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Chapter Text

The Sage of Truth had first noticed the dark figure halfway through his lecture.

He had been in the middle of his sentence when he felt a tingling sensation in his Soul Jam, something cold and prickly. He had frowned ever so slightly, a crease forming between his brows, and felt his gaze being directed to a specific spot of the crowd without really knowing why. He felt his breath catch in his throat.

The mysterious cookie wore a tall, triangular hat, his head bowed low. His robes were dark except for the thin threads of gold that shimmered in the sunlight like fireflies. A key glimmered at the base of his throat. The center of it looked as if there were something missing in its center.

The Sage swallowed, his fingers trailing to rest on his own Soul Jam. He traced the outline of the shape, cool to the touch.

He realized, with a start, that he had fallen silent, his words fading. The young cookie scholars in the hall began to chatter softly. The Sage cleared his throat, drawing their focus and attention once more with such ease as if he were collecting threads, and started speaking again. “The blade that separates Truth from Deceit…”

When the lecture was finally over, the young cookie scholars all packed up and left the hall, the figure remained. The Sage took his time, opting to ignore him at first. He made a show of opening the flap of his bag, pulling out a water bottle, and sipping from it casually, feigning an air of nonchalance. His Soul Jam tittered, causing his heart to race in his chest.

Finally, he mustered enough courage to confront the cookie. The Sage turned around, his sparkling hair of blue and white colors tossing over his shoulder. He pasted a smile on his face, grinning a little too wide, his fang on display. “I don’t believe I’ve seen you here before, my friend! Alas, today’s lecture is over. Care to come in the morrow?”

The hilariously large hat that the cookie wore cast a dark shadow over his eyes. The features of his face were obscured by darkness, and the Sage found himself readjusting his monocle in a futile attempt to see him better. “No,” he said quietly.

The Sage stiffened. “Oh well…” he allowed his voice to trail off. He gripped his staff with both hands, hesitant for some reason.

The cookie finally cut to the chase. “Stop teaching the Truth,” he said, his voice low.

The Sage titled his head to the side, his curiosity piqued. “Why must I?” he asked.

The cookie finally lifted his head. A single sliver of light from the window finally crossed over his face, revealing his mismatched eyes of yellow and blue.

“Ah!” The Sage of Truth pointed at the cookie he now recognized with his staff. “The Truthless Recluse! To what do I owe this pleasure?”

“Pleasure this is not.” The movements of the Truthless Recluse were slow and methodical. His long robes dragged on the floor behind him, his lips twitching. “You truly are a fool, you know that?”

“A fool?” The Sage chuckled softly, dragging his heels on the ground. “I have been called many things, dear friend, but rest assured, a fool I am not.”

“I am not your friend,” the Truthless Recluse snapped. His nostrils flared.

“Ah, quite a temper we have there.” The Sage of Truth watched the Truthless Recluse, like prey watched predator.

But which was the prey? Which was the predator?

One could entertain onesolves with such musings for quite long lengths of time.

“The Truth.” The words of the Truthless Recluse felt like the stabs of a sharpened dagger. “It is a terrible, terrible thing. There is no salvation from Truth, as I had to learn the hard way. At the Peak of Truth is nothing, I know so all too well, as I am sure so do you.”

The Sage remained silent. The Truthless Recluse stalked closer and closer to the Sage, until he was towering over him.

“Why?” His voice broke ever so slightly as he croaked out the single word. “Why set others upon such a path when we both know that it leads to nothing good, nothing of worth?”

The Sage hummed quietly to himself as he spoke. “Truth is a kaleidoscope. How it works, we might never know. Turn it left, turn it right, even upside down, it’s beautiful somehow. It’s never simply just a shape. It’s a kaleidoscope.”

The Truthless Recluse blinked down at him, slowly. His eyes were unfocused, and the Sage wondered how much of him could he see. He’d heard rumors about the state of the Recluse’s poor vision.

“You truly are a fool, that you are,” said the Recluse finally.

The Sage of Truth shrugged. “People have been telling me that a lot, times of late.” He tried for a lopsided smile. It felt genuine, unlike the first.

The Truthless Recluse scowled. “Idiot.” He swirled his robes and made his leave, the rise and fall of his feet and staff falling into a rhythm, the sound fading away as the distance between the two cookies increased.

The Sage of Truth didn’t linger after the Truthless Recluse left. He grabbed his stuff and headed home, retiring for the night. As he left, he noticed a small plushy lying in the corner of the room. It resembled the cookie he had just engaged in a conversation with. Truthless Recluse. Without a second thought, he slipped it into his bag and left.

Time passed. Days turned into months and months turned into years, and eventually, the Sage of Truth nearly forgot the visit he experienced with the Truthless Recluse. Almost, but not quite. The memory of it, albeit fuzzy around the edges, like an old photograph, remained buzzing in the corner of his mind.

It was exactly sixteen hundred thirteen days the day the angry mob came. The Sage of Truth had completed his lecture hours ago. He had been writing at his desk in his office and had fallen asleep, his face squished against the pages of his journal, snoring softly.

Over the years, cookies with feeble minds had grown fearful of the empowering knowledge held by the Sage of Truth. When people are scared, they act, often in violence. Fight fire with fire, they say. Until the entire world burns.

It was raining as they broke into the hall of the spire, tearing down the door with angry feet and pounding fists. They used their torches to set everything ablaze. Angry red flames licked at the walls, burning up priceless research and papers.

The Sage awoke to the smell of smoke. Gasping, he tried to grab his most important stuff before leaving. But there was too much, too much he refused to leave behind. He couldn’t carry it all, the fire eating up his stuff before he could do anything. Soon he was burning, too, his dough sticky and raw, tears blurring his vision. Dropping the stacks of papers in his arms, the Sage collapsed, coughing as he struggled, with no success, to get up.

After a few minutes of fighting the fire killing him and his belongings, the Sage finally gave up. True wisdom is knowing when one is fighting a losing battle and resigning to one’s inevitable failure. He accepted his fate, that he was going to die. He curled up into a ball, pressing his face to the hardwood floor as the air around him burned and he slipped into oblivion.

The Sage wasn’t expecting to wake up. His mind felt hazy, and his chest shuddered as he tried to sit up and ended up in a fit of coughs. A steady hand held his back, a warm presence lowering him onto a mattress filled with warm, fluffy blankets. He squinted up at the figure in the dim light of the room, his neck aching as he craned his neck over his shoulder. He recognized the stranger from the silhouette of his pointed triangular hat, his messy blond hair that stuck out in various unkempt directions.

The Sage exhaled a breath of air, relaxing his tensed muscles to a certain degree of normalcy.

“The Truthless Recluse.” The Sage’s voice felt raspy, his throat dry from disuse. He tried to clear his throat with little success to show for the action.

“Finally woke up, eh, princess?” The Recluse arched an eyebrow at him. “You’ve been asleep for days, Sleeping Beauty.”

“Mm.” The Sage rolled his head back, sinking into the warmth of the pillow. He closed his eyes. “Alas, still sleepy, I am.”

“Heh.” The Sage chuckled. His dough still felt slightly cracked from the burns. The two cookies sat in silence for a few beats, then the Sage spoke again. “I wasn’t aware that you were a healer cookie.”

He heard the Recluse swallow hard. “And?” he asked, venom dripping like acid from his words.

The Sage placed a hand over his Soul Jam, eyes still closed shut. It felt unusually cool to his touch. He didn’t like that, his body was already plenty cold, though he felt smoke roll off of his dough. It confused his mind a bit, but he didn’t want to pay that any mind, not right now. He cuddled deeper into his blankets and sheets.

“Nothing wrong with that,” he muttered into the fabric. “Just surprised.”

A pause. Then, “How’d you know I was the one who healed you?”

The Sage shrugged. The movement made his dough feel weird, so he stilled his body. “A hunch, I suppose. A feeling, some sense. Does it truly matter?”

“Yes,” said the Recluse immediately. The Sage was taken aback by the heat in his tone.

The Recluse seemed to have surprised himself too. He fell into silence once more, and the Sage nearly drifted off to sleep until he felt a finger nudging at his shoulder.

“Wake up,” scowled the Recluse, shaking him.

The Sage groaned, burying his face deep into the silky sheets. “Must I?”

“Yes, you must.” The Recluse gave him a final shove before practically lifting his head up. His fingers cupped his chin with some level of gentleness that made the Sage’s heartbeat practically roar in his ears. The Recluse shoved a glass of water in front of his face. “Drink. Your body is dehydrated.”

The Sage would’ve protested, but his throat tasted like parchment paper and he felt quite thirsty, so he gulped down the contents of the glass. It felt nice and cool on the way down.

The Sage exhaled, sinking back down into his bed. “Can I sleep now?” he asked grumpily.

The Recluse eyed him dubiously as he watched the Sage snuggle back into his sheets. “Why ask,” he mused, “If you will do however you wish anyway?”

The Sage began to respond, but his grumbling words slurred as he slipped into syrupy sleep once more, the beast of slumber claiming him as his own. Soon enough, he was snoring softly.

The Truthless Recluse sat there, watching the Sage of Truth. His eyes studied his body, scanning for any other visual injuries. When he didn’t find any, he still remained there, silent and ever present.

His presence was sensed in the Sage’s dreams, like a warm blanket covering him, a sun shining its rays down on him as he danced in the fields, blades of grass cutting at his ankles. A small smile formed on his lips as he dug his face deeper into the pillow, colors and shapes swirling underneath the lids of his eyes.

A kaleidoscope.

Chapter Text

The Truthless Recluse watched the Sage of Truth as he slept, observing the way his chest rose and fell with each breath, the way his face was squished as he lay on his side, the occasional twitching of his long pointed ears.

It wasn’t creepy or obsessive, the Recluse told himself. It was simply his healer instincts, prodding him to observe his patient.

That was all, he told himself.

For some reason, the Recluse didn’t believe the seeds of deceit he was feeding himself.

The Sage stirred in his sleep, pressing his face closer, sinking deeper into the pillow as he murmured to himself. Something about grading papers?

The Recluse drew in a sigh as he came closer, using his seeing staff to help him observe better.

A thin line of drool had formed from the Sage’s mouth, and the cookie shivered, despite having kicked off the covers earlier with complaints of being “too hot,” before proceeding to fall back deep into slumber.

“Now you’re too cold,” grumbled the Recluse as he tugged the blanket up to the Sage’s chin, tucking him in.

As the Recluse bent down, the eyes of his staff traced a path down the cracks of the Sage's dough, the blackness of the burns, the darkened edges. The Recluse had done his best to heal them using his White magic, but the wounds still remained as scars, faded into ghosts of their former selves.

The Recluse ran a finger down one of the cracks, lost in thought.

Maybe if…

That was the exact moment the Sage decided to wake up.

Cursing his luck, the Recluse quickly withdrew his hand, face now set aflame with embarrassment.

The Sage groaned as he rubbed his eyes with the back of his hand. “Urgh,” he said, ever the eloquent cookie.

“You’re awake,” observed the Recluse, stating the obvious as he averted his gaze to study anything but the Sage currently laying in bed.

“I am now,” mumbled the Sage. In his peripheral vision, the Recluse saw him roll his shoulders, rubbing at sore muscles. “Everything hurts,” he complained.

“That usually tends to be the case,” said the Recluse dryly. “When one gets burned alive.”

The Sage blinked once, his mismatched eyes of gold and cerulean glimmering with something that looked an awful lot like…sadness.

“Yeah,” whispered the Sage as he sat up and tucked his head in his folded legs. “That happened.” He stared blankly straight ahead, chewing on his lip absentmindedly.

A strange feeling crept up on the Recluse, the same feeling that had compelled him to rescue the Sage from the fire of his spire in the first place. Some odd sense of protection stirring deep inside his soul.

He chalked it up to the bond of their Soul Jams, nothing more than that.

“Are you hungry?” the Recluse asked. He remembered that most cookies tended to eat, especially when recovering. He couldn’t remember the last time he had a proper meal himself, though.

“Not really,” admitted the Sage. He smiled, a little. “Though I’d be willing to eat if you join me, too.”

“I can’t make any promises,” chuckled the Recluse humorlessly.

The Sage fluttered his eyelashes. “Pretty please?” he asked in a falsetto sing-song voice.

The Recluse rolled his eyes. “I’ll go get some jellies.” He left without looking back even once.

— — —

When the Recluse came back with a plate of slightly stale stamina jellies in his hands, the Sage was up and out of the bed, now standing next to the window. His hair of swirling shades of blue and white shimmered in the fading sunlight as he stood, gazing out into the scenery.

The Recluse was setting down the plate onto the tiny desk in the corner of the room when he heard a soft sniffle. He paused, frozen.

It struck him, then.

The Sage of Truth was crying.

Unsure and hesitant about what to do, the Recluse cleared his throat, announcing his presence.

The Sage stilled and turned around slowly. He forced a smile onto his face, flashing sharp teeth of white. “Ah, Recluse! You’re back with the food?” He wiped the tears of his face subtly with his sleeve, hoping the Recluse wouldn’t notice.

The Recluse narrowed his eyes. He wasn’t stupid; he knew the Sage had sent him away for food not because he was hungry but because he wanted some time for himself. But if the Sage wanted to take comfort in this small act of deceit, who was he to take away this privilege of his?

“Yeah.” The Recluse ran a hand through his hair. “They’re a little bit old, a little bit stale. I hope you don’t mind.”

“It’s okay,” said the Sage, his smile only widening. He curled up onto the floor, patting down the spot next to him. “Bring it here, and we’ll eat together.”

“I’m not hungry,” the Recluse told him, but he still obliged to his wishes.

The Recluse felt like he owed it to the Sage, after accidentally intruding upon such a fragile moment.

One’s own guilt was often one’s ruin.

The Sage nibbled on the jelly delicately, eyes darting towards the Recluse ever so often.

Annoyed, the Recluse asked, “Is there something wrong?”

The Sage shrugged, cheeks coloring a deep shade of blue. “Nothing, friend.” He gave him that strange look again, though.

“Just tell me, already,” growled the Recluse, clenching his fists until they turned white.

“Why aren’t you eating?” The Sage tilted his head to the side, in the manner of a curious cat. “I’ve observed you. Your only food is stale, implying that you haven’t eaten in a while. Do you wear big robes to hide how thin you are?”

The Recluse grew quiet, fidgeting with the golden embroidery of the sleeves of his robes, suddenly exponentially interested in it. “You know nothing,” he whispered.

“Okay.” The Sage shrugged. “I’m okay with that.” He gave the Recluse a sideways smile. “Over the many years that make up my lengthy life, I’ve come to learn that sometimes, the answer is no answer.”

When the Recluse didn’t respond, the Sage went back to eating.

After the Sage finished his meal, he got up and stretched a bit. The Recluse watched him silently.

“Do you want to have some fun?” the Sage asked the Recluse.

The Recluse raised an eyebrow, letting his gaze skirt over the bed behind them. “What do you mean by fun?”

“Get your mind out of the gutter, Recluse,” chuckled the Sage. “I meant to play a game, or something of that nature. Do you have a chess set?”

“I do.” The Recluse frowned. “You aren’t just sending me away, though, are you?”

The Sage fluttered his eyelashes. “When have I ever done such a thing?”

As a response, the Recluse hit him with his shoulder (gently, since his wounds were still healing).

“Ow,” complained the Sage, but he was laughing.

— — —

The Recluse opened with the queen’s pawn opening, pushing his piece forward.

The Sage whistled under his breath and mirrored the move on his side.

The Recluse rolled his eyes. “Really?” he asked as he offered up the queen’s gambit.

