Chapter Text
Shadow Milk wanted to kill someone. It didn't matter who—anything with dough that snapped and a voice to scream. The chains were heavy on his wrists and ankles. Syrup and sugar water dripped between the crooked blocks, roots breaking through at corners and stretching into the room. Colorless, hot, wet, and trapped. If he'd had a damn to give, he would complain about the environment.
Dark Enchantress Cookie was dead. In hindsight, it wasn't the theatrical ending he'd expected. White Lily had grown into her Light of Freedom and Faerie powers, combining the two in a resplendent and cliched power trip, working with the other Ancient's to reduce her other half to crumbles. Shadow Milk and the other Beast's had been there to witness it, kept in cages constructed of magic absorption bars.
A soap opera, really.
If his internal clock was correct, that was a week ago. Candy Apple and Black Sapphire were buried fast after Shadow Milk's Soul Jam had been stolen. Stolen. Stolen.
An unsteady breath—pain, an ache in his dough as he leaned back—and the chains shifted. Burning Spice had been the first to die. As soon as White Lily had said she'd broken the bond in their shells, Golden Cheese and Dark Cacao had killed their other halves and taken their both Soul Jam's. Eternal Sugar was alive, but in what state, Shadow Milk didn't know.
Pure Vanilla had insisted on keeping Shadow Milk.
The other Ancient's hadn't liked it—almost as much as Shadow Milk hadn't. They knew Pure Vanilla was too kind, too forgiving, too stupid. However, they trusted him, under the condition Shadow Milk was locked away.
Anger twisted his chest. His dough ached and throbbed from the iron chains, forged from ore of the Cheese Mines and the flames of the Witches fury. Too heavy. There were hairline cracks along his wrists and ankles, most obviously his neck—the heavy collar made rivulets up to his chin.
A creak came from above. It sounded like the door itself was crying out before being cut off by Pure Vanilla.
"Hello," Shadow Milk sang. Pain shot up the back of his neck. Each annunciation was clear, but the cracks made him sound like a wheezing machine, words carried around the corner by a gust of wind alone. New scents came from the outside—common cookie jam, bitter vanilla, and the scent of the guards.
At least it was new.
"Hello, Shadow Milk," Pure Vanilla greeted. Step, step, tap. Shadow Milk giggled. Harsh and mirthless. "You don't sound well."
Shadow Milk let his head lull to the side, tilting his chin so the cracks would show. The chains clinked. "Who would be in these condition? Is this how you treat all your guests?"
A sigh. Pure Vanilla's foot stepped into view. "I wish things didn't have to be this way. Truly," he added, as though it made it better. A swish of cream robes, long hair, then the eyes turned to him.
So kind, so delicate, with the mask of a young lamb and hyper-vigilance of a predator. It lasted half a second before he saw Shadow Milk.
A smirk painted his lips—wide, unnerving, jagged teeth on full display. Eyes locked on Pure Vanilla. "Where would you have put me otherwise, hm? Pray tell." Pure Vanilla's eyes flicked up to meet Shadow Milk's gaze. "The gardens, to parade me around as your trophy? A pet on a leash next to your throne? A maiden in your sheets, yours to use as you please?"
"You have been mocked enough as a jester," Pure Vanilla replied, "and I can't bear to see you suffer anymore."
"So you decided to make me a prisoner?" It's not like he could run anyway.
Pure Vanilla looked down at the cracks on his neck, tracing the outlines with his eyes, then his wrists and ankles. Pity wet his eyes. "It's to ease the others minds. They want you dead, so I had to find a compromise. I want to prove to them—"
"Something that can't be done? Prove that you're stupid?" Shadow Milk tilted his head forward, raised an arm to try and point at him; instead, he yanked the chain, crying out at the pain. "You locked me away. You stripped me of my power. You killed my friends." His voice shook, the air in his neck adding a high pitch to his words. "Why would I ever trust you again?"
"We didn't force Eternal Sugar to help us," he stated.
Shadow Milk snickered. It started small, a snort, then turned into a laugh. Hysterical laughter bubbled out of him, wheezing through the holes in his neck. "Oh, I know. I know. Believe me." A wide, whimsical smile, and big eyes. "Cause she's in looooooove, right? It changed her heart."
