Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The dawning realization wasn't immediate. The frustration didn't hit all at once, not in a singular moment, no.

It started piling up. Slowly and gradually. It wasn't a switch to be flipped. 

Watching kings be replaced by their heirs, watching kingdoms fall in battles just to be replaced by the winning side, watching civilizations fall and be built back up. 

Again and again.

A loop that never seemed to end, a constant cycle of destruction and abundance. The same bits of advice that were given countless times to different rulers, words and actions that repeated like a broken record.

He had seen it all. The Herald of Change had seen it all.

The countless ways a kingdom could crumble, the numerous ways it could be rebuilt. The different cultures that blossomed to life, yet with similarities that were shared between the fallen and the reborn. 

The cookies that he had gotten to know, to grow closer to. Names that started to blur together as time went by. Ones that fell just like the rest. 

Nothing was new. Nothing was changing.

All this change, yet it's never changing. 

What good was the change that only led to destruction? When in the end, despite it all, everything would crumble? Everyone would crumble? 

Useless, never lasting, destined for failure.

Destined to be taken away from him, one way or another.

What good was abundance, if not a facade for things fated to wither?

“Great Destroyer, sir.”

The general's voice brought Burning Spice out of his train of thoughts, causing his head to turn. His axe hung idly in his hand, the edges dragging on the ground as they both walked. “What?”

Nutmeg Tiger was as rigid as always, on her guard when she looked back at him. None could read the emotions on her face, maxed perfectly with a scowl that never seemed to go away. 

(They were similar, in that regard.)

“We are approaching Dragon's Valley, a land of many wild…well, dragons. We should be able to take cover in a local inn for a few days.” She turned back ahead, pointing towards a puny village afar. Huge hills flowing with lava and magma trails surrounded the location, neatly covering it from the sight of intruders. “I think we are to blend in well, since this is the land of many cookies of spice.”

Whatever. Burning Spice could not care enough to consider that. He did not even know why they traveled this far to get away from the Golden Cheese kingdom; traversing over oceans and annoying seas. He could have healed just fine in a corner of his own fallen kingdom.

A few chunks or two missing never hurt him.

He'd simply given one order, “We're going to gather armies.”, and Nutmeg Tiger had stretched it too far. Traveling far beyond their usual borders.

“I do not care for this information, let us simply arrive and take care of the details.” With a flick of his hand, Burning Spice stepped further ahead to show his impatience. Running would have been optimal hadn't he been injured. He did not want to aggravate the cracks on his body further; or Nutmeg Tiger’s anger.

The speeches he got were more troublesome than they were worth. Amusing to watch, but wasteful nonetheless.

“Yes, sir. Let us make haste.”

Eyeing at the cloaks covering their bodies and the wounds they held, he sighed internally. This was so frustrating.

Scovillia was an academy located in the Dragon's Valley and it trained spicy cookies. That was all that Burning Spice knew, and all that he needed to know. Such information was of no use to him. 

If the place served as a simple school, then it held no worthy opponents; not even nearly worthy enough as his other half. None would give him the satisfaction that he needed, the thrill of facing a challenge. The exhilaration of being defeated just for once. 

So why was his general so persistent in checking it out? 

“I have done my research, O' Great One.” Nutmeg Tiger stood with her hand on her hip, tail swaying back and forth slowly. “There was a reason as to why I chose this spot to rest in.” In her free hand existed a silly paper, containing information about the academy.

Burning Spice stared at her in disdain, hunched over the bed; half to come off as indifferent, half to conceal the discomfort in his dough from showing on his face. “What use does it have? Some measly young spices are not going to change the tides of our battle with that bird.”

Nutmeg had the mind to look irked. “They are not just small kids learning how to control their powers—”

“That is precisely what they are.”

Nutmeg Tiger’s fur stood up with anticipated rage. It amused him, but he stopped. Too exhausted to retort.

“—amongst them is a stronger unit, Great One.” Her tone was more disgruntled than he had ever heard her, but oh well. A new thing was to be appreciated. Back to the topic at hand…

Stronger unit. Right, of course, because hidden gems were so easy to find and they were supposedly everywhere, huh? Idiot.

“Are you so naive to believe that this stronger unit is any different from our average soldiers? The ones you used to command around? They'll serve just to escape in the end, as any other creature does.” The mention of what used to be raised the tension more, only pointing out the obvious; Burning Spice had lost most of his army and, frankly, his palace.

His general had lost the meaning of her title as well. 

The tension was not from his side, though, why would it be? He did not care for his servants, not after a certain point in time. If he could live through that moment a thousand times, just to feel the exhilaration of getting defeated? He would, oh he so would. And so, he did not feel one pinch upset about it. 

He thought his general would feel happy for him, but apparently not. It only served to make her face drop more; more exhausted than he remembered her to be. Always upright, commanding, tough.

He could see that, just like any other normal cookie, she needed rest. 

“They call this cookie the Spice Overlord. Even if it turns out to be an exaggeration,” She sighed, letting the paper drop from her hand. “it will still be fair to check it out. We were never aware of powers beyond your ruling ground, sir.”

Burning Spice held her weary gaze a while longer, debating on whether or not this action would be worth his time of recovery. Glancing away, his eyes fell to the window. His room held a great view of the academy in the distance, a series of buildings blending in with the rest of the environment.

Spice Overlord. Such a demanding name for a cookie that would sure to crumble easily. But even so, a nobody would not get that heavy title.

Gazing at the sky beyond the glass, the sun stood high. He sighed, and Nutmeg Tiger perked up.

“Very well. We visit at dusk.”

Almost instantly her spirit shifted immensely, without a single visible smile — if smiling with eyes was possible, that is. Her head bowed in an act of respect and, maybe, appreciation. 

“Thank you for listening, sir.”

Burning Spice pretended not to have seen the excitement in his general's tail when she walked off into her own room. 

That night had marked the last date he had called himself the Herald of Change.

He had been frustrated, sure. Overwhelmed at last, absolutely. Boiling rage surged through his whole being, and he had to put up the act. For just a bit longer. Then he could abandon it all for good, leave his post at the very castle he had helped build.

But first, he had to calm his new ball of blaze.

Weak, quiet cries were spilling through the room. Along with it flames crackled and burnt out, the smallest of embers sitting gently atop the tiny thing's head.

The Herald stared down at the little cookie in his arms, face stuck in his usual scowl.

That night, he made a change. 

Smaller than the crowns he would put on royalties’ heads, darker than he himself was. Charcoal skin with a flame burning like a candle as the newborn’s hair. Heat thrived from the little thing regardless. He hadn't intended the child to be exactly like him, and he succeeded. 

That night, he made a cookie with his own powers. With the last dregs of abundance that he held onto; for the sole purpose to create something unique. 

Something he hadn't done before. How laughable of him not to think of this sooner. Simply, he hadn't felt the need. Hadn't seen the appeal to create cookie life with his own hands. Now, there lay a small one freshly baked into existence by the power of his Soul Jam in his arms. 

That night, Capsaicin was born. 

His name was neatly burnt into a metal plate just over his crib, for anyone who happened to see him. 

To see their Herald’s best creation. 

“You will grow to be someone great, I am sure.” He spoke softly, more serene than he believed himself to be despite his rough features, as his fingers caressed the soft dough of his son's cheek. 

...His son.

Capsaicin sneezed abruptly, causing sparks of fire to go off and the sound nigh a whisper, when his eyes peeked through the gaps of his lids. Bright, much brighter than his father's own; the color of the sky on a lovely dawn.

Then came a small laugh at the noise he had made himself, miniscule hands reaching for anything they could touch. Grabbing the Herald’s hair with so much force for a baby. And for the shortest of moments, his eyes opened fully — a pool of fire and passion.

The older cookie's gaze softened in awe, for the first time in a long while. 

Warmth pooled inside his chest, expanding as his breaths elevated. The Soul Jam shone loudly, perfectly showing how he felt inside.

He now had a son. A family. Something he had never believed he would achieve.

A new feeling was starting to settle inside his guts, blooming to life, one that urged him to be someone else. Not a herald or a commander. Not an immortal being or a figure. But as something more valuable.

One that urged him to protect. And he would.

He would protect Capsaicin with all he had.

“..Welcome to Earthbread, my son,” Each syllable was a tested thing inside his mouth as the words came out, careful and calm. With a twitch of his lips. Of course, in return, he only received another tug at his hair and a gleeful sound.

So incredibly joyous. 

The Herald endured the pain in his side from a missing piece. 

“Capsaicin Cookie.”

He had endured it even when he put down his son inside the crib, covering the frail body with blankets. Gazing at those closed eyes, the rise and fall of his tiny chest. It was an old sensation coming back to life; to have his cheeks ache from the smile they couldn't contain anymore.

He should not have left that night.

That night. 

That damned night.

That cursed night.

When nothing went right. When everything came crashing down on him. The world playing a sick, cruel joke on him.

When he prioritized the mission he had been given over the very thing he held dear. The only thing he held dear.

Fool, fool, fool.

A fool for leaving him alone, in a palace that was not his, in a room that was not his; nothing ever was. Feeling idiotic for believing his little ember would be safe in there, if not in his catastrophic arms.

Capsaicin wasn't there when the Herald had come back.

For the first time ever in his existence, he froze.

At the sight of an empty crib. At the lack of light where fire should've shone. At the dead silence that greeted him upon opened doors.

He remembered vividly how it felt like to be crumbled from the inside. A crack in his composure, added to the rest; this one wide enough to shatter him completely.

The kingdom he resided in witnessed hell that night. Night turned day, flames soared high. 

Stripped of his royal attire, of his high rank, of his excessive arms; arms that would never create anymore. Of his reputation as the Herald of Change.

He burnt that name into the ground, along with the rest of the palace.

What good was change if it only ended in ruins? What good was change if it only ended in things being taken away from him?

He had tried to make use, tried to stand up on broken feet and he had failed.

No.

No, he hadn't failed.

This was just the witches pulling his strings and laughing at his face, chanting foul insults. That nothing was meant to be his. That he was only created to serve and create. That he wasn't a cookie of his own. 

Not anymore.

He hadn't lost just a creation, no, he had lost a part of him. A part that was rightfully his. A piece ripped right out of him, dragging bits of soul along with it.

The pain…oh, the pain. It hurt so much more.

So much now that he knew that it would never come back.

Even if he rampaged, in search of what was his, his heart faltered. Even when he turned every stone to find his dearest, the first sprouts of tears slid down his face. The ache was imminent.

Burning. Right to his core where it stayed and never left.

And that night, when all was turned to ash, when all that echoed through the shallow grounds were loud bouts of hollow laughter and wet coughs, the great symbol of change formed a new identity. One to be remembered, one that was his. And one that held the smallest relation to what he had lost. 

Burning Spice. 

Chapter Text

Getting stuck in the Silver Tree with all of his fellow ‘beastly’ cookies was a curse in disguise.

One would think being with old friends that he hadn't seen in a millennia would lift one's spirits, and well, it was true to some extent.

After the initial rage of being captured had died down, the beasts made attempts at conversation. Mostly started by the Fount of Knowledge, now looking more like a jester than anything. He seemed like an absolute lunatic, cracking meaningless jokes and laughing at nothing in intervals.

Witches knew what the blue bastard had gone through.

The other immortals were quiet for the most part, still recovering from all that had happened to them. None had quite changed like the Fount had.

Burning Spice was the only other contender for ‘big changes’ to his appearance, and the Fount made sure to comment on it at every joke and jab.

“Where did your arms go, hm? Did you destroy them, too? Oh, look at this unruly hair! When was the last time you took care of it? Witches, you look like a mess.”

‘Look who's talking.’

He didn't respond for the most part, only giving out flicks of annoyed glares and grunts. Simply exhausted, too much to respond in anger. They all let the Fount ramble on and on about whatever the hell he was conflicted about, not quite listening; the blue jester didn't seem to mind, either.

Burning Spice didn't care enough to ask about their ‘new’ names they had given themselves, not sure if they had even thought about it. So he always found himself seated beside the Saint of Volition, her rather calm aura being a balm to his nerves after all that had happened.

Her eyes were glued shut all the time, arms pulling the cloth around her body tighter in.

Time passed in a haze, hours blended together. Even so, amongst all the stillness of the Saint’s presence, her lips mumbled words she would not say out loud to others. In a loop, as if to assure herself.

“Everything is futile.”

“All will return to nothing.”

And some days, Burning Spice wouldn't quite understand what they meant in his smoke-stained mind. But soon, when the fire of his rage would die down, he found those words rather true; similar to his own thoughts.

All would be destroyed in the end. In a sense, it was futile; the never-changing change was futile.

He understood all too well. He could at least agree with her in that department.

It's not like getting into the inn was a walk in the park. Or just strolling around the town in general.

Even with the ‘disguise’ — just cloaks, really — every cookie seemed to take double glances at them. It was bothersome, they both looked just like any other cookies. What could be the big deal?

Excluding Burning Spice towering over anyone else, of course. But large cookies existed all around the planet, so no excuses there. Not when this land held gigantic volcanoes and dragons. 

Earlier that day, the innkeeper had only talked to Nutmeg Tiger, peering over the overly tall desk at Burning Spice while he did his work. Any other cookie that had the mind to talk to them would only talk to the general and not the ‘scary’ one beside her.

Which annoyed him to no end, but they could not cause a scene lest they be imprisoned. They could break out, sure, but news would spread ugly fast. And who knew, what if the radiant queen caught a whiff of the wind?

No fights, no scenes.

And now they were going to visit that puny academy. Fantastic. A place which was the source of the curiosity of young cookies.

And endless questions. Sure, it was not a kindergarten, but even new adults could be as curious as youngsters — if not even more. 

Exhausted as he was, Burning Spice let out a disgruntled sigh when the dark walls of the academy cast dim shadows over him. The sun was going down and the last rays of light showed the end of the day.

Trekking right behind, Nutmeg Tiger motioned to the huge doors at the entrance, unguarded and slightly ajar. He huffed at it, making his way over. “Poor security.” Pushing the doors open, he could see the hallways had been lit with numerous torches decorating the walls.

“Strong cookies reside in here, Great One. No need for security.”

Strong. Yeah, right.

“Whatever.”

The walk inside the school walls was quiet, only holding the slightest of sizzling lava veins in the brick walls and floors. Before they could find a proper direction or sign to search for the principal, their path led to an open obsidian field. Buildings surrounded it for different factions and in the middle, the area was flat and smooth; likely a battling ground for the youngsters.

Burning Spice glanced around the field, spotting a few tiny cookies gathered amongst themselves and chatting away. None seemed to intend to leave the academy. 

A boarding school, then.

Nutmeg Tiger hummed low beside him, tail swishing back and forth in irritation. “I will go and find the principal, Great One. Excuse me.” She didn't even wait for the permission to wander off before she was gone — not that Burning Spice minded or cared. He himself did not have enough energy to spend it on mindless chasing.

So he only grunted as a response before his general was gone, keeping his tired eyes over the area. The sky was fading to a shade of purple and the distant rumbling of volcanoes filled the warm breeze. The field’s surroundings were fairly dark, the torches did not do the vast grounds justice. 

Still, there was a bright presence behind some other cookies. It kept shifting and moving, so it was perhaps just another cookie with fiery icing. 

Just as Burning Spice turned to follow where his general might have gone, the youngsters started cheering. He would have ignored it, if it weren't so obnoxiously loud.

Grunting, he tilted his head to the location of the noise, hearing a group of cookies shouting and laughing. Some encouragement, but mostly plain screams.

“Get ‘em, dude!”

“They'll never beat ya!”

“Beat their butts, Spice Overlord!”

He turned his whole head around. Perfect timing. The general should have been here; their target was in sight. Sort of. 

Further away from those loud spicelings was a cacophony of roars and metal clinking. A fight — spar, even. The same brightness as before was still behind a bundle of student cookies, albeit more shifty this time. 

So…it was one against many. That intrigued Burning Spice enough to turn around fully, dropping the hood of his cloak to better see.

The lesser cookies were screaming in bouts of laughter, as some got thrown in different directions from the blows of the Spice Overlord. From his position, Burning Spice could faintly make out a long cloak and a wild head of lava.

The main source of the light on the battlefield.

“Hahaha! You still have a long way to reach my level!” The Overlord’s voice, assuming it was, echoed through the field — before he grew larger in size and sent every cookie near him flying. The ground was sizzling from the fresh cracks.

His voice was raspy, too harsh for someone presumably young. Perhaps because he was always yelling like this, judging from the sheer volume of his voice.

