Aarin pushed the cat off his lap without much care, rushing to the door to see if he could catch the spirit. By the time he stepped over the threshold, the presence was gone, leaving behind only a cool breeze and a sweet fragrance. Aarin panted and clutched his heaving chest, eyes wide.
He didn't want to think about it.
He didn't want to acknowledge it.
He didn't want to put words to it.
But he had a terrible feeling he knew who that'd been.
The vivid image of a burning city flashed before his eyes, turning his vision blurry. Aarin gasped softly, holding onto the door frame in a desperate attempt to keep himself grounded.
In the name of Niryati…
He needed to move on. The spirit had left, hadn't it? If it'd been what Aarin had thought it was, it would've never let go of him. Not until it got its vengeance. Aarin should've sought it out himself a long time ago and atoned for his sins.
But he was a selfish man, always had been.
Dusk had fallen by the time the juniors returned. Aarin had set up a fire and began to cook, a mild, savory aroma wafting through the air. The cat had refused to leave Aarin's side and had fallen asleep beside him. He heard the juniors before they reached the hut, specifically Kian's whining.
"So many houses," the young reaper moaned, "why does everyone have something to say?"
"At least we got something done," Lina sighed, "this is our first job, and you're already throwing a tantrum."
"I'm SORE- wait, what's that smell?"
The sound of rushed footsteps could be heard before the two burst inside. Aarin looked over his shoulder, catching a glimpse of their disheveled state. They were both carrying a ridiculous amount of scrolls, their uniforms crumpled, and their shoulders weighed down by exhaustion. Once the two realized where the source of the fragrant food came from, the curiosity in their eyes turned to shock.
"Don't make any noise," Aarin nodded towards the cat. "Take a seat."
"Uh… um- you're cooking," Lina said softly. Aarin stood up, a hand on his hip and the other brandishing a spatula.
"I'm no chef, but I can assure you it'll be edible," Aarin promised, though his tone came off more as a threat than an invitation. "I borrowed the utensils and ingredients here. The ex-inhabitant probably doesn't mind. Considering, you know, death and all."
"You can cook!?" Kian exclaimed, sounding insultingly surprised by the fact. Aarin glared at Kian, pointing the spatula at the slumbering feline.
"I'll do you a favor and let that one slide," Aarin said drily and held up the spatula towards them like a weapon.
The two quickly sat down beside him, exchanging confused glances. He took a seat as well and stirred the pot some more. Why did everyone act so stupefied when they found out he could cook? It was as if he wasn't human at all.
After a moment, Aarin gently lifted the pot off the fire and set it between the three. Held within was soup, with neatly chopped pieces of carrots, spinach, potatoes, and radishes floating in the broth, a pleasant and warm, garlic-y fragrance. The juniors grabbed their bowls in record time and held them up.
They practically inhaled the soup once he poured them some, asking for seconds. Looking at their ravenous feasting, he was sure they would've even eaten raw potatoes if they'd had nothing else.
The night went smoothly as they sat by the fire, sharing stories, rambling, and talking over one another. How the cat managed to sleep through it all, Aarin did not know. He didn't bring up what had happened while they were gone; he didn't want to worry the two when he didn't have answers of his own. Finally, as the clypsedra struck the end of the day, the juniors fell asleep.
Looking at them, resting so peacefully, Aarin couldn't help but feel a hint of pride. Sure, they were loud, unwanted, and annoying. But all things considered, they weren't the worst disciples he'd ever had. They listened, did their work diligently, and at least fell asleep… relatively timely.
Aarin stretched, looking over his shoulder at the pile of scrolls. Considering he felt well-rested, it would be worthwhile to look over the records the two had collected. He gathered the papers and settled outside the hut, accompanied by the cat that seemed adamant on sticking by his side.
It was a bright night with a full moon high in the sky. A cold breeze greeted him, gentle and inviting. If he had to work anyway, he couldn't have asked for a better environment than this.
Hours went by, reading through block after block of scribbled text.
'He left for the woods and never returned.'
'Last I heard of her, she was gathering fruits…'
'Oh my baby, she was picking flowers in the forest and-'
'An entire caravan, gone the moment they stepped into the woods!'
"The pattern just makes itself, doesn't it?" Aarin mused to the cat, placing all the papers mentioning the forest to one side. The cat pawed at the pile curiously.
For someone so quiet, Aarin actually really enjoyed thinking out loud. Now that he was alone, aside from his feline intruder, he had the freedom to do just that. A habit he'd caught from a junior he had centuries ago… one he'd rather not think of.
"The forest is so large and dense…" Aarin sighed. "Too much for me to scour alone. I'm not eager to let those two wander either…"
Something caught his eye, a piece of paper with particularly dark ink. It was abnormally deep in color, like it'd been written with the void itself. He picked it up and tried to make out what it said, but it kept missing his eyes for whatever reason. After a moment of focus, he could finally find meaning in the shapes.
'The river', it said, before disappearing. Aarin's eyes widened, guard up immediately, as that familiar fragrance of cloves and jasmines returned to him. He crushed the piece of paper in his palm before drawing a mild cleansing symbol on it. The sheet shrivelled and burnt and turned into fragrant ashes in his palm.
He was going mad – everywhere he went, Aarin kept seeing him. He gathered the papers and walked back into the hut. He just needed some sleep, and it'd all be okay, right?
He remained wide awake the entire night.