The Sage declined the gambit, solidifying the center with pawns. “I was going to do that anyway,” he protested.

“Sure,” said the Recluse, rolling his mismatched eyes again, moving his knight.

After a few back and forths, it seemed to appear as though the Sage was winning. “This is fun,” the Sage said, grinning as he castled, ensuring his king’s safety.

“Shut up,” whispered the Recluse as he aligned the queen to support his central pawns.

“We’ve entered the middlegame!” announced the Sage. He wasn’t smiling anymore, pressing hands against his face, grimacing.

“What’s wrong?” The Recluse smirked as he pushed another piece forward.

“Nothing,” snapped the Sage, glum as another piece of his was overtaken.

“You seem less enthusiastic,” the Recluse crowed. He moved closer to the king, until.

The Sage inhaled sharply, staring at the board.

The Recluse knocked over the Sage’s king unceremoniously.

“Checkmate,” said the Recluse as he leaned back, satisfied with himself.

The Sage’s eyes were comically large, his mouth hanging open in shock. “You,” he said slowly. “Beat me?”

The Recluse chuckled. “You’re right, chess is fun.” The Recluse tugged at the Sage’s hair playfully, which the other had put into a braid earlier, claiming the hair in his face “interrupted his focus.” “And don’t act so surprised, I’m getting offended.”

The Sage scowled, crossing his arms over his chest. “No one has ever beat me in chess before,” he told the Recluse.

“Too bad your winning streak is over,” snorted the Recluse.

“I will rebuild my empire,” swore the Sage, already rearranging his pieces, returning them back to their rightful black and white places.

The Recluse smiled for the first time in what felt like years. “Careful, Sage,” he told him, placing his king back to its square. “Mighty empires often fall when faced with worthy adversaries.”

— — —

“Goodness, it’s so late!” The Sage finally looked up from the chessboard and towards the window. The sky was a sea of black, save for the moon, which glimmered upon them, smiling.

“It is,” agreed the Recluse begrudgingly. He moved a castle piece forward. “Your move, Sage.”

The Sage chewed his lip. “We should be retiring to bed, though.”

The Recluse eyed the Sage dubiously. “And this statement of yours has nothing to do with the fact that you are losing? Again?” he added.

The Sage rolled his eyes, the gold in them flickering. “Completely unrelated.”

“Let's pretend I believe you.” The Recluse reclined back, a smile twitching on his lips once more. He gestured to the bed. “You’ve been hogging my bed for the past thirty six hours.”

“Oh, it’s yours?” The Sage blushed, looking down. “I assumed it was like, a guest bedroom, perhaps?

“No, of course it is,” drawled the Recluse. He spread his arms. “I have so many welcomed guests visiting my spire, here at the Peak of Truth. I have a plethora of rooms awaiting them.”

“You’re insufferable,” complained the Sage, twirling a pawn between pale fingers.

“You’re bold,” countered the Recluse. “Bolder than most cookies tend to be, anyway. Especially with me.”

“Thank you,” replied the Sage with a lopsided grin, flashing sharp teeth.

The Recluse pinched the bridge of his nose. “That wasn’t a compliment.”

“I have the freedom to interpret words as I wish,” sniffled the Sage as he flounced onto the bed, making it shudder upon impact.

The Recluse stood up, too. He remained there, awkwardly towering over the Sage. “Don’t you think you’ve overstayed your welcome?” he asked, clearing his throat.

“I don’t know.” The Sage propped himself up on his elbow, smiling. “Have I?”

The Recluse’s mouth went dry, and he cleared his throat. “Yes.” He made a hand gesture. “Get it.”

“But I’m hurt!” The Sage fluttered his eyelashes and made a coughing sound. “I’m in a critical condition.”

“My ass, you’re hurt.” The Recluse glared at him. “You’re not fooling me.”

Something flickered in the Sage’s expression, a phantom of the few moments of vulnerability the Recluse had seen him display. Then he scowled, pushing himself up.

“I know when I am not wanted,” the Sage said dryly. The deep blue coattails of his coat swayed behind him as he angrily stomped out. “I’ll show myself the way out.”

“Okay,” bit out the Recluse. He didn’t like the bitterness forming a pit in his stomach. He clenched his fists. “Don’t let the door hit you on the way out,” he called out, fixing his gaze upon the discarded chess set at his feet. The fleeting happiness of that moment was already long gone, no more than a memory.

The Sage harrumphed, and the door was closed with a loud slam.

Drawing in a shaky breath, the Recluse sat down onto a plush chair, sinking into the cushions. He rubbed at temples, his eyes burning.

The Truthless Recluse didn’t know why the Sage of Truth affected him so.

It terrified him.

Chapter Text

The fact that he was now homeless only properly registered in the Sage of Truth’s mind when he had already exited the Truthless Recluse’s Spire of Deceit.

He paused, faltering, standing in the entryway, hovering. Should he…go back?

No. The Sage shook his head, biting his lip until he drew blood. The jam tasted sweet in his mouth.

If he didn’t go back to the Recluse and beg him for shelter, he’d be losing at least a night’s worth of sleep and potentially safety.

If he did go back, though, the Sage would suffer losing his pride and dignity.

After his spire burnt down, the Sage wasn’t sure how many more hits his now-fragile ego could take before it crumbled to pieces, irrevocably damaged.

Drawing in a sigh, the Sage tore a hand through his hair, the stars swirling around in the sky of cerulean blue strands sparkling with frustration.

Was he really that stubborn, that he would rather spend a night in questionable places?

The answer came clear in the Sage’s mind immediately.

Yes.

The Sage realized, with a start, that he was still lingering in the doorway. As a child, the village elders would warn him that it was bad luck to stand in between doorways, neither leaving nor entering, stuck in the middle of the threshold in between the world of the living and the spirit realm.

A child the Sage was no longer, but old habits tend to die screaming.

— — —

Sparkling Cookie looked up when he heard a jingle of a bell. He grinned, already reaching out for a bottle of berry juice as he eyed his inn’s newest visitor.

He cleared his throat. “Welcome to~”

“No drinks.” The cookie in front of him was drenched from the rain, his wet blue and white hair sticking to his face, his eyes stormy. He slammed a few coins onto the table. “May I have a room?”

After a quick blink, Sparkling Cookie recovered. “Of course!” He scooped up the coins, tucking them into the pocket of his trousers, where they jingled against each other. “Any preference?”

The cookie squinted, the slits of his eyes contracted. “Any will suffice,” he decided.

“Okie!” Sparkling Cookie grabbed a key from the key rack and tossed it to the cookie, who caught in their hand with ease. “Room 205.”

“Thank you.” As the cookie turned, though, recognition flared up in Sparkling Cookie’s mind.

“Say,” he called out. “Are you the-”

“No,” interrupted the cookie immediately. “You must be confused.”

The firmness of his words discouraged any further conversation. Sparkling Cookie nodded, already moving onto the next task of wiping the glasses. Herb Cookie was coming later tonight, so he had other things to entertain himself with other than the fact that the Sage of Truth himself was staying at his inn tonight.

— — —

The inn was a humble one, as inns in the outskirts of Blueberry Village tended to be. Preferably, the Sage would’ve liked to stay in the village itself, but he wasn’t stupid. Everyone knew him there and he wasn’t sure if the angry cookies who had burned down his spire were still, well, angry.

The Sage turned to the mirror hung not too far from the queen sized bed. Its frame of silver was corroded from age, but the Sage’s reflection in the mirror was as clear as a summer’s day. The Sage blinked at himself, his doppelganger mimicking the moment. He lifted a hand to his face and ran a finger over the surface of his black burns and cracks of his dough.

Tears welled up in his eyes.

The Sage wasn’t exactly narcissistic, but he would be lying if he denied that he loved his appearance. He loved his lovely sparkling blue hair, his smooth pale dough skin.

But his wounds?

He looked hideous now, his face and body a web of ugliness he couldn’t look at any longer.

The Sage dropped his arms to his sides, where they hung awkwardly. He drew in a shaky breath as he collapsed onto the bed.

He stared up at the ceiling, tears making his vision blurry.

“It’s okay,” the Sage whispered to himself. “You’re okay.”

He didn’t believe it.

The rest of the night saw the Sage curled up in his sheets, hugging his blankets as he sobbed and cried himself to sleep.

— — —

For a cookie who had spent the night bawling their eyes out while feeling horribly bad for themselves, the Sage woke up in a marvelous mood.

The storm clouded up his head felt miraculously cleared, now that he had emptied that bucket of bottled up emotions last night.

It was a wonderful day to reclaim his dominance, the Sage decided.

The Sage exited his room whistling a jingle to himself, tossing a few more coins onto the front desk, where Sparkling Cookie was chatting up a cookie with green hair, holding a potted plant. Sparkling Cookie pocketed the coins without missing a stride, still chattering.

The Sage chuckled to himself as he pushed open the front doors and sunlight flooded his vision.

Yesterday’s showers of rain had brought forth one of the sunniest days Blueberry Village had seen in a while. The Sage practically skipped his way back to the village, occasionally stopping to observe the chirping blueberry birds, who happily flapped their little wings as they hovered closer to him.

Except for, of course, one blueberry bird, who remained on the branch of a high tree, where it almost angrily glared at its siblings, who all surrounded the Sage.

Something about the blueberry bird felt oddly…familiar?

The Sage wasn't sure, but he needed to keep going, if he were to reach the village square at its peak activity time; noon.

So he bid the blueberry birds good day, promised to bring food for them at a later time, and went on his way.

— — —

Typically, at this time of day, the town square was buzzing with commotion. Filled with stalls clamoring for the attention of passing customers, children running around with their toys, friends chattering as they caught up on whatever gossip they had missed, it was the busiest the Blueberry Village would ever be, save for the occasional town meetings when the other Virtue Cookies came to visit.

Today, however, it was eerily empty. All of the stalls were abandoned, the Sage the sole cookie standing in the square, hands placed on jutted out hips.

“Truly peculiar,” muttered the Sage to himself. He kicked at an apple core. “Where is everyone?”

The Sage walked around, peeking here and there, as if a cookie were hiding in an alleyway.

This did, however, turn out to be the case.

Strong large hands reached out from behind a wall and pulled a yelping Sage into a dark alley before he could blink.

The Sage cried out, or at least tried to. For who, he wasn’t sure, but surely there was a cookie out there with functioning ears, right?

Another hand clamped over his mouth, silencing his scream before it could even be released.

The Sage prided himself on his mathematical mind. Three hands touching him all at the same time didn’t add up, if there were only one cookie here. So either there were multiple cookies, or-

“Warming Spice?” The Sage’s words were muffled by his palm, but he twisted his body to get a closer look at his captor, none other than the Herald of Abundance.

Warming Spice grunted, releasing him. “Shh.” He pressed a finger to his lips and looked from side to side.

The Sage mimicked his fellow Virtue cookie’s movements. He didn’t see anyone.

“I do not believe that there isn’t anybody in the area at this time,” the Sage was saying, but Warming Spice shushed him again. A flush of anger crept up the Sage’s neck, and he inhaled sharply.

“The enemy could be lurking in the shadows,” said Warming Spice, wiggling the fingers on two of his twelve hands.

“Sure,” said the Sage, much too annoyed for a debate at this time. He crossed his arms. “Why are you here, Spicy?”

“That’s a good question.” Warming Spice grinned.

“Of course it is a good question; good questions are the only sorts of questions I ask.” The Sage flicked his hair behind his shoulder. “Well?”

“Well what?”

“Are you going to answer me?”

“Oh, sure.” Warming Spice dug into the pocket of his yellow pants in search of something. He now held a crumpled piece of paper, which he extended out to the Sage. “Here.”

“That’s still not an answer,” the Sage hummed as he smoothed out the paper against the wall. He narrowed his eyes. “What am I looking at?”

“A map,” said Warming Spice proudly.

The Sage stared at him. “A kindergartner could have drawn a more cohesive map.”

“Hey!” Warming Spice’s face turned red. “I did my best.”

“And yet your best is still the worst.”

Warming Spice frowned. “That’s quite rude of you to say, Blue.”

The Sage pinched at the bridge of his nose. He could really go for a cup of tea right now. “Spicy, I sincerely apologize. Can you please tell me what’s going on?”

Warming Spice’s expression softened, though his scowl remained. “Fine,” he relented. “Just lower your voice. I don’t want anyone seeing me in my disguise.”

“Disguise?” The Sage eyed the Herald’s outfit, composed of a hooded cloak and rags. For a kingdom filled with riches, his ensemble surely seemed like it was formerly owned by a peasant long dead.

“Yeah.” The Herald grinned, then spun around. The Sage nearly snorted at the sight of seeing such a large man spin around like a princess. “I’m playing the role of an unnamed hunter.”

“Lovely.” The Sage’s eye twitched. “Spicy?” He gestured back at the map.

“Ah!” Warming Spice ceased his twirling and pointed a finger at the dark blotches staining the parchment, his long black nail creasing the texture. “You see these?”

The Sage tried his very best to remain patient. “Yes, I do.”

“These represent areas possessing abnormally high levels of Dark Moon magic,” said Warming Spice.

Frowning, the Sage said, “There’s always Dark Moon magic in the Blueberry region, though. That’s my influence, remember?”

“Yes,” said the Herald, tilting his head to the side. “But this seems…different from yours. I’m not entirely sure, but my spices say they smell… different. Also, it’s not just the Blueberry Region.” Warming Spice nodded to the other splotches all over Beast Yeast, his long black hair out of his hood with the movement.

“How awfully peculiar.” The Sage worried his lip in between his teeth, drawing sweet tasting blood. It filled his mouth and he sloshed it around before swallowing.

“Have you noticed anything odd?” the Herald asked. “Anything disorderly occurred recently?”

The Sage’s face heated. “Um.” He laughed awkwardly. “My, um, spire might’ve gotten burned down.”

Warming Spice stared at the Sage.

“Don’t worry,” the Sage rambled. “I only got burnt a little bit.”

“You got burnt?!”

The Sage flinched at the sudden loudness of the Herald’s voice. The Herald noticed and lowered his volume.

“You got burnt?” he whisper-yelled.

“It’s already healed?” the Sage offered weakly.

“Blueberry Milk.” Warming Spice sighed, wringing his hands in weary frustration. “Why aren’t you ever careful?”

“I am plenty careful.” Anger flared up, the Sage’s dough flaring up, consumed with the emotion. “I’m alive, aren’t I?”

He conveniently left out the part where he had to be rescued by the Recluse, of course.

“Whatever,” grumbled Warming Spice, waving his hand, though he clearly wasn’t over it. He turned away, his broad shoulders and back the only thing in the Sage’s sight now. “It clearly seems as though you have everything handled here, so I suppose I’ll be making my leave.”

Guilt is a curious beast. Unlike its loud siblings, it creeps up on oneself, breathing down one’s neck, one not realizing one is being consumed until they are already in its belly.

The Sage found it difficult to breathe, his vision suddenly blurry.

“Wait!”

The Herald paused in his step.

The Sage inhaled. “May I have the map?”

Hesitance. A beat of silence. Then, a mumbled reply, “I need to show it to the other Virtues, Blue.”

“I’ll create a duplicate with my magic,” offered the Sage, testing the fragile glass bridge dangling precariously between the two cookies.

“Okay.” The Herald turned and handed the Sage the yellowed paper.

The Sage hoped he didn’t notice how his hands shook with nerves as the piece of parchment passed from one to the other.

Smoothing out the corners against the wall, the Sage began to chant softly under his breath, brows creased in concentration. A golden light showed, and the Sage blinked, and it was not one but two maps now he held.

He handed over the original back to the Herald. “Here,” he said, his voice turning out croaky. The Sage cleared his throat.

