Hyrr ran.
Trails of smoke followed her as she shot fireballs through her palms, directing them towards the heavy man thrashing behind her. Every step he took created cracks on the street.
It felt as if they had been playing cat and mouse for days.
"Keep running," he called out. His voice shook her to her very core. "You will never escape your past."
As she slid down an alleyway, she stopped.
Before her, a woman made out of ice appeared. She extended an arm made out of crystals. "We know."
"No!" Hyrr screamed. "You don't know who I am!"
"She led you to us."
A tiny blonde manifested beside the woman. She had her hands tied behind her back. Tears streamed down her face.
The woman of ice grabbed the blonde from behind and placed her forearm around her neck.
"Let her go! I'll do anything!" Hyrr reached out. She forced herself to run towards them, but her feet were glued to the ground underneath.
"Give it back, or I'll kill her."
"I don't – I don't know how – there's no way I can-"
"Wrong answer." Her arm shifted, turning the length of it into a blade, turning her fist into the tip of a knife. She pressed it against Christa's neck.
The blonde wept.
In one swift stroke, she died. Her head hung limp.
Hyrr fell to her knees. She threw her shades to the ground. "No...it's me you want. Why did you kill her!?"
"CHRISTA!" Ymir shot up from the bed, sweat caking her neck and the small of her back. It was the first sensation she felt – the pooling sweat. It was a dream. Just a dream.
Her eyes darted around, mind only barely registering her surroundings. White walls. Sheathed window. Five storeys high. Beep beep beep beep beep beep. Heart monitor. IV stand – her hand needled and connected. Fluid.
With a free hand, she scraped at her chest. She was clothed in a pastel blue gown with tiny suns printed in repeat. She started hyperventilating and remembered feeling the embrace of death, brushing with it. She had felt its dark hands around her neck, exposing her lungs for the world to see. Her eyes stared down in disbelief. Was she really alive? How could she be?
The creaking of a door filled her ears. Forcing her heart to calm down, she looked up.
It was Christa, humming to herself as she walked in with a bagged meal from McIver's.
"Christa..." Ymir whispered. Her needled hand reached out.
The blonde's head snapped towards Ymir. Her eyes swelled in their sockets. In a flurry, she placed the food on the end table to her left and ran to Ymir's bedside. She sat on the armchair and dragged herself forward. She took Ymir's left hand – the free one. It was freezing cold, kissed by the aircon of the hospital room. Her tiny hands covered Ymir's, but only just.
"Ymir," she said, "you're awake. I was only out for half an hour at least, I was just getting something to eat...I – we - didn't think you were going to – but you are! You're awake!"
Ymir's mouth wobbled.
Christa was with her, alive and well.
Christa was a bottomless well of tears and waterfalls.
"Don't cry," she said. "I'm here."
"I-I'm sorry," apologised Christa. Her voice shook with her sobs. "You're alive..."
Ymir brought her hand up, and placed it on Christa's cheek. Her fingers wiped the falling stars away. The smaller girl's hands did not leave their place on the creases of her knuckles. "I was more worried about you, Shorty."
Their first meeting came to mind. Christa had to smile at the name. "Me? You're the one who almost choked to death."
Ymir let her hand drop down from Christa's face and began to laugh, but stopped when a pain in her chest rose. "Hah-damn!" Her face was contorted in pain.
Christa placed a hand on her chest, holding her back gently. "You've been out for three days. You shouldn't exert yourself."
"Three days?" exclaimed Ymir. "For that long?"
Christa sunk into the chair. "The doctors said your lungs were punctured. Razed."
Ymir felt herself being drawn to the reality of the situation. Everything she had done five years prior to this very day was chasing her with its teeth bared. It was coming to haunt her. When she didn't answer, Christa continued.
"Are you a smoker, Ymir?"
Snapping out of her trance, Ymir shook her head. "Have you ever seen me light one?"
