CHAPTER 12: RESOLVE AND RETRIBUTION
The gates of Frostholm creaked open as John, Freya, and the skeletal champion stepped through. The familiar snow-covered huts and smoldering hearths greeted them, but the village felt different. A heavy stillness hung in the air, as if the very land recognized the loss they carried.
Villagers, drawn by the sound of the gates, emerged from their homes and fields. They gathered in quiet clusters, their breath visible in the frigid air. Whispers passed through the crowd, eyes darting toward Freya’s clenched jaw and John’s hollow stare. The skeletal champion stood at John’s side, its glowing eyes casting an eerie light across the snow.
Freya stopped abruptly in the square, her axe resting against her shoulder. Her gaze swept over the faces of the villagers but lingered on no one. Her lips pressed into a thin line as she exhaled, the frost curling from her breath like a sigh of grief.
John stepped forward, his grip tightening on his spear. He scanned the crowd, their anxious expressions cutting deeper than the cold. He hadn’t prepared for this. How could he? How did you put words to the cost of survival?
“We made it back,” John said, his voice steady but quiet. “But we didn’t come back whole.”
The murmurs stopped. Silence swallowed the square as the weight of his words settled on the villagers.
“Eirik…” John’s voice caught, but he forced himself to continue. “Eirik gave his life to protect us, to make sure we had a chance to stand against what’s coming. He didn’t just fight for me or Freya. He fought for Frostholm.”
Freya’s shoulders stiffened, her knuckles whitening around her axe. She didn’t speak, but her presence was enough, a pillar of unshaken resolve amidst the grief.
John took a breath, looking out at the villagers. Their faces were a mix of sorrow and uncertainty, but beneath it, he saw something else: a flicker of belief.
“I know you’re afraid. I am too,” John admitted, his voice firming. “But fear won’t save us. Fear won’t protect what we’ve built here, the families, the friendships, the hope we’ve started to rebuild. We’ve lost someone who mattered to us all, but I promise you thisEirik’s sacrifice won’t be in vain.”
The skeletal champion shifted beside him, its greatsword glinting faintly in the dying light. John gestured to it, his voice rising. “We’re stronger now than we were before. Together, we’ve pushed back raiders, we’ve faced the Warden’s influence, and we’ve survived. But survival isn’t enough. We need to fight for more than that. We need to fight for each other.”
A system chime echoed faintly in his mind, and translucent text flashed across his vision.
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[NEW QUEST AVAILABLE: DEFENDING FROSTHOLM]
Objectives:
* Reinforce Frostholm’s defenses with enhanced structures and patrols.
* Strengthen the village’s warriors through training and equipment upgrades.
* Prepare for the Warden’s next wave of forces.
Rewards:
* +1,200 XP
* Settlement Points: +3
* Artifact Insight Unlock
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John ignored the prompt for now, focusing on the crowd before him. Their fear hadn’t vanished, but something else was beginning to stir, determination.
Halrik, the village blacksmith, stepped forward, his soot-streaked face drawn but resolute. “What do you need from us, Bone Caller? Tell us how we can help.”
Others began to nod, their voices joining Halrik’s. “We’re with you.” “Tell us what to do.” “For Frostholm.”
John felt a lump rise in his throat. He hadn’t expected this, but he wasn’t about to waste it.
“We’ll need everyone,” he said, his tone sharp but encouraging. “Builders, fighters, hunters, whatever skills you have, we’ll use them. Together, we’ll make this village something even the Warden won’t dare to challenge.”
The villagers began to disperse, moving with renewed purpose. Freya turned to John, her expression softening. “You’re getting good at this.”
“Faking it, mostly,” John said with a faint smile. He glanced at the skeletal champion standing silently beside him, then at Freya. “But I’ll take what I can get.”
Freya’s lips twitched into the shadow of a smile. “Eirik would’ve told you the same.”
As the crowd began working, John let himself exhale. The weight of what lay ahead hadn’t lessened, but for the first time since they left Frostholm, it felt manageable.
Eirik’s sacrifice would not be in vain.