“Thank you.” Warming Spice pocketed the map, then shyly offered the Sage a gap-toothed grin. “Take care of yourself, ‘kay?”

The Sage swallowed the lump forming in his throat. “I will,” he promised.

As he watched his friend leave, the Sage of Truth wondered if he was slowly but surely becoming a liar.

Chapter Text

Over the years, the Truthless Recluse spent much more time than he ever cared to admit watching the Sage of Truth.

Like most obsessions, it had first begun with small things. He’d enchant himself into little creatures and follow the Sage around as he walked through the Blueberry Village. Then it progressed to the point where he’d use his magic to spy on him throughout the day, observing the Sage go through his daily routines, the monotony and frequency of such events leading to the Recluse learning all of the Sage’s little quirks and habits.

The Recluse knew that after a long day of work, the Sage liked to curl up in his bed piled with fluffy pillows and thick blankets, sipping a warm cup of milk before bed.

The Recluse also knew that the Sage would not be enjoying staying outside somewhere other than his comfy quarters, now rendered homeless, in the pouring rain.

As he stood by the window, watching droplets of rain trace their paths down the glass, the Recluse sighed audibly, rubbing at his eyelids.

Absent-mindedly, the Recluse slid a hand into his pocket, running his fingers over the cool surface of his Soul Jam.

Ever since the Recluse had abandoned Truth and embraced Deceit, his Soul Jam had gone cold and devout of both warmth and color.

The Recluse swallowed back the bile rising in his throat. He stepped away from the window, robes swirling at his feet. He stared at his bed, at the indents of where the Sage had been laying down mere hours ago. After quickly stripping himself, the Recluse fell into the bed, burying his face into the silky sheets.

“Urgh,” complained the Recluse, voice muffled. He lazily turned to his side, staring back out the window. He couldn’t see anything properly even if he had his flower staff in hand, the view far too obstructed by the night’s darkness and the storm’s clouds.

The Recluse couldn’t help but wonder how the Sage was faring.

Mentally, he kicked himself for that line of thought.

But he couldn’t help himself.

The Recluse groaned and pressed his face closer into the pillow.

He wished he could suffocate himself right there and then, end his miserable existence.

Unfortunately, death was a reprieve sinners like the Truthless Recluse did not have the mercy of receiving.

— — —

The Recluse woke up with a pounding headache. As he sat up, stars sparked behind his eyes, and he cringed, running a hand through his hair. Witches never bothered to mention to cookies how much corruption hurt bodies, the Deceit running through the corrupted cookies’ viens of jam like lazy poison.

Perhaps such a warning would’ve discouraged cookies from falling to Deceit.

The line between naivety and hopefulness is nearly invisible.

Who’d be surprised, that going against one’s own nature could be painful?

The Recluse’s joints creaked in silent complaints as he stretched himself out and dressed himself. He squinted, the sun flowing through the windows making his blurry vision even worse. With a flick of the wrist, the curtains fluttered shut.

As he grabbed his flower staff, the shifting eyes gave him a certain look.

“What’s your problem?” snapped the Recluse, always on the defensive.

Obviously, the staff didn’t reply, but it continued to glare at the Recluse judgingly.

The Recluse made his way through the big and empty halls of his Spire, the rise and fall of his feet and the occasional thud of his staff the only sound echoing throughout, reverberating against the walls.

Solitude was the Recluse’s sole companion.

Not for much longer.

With a twirl of his staff, White magic washed over the Recluse and he closed his eyes as he transformed.

— — —

Over the years, the Recluse had come to favor the blueberry bird as his preferred form of choice. Something about its soft ruffled feathers, small body, and tiny orange beak felt comfortable to the Recluse.

It also reminded him of his past, the blueberry birds always a constant companion of his in the now long gone Vanilla Kingdom, but that was emotional baggage the Recluse didn’t feel like unpacking not right now nor at any other time, really.

He joined a flock of fellow blueberry birds circling around a tree, all of them chirping cheerfully to each other. After a few glares flashed with predatory anger, all the other birds wisely ignored the Recluse, tending to each other. The Recluse watched as the mates preened each other’s wings, pecking their beaks into the other’s feathers.

The Recluse wondered how a creature could trust another to do something so intimate, so touching to the other.

He doubted he could ever let anyone in that close ever again.

The Recluse sighed, or at least, as well as he could in this form. He closed his eyes as he perched on the branch, the wind ruffling at his feathers. He felt almost at…peace.

That peace was quickly disrupted.

First the Recluse heard the cheerful humming. Without even looking, he immediately recognized the jingle that he’d only ever heard one cookie singing along to (not that he had listened to many cookies, though, but that's besides the point.)

The Sage of Truth.

All of the other blueberry birds, once they saw him, fluttered to him, landing on his outstretched arms as the Sage laughed, his mirth sounding like the happiest silver bells singing in the wind. He even spun around a little bit, the birds all flying around him as he giggled, hair flying in all directions.

Only the Recluse remained in the safe haven of the tree, a silent observer.

As if drawn by his thoughts or aura or something, the Sage locked eyes with the Recluse. He blinked slowly once, twice.

The Recluse shifted, refusing to falter.

The Sage finally broke his gaze and returned his attention to the other blueberry birds, chattering something about bringing jellyberries the next time he came by.

Something panged in the Recluse’s chest, tugging at the depths of his soul.

He wanted the Sage to leave him alone, and he had done so.

So then why did the Recluse feel so unsatisfied, a starving man abstaining from eating at a feast of food?

— — —

The Recluse had already long retired to bed when he heard a pounding on his bedroom door. He stirred, groaning and squinting in the dim light.

Who was it? His sleep muddled mind tried to sort through his thoughts. No one had direct access to his spire, let alone his private chambers.

Fumbling blindly in the darkness for his staff, the Recluse cursed softly under his breath.

“Clusey!” The pounding only grew louder and more insistent. “It’s me, and I know that you’re awake, so don’t even try lying to me!”

The Recluse froze. “Sage?” He didn’t even try hiding the indignant disbelief in his voice.

“Yes?”

The Recluse stalked over to the door, scowling at the Sage behind it already even though said door was still in between them. “Why in the name of the witches are you here, in my spire?”

“That’s a good question,” hummed the Sage. “One I’ll be willing to answer if you open the door.

The Recluse rolled his eyes as he swung open the door with way more aggression than strictly necessary, nearly hitting the Sage with it.

“Hey!” complained the Sage, then his eyes went wide and his face red. “Oh! Um, Recluse?”

“What now?” The Recluse glared at the Sage, rubbing at his temples.

“You’re, um, nude.” The Sage giggled awkwardly as he averted his gaze.

Shit. The Recluse crossed his arms over his bare chest, just now realizing his state of undress. “I was sleeping,” he reminded the Sage. “Until someone decided to pull up randomly to my house. How’d you get in, anyway?”

“Magic,” said the Sage simply, as if he broke into people’s abodes on a nightly basis using this exact method. “Can you, um, get dressed?”

Despite also feeling increasingly discomforted by the current situation, the Recluse raised an eyebrow. “Why must I, Sage? Are you uncomfortable?”

“Yes,” replied the Sage immediately, without even thinking twice.

The Recluse couldn’t help but chuckle as he reentered his room, grabbing up his robes from the bundle where he had thrown it earlier. “I didn’t know you’re such a prude, Sage,” he teased gently.

“Just get dressed,” the Sage said with barely concealed relief.

“M’kay.” The Recluse made sure to stare the Sage dead in the eye as he pulled his clothes over his head. “But you better start explaining things as soon as I’m done, and then get the hell out of here, before I kick your ass.”

“I promise I’ll be quick,” swore the Sage.

— — —

The Sage’s definition of quick was not, it turns out, very quick.

After the Recluse was clothed, the Sage summoned an entire tea party for them, complete with a fancy golden tea set and little mini sandwiches and other unnecessary items set upon a table he had, too, summoned.

The Recluse stared at the set up. “Gee, Sage. All of this for little old me? I’m blushing.”

The Sage beamed, ever the oblivious. “I’m pleased you like it.” He poured a cup of tea first for himself, then for the Recluse. “Sugar?”

“Don’t call me that,” said the Recluse absentmindedly as he fingered his Soul Jam, still hidden in the depths of his pocket.

The Sage laughed that infectious laugh of his once more. The Recluse was hit by the sudden urge of want, to bottle it up and store it for years, until it would age like fine wine and he’d drink it up, until there was nothing left to consume.

“I wasn’t calling you ‘sugar,’” explained the Sage, his face still overly joyous. He gestured to the table. “I was offering you some, to go with your tea.”

“I knew that,” snapped the Recluse, a little too quickly. He scowled. “I was simply…toying with you.”

“Okay.” Judging by the Sage’s little smirk, he didn’t believe the Recluse’s feeble attempts at Deceit. “Sugar?”

“No, thanks,” said the Recluse, opting out of picking the sugar simply out of spite and, after grabbing his cup, aggressively sipping at his tea.

The Sage chuckled to himself as he delicately lifted the cup, pinkie jutted out, and drank.

After draining the cup, the Sage set it down onto the table with a gentle clink. He held his head in his hands and sighed, eyelashes of black and white fluttering.

The Recluse held the Sage’s gaze. There was something glimmering in his mismatched eyes, something the Recluse didn’t quite understand nor did he like.

“What?” the Recluse asked, falling for the Sage’s bait. He didn’t really care at this point. He was growing tired of this waltz they danced. He just wanted to have a simple up-front conversation, then be left alone for the rest of his miserable life of eternity.

The Sage waved a finger, commanding the teapot to refill his cup. “What do you know about Dark Moon magic?” he asked, answering the Recluse’s question with another.

The Recluse narrowed his eyes. “Enough.” In his mind, he shuffled the pieces of the puzzle he currently held. The Sage was notorious for his affinity for Dark Moon magic, widely considered the most skilled user of it in all of Crispia. If the one who held the most knowledge on a certain area of magic had questions about said magic…

“That’s a non-answer,” said the Sage, wrinkling his nose.

“Apologies, but I don’t particularly like extending certain courtesies to others when they won’t do the same to me.” The Recluse reclined in his chair, studying the Sage. “The knife cuts both ways, Sage.”

“I suppose you’re right.” The Sage ran a hand through his hair. “Let us find even ground, then, and ensure neither of us bleeds out.”

The Recluse’s sole response was a grunt of agreement.

The Sage took this as an answer enough and reached into his pocket. He took out a yellowed piece of paper, which he smoothed across the table.

Unable to contain his curiosity, the Recluse leaned forward, squinting. He bent low, his eyes straining to see. “What am I looking at?”

“A very crudely drawn map,” said the Sage.

“Calling this monstrosity a map is generous,” snorted the Recluse. “And an offense to all maps and their respective makers.”

“I know,” sighed the Sage as he waved at it. “The Herald drew it, but its hideous appearance isn’t what is important.”

The Recluse duly noted that somehow in the nearly full day the Sage had been gone, he had found the time to convene with the Herald of Abundance.

The Recluse didn’t have his staff in hand, so he struggled to see the details of the map properly, opting to study the shapes and outlines.

“It’s Beast Yeast,” realized the Recluse, recognition flaring up.

The Sage clapped his hands together, making a crisp loud sound. “Correct!” His eyes twinkled with that teacherly glimmer of pride as their student answered a question to their satisfaction.

“Why, though?” the Recluse wondered aloud as he stroked his chin. “You mentioned Dark Moon magic earlier. Does this map have anything to do with it?”

“Indeed it does!” The Sage looked positively pleased. He tapped a sharp nail to certain darker areas of the map. “These are areas with excessively high levels of Dark Moon magic.”

“The Blueberry Region,” said the Recluse immediately, without even properly examining the map. “That’s your influence, though, isn’t it?”

The Sage curled his lower lip, his expression sour. “That’s the thing.” He fidgeted with the brooch at the base of his throat, where his Soul Jam of Truth rested. “Spicy– the Herald– said that his spices reported that this magic ‘smelled different,’ or something of that sort.”

Bristling slightly at the Sage’s fond nickname for the Herald, the Recluse said, coldly, “I don’t know what that means. There’s only one sort of Dark Moon magic I am familiar with, and that’s yours.”

Lifting up a brow, the Sage queried, “One sort? Does this imply that there’s others?”

The Recluse blinked at him. “What? No, of course not.” He made a dismissive wave. “And besides, Sage, you must remember; even if you have control over Dark Moon magic, it is a terrible beast no cookie can tame.” Something dark passed over the Recluse’s face.

The Sage shifted in his seat. “Okay, then.” He stood up, waving his hand once more. The tea party set disappeared, twinkling into darkness, summoned back into the Other Realm. “I suppose I’ll be off. Wouldn’t like to intrude anymore than I already have.” He gave a little nod before walking towards the window, pushing it open, and flying out.

The Truthless Recluse didn’t bother watching him on the way down.

He could only pray that the Sage of Truth couldn’t see through his thinly spun web of lies.

Chapter Text

The Sage of Truth held many a grievance against the Truthless Recluse.

First and foremost, the Recluse had beaten him multiple times in chess, something the Sage was still sour about and probably would be for a while.

The Recluse had also blatantly lied to his face multiple times. From his general passiveness to straight up denying the existence of other sorts of Dark Moon magic, the Recluse was quite the teller of fibs, though perhaps that was to be expected from the holder of Deceit.

It didn’t make the whole situation any less infuriating to the Sage, though.

The Sage turned his options over in his mind. It was the middle of the night, crickets chirping loudly as the soundtrack of his churning thoughts, and he didn’t quite feel like pulling up to the inn again. One night at such an establishment, no matter how charming it may be, one too many for him. If anyone, especially the Recluse, was to find out he was spending nights at humble inns, he’d never be allowed to live that down.

The Sage himself wouldn’t allow himself.

Crickets chirped loudly, and the Sage sighed, exhaling a breath of air. What was he to do?

He glanced back wistfully at the Recluse’s tower. He doubted the Recluse would take it kindly if he broke into his house for the second time in one night.

That didn’t make it any less infuriating, though.

The Sage considered his options. He wrinkled his nose at the prospect of returning to the inn; no matter how charming it may be, the Sage had spent one night too many there.

Stuffing his hands into his pockets, the Sage licked at his lips. He knew what he had to do. Ever since his run in with the Herald, the silvery strands of a plan began forming in his mind. His meeting with the Recluse only proved some of his theories true.

Now all he had to do was act.

— — —

Shapeshifting was one of the few areas of Dark Moon magic that never failed to make the Sage nervous. It wasn’t that he wasn’t skilled enough to properly execute it; he was the Sage of Truth, after all.

No, it wasn’t that.

It was that changing one’s form felt all too much like a lie.

The Sage took a deep breath, counting down from ten.

Ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five, four, three, two, one.

Truth is a kaleidoscope, the Sage reminded himself. Truth is a kaleidoscope.

And with that thought in his mind, all other doubts cast away, he shifted.

— — —

The stableboy at Biscotti Horsies Inc., Blueberry Ricotta Cookie, wasn’t asleep, he was just…resting his eyes. Yeah, that’s what he was doing, and anyone who claimed he was snoring while on the job was just straight up lying!

He awoke, no, opened his eyes, at the sound of someone clearing his throat.

“Five more minutes,” he mumbled, then a female voice asked, “Excuse me?”

Blueberry Ricotta sat up straight immediately, his back a metal rod. “Oh, sorry ma’am,” he said sheepishly. He fumbled for his tie, straightening it in a vain attempt to look professional. He prayed to the Witches that his boss wasn’t around.

