Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It was something of a mutual understanding between the two. Pure Vanilla Cookie would be the one to go out to buy the supplies. Bandages and gauze, salves and medicines. Applying soothing balms with a kind smile, checks and re-checks, wrapping up seeping jam in cloth. Truthless Recluse, on the other hand, was typically the one who used what stung. Counting to three to reset a bone and doing so before two, so the Cookie didn't stiffen up and make the setting more difficult.

It wasn’t that Pure Vanilla could not. No, he was the better healer of the two. He could reach into a patient’s wounds and dig deeper at the hiss when needed, and had needed to too many times to count. He was the one who could apply antiseptic and apologize for the sting. However–it was only Recluse who could lie about the count when resetting a bone, or the rip of a bandaid. He was the one who could hold a dying patient’s hand and whisper Y ou’ll be ok, the pain will go away soon, you will not fear for long . 

Pure Vanilla could not bring himself to lie, not unless they begged for it, and it came out stuttered and poisoned. Obvious. He was a poor liar. His younger brother held no qualms about deceit. He was the one who could keep patients from fearing, in their final breaths. The one who rubbed at their dough and whispered you will be ok , and let their last moments be peaceful. 

(Pure Vanilla would be envious, if he were not sick at the thought of such a false promise)

“There is nothing else,” Recluse murmured once, closing the icings of a cookie and whispering rites–the prayers of a healer who’d failed, one familiar and despised by them both, “This is the only relief we can offer, Pure Vanilla Cookie.”

Pure Vanilla had inclined his head, not quite agreeing, but acknowledging. Perhaps it was the closest he could get, to agreeing. But to agree would be to assume the responsibility himself.

Pure Vanilla was selfish. He could not let a person’s last comfort be a lie. In doing so, he condemned them to nearly no comfort at all.

It was after it all, when night was streaking its steady way across the sky. Neither of them were good at taking care of themselves as much as they were their patients, especially after a day filled with a sorrow so stark. Recluse often sequestered himself outside, in their meager yard, looking up at the stars with his staff with many eyes. Today was no different, though Recluse had already changed out into something light and breathable, easy to sleep in. 

Recluse was terrible at taking care of himself. Pure Vanilla was a little better, coming outside to sit with him, kneeling. Offering the cup of tea he’d brewed.

“You know I hate tea.” Recluse scoffed. It was a common argument–Recluse said he’d had far too much of it at the Peak. Still, he was a liar, and he took the tea, let the warmth seep into his fingers for a moment before taking a sip, and letting out a sigh. Quiet.

“I’m glad you like it.”

“I don’t.” Another long sip. “It’s awful.”

“I apologize. Next time I’ll make it better.”

“Do not attempt making another.”

A quiet laugh. Recluse muttered something that wasn’t meant to be heard into his cup. Something disgruntled and annoyed, and seeping with fondness he couldn’t keep hidden. Finally, he untensed, shoulders starting to slump.

Pure Vanilla was the older of the two. But,

“You’ve always been stronger than I, brother.” Pure Vanilla admitted, his blind eyes looking up, too. He set his staff down, side by side, to let his vision fill with constellations and galaxies beyond.

A huff, “I thought it was I who was the liar.”

They both laughed a little at that.

“Only the strongest can bear the truth.” Recluse clutched at the cup. “I hold no strength in self. Not like you, Vanilla. I could never.”

“You’re strong enough to comfort them. Strong enough to be better than I.”

Recluse, in the rarest show of pain, leaned against his older brother’s shoulder. His voice came out choked, low like a keen. “I cannot stand to see them suffer. That isn’t strength. This isn’t strength. I can’t–when it’s necessary, I can never–”

His brother could not. It was a valuable trait in a healer, sometimes. The incessant energy, the desperation that let you reach into yourself, and bring light and power and brilliance born from another’s pain, to chase it away. It was helpful, sometimes.

It prevented you, sometimes, from the tightness of a good bandage. From the firmness of a steady touch. From not breaking, when a cookie was crumbling too. Recluse hesitated, at times, not quite used to the way cookies cried out. 

“You will learn. You are already twice the healer I was at your age.” Pure Vanilla Cookie reached his arm around his brother, rubbing his thumb in circles against his shoulder. Grounding, or at least he hoped it was. “You have the marks of a great healer!”

“One can only hope.” They sighed. They sounded steadier, now. “That I live up to such an arduous belief.”

“It’s not belief, it’s true!”

“Yes, yes.” A long sip of tea. “Did you eat?”

“I…”

Pure Vanilla was good at looking after his brother when Recluse neglected himself. It was his duty as an older brother to nag. To make meals when Recluse needed it. To be an annoyance for his brother’s own good. Recluse appreciated it, as much as he loathed it. Pure Vanilla was very good at caring. However when it came to himself ?

“Pure Vanilla Cookie...”

“I will eat.” He offered.

A longer, much more disgruntled sigh. Pure Vanilla couldn’t help but nervously laugh, even as Recluse let it go, “Very well.”

The night stretched out before them. Pure Vanilla Cookie listened to the hooting call of an owl, far, far away.

“Vanilla.”

“Yes?”

“Do you regret it?”

“What?”

“Meeting me at the Peak.”

Pure Vanilla Cookie blinked, uncomprehending. Recluse could see far better than Pure Vanilla, who could only make out the vaguest of shapes and colors, differences of light. Recluse could catch the details of Pure Vanilla’s pure and utter confusion. 

With a groan, he lowered his head, “Meeting me. Bringing me with you.”

Ah.

The Peak of Truth, the mountain so high it pierced the firmament itself, standing proudly as if cast there by the Witches. It was one that Pure Vanilla had climbed long ago. It was a terrible climb, one that held peril and tedium hand in hand.

It was also a necessary climb. He was the holder of Truth. How could he not climb to its peak, at least once in his long lifetime? His Soul Jam pushed him, in a way that was both odd and invigorating. Surely, whatever lay at the top must be the culmination of something very grand indeed. A message from the Witches, perhaps? Or a sign from an era long gone, left to aid the generations now come to pass? If he were to be especially hopeful–something from his friends, purposefully spreading rumors to catch his eye, a message just for him?

He had expected something of the Truth. Instead, he had found a child, freshly baked, shaking with the weight of a staff too large for small hands and responsibility too deep for such young shoulders. The final defense against a truth so terrible and cold that it would cause this, Truthless Recluse. A cookie sent by witches and given this task alone, complete with a shard of something shining and blue, singing just as sweetly what had pushed him up the Peak in the first place.

Pure Vanilla Cookie was not quite fond of the Witches, though that was rather heretical from a Cookie baked to uphold their Ideals. He simply could not hold fondness for anyone who would task a child with a burden so great. Especially not one who was so very clearly made in his image. Made with Vanilla flavoring, though tinged oddlyas if not quite pure vanilla. Instilled with a hatred, a coldness, for the truth. A better version of him, perhaps. One that was him, in a mirror that cracked and warped.

So–he had struck a deal, all that time ago. He would take over the defense of The Truth. In exchange, Truthless Recluse must play host. In this way, Pure Vanilla Cookie would have shelter, and the little Recluse would have assured confidence in the task he’d been given. Pure Vanilla was powerful, after all. He’d defeated Recluse in combat with practically the flick of his wrist.

Truthless Recluse had agreed. He had been quite the host, too. Boiling tea (oversteeped, no wonder he was apparently sick of it) and pressing it into Pure Vanilla’s hands with downturned eyes. Padding after him silent as a ghost, but only to assure his comfort, his stay. He had been so charmingly attentive, back then. And now, even after he had grown used to Pure Vanilla’s presence so much he had denoted a quiet nickname, Vanilla , he was still just as attentive. Perhaps that little part of the wide-eyed child that oversteeped tea would never die. Even as Pure Vanilla had taken over the creation of meals, in making tea, in advising in magic and healing.

In teaching wards, barrier magic, alarm magic, to deter even the strongest cookie from reaching the peak. Only then, did the fabled Truthless Recluse step down from his home for anything but the defense of this sacred peak.

With a simple (but powerful, more so than Recluse would realize for many years) teleportation sigil, and alarm spells so strong they could be felt two continents over, he’d finally felt safe enough to leave, with the knowledge if someone crept close, he could return in an instant and keep them away. It had happened, a few times during the year, at least, that one or two cookies would manage to make it to the alarms. Recluse would bid Pure Vanilla farewell for the day, do their duties, and then return. Shaking and cold, but fulfilled.

(Pure Vanilla had seen the truth at the peak. Nothing.

Recluse was guarding nothing. And indeed, that was the point–guarding from disappointment, from breaking down, from the unkindness of learning that truth was a lie.

Even then, he was so, so caring. Like it was baked into his dough).

After that, the rest–traveling together, being mistaken as brothers and Recluse tugging his robes hard enough that Pure Vanilla would forget to correct them. Wandering from village to village, healing what they could, for as little coin as they could take. The rise and fall of a kingdom. Doing their best to be kind.

“Do you?” Recluse asked again, almost scared of the answer.

“How could I? Oh, Truthless Recluse,” Pure Vanilla Cookie tucked himself closer, “I do not know how I managed to survive so long, without your company by my side.”

A hitch of breath. The only sign that Recluse had heard him.

After a moment, the two settled into a comfortable silence. All things considered, neither of them were the most talkative. Recluse, of course, was worse–they were a cookie of little words. It was almost like he had made it a game to go his whole life to speak as little as possible–or that every word must carry the utmost reverence, be carefully placed. Like his voice was finite. Pure Vanilla simply preferred to listen to other’s voices over his own; he had heard more than enough of it in his ancient life. They were both content, to simply stay together, and watch the stars.

It would be a new day tomorrow. Of aches and pains. Healing and treatment. The brunt of work was over for now. They could, for just this moment, relax.

Recluse slumped into Pure Vanilla’s side, the cup of tea falling into Pure Vanilla’s lap–though he noted with satisfaction that he didn’t feel a single droplet of wetness on his cloak.

His brother’s staff had several eyes, but all of them were closed. Pure Vanilla chuckled, hoisting his brother up to carry him to bed, like he had a hundred times before. He didn’t sleep enough. At least, Pure Vanilla worried that he didn’t.

He had to go retrieve their staves from outside, and then clean the cup, and then prepare something to eat. Perhaps Pure Vanilla Cookie didn’t get as much sleep as he wanted, either. Still, for his brother, for the village, for the world–he would sacrifice half an hour.

The stars were still bright. Crickets sang merrily, and it was only simple deeds left to be attended to. Mundanity. Peaceful. There were far worse things he could imagine doing. Indeed, he could spare some time for this.

They were out of life powder.

“Shit.” Recluse summed up quite aptly. His eyes were wide looking at their stash, as if he couldn’t quite believe it. Indeed, Pure Vanilla Cookie couldn’t either. They were down to barely anything. A small pouch, typically reserved for emergencies.

”I could have sworn I’d stocked up enough for 50 years,” Pure Vanilla Cookie muttered, “That town was so nice for giving it all to us…”

“Fifty… years?” Truthless Recluse had been actively practicing for half of that time, just about, though he’d been learning for far, far more. He had been conjuring sparks that could heal papercuts when he was halfway up to Pure Vanilla’s shoulder. Then again, Pure Vanilla had started learning when he had been much younger. Perhaps it wasn’t as much time as he suspected.

Pure Vanilla shook his head, “Yes, a whole half of a century! We use just about two handfuls’ worth per week, and–”

“Pure Vanilla Cookie. More than fifty years have passed since we passed through that town.”

Pure Vanilla blinked. “Surely not.”

However, the more Pure Vanilla thought about it, the more it seemed that, despite his name, Truthless Recluse was not speaking a lie. That village was a distant memory, the great expanse of healing they’d done was nothing between the two of them, and they truly were generous about it. Since then, they’d passed throuhg many others–but Pure Vanilla had thought it hadn’t been that long. They hadn’t seen enough of the world for half a century to pass, right?

Except, this village had been their home for longer than most. They had settled there, in a way that Pure Vanilla found both incredibly comforting and painfully reminiscent of all he had lost, so long ago. It was a small village, but they had seen it grow from huts to houses, from dirt to paths, from people to villagers, all in their short span.

“Time escapes you.” Recluse whacked Pure Vanilla in the back of his head with their staff. Gently enough that he wouldn’t be knocked down by it, but hard enough that Pure Vanilla whined about it. “Plan better.”

Admittedly, this was true. Pure Vanilla should have noticed their supply starting to dwindle. It was such a basic supply, and yet not one that their humble village could provide.

“Well… I suppose there’s no correcting this by reminiscing… there is no need to dwell on the past.”

“You claim to be of Truth, yet you fail to admit–?”

“No use dwelling! We must correct the problem now.” Pure Vanilla Cookie clasped his hands together, happily ignoring Recluse’s glare as he opened up a map of the nearby lands. “Let us see… the nearest place to restock is likely the Blueberry Kingdom. Hm… have we gone there?”

Pure Vanilla knew he hadn’t. It was a kingdom known for its truth and teachings. Known for its strides in understanding of the world, in magic, in more. It was a bastion of Truth.

It was exactly where a cookie like Pure Vanilla would be expected to be, so he avoided it like entering the city walls would make him sick. In his long lifetime, he could not remember stepping foot in this kingdom once.

“Not in recent memory,” Recluse said, before correcting himself, “Not in any memory. No.”

That was expected. It seemed they had the same experience, but for perhaps opposite reasons.

“Well, there is a start for everything!” Pure Vanilla exclaimed, though the thought of entering the kingdom brought him chills, there was no reason to avoid it other than his own paranoia. The villagers of Raisin Village were worth more than his baseless anxiety. “It sounds like a lovely place indeed. I will inform Black Raisin Cookie that I will be off for the few days it will take, while you handle patients?”

“What? No. I could not. I cannot. Especially not without Life Powder.” The not without you went unsaid, but Pure Vanilla addressed it like it was spoken loud and clear. Perhaps, because he’d spent so long with Recluse, it practically was.

“You are competent and skilled in your own right, Recluse.”

“This is a bad idea.”

“You will be fine.”

“But will you?”

Pure Vanilla’s staff blinked, slow and consciously long, before closing so his own eyes could open just to send Recluse a disgruntled look. “What do you mean, Recluse?

“I should go instead.”

“What?”

Recluse shut the cabinet with a definitive click , as if to punctuate the statement. Pure Vanilla heard him move around, likely gathering supplies for the trip already, “We have never been to this kingdom before, Pure Vanilla Cookie, who is to say that it isn’t cruel?”

“I can handle cruelty, Recluse.” Pure Vanilla said, dryly, trailing behind him into the kitchen. “And I am no stranger to travelling alone.“

“Still. I think it would be better if I went.”

“Truthless Recluse…”

“Pure Vanilla Cookie.”

“Is this about the village?”

“Not in the slightest.” He lied. Truthless Recluse truly did live up to his name, at times, much to Pure Vanilla’s annoyance and amusement both. “I just worry for you.”

“And you think I do not do the same? I trust you, Recluse, and I marvel at your strength.”

“...however?”

“However, we have not explored this path before. I think it would be best if I were to take care of it.”

“The unexplored path is a reason that it should be me.”

“Maybe you both should.”

They startled in different ways. Pure Vanilla Cookie whipped his staff around, his Orchid Eye held defensively as his other hand came to splay out to keep Recluse behind him. The motion was matched by Recluse pointing their staff forward, offensively, ready to attack in a blink. The air hummed quietly with primed magic.

Black Raisin Cookie, who was well used to nearly dying every time she snuck into their house to scold them or be scolded by them, rolled her eyes. “Relax.”

 This time was likely supposed to be the latter, considering her voice held an ounce of strain, but was quickly becoming the former. The crow on her shoulder looked just a little smug.

“Black Raisin Cookie,” Pure Vanilla greeted with a sigh, relaxing all at once. She was the newest leader of their village, and a strong one to boot. She had gone through quite a lot, already, but she was just as steady as she had always been. Just as protective too, getting into scrapes more than every other villager combined, all for the sake of keeping her people safe. She was likely a good portion of the reason they’d run out of life powder in the first place.

“Don’t sneak up on us.” Recluse muttered, tugging his own staff close. Pure Vanilla took a closer look at her to figure out what ailed her this time. Nothing too visible at first, but Pure Vanilla was trained to see the lack of weight she put on one leg, the way there was just a bit of wetness down the pant leg. She must’ve encountered a beast, perhaps a cake hound that bit her on her latest patrol. Or perhaps a monster clawed her and she was hiding more wounds? Raisin Village was amidst a dangerous land, and Black Raisin often took the brunt of its danger.

“Sorry.” She did not sound sorry at all.

Pure Vanilla shook his head, gesturing with his head to come to their little living room so she could sit down. “Come here. I can mend your leg.”

“Thanks, Healer.” She limped over, Recluse hurrying to support her only to be given a gentle shove and a teasing grin, easily chasing away his worry. “Don’t go soft on me, you know I can walk on my own.”

“You would claim that with a crumbled leg.”

“And it’d be true.”

Pure Vanilla chuckled, lightly amused. Those two were one in the same, sometimes. Refusing help, even when it was freely given. It was when she sat down that he knelt, pushing light magic from his fingertips into the wound, stitching up what was much deeper than he’d initially assumed, muscle and skin closing up. Recluse watched.

“Hey, Fortune Teller Cookie, mind taking a look at my shoulder?”

Recluse nodded. Her arm was stuck out to support her one-legged crow, but he moved it to his own shoulder in a practiced move, unraveling the top of wrappings that had been torn to shreds. It was made only marginally more difficult with a bird on his shoulder.

She let out a low whistle, just this edge of impressed. “Both of you are using magic?”

“Pure Vanilla Cookie ran out of Life Powder.”

The wound on her leg was much worse, but with the head start and centuries worth of practice, Pure Vanilla Cookie finished up at the same time as Recluse, standing back to look over Black Raisin one last time. “There. How are you feeling?”

“Much better, as always.” Black Raisin stood up, stretched to test out her newly healed limbs. “Now, what’s this about Life Powder?”

“I seem to have neglected restocking our most essential healing component for quite some time.” Pure Vanilla Cookie admitted, “We cannot properly take care of patients without, lest we risk exhausting our mana.”

“Ah, that’s why you were healing me like that, huh? I feel like you never let Recluse get away from a bandaging lesson.”

Recluse huffed, motioning with his shoulder for Black Raisin to reclaim the crow.. As much as she tried it refused. It nuzzled up to his cheek, ruining the cold stoicism he tried so hard to keep up. Pure Vanilla barely managed to avoid the snicker from that.

“Indeed. We need to restock, but only large cities have the resources to produce it. The nearest one to this area is the Blueberry Kingdom–”

“Which I was just packing for, so Pure Vanilla Cookie will stay here and help the village.”

“Which I will be traveling to, while Truthless Recluse tends to the village.”

“But you have the larger mana reserves, more experience for work-arounds, and I’ll be safer while traveling alone–”

“Just as I have more expertise in healing, I have more experience in traveling alone, Recluse”

Recluse scowled, “We have never travelled to Blueberry Kingdom before. Raisin Village needs their Healer Cookie.”

“Fortune Teller Cookie is just as adept as I.”

“No, I’m not–”

“You can lie to yourself all you want, Recluse, but you will never lie to me. You are as adept as you need to be for this task.” Pure Vanilla sighed, “I will be going, ”

“No, I will be going ."

“How long will the trip be?” Black Raisin piped up. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you two apart for more than a day.”

They didn’t like to separate, it was true. “A little over two weeks, or so. Two days of travel time back and forth, just about. However, we will have to stay within the city for quite some time as we wait for a refill.”

“This village has stood long before you two came here, and it’ll probably still be standing long after you two leave. We can survive two weeks without the both of you.”

The brothers shared a look, for a second, before turning back. It was Recluse who said, “Are you certain?”

“Yes. We’re not helpless. I’ll even relax the expanding patrols for a bit. We’ll stick to safe routes and keep those protected.”

Pure Vanilla Cookie worried at his lip. He hadn’t expected to grow so attached to this little village, but here he was– nervous . Nervous at the prospect of leaving them without a sufficient medic. Many of the villagers had come to be taught by the pair on the occasion, on the off event something terrible happened, it was always good to have some small knowledge on what to do. Still, was that enough?

Pure Vanilla mulled it over. Recluse, just as wary, asked, “Are you certain?”

“We’ll be fine.”

Pure Vanilla nodded. “Then we’ll go together.”

“What?”

“Recluse, come now. We must hold trust in Raisin Village. They are a far cry from the ruins they had been, and they have always been self-sufficient and stable.”

“Vanilla….”

“Fortune Teller Cookie… honest. We’ll be ok. As much as I hate to send you off–I’d much rather you keep Healer Cookie safe, and I’d rather have enough life powder to actually do something if there’s an emergency.”

“That’s… awfully pragmatic of you.”

Black Raisin glared, “I only want the best for the village.”

“And for us to stop fighting.” Pure Vanilla smiled, “What an excellent compromise!”

“We’re leaving them without a healer.”

“For half-a-month, Recluse. And it’s much safer to travel together!”

“It does not solve the problem.”

“I was not aware there was a problem, Recluse.”

He looked away. Pure Vanilla hummed, turning back to Black Raisin, “Thank you for your guidance, Black Raisin Cookie. I believe we should get to packing. The sooner we reach Blueberry Kingdom, the sooner we may return.”

She nodded, patting Pure Vanilla on the back, “Let me know when you leave. I’ll let the others know.”

“Many thanks!”

She walked out the room, clicking her tongue to call her little crow off Recluse’s shoulder. It wasn’t until Pure Vanilla heard the sound of the door clicking closed that he flipped his staff to face Recluse. He was looking… annoyed, on the surface. His lips pulled back to one side, nose slightly scrunched. The epitome of annoyance, to most. Pure Vanilla knew better, though, looking for the slight squint to his eyes, lost in thought. The pointed stare at nothing. Indeed, there was something more at play here that Recluse was not letting on.

“You are troubled.”

“No.”

“Truthless Recluse, I tire of these games.” Pure Vanilla softened, turning around and stepping closer. “Please, share what is on your mind. A burden shared is a burden halved.” 

“Blueberry Kingdom is the closest to the Peak.”

Pure Vanilla hadn’t known that. “How can that be? Did you not say we have not ever visited? Surely we would have, if that were the case…”

“You have never been. I visited a few times in my youth.” Recluse lowered himself onto the seat that Black Raisin had been on just moments ago, looking exhausted, “There was… an academy there. It was still in construction, but I despised it.”

Of course. An academy, the very bastion of truth and knowledge? Truthless Recluse would not like such a thing. Not when he guarded the Peak of Truth not too far from it.

“I see.”

“And… There have been more cookies as of late, attempting the climb. Very few have I been able to convince and guide down.” He curled up a little, knuckles turning white around his staff. “I fear there may be a… connection to this kingdom and the Peak.”

“I see. Very well, then.” Pure Vanilla held out a hand to his brother, “Let us go investigate. At the very least, such an academy may hold clues to this recent uptick, should it not be the cause. We can explore when we get there.”

“...we?”

“Yes, we . Black Raisin would not be sending us off, had she not full confidence in both our and the village’s abilities. She values it more than the both of us, after all. I can help you look.”

“This isn’t your business.”

Pure Vanilla laughed, “It has been my business for as long as you have been my brother. And that has been a long, long time.”

“Not… not really.”

Pure Vanilla huffed, “Perhaps not to me, in the wake of things. But it has been for you, for most of your life. I have watched you grow to be a fine young cookie. A truly brilliant healer, a protector, and one who cares above all else. One I have come to care for as well.”

“Vanilla…”

“And I assure you, without a shadow of a doubt, that I will stick by your side to care for you still, for until you or I crumble, we will stay together. So tell me, Truthless Recluse, how do you say we travel together once more?”

“...fine.”

Chapter Text

The journey did not take long.

The pair were no strangers to travelling, after all. To be on the road again, after so many years being settled, was far easier than either of them had expected. The things to pack, the trail they used the map to track–all easy to dust off. Even the conversation they had, right before they left, was an echo of ones they’d had a hundred times before. 

Fortune Teller Cookie and Healer Cookie were well attuned personas, for two cookies who did not want to be associated with nothing but each other. Raisin Village had so graciously never pried into their pasts, which was the one of the most important reasons as to why they stayed so faithfully. Black Raisin Cookie herself was often the one who scowled and cuffed someone behind the head when their curiosity got the better of them, and while Pure Vanilla often scolded her for what was only natural curiosity, Recluse couldn’t help but feel relieved at her sound and swift shut down. And she knew it; Black Raisin Cookie understood the Truthless Recluse more than he cared to admit. There was a kinship in their shared wariness, based in their protective nature of Cookies. 

She was the only one other than Pure Vanilla himself who knew anything of his past. A gift, for her loyalty, her kindness, her stalwart defense, even when she herself had to be more than curious.

 It had been a night filled with nothing but silence, at the time. He’d been wrapping up bandages on her leg, not looking her in the eye. She’d picked up on something–he couldn’t recall what it was now. His unease? His exhaustion? Whichever it was, she hadn’t asked him to tell what it was. Just… helped. For that, and for everything else, he’d spoken.

“I come from a peak so high and narrow, snow falls even during the hottest summer,” he’d begun, revealing every ounce of truth he still had left in him, that he could bear to share. 

“It was not unheard of for my name to be whispered like a wraith.” A tale, from parent to child, that he would reach you should you act out. A demon. The opposite of Truth, and thus, someone deceitful and cruel, and cold. 

That was the gist he’d told her–as a child, he had been cold and cruel. 

“You aren’t half as cold as you pretend to be,” she’d scoffed.

“No, ” he’d agreed, “I was worse.”

As a child, he had been given the task to defend that which could crumble a Cookie’s resolve so deeply, it cracked them at their core. A truth that was simple:

Nothing was waiting at the Peak. No truth. No justice. No help. No salvation. Nothing, nothing, nothing. Recluse had felt that cut deep in himself, too. After all, he had been told to climb that Peak first, when the Witches tasked him for this, staring up at the largest, tallest thing he could fathom, and been told to seek the Truth at the top, in a structure just for him. He had been told it was the most important thing in the world. He had been told it was his purpose, there.

He had climbed that peak so high, promised a reason, a truth, an understanding-and had been abandoned right at the end. It was just  him.

He moved into the tower (it was just for him, after all). It wasn’t even really a tower; that’s just what Recluse called it. It wasn’t grandiose, wasn’t kind, and wasn’t holding anything important. Basic amenities. Enough room to live in, and not much else.

He realized then–that was his purpose. To protect Cookies from this realization. To become the last bastion of lies before Truth, to keep cookies from crumbling from their despair, that the very last task in their long arduous duty left them with nothing.

(Pure Vanilla Cookie had not crumbled, but only because he had not quite been searching for the Truth. He had just been exploring. Curious, but not dependent. Had Recluse been just a little older, he was certain that he could have driven Pure Vanilla Cookie off.

Maybe.)

Recluse did not want anyone to associate him with the cookie that lived on the peak, to prevent others from reaching that salvation that didn’t exist. Even the few times he entered the Blueberry Kingdom as a child, he’d been recognized. He’d been scorned. Not hurt, nor insulted–but avoided.

Feared.

He would always be feared, though. In some aspect. He still had his duties. He still had his moments. He was still an unapproachable, cruel, tired Cookie. There was nothing he could do about it. He sighed.

“Is something the matter, Fortune Teller Cookie?”

Recluse jolted, glancing at Pure Vanilla, forcibly brought back to the present as he looked over his older brother. The blindfold over his eyes was white and plain, contrasting the simple brown robes he had, similar to what he wore day-to-day, but a little more layered and stronger, made for traveling. It was a far cry from the Healer Cookie he had once been, with dirty rags and bandages over the eyes. Indeed, Pure Vanilla had been hiding even more desperately than Recluse, when he’d donned that disguise.

Pure Vanilla had a reason, though. Recluse knew his brother had a reason. He just… had never actually been told that reason in anything but the vaguest of terms. Pure Vanilla never truly lied. Not if he could help it. However, this was probably the closest that he got. Beating around the bush. 

“I’m hiding,” Pure Vanilla had said on the topic, all that time ago, “ Though he will know who I am if he lay eyes on me.”

Recluse, smaller, dough still pliant and eyes a little wider, had asked, “Then why the disguise?”

