing the little shared speech with a dose of reality.

“I—I may need.. I may need..” Blueberry hiccups, struggling to get his words out through his tears. It's the type of crying that he hates most—where one’s throat closes up and all he can do is hiccup, choking and coughing on his own tears—but this time, they aren't tears of grief.

“He's gonna need some time to come up with a response to all that. Great job, kiddos, you broke him.” Shadow Milk translates his nonsensical mumblings. He squeezes the clown’s hand harshly for that crude translation. He just gets a soft pat on the back in return, which invites more waterworks.

“Ah.. was it too much all in one go?” Gingerbrave laughs, rubbing the back of his head sheepishly. The children’s attention now turn to Shadow Milk, who continues speaking in an oddly soft voice,

“Yeah, but it's alright. Take it as another punishment, Berry. Also, though I hate to interrupt this again, you little gnats should go get some rest. My brother here is very grateful that you don't hate him forever, but he's not gonna be able to say shit back until he stops crying. Which is.. probably not for another hour or so.”

This time, he half-heartedly hits Shadow Milk for that stupid line. The children, however, nod sagely as if everything the clown said was indeed very reasonable. They stand up as one, pulling both him and Shadow Milk to their feet as well.

Just before the children leave for the other room—his former room, logically, as it’d be the only remaining bedroom not taken—Wizard turns to him with one last question, “...can I borrow the books in your room?”

It's so unexpected that he stops crying for a moment, “...I.. s-sure?”

“Great! Let's go, guys. I have books to read.” He announces, cackling as he barrels past his friends to the other room. The other two groan after him, clearly displeased with the thought of having to share a room with a Wizard who is planning to stay up late reading.

It ends the little talk rather lightheartedly, which he can't help but be grateful for, no matter how much he thinks he doesn't deserve any of it.

“...well, that was something, huh? Knew they weren't normal children.” Shadow Milk whistles, his gaze following after the trio’s retreating backs.

Blueberry snorts, “They knew some Witches baked cookies solely to eat, and they're part of Pure Vanilla’s party. They've never been simple tagalongs.”

Shadow Milk laughs, “Guess so.”

Both of them return to their earlier seats, this time, Shadow Milk takes Black Sapphire’s former place, sitting next to Blueberry instead of floating behind him.

There's another silence. This one somehow more peaceful than the last, nearly resembling the one they had before that little fusion incident. The resemblance doesn't escape Shadow Milk, who muses,

“...we gotta fuse back together again soon, don't we?” He eyes Blueberry, holding up their joined hands.

The Soul Jam glows, having gone mostly ignored until now. It floats in front of both of them, the two halves slowly inching back together as if warning them that their time separate is almost up.

“...yeah, I think so. You.. you think Pure Vanilla will mind having that conversation with both of us—the fusion, I mean?” Blueberry sighs.

“Not like I can leave your side now even if we aren't fused.” Shadow Milk points out.

Fair point.

“Still.. that fusion. Hm, our Soul Jam did seem very amused when it happened.” It was practically laughing at them, really, and even if he had been distracted over the pain of their sudden re-separation, he knew it was still laughing throughout the entire thing.

“Things are never easy. Our first mistake was thinking that it'd be that simple.” Shadow Milk grumbles.

“It did save us a lot of time catching up, though.” Blueberry points out, “I don't have to explain to you the details of my ‘insane plan’.”

Shadow Milk makes a face and turns to the side, draping himself over his lap, “...yeah. I.. well, I was gonna ask you about the shit I read in your journal. It was all very insane, by the way, and I did not wanna ask how you came up with that—which, well, now I don't have to because I share the awful memory now.”

“Mmhn.. and you don't have to explain to me the details of your deal with Dark Enchantress.” He makes a face, unintentionally mirroring Shadow Milk.

“Yeah, though—” Shadow Milk pauses as he sinks through his lap and then the chair, his form going incorporeal despite them still being in contact.

Alarmed, he tries to catch his brother, but his hand only goes through, the touch not registering at all. The Soul Jam glows brighter in front of him, the two pieces now close enough to reconnect. Time’s up it seems, and their time apart wasn't for very long either.

“We are testing how long we can stay separate.” He states, and without having to be told the answer, he knows Shadow Milk agrees with the notion.

A now familiar Light envelops both of them, and then they are one instead of two, yet again.

“Witches, I absolutely despise Shadow Milk’s pain tolerance—” He hisses, biting back pain and louder screaming in favour of hunching over the bed.

