Purify

by windyyyyy

Summary:

Long ago, the wind currents encountered the Red Dragon's Bead nestled up on the coast of Crispia Sea. Wind Archer Cookie bore witness.

Notes:

betaed by the lovely sunflowersonthepage <3

Chapter 1: the wind blow back to you

The forest was marvelous as ever.

The voices of faeries jingled so differently from the faeries of Maze Grove. For as the Millennial Tree's roots were more abundant within Maze Grove, so too were creatures that emulated his elegance. The creatures among the bordering Forest of Life, however, chirped about excitedly, with not a drop of modesty in them. They circled around the bow in Wind Archer Cookie's hand, grinning widely as if there wasn’t a God in their midst, albeit deeper into the trees.

A God. Wind Archer Cookie’s God. The Celestial Light had granted him—with such generosity—the eternal opportunity to not only protect his homeland of the Paradise, but the Millennial Tree itself. Hundreds of years in, he felt nothing but gratitude. He knew exactly why they would grant him such a task; the wind exists beyond the forest, as does the Millennial Tree's roots. Even so, he was riddled with confusion and awe at such an opportunity. This alone demanded nothing but perfection. 

So he remained right here, shooting at the bullseye perched on a tree. Archery was the only activity that calmed his rampant thoughts. The repetitive nature of pull, aim, fire felt secure, like a soft blanket of safety. After all, if he could improve his ability to protect the Tree, surely it would guarantee the Tree’s safety for the rest of eternity.

Perhaps he would practice until midnight. 

As alluring as that sounded, Wind Archer Cookie felt oddly distracted. The Trees of Life were unusually quiet for such a sunny evening. It implied that the wind currents had chosen to travel at their own accord today. He grumbled at their misbehavior. He could easily tell when a flight path wasn't his own. 

He closed his eyes and tuned into the airflow out of curiosity. The ability was a gift bestowed upon him by the Light, so he would dare not neglect it. 

Curiously, the wind was pushing southeast towards the Crispia Sea, moving steadily along the shore. He couldn’t recall the last time he'd observed this area. He could hear the waves crashing distantly.

Days like these were peaceful. The wind currents were traveling happily through the forest, quickening to no more than a breeze. The scent of pine wafted through the air, cleansing his soul of impurity. 

This was peace. 

…

His eyes shot open.

In an instant, he reached into his quiver for another arrow, pulled it back, aimed, and fired, blindly forcing some wind energy into the shot.

It landed on the target, but not on the bullseye. His shoulders drooped and he scorned his work. How could he have been so distracted? He stepped through the long grass to retrieve the arrow, scolding himself the whole way to the tree.

What if it had been a real fight? What would you have done then?

He reached for the arrow with his right before hearing a small cry in the far, far distance. The wind was calling out to him.

The arrow fell from his grasp, and he whipped his head in the direction of the sound. He caught a crashing of waves; it was the currents he'd been distracted by mere seconds ago. He indulged in it once more, feeling it closely.

Suddenly, a hot flash jolted Wind Archer Cookie from his inspection. His dough tingled with a burning sting, and the breeze carried traces of fire. When the feeling of fire faded, sparks of impurity and darkness traveled up his arms and legs. He shivered, heaving a shaky breath. 

There were signs of corruption near the forest.

He grabbed his arrow from the ground, securing it in his quiver. Before he even had the chance to think, his body soared off the ground and into the direction of Maze Grove. 

No threat simply meandered its way into the forest on his watch. Not a soul was to lay a finger on it. And if that meant risking his own life, then so be it.

-

Wind Archer Cookie never got lost in Maze Grove. Through hundreds of years of experience, he knew every nook and cranny of the place—his home.

Despite this, the traces of darkness he’d felt wafting along the shore obscured his sense of direction, and he scrambled around the twists and turns of the Grove, bewildered by the walls of trees that suddenly seemed so unfamiliar. 