“Oh, Recluse. Rumors spread far… I must not let them spread farther.” Then, he had put his blindfold on again, the bandages rough and worn. It couldn’t have possibly been comfortable. Recluse couldn’t remember the rest of that conversation, but he remembered the want to find Pure Vanilla a better blindfold. Eventually, he had. Traveling town to town and hoarding what meager coin he could through fortune telling, he’d spent it all on a simple white thing as soft as a cream sheep’s wool.

It had gotten worn over the years, but Pure Vanilla was wearing it right now. Staring at Recluse without eyes, still questioning. His staff was wrapped in the same bandages from forever ago, still… Hm. Perhaps Blueberry Kingdom would have something good enough to cover the orchid? Perhaps a veil or something of that sort. Something classy. Recluse didn’t bother with such things, but the bandages were woefully out of place…

“...Fortune Teller Cookie?”

“I was lost in thought.” He answered, “Apologies.”

“No need for apologies. I understand.”

He probably was the only one who did, too. Though, maybe not. He understood the logistics. Recluse’s mind sometimes worked a little too fast for him to keep up. He got lost in it often. While Recluse often came off as stoic and slow, it was simply because he got too caught up in what to say. There were many moments in which he was a part of a conversation with multiple cookies, trying to find the best choice of words to speak, and once he found the perfect set, he’d find that the conversation had carried itself off, away from his chance to speak it. Recluse’s mind was both too fast and too slow.

That, and he didn’t care much to talk. If it mattered, then he would speak, but he preferred to let his mind wander.

“Don’t drift off too fast.” Pure Vanilla bumped into him, shoulder to shoulder, “Can you see the Kingdom yet?”

Recluse lifted his staff to stare. The multiple eyes all widened for a second, searching, pupils scanning in a different direction each. It could be a little disorienting sometimes, but Recluse liked it. He liked having every direction being seen, and not losing even a moment to a blink–after all, they blinked out of sync. There was always at least one eye open.

The kingdom was grand. Pretty, with marble and blue bricks. Likely made with blueberry paint, though it was more vivid than the berry. The buildings were tall and curved, pretty and pristine.

“I take it you can see it?”

“It’s… nice.”

“High praise indeed! How lovely. I hope I may catch a glimpse of it on occasion, though I do not doubt your description.”

“My description was terrible.”

“It was enough for me to know that it holds a beauty unparalleled by our typical city or village. You keep your compliments for only that which deserve them…”

“Right. We won’t get there by talking about it.” Recluse huffed, switching the topic away from the unfortunately correct assessment of his lackluster descriptions, “Come.”

Pure Vanilla followed. He could travel just fine alone, but reaching the Kingdom, Recluse felt nothing but relief that he was there by his side. Things were so much easier with his brother.

Recluse resisted the urge to fiddle with the edge of his hood as he looked around the bustling street, already hopelessly lost. Pure Vanilla was humming a cheerful tune as he walked. How he managed to keep up that lively attitude, even after centuries of being alive, was beyond Recluse. Even a few decades were enough for Recluse to want to wither away and nap for his entire lifespan.

“Now where might an apothecary be…?” Pure Vanilla wondered out loud to himself. Recluse followed behind, step after step. “They may point us to a maker.”

“Healer cookie, what are the chances this city lacks life powder entirely?”

“Well, its hospitals will have it. They will have suppliers as well. However, the thought that there are no makers for it is unlikely, but… not entirely impossible.”

“What.”

“It remains unlikely, though.” Pure Vanilla repeated. “We will not know until we find out. I hope that we succeed!”

“You and your boundless hope.”

Recluse grumbled, but had to admit that it was nice. It was nice to have someone so hopeful. But also annoying, as he strode forward, staff out as a more physical way to guide his path, awkward as it may be.

“Hmm… Recluse, do you see anything?”

Recluse shrugged, “Another library. This kingdom favors them like nothing else.”

“Not a bad thing!”

“Not at all.” 

The kingdom was even more beautiful now that they were within its grandiose walls. The buildings were taller, the paint shone brighter, sugarstone brick magnificently carved to perfection. Each building was distinct,dripping with personality. The issue was that it made it difficult to pick out what exactly the apothecary may look like. Perhaps that spiraling tower? Perhaps that building with a roof like a dome? The one with flowers and vines decoratively curling up its walls? Recluse frowned, squinting at every sign.This would be easier if he could see better, but while Recluse had the better vision of the two of them he still struggled with blurring the farther things were. Black Raisin joked that between the two healers, there was about one eye of good sight between them, but all things considered, that was being generous. 

Pure Vanilla relied on his staff in the Raisin village. He covered it up here, as Healer Cookie. Recluse didn’t know why–though he himself banished his staff to a pocket-realm, to summon at need, because it, to put it lightly, garnered attention. Perhaps that was the reason why? Pure Vanilla had never shied away from attention, though, especially when it was as little as a lingering glance at an odd object. Was it really so recognizable to summon a flurry of rumors? Was it really so dangerous, for Pure Vanilla to see?

“Perhaps there?” Recluse snapped himself out of his own thoughts, dragging Pure Vanilla to a potential right find with a gentle hand around his arm, towards a building with a splash of colorful signage and clean, nearly sterile white walls. If not, Recluse would ask them for directions, and if they didn’t have them… perhaps their next best guess would be marching up to the nearest hospital and asking about their supplier, one healer to another.

He would make Pure Vanilla handle that conversation, though. He would be content just to find the place first. He knew he had been so insistent on trying to venture here by himself, but at the end of the day he could be nothing but grateful that he had Pure Vanilla by his side, still. They had separated a number of times since they had first met–in the tower, especially, and when Recluse was needed to fulfil his duty. It took some time to return, when Recluse felt he didn’t have the time to set up the return sigil. Those times were fine; they could both survive without each other.

That didn’t mean they had to like it.

“Ah, hello!” The harried cookie at the front spoke, “What can I help you with?”

Pure Vanilla took over, speaking with her in a cheerful tone. Recluse started to tune it out. He looked around instead, noting the dried flowers, the crushed powders and salts. No life powder, of course, but that wouldn’t be shown off in the open. Even their life powder was kept locked up in a cabinet, alongside their more powerful pain relievers. In a city as large as this, Recluse couldn’t imagine keeping them where just anyone could see.

“I’m afraid we don’t make Life Powder here… at least not enough for the quantities you want.” Recluse tuned back in, “I would ask for the Academy to help! They’re usually the ones who supply hospitals, after all!”

“The Academy…” Pure Vanilla repeated to himself, “Why would the Academy be responsible for such a thing?”

“They do experiments with it! They’re the leading frontier in innovation of all sorts, I think, medical included. Life Powder is never in short supply there.”

“Ah, so Blueberry Yogurt Academy is that which you speak of?”

“That’s right! I don’t think there’s another Academy in the Kingdom as good as theirs! The Sage teaches in it, after all.” 

Recluse grimaced. He had heard, as much as anyone, the most passing of rumors about The Sage. He was not a fan. Still, Pure Vanilla thanked them greatly, and Recluse inclined his head to admit the same, before turning to leave.

“Do you think an Academy will accept such a commission?” Pure Vanilla wondered out loud.

“I believe that, at worst, they would make us wait.”

“Not the most terrible thing in the world,” he mused, “Not entirely ideal, but should we require it, then I cannot see why we would not go back to the Apothecary for what little we may need, and return to the village to wait.”

Recluse hummed, assenting. Indeed, if anything, it was nearly ideal. They wouldn’t be away from the village nearly as long. They could stay within the Kingdom for a day and return early. Certainly, not having too much life powder would be difficult, but they would manage.

The main issue was–what was causing the uptick in truth-seeking cookies? Was it truly something that Recluse could put off the answer to?

“Something troubles you.” Pure Vanilla caught on, somehow. “Jelly for your thoughts?”

“No deal. Not thinking of much.”

“I suppose I should have made a better offer, then.” Pure Vanilla bemoaned, though he was clearly amused. “Very well.”

The academy was easy to see. Peaks and spires. The sun was cresting it, marking the beginning of a day of learning and light. Hopefully, there would be someone who wasn’t too busy to guide them into making a request.

Of course, there was no one. The day had just started and there was already quite the itinerary of things to do, and so little time to do it. Recluse had guessed it would be so, admittedly. However, the secretary at the front was kind enough to lend them a time to come back, guiding them to the office they were to return to. 

The hallways were as grand on the inside as the building was on the outside. Large open windows that cast the world in light. Pristine tiled floors. Writing and paintings on grand figures of the past, that would capture the interest of any student as they walked by. It was beautiful.

It was in passing that Recluse spotted him. A voice bright and excited, like he couldn’t get the words out fast enough. He paused outside the doorway, open to all who may be interested to get a glimpse at–

The Sage of Truth. Wrapped in bright blue and gilded gold, floating and flashy as he spoke on about The Truth he oh-so adored. At first, it didn't click for Recluse. Just a regular professor, teaching on presumably normal topics. 

Then, “Of course, you just reach for the Truth, no matter what it takes! Every moment, every second—yes! Embrace enlightenment and understand just what The Truth means to you!”

It wasn't just any normal topic. It was, to the Truthless Recluse’s utter horror, simply the Truth. Every ounce of it that he could spread, it seemed. Every moment he could spend, he used on encouraging the cold, terrible, harmful—

“Has something caught your eye, Fortune Teller Cookie?”

Recluse blinked, taking a step back. He'd gotten lost in his thoughts again, it seemed. He nodded, and then, remembering after a second that Pure Vanilla couldn't see the motion, “Just a distraction.”

“I see you've spotted The Sage of Truth! I can't blame you for getting distracted.” The Secretary laughed to herself, like it happened all the time. From the enrapturing way the Sage spoke, spelled, and stood for the Truth, Recluse wouldn't doubt it. “I'm sure he wouldn't mind another student for the day. He's partly the reason why most scholars come, after all.”

“I… no,” Recluse said, “No, I would… rather find the director of alchemy’s door. Apologies for the interruption.”

“Of-of course!” Why did she sound so surprised? “Right this way.”

Onward, they found the door, and the best time to catch the Director, nearing the end of the day. Hopefully he would take commissions; they weren't a hospital, but they were healers nonetheless. And thus, they were left with a few hours to kill. 

The Sage’s door was still open. Students and regular townsfolk, and even a traveler or two, deigned to visit his hall. Pure Vanilla, always ready to learn and as curious as he was, ended up dragging Recluse into the hall like Recluse had to him towards the apothecary, except this time it was for evil (making Recluse listen to Truth). The pair ended up taking a seat in the back to listen. It was far enough that Recluse couldn't see any of the visuals The Sage was casting, but it was just as understandable for those who learned best by listening.

There were many topics. Flitting from ancient epics on the old heroes, to riddles and songs, and the analysis within. It was primarily on the topic of magic, though. Casting complex sigils, circles, and the language of runecraft were all different aspects he went in-depth into. It was with a heavy heart that Recluse noted how Pure Vanilla seemed to be truly excited and invested in every topic, even once remarking oh! How smart, yes, I'll have to incorporate that into my runes at once. He'd once thought that Pure Vanilla had been the most powerful mage of Earthbread (and indeed, that hero-worshipping part of himself from when he was a child never quite died). Now, of course, he knew better—Pure Vanilla had told many stories himself of his best friend and her natural affinity that far surpassed his, of figures like Moonlight Cookie who were made to weird magic like a limb, of how he was powerful but far from the most.

Still, it annoyed him that he was not at least leagues better than the Sage, in a petty sort of way.

It was by the end of the lecture, time having passed in both the blink of an eye and at a snail's pace, that he finished up his lecture and started to take his students’ homework, and do the typical duties of a professor. The townsfolk and travelers began to filter out, Pure Vanilla included.

“I wish to stay and talk to the Sage.” Recluse turned to Pure Vanilla. “Would you prefer to wait, or that I wait for after we make the request?”

Pure Vanilla almost gaped. “You… want to talk to him?”

“It is more of a necessity than not.”

“Oh?” And then, a quiet realization. “Oh! You think he may have a clue as to what inspires the recent uptick?”

“No. I think he's the answer entirely.”

Pure Vanilla ended up going to the Director alone. Recluse waited for the last of the lingering students and travellers filed out of the room. It was only when the last stragglers started to leave that he stood up, stepping down to meet the Sage at his desk, one step at a time. The Sage waited, patient as only an immortal could be.

“Hello!” He greeted, cheer grating on Recluse’s nerves like nothing else. Not even Pure Vanilla’s boundless hope and enthusiasm could annoy him like this. “I'm afraid I haven't seen you attend any of my lectures before! It's always nice to see an unfamiliar face.”

“Stop teaching of the truth.”

Blunt, but Recluse, as deceptive as he could be, was never one for fancy words.

The Sage blinked, not quite flinching back, though it was close.

“Oh?”

Recluse lowered his hood, revealing a scowl and an identity in one. He saw the moment recognition clicked.

“The Truthless Recluse!” the Sage grinned, “So far from his Peak, as well; what an honor! What brings you to my humble lecture?”

“What brings you the right to encourage an enlightenment on the Peak no Cookie can reach?”

“Everyone deserves enlightenment!”

“Not like this.” 

“In what other way? The Truth must be worked for, must be understood. Who are you to keep them from it?”

Understood? Worked for? Did he even understand what he was saying? Did he think that there was something that lay at the top? No, the Sage knew. Recluse couldn’t help but snap, “Who are you to be so cruel?”

The Sage seemed to pause, there, tilting his head in a curious fashion. There was an odd light in his eye that hadn’t been there before, like he was operating on autopilot until Recluse had spoken about cruelty.

He snapped his fingers, grinning if he’d just cracked the most difficult code, “Aha! Perhaps you aren't what I initially made you out to be; no, no, you're far more interesting than that. You aren't guarding the Peak from cookies, you're guarding cookies from the Peak!”

Recluse didn't answer. He didn't need to for The Sage to continue.

“You shield them from the cold reality, the burning clarity. You attempt to soothe their worries with obstruction and sweet deceit.” He said the word like a curse, “Instead of granting them the salvation they deserve.”

“No one deserves that torment.”

“And why not?”

That despair he felt, that hopelessness, the way he felt his resolve crumble into nothing—that was something he wished on no one. The Truthless Recluse was only told to climb the Peak by Witches. If he was supposed to do more, he didn't care—this was his duty now. The stalwart guardian of the Peak of Truth. “It would send anyone crumbling.”

“Indeed, the Truth can be cruel. I know that too well.” The Sage sighed, forlorn, “I have seen many a student sent to tears by my lectures. Such is the harsh nature of what must be protected—it is not a loving beast. Despite that, it is one we must all strive for.”

“And why is that?”

It was odd, seeing him light up. Recluse had thought, for a moment, the Sage was exuberant, every ounce of him pouring with cheer. But it was clear from the way his grin grew wide enough to show sharp teeth, eyes glinting from excitement, that this was The Sage at his happiest.

“Well, because it is Truth that can lead Cookies farther than they ever had before. Truth that leads to innovation. Invention.”

“Deceit can fuel motivations just as well. Your point is unsound.”

“Oh? How can they? In what way?” The Sage went to sit on his desk, leaning forward in a fashion that Recluse almost wanted to say was eager, but that couldn't be. “List an example.”

“It gives them hope. It gives them reason. If the truth would do nothing, a lie can let them power through dismay.”

“It gives them a reason if they uncover the truth underneath.”

“Not always.”

“Oh?”

They continued. It was the most that Recluse had spoken at once in quite some time. It was certainly the longest time someone had been willing to wait for him to collect his thoughts before speaking, if only so the Sage could properly tear each one to shreds.

It wasn't hard for Recluse to list example after example and attempt to shut down Sage’s own. It wasn't hard to get unwillingly drawn into a conversation that was supposed to be a command. Recluse didn't know how it happened.

He did know when someone came in, interrupting with their presence alone. Recluse cut himself off as soon as he noticed it, tugging his hood on. Luckily, his face was nothing new to the cookie that called his name.

“Fortune Teller Cookie?”

“...Healer Cookie.” How long had this taken? It didn't feel like he had been there for long, but Pure Vanilla should have been with the Director of Alchemy for a while. Had he lost track of time? “Did I keep you waiting? I apologize.”

“No need.” Pure Vanilla was smiling. “But we really must find an Inn before it gets dark.”

“Right.” He turned back to the Sage, who was watching the exchange with something unreadable on his face. It was only when he turned back that Recluse spoke. “You will not send any more up to the Peak.”

He shrugged, “What others do is out of my control. And what I do is out of yours.”

Recluse twitched.

“There are many Inns for travelers in the Blueberry Kingdom, but I have a feeling you're staying for some time? Try the Rabbit Inn. I'll put in a good word, just for you, right now!”

Recluse scowled. Still, he followed Pure Vanilla out of the lecture hall, out of the Academy, into the streets to try and find an Inn.

It was only halfway down the street, Recluse still turning over some of Sage’s more complicated thoughts over in his head, that Pure Vanilla spoke. “Perhaps we should follow the Sage’s suggestion—?”

“No.”

Chapter Text

“I loathe that man.” Pure Vanilla laughed, untying the blindfold from his eyes and blinking from the flood of light. He was sitting on his bed in the Inn they had found, a small but cozy thing with two beds, a table, and a chair that Recluse had been avoiding as he paced wall to wall. “You doubt me!”

“I do not doubt you for a second,” He placated, “I simply do not see his… loathsome traits.”

“He is insufferable.”

“Is he now?”

He took off his outer cloak and folded it up with practiced ease as he listened to Recluse gripe about The Sage of Truth. Admittedly, Pure Vanilla didn't quite understand the exact details. From what he'd listened to from outside the door Recluse seemed to be having a good time. It was rare that his younger brother debated so thoroughly, and even rarer that he took his hood down like that. It was hard not to hear the thoughtfulness in his voice, even as it had bristled with distaste.

“I'll take that.” Recluse muttered, stealing Pure Vanilla’s cloak now that it was nice and folded, “I put it on the table.”

“Thank you, Fortune Teller Cookie. Please continue.”

A huff, “He is so—pretentious. And yet cunning. Smug.”

“He didn't seem that way to me.”

“He was!”

“I do not doubt you.”

“...you don't?”

“I caught only a moment between you two. If you tell me his nature is crueller, or even simply annoying, then, I will believe you. Admittedly, he… reminded me of someone in the same vein.”

“What?”

The Sage of Truth harbored a surprising likeness to the most venomous cookie he once knew. Something about the voice, perhaps. The pitch and the tone as he weaved through a complicated subject, carried a lilt that sent a chill down Pure Vanilla’s spine. There were differences, certainly—the primary one being that insistence on the Truth.

It was still hard to listen to, sometimes. It was nice to hear about the discussion of magic theorems, and there were definitely aspects Pure Vanilla may include in the future. Still.

His voice had been haunting. Pure Vanilla had defeated him once, and had been defeated once in turn. They stood at a standstill, now—working through the general state of the world, rather than battles directly against each other. A Proxy war, in a sense. Pure Vanilla did his damnedest to combat the rumors trying to take root throughout Earthbread, and spread truth and knowledge in turn that he tried to snuff out. It had been… oddly quiet as of late. Around since he found Recluse, a bit after the fall of the Vanilla Kingdom. 

Actually, thinking about it, Recluse had not yet been found when Pure Vanilla had noted the lack of lies. Likely still in the tower. For a moment, Pure Vanilla felt a pang of regret for not attempting the climb sooner, for not finding Recluse before he had grown enough to bear the weight alone for years. There was one good thing about it, though.

Recluse had been away from the empowerment of Beasts, and the battles that followed. The war was brutal. Truthless Recluse did not know what had cast Pure Vanilla into the amnesiac shell that was Healer Cookie, and that was almost intentional. He should not know that there had been a time that his older brother was puppeted like a toy, or was manipulated like a ball of clay, or had been a burning sun of power and truth against a Beast. He did not need to know that side of him. Just the side that could be warm and gentle. The side that was caring and a healer, not–a King, or a puppet, or a sun.

He did not need to know of the cookie who had done such a thing. Did not need to know of the horrors he wrought, of how keenly deceit could be used for the worst cruelties instead of kindness. He did not need to hear the whispers that spread like a plague across all of Earthbread, nor how shadows could be watchful and cruel.

He did not need to know of Shadow Milk Cookie.

“It was…. Nothing more than mere memory.”

Just a coincidence, to be sure. And besides, the differences were far too great to be one of his disguises. Shadow Milk Cookie would never teach on the Truth unless it was a ruse in order to fill the world with his lies. “You seem uncertain.”

A pause because, admittedly, Pure Vanilla was uncertain. Pure Vanilla did have old memories dredged up at a moment's notice, because of this. But at the same time, he had always been prone to reminiscing, and it wasn't rare that he would lose himself in memories.

He shook his head. Memories were memories, and the reality was this: “I do not know The Sage.”

Recluse sighed, flopping onto the other bed, “I barely do and I wish I did not.”

Pure Vanilla snorted. Recluse deigned to ignore the sound, focusing on something else. “How did your appointment with the Director of Alchemy go?”

“He agreed to make a decade’s worth of life powder for us, and continued contact to assure we can ask in advance next time.”

“Good news.” He remarked, “How long will it take?”

“Two weeks.”

“Ah. That isn't too long, but…”

“The village can wait for us, Fortune Teller Cookie. I assure you, they will be fine.”

“I know.” And then, “Thank you.”

Pure Vanilla smiled.

“Say, there are quite a few libraries here, don't you agree?”

“...yes?”

“We don't have much to do, as well.”

“Yes.”

“Should we take the chance to refresh on modern healing techniques?”

“Oh.” Pure Vanilla heard rustling, likely the sound of Recluse either falling into or getting off the bed. Judging by the sound of footsteps, it was the latter. “Yes. I would like that.”

“Excellent! We also need to find a gift for the villagers. Especially Black Raisin Cookie.” Witches know she deserves something for putting up with their short notice trip. “Though, admittedly, we… do not have much left—between the cost of the life powder and the inn.”

An acknowledging hum, “We’ll make it work.”

“We always do!”

They chatted, getting ready for bed in the process. Pure Vanilla felt content, as he often did these days. 

He did his best to push the nagging feeling of anxiety that often arose thinking of his rival.

Pure Vanilla was all but certain that Shadow Milk Cookie would be found dead before stepping into a kingdom known for its spread of knowledge and Truth above all.

“I met the most fascinating Cookie today, Shadow Milk Cookie!” The Sage exclaimed, to the elder cookie who both raised and did his damnedest to corrupt him, “He despised the Truth nearly as much as you!”

The Sage had flung the door open, likely startling Shadow Milk like a cat, his hair spiked up even more than usual. It took less than seconds for him to right himself, sitting in the air above the couch instead of on it, as if he’d been there the whole time. Perhaps he had; you could never know with him. He'd been sewing something, and there was something colored cream and white fabric slowly slipping off the couch.

“That is pretty interesting.” Shadow Milk snapped his fingers, and all fabric and supplies disappeared. He turned around in the air, lying on his stomach with his feet up. “I just could have sworn all the cookies who talked to you loved the stuff. More or less.”

“I believed the very same!” He started taking off the more flashy parts of his outfit, getting more comfortable now that he was home once again, “Though I am not so bold to assume that every person there enjoyed my lectures in their entirety—”

A snort, willfully ignored, because the Sage of Truth rose above those who doubted and belittled him. He was better than that, and did not take such obvious bait. He splayed a hand against his chest, just barely feeling the shard of Truth nestled in a brooch similar to Shadow Milk’s own, cool under his touch.

“It has been very few times that someone who despised the truth in its entirety has shown up! Let alone complain about it! Normally, it is those who refuse the truth, ignore enlightenment—”

“Those with sense, you mean?”

“Shush! My moment!” He flicked lazy hand, a gesture that meant go on, “But this one debated with me on it.”

“Well now look at that! You've finally got that debate partner you've always moaned about wanting.”

“Indeed! I hope he's already received my letter I sent to the Rabbit’s Inn—ah! Did you see him?”

“Blueberry Tart Cookie sees a lot of people. I'm pretty smart, but I'm gonna need at least one detail to go off of there!”

“Right, right. Black cloak with a gold trim? Blonde icing… I believe their name is Fortune Teller Cookie. That’s what they should have introduced themself as.”

“Nope! Never heard of them—haven’t seen them either! Fortune Teller Cookie huh? Did you get your palm read?”

Sage picked up on the teasing tone. It was a joke. Of course it was a joke. But at the same time, “No? Should I have? Would that have been polite? Ahh—and here I thought I was good at social niceties! Of course in the same measure you would offer a cookie a food they were made up of, it would be kind to ask for a fortune! No wonder they didn't accept my offer…”

“Oh, those were the cookies I was supposed to give a room to for free?” A low whistle,  before he continued on, teasing. ”Maybe, oh, I don't know, the cookie who hates the truth and debated you on the fact perhaps… doesn't enjoy your company? Perhaps you were just a teeny tiny bit overbearing?”

“You really think that?”

Shadow Milk, despite what he would tell you (and indeed, what anyone would tell you—anyone who knew the man for who he was—thought him deceitful and cunning and above all cruel) did actually care for Sage. It was difficult not to, considering how tightly Sage had latched on when he was younger, tiny and terrified and filled with so much knowledge he didn't know what to do with it.

And Shadow Milk, with a past that Sage was not privy to but figured must have included being a teacher once, with a soft spot for children he expressed in mockery and the briefest expressions of true personality, simply had no choice but to take Sage under his wing. It was, at first, for selfish reasons. To corrupt. To change. To gain a minion, in a sense. That’s how he had put it at least. 

He never managed it. He pretended to try, on occasion, but he had never succeeded and he never would.

“Maybe.” He flicked Sage’s forehead. Sage hadn't even noticed he'd gotten so close, too caught up in it all. When Shadow Milk spoke, it sounded annoyed and over it, but Sage knew it meant concern. “Maybe not. You're overthinking it either way.”

“I am?”

“If you could convince me to like you, I'm sure one measly truth-nonseeker will open up no problem.”

“He's not just any truth-nonseeker though! Fortune Teller Cookie was a fake name!”

“Ohoho, disguises too? You really know how to pick ‘em, Sage! Wait, why worry about the palm reading if–?”

“He's the Truthless Recluse!”

“What.”

“The guy who guards the Peak of Truth!”

“Are you serious? That guy is a serious buzzkill from what I remember.”

“You know him?!”

“No, but I know what you told me about him. Some gloomy downer who keeps cookies from having a breakdown at the peak.” Shadow Milk sighed, crossing his arms. “The only fun part that particular mountain, really. Again, buzzkill.”

“Exactly! He stopped them from cracking under the realization! I thought he'd just been someone who despised the truth in all its entirety, but that's not it at all!” Sage laughed, opening up a portal to drop all his excess wear into a laundry for him to do soon. For now, however, “But he's nothing like that! He doesn't care much about lying one way or another—”

“Aww.”

“Yes, yes, but he cares more about the obstruction of the truth! Of protecting others from it!”

“Ugh, he's noble? I can respect another liar, but this guy sounds…” he paused, and then, “...you don't care too much about sparing other cookies feelings. Why this one?”

“Because I entirely misjudged him! He's different! And when he debated me, oh, he was so clever! He brought up points I hadn't thought of regarding emotions and stability, and was just—fascinating!”

“Ugh. You're going to be insufferable about this, aren't you?”

“Unashamedly!”

“Great. Well then, do it later.” Shadow Milk finally touched the ground, if only to press a finger onto the Sage’s chest, "There's only so long I can stand the smell of chalk and academia.”

Right. The Sage really should clean himself up. Oh, how embarrassing, to be covered in chalk and dishevelment to such a cookie as the Truthless Recluse! He must have looked like nothing more than an absolute mess.

“And maybe take a day or two or three or four to think about it? Go clear your head and make sure this isn't some passing fancy. Focus on your other fancies! Research something. Update books. Whatever it is you do."

“Oh I really should do that, it has been a while… why bring it up?”

He shrugged, “Do I need a reason for everything? Please. I am far above petty things like reason.”

Sage snickered. “Right, right. Well, I'll go do all that. Thank you for the advice, brother!”

“Don't care. Go.”

Sage went, still a bit too energetic to be normal, but that was fine. This didn't feel like a passing fancy… still, he seldom had days off, and he would like to update some things here and there.

He felt excited. It had been a rather long time since he had been excited like this.

There were many libraries in the Blueberry Kingdom. That and bookstores. It seemed that knowledge was quite the seller in such a place.

Pure Vanilla left Recluse to his own devices pretty quickly, being led by a librarian to what, in Recluse’s eyes, had to be the largest collection of braille books in the history of any kingdom ever.

