Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It’s cold at the bottom of the Yogurt River.

Straight to the bottom, Truthless Recluse thought. That’s what Shadow Milk had said. Any cookie who still clung to the Truth would go straight to the bottom. But he feels oddly buoyant.

Like at any moment, he can choose to rise. But instead he waits, dough numbing in the cold. It’s quiet down here. He could disappear here, dissolve forever. No more painful truths, no more sweet deceit, no more… anything.

Ever since he came to Beast Yeast, it has felt like a sword hanging over his head. As if everything his trials led to, they led to this. A curse instead of a reward. And what did that say about his actions if he was pushed to crumbling instead of happiness? If after everything he did, instead of being with his friends under the sun, he was led here to the river?

Above, he can hear voices. An impossibility, with how thick and heavy the yogurt was, but he could still hear them. Calling for him. Shadow Milk’s high pitched voice, always on the verge of giggling. Almost feeling like it tugged on invisible strings.

But under it, the children.

They’re afraid. They want him back. And it tugs at something in his chest, anchoring him here.

Why should you care, something that sounded far too much like Shadow Milk whispered. You’re always running to fix everything. Maybe for once, others should step up.

It’s a deceptively sweet thought. Maybe for once, another can take this weight. Did they really need him? He was the least useful of the Ancients. The least powerful, the least ambitious. He failed when they needed it most, failing against Dark Enchantress.

Or, he rises here. The idea was even more tempting. He had already seen the cold truth for what it was. Why not step into Deceit? Around him, he could feel the yogurt begin to stir.

No Something inside of him screamed. Familiar and yet not, and without his command, his magic began to bubble. No.

Not his magic.

He can recognize the flickers of magic, the scent of lilies under the warm sun. Not yet fully bloomed, but they carried a bittersweet familiarity all the same. This magic was still amateur. She was in a rush.

If he had thought the river was cold, her magic was almost searing against his skin, forcing him back into his dough. It tugged and twisted, prodded and pulled until he thought the yogurt around him had begun to bubble.

Don’t give up It sang. What truth do you still want to know?

The truth? He had seen the truth, had known it in its cold and painful entirety. His gaze had been ripped open, forcing him to look beyond and realize that the peak he had been searching for was nothing but cold void. And yet, the thought pulled all the same. Every step of his journey, entering Deceit’s territory to see- no.

A lie for himself. He hadn’t cared about the ritual to seal the beasts. He came for one reason.

To discover why Shadow Milk had fallen.

As if summoned by the thought, he can feel the wires around him begin to tug. Shadow Milk was growing impatient, bored with this game. Perhaps curious about the magic he felt. Perhaps angry. What did it matter?

The children.

Another scream of his name, hopeful and terrified all at once. And for a moment-

His soul begins to shake, the yogurt becoming distorted, twisted, contorting until it feels as if he can reach out and pull. And he is, before he can even think about it, uncaring of the consequences. For a moment, he is no longer in the river.

He’s in the Dark Side of the Moon. but, no longer are the eyes watching him. The void around him was empty, a blank slate. Not quite here, not quite there. Below him, he still feels the cold tiles at the bottom of the river, even as he sees nothing but the void. The world rocks.

As the tiles below him crumble. For a moment, the world was nothing but a tumble of sensations. The flicker of eyes. The sickly sweet honey smell of his magic. The warm feeling of White Lily’s.

Truthless Recluse hit the floor hard but he was already running, fleeing down the corridor. It was unfamiliar but what was familiar anymore? Even as he began to slow his steps, he can hear the Spire begin to contort. Every instinct in him that still lived screamed to return to his friends.

But Shadow Milk’s target was him. If Truthless Recluse left… they should be safe, right? Beyond truths, beyond his unanswered questions or the fading glow of White Lily’s protection, the thought drove him forward.

Behind him, Shadow Milk cackles, far too close for someone who should still have been in the too large room. “You really think you can hide from me?” He said. Were the shadows beginning to flicker? To grow eyes? “An itty bitty cookie?”

Keep going. You’re almost there Something whispers. Truthless Recluse doesn’t care where it is. He flees down the halls as if haunted, drawing ever closer even as the tiles beneath him warp. They raise to trip him, try to pull him down, turning into treacherous sand. Every time he begins to falter, the voice cries out again.

And then he turns and sees it.

A door.

He could not say what was different about it. It was simply a door. Pure white and blank, not even engraved like some he had seen. And yet, he knew it was what he sought.

Truthless Recluse darted to the side, reaching for the door. Distantly, he heard Shadow Milk’s voice beginning to raise-

For a moment, the world blinked out.

And Truthless Recluse tumbled into open air, gasping as his knees struck cold tiles. He forces himself up, blinking against the fading golden glow.

“Gingerbrave? Strawberry?” He calls softly. Only his own voice echoes back. Truthless Recluse pushes himself up, only to hiss. The move caused an unpleasant cracking noise, pain began to seep over his dough. Trying to look through his staff was dizzying, granting him quite the close view of blue tile that began to distort when he looked closer.

It must’ve fallen. But when he began to fumble for it, his hand didn’t meet the smooth wood. Right. It wouldn’t be the first time he had to diagnose himself blind.

Grade two cracking, he thought, letting himself fall back into familiar patterns. Deep enough that jam was beginning to spill over most of his torso. It would have been jarring in his former outfit, but the black he wore now would hide it.

It had been a long time since he had been so wounded. But, this alone would not be enough to make him falter. Not yet. He refused to give Shadow Milk the satisfaction.

He had no idea where the cookie had gone. Perhaps they were waiting to see what he planned to do. It sounded like them. To watch and see what entertainment he provided.

“Wizard Cookie?” He called. Gritting his teeth, he let his gaze in the staff open again. He would need his staff. He needed to see-

No crumbs. Truthless Recluse let his eyes close, holding them shut for a moment. No crumbs. Thank the witches.

The term felt almost sacrilegious now. The first time he had made the mistake of saying it out loud in the Spire, the ensuing fit Shadow Milk had thrown was nothing short of cataclysmic. Even now, Truthless Recluse doubted his memory of what happened, too distorted to know what was a lie or truth.

Shadow Milk could look in his thoughts all he wanted, he decided. It was his little rebellion, to keep the term he grew up with. Or perhaps, he simply didn’t care about much of anything more. Even consequences.

A few feet away, he was sure his staff would be lying on the tile, pale blue eyes closed. Thank the witches. He wouldn’t know what to do if it was destroyed in the blast. As unpleasant as it felt now, tainted, it was still the only way he could see. He pushed himself up, stumbling to his staff.

The feeling of his eyesight snapping back was a welcome relief, a disjointed gaze of the corridor filling his eyes. It was cold, an unpleasant magic creeping over his senses as he looked through eyes that no longer felt like his own.

But what really felt like his own, anymore? His eyes, his Souljam, even his body was nothing more than a vessel for lies and painful truths.

Now. His main priority. To get to the children. If nothing else, they had called to him. He cared for them still. Even in the river, foolishly, they believed he could rise again. Even as low as he fell, even after attacking them- he cut the thought off cold. There was no point in considering it further right now.

But moving again reminded him of the painful cracks lining his body. Right. He’d need to heal himself first. There was no way he was in good enough shape to face Shadow Milk Cookie like this.

Truthless Recluse pressed his hand to his staff, feeling his mana swirling into a golden light around him. The scent of honey and vanilla filled the air. He didn’t frown when he realized it had taken on a sickly fermented edge, as if something had spoiled. Nothing had escaped his fall.

But with the rush of mana came the rush of something yawning and empty, almost sending him to his knees.

He could almost hear White Lily’s voice chiding him as he staggered, leaning heavily against the wall. Foolish. You’re always in such a rush to help that you never stop to think about what you have left to give.

Mana depletion, the more clinical part of him said. He knew it so familiarly from the war that he was already automatically cataloguing the symptoms. Lightheadedness. Paling of the frosting of the extremities, frosting, and likely the dough of his face. A sense of chill. Darkening at the edges of his vision. His eyecings flickered up and down the corridor.

And quickly, progressing to fainting.

He must’ve used far more of his magic in connecting to the Dark Side of the Moon than he had thought.

But when he reached for his additional reserves, built into the wood of his staff, he found nothing. For a moment, the flicker of a frown crossed his face, pulling uncomfortably as if he wasn’t quite sure how to make an expression that wasn’t one of apathy. He had carved the runic reservoirs himself, filled them until they should have been brimming.

But how much have you gotten to rest, the cackling voice pointed out again. Always running around, playing the little hero?

I haven’t been quite that awful, Truthless Recluse thought. He had his time in the vanilla orchid gardens to relax- no, he was usually treating minor scrapes and bumps. The price of a childhood, but any of the children sniffling quickly had him offering his magic. Any time Black Raisin staggered back from patrol, he soothed away their aches and pains. Anyone who came to him found healing.

And then after coming to Beast Yeast… he had found sleep to be a struggle of late. The blur after entering the Spire had weighed on him heavily. He had known that for the children it was barely an hour, but for him- it had felt like days. Staggering through the lie that was his life, Shadow Milk’s play, unable to sleep.

And he was paying for it now.

“Still a bit foolish.” He admitted, only to him and his ghosts. It had been a long time since he had pushed his healing ability so far. The Tribe had been desperate, but Black Raisin was more stubborn.

The last time he pushed himself into mana depletion, she reorganized the duty roster to go on strike from the healing ward for anything outside of extreme problems. He could have gotten around it but…

Worse was her painful admission of her fears of losing him. It nearly pushed him to explain his origins, that mana exhaustion was far less worse for him. But in the end, he decided to back down rather than push forward. The memory was covered by a haze, but still he could feel the flickers of feelings from his old self.

He would need a place to rest. And, as unsure as he still was, to find his friends. If he could still bear to open his eyes to the truth of their wellbeing.

Unfortunately, he… didn’t recognize where he was. At first, when he looked around, he had thought he was simply in another area of the Spire. The entire building had been maze like and eerie, as if built to be inhospitable to cookies.

But this corridor rang… oddly true. Undistorted. Even as his gaze searched for the cracks that had lined the walls, the smears of fresh icing, he saw nothing. Only the distortion that had wavered around his vision from the staff itself, no longer the clear vision he once had.

Even more confusing was the lack of eyes.

“Is he trying to confuse me?” Truthless Recluse whispered. With the fall and the- fakes. The wolfherd, and the lamb, and the everything really. Was this another scheme? Another game for him to play? Truthless Recluse couldn’t feel the other watching and yet, he knew they must be.

The Light of Truth was worryingly silent. It had been since he had first stumbled into this Spire. Maybe it had never spoken at all. Truthless Recluse forced himself to step away from the wall, leaning heavily on his staff for support. The first step made the edges of his vision grey, his grip on the spell faltering.

Steps. Clicking down the corridor. Truthless Recluse tries to pull himself up, but the swift motion made him teeter even more unsteadily. About to fall.

Someone rounded the corner, a blur of gold and blue. Too fuzzy to tell, his grip on the spell beginning to slip.

“Reveal yourself-“ The gold and blue blur said and Truthless Recluse felt himself sway, his vision beginning to go sideways. The last of their line slurred into nothingness, slipping away from his fading thoughts. Oh good, he had at least found a cookie.

“Apologies.” He said in a rush, vision beginning to blur. “I’m passing out. Symptoms should resolve in-“

No. He recognized that voice. He knew that he did. It played in his dreams every night. Not quite right, but when has the other ever played by the rules? With the wolf herder, the distortions… he knew the other could appear differently. But now, it came with an echo of knowing. He knew the other almost as well as himself.

The thought of it was almost amusing. How would the Master of Deceit feel if he realized that he had created someone who could look past it?

“Shadow Milk Cookie.” Truthless Recluse stilled for a moment, unsure whether to step forward or back. Meet him head on, or wait for the other to decide which game they were playing next. To decide it was time to rip away his souljam.

His dough made the decision for him.

He swayed. And fell.

The last sensation he had was the smell of something faintly sweet, almost milky, and something catching him before he hit the floor.

Chapter Text

He didn’t dream anymore.

Dreaming was one of the parts Pure Vanilla liked of sleeping. One of the only parts he liked about it. When he slept, his mind was free to wander. Not all dreams were peaceful but they were new. Fascinating in their own way.

Even as Healer Cookie, he remembered getting to dream. Often, he forgot what the dreams were, left only with a strong feeling of grief and loneliness in the morning. Sometimes, he woke up with tears streaking down his cheeks. But still, he had dreamed.

As Pure Vanilla, he found himself lingering again in old scenes. Soft moments in the library. Walking the streets of the old Pure Vanilla kingdom.

The same dreams, but now he was able to remember them instead of waking to grieve their loss like one grieved a forgotten lost toy. As a child, he had been thrilled by the study of dreams, eventually gaining control over them as his magic had matured.

It was a common side effect for mages. Magic demanded mental organization and when one grew as old as he was, one gained quite the power over their mental organization. In his dreams, he often found himself wandering his own mind, free to create as he wished or linger where he wanted.

