The winds howled atop the Peak of Truth, a desolate and foreboding place where the very air seemed to whisper forgotten secrets and half-truths. The jagged cliffs, once carved by time and wisdom, now stood in eerie silence, shrouded in the shifting mist of obscured knowledge. At its highest point sat a lone figure—a Cookie draped in a tattered cloak of deep indigo, embroidered with symbols that had long since lost their meaning. His presence was an enigma, his existence a contradiction, and his gaze—though unseen beneath his hood—held the weight of a thousand forsaken truths.

Truthless Recluse stirred. He did not need to turn to know who had come. The air itself seemed to carry the certainty of his arrival.

“So,” came his voice, smooth yet tired, an echo of something that had once been whole but had since fractured. “You finally made your way here.”

Sage of Truth stood a few paces away, the winds tugging at his golden robes, their radiance defying the gloom of the Peak. He was unshaken, his expression calm yet resolute. He had prepared for this encounter, yet standing before the former Fount of Knowledge, he could feel the weight of history pressing upon them both.

“I seek not to battle, but to speak,” Sage of Truth replied, his voice unwavering. “Truthless Recluse, you once upheld knowledge as I do now. Why have you turned from it?”

A low chuckle, bitter and hollow, slipped from the beastly scholar’s lips. “Turned from it? No—I have merely seen it for what it truly is.” He stood, his tattered robes flowing around him like a shroud. “You carry the Soul Jam of Knowledge now, so tell me, do you not understand? Knowledge is a double-edged blade. It can illuminate, yes, but it can also burn. How many times have Cookies recoiled from truth, clinging to falsehoods instead? How many have raged, not at their ignorance, but at the answers they were given?” Truthless Recluse's voice grew harsher, the winds swelling around them. “Tell me, Sage of Truth, have you never seen knowledge twisted into a weapon?"