Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The night was young, stars shining high and bright.

Gentle moonlight caressed the slumbering land, casting a mystical glow upon sugar trees and frosting rooftops making them sparkle. Silence stretched on, interrupted only by the whistles of wind among faint chitters.

High atop the Spire of All Knowledge, a slumbering figure lurched awake…

…only to immediately regret it when his vision twists; and, as he hunched over the surface of his desk with hands clawing at his hair, the Cookie unwittingly let loose dry, heaving coughs. He bit his own lip to focus on anything but the swirling nausea, drawing sweet jam so foreign on his tongue. His long dark hair, speckled with little galaxies, writhed where its luminosity is warped by dripping blue splotches resembling eyes that had gone mad.

Everything burned. He was freezing. His head ached terribly, thoughts scrambled so bad that even wrenching his lids open was a feat in itself, that fireflies danced before his eyes to the song of his own misery. His neck was so tight that the only thing he could do was sharply wheeze. His limbs shook from numbness creeping in. His whole chest screamed in agony no matter how hard his fingers dug at the front of his silken robes, like it was being mercilessly splayed open and his immortal dough carved raw from the piercing teeth of those silver fo-

He hasn't felt this much pain before. Not from the catalyst, not during his corruption, not while being sealed.

To replay this accursed memory and twist it into something worse as his performance reached its finale, how cruel was the price that Magic demanded.

But a punishment like this, in exchange...

Well.. he can't complain.

Damp forehead pressed against the cool surface of his desk with locks of dimming starlight hair like a curtain draped over him, the Cookie found his sight fraying as though a smudgy oil painting was steadily being scratched with black. As his his body lost all autonomy and hands released of their vice grip, sliding off to dangle limply by his sides, breaths coming out like whistles through a narrow crevice, he could only weakly bemuse:

'At least it's not in the Tree.'

Mismatched eyes fluttered close, embracing the sweet mercy of oblivion.

The next time he woke up, it was to dull aches across his entire body.

He tried to sit up again. His back ached in protest, limbs convulsing from strain, but at long last he was able to lean against the plush of his chair. Tension bled out with a heavy sigh.

His head no longer felt like being split apart.

But with clarity comes wariness, suspicion.

He fought off fatigue to process his surroundings: the room was dark, bathed in shadows left by blackout curtains over impossibly large stained-glass windows, but he only needed such little light to recognize where exactly he was. How could he not, when his graph of all the stars in the galaxies viewed from his Spire spanned the ceiling, amidst everything else?

His office.

His personal study.

No bed. Never a bed.

Everything is the same as it once was, like the thousands of years in isolation and torment never happened at all. He hated it. He hated this. What a mockery. What humiliation.

The voices whispered, eyes judging stared from dark corners. Now, he was in no mood for them.

"Shut up." He grounded, voice like grating stone, tongue like sandpaper sticking to his throat. Blessedly, they were drowned out by his own tsunami of thoughts.

He’s back here. The words tasted sour.

He’s back here.

Oh Witches damned, let it be just a nightmare - a demented illusion of his wretched mind.

...This wasn't purgatory.

This was undeniably real.

His Soul Jam is whole - nothing could ever fake that feeling.

(The Witches stripped him of omniscience when they split it in half and threw him away like a broken toy, then gave its uncorrupted portion to an infuriatingly self-sacrificial gnat who by all means should have fallen to his level and stayed there with him! Who dared to offer him pity in the guise of 'helping', as if he were a project to be worked on!

Who, despite everything, still earnestly wanted him around.)

Not even a shred of joy, never mind vindictive glee, the Cookie found himself inexplicably bitterly swallowing grief.

Grieving a man not yet baked, a man who may never come to be who he once knew.

He looked down, breathing with slight difficulty still. Shakingly, almost dreadfully, cyan blue fingers reached for the golden lock at the front of his robes - his collar, his noose. It's there. The texture, the pressure, the weight. He was back in his gilded cage that for too long he had willfully ignored.

Nearly had he forgotten what being in his own dough felt like; as if he'd been shoved into a mould that doesn't fit anymore.

It's disparaging.

Discomforting.

Wrong.

He was the fallen Fount of Knowledge - without a name, without a choice, baked for a single purpose and nothing else. He was an object of entertainment, a tool.

He was the all-knowing inventor of Magic, the forefather!

...So how could he have messed a spell up this badly?

The Cookie closed his eyes again with a frustrated groan, too tired to think back and comprehend how he got into this situation. Despite fighting to stay awake, sleep once again took ahold of him.

"Don't do this!" A man cried, reaching for him, voice full of anguish. "Don't leave me, Bluebird-!"

'I'm stuck here.'

Floating listlessly within the privacy of his study, the Fount finally came to terms with his predicament.

No matter how vehemently he denied it, no matter how hard he tried, he could never return to his Other Half where he had left off. Traces of failed magical formulas and activation circles scattered the floor, walls, curtains, even glass; their sweet syrupy fragrant wafted the closed-off room.

Hah! The wise Fount of Knowledge blessed with infinite magic and perfect recollection, yet unable to even recreate his own work...

Landing back down on his feet -and oh what an unpleasant sensation it was, his legs buckled in protest- made the Cookie stumble with a bout of vertigo; how long has it been since he last rested? He doesn't know, time and space was warped within the Spire. "Witches damn it... It's just a few cuts..." His sluggishly bleeding arms throb, eliciting an annoyed hiss through gritted teeth. His well of magic was plentiful, but his body betrayed him.

How pathetically fragile for the dough of a God.

Confused, frustrated, and utterly helpless.

Pitiful is the sight of the mighty fallen.

Summoning his staff where his Soul Jam not his not like this was still embedded, the Fount stumbled his way over to his reading chair. He slumped down, uncaring of his image -not like it mattered anymore, with how disheveled he's become- and with a snap of his fingers, the stuffy robes were slipped off, leaving only a single layer covering his torso.

His hair was a dim tangled mess, knotted and unkempt from the many times he had raked his nails over the strands, pulling and tearing (he ignored the crying eyes pooling down his seat). Along his exposed shoulders, faint powder blue claw scars ran down to his elbows, not dissimilar to the new open wounds on his forearm. He hasn't looked himself over in the mirror, but he's sure his face would be akin to his beloved Recluse's. His lips hurt from sharp fangs gnawing at them, so they must look quite battered.

As the Fount looked up at the graph of stars, mind running miles per second yet hazing over from exhaustion, he let himself welcome the embrace of nothingness. His jam would regenerate, and he would try again later. The pain would fade, but he cannot stand the monotony that would come once it does - he has to go back; second chance or whatever, there's nothing left for him here.

Who cares whether a God gets hurt in the grand scheme of things?

He was never a real Cookie anyway.

"Fount?.. Fount!"

Strange, he swore he heard Burning Spice's Herald's panicked yell.

Chapter Text

The Fount came to with a pounding migraine and spinning vision. His throat burned, breath absolutely abhorrent. His entire body was sore making it downright miserable to move, so he just laid still.

Glancing down at what seems to be a bundle of blankets wrapped around him, the Fount noted how abnormally warm it was, and that's counting the fact that most of his clothing has been removed. Struggling to lift a tremoring hand to rub at his bleary eyes, the Fount felt something off despite the pain. He did not bandage his wounds.

His answer came in the form of an unfamiliar face that his Knowledge perfectly recalled - the Herald, who was not yet the Lord of Destruction, who cared so deeply that self-hatred consumed him, that he sought for his own crumbling with open arms. Kind and nurturing Herald, not his fellow prisoner of eons, not the broken violent yet free berserker he knew.

The Herald who, like him, was chained to this cursed path.

Pushing open Fount's heavy doors was his old friend, clay-red dough yet to be painted on, chest devoid of the corrupted Soul Jam. He held his helm with one of his many unsevered arms, two more holding a tray of blueberry jellies. The sight was jarring - in the back of his mind, the Fount had forgotten what the Herald looked like before.

"Are you feeling better, Fount? No, never mind, if you were better you would have bounced back by now, saying something about 'Knowledge never rests' and all." The Virtue of Change's eyes were soft, voice comforting, for such a huge Cookie he was the gentlest being the Fount knew. He sat down beside the Fount's reading chair, setting the food at said Scholar's tea table. "And don't you cite me about 'not needing food', Fount, you threw up in your sleep and your energy's depleted. Magic won't help you in this condition." Almost habitually, the Herald scooped up a small piece with the spoon he prepared and held it near his friend's face. 

The Fount grumbled, no wonder his tongue felt so foul. He wasn't used to this weakness, or he couldn't remember. Either option made his jam churn uncomfortably.

"Come on, Fount, I prepared your favourite."

His favourite? He couldn't recall. The eternity of isolation with only the other four Beasts for company had eroded away his brilliant mind, carved at his memories until he knew nothing but his pathetic past and the pain it entailed.

Still, he conceded to Herald's earnest plea.

The jelly was sweet, soft, cool and easy on his scratchy throat even if swallowing took most of his willpower - when had been the last time he consumed anything at all?

"...Are you truly alright, Fount?"

It was after a while of feeding the Scholar that the Herald swallowed his hesitation and dared to ask. Molten orange flickered down to the eyes at the bottom of his friend's hair -what happened to him?- all of which snapped open in caution, yet when he looked up, Fount's expression had hardly changed though his lips have clamped shut, gaze away from the food offered to him.

"Please tell me, Fount. What is going on? I can't help you if you do not tell me, friend..."

'Friend'... that foolish king kept calling him that.

The Herald was worried out of his mind. When he visited the Spire of All Knowledge to deliver some peppermint tea which his fellow Virtue loves, he had been hit with the shock of his life: Fount's study was covered in golden syrup in the form of failed magic circles, the source still sluggishly oozing from his fragile friend's arms. Stepping inside almost threw the Herald off kilter with the sweet aroma of a God's life jam.

He could never get the image of Fount's deep gashes out of his mind, especially when he knew it was Fount who did it to himself - and not for the first time, if those old scars are anything to go by. But why? In pursuit of knowledge? Or some external forces?

...Was it the Cookies?

The Herald more than anybody was aware of the change in perception towards them that Cookiekind recently adopted, yet he had been under the assumption that none would dare to be so arrogant as to demand more than a Virtue could give. He himself has been barely holding back from lashing out most times.

And Fount, their eldest, their bright Milky Way, has always been too generous, too dedicated to his role that sometimes he forgot that what he provides may not be what mortals can bear to comprehend.

The Herald's face scrunched up in anger, only softening at the slight flinch from his friend.

So what? To do.. this, to their noble Guide just because he spoke the truth? Because he was doing what he was meant to do?

"Does it hurt anywhere else? And be honest, Fount."

He looked down at the eyes in the Fount's hair, all of them alarmed and panicked, pupils pinpricks, likely conveying his true emotions. His companion gnawed on his lower lip, likely mentally weighing his options, before a long, rattling sigh was let out.

Burning Spice may accidentally hurt him, but Herald would sooner crumble himself than bruise his beloved ones' dough.

"Ches..t. Neck.." The blue Virtue rasped, grimacing as if telling the truth grated at him. His visitor frowned.

"Can I check to see if you've accidentally hurt yourself?" A stiff nod.

Wordlessly, the Herald went to unravel the blankets and helped him sit up. He removed Fount's top, maneuvering with great care around his injured arms, having to rip the fabric around his lock, and-

His breath hitched, fury starting to take over rationality.

At the center of Fount's chest, wide as two of Herald's fingers from right below his collar to his lower stomach was a pale fatal scar. And around his neck, a pale ring of indent as though his head had been cleaved off by a dull blade.

The Scholar followed his gaze, the eyes in his hair moving up to assist, his face scrunched up in confusion and then grimaced. Why would he be confused? Unless- no. No, it can't be. Fount can't have-

When he parted the Scholar's messy locks to check his back, the Herald felt his soul drop further into the blazes of wrath.

Light enough that the Herald knew he wouldn't accidentally crack the other, yet firm enough so he could reassure himself that his friend was still here, still alive, the Herald of Change held the Fount of Knowledge's tiny shoulders with his two large hands asked brokenly.

"Fount, who... who did this.. to you?.." 'Who killed you?' He didn't have the courage to ask.

Fount did not answer, gaze cast to the side. No matter how long Herald waited.

(How does one explain to his fellow God what would become of them once their usefulness comes to an inevitable end? How does one explain that their revered Creators would so willingly commit such cruelty upon them? That they were mere tools, props in the grand stage that served nothing but to bring Them entertainment?)

"Fine." The spicy Virtue huffed through gritted teeth, and Fount thought that that would be the end of it.

Until he found himself quickly swaddled in soft blankets.

He let out an indignant squawk as four of Herald's arms circled him in a secure hold, and soon the other was running out of his Spire with him in tow.

"Spice!" His nickname for the larger God slipped out in the panic. The Herald glanced down, and Fount was met with ironclad resolve.

"Don't worry, Milky Way, we won't let you go through this alone."

What is this brute even thinking about?! You're the ones who abandoned me!

That's how the Fount of Knowledge was kidnapped by his hot-headed fellow Virtue.

The news made headline in all surrounding towns. Mysteriously, the Founder of Blueberry Yoghurt Academy was reported missing around the same time, but thanks to his letter of vacation arriving days later, the situation was put to the side.

Far away, from major nations of East Yeast, three Virtues received emergency summons.

"Spicy! I came as fast as I could! Is everything alright- Milky?"

The Fount glared.

"Oh no! Something is wrong!"

"See?"

The Purveyor's four wings fluttered in worry as she swooped down to tenderly take Fount's cheeks into her hands. Her eldest friend was strangely cold to the touch despite all the blankets surrounding him. And his heart, oh how it horrified her to look: emotional cracks that didn't heal right, the edges jagged and raw, ripped open when healing has only just begun to set - he was in so much agony.

"Spicy, what happened to him?"

"I'm right here, Sugar." The Cookie in her hold grumbled, but didn't make a move to get out. The eyes in his hair -why hadn't she noticed that first?- were dripping as if crying, and his face didn't look any better, pale and gaunt and utterly drained. Her poor Milky, what had happened in the time they did not see one another? Did she miss something in his letters? Did she make it seem like she didn't care about his grievances?

"Oh Fount, my dear Milky Way..."

The Fount's brows pinched at the empathy pity, but he let her be, as she does not possess the memories he has. Any other Virtue, and they would have gone insane.

It's been so long since he's seen her full of life. A few hundred years from now, her boundless happiness would dwindle under relentless demands, and she would retreat into her Garden of Delights, hiding away from the world. They would turn their backs on him once they found out that he already knew but tried to deny what was right in front of him, too caught up in his own delusions. They would leave him all alone.

They would break him.

Yet, the Fount couldn't find it in himself to let go of them, desperately clinging onto the frayed ends of their relationship. The pathetic beast in him yearned for and craved their attention, their care.

They were the only ones as well as Pure Vanilla who understood.

"Sugar, come here."

The Purveyor perked up, her four wings fluffing in eagerness as she joined him on Herald's daybed. Crawling out of the blankets, thankfully redressed, the Fount laid his head on her thigh and just- melted. A long sigh, and his back starts to untense, knees curled on the side. He nuzzled into the hand still cupping his cheek, and the Purveyor would be so elated to bring comfort to her friend if she didn't feel the storm in his heart.

As the Fount's exhaustion caught up to him and his breaths slowly evened out, the Purveyor finally let go of her restraint. A tear slid down as she quietly asked her other companion, still hunched over their Scholar and tracing the scars around his neck.

"Who did this to him?"

The Herald couldn't answer, as he too did not know.

Chapter Text

Leaving the Pagoda of Dreams wasn't common for the Saintess of Volition, but for her friends she would do anything.

"Guard it well, my Haetae."

Her temple protectors barked in affirmation, their fluffy tails wagging.

"I know, I know. You always do. I appreciate what you do very much." The Saintess smiled, petting their curled manes. The guardians licked her hands before returning to their spots, eagerly waiting. "Then, I shall be back as soon as I am able."

Giving one last nod towards her guards, she began making her way down the flight of thousand steps. At times like this, she was relieved the Witches gave her the ability to float.

Travelling to the Spice Devasthanam would take at least a week with the distance between them, but Herald's letter conveyed utmost urgency, so she would need to think of another means of transportation than by carriage. Sometimes she wished he were more poised with his words and write down not just the bare basics, but, well, Fount needed them and who was she to argue?

The Saintess was already halfway down when a swirling blue portal appeared in front of her. She knew exactly who it belonged to - there was no Cookie on Earthbread more proficient at space-time magic than Fount.

A white rabbit poked its head out, motioning her inside.

Following it through the Other Realm along the path between willows, the Saintess took note of how.. gloomy and twisted it seems. The magnificent towers she was familiar with have distorted into something sinister, yet, despondent almost. The starlit sky he loved has contorted, darkness swirling, blinking eyes in the place of constellations. Scattered across the jade grass around the spire, Milkcrown Flowers sway abundant, growing on the tears of the Realm's master. It was chilling. It was concerning.

What.. what had become of her dear friend's mental state?

The more the Saintess wondered, the more she worried.

Too preoccupied by her thoughts, she did not realize that she has crossed realities until bright lights and vibrant colors replaced simmering shadows. Her eyelids clenched tightly, the Saintess frowned.

"Saintess, it's been a while."

Unmistakably, it was Fount's voice that greeted her.

"Fount." She replied softly, vision slowly adjusting. "How have you been? Herald mentioned you were not doing well." Not to take into account his frankly disturbing psychological health. She is a healer, the most powerful one at that, but matters of the mind evade her at times.

Her scholarly friend was situated on Herald's soft brocade carpet for entertaining guests, a tea set before him. His legs were tucked sideways, cream blue hooves peeking out of the flowy fabric, one hand propping himself upright, another putting down his cup of peppermint brew.

His appearance, far from his preferred perfection, was -to put it bluntly- a haggard mess. His magnificent hair had lost its luster, pooling like liquid at his back where eyes akin to those she had seen in his Other Realm blink blearily. Fount was not floating - said Cookie was always full of energy, flitting about with his endless pursuit for knowledge, to see him so still...

The Fount clicked his tongue, such action alone threw her off. Is she hallucinating? Is this truly their sweet, polite yet dramatic Fount?

Flicking his free hand in the air and conjuring some sparkles for extra effect, Fount grinned. His gaze remained empty. "Oh, but I simply can't be any better, dear Saintess! After all, there is no topping perfection." He sang with flourish, but his tone did not possess the usual enthusiasm, it nigh sounded forced. In fact, his everything was disquieting.

Despite not being frequent visitors of one another, the Saintess prides herself on her attention to detail.

"You don't need to pretend, Fount."

The Saintess floated over, kneeling down by his side. His hair bristled, why?

"What I simply meant is that you needn't overcompensate for our peace of mind, my friend. We care for you as you are, not for how much you do."

Her words only seemed to make him more agitated, reflected in the narrowed eyes on the underside of his hair. "Say that again when you have grown weary of your duties, and my Knowledge is no longer useful."

The Saintess' posture stiffened. Her eyes opened wide, dark orbs full of alarm as she regarded her friend. "Fount? Who planted these ideas in your head? Surely the Light of Knowledge-"

"Is a big stinking hypocrite!" He snarled, whirling around to look at her, his mismatched eyes full of aggression and betrayal, pupils slitted. "For what is the Truth when Cookies cannot accept it? What of Knowledge, when I am punished for sharing it? What of your generosity, when that's all you're allowed to be - a tool for others' greed?!" The Saintess was speechless. Fount.. he sounded so broken.

What he said.. it hit too close to home for comfort.

Many times, she had wondered if what she was doing was truly worth it. Giving, giving, always giving - fulfilling wishes, sating desires, and for what? Nothing, only more, more. Nothing, but a duty she was baked into. She had been so close, so close to letting it all go, to not care any longer.

But Herald's letter, and now Fount's predicament...

No. She has to hold on.

It's clear she's not alone in this.

"I feel the same. Surely if we ask the others, they would tell us something similar."

The Fount stilled, before resuming his staring out the terrace connected to Herald's room.

"I propose we talk about our experiences? I heard from some Cookies the quote 'shared sadness is half the sadness'-"

"And 'shared joy is double the joy'." Fount snorted, rolling his eyes. "Typical mortals. Saintess, you can't be considering that this would apply to us? We are Gods!"

The Saintess' face softened. "And we are Cookies all the same. We feel joy, sadness, pain, no matter our efforts to evade our emotions."

Her companion turned away. "Even if you have given up on everything?"

She nodded. "Even then. Especially then."

Fount was quiet for a few minutes, and she was content to let him ponder, a quirk to her lips when she noticed his extra eyes have calmed down.

Right on cue came a series of gentle knocks from the door, before it was callously thrown open and in walked Herald with Purveyor flying along.

"Fount! And Saintess, I see you've arrived! That was quick." The red Cookie bellowed heartily, his many arms maneuvering a package of what seems to be spoils of battles won. "Sorry I had to leave so urgently, a few tribes of mine were having a dispute. They've been getting more difficult to handle..." He trailed off, expression tight. All those present know what would happen next come a few decades.

"It's a natural cycle of change, Herald." The Purveyor rubbed his large shoulder. "You cannot help it."

"All those civilizations I nurtured with my own hands..." Herald muttered bitterly.

Fount put his cup down. "Just leave them, then."

Instantly, silence.

The Saintess' eyes had blown open once more as she looked at him like he had grown another head. Similarly, Purveyor's wings stopped flapping, making her flop ungracefully upon Herald's arms that had dropped his items to catch her. Before any of them could voice their thoughts, it was another that did in their stead.

"We beg your finest pardon?"

The four Virtues startled at the sudden arrival of their fifth.

Fount's face soured despite his best efforts at a poker face, hair floating up to writhe in irritation. How could he help it? Before him was the one that would be in cohorts with the Witches and betray them, betray him. Beast of Silence Knight of Solidarity, the first ruler of the Silver Faeries, the one who rounded them up and helped those blasted Witches seal them inside that damned Tree!

Even if the Knight had no memory of ever doing that, hurt ran deep within the Fount.

They had been the one he trusted the most.

"To betray the Witches, betray the very purpose baked into our dough... is a preposterous notion..." Their voice came out airy from the ivory helmet they had yet to remove.

Fount sniffed derisively, eyes at the bottom of his dark hair glaring. "What's more preposterous? Choosing ourselves over others for once in our miserable immortal lives, or stuck being puppets for their entertainment only to be cast aside when we have nothing left to offer?" They flinched, gripping their white cape with armored fingers. "Is that us being selfish, when Cookies only cared about how we as Virtues could benefit them? Face it, Knight, we have nothing but ourselves. Our Creators abandoned us long ago."

What is Knowledge to the Fount when the weight of it drowns him?

What is Happiness to the Purveyor when she herself could not grasp it?

What is Volition to the Saintess when even trying evades her will?

What is Change to the Herald for whom history repeated so many times?

What is Solidarity to the Knight whose family was slowly falling apart?

The rest of the Virtues went silent, contemplating.

Fount knows that they're not open to the thought of rebellion just yet, but with what they've been going through, and what he's sowed in their heads, it would only be a matter of time. He is the Fount of Knowledge, the Master of Deceit, he has always been the best at pushing buttons, see how others tick.

Despite everything, he hoped with all his soul that this life would be kinder on all of them.

He would make sure it does.

Chapter Text

As the Knight of Solidarity, their priority lies with their family - the four Virtues they were baked alongside. So it wasn't any surprise to the Silver Faerie royal knights that their chivalrous ruler would throw everything out the window upon word of their most trusted friend facing difficulty.

"Safe travels, your Majesty."

The Knight saluted their subjects as they rode their biscuit horse away, cape billowing in the wind, silvery wings flicking in unrest.

It would take days for even, Lux Blacksalt, their fastest and most loyalsteed, to reach Herald's territory, but luckily for the Knight, they have befriended some interesting individuals in their long life of serving the Witches, which included-

"Thisss favor you wisssh to call upon... isss but a mere ride acrosss the continent?!" An offended hiss.

-Dragons.

"Affirmative." They nodded, letting their horse run back down the mountains. "Thank you for accepting my summon, great Pitaya Dragon."

The red behemoth growled in displeasure. "Thisss doesssn't count."

"It does. The Virtues are very important to me."

Pitaya Dragon snorted. "I do not underssstand you, Artifisscial Exssissstancsse, but with thisss, my debt isss repaid."

"Naturally." The Knight carefully climbed upon their acquaintance's armored neck, grasping at their scarlet mane dotted with black gems. "Please be quick."

Pitaya Dragon let out a boisterous laugh. "Who do you take me for?! Try to keep thossse flimsssy flappersss of yoursss, Knight!"

With a powerful downward thrust of their leathery wings, gusts picked up, clouds parted. Soon, the Dragon took off from the peaks, their silhouette but a blur in the brightening dawn.

Now the Knight sat among their comrades, their worldview crashing down within the confines of their mind. Their ivory helmet was set aside, forgotten, as they digested the Fount's words.

What he suggested.. they couldn't fully accept. Loyalty was baked into their dough, as was devotion; they cannot stand to oppose the Witches, their own Creators!

'Let us wait out this temporary plight', they wanted to rationalize.

But time has already passed, and at the sight of Fount losing himself, of Herald's never-ending dilemma, of Purveyor's spark dying, of Saintess' increasingly weary gaze, of their bonds slowly falling apart...

"The Witches abandoned us long ago." The Fount -cheerful, passionate Fount with starlight in his eyes that had now gone cold- repeated, his voice empty, resigned, acidic. "We were never cherished masterpieces, merely flawed experiments to become stepping stones for a greater play." Hysteria coloring his tone, the holder of Knowledge let out an unhinged bout of laughter. "We're going to fall from grace. We're going to go mad, devastate civilizations. They won't answer my prayers. They're gonna lock us up, take our Soul Jams, replace us like nothing. The Cookies we so cherished, oh those ungrateful gnats, they're going forget about all our heroic deeds and paint us mere beasts. Our long history of leading Cookiekind to greatness will be but void. They're going to seal us inside...-ounsands..-rs..." Fount hunched over, grin painfully wide, all visible eyes blown and manic as he rambled on. His shoulders shake as if reliving a particularly nasty memory, hands coming up to grip them so tight that claws near punctured the fabric protecting his dough.

An uncomfortable moment went by, the four Virtues darting their eyes between one another in alarm. Both for Fount's condition, and for their future foretold by their eldest. Their once steadfast faith in their Creators burned within the festering flames of their building resentment.

