The storm hit before anyone had finished arguing about where to build the walls.
Snow came sideways, thick as flour, slapping faces and stinging eyes. Lumiel could barely see the glowing edge of his brother's sword through the whiteout.
"Klaus!" he shouted. "Next time you pick a landing zone, maybe try one that isn't actively trying to kill us!"
"We needed high ground," Klaus answered without turning. "This is high."
"This is suicidal!"
A low laugh came from the other side of the half-built barricade. Queen Eira stood there, hair and fur cloak rimed with frost, perfectly calm while the storm screamed around her. She lifted one hand and the wind bent away, swirling into neat ribbons of snow.
"The Jarl of Complaints has arrived," she said dryly. "Do all your southern kin talk this much before freezing?"
"Only the talented ones," Lumiel muttered, brushing ice off his eyelashes.
Klaus ignored them both. "We'll need a perimeter. Lumiel, Red-Code the stakes. Luminous—light wards every twenty paces."
The crew moved fast. Blood-runes flared crimson against the white waste, blending with Eira's cold-blue sigils until the camp glowed violet under the aurora.
The Attack
They heard the shadow-beasts before they saw them: scraping claws under the howl of wind, eyes like black coals in the dark. The first one leapt the barricade, a blur of teeth and smoke.
Eira's spear flashed—pure ice forged from breath itself—and the creature shattered into mist. Another charged; Klaus met it head-on, shield braced, counter-stroke clean and silent. No wasted motion.
Eira glanced at him. "Efficient."
"Habit," he said, already turning for the next.
They fought together, back to back, blades crossing in perfect rhythm until the last beast fell. The storm began to ease, leaving the air sharp and still.
Lumiel leaned on his scythe.
"I liked the part where we almost died. Really builds team spirit."
"It's the northern way," Eira said.
"Then I'm officially southern."
The Campfire
By nightfall they had walls, crude longhouses, and a fire that smelled of pine resin. Steam rose from melting armor plates; laughter echoed through the camp as Daniel distributed rations that were definitely frozen fish pretending to be stew.
Eira sat apart, sharpening her spear. Frostlight danced over her silver eyes. Klaus approached quietly, carrying a cup of mead that glowed faintly red from Lumiel's alchemical tricks.
"For warmth," he said.
"For diplomacy?" she asked, but accepted it.
They drank in silence. The aurora unfurled overhead like a slow heartbeat. When she finally spoke, her voice was softer than the wind.
"Your brother fights with chaos. You fight with order. Both will be needed here."
"I've spent my life trying to keep him alive," Klaus said. "Now it seems the world depends on it."
Eira smiled—not mockery this time, but quiet approval.
"Then perhaps Frostheim chose correctly."
He looked at her, really looked, and the frostlight reflected in both their eyes—hers born of ice, his merely catching it.
Closing Scene
Lumiel's voice cut through the stillness from across the firepit:
"Klaus! You're fraternizing with royalty already? Leave some political marriages for the rest of us!"
"Go to sleep, Lumiel."
"Can't. Too busy freezing attractively."
The camp laughed, the aurora flickered brighter, and for the first time the settlers of Vinterra felt that home might actually be possible here.
Far beneath the ice, something ancient stirred—but for tonight, warmth won.