Frozen Embers

The air around them stung like a thousand needles, and a deep ache had settled into their bones. Tears of pain and fear welled in their eyes, freezing before they fell as the icy wind whipped across their face. “I don’t want to die," They whispered.

They had been walking for hours, abandoned miles from the main road. The relentless cold was seeping deeper into their limbs, turning their muscles to ice. They collapsed forward, landing face-first in the snow. They slowly pushed themselves up, dragging their frozen body with limbs of lead to lean against the rocky side of the mountain nearby.

They closed their eyes and anger surged through them—a deep, primal rage they had never felt before. The fury of a dying man. I shouldn’t have ever come out here with them, they thought, They left me here to die. The rage blazed hotter within them, igniting a fire deep in their chest, and with it came a searing pain.

Startled, they looked down, their breath catching in their throat as they saw steam rising from their coat. For a moment they thought they must already be dead—some cruel trick of the afterlife. But the heat intensified, becoming a fierce, unbearable burn that clashed violently with the cold. Panic surged through them, replacing the anger, as they scrambled to their feet.

Their legs trembled under the weight of fear and confusion. As they reached out to steady themselves against a tree, the bark beneath their hand began smoldering before it caught fire beneath their palm. “What—?” they gasped, their breath coming in frantic, shallow bursts. They stared in disbelief as the flames danced painlessly across their hand, casting flickering shadows on the snow. “How?”