Heidi : echoes of ash

Disclaimer:

The Heidi mentioned in this account is not the Heidi Evervale of Heidi: Echoes of Ash. This Heidi was her human great-grandmother on her mother’s side and the grandmother of Ellis Evervale. This content explores a hidden chapter of World War II where humans and NetherKind stood together in defiance of a shared enemy.

21st May 1940

We are ghosts now. Left behind, forgotten, but not defeated. When the regiment fell back, we were cut off—a mix of humans and NetherKind stranded in this forsaken French countryside. Command must think we’re dead already, lost to the chaos. Maybe they’re right. But if death is to come for us, it won’t find us cowering. It will find us fighting.

The others look to me as their leader, though God knows why. I am not the man for this. I am young, younger than many officers I have served under. They carried themselves with hardened eyes and steady hands, while I still feel the weight of every decision pressing on me. My hands betray me when I unholster my pistol, trembling just enough to remind me of my inexperience. Leadership feels heavier than my rifle today, especially when staring down such an unlikely company.

There are seven of us to start: myself, three other humans, and three NetherKind. The humans are Private Milligan, a medic with a sharp tongue and a sharper wit; Corporal Evans, a crack shot who rarely speaks; and Sergeant Harris, a scout with a talent for slipping through shadows. The NetherKind include Kaelar, a towering Julpa, his presence alone enough to make men hesitate; Dakkar, a Nyssari, who moves with unsettling silence; and Lira, a Vaylen, whose glowing markings shift like ripples in still water.

I had seen Lira before, back in the city. Not here. Not like this. Then, she had been surrounded by her own people, laughing, vibrant, her bioluminescent markings dancing across her skin. Now, she barely spoke, her glow dimmed to a hushed flicker. That’s when I realised—the others who had been with her, the ones who made her glow so brightly, were not here. Which meant they were dead.

One of them, Kaelar, offered me water when my flask ran dry. His voice was a low rumble, his words soft despite his size. The gesture unnerved me more than it should have. Are they so different from us? Do they mourn? Do they fear death as we do? I’m not sure I want to know the answers.

We’ve made a pact: If we are to fall, it will not be without purpose. We’ve tracked a German regiment preparing to ambush our forces. If they succeed, hundreds will die. That is not a future I’ll allow, not while we still have breath and bullets.

22nd May 1940: The Barn

The barn where we’ve made camp smells of damp hay and desperation. The walls whisper the stories of those who hid here before us, fleeing the same invaders we now face. A family’s belongings are scattered in the corner—a child’s toy, a woman’s scarf. They’ve long since gone, leaving behind only ghosts. Perhaps they know we’re here now. Perhaps they watch and hope.

Today, we welcomed new faces into our strange little regiment. A young woman emerged from the shadows of a nearby village, trembling but defiant. She’s German by birth but an enemy of the Reich.

Her name is Heidi. She admitted to shooting a Nazi officer who was beating an elderly man in the square. She stood firm as she spoke, her voice steady, but her eyes burned with something unrelenting.

“We had to run,” Heidi said.

The others were wary at first. A German among us? But war makes strange alliances. If we can stand beside demons, why not her? She has agreed to fight with us. I see no other choice. The fight ahead will require every hand, every ounce of courage we can muster.

23rd May 1940

We moved again today, putting more distance between ourselves and the enemy. The silence in the group is heavy. Every step feels like a march toward something none of us are ready for. Harris insists we’re close to the regiment’s supply wagons now. He’s been ahead of us, scouting, his sharp eyes catching every detail. He looks at me when he reports back, waiting for my orders. I give them, but it doesn’t feel like they’re mine. They’re just words that came from somewhere deep, somewhere that knows failure isn’t an option.

Milligan tried to lighten the mood. He’s a natural at it, throwing in a joke about our ragtag group being “the most dangerous circus in France.” Kaelar chuckled, a deep rumble that seemed to break the tension for a moment. Even Evans cracked a smile.

I’m grateful for Milligan. I’m not good at lifting spirits. My mind is too full of what lies ahead, of the decisions that will likely lead some of these men and women to their deaths. It’s hard to shake that thought.

24th May 1940

I used to think the NetherKind were monsters. They were stories told to keep us afraid of the dark, and later, the propaganda made them easy scapegoats for everything that went wrong in the world. Even now, I catch myself watching them too closely, as if they might turn on us at any moment.

But today, as we followed the German regiment, I saw something else. Kaelar took first watch last night. When I woke to relieve him, he had quietly tended the fire, ensuring it stayed warm enough to keep us from freezing but dim enough not to give us away. Dakkar caught a hare for breakfast without a word, sharing it with Harris before anyone else. And Lira, when Milligan was fumbling to fix a strap on his pack, simply walked over and adjusted it for him. No fanfare, no words, just a silent gesture.

These aren’t the monsters I was warned about. They’re people—different, yes, but people. If others could see what I’ve seen, they might think differently too. Perhaps this war has given us more than just loss. Perhaps it’s shown us that we are stronger together.

24th May 1940 (continued)

We’ve kept to the shadows, following the German regiment’s trail. They march like a machine, relentless and unyielding. But machines have weaknesses. They grow overconfident, blind to what lurks beyond their ordered lines.

The closer we get, the more cracks we see in their formation. Their supply wagons are under-guarded, their officers too confident in the safety of these back roads. It’s clear they aren’t expecting trouble, and that will be their downfall.

