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Even crumbled by the hands of death, beauty had never left his beloved fae. The lines of time and worry etched endless sadness and stress to the face, but they could never diminish the ethereal brilliance of that darkly baked dough. Cold was his crust as it laid limply in the arms of the corrupted, of the damned, yet all that touched the helm of his stained armor felt just as lifeless and cold. There was a time, long before the cookies of this place knew, where Silent Salt’s armor gleamed with the shining beauty of fresh pearls and soft snow. He had held the love for the world in the hilt of his sword, but now that blade was darkened with sins of the violence it wept.
Elder Faires’s body was too cold, too lacking in the gentle warmth that had drawn the virtue to the kingdom of steel and secret. The splattered helmet kept his face hidden, but it could not muffle the desolation of rage that emitted from his lungs like the fires of hell.
His love was gone; the one person who, out of all, was what he cherished most to protect.
Betrayal had sunk Silent Salt into the monstrous depth that swallowed every crumble of his dough, and now free, knew all his efforts had been for not. He had sacrificed himself to become the anchor which bound his once kin to the eternal grave. It had been a promised forever, and even in his locked root, he was still close to his silvery butterfly.
His own kin had done this, had bastardized his shining light with nothing but anger.
The shaking of his armor shook the space to the core; the body in his arms shifted slightly at the fury of his tremble. Those pale pearls once held so much kind affection; that mouth, one that only smiled at him, now lifelessly gapped in cool emptiness.
Chaos reigned now in the peaceful kingdom, but this would not be the end for them. The beast would not leave his fae again to be toiled by the might of those who had fallen. He rested his cool steel forehead to the one cold from death. He would not let this prevail; he would not lose what was precious to him again.
The body was light as it was lifted from the chamber, far too much for someone so powerful and regal. Silent Salt would not let go this time; he would preserve this body, and love it as wholly as he should have.
~X~
The darkness of the hidden chamber stretched far and wide, further they traveled down the steps to answers. White Lily took the helm, footsteps barely echoing the ring of volitions as she descended with trailing cookies behind. Her companions in this journey, one of faith and one of reaper, followed with caution. The spirits were restless the more they went, and now the energy radiating from the coming darkness had the group in arms.
Howls of the downtrodden bellowed around the three with misfortune and death, but the Soul Jam wielder did not falter in her push. They fought back the demons that got in their way with arrow and vine and whispers, but as the end of the stairwell grew closer, so did the suffocation. Whatever had been at the bottom did not want them there.
A deep, guttural howl shifted the bitter spirits into silence.
“The spirits….They are tremblin’ in fear….” Echoed Charcoal Cookie’s voice, lantern held tighter as his bagged eyes traced the dead walls.
“I sense a dread…” White Lily’s braid swayed behind her as she readied her staff, “It’s drawing closer!”
The creaking draw of tainted armor clattered with each crackle of salt grain. Black metal shone in the illumination of the teal flame light, destitute and vile as it was angered. Jagged blade of grudge so deathly harsh drew lines into the stone floor it dragged against, gleam held tight by clotted cubes of white. Horrid were the horns that framed its helmet as smoke whispered behind it with fever.
“That is…!” Pastry Cookie backed away as she steadied her armed hand, crossbow poised toward such a creature.
The embodiment of hate, of death and bitterness howled with malice as it floated closer to those who disturbed its tomb. Its sword had shattered both saltstone and stapled marvel alike as it traded blows with the group, yet it was all for not. The armor, once holding the will of godly protection, clattered to the floor as it was defeated. Ghastly mists of green and blue melded as the creature heaved, dropping forth what it sought to protect. Memories it held, but as they watched the truth, it was the gravekeeper who broke the watchful.
“Lass,” He spoke as he took pace forward, hand outreached for what his sight had caught a glimpse of, “Ye need to see this.”
The women joined Charcoal Cookie as he stood before a pane of reflection. The glass was dancing with the flames, and during their battle it had gone unnoticed. Yet now, faced with no hide of the smoke that covers it, White Lily felt her chest sink like stone.
Pale strands of silver cascaded from the scalp, spilling downward with the gravity of lacking tie. A crown of spiking metal framed such at peace features, stained glass shined despite the dull gravel the glass buried from. Robes of snow draped such a lovely specimen, silver framing at the edges like angel’s songs. Oh, but the creators…
“E..Elder Faerie Cookie?” Her voice trembled as her hand pressed to the glass coffin.
It could not be! His body…It had been at the Fairy Kingdom when she had left!
Yet, there it was before her, pinned like the most beautiful framed Butterfly.
Wings of sanctuary were spread wide in awe, delicately splayed out with a care only given to the most cherished. Silver etched and curled with something so sacred dare none speak such details to only the creators. They glittered behind the back of the viewed, looking much more like a painting than the corpse it was.
He was preserved: precious and loved.
Even if hauntingly so.
“WHO DARES TREAD MY HALLS,” The roar was vicious, breaking the horrid silence that had come with the discovery, “WHO DARES TO APPROACH WHAT IS MINE!?”
Once dim halls blistered with screams so hoarse it shook the dust from the catacomb walls. The gravekeeper yelled in warning, but it was only muted by the cacophony of pleadings with the world itself, desperate to get away. Pressure grew and dropped the temperature to a blistering chill of death’s kiss, so immovable it sat upon their chests. None of the cookies could move much less catch proper breath.
Thick, deafening metal met stone as the bearer of such repulse emerged from darkness itself. Silent Salt stood now between the framed horror and those who trespass. Flame danced off the stained armor, spending down the blade that held firm in his hand. Smoke wafted around him like the fog of mind, emanating like plague to the air they breathed. Black steel rose in the air, pointed toward the ruby eyes that still brimmed with unshed tears.
“I WILL NOT LET YOU TAKE HIM FROM ME AGAIN,” Silent Salt spoke with hardened malice, ‘THIS PLACE WILL BECOME YOUR TOMB!”