Chapter Text
The gardens of the Vanilla Kingdom were hardly impressive. She knew her judgment was skewed—unfair, even—whenever she compared them to the wild splendor of her own grounds back in Beast Yeast. Still, no amount of self-reminder could change the truth: the place was a bore.
And worse, it was dying. Slowly.
Dandelions dotted the beds—simple things, charming at first glance, fragrant, familiar… and utterly invasive. Little thieves dressed as flowers. The little things suck lives where they spread.. They should have been torn out long ago, roots and all, but of course the pretty little things fooled everyone else.
Eternal Sugar paces around the gardens, her foot gently—not on purpose, of course—steps on every little yellow flower she sees. Her wings trailing behind her, the feathers at the bottom stained with dirt.
Once or twice, they flutter.
She had always known Shadow Milk Cookie to be wise—frustratingly so, at times. There was a poet’s sharpness to his insight, a precision that rarely missed its mark. But just this once, she wished he might be wrong.
Eternal Sugar had noticed it over the weeks: the longer Shadow Milk remained within the Vanilla Kingdom, the more… muted he seemed. Duller at the edges. Not in mind—no, never that—but in manner. He had been watching everything with the quiet patience of someone assembling an impossible puzzle, and why he chose to stay so secretive she couldn’t say. Perhaps he was waiting for certainty before speaking aloud a truth too heavy to risk being mistaken. If so… well. She supposed that was smart. Infuriatingly smart.
And now, knowing what they all knew—how to truly defeat Dark Enchantress Cookie—his silence felt heavier still.
To destroy her, they would have to destroy what remained of her in this world: the last fragment of her dough.
There was only one way.
Ascension. A rare, ancient magic that reshapes one’s existence so completely that even the self becomes unrecognizable. A transformation beyond form, beyond memory, beyond who you once believed yourself to be.
And it was a path Eternal Sugar had no idea how to reach. Not without her—and it's of no help that now she is being ‘careful’.
The breeze gently passes.
“Wind Archer.” She greeted him without looking, her voice steady, as if his presence were expected. “What is it?”
“I…” He hesitated, the soft thud of his landing settling behind her. “My wind tells me you are troubled.”
She let out a breath—something between a sigh and a faint laugh. “They are wise, but no. Not troubled.”
A pause. Then, gently, “Tea?”
“…Alright.”
Why Wind Archer flicked his hand toward nothing in particular before falling into step beside her, she had no idea—and even less idea why he chose to match her pace, stride for stride.
“You remind me of a friend,” Wind Archer said at last, only after they completed a second slow circuit around the bed of orchids. His tone held no accusation, only observation. “You are stepping on flowers.”
“Weeds,” Eternal Sugar corrected, not slowing. “And… a friend?”
“Moonlight.”
“Ah.” Eternal Sugar stopped mid-step, a question forming out of instinct more than intent.
He answered before she could ask. “No, not like that.” Wind Archer offered a small, almost apologetic smile as he shook his head. “She was… perhaps like a sister. Her heart was already elsewhere—already carried by the tides.”
“The stars taken by the sea?” Eternal Sugar murmured. “I’ve only heard through the grapevines.”
“So have I,” Wind Archer admitted softly. “But it is clear, isn’t it?”
“I… suppose.” Another pause, longer this time. “Why do I remind you of her, then?”
He didn’t answer the question she asked. Instead, he offered her the one he should have spoken long ago.
“Tell her,” Wind Archer said. “The one your heart drifts toward. Say what you mean before fate takes it from you. It is… something I should have told Moonlight, before it became too late.”
Eternal Sugar stopped completely, the air around her tightening. “I… I can’t.”
Her wings fluttered.
“I see,” he murmured. His hand lifted, open to the air, and a tray of hot tea drifted down onto it—steam curling softly, a small tin of sugar beside two waiting cups. Wind Archer lowered himself onto the edge of the flower beds, settling right atop the dandelions—the weeds—without a second thought.
Eternal Sugar let a quiet smile soften her expression before she joined him, folding gracefully beside him, also atop the invasive little things.
“There is something else on your mind.” Wind Archer set the tray between them with careful grace, pouring a cup for her first, then one for himself.