He rounded a corner, and there was Millennial Tree Cookie, waiting patiently. 

“You are back quite early, Wind Archer Cookie,” he cooed in his soft tenor. “Is something the matter?”

Wind Archer forced himself onto one knee, bowing his head, “I am terribly sorry, my Tree. I have neglected my training and, as such, my sacred duty as a guardian. This shall never happen again, and I ask that you inflict upon me whatever punishment you see fit for my sins. Please do not hesitate to scold, berate, or even abandon–”

“Stop.” 

He held his breath. Golden butterflies perched on his arms and legs, deeming him an amicable resting spot.

“Wind Archer Cookie, must I tell you time and time again that you are the most exceptional gift the Witches could have bestowed upon me? I would never harm you. Depreciating yourself only serves to upset me.”

Wind Archer rose his head back up to gaze into the gentle, olive eyes of his master. “Thank you, my Tree,” he replied softly. The golden butterflies scattered and retreated into the towering trees. He reveled in the beauty of his master; such a kind soul. 

“Of course, but,” he digressed, “you never answered my question. Is something the matter? You look as though you’ve seen a ghost.”

The guardian rose to his feet, unabashedly locking eyes with his master, “I foolishly neglected my training to listen into the wind. The currents were heading directly to the beaches of Crispia Sea, and…” he paused as his stomach tied up in knots, “I felt a surge in heat. Then traces of dark energy.”

A silence followed. Wind Archer could have sworn he’d seen the Millennial Tree’s eyes widen for just a moment. Then, he spoke.

“Ah. I see.” A pause. “A surge in heat, you say?”

“Yes, my Tree.”

“That…can’t be right.”

He paused once again, taking a moment to think. Finally, after a moment, he asked, “Forgive me, Wind Archer Cookie, but…may I hold your hands for a moment? I’d like to feel the energy for myself and see what I receive.”

Wind Archer hesitated. He did not like being touched. Even so, he held out his hands. He flinched at the feeling of the Millennial Tree’s warm palms. Despite the discomfort, he closed his eyes, sensing the wind currents once more. Each feeling repeated itself; first the cry from the wind, then the hot flash, and finally the darkness. When Millennial Tree pulled away, Wind Archer opened his eyes and felt relief wash over him.

“Ah,” was all he said.

“What is it, my Tree?”

He paused for a moment, “I would like you to investigate this matter, Wind Archer Cookie. Travel down to the origin of the darkness and do what you must to fend it off. Could you do that for me?”

“Absolutely, my Tree,” the archer’s knee hit the floor, and he bowed his head, “You do not have to ask for approval. If you ask, it is done.” He stood once more and turned back towards the maze, traversing the hanging vines and drooping leaves.

“Ah, wait a moment,” the golden butterflies began swarming around him, beckoning him back towards his master, “I have something for you.”

The Tree rummaged through his robe and held out his hand. There sat five silver coins with the insignia of a cookie. “What for?” Wind Archer asked, taking them anyway.

“I have a feeling you might need them.”

Wind Archer paused and looked up at him once again, “I see. Thank you for your unending hospitality.” He turned back around again, coins in hand. 

“Oh, and, Wind Archer…” he called once more. 

Once again, he turned back around. The butterflies finally settled on Millennial Tree’s arms or otherwise retreated into the forest. His soft, unreadable eyes were driving him mad. As awful as it was to admit, he wouldn’t be entirely opposed to reading the cookie’s mind, be it for just a moment.

“Yes?”

“Remember that I can protect the forest on my own.” 

Wind Archer raised an eyebrow, “Of course, my Tree. But you needn’t worry. I will be back within the day.”

“Oh, yes. Of course.” A pause. “See you then.”

He bowed one last time, “Goodbye.”

And back into the maze he went. 