Pure Vanilla had whispered something odd about it. Is this a trap? Breathless, like they couldn't believe it was real. Like he thought it had been made for him, and him alone. How odd.

Recluse left them to it. It appeared that they would lose their brother to books for the foreseeable future. The only choice left was to get lost in turn. Walking down a long aisle of textbooks, on every single subject under the sun. It was almost difficult to find medical textbooks, but it didn't take long to find one titled Surgical Nursing and Wound Care, 12th Edition, and a year not too far from the current. Much more recent than the techniques they'd been using currently.

It wasn't as if they were using jam leeches or anything of the sort, but… what had changed? Were there new bandaging techniques? Specific slings for fractures that had changed? Perhaps even a new jam typing technique; while almost all of the Raisin villagers had grape jam, compatible with each other should the need for a transfusion arise, then Recluse would be damned if he didn't at least check first if it was possible. Their technique at the moment was a viscosity and color check. Compatibility was done with a two drop mix, checking for the formation of sugar crystals or any other change. 

(Pure Vanilla was old school in the fact that he just fucking tasted it. He had yet to be incorrect in the method, but Recluse still wrinkled his nose at it. Not just because of the grossness of the action but because he never bothered to leave the room when he did it. Witches.) 

If there was any technology or spell that could test compatibility more effectively (or cleanly), then perhaps...

He hadn't even started reading yet. He should know better than to get his hopes up in advance. Still, a refresher would certainly be nice. 

He settled into a table, far from most others tucked in a corner, getting lost in old vocabulary he’d almost forgotten. It was coming back to him, though.

Medical innovation changed so often throughout the years. It wasn't as if he and Pure Vanilla hadn't attempted to stay updated—they did their best, actually, meeting with every healer they came across to talk about the newest techniques they'd both come across, exchanging information freely. Still, it was one thing to hear bits and pieces, and another to have every basic thing compiled. Perhaps he could find a version of this book to buy… though he was already shivering at the price.

Recluse paused to straighten for a second, becoming acutely aware of just how long he had been hunched over the book. He had to lean in closely to read it without his staff. How did even his shoulders ache, he wondered, as he rolled them back with a grimace. He didn’t need shoulders to read. The Cookie body was full of mysteries that even he, a healer, could occasionally not solve. He ignored the fact that he had been hunched over like a jelly.

His eyes weren't terrible. Just not the best. And unlike Pure Vanilla, he’d grown up with an aid. He wondered what Pure Vanilla was doing, right now. He wondered what the villagers were doing right now.

Likely business as usual. Black Raisin coming back from the morning patrol of the surrounding forests, to make sure that no monsters would come wreak havoc on their home. Their farmers would come to sell their wares. Their tailors would come too, selling their excess fabrics. Life in the village, as usual, without them to patch up stray cuts or wounds. Recluse sighed.

“Why the long face?”

He startled, jerking back from the voice at his right, nearly falling off the chair as he did so. He thought he was more aware of things than this, and realized after a moment that the asshole next to him had managed to hide his magic signature and the sound of his footsteps Recluse relied on both of those more than he should, it seemed.

Still, he knew The Sage of Truth was powerful, and Recluse had felt his signature clear as day when they first met. This was a joke compared to then.

“Why are you hiding?”

“I haven't a clue what you mean!” The Sage slipped into the chair next to his, without asking, leaning his chin on his palm, propped up by his elbow on the table. “I’m clearly right here.”

“Your… magic.”

“Oh, that? I just do it when I don't feel like being…” he grimaced, “Bothered? No, no, terrible word for it. Cookies asking questions never bother me. Distracted, perhaps.”

Recluse rolled his eyes. “Alright.”

“But I'm quite the recognizable presence! And my magic is even more so! Just like yours, I fear.”

“Mine isn't that recognizable.”

He'd made sure of it. Truthless Recluse was very distinct from Fortune Teller Cookie. Fortune Teller Cookie was unobtrusive. Inoffensive. Quiet with just an edge of magic. Proof of his future telling prowess, though admittedly that was less his magic and more that of Earthbread’s.

Truthless Recluse had power coming off of him in waves. Years of sharpened magic, honed and perfected. Something dark and staticked, the aftertaste of the dark side of the moon. He personally didn't use that dimension, but its magic was his favored weapon to wield. It diminished his healer’s ability, at times, with the waning and waxing, but sometimes a weapon saved more lives than one would like to admit.

“It is to me,” Sage said. “Like recognizes like, don't you agree?”

Sage knew he was hiding. Of course he did. Recluse sighed again, this time infinitely more tired. Sage had the audacity to laugh about it.

“Why are you lingering, Sage?”

“Just saying hi to a friend!” He tilted his head, “Hello!”

Recluse felt his eye twitch. Was he serious? “We are less than strangers. I insulted you for hours yesterday.”

“You gave as good as I did, Recluse,” Sage reminded, grinning, “It was the first time I’ve ever heard someone give as good as I, on a topic so dear and close. I cannot even say if I won or not! Isn’t that exciting?”

“It’s infuriating.”

“Oho? And in what way?”

Recluse narrowed his eyes, “You are attempting to bait me.”

“Indeed!”

The Sage was shameless. Recluse scoffed, turning back to his book. He didn’t even remember where he was, and it truly ticked him off. Of course, out of everyone, it would be the Sage to catch him off kilter enough to forget his place. To annoy him enough by still trying to chat that Recluse couldn’t find his place still.

“Is that a medical text?”

“I’m surprised you can read. You hold so little sense one would think you are the least intelligent beast on the planet.”

“Ha, ha.” Recluse looked up. The Sage was so exuberant and sincere it surprised him, hearing dry sarcastic wit. He managed to catch rolling eyes before it was dashed away by pure, genuine curiosity as Sage attempted to read once more. “It is rather advanced."

“Is it?”

“Well, yes! I’ve seen healers carrying this text before their attempts to pass their certification exam, so they may study just a little more. The final step–ergo, this must teach of the final step, yes?”

“It is a good summation of generalized wound care. It lists typical procedures and when they are applicable. Simple.”

“What is simple to one may be simple to none other!” Sage shrugged, “Your skills must be vast, to deem them as such.”

“They are not. I am… passable.” Recluse would give himself that, at least. If he weren’t, he wouldn’t attempt to do much. “I have more of a life outside the cliff. Perhaps, if you stop the relentless truth seeking students, I would be able to pursue this more thoroughly.”

“Perhaps.” His eye glinted underneath that golden lens of his. “Perhaps it would only help you practice. Surely truth seekers are hurt by the climb.”

Recluse flinched again, before turning back to his text.

Yes. They were. Very few heeded his call to stop. Very few listened to him. Those who did not paid the price with Recluse protecting the Peak on the threat of near lethality. He would never kill them, but that didn't change the fact that he had to hurt them.

He had not taken the Healer’s Oath. He didn't think he ever could. He could not abandon his duties, even when he hated them, even when he had to be cruel. It was all for their good, all for their kindness, all for them.

He offered treatment. They never took it. Even the ones who were injured on the climb up, the ones who took his offer, refused his aid and care when they needed it.

The Peak is harsh. They always needed it, but they would never trust The Truthless Recluse to give it to them. He couldn't blame them.

“I apologize for being callous. Someone who guards the Peak to prevent disappointment would ache at the idea of hurting those he protects… I did not mean to imply otherwise.”

Recluse brought a hand up to pinch the bridge of his nose, trying fruitlessly to stave off the headache beginning to form. The Sage knew how to make him both horribly annoyed and beyond exhausted with nothing but a few words. It was a talent.

“What are you doing here? Why do you insist on bothering me?”

“Forgive me for wanting to pick the brain of the most interesting cookie I've ever met.”

“I am far from interesting.”

“On the contrary, you're enthralling.”

“Enough, Sage. Return to your work so I may return to mine.”

“Oh yes! I should get back to this, shouldn't I?” 

Instead of leaving, however, Sage set up at the same table as Recluse. Pulling out parchment and—oddly, a pressing kit, the stylus and slate that was used to write braille. Out of all the things he expected, it was not that. Despite himself, Recluse watched for a moment, to make sure it wasn’t some trick. Why would it be, though? Sage worked, not quite quietly, as he pressed words into pages. He was quick, too; practiced. 

“You're writing braille?” Recluse asked before he could stop himself. He was a fool, he should have ignored the Sage. Now, he had engaged him. Damn his curiosity. What was wrong with him? 

“Indeed I am! On occasion I will transcribe books into braille for those who may want it. Many cookies have vision that fails them, and I would hate to deny them the comfort of knowledge and truth!”

“Rather kind of you.” Recluse snagged one of the Sage’s already completed pages, ignoring his spluttering, gliding his fingers over the raised imprints. ‘Wolf! Wolf! Cried the Shepherd boy,’ was the first line on the page. Recluse recognized this story, even from that much. “The Boy who cried Wolf? These are children’s tales.”

“Of course.” Sage took the page back, laying it neatly with the others, “You can read it?”

“Of course.” Recluse echoed, giving no explanation at all.

“You are simply full of surprises, Truthless Recluse!”

“As are you. Who would think the great Sage of Truth would be transcribing a tale about lying?”

“Well, considering the moral message of said story is not to lie, one would think it almost too expected.”

Recluse hummed. He supposed that the Sage had him there. He knew it, too, judging by the light laugh. Recluse would've bristled, except it didn't sound mocking, just… simply amused.

“I'm surprised you have the time to transcribe it. One would think you'd be too busy transcribing high leveled textbooks of your own design, or writing down theory you created.”

“Yes, yes, I do so love myself very much!” Sage hummed, “There isn’t too much need to rehash the same statement twice and thricefold. I can understand the message in one.”

“That wasn't my intention.” Recluse tried to word his meaning better. He wasn't always good at sounding genuine. Everything came out quiet and sharp. “I thought you had to transcribe your teachings, not children's tales, when you write for your followers.”

“This… isn't for my followers.” He tapped his cheek, as if thinking, “I'm unsure what you're trying to imply, though I do appreciate that it isn't a barb.”

“Why this?”

“Kids have to read too.”

“I know. I mean, other cookies could do this. Why cut into your work time for this?”

“I'm not cutting into my ‘work time.’ This is what I do with my limited free time, on occasion. Transcription, sometimes even writing.”

“...the great Sage of Truth… writes children's books in his spare time?”

“Yes. Is that so hard to believe?”

Recluse blinked. Once. Twice. Then, “I… guess it really isn't.”

He turned to the text in front of him, thinking. It was… awfully kind of the Sage. Honestly, more so than anything that Recluse could have expected.

Perhaps he wasn't the worst Cookie in all of Earthbread. Perhaps more so the second or even third if Recluse was being succinct. 

Hm.

He went back to his book. For a while, that's all there was. The quiet flipping of a page, the soft sigh of mindless work and light stress of study. Many things had stayed the same, but Recluse would definitely have to go over some of these changes with Pure Vanilla, practice and perfect them. Such was the nature of medical innovation. Of all innovation, really.

It was only when Sage started to stretch, before beginning to pack his supplies away, that Recluse realized they'd been at it for a rather long time. 

“I must be off,” The Sage said, as if Recluse couldn't see him starting to leave. “But I must say, it was rather lovely to talk with you once more.”

Recluse squinted, “I doubt that.”

“Doubt all you want! It is but the truth.” A wink. Recluse scoffed. “You truly are nice company. Ah!”

Sage dug into his coat, pulling out a scroll with a flair of triumph. Recluse didn't know how that man had this much energy, this much excitement. 

“Here we are! For you, dear Recluse.” He held it out.

Recluse didn't take it, “What?”

“A letter! From me to you, of course. I wasn't able to get it to you yesterday—You hadn't taken my suggestion.”

“We already had a tavern booked.” That was a blatant lie, considering Sage had only suggested the Rabbit Inn because Pure Vanilla had mentioned that they needed to look for one before dark. It seemed Sage understood too, that Recluse wouldn't hand the reason as to why he refused the accommodations the Sage had handed to him on a silver platter. Oh, how Recluse loved lies.

“...well, disregarding that, I wasn't able to deliver this to you due to the fact that I had no clue about your whereabouts. How lucky was I to find you here?”

“How lucky indeed.” The words came out dry. “Why are you writing to me? You do not know me.”

“Aha! That is precisely why I write. How else am I supposed to know you without learning about you? Every friend was once a stranger.”

“But not all strangers become friends.”

“Perhaps not, no, but I would hope that I have a chance.”

“A chance.” Recluse echoed, not quite believing it.

“Yes!”

“Why me? Surely every other cookie in this kingdom would be much more tolerable. And they would actually want to.”

“Oh, well, I do so enjoy a challenge,” Sage grinned. And then, softening, “And you are interesting. Mighty interesting, dear Recluse.”

“You do not know me. How can I be interesting to you already?”

“How could you not be?” Sage laughed, “You're fantastic.”

Recluse’s face burned. That was what did it—being affected by his words. Not being able to shrug it off, ignore it, pretend it didn't exist. Not being able to combat it, to scowl and hiss.

“Enough. Cease this.”

“Cease what?”

“This…. Flattery. These attempts at something. I tire of these games, Sage.”

“No games I know of are being played.”

“Then what is this?”

“Genuine.”

Recluse recoiled. Flipped his book close, shut with a near deafening finality. He pushed his chair back, the sound just as horribly loud but somehow worse, like it was making things real, as he started to walk away.

He did not turn. Did not offer a parting phrase. How could he, when his heart was blocking his throat?

“Wait—” Sage’s own chair screeched on the floor, as he chased behind. “The letter. Please.”

Recluse stopped.

The Sage’s letter. The one he had apparently attempted to send to him, via the Rabbit Inn. It was still on the table. Recluse hadn't taken it. Hadn't wanted to. Still didn't really want to.

Sage was behind him. Recluse did not turn.

“What do you want with me?”

The words came out raw. Aching. Truthless Recluse hated truth, the coldness and cruelty of it. There was no soft padding of truth’s crystalline jagged edges, glass digging into soft, bleeding skin. The Sage loved these sharp edges, these reflections so clear it could send chills right through you. He did not soften the blow.

“I just want to learn more about you.”

Recluse grit his teeth. It was honest. It was unflinchingly, terribly honest. That's what made it so painful.

Recluse didn't know what to do, with sincerity. There was only one person in the world who should've been genuine with them, caring with them. Their older brother—and that care had taken years. This was barely hours.

Passing curiosity was one thing, and fear was another. That was the only two things people who didn't know Recluse met him with. Rather, that should have been the only thing. This was something else entirely.

Recluse brought his hand to the height of his shoulder, his palm up. Clearly a request, a reach. A resignation, of letting Sage do what he needs.

“You don't, Sage of Truth.” Recluse mumbled, “There is no salvation in me. You will not find any life-altering fact for me to share, nor any defining feature that shall change what you see. I am nothing worth seeking.”

The letter pressed slightly against his fingertips, light as a feather.

“I do not seek salvation, dear Recluse; I care not for any fact nor feature. I care not for worth.” Sage’s voice was soft, unlike every other iteration Recluse had heard. It wasn't kind, nor cruel. Just soft. “I simply seek you.”

Chapter Text

Pure Vanilla had been reading for quite some time, but could you blame him? He had never had access to a library so full. Excepting his own, all that time ago. All of those books had been lost after the war though, as buildings fell to ruin and people crumbled. Who would care about a few books? He was certain that there may be some surviving texts, but he doubted he would ever find them again.

Pure Vanilla should have read something more important—a history book, a textbook, something he could learn from. Something that he wouldn't have access to in a few weeks time. It was always important to see how the world had progressed without him in the fray of it. There was also the true intention of coming here—refreshing on modern medicine. Pure Vanilla was one of the best healers of his time, but that might've changed now that it was no longer his time.

He'd searched for texts originally. He'd expected to sit by Recluse, be quietly read to and discuss the new methodology with his pupil.

Instead, he ended up finding a fiction book. A fantasy, a story based on legends from long ago. He couldn't help himself as he started losing himself in the book.

He'd always had a soft spot for such stories. They were always so enthralling, the stakes often high and the world changed and fun to read. His favorite part was the characters, how they interacted with each other and trusted so. Sometimes, rarely, he saw himself and his friends on the page.

No one could truly recapture them, though, ancient heroes that they were. No one knew the way White Lily wandered and walked, never still even when things were at peace, drifting around like a graceful ghost. It was easy to capture Hollyberry’s joyful boisterousness, but difficult to capture her gentle protective care. No one thought to mention Dark Cacao’s quiet smile, when all his friends were in one place and in their shared chaos, he couldn't help but be fond when he thought no one was looking. Golden Cheese never had her possessiveness shown correctly, her care for her kingdom and her friends just as bright and gleaming as her namesake.

Pure Vanilla sighed, pausing midword and realizing he hadn't processed a single one from the start of the page. His mind had wandered, it seemed.

Hollyberry was missing. Dark Cacao was holed up in his kingdom with blackened walls stacked high. Golden Cheese was unreachable. White Lily…

Pure Vanilla swallowed. He missed his friends dearly, but he himself was in hiding too. He was certain that at least one of them likely tried to contact him,  tried to find him. After their battle with Dark Enchantress, her play had caused the Beasts to become their newest threat. A threat that not even they could have seen coming… None of them had combatted them yet, he believed, none except him. He was certain that they knew what had happened, but they wouldn’t know where Pure Vanilla vanished off to. He had no kingdom to call home. No place to stay steady. And indeed, that was the point.

For a long while, he had been alone, the only company being his own growing fear, held tight in his chest. He met countless travelers and flinched at every one, and did not settle anywhere no matter how welcoming and kind a place may be. 

Not even his memories were in his grasp, until they started surfacing once more, little by little, as he took care of a child who needed help.

He shook his head. The past was the past, and he was in the present. Alive, well, and with people depending on him. He missed his friends, and he hoped they remembered him fondly, but they were not his concern now. He should check on Truthless Recluse. 

He stood, keeping the book closely tucked with him as he wandered, trying to locate his friend. The library was large indeed, and the path on the ground was even textured depending on where it led, according to the librarian. It was colored differently too, and Recluse had remarked kids never seemed to get lost, following a blue trail to undoubtedly a section just for them. Recluse had mentioned he would be in a reading lounge the farthest left he could go, and knowing him, he would likely tuck himself somewhere quiet and unnoticeable.

He was on the path when Recluse called his name, very much not in the reading lounge.“Recluse! I was just coming to find you, but it appears you have found me instead.”

“It seems so. We should go, it's been some time since we first arrived here.”

They sounded oddly distant. Pure Vanilla chalked it up to one of their more distracted moments. They came and went without Recluse’s control, and it hadn't been the first time they took a moment to respond. Perhaps they were thinking of all they had learned?

“Ah, right… that is a shame, though. Did you find anything?”

“I am holding a medical textbook right now.. There are many techniques that have been expanded upon.”

“That's wonderful news! Perhaps I might check out my book as well, if you would be so kind as to share the card? Assuming you are making one-if you’d like to borrow the book to resume studying at the inn!”

Pure Vanilla held out the book, for Recluse to skim the title of. There was an odd rustling sound, of paper uncontained by the binding of a book. Odd.

“A fantasy book? It was your idea to refresh on medicine.”

“I got distracted.” It was a weak excuse, proven by the fact that it came out embarrassed.

“You forgot.” Recluse sighed, pushing the book towards Pure Vanilla again, a form of silent acceptance.

“Perhaps… still, we may discuss more once we make it back!”

Recluse hummed, assenting. Then they were off,. They found it much easier than expected to register for the card–it was a streamlined process,. Pure Vanilla supposed that with a kingdom so focused on the literary arts, such things would become so simple and integral that they were honed down to a science. Just like that, they had two books in their temporary possession, and were free to wander the streets once more. Recluse mentioned that they weren't the only ones holding books–they must have fit right in with the rest of the scholarly kingdom.

After that, though, Recluse seemed to be caught in his mind, not saying a word as the two walked towards the Inn once more. Pure Vanilla opted to not fill the silence, for once, enjoying the bustle and brightness of the kingdom filling his senses.

It was odd, though, because this thoughtfulness persisted, even once they reached the Inn. Recluse didn’t say a word as he started to settle back in. Pure Vanilla let him be–they could discuss the medicines perhaps after dinner, or even the day after. They were not lacking in time.

It was easy to settle into a chair, and get lost in his book once more. Perhaps he could ask Recluse to draft a letter to Black Raisin Cookie. That, or he could unveil his staff for a brief moment, to do so himself. He did enjoy writing, and Black Raisin Cookie would surely enjoy (or perhaps be relieved, or maybe a little annoyed by) a letter from him. He could describe Blueberry Kingdom so far, or perhaps the ease of their travels. He just had to unwrap the staff.

The thought sent a chill up his spine. No, perhaps not. It was too risky, even here, safe in an inn such as this. Just one wrong glance, and a note of a healer with the staff of a vanilla orchid’s eye… rumors were tricky. Rumors were dangerous when it came to Pure Vanilla.

He swallowed, and cracked open his book. Later. He could dwell on that later. For now, he let himself enjoy a rare treat. His fingers found the words like they were made to, and he lost himself in the fantastical world with ease. It was, for the most part, one of the more realistic stories he’d read. Well researched–the author took care to try and grasp the flaws of heroes, the worship of them, and how it may feel. Care to understand the horrors of battle, and the silence after them. The tense anticipation before them, too, had Pure Vanilla just as tense in kind. Of course, some things had to suffer–their medical knowledge was lacking.

Pure Vanilla’s own was lacking at this point too, wasn’t it? Recluse had been talking about the new techniques that had been developed since the last time they’d checked over them. As much as Pure Vanilla attempted to keep up with new advancements, it had always been an uphill battle. It wasn’t a bad thing; the fact that new care was constantly evolving. He himself had made strides in advancing care when he was in his prime. 

He wondered if Recluse realized that one of the fundamentals of healing magic was of his own invention.  At this point, very few people did. 

He wondered if anyone else had recently connected the dots of where magic as a whole came from. Most focused on their own branch, with particularly well-rounded mages realizing that the origin of most spells came from a single source. Pure Vanilla himself only realized after he’d met the man, and had gone through a spiral of research in the hopes of figuring out how to defeat him. He’d never found what he was looking for, but he had found that the Fount of Knowledge had created spellwork beyond the ken of normal Cookies tenfold. That Shadow Milk–

Shadow Milk was a fantastical Cookie. Pure Vanilla had studied every one of his first spells in his long life. They were archaic, now–but beyond the belief of what anyone could imagine when first written. Propelling Cookiekind forward years upon years. Almost like the Sage of Truth. The Sage of Truth, who was so very interested in Recluse. Truth, for Deceit. And, of course, Deceit, for Truth.

Pure Vanilla sighed. And then jolted, as Recluse tapped his shoulder, startling him more than he likely intended.

“Ah–sorry.” He didn’t sound sorry in the slightest. “We should eat.”

Pure Vanilla blinked, though it wasn’t like Recluse could see it from under the blindfold. Right. Food. That was something that they should get. How long had it been since they’d eaten? They had breakfast before they had headed to the library, but then they lost themselves in their respective books. The both of them were absolutely terrible at taking care of themselves.

Pure Vanilla put his book down, nodding, “Of course! Let’s go.”

The kingdom was bustling and cheerful. Pure Vanilla could tell it was rather dark already, but that didn't stop the chatter and people brushing them by. If anything, the city felt even more alive at night than it was during the day, with laughter and lights that Pure Vanilla could just barely make out flashing behind his blindfold. 

They would find some place to eat and then be on their way back to the inn. It was around now that Recluse would start offering suggestions, or asking for some, depending on his mood. “Is something on your mind, Fortune Teller Cookie?”

“...the fates held fortune's wheel today,” they replied, more cryptic than usual.

“Oh? And did it come to pass?”

“Yes.”

And that was that. Pure Vanilla chuckled, letting him have his mystery for himself. Recluse was not often the most clear. When he was younger, he was cagey about everything, even though he knew he had nothing to hide. If it made him more comfortable, then who was Pure Vanilla to say no to that?

The pair wandered the streets with his ward. It wasn't too long before Recluse suggested a table at a place that sold soup. Pure Vanilla could not for the life of him get a read on the place. The tables were wood and slightly sticky, but the chairs were more comfortable than anything. There were children’s voices, but adult dishes from what he could read.

It was lively, though, and kind. They both ordered a jelly stew. It would take a bit before they got served; lively meant busy after all. While they waited, Pure Vanilla heard the familiar fwiiiiip of cards, being shuffled perhaps—or dealt.

“Reading another fortune, Fortune Teller Cookie?”

A hum that meant not quite, quiet and thoughtful. “Just shuffling.”

“Are you playing a game?”

The voice was high-pitched, and coming from the right of the table. A child, most likely, 

“Not quite. These are tarot cards.” Pure Vanilla explained, “They're used to tell the future.”

“Whoa…”

“Would you like a fortune?” Recluse asked, surprising Pure Vanilla.

“Yes!”

“Tell me when to stop shuffling.”

The child didn't take long. Practically as soon as they could, they shouted stop! And Recluse, with only a moment of hesitation, spread the deck out onto the table.

“Choose three cards.”

“Any of them?”

“Yes. Any three.”

They chose. Pure Vanilla listened not too closely as they unveiled cups and swords and a major arcana, as Recluse deciphered a vague future into something that the child may take home. Something about trials and tribulations, but receiving their due in the end. All positive things, for once.

It was only when they scampered off, when Recluse was gathering his cards once more, that Pure Vanilla spoke.

“They were certainly excited.”

“Indeed.”

“You made them rather happy!”

“They’re assuming the news is on their academics.” Recluse waved it off. “Pulling a chariot for the future is bound to make any cookie happy.”

Pure Vanilla laughed a little, “Can you blame them? I–oh!”

The footsteps that had run off had gotten closer, this time with another pair to follow. She cut off his words with an exuberant, “Him now!”

“Apple Faerie Cookie, please–” A tired, lightly amused voice this time, just on the edge of chastising. “We shouldn’t bother other patrons like this…”

“It’s not bothering, it’s asking!”

Pure Vanilla hummed, “She does have a point. I’m sure Fortune Teller Cookie wouldn’t mind reading another fortune.”

“I wouldn’t.” It was one of his favorite things to do, after all. And also a way to earn money, if he was selling his skills–but this wasn’t that time. This was just to bring a bit of amusement, or joy, or guidance. Pure Vanilla had only been surprised initially because Recluse hadn’t seemed to be in the mood. Clearly, he was. “There’s no harm in it.”

“Still, I wouldn’t want to be a nuisance on top of what Apple Faerie Cookie asked of you…”

“There’s no such thing,” Pure Vanilla said, “He’s offering, after all!”

“You’re offering. I’m agreeing.” Fortune Teller Cookie sighed, “Sit. Tell me when to stop shuffling…”

“Sweet Sapphire Cookie,” he filled in, introducing himself. Pure Vanilla heard the sound of a chair pulled back and childish giggles from Apple Faerie Cookie . “Apple Faerie Cookie is rather taken by this.”

“Many are,” Fortune Teller Cookie replied, not stopping his shuffling. Sweet Sapphire took a bit longer than Apple Faerie Cookie, and she whined and complained about it a little. He paid it no mind. For someone who seemingly wasn’t as ‘taken by this,’ he seemed to be serious regardless, stopping Recluse without a word. Pure Vanilla Cookie only knew he had when he heard Recluse slide the cards across the table again, “Choose three cards.”

“Any of them?” He asked, just like she had. Recluse paused, no doubt finding that funny too, before he confirmed again.

“Yes. Any three.”

Three selected. Three explained. Sweet Sapphire asked for clarification on whether it meant–in the general future, or close. If it meant someone specific, that he would know, or a stranger. He did not ask if it was going to be good or bad.

Apple Faerie snickered, like she knew exactly what he was asking. It was that which clued Pure Vanilla into what he was asking, cutting in, “If you want a romance reading, I can do that. Fortune Teller Cookie prefers different readings.”

“That–that isn’t what–” he choked on his own words, as Apple Faerie cackled, “No! That wasn’t what I was asking. It was about… my mentor! He’s been acting differently, recently.”

The lie was as clear as day. Pure Vanilla could hear the fluster in it, but it seemed to be the hill he wanted to die on. Either way, Recluse didn’t pay it any mind.

“Hm.” Recluse started collecting his cards, “Healer Cookie can help with that, too.”

“Huh?”