Impressive.

Finally, the defensive wall of spice students got scattered by the boy, all defeated and battered. At the center of it all stood the cookie responsible for their defeat, whole body turned into a running lava with chunks of magma. In just a few seconds, he seemed to shrink back down, hands on his hips and laughing loudly.

Blinding, floating hair. Dark skin bordering on black. Charcoal. 

At first, Burning Spice only observed. The boy glanced around at his comrades, flashing victorious grins to them all — before his eyes met Burning Spice's own.

They locked gazes, blinking. Golden, curious eyes staring at him with profound questions. Probably thinking about who this new, unfamiliar cookie was in their academy. 

Burning Spice did not move, still watching, still calculating, still—

The laughter of a child echoed.

He froze for the second time in his life.

For the same reason he did the first time.

The sound of the wind got drowned out, dissipated into nothing but loud screeching. Ringing. All too loud, all too familiar.

He stayed still, as if moving would break this illusion. Breaths shallow, eyes wide and jaw tense. Staring at who was just standing a few meters ahead, speaking and bickering with his friends.

Occasionally throwing glimpses at him. Puzzled.

With no ounce of recognition behind those eyes.

Burning Spice ached.

Too much got poured onto him at once, old dusty memories being brought back to light, suffocating him so much that when a woman's voice called him, he almost didn't hear it. 

“Great One?”

He visibly but subtly flinched, snapping his head to the source of his scare. Nutmeg Tiger stood there with her brows furrowed, confusion riddled in her expression. “I have found the Headmaster of Scovillia. We can discuss our goal with him now.”

Burning Spice couldn't respond. A mere nod took more out of him than it should have. Almost immediately, he turned his gaze back to the field of cookies, freezing warmth washing over him when he was still there.

Still there. He hadn't disappeared. His place wasn't empty. He was— he was right there. 

Capsaicin was right there.

“...Burning Spice?”

Swallowing the words he wanted— needed to say, Burning Spice finally turned to actually see his general. Still frowning, eyes scanning him. No, no he didn't need her worry. Of all cookies. “Yes, yes I heard. Let us—”

One last glance at the brightest in his world, and he finally stepped away from the field. “Let us speak with him now.”

The Scovillia Headmaster was...an interesting individual.

With a fiery appearance, mismatched red horns and a skeletal face. And an electric guitar constantly within his reach, shaped like an axe. If bones could somehow smile, then he was constantly grinning with his skull-shaped face. Disturbing, a bit.

Nutmeg expected someone more serious, or larger and terrifying, but oh well. The uniqueness sure spoke for his place in the ranks.

“My my! What fascinating cookies you two are!” He'd invited them to his office, sitting down on a couch slightly ablaze before patting it off. Burning Spice sat down, though Nutmeg herself preferred not to, standing just beside him; she gave him all the rights to sit, however.

The Destroyer just looked so exhausted and shaken. 

“Do you hail from Dragon's Valley? I have not seen you around here — not that I can remember, haha!”

While the headmaster didn't have visible eyes, he was facing Burning Spice. And, well, he only stared. Menacingly.

“We come from Beast-Yeast, sir.”

She supplied in his stead, making the other turn to him instead. “Ah! That's a far trip, no?” Whilst saying, he pulled out a crumpled map from one drawer, quickly skimming it. “Why travel here of all places? What caught your eyes?” Genuine question, no hint of malice or suspicion in his tone. Nutmeg was glad.

But also, how could she word this? Theoretically, Burning Spice was supposed to be answering this and be the one talking. He was good at getting what he wanted, anyway.

However, after Nutmeg had seen him at the training grounds…

Something about him had shifted. The disinterest in his eyes had turned upside down, frantic and jittery. He used to be lax, now he was as tense as a pulled string. A bit more pulling and he would snap — she hoped not. 

She really wondered what exactly he had been staring at when she had arrived — or who.

At the prolonged silence, the headmaster gave a knowing hum. “Ahhh, should I say who caught your eyes instead?” His grin had gotten somehow wider, now standing up and walking towards the window. “It wouldn't be the first time, young ones.”

Nutmeg cringed, risking a glimpse at Burning Spice. Yeah, sure, she was comparably younger but he was definitely not. 

He didn't seem to care, though. Shoulders still tense, gaze following the headmaster. 

“The first time for what?” She asked, crossing her arms as she observed the horned cookie. He was glancing outside, as if looking for something or someone, before turning to her. “For coming to hire my strongest student, of course!”

So, there were always other people who wanted the Spice Overlord’s powers? Interesting. Then he had to be strong, she hadn't been wrong.

“Well—”

“Unfortunately, I have to decline.”

Nutmeg stilled, hiding the shock in her eyes by squinting. The headmaster simply sighed and walked back to the couch, sitting down with more weight now, acting like his role. “My student isn't a weapon, he is a cookie just like the rest of us. I won't—”

“Who said we are here to hire him?” Burning Spice finally spoke up, making the other two jump just a bit from the low octave voice, compared to theirs. The headmaster flipped his head to The Destroyer in surprise, so did Nutmeg; they weren't?

Wait, wasn't that exactly what they wanted to do? She kept quiet as Burning Spice finally held his head higher, hood falling as he started taking the lead. Hopefully, he was over whatever had brought him down.

“Pardon, you're not?” The headmaster tilted his head, being as confused as Nutmeg was feeling. “Then, what other business do you have with him?”

Burning Spice let out a grating exhale, before glancing at the same window that displayed a view of the whole academy. “We have heard of his potential. The power he possesses.”

No they have not? Not to that extent at least?

Nutmeg was so incredibly lost. Did her leader have a change of heart? Why were his words so full of weight?

“Allow me to make a bold assumption, headmaster.” Burning Spice snapped his sight directory to the other cookie, eyes having regained something foreign. Something— like passion. Interest. Hope.

She had never seen him like that. Not until and since Golden Cheese, but even that didn't compare.

“Your student has too much power inside him, hence he cannot manage it fully. He claims to have it under control, yet he doesn't.” He seemed so sure in his words, she could have just believed it right on the spot. And the headmaster didn't seem any different, eyes wide with amazement. 

It was true? 

“Well, yes, that...is exactly his problem.” The headmaster spoke slowly, as if amused by how this foreign cookie could assume something so accurate. “It has been his dilemma for a long time, actually, so you are absolutely right.” In defeat, he admitted and Nutmeg's brows jumped through her hairline. 

Burning Spice, satisfied, leaned back. “So you see, we aren't here to exploit what he can't control. We are here to train it. Not to subdue or restrain, but to grow it.” There was this determination in his voice, something she had only seen when chasing down Golden Cheese; something that had her in the picture in general.

How could this cookie be any similar to her? What was there to this Spice Overlord?

“That is why we're here, why I am here.” Crossing his arms, Burning Spice hid his glowing Soul Jam — which, by the way, why was it glowing? Did he feel that intensely? “So, what is your answer now, young one?” His voice vibrated throughout the room. 

Silence stretched.

The hairs on Nutmeg's lower half stood up. There was some realization in the headmaster’s brows aside from the shock, as if the gears were turning in his head. With each passing second, he was grasping onto more of who he was talking to.

He knew who the beasts were if he knew who Burning Spice was. And he would know that someone like The Great Destroyer would not need another's strength. 

“O-Oh. Oh! Well—!” The aura that he once held evaporated, hands clasped together and rubbing nervously. “Who am I to say no to that? You're- You're here to help him! Ahaha- how foolish of me to assume such things! You're, well-” His words were blurring together, but his fear was clear — Burning Spice's wild grin only solidified that.

“You're—”

“Burning Spice.”

Nutmeg wasn't sure giving out his name would do their position any good, but when the headmaster already knew, then it didn't matter anyway. She recovered from her shock, standing tall with conviction — serving such a great cookie gave her confidence. 

“Right! B-Burning Spice, I will inform my student to be right with you! Excuse me—” Walking backwards, the headmaster flashed what was presumably nervous smiles before disappearing through the door, forgetting to even close it. 

After his departure, she finally decided to sit down with a big sigh. Burning Spice seemed to feel the same way, letting his arms fall as he glanced down at his Soul Jam like it had betrayed him. “I didn't know we were doing that, sir.” Nutmeg spoke carefully, eliciting a huff from the other. “Did you lie?”

“No.”

Silence.

“I didn't know, either.”

They both looked elsewhere while they waited, listening to the muffled racket of young cookies outside the building. Fire crackling inside the walls and wood creaking at every shift. “...He didn't tell us Spice Overlord’s real name.” She murmured. 

Nutmeg felt like she had stepped on a dangerous nerve from how her skin got prickled by anxiety, keeping her eyes on the random wilted cactus on the table.

“Capsaicin.”

…She was not even going to ask if he was being genuine. Thinking back on the conversation that took place, Nutmeg frowned.

So much emotion held in Burning Spice's speech. That couldn't have been for just a singular cookie. He wasn't lying, why would the beast lie? Even if he was looking at Nutmeg directly in the eyes, she knew he wasn't staring at her. He was serious, he cared.

And Burning Spice had stopped caring a long time ago. What changed?

Change. 

Her expression softened slightly, knowing of her ruler’s origins. How did she know? She would never tell, because she was never told. She was shown; endless murals that decorated his throne, the countless times Burning Spice would mumble something under his breath not knowing Nutmeg was there. 

Not knowing she heard his voice, saw him. Witnessed his quiet night strolls through the abandoned hallways of his castle, mindlessly. Without purpose. 

She studied the signs, the paintings that looked like Burning Spice but not quite. Six arms, crowns and jewelry. Each hand holding a weapon created from nothing. By abundance. 

She knew, why wouldn't she? He never talked about it, but she knew; and he knew that she knew.

Approaching noises came from outside the door and Burning Spice abruptly stood, Nutmeg following by habit. There was some laughter and incoherent chatter, but the incoming light from their specific target created shadows inside the room. What...bright icing. 

She heard Burning Spice's breath hitch. Frowning, she peeked worriedly at him — his expression remained unchanged. How abnormal. What was that?

“...ere, kid, meet Burning Spice and—” Headmaster’s head popped in from the gap, pointedly looking at Nutmeg. Having heard the conversation, she groaned and shook her head. “Nutmeg Tiger.” She supplied, and the headmaster gave her a thumbs up before retracting. “—and Nutmeg Tiger! You're going to love them!”

She could only hope. 

Finally, the headmaster entered — normally this time — before being followed by someone who towered over him for a student. Quickly making way to properly introduce the cookie, the headmaster nervously motioned to that giant of a young cookie — dare she say, he was larger than Nutmeg. Which was annoying.

“Dear guests; Nutmeg Tiger and Burning Spice, meet the Spice Overlord: Capsaicin!”

Oh wow, Burning Spice was right.

They were met with a head full of lush glowing lava hair shaped into upwards flames. Horns which had diminished veins of lava, again, and a skin dark as charcoal. Quite literally screaming volcano.

A wild, sharp toothy grin greeted them.

“Wouh! You weren't wrong, teach!” Capsaicin's golden eyes were practically glowing with excitement, looking at Nutmeg and then Burning Spice thoroughly. “Hi there! Nice to meet you two—”

He gasped softly before pointing at Burning Spice.

Nutmeg almost flinched with the instinct to protect, as if a projectile had been thrown. Still, she stood calm, not wanting to have a bad first impression; besides, it's not like her leader needed her protection.

“Oh, you're the same cookie I saw on the field! Knew you weren't from around here, still nice meeting you!” His grin was never faltering, a new profound glint in his eyes. Something of admiration—

“And— you look so cool.”

Nutmeg didn't have to guess, he voiced it anyway. Bah, of course The Great Destroyer was cool; nothing could surpass his magnificence.

Burning Spice was uncharacteristically silent. He should have laughed, commented on the boy's spirit, answered, anything. But he was silent, like he wasn't even there. 

Glancing back at him, Nutmeg could see it. Burning Spice looked like a deer caught in the headlights, eyes wide and, if one squinted closely, chest heaving.

What the hell was wrong with him today? Not even Golden Cheese had gotten this reaction out of him! If anything, she made him thrilled, not scared. 

Out of the corner of her eyes, she saw Capsaicin reach a hand out. Oh, a handshake. Going to return the gesture, Nutmeg shook his hand and liked how it was firm like a warrior. Approving of it with a slight smirk. Capsaicin flashed her one back, wide and sharp. 

Nutmeg's eyes flickered. The other’s mouth almost formed into Burning Spice's in her mind. 

Their smiles were so similar. 

Chapter Text

Why did he aim to fight Golden Cheese for the third time?

That question abruptly bloomed inside his head while the three of them were walking in the halls, Burning Spice being two steps ahead of the younger cookies behind him, one step behind the headmaster. It was quiet, awfully so, which was the reason for this sudden thought. Partially.

The other part that made him question his motives? He pretended not to know. Pretended the other reason — the major reason — wasn't just walking behind him.

Why would he want to declare war again? 

Golden Cheese had defeated him, fair and square— no, unfair on her side. She was stronger than him, she took what it had to— to kill Burning Spice. To destroy him once and for all.

Why would he insist on fighting?

He knew the reason. The knowledge that at least someone out there could put an end to his misery had been comforting before, thrilling. Someone capable, a savior — because Burning Spice could never do it himself.

He had tried. He had tried so many times.

During his titled days, in the Silver Tree, after breaking out. 

Each time, his limbs trembled and the Soul Jam’s force stopped him. He could never bring the blade down on his own head. He could never starve himself — beasts didn't need nutrition — and he could never die from lack of sleep — beasts didn't need rest.

Each time, he was reminded more and more of how he wasn't his own cookie. He couldn't make decisions for himself. He had made a decision like that, once. The witches showed him clear as day why that was a mistake. 

But accepting that his own creation— his son was a mistake? Worse than sin. For himself, for his little child that was taken too soon from his arms.

Even if he was a mistake — which he absolutely was not — then Burning Spice would own up to it. If Capsaicin was a mistake, then he had been the greatest mistake Burning Spice had made.

And he stood by that.

So yes, he had been thrilled to know this endless cycle could end by the queen's hands. Not anymore, not when he just found his old reason to live. Not just surviving, not just existing through the cycles, but actually living. 

Capsaicin was worth the pain.

“I picked one of our best, largest dorm rooms for you, feel free to ask for anything you need!” The headmaster chirped, opening the door to a room; rather large for it to be just a dorm room, but alas, it was probably for special occasions.

Two bunk beds were stationed on each side, a table in the middle and under the window. A small bathroom occupied the corner close to the door, but all in all, it was a neat room. Better than the inn. Though, they probably didn't need four beds…

“Really giving them the special treatment, huh teach?” Capsaicin mused, peeking inside as if he hadn't seen it before. At the sight of four beds, he laughed, “You know what, I can even have sleepovers with them! This place is massive!”

The comment wasn't a big deal, but the headmaster sputtered and flung his hands around, sweating profusely. “H-Hey now! You don't want to bother—”

“We don't mind. He's welcome.” Burning Spice cut in, dismissing the headmaster’s worry with a shake of his hand. Then, for the first time in the past few hours, he turned to Capsaicin. Looking him in the eyes. The boy stared back at him with wide eyes and an even wider grin, and Burning Spice was beginning to believe it was his resting face. 

His heart swelled when the boy held his gaze and didn't break away.

Burning Spice didn't mind him coming over at all. 

“You're welcome to come by any time.” Please stay, his brain supplied.

Capsaicin's eyes brightened impossibly more, a childish glint in his eyes. “Any time?” It was careful, hesitant, but still excited. As if he wanted to spend time with two cookies he'd just met. “Even if it's like, what, three in the morning?” He meant to lighten the mood, but Burning Spice could see the doubt in the other. 

He decided he didn't like that feeling in the boy's eyes at all.

A beat of silence. Burning Spice allowed himself to relax for just a tiny bit more, forcing his clenched hands to unwind. “Any time.” He repeated, breathy and quiet. The response to that was a more genuine smile of relief from Capsaicin. And it was so worth it.

It had sounded too soft out of his mouth, too small for his usual boisterous laughter.

And he suspected Nutmeg Tiger was starting to catch on with the way he felt her eyes drill into the back of his head. Right, of course. Get it together.

With agony, Burning Spice broke away from their locked eyes and stepped into the room, leaving the hospitality to the general; he could not stay that close to his treasure, he realized right after he got inside. The heavy weight of guilt was pressing down on his chest. 

“Thank you for your kindness, Headmaster.”