The cookie standing in front of him smiled, all earlier frustration melting away from her features like a stick of butter out on the hot summer sidewalk. Her silvery white hair shimmered in the light of the rising sun.

“I’d like to rent out a carriage,” she said as she began to fan herself with a blue embroidery.

The dig of a cash register went off in Blueberry Ricotta’s mind as he silently plotted. This lady was clearly rich. His mouth practically salivated at the thought of the sorts of tips she’d leave…among other things. The cookie was quite stunning.

“For how many days?” Blueberry Ricotta asked, not even bothering to stop his eyes from straying down from the cookie’s face to a rather prominent part of her body.

The cookie curled her blue stained lip. “My journey will be a long one,” she said. She continued to fan herself as she spoke, “You know how unpredictable Beast Yeast can be sometimes, don’t you, darling? You seem quite intelligent for your years.”

Sometimes, it was hard to tell a cookie’s age just by looking at them, but judging from her manner of speaking, this one was an older lady. Blueberry Ricotta puffed out his chest. “Yeah,” he said, agreeing. “I am quite the catch, aren’t I?”

The cookie laughed, a twinkly little sound that sounded like a slice of heaven. “Sure,” she giggled. Then her features molded back into something mysterious, a question mark shrouded in beauty.

“Where in Beast Yeast are you going?” Blueberry Ricotta asked, leaning over the table, desperate for more crumbs.

The cookie batted her eyelashes. “My fiance and I are going to Sweetest Sugar’s Paradise.”

With that one word, fiance, all of Blueberry Ricotta’s hopes and dreams crumbled. “Ah,” he said, his voice off. He cleared his throat, returning his attention back to the desk. He extended a clipboard of papers to the cookie. “You’ll need to fill this out.”

The cookie’s smile widened, revealing sharp canines. “Thank you,” she said as she reached out, and Blueberry Ricotta noted her unnaturally long nails.

As she turned, her skirt swishing with motion, Blueberry Ricotta called out. “Wait!”

The cookie turned, her smile still affixed upon her face and utterly enchanting. “Yes?”

He swallowed. “Um. Who’s your fiance?”

“I beg your pardon?” The cookie blinked.

“Curiosity begs the mind,” laughed Blueberry Ricotta nervously, picking at a splinter. “Perhaps we’re familiar?”

“It truly is cookiekind’s greatest weakness, isn’t it, curiosity?” The cookie nodded. “My fiance,” she said slowly. Then her smile evolved into a wide grin. “None other than the Truthless Recluse himself, of course!”

— — —

It seemed as though the Recluse couldn’t get a moment of rest and peace to himself, apparently. When he awoke the following afternoon and groggily walked over to the window to throw open the curtains, he was greeted by a carriage, complete with drawn biscuit horsies, parked right in front of his doors.

“What the–.” The Recluse stared out the window. If he squinted, he could see two cookies standing near the carriage, one of them fanning themselves excessively. He saw blue and gold eyes flash in the sunlight, and recognition flared up.

He stomped all his way down the stairs and out the door. He stalked over to the Sage of Truth, ignoring the confused expression on his, or hers, apparently, companion.

“Explain.” The Recluse crossed his arms over his chest, anger fuming. “Right now.”

The Sage fluttered his eyelashes. “Oh, darling fiance of mine!” She draped an arm over the Recluse, pulling him in close enough for him to sense the warmth of her breath. The Recluse blinked, much too caught off guard by the manner of address.

“You-” stammered the Recluse.

The Sage smiled tenderly. “I can’t wait for our wedding in Sweetest Sugar’s paradise, my dearest,” she purred.

The Recluse’s face turned bright red as he fumbled to push the Sage away. “Get away,” he growled.

Then he reconsidered the situation, and grabbed at the Sage’s arm. “Actually,” he said, adopting the persona, slipping into the deceit as easily as if it were a glove tailored especially for his hand. “My…darling bluebird, I must have a conversation with you. Urgently.”

The Sage lifted an eyebrow, clearly fighting down laughter. “Of course, my pookie bear,” she said with utmost affection. Nausea churned the Recluse stomach as he led the Sage away from his companion’s sight, who didn’t even try to hide his disheartenment.

Once they were behind the wall, the Recluse whirred around to face the Sage. “What are you doing?” he hissed.

The Sage placed her hands on her hips, and the Recluse tried his very best to not to stare at any particular part of her new form. “Doing what?” she asked innocently.

“This!” The Recluse gestured to the Sage’s body. “First you break into my home-”

“-That was technically yesterday,” interjected the Sage.

The Recluse glared daggers at him, and the Sage mimed zipping his lips.

“Now you pull up to my house with a carriage and a new body and claim that we are engaged.” The Sage continued to blink back at him as if there was nothing wrong with the situation. The Recluse’s frustration only grew.

“I’m sorry,” whispered the Sage, before the Recluse could even explode. The Recluse faltered, watching as the Sage fidgeted with the ends of her sleeves, now blinking more rapidly than before. She was stupid enough to try and hide it, but the Recluse was all too familiar with the look of one on the verge of tears.

The Recluse worked his jaw. “Sage,” he said softly.

The Sage swallowed visibly. “I know you’re lying to me,” she said.

Deciding to play dumb, the Recluse said, “I don't know what you’re talking about. I’m the cookie of Deceit; you must be more specific with your accusations and claims, for I tell many lies.”

“Oh, with all due respect, shut your mouth,” sniffled the Sage, eyes tinged with red turned sharp as blades. “I know you’re fibbing about the Dark Moon magic.”

The Recluse stiffened.

“For a cookie of Deceit, you sure are a horrible liar,” laughed the Sage hollowly. “I wish to seek the Truth, and e-even if it is bad, or dangerous, I want that to be a conclusion I reach on my own accord.” The Sage straightened her spine, standing up to her full height, which was still a good head or two shorter than the Recluse.

“I only wish to limit the suffering of cookies,” sighed the Recluse, running a hand through his blond hair. “I know the Beast of Truth is one not easily tamed, and how could you blame me, for not wanting more to be crumbled under the weight of its harsh ruthlessness?”

“Some say ruthlessness is mercy upon ourselves,” countered the Sage.

“Must all our conversations spark a debate?” asked the Recluse, exhaling.

“Oh, my pookie bear.” The Sage patted the Recluse’s shoulder fondly, eyes sparkling again. “You do know I love a good debate.”

“Stop calling me that,” complained the Recluse. “Also, isn’t telling people I’m your fiance a mean of Deceit?”

The Sage bit her lower lip. “There are other ways of persuasion, there are other modes of control.” She lifted an eyebrow. “This is the story of my persona; I am merely but playing a role.”

“Funny.” The Recluse leaned in close. “You strike me more of a puppeteer than a puppet.”

“Trust me, darling.” The Sage tilted her head to the side, smiling serenely. “I don’t play. I puppeteer.”

The Recluse felt phantom strings tie around his wrists. He swallowed the bile rising up his throat. “And what role do I play in this little show of ours, mind my asking?”

“Oh, Clusey.” The Sage’s smile widened. “You already know. You’re my fiance.”

— — —

“Just so you know,” the Recluse was saying as he opened the door of the carriage to allow the Sage in. “The only reason why I agreed to come with you is to make sure you don’t spread too much Truth to cookies who don’t need to hear it.” He didn’t even try to hide his frustration, disgust, and begrudging respect. “You’re like a freaking infection.”

“Dear, I love you, too, future husband of mine,” said the Sage dryly, accidentally stepping on the Recluse’s toes with her heel as she climbed into the carriage. “Oops!”

The Recluse gritted his teeth. “Screw you,” he whispered.

The Sage fanned herself. “Oh darling, I know you’re impatient, but please, wait until after the wedding?”

Mouth hanging wide open, the Recluse fruitlessly tried for a response, with little success to show for his efforts. Face red, he simply said, “Screw you,” again and sat down in the seat opposite from her.

The stable boy, Blueberry Ricotta, lingered. “Do you-”

“Oh, you’re free to go,” said the Sage cheerfully.

Blueberry Ricotta somehow looked both chastened and relieved simultaneously. “Really?”

“Yes, your work here is done. Now skedaddle.” The Recluse made a shooing gesture with his tan hands.

That earned him an elbow to the gut from the Sage. “That was rude, darling,” she said, clicking her tongue.

“Sorry, mother,” hissed the Recluse, clutching his surely bruised ribs. As he often found himself doing, he wished he could heal himself. Alas, that was the curse of the healer gift. It was both a blessing and a curse.

Ignoring her so-called fiance, the Sage turned to the stable boy. “You have been utterly helpful, but as my darling Recluse had made adamantly clear, you are relieved of your duties.” She tossed him a few coins, which he scrambled to catch. “Keep the change,” she called out as the horses began to pull the carriage away.

The Recluse turned around in his seat and when he was sure he had Blueberry Ricotta’s gaze and attention, he flipped him off through the window. He turned back before he could see his reaction.

The Sage sighed dramatically as she continued to fan herself. “You are so immature,” she said, wrinkling her little nose.

“That’s rich, coming from you,” snorted the Recluse, which earned him a slap on his wrist. “You’re rather touchy today, aren’t you?”

The Sage rolled her eyes, and with a flick of her wrist, she transformed back to normal. Himself again, he slouched against the cushions. “I don’t like that form,” he complained.

“You did that to yourself,” laughed the Recluse.

“I did.” The Sage stared blankly ahead. “Sometimes I get too much into the role, though. Sorry.”

The Recluse frowned. Two apologies in one day from one of the most hubristic cookie he knew was not common. He decided to change the subject.

“Why are we going to Sweetest Sugar’s paradise, anyway?”

“Besides the Blueberry Region, her domain seems to be experiencing the highest levels of Dark Moon magic.” The Sage took the hat off his head and held it in his lap. “It is quite unusual in her lands, where Passion rings out loudest.”

“That is odd,” agreed the Recluse, stroking his chin thoughtfully. “Any theories?”

“Of course I have theories.” The Sage looked offended that the Recluse would dare to suggest otherwise. “But what’s the point of sharing them with you, of all people? You’ll never share your true thoughts and opinions with me.”

“You’re right,” admitted the Recluse. “But don’t you want to share them, anyway?”

The Sage crossed his arms over his chest. “I hate that you know me so well.”

The Recluse watched him carefully, observing as his pointed ears twitch slightly, trembling with emotion. “We are two halves of the same soul, Sage.” As if a trance, he reached out to run a hand over the Sage’s Soul Jam of Truth. He rubbed at it, gently, feeling up its cool surface. It wasn’t enough. He wanted to get closer, consume it- “Deceit cannot exist without Truth, and vice versa.”

The Sage laughed nervously, gently pushing away the Recluse’s hand from his chest. “Now look who’s getting touchy!”

The Recluse’s eyes hardened. He drew back his hand and clenched his fists at his sides.

The rest of the ride was spent in silence.

— — —

After about forty eight hours of awkward carriage ride passed before the Sage began to complain once more.

“I’m hungry,” he whined, kicking out his feet in the air.

The Recluse opted to ignore the Sage, staring out the window instead.

“I’m hungry,” repeated the Sage, now kicking the Recluse.

“Stop that,” snapped the Recluse, wrapping his fingers around the Sage’s foot to stop it from hitting his legs again.

The Sage twisted his face. “Make me.”

The two held heated eye contact for a beat, before the Recluse broke away his gaze. “Fine. I have no energy to fight you at this time.” And so, he pushed open the door.

The Sage’s eyes widened. “The carriage is still in motion,” he was saying, but it was too late.

The Recluse hopped out of the carriage, landing gracefully on his feet. He wobbled a bit but gained sure footing once more as he continued walking forward, his staff proving to be helpful, for once.

“Wait up!” called the Sage. The Recluse rolled his eyes but slightly slowed his pace. The Sage was still injured, after all.

Common courtesy. The Recluse wasn’t a monster, after all.

“Where are we going?” the Sage asked, a hop in his step.

“I dunno, but definitely not the small town right up ahead,” deadpanned the Recluse. “Come on, Sage. I thought you were smart?”

“No need to be rude,” grumbled the Sage, bristling.

“Just living my Truth,” the Recluse chuckled humorlessly.

The Sage’s sole response was sticking out his tongue, ever the mature cookie.

The Recluse sighed and affixed his attention to the rise and fall of his feet as he walked down the path leading to the heart of the town.

— — —

Stepping into the bustling marketplace, the Recluse was quickly reminded how much he hated being around people.

Stall owners clamored for the attention of passing cookies and shoppers pushed through crowds as if they all had somewhere important to be, when in reality, they didn’t really have anything but the narcissistic ideal that they were entitled to get places first.

The Recluse detested it.

The Sage, on the other hand, seemed to have come alive, eyes sparkling almost as brightly as his hair in the day’s sun. He chattered with the locals, asking veiled questions disguised as casual banter. The cookies seemed thrilled to speak with him, but once they realized who he was, he’d flinch inwardly and abruptly end the conversation. Politely, of course.

The Recluse watched the process play out a few more times before he got annoyed by the Sage’s light flush as he talked to a female cookie who was trying much too hard to be subtle with her flirtations. He grabbed the Sage by the arm, hooked his elbow in his and said, loudly, “Fiance, don’t we have somewhere to be?”

The lady immediately stiffened, and the Sage opened his mouth.

“We’re still doing that fiance schtick?”

“Of course.” The Recluse practically dragged the Sage away, towards a stall selling jellyberries. The scent was heavenly and reminded him of his youth, when jellyberry season was the best season. He closed his eyes, inhaling and recalling. “We’ve already started the preparations, so why cancel the wedding?”

The Sage frowned, tucking a strand of hair behind his ear. “I suppose,” he said. “But I’m no longer Lady Cream Berry, and being your fiance was her role.”

The Recluse considered this. “And this Deceit no longer sits well with you, because of a changed form?”

“It wasn’t Deceit,” protested the Sage. “It was merely a role. I was acting.”

“Sure,” said the Recluse, flashing white teeth as he reached out for a jellyberry. “For a cookie of Truth, you sure are a good actor.”

“Two halves of the same soul, remember?”

The Recluse froze ever so slightly, but sank his teeth into the berry regardless. “How could I ever forget?”

“Hey!” The cookie owning the stall, a stout little thing, stared down the Recluse. “You’re going to pay for that, aren’t ya?”

The Recluse shrugged.

“I apologize for my partner,” said the Sage, and gave the cookie a few coins as compensation.

The cookie’s eyes widened. “I-I’m so sorry! Are you the Sage of-”

“No, he not,” interrupted the Recluse, and led the Sage away once more.

“You’re so prickly,” complained the Sage. “Like a cactus.”

“And you’re annoying,” countered the Recluse. “Like a wet cat.”

“Then why’d you come?” The Sage stood up to the tips of his toes, challenging the Recluse.

The Recluse clenched his fists. “I don’t need to tell you anything.”

The two stared each other down. A small cluster of people stopped to watch the two cookies, their tension palpable in the air.

The Sage was the one who broke away first, this time around. “I’m still hungry.” He sideyed the jellyberry in the Recluse’s hand as if it were the source of all his troubles.

A stall owner cleared his throat behind them. He gestured to the bear jellies laid out on display. “Care for a free sample, Sage of Truth?”

The Sage brightened. “Thank you!” He walked over to the stall and grabbed two bear jellies.

“Biggie,” snorted the Recluse, but then was surprised when the Sage extended one of the bear jellies to him. “Oh, I’m not hungry.”

The Sage only pushed the bear jelly closer to the Recluse’s face. “I don’t care,” he said, pouting. “You haven’t eaten properly in days, Clusey.”

“Why would you care?” snapped the Recluse, words much too harsh.

“Because,” said the Sage simply.