Now, when he dreamed, he found himself walking in the Citadel. Chasing hidden figures up stairs, paging through books filled with gibberish, hints of whispers of the faint breezes that drifted through, deceitful promises of ways leading out.

What control he had was lost. No longer could he find his way back to the garden he had cultivated. Memories that appeared were shattered, distorted. It never felt like a dream, it felt real up into the moment he jerked awake.

Or were they? Did he simply remember them wrong? He found himself stumbling in and out as he opened the doors, staggering from one to another.

Part of him wondered if maybe this was another fragment of him and not a dream at all. The Citadel was a place where time and space didn’t truly work the same as other places, and some part of him was strangely aware that other fragments existed. Like a phantom hand, long crumbled, but one he swore he could still feel.

Perhaps one stuck forever wandering the halls.

This time, he found himself endlessly stumbling forward, chasing after a flickering shadow. Racing through darkened hall after darkened hall, up the stairs, never knowing why he was chasing but knowing that he had to.

Until the room opened up, too quickly to react, and he was stumbling right into the River again, sinking down and down, further than the river before. The riverbed had dissolved away, surrounding him in infinite white.

And cold.

Down. And down.

The pressure growing ever more.

The voices smudging on the edge of his hearing growing louder. Somewhere, he thinks he can hear the Light of Truth speaking. But it always sounds muffled, too far away to hear clearly.

And then the clock rings.

When he jerks awake, it is slow. Not quite indulgent. He doesn’t so much as jerk as he does slip slowly out of sleep, the only sign of movement being the slow blinking open of his eyes in the dim room.

It was dim in an oddly friendly way. The rooms he knew were shadowed in a way that sent chills down the spine and the oddest certainty that there was something lingering, something watching. Waiting for the moment to lunge. What light there was was cold and gave the sense that one may be more comfortable in the darkness, where ignorance was bliss.

Here, burning candles flickered soft gold, throwing forward warm light to chase away the shadows. Above, it looked like stars danced in the darkness of the vaulted ceiling. Pleasantly, someone had laid his staff next to him, allowing him to see.

The bed he laid on was unfamiliar but far more comfortable than anything he had slept on in recent days. His room in the Faerie Kingdom was perfectly serviceable of course, but more often than not if he even managed to sleep, it was often in the library during their frantic reading rampage, using his most recent book as a pillow.

It looked like no place he had ever seen before, but for a moment, he wondered if he was lying in the Academy, some sort of flicker of familiarity crossing his mind before it slipped away.

Bizarre, considering how long ago the Academy was, how any semblance of it from before had been destroyed in the accident. Certainly, it should be too long ago to be able to remember anything approaching familiarity.

“Ah? You’re finally awake? I didn’t see that coming!” Truthless Recluse didn’t stir, blankly examining the ceiling. Not until someone leaned over him, face filling up his view. “How fascinating. I calculated you wouldn’t wake for a few more hours yet based on the rate of your slumber.”

Only then did he jerk, body beginning to lock up. But long honed instincts to reach for his magic were burned out. There was no point in it. After a moment, he felt himself relax back.

“Shadow Milk.” He said through gritted teeth. But even as the other’s brow furrowed, a sense of… offness hit him.

It was Shadow Milk, he knew it was in the way that he knew the wounded person and the wolfherd was Shadow Milk. Even the most perfect lie had the tiniest flicker of truth, of reality to it. Even if the realization was only in retrospect when he realized he was in far over his head.

And yet.

This wasn’t Shadow Milk.

The other was…. Light. Not just in aura, but in appearance. Where Shadow Milk’s eyes were filled with malice and cruel amusement, theirs was filled with curiosity and examination. Instead of inky black eyes hidden in midnight blue hair, it was filled with shimmering pale gold stars. It almost swept the ground in length.

Their robes were nothing short of exquisite, less the sort of robes of a jester or king, and more along the lines of an old mage advisor in a court. They wore a three pointed crown, a symbol of mastery that likely held its roots to this very person.

It wasn’t Shadow Milk. And yet, it didn’t feel like a lie. It was the eyes that gave it away. One gold, one blue, exactly the same, but both filled with almost limitless knowledge. Like an endlessly clear lake that revealed startling depths hidden by their clarity. One kept staring in, realizing that the floor that looked only a few feet away was in fact hundreds of feet away.

“Well, I’ve been called many things, but that name is a first!” This unfamiliar perculiarity said, sweeping their legs up in the air to perch on nothing. Their posture was pristine, rigid, even dainty. He could almost hear the nobles of the Vanilla Kingdom lavishing praise for their perfect form.

Shadow Milk sprawled. He posed. He lounged on thin air in poses that look like it could crack someone in half if they tried to mimic it.

“It’s not yours.” Truthless Recluse said dully, eyes flickering back down. It didn’t feel right at all now. But part of him had no clue how far he could trust his judgement now. Could he even tell the difference between a truth and a lie?

“I know that!” For some reason, this brought a prim smile to their face. “But you are half right in your query. My name is Blueberry Milk.”

He couldn’t help tilting his head to the side. The name was completely unfamiliar. If this person existed in history, their name had been struck from the board with unprecedented completion.

Or maybe it was changed.

The idea hits him like a bolt from the blue. Like claws tearing into his flesh with no escape in sight. Another painful truth slicing away its pound of flesh.

Maybe this is Shadow Milk. Before everything.

It is not as if he is unaware of who, or rather, the role Shadow Milk used to be. In fact, he is certain it would have been impossible to be unaware of it. The records they had were old, tattered, mere scraps compared to what was lost after the rise of the Beasts.

They whispered of something more noble. A spirit of knowledge who granted it upon those around them, taking in student after student. Their name, appearance, everything gone.

Shadow Milk had flaunted his former role, the one he held before he was imprisoned by the Witches. Knowledge. Knowledge of the world and all its mysteries encapsulated in one cookie. The last thread to what he was before.

Despite himself, he grows more speculative. Certainly, the appearance may fit the snatches he got during his wild race around the Citadel, haunted by the eyes in the wall.

What paintings there were were twisted, demented things with eyes that followed one around. That had an eerie glint to them that suggested that they were not friendly, and perhaps, not simple paint. But he remembered a handful that had stuck out.

Destroyed. Smeared with ink, some burned, some torn at the edges. Fragments of midnight blue and gold. He had assumed that they were simply fits of rage, like how he had come upon shredded puppets. But now, the jigsaw fragments he remembered spelled a different story.

A worrying one.

Because the last time Knowledge in its purest form had existed was centuries ago. Before the Beasts even fell.

The name was another fragment of support. Knowledge of the time before the Beasts became so was rare, yes. But he was almost certain someone like this, dripping with magic and knowledge should have earned at least a mention.

Blueberry Milk. So alike to the name Shadow Milk. It wasn’t uncommon to find parallel names even among unconnected parties. There was an entire Milk tribe and even then, every once in a while, a Milk would turn up with no connection.

But the similarity in names and appearance could not be denied. It was like staring into the reverse of a crazy mirror, something set right in the world. One coincidence was peculiar. Two coincidences could be evidence.

Which left two possibilities.

Another lie, one even more twisted and layered. For a purpose he could not gather or fathom. Another attempt to strip him of whatever Shadow Milk was looking for or hated within him. It would certainly not be out of place.

Shadow Milk seemed certainly delighted by pushing him to the absolute edge of his beliefs. Truthless Recluse was certain that the other would not hesitate to kick him over just to see what would happen.

But that also left the possibility of a truth. That somehow, he had been thrown into the past. Which held implications that he wasn’t sure if he was ready to think about.

Truthless Recluse found it easier to let his eyes slide away, settling on the patterned ceiling above. It was dotted with golden gems, glowing softly above set in the midnight blue.

Ah. Now he recognized this room from his stumbling around the Citadel. But last time when he had stumbled through, it had been empty. The only recognizable marker had been in his flight he could see the dents where the gems had been pulled out. Carelessly, but with an edge of viciousness to it.

Like someone wanted any evidence of them gone.

Here, they were pristine and whole, laying out constellations that only had echoes of familiarity, suspicions of where certain ones may shift to form new ones. More familiar ones.

Or perhaps his eyes tricked themselves to believe in his theory.

“Oh, ignoring me?” Did they form actual constellations? If they were constellations, it was none that he knew. “Could I perhaps have your name? Grant this old teacher their questions.”

“My name doesn’t really matter.” Truthless Recluse said dully, not looking away.

It felt like no names fit him anymore. He had shed Healer like an old skin, everyone dropping it the moment his memories had returned. Like Healer had died up there in the castle, his many years in the village completely erased.

Only Black Raisin called him by that now, a token of memory. He never told her that he had overheard others telling her to stop calling him that, that he might find it offensive.

Offensive. For a name he had used quite happily before his life had been abruptly reconnected to the tracks.

Sometimes, he envied Healer. That was a name without weight to it. A gentle, straightforward name. No one developed ideas based on such a name.

But it was not a name he wanted to add weight to. That name was private. Intimate. He didn’t want to use it for this and spend the rest of his life feeling memories when it was used.

Blueberry Milk clapped their hands together. “Of course it matters! You are a guest in my Citadel after all. Should that not grant me the knowledge of your name?”

He said the words almost clumsily, like he had never had to ask another for something before. Under his eager eyes, he felt a flicker of something. A desire to answer.

Truthless Recluse… was okay. Not a name he enjoyed. But a name that he had to tolerate because of the one who had bestowed it upon him, deceit dripping like honey from his purring mouth. He only had so much energy left to fight and a name was just… not worth it.

Truthless Recluse was a jigsaw of a person, still trying to figure out how torn apart pieces should fit together.

For a moment, he debates throwing out Pure Vanilla. He rejects it just as fast.

“You can call me Truthless Recluse.” He finally said. There. Settled. Done. He doesn’t turn his gaze away from the ceiling and lets the few moments of silence pass.

Under his gaze, he saw a few of the stars shift. Representing constellations shifting, due to age or the seasons? Or perhaps, a little trick done by their master.

“That’s an interesting name.” Despite his wariness, Truthless Recluse let his gaze shift back to him. The claimed Blueberry Milk was resting his chin on his hand, staring at him with something that could be called fascination. It buzzed, irritatingly, on the very edge of his skin. “Not one that I have ever heard before. And very unconventional. Certainly against the naming trends of the area, very much inspired by me!”

The stare.

For all of the differences in outfit, that fascinated stare was exactly the same.

“It can be.” Truthless Recluse said, a more articulate response slipping away. It was two words. A name. He had only just received it, so he wasn’t exactly attached. But it felt the most fitting right now, drawing a line between who he was and the him now.

But whatever answer he provided, it only seemed to light a fire in Blueberry Milk’s eyes.

“See, that’s the part that fascinates me!” Blueberry Milk said, gesturing outwards with his hands. “As you must know who I am-“

“I don’t.” Truthless Recluse said, the tease rolling off his tongue far too quickly. He almost surprised himself.

Blueberry Milk looks like he just spilled a prize winning potion onto the floor.

“You don’t?” He said, sounding genuinely incredulous. He turned in midair, standing straight up rather than sitting. “How could you have not heard of me? Me! The Sage of Knowledge!”

The additional layer of confirmation strikes him like a blow and he’s almost impressed how he doesn’t flinch. It feels like he should but instead, he feels as if he’s been carved from stone.

Subtly, Pure Vanilla flickers through a diagnostic. He’s actually doing… well. Not at his best with the massive drainage of healing, not to mention the new form that the river had locked him into. Reconstructing a body took massive amounts of magic, even with the rather… forced assistance from the River.

And, he had his suspicions that Shadow Milk had pushed along whatever the process was as well. Guided it into a shape that the other found fitting. Certainly, the robes looked similar to puppets he had seen in some of the rooms.

He tried to feel for the edges of what he used to look like, his hand woven robes, and turned up nothing but a barrier. A wall where there was once a space for something more. He lets the thread of magic drop.

Right now, he couldn’t change back anyways. The waste of magic for something as small as those robes woven from wool of his own sheep was… silly.

Even so, his magic pool was already beginning to rise again. Nowhere near enough to somehow take out this one in front of him. But enough that some of the lethargy was rising from his limbs.

Wounds healed. And no signs of new ones. He turned his thoughts back to the conversation, already turning over what this could mean.

“I don’t get out much.” The lie rolls off his tongue far too easily, only the barest flicker of revulsion struggling to remain.

Pure Vanilla can lie. Shadow Milk had tossed it in his face. He has lied to his subjects, his friends, himself.

But more often, he told the truth.

It’s only now, looking back, that part of him wonders why he did. Why was the Truth so important? Why did he need to tell it? Why intervene in matters at all?

It all feels so… hazy now. Why he did it. Maybe it was the Yogurt River. Maybe it was Shadow Milk, getting under his skin. Like something on the top of his tongue that he just couldn’t quite remember, but it itches so badly in a way that made it important.

The truth hurt. It stung. It carved out old wounds and brought them into the light of day. People said they wanted to hear it, but who really did?

“Well then. Allow me to enlighten you, you poor knowledgeable soul! I am the illustrious Sage of Knowledge, master of the Citadel, and imbued with the knowledge of this world!” Blueberry Milk said, his arms going out wide. He bowed, but it was the courtesy bow of a noble meeting another. Truthless Recluse slowly tilted his head.

