The days that followed fell into a peaceful rhythm.
Aarin rested, mostly because Nirvan insisted on staring him down any time he tried to push himself. That shouldn't have bothered him, but Nirvan had perfected his look of disapproval over time. His stern gaze made Aarin feel far too immature for someone his age, so he rested without complaint.
The sharp pain in his chest had faded to a dull ache. He could channel small amounts of spiritual energy again without feeling like his insides were tearing apart.
Progress.
Lina and Kian visited two days after the cleansing of Yethra, much to his annoyance. They were surely missing time for training or well-needed rest. They brought food and medicines as peace offerings, and Aarin begrudgingly accepted. He spent the rest of his time tending to his plants, painting more talismans, reading, or simply meditating.
Nirvan didn't leave.
The ghost usually sat by his window or his bedside. He helped out with cooking, refilled the water buckets without being asked, and quietly did things to make it all easier. Aarin didn't comment on it, as grateful as he was. He didn't know how to express his gratitude.
Shimu had warmed up to Nirvan as well. She no longer hissed when he moved, though she still maintained a careful distance. Occasionally, Aarin would catch her sitting near Nirvan, watching him with suspicious eyes but making no move to attack.
On the third day, Aarin felt well enough to walk to the stream without needing support. Nirvan followed at a careful distance, ready to catch him if he stumbled, but Aarin made it to the stream and back without incident.
On the fourth day, Aarin had a dream.
"Aarin! Aarin!" Nirvan's excited voice carried over the chatter of the Spring Festival. Aarin turned to meet the crown prince's drunk eyes. Nirvan could hold his liquor well, but he was bad at figuring out his limits.
The result? The prince of Saila drunkenly staggered into a water fountain, of course. Aarin let out a soft groan and rubbed his temples before walking over to fish the younger out.
"Ahh, Aarin…" The prince slurred when Aarin tried to haul him up. When had the brat gotten this heavy? "Don't… go…"
Aarin frowned, "What do you mean?"
"You'll… leave…" Nirvan mumbled before giggling. Aarin sighed and rolled his eyes.
"If you keep going like this, your reputation will be so ruined that your brother is going to get the throne instead of you," Aarin chastised.
"I don't want the thorne…" Nirvan whined. "Just… you…"
Aarin's eyes widened slightly. "Gods, you're so drunk."
Nirvan did not deny, only laughing louder.
The sound of music, people speaking and walking, Nirvan giggling, it all froze.
The city was dead.
Nirvan's broken body lay in his arms with a dagger plunged into his chest by his own hands.
Aarin stared.
Nirvan stared back.
"Pearl of Saila," Nirvan said, but not with his own voice, "How will you repent?"
Aarin snapped awake, out of breath and heart pounding against his ribs. He realized through the haze of panic that Nirvan was beside him, holding his hand. The ghost. Not the prince. Aarin doubled over, clutching his chest like he could force it to fill with air through touch alone.
That had been the priestess's voice he had met in Yethra. She wanted something from him, though he'd thought cleansing Yethra had been enough.
Yet she had somehow wormed her way into his mind.
He looked at Nirvan once again, and their eyes met. For some reason, he didn't have to say a word; Nirvan seemed to know that the ghosts from Yethra had still clung to Aarin's mind, and knew better than to push.
"It's alright," the ghost whispered softly, "I'm here now. Whatever you saw won't hurt you. It isn't here anymore."
And that's where Nirvan was wrong. It was here right now, and it wanted something from Aarin. Something Aarin didn't know if he had the strength to provide.
Neither of them talked much that day. Aarin didn't want to initiate conversation, and Nirvan waited for him patiently. The day passed by in relative, tense silence.
On the sixth day, Aarin woke up before dawn. The meeting was today. He yawned and stretched before stumbling out of the hut. The sun hadn't risen yet, just barely over the horizon.
He stood there for a moment
"You're awake," Nirvan said from the window.