“Ah, apologies for the lack of introduction. My companion is Fortune Teller Cookie, as I have mentioned, and I am called Healer Cookie. I do a little better with people than he does. With both relationship readings, and advice.”

“Oh! I mean, I’d rather not disclose personal problems to strangers. I mean, I wouldn’t want to dump anything on you.”

Apple Faerie hummed, as if she were thinking of something quite funny. Then, surprisingly, she seemed to help deepen the lie.

“It’s practically common knowledge, Sweet Sapphire Cookie! Everyone knows The Sage has been acting more… floaty, than normal.”

“The Sage? Of Truth?”

“Not many other big-name Sages in this city.” Apple Faerie confirmed, “He takes Sweet Sapphire Cookie under his wing sometimes! He teaches him interesting types of magic.”

“It’s nothing to note.”

“Is that so? You must be exceptionally talented indeed! From what I have heard of the Sage of Truth, he must be… incredibly busy. To be singled out in such a way speaks to your skill.”

“Ah–! Not at all, but thank you for the praise.” A humble laugh, “He is busy, but he’s smart. But today he nearly missed the lesson… it was odd.”

“The Sage is rather punctual, I take it?”

“Like you wouldn’t believe.” Apple Faerie sighed. “If you’re even one minute late to his lecture, he’ll let you know.”

Recluse, surprisingly, sighed again, this time deeper and more long-suffering, “Sounds like him.”

“Oh, you know him? I sort of thought…”

“I have spoken with him.” There was a pause, and Recluse seemed to do something that involved a lot of shuffling, pulling out a piece of paper, presumably. “If you have the time… I would appreciate it if he received this.”

“He… has more direct routes of mail.” Sweet Sapphire pointed out, his confused voicing Pure Vanilla’s own, “Why go through me?”

“The Sage of Truth enjoys puzzles.” Was Recluse’s cryptic response, “Wouldn’t you say?”

Sweet Sapphire didn’t seem to respond to that, but there was the sound of paper passing hands. Pure Vanilla tilted his head.

“Thank you for indulging me,” Recluse said, “I assure you, whatever ails the Sage shall be over soon, no doubt.”

“Right…” There was the screech of a chair again, as Sweet Sapphire stood up once more, “Thank you for the fortune.”

“Thank you,” Recluse repeated. It was only after Pure Vanilla heard their footsteps fade into the background of chatter that they asked, 

“A letter?”

“The Sage wrote to me. I wrote back.”

“And what did you say? Witch’s oven, what did he say?”

Recluse did not openly express his amusement. Not genuinely, at least. It was expressed in head tilts, huffs. Wry smiles, at times. Which was why Pure Vanilla cookie was caught utterly off guard when Recluse laughed.

“Sage of Truth, sir.” A voice called from the doorway of his office.

“Oh, Sweet Sapphire Cookie! Come in, come in!” The Sage had been doing nothing in particular. Well, that wasn't quite true, he was grading his students’ essays, and while some of them were certainly exemplary, a true mark of magical understanding and skill, others were… Lackluster, putting it lightly.

It was one such essay he had in his hands, making him wonder if they had even paid attention to the lesson on illusory magic whatsoever. Surely not, for the inconsistencies and poor theory were overwhelming. He desperately needed a break, and who would be so kind as to appear with a change in topic, if only for a while, than Sweet Sapphire?

He was an exceptional student. His own essay, which Sage had already graded, was on the vocal aspect of illusion magic, how to incorporate it into complex scenes so as to use something to draw off of, rather than spawning something entirely new. Transfiguration was much easier than creation magic, which was something he understood to a T, so it made Sage proud to see him already trying to make spells more efficient, more clever. Truly an excellent student.

One with a hint of confusion in his step, a hint of hesitance that never boded well. Either this was a prank that his little sister (twice as skilled at transfiguration and disguise magic, and somehow thrice as eager to boot—Sweet Sapphire had to be careful, or Apple Faerie might just steal his spot for favorite. Not that the Sage had favorites) was up to something, or that Sweet Sapphire didn't know what to think.

Sometimes that was fun. Coming in to discuss a complex principle he had taken the time to read ahead on, learning more and enjoying the subject matter was simply some of his favorite memories as of late. This didn't seem like either thing, though. This was something new. How peculiar!

“Hey. Sorry for bothering you.”

“You aren't bothering in the slightest! Do tell, what has you so clearly confuddled?”

A snort, and all at once Sweet Sapphire relaxed. He pulled out something, a piece of parchment folded on itself at least twice. 

“Some cookie gave me this to pass it on to you. I told them about the usual mail routes, but they said ‘The Sage likes a puzzle’ and they'd just read my fortune, so… might as well give in. I already checked for malicious magic, but there isn't a trace of it.”

“Thank you, so well prepared! Hmm… Well, I do like puzzles.” Sage admitted, and then, “Read your fortune?”

“Yeah. Apple Faerie Cookie and I went out to eat yesterday, and she somehow annoyed one of the cookies at the table—”

“They hadn't happened to introduce themself as ‘Fortune Teller Cookie,’ had they?”

He blinked, “How'd you guess?”

Sage laughed, plucking the parchment from Sweet Sapphire’s hands with a flourish, tucking it onto his desk. 

“How could I not?” Sage exclaimed, rather nonsensically, oddly excitedly, before starting to explain, “He doesn't want me to send one back, not easily, but of course I will manage.”

“Oh?”

“This Cookie has been quite fun to pester,” Sage admitted, “And it seems he's having fun evading me as well. How lovely.”

“That isn't my definition of lovely, but if you're having fun..?” Sweet Sapphire shrugged, “That's about it. See you in class tomorrow, sir.”

“Ah, one moment Sweet Sapphire.” Sage walked over to his desk, picked up the stack of completed essays, and rifled through until he found the one he was looking for. “There we are. Here, your theory is almost completely sound, just remember that the effort of extending pitch can result in low vibrations in illusions as complex as the one you've been describing, which can result in an off-putting image.”

“Oh!” He glanced through quickly, “Right, yes, how could I have not accounted for–ah, thank you, sir!”

“Of course. See you tomorrow, Sweet Sapphire Cookie.”

He nodded, and was off with little fanfare. Sage turned to the letter and, with a lot more fanfare, opened the letter. Perhaps a little too eagerly. He was certain that if anyone were to steal a glance into his office at this moment, he’d look like a fool–floating in the air for once and holding the paper close as he unfolded it bit by bit. He was absolutely sure that if Shadow Milk were here, he would be made fun of relentlessly . His brother could never know about this.

Sage of Truth , the letter started, and even just that was enticing. Truthless Recluse wrote like he was worried he would run out of parchment, each letter tucked in tightly, and spaces between words so small it was almost difficult to tell one from another. Still, the writing was neat (if a touch unpracticed), and Sage had seen far worse from his many years as a professor.

Sage of Truth , the letter started. Flattery gets you nowhere. It ended.

There was very little else in the letter. 

Sage pursed his lips, flipping it over to assure there was nothing on the back. It was only after his thorough search led nowhere that he huffed in amusement. Admittedly, it was stunningly in character of the Recluse. Sage hadn’t known why he’d expected more.

There wasn’t a return address. It was delivered by Sweet Sapphire, who’d admitted that he had met the man while going out to eat, not someplace easy to find again, nor one where it could be assumed Truthless Recluse would go again.

Was the previous letter too much? No, because despite everything, Truthless Recluse responded. The Recluse had given him a scrap to follow, had remarked on his love of puzzles, and understood him well enough that his tangents on being his subject of interest were that of praise and wonder. Not many considered being interesting in the way of a science experiment much of a compliment, but Sage meant it with the highest of praise.

He chuckled to himself, brushing his thumb over the word flattery. There was no encoded message on this letter. No enchantment. No invisible ink. This was a scrap, but not a clue. That, of course, would be easily pried apart. There was no puzzle on Earthbread that Sage could not crack as easily as he could snap his own fingers. There was no secret tongue, no cipher, no shape to tilt his head at in a certain angle. There was only, simply, a line of genuine dialogue.

No, no, the Recluse was making Sage work for it. He couldn't help the giddy smile starting to form on his face.

He would have to work for it. The Sage did indeed love a puzzle .

It took startlingly little for the Sage to find him again. Recluse shouldn't be surprised, feeling a tap on his shoulder while he bought gummy focaccia for Pure Vanilla and he to share later.

He should not be surprised, but when he turned around he, honest to Witches, startled and startled hard. Thinking about it, he really should've known, considering that the baker behind the counter’s eyes had widened, seeing who walked in. Who else could make someone so awestruck in this place?

“Apologies!” He didn't sound apologetic in the slightest, “It wasn't my intention to scare you.”

Recluse only glared, moving to pay for his food. Before he could, coins clattered where he meant to pay, the exact total he needed. Sage’s hand retracted.

“For a moment of your time,” Sage said, and then, with a wink, “And the scare.”

Recluse sighed, grabbing his food. He wouldn't normally. He wouldn't have preferred it. However, “Very well.”

Pure Vanilla and he were dangerously approaching becoming broke. They would survive, and hell, technically, they didn't need to eat. If necessary, they could even simply cast a portal to the village. It wouldn't be a problem.

It was not ideal. Portals were taxing if they weren't set up in advance. Dangerous, if there was someone where you wanted to be, with a margin of error that made Pure Vanilla twitchy about using them. And they could go without food, and indeed Truthless Recluse was no stranger to skipping meals, especially back in the tower when he simply hadn't eaten for long stretches of time. That did not mean it felt good, especially if you were used to eating regularly.

“Have a lovely day!” The Sage called out to the baker, before motioning for Recluse to follow him as he marched right out the door.

The day was still bright but would start to darken. The lights of the city would start to turn on to make up for it soon. For an odd moment, Recluse wished for his staff. It was better he didn't have it, it was nothing less than an attention draw, but he knew the city with its brilliant lights would look better when it was crystal clear. Or perhaps not. He liked to think it would, but that was the nature of lies. Soft and sweet.

“So…” Sage laughed and, just a bit sheepishly, asked, “I presume my last letter was too much?”

Recluse thought back on that letter of his. Dearest Recluse , it had started, and that set the tone of the letter henceforth. It had been a whole two pages of heedless, insufferable flattery and curiosity in two—something Recluse had a feeling was quite connected for the Sage. There was no greater compliment than being something curious to the Sage of Truth.

“An understatement.”

“I do apologize for that,” he said, a slightly off echo of what he'd said before, “It was not my intention to scare you off.”

“You did not. I was never close in the first place.” Recluse clutched his bag closer to himself, “You have misjudged my letter.”

“Oh?”

“I thought it was clear I do not reciprocate… whatever this is.”

“Oh. I… thought it had been a puzzle to find you.”

Recluse grimaced. “Your student told you of that?”

“He did. You correctly assumed I enjoy a good puzzle—any task to challenge the mind is fun to a cookie such as myself. I… thought you'd been leaving clues.”

“What clues?”

“The place that you met them was on the path to the library. I guessed you wander those streets often and have been making an effort to wander nearby. I happened to catch you today.”

“Hm.” Recluse tilted his head. “Stalker.”

Sage spluttered, his voice pitched high, “I thought it was a puzzle! I thought you wanted—”

Recluse couldn't help it. He laughed. Genuinely. Before this Kingdom, he couldn't quite remember the last time he laughed, but he couldn't help it. To see Sage disheveled in such a way, whining in his defense.

Sage huffed, the dough of his face just a hint darkened, embarrassed. “Well, if you're going to be so cruel about it, I'll just take my leave.”

“No, no.” Recluse grinned, “You paid for your time with me.”

“Oh? I thought you did not want me here… unless I have misunderstood again?”

Recluse believed Sage was a bastard of a cookie. He had thought he didn't want Sage anywhere near him. That initial debate was infuriating, and it still brought a rise out of him—to be so bold as to claim the truth could do nothing but help and enlighten, when the truth brought cookies to ruin on the daily? To not even care when Cookies get hurt?

His curiosity was even worse. Looking for something within Recluse. For a truth he wouldn't find. A betterment, a change, a difference that simply didn't exist, because he had searched for such things for so long and found them in science and language and magic—not realizing people were an entirely different territory. Recluse had despised him.

It came to Recluse’s bafflement, as he handed over a half written letter he had pondered the response of time and time and time again, that his opinion was changing. Children’s books in his free time, on stories and tales galore. Taking on personal students that were clearly not awe struck as they were used to his eccentric antics (they had to be, to accept The Sage enjoys puzzles as a valid reason to play messenger).

Recluse, oddly, was not resigned to his presence. Simply accepting.

“I know you'll find me regardless,” Recluse said instead of all of that, “You're terribly stubborn.”

“You must stay fixed on your path to see its end!”

“Indeed.” Recluse’s voice was light, “Just as a leech must stay fixed onto skin to eat. It's simply your nature.”

Sage gaped, “You're calling me a leech?”

“Of course not,” The Truthless Recluse said, kind as can be. After all, lies were much, much kinder than the truth. 

“I simply do not know why I try, with you.”

“Neither do I.”

Sage frowned, this time, “I'm starting to get an idea, though.”

“I'm interesting?”

“No. Well, yes! Absolutely, one hundred, thousand percent! You are one of the most interesting cookies I've ever met.”

“Do try not to forget my letter. I spent so long on it.”

“Ha!” Sage coughed, like the bark of laughter startled him as well, “No, no. You are interesting. There is also—you are intelligent. Clever. Witty, it seems.”

“Sage.”

“I’m simply being honest.”

“To me, of all Cookies?”

“Haha! I suppose I should watch my tongue, around you. Go against my very nature, just to appease you.”

“Please, don’t.”

Sage smiled, this time something softer. Less theatrical than many of the others in his repertoire, used as a sign to others rather than something coming out of him. “Very well. I’ll stay as truthful as my nature desires.”

They spoke, as they wandered down the streets. About truth, and knowledge, and other things, far less important but just as fun, to them both. Fun, in a way that was unfamiliar. Talking like this wasn’t supposed to be something that could spark much happiness or joy. After all, Recluse wasn’t exactly the talker. Except for now. Except with the Sage.

Recluse didn’t know why. Maybe it was the kindness, because a cookie of knowledge like Sage dedicated his free time to children instead of scholars. Maybe it was the eccentricity, as he gestured and floated and laughed on a perfect musical count as if it were a script, and snorted when Recluse caught him off guard in a way he desperately tried to cover up. Maybe it was because Recluse was interesting, and that was the first time anyone had ever called him that, instead of idle, or quiet, or odd.

There was a tugging within him. Something insistent and cold, like a bell had just sounded that had him tilting his head up, unseeing, towards the sky. He’d been midword, more talkative than usual, with the Sage, so it caught his attention too.

His heart quickened, ice seeping into his dough, as realization set in. This was a feeling he knew, and one he knew well.

“Dear Recluse?”

Someone was approaching the Peak. 

Recluse swallowed, entering an alleyway nearby, where not a single passerby could see. Sage followed, because of course he did, and watched as Recluse reached into the other-space he kept in the Dark Side of the Moon. Sage’s eyes widened at the casual display of magic, especially as Recluse pulled out a staff with a blackened orchid and many many eyes.

“Incredible,” Sage whispered, “Such casual mastery! Dear Recluse, if you’d simply told me you had such prowess, I would have happily discussed such techniques with you–we could have talked long into the night about it!”

“I dislike talking about this.” Recluse sighed, “Sage, do me a favor, will you? For I have the faintest notion that it is your fault I am about to do what I must.”

“Oh?”

Recluse shoved the bag of food into the Sage’s arms, starting to cast the teleportation runic circle on the ground with the bottom of his staff. “Go to Cream Wolf Inn, and tell Healer Cookie that I have headed to the Peak. And deliver the food.”

“Ah.” Sage inclined his head, “It will be done.”

Recluse could feel the tension leak out of his shoulders. He didn’t think it would take so little for Sage to acquiesce, but it was one thing off his conscience, to leave Pure Vanilla with a lack of worrying of his whereabouts. He could only hope that he would forgive him for sending him perhaps the most annoying cookie on Earthbread as a messenger.

Ha. Knowing them, Pure Vanilla would get along great.

Recluse slammed his staff onto the ground, finishing the circle without even giving it a thought. He would make the trek back tomorrow–the kingdom was within a day’s walk away from the Peak, after all. The closest kingdom. It was almost fate, wasn’t it? To have the Sage of Truth’s kingdom so close to the unreachable Peak of Truth. It was certainly a bit of irony, at the very least.

Recluse caught the Sage’s exuberant wave as he was enveloped in shadow and dark moon magic.

It wasn’t a bad sight.

The cookie at the Peak was indeed a follower of the Sage. A Cookie who was so hellbent on this one, singular, Truth that they would have been devastated by the lack of it.

The Peak was cold. It was rough, with sharp jagged rocks, terrible cutting winds, and snow that was both familiar and far too cold under Truthless Recluse’s feet.

It had taken some time for them to reach him, close to the Peak. Truthless Recluse had been holding out false hope that they’d abandon their journey right before the end, like always. They never did.

“Leave,” Truthless Recluse said, raising his staff high. The skies darkened, the wind howled, and he called out louder, “I will not allow you entry to the Peak of Truth.”

The cookie grit their teeth. They looked worse for wear, with haggard hair and pale dough. They clung to a silver staff, and when they pointed it at him, it was with the desperation of a cookie with nothing left to lose.

Nothing but the hope that all would be answered by the Truth, in the end.

Chapter Text

Sage was quite curious as to why they picked the Cream Wolf Inn out of anywhere. There were an ample amount of inns to choose from for the weary traveller, and the excited one too! Blueberry Kingdom wasn’t what one would call a Merchant Kingdom, not like the Hollyberry Kingdom. It was downright small for what it was, so it really shouldn’t have as many places to stay as it did. However, , many many Cookies came from near and far, to peruse their extensive libraries, conduct research with the brightest and sharpest minds, and ask the Sage himself of the Truth!

All this to say, there were a myriad of Inns, and all had their own unique benefits and downsides. Cream Wolf Inn’s most notable facts was that they did not serve nearly as much food as the rest of the other Inns, and that it wasn’t the closest to any notable library (though it seemed Recluse hadn' t cared too much about that little tid-bit, considering that they’d met in one). Overall, it wasn’t all that cheap, but it certainly wasn’t expensive. It was average, in every way.

Perhaps Recluse just liked the pun. Choosing the wolf over the rabbit. Who knew, with that man? That was why Sage was trying so hard to figure him out. Was this a random decision, or was it a purposeful taunt? Wolves and rabbits, name a combination more terrible!

The Innkeep did not let him go up to Healer Cookie’s room until given permission, which was impressively integral of him. No one would suspect The Sage of Truth as someone untrustworthy, or a person with intentions maligned, but even he could not ignore policies and privacy like that. It was refreshing, for no exception to be made for him.

Either way, Healer Cookie allowed him to come up and, after knocking on the door, he was allowed to face the man who Truthless Recluse held in such high esteem. He only took a quick glimpse of the room. Two beds, a desk with a chair and another, more comfortable chair closer to the beds, focusing on the way everything was so neat and orderly it was almost like no one lived there, if not for the folded clothes on the chair and the bags that no doubt belonged to the duo. The paint of the wall was a tacky color.

He then focused on the most important part of the room–the inhabitant.

Sage remembered him, vaguely, in the way that he remembered every soul that had stepped foot into his lecture hall that wasn’t supposed to be there but he allowed anyways. He’d sat next to Recluse, and Sage could even recall the way he had called to him to return to his side, interrupting the debate so thoughtlessly. Looking down at him now, though, with dull hair and worn robes, he had a softspoken demeanour that seemed out of place in his memory.  How odd, to be so different from how Sage remembered him.

A perfectly normal cookie, with just a few notable oddities. His blindfold, for one, and the staff wrapped with bandages over its focus. Or perhaps the bandages were the focus, for a Cookie named Healer Cookie. Sage tilted his head. A blind healer, travelling with a fortune teller. That was less conspicuous than a blind healer travelling with the Truthless Recluse–out of the two of them, this one was who caught more attention. Was that intentional?

“Healer Cookie, I presume?”

There was a twitch, and a pause, something oddly hesitant in Healer Cookie’s tone, “I was told by Caramel Butter Cookie that you wished to speak to me, Sage of Truth. Would this perhaps be concerning Fortune Teller Cookie?”

“It is indeed!” Sage stuck out the bag Recluse had shoved into his arms before disappearing in a flash of Dark Moon Magic. “He asked for me to give you this, and give you a little scrap of information!”

“Oh!” Healer Cookie reached for the bag, taking a second to wrap his fingers around it before frowning, likely from the weight of it. “What is this..? Ah, right. Nevermind. Thank you, Great Sage. Might I ask what information he asked you, rudely, to play messenger for?”

Sage snickered, “I assure you, I hold no ill-will towards him for making me a humble messenger pigeon. After all, we had a lovely chat before he abandoned me oh so cruelly! To ‘the peak’ were his words. That’s what he told me to tell you.”

Healer Cookie dipped their head, unsurprised. So he did know of the Recluse’s identity. Sage wasn’t entirely sure if that was the case, admittedly. Truthless Recluse wasn’t exactly a bastion of clarity and openness, after all. Sage wouldn’t put it past him to keep his secrets and identity under wraps, even if he did not hide his disdain for the Truth. There were plenty of cookies who hated the truth–hell, Sage’s own brother was such a person. He supposed it wouldn’t be too difficult for Recluse to hide. At the same time, he supposed that the Recluse never had any intention to hide. If he had, then he wouldn’t have made the vast journey to the Blueberry Kingdom and debated him at the end of a lecture on his first day!

“Thank you,” he said again, as if gratitude was the only thing he knew how to express. “Would–you like to come in?”

“No, no. I appreciate the offer, but I really must be off. Though, I do have a quick burning question for you. It won’t take even a moment, I promise!“

“Of course. I am unsure what I can answer that the Sage of Truth himself cannot, but I would be happy to do what I can.”

“Who are you, to the Recluse?”

“Oh, you do know who he is,” Healer mumbled to themselves, a mimicry of Sage’s own thoughts moments before. He shook his head, “I am the Truthless Recluse’s brother. If I may, why are you curious?”

He had a brother? Was this a cover–no, this cookie was undoubtedly speaking the truth. The Truthless Recluse had family. People. Not as much of a Recluse as Sage had thought.

“I want to learn more about him.”

At that, Healer smiled, something gentle, “You’re doing a rather good job already, from what I can tell.”

“What can you tell?”

“That my little brother is opening up, and he talks about you more than he’d like to admit, and that his favorite foods are vanilla flavored.” They ticked off each bit neatly, “Have they read a fortune for you yet?”

“N–no, not yet!” Sage was still shaking off the surprise from the initial help, and the fact that Recluse talked about him. And his favorite foods, which Sage neatly tucked away into his mind. “Wait, you know I–? That Recluse..?”

“It is obvious, Sage of Truth.” A quiet, light chuckle caused Sage to scoff, crossing his arms. Whatever it was that Healer thought, it was wrong. Definitely. “Do you want more information, or would you rather be on your way?”

Sage glanced out to the hall. He had duties to fulfil. Papers to grade, lessons to plan considering he was a little behind on it. Not to mention Shadow Milk would be wondering where he was just about now.

He could grade them later, he wasn’t too far behind all things considered, and his brother wasn’t his keeper. Healer stepped aside, waving him into the room.

They had a lovely conversation, all things considered. Healer sat in the desk chair, turning it around to face the comfortable seat, and Sage took that as a sign to sit there. Healer wasn’t impolite or closed off in the way that Recluse was. He was open, and his conversation was light and cheerful. He spoke highly of Recluse too, of his achievements and his skills–his ability with medicine and magic alike.

“He likes to debate too, you know. The same as you.”

“Aha? And how do you know my love for debates?”

“How could I not? You were speaking for quite some time before I realized how late it was and had to pull Recluse away. Speaking of which–I must apologize for the interruption from before. I’d rather not leave him alone in a city neither of us are familiar with, when we did not yet have a place to stay. I had to pull him away before it became too late.” Healer Cookie tilted his head, “Though, now that things are more settled, I doubt that there will be anything stopping your conversations now.”

Sage laughed, “Except the Recluse himself!”

“Oh?”

“He doesn’t seem to hold me in high esteem.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

“No, no! It’s refreshing to be called out in such a way. To hear a new perspective. So few dare to challenge me in such a way.“ Sage rested his elbow on his knee, so he could hold his head up on the back of his hand. “Though that may seem strange.”

“No, not at all.” Healer Cookie smiled. It was gentle, in a way that felt genuine and easy. Sage was almost unused to a cookie so smiley around him. Shadow Milk’s smiles were always so cutting, and everyone else’s were awe-filled, inspired. Very few afforded him something so simple, yet so real.

“Do you have any advice for me?”

“Hm. I’m afraid that your biggest hurdle is the very reason as to why you speak with me now.” Healer clutched at his staff of bandages. He had been holding it loosely, almost uncaringly, though as time went on he’d also gone to fidget with it. Now, he held it like there was nothing else to ground him. “You do not make his job easy, Sage of Truth.”

“Oh?”

“It is you, encouraging the seeking of Truth, is it not? I cannot say I am against such notions–I believe that all things can be resolved with honest conversations!” Sage hummed delightedly. Such a like-minded individual, “However–I cannot deny that it puts quite the stress on he who guards the Peak.”

“Just as it is his duty to guard, it is mine to guide.” The Sage smiled, standing up, “Thank you, for indulging my curiosity, Healer Cookie.”

“Thank you for indulging mine.” Healer stood as well, to see him off. It was only when Sage was standing at the doorway again, that he spoke, “You’re good for him, Sage of Truth. I cannot deny this. However…”

“...however?”

“Truth and Deceit… be wary of how closely they entwine." Healer sighed, “They seldom work well together. No matter how they might try.”

Sage bristled, “Our duties are not us. He prevents enlightenment just as much as he denies sorrow. I encourage it just as much as I inspire it.” 

“You are not your duties, no,” He agrees, “But your ideals conflict. Be wary of such matters. Farewell, Sage of Truth.”

The door closed, Sage didn’t scowl-it was an interesting new perspective. One that held weight to it. Still, he doubted that someone like Healer would know about their circumstances. Not really. He couldn’t know how this would go, in the same way that Sage and the Recluse could not.

He left, back home. He had papers to grade, and people to see. He hoped Recluse would be one of them soon.

Recluse let himself be healed, piece by crumbled piece.

“I only wish you didn’t expend so much magic to bring yourself here. I know you have your own supply of first aid material at the peak, Recluse.” Pure Vanilla chastised, ghosting over rough, brittle cracks down the length of Recluse’s arm with one hand. “And that your skills rival mine in their ability to heal.”

“It’s easier when you do it. Takes less.” Recluse winced as they got mended. It didn’t hurt–no, Pure Vanilla Cookie could heal wounds without even the slightest ache, as soon as he got his hands on it. It was commendable, but also uncomfortable. “And it’s not that bad.”

“Truthless Recluse.”

“It really is just a scratch.”

As Healer Cookie, Pure Vanilla Cookie kept his eyes covered. Even when he was in the village, his eyes were usually closed, only using his staff for seeing. It wasn’t too odd to realize that Recluse hadn’t seen his older brother’s eyes for at least a week. He’d grown accustomed to looking at the staff instead of his face. He had gotten used to a lot of things, but not quite the full force of Pure Vanilla’s blind gaze. Despite that, Recluse could feel the terrible glare that he was being sent, even through the blindfold and facing away.

He hunched into himself. “I didn’t mean to get hurt.”

“And yet you fail to take care of yourself in such a way… Recluse, did you even eat before you came here? Did you rest? Or did you take your aching, crumbling form and cast a powerful spell right into this room as soon as the fight concluded?”

“Of–of course I ate! I just ate… before the fight.”

It was a reasonable lie. The bag he’d had only had enough food for one cookie, really. Recluse had been planning on saying he’d eaten before he’d come back, giving the whole thing to Pure Vanilla Cookie. 

He hadn’t been hungry, and the lie was simple and easy. He was good at lying. He was the Truthless Recluse, after all. There were very few Cookies on Earthbread who could parse through his deceit, and even less who wanted to, letting themself fall for his tricks because they could not stand the truth. He was well versed in such a thing.

Pure Vanilla paused. Without saying anything, he raised his other hand, and there came light. He traced a semi-circle in the air, like a closed eye, and muttered vocations under his breath.

His fingers pressed on the crack, but it didn’t hurt. Instead, there was coolness, like quiet moonlight. The two sides of the crack mended, and he trailed his fingertip down gently, and just like that the wound vanished.

