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The dragon sat hunched over the body of the spirit they once called a son, his flame now reduced to a smear of gray ash. Their claws trembled, unsure whether to reach out or stay still. They stared into his eyes, watching as life flickered out in silence. No fire, no spark, nothing left but the weight of it all. It was unbearable. That same gaze used to dance with energy, with defiance, with heat. Now it was empty. Gone. Pitaya swallowed hard, chest tight. How did it come to this? Fire Spirit had always been a force to reckon with, loud, wild, unstoppable. It didn’t feel real. Nothing about this felt real.
How did this even happen? How could something strike down a warrior like him, him, of all people? Pitaya should’ve known. They did know. They created that flame, molded it with their own hands, gave it breath and heat and purpose. That flame wasn’t just fire, it was defiance, it was pride, it was him. The same fire that once roared in battle, that stood against gods and monsters and never wavered… now reduced to nothing. Snuffed out. Pitaya could still feel the echo of it on their skin, warm like a memory, fading fast. They had seen it light up the sky, scorch the world, protect what mattered. And now? Now there was only smoke. Only silence.
They should’ve protected him. They should’ve done something. Anything. The rage clawed at their chest, hot and choking. What was the point of all that power, all that unyielding fire, if it couldn’t save him? If it couldn’t stop this? Pitaya’s claws dug into the dirt, trembling not from grief but from fury, at themselves, at whatever did this and dared to walk away. He was theirs. Their creation. Their fire. And now all that remained of him, of their son, was ash, scattering in the wind like it meant nothing.
Wait.
Wait a minute…
What if they could still bring him back? What if it wasn’t too late? Pitaya’s mind spun out of control, thoughts stumbling over each other, wild and desperate. They were a dragon… a dragon. Fire was their thing. They breathed it, lived it, shaped it. They gave him that fire in the first place. So what if…
What if they could rekindle it? Force it to spark again inside him?
Their claws hovered over his still-warm body. That had to mean something. There had to be something left, some ember hidden beneath the ash. Something to hold onto, to pull back from the edge. They could do it. They had to do it. Just a tiny spark, just enough to catch, to scream that he wasn’t gone. Not yet. Because if they just sat here and did nothing, if they let this silence swallow him, they’d never forgive themselves.
Conjuring up all the heat they could gather from their body, the flame in the back of their throat grew, not with anger or hate, but with love, with light, with the intention to spark life, not war this time.
For once, their flame was being used to bring life, and not to destroy it.
Snapping themselves out of their thoughts, Pitaya began to blow small but meaningful puffs of fire atop Fire Spirit’s head. Every puff of fire that came out was tinted pink, affecting the flame that began to grow taller and wilder on Fire Spirit’s head, replacing the gray lifeless ash of what it once was.
His breath was steadying, his dough regaining color, same with his flame, but this time it was… pinker. A silly color, one that Fire Spirit would either hate, or love, but there’d be no in between.
How unpredictable he was…
Suddenly, a groan escaped him. It startled Pitaya. They jumped back slightly, then stood quickly, straightening out like they weren’t just panicking over his almost dead body.
Their pride was massive, bigger than most. No way in hell were they letting him wake up and see just how torn up they really were, how much Fire Spirit’s existence really affected them. Not when they’d already knelt over him like something sacred and breathed life into him like he was more than just a creation.
Like he was family.
Pitaya’s claws twitched at their sides, aching to reach out, to say something, anything, but they didn’t. They just stood there, stiff and silent, watching as pink fire danced its way back into the world.
“Pitaya…?” Fire Spirit muttered, rubbing his head as if he’d merely hit it on something, as he sat up. Then, he glanced down at his hands, noticing they were tinted pink. “What… the hell.”
"What?” The dragon hissed, trying to keep up their walls. “Sssso you’re pink, big deal.”
He stared at them. Then at his hands again. Then back. “…You made me pink?”
“You’re alive, aren’t you?” Pitaya shot back. “Don’t be picky.”
A silence fell between them, not heavy like before, but lingering… awkward, almost. Fire Spirit flexed his fingers, then brought them to his chest, where his heart still beat, strong and steady. Different, but alive.
“Did you… bring me back?”
“No,” Pitaya said too fast, too defensively. “You weren’t dead. Just-... being dramatic. You probably fainted.”
His brow lifted.
Pitaya’s tail twitched behind them, nervous. “You’re fine. Walk it off.”
But he wasn’t fine. And neither were they. Because no matter how much they tried to act unaffected, to keep the sharp tongue and the straight back and that damn pride of theirs, Fire Spirit had died. For a second, a long, endless second, he had died. And Pitaya had felt something in them break. Maybe it still was.
And yet, there he was, new pink flames flickering like laughter, alive again, grumbling and confused. Pitaya exhaled slowly, like they were letting go of a weight they didn’t realize they’d been carrying. They didn’t reach out, didn’t speak, just let the fire speak for them.