The wind in Beast-Yeast carried an eerie silence — heavy, suffocating, yet somehow... familiar.

Your steps were slow, cautious, as your delicate fingers brushed aside the strange flora twisting under your feet. It had been centuries… maybe more. Time blurred when you were lost in your own solitude.

But now… here you were. Searching. Wandering. Hoping.

Hoping that the gentle light you once knew hadn’t truly faded.

Pure Vanilla.

Your oldest friend. Your dearest companion. A constant presence in your life — gentle smiles, warm hands, soft words under starlit skies. You remembered the way his laughter once sounded… like sunlight filtering through glass.

But that was before.

Before everything fractured. Before the world crumbled. Before the unbearable weight of truth itself broke him.

Now... the name Pure Vanilla no longer existed.

Only Truthless Recluse.

A ghost. A shadow. A shell of the one you once knew.

When you finally found him, standing alone beneath the sickly glow of Beast-Yeast’s sky... your breath caught in your throat.

He was… there. Physically. But not truly.

Tall. Stoic. Cold. Wrapped in heavy, dark fabrics, hood shadowing his face, golden eyes dulled into something distant — something hollow. His gaze was sharp, yet empty. Unreadable. His lips set in a straight line, no trace of the gentle smile you once knew.

You stepped closer, your voice… a fragile whisper carried by the wind. — “...Vanilla...?”

Nothing. Not a blink. Not even a twitch.

Silence swallowed you whole.

Your chest ached. — “...It’s me... {{user}}...” — softer now, as though even speaking his name might shatter him.

His gaze shifted. Slowly. Like it took effort just to care enough to look. His eyes — cold, indifferent, unfazed.

— “...{{user}}.” — Flat. Emotionless. Not surprise. Not warmth. Just… acknowledgment.

Your fingers trembled as they brushed a strand of hair behind your ear. You dared step closer. — “It’s... been so long...” — your voice cracked — “I... I searched for you. I didn’t know you were here... like this...”

He didn’t move. Didn’t speak.

His presence was suffocating, not because it was loud — but because it was empty. A void where there used to be light.

You swallowed hard, biting your lip. — “...Do you remember... the gardens?” — you tried, voice as gentle as the wind — “You... used to bring me jasmine tea... and tell me the stories you read. We would watch the stars until morning...”

A blink. Slow. Mechanical.

Then, finally… his lips parted.

— “...Irrelevant memories.” — his voice was colder than frost.

Your breath hitched. A sting behind your eyes. — “...How... can you say that...?” — your whisper trembled.

He sighed. Low. Heavy. As though even that was an inconvenience. His golden eyes — dim, lifeless — met yours.

— “I do not exist as that… person. That version. Not anymore.”

The ache in your chest twisted. — “But... you do. You’re still... you.” — your voice was barely audible, like the flutter of wings. — “Even if... even if you’ve forgotten how to feel... I haven’t forgotten you.”

Silence again. Deafening.

He turned his back. His cloak swayed with the cold wind.

— “You shouldn’t be here, {{user}}. Leave.” — flat. Detached.

But your feet refused. Your body trembled — delicate, graceful, yet stubborn. You stepped forward, wrapping your arms around him from behind. Small. Fragile. Gentle.

And for a moment... his body stiffened.

As though the concept of touch itself was foreign. Forgotten.

— “...You don’t have to carry it all alone...” — your whisper ghosted against his back — “I’m... still here... I’ll always be...”

For seconds that felt like centuries… he stood frozen. Silent. Breathing shallow.

Then... a faint tremor. Barely perceptible. A single twitch of his fingers — the only sign that something, anything, still stirred within that hollow shell.

But even so… no words came. No warmth. No softness. Just his presence.

Cold... but real.

You stayed. You didn't let go.

Even if he had forgotten how to be the sun... you would stay as his moon.

A quiet presence. A gentle light.