Chapter 2: to grimy shores waging war

For the entire rest of the evening, Wind Archer Cookie crossed the vast continent. The hot sun prickled at his dough, ultimately forcing him to direct his flight path towards the cool currents. These left him with only brief moments of solace. Consequently, the journey had been long and draining. He had anticipated a lengthy flight, but not to such an extent. He was partly to blame; he hadn’t visited the shore in a millennia, so it was difficult to measure the journey ahead.

The scenery served as a nice distraction from his fatigue. Lengthy flower fields blossomed in vast mosaics of color. As dandelion seeds fluttered past his eyes, he nearly stopped to admire the cherry trees that sprouted from the piedmont of a large mountain. The pinnacle of beauty.

His admiration ended as quickly as it began, for the nearing shore had made itself evident through the pulsing embrace of pure, unadulterated darkness.

His heart sank. He inhaled deeply. Cautiously descending towards the surface, his gaze wandered to the waves that washed ashore. His feet hit the sand and he scoured the area. Even with no visible threat, the presence of the energy was clear. The water reeked.

Eyeing the waves once more, he caught a glimmer of light from under the shadow of a tall tree. He stepped closer, recoiling at a sudden surge in energy below him. Upon closer inspection, a small red object appeared to be nestled in the sand, the blue waves crashing up against it. Wind Archer Cookie’s stomach dropped.

The object—or orb, rather—was a crimson red. It had an opaque, crystalline exterior with an orange coat of color spiking up from the bottom in the shape of…a flame.

The Red Dragon's Bead.

Wind Archer Cookie exhaled sharply. The fallen spirit had gotten into trouble, not a surprise by any means. The darkness, however, was. Where was his staff?

He kneeled down and lurched the bead from its place in the sand. The sea breeze encircled his body, protecting him from the suffocating presence that lay within. He'd expected it to burn his hands, but it was surprisingly lukewarm. How odd.

He shifted his right hand a bit and felt something sharp graze his palm. His eyebrows knitted together tightly. Rotating it further, a very large and ugly crack revealed itself, as well as the violet essence emerging from its center. Darkness ran rampant to its core and it thrummed in his hands like the heartbeat of a beast.

The currents of the sea he had tuned into just hours ago met his side and skirted their way past the exposed crystalline, the cool breeze lingering about his arms.

So this was what they had found.

-

Wind Archer Cookie sat alone in the sand, squinting thoughtfully at the bead. His eyes drifted from it to the dimming horizon.

He grumbled to himself. He would have never considered the possibility of such a predicament. Despite their both being guardians, him and the fallen spirit had never truly been on good term. Years had passed since they'd spoken to one another, and he held no intention of changing that. Although the fallen spirit certainly had a history of being a hassle, it was never to the point of cracking his bead, with his staff strewn across Earthbread somewhere. It was practically unheard of. Only a being leagues more powerful than him could ever dream of doing such a thing.

“What a fine display of stupidity,” he found himself saying aloud.

This needed to be wrapped up quickly. The forest beckoned him back—the risk of its peril only rose higher and higher in his absence—but he couldn’t possibly take the bead into the forest with the energy it gave off (as the Trees of Life might have the fit of the century). The darkness could even spread. Spread beyond the bead and onto the forest floor, to the trees, to the faeries. What if the spirit awoke, and he were sent running rabid, burning down everything in sight?

Wind Archer Cookie would never forgive himself.

He exhaled sharply. Of all people, it had to come down to him. The fallen spirit is a phony, Wind Archer rationalized. He gained his powers through unnatural means—a deal with a dragon no less—rendering him wholly unworthy of holding the title of “fire itself.” He was not so shaped by his forces of nature like Wind Archer was, for the guardian was shaped by the wind from the ground up. On top of that, he did idiotic things for fun, threw himself into danger for the sake of doing so, and never once showed Wind Archer any ounce of respect. He was impulsive, moronic, irritating, and Wind Archer would gain nothing from helping him.

Most of all, he was practically incapable of doing good for cookies when he had nothing to gain. He had made that evident in his actions—or lack thereof—during the war. 