John leaned against the central table in the longhouse, his system interface glowing faintly in his vision as he reviewed his character sheet. The firelight flickered against the wooden walls, but its warmth failed to soothe the ache of loss still pressing on his chest.
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Character Sheet
Name: John Harper
Class: Necromancer – Path of the Deathcaller
Level: 6
Attributes:
* Strength: 5
* Dexterity: 5
* Intelligence: 13
* Charisma: 2
* Mana: 130
Skills:
* Death Lash (Level 0)
* Gravebond (Level 1)
* Tactical Spearplay (Level 0)
* Bone Armor (Level 0)
* Mana Regen (Passive, Tier 1)
* Bone Wall (Level 0)
* Soul Anchor (Level 0)
* Minion Cap Expansion (Level 0)
* Bone Armory (Level 0)
* Bone Sentinel (Level 0)
* Gravebind (Level 0)
Minion Cap: 10
Progress to Level 7: 9000/10000
Attribute Points Available: 2
Skill Points Available: 3
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The system chimed softly, offering new skill options and upgrades. John’s gaze lingered on the glowing interface as he weighed the choices.
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[NEW SKILLS AVAILABLE]
1. Bone Golem (New):
* Summon a massive Bone Golem capable of devastating attacks and acting as a mobile shield.
* Mana Cost: 60.
* Cooldown: 24 hours.
2. Reinforced Constructs (New):
* Increases the durability and combat effectiveness of all summoned minions.
* Passive Effect: +20% health and +15% damage for all undead.
3. Tactical Command (New):
* Grants the ability to issue advanced tactical orders to minions, enabling group maneuvers and complex formations.
* Passive Effect: Improves minion AI for battlefield strategy.
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[UPGRADEABLE SKILLS]
1. Death Lash (Upgrade):
* Increase the range, damage, or area of effect.
* Upgrade Options:
* Range Upgrade: Doubles the reach of the lash.
* Damage Upgrade: Adds +20% necrotic damage.
* Area of Effect Upgrade: Strikes up to three targets simultaneously.
2. Gravebond (Upgrade):
* Further enhance skeleton durability and speed.
* Upgrade Effect: Skeletons gain a small regenerative effect over time, restoring minor damage sustained in battle.
3. Bone Armory (Upgrade):
* Forge skeletal weapons and armor with advanced durability and enchantments.
* Upgrade Effect: Unlocks compatibility with rare materials (e.g., Shadow-Steel Fragments) to create glowing, enchanted equipment.
4. Minion Cap Expansion (Upgrade):
* Increase the number of active minions by +5.
* Upgrade Effect: Expands the minion cap from 10 to 15.
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John frowned in thought, feeling the weight of his responsibilities. Increasing his minion cap was crucial for building Frostholm’s defenses, but the Bone Armory upgrade would also make his skeletons far more effective in combat.
He assigned his attribute points first.
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[ATTRIBUTE POINTS ALLOCATED]
* Intelligence: 13 → 14
* Charisma: 2 → 3
The increase in intelligence brought clarity, while the boost to charisma felt like a nod to his growing role as Frostholm’s leader.
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Then he made his skill selections, starting with the new Bone Golem. Its potential as a battlefield powerhouse was undeniable. He also chose to upgrade Minion Cap Expansion and Bone Armory, knowing both were vital for the village’s immediate and long-term survival.
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[SKILL POINTS ALLOCATED]
1. Bone Golem (New Skill): Summoning the Bone Golem would give him a trump card in battle.
2. Minion Cap Expansion (Upgrade): Raising his limit to 15 minions was essential for covering more ground and fortifying defenses.
3. Bone Armory (Upgrade): Integrating Shadow-Steel Fragments into skeletal equipment would enhance their durability and effectiveness.
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The system chimed in acknowledgment.
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[UPGRADE SUCCESSFUL]
* Bone Golem Unlocked.
* Minion Cap Increased: 10 → 15.
* Bone Armory Enhanced: Compatible with rare materials. Unlocks necrotic enchantments.
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John dismissed the interface, his mind already moving to implementation.