The Fount was able to tap into his precognitive abilities at the cost of astronomical magic power, for he alone wielded all of knowledge within his mind. Many times they have tried to convince him to share his foretelling, but Fount remained adamant in keeping it untold. They had thought that he wished to bar them from trying to meddle with the intricacies of Time, but they were sorely mistaken.

He had kept it from them to the end, until everything has come to light and the Virtues have lost all reasoning. He had tried to fix things alone, waiting, begging for the good graces of the Witches, to save them - his family.

He was done begging.

"All these eons.. you've been holding that inside?" The Purveyor's expression fell, tears streaming down her face. "Milky Way..."

"What you said earlier.. about me giving up on everything...even emotions... Oh..." The Saintess' hands covered her quivering lips, realization setting in.

The Knight stared open-mouthed, stunned and so incredibly upset their glimmering wings buzzed in anger.

The Herald inhaled sharply through his tusks as he grabbed a pillow, smushed it against his face, and screamed a barely muffled "DAMN THE WITCHES!!"

Fount's shivering form tensed. Slowly, cautiously, like a cornered animal, he looked up to meet their gazes. "You.. what?.." His voice cracked, full of wary hope. "You don't..?" Their poor Fount, having to carry this burden all by himself, fearing that they would hate him. For how long had his truths been doubted that he began deceiving himself to this extent?

"I.." The Knight bit their lip, choosing their words. "I am with you." This is final. Their choice. They chose the only family they had, come what may. They are Solidarity! How could they have overlooked this? The Virtues matter to them no less than their own Knights Order!

From the one who put the Witches above all, it left the Fount baffled. With their firm statement, the Virtues gained more confidence.

"We believe you, Fount." The Saintess reached out to take their claws in hers. "You are our eldest, all you have ever done is for our benefit. I'm glad you opened up to us. You must have been so scared."

"No.. No! I- I'm not!" Despite himself, the Fount whimpered. He hunched forward, only finding his form embraced in the loving arms of the Purveyor. "Release me at once! Don't you realize?! I'm selfish!" Snarling, trying to save his pride, the Fount clawed at the white fabric of her sleeves. "I kept this from you for thousands of years! I LIED to you! I let you SUFFER! How could- how could you still..."

Herald scratched at his thick hair. "While it was a hard pill to swallow.. Fount, you do realize that you are suffering through this as well, right?" At his friend's tensed posture ready to argue, the large Cookie bulldozed through. "You prayed to the Witches, was what you said. You only do that when you yourself cannot solve a problem. That meant you care. You tried. Wasn't that enough?"

Something in the Fount seemed to overflow - his body coiled tighter against the Purveyor's stomach, more vulnerable than they had ever seen of him in all their years of being alive.

This was truly happening.

Their illusion has shattered, and there was no going back.

"No longer can we consider this a personal matter, when it is clear Cookiekind will be caught in the crossfire." The Saintess rubbed her temples, now starkly aware of her declining psyche and fearing more than ever. "Going on as we have been will only bring us to ruin. As Fount proposed, we shall abdicate our positions post-haste."

"Agreed." Said the Knight.

"Yeah, retirement was long overdue." The Herald flopped on his back, groaning. "I am sick of this place."

"I.. wish to focus on my own happiness, as well." The Purveyor's smile dropped, energy depleted.

The Fount let out a long sigh, emotionally drained from their rollercoaster of a conversation. He did not tell them everything, of course, but the fact that they knew so much and still stood by his side...

He shoved the thought away. The greatest playwright in all of Earthbread must not be held down by past events!

"It is a normal thing to regret, Shadow Milk. The fact that you are still gripped by guilt for what you had done to me... shows you have changed."

"Silly Nilly, you should get that senile head of yours checked! I, the Great Beast of Deceit, am simply incapable of mortal weaknesses such as guilt!"

"Mm." Pure Vanilla hummed, carressing his own Soul Jam with a knowing smile. "If you say so, Bluebird."

Things would not be so easy. The Witches are cruel and unreasonable. Just thinking about The Tree brought about a wave of revulsion in him.

At the very least, this time they would not succumb to their own insanity.

Though he missed the thrill and rush that power gave, he found he missed his lucid mind more.

Chapter Text

It started with the trivial things.

Gestures that, although to Shadow Milk meant nothing more than gloating and mockery, little by little chipped away at Truthless Recluse's thick walls - walls set in place because of said Beast.

Pure Vanilla was aware that he should hate the Beast, for all the psychological and physical torture said Cookie put him as well as the kids through. And he did, he loathed Shadow Milk with every cumulation of his being, more than he had thought himself capable of.

Sometimes, he even guiltily wished that Shadow Milk never existed.

He had fallen to his lowest, had lost all hope, despised his own helplessness. He had let the twisted memories get the better of him, had indulged in self-destructive tendencies to escape his warped reality. He had given up on himself, on Cookiekind.

He had awaited his crumbling at the hands of his counterpart.

But Shadow Milk defied expectations.

Experiencing the Beast's twisted obsession first-hand, not with the Soul Jam but with Truthless Recluse -with Pure Vanilla- as a Cookie, his worldview tilted.

Shadow Milk was not kind, no. Not in the conventional sense, not in a way unexpected of a fallen God. But there are scarce moments. Moments where the Master of Deceit was.. cordial; where he was generous, and his touches on the Recluse's dough were not harsh and bruising but featherily, adoring almost; where his malicious gaze seemed to brighten upon the Recluse as though beholding starlight itself, and his Cheshire grin slowly gained a sliver of genuine joy.

Shadow Milk was not soft, nor nice. He was bark and bite; cruel and unsympathetic; greedy and stubborn. Selfish to an unimaginable degree.

Despite all that, he was still capable of caring.

He could still change.

The moment their Soul Jams merged, became one whilst separate, Truthless Recluse met the Light of Knowledge - beyond it, a buried fragment of a miserable soul. From there, he made his choice.

Yet Witches, his body ached. So much so that even standing after what he went through inside the Soul Jam of Knowledge was enough a feat. He wondered how the Beast even functioned at all if that was his constant state of being. Or maybe he doesn't - he floats all the time.

"Meet the other Cookie of Deceit." Shadow Milk had declared to his followers, glee in his voice. "Pure Vanilla Cookie!" And then went on a megalomaniacal tangent.

Truthless' smile twitched.

He would not make the same mistake the Fount Shadow Milk did.

("We share the same Soul Jam. We can understand each other like no one else can. You don't have to be lonely... I'm right here." Pure Vanilla welcomed the Master of Deceit with open arms. "Please. Let me be your... friend."

Betrayal marred the Beast's face, his hair twisting and dripping, eyes distorted - pupils a kaleidoscope.  Pure Vanilla's conscience gnawed at him.

"Friend?" For the briefest of moments, Shadow Milk's voice was small, hopeful. And then, like a gummy band snapping, his expression contorted into seething rage. His form bristling, the Beast snapped.

"CURSE YOU!!! You know NOTHING! You ARE NOTHING!"

Despite the anger he desperately tried to portray, hurt ultimately clawed its way into his voice. The eyes in his hair gained a glassy visage as though tears had blurred them over. Through their fresh connection, Shadow Milk's vulnerability burned.

"I HATE you! You and YOUR Soul Jam!" Even now, he tried to lie to himself. "I will DESTROY YOU!"

Pure Vanilla's heart bled for him.)

The battle was won.

Shadow Milk and his helpers have disappeared, and the Spire, without its master, collapsed.

But from that point on, after returning safely to the Cookie Kingdom, against better judgment, not a day goes by that Pure Vanilla doesn't miss the invasive presence of Shadow Milk. Perhaps from his time at the Spire, he had gone mad.

Somewhere in his heart, he wished that Shadow Milk would come around and accept his offered friendship.

The Beast was so very lonely.

Then, a miracle!

A few months go by, Pure Vanilla started feeling eyes follow him. He could not accurately describe how ecstatic he was to spot in the corners of his vision those blue slitted eyes shrouded by shadows. The Beast made no move to leave his hiding, only observing, so Pure Vanilla did not call to him - it felt like coaxing a feral loafykin, he thought with amusement.

One day, when he was not swamped with work and Pure Vanilla was out in the garden tending to his animal friends, he was beheld a sight nigh unimaginable.

A blueberry bird flew down to perch on his shoulder. That, in itself, was not strange. What made him smile, however, was its appearance. No matter how hard it tried, it could never hide the colors that made up its eyes. And those eyes, intelligent, scrutinizing, regarded him with a cautious sort of dare. Faint magic thrummed through their bond, finally strong enough to reach one another.

"Hello, Bluebird. How are you?" He asked.

The bird's face seemed to scrunch up incredulously, probably asking itself why he was even bothering to talk to a bird in the first place. Amusement welled up in him.

"It's been quiet these days, peaceful." Pure Vanilla hummed, hands tracing a vanilla flower, wishing for a milkcrown to accompany it. "I wonder how Shadow Milk is faring." The bird fluffed up, startled. "He wasn't in the best condition when he left, I'm worried for him. You see, he doesn't like to acknowledge it when he's in pain."

The bird tweeted, as if scoffing. Pure Vanilla could almost hear a disdainful remark about 'whose fault that was'. Still, he teased the disguised Beast further.

"Hmm. You may be right. I should visit him. See how he and his children are holding up. I wish to offer them sanctuary within my Kingdom, but only if they accept, of course." The bird made a face, somehow. "That reminds me.. the others only know of Shadow Milk's defeat. How should I break this news to them? I reckon they'd be against it... Yet, as it may, I genuinely stand by my beliefs. Shadow Milk would be welcomed here."

The bird flew off. Confusion, doubt, anger and conflict roiled within Pure Vanilla from the other end of his Soul Jam.

It's a long process, he reasoned to himself.

Just like that, a year went by.

"Look who's here." A voice so familiar made Pure Vanilla's head snapped up, forgetting the fact that he had left his staff somewhere, thus unable to see clearly. "Foolish little King, you left a big bad Beast alive. Ready to pay the price for your incompetence?" The way he talks, it's as though nothing has changed, but everything has.

"Shadow Milk Cookie." Pure Vanilla breathed out, smiling.

"What's with that face? Urgh, disgusting!" Shadow Milk gagged, but the connection thrummed with hesitant joy. Pure Vanilla considered telling the Beast that his lies no longer worked, but decided against it. He selfishly wanted to be the only receiver of the Master of Deceit's authentic feelings a bit longer.

"I missed you so much."

Surprise, suspicion. The Beast circled him, a blur of blue, white and black in his smudged sight. "And I don't. Silly, silly Vanilly, look how I've broken you, to the point that you'd delude yourself into thinking you could 'redeem' me! ME! A wretched Beast who's toppled kingdoms with mere words! Oh, Pure Vanilla Cookie, you make me laugh!"

"I suppose so." Just by the abrupt jolt, Pure Vanilla could see how thrown off Shadow Milk was at his confirmation. "But it doesn't hurt to hope, no?"

There was a beat of tense silence. "Imprudent gnat." Shadow Milk spat quietly. Through their bond, Pure Vanilla bit his lip from the fresh wave of distress. He forgot..

Pure Vanilla reached out a hand, it was slapped away. "..I'm sorry, Shadow Milk Cookie."

"And what for? Stealing MY Soul Jam? Lying to the ultimate liar?" His opposite drawled, masking the tightness of his voice. If only he had his Beholder. He wished to see Shadow Milk, all of his animate body language, all of his complicated expressions.

"For collapsing your Spire." Well, it wasn't a lie, just truthful enough so that he could redirect Shadow Milk's wariness. "Do you have anywhere to go?"

"Whaaat? Of course I do! I am the mighty Beast of Deceit, my magical prowess unparalleled, influence infinite! My domain spans the whole of Earthbread, everywhere the shadow touches-"

"The Other Realm remains unstable, I believe you know better than to recklessly access it at present. It would be very unsafe for you, and your.. kids." Pure Vanilla frowns. "Since you are here, is it perhaps you have considered-"

"They're not my kids!" Shadow Milk grasped the front of his robes, snarling. "I am NOT here to play house with you and those pitiful Cookies, Pure Vanilla. I am here for MY Soul Jam. With it, every problem I ever had will be solved! In fact, I could just take it, right here, right now!"

Saying that, his hands did not wander. He made nary a move to snatch the defenseless brooch as Pure Vanilla made no move to resist. All the King could feel from their bond was a desperation to cover his own 'weakness', and bubbling resentment.

He stood firm. "I will help you, Shadow Milk Cookie, but I refuse to give you the Soul Jam."

Pure Vanilla stumbled as Shadow Milk pushed him away, Soul Jam still very much untouched. "ARRGH! Consider yourself lucky it's stuck to you like glue! Traitorous thing, that hypocrite!" The blurry form of the Beast contorted, shrinking, until he was as small as a blueberry bird. "By all means, Pure Vanilla Cookie, deceive yourself with that savior complex of yours. You will find that not everyone can be 'saved'."

He was alone in the garden once more.

Chapter Text

Shadow Milk fell to his knees as soon as the portal closed, breathing heavily while clutching at his chest. Everything hurts.

That filthy liar. Liar liar liar-

SHUT UP!

"Master Shadow Milk Cookie!" His two minions hurriedly went to help him up, fretting over the state of his body as if he were something fragile to be looked after. He should crumble them for the disrespect. Why hadn't he, after thousands of years?

You have become weak.

Coward.

"Curse that goody-goody gnat..." Shadow Milk rasped, head spinning. He couldn't remember a time before the Tree where he was this weak.

"Master Shadow Milk Cookie." Black Sapphire frowned, maneuvering the Beast over his back with Candy Apple's frantic assistance. "I get that you need the Soul Jam back, but to strain yourself every month while you've barely recovered a portion of your magic, not to mention shapeshifting of such freqency-!"

"Silence your blathering, Black Sapphire, if you know what's good for you." He was not in the mood for more yapping. Since coming back together, the Light of Deceit has been growing more and more incessant. And as he thought of the devil, its words rang more prominent.

Leave them. Crumble them. They will betray you. They will leave you.

Irredeemable monster. You deserve this.

Pay your consequences.

You did this to yourself-

"SHUT UP!!" A yowl left the enraged Beast. "Shut up shut up sHUT UP!!" 

His oldest minion wisely did not comment further, tentatively setting his master down on a bundle of torn blankets that used to be his own.

Candy Apple watched the two of them, for once timidly keeping to herself away from her master's ire as they made their way back to a hidden passage under the Spire where they've been.. well, managing.

The other creatures of deceit have either fled into nearby forests, towns, been trapped in the Other Realm's new hostile climate, or crushed under the weight of the Spire. At the very least, they were quite lucky to have escaped when they did.

How pitiful.

"Hello, Bluebird. Have you been well?"

"Cut the pleasantries, Pure Vanilla." The blueberry bird perched upon a branch deadpanned.

"Oh, but I am only being polite." Infuriatingly, the King didn't bat an eye, only lifting a finger to try and pet said bird - for which he was pecked. "So, have you yet considered my proposition?" His smile remained dazzling.

With flourish, his little spherical companion's size grew exponentially, dough stretching and changing colors in a mesmerizingly morbid show before his Beholder. Floating slightly above the grass was Shadow Milk, mismatched eyes twinkling in mischief with a twinge of tiredness to them. Oh how Pure Vanilla wished to cup those thin cheeks in his hands and rub that weariness away.

"Weeeell, since you insist on bringing that up every single time..." The Beast sang with a mocking lilt. "Then fi~ne! I, the glo~rious Beast of Deceit, shall grant you the highest of honors of hosting me and my loyal minions! Though I doubt you could outdo moi, seeing as your tacky little kingdom leaves much to be desired. For example.." A sharp grin stretches taut the Beast's face as he leaned menacingly close - enough so that Pure Vanilla could trace the starry freckles across his cheeks, "..a teensy, tiny pinch of chaos."

"No." Pure Vanilla smiled, rebutting easily.

His Other Half's face became a deadpan in a snap, eyes half-lidded in almost disdain. Shadow Milk clicked his tongue, and Pure Vanilla's Orchid Beholder was drawn to the azure forked appendage disappearing beneath cerulean lips. His grip on the staff tightened.

"Oh come oooon! Have you no concept of 'fun', you senile bag of crumbs?" Floating languidly in circles around Pure Vanilla again, like the many times during their secret 'meetups', Shadow Milk scoffed. He's trying to rile Pure Vanilla up so that he snaps, the King knows, to cover his insecurities with defensive hostility - it's just sad.

"I do like having fun, on the contrary." Pure Vanilla kept smiling patiently. "I just don't enjoy hurting others. So I must ask you to refrain, if you and your children are to take temporary refuge." His brows drooped slightly. "..Unless you have somewhere else to go?"

"They're NOT my children!" Sharp teeth biting the inside of his lips, Shadow Milk levelled him a nasty glare, inching closer and closer. "And don't expect me to bow to your whims, Pure Vanilla. This cheap trickery of.. urgh, 'sympathy' will not fool me a second time. Have you forgotten what I am capable of? What I had done to you, Truthless Recluse?" A wide, manic grin stretched across pale blue face, hair floating up like living shades, the Beast's one hand -like mocking gentleness- caressed Pure Vanilla's cheeks while the other thumbed the Soul Jam making a shiver run through him, then both snaked around his neck bringing with them sharp stings. "Sooner or later, you will show your true motives, as all are to inevitably do before me. You will reach your wit's end and lock me up again. I know your kind of hypocrites. Saintly? Just? What a joke." His voice came out almost a growl, eyes in his hair a little bit crazed. "You cannot 'fix' what is shattered."

The King shook his head calmly, holding himself back from taking ahold of those trembling claws digging into his neck even as his dough became cold from phantom terror and he subconsciously trembled. Shadow Milk, realizing what he has been doing once more, yanked himself back hissing, extra eyes wide in alarm. Before the Beast could spiral further in his dark thoughts, Pure Vanilla cut in. "I don't wish for obedience, Shadow Milk Cookie, you know that. My only want is for you all to be safe, and.. truly happy. You need only strive for change, I promise, I will never let the other Ancients do anything to you - for I cannot return to an eternity without you by my side."

Something vulnerable flickered in the depths of his façade and was smothered just as quickly, the Beast jolted back as if it burned him being seen. "What delusions. Maybe falling off a tower has popped a few gears." Sneering, Shadow Milk opened a portal. For once, Pure Vanilla whished to see what was on the other side. "You will come to regret those naïve words." Regrettably, his lithe figure disappeared into the writhing dark ripple between realities.

"I won't." Pure Vanilla's voice carried in the garden, unheard by all but himself.

Just like many other times, Shadow Milk came unannounced, like a party popper one knows was there but not when would go off.

"Stand down."

This time, though, was different.

"We've come to a.. compromise."

Pure Vanilla could count on his one hand the number of times he's heard the jester so serious. Black Sapphire and Candy Apple reluctantly backed off, glowering at the vanillian King still.

Hope bloomed in him like a field of sunflowers.

Coaxing Shadow Milk into accepting help with no ulterior motives was.. difficult.

Like a cornered cakehound, the Beast kept him at staff's length at all times during their stay, Black Sapphire and Candy Apple following their master's example. Shadow Milk would lurk in the shadows of the castle, sowing deceit and chaos upon mortal Cookies, and when caught, he would admit to it with too much zeal - as if daring, testing him.

Pure Vanilla had to put his foot down.

In a rare instance where both kids were preoccupied with 'tasks' given by their master, he requested a talk with the Beast, alone. No amount of Black Raisin's disapproval would dissuade him.

The King frowned, stepping around his desk to receive the other as his equal.

"Stop messing with the Keepers, Shadow Milk Cookie. This is the fourth time this week that Herb Cookie has reported strange, cookievorous floras in the garden, not to mention to servants are becoming increasingly anxious over horrifying creatures in the night."

Shadow Milk hummed, head tilted at an odd angle, grin fixed and eyes wide. "So you're kicking us out? Oh, I knew it! Hooo, the 'saintly' Pure Vanilla Cookie, running out of patience! What an achievement I've made, hmm?"

"Please don't twist my words, Shadow Milk Cookie." Pure Vanilla sighed. He made a point by squinting his Beholder disgruntledly. "I do not wish to cast you out. If you wanted my assistance, you need only ask... But perhaps the fault lies with me as well - I have overlooked a simple fact."

It is clear that Shadow Milk had no idea how to navigate in an Earthbread he no longer knew, in a life stolen from him, on a stage where he was no longer playwright. He would rather lash out, to comfort himself in his own blanket of lies.

"Let us go out to town, Bluebird."

The vanillian King extended a hand. Just like that day.

He could feel Shadow Milk's apprehension and distress through their bond - already given away bt the eyes in his hair.

"Out? Your tacky kingdom?? Me? Helloooo? Are you blind?? Oh, wait." The Beast scoffed, floating further away. "I don't think your little subjects would take well to the Master of Deceit, murderer of civilizations hanging around their 'oh so heroic' King. Best abandon the thought."

Pure Vanilla cringed at the wording, but steeled himself. "They can think what they will. It doesn't erase the fact that you three are now under my protection. One day, you, Black Sapphire Cookie and Candy Apple Cookie will be able to walk the streets like any other Cookie, to enjoy life the magical way that mortals perceive."

"Eaugh." Shadow Milk's face scrunched up. "Sounds absolutely abhorrent!"

The King merely smiled, his hand still yet retracted. "You won't know until you try, Bluebird."

"Uhm, excuse you?! I was the Fount of Knowledge, the all-knowing Sorcerer! I do not do 'try', I simply do! Why would I need to lower myself to the likes of those mortals..." And he continued on yammering, oblivious to the other Cookie's growing sadness.

Those words... they carry more weight and pain than one would ever realize. Shadow Milk's declaration was not bragging, not when his tone was hysteria glazed in false bravado. Pure Vanilla's expression dimmed, yet he fought to keep the smile.

"Still, won't you humor this old fool?"

Eyeing the offered palm, Shadow Milk groaned. "Fine, you insufferable gnat. Once! And never again."

Chapter Text

The Moon was full tonight.

Sometimes, he forgets that she was the Goddess of Nature who bestowed him her magic - memories before his Fall blurred together, trapped in his own spiraling madness.

Last he remembered, Silent Salt had cut her in half.

"..unt... Fount!"

The Virtue of Knowledge jolted in his spot, hair raised like a startled loafykin. Whirling around, claws rigid and ready, he was met with the Purveyor's crestfallen face. He didn't hear her approaching, didn't feel her presence in his Spire, preoccupied by memories he'd been working to sort out to steer them from their destined doom. The silence in his mind was so foreign and unnerving, he still wasn't used to it, as if he was only finally hearing his own thoughts after all this time.

"Darling.. are you alright?" Her voice was soft, careful. Magenta eyes landed on the bandages around his exposed wrists, spotted in gold, and only became impossibly sadder.

Pulling back his sleeves, Fount's nose scrunched. Stars, he felt like curdled dairy. "Don't treat me like porcelain, Sugar. Besides, don't you have your Garden to return to?"

His friend pursed her lips, lower bat-like wings curling. Fount's sudden snappishness made sense now, looking back - she should be happy that he had stopped acting, instead her heart broke for him. They all have been suffering in silence. "You don't need to be 'fragile' for us to worry. We are, what mortals call, family. I care for you, Fount. We care for you, as we do one another. I can inform my denizens another day, as can you." She flew to his side, gazing up at the stars.

A long sigh left the bearer of Knowledge after a while. "..It will be difficult, escaping the Witches."

The Purveyor let out a weary chuckle. "I would be surprised if not." She faced him. "How might it turn out? Might there be negotiations? Light punishments, perhaps?"

Silence.

"...I see..." Her expression fell. "What you have already told us." The bringer of Happiness hunches over, face obscured in her palms as she leaned against the intricate railing Fount's observatory, hysteria coloring her laughter. "How unfair. How cruel. Even when we have agreed on peaceful abdication, they would still find ways to condemn us." Her mask of positivity cracks, emotions of bitterness and anger she had tried to suppress come trickling out.

The Fount looked down below where Cookies are deep in their slumber within gingerbread houses, giving her the illusion of privacy. All he can see are angry mobs with weapons raised, forsaking his harsh truths for ignorance, calling him a liar, demanding his head. If he closes his eyes, he can feel the guillotine looming above his neck.

But he was not that Fount, he shan't make the same mistakes. Fount had died that day, pathetic, disgraced. His head rolled, ichor spilt, reborn into a resentful, jam-thirsty, tyrannical Beast.

A Beast that had died for another.

"I won't let that happen."

Sniffling, the Purveyor lifted her head.

Fount's gaze met hers, something fierce and desperate burning beneath its dark depths - a strange viciousness that slithered under her feathers and made her dough crawl. "Never again."

(The Fount was giving, generous; duty-bound to ensure the interest of Cookiekind. His everything belonged to others. He knew not what he desired.

Now?

All he has ever been is greedy.)

Returning to her Garden of Delights, her Sugar Angels welcomed the Purveyor extravagantly.

But all she feels is a gnawing emptiness, a kind of heaviness in her limbs that has only been recently acknowledged, a desire to lay down and sleep for all of eternity which she knew wasn't healthy.

"My Lady, are you alright?"

She needn't lift her face from her cotton candy cloud pillow to know who it is.

"..Am I selfish for not wanting to grant happiness all the time, Pavvie?.." Her voice came out muffled.

Pavlova Cookie, the youngest of her beloved Cupids, started to preen her wing feathers. "I'd say it was long overdue, My Lady. I dared not tell you before, but you always looked kind of.. despondent." The Virtue bit her lower lip - it had been that obvious, huh... "May I ask what finally enlightened you?"

Burying her face into the plush of her bed, the Purveyor confessed quietly, "A conversation with my dearest friends." Even if Fount's audacious declaration concerned her greatly, she still sees his twisted love for them - he promised to save them.

Her helper hummed, agreeing.

Upper wings neatly brushed of stray feathers and lower wings cleaned of dust from her journey, the Purveyor finally looked up. "Pavvie, what would you and my dear angels think about an indefinite break from this all? And be honest, please."

His hand paused whilst tending to her hair. "I personally don't mind. My siblings would most likely be hesitant, after all, this is the only life they knew - though I'm sure that is precisely your point." It is. "You wish to close the Garden off?"

A nod.

"I will inform them then."

"...Thank you, Pavvie. You're the best."

