[M|IC] The Price of Life (Ashen and Naming)

[Namingtoohard]

After pointing Froste towards the nearest bathrooms, Zula settled down to wait. She leaned against the wall and folded both of her arms across her chest, much as she’d done up above, before things had gone to shit. It was hard to think about anything else right now, and while her initial spike of panic had faded, the rest of her concerns had not. Zula even found herself wondering if Froste actually needed the bathroom, or if they’d excused themselves for more worrying reasons. Who had to question shit like that? It was almost like her condition was trying to destroy her mentally too. At this rate, it’d probably succeed at driving her mad long before her body gave out.

When Froste returned, Zula was quick to straighten, silently thankful for the chance to focus on literally anything else. Their mumbled apology wasn’t particularly convincing, but she quickly decided to mind her own damn business, no matter what her instincts told her. Again, they were entitled to their privacy, and even if she decided a conversation was necessary, this wasn’t the time or the place. If shit like this kept happening, then Zula would try and strong-arm them into sharing, but only once they were alone. Mind made up, she finally turned her attention to the matter at hand.

“No idea. I imagine there are, but I’ve never really had a reason to go looking for ice tomes before” Zula answered casually, completely unbothered by the admission of ignorance. “I’ve been giving it some thought, actually, and I’m not sure we need anything that specific. If the fundamentals are the same across all types of magic, then anything that covers the basics will do, right? You can just focus calling up your magic for now and worry about specific forms and structures later.” Zula was speculating, considering that she only had experience with one type of magic, but they’d figure it out pretty fast if she was wrong. She hoped.

Zula turned her attention away from Froste, then. Cast her gaze over the rows and rows of bookshelves, stretching all the way across the room. “I’m pretty sure the elemental magic is over there” she offered, pointing towards a section relatively close to the entrance. Most of the shelves were labelled just as diligently as they were above, but she couldn’t quite make out the signs at this distance. Thankfully, she was pretty familiar with this place. “If you start from here, then I’ll go down the other end, and we can both work our way towards the middle. Sound good?”

As soon as Froste agreed, Zula sprung into motion. She made her way to the far end of the room, slipped between the last two shelves, and began her search. Despite her best efforts, progress felt painfully slow. A good number of the books she passed didn’t have titles on their spines, or at all, and those that did seemed intent on blurring together whenever she let her guard down. On more than one occasion, Zula had to stop and go back, had to force herself to focus on the ones she’d almost glazed over, before she inevitably continued onwards.

It wasn’t long before Zula started regretting her own suggestion. The entire way here, she’d been planning on starting with practical lessons, and had hoped some early success would cut down on the amount of study necessary. She’d only suggested they look at tomes first in hopes that the direction would help Froste feel a little less overwhelmed, and now she was paying the price. Still, Zula did her due diligence, plucking any books that looked promising from their shelves. She’d crack the cover open and flick through the first few pages of each one, before deciding based on what she found. Most were returned to their homes, but after a few rows and several minutes, she had a small collection tucked under an arm.

When she finally turned down an aisle that Froste had already started on, Zula’s shoulders slumped in relief. She was so ready to be done with this shit, she had to suppress the urge to rush over and dump her choices on them immediately. Instead, she reminded herself that her cure could very well depend on doing this properly and forced herself to continue browsing. Only when they were practically bumping into each other did she turn to Froste properly.

“Here.” Zula shamelessly shoved two of the three books she was carrying into Froste’s arms, on top of what they’d collected themselves. She’d gathered these books on their behalf, so it was only fair. And based on what she’d seen of their physique, she couldn’t imagine them having much trouble with the extra weight. No harm, no foul. “Let’s go find somewhere to sit. I think the closest spot with a table is over this way.” Without waiting for a response, Zula was off again, heading back the way she’d come.

It didn’t take her long to find them a booth, partially hidden behind a table bearing a poorly placed statuette. Zula was pretty sure that she’d gotten laid in this particular one before, though she had no intention of distracting Froste with details from that particular memory. Once they were seated, she quickly kicked her feet up, before turning her attention to the collection they’d gathered between them. “That brown one I gave you is a fire tome, but it had some good descriptions on sensing and drawing on your own magic. The thicker one is the closest thing I found to an actual beginner’s guide. The writing is archaic as hell, but I thought that’d just make you feel at home. Hopefully you can wring some meaning for it. Did you find the ice tome you wanted?”

After Froste had answered, Zula quickly turned her attention to the book that she’d kept for herself. The handwritten, unsigned journal was mostly full of baseless musings on how different types of magic interacted, but there were a few sections where the author rambled a little about the possibility of transferring energy between people. Zula had read it when researching her condition originally, before deciding it was mostly useless. She’d only grabbed it to help pass the time, while silently clinging to the vain hope that she’d pick up on something she’d missed before. She cracked the spine and shifted in her seat a little, getting comfortable. Before she started reading, though, she cast Froste a glance across their shared table.

“I know it probably goes without saying, but stick to theory while we’re outside the practice rooms, yeah? It might be tempting to try while you have the guide in front of you, but I’d really rather not get kicked out of this place just yet. Or, if you can't help yourself, at least be subtle about it.” She’d hesitate for a moment, then, before adding on a little more. “If you need help making sense of anything, just let me know. I won’t make any promises, but I’ll do what I can.”

[Ashen]

They really were grateful for Zula’s help. They were glad to have someone on their side who knew where to start their search, someone who could answer their questions. But the bookshelf Zula pointed Froste too was so overflowing that they didn’t know where to begin. The end of the shelf made the most sense, but checking every single book would take them forever, and they had no idea how to decide which books were worth skipping over. While they stood staring stupidly at the shelf, they cast a glance towards the opposite end of it. Zula had already chosen one book and was skimming over another. Froste quickly refocused on the bookshelf and sighed. Overthinking was a waste of time, so they shoved their doubts to the back of their throat and plucked off the shelf the first book that caught their eye.