It was truly a marvel, Pure Vanilla’s restoration magic. Something both utterly enchanting and far too simple for what it could be. This was just that–a crack. Nothing too difficult to heal, even if you were healing yourself (one of the hardest feats of magic for a healer was to turn what was meant for someone else onto yourself, after all). Still, every act of magic his older brother did turned into a spectacle of magic like he’d never seen, no matter how many times he’d performed it.

Recluse sighed, the dull ache that had been going through his arm finally subsiding, though it was still sore, he could stand it. A small price to pay for an entirely healed limb. “Thank you, Vanilla.”

“There is no need for thanks. You do not deserve to be hurt.” Recluse flinched. Pure Vanilla pounced on such a weakness like a Cake Hound to dough. “You do not. You are doing a duty that you believe protects many, many cookies.”

“You don’t feel that way?”

“How I feel isn’t the point. Recluse… You have only ever wanted to help those who need it.” Pure Vanilla brought a hand to the back of Recluse’s head, pushing them into his shoulder, holding him like he was a doughling again. “That is not something that deserves punishment, nor is it even misguided. Our ideas are different, but I still upheld your duties just as you would, and I do not hold an ounce of guilt about it. Why do you?”

“I don’t.”

“Truthless Recluse. You can lie to others with ease–be they friend or foe. Your skill with deceit is so powerful, even you yourself may believe your lies. You can lie to them, and you can lie to yourself. But you cannot lie to me.”

Recluse pressed into his brother’s shoulder. “You’re annoying.”

“As is my sacred duty to be, to you.”

“Ugh.” He let Pure Vanilla’s robes muffle his words. “I don’t really hold guilt about that. I’m helping Cookies. It’s necessary. I just–I hurt them. I always hurt them.”

“Antiseptic stings. It does not mean you make the wound worse. What does it mean?”

Recluse lightly groaned, “That it won’t be infected.”

“Truth cleanses, yes. Despair can infect. I understand that well.” And oh, did he. Healer Cookie was so much freer when he held so little truth. Despair had rotted Pure Vanilla so much there was nothing left, for quite some time, though Recluse still could not fathom what had hurt him so much. “You hurt them, this time?”

“I did. It took… it took more than usual, to convince them. They didn’t even blink before aiming their staff. I…” Recluse sighed. “I’d almost forgotten what it was like.”

“I’m sorry. It must have been awful.”

A moment. Then, “It wasn’t so bad. I’ll be alright.”

Recluse wasn’t trying to lie to Pure Vanilla, no. Like he’d said, he couldn’t lie to him. But he could lie to himself just fine.

Pure Vanilla sighed above him, but didn’t comment on it, letting silence soak the air between the two of them. For a moment, all was well. Pure Vanilla and Truthless Recluse, together like they always had been. Or, had been for so long, at least. Admittedly, Pure Vanilla didn’t talk much about his past. He knew he coincidentally shared his namesake with his old kingdom, and that kingdom was long gone. He knew that Pure Vanilla had friends, great friends. That his older brother had been through a lot.

That the life of an Immortal was a tiring one. A terrible one. Though that Recluse could attest to himself. His own life had been filled with hardships, just through the simple fact that in a life so long, it would be impossible not to face them. He had faced a lifetime of them, but that was through several lifetimes. He was… well. He was lucky. He was doing well, and his life was kind, overall.

It didn’t help that there was someone who was doing his damndest to make it more difficult, though.

“I hate him.” Recluse hissed, unbidden. “For causing this. For–for making it worse.”

“I know.” Because Pure Vanilla knew when he lied, and while there had been times when Recluse exaggerated, and bemoaned the Sage for petty, little things–this hate was pure and true. For sending Cookies to the brink of despair and forcing Recluse to be the one to face them, the final battle, and hurt them to turn them away.

There was no Truth at the Peak. The Sage knew that. Yet he persisted, forcing Recluse to push them away. Recluse pried himself away from Pure Vanilla’s arms. “How could a cookie be so cruel?”

Pure Vanilla shook his head, “The Sage does not mean to be cruel. You know this.”

He did.

“I hate him.”

It didn’t change anything.

Sage sent him a letter a few days later, penned with all the excitement of a cakehound about to receive a treat. Shadow Milk made fun of him for it, the way he scribbled and scratched out phrases in his rough draft, before carefully writing it into the perfect letter to send.

“I doubt he reads a single word of those things.”

“Oh, he’s got to read at least two! Dear, for one, and then Truthless! By then he’ll figure out it’s from me, and toss the whole thing aside!” Sage carefully folded the page, tucking it into an envelope and sealing it with wax. He had his very own seal for academic business, and another for his more personal works. He’d sent a few things to the others who held titles similar to his–though he would not delude himself into thinking they were his friends, he could admit they warranted more than the simplistic but official stamp he used for other professors. No, they deserved the simple scroll that denoted him as simply the Sage, rather than the Sage of Truth.

He doubted they even knew the significance. That was fine. It was, perhaps, about as close to a lie as Sage could get to–he would rather have a personal seal, just for Recluse. That way, he wouldn’t even need to read the two first words...

He hummed at his desk, looking over the letter with a pride usually reserved for a well done experiment, or a pristinely written research paper. This was beneath him, wasn’t it? This excitement? This curiosity? He was supposed to only feel such a way for world-changing discoveries, for innovation and invention previously unheard of in all of Earthbread. For the betterment of Cookiekind, yes, that was the only time he should be feeling…

Well, anything of worth, really. If the Witches had baked him right, it would've been specifically contentment, or perhaps satisfaction. Enough to act as a reward. Then it would fade, as the novelty and romanticism of it wore of, and  he would chase that feeling, forevermore. However, he was baked wrong, he had to be, because he had never felt like that in the first place. He should have felt empty, without it, but instead he felt… content, in all things.

He took a shove to the back of his head. It was gentle, the fact that he didn’t feel even a hint of claw spoke volumes to how much care was put into the action. Still, he grumbled, rubbing at the back of his head petulantly. He heard his brother’s cackles, even as they left his room. How he even knew that Sage was getting caught up in that sort of spiral was beyond him, but he wasn’t too surprised about it.

Shadow Milk always cut off that train of thought well before it could ever leave the station, when he was around. He said that perfection was overrated. That the Witches were, blasphemously, full of shit, and shouldn’t be listened to. At least not when it came to life purposes.

“What do they know? They can’t even step foot in Earthbread!”

Sage had slapped him for the audacity of it, the only real time he’d actually attempted to hurt him, and he regretted it even now. They never fought, not really, let alone hurt each other–but to speak ill of the Witches was simply undone. To speak ill of his purpose, his creation… Sage remembered the visceral fear he’d felt, right before, and then the guilt and sorrow flooding in after, apologies bubbling out of his mouth. As if it mattered. Shadow Milk had only cackled over the fact, rubbing his stinging face. Still, his eyes had flashed, slitted and cat-like, and he’d stuck by his words. 

No Cookie is born with a purpose. Do what you want, Sage. Don’t feel guilty just for being alive, or you’ll never get anything done!

It almost sounded like a lesson he’d had to learn rather than an ideology he’d been baked with. There were many things that the Sage knew of Shadow Milk. He found that it was never really enough. Shadow Milk hated talking about himself almost as much as Sage did. Shadow Milk had a long, complicated past, from what Sage could glean. A long-lived one, with many enemies, based on how many places they had avoided during their travels before the two had decided to settle. He hated truth, hated information so easily passed out. Or rather, he hated that it was the Sage who had decided to be the one to do it. Spreading messages, knowledge, enlightenment forevermore. He enjoyed it. Scarily, he was starting to enjoy something else too, as he walked up into Cream Wolf Inn.

Sage had slipped the letter to the innkeeper, forever thankful that he now knew where the two were residing for the rest of their stay in the elegant Blueberry Kingdom. It was a good Inn,but not one he would’ve selected. Then again, he was rather biased towards the Inn his brother technically ran. Well, Blueberry Tart Cookie kept. Sage rolled his eyes. What a silly disguise.

He didn’t understand why Shadow Milk only ever went out in the most convoluted disguises in all of Earthbread. Hells, sometimes he would stay in another form for days on end, until one day he came back and it was like he’d never escaped the shell that was a washed-out Jester who pretended he knew the secrets of every universe. 

He always gave the silliest excuses for it. “I’m an actor, and the whole world’s my stage, so I might as well have fun!” was the one that Sage felt was the closest to the truth. Still, there was something off about it, something missing.. Sage could read his brother well, could parse his truths from his lies, though every word from his mouth always contained at least a little bit of both. Those words were a cover-up, Sage knew without a shadow of a doubt. 

He knew when his brother was lying–that did not mean he knew the truth. He didn’t have time to dwell on that, though. It had been just two days since he’d last met the Recluse, and now he had a proposition for him. Nothing too drastic, of course, but still–he could not wait. 

The letter hed delivered was just an invitation. A simple one, straight to the point.Though, his 'to the point' was a bit long-winded and flowery. Either way, it was as blunt as he could get it without coming off as plain rude, and he could only hope that Recluse actually did read it.

Meet just outside the city, Northern forest. Sage was hoping to host a meeting right at its edge. Away from other Cookies, but still rather accessible. Right as the sun set, and the next day if possible! Perhaps a bit forward of him, but he couldn’t help it.

Time passed achingly slowly. The students he had could tell he was jittery, and he had received a question or two on his own excitement, which he waved off with a flare of magic and laughter, simply excited for the lesson and things to come! It was true, of course–the lesson today was on illusion magic, famously one of his favorite subjects in the world, and one he used on the daily. He couldn’t help but be excited about it.

Rather, he shouldn’t have been excited about it. Instead, he found himself distracted, every so often. By the time it had reached the day of, all that flitted through his mind was the mantra--Later tonight, later tonight!

He waited. The time given was just a little after he arrived, but if the Recluse arrived early, then it was best to be early too! The sun was nearing its setting, but hadn’t quite reached it yet. He wondered, for a moment, if it was uncouth for him to suggest an outing so late at night, but dismissed the thought at once. After all, The Recluse and he had already talked a bit into the night the last time they had met, and the Sage had precious little time during the day to do such a thing. Not to mention the Recluse was a Dark Moon Mage, he would certainly enjoy the night far more than the Sage, a user of Light Magic, must.

Though Sage had to admit, he always did enjoy the night just a bit more than the day himself. Perhaps he was biased. Perhaps it was a sense of nostalgia–he used to travel by night, alongside his brother. Shadow Milk must be rubbing off on him, on the little things like this.

The moon was starting to rise. A perfect crescent. Still no Recluse. Sage sighed, flopping onto the blanket he’d brought to sit on, a navy and gray in a checkered pattern. Normally the Sage would have something brighter, heck, normally he’d be brighter–sparkling magic and shining clothes–but Recluse seemed to prefer all things just a tint darker. Perhaps living with a white magic user, blind on top of that, got you a little sensitized to blinding lights from the constant flashiness of it.

Sage looked up at the sky, watching the constellations he had mapped out and knew by heart pass him by. He closed one eye, to trace out the edge of Cakenis minor, two stars that allegedly showed a cakehound. He didn’t see it. He saw the stars, of course, how could he not? The vision, on the other hand? Now that was much harder to spot.

He yawned, glancing at the moon, now visible despite his horizontal position. It was starting to near its peak. Cookies like him didn’t need sleep, of course, but he still liked it. And, even if he didn’t, this was time he could have used for other projects. Time he was wasting, waiting.

Recluse was late.

Sage frowned. Perhaps this was a bit too presumptuous. Sage had known himself to be a bit too excitable, a bit too–much. Even his students, from when he first started taking them to Apple Faerie and Sweet Sapphire now, commented as such. That he was–Too much. That wasn’t what they said, most were far too polite or awed to say something like that to his face. That didnt’ mean it was difficult to glean that that was what everyone thought of him. He could come off as a little too much when he found someone or something he liked.

Recluse didn’t even like him. Ha.

He didn’t know why he bothered, honestly. Recluse had told him such point-blank! Sage was forever fascinated by the guardian of the Peak of Truth, of course, but it seemed even that cookie had his limits. Sage had thought that it had been something of an act, or perhaps a slow way of warming up to him, one step at a time. Sage had thought he’d been getting closer. Not farther. Not inching down to being cut off for good.

He had wondered how the Recluse had known there was trouble at the Peak. He assumed runes, a signaling alarm of a spell that he knew well. Maybe something like a magic trip wire, that triggered whenever someone stepped into a certain threshold. The Recluse was mysterious too, so it was entirely possible that it was simply some odd connection, one that Sage couldn’t have known about. He had even toyed with the idea of an entirely different spell, one that he didn’t know of. He had toyed with that idea a lot.

He hadn’t toyed with the idea that it had been a lie. He really, really should have. It would make this whole thing far less embarrassing, realizing that it was all simply an excuse. A made up excuse to bail out on the rest of their conversation, on the streets.

He had gotten Recluse to laugh. To smile. To tell him to stay. What a fool he was, to not realize it was simple niceties; politeness. Sage had always been terrible with social cues. He should have known that Recluse was just trying to tell him to fuck off in the nicest way possible. Recluse was nice. His whole thing was being kind. Even to someone as despised personally as the Sage.

He shut his eyes entirely, listening to the rest of the forest around him. There was an owl singing the song of its people somewhere off in the distance. The rustling of grass from some creature or other padding its way through. Wind rustling through leaves. Crickets. Footsteps approaching.

Wait.

Sage sat up, opening his eyes to where the sound was. Perhaps some errant traveller, or someone lost in the woods? Maybe even someone trying to hunt something? He would have to ask the cookie in the dark cloak, hood lined with gold stitching. The one with a staff, black as rot and myriad of eyes darting to and fro. The one who was staring at him, highlighted by the crescent moon.

Truthless Recluse, in the dough. Sage lit up, unable to help the way he shot up, floating around the Recluse like gravity could not hold him down. Recluse took a startled step back, but Sage didn’t care.

“Recluse! You came!” He glanced at the sky, cresting its peak, “And not a moment too soon!”

“I just came back from the Peak. I didn’t read your letter until late.” Recluse’s tone was cold. “I would have said no if I had the chance.”

“Ah.” Sage touched lightly onto the ground, just a little ways away, “Right, of course! You didn’t have to show if you didn’t want to–”

“Yes, I did.” Recluse grit his teeth. “You’re going to keep doing this.”

“If you let me.”

“No. If I let you, if I don’t. You’re going to keep doing this, because I didn’t let you all the other times.” Recluse hissed. “Sage of Truth.”

Sage was utterly lost.

“...Truthless Recluse.”

“Are you ever going to stop filling cookies with ideas? Will they ever stop climbing the Peak at your behest?”

“I’m afraid you already know the answer to that, Recluse,” He admitted, “I cannot stop my teachings, just as you cannot stop their denial.”

“I hate you.”

Sage’s stomach dropped. “Ah?”

“I hate your callous cruelty. I hate your incessant teachings. I hate the way you hold no kindness in it.” Recluse spat out, stepping forward with each phrase. It was only when Recluse was close enough to jab a finger at Sage’s chest that Sage noticed his eyes were watery. “I hate how you refuse.”

“I cannot stop.”

Recluse laughed, without an ounce of humor, “I know.”

He turned to leave. Sage sighed, “Will you ever stop denying Cookies the peak?”

Recluse stopped. Instead of turning, he flipped his staff backwards, and every eye was unerringly focused on the Sage.

“I cannot.”

“Why? Surely all it would take is one Cookie to bring the news that there is nothing at the Peak. Not all defining understanding. No real truth that can be earned just through a simple climb.”

“One Cookie?” Recluse repeated, “One Cookie.”

“And then your job would be over. You know, I don’t encourage anyone to climb the peak–I simply mention it. I tell them anyone can climb it. I tell them the truth.”

“You tell them a hope falser than any I can provide.”

“Do I? Does that make me kinder than you?”

Recluse whipped around. There was a snarl accompanying just-barely-there tears. “You are an idiot. A horrible, uncaring, idiot!”

Sage smiled thinly, “And you’re a too-kind, soft, fool.”

“...why don’t you act like I am one, then? Why are you–what makes you think this is ok? That I’m tolerable? Denying cookies your so-called salvation.”

“You remember my words?” Sage was pleasantly surprised. That debate happened nearly a week ago. “I don’t think you’re tolerable in the slightest! You conflict so cleanly with me. It’s–it’s far more than tolerable.”

“Right. I’m interesting.”

“I suppose that’s one word for it.” Sage tilted his head, “Why do you hate those who climb the peak?”

“I don’t hate them. I could never.”

“Then why?”

“Why can you tolerate me, when it is my duty to hurt those who you inspire?”

Sage blinked. “Sorry?”

Recluse didn’t repeat it. He just stared. Sage found that staff of his so terribly unnerving, even if it was rather fascinating. Their inerrant gaze made it difficult to focus. Or perhaps that was just because the Recluse was staring at him, too. Unflinchingly, coldly, but–in the same way any truth seeking Cookie begged for answers.

“You hurt them?”

“The Peak is atop a terrible mountain. It is a deterrent of itself. It is cold, and cruel, and hateful. Do you think Cookies who climb such a thing would stop at a gentle request? Do you think Cookies always make it to the top unscathed?” 

No, not particularly. Sage hadn’t climbed the Peak before, but he hadn’t realized it was so tumultuous. Admittedly, he probably should have. He knew the conditions, the stability.

Still, that didn’t mean anything to him. Cookies had a rougher path to what they wanted–that was all the better. Truth was something to be earned. Truth was something that cut the hands when you grasped it. Embraced it. It was difficult. It only made sense that the path to it was just as sharp as it could be.

He knew that the climb hurt. He’d even mentioned that days before. Recluse had mentioned that they never took his offer to heal them, and had an ache in his voice when he’d said it. He hadn’t thought about how hurt they could be. He hadn’t thought how willing to be hurt they could be. For a cookie as caring as Recluse, it must be torture.

“Do you think they always have the strength to make it back down?” Recluse asked. 

Sage could not say he did. 

“Truthless Recluse, I–”

“I can only do so much.” Recluse clutched at his staff, “For those I find too late, I cannot do anything at all.”

“You do enough.” Because he did. He hissed and hurt and sneered at Sage while undoing all of his work, while forcing Cookies to take the wrong lesson– “You ward them off from learning the Truth. Keep them from asking. Is that not enough?” 

“How could it be, Sage?” His voice, horribly, cracked, “How could you tell them to climb, knowing how it could end?”

“I cannot lie to them! Not when they have a chance–”

“A chance to fall to the worst despair?! You want to send Cookies to climb a mountain for nothing?”

“I don’t want anything! I cannot lie to them, Truthless Recluse. Not when they ask. Not when they beg. There is only so much I can do, to ward off those who need it.”

“You–don’t want this either?”

“I want Cookies to remain curious. I want them to–to be unafraid of asking. I want them to seek, in the same way I have, for many many years. I want them to understand the world.” Sage threw his hands out, “I want people to understand that there is nothing at the Peak, for then they know! I want them to learn! Even if they get hurt, there are Cookies who will flourish.”

Recluse did not say anything for a long moment. He turned away, and the eyes on his staff lost interest, one by one, until they were all watching everything at once,  except for the Sage. The Sage took that as a sign that the Recluse was leaving, and this time for good.

Instead, the Recluse spoke, “Sage of Truth. I believe I have misunderstood you, in the same way you had once misunderstood me.”

“Is that so?”

Another terribly long moment, until tension started draining out of the Recluse. His shoulders lowered, and his white-knuckled grip on his staff loosened, until he was standing in front of Sage, a tired, quiet Cookie, instead of the Truthless Recluse, vicious guardian of the Peak.

“Why did you invite me here?”

“Did you read the letter at all?”

“Not a word.”

“Now that must be untrue; how did you know to meet me here?” 

“I guessed.”

“What a silly thing to lie about,” Sage laughed. He hated the way exhaustion leaked into it. “I didn’t expect you to. I just wanted to know about you.”

“Well then. I suppose you’ve succeeded.” Recluse glanced up at the sky, squinting until he found the moon. Some time had passed, but not much. Not enough to need to leave. Not enough that Sage had to stop. 

“I’d still like to learn more!”

“You’re incorrigible.” Recluse stepped onto the blanket and, unceremoniously, sat. He looked up at Sage.

 “And proud.” Sage grinned, and laughed, and sat down with far more ceremony than it deserved.

“You say that so easily. Do you not fear looking foolish?”

“Oh, but how could I lie?”

After all, it was only his forever truthful insistence that let Recluse finally open up, just a little.

Chapter Text

Recluse fell into a rhythm easily. Days ticked by, and like clockwork the Sage found him once again and they talked.

Sage did, really, and Recluse followed beside him. There wasn’t much he had to say for Sage to be content to chatter on and on. It wasn’t bad. It was only nearing their most recent outings that Sage pointed questions directly at Recluse.

“What’s your favorite color?” he asked one day, walking down the quiet streets back to Cream Wolf Inn. Gold, was the answer, more or less. “I should’ve known!”

“Where did you learn Dark Moon Magic?” He asked, while Recluse read and Sage wrote in his study. We’ve visited a lot of libraries. “None so excellent as the Blueberry Kingdom’s, I presume?” 

“Do you actually listen to me, when I speak?” No, Recluse lied, and turned away when Sage caught it. It seemed that there were now two people in the world who could tell when Recluse was being dishonest. It didn’t feel as scary as it should have been. In fact, it didn’t feel scary at all.

They were walking through the forest, this time closer to the time Sage had asked before, the moon only just starting its journey into the sky. Though this time it was practically a full moon, when Recluse’s magic would be at its weakest rather than at its strongest. Dark Moon Magic needed at least a little light, but worked best when the moon was darker than not; the crescent was the strongest Recluse felt. Normally it made him just a touch anxious, but it was hard to get lost in that fear when Sage was chatting his ear off about something nonsensical.

“Well, if you don’t listen, then I might as well ramble about whatever comes to mind!”

“By all means.”

“Oho, but what should I do with such a splendid opportunity, to speak like there is not a single audience member watching?”

Recluse knew that wasn't rhetorical; Sage was asking for requests. Topics to speak on. Many would kill for the opportunity to be graced by the Sage of Truth’s undivided attention, but Recluse not one of those many.

“Perhaps a secret,” Recluse suggested, on a whim.

“A secret, you say?” Sage turned to him, “And what might that be?”

“What secrets do you have?”

“Hm… my favorite color! Can you guess it?”

Of course, The Sage of Truth wasn’t going to have actual secrets. He probably rebuffed them like lies. Recluse didn’t put much thought into it when he answered, “Blue?”

“Nope! Gold!” They shared the same favorite color. How funny. “Blue would be rather egocentric, wouldn’t you think? Considering how much of my ingredients consist of blueberries. I mean, my dough is tinted the color! No, no, no, gold is much better.”

“You are the most egocentric person I know, I’m surprised you let it stop you.”

“I don’t let anything stop me! I simply have sense.” Recluse hummed, letting Sage know full well how much doubt he held about that. Still, he let the Sage continue with his tirade. ”I hope that was a sufficient secret.”

“It was.”

Sage laughed, “You’re terrible at not listening.”

“I didn’t hear a word.”

Of course, Recluse was a liar. The Sage indulged him. “Thank you, Recluse. In exchange, I’ll let you ask one question about yours truly! Go ahead, dig deep as you want!”

“You would answer any question regardless.”

“That I would. But this is more fun, isn’t it?”

Recluse huffed, thinking back on all the questions he’d answered over the past few days. One stood out, from all of them, nothing more than passing curiosity. He was surprised he had even that. Normally, Recluse couldn’t care less. However, it seemed that the Sage was starting to become an exception for a lot of things. An exception for the truth. An exception that had him letting his guard down, ever so slightly. 

There wasn’t much need to be wary about this man. He had figured out that the Sage held very little ulterior motives. He despised deceit, and in that hatred Recluse found a very honest, genuine Cookie. It was odd for Recluse to not need to hold wariness like a weapon, around others. Sage made it easy, as frustrating as it was for such truth to be shared.

“Where did you learn your magic?” Recluse settled on.

“Oh! Hm… interesting question. I suppose I learned most of it on my own as well, just as you. I had the world’s disposal of books and literature on the subject at my fingertips. I had the mana reservoirs too–I was something of a prodigy, one may say.”

“How humble.”

“I am simply being honest!“ Sage lightly shoved at Recluse, rolling his eyes, “You cannot deny it! I am an excellent magic user.”

“Adaquate.” Recluse afforded, to Sage’s affronted gasp. After a second, though, those theatrics faded into something more thoughtful.

“I will say…  for the most part, especially when it comes to my White Magic, I learned myself. However, when I branched out from such things, I had a bit of a tutor. My older brother is quite the skilled magician, and–”

“You have an older brother?”

Sage blinked. “Did you not know?”

“I would not be asking if I did.“

“I suppose you would not! Hm… Yes, I have an older brother. Well–older sibling, really. He’s something else, someone else, every other day!”

“Oh?”

“He’s also terribly annoying. Worse than a gnat, buzzing at your ear. You should be lucky you haven’t met yet!”

“Am I? You met my brother.”

“That I have! It does seem rather uneven at the moment, doesn’t it? Not to mention that you two share rather similar ideals when it comes to the spread of truth… he has been very curious about meeting you. Very well then! I shall arrange a meeting between the two of you at once.”

“You don’t have to do that.”

“I want to!” Sage bumped into Recluse, lightly, their shoulders brushing before he pulled back. A friendly touch. “Besides, it’s only fair. I’m not sure how well you’ll get along. Your ideals match up quite nicely, but your demeanours are quite the dichotomy.”

“...you keep saying we share ideals on the spread of truth. The Sage of Truth’s older brother favors deceit?”

“Like you wouldn’t believe.” Sage rolled his eyes, “He has tried to convince me of its merit, and I him on the importance of the Truth. Neither of us have managed yet.”

“Huh. Stubborn.” Recluse huffed, “Sounds just like you.”

“You think so?” He nodded. Sage seemed to mull it over for a second, taking his time to think about it. Then, all at once, he started laughing, “I suppose you’re right! What is that about apples and where they fall? I have to admit that, despite everything, I fell rather close to his tree! Despite our differences, I–he’s very close to me. I would like you to meet him, it’s only natural you will eventually.”

Eventually? Certainly. Recluse had nothing but time in his life, and as did the Sage. Presumably his older brother too, if he was indeed older, though you could never be sure. That was… actually, four immortals in one place was rather rare. Perhaps Pure Vanilla would like to come meet this brother too? It was always good to make friends with the people you’d be sharing the rest of Earthbread with.

“Actually, that reminds me!” Sage spun around, stopping their walk. “When are you leaving this great Kingdom? The Inn is a temporary stay, no doubt, so it can’t be for long.”

Recluse blinked, “A few days.”

“A few days?!”

“Well–yes. We came here for Life Powder, enough for a couple of years. The Academy has been producing it for us, we’ve been waiting for a large enough supply to be made so that we can go back. Healers need life powder for wounds, after all.”

“You–you’re telling me that we’ve practically been squandering our time?! I would’ve been much more efficient if I’d known I would be losing access to you so soon!”

“I wouldn’t call this squandering,” Recluse mumbled. It took a moment for him to spot the Sage’s expression, the crestfallen look that was chased away just a second too late. It was only then that Recluse continued. “I… apologize for not telling you sooner.”

It hadn’t even crossed his mind, but yes–he would be leaving soon.

“How… how many is ‘a few?’” Sage asked.

“Four?” Recluse tilted his head. No, wait, they’d use the last day to travel. “Three days.”

“Three days?” Sage seemeddevastated. “Since when?”

“Since always. We were only supposed to stay for two weeks.”

“This is–abyssmal! Atrocious! Just plain awful!” Sage threw his arms out wide, “I had so many things planned! All down the drain, just like that! Oh, I made a reservation I’d been keeping as a surprise that I’ll have to cancel…”

“You did not have to do that.”

“Of course not. I don’t have to do anything at all. It would not be a problem if it was a necessity. The issue comes from the fact that I wanted to!”

”Your fault for getting so ahead of yourself.”

Sage shot Recluse a truly withering look. If the Sage had the ability to kill with his glare, then Recluse would certainly be dead five times over. Perhaps six. Fortunately, he wasn’t dead, because now he could laugh at him instead.

“It isn’t funny!”

“As… kind, as the Blueberry Kingdom can be, Healer Cookie and I have duties elsewhere.”