Bjorn was at the forge when John arrived, inspecting the Shadow-Steel Fragments. He held one up, its surface gleaming faintly in the firelight. “This is exceptional,” Bjorn said, his voice tinged with awe. “Light, strong, and it hums with power. What are you planning to do with it?”
“Equip the skeletons,” John replied. “They need more than rusty swords if we’re going to hold the walls.”
Bjorn grinned, already tossing a fragment into the forge. “You’ve got good instincts, Bone Caller. Let’s see if these villagers can keep up.”
Under Bjorn’s direction, villagers worked tirelessly, shaping Shadow-Steel into weapons and armor. Swords with jagged edges, shields etched with glowing runes, and reinforced plating for skeletal limbs emerged from the forge. John directed the skeletons to kneel, allowing the equipment to bind seamlessly to their forms.
The process took hours, but the results were striking. John’s skeletal minions were now a force to be reckoned with. Their weapons shimmered faintly, and their armor radiated an unsettling aura of power.
Bjorn turned his attention to the Tarnished Medallion, his brow furrowing as he traced its runes. “This isn’t just a trinket,” he muttered. “It’s old, tied to something... bigger.”
John leaned closer, intrigued. “What does it say?”
Bjorn shook his head. “I can only make out part of it. Something about a legacy. If I had more time, or more piecesI might be able to decipher it.”
The system chimed softly in John’s mind.
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[QUEST REVEALED: LEGACY OF THE ANCIENTS]
Discover the truth behind the Tarnished Medallion. Uncover ancient secrets tied to Frostholm’s history.
Rewards:
* Experience: +1,000 XP
* Settlement Points: +3
* Artifact Insight
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John pocketed the medallion, his thoughts racing. The quest felt important, but there were more pressing concerns. As the last of the Shadow-Steel equipment was finished, he addressed Bjorn. “This is a good start. Thanks.”
Bjorn nodded, his expression resolute. “We’re in this together. Just make sure those things you summon keep us alive.”
John smirked faintly. “They’ll do their job. You have my word.”
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The skeletal warriors stood in the courtyard, their new equipment gleaming faintly in the firelight. Freya joined John, her gaze sweeping over the transformed minions. “They’re ready,” she said quietly. “But are you?”
John sighed, feeling the weight of responsibility pressing on him. “I have to be.”
Freya clapped him on the shoulder. “You’re not alone, Bone Caller. Remember that.”
As she walked away, John stared at the skeletons, their glowing eyes fixed forward. They were stronger now, but so was the threat they faced. And the fight was far from over.
John and Freya stood at the edge of the village palisade, gazing out over the snow-blanketed wilderness. The skeletal champion stood a short distance away, its glowing eyes scanning the treeline, ever vigilant. A bitter wind swept across the landscape, carrying with it the scent of pine and the faint promise of more snow.
Freya adjusted her fur-lined cloak, her blue eyes focused on the horizon. “It’s strange, isn’t it? To think about what lies beyond all this.” She gestured to the expanse of forest stretching endlessly before them.
John followed her gaze, his hands resting lightly on the haft of his spear. “What’s out there? I mean, besides wolves, raiders, and things trying to kill us.”
Freya gave a wry smile. “Plenty of that, for sure. But also people, clans like ours. Some friendly, some hostile. And then there are the others. Those who follow their own gods, their own rules.”
John arched a brow. “Others?”
“The Fireborn to the south,” she explained, her tone edged with both respect and caution. “They worship a flame they claim burns away the unworthy. Fierce fighters. Fanatics, too. Then there’s the Icefall Clans to the east, nomads who live high in the mountains. They’re traders when they want to be, raiders when they don’t.”
“And allies?” John asked, though he already suspected the answer.
Freya shrugged. “Depends on the season. In summer, everyone’s a raider. They take what they can before winter comes, and the cycle begins again. Even friends turn into rivals when the fields are bare and the food stores are empty.”
John frowned, turning to study her expression. “That doesn’t leave much room for trust.”
“It doesn’t,” she admitted. “But that’s the way it is. Clans that don’t fight for what they need don’t last.”
The weight of her words sank into him. Surviving the Warden was one thing, but the world beyond Frostholm was no less dangerous. The village’s defenses wouldn’t just need to withstand the undead, they’d have to hold against living enemies, too.
