Dawn broke over the abandoned village, casting long shadows across the alien landscape. Captain Alastair Reid stood on what had once been the village square, surveying the collection of iridescent wooden structures that would become their home for the foreseeable future. The buildings, despite their battle damage, were remarkably sturdy—and far more beautiful than the prefabricated shelters they'd hauled through the Gate.
"Forward Base Avalon," Reid said, testing the name on his tongue. "Has a certain ring to it, doesn't it?"
Williams snorted beside him. "Bit pretentious, isn't it? Naming our muddy little outpost after King Arthur's magical island?"
"Says the man who named his service rifle 'Excalibur,'" Reid replied dryly.
"Fair point."
Reid watched as Task Force Valkyrie transformed the village into a military installation with practiced efficiency. Defensive perimeters were being established, communications equipment set up, and medical stations organized. It was familiar work—he'd overseen similar operations in Afghanistan and Syria—but the setting couldn't have been more different. Instead of desert sand, the ground beneath their boots was covered in moss that seemed to shimmer with its own inner light. The trees surrounding the village bore fruit that pulsed with gentle luminescence.
"Captain," Dr. Eleanor Whitaker called, approaching with her tablet in hand. "You need to see this."
Reid turned to the historian, noting the excitement in her eyes. Whitaker had been a controversial addition to the team—a disgraced academic whose theories about Arthurian legends had been laughed out of Cambridge. Now, it seemed, she was having the last laugh.
"What have you found, Doctor?"
"These markings," she said, showing him images on her tablet. "They're all over the village. They appear to be some sort of channeling system for what the locals might call magic, but I believe it's actually energy from ley-lines—natural power conduits running through the earth."
"Ley-lines," Reid repeated skeptically. "Like those New Age crystal enthusiasts are always going on about?"
Whitaker's expression hardened slightly. "The concept has been bastardized by modern pseudoscience, Captain, but many ancient cultures recognized these energy pathways. The Chinese called them dragon veins. The Aboriginal Australians had songlines. And here—" she gestured to the glowing patterns etched into a nearby building, "—they seem to be the foundation of their entire civilization."
Reid studied the markings. They pulsed with a faint blue light, following patterns that reminded him vaguely of circuit boards.
"And you think this... powers their magic?"
"I don't think, Captain. I know." Whitaker placed her hand near one of the markings, and the light intensified, responding to her proximity. "These aren't just decorative. They're functional."
Reid frowned. "Can they be weaponized?"
"Anything can be weaponized, Captain," Whitaker replied with a sad smile. "That's humanity's special talent, isn't it?"
Before Reid could respond, Lance Corporal Parvati Singh approached, her medical kit slung over one shoulder. Despite the chaos of the past twenty-four hours, Singh looked remarkably composed, though the dark circles under her eyes betrayed her exhaustion.
"Sir, we've found survivors," she reported. "Three of them, hiding in a root cellar beneath one of the buildings. They're injured but stable."
Reid straightened. "Hostiles?"
"Not exactly," Singh said, choosing her words carefully. "They're terrified, sir. And they're not... entirely human."
"Explain."
"They appear humanoid, but with some distinct differences. Elongated ears, iridescent skin patterns similar to the markings Dr. Whitaker is studying. They're communicating in a language I can't understand, but they seem intelligent and organized."
"Elves," Whitaker breathed, her eyes widening. "My God, they're actually elves."
Reid shot her a look. "Let's not jump to conclusions, Doctor. Singh, are they a threat?"
"I don't believe so, sir. One of them is just a child. They seem more afraid of us than we are of them."
Reid nodded, making a decision. "Treat their injuries. See if you can establish some form of communication. But keep them under guard. We can't afford to take chances."
"Yes, sir," Singh hesitated. "There's something else. When I was treating the older female's wounds, she... did something. Some kind of healing magic, I think. The wound started closing on its own."
Reid exchanged glances with Whitaker, whose expression had shifted from excitement to something approaching reverence.
"Document everything," he ordered. "And Singh—be careful."
"Always am, sir," she replied with a slight smile before heading back to her patients.
As the day progressed, Reid established a command center in what appeared to have been the village's central meeting hall. Maps were spread across tables, communications equipment hummed, and soldiers reported in from patrols around the perimeter. The familiar routine helped steady his nerves, but the alien landscape visible through the windows was a constant reminder of how far they were from home.
His hands shook slightly as he studied the patrol routes. The pain in his shoulder—a souvenir from Syria—was flaring up again, and with it came the familiar craving for the pills he'd left behind in London. He clenched his fists, willing the sensation away.
"You alright, boss?" Williams asked quietly, appearing at his side with two steaming mugs.
"Fine," Reid replied automatically, accepting the offered drink. He took a sip and grimaced. "What the hell is this?"