His eyes gaze over the two children, still sound asleep. A quick scan confirms Candy Apple is still stable. Sighing softly, he stays curled up where he is on the chair, trying to ignore the pain as best as he can while focusing his senses on his daughter.

Ah, the things one does for family, really.

Exhaling, he finds a smile gracing his face despite himself. Then, he shuts his eyes to settle for a long but peaceful night, heart now more at ease than he was earlier. Hope shines brightly next to him, serving as a makeshift nightlight as the sun sets outside, finally marking the end of this long, long day.

Chapter Text

Pure Vanilla wakes up feeling as if he had just come out of a long, pleasant dream. He remembers none of it, only distant feelings that slowly vanish as he opens his eyes, sitting up in bed and muffling a yawn.

A glance towards the window confirms that it is late into the afternoon. Surprised, he wonders if truly nothing has happened to allow for that. He hasn't slept in for many years—even in that dream world, he had woken early as he usually does.

Rustling the sheets and setting it away, Pure Vanilla gets not another moment to himself before a gentle knock sounds at the door, catching his attention. He blinks, sensing that familiar-yet-not presence. Except, it isn't quite the same, now leaning more towards Blueberry than a strange mix of both brothers.

Not that he had much time to familiarise himself with the fusion, happening as suddenly as it did. He calls out anyway, “Come in.” He grabs the blankets to fold, setting it at the foot of the bed.

The cookie that comes in is the same one he had met yesterday, except now considerably much cleaner. His hair flows only past his upper back now—shorter than both brothers. The scars stick out further, lined with gold instead of a lighter color of icing it had been with Blueberry. Even the eyes are different, a pair of brighter gold and a darker blue, in the opposite position Blueberry had.

He's dressed in Blueberry’s clothes—probably the only clothing they have in this cottage. Though, it's been touched up further, making for an odd mix of Shadow Milk and Blueberry’s colours on one cookie.

Too stuck on observing this new fusion, Pure Vanilla fails to realise the presence of another until a tray of food has been set on his lap and Shadow Milk's face appears right in front of him.

He yelps and nearly knocks the breakfast tray over, then his eyes catch two cookies instead of one.

“....what.” Pure Vanilla sputters, doing a doubletake but suddenly, Shadow Milk is gone again.

Another blink, and he could swear the Beast had reappeared again, looking just as he was back when he first met the other cookie—albeit now in a different outfit to match the fusion, who is now bickering with thin air, scowling,

“Shadow Milk, stop fucking with him. He just woke up.” Blueberry’s voice responds, a touch rougher than it was but much less painful sounding. He sits on the edge of the bed, to Pure Vanilla's left.

He hears a snicker from under the bed, then something clicks. He kicks whoever it is under the bed and hears laughter, much to his irritation, “I—only the two of you could give me several heart attacks in a row. You're lucky I woke up in a good mood.”

Shadow Milk climbs out—phases out and to the top of the bed from where he was, turning solid on Blueberry’s other side and cackling, “I can't help it, okay? I'm a joker, you know me.”

“Not. Funny.” Pure Vanilla sighs, “I—I haven't even processed your fusion, and now you're two cookies again. Explain, please.”

Blueberry, appearing more apologetic than Shadow Milk, bows his head, “I tried to stop him, if that makes it any better—as for our situation, it’s… hm. Do you mind listening to some magical theory? It's very fascinating.”

“I'll listen while I eat.” Pure Vanilla waves a hand, taking a jelly from the tray and sipping the coffee he was given.

“Then, a quick review of magical theory. Us cookies have three components: mind, body, soul. But as immortals, we have an extra thing called the Soul Jam—which is really an extension of the soul.” Blueberry starts, and Shadow Milk shoots him a look,

“You're really gonna hold a class now? Surely dear vanilly knows all of that.” Shadow Milk huffs, cutting in, “Short version is, the Soul Jam fusing back together meant I was being slowly absorbed back to our main body, as you'd know, and while we weren't sure what was going to happen, it's likely that I’d vanish as part of the soul outside the body.”

Blueberry twitches, nudging Shadow Milk not too gently as the Beast shuffles to the side of the bed, swinging his legs as he leans against his brother. He looks awfully comfortable where he is, and of course, crass with his words as ever as he continues,

“—and we realised that between us two, he really, really doesn't have the capacity to survive this bullshit without me, so our solution was try out fusion to see if that’d help prevent me dying… and admittedly uh, hope that solves our problems for us, ha.”