“What about this summer?” he asked, his voice quieter. “If we survive the Warden, what happens then?”
Freya sighed, leaning against the wooden palisade. “The raiding season always comes. Clans from across the fjords and forests will be looking for food, iron, and slaves. Frostholm’s no different. We’ve raided before, every clan has. It’s survival.”
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“And now?”
“Now?” She met his gaze, her expression hardening. “Now we’re on the defensive. After the Warden’s attacks, the village is weak. Raiders will see us as easy prey. Unless…” She hesitated.
“Unless what?” John pressed.
“Unless we make them think twice,” she said firmly. “You’ve already started. The walls, the skeletons, the garrison. It’s not just about surviving the Warden. It’s about showing the clans that Frostholm is stronger than they ever thought.”
John nodded slowly, the enormity of their situation sinking in. The village was a beacon of defiance now, not just against the Warden but against the harsh world they inhabited. Yet that defiance made them a target.
“It’s a delicate balance,” he said, more to himself than to Freya. “Push too hard, and we paint a bigger target on our backs. Hold back, and we risk being overrun.”
Freya smiled faintly, though it didn’t reach her eyes. “You’re learning, Bone Caller.”
The two fell silent for a moment, the only sounds the soft crunch of their boots on the frozen ground and the occasional creak of the wooden palisade. Finally, John broke the silence.
“What about allies?” he asked. “Is there anyone out there we can rely on?”
Freya tilted her head thoughtfully. “The Icefall Clans might be willing to trade, especially if we offer something rare, iron, maybe, or that Shadow-Steel you’ve been using. The River Folk to the west tend to stay out of conflicts, but they owe Frostholm a favor. Years ago, Bjorn helped them rebuild after a flood.”
“Would they fight for us?”
“Not unless the Warden threatens them too. But they might send supplies. Food, furs, maybe even some fighters if the price is right.”
John exhaled slowly, his breath fogging in the cold air. “It’s a lot to think about.”
“It is,” Freya agreed, her tone softening. “But you’re doing more than anyone could ask. Eirik believed in you. So do I.”
Her words struck a chord, and John felt a flicker of resolve reignite within him. The challenges ahead were daunting, but he wasn’t alone. Freya, Bjorn, the villagers, they were all in this together.
He turned to her, his expression earnest. “If we make it through this winter, I’ll do everything I can to make sure Frostholm doesn’t just survive. It’ll thrive.”
Freya’s smile widened, and this time it reached her eyes. “Good. Because I’m not about to let all this work go to waste.”
As the sun dipped lower on the horizon, casting long shadows across the snow, the two of them stood side by side, gazing out at the wilderness beyond. The world was harsh, but for the first time, John felt like they had a chance, not just to survive but to carve out a place for themselves in it.
The longhouse was quiet, save for the faint crackle of the fire in the hearth. Shadows danced along the wooden walls, their flickering shapes casting a solemn mood over the room. John sat at the central table, his hands wrapped around a steaming mug of herbal tea Bjorn had insisted he drink. His thoughts swirled as he stared into the amber liquid, replaying the battle for the Soulflame and Eirik’s sacrifice.
The door creaked open, and Freya stepped inside, her expression hard to read. She’d taken off her armor but still carried her axe strapped to her back, a constant companion she refused to set down since returning from the battlefield. Her eyes briefly met John’s before drifting to the fire.
“Thought I’d find you here,” she said, her voice quieter than usual. She pulled a chair across from him and sat, her movements heavy with exhaustion. “You look like hell, Bone Caller.”
John gave her a weak smirk. “I could say the same about you.”
For a moment, neither of them spoke. The silence between them felt like a living thing, filled with unspoken words and raw emotion. Finally, Freya broke it.
“Eirik wouldn’t want us to sit around, wallowing in what happened,” she said, her voice steady but edged with pain. “He gave everything so we could get that damn flame. We owe it to him to make sure it counts.”
