cHApTEr 13. TH friDAy (2 of 3)

To anyone watching, it might have seemed like Mioray was going home to prepare for the upcoming exams. Instead, he headed toward the storage facility. Despite it being Friday the Thirteenth, he had work to do, just like any other Friday.

This arrangement was part of the agreement he had made with Erinel. If he wanted to continue living a human life as normally as possible, he couldn’t spend every day searching for wandering souls. He had negotiated with her, asking to reduce the task to once a week so he could dedicate more time to himself and to his John Doe persona. Erinel had not been pleased. After some persuasion, however, she agreed on one condition. Each Friday, Mioray had to continue searching until he had guided at least three souls into the afterlife.

He got what he wanted, but there was a drawback he hadn’t anticipated. The ability to see the souls of the dead had to be granted by Erinel. Without her, he was blind to them. Doing soulwork only once a week gave him less excuses to see Erinel if he didn’t have a valid cause for it. That realization made him look forward to tonight even more, regardless of it being Friday the Thirteenth.

The corridors of the storage facility felt hollow as he walked through them. Green roll-up doors lined both sides, identical and impersonal. If he hadn’t known better, he would never have guessed people lived behind those metal barriers. The entire floor had been rented with Terry Strands’s money.

Mioray just passed the late racer’s room. The door was rolled up, as it always was. No one had the heart to close it, as if sealing it would mean sealing Terry’s memory forever. The space resembled a car enthusiast’s garage. Tools hung on the walls, gathering dust. Others lay scattered across a sturdy steel workbench with a wooden top, untouched since Terry’s death. Once, a white sports car with blue flame decals had stood proudly on the vehicle lift at the center of the room. Now the lift remained empty, waiting for an owner who would never return.

Being undead did not mean being immortal. There were ways, or at least one that Mioray knew of, to end them permanently.

Mioray moved on, navigating the maze-like corridors until he reached Erinel’s room. A faint smile formed on his lips. He rolled up the door. Beyond it stretched a wide green meadow, crowned by a teak tree growing from a small hill at its center.

The sight stole his breath every time. Anyone in their right mind would never expect to find something like this hidden inside an industrial storage facility. The ceiling had been painted a soft blue, creating the illusion of an open sky. A bright overhead lamp served as an artificial sun, casting warm light across the grass. The floor was covered in real greenery that swayed gently, stirred by subtle gusts created by butterflies with shimmering golden wings. The walls were painted in mottled shades of brown and green, giving the impression of a distant forest enclosing the meadow.

This pocket of nature, shaped by Erinel’s power, felt too complete to be called anything less than magical. Its inhabitants seemed to grow in number with each visit. Rabbits nibbled at the grass. A pair of foxes chased one another in playful circles. Flowers bloomed between the blades of grass. Mioray recognized buttercups, marigolds, violets, and lilies. He paused when he noticed a small pond, its surface rippling softly as goldfish swam beneath it. He didn’t remember seeing it before. The meadow was evolving, slowly and steadily, in stark contrast to the cold industrial world surrounding it.

Erinel sat beneath the tree in her usual place, her legs folded beneath her. The tree’s leaves cast a dappled shadow over her, shielding her from the artificial sunlight. She hadn’t noticed Mioray yet. A book rested in her hands, and headphones covered her ears, suggesting she was listening to music as she read. The headband held her black hair with violet undertones neatly in place. Normally, a few rebellious strands escaped around her face, but today they lay smooth and orderly.

She wore a beige suede skirt with a belt and a white long-sleeved blouse tucked neatly into it. Her white shoes were placed beside her, one tipped on its side. Her golden eyes moved steadily across the pages of the book.

“Our Planet Reath: Rich in Traditions,” the cover on the book read. It explored the cultures of different regions, even though in the present age the old concept of countries had largely dissolved. Borders had blurred, yet people still worked to preserve their traditions and pass them on to future generations. Erinel turned a page, the paper rustling softly, and continued reading.

Few would guess that the woman sitting quietly beneath the tree, absorbed in her book, was thousands of years old. On the surface, she appeared to be in her early thirties, someone slightly out of step with modern trends. Someone reading physical books was a rarity in a world dominated by digital screens. Still, she was gradually adapting to human habits. Erinel was not human, far from that. She was a greanrip.

When Mioray first met Erinel, it had been difficult to comprehend how little she knew about human life. Considering she guided souls to the afterlife, one would assume she understood humanity well. But guiding someone to the realm between realms was not the same as sitting down for long conversations about their lives.

It seemed that meeting Mioray had reignited her curiosity about modern humans. Everything began after they went to the movies together. Since then, she had devoured book after book with relentless focus. Mioray barely managed to keep up, exchanging borrowed titles at the library and bringing her new ones. It was a reminder that she was a higher being. While most people would take gradual steps toward understanding something new, Erinel immersed herself completely.

That was only the theoretical side of learning. To truly grasp humanity, she needed experience, and Mioray became her guide. What Farah jokingly referred to as their “dates” were in reality carefully structured educational excursions led by historian Mioray Meindmy. At the end of each outing, he even prepared trivia questions for Erinel. The Winterlight Festival had been part of that curriculum.