“No problem, dear tiger! It is getting rather late, so it's best both sides rest, yes?”

“Agreed. Thanks again.”

The farewells flew over Burning Spice's head, before the unusual sense of fear slammed back into his chest tenfold. Seated on one of the beds, he snapped his head to the open door.

Nutmeg Tiger was just starting to come in, before her eyes landed on him. She was quick, too quick, to see his distress. Frowning, she popped her head back out. “Oh, and Headmaster?”

A faint shout. “Yes?”

She paused, her eyes constantly jumping between the other cookie and Burning Spice, lingering a bit too long, before grunting. “Where will we find Capsaicin?”

And she also guessed too correctly what was on his mind, and Burning Spice shut his eyes from getting caught so easily. Well, now she knew something was being hidden from her. 

A vague address was given before Nutmeg Tiger came back inside and closed the door, but she never left it. Standing there, her tail slowly swishing around as she glared at Burning Spice. He stared back, not wanting to give anything away.

A pointless act, of course. She squinted, lips pursed. Burning Spice couldn't tell if she was mad or confused.

However, she didn't speak, she didn't question. Closing her eyes, she stepped away from where she stood. Dragging her cloak off with some vicious force — reminding him to do the same — she sat down right next to Burning Spice on the bed, all of her four legs curling on the mattress comfortably. 

Even if she wasn't uttering a word, her silence spoke volumes. Sitting down beside him and being close, told more than it should have. 

They didn't make any eye contact, staring ahead into nothing in particular — and Burning Spice realized just how much he needed time to process today's events.

Something he never needed, because he used to have all the time in the world. 

Now, he just felt like everything had happened too quickly and all at once.

A hand landing on his own startled him out of his trance, hesitant and light. Slowly glancing at Nutmeg Tiger from the corner of his eyes, she wasn't looking at him; her face more relaxed and solemn now.

“...He's special to you, isn't he?” She spoke softly, voice barely above a whisper, as if testing the words in her mouth. Burning Spice drew a sharp breath in, but didn't answer. 

And what was that, if not an answer of its own? 

Chains littered everywhere.

Hanging from the ceiling, connected between walls, emerging from the ground; everywhere. Hot and melting, deformed and unstable 

The ones around his wrists were exceptionally tight. 

His pleas for freedom were ignored by the cold, heartless walls that were starting to crumble. Each tug of his hands pulled the root of the chains more out of the cement. 

A few more and it would all collapse on him. 

“Please! Don't leave— let me free! Please!” He cried out, watching with stinging eyes as the cookies behind the bars scurried away. Yelling, evacuating from the fire.

Everyone but him. 

Hiccups left him one after another, arms failing to lift more than they could. Being fragile and small, with little to no strength. His head was dizzy, the smoke was burning his throat and pierced his eyes. “Please!”

No one listened to him. No one batted an eye.

“I promise I'll be good!”

Who would listen to a ticking bomb like him? 

The chains crawled up his body, engulfing every part and limb. The flames roared, the building creaked and the restraints clawed at his throat. Wrapping around his neck and squeezing. Breath caught in his airways, he could only thrash around. 

“You will never be good.”

He shook his head, blinking away the tears that threatened to slip and shut his eyes tight. For whom was he playing strong for? For these illusions? 

“You were made to only destroy.”

The looming ghost presence of faceless cookies had him lowering his head, dragging the chains even more. He yelled, even if his airways were blocked. “No! I'm—”

“You are nothing but a monster.”

His chest was heavy. Too much pressed down on him. 

“You—”

“You!”

“You.”

Him.

The shrill scream he let out shook the whole building. Pieces of cement fell, rocks clashed onto the chains, chipping away at some. Snapping his eyes open, he yanked his arms. Gripped at the clasp around his throat. It melted under his touch, and he realized he was heating up. 

He was boiling. It only made him cry more, gripping the melting metal until it scorched into his already dark dough. 

If he were a monster, why did they let him live?

Why did no one at the orphanage finish the job?

The restraints were no more when he dropped to his knees and hands.

The physical chains he broke out of disintegrated that night, leaving nothing but a powdered building in its wake. 

But never the thoughts. Never his mind. 

The chains were all he knew, all he grew up staring at. All the touch he could feel. 

So even if the original ones were no longer, the shackles never left. 

He wasn't even old enough to figure out why. And he never touched on the subject again. 

Capsaicin sat up soaked in sweat, eyes wide and breath labored. 

The room wasn't dark, it never could be with how his hair always kept shining. Instantly, he looked down at his hands to find the shackles still there, safe and sound.

Initially, he wanted to exhale in relief, but he trembled; his fingers trembled. He choked. Dragging breaths in after one another, Capsaicin's chest hurt. Old wounds reopened with just one nightmare, a retell of memories.

Were they memories? Did he exaggerate? 

He could never tell.

He didn't let his tears flow, rubbing at them violently before kicking away his blanket. His chest never stopped fluttering, making him whimper at the sudden throbbing pain. 

Panic attack? No, no it couldn't— that was just a nightmare. 

He was fine! It wasn't the first time! He just— he needed air, he—

He needed someone right now. No, he didn't, he needed to let out some steam.

Without thinking, Capsaicin clutched his chest as he stumbled out of his dorm room, very glad in the back of his mind that he slept alone.

All of the cluttered thoughts blanked out, protecting him from his own feelings by keeping it a clear sheet. Static.

Still, the question lingered; why now? Why now, when after his confrontation with his best friends, he thought he had it all under control? Why now, when two new cookies were willing to teach him?

His brain refreshed the blank sheet.

Trying to keep quiet, he let his feet drag him to where they always did; the training grounds.

Except not this time, for when Capsaicin blinked into awareness, he was standing in front of a closed dorm room. Confused, his heartbeat slowed. Glimpsing around, it wasn't a section the cookies normally resided.

The hallways slowly morphed into familiarity. His eyes snapped back to the door, wide. Did he—

Oh crap, this was the new guests’ room! Trainers? Teachers? Whatever! He had to leave before he woke them up!

But he froze right where he stood, staring at the door like it held hidden meanings. Just a stupid piece of wood, keeping his eyes on itself. So Capsaicin forcefully screwed them shut, breathing deeply. 

Images of red, glowing eyes gazing at him flashed behind his lids. 

“You're welcome to come by any time.”

His hands twitched closer to the door.

Before he could get his hopes up, the small voice at the back of his head screeched at him. He visibly recoiled, covering his ears as his heartbeat picked up. 

He was just being kind, you buffoon. 

It was just pity. 

You're a bother if you wake them up right now. 

Pressing on his ears hard, he took a step back. “Shut up, shut up, please.” Muttering under his breath, a lump formed inside his throat. Too much of a constriction. The voice didn't listen. 

It kept going and going. And he kept believing and believing. 

He wanted to pour his heart out for someone, he really did; but never when his own deformed voice held him back. Creating this huge dark cloud, its presence always above him and hushing him into hiding. A bubble that—

A bubble that abruptly burst when he heard the creak of a door hinge. 

Gasping, he stumbled backwards and fell on his butt. The small, quiet daze he had made for himself was so suddenly ruptured, leaving him to stare up at the door. 

Or rather who was standing there. 

That large cookie— Burning Spice, stood still at the doorway, apprehension apparent on his face. Not annoyance, not anger, but worry. 

At least that was what Capsaicin wanted to believe through his already blurring eyesight. 

It was, in fact, three in the morning.

Chapter Text

Burning Spice never needed to sleep. 

It was a well-known fact among those who knew the nature of beast cookies — or immortal ones, in general. He was no different, so the idea of having so many beds in the room they were staying in was a bit pointless. So, he didn't sleep.

Great dreams weren't awaiting him any time he did, though.

Of course, that didn't mean the beds were totally useless; Nutmeg Tiger could get a much needed rest after the past few days. She was practically out cold the moment she'd dropped on the mattress, forgetting to cover herself with a blanket.

Burning Spice did that for her, draping it ever so slowly on her as not to alert her. The room wasn't cold, she wouldn't need a cover, but even so. A simple act of…kindness was very much needed.

Maybe… Maybe he should be more lenient with her.

The rest of the night was quiet. A mellow warm breeze filtered through the open window as he sat on the ground, leaning towards the table and spacing out. He had enough memories to keep him accompanied, to keep the boredom at bay — even if they were unpleasant at times.

Even if beneath those memories, small laughters echoed and a tiny flame crackled.

Burning Spice had lost track of time before his keen senses alerted him to someone nearby. He blinked out of his stupor, glancing at the door. The footsteps were uneven but heavy. Stopping just outside the room. 

His eyes flickered down to the gap under the door as intense light filtered through the dark room. It didn't take him long to realize who it was, making him stand up in anticipation almost immediately. 

But the presence didn't leave, nor did it knock or enter.

Burning Spice frowned, glaring at the door for a few more minutes, as if it held the answers to his questions. It was previously quiet, but sharpening his ears now, he could hear heavy breathing. Whispers. Whimpers.

He wasted no time striding towards the door and opening it.

The reaction was almost immediate as the cookie in front of him fell down backwards. Burning Spice's furrowed brows turned concerned. 

Capsaicin. He— He looked so distraught. Eyes wide and fidgety, body trembling with labored breaths. His mouth was slightly ajar, as if he wanted to speak. Glossed over eyes. 

Burning Spice closed the door behind him before stepping forward.

And oh, it cut too deep when each of his steps elicited a flinch from the boy. 

It didn't stop Burning Spice from approaching him, though. He was too worried not to. Contrary to what other cookies might have done in this situation, he didn't walk like he was closing in on a wild animal. An act that was appreciated, in hindsight, seeing how the boy stopped curling into himself. 

Finally, Capsaicin managed to speak just as Burning Spice knelt down in front of him. Something he hadn't done for anyone.

But it wouldn't be the first time he did. 

“I— I'm so sorry, I probably woke you up I- I won't repeat it, I promise—” He cut himself off with a choked sob, quickly shutting his eyes and slamming both palms over his mouth as he hiccuped silently. A few drops of glowing liquid peeked from under his eyes, but he was quick to shake them away. 

Burning Spice stared, heart in ruins. Even if it didn't show on his face, only in his clenched fists and jaw. Capsaicin was denying himself the right to even cry, roughly wiping anything that threatened to slip before going back to covering his mouth.

Like his cries and noises were unwanted. 

Carefully, Burning Spice lifted both hands to grab Capsaicin's shackled wrists, startling the other. The boy's eyes snapped open, almost scared. Gently prying them away from his mouth, Burning Spice was met with little to no resistance. Because Capsaicin was shaking and terrified. Of what?

Burning Spice didn't know. Witches did he wish to know, while fully aware he wouldn't be able to handle it gracefully. 

“You didn't wake me up. I don't sleep.” He assured the boy, confusion flashing for a moment in his troubled gaze before disappearing. Too foggy to hold onto that information. With the hands finally off, Burning Spice’s eyes fell down to the rather metallic wrists he was holding. Frown deepening. 

Thick chains, yet melted at the ends. He had been too stunned yesterday to notice them, but now that he did… Thousands of thoughts rampaged in his head.

Feral, dangerous ones. 

Now was not the time for them, however. Not when Capsaicin was rambling and mumbling under his breath. He had been, for a while, too unintelligible to be heard from under his palms before. 

“Still— Still you had to come out here a-and— I'm sorry, I'm so sorry.” Even without a cover, Capsaicin was trying so hard to keep his whimpers inside, eyes anywhere but on the cookie in front of him. And Burning Spice didn't know why, but he wanted it to stop.

He lifted his head to look back at the boy, slowly letting go of his wrists as his hands hovered in the air. Aching. Itching for an unfamiliar but instinctual act.

“What is there to be sorry for?” He asked quietly instead, deciding to use his words for now, even though he was never good at talking. Thankfully, it decreased Capsaicin's hyperventilating. 

He started to contemplate for a few seconds, as if he didn't actually know the reason he was apologizing so profusely. As if it was ingrained into his brain. Capsaicin hesitantly but finally looked Burning Spice in the eyes. Even if it seemed to be taking a lot of effort. “For… For being a burden. You were just— being nice when- when you said I could, y’know, come by a-and—”

“You are not a burden.”

It was so unexpectedly firm, he had to mentally kick himself. But it shocked the boy into stunned silence, staring at him with wide golden eyes. Burning Spice failed to meet his gaze, having an internal battle with himself over what to say. 

“I…was truthful in my words, when I said you can come by any time.” He settled for, finally gathering enough courage to look back at Capsaicin, who was still staring at him, abashed. The trembling had stopped for the most part, even if some breaths came out shakily.

But— Burning Spice was helping.

Hope poured into Capsaicin's expression. “..You weren't just- saying that? Really?” His voice was so incredibly small, contrasting the loud rasp from yesterday. It went to show just how incredibly vulnerable he was, and, well.

Burning Spice's heart swelled.

He sighed, nodding once. Couldn't let it show on his face or in his eyes, how odd would that be? “Really. I—” His voice got stuck in his throat abruptly. 

It didn't feel finished, something had to be said. The quiet acceptance wasn't right. There had to be more. How.. How could he comfort? What was right to say? What would help more?

You were my everything.

You can never be a burden.

I'm sorry.

I failed you. 

I love—

“I… I care about you.”

Burning Spice's throat seized up after the words left his tongue, but more importantly, he ached even more when Capsaicin's eyes blew wider. But at the same time, the gloss in them intensified. Before he could do anything about it, Burning Spice made sure to put his palm over the other's; stopping him. 

It was a quiet action, a tiny motion. Even so, it spoke volumes. You can cry. Don't stop yourself. 

And with just this small act, Capsaicin finally broke into tears. Pent up from so much holding back as hot, sizzling drops slid down his cheeks.

Burning Spice watched as Capsaicin cried lava.

Broken, soft gasps and sobs left the other's mouth as his head fell, weeping freely. Burning Spice’s hand twitched, feeling a distinct sense of tingling in the back of his own eyes.

The familiar sensation of it took him back to that hellish night — when the witches took everything away from him.

Took his son away and did who knows what to him, made him believe he wasn't important. Shackled him and locked him up, for what reason? 

And lava tears…

Oh, witches; Burning Spice had created Capsaicin out of nothing but his own destruction.

Slowly, he lifted a hand to Capsaicin's cheek, not giving up even when the boy flinched away as it brushed his face. He didn't mean it, Burning Spice could tell, because he didn't do it a second time when a palm cupped his cheek. Wiping the boiling liquid off with a gentle thumb. 

“S-Stop, you'll- burn yourself.” Capsaicin's protests were weak, more out of habit than anything, but Burning Spice didn't pull away. His other hand joined, holding the boy's face as he softly continued to wipe the piping hot tears. 

That was true. These could burn a regular cookie that could not handle heat — but Burning Spice wasn't any cookie, was he?

It took minutes, the long silence filled with sniffles. Each time a tear spilled, Burning Spice was there to wipe it away, with not Capsaicin's violence but care. Each passing second, the boy gradually melted into the touch and leaned into the palms around his face. Exhausted, too tired to keep himself upright now.

None of them spoke throughout all of it, and maybe that was for the best — Capsaicin seemed to be dealing with harsh internal words on his own. 

So when all of the tears had ceased, Burning Spice slowly stood up and lifted Capsaicin with him. He didn't need to tell the boy what he intended to, as the other followed him anyway. Silently entering the dorm and leading Capsaicin into one of the beds. 

Glancing at a sleeping Nutmeg Tiger, she had not moved an inch. She was truly out cold, which was good. 

Capsaicin crawled under the covers sheepishly, movements sluggish. He squinted at Burning Spice when he simply pulled a chair from under the table and sat beside him. “..You really don't wanna sleep?” He whispered, though his eyelids were drooping. Burning Spice shook his head, sitting back in the chair as he gazed at Capsaicin. 

Still, Burning Spice didn't get a reaction. Either the boy was too tired to insist or he'd given up, because his eyes were closed the next moment the other blinked. 

Capsaicin's hair dimmed as the world of sleep took him, exhaustion taking over. Burning Spice's lips, previously holding back a smile, stretched into a small one. Stretching out one hand, it sank into the flowy encompass of the boy's hair. 

He never ever wanted the warmth inside his chest to fade.

Burning Spice didn't sleep, no.

But for the record? He did doze off at times. The kinds where his head would become heavy and he would catch himself before falling. 

The constant fear and worry — of what could happen if he were to have the boy out of his sight — in the back of his head kept him awake throughout the night, not that he cared. 