John set his mug down, his fingers curling into fists on the table. “I know. I just... I can’t stop thinking that I should’ve done more. Maybe if I…”
“Don’t,” Freya cut in sharply, her gaze snapping to his. “Don’t do that to yourself. Eirik made his choice, and he wouldn’t want you drowning in guilt. He’d want you to fight.”
Her intensity caught John off guard, and for a moment, he could only nod. “You’re right,” he said, his voice low. “I need to focus on what I can do now.”
Freya leaned forward, her eyes narrowing. “And what you can do is keep getting stronger. You’re not just some outsider anymore, John. You’re part of this village, whether you like it or not. These people are looking to you to lead them, to protect them.”
John met her gaze, feeling the weight of her words settle on his shoulders. “I’m trying, Freya. I am. But every time I push my magic further, I wonder how much is too much. What if I lose control? What if I end up becoming the thing we’re fighting against?”
Freya’s expression softened, though the fire in her eyes didn’t fade. She reached across the table and gripped his wrist tightly. “You’re not the Warden, John. You never will be. You fight for us, not for yourself. That’s what makes you different.”
Her words hit like a hammer, breaking through the doubt gnawing at him. He took a deep breath, his resolve hardening. “I’ll keep pushing,” he said firmly. “I’ll refine my skills, make the skeletons stronger, smarter. But I can’t do it alone.”
“You’re not alone,” Freya said, her grip tightening before she let go. “I’m here. The village is here. But you need to promise me something.”
“What?” he asked.
Freya’s voice dropped, her tone tinged with both vulnerability and steel. “Promise me that you won’t let his sacrifice be for nothing. Whatever it takes, we see this through. Together.”
John didn’t hesitate. “I promise.”
The silence that followed wasn’t heavy this time. It felt like an unspoken agreement, a bond forged in the fire of shared grief and determination. Freya leaned back in her chair, exhaling deeply.
“You’ve come a long way since the day we found you, Bone Caller,” she said, a faint smile tugging at her lips. “But don’t think for a second I’m going to let you stop now.”
John chuckled softly, some of the tension easing from his shoulders. “I wouldn’t expect anything less.”
The moment lingered, the flickering firelight casting warm shadows across their faces. There was a closeness between them now, something unspoken but undeniable. Yet neither of them moved to break the fragile balance.
Finally, Freya stood, her axe shifting on her back as she adjusted her cloak. “Get some rest,” she said, her voice softer now. “You’ll need it. The Warden’s not going to wait for us to be ready.”
John nodded, watching as she moved toward the door. Just before stepping outside, she paused and glanced back.
“And John?”
“Yeah?”
Her gaze softened, the weight of her grief momentarily visible. “Thanks. For being here. For trying.”
He nodded, his throat tight. “We’ll make it count, Freya. I swear.”
With that, she slipped outside, leaving John alone with his thoughts. He stared at the fire for a long moment, the echoes of their conversation lingering in the room. For the first time in days, he felt a flicker of clarity amidst the chaos.
Eirik was gone, but his sacrifice had given them a chance. And John wasn’t about to waste it.
The air in Frostholm buzzed with activity as villagers gathered in the central square, their breath forming clouds in the chilly morning air. The Bone Garrison loomed nearby, its spires of calcified bone glowing faintly in the rising sunlight. The clash of steel against steel and the shouts of sparring combatants filled the space, a stark contrast to the once somber quiet of the village.
John stood near the training grounds, watching as Freya barked orders to a group of villagers wielding spears. Her voice carried sharp and clear over the din.
“Step into the thrust! Don’t just jab like you’re poking a fish. You’re driving it through your enemy!” she snapped, demonstrating with a fluid motion that sent her spear slicing through the air.
The villagers mirrored her movements, their forms clumsy but determined. Among them, a young woman with a tightly braided ponytail stepped forward, her spear thrust precise. Freya nodded approvingly.
“That’s it, Ragna. Keep that up, and you might actually scare someone.”
Ragna flushed with pride, stepping back into formation with a grin. Around her, the other villagers tried harder, their confidence bolstered by her progress.
