The Church of Milkie

The Church of Milkie is a virtual sanctuary dedicated to the worship of Milkie, a beloved Vtuber whose infectious energy and digital charisma have captivated followers worldwide. Through interactive livestreams and digital ceremonies, the church fosters a community that celebrates friendship, positivity, and the boundless possibilities of the virtual realm. Join us in embracing the joyous teachings of Milkie as we navigate the virtual universe together, forging connections and spreading love in the name of our cherished Vtuber deity.

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Ara Culture - Aruna x Milkie Code 'MILKIE' for 10% OFF

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Sacred Origins

Space, a frontier of the beyond. The cradle of many civilizations and the beings dotting its landscape. Steeped in colors of galaxies, shuddering at every impact of stars heaving their last breaths, space is a void of nothing and everything.
Sometimes, things are born from nothing to become something. The tiniest spark ignites into a full orchestra of light from an inferno. Such is one of its many myriad of stories, where a force of nature burst forth into a being who swept the world at her curious whimsy.
Why?
Because perhaps it was fate? Some may call this destiny, that your conception opens the doors to the path you were meant to tread. At first, she was this tiny spark, a being that blended in with the glimmering stars, seated upon her perch, watching the vastness of space threaten to swallow her whole.
Such is how it is, the limitless options before you, and feeling ever so small in the face of everything. Like this giant sea that could devour you whole if you let it.
This being had no name, no vocation, she was a cluster that was fit to be called an ‘infant’. She was pure, untainted, yet woefully and innocently ignorant of the goings on of civilizations on the many planets and galaxies that littered her playground.
For staying put bores the child, and the child wishes to learn.
She decided that she was going to leave her little bubble, this self contained little cage of her own making.
The being herself was an entity of space, everything that was around her in her vicinity had a reaction whether positive or negative. With every planet, she crafted herself in their image and in doing so people began to flock to her and the strange happenings and miracles that she would create.
Just like the way a child experiences life and is shaped by those events, so too does this being and the people that attach themselves to her and her influence refer to her as ‘Milkie’. Why do you ask? Because she explained that the ‘Milky Way’ was the cradle of which she was born and likening it to her as an entity, the name made quite a bit of sense to them.
A name births an identity, and an identity yields fruit of ideals, hopes, and desires.
Every civilization and planet offered a crumb of knowledge, a teardrop that eventually formed a pool. By the end of it, conclusions and opinions had formed and when she, now fully corporeal and real, sat on a chair in her quarters she made her final decision: Creatures that occupy space are wonderful and they are violent.
In one such instance, Milkie and her flock traveled to another distant colony. Driven by the same base curiosity that fueled her from the very beginning, she settled and allowed her followers to live in relative peace. The drive for new experiences yet the naivety of her approaches left a door wide open that she nor her followers were aware was open.
In the midst of a gathering of natives, a fight had broken out. Unequipped to deal with the sudden shift, Milkie watched in horror as one of her own was swept into the madness. This untimely event resulted in her first casualty, laying there drained of life and battered. The sight brought her to tears, a deep feeling of loss punching her to the point oxygen had left her lungs for a few moments that felt eternal.
It was the first and last straw that corrupted her innocence forever, yet something else took its place: Preservation.
Having acquired a ship to properly house herself and the multitudes of people following her, aptly named ‘Gaia’ the mother of them all, Milkie deduced that she had to protect her flock. She did not in any circumstance want to steer them into a situation where they could be harmed or worse. The thought of losing any of them, the people she had grown close to, given purpose by, would make her immensely sad.
Milkie’s infamy precedes her with the colonies and planets around her, not knowing whether she is a force of good or of rebellion.
Some labeled them as cultists, others viewed her as a Goddess, but Milkie didn’t care what could possibly be levied to her and her lap. So long as they were happy, then she was happy.
Childish, pure curiosity became an emboldened flame in her chest, a furnace being lit of a new purpose: they were to study the art of war.
The militaristic and base practices of survival and violence for the good of the colony. What were tools for destruction would be used to instill discipline, order, and if need be, protection. These were the base foundations of her desires.
Thus, Milkie sent forth small groups to neighboring planets and colonies that were reported to be military focused. Blending in, her followers reported their findings in video logs and reports. If she were to learn the structures of a proper military, she would absorb the parts that worked and push aside those that didn’t. History was a learning tool, and the risk of mistakes meant learning not to repeat them again.
—
Now, in her commander's chair, Milkie mulls over the reports by her seat. Her eyes scan the information and she finally leans back and releases a small breath from between her lips.
“Commander, a word!” A lone man, dressed in white and black approaches her chair and she swivels to his general direction, adjusting the military cap on her throne of blue hair.
“Speak.” Direct and to the point, the recruit brings out a tablet, whirring it to life as it separates down the middle and showcases an interface that is directly see through but the contents become lit and easy to read in just a few seconds.
“I’ve gotten a message from the Council that they have acknowledged our militia and have sent a missive on our direct intentions.” Nervously, he swipes to the left, the first page vanishing only to have it replaced with the next page. “We have been doing a good job with keeping a low profile at the moment, waiting until we had all of the kinks ironed out, but the recent excursion and operation that fueled conflict with the Lakdos colony means that the Council couldn’t turn a blind eye anymore.”
He presses his finger on an added attachment, which comes to life in the large screen in front of her and others manning the operations of the ship. Vivid imagery and recordings of Milkie and her militia are on full display. Bullets are fired, blunt weapons exact crushing trauma to the unfortunate souls that they are loosed to. The last seconds of the recording bear witness to their beloved commander slamming her boot on to a downed enemy, sword in hand.
The smile probably unnerved them, were her first thoughts. It cuts off moments there, and instead of being perturbed that her grin of glee and satisfaction in the face of violence was exposed, she simply smiled in kind. Stroking the sword that lay across her lap she leaned back in her chair.
“I’m assuming, by protocol, that if I were to simply not respond they would deem us an ‘uncontrolled’ rebel force, correct? If they hadn’t ruled somewhat in our favor, they likely would have responded in violence against us by now.” Her laugh brings a bit of ease to those at their stations, looking back at her.
They knew that laugh, the brazen confidence within. Wiping some sweat from his brow, he nods.
“Yes, they have reviewed the recordings and have deemed it was by self defense. While we’ve received the ire because of that confusing incident from Lakdos, at the very least the Council will come in to mediate.” With a final nodding of his head, Milkie thread her fingers together and leaned back further into her seat. She was as relaxed as ever.
“Send a response that we will comply with their demands and go through the necessary protocol to become an official force under law.” The recruit blinks after typing a nicely worded message, but then pauses.
“Commander, what should our official name be? That’s the last piece of information they need for the registry.”
Her thoughts drifted to the past, of where she was but a simple cog in a machine. Born from space, she and her unique presence brought people together. She had offered her hand to those around her, from the elderly to the youngest of children. The warmth in her chest was a comfort where before she had little to speak of. Her recruits were everything to her, she had single handedly brought them all with her and learned so much of the world as she wanted.
All the times that she could recall laughing with them around a fire, witnessing shooting stars and pointing out the constellations. These people have uprooted themselves from their previous lives for her and her guidance. There isn’t a single moment where she isn’t thinking about them and the ability to be able to defend them at a moment’s notice was all mandatory.
She would not make the same mistake again.
As their commander, she would rise when all else had fallen. If just to return back to this very ship and see their smiling faces as another day passes.
She taps her fingers against her arm rest, her smile eternally etched on her features. “The Milk Militia.”- to be continued-

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