Fount of Knowledge x Reader
9632 words ; author sucks at writing but we ball
Multi POV / POV switching
May be OOC / contains personal headcannons
Fount of Knowledge, one of earthbread’s virtuous emissaries of the witches. Truth and Deceit? All is one in knowledge, for which he endlessly provides to cookiekind.
Today is another chance to give and receive knowledge.
Most would say the Fount is a cookie that knows it all—but contrary to belief, knowledge is not something easily attainable, even for him. With time, comes change, and with change, knowledge can be flourished and shaped—such is the cycle of balance.
Cookies crispy and old, all come to the virtue for his wisdom.
“Oh, Fount of Knowledge, will my crops grow this season?”
“Fount of knowledge! Oh great virtue! What comes after the crumbling of a cookie?”
“Hear this, my dear Fount, I propose a theory in the quantum arcana imbalance. It is a known variable that intent heavily influences the stability and outcome of a spell, but if we take into account the caster’s contradicting intents—that makes said arcana unstable, correct? But which intent will the spell truly follow? I believe each intent can independently be present in a spell rather than one whole sum of a mess—your thoughts?”
“Fount of knowledge, what is your favorite dessert?”
“Oh Fount, please grace me with your smartness for our exams tomorrow..”
“I think your hair is very sparkly, Fount.. can I have hair like yours?”
Well… there was never any indication that his task was a breeze, but learning is a necessary process in the area of knowledge, no matter the pace and the weight of the query.
It can get exhausting though, really, really exhausting.
This was like.. his what? Three hundred twenty seventh question of the day, there were probably half a hundred more to go.
He keeps his mask of composure, smile softening ever so slightly for the child just barely above his knee—their eyes fixed intently on the Fount's hair.
“Dear child, the witches baked us each uniquely, your hair is just as special as mine.” Fount crouches to their level, hands resting on his knees.
The little cookie frowns, “But I want stars in my hair too…”
“Perhaps everyone does, but if everycookie has stars in their hair—does it still remain special? Would it still be a sight to adore when you can see them in every other cookie you meet?”
The child's eyecings drifted upward, biting their cheek from the inside as they gave the Fount's words some thought.
When they were done, the cookie's eyes met Fount’s with concession.
“I guess you're right.. I used to think it's fair if everyone has stars in their hair, but… now that I considered it, it would look plain on them eventually.”
“Precisely, it wouldn't fit for everycookie, right? You seem like a cookie mixed of spice—a starry hair might look out of place for you” Fount added, reaching out to take a stray hair of the little cookie between his thumb and index fingers.
“That too!” The little cookie agrees, their tiny hands wrapping around the Fount's wrist. “My hair's special then, right? Do you think it's pretty, Fount of Knowledge?”
He chuckles softly, tucking the hair behind the child's ear. “I think it suits you very well, dear child.”
“So… pretty then?” The little cookie tugs his hand, almost jumping from the compliment.
“Thank you, Fount of Knowledge!” They beamed, their small hands finally releasing his wrists as they skipped away.
Fount of knowledge nods and slowly stands upright, his gaze momentarily watching the child before returning to the line of cookies.
The line gradually clears, cookies leaving enlightened or maybe even more confused. Steps and conversation echoes in the hall until it finally recedes, and standing alone, Fount of knowledge lets out a long sigh.
With no audience but himself, his posture slackens a fraction—then immediately straightens up once more. Fount reveals nothing but neutrality in his expression, even when left alone.
He can't be blamed, there could always be a sudden visitor, or even the witches could suddenly return—Fount has to be prepared; a flaw in his standing could only mean a failure as a vessel of the light of knowledge.
Fount of Knowledge is different, he has to maintain being different. He is no “cookie”—a cookie can be flawed, he cannot. For what is he when he is not able to handle what comes with his purpose?
Speaking of purpose, there should be some paperwork he'd have to be attending to by now.
A few days pass—the same routine continues.
Wake up, eat, go through his itinerary, attend or help when needed, return, spread his teachings, answer questions upon questions, grade and answer letters, resume a research, eat if time allows it, sleep—then repeat.
Fount of Knowledge sure is a busy cookie indeed.
“Fount! Fount! Can the truth stay the truth or could it possibly become a lie over time?”
“Hello there! I made a drawing for you, Fount..”
“Why do we only have twenty-four hours a day? Dear emissary, is time merely a perception? What defines a second, a minute, and an hour?”
“Fount of Knowledge, is there really an absolution to anything?”
“My frosting is pink when my parents have green and purple frosting, why is that? Fount of knowledge?”
“May I hold your hand, Fount of Knowledge?”
The Fount's attention sharpens, his eyecings settling on the cookie who voiced their request.
You stood, smiling a bit sheepishly, as if you've said that mainly on impulse or a long-time curiosity. He couldn't exactly tell which.
He doesn't recall seeing you often, nor does he recall you ever standing in this line to ask him a question.
So… the first thing you decided to ask him was if you could hold his hand?
In some circumstances, it was absurd, even.
The Fount clears his throat, noting that he had been staring for too long.
“Of course” He eventually speaks, calmly, despite the whiplash.
For the sake of both of you, he knew it was better not to ask whatever reasons may the strange cookie have. That was something he'll ponder another time.
You opened your mouth, then closed it, visibly caught off guard. After all, it was an unusual request, chances of it being refused were higher than being indulged.
“Thank you..” You smiled, more relieved that you didn't have to walk away in embarrassment if you were to be declined.
Tentatively, the Fount of Knowledge extends his hand to you—palm up. And carefully, you take it with two of your own.
You didn't know what to expect—your left hand cups his hand from below, your right brushes the lines on his palm with gentle, curious strokes.
