"[…]It seems it's written,
but we can't read between the lines,
hush, it's okay,
dry your eye,[…]
'cuz soulmates never die."

—Placebo; "Soulmates"

I suppose I ought to start with an introduction. And an explanation afterwards regarding my behaviour.

Hello, good day to you. My name is Agni, formerly Arshad Satyendra Iier —but you most probably already know that. I work for Harold West at West co., currently a Middle and Far Eastern food trader.

Who am I deceiving, you probably saw what just happened and wonder what I meant. Fret not, for I will oblige in clearing any doubt you may hold. I just need some time to clear my head and gather my bearings…

I think I am most ready now.

I should probably start with the day of my death, between storming, lightning and utter chaos at the Phantomhive London Villa.

I had been deeply concerned with the attacks towards the band members Master Ciel had created —especially considering it was to overpower the charisma Music Hall's P4 had over the English folk— and was talking to Prince Soma about it. As it came, the young Prince was deeply concerned for his friend, and desired to stay at his side to become his "Agni".

So, in the meantime Prince Soma was attending our sudden guest (who he suspected to be Master Ciel), I decided to clean the chimney so I could fill it with more wood later on. Amidst the ashes and coal-coloured remnants, I had found a small picture. It portrayed Master Ciel (presumably when he was a kid), holding a hand to some other child—It could not be Lady Elizabeth's, for her frilly dresses could surely surpass to his side of the picture—I tried to look for any reason why the young earl would want to throw it away… and noticed an identical sleeve to the one Master Ciel was wearing (or the tip of one). Surely, it couldn't be…

I sensed danger and ran as fast as I could to where the prince was, for a gun to be pointed in his temples and his expression too shocked to move out. I shouted at him, and tried to intervene; I was not able to do much, however. The prince moved fast enough for the first shot not to be fatal —earning a wound in his hand and his ear, how pitiful! Those earrings were his favourite!— and then I was fast enough to get him out of there.

I couldn't see the face of our attacker, but I had little to no suspicion it was someone related to the Phantomhives.

I dragged prince Soma to a storage room, and before he was completely shoved in the room, I placed my little finding in his hand, knowing by the look in his eye that the small scrap of paper caught his attention. Once the door was shut, the banging and begging started. It tore my heart in half, hearing his desperate cries and all for naught; I couldn't obey to his commands this once. Nor fulfil his desires. I could not ease the utter despair within his soul.

It was rather easy to ignore his voice when my desire to protect such a brilliant star was the only thing moving me, making me strong enough so that even my dead body wouldn't surrender to the people who wanted your head.

Because you were the sun in my sky…

And without you, the earth would lose its warmth and beauty. My world would perish if you did.

So please forgive me for my recklessness, I know I was selfish for wanting you —only you— to survive. But I would rather see your crying face than your dead one.

That was my demise as Agni, the butler of Prince Soma Asman Kadar.

My soul lingered for a little longer, trying to appease Soma's distressed cries to no avail, until a reaper came to pick my soul. I was glad to serve Master Soma one last time, to repay all that kindness with my life… even if hell awaited for me, ready to judge my countless, heartless past sins.

The next I remember is a bright light at the end of a tunnel. "Is this it?", I wondered, "could this be moksha?" It certainly looked like it. The sudden peace, the feeling of being alive…

Until the wails arrived.

I was confused, I felt colder than I ever remembered in my life, and hungry, and completely soaked in some strange liquid. The fact that I was crying with no control over my body was a surplus.

Then someone had wrapped something like a blanket around me; drying off whatever was dampening my skin. I could not open my eyes and my vulnerability made me wail louder. I could not understand —nor wanted to— a single thing that was happening.

"It's a boy!" An ecstatic, female voice announced, and even though in my infant mind, I could still remember English. It took me a couple of seconds to realise they were talking about me. I tried to speak up for myself but only managed further weeping. It was incredibly frustrating.

"Let's call him Arshad."

I lost most of my awareness after that moment.

I guess I could call my second childhood 'happy' by today's standards; I had both my parent's attentions and affections. I had a good schooling, and none of my 'friends' were mean to me.

Oh, but good things are only deserved by those pure of heart. Hence, the reason I wasn't surprised with the demise of my mother.

She had been in the market, buying things that may have been needed for that night's supper. Suddenly in the waiting line, some random psychopath began shooting. The bullet hit her temples; it had been instant brain death.

Father and I had seen it in the news. I did not even flinch when I learned I could no longer see mother. I cannot say the same for him, though. He looked like a madman yelling directions, scolding me for my being slow. Scolding me for being an ungrateful, heartless son.

Things more or less went downhill.

Father could not bear the thought of mother no longer there. He proclaimed it to be the gods' fault and thus, decided to be as blasphemous as possible to try and defy them. It was only fair, he would say. He deserved no happiness, they deserved no respect.

I could not really say this surprised me. I know not why, but I tried to take it as calmly as possible.

I still went to school, I still got good grades, and even if the interaction with my fellow classmates seemed a little more strained, I took no notice nor did I mind it.

Father got more and more invested in drugs, alcohol and callgirls as time passed. I really didn't mind. Even if I idly wondered once or twice what happened to him, and if mother would have approved of his behaviour.

Well, bad turned to worst, and his vices started affecting me on a personal level.