Blueberry winces, clearly more than guilty over that spontaneous decision. He doesn’t get to say a word, because Shadow Milk continues,

”Anyway, turns out that did fix the instability and retained my personality, but it comes with a side dish of a new fusion. Though, we could still separate from time to time. Still gotta stick together, but so far we can separate once for an hour every three or so hours—might try pushing it further though.”

He sips his coffee again. Half of that had nearly flown past him entirely, but he gets the point they're trying to make. Kind of, it was a little all over the place. Really, Blueberry is definitely the only one who has kept any sort of teaching experience. Or perhaps, it's just his freshly awake brain struggling to keep up.

Catching his confusion, the war mage jumps in right at that moment, clarifying, “Essentially, separation has made both of us unstable in mind and body. Our Soul Jam had fused to fix that instability, but because of that same fusion, it was forcing our souls back together. We think that both further separation and forced fusion would have ended in our deaths as individuals, but a willing fusion returned some of that stability before that could happen. And, of course, kept our personalities intact.”

To summarize, it was all Soul Jam shenanigans. Of course that was what happened. Pure Vanilla silently takes another jelly, sipping the coffee again and stretching his senses outwards to locate the children. Candy Apple is still in the healing trance he put her in, but her vitals are stable—stronger, now, he notes in relief.

Black Sapphire is in the same room, loyally accompanying her. The ginger children are in the other bedroom—one he's quite sure is Blueberry's. They don't register as awake to his senses, but that makes sense. After the hectic week, he could hardly fault them for sleeping in.

Coming back to himself, he has half a mind to respond, nodding at the explanation, “I understand.” he doesn't elaborate further to eat a spoonful of stew. There will be many questions about the intricacies of the fusion and their new Soul Jams, but he isn't keen on discussing it now.

Pure Vanilla feels someone move to sit at his back—it’s Shadow Milk, fingers gently treading through strands of his hair, brush clasped in one hand. He lets the other cookie mess with it, not about to turn down help when offered.

Turning his attention to Blueberry, he sees the war mage looking at him. Their eyes meet, and for a moment, his mix of emotions settle, one feeling shining through among them and it's—anger, much to his own surprise. Though, eyeing the fading injuries on Blueberry's face, he thinks the war mage has been punched enough for his mistakes.

So he eats another jelly and grabs that scarred hand, sipping his coffee with the other. Startled, Blueberry lets him, shuffling a little closer. He sees his throat bob up and down, the mage clearly swallowing his nerves before speaking again,

“...I—I’m sorry, Pure Vanilla. I took advantage of you and used you in the worst possible way for my own selfish plans.. in spite of your efforts to help.” Blueberry says, and after meeting the fusion, he can't say he expected to ever hear this apology.

“....” Pure Vanilla stays silent, settling his coffee down and floating the tray over to the bedside table. He shuffles closer, tugging the hand in his and leaning close enough to gently cup Blueberry's bruised face.

His eyes have a shine to them that suggests tears, but he hasn't started crying. Blueberry bites his tongue, continuing again, “I don't expect you to forgive me, I know I went too far, sympathetic reasons or not. I… I just Hope you’ll allow me to make amends for it.”

At that, Pure Vanilla’s anger douses itself near instantly, reducing into mere embers. It doesn't surprise him, he's always had trouble holding onto resentment—especially when faced with genuine remorse. Sighing softly, he takes a deep breath and pinches that cheek as hard as he can, healing the bruise while at it—he isn't aiming to hurt, after all.

“You silly cookie.” He starts, speaking through the ow-ing and Shadow Milk’s wheezed laughter, “I forgive you. I expect you to work to be deserving of it, but seeing as you're here now talking to me, I think you've had more than enough time to think about your actions.”

If Blueberry is anything, stupid isn't one of them. His decision was extreme, one birthed from a downwards spiral spanning across a millennia—but he was aware of it. Up to that little ‘date’ they had, Blueberry had been self-aware enough to know he was wrong.

He just hadn’t been willing to back down and admit it. To give up on his mad quest of penance to seek a better solution. The Blueberry in front of him has had only a day at most to reflect, but he doubts Shadow Milk had left him to do so alone. It isn't as if only one of the brothers needed the reflection.

Though, perhaps the fusion had helped with that, he eyes both of them. He sits between them now, Blueberry to his left and Shadow Milk at his right, but they're still sitting close enough on the bed for their shoulders to brush together. He's never seen the two be this close much, but something tells him that this counts as awfully comfortable for both of them.