The fount has a small bump on his middle finger from writing, his fingers were slightly worn from carrying books or casting magic. Yet at the same time, his hands are well-taken care of; a gentle hand that cradles and soothes, a hand that reaches out for knowledge and shares them with cookiekind.
His hands were soft, but also calloused in some places—working hands, if that's what it's called.
You didn't say anything as you released his hand—you held it for about thirty seconds.
A considerable time right?
Half a minute felt way too long for Fount of Knowledge.
When you looked up to meet his eyes, Fount of Knowledge was already staring at you with wide eyes—his face plastering something between curiosity and an incredulous look. The tips of his ears are subtly dusted with a darker shade of blue.
He lowers his hand incrementally, as though he was still processing the contact.
“Does that satisfy you?” He somehow finds his voice, composure toppled just a fraction enough to pass that it wasn't anything big.
You blink a few times, nodding. “Ah, yes, thank you again. I apologize if the request was weird..”
“..I hope you weren't uncomfortable?” You continued in a slightly nervous mutter.
“Well, it's a new experience, all I can say.” The Fount chuckles briefly, tipping his head slightly as he takes you in. “Other than children, I believe you're the first cookie to ask that of me.”
You were relieved for the second time today, exhaling a breath you were holding. “Is that so?”
Before he could answer, you gave another smile, warmer this time. “I won't keep you long, I'll come back tomorrow.”
You waved and went along your way.
He watches your retreating figure, eyecings lingering on you before shifting back to the cookies waiting in line.
True to your words, you came back the next day after his lecture. He spots you in the middle of the line before you could even make your presence known.
“Fount of knowledge, what makes a cookie a cookie?”
“One time I saw the Sugar of Happiness, when we came to visit her garden. Do you think I could have wings like hers if I dyed them?”
“Dear Fount, do dreams have meanings?”
By the time cookies came and went, it was your turn.
For a moment, the Fount wondered what you would ask of him this time, but before he could even finish that thought—you spoke.
“May I hold your hand, Fount of Knowledge?”
It was… the same question.
He considered the possibility but-
Is this how cookies these days flirt?
No, that's not possible. He felt your touch; your fingers caressed his as if you were learning the shape of them, the warmth of them was gentle, not pressing. If you had an intent, he would have known, or at least had a hint.
“May I?” You ask again, cutting off his train of thought.
That seemed to work—slowly, he offered his hand to you. You take it with both hands once more.
This time, the back of his hand faces you instead of his palm. You didn't think too much of it.
Your left hand finds his palm, the right brushes his knuckles. The pad of your thumb aimlessly tracing circles on the back of his hand.
It almost feels the same as it had yesterday. Not entirely soft but also not really calloused either, though the back of his hands did feel less affected from being weathered.
You can feel his eyes on you—pairs of mismatched colors—one gold as the embroidery on his robes, framed with ebony lashes. While the other deep cerulean with milky lashes.
He seemed a tad more relaxed than the first time, eyeing you with wonder.
Both of you did not speak, you simply held his hand; he simply watched.
Around you, the other cookies in line paid no mind to this small space you've created between the Fount. To them, it was nothing note-worthy, but it didn't stop some to whisper about it though. Still, nothing too big to be deemed interesting.
When you had to let go, your gaze instinctively moves up to catch his reaction.
And still, the tips of his ears betrays his composure with a shade of darker blue, the stars in his hair seemed to react on its own too.
“Mhm, thank you, Fount of Knowledge.”
“I'll come back tomorrow.” You added, smiled, waved, then left before he could get another word in.
What a strange cookie you certainly are.
And so, you have somehow inserted yourself into Fount of Knowledge’s daily routine—to the point he expects you.
Wake up, eat, go through his itinerary, attend or help when needed, return, spread his teachings, answer questions upon questions, hold each other's hand, grade and answer letters, resume a research, eat if time allows it, sleep—then repeat.
It becomes a ritual between the two of you at some point. While it was you that kept holding his hand, he unconsciously seemed to learn yours by feeling alone, fitting it through yours on a daily basis.
Strange familiarity was blossoming between both, but the two did not know each other beyond the feel of their touch.
It didn't last for long—the easy comfort—the Fount began to question what made you keep asking for the same thing over and over again.
Not that he was tiring of it, but even a normal cookie would be skeptical of redundancy without clear reason.
You managed to slip into his rhythm without fail for a few weeks after all.
The Spire was quiet in the night, the Fount of Knowledge is always thinking, but tonight in particular—he can't seem to wrap his head on one specific cookie.
When he had the time alone, he began to think: What could be the reason you kept asking for the same thing?…
He doesn't even know your name.
How come he just came to realize that???
He shakes his head, keeping himself from straying out of his main concern.
Fount of Knowledge was sure there were no rumors of him having some blessed touch that can bring luck or unfold the truth of the world—although, he wouldn't put it past some cookies to have a rumor of such circulating.
You looked like a sensible cookie to him, so that was one possibility out of the list.
He roams about the winding halls of the Spire of All Knowledge, floating just a few inches above the ground as he spaces out, eyecings fixed on the tiles while he passes ivory columns and portraits of himself.
His mind brings up the chances of you being flirtatious once more.
He dwelled on it, recounting all the times your fingers caressed his hands and the way you always eyed it as though you were filing away each touch.
The Fount hums thoughtfully, shaking his head once more. “If they were flirting, certainly they would've been advancing by now. They had every opening to do so.”
You didn't, meaning flirting was not a strong possibility, albeit not out of the question.
What did you even gain from this?
Perhaps you wanted to be friends?
He stops on his tracks, his fingers reaching for his chin as he mulled over the idea.
Now that sounded like a better possibility.
