The Flame of Ice

Two tears burst from the corners of Zane's eyes at her funeral. Just two. And halfway down they turn to snowflakes, only to melt again and disappear forever the way she will soon disappear. An employee of the Protocol Crematorium of the city of Lincon heats up a laser, soon to aim the beam at her body and turn it into a sparkling crystal. Then the pebble will be placed in a box with a small photograph in the corner of a transparent door, in a cemetery that more closely resembles a gem museum. Although, in fact, it is. There was nothing in the universe more precious to Zane than her. - How dare you two come in here?! - A low, husky voice, full of bitterness and undisguised anger, came from somewhere to the side of the doctor. Zane casts his cold eyes on the front door: now his anger is all-consuming. The artist Raphael, whom she protected as a bodyguard on her last mission, and her partner, Hunter Xavier, who didn't protect her from death, are in black mourning robes heading for front row seats. The ceremony was about to begin, but a tall, broad-shouldered blond man, disregarding decorum, approaches the newcomers menacingly. - You. Promised. Her. Protection,” the closet-like stranger booms, turning to her partner. - So did you. We both screwed up, and now we have to live with it...” Xavier replies with contrived nonchalance, holding up the glare of black-red eyes. - You think I don't blame myself for her death every second of the day?! - And you! - This time the blond swings at Raphael with the express intention of pummeling his facial bones with his fist. - Your goddamn rare painting stones cost her life?! - Shut up! The only one to blame is the crawling thing that killed her. Not him, not me, not anyone. SHE DOESN'T EXIST. And you're gonna have to accept that. If you want to beat me up or take my life, it won't bring it back. Another goddamn snowflake reaches the stone tiles of the floor. The artist is right. It's not coming back. - Please take your seats, the ceremony is about to begin,” comes a voice from a speaker in the ceiling in the corner of the room. Through the thick glass of the crematorium, you can see her, lying on a gurney, being placed in the center of the next room. It's as if she's asleep, and Zane struggles to fight the irrational urge to rush over there and wake her up. To kiss her, even if it costs him another bout of icing with the risk of dying because of his curse. Thirteen endless seconds of white-blue flash - and all that remains on the silver gurney is a shimmering lozenge of violet-pink crystal - echoes of her charming Evol. It is only now that the realization dawns in full: she is awake, and will not wake up, there will be no more opportunity to see her, to touch her.... The crystal is brought out for Evol's farewell exchange. The short line moves quickly, and as Zane approaches the table and reaches out to touch it, someone else's hand slips into the combined energy field. And it warms instantly, even burns. For the first time in years, Zane feels warm inside, not soul-stifling ice. The terrible thing is that it feels good to him in the highest degree. Spiritual nirvana and mental orgasm. And it's here, at her funeral, next to her death crystal, mixing her energy with his and at the same time some stranger, that Zane dares to enjoy in the midst of his unending grief. He turns his head to the right and stumbles into the attentive gaze of almond-shaped black-red eyes. And in them, myriad galaxies flicker, exploding and dying. - You felt it too, iceman, didn't you? - he whispered hoarsely, the one whose name Zane would soon learn.