John smiled faintly, turning his attention to the skeletal sparring area nearby. His enhanced skeletons, equipped with weapons forged from Shadow-Steel Fragments and reinforced bone armor, moved with an eerie grace as they sparred with villagers. The clatter of bone-on-metal reverberated through the air as skeletons parried and counterattacked, their precision forcing the villagers to improve.
One skeleton, wielding a longsword with glowing necrotic runes, disarmed a young man in a quick, fluid motion. The villager stumbled back, panting, but managed a laugh.
“Damn, these things don’t hold back,” he said, wiping sweat from his brow.
“They’re not supposed to,” John called over, stepping into the sparring circle. He gestured, and the skeleton paused, its glowing eyes locking onto him. “If you can handle them, you can handle raiders. Again.”
The villager nodded, picking up his weapon and squaring off against the skeleton once more. This time, his footwork was steadier, his strikes more deliberate. The skeleton met him with calculated precision, blocking his attacks but leaving him room to improve.
John turned to Freya, who had wandered over, arms crossed as she watched the sparring. “They’re getting better,” he said.
Freya smirked. “They’d better. You’ve turned this place into a damn fortress. Now we just need to make sure the people inside it can fight.”
As if on cue, Magnus, the Skeletal Guard Captain, approached. His polished armor gleamed in the sunlight, and his halberd rested casually against his shoulder.
“Sir, the sentinels are in place, and the patrol routes are operational. Defensive chokepoints have been reinforced with traps as requested,” Magnus reported in his crisp, baritone voice.
“Good,” John said, nodding. “And the sentinels?”
Magnus straightened. “They are operating at peak efficiency. Their presence has deterred several scouting attempts near the perimeter. I recommend assigning additional units to the southern wall, as it remains the most vulnerable.”
John frowned. “Noted. I’ll shift some skeletons there. Keep me updated.”
Magnus saluted sharply and marched off, his movements precise and deliberate.
Freya raised an eyebrow. “I still can’t believe that guy tells jokes.”
John chuckled. “He’s full of surprises. But he’s right about the southern wall. I’ll reassign the sentinels tonight.”
Freya nodded, her gaze drifting back to the sparring circle. “You’ve done a lot, John. The Bone Armory upgrades, the patrols, the training… It’s starting to feel like we actually have a shot.”
“Do we?” John asked, his voice quiet. “The Warden isn’t going to stop with raiders. He’s going to throw everything he has at us.”
Freya’s jaw tightened. “Then we’ll throw it right back. That’s the only way we survive.”
John watched as a villager successfully landed a strike against a skeleton, his shout of triumph earning a smattering of cheers from the others. The small victory sent a ripple of confidence through the group, their determination visibly growing.
“You’re right,” John said. “And we’re getting there. Slowly, but we’re getting there.”
As the day wore on, the training continued, villagers sparring with each other and with skeletons, their movements growing sharper with every strike. The Bone Garrison’s patrol routes were fine-tuned, skeletons assigned to guard chokepoints and man key positions along the walls. Freya’s relentless leadership kept the momentum alive, her sharp words driving the villagers to give their all.
By the time the sun dipped below the horizon, Frostholm’s defenses had taken another step forward. The villagers, though exhausted, carried themselves with a newfound confidence, their morale lifted by their progress.
John stood near the garrison, watching as the last of the training wrapped up. Freya joined him, her axe slung across her back and her breath visible in the chilly evening air.
“You’ve done good work today, Bone Caller,” she said, her voice softer now.
“So have you,” he replied. “We’re stronger than we were yesterday. That counts for something.”
Freya nodded, her gaze steady. “It counts for everything. And when the Warden comes, we’ll be ready.”
John didn’t reply, but the weight of her words settled in his chest. They would be ready, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that the Warden’s true power still loomed just beyond their reach.
The longhouse was quiet, save for the faint crackle of the hearthfire. Frostholm lay under a blanket of stars, the village still and serene after a day filled with the clash of training weapons and the echo of barked orders. John sat alone on a bench near the edge of the training ground, his spear resting across his knees. His breath clouded in the frosty air, his thoughts as heavy as the chill that clung to his cloak.
In his hand, the Soulflame flickered faintly, its blue glow casting shifting shadows over his face. Its light felt alive, pulsing in time with his heartbeat, a constant reminder of the power he now carried, and the cost at which it had come.