“It’s…” Eternal Sugar hesitated, fingertips curling around the warm porcelain as she drew the nearest cup into her hands. “Do you know how we’re meant to destroy Dark Enchantress Cookie?”
Wind Archer shook his head, so she continued.
“She left vessels of her soul here in our world—anchors she can use, bodies she can reach through.”
Something tightened in his gaze. “And that is you lot?”
She gave a small nod. “Not all of us…”
“Not Mystic Flour, I assume?”
“And Burning Spice,” she added quietly.
That made Wind Archer blink, genuinely taken aback. “Burning Spice? Truly?”
“I know.” Eternal Sugar huffed a half-laugh. “Him? Out of all of us? I would have thought it would be at least Salt first.”
A soft laugh slipped from Wind Archer as he lifted his cup, swirling the tea before taking a gentle sip. Then, with a subtle nod, he gestured for her to go on.
“Since they have awakened,” Eternal Sugar continued, placing her cup carefully on her lap, “she’s grown cautious. Too cautious. And time spent sitting still won’t help us at all, and yet…”
“There is nothing to do but wait,” he finished for her, one brow raised. She nodded, confirming the truth neither of them liked.
A quiet settled between them—light, fragile, the kind that feels like an exhale that doesn’t quite leave the lungs.
“I hope Moonlight Cookie is alright,” she offered, voice softer now.
“She will be,” Wind Archer replied without hesitation. His tone held the kind of certainty that felt like an anchor. “Because I know you and the others care—perhaps not of her. For the future. And she is part of that future.”
A small pause.
“If it helps, I would love to get to know her.”
…
By the sun alone, it was somewhere past midday—perhaps around two.
Wind Archer and Eternal Sugar wandered through the Kingdom at an easy pace. He admitted, somewhat sheepishly, that he hadn’t visited as often as he once wished, though he still found his way here from time to time.
He showed her the stalls lined with bright cloth and trinkets, the stone bridges arching over quiet streams, the smaller tucked-away gardens that even some residents overlooked. And by the time they circled back, Eternal Sugar knew far more about pottery, glazing techniques, and the small oddities of local craftwork than she ever expected to learn in a single afternoon.
They walk down the halls for a moment before she stops at the entryway of the grand hall.
She bid farewell to Wind Archer and joined the others—at the meeting? It seemed she was the only one absent until now.
Eternal Sugar slipped in quickly, taking her place beside Hollyberry, who raised a brow in silent question.
“I was at the market,” she said, a trace of pride in her voice.
“Are you sure you hadn’t just woken up?” Shadow Milk clicked his tongue, only to be swatted by Salt. “What! I mean no harm by it, truly,” he added, mockingly placing a hand over his chest.
“Are you alright, Sugar?” Mystic Flour asked quietly.
“Yes,” she replied, smiling faintly. “I was actually at the markets with Wind Archer.”
“Ah, the markets.” Pure Vanilla said fondly with a small smile despite Shadow Milk’s comment afterwards ‘Oh there he goes again.’. “I hope you find the Vanilla Kingdom much accommodating.”
“It is…new, I have not been around many markets.” Eternal Sugar admits. “It is always so full and crowded and—” A small shiver. “I have never seen markets so peaceful.”
Hollyberry relaxed with a smile that matches hers. “We should go out then, there is this lovely inn at the edge of the market that is very quiet at night.”
Eternal Sugar smiled brighter. “Yes, let’s.”
A small clear of throat from Burning Spice. “As Shadow Milk was saying.” He looked promptly at the gesture to continue, his voice—as much as he loathes to admit—is better than the serenade of the two in front of them. Golden Wings suddenly swatted at him, he huffed at retaliation.
Shadow Milk rolls his eyes at the display and waves his hand dismissively. “She is careful. Too careful.”
“Yes, yes, we got that already.” Said Golden Cheese. Shadow Milk scowled.
“Too careful.” He repeats pettily before continuing. “It seems as if we need to strike her first this time—and the only way it seems that she has somewhat of a physical appearance is my other realm—”
“Where past, present, and future coincide.” Pure Vanilla continues for him.
