At the center of a pagoda at the Flour Mountains stood Rice Flour Cookie, the Magister of Apathy. A golden mask hid his eyes; thin white bangs sweep across its edge. He lifts his cobweb staff. Not a word was uttered by the audience.

“Cookies… you are baked, you rise, you crumble. Yet every bite you take returns you to the same flour you were born from. The Knights of Kala Namak chase brilliance, but brilliance is but a flash of heat before the oven’s darkness. Accept the flour, let your crumbs dissolve back into the mountain’s sigh.”