Chapter 134: Cleaning the house

Damon let out a half-smile, the kind of expression that always made Aria roll her eyes and Ester clench her fists. “You even missed me, didn’t you?” he teased, looking directly at the cold-eyed woman.

Ester didn’t answer. She simply crossed her arms, impassive, but Damon noticed the slight tremor in her fingertips—almost imperceptible, but enough.

Aria, on the other hand, laughed, shaking her head. “You two never change.”

“Neither do you,” he replied, slowly standing up. His gaze and hers met—and for an instant, time seemed to distort. All the memories of Mirath, the days of escape, the blood, the nervous laughter, and the unspoken promises resurfaced like a tide.

Without saying anything more, Damon stepped forward, cupped Aria’s face in his hands, and kissed her.

It was an intense kiss, full of urgency—not of romance, but of reunion, of survival, of everything they could never say. Aria, for a moment, seemed to hesitate… and then responded, wrapping her arms around his neck, laughing between their lips.

The soft sound of laughter echoed through the corridor—and that was enough.

Ester looked away. The air around her seemed to cool slightly, the kind of coldness Damon knew well.

“Are you finished?” she asked, her voice low, almost cutting.

Aria pulled away from Damon, breathless, with a provocative smile. “Maybe. But I think I might want another one later.”

“Don’t get carried away,” Ester replied dryly. “He probably just wanted to confirm you weren’t a ghost.”

Damon took a deep breath, suppressing a laugh. “You two are going to turn my house into a battlefield if you keep this up.”

“Maybe it already is,” Ester retorted, with an icy glare.

“Oh, come on,” Aria said, waving her hand. “You missed him too. You just don’t want to admit it.”

“Don’t confuse pragmatism with nostalgia,” Ester replied.

“That’s what cold people say when they’re jealous.”

The silence that followed was thick as fog. Damon just sighed, leaning against the wall, exhausted. “I should have expected ghosts, not two forces of nature.”

“Ghosts would be easier to deal with,” Ester murmured, turning towards the stairs.

Aria smiled, crossing her arms. “She’ll get used to it. She always does.”

Damon raised an eyebrow. “You talk as if you plan to stay.”

“And we are,” Aria replied, triumphantly. “Elizabeth sent us. She said we’re going to stay in Arven… with you.”

He stared at her for a long moment, his expression hardening. “Of course she did.”

Ester stopped halfway up the stairs, without turning her face. “She said you’ll need us. Even if you don’t know it yet.”

“I never need anyone,” he replied.

“Then it’s good that you believe that for now,” Ester said, and climbed the rest of the steps.

Aria looked at Damon, her eyes shining with a mixture of tenderness and mischief. “Welcome back to the chaos.”

He ran a hand through his hair, letting out a sigh. “I think I prefer the ghosts.”

She smiled, took a step forward and kissed his cheek—quick, soft. “Liar.”

And before he could reply, Aria went upstairs too, leaving Damon alone in the room, surrounded by silence and the faint echo of feminine footsteps on the floor above.

He looked around—the dust still in the air, the new house, the old weight of destiny closing in on him again.

“Ghost, if you’re still here,” he murmured, looking at the ceiling, “root for me. I think I’m going to need it.” The sound of footsteps upstairs echoed like the prelude to a long morning. Damon ran a hand over his face and let out a weary sigh. He was still trying to figure out what the hell was going on—a new house, theoretically haunted, and now two women from Mirath walking freely around Arven as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

“A gold coin… I should have suspected that the price included problems,” he muttered, picking up the cleaning cloth again.

As he began to drag a heavy piece of furniture across the room, he heard the characteristic sound of boots descending the stairs. Aria appeared first—with the sleeves of her blouse rolled up, a scarf tied around her head, and a bucket full of soapy water balanced in her arms.

“Alright!” she announced, with an enthusiasm that sounded almost criminal. “The task commander has arrived.”

Damon blinked, suspicious. “You… are going to help clean?”

“Of course! Do you think I’m going to let you turn this house into a military pigsty? No way.”

Behind her, Ester silently descended the stairs. She wore simple clothes, but every fold seemed perfectly aligned. She held a stack of folded cloths, and her gaze swept across the room like someone already calculating how long it would take to make it habitable.

“If we’re going to stay here,” she said calmly, “this needs to stop looking like a ruin.”

Damon put his hands on his hips. “Oh, great. Now I have two supervisors.”

“Don’t complain,” Aria replied, handing him a bucket. “You need us.”

“I need peace.”

“Too bad for you,” she retorted, smiling.

The work began in silence—or, at least, with an attempt at silence. Damon cleaned the furniture, Ester organized the windows, and Aria, in the middle of the mess, seemed determined to attack every corner of the house as if she were facing an enemy.