This room was filled with countless books about everything. Froste looked over fancy tomes with gold trimmings, thin books taped together, books with yellowing pages and strange runes and long lists of warnings. They even found a book—if they could call it that—that consisted of a madman’s doodles on lined paper held together in a binder. Froste pondered, too long, about what any of this had to do with magic before tucking it under their arm and continuing their search.

Zula had said all magics had the same foundations. With that knowledge, Froste looked through books about earth magic, and electricity, and even one book about bending steel bars with the power of your mind. This was a fascinating place, and they could see themselves spending a lot of time here, not just to regain their memories but to explore the strange magical world they no longer belonged in and find their way back to the magic running through their veins.

By the time Zula met up with them, Froste hadn’t looked at nearly enough books to satisfy themselves, but they didn’t want to waste more of Zula’s time by spending all day here. They gratefully accepted the titled she’d picked out for them and followed her away from the magical tomes still calling their name. When they could sit down, they finally looked at what she’d brought.

Their attention was first drawn to the beginners guide. They fingered the cover idly, wondering if this would reveal what they’d come here for. Surely if they’d once known magic, then a starter course would pull that knowledge from them. The fire tome seemed interesting too, and they wondered if they could learn Zula’s magic in addition to that needed to save her life. They glanced at the book Zula kept for herself, but before they could ask about it, Zula inquired about their own collection.

“Not quite,” they admitted as they spread their books out from their neat stack. They were careful with the binder, not wanting to tear any of its fraying pages. “I did find a book about water manipulation, though.” They motioned towards a book with a deep green cover. “It might have something about ice.” They showed her the other books they’d picked: one on maintaining magic concentration in a magic-repressed world, another on genetics and magic, and the binder full of drawings. They then realized they were in the same predicament again. Where to start? Looking over their options, Froste decided on the beginners guide.

Zula knew this book well. Froste could tell from the way she talked about it that she’d read it far too many times. How many pages in that magic room were filled with the ghosts of Zula’s fingerprints? How many tomes had she studied in search of answers to her curse? Froste felt a pang of sympathy for her, and they opened their book with new determination.

Her warning brought a smile to their lips. “Huh,” they said, a teasing lilt in their voice. “I thought you brought me here so I could blow the place up.” They let out a small chuckle before nodding. “Noted. I’ll behave.” They looked at the books Zula had grabbed for them and hesitated. “And Zula? Thank you for helping me with this. I know the stakes, but still, I…” Froste remembered the vision they’d had earlier, the acid, the person they murdered, and they shuddered. Zula couldn’t know the monster she was trying to bring back, and her reasons weren’t as selfless as Froste gave her credit for, yet Froste was still warmed by her determined kindness in all this. Without her, they’d be completely lost—or more accurately, still a popsicle—and they were glad to have here her.

Knowing Zula didn’t like when they were sentimental, they quickly picked up their book and buried their nose in it, allowing her to ignore their words if she chose. They looked over the table of contents, but even the chapter titles didn’t make much sense. Contrary to Zula’s belief, the outdated language did not make this any easier for Froste to understand. They hesitated, wondering which chapter to start at, before giving up on the table of contents and flipping the pages to the first chapter.

When the words started to blur, Froste set the book aside, rubbed at their eyes, and picked up another. They scanned the chapters of all their books until they got to their binder of drawings. This one made them sit up straighter. These doodles… Were they runes? No, they were too elaborate for that, too unique. They felt familiar somehow, and beautiful in a way that called to Froste. The few words on the pages offered little in the way of explanations, but Froste thought that if they stared at these long enough, they wouldn’t need them anyway. These symbols meant something, something reachable, and if they could figure that out, then they were sure they’d unlock a huge part of themselves.

After studying the drawings for a while, they became more and more aware of how long they were keeping Zula waiting. She probably wasn’t expecting them to have an immediate epiphany, but still, they couldn’t shake how awkward they felt. Froste learned something about themselves in that library: they did not like people watching them while they were reading. They shifted awkwardly and tried to go back to what they were doing, difficult as that was becoming.

Magic was a part of them; they were pretty sure of that. Froste skipped the pages on determining their magic affinity and instead read over the paragraphs about how to call their magic to them. They needed to be aware of their body, their mind, and their connection to the universe. It seemed silly, but Froste followed the steps in one of the books and focused on their magic. For a long while, it didn’t do anything, until they suddenly felt a burning cold touch their fingertips. Froste flinched. Their hands looked normal, and they didn’t feel any more magical than they had a moment ago. Had that been magic? Or the painful memories of what had happened last time they’d used it?

Zula had warned them against testing anything here. They shut the book, eager to get a break from it, and looked up at Zula. She still had that book from before, and Froste could make out little about it from their place across from her. “My head can’t take all this knowledge at once,” they admitted, even if their headache had started before they’d sat down to read. “Can we check these out? Is there a limit, or…?” They motioned towards her book, and curiously, they asked, “What are you reading?”

[Namingtoohard]

Froste’s playful response drew a soft chuckle out of Zula. A part of her desperately wanted to play along. To point out that blowing things up was her specialty, and insist that they find another way to destroy public property. Wasn’t that exactly what they’d come here to do, in some twisted sense? But they had a lot of work to do, and Zula didn’t think she had that much time left to waste. So, with a twinge of regret, she let the opportunity pass her by. She did appreciate the more reserved agreement that followed, though. This was perhaps the one place she didn’t want blown up, and their cooperation on the matter was quietly appreciated.

Their gratitude, on the other hand, was met with a few seconds of silence. Zula was beginning to expect this sort of thing from them, but that didn’t make accepting their appreciation any easier. “If you want to thank me, do it by getting started, and by studying hard.” Despite her harsh choice of words, Zula spoke them without reproach. She even accompanied them with a small flick of her hand, as if to signify that she wasn’t being totally serious. Then, when Froste inevitably turned their attention towards their chosen book, Zula did the same. She flicked through the pages of her journal until she found the section she wanted, before lowering her head and starting to read.