But friends? With him? Fount wasn't sure if that was a thought that could even cross an ordinary cookie’s head.
Nonetheless it was a reasonable explanation, unusual yet sound than all the other hypotheses he has made so far.
What if you just liked contact? That could be a reasonable explanation as well.
“I suppose I'll just have to ask..” He murmurs to no one in particular.
He resumes floating around, taking a left turn to the library, half-browsing through tomes to keep himself busy.
“Hmm.. what subject do I have pending?”
He should have something he could study for the night.
Bays of books surround the Virtue as he passes by, the rotunda inked with suspended stars just before the roof as vines of milkcrown flowers find its way through the crevices of the library.
“There ought to be some academic articles about soul convergence somewhere around here..” Fount mumbles, scanning further until he reaches the restricted sections—the Spire willingly welcomes him in.
The next day eventually came, Fount was barely aware of it.
He awakes feeling stiff, the throbbing especially bothersome by the side of his neck—he adjusts his eyes to the morning light, a muffled grumble leaving his lips.
Once his vision clears, he finds himself hunched at one of the tables in the restricted sections of the library, surrounded by books opened and littered around him, dimly lit by the light through stained glasses.
His head swims slightly at the blueberry hue, sitting up poorly as he pinches the bridge of his nose, trying to recall how'd he ended up here.
Ah, that's right. Fount remembered a research he was in the making of, which was why he went to the restricted section to fetch some related studies and other books to cross-reference.
He also remembered being too engrossed to notice fatigue taking over, too stubborn to stop and head over to bed.
… He should've taken his attempts of blinking away sleep as the first sign of giving up.
An exasperated sigh escapes his lips, he reaches for his staff, giving it a couple of waves.
The books return to their rightful shelves, closing neatly and arranging themselves to where they've once rested. Scrolls roll themselves back into place and back to where he kept them.
His will is the will of the Spire too, after all.
That being said, he should get ready for the day. It was a good thing he was an early riser no matter what time he slept.
And like clockwork… he was back.
Time can pass in a flurry, whether one likes it or not, when one's routine becomes continuously monotonous.
“Oh fount, what are the necessity of other bugs in Earthbread? Surely not every insect is useful, candy roaches are more of a nuisance are they not?”
“Fount, good day. A cookie confessed to me but I'm not sure how I feel about them, can you help?”
“Do you have a favorite creature, Fount of knowledge?”
“What books would you recommend for me to become as eloquent as you, Fount of Knowledge?”
“Our matters concern you, Dear Emissary. We believe our river has been.. cursed. Is there something you can do about the curse, please?”
“Dear virtue, why can't we simply have our needs for free? Is it really a must that money is required in our society? What of those who are struggling?”
“Fount, what do I do with a withered plant?”
Fount of Knowledge, Fount of Knowledge, Fount of Knowledge… it's the four hundredth time he heard of it today.
“Fount of Knowledge, why are we different?” A cookie asked, the last one in line too.
The Fount's interest piques at the query, he pauses, giving the question space to be known and enough time to carefully choose his answer—at least this was a good one.
“What is your name?” He asks.
“Opalescence Cookie, oh Fount” they answer.
“Opalescence Cookie, hm? Elaborate what you meant by “different”, will you?”
The cookie nods, their multi-iridescent dough glowing while they contemplate. “Well, different as in—why are some cookies weak while others strong? Why are there cruel cookies and kind ones? Wouldn't cookiekind be better if everyone is strong and kind?”
The Fount regards them with a thoughtful hum.
“I cannot give you a straight answer when it comes to why the witches baked each of us the way we are. But I can answer you this: some ingredients are made to withstand salt or spices, others sugar and fizz. Some doughs are made to handle the summer, others made to fight through the frost of winter. Each has an environment they thrive in and can adapt to.”
“I see the beauty with cookies that are made differently, each with the freedom to find their purpose from scratch. We are made with the thirst to understand, the jam to grow, and the will to choose. That is how most live out the years out of their dough.” He added.
“Moreover, on the aspect of morality, cookies all start similarly. You know nothing—you are baked into this world with receptors and consciousness. The first thing a cookie will feel are the hands that cradle them and the eyecings that will watch the new dough grow. As time goes on—you'll learn from what you see, smell, hear, taste, and feel. You'll observe, you'll experiment, and you'll experience. So in hindsight, no cookies are made kind or cruel—it is the environment that shapes them. Not everycookie ends up kind, we are simply too nuanced to stand on just black or white.”
Opalescence Cookie listens intently, blinking a few times as if to puzzle his words together. Of course, the Fount and his limitless patience—especially for inquisitive cookies like this one—he waits with a smile.
“I think I understand,” they start, folding their hands behind their back. “Yet I must ask, what if cookiekind is not balanced? If cookiekind leans more into cruelty, what then?”
The Fount acknowledges them with a nod, taking a while longer to answer this time. “Unfortunately so.”
“Understand that evil fundamentally cannot be excised from our world, which is why we, the virtues, are here.” He continues, lifting his hand up where a ball of light radiantly rests.
“We do everything we can to balance good and evil in Earthbread. We are here to guide you if ever you stray from what is right. When you are lost, come to us. May it be me, the Sugar of Happiness, Herald of Change, Flour of Volition, and Salt of Solidarity—know that cookiekind has the chance to reflect and be redirected.”
Opalescence Cookie smiles, lighter, alleviated now. “Thank you, Fount of Knowledge”
“I thank you as well, Opalescence Cookie.” He gives a small wave, watching the last cookie go.
The Fount was pleased, it's not often he is asked a thought-provoking question, yet something felt amiss…
He stares at the emptying halls, a few cookies idly strolling around the Spire, some already taking their leave.