In fact, Shadow Milk lets go of his long hair, hairbrush abandoned to the side to put one hand on his brother's trembling shoulder, "You're making a really pathetic expression right now, Berry. You really that down bad for nilly?” he snickers.

Blueberry sniffles, “I—I just.. I can't seem to stop being surprised that you're all so willing to just—” he hiccups, and it doesn't take long before the tears flow.

Pure Vanilla pulls him into a hug, “I think I speak for everyone when I say that you already punish yourself more than we would.” Arms trembling, Blueberry returns the hug, burying his face on his shoulder. He gently strokes his friend’s back, indulging both of them in the comfort,

“Besides, you stopped once you finally realised you went too far. I… I still wish it could have happened earlier, but things… perhaps, things are better this way. It will be better, if you would just let it.”

Breathing in the soft scent of blueberries and tears, Pure Vanilla settles his own heart, his new Compassion making kindness easier to find amidst his own hurt. The betrayal no longer stings, and he knows that in time, it will heal just as the first one did.

“Hope.. even if it's a foolish one.” Shadow Milk says, quoting his words and confirming the little thought he had—it seems the brothers have caught each other up with their side of the story.

“Choosing to do better, even when it hurts.” Pure Vanilla recalls his own words, the conversation still feeling like a wound—but it hurts less now, with Blueberry in his arms, finally back to his senses.

“...living through the guilt, huh?” Blueberry chuckles, pulling away from the hug.

He cups that face in his hands, brushing away the tears. Light magic jumps in at his fingertips, sinking into his friend’s dough to ease the aches that are ever present within him. The twins trade looks at this, Shadow Milk appearing very smug.

“Told you he’d heal us. Bleeding hearts. You're perfect for each other.” He grins.

Blueberry sputters, “I—shut up.” He nearly rips himself from Pure Vanilla’s hold, face lighting up in embarrassment.

He finds himself chuckling, taking Blueberry's hand again and eyeing Shadow Milk, “...how much do you know about what happened between Blueberry and I?” He asks, rather curious about the extent of memories they shared to each other.

“Everything down to how your tongue feels down his throat.” Shadow Milk grins, and he gets hit for it,

“God, can you not make it weird?!” Blueberry groans, face a deeper shade of blue, clearly mortified.

“Hey, it was a nice kiss! Bet you'd love to get another one—ovens, I'd be down for it.”

Pure Vanilla stares up at the ceiling, asking any higher deity out there for patience. Somehow, Shadow Milk is twice as shameless when it comes to these things—who would've thought. Though, as for that kiss itself, he thinks they still have many feelings to sort through before even considering the idea of pursuing anything between them.

This seems evident to Blueberry, because he shoves Shadow Milk down in flustered anger. The clown only finds more amusement in this, “Oh, my~ how forward, my dear brother—you know we—”

He watches as Blueberry slaps a hand over his brother's mouth, shutting him up for good, “Stop. Just stop. Why do you have to ruin every single conversation we have?! It's not funny!”

Shadow Milk just wheezes, laughing even as his brother attempts to strangle him. It makes for an amusing recreation of their fights. Despite himself, Pure Vanilla giggles at their antics, glad for the light-hearted reprieve even if it had happened in a very Shadow Milk way.

Both of them abruptly stop, turning to him as one at the sound of his giggles. Now the one feeling flustered over their eyes on him, he doesn't get to say a word as Shadow Milk eyes his brother in consideration,

“...take your feelings back. That actually made my heart skip a beat.” He says, and Pure Vanilla nearly chokes at the sudden confession.

Now Blueberry guffaws, “I—you sure that's not you also being into him? What'd you say, again? ‘He has that cute, adorably helpless look to him’. Also, your original plan was to literally have you and him be the only ones left stuck outside the dreams.”

“I—” Shadow Milk sputters, “Now you're making it weird!”

Pure Vanilla tries to remind himself that these two idiots are supposed to be wise immortals from a long gone era even older than his own. It really, really doesn't feel like it. Especially when they're arguing like children.

This dynamic is considerably better than the one they had before, however, so small mercies. He interrupts before their conversation could derail further,

“I'm right here.” He reminds them, but his voice goes unheard as they continue to bicker.

Sighing, he retrieves his tray of food. He might as well eat while listening to the current argument. An argument that is very much about him, discussed with him right next to them. He supposes he can't complain, it's certainly better than them talking behind his back.