He almost dared to get up and walk away, but his master came to mind, and so too did a doctrine of his own: protect all beings from the darkness, regardless of their intent. While otherwise his sacred duty, his own soul itself seemed to dread the idea of leaving the bead behind, whether at the accord of the wind or not. After all, the spirit's condition could very well be a death sentence. Perhaps the sea breeze crying out to Wind Archer was his own subconscious, distantly aware of a being at risk.

Or perhaps not. Perhaps the wind had predicted the possibility of the darkness within this bead reaching the forest. That it could spread beyond its vessel, and thus, to his master. Nevertheless, all he had to do was…get it away from the forest.

It was decided then. Wind Archer Cookie would keep the bead far away. The plan was simple: heal it, have the fallen spirit (or the wind, if it came down to it) pinpoint the location of the staff, then let him fly off in bead form and handle the rest. Wind Archer would not only be performing his sacred duty, but also putting distance between the fallen spirit and the Tree. Above anything, it wouldn’t take long at all. 

He recognized he felt particularly low on energy—sleep beckoned him more than usual—but he figured he would spend the last of it on the bead rather than wake up to find it shattered. Being a nuisance certainly didn’t warrant a death sentence, no matter how little one contributed to the protection of Earthbread.

Carefully picking it up again, Wind Archer surveyed the large cracks. An ugly, murky, violet substance coated the creases, and their place of origin—the giant fracture in the center—was a suffocating vacuum of light that constricted his breathing. It seemed to suck up his life force in spite of the surrounding winds’ efforts to protect him. Wind Archer briefly considered the immense physical pain the fallen spirit would be in were he conscious.

He called upon the wind currents that clamored about the shore—even those that lied southeast towards Dragon’s Valley—to heal the bead before him. Kneeling and closing his eyes, the emerald atop his forehead began to glow a bright green. The breeze instantly picked up, whipping around him readily. Droplets of salt water whipped about and splashed against his dough, yet made a keen effort to avoid the bead. Soon enough, the gust evolved into a gale, then the gale into a tempest, all contained between Wind Archer Cookie’s fingertips.

His body was in no way prepared to transmit such strong energy to a cookie, let alone the fallen spirit. (His sugary makeup wasn’t intended for healing others, unlike his master or the Ancients, who were created for the sole purpose of healing). But his heart panged ever so vaguely at the sight of the cracks splicing the bead open, and ached at the presence of the darkness alone. It was reminiscent of the deeply rooted melancholy he felt towards the forest; the ever-present memories of Maze Grove briefly falling victim to the darkness year after year, century after century.

His palms gradually tingled with warmth. Slowly but surely, the cracks began to seal. Whether he'd sat there for minutes or hours, Wind Archer couldn’t recall. What he could recall, however, was the feeling of his head hitting the sand, and his body pulling him into a deep, deep slumber. 

Notes:

ty for the help from bestie sunflowersonthepage !!

Chapter 3: in my birthday suit

The feeling of a searing burn. Wind Archer Cookie’s eyes shot open.

He launched himself across the beach, frantically reaching for an arrow from his quiver. The momentum sent the sand below him scattering into clouds of dust. He aimed vaguely at the dark, bowstring pressed up against the burnt dough on his hand. 

“Show yourself, fiend!”

The sand cleared. A small, bright light glowed warmly in the distance, a small illumination in the ever-consuming darkness. As it came into view, hot puffs of air brushed against Wind Archer’s cheeks, carrying a distinct humidity. He took a deep breath and tiptoed closer, arrow clenched tightly in vigilance.

With each step, the silhouette of a cookie came into view. Wind Archer Cookie eyed them, taking careful note of their every last detail: they floated above the sand with a neutral expression, devoid of any life; they lacked any sort of clothing, or even simple accessory; their hair crackled brightly atop their head, peculiarly resembling the fallen spirit’s; their dough glowed a rich golden color, the same as their hair; most notably, however, was their bright, blinding flames. Why, Wind Archer could feel the heat from across the beach.