"Think nothing of it, My Lady. As I mentioned, it was long overdue."

The Knight of Solidarity returned to Faeriewood in silence.

"My Liege, what is the ma-"

Magic slammed heavy doors shut.

Pulling their helm off with a violent tug, they threw it across their office where it hit the wall with a loud 'bang'. It must have broken, but they could care less.

The Knight was conflicted.

Thousands of years of servitude by the grace of the Witches, they had been content. They had been faithful, loyal, reverent. They had thought their friends were the same. After all, their subjects are happy, and they are only fulfilling their roles as protectors.

Fount's admission, and the much-needed subsequent conversation afterwards, shattered that belief.

Their comrades are breaking -have been for many eons now- under the pressure imposed upon them by Cookiekind, resolve chipped away under relentless demands and ungratefulness. As the Virtue of Solidarity, it is their greatest remiss to not have seen, to have been ignorant to the plights of their closest companions. Oh, the Knight knew they have been distancing from one another, but not why. Had the five of them continued on with their current paths, according to their eldest's precognition, it will have spelled calamity for the whole of Earthbread.

What protector, what knight they are.

Slumping down against their desk, the Knight interlaced their fingers over their eyes as they take a deep breath to calm the storm that is their mind. Yet another detail nagged at them. While not the most observant of the group, they were not oblivious.

How could they shake off the betrayal and loathing directed at them in Fount's gaze?

The Virtues would become monsters, Beasts, and the Knight would stand against them, against their brothers and sisters, their comrades, their family, for Creators who had long abandoned them - a bastardization of their own Solidarity.

Just thinking about it made the Knight nauseous.

Getting angry at Fount's secrecy now won't solve anything, he has already come clean, the guilt had eaten him alive. Going forward, they all must work together and devise a plan that would save everyone's future, as well as ensure their freedom as Cookies and not Virtues.

The Knight's wings twitched.

Things should progress more positively than what Fount predicted.

So why do they have a horrible feeling still?

The Pagoda of Dreams no longer fulfilled desires.

She had been surprised how eagerly she had ordered for word to be spread.

Being the Saintess of Volition, her patience is, well, saintly. She could have afforded to wait, after all, what is but one more week to an ageless immortal? Yet-, joy, relief, fear and anxiety churned in her soul like a cacophony, shattering the budding apathy she has only started to embrace as she watched the pagoda gates groan to a close, her Haetae pack whimpering in worry beside her.

She had almost lost herself, if not for what she was beholden.

"Things will get better." The Saintess told her guard lions. "They will. They must." She has to believe those words.

They can't be destined to meet such desolate ends.

Letting go of all the civilizations he's created and nurtured with his own hands is a heartbreaking notion, but in the back of his mind, there's always been a nagging voice that kept whispering.

You've long grown sick of it.

They rise and they fall.

Everything crumbles, everything ends.

Why not give up?

And this time, nothing he could think of is enough to refute it.

His duty -theirs- was thankless, endless, repetitive, numbing; for the longest time he had thought that he only needed to suck it up, to stop being so emotional and negative, to be unbothered like Saintess, happy like Purveyor, mature like Fount, and responsible like Knight.

But he was wrong. All of them were. In trying to emulate one another and not communicating, they had ignored themselves.

The freeing sensation of finally being heard, being understood was a euphoria like no other.

For the first time, anger didn't well up in him. For the first time, he looked forward to another day.

"Myristica Tiger Cookie!" He called loudly, voice echoing his temple. In less than a minute, something large barrelled through his throne room doors - one of the first Chimera Cookies of his own making, the loyal cub he raised with all six hands.

"Yes, Sire?!" She saluted, crimson eyes wide and alert.

Tossing a bunch of cinnamon bark letters at her direction, the Herald held in laughter as his retainer floundered. "Ehem! Please deliver these to all Tribes within the territory by three days, you may seek help from anyone you deem fit."

Saluting, the chimera turned to leave.

"Myristica Tiger Cookie, wait!" Ouch, came out a bit too panicked there.

She halted, whirling at attention. At the intensity of her stare, the Herald faltered, which she was quick to catch on. Her face softened into an expression more fitting of a close aide. "What is it you need, Sire?"

Her lord looked away briefly, before meeting her eyes. "What would you do.. were I to abandon my post and live as an ordinary Cookie?"

Myristica Tiger froze. She observed her leader with critical eyes. He seemed.. firm, hopeful, yet hesitant. His brows pinched together, lips curled, indicating his worry that she has always been able to read.

For a moment, silence reigned.

Then..

"I will think on my answer, Sire."

"..Please do."

Chapter Text

In truth, the Fount had not been certain of the future as he had implied to the Purveyor.

He was drained of magic, has only barely begun to recover after those first tiring.. days, and not mentally sound enough to hold but another set of memories yet to happen. It was not lying, if she came to the conclusion herself.

"Haaaahh... Dammit." Is he heading down the same path all over again?

The bearer of Knowledge flopped over a jellybean bag left for him by Purveyor, forearm over his eyes. The bandages itch, but they do their job stopping him from scratching his scabs raw, so pointers for Herald.

"What am I doing, wallowing like a young Cookie... I should be thinking about Mysti- about Saintess' self-imposed isolation." Clawed fingers pinched the bridge of his nose. "Those blasted Cookies would have attacked her with or without incentive! I only moved the events forward a tad, I'm not the one at fault!"

It is your fault.

"Bluebird, what you did was horrible." A frown on that unfairly handsome face, and Shadow Milk pathetically yielded. "You could have showed her differently."

"Right. Who am I fooling?" The Fount groaned. "It is absolutely my fault." Then, his eyes snapped open, digesting what had just been said out loud. Turning on his front, he smushed his face against the plush seat and let out a scream. "DAMN YOU PURE VANILLA AND YOUR STUPIDLY CANDID IDEALS! GUILT AND REMORSE ARE BENEATH ME, THE ALL-POWERFUL BEAST OF DECEIT, BUT YOU!! WHY AM I NOT FREE OF YOU AND YOUR-!! YOUR-! AAAARRRGHHHHHHHH!!!!!!"

The Spire of All Knowledge shook in response to its master's emotional instability. If anyone were to see the Fount now -yelling into his pink jellybean bag, claws digging into velvety fabric, hooves kicking the air, hair thrashing wild with crying eyes dripping everywhere- they would think that he had gone off the rails from all that accumulated knowledge. They would not be wrong, except the Fount had lost his sanity so very long ago. 

But his body was weak, has always been the weakest of the five Virtues in exchange for immense magical prowess along with endless memory, and so Fount tired himself out quite quickly. Breaths heavy, the Cookie propped his chin up by his wrists.

"Forget about that insufferable weakling. Gotta check in on my.. friends." That's what they considered 'him', at least. They haven't realized that their Fount is no more.

Summoning his crystal ball, the Fount held it to eye level. It takes more effort to See what his fellow Virtues are up to than with ordinary Cookies. Feeding magic into the sphere...

The Fount scampered from his rest, pain forgotten replaced by panic. He barely noticed the crystal ball shattering loudly against marble where he let it fall, ears filled with static mix in by his own curses tumbling through gnashing teeth as he gracelessly raked and tore a rift from the fabric of reality. Dashing across realms, he didn't care about who was on the other side. He could set aside his grudges if it meant never having to be near that forsaken Tree again.

"SALT! THEY'RE IN TROUBLE!"

Gauntlets slamming against wood, the Knight sharply rose from their seat at the head of the large table, much to the astonishment of the Elders.

"My Liege, we are not done discussing your abdication-"

"Elder Adoxa Cookie." The Knight's voice was clipped as they sped-walked towards their comrade, Fount waiting impatiently with another portal already open. "My decision remains unwavering. I entertained your blathering for days because you are my subjects and soldier in arms. But if you stand in the way of me helping my precious family..." They stopped, if only to place their hand on the hilt of their claymore.

Nothing more needed to be said.

Watching the other Virtue disappear into his portal, Fount only spared those nasty silver faeries a disgusted sneer. "I wouldn't have minded spilt jam." He, too, went through the rip with haste.

Shaken, the Council of Elders wondered what had happened to the sweet Virtue of Knowledge since his last visit.

First destination: the Pagoda of Dreams.

It was wreathed in flames.

The two Virtues temporarily squashed down their horror, rushing towards the inner pavilions. Treading the winding steps uphill, they passed several fallen Haetae guards. Immediately upon reaching the meditation hall, shouting and fighting could be heard.

"Stop! Stop hurting them! They've done you no wrong!" Raw with grief and pure anguish, her voice was unmistakable. "There is nothing here that you seek!" The two of them ran faster.

"Lies! You grant wishes!" A Cookie yelled accusingly. "There must be treasures hidden inside! Why else would you have so many guards?!" Knight's unoccupied hand shook, wishing to wrap around that insolent fiend's neck and-

They arrived at the meditation hall. What they saw made their godly jam run cold.

"There is none!" Saintess plead. "Please!" She was huddled pitifully by the incense holder holding onto a newlybaked Haetae pup, both being shielded by the injured pack leader of the guards. Her white hair, ever immaculate, was sprawled all over her shoulders in messy strands, stained gold by glistening ichor.

Another Cookie "You're a Virtue! It's your duty to grant wishes! If there's none, will them into existence! If not, what good are you?!"

Something in the Fount snapped.

He was the one who caused this in the failed future. He knew how this would turn out. He had watched and laughed as Mystic Flour Saintess and her temple was under siege. So why? Why now does his chest hurt?

Why now does he want to crumble all those filthy Cookies?

"Fount." A plethora of glaring eyes landed on the Knight. "Calm down." Their gauntlet was raised placatingly. "We cannot give the Witches more reason to fault us."

At the mention of their creators, the Fount scowled, but conceded. Forcing his torrent of anger down, the Fount summoned his staff. He pointedly did not glance at it. The Soul Jam's light dimmed weakly. His companion chose not to address it, instead-

"Advice?"

"Don't unsheathe." Magic danced on the tips of his claws.

"Acknowledged." The Knight readied themself.

Within seconds, the embodiment of Solidarity broke through the mob's formation. Showing surprising mastery at a technique which the Knight had never seen before, Fount pushed back the crowd of assailants with what seemed like puppeteering strings and tied them up, zipping their mouths shut as well much to the Knight's unease.

They almost couldn't recognize their comrade in this Virtue of Knowledge - not when the Fount's gaze was seeped in malice.

"Knight? Fount?" The Saintess' shaking voice snapped them out of their stupor. In a blink, they were both at her side, at a loss of what to do as she leaned against the Knight and cried, the Haetae pup in her lap whimpering in the wake of its master's distress.

Fount bit his lip, hand curled so tight that were he not holding his staff, claws might have dug into his own dough.

You did this to her.

Your truth destroyed her peace.

Monster. Manipulator. Beas-

A furry nose nuzzled his face, startling the Fount. Whipping his head at the source, he was met with large golden eyes filled with relief and gratitude. "We thank you, Fount of Knowledge. You came. You protected Master." Her rumbling voice was kind, motherly. Nothing a Beast like him deserved.

"I caused this." The admission rolled bitter on his tongue.

Blinking, the Haetae leader shot him a canine-esque stare of deadpan. "You told Master to rest. She did. Cookies acted on their own. Not your fault."

"But-"

"No." She cut him off, amusement in those intelligent eyes. "Now go. Take Master, go. We will guard territory. Territory not safe anymore for Master." She caught his gaze on her open wound, red jam sluggishly bleeding still, and huffed. "We will heal. We will survive. Take Master. Go!"

Their conversation wasn't a quiet one. Saintess came limping over with Knight's support, her face still scrunched and stained by ichor. "My Haetae, please, no..." She fell to her knees, sinking into the curly mane of the close friend who has accompanied her for centuries. "You can't do this.. I might.. might not be able to- to see you.. again."

"Mama, no leave..." The pup sniffled, snuggling under its mother's chin.

"You have to. You must." She licked her child's growing fluff, then her master's trembling hands. "Please. Take care of Pup, Master."

"I will. I promise, I will. So promise me..." The Saintess' voice cracked, she hunched over the head of her loyal guard. "Promise me we'll meet again. No matter what."

Closing her eyes solemnly, the Haetae's horn glowed. "I pledge."

Second destination: the Spice Devasthanam.

Chapter Text

The Herald doesn't know if he's able to hold out much longer.

Informing the Tribes so soon was a disaster. No wonder they needed Fount's input on political decisions...

"Fall back!" He ordered his loyal soldiers who has has only just arrived. "Do not get involved! This is my responsibility alone!"

He knew he was walking into a trap the moment he got the invite. How could he not? He knew the terrain like the back of his hands! But he could not drag innocents into a God's minor disagreement.

"But Sire!" Myristica Tiger growled back, breaking ranks to join him in parrying an attack aimed at his back. "Even if you are no longer Raaja, how dare they disgrace the founder of all that they now reside upon?!"

"They revolt, they conquer, as is the rule of Change." Herald grunted as he shielded a blow for his retainer, a talavaar narrowly missing his back. "Once they have bested me in battle, a new era shall begin anew."

"There are other means to seize authority, Sire! Haven't you already forsaken the leadership?! This is fight is pointle-"

Herald turned around to rebuke her words, but something he saw made molten eyes burn with fear. "TIGER LOOK OUT!"

Myristica Tiger could barely react when she was pulled into her Sire's arms. But then she heard it. His agonizing screams. Her jam ran cold.

"Sire! Sire, fight back! FIGHT BACK! FATHER, FIGHT BACK!!" She punched weakly at his chest, his arms, despite the sickeningly sweet aroma of ichor sticking to her shaking knuckles.

The chimera was powerless as he covered her with his body, as his own was dug into and ripped apart under the cacophony of jeers and taunts. Even as a Virtue with endless power at his fingertips, the Herald still chose peace.

He would not allow himself to become a monster that Fount had been so terrified of-

"Should've given 'em a gooood beating, Spice-head." Myristica Tiger's desperate cries ceased when she heard the Fount of Knowledge's signature lilt - now touched with vitriol.

"Forget about the Witches. Shall I crumble them, Herald?" Even the elusive Knight of Solidarity was furious! They came to help her Sire!

The Virtue of Change hissed through his tusks as he struggled to lift himself, hooves shaking. Finally free from his protective hold, Myristica Tiger moved to examine her Sire. Her breath hitched, words dying in the back of her throat when she assessed the damage done to him.

Two of his arms in the middle have been gouged out crudely, carved dough filled with large gashes and cracks, golden jam still pouring.

"-N..o.." The Herald leaned against the Knight so as to keep from drawing their sword, their knuckles shaking from outrage. Fount had done a good job at rounding the rebels up, even if his strings cut into their dough painfully. "It's up.. to them.. to decide." He gestured to a stock-still Myristica Tiger and her anxious troops. "No longer.. my resp..nsibility.."

Enough was enough. "Spice! Look what they did to you!" Having seen such unforgiveable deeds, the Fount exploded, gesturing to his open wounds hysterically, face scrunched. "How can you extend mercy to the likes of those gnats?!" He spat, all the eyes in his hair flaring up with wrathful indignation, voice cracking. "After all the years you've brought them to prosperity over and over and over, that was how they repaid your generosity!"

The Knight's hands still shake as they applied rudimentary healing magic to Herald's injury, wishing they were free to lay waste to those worms right this instant. By the creaking of Fount's teeth, his opinion doesn't differ.

"The Fount of Knowledge is right, Sire." Myristica Tiger, still queasy, stepped in before the Herald could say another word. "At the very least, as you have chosen to step down, let me as your Retainer punish them in your stead. Jam must be paid with jam. They have wronged someone who is ours, they must bear the consequences." Her eyes refocused, lips set in a resolute frown. "You have carried this burden long enough. Rest. It is time Cookiekind stepped up and walked on our own."

Something in the Herald broke when faced with his daughter retainer's firm declaration. How long has he been silently waiting to hear such a thing?

Stars, it hurts so bad.

"Please go, and be safe." She nodded respectfully at the two Virtues holding him up. "Help our Sire."

The three of them entered the portal to the Spire of All Knowledge, Fount picking up the broken pieces of his dough, Knight supporting his weight. Herald's gaze lingered on his denizens - the loyal soldiers saluting farewell, the rebels demanding him to come back, and his children.

Myristica Tiger stood at the forefront, saluting with a wobbly smile, her crimson eyes wet with tears. "Thank you for all that you did, Father."

He still remembers how small she was in his palms.

Third destination: the Garden of Delights.

"What do you mean we can't enter anymore?!"

"What about our happiness then?!"

"You're so selfish!"

"You just want to keep good things for yourself!"

The Purveyor was flying left and right, trying to placate discontented Cookies banging at her metaphorical doorstep. It's only been three days since the official statement was issued to the kingdoms around her paradise, but she was steadily losing her mind.

"Purveyor of Happiness, what was the meaning of this?! I demand your presence at once!"

Oh Stars, her least favourite kind - royals. Purveyor smoothed over her grimace - the audacity of those mortals to order a Goddess... but perhaps thousands of years have shaped their perspective of her. Dear Stars, she does not want to leave her garden right now...

"Purveyor of Happiness! Explain yourself!"

Sighing, the Virtue flew over the gap where the cotton candy bridge had been melted off. Landing before the scowling masses, she crossed her arms, displeased. "I believe I made myself quite clear, as I have been for days now. I am not 'gatekeeping positivity' as you so eloquently put it, but taking a break from relentless and rude requests. Your current behavior is only further proving my point of why we should have closed ourselves off much earlier."

"But you can't do this to us! You're supposed to help us, by the Witches' will!"

"Yeah! It's your duty!"

"Selfish!"

"Greedy!"

Her lips twitched.

"Get her!"

Wait, what-?

The Cookies lurched forward like rabid animals. A handful of her sugar feathers were grabbed to prevent escape, and the Purveyor cursed the size of her wings as she hissed out in pain. Not for long, she was overpowered and held down.

"If you wish to.. take a break, so to say..." A king -she couldn't remember which nation he came from- stepped on the dough beneath the feathers, making her wince. "Then it's fair to offer us compensation in advance, no?" He smirked.

Purveyor's expression contorted. She does not like how they're looking at her wings, their leering eyes running over her precious shiny feathers. She isn't weak, she should really shake them off now, cliffside be damned. "Whatever you are thinking, stop it. Doing this solves nothi- AARGHH-!!"

The agony was blinding, like thousands of sugar shards embedding her back at once. Her wing dough, sensitive with all those feathers, felt like they were set ablaze. But despite her choked screams, they kept on pulling, plucking, even as jam soaked the grass. She called for her Angels, but her voice wouldn't work. "Please.. help.. me..." The Purveyor sobbed, crushed under the weight of at least ten Cookies.

"Those devil wings, they must carry negativity." Her eyes widened in terror. No.. no, no NO! "Burn them!" STOP IT! STOP!

"Yes sir!"

There's the crackling sound of fire. There was heat and so, so much PAIN! HER WINGS, THEY BURN THEY BURN IT HURTS STOP IT NO NONONONO-

In her violent thrashing, something cracked.

She couldn't hear a thing (yelling and screaming as Cookies crumbled or pushed off cliffs). Couldn't feel a thing (Saintess' cold hands as she tried to soothe the pain with healing magic, Pavlova frantically rubbing her cheeks to snap her out of it) except the agony. All she could do was cry and sob as her body convulses, and jolt back to awareness when her wings were submerged in ice-cold water.

"Thank you." She faintly hears Saintess' exhausted voice, and through her swimming vision she sees her beloved Angels holding what looks like a chalice. "Could you get some more?" Saintess' words were muffled, as though the Purveyor were listening through a filter.

"Her primary wings cannot function as they were; and her secondaries, though still functional are..." Fount? Fount is here too?

"I can't reattach them and replace the burnt parts at the same time. We don't have sufficient material for her dough..."

The Purveyor's dam broke once more. "Please.. no more pain... anything.." She reached for whoever's hand she could grab, sobbing. "..Fix it... I want.. to fly again..."

"We will, My Lady." Pavlova whispered, tucking a disheveled bang back in place. "Sleep. We'll be here when you wake up."

Too exhausted to keep herself awake, the Purveyor's eyes fell shut.

Flicking jam and Cookie crumbs from his knuckles, the Herald stared, despaired. He didn't mean to- he didn't want this! He- he-... how can he stand back and watch as his sister was mutilated before his eyes? Fount and Knight were right. His daughter's words replayed in his head as he stalked forth, every step cracking the ground, molten eyes locked onto the entourage cowering behind their flimsy armor and spears.

Jam must be repaid with jam.

Pavlova looked away from the carnage, refocusing on his Lady. The Fount has taken over the operation, commanding the Knight to cut off the base of her primaries in the cleanest way possible. His Lady's face scrunched up in pain, but Saintess helped ease it in an instant.

What followed were many hours of gruelling work: carving off the unfixable dough, casting on replacement parts, and reattaching all the feathers they recovered onto it - held in place by Fount's strings until they set.

"Please take her away."

It was night, when Pavlova finally lifted his head to meet the other Virtues' gaze. He sees Herald's fury, Saintess' grief, Knight's anguish, and Fount's.. Fount's seething resentment where a sliver of regret peeked through. They all looked like they had seen better days, Herald especially.

"She's safe here, but no-one can help her the way you can. Please, take our Lady away until Cookiekind has fully forgotten us." He brought her hand to his cheek, inhaling deeply. This is goodbye, for however long until she returns.

Watching her and the other Virtues disappear into Fount's portal, Pavlova whispered airily. "We'll miss you, Mother."

The Era of the Ancient Heroes will eventually come to an end.

Chapter Text

As soon as Purveyor was placed comfortably on Fount's new jellybean bag, all the others crumpled to the floor, moaning in exhaustion.

"This was a nightmare." The master of the Spire's voice came out muffled, face smushed flat on the ground. His mind was chaos as Knowledge of everything going on in East Yeast was stuffed inside it - the Virtue's disastrous abdications, Cookies losing their minds, those seeking Knowledge now clamoring up his Peak,.. all that nonsense.

"An understatement." Wings drooped, the Knight confirmed. Their hands still shook from when they had to amputate their sister.

"Let's go to another continent and restart our lives. Together. Quietly." The Herald lay flat on his front against cold marble, his back still aching like the ground beneath stampeding aubergine buffalos. "No more of this.. Virtue crumbs."

"Mn." Saintess was curled up around her snoozing Haetae pup. "..Why didn't she use magic? She's not weak..."

"The same reason Herald and you refused to. She would have crumbled them if she wanted. Y'all are too merciful." Fount grumbled bitterly. "You have Cookiekind's best interest at your core. We were programmed that way. What perfect little martyrs we made, huh."

The silence spoke volumes.

They were not taught to care about themselves.

Fount felt like he might throw up again for the fourth time today. Had he failed to save them? Will they plummet down into the same abyss he had? Has he already ruined their chances of a normal life? Stars, he's so flipping tired. Seven portals, constant magic usage, and no time to process anything. His chest felt like it might burst from anxiety and now his mind won't give him a damn break-

[Fount? Fount!]

The Scholar jolted upright, eyes wide in alarm. What the hell?! Now?!! Judging by the flinches he could see around the room, it was not a hallucination of his own making. Right. Urgh. Crackers.

[Fount! Explain yourself! What did you do?!]

Scrambling up, Fount took a deep breath, summoned his staff, and opened the roof of the observatory. Said blue waffle dome split, parting the dark starry graph to reveal -thanks to spatial magic- the interior of the Witches' Castle. Looking down at them through her mask, fury and disbelief painting her body language, was the Witch of Wisdom - his very own Creator.

"Mother, it has been long." He bowed, playing his role once more. "I have reasons." Hatred and feelings of betrayal, he hid behind his many faces.

"Do those 'reasons' explain why you led the other four Virtues astray and plunged Earthbread into chaos?" She hissed, gesturing to the four huddling in the corner of his room, faltering slightly when she saw the damage inflicted on their dough. "How am I going to explain to my sisters about their creations now?"

Fount looked back, meeting the eyes of Saintess, Herald, and through their helm - Knight. They all held Purveyor close, as if afraid that were they to let go, she would crumble in their arms.

"If I tell the truth, would you believe me, Mother?"

The Witch scoffed. "You can't lie in the first place, Fount. Your purpose is Knowledge - your duty is to bestow the most authentic form of knowledge."

That's where she's wrong.

"Then, allow me to summarize. I have Seen the future where Cookiekind falls into an era of darkness, of corruption and depravity." Sharp breaths were drawn by everybody else present. "In that future, Cookies would rally with one another to seize the power of us Virtues for themselves and their endless greed. Taking advantage of our merciful nature, they would be able to overpower us, harvest the magic in our Soul Jams, and wage wars against one another that span centuries, until everything crumbles and Earthbread becomes a desolate land of lost history." The Witch's hand flew up to her mask, horrified. "You have already seen what those Cookies were capable of doing now, my siblings are enough proof," he gestured to the four other Virtues, not deigning to look at their reaction to his lies, "imagine that misfeasance hundreds of Cookie years in the future, Mother. What do you predict?"

The Witch of Wisdom was silent for a moment. Then, she let out a long sigh, pulling a chair over and slumping down onto it, elbows to her knees and forehead held up by a palm. "I believe you, Fount. How could I not? You have always been good at decision-making." Another sigh. "Just.. this is too shocking a news. I must bring it up to my sisters at the next banquet."

Fount gulped. He knows his Creator, but the others? He's not too sure how they'll react. The darkness in his hair crept up. He pushed it back down.

"We cannot continue doing this, Mother."

She waved a hand at him. Through the colored lenses of her mask, he could see pity and disappointment.

"I know."

"Holy crumbs." Herald whispered fearfully.

Fount still did not turn to face them.

"Fount," a gentle hand grasped at one of his balled fists, "I understand why you had to twist the truth. It was a terrifying moment. Depending on your answer, we could have all crumbled." Saintess coaxed him around, gaze limgering on the eyes in his hair instead of his blank expression.

"Necessary." Knight nodded, back to being less vocal.

He frowned as he took in their conditions. In no way could they fare against the Witches at their full power, never mind like this. The only move they could do now... is wait.

"Spicy, back on the carpet. I need to check your stitches."

"Uurghhh. This is hellish."

"Blame yourself, Spice-head. You could have crumbled them easily."

"Don't remind me, Book-gummyworm."

"Oh so that's how you're gonna play!"