He later brushes off the thought, there's always a tomorrow or next time.
Realization is better late than never, right?
Yesterday, you decided not to go to the Spire of All Knowledge.
Now you've been moping ever since.
“Oh witches he must've thought I'm weird or some lonely dough with no support systems..” You groaned to yourself, face down on your pillow.
“Who even asks one of the great virtues, knowledge out of all, to hold his hand for consecutive days straight??? That's out of line, too bold, what was I thinking???”
Yes, you are currently criticizing yourself. You have been since yesterday after being left in your thoughts.
“Where was my dignity? my shame? Oh stars.” You clawed your hair, pulling it once. “What does the Fount think of me? Gods, I didn't even ask an interesting question, not even one time!”
“How did this even all start?” You asked nobody, as if anycookie else but you had fault on what you've strung yourself into.
You moved, sitting upright with your arms stretched out, eyes narrowing to your hands.
“What do you think holding the Fount's hands feels like?” You blurted out randomly to your friends, impassively staring up the ceiling.
They stopped whatever conversation they were having, eyes snapping to you as if you've said something suspicious, blasphemous even.
You shot them a glare. “Dramatic much? I was just being curious.”
“Yeah, well, if you're that curious—why don't you ask him yourself?” Flaky Caramel suggests impishly, being the first to recover from surprise. “It'd make a nice story from ‘ya, no?”
“That's a bad idea, don't feed that into their head. And you.” Cranberry Cookie points an accusing finger to you, shoving their free hand onto Flaky Caramel’s mouth. “Don't even think about doing it. It's a bad idea.”
“Why not? Don't you want to know what his hands feel like?” You raised a brow.
“I’m afraid that's only a you thing, my fellow cookie individual.” Crystal Jam enters the debate, shrugging.
“Oh please, I'm sure there are other not-so-brave cookies out there wondering the same thing. I'll ask tomorrow and tell you all how that goes.”
“Seriously, where do you get that confidence?”
“I'd even argue arrogance.”
“Now that's going too far, what happened to friendship?” You huffed.
That was two—maybe three—weeks ago. The day before all that hand-holding started.
You've come to recall that this hubris is your own making, what now?
“Space seems like the most sound option right now..” You muttered, a creak of the bed followed as you sat over the edge, taking a moment to ground yourself.
“I can come back in a few days, apologize for being awkward..” You continued, a plan slowly forming in the making as you stood and made your way over a pile in the corner of your room, grabbing a towel.
The halls of your home greeted you first—steps light as they met the surface, carrying you to the bathroom. A scoff left your lips. “How do I even do that?”
A picture frame hung askew, without a thought it was fixed into place. Daylight felt intruding than welcoming so you drew the curtains of the window by the end of the hall together like an afterthought.
“Oh Fount of Knowledge, I'm sorry for acting strange these past few days. I just wanted to know what it was like holding your hand.” You mimicked your voice, sarcasm dripping in your tone as you swung the door to the bathroom open.
You shrugged your clothes off, tossing them aimlessly then hang your towel nearby. “This is just an embarrassment waiting to happen.”
“Like you haven't already.” You continued the thought with a small huff.
The village was livelier than usual.
You were hoping for a quieter walk, hoping that maybe the tranquility will help ease your racing thoughts—the villagers had other plans, though.
Cookies everywhere—lines accumulating from cart to cart, the scent of pastry wafting from bakeries, children running around—too many things happening simultaneously.
It wasn't the first time this place gets like this, but the village only gets this busy when there is an occasion to celebrate.
A woman rushes past you and accidentally bumps into your side. She stumbles back a fraction, her hands flailing over your arm as though unsure whether it was alright to make contact.
“Oh dear, I'm so very sorry! Are you hurt?”
“.. No, no, I'm fine ma'am. It's okay.” You reassured with a small smile, tilting your head slightly. “Actually, I've been meaning to ask someone what's going on. Everycookie seems to be on their feet today.”
“You haven't heard?” The cookie questions, confused.
“The Fount of Knowledge is coming today. He's here to check the problem by the river, it's only natural that we greet him with utmost hospitality and in the best shape. We have a lot to thank him for.”
“Plus, it's an opportunity to be blessed with his knowledge! More questions to ask, more answers to receive!” She added, patting your shoulder.
“Be careful out there, dear! I have to get going now, my pies won't wait another minute!” The woman waves before hurrying off, leaving you standing frozen.
He's coming here? Just when you wanted to forget about him?
Well—temporarily, of course.
Back to the point—he’s coming here? Oh stars, what luck you sure do have.
It shouldn't be any problem.
You turned, walking back at a faster pace.
You'll be fine, just get back home before he gets here, it's not like he knows where you live, it's not like you'll actually bump into him. It's fine, you're going to be alright, you won’t see him.
You live a bit further off the village anyway, far from the river, the chances you'll cross paths with him is—
Angling yourself in a random direction, you started marching somewhere else spontaneously.
This feels like a trap—you repeated in your head. It was like one of those cliche scenes in every book where the character inevitably bumps into another character they do not want to see.
Dread pricks your dough uninvited. You were not going without a fight.
You were thinking, you were trekking, you were uncertain for how long but you trusted your legs to lug you away from the Fount.
He shouldn't be a problem for you today, you mustn't be a problem for him either.
Slowly, you broke free from your thoughts, looking where you've ended up at.
It's placid here, the hustle of the village was muffled from where you stood. The trees shaded you from the glare of the afternoon sun, splotches of light poking through gaps.
The air was cooler too, the scent of sweetness clung through the breeze. There were a few creatures around, namely the birds perched on branches, some crystal grasshoppers, and hazelspread squirrels roaming about.