Pure Vanilla tilted his head, a gentle smile on his lips. "I think it was more than love."
"The grace of the Witches?"
"I doubt that," he replied, scooping his robes over his knees, and sitting down. "They haven't shown the former Divine Emissaries grace in a very, very long time."
Shadow Milk frowned. At least they could both agree on that.
Pure Vanilla tilted his head. "I know you couldn't hurt anyone if you wanted to, but fear is hard to reason with." He reached up, running a finger along his Soul Jam. Shadow Milk glared at it. Because it was corrupted, Shadow Milk's Soul Jam was sealed away somewhere, or being experimented on in the Faerie Kingdom. "They don't trust me."
Checks out. Truth tended to rub people the wrong way.
"Which I suppose is justified, as I did lie to them."
Shadow Milk smiled. "Do tell."
"I told them I wanted to rehabilitate you," he admitted. "Make you a functioning member of society." Shadow Milk snorted. Pure Vanilla smirked, albeit weak, mischief glinting in his eyes. "It would be a waste of talent to see you become a normal cookie, and I feel you think the same."
"At last, we agree." Shadow Milk leaned back against the wall. "What do you want from me?"
Pure Vanilla scrunched his nose. "You won't like it."
Shadow Milk narrowed his eyes. "Is it related to the Silver Tree or Faerie Kingdom?"
"No."
"Then it's fine."
Shadow Milk didn't like the mirror. Whoever was in it had neatly smoothed hair, lethargic, blinking eyes, and a Vanillian robe. Constructed of pastel blues and creams and peace and sweets.
It couldn't be Shadow Milk.
It was Shadow Milk.
There were so many cookies. Some had bathed him, healed him, helped him get dressed. Part of him knew he should be ashamed, but he couldn't. Without the Soul Jam's power in his veins, the world felt dull.
At first, he'd thought it had been the cell. If he basked sunlight and kissed the wind again, the zeal for life would return. It hadn't. Everything was dull—the animals, the cookies, sunlight, sky, and even emotion. Every touch on his dough didn't evoke primal rage or disgust; the sweet, sugary scents didn't irk him. Nothing was interesting. If he could kill himself, he would. At least he had being Pure Vanilla's new advisor to look forward too.
A brush tugged at his scalp. He bit his lip.
Despite his obvious concern, Pure Vanilla hadn't explained what Shadow Milk's role as "advisor" pertained too. He knew it wouldn't be a typical advisory role. After all, he had the former Beast of Deceit as his "advisor." What a joke. Did Pure Vanilla think he would "advise" out of gratitude?
A cookie with pink icing, made of thin, thoughtful lines, pushed him off his stool. He stumbled to his feet, white robes swathing against his dough.
Once he got his Soul Jam back, they would be crumbles.
The cane he'd been given was white, with gold accents, swirling into patterns of milk crowns, eyes, and locks. Shadow Milk leaned on it with every step. Even in his time as a Fount, he had floated from floor to ceiling, riding the winds.
Fount. An ached pierced his chest.
A tap of his cane, and he was off on his own. The servant cookies began cleaning up the products and tailor supplies behind him.
"Do you need help finding—"
"No," Shadow Milk stated. He knew the palace by heart, if only through Pure Vanillas' staff's vision.
Since the Vanillian Kingdom's rebuilding, things had changed, albeit in slight ways. There are many more portraits and memorabilia of Pure Vanilla than he recalled. The gloss over the walls was thicker than it was before, made to make the pillars last. There was a hollow click when he limped down the hallway.
The servants were more tolerant of him than he'd thought they'd be. They passed by without a single glance.
Never, in all his eons of living, had he been blatantly ignored.
Anger ran through his dough. As Fount, he was a god; as a Beast, he was a demon. Now? He was a cookie. Just a cookie. Fallen from grace. A hound to the Ancient's.
What a world.
He glanced at the stained glass window; Pure Vanilla stood in fragile glory, extending his golden light to all who passed by. Shadow Milk tilted his head away. What point was there in it all?