The music, however, was entirely Erinel’s initiative, and its origin was tied to wounded pride. Once, she had gone to a karaoke bar with Mioray and the others. The evening had been… memorable, to say the least.

Mioray went first. His singing was neither impressive nor disastrous. He kept the rhythm, stayed confident, and finished without incident. Then came Matt. Though he had already turned eleven, his body remained permanently ten, like the rest of them frozen at the age they had died. He chose recent children’s songs that Mioray didn’t recognize. Mia couldn’t sing, but she brought a tambourine and enthusiastically accompanied everyone, sometimes overshadowing the singer.

Farah followed. Mioray had wondered what she would pick, but it came as no surprise when she chose rock. That was simply who she was. With ice and cold woven into her core, she continued to carry fire in her heart.

Then came Kevin.

When Kevin stepped onto the stage, no one expected what followed. The moment the music started, he began rapping, firing off words with rapid precision. His delivery carried raw emotion that seemed completely foreign to him. Normally, Kevin was composed and meticulous, always dressed in immaculate suits, his glasses resting perfectly on his nose as he regarded others with quiet superiority. But under the flashing lyrics on the screen, he transformed. Rage slipped into his voice, frustration poured into every line. It felt as though years of restraint had cracked open for those few minutes.

And just as quickly, it was over.

The music stopped, and the red dot jumping over lyrics vanished. Kevin adjusted his glasses calmly, as if nothing unusual had happened, and returned to his seat without so much as a bead of sweat. Not because he was undead; Mioray doubted Kevin would sweat even if he were alive. The room fell into stunned silence. Even Mia forgot to shake her tambourine.

Then it was Erinel’s turn. She stepped forward, microphone in hand, and waited.

Nothing happened.

It took Mioray a moment to realize she hadn’t chosen a song. He hurried to the console and selected a gentle, well-known romantic tune. The melody filled the room, and the screen displayed the opening lyrics, a red dot sliding smoothly over each word to signal the timing.

Erinel remained silent.

She held the microphone close to her lips but didn’t sing. Though she had watched everyone before her, she seemed unable to grasp the concept. Karaoke relied on imitation, rhythm, and emotional performance, and she stood there as though the instructions were written in a language she didn’t understand. The room grew heavy with awkwardness.

Farah was the first to break it. She jumped in beside Erinel and began singing the lyrics herself, cheeks faintly flushed as she performed a love song that clearly wasn’t her style.

After that, Erinel returned to her seat and did not attempt another performance. She wore a gentle smile, but something in her posture had changed. She avoided meeting anyone’s gaze directly, glancing from the corners of her eyes rather than facing them fully. It was uncharacteristic of her. Mioray tried to reassure her, but his words did little to mend her pride. Only later that evening did her mood begin to improve. Farah lent her headphones and showed her how to listen to music.

“How long have you been standing there, Mioray?”

Erinel’s soft voice pulled him back to the present. She lowered her headphones so they rested against her shoulders.

“Not long,” he replied quickly. He glanced at his phone. “About ten minutes.”

Erinel closed the book and slid a bookmark between the pages. It showed a starry blue sky with a crescent moon in the center. Mioray had given it to her for her birthday. Erinel didn’t actually know how old she was, but according to her, all greanrips were born on the first day of spring. Since spring didn’t arrive on the same date every year, they had eventually settled on March 1st as her official birthday.

“You’re right,” Erinel said, placing the book carefully on the grass before standing up and smoothing her skirt. She rested one hand against the tree trunk and looked at him with quiet amusement. “That’s not long at all.”

Ten minutes might not mean much to someone who had lived for thousands of years. Still, she was teasing Mioray. He could have announced himself the moment he entered, yet he had stood there watching her like an idiot.

“How was your week?” she asked.

“It was fine,” Mioray said, relieved she didn’t drag the teasing out. “Mostly studying. Nothing special.”

That wasn’t entirely true.

“I pulled someone out of danger at a construction site,” he added, trying to sound casual. “A crane was moving a steel beam and it almost crushed him. I grabbed him and got us out of the way in time.”

“So you believe you saved his life?” Erinel asked. Her lips curved slightly, her expression calm rather than mocking.

“I know I did,” Mioray replied.

“That’s not how it works. If he didn’t die, it means it wasn’t his time. No matter what you do–”

“Yeah, I know,” Mioray interrupted, sharper than he intended.

They had this argument for months. It hovered between them, never fully resolved. Erinel’s experience told her that a human’s death could not be undone. When the time came, it came. If someone began to see her, that meant they were within twenty-one days of dying. There were no exceptions.

Mioray accepted part of that. He understood that aging and terminal illness could not simply be avoided through willpower. But he refused to accept that every accident was inevitable. If someone was about to be hit by a car and you pulled them out of the way, then you changed the outcome. That seemed simple to him. The idea that the future was already written, that every death was scheduled in advance, felt wrong.