"No, but," Christa hesitated, "it doesn't make sense. They said you had the lungs of one. They wouldn't believe me when I said you didn't smoke."
How could they do that? It was impossible to imagine. Could they truly have the powers to contain her? Ymir remembered her dream. "When we were in the forest, were we alone?"
Christa bit her lip. "When you were...hurt, I heard a voice. She said they'd take back what we 'stole', that it's 'theirs' to control."
"She?"
"Annie Leonhardt."
"Did she say anything else?"
"No. I didn't know whether she was talking about you or me, or even both of us. I couldn't even see if she was really there. But it was her voice."
"Hm." Ymir looked towards the window behind Christa. Bright sunshine filtered through the shutters.
"It's me, isn't it?" Christa followed Ymir's gaze outside. "They want me too. Not just Hyrr. They probably think I'm getting in their way of finding her."
Ymir didn't answer. She couldn't. She already weaved her web of lies. Christa was stuck onto it, a helpless fly. Ymir was the spider, with the venom and the fangs and though nature dictated her to kill the fly, she chose to love it instead.
###
"Do you know how devastating it was to receive a heartbreaking call from Christa telling us you were dying?"
Marco paced and paced. The soles of his shoes probably started wearing the tiles down.
Ymir sighed, for probably the hundredth time since he and Jean came around to visit her. It was the day after she woke up. An empty breakfast tray stood beside her end table. After she ate and Christa flipped through the meagre channels the hospital had to offer, the blonde suggested they call the tailors and inform them of the situation. However, when everything was said and explained, all Marco could talk about was how distraught Christa was.
"This girl over here," Marco said. "She was crying! Crying like she emptied a whole lake and stored it into her damn body!"
"Marco-"
He brought a hand to stop Christa. "Please, my dear. Ymir, we arrived with the ambulance. And you know what we see? A naked, dare I say it, naked girl! She had to transform, didn't she? What kind of trouble did you get her in!?"
Jean wouldn't say anything. When Ymir met his eyes pleading for sympathy, he only shrugged.
"It wasn't her fault," Christa said. Marco ignored her.
"Do you know that she hasn't had sleep in days? She's been sitting by your bedside night and day."
Ymir glanced at Christa. An overwhelming feeling of guilt washed over her, and it fell on top of the other blocks of guilt already there. They formed horrible landmasses inside of her. But she knew what Marco was doing. She could see it in the ferocity of his hand gestures, in the volume of his voice. He was warning her, for the second time. It was his way of telling her that whatever she planned to do next, she had to do so without hurting Christa. They both knew that this was not possible, but that was Marco. He had to hope that there weren't going to be bad times anymore.
"That's enough." This time, Christa's voice turned solid. It did not suggest, nor did it ask. It commanded. "Marco, you have to understand that it's not her fault. And it's her that got attacked. We don't know how the Trinity did it, but...they did, and suddenly, Ymir's in the hospital."
It was safe to say that Marco was taken aback. He lowered his voice. "I'm sorry, Christa, it's just...if anything had happened to you..."
"If anything happened to me, Ymir still wouldn't be responsible. I can handle myself."
"You can handle yourself." Ymir spoke up, surprising everybody else. "Yes, you can. We've trained long enough. You're strong, quick. Your transformations aren't perfect, sometimes they can't be helped, but you are definitely capable. With, or without, your powers." She bit the inside of her cheek before saying her next sentence. "But I am responsible. I will still be responsible for your safety."
"Ymir, no-"
"I made a promise, okay?" It was almost a growl. Ymir forgot Jean and Marco's presence inside the room. Only Christa existed. "I made a promise to myself. I'm going to protect you, no matter what. No matter what happens."
Christa's mouth was slightly agape. Her eyes tortured Ymir. They were sweet, but not innocent. They were the beautiful, colourful fruits of a paradise which would be forbidden if tasted, and would eventually mean the world.
A/N: Really short chapter, but I think they deserved their own chapter together, before the storm.