As it turned out, subconsciously but slowly caressing through the soft hair until sunrise kept his mind at ease. The light filtered through inch by inch, illuminating the room in a warm glow that was similar to Beast-Yeast.

He held back a snicker when Capsaicin turned away from the light with a groan in his sleep.

But wherever was dawn? There was also Nutmeg Tiger awakening from her slumber.

Burning Spice heard a few shuffles, glancing at the bed on the other side of the room. Indeed, just as the room got bright enough to signal the start of the day, she was awake. Sitting with her fur and hair ruffled, a constant frown on her face. 

A few stretches and shaking the sleep off, Nutmeg Tiger was now looking at Burning Spice with utmost attention. She seemed much better after her rest.

“Morning, Great Des…” She trailed off, her head tilting in sync with it. Her eyes immediately fell on the cookie on the bed in Burning Spice's stead. And, well, he looked away with pursed lips. 

This was a big hit to his tough reputation.

“...Hello to you, as well.” He dodged the unasked question, pretending as if he wasn't too obvious with sliding his hand out of Capsaicin's hair, she wouldn't notice. There was a very muffled whine at the loss of comfort, and Burning Spice froze on his chair, eyes screwing shut before opening painfully. 

Nutmeg stared. He grew a darker shade of red. 

She even raised a finger, faltering when she didn't find the right words; she wasn't faring any better, her eyes now averted as if she had invaded some sort of privacy. “...Would I want to know?”

It wasn't even an unsightly situation — Burning Spice, the Great Destroyer, was just sitting. Awfully close to the bed, with a hand in Capsaicin's hair... Well. Nevermind.

This was an odd situation for someone like him. 

“..No.”

“Very well.”

The silence after was unbearably awkward. Nutmeg hopped off the bed, purposefully avoiding any glances towards Burning Spice; he just noticed her face was also flushed. Selfishly, he was glad not to be alone on this matter. 

“I'm going to bring us some meal, then. Or ask for some. Excuse me.” Her steps were hasty, trying to appear unaffected but her tail gave it all away, flicking back and forth rapidly. The door was clicked shut, leaving Burning Spice in the quiet of the room.

Heaving a sigh, he pinched the middle of his eyebrows. He had never quite shown any type of vulnerability to any of his troops, or friends — if they could even be called that. They were all much too prideful for something as little as confiding in each other about feelings, and so was he. 

The one time he almost showed that tender wound to his general was when talking about a kingdom, with a destroyed civilization. Nothing new about that — in fact, he had been the one to destroy it, long after his last straw had been torn. 

What crumbles with but a swing of my axe doesn't deserve to exist. 

But even before burning the whole kingdom to the ground, he had known there was a plague spreading there. Its claws snatching on helpless and small creatures.

And children. 

By the time he and Nutmeg Tiger had gotten there, none of the young ones were alive. Something about that had angered him to no end, and he had lost himself to the wave of rage and destruction. When he had become lucid, nothing was left standing around him. 

His knees had almost buckled at the possibility that he'd ended more young lives than the plague. His general had almost seen it. Before Burning Spice had cracked a fake grin, sharp teeth hiding the twitch in his face.

It had always been almost. 

But now? Yesterday? He had blown it right off. She saw it anyway, and it felt so threatening. Now she knew just how brittle was the string he walked upon, and he hated it. Would she think of him any differently? 

Did it matter to him what she would think? Why would it? But what if she did think differently now? That he was weak? Logically not, but—

A loud yawn brought him back to the present.

Looking to his side, Capsaicin sat up, stretching his arms above his head. His lids were crusty still, barely opening in sync, which was to be expected after a long period of shedding tears. And not normal ones. 

Burning Spice only watched, waited for the boy to register where he was, before he decided to speak. “Good morning.” It came too naturally, too easily. He blamed his low voice on the fact that it was still sunrise.

Capsaicin finally looked at him, stared with a small frown. The gears turning in his brain were practically audible while he worked through the memories. Once he seemed to be done, he immediately put both palms over his face, hiding behind them. “...That wasn't a dream. Oh man.”

Oh man indeed.

Burning Spice looked up and away, acting as unbothered as he could. Post-breakdown clarity wasn't ever pretty, and he knew that from experience. So to have to have it shared with someone you barely know? As much as it hurt, not the best combination.

Someone you…barely know.

Damn the witches. 

“...Thank you, Burning Spice.” Capsaicin's voice came small, fidgeting with his fingers in his lap. He was awkward, sure, but there was a small smile tugging at his lips that Burning Spice could see. 

Even if the name pierced through his dough, he was glad he had helped. Dare he say, he was delighted. 

So he just smiled back, crossing his arms as the mutual understanding settled.

Capsaicin wanted to dig a hole and die in it.

The same morning after his anxiety-induced breakdown, he woke up not in his own bed but next to their freaking guests! No matter how kind Burning Spice was being, that was still rude and— maybe stepping over the line. 

He booked it after waking up, boiling in the face as he exited their dorm room, tripping almost two times to get to the door alone, and made a beeline for breakfast.

Distractions, everyone, distractions! And food could distract Capsaicin a fair amount. 

The students usually had their meals together, and they were usually the best times of the day. But when you were disoriented? Not so much.

Still, he tried his best to appear as cheerful as he could when he grabbed his meal and sat with his pals, redirecting the conversations any time someone got even close to mentioning his puffy eyes. His friends weren't idiots, obviously, they knew when not to push.

So in the end, all went well.

Before Headmaster Scovillia showed up right as he was leaving, maintaining a very cheerful face. At least if the squinted hollow eyesockets were anything to go by. 

In short, today was Capsaicin's first training session. Oh, jolly, this was going to be so not embarrassing or awkward. Right after last night? Either this was the headmaster’s schedule, or Burning Spice really didn't mind.

Capsaicin hoped for the latter.

He got ready as best as he could, giving himself a pep talk in a mirror, repositioning his shackles a thousand times, practicing an amicable grin. He was good to go, no weapons to polish, none to drag with him on the battlefield he was currently pacing on. His fists were plenty.

But, uh, maybe he should have thought about a weapon of some kind, ages ago, something that didn't melt in his hands.

Because he paled the moment he laid eyes on Burning Spice's double-edged large axe. That was one huge, awesome weapon; and it probably hurt, too.

Niceeee…

It was Burning Spice’s idea to start sparring as soon as possible. And that was right after the start of the academy. Not because there was any urgency to get Capsaicin ‘fixed’ as soon as they could, but because Burning Spice had to see. 

He had to see just how many destructive traits he had created Capsaicin with. Ones of his own. 

Walking over to the obsidian battling grounds, his eyes caught the boy's figure on the other side. Pacing around, seeming distracted and stressed. He wielded no weapons as far as the eye could see. 

Interesting.

Burning Spice made his presence known with a tap of his axe to the rocks beneath, making the boy turn to acknowledge him. Though his eyes blew wide, he remained steady. Head held high and fists clenched. 

There was no test needed to know that Capsaicin was his — he was quick to get into a fighting position, fists raised. Seeing this, Burning Spice grinned wide.

He was going to enjoy this.

It seemed like their mutual silence was a sign of anticipation, each scanning the other and waiting for a move to be made. And if Burning Spice hated one thing, it was waiting around.

He charged forward with his axe raised, wild smile plastered on his face as he let the exhilaration of fighting take over. Capsaicin reacted, dodging out of the way of his swing with a yelp.

Immediately after landing, Capsaicin raised his fists as lava surged through them and he punched the obsidian. The lava cracked the ground, splitting it and getting to Burning Spice's feet. With a laugh, he jumped high from the sizzling dips, leaving cracks of his own. 

“Is that all!?” He prompted, summoning another axe into his other hand mid-air. Capsaicin's eyes widened, barely having time to react as Burning Spice came down like a meteor. Slamming the edges down, flames went haywire from the point of contact.

“Wouh!” Capsaicin didn't have time to dodge, eating up the fire fairly easily with just a crunch of his brows, arms raised. 

The axes’ blades broke. Burning Spice didn't care, he could just repair. He needed more. 

“You will be crushed if you don't give it your all.” Burning Spice watched as Capsaicin eyed him and the repairing axes, mild shock and confusion all over his face. But the words did have some impact, making him frown harder. “You sure you really want me to go all out?”

Burning Spice laughed loudly, his voice booming over the entire battlefield. Pretty sure that some students could be watching. Capsaicin took this as a challenge, shaking his head with a grin. “Wow, such a vivid answer, teach.”

The name stung. Less than the name, but still.

He ignored it for now, turning back to Capsaicin and forcing him to look him directly in the eyes with just his gaze. “I've seen what you can do.” The boy stared, a tad confused. This damn dork. Burning Spice sighed. “The large form.”

They stared at each other, in the brief quiet of the morning breeze.

“Show me, again.”

Capsaicin wasted no time letting go of the restraints.

Roaring, he slammed his enlarged fists down to serve as a distraction, making Burning Spice slide out of the way. The boy's body grew, charcoal skin crumbling and falling off as pure lava replaced the limbs. The legs disappeared, deformed into a bubbling pool of the same material.

Burning Spice gazed at Capsaicin in awe and pride. 

Capsaicin's eyes, now two holes of searing flames, stared down at him with apprehension first, then glee, flaming mouth stretching into a wide grin. Burning Spice wasn't scared, he will never be; never of his own son. 

And he made sure to show that with the thrilled expression on his face. 

He motioned to Capsaicin to hit him, taunting him with a smirk full of teeth and letting go of his dominant axe. A fist was raised, lava pouring from it before Capsaicin brought it down on the other. Any other cookie would have run away, told the boy that he was going too far, but Burning Spice wanted this. 

So when the fist made contact with his own, he didn't falter.

The ground shook from the impact of two fists colliding, hot wind gushing everywhere.

It took a few seconds for the smoke to settle, Burning Spice tilting his fist just slightly to be able to see Capsaicin's expression — his rather shocked expression.

Clearly, he didn't expect Burning Spice to deflect the hit like that. 

Almost instantly after witnessing this, the fist against Burning Spice started shrinking. Then the pressure was lifted altogether, Capsaicin's body resizing to its original state. As if he hadn't transformed at all. It was over, just like that. 

Burning Spice's smile fell from confusion and, maybe, just a hint of annoyance. The axes turned into powder in his hands as he marched forward. “What are you doing? What's stopping you—”

“How did you do that?”

Capsaicin's out-of-breath question stunned him into silence. Burning Spice blinked, urging the boy to go on. How did he do what? Take a hit like that? Obviously, if he couldn't, why would he ever try to train Capsaicin? He should've known that.

Was it the axe, materializing out of thin air? It had to be. 

But Capsaicin still looked at him like he'd grown two heads, like he was an unseen creature roaming this land — perhaps that was partially true. But then Capsaicin glanced at the cracks on the ground and then back at Burning Spice, and his intact fist. And the small missing chunks of dough, scattered around his body. “Even the- the obsidian has cracked before, so how did— how did you even survive that? And that thing with your weapons-"

Capsaicin almost sounded scared, if it weren't for the absolute awe in his face. The shock of someone stronger than him existing. Burning Spice— he didn't know how to explain.

Where would he even start? The witches baking him into existence? His previous status? The gradual process that led to his corruption? The last and final straw? 

The first and last ever thing Burning Spice had truly loved? And would always? 

“Really, who…who even are you?”

And wasn't that the million-dollar question? The one with an obvious answer, but complicated at the same time. The kind that was right in front of your eyes, and yet you wouldn't see it.

The silence was heavy. Suffocating. But maybe it was like that for Burning Spice only. Maybe Capsaicin was simply asking a question with no ulterior meaning, and waiting for an answer. Simply curious. Simply unaware. 

Burning Spice had to stop being selfish for just one moment. Swallowing the sudden thick lump in his throat, his lips parted to speak. To give a weak, measly response. 

Before he could get a word out, a bright golden thing flashed right by his eyes. The wind knockback was strong enough for him to stumble backwards, catching himself just in time. 

Waving the dust away from in front of his face and coughing, his stomach dropped at the sight.

Capsaicin’s place was empty.

Chapter Text

“Have you heard? There has been a strange noise coming from the Herald’s room.”

The hushed questions and wonders were passed around rather quickly, spreading like wildfire. A strange string of sounds was coming from their minister’s personal chambers. One priest Pig had heard, and the rumors had started.

The noises were those of a laughing baby.

Speculations started, whispers and gossip of what this could mean. An heir to the Herald’s job? A strong soldier? A normal citizen of spice? An experiment?

But negativity didn't stray far. 

Everyone in the castle, over the past few years, had witnessed the unstable mess that was their Herald. The way his gaze would cloud over during meetings. When his smiles turned to a rare sight. His outbursts when the news overwhelmed him. 

Was creating a newborn really a good idea? 

That was what a scout Kulfi thought as he watched the Herald leave his room at night, going on the mission he had been given. Silently, the Kulfi approached the door when the coast was clear and, with all the courage he had, opened it. 

Surely, the rumors were false, and the sounds had been something else. 

But the sight that greeted him couldn't be anything else.

A crib was stationed next to the Herald’s — rather unused — king bed, the size laughable compared to the ginormous thing. Made from exquisite stones resistant to heat. The Kulfi carefully stepped further inside, eyes wide as his slim tail stood up, alert.

A laugh. Some squeaks. 

It truly was a baby.

The scout shook his head as he finally got to see in the crib, heart in his throat, as if he was walking into danger’s den. He had half expected to see a baby like their Herald, and the other half expected to see just a normal cookie.

He gasped at the sight of the newborn. 

An ember for hair, blindingly gold eyes that lit up the crib along with the hair, and black skin. Two small bumps on the baby's head.

Horns.

But their Herald didn't have horns.

Carefully, the Kulfi leaned in closer, watching the baby sputter and giggle at what was presumably his monkey features. The air was uncomfortably warm. “So the rumors were true, fi…” He spoke, high-pitched as he stared at the baby. Of course, his response was more giggling. 

Eyes flitting upwards, the Kulfi saw a nameplate. His brows jumped up. So, a name was already chosen for this little fella? How thoughtful of the Herald!

Capsaicin. A spice on the more painful part of the spectrum. Looking down again, the baby seemed to be getting tired; if the small whines and shiny tears were anything to go by. Probably needing to sleep.

Why were the tears bright?

The scout’s first mistake was reaching a hand down to touch the baby's cheek. 

At the approaching unfamiliarity, Capsaicin's bleary eyes widened in fear before screwing shut, and a scream left their mouth. 

If only it were just a simple cry. 

The flame atop their head flared up, turning into a full-blown fire as it engulfed them both. The sudden light had the scout shutting his eyes, yelping, and falling backwards before the pain of his hand being burnt registered. Gasping and hissing, he slowly opened his eyes to be met with a scorched arm.

It hurt so much.

But the crying never ceased as the flames licked up into the air, only ever slightly lowering back down. Not as strong as before, but certainly not as small as a candle flame. 

The scout stood up shakily, terrified. Holding his trembling arm. Capsaicin was still wailing loudly, tiny hands fisted in the air. The tears that kept dripping smelled like smoke, and yet, they didn't burn him. They should have. 

This baby— this thing. 

It was too dangerous to be left to be nurtured in the Herald’s hands. 

What if the Great One snapped? What if his wrath didn't spare Capsaicin? Even worse — what if his rage turned this baby into a dangerous monster?

They couldn't afford that. They just couldn't. 

Unaware of the grave mistake he was making, the Kulfi grabbed Capsaicin with his tail, intensifying the cries by a notch. He didn't have time to hush the baby, not knowing if it would even work. Didn't have time to worry about his tail being burnt off. 

And he left. The scout Kulfi left with their Herald’s creation in his grasp. 

Stole a few glances and questions, worried gazes and confused ones. Handed the baby, now calmed down, to a merchant passing by. Asked them to place this kid in an orphanage far, far from here. 

Somewhere not in Beast-Yeast. 

Even though reluctant, the merchant bought the lies. Took Capsaicin, swaddled it in blankets, before disappearing from the land of spice. 

A process that was all a blur in the scout’s horrified mind. 

The walk back to his post was a tiring one, yet it kept him on edge. Their Herald wasn't there, he hadn't seen anything. He wouldn't know. 

And wasn't that the worst part?

The punishing weight of it. 

The suffocating silence that greeted the Kulfi upon stumbling back to the castle was a telltale sign of that. Everyone, Pig and Kulfi, were looking at each other in fear. A tremendous amount of fear.