So even their title had truly changed? The fragments they had left didn’t say that their title had changed and the last one who knew the Beasts so permanently was just crumbs now, crumbs and flowers to be wept over.

From Sage of Knowledge to Beast of Deceit.

As much as White Lily kept a brave face, he knew she regretted not staying to learn more from Elder Faerie and instead chasing the story of the banquet. Even to some of the closest to him, he had never revealed all the information that he had.

Perhaps old enmity, perhaps old kindness.

Perhaps he thought he had more time.

But the confidence in this second introduction and the additional details confirmed that this was the true master of the Tower. Which led to one person.

“If not the mystery behind your name, or rather why your name, perhaps exchange another?” Blueberry Milk practically folded himself to prop his head on his hand, eyes glimmering. Quite truly. In those blue and gold eyes, he could see paler gold flecks like little stars. “Who’s this Shadow Milk you mistook me for?”

It’s impressive, Truthless Recluse mused, that despite feeling so numb, he could become even colder. Something like ice settling into his veins at the name.

“Someone I mistook for you.” And the lie drips so sweetly off his tongue. So easily. One would think he’d been doing it all of his life.

It was necessary, a small voice whispered. Because how else could he say that Shadow Milk and this one in front of him were the same person? Should he so wildly share the fates of the Beasts and what happened? Could he share it?

A nervous habit, he chooses to fiddle with his staff instead, still displeased with its new form.

He truly didn’t enjoy this new staff. The vanilla orchid had been simplistic, perhaps, but its refreshing scent had been lovely and a reminder of home. He had grown it himself, weaving in the enchantments as it grew from a sprout to a full bloom.

The new eyes made his vision split in a way that was truly uncomfortable. It must be how Shadow Milk preferred to see, with the eyes that lingered around him but Truthless Recluse found the multiple perspectives disorientating.

It grew worse when they began to blink, out of order, and a pang of loss for his old staff hit him so hard that he almost staggered with the weight of it.

He had experimented so much to create that staff, the perfect artifact as the last of his vision finally failed him. At the time, most artifacts were meant for brief glimpses, not long term sight. The undertaking had taken months of studying, research, and tracking down books to uncover scraps he could weave together into a true spell.

It had remained with him through several adventures, through the Dark Flour war, and even during his time as Healer, wrapped in bandages but still present.

And now it was gone.

The weight of it being missing almost felt like an actual wound. The new form that it took, felt like salt being rubbed in. He forced himself to breathe through it, through the surge of nausea.

It’s not like he can yet afford to replace this one anyways. At least having his staff was better than being blind in an unfamiliar place.

“See, it’s the oddest thing.” As he leans forward, Blueberry Milk’s eyes narrow, the gaze becoming weighty. It almost pulls back Truthless Recluse’s gaze like a magnet. “I know every inch of this continent that we are on. I have peeled back the greatest mysteries of the world. When my companions descended, it was I who gave our names, knowing them from the start. And yet.

“I don’t know who you are.”

He spoke those words like they should mean something, something oddly feral at the edge of his gaze.

“I’m nobody.” Truthless Recluse said. Because that’s what Truthless Recluse was made to be. Pure Vanilla was the Ancient, the bearer of Truth, the hero and king. Healer was the kind hearted but worn soul who helped the village.

Truthless Recluse was made an empty shell.

“Hm.” Blueberry Milk said, but the sound was strangely hollow. Curious. “And why would you call yourself a nobody? Everybody must be a somebody, otherwise where would we be? A fascinating philosophical debated, rife with implications and theories.”

“Faced with the truth.” He said softly, both an answer and not an answer.

He’d been down that road. The coverings had fallen from his eyes and he-

He wasn’t a liar. Not about this. How funny.

At the bottom of the river, it almost felt like the oddest form of… peace. He wasn’t a liar, not in the way Shadow Milk and those who lived in the Citadel were. But neither did he hold the same love for the Truth anymore.

The truth caused pain. Pure unvarnished truth caused hurt. Nobody loved the truth. To tell a patient that they would not be okay, that they were dying? To tell friends that they would likely never come home?

He had held the hands of the dying. Looked his friends in the eyes as they stood before their confrontation with Dark Enchantress and knew this could be their last adventure. Soothed the children through fears that he felt himself.

But part of him didn’t know whether any of his thoughts or theories were real anymore. After all, with the pain of the Truth so deeply ingrained in him, he should have drowned in that River.

Instead, he sat back in the pillows, taking in the actually flummoxed look on Blueberry Milk’s face. It jarred the other into an almost quiet solemnity.

Like this, he could almost understand why the Beasts were seen as something holy. As Shadow Milk, the Beast had been captivating in a flaunting, deadly way.

At one moment, flaunting like a proud candy corn peacock. At the next, a formless and deadly shadow with sharp eyes. The same sort of enticing that had people chasing dragon beard wisps into wetlands. Beautiful but with fangs that reminded you that it was dangerous.

But next to Blueberry Milk, the memory only makes their radiance all too notable. They have a glow about them, like the glow of divinity itself. Each detail exquisitely crafted and molded until it looked like they had stepped out of a story, built for the role itself.

The way the glow of the stars in the hair framed their face, settling an almost invisible glow over their skin, setting of their eyes. The air of nobility they carried.

Blueberry Milk met his gaze with an evenness that he envied, sitting forward in their seat perched on air. “Interesting theory.” He said. No rejection or cackling, just simple expressed interest. “But one other question is that-“

Truthless Recluse stared at him. Blueberry Milk waved his hand. Truthless Recluse stared harder. Blueberry Milk retracted his hand, almost delicately chuckling.

“The eyes-“ Truthless Recluse didn’t flinch as Blueberry Milk waved a hand at the blindfold he had now, visible even from where it was left draped around his neck.

Eternally hiding his gaze from the truth, Shadow Milk had proclaimed when his robes had warped during the nightmare sequence. It had made him so uncomfortable that he had slipped it off, letting the black bandages drape around his neck, distorting the golden eye drawn on them, and hiding them in his robe collar.

Somehow, he knew if he wrapped them again, they would form the same pattern of the single golden eye, even without the ability to see to align it.

“Yes. I’m blind.” He said blankly. Oddly, Blueberry Milk perked at that information, clapping his hands together.

“Oh yes, I hypothesized that you must be!” He said, looking rather like a gleeful child that had taken the last sugar jelly. “The faded eyecings, the bandages, and that rather fascinating staff you have! I’ve never seen someone root in a far sight spell like that before, but I knew that it must be possible!”

“Mm.” Perhaps if the world didn’t feel so dull, he would feel nervous about his blindness being exposed in the confusing circumstances he was in.

But, anyone with a scrap of medical experience would notice his true eyes didn’t function as one would expect. It would be truly surprising to have the Sage of Knowledge not notice.

And he had been blind for so long, he was rather unconcerned about the idea of dealing with someone, even with his original staff gone. In the end, it might improve it to be smashed into a wall a few times. He was not fond of the new eyes on his staff.

“However, I find myself rather curious HOW you learned that spell! It isn’t one that I’ve taught to others yet.” Blueberry Milk said, turning to look back at him. “How did you access my collection? There’s no way you could have utilized and modified such a spell without me noticing, not with your rather grandiose entrance drawing my attention soon after your arrival.”

Academically, the information shared was fascinating in one perspective. Had this version of Shadow Milk, should his words be true, been the true origin of spells?

Tales of the Age before the beasts were vanishingly rare. The Faeries had the most complete records but he had only just learned that the age of the beasts did exist, to the mockery of his counterpart.

But here, Blueberry Milk implied that was the teacher of all spells, none created until he taught them. Having interesting implications for the learning of magic after his descent into Deceit.

How many spells were undiscovered because there was no one left to pass them on?

It was fascinating in a historical perspective that made some part of him long to bring the problem to White Lily over a cup of tea.

Ice thrilled up his back, frost cooling warmth. His thoughts floated away. If he ever saw her again. If she would ever want to see him again, the form he was now, and not the cheerful, always optimistic and hopeful friend.

“Does it matter?” He intoned. It was a spell. It had its use.

“Of course it does! Why, it’s another layer of mystery around you, that I find myself fascinated by!” Blueberry Milk said, throwing his arms out wide.

“Mystery.” Truthless Recluse said flatly. “You keep referencing that point.”

“Ah, but is it not the only salient point?” Blueberry Milk spread his hands. “To lay it out empirically, you have appeared in a Citadel where no entry should have been permitted without my knowing. You have used a spell I have never taught others. You’re suffering from extreme mana depletion with no sign of what drove you to do so, and your name and appearance is foreign to even me! And I am rather famous for knowing all.”

Ah. When you lay it out like that… he’s really mintnip for powdered sugar cats, isn’t he?

However, that left possibly confirmed his one possibility to mind, one that he almost found his mind rejecting out of knee jerk reaction.

Time travel.

It was an area of magic theoretically possible but never deeply explored. For one, said travel would take astronomical amounts of magic for the average mage. The amount of magic needed would take years of collecting and storing, or it would kill its caster as it dipped into harvesting the magic necessary for life.

For another, accidents plagued every research study. Machines suddenly missing parts. Batteries unplugged and left to drain. Partners suddenly turned against each other, deep friendships suddenly turning into deeply bitter rivalries that never healed.

Some chaotic theories even proposed these were signs of a time traveler committing sabotage. That the act of perfecting time travel would either bring about some sort of destructive force that sought to prevent itself or the creator preventing anyone else from gaining their power.

The most likely theory was simply the sheer gravity of the task. One would need to collect and protect massive amounts of reserved magic from any number of calamities, including the rather delicate and volatile nature of the magic itself. Partners would need to work close quarters for grueling months. Machines breaking, rivalries forming, so on, were simply expected at that point.

And in the end, it was like being dropped in the middle of the ocean without a compass. No one knew where to start.

He had barely dipped in, when the War first broke out, entertaining the fanciful thought of preventing it all from happening. But in the end, had walked away with the knowledge that this was the way of the world now.

He turns his mind to the more straightforward topic, that of diagnosis. Something he was so well versed in that he could do it asleep, and had done while running on no sleep for a week.

Mana depletion. He’s not unfamiliar with the affliction. It was the most common one that appeared during their rotations as healers in the Academy, and the one most commonly warned against. New mages testing their limits for the first time had a way of hitting them incredibly fast.

It was like throwing someone into running for the first time and comparing them to a marathon runner. Eventually, both would get tired. Both may even have the same amount of mana to draw from.

But the difference in the end was that the marathon runner knew how to pace themselves. Knew that a dim glow would work just as well as a bright lantern spell. Knew that a minor spell would do better than a major if the substitution could be made.

It was one of the reason he rooted his vision to his orchid staff. Maintaining an unrooted vision spell would drain him far far more and far far quicker. A torrent compared to a trickle.

Mana depletion mostly aligned with his own diagnosis, one that was already quickly recovering with the addition of rest and time.

And yet, something insidious whispers inside of his mind, your counterpart could do so much more with the magic he had been given. Had so much to burn. What does that make you? Just a shadow of him.

The idea was as terrifying as it was depressing, a truth that had yanked aside the curtains. Among all mages, he and his friends had been prodigal in the level of magic their Souljam carried. And yet? Compared to the beasts?

Mere wisps. Fragments.

What was he in the end?

Still. Perhaps out of familiarity, but part of him finds himself… disagreeing. “The symptoms do not fit mana depletion.” Truthless Recluse intones. “Not wholly.”

“Oh?” Curious but not surprised. He knew already. Just wanted to test him. They may not be the same, exactly, but this Blueberry Milk was not far off in Shadow Milk in their way of slowly prying apart a person to see what made them tick.

“I was suffering from mana depletion.” Still was, factually. He could feel the familiar drain lingering, the slowly welling pool of his magic as it fought to return. “But mana depletion does not cause uncontrolled teleportation. Nor does it result in such a prolonged slumber.”

Certainly, it would cause a person to collapse. But typically, revival would occur the moment their mana pool rose above the danger zone.

It was a much theorized safety instinct in the healer world. A last ditch survival, with the idea being that in a situation that could result in a full mana depletion, it was critical to be up and moving as soon as possible.

His mana pools were not far above his danger zone, but certainly high enough that he had been asleep for hours longer than supposed.

“So it doesn’t! Bravo!” Blueberry Milk claps and ridiculously, for a moment, Pure Vanilla is reminded of one of his teachers at the academy. The one who would ask questions, hoping to see you arrive at the right answer. “But I do notice your reserves are refilling at a surprising rate. Typically most mages recover their reserves at a rate of a fourth every 28 hours-“

“Unless in certain cases, however, even outliers tend to be capped at a third.” Truthless Recluse recited.

“Correct!” Blueberry Milk said, scholarly tone delighted as he clapped his hands. “Full marks! And the cause of it is typically exposure to a high degree of magic or overuse! Another oddity you have brought to our debate is HOW this difference occurred! I had roughly calculated hen your slumber continued that something must be prolonging it, in fact, I thought it would be prolonged still with how deeply you were asleep.”