In direct spite of all her hopes, nothing in Zula’s journal stood out to her. There was no incredible ‘eureka’ moment where she realized that she’d overlooked something valuable, and that the answers she sought were here after all. Nothing contained within its delicate pages struck her as new, or revolutionary, or important. There were only the scribblings of a madman, whose insane theories on how magic really worked seemed to contradict every other book in this library.

It didn’t take long for Zula’s impatience to get the better of her. The words began to blur, and her eyes started to skim, and her attention began to wander. She noticed a loose thread on the cuff of her jacket, and pulled at it until it snapped. She peered out of their booth and around the rest of the library, trying to see if there was anyone else around, familiar or not. And, more often than not, her eyes wandered over to Froste’s side of the table. Zula peered at their collection of books again, double-checked which one they were reading, and took in their focused expression, blissfully unaware as to how her scrutiny was annoying her guest. When Froste next spoke, their words were a welcome relief from the boredom that was threatening to suffocate her.

“Not from this part of the library. Sam wouldn’t let me take these books home even when he was helping me search for a cure.” There was a hint of bitterness to Zula’s words this time, but it vanished just as quickly as it had appeared. “I used to think it was a secrecy thing, but that never made much sense when people could just take photos with their phones. Now I think it’s more to do with the wards on this place. I’m not sure they can distinguish between someone checking a book out or stealing one, and I’m not willing to gamble my life on finding out. We can come back as often as you need, though, if that helps.” Her final words were accompanied by a vaguely apologetic look.

When Froste asked about the book she’d been reading, Zula placed the open journal on the table between them. She spun it around so the words were facing Froste, offering them the chance to take a look for themselves. “It’s meant to be some sort of pseudo-scientific journal, I think. There’s no name, but whoever wrote it had some unique perspectives on the way magic worked.” The way Zula paused on that word made what she thought of his ideas perfectly clear. “They talk about shit like transferring magical energy between people, using necromancy to manipulate souls instead of bodies…a ton of stuff that openly contradicts most of the basic rules.”

She’d give Froste a moment to look over the scribblings themselves before she continued. “Most of it doesn’t make much sense to me. Either it’s incredibly intelligent work that’s beyond my understanding, or the author is just batshit crazy. I’m definitely leaning towards the latter. But the people who run this place seemed to think it was worth keeping, even if I’m not so sure. And maybe some outside-the-box thinking is what I need, given my situation.” She’d punctuate her conclusion with a casual, borderline dismissive shrug.

Having said her piece, Zula settled back into her chair again. She cast a wandering eye over Froste’s stack of books one more time, tried to get a glimpse of the section they’d just been reading. “How are you faring? I know you said you can’t take much more reading right now, but does it feel like you’re making any sort of progress? Is there anything you want to test out?” The question was laced through with a slender thread of hope. Zula was more than ready to be done with books, and eager to spend a little bit of time on more practical exercises instead. While she didn’t really want to accelerate her condition any more than necessary, if the alternative was more time with this journal, then a slightly quicker death actually seemed preferable somehow.

[Ashen]

It was disappointing to know books could not be taken from the library. Froste wondered about that. It was more a museum than a library, then, and they had no idea how they would find this information next time they were here. Would they have to commit to memory these exact titles and covers and where they had found them on the shelves? That was not happening. They were about to voice such concerns when Zula rambled on, mentioning something about photographing the pages with a cell phone. Froste frowned. Surely the text or the runes would be lost in the pixilation of a cell phone camera. But before they could embarrass themselves in asking, Froste remembered the clothing store. If Zula could somehow keep her money in her phone and use it to wirelessly pay for things, then technology had likely advanced enough that cell phone cameras were not the crappy things they remembered them to be.

As Zula talked about the contents of her chosen reading material, Froste shivered. “Necromancy,” they repeated quietly. It was such a dark art, such a forbidden thing, and the word alone left a bad taste in their mouth. If Zula was delving into necromancy to cure her odd disease, just what was Froste getting into by trying to help her? Could it be worse than the things they had done back then?

Froste’s gaze fell to the book when Zula pushed it towards them. As they scanned the pages, their teeth sank into their bottom lip. Batshit crazy certainly looked accurate. They too tried to make sense of the strange words and drawings. This was wrong, they thought, and they could never justify something as terrible as reanimation, as interfering with the peace of the dead, and yet.

Froste leaned forward, taking the book into their hands. The drawings were incomprehensible, squiggles and angles that had no business coming together, but something seemed right about them. The entire book felt weird and nonsensical, sure, but… Hadn’t Froste seen these marks before? If they weren’t mistaken, these were famous drawings. Everyone should have known them. In fact, Froste was sure they could trace them with their eyes closed. But Zula had mentioned that they’d made no sense to her, and she certainly would have asked other people about them, people born even before Froste. If none of them had recognized these things either, then… Why did Froste?

They couldn’t tell if it was their dark revelation earlier, or all the reading, or even just staring at the remnants of a twisted mind poured onto a page, but their headache was worsening. Froste winced as a particularly harsh wave of pain passed over them, and they turned the book away. They had no idea if those markings, that journal, would help Zula in any way, but they did know they had once known its contents. It was a book about necromancy; what did that mean? Just what was going on in that lab they had worked in?

Froste was thankful for Zula’s questions, and especially for the distraction from her book that they provided. “It feels like I should have started studying for my finals sooner than this,” they replied, flashing her a cheeky grin. Their smile faded as they answered her more seriously. “Truthfully, I don’t feel much different from when we started.” Their headache had been gentler then, for one, but they didn’t see the point in sharing that detail. “Though while reading, I did feel something.” They looked down at their hands again. The cold they had felt in their hands when they’d really focused, had they imagined that? Froste touched their fingers to their neck, but they didn’t feel any colder than the rest of their body. They sighed.