Apparently, the Herald had come back from his mission more exhausted than ever. Face devoid of any hospitality, harsh words and bared teeth. 

The scout was lucky to have a few other servants with him when they were self-tasked on checking on the Herald. Even if his heart was practically in his throat and his ears flickered from his nerves. He'd hidden his burnt arm and tail, they didn't know. 

The horror in them showed as clear as day when they made it to the Herald’s room. 

Being at the front of the group, the scout saw what was unfolding. 

Kneeling — kneeling — by the foot of the crib was the Herald of Change. His back to them, the weapons in his several hands growing loose and dragging on the ground. But his shoulders — they were tense. Drawing up and tighter each passing second. 

He didn't move, he didn't speak. 

The air did that for him. 

Heat sparked in the room, growing hotter and hotter until it was unbearable. Loose fists turned into tight ones, breaking the golden weapons he once held. The sharp flash contrasting with the heavy silence in the room. The pieces fell. And with a spare pair of hands, the Herald slowly raised the makuta off his head. Placing it down in the crib. 

“Uhm...Great One?” One of them called, shakily and softly. But he must have heard, of course he did.

The Herald turned his head slowly. Eyes wide, but dull. Jaw clenched, but lips pressed. Throat bulging, a distant gloss in his eyes. 

He stood up. 

And all of hell broke loose. 

Okay, you see, Capsaicin wasn't usually necessarily scared of heights. Well, he was a little scared, but that was a rational fear! Every being had that fear in them, so a little bit of it was obviously normal.

Right now, though, he had the potential of fainting mid-air.

Screaming his throat raw, the world was positively spinning from where he was; upside down, being dragged up and away by one foot. His cape was swaying harshly and, well, overall, he was scared shitless.

It has been a while since he'd been this scared of something not linked to his past.

“Don't you worry, young one! I am saving you from that brute!”

And who the heck was that?

Capsaicin couldn't even see anything other than the wiggling ground in his vision and the orange sky. Judging from the voice though, it was a lady—

Wait, saving? He didn't need—? What was going on?

“Can you at least save me a little less intensely, ma'am!?” He yelled through the harsh winds blocking their way of communication, hands hanging above his head. The shaking subsided a little. Oh, so she heard him! Nice, now was his chance!

“And can you tell me why I need saving again!? I was just fine down there!” He aimed to motion to where he previously was, but when you were swept off your feet and yanked off your axis, that was kind of hard. 

He could feel the eyeroll through her groan. “Are you sane at all!? That beast—”

She didn't get to answer him fully.

Something cracked loudly, and another creaked then roared. Capsaicin barely managed to cover his ears from the sheer volume of it, not being able to pinpoint what it even was. 

But it was loud enough to startle even the one holding him, for her grip slipped.

Capsaicin's heart dropped as he felt his foot slide out of her hands, the rush of wind hitting his back when he fell. He yelped, hands reaching absent-mindedly for something to grab. The blur of the cookie holding him previously hovered above him, not fast enough to dive down to save him. 

He could feel his stomach in his throat, the call for help dying on his tongue.

Was he gonna die? Would it hurt too much? Where would it hurt more?

His eyes fell shut quickly, squeezing and bracing for impact, arms curling in front of him. If he could breathe any faster, he would.

But instead of the hard surface he was expecting, something shadowed over him and — before he could even open his eyes — his back hit something. There was some whiplash, yes, but not that harsh. He hit something soft. 

Much softer than any normal surface should be.

Instead of the holy light he'd expected to see, he was surrounded by darkness. Partially, at least.

Capsaicin peeked from one eye slowly, opening them both when he noticed that he, in fact, was not lying at the bottom of the battlefield on the obsidian rocks with his crumbs everywhere.

He couldn't even describe this place he was in because of the lack of light. 

“What the…Am I dead? Hello?” He called out, using his arms and leaning on them to finally sit up. His voice didn't echo like those cool books he'd read, but it was heard, because the lid of the container he was in was lifted.

Or, well, what he thought was a lid and a container.

It was a fucking hand. 

The breath caught in his throat, eyes blowing impossibly wide as he scrambled back into his seat with a choked gasp. The dough under his weight shifted, the texture of a palm. 

Two crimson, huge eyes stared at him from above. Wide. Vast lashes brushing against the cheeks, white smoke rising from somewhere beneath. Physical fire burned inside those eyes, taking the place of the irises. 

Holy shit. Holy shit. 

Capsaicin stared, gawked, with his jaw fallen off the hinges, as Burning freaking Spice held him like a pebble in his palm. Every inhale and exhale was a loud hiss, smoke puffing everywhere at the exhale. Gazing at him so heavily.

He was huge. Way too big. Way too freaking big.

Beastly.

“You- Burning Spice?” He squeaked out, voice small enough to make him wonder if the bigger cookie could hear him at all through the sound of his own breath. From the softening shift in the other's furrowed brows, he guessed yes.

Burning Spice had grown enlarged. Just like Capsaicin had, albeit much, much larger.

Was that why…why he wanted to see Capsaicin's form? To train him in that way?

Something flickered inside his chest and he didn't know what it was. But. It was pleasant, comforting among the chaos. 

Capsaicin was lowered a bit so he was not leveled with the other's face, but rather his body. The other hand joined, both palms pressed together — giving Capsaicin plenty of room to move. Not that he would with his shaky legs.

With each bit Burning Spice's humongous hands lowered, Capsaicin saw more.

Several tusks poking from between the other's lips, black hair that covered almost all of the training grounds, the two antennas atop the other's head sharp and upright. And a glowing gem right at the center of his chest. 

Capsaicin had never paid much attention to it before. So it wasn't jewelry? It was embedded into Burning Spice's chest? 

Holy crap.

No, this was all too confusing and strange. Just what the hell was going on? 

Glancing around and then, realizing he still didn't know the identity of his captor, Capsaicin peeked from the bars of Burning Spice's fingers — which had curved, sharp nails, he just noticed.

A bright yellow and golden cookie hovered in the air, wings stretched wide. Her glow was otherworldly.

Golden Cheese had been going positively insane.

Back in Beast-Yeast, after the glorious victory she had achieved, she'd heard murmurs of the beast being alive. 

She had known beforehand, of course, that a simple temple being ruined over that hooligan’s head wouldn't kill him. Wouldn't wound him much, even. He wouldn't have been so eager to be defeated if that weren't the case. 

But as time passed, she grew anxious.

Not once did she see any sign of him and his lackeys during her trip back. The deserts had been devoid of any and all of the people that served him, or used to do so. Smoked Cheese had dismissed it, saying they were probably in hiding after retreating.

But of course, Golden Cheese did not think that was even possible. Not with the absolute recklessness of that beast.

So what did she do? She asked around.

For the first few tries, her answer was something stale and unsure. Crumbled, oh sure, why not. Hiding away, definitely it. Seriously? Did these creatures even know their ruler? That tyrant was nothing if not stubborn. He wouldn't just crumble away like it wasn't worth anything.

A trait she thought was…odd for him to have, considering his corrupted thoughts.

She got her definite answer once they were out of Beast-Yeast. Oh, we saw him and another cookie leaving to the east. 

There weren't a lot of lands to the east, or ones that were easy to travel to. So, with a triumphant grin to Smoked Cheese's exasperated face, she packed their bags. They didn't need much, they wouldn't stay long for obvious reasons.

The beast, with a high chance, probably thought he and his minion could blend in well with the cookies of Dragon's Valley. 

She wished to prove him wrong.

But. 

When Golden Cheese, after asking around even more, made her way towards the only academy in the land, she did not expect to hit the jackpot so soon.

She did not expect it at all.

When Golden Cheese’s eyes landed upon the beast from afar, she did not expect him to be out in the open surrounded by a vast field. Moreover, she did not expect another cookie to be even remotely close to him — other than that tiger general.

But there, standing only an arm's length away from Burning Spice, was a young cookie. Bright and unwavering. 

The bell of danger rang harshly inside her head, and she was sure Smoked Cheese was feeling the same when they exchanged glimpses — even if he lacked her conviction to step in. 

The beast’s eyes were intent, and it wouldn't be long before he hurt the other cookie for his own sick satisfaction. Amusement. 

She didn't wait to ponder the fact that the cookie wasn't running away in the first place. 

Golden Cheese spread her wings the moment the thought of saving was finalized in her head.

Smoked Cheese sputtered beside her, snapping his head to her almost instantly. Her standing up would probably blow their hiding spot away, but she did not care. Not when someone was in potential danger. 

“Your Radiance, we cannot make our presence known! He will slip right through our fingers again!”

She did not care for that, a life of an innocent cookie was more worth than them not being spotted. So, with a heavy eyeroll, she fixed Smoked Cheese with a glare. “And I will find him again, like I just did.”

The baffled you're crazy stare she got was worth it.

Without another thought put into it, Golden Cheese took off at light speed, leaving dust in her wake. The warm wind was harsh on her face, the surroundings a blur. Spear vanishing into her personal plane of existence, her outstretched hands aimed for a solid part to grab. 

The cookie was rather...eccentric — the fit was a hassle. The leg would suffice.

With one smooth glide, she dropped down as her fingers wrapped around the young cookie's leg, and pulled. 

They were lucky Golden Cheese possessed the strength she did; witches, was this one heavy. 

Taking up into the sky, far and far away from the beast, Golden Cheese found herself struggling the tiniest bit with the cookie. Not to mention the absolute ear-piercing screams. Ugh. 

He didn't think she was stealing him, did he?

With those shrill sounds, he probably was.

“Don't you worry, young one! I am saving you from that brute!” She yelled over his continuous screaming, grunting as her palms started sweating and her grip became harder to maintain. Curse this overly hot land!

At least this cookie was civilized enough to acknowledge what he said. “Can you at least save me a little less intensely, ma'am!?” His voice got lost in the motions, high and throaty because of this unfortunate manhandling. 

She, well, probably had to slow down now. They were far enough.

“And can you tell me why I need saving again!? I was just fine down there!” The idiot had the guts to sound offended, no sense of urgency in his existence.

Oh, he had no clue, did he? 

Golden Cheese groaned as she exerted her arms to hold on, not looking down. Her focus was needed, and answering his meaningless questions would dwindle that. “Are you sane at all!? That beast—”

A deafening roar. 

Waves of vibrations shattered her bubble of concentration. And her fingers slipped.

The sudden weight sliding away from her grip had her launching further into the air, knocking her off balance as her eyes fell shut tightly. Her palms snapped up instinctively to cover her ears, not at all detecting its source.

Frantically opening her eyes, she glanced down at the cookie she had dropped. However, before she could even attempt to dive back down, she was hit.

Slapped away like a fly by something humongous.

Thrown off, it took her a few more flaps of her wings to get back up than she liked. The instant she was flying with stability, she looked down and around. The huge red and black blur hadn't been processed in her mind fully, but she knew better than to wait. Subconsciously, her spear was summoned into her hand. Gritting her teeth, her fist curled tighter around her spear.

What could have possibly happened—? 

She stopped her descent. Eyes wide.

Rationality finally made its way into her brain as she actually saw what was in front of her eyes.

This was Burning Spice. This titanic creature conjuring out of nowhere was Burning Spice.

And he wasn't moving to hurt, to destroy. No, he was effectively cradling the other cookie in his palms. When he could so easily crush if he wished to, he didn't. He didn't. Those giant, disturbing eyes were gazing down at the cookie so—

So fearfully. 

That intense emotion was alien on his face and Golden Cheese was so confused. Lost. Not once since they've met — with little to no grace — did he ever look like that. 

Like he was afraid to lose.

Golden Cheese stared, wings slow in their movement and mouth parted slightly. Frowning, she tried to make sense of this behavior. Her attention fell to the small cookie now sneaking a peek from the gaps of the titan’s fingers. 

The boy's eyes were so impossibly bright, dare she say, they were golden. His hair did not disappoint, either, flowing slowly in place in a specific shape.

Her vision was obscured when the fingers closed the gaps, pulling away. Blinking, she looked back up to see the beast's expression — having turned wide-eyed and wild. His lips tugged up in a snarl, long tusks displaying the aggression. 

He— he was moving his torso sideways. Was he— was he putting the young one farther away from her? Was Burning Spice protecting him?

Her mouth fell wider as he held his closed palms closer to his chest, visible even from this angle. He really was. 

Burning Spice was protecting someone. From her. 

Chapter Text

The thing with Soul Jam halves was that, no matter if divided or merged, they were still one. Made to experience both sides of the power they held, even if the two opposing sides had broken into two.

The 'thief' holder could feel the other half’s soul, but not vice versa.

After all, memories left their traces on the entirety of the gem, and Golden Cheese could always feel those memories at any given moment. 

The question was how. She didn't know the answer. 

And right now, flying just in front of her other unfortunate half, Golden Cheese was frozen. Felt things. Saw things.

Intense emotions, ones that she didn't expect because they didn't emanate from her own brain. But they were there, and she could understand them. Ruins. Flames. Screams. Agony. 

Fear, anger, relief, a heavy touch of grief.

All of them at the same time, and an overwhelming amount. More so because she wasn't aware why she was feeling these things in the first place, the ball of emotions being too heavy for her. 

Sure, she could say the relief was initiated by her — knowing that the young cookie wasn't in danger of getting crushed. 

Could she say the same about the rest? No, no she couldn't.

The only other thing she felt among them was confusion. Out of place. And that one did not radiate from the beast, hence why it made sense to her. She was startled, confused, and looking for answers. Ones she would not get because, well, it was Burning Spice for the witches’ sake.

Anger was a trivial trait of her other half, but fear? Grief? 

The kind of grief that was much too similar to her own?

The powder was swept away in her palms by the wind, only the wet patches from her tears remaining—

She shook herself out of the destructive memories, for she had something much more destructive to tend to. The dots connecting inside her head bit by bit weren't welcome at all, but they made sense. 

Golden Cheese spared one last glance at the young, fiery cookie wiggling around in the hands of the beast, before she stared back up at Burning Spice’s sharp gaze. 

Burning Spice, whose half of the Soul Jam pulsed rapidly like a frantic heart. Him, whose hands created a safe barrier for the cookie in his palms against the rest of the world. The Beast of Destruction, who was protecting someone from getting destroyed—

Flashes of foreign, foggy memories flooded her mind, her wings fluttering. Memories that weren't her own. Scenes that were too private. Tiny smiles. Then, she felt it — a strong, unshakable kind of affection.

Love—

Oh. 

Phantom pain stabbed her side. As if a chunk of her dough was missing.

Oh. 

“Leave.”

Burning Spice's heart was in his throat when those words were dragged out of him with restraint. Ear grating and vibrating throughout every surface. Smoke left his mouth in puffs with each exhale.

It took every ounce of strength in him — and none at all at the same time — not to squeeze his fingers tight into a fist. 

The feather weight in his hands reminded him why he wouldn't do that.

His eyes bore into Golden Cheese's wide ones, daring a challenge. A word of defiance and persistence. But none ever came as the queen only hovered in the air, watching him so carefully. He was being picked apart at the seams from her calculating gaze, and with her half of the Soul Jam flickering? She knew.

Oh, witches, she knew. 

But for some reason, she kept her mouth shut, her lips pressed thin. When Burning Spice told her to leave, she just did. Sparing him one last glance through furrowed brows before swiftly turning and piercing the skies with her wings. Disappearing in a trail of glittery gold. 

She was gone as abruptly as she had arrived.

With her was gone the sense of danger as Burning Spice's shoulders unwound. Still in disbelief, he scanned the surroundings for any sign that she hadn't left. There was none.

There was, however, a small squeaky voice from afar almost tearing everything apart amidst the new crowd gathering at every nook and corner. 

“What in the devil's blaze happened here!?”

The headmaster.

Finally shooting a glimpse down and around, Burning Spice could see that a lot of students had spawned and were watching with gobsmacked expressions, mouths wide. The fussing and arm-waving of the headmaster was barely visible from above their heads before he stumbled forward. 

He didn't look angry, per se, but he sure looked terrified.

Knowing the situation wasn't getting any better, Burning Spice's hands bloomed open for them all to see. Thankfully, the commotion died down just a tad. Their friend was safe. Capsaicin was safe. And he was just as confused as they all were, eyes even wider than his friends’ when he looked around. His hair shone brighter than usual, inconsistent in how it glowed. But he wasn't scared.

Burning Spice was glad. 

He…probably seemed hideous right now, standing as tall as the buildings if not taller. A huge body that moved in slow motion. So to save himself some face, Burning Spice knelt down, the movement painstakingly prolonged and loud when his knee hit the cracked obsidian ground. 

