There are creatures in the ice wilds. Flat expanses of glaring, glittering white; lifeless only for those who refuse to see. Animals flourish there, their evolutions protecting them from the harsher days. But more than animals, there are lives that choose this place to flourish.
They are the abandoned ones, the forgotten, the pushed aside. Those whose fire was condensed, contained, and pressurized into single, guttering flames holding onto their last passions. The flames live aimless and formless, drifting with winds and tides. The last sparks that refuse to go out.
In the ice wilds, colonies of the fire souls collect and find peace in each other. A pact made with the ice an era ago began this place.
It’s peaceful, of glowing ground and carving storms. Here, the fire souls made themselves in ice and flame. Here they welcome others, show them how to grow into all they can be.
As the day fades to evening, snow still glittering, flames brighten within their shining ice bodies, sculpted only for themselves. They dance. Traditions reborn.
Fire flickers across the wild, shaped into elegant arms, tiptoes and tantalizing bodies of every shape. The freedom they were denied flowing through them now. Too loud for woman, too queer for acceptance, too dark for opportunity.
Flame licks along their arms, burns in their core, mingles and sparks. Beneath a sky aflame with northern lights, or shooting stars, they dance and welcome anew.
Amidst the twisting light there are tiny, single flames, gaining strength in company. These souls brought to the dance by Lexi and her partner Norel.
Their flames grow and stretch, not feeling the cold, not bending to the wind. Relearning themselves under the brilliant sky.
One flame understands the whispered, crackling language first, and begins to coat herself in ice, scooped from the ground, and melted just enough to mold her arms. Norel murmurs of control and intention, and she learns, remembering and sculpting a torso, a throat, flames alight and embodying every new piece.
Another presses her flames into the ice around her, marveling at its melting, at its solidification when she pulls her heat into herself. She laughs.
Alia shies away, folding into herself, her flame gutters brightly in the open air. Lexi and others gather around her, calming and strong. You don’t have to look as you used to, they murmur. You can be you. Alia’s flame strengthens.
The fire souls dance, flames against the night; in celebration, in exploration, in building themselves.
Two dance together. Delighting in the sensations they feel from ice and fire from each other.
Alia joins in the dance with the others.
The world of the fire spirits is dancing and passion. They dance, mingle, and whisper to each other, for days and nights. They are family, some are lovers, as Lexi and Norel are. Some friends, all of them community.
Alia shapes themselves, without the intent of intimacy. They shape themselves for strength, for confidence. They dance to know their new world, and to make peace with their past. They are family with the souls aflame, and they spin beneath the sky, laughing for the first time in eons.
Each new cycle, Alia joins the flickering flames against the dark air, the star splashed sky, and becomes protectoress. They built themselves, not as a warrior, but as healer. Guiding, calming of storms.
Alia knew storms, knew how to tame them within themselves. Learned how to tame them within others. Helped them learn to roam free as Lexi helped Alia.
The ice wilds are not barren, and neither are these souls, escaping what trapped them to flourish anew.
Zoe Brook (they/them) is a queer writer and stagehand living in the Pacific Northwest Seattle orbit. They write novels and short stories in many genres, frequently involving queer romance, fantastical worlds, and found community. They find great joy in comics, theater, and plants. Find more of their work and social links on their website zoebrook.com.