“What kind of village do you live in that needs two healers?! Two immortal healers, at that.”

“It isn’t about need. It’s about care.”

Sage rolled his eyes, “You could be doing better.”

“I could be doing worse, too.” Recluse sighed, continuing forward. Sage only followed after Recluse was already a few steps ahead, but he caught up in no time at all. “Sage of Truth… I cannot stay here forever. Blueberry Kingdom–”

He couldn’t express how uncomfortable it made him. All of it. Being here the first time was already terrifying, when he was young and anxious. It only got worse when people started to recognize him, noticing his face and his clothes and driving him away from the center of Truth and Knowledge, for denying so many its call. Even years later, as Fortune Teller Cookie, and every single person who’d hurt him being long dead–

It made Recluse nervous. He could not help the chills he got, the way his eyes darted side to side. He could not help the way he felt far freer in these outskirts of forest than he ever did within the city walls.

Perhaps that was just the company though. He had to admit, having the Sage around made him far more comfortable walking the paved streets he’d once been thrown against. It was practically his kingdom, after all. He wouldn’t stand for it, if only because it was inelegant or unintelligent, or whatever other pretentious thing he’d say instead of stupid to fight with fists over something that could be a conversation.

Recluse hated physical fights. He had a feeling the Sage only indulged at them as a form of play, if he ever did. Maybe that was why he felt safer with the Sage around. 

He couldn’t keep the Sage with him forever. He didn’t feel safe here. He couldn’t.

“I don’t belong here. Just as you don’t belong in Raisin Village,” Recluse said. “Admittedly, the only reason we came to this particular location was because it was the closest to home.”

“Are you serious?” Recluse nodded. “You came here not for the academia, not for the Truth… or perhaps not to deny the Truth in your case… But for Life Powder? Just… really? No books? No tales? No study? I know you’re a healer. Surely you were invested a little in the newest discoveries in medical technology and spellwork we’ve made! Blueberry Kingdom is a leading force in the leaps and bounds medicine has made over the recent years!”

“Well, we’ve brushed up on it.”

“...but that was just a benefit. Not a cause.” Sage laughed breathily, like he couldn’t quite believe it. “You are… impossible. It seems that all my plans must be moved up. Perhaps I can even take a day off…”

“You don’t have to do that. Really.”

“Now don’t tell me you’ve forgotten what I’d said just moments before. It isn’t about having to do anything, my dear Recluse.” He smiled, “I want to.”

For some reason, it made Recluse’s breath hitch, just a little. Perhaps he was coming down with something. He would have to ask Pure Vanilla later. Either way, he huffed, walking just a little faster so he didn’t have to see the Sage’s misplaced softness. The Sage let him, though he chuckled, like the annoying little pest he loved to be.

“So then–oh, only three days… let’s see what we can do. I wanted to show you my laboratory, first things first, so that you could critique the runework. I wanted to pick your brain about your abilities.”

“Hm.”

“And then, ah, I was thinking of showing off the kingdom’s Sugarswan gardens! We have imports from all over the world, and some of the best botanical studies! There have even been imports from the faerie kingdom to study their interesting and elusive flora in comparison to that within our region.”

“Impressive.”

“Why thank you!”

“That leaves the third day a good day to meet my brother! Or, hm… perhaps it would be best to get introductions in order before all of that?”

“Why so?”

“He’s an… elusive sort. I know he is free tomorrow, but I am unsure of in three days time.” Sage muttered something under his breath, at that. Recluse could just barely make out something about Inn schedules and favors, before settling with, “It’s settled then! Tomorrow, please meet us right by the entrance of the academy in the morning! There are no lectures for the weekend, so it shouldn’t be crowded.”

“It’s in the center of the kingdom.”

“Yes! But it is not close to the marketplace As long as you come early enough in the morning, the passerby should be few and far between!”

That was a relief. Recluse nodded.

“Excellent! Oh, I’m sure it’ll be fun and perhaps even enlightening! You have to promise to like me better, though. It won’t be too difficult, I assure you, but I think that brother of mine would hold it over my head for the rest of time.”

“Hm… I don’t know.”

“Oh, spare me the torment, please! He’s insufferable enough as it is!”

“Then I’m sure you can tolerate it longer.”

Sage huffed. “I already regret letting you two meet, and it hasn’t even happened yet!”

Recluse laughed, as quietly as always. It got Sage laughing along, just as loudly as always. Despite it all, Recluse was almost looking forward to the meeting.

…

Pure Vanilla Cookie bandaged the staff just a little tighter than he needed to, this morning, as he got ready for the day. He apologized to the vanilla orchid when it seemed to recoil a little, its leaves struggling under the bindings to show its discomfort. It wasn’t something that happened often; he was normally excessively gentle with the bandaging, when he had to do this.

He just felt that something was off, today. Something that had him making sure the blindfold was knotted twice, and his robes were clean but plain, hood over his hair and not fallen to his shoulders.

Even Recluse had noted the odd amount of care this morning, though he’d seemed distracted this morning too, so Pure Vanilla focused on that instead of his evergrowing feeling of something being off. His intuition did not fail him often, but he was known for being just a touch paranoid. Nothing like Dark Cacao or even Hollyberry at times, but–still. You do not come out of certain adventures unscathed, and Pure Vanilla had ended his adventuring career with a permanent habit of checking behind him twice.

And checking on others twice. “Recluse, are you sure you’re alright? You seem frantic, is all.”

“I’m fine.” Was the quick response, and then, because Recluse never admitted it on the first ask, “I’m meeting the Sage’s brother. I know little about him.”

“The Sage of Truth has a brother?”

“I learned of him yesterday.”

“And you’re meeting him today? How quick! The Sage must have spoken about you to him, if it was that easy to convince him of your meeting.”

“It was because of schedules. Timing.”

“I’m sure it’s that and other things as well. There can be more than one reason to a meeting.”

“I suppose. We’re meeting in front of the academy, soon… now, really. I should get going.”

“I see! He will adore you, Recluse. I assure you.”

“I doubt it.”

Before Pure Vanilla Cookie could contradict that statement, Recluse slipped out the door, and it closed with a definitive little click. Pure Vanilla sighed. Trying to convince that Cookie to have any semblance of self worth was like trying to eat a jelly from the inside out, while leaving the outside untouched. In other words, utterly impossible. Still, he was getting better.

He had been leaving more often, to talk with the Sage. He came back late, of course, because the Sage only asked him to come at the most inconvenient, exhaustive of times, but at the same time Pure Vanilla could not help but notice the Recluse always came back glowing. It was so rare to see a smile on his little brother’s face that Pure Vanilla could not help but encourage it when he saw it.

The Sage of Truth was good for him. There was a chance, as small as it may be, that Truth and Deceit could coexist. That it was just–himself, that was so opposed to the idea. Well, himself and him. It took two to coexist, after all.

Pure Vanilla frowned. He had been thinking of his adversary more often, as of late. In every story he read, he lingered on the liars. In the statues he passed, the way that the shadow felt as he passed them felt imposing and impossibly familiar. In every flicker of darkness, from behind his bandaged eyes, Pure Vanilla felt… off-kilter.

He shook himself out of it. He should get started with some of the ‘chores’ the Recluse and he had settled into doing. It took very little to clean up the room; they were not messy creatures by nature. He slipped out of the room himself, passing a greeting by the innkeep before heading out the door. The day was young, and bright, he doubted there was a cloud in the sky from how fiercely the sun warmed him so.

It was almost unnerving, this… vacation of sorts. To not have set tasks unlike their time in the Raisin Village, or when they were travelling. Pure Vanilla was used to routine, or at the very least used to doing things. Stocking medicines, checking reserves, doing daily rounds on the needed patients. Exercising his magic, and checking the moon’s phase, or the weather for how the sun would be seen. Recluse still did those for him today–the weather was sunny, best for White Magic, and it was the thinnest shard of a crescent tonight, one of the more powerful phases for Dark Moon Magic, even in the light of the day.

Recluse and Pure Vanilla were both at their best, on this day. Why did he still feel so off? He dismissed the feeling with steady steps. The Kingdom’s pathways were quite easy to feel underfoot, even through shoes (though, admittedly, Pure Vanilla rarely wore shoes) and so he had no problem navigating the streets, especially with how few people there were.

He should go get breakfast. And likely lunch, for later, when Recluse returned. If he returned in time. Either way, the food would not go to waste–neither Pure Vanilla nor Truthless Recluse were fond of wasting, and would find time to eat the rest eventually. 

Actually, because it was so early, perhaps he could meet Recluse at the academy. Simply drop off the food before heading to the library–it was on the way, after all. He could even say hello to the Sage of Truth and his mentioned brother as he did so, though he didn’t want to intrude.

There was a bakery nearby that Pure Vanilla and Recluse had been frequenting, and the path to it was familiar, a number of steps he knew with ease. He wondered, while buying a few pastries (perhaps for the three to share), what they were like. The Sage was certainly different than what Pure Vanilla had expected. Not unkindly, of course, but from both his own initial impression and Recluse’s frequent tirades, the Sage had quite the reputation before they had that little conversation in the inn. The Recluse had to be similar. There were many rumors and such concerning the Peak of Truth, and the stalwart guardian who so viciously keeps it safe. 

To meet Recluse and see he’s simply a Cookie was quite the realization. He hoped it went well. If it didn’t, then Recluse could use him as an excuse and guide him along as his escape.

The Academy was beautiful, according to Recluse, but more importantly it was in the center of the Kingdom, and thus all paths lead to it. It was the most accessible place in the entirety of the Blueberry Kingdom, easy to find and reach no matter where you lived. While it may take a while if you come from the outskirts, it wasn’t terrible. He didn’t even ask someone for directions, though that might have been because the streets were truly deserted. It wasn’t that early, was it? Then again, the two had woken up rather early this morning, and they had already been early risers… hm. 

He heard talking up ahead, and from that he knew he was close–if only because the Sage of Truth’s voice was so distinct and cheerfully loud. It was nice, his voice. Charismatic, clear, made for speaking to others in a way that both captivated and impressed.

Recluse spoke up, his voice was softer. Quieter. Not made for speaking nearly as much, but a little kinder. The lower, softer voice of deceit and comfort. It was always nice to hear the Recluse speak. Especially as he started doing so more, lately.

The third voice spoke up. The Sage of Truth’s brother. Pure Vanilla felt dread like ice dumped down on his head, dropping the bag of pastries in pure shock. It was a voice  that he hadn’t heard in a long, long time, but one that was impossible for him to forget. There was no chance, no possibility, that it was him. That it could be him. It wasn’t worth the risk of checking, but Pure Vanilla sent a pulse of magic into his staff regardless, panicked and electric, permission for the staff to use its leaves to part the bandages over its eye–

And there, staring right back at him, was Shadow Milk Cookie. 

Pure Vanilla’s feet moved before he even realized what he was doing, and his hands forming the spell just as Shadow Milk, eyes wide and manic, reached for his puppet strings.

They bounced uselessly off the shield, barely cracking in front of him and Recluse. It took just a moment more to slam his staff into the ground, the shield strengthening and mending and shining, White Magic pulsing against that of its sister magic.

He didn’t think Recluse had seen him use this spell before, with its sigils like constellations shifting across the surface. He hadn't needed to use this spell since–

Shadow Milk Cookie tilted his head, before a sharp, gleaming grin crossed his face. “Oh, now isn’t this just so interesting?”

Pure Vanilla did not flinch. He did not falter. If he did, Shadow Milk would—he didn't know. He didn't want to know. So he stood resolute, speaking with steel in his voice that he did not feel,. “Shadow Milk Cookie.”

“Pure Vanilla Cookie!” Shadow Milk Cookie tapped his knuckles against the shield, whistling. He had to shake out his hand; a spell as strong as this does damage back to what tries to wound it. “Such a strong protector spell! You know, some people might call that a bit… overreactive.”

“He who sleeps with a knife under his pillow is paranoid every night except one.” Pure Vanilla Cookie’s grip on his staff tightened, “He who readies a spell like this will not get puppeted like a marionette.”

Shadow Milk Cookie tsked, floating in the air with that incessant levitation magic of his. It was a sore sight, bringing up both memories to the front of his mind and bile to the back of his throat. He swallowed both down, glaring at the one who caused it all.

“Now, now. Let’s not assume. You’ve always been so quick to guess at my next move.” He rested the back of his palm under his chin, Still, he flicked his hand, and strings shot out to tap at the shield. Pure Vanilla tensed, praying to every Witch who may be out there that the spell would hold strong. Someone must have been listening, for it did, and all that happened was a disappointed huff from Shadow Milk and a relieved sigh from himself. 

“I guess correctly often.”

“Yes, you do spoil all the fun. Time and time and time again!”

“Forgive me for it.” His words are wry, “I am not terribly fond of your fun.”

Shadow Milk scoffed, moving around the shield, but still keeping himself in front, as if looking for weaknesses. Or perhaps he was just looking at Pure Vanilla.

“That’s a pretty little disguise you have there.” Shadow Milk said instead, seemingly switching tactics. “Turning to deceit so soon? Without me? You know, I really ought to be flattered!”

Pure Vanilla sighed, lowering the blindfold with one quick, rough motion, to hide the shake of his hand. His hood had already fallen off, at some point. Here and now was where he was laid bare. Of all the places, of all the times. This was the worst–with his little brother far too close, and his shield spell far too thin.

He hadn’t eaten today. And hadn’t slept all that much, either. Pure Vanilla only opened his eyes for a moment, before closing them once more, letting his staff see.

“There’s the face that the stage has been missing! Our most favorite villain to hate.” Shadow Milk clapped, and from somewhere lights and sparks and all sorts of illusions caused a mocking show around them, leaning to one side to catch the cookie behind Pure Vanilla. Recluse stiffened behind him. “Pure Vanilla Cookie, in the ugly flesh! Alongside another unexpected, uninitiated, actor… You weren't a part of the script I knew!”

Fear, rage, and everything between had Pure Vanilla shouting, his magic crackling enough to cause Shadow Milk to take a mocking step back.

“You will not touch him, Shadow Milk Cookie! You will not–”

“Now, now, I would never! What do you take me for? What do you think I’m going to do? I’m no monster.”

“Aren’t you?”

His ever-present grin widened until it was more of a snarl than not. “Oh, you would know, wouldn’t you? Holding the moral high ground as always, isn’t that right? Such a noble trait of yours! My least favorite out of the bunch.”

“I would know. Wouldn’t I?” Pure Vanilla echoed, slightly off, “I would know all too well. I will not let another soul suffer such a fate. Not here, not now.”

“Oh, so protective over that little spy of yours. Now, now, don’t be shy, let me see him! I won’t bite.” Shadow Milk Cookie tapped his teeth with one clawed finger, a true cookie of deceit. “I promise.”

“Your promises are–wait.” he paused. “A spy?”

“What else to call the Cookie who’s gotten close to my brother? It hasn’t even been two weeks, and he’s already meeting me,” he hissed, “Did you really think I, the Cookie of Deceit, wouldn’t figure it out? I've got to hand it to you, it's clever! More clever than I could ever imagine coming from you. You've impressed me this time, really, honest!”

“You–didn’t realize we were here? You didn’t meet us here?”

“Excuse me? I have better things to do than follow you around and around like a loyal little cakehound.” Shadow Milk narrowed his eyes, “I happen to be where the cue calls me to—Don’t tell me you were relying on me to set the stage?”

“Since when do you step foot in Blueberry Kingdom?”

“Wha—I live here, idiot!”

Pure Vanilla blinked. That couldn’t be right. He had thought that Shadow Milk would avoid this place like the plague. He had thought this would be the place where he must hide, if possible, if he were ever found out. He had thought this was the only safe place, and yet the most dangerous. It was the most dangerous, it seemed, but not for the reason he’d thought.  “You live in the Blueberry Kingdom?”

“Why does that sound like you don’t believe it yourself? You knew that.” he squinted, tilting his head far enough to be uncanny and familiar.  “Why aren’t you lying?”

Pure Vanilla stared at Shadow Milk. He stared back. They both realized, in the same moment, how horrible the truth truly was–this was purely coincidence. The most horrible of circumstances. The nearest Kingdom to Life Powder. The newest person to catch Sage’s eye. One odd thing on top of the other until they all coincided in a simple explanation: Neither of them had known.

“Truthless Recluse.” Pure Vanilla murmured, tilting his head just enough to speak to his brother behind him, “We’re leaving.”

“Wh–what?”

“Now. We're not spending another second in the Blueberry Kingdom.”

“Wh–what about the life powder? Wait–Healer Cookie–Pure Vanilla–”

Pure Vanilla lifted his staff, muttering under his breath light and sun and strength. He shrugged off the attempts to speak to him, all up until he heard a little hum from his very own adversary.

“You have a single day to get out of my city.” Shadow Milk said, with a flourish and a bow, “Because I am so, so, so generous.”

“...A truce.”

“A truce! Armistice! Peace, for but a fleeting, failing moment.” Shadow Milk straightened. “Get out.”

Pure Vanilla grabbed Recluse’s hand, the shield still up. “Vanilla?” Recluse asked, “What… what’s going on?”

He kept murmuring the spell, still feeling eyes on him. Feeling phantom strings around his wrists. The memory was almost as sharp as the real thing. They passed the bag of dropped pastries as they left, and Pure Vanilla didn’t spare it a single glance.

They had better things to worry about.

Chapter Text

Shadow Milk was not an easily rattled Cookie. It was a rare, rare thing for him to be really, genuinely caught off guard. He was a cookie of people. Of connections. Of understanding what makes others tick and puppeting them around with or without strings.

Shadow Milk Cookie was a liar. To lie is to know.

He knew the script. He wrote the script. Every day in his long, tedious existence, he predicted and assumed every aspect he could, and was generally correct. It wasn't hard to guess what would happen, where people would be, where things would go. What would make people happy; what they wanted to hear. He was the Cookie of Deceit! These things came with the territory.

Of course, Pure Vanilla Cookie had always been the exception.

“Shadow Milk, what is going on?” His brother snapped. He'd been hissing and snarling like a snake all riled up, the entire way back to their home.

Home. Was this home anymore, now that Pure Vanilla could come at any time? Was it home anymore, now that the truth had been revealed? He had admittedly never thought that horrible, terrible, awful cookie to ever step foot in this place. Most would expect it to be his home, Cookie of Truth he was, but Shadow Milk knew better. He always knew better. This was too obvious; he'd avoid it because Shadow Milk knew of it too—and thus, this lair of truth and knowledge somehow became the safest place to get away from the truthful gnat himself.

Or so he'd thought. Shadow Milk had thought. He needed to check the doors, the windows, the entry points and the walls themselves for any trace of insidious magic. He would start with the door, floating up to trace the edges—

“Shadow Milk Cookie! Just—Just talk to me!”

He jolted, this time. Sage had grabbed him by the shoulders, spinning him around to face him. Shadow Milk didn’t have the time for this.

“Not now, Sage.”

“You just drove off the Recluse and his brother and have not said a single word of explanation since!” Sage physically pulled him down to the earth. 

Shadow Milk scoffed, “I don't need to explain to you anything, little cookie. What matters is—”

“The Recluse was my friend. I think you do.”

“Oh, your friend, your friend!” Shadow Milk laughed. “The friend who is so close and loving to Pure Vanilla Cookie! The Truthless Recluse could simply not be as Truthless as he says he is, and you cannot trust him as much as you may believe.”

“And why not?”

“Why not? Put two and two together, do I need to spell it out? You're supposed to be smart.” Normally, when he bit out remarks like this, when they both did, it was joking. Fond, almost. Laughing and teasing and all for fun. These words had real bite, though, and Sage clearly felt it from his flinch. Shadow Milk paused, readjusting.

It wasn't too far. Not even close. Still, he huffed, running fingers through his hair, soothing the flicking eyes. He sighed, spinning around to start scratching a spell into the doorway. No chances. “Have you ever wondered, Sage, why I spin disguises so grand when there isn’t a Cookie in the world who can appreciate the actor beneath? Why bother, when no one will recognize Shadow Milk Cookie?”

“You said you’re above reasons.”

Shadow Milk chuckled to himself. His claws were good for very many things, and this was one of them, and the lines were deep and unmistakable, the protection glyph with the signature Eyes and Crescents of Dark Moon Magic. “I did say that, didn’t I? Good memory.”

Sage hesitated, before stepping forward, summoning a blade with a golden handle–good for channeling magic of all types–from an other-realm of light and sun, to help with finishing the spell. He didn’t comment on the paranoid nature of it, the excess rings, or even the fact that it wasn’t Sage’s magic. That was a lie, of course. Sage attuned with Dark Moon Magic more than anything else. He just preferred White Magic. Just like–

“Pure Vanilla Cookie,” Shadow Milk breathed, “Is the reason. The reason for the disguises. The.. The settling. He wouldn’t–shouldn’t have–stepped foot in this Kingdom. Too obvious, for him. Too easy, for me to find him.”

“He doesn’t want you to find him?”

“Yes! But No! Ohhh, why would he want to find me after everything?” Shadow Milk finished off the glyph with a definitive slash, just a little harder than he needed to. It glowed, for a moment, before sinking into the wood, into the house, into their little homemade domain that now felt just a little safer. Shadow Milk relaxed infinitesimally, turning to lean his back against the door.  “No, no, no, this had to be a trick."

“Says who? It sounded like he was just as surprised to see you here.” Sage clicked his tongue, “I didn’t think any Cookie could run that fast. Or cast that fast. And you! You didn’t tell me you could summon your puppet strings like that!”

Shadow Milk hummed. He had summoned them like a second instinct to grab Sage by the wrists and ankles and waist and tug him behind so he couldn’t be spotted. Pure Vanilla Cookie didn’t need to use another thing against him. That shield spell was impressive, but there wasn’t a shadow of doubt in his mind that he could have cast it around the three of them, putting Shadow Milk in a terrifyingly precarious position.

He was lucky it took a second for the Vanilla Orchid to open its coverings. That second was crucial, for what he had done. He was quick, but only as quick as his adversary. The only other Cookie in all of history who could match his spellspeed–and strength, and even some of his knowledge.

Shadow Milk bristled at the thought. No, no matter how long Pure Vanilla Cookie lived, no matter how much he studied, no matter what, he would never be more than the naive fool he had always been. He would always be far more foolish than Shadow Milk Cookie.

(Not a single cookie alive could ever match the Fount of Knowledge. Not even now.)

“Shadow Milk Cookie… what did he… how do you know him?”

How, indeed. Shadow Milk shook his head, “That doesn’t matter.”

“It does if you’re acting like this! Get ahold of yourself.”

“Get ahold of my–Sage of Truth. Have you ever known me to be controlled in the slightest? Please. Control is for cookies who care about the damage they wreak. I couldn’t care less about anything nor anyone.”

“You care. Wouldn’t have pulled me away if you didn’t care.”

Shadow Milk watched as Sage walked around, to look him in the eye. He had once been so small that Shadow Milk once could have carried him with one hand, so ambitious and eager and yet so meek. Now, he stood proud, tall enough to only tilt his head up a little to look at Shadow Milk’s face. He had been around for a very, very long time.

He knew when Shadow Milk lied. He despised that fact.

“You’re a fool, Sage.”

“You’re scared.”

Shadow Milk flicked his fingers, using his puppet strings to pull his brother up just to knock him onto the ground, ass over teakettle. As revenge, more than anything, but also–for the feeling of it catching onto something, instead of a shield. The weight of someone else’s dough at his fingertips a soothing coolness, instead of the fizzy wall of White Magic he had been met with moments ago.

But again, mostly for the fact that Sage was now spluttering and scowling for the indignity. Served him right.“I am scared of very little in this world. He only wishes he were such a threat.”

“Then why are you freaking out?”

“This is off-script! He wasn’t supposed to be here! He was never supposed to meet you!”

“I can meet who I want. He seemed harmless.” He crossed his arms, “His white magic wasn’t even too impressive. It was… exceedingly simple, actually.”

Yes, that was the problem. Shadow Milk’s magic was powerful, volatile, flashy. On the other side of the spectrum, Pure Vanilla’s magic was bland, simple, yet still undeniably powerful. To streamline the magic process like that, to sharpen your light to make it sear instead of burn, to keep your hands from shaking and heart from beating hard so your mind was perfectly clear and free from the distraction of spectacle…

The Fount of Knowledge had been a visual sort of guy. Magic cast easier for him, for Shadow Milk, when he could see it. Very few understood it wasn’t a requirement, but rather a preference. Very few understood how to make magic better for them.

“Tch. He’s more powerful than your little light spells could ever muster. When we fought–oh, when we fought.” His dough had cracked, pieces crumbling off. He remembers the ache of it still. The numbness. The jam, laced with corruption, sluggishly leaking out of jagged wounds. He also remembered the way the light had writhed under his shadows, burning cold or snuffing out. He remembered the way he could press against them, and they would not break. “He would eat you alive, Sage of Truth. I need him out, I need him gone! I will not stand for him anywhere close to this kingdom. He already ruined his own, I don’t want to know what he’d do with this one.”

Sage blinked. “How–when–what? Since when have you fought anyone?”

“Please. I’ve fought more people than you can even comprehend! And won just as many.” Almost. 

“Since when?! Why do I only ever learn things about you in the worst way possible?” He groaned. Shadow Milk couldn’t help but snicker. “Do you not know how to explain things? You have a past with a Cookie I’ve never even heard of before, you fought him–You even tried to protect me from him!”

“I did not.”

“Oh, no, lie to a Cookie of Truth, please.” Sage of Truth scoffed, “He’s the older brother to the first friend I’ve ever really had, and you drive him off the instant you two lock eyes? Pull me back like he’s a–a feral cakehound about to bite?”

“This is a play you will never see on stage, Sage. A script you will never understand. Cues you will never see. I need to make sure he leaves. I need to…” Shadow Milk couldn’t personally escort his worst enemy out. He couldn’t just rely on Pure Vanilla’s words, though. He had already proven once he could deceive.

Shadow Milk snapped his fingers. “Do you know where Sweet Sapphire Cookie and Apple Faerie Cookie are?”

“Uh–yes, actually. They said they would be visiting the library today, if I recall correctly.” Sage huffed, “Can you at least tell me why? Why did you fight? Why are you so… panicked?”

That was a difficult question. The answer was a long one, if he wanted to be completely and totally clear. Which he didn't. Shadow Milk would rather die than let things be crystal clear. However, the short of it was worse. He fought Pure Vanilla Cookie, and lost so terribly he was forced to run. He could not look that man in the eye without his heart starting to beat faster, his palms beginning to sweat. He could not admit that.

The Sage knew that he was scared. To say it out loud was to make it true. And Shadow Milk despised the Truth.

“Truth and Deceit do not work well together. No matter how well they try.” Shadow Milk settled on, instead. Vague but accurate. All he needed to know was that–that no matter what, it would never, ever, ever work.

Sage seemed off-put by that. Of course he would be, he liked the little pest that was Pure Vanilla’s brother. The Truthless Recluse, lies and deceit. The antithesis of Sage, that his little brother was so damn fond of for some reason.

“...I’ll go get my students.” He sounded thoughtful. Not despaired, not annoyed, not anything of the sort. Like he accepted it just like that. “But we’re talking about this later.”

“Sure.”

He had a favor to pull in. Sweet Sapphire and Apple Faerie were good little henchmen. He was sure they could handle an escort mission. 

“Pure Vanilla Cookie.”

Recuse was calling his name as the pair packed what little they had. He should answer, but he was too busy with the task. One day was generous, for Shadow Milk. He wasn’t going to linger, to test it. He didn’t want to stay in a place like this. 

How could he be so foolish? Of course Shadow Milk used this place as his home. The perfect ruse. Pure Vanilla hadn’t suspected it for a second, because he thought it had been too obvious. 

“Pure Vanilla Cookie?”

Shadow Milk still knew him far too well. Pure Vanilla still couldn’t predict him. Couldn’t stay two steps ahead of an enemy that played an entirely different game than himself.

He should have trusted his instincts. He had felt off all day, why hadn’t he believed himself? He could have been more prepared. More wary. More ready.

“Pure Vanilla Cookie!”

He jolted, turning back to face Recluse. “Yes, Truthless Recluse?

“What… happened?”

“I do not think I need to explain, admittedly.” Pure Vanilla turned back to folding his spare robes, to set them nicely in his traveling pack. “You have always been clever. I trust your judgement on the matter, Recluse.”

“I want to hear it from you.”