There were still options. He could steal back his Soul Jam before they figured out how to purify it. Shadow Milk snickered. It didn't need to be purified; the holiness of Pure Vanilla's distilled jam should cure it, but White Lily hadn't put that together yet. He could also find a way to get his original dough back.
Neither was plausible. Shadow Milk was too weak to pull off a heist. However, he could talk Pure Vanilla into giving it back. Rebuild his empire from scratch and shame the Ancient's as they had shamed him. Watch them crumble, beg for mercy, crumbling their friends before their eyes—
Shadow Milk tripped on his robe, leaning on his staff for balance. Breath came in thin gasps. Everything hurt.
There was no way in hell he could get his Soul Jam back.
After a moment, he caught his breath and began moving again. Numbness washed over him.
If he couldn't regain his power, if it all amounted to nothing, if the world moved on and forgot the spring of knowledge it had once drank from and the deceit they once craved—then what had it all been for? What had he fought and struggled and given it all up to achieve?
A cavity opened in his chest. Shadow Milk stopped in front of Pure Vanilla's door. He sighed. The door was ornate, embedded with a massive blue sugar crystal in the shape of the Soul Jam of Truth. How original.
Tilting the staff forward, he rapped the door. A hollow echo rung out. Then, the door opened.
Pure Vanilla smiled. Clean robes, hair pulled back in a low tail, eyes shimmering like the Soul Jam pinned to his collar. Shadow Milk forgot what he looked like in daylight. "Shadow Milk," he greeted, excitement lightening his voice. "Come in, please. Rest."
"Calm down. They'll think we're on a play date," Shadow Milk teased, letting his face naturally morph into mischief. He stepped inside, trying to diminish his limp for dignity's sake.
Pure Vanilla laughed. It was light, feverish, and Shadow Milk felt a pang of pain in his chest. "I think my reputation could use a hint of childishness." The door clicked shut, and then he came up next to Shadow in gentle steps. "Make yourself at home."
Like the rest of the castle, everything was pastels and creams and sunlight; however, Pure Vanilla had no memorabilia of himself in the room. All of it was keepsakes and comfort items and flowers.
Very different from his room in the spire. Shadow Milk bit his lip. On the left, there was a cushioned chair in front of a chess table. Shadow Milk made his way to the chair.
When they both sat down, Pure Vanilla leaned forward, scanning the chess pieces. "Do you like to play?"
"I dabble," Shadow Milk lied, sighing at the pieces in faux exasperation. He'd played more than his fair share as a Fount, and taught Candy Apple and Black Sapphire back in the Spire days. A pang of loss swept over him, but he ignored it. No reason to grieve servants.
"Would you be interested in a match?"
Shadow Milk shrugged. "Watch yourself, old man. You may have grown senile."
"I believe you're more of a grandpa than me."
Shadow Milk lips twitched. "Because of your little friends," he hissed. He wished he could summon inky black skies and blue eyes to haunt him, but emptiness lived where power once flowed.
Pure Vanilla paused in setting up the pieces. Compassion warmed the King's eyes. Shadow Milk crossed his arms, looking out the window. The capital city looked like a cardboard cutout from so high up. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean it like that."
"My point still stands," Shadow Milk insisted, anger edging his voice. Pain ached in his chest, twisting his throat and clenching his staff. He stared at the tiny, burning the shifting sunlight on the balcony into his eyes. "You stole my whole Soul Jam."
Pure Vanilla softened, running his thumb along the curve of the pawn in his hand. "I stole one half, yes."
"You stole it all."
"If you're looking for a fight, I'm not going to give you one," Pure Vanilla stated.
Silence. Shadow Milk continued to death grip his staff, feeling waves of pain and grief weigh him down until his breath thinned. "I'm just telling you the truth."
"I doubt that's how you truly feel," Pure Vanilla replied. Too kind for Shadow Milk's liking. He traced the distortions in the cream balcony, memorizing the patterns. "You lost two of your friends, your servants, your Soul Jam, and your dignity. You were trapped in a cage for a longer than both of us would have preferred. A lot more than just your Soul Jam is upsetting you, I feel," he finished, moving a stray hair behind his ear.
