The sky was a beautiful blue. Birds chirped merrily, and the river sang by the forest. On such a day, one would expect to see the king out on a hunt, or maybe a group of disciples training or reading their scripts. But instead,
"ARGH!"
The clanging of metal against metal.
The sound of running and dodging and falling.
"Again," Aarin commanded and levelled his sword against a teenaged Nirvan's chest. "Surely you're better than this?"
The crown prince gasped for breath, chest heaving with every rough inhale.
"You- you're cheating," he accused. "You're predicting my moves!'
Aarin sighed and sheathed his sword. "If I can predict your moves, then the enemy will have no trouble whatsoever."
"You know me too well! And my- my legs are sore!" Nirvan pouted, almost on the verge of stomping his feet.
Aarin flashed him a rare smile. Instead of responding, he swiftly ducked down, picked Nirvan up without warning, and unceremoniously threw the crown prince over his shoulder.
"W-! Let me down at once!" Nirvan yelped.
"I thought your legs were sore?" Aarin quipped.
His memory blurred and disappeared under a tidal wave of more, more, more.
Aarin could tell Nirvan was struggling, but he couldn't let his focus waver. He sifted through the thousands of thoughts, never letting himself dive into one, never falling in.
It was almost like traversing a path littered with puddles.
"Are we going back to the palace now?" Nirvan asked with a sigh, having accepted the fact that Aarin wasn't going to let him go.
"We all must go home at some point, yes?"
The saving grace lay in the overwhelming amount of information flowing through his head. The ghosts and their memories, as well as Nirvan's and his, fought themselves into silence all on their own, not making it past his subconscious and into the forefront of his mind.
He kept praying as he searched. Every thought pulled at him, thousands of hands grabbing him, trying to wrench him into their despair.
It should've been impossible to keep himself stable alone, but he had the strength now.
Aarin felt nails digging into his skin; he felt blood roll down the cuts and marks. He couldn't quite breathe either; his chest suddenly felt awfully small compared to the air he needed. It was getting worse. Good, that must mean I'm close.
The flag of Yethra hung high, and a child stared up at it with awe in her eyes…
A weaver sat by the tree, toiling away at the loom until beautiful red fabric unfolded before his eyes…
A cook yelped over his shoulder for more oil. The people were in a good mood; their sales were through the roof!
The soldiers marched, the boy felt his mother cover his eyes, her hands shaking…
Screams…
Screams-
REPENT!
Aarin yelled in pain and covered his ears, though he couldn't hear a thing. He knew he couldn't; he was trapped in the confines of his own mind after all. The memories kept clawing at him, and he couldn't keep himself grounded to reality any longer-
A palm rested on his forehead, warm and grounding. He desperately reached up and held onto it, earning a gentle squeeze in response.
He could do this.
He had to.
Aarin reached through the resentful, painful, brittle memories. They shattered as he passed through them, one by one by one. With each, he could feel his body weakening, as if his own soul was withering away. His arms bled as the broken pieces dug into his skin, but he kept going.
They laughed.
They cried.
They danced.
They screamed.
They died, until-
His hand touched something soft, silky, like cloth.
I have you now.
The space disappeared into darkness the moment he grabbed it. Aarin gasped in surprise and clutched his chest, finally able to breathe. He could hear a rhythmic beat coming from no discernible source, like synchronised heartbeats from every direction, or perhaps just one that echoed around him.
He couldn't see anything, though. In fact, the darkness he was met with was abnormal; he couldn't even see his own hand.
A void.
"Please, let us go…"
Aarin turned around to face the origin of the voice. The sudden light after the dark was blinding. He flinched and covered his eyes until they adjusted, and realized a woman stood before him. She wore a saffron cotton saree, her hair was tied in a neat bun, and she was adorned with plumeria flowers. Her attire and the plumeria told him she was a priestess of Akash, the king of the gods.
He could tell she must've been beautiful once, but she looked almost dry now, as if the water had been siphoned from her body. Her cheeks were sunken in, eyes too wide, lips a sickly grey and chapped.
"You… help… us…?"
Aarin stepped forward. Despite being stuck in his own mind, his own limbs shook with exhaustionl.
"I-... I will free you."
Her eyes widened as if she recognized him.
"The… Saila… Pearl?"
Aarin felt his dead heart stop for a moment.
He hadn't heard that title in so long…
He nodded slowly, knelt by her side, and held his hand up.
"I returned to fulfil my duty."
She let out a rough breath; her brows furrowed, and her lips stretched. He realized with a pang in his chest that she was trying to smile. He smiled back at her, not allowing a tear to drop from his eyes, as she took his hands.
He felt that familiar drowning as he was plunged into her memories.
The city was dead.
Everything… gone.
Aarin, no, the priestess, looked down at her trembling hands and clasped them in prayer.
She had to do her duty; she had to help the poor souls. Proper burials were all she could do to help them pass on, but it'd have to suffice.
She heard something behind her and ignored it. She'd been hearing things this entire time anyway. She remained by the statue, her head bowed. Footsteps, they came closer and closer until they stopped right behind her.
She kept praying.
Fingers wrapped around her nape.
"You have done what you can. I respect you, and I regret what will come next, but I can't let those souls go. Not yet."
She looked up, her eyes wide, and Aarin's breath got caught in his chest.
Light flooded his eyes, flashes of war, of a beautiful lotus pond, of a golden palace, of a marble road-
"Thank you." Aarin heard her voice in his ears, or was it him who was speaking?
"Rest, now. May you find peace," he muttered back, before it all faded into nothingness.