The Saintess let their bickering be her background noise, for once thankful that those two have regained their spirits after the debilitating trauma they went through. She ran her fingers through Purveyor's only set of wings, pleased to see the healing progress despite the mottled dough underneath, but concerned for her mental state when Purveyor wakes up. She couldn't do miracles, after all.

Compared to their struggles, the Saintess was useless. She had been a bystander to her guards' massacre, her magic unable to protect even one-

"Master?" The Virtue of Volition momentarily paused. Slowly, she looked to the side. Her Haetae pup's eyes were big, watery. "Hungwy." They whined.

As one, the four conscious Cookies froze.

They had forgotten about food, in their haste for safety. And where are they, but the home of an immortal workaholic?

Fount cursed his past self for being such a stubborn idiot.

"I will go. Faeriewood is safe, so is the Garden." Knight stood up. They addressed the pup. "Are fruits and nectar to your liking?"

The Haetae tilted their head. Herald cooed.

"They asked if you liked fruits and nectar." Saintess translated, unable to stop her smile when the pup nodded eagerly. "Apologies for the trouble, Fount."

"Yeah, yeah." The Scholar twirled his staff, materializing a portal as he restitched Herald's wounds. "Hurry. Send an alarm if you need help."

"Affirmative."

He should have known. He should have Seen.

They should have never let Knight leave.

Faeriewood was... quiet. Unnervingly so.

The Knight felt chills running through their wings as they looked around. Faerie Cookies peeked out from windows, and hid when they turned their helm. What is going on..?

"You finally showed your presence, Knight."

Their body locked up. Not for the first time in the span of a week, their mind was filled with dread. Slowly, mechanically, their head tilted up, further, further, until their Creator's eyes were visible as she stared them down.

Every other Cookie have disappeared into their abodes.

"I was wondering why my loyal paladin had abandoned his duty given by me to follow my sisters' playthings on their childish little rebellion." The Witch of Faith leaned elegantly on the back of her hand, peering coldly from above the cotton candy clouds. "Do you view me a joke, Knight?"

"N-No! Never, your grace! Fount showed us a future where-"

Her painted lips curled. "And that 'future' stops you from doing your one job?! Pathetic! What use are immortal Guides like you lot, if you are just going to 'take breaks'?! Return to your post immediately, and I will consider looking past your transgression this one time, Knight."

Knight's lips trembled.

They couldn't believe this.. They couldn't wrap their head around the fact that this is who they had placed all their whole faith in. She was so.. dismissive of them, the moment they no longer listened to her every word like gospel, even when they have not committed any misdeed but come to their comrades' aid.

Is this her true face, their Mother, their Creator?

Fount was right.

Their whole lives were founded on lies.

"I can't." They spoke up.

The Witch of Faith froze, quiet fury radiating off her. "Excuse me?" It was a chance to rectify his words. But Knight.. they have seen enough.

Drawing their great blade, the ever quiet paladin roared. "I REFUSE!!"

It was their worst, and best decision.

"Consider yourself lucky I didn't crumble you on the spot, treacherous Knight." The Witch of Faith had sneered as she looked away from their battered form to receive one of her sisters' raven courier. "And.. what perfect timing. It seemed the Virtue of Knowledge thought ahead. My eldest sister requested an urgent banquet." She scoffed, throwing the paper into the fireplace, glaring at the Knight through her mask's lenses. "I had intended to punish you more, Knight.. but I suppose that is enough a message."

Limping through the streets of the place they once called home, fruits and drinks and whatever food they could find around the kingdom bunched within their tattered cape, golden jam trailing down their only remaining set of wings, the Knight can't say they regretted this. Perhaps freedom had tasted too sweet on their tongue, now that they could imagine a life without their burdens as a Virtue.

"Fount." They touched their Soul Jam, sending a pulse of magic.

A second. Two.

Fount ripped a portal several paces from them.

The Knight smiled under their broken helm, straightened their back proudly, and walked through with grace despite their aching legs shaking in protest.

"Knight, did you- KNIGHT?!"

"KNIGHT YOU GNAT-!"

"Idiot! Sit!"

They laughed as the Herald wrangled them to sit by Purveyor's unconscious form, as Fount chewed them off whilst Saintess tended to their wounds with horror growing on her face.

Yes, they do not regret this at all.

This is where their soul would always be.

Chapter Text

That outing wasn't the first, and certainly not the last if Pure Vanilla has anything to say about it.

Every other week, Shadow Milk would be excessively pestered (in his words) by the suddenly work-free King until he caves. Sometimes, Pure Vanilla would persuade Black Sapphire and Candy Apple as well, though it wasn't a monumental task seeing as they delight in everything to do with their master.

Earthbread truly has changed.

"Master?"

Shadow Milk watched on the sidelines as denizens of the Vanilla Kingdom surrounded their beloved King, not worshipping, but adoring. He was one of them in a way the Fount Shadow Milk never could be, not as a tool, not as a means to an end. He's jealous, loathe as he is to admit.

"Master, how about we come by the cake shop? I'm sure they still have the one you like." Carefully maneuvering him away from the scene, Black Sapphire proceeded to tell him about his first job as a radio host and another helping Alchemist Cookie with her lab tests. "Forget about that old pile of crumbs! Hey, don't you wanna know how my mandatory community service week was?!" Candy Apple chimed in with her own stories from the smithy where she was made apprentice, and her discoveries in the sugar mines. That's another catch - community service: if they were to seek sanctuary within the Vanilla Kingdom, then they would need to show their goodwill given their bad reputations. They faced quite a fair bit of suspicion, but those soft-hearted Cookies were quick to accept them afterwards.

Away from the comfort of the Spire, they had grown. Still faithful, still loyal, but they have their own lives now, separate from him. And to think it started with them demanding to 'protect' their master on his outings with the King...

Whereas Shadow Milk remained, stagnant in time.

"Bluebird!" Both minions glowered at the sound of the vanillian King running towards them, shooting him nasty looks as they cling onto their master - looks he had learned to artfully ignore. "My apologies, I got held up. My subjects were very insistent." His face drooped, not unlike a wet cakehound, which made Shadow Milk bark out a sarcastic laugh.

"Silly Nilly, your cookie-pleasing tendencies will be your undoing some of these days."

Pure Vanilla smiled. "But everyone deserves their time of day, no?" There's something deeper and knowing as his real eyes regarded Shadow Milk. "I'd like to give everyone a chance."

The Beast rolled his eyes, used to such things by now. He refused to acknowledge the fact that he no longer snapped back, that no longer was he as wary of Pure Vanilla's intentions. This was bad, disastrous even! But he couldn't help it.

He was letting his guard down, despite knowing that this was all a farce to 'tame' him.

And it terrified Shadow Milk.

"Bluebird, are you alright?..."

Pure Vanilla as well as the deceitful siblings became worried the longer they looked at Shadow Milk's extra eyes. Something was scaring him.

"Me? I'm always fantastic!" The Beast sang with false cheer, but the eyes.. they stayed the same, if not glassier, more distorted. "Hurry up now, Nilly, I don't have all day."

"If you say so..." Pure Vanilla shared a gaze with Black Sapphire, the darker Cookie catching on.

Black Sapphire flanked his master, pushing away an indignant Candy Apple. "Master Shadow Milk Cookie, how about we change things up a bit? I know you barely tolerate blueberry jelly cakes, but you've been eating only that for weeks! For your health, I implore you expand your tastes, and that is what we will be doing today."

"What?" Shadow Milk floated up like a loafykin spooked. "Impudent! Who are you to act like this to your-"

"Black Sapphire's right!" Candy Apple declared with stars in her red eyes. "I will help you find your favourites, Master Shadow Milk Cookie! Just count on me, I know all the places with most delicious foods!"

"Do you even know where you're going?! Hey! Candy Apple!" Black Sapphire shouted, but the girl had already run off cackling. Sighing harshly, he sprinted after.

Shadow Milk flinched when he found his hand grasped in firm warmth, pulled in the air along to the laughter of the too-kind king. And when the fool looked back, face painted in the golden lights of dusk, hair tussled by the winds, pale bicolor eyes bright with joy; Shadow Milk couldn't breathe. Suddenly, nothing registered in his mind other than Pure Vanilla, his stupidly beautiful mug, and his stupidly strong physique. Not the stares, not the whispers, not all the Cookies along the streets.

"Come on, before Candy Apple stirs up trouble."

Shadow Milk forgot to yank his hand away until Candy Apple saw them and threw a gasket.

Shadow Milk's redemption came a whole can of gummy worms Pure Vanilla was surprised had taken this far to unpack.

But he was patient. He was resilient. And best of all? He was genuine.

Shadow Milk could taunt and snarl and bite, Pure Vanilla would be ready to forgive him every step of the way - until the Beast truly believes his truths are accepted, until he no longer has to fear betrayal again.

For so, so long, Pure Vanilla had longed for someone to understand him as deeply as he understands them - and he found it in his Other Half, Shadow Milk Cookie. How could he let this chance go? How could he go back to a life in which he was only getting lonelier despite the Cookies around him; when he has someone who is able to see through his unknowing façade, someone who showed him his flaws unapologetically, someone who treasures him in a way only he is privy to?

So he tried his hardest to win back Shadow Milk's trust, and he was succeeding!

The Beast has been adapting well to his new reality where he wasn't expected to be an all-knowing deity who had to cater to other Cookies' whims, where he was no longer the bringer of calamity and chaos who escaped his own truth and lived in a lie.

"It's been forever since I've last seen Master this content."

"Hm? Pardon?"

The Vanilla Kingdom's annual Founding Festival was coming up, and everyone was busy as ever. Pure Vanilla was aware that he should be at his desk doing paperwork, but something compelled him to leave his office in favor of visiting the local clothes shop.

Free to explore his interests, Shadow Milk had taken to toymaking and tailoring. It suited him - an artistic soul with a penchant for dramatics and perfectionism. The old seamstresses quite liked his skillful threadwork, and the Beast would always be more docile under all their pampering.

Now, Pure Vanilla watches adoringly as Shadow Milk works his miracle: levitating rolls of fabric, marking lines, cutting, then sewing; all at once - his control precise, masterful. Like this, most of Pure Vanilla's lingering fear was assuaged.

Black Sapphire stands a few paces to his side, holding the Beast's lunch basket which he had most likely pretended to forget.

"Master's much happier than he was in all the years we know him." The disciple of Deceit confessed awkwardly. "It pains me to admit, but coming here was the right decision. Don't tell Candy Apple that, though."

Pure Vanilla smiled. "Aren't you both happier too?"

Freezing slightly, Black Sapphire looked away, a small upturn to the corners of his lips. "I suppose so."

If he could, he would continue living in this peace for all of eternity.

But peace...

...never truly lasts.

The Cake Monster Army, under Dark Enchantress Cookie's command, has spread out in all corners of Earthbread. Unexpectedly, they faced opposition in Silent Salt and Eternal Sugar, but they had Burning Salt in their ranks who was especially eager to fight until he crumbled himself. Mystic Flour, well, she had closed herself off once more.

With the help of some Dragons and many Guardians whom the Brave Gang befriended, the major Kingdoms are still standing strong. But Dark Enchantress' army was relentless, even managing to convince Longan Dragon and six corrupted Guardians for their cause. They've taken over the majority of the archipelagos, kickstarting the second Dark Flour War.

It wasn't his first time fighting in such a large-scale war, but Pure Vanilla hopes that this would be the last.

"Bring the injured to me!"

"Yes sir!"

"All healers on board!"

The Vanilla Kingdom was the first to be attacked. Pure Vanilla suspected that it had something to do with their history, how he failed his best friend. The more injured Cookies he healed, the more bitter the taste on his tongue.

"CRUMBS! THEY'VE BROKEN THROUGH!!"

"EVACUATE THE MEDICAL TENT!"

"IT'S- IT'S TOO LATE-!"

The screams gave ample warning, and even then, Pure Vanilla refuses to move. How could he leave his wounded subject to crumble as he runs?

"PURE VANILLA COOKIE!!!" He hears Gingerbrave's yell.

And then-

"GET LOST, YOU GNATS!" Candy Apple?

"I don't think I can hold this any longer!" Black Sapphire!

"I got your back!" Black Raisin! She was just on the defense line! "Saint Lily Cookie, please help us evacuate the injured!" And White Lily?! When had she come?!

"Of course." White Lily entered the medical tent, beckoning him out. Pure Vanilla did, after telling the other healers to stay put. Together, they combined their magic, and portalled the whole clearing away into the safety of his castle.

"It's been long, old friend." White Lily greeted. "How fares your endeavor with your.. Beastly companion..."

Pure Vanilla smiled, his earlier nerves dying down. "I've missed you as well! And Shadow Milk has been doing great! But.. we should probably focus on other things."

"I agree."

Black Sapphire's magic barrier broke just in time. Seizing the chance, Candy Apple jumped into the Cake Monster troops and began bludgeoning them to crumbs, joined by an eager Strawberry Crepe. Black Raisin commanded her troops to pave way for the Brave Gang who, after confirming his safety, took to the frontlines once more. His heart hurt, watching them go.

Children should have never had to fight in wars.

His Vanilla Orchid Beholder met White Lily's eyes. The two of them nodded, together sprinting forward. In his limited range of vision, he could see so many other Cookies, civilians and fighters alike, joining.

'He's not here.'

Of course Shadow Milk isn't. He's never been a capable fighter, and his magic was only enough for everyday use. His dough was so fragile that a few minutes of walking would incapacitate him for hours. He must be hiding in the royal library by now, or acting out his usual plays to cheer up the children refuging in the throne room.

'At least he's safe.'

That was what he'd thought.

Chapter Text

"Dark Enchantress Cookie!" Face to face with half of his old friend, a tower across another, on the same yet different battlefield where Cookie crumbs scattered the earth and fighting was loud in every direction, Pure Vanilla forced his voice to be heard via the magic amplifying it. "I know I was a coward for ignoring you. I tried to reach out but.. it wasn't enough, was it... I should have.. I should have done more. I should have tried to understand you." In the eye of his Beholder, Dark Enchantress seemed to falter. Behind him, White Lily froze.

Turning to face his companion, shame gnaws at Pure Vanilla. His voice was quieter despite there being only the two of them atop the fortress tower. "I'm sorry for how I treated you as well. I didn't take your emotions into account in all those years. It may be too late to fix our friendship, but... I still wished to be a better companion for you."

What could she say in response to that? Guilt ate at her too for what she did to all her friends, but at the same time.. it's not like she hadn't been wronged by them.

The feeling of betrayal when Pure Vanilla announced that he had granted sanctuary to her good friend's murderer... She doesn't think she could forgive that, like Golden Cheese cannot forgive her.

"If we get out of here whole.." White Lily managed, voice tight. "I think.. we all need to talk, and be honest about our problems. We can't go back to how we once were... It.. It still hurt."

Her old friend smiled sadly. "That's a start." White Lily nodded in kind. She then stepped up, no longer hiding from her own reflection as she faced Dark Enchantress again, shoulders higher than before.

"This is not the right path to freedom. You are not overthrowing the Witches." White Lily slammed her staff to the tower's floor. "You are only senselessly hurting Cookiekind!"

"The Witches are too powerful for even your entire army. You cannot impact them in a way that matters. I know this, because I've seen it!" Pure Vanilla, ever the savior, raised his arm in an open invitation. "We can look for another way. Together."

"...Foolish." Dark Enchantress raised her staff. The two Cookies behind her now joined the fight.

Well, that failed...

White Lily straightened her posture, scarlet eyes cold. Looking straight at her other half, her rebaked self, she called on her own army. "CHARGE!"

The Elite Faerie guards who followed their Queen to the Candystick Archipelago joined the vanillian soldiers with loud war-cries.

"Urgh, not you Faeries. Aren't those pricks from the Creme Republic enough?"

"Excuse me?" Mercurial Knight whipped around with a frown, smashing a cake monster to bits as he faced- oh, that makes sense. "You are Shadow Milk Cookie's underling." He stated, disgruntled. "One of the two who infiltrated our woods." And the one who occupied his fellow knight's every waking thought.

Black Sapphire rolled his visible eye. "Astute observation." Huffing, the mage blasted an enemy that had gotten dangerously close to Candy Apple who was too absorbed in causing concussions, at the same time conjuring a sound wave to neutralize bombs dropped midair.

Slashing down a group of monsters that had broken through the front rows, Mercurial Knight eyed the bat wings hanging uselessly from his.. reluctant ally's lower back. "Why aren't you flying? You could have covered more ground-"

"That's none of your business now, is it?" The Faerie was shot down quickly by a hiss. "Focus on the fight. With how militaristic you Faeries are, one would think you-" Gaze captured by something, Black Sapphire did a full-body lurch out of nowhere, startling Mercurial Knight. "Crumbs! The castle!"

And then the sound of explosions came.

Before he knew it, Black Sapphire already darted past, riding his mic staff over the defense line, leaving the Faeries to hold back the enemies by themselves.

Had the deceitful minion looked back, he would have seen Candy Apple dashing right behind. Too focused on his destination, he failed to notice the growing shadow casting from above until-

"BLACK SAPPHIRE, LOOK OUT!!"

The last thing he saw was Candy Apple hugging flush against his chest, face frozen in terror.

The walls shook from the force of dropping explosives, but were held in place by Shadow Milk and Wizard's combined forcefields.

"You're.. not bad, kid. Coulda been better!"

"Hmf, I'm giving you a pass this time, old man." Wizard gave him the stink eye.

"Oooh! Spicy!"

A large portal to the Lost Castle was held open in the throne room, where survivors were led through with the help of the Raisin villagers and Strawberry Crepe. It was an immense strain on his magic, so much so that Shadow Milk wondered why he's even doing this in the first place. Then, he remembers his Other Half's softheartedness, imagines his expression when the Beast manipulated him into becoming Truthless Recluse...

No, he can't do that again.

"Any straggler civilians?" The pink child's voice snapped him out of his trance. "No? Get back in there Custard Cookie! No? Good! You can drop the portal, old man!"

"Aren't you gonna go, pipsqueak?" He scrunched his face at their passive look.

"Nah, I can fight." They grinned smugly.

"If Black Raisin's still here, we aren't leaving." A.. Raisin Cookie declared, backed by assurances from their group members. He's never bothered to know their names.

Rolling his eyes, Shadow Milk closed the portal shut, coating an extra layer of magic over Wizard's barrier to be sure.

"Wait, where are you-"

"To that foolish King! He's gonna crumble himself one of these days!"

Shifting into the form of a bird, Shadow Milk flew off.

The streets were standing, but it was chaos. Cherry bombs big as Cookie heads rained from the sky, mages shielding soldiers and all of them continued to fight. The top of the castle blew up with a deafening sound, but his magic held strong.

He was nearing the castle walls. He would reach Pure Vanilla soon-

"BLACK SAPPHIRE, LOOK OUT!!"

Shadow Milk whipped his head around so hard his dough cracked, just in time to see Black Sapphire, Candy Apple trying to reach her older brother, a flash of fire and light before both his minions-

There was silence. Then ringing. Then muffled screaming from those still holding on at the defense line. Or was it his head? He doesn't care anymore.

His eyes had caught it all.

"Ha.. ha ha... hAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA-"

Total numbness consumed him.

Of course, everything has been going too well for him, hasn't it?

This Monster didn't deserve such goodness in life.

Wheezing until he hacks and coughs, the bird's form rippled, stabilizing - but just barely, and then he took flight once more; but his goal had changed. This time, something like madness reappeared in eyes that had once been full of life.

Someone will pay for touching HIS things.

Black Sapphire, Candy Apple, they are HIS! HIS minions! HIS possession! HIS property! HIS KIDS!

A Beast must answer its instinct's call.

Pure Vanilla leaned heavily against his Beholder, careful with the steady stream of magic he's been supplying White Lily with for her final fight. Dark Enchantress' prowess was no laughing matter, and it had taken them both quite some time to beat her strongest amalgamation. Her two underlings were being steadily pushed back, at least. But there's no knowing what devastation had befallen the other kingdoms now... It could have long been a wasteland, and they would be none the wiser.

Atop their heads, an enormous sphere of concentrated magic pulsed, its crimson light glaring over the battlefield.

They're not too sure then can stop it.

"How pathetic, my Other Half." Dark Enchantress sneered derisively. "And.. weak as ever, Pure Vanilla Cookie. You should understand by now. Fate.. is decided by the strong!" Raising her staff, the sorceress grinned wickedly. "So do me a favor, CRUMBLE!"

Pure Vanilla moved before he even registered what happened. He stepped in front of White Lily who had run out of time to sufficiently prepare for a safe counter, in front of every Cookie in his Kingdom, drawing up on every bit of magic he has for one last powerful protection spell - it will work, Life Powder is a monumental price to pay, and it will be worth it-

Red collided against a field of blue, the resulting light harsh and unforgiving on the eyes. Ozone and burnt sugar wafted nauseatingly, but in the center of such brightness was a silhouette Pure Vanilla had grown to recognize even through squinted eyes.

"Bluebird?!" He blurted out.

The blinding shine died down, Dark Enchantress' calamitous attack along with it, revealing their unexpected hero.

"Shadow Milk Cookie?!" Both holders of Freedom cried out in alarm.

White Lily gripped her staff tight, watching the Beast with wariness. Yet he was not sparing her a glance, no. The feared Beast of Deceit floated in the space between them and Chaos Incarnate herself, his back towards them.

"I've gotta admit, you've got a nice script there. Very suspenseful! What flair! And oh, the delicious dr~ama!" Shadow Milk drawled threateningly, his voice steeped in scathing vitriol. "...A shame, really. You had the potential..."

Darkness writhed in the edges of his form, reality warped and distorted visibly making the world spin, eyes popped up in shadows left in its infectious wake.

Pure Vanilla wasn't focused on all of that. What his Beholder witnessed, however, made his stomach churn: mismatched sleeves torn to shreds, palms scratched raw, deep red jam with golden specks flowed along the old cracks of Shadow Milk's dough -dough he never had the pleasure to see 'til now- down his blackened clawtips to drip, drip ceaselessly unto the battlefield below.

What happened to his Bluebird?..

White Lily's arm shook just assessing the damage.

"Yet you just HAD to intrude on MY STAGE!!" The Beast howled, insanity shaking the fabric of space itself, body taut and rigid looking every bit the monstrous figure he was supposed to be. "This play is MINE!! MINE MINE MINE!! PURE VANILLA COOKIE, HIS PATHETIC LITTLE KINGDOM, MY MINIONS, THEY'RE MINE!!! How DARE YOU!!" His grin stretched painfully across his face, sharp teeth glinting, eyes wide and crazed.

Dark Enchantress became nervous, gaze flitting from one escape route to another. "Beast of Deceit, don't tell me you have lost sight of your objective-"

"SHUT YOUR MOUTH, AND REPENT IN PURGATORY!!"

Lighting up the jam-filled dirt of the battlefront was a magic circle. It was so large that despite the distance between the Beast and their enemy, both them and everything in between were engulfed.

"Shadow Milk Cookie!" Pure Vanilla cried out in concern. For a brief moment, the eyes in his Other Half's hair met his Beholder's, softening. His Bluebird was in control. But Pure Vanilla had a bad feeling.

"Dark Enchantress Cookie, what is going on?!" Red Velvet yelled, startled.

"Da-Dark Enchantress Cookie?!?!" Matcha floundered.

Their leader did not respond, temporarily marvelled by the magnitude of Shadow Milk's power and the wealth of knowledge behind it. But as she reads the runes written along the brilliantly organized circular structure, her jam freezes.

"RETREAT!!" Dark Enchantress ordered frantically. She and her confused underlings tried to escape the circle, to no avail. They were trapped inside with him.

White Lily was horrified. Adept at ancient runes as she is, she hadn't been able to draw an array half its radius - partly due to the hefty strain; never mind interweaving such complex spellwork! With a circle as big as this one, an Archmage's entire well of magic, hell, even their own Life Powder must be sacrificed to create it in the first place, much less activate-!

...Oh. She realized something, looking at Shadow Milk's brutalized arms.

Oh.

The Beast of Deceit was not playing around anymore.

Too focused on the devastatingly breathtaking display of sorcery, White Lily failed to stop Pure Vanilla from jumping down the fortress.

Landing feather-light on the ground, the King weaved past swinging weapons and fighting Cookies, stopping just shy of the line made by his Other Half. His Soul Jam ached terribly, likely sensing its counterpart's dimming presence as the magic circle flashed brighter.

Why is Shadow Milk doing this?! Why, when Pure Vanilla finally got to show him how wonderful life could be! When the Beast finally got a chance of his own happiness!

"Bluebird, stop! I can't lose you too!!" He begged desperately, about to bang his fist on the light if need be, but his motion met no resistance. When the Beast made no indication that he's heard, Pure Vanilla was determined to get closer, closer until he reached the eye of the storm.

Magic was thick in the air, whipping and thrashing uncontrollably now. Drafts slammed against Pure Vanilla's dough with bruising might, gales tore into his dirt-stained robes and tussled his hair, cake monsters ran round like mad rabbits, but he pushed through.

Laughter ringing like funeral tolls, Shadow Milk made a show of dramatically opening his arms - movement akin to a decayed marionette; the eyes in his hair are wide of jam-lust, his tone low, throaty with a rumbling growl. "The curtains close.. tonight-"

"Bluebird!!" Shadow Milk's form fizzled in alarm, and from his tongue came a torrent of curses unforgiveable. "Don't do this!" Reaching for his Other Half, Pure Vanilla plead.

But as it is Shadow Milk's body has overstayed its expiration date, replacement dough not meant to wield godly power. So down down down he plummeted, without a proper voice to even scream.

And just as Pure Vanilla caught his beloved, held him in adoring arms with a wobbly smile barely forming, fingers graced by silken strands he had longed to touch; the Soul Jam of Truth felt it no longer.

It can't be..right? He's still here!

"Don't leave me, Bluebird! You know I can't live without you! Please, say something... Anything!" The King tried to coax him, shifting Shadow Milk's limp form in his embrace, movement more and more erratic, and- he froze altogether.

Chunks of the Beast's dough dulled and broke off -legs, fingers, hands, arms, body, neck- until all that's left in Pure Vanilla's trembling palms is his beloved's lifeless head, hair a pitch black curtain of emptiness. Those bi-colored eyes stared into nothing with a haunting exhaustion that carved its place in his mind.

For a brief moment, time seemed to stop as he let himself fall. The cacophony around him became buzzing static.