He had struggled tearing himself away from those shadowy dreams. “Mana depletion from.” He paused. Healing his wounds. But part of him wanted to keep that knowledge still under wraps. Just healed woulda were still fragile to someone who knew how to take advantage of it. “But likely the rest stems from what brought me here.”

“Which is?”

“The river.” Truthless Recluse said, eyes closing. Not in the memory. But of what occurred the moment he connected the river to its effects. Including where he was now.

He can feel himself crackling a bit at the edges at the thought of the most logical progression. The singular, bitter truth, more bitter than any lie.

The answer may be to go back into the River of Rebirth.

It was the most correct course, as insisted on as the truth. Whatever happened to him, it happened down there in the river. The river itself was mysterious enough, able to drag down souls filled with truth.

And where does that leave you, that now you stand outside of it?

The likely answer to not just his slumber but the key to going back, would be down there.

But some part of him, a part where the numbing cold hadn’t seeped, finds itself strangely reluctant. To return to those cold and empty waves. Down there, it felt like as if any second, any semblance of him would truly drift away.

Sometimes he wonders if it hadn’t.

Even as Pure Vanilla, he rarely felt afraid. Worried, yes. Unhappy, yes. But afraid? Rare. The last time would be the moment he walked into the Citadel with the knowledge he was very likely never to walk out.

“It was a room.” He continues. “Large enough the edge was difficult to see, glistening right. Despite the marble floors, there were plants growing around the river.”

Something flickers in those mismatched eyes, the other leaning forward as they hummed pensively. “Oh yes, I do think I know that room!” They said. “How fascinating! You say you came from there and yet, the place I found you in had no sign of you stumbling from there. No remnants of your passage, nor signs of magic.”

“I didn’t walk.” Truthless Recluse said. “As for the rest… it would be easier to go there.”

“Oh?” Truthless Recluse doesn’t continue, gaze shifting towards the door. There was no need to. “Fine then. I’ll bring you there.”

Truthless Recluse’s mind flickered for a moment. He hadn’t anticipated the other agreeing so suddenly. But Blueberry Milk looked truly excited by the possibility.

Blueberry Milk sweeps a hand out in offering. He stared at it for a long moment before shifting himself up, moving his staff to a better grip, and sliding out of the bed, sweeping his robes back. The other tilts their hand but simply tucks their hand back.

Halfway to the door, he can almost feel the room ripple, his steps shifting just slightly. Already he can feel the other’s curious gaze on him.

His gaze lands on the door and he knows with a Souljam deep certainty that wherever that door led, it didn’t lead there anymore.

The Citadel was a shifting place under the rule of its Master and its Master alone. Space itself had no meaning here. A door should just as easily open somewhere else.

So when the door sweeps open to reveal the very room he remembered, he didn’t even pause his step.

The plants were there. The tone of the room had shifted, the shadows less forbidding than before. But the plants were there, the art on the walls were there, it was most definitely the same room.

But the river.

Before, the waves had moved like slowly curling sludge. Ripples as if scripted. But the river in front of him was free. Faster. It slid by at a rate that far eclipsed what he had seen before.

It looked looser too. More liquid. Like… milk. Milk instead of the yogurt.

It was the river he had plunged into. And yet, in the same stroke, it wasn’t at all. In the same stroke, it was so entirely different that it may very well be one wholly new.

Like the one standing next to him.

The disappointment felt like a hand reaching up from his chest, choking away his voice. Sweeping away his thoughts. If this wasn’t the same River, could it truly help him get home?

“Is everything alright?” Blueberry Milk asked, leaning around into the edge of his gaze. It flickered, one eye settling on him.

“No.” Truthless Recluse said flatly. He studied the River for a long moment. “It doesn’t look like how it should.”

“How should it look?” Blueberry Milk said, so soft and inviting that Pure Vanilla finds himself explaining before he means to.

“It was thicker before. Slower. Colder.” Even before he stepped in, he could feel the cold radiating outwards.

“How odd! It should be none of those things.” Blueberry Milk snapped his fingers. “I suppose one suggestion could be additional introduction of condensed magic but-“

“But I should have been shredded to pieces the moment I stepped inside with that much raw magic.” Pure Vanilla finished.

“…exactly?” Blueberry Milk said, an odd note in his voice. “Are you sure it was into this River you plunged? Or rather, emerged from?”

He tilted his head to the side. “Positive.” It didn’t look or feel right but it was still the River. He just knew it. “But there is one way to check.”

And before Blueberry Milk can reach out to stop him, Truthless Recluse forced himself to plunge into the River.

There’s no chill.

The thought hits him harder than any enemy strike. There’s no chill. He knows the chill that he felt as soon as he hit the yogurt, or rather milk, the immediate rising feeling of rejection and dismay. It was the rising chill of a mistake, of being stripped bare and found wanting, of plunging into a fight incredibly outclassed and knowing it.

There’s no way he could ever forget that cold. But as he drifts down into the liquid, there is no chill. No sense of warmth either. Most of a feeling of… neutrality. The only sensation being the pulse of automatic defensive magic to protect himself from the effects of liquid on his body, and the brief currents tugging at him.

In comparison to his jump in the River of Rebirth, this one truly feels more like milk than anything else. Strangely fitting for its new and old master.

Pure Vanilla lets himself drift further down. Unlike before, it doesn’t feel like a plunge. More of a drift. Like he imagined jumping in the sea would be like.

And then the river whirls, twisted-

And a hand wraps around his arm, dragging him back to the surface.

Truthless Recluse hits the bank with a stagger, skipping a step to let himself regain his footing before directing his staff at the one who had pulled him out.

“What-“ Blueberry Milk wrung out the cap that held their starry hair back before a sweep of magic has their outfit dry and neatly pressed once more, “Was that? What possessed you to just go ahead and jump in like that? Is there truly anything left in that head of yours?”

Their eyes were wild, gestures sweeping for emphasis.

Pure Vanilla tilted their head. “To confirm a conjecture, one must continue through.” He pointed out. It was truly basic academic knowledge.

Granted, it was a concept he and White Lily had gotten into no end of trouble for during their studies. Their burning curiosity drove them to attempt truly outlandish experiments, looking for failure or success to guide them.

It never failed that every once in a while another would discover them during this and prevent them from continuing, surprised at their audacity.

Quietly, Pure Vanilla had always found it silly. After all, some of the experiments the teachers had carried out could be no less dangerous. But in their case, it was the experiment subjects themself that had worried the teachers so.

Blueberry Milk looks at him askance, as if he had been repeating the words granted by the Witches that asked for everyone’s left arm to be stolen and mixed into punch. “That may be so but…” Blueberry Milk paused. “If there was a possibility, I would know of it! No experimentation necessary!”

“But you didn’t even notice that I was brought here or why.” He pointed out immediately. Blueberry Milk jerked back, gaze going pensive. They were quiet for a moment, hand rubbing at their chin.

“I suppose that is true.” They mused, hovering up to float above the surface of the river, looking down at the pristine white surface.

Ah. Pure Vanilla is struck by the sudden realization. Could it be that Blueberry Milk, and so later Shadow Milk, did not conduct experiments at all.

The idea almost seems outlandish at first glimpse. And yet. “Do you now know how to conduct an experiment?” Pure Vanilla asked bluntly. Blueberry Milk hummed, drifting back to the bank.

“I know how to do it!” He chirped. “Of course I know how! Imbued with knowledge, my creation was. Anything known is knowledge I know!”

Blueberry Milk chuckles, like he’s just told a fascinating joke.

“But knowing how isn’t the same as doing it.” Pure Vanilla pointed out.

“It is the same at the end of the day. An experiment is the same as its end result!” Blueberry Milk said, spinning away from the river. Pure Vanilla feels his curiosity rise, some unspoken question being answered.

The idea of the one who bore the Souljam of Knowledge not knowing how to conduct an experiment seemed absolutely insane, only the theory known?

But was it?

Why conduct an experiment if you knew exactly what would happen? Why tread a road when you already knew what would lie at the end?

Pure Vanilla had done theory experiments at the Academy. Little things. Showing how sugar shifted form under heat, testing the effects of certain reagents on potions or rituals. Certain experiments that had been tested and refined so much that everyone knew the results.

And they were boring. Fascinating enough initially, but nothing compared to the warm glow of digging into something where you truly did not know what would lie at the end.

Truthless Recluse withdrew his gaze. “Perhaps better than. Poking down the wrong road had far too many consequences to continue.” He said.

The curiousity about the unknown had left to far too much pain and strife. Perhaps if White Lily hadn’t fought so hard to ask the question, the creation of Dark Enchantress never would have happened. Perhaps if he had suppressed his own, he would have stayed in his pastures with his sheep, blissfully unknowing of the pain that could have happened.

But then those friends never would have been met along the way.

But maybe that would have been for the better.

He pulled his gaze away. “What does the river do?” He said, giving up on phrasing it carefully. Something had felt different, plunging in.

“Do? You don’t know?” Pure Vanilla tilted his head in a silent motion to go on. “Ah, of course you don’t! Because it doesn’t do anything.”

Pure Vanilla flinched. Quick. Involuntary. His robes rustled over the ground, and he knew without looking that Blueberry Milk was looking at him.

“It’s just a River.” They continued. “A wonderful place to study by- I know some students who carry their books over here and read along the banks. But for magical attributes, despite theorization, it’s not particularly special.”

Another difference. His fingertips tapped staccato on his staff, mulling over what that might mean.

“But then again.” Blueberry Milk said slowly, tapping his chin. “Certainly you have been the most unexpected variable. So, perhaps it’s you who has changed the course of my River?”

“I don’t have that power.” Truthless Recluse said. If he truly had the power to turn back the clock, he could think of several moments that he would have chosen to change instead.

Blueberry Milk clapped his hands together. “Ah, but then we are left with what could? What could bring you here without my Knowledge, after leaping into a river that is both mine but not. I have theories! Experiments! Potential answers!”

He looks so excited by the very possibility of it that for a moment, he finds himself falling quietly. A bitter retort rose to his lips but didn’t quite wriggle free.

“…right then.” He said, looking back at the River. It still does not look right. “Pass them along and I will take my leave.”

Blueberry Milk dipped in the air, eyeing Pure Vanilla. “I’m sorry?” He said, that giddy smile still stuck on his face.

“I can research as well as I could on my own.” Potentially better. Part of him still carried the lingering doubt whether any of this was true, whether it wasn’t just another one of Shadow Milk’s traps.

It certainly wouldn’t be the first time he had to research on the fly while camping. Following the trio around, and with the weight of being the King mostly gone, he had gotten to indulge again in the joys of travel.

He wasn’t as well supplied as he’d prefer to be for such a journey. Certainly, a delay would be unfortunate but unexpected to gather food and set up a camp. But afterwards, he’d be able to start digging through his own mental library.

“…where to go? But of course, you’ll stay right?” Truthless Recluse didn’t flinch as hands clasped around his own, Blueberry Milk leaning in to look at him. “The Citadel has plenty of room for you! Certainly, this is the best place for you to stay and take advantage of the resources to get back to wherever you are from!”

To stay? But that didn’t make sense unless it was to- Ah. Of course.

“And for you to unravel whatever mystery you think I am.” He said blandly. Blueberry Milk smiled wider.

“Well, of course! I’ve never met something as fascinating as you! I can’t wait to see what makes you tick!” They leaned back in the air, fingers slipping away from his. “Don’t worry! I know exactly how to make somebody comfortable.”

“Has anyone else ever stayed here?” Truthless Recluse pointed out

Blueberry Milk’s eyes flicker to his. “No, normally I grant my knowledge on those outside the Citadel. None venture further than the library.”

“Sounds lonely.” Pure Vanilla said, the eyes of his staff blinking. Certainly, he couldn’t imagine it. Even though many held him at arms length as a king, he still had his friends. While visiting was certainly a process, it was one that they were willing to carry out.

“Excessive companionship is unneeded for one such as I! I usually find more important matters to occupy myself with.” Blueberry Milk said, that soft smile never dipping for a moment. “Outside of teaching, my research occupies me greatly.”

“The research where you know what the answer is the moment that you carry it out?” Truthless Recluse pointed out. Blueberry Milk released his hands with a soft chuckle.

“Ah, true! What can I say! Cursed with both charm and knowledge. Woe is me!” Blueberry Milk said, placing a hand to his forehead. “But I can certainly promise my hospitality is well offered. I’ve been a guest myself and I know the rules of hospitality inside and out!”

“Does it ever get annoying?” Truthless Recluse pressed. “To know everything before it even begins? To not even be able to forget?”

He had climbed to the peak of Truth and stared at the lonely abyss that waited for others to feed it. What had Blueberry Milk Looked in the eye?

“I even know exactly the room you can stay in!” Blueberry Milk said, whirling away as if he hadn’t spoken at all. The click as the other settled onto the floor almost made him jump.

Shadow Milk had always floated everywhere, completely at ease in the air. Seeing this not quite version of him walking was almost unreal. Unbelievable. The clicks of his shoes against the floor felt like they were grinding against his nerves.

