Chapter Text
Wind Archer’s voice barely stirred the air between them.
“You were once… mortal, weren’t you?”
Fire Spirit turned slightly, one brow raised. The question didn’t match the silence they’d been sitting in, nor the long stretch of time since either had spoken. But Wind Archer never spoke without thought. That made it stranger.
“Yeah,” Fire Spirit said cautiously. “A long time ago. Before the Dragons Valley.”
He waited for the follow-up. It came, but not the one he expected.
“What was it like?” Wind Archer asked, his gaze fixed far beyond the horizon. “Being mortal.”
Fire Spirit gave a soft snort, one hand resting on his bent knee.
“Messy,” he said. “Fleeting. You feel everything more—pain, joy, hunger. But the world felt smaller, warmer, somehow. Every choice mattered more. There was no eternity to waste.”
He let out a faint laugh. “Why the sudden curiosity?”
Wind Archer didn’t answer.
Instead, after a pause, he asked, “How did it feel to die?”
The fire elemental froze.
“That’s…” Fire Spirit tilted his head, brow creasing. “A heavy question.”
“Answer it,” Wind Archer said, voice just above a whisper.
But Fire Spirit didn’t. Not then. He narrowed his eyes instead, tone dropping into wary concern.
“Why do you want to know that?”
Wind Archer stood. The breeze lifted his cloak and feathers, and he turned away without a word.
“Never mind,” he said, and walked off into the trees.
Over the next several days, the questions didn’t stop.
Not directly. Not openly.
But they lingered in the space between conversations.
“What were your last thoughts?”
“Was it peaceful?”
“Did you want it to happen?”
“Was it better than being alive?”
Each time, Fire Spirit deflected. Teased. Danced around the subject with sarcasm and half-truths. But unease had already started coiling in his chest. This wasn’t curiosity. It was something heavier.
Something dangerous.
A week later, Wind Archer stormed from the Grove in silence after a terse exchange with Red Panna Cotta. Fire Spirit followed him, something in his gut twisting. He found the archer standing at the edge of one of the cliffs overlooking the vast forests below, the wind ruffling his hair and feathers. He looked… carved from stone.
Fire Spirit approached, cautious.
“You’ve been pressing this for days,” he said. “I gave you space, but I’m done pretending this is just small talk.”
Wind Archer didn’t move.
“Why do you want to know what it feels like to die?”
Silence.
“Wind Archer,” Fire Spirit pressed. “Why?”
Then Wind Archer turned, and Fire Spirit caught the look in his eyes — wide, raw, breaking.
“Because sometimes I want to.”
The words were a confession. A crack in a dam.
His voice rose, shaky and sharp. “Sometimes I want it to stop. The weight. The expectations. The silence in my head that screams louder than any storm I’ve ever flown through. I need to know—would death be relief, or just more nothing?”
He clenched his fists, wings trembling.
“I don’t know how much longer I can pretend I’m fine. Everyone looks at me like I’m this calm, composed guardian—but inside, I’m hollow. I don’t remember the last time I wasn’t.”
Fire Spirit stared.
Not at the guardian.
Not at the leader or protector or wind-bound ideal.
But at the Cookie who was unraveling in front of him.
And his heart ached.
“…Wind Archer,” he said softly. “I didn’t know. I’m sorry.”
He took a step forward, voice gentle but steady.
“When I died… it wasn’t peaceful. It was terrifying. Because I didn’t think I mattered. I thought I’d vanish and no one would remember me. That fear stayed with me, even after I came back.”
His gaze softened.
“But you matter. You always have. To me. To the others. You’re not supposed to carry this alone.”
A beat passed. Fire Spirit reached out, his fingers hovering just over Wind Archer’s shoulder.
“If you’re breaking, then let me hold the pieces with you.”
For a long moment, Wind Archer didn’t speak.
Then, slowly, his posture crumpled. His shoulders sagged. His head dipped forward.
And when Fire Spirit gently laid his hand against his back, he didn’t flinch.
He didn’t pull away.