“—Yes,” Shadow Milk agreed. “Whatever connection she can forge only in this world is through our Souljams, which is why I assume she pulls us into my realm using my own magic.”
A sharp sneer twisted his features. “Wretched thing… defiling my precious deception.”
A steady hand rested on his back. Slowly, the tendrils of magic—rising and flickering with a fury he hadn’t even realized—relaxed, settling back down as if soothed by the touch.
A long sigh. “And I want to make this very clear,” Shadow Milk said, his glare sweeping across the room. His usual sharpness had been replaced by something uncanny—serious, commanding. “Dark Moon Magic—my magic—is not to be trifled with.”
“You were always the witches’ favorite,” Silent Salt drawled, not teasing, but with a quiet edge of pity.
“Was not!” Shadow Milk slammed his hands on the table, the chair squealing in protest as he rose. He drew in a deep breath, closing his eyes for a fraction of a moment. “Whatever.”
A pause hung in the air.
“Dark Moon Magic,” he continued, voice lower now, deliberate. “When wielded, its cost is double for any being whose dough was never meant to bear it. I was the first exception to that rule—and as far as I am concerned, the only one before you.” He pointed sharply at White Lily.
Silent Salt moved as if to rise, but White Lily gently placed her hand on his shoulder. “It is true.”
She lowered her gaze to her lap, her hand resting there as if grounding herself. “The witches’ cauldron… it reshaped my dough, and the essence within it entirely. Though, I am not certain if my dough was ever meant to wield Dark Moon Magic.”
“I don’t think it did,” Shadow Milk concluded flatly. “So while she casts whatever tomfoolery she’s weaving—she’s constrained by the essence she left tethered to this world. It gnaws at her life, bit by bit. I assume that’s yet another reason she hesitates.”
“So…” Dark Cacao Cookie, who had been silent but attentive, finally rose. “You mentioned an attack earlier. Are you suggesting we engage her until her magic exhausts itself here?”
Shadow Milk clapped once, mockingly delighted. “Ah! So wise, my dear king!”
Dark Cacao’s brow arched at his tone, a faint snarl tugging at his lips.
“That is quite wise,” Mystic Flour added calmly, and Dark Cacao’s posture eased. “However… we do not yet know the full extent of her ability to wield that magic.”
“Dark Moon Magic is terrifyingly strong,” said Silent Salt.
Burning Spice scoffed, crossing his arms with a huff. “Not with ten of us there. She couldn’t take us the first time—and now that she’s weakened, I’m sure crumbling her won’t be as hard!”
“Brute,” Golden Cheese sighed, dismissively flicking a hand in his direction. “Have you not listened? She will not fall—not fully—until every trace of her essence is torn from this world.”
“Then how exactly will we win?” Dark Cacao sighed, leaning forward, elbows braced against the table as he dropped his head into his hands.
Shadow Milk tapped his chin thoughtfully, then snapped his fingers. A scroll appears from out of nowhere—it unrolls itself. “Oh, that’s simple. We probably won’t.”
A pause from everyone. Pure Vanilla sighed.
Dark Cacao’s head shot up, eyes narrowing. “Shadow Milk.”
“What?” Shadow Milk shrugged dramatically. “I’m merely stating the odds. Minuscule. Laughable. Practically nonexistent. A delightful challenge!”
“That is not helpful,” Dark Cacao growled.
Shadow Milk leaned forward, grinning. “Ah, but admitting defeat before the battle even begins? Now that is unhelpful, my dear king.”
“Look, let’s be realistic. Ascension magic—eugh—is light magic.” Shadow Milk dismissed the very words with a flick of his wrist as he rolled up the scroll, tucking it beneath the brim of his hat. “I am made of Dark Magic. Does that answer your question?”
The room stiffened.
His voice wasn’t loud, nor mocking this time. It was sharp—quietly serrated.
“Ascension reshapes. Cleanses. Purifies.” He nearly spat the last word. “It was never a magic meant for someone like me.” His fingers drummed once against the table, an impatient, brittle sound. “White Lily had to be rebuilt to even touch its light without crumbling.”
White Lily lowered her eyes.
