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The sun had just climbed high over the spires of the Vanilla Kingdom, bathing the gardens in golden light. Custard Cookie the Third stood proudly on the dew-kissed grass, his kingly white blouse brushing soft petals as a warm breeze stirred. He puffed out his chest, clearing his throat.
“Ahem! Your king is here!” he declared.
By his feet, a cake hound pup wagged its tail, a small sugar-crack on its paw where it had stumbled earlier in the garden. It was hardly more than a scratch, nothing serious at all. But to little Custard, it was the perfect chance to prove his royal skill.
He had seen Pure Vanilla Cookie do it countless times. Kneeling beside the wounded, murmuring words of comfort as light blossomed in his palms. Healing magic wasn’t just power. It was responsibility, the very thing that made a king worthy in his eyes.
And Custard Cookie the Third was going to be a glorious king one day! He had sworn it long ago, before the custard on his head had even finished taking shape. And he had vowed to his own reflection that as his descendent, he would be just like Pure Vanilla in every way.
So of course, he would master giving orders and healing magic just like him, too.
Custard squeezed his scepter. A soft glow pulsed at its tip. It swelled brighter, flaring until golden sparks wrapped the cake hound in a shimmer that glittered like starlight.
When the glow faded, the crack was gone. The pup yipped cheerfully as it bounded off into the nearby flowerbeds, chasing the drifting petals that danced in the air.
Not far away, Pure Vanilla Cookie rose from a vanilla-carved bench and brushed a trace of dew from his robes. He strolled along the garden path as Custard hurried after him, his red cape snagging briefly on a large bed of blooming lilies before he tugged it free.
“D-did you see that?! It worked!” the young cookie exclaimed, spinning on the path so that his cape flared regally around him. “Make way, for your king has healed the wounded!”
Pure Vanilla smiled fondly, his gaze steady on the little one. "You’re growing stronger every day, young one.”
Custard puffed up proudly as he waved his scepter. “Of course I am! A king doesn’t stay small forever, you know. Soon, all my royal subjects in the kingdom will rely on me!”
Pure Vanilla hummed thoughtfully as he walked again, his smile never fading.
“Rely on you, yes… not just for orders or healing, but for your kindness.”
Pure Vanilla’s eyes observed the garden around them. Rows of vanilla orchids swayed delicately in the breeze, their pale blossoms glowing faintly in the morning light. A gardener cookie knelt nearby, whistling a tune as they freed a tangled vine.
“A true king doesn’t only stand above his subjects. He walks among them, so his followers know he is with them,” he continued.
For a moment, Custard looked unsettled, his steps slowing. “…Walk among them?” he repeated. “But I already do that! I walk among the ‘common’ cookies all the time!”
Pure Vanilla chuckled lightly, like a breeze through sugar leaves.
“Ah, but there’s a difference! To walk among them not only for their bows or praises, but to listen. To hear every cookie’s troubles, to share their joys, and to carry their burdens when they cannot. That is what a king must learn.”
Custard frowned in thought as he scuffed at the grass with one boot.
“…Carry their burdens? But they’re my subjects!” he protested, his voice wobbling with confusion. “Isn’t it their job to carry things for me?”
Pure Vanilla placed his hands behind his back as he looked ahead at the sunlight spilling over the hedges.
“Subjects will carry out your orders, yes. They will bring you food, build your kingdom, and bow when you pass. That is their duty.”
He glanced back knowingly at Custard, who was kicking up a fallen petal with his other boot.
“But duty alone does not create loyalty. If you wish for them to follow you not because they must, but because they want to, then you must show them kindness."
At his words, Custard seemed to fall into deep thought. Sensing this, Pure Vanilla slowed his steps and laid a gentle hand atop the young cookie’s head.
“Even the smallest weight lifted from another’s shoulders can mean the world.” He added.
Custard tilted his head up. “…But they’ll still know I’m the king, right?”
Pure Vanilla let his hand slip down to rest on the young cookie’s shoulder.
“They will know even more surely. A crown and scepter makes them see you as king. But kindness makes them believe you are one.”
Custard shifted his stance, trying to soak up his words.
“When you let others feel your care as if you were their friend, that’s when they’ll truly place their trust in their king.” Pure Vanilla added.
After a short pause, the young cookie nodded. “Hmph… well, I suppose all that still sounds kingly.” His voice dropped, quieter now. “But it doesn’t sound very grand.”
For a moment, he stilled. Then, as though a spark had lit inside him, Custard straightened and lifted his chin.
“Good thing I was born with a king’s grand presence!” he declared, striking a confident pose.
Just then, the cake hound pup Custard had healed bounded back to them. It barked approvingly, as it bounced in delighted circles around Custard.
Pure Vanilla chuckled, his voice rich with amusement. “Indeed! Even this loyal beast knows his king’s greatness.”
Custard glanced down at the pup, who barked again as if in perfect agreement. His eyes lit up, and laughter burst from him like fireworks. He bent slightly, scooping the little cake hound into his arms.
“Very well then! I, Custard Cookie the Third, shall be the most burden-carrying, joy-sharing, problem-listening, true king Earthbread has ever known!”
The cake hound pup leapt out from Custard’s arms, bouncing in delighted circles at his feet, its barks ringing like cheers for its favorite king.
Pure Vanilla’s heart swelled fondly with pride and love.
“I have no doubt you will, young one. You will not be alone in your path.”
Custard’s cheeks flushed as red as chili peppers. Without thinking, he tugged at the elder cookie’s robe, his small hands bunching the fabric as he ducked his head into the folds.
“Thank you, great great great… I don’t know how many greats… Grandpapa!”
Pure Vanilla’s smile softened. Without a word, he let an arm curl gently around the little cookie, holding him close.
At that, something inside Custard seemed to loosen. Before he realized it, he was nuzzling into the elder cookie’s robes, clinging tighter as though he could pour every bit of his appreciation and love into that single embrace.