Steady were his hands even with the slight tremble buried deep inside his bones as he lowered them to the ground. Capsaicin's hands held onto the dough of his palms to stabilize himself before he hesitantly got off, shaken.

Almost instantly, other youngsters approached him from all sides, asking meaningless questions that didn't seek answers. Capsaicin didn't pay any mind, couldn't pay any mind; he had turned around immediately after being put down, staring up at Burning Spice.

His gaze was searching, demanding answers with innocence.

Burning Spice's breathing hitched. 

Gradually, he started shrinking back to his supposed size, his normal one. Hair retracting back to as it was, tusks retreating into his dough. He never intended to go this far, to grow this large. Yes, he was called a beast for a reason. 

But that didn't mean he ever wanted to be one.

Once eye to eye level with any normal cookie on the field, Burning Spice got off his sole kneeling knee, but his eyes never left Capsaicin's. Making a poor attempt to answer his unasked questions with only his gaze. With the folds in his expression. 

But obviously, he couldn't. Not when the others were violently shaking Capsaicin's shoulders and trying to pry his attention away. Not when the headmaster was approaching with a flaming head, questions pouring out of him with no room to answer and his electric guitar on the brink of breaking. 

Not when— not when Burning Spice couldn't breathe.

He couldn't breathe, why couldn't— why now—? 

His chest didn't visibly expand. His eyes didn't gloss over. His body didn't shake. He was as still as a statue, swallowing the thick lump in his throat — not knowing why.

Why now? 

He almost didn't feel it when a hand fell on his shoulder, not violent but firmly pressing down. He almost didn't see the red blob of cookie moving in his sight, almost didn't hear the distressed calls of a lady. 

“Great One?”

Nutmeg Tiger. When did she get here? Burning Spice's fixed gaze, long fallen on the ground, snapped back to her. Suddenly, all the things he couldn't do, he was doing tenfold.

Breathing too much. Eyes fleeting around too much. 

Suckling sharp breath in, his hands flicked to grab something. Nutmeg's arm was the first thing in his reach, and oh witches, like an anchor it grounded him to no end.

Enough to blink away the fog behind his eyes and actually see her; her stoic face twisted into something worried and perplexed, searching his face for a response. She didn't seem to care about the bruising grip around his bicep, only why he wasn't answering. Faintly, he could see the tail being wrapped around his other arm. 

He knew, of course he knew. Why was it not clear to him then? He'd been alive long enough to know. But damn it, he didn't want to believe himself — such a simple, stupid answer to his state. 

“Panic. Panic attack.” Burning Spice muttered with strain, swallowing once more and exhaling abruptly. His voice was low enough to be unheard in the ruckus, but clear enough for his general to hear.

Her brows jumped up, but she was quick to accept it. Immediately, she turned her head to suppress the loud commotion, and to partially keep the headmaster at bay.

Burning Spice only watched, forcing every wave of anxiety and fear down. His breathing was barely under control, required too much focus. One thought- one memory and he would begin to spiral. 

He just— he needed something. Someone. A clear reminder to keep him in the present. Reassurance? Was that what he needed?

Was that what he wanted?

Focusing solely on breathing and glancing around, it was still there. Bold and bright, the reassurance. Still looking at him, his eyes were troubled and muddled with confusion. But still there, never once taking his eyes off the mess that the beast was.

“I believe,” The headmaster’s voice filtered through, snappy and hoarse. “that we must have a talk about this.”

Burning Spice clenched his jaw. 

“I'm not sure if you are aware,” Sitting on the familiar couch inside the headmaster’s office, Burning Spice was stationed right in between Nutmeg Tiger and Capsaicin. All three were tense, each for their own reason.

It was suffocating, but he was too exhausted to care. 

“but that lady was one of the five ancient heroes. Ancient heroes!” The headmaster’s arms flailed around aimlessly, pacing around the room in distress. The fire was still crackling in his skeletal head, eye sockets disturbingly wide. 

Heroes. Burning Spice's hooded eyes twitched, but biting his tongue, he didn't say anything and closed them. 

Nutmeg sighed from next to him, rubbing the bridge of her nose. “Yes, we are aware. We—”

“And she was here, of all places, and!” Headmaster’s both palms pointed to Capsaicin, who shrank into himself the tiniest bit. “And she suddenly decided it was a good idea to go for my student! What for!?”

Stopping just in front of the three, who were all sulking in their own way, the headmaster breathed in deep with his hands to his mouth. Or...teeth. Whatever. “Good sir, I need an explanation.”

Opening his eyes, Burning Spice could already see the responses formulating inside his general's brain, ready to explain. Even Capsaicin's mouth parted slightly, but before either of them could speak, the headmaster held his hands up. 

“No, not you lot. I need an explanation from him.” Staring right into his eyes from where his own eyes would be, the headmaster feigned bravery, covering his sickly concerned voice with false stability. Burning Spice frowned, glaring the skeleton down. Taller even while sitting on the couch. 

The silence stretched, the tension thick and heavy.

Nutmeg Tiger's tail was frantically slamming against his back, invisible to the others, as if begging him to supply them with a response. Groaning, Burning Spice fisted his pants subtly. 

“What other reason than to finish what she had started? To kill me and no more.”

On his left, he felt Capsaicin tense up immensely while on his right, Nutmeg, remained the same. The concept of murder was more known to her, and wasn't that a bitter pill to swallow?

Whatever question the boy had wanted to ask the moment Burning Spice had uttered those words died there, because the headmaster beat him to it. “That does not explain why she went for my student.” His eye sockets were thinned, skeptical and lost. “She could not have missed, as she didn't even attempt to put him down—”

“She thought she was saving me.” Capsaicin cut in, voice uncertain. The headmaster glanced at him with one raised brow, as if his stupid incoming question did not have an answer. Saving him from what?

“Saving you from what?”

Him. 

“...From Burning Spice, for some reason.”

The boy's eyes slowly fell in his direction, as he, too, didn't understand why that was the case. Burning Spice failed to meet his gaze this time, staring down at the floor while three pairs of eyes drilled into his head.

For some reason. 

Oh, the price he would pay to keep that innocence intact inside Capsaicin. But—

He deserved to know the truth, did he not? He had to know who Burning Spice even was. He would tell Capsaicin. That he was a lot of things, held a lot of titles. A beast, the original owner of the said hero's Soul Jam, a ruler, a tyrant, a commander, a destroyer. All which he could say. 

But. A father. The one thing he wouldn't say.

“Why? Why would she think you'd hurt me?” Capsaicin spoke up, tilting his body to face Burning Spice. His voice wasn't quiet anymore, frustrated and reaching for answers. “Why would she think that?” He pressed, brows drawn together and palms pressed together firmly. An act of suppressing anxiety. 

From the tone, Burning Spice knew he couldn't run away from answering this time. Gradually looking up, he took the entirety of the boy in; hopeful.

He steeled himself for a dry, harsh answer. 

Nutmeg's tail thrashed around more behind him.

With great effort, the two held their gazes steady. Burning Spice sighed, frowning deeply. “Because that's what I do.”

The tail sputtered, then fell entirely.

Capsaicin was taken aback, blinking wide and confused. “...What?”

Burning Spice clenched his jaw. The damage would be done, no point in returning now, not when he had almost made it known to the whole academy who he was. “That's what I do, I hurt. I destroy things that are too weak to withstand my swings, for I am the Beast of Destruction.” 

Capsaicin wouldn't know. 

He wouldn't know, he shouldn't. He shouldn't know he was made from the same destruction Burning Spice was capable of. 

The boy's face fell, brows twisting together because he was— hurt. Hurt by the words, by the tone, by the realization that this was kept from them all. Even so, he shook his head slightly. “The…Beast of Destruction? From—” He looked to the headmaster, whose expression was as pained as he felt. “From the tales?”

When he didn't receive a negative answer, Capsaicin looked back at Burning Spice with more shock this time around. The latter kept his stone stare, fighting everything inside of him not to cave in and spill everything, every detail. Tell the painful truth. 

That Capsaicin was the son of this destroyer. Witches, that would only shatter everything in his pure heart — Burning Spice didn't want that. 

“But— wait, but then why did she leave so suddenly? Did she change her mind that quickly?” Capsaicin dodged it like a professional, looked to the other two in the room, receiving equally confused glances, which also agreed with his point of view. The headmaster hummed, having calmed down a whole lot. 

“I'd say yes, that was a little strange. If she were so hell bent on wiping Burning Spice out, she wouldn't have simply turned and left.” 

Nutmeg Tiger’s sharp glare was all he felt when Burning Spice turned away from Capsaicin, knowing well what she wanted to convey with those accusing eyes. Surprisingly, she had been quiet the whole time, not once chirping in.

The question hung in the air, waiting for another answer. But Burning Spice gave none, crossing his arms instead 

The headmaster sighed, rubbing his hard temples as he sat down on the couch in front of them. “Either way, I can't afford something like that to happen again. We all saw what happened, she almost dropped Capsaicin, and I would like to keep my student safe—”

The last words were barely spoken when Burning Spice had stood up abruptly, teeth grinding and fists trembling. The tips of his hair were raised sharply into the air, enlarging his frame by a whole amount. “Then we will leave, if that's what you're trying to ask of us.” He gritted out, Soul Jam pulsing rapidly.

The headmaster’s eye sockets blew wide, brows furrowed. “That's not what I meant to—”

He didn't get a word in. Burning Spice had already slammed the door by the time the headmaster had gathered his wits. 

The mere thought of leaving was bringing him down to his knees, making his stomach twist and his head sway.

Burning Spice stomped through the halls aimlessly, pondering over the fact that he was the one to even suggest leaving.

Maybe he had just wanted to leave the moment.

For so long everything had been a slow race for him, every action and incident predictable. He had known with a wave of his hands, armies would gather and with a shake of his head, kings would be dethroned. 

Everything had been under his control. The outcome of everything had been known to him, and maybe that was what drove him insane. To know the flow and motions, yet be unable to change them to something new. 

So now, being slapped in the face by a new occurrence, he didn't know what the right course of action was. How could he respond when, potentially, the life of his son was at stake?

He couldn't. And it made him feel the more undeserving of his forgotten title. 

How did he ever call himself a herald, when he couldn't even be a simple—

“This is unfair!”

—father. 

A ball of fire flew past his head, lighting up the halls momentarily. 

Burning Spice stopped, the sheer volume of the roar from behind him stunning him. Following that was the heavy fit of breathing, a deep growl reverberating through the halls. Slowly, he turned to look behind him, eyes wide and brows furrowed.

Nutmeg Tiger stood there, stance wide and fists shaking violently by her sides. Her stare held emotions unlike any he had seen from her, sharp daggers shooting from her eyes and canines on display. Even her tail, often tamed and restricted, trembled in the air, swinging back and forth. 

One fist was smoking, rearing to go for another one if Burning Spice dared not listen.

He turned around fully, not hesitant in his movements. He wouldn't push her aside, not with this new side she was showing him.

Unfair?

The puzzled look on his face must have been enough, for she huffed out another growl before pacing forward. “This is unfair. This,” Her finger, with all the audacity she must have mustered, jammed into his chest. “is unfair.”

Burning Spice's patience was wearing thin, he genuinely did not understand. He bared his own teeth, crossing his arms in defense. “And what about me is unfair, general?”

Nutmeg looked ready to explode, face a darker shade of tan and fur puffed up. “What about you is unfair? Great One, you don't understand, do you?” Her small chuckle was hysterical, almost mocking him, before she put all her weight into her next words.

“The fact that you hurt everything, everyone you hold dear, and then expect everything to end in your favor. The fact that, even when met with the opportunity, you run from the only thing that brings you joy.”

Burning Spice bit the walls of his cheeks, gaze darting away — only aggravating her further. She stepped into his personal space more, making sure she was seen. “Why? Why do you push him away? Why do you aim to keep hurting?”

Nothing was hiding the tremor racking his body, eyes locked onto the ground. Nutmeg wasn't letting up, she wouldn't go away, and she didn't stop. 

“Why do you run away!?”

"Because I never intended to get this far!”

The words were punched out of him. She flinched back, eyes wide now that he actually succeeded in staring back at her. The silence was too loud — the echoes of his outburst dragged on forever.

But they couldn't be more true. So, even with a clogged throat, he continued. 

“I never wanted to survive after having everything crash down on my head. The same moment you were praying to whatever deity out there that the debris hadn't killed me, I was wishing I were dead.”

Nutmeg's eyes widened more, eyebrows knitted together. Burning Spice inhaled, and exhaled.

And wasn't that what he had been doing for a lifetime now?

“But I wasn't dead, was I? I had gotten out alive, hadn't I?” He had. “The feeling of missing the sweet kiss of death was worse than the fate itself.” It was.

His laughter, at the time, was out of pure pain and irony. Knowing he had survived again, having to endure another sunrise again. 

His mouth parted aimlessly for a split second, voice stuck in his throat. Stuck in his heart, only being forced out because he couldn't freeze now. He couldn't shed tears now. His arms fell from his chest, clenched by his sides. “But you wouldn't know that, would you? You haven't been alive since the dawn of time, have you?”

The jab was meant to drive her away, but she stood still. Listening with a solemn expression. Was that pity or care, he could never know.

A beat or two passed. His head fell back, looking up to suppress the urge to weep. 

"...I run away, because I never imagined to bump into the same reason that was both my hope and undoing.”

The words lingered, sinking deep into both of their bodies; Burning Spice for shining light on these thoughts, and Nutmeg Tiger for hearing them. A precious moment of vulnerability, even for himself. 

But all things had to end, so let it be Burning Spice that had to end this all.

His eyes met Nutmeg's own once more, not being able to decipher her emotions this time. "So that's why. Why I stride with no goal. Why I escape. Why I don't care about the consequences. My grief had made its presence known, and I had gotten over it.”

He turned, poorly attempting to cross his arms only to wrap them around himself. “I was done with it." Gritting it out, even to his own ears it felt false and fake. 

Was he?

"...Were you?”

She broke the silence he had wanted to force upon them. In his tracks, Burning Spice stopped once more. Aiming to walk away from Nutmeg had never succeeded in the first try, but he would listen.

He wasn't heartless. 

…Was he?

“Were you done with it? Or did you just push it down to the deepest depths of your heart's abyss, just to feel nothing?"

Her tone was not accusatory, but it should have been. Burning Spice stilled, the awful feeling of being seen through stabbing his heart. But it was true, wasn't it? And she knew it was true. 

She was aware he wouldn't deny any of it.

And maybe that was the reason she let him walk away the second time. Head low and steps hesitant. 

The feeling of having eyes on him had been a prominent issue from the start of the whole scandal. From the normal students to the headmaster and Capsaicin, and from him to Nutmeg Tiger watching him retreat into the dorm rooms.

But even now, in the solitude of the room, he still felt it. The sensation of someone watching, too eerie to ignore.

From his spot on the bed, Burning Spice worked on his breathing and glanced around, trying to tell himself that his brain was tired from today's events. But it didn't help. 

Someone was still watching. Sticky clicking surrounded every corner of his mind, echoing ominously, and it took him only a moment of consideration to realize what it was, to dig through his memories to remember.

His eyes widened when cackling followed. Lone, blue eyeballs sprouted from every surface. 

“Well hello there, Spicy!”

Burning Spice reacted too late.

Chapter Text

The sound of the door slamming closed was too loud for comfort.

Capsaicin flinched, staring at the place Burning Spice had been with a conflicted expression, biting his lip. After a few, agonizing seconds, he looked back at the only one still in the room.

Nutmeg Tiger had looked bewildered then, a silent type of frustration building up within her body, growing increasingly puffier and her eyes twitching. 

And then she had exploded altogether, standing up and turning to leave at a speed enough to give anyone whiplash. It had been obvious where she was going, who she was going to follow.

Of course, she didn't shut the door like Burning Spice had.

Still puzzled, Capsaicin searched the headmaster’s face for any clues on what might have set the other off. “Did you…really not mean to tell them to leave?” He mumbled quietly, fidgeting with his chained wrists. 

The headmaster ran a hand on his bony forehead, exasperation seeping through his eyes clearly. “Of course not. I may have…worded it all wrong.” With a heavy sigh, he dropped into the cushions of the couch, his flame sizzling out of existence. “I'd intended to tell him to, I don't know, work it out with the ancient one. But obviously that's not going to happen, considering—...” His frown deepened, following up with a much quieter sentence. “..considering what he said, at least.”