Lastly, sits a stream of water between it all, separating the lands and glistening in its beauty.
You registered where you were—at the river.
This is just great. So much for resolve.
You perused the area, cautiously approaching the river. Behind you? Trees, bushes. To your left? Grass. To your right? More grass. In front? Well, the river.
You breathe out a sigh of relief.
He might come by sooner or later though, so best you make haste.
But first things first, quelling your curiosity.
The river seemed normal. At first glance, there was nothing wrong with it.
You begin to contemplate whether the villagers made up a whole problem about the river or if it was just some momentary thing that disappeared with time, could it be that they simply brought the Fount here for their own gain?
No, that can't be, lying about something like this to the Fount is going too far. Atrocious.
Then what's even wrong with this river?
You squint your eyecings, kneeling on the patch of grass as you reach for the flowing stream.
When did he get here?? How did he get here?? You didn't notice anything, not a sound nor a presence!
You lost your balance from twisting to his direction, landing bottom-first on the edge of the riverbank.
A stifled chuckle escapes the Fount's lips, almost genuinely startled. You snap your head towards the cookie—lo and behold, the Fount of Knowledge himself, a step behind your side.
“Language, please.” He chides, holding a hand out to you. “ah, and hello there.”
“What a coincidence meeting you today. No need for the overreaction, it's just me.” He continues with a more teasing note to his words now.
.. That's the point, it's you.
You wanted to say, but held your tongue, opting for a sheepish smile as you took his hand. “Sorry, you surprised me there. I'm not used to getting sneaked up on.”
“Sneaked up on? That's one way to put it.” Fount muses, hoisting you upright. “If you must know, I was here longer before you.” He added with a matter-of-fact tone.
You both stared at each other for a while, hand in hand.
“What?” You finally speak, baffled. “What do you mean by that?”
“Hm, between you and me, I didn't like the idea of having cookies all over me at the moment. So I decided to manifest myself as a blueberry bird and observe the river in that form.”
“And to my astonishment, you emerged much later on looking wary. I couldn't resist watching you.” The Fount smiles, releasing your hand.
You can nearly hear him saying “why was your guard up?” even if he doesn't question you outright.
“A blueberry bird?” You say, unabashedly brushing off his concern about your well-being. “May I ask what you found out about the river then? There seems to be no problem.”
He doesn't need to know your internal struggle for now.
“There isn't” He says, his gaze moving to the river. “No issues at all, just the season.”
“The season?” You echoed.
“Your people, assuming you live among the village, came to me with the complaint of catching less fish. They were so convinced they were cursed.”
“When really, it's simply the fact that it's late summer that they're having a difficult time catching any fish. Fishes tend to reside on colder waters, if they find one.” The Fount explains in a teacher-like tone.
“I thought it was common sense, apparently not. They insist it was a curse, so to ease their worries, I promised a visit.” He gestures from himself then to the open space.
“Besides, there were no traces of poisons, runes, or curses within the body of water and in the vicinity that would tell me it has been tampered with.” Blue and gold twins sought you out once more. “All is well.”
Silence passes briefly before he speaks again. “You know, we've met a handful of times yet I've never gotten your name.” Fount pointed out with a small laugh, “If you'd give me the pleasure, I'd like to know it.”
“Oh. Right.” You answer, a bit dumbfounded with yourself and at your predicament.
You tell him your name and the Fount regards you with a hum—mentally safekeeping the name. He has a feeling this won't be his last conversation with you.
Quiet comes again, this time it was a bit more awkward—at least in your part, the Fount seems as though he could not be bothered less. He's either good at masking or you're merely overthinking things.
One thing's for sure though, having no words left to say felt rather suffocating.
You thought about apologizing for coming to him with the same requests over and over, you felt like explaining that you merely wanted to know what holding his hand was like, anything to set aside the air of tension you felt.
That would likely turn things worse though, to him, it might've been nothing and that you're making a big deal out of it.
You can't just stay silent this long though..
Dithered in your dilemma, your mind jumps to the quickest alternative it could think of. “The village has prepared quite a welcome for you. It's best you make yourself known sooner than later if you want to make it out before sundown.”
Fount raises a brow, catching the tone in your voice. “Do you wish to get rid of me? That's the first I've heard from anyone.” He asks, his words laced with amusement than accusation.
You muster a smile, shrugging. “It was only a suggestion. You did say that you don't want cookies all over you at the moment, so I assume you also wouldn't want to be kept until later hours.”
“I suppose you're right, quite a clever cookie you are.” He turns to the pathway leading to the village, a pleased smile played on his lips.
Fount cranes his head, finding you where you stayed still. His face was framed by a few bunch of his blue-ish white fringes, coupled with a mass of starry-kissed navy hair that fell until the ends of his robes.
Now that you think of it—the Fount is…
“Ah.” You snap from the clutches of your unrelenting mind. “Sure..?”
He nods to the path ahead, ambling—or specifically, floating at a relaxed pace—enough for you to catch up.
You trailed a few steps behind him, spacing out for more than you can count today. Your eyes stayed fixed to his shadow than the real thing.
Why did he bring you along? Was he being polite, perhaps? Maybe he felt bad if he left you on your own, his kindness knows no bounds as they say. Considering he saw you troubled and you provided no explanation for it, it was imminent that he took you along.
Something tells you that wasn't the only excuse though.
You couldn't dwell on it for long, before you knew it you'd been shoved aside as a crowd of cookies began gathering around Fount.
“Fount of Knowledge! Have you been at the river already? You should've passed by at the entrance first, we were more than happy to offer you a warm welcome before you've gotten to work!” Voiced by one cookie.
“Yes, yes! I've made you some pie you might like!” The woman who bumped into you earlier called from a distance.