“Let’s go somewhere to practice.” Their whole body was screaming at them to go home and get some rest, or to overdose on painkillers until they could think straight again, but Froste swallowed their thoughts. An idea came to them, and hopeful, they wanted to see if they could bait out their own magic. “Can you take a picture of these?” they asked, motioning towards the books they’d chosen. “So we can find them next time.” They laid them out nicely for Zula to photograph their covers. “And,” they said, “do you think you can do the fire thing again?” It was not the most eloquent way to ask Zula to use her magic. “I think it might help me remember how to control my magic if I see someone else doing it.”

[Namingtoohard]

Zula waited patiently as Froste examined the book, her attention fixed not on the mad scribblings within, but on their face. When their expression shifted, just slightly, her eyes narrowed. Then Froste spoke, and the moment passed. She mirrored their smile, mildly amused by their joke, and watched as they pressed their fingertips into the side of their neck. The sensations they were describing were completely possible. She always felt the heat of her own flames, often well past the point of comfort. The real question was whether they were making progress already, or just imagining what they thought they should be feeling. There was little point in dwelling on it, she supposed. As soon as they started practicing, they’d know for sure.

“Sure” Zula answered simply, in response to both their questions. She slipped her phone out of her pocket and swiped across to the camera app, before leaning across the table to snap a quick photo. After taking a moment to confirm that all the titles were legible, Zula slipped her phone away again, before rising from her seat. She shuffled out of their little booth with all the grace she could muster, leaving their collection of gathered books behind. Sam or one of the other librarians would find them and re-shelve them before too long. Probably.

Once they were both free, she would set off towards the far end of the library, confident that Froste would follow. But as Zula weaved between shelves and statues and display cases, her mind began to wander. She hadn’t planned on testing Froste, had only shown them the book to indulge their curiosity, but…what was that look she’d seen on their face? They hadn’t understood or recognized any of the contents, right? No. That was absurd. They’d probably just been confused, or upset, and she’d misjudged. It was just her own mind, clouded by desperation, looking for hope where none existed. That was all. They couldn’t remember their own name, let alone something so obscure. And they’d promised to tell her if they remembered anything useful.

They would keep that promise, right? She certainly wanted to believe it, and Froste seemed genuine, but had they really known each other long enough for her to make that call? Probably not. Zula wanted to respect their privacy, but something strange had happened to Froste during their admission, and they hadn’t seen fit to tell her about it. It hadn’t been long, but such an obvious deflection had planted a small seed of doubt. That said…maybe it wasn’t worth worrying about. It wasn’t like she could force Froste to talk, even if she decided she wanted to. She had little choice but to trust them, and hope they wouldn’t leave her out to dry.

Great.

She shoved the thought from her mind when she spotted an inconspicuous door, tucked away in one of the back corners, and hidden behind some hanging drapes. Easy to miss, if you didn’t already know it was there. Zula reached for the doorknob and pushed it open, before peering into the dim space beyond. After a couple of seconds, the lights switched on automatically, offering her an unobstructed view of the dust-covered boxes within. Satisfied, Zula ushered Froste inside, before closing the door behind them. As soon as the latch clicked into place, she pressed her hand against a small, metal plate set into the wall. It responded to her touch immediately, started glowing with the same soft, ethereal light that infused the walls of the library. Proof that the wards had activated, and this room was now sealed off from the rest of the building.

With that done, Zula moved to join Froste near the middle of the room. The promise she’d made to Sam echoed in her mind, but after a moment of silent deliberation, she decided to ignore it. Time was a precious resource right now, and she had no intention of wasting it moving old boxes around. Besides, this would be the first time Froste had attempted magic in literal years. While she suspected they were powerful, Zula doubted that they’d do any real damage on their first attempt. She’d worry about collateral after they’d proved Froste could use magic, not before.

“Alright. I’ve sealed the room, so we can get started. Now, watch closely.” Once Zula was certain she had Froste’s attention, she turned her focus inward. She could feel her power, simmering just beneath the surface. Dimmer than she liked, but a comforting presence nonetheless. It didn’t take much effort to call it forth. She asked, and it responded, as natural and easy as breathing. Like it wanted to be used, was eager for the opportunity to serve, to become something more.

Zula extended an arm, held it out between them, her palm facing upwards. Then she uncurled her fingers slowly, and flame blossomed between them. A ball of fire with no visible source winked into existence, filling the air with a soft crackling sound, bathing them in its flickering light. It hovered just above the surface of Zula’s palm, making her skin prickle uncomfortably, but she paid the sensation no mind. The fire mage just looked up at Froste and grinned lazily, satisfaction etched into every line of her face. Zula gave them a moment to take it in, before she spoke again.

“Simple elemental magic like this shouldn’t require any sort of incantation or ritual. I know they help some beginners focus, but the power should already be there. All you have to do is find it, then…direct it. Channel it. It’s more like flexing a muscle than anything.” While she spoke, Zula would twist her hand. The flames she’d conjured remained where they were, letting her run her fingers through the dancing tongues of fire absentmindedly. “Does that help at all?”

[Ashen]

Froste stood up when Zula did, though unlike her, they didn’t feel quite so comfortable just leaving all their books scattered across the table. They cast a sidelong glance at them, wondering if they should put them back. But Froste barely knew where they had found their selections, let alone Zula’s, so they eventually decided to leave it to Sam to sort out. At least that way they’d be able to find them at all next time. Froste jogged up to Zula just in time for her to pull open a partially obscured door.

They entered what Froste assumed was a closet, filled with the dust of unuse and several boxes that peaked Froste’s interest. They wondered again if this was an appropriate use of library resources. Were they supposed to be back here? Froste hadn’t seen an “Employees Only” sign anywhere, but then, they also hadn’t been looking. They were distracted by the sudden light in the room, and after deciding to not go digging in the boxes out of curiosity, they turned their attention to Zula.