After a couple of months, with no income and after all there was only so many savings, basic products like hygiene and food ones started being scarce on the house, father no longer cared about the world so long as he had some strong liquid in his hand and a pretty woman to touch.

The effects of neglect soon started showing; my long hair, so bright and silky, had tangles here and there and some dirt at the base; my dark skin soon turned yellowish, and it showed, along with the way my ribcage was visible through my skin, just how far malnourishment can get in a few months.

At some point I had stopped believing, and even I was surprised at how numb I felt. Though I probably attributed it at the circumstances for the time being.

The first thing that had come to my mind was that I needed some form of income, and as I still hadn't finished high school (a drop-out, actually), there were very few places I could go to ask for work.

The logical and easy solution, of course, was thievery.

Well, not thievery per say, as my aspect was still pretty shady and thievery had to be performed at the light of the day, so maybe burglary would be best.

(I am very sorry if this story is triggering to you by any means.)

The first time had gone well, by normal standards, I guess. I had gotten enough things with value to get some clothes, food, and hopefully, somewhere to bathe.

(How utterly embarrassing…)

Time passed in a similar manner, the days growing duller and the nights growing darker.

One particular night I entered a house—it wasn't special-looking by any means, despite the very special people it sheltered. And I had absolutely no idea what I was getting into, at the time.

Because there, showered not only by the moonlight but also in the warm glow of a night light, sat a baby, playing with some plushies on the carpet and not a care in the world from the expression on his face.

For some reason, I could only stand there, frozen. He wasn't very special-looking either; his face chubby like all babies', his fingers clumsy as they made his furry friends float, and laugh and crash against each other.

I could only stand there, entranced.

Golden eyes were suddenly on my figure, staring with that naïve wonder only kids could have. And something like a deja vu rang in my chest, thawing little by little the ice that had long settled there, numbing me, and suddenly I was alive.

"Are you here to play with Raja too, mister?"

And so very afraid.

Images flashed through my mind without my permission, and I was reeling. I remember grabbing onto the nearest furniture (why would someone have a desktop in a child's room?) to regain my footing. But his smile…

"What's your name, mister? Tell Mr. Cuddles!" He had grabbed another plushie, an elephant this time, and my mind couldn't grap around the concept of it being called something as cute as 'Mr. Cuddles'.

"Ar-arshad," I remember croaking, the words leaving an ashy aftertaste in my mouth. The kid frowned and placed his hands on his hips, probably emulating something he had seen his mother do whenever she was angry. And he huffed and I was so, so confused.

"It doesn't suit you," he declared, "your skin is like mine, and since I'm Soma, you shall be Agni." He then smiled again and the name rang like a prayer in my head.

Soma, my prince…

More images flashed by, faster than I could understand; Soma seemed to take it as an agreement, for he grinned and went over to some toy box, and his smile shone like the sun itself, so so warm—

And in that moment, miss Meena entered (her face younger than that of my memories') and she screeched when she saw me, carried Soma out of the room and closed the door. I had been too confused by everything that I could only stare at the spot where Soma was missing, even after the police officers arrived and took me into custody.

I don't remember it like I remember the warmth in my chest when I saw Soma in this new life.

And just like last time, I found purpose.

Since I was a minor at the time (could I have been considered as such given my status as a reincarnate?), they had been rather lenient on me. Even gave me some clothes and offered help. And I received it, grateful and determined to become a better version of what I had been, once upon another life.

And I met Prince Soma, again and again, but dared not interact with him until Sebastian introduced us. And like last time I felt like it was destiny bringing us together. The warmth in my chest was so much that at times I felt like I would burst. His smiles were just as blinding as I remember, and his laugh as melodious as a songbird's.

When the incident with miss Meena happened, I could only stand and watch. The feeling of deja vu coming on stronger, until their confrontation at the concert. And I could only stand and watch as Prince Soma's heart was once more broken, that smile on his face dimming amidst a crowd of thousands where only I could see him.

But I was selfish and wanted to continue basking in his kindness, so I took a leap of faith and hoped he would still like my homemade curry—even if I no longer had Kali's power in my right hand.

And then prince Soma mistook my devotion for romantic affection. And I realised I had overstepped my boundaries once more; so I did the cowardly thing and jumped.

It broke my heart to see such expression of turmoil etched across his face, but not only was I ill-matched for him, having been his khansama in our past life, but our age gap was something to consider.

And yet…

I hope he can move on from me. I hope he did that last time too. I was happy the time we spend together, but I cannot face him after causing him such pain.

Yay, not dead. Hope y'all are safe too. Sorry for the delay. the first half of this doc has existed since Sep 2017, I just sat at times during today and wrote the second half. You can tell the difference in writing style (2019 style was so much better RIP in pieces, 2k19 me, imma miss you big time). Not gonna fix that, I'm tired of looking at this doc. Have been for the last two years.

Anyways, there you go ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ I got a couple of scenes from last chapter written on paper, and I'm quarantined at home with nothing better than online classes to do (that's a lie, anything is better). So. I might actually finish this thing by my birthday (the 8th). Something to look forward to?

Y'all, please stay safe. Thanks for the kudos and the comments you have left. They really mean a lot to me. Even if the fandom is sorta dead orz.

Matane!