“Sooo? Did you fix the river Mr. Fount?” A child asks, tugging his robes. Fount had to look down to catch a glimpse of the child from the sea of cookies invading his space.
“Patience everyone, there is only one of me and many of you.” The Fount speaks, his words gentle yet firm at the same time. It was almost like an absolution to the cookies, they gradually calmed down.
“Thank you” He says, managing a polite smile on his lips. “I've studied the river, everything seems to be in order. There are no such curses, I've detected none. Now is simply not the time where the river thrives with fishes, usually in late summer they reside on colder waters. Unless most of you fish at night, it's best to wait for the next season—fall.”
The cookies concurrently breathe out a sigh of relief while you watch at the sidelines.
The Fount's strongest suit might be his patience—you think to yourself, there was no way you could have handled cookies like this for every single day of your life.
You gave the Fount a pat on the back—spiritually, sincerely. It's the meaning behind it that counts.
“Thank you, oh Fount of Knowledge, we deeply apologize for taking the time out of your day for something that wasn't actually a detrimental matter.”
“Please, allow us to show you around, take a few gifts home. It's the least we can do.” One cookie says, but many hands raised their offerings.
He shakes his head, composure never once faltering. “I appreciate it, but help needs no payment, it is my duty to help cookiekind whatever the quandary.”
The cookies blink at him.
Fount chuckles softly, “I'm happy to help cookiekind whatever the problem may be, no need to repay me for it.” He repeats with simpler terms.
“Ahhh” A synchronized answer from the crowd.
“Kindness deserves kindness either way, come now.” An old lady—this village’s chief—pipes in with a warm grin, the cookies make way for her as she guides the Fount along.
“Cerise Clafoutis Cookie, what a pleasant surprise.” The Fount greets the elder warmly.
Your eyes flicker between the two, they both seem acquainted.
“Fount of Knowledge, it's been a while.” Cerise Clafoutis chuckles, stepping back to give him space. “Do me a favor and get yourself some reprieve. Look around, you're always stuck on your books.”
.. Of course they do, the Fount lived for years.
Cerise Clafoutis lifts one arm, hitching to the cookies behind them. “If these bunch becomes overbearing, come to me alright? You're always trying to help.”
“It is what demands of me, Cerise Clafoutis.” Fount says with a small smile.
Her gaze softened at the Fount, a defeated puff leaving the chief’s lips.
“Still, do try to enjoy yourself every once in a while. For this old lady’s sake.” She gives him a ruffle in the hair before turning to leave. The other cookies took that as a sign to approach the Fount once more.
With no other choice, Fount follows the pull of the insistent cookies.
He glances back momentarily, his eyes trying to find you.
For some reason the Fount didn't yet understand, he frowned fleetingly—gone as quickly as it came.
At the moment, you debated just going back home. You had no further business with the Fount, moreover the virtue seemed too occupied for you to just hover around like a cumbersome.
By a piecemeal, your feet carried you further away from him. Still somewhat reluctant to leave him be—for who knows why—you couldn't entirely determine it yourself, but a pull urged you to stick around him, even if from a distance.
Though not after walking back and forth from the way to your house and the groups of cookies in a distance where Fount would presumably be, first.
He did ask you to accompany him…
You watched from afar, but close enough for him to hopefully know you were still there. You saw him go through all sorts of things, of course, being bombarded with questions inescapably being one of them. Yet still, he answered them with an unwavering poise, spoke softly to children with innocent curiosity, firmly to those who needed reflection and guidance.
He was also asked to play with kids, taste-test a pastry, look around the foundation of a building, he was inquired about how rare and how much did a certain antique truly value, even expanded on botanical techniques—not once did you see him fracture.
The longer you watched, the more you thought
A lot was happening that Fount managed to keep up with—it looked exhausting.
You knew the village meant well, they still gave him gifts. Children gave him drawings, hugs, flower crowns, all he received with genuinity; most older cookies were less likely to give him something, however some did give him pastries to bring home.
None of them seemed to wonder if they were doing too much.
That was what bugged you.
He is choosing to do this is he not? What place do you have in his life for you to be concerned about what he chooses to do with it?
You were just another cookie from the vastness he met in his immortal longevity.
“Stop it, you're assuming things again.” You reprimanded yourself, slapping your face once as though that would serve as a splash of water to ground you.
“Okay. I probably look crazy. His life is none of my business. I'm not going into a rabbit hole because of this.”
You sat by the benches near the entryway, glancing at the slowly yet surely dissipating crowd. The sun was in its descent, coloring the sky in clashing vermillion and coral. A veil of cirrus clouds along with the waking stars painted the coming evening.
Distant music coincided with the mellowing chatter of cookies, warm lights from the lantern posts began flickering alive one by one. Mothers began calling their children home, vendors served their last few customers before closing off their shops, couples moved along the pavement.
The sky darkened into nightfall as time went on—the village seemed to finally calm, you could hear the faint wishes of farewell, words of gratitude, and prayers for safety.
Your gaze lands on the Fount before you discern you were searching for him.
It looks like he was still kept here until later hours after all.
He floats towards the arch, his stride unhurried with the clear intention of leaving.
His eyes were locked onto his path, nearly closed off to notice you. But just as he reaches the entryway, he turns to where you sat.
“You were waiting for me?” The virtue speaks—more of a remark rather than a query.
You stood, approaching him with a smile that made you look way too pleased with yourself. “Glad you noticed. Seeing as you asked if I could accompany you, it would be unbecoming of me if I left you be.”
Fount perks a brow at that, his lips curving. “I'd argue that you have left me to my own devices. You weren't around helping me with your fellow villagers, were you?”