Aarin looked over his shoulder. "We need to go today. To the meeting."
"I remember." Nirvan walked over to stand by Aarin's side. "Are you alright? I'd rather you not push yourself too hard. Surely your goddess will understand."
"Hoping for kindness from the gods is foolishness at best and fatal at worst," Aarin sighed. "In any case, I wish to speak to Niryati about the things that have happened."
Nirvan nodded and did not argue.
Once the sun had shown itself past the forest and now hung in the sky, Nirvan finally spoke again.
"They will ask about our past," he said with a nervous edge to his words.
Aarin's shoulder tensed. "We don't have to elaborate."
Nirvan frowned. "How do you intend to explain away a ghost lord and a reaper working together? To cleanse a centuries-old, cursed city?"
"You… knew me. When we were alive." Aarin chose his words carefully. They felt like coarse wood on his tongue, every detached word splintering into his mouth.
"And that's enough to placate their curiosity?" Nirvan didn't sound convinced.
"Whatever must happen shall happen," Aarin said with a finality even he didn't like. "All we can do now is prepare ourselves."
Aarin selected his usual robes. He didn't have any fine silk to wear, and the humble cotton dhotis surely wouldn't suit an Assembly of the Gods. Nirvan helped him dress, carefully and neatly smoothing out the fabric.
"Nervous?" Nirvan asked as he adjusted Aarin's belt.
"Perhaps," Aarin responded vaguely. Truth be told, his thoughts were nothing short of a turbulent storm, thundering against his skull.
Shimu meowed loudly from her position on the cot, clearly displeased about being ignored.
"We'll be back soon," Aarin told her, moving to scratch behind her ears. "Behave while we're gone."
The cat's response was to turn her back on him, tail swishing with feline disdain.
"She's judging you," Nirvan smiled.
"She's a cat, she judges everything," Aarin countered.
Nirvan only laughed in response.
Aarin took a deep breath, centering himself. His spiritual channels were as healed as they were going to get. His body was functional, if not fully recovered. His mind was prepared.
"Ready?" he asked Nirvan.
The ghost moved to stand beside him and took his hand. Together, they disappeared into nothingness, leaving nothing but the sound of bells behind.
Usually, Aarin had a destination in mind when teleporting. This time, however, he'd left it all to Niryati. Reapers didn't have access to the divine realm all on their own; he'd need her stamp of approval for the Assembly first.
They materialized in an antechamber.
The earthen red walls were carved with intricate patterns. A simple wooden bench sat against one wall, looking oddly mundane.
"Interesting." Nirvan looked around curiously. "I thought we would be going to the gods' abode directly?"
Aarin smiled. "Without Niryati's presence, we don't."
Before Aarin could say more, a familiar ringing began in his ears.
"So you did bring the ghost lord. How interesting." The bookkeeper sounded thoroughly amused. Aarin sighed and ran his hand over his face.
"Niryati requested both of us," he responded. "I'm simply following instructions."
"Of course you are," the Bookkeeper chuckled. "The council is assembling soon. The goddess will see you shortly. For your sake and hers, try not to cause any diplomatic incidents."
"I wasn't planning to-"
"No one does," she interrupted him. "But accidents happen. Just stay calm, do not let anything get to your head. Ah, I can't wait to see how they react…" Her voice trailed off until there was silence once again. She had said all she needed to say.
"The Bookkeeper," Aarin shook his head and told Nirvan.
"I guessed as much," the ghost nodded, gently placing his hands on Aarin's shoulders. "So… is that goddess of yours appearing anytime soon?"
"That goddess is here indeed." Came a calm, almost amused voice from behind them.
Aarin turned around quickly to bow to Niryati. He had to kick Nirvan's shins to make the ghost follow suit.
"Oh, spare me the formalities." Niryati waved her hand dismissively. "Come. We have much to speak of, Aarin. And, Nirvan, Prince of Saila."
A/N:
Here's an extra chapter as an apology T~T