For a moment, he thinks about fighting it. Refusing to stay and plunging out on his own. But the plan is quickly laid to rest.

If he had truly time traveled, the area could be foreign, even dangerous. Any landmarks could be useless. And in the end, stories were cyclical. A poison could be a cure. He may yet need the Citadel to return.

After all, this was where past, present, and future collided.

He follows.

The only cover was Blueberry Milk’s relentless chattering as he headed back to the door. “I’m unsure if you know but the rules of space here are very lax.” He said, knocking on the door once. “The easiest way to get around is to keep your goal firmly fixed! And to ask nicely, of course.”

“Mm.” That hadn’t been his experience. In fact, he felt that the more he kept his goal fixed in his mind, the more the Citadel pushed him away from it. No matter how much he clawed and fought.

What about the children? A hesitating whisper. The thought of it was almost… numb. Like the moment he had plunged into the river, his love had simply been frozen. Separated.

Part of him terrified and yet the other, completely relaxed. Open to the truth that in the belly of the beast, his own small scrambling could prove ineffectual to survival.

What did it mean to fight?

But the thought of the children left alone with the beast of deceit and his minions? They would almost certainly do something foolish. There was no hope that they would simply be left free.

He can feel the pulse of magic again, tugging at him as Blueberry Milk knocks again before opening the door. The lack of flourish feels odd, yet another point to add to the list.

“You’ll be staying here.” He announced, stepping into the new room. “It should be the most comfortable, and as far as I know, the most stable of the guest rooms.”

Pure Vanilla took a slow look around his new living space, blinking away the shadows that now fractured his vision.

It was certainly nice enough, he thought. Certainly better than some of the places he had slept. There was even tasteful art decorating the wall.

It just felt oddly… sterile. Empty. Like someone had filled the place with an idea of what a guest bedroom should look like but no one was actually intended to stay here. A show piece, not a true room.

“The fireplace lights with a spell, a simple lantern candle flame extension-“ Pure Vanilla snapped his fingers and Blueberry Milk’s words drifted to a stop as the logs suddenly burst into merrily cracking flames.

He has a feeling that his actions just played into Blueberry Milk’s hands but that was not too awful of a prospect. Better to establish now that he wasn’t someone to mess with.

“You know, there are some people in this world that would read everything they have for a single spell I know, right?” Blueberry Milk said, sighing. “And yet, here you are, casually showing off spells most people don’t know.”

“For the best.” He said, folding his hands around his staff. The eyes were dizzying. He wanted to close him but he didn’t want to lose his sight at this moment. “Goodbye.”

Blueberry Milk froze. A vase on a table rattled as it was suddenly lifted and dropped. “…goodbye?” Blueberry Milk echoed, head tilted.

The eyes on his staff slowly blinked at the other. “Goodbye.” Truthless Recluse echoed. “Whatever research is to be done, it can be done in the morning. The light of day reveals much.”

He was tired, mana drained, and dealing with one of the worst truths he had seen yet. Another kick in the knee that had come after an already awful time.

Was it so cruel, to want some time alone? Why should he sacrifice himself for others?

“I- but-“ Blueberry Milk paused for a moment, something flickering across his eyes almost too fast to parse. Curiosity. Confusion. “Most would be thrilled to work under me on a subject like this.”

“I.” Truthless Recluse said. “Am not them. I’m also intensely mana depleted, rather tired, and still soaked.”

He could list off about twenty studies done that cited the need to sleep, especially when mana depleted. He wasn’t sure any of them exactly existed yet, but his point was still proven.

“C’mon! Let’s debate it out.” Blueberry Milk, folding their hands. “You have knowledge I really want to know and I’m certain I have knowledge you might want to know.”

“I thought you said you had knowledge on how to treat guests.” Truthless Recluse remarked evenly. Blueberry Milk sighed, shoulders slumping.

“Ah. I suppose that’s true enough.” Blueberry Milk said reluctantly. “I suppose that will give me time to organize my questions and begin designing my teachings on what may have happened.”

Confident as always, Truthless Recluse dully noted. Already certain that they had concluded what happened. But he kept his mouth shut, instead settling on the edge of the bed.

It wasn’t very comfortable, he noted immediately. Hard as a rock, with zero give to it. He had slept on forest floors softer than this.

Blueberry Milk hovered by the door, still watching when Truthless Recluse turned the staff. “I suppose I shall bid you goodbye for now.” They said, reluctance clouding their tone. “I’ll collect you when you awaken.”

“Fine.” Truthless Recluse said, a touch short. Part of him was uncertain whether there was even a way to bid goodbye in a situation such as this. But should it matter? He had already broken into the Citadel, twice over by technicality. He was reasonably certain that a lapse in etiquette should be unsurprising.

Blueberry Milk paused as if about to say something. Instead, they raise their hand and a cool breeze drifts over him, restoring him and his robes to a dry state. Even the blanket wasn’t soaked.

Before a word could be exchanged, Blueberry Milk flitted out of the door, letting it shut with a click. Despite himself, Truthless Recluse watches him go before emotionless eyes turn away.

…how uselessly kind.

For a moment, he thinks about saying something. The old him tugs at his heartstrings like a violin. He should say something.

Perhaps one word and the future is sent spiraling off course. One word, and the world remembers Knowledge instead of Truth and Deceit. He could spill the entire story here. Perhaps Blueberry Milk might even listen.

Instead, he watched the door close and know that he is a coward. One too afraid of what may happen to think of what could. What if he’s wrong? What if this isn’t time travel?

If he spills the story and is instead met with mockery that he believed a lie, another test that he was tried and failed. Or maybe he has already failed with his silence. Shadow Milk’s rules are capricious and his whims even more so.

But part of him thinks that Shadow Milk would prefer his silence.

The other wanted him to give into Deceit, to plunge as he did and wrest the Souljam back from the one he saw as undeserving. Any indication of mutiny, that he had turned away from Deceit, would very likely be seen as going against that whim.

Which would certainly include attempting to prevent the future of the Beasts and their corruption.

Whether any of this is true is… still debatable. No matter how much he feels like it is, part of him wonders how much he can even trust himself in that anymore. Surely, if he could feel the Truth, wouldn’t he have sunk in the river? Escaped the Citadel?

Shadow Milk’s magic has shown to be far above anything he has ever seen anyone do. Much of it is flashy and exaggerated but in the way that puts one more in mind of a cat playing with a sugared mouse before attempting to devour it.

With an effortless flick of his hand, he had overturned the entire Faerie kingdom, turning it into nothing more than a toy box. Even then, it was more like a mockery, magic leaning towards crude tricks, only hinting at depths underneath. After seeing what he had done and Elder Faerie almost looking relieved, he had no doubt Shadow Milk could have been far worse.

The Citadel was the true belly of the Beast. Who could say what sway he held here?

Still, part of him argued against it. Even the Citadel itself felt strangely… light. Effervescent. Like even the air had grown easier to breath, sweeter. Infused with a sweet milky scent instead of soured milk. The walls were orderly and neat, nothing compared to what he had seen in his panicked flight.

Blueberry Milk had seemed so similar but he had sensed none of Shadow Milk’s hostility or bitterness. A brightness to them that he had never seen before.

It wasn’t a conclusion of a sort, he had thought something odd about those they met on the way to the Citadel but he was never able to settle it.

And if he was wrong, it was the children who would suffer. Foolish him, who had handed Shadow Milk the perfect strings to puppet him as he would. The other knew that anything done to him, he would not care.

But it was he who had brought the children into this, choosing foolish comfort over their safety.

Truthless Recluse’s hands tightened on the blanket. For now, he would keep quiet. Investigate. If a moment came for him to overturn the future, he would take it gladly.

He was patient. Far too patient. He still needed to return back to where he was, if he was wrong. What power a truth would even have here, he wasn’t sure.

But after all, a truth had forced him to be free in the worst way possible. If this was real, he would need to think more upon it.

Truthless Recluse lets the vision sharing spell fade, the eyes on the staff closing. He doesn’t bother climbing under the blankets, instead lying back with his feet still dangling towards the floor.

But even in the darkness, dreams do not come.

Chapter Text

Were he a more easily surprised person, Blueberry Milk would have been slapped with a spell as soon as he burst into his bedroom door.

Well. Burst is probably a poor way to put it. He did knock, something proper but clipped. It set off the instant reflex of expecting a noble to come barging in with paperwork.

Luckily for Blueberry Milk, he’s been awake for the past… four hours if his internal clock was correct. His hearing was always extraordinarily good due to his lack of sight. The eager tapping footsteps up the hallway were a dead giveaway.

Even if, for a very brief moment, he hoped that they were the tapping footsteps of another. Even though those footsteps never came alone, always trailing behind each other, and always chattering, and so much lighter.

He knows he probably looks disappointed when Blueberry Milk bursts in. It’s the unfortunate truth.

Blueberry Milk carefully closes the door behind him, folding his hands behind his back. Pure Vanilla looked him over just as the other did.

Mary a change in his outfit, perfectly pressed and primped. The sight brought an odd sense of relief coiling in his chest. If this were just an act, a play, he would have expected Shadow Milk to have brought a new actor on stage by now.

He had certainly been prone to it, back in their travels to the Citadel. The child, the dying one, people falling away on their travels.

(The Fortune Teller, maybe, but something about them was… familiar. The way they shuffled their cards, the way their hands tapped against the table. Familiar.)

“Oh dear, you’ve barely looked like you’ve rested at all.” Blueberry Milk said, tilting his head to the side. With a start, Pure Vanilla connects that that’s the examination face healers have when looking at a patient.

He can almost feel the milky slide of another magic ghosting over his, and the retaliation is instant. Sudden. His magic surges, already throwing off the intruder.

So violent, he almost can’t recognize it as his own gentle magic. The one White Lily said warmed like sun rays and the kids admiringly sighed about. Now, it rages and boils like a pot held under pressure.

To his credit, Blueberry Milk barely hitches a moment. “Well, I suppose that is a good sign.” They said thoughtfully. If he left any damage, they certainly didn’t show it. He might as well been throwing pebbles at a cake dragon. “But not quite what I had calculated based on your previous rates. An inconsistency.”

“Lack of sleep slowed the mana recharge.” He said, quietly. It was silly of him. He needed to sleep. Part of him wanted to sleep. And yet, he couldn’t make himself do so. Instead, he had laid here, awake.

“And therein lies the importance of unexpected variables! Always useful to take into account.” Blueberry Milk said indulgently, as if this were a lesson.

“Indeed. Lack of sleep tends to reduce mana recharge by around sixty-five percent.” Technically it was closer to thirty percent for him, depending on how long it had been. He tried not to go too long without rest, but this wasn’t the first night he had been left sleepless. Unfortunately, the times he became low in mana often corresponded to times of great stress.

“Lack of sleep though? Why didn’t you?” Blueberry Milk echoed. Truthless Recluse stared at him. “You have a bed, do you not?”

“Circumstances unsettled me.” Truthless Recluse pointed out, an odd film fizzing over his vision as the eyes began to blink..

He had always struggled to sleep alone, in unfamiliar environments. As a child, he had never been alone. He slept surrounded by his sheep, drifting off to their quiet baa-ing and the thud of the more mischievous sheep hopping over a log.

As he got older, he slept in dormitories. Later, in the library or at camp. Even when he became King, there was always life to the Castle. Someone going by in the hallways, the soft scrape of branches against the walls. Sheep, when he brought them in. It was the noise that was essential.

Or maybe, it’s just another layer of deceit. That it’s not about the quiet, it’s about the where he was sleeping. He’d never gone long without someone he loved by his side. As a child, he curled up with the sheep. At the Academy, there was White Lily. At Camp, Hollyberry, Golden Cheese, and Dark Cacao. Even during his days as Healer, he often found Black Raisin or another villager curled up on one of the makeshift beds for the wounded.

One could say that home was where his family and friends were, and for him, none were here.

“Oh. Hm. That affects you?” Blueberry Milk said, looking taken aback before they schooled their expression back into something calm and proper. “I was reasonably certain that all it should take is a bedroom.”

“Have you ever slept?” Pure Vanilla inquired, blinking slightly. Because certainly, no one who had ever slept before would not understand a restless night. And how Blueberry Milk had phrased that was certainly odd. All it should take is a bedroom.

“Oh, no. I suppose I’ve visited the realm of dreams, but that was in an academic sense, utilizing a spell.” Blueberry Milk said with a lofty motion. “I’ve never required it like others. We were made to endure without sleep.”

Truthless Recluse let his head thunk back against the pillow.

No sleep. He hummed softly. That implied… frankly ludicrous amounts of mana. He had been aware of how much the Beasts outclassed them, but this was a way he could actually calculate. The ‘we’ must refer to the other Beasts.

To be born without the need to sleep, and yet effortlessly draw upon such spells, would take massive reserves to not even notice the drain. No wonder Shadow Milk was crazy. That long without sleep, he wasn’t sure he’d be right in the head either.

The other part of the confirmation worried him just as much. ‘We’. That meant the other Beasts were here too. With this odd, potentially past version of Shadow Milk in front of him, does that mean he should be worrying about more?

