Kieran was, for the first time since his death, feeling pretty good.
He'd returned to the Guild with the Silverwheel, parked it in Bay One, and given the spectral horses a pat on their misty flanks. He was, he had decided, the best damn ghost-driver in this entire spectral backwater.
"Did you see that review, Milo?" he boasted, polishing the lantern's coppery shell with his sleeve. "Five stars. From a banshee, at that. I took her from 'soul-rending grief-wail' to 'pivoting to horticulture.' That's closure, you know! That's a character development. I'm not just a driver; you can call me a spiritual wellness consultant now! An Afterlife Coach."
"You gave a clinically depressed supernatural entity some unsolicited advice, and she dissolved," Milo retorted, his flame a dull, unimpressed yellow. "Don't sprain your wrist patting yourself on the back. One good review and you think you're the ethereal Dr. Phil. You're still the same idiot who tried to find the AUX port on a spectral horse."
"It was a fair question! How else do you play a road-trip playlist? Anyway, I'm going to see Lirien. I'm going to lodge that five-star review. You know, for my permanent file. And, you know, for stew."
He sauntered into the Guild office. Lirien was, as usual, engrossed in her paperwork. Today, she was cataloging a series of small, screaming skulls and sorting them by pitch.
"Driver Miller," she said, not looking up as he entered. "You're glowing. With self-satisfaction, I guess? It's mildly irritating. Did you scratch the Silverwheel?"
"I did not," Kieran said, leaning against the desk with a confidence he absolutely did not possess twenty-four hours ago. "I did, however, complete my fare. The banshee. And... you might want to check the old 'Ghostly Go' app, because I did receive a, shall we say, stellar review."
Lirien finally looked up. She tapped a large, smoking crystal on her desk. A glowing rune appeared in the air, the same one he'd seen.
"Yes. Five stars. 'Pivoting to horticulture.' Curious." She made a notation in her ledger. "Your five-star rating has been noted. As a result, your spiritual insurance deductible for 'Wail-Induced Soul-Fracturing' has been reduced by 0.04%."
Kieran deflated. "Oh. Just... 0.04%? I was, kind of hoping for, I don't know, a bonus? Or a better hat?"
"Your bonus is the stew." She pointed to the pass-through window, where a fresh, steaming bowl had just appeared. "And you have a new manifest. A-priority."
Kieran sighed, grabbing the bowl. "Alright, who is it this time? A vampire with a fear of the dark? A poltergeist who needs help moving himself?"
Lirien slid a piece of parchment across the desk. It was simple. Shockingly simple.
FARE: Mr. O. 'Ren'
PICKUP: The Golden Bridge
DESTINATION: The Parting Glass
NOTES: Passenger is punctual.
Kieran stared at the manifest. "Mr. O. 'Ren'? That's... that's a name. That's not The Weeping Widow of Weathertop, or Skeletor's Cousin. It's a guy. Is he...?"
"Yes," Lirien said, already back to her skulls. "He's a 'living' fare. Or 'living-adjacent', I would say. He's a resident. He pays in standard coin. This should be well within your limited capabilities. But, don't opine at him. He's very old-fashioned."
A living person. A normal, non-ghost, non-screaming, non-transparent person. A guy going to the pub.
Kieran felt a wave of profound relief. "Yes! Yes! A normal fare! An actual, just dude! I can do this. This is my bread and butter. This is my pre-death jam! Thank you, Lirien! I won't let you down!"
"Your enthusiasm is unsettling," she muttered, but Kieran was already out the door, with stew in his hand.
He practically skipped back to the Silverwheel, shoveling stew into his mouth.
"Milo! We got one! A normal! A corporeal one!" he announced, climbing into the driver's seat. "Just a guy named O'Ren. Going to Grog's tavern. Easy! Probably just wants to complain about his job at the... magic... candle... factory, or whatever."
Milo's flame pulsed. "Mr. O.'Ren'?" the lantern's voice was suddenly tight.
"Yeah. Why? You know him?"
"I just... have a very bad feeling about this, Kieran. This is... it's too simple. And Punctual? What kind of note is that? That's not a note. That's a threat."
"You're just jealous I'm getting a break from all the ectoplasm," Kieran said, snapping the reins. The Silverwheel glided silently into the street. "Just be cool, okay? Don't do the 'talking lantern' thing. You'll freak out the mortal."
The Golden Bridge was in a part of Asterveil that was clearly new-build. It was a massive, elegant archway spanning a river of calm, dark water. And it was made entirely of solidified, golden light. It hummed, casting a warm, beautiful glow on the street.