Shadow Milk continued, bitterness curling through every syllable. “My dough was not blessed or chosen or kissed by some radiant prophecy. It was twisted. Warped. Crafted to house the very magic Ascension despises.”
He gave a small, humorless laugh.
“So no, dear king. I cannot ascend. I would sooner tear apart than rise.”
He leaned back in his chair, crossing one leg over the other with a flourish far too theatrical for the heaviness in his voice.
“And before anyone asks—no, I am not afraid.”
A pause.
“I am simply not foolish.”
His violet gaze flicked to each of them, lingering on Dark Cacao last.
“We will if I crumble.” Shadow Milk shrugged again—light, careless—like he was commenting on the weather and not his own possible demise. “I will not—I can not ‘ascend’.”
Silence expanded across the meeting hall.
Eternal Sugar—who hadn’t even known there was a meeting at all—remained silent, her stillness spreading to the rest of the room.
Then—
A single word. Sharp enough to cut.
Shadow Milk blinked, head tilting just slightly. “…No?”
“No,” Burning Spice said again, firmer this time, the finality in his voice like a blade being planted into stone. “That will not be the case.”
“Aww, so you do care for me,” the jester mocked, clasping his hands to his chest in exaggerated delight, masking the slight tremor in his magic.
“Shadow Milk—this isn’t a game.”
Silent Salt rose from his seat. Unlike Burning Spice’s fire, his voice carried the cold weight of truth.
Shadow Milk’s smile dropped—not theatrically, but quietly, like something slipping out of his grasp.
“Everything she touches becomes a game,” he said, tone flattening. “She plays with dough, with essence, with fate. If one of us must fall to end her, I am the most…”
His jaw tightened,
“…logical loss.”
“No.” Burning Spice’s voice didn’t rise. It sank—heavy, unshakeable. “You do not get to decide that.”
“And who decided that?” Silent Salt stepped forward, expression hardening. “Who told you it must be you?”
Shadow Milk looked away. His fingers curled once against the table—barely noticeable unless you were watching for it.
Bitterness pulled at the corner of his mouth, faint as a bruise beneath the skin.
“…They did.”
A gesture toward the moon—toward something only he could feel tethered there.
“I am, after all, their favorite.”
The room exhaled—uneven, uncertain, shaken.
Mystic Flour’s hand glided softly over the table, her touch as light as wind brushing grain. A faint shimmer of flour drifted from her fingers, carried away by a gentle breath.
“Being upset will do us no good,” she said simply.
“How can you say that!” Eternal Sugar snapped, the words bursting out sharper than she intended.
“Because it is true.” Mystic Flour did not raise her voice, yet the calm in her tone pressed the room into stillness.
Eternal Sugar let out a strangled sigh, collapsing back into her chair.
“Blue is about—dear witches…” Her hands flew up in helpless exasperation before falling into her lap.
Across the table, Silent Salt’s gaze drifted toward Shadow Milk. Their eyes met—the briefest flicker, heavy with meaning.
“There must be something else,” Silent Salt murmured. “Something we’re missing.”
A beat.
Then Shadow Milk barked a laugh—bright, dismissive, almost painfully careless.
“Pfft. Sure,” he said, tapping a finger against his temple. “I’ll let you know if I find something in the old noggin’.”
…
Golden Cheese—who had remained silent through the entire ordeal—finally stepped toward Pure Vanilla. Her voice was low, almost wary.
“…You knew about this?”
Pure Vanilla did not flinch. “We talked last night,” he replied softly, his beholder’s gaze lowering, the light in his eyes dimming with quiet resignation.
Golden Cheese’s brows knit. She exchanged a look with Hollyberry—brief, silent, and unmistakably concerned.
Hollyberry gave a firm nod.
Together, the two moved to either side of Pure Vanilla, steadying him as they helped him rise from his seat. Without another word, they gently guided him toward the door, excusing themselves from the meeting with a hushed dignity.
…
“Sugar.” Hollyberry greeted gently as she stepped into the inn.
Eternal Sugar looked more cookie than she ever had—dressed in a flowy off-white sundress dusted with delicate floral patterns, matching gloves that reached her elbows, and soft slippers slightly dirtied from the walk. She looked pretty. She looked peaceful.