Eirik’s face flashed in his mind, his final words echoing as vividly as if they’d just been spoken. “Protect the village. Don’t stop fighting.”
John exhaled sharply, his chest tightening. He stared at the Soulflame, its glow mesmerizing and unnerving. The flame’s power was undeniable, but the weight of wielding it felt suffocating. What would Eirik think if he could see him now? Had his sacrifice been worth it?
The Soulflame’s pulsing grew stronger, almost as if in response to his doubt. John frowned, his fingers tightening around the glowing orb. “You want me to use you, don’t you?” he muttered, his voice barely above a whisper. “To fight, to build, to burn everything in your way.”
The flame flared briefly, its light brighter and colder. The system chimed faintly in his mind.
[Skill Unlocked: Soulfire Infusion]
Imbue your undead with Soulfire, granting enhanced strength, agility, and resistance to purification effects. Consumes 1 charge per use. Current Charges: 3.
John’s breath caught as the system prompt faded. The opportunity was tantalizing, and the village needed every advantage they could get. He stood slowly, gripping the Soulflame tightly as he walked to a lone skeleton stationed near the training grounds. Its glowing blue eyes tracked his approach, silent and expectant.
He hesitated, his hand hovering over the skeleton’s bony chest. The thought of channeling the Soulflame into another creature unsettled him, but he couldn’t ignore the potential. “Let’s see what you can do,” he murmured.
Closing his eyes, John focused on the Soulflame, feeling its energy course through him. The heat was unlike anything he’d ever experienced, not physical warmth but a searing intensity that burned in his soul. He directed the power into the skeleton, his voice low as he chanted the activation command.
[SOULFIRE INFUSION ACTIVATED]
Mana Consumed: 20
Charges Remaining: 2
The skeleton trembled, a deep hum resonating through its bones. Ghostly blue flames erupted along its frame, licking up its limbs and wrapping around its ribcage like living tendrils. The fire cast an eerie glow, illuminating the darkness with unnatural light. Its eyes blazed brighter, and its movements became fluid, almost human-like.
John stepped back, his pulse quickening. The skeleton flexed its fingers, its bony hands crackling with fiery energy. The air around it shimmered with heat, distorting the space as if it were alive.
The sight was awe-inspiring, but it sent a chill down John’s spine. This was no longer a simple construct, it was a weapon, a being imbued with the destructive force of the Soulflame.
He studied the blazing skeleton, his mind racing with possibilities. The power it radiated was intoxicating, but it also carried a sense of danger. Could he control this? Could he control himself?
The skeleton turned its head toward him, its blazing eyes meeting his. For a moment, John thought he saw something there, an intelligence, a flicker of awareness that hadn’t existed before. He shook the thought away, dismissing it as a trick of the flames.
The weight of the Soulflame’s power pressed on him, tugging at his mind like an insistent whisper. It promised strength, dominance, victory, but at what cost?
Doubt crept into his thoughts, threatening to unravel the resolve he’d carefully built. What if he wasn’t strong enough to wield this power responsibly? What if he became the very thing they were fighting against?
The image of Eirik’s sacrifice flashed through his mind again, sharper this time. John clenched his fists, forcing the doubt aside. He couldn’t afford to falter. Not now. Not with so much at stake.
He stepped closer to the flaming skeleton, his voice steady but quiet. “We’ll need you soon. But I won’t let this power consume me. I owe him that much.”
The skeleton bowed its head slightly, as if acknowledging his words. John dismissed the infusion, the blue flames extinguishing in an instant. The skeleton returned to its motionless vigil, the glow in its eyes dimming to its usual faint light.
As the Soulflame’s pulsing steadied in his hand, John exhaled, his resolve hardening. He slipped the flame back into his satchel, its warmth a constant reminder of the path he’d chosen.
The night deepened, and Frostholm remained quiet. John stood alone in the training ground for a while longer, the weight of his responsibility settling heavily on his shoulders. But for the first time since Eirik’s death, he felt a flicker of clarity.