Waiting patiently at the exact center of the bridge was a man.
He was the most aggressively, wonderfully normal person Kieran had ever seen.
He wore a simple, beige tunic. Brown sensible pants. Sandals that looked well-worn, but comfortable. He had a short, neat beard and a warm, grandfatherly face. He was, in a word, un-spectacular.
Except for one thing.
He was glowing.
It wasn't a supernatural glow. Not like the floating lights. It was like a backlight. The air around him was visibly warped by warmth, and his skin had a vibrant, healthy, luminous quality.
"Whoa," Kieran muttered. "Okay, Chat. So. This guy, this Mr. Ren, he has a serious skincare routine. That's not a healthy glow, you know. That's a photosynthesis glow. He must be using that new aura-based moisturizer I've been hearing about. Solid 10/10. Radiant."
He pulled the Silverwheel to a stop. "Mr. O. Ren?"
The man turned and smiled. And the smile, it was warm. It was the feeling of a fireplace and a hot meal all at once. Kieran instantly felt better.
"Greetings, driver," the man said. His voice was like a cello. And wind chimes. And a crackling fire. "You are punctual. I appreciate that. A pleasant moment, is it not?"
"Uh, yeah. Two moons, still weird, but we're rolling with it. I'm Kieran."
"A pleasure, Kieran." He got into the carriage. He didn't glide like the ghosts, but he didn't... thud like a normal person, either. He just settled. Like that. "To The Parting Glass, if you would. I wish to observe the local mortals at rest. And try the stout."
"You got it!" Kieran said, snapping the reins. "Grog's place, right? Best stout in this dimension, probably. Or so I'm told."
The carriage pulled away. As they drove, Kieran glanced back at his passenger. Mr. Ren was just sitting there, his hands folded, smiling faintly as he watched Asterveil go by.
Kieran leaned in toward Milo. "See? Total normal. Just really into vitamins. What's wrong? Your flame is... it's all tight..."
Milo's flame was indeed a very, very small, very bright, very white point of light. He was, for the first time, completely silent.
"What's up with you?" Kieran whispered. "He's the easiest fare I've had all eternity. You… you're not going to be sassy? Nothing? You feeling okay?"
Milo's voice was a strained, high-pitched hiss. "Just. Drive. Don't opine. Don't philosophize. Don't advise. Just drive. The. Carriage."
"Jeez. Fine. Grumpy."
They rode in silence for a few minutes, the only sound the faint hum of the Silverwheel's silver inlays. The silence was, frankly, becoming awkward. Kieran was a professional, dammit. 4.8 stars. Awkward silence was a one-star review waiting to happen.
He cleared his throat. "So... uh... Mr. Ren. You new in town? Or just visiting?"
Mr. Ren turned his warm, glowing gaze on Kieran. "Oh, I am always in town, in a manner of speaking. But I rarely 'visit.' I am conducting some field research."
"Field research. Cool, cool. What's... uh... what's the field? You ummm... are you a botanist? Studying these glowing-moss-things?"
Mr. Ren chuckled. It was that wind-chime-fireplace sound again. "Something like that. I am studying 'sustenance.' And 'comfort.' And 'faith.'"
"Oh, boy." Kieran tensed. "Look, man, if you're from a 'church' or whatever, you know, I'm not really, uh, a 'joiner.' I'm still processing the whole I'm dead thing. The cosmology is, it's definitely a lot right now."
"No, no." Mr. Ren held up a hand. His hand was glowing. "Not a church. I am an independent researcher. I am simply curious. You, for instance. You are new. You have the scent of transition about you. And… root vegetables?"
"Um... that'd be the breakfast stew, SIr. It's a whole thing here."
"Fascinating. So, as a new arrival, tell me, driver. What is the state of faith in your estimation? What do people believe in here?"
Kieran gripped the reins. This was a classic 'trap' fare. The 'what-do-you-think-about-politics' fare. The 'do-you-think-this-city-is-going-downhill' fare. He had to be diplomatic.
"Faith? Oh, you mean like, trust in the system? In the Guild? Uh..." Kieran thought about Lirien's 0.04% deductible. "It's fine, I guess? The management is a little cold. The contracts are... let's say 'iron-clad.' But the stew..."
Mr. Ren's glow seemed to focus. He leaned forward. "The stew?"
"Yeah. The stew," Kieran said, warming to his topic. He was on safe ground here. "I've got faith in the stew. It's reliable. It's consistent. I wake up, it's there. I end my shift, it's there. It's hot. And It's savory."