On a more lighthearted note, that certainly explained why the bed was awful.

“I suppose you may have many questions about us.” Blueberry Milk said with a sigh and a wink. Truthless Recluse tilted his head. “But we will need to set them aside for later! Any other symptoms I should be aware of at this point?”

With that glint in his eyes, Pure Vanilla was almost certain that the other had a good idea of what he might say, but he was just asking to tie up the loose ends. Surprisingly thoughtful of the other.

Pure Vanilla considered it for a moment, his mind flickering through the diagnostics. The lack of sleep was definitely going to get to him. His mana recharge was moving slower than usual. It could potentially be put down to poor sleep, but even then, the pace seemed far slower than that.

Nothing that would raise alarm bells for Blueberry Milk was the hope. Only Pure Vanilla knew his rate of mana return tended to be far faster. But if he explained it, then he would have to explain why.

As Knowledge, Blueberry Milk would know that mana recharge always fell around a specific rate, only affected by sleep and good food. There was no good way to explain how much faster his was. Outside of the Souljam that he held.

And that, he was unwilling to share.

But other than that he felt fine. Fine enough, honestly, he was pretty sure he should be feeling worse right now. It’s mostly the odd emotions and memories that plagued him still.

The way the shadows still twisted when he was alone, visions he knew weren’t real. Even in his mind, they were hollow imitations of the darkness that he faced. But they followed him all the same, until Blueberry Milk’s company chased them away.

Best not to mention that. Besides, he’s pretty sure those were the symptoms of something that really couldn’t be fixed at this point.

“Nothing useful to any diagnostic.” He finally shared looking down at his hands. Blueberry Milk made a soft humming sound as if he didn’t think that there was ever going to be anything else but still didn’t quite believe him, looking Pure Vanilla over one more time.

“It seems to be within the classical ranges of the science of mana recharge but honestly, I do find this fascinating.” Blueberry Milk said, tapping his hands together. “Normally all I need to do is know a person's name or to gaze upon them, and I’ll know everything about them. Yet in your case, I find myself so limited. I can’t simply just know the information about you, and instead have to actually diagnose it much like a regular healer would. How fascinating.”

“You can just know the diagnosis?” Pure Vanilla said, a bit curious. He had heard of certain doctors who would become so good at it that they could look at a person and simply know what was wrong with them. He himself hadn’t really met any of them by the time he had grown old enough to travel, most of those doctors tending to be travelers themselves or deeply sequestered in research, in the end, his own adventures pulled him away from any attempt he might’ve made to meet them.

Unfortunately, many of them were later lost during the war doing good work.

However, even those were simply just good experience, and often need to be followed up with testing. A good doctor could look at someone and know with high likelihood what they had based on their experience. But it wasn’t for certain like Blueberry Milk made it out to be

The more he plunged into the depths of the realm of Knowledge, the more he found himself… almost floundering. Alight. At the realization of why people had looked at them and called them gods.

What would it be like? To have knowledge at your finger tips, to be able to gaze and know the answer? Part of him was fascinated, the other part almost pitying.

There was cruelty to too much knowledge.

“Very much so,” Blueberry Milk said, “Now normally, knowledge is my domain after all! Why would I need to play around with diagnostics when I could just know what’s going on? Granted, many days, I’m not the one playing healer. I reserve that for special cases.”

“Then how do you gain experience with any of it?” Pure Vanilla asked, curious despite himself, despite the urge to turn away and close off again. How did that account with actually growing familiar with theory? Making the jump from the paper to the person?

“Experience? What do you need for experience when you simply know it?” Blueberry Milk said, his smile a trifle amused. “Why would I need to practice anything when I have created it?”

The concept of that certainly didn’t sit right with him. He certainly had created his fair share of charms and little spells to make things a bit easier, but even then they never quite came naturally. Things needed to be practiced to know every inch of them and yet- He opened his mouth to reply and found himself closing it again.

For a moment, Blueberry Milk’s eyes flickered, the other leaning forward as if awaiting a response. Only when he closed his mouth did they lean back again, something like disappointment in their eyes.

Perhaps he was wrong in this case. After all this person was supposed to be the spirit of knowledge given to the world by the witches. Maybe he did just need to know.

Perhaps he really did luck out in a stranger way, he thought, looking away from Blueberry Milk. If Shadow Milk could have the sort of ability, this complete mastery of all theories, he was pretty sure he wouldn’t be sitting here at this moment.

More in the case of very likely dead.

It was not to say that Shadow Milk seemed truly one dimensional in all honesty. He wasn’t even quite sure he could say diminished at all. That fight against him had been more of the most terrifying moments of his life, even setting aside the fact that Shadow Milk never even touched him the entire time.

The closest he had gone was when the strings grabbed them in the city of the Faeries, and even then the overwhelming finality has startled him. Pure Vanilla had clashed with many opponents, and never had one made him feel so… confined. Trapped.

It was not to say that Shadow Milk had truly lost knowledge. In fact, he definitely seemed far too intelligent at times.

But there is a bit of a difference between the sheer confidence of Blueberry Milk and Shadow Milk’s more cautious, more devilish type of magic. In fact he hadn’t touched him a single time in the tower.

Though honestly, he wasn’t quite sure if this was because attacking him would’ve been worse, or what he had experienced in that tower.

Finally Blueberry Milk stood up, folding his hands behind his back. “No, you seem just fine to me.” He said, looking at Pure Vanilla. “Though I recommend you do get some more sleep after all the mana recharge isn’t gonna fix itself.”

“I’ll see what I can do about that. I know a couple charms that can help with that, or perhaps an artifact.” Blueberry Milk offered. “I would hate for you to linger without your full strength. The road of research requires marshalling every resource!”

“I know sleep charms myself.”

Even as he said that, he knew he probably wouldn’t catch any of them on himself. It was simple caution. He didn’t quite want the deep sleep that any of those charms led to. Certainly, deep sleep was what he needed, restoring magic far swifter.

But he no longer knew what he would find there.

There were a couple that he might be able to modify to suit his needs, something lighter and gentler, or the kind of charm he used on himself back when he was in the Raisin Village as Healer, when all of the sleep he got needed to be snatched from in between moments of frantic activity.

“I was just about to ask about that.” Blueberry Milk said, his eyes widening in surprise. “Or offered a cast to try myself. After all, I can cast it quite better than I think anyone else can.”

“No thank you, I wouldn’t disturb you like that.” He said quickly, looking away before Blueberry Milk could catch the doubtless flare of panic. He definitely didn’t want the other to cast the charm themself.

He forces himself to take a steady breath, face slipping all too easily back into the mask of blankness that has somehow become more comfortable than a smile.

“Well, suit yourself then, I wouldn’t offer if I thought it was a disturbance. No, in fact, it fills me with delight to observe and confer over charms for the common people.” Blueberry Milk said instead. An odd way to put it, in Pure Vanilla’s opinion. “But you must let me know which of the charms you know! In fact, I’m still a little confused on how you know any of these charms at all.”

He sounded oddly delighted and Pure Vanilla looked back to catch a glimpse of narrow, fascinated eyes. They met his, crinkling at the corners as Blueberry Milk’s gentle smile widened.

He didn’t smile back.

“They’re pretty basic.”

“Can anything truly be counted as basic? What is common to one is extraordinary to another. Any of the charms you have, would be quite the puzzle for the mages who have taken up residence around my tower.” Blueberry Milk said, shaking his head. “What value can be put upon knowledge?”

“I suppose one could insist upon such a philosophical question.” Truthless Recluse murmured. “But basic can be considered, when some knowledge carries far too high of a price to be shared.”

“Such an interesting philosophical bent, I admit, and one I had not heard from a follower before.” Blueberry Milk said, tilting his head. Truthless Recluse shakes his head. A follower? That he was not. “I actually assumed you were one of my followers, are you not? Though I’m not quite sure what you’ve enchanted this with-“

And Blueberry Milk.

Reaches.

For his Souljam.

The shield of light comes as easily as a breath. As easy as a thought, and it settles softly over him like one. Blueberry Milk jerks back like he had been slapped, heterochromatic eyes wild and hands already swirling a spell, that judging by the concentration of light, could probably level the room.

“Not. Yours.” Truthless Recluse said, his voice frigid and cold in a way that felt foreign to his ears. The sudden protective need felt almost foreign to himself.

By plunging into the River and being released, he should have forfeited any connection to his Souljam. The Light of Truth, with someone who could barely tell the truth anymore? It sounded like a joke.

…and yet.

The moment the Beast reached for his Souljam, he had felt the immediate rage and protectiveness strike him like a thunderbolt. It ebbs as soon as it comes, falling away and leaving him only the cold behind.

But he doesn’t lower the shield.

It’s Blueberry Milk who moves first, the magic fading around their hands. They straighten their perfectly neat robes, brushing away invisible dust. “My apologies.” They said, their voice soft. “I suppose, I got a bit ahead of myself when I reached out for it.”

Truthless Recluse draws in a heavy breath, trying to focus his scattered nerves. Think of the spell. Such an easy thing. And yet… he has never seen light magic like it before, not in the magic Shadow Milk had displayed. He replays it in his mind, the glittering light, and Blueberry Milk’s apologetic gaze.

He drops the shield. It doesn’t feel good doing so. Part of him is now more… on edge. That maybe this was a lie and a covert attempt to get his Souljam. It certainly wouldn’t be too against his experiences.

But the light still stays.

“Normally.” Blueberry Milk begins, folding their hands in front of themself, once again perching on air in that prim pose. “Those markers are a sign of a student or a follower who are… particularly interested in knowledge? It is all the rage to those nearby. Often, they asked me to bless them or otherwise put them in front of me and I suppose I just… didn’t think how rude it would be to touch it without asking. You truly have my apologies.”

Was the dizziness the stress or the vision spell, corrupted as it was? Either way, he was feeling oddly sick. “It’s fine.” The lie comes far too easily, and Truthless Recluse lets the eyes close again, almost half tempted to reach for the blindfold again.

It would be a very well built lie if not true. But he almost hoped it was true.

Part of his worries was, if he had truly fallen back in time, how would he explain his Souljam? Would it be ripped away from him, even if the other was so apparently friendly?

This at least gave him a plausible excuse for the charm he carried, as Blueberry Milk had not yet noticed any further connection. A relief because he was not sure how he would explain one.

“Right.” Blueberry Milk coughed delicately, covering his mouth with a gloved hand before lowering it again. “What I was intending to do before I so ungraciously put my foot in my mouth, was invite you to do some research together.”

Despite himself, the first part of the sentence startled a soft snort out of Pure Vanilla, the eyes blinking open again. Blueberry Milk looked oddly surprised and fascinated for a moment before it slid away again, replaced by that elegant moue.

“Research on what?” Pure Vanilla inquired, fascinated despite his misgivings.

“Why, on your arrival! I’ve been going through my previous writings and creations for the last few hours, searching for what may have caused your strange entry to my tower.” Blueberry Milk tapped his own Souljam. “To enter without my knowing, what a fascinating spell that must be! I intend to carry out a simple diagnostic spell, one to detect magical traces.”

Pure Vanilla turned the idea over in his mind. It certainly carried merit. He had indeed accepted the help of the other, and a detection spell would not be too outlandish.

“Do you already have one in mind?” He inquired, folding his hands in front of him. Blueberry Milk’s smile widened into something more genuine, unlike that elegant mask.

“I do!” They said, hopping to the ground. With a hand outstretched, light spread over the stone floor, flickering runes beginning to appear.

It startled a second snort out of Pure Vanilla, the light briefly flickering as Blueberry Milk’s eyes flickered to him. “What amuses you so?” Blueberry Milk asked, tilting his head to the side.

“Ah, are you not worried about the damage done to your floors?” Pure Vanilla gently asked. Carving a runic circle into stone tiles was oddly hasty. “I thought you were one to have a lab.”

“A mockery!” Blueberry Milk threw his hands up. “Of course I have a lab! But knowledge cannot wait! It’s an easy enough working to simply replace the tiles and transfer them elsewhere into the Citadel.”

“They’re your tiles.” He said, an odd sort of levity filling his voice as for once, he finds himself feeling oddly light.

The light returns, a circle beginning to form in front of his split vision.

Pure Vanilla examined the runic circle on the floor below, the eyes of the staff widening as he saw how intricate it was. Truly it could be said that this was the experience of someone who once was the Sage of Knowledge. Or should he say the Beast of Knowledge?

Then again, still speaking in the past tense was a disservice considering the other still had the role of Sage now.

As much as he had no idea what Blueberry Milk was still capable of, the circle spoke volumes. This was the kind of circle that would normally be constructed only by the headmaster. Pure Vanilla had once studied so he might be able to learn how to do it.

It wasn’t lack of capability in the end that had turned him down a different path. His own adventures had kept him too busy to really devote himself to that kind of work, mostly leaning towards more of the practical kind.

He tilted his head back despite himself, trying to focus the many eyes of his staff as some of his old scientific curiosity returned to him. It wasn’t the most efficient work. In fact, it was clear that some of its efficiency had been sacrificed for a bit more of the, flashing, the kind of bells and whistles, and much more magic than the average mage had.