But her expression was anything but.
“I wasn’t sure you’d show up,” Hollyberry continued with a warm smile. “You look lovely.”
“I could use the break,” Eternal Sugar murmured, sliding into the seat across from her.
A quiet, awkward pause settled between them—heavy enough that even the clatter of distant dishes couldn’t fill it.
“…Is Pure Vanilla alright?” she finally asked.
“As alright as he can be,” Hollyberry replied, handing her the menu with careful gentleness. She watched Eternal Sugar’s face, the tension around her eyes, the weariness she was trying so hard to hide.
“And you?” Hollyberry asked softly. “Are you alright?”
Eternal Sugar’s wings quivered—feathers trembling like leaves in a sudden wind—before she dropped her head into her hands.
“How could I be, Hollyberry?”
“Oh, honey…” Hollyberry’s voice cracked as she immediately moved to sit beside her, a sturdy warmth against Sugar’s shaking form. “Oh, Sugar.”
“I’ve known him since he was young,” Eternal Sugar whispered, voice breaking. “I watched him grow—watched him with all his little notebooks and questions. All he ever did was ask and ask and ask… and when he wasn’t asking, he was writing.”
A bitter laugh cut through her grief. Tears slipped down her cheeks like drops of golden syrup.
“I never realized how many times he called for help. Do you know how many times I ignored him? How many times I thought, ‘He’s fine—he’s just curious.’ And then I watched him fall. I watched him do awful things. To me. To others.”
Her tears pattered onto her gloves, sweet as honey and twice as heavy.
“He was so, so smart,” she choked out. “Sometimes too smart. And—” her breath hitched, “how could they be so cruel to him? A cookie built to know everything—how did they not expect him to break?”
Her voice splintered. “How did we expect him to be fine?”
“Sugar—”
“No!” Eternal Sugar’s wings flared, trembling. “He was never fine!”
She gasped between sobs. “People hated the truth he carried. They hated him for it. They did awful things to him, Hollyberry. And he called us—he called us for help—but what did we do?”
Her hands clenched around the fabric of her dress.
“We let him fall.”
She swallowed hard.
“Then he started spreading all those rumors—about Spice’s land, about my land—because he wanted attention. He was foolish, yes—but he was so young. Because he wanted someone to see him. To adore him.”
Her voice crumbled into a whisper.
“Sugar…”
“That should’ve been us.”
A shaking breath.
“Eternal Sugar—”
“He should’ve been the only one alright. He was never meant to ascend because—because he was supposed to be fine!”
Her whole body trembled.
“Our smart boy… oh, Hollyberry—I think I’m going to be sick.”
Two things happened at once. Gentle, steady hands cupped her cheeks, warm and grounding. And then—the sweetest, most dangerous of all poisons—pressed against her lips. Tingly. Sharp. Electric.
As quick as it came, it was gone, leaving a lingering spark that throbbed through her senses.
“Eternal Sugar, dear,” Hollyberry murmured, voice soft, almost trembling. “I know I said—we agreed to wait until this was all done, but…”
She couldn’t finish. Eternal Sugar, perhaps shaped by time spent with other winged cookies, leaned in again, pressing another brief, desperate kiss to Hollyberry’s lips.
—
“You admire her,” Wildberry said, less as a question and more as a careful observation.
Eternal Sugar was still for a long moment, her gaze distant again, though not evasive.
“I do,” she said, simply. “Deeply.”
—
Hollyberry’s hands moved instinctively, pulling the curtains closed before finally returning it—slow, deliberate, a careful promise in the quiet darkness between them.
—
“She deserves someone who burns bright beside her. Not someone made of mist and memory.”
“She gets to decide what she deserves,” Wildberry said, arms folded.
—
Eternal Sugar pulled back, trembling, too scared to meet Hollyberry’s eyes. Instead, she wrapped herself around her, seeking the grounding warmth of the other’s embrace.
The Souljam on her forehead pulsed in response, a quiet resonance that hummed through Hollyberry’s brooch as they touched, echoing their connection like a whispered promise.
