The morning mist clung to the forest floor like a reluctant ghost as Task Force Valkyrie moved through the outskirts of Avalon. Captain Reid led the patrol, his eyes constantly scanning the treeline for threats. It had been three days since Gareth ap Llewellyn's arrival, and the knight's warnings about Seraphine's forces had everyone on edge.
"Remind me again why we're out here instead of fortifying our base?" Williams muttered, swatting at an iridescent insect that had landed on his shoulder. The bug emitted an indignant squeak before buzzing away.
"Because sitting behind walls waiting for trouble is how you get surrounded and slaughtered," Reid replied without breaking stride. "Better to know what's coming."
The patrol consisted of Reid, Williams, Dr. Whitaker (who had insisted on joining to collect botanical samples), and Lance Corporal Singh, along with four other soldiers. Gareth had offered to accompany them, but Reid wasn't ready to trust the knight that far yet. Better to keep him where Williams' second-in-command could watch him.
Whitaker paused to examine a flowering plant that seemed to pulse with its own inner light. "Fascinating. The flora here appears to respond to ley-line energy fluctuations. I believe these plants might actually be feeding on magical residue rather than just sunlight."
"That's lovely, Doctor," Reid said dryly. "Perhaps we could focus on not getting killed by whatever else feeds on magical residue around here?"
Whitaker straightened, tucking a specimen into her pack. "Science doesn't pause for paranoia, Captain."
"Neither does death," Reid countered, but there was no real heat in his words. Despite her academic enthusiasm, Whitaker had proven herself surprisingly resilient since their arrival in Aeltheria.
They continued in silence for another kilometer before Singh, who was scouting ahead, raised her fist in the universal military signal to halt. Reid moved forward in a crouch, joining her at the edge of a small ridge.
Below them, moving slowly along what appeared to be an ancient road, was a caravan of... Reid blinked, still not entirely comfortable with the reality of what he was seeing.
Elves. A group of about thirty, including children, moving with the weary determination of refugees. Their wagons were ornate but weathered, pulled by creatures that resembled deer but with six legs and small, branching antlers that glowed with the same blue light as the ley-lines. The elves themselves were tall and slender, with the same elongated ears and iridescent skin patterns Singh had described seeing on their patients in Avalon.
"Refugees," Singh whispered. "They look exhausted. And there—" she pointed to several figures being carried on stretchers "—wounded."
Reid studied the group through his binoculars. They were clearly civilians, not warriors. Many appeared malnourished, and their possessions seemed hastily packed. Classic signs of people fleeing persecution.
"Orders were clear," Williams reminded him quietly. "No entanglements with the locals until we establish a secure foothold."
Reid continued watching the caravan. A child stumbled, and an adult—presumably the mother—scooped her up despite her own obvious exhaustion. Something in his chest tightened.
"Captain," Singh said, her voice low but insistent. "Those people need medical attention. I can see infection from here." She hesitated. "Sir, I didn't join the Royal Marines to watch children suffer when I could help."
Reid sighed. Singh was right, of course. And despite Crowe's orders to avoid entanglements, basic humanity demanded action. Besides, these refugees might have valuable intelligence about Seraphine's forces.
"Whitaker, your assessment?" he asked.
The historian had joined them at the ridge, her eyes wide with academic excitement barely contained beneath a veneer of professional interest.
"Based on their markings and the design of their wagons, they appear to be from the northern provinces Gareth mentioned. Likely fleeing the Eternal Court's expansion." She paused. "Captain, these could be the same people Gareth claimed to have refused to slaughter—the reason for his exile."
That settled it. If nothing else, this was an opportunity to verify part of the knight's story.
"Williams, standard first contact protocol. Non-threatening posture, weapons lowered but ready. Singh, prepare your medical kit. Whitaker, you're our cultural expert—any advice on greeting them without causing offense?"