Magic, the medium to its wielder's will, shifted in intent last minute.

Like glass, Shadow Milk's the magic circle shattered.

Grief was the last thing Pure Vanilla knew.

Chapter Text

When the Purveyor roused from her strangely long nap, her body was aching all over. Groaning, she arched her back, intending to stretch her four wings.

Only two of them unfolded.

...Odd.

The dough at the base of her primaries twitched, but there was no familiar feeling, no rustling feathers, no pain followed by a pleasant afterglow, only pure emptiness.

Her eyes snapped open, for her surrounding was dark. Her Garden was never dark.

Fount's starry ceiling was the first thing she saw.

Before she could sit up, someone was already lifting her. She recognizes these strong arms anywhere. "Sugar! Oh thank Stars.." Herald, like a big buff loafykin, rubbed his teary face all over hers. It's a bit endearing. "We were so worried about you."

Worried? Did something happen to her in the time she was asleep? Time passes by too quickly these days.

"What's wrong, dearest?" She curled her wings around him, coaxing. Well, she attempted to, at least. It took some time for the Purveyor to realize that her feathers did not come into view, that she couldn't feel her primary wing dough at all - only a vague sensation of them. Her lower set twitched, but it felt like they were restrained by a particularly thick cotton robe.

"Herald, put her down." Saintess' gentle but commanding voice for some reason tugged on her memory. Why was there a gap in it? Why does trying to recall only make it hard to concentrate? Why does hurt so much? Their hands make them stop make them stop-

"-Deep breaths Sugar. Deep, breaths. Yeah, that's it Sugar, everything's ok. You're safe. We got you. We got you."

Following Herald's gentle lead, her vision slowly regained its stability. She wasn't even aware that her arms have been essentially choking her friend by holding on so tight.

"It's ok. Deep breaths. Let it out, Sugar. We got you." His deep voice rumbled where her head was burrowed by his neck like a large loafykin's purr, four arms tucking her flush against himself in a solid embrace.

The bringer of Happiness sniffled. "Why did they do that..?"

"Greed. We were never Cookies to them." Saintess' hand cupped her exposed cheek, voice trembling from her own experiences. She pushed it down, instead giving Purveyor her entire focus. "No more of that. Your primary wings were crumbled in the.. scuffle. Since we didn't have the ingredients to replace them on such urgent notice, being Virtues..." The flour Cookie winced at her own words. "We chose to restore your secondaries with what we have. Fount did his best to orient your feathers correctly. You can still feel your digits and membranes underneath. Given practice, you can fly again - however not as well as you were used to-"

"I understand."

Looking up from her nervous rambling, Saintess' hand that had begun to withdraw was now held in Purveyor's trembling ones.

"Thank you. You did all you could." Her friend smiled, a bitter hint to it, but a genuine smile reserved only for her fellow Virtues all the same. "The Witches may have given me the ability to fly, but you salvaged it when it mattered most. You all came to my aide, my dearests." She looked up at Herald's teary face, lips curling up more. "Where are Fount and Knight? I wish to thank them as well."

Immediately, Herald cringed, whereas Saintess took on a complicated expression.

"They are.. negotiating, with the Witches." He broke the news as gently as he could. "Outside. Right now."

The Purveyor's eyes went wide. "They're what?!"

"Look who decided to join us!" Exclaimed the Witch of Love, waving cheerily at her apprehensive creation. "You're finally awake, my Cookie!" A veil covered her face, but her voice was unmistakable.

Standing on the small balcony of the Spire of All Knowledge, flanked by her fellow Virtues, the Purveyor still couldn't help feeling dread.

"Tell us Fount was lying, my dear! There's no way you would willingly leave your only ordained duty, right? After all, you're the Virtue of Happiness, making others happy makes you happy. Oh, how miserable you must be.. and the state of those wings! So.. vulgar!"

Those words crumbled whatever sliver of hope she had of her Creator's understanding.

"Your selfishness is unbecoming." The Witch of Generosity sighed, face obscured by the shadows of her hood. "All that power, yet you believe you might be bested by some puny common Cookies? Pathetic."

Saintess shrunk back in shame, Herald shielding her with his large frame.

"Herald, you've always been able to resolve your subjects' conflicts. Why can't you just keep doing it? I'm sure it will cull whatever future Fount is so afraid of before anything comes into fruition." The Witch of History smiled behind her bead veil, reaching for him. "Come, Herald, let me rebake you a new pair of arms."

He flinched away, arms in front of Saintess and Purveyor as to shield them from their Creators' eyes.

In the middle of the table, Fount and Knight faced their own Witches, resisting the urge to run back to their siblings. Knight was stiff as a statue, their posture defiant despite their Creator's glare. Fount's hair desperately tried to flare up threateningly, but he held enough control over it to push the eyes to between his back. It would not be good now to show his corruption - he has to appear 'normal' still.

The Witch of Wisdom looked tired, dark circles behind the tinted lenses of her goggles. It was clear she had sought guidance from the her own equivalent of precognition, and found his words true. After all, the Dark Flour War did come to be when he was imprisoned. She needn't know the first rampage were the Virtues themselves.

"Settle down." Her words seemed to make the other Witches pause - their bodies stilling under invisible pressure. "Had the Virtues not defied your orders when time is tense, there would be nary a Cookie left on Earthbread. Fount's words are true."

Chaos broke out.

"What?!"

"Sister, you can't be serious!"

"This can't be true!"

"We created them for the sole purpose of-!"

"SILENCE!!" A hand slammed on the table, the shockwave making the Spire shake, Fount and Knight falling over gracelessly. In the wake of the Witch of Wisdom's outburst, the others flinched back in fear. Taking deep breaths to calm herself, the eldest Witch rubbed her temples.

"It was a mistake, baking the Soul Jams into your very doughs. What a waste of pure Life Powder." She rested her chin upon her left palm, the other hand gesturing at the apprehensive Virtues. "If we take the Soul Jams and grant them to other suitable vessels, the Virtues will crumble."

Four of the Virtues felt their jams run cold. Fount, despite his dread, continued to scheme. It would be a disgrace on his name as the Beast of Deceit if he can't even form a plan to escape the Witches with his 'friends' in tow.

"Let them crumble." The Witch of Faith sneered, ignoring her sister Love's indignant squawk. "They're no longer of use anyways." Knight, in response, drew their blade just a tad.

"I feel like there's a catch for that option, isn't there?" The Witch of History glanced at their eldest. Fount's Creator nodded.

"Yes. We would lose half of that precious Life Powder. Forever."

The rest of the Witches scrunched their faces behind their masks, displeased. Life Powder is a limited and intensely powerful ingredient. When they were younger and less knowledgeable, they had used up a rather large portion of that precious mineral to bring life to their passion projects, seeking fun in playing god with a sentient dollhouse. What a waste indeed, looking back.

"It would have been better if we could grind them up to get back our losses." The Witch of History sighed wistfully. "Oh well."

"That is why will separate the Soul Jams into two-thirds."

Fount's hidden eyes flared up in fear at his Creator's declaration. What?! This wasn't-.. two-thirds?!

"This way, the Virtues are relieved of their objectives indefinitely." Tired eyes flitted over to him. "It won't hurt.. much. If it does... well, I don't care."

At once, magic restrained them, bringing all the Virtues to the middle of the table. They were pushed flat against it, struggling, terror elevating as their Creators loomed from above.

"Thank you for your work, Fount. You did excellently." The Witch of Wisdom's voice was monotonous as she took his staff away. Similarly, her siblings did the same with his. Fear and fury roiled in him, a cacophony of nauseating emotions he never thought he'd feel again.

And then there was screaming. Theirs? His? He couldn't tell.

It hurts it hURTS ITHURTSITHURT-

"Good night. And farewell."

Through the cotton cloud of agony stuffed into his head, Fount heard his Creator.

And then darkness consumed him.

Blue and golden eyes watched him fall.

Chapter Text

In all corners of Earthbread, Cookies still awake looked up and marvelled at the sight that graced their eyes - Shooting Stars blazed across the night sky, trailing dust of five distinct colors painting the calm darkness with their vibrant shine.

Creatures big and small roused from their slumber from the brightness. Mer-Cookies broke the water surface in awe. A wandering spacefarer squinted in concern at the shapes he could discern within the light. Dragon Lairs rumbled with foreboding. The Moon wept for her ever loyal watcher, doing all she could to make his scorching tumble as painless as possible. The Sugar Swan goddesses watched, concerned.

Into the sacred Millennial Forest did the red meteor strike, cracking the earth and trees from its fall.

Disturbing the serenity of Snowfall Village, the pink star crashed into a cotton sheep pen.

The frosty mountains of the Giant Icing Ridge softened the descent of the white comet.

On the edges of a settlement under the Red Dragon's rule, the purple asteroid violently landed.

Near the Beacon city Parfaedia where mages reside, another burst of blue exploded in the streets.

It was weeks later that East Yeast realized the Virtues have ceased to appear altogether - their temples and shrines barren, offerings and apology gifts left untouched, their followers nowhere to be found, successors refusing to continue their godly duties.

Not only had the Spire of All Knowledge vanished into the air, the Blueberry Yoghurt Academy was also flipped on its head with the disappearance of their illustrious founder - as he had failed to return long after the date stated on his letter.

The only godlike Cookies on Earthbread literally baked to lead them to greatness were no longer available, and so Cookiekind had to grapple with the fact that from this point on they would have to discover the unknown on their own. It was when they were removed from the picture that their efforts were finally seen - but it was too late, the Virtues are gone for good.

Only residents of the Silver Kingdom knew the truth.

A young Elderberry Cookie, Guardian of the Silver Sapling and the Virtue of Solidarity's heir, grimly accepted the crown his Liege left behind, donning his new name.

Bolting up from the comfort of warm sheets, a blue Cookie gasped for air.

"-Crumbs! The Witches, they-!... Huh?.."

It took but a second for him to register his surroundings, mind running nonstop despite just awaking from what seemed to be a grievous injury. The room he was in looked like a miniature sick ward, complete with white drapes and white beddings, no personalized items, and plain walls. It was mediocre work at best, even someplace bland like the Vanilla Kingdom castle had better decoration-

Ah. He's not there. Not anymore.

Now, he had nowhere to go as well.

His body ached to the Abyss and back, dough cold from a nightmare he'd just escaped from - one he couldn't remember, much to his displeasure. But there was a strange feeling, like elation, clawing out of his chest.

He tested his hands - they worked fine, there was barely any pain. He tested his legs - they hurt, but only the normal amount, not to the unbearable degree he had to live with since his imprisonment. His chest still burned, a gaping vacancy in his being like something a chunk of his soul was missing. His head... his head was quiet, for the first time in over ten thousand years - no constant streams of knowledge, no Light of Truth to steer his path, no Light of Deceit to whisper in his mind. There were things he couldn't recall for all his trying, and his magic was dangerously low, but-

"-t.. w-rked..." A cackle unexpectedly bubbled from his scratchy throat. "-T W-RKED-!!" Harsh coughs interrupted his vindictive celebration, but the Cookie couldn't care less. He laughed and laughed and laughed, teeth like razors glinting in the morning sunlight, all his eyes crinkled - half in delight, half in hysteria, yet relief triumphed.

Having exhausted what little energy he had left after most of the Soul Jam's removal, vocals chafed raw over again, the blue nameless Cookie flopped back against his bed, breathing hard.

His fellow Virtues Cookies should be free as well. After what they've been through, he hopes they didn't get too damaged in their fall.

'What now?' He thought, staring blankly at the ceiling. He was free, but he couldn't go back to how he once was, in both lives. The Fount was long dead, put to rest with all his good deeds; while Shadow Milk Cookie... he deserved to rot, unloved and forgotten under all his sins.

Funny, how much the Cookie loathed himself when there are no more lies to fall back on. He couldn't even deceive himself into happiness anymore. Pure Vanilla had repeatedly bulldozed over his tall defenses and forcibly pulled him out to the light by his scruff like a misbehaving cream wolf, so much so that he had forgotten what it's like to be empty, and now all of that has come crashing down on him full force.

'What do I do now?' The knowledge of everything within the past and future at his fingertips, interrupted only by few blank spots, only for the Cookie to be undecisive. He didn't even have his minions... his minions?.. HIS MINIONS!!

'Crumbs! How am I going to re-bake them now, when Dark Moon Magic is no longer an option?' In the first place, Black Sapphire had been an unfortunate Faerie who sought out his Spire during the war, wings torn to shreds, dough crumbling with every step. Candy Apple was a gift from Eternal Sugar Purveyor before she closed off her Garden, the defective little Cupid unable to survive long. 'Should I..' a nefarious idea started to form despite himself, 'instigate a Great War-'

The door clicked open, startling the Cookie. Stepping into the sterile room, pausing only at the sight of his patient's floating liquid-like hair with wide slitted eyes, was a Cookie dressed in an ancient doctor's tunic. "I see that you are well, your appearance on Tart Street caused quite the commotion." He stepped closer to the bed, his patient tensing, wide eyes only becoming uncookienly wider. "With how you arrived in Parfaedia-"

"P-rf-di-?" The doctor winced at the state of his voice.

Otherworldly hair settling down, the Cookie craned his head to look outside the window: waffle cone rooftops of mauve, star-shaped symbols in sugar glass panes, no doubt. The City of Wizards, under the protection of the Moon Guardian, Moonlight Cookie. A silver lining in this crumbly mess.

"I take it you didn't expect to be here." The doctor didn't seem to recognize him, that was good. "Considering you drained your magic with whatever travel spell that was that brought you, I'd say you were lucky to be alive at all." Sure, drained magic from falling off the Witches' Tower, not like he'd just lost the majority of his Soul Jam. "May I have your name? The guards will come later to take your statement, and have your spell examined to be registered in case it is of any danger."

The blue cookie examined his hands, fingertips strangely discolored - a significantly darker shade than the rest of his dough. White bangs shadowed most of his face, but his heterochromia was prominent in the glow of his eyes. The doctored wondered what had caused such cracks and gouges all over his body.

"Bl-berr- M-lk Cook-..." After what felt like a rather long time, the patient spoke again. In hindsight, the doctor could have guessed his name, based on his visible ingredients, but he hadn't wanted to assume.

"Then, Mr. Blueberry Milk Cookie, may I apply new salve to your burns? Your bandages must be changed after every twelve hours until you are fully healed."

Blueberry Milk blinked, all the eyes in his hair did, as if he hadn't even registered what was hurting him. The doctor pursed his lips. It was concerning. To have lived in constant pain to the point he couldn't even be bothered by such nasty burns...

He hopes Blueberry Milk Cookie makes a full discovery and goes on to live a happy life.

But first, bandages.

It's been three stifling weeks.

Who invented physical therapy?! Because it is absolutely tiring! Oh wait, he did.. for the old folks.. hundreds of years ago... crumbs. Everything hurts, his limbs aren't under his control, and having the nurses watch his progress? Humiliating!

Blueberry Milk -because that was his name now, no longer a Virtue, no longer a Beast- groaned into his sheets, body aching. What makes them think that their endeavors would make a difference in his recovery? He's an immortal - unchanging, stagnant, his godly dough though malleable cannot replace missing parts with common ingredients.

He wants this misery to end.

Chapter Text

The Millennial Forest shook with tremors, birds chirped in a tizzy, animals panicked. Sentries were quick to arrive on the scene of the disturbance, spears raised in alarm.

In the middle of the crater lies the foreign force that plowed through their sacred trees with ease - a large maroon Cookie with black hair and, strangely enough, four arms. They were curled up, unconscious, dough slightly crinkled by the heat of their fall.

"Stand down, but stay alert." The Sentries parted in the wake of their leader, Guardian of the Millennial Forest. Churro Cookie approached the crater, suspicion visible in his eyes. He cautiously prodded and poked at the foreign Cookie, to no reaction. "...It seems our intruder is incapacitated. Take them to an unoccupied hollow, and stand guard. I will deal with them shortly."

"As you wish, Great Guardian."

It took four sentries about an hour with the intruder on their backs to get to their destination, said Cookies out of breath from carrying such a heavy individual. As Guardian Churro examined the alleged threat more thoroughly, he could distinguish their more unique features from other mundane Cookies - after all, not many Cookies had dough that could withstand the heat of a falling Star, and even less have over a pair of arms. Judging by the fairly healed gouges on their back, he guessed three. Other than that, tusks, bovine hooves, even antennae may just be tribe-exclusive traits, much like their clothing articles and tattoos. But their red, triangular artefact... it thrums with a power unimaginable. He is almost afraid to touch it.

The healers have left at Guardian Churro's order, having done what they could with the anomaly.

A groan pulled him out of his musings. The Cookie's face was contorted in pain, teeth bared and nose scrunched as if facing a foe only they could see. Curiously, their dark red tribal markings contort to their emotional turmoil, flaring like a bird of paradise showing off its danger.

"..no.. don't hurt them... I won't... no! St-stop.. stop it hURT IT HURTS STOP-!!" The Cookie lurched, dry heaving between guttural screams, molten eyes wide with visceral terror. Guardian Churro was instantly on guard, fearing the Cookie would hurt themself and others in their panic, but fortunately before he could act on it, the other hunched into themself, shaking.

"Intr- Traveller." He started, deciding not to address the Cookie's full-body flinch. "Do you remember what happened for you to have to.. seek refuge in our forest?" Their fear was visceral, genuine; Guardian Churro isn't sure he wants whatever had done that to the intruder in the Sacred Forest.

It took a few seconds for the Cookie to register his words. "Forest?.." They parroted, bushy brows cinching, likely trying to recall what they could. "But I- we were... in a tower? I- why can't I-.." A hiss of pain cut off their train of thought.

Guardian Churro redirected their focus, holding himself from asking about the gem. "Let us start with introductions. My name is Churro Cookie, Guardian of this place." He withheld some information, after all, his denizen's safety is his priority. "What may yours be?"

"Spice!" They shouted, triumphant at finally remembering something, until their face dropped. "Spice.. Spice... and then.. what?... I can't- I-"

"It's alright." A case of memory loss, how pitiful. Yet, a gift in itself. "We can help you with finding who you were, where you came from, and that strange.. conduit you have." He extended a hand to the miserable being, so big yet ultimately so fragile. "Let us help, as long as you keep our secret."

"Who I was..." Their voice was hopeful as they clasped his hand their giant ones, eyeing the red gem attached to their golden medallion with marginal confusion.

He must know what is it that is capable of inciting such fear in a Cookie so mighty, what is it that desires this power, and plan against it. He should bring the threat to Lord Millennial Tree Cookie's attention once his God awakens.

Guardian Churro is a protector, first and foremost.

Snowfall Village was a remote place, where every other day was tranquility and peace among the frost. It hasn't been long since the cold has started to seep into their quaint settlement, merely centuries at most. Visitors were few and far in between, the villagers welcome them with open arms.

This, however, was quite the entrance.

The serenity of a new dawn was broken by the sound of a loud crash and bright pink light, followed by cotton sheep bleating in alarm. Snowfall Villagers woke up startled, opening their doors and windows hastily to ascertain the commotion.

There, among the broken pieces of a cotton sheep pen, was a pile of snow and upturned dirt covering something glittering underneath. A brave young Cookie ran forward despite her mother's warnings, picking up a broken fence to prod at the lump.

It moved, groaning.

The child shrieked and scampered back, shielded by her family.

Snowfall villagers watched with wary eyes as the creature unearthed itself from its crash, stepping back when it finally rose and-

Was that a Cookie? With wings? And.. avian-like legs?

It's been long since Spring last came around, the elders seeing grass less and less, much less flowers; but they could never forget the colors, the scents, the essence of new beginnings. And just as they were about to announce the appearance of a deity, the Cookie started to curl into herself and shrieked.

All flinched at the intensity - her scream was loud, painful, fear and desperation intertwined to paint a grim picture. Her jaws widened uncookienly revealing sharp teeth, the feathers in her neck puffed like a frightened bird. Whatever it is that caused her to flee here, it wasn't pretty. It wasn't safe.

And yet, compassion was how they've been able to survive so long.

"Hollyhocks Cookie, get a spare blanket. Anyone got an extra bed?" Granny Gossy immediately took charge.

"Not really an extra, but my son's left for trade in 'nother region." Old Malva offered.

"That's enough for now. Doctor Hibiscus Cookie, can you check our guest over for any immediate injuries?"

"Yes ma'am."

Having checked the strange Cookie over (her wings were relatively unscathed after such a violent landing, doctor Hibiscus deduced that it might have been the blue stitches holding them together - it glowed of ancient magic he was afraid to mishandle), the Snowfall villagers were quick to move their newest resident into old Malva's home, in case whatever's lurking spots her. Granny Gossy eyed the magenta heart-shaped artefact, her suspicion unspoken.

"-no, please.." A sob cut her out of her musings. "Please stop- i can't- n-no! It hurts!.. It hur-hurts.. no..." There her temporary charge was, a Cookie she had thought deity, curled up like a doughling crying as her crossed arms clawed at her back like no tomorrow. Seeing that something was off, she sent doc Hibiscus away, granny Gossy alone now checking her guest more thoroughly and-

Her breath hitched, aged hands stilling on the white thin clothing.

Along her back in matching smooth stumps were scars. From the placement and the shape, it would seem that larger pairs of wings used to reside there, and from the cleanness of the cuts...

"Not- not my feathers! Not my- not my wings! No no nO-!!"

The Cookie woke up gasping, feathers raised - granny Gossy could even see the little barbs running up her flat nose like this. Slowly backing away, in a calm manner she's not actually feeling, granny Gossy let her guest gather her bearings, and put on her motherly smile. "Are you alright now, dear?"

Terrified pink eyes landed on her, as if only just registering her presence. "I- huh? Who.. who are you? Where am I?.." Her voice was simply angelic, minus the hoarseness after her flashback. She looked around, slightly loopy. "This isn't.. isn't my home... and the.. others..." A clawed finger came up to held her own pale face. "I.." Words failed her. "I- can't.. remember..."

Granny Gossy's face fell. Before her was no deity, but another Cookie in need of help. The poor girl had just gone through something bad, something that broke her. Whoever had done that to her wings.. they will surely pay, should they step foot in her village.

She reached for the Cookie's cheek, her little heart breaking when her new charge leaned in with a pitiful croon. "Don't fret, child. We have all the time in Earthbread to figure out." Her other hand went to comb through disheveled pink hair, quietly reminding herself to have the girl cut the burnt parts away. "Now, can you tell granny Gossy your name?"

The avian Cookie only nuzzled deeper into her warm coat - granny Gossy should have one tailored for her. "..mnn.. don't remember... only.. others, called me Sugar. I can't remember them. I want to. But- but I..." It seemed she was too exhausted to panic.

"Shh, all shall be well in the end, child. Rest, we will talk more tomorrow."

Blissfully, 'Sugar' slumped into the elder's lap, asleep. Her pink heart-shaped gem clinked against the bed frame.

Giant Icing Ridge was a place of many risks, but its gentleness knows no bounds. For a long time, the Milk Tribe have been thriving within the security of its dense spruce forests, their home in the cold.

All their lives they lived in betwixt danger and seclusion, so it had been a frightening experience for the villagers to witness a white star crashing against the steep hills, narrowly grazing by the chief's hut. The following rumble almost caused an icing avalanche.

"What happened?!" A Cookie shouted.

"It came from over there!" Another pointed into the forest where some trees have fallen.

"Someone, go see what that was!"

"Bu-but what if it crumbles us?"

"We won't know until we see it!"

That's how Silky Milk was chosen to be the 'sacrifice'. Equipped with a spear in one and and a shield in another, he ventured into the spruce forest, all battle training forgotten in the wake of this strange phenomenon. As he went deeper, broken stumps could be seen littering the ground, snow parted in a long line until it stopped at... something white?

It was an off-white shade, more yellow than the blue of the cold icing, and when Silky Milk squinted, he could almost make out a golden glint where the sun shone on it. Movement startled him out of his concentration, his spear readied more firmly. Whatever it is can't be worse than those monsters from the Licorice Sea.

From under snow and wood shrapnel, a hand reached out, shaking. Then, another, followed by it heaving itself up on shaky limbs.

Silky Milk faltered.

That was no monster.

Even if her fingers look strangely like those of wooden dolls his father brought back from his travels, and her face had lines separating her jaws, she was undeniably a Cookie.

It was when she'd collapsed again that Silky Milk snapped out of his funk. He fastened his spear and shield away, and began carefully maneuvering her on his back to bring her back to the tribe. They face adversities on a monthly basis, and it's precisely their resourcefulness that allowed them to scrape by. They would never ignore a Cookie in need.

"I'm back!" He called, seeing his tribe in the distance. His family's relieved expression turned into confusion when they spotted the stranger on his back. "Oh, this? She fell from the sky, dunno how but I reckon it had something to do with that flying castle. Might need help."

The entire tribe breathed a sigh, their tenseness gone. At least it wasn't a monster.

"Is she ok?" A child asked, tottering up to him.

"I think so? Hazelnut Milk Cookie, could you check up on her before we administer the medicine?"

"Right away, lad."

Placing the strange Cookie down on a bed in the sick ward, Silky Milk took the opportunity to observe their unexpected guest more closely. The lines splitting her jaw, they make her face look like a mask, and that's not to mention those strange pocket-like indents-

Long lashes snapped open to reveal onyx eyes.

That was the only warning Silky Milk and Hazelnut Milk got before she started crying, then it spiralled into choking and convulsing uncontrollably as her body curled into itself, claws digging into her own arms.

"Breathe!" Hazelnut Milk was there in an instant, crouching down to her eye-level, throwing a blanket over her head and tugging it to simulate touch in a safe way. "It's ok. You're safe. We got you. You're safe-"

"Not safe!" She shook her head, face scrunched. "We- we were- it hurt.. they-.. I can't- I can't remember..."

"Shhh. You're safe now." He tugged the blanket rhythmically. "Whoever was hurting you, they're not here. We'll protect you. You're safe."

Apparently, that was all it took for the Cookie to completely break down sobbing.

Silky Milk decided to let them have some privacy. He's need some help gathering wood from those fallen trees, it wouldn't do to waste resources.

Dragon's Valley lives up to its name.

It's a land of danger and heat, where scorching lava pockets bubble ceaselessly.

Pitaya Dragon was the ruler of this fine territory, and they would consider themself an excellent sovereign. That's why they don't take threats to their territory lying down.