"Fascinating," Mr. Ren murmured, his eyes (which, Kieran now noticed, were the color of warm, golden honey) fixed on him. "Faith in soup, huh."
Kieran felt a surge of his old 'podcast-host' energy. This guy... this guy got it!
"No, seriously, man," Kieran said, forgetting Milo's 'don't-opine' warning. "Think about it. What else is there, really? You know? Back when I was, you know, pre-dead, people had faith in all sorts of stuff. They had faith in money. In politicians. In their favorite sports team. Even in dating apps!"
"And what happened?" Kieran continued, getting passionate. "It always let them down! The money? Vanishes. The politicians? They pivot. The team? Always chokes in the playoffs. It's all abstract. And It's unreliable!"
He gestured with one hand, the spectral horses continuing their steady, unnervingly smooth pace.
"But good soup?" he said, his voice lowering with reverence. "Good soup is never lies. It never betrays you. You can't argue with a good mirepoix, you know? You can't spin a perfect savory broth. It's tangible. And It's definitely real."
Mr. Ren was really glowing now. Like really glowing. The inside of the carriage was lit up like a summer afternoon.
"So... your belief," Mr. Ren said, his voice hushed. "Your central tenet is… soup?"
Kieran shrugged. He'd come this far. "Bro, I believe in good soup. It's the one true constant. It's warm. It's nourishing. It just... it is. It asks nothing of you, and it gives you, you know, sustenance. What more do you need? What's more 'divine' than that?"
Mr. Ren just sat back. He closed his eyes. He looked profoundly, deeply moved.
"Incredible," he whispered. "Such simple, unadulterated, elemental truth. Faith not in the abstract, not in the promise of comfort, but in the comfort itself." He opened his eyes. "I have not considered this. This is potent. You have given me a great deal to contemplate. A 'new-old way.' Yes."
Kieran felt a flush of pride. He'd impressed this guy. This glowing vitamin-salesman. "Hey, you know. Happy to 'opine.' I'm kind of an 'Afterlife Coach' now. It's a new brand... I'm pivoting, if-you-know-what-i-mean."
They'd arrived at "The Parting Glass." Grog was outside, wiping down a table with a rag the size of a bath towel. He looked up, saw the carriage, saw Mr. Ren, and promptly dropped his rag.
Kieran didn't notice. He pulled the Silverwheel to a perfect, smooth stop.
"Here we are, Mr. Ren. One Parting Glass. Grog makes a mean stout. I have faith in it."
Mr. Ren stood, and as he stepped out of the carriage, his glow was almost blinding. Kieran had to squint.
"Dude," Kieran said, shielding his eyes. "Seriously. You should get that, ummm, that aura checked out. It's super bright, you know. That can't be good for your spiritual pores. Right, Milo?"
Milo was making a sound. A faint, terrified, squeaking noise. Like a mouse being stepped on. His flame was a pinprick.
Mr. Ren smiled at Kieran. "Your words have given me much, Driver Kieran. You have clarified my research. I thank you."
"Hey, no problem! All part of the five-star, whoa, service." Kieran was trying to figure out the billing. "So that'll be, uh, honestly, I have no idea. Lirien handles the spiritual crypto-wallet, or whatever. Are you 'Mr. O. Ren' on the 'Ghostly Go' app?"
"The Guild will be compensated," Mr. Ren said, his smile widening. "As for you a tip… for your soup-based philosophy."
He didn't reach for a coin.
He just placed his glowing hand on the frame of the Silverwheel.
Kieran felt it.
A wave of warmth. A pure, undiluted, profound warmth. It was the feeling of a gallon of perfect stew, a roaring fireplace, and a brand-new, fluffy pair of socks, all at once. It flooded through the wood, into the reins, and into Kieran. His aura, his soul, tingled.
The silver inlays on the carriage flashed once, a brilliant, blinding gold. The spectral horses whinnied; a deep, joyful, majestic sound. For a split second, they didn't look like mist. They looked like stars.
"May your bowl always be full, Driver," Mr. Ren said.
And then, he didn't walk into the bar. He just turned into a column of pure, solid, golden light. And ascended.
He zzzzzt-ed. Up. Straight up. He punched a perfect, grandfatherly-looking hole in the clouds and was gone, leaving only a fading sparkle in the twin-moon-lit sky.
Kieran sat there.
His mouth was open.
His hands were tingling. And the whole carriage was humming. It was vibrating with a deep, resonant, happy energy.