He finishes his food, wondering which one of the two had bothered to bring this along. Or if they could cook at all—the jam stew was very delicious. Taking the last sip of his coffee, he asks the question, and finally, they stop to answer,

“Our fusion made it.” Blueberry informs.

“Yeah. We were one cookie before entering the room.” Shadow Milk nods along.

“...that.. is going to take some getting used to.” Pure Vanilla furrows his brows, thinking of the odd magical signature that was the two in front of him yet not.

“Don't worry, we got plenty of time for that. Berry and I are hardly gonna process our millennia-long feud in just a few years, so the fusion probably won't stick around permanently for a long while.” Shadow Milk says, and while he still does not like the way the clown phrases things, he can tell it is meant to be reassuring.

“Yes, we're just.. stuck together now. With the threat of Shadow Milk’s possible death were we to separate for too long, but I'm sure the Soul Jam won't let that happen.” Blueberry adds wryly, and it's then that Pure Vanilla notices the gem attached to his collar, Shadow Milk sporting a matching one—clearly the other half of it.

It's a brighter colour than his Compassion, with golden lines mirroring the former cracks of Knowledge and Deceit.

“It's a little shit.” Shadow Milk glares at the Soul Jam and Pure Vanilla hears the sound of twinkling bells, as if the gem itself is laughing at its owners.

Amused, Pure Vanilla reaches out to the Soul Jam, closing his eyes to get a feel for its magic. It’s brighter, almost a match to his Compassion, and it brings the feeling of laughter and something akin to peace.

Hope greets him with a smile, so unlike sad-wistful Knowledge and amused-cruel Deceit, yet having components of both that are familiar enough to him that he could respond to the greeting like an old friend. It whispers at him playfully, thanking him. For what, it doesn't say, but the intention is clear.

Shadow Milk scowls at it, “We’re going to have to rebrand. This doesn’t fit our image at all. I am not becoming a goody two shoes.”

Blueberry snorts, “Suck it up. You're the one who brought this upon us.”

“Wh—I barely believed in Hope! Ovens, I had to scrape by to recover enough of that shit to take you down. Now this world wants us to be, what, the bearer of Hope? Eugh.” Gagging, Shadow Milk leans over Blueberry, making disgusted noises.

“Maybe our fusion has more of it than us combined, who knows.” Blueberry shrugs, patting his brother’s back with a snicker.

“I think you two should focus on Healing first.” Pure Vanilla reminds kindly.

“We have you for that.” Shadow Milk grabs his hand, tugging him into the pile. He sighs softly and lets himself be maneuvered, sitting with his back to Shadow Milk as the former Beast returns to work on his hair.

Blueberry eyes his brother and settles to sit next to Pure Vanilla again instead, “We can do that and prepare for war. It won't be the first time I've done it.”

“Liar. You only did the latter and ran away from the former.” Shadow Milk chimes in, picking the brush back up to sort through Pure Vanilla’s long hair—that is also another thing he will need to get used to.

“I'm not running away from Healing this time, I swear to you. It's just that, well, we don't exactly have the luxury of time.” Blueberry grumbles and Pure Vanilla takes his hand again, intent on doing another check up. If it were up to him, he'd prefer the two to be on bedrest for the foreseeable future.

However, knowing firsthand how stubborn mages can be, he knows it will be impossible. Perhaps he could stick the two of them with Candy Apple, to guard over her while resting themselves. Witches know they all need it after everything that happened.

Blueberry shudders, gripping his hand tightly as magic flows between them. Something soothing, and another spell to accelerate healing. Shadow Milk's hands still for a brief second, most likely also feeling the magic. He continues brushing his hair right afterwards, but Blueberry exhales shakily,

“...I.. I should tell you that Candy Apple is truly stable now. Her vitals are no longer failing, so it’s just a waiting game for her to wake up now.” He reports, clearly trying to distract himself from the Light magic coursing through his dough.

Humming softly, Pure Vanilla laces their fingers together, pouring more magic. After the restful sleep and his Soul Jam’s awakening, he has more of it to share. It also helps that Blueberry seems to know how to assist in Healing now that he is willing, lending his own pool of magic into the active spells.

“Yes, I checked on her earlier. I will need to look at the wound again, but I suppose we can save that for later. As for the war.. I believe I have letters to write.” Pure Vanilla muses.