When a purple star struck the edges of their Valley, Pitaya Dragon was instantly alerted. Snarling, they took off from their caverns, determined to ascertain the intrusion. After a bit of scouring in the smoke-filled sky, they saw it, a strange silver glint in the dark. Circling to lower their altitude, Pitaya Dragon landed with a tremor in the earth and gusts from their powerful wings. But when they looked around, examining the crater, there was nothing, only a dwindling trace of the Witches' magic.

Disgruntled and slightly irritated, they shot up again. Those giant things still try to encroach on the natural order of Earthbread? They're surprised the Heralds of Nature have let those humans run amok for this long. Wasn't it enough that they already have their own puppets to play with?

Only when the silhouette of the behemoth disappeared did a Cookie come out of hiding, breathing harsh and labored. Their entire body shook from overexertion and lingering ache, wings buzzing uncomfortably. They examined their bare hands, gauntlets removed to their side, distantly musing how strange it is to see their own dough, though they couldn't put a finger as to why that is.

The pure pure white gem at their chest - looking at it filled them with apprehension. They should cover it up-

"SALT, YOU IDIOT!"

Their head hurts.

They couldn't remember a thing except agonizing pain, betrayal, fear, and.. comradery.

"Salt..." They tested the name on their tongue. It's.. off. Not enough. There's more, they couldn't recall. Their throat burned. Lifting a hand to rub at their neck, they winced - the dough there was scratched raw.

Taking several deep breaths to calm themself, the Cookie redressed their armor, pulling their torn cape over their head to hide themself. Standing up on shaky legs, they started their journey out of this infernous wasteland.

Chapter Text

Having convinced the nurses to discharge him a while ago, Blueberry Milk painstakingly admitted that he needed to find a.. urgh, job to pay his hospital bills - he was lucky enough they let him put a tab for it. His recovered magic, though average to mortal standards, was abysmal compared to what he was comfortable with - he could scarcely even float, much less open a gateway to his Other Realm, so walking around with a stick while carrying his own stuff was all he could do for now. And forget about Dark Moon Magic, he's never going to lose himself to such insanity again, he'd rather spend his eternity sober, thanks, if the alternative is getting sealed in that blasted Tree again.

Standing before the academy gates with half lidded eyes, Blueberry Milk turned away, a scoff past his pursed lips. He cared not to repeat his old dead past, let the Fount and his years as a teacher rest in that forgotten grave.

(Parfaedia Institute, a project started when he was but a young lad in his early hundreds, not yet with a will of his own, entirely devoted to his Makers.

He couldn't say he preferred it over his proud life's work, Blueberry Yogurt Academy. This place simply brought back too many distasteful memories.

Blueberry Yogurt Academy, on the other hand, now that's his pride and joy. It was the inspiration for his new name, actually, dough ingredients notwithstanding. Shame, Parfaedia Institute survived the Dark Flour War, but the Academy didn't.

He may damn knowledge his purpose, but not his own hard work.)

Lets see, if memory serves him right, as his omniscience is gone, Parfaedia's entertainment department was still quite mediocre. For a city of wizards, they sure aren't very creative with their magic usage, tsk tsk. Well, more opportunities for him to broaden their horizon! Earthbread won't know what hit it!

...Also his mind is too quiet, it's unnerving.

It started with street plays.

He was clumsy, infuriatingly so; coordinating his movements standing on the ground with legs so sore they might just give out any moment is a struggle he never thought he would be going through again. And that's not to mention the odd change in his dough, as if losing his godhood had opened a floodgate for something. He became a laughing stock the week he debuted.

Yet though things weren't going.. excellently at first, he was able to get himself known.

A performer must be viewed for their art.

Despite the tiring days and nights practicing to perfect his craft, repetition and routine grounded him. The passage of time didn't seem quite as daunting as when he were writing down texts and tomes, with only his Spire for company.

Blueberry Milk was.. actually enjoying being a normal Cookie... which is preposterous! Bah! Begone, useless sentiments! Pure Vanilla is no longer here! Stop being weak!

"Mister Blueberry, are you ok?" A child approached him after his show ended, a jelly bread in their hand. They looked up at him with wide eyes full of concern, an expression that made his nonexistent guts churn in an emotion foreign to him disgust. Without realizing it, he had been rubbing his neck where his keyhole was covered up. The lock had crumbled since, but its keyhole remained, eternally a reminder of an authority he still feared. Being back in his real dough was still so foreign.

"Yes! I feel terrific, why?" Adding flare to his voice, Blueberry Milk stood with flourish, only slightly wincing from the sharp pain that shot up his legs. He reached for his cane and covered his slip with a twirl, grinning his best smile at the child. His new stump of a tail hidden in his long waistcoat remained tense.

Blueberry Milk Cookie had become a regular face within the Beacon city Parfaedia, his flashy street plays and extravagant hybrid-Parfaedian garbs a staple in the residents' everyday lives. Music, comedy, drama, storytelling, puppet shows, toymaking, acting, and many such more - no performance was too hard for Blueberry Milk - it was something everyone had come to quickly realize.

(Didn't hurt that the man was unfairly pretty, with those sharp scholarly features and the entire galaxy in his hair. But nobody would tell him that, his ego was big enough.)

"Can you..." The child kicked their foot back and forth nervously. "Can you do another story on Lady Azure tomorrow? I really, really wanna know if she and her friend made up..."

Ah, the earlier cut-out play about his venture into his old friend's Paradise. Tomorrow is scheduled for a puppet show about Spice in the next district, but... well, he could tweak it a bit.

Leaning on his his cane, Blueberry Milk half-bowed. "If my dear audience demands, who am I to disappoint? Then, should the young Cookie dare to traverse the streets of Blackberry Tart, you will find me there." As he watched the child giggle and skip away to their friends, he couldn't help the smile that tugged at his lips. Stars, those brats Pure Vanilla brought with him were barely older than this...

The more he thought back on his actions, the more he realized how unreasonable he'd been. What kind of thousand years old god would beef with a bunch of infants?! Him, apparently... And his fellow Beasts... Urrghhh!!!

His smile died.

"Forget it." Blueberry Milk mumbled to himself, knowing well that he could never forget such a thing. Gathering his props and counting his coins, he went back to his inn room for the night. It's not like he wanted rest nor food, but it would look suspicious if he doesn't blend in, and sustenance was actually required to recover his magic now.

How tiresome...

Two years went by numbingly slow for an immortal whom time evades like water in a cracked pot. It frightens him, the lack of constantly-streaming-in knowledge, and the gradual realization that he was becoming more and more 'mortal' like those Cookies he hated. This wasn't like back then, where he still had his half of the Soul Jam, and.. Pure Vanilla by his side, where Magic still answered to his call like second nature.

Now, he was completely alone. Estranged from the Virtues whose whereabouts remained out of his reach, forsaken by the Magic he had a hand in pioneering. All that remained of his greatest asset were rune enchantments, arcane knowledge, and some trivial spells.

Blueberry Milk checked his luggage over and over again in the off-chance that he forgot something. Then, once sure, he threw them all into his spatially-altered travel bag, not caring about organizing because the order doesn't even matter.

His hospital bills have been paid in full. It was time he left Parfaedia.

"Blueberry Milk Cookie, what's with the getup?" Indeed, he was dressed rather plainly for a street show.

Odd eyes met a Parfaedian in her thirties behind the bar counter. She went by Coconut Cookie her family owned the inn in which he had been staying these past two years.

"Coconut Cookie, good day." He dipped his head slightly in greeting out of ingrained habit. Nearing the counter, he dug into his bag and pulled out a pouch full of coins. "My rent for the month, in advance."

"What brought this on?" Coconut shot him a coy smile, opening the bag to count her earnings. Her icing brows pinched. "Blueberry Milk Cookie, this is too much. You're not the type to make such simple mistakes."

Sitting down on a barstool to let his knees rest, the former God pushed the pouch further into her hands. "Consider it my farewell gift. For your.. hospitality. I might never return, and I loathe owing anyone."

"You don't-"

"Hush, my dear." He tilted his head sideways, smirking. Lowering his voice, Blueberry Milk leaned forward in what he knew was an intimidating display. "Just accept it. I'm not a generous Cookie."

Her tanned dough flushed a odd scarlet.

Tapping his cane on the wooden floor, the former Virtue stood back up, his 'performer' smile back on his face. "Then, I bid thee adieu!" Not letting Coconut have the time to react, he had already walked out of the inn. With his new ID finally provided by the city which would be used throughout the major nations of Earthbread, and loose ends fully tied, Blueberry Milk joyously bought a pass for an airship to the far East of the continent.

These two years had felt like forever.

He might just miss this new life he'd created for himself.

It was time to go home.

His family awaits.

Chapter Text

The Knights Order of Kala Namak is on the brink of chaos.

It isn't unusual that their Lord Commander would disappear for long periods of time to take care of their own Divine-ordained Kingdom, especially to meet that certain apprentice of theirs. The Knights aren't that different - East Yeast is constantly ransacked in every direction by Monsters, as such their duty was to march where conflict has arisen and put a stop to them, without their Commander to spoon-feed them every instruction.

But it's been a quarter of a year now.

The Knight of Solidarity hasn't returned.

Lieutenant Salt Cellar Cookie sat at her desk, pursing her lips as she read over the reports on their latest expedition around East Yeast's coastlines. The information was... concerning. Disorder and chaos sprung up from within the territories and those adjacent of the divine Virtues, yet no sign of said five Godly Guides appearing to quell them.

Did their Commander.. no, they can't have simply disappeared!

"Lieutenant!" The doors slammed open, startling Salt Cellar enough for her to draw her sword. Fortunately, she quickly realized who the 'intruder' was. Hurrying into the room with restless steps was Lavender Salt Cookie, in his hand a scroll bearing the crest of her Liege's fief. She had never seen the happy knight so alarmed. "We finally received correspondence from the Silver Faerie Kingdom!"

Salt Cellar was up in an instance. "Relay it." She ordered.

Lavender Salt stood at attention, saluting. "Three months ago, Lord Commander returned from a visit to the Spice Devasthanam, reason undisclosed, and right then immediately declared their abdication to their duty as the Ruler. Days later, the Fount of Knowledge crashed a council meeting, the two of them leaving through his portal for many hours. The timeline fits with the information in the other Virtues' territories, and from what we've gathered from the retainers,.. what went down was bad." He grimaced. "I'll hand over the written reports on the other Territories later. Where were we? Oh. Yes, when Lord Commander went back a second time, they were met.. with a Witch - their Creator." Lavender Salt bit his lower lip, inhaling. Salt Cellar did not like where this was heading. "She was.. not pleased. King Elderbe- King Elder Faerie Cookie managed to recover and preserve... what remained of... of Lord Commander's wings."

Lieutenant Salt Cellar fell back gracelessly against her chair, the air punched out of her chest. Their Lord Commander.. Their virtuous, chivalrous, just, kind, caring, loving leader... whose own Creator mutilated them, and for what.. abdicating? It's not like the Commander's going to abandon their friends, their people, their loyal Knights because of not wanting to rule another Kingdom on top of it all! She knows her Commander!

"..Continue... please.."

"They were taken by the Fount of Knowledge's portal, their whereabouts unknown as the Spire of All Knowledge has disappeared off the map. It seemed all the other Virtues have disappeared in the same manner. Their steed, Lux Blacksalt, is still within the Silver Faerie Kingdom. We failed to convince him to come back to the Savoury Flatlands with us."

Salt Cellar Cookie rubbed at her head.

Gods above and amongst mortals, what is she going to tell the Knights Order now?

"Why didn't you tell me?... That duty has taken a toll on you and yours?..."

Silence.

"I could have helped... It was my duty too..."

Elder Faerie Cookie has been kneeling at the Silver Sapling for a long, long time. If only he had been at that meeting when everything went down. If only he wasn't on a diplomatic trip to the Blueberry Kingdom.

"Your Majesty.. It's been months. The Virtue of Solidarity would not want this of you." Elder Adoxa's voice rang somber behind him. A circular shadow engulfed his vision, and- oh, has it been raining this whole time?

"Their Majesty isn't here..."

A sigh. "Your Majesty, you are King now. The Virtue of Solidarity had taken their stand, and was punished for it-"

"They shouldn't have been punished at all!" Elder Faerie snapped back brokenly - from which Elder Adoxa flinched. "They shouldn't have been punished at all..." Repeating, the King looked up at the glowing sapling in his hunched position, voice full of anguish. "The Witches never cared before... why now?.. All the Knight ever wanted was to free Cookiekind... Why..."

Elder Adoxa said nothing, umbrella still outstretched to shield his new King.

"I cannot answer that..."

Elder Faerie remained sitting.

"...Do you think they're still alive.. somewhere?.."

"...I do not know." And isn't that much more damning.

On wobbly knees, Elder Faerie rose. The new King ripped his gaze away from the Silver Sapling -a memorabilia of their time together- and turned away with a flick of his heels, Elder Adoxa close behind.

He still has a duty to uphold, despite all his heart wanting to was mourn his teacher, his closest companion.

The Knight would hate him if he could not do even that.

Somewhere, niggling in the back of his mind, was the feeling that he had experienced this tragedy once before.

The Pagoda of Dreams was a mess. Cookie crumbs strewn about, jam dried on the stone paths, and her fallen fellows...

Mandu Haetae, the pack leader of the Haetae Guards, watched over the temples with a somber gaze.

Her master was gone. Her pup was gone. The other Virtues... she doesn't know. Hopefully, the Fount of Knowledge would do good on his promise that they would be taken care of. She, too, has her pack mates to look after.

As special creatures made to protect the home of their God, Haetaes can live on for very, very long time. She doesn't doubt that she would see her pup again in hundreds, if not thousands of years.

Just thinking about the newborn made Mandu Haetae more worried, and sad. She would miss all their growth, their milestones. Oh, her precious pup-

"Pack Leader, the barrier is done. Only Master, the Pup, and the Virtues can enter." An armored guard ran up to her, saluting.

She nodded, a clawed hand flicking the sleeves of her robes. "Good. Tell the other to prepare for Hibernation, Teok Haetae."

"Yes, Pack Leader."

Even as statues, they would guard the Pagoda of Dreams, ever faithful to the hand that fed them.

Myristica Tiger had finally sorted out the rebellion and subsequent divide. It took her months, with the help of hers, the Buffalo and Snake tribes, but they've done it. All without the help of their Raaja...

The Territory is united anew. Myristica Tiger was not like her Sire, she was mortal and had no patience to let civilizations do as they wish only to fall again under her watch.

"Raaja, the assassins sent by the Mango Capuchin tribe have been dealt with." Advisor Crocus Buffalo gruffed. "How say we approach the Mango Capuchin tribe about this matter?"

"I'll have a personal talk with them." Myristica Tiger placed down her quill, reaching for her glaive. "Don't let anyone know I'm going, I'd rather see for myself the situation."

"Yes, Raaja." He retreated.

She would create the first civilization that would last thousands of years, so that Sire would have a home to return to when she's gone.

The Garden of Delights was.. quiet.

Sugar Angels did their duty of maintaining the scenery, but that was that. The Cupid siblings have become bored of playing and singing, now lying listlessly on the lotus leaves around a syrup pond. Mortal Cookies were barred from entering after that attack, so it was just them, a couple dozens of Sugar Angels, and the local wildlife now.

Without the Virtue of Happiness - their Goddess and Mother, it was as if time had stopped.

Milopita Cookie groaned long and suffering into his cotton candy cloud, wings drooped. "I miss when Mama would brush my hair in the shade..."

"Shut uuuup..." Their eldest sister, Halva Cookie, smacked his face with her own feathered limbs. "We're supposed to learn to manage on our own now." Her voice cracked.

"Doesn't mean any of us miss her any less." Baklava Cookie shot back heatlessly, their arms dipped in the sugary waters.

Pavlova Cookie said nothing, eyes glued onto the slightly tattered yet still glistening feather in his small hands. It was one of the few that Fount was unable to implant onto his Lady's lower wings, the least broken one.

A shrill cry broke the siblings out of their trance, all four scrambling to reach the little nest placed in one of the nearby gazebos.

"It's ok, baby. Shh, shh, we're here." Baklava reached for the doughling, rocking her in their embrace. "~Rockabye baby on the tree branch~" She quieted down from their low, calm singing, red eyes like cherries squinting up at them.

Milopita's gaze fell, as if recalling something sad. "It's usually Her Ladyship who takes care of the little ones."

Pavlova gripped the feather.

"We don't know what we're even doing half the time..." Halva hid her face behind her palms. "Why did we forget that the Garden could grow a doughling? Why did it have to happen right after Mother..."

"We'll find a way." Their youngest whispered, offering a finger for the doughling's grabby hand. She grasped it tightly, as tight as a days-old fragile doughling could, giggling. "We'll find a way. Our Lady would want that for us."

Those words sparked new resolve within the Cupids.

Blueberry Yogurt Academy has never felt so.. empty.

It lacked the passionate ramblings of a certain Founder whose name no one knew yet was beloved all the same.

Professor 'Blueberry Yogurt Cookie' as dubbed by the others was a scholar with an odd penchant for theatrics - his lectures were always interesting, always refreshing regardless of topic and subject. With his vast well of knowledge that might even hold a candle to the eternally wise Fount's, professor 'Blueberry Yogurt Cookie' was undoubtedly one of, if not the, greatest minds of his generation.

Now all that's left were quiet lecture halls and somber lounges - those who attended for the Founder's insight have dwindled, most thinking he had lost interest and left.

A young Faerie Cookie paced the corridor wherein the middle the Headmaster's office resided. It's been empty for quite some time, but he never did lose hope that he would see his favourite teacher someday. Professor Blueberry Yogurt may not even remember, but just by agreeing to the young Cookie's request for extra lessons after classes, the man had essentially saved him.

"What's the matter, Grapevine Cookie?" He turned to the voice, seeing a senior professor. "Why aren't you home yet?" He recognized her scarlet hair and crimson eyes, she oversees combat training after all - a subject he was embarrassingly bad at.

Grapevine grimaced at the thought of 'home', hands subconsciously gripping the back of his robes where his torn wings hid. "Professor Winterberry Cookie, my apologies. I've been wanting to turn in my advanced homework to the Headmaster."

Her gaze softened in pity.

"Oh child... Well, if you require assistance with your extracurricular studies, do not hesitate to ask us for help. Now, it's quite late, why don't you head home?"

Hesitantly, he turned away, the feeling of security that the Headmaster's office gave clinging to him.

'Professor, where are you?...'

Chapter Text

"Excuse me, fine gentleman, is this the ship to the Candystick Archipelago?"

Captain Anchovy Cookie, a seasoned sailor of the three oceans, glanced up with a raise of his thick brow at who he assumed was yet another momentary sea-fearer. They were one rather effeminate young lad with a matching voice to boot, form hidden within a large navy blue cloak where a glimpse of a wooden stick could be parsed. The glimmering of their hair -like the night sky itself reflected in calm waves- caught his attention for longer than he'd like to admit. Their powder-blue dough and icing colors were odd as well, giving off a strange vibe that made his spine tingle a tad.

Clearing his throat, Captain Anchovy replied. "Aye, lass. That be me harbor. What hails ye?"

They grinned. "Why, what other purpose could a humble traveller like me want but to cross the Black Luna Sea?" A hand parted their cloak, gloved fingers flicking a gold coin at the Captain who snatched it right as it was in reach. "So?"

Sighing through his matted beard, Captain Anchovy pushed himself up by the knees. "Make yerself comfortable, lass, and don't ye make a mess on board."

It's after years of desensitization in Parfaedia that Blueberry Milk reacted to the demand with barely a twitch of his lips. Still, his dignity as a former God took a slight hit.

With a steady 'clunk, clunk' of wood on stone, Captain Anchovy watched as the traveller moved past him, struggling slightly with the steps up the plank. Without even needing to see under all that fabric, he could guess that their knees were buckling. Puffing a breath, he walked up behind them. "'scuse me lass, up ye go."

And that was all the warning he gave.

Blueberry Milk yelped, floundering as he was scooped up from the back of his knees and held diagonally for but a short few seconds until his shoes gently touched the deck. He whipped around, slitted pupils glaring at the Captain, who motioned with his brows to a nearby crate.

"We depart in half 'n hour. Any luggage ye have?"

"None." The scholar gritted, not much different from a bristling loafykin from Captain Anchovy's point of view. Said burly man's cheeks scrunched in amusement.

It's official.

Blueberry Milk abhors travelling by boat.

He stumbled unto the wooden dock of a small fishing town by where Pure Vanilla's kingdom would then reside, body swaying, vision swimming, lightheaded and nauseous. For a being with no digestive system (that he knows of, without dissecting himself or his fellows anyways), this change in biology unsettled him. Other travellers from the same ship passed him by, concern in their fretting but was quickly waved away by the blue Cookie.

It took an embarrassingly long time to recompose himself and walk again, his legs still slightly shaky.

Just two more boat rides.

Two more boat rides and at least a fortnight of carriage riding until East Yeast.

He can already hear the dough in his back cracking. Stars, he's old.

"Your precious little star-watcher, I never learned his new name, has recently crossed my domain to return to his roots."

It was a beautiful full-moon night. A Cookie sat atop a tower of frozen seawater, melancholy deep in her reach for the Moon.

"You were so happy that he landed in yours. Selfishly, I wanted him to stay for longer."

Sea Fairy Cookie, the herald of the ocean, imagined her beloved's dough cupped in her hands. The moon flickered just a bit like a giggle and a teasing chide in one.

"One day, when your sealing is over, I will get you for that."

The stars around her beloved twinkled like laughter. Then, misty clouds covered the sky just a tad in somber questioning.

Sea Fairy hummed. "I will look over him in your stead, don't worry, my love."

What was good about hitchhiking on merchant wagons were the roadside view.

In his many years as the Fount of Knowledge, he never had the need to leave his Spire aside from visiting the other Virtues, and even then it was via portals. He knew anything and everything Earthbread had to offer, but was too busy transcribing tomes and sharing knowledge, when would he have had time to go out and see? Then, when he was trapped within that blasted Tree, dough shattered to minced bits, obsessing over his Other Half, he was in too much pain and resentment to care about sceneries. 

At least his time with Pure Vanilla had opened his eyes to more beauty than he realized.

Day to dusk to night to dawn then back in an endless loop, colors shifting and changing before his very eyes, a continuously magnificent display that couldn't be underwhelmed by his understanding of its mechanisms no matter the years that went by from his first days in Parfaedia; the former Virtue of Knowledge came to genuinely appreciate mortality.

"Is this what you wished for me..?" Odd eyes lay upon the golden orchids along the plains, a pain inexplicable welling in his chest. His quiet mutter was carried away by the breeze that carded his hair, hidden in the rhythmic 'clop-clop'ping of biscuit horses' hooves and creaking of the cart. Gloved hands traced the smooth outline of his smaller-than-used-to Soul Jam under the soft fabric of his coat, for once wishing he wasn't so dependent on it.

Blueberry Milk couldn't shake the feeling that he had forgotten something. But that can't be, right?

Finally!

Home sweet home!

Well, not home yet, but semantics.

"I'unno what you're looking for 'ere, lad, but I s'ggest ya be careful. This place's been.. chaotic, these past two years. Somethin' 'bout Gods disappearin'." The sailor whose ship he arrived on warned. "Best t' finish up quick 'n leave."

Blueberry Milk bit his lip. "Thanks for the heads-up, good sir."

And the ship left. It was him alone in this empty seaside town.

Turning towards the mountaintop where Saintess' pagoda was situated, Blueberry Milk couldn't help the long suffering sigh. Climbing up there is going to crumble him. He began racking his mind for alternatives, from which Light Moon Magic came to mind. It would use up a considerable amount of his current reserves just opening a portal once, and afterwards he would need to recover with food and rest- hence why he's headed to East Yeast the regular way. But when the alternative was letting those mortals who hurt Saintess recognize him... Well...

This was't his first rodeo.

Blueberry Milk removed a glove, ripping a tear into reality itself, and welcomed the dim night sky of his Other Realm.

And oh, how delightful floating felt on his legs again.

"..."

Blueberry Milk's face scrunched at the sight of his once-magnificent domain, shaking his head to clear the overlaps in vision. The castle walls look as if they'd aged hundreds of years in the span of two, white marble bricks cracked at the edges, vines crawling up the towers; and the willow forest! It is absolutely withering! He'd bet his Golden Key staff that the inside must be dusty as Hell.

The Other Realm was part of him, whether physical or mental - his own will, jam, and dough. Were the past week and a half of non-stop travelling that bad? It can't have been.. He's doing great at self-care as the doctors suggested! So what could it even be?!

But this was a much cleaner look than.. than... Cleaner than what, a pristine Spire? Scoff, he's hallucinating, great.

"That's.. not normal." Commented the former God, focusing on the task at hand. He flew past the overgrown shrubs, pointedly ignoring the fresh Milkcrown fields that spanned as far as the eyes can see. Upon reaching purple tinted wooden doors, he prepared to open it with magic when-

"OOMPHT-!!"

The air was knocked out of his chest, both when something fluffy and white collided against it and when he landed on his back on the marble floor. Without even giving him a moment's respite, paws began thumping at him making his disorientation worse.

"Milky!! Milky, where Master!!"

The Haetae pup -Cloud Haetae Cookie as he remembered them- bawled into his chest, soaking his outerwear with snot and tears.

"Sto- stop. Kid, stop." A click of his finger, the pup was off him, crying and yipping still. "Kid, calm down, I don't know where Mys- where Saintess is... Wait, have you been here all this time?" A pitiful whine. "All alone?" Another whine. Blueberry Milk massaged his temples. "Great, she's going to crumble me."

His magic let the Haetae pup down, said child immediately scampering under him, claws reaching pathetically for his cloak. How does he calm down a days-old Haetae pup who he had essentially locked inside his time-frozen Spire? Granted, he hadn't been able to access it for a while, but Saintess wouldn't care - she'd wring his neck for her precious guard lions.

"Ok, fine! Get up here." Magic lifted the pup into his arms, who wasted no time cuddling up against soft fabric. They weighed as much as that little prince...

Together, the two of them made their way up the Spire, past towering bookcases and portraits of his fellow Gods. They reached his room, his study, his observatory, where his magic was most potent.

Focusing on the coordinates of Saintess' Pagoda, Blueberry Milk ripped a tear into reality once again.

"We'll find her... I promised."

