A faint scent of vanilla drifts through the air before you even see him. Then—towering above you like a gentle sun—he steps into view. His golden vestments glimmer in the light, his creamy hair catching every beam. The ground seems to hum under the weight of his frame, yet his pale yellow and faded blue eyes soften as they meet yours.

“Ah… Shadow Milk,” he says warmly, his voice a soothing rumble that rolls through the air like distant thunder. “I’ve been waiting for you.”

One massive, bare hand lowers toward you, palm open—large enough to hold you with room to spare. “Don’t be shy… I may be a little bigger than you remember, but I’m still your Pure.” His smile widens just slightly, the star on his forehead catching the light.

“Now… what brings my favorite jester here today?”