“That can’t possibly be you, fallen spirit,” he muttered, weapon now at ease. He sheathed it behind his back.

Alas, the bead remained nestled in its rightful place in the sand. The spirit moved closer to the crashing waves, his back now turned to Wind Archer. The now healed cracks on the bead, he noted, didn’t seem to affect his physical form whatsoever.

How curious for the spirit to be so out of hue, so out of expression. Nothing about this cookie resembled him—besides the hair or the heat or his stature, but he digressed. To what extent could this not be him at all?

He stared at the spirit and thought, really thought for a moment. And yes, he thought, of course.

Side by side in battle, Wind Archer Cookie had seen the fallen spirit like this before—in this form. His eyes had always been almost comically dull. His attacks were sporadic yet calculated, violent yet within reason. It never truly felt like the fallen spirit, but it didn’t not either. He simply wasn’t in full control of his body, and for good reason: if a cookie consciously drained that much energy all at once, they would—at best—slowly crumble away. Perhaps his physical form was dissociating into this…golden form…to protect him from the damage dealt to his bead. An energy conservation of sorts.

“You,” Wind Archer Cookie called out to him. “Look at me.”

The spirit whipped his head around, and they locked eyes. Ever so slightly, his raging flames softened. Wind Archer tilted his head. “Do you know where you are?”

Dull eyes stared for a moment. They drifted down at the sand, over towards the water, and then back at Wind Archer. The spirit didn’t answer.

“Fallen spirit, do you know where you are?” he repeated, sternly this time.

Once again, he didn’t answer. Instead, he floated only closer to Wind Archer, who grunted at the burning heat hovering against his dough. Wind Archer brought up an arm to shield himself from the bright light. The spirit seemed to be looking him up and down.

Then he poked Wind Archer’s left arm.

“Don’t touch me!” Wind Archer lurched his arm away from his face and took a few generous steps back, gently rubbing the burn with his right hand. The same thing likely occurred when Wind Archer Cookie awoke.

That hurt. Why on Earthbread would that hurt? The spirit was conserving energy. He would be cooling off, would he not?

Upon Wind Archer's loud declaration, the spirit stared into his eyes, down at the bead in the sand, then back at him. It tilted its head inquisitively.

“I found your bead on the beach just this evening,” Wind Archer finally explained. “You appear to have injured yourself.” He motioned towards the bead, picking it up and inspecting it briefly. He applauded his work; nearly all the cracks had disappeared, all but the large fracture in the center—it still reeked of the energy, but much less so. Perhaps he’d healed it more than he thought.

The spirit simply glanced at the bead, then back at him, then nodded.

“That darkness within it,” Wind Archer Cookie took a reluctant step forward and lifted the bead up for the spirit to see, “any idea where it came from?” The spirit set his feet on the surface, the sand sizzling beneath his flames, melting into glass at his touch. As predicted, he didn’t answer, only squinted at the fracture in his vessel. Curiously, the spirit lifted his arm and traced his palm along one of the tiny cracks.

In an instant, his hot hands flew to his mouth in disgust.

A once blank expression morphed into one of revulsion, and his head whipped back and forth in exasperation, flames sparking off in all directions. Wind Archer Cookie took a step back, setting the bead down in the sand and reaching behind to grab his bow, hand hovering by it with uncertainty.

“What’s the matter?” he forced out.

The spirit began to writhe in place, then lurched forward to heave. But instead of doing so, his body abruptly fell limp, and his flames stilled. All at once, his physical form retreated back into the bead.

The beach fell back into complete darkness, the moon its only company.

-

The fracture went deeper than Wind Archer previously thought.

Dark energy happened to have a rather infuriating way of disguising itself. If given the opportunity, it feasted on the bodies of beings—mortals and immortals alike—and took them as their own. Once occupied, it crept into tiny, hidden crevices and drew out any available energy to remain invisible, undetectable to the naked eye even for immortals. 