Chapter Text

Dropped right outside the gates of his friend's domain, Blueberry Milk was hit with a nasty bout of vertigo. He humiliatingly stumbled, letting go of the pup and barely keeping his balance by leaning heavily against his cane. Cloud Haetae landed on their paws, yipping up at him in concern, which is very counterproductive right now in his opinion.

"Stop it." Blueberry Milk hissed out through the spots in his vision and the ringing in his ears, slowly gaining his bearings. This'll be Hell to recover from, but damned if he has to climb Saintess' cursed mountain's thousands of steps on foot.

The pup continued to whine, why'd he even try? They're just an infant. Sighing, Blueberry Milk crouched down, one arm extended as to let Cloud Haetae climb up again lest they cry and cause another commotion. To his surprise, they refused, circling his legs looking up with large wet eyes.

Inhaling deeply to recompose himself, the scholar walked forward to the wooden gates. Why had he landed outside to begin with, when he had set the coordinates within the bounds? How odd. Blueberry Milk drummed his fingers on his cane, frustrated. With the state of his arms, opening these huge doors would be a pipe dream-

CREEEAAAK...

Cloud Haetae looked up at him from the base of the doors, startled. Right. Guard Lion. Saintess mentioned all of them having the ability to traverse anywhere inside the pagoda grounds with ease. Maybe old age has gotten to him. He's forgotten more than he should.

Blueberry Milk walked inside, Cloud Haetae close on his heels. Both of them paused at the state of the interior.

Just like his Spire, the Pagoda lacked any sign of inhabitance - jam crusted the stone floor and ivory walls, flour clouds wafting in the air like dust, dried ginkgo leaves scattered everywhere; at least they'd taken the liberty to tidy up the crumbs. Even the stone lion statues were covered in a sheen layer of white. Two years really was too long when he wasn't...

"Mama!!" Cloud Haetae cried out, scampering towards the largest statue in the center of the vast, empty courtyard. "Mama! Mama, up! Up!"

And then, with a grinding sound of stone against stone, the living sculpture craned her head downwards, dough regaining texture and color. Rough grey andesite returned to rolls of creamy white fur, lifeless eyes to gentle black orbs with golden pupils, and large chestnut claws gently pulled her pup into her fluff. Her tongue went to lick their tiny fuzz of a mane, much to Cloud Haetae's chagrin.

"Mama!!" They complained, being the doughling they are. Mandu Haetae merely chuffed, overjoyed in her fussing.

"My Pup. Pup is back." She didn't even care to shake the flour off of herself.

A family reunion.. Blueberry Milk never had that. The five Virtues were imprisoned together for so long that once they got out, it was instantly to each their own. He wonders if his family would welcome him the same as when he had been the Fount, after what he'd done. He hates to admit, but Herald's hugs are already sorely missed.

"..-edge... Fount of Knowledge."

Startling the former God out of his internal conflict, Mandu Haetae was right in his face, her pup running between her legs. A scowl subconsciously shaped his features at the title as the Cookie stepped back to put distance between them. "Don't call me that." He snapped.

"Apologies." The Haetae pack leader dipped her head. "Then, my Lord?"

"..It's Blueberry Milk Cookie."

"Lord Blueberry Milk Cookie." She repeated. "I know, rude to ask. But,.. where is Master?"

That single question made Blueberry Milk's nonexistent stomach drop. "I- don't know..." He admitted coarsely, something that Mandu Haetae had never heard from the Virtue of all Knowledge. "I thought she- I hoped she was here!" Voice frantic, his claws went to tussle starlit locks that had begun to flare. "If she wasn't- what of the others?! What have I been doing 'til now?! Playing the fool for mortals, wasting my damn time- GRARRGHHHHH!!!" Mandu Haetae flinched, furs standing on end at the sight of frazzled eyes creeping up the ends of his liquid-like hair.

"Milky.. Milky no cwy."

When she had enough sense to pull her child back, fearful of the wrath of a fallen God, the former Fount's crazed meltdown had halted. Her pup peeked out curiously from her large paws, still reaching for him and yipping.

No longer the wise and gentle yet mischievous Fount she knew, Blueberry Milk was now an angry shell of his old self. What had happened to her Master and the other Virtues when they were summoned by the Witches? Would her Master become this resentful as well?

Lost in her thought, Mandu Haetae failed to realize her child had escaped her protective paws, now rubbing their head against Blueberry Milk's leg who grumbled under his breath but made no move to shove them away.

Perhaps he hadn't changed much. There was hope for Master yet.

"Lord Blueberry Milk Cookie, we go sit. Have some tea." Eyeing the shabby cane he was using, the Haetae guard's pack leader quietly mused to procure him a better one. Fragile is the fallen God now, but as a loyal retainer of a Virtue, it was her duty to serve them all, not just her Master. "Any snack, my Lord?"

"Just oat tea will do. Make it like what Saintess used to have. I need to quickly get to Faeriewood. That liar King better know something." He walked beside her, wincing after having stood still for too long. The guest hall at least has some cushions she could dust off for his comfort, and she'll have the other guards see if the healing springs are flowing again-

"Faeriewood?!" That was half East Yeast's length away! "My Lord, must rest, heal, recuperate! Your legs-"

"Are none of your concern." He glared sharply. "They have been that way for eons. If even Saintess could not hope to heal them, then what of other methods?" Not even Pure Vanilla... he shook his head. "Forget it. Unless you have some ideas to get there faster."

Well... she does have an idea.

Riding the clouds was as natural as running to Haetae lions. Travelling long distances just tended to be risky, as their stamina was not good in exchange for bountiful strength. It was the weight of both her pup and the former Virtue on her back that pushed Mandu Haetae to soldier through.

They've passed the Ravenous Forest after some hours, her legs were now screaming in protest. "We rest here. By river." She informed her passengers. Her pup yipped in excitement, whereas Blueberry Milk only gave a faint nod in her mane.

Dressed in a dark blue cloak with its hood up, the former Virtue of Knowledge's most telling feature -his hair that reflects the night sky- has been obscured. Considering the circumstances of the Virtues' disappearances, as well as his current inability to shapeshift, it was a suitable move.

Several hours they stayed by the River of First Silver, Haetae lions napping on the grass, cloaked Cookie fiddling with a white-colored plushie. That was the sight that Alaea Salt Cookie came by on accident on his usual scouting rounds.

Now, Cookies have the right to hide their appearances, as long as there are no criminals on the loose. And last Alaea Salt checked, there was none. But last he also checked, the Pagoda of Dreams was still sealed off, and the Haetae guards had gone into hibernation, so why was the Pack Leader herself and a small pup outside near Faeriewood?

He laid low, hidden in the shade of Ravenous Forest trees, trying to listen to any meaningful conversation. Alas, there was none. They just sat in silence, with the pup occasionally bothering its mother. Just as Alaea Salt was about to fall asleep waiting, he heard someone talk.

"Rested enough. My Lord, we continue?" Stretching, the large lion sat ready. Her pup tried to climb up her mane, only succeeding thanks to the cloaked figure holding them up. As they hopped onto the back of the Pack Leader, Alaea Salt could see cream blue hooves in the place of shoes.

"Very well."

Claws gripping on clouds that formed under her paw, the Pack Leader was off in the direction of Faeriewood.

Meanwhile, he's racing to inform Lieutenant Sea Salt of this shocking news.

The Silver Faerie Kingdom was a secretive place deep within the hallucinogenic thicket that made Faeriewood. Any that dared tread the forest shall find themselves turned around.

That's why the Faerie Guards were in a panic - there was an intruder covered head-to-toe in dark blue fabric just outside the kingdom's residential area, by their side a mother-child duo of Cookies that looked to be originated from the Strong Flour Ridge nations.

"Your Majesty, this is sacrilegious!" The Captain of the Royal Guards seethed as he saluted Elder Faerie Cookie. "Those intruders dared to demand for your presence! One of them refused to show themself as well!"

"Lead me to them." Sighed Elder Faerie, standing up from behind his desk. "For them to bypass the barrier, they must be righteous souls, or powerful mages. Only a meeting could tell."

Chapter Text

Seeing that face again, younger and more weary, never fails to make anger well up in Blueberry Milk. The only saving grace for that backstabber King in this life was the fact that everything had changed, now there are no-one else to blame but their Creators.

"What seems to be the matter here, travellers?" Elder Faerie Cookie stood tall before them, guards in elaborate ancient armors flanking him. His eyes lacked the light that many Faerie Cookies have, only grief - as if he had lost someone precious. Perhaps the Knight had meant much more to him than Blueberry Milk realized.

"Where is the Knight of Solidarity."

Just that single sentence had the Faerie guards gasping, their bodies rigid. Many darted their eyes away, biting their tongues - after all, the Knight was a touchy topic for the Faerie denizens, especially their King. These two years, he has been mourning endlessly, waiting for a God who may never return; and now some random Cookie, an intruder no less, audaciously trespassed just to prick at old wounds?!

"You-!" Their King's raised hand halted the aggravated knights.

"I beg your finest pardon..?" Elder Faerie croaked out, voice tight, lips quivering. Something like recognition lit up in the Faerie Cookie where his brows pinched slightly, which is not something Blueberry Milk needs right now. Urrghh, they're even so similar in mannerism!

"So are they holed up somewhere in here or not? Just a simple 'yes-no' would do." Mockery bleeds from the shrouded figure's tongue like a coiled snake, animosity not at all disguised, shattering Elder Faerie's newly-kindled hope. Of course, it's but a delusion he's feeding himself. Their voice was similar enough, but that manner of speaking was one Elder Faerie had never heard of from who he wished them to be. That rude attitude rubs him the wrong way.

Steeling himself with deep breaths, the King turned away. "The Knight never returned." Nothing was said from the figure. "You got your answer. Now leave, while we are still merciful." At his words, the guards stood taller, their weapons at the ready. Their companions -Gluten Gorge denizens perhaps, like those who attacked the Saintess of Volition- bristled, both mother and child having their swirly cream hair raised, fangs bared as though they were beasts. Elder Faerie detests violence, but he would not hesitate to spill jam should his hand be forced.

After a tense beat of silence, the intruder turned away, cloak flicking with their abrupt movement.

"My Lord?" The woman squinted, her child running to catch up and grasp at blue fabric.

"No point staying here longer. Let's get a move on."

Gaze switching back and forth between the Faeries and her 'lord', she then made up her mind to follow them out.

Elder Faerie watched them disappear into the darkness, sighing tiredly. As he was about to return to his duties, a sentry situated at the west side cried out in shock, pointing frantically up at the sky while running towards him.

"Y-Your Majesty! A Haetae lion!!"

Whipping his head upwards, Elder Faerie couldn't help dropping his jaw.

A Haetae lion, legendary retainers of the Saintess of Volition's sacred Pagoda, was many ways far from their home, riding the high clouds as they strode in the direction of the Savoury Flatlands.

The hope he had pushed down now flared back stronger than ever, eyes transfixed on the flowy blue galaxy that billowed from the cloaked figure's hoodless head. Perhaps his senses haven't yet failed him. His wings fluttered with strong emotion.

There is still a chance.

A chance that his Knight had lived.

It was night when they arrived.

Pulling some nondescript outerwear from his spatial bag and tossing them to the Cookified Haetae leader, Blueberry Milk changed his exquisite robes for a ratty brown one, wearing shoes to cover up his hooves. His loose outerwear would cover the extra dough that was growing from his lower back.

A moment of rest before another journey, he mused as he gazed upon the gates of Salt's proud paradise - the Kala Namak Knights Order's headquarters.

The Haetae pup was now asleep, curled up in his arms despite his quiet protests. "Do you know what happened after we- after the Virtues disappeared?"

She shook her head. "No, my lord. We cleaned up the Pagoda and went into hibernation. Just like that, two years have passed, and you returned."

Blueberry Milk Cookie hummed. "A terrible shame. I missed out on the live performance show."

"My apologies-"

"That means I have two years of catching up on. Not too bad a time gap, I'd say." After all, two was preferable to eons. "Hmm, if I remember correctly, and let me say without a boast that my memory is perfect!-" his voice gained a sharpness to it, likely demanding her silence on his vulnerable moment earlier, "-you Haetaes like steamed meat jelly!"

She bowed slightly. "Impeccable as ever, my Lord."

"Who else but moi?!" The former Fount grinned, all squinted eyes and glinting teeth. He looked.. slightly unnerving, with those large cat-like eyes blinking in the galactic expanse of his godly hair. But, well, she's glad he's starting to regain his excitement, at least.

The two of them went nearer to the fortress gates, Mandu Haetae having retrieved her pup back from Blueberry Milk to lessen weight on his legs, they were halted by two guards. "Please let down your hood, traveller." One of them said not unkindly. "We record the faces of all Cookies that pass by, apologies for the inconvenience."

"Oh, of course, of course!" When Blueberry Milk pulled the fabric away, Mandu Haetae could see a curtain of snow white glittering under the moon. The guards were temporarily captivated, blinking several times to clear his head.

"Your names, travellers?"

"Blueberry Cream Cookie." A clawed hand to his chest, Blueberry Milk bowed with flourish. "My companions are Mandu Cookie and Cloud Cookie, we require a night of rest from our long travels. Have you any recommendations for good taverns?" Mandu Haetae blinked at the fake name for her child, mulling it over. Usually, Haetaes earn their names and choose their orientations once they are strong enough to hunt, but an early suggestion wouldn't hurt. Yes, 'Cloud Haetae', a fitting name for a future fierce warrior.

The knight finished his drawing. Putting it away, he smiled and stood aside. "Of course, and would you also require directions?"

Blueberry Milk nodded. "That would be much appreciated, thank you."

"Lieutenant Salt Cellar Cookie! Our scout brought back shocking information!" The doors to her office were knocked on relentlessly, so much so that Salt Cellar had to yell over the noise.

"Enter, damn it!"

"Lieutenant!" Lavender Salt pushed heavy black-wood frames aside like one would a small closet shutter, breathing heavily, then quickly regained his professionalism. "The leader of the Haetae guardians was seen on the bank of First Silver river heading towards Faeriewood with a pup and a Cookie of unidentified appearances!" He saluted, reporting in tandem. "Just now, we received a messenger bird from Elder Adoxa Faerie Cookie about a suspicious figure who bypassed their wards just to ask about Lord Commander's whereabouts, who was headed to the Savoury Flatlands on Haetae-back!"

"What?!" Salt Cellar stood up quickly. "Colonel, devise a team of our quickest scouts and have them investigate the Pagoda of Dreams! Anything I should know about that suspicious Cookie?"

"They have blue dough, their voice leans towards masculine, and their feet are hooves as was retold by scout Alaea Salt Cookie. Another feature was their blue hair, with a bit of white, but Elder Adoxa Faerie Cookie wasn't sure as they were too high up. Their companions are Haetae guardians in Cookie form - they look to be of unmistakable Flour origins, with certain animalistic traits."

"If they's looking into Lord Commander's whereabouts now, two years after everything has quieted, there's high chance that they're an outsider. But to have the Pack Leader at their beck and call... this doesn't bode well." Salt Cellar rubbed her temples. "Search for the Haetae guardians, they're easier to distinguish."

Knight's citizens sure do know their hospitality. What foolish Cookies, treating every newcomer with equal amounts of welcoming and trust - it disgusts him. Blueberry Milk couldn't ever imagine showing strangers such vulnerability, not again.

"My Lor- I mean, Blueberry Cream Cookie, there seems to be a commotion within the guarding units. They are looking for someone of your original description." Mandu Haetae spoke quietly after setting down her breakfast dish, her pup still chowing down on a steamed meat bun. "I believe the Silver Faerie Kingdom had contacted them about your inquiry on the Knight."

Blueberry Milk's fiddling of the rims of his Soul Jam ceases, claws curling around its metal frame. He looked much the same as he was, just with snow white hair which darkened into glistening cobalt at the bottom, its underside filled with half-lidded pale blue eyes.

"Hmph, typical Faerie gnats."

She doesn't know when his hostility towards the Silver Faerie Cookies started, Mandu Haetae had been under the impression that the former Fount had a cordial relationship with them. But she dared not voice her thoughts.

"Salt's not here, else they'd be out here dealing with that themself." Blueberry Milk sighed, his confidence in this search dwindling. "Let's move onto the Spice Devasthanam."

Two years is enough for the rest of them to return just like he did, right?

The gaps in his memory gnaws within the back of his mind.

Chapter Text

Boy is he glad he still had access to a portion of his spatial Light Moon Magic, because crossing the Sneezing Woods between Salt and Spice's territories would be Hell otherwise. There was a spice storm in effect, flying would be courting with danger with their vision compromised.

Never would he have thought that he would need the Herald's gifts for himself in this way. After all, the Fount never had the need to travel anywhere on foot.

Wrapping a white brocade silk scarf around the pup's head and torso where Mandu Haetae dressed herself in ivory robes with gold intricates, Blueberry Milk grumbled. "Had I not known how extensively Salt trained their knights, I wouldn't have had to waste precious magic on shapeshifting. Now I'm back to square one..." His voice trailed off in the end, claws still thumbing over fine silk. "..Is this what it's like for normal Cookies?" Unwittingly, the words came out before he put too much thought into it.

"I doubt it, my Lord." Mandu Haetae smiled. "Even severely weakened, you are still a Higher Being. Your magic, your dough, your jam, your everything are godly. You can live as a mortal, but you will never be one. I would say, perhaps the best thing that you can do in your eternal life is finding something worth existing for. That is true happiness." She picked up a royal blue scarf by the pile of luggage, kneeling beside him despite the distrustful gaze locking on her. Carefully, her paws wrapped the soft fabric around his shoulders, tucking his unworldly hair inside like a mother would her child - a touch so familiar and strange. Almost like...

Blueberry Milk pushed her paw away, finishing the work himself.

Happiness? Something worth living for?

He had already fallen too low for that.

Is there anything worse than a Beast?

He's so tired of hating. He had already found and lost that meager amount of happiness a tool like him was allowed. The puppet became the puppeteer and paid the price for it. He just wants to disappear-

A face flashed before his eyes, wreathed in golden light. It was bright, and blurry, but looking at the visible grin on that tan Cookie filled him with inexplicable melancholy. Pure Vanilla, that was his name. Right? His precious Other Half. The one he spent eons obsessing over, the one who remained true and kind despite everything Shadow Milk had put him through, and wedged himself through the Beast's thorny walls to pull him out into the light on top of it.

But the details of what had happened evades him like sand.

Something is.. off. How could even the tiniest of specs escape the former Fount once recorded?

Blueberry Milk sighed, shaking his head to try and clear his cluttering thoughts. "I will.. take that in mind." To no avail.

What about all the other Cookies? How come he couldn't recall even their name?

"Give the world another chance, Bluebird."

Mandu Haetae nuzzled his forehead in reassurance. "Everything will be alright."

Raaja Myristica Tiger Cookie's reign was new, of only just two years, but she remained steadfast and unwavering, aided by her loyal retainers who believed in the ideals of their last Raaja. The united tribes thrived under her rule, just as they did under Herald's but now with more mixture than just villages existing by one another.

The cub was a great heir that Spicy's nurtured, Blueberry Milk would give her that. He could see her hard work in continuing her Sire's legacy in the bustling yet peaceful atmosphere on the village paths. Mandu Haetae and the Pup kept marvelling at the fruits and jelly-meat stalls, amazed by the variety and quantity of goods.

"Expanding on trade and merchantry, hmm. B+ for effort, but not enough I say." There are some fabric shops, but those are few and far in between. He mentally noted them down for later when he needs some materials for his sewing projects. Sitting under the shade of a palm tree, Blueberry Milk counted his funds while Mandu Haetae was taking her child for a walk.

"What's not enough?"

"CRUMBS!" Blueberry Milk startled, cane whipping up to almost hit the 'offender' by the face. He hoped it did. Stress has been making him want to hit something. Alas, the jade-colored serpentine Cookie dodged his swing with quick movements, her hands raised in surrender. The Haetaes heard his shriek, ran over leaving a trail of dust and stood between the two, growling.

"Woah hey, sorry for that, traveller." She pulled out a book that's not really a book but just a stack of paper bound loosely within a coarse piece of fabric. "Village inspector here, Chive Python Cookie at your service." Half bowing, the Snake tribe Cookie took a sheet of palm paper out and handed him an already inked reed pen. "May I have your opinion on how to improve our humble community?"

Signalling for the lions to stand down, he Blueberry Milk took the pen and began writing on the sheet held up by Chive Python. Never the one to pass up on criticism, he began lecturing at the same time.

"First of all, artisan goods are your strong forte, expand on it! Second of all, public sanity is mediocre, do better, have come cleaners around at least, and install some trash cans. Also, fix the road issue, you'll get better trading traffic and more visitors. And- ok, I could go on, but I gotta ask."

Snapping out of her funk, Chive Python nodded frantically. "Of course, traveller, ask away!" She was not passing up an opportunity for more improvement tips from an important-looking traveller dressed in fine brocade silk fitting for royalty accompanied a buff bodyguard Cookie from what seemed to be a distant variant of the Turmeric Lion tribe. This man must be from a really prosperous country!

"Has the Herald of Change returned?"

Oh... maybe she was reaching to far with her thoughts. There will always be Cookies dissatisfied with Her Grace's reign and demand the Herald back, mostly because Her Grace refused to be on the sidelines of their conflicts.

"The Great Raaja has left his legacy to Her Grace, traveller." Her voice came out a bit defensive. "Her Grace and the retainers are trying their best-"

"I know that, fool. I'm not undermining her work. It's.. good, for a newbie." The foreign Cookie clicked his tongue in frustration, a hand flicking his snow-white bangs to reveal eyes and lashes both of different colors. He muttered something under his breath, than faced Chive Python with a scowl. "But she lacks the resources it would need to reform the Spice Devasthanam on a bigger scale, especially if education is still lacking in certain areas." The Herald couldn't meddle in the tides of Change, but she can. "I want the Herald's legacy to live on," not to fall into obscurity like all the civilizations before this had. The sight of Burning Spice's corruption was still fresh in his mind. "For that, she needs to understand history."

"My Raaja, we've stumbled upon an unexpected boon!" Chive Python slammed the door to her Raaja's drawing room. Stretched across the green-haired Cookie's face was a large grin that showed her saw-like teeth. In her hands, a stack of seven old leather-bound books with four-pointed stars on their spines, which Myristica Tiger could see when the young General slammed the objects onto her table.

"Chive Cobra Cookie, did you steal these from a travelling merchant?" Myristica Tiger raised a skeptical brow.

"No, of course not!" The snake shook her head. "I got it legitimately!.. I think? Some rich guy came to Guava village, I asked for his opinions, he asked about the Great Raaja, started a tirade about ideas for the improvement plan, and threw these books at me, saying you need to know history to rule the Devasthanam! The nerve of that guy, right? Anyways, look! I've never seen such neat covers!" She gushed, inspecting the aged jelly leather with bright eyes. "I couldn't read the squiggly letters, but he said it's a history book."

Myristica Tiger took one from the stack -none of them have labels- and opened it. The first thing she saw was a big, elegant title in the very own Fount of Knowledge's writing, "Record: Herald of Change - Fifth Civilization". The Raaja froze.

She knew this style without ever needing to see the author's signature, after all she had learnt under the Fount himself for the majority of her teen years. It was thanks to his tutoring that she was able to withstand the pressure of ruling her Sire's vast territories in the first place. And now...

The Raaja was silent for a while. She closed the book, placing it carefully on her table, then stood up. "Chive Python Cookie, did you ask how he acquired these?"

"Just in some old, abandoned spire, my Raaja."

There was a discrepancy that the Fount didn't realize then. Did he lose his omniscience? Else he would have known that his Spire of All Knowledge had vanished from East Yeast. Yet he was able to access his books, which was a point towards his true identity. Only he himself can open the Other Realm.

"And his dough color?" The Fount can change his appearance, but never his true color.

"Blue. Why, is he important?" Chive Python frowned.

Myristica bolted from her pillow seat. "Take care of the palace, I need to do something real quick!"

But despite searching for an entire afternoon, the Fount's traces have long gone cold.

Chapter Text

"She's throwing a fit again!"

"Why does she cry so much!? She literally just ate!"

"Make her stop! Make her stoooop!!!"

"Shh, Little Dough, please don't drag this until midnight again..."

The Cupid siblings are at their wit's end, and that's an understatement of the century. Two years. Two years of constant hellish wailing and screaming, then, when the doughling got older, temper tantrums. How their Purveyor put up with all of them, they chalked it up to her innate calming power.

"I don't remember any of us being such a difficult kid." Baklava sunk into their cotton candy bean bag, finally free from the clutches of that tiny demon. They did not pity Milopita, who had to play 'pony' for the little ankle biter so late at night.

"Mil had the worst temper, maybe she got that from him." Halva's voice came muffled under her sibling's wing.

"What did I even do?!" The Cookie himself yelled from afar, squawking when their resident troublemaker yanked on his feathers for the noise.

Pavlova hummed, smiling lightly. "Should I remind you of the Caramel Incident just half a century ago?"

Sunkissed dough flushing a bright jam red, he bit back. "I was young! And- OW!! Stop that, Baby!" Only to be smacked again by the toddler, prompting a round of laughter from the other Cupids.

And then, sugar Bellflowers jingled jolting the four out of their exhausted states into high alert.

An intruder.

Sure, it could have been the Angels, had it not been for the fact that those Bellflowers can only be disturbed by someone walking by.

Their warrior training kicks in.

Despite her fussing, Milopita set his youngest sister down at the center of their protective circle. All of them took hold of their prospective weapons, wings hanging low to possibly shield their tiny sister from view. They waited with baited breath, frames tense and at the ready, anticipating every slow second that drags by.

A dark silhouette larger than a sugar sculpture appeared in the gap between the trees, obscuring the starry night sky in the shape of a giant beast. Under the full moon, its golden eyes sent chills down their spines.

How did such a thing even get in the Garden?

"This place is... drearier than I recall." A hum, youthful with a sophisticated lilt, came from the direction of the creature, which caught the four of them off-guard. They recognize that voice!

"Fount of Knowledge!" Halva dropped her spear, saluting in haste. Her siblings followed her lead, scrambling as to not offend the oldest Virtue.

Right on cue, a white glow appeared from behind the creature's shadow. The Fount's hair was an ethereal white with azure ends wherein loafykin-like eyes narrowed warily. Draped over his body was a royal blue cloak with faint golden stitching, and slightly parting the folds was an old wooden cane.