"Local tea, apparently. Singh says the elves—sorry, 'indigenous population'—showed her how to brew it. Supposed to have medicinal properties."
Reid eyed the iridescent liquid suspiciously. "Does it contain hallucinogens? Because the last thing we need is a platoon of British soldiers tripping balls in fairyland."
Williams chuckled. "Already tested. It's safe. Tastes like shit, but it helps with the pain."
Reid gave his old friend a sharp look. Williams had always been too perceptive for his own good.
"I don't need—"
"Course not," Williams interrupted smoothly. "Just sharing information, Captain."
Reid sighed and took another sip. The liquid burned going down, but left a pleasant warmth in its wake. He had to admit, the throbbing in his shoulder did seem to diminish slightly.
As night fell, the village transformed again. The markings that Whitaker had been studying began to glow more intensely, bathing Avalon in soft blue light. It was beautiful, in an otherworldly way, but it made Reid uneasy. The light made them visible for miles—a tactical vulnerability he couldn't ignore.
"We can't dampen them," Whitaker explained when he raised the concern. "They're tied to the ley-lines. It would be like trying to turn off the Northern Lights."
"Wonderful," Reid muttered. "So we're basically a giant glowing target."
"If it helps," Whitaker offered, "the locals probably already know we're here. This level of illumination is normal for their settlements."
"That doesn't help at all, Doctor."
Reid doubled the night watch and ordered regular perimeter checks. He tried to rest but found sleep elusive. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw the dragons emerging from the Gate over London, heard the screams of civilians caught in the initial attack. He wondered how many had died, how many were still dying while he and his team established this foothold in a world that clearly didn't want them.
Around midnight, he gave up on sleep and made his way to the village's edge, nodding to the soldiers on watch as he passed. The alien sky above was breathtaking—twin moons casting silver light across the landscape, stars arranged in constellations he didn't recognize.
"Beautiful, isn't it?" Whitaker's voice startled him. She stood a few feet away, her face tilted up to the sky.
"Shouldn't you be resting, Doctor?"
"I could ask you the same thing, Captain." She moved to stand beside him. "Too much history being made to sleep. I've spent my entire career studying myths and legends, and now I'm standing in the middle of one."
Reid glanced at her. "Must be vindicating."
"You have no idea." She smiled, but it didn't reach her eyes. "All those colleagues who mocked my theories about Excalibur's origins... I wonder what they'd say now."
"Probably that you were right for the wrong reasons," Reid replied. "That's usually how these things go."
Whitaker laughed softly. "Cynical, but accurate." She gestured to the village behind them. "I've been studying the architecture. It's fascinating—the entire settlement is designed to channel and amplify ley-line energy. The buildings aren't just homes; they're conduits."
"And what does that mean for us?"
"It means we've established our base on what amounts to a magical power station," Whitaker said. "Which could be either extremely fortunate or catastrophically dangerous, depending on how things play out."
Reid was about to respond when a shout came from the perimeter. He turned sharply, hand going to his sidearm.
"Contact at the northern edge!" a soldier called. "Single rider approaching under a white flag!"
Reid and Whitaker exchanged glances before hurrying toward the commotion. Soldiers had taken up defensive positions, weapons trained on the lone figure approaching on horseback—except the creature wasn't exactly a horse. It was larger, more muscular, with a coat that seemed to shimmer like oil on water.
The rider wore armor that gleamed in the moonlight, intricate patterns etched into the metal plates. A white banner fluttered from a lance held casually in one hand. As they drew closer, the rider removed their helmet, revealing a man with sharp features and hair so pale it was almost silver.
"I seek audience with the leader of the invaders," the knight called in perfect, if oddly accented, English. "I come under the banner of truce, as is custom."
Reid stepped forward, signaling his soldiers to hold their fire but remain alert.
"I'm Captain Alastair Reid, Joint Task Force Valkyrie. Identify yourself."
The knight inclined his head slightly, a gesture that managed to be both respectful and condescending at once.
"I am Gareth ap Llewellyn, former champion of the Eternal Court, now exile and mercenary." His eyes, unnaturally bright in the moonlight, fixed on Reid with unsettling intensity. "And I bring news you would be wise to hear, Captain of Earth."
Reid felt Whitaker tense beside him, heard her sharp intake of breath at the mention of the Eternal Court. Whatever that was, it clearly meant something to her.
"Dismount and surrender your weapons," Reid ordered. "Then we'll talk."
Gareth smiled, a cold expression that didn't reach his eyes. "As you wish, Captain. Though I should warn you—in Aeltheria, words are often the deadliest weapons of all."
With fluid grace, he swung down from his mount, unstrapped his sword, and held it out hilt-first to the nearest soldier. As the knight approached, Reid couldn't shake the feeling that despite their superior numbers and technology, they were the ones at a disadvantage.
Welcome to Aeltheria indeed.