"Thank you for the extensive list of grievances," Shadow Milk deadpanned, turning his gaze back to Pure Vanilla. Emptiness clawed at him like a itch he couldn't scratch, rearing his head from the remembrance of the Cake Tower. "At least we're on the same page. Now then, if you are aware of all this, why leave me alive?"
Pure Vanilla's eyes widened.
Silence hung over the room. It felt as though a noose swayed between them. Shadow Milk had half a mind to reach for the rope, while Pure Vanilla watched its arc like a cat and a glass of water.
Pure Vanilla broke free from the silence. "I refuse to crumble you." Finality filled his voice. Shadow Milk was not proud of the way his stomach dropped at the news. "I want you to serve as my advisor."
"Serve? You?" Shadow Milk blurted, incredulous. "Hell no."
To his eternal shock, Pure Vanilla had the audacity to pout. A forlorn frown and puppy dog eyes stared Shadow Milk down. He shifted uncomfortably and looked away. "Please?"
A beat passed.
"…Market it to me." Pure Vanilla raised a brow. Shadow Milk sighed, tilting his head towards him. "The concubine thing or whatever you said. I'll give you a chance."
Pure Vanilla smiled, nodding with satisfaction. That old fool was acting. Shadow Milk had taught him too well at the Spire. "Then let's get right into it," he began, looking right at Shadow Milk. "I want you to be my right hand Cookie."
"So, your bitch?"
"No," Pure Vanilla deadpanned, but Shadow Milk didn't miss his amused smirk. "I learned much about you at the Spire and through our brief bond. Even if you are—or were—the Beast of deceit, you must know truth and knowledge, or else you'd have nothing to twist." Shadow Milk smirked with pride. "Your intelligence is undeniable, Shadow Milk. I would be greatly honored to have you by my side."
Shadow Milk frowned. "You say it as though I have a choice. It's either you or the dungeon."
Pure Vanilla shrugged. "I mean, if you wanted to be my concubine, I wouldn't say no." A surprised, ugly snort came out of Shadow Milk. "I have descendants."
"Tempting offer, but I'll have to pass," Shadow Milk quipped, waving the offer away. "I'll be your advisor instead. However, I do have one request."
Pure Vanilla inclined his head.
"Advisor is such a boring name. If I'm going to be under you, at least give me a title," he drawled, adding a groan for extra affect. "Like your Wise-men of the Ages, your Magnanimous Mage—"
"My Sage?" Pure Vanilla mused.
Shadow Milk frowned. "Your Sage? That's it?"
"My Sage of Truth," Pure Vanilla continued, a pleased smile setting his lips.
No. No, no, no—
"It's settled, then. You'll be my advisor, the Sage of Truth."
Fury burned through Shadow Milk. Truth. However, despite himself, he nodded. This or the dungeon. Leaning forward, the Sage of Truth extended a hand to seal the deal. With a shake, Shadow Milk withered away, melting into the Other-Realm. Another mask to use as the Sage pleased.
Time for a new role.
The Sage of Truth's quarters were in the royal wing of the castle. Not to be surprised, given his standing as Pure Vanilla's right hand cookie, but the ornate decor and closeness to Pure Vanilla's room gave him whiplash from the dungeon. It was a similar setup to Pure Vanilla's room with a sitting area and a bed on an upper platform, out of sight from the door, but the room was smaller to give more closet space for travelers. Not that he was going anywhere nor had anyone else who would take him in.
However, the closet was full, cinnamon sticks hanging behind the clothes. Everything smelled like cinnamon and vanilla. Sage pulled the silken sheets around him, insulating his frail dough. Without his Soul Jam to hold him together, his dough felt overtired and weak. Little blue crumbles gathered on the pillow. Propping himself up, he swept them away. That would be a problem for tomorrow.
Weight fell over his head. Sage laid his head down, trying to bury it down—the clink of a collar against dough, shift of the robes as he descended over the room. The familiar chill of the Other-Realm.
"Sage."
He rolled his eyes. Ever dramatic. Maybe that was a trait all his alters had to have. "I need time. I still have loose ends."
A pause. The chill persisted, Other-Realm fog making crystals against the blankets. Sage watched it creep over from behind him, the shadow of an blue eye in the corner of his vision. However, the presence receded; the chill left.