"I'm not a Virtue. Not anymore." He clicked his tongue, eyes scanning the Garden in.. disappointment? "And I suppose.. none of them are here on East Yeast. Great. Hah.. Haha..." An airy laugh, frustrated and hysterical, clawed itself out of his throat. "Just great!" The Fount hissed, hair flaring. "All this time! WASTED!! For NOTHING!"

The Cupids flinched at his outburst, but the creature at his side only nuzzled the top of his head and- he was calming down! Holy Sugar Swan! Baklava could not believe their eyes - to initiate touch with a former God so casually!

Taking deep breaths to settle his nerves, the Fount squinted at the four of them. "You are... Purveyor's Cupids, right?" He sounded.. unsure. "Prepare us a bed, we've had a long journey and frankly my arm's about to give out from holding this pup."

As they made their way closer to the glow of the inner Garden, Pavlova could make out the cream white fur of the Saintess' lion guards - one giant, one tiny curled up in the Fount's cloak.

"Lord Blueberry Milk Cookie. I take pup." The Saintess' Haetae pack leader lowered her head to scruff her child, the pup grunting when they were removed from the fallen Virtue. Milopita could hear him breathe a sigh of relief, mentally patting the scholar on the back as he led the Retainers of Volition to another place. Pavlova and Halva began retrieving flower beds and blankets, their hearts hammering in their chests with newfound hope for their Mother.

"Lord Blueberry Milk Cookie, would you like to rest your legs?" Baklava softened a spot on the cotton candy bag where their little sister was sitting on the other side of, hoping to the Sugar Swan that she would not incur the God's anger. He must have been exhausted, because the Fou- Blueberry Milk walked over and plopped right down, setting his cane to the side with a long exhale.

"Bwubewy?"

Baklava's breath hitched.

The old Cookie cracked a cyan eye open, white brow icing raised at the sight of a tiny doughling staring at him. There's something familiar about the little thing - her tan pink dough, white tufts of hair, and cherry-jam red eyes made something in his broken soul ache.

"Yes, tis I! Blueberry Milk Cookie." A darkened claw lightly flicked the doughling's forehead whose gaze snapped up from his hair-eyes, barely-feathered wings flapping indignantly. "Hah! Feisty. You're already an ankle biter at this age huh..." His voice trailed off. "What's her name?"

The honey-drizzled Cookie answered him sheepishly. "We tried, sir, but she doesn't like any of our suggestions, so we gave up. From her dough colors, we're guessing she's of cream and cherry ingredients, but we're not too sure-"

"Candy Apple Cookie." Blueberry Milk stated. Then paused. Why did he do that? There's no reason for him to meddle in their affairs, besides he wouldn't be able to know the little twerp's ingredients as he is now... but... how is he so sure that she's an apple dessert Cookie?.. Must be something that happened before his fall, yes, that's the only explanation. He's too tired to think about this any longer.

"Get off me, kid." And the doughling's trying to crawl into his arms. Great. What's with toddlers and trying to crush his chest with their weight? He's not as sturdy as he used to be, and his arms hurt like Hell.

The kid refused.

Blueberry Milk let out a long suffering sigh.

Baklava blinked.

When his siblings returned with the items, this was all he could say. "Baby has a name now."

"Make her stop!"

"We're trying, sir!"

"Baby! Shhh, shhhhh! Calm down!"

But little Candy Apple continued to bawl her face out, snot and tears staining her older sister's white robes as she flapped her tiny wings, hands reaching for Blueberry Milk. Honestly, it's giving him a headache as he's sitting on Mandu Haetae's back.

"Give her here." Halva obeyed, carefully handing the child over to the former Virtue. The little Haetae pup scooched over in his lap, wary of her shrill screams. But the moment she was in his claws, Candy Apple's cries died down, leaving sniffles and hiccups and damp dough. He frowned, pinching her cheeks. "Why are you like this."

"Bewy! Bewy!" She babbled wobblily.

"It's Blueberry, brat." He rubbed his temples. "Now be good to your.. to the other brats, or I'm gonna sew your mouth shut and turn you into a plushie."

Her siblings immediately jumped in protest, but Candy Apple, in her innocence, giggled at the threat. Well, Blueberry Milk wasn't actually trying to hurt her. He remembers doing something like this, though not exactly what. Something about cards and... Blueberry Milk shook his head. "Off you go." Scruffing the child by her onesie, he attempted to drop her off into her sibling's arms.

Keyword being "attempted".

The moment she was a palm's length away from his person she shrieked. Loud. Loud enough that Blueberry Milk reflexively hunched over, as a result pulling her back against himself. Her cries pattered out again.

"Lord is quite good with pups." Mandu Haetae commented unhelpfully.

"I can't raise children. I'm not- I'm not a good influence!" A horrible one, actually. That, at least he can admit. Look how his minions turned out-... his minions?.. Blueberry Milk pushed that thought back for later. "Take this back before I crumble it!"

"NO!" Candy Apple crawled under his cloak and buried herself into his chest, much to Blueberry Milk's chagrin. "No! Bewy! Bewyyy!!!"

"Lord should take pup-"

"Shut."

Despite his rather cruel words, Blueberry Milk's claws hovered uncertainly over the shaking lump in his outerwear. The thought of accidentally hurting it fills him with revulsion. Distantly, he could hear muffled screaming and the ringing of explosions in his ears. He feels as if he's forgetting something important.

"Candy Apple Cookie." His voice came out more choked than he's comfortable with. "Shut up. If you want to come with me, you're gonna behave."

The Cupid siblings looked at him, bewilderment clear in their expressions. The sky may not be safe for a doughling, but he'll manage until they reach his domain - the Blueberry Nation of Scholars. "We'll be back in a day." His face scrunched. "Where do you keep her soft jelly formula?"

Pavlova unwittingly let out a laugh as he went to retrieve the items. None of them have interacted much with the Fount of Knowledge in the past, but seeing the man trying to act harsh while awkwardly fussing over a child, they couldn't help but think him endearing, as ridiculous as it sounds.

"What." The former God snaps.

"Nothing, sir." Baklava covered for their brother. "We just think that she's going to miss you a lot when you leave. It's.. a shame. She never got to meet Mother, and you're the first proper grown-up she knows..."

Blueberry Milk looks away now, even the eyes in his hair gazed downward. His hands grip the mane of Mandu Haetae, subconsciously shielding Candy Apple away from the edge. He took the sash of baby things from Pavlova and dumped them inside his subspace, fastening the sash to secure Candy Apple.

"..I wish Sugar were here too."

His voice was a mutter, dissipating in the wind left in the wake of his Haetae mount taking off.

Chapter Text

It was Sunday - a day Grapevine Cookie loathed with all his shrivelled little heart.

Sunday meant no classes, no lectures; it meant having to stay home and run errands for that sorry excuse of rotten fruit. Weren't Raisin Tribe Cookies meant to be an opportunistic, resourceful bunch of nomads? Why was he spawned from such a despicable bum! And with these freaky wings to boot, like a gross insect!

"GRAPEVINE COOKIE!" His dough donor's voice thundered from within the shack. Grapevine Cookie flinched, tucking his barely-healed wings tighter against his backside. "Where's my -hic- berry juice, boy!"

He hates this.

He hates this so much.

The front door slammed open, barraging his sensitive sense of smell with cheap booze and poor hygiene. Witches, he's so goddamn gross. Yet, Grapevine didn't have the courage nor strength to reveal his true thoughts, only bite his lips and bear it.

"I- I haven't bought any, s-sir. We're out of funds.."

The large raisin Cookie hiccupped, scowling. "Tch. Useless."

Like many other times, even bracing himself, Grapevine couldn't fully prepare for that man's attack. His kicks were strong for someone who stays seated on a ratty couch all day, and on Grapevine's small frame, it left him wheezing for breath.

"Bring me -hic- fifty coins -hic- tonight, by any means, or I'm gunna- hrk, I'm gunna tear those disgusting -hic- wings off ya."

"Y-es.. sir-" The door slammed in his face.

Struggling to lift himself, Grapevine spat at where that man stood, wishing something would crumble him. If only his mother were still here, if only she hadn't left her child with this sick bastard, if only he were born any other Cookie... Nearly all the other students of the Academy, even those who came from the streets, none of them he could see have the same look in their eyes as he.

He'd tried to ask for help from the teachers, but they've grown to distrust him because of his bullies' lies and donor's tavern-gossip buddies. It didn't use to be so bad when the Founder was around... His Headmaster's spot was filled by a decent enough old man, but the light blinded him from the brewing darkness no matter how much Grapevine tried.

Now, nowhere in the Blueberry Nation would accept him - he has nowhere to go but this nasty old house.

...Is he truly meant to be alone.. like that bastard always says?..

The sunset makes him sick, stomach roiling and head throbbing. He wants to throw up. He wants to crumble himself. He wants to rest for eternity and never wake up-

"Child, are you alright?"

Bleary eyes wrenched itself open - he was lying down. Jam returned to his head, clearing his vision, and the first Cookie he saw was someone who was clearly not a resident. "Fluffy.." They were cream white all around, with greyish tan skin and strange white clothes. From their figure and voice, he guesses they were a woman, but doesn't want to assume.

The Cookie smiled kindly, losing that sharp edge in their features just prior. "Indeed. My mane is very fluffy."

And then Grapevine felt a tongue lapping his cheek. He shot up, scooting away from the creature that was slobbering over his dough with that barbed tongue and- "Is that a mystical Haetae lion of the Flour Peak of Transcendence?!" He's only seen them in illustrations shown through the Headmaster's ancient scrolls!

Grapevine was met with amusement from the Cookie. "Yes, this is my pup. I love my pup very much. Child, would you like to be my pup too?" Their voice was motherly in a way he has never experienced before, which left the teenager stunned. "Leave that Cookie whom considers himself your sire, become my- or if you'd like, my Lord's pup. He can take care of pups. Yes. Good idea. No?"

The onslaught of information was too much for Grapevine's little head that he could only mutter a faint "ok". Honestly, just the words 'leave that Cookie' is enough to spur him on, but the promise of 'love' left him skeptical.

However, before he could voice those thoughts, the young half-jam was picked up in the jaws of a giant lion like a little kitten and paraded around town like a trophy much to the townsfolk's bewilderment. Cookies whispered and pointed, and Grapevine couldn't free himself despite his struggling so he just stopped. He's too hungry to move any longer.

"Milky! Milkyyyy!!" The white pup ran ahead, dodging civilians until they tackled against a Cookie in a glimmering blue cloak standing before a fabric store. They sputtered, almost knocked over from the force and just barely righting themself with their wooden cane. With that dark glare, Grapevine was afraid that they might use that cane on the pup.

But no. They crouched down, setting their cane on the side, and from their robes he could see a tiny head of white and red.

Clawed fingers, darkened by something that doesn't seem to be natural, hooked gently around the baby lion's tufts and pulled them from their leg. "What, brat? Why are you in Haetae form-" Cyan-gold and azure eyes turned towards them, widening comically. "WHY ARE YOU ALSO IN THAT FORM?! And is that a child?! Mandu Haetae Cookie, did you kidnap a child?!" They sprung up in alarm, wincing when their knees protested.

"Your pup now." Grapevine could hear how proud she is.

The blue Cookie stormed towards them, a doughling giggling in their baby sash, pup on their heels. As they got closer, the more familiar they seemed to Grapevine Cookie. Even if the color of their hair was all wrong, and their facial structure was off. It was when the mannerisms come in that his suspicions grew greater. Grapevine had to, after all, learn to read body language for survival.

Their face curled in a sassy deadpan, crinkled odd eyes full of judgment. A deep breath, a long exhale, followed by an exasperated click of the tongue. "I am not taking him just because you said so!" Although their tone was harsher than Grapevine remembered, words lacking warmth as well as scholarly eloquence, it carries the same drag, the same lilt, the same airy intonations. "Mandu Haetae Cookie, leave that brat where you found him and let us move on."

It has to be him.

A whine from the giant flour lion -Mandu Haetae- tickled the back of Grapevine's neck.

"No means no. There's work to do, with two toddlers on hand, and none of us have the right resources to raise a teenager-!"

"Professor Blueberry Yogurt Cookie?" He had to try.

The other paused, leaning heavily against his cane to stare at the half-jam. For a tense moment, his unblinking gaze remains unnerving, scrutinizing the Cookie held up by Mandu Haetae's jaw. "Excuse me? Do I know you?" He responded to the name, at least! There's some form of murky recognition in those multicolored eyes, mixed with heavy confusion and frustration - as if he's trying to recall, to little success. That alone relit the spark of hope long buried in Grapevine's heart, along with it, concern. Did something happen to make the Professor forget? Was that something why the Professor now required a cane? Was he in danger? Is he in danger? Selfishly, all Grapevine Cookie could focus on was the feeling of his own relief.

Relief that his Professor hadn't abandoned the Academy for no reason, leaving him behind in that hellhole. That forgetting him wasn't a choice.

Relief that his safe space is within reach once more.

"Headmaster! It's me, Grapevine Cookie!" He tapped on the jaw of Mandu Haetae, signalling her to let him down. She refused. "Oh come on! Let me go! He's my Professor! I'm his star student! He has to remember me-!"

Magic zipped his mouth shut.

"Mandu Haetae, let us move somewhere more... private." Looking around at the gossiping townsfolk with barely contained disdain, professor Blueberry Yogurt spun on his heels, cane clacking against stone road. "And for the record, you annoying little gnat, it's Blueberry Milk Cookie."

"Eat slowly, pup. No one will take that from you."

Grapevine is trying really, really hard to heed her instructions, but the food was just so good. He hasn't had jelly so delicious in years, unable to afford anything but scraps and the occasional cold cafeteria portions. This warm jelly soup could fill him for days!

"You're not as I remembered." After a while of staring unblinkingly in silence, the Professor finally broke it with a curt sigh. With a lazy twirl of a darkened finger, Grapevine could feel the silencing wards be put in place. "Though admittedly, my memory has been.. faulty as of late."

How should he explain to this kid that his image overlaps with a bat-winged Cookie who crumbled in an explosion, whose demise had made Blueberry Milk's jam curl with rage? He couldn't even remember who that was, what they meant to him, but he couldn't forget how they looked like when they came to his Spire.

"I figured as much, Headm- sir." The dark-doughed Cookie hummed between bites, snapping Blueberry Milk out of his daydream. "Also, professor Blueberry Milk Cookie, you're not going to return to the Academy?"

Nostalgia crossed the man's features, and disappeared just as quickly. He shook his head. "No. That life's not for me. Besides, my time there has already ended."

Grapevine nodded. "I agree. I'll go with you. I can clean, and cook, and take care of your daughter-"

"Hold up!" His mouth was zipped again. "First off! Candy Apple Cookie is not my daughter!" Angrily, Blueberry glowered at the smugly smiling Haetae lions, Mandu Haetae especially. "That's your fault, you fool!"

If he could laugh, Grapevine would.

Once the magic had been used up and the teenager was able to talk again, it was then that they got down to real business.

With Grapevine tagging along, of course, by the Haetaes' insistence, and much to Blueberry Milk's chagrin. Candy Apple was just there for the ride. Honestly, flying on Haetae was pretty fun! The best part? It doesn't hurt!

But...

"Sir?"

Why are they watching from afar the spot where the Virtue of Knowledge's Spire vanished?

And why are the Kala Namak Knights scattered across that empty clearing?

"Urrghh." Blueberry Milk grimaced, signalling Mandu Haetae to backtrack. "I hate how competent Knight's little soldiers are." Eyeing the dirt mound where not a trace was left, he commented. "There's nothing left for us to do here. Let's go back to the Garden and drop off this grub-"

"It's the Cookie with the Haetae!"

"They've got an unknown!"

"Crumbs."

And so, against better judgment, Blueberry Milk had to bring the Cookie of his old domain back with them to the Garden of Sweet Delights.

Watching the Blueberry Nation disappear into the distance, he couldn't help feeling that he was finally free.

Chapter Text

"It seems she's unwilling to part ways with you, sir." Was Halva's unhelpful comment that was not doing anything to alleviate Blueberry Milk's predicament right now! Pavlova and and Baklava have been waving her favorite toys and foods in her face, to no avail. The grubby thing was ardently stuck to his chest, bunching his good vest, and smearing snot and tears over him! It's filthy, it's disgusting! On top of that, the little pup was running around his legs yapping his ears off with their yips!

(In Halva Cookie's defense, she's learned how futile it was to go against her little sister when the doughling was like this - Candy Apple was just too stubborn, like the rest of her siblings in their youth.)

"She's never been so attached to anyone like this!" Milopita tried to pry her off, but her shrieks made all of them flinch. "We're so sorry, sir!"

"ARRGHHH!"

Grapevine and the Haetaes watched it all go down on the sidelines. The young Blueberrian Cookie was still thrown off immensely by how his old Headmaster acted - contrasting his former noble air and sophisticated mannerisms that hid his mischief and cold temper, the Professor was now freely expressing his displeasures in ways that he would have once considered 'childish' and 'unbecoming'.

"He actually looks like a normal Cookie now..." escaped Grapevine despite himself. He slapped a had over his mouth, affronted by his own disrespect, but the Haetae lady's rumbling chuckle bewildered him. He just disrespected her lord!

"He does." She affirmed. "I was worried whether he would be able to fit in when he would eventually leave East Yeast. Seeing him like this, my anxiety is assuaged. With time, he would learn to live the way mortals do."

Grapevine picked up on the wording immediately. After all, being naive wouldn't have helped him survive all this time. "'Mortals'?" The young half-jam narrowed his eyes.

Mandu Haetae's gaze was knowing. "Banish those ratty clothes, little Faerie, and let your wings breathe." She then turned her golden eyes upon his old Professor once more. "You would find out soon nonetheless; after all, your lifespan far exceeds that of other Cookies."

"Faerie?" He's only ever heard of that word in hushed whispers, and even then, they were mere legends created to give children hope. But having been said by a mythical being themself that serve directly under Gods... "Am I a Faerie? Is that what I am?" Is he really one of those mythical beings? Is he... more than just a freak?..

"Be proud of it." She confirmed.

Grapevine looked at the Professor, who had given up on his struggling and was now laying flat on the floor of the gazebo.

Does he remember?

Likely not.

Maybe those years of the Professor trying to convince him to see a Healer for his nasty wings... Grapevine feels shame crawl up his throat. Now the damage was so bad that even stretching them hurt - he may never be able to fly again.

"Pup?"

"Who.. was he? Like, I know he was the Headmaster, but... He's more than that, wasn't he? Like.. a God, perhaps?"

And Mandu Haetae.. hesitated, like she wanted to say more, but couldn't. Her golden eyes gained a conflicted look, glancing between him and her lord. He's always wondered why such a high being like her answered so respectfully, so formally to a Cookie who was supposed to be just a(n extraordinary) scholar, despite her acting casual. Grapevine may not know much about their primary Gods, but he would be deaf or blind to not have heard of them and their many deeds-

Realization set in. His eyes widened.

"The Fount of Knowledge." Of all the old Virtues, only one fit the Professor's description.

By Mandu Haetae's flinch and the way she whipped around, afraid that the Professor would hear, his deduction had hit its mark.

"Holy Virtue..."

"Professor, can I.. come with you?"

Blueberry Milk was doing his midnight last-minute checks on his items when he got startled half to crumbling by Grapevine. The eyes in his hair flashed a bright white before quickly settling, still spooked and dilated but no longer half-open from drowsiness. The former God did not turn around.

"I don't need a liability."

Indignant, Grapevine puffed up. "I said before, sir, I can take care of myself." While he was not comfortable with this.. version of the Headmaster he once knew, he understands that pain could change a Cookie for the worse. But Blueberry Milk was still the man who gave him sanctuary despite everything. And Grapevine was selfish, that he knew.

"Then take care of yourself. Away from me, preferably." Was the scholar's deadpanned words, putting some cotton inside his bag after some consideration. "Too many stagehands spoil the play." What was even that analogy?

"I won't get in the way then, just tell me what to do and what not." Huffed the teen, making Blueberry Milk pause, a cinch in his brows. "I don't know if you remember, sir, but I've been doing miscellaneous jobs in the Blueberry Nation since I was a kid. I'm useful."

Useful, until he's lost his value, and discarded without a thought.

Guardians above, how he loathed that word.

Black Sapphire Cookie was more than just a tool.

Scowling, Blueberry Milk shifted his sitting position so that his legs won't cramp. "You're a kid is what you are, brat." He remembers those back in Parfaedia, barely older than this one, yet none have worked to the point their hands scarred over. He knows he's forgetting something important when it comes to.. Grapevine Cookie, but what he could recall doesn't match! And that frustrates him more than anything.

...One thing remains clear, however: No other Cookie should accompany him on his journey - this is his comeuppance, and his alone.

Heh.

A literal lifetime, and he's just now wanting to atone.

Funny, how compassion changes a monster.

"I'm seventeen!"

Blueberry Milk blinked back to reality. Oh yes, the stubborn fool.

Said teen was shot down immediately. "You look twelve. And even if you're twenty or thirty or older, you're still a kid to me. What are your tiny hands gonna do on set?" Pulling on the strings of his bag, he cut off the spatial magic flow. Everything is in its place.

Grapevine bit his tongue, because he knew that, his 'predicament' - he's reminded of it every day back in the Blueberry Nation. The former Fount of Knowledge was said to have lived for thousands of years, of course normal Cookies are young as children compared to him. Still, having heard his role model say that to his face hurt.

"And if- that's a big 'if' here." Blueberry Milk continued, not yet facing his old student. "If I let you follow me, who's to say you'll keep up? It's not a short outing, kid, might waste your whole life." Perhaps more.

"Professor, look at me! Am I not serious enough to you! Have I not made myself clear?!" The Blueberrian's voice cracked with desperation. "Why can't you look at me!"

Why hadn't he turned back even once?

Guilt gnaws at the scholar, more prominent than his norm, as did panic. But why, indeed? He did not know, himself. Rarely ever had he answers to his questions now. In the end, pride overtook - his ego did not allow for being called out so easily. Whipping around, Blueberry Milk had a retort ready. "How must I explain to you what horrible fate awaits should you-"

Only for it to die on his tongue as he took in the sight of those tattered violet-tinted wings.

"I- you-" Conflict roiled within the former Virtue. On the one hand, the fact that a Faerie of all Cookies was before him made the Beast in him call for violence. On the other... his jam wept of loss and reunion, of grief and regret and of immense joy. "-You're a Faerie..." Grappling with the battle of mind and heart, he finally uttered out in disbelief.

It's him it's him it's HIM-

"Professor, let me be your tool." The Faerie's visible amethyst eye was earnest, hardened by pure determination. His wings buzzed incessantly despite the twitch in his expression. "I can be your loyal chess piece. I can be your handy servant. I can be everything you wish of me, my Master-"

A raised hand, trembling. Another, to his own face. "No- stop. Stop it." Blueberry Cookie's voice wavered, eyes in his hair frazzled. "I don't need any of that." No more. He can't lose them again.

Frantic, the Faerie's tone came out louder than he'd intended. "Then, what must I become for you to accept me once more?! What must I do to be by your side?! I just want you to look at me like I'm something worth caring about again, damn it-!"

A shrill cry tore through the tense air, making both of them flinch. Grapevine slapped a hand over his mouth. The old Virtue...

"Crumbs."

Blueberry Milk really tried to book it.

He failed, of course. Without his portals, being tired from lack of energy, and having weak legs, he quickly succumbed to a clingy doughling who by all accounts should NOT be so strong. How did she even get all the way to their gazebo so quickly? She doesn't even have flight feathers! Unless the Cupids fly using magic, which is unfair.

Begrudgingly, with the blessings and concerns of the Cupid siblings, he had to bring Candy Apple along. Not like he had a choice in the matter. On top of finding Purveyor, he had to take care of her youngest brat as well...

Grapevine couldn't help feeling triumphant as he packed the baby's clothes, toys and formulas for the journey, mentally thanking the little brat for being the sole reason he was allowed to tag along. After all, memory loss or no, the Professor couldn't take care of toddlers to save his life powder. He laughed silently at the memory of the Headmaster making doughlings cry.

A cane stopped him from climbing atop Mandu Haetae. "Before we set off, shed the name." His Professor's eyes were narrowed in scrutiny, a twinge of sympathy as they landed upon the now-exposed wings. "It no longer suits you. You are more than that weak Cookie back in the Blueberry Nation." Mandu Haetae filled him in and, oh Guardians, his claws itched for dough and jam.

"Are you.." The boy gasped. "Are you going to give me a name? Like- like I'm your son? Like you did with Candy Apple Cookie?!" His awed expression almost blinded Blueberry Milk despite his dark dough, wings twitching like they wanted to flutter but couldn't. They've got to find a healer for that, the scholar's hatred for Faeriekind be damned - this kid was his responsibility now.

"Preposterous! Banish the thought, fool!" Still, he has an image to uphold. "Come up with one for yourself."

"C'mon, Professor!"

Candy Apple thrashed in her sash, as if jealous of the attention given to the half-Faerie. But the boy remained giggling, much more looking the child he is than the sight that was their first meeting. Of course, those new clothes sewn by yours truly did their duty well. He could feel Mandu Haetae's approval.

"Can I call you 'dad'?" Though he asked jokingly, the young half-jam was terrified of rejection. The pain when he called that man by such title.. he could never forget-

"Da'! Da'!!" Pulling her arms free, the little bratling tugged on Blueberry Milk's vest, who muttered a series of 'nope's under his breath as he hobbled towards an amused Mandu Haetae and away from the four Cupids. The teen's face fell.

What did he even expect...

Climbing onto soft cream mane, Blueberry Milk's voice was almost drowned out by the pup's yammering.

"Black Sapphire Cookie."

Said half-jam paused, perking up. Did he.. hear that right?... The Cupid siblings have gone quiet in shock, even the fussy Candy Apple. Baklava whispered 'I told you so' to the others whereas Milopita and Halva gaped. Pavlova seemed knowing almost.

Blueberry Milk was turned away, face still bright violet with a hint of copper. "Don't make me regret it."

It's as if a final puzzle piece has clicked in place.

Running towards his new future, Black Sapphire grinned widely.

"Where are we going next, Dad?"

The former God groaned into Mandu Haetae's mane, her large body rumbling with laughter. Squished by his weight, Candy Apple laughed wildly.

"I changed my mind. You all infuriate me!"