Capsaicin hummed, gaze losing focus as he thought back on what had transpired just then. His head swirled with thoughts and questions, ones he didn't have the answers to.

“What other reason than to finish what she had started? To kill me and no more.”

Why? Because he was the Beast of Destruction.

Capsaicin didn't know a lot, didn't know anything even. Tales and stories were scattered around where they lived, myths of there being powerful beasts roaming the land of Beast-Yeast. He had only thought they were, well, beasts; monster-looking creatures that weren't cookies.

So, to find out one of them was Burning Spice…

Groaning loudly, Capsaicin dragged both hands down on his face. “But why would it be her job to do it? An ancient hero?” He squinted at nothing. “Is Burning Spice that strong to warrant a battle from her specifically?”

The headmaster shook his head, not in the sense that he was declining, but in a way that screamed I don't know either.

None of them knew anything, any knowledge about the beasts being buried under the weight of time and doubt. It had turned into a local myth because it was so old, nothing more.

Why was the hero there to kill Burning Spice if he wasn't making any ruckus? When he was simply being good? In fact, he had been the nicest to Capsaicin than any stranger, on their first meeting, has ever been.

If he were the Beast of Destruction, why was he not destroying anything? 

“I… I care about you.”

Why?

Capsaicin's questions didn't cease, and he wouldn't get the answer to them if—

Wait, if Burning Spice actually left.

Almost immediately, he shot up to his feet. The headmaster sat up, snapping his eye sockets to him in surprise. “What—?”

“I can't just sit around and wait! I should ask him myself. What if he leaves? I can't do that if he actually leaves!” With growing anxiety, Capsaicin spun around to the door and marched over, movements all too quick. Just as he was reaching for the handle, the headmaster squeaked from behind him. “Wait!”

Capsaicin paused, glancing back with a raised brow. The headmaster…seemed nervous, hands hovering in the air like he didn't know what to do with them. “This- doesn't seem like the best idea, does it? I mean, Burning Spice was furious and- and what if he hurts you? He's called the uh- the Great Destroyer for a reason—”

With the deepest frown he could muster, Capsaicin twisted the handle. “If he intended to hurt me,” He muttered, stopping the headmaster in his pursuit. “he would have let me fall to my death.”

It was a good enough response, as it got him out of the office with no further protests. And Capsaicin couldn't help but think; someone as great and strong as Burning Spice wouldn't just come all the way over to the Dragon's Valley, specifically, to hurt others. No, there had to be a reason. 

Something he had to figure out, but for now, he ran. Ran through the hallways, throwing a glance at each corridor and corner. Even if he suspected where their two guests could have gone, there was no shame in making sure. 

An extremely faint bellow echoed through the halls just up ahead, and he knew he was going in the right direction.

However, just as he started to close in on where the commotion was, the sheer volume of it registered. He stopped abruptly, far enough behind a wall to catch his breath quietly. In the meantime, he tuned in.

“…aim to keep hurting?”

It had been Nutmeg Tiger who was yelling? Capsaicin swallowed a large chunk of air, putting a hand on his chest to calm his racing heart. She was talking to Burning Spice, right? She had to be.

Peeking around the corner just enough for one eye, he quickly pulled away after confirmation. Yep, she was. But the atmosphere…it was too heavy to be normal, felt even from where he stood. Sharpening his ears, Capsaicin only listened. He couldn't risk getting caught eavesdropping—

“Why do you run away!?”

Her voice held a rage he hadn't seen, or heard, in her before. Even if he had only known her for a day or less. Still, she had always been calm, collected, maybe even harsh—

"Because I never intended to get this far!”

The halls shuddered. All thoughts screeched to a halt inside his head. His brows twisted, staring at the wall in front of him with wide, unfocused eyes. That was Burning Spice.

And his tone.. Did his voice break?

Capsaicin only had his hearing to depend on. The silence after was suffocating, making him wonder if it was over. It didn't smell like finality, though, and it wasn't. 

With a lower, more shaky volume, Burning Spice's voice filtered through the halls again.

“I never wanted to survive after having everything crash down on my head. The same moment you were praying to whatever deity out there that the debris hadn't killed me, I was wishing I were dead.”

A pit slowly opened in Capsaicin's stomach as the words were digested.

He didn't know anything, he had to remind himself of that. Didn't know what had happened, who was involved, he didn't know anything about Burning Spice, but—

But he knew those thoughts and that tone, enough to know that it was never any good. To wish to be dead. 

He was all too familiar with the ideation. 

“But I wasn't dead, was I? I had gotten out alive, hadn't I? The feeling of missing the sweet kiss of death was worse than the fate itself.”

Capsaicin bit his lip, his heart pounding inside his chest. Aching from hearing the thoughts be voiced, by not him but someone so similar to him. To know they have felt the same way — he just wanted to help.

He wanted to make it hurt less.

The beat of silence stretched on, granting him a fragile and temporary peace of mind. To think about this. 

Before he could start tearing up at the mere thought of someone dying so tragically, and before he could catch onto more than he should have, Capsaicin silently stepped away. Walked to the opposite direction, long hurried steps turning to a full sprint to the other side of the building. 

If he had to get to his dorm room the longer route then so be it, but he had to do something about this.

Burning Spice… He wasn't mad at any of them at all. He'd been mad at himself, for surviving whatever had happened to him. 

And Capsaicin knew all too well how it felt to despise himself for something that wasn't his fault.

He got a few head turns and waves, a few greetings and high-fives as he passed through the dorm halls. To them, he grinned it off as just a normal running routine. Practically missing past the dorm room door, he snatched onto the handle before pushing himself in.

“Okay, pen, paper. Need a pen and paper.” He panted while he searched his admittedly cluttered desk, quickly finding a chewed pen and a piece of paper. Which, surprisingly, was not crumpled. 

Once he was actually touching the objects, he hesitated. Pen hovering above the paper. 

Is this…too much? Too cliché? Would the guy even read this?

He bit the walls of his cheeks, twirling the pen between his fingers. Slowly his palms started to sweat and he had to rub them on his pants so as not to ruin the perfect sheet of paper, grunting. The blank page stared back at him menacingly, taunting him.

Others could have told him the same things. He must be older than any of them here. He would know all of this. He would have the knowledge—

Having the knowledge alone didn't mean it would be applied, did it?

Capsaicin couldn't assume things. What would happen if others, like him, assumed the same things? That Burning Spice was too wise to be counseled? Then all of them would collectively ignore the matter altogether.

Even if Burning Spice had heard these old sentences before, maybe he needed to hear them again. 

And Capsaicin would be damned not to try his best, for the sake of his first-ever mentor.

The room seemed far larger than it actually was in the presence of this cursed beast.

Burning Spice, as tense as his body allowed without snapping in half, stood in the center of the mass illusion with rigid fists by his sides. Glaring at the numerous eyes scattered around on every surface, watching his every move.

He was lucky not to have a problem with staring, and even luckier to be familiar with these eerie eyes. 

A set of mismatched ones, different from the rest, popped up from just below his feet. “Is this how you greet good old me?” The voice echoed from all around, painfully stretched high. Burning Spice didn't flinch, but he did step back as fast as he could with a snarl. 

“Color me wounded, O’ Great Destroyer!”

This day could not get any better.

Not only had Burning Spice just come down from a horrible encounter, an even worse conversation, he had been under the watch of this rancid— Witches, have mercy. 

“Are you gonna sulk? Sheesh, you never change—”

“What do you want.”

Knowing the tricks behind the other beast’s meaningless displays, Burning Spice reached into the ground. Punched, more so, his fist sinking in the dark fog, and gripped hard whatever he had grabbed. Which, in this case, was the jester’s hair. He pulled. 

That obnoxious voice was not surrounding them anymore, but it didn't make it any less annoying. In fact, the mere presence of the other beast made it all the more unbearable. 

Shadow Milk’s face soured just a pinch when he was finally dragged out of his protective hole. “Ow, ow, okay, you can let go now, I'm outta there.” Even so, he made no real effort to pry Burning Spice's fingers off. His blue and black attire fully materialized into existence, now a solid matter instead of a misty void.

Burning Spice just wanted to kick him back to the Silver Tree. 

Frowning, his gaze met Shadow Milk’s bored eyes, wrapped around a perfectly hidden sense of curiosity. “Spill it at once,” Burning Spice gritted out, giving the other the mercy of letting go of his unusual hair. “What are you doing here.”

Shadow Milk’s lips twitched into a wide grin, one brow jumping up in amusement. “My my, you're more irritable than usual! What gives?” He did not stand for long, feet lifting off the ground as he started hovering in the air. Leaning to nothing in particular, inspecting Burning Spice.

Like how a puppeteer looked down at their puppets.

“What could have possibly happened?”

Burning Spice had been so wrong to assume that things would stay hidden from the Beast of Deceit. But he wasn't always called this, was he? Of course he knew. Found out things that weren't even related to him. 

Steeling himself, Burning Spice stared back up at the other's hooded expression. “None that is of your business. Answer the question.”

Shadow Milk clicked his tongue, eyes falling closed. “Ah, you're no fun, how did I even forget about that fact?” With forged innocence, Shadow Milk’s body floated around the other as his staff, now materialized into existence, brushed over Burning Spice's shoulders. “And hey, I'm just here to pay my favorite buddy a visit! What's so wrong about that?”

Burning Spice shrugged the staff away, frown installed in place as his eyes tracked the other beast. He knew that tone, and he was aware it was never good news. Shadow Milk was never good news.

“I thought my old friend would be a bit more hospitable.”

Just before Burning Spice could get a word out, the jester flew to the window, humming as he glanced outside. The redness clashed with his blue form, showing just how out of place he was.

A cookie meant to reside in castles standing in a volcanic land. 

“Oh! Or perhaps…” The sickest, widest smirk stretched onto Shadow Milk’s face as his face slowly turned, mean eyes landing on Burning Spice. A shiver was sent down his spine. “Perhaps something did happen. Something out of the ordinary.” 

Burning Spice could feel rage surge through him more with each passing moment. Baring his teeth, he crossed his arms over his chest. “Even if it did, none of it is your business. You are no visitor. Leave.” 

Keep it under wraps. He couldn't let the other see his emotions. Any small movement or action could confirm the beast’s statement or thoughts, whatever he was already assuming. So, Burning Spice opted to put up the mad front he had always put up. 

Shadow Milk sighed in a stretch, turning around and waving a hand in front of him with the same smile, but more subdued. “Oh come on, Spicy. Don't be so slow.” Gradually, the flow of his magic brought him back in front of Burning Spice.

Right up in his face, different Soul Jams too close. Inches away from touching.

“You thought I wouldn't find out?” 

Shadow Milk’s whisper turned multidimensional, surrounding both in a thick blanket of fog. Harmless, but enough to block their visions from the outside world. Dark, with blue particles flying in the air.

Burning Spice's eyes widened, glare still sharp on the other's own— the pupils in Shadow Milk’s eyes thinning to slits. “You thought that I wouldn't notice this profound hope in your eyes?” The staff bumped against his chest, clinking against the amber souljam which shone in rapid pulses.

Stuttering when the staff touched it, as if it felt like being caught. 

“That I wouldn't notice this? Running off our dear land and crashing in this absolute nowhere?”

Clenching his jaw, Burning Spice swatted the staff away. He didn't even want to question the fact why Shadow Milk had been watching him; a normal action, considering who it was.

But what did the other see? How much? 

“Your question holds no value.” Brushing away the ghost touch that had been on his souljam, he aimed to turn away. He couldn't resort to violence, not when it could potentially destroy their surroundings—

…Since when did he stop to consider things such as this?

Pausing to groan at this mental clarity, he frowned. “I can travel wherever I desire. Now, you—”

“Even this far, to choose a disciple?”

Disciple—? 

Burning Spice halted in his tracks.

His neck creaked when he turned ever so slowly to look back at Shadow Milk, pure confusion and terror in his eyes. To which the latter chuckled at, shaking his head mockingly. "I have eyes all around — no pun intended — so y’know, I'd know.”

With his own tasteless joke, Shadow Milk cackled in a fit, doubling down and flipping in the air for a short moment. His hands waved around, fingers delicate as streams of light stemmed from the motions. “You're an interesting fella, after all,”

Their eyes met, the string of tension pulling tut at the impending words. It was inevitable, these insults have been said before. A thousand times, over and over, but never failing to leave a mark. And Shadow Milk knew that, didn't he?

He knew almost everything, after all.

Almost.

“Dear Herald of Change.”

Glass cracked audibly inside Burning Spice's head. 

His jaw clenched, shoulders drawing up as his fuming eyes fell on the other's open palms. Or rather, the foggy mirage of caricatures on display. 

Poorly conjured up cookies, one with a fiery bright icing, huge eyes and the other with a comically large axe and frown. He recognized them in a beat, the slightest of tensions bleeding out of his body. 

Not completely, though. He stared at the poor imitation of him and Capsaicin.

Leave him out of this, please. 

Who was he begging to? The Beast of Deceit, or the witches?

“It is so painfully obvious that you have chosen this young one. Gotta admit, he's got a lot of energy. Impulsive, loud, insufferable.” In each syllable was a poorly contained amused laugh, only held back by the deadly glares Burning Spice was throwing at him. “Watch your words.” He gritted out.

Shadow Milk rolled his eyes far back into his head, the imaginary figures disappearing from his grasp. “Ugh, you're insufferable, too. But hey, at least you have that in common!”

The words didn't manage to leave his mouth completely as he had to dodge, whistling at Burning Spice's missed punch. Who, in response, bristled as the temperature rose considerably in the room. “You talk too much!”

A sentence fallen on deaf ears, as Shadow Milk kept on floating and blabbering. “And knowing you, you're probably going to use him! In your future fights or whatever.”

Use him. Hire him.

The thoughts of yesterday flooded his mind, of the same accusations made by the headmaster. His offensive stance faltered, fist looser than before.

Had it not been for his reputation, would everyone else think that he, too, had a heart?

“I do not—”

“He could be right outside, you know.” The jester’s eyes drifted to the door, the wall next to it and some. Burning Spice stopped rigid as well, tuning in on his surroundings to hear. To feel.

No, Capsaicin wasn't outside. But he was close.

A sick myriad of giggles filled the air as he turned to glare at the other beast once more. Shadow Milk who, with no shame in the world, was hanging in the air upside-down and drawing closer to his face.

“Imagine! What if he found out what you truly are? Oh, the crimes you have committed against cookiekind, the lives you have ended!” His voice pitched higher, eyes only inching wider in absolute madness.

Burning Spice couldn't find it in himself to excuse his actions. He was sure that, even if time ran backward, he would have done the same things again — even if he knew the outcome. 

Destroy in the name of boredom, for he owed no one the explanation as to why he was done with everything.

Even the witches didn't give him an explanation as to why. Why he, or all of the beast cookies for that matter, had to shoulder such responsibilities all on their own.

Why? When life would flow, death would be inevitable, and everyone would have been fine on their own — why? 

Burning Spice didn't owe anyone any explanation, not even to Capsaicin. But—

If he found out— what would he think? Of Burning Spice? Of himself? How would he look at himself if he knew just who he was related to? He couldn't risk that, he just simply couldn't. 

(Was Shadow Milk right?) 

“What if I told him, hm?”

Shadow Milk’s pesky voice cut his thoughts short, an abrupt stop to them. Burning Spice, realizing he had once again drowned in his own head, lifted his gaze. The other's voice was silk, yet rotten, as his arm reached out beyond them both, to the door.

A dramatic course of action, as if reaching for something out of his range. “Would he seek your acceptance, even then? Would he seek you as a tutor?” Another psychotic giggle. “Would he want to be taken under the wings of a mass murderer—”

Burning Spice's hand snapped up to Shadow Milk’s wrist.

“You will not step foot anywhere within my son's proximity, or I will tear you apart, limb by limb.”

Silence dropped heavily on the room. All movements halted. The fog dissipated. 

Burning Spice's grip was vice on the other, teeth bared and breaths labored. It took him a long, long second to realize the grave mistake he had made, as his eyes widened. At the same time, Shadow Milk’s fixed gaze on the door turned to him slowly.

Stunned, baffled. 

“Your…son.”

The words felt thick on the other's tongue, calculated. As if it were such a strange, alien thing. Perhaps it was — to find out a brute like him had a son. And to find out how you could exploit it. 

Burning Spice had just screwed up horribly.

