Aarin couldn’t sleep that night. He sat outside, surrounded by his plants. The hut they’d stayed at in Naviri was decent, but he’d missed his humble abode. The moon high above, and stars blinking down at him, Aarin couldn’t help the restlessness in his chest. 

Yethra…

A city that had fallen after Saila, collateral damage. He’d never gone there after his death; he’d been too much of a coward to face the consequences of a war he’d fought in. He still was. Memories he’d tried so desperately to drown resurfaced, violently clawing at the forefront of his mind.

A burnt flag of Saila still fluttered in the wind. And beneath it-

Bodies.

Thousands of them.

Everywhere he looked, covering the ground in a layer, lay fresh corpses. He could feel their souls pressing against him, pushing him forward, making his lungs constrict. Aarin tried to breathe, but the stench of blood and burnt flesh only made it worse. 

Despite every part of his body telling him to run away, he stepped forward.

He owed them this much.

The broken walls of the palace he’d grown up in came into view. There, in the distance, a face he recognized, a dagger sticking out of the corpse’s chest. The spirits screamed around him. His knees buckled-

“Aarin?”

He looked up, eyes wide. Nirvan was standing at the door with his arms crossed, expression unreadable.

“It’s about tomorrow, isn’t it?” the ghost asked and took a seat beside Aarin.

“You don’t have to go,” Nirvan continued when Aarin didn’t respond. “I’ve been there before. I can investigate whatever you need.”

“Are they still stuck?” Aarin looked away. What a stupid question. Of course, they were no one had freed the souls in Yethra. Nirvan nodded, only confirming what he already knew.

“Then I owe it to them to help, if nothing else,” Aarin muttered softly. He could feel Nirvan staring at him for a long time.

“The black river must turn golden once clouds part,” the ghost finally said. Aarin looked at him with his brows furrowed. 

“That’s… I’ve heard that before.”

Nirvan smiled but did not answer.

“You must rest,” he changed the subject. “You can’t work without sleep.”

Instead of pressing, Aarin stood up.

“And what of you, do you not need sleep?”

The ghost shrugged with that familiar, soft smile. “How can I bear to sleep and close my eyes when I haven't seen you in so long?”

Aarin felt his face grow hot. He rolled his eyes and waved his hand.

“As dramatic as ever, I see.”

Nirvan chuckled and bowed in response.

Leaving his hut so soon made Aarin’s heart hurt. The herbs he’d planted were meant to survive without much intervention, but it definitely wasn’t ideal. Nonetheless, duty was duty. So with fresh robes, talismans, and a spear on his side, he was ready to go just as he had been many times before. 

This time, however, there was a ghost by his side. Nirvan had chivalrously offered to carry the bag of supplies. Terrible decision, considering said bag was also meant to be Shimu’s temporary ride. 

With much squabbling and angry meowing, they walked a bit farther. As expected, Lina was waiting there patiently. Aarin hadn’t wanted to leave the feline alone, so he’d asked his disciple to babysit her. 

“Just feed her properly,” Aarin said as Nirvan handed Lina a very disgruntled cat., “I’m sure she won’t give you much trouble.”

Lina picked Shimu up and petted her, “That’s alright, but, and excuse my curiosity… Master Aarin, where are you going?”

Aarin noticed how her eyes momentarily flitted to Nirvan. 

“I’ll tell you another time,” he promised., “But we really must go now. Just focus on your studies and training. You’re doing well.”

She nodded. “I won’t let you down.”

Aarin couldn’t help but smile. The type of determination reminded him of the ghost standing next to him. He placed his hand on her shoulder, hoping it’d be comforting. When her face turned red, he didn’t bring it up.

The sun had barely risen by the time Lina left. 

“Are you sure you’ll be okay?” Nirvan said one last time. Aarin only extended his hand in response. 

Nirvan smiled, juvenile, and grabbed it. They disappeared with a deep sound of bells, leaving behind a faint scent of cloves and jasmine.

Aarin had some memories of Yethra, fragments here and there. He knew it had been an overwhelmingly colourful city. He knew the streets always smelled of spices and frying purika. He also knew the king had been benevolent, good at heart, and a loyal supporter of Saila till the end.