That was why he had become so committed to saving people around the city. He believed in choice. He believed the future could shift. Claire had been on the bedrock of that belief.

He had convinced himself that she was meant to die during the museum heist and that he had saved her. Later, when she died anyway, it felt as if death had simply corrected a delay as though it had always known that Mioray and the rest would search for the Dismantler at the abandoned factory, which would result in him fleeing into the city and causing more deaths, including Claire’s.

It was like nothing Mioray did had mattered. And sometimes he wondered – if he had known that Claire’s final hours were not meant to be that night at the museum, could he have done something differently? Could he have changed her fate?

Erinel did not see it that way. To her, Claire’s death had always been certain. The fact that Mioray prevented it at the museum only proved that her death belonged elsewhere in the timeline. What he was doing now as John Doe followed the same principle. In her view, when he intervened, he was simply acting within the boundaries already set. If someone’s time had not yet come, they would survive whether he helped or not.

Erinel never raised her voice during these discussions. She explained things patiently, as someone who had observed countless lifetimes come and go. Her certainty irritated Mioray. Once, he had let that irritation get the better of him. He stopped speaking to her for weeks, frustrated that she treated his perspective like youthful optimism born from inexperience.

Eventually, the anger faded. Erinel had never dismissed him cruelly. She simply described what she believed to be true. Mioray realized he had expected her to question centuries of understanding without offering the same in return. When he came back to apologize, she accepted it without reproach. Since then, he had tried not to let the argument turn into something sharper than it needed to be.

Still, neither of them had changed their minds.

Mioray took a slow breath and forced himself to settle. He owed Erinel that much.

“Anyway,” he said, shifting the topic, “what about you? Anything interesting this week?”

Erinel glanced at the book lying on the grass.

“I read about hot springs,” she said.

There was something different in her expression. She watched a butterfly drift past, her smile smaller than usual. A faint blush colored her cheeks.

“It says humans enjoy bathing in them,” she continued. “That the water in hot springs is good for your health. Have you ever been to one, Mioray?”

The question caught him off guard. He felt heat creep up his own face.

“Not really,” he admitted. “I know there are a few outside the city, but I’ve never gone.”

“I see,” she said quietly. “I was hoping you had.”

“Well, but I’ve thought about it,” he added quickly. “Hot springs are heated by magma underground, and the water is rich in minerals. Magnesium helps the skin, iron supports the immune system, calcium improves circulation…” Mioray stopped himself, realizing he was listing facts instead of answering her properly. “I mean, we could go. After exams. When summer starts, I’ll have more time. We could visit one together.”

The words hung between them.

Erinel considered his proposal in silence. She tilted her head slightly, and a strand of hair slipped forward across her cheek. Mioray suddenly felt very aware of what he had just suggested.

“I’ll think about it,” she said at last, nodding once.

Her right hand lifted slightly. Mioray watched as her index finger elongated, the skin darkening and hardening until it resembled a thin wooden twig.

“We can talk about it later. It is time for work, isn’t it?”

She stepped closer and pressed the sharpened tip against Mioray’s chest, right over his heart. It slid through fabric and flesh without resistance. There was no pain, only a strange sensation, as if something cool and unfamiliar had entered him. The feeling lingered for a brief moment before fading.

Erinel withdrew her hand. The twig shortened and softened, returning to the shape of a human finger. There was no tear in his shirt, no wound on his skin. Outwardly, nothing had changed, but Mioray felt the shift inside him. For the next few hours, he would see the souls of the dead.

“As always,” Erinel said softly, brushing her fingers against his cheek, “at least three souls. Come back if the spiritual sight fades before then.”

“I will,” he replied, forgetting to blink. He turned toward the exit, walking across the meadow in a daze.

Hot springs.

The conversation replayed in his mind as Mioray crossed the grass. He tried to remember exactly how it had unfolded. She had asked about the hot springs, and he had suggested going together. Erinel hadn’t rejected the idea. Maybe she would say yes.

He imagined what it might look like, the two of them standing near rising steam and warm water, far from the city. He was so distracted that he didn’t notice Kevin entering from the corridor until they collided.

“I suggest you invest in glasses if you can’t see past your own nose,” Kevin said dryly, adjusting his dark green tie and smoothing the front of his suit.

There was no trace of the intense performer from the karaoke bar. In front of him stood the familiar Kevin, precise and mildly irritated. Mioray couldn’t help thinking that the rapping version of him had been far more likable.

“Sorry,” Mioray muttered, stepping aside.

He left Kevin to enter the meadow and headed down the corridor toward his own room. What did Kevin come for? Lately, the lawyer had been pressing Erinel for more information about the Cursed Blade of Avalon. She had already told them everything she knew, but that hadn’t satisfied him. He disliked unanswered questions, especially when no other source could provide clarity.

Or perhaps Kevin was there for the same reason Mioray had been. To receive spiritual sight and search for wandering souls.

With that thought in mind, Mioray continued to his room to prepare for the search, both for souls and for people in need.

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