The rhythmic hum of the Normandy's engines provided a constant backdrop as Shepard made her way to the starboard cargo hold. While the rest of the ship was a hive of activity - crew members attending to their duties, the low murmur of conversations, the sporadic beeping of consoles - there was a subtle stillness that increased the closer she approached the hold, as if time and space within the ship were distorted by the being who had taken up residence there.

Gently pressing the panel beside the door, it slid open, revealing Arius. His back was turned, his hands rapidly typing away at some report. A faint melody was gently flowing through the air as he worked, and he was humming along with it. It was an old-sounding tune, one that spoke of faraway times and places, yet its hauntingly familiar timbre tickled some place in her mind she wasn't sure she had.

Aware of her presence, the music paused, and Arius turned to meet her gaze. His eyes were bright with some fresh, positive recollection, no doubt from the melody that spoke to him. "Shepard," he greeted, his voice holding the hint of a smile. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

With a slight nod, she showcased the book he'd lent her in her right hand, wordlessly indicating her wish to stay and continue delving into it. She caught the playful glint in his eyes, noting that their meetings in this hideaway were becoming frequent.

Clutched in her other hand was a paper-wrapped gift, which she delicately placed on his desk's corner. "For you," she murmured before moving towards her favoured nook in the cargo hold. Drawn by its peculiar quality of comfort, she nestled into her usual position on the sofa, adjusted the cozy, patterned blanket, and resumed her journey through The Count of Monte Cristo.

Arius watched her for a moment, curiosity kindled by the mysterious parcel she had left on his desk. His fingers brushed against the paper, feeling the soft texture and the hidden weight of whatever resided within. He tapped it with a finger, appraising the material of the item it enveloped, and surmised it was probably a paper book.

Slowly, he unfolded the paper, revealing a sleek cover titled Nebula's Whispers, shimmering in holographic lettering. The vibrant depiction of a nebula sprawled out behind the title, its colours constantly shifting in a mesmerizing display of lights and shadows.

"Shepard... I've heard of this one," Arius murmured, his fingers lightly tracing the edges of the cover. "This is about the human diplomat stationed on Thessia, right? Written half a century ago, if I'm not mistaken. I never got around to reading it."

She glanced up from her book, a soft smile lighting up her face. "It's one of my favourites," she confessed. "It was inspired by factual accounts, which I think you'll appreciate. Made me see diplomacy as more than just suits and promises. Also has a… generous helping of intrigue. I think you'll like it. It helped me find solace during some of the lonelier nights out there."

Arius's eyes softened, touched by her gift and the sentiment behind it. "Thank you," he whispered.

She nodded, acknowledging the unspoken bond between them.

Arius turned his head to view his report on screen, thinking of all the work he needed to complete, then back to Shepard as she sat alone with his book in her lap.

Perhaps the work could wait.

He walked to the back of the hold and lowered himself onto the sofa beside her, opening the pristine new pages of Nebula's Whispers to begin reading. The two of them sat in comfortable silence, each engrossed in their own worlds, yet closely connected within the confines of the Normandy. The hum of the engines, combined with the occasional flick of a page, became their shared lullaby.

In that secluded corner of the starship, time seemed to bend. Hours might've passed—or perhaps just minutes. Such was the perceived effect that, at fleeting moments, Shepard felt like the war had been momentarily forgotten, only for the dread to come back crashing through the fragile barriers of consciousness. After several such instances, her eyes returned to her book, but her focus was elsewhere. The words on the pages danced in her mind, weaving in with thoughts of other things: War. Reapers. Earth. The fallen. The promises she had made. Then, the serenity of their retreat was tainted, standing in stark contrast to the chaos she remembered: the screams on Earth, Mordin's sacrifice, Thane's final prayer. Each memory flitted across her mind like shadows, casting a pall over her thoughts. Her grip on the book tightened, the spine's sharpness pressing into her palm.

Sensing her discomfort, Arius cast a sidelong glance. Though her gaze was fixed on the book, her thoughts were evidently adrift. The furrowed brow and distant look told him that her mind was ensnared in something troubling, and he didn't need to read minds to know what it might be. Throughout his life, Arius had encountered those like her: those who, with the best of intentions, compulsively sought control, bearing the burdens of others to instill a semblance of control within themselves. An instinctive urge welled up within him, compelling him to reach out and comfort her.

However, just as he was about to, she shifted her attention to him. "Hey," she began, her tone inquiring, "back on the Citadel, after Thane's death, I caught the tail end of something you said. You mentioned something about 'seeing him again'. What did you mean by that?"

Confused initially, then somewhat surprised she had caught that, Arius paused, collecting his thoughts. "The continents of my late homeworld were largely landlocked, akin to Earth's Pangea in its prehistoric era. Surrounding our vast land was the shore, and at every edge, the horizon extended endlessly over the water." Arius blinked a few times, trying to remember what it was like, but sadly couldn't. "In the old days, we didn't know what lay beyond, only that it was unreachable. When a loved one passed, we'd say we'd one day meet them again somewhere beyond the sea." His eyes lowered. "Then, when we became space-faring, the sea of stars became the next frontier, so our beliefs persisted: Somewhere out there was a paradise where they waited, just over the thin line."

Shepard was silent for a while, processing his words. "It's a comforting thought," she finally said, her voice soft.

