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Wind Archer Cookie moved with practiced silence through the trees.
Each step was careful — deliberate — the kind of movement that made him seem less like a Cookie and more like something shaped from the forest itself. Every breath flowed in harmony with the breeze that curled around him, rustling his cloak and brushing pale strands of hair across his brow.
He didn’t disturb a single branch as he passed. Even the birds, high in the canopy, kept singing.
The corruption had been quiet lately.
Too quiet.
It made him tense in a way stillness shouldn’t. He knew better than to trust silence in a forest that once thrummed with life. Quiet didn’t mean safety. It meant retreat. It meant waiting.
He shifted as he paused at the edge of a moss-covered ridge, bow held loosely at his side, gaze sharp as it scanned the trees below.
There.
A grove of old pines, their bark darkened—not burned, but dulled. Drained. Their roots curled inward like they were recoiling from something deep beneath the soil. It was subtle. No average Cookie would notice. But Wind Archer had been guarding this place long before such distinctions mattered.
He stepped closer, crouching at the base of the oldest tree. The wind stirred faintly at his approach, brushing the leaves in recognition.
Wind Archer slowly pressed a hand against the trunk. The bark was cold. Wrong.
He whispered something low — not in words, but in wind. An old language, older than this forest, older than any Cookie born from flour or flame. The tree pulsed beneath his hand, the leaves shifting above like a breath drawn in.
It was listening. Something in the air shifted.
The sky exploded.
A crack like lightning split the stillness, a deafening roar tearing across the clouds overhead. Heat slammed downward like a falling star, searing the upper branches. Birds shrieked and fled in a chaotic burst of feathers. Leaves curled at the edges, scorched not by fire, but by presence.
Wind Archer didn’t flinch, used to the practice.
He just closed his eyes, took a very deep, very slow breath, and said, with all the bone-deep exhaustion of a guardian who knew exactly what was coming:
“You’re late.”
A second later, Fire Spirit Cookie landed in a plume of smoke and glowing embers.
"Windy!” The latter grinned widely, far too cheerful for someone who’d just obliterated the upper atmosphere. “Miss me?”
Wind Archer swiveled around, a weary look in his chartreuse eyes.
Fire Spirit Cookie, in all his fiery, dramatic glory. His hair flared with heat, wild and uncontained, and his cloak trailed thin wisps of smoke. A few embers still clung to the edges of his sleeves like accessories.
“Was that necessary?” Wind Archer snapped, voice as flat as the grass beneath the pair.
Fire Spirit shrugged, lifting up his shoulders just barely enough to indicate the action ever happened. “What? I like to make an entrance.”
“You nearly ignited the canopy.”
“Nearly being the key word.”
Wind Archer shot him a unwavering look. “You weren’t supposed to be here.”
“You say that like it’s ever worked before.”
Wind Archer whirled back toward the corrupted tree, brushing his fingers along the curve of a root that twitched faintly beneath the soil. “This area is unstable. You shouldn’t be throwing fire around near it.”
“I didn’t throw fire. I landed. With style.”
“You created a sonic boom.”
Fire Spirit held up two fingers, a spiral of fire spinning idly around it. “More of a sonic sizzle, really.”
Wind Archer exhaled — the long, slow kind that usually preceded either a scolding or a swift exit.
“I’m patrolling,” he stated, as if he was chiding a five year old. “You’re interrupting.”
“And yet, you haven’t banished me with a dramatic wind gust. I’m sensing progress.”
Wind Archer finally glanced back towards him, one brow arched. “Why are you here?”
Fire Spirit blinked, mock-offended. “What, I need a reason now? Can’t I just pop in on my favorite emotionally distant forest guardian for no reason at all?”
“You flew across half the continent.”
“Correct.”
“For conversation.”
“Well… no.” Fire Spirit’s grin softened into something more sincere. “I came because I missed you.”
The wind stilled.
Wind Archer didn’t answer right away. He turned his gaze to the treeline again, watching the way a branch trembled against the corrupted air.
“That’s not a good reason to be reckless.”
“It’s the only one I’ve got, thanks.” Fire Spirit murmured, quieter now.
