"A Flame that Fades"

Chapter 18: Into the Storm

Azgar's POV

Today was the day. The day I would finally go after the woman I loved—the woman who loved me, the one I had pushed away. I stood in front of the mirror, trying to tie my matted hair into something resembling a half ponytail. Well, it wasn't really a ponytail—more like a bunch of tangled rat tails that I couldn't even be bothered to fix properly.

I couldn't afford to waste time on something as trivial as my appearance when Freya might be out there, alone, struggling to survive. Winter was coming, and I had no idea if she was still alive, if she still cared, but I had to find out.

I couldn't explain the heavy feeling in my chest. I should've gone after her months ago. I should've known when she left that I had to chase after her, but I was too damn scared. How could she ever forgive me for not trying harder? Does she even want me to find her? How could I ever forgive myself for waiting so long? Maybe I never will.

I took one last glance in the mirror, running my palm through my beard. Should I shave it? I know I'd told myself not to worry about my appearance, but...this was her we were talking about. 

No, I decided. Shaving wouldn't change anything. The beard was as much a part of me as the scars crisscrossing my hands or the ache in my knee when the weather turned cold. Freya had known me with it. If she saw me without it now, she'd probably laugh and call me an idiot for trying to impress her with something so superficial.

I carefully applied ointment to the lashline of my blind eye, the cool salve soothing the irritated skin. The area had been aching more with the changing weather, a sharp reminder of how unforgiving the coming winter would be. I worked slowly, the tip of my finger tracing the scarred edge with practiced precision, mindful not to press too hard.

Once the ointment was evenly spread, I reached for the eyepatch resting on the table nearby. The leather strap was worn but sturdy, the inside lined with soft fabric to shield the sensitive skin. As I fastened it in place, the familiar weight settled over my face—a constant companion since the accident. It didn't bother me as much as it used to, but I knew the cold winds would bite through even this modest layer of protection.

I took a deep breath, letting the earthy smell of the salve linger in the air for a moment. The process had become a ritual of sorts, one that grounded me in the present and kept me from dwelling too long on the past. There was no use thinking about what I'd lost. The only thing that mattered now was the road ahead—and finding Freya before the first snow made travel impossible.

But let's face it, even if the road became impossible to cross—buried under snowdrifts or blocked by the ice-coated trees—I'd find a way. I'd claw my way through the frostbitten wilderness with my bare hands if I had to. Hell, I'd trek to the other side of the world if it meant I could see her again. If it meant I could finally tell her how sorry I am for fucking up.

The words had been stuck in my throat for months, choking me every time I thought of her. I'd replayed every fight, every moment of silence that stretched too long between us, every stupid decision that drove her away. If I'd just swallowed my pride, if I'd let myself be vulnerable instead of pushing her aside, maybe she wouldn't have left. Maybe she'd still be here, with her sharp wit and her maddening way of making me laugh even when I didn't want to.

But I couldn't change the past, no matter how much I hated myself for it. All I could do was move forward. And that meant finding her, no matter the cost. Because even if she turned me away, even if she told me it was too late, I needed her to know the truth. I needed her to know that I'd never stopped loving her—not for a second.

I had lost a ton of muscle from my depressive, bed-rotting season. Weeks had turned into months of lying there, barely eating, barely existing, letting the world pass me by as guilt gnawed at my insides like a starving beast. My arms felt thinner now, weaker, and my legs didn't have the same strength they once had. It was pathetic, but it was the truth.