He would carry on, not just for the village, but for the man who had believed in him. The man who had given everything so John could fight another day.
The chill of the night clung to the air as John leaned on the wooden railing of the village wall, his gaze sweeping across the shadowy forest that encircled Frostholm. Above, the sky was a canvas of stars, their distant light flickering like whispered promises of something greater. The village behind him was quiet now, save for the occasional creak of timber and the faint murmur of villagers in the distance.
Beside him, Freya stood with her axe resting against the railing, her golden braid catching the faint glow of a nearby torch. She stared out at the treeline, her expression unreadable. For a long while, neither of them spoke, the silence between them stretching comfortably, like an unspoken understanding.
Finally, Freya broke the quiet, her voice soft but steady. “Eirik used to love nights like this.” She paused, her lips curling into a faint smile tinged with sadness. “Said the stars reminded him of home, of something constant. Even when everything else was chaos.”
John glanced at her, surprised by the vulnerability in her tone. “I didn’t know him as well as you did, but… he seemed like the kind of man who always found his way. Even in the darkest moments.”
Freya nodded, her fingers tightening around the railing. “He was. Eirik always had this quiet strength. No matter how bad things got, he’d find a way to keep us moving forward. To remind us why we fought.”
Her voice faltered for a moment, and she looked down, exhaling slowly. “It’s strange, you know? Losing him feels like losing a part of myself. But I can’t fall apart. Not now. Not when the village needs us.”
John hesitated, then placed a hand on her shoulder. “You’re stronger than you give yourself credit for, Freya. I’ve seen it. The way the villagers look up to you, the way you lead them—it’s something I couldn’t do without.”
She turned to him, her blue eyes searching his face. “And what about you, Bone Caller? Carrying the weight of this village on your shoulders, holding onto power that could burn you alive… how do you keep going?”
John looked away, his gaze falling on the distant forest. “I don’t know. Some days it feels like I’m just pretending, hoping no one notices how close I am to falling apart. The Soulflame… it’s powerful, but it’s not just a tool. It’s a constant pull, a voice in the back of my mind that won’t let me forget what it cost to get here.”
He took a deep breath, his voice lowering. “I’m scared, Freya. Scared that I’ll fail, that I’ll make the wrong choice and all of this, Eirik’s sacrifice, the villagers’ hope, it’ll all be for nothing.”
Freya studied him for a moment, then stepped closer, her voice firm but gentle. “You’re not alone in this, John. The weight doesn’t have to be yours to carry alone. I’m here, the villagers are here. We’ll figure this out together.”
Her words settled over him like a balm, easing the tightness in his chest. He managed a small smile, the first genuine one in what felt like days. “Thanks, Freya. I needed that.”
She smiled back, her hand brushing his briefly. “We all need someone to remind us why we fight. You’ve given this village hope, John. Don’t forget that.”
The moment hung between them, fragile and unspoken. For a heartbeat, the weight of their shared burdens seemed to lift, leaving only the quiet connection of two people bound by duty, loss, and the faint glimmer of something more.
A sharp voice shattered the stillness, cutting through the quiet like a blade. “Freya! Bone Caller!”
Both turned to see a scout sprinting toward them along the wall, his breath visible in the cold air. He stopped, panting, his eyes wide with urgency. “Strange movements in the forest. Something’s coming.”
John and Freya exchanged a glance, their fleeting moment of peace giving way to hardened resolve. Freya gripped her axe, her voice steady. “How many?”
The scout shook his head. “Hard to say. Shadows, shapes, too fast to get a good look. But they’re coming closer.”
John’s jaw tightened as he straightened, the quiet reflection of moments ago replaced by the sharp clarity of impending action. “Get everyone ready. We’ll meet them before they reach the walls.”
The scout nodded and took off, his footfalls echoing down the ramparts.
Freya turned to John, her expression fierce. “Guess the stars will have to wait.”
John smirked faintly, his grip tightening on his spear. “Seems like they always do.”
Together, they descended the wall, their steps purposeful. The faint glow of the Soulflame pulsed in John’s satchel, a silent promise of the fight to come. Whatever shadows awaited them, they would face it, together.