It's a rather harsh dose of reality, to be hit with that little reminder. But, while his trial is over, his friends are possibly facing their own trials, and there's no telling if they will get the same result he did. Deceit and Knowledge are a special case he isn't sure could be repeated with the rest of the Beasts—mainly due to Blueberry’s presence, he knows.

“To your friends, hm? I do wonder if we'll see White Lily again..” Blueberry brushes a thumb against his palm, his hands having a slight tremor to it.

“We definitely will. I can tell you what I know about Dark Enchantress’ plans.” Shadow Milk ties his hair at the end of the long braid he’s made, tossing it over Pure Vanilla’s shoulder and settling on his other side.

“....” Pure Vanilla swallows, oddly feeling dread at the mention of those two names in quick succession. It's similar to the feeling he had when Clotted Cream Cookie had revealed that Truth in front of his friends before he could, back during that council.

Matching pairs of eyes turn to him as one, and he almost shrinks into himself, “I.. you must know that—” he hesitates.

“...they were the same cookie, right?” Blueberry says, voice quiet, as if revealing a secret.

Shadow Milk awkwardly pats his shoulder, “We know, don't worry. Their situation is kinda like ours, even if it happened differently.”

“..I.. yes.” The relief he feels trumps the sudden tension, and his shoulders sag, glad that he doesn't have to explain that story a second time.

“Also, before you overthink too much, we also know about the academy’s fall and your involvement in it. No, we don't blame you or broody bloom for it.” Shadow Milk quickly adds.

At that, he pauses, because that was one conversation Shadow Milk wasn't present for. Then, he remembers that the fusion probably would have revealed that to the former Beast—alongside everything that happened between him and Blueberry. He feels heat rise up in his cheeks, the implications only now dawning upon him.

Pure Vanilla clears his throat and pulls away from the two of them. He's about done all he could for Blueberry—the rest of it are superficial injuries that would heal by the end of the week knowing their accelerated healing rate as immortals. Shadow Milk most likely won't need a check up, what with his permanent form being semi-corporeal and his connection to Blueberry.

“I—thank you. I'm.. I think I might like to continue this conversation later—how much breakfast did you two make?” He changes the topic, unwilling to stay on it for too long lest they notice his embarrassment and derail the conversation a second time.

They're grinning, but Blueberry has enough mercy on him not to tease, “Enough for everyone. Though, it’s nearly noon so it's more of a lunch than breakfast. The kids got a decent amount of supplies.”

“Then.. I’ll take some to them and wake them up. I need to do check-ups on them anyway.” Pure Vanilla says, moving away from the two to get up from the bed.

Shadow Milk snickers, “Wow, look who's running away now?”

“Give him some slack, Shadow Milk. He's had a terrible week.” Blueberry says innocently.

Pure Vanilla turns around to glare at both of them, catching the little callback for what it is. At least they're not calling him old—yet.

“I take back my forgiveness.” He tells them, voice flat and unamused.

The two guffaw, clearly not believing him, “No takebacks, that’s the rule.” Shadow Milk boos.

Blueberry snickers, “Sorry, but you're stuck with us.”

He almost prefers them feuding instead of this—this is just unfair, and utterly childish. He's being quite childish himself as well, but it isn't as if the children are here to see it. Indulging himself, he simply huffs and beelines for the door, shutting it behind him to make his way to the kitchen.

If he smiles at the sound of their laughter that follows after his departure, that is only for himself to know.

After the little conversation with Pure Vanilla, his components have decided that it'd be best to familiarise the healer with him.

It definitely has gone better than expected, but he could tell they've got a few more conversations to go before they’re truly at peace with each other. Or, well, Blueberry and Pure Vanilla does. He thinks Pure Vanilla and Shadow Milk won't have as much baggage to work through.

He strolls to the kitchen and finds Pure Vanilla there, reheating the food with a rather clever application of Light magic. He greets the healer as he steps next to him, so as to not startle the poor cookie, “Hello.”

Pure Vanilla pauses, clearly doing a doubletake. His eyes narrow and he feels the healer's distinct signature wash over him, “Ah, it is you.. hello.” He nods, bowing his head in greeting.

Bowing his head in return, he cheekily responds, “Rest assured, there won't be any Shadow Milks popping out to scare you this time.”

The healer snorts, “I hope not. Would you mind helping me reheat the food? I'm very sure the children are awake. They must be starving by now.”

“You could call them here and we can have a nice lunch.” He suggests, gesturing to the table he had set earlier. Seeing as this house was originally made for three cookies at most, he had to improvise to fit more chairs into the small dining room—which still isn't really a proper dining room seeing as it’s right beside the kitchen.