She assured them that she had sealed the room, but they didn’t really know what that meant. Froste glanced at the door, wondering what would happen if they opened it now. But then Zula began to concentrate, and they gave her their full attention. She reached out for them, and there was fire in her hand, small but strong, hot enough for Froste to feel its heat even from where they were standing. They marveled at the feat, looking between Zula’s face and her magical flame to try to figure out how she was doing it. Again, a nagging thought tugged at them, concerned for all the flammable things in this room, but Froste dismissed the thought. This was far more important, and they needed to understand how Zula did it.

Froste nodded along to her explanation, questions popping up in their mind. If their magic was like a muscle, then how were they supposed to feel for it? They must have been past the point of incantations, but would one work for them now? Did Zula even know any that weren’t for her own fire magic? Froste had glanced over some in the books they had read, but they had a better idea.

Zula’s flame reflected brightly in their brown eyes, and they watched it eagerly, as if all their memories were burning in its center. This was probably a bad idea, and Zula would scold them for it, and they’d be an even bigger burden to her if this didn’t work. But this was the best way they knew to get their magic back, and they wouldn’t be satisfied until they tried. So, with a mumbled, barely-audible apology, Froste raised an arm and, not giving Zula a chance to stop them, they reached for her hand.

Agony shot through their body, bursting through their veins to reach every part of them. Froste recoiled with a hiss, grabbing for their singed skin. The smell of burnt flesh filled the small room, and Froste gagged on it. It… hadn’t worked? Their eyes were pinched shut, but when they dared to open them, they saw their flesh burning black in front of their eyes. The pain was unbearable, dizzying, and Froste took several weary steps backwards before their back hit the door they’d come through. It hadn’t worked. And now, they would be lucky if they could even keep their hand.

“Sorry.” Their breaths were labored, ragged, and Froste winced with each one. They could feel the fire spreading through them, threatening to take hold of their consciousness. “We thought…” they panted. “Last time, self-defense, so I…” They had thought wrong; their magic had abandoned them. Froste slunk to the ground. They didn’t have the energy for words after that. Their whole body was shaking, sweating, and to cool the pressure, they tried blowing on their hand. White-hot pain gave way to a bitter chill, and Froste opened their eyes again to see the lingering wisps of their breath, frozen, unnatural.

Froste blinked. Their hand, numb now, was encased in a layer of thin dark blue ice. They could see their skin through it, twisted and raw, but no longer burning. They’d have a hideous scar, but they had saved themselves from further burns. No, their magic had, somehow, without even trying. Without knowing how.

Froste sat up straighter, in awe of what had happened. “Did you…?” they mumbled, glancing up at Zula. She had had no hand in this; she looked just as shocked as they did. Froste delicately picked at their icy coating, and it came off cleanly, falling to the floor like glass and soaking into the dusty tiles. Froste dared to poke at their ruined flesh. The best of it was charred back, while the worst exposed raw, pink layers beneath. The sight threatened to empty their stomach, but they swallowed. It didn’t hurt. There were no nerves left to feel any pain, they guessed, except—

A threadbare layer of skin stretched itself from the edge of Froste’s burn all the way to the other end, covering their exposed muscle. Froste could feel an ache in their chest, a yearning, a… calling. They lifted their other hand to their broken skin and ran their fingertips over the jagged wound. Their skin moved with them, forming new layers and stitching itself back together. They gave this miracle their undivided attention, moving as if a seamstress might to patch holey clothes, until they were left with a scarred but intact hand.

They could only stare at their hand, bewildered. They hadn’t hallucinated, because the scar was real, and their skin was still sensitive. But how? Froste made to poke at it, but they stopped themselves. Their skin was sensitive. Their nerves were back.

They were only vaguely aware of Zula still in the room, until they looked up at her expression. She was just as lost as they were. “That… wasn’t ice magic,” Froste mumbled, but their joke was too deadpan, too breathy to be funny. What kind of magic could do… this? Their mind raced through everything they’d read today, to the different types of magic, to what Zula had said. Necromancy. The taboo practice of bringing the dead back to life. Froste looked down at their hand. They drove a fingernail into their new scar and winced at the pain. Their nerves had been dead, but now… The color drained from their face.

They let out a nervous, shaky breath. This was a lot. This entire day had been a lot. And Zula was staring at them, likely waiting for them to offer some kind of explanation, but they didn’t have one. They didn’t know what was going on. “I recognized the scribbles in the book you showed me,” they breathed. Speaking took such effort, and it was only then that they realized how exhausted they actually were. “And I think I just did… I don’t know. Something illegal. I think it’s connected.” Froste tried to sit up, but their shoulders weighed tons, and they slumped back against the door. “I promise you we’ll talk about this later, but I…” They let out a long breath. “If I don’t get a few hours to myself to figure out what the fuck is going on, then I’m going to go insane.”

[Namingtoohard]

Froste’s expression, the look in their eyes as they beheld her meagre flame, was enough to make Zula smile. Nobody had ever accused her of being vain, but it was nice to have her magic…admired? Appreciated? Something along those lines. It reminded her of the days, not too long ago, when she’d reveled in her own power. A time when she’d practiced and experimented without fear, eager to see just how far she could push herself. But that had been before the magic holding Zula’s body together had begun to unravel. Now, she couldn’t help but monitor the tiny trickle of power she was using to feed her fire, and her dwindling supply. Both hovered at the edge of her awareness, a constant reminder of her seemingly inevitable fate.

When her companion finally spoke, their voice was so quiet that Zula missed whatever it was they said. She had just opened her mouth to ask them to repeat it when Froste lunged for her hand, and all hell broke loose. The fire mage took a hasty step back, pulled her arm away from their grasping fingers on reflex, but it was too little too late. The next thing Zula knew, they were stumbling away from her, while hissing through their teeth. They cradled one hand with the other, their expression twisted by overwhelming pain.

