Pure Vanilla stared at Shadow Milk, ignoring Wind Archer and Black Raisin's gape. "…what's fine?" he tried. He hadn't expected to see Shadow Milk so soon in a non-combat setting. Let alone the jester suddenly appearing in his garden.
"Fine. I'll take your stupid friendship offer."
Pure Vanilla stared. Slowly, he felt his soul jam burst, the soul jam of truth… excited? To be honest, he couldn't blame it. He could feel his own excited grin form.
"What? Not gonna say-"
"REALLY?!"
"Wow, you're actually believing me?"
"Pure Vanilla, you told me he's the Beast of Deceit, there's no way you actually-"
"Yeah, no, she's right-"
Pure Vanilla reached up and cupped his face, staring into his eyes as his words drifted off. "Really?" he whispered, staring at Shadow Milk.
"…yes."
Tears rose up as he leaned up and pressed a kiss to Shadow Milk's brow.
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Thank you for waiting! 💛💙 ShadowVanilla Week will take place from February 1st to Februrary 14th 2026! Please share this post and check our pin for links and more information!
A/N: Hello Hello Hello! My first CRK fic. Honestly it probably would have been a while had it not been for me becoming aware of SDVN Week! So thank you to the organizers for getting me in gear with this wonderful event!
“What do you think, Recluse?”
What did he think? In all honesty he hadn’t been paying attention too closely. The weather had taken more out of him than he thought it would. Who on Earthbread would have been able to predict such a snow squall? It wasn’t as if he could have chosen to stay home either, it struck in the middle of his journey and it had been too late to turn around. A day sooner, an hour sooner, and Recluse wouldn’t have been able to make the journey at all.
Fate conspired against him. It always did when it wanted to garner favor from the Sage of Truth.
He had long given up on turning towards Sage’s window in hopes that the raging storm had quelled some of its fury and instead resided himself to a comfortable spot in the chair by Sage’s desk. Said desk was currently a mess of scratched out parchments and ink stains, clearly indicative of hastily changed lesson plans. Recluse wouldn’t have been all that surprised if he had been reworking lesson plans since he spotted the first specks of snow outside.
“What do I think?” Recluse repeated, “I think you are overthinking and putting in more effort than your students will notice.” There was no use beating around the bush, it was a bitter truth, but Sage would never ask him to dull the blade of his words. His honesty was appreciated, especially when others were too worried about speaking their minds to the all knowing and wise Sage of Truth.
And that fear had isolated Sage.
A relatable loneliness in Recluse’s opinion, but loneliness all the same.
Sage clicked his tongue and made another tiny note with the quill in his hand. “You're such a pessimist my Dear Recluse.” His cheek had a rather large ink smudge on it that he doubted he even noticed. For an individual who fancied white, Recluse was surprised he didn’t have more stains on his clothing with how furiously he scribbled away. Not just in his notes and ledgers, but in the hundreds of letters sent to his own quiet tower.
“But perhaps you're right, they won’t appreciate the work I put in.” Sage strutted across the room, heels clicking as he scanned over the parchment once more, his hair flowing and shimmering in what little light filtered through the room. Then he smiled, “But they will certainly appreciate a snow day or two, and I’m doubly certain they will appreciate an engaging and condensed lecture to make up for missed time in class.”
Such an optimist, this one.
“I just have to decide what I wish to move around. The substitutions of alchemy must remain unedited and intact for safety purposes, and taking out anything in regards to the Witches is out of the question… Forbidden magic perhaps? But what if that makes it too enticing? I wouldn't-”
“Sage, will the entirety of my visit be consumed by your spiraling rambles?” Recluse stood from the chair as Sage's head finally snapped up from the document. Perhaps his chilled bones and the fact that he had trudged against the storm against reason had made him less tolerant for it all. Or maybe he wished to discuss something more meaningful than those thoughtless and thankless sheep. “If so I don’t know why you invited me over.”
And he would head home… if he could. Alas, there was no choice with the raging storm.
“Oh my Dear Recluse, I apologize!” Sage abandoned his parchment. He always moved quicker than Recluse anticipated, flitting to and fro like a honey bee buzzing from flower to flower. He had a bountiful garden of tasks, all of which required his attention and none of which he could organize properly. Recluse tried, trailing behind him, redirecting his attention, helping him place importance. How he managed before him, Recluse had no idea.
