Opening scene
The old fortress smolders behind them. Klaus stands on the cliff, surveying the frozen bay where their ships are anchored. Lumiel's breath fogs beside him.
"Congratulations," Lumiel says. "You've officially conquered half a ruin and a lot of snow.""And tomorrow," Klaus replies, "we start turning it into a city."
He outlines the plan:
fortify the coastline,
build docks and longhouses,
construct a central forge powered by Red Code fragments.
Eira, now half-trusting them, adds the Ice-Elf promise: her warriors will teach rune-carving and frost-architecture if the newcomers bring the missing materials—timber, iron, and spirit-crystals from the Shadow coasts.
"Then we raid," Klaus says simply.
First raids montage
Over several days:
Lumiel and Luminous lead the first strike on a Shadow mining camp. Red lightning flashes through the snow as they seize ore and salvaged relics.
Daniel organizes trade routes with Ice-Elf merchants, paying workers in shards of purified code.
Laura distills heating elixirs so builders can work in the open.
Eira and Klaus coordinate every operation—her frost magic freezing enemy ships in harbor while his strategy turns each battle into resource flow.
Between fights the crew joke like traders, counting timber instead of gold. Slowly, warehouses fill; sawmills hum; the first wooden palisades rise.
Frostheim's birth
Weeks later, fires glow along the coast. The new settlement stands: log halls reinforced with ice-crystal pillars, streets lit by aurora lanterns. Children of Ice Elves and Celestara workers laugh among half-built houses.
Lumiel drives the last rune-stake into the ground. The Red Code flares upward, forming a shimmering shield dome.
"There," he says. "Our first roof that doesn't leak existential dread."
Klaus studies the horizon.
"It's a start."Eira nods. "A beginning worth bleeding for."
They name it Frostheim—the city born of raids, code, and winter.
Closing beat
That night the aurora forms a perfect circle above the settlement, as if acknowledging its creation. Lumiel raises a mug of mead.
"To Frostheim—may it stand long enough for us to regret the taxes."
Laughter rolls through the new halls. Somewhere beneath the ice, distant echoes answer—a reminder that every foundation in this world rests atop something ancient and waiting.