Aarin’s legs cramped up from running, while his lungs ached as he inhaled smoke and the stench of blood; the world burned around him. The clash of metal against metal created a deafening cacophony with the screams of dying men. He tried to reach for his allies, but his hands passed through them like smoke. He tried to call for them, but no one listened

No one ever listened.

His mouth was open in a silent scream when something plunged through his throat. Aarin choked, blood rising in his mouth. Through his peripherals, he could see the bloody end of a blade sticking out of his neck. His eyes rolled back, and his knees buckled. 

Before he could keel over on the battlefield, however, he was abruptly shoved onto a marble floor. Aarin held his now uninjured neck and looked up. 

He was on a stage, surrounded by a huge crowd. The sun was high, sky deceptively bright, considering Aarin knew how the day would end. Before him stood a king, cloaked in red and black and with a golden crown on his head. To the right of that king stood he, himself, younger and still mortal.

“People of Saila! I am here for you,” the king proclaimed, raising a hand. “If we are to weather the storm, we must do so togethe-”

Aarin had no means to stop what would happen next, no matter how much he wanted to. A shing came from the side, a heavy, silver arrow. Young Aarin leapt in front of the king, but it was futile. The arrow passed through him, finally stopping once it hit its target. The king never managed to finish his sentence, for the arrow had pierced his heart. The last thing Aarin heard was the clatter of a golden crown before it was abruptly night.

Now, he was on a balcony overlooking a burning city. Buildings blew up in flames as people screamed, soldiers fought, and enemies swarmed in. A prince stood by the railing, a dagger in his hands. Aarin had seen this moment countless times before, but he still wasn’t used to it. He shook his head, trying to reach the prince, but he was always a little too far away. Just seeing the prince’s face made Aarin’s eyes sting with tears.

“You promised,” The prince chastised the dagger, though Aarin knew who it was really meant for. “You said you’d come back.”

Aarin nodded frantically. I tried, he wanted to say.

The prince sighed and climbed onto the railing. Aarin screamed, unable to tear his eyes away, as the other plunged the dagger into his own chest. Red bloomed on the prince’s clothes, a satiated smile on his lips, and then his body fell over into the raging battle below.

Aarin wailed as the fires below swallowed the prince’s body.

They rose to the skies, consuming everything in sight.

Flames engulfed the world.

Aarin snapped awake, chest heaving, the dying smile of the prince still lingering in his vision. The sound that escaped him was a shameful, strained cry. He curled up, trying to regulate his panicked breaths, and occupied the smallest corner of the cot. Only when the first rays of sunlight filtered in through the windows did he finally get up. 

Aarin had always enjoyed watching the sunrise. He usually slept on time and woke up at ungodly hours in the morning, early enough that he had time to bathe and clothe himself before the sun had a chance to rise. Today, though, he had let himself rest.

Eyes bloodshot and legs cramped from the position he had lain in, Aarin dragged himself out of his humble hut. His head throbbed; clearly, the exorcism had left a mark on his body. Half the sun was already visible by the time he stepped outside. It had broken through the dark blue sky in a gradient of vibrant colours. 

He breathed in the cold morning air and sat down on the veranda. The small herbs and shrubs he’d planted outside his hut were damp with dew, sparkling as though they’d been dusted with diamonds. 

He would’ve loved to spend a few more hours resting, letting his body heal, but he had work to attend to. Aarin simply sat there until the birds began to sing. Once he heard the chirps and flapping of wings, he retreated inside; the day had officially begun.

It didn’t take too long to get ready. He took a bath and clothed himself. His uniform was as neat as always. Aarin drew the ties taut, secured his talismans to his belt, and combed his hair back neatly. The dark circles around his eyes were especially prominent; he looked gaunt after his restless night of sleep and the lack of food from yesterday. Once he was satisfied with what he saw in his reflection, not extraordinary by any means but presentable, he teleported to the headquarters.

This early in the morning, the place was calmer than usual. The reapers present were fewer in number, and the area lacked the constant buzz of conversation. Aarin had thought he had made it before time, but to his surprise, his eyes caught Lina sitting outside the gates. She was cross-legged, propped up against the wall. Her spear lay by her side, and she seemed to be reading a scroll. As Aarin made his way over to her, he caught the title, ‘Ghostly Festivals’.

“You’re early,” Aarin said, sitting beside her. He’d expected to find Lina and Kian together, but clearly, he was expecting too much from the boy.

“Well, it wouldn’t do to be tardy,” Lina shrugged. Aarin knew she didn’t mean it, but he felt reprimanded nonetheless. “I wanted to be early anyway; reading up on the case won’t do any harm.”

Aarin nodded and looked away. It was an old scroll; he’d read it at some point when he himself was a new reaper. It was nice to see the younger generation appreciating old wisdom. They sat in silence, waiting for the third member of their party to arrive. 

Thankfully, it didn’t take Kian much longer to appear. Aarin found the young reaper sprinting full speed through the crowd, bumping into people, before skidding to a halt in front of the two.

“How punctual,” Lina snorted, rolling up her scroll. Kian sputtered, making a series of disjointed noises before falling quiet. Aarin frowned, looking the young man up and down.

“Do not be late again, you will not enjoy the consequences,” Aarin promised. Kian let out a whiny little sound and mumbled a small ‘sorry’. Aarin pushed himself up, dusting his hands. Lina followed suit. She picked up her spear, slinging it into the sheath on her back, and pocketed the scroll.

“Have both of you eaten?” Aarin was met with two nods.

“Do you have your immortality passes? Weapons? Medicine?” Affirmative once again.

“Good. We will descend to Naviri. The festival is a five-day affair, and the gateway has been detected on the outskirts. We will scope out during the day and infiltrate once the moon rises. Am I clear?” Kian nodded once again, but Lina raised her hand.

“If I may, master Aarin,” Lina said, “why not ambush them during the day? With a reaper of your skill, I believe we’d have the situation under control in no time.”

Aarin hummed thoughtfully.

“Lesson one, never cause more of a scene than you have to,” he said calmly. “You do not age, that doesn’t mean you can’t be hurt or killed. Most ghosts in the festival carry immortality passes or have been claimed by higher powers;  our aim is to figure out who among them is restless or lying. Brute force will get you nothing, calm questioning will.” 

The two nodded seriously. Despite the determined look on their faces, Aarin couldn’t help but be reminded of two kittens learning how to hunt. 

Aarin raised his hands, palm up, and tilted his head forward, gesturing for them to hold onto him. The two young reapers placed their hands on top of his.

“I hope you won’t fail,” Aarin muttered, the ‘for your own sake’ left unsaid, as they vanished into thin air.

have an aarin <3