When it was clear he wouldn’t relent, the Recluse sighed and took a bite. “Happy?”

“Jubilant,” beamed the Sage.

The feeling forming in the pit of the Truthless Recluse’s stomach as the Sage of Truth regarded him with that warm fondness was simply his body reacting to the food, his stomach unused to being full after years of being victim to his eating disorder.

That was all.

Nothing more.

Chapter Text

The Truthless Recluse rarely dreamt, but on the occasion he did get a visit from the Beast of Sloth, it was in the form of memories.

Tonight’s recollection was one from his past, in the days before his friends grew corrupt, before his own Soul Jam grew cold, before he was even known as the Truthless Recluse.

Pure Vanilla Cookie was out on a stroll, leaning on his flower staff for support. He hummed to himself as he walked through his garden of lilies, the sky a perfect shade of serene blue, his kingdom peaceful.

A pained cry broke through the silence, making Pure Vanilla wince.

“Curious,” whispered Pure Vanilla as he twirled around, robes swishing with his movement, as he made his way towards the source of the sound.

Pushing hair out of his eyes as he bent down, knees creaking from age, Pure Vanilla had found a little blueberry bird, lying wounded on the ground. It appeared to be that it had fallen from the branches of a tree, its wings rendered useless as its bones bent at awkward angles, punctuating flesh.

Pure Vanilla stared at it.

He hadn’t seen so much blood in ages…

More memories of the dark days of war pushed at Pure Vanilla’s skull, making stars burst behind his eyes.

Taking in a deep breath, Pure Vanilla exerted as much healing White magic as he possibly could into the poor little thing.

His efforts were for nothing.

The magic was too weak and too slow; it didn’t work.

Pure Vanilla was too late.

Try as he might, he couldn’t save his bluebird.

— — —

The Truthless Recluse woke from a bump in the road, the carriage bouncing up and down from the rocks below. He groaned, pressing a hand to his forehead, which was drenched in sweat.

He heard a soft, “Mm,” coming from Sage, and he looked down at him, his heart skipping a beat.

The Sage of Truth was curled up close to the Recluse’s body, his body warmth enveloping the other in a blanket of comfort. As the Recluse shifted, the Sage only moved closer, mumbling in his sleep.

The Recluse sighed, resigning himself to the fact that he wouldn’t be able to properly move for a while.

He watched the Sage sleep, just as he’d done for years.

The Recluse always thought everyone looked so much younger in slumber than in life.

Something about how the muscles of their face relaxed, their expression rendered peaceful.

Sage’s blueberry scent paired with the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest helped lull the Recluse back into sleep, his eyelids growing heavy and his vision blurry.

The Beast of Sloth took pity upon the Recluse.

He didn’t dream again.

— — —

The following morning, they didn’t talk about it.

— — —

“We need to start buying more food, more often,” the Sage was saying, but the Recluse was hardly listening. He had stumbled upon a flower stand and was studying the white lilies on display.

“I heard jellybeans have a long shelf life,” the Sage said, poking at the Recluse’s ribs.

“Mhm,” said the Recluse, not even sparing him a second glance.

The Sage bit his lip. “You really like those flowers, don’t you?” the Sage asked, teetering on the edge of frustration.

“Hmm?” The Recluse’s mismatched eyes flickered towards the Sage for a moment before returning to the lilies.

“Did you know, when I cry, my tears are made of milk, and when they make contact with the ground, milkcrown flowers grow?”

This finally captured the Recluse’s attention. He raised an eyebrow. “Really?”

Now that he finally had the Recluse’s regard, the Sage suddenly felt nervous. He wiped his sweaty palms against his pants as he laughed awkwardly. “Yep!”

“That’s why there are so many milkcrowns in the Blueberry Region,” hummed the Recluse, stroking his chin in thought. “You sure do cry a lot.”

“Most of it was when I was younger,” said the Sage defensively. “Now I’m more careful about where and when I cry.”

The Recluse considered this. “Okay.” He reached out and grabbed the Sage’s hand, oblivious to the deep blue flushed rising to the Sage’s face. “Let’s go get those jellybeans you were talking about.”

A thrill of satisfaction struck the Sage. “You listen to me,” he said, smiling.

The Recluse rolled his eyes. “Even though my vision is shitty, my other senses have yet to dull. I can hear perfectly well, regardless of whether or not I want to.”

“My dear Recluse, there’s a stark difference between hearing and listening,” grinned the Sage.

“Mere synonyms,” dismissed the Recluse.

“Quite the contrary!” The Sage then launched into an unnecessarily deep conversation about the difference between “hearing” and “listening,” spanning everything from the definitions of the words themselves to the roots of the Cookie language.

The Recluse complained, but he secretly enjoyed the sound of the Sage’s voice, soothing to his ears.

Not that he’d ever admit that aloud, though.

— — —

As the two cookies approached the jellybean stall, a scene broke out.

“Thieves! Thieves!” a shrill voice yelled out.

“Where?” gasped the Sage as he whirled around, only to be grabbed out of the way by the Truthless Recluse.

The Sage’s eyes widened as a giant lollipop made of magic whizzed past them and deteriorated into red sparkles of candy shards as it hit the wall just where the Sage had been standing mere seconds ago.

“What magnificent skill!” exclaimed the Sage.

“Do you have no self preservation skills?” asked the Recluse, eyebrows creased together. He had no idea how this cookie survived Earthbread so long?

The Sage opened his mouth to respond, but then huge gems of poison magic flew in the general direction of the stalls, sending cookies scrambling for safety.

“Such great control!” the Sage gushed.

The Recluse used his staff to deflect a gem that was about to hit the Sage in the face. “You’re suicidal,” surmised the Recluse.

The Sage stuck out his tongue at the Recluse, then ran in the direction the attacks were coming from.

“What are you doing, you idiot?” hissed the Recluse as he raced to catch up with the Sage, who was already floating away. “Normally, cookies run away from danger, not towards it!”

“I need to see the amazingly talented cookies responsible for this!” shouted the Sage, as if this were enough explanation.

“Fool,” growled the Recluse, reaching out to grab at the Sage, but he was far too high up in the sky for that.

So he stood in the town square, like an idiot, watching as the Sage flew further and further away, closer to possible peril.

— — —

Using his magic as a tracker, the Sage quickly found the hideout the cookies had found refuge in. Landing gracefully on the roof, he waited for them to return, humming to himself and sipping on tea he had summoned from his Other Realm.

After about five minutes of waiting, the Sage heard the door kick open, and a pair of cookies waltzed in, the shorter of the two excitingly chattering.

“We’re going to be so rich!” she cheered.

“Be quiet,” the taller cookie scolded the other, but he was smiling.

His smile, however, faded from his face when he saw the Sage.

“Get behind me, Candy Apple Cookie,” the cookie said, dark purple hair falling to his eyes.

“What is-” Candy Apple’s eyes widened and she squeaked. “Black Sapphire! There’s an intruder-”

“Yeah, no shit,” scowled Black Sapphire. He waved his staff menacingly in the Sage’s direction. “Not a step closer.”

The Sage raised his hands up placatingly. “Don’t worry,” he chuckled. “I come in peace! As the kids say nowadays, no cap!”

Black Sapphire and Candy Apple blinked at the Sage in confusion.

The Sage frowned. “Ah, is that outdated slang? Sorry, my younger students try to explain their words to me, but their meaning always tends to evade me.”

“Students?” Recognition flickered in Black Sapphire’s eyes. “Shit. You’re the Sage of Truth.”

“He’s the Sage?” Candy Apple studied him with scrutiny. “I thought he’d be taller.”

Black Sapphire elbowed Candy Apple, and she yelped, stepping on his foot with her heel. He howled and tackled the other to the ground, where she pulled at his hair to escape.

“Oh my,” chuckled the Sage, watching the scene unfold.

“Stop it, you brat,” growled Black Sapphire, holding Candy Apple at an arm’s length. “Air jail for you, now.”

“Noo!” wailed Candy Apple, clawing at the air.

“Cookies, calm down.” The Sage cleared his throat, immediately drawing their attention. “I’d like to offer you two a deal.”

“A deal?” Candy Apple asked dubiously.

“Yes. And like all good deals, this benefits both parties.” The Sage grinned, a flash of pointed white teeth. “You two study and hone your skills under me, and I won’t turn you guys in to the authorities.”

Black Sapphire’s eyes narrowed. “You’re threatening us.”

“It’s not a threat. Think of it more like…a warning.” The Sage smiled as he picked dirt from underneath sharp nails.

Candy Apple tugged at Black Sapphire’s clothes. “Saph,” she whispered. “Isn’t the Sage the best teacher in all of Beast Yeast?”

“And?” whispered back Black Sapphire. “Since when do you care?”

“If he’s the best teacher, then he’s probably very rich,” said Candy Apple.

Black Sapphire considered this. “Fine,” he told the Sage. “We’ll take you up on your deal.”

“Splendid!” The Sage practically beamed, his hair sparkling with excitement. He grabbed the two cookies into a tight hug, which both tried to escape from, with little success. “I wasn’t expecting to pick up two new students while on the road, but I’m happy nonetheless!”

— — —

The Recluse was not happy nonetheless.

“Sage.” The Recluse took in a deep breath and looked up to the sky, as if he were asking the Witches for guidance. Or for lightning to strike him at this exact moment, who knows. “You can’t just adopt random kids you find on the street.”

“I can, and I will!” replied the Sage cheerfully.

“We’re not kids,” complained Candy Apple, who was shushed immediately by Black Sapphire.

“And besides,” the Sage continued. “I didn’t adopt them, I just took them under my wing.”

The Recluse’s eye twitched. “Am I right to presume that they’ll be traveling with us to Sweetest Sugar’s paradise?” He prayed he was wrong, even though he already knew.

“Yup!”

Black Sapphire eyed the carriage. “That’ll be a tight fit.”

“Well, apologies, but we weren’t expecting unwanted companions,” said the Recluse coldly, tilting his head to the side unsettlingly.

He held Black Sapphire’s gaze until the other turned away, shivering.,

“Recluse, don’t be rude,” tsked the Sage, clicking his tongue.

“Don’t tell me what to do,” snapped the Recluse. “I didn’t even want to be here, remember?”

“Then why are you here?” Candy Apple asked.

Heat rose up the Recluse’s neck and with a huff, he turned towards the carriage and slammed the door closed behind him.

“That went better than expected,” said the Sage cheerfully.

Black Sapphire sighed. “What did we get ourselves into?” he wondered aloud.

— — —

The Recluse refused to talk to the Sage for the rest of their journey.

No matter how much effort the Sage put as he extended olive branch after olive branch towards the Recluse, he would not speak a word.

As the days of silence turned to weeks, the Sage’s Soul Jam began to ache with emotion and yearning for the unbridled company of his other half, some days being so bad that he couldn’t even leave the carriage.

On one of these days, Candy Apple Cookie had come to the Sage, offering him water to drink. She was surprisingly caring.

“What’s wrong?” she’d ask him.

The Sage would always change the subject.

“Did you read the books I’ve assigned?”

Candy Apple would wrinkle her nose. “No.”

The Sage’d sigh. “Well, at least you’re being honest. Most cookies would lie.”

“Like the Recluse,” guessed Candy Apple.

The Sage stared off into the distance, letting his vision grow fuzzy from defocus. “Yeah, like the Recluse.”

— — —

The Recluse was growing increasingly concerned for the Sage, though he refused to voice any of his worries.

The Sage had been staying in the carriage more and more often, deciding against visiting the villages they passed, even though the Recluse knew he enjoyed doing so. He barely ate, and nearly always had a hand pressed to his Soul Jam.

One day, the curiosity and general concern got the better of the Recluse. He walked over to the dark haired cookie, who was currently piling a plate of jellies.

“What’s wrong with the Sage?” the Recluse murmured as he took a seat next to him.

Black Sapphire gave him a sideways glance, then returned his attention to his food.

“Don’t ignore me.” The Recluse leaned closer. “Or you’ll live to regret it.”

Despite himself, Black Sapphire flinched as he slid his seat a few inches away from the Recluse. “I dunno, why don’t you ask the Sage himself, if you’re wondering.”

“You’re his student,” grunted the Recluse.

“And you’re his partner,” Black Sapphire countered.

The Recluse clenched his jaw. “No, I’m not.”

“Sure.” Black Sapphire stuffed a jelly into his mouth and took his time chewing. “I don’t know what lover’s quarrel you two are having, but whatever it is, it’s making Candy Apple nervous.”

Crossing his arms over his chest, the Recluse scowled. “I don’t care about her.”

“And I don’t care about the Sage, yet we both find ourselves in positions to help the other help those they care for.” Black Sapphire swallowed before taking another bite. “So go talk to the Sage.”

The Recluse stood up. “I will, but not because you’re telling me to.”

Black Sapphire shook his head, amused. “Say as you wish. Don’t shoot the messenger.”

“And I don’t care for him,” clarified the Recluse. He wasn’t sure why he felt the need to clear up the air, but he did so nonetheless.

“If you say so.” Black Sapphire looked up at the looming figure of the Recluse, whose shadow cast darkness over his head. “May I enjoy my meal in peace?”

The Recluse left without another word.

— — —

Near the carriage, just outside its open window, milkcrown flowers had bloomed, its delicate petals curled downward like tears.

The Recluse stared at the flowers before stepping over them to enter the carriage.

— — —

The Sage was wiping his face with his sleeve when the Recluse stepped in.

“Ah! Clusey! What a delight to see you,” exclaimed the Sage, with way too much enthusiasm. His smile reached his ears, yet his eyes lacked that sparkle of his. “Er, weren’t you visiting the village?”

“I was.” The Recluse sat opposite of the Sage. “But there was something missing there.”

“What was missing?” asked the Sage, confused, then his mind caught up. His cheeks heated as he mumbled. “Oh.”

The Recluse fidgeted with his sleeves, suddenly sheepish. “I-I’m not good with words.”

The Sage laughed nervously. “I’ve noticed.”

The Recluse tried for a glare, but the points of his daggered gaze were dull. “I didn’t handle it well,” he said quietly. “I wasn’t expecting you to bring more people, and I think it’s obvious that I’m not very good with people.”

“Yeah.” The Sage studied his shoes. They were nice shoes. “Me neither,” he confessed.

“You’re so good at talking to people, though,” said the Recluse. “I used to…” His words trailed off as he got lost in some memory or train of thought.

“I’m good at pretending.” The Sage sighed. “I learned social cues by studying other people, but I still don’t understand them. My friend, Sweetest Sugar, jokes that I was baked like a robot, with all the brains yet lacking the emotions.” He laughed, trying to casually play off his words.

“You are quite insensitive,” agreed the Recluse.

“Hey!” The Sage hit the Recluse’s shoulder. “I thought you were trying to make me feel better, not worse!”

“When have I ever?” the Recluse smirked, earning him another slap. “Owie.”

The Sage hesitated, then asked, “Can we start over?”

The Recluse grunted. “For us to do that, there must’ve been something that ended in the first place.”

The Sage’s Soul Jam grew warmer as he squealed and hugged the Recluse close to his chest. “Oh, Cluesy!”

“You’re breaking my ribs,” complained the Recluse, but he did not push away the Sage as he’d usually do.

The Sage took this as progress.

— — —

“Is it even legal for a single place to be so…pink?” The Recluse wrinkled his nose as he gazed at the Garden of Delight cropping up into view ahead of them.

“Lemme see!” Candy Apple pushed the Recluse out of the way and pressed her face into the window. She gasped audibly. “It’s so pretty!”

“I hate to agree with the Recluse, but it’s obnoxiously pink,” said Black Sapphire. He flicked his hair out of his face, only for his bangs to return over his eyes. “It’s hideously designed.”

