After the three days of rest had passed, enjoying Saila and resting in the abandoned hut, Aarin and his juniors returned to the Order of Spiritual Heralds. Lina and Kian waved goodbye to Aarin and disappeared into the crowd. 

Nirvan, on the other hand, had promised wait in the forest by Aarin’s home. Much to Shimu’s annoyance, she would have to accompany him. Aarin wouldn’t have taken the cat with him; it was just… pity, that was it

Aarin habitually ignored the stares, making his way to the reporting hall without as much as a second glance. His pace made it clear he was in a rush. After all, he had guests waiting for him back home. 

The reporting hall was thankfully empty. Aarin stood in front of the statue, rang the bell, and waited. This time, the connection in his head felt different… heavier. Stronger. Deeper. It was more like an ocean compared to the Bookkeeper’s river.

The mouth of the statue moved, ringing out the words with a metallic undertone.

“So you’ve come…”

Aarin froze. He had heard that voice sparsely, not having caught it for about half a century now. 

“Niryati…” he trailed off, not knowing how to respond.

“You’ve done well,” she spoke again. Her voice was deep, almost husky, like the sound of rustling leaves through water.

“Thank you,” Aarin clasped his hands in prayer.

“But I’m not here to only compliment you,” she said gently, “the Bookkeeper has told you of the assembly, yes? I hope you have chosen to join me.”

Aarin nodded quickly, before realizing that it probably didn’t translate over to a mental connection.

“I will, it is a great honor-” 

Niryati laughed, a melodious yet powerful sound.

“You need not lie,” she chuckled softly, “I know you’re confused, and that is alright. I simply wish for you to be my advisor for the day.”

“But what about the Bookkeep-”

“Humor me,” Niryati interrupted him, amused, “I’m sure you’ll do well. If that is all…”

Aarin gathered himself. This was the perfect opportunity to bring up something he’d been thinking about for a while now.

“I’m… I’m sure you know already, but there has been an alarming spike in spiritual activity, spirits not in our records, and with no cards.”

“Yes.” She sounded annoyed. “There’s more, in fact, but we shall discuss this in person.”

“I might have found a lead,” Aarin quickly said. “Yethra, unclaimed fallen land, immense ghostly activity, and yet, no ghost lord claims it. Perhaps investigating the area could get us to an answer.”

There was a long silence, like Niryati was considering his words, before she hummed in agreement.

“You’re aware of your next mission, then?” 

“Yes,” Aarin responded. “I shall leave for Yethra tomorrow itself.”

“I wish you luck,” Niryati hummed, “May ‘I’ be with you, ha, isn’t that what you all say?”

The bell stopped ringing, and the statue’s mouth stopped moving.

His audience with the goddess was over.

The sight Aarin was greeted with once he returned to his own hut was ridiculous. He had told Nirvan to wait in the forest nearby, and the ghost had dutifully obeyed. What he hadn’t expected was to find Nirvan sitting in a tree, and Shimu angrily circling it like a wolf. Aarin raised an eyebrow.

“Has the ghost lord been tamed by but a mere cat?” he teased, crossing his arms. Nirvan looked at Aarin with a stupid little smile.

“In my defense, you have quite the ferocious beast protecting you!” Nirvan pointed at the feline. “Now, if you could please...”

Aarin laughed. It was a strange feeling; he hadn’t laughed like this in quite a while. Nirvan smiled at the sight and jumped down the tree, landing lightly on his feet. Shimu hissed and ran towards Aarin, clearly irritated now that the ghost didn’t seem afraid anymore.

“I’m a terrible guest,” Nirvan said. “I didn’t bring any gifts with me.” Aarin smiled bitterly at that.

“No need,” he responded softly. “I’ve kept you waiting for a while; consider it even.”

“That you have, for quite some time,” Nirvan agreed. “You’re surprisingly evasive. You never hid back in the day.”

Aarin didn’t respond, turning around instead. Shimu hissed threateningly at Nirvan and followed. 

“Come with me,” Aarin finally sighed without looking over at the ghost; he knew Nirvan wouldn’t be far behind. “You’ve stayed outside long enough.”

For whatever reason, Aarin couldn’t help the embarrassment crawling up his throat once the hut came into view. It was somewhat pathetic. Considering Nirvan was probably used to palaces, both before death and after, the hut seemed almost insulting.

The plants outside hadn’t wilted yet, but had definitely seen better days. He cleared his throat.

“Welcome,” Aarin said, spreading his arms. “Make yourself at home.”