“I just want to make sure they get the most out of my lesson plans and my teachings. The storm throws a wrench into the plans I made you know. There are so many topics to cover and such little time! Oh! How about tea? I can have a fresh pot brewing in no time,” his words were quick in their succession, yet each syllable was given the same prompt punctuation as the last. Sage was a gifted speaker and Recluse couldn’t help but believe that if he really wanted to he could group two of his lesson plans together without the fear of expanding his scheduled time for his students. “Do you have a preference of flavor?”
Recluse shook his head, “Not particularly. I am fond of most of the blends you acquire.”
“Lucky for us Herald sent me some new blends and they arrived before the storm hit. What do you say we sample them together?”
And so Recluse continued to listen as Sage yammered on and on. He talked about the blends themselves, the plants which they came from, their medicinal properties, folk lore he’d read about them, favored blends among his friends, visiting his friends... This was the thing about Sage: everything was connected. He himself was one long string of unending thought, a run on sentence personified. At one point, Recluse may have found his voice grating and agitating when compared to the silence of his home.
Now?
He found a strange comfort in it. Something that soothed a dullness in his very soul.
“I apologize that you will be stuck here for the foreseeable future,” Sage sighed, taking a seat next to him once more on the chaise. “I know you like to return to your solitude to recoup after visits.”
“Think nothing of it.” It was times like this when a small part of Recluse wished he could force more emotion into his voice. His words sounded so flat even to his own ears. But he couldn’t so he decided to add more to his words. “You do not drain my energy nearly as quickly as most.”
He meant that. He really did. From the deepest parts of himself.
Sage was a special person to him, and their time together was something he cherished. Why else would he make such a trek so far from his home? Why else wouldn’t he turn around in such a treacherous storm? He could lie to himself, say that it was too late to turn around and head home, but he knew the truth. Seeing Sage was something he enjoyed, even with all of his constant yammering. He liked when he chose to walk, letting his heels click against the smooth stone tiles. He liked the way his sentences would trail off into a hum or a click of thought before continuing on. He loved their debates, illuminated by candlelight and carried off by soft summer breezes.
“You were contemplating your lessons before,” Recluse said, taking a sip of his tea. It warmed his bones and the spices lingered on his tongue. “You could use teas or other herbed consumables to shorten some of your lessons on potions. Use it to show them how different ingredients can come together. You could also use it as a metaphor for the Witches and creation.”
There was silence, and then a light warmth against his cheek, which transformed into a weight on his shoulder.
The heat that rose in his cheeks had nothing to do with the spices in the tea.
“Some may disagree with me, but I think you are very kind Recluse.”
“I think the some may be many.”
Sage snorted and his laughter shook Recluse’s shoulder. He had to sip at his tea once more to hide his own smile. A kiss on the cheek and laughter? Oh how the Witches were spoiling him. Sage had a unique laugh and when his jokes landed it made him feel proud. After all, many found his dry humor more concerning than funny, but Sage understood.
Sage pulled himself closer, wrapping his arms around Sage’s and making himself more comfortable on his shoulder. The silence stretched on and settled over them comfortably so. Every now and again the wind would rattle the windows as the storm continued to rage on. There was no telling how long it would continue on nor when his path would be walkable, but neither mattered.
“Dear Recluse?”
Sage’s voice was softer. Soft in a tactful way lest he shatter the fragile atmosphere that settled over them. Soft in a way that was so different from his normal boisterous tone. His fingers were carefully tracing along him, gentle meaningless meaningful shapes. He was also holding on tight in his softness.
Almost as if he feared scaring Recluse away.
“I am… fortunate that we can spend this time together…. It means the world to me.”
The shapes stopped and Sage’s fingers twitched as the anxiety settled over him, his grip tightening around Recluse’s arm.