Shadow Milk’s lips jerked into a broad grin, the distant craze in those eyes coming back to life. “You're a father? You— AHAH— You!? A beast— a father!?”

Burning Spice felt a pang in his heart.

Cackles filled the room instantly, echoing hauntingly. The black fog spread around once more, engulfing them both in an even thicker amount of it. Two slim hands landed on his shoulders, the only things visible other than the beast’s uncanny expression. “You, whose hands only bring destruction upon lives?”

Blood was on his hands. An unknown amount. 

The thin fingers climbed higher, grabbing Burning Spice's neck in a loose hold. He did nothing to get them off, his distressed eyes locked onto Shadow Milk’s face. The words drilled into a wound long sealed, making it ache to even exist.

“Do you even know how to protect an innocent soul?”

He didn't. He had failed.

Thick chains that wrapped around the boy's wrists, melted off at the ends. Permanent.

He had already failed. 

At his lack of response, heaps of laughter surrounded them, even if Shadow Milk’s grin remained in place. As if the voices weren't even his. His grin grew wider, however, eyes squinting because of it.

“I see, oh, I see. Even you,” One palm met the side of Burning Spice's face, causing him to jolt away. “embraced deceit! Lying to yourself and everyone around you that you are capable of abundance.”

At the mere mention of its missing piece, the souljam pulsed brighter. 

“Capable of care. But that was a thing of the past! Wasn't it!?”

Burning Spice couldn't take it anymore. Hot waves flashed behind his eyes as he pushed the other beast, the fog fanning away. With the closeness broken, it all disappeared as well, but never Shadow Milk’s smile.

A smile that was slowly turning somber, in its insanity.

“You will never reach that point of peace, for you were never destined to be your own cookie.”

Burning Spice was panting heavily when he stared into Shadow Milk’s eyes, attempting to decipher what he was actually seeing. The feeling radiating from the other wasn't full of ridicule anymore, instead drifting off to something more…bitter.

Something they both felt, yet never mentioned. A mutual sense of feeling betrayed.

Shadow Milk’s eyes fell, and so did his voice. “None of us ever were.” 

Burning Spice's fingers twitched around air. Conflicted. Even when inspecting the Beast of Deceit so closely, he could never figure out the other's next move.

Even now, when Shadow Milk’s heavy tone had been accompanied by his cheerful expression. Even now, when his mismatched eyes turned sharp and dangerous, lingering on Burning Spice.

Hiding away what had just been said. Wanting to push Burning Spice's buttons even more.

Even if the wound has been reopened, Burning Spice couldn't let it show any further.

His arms went tense, one fist swirling with the tiniest amount of leftover abundance energy. Seeing Shadow Milk’s mischievous self come back to life at his display of rage, his axe materialized in his hand.

Shadow Milk’s stance had almost completely changed to offensive, ready to forget every—

“Uh, Burning Spice?”

The bubble popped. The axe disappeared as soon as it had appeared.

All of the fight left his body as he froze, listening to the call on the other side of the door. Muffled, but still enthusiastically clear. 

But Burning Spice couldn't look back, not at this moment, couldn't let Shadow Milk out of his sight — lest he decided to pull anything off.

“Burning Spice? I'm pretty sure you're there, but uh. Uhm.”

To his surprise, Shadow Milk didn't move. Didn't make a noise. Instead, the beast stayed put for a short while, his eyes...amused. A tad confused, if one would squint.

He mouthed something under his breath, likely Burning Spice's name. 

With one last glance thrown his way, Shadow Milk’s eyes brightened with realization. It was obvious, the conclusion he had reached. With a silent huff of laughter, he shook his head. 

‘He doesn't know.’

It didn't need to be said.

“Hey, it's okay if you can't talk— don't want to see me. I just, uhm..”

A black portal promptly appeared behind the Beast of Deceit before he was gone, not even glimpsing back. Without any schemes, no traces of his power left. 

He had…truly just left. 

Burning Spice, in the sudden quiet of the room, let out an abrupt exhale. Then another, and another. 

The words sprouted back up, whirled around in his head, punching him mentally. Overwhelming him to the core, but true to every last bit. And it was— it was driving him insane. 

He was boiling inside out from anything but destructive rage.

Mad at himself for something he could have prevented, had he been more careful. Had he trusted himself with his yet-to-be-destructive hands. Had he been brave enough not to let go.

Brave enough to keep his little ember close to himself without the fear of hurting him.

Mad at—

“Okay, I'm starting to get a taaad worried. Well, stupid thing, really but— Burning Spice?”

Capsaicin's distressed call blocked all thoughts temporarily. 

Burning Spice forced himself to turn around to the door, yet was unable to step closer to it. Noticing how intense light filtered through the gaps, it warmed his aching heart more.

It took almost all of his energy in him to steady his voice, and respond; “I am alright, I— assure you.”

He heard a distant exhale from the boy. A sigh of relief. “Oh, thank the witches. Okay! Glad to hear that but, uh.”

A beat passed. Burning Spice used the small window of opportunity to collect his wits, running a hand through his hair roughly. In the end, he couldn't help but plop down on one of the beds. 

“...Can I come in?”

‘You don't have to ask.’

Burning Spice, closing his eyes and rubbing them with force, nodded to no one in particular. It was a bad idea, terrible even, to let Capsaicin inside while he was on the brink of snapping in half. Impending meltdown. 

But Burning Spice was full of terrible ideas. 

“…Of course. Come on in.”

A click, and the door creaked while it was pushed open. Light poured into the room, exposing just how dark it had been. At the center stood Capsaicin, the main source of said light, as he blinked around.

It took him a moment to see Burning Spice in the shade on the bed, but he didn't make a big deal out of it. Didn't turn on the lights. Instead, he just accepted it with no questions, and slowly closed the door behind him.

Such perception from a young one like him was…comforting. Refreshing.

He was still the only source of light, and the best one at that. 

Burning Spice couldn't do anything but stare as Capsaicin approached him, hands tucked behind his back. Too tense to be holding nothing, but he didn't pry. The clank of his boots was careful, before he stopped right next to the bed.

His eyes flicked around Burning Spice, biting his lip and rocking back and forth on his heels slightly. With his arms behind his back, and looking so nervous, Burning Spice couldn't help but think—

Capsaicin looked just like a kid. 

And maybe Burning Spice's heart seized too much at that. His son. 

“...I, uh, alright. Look,” The boy puffed out his chest for a split second, then deflated and shook it off. “I know eavesdropping is bad and all, but well…”

Burning Spice frowned the tiniest bit, before he noticed Capsaicin's eyes focused on the empty spot on the mattress next to him. 

A fond, quiet sigh. Burning Spice ignored what had been said for now, patting the bed beside him for Capsaicin to sit. To which the boy giddily accepted, still hiding his hands out of the other's sight.

Burning Spice wasn't too keen on finding out what it was, he was exhausted. His voice hadn't helped his case either; he had been furious when he had left the office, not tired.

Not vibrating internally with nervous energy.

Capsaicin wasn't looking at him anymore, eyes darting around at anything but him. The silence must have been heavy on him. “..I heard a bit, what you said.” His voice was small, unsure and hesitant. “I really didn't mean to hear any of it! But I just— I was just passing by and—”

Over-explaining, a sign of anxiety, or guilt. Burning Spice frowned, putting his weight onto his elbows on his knees and turning to Capsaicin. “How much did you hear?” He mustered with the most gentle tone he could use, so as not to scare the other. 

The boy finally managed to look at him, something akin to worry in his eyes, but only for a split second before his head lowered. “About...”

His whole face dropped, brows stitched together.

Burning Spice's heart climbed up his throat. Did he find out? Did he know? All possibilities swarmed his head, every outcome, every reaction. 

Anything but positive—

“About how you didn't want to survive…whatever you hadn't wanted to survive.” Capsaicin continued, cutting Burning Spice's thoughts short.

Oh, that. That…was not his proudest moment. 

With an incline of his head, Capsaicin managed to hold his gaze steady on Burning Spice, fueling himself with courage. The ache in his voice, however, didn't go away. “And hearing that, I just— I get it. I understand.”

Why? 

Why would he understand? Why would Capsaicin understand the will, the longing to die? 

He said nothing. Burning Spice's frown deepened by a notch, though it wasn't directed at Capsaicin. The boy didn't take it to heart, too immersed in the concern lacing his own words. “And it— it was painful to hear you say it, for some reason. It was almost pinpointing how I feel exactly. I don't-...”

An abysmal pit caved in Burning Spice's stomach. His hands twitched, but was it in rage, or the urgent need to caress the boy? To comfort, even if he didn't know how?

Did his hands twitch, because he had been the root cause of what Capsaicin was feeling?

(Was he truly?)

Capsaicin sighed heavily, one hand gliding forward to rub at his forehead. “I guess what I'm trying to say is I, well, I know how it feels.” He swallowed around what seemed to be a thick lump in his throat, looking away. “And I— I guess I feel the need to say it because you…you've been so kind to me from the start I—”

Finishing himself short, Capsaicin's cheeks flushed a deeper shade of black — if that was even possible. His shoulders curled in as if embarrassed, fidgety and restless. Burning Spice’s brows unwound, a fond but subtle smile falling on his lips.

Capsaicin only threw him one glance before an exaggerated groan left him. “Okay, listen, don't look at me like that. I am not good with words. Speaking them.”

The abrupt lighthearted atmosphere didn't last long, as Capsaicin's hiding hand finally stretched out towards Burning Spice. “So I…I wrote them.”

On his open shaky palm lay a tiny piece of paper, folded neatly two times. Crumpled in a few places because of being roughly handled, but still in good shape. 

Burning Spice blinked, stared. A…letter. Given to him in person, by Capsaicin.

His heart beat just a little harder.

Just as Capsaicin's hand began to falter, thinking the letter wasn't accepted, Burning Spice slowly took it. The boy tried so hard to hide his immediate glee, yet failed miserably.

He didn't speak after that, and with a flicker of his gaze on the letter and his nervous rocking back and forth, Burning Spice understood that it was a letter to be opened now. 

And open he did. Eyeing the handwriting before his eyes trailed through the sentences on the paper. Pausing here and there. 

Feeling it in his throat, how the words were like a punch to the gut and yet, like an embrace long overdue.

Actions spoke louder than words, but sometimes, words could strike as deep. They could either wound you to the core, or lift you up high enough to reach the clouds. 

Burning Spice's eyes grew bleary.

Just as he was done reading the last line in the letter, Capsaicin coughed from next to him. “Look I know that I don't…know you enough. I mean, we've just met, and I barely knew who you were before all of this.”

He laughed a bitter one, scratching his cheek while his eyes were averted. “You might already know all of this, but, still. I just hope I'm not overstepping—”

Capsaicin’s returning stare to him widened in panic, arms flailing around. “Wh-? Oh crap! I didn't mean to make you—”

The sudden hush befalling him was out of nowhere. The air grew tense, and Capsaicin's whole body went rigid. 

Burning Spice didn't realize why, at first. Why he suddenly stopped fretting. That was, before it was prominent in his eyes and how blurry his sight was. A rare occurrence and yet…

The Beast of Destruction was shedding tears. Hot, scorching tears that slid down his cheeks slowly. 

With his own eyes blown wide, Burning Spice forewent the letter to one hand as his finger reached his face. It came back sizzling, stained with drops of lava that did not harm him. 

 With the liquid gradually cooling down on his fingers, Burning Spice huffed before glancing back up.

Capsaicin was standing in front of him now, eyes as wide as saucers with his brows furrowed as a finger limply pointed towards Burning Spice. 

“...You..?” You too? He wanted to say, from how his mouth formed around the air. Burning Spice, as much as his reopened wound was tender now, laughed. 

A quiet, easy-to-miss breathy laugh. At his situation, or at the expression on Capsaicin's face, he didn't know. He didn't care. “I suppose…you have a borrowed trait.”

He didn't feel heavy with the weight of his thoughts for once.

The silence settled, and so did the words. They sank into both of their bodies, almost too much at once.

If Capsaicin's eyes could grow any wider, they would have. But even so, they glossed over with a thin layer of his own tears yet to sprout. Shaking his head, did he not believe it? 

Did he not want to believe it?

Burning Spice could only assume, and yet, it was freeing. To get it off his chest, even if he didn't directly tell Capsaicin ‘You are my son.’

He understood, understood all too well from the stillness in his limbs. 

Burning Spice stood up, ready to leave the room if the situation called for it. If Capsaicin needed time to process. You are my son, it would have been too possessive, then, even if he deeply wanted to have his son belong to him once more—

Magma tears burst out of Capsaicin's eyes when he tackled Burning Spice in a crushing hug. 

It was so sudden, Burning Spice couldn't help but sway from the force before planting his feet not to fall. His body went still, shock coursing through him as he heard sniffles.

Sobs and hiccups buried into his chest. Arms wrapped tight around his torso, snaking even tighter. “Y-You're— why didn't you— I can't even-...” His voice came shaky and stuttered in bits, muffled by his point of contact. 

He…wasn't mad. Capsaicin wasn't mad.

Burning Spice blinked once, twice. Then just as quickly, he wrapped his arms around Capsaicin right as the other's grip was becoming loose. It rekindled his strength quickly. 

Burning Spice had his son in his arms once more. After decades of a shallow heart, of a grief too heavy to carry, he had his baby boy inside his embrace. 

And it...was too surreal. Too good to feel real, yet it was. 

‘Why didn't you tell me?’ Capsaicin had wanted to ask. And Burning Spice had nothing but the truth, offering it and hoping the boy would take it. 

Burning Spice didn't care one bit about the tears steadily pouring out of his own eyes as his free palm cupped the boy's cheek, encouraging him to pull back so he could see the other clearly. With his own version of sizzling tears, Capsaicin stared up at him in tender awe. Eyes so wildly glossy, they reflected light. 

He wiped the tears with his thumb gently, a similar motion to last night. “I thought…that you would think ill of yourself, your opinion of me be damned.” His smile was a small, bittersweet thing, as if unsure if that wasn't still the case. “Your opinion of yourself was so weakly crafted that I thought...”

Capsaicin shook his head, sobbing more. “I don't care.” Ghostly, he closed his eyes promptly as he leaned to the touch. Breath labored and fluttering, but still there. Still hopeful and enthusiastic. “It makes— it makes sense now, why you- felt special.”

Burning Spice's heart swelled and he exhaled, making Capsaicin huff a chuckle as well. Still, like a broken glass that couldn't be mended, his bottom lip quivered before he deepened the hug. Burying his face in Burning Spice's shoulder with a small whimper. 

“I-It's..nice to know I'm…not alone.” 

His shoulders trembled as another full wave of tears spilled out of his eyes, hardly even felt on the other's shoulder. 

Burning Spice covered more area as his arms tightened around Capsaicin more, nuzzling the softness of his hair. All as he placed feather-light kisses atop the other's head. “You're not alone.”

Capsaicin hummed in cuts, the sentence alone shaking him even more. Burning Spice rubbed circles onto the boy's back, making him melt even more. In an embrace they both knew was long overdue.

“Not anymore, my son.”

The letter, long wrinkled with Burning Spice's handling, slipped away from his hands.

Floating, gradually landing on the ground silently. But even an object's silence could speak volumes, could change lives in mere minutes. And it was not lost to whoever had written it, and whoever had read it. 

Hey, 

You're probably reading this right as I'm next to you, but please don't acknowledge it. I heard your wishes back in that hall, when you were talking to Miss Nutmeg Tiger. But I know you didn't really mean them. Not in the direct sense, at least. You said you wanted to die, but is that really the case? Something tells me otherwise. No one really wants to die, not even you. You just want your pain to end, isn't that more true? But you don't know how to end it, you've tried countless ways to make it go away or at least hurt less, but nothing has worked. So you just thought to yourself that death is the only way out. But deep down you don't want that, you just want to live free of pain. I understand you, I've been there before. Maybe others have told you this countless times before, but that doesn't make it any more true; you are not your suffering and traumas. You've mentioned being very old, so I can only guess that you have a collection of those things. And it can't be helped, I know, but maybe you can start anew? You know, if you want, I can certainly be there. Because you were there for me once when no one else would want to be, and that means a lot to me. Guess what I'm trying to say is that I'm willing to accompany you. Anywhere, wherever you go, whatever you do, because not only is it a challenge for me, it can be a great change for you as well. I can try my best to make your scars hurt less by being me. I don't know why, or what's drawing me in, but, I do care about you; just like you said you care about me.

I want to share your pain if no one ever has before.

𝐹𝑖𝑛.