—
‘And perhaps then…We could be two halves of a soul.’ Hollyberry said, her voice so plain…so steady, yet threaded with something unguarded, something both felt but neither named. ‘Destined to complete one another.’
—
And then—everything went dark.
A sudden, violent tug ripped Eternal Sugar away from Hollyberry, tearing her from the warmth of the inn, from the fragile safety of their embrace. Her wings flared, flailing helplessly, but it was no use. The pull was relentless.
When she opened her eyes, she was somewhere else entirely. The world she knew—the inn, the softly flickering lanterns, Hollyberry’s gentle presence—was gone.
All around her stretched an endless void, dark and silent. Only the moon hung in the sky, pale and luminous, casting a cold silver light across a landscape that seemed to exist between worlds. Shadows shifted across nothing, and the air itself felt thick, as if it remembered every secret she had ever held.
Eternal Sugar shivered. The Souljam on her forehead burned faintly, a tether to the world she had just been ripped from—and to the one she had no idea she was now trapped within.
Wait. Someone else is here.
A lone figure knelt amid the endless grass fields, weeping. Her dress, woven from midnight itself, pooled around her like liquid shadow, flecked with faint shimmer as though countless stars were stitched into its fabric.
Slowly, the figure rose, her arms reaching toward the cold, pale moon above. A shiver ran through her, an almost electric awareness. She could feel it—the Moon’s power, a dense, relentless presence pressing against her soul.
Chains of dark magic, unseen but undeniable, coiled around her from every direction, suppressing the tide of power she wanted to unleash. Each movement felt like pushing against a thousand invisible restraints, a weight that both protected and imprisoned her.
She raised her face toward the moon, teeth gritted, wings trembling. The energy of Dark Moon Magic throbbed beneath her skin, raw and potent, yet suffocated by these metaphorical shackles.
The fields seemed to stretch on endlessly around her, the grass whispering like distant voices as she fought against the invisible chains, the moon casting long, cold shadows over her shimmering gown.
Eternal Sugar’s eyes widened, her wings flaring instinctively. Before she could think, a magic long buried in her memory—so old she had thought it forgotten—flared to life.
A luminescent pink poured from her hands, flowing like liquid light, cascading over the figure in the grass fields. The figure gasped as the glowing strands wrapped around her, and the metaphorical chains groaned one final, tortured note—then shattered.
Her Souljam thrummed violently against her forehead, a resonance that echoed in her chest.
A piercing screech split the air—not from the figure, but from above. Eternal Sugar’s gaze shot skyward.
The darkness of the void above slowly pooled in one spot, its blackness deep and oppressive. Gradually, the hue lightened, rippling with unnatural motion, until the space coalesced into the faint outline of a cookie—a shadow of someone she knew, flickering like a memory caught between worlds.
And then, as suddenly as it had appeared, the figure dissolved into nothing, leaving only the quiet hum of her Souljam and the chilling emptiness of the dark planes.
Eternal Sugar had no time to dwell. Shaking her head, she propelled herself through the dark plane, wings beating with urgency toward the figure. Something in her chest told her… she was safe. Alright.
Her eyes widened as she drew closer. “…Moonlight Cookie?”
Her hands reached out, trembling. And then—a sharp, violent tug.
She was yanked back, the world spinning around her. In an instant, she was standing in the inn, dazed and disoriented, in front of a very confused Hollyberry.
“I… cannot be that of a good kisser?” she joked lightly, trying to break the tension, her voice uneven.
“Moonlight Cookie,” she corrected instead, her tone sharper, urgent. “I think she’s back.”
Hollyberry’s gaze slowly lifted, tracing the line of her arms, lingering on the pale skin beneath the gloves. She hesitated, then gently removed one glove, running her fingers down Eternal Sugar’s arm.
“Oh… oh, Sugar!” Hollyberry whispered, a mixture of relief, astonishment, and something else—something softer—lingering in her tone.
Eternal Sugar blinked, heart hammering, unsure whether to laugh, cry, or cling. The warmth of Hollyberry’s touch grounded her, a fragile tether between what had just happened and the world she had returned to. She looked down at her arms and…shimmering lines from the tips of her fingers ran up, all the way to her shoulders.
“Dear witches, what is happening!” She screeched.