When he and Nirvan landed outside the city’s gates, he couldn’t believe his eyes for a moment.

It was so incredibly… grey. Colours were bound to fade after so long, and yet... No plants or flowers had grown; he didn’t see water anywhere either. Only ash and rubble. 

The sheer lack of anything other than shades of black hit him like a boulder. Aarin took in a deep breath.

He looked over at Nirvan, meeting the ghost’s eyes, and nodded.

They stepped past the city gate.

“When you came here last time, was the city still this dead?” Aarin asked. His voice was quiet, and yet it resounded like thunder. Everything about the environment was uncanny. 

“Yes, but it’s… different now,” Nirvan hummed. “It’s… worse.”

“It could be from the spirits festering for so long,” Aarin theorised.

“Or someone could’ve done this intentionally,” Nirvan muttered. Aarin frowned. There it was, that resentful tone again. It was the same venom that Aarin had heard when he’d brought up the void-like ink.

“You know something, don’t you?”

Nirvan rubbed his nape and sighed, “It’s nothing to be concerned about, not for you. It’s my… problem to deal with.”

“Well, then, it’s trouble for me too,” Aarin said.

“How so?” Nirvan raised a brow.

“Considering you insist on tagging along with me, I’d prefer getting rid of the thorns on the road sooner rather than later.”

Nirvan chuckled softly, “Right, right, it’s only logic-”

A child’s laugh.

Aarin unsheathed his spear and swiftly turned around, weapon held tightly.

“Who goes there?” 

Only silence followed. 

“What did you hear?” Nirvan placed a hand on his shoulder.

“Laughter,” Aarin responded, straining his ears. Nothing returned to him. He was about to give up when he heard it again, nearer. He ran straight towards it, teeth gritting. He heard Nirvan’s voice behind him, but he barely registered it. 

He could see shadows moving through the rubble, humanoid shapes in the ashes. He didn’t stop to investigate. He kept following the laughter. It taunted him, close and yet just too far away.

This was no child; it was malice.

“Show yourself!”

Aarin unhooked a talisman, muttered a prayer to Niryati, and slammed it into the ground. The prayer was meant to highlight spirits nearby immediately, and for a moment, the entire landscape exploded in light. Aarin covered his eyes and groaned. When he could finally open his eyes again, the sight punched the air out of him.

The rubble was suddenly no more, replaced by colourful buildings.

Laughing children ran past him. Vendors sold snacks and souvenirs, calling passersby over. Silk sarees and robes hung from spectral trees. 

Aarin gasped.

Nirvan… Nirvan is waiting for me.

He staggered back. His heart begged him to explore the city; it’d been so long… but he wrestled the unruly emotions into place. He needed to get back. Aarin turned around and began to run.

His prayer had been powerful, and he had channelled more than enough energy into it. He had done this countless times before, and it’d never failed him.

It shouldn’t have been overpowered.

But it had now.

Step after step, bright roads blurred into his vision. He unhooked a cleansing talisman in a desperate attempt. He was about to pray out loud when suddenly, his feet didn’t hit solid land. The road beneath him vanished. Underneath, a chasm. 

It was dark as the void, seemingly endless, and Aarin had lost his balance.

Consume me.

Let my sins disappear in the darkness.

“AARIN!”

Aarin felt an arm wrap around his waist. He looked over his shoulder, and his eyes widened. The vibrant city he’d seen had disappeared, and instead of memories, stood Nirvan. The ghost pulled him back and wrapped him in an embrace. Aarin realised he hadn’t breathed for far too long, and he gasped for air. His chest heaved with the effort, and his lungs ached.

It hurt.

His chest felt hollow, and there was a ringing in his ears.

Everything was fuzzy.

Nirvan was saying something, but Aarin couldn’t discern a word. Vision unfocused, he looked to his side and at the chasm. Unimaginable agony radiated out of it like smoke.

LOOK AT WHAT HAS BECOME OF US!

REPENT!

REPENT!

REPENT!

“Must… free… them…” Aarin slurred before the darkness of the chasm spread across the entirety of his vision, and he lost consciousness.