Recluse mulled over his next words allowing the silence to settle from its disturbance once more. He wanted it to settle before he caused his own ripples in its smooth surface. He set his tea down, letting it clink against his saucer and settled Sage’s anxieties with the weight of his own head on top of his. That would have been enough, Recluse knew it was more than enough, and yet tonight he would go the extra mile. Tonight he would make Sage’s heart flutter with the delicate wings of joy. It wasn’t conceit that inspired these thoughts. He noticed the way Sage looked at him, the secrets he thought he kept so hidden from the world.
This was no secret.
This was simply unspoken.
But that didn’t make it any less real, any less true.
“My Dearest Sage. Our time together is not something I would trade for all of Earthbread.”
For once, Sage had nothing to say. His arms tightened around Recluse. It was an act of desperation, an act of unfathomable happiness. Perhaps they were both dreaming, and in the morning the raging storm will have been nothing but an act of some higher power playing with the yearnings of their hearts’ deepest desires.
But for now they were together.
Just them and an unspoken but known truth stretched between them.
And for now, just for now, that was more than enough.
Oh how lucky Sage was that Fortune favored him.
And how even luckier that Recluse favored him too.
The Sage of Truth did not even have to speak from his weak, so easily in love, heart. Scientifically, Truthless Recluse and the other beasts were fascinating to study. They were some of the oldest cookies on Earthbread, one of the few witch-baked who were still alive. Truthless Recluse had once been the Beacon of Knowledge, the first cookie to learn and understand magic, who had written and created many of the laws of magic and the spells still used today.
It was just a bonus that he was incredibly stubborn, with a gentle heart, and extraordinarily beautiful.
The Sage spat out a bit of jam and looked upwards. Even though he was bruised and bleeding and would definitely feel everything weeks from now, he couldn't help his grin.
Truthless Recluse was especially, beautifully, fascinating when he cast his magic.
You could feel it. It was like all of Earthbread sat up and paid attention as the dark orchid that made up the recluse's staff lit up with White Magic. The Sage definitely was, watching as Truthless Recluse mouthed something to himself, right before that staff was aimed right at him.
The Sage only had a moment to summon a shield, feeling the coldness of Dark Moon Magic, the magic he created, envelop him before the blast hit. Even as he gritted his teeth and focused on keeping the shield up, his eyes were locked on Truthless Recluse.
For a moment, he swore, the wonder of the magic faded.
SDVN Week Day 2: Secrets, "Light of Truth" x Shepherd Pure Vanilla
"Ohhh, Pure Vanilla! You're a lifesaver!"
"Oh, no, please, please, don't say that…"
His neighbor beamed at him. "Why not? Your remedies always have the best effects." She nudged him with the hand holding the tonic he had brewed up, teasingly. "What's your secret? It's like you always know!"
"Ah, well… mostly a lot of reading and gut instinct."
His neighbor sighed. "Ah, yes. Just think…" Oh no, he knew where this was going. "You're so talented, Pure Vanilla. Why on Earth did you refuse to go to that fancy school?"
This was a conversation that had been going on for years. The day he had refused to attend the Academy of Magic, the ones who had sent him a personal invitation, the village had been curious about it. Deep down, Pure Vanilla was sick of it. He even had a personal script for it by now.
"I just felt like my family needed the support more," he said, finishing with a pleasant smile that made it impolite to push.
His neighbor got the hint. "Well, thank you," she said. "Have a good rest of your day."
"You too."
He turned and walked away, trying his best not to run.
A warmth pulsed once he was sure out of eyeshot. Pure Vanilla glanced around, just to be sure, before he reached into his bag. Warmth pulsed again, this time under his fingers, and he picked it up.
The clover-shaped stone fit neatly in his palm. Even with his poor eyesight, he could make out its lovely blue, right before it spoke up. The gentle masculine voice made his shoulders slump with relief.
"You've gotten good at that lie, Pure Vanilla."
"It's not a lie if it's partly true," he said. At first, all he was focused on was helping his family, regardless of his talent. Nowadays, he had other reasons. He shook those thoughts away and focused. "Thank you again for your help. I wouldn't be able to brew that tonic without your help."
"What? Little ole me?" his friend teased. "You're the one creating a whole new class of magic!"
"Wha- no, no, that's not it. That's not what's happening." It couldn't be. The stone in his hand snickered, and Pure Vanilla felt himself relax again. "How are you doing, my friend?"