“Don’t mind if I do!” Nirvan sounded genuinely excited as he ran over to the door, looking about the veranda. He leaned in to smell the flowers, gently touched the leaves, and tried to peek in through the windows. Aarin felt relieved. Nirvan didn’t seem too disappointed. 

Aarin didn’t know why he cared; he wasn’t particularly materialistic, and he seldom worried about others’ opinions. He decided not to think too hard about it.

“Join me,” Aarin called as he walked into the hut. Nirvan followed dutifully, after the cat, of course, who hissed at him angrily. Aarin began looking over his inventory for something he could cook. He hadn’t had guests in… he didn’t even remember the last time he had visitors. How was he supposed to greet one properly? All he could see was raw grains, lentils, vegetables, and sugarcanes he’d bought nearly a week ago. 

Aarin looked over his shoulder and met Nirvan’s eyes, awfully flustered. Calling this state pathetic would be the understatement of the century.

“Would you… like some sugarcane?”

Nirvan smiled and nodded like Aarin had promised him a feast fit for gods. A little embarrassed, Aarin turned around and began to peel the outer layer of the stalks. It wasn’t a hard job, and it wasn’t necessary either. He preferred ripping the layers off with his teeth, but he could at least make the food presentable, considering everything else about his house was lacklustre. Once he was done, Aarin offered a stalk to Nirvan and took one for himself. 

The ghost started devouring the cane like it was the tastiest thing he’d ever had. Aarin stared, a little confused and quite amused, before taking a bite of his as well.

Shimu trotted over to the discarded layers, sniffed them, and started scratching them. 

The silence was comforting, and the sweetness was perfect on a warm day such as today. Aarin ate neatly. He bit off strips in rows, chewed them one by one, and discarded them in a pot. Nirvan, on the other hand, didn’t seem to care. He never had, even as a mortal. Sweet nectar ran down his chin, and he winced a few times as the hard fibres of the sugarcane poked him on the cheek or lips. Aarin couldn’t help but chuckle.

“If you like it so much, you can have another,” he said through a giggle. “I have more to spare.”

“You’re too kind to me.” Nirvan looked at Aarin and grinned.

“I’m only hospitable.” Aarin waved his hand dismissively.

“‘Hospilatity’ is the greatest virtue after all,” Nirvan mocked. Aarin frowned, confused about the misspoken word. It was familiar, and yet he couldn’t place what Nirvan was trying to emulate…

Memories, centuries old, returned to him in pieces. Nirvan’s uncle, the king’s hearty, good-natured brother, preached to them of the greatest virtues one could have. On one such ‘lesson’, the man had tripped over his words and refused to admit his mistake, leading Nirvan to bring it up for months afterwards. And even though they’d all moved on from it, it’d become somewhat of an inside joke to them.

Such a nonsensical thing, brought up after so long, it took his brain quite some time to process it.

Aarin stared at Nirvan for a moment, blinking owlishly, before they both burst out laughing. Shimu jumped at the sudden sound and meowed with indignation, but Aarin was too busy losing his breath to worry. He felt tears forming from the force of the laughter. It was ridiculous, such a simple, stupid thing, making him almost hysterical, but he couldn’t complain. 

It was the happiest he’d felt in a long time.

The sky was a beautiful orange when Aarin stepped out that evening to water his plants. Nirvan followed, looking at everything curiously. Aarin poured water over the leaves and flowers to wash away the dust. The drops trickled down to the soil. Once done, the two took a seat on the veranda, watching the sun set.

“I’m leaving tomorrow,” Aarin hummed, without looking over at Nirvan. The ghost shrugged.

“Then I come with you,” he said matter-of-factly.“Where are we going anyway?”

“Yethra,” Aarin answered.

Nirvan didn’t answer for a long moment before letting out a sigh.

“It’s dangerous,” the ghost warned.

“Like that has ever stopped either of us,” Aarin challenged. Nirvan smiled in response and shook his head.

“What would those ducklings of yours think of their responsible Master Aarin?” he teased.

“Well, they’re not going with us,” Aarin shrugged, “It’d be me, alone, but considering you’re here anyway…”

“You have no idea what awaits you,” Nirvan warned. “It has been abandoned for so long for good reason.”

“You certainly seem to know your way around.” Aarin raised an eyebrow. “Do me a favor and help me, hm?”

“I shall do my best." Nirvan nodded.

Aarin smiled as the sun finally drowned past the horizon, ignoring the guilt gnawing at his mind.

“And that should be more than enough.”