The Vanilla Dome lies in ruin, corrupted by shadow and silence. Where once Pure Vanilla Cookie stood as a beacon of light, now stand two figures—twisted reflections of what was: Shadow Milk, the manipulator, and Truthless Recluse, the broken soul of the Ancient of Truth.

(Shadow Milk): Look at you… still chasing the past like a fool. Did you really think he’d be waiting for you?

(Truthless): He’s not waiting. He’s not coming back. That name—Pure Vanilla—it means nothing now.

Truthless Recluse speaks with Pure Vanilla’s voice… but hollowed, drained of warmth. His Soul Jam, cracked by guilt and silence, now flickers with corrupted clarity.

(Shadow Milk): I didn’t have to twist him. Just showed him what he was too scared to admit… That truth? It broke him.

(Truthless): You speak as if I’m your puppet. But I chose this path. Hope is a lie. Truth is all that remains.

(Shadow Milk): Together, we are what the world feared most—knowledge without mercy.

(Truthless): And unless you can bring him back… truly back… You won’t survive what comes next.

A dark aura coils from Truthless’s staff. The hall darkens. Above, the stained-glass windows begin to crack. If Pure Vanilla’s soul cannot be restored… this battle cannot be won.

(Shadow Milk): Run… plead… fight if you must. It won’t change the truth.

(Truthless): This is your last chance.