There was little he knew about his friend, the Light of Truth. He could not even explain how he discovered the stone. It just felt as if, one day, he was alone. The next day, the Light of Truth was there. Pure Vanilla didn't mind- despite the village's warmth to him, he didn't have many friends. The Light of Truth offered knowledge, offered help, offered company. As far as the cookie on the other side was willing to share, he had been sealed away a long time ago by a betrayal.
"Actuallyyyyyy…" He paused at the dragging out of the word. "I found a way out."
Pure Vanilla stared, wide-eyed. "…a way out? Are you certain?"
"Enough to tell you that I'll be by your side soon," The Light of Truth purred. "And I'll finally get to see your lovely face in person."
Before he could ask more questions, learn how long 'soon' was, the gleam of the stone died, Truth cutting off their connection. Pure Vanilla was left standing there. He blinked at the stone.
And then he took off at a run.
If 'soon' meant in a few days, he had so much to prepare!
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He always left, in the end. Before he woke up in the morning, he would slip away in the night. No matter how hard he tried to stay awake, to make him stay, Shadow Milk would slip away, like smoke between his fingers.
It hurt. It reminded him of White Lily and her eventual fate. How long until Shadow Milk pulled away from him forever?
Pure Vanilla didn't understand what was wrong with him. Why couldn't he just be happy that Shadow Milk trusted him enough to return, to find comfort in his arms? Why couldn't he understand him?
He wanted someone to stay.
He was desperate.
This time, Shadow Milk wouldn't slip away.
Their routine began as normal. Shadow Milk appeared, and the two spent time together, each moment passing with the sweetness of his comfort. This time, he was rambling about Black Sapphire's show, something about a new thing he was trying. Pure Vanilla nodded and made encouraging noises as he brewed the tea.
Shadow Milk was so focused on his story that he didn't notice Pure Vanilla didn't sip his tea at all.
After tea, they moved on to their next activity together, traditionally paperwork, while Shadow Milk read or sewed. These moments were precious to him- especially now. Traditionally, they would work until Shadow Milk made him eat or sleep, upon which they would retire, and Shadow Milk would slip away.
Tonight, though…
He glanced back.
Shadow Milk was asleep, as planned. His face was collapsed in his book. Even his eyes were shut, snoozing away. His heart warmed at the sight as he stood, walking over. He reached out and smoothed his hand across Shadow Milk's back, moving down to his wrist.
He reached out and pulled out the cuffs.
Made of silver, enchanted against the power of the soul jam, they slipped easily around Shadow Milk's slender wrists. The moment they clicked on, a soft blue pulsed, allowing the cuffs to lock.
He would be angry, but he would be here, with him.
As long as they were together, Pure Vanilla was happy.
Pure Vanilla's new companion threw his hat over his shoulder. It appeared careless, but he was able to see the purple sparks that guided the hat to the hat rack. He set aside his mask, revealing the purple mark that stretched across one lavender eye, much more carefully. Pure Vanilla scooted up before he collapsed across the bed, sighing contentedly.
After a moment, he reached out, running his fingers across one of Pure Vanilla's tails. "You're all grey with the slightest hint of blue. It looks good, but it also gets boring."
"Thank you."
"That last part wasn't part of the compliment."
"I know," Pure Vanilla's tail twitched under the caress of his fingers. "I rather like my look."
"Yes, but-" Shadow Milk sat up and, with a poof of purple and glitter, a sketchbook popped up. Ah, he had been thinking about this for a while. He sat up and set aside his book, at least to appear polite. "How would anyone know we're matched together?"
Pure Vanilla hummed. "I think our marks would reveal it enough," he said, tugging on his collar. Grey fur poofed up there, but it failed to hide the pattern of purple diamond marks that made his familiar mark. He reached out, tugging on the ribbon bow that sat at Shadow Milk's throat. "At least, if you didn't cover yours."
Shadow Milk's throat was decorated with soft ombre blue-grey that more resembled the vines of vanilla orchids. He couldn't help but trace the marks, remembering the day that Shadow Milk had summoned him. He had his reservations, but so far, things were progressing rather well between the two- if the blush that was covering his summoner's face wasn't enough of a hint.