Whitaker looked momentarily panicked. "My expertise is theoretical, Captain. But... in most cultures, offering assistance to children is universally accepted as a peaceful gesture."
Reid nodded. "Right. Let's move."
They descended the ridge slowly, making enough noise that they wouldn't startle the caravan. As they emerged from the treeline, the effect was immediate. The elves froze, then erupted into controlled chaos—adults pushing children behind them, while several figures with bows stepped forward defensively.
Reid raised his hands, palms outward. "We mean no harm," he called out, hoping they understood English. Gareth had, after all.
One of the elves—a tall male with silver-white hair and intricate markings that swirled across his face like frozen lightning—stepped forward. His bow remained half-drawn, arrow nocked but pointed at the ground.
"Humans," he said, his accent musical but his English clear. "You wear the garb of warriors, yet you approach openly. State your purpose."
Reid kept his hands visible. "I'm Captain Alastair Reid, Joint Task Force Valkyrie. We've established a base nearby and noticed your caravan. We have a medic—" he gestured to Singh "—who can help your wounded, if you'll allow it."
The elf's eyes narrowed suspiciously. "And what payment would you demand for this... assistance?"
"Information," Reid said honestly. "About who you're fleeing from and why. Nothing more."
A tense silence followed as the elf leader conferred with several others in a language that sounded like wind through crystal chimes. Finally, he turned back.
"I am Thaelon, once of Silvermist, now of nowhere." His expression was grim. "We accept your offer, Captain of Earth. But know that association with us may bring the wrath of Lady Seraphine upon you."
Reid allowed himself a thin smile. "We're already on her list, I suspect."
With the initial tension broken, Singh moved forward to examine the wounded, her gentle manner and medical expertise quickly earning trust. Whitaker, meanwhile, was barely containing her excitement as she began conversing with several elders, her notebook already filling with observations.
"You realize Crowe will have your head for this," Williams murmured as they watched the scene unfold.
"Crowe isn't here," Reid replied. "And I didn't sign up to let children die for political convenience."
As Singh worked, Reid approached Thaelon, who was watching the proceedings with cautious hope.
"Your medic has a healer's touch," the elf observed. "Rare among warrior kinds."
"Singh is exceptional," Reid agreed. "Now, about that information. What exactly has Seraphine done to make you flee your homes?"
Thaelon's expression darkened. "Lady Seraphine seeks to control all ley-lines in Aeltheria. For centuries, my people have lived in harmony with these energies, using ancient druidic practices passed down from the time when our worlds were one."
"Your worlds were one?" Whitaker had materialized beside them, her academic curiosity overwhelming her social grace. "You mean Earth and Aeltheria?"
Thaelon nodded. "In the time before the Sundering, when Excalibur cut what could not be cut. The great king of your realm and the high druids of ours worked together to seal the Weaver away."
Whitaker looked like she might faint from excitement. "Excalibur? King Arthur? Then the Arthurian legends—"
"Are fragments of truth, distorted by time," Thaelon finished. "But Lady Seraphine cares nothing for history. She seeks only power. Her forces have been corrupting the ley-lines, turning their life-giving energy into something twisted. Those who resist are slaughtered or experimented upon."
Reid frowned. "And she's hunting you specifically because...?"
"Because we remember the old ways," a new voice said. An elderly female elf had joined them, leaning heavily on a staff carved with symbols similar to those Whitaker had been studying in Avalon. "We know how to cleanse corrupted ley-lines. Seraphine cannot allow that knowledge to survive."
Whitaker was scribbling frantically in her notebook. "This confirms my theories about the ley-lines being Earth's magical circulatory system. The Arthurian connection explains why certain Celtic manuscripts reference 'the realm beyond the mist' and the 'king who sealed the devourer.'"
Reid was about to ask for clarification when Singh approached, wiping blood from her hands.
"I've stabilized the most critical patients, but three of them need proper medical facilities," she reported. "They've been subjected to some kind of magical experimentation. Their wounds... they're unlike anything I've seen. It's as if their very cells are being rewritten."