Not like you'll let him have the last word.
“Hey, I was watching from the sides. I even spiritually patted you on the back. Presence is just as important and I'm sure you've noticed mine.” That slipped lightheartedly, but it still holds true.
Fount simply.. looks at you, unblinking.
Then, an unguarded smile plays on his lips. He eyes you with a newfound desire this time, his mismatched gaze witnessing something he hadn't quite pieced together immediately.
“You're right.” The Fount finally speaks, beckoning you with a nod of his head.
“Being there for someone is just as important, so I won't beat around the bush when I ask of you another request.”
His feet meet the ground with quiet grace, his staff floats from behind as he takes a few steps ahead of you. “If you wouldn't mind sparing a few more of your time, I'd like for us to have a walk. Tonight feels particularly good for one, wouldn't you agree?”
You know that feeling when you place yourself into something you shouldn't have?
This feels like one of them.
Of course, you haven't felt it, his smile felt comforting, the cadence in his voice was inviting—everything that contrasted his gaze.
To catch the interest of the Fount felt strangely jarring, any cookie would be thinking if they've done something wrong or right.
You hoped it was the latter.
Placing your trust in Fount, you hummed in acknowledgement, following him a few paces behind.
Four uncoordinated steps, as light as they were, sounded on the path they took. You watched Fount lead you rudderlessly, taking the ground where the moon could guide you both.
Soon, you instinctively synced each other's steps. Your surroundings were easier to take in this way, the songs from the cicadas buzzing from far-off—and from a greater distance, the Spire of All Knowledge, shrouded by the evening fog from where you two meandered.
The view upfront did not compare to the one above. The moon shone in all her glory, the stars flaunting themselves more visibly as the sky darkened to a deep indigo with the faintest traces of orange; the last kiss farewell from the sun, and the first wave of greeting from the night.
“You know, today was the first time you actually asked me something else.” The Fount breaks the long silence, his gaze fixed at the sky.
“What do you mean?” You ask, gaze shifting to him.
“Well, aside from the one just now, and how simple the questions were, you asked me something else than—”
You stilled—devastatingly understood right there what he meant. The one that became the reason you went out of your home in the first place to clear out your head.
And you instantly cut him off.
“I am so sorry about that- really, I wish I had a more reasonable explanation for why I asked what I asked and I should have considered the fact that it might have put you in an uncomfortable position or weirded you out since it's the only thing I consistently kept asking of..”
You rambled, trying to make your words sound as rational as you could.
“In truth, I really just wanted to know what it was like to—”
“Hold my hand?” Fount finishes, his hand held out to you, palm up just like the first time.
Witches, must you be so cruel?
Was this a question? A suggestion? Stars, you were so lost. The ground better swallow you whole as an act of mercy at this point.
There, amidst your stunned dough, he lets out an unfiltered laugh. Him. The Fount of Knowledge, the pinnacle of composure, laughing almost clumsily.
You never once thought he could have such.. playful personality.
His laughter eventually softens out to small chuckles, resting his hand back to his side. “I'm sorry, I just found it fairly rude you interrupted me like that—consider it a small payback.”
“But yes, I meant to say you finally asked me something other than holding my hand. And yes, I do forgive you. In fact, I never really minded, I just wondered why would anycookie want that.”
“Turns out it was simply wanting to know what it felt like.” Fount makes a smile of his own as he says that.
Was he this easy to talk to?
“I still find it strange—“just wanting to know what it feels like”—now I want to know why you'd want that.”
Scratch that, maybe not entirely easy.
You chuckled a bit, still recovering from being ruffled. “I'm not sure I would want to disclose that, nor do I even know why I do. Some things simply mean what they mean, I don't think there's any deeper meaning to it on my part.”
“Hmmm...” Fount narrows his eyes ever so slightly—was he disappointed? unconvinced?
“That is true, some things simply mean what they mean.” He relents, resuming his saunter, and so do you.
“But, for you, I believe the truth is something you haven't yet figured out or have simply refused to dig deeper into.”
Fount gives you a knowing smile.
“It's okay, I can wait. I'm a very patient cookie they say.”
Too much was definitely happening today. You could probably use some berry juice right now.
“There really isn't any other reason to it though.” You retorted with a small smile, your steps heavier as though your body sensed the vain in arguing against him way ahead of you.
The Fount doesn't answer, utterly satisfied with himself and unpersuaded by your rebuttals.
He soon catches himself, though.
No cookie had ever been too interested about him.
So why would that change now?
Many who have asked about him only ended up dabbling on the surface, they reached out less the more they knew about him—as though he was too different or a passing fancy.
Hand after hand—not one had been able to truly grasp Fount’s own, not even from where the dark side of the moon nestled him nor to the milk that suffuses his very dough.
He remembers yours briefly.
Right, he shouldn't have gotten his hopes up.
He looked over to his side, only to find that you were still following him.
By now, the outskirts of the Spire was getting closer.
You were spacing out again when the Fount became silent. You two were in your own little worlds and yet you continued walking by his side.
At first, you didn't mind, but the farther you two went, the more thoughts about how late at night it would be for you to go back home intruded your head.
He was still walking, as if testing how long you would go without bidding him farewell or questioning him.
Fount waited, and waited.
When the virtue had not heard anything from you as you both reached the outskirts of the Spire of All Knowledge, he clears his throat to catch your attention.
It seems like you decided to stay with him.
“It’s late,” He says, offering a polite smile to you before continuing: “There are guest rooms at the Spire that are cozy enough for the night. I insist that it's best to stay there than to walk all the way back to your village when it's this dark out.”
You returned the same smile back, a bit sheepish on your end. “Oh, no- it's fine. Thank you but I'm already used to taking late night walks around here. I'll be fine.”