“Why?” The question burst from Zula’s lips, her confusion evident. Much too late, she severed the connection, and the flames she’d conjured finally winked out of existence. With only the library’s ambient light to see by, she took a few hurried steps towards Froste, before making herself stop. Every instinct Zula had was screaming for her to grab their wounded hand and wrench their fingers apart so that she could try and assess the damage, but she refrained. Her skills only extended so far as causing burns, not healing them. The damage was done, and there was nothing she could do to change that. If things were as bad as she feared, then Froste needed professional medical attention, well beyond what she could provide.

They began to speak, tried to explain themselves, and the whole room seemed to tilt around Zula. In seconds, all the confusion that she’d been feeling curdled and turned to anger. Her hands curled into fists by her sides, tight enough for her knuckles to turn white, and for her nails to cut into the meat of her palms. They shook with it – a subtle tremor that only hinted at how upset she really was. Froste was her final chance at life, and they didn’t have enough common sense or self-preservation instincts to know that fire would burn them. It had to be a joke. That was it. She was the butt of some great fucking cosmic joke, or she’d been cursed, or-

Zula’s train of thought was interrupted when she caught sight of what Froste was doing. Of the thin layer of ice that fell away from their hand, and the way they began knitting their own skin back together. The sight was gruesome, unnatural, but she found herself transfixed. Unable to look away. She stared, wide-eyed and open-mouthed, until they were whole once more. Barring the ugly scar on their palm, anyway. Apparently our magic lessons were a success after all. Zula almost laughed at the errant thought. Almost.

And even after all that, Froste still wasn’t done. They still had one last slap in the face to throw her way. They had remembered something, recognized the mad scribbling in the book she’d shown them, and hadn’t said anything about it. After she’d hauled their ungrateful ass out of a glacier, babysat them for literal days, had done everything she could to help them. When they knew just how high the stakes were for her, how she was out of other options, and had promised to do anything they could to help. And after all that, she still couldn’t be rid of them, lest she damn herself in the process.

It was too much. Too many conflicting emotions, too much new information, tangled together into a single unpickable ball of stress. Zula wanted to break something. Wanted to start throwing these unused boxes and shelves around. Or better yet, to set them on fire. Instead, she started to pace. Not the full length of the room, but several meters in front of the door. She walked back and forth in silence for a moment, idly tapping the fingers of one hand against her thigh. Then, at long last, she turned towards Froste again. “We’ll talk about this later” she declared, in a tone that made it clear she wouldn’t take no for an answer. “Now, I’d suggest you get the fuck away from the door before I blow it off its hinges.”

It was an empty threat, with the room warded against malicious magic, but Zula was beyond caring. She just barely managed to wait until Froste was out of the way, before she strode towards it. After pressing her hand to the small metallic plate set into the wall, unsealing the room, she threw the door open with more force than was strictly necessary, and marched out into the library proper. She stormed past bookshelves and tables, statues and displays cabinets, not once bothering to check if Froste was still following.

Zula made it halfway up the stairs before her phone buzzed in her pocket. Apparently they’d risen high enough for her to get reception again. She pulled it out, more out of habit than anything, and glanced at the notification. It was Sam, sending her the details of the job he’d offered, just like she’d asked. After everything that had happened downstairs, she’d almost forgotten. Even so, this was perfect. She tried to avoid working with clouded judgement, but fuck it. She needed an outlet, a chance to blow off some steam, and this would do just fine.

Before she could think better of it, Zula slipped the phone back into her pocket, before turning to face Froste at last, her expression rapturous. She found herself glad that they were standing on a lower step, just so she could look them in the eye without having to crane her neck. “You said you wanted some time to yourself. Well, lucky for you, I have work tonight.” It seemed that her time as a babysitter was over at last. And thank fuck for that. “I can trust you to look after yourself while I’m gone, right? You aren’t going to burn the place down because you were confused by the stove or something, are you?”

[Ashen]

Zula had every right to be mad, but the fire in her words only burned Froste all over again, fierce and unnecessary. They wanted to call her out for that, reprimanded her for her anger aimed at them when they were in such a bad place already, lost and confused and still in pain, dammit, but they… couldn’t. They didn’t have the energy for it, but more than that, they knew Zula was facing her own challenges. She depended on Froste, and they could have easily killed themselves just then. Maybe she’d thought they were going to. Froste turned away, ashamed. They were completely spent, and they couldn’t wait to get back to Zula’s place, take a long shower, chance some more food, and not do anything at all for the rest of the day.

The stairs were steeper now than when they’d descended them, and Froste balanced themselves against the railing, pausing every few steps to take another breath. Zula wasn’t about to wait for them though, so they pushed on. When she turned to them, said something about work, Froste cringed at the passive aggression she loaded into her words. “I—” they started, awkward, wounded. They were not an idiot, but they knew how ironic it would be to say so after what they had just done, so they kept their mouth shut. “I’ll be alright,” they said through their teeth instead.

They glanced past her up the stairs, wondering if they could find the way back to Zula’s place alone. They didn’t want her to walk them back, especially not when she apparently had somewhere else to be. “I’ll meet you at your place later?” they suggested. It was probably another dumb idea, running off on their own in a place they didn’t know, in a time they didn’t know, especially when they were already so overwhelmed, but they needed to get away from here, from her. Froste wished Zula luck with her work in the most polite but exhausted way they could manage, and they continued past her out of the library and into the storm beyond.

There was an entire city at their fingertips, a whole array of places and people and events to explore, but as Froste looked out at the rain-soaked street, they wished they had asked Zula for directions to somewhere they could not deal with anyone. They started walking, scanning the signs atop each building as rain reflected off their glittering faces. They were mostly shops, places that would not tolerate someone with no money and no purpose, so Froste kept going. The restaurants called to them next, scents of sweet pastries or fruity drinks or deep-fried snacks swirling in a sickening mixture that turned Froste’s stomach. The people they passed were so hurried, busy balancing umbrellas and darting between puddles. It was hard to know where to go, where to start.