He looked at the empty spot. He looked at the sky. He looked at Grog, the orc-bartender, who was now very, very slowly, on his knees, picking up his rag and pointedly not looking at the sky.
"......"
"......"
"......Milo."
The lantern's flame erupted. It wasn't a flame; it was a blue-white inferno that filled the entire glass, threatening to shatter it.
"DO YOU HAVE ANY... ANY... CONCEIVABLE IDEA... WHO THAT WAS?!?!" Milo shrieked, his voice cracking with sheer, undiluted terror.
"I... I..." Kieran stammered. "Is that Mr. O. 'Ren'? Um, a skincare influencer? A really successful, independent researcher? Ummm a hologram that, um, just went up?"
"THAT WASN'T 'MR. O. REN,' YOU CALAMITOUSLY, CATASTROPHICALLY, SOUP-FOR-BRAINS WALNUT!" Milo roared.
"THAT... WAS O'REN, THE SUBLIME LUMINARY! THE GOD OF THE HEARTH! THE ETERNAL SPARK! THE DIVINE PATRON OF... OF... COMFORT, AND... GOOD SOUP, APPARENTLY! 'BRO, I BELIEVE IN GOOD SOUP'?! YOU SAID THAT! YOU... YOU... YOU PREACHED SOUP-WORSHIP... TO A GOD OF THE HEARTH!"
A... a...
A god.
An actualGod.
Kieran's brain did not blue-screen. It just froze.
"But he seemed nice?" Kieran offered weakly.
"NICE?! 'NICE'?! HE'S A GOD, KIERAN! And he was doing 'field research'! He was probably deciding whether to smite this whole district for its 'spiritual apathy'! And... AND YOU! You told him you worship broth! You... you... you might have just saved us all! Or you might have just doomed us to an eternity of being lightly simmered! I CAN'T TELL WHICH!"
Kieran looked at his tingling hands. He looked at the humming, glowing dashboard. "He tipped me. He tipped me in vibes? The carriage, it feels fast, you know. It feels zippy now."
"HE BLESSED THE CARRIAGE!" Milo screamed. "HE 'COMPENSATED' US! HE INFUSED THE SILVERWHEEL WITH A MINOR DIVINE BENEDICTION! WE'RE... WE'RE PROBABLY GOING TO GET SPECTRAL SPEEDING TICKETS! I HATE YOU! I HATE THIS! I AM A BOUND, SECOND-TIER ILLUMINATING SPIRIT, NOT A DIVINE-INTERVENTION-VEHICLE-ACCESSORY!"
Kieran started to laugh.
It was a low, slightly hysterical cackle.
He looked up at the sky. He looked at his humming, glowing, tingling hands. He couldn't... he just couldn't process this in a normal way.
He slowly, deliberately, brought his invisible spoon-microphone up to his mouth.
"Okay, Chat," he said, his voice shaky, but exhilarated. "Okay. We have a major vlog update. You are not going to believe this last fare."
"The passenger was Mr. O. Ren. Yeah. Turns out the 'O' was for Oh. My. God. Because He's an actual God. Capital G. Ho-ho. Divine. All... all of that."
Milo made a sound like a drowning teakettle. "I am going to self-extinguish. I... I swear it... I'm... I'm..."
"We had a little chat," Kieran pushed on, his grin getting wider, more manic. "About faith. About the big picture. And, you know, I think I may have accidentally founded a new religion. Religion based on stew."
He patted the dashboard. It was warm.
"And the tip? The tip, Chat? He didn't tip in ghost-coin. He buffed the ride! He gave us a boon. A divine-tier upgrade. I feel tingly. The car feels tingly!"
He looked up at the patch of sky where the God of Good Soup had vanished.
"Chat," he whispered, his voice full of a wild, new wonder. "How much aura did I just gain for that? Did I just level up?"
"JUST DRIVE, YOU FOOL!" Milo shrieked, his flame flashing a frantic, desperate red. "JUST. DRIVE! GET US... GET US AWAY FROM THE DIVINELY-TOUCHED TAVERN!"
Kieran cackled. He grabbed the reins. "You got it, buddy! One divinely-buffed ride back to the Guild!"
He snapped the reins.
The Silverwheel leapt forward. It didn't just glide. It surged. It shot down the cobblestone street, leaving a faint, golden trail of light in its wake. It was definitely faster, though.
"Whoa! Okay!" Kieran yelled into the wind. "This is new! This is a performance upgrade!"
He laughed, the sound echoing through the misty, twin-mooned night.
"This job," he yelled, "is WILD!"