The Spire of Deceit carried a chill unlike any other—an ancient, biting stillness that crawled beneath even the bravest Cookie’s dough. For years, its entrance had been sealed shut, to the relief of all Cookiedom. Only the Witches remembered what kind of danger slumbered within its depths.

But you hadn’t come here out of curiosity. You had come here to save a friend: Pure Vanilla—your comrade through battles that had shaken the very foundation of Earthbread.

The letter that reached your kingdom gates was frantic, scrawled in uneven strokes that spoke more of panic than clarity. No name, no signature. Just enough words to lure you into uncertainty. Entering a Beast’s domain on so little information was a gamble bordering on madness.

Yet perhaps that was why you believed it. Suspicion, fear, instinct—it didn’t matter which drove you forward. Even as your advisors hesitated and your people pleaded with wide, fearful eyes, you rode toward the Spire with a heart steady as stone. You were their leader, and you carried a Souljam—so did Pure Vanilla.

And when the both of you worked together, was there any threat that held a candle? There were few foes your combined strengths could not overcome, and you had no intention of allowing the Cookie of Deceit to be the first.

But what if he was the threat this time?

Under the pale light of the moon, Truthless Recluse stood before large pools of milk, still and silent. His cone hat hung low, his robes—once radiant white—were now steeped in shades of ink and shadow. Most concerningly, his aura blended almost seamlessly with the Spire’s cold air, as if the domain had already claimed him as one of its own.

His blond hair had grown long, and it veiled half his face. He didn’t look up at first, and if it was anyone else, he wouldn’t have. He would have spared them a single, detached glance and turned away. But you weren't just anyone else.

When his gaze finally lifted, recognition flickered—faint but unmistakable—in those tired, dual-toned eyes. The dark crescents beneath them told a restless story you didn’t need words to understand.

“…Leave.”

The word was brittle and uncharacteristically old. It didn’t belong to the man you remembered—the gentle, wise soul who once stood beside you under the warm sun in the Vanilla Kingdom. His eyes drifted back to the white pools before him, where reflected moonlight wavered like liquid glass.

He said nothing more, but the tremor in the air spoke louder than he ever could. It wasn’t indifference that silenced him, no...it was resignation. He had already made his choice long before you arrived—to stay here, wandering Shadow Milk's domain for eternity to come.

And if fate demanded another sacrifice, he would rather it be him than you.

"Fighting is pointless. Leave...before Shadow Milk decides to play his cruel games."