Froste looked down at their hand again. Sure enough, their new scar was there, pale and ugly against their otherwise flawless skin. Wasn’t that strange, too? To have skin so unblemished? They weren’t sure exactly how old they were, two or three decades at least, but surely they would have earned other scars in that time, a sun spot or two, any of the marks of a life well-lived. Perplexed and unaware of their surroundings, Froste stumbled, walking into the woman who had stopped in front of them. “I’m sorry,” they rushed out at the same time the woman swore harshly at them. Froste turned away from her, walking in a new direction to spare the awkwardness of continuing in her direction. Now wasn’t the time to think about their scars or lack thereof, they decided. They needed time away, and that meant not letting their brain try to piece together the unsolvable puzzle of their past.

Eventually, Froste found a park, and with a sigh of relief, they jogged across the street towards it. They fell into the first bench they saw that was shielded from the rain, and as they caught their breath, they watched a couple across the park run after their raincoat-clad toddler. Froste could rest here awhile, find their strength, and once they felt well enough, they would figure out how to get back to Zula’s place. They gave themselves an hour, and as they looked at the brightly-painted clock tower at one end of a playground in the distance, their eyelids drooped.

“Sir, you can’t sleep here.”

Froste startled awake as something shoved into their ribs. The world snapped into focus, and their gaze fell on a scrawny man bending towards them, his eyes wide behind his glasses. He was dressed in blue with a bright badge on his chest and a pistol strapped to his waist. He raised a brow, and the baton in hand seemed to move with it. “Did you hear me?” he asked as he shifted his umbrella.

The sun had set, and the couple and their toddler, as well as everyone else, were likely long gone. The clock tower suggested it was now close to dinnertime, and Froste mumbled a swear, wondering how they had let themselves fall asleep in public. They turned back to the officer. “Sorry,” they muttered. “I was just…”

“You got someplace to stay?”

“Huh?” A house. The cop was asking if they were homeless. “Oh, yeah, I’ve got… Yeah.” Froste glanced at the pistol again. They could feel a bead of sweat trickling down their face. Surely existing in a public space wasn’t illegal now? What would they tell Zula if they got arrested? How would she even find out?

The cop clearly didn’t believe that. “Why don’t you head home now, eh?”

“Yeah,” Froste mumbled. They sat up straighter and scratched at the back of their head. They didn’t even remember how they had gotten to this park, disoriented as they had been stumbling through the rain. They wouldn’t know how to get back to the library, let alone back to Zula’s apartment building. Police officers were meant to help people, right? “Actually,” Froste said, meeting the cop’s eye again. “Could you give me directions?” They didn’t know the name of Zula’s apartment complex, but they could describe the artists’ lane they visited together, and they knew their way back from there.

It was another hour before Froste finally arrived at Zula’s apartment building, and by then, they were drenched and shivering. Once inside, they swiped the rainwater from their skin, wrung it out of their hair, wiped it away from their eyes. Okay, maybe Zula wouldn’t be thrilled about the stupid decision to stay out in the rain, either, but at least this one hadn’t been their fault exactly. Froste headed up the stairs, and they paused outside Zula’s door. Was she even home yet? They hadn’t thought to ask her how long she’d be working. Froste rapped their knuckles against her door and took a few steps back as they waited.

If nothing else, the time away had cleared their head. Looking at the scar on their hand now made them feel ambivalent, but that was better than the overwhelming anxiety they’d felt before. They had stitched themselves back together, and that could mean a million different things about who they must have been, but… No use stressing about it quite yet. Zula had told them they would talk about it together, and she might have been able to give them some extra context too.

[Namingtoohard]

Zula couldn’t help but feel a little disappointed by Froste’s answer. By their choice to roll over and mutter empty reassurances through gritted teeth, instead of saying whatever they obviously wanted to. Perhaps she should’ve been happy. For all intents and purposes, she’d won the argument. But, despite her own better judgement, a small part of her couldn’t help but wish they’d decided to let loose instead. Zula was used to conflict. She enjoyed it, thrived on it. What she wasn’t used to was tension. The slow, torturous burn of unresolved issues. She’d already dealt with too much of that lately, thanks to her condition. And who knew how long it would be before Froste was ready to talk about what had happened today? No. For all intents and purposes, their submission only served to annoy her more.

The next words out of their mouth, the implications that they weren’t planning on following her home now, surprised Zula a little. Even so, her response was quick, almost automatic. “Sure. Sounds good.” Still too irritated to think any better of it, she stepped aside and let Froste pass without resistance. Zula glared at their back as they climbed the staircase ahead of her, before finally deigning to follow. Up the stairs, through the break room, and back out into the library. The parts of it that were available to the public, anyway. She waved a casual goodbye to Sam from across the room before stepping out the front doors, and back into the rain beyond.

Assaulted by both wind and rain, Zula dipped her head, and tucked her hands deep into the pockets of her jacket. She resisted the urge to glance around and see which way Froste was going, silently insisting that she didn’t care what they did now. Her anger propelled her the entire way home, up the stairs of her complex, and right to her front door. Zula had resisted the urge to warm herself with her magic, so she fumbled with her keys a little, her fingers numb from the cold. But after a few moments, the latch clicked, and she stepped into her empty apartment.

After emptying her pockets onto the stand by the door, Zula dashed into the bathroom. She stripped off her wet clothes, before grabbing her towel from the rack and wrapping it around herself. Then it was down the hallway and into the living room, where she flicked the heater on and helped herself to a spot on the couch. Quietly confident that Froste wouldn’t be home for another hour or so at the very least, Zula grabbed her phone and began looking over the details of the job Sam had sent her.

She didn’t recognize the name, or the face in the attached photo, but that wasn’t entirely unusual. The name of the nightclub her target had been frequenting, on the other hand, was incredibly familiar. That made things easier, though Zula found herself hoping that she didn’t run into anyone she recognized, just in case. She scrolled down, hunting for more details, before wrinkling her nose in disgust. Apparently this fuckwit was an empath, and had been using his magic on unsuspecting women to get laid. Zula found herself wondering how long he’d been at it before he’d tried his party trick on the wrong person, and gotten a bounty placed on his head

Oh, she was going to enjoy this.