“How can there be so much dust?” she grumbled, dusting a shelf and then coughing. “This place looks like it hasn’t seen a broom since the last war.”

“It’s Arven,” Damon replied, without looking up. “Everything here seems from another era.”

“Except the smell,” she added, wrinkling her nose.

Ester walked past them, carrying a stack of books she had found in one of the rooms. She placed them on the table, cleaned the surface with almost ritualistic precision, and spoke without emotion: “These books are ancient records. Most of them are about the Order’s tactics. The previous owner must have been a veteran.”

Damon glanced at them. “Or a lunatic. The seller said it was a haunted place.”

Aria let out a short laugh. “Oh, please. You don’t believe in those things, do you?”

“After what we’ve seen, I believe in anything.”

“He’s right,” Ester said, without looking up. “There are energies in this place. Cold ones. Not dangerous, but ancient.” Aria scoffed, throwing the cloth into the bucket. “You two should stop talking like old mystics. If there’s a ghost, I’ll just slap it and that’ll be the end of it.”

Damon couldn’t help but smile slightly. “I’d like to see that.”

“Save your laughter,” Aria retorted, leaning towards him. “You’ll thank me when your bed isn’t floating at night.”

“If the bed floats, I’m leaving,” he countered.

“Coward.”

“Realist.”

While they exchanged banter, Ester had already finished cleaning half the kitchen. Her method was impeccable—every surface polished, every utensil organized by size. When Aria looked back and saw the progress, she let out a whistle.

“I hate to admit it, but… she’s good at this.”

Ester raised an eyebrow. “Some of us prefer efficiency to chaos.”

“And some of us prefer to live,” Aria replied, throwing a cloth towards her. Ester effortlessly dodged it without even looking.

Damon watched the two of them, trying to contain his laughter. “You’re going to turn this place into a training ground if you keep this up.”

“Better that than dust,” Aria said.

For hours, they worked together—between teasing, silences, and the sound of buckets being dragged across the floor. The midday light began to fill the rooms, and the house finally began to breathe.

The smell of soap and wood replaced the mustiness. The open windows let in the fresh wind, and the wooden floor, previously dull, now shone with a warm and welcoming tone.

Upstairs, Ester was taking care of the bedrooms. Damon heard the sound of something heavy being moved and went up to check. When he reached the top of the stairs, he found her pushing an old dresser by herself, the muscles in her arms tense, her face concentrated.

“Let me take care of that,” he said, approaching her.

“I can manage alone.” “I know. But the wood looks older than both of us put together.”

For a moment, she hesitated—then, she gave in. They worked together, pushing the piece of furniture into the corner. When they finished, they stood side by side, breathing heavily.

“Thank you,” she said, in a low voice.

Damon nodded. “You’re still terrible at asking for help.”

“And you’re still stubborn.”

He smiled slightly. “Fair enough.”

Aria appeared shortly after, breathless, with her hands on her hips. “You could warn me when you’re going to move furniture! I thought the house was collapsing.”

“Are you complaining about work?” Ester asked dryly.

“No. Just saying I’d rather fight monsters. At least they die when I hit them.”

“You’re a disaster,” Ester murmured.

“And you’re a blizzard,” Aria retorted, smiling.

Damon raised his hands. “Enough. Let’s stop before one of you kills the other.”

“I agree,” Ester said, wiping her hands. “That’s enough for today.”

When they went downstairs, the room looked completely different—clean, bright, and with a feeling of home that none of the three expected to feel. Damon lit the lamp and watched the golden glow spread across the walls.

“It’s not bad,” he said, finally. “It even looks habitable.”

“It’s a start,” Ester replied.

Aria collapsed onto the sofa, exhausted. “A start? I call this a miracle. And, honestly, I deserve a prize.”

“You get a plate of food if you manage to cook it,” Damon said.

“Oh, great,” she replied, standing up with a lazy smile. “Cooking is the fun part.”

Ester crossed her arms. “You’re not going to touch the kitchen.”

“I know how to use fire!”

“That’s exactly the problem.”

While the two argued, Damon leaned against the doorframe and watched. For the first time since arriving in Arven, he allowed himself to relax. The house, previously cold and silent, now had life—laughter, footsteps, voices.

Even if he wouldn’t admit it, there was something comforting about it.

Aria suddenly approached him with a cloth still in her hands and wiped a trace of dust from his shoulder. “There. Now you look like a knight.”

He raised an eyebrow. “And before I looked like what?”

“A lost wanderer.”

Ester, without turning her face, added: “Still do.”

Damon sighed. “I think I prefer the ghosts.”

“The ghosts wouldn’t make coffee,” Aria replied.

“And they wouldn’t make such a mess,” Ester added.

“Do you two have an answer for everything?”

“Of course,” they said in unison.

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep