"A Flame that Fades"

Chapter 21: Wait and See

Azgar's POV

"Please be okay..." I whispered, my voice barely audible as I gently, almost hesitantly, stroked Freya's hair. She lay so still, her chest rising and falling with shallow breaths. The journey back home was a haze of fear and urgency, a blur of snow and desperation. The moment I reached our bed, I scrambled to wrap her in every blanket I could find, piling them on top of her fragile frame in a desperate attempt to keep her warm.

I leaned forward, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead. The chill of her skin sent a pang through my chest, but I lingered, hoping my warmth could somehow reach her. This close, I could truly see her—every delicate feature, every line and curve of her face. It was a moment I hadn't allowed myself to take before, and it struck me how much I'd missed.

My thumb grazed over a scar on her cheek, faint and aged but still there, a quiet testament to something in her past. I let my fingers hover over it, the roughness of the old wound standing out against her smooth skin.

Where did you get this, Freya? I wondered silently, my heart heavy. Was it from a fight? An accident? Why didn't I know?

The thought gnawed at me, filling me with an ache I couldn't describe. There was so much I didn't know about her, so much time I should have spent learning every piece of her story. Yet here she was, in my arms, slipping through my grasp while I struggled to hold on.

Somehow, in the stillness of that moment, a memory surfaced—a fragment of my past I had buried so deep, I barely recognized it as my own. It was faint, like a whisper carried on the wind, but it was there, and it made my chest ache with an emotion I couldn't quite place.

"A kiss can make everything feel better."

The words echoed in my mind, soft and gentle, spoken in a voice I hadn't heard in years. I frowned, trying to piece it together, but the image eluded me. Was it my mother who said that? The thought clung to me, pulling at a part of myself I'd worked so hard to forget.

I couldn't even picture her face anymore, and the realization stung. It was as though time had stolen away the details, leaving only fragments—words, sensations, feelings—that barely felt real. My fists clenched, the frustration and sorrow mingling in my chest like a storm.

Was this memory even mine? Or was it something I'd fabricated to fill the void of her absence?

I looked down at Freya, still and fragile beneath the weight of the blankets. The ache in my chest deepened. If the words were hers, if they were from my mother, then perhaps she was right. A kiss could make everything feel better—even if just for a fleeting moment.

With that thought, I leaned down again, pressing my lips softly against Freya's forehead. It wasn't a cure, and it wasn't magic, but it was something. Something to ground me, to keep me from falling apart. Something to remind me I wasn't alone.

"Please, stay with me," I whispered, the memory still lingering in the back of my mind, haunting and strangely comforting all at once.

Closing my eyes for a moment, I took a deep breath, letting out a heavy sigh that felt like it carried the weight of the world. My voice came out shaky, quieter than I intended.

"You know, Freya... I really hope you can hear me right now," I began, my words hesitant, as if testing the waters of a truth I'd been too afraid to admit. "Because I want to tell you the truth. Even if you might think I'm a coward for saying these things while you're in a coma, instead of when you're awake to actually hear me."

Another sigh escaped me, heavier this time, as my shoulders slumped under the weight of my confession. I felt the words clawing at my throat, desperate to be released, yet terrified of what they meant.