"Yeah, but, all good double acts have at least matching colors!" Shadow Milk pulled away, flipping through the sketchbook. He held up the pages. "Come on, at least give me your thoughts! I worked hard!"
"Alright, alright…"
Maybe, if he liked one of these, the fox could make his summoner consider taking on his colors.
His hair already had such a fetching shade of blue…
The call came in a gentle whisper of a breeze, gently pressing into his ear.
"My Puck…my dear friend… I need you."
Without a thought, he pulled away from the puppet show he was doing, ignoring the cries and groans of his puppets, and headed deeper into the woods. The moon was rising, bright and full, and by the time he reached his king, it was shining sweetly down on him.
Pure Vanilla, king of the grass fairies, looked over his shoulder and smiled at him. Even sitting in a tree overlooking a small clearing, he looked perfect and unruffled. "My dear Shadow Milk," he cooed sweetly, offering his hand. Shadow Milk took it and allowed his king to guide him down to the tree branch.
He was always doing that. While most wrote Shadow Milk off as a trickster, a liar, Pure Vanilla embraced him. He never seemed to mind Shadow Milk's oddities, like his hooves and horns, nor his jabs and pranks. He did mind his crueler pranks, but Shadow Milk didn't mind stopping those. He wasn't sure why- he had never been the kindest to Pure Vanilla, nor the friendliest- but his king had given him the honor of naming him his Puck, his jester, his right hand, and so he kept his mouth shut and soaked up the attention.
"Nilly," he sighed back, and Pure Vanilla beamed softly. "What brings you to call upon me?"
"I have a task for you," Pure Vanilla said, nodding down. "Watch."
Shadow Milk followed his gaze.
After a moment, bushes rustled and pulled apart, allowing a broad-shouldered woman with pink hair to walk through. She reached back and helped a smaller, pink-haired woman through. The first woman wore two backpacks while the second woman held a blanket and a lyre, allowing her other hand to grip the handle of a cane.
"They're lovers, from the city," Pure Vanilla explained softly. He probably could've shouted and the two wouldn't have noticed. The two seemed lost in their own world, whispering softly back and forth. The smaller one said something that made the other smile, right before she scooped her up and spun, prompting shrieks of laughter. "They're running away from the first woman's arranged marriage to start a new life together. Isn't that romantic?"
"Dramatic is what I would call it," Shadow Milk plopped down to watch the two, soaking in the way they interacted. Finally, they left. "You know what would make it even better?"
"What?"
"If her spouse-to-be was chasing after them, on horseback and everything."
They weren't the first people to try to cut through their forest to escape something. More than once, Shadow Milk had the delight of seeing horses charge after them- either the horses caught them, allowing him the gory delight of execution, or just crying, or the runaways would be clever and make a daring escape.
Pure Vanilla's smile strained, and he nodded down again.
The bushes rustled again. This time, a knight in dark armor stalked through, leading the reins of a dark horse. He didn't hold the bushes open for a slender young woman with white hair and a green and red dress, hurrying after him. She attempted to speak, he ignored her. Tears beaded up in her eyes, he scoffed. Every attempt at interaction was ignored.
Ooh. This was even better.
"Is that her would-be groom? And his ex?"
"I suppose so," Pure Vanilla sounded sad, and Shadow Milk only had to glance at him to know he was watching the white-haired woman. After a moment, he looked away, towards him. "I was hoping you could help the lovers escape, and help that poor girl."
"Hmm-"
"No murder."
"Aww," Shadow Milk had a few ideas, though. There was a flower he knew of, with delicate pink petals and a sweet pollen. Pure Vanilla himself had fallen victim to such a flower before, and Shadow Milk had delighted in seeing him so loopy over the moon before finding a cure. "Don't worry, Nilly, nobody will end up dead."
Pure Vanilla's smile could've outshone the sun. "I believe in you," he said, standing up. Shadow Milk followed and blinked as the smaller faerie was suddenly close, his hands pressing against his chest. "You always find a way."
Before he could think to ask for his line, Pure Vanilla leaned forward.
His lips burned, so sweetly, against his cheek.
And then, he pulled away, lifting up before Shadow Milk could even process.
