Chapter Text
The other realm was a strange place. And it had many names.
Pocket dimension, dark side of the moon, even “bottomless storage closet we don’t question” (lovingly named by a little cookie with white hair, long ago), but it had another, less commonly known attribute.
Protector.
It had sheltered someone once, long ago. A gentle soul, filled with compassion. That soul had gone on to do great things. He ruled fairly, made deep connections, even fell in love.
Alas, not all stories have a happy ending.
Once more, the other realm found itself to be a protector. This time, to the soul of its own creator.
It sheltered this precious soul, even as truth began to turn towards deceit for comfort.
And when the time was right, the other realm gently released the soul back into the world.
Giving someone else a second chance.
…
The Sage of Truth was quite a busy cookie. As such, it was very important to follow a routine. He had his down to a science.
Every morning, he would wake up at 5:30 AM, sharp. That was just enough time to get changed, have a small breakfast, review his lesson plans for the day, and get a tiny bit of work done before he left for his academy at 7:00 AM.
Sure, his sleep schedule could use a little work, but he was a busy cookie! And besides, his soul jam was an incredibly useful stimulant if he ever truly needed it to get through his day. As such, he usually got around 2-3 hours of sleep per night, sometimes 4 when he really needed rest. That was perfectly normal! He had no idea why his students complained about only getting 5-6 hours. Oh well, he supposed growing cookies really did need extra sleep.
He had allotted a small amount of time to bask in the splendor of the academy each day as he arrived. Even though he had been the one to restore it and the city beyond, the sheer beauty and splendor of the spells covering every inch of it never failed to take his breath away. The entrance hall had clearly been designed to bring out a sense of awe in people, with its high ceiling that had an illusion on it to make it seem like everyone inside was really standing underneath a gorgeous sky full of stars.
A soft buzz on his wrist drew his attention away from the splendor. The Sage shook his head. Good thing for these new “alarm clocks,” or he would have missed his first class at 7:30!
He entered the room at exactly 7:10, taking note of the few students who had already arrived. A few murmured a sleepy, “good morning, Professor…” as he walked over to his desk.
As time ticked away, more students trickled in, with most arriving between 7:20 and 7:25. At 7:30, the gentle chime of the bell rang through the building, prompting the slightly groggy group of students to focus their attention on the Sage, who smiled at them while writing the day’s lesson on the chalkboard. He spun around, hands clasped behind his back as he grinned at the students, who looked at the words “pop quiz!” in horror.
“So,” the Sage said with a hint of smugness. “I do hope you all are well versed in chemical compounds.”
The Sage taught a total of five classes, ranging from science to magical theory to philosophy to advanced cooking (a personal favorite of his), yet his favorite thing to teach was his twice weekly lecture in the town square. It always made him so happy and hopeful to see the eager grins and the looks of awe in the faces of young and old cookies alike. He spoke of many things, doing his best to promote lessons of kindness and respect.
Often, cookies would ask about the large mountain that was a short distance from the city. While the Sage had never tried to climb it himself, he had heard stories from cookies who had. When they began to reach the top, they would grow confused and disoriented, eventually wandering back down to the bottom. No matter what they tried, the outcome would always remain the same.
Sage would check it out, eventually. When he had less work to do.
After his lecture, he returned home, a small cottage on the outskirts of the village. It was close enough to the academy that he could float there quickly, but far enough from the main city that he avoided loud noise and bright lights. He would cook himself a quick dinner, then once again lose himself in his studies. He would fall asleep at 2 or 3 AM, then wake up and do it all again.
It was a nice life. He was happy!
(If he didn’t focus on the loneliness. How he would dream, every night, of the aching feeling of loss. Heartbreak. Regret. The feeling of missing a part of himself, the wish to finally feel complete for once in his long existence.)
He sighed, closing his eyes. He had a lecture tomorrow. He could get some extra sleep tonight.
…
Truthless Recluse, formerly known as Pure Vanilla cookie before he had forsaken his previous identity, opened his eyes slowly. Light from the window assaulted his eyes as he groaned, slowly rolling over in bed. Strange that he was awake, as the spell that tended to his flowers hadn’t run out of mana yet-
His stomach growled. Loudly.
With a sigh, he sat up. Tapping into his soul jam, he realized it was quite low on usable power. Looks like he would have to stay awake for some time to let it recharge. He slowly got out of bed, wincing as his joints popped painfully when he put weight on them.
He quickly reached for his staff, leaning on it while he got used to standing upright after weeks lying in bed, asleep. With a shaky snap, his robes appeared over the bodysuit he wore, covering both his soul jam and the painfully thin state of his being.
He slowly walked over to the window and the small pots of lilies and milkcrowns, treasured remnants of his dearest friend and his partner. He slipped the worn silver ring over his finger as he gently caressed the petals of the milkcrowns.
Oh bluebird… I miss you…
…
He didn’t have anything useful in his kitchen. Everything edible except for a few seasonings had either been used or rotted away. He groaned. A trip to the village below was not something he was looking forward to, but he didn’t really have any other choice. He needed to eat, if the shaky state of his body and the increasingly louder grumbles his stomach was giving off indicated.
Besides, It’s not like he had any sort of routine to follow.
…
The markets were deserted. How odd, he hadn’t been asleep for that long, had he? Had it been a few centuries again?
He slowly turned, scanning the market. The stalls didn’t seem worn with centuries of neglect, nothing was overgrown, and there were wares, secured behind stalls. Maybe it was a holiday?
Just then, he spotted a group of children running past him.
“Hurry up, Cherry Danish! We don’t want to miss anything!”
One of the small cookies, a little girl with tan dough and red hair styled in pigtails, stopped in front of him. She looked at him curiously.
“Are you also here for the lecture?” She asked cheerfully.
The Recluse blinked. “Lecture? Whatever are you talking about? I’m here for some provisions.”
The small cookie gasped, excitement shining in her eyes. “You mean you’ve never heard of the Sage before?!”
The Recluse frowned. “Who is this ‘Sage’ you speak of?”
The cookie grinned, grabbing his free hand while tugging him in the direction her friends had run off to. “The Sage of Truth, silly! He lectures in the town square twice a week. He’s so fun to listen to, even if I don’t quite understand everything he’s talking about. You have to know about him!”
The Recluse could hear a large group of people talking up ahead. “I’m… not from around these parts.”
They reached the edge of the square (though it was more circular). The crowd that The Recluse had heard earlier was excitedly clustered around a raised but empty platform. Cherry Danish cookie tugged on his hand, but The Recluse simply shook his head. “Thank you, but I can see from here.”
She shrugged, running off towards the crowd. Despite the large amount of cookies, The Recluse stuck around. He was admittedly curious about this so-called “Sage,” that everyone seemed to be so fond of.
There was a small flash and a flare of light, and there was suddenly a cookie standing on the raised platform.
The Recluse’s breath caught.
That cookie… he looks so much like…
He shook his head, banishing the thought to the back of his mind. Recluse, you were bound to come across another blueberry flavored cookie someday. Get it together.
Looking closer at the figure (and ignoring the way it made his heart break, seeing someone so familiar and yet… not…), he noticed that he was proudly displaying a soul jam on their chest. The soul jam of truth… no wonder he was called a Sage.
The Recluse sighed. He might as well stick around to talk with the new owner of the soul jam while he was here.