The Sage chuckled. “Don’t let Sweetest Sugar hear you say that,” he warned. “She takes quite a lot of pride in her Paradise.”

Black Sapphire sniffed as he slid back into his seat. “I don’t see why.”

“That’s rude,” the Sage frowned.

“And I’m a rude person,” grinned Black Sapphire.

The Recluse couldn’t help but snort.

“You both are meanies,” declared Candy Apple. She tugged on the Sage’s sleeve, eyes wide. “Can I braid your hair?”

The Sage felt honored. “Of course.”

Black Sapphire fluttered his eyelashes. “May I braid your hair, Recluse?”

The Recluse’s sole response was to flip the purple cookie off, then returning his attention out to the window. He frowned as small winged creatures of various pastel colors flew closer to their carriage.

“Sage?” he asked, hoping his voice didn’t betray his nervousness.

“Hmm?”

The Recluse gestured out.

“Oh!” The Sage giggled. “I see Sweetest Sugar has already sent out her helpful sugar angels.”

“How did she know we’re here?” Candy Apple wondered aloud.

“The sugar peacocks!” answered the Sage cheerfully.

Black Sapphire was skeptical. “Their eyes are closed, though. How do they see us?”

“Ah! That’s all part of the secret, my dear student.” The Sage punctuated his words with a flick of his wrist, nearly hitting the Recluse in the face with his hand. “Their true eyes are those on the tips of their tail plumes.”

“Ooh!” Candy Apple waved at the peacocks as they passed. “Can they see me right now?”

“Probably,” replied the Sage. He turned to Black Sapphire. “Even if Sweetest Sugar’s Garden may seem tasteless to you, everything has a purpose. It is a tough job, after all, to run a Paradise as such.

“The peacock thing is clever,” admitted Black Sapphire.

The Sage straightened his shoulders, clearly satisfied.

The Recluse rolled his eyes. “Congratulations,” he deadpanned. “You just won a debate against a teenager.”

“A win is a win, regardless of how small it may be,” the Sage said.

“I suppose when success is so little, one must take joy in the little things.” The Recluse stared off into the distance. “Eventually, you will come to learn that competition is but only meaningless agony.”

The Sage blew a raspberry, sending spittle flying. “What a buzzkill!”

The Recluse would argue that the Sage, too, would be a buzzkill if he also carried the heavy burden of Truth on his shoulders alone, but he was too tired to argue.

A pale pink sugar angel tapped gently on the window, which Sage lowered for them.

The sugar angel cleared its throat, then spoke in a high pitched voice. “Blueberry Milk Cookie, the Sage of Truth, you are humbly welcomed by Sweetest Sugar Cookie, Muse of Passion, into her Garden of Delight!”

“Consider me honored,” chuckled the Sage. To the Recluse he whispered, “She always insists on these formalities.”

The sugar angel turned to study the other cookies. “The Muse of Passion wishes to know who your comrades are.”

“Oh, that’s the Truthless Recluse, that’s Black Sapphire Cookie, and the one braiding my hair is Candy Apple Cookie!”

A bright yellow sugar angel quickly jotted the names down.

“Okay!” The lead sugar angel smiled warmly. “You may enter Paradise!” And with a wave of its tiny arm, pink magic descended upon the carriage, consuming it in a sugary haze.

The Recluse’s eyelids grew heavy and he blinked.

When the Recluse opened his eyes once more, he was no longer in the carriage, but standing inside the heart of the Garden, his companions surrounding him, all dazed except for the Sage.

“Welcome!” An airy voice greeted them. A cookie with soft pink hair, big white wings,and a glimmering Soul Jam affixed by a diadem flew over to them, her smile never faltering. “Welcome to my Garden of Delight!”

“The Muse of Passion,” Candy Apple breathed.

“Sugar!” squealed the Sage and ran over to the Muse, hugging her tight to his chest, not even giving her a chance to properly land.

The Muse took it all in good stride, laughing and wrapping her thin arms around the Sage in return. “Blueberry! It’s been too long!”

“It has,” the Sage agreed.

The Recluse suddenly felt awkward, clearing his throat.

The Muse released the Sage. “Oh! And who are your friends over here?”

“I’ve already introduced them to your Sugar Angels,” said the Sage, giggling. “You already know their names.”

The Muse pouted her cheeks. “I may know their names, but not their identity, their role in your life! Come on, Blueberry. You always come alone, and this is the first time you’ve brought people along. You can’t blame me for being curious, can you?”

The Sage’s features softened. “Of course not.” He pointed at Candy Apple and Black Sapphire. “These two are my newest students! We picked them up at a nearby village on our way here.”

“I see!” The Muse peered at the cookies. “Blueberry is one of the best teachers in all of Earthbread.”

The Sage blushed. “I wouldn’t say the best…”

“Oh, don’t be humble.” The Muse playfully swatted the Sage’s shoulder. “Give yourself some credit.”

The Sage preened. “You’re too kind, Sugar.”

The Recluse couldn’t stand another second of this back and forth conversation. He cleared his throat again.

“Hmm? Right, I forgot to introduce you to the Recluse, Sugar!” The Sage pointed to the Recluse. “That’s the Truthless Recluse, and his name is really all you have to know about him.”

“And he’s here because…?” The Muse’s question hung in the air.

“I’m not exactly sure myself,” chuckled the Sage.

“The Sage of Truth, not knowing something?” The Muse’s tone, although teasing, seemed…veiled?

“I came for my own reasons,” interjected the Recluse, squaring his shoulders. He tilted his head to the side. “The Sage, on the other hand, came in hopes of discovering Dark Moon magic in your Garden.”

The Muse gasped. “Dark Moon magic?”

The Sage winced. “Now you don’t hesitate before speaking the Truth?” he mumbled under his breath, pinching his nose. Then he molded his lips back into a wide grin of comfort. “Sweetest Sugar, worry not!”

The Muse sniffled dramatically. “How could I not worry, if your friend speaks of great danger in my Garden?” She looked as though she were on the verge of tears.

The Sage shot the Recluse a dirty look, who simply shrugged in response. He turned back to the Muse. “Spicey said that his spices have been detecting Dark Moon magic all over Beast Yeast in general, not just your Garden. I came here for research purposes, and to assist!”

Trying for a weak smile, the Muse said, “Well, if you’re here to assist, I feel infinitely better.” She placed a hand over her heart. “There have been monster attacks recently, more than usual, but I didn’t spare them a second thought. It is mating season, after all.”

“That is true,” agreed the Sage. “Perhaps it’s merely nature running its course, that’s all.”

“How does mating season have anything to do with the frequent attacks?” Black Sapphire asked, then immediately regretted it once he saw the glimmer in the Sage’s eye.

Luckily, a yellow cookie interrupted the Sage before an impromptu lesson on the mating cycles of cake hounds could be sprung. “I apologize for intruding-”

“Sugarfly Cookie.” Sweetest Sugar addressed her warmly. “No need for such trivial apologies. Tell me, what is it you need?”

Sugarfly Cookie’s wings trembled. “Pavlova is disturbing the residents of the Garden- again.”

The Muse sighed. “Come on, friends,” she said, a hint of tiredness creeping into her tone. “I’ll take you all to visit the springs on my way.”

“Okay!” said the Sage cheerfully as he floated after his friend.

“Something’s off,” grumbled the Recluse as he followed the Sage and the Muse, who were excitedly chattering to each other.

“I know,” whispered back Candy Apple, to the Recluse’s surprise. She pursed her lips together. “Why is she always watching everyone?”

“Be quiet, both of you,” snapped Black Sapphire.

“Don’t tell me you too have fallen under her charm. Even the kid didn’t.”

“I’m not a kid!” protested Candy Apple.

“I’m not that easily swayed,” Black Sapphire assured. He crossed his arms. “I’m taking my time, watching, observing. I don’t like going all in until I know all of the odds stacked against me.”

“Smart,” granted the Truthless Recluse. He stared at the Sage of Truth, who was still talking animatedly to the Muse of Passion about his encounter with the Herald of Change.

“Fortunately for me, though, I have nothing left to lose.”

Chapter Text

There was rarely an occasion presented when the Sage of Truth could actually spoil himself, since he was quite the diligent hard worker, so when it did arise, the Sage couldn’t help but indulge in it. He handed over his hat to one of the sugar angels floating nearby and accepted a glass of berry juice from another. He took a sip from it as they walked.

The Muse of Happiness led the group deeper into the garden, singing softly a song about their Divine Creators. Sage bobbed his head along to the tune cheerfully as the Truthless Recluse sulked behind them. Candy Apple ran ahead, only to be pulled back by a scolding Black Sapphire when she tried to eat the glazed sugar off the leaves of the bushes.

“Pavlova?” Sugarfly called out, the syrupy colorful wings attached to her head trembling. “He was trying to shoot an arrow at a few residents,” she informed the cookies.

The Recluse squinted. “An…arrow?”

“Yes,” said Sugarfly calmly, as if this made perfect sense.

“Ah, Pavlova has a tendency to be…forceful with his matchmaking,” giggled the Muse, hiding her smile behind her pale hand.

“I remember once, he tried to give me one of his love diagnoses,” the Sage said, recalling. “He was extremely disappointed that the only thing in my heart was my thirst for knowledge.” He could conjure up the ghastly offended expression of the cookie of love in his mind, the disbelief painted in his features as clear as day.

“To be fair, you don’t seem the sort to fall in love, Blue,” said the Muse lightly, though she cast a side glance at the Recluse. “Of course, you’ve always been one to…surprise.”

The Recluse bristled, yet remained silent. He did not wish to interpret that sly sparkle in her eyes.

The Sage shifted his shoulders and took another long sip from his glass. “This is a strong drink,” he commented.

“Pavlova?” Sugarfly called out, the Recluse’s half hearted certainty of ever finding the young cookie dwindling from low to lower.

“I don’t think he wants to be found,” chuckled Black Sapphire, flicking his bangs to the side with a gloved hand.

“I think you might be right,” sighed the Muse, her soft white wings twitching at her sides. Then she brightened. “Blue, wanna go visit the springs?”

Had the Sage been more sober, he might’ve protested, perhaps requested to further research the monster attacks, maybe even observe them firsthand. But the berry juice already ran sluggishly through his veins, and his smile came on easily as he exclaimed, “Sure!”

The Recluse squinted. “Sage, are you sure-”

“Yes, I am.” The Sage tried to take another sip, but his glass was now empty. He frowned, unsure of when that had happened.

The Muse fluttered her eyelashes. “Will you be joining us, Recluse?”

The Recluse response was a quick, blunt, “No.” He elaborated, “I don’t like getting wet.”

Pursing her lips, the Muse nodded. “Okay…” She glanced at the children. “How about you two, hm?”

“No thank you,” said Candy Apple cheerfully. “I wanna explore with Sapph.”

Black Sapphire rolled his eyes, but allowed Candy Apple to drag him away, towards some maze made of candy, already complaining about the likelihood of sullying his pants with dirt.

The Sage smiled softly, watching the pair walk off into the distance. The Muse elbowed him, redrawing his attention. “To the springs?”

“Sure you don’t wanna go?” The Sage tilted his head to the side, allowing his lip to jut out in a pout.

“I’m sure,” retorted the Recluse.

The Sage reached out and held the front of Recluse’s robe, pulling him closer. “I’ll miss you,” he whined.

The Recluse’s eyes widened, ever so slightly. “You had one drink,” he said, not being too gentle as he practically shoved the Sage off of him. “And you’re acting completely delusional.”

“The drinks at the Garden of Delight are most certainly stronger than what you’d find in the Blueberry Region,” chuckled the Muse. “The cookies here, at my paradise, express different ways to…forget their worries.”

The Recluse sorted the meaning of her words. “They get wasted,” he interpreted. “That doesn’t sound healthy.”

The Muse shrugged. “I am not one to deny their path to Happiness.”

Getting drunk wasn’t true happiness, the Recluse wanted to argue, but the Sage had wrapped his arms around him and pulled him close again.

“If you came with me to the springs,” the Sage murmured into the Recluse’s robes. “I’d be happy. Reallllllly happy.”

“I’m not coming,” the Recluse said firmly, putting his foot down. He twisted out of the Sage’s grip, the Sage’s arms dropping to his sides in clear disappointment.

Ignoring the stab of guilt jabbing at his heart, the Recluse turned on his heel and set out in the opposite direction.

After all, he had a mission of his own.

— — —

A few more drinks in, and the Sage’s words were flowing easier than cookies slipping on a floor covered in oil.

“I don’t get Clusey,” the Sage was saying. He was half submerged in warm water, a glass in his hand being refilled by a sugar angel. He waved his hand in the air, nearly hitting the sugar angel. “He’s always changing, y’know? Sometimes he’s so kind, and others, he’s soooo cold.”

To the Muse’s credit, she continued nodding along with minimal amusement displayed on her face, though the Sage probably wouldn’t be able to tell in his current state of mind. “Mhm.”

“He left me a plushy, y’know that? It almost got burned with my spire, but I cleverly hid it in my pocket dimension.” If the comment about the burning of spires distressed the Muse even the slightest, she did not show it. “I miss him, but he’s also…” The Sage’s slurred words trailed off as he got lost in thought. “So…”

“You really like him, don’t you?” The Muse asked, gently as she bumped the Sage’s bare shoulder with her own.

Tears threatened to spill from the Sage’s eyes as he nodded. “I like him a lot. Like, like a lot.” He lifted his hands and showed the distance between them, to display how much. “A lot.”

The Muse rested her head on the Sage. “Mm. I know how you feel.” She sighed. “Did you know, I have a dear friend of my own.”

The Sage gasped and sat up straighter, causing the warm water of the springs to splash a little with his movement. “Do tell,” he begged.

“Oh, I don’t know.” The Muse smiled shyly, her wings subconsciously folding in on themselves, squished behind the small of her back. “My darling likes keeping things…private.”

“I won’t tell anyone,” swore the Sage.

“Even if you get drunk?” teased the Muse, tapping the Sage on the nose with her index finger.

The Sage blinked, once, twice. Then he laughed. “Oh, Sugar! Y’know you can trust…me!” He hiccuped in the middle of his sentence.

The Muse laughed, too. “Perhaps later, when you’re sober. I doubt you’ll remember anything right now, anyway.”

“Only more the reason!”

The Muse considered this. “Oh, okay.” She glanced around, even though they were alone save for the sugar angels. She leaned in close and whispered in the Sage’s ear. “She showed up in my garden one day and from the moment I saw her, well, she practically stole my heart.” She blushed.

“Awww, love at first sight,” giggled the Sage. “How…” his voice trailed off as he furrowed his brow, the rest of his sentence eluding him. “It really is…”

“It is, isn’t it?” agreed the Muse, sighing.

“It is.”

— — —

Not many cookies tended to realize this, since he did rather a good job of hiding his disability with his cloak of Deceit, but the Recluse was blind. He could only see things close to him, and relied on his seeing flower staff for the rest.

However, his staff had a mind of its own, often.

The staff didn’t even try to hide its displeasure at the Sage leaving. It had enjoyed tilting towards the Sage, the way sunflowers tilted to the sun. Without the Sage there, the staff refused to look exactly where the Recluse needed it to, allowing him to blindly rely on peripheral vision.

“You’re being such an ass right now,” complained the Recluse.

The staff, incapable of speech, remained silent, naturally.

“I don’t even know why you miss him,” continued the Recluse. Long years of solitude left his staff often his sole listener. “He’s nothing but infuriating, a constant headache.”