Wind Archer’s hand brushed the edge of his bow, but he didn’t lift it. The forest still whispered around them, uneasy but no longer panicking.
“You could’ve sent word,” Wind Archer sighed eventually. “I would’ve met you. Somewhere safer.”
“I like seeing you here,” Fire Spirit replied, the reckless fire elemental matching his tone for once. “You belong here. You don’t even realize how different you are when you’re with the forest.”
Wind Archer’s voice was soft as he brushed his fingers against a withering leaf, sad sympathy for it in his gaze. Fire Spirit never understood. Things come and go. “I do belong here.”
“I know. And I still wanted to come anyway.”
When Wind Archer turned again, Fire Spirit was closer. Not too close. But enough for heat to reach him — not dangerous, not burning. Just warmth, steady and constant, like the sun behind closed eyes.
“I’m not here to burn anything,” Fire Spirit quickly reassured the archer before he strung an arrow towards him. “I just wanted to see you. Even if all you do is scowl and whisper at trees.”
Wind Archer stared at him for an approximate amount of three, silent seconds. Fire Spirit tilted his head in reply, eyes bright with something that wasn’t just teasing.
“I didn’t mean to ruin anything.”
“You didn’t,” Wind Archer said, after a moment. His voice was low — but certain. “You’re reckless. But you didn’t ruin anything.”
Fire Spirit smiled. A real one this time — smaller, softer, with the edges of someone who’d needed to hear that more than he let on.
“So… I can stay?”
Wind Archer didn’t answer with words.
He turned back toward the tree, knelt beside it again, and said, “Only if you don’t set anything else on fire.”
“I make no promises.”
“I mean it.”
“Fine. I’ll try.” Fire Spirit stepped closer and crouched beside him. “What exactly are you doing, anyway? Other than whispering to ancient wood.” The curious but dense question granted him a exasperated look, but Wind Archer hesitated. Slightly.
And the he placed both palms on the ground. A ripple of wind pulsed outward in a soft circle.
“This tree is a channel,” he gestured towards the ripple, moving vaguely so Fire Spirit, currently looking over his shoulder could get a glimpse. “It links to a network of roots older than anything in this region. When the corruption moves underground, the roots warn me.”
“Cool,” Fire Spirit remarked, leaning closer than Wind Archer would usually have liked. But he let him, just this once. “So like a magical alarm system. Forest edition.”
Wind Archer nodded. “It listens to changes in pressure, temperature, elemental distortion. Anything unnatural.”
Fire Spirit raised a brow. “And me dropping in like a meteor counts as unnatural?”
“You scorched three layers of atmosphere.”
“Again, style.”
Wind Archer gave him a long look.
Fire Spirit held up his hands as a sign of surrender. “Okay, okay. I’ll be quiet. No fire. Just… moral support.”
Wind Archer blinked at him. “You don’t do quiet.”
“I do now.” Fire Spirit folded his arms and sat on a large root, posture slouched, but expression — for once — calm. He watched as Wind Archer whispered again, the wind spiraling up from the earth in answer.
And for several long minutes… he stayed still.
No flames. No chaos. Just the two of them beneath the whispering trees, breathing in time with the forest.
Then — very quietly — Fire Spirit commented, “It’s peaceful here.”
Wind Archer glanced over, regarding the remark with a tiny nod. “That’s the point.”
“I forget what peace feels like, sometimes.”
Wind Archer didn’t answer. But after a beat, he reached for a second stone — pale green, carved with wind runes — and placed it near Fire Spirit’s boot.
“You can charge this,” he offered. “Lightly. Carefully.”
Fire Spirit gaped. “You’re trusting me with forest magic?”
“I’m giving you a task. Don’t melt it.”
Fire Spirit paused, smirking as soon as he got over his silent shock. “No promises.”
Wind Archer didn’t smile — but his voice was lighter than it had been all day. “If it catches fire, I’m leaving you here.”
“You love me too much.”
The archer didn't attempt to argue. Not because he was too tired to try.
But because the forest, ancient and watchful, didn’t push him away.