Tonight, Kaelar made a flippant remark that stuck with me. “We’re just ghosts trailing their steps, Captain,” he said, his gravelly voice carrying a hint of humour. Ghosts. The name feels fitting. We’re invisible to them, haunting their every move, waiting to strike. Perhaps we are ghosts, in a way—lost to our own world, yet still fighting for it.

As we rested by a shallow stream, I asked each of the Ghosts to write letters to their loved ones. If we do not survive, someone must carry their words home. It’s a grim task, but a necessary one. Heidi’s letter caught my eye as she folded it. Her handwriting is bold and sharp, much like the woman herself.

I wrote my own letter to Elizabeth. I told her of the stars tonight, how they look brighter here than I’ve ever seen. I told her not to weep if the letter finds her. Let it remind her that I stood for something when it mattered most.

26th May 1940: The Night Before the Battle

The attack is set for dawn. We spent the night preparing, each of us playing a part in the plan. Harris scouted ahead, mapping the regiment’s route and marking their weakest points. Evans checked our weapons, ensuring every rifle and grenade was ready. Milligan packed supplies, muttering under his breath about the futility of it all. The NetherKind prepared in their own ways.

Milligan, ever the restless one, pulled out a bottle he had tucked away in his pack. "No sense in dying sober," he muttered, taking a swig before passing it on. One by one, we drank—Harris, Evans, even Dakkar, who wrinkled his nose at the burn but didn’t refuse.

Lira barely sipped, but she lingered as she passed it back, her bioluminescent markings pulsing faintly in the firelight. "For remembrance," she murmured, the glow fading to something sombre.

Before the fire died, Heidi spoke up. "If we’re ghosts," she said, "then let’s haunt them properly." The others laughed, but there was steel in her voice. For a moment, I forgot she was new to this fight. She’s one of us now.

26th May 1940: The Attack

The morning came too soon. We moved before first light, slipping through the trees, our footfalls swallowed by the damp earth. The German regiment was still at rest, their sentries lazy, unaware of the storm creeping toward them.

Harris and Evans took position first, rifles steady. Dakkar vanished into the mist, his Nyssari instincts making him a phantom among the trees. Lira, ever calculating, mapped out angles, whispering low to Milligan about potential fallback points—not that we expected to use them.

Then Kaelar moved.

Like a rolling tide, he surged forward, silent and brutal. The first German soldier barely had time to register the Julpa’s approach before Kaelar’s axe cleaved through him. Chaos erupted. Gunfire. Shouting. The Germans scrambled, caught off guard.

Evans took down an officer before they could rally. Harris disappeared into the smoke, re-emerging seconds later with a knife buried in an enemy’s side. Heidi, fearless as ever, fired shot after shot, reloading with sharp efficiency.

A German officer, alerted to Kaelar’s presence after watching him cut through his men, raised his pistol and fired. The bullets embedded into Kaelar’s thick hide, drawing grunts of pain but never breaking his momentum. He barely acknowledged them, swatting at his side like a man brushing away flies before plowing forward.

And then the tide turned.

They regrouped faster than we expected, their numbers overwhelming. A bullet caught Milligan in the side—he dropped, cursing, blood pooling beneath him. Dakkar took out three before one of them caught him in the back.

Lira fought with precision, her glowing patterns flickering through the mist like a phantom. I caught glimpses of her—a flash of movement, a shimmer of bioluminescence—but then she was gone, swallowed by the melee. When I saw her again, it was too late. Her glow had faded to nothing.

Kaelar fought like a beast of legend, his massive form carving a path toward their command. He reached them, tearing through their officers before they could issue another order. I saw the moment the Germans realised they had lost their leadership—the hesitation, the faltering steps. That was our opening.

Harris shouted for a retreat, but there were too few of us left to run. Evans fell next, a bullet through the throat. Milligan was still alive, barely, but we couldn't reach him. Heidi and I fired until our weapons clicked empty, then fought with knives, fists—anything.

Then Kaelar went down.

Even on his knees, he was a force to be reckoned with, crushing skulls, breaking bones. But there were too many. A dozen bayonets found him at once, piercing his massive frame. He roared, not in pain, but in defiance. Still, he fought. It took six—seven—German soldiers to bring him down. They swarmed him, ropes and bayonets pinning his arms, hands clawing at his throat.

I saw Heidi react before I could, grabbing a rifle from one of the fallen Nazi's, raising and firing. Three fell before she ran out of bullets. Then, with a snarl, she charged, knife in hand. She took three more before they knocked her to the ground.

Kaelar hit the earth a second later. Unmoving.

I don’t remember when I hit the ground. There was shouting, movement, but it all blurred. The last thing I saw was Heidi, bloodied but standing, dragging Milligan toward cover.

The world faded.

28th May 1940

I woke to silence. The battle was won, but we had lost everything.

I counted the bodies. Harris. Evans. Dakkar. Lira. Kaelar.

Milligan was breathing, barely. Heidi sat beside him, staring at nothing.

"We did it," she whispered.

We did.

But at what cost?

29th June 1940

The battle for Dunkirk is over. Thousands have been saved, ferried across the channel to fight another day. Behind closed doors, Command acknowledged our efforts.

I now carry a handful of letters. Words of love, of regret, of promises never kept. I swore to deliver them if I made it out. Now, I must.

"You’ve done the impossible, Captain Norman Grey," they told me. I wanted to laugh. Impossible is what happens when desperation meets resolve. But I said nothing. This war is far from over, and our work has only begun.

They call us heroes, but we don’t feel like heroes. We’re still ghosts, shadows cast by a fire that will one day consume us. But if history remembers us, let it remember this:

We fought not for glory, but for each other. For the chance to see another dawn.