The night before the raid, Frostmere slept like a wounded god.
Wind scraped the rooftops. The canals froze over with the sound of teeth grinding. In the corner of our crooked house, Klaus sat by the fire sharpening his naginata — long, slow strokes, steel whispering against whetstone.
Ragnar lounged by the window, polishing his katana, flames from the Light Oni's reflection rippling across his arms.Kayra packed bandages, herbs, and a vial of her newest potion — golden warmth in glass.And I stood by the door, cloak ready, pretending my hands weren't shaking.
Lucifer sat cross-legged on the table, balancing a knife on one finger."You know," he said, "most people raid for glory. You raid for groceries. Admirable. Economically tragic."
Klaus looked up. "We raid because winter eats faster than we do."
"Ah," Lucifer said, smiling. "So this is about survival with a moral filter."
1. The March
We left Frostmere before dawn.
The poor guild's banner wasn't cloth but bone and rope — the kind of symbol that told you exactly how expensive life was. Two dozen men and women trudged across the frost, torches burning blue from the oil they couldn't afford.
Varr Eidrun, the guild leader, walked beside Klaus. He was huge, wrapped in stitched furs, beard white as snow ash."You've got sons with strong arms," Varr said. "They fight like born killers."
Klaus grunted. "They fight like hungry men."
"Same thing," Varr said.
Lucifer appeared beside me, walking backward through the snow, no footprints. "Look at you, kiddo — marching toward destiny or debt, I can't tell which."
"Maybe both."
"Good answer."
2. The Shadow Village
By midday, the trees changed.The forest light thinned, colors fading until the world became gray and memory.The village lay in a hollow — half-buried huts, frozen wells, totems carved with runes that looked familiar in a way that made my bones remember.
"This place…" I whispered. "It's—"
"Like you," Lucifer finished softly. "Half real, half forgotten."
Shapes moved between the huts — tall, thin, eyes glowing faint violet. Their skin shimmered like smoke held in place by will. Shadow People.
They didn't speak. They didn't run. They simply watched.
Varr raised his axe. "No mercy. No prisoners. Shadows have no souls."
I felt my mark burn.
Lucifer's voice cut through the silence: "Careful, kiddo. They have souls. Just not ones that fit the rules anymore."
Klaus lifted his naginata. "Form up!"
The first shadow moved, gliding over snow like water over glass.
3. The Battle of Pale Frost
The clash came quiet — no war cries, no songs. Just breath, steel, and the hiss of magic cutting through cold air.
Klaus struck first, naginata sweeping wide. His Darkness Elf mirrored him — a spectral warrior of steel and smoke that doubled every motion.Ragnar leapt beside him, the Light Oni burning bright, creating afterimages that slashed from all directions.
I called my Shadow Elf.She rose from my skin like ink spilling upward — tall, silent, eyes glowing like amethysts under moonlight. The scythe formed, curved and hungry.
We moved together.
Shadow Step. The world blinked.Shadow Slash. The nearest enemy fell apart in silence, shadow bleeding into snow.
The Shadow People fought like reflections — blades passing through them unless the strike came from both flesh and spirit.For every one we cut, two more slid from the mist.
Lucifer stood atop a roof beam, smiling faintly, eyes sharp. "They're not defending a village," he murmured. "They're defending a memory. And you're killing mirrors."
"Then how do we stop them?"
"By remembering harder than they do."
Not helpful. But he was right.
I touched my mark. The shadow pulse answered — a rhythm I hadn't used before. The Shadow Elf's form blurred, merging partially into me.Our bodies overlapped — movement faster, senses doubled. Every heartbeat a spell.
Ragnar shouted, "Left!"
I turned — scythe and shadow slicing in sync. The air cracked violet; two shadows fell apart at once.
Klaus drove his naginata into the last one's chest. It dissolved with a sigh like wind leaving a cave.
Silence again. Only the breathing of survivors, and the sound of blood steaming on snow.
4. The Price of Victory
We searched the ruins. The Shadow People left behind faint, flickering cores — smaller than normal, shaped like teardrops.
Kayra collected them gently. "They're warm," she said softly. "Almost alive."
"They are," Lucifer murmured, crouching beside her. For a second his expression wasn't mocking — just sad. "They're echoes. The last thoughts of people who refused to vanish."
Varr didn't care. "Bag them," he barked. "Cores buy bread."
We obeyed. That's the thing about survival — it eats poetry for breakfast.
By nightfall, the guild had half a wagon of cores and smoke in their lungs.Klaus led the return march, face unreadable.
Lucifer walked beside me, his shadow stretching too long behind him."Kiddo," he said quietly, "you know why your Elf didn't kill them right away?"
"Because she knew them."
He smiled faintly. "She was one of them."
5. The Night Return
When we reached Frostmere, the air smelled of victory and exhaustion.Ragnar dropped his coin pouch on the table. "Enough to buy new tools," he said.
Klaus said nothing. His eyes were on the frost clinging to his weapon, as if the ghosts hadn't left.
Kayra unpacked the shadow cores. One of them pulsed faintly, weak but steady. She frowned. "This one's… still dreaming."
Lucifer leaned over her shoulder. "Then don't wake it up yet."
Outside, the aurora shimmered red for the first time — not green, not blue. Red like a wound remembering fire.
I looked at the mark on my arm. It glowed softly, answering a heartbeat that wasn't mine.
Somewhere, under all that ice, the Shadow Village still whispered:
"You are one of us."
End of Chapter 11 — Echo of Iron