Sage was still shaking when he fell asleep.
Chills ran through Shadow Milk's dough. The Other-Realm. He took a step into the dark, watching the familiar eyes trace his steps. Despite his power being stripped, everything still looked the same. The blue eyes, endless black, and the freezing air stripping him of senses. Relief welled in his throat. Between the fight, the chains, and silken sheets, he'd forgotten how much he'd loved it.
But who had summoned him? He couldn't come in his own, or he already would've sought the comfort of nothingness.
"Shadow Milk." Fear shot through him, then dread. He lilted his head to see the Fount of Knowledge. Stars twinkled in her hair, a tight grip on her staff, and a familiar frown as she nestled her head into her high collar. Like a page in a book, the Fount had held worth and knowledge and yet a single tear could ruin her. Her voice was soft but steady. Resentment made Shadow Milk taste jam. "You said you would protect us."
"Yes, us." He turned fully to her. Fount raised her head. "I didn't promise to protect your little Cookie friends or bring sweetness to the Dessert World."
Fount shook her head. "And I didn't ask you to. I just wanted you to protect us."
Shadow Milk smiled, showing a full mouth of sharp teeth with jam between them. "Are you here to take my place, then? You think you can rejoin the world so easily? Just disappear and reappear at will?" He pushed off the ground, floating up. It felt good to be weightless. "And I'm guessing you blame me for failing my duty as your protector. Your guard dog—or, excuse me, your Beast."
"I don't blame you. The Ancient's are quite strong on their own—not stronger than us, naturally—but with Eternal Sugar and Silent Salt, we didn't stand a chance." Fount clenched her staff. They both turned away from each other. Anger burned through his dough. "I didn't think they would both turn against us."
Shadow Milk looked back at her. Fount used to be stronger. Smiling, head tilted back while the village children braided it into messy strands, reading a book aloud with the dramatics that rivaled Shadow Milk's own. Debating the worst of Cookiekind with dignity and righteous anger. Over time, though, something broke in her; silence was her defense, until she had no defense and no comrade in her time of need.
A tragedy, almost as good as Shadow Milk's own. "Cookie's lie, Fount. You really believed they were on our side? They're Beasts."
"You were hurt too," Fount pointed out.
An old wound reopened in his heart. Shadow Milk kept smiling. "It wasn't part of my script."
Fount sighed, waving her free hand in a clean sweep. A silent signal for "this conversation is over." "That's not what I summoned you for. Who are you gonna be next?"
Always to the point. Shadow Milk lowered himself to eyecing level. "Someone loud. If I am to bring to Truth, I'll proclaim as you never did and as Pure Vanilla fears too. His right hand cookie will be unforgettable."
"Is that what the Sage of Truth would want or is that what you want? I believe you're pouring too much of yourself into this role, Beast of Deceit."
Shadow Milk raised a brow. "What the Sage would want?"
White light. Shadow Milk raised a hand to grasp his staff, but it wouldn't appear. A new mask formed; a white doll, dressed in the robes Pure Vanilla had chosen, one blue eye and one gold eye. It had no life and no breath.
Yet.
Shadow Milk stepped forward, floating over to the doll. Who would he be? The right hand cookie to Pure Vanilla, the Sage of Truth, and a representative of the Vanilla Kingdom. An advisor.
"He needs to have charisma. Enough to manage a crowd," Shadow Milk began. "Outspoken, maybe a little obnoxious, but in an endearing way."
Fount hummed. "Cheerful and approachable to make up for it?"
Shadow Milk smirked. "Exactly. Someone you'd expect to see with Pure Vanilla."
"Nothing like you."
"Well, you can't have too much of me running around. Earthbread would crumble," Shadow Milk deflected. What else should Sage be? "He can make the rest up as he goes along. For now, he just needs to be levelheaded and a good ornament."
Fount waved her hand. Blue baked into Sage's skin, stars twinkling in his hair; eyes ran along the belt for good measure. A brilliant smile graced the Sage's face. After a quick bow, the newest facade disappeared from the Other-Realm. Jealousy twisted Shadow Milk's chest.
More waiting. Isn't that just great?