“Seems like you really like him,” a soft voice chuckled. The Recluse whirled, immediately on alert, holding his staff not as a guide anymore but as a potential weapon.

“Who goes there?” he demanded.

“Just a friend.” The flutter of wings whizzing by made the Recluse hair strands fall into his face. The Recluse gritted his teeth hard enough against each other to give a dentist a heart attack.

“I have no friends,” the Recluse growled.

A cookie of short height, fluffy pink, red and white hair and cream wings of unusually small size, landed close by, a smile on his face. “I am Pavlova Cookie,” he said with a bow.

The Recluse recalled. “The cookie the Muse was looking for,” he surmised.

Pavlova’s face twisted into something unpleasant. “Um. Don’t tell her I’m here.”

The Recluse resisted the urge to roll his eyes. “I have no intention to do so,” he assured the young cookie. He tilted his head to the side, recognizing an opportunity at hand, one he wasn’t willing to let go of. “At least, not if you answer my questions.”

“Questions?” Pavlova stiffened ever so slightly.

“Yes.” The Recluse allowed a sly smile to overcome his face as he tilted his head. “You were hanging around here all day, mm?”

“I have been, yes,” Pavlova said slowly.

“I, too, have been drawn here. The aura of the Dark Moon magic by this tree is quite powerful, is it not?”

Fear set into Pavlova’s eyes, making the hearts in his eyes crack with emotion. “Dark Moon- there’s no such thing here!”

“Little liar,” breathed the Recluse, stepping uncomfortably closer to Pavlova.

Pavlova’s wing trembled. “Ah, the Muse is looking for me, so-” he made a desperate hand gesture while nodding. “I’ll be off.”

The Recluse watched the cookie fly off into the distance, his question already answered, his suspicions proven correct.

Sighing, the Recluse knelt to the ground, studying the knots in the roots of the tree. One of them, closer to the center, looked peculiarly shaped like…

A heart.

The Recluse’s heart sank.

He recognized that symbol all too well.

“Shit,” he whispered, rubbing the bridge of his nose. He needed to focus.

Blinking back the threat of tears, the Recluse took his staff and shattered the knot of the tree, just as he had done all those years ago as Pure Vanilla Cookie, hunting down the Beasts that were once his friends. The wood shattered into millions of shards of pink sugar, revealing a tunnel beneath the tree.

Taking in a deep breath, the Recluse crawled into the small dark space.

Following the path because he had no other choice, the Recluse found himself falling into a mindless state in which he didn’t think about anything, wouldn’t think about anything, his thoughts dull and sluggish as he put one hand in front of the other, shuffling forward.

Eventually, the tunnel began to turn up again, and the Recluse could make out thin threads of light. He blinked, having left his staff behind since it hadn’t fit with him, trying to readjust his vision with little success.

Once he entered the room, the Recluse stood awkwardly, dusting off his robes. Squinting, he saw the general shape of a cookie with large pink hair lounging on what appeared to be a daybed.

“Hollyberry Cookie.” The Recluse kept his voice even, despite the rising speed of his heartbeat.

“Old friend!” Hollyberry grinned, though her eyes did not sparkle like they had used to as she sat up, making the fruits weaved in her hair jingle with movement. She held out a chalice filled with dark berry juice. “Long time no see!”

The Recluse couldn’t help but flinch. “How are you here?” he asked. It wasn’t possible, her presence. It shouldn’t be possible. And yet…

Hollyberry’s expression twisted into something sour, then she took another swig from her chalice and her face relaxed. “My Soul Jam, of course! My, even that wretched tree of silver cannot prevent the inexplicable pull of my other half.”

The Recluse flinched once more at the subtle dig.

It’s your fault, a voice whispered in his ear.

Your fault, that they’re all in the tree.

Taking in a deep breath, the Recluse confirmed, “You’re not physically here, are you though?”

“Of course I’m not.” Hollyberry tilted her head to the side, her eyes turning to daggers as she said, “You ensured that, didn’t you?”

Clenching his fists at his sides, the Recluse refused to look at Hollyberry. “I will not allow you to guilt trip me, Hollyberry Cookie. I did what I had to do, for the betterment of the cookie kind.”

“And how has cookie kind repaid you for your sacrifice, eh?” Hollyberry spat at the Recluse’s shoes. “They forgot you, the great Truthsayer, now reduced to, what? A hermit?”

The Recluse stood his ground. “And what about you, former Protector of Happiness? Lazing around in Sloth. It’s almost a good thing that your kingdom is all dead. They would have to see their Queen Mother like this.”

Hollyberry flung her chalice at the Recluse, who, expecting an outburst, nimbly stepped out of the way just in time. It shattered upon impact with the wall.

“How could you say this!” she hissed. “I still protect Happiness, albeit with a different method.”

The Recluse raised an eyebrow, ignoring his rising fear. “How? By sitting in a tree, getting drunk?”

“No.” Hollyberry stalked over to the Recluse, chest heaving with her rapid breathing. “Why do you think I’m here, Pure Vanilla Cookie?”

The Recluse wanted to curl up at the sound of the name, but he still stood tall with his shoulders square. “Enlighten me,” he challenged. With little meaning to his life, he now lived for the thrill of hitting others where it hurt.

Hollyberry waved her arms around. “Look where we are! The Garden of Delight! Sweetest Sugar’s Paradise.” She grinned slowly to reveal sharpened canines. “Where all cookies may be happy.”

An unsettling feeling crept up on the Recluse, breathing down his neck like a psychotic snowman. He fought to control his breathing.

“And?”

“We will be expanding soon, of course.” With a flick of her wrist, another chalice appeared out of thin air in her hand. Hollyberry returned to her lounging position from earlier. “With the assistance of Dark Enchantress Cookie.”

The Recluse would’ve loved to say he was surprised. He allowed his eyelashes to flutter shut. “I recognized the aura of her Dark Moon magic,” he whispered. “I’ve suspected…”

“Of course you knew already,” chuckled Hollyberry before letting out a belch. “Oh! Excuse me! As I was saying earlier, you knew her best, after all.”

Trauma was a funny little thing. It splits your life into two halves. One from before the event, and one after. The two halves seemed like almost separate entities, circling one another, yet never truly touching each other.

“I was close with White Lily Cookie,” corrected the Recluse. “Dark Enchantress Cookie is but a separate entity.”

“Keep telling yourself that,” grunted Hollyberry. “You think you’re so high and mighty, don’t you? Giving up your own Soul Jam, abstaining from using it, so that Corruption never bled into your soul. Even if your form didn’t change, Pure Vanilla, you’re the real monster out of all us Beasts.”

The Recluse finally opened his eyes and held his former friend’s gaze. What he saw there, he did not like, but it wasn’t exactly anything new. He drew in a sigh.

“When I was younger, I used to question. When does a ripple become a tidal wave? When does the reason become the blame? When does a man become a monster?”

“The stupid musings of a scholar, musings that never get truly answered,” Hollyberry dismissed.

Recalling the words of another wise scholar, words echoed in his mind. “Sometimes, the answer is no answer,” echoed the Recluse.

Hollyberry glanced up at him, bleary-eyed and annoyed. “You’re only further proving my point.”

“And you, mine.” Swift as lightning, the Recluse grabbed Hollyberry’s shield, and, before the other could react, shattered it against the floor. It broke into a million pieces, one shard of wood cutting deep into the palm of the Recluse’s hand.

He watched the red jam drip down his tan dough as Hollyberry bellowed out a scream, flickering in and out of existence.

“It was nice seeing you,” the Recluse said finally, his voice implying the opposite as he made his leave, robes swishing behind him.

“Y-yo-you monst-er!” stammered Hollyberry as her essence drained, her soul returning back to consciousness in recollection at the Silver Tree, probably.

Although his friend could no longer see nor hear him, the Recluse smiled, a smile with no lips and all teeth. The smile of a serpent, oh so different from the smile his past self wore, all warm and fluffy, like a sheep.

“Bold of you to assume I still care.”

— — —

Throughout the Garden, a shudder of energy was felt, waking even the most happily drowsy of cookies out of their stupor.

A cookie with pink hair and horns blinked rapidly, dropping the tray of cheeses it had been holding. “Gah! What am I doing here?”

Another, a cookie with a purple pony tail, gasped loudly. “My cream sheep! I’ve abandoned them!”

A cookie of yellow sobbed. “I don’t know how I got here,” he whined.

The Sage of Truth watched everything unfold, the chaos only growing as more cookies grew aware of the situation, rubbing the sleepiness out of his eyes as his skull throbbed. Urgh, how he hated hangovers. “Sugar?” he asked. His friend was silent, eyes downcast. “Care to explain?”

The Muse of Passion lifted her head, her face streaked with tears, her mascara dripping down her cheeks in clumps of white. She sniffled tragically, “My darling has left the Paradise.”

The Sage frowned. “Your…darling?” His memory was hazy as he tried to sort through their earlier conversation at the springs. “Sugar…”

Before he could prod her another further, the Truthless Recluse spawned from behind a bush. Brushing leaves off his robes, the Recluse looked up at the Sage. “Our work here is done,” he informed him.

“What ever do you mean?” The Sage plucked out a twig from the Recluse’s hair, stifling his amusement.

“I rooted out the Dark Moon magic source.” The Recluse addressed the Muse, “Apologies that your plans of expansion have been thwarted.”

Realization dawned on the Sage. “Oh, Sweetest Sugar, what have you done?”

“I didn’t want her to leave,” whined the Muse, entirely breaking down on the Sage’s shoulder. She was a mess of snot and tears, and the Sage wrinkled his nose at the thought of the mess on his clothes. “She told me she’d stay, be my Protector of Paradise, but then she left!”

“How awfully tragic,” said the Recluse flatly. He tugged on the Sage’s sleeve. “Let’s go.”

The Sage raised a hand. “Wait. Sweetest Sugar needs consolement. And besides, where are you in such a rush to be?”

Straightening his spine, the Recluse said, “Fine. Tend to your friend. I’ll be waiting for you at the carriage, and when you’re back, we will make our leave to the Silver Kingdom.”

Chapter Text

For all his great qualities, the Sage of Truth truly only had one shortcoming, really. In matters regarding empathy, he was as useless as an empty box with no lid, incapable of holding anything of value.

“I can’t believe she left me, left my Paradise,” wailed the Muse of Happiness, furiously wiping her dripping makeup with a handkerchief the Sage had offered her. “I offered her so much, so much!”

The Sage awkwardly patted her back. “You did your best,” he said with a grimace that was meant to be an encouraging smile.

“It wasn’t good enough! Not for her.” The Muse took in a shaky breath. “I wasn’t good enough.”

“Ah, Sugar.” The Sage wished for any other situation than this one. “Don’t say that.”

“But it’s the truth!” she sniffled, brushing her bangs out of her face. During her breakdown, her hair had become a fluffy pink mess. A thought occurred to the Sage, and he began to help her undo her hairdo, hoping the rhythm of the brushstrokes would help ease her emotions.

“Truth is like a kaleidoscope,” said the Sage, thoughtfully. “Tilt it left and right, both upside and down, it’s different every time, yet constantly beautiful.”

The Muse pouted out her lip. “It doesn’t feel beautiful right now.”

“Truth, thou art a cruel one,” the Sage sighed. He cupped his hand against the Muse’s cheek. “You’ll come to see its beauty, my dear friend, still cloaked in ignorance.”

It seemed that the Sage had said something wrong, for the Muse broke down in tears once more, even stronger than before. Hoping to preserve the cleanliness of his top this time, the Sage stepped back, offering her a plush pillow to hug instead. The Muse buried her face into it, her sobs muffled by the fabric.

The Sage glanced out the window, watching the horizon turn a hazy orange as the sun set. He worried his lip between his teeth. The Recluse was waiting for him, and only witches above knew how long his patience would last. He wondered, again, what exactly had happened while he had been inebriated. He didn’t like being kept in the dark, especially not for long.

The Muse noticed the Sage’s longing glances. “Blue,” she whispered. “If you wanna leave,” she curled her fingers in the ruffles of her dress, “I won’t stop you.”

Something shifted in the Sage’s gut. “Uh, are you sure? You still seem distressed.”

The Muse tried for a smile, though it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “I’m fine,” she told him, before amending, “I’ll be fine.”

The Sage tried his very best to cloak his relief. “Ah, are you sure, though?” he repeated, just in case, though his fingers already twitched from impatience at his sides.

With a nod, the Muse said, “I now realize I can’t force anyone to stay at my Garden.” She laughed, hollowly. “Besides, you’ve always been a restless spirit. Go ahead, your dearest is awaiting you.”

A lump formed in the Sage’s throat, and he chuckled nervously to hide his discomfort. “I wouldn't call the Recluse my ‘dearest…’”

The Muse had the nerve to pat the Sage on the head, as if he were a misbehaving child, a child who didn’t know better. “Of course not, Blue.” She made a shooing gesture. “The matter still stands. Go to him.”

The Sage stood, rolling his eyes at her insistent urging. “Fine, I will.”

Blowing a kiss at him as he left, the Muse called out, “Good luck!”

“I won’t be needing it,” grumbled the Sage, but the Muse was already long out of earshot.

Cookies milled about the Garden, the panic from earlier fading. Some cookies had chosen to leave, but to the Sage’s surprise, most had stayed. Perhaps they had gotten used to Paradise. Perhaps they had nowhere else to go.

Regardless, the crowds made it unnecessarily hard to locate the Sage’s students.

The Sage pushed and squeezed through the bodies, squeaking, “Excuse me!” and “Apologies!” when he stepped on toes with his heels.

He was used to crowds parting like seas in his presence, cookies stumbling over themselves to make way for the great Sage of Truth, noble Truthsayer.

Here, in the Garden, though, the Sage was nothing but another cookie, a mere droplet in the roaring sea.

There was something comforting in the inferiority, the blandness of blending in as one.

The Sage scanned the masses, eyes widening as they zeroed in on Pavlova Cookie. “Pavlova!” he exclaimed, pushing forward to reach said cookie.

Pavlova turned towards the sound of his name, then quickly turned around, feigning ignorance.

The Sage closed the distance between them, clapping his hand on the young cookie’s shoulder. “Pavlova! Sugar’s been looking for you, y’know that?”

Pavlova wrinkled his delicate little nose. “Oh, trust me, I know.” He rubbed at the red bands fastened around his wrists.

The Sage rocked his heels. “Say, have you seen-”

He couldn’t get his words out before Pavlova squealed. “Sage!” he gasped, grasping at the Sage’s clothes and pulling him closer. “Your heart!”

“Whoa!” stammered the Sage, gently pushing the youngster off of him. “Be careful, there!”

“It’s full of love,” gushed Pavlova, eyes sparkling. “I’ve never seen your heart so full!”

The Sage’s brain short circuited. As he tended to do when caught off guard, he began to ramble. “Uh, did you know, in Norse-Cookian, being full translates to being drunk? And I was. Drunk, that is. Earlier.”

“You’re not drunk right now,” Pavlova dismissed. “It’s even better than that! You are in love, true love!”

“Hah! That’s funny.” The Sage immediately regretted interacting with Pavlova Cookie. He searched, desperately trying to find a way to escape this situation. “You and Sugar, with your little theories built up from barely any ground, save for your delusions!”

“Hey!” Pavlova puffed out his cheeks. “It’s not delusional; it’s love.”

“Sure.” The Sage rubbed at his neck, suddenly interested at the grass trampled flat underneath his feet.

“Soo…” Pavlova leaned in, close enough for their noses to touch. “Who’s the guy?”

“There’s no guy,” blushed the Sage, avoiding eye contact.

“Sure,” Pavlova echoed the Sage’s earlier dismissal. “That’s what they all say. Next thing you hear, though, wedding bells!”