He raised a brow at your humble refusal, humming in thought. His smile turns more coy as he answers.
“Doesn't mean that it's safe, no? And seeing that I asked you to walk with me, I believe it's right that I compromise and walk you back instead”
Your face drops, taken aback. Walk you back? After going all this way here?
That's tedious, you both should have just gone your separate ways then.
“Fine. If you'll have me…”
That earns a pleased hum from him.
“Good. Come this way, it's much faster if we use a portal.”
Is it too late to turn back now or—
The Fount holds out a hand to you, snapping you out of your plans for escapade.
His staff rests on the other hand as the portal opens ahead of you like it has the cheat code for bending the current fabric of reality. An inky, abyssal-like void awaits on the other side. It's filled with eyes, lots of them.
You felt a shiver rush past you, but you can't help but stare in awe at the same time.
A small laugh leaves Fount's lips. “You'll be fine, you may feel something weird or pulling but I assure you'll be safe as long as you hold onto me.”
You felt slightly reassured from that.
“..If you say so.” Your hand slots into his as you speak, the familiarity of it from all those days of holding each other's hands makes it feel like second nature. That oddly calmed you down.
Fount calmly leads you to the portal, talking with subdued enthusiasm as he keeps his gaze in front. “Just to let you know, I've never brought a mere cookie here before. You'll be my first, so I hope you'll end up mostly fine.”
Dread paints your face instantly.
“I know you'll be, as long as I'm there of course. But some side effects might occur.”
He pulled you in before you could complete that argument.
Long story short, you're never taking a portal ever again.
If Fount were to describe this as a tickle, it would be a severe understatement. You almost forgot that forms existed in there! Four dimensions and all!
Thankfully you're alright though, there didn't seem to be any alterations to your dough or mind. You're still standing, by mercy of the witches.
“Are you alright?” Fount asks
You steadied yourself from the experience of feeling your soul and your dough coming apart—figuratively—as you take in the interior of the Spire.
This isn't the usual place where Fount holds his lectures and answers questions—you haven't been at this part, ever.
You were at the more intricate parts of the Spire.
Azure ambiance coated the Spire—sapphirine flames encased in floating amethyst lanterns adorned the passages. The floors are tiled, lavender embellished with detailed spirals. A few paintings of the Fount lined the walls; all perfectly serene, absent of flaw.
Up ahead, you could see stairs that didn't quite have the regular structure a stair should have. It didn't have its usual foundation that keeps it together, instead, they were just floating steps that spirals to the higher levels of the Spire.
If you had to describe your surroundings, it was like an artful disarray keeping itself at bay, only noticeable to the eye if you see past the methodical arrangements.
“I'm okay…” You finally speak after a while, pulling your hand back to your side when you realized you were still holding his.
“Never make me do that again, though.” You added, chuckling a bit.
“I will try to.” The Fount says, folding his hands behind him.
“Follow me, I'll show you to your room.”
He takes a couple steps forward, glancing back at you momentarily before taking the lead.
Accordingly, his presence was welcomed.
It was as though the Spire readjusted itself for him—unlit flames came to life whenever you two went on darker halls, bunnies that happened to be in the area greeted you both with a nod.
To you, this was basically a fever dream.
The Spire of All Knowledge certainly seemed large on the outside, and now it feels even more so on the inside.
A while later, Fount stops at a door.
Hm, well, at least it was quicker than you expected. You thought you both would wander forever.
The door opens on its own—revealing a comfy bed facing a wall, a small coffee table on the corner of the room, a window in the middle of the room with its curtains half-drawn, letting the moonlight slip in, and a nightstand by the bed.
“This is where you'll be staying for the night, I hope it's alright. If you have any concerns with the room, there should be a servant bunny nearby to direct your worries to me. Ah, and, dinner will be served by said bunnies as well.”
Oh right, you haven't eaten yet.
You smiled, equal parts sincere and grateful. “Thank you, Fount.”
That makes you sound like you're casual with him.
“—of Knowledge.” You quickly added, catching yourself.
“It's the least I can do.” He answers with a small smile, marginally softer than the last. “Thank you for indulging me today, and for your company.”
“And please, just ‘Fount’ will do.”
The virtue then bids you with a nod. “Good night.”
You nodded in turn. “Good night, Fount.”
Stepping into the room, you close the door behind you, staying still as you wait out for any signs that he has left.
Five minutes passed, then eight, then ten full minutes.
Once it felt safe enough—you lunged into the bed with the heaviest sigh you've probably made this month. You were exhausted in all kinds of aspects, physically and emotionally.
A lot happened today! And it was just yesterday that you decided to not go see the Fount, only for you to have spent almost the entire day with him today.
You shifted to your side, gaze staring blankly out the window as you drown in your thoughts. The sheets smelled faintly like blueberries with some notes of mint, making your stomach grumble in response.
Sleep was pulling you in despite the hunger, today was draining in its own way—your lids grew heavier against your will to stay awake.
“I have to wait out for the food though..” You argued with yourself, moving again to lay on your back as you stared onto the ceiling.
It'd be impolite to not eat what they made for you, given that the Fount went out of his way to offer you a place to stay and keep your well-being in check.
“A bunny serving me dinner.” You laughed to yourself, throwing an arm over your head as your eyes flutter shut.
You were not going to sleep. It's just resting your eyecings.
“You know, he could've just portaled me back home in the first place.”
That was the last thing you muttered to yourself before inevitably losing your consciousness to the lure of slumber anyway.
I hope "holy mothercrumbler" was an original thought hehe. Is this a prologue? first chapter? one-shot? Idk either :D!! But I hoped this was a decent/enjoyable read
