Vice-Captain Elria stood like a sentinel in the storm, her greatsword’s hilt a familiar weight on her back.
Around her, the evacuation continued—guards herded civilians toward the inner shelters, their voices muffled by the relentless blizzard. The infirmary team moved with practiced efficiency, escorting the last of the recovered patients through the swirling mist.
Good. We are almost done.
Her breath fogged in the freezing air as she scanned the whiteout. Captain Draven had taken a unit to the lower keep half an hour ago. Butler also said Lord has gone to the Western Wing Anchor.
But, they should’ve been back by now.
Shapes emerged from the haze.
A line of figures trudged toward her, their outlines blurred by the three-foot-deep mist, the snow, and the wind’s howling veil. For a heartbeat, relief flickered in her chest.
Is it Captain’s unit?
But her grip on her sword didn’t loosen.
Never drop your guard.
Draven’s voice echoed in her mind, sharp as the day he’d drilled it into her.
"Captain?" she called, raising her voice above the storm. "Is that you?"
No answer. Only the crunch of snow under unnaturally even footsteps.
At thirty meters, the mist parted just enough to reveal familiar figures—Captain Draven’s unit, yes, but also scouts from the eastern ridge.
Why are they together?
Scouts never moved in large groups. They worked in small groups and alone, shadows in the snow. And their gait...
A chill deeper than the blizzard’s bite crawled up Elara’s spine.
She inhaled sharply, activating [Winter’s Sight]—her perception technique sharpening to cut through the storm’s illusions. The world crystallized around her: snowflakes suspended mid-fall, the panicked breaths of evacuating civilians, the steady thrum of guards’ auras...
No monsters. No hidden figures. Just the approaching unit and the endless white.
Nothing out of place.
That’s what scared her.
Her greatsword cleared its sheath in one fluid motion, the blade’s edge singing as it cut through the frozen air.
"Halt where you stand!" Her voice cracked like a whip across the square.
Nearby guards snapped to attention, hands flying to their weapons as they followed her gaze.
"Miiiiiss Elriaaaa..."
A chorus of voices, warped and wet, as if forced through frozen throats. "Weee aaare baaack..."
Ice flooded her veins.
Every instinct screamed.
"All units!" She roared without turning, her grip tightening on the greatsword. "Defensive formation—expedite evacuation immediately! We are under attack!
Chaos erupted behind her.
Guards shoved civilians forward, abandoning orderly lines for desperate speed. Mothers hauled children into arms, merchants abandoned their carts—the crowd surging toward the shelter like a tide.
But Elria didn’t move.
Because the "soldiers" were charging.
These weren’t soldiers anymore.
The figures before her had been hollowed out—tainted by whatever lurked in the blizzard from Hollowlands’ depths.
But Elria knew—knew—they weren’t the real threat.
The real danger hid in the blizzard itself.
Her jaw clenched as she exhaled sharply, the cold biting at her lungs. First, the early blizzard, then the abnormal patients, now this? Nothing was going according to their expectations. And if the corruption had spread this far...
...then the monsters might already be in the town.
She took a steadying breath.
Then, with deliberate slowness, she sheathed her greatsword—only to draw it again in the same motion but with its scabbard, the blade now angled defensively toward the corrupted soldiers.
She couldn’t hurt them. Not if there was a chance they could be saved.
Not when she had once been in their place.
Her boots dug into the snow.
Elria exploded forward, her greatsword a silver blur as she closed the distance in an instant. The first corrupted guard barely had time to raise his hands before the flat of her weapon smashed into his chest, sending him flying backward into the snow.
The second and third came at her in eerie unison, their movements too coordinated but also too predictable.
She pivoted, her sword sweeping in a wide arc—
Two more bodies hit the ground, rolling across the frozen earth.
But her survival instincts screamed.
Her greatsword whirled in a devastating circle, the force of her swing kicking up a whirlwind of snow—and revealing three flickering shapes as they lunged at her from the mist.
Claws met steel with a shriek of sparks.
The monsters recoiled, their vortex-heads pulsing with hollow fury.
But Elria didn’t have time to celebrate.
A fourth attacker struck from behind—
Razor-sharp fingers scraped against the iron armor beneath her coat, the impact itching her skin. She gritted her teeth, spinning to face this new threat—
—only for the corrupted soldiers to stagger back to their feet.
It was also at this moment when loud screams erupted far behind her—sharp, panicked shrieks that cut through the blizzard’s howl.
They’re attacking the there too!
Elria’s jaw tightened as more Mistborn materialized from the swirling snow, their hollow eyes fixed on her. The corrupted soldiers moved with them, their movements jerky but coordinated, forming a living barricade between her and the civilians.
She clicked her tongue, adjusting her grip on her greatsword.
The first wave came at her in a disjointed rush—corrupted soldiers stumbling forward while Mistborn flickered at the edges of her vision, waiting for openings.
She swung wide, the flat of her blade sending two corrupted guards sprawling.
A Mistborn lunged the moment her sword completed its arc, claws aimed at her exposed side.
She twisted mid-motion, her scabbard whipping up to block the strike. The impact slightly rattled her arm, her boot lashed out, catching the creature in its vortex-head and sending it reeling back with a distorted screech.
But more kept coming.
Corrupted soldiers. Mistborns.
The blizzard itself seemed to birth them, their forms coalescing from the snow. Every step toward the evacuation site was met with another wave, another desperate clash.
They weren’t stopping.
If anything, they grew louder. More frantic.
She dropped into a charging stance, greatsword held low.
Snow exploded around her as she shot forward, her blade a silver streak deflecting claws and grasping hands alike. She didn’t stop to fight—just barreled through, scattering foes like leaves in her wake.
Suddenly, the screams cut off abruptly.
Her pulse hammered in her ears as she skidded to a halt near the evacuation point, greatsword raised—
—only to freeze mid-step, breath catching.
...They’re already here.