His Souljam certainly gave him a lot of mana to go through, but he was not inexhaustible. Furthermore, in his youth when he didn’t have his title yet and was relying on his own skills honed over the years, it was something he slowly written out of himself whatsoever. Too much flashiness.

But that didn’t mean he hadn’t studied enough to know how impressive such a circle could be.

It was truly impressive and a good indicator of power. In some cases some people can even force a fight to end even before it started simply by showing off how much they had to burn on things like little sparks or light shows.

In his case, he went the opposite way, paring his runes down with such a brutal efficiency that it earned him a different kind of terror from enemies who realize that it meant that he could stretch out spells to a terrifying level

In hindsight, he mused with a touch of bittersweet feeling, he had likely saved his life. As Healer, a cookie with none of his memories to defend himself, he had found himself learning magic, from what seemed like instinct alone. It had gained the wonder of the villagers who simply assumed that it was a natural process. None really knew enough to notice any oddities.

The outsiders were too wary of them to really explore what went on during the village when they stumbled in. The closest to st saw was when he stepped up to heal villagers and the occasional unlucky outsider.

Black Raisin was the only one who noticed any peculiarity with him, knowing so much and yet even he didn’t quite realize how far he had gone on the path of mages. Only she had put together that his abilities weren’t quite right.

Because anyone who came by, only saw the most basic spells. A golden flash of radiance making up a small shield, a raise of a hand to heal, and none realized that behind that lack of flashiness that seem to reveal very inept casting, was in fact the level of brutal practicality that could tear down forests. That pared down what could’ve been the massive massive exertion of a mastery level spell, to something that was simply a moment of thought, and a small flicker of energy and light.

This meant that he attracted much less attention than he could’ve had as a healer in a little backwater village.

The part of him had worried for Black Raisin being so distressingly aggressive to outsiders, now with his memories back, he could appreciate more of the brutal calculations that she had had to carry the guardian of the village. As a healer, he was predisposed to try and help everyone, but even before he’d realize something was off, he was fairly certain that Black Raisin had noticed all the inconsistencies about him. Even that is impressive, considering that she had no experience with the outside world, secluded in their village to keep it safe. With her only experience being outsiders, who came by, and they seemed happy to dismiss him as a weak little ordinary, healer, using basic runes.

Black Raisin made sure that they left long before they noticed anything was wrong with that assumption.

It wasn’t until the castle in the sky that he really realized the immense practicality of his spells. He probably would've figured it out sooner if he took to the battlefield more often, but his own brutal calculations stopped him.

As much as he still carried the guilt sometimes, the sole healer can’t be allowed to go to the battlefield often. It was just too risky, considering that as much as he tried to train the others, there weren’t many apprentices in the village who had the time, ability, or even the resources to train into healers that matched himself. As much as some of them were still working to learn. A bittersweet feeling hit his heart as the reminder.

How would they do without him? Surely they could bring in teachers from the outside. There are academies now, he knew from visits from Espresso, Latte and Cream Puff. Academies that worked with wizards, witches, and healers.

But were they able to heal like him? Would they teach like him?

Part of him wasn’t sure and was even less sure if the villagers would even go seek out the help. As much as they had worked on it, they still remained fairly secluded from outsiders, still wary of interacting with them or even leaving the kingdom, no matter how much he said or softly encouraged it.

Then again, he recalled, with a touch of grief. He had proven their worries right at every corner in this journey. Far from home, under the claws of a formidable enemy, and now potentially even further from help.

…he didn’t want to imagine Black Raisin’s reaction when the trio came back with news of disappearance.

Instead, he tried to focus back on the circle, now almost completed. To trace the familiar lines, and push away the pain in his heart.

It was truly fascinating. How he and the mage in front of him seemed to be two sides of the same card. How Blueberry Milk still carried the same trait of flashiness as Shadow Milk.

And yet the more he watched, the more he saw it.

“That’s not how you prefer to draw it, is it?” Pure Vanilla observed, eyeing the circle. There was a small twitch, like Blueberry Milk had nearly jerked before they looked up smoothly.

“Ah, a lesson? Some mages prefer to draw starting with this rune first, emphasizing-“

“No.” He interrupted quietly. It seemed even more obvious now. “You draw it like that, but it doesn’t seem like how you prefer to draw it.”

There was an odd laziness to the strokes. Like Blueberry Milk was drawing less from the heart and more from memory, inscribing with a strange carelessness. Small hesitations before a rune was drawn, like another rune was desired.

Blueberry Milk looked at the circle at their feet, their smile twisting into something a bit more real. “It’s not how I would do it.” He observed, tapping his chin. “But those I teach like a little bit of… flair to what they expect.”

That was something he could almost emphasize with. Most didn’t expect commonality when it came to a hero. Heroes wore grand armor and cast bright spells.

“You don’t have to attend to that with me. Just draw it how it needs to be drawn.” He shared.

“You know, you may be the first to say that about magic. Most would’ve asked for a lesson by now.” Blueberry Milk, stepping back as a flash of light completed the circle.

“Perhaps another time. I’m more interested in the results.” Part of him hoped that here would be revealed the reason for his travels.

“Alright then! Just step in the middle, and the circle will do the rest.” Blueberry Milk said, stepping back and gesturing for Pure Vanilla to step forward.

He paused. Just one moment, to survey the completed circle on the floor. Before he could conclude, he heard a soft huff. “It’s perfectly safe! The magic used is harmless-“

“The equivalent of a light buzz.” Pure Vanilla said off handedly, nodding his head. He tilted his head back up. “I trust your work is superb and well thought out, but I never step into a circle without fully examining it first.”

This wasn’t even a side effect of the war - in research, stepping into a completed circle thoughtlessly could get you killed. Even the tiniest mistake in a rune could set off a dangerous reaction when activated.

When they were initial students, the teachers would triple check their work before they were even allowed to inch in the same direction. He couldn’t break the habit, hearing the research teacher’s drilling yell about the consequences of being turned inside out or what have you.

But, the circle was normal. Beautiful actually. Every rune so pristine, it might have well been printed directly on the floor with a copying spell, despite the fact those always ended up with nonfunctional runes. Checking it over one more time, he nodded to himself before stepping inside.

He guided his staff to look at Blueberry Milk, the staff blinking when it met thoughtful eyes. “You’re awfully relaxed about this.” He said. “Normally when I tell disciples about things they accept them without really thinking, but you…”

“I have some background knowledge.” Pure Vanilla said. Granted, he had never drawn this circle before. He could piece together the meaning, but deeply invasive examination magic like this was a nonessential for him most of the time.

“Right then. Hold still.” Blueberry Milk commanded. And with barely a whisper, the circle burst into golden sparks.

Pure Vanilla eased out a sigh, watching the circle below his feet, tracking the flow of Magic. It really was beautifully constructed, not even the tiniest clog or flaw in the flow.

But. The gold paled. Flickered. Disappeared.

Blueberry Milk, tapped his chin, staring at the circle. “Well that should’ve worked.” He said, folding his free arm behind his back. “That meant to diagnose just about anything under the sun.”

Pure Vanilla tilted his head. He had put together that the spell in question was extraordinarily powerful, but to detect just about anything?

“No results at all?” He asked, eyeing the circle. He could sense fading magic in the air, but nothing like what his suspicions told him might be the cause of this.

“Nothing but the mana exhaustion I already knew from my first diagnosis.” Blueberry Milk said. Truthless Recluse let out a soft hm. “And the magic of the tower that tends to cling to one.”

“There isn’t any other condition other than what brought me here.” He said. Which meant they couldn’t tell whether it simply missed everything but the obvious, or if it couldn’t see it at all.

Blueberry Milk shook his head quietly. “Then, I guess we’ll have to move onto the next.”

But for some reason, he just kept staring at the floor

Pure Vanilla coughed gently. “The next step would be to move onto returning to the hypothesis.” He suggested lightly. “Where we’re going to formulate some kind of idea of what to do or supposition.”

Blueberry Milk shot up straight, staring at Pure Vanilla, eyes wide and incredulous. “Of course I know that.” He said, indignantly. “I know all the steps to research. Why would you presume I did not?”

“You were standing there like you didn’t know.” The quip came lightning fast on his tongue.

“I was thinking.” Blueberry Milk said defensively. “Musing over what kind of supposition comes next. Do you really think something is small as this could stop the Sage of Knowledge?”

And despite himself-

Pure Vanilla found himself forcing back a laugh.

It snuck out a little snicker, maybe be a small chortle. He tried to cover it up by coughing, but finally it slipped down till he was quietly chuckling to his hands.

He couldn’t help it at the look on Blueberry Milk’s face as they try to defend themselves despite their completely surprised expression.

When he looked up, he found himself staring at a Blueberry Milk’s eyes, incredulous for a different reason now.

“I hadn’t heard you laugh before.” Blueberry Milk said, and despite himself Pure Vanilla found himself feeling a bit awkward at their interested look.

“Nothing much to laugh about.” He said stiffly, turning away. Indeed, this wasn’t really the kind of circumstances that should make him laugh.

He couldn’t even remembered the last time he laughed.

The thought struck him oddly. He should remember the moment clearly. But as their little group drew closer to the Citadel, it was like his brighter emotions… dulled in his memories. Faded like an old picture.

He could remember laughing but not the sensation, the feeling. There was nothing attached to it.

“I have a fiend, well, a friend that would disagree with you about that.” Blueberry Milk said. Truthless Recluse couldn’t help but feel a flare of skepticism. Blueberry Milk had a friend in this time period?

Perhaps a cruel thought, but the other had seemed so… uncaring of others.

You haven’t really known them long enough to really make that decision, he reminded himself. After all, he had known Shadow Milk for…

Hm.

That was a hard time to quantify. Technically, with their Souljam being halved of the other, he could say that he had known the other his entire life. If one were to reduce it to a timeframe, mere days.

As for more exact measures? He had no clue. The time in those halls had been oddly distinct, every grain slipping free from his fingers. Who could say how many days he spent stumbling around alone? And how many had a shadow followed his steps, taunting him?

“We could try another spell.” Blueberry Milk said, looking back at the burned circle. “That one would require a few components that necessitate usage.”

“Wrinkled Blueberry Jams and whiskers of a Dauchsbun?” Truthless Recluse proposed, stepping free of the circle.

Somehow, that startled a laugh out of Blueberry Milk, making him jump. The sound was oddly startling. The soft breathy laugh so similar to the aggressive cackle and yet, not. Like one step to the side.

“Sometimes, I wonder who the Sage of Knowledge is here!” Blueberry Milk said, shaking his head. “How do you know all of this?”

“I studied.” Theory mostly. After their adventures grew in number, he had devoted himself to poring through even the oldest and most tattered experimental records of healing magic.

While most tasks could be reduced to a handful of serviceable spells, sometimes one stumbled into a situation that necessitated one really really obscure one. And after Hollyberry nearly died to a venomous bite that could only be soothed by a rare potion, he had decided it was worth the effort.

“Study what? I haven’t even written those records yet.” Blueberry Milk said. He couldn’t help but freeze.

Ah. Perhaps he had been a little foolish? After all, to him, the knowledge was obvious. Even the most obscure records were still existing, as long as you were willing to dig.

But in this time, none of this would exist yet. Nobody had dug through hundreds of reagents to narrow down the two that made the spell work, or shuffled runes in and out of place to estimate what it may do.

A bit of unknown knowledge could be explained, but… honestly, Pure Vanilla would have no way to explain any of it. And should he? Should he hide when even a scrap could be vital to getting home?

“One knows where one finds it. It may not have been written by you, but it exists, doesn’t it?” It couldn’t be completely out of the question that nobody had begun experimenting and exploring magic.

“Indeed, but everything is written by me.” Blueberry Milk said. “A repository without me should be impossible! And yet, once again, the impossible is proven true.”

He raised a hand as Pure Vanilla opened his mouth to speak. “Oh no, please do not share! I find myself quite curious over the possibilities, and admittedly enthralled by the idea of one I do not have to teach.”

“Sounds exhausting.” He said. “But I suppose I can allow for being a mystery as offered payment for your assistance with my return home.”

“This would perhaps go a bit easier if you describe the circumstances of your arrival.” Blueberry Milk proposed. “Where exactly you were, anyone you were with, and the circumstances of the change.”

At the idea, Pure Vanilla found himself stiffening up.

Who he was with.

The problem was, who he was with was technically the very person in front of him. How could he even describe it and still make sense? Of course, after the levity, after offering his knowledge, Blueberry Milk would prod at the most sensitive topic.

“I don’t.” He said quietly, “Believe that digging into that would help us.”

He needed to organize his thoughts more. Come up with a well organized way to explain it.

Or lie, a more beguiling side of his mind whispered. Or lie. Tell them a story of what happened, and never mind that it isn’t the truth. It would be so much easier. No worrying over convincing the other he was really from the future or dealing with the fall out.

How would one even react to the realization that in the future, they would be a despised villain? It didn’t seem to line up with the snarky scholar in front of him.