“....they do still need to be introduced to you.” Pure Vanilla admits, “Speaking of, you didn't answer my question yesterday. What should I call you?”

He pauses, “...for now, Hope. Because I'm sure it fits me better than those two. As for a proper name, I’m sure I'll think of one eventually. Nothing seems to fit so far.”

The healer hums, “.. it does. They were rather apprehensive at the thought of being Hope.”

Snickering, he nods and settles to stand next to Pure Vanilla, calling on Light magic to assist reheating the food, “Yeah, so that title fits for now.”

“Very well.” Pure Vanilla acquiesces.

Before they could call the children over, the trio comes barrelling through the hallway, loudly chattering among each other. Gingerbrave leads at the head of the party, rubbing sleep out of his eyes. Strawberry follows him, looking similarly exhausted.

Lastly, Wizard enters, his eyes sparkling, a book held in his hands as he rambles to his groaning friends.

“Good morning, Pure Vanilla Cookie.” Gingerbrave says with a yawn, his friends echoing the greeting. Then, the three of them pause at the sight of him.

He gives a tiny wave, floating the trays of food to the dining table as Pure Vanilla exits the kitchen area to herd the children to their seats. They follow, but their eyes remain locked at his form as sleep slowly loosens its hold on the trio.

When he sits down next to Pure Vanilla, Wizard immediately points at him across the table, “You're not Mr. Blue.”

“Nope.” He confirms.

Gingerbrave gasps and similarly points, “I thought your magical presence felt really weird!”

Strawberry nudges her friends from where she sits in the middle, “Guys. It's rude to point at people.” She scolds, half-eaten jelly held in one hand.

Chuckling, Hope shakes his head, “It's alright. I'm the fusion of a certain duo I'm sure you three are familiar with.”

He explains the entire Soul Jam shenanigans, simplifying the language to make it easier for the children to understand. They nod along his explanation, interrupting occasionally with a raised hand to ask a question. It feels oddly like teaching an informal class—he doesn't know how to feel about that, but it does warm his heart considerably.

At the end of it, Wizard furrows his brows, eating a spoonful of his jelly stew before asking, “But.. you can still separate, right?”

“Yeah, but not for long. An hour at most, but we haven't tested it enough to be sure.” Hope confirms.

“Hope.. I think that name suits you.” Strawberry says shyly, her voice quiet but not enough to not be heard.

Gingerbrave nods his agreement, “Yeah! It's nice to meet you, Mr. Hope! Thanks for explaining things to us.. and for the food, too. It's really good!” He cheers, and his friends echo the gratitude.

Having been silent throughout the little monologue, Pure Vanilla chuckles softly, “Hope.. what a beautiful end to the story.” The healer smiles, his expression wistful.

Hope sighs, “They'd call it super cheesy.” He rolls his eyes.

“I don't doubt that.” Pure Vanilla shakes his head, exasperated.

Humming his assent, he rises from his seat, retrieving the last tray of food on the kitchen counter, “Yes, now if you'll excuse me, I believe I have a son to bully into eating. You four take it easy today, there are some cards and boardgames in the storage room if any of you want to play.”

“Call me if anything changes.” Pure Vanilla reminds, still sitting across the children.

“Of course. I'll see you around. You know where I am if you need me.” Hope gives the group a thumbs up, and leaves for his own children’s room.

On his way there, he thinks of Black Sapphire, and the conversation they had just the day before. His own contact with the young man was brief, but he hopes that the little scare’s results had been enough to get his boy the closure he needed.

He feels lighter, himself, as if a large weight has been lifted off his shoulders. Stopping at the familiar door, he knocks gently and waits. A minute passes, and a muffled voice calls from inside the room, “Come in.”

He opens the door and sees Black Sapphire now back on the chair, sitting at his sister’s bedside. The young man’s hair is a mess, and while sleep has made his pallor considerably better, he's still clearly exhausted.

Unlike the trio, Black Sapphire recognises him immediately, “...you. I.. do I have a name to call you with?”

“I don't know, do you?” Hope responds, feeling rather cheeky.

Brow twitching, Black Sapphire sighs, “Fuck off, old man. At least give me a name. You're clearly a different cookie from those two idiots.”

“Hope, at your service.” He cackles, floating the tray over to present it to Black Sapphire, who eyes the food with another sigh,

“I—I don't know if I can stomach all of that—and.. Hope. Huh. I… I can't imagine they're very happy about that.” Black Sapphire blinks, taking a jelly to eat and setting the tray on top of the other chair.