The elderly elf nodded grimly. "Seraphine's work. She seeks to bend the ley-lines to her will by first understanding how they flow through living beings."
Reid made a decision. "We'll escort you to Avalon. Your wounded can receive treatment there, and we can offer temporary sanctuary while we figure out next steps."
Williams looked like he wanted to object but held his tongue. The elves conferred briefly before Thaelon nodded in agreement.
"We accept your offer, Captain Reid. But I warn you—Seraphine's reach is long. Her shadowhounds can track ley-line disruptions, and your base surely creates many."
"We'll handle Seraphine if she comes knocking," Reid assured him, though privately he wondered if they truly could.
As they prepared to move out, Whitaker cornered Reid, her eyes bright with academic fervor.
"Captain, do you realize what this means? The Arthurian legends—they're actually historical accounts of a dimensional war against this 'Weaver' entity Gareth mentioned. Excalibur wasn't just a sword; it was a weapon designed to sever the connection between Earth and Aeltheria!"
"Fascinating," Reid said, genuinely meaning it despite his dry tone. "And how does that help us not get killed by Seraphine's forces?"
Whitaker's enthusiasm dimmed slightly. "Well... understanding the historical context might help us identify potential weaknesses or—"
"Work on that angle," Reid interrupted. "If Excalibur was powerful enough to cut worlds apart, maybe there's something in those legends that can help us deal with a homicidal sorceress and her undead army."
The journey back to Avalon was slow, hampered by the wounded and the elves' exhaustion. Singh walked among them, checking on her patients and somehow managing to communicate despite the language barrier. The children, initially frightened of the humans, gradually warmed to her, fascinated by her medical equipment and the small light she used to check their eyes.
They were less than a kilometer from Avalon when Reid felt it—a sudden drop in temperature and a pressure in his ears that reminded him of high-altitude parachute jumps. The hairs on his arms stood up.
Thaelon felt it too. "Shadowhounds," he hissed, his face paling. "Seraphine's scouts have found us."
Before Reid could respond, a bone-chilling howl echoed through the forest, answered by several more from different directions. The elven children whimpered, huddling closer to their parents.
"Defensive formation!" Reid ordered, his soldiers immediately moving to surround the caravan. "Singh, get the wounded to the center. Williams, signal Avalon for backup."
As Williams reached for his radio, a dark shape burst from the underbrush—a creature that resembled a wolf but with skin like polished obsidian and eyes that burned with sickly green fire. It moved with unnatural speed, leaping toward one of the elven children.
Reid's rifle barked three times, the rounds striking the creature's flank. It yelped but didn't fall, twisting in mid-air to land on its feet.
More shadowhounds emerged from the forest, circling the caravan. Behind them came figures in black armor, their movements jerky and wrong. Even from a distance, Reid could see the emptiness where their eyes should be—the unmistakable vacancy of the dead.
"Undead knights," Thaelon whispered in horror. "Seraphine sends her Death Guard."
The elderly elf raised her staff, which began to glow with blue light. "Stand ready, Captain of Earth. The Lady of Thorns has found us, and she does not take kindly to those who defy her will."
As the undead army closed in, Reid checked his ammunition and positioned his soldiers. They were outnumbered, outflanked, and facing enemies that didn't fear death. Just another day in paradise.
"Singh," he called, "how fast can you get these people to Avalon?"
"Not fast enough," she replied grimly, her hand on her sidearm as she stood protectively before a group of elven children.
The first wave of shadowhounds charged, and Task Force Valkyrie opened fire, their bullets finding targets but doing minimal damage. The creatures were supernaturally resilient, shrugging off wounds that would kill normal animals.
As the Death Guard advanced behind their beasts, Reid knew they were in for the fight of their lives. He just hoped Gareth had been telling the truth about Seraphine's tactics—otherwise, this first contact might also be their last.