Arius nodded, turning to face Shepard directly. "Every culture, every species, has its own way of coping through dark times. I don't think I've asked you before… Do you hold any particular beliefs?"

Shepard took a moment, pondering. "Not really. I was raised Christian, but I left those beliefs behind in my childhood. What about you?" she inquired.

"I would not count myself among the particularly pious, though I would argue that faith is not mutually exclusive," Arius began, absentmindedly scratching his chin. "I think that even with the most clinical eye, it is impossible to ignore some fundamental tenets of our reality. Just as stars go through their life cycles – from the gathering of dust, to burning their fuel and creating elements, to eventually collapsing and birthing the next generation – they mirror the cyclical nature of our existence. At our most basic level, we are made of star stuff: our consciousness forms from the emergent complexity of our being, we live our lives, then dissolve back into the baser elements upon our death. The axioms of our existence are thusly: we are each part of the whole, the universe experiencing itself. No dogma is required to recognize this; it is borne on the back of our scientific understanding. Even the modern asari follow this doctrine in their siari beliefs. But…"

"... but…?" Shepard prompted, sensing his hesitation.

"The concept of a soul doesn't quite align with this. If consciousness is just an emergent property, then wouldn't it, upon death, simply dissipate, lost to the cosmos forever?"

"Why does it matter?" Shepard searched his eyes, trying to grasp the depth of his thoughts. "Does the idea of not having a soul unsettle you?"

Arius shifted, his gaze drifting away, shadowed with a hint of vulnerability. "This may sound foolish… but I'd really like to believe that reincarnation was real somehow."

Shepard tilted her head, intrigued. "Why's that?"

"Well, I've met a lot of people in my life. The lines between them seem to blur over time. Every new person I meet seems like an amalgamation of previous people I've met, and sometimes I'll come across someone who seems so much like someone I used to know that it seems hard to believe they were separate people."

"I've also found that to be the case as I get older. Maybe we're not as unique as we think?" Shepard said, shrugging.

"That's perhaps the more pessimistic view, but just as valid. If reincarnation were real, though, I would be happy to believe that somehow, I've repeatedly known the same souls as they've come and gone. It would be a comfort to know that I've had companions that have not left me - that they've just gone away for a little while before finding their way back." Arius had a distant, contemplative look, and he nodded softly to himself.

Her curiosity piqued, Shepard leaned in. "Is there someone from your past that I remind you of?"

The light in Arius' eyes flickered, his unique natural tell answering her at the speed of thought before words had even formed in his throat. He had caught himself too late and diverted his gaze, but not quickly enough to prevent her from noticing. "I reckon I could probably find at least one twin in history for everyone aboard this ship," he offered evasively.

Shepard smirked. "Dodging the question, Arius."

He sighed, relenting. "Yes. There was someone."

Curious, Shepard prodded, "What do you remember of them?"

Lost in thought, Arius' eyes softened. "Everything," he murmured.

Seeing his wistful expression, Shepard's tone grew gentler. "I didn't mean to bring up painful memories."

Arius met her gaze, a melancholic smile playing on his lips. "Painful? No. Bittersweet. She was one of those people who unexpectedly show up in your life and slowly come to change a great deal without realizing."

"Some would say that's fate," Shepard mused.

Arius chuckled, albeit sadly. "Maybe, but fate doesn't guarantee destiny. You can be thrust into someone's path by the universe, but it doesn't ensure you'll walk alongside them forever. I've learned that the hard way." He laughed softly. "Oof, that sounded painfully self-indulgent out loud. Please don't mind me."

Shepard smiled gently, endeared by his vulnerability. "Liara told me that due to their long lives, the asari consciously savour the time they spend with their partners rather than focusing on their inevitable loss."

"A wise perspective. Mindfulness and gratitude are important to practice; I have the East to thank for that lesson." He rose from the couch. "So often we spend our efforts worrying about the future that our present is not even a memory. Destiny, though…" He glanced at the enigmatic artifact on the table. "... Is another matter. I had long assumed mine would be sudden and bloody. Yet, against my expectations, I remain." He shrugged. "What about you? How do you think you'll get your ticket punched?"

Shepard smirked, "I already have, remember? Being ejected into the void of space wasn't exactly a party."

Arius cringed, realizing the inanity of what he had asked her of all people. "I...forgot about that. It's not often I speak to the formerly deceased."

She laughed, "No harm done. For round two, I'm thinking of something more dramatic. Maybe an explosion. Quick, but grand enough to leave an impression in the afterlife."

Amusement glinted in Arius's eyes. "Most hope for a peaceful departure in their old age."

"Peace is a luxury we might not have. Especially with the Reapers looming," Shepard countered.

Arius sighed, "Their name feels all too fitting."

Shepard's omni-tool chirped, pulling her attention. As she read the incoming notification, she stood. "I've got a debrief to attend. Later, if you're free, do you want to come up? I'd like to discuss something."

Arius smiled. "Coincidentally, I was about to prep dinner for the crew. We missed our noodle outing on the Citadel, but why not here on the Normandy? Join me in the mess once you're done."

She grinned, "You've got yourself a date. Hungry already." She headed for the door, tossing a playful salute. "Till later."

Watching her go, Arius' gaze settled on the patterned blanket draped over the couch. It reminded him of older days and his losses - but his losses had been natural, and his time in the sun had been good.

With a reinvigorated spirit, Arius left the hold to begin preparations for the meal, hopeful for the camaraderie the evening promised.