A quick glance at the clock in the corner of the screen was enough for Zula to judge that she still had some time before she needed to get ready. She tossed her phone aside and rose to her feet, planning on cleaning up her apartment a little, now that she had the chance. For all her good intentions, though, it wasn’t long before Zula’s mind began to wander. Now that the adrenaline from their confrontation earlier had started to fade, she found herself worrying about Froste, and what they’d gotten up to in the meantime. Where they’d gone, and what they were doing now. She started to pace the length of her home, lost in thought.

What if they didn’t come home before she had to leave? Zula could hide a key outside for them, but they wouldn’t know where to look for it. They didn’t have a phone she could text, either. What if they found somewhere else to stay, and she’d just let her only chance at salvation walk away over one impulsive decision? What if they fucked up and got hit by a car, or mugged, or picked up by a pig for breaking a law they didn’t know about? Multiple scenarios, each worse than the last, danced through her mind in an unending chain. She wanted to trust Froste to look after themselves, but how could she, after the stupidity they’d displayed earlier that evening?

Such paranoia wasn’t like her, Zula knew. Not for the first time, she found herself hating the person her condition had forced her to become. A common occurrence these days, it seemed.

When it was finally time to start getting ready, Zula welcomed the distraction. She slipped into her bedroom and started digging through her closet, looking for anything that would let her blend in. She briefly considered a few of her more revealing dresses, before deciding against it. Zula had no idea what sort of people her target had been preying on, and she needed clothes she could move in, just in case things turned ugly. In the end, she settled on a black bodysuit that showed off what little cleavage she had, a pair of jeans, and a bomber jacket that she left unzipped. She finished with a pair of Jordans, a simple black choker, and a handful of silver rings.

Once she was satisfied, Zula sat down in front of her mirror, and started thinking about her makeup. She had a decent idea as to what she wanted, but it had been raining when she’d gotten home. Did she really want to put in the effort if it was just going to get ruined as soon as she left the apartment? She pursed her lips as she considered, before her thoughts were interrupted by a sharp knock at the door. As soon as the sound reached her ears, relief washed over Zula. There was only one person that could be, and they were just in time. She abandoned her dilemma immediately, and moved to let them in.

As soon as she pulled the door open, Zula’s eyes flickered down and back up again, taking in Froste’s dishevelled appearance. Searching for any signs of injury. Her attention lingered on their hands for a moment longer than necessary, though she couldn’t see the scar she knew to be on their hand from this angle. “You look like a drowned rat” she offered after a moment, her tone a carefully controlled neutral. She moved out of the way then, giving them the chance to step inside. “You’ve got a good sense of timing, though. I have to leave shortly. I was starting to worry that I’d have no choice but to lock you out.”

[Ashen]

Luckily, Zula was home already, and it wasn’t long after they knocked on the front door that Froste was greeted by her judgmental look. Her greeting was less than polite, though it didn’t seem she made it to be mean. Froste hesitated, not knowing how to respond. They noticed the way she was dressed, and a sense of worry washed over them. Where—or when—they were from, such an outfit might be called slutty, though they had been shown ample proof that times were changed now. Still, it was hard to fight the feeling that she was had gone somewhere unsafe in that. Froste offered her a small smile as they stepped inside, though their expression fell at her next words.

“You’re… leaving?” So much for the conversation they needed to have. Froste looked over Zula again. They realized they hadn’t asked Zula what work she intended to do, and they wondered if they should be worried about her before they realized it was none of their business. They dismissed their worries, reminding themselves that Zula was an adult, and that she knew more about modern societal norms than they did, and looked around her apartment. She meant to leave them here alone, then.

In the silence that followed, Froste wondered about what might have happened if they’d returned to find Zula gone. The officer from the park had been unkind enough; what might have happened to them if they’d had to sleep outside in the rain? They needed to be more careful here, and to not burn their only bridge to understanding who they were and why they were here. Maybe, they decided, a cell phone would be handy. They would need some way to contact Zula, or else get used to sitting around her space waiting for her to return from living her life.

In the safety of Zula’s apartment, Froste suddenly realized just how worn they were. They decided against sitting, not wanting to soak the couches, and besides, they needed to get out of these clothes soon before they got sick, if they weren’t already on their way there. But Froste didn’t want to move yet. They needed to talk to Zula, about what they remembered, and what they knew, and yet, they couldn’t. Was she still mad at them? Probably. And they couldn’t keep her from wherever she was going either. So Froste bit their tongue. As much as they wanted to feel less alone in all this, they knew it could wait.

They turned to Zula, and their gaze fell to the puddles they were leaving on the floor. “Hey, Zula,” they said softly. She was a puzzle they didn’t understand, but it didn’t take a genius to know that the terms they had parted on were less than pleasant. They shifted uncomfortably. “I’m sorry about earlier,” they said. “I wasn’t…” Wasn’t what? What was there to say? They shook their head, but a wet piece of hair slapped their cheek, flinging rainwater into their eyes. Froste moved the hair out of their face and wiped at their eyes with a small laugh. “We know more about my magic,” they offered, a consolation. “That’s something.”

They didn’t think their attempt to lighten the mood was helping, and they cleared their throat. “Good luck with your outing,” they said with a clearer voice. “I’m going to take a shower and lay down, but if I’m asleep by the time you get home, don’t worry about waking me. It past events are anything to go by, I’m quite the heavy sleeper anyway.” Their joke just felt awkward, and they couldn’t tell what Zula was thinking or feeling. Froste cleared their throat again. “Oh, and be careful, it’s raining,” they added stupidly, because anyone with functioning eyes would be able to tell from their skin and clothes that there was a storm outside.

Before they could embarrass themselves further, Froste stopped talking and sighed. They were exhausted, and they could not wait to crawl under some blankets and end this long day.