“Absolutely mortified, let me tell you.” Hope snickers, dragging another chair to sit across from Black Sapphire, right on Candy Apple’s other side.

As if suddenly realising just how starved he is, Black Sapphire starts scarfing down the meal like it's the last one he'll ever have. He sits to wait, holding Candy Apple’s hand to monitor her condition as her brother eats.

It takes only a few minutes before Black Sapphire sets down the last bowl, exhaling hard and leaning back against his chair with a groan, “God.. thanks for the food. That.. helped.” He squeezes his eyes shut, still exhausted from the entire ordeal,

“..I’d.. I’d like to talk to you, but I’m pretty sure I cannot survive another conversation without passing out.” He admits, sounding awfully guilty.

“It’s alright. You need the rest. I'll watch over her.” Hope offers.

Knowing Black Sapphire, he would insist on staying no matter what—but, seeing as Candy Apple has remained stable throughout the night, he thinks the young man wouldn't deny the opportunity to rest.

True enough, his son eyes his sister, considering it, but clearly hesitant to leave.

“I'll take care of her, I promise. You can trust me on that.” Hope encourages, because Witches know the poor boy needs to get some proper sleep.

Black Sapphire inhales deeply, “...I'm.. I don't like it, but I know my limits. I'll.. trust you on this.” He gets up on wobbly feet, retrieving the tray next to him.

His son makes it all the way to the door before turning back, leaving him with one last message, “..I—thank you for.. what you did, though. I.. I’m glad I could talk to them again.” he offers him a stiff smile, before shutting the door behind him.

Left alone with Candy Apple, Hope waits loyally at her bedside, shutting his eyes to settle once more.

In the next few weeks, they all settle into a routine.

Mornings are filled with lively breakfast, usually made by their fusion. The afternoon he spends conversing with Pure Vanilla, Shadow Milk, or both. Sometimes Black Sapphire joins in, but he often stays at Candy Apple’s side, not being able to fully rest just yet.

The evening they spend with the ginger trio, sharing Knowledge and giving them proper training. Shadow Milk had taken to it surprisingly quickly, striking terror among the children with even more insane ‘learning experiences’ than those of his design.

They figure out the details of how their fusion works. After a few weeks, they could stay separated for about two hours before suffering any consequences. If they maintain constant contact, they could stay separate longer—though it comes with a killer headache.

Separation also has a cooldown of sorts, and it triggers a flare-up in him if they push it too far, so they had limited themselves to only separating once a day.

Today has gone much the same way in routine, except for the fact that they had separated later in the evening. This evening, it's ‘boardgame night’ and everyone has been roped into playing. Everyone except for himself, who has been assigned ‘Candy Apple duty’.

He stands in Black Sapphire’s room, right in front of the vanity. It's one of the only mirrors in this house, he knows. The reflection of himself stares back at him, almost unrecognisable. This time, the smile mirrors his own, and he finds himself not hating the sight of it.

Reaching a hand out, he gently brushes the glass.

Forgiveness; can you imagine?

His half of the Soul Jam echoes the thought. It had felt impossible, but going through the days, peaceful even with the uncertain future looming over them—he wants to believe that it's possible.

With a little Hope, maybe everything will really be better.

Blueberry chuckles. His reflection does the same, still smiling at him. He turns away, no longer feeling the ugly emotions he used to when looking in the mirror. He settles back at Candy Apple’s side, holding her hand.

It's smaller than his, and for a moment, he remembers holding her as a child. Even now, barely into her young adult years, she still feels like a child. The sweet little thing constantly chasing after him and Shadow Milk.

Brushing his thumb against her palm, he refuses to let his smile turn into a frown. He's shared enough of his pain to this child. The least he could do is to try and be the one to shoulder the joy, now that she isn't here to do it for them.

A minute passes. An hour. It feels like forever, but forever does not seem so bad now. Not as painful, with the slowly scabbing wound in his being mending with every passing day.

Then, her hand twitches.

“...!” Blueberry stops breathing for a moment, and he forgets to entirely the moment ruby red eyes open to meet his own.

Candy Apple sees him, and she smiles, asking, “Who are you?”

His heart drops, but then she squeezes his hand back, giggling, a knowing gleam in her eyes. Returning the squeeze, he can only laugh, feeling tears streaming down his face,

“Someone who really cares about you.” He answers, and it rings True.