“What do you want to hear? My history? My fear?” Pure Vanilla laughed, bitterly, “It is all laid bare.”

“It isn’t.” Recluse placed a hand on Pure Vanilla’s shoulder, “Are you ok?”

Pure Vanilla opened his eyes. They looked at the blur of black that stood out from the rest of the soft colors of the room. Truthless Recluse, as present as ever. It had been so long since he was up to Pure Vanilla’s waist, clinging. So long since it was Pure Vanilla who had to be present, instead. Now, his brother had grown to a wise, strong Cookie–one who only wanted to help. Just like that, Pure Vanilla slumped, exhausted. 

“Have you ever heard of the Dark Flour War?”

“...I know Crispia’s history, yes. At your very behest. You tutored me on it.”

“Five Ancients, Five Beasts… well. You’ve met one of each, now.”

He tried for a smile that he didn’t quite feel. He only hoped it didn’t fall flat. Based on Recluse’s quiet, he doubted it worked very well.

“He’s a Beast? You’re a Hero?”

“Ancient. Was.” Pure Vanilla corrected. He shook his head, “It… doesn’t matter any longer. The War is over. We linger, but the world moves on. I did my best, to help, for a time. I still do. I have made less of an effort, as of late, but I admit I have been… content. Happy, even. I don’t deserve it, but–”

Arms wrapped around him, tightly, and just like that Pure Vanilla couldn’t get the words out. He could only freeze up, not quite sure if this–if any of this–was real. Recluse had never been clingy, and Pure Vanilla, after all he had done, all he had failed to save, should not feel content.

“I thought I was the liar,” Recluse mumbled into his clothes. Pure Vanilla returned the hug with a wet laugh, and for a second it was real but somehow that was alright.

He didn’t know what he did to deserve Recluse.

“One day, it will come to light, all of it.” Pure Vanilla promised. “But please, we must leave at once. I–”

There was a knock at the door. One that had the pair stilling, and staring. They shared a glance, and, without a word, Recluse let Pure Vanilla go to open the door, gathering their bags and such just in case they needed to run. For a moment, Pure Vanilla felt relief and pride well up inside him. Recluse was good at picking up exactly what needed to be done.

Then, he opened the door.

“Uh, hello?” Sweet Sapphire Cookie inclined his head, “I was… told to escort you two out of the Kingdom?”

“We were!” Apple Faerie Cookie waved excitedly, her wings flapping with the same exuberant force, “Are you two ready to go?”

“Ah… you two are the Sage’s students, is that right?”

“Mhm! His favorite students!”

“His trusted students. But we aren’t here on his request tonight. On the contrary, we were told by a, ah… ‘Blueberry Milk Cookie’ to guide you out.”

He glanced at Pure Vanilla again, who was closing his bag and tilting his staff around the room, checking for anything they’d left behind. When he didn’t find anything, Recluse was the one who answered.

“Thanks.”

Sweet Sapphire nodded, gesturing to follow. Apple Faerie giggled, bouncing along as she asked if they wanted their bags to be carried, or why Healer had covered up that eye before, or if they knew who Blueberry Milk was.

Pure Vanilla Cookie had been good naturedly answering those questions, as Recluse bid the Inkeep farewell and assured their affairs there were settled. Pure Vanilla Cookie hesitated at the last question, but thankfully before he had to answer, Recluse rejoined them, answering in his stead.

“We met him this morning,” Recluse said, not quite a lie.

“Ohhh.” Apple Faerie grinned. “I see!”

She kept talking all the way out the Kingdom. It wasn’t a terrible walk, but it was clear Pure Vanilla was stiff and nervous for every single step along the way. She didn’t seem to pay any mind, and, somehow, it seemed to help.

Sweet Sapphire was quieter, though he did speak to Recluse, on occasion. Pure Vanilla could just barely hear one conversation behind him.

“Can I ask something?” He said, to the air rather than Recluse directly. Still, he seemed to pick up when Recluse nodded. “About that reading, a few days ago…”

“What about it?”

“You were right. Sage has been better recently. Well–better implies he was doing worse, before. He’s been grounded again. Though, at the same time…”  Sweet Sapphire shrugged, “Different.”

“Different,” Recluse echoed. 

“Yeah. Don’t know if you have anything to do with it, but if you are, thank you."

“It’s a good change?”

“Yeah. Yeah, it’s a good change.” Sweet Sapphire laughed, “More than you know.”

“...that’s nice to hear.”

Pure Vanilla tuned back into Apple Faerie’s exuberant story, doing his best not to focus on the tone Recluse had said the words with. Something longing, something quiet. Something that Pure Vanilla hadn’t heard from him before.

He swallowed. He couldn’t feel guilty about this. The Sage of Truth may have been safe. Pure Vanilla’s talk with him had been enlightening, and genuinely enjoyable. Shadow Milk wasn’t, and could never be anywhere close to safe. He was lucky he was being given this grace, monitored by his minions to assure they were escorted out, but little else.

Speaking of which, “Oh! We’re here!”

The path stretched ahead of them, the road well-trodden and bright. Their little trip to the Kingdom of Knowledge ended here. Pure Vanilla turned back to their two guides.

“Thank you for the escort, Apple Faerie Cookie, Sweet Sapphire Cookie. Please tell Blueberry Milk Cookie we are out,” Pure Vanilla said, “Farewell.”

“Oh–will do! Goodbye you two!”

“Safe travels.”

Pure Vanilla turned, to push onwards. Recluse joined his side, and they walked, for a time, silently in step.

“Did you like it?”

“Hm?”

Recluse gestured vaguely, “You… got to see the Kingdom. Did you like it?”

Pure Vanilla blinked. He had gotten a glimpse, but hadn’t realized it. The weight of everything that had happened had stopped him from processing it all. He flipped his staff around, for a moment, raising it to see the Blueberry Kingdom in all its might.

There were innocents there, living with a Beast in their midst. A horrible, terrible one, who reeked of deceit. The buildings would be easy to crush under his palm, the spiraling towers, the beautiful blue roofs, the sugar-glass murals. It spoke to a light, a truth, that was all too easy to destroy.

It looked almost like the Vanilla Kingdom. 

“It’s beautiful,” Pure Vanilla choked out, flipping his staff over. He could only hope it stayed that way, now that he knew what lay in jaws. He was given time, and knew that the consequences of disobeying such would be dire. The best he could do was let Shadow Milk keep playing, and hope only the proxy war resumed. 

“It is.” Recluse sighed, “It was… nice.”

“It was.” Pure Vanilla agreed, because truly, it was a lovely kingdom. “But it is time we return home.” 

The journey back was easier. The rocks were now difficult to trip on, the sunlight lighter and warmer than it had been two weeks ago. A trick of the weather, or perhaps of the mind. Familiarity eased all things, Recluse found, especially when it came to this. Navigation was nothing. There was only a small break, when Pure Vanilla insisted on wrapping his staff once more.

“I do not wish for rumors to lead to a trail back to our village,” he had admitted, “It is simply a precaution.”

It was a fair enough precaution. Admittedly, Recluse still was unsure of how powerful Shadow Milk apparently was. He had heard the stories, but didn’t remember them well. He glanced at the brother by his side, not nearly the hero any of the stories told him of, though just as kind and good as one must be. Was it hyperbole, perhaps, from legend? He couldn’t imagine Pure Vanilla as the Ancient of Truth. Nor Sage’s brother as the Beast of Deceit.

Recluse realized, just as the two returned to their simple village, as he turned over memories he’d shared with the Sage, that he had made a mistake. A simple one, an easy one. It wouldn’t have even been a mistake had Sage not had a Beast for a brother. 

“I don’t belong here. Just as you don’t belong in Raisin Village,” Recluse had said, just the day before.

There was no need to be cautious over rumors. Not when Recluse had fed the information directly to the Sage of Truth himself.

“Is something wrong, Recluse?”

He hadn’t realized he’d stopped walking. Recluse brushed it off, “It’s… nice to be home.”

Pure Vanilla looked a little suspicious, a small frown on his face. Still, he let it go. He must have been excited to come back to the Raisin Village, after all this time. Recluse knew he was.

It wasn’t going to lead anywhere, right? Sage would know to keep a secret. His friend (and oh, Recluse realized then and there, Sage was a friend), wouldn't betray him to his brother, would he?

At least, not immediately. Recluse watched as the villagers saw the two of them walk into town, lighting up and exclaiming that they were back. Pure Vanilla was laughing, a tension he'd been carrying since they stepped foot out of the village finally seeming to leave him, as he loosened his bandages again, and let himself look at all the smiling faces upon his return.

Black Raisin waved to them, as they came into the town proper.

“Healer Cookie! Fortune Teller Cookie!” She grinned, running up to them. “It's good to see you back. How’d it go?”

Pure Vanilla smiled, the last smile of a dead man, one full of exhaustion and weariness.

“All things considered, it went well! We didn't get any life powder, unfortunately.”

Black Raisin blinked. Once. Twice. 

“What do you mean you didn't get any—?!”

Recluse let him deal with it, because it was technically his brother's fault that they didn't get the life powder. They'd already paid for it upfront, too… Black Raisin was going to wring their necks. She was already scolding them now for not getting it, to know that they even lost most of the money they’d brought? She was never going to let them leave the village on their own again.

She sighed, eventually, “Did you at least have fun?”

Pure Vanilla glanced away, “We…”

“I did.”

Black Raisin glanced at him. “Huh. Well, guess it’s not all bad, then. Still, what’re we going to do about the life powder?”

Pure Vanilla shook his head, “For now, I can utilize my own magic and skill. Life Powder is but a crutch, for healers like us. Perhaps it is time I stretch my magic, once more. Perhaps we will find another village or kingdom to find the Life Powder we need… we should ask one of the villagers in our stead, if it possible.“

“That’s… rather unlike you, Healer Cookie. You don’t normally divulge responsibilities to others.”

“I do not,” he agreed, “However, when needs must… there are other matters to attend to, Black Raisin Cookie.”

“What… matters?”

“Healing the village, of course!” Pure Vanilla tilted his head, “It was only a few weeks, but I know you must be antsy to continue more intensive patrols. You must have a healer or two on hand for when that occurs. Is that not right, Truthless Recluse?”

He hummed an affirmative. “Especially after we…”

“...yes. Especially after we failed.”

“It wasn’t your fault.”

Pure Vanilla laughed, weakly, “You are too kind, Recluse.”

Black Raisin frowned. She caught Recluse’s eye, and in just that glance conveyed later, which Recluse would oblige. She chatted with Pure Vanilla Cookie a little more, asking about the journey they had there and back, and then informing the pair on how the village had been in their absence. It wasn’t too bad, honestly. Black Raisin had kept true to her promise to be as careful as she could, restricting patrols in order to ensure the safety of the village. Her priority was always the village’s safety, of course, but if something had happened in the two weeks they were gone it would have been bad, so she was even more cautious than usual.

She thought the villagers might be sick of her, but it was clear from just a glance they were just as cautious without their trusty healers. There were scraps that could be healed with basic magic and aid everyone knew, simple things that proved that the village could sustain itself, should the pair leave. The more complex, worse wounds?

Recluse didn’t want to think about that.

She was a welcome sight, after everything. There was something about her rough care that was much needed, as much as it made the two sheepish and chastised. She talked about how the villagers had missed them, for some reason. Even Pure Vanilla was a little surprised, which got them both a bit of a slap to the back of their heads.

“Of course they missed both, you idiots.” She huffed, “We all care about you.”

It was still an odd idea. That they would stick around long enough for people to care. It hadn’t been the first time, but it was usually a sign for them to leave. Instead–instead Recluse was considering something very bad.

Black Raisin glanced at him, too observant as always, and started talking about what little injuries the villagers had sustained in their absence. Again, it wasn’t much–but this time she went into detail about the little scratches and crumbled bits that some people had suffered. They were patched up easily enough, and were honestly healed up entirely already by now. For the most part, everyone was perfectly healthy–though there were two cookies who had come down with a flu that might like getting looked at, if they had the time.

Pure Vanilla jumped on the opportunity, going to check on them practically before Black Raisin had finished her assessment. She let him go with a huff. Then, she turned to Recluse, who was now realizing that he was going to have to talk.

He already regretted not going instead.

“Fortune Teller Cookie…” She put her hand on her hip, just barely jostling the crow on her shoulder as she did, “What’s going on? What happened?”

“We met someone Pure Vanilla Cookie doesn’t like.”

“He likes everyone.”

“I thought so too, but…” Recluse looked away, in the general direction that Pure Vanilla had run off to. “I’d never seen him like that. He was…”

Recluse didn’t know whether to say angry or scared. Both worked. Both were too much for Recluse to ever admit. Pure Vanilla didn’t get angry, and he had never been scared before either, not really. Not when there was always a way out, right? Conversations, or a flash of magic. Even a well-timed smack of the staff, if needed. Pure Vanilla said once that he didn’t get scared often because he knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that there was usually nothing to fear when it came to him. Whatever was facing him was more scared, and he could calm it down, reason, and care for it.. Whoever was facing him could be brought down and helped.

So what did it mean regarding Shadow Milk, that the first thing Pure Vanilla did was drop everything to cast a shield? That he strengthened it in seconds just because Recluse was behind him, and a true threat was in front.

It said a lot, that Shadow Milk Cookie got to Pure Vanilla Cookie like that.

“Pure Vanilla Cookie was–it was bad.” Was what Recluse settled on. It was more or less the truth, after all. It was what Black Raisin Cookie needed to know. She took the non-explanation in stride.

“Alright. That doesn’t sound too good.”

“No.”

“Well then, what’re we going to do about it?”

“What?”

“He’s thrown off by a threat. Now what?”

Admittedly, Recluse hadn’t gotten to that point of the plan, yet. With all the time in the world, he had stopped really thinking of what to do next, rather thinking of how to avoid what he had to do next. Perhaps there were other options.

(Pure Vanilla had been hiding from Shadow Milk for longer than Recluse may have been alive. If he knew, they’d have to leave. They had to leave. Recluse couldn’t stand the idea of the village being… unprotected.)

“Fortify.” Recluse muttered, summoning his staff, “Black Raisin Cookie…”

“Yeah?”

“Mind showing me a border patrol?”

Black Raisin pursed her lips, “Fortune Teller Cookie, you’re… not telling Pure Vanilla Cookie about this?”

“Not yet. Soon.” He gripped his staff a little tighter. “Just–after it’s all set up. Should make your job easier too, right?”

“...why didn’t you two do this earlier?”

“You didn’t need the protection.”

“The monsters around Raisin Village–”

“Aren’t what Pure Vanilla Cookie is scared of. This isn’t about that.”

That was an easier thing to deal with. It was something that was already being dealt with, generations before the two had arrived. Raisin Village was small, but its history was long. It didn’t need their interference–just their knowledge of healing.

This was different. This was more threatening. Personally threatening, to Pure Vanilla at least. Black Raisin glanced towards where Pure Vanilla disappeared off to, worriedly.

“It’s something I’m worried about,” Black Raisin muttered, before she seemed to realize, “Fortune Teller Cookie, tell me… how dangerous is this worry of Healer Cookie’s? If you’re resorting to something you didn’t for actual threats to the village, then…”

“I’m… not sure. He didn’t seem dangerous, but Pure Vanilla Cookie freaked out.”

“So it’s a ‘he.’” Black Raisin muttered. Ah, Recluse had said too much. “Are either of you going to tell me what’s going on?”

“...I don’t think it’s my place to say.”

Pure Vanilla had trusted Recluse with the information he’d given. It wouldn’t do to break that trust now, just for something as small as an explanation. Even if it would make this whole thing easier, and make Black Raisin a little more at ease. They owed her a lot.

He frowned as something occurred to him.

“Sorry.”

“Sorry?”

“We… we were going to get you something. At the Kingdom.” They were going to get it on one of the last days–Pure Vanilla had advised it so they knew just how much money they had left to spend. Recluse had been hoping to pay something back to Black Raisin, if only in the shape of a little gift. Now it was too late. “We forgot.”

Black Raisin softened. She huffed out a laugh, “You would be caught up in details like that. Relax. I don’t need some trinket or other from some kingdom that clearly shook the both of you up.”

“Still.”

“Yeah, yeah. Listen, if it’s messing with you this bad, then how about whatever magic you’re about to do is what counts as that present, yeah? Let’s just get started.”

“Right.”

After all, they needed to get this done as quickly as possible. As much as Recluse didn’t want to, he knew that it was something that was needed. That it would ease Pure Vanilla’s mind. That's all Recluse wanted, after all. All his lies ever granted was a peace of mind. Those were the cards he held in his tarot deck. They were never lies, what he said, but there was always a kind interpretation. 

Black Raisin didn't even let him get settled before taking him on that patrol. He figured if he'd been carrying them for so long during his journey he'd be fine, but it still would have been appreciated if he had been given the time to at the very least put things down. Then again, Black Raisin wasn’t complaining about taking on an impromptu patrol, so neither should he. She was also prepared to go through her regular rounds at the drop of a hat, though, always halfway out the door to keep her village safe. Perhaps Black Raisin wasn’t the one to compare to. Much to think about. 

Recluse could do that while he was surveying the area, the perimeter of the land and estimating the size as best as he could. It wasn’t the largest plot of land to place runes at–the Peak was larger, all things considered. It would have to be more complex, though. There was more of a chance of animals or cookies to pass by, and that ran the risk of scuffing up or meddling with them. A break in one area could result in the entirety being completely unusable. He muttered to himself, already noting the amount of magic power it would take, if he should strengthen them with components or not bother because it would fall on the villagers to refresh the enchantment, and it was just another thing they would have to do. Something like this wouldn’t be too difficult to maintain, even from far away, so long as he came by every once in a while.

He tripped over a branch and was only barely saved by Black Raisin’s quick reflexes, keeping him from eating a faceful of dirt.

“Careful there.”

“...right.” A moment, and, as if the brief interaction had opened something up, Recluse spoke again, “Should be easy enough. Three circles, I’ll do one every day.”

“So, four days total. Including this one, of course.”

“I’ve been marking the first one since we came out.”

“I thought you were measuring.”

Recluse’s explanation of ‘three circles’ left a bit to be desired. It was more so… two circles, and the filling of the spell between them. The inner circle didn’t have to be perfect, just a boundary. Recluse could do that without knowing the boundaries. Worst comes to worst, he could just redraw them if he found that he couldn’t make the ends connect.

It wasn’t the hardest thing to do. Though, he had a feeling if he had any sort of traditional magic teacher, he would be scolded. This wasn’t incredibly precise nor accurate, which ritual circle magic tended to need. Recluse was never one to need that sort of precision. Or rather, he only cared when the consequences could be something dire. The consequences of failing this was not.

Honestly, the consequences of this was lingering another day. He tried not to think about it like that. He knew he could trick himself well, and if he let the thought fester, he would find an excuse to mess it up. He focused on making sure the circle was intact and strong, even now. He had the skill to improvise, and he would use it.

The pair were welcomed back warmly once they returned back to the village. And the next day, even if Recluse joined the patrolling group like a shadow, following as he traced his staff into the dirt, carving the outer circle carefully. Raisin watched him, at times, as he muttered under his breath and diligently kept pace despite spilling magic as he walked.

“You sure you shouldn’t be saving that for if someone gets hurt?”

It took a second to realize he was being addressed, as concentrated as he was. He had to keep the power active in his mind, even as he let it fade to the background as he answered.

“This is to keep people from getting hurt.”

He didn’t speak another word for the rest of the patrol. It seemed to ease Black Raisin anyways. As if she didn’t know that that was the reason for his effort from the start. As if she wasn’t the one who practically suggested it, or at the very least inspired it.

When he returned from the impromptu patrol, he was nearly bombarded. The villagers were as kind as they always were, but it still felt a little overwhelming despite it all. They asked him questions he didn’t always answer, and only vaguely at that. They laughed, because they expected it. He didn’t know why these villagers liked him, but they… did. The Raisin Cookies of their little village, ravaged by monsters in a land where there was nowhere else to go, they attempted connection. They enjoyed his presence. 

He returned home to a Pure Vanilla who was proud of him. Proud of him for connecting, or perhaps going out of his comfort zone when it came to the villagers. Perhaps even for talking to Black Raisin. Either way, he was… happy for him.

They spoke, as Pure Vanilla and he reorganized their stores, as limited as they were. They could make do without many things, but it was almost getting dire. Still, they would make the most of what they could before travelling two kingdoms over for what they needed.

This time, Recluse would go alone. No–there wouldn’t be a time for him to do that. The two of them would be leaving soon. Recluse faltered, nearly dropping a packet of flour.

“Is something wrong, Recluse?” 

Recluse shook his head, as if to clear it. It wouldn’t be a lie if he said that his mind was full once more, that he was distracted, that he was thinking of something else. His words weighed lightly on his tongue, as all lies he said were honeyed and sweet, and free from guilt to stave the pain of the truth.

At least, that’s what he said to himself. “All will be well.”

Pure Vanilla smiled, and let the lie fester. He believed it, after all. All will be well.

The second day Black Raisin was with him again, alongside a group of Cookies she led with her. They didn’t talk to him, because Black Raisin told them not to, but it was almost comforting to have them nearby. A reminder, of why he was doing this. They even waited, on occasion, when he had to linger to be a little more precise with his runework. It was… nice.

The third day he did alone. He understood the route well enough to travel it, and this would take longer than a patrol would take. He started when the sky was dark and the air was cold, wet with rains from the night. By the time the sun crested its horizon, greeting him with warmth and light, he’d progressed. The patrol passed him sometime after that, but before the sun’s peak, as he scribbled rune after rune in the largest circle he’d casted in a long time.

It was taxing, connecting each piece bit by piece like a puzzle, in such a constrained area. Making it twist and wind around like a snake, and yet keeping it stable. He wasn’t sure if it would work. He wasn’t sure what he would do if it didn’t. Ask for help? Check for mistakes?

He shook off the doubt, and focused on the quiet task ahead of him. Black Raisin tracked him down when he was closer to done than not, forcing him to take a raisin bun if only to keep any eye on him in the time it took to chew.

“He’s worrying about you, you know,” She said, staring at him with the weight of someone trying to psychically beam every ounce of guilt he deserved to feel directly into his heart. It was working.

“He won’t have to, soon,” Recluse vowed.

The sun was setting when he finally returned to where he started, neatly connecting the lines of the rune like a puzzle piece perfectly fitting. There was no sound, no click as magic settled. It wasn’t nearly as satisfying as other things might be.

He slammed his staff against the ground once, and the runes lit up, the faintest glow, for just a moment. They did not fizzle out, simply faded in the way a completed, active circle would.

Three days of work. Not much work at all, really, but the weight of the magic caused him to stagger, nearly hit the ground from the force. Even now, he felt it leaking out of him, fueling the barrier in a way that was both familiar and exhausting. He still felt awful to a degree he hadn’t in a while, mentally and physically. He leaned on his staff, nearly limp. His arms shook with the strain.

Still, all of that was dwarfed by the relief he felt.. It worked. It worked.

Luck, based on personality. Awareness, based on foresight. Protection, based on intention. Something that would help keep the village safe, for years to come. All things considered, it was rather simplistic. Taxing, at the initial cast–Recluse hadn’t felt this tired since he was learning his more powerful Dark Moon magic spells, the ones of eternal darkness, the ones of teleportation and binding. The ones he dared not use, or took months to prepare for, due to the harm it did on both others and himself.

This was different. This was safety. A gift. A parting gift. Something for the village, for when they were gone. The thought made him ache.

Pure Vanilla met him outside, stepping over the line of magic like it was something physical, components to be messed with instead of his own magic, lined and traced. Recluse didn’t realize they were walking until they were halfway into the town, Pure Vanilla waving at the late-going villagers as they passed.

He practically collapsed into his bed, as soon as he was set down. He barely felt the gentle hand on his forehead, gently brushing hair away. Barely.

(He leaned into the touch. How easy it was, to be cared for. To be so kindly treated. There had been so much time where he hadn’t known such a thing. Hadn’t let himself know it, as if it was a plague or a parasite, and not something to be cherished. It took a long time, to accept it.

It came so easily, now. 

He didn’t deserve it.)

Pure Vanilla didn’t even wake him up in the morning. They didn’t have any new patients, thankfully. No long term ones, at least, that needed more than a healing touch and shifted whispering magic, stitching dough together with nothing but will. Nothing that couldn’t be dealt with swiftly, with Pure Vanilla’s magic alone.

“...Vanilla,” Recluse rasped, shifting up so that he could sit in bed. For some reason, he felt a bit like a sick patient.

“Careful now, Recluse. You’ve overworked yourself.” Recluse didn’t listen, sitting up anyways. He heard Pure Vanilla’s disapproving tut, but elected to ignore it. “That was quite the gargantuan task you’ve achieved.”

“You can… you know what I did?”

“Recluse, I taught you over half of the magic in your repertoire. . Of course I know.” Pure Vanilla Cookie laughed, “I’ll admit, it surprised me you would do such a thing. So suddenly and so quickly, as well.”

“I…”

He waited for Recluse to continue, but the words were stuck in his throat. Truth was always so much harder to choke out, for the Truthless Recluse. It could only be expected. After all, it would hurt. He couldn’t hurt his brother.

“Still, it is kind of you. The Raisin Village will be safe for many years to come! How intricately woven. You have put a lot of power into it, too, so please, rest.”

“No, I, Pure Vanilla Cookie, I didn’t…”

“You have done enough.” It was said so kindly, so pridefully. So happily. “You have done so much, and I doubt they will even realize it for some time. You have even helped us! More protection means less injuries, after all.”

He hadn’t even thought about that. He hadn’t been thinking at all, really.

“I do worry, though. Such a thing will be so difficult to maintain… it was why I did not bother casting such a thing myself. And, of course, the backlash. Why did you do it, Recluse? Why now?”

“I had to.”

“No such thing. This is simply luck and protection. It won’t do much against true threats, but it will help. It will ease… ”

“I… I know.”

“Then why? Hm… was it because of our lack of life powder?” Pure Vanilla falsely realized, as he went on, “Rather than focusing on how to heal injuries, now that it’s more difficult, yes, the next best thing would be to reduce the amount! Oh, Recluse, how clever!”

Recluse curled in on himself, just a little. He could not look his brother in the eyes, when he spoke. “They know.”

“What?”

“The Sage knows. About Raisin Village.”

There was a horrible, cutting pause. When Recluse looked up at their brother, he had never seen him so pale.

“What..?”

“I didn’t think–it was so small, and he already knew of the Tower, I didn’t realize–I didn’t know–”

“We need to go.” And then, “Oh. Protection and Luck. Of course.”

He sounded faint. Recluse wanted to throw up. “I’m sorry–”

“Not now. Later. Please, later.” Pure Vanilla did enjoy running from his problems. Confrontation was not his brother’s forte. Recluse let him, because he had always been so similar to his brother. Later, they could talk about it later. For now, “I need to start packing. And inform–”

“Healer Cookie!” Black Raisin burst through the door, loudly for once. Urgently. “There are–am I interrupting something?”

Recluse was still curled in on himself. Pure Vanilla looked downright stricken, sicker than someone who would come to him for healing.

“No, no. Please, speak, Black Raisin Cookie.” Pure Vanilla turned to her, wiping away his shakiness in exchange for a comforting smile. One that he clearly did not feel, that caused both her and Recluse to feel nervous. “What is the matter?”

“Outlanders approaching. They don’t look like normal travellers.”

Pure Vanilla Cookie stilled. For once, he did not correct the term.. Recluse watched, as his brother tried not to show the dread he felt, the concern, the shock. The fear.

He was failing.

Chapter Text

The Academy was rather miffed that the two healers had left without picking up their Life Powder. After all, it had taken the better part of two weeks to create it, though they had been notably early in its completion. Sage had been steadily watching its progress, wondering for a while why they were making so much, as he passed the Powder Labs between lectures. He’d even popped in once to try and settle his curiosity, and had only gotten ‘It’s a commission’ as an answer.

What hospital needed what could provide for a small village for a year? Well, looking back, it was quite obvious. After all, that was exactly what Recluse said they had been there for. Enough Life Powder for their village, for a year.

It made sense. They had to travel all the way here, a whole day’s travel, just to obtain it. Why wouldn’t they stock up on it for long enough to avoid the trip? Sage tried not to feel crestfallen at the idea that his meetings with the Recluse would be annual at most. In another world, Recluse would not have had any reason to meet Sage for some time. That would be a sad world. Still, it was better than the one he currently inhabited, seeing as he wouldn’t be banned from the city, due to his own brother.