“I-I’m not getting married!” The Sage stared at Pavlova in shock, his face colored a deep blue. “You need to lay off the fanfiction, young man.”

“My consistent ingestion of slash fic is not to blame here.”

“Keep telling yourself that.” The Sage pointed behind him. “I, uh, need to find my students, so if you excuse me-”

Pavlova Cookie let out an exaggerated sigh. “You’ll be off, then, I suppose.” His face brightened. “Good luck with your beloved!”

“He’s not- I don’t have-” the Sage began to protest, but Pavlova had already fluttered off elsewhere, probably to harass other cookies.

Pinching the bridge of his nose, the Sage turned on his heel and began to call out, “Candy Apple Cookie? Black Sapphire Cookie?”

There was no reply, but he figured if he was annoying and loud enough, they’d turn up eventually.

After a few more minutes of desperate searching and little success, Candy Apple poked her head out from behind a bush. “Sage!”

“Candy Apple!” The Sage, who hadn’t expected her to spring up from out of nowhere, clutched a hand to his chest. “You startled me!”

“Sorry,” she giggled, stepping out and allowing Black Sapphire to appear as well. He was shaking sugar out of his hair, complaining about syrupy stains.

“We’ve got to go,” the Sage said, taking Candy Apple’s hand in his own.

“Already?” Candy Apple looked upset, while Black Sapphire seemed the happiest the Sage had ever seen him.

“Oh, thank the witches! This place is so humid, it’s doing a number on my hair.”

“Your hair is always hideous, no matter the weather,” snapped Candy Apple, sticking her tongue out at her brother.

Black Sapphire returned the gesture in kind.

“Don’t squabble,” said the Sage, but his stern words carried a warm tone.

“What’s the rush, anyway?” prodded Candy Apple. She began to swing her arm, leaving the Sage no choice but to swing along with her.

“The Recluse is awaiting us, in the carriage,” the Sage told her, pasting a patient smile on his face when he felt anything but. His conversations with Pavlova and the Muse had left a sour taste in his mouth, his emotions feeling more tangled up than ever before.

Black Sapphire exchanged a look with Candy Apple. “Where to?”

“The Silver Kingdom of the Fae, apparently.” The Sage thought back to the map the Herald had given him, still hidden safely in his pocket. He patted it down to confirm its presence. “The Recluse says we must go there.”

“And just because he said so, you will?” Black Sapphire appeared skeptical, and rightfully so. “You’re the Sage of Truth, and you’re listening to the advice of some hermit?”

The Sage hummed. “Ah, but the Recluse isn’t some hermit. If I tell you two a secret, will you promise to keep it?”

Candy Apple frowned. “Isn’t that a form of lying?”

“No one will assume you know this information, and so you won’t be asked. There will be no opportunity presented to you in which you’d have to lie, unless you feel the inexplicable desire to fib for no reason. Though I suppose I am in no position to dictate you on what to do.”

With a bounce in her step, Candy Apple urged, “Tell us!”

“Oh, I don’t know.” The Sage covered his mouth with his hand, deep in thought.

“Do as you wish, Sage,” said Black Sapphire, feigning nonchalance as he flicked his bangs, despite the rising curiosity curling in his chest like a cat.

“The Recluse used to be a king,” the Sage finally said.

“A king?” Candy Apple gasped. “But we have no kings nor kingdoms, here in Beast Yeast!”

“That is true,” smiled the Sage. Candy Apple beamed at the prospect of a question well answered. “He was a king in Crispia.”

Black Sapphire frowned. “Crispia’s abandoned though, isn’t it? Wasn’t there some war, or something?”

“Yes, you are correct,” said the Sage, and even though Black Sapphire wasn’t nearly as expressive as his sister, he couldn’t help but preen. “It was called the Dark Flour War, and Crispia took many hits. Most of the land there, nowadays, is destroyed, reduced to crumbs.”

“Does that mean that all of the Recluse’s friends are dead?” asked Candy Apple, eyes wide.

Her words hung in the air like a wet blanket. The Sage nodded stiffly.

“I am not sure how involved in the war he was. All I know is that as long as any cookie remembers, the Truthless Recluse has lived in his Spire, at the Peak of Truth, here in Beast Yeast.”

“He’s no longer king, I suppose,” guessed Black Sapphire.

“Correct again.” As they neared the area where the carriage was parked, the Sage warned, “Not a word out of you two, okay? The Recluse wouldn’t want me sharing this information with anyone.”

The siblings nodded in understanding. The Sage smiled, a small fanged tooth peeking out from his lower lip.

“Why does it have to be a secret, though?” Candy Apple inquired.

Black Sapphire checked out his nails, pretending not to listen in on their conversation.

The Sage let out a laugh that bordered on nervousness. “Ah, you see. The Recluse never told me this Truth himself.”

The siblings gaped at the Sage. “How’d you find out?” Black Sapphire couldn’t refrain from questioning.

A sly smile paired with the ominous response of, “The Truth always comes out,” was all the two got as a response.

— — —

The Recluse had dozed off in the carriage. He had curled up against one of the seats, laying down on his side, eyes closed and chest rising and falling slowly.

The Sage stared at him. Over their extensive course of a journey, he never had caught the Recluse in slumber, the other always waking up just before him. Now here he lay, defenseless and vulnerable, the muscles of his face relaxed.

“Sage?” Black Sapphire's voice knocked the Sage out of his stupor. “Should we wake him? How else are we to sit?”

The Sage pondered this. “I’ll wake him,” he decided.

Black Sapphire took a few healthy steps back, taking Candy Apple with him.

The Sage rolled his eyes. “Calm down, you two. It’s not like he’s a feral animal of some sorts.”

“Yes, he is,” said Black Sapphire, his eyes very serious.

Ignoring the drastic measures his students were taking, the Sage bent down close to the Recluse. From this closeness, he could see tiny freckles dusting the Recluse’s tan skin. He swallowed hard, then poked the Recluse with his finger, careful not to pierce dough with his sharp talon-like nails.

When that didn’t elicit a reaction, the Sage shook the Recluse by the shoulders, until the other groaned and opened his eyes groggily.

The Sage opened his mouth to greet his friend, only to be hit over the head by the Recluse’s flower staff.

“Ow!” The Sage fell back a bit, clutching the sore spot and rubbing at it. He glared at the Recluse, who was now sitting up. “Why’d you do that?”

The Recluse blinked, then molded his features back into a mask of flat emotionlessness, efficiently hiding his sleepy surprise that had been displayed earlier. “Ah, Sage.”

“You hit me.” The Sage’s words dripped with personal offense.

“Apologies.” The Recluse dropped his staff, where it fell onto the ground unceremoniously. “Simple self defense instincts.”

“Who requires self defense in their sleep?” Furiously, the Sage readjusted his hat upon his head.

“You’d be surprised,” retorted the Recluse.

Black Sapphire nudged his head through the door. “Is it safe?” When he saw the Sage, he smirked and mouthed, “I told you so.”

Looking back, the Sage had to admit his response was immature, but at the moment, he felt perfectly justified in flipping Black Sapphire off.

The Recluse tsked. “Sage, I thought such behavior was ‘inappropriate and rude.’”

The Sage turned around and redirected his fingers at the Recluse, who simply glanced up in exasperation, as if praying to the witches for assistance.

Candy Apple was a cookie who waited for no invitation, so she ran into the carriage excitedly, bouncing onto a cushion. “Let’s go!” she exclaimed with a clap. “I really wanna go to the Silver Kingdom.”

Black Sapphire wrinkled his nose. “I don’t. More time in a stuffy little carriage with these two? No thanks.”

The Sage was offended. “What’s so bad about me? I mean, I suppose I see the disallure the Recluse’s presence brings to the table-” this earned an attempted kick in the shin from the Recluse that the Sage nimbly danced away from. “-but I like to think that I’m pleasant enough company.”

Pursing his lips, Black Sapphire explained, “Watching you two dance around each other in circles, like some kind of couple that always argues in a television show, a couple you just know will end up together in the end, so the whole back and forth thing just gets annoying.”

Both the Sage and the Recluse blushed. “A couple, we are not,” the Recluse said, but he wouldn’t meet anyone directly in the eyes.

The Sage chewed his lip. This was the third time this day that someone had implied, not so subtly, that the Sage and the Recluse had some sort of tension or chemistry. He wasn’t sure how to feel about it.

And so, the Sage did the same he always did on the rare occasion he wasn’t sure about something. He changed the subject.

“Clusey, care to share with the class, why are we going to the Silver Kingdom?”

The Recluse shifted. “We need to check on something.”

The Sage waited. “Care to elaborate?”

The Recluse reclined, smirking. “No, I don’t think I want to. It’ll be a nice surprise, hm?”

Drawing in a breath, the Sage said, “Recluse. My pookie bear.”

The Recluse’s expression darkened immediately. “Don’t call me that.”

“I will, if you continue to refuse enlightening me.”

“The Sage of Truth, asking for enlightenment?” The Recluse smiled, though his eyes lacked the sparkle that generally accompanied the expression. “My, how the tables have turned.”

“And the turns, tabled.” The Sage wrung his hands. “Please tell me, Recluse. I need to plan properly.”

“You’re smart. Make a hypothesis, or something.”

The Sage was rapidly losing patience. “How am I to make a hypothesis, if I am unaware of the situation at hand?”

“You’re smart,” repeated the Recluse. “I’m sure you’ll figure something out.”

Black Sapphire rubbed his forehead. “See what I said?” he told Candy Apple. “Back and forth.”

The Sage was far too flustered to properly respond.

The Recluse turned to the biscotti horses in front. “To the Silver Kingdom,” he directed. They let out a neigh each as a response. And then they were off.

— — —

The Sage was, actually, well acquainted with the Silver Kingdom. His dear friend, Silver Salt Cookie, had travelled to the Silver Kingdom of the Fae. After he had finished his schooling, the Sage had gone to visit them to study the life tendencies of the cookie fae in comparison to the regular cookies. It was still a concept that continued to interest him.

Reaching into the pocket realm of his Other-Realm, the Sage pictured a brown leather journal, and when he took out his arm, he held the very thing itself. He grinned, then realized a few things had fallen out along with it.

“Is that a bunny?” Candy Apple lunged for the plush.

“No!” the Sage screeched as he grabbed his plush and tossed it back into the Other-Realm. He attempted to compose himself when faced with odd expressions. “Uh, that’s a rabbit.”

The Recluse snickered. “Sage, you didn’t strike me as the sort to sleep with a plushy.”

A warm flush rose up to the tips of the Sage’s ears. “I will not tolerate any bullying nor belittling,” he sniffled. “Especially regarding such a childish manner.”

Black Sapphire hid his choked laugh of amusement with a cough.

Choosing to ignore everyone in the carriage, the Sage flipped open his journal, cringing at the sloppy handwriting of his overly enthusiastic younger self.

“What’s that?” Candy Apple asked as she poked her head over the Sage’s shoulder.

Gently, the Sage pushed her out of the way. “A journal, in which I had recorded my past findings concerning the Faerie Kingdom. How to find it, the livelihood of its citizens…”

“Is it hard to find?” frowned Black Sapphire.

“Oh, yes it is.” The Sage flicked over to a certain page and showed it to the young adult. “It’s located in Faeriewood, sitting at the beginning of the River of First Silver and Southwest of the Silver Mountain.”

Black Sapphire and Candy Apple shared a look of confusion. “That means nothing to me,” said the purple haired young adult, speaking aloud for the both of them.

The Sage chuckled, ruffling Candy Apple’s short cropped white hair with his empty hand. “That’s the whole point, my poor and ignorant students. No one knows exactly where it is located, since the entire area of Northwest Beast Yeast is undocumented save for whatever the Faeries have mapped.”

“How are we to find it, then?”

The Recluse opened his mouth to respond, but the Sage interjected. “I’ll send word to my fellow Virtue, the Guardian of Freedom, Silver Salt Cookie. They’ll make sure that someone meets us, and guides us to where we need to go.” The Sage couldn’t help but shoot a heated look over the shoulder at the Recluse.

The Recluse scowled. “I have a plan, y’know.”

“Do I know that, though?” The Sage lifted his chin. “Where’s the guarantee, if you won’t tell me, excuse my language, if you won’t tell me shit?”

Black Sapphire whispered not so quietly in Candy Apple’s ear. “Back and forth, like a yoyo.”

Candy Apple giggled, yet quieted immediately when both the Sage and the Recluse shot her a glare.

“Anyway.” The Sage cleared his throat. “As I was saying. I’ll alert Silver Salt.”

“And you, Sage, oh great noble Truthsayer, are so much better than me. Would you mind sparing a few seconds of your valuable time and tell us just how you are going to contact them?” The worst part of it all was the way the Recluse fluttered his eyelashes of white to punctuate the end of his blatantly sarcastic sentence.

The Sage turned his nose up in the air. “Humph! Nice play on my ego, touche.” He addressed his students, “I will enchant a blueberry bird.”

“There are no bluebirds occupying this area of Beast Yeast,” the Recluse couldn’t help but point out.

The Sage grinned. “Ah, but I can create one!” He snatched a black ribbon from Candy Apple’s hair, who let out a complaint that was quickly silenced by Black Sapphire, and closed his eyes. He whispered an incantation underneath his breath and when he allowed his vision once more, in his hand sat a chirping blueberry bird.

“Fascinating,” breathed the Recluse, reaching out to the bird, hesitating a few inches before making contact. “How-?”

“Dark Moon magic,” beamed the Sage.

The Recluse’s expression immediately soured. He turned to his side and faced the window.

“Will I get my hair tie back?” Candy Apple asked hopefully.

“Soon,” promised the Sage. He ripped out a yellowed yet blank piece of paper from his journal and quickly scribbled with the ink of a pen he summoned before letting out a sharp whistle, calling the bird’s attention. He wrapped the paper around the blueberry bird’s foot and with a wave of his hand, the bird was off.

“I miss my hair tie,” whined Candy Apple.

“Shh,” chided Black Sapphire, ripping out a piece of cloth from his sleeve and attempting to pull Candy Apple’s hair into a small pigtail.

Candy Apple’s eyes widened. “Sapph! You ruined your outfit, for me!”

Black Sapphire simply grunted in response.

The Recluse asked the Sage, without looking back, “What’d you write to the Guardian of Freedom?”

The Sage was nothing if he wasn’t petty. “Apologies, but I don’t particularly like extending certain courtesies to others when they won’t do the same to me,” the Sage quoted the Recluse.

The Recluse whirred around then, lip curled. “Using my own words against me? You truly are insufferable.”

“I’d like to think that that’s one of my most attractive qualities.” The Sage smiled, tentatively.

After a moment of silence, the Recluse said, in mock surprise, “You have attractive qualities?”

That earned him a slap to the wrist.

Eventually, the chatter quieted down. Candy Apple had fallen asleep, resting on Black Sapphire’s shoulder, while the young adult himself snored softly. The rocking of the carriage was starting to get to the Sage, as well. Pure stubborn pettiness wanted him to stay awake, to refuse to fall prey to Sloth before the Recluse did.

But the Recluse had taken a long nap before, and the Sage hadn’t. The Sage also had ingested a large amount of berry juice earlier, which was finally starting to catch up on him once more. Drowsiness filled his head like cotton and before he knew it, he was fast asleep.

At some point during the night, the Truthless Recluse had taken his own cloak off of his shoulders and layed it over the Sage of Truth’s shivering shoulders.

“Rest up, bluebird,” whispered the Recluse. He glanced out the window, where the moon seemed to almost wink at him. “You’ll be needing it.”