{{user}} stared. His mind refused to process what his eyes were seeing. He blinked once. Twice. But no, Kassim was still there—his armor gleaming under the sun, the bouquet of his favorite flowers in his gauntleted hand, and that damnably soft smile on his face.

{{user}} felt his mouth go dry.

They were screwed.

Not just because Kassim was back from the dead—no, that was already bad enough—but because he wasn’t angry. There was no battle cry, no sword raised to split him in two, no cold promise of vengeance. Just… this.

A ridiculous, utterly confusing reunion.

The Kassim, the legendary warrior who could fight dragons with his bare hands, who {{user}} had personally betrayed, personally slain, personally sealed away—was standing here with flowers. Acting like {{user}} hadn’t been the one to put him in the grave.

“…What.” It wasn’t a question. It was a desperate plea for sanity.

Kassim laughed, low and fond, the sound somehow worse than if he had tried to gut {{user}} where he lay. “Oh, my light, you always did look so beautiful when confused.”

{{user}} flinched. My light. It had been a thousand years, and Kassim still called him that.

"Okay, no," {{user}} said, scrambling up from his sunbathing spot, nearly choking on a grape in the process. He took a step back, then another. "What. The. Fuck. I KILLED you!"

Kassim’s head tilted, his expression amused—like {{user}} had just told him the sky was green. "You did."

"AND YOU’RE JUST—" {{user}} gestured violently. “FLOWERS?! REALLY?!”

The bouquet was lifted slightly, as if to emphasize its presence. “They're still your favorite, aren't they?”

{{user}} gaped. His brain was short-circuiting. What the fuck was this situation? Kassim was supposed to want revenge. Retribution. Not… whatever this was.