Blueberry Milk’s ever present smile wobbled. Just slightly. “It would be helpful if I knew.” He put delicately, “Even the slightest clue could let me crack the spell.”

“Can’t.” Pure Vanilla began. “You just know?”

It would certainly be easier if Blueberry Milk could just know the circumstances of his arrival. Cut through the explanations and the convincing, and right to the heart of the matter.

And yet, the moment he said it, he knew it was an impossibility.

“See, that’s the oddest part.” Blueberry Milk said, spreading his hands wide. “Normally, I could! It is the simplest work, not even a scrap of effort at all for me to know EVERYTHING about a person! And yet, when it comes to you, I find myself completely blind. It’s as if I can’t even see you at all.”

His stomach lurched, just a bit, remembering his early theory.

Part of him had a bit of a grimmer conclusion

He knew that the river had left. It’s mark on him. Something about his magic didn’t feel quite right and even his outfit had shifted.

Whatever the mark it had left on it, it went so Souljam deep that Pure Vanilla wasn’t quite certain whether he could disentangle it from his own self.

It was meant to sort out truth from any lies of anyone with a drop of truth in their soul should’ve gone straight to the bottom

And yeah, he had found his way back to the surface, not the right surface he wanted, but back to a surface all the same

How deep did lies go? He wondered whether it went down to the Souljam. Certainly he didn’t feel like he had truly come back from it, but what did it do to a person to be made of lies? To have a soul that was filled with not even a drop of truth?

In the citadel, they had come across books filled with nothing but lies about even the most tiniest of details. Stuff like being able to run around the world, the creation of cookies, all of the books filled with mockery and lies.

Truthless Recluse wondered if he had become one of those books.

Something so full of lies that how could diagnostic even work? If perhaps the spell didn’t work, not because it failed in some way, but because his own being was a lie.

It was certainly possible the more research focused side of him admitted. More possible than he would have liked to admit. It was true that whilst most people were made out of a mixture of dough and magic and well, certain other ingredients that no one had quite ever figured out. But some were made from odder stuff.

There were stories of legendary cookies made from wind and fire itself, or from the very trees that shook the Earth. Stories of people made from light or dreams or even metal.

All of those stories made true the conclusion that what a person was made of deeply affected what happened to them. A person made of fire would have to be wary of the water, a person made of dreams never really woke up.

So what happened to a person made of lies?

“Except perhaps not!” Blueberry Milk snapped his fingers, looking delighted with himself. “Perhaps I may not need such as explanation in the first place!”

He tilted the staff back looking them over. “You look like you’ve made some sort of conclusion.” He said calmly, observing the other.

For a moment, Blueberry Milk steps seem to skip a beat, looking over him with an odd look on their face. “Has something put you into distress?” He asked.

“Nothing.” And he had no idea why the other would even ask.

“For a moment I- well that setting that aside, I have an idea about what we can do.”

So quickly that, for a moment, Pure Vanilla found himself feeling oddly surprised, but should he? After all, Blueberry Milk was in the end, still the Sage of Knowledge.

“See, I haven’t quite yet figured out what kind of spell will be able to sort through exactly what you are.” Blueberry Milk said, tilting his hand to the side. “But sometimes, things will not be solved with a simple spell. As I tell all my students, as much as they seem to think it will.”

The last part was said in a bit of an odd tone, Blueberry Milk’s eyes sliding to the side. They shook their head and went on before Pure Vanilla could comment on it. “But there is another person who could possibly answer some of our questions.”

“Better than the Sage of knowledge?” Truthless Recluse said, his tone just easing into teasing

“Hey, just because I cannot provide a spell does not mean I cannot provide an answer!”

“Relax,” He said, “I do not mean to accuse you of not knowing anything.”

“Right, then I have a friend. Well, you can say where we are created together. They don’t do much in their knowledge, but they are rather good at granting wishes.” Blueberry Milk said

He tilted his head to the side. He hadn’t heard about anyone who granted wishes. Certainly, it was an old tale that somewhere out there was someone who granted wishes at the highest of prices.

However, most of those tales never ended well. Usually ending with the giver or granter being driven off or killed or otherwise somehow disposed of. Sometimes, they left disappointed in cookiekind by their selfishness, leaving everyone else to pick up the pieces

Pure Vanilla’s fingers tapped on his staff.

Part of him immediately wanted to reject the idea. More people meant more risk after all. Even the mildest explanation had him being thrown back in time with precipitously low mana reserves.

More people meant more explanations, more risks. All it took was the wrong word said at the wrong time and he’d be left scrambling with the pieces.

But on the other hand… it also meant more information as well. Here was in a part of history that they were basically blind to, even the Faeries only having scraps after the loss of Elder Faerie.

The more he interacted with others, the greater the chance of him perhaps diverting the future. Pushing aside the calamity of the beasts and the burning of Beast Yeast.

Not to mention, his true goal was to go home as well.

“They’re very good at what they do!” Blueberry Milk assured, mistaking his wariness for something else. “Of course, we can’t set off right away! I’ll need to collect food and supplies for you first.”

Should he correct him, he wondered. He needed no supplies at all to wander the world. A place to rest his head for a few hours was all he needed.

But Blueberry Milk seemed excited and pleased by the idea of it.

“…no need for that.” Truthless Recluse said finally, sweeping his robes behind him. While he had agreed to linger, to travel was a different prospect. “I can travel on my own.”

Blueberry Milk turns back to him, one smooth motion that ends with their eyebrow raised and arms tucked behind their back. “Whyever would you do that? It’s a dangerous world out there.”

Certainly, he knew it could be. Before he and his friends rose long ago, the wilds could be dangerous places. Still were, littered with the remnants of war. But he had no doubt, from the tales the Faeries swapped, of how dangerous Beast Yeast could be.

“I’ve travelled on my own many a time before.” He shared. As their kingdoms rose and White Lily became more driven towards her goal, his adventures with his friends became less and less frequent. Were it not for the war to bring them together, it may have dropped as low as once a year.

“While suffering from mana loss?” Blueberry Milk challenged. “Your basis lies on faulty reasoning that undercuts your logic, one scenario cannot be applied to another-“

“Yes, actually.”

“You- why?” Blueberry Milk asked, brow furrowed. “Why would you?”

“Needs must.” Many times in the Trial of the Sugar Free, he had scraped the bottom of his reserves and trudged forward. He was the cornerstone of their journey. If he had collapsed, it would have shattered the morale of the group. He had gotten used to pushing through low magic reserves, using every trick in the book to stay healthy and on his feet.

“Well. Anyways. Most would be delighted by this chance to travel with me.” Blueberry Milk pointed out.

“I barely know you.” Truthless Recluse points out, the lie dripping off his tongue like honey and he feels himself almost disgusted by being glad Blueberry Milk doesn’t catch it.

“And I don’t know you! That’s the whole point, my surprise guest!” Blueberry Milk spread his hands. “To travel with you would offer me a greater glimpse into this mystery of yours!”

He cringed. Just a bit. He had had quite enough of baring his soul to the other. Shadow Milk had seemed determined to pull out every semblance of self he was, and lay it out to dry like the skeleton of a beast.

Already, he was shaking his head- he had no need for more knowledge nor an investigator- when Blueberry Milk continues. “And it would be far more difficult to meet her without me.”

He stood up straight, shoulders pulling back. “Is that a threat?” He said softly.

“A truth.” Blueberry Milk doesn’t seem to notice how Truthless Recluse flinches at the word. “Being imbued with the power that we have, my friends and I are all unfathomably busy! Educating a world from the ground up takes a lot out of you.”

He pretends to pantomime wiping his brow. “And my friends are no different. For myself, I find interest in your case, something that has allowed me to temporarily slip away from my work to unravel your mysteries. But for my friends, they would not be overly concerned with your matters, their gaze on different pursuits.”

How… unlike he and his friends. While Pure Vanilla had never overtly shared the same goals with the other, they still genuinely held interest in the same matters. A mysterious unknowable guest appearing would fascinate all of them, allowing for a delightful adventure they all set on the pursuit together.

Many of their past adventures began at being drawn to an area by the exact same thing.

However, what Blueberry Milk described sounded together but… isolated. Completely separate ventures, to the point that he had to directly pull the others to join.

But he could not find any fault in it. Not everyone was like the other.

The problem is, under Blueberry Milk’s peaceable gaze, he couldn’t find any fault in it. It would be difficult to meet with who the Beasts were.

As an Ancient, he had been swarmed by those who constantly wanted to meet for this matter or that. Requests for help, ideas, fervent proposals of loyalty, desire for teaching, they had been inundated with people.

In the end, for their rarer adventures, White Lily had unraveled a method of casting notice me not charms on clothing for them. A cloak for Hollyberry, a set of armor for Dark Cacao, and so on. They kept others from recognizing them, ignoring even the most obvious traits.

Pure Vanilla had lucked out that his most obvious trait was his clothing and his eyes. Blindfolded, staff hidden, and a clothing changed, and he was indistinguishable from other Vanilla citizens.

He couldn’t imagine being in a situation, constantly bombarded with people seeking counsel at every turn.

The problem was, that meant the best option was to travel with Blueberry Milk. No matter what it was, he still found himself reluctant to do so.

Traveling with Blueberry Milk came with all sorts of risks that staying in the Citadel. For one, while he wished to return, he still found himself hesitant on letting the other poke too deep on matters surrounding him. Travel had a way of pulling up things about him. In the Citadel, inconsistencies could go more easily hidden.

But he couldn’t see a way around it.

…no matter.

Pure Vanilla looked up, only to find Blueberry Milk raising a hand. “Perhaps I have rushed into this too fast.” He mused. “I could offer an alternative, if you find yourself uncomfortable with the idea of traveling by the side of a stranger, as much as I still find that way of thinking odd considering who I am.”

“What alternative would this be?” He said. Beneath him, the bed felt oddly cold.

“One of my other companions, Happiness. While a bit more a sidestep, I have found her quite good at untangling matters related to the soul.” Blueberry Milk shared. Truthless Recluse flipped back in his mind.

“Eternal Sugar.” That was the name of the Beast who had once been happiness, he was pretty certain of it. But Blueberry Milk simply tilted their head.

“Who?” He said, leaning forward. “I’ve never heard of that name before, but I find it as strangely familiar as I find your own.”

“Mistaken identity.” Another lie. He could feel the eyes flickering, the way they made his vision rock.

So, much like Shadow Milk, another Beast possessed a different name. The note was almost odd to him, to the point he almost questioned his own memory.

And yet, he knew that that small fragment was true at least. He remembered White Lily going over the names, their past aspects. Committing them to memory much in the same way he committed potion ingredients to memory before an exam.

At the time, he had been so brightly hopeful. Filled with the idea that he would be able to go to his friends, assist them.

All too late, he had realized how they had been cut away from each other.

“You’ll need to share it later then! Another name I find fascinating, another question for the list.” Blueberry Milk said, settling on the bed next to him. Truthless Recluse froze, not sure whether to stand up or simply shift away. “But to set the list aside, they might be far more tolerable to reach for you.”

“When would you like to depart? And how?” He said softly, probing for more information. Blueberry Milk’s smile widened.

“Why, soon but not too soon! We’ll be traveling through dreams after all.” He said it like it was meant to be a grand surprise until Pure Vanilla couldn’t help but nod his head in surprise.

Travelling through dreams was not something he would consider sensational. While it had been something he had once enjoyed, he had found his dreams restless and painful as of late. Even when he gained control, his footsteps were dogged by shadows and twisted images.

Still, after so many years, it carried a sense of worn familiarity by now. A well trodden path.

Too late, he realized that yet again, he had failed to appear normal.

Blueberry Milk blinked. “Could it be?” He asked, leaning forward until he had pressed within his space. “Have you already gained the ability to travel through dreams?”

“Not recently.”

“How fascinating! Again, another area I have found you delving into! I don’t suppose that you’re a wizard baked? I slipped them a few secrets around dreams.”

He feels himself go taunt at the word wizard, forcing himself to relax. “I am not.” He was certain he’d been granted an honorary title at some point by those who considered him one, but he saw no need for it. He remembered not what tray he had come from, but he knew it was not a wizard’s.

…how interesting though. Weren’t wizards meant to be on the same level as witches? How was Blueberry Milk teaching them?

“Goodness me, the more we talk, the more mysteries I find.” Blueberry Milk mused. “I suppose that means we can skip the lesson and travel sooner.”

“Apologies for the disappointment.” Pure Vanilla offered. The smile came a little easier this time. “I can pretend to forget?”

“Oh, no need on my part. I suppose it’s oddly refreshing to find someone who matches my knowledge so well!” Blueberry Milk said. “I don’t suppose you’d be interesting to discuss the Oración Phenomenon? I could use a debate.”

That one? “It certainly is an interesting case.” He admitted. “But I admit my interest in certain areas has waned. I find myself restless to uncover this matter.”

“Ahhh, suit yourself. Another time then.” Blueberry Milk said, disappointment flickering in those mismatched eyes. “I suppose this lack of sleep may make it easier. Are you ready to plunge into dreams?”

“About as ready as I can be.”

Not at all.

But he kept pushing forward.