Panting, he noticed Zoe’s body, limp in my arms. “What happened to her?”

“It burned.”

“What do you mean, it burned?”

“Exactly what I said. It … burned.”

“No, but I asked about Zoe, and you said—”

“I know what I said.”

“But what you said makes no sense! What do you mean? What happened to Zoe?”

“She’ll be fine. She might feel dizzy afterwards. Make sure she gets plenty to drink. Try to cool her down, though I’d avoid iced drinks for a while.”

He stared at me like I had just explained to him the entirety of Chapter 20 of his Linear Algebra textbook. “Okay, but what happened to her?”

I sighed. “Her soul burned.”

“What?”

“She … she’s a … I don’t know. I guess in your terms, you could say she’s a ‘Dragon’ or something of the sort? Child of the flame. I don’t know much about her kind. I thought they were just a legend. Though, I suppose they might consider my kind a legend as well. Anyway, she’s just a fledgling. Barely aware of what she is, if at all. Certainly couldn’t control it. It got out of hand, and it knocked her unconscious. Like I said, she’ll be fine. Just let her rest.”

Kellan nodded and scooped Zoe out of my arms. Where I had princess-carried her, he just slung her over his shoulder like a sack. I suppose he thought I had said all that I could. I suppose, in a way, I did. But not because I was forbidden from saying any more. I didn’t know how. Or maybe I just couldn’t bring myself to say it. Because the force that had knocked Zoe out had also touched me, and now, I was left with a feeling I barely recognized, one I hadn’t felt for ages, perhaps millennia, certainly a great many lifetimes ago. Because while her soul burned, it unfroze a bit of my own soul, a soul that had frozen so long ago that it had forgotten what it felt like to melt, to be free.

“I don't care how much it costs. Just get it done!”

“And … why exactly do you want this man dead so badly?”

“Assassins don’t ask questions! Just take my money and do the job!”

She crossed her arms and leaned back in her chair. “I’m a freelancer. I always ask questions. Why the hell should I take this request?” She lifted her chin up a bit. Just a bit. “Convince me.”

​

Sorry this one's super short! I latched onto the assassin idea but couldn't think of who she might be hired to kill, so I'll have to leave the rest of this conversation for a later time.

I found Sonja pacing in her bedroom, tear stains streaking her cheeks. She sat on her bed for a while, then stood up and sat down at her desk. I suppose she meant to do something as a distraction, but she just sat there, one hand on her mouth, staring into the distance. Every so often, she’d let out a sigh.

I leaned back in the doorway, arms crossed, waiting.

Eventually, she started—maybe she noticed something in the corner of her eye—and whirled around to face me.

“Hello, Sonja.”

“You! B— But you— You’re—”

I waited for her to say it.

“But you’re dead! You can’t be here! How … how are you here?” Her voice trembled. She stood up and walked towards me, silently, as if afraid to disturb whatever situation had been carefully contrived to make this encounter possible. She reached out and poked me, and when all of her senses confirmed my existence, she looked up at me. Funny, I remembered her being taller than me. “How can you be here?”

I stared at her furrowed brows and questioning eyes, trying to formulate an explanation for everything that had happened since I last saw her. “I’m assuming you cremated my body?”

“What? Yes, we did. You … asked us to scatter the ashes, didn’t you?”

I smiled a little at that. “Yes, I did,” I replied, nodding a bit, though to her or to myself, I wasn’t entirely sure. I took in a deep, shaky breath. What was I supposed to say? I opened my mouth to speak, but nothing came out. I tried again. “I’m back.”

“Well … yeah. How?”

“It’s … a long story. Do you have time?”

​

I kept the first paragraph because it adds some context to the following sentence, but I ended up changing my mind about how long it's been since she died, so Sonja wouldn't still be grieving the way she's portrayed in the paragraph.

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