“I must ask, what will you do with all of it?” Sage asked the Director of Alchemy, “Surely it cannot go to waste!”

“Of course not.” He shrugged, “Should Healer Cookie not return for it, these stores can always be sold off to hospitals and the like as needed. Or perhaps for research… either way, a use will be found.”

“You won’t make an effort to deliver it?”

“To where? Those Cookies were as elusive as they were generous. Healer Cookie could provide licensure of practice, but it wasn’t like he told us where he lived.”

“I… wasn’t aware you could simply duck out of that particular question.”

“Normally, you cannot. He had an exception. I suppose their actions make sense, thinking about it–Traveling Medics all act flighty. We should’ve known.”

That wasn’t true, though. They may have traveled once upon a time, but now the Truthless Recluse and his older brother were as sedentary as a stone. Recluse had not talked much about it, but he had talked about it. Sage had taken the liberty to learn as much about the place out of sheer wonder, and had found very little on the topic.

Raisin Village. Small, nestled in a difficult area filled with hostile animals and land too poor for farming. The people there were as tenacious as they were stubborn. They did not leave their home searching for someplace better–though that may have also been because of the monsters. It must be hard to move out with beasts trying to pick off your most vulnerable members. Perhaps it was the safest decision.

It didn’t seem safe. How many people were getting hurt, if the pair needed that much Life Powder at once? How were they faring now, without even a speck? Were they going to heal wounds with nothing but their will and their magic?

Knowing Recluse, that didn’t sound too out of character, actually. All stubborn pride and magical ability, tucked away so as to not draw attention. Sage could see the way it was hidden, however. He couldn’t get a good guess as to how much magic the Recluse had exactly, but he could make a good estimation that it was probably about as much as the Sage himself.

That was high praise indeed. The Sage had both time and intelligence in spades. Not to mention, he was baked by the witches themselves, for a task quite grand. Recluse might have been baked by them, too, or had a lot of time on his hands to study. Either way, Sage knew he must be strong.

(Not to mention the glowing shard that Sage carried for so long, nearly from when he was created–a single, purified piece of something that he didn’t know no matter how many tests he had run on it, but knew he had earned, when he stumbled across it all those years ago. Recluse couldn’t possibly have that power, so to rival him in magic was… to put it lightly, impressive).

That didn’t mean that healing without life powder was difficult. Sage himself had difficulty in casting healing magic–one singular, terrible blind spot in his wide expanse of white magic knowledge. He always despised it. He wasn’t jealous that Recluse could do it so well he didn’t need components. Still, he’d like to poke and prod him about it a little more.

“Perhaps I could deliver it?” Came out of his mouth without much interference from his brain.

“You?” The Director of Alchemy blinked. Sage remembered when he’d been instated and when he’d graduated from this very school himself. It hadn’t been too long ago, all things considered, but he knew that the Director couldn’t recall a single instance of the Sage doing such a thing. “With a spell, I presume?”

“Nope! By hand! Or foot, more likely. They had mentioned where they were going next, so I could make a quick delivery. I wanted to brush up on my exploration skills, regardless–this would be the perfect excuse!”

It wouldn’t be that quick, all things considered. Sage had looked at the maps. Raisin Village was one of the many little scattered villages that weren’t exactly close by. It was close enough to make the journey for Sage, though, and he had wanted to practice his survival skills again. It had been some time, and he didn’t want to get rusty.

It was a feeble excuse, though, even to him. He didn’t know what he was saying. He didn’t know why he was considering this, let alone saying he would do it. He wasn’t normally like this. Sure, he was spontaneous–he enjoyed life’s surprises and enjoyed being one himself! That was fine. This was different, though. This was–

Curiosity. Plain and simple. He wanted to talk to the Recluse again, and he knew that this was a reason to do it.

“I… I’m not sure, Sage of Truth. I trust you, of course, but legally–”

“I can buy it from you. You know I have licensure–for research, if nothing else.”

His frown deepened, but technically, there was nothing else he could say on the matter if he did that. It wasn’t against the law, and those with licensure don’t exactly go giving Life Powder away.

And it wasn’t like the Sage of Truth lies. That would go against every single one of his principles. So an agreement was made, because they both knew Healer Cookie wasn’t going to show up, and that the Sage of Truth never lied and had all his t’s crossed and i’s dotted, so he could do such a thing on a whim. Sage packed his bags, got his things settled, and headed off.

That was the reason as to why Sage was walking along a path out of his beloved Kingdom, pack on his back and reviewing everything he knew about traveling. It had been quite a long time since he’d traveled, especially on his own, after all.

Now that he thought about it, it was… longer than he remembered. His brother would help him quite a bit when he was younger, teaching him the more practical skills until they settled down at Blueberry Kingdom.

He enjoyed his life now, of course. Teaching, educating, and lectures. He loved it all! However, it was a wonderful time when there was very little responsibility he had besides pestering his brother and studying the world at large. He remembered fondly, times where he’d be taught magic theory as he walked, picking apart spells and laughing when he’d understood them just so, before moving on to the next one. The nights where he was guided to look up and connect the lines between constellations, a hand guiding his own to trace out the shapes.

It had seemed so vast, back then. Like the spells would never end. Like there would always be another constellation to learn. That wasn’t the case, though, and eventually he had turned to other things, only occasionally returning to see how things had changed.

That was how it always was, he supposed. There were always more things, once you turned your gaze elsewhere. And there was always an end, if you kept staring. It was nice, though. To travel along from town to town, practicing his public speaking. Projecting his voice, making his gestures wide and open. Watching to see if the people were entertained. It helped, even now, those tips from Shadow Milk. It was why he had latched onto him in the first place.

Well, no, that wasn’t quite true. It was one of the reasons, certainly, but it wasn’t the main one. There were a dozen little reasons as to why he chose to follow around like a newly imprinted duckling, as embarrassing as the analogy was. The teaching, the fact that he was skilled at catching attention, the fact that he bothered to correct him. No, those all fell flat to the reason of–

He was kind. Sort of. Blunt, and annoyed, visibly so! Sage remembered being nervous over that amount of scrutiny, back then, but powering through regardless. No, no the real reason was seeing Shadow Milk silence the hecklers, the ones who didn’t care about the truth as they were concerned about their own truth. Their lies. Their deception that they forced upon themselves. Their… ignorance.

He had encountered them before. Of course he had–when he tried to spread what was his duty, there had been a cookie or two who only saw him as a child, who ignored him and scoffed. Who did not care. That was fine. There was a rarer few who corrected him incorrectly. A few who refused to believe his truth.

And a few who did not quite care he was a child, when he spoke of things that he did not realize he shouldn’t have. He was an intelligent child, a brilliant child, a bright child.

He had not been a smart one.

So, of course, when he saw Shadow Milk quietly kick out the hecklers in his crowd, before returning to be attentive and judging but not unkind–the Sage of Truth attached himself. Shadow Milk hated the truth, hated his ideals and his messages, but he did not hate the Sage. He… he had needed that.

He picked up a sense that Shadow Milk had needed that too. Well, not quite–but he had needed something. Something that Sage was somehow giving him, though Sage still hadn’t figured out what it was. He could feel the gaze of his guardian lingering whenever he did something particularly spectacular. Or particularly dangerous. He had grown more lively, as time had passed, and that gaze had turned to action. Praise, or being lifted into the air, laughingly. Or scoldings, being yanked away from whatever danger was about to hurt. He grew more animated, at some point, and now he was as he was. That gaze no longer lingered, for he no longer needed the protection it carried, nor the encouragement it would give.

Which was why it took a moment to recognize the feeling. Of eyes on his back that were not that of his adoring or attentive students. Being watched by something that held no malice, but perhaps did have some sort of trickery in store. 

He stopped in the middle of the road, looking behind him–nothing. He closed his eyes, listening. There were no footsteps. No breath. Barely a bird chirping or a bug flying here or there, but there wasn’t anything substantial. Nothing that denoted a watcher. He breathed in–no excess magic, either. Just the nagging feeling that there were eyes in the shadows, in the sky, in the space between the trees watching him.

“Shadow Milk Cookie?” He asked the air.

The air answered, “Oooh, Took you long enough. I was starting to wonder how blind and deaf and foolish you were!”

Two hands came to rest on his shoulders, and a chin propped up on his head. Sage sighed. “What are you doing here?”

“Oh, the better question is, what are you doing here? In the middle of nowhere with nothing but a bag full of food, clothes, and enough life powder to kill a biscuit horse?”

“I’m pretty sure life powder is supposed to do the opposite of kill creatures.”

“Ooh, looks like someone is dodging the question!” He cackled, pushing himself off Sage so he could look at his brother upside-down. “Are you giving in to deceit?”

“I didn’t answer your question because you didn’t answer mine,” Sage rolled his eyes, shoving his face away. He ignored the spluttering that ensued from that; it was overdramatic and faked, anyway. “But if you’re going to be so pushy about it, then I’ll answer first. I’m going to go deliver the Life Powder that Recluse left behind.”

Shadow Milk stood in front of him, arms crossed and looking down with nothing but the most judgmental of stares. For a moment, he was just as looming and scary as he was when Sage was a freshly baked dough. 

“What?”

“You’re tracking down Pure Vanilla Cookie.”

“I’m briefly visiting the Truthless Recluse to give him the life powder the two that he had come to the kingdom for. It would be a shame if all they got was wasted coins.” Sage sighed, pushing his brother aside to continue on the path. 

“Sure, sure. And just, do me a tiny favor here, Sage, and remind me: How is that your problem?”

“It isn’t.” Sage shrugged, “Can’t a Cookie do a good deed?”

“Oh, a good deed! How altruistic! How kind!” He pressed clasped hands against a cheek, fluttering his lashes as if playing a kindly old woman, “So lovely and sweet and stupid!”

He dropped the act, that characteristic smile of his dropping into something that Sage could only really call flat. Sage grit his teeth, moving forward. Shadow Milk floated beside him, disapproving all the while, but not stopping him. Not yet.

“Sure, think that if you will. You think every good deed is stupid.”

“Oh, no, no, no! Stupid? Of course not! I think they’re unnecessary or out of the way. It’s much smarter to be selfish, for the most part. This is different. You’re–hmmm, oh, how do I put this lightly? Obsessed!”

Shadow Milk spoke with his hands a lot. Sage had grown accustomed to ducking out of his way or stopping his stride for a second when he threw his arms out. He had gotten accidentally wacked a few times once he’d hit a certain height. This time, they were blocking the path, and Sage had to push the arm upwards to keep going.

“I am not obsessed. This is just a whim! Curiosity, plain and simple.”

“Oh, what are you, a jellycat? You know what they say…”

“Please! In my defense, it isn’t like something–er, someone–like Recluse happens very often. Or at all! You can’t blame me for wanting to pick him apart.”

“I can and will! You didn’t even leave a note. That’s how quickly you left.”

“I don’t normally leave notes.”

“No, you don’t! You usually let me know in advance. Oh, oh, Shadow Milk Cookie, I got invited to speak at the Hollyberry Kingdom, what an honor! Oh, oh, Shadow Milk Cookie, next month I’ll be heading to the Creme Republic to discuss Magichaneical Engineering, isn’t that fascinating? Oh, Oh, Shadow Milk Cookie, I’m just going to drop everything and go to Truthless Recluse to drop off life powder for no reason! Just because I’m in a good person mood!” He stopped himself, twisting himself in the air upside down, sticking a finger on his cheek as if in thought, “Ahh, wait a second! That last one is a lie!”

“Since when do I have to tell you where I go?”

“You don’t.” He turned right side up. “And, in fact, I don’t care! But–ugh.”

Shadow Milk cut himself off. Sage thought about what he might’ve ended that sentence on. Then he thought about everything that came before that, picking apart the tone and word choice of what Shadow Milk had already used. It was oddly accusational, oddly angry. Shadow Milk normally didn’t give a care in the world where he went. In fact, there had been plenty of times he hadn’t told Shadow Milk where he was heading, just disappeared for a few days and came back with a new story fresh on his tongue. Shadow Milk had never scorned him for doing such a thing.

“You were worried about me,” Sage realized, for it was the only plausible explanation. “You thought I’d gotten–what, kidnapped?”

“No, not quite–though it did pass my mind when I saw Sweet Sapphire Cookie teaching your lectures, and then Apple Faerie in the town square. After all, I wouldn’t put it past you to get yourself into situations.”

Sage rolled his eyes.

“So I ask your little professor substitute and I find out you’re delivering Life Powder to a certain Healer Cookie. Hmm, I had never heard of such a Cookie in this Kingdom before! How odd! How unusual! But of course, travelers come and go as they please, so why would you not befriend one and play delivery boy just for fun? So I ask for a description, just passing curiosity, you would know all about curiosity, wouldn’t you?”

“Of course.”

“Of course! So my faithful friend Sweet Sapphire Cookie starts describing a cookie with rags and bandages and a lovely little staff, wrapped up in cotton and white! Hmm, that is so familiar, you know, I just can’t put a finger on it. Where have I seen Cookie like that–oh wait!”

He whipped around, gripping his shoulders so tight Sage was surprised it didn’t hurt, that his claws were still gentle. Especially as Shadow Milk’s hair was writhing, his shadow shivering, the birds and the insects and the wind all silent in a way they haven’t been in a long time, uncanny and caused by one man’s rage. 

“Pure Vanilla Cookie?! The most awful, terrible, half-wit, menace in all of Earthbread, and you’re handing him your head on a silver fucking platter.” He snarled, “You insolent, inept, idiot! You can’t even realize that you’re willingly walking into a lion’s den?”

“Healer Cookie–Pure Vanilla Cookie–is harmless. To me, at least. I met with him already, and he’s not exactly a threat.” Shadow Milk twitched. A horrible, hysterical smile stretched across his face, and he let go only so he could clutch his stomach to laugh. It was not a nice laugh, so clearly meant to cut.

“Oh, that is just rich!” He wiped away a tear, “Now, oh, hah, that was funny. And I thought I was the jester. No, no, that was great. Really! We’ll make an actor out of you yet. Now c’mon, let’s go back–”

“No.”

“Oh?”

“I have to deliver this. I’m practically already there, and I want to see my friend again, and I’m not going to let you, or apparently Pure Vanilla Cookie get in the way of that. Forgive me for being ‘an idiot’ or whatever else you want to call me.” Sage breathed in, and then sighed. It had been a while since his brother’s words had hurt. He’d forgotten how easy it was for him to get under his skin, when he wanted. He wouldn’t let him win this time, though. “I’m going. And I’ll be right back. I’m sure you’ll be glad to be without me clinging to you for a few minutes.”

“Sage?” A blink. And then, “You know I never hated that. Don’t think I was playing an act that wasn’t meant to be seen through. Besides, you don’t even do that anymore!”

“Exactly! I don’t! But you still think I’m so incompetent I can’t even beat a basic healer? You think that I’m that I’m so stupid that I do everything based on a whim?” Sage pinched the bridge of his nose, less so because of a rising headache and more because the motion let him look away, let him pause, “You think so highly of me, Shadow Milk Cookie.”

“Sage of Truth. You are a very competent Cookie. You are a very intelligent Cookie.” There was a hand on his head. He looked up to see Shadow Milk’s face, more serious than it normally was. More real. “This isn’t about strength or skill. Your perception of the Truthless Recluse is skewing your rationality."

“Your perception of Healer Cookie is skewing yours!”

Shadow Milk stared, for a second, not a single one of his many eyes blinking. Then, “...you know what? You’re right.. It is.”

“What?”

“How about… I come with you! Prove myself wrong, about all of this? Yeah? Prove I’m just being a little… silly?”

“...I, uh, sure? What?”

“Call it a whim. A curiosity. Whatever it is you’re calling the thing telling you to visit your friend that you met less than two weeks ago.“

Sage twitched, this time. They had the same tells. “You know it isn’t about that. I just–the time was cut short. You know that.”

“I know.”

“I just… wanted to know him more. I would have liked, you know. An actual goodbye.”

That was the crux of the matter. Recluse had been forced to leave without even a glance in his direction. He had wanted to show Recluse the gardens. The libraries. The spots in the Kingdom where they could see true life. He had wanted to talk more. He had wanted to not talk at all.

That was weird. He was weird. Sage was being so weird. Shadow Milk thought so true, tilting his head with a look that, to anyone else, would be nothing but unreadably happy, but to Sage was undeniably confused.

“Really? That’s all this is?” Shadow Milk asked, genuinely incredulous. 

“Can you blame me?”

“Well, yeah, obviously.”

Sage groaned, shoving his brother out of the way and continuing on the path. Shadow Milk followed.

“You’re… really coming with me?”

“Would I lie to you?”

“Yes. One hundred percent. You have and you will and I thought you were, but I guess not.”

“No, no, this is one hundred percent–eugh–the truth! Completely deception-free! I’m coming with you, whether you like it or not.”

“Great.”

Sage sighed, continuing forward on the path. At least Shadow Milk had stopped trying to keep him away. The Raisin Village was coming up soon. He’d get to say hello and then goodbye again to the Truthless Recluse. Then, he could close this whole chapter of events and continue with his life. Perhaps that might also get Shadow Milk back to how he was before, too. Less… twitchy at the very least.

“Sage?”

“What?”

“How about you meet with Recluse first, when we get there? I’ll talk to Pure Vanilla Cookie.” There was something in Shadow Milk’s voice, something worrying. He wasn’t sure if he should be worried about Shadow Milk himself, or Pure Vanilla. Or perhaps himself.

“...why?”

“Oh, do I have to have a reason for everything?” He echoed.

“...I guess not,” He said, because he knew he wasn’t getting a clue as to why. He could only hope that he wouldn’t cause too much trouble.

…

Shadow Milk Cookie could feel the shield over the village from a mile away. It was unobtrusive at first, a gentle uptick of magic that he brushed aside for a second before he realized it wasn’t going away. He was almost starting to get worried about it as it only grew stronger as the two stepped closer to the village Pure Vanilla Cookie now resided at.

And oh, what a statement. They were actively getting closer to Pure Vanilla Cookie! Willingly! Shadow Milk didn’t know what was wrong with him on top of the many, many things that were wrong with him. Even his issues wouldn’t be leading him to a death trap like that; if anything, he should be the one building them!

Admittedly, for a death trap, the shield wasn’t very… death-filled. By the time they’d stopped in front of it. Shadow Milk held out an arm to keep Sage from moving forward (as if he hadn’t sensed it too) to understand its purpose. It was definitely a protective one, meant to keep nuisances out.

Not threats, but nuisances. It wasn’t nearly as strong as it could be. It wasn’t strong enough to give Shadow Milk pause, or even a second glance if he didn’t know what lie within the village. He wondered, for a moment, what exactly Pure Vanilla’s game was. It was newly built, that much he was sure of–so it had to be after they’d returned from Blueberry Kingdom.

He knocked on it once, and then twice. It wasn’t quite trying to stop him from coming in, only giving him some surface because he knew where he was looking. There was only the slightest push back, like a particularly strong wind.

“What’s wrong?”

“It’s weak,” Shadow Milk said, flippantly, “Careful not to break it on the way in. It’d be rude, don’t you think?”

“It’s a small village! Cut them some slack.” Sage huffed, stepping through the barrier without a second thought. Shadow Milk watched as absolutely nothing happened. “See?”

That didn’t look like there was any give. Shadow Milk reevaluated. “I do.”

How complicated, to factor in intention into the spell. Anyone can enter or leave, so long as they have the correct intention. What did that say about Shadow Milk, that he mostly had them? What did it say about Pure Vanilla, that there was only a little give? It should be personalized, but it didn’t have anything to alert of a specific magic signature. Why not make sure you knew if a certain Cookie with a penchant for lies tried to come in, or even deny entry to him at all? Why not ward against him, instead of generalizing it, if you bother to make a ward at all? Something like this was oddly weak and nonspecific. Something like this–

Was not cast by Pure Vanilla. There, in the darkened cloak with gilded lining, was the Truthless Recluse. Shadow Milk had enjoyed meeting him, before he’d realized just who his elusive companion he had apparently was. He looked a lot worse for wear, though, as if he’d cast a very large spell in recent time. Figures. 

And there, next to him, was Pure Vanilla Cookie. Shadow Milk grabbed Sage by the back of the collar, before he could walk off to his doom. He shot him a particularly annoyed look, but Shadow Milk couldn’t focus on that.

“Well, there you are,” Shadow Milk crooned, “Just the Cookie I wanted to see!”

Pure Vanilla, predictably, stepped in front of his own ward, staff raised. “Shadow Milk Cookie. Leave.”

“Now, now. I just wanted to have a talk! A nice, civil conversation. You won’t grant me that much? And I thought you were better than that. So impolite.”

Sage hissed, “What the hell are you doing?”

He didn’t respond to that. Pure Vanilla did not react, for a long moment. The village was oddly quiet, not a person to be seen besides that one guard who Shadow Milk had spotted a while back. The one who, clearly, must have snitched. They’d been shoved behind the pair, but was peeking out behind them. They were muttering to the Truthless Recluse, conversation hushed and just out of the reach of Shadow Milk’s exquisite hearing. That was fine; it wasn’t them he was trying to listen to.

“Fine.” Pure Vanilla stepped forward, closer and closer until Shadow Milk started to feel the urge to back away, just a little. He refused to give in, watching as Pure Vanilla stopped only just far enough that he couldn’t hit Shadow Milk with that damn staff of his.

“Perfect. I knew you’d be so amicable. You always are!”

“Speak, Shadow Milk Cookie.”

“I’m speaking, I’m speaking! Here, as an act of goodwill. Sage?”

Sage’s mix of annoyance and confusion turned into something almost venomous at finally being acknowledged and addressed. It was why Shadow Milk still treated him like a freshly baked dough, sometimes. He couldn’t help it when Sage acted like this.

“Yes?”

“Go play nice with the Truthless Recluse. You’ll be properly in the barrier, and I won’t. Now I can’t cause collateral, right?” 

“You’re using me as–”

“Hush.” Shadow Milk didn’t look at Sage, as he spoke, “If you want to see your friend, then why bother bothering me?“

“You… fine.”

He patted his brother on the back, just as Pure Vanilla lowered his staff to block him. He had expected that. 

“Not letting the two talk? How unusually cruel of you!”

“Forgive me for my caution,” Pure Vanilla said, clipped. He stared at Sage through his orchid’s eye, and Shadow Milk watched as the pupil dilated for only a second. Then it returned to its regular slit. He raised his staff. “Recluse, if you could take your… friend, to our house, it would be appreciated.”

The Truthless Recluse nodded, and at once Sage darted to the Recluse. Just wanted to say goodbye? Ha. Sage cared more than when he managed to reverse-engineer Shadow Milk’s iconic levitation spell, and didn’t touch the ground for a week. Especially seeing how he seemed to fret. Witches’ oven, Shadow Milk hoped that he wouldn’t do anything too egregiously smitten. For someone as poised as the Sage of Truth typically held himself as, he seemed to forget himself around that Cookie. Just another reason to be careful.

Shadow Milk glanced at the snitch. She scowled at him. He thought that was funny. Pure Vanilla seemed to take that as a threat, because he would take Shadow Milk doing something as innocuous as lifting a finger as a threat. It was almost flattery if it weren’t so… over the top. Then again, Shadow Milk could do quite a lot with the flick of his pinkie. Perhaps it was more accurate than it was paranoid.

“Accompany them, Black Raisin Cookie. I would appreciate an audience alone with our newest guest.”

“Are you sure?”

“I am. Please, make sure my brother stays out of trouble.”

She nodded, and with the caw of one of the many crows that followed her, she went to tail them. This village seemed to have quite a few crows around, and little else. “And mine too, I presume?”

“The Sage isn’t who I worry about.”

“Oh? I should be flattered that you’d hold such trust in him.”

“I don’t quite, but I believe there are greater threats than he, at the moment,” Pure Vanilla  admitted, forthright as ever. He sighed, “What brings you here, Shadow Milk Cookie?”

“Oh, can’t a Cookie check up on his worst enemy every once in a while? I mean, after you so kindly checked up on me?”

“That wasn’t intentional. You know that. You know that we weren’t there for you.”

“Oh, but do I? Where’s your proof?”

“Proof?” Pure Vanilla was an exceedingly expressive cookie. His eyebrows furrowed, his lips twisted. His fingers tapped on his staff, all in anxiety of the coming question. “Proof of what? I was there for life powder.”

“How am I supposed to know that you aren’t lying? It is quite the clever cover. I mean, I can’t find a single thing to pick apart with it! Except–of course–that you left without even a speck of the so-called life powder! Very suspicious, don’t you think so?”

“I would have obtained it if you had not requested us to leave. I acquiesced despite the cost. I do not want to fight, Shadow Milk Cookie. Not again.”

No. Not again. Shadow Milk was treading a very dangerous path, with what he was going to do. Risking such a battle–they may be even, but they were evenly hurt. Every second here was a threat, and he was only trying to make it worse. He needed to, though. At least, that’s what he was telling himself. 

“Who said anything about fighting? No, no, no! There’s a much easier solution to this whole thing! What is you always say? Any conflict can be resolved with conversations?” he mocked.

“....and is this one such conversation?”

“I’d like to think so, wouldn’t you? We’re getting along just swell!”

He was leveled with an unamused stare. It was always oddly funny to see Pure Vanilla try to give someone such a stare. Usually, he just used his staff, but when he was especially irate, Shadow Milk noticed that he used his own eyes, guessing where to stare. He was always impressively on point, when he bothered to be.

“Very well…”

“Great! So here’s the deal, Pure Vanilla Cookie, you got to traverse my lovely little Kingdom for a whole two weeks–Two weeks! That’s a whole two weeks you could’ve scurried around, learned my secrets, and been the rat you pretend you aren’t!”

“I did not learn anything of yours.”

“Oh, but didn’t you?”

Pure Vanilla looked away. Of course he did. He learned where Shadow Milk was staying. He learned of the Sage. He learned that there was something that Shadow Milk holds precious, even now. Of his minions. Of his many, many, many little things that added up–and if he searched his memories, Shadow Milk knew that he would learn of even more.

“I have no intention of using this information,” Pure Vanilla admitted, “I just wanted–”

“Ah-ah-ah! See, here’s the thing about intention. You can change it whenever you want! And sure, you want to do nothing with it now. The issue is: that can change. So here’s the thing–how about we even it out?”

“What?”

“Two weeks for you. Two weeks for me. I get to take a gander around your… modest village, get a real lay of the land, and you can keep those secrets of mine, and we both go our merry ways!”

“Mutual destruction. Is that what you’re proposing?”

“Well, in more words. Nicer ones, too. After all, who’s destroying what?”

“...I wasn’t actively looking, in your kingdom.”

“That you weren’t! But you still found me.”

“I found little else. I was hiding myself, too. I was at every disadvantage. You wanted to even things out? Propose a fairer deal.”

“Oh? Or else? You know, I could level this whole place–”

“Yes, you could. I doubt you will. Two days.”

It was more than he expected. After all, Shadow Milk could reign terror in two hours. Two minutes. If he wanted to, Shadow Milk could level the entire place in two seconds.

“Now, how is that fair? You get two weeks, I get–”

“Two days. It is fair. You are looking. I was not. Do you want to stay longer?”

“In these backwoods? Not a chance! Fine, fine, you’ve convinced me! You’re quite the skilled manipulator, Pure Vanilla Cookie. Not that I didn’t already know that.”

Pure Vanilla stuck his hand halfway through the barrier. A handshake to seal the deal. How poetic. 

“Two days,” he repeated. “And then you leave as quietly as I did.”

”Two days,” Shadow Milk took the hand, poking through the barrier for the first time. It still had a little give. As soon as they shook on it, he whipped his hand back, wiping it off on his shirt. Pure Vanilla did not, but he did look at him like he held every pain in the world. Shadow Milk ignored that, instead clapping his hands together as he spoke. “Now, how about a tour? I cannot wait to see what the lovely Raisin Village is like! You know, I’ve heard nothing but good things about it!”

“I regret very many things, Shadow Milk Cookie. Let it be known that I regret this like nothing else.”

“Aww, give me a break! I haven’t even done anything yet.”

“Yet,” he echoed. Shadow Milk only laughed. 

Time to even the playing field once more. Then, the two could get back to their mutually assured ignoring each other. They had better things to worry about than their mortal enemies, these days.

This was just… insurance. Insurance that Shadow Milk sorely needed, after seeing this gnat again.