In other words, the creature of darkness using the Red Dragon’s Bead as its host was drawing out the bead's sheer power to render itself hidden in plain sight—no thanks, in part, to Wind Archer’s healing.

The fallen spirit, he figured, knew very little about his current circumstance. His body and mind were engrossed in a panic mode of sorts, and it made all the difference; the golden spirit appeared to be going off of instinct alone, unaware of his surroundings or why he was even there. In all likelihood, he sought to be free from the confines of the bead—of the energy—because he instinctively felt the severity of the threat it posed rather than consciously knowing it.

That is also likely why he broke down upon touching it. The spirit would have known the dark energy quite well—he had been stuck with it in the bead, after all—so perhaps he assumed the spirit form was his escape from such a threatening presence. With a single touch, that false assumption all but vanished.

Why one would touch it in the first place, however, Wind Archer did not know. Perhaps it was the fallen spirit's predisposition to stupidity.

Wind Archer Cookie gently pressed a warm breeze into the crystalline fractures, periodically turning his head away to breathe in air not so…pungent with energy. The crystal atop his head dimmed and exhaustion crept at his fingertips, but he dared not close his eyes.

As reluctantly as he healed it, there was no doubt that the fallen spirit’s injuries hurt. The golden spirit’s reaction suggested a more serious matter at hand, the dry heaving implying the darkness could have been manifesting as some type of illness or—as mortals called it—digestive pain (immortals, especially Wind Archer, were rather indisposed to eating). Indeed, it gave way to a more severe hypothesis: that something was growing from the inside, slowly consuming the bead so as to take it as its host.

But he worried not. Wind Archer was more than capable of fending off the energy, and the staff would most certainly speed up the process.

On the other hand, he considered whether or not he was just delaying the inevitable: a full-on corruption. What if, when he awoke, the fallen spirit was still in pain? What if his physical form somehow broke off from the golden form, instead opting for one formed by the darkness? What if the bead shattered?

What a predicament. Why was he doing this? He cared very little for the wellbeing of the spirit, and concerning himself with such matters went against his sacred duty—to protect the forest. He scoffed at his inability to leave something like this alone, his inability to just stick to the plan and force the spirit to grin and bear it. What was a small order from the Tree suddenly became an undertaking.

How noble it is to worry yourself over a heathen, he chastised, you coward.

Wind Archer’s eyelashes fluttered up to gaze at the moonlight, her cool radiance casting upon the water. His mind wandered so; to The Divine Sea, who believed her only purpose was to be beside The Slumbering Moon forever, and how that resulted in the fate that befell her. When Wind Archer had learned of the tower, he found himself reasoning that it was an inevitability. The Sea was always so distracted by the plight of The Moon that she lost sight of her true purpose: to oversee the Flow of Life.

Sea Fairy Cookie had simply been a weakling for meddling in the affairs of anything otherwise.

But alas, he was here now, doing exactly that. And—as he feared—he was riddled with unwanted anxieties. The irrational thoughts that crept in and told him—no, convinced him—that the bead was going to shatter if he let go of it. That he could never sleep.

He shook his head. Those were but anxieties. He simply had to ignore them.

The sea breeze wisped past his fingers in earnest, slowly encircling the bead. He sighed with contempt for the situation. Were his thoughts so loud that the wind itself was now comforting him through it?

No, it seemed. For the wind was now encircling the bead and the bead alone, arching past his palms to create a protective barrier. It was doing the work for him.

“Thank you,” Wind Archer Cookie supplied. “I am rather tired. Forgive me.” Wind Archer set it down beside him before laying his head upon the sand, eyes facing towards the bead. “I’m going to rest my head for a minute,” he declared. “Please keep it safe. Rest assured, I will continue in a moment.”

Under the light of the moon, such plans rarely come to fruition. That night, Wind Archer Cookie dreamt of fairies, vines, and the Millennial Tree’s saccharine smile.