Work Text:
It could be that after he knocks her elaborate, beloved block-tower kingdom down enough times and sees it withstand him… watches it cling on, past crumbling, past Soul Cheese, past reason… he feels a spark of pride. Of Change, long forgotten. Through all his spice-smoke haze, all his boredom, the former Herald of Change never thought the nature of Cookie societies could change, too. Could surprise him, after all these ages.
Burning Spice Cookie thought only Destruction could make him feel alive, anymore, you know. Only the hunt. Ripping off those proud glittering golden wings, not watching them catch in the sun. But after a particularly brutal decimation, let’s say, he goes back to check on Golden Cheese Cookie’s ruins. Tsks under his breath, muttering about the futility, the pointlessness of thinking that his little bird might have been able to hang on a while longer to keep him company. To build towers so he can knock them down; to claim so resolutely that what he knows with every crumb of his dough to be true might yet be mercifully wrong.
Some things can stay, Golden Cheese promises. Treasures can last, if you fight hard enough, if you hold tight enough. The world won’t just slip through your fingers every single time, like so much parmesan sand.
But… in Burning Spice Cookie’s experience… they will. Oh, they will.
Still.
Burning Spice Cookie returns to a desert that should be a wasteland, spice-scorched earth, nothing worth salvaging. But it isn’t: he finds a fondue oasis, finds bold golden towers that sting even his fiery eyes when the light hits just right. Finds Smoked Cheese Cookie coordinating a crew of monsters to rebuild. Again. Again, and always again.
He is barred at the gate by Burnt Cheese Cookie, obviously, who is brave and stubborn enough to offer trials he knows a Cookie like Burning Spice could never hope to pass. A weightless heart, mm? Anyone would expect Burning Spice to smash through the trials: attack, as he always attacks. Ordinarily, this is where another battle would begin, and so many tender innocent things would be crushed in his path. But this time, Burning Spice just asks if he can see her, can ask her a question.
“Say yes, I suppose,” Smoked Cheese sighs to Burnt Cheese. “Maybe we’ll be able to keep the gate from getting completely wrecked, if we do. Her Majesty included all of her old friends, on this gate... she wanted to show them.”
“When it’s proven that you’re lying, we will have a thousand boiling hot liquid-cheese geysers aimed straight for you,” Burnt Cheese Cookie promises.
And, “Good. You’re learning. But that isn’t enough… and I’m not lying,” answers Burning Spice.
He allows Burnt Cheese to bind his wrists, and Smoked Cheese to lead him through the kingdom, moving as easily as winding smoke, himself. Every time it’s forced to rebuild, this kingdom innovates… Mozzarella Cookie comes up with new ingenious devices to improve lives and help withstand Destruction Himself’s next attack. It’s beginning to occur to him that… maybe… Golden Cheese Cookie really has sunk her claws in so deep here that she won’t be pulled away. That at least one society will evolve and transform and adapt but refuse to fall. That maybe, after a while, he could enjoy pulling back to watch it learn and develop out of love and curiosity, rather than as a response to fear. Fear of him. A range of flavor used to be enough, not blinding searing unworking heat. He barely remembers what subtle spice tasted like, but he used to know.
Is there something wondrous, here? Is a knot of pain and rage-laughing loss finally, slowly unraveling in Burning Spice Cookie’s chest? Of course not, he tells himself. But even so, he checks on the queen. Surrounded by monstrous guards… always expected to change his mind, to heave up his relentless shredding ax… he makes his way through a lavish society that shouldn’t exist. Dough and icing and jam rebuilt from shadow. If he cuts off Smoked Cheese Cookie’s head, again, it will be back on by the time he returns. How does Golden Cheese Cookie keep doing that?!
And more to the point… why? Could Burning Spice have chosen a kingdom and held on like this, before he became a Beast? What would he have become, if he did? If he were the greediest Cookie alive, and dared to chase after the exact thing she demands so casually. He didn’t even think of it.
Golden Cheese Cookie was hearing some of her subject’s concerns, when Smoked Cheese last heard, but she’s gone by the time they make it to her throne room. She’s soaring around outside, throughout the kingdom, delivering instructions and gifts and a warm web of cheese-camaraderie to bind everything here tight. They watch her, for a moment, from the balcony hanging off her throne room… her rebuilt wings are extravagant, of course, defying everything Burning Spice believes. She is a second sun, burning.
“I’ll call her back, if you really do want to ask a question,” Smoked Cheese mutters. “She shouldn’t come and hear you out, but she probably will. I don’t know why she’s like this… so forgiving. Willing to take just whatever in under her wing.” He doesn’t say it, but Burning Spice knows, by now, that Smoked Cheese is thinking of himself when he snorts dismissively like that, speaking of the unworthy. He’s thinking of times he’s betrayed his queen, or wounded her. How… repeatedly… he’s expected her to lose faith, and she hasn’t. Maybe she honestly won’t.
Perhaps… for a strange, impossible queen like this… Burning Spice Cookie, Destruction Incarnate, could even become one of her treasures. A part of the cycle, a piece of the cheese-chip puzzle. He tells Smoked Cheese that it’s fine. His question has been answered, just watching Golden Cheese Cookie fly, a gift in her arms for one of her advisors. When they meet, out under the sun, Golden Cheese tosses her head back like she’s making a lofty declaration. This kindness, too, is nothing. It’s not hard at all, for a radiant golden goddess Cookie like her!
Burning Spice doesn’t feel the need to smash anything, today… he sort of hopes he’ll be able to watch this kingdom change without needing to test it, for a while. Without tearing it down to prove it won’t rebuild, that he was right, he’s always right. He might not be able to stop himself, though, huh? Whatever he holds nowadays, beyond his ax, he so often finds crumbled into spice-powder in his fists.
But in this moment, the former Herald of Change does feel something changing. Without, within, beyond.
Perhaps, a thousand years from now, this corner of the world will be a wasteland after all. Hollow-eyed statues, cracking apart in the spice winds. Or perhaps… perhaps… it will still be flourishing. It’ll be golden just like this.