The Bone Wastes stretched before them like the bleached skeleton of a forgotten world. Jagged rock formations jutted from barren soil, their surfaces etched with patterns that might have been natural erosion or ancient writing—it was impossible to tell. Captain Alastair Reid adjusted his pack, wincing as the movement aggravated the wound on his shoulder from their last encounter with Seraphine's forces.
"Cheerful place," he remarked dryly, surveying the desolate landscape. "Reminds me of my ex-wife's cooking."
Gareth ap Llewellyn, walking a few paces ahead, glanced back with a raised eyebrow. "You were married, Captain?"
"Briefly. Turns out 'till death do us part' has an early termination clause when one party keeps disappearing on classified missions." Reid's eyes never stopped scanning the horizon as he spoke. Old habits from Afghanistan—always watching, always alert.
Their reconnaissance team was small by necessity: Reid, Gareth, Dr. Whitaker, and two of Reid's most trusted soldiers, Corporal Zhang and Private Okonkwo. Singh had remained at Avalon to continue her investigation into the saboteur while Williams oversaw the base's defenses.
Dr. Whitaker was currently crouched over a peculiar formation of crystals that protruded from the ground like glass daggers, her notebook already filling with observations.
"These crystals appear to be solidified ley-line energy," she called out excitedly. "Similar to the patterns we saw in Avalon, but far more concentrated. We must be approaching a major convergence point."
"Or a trap," Reid muttered. "Doctor, we're on a reconnaissance mission, not a geological survey. Time is of the essence."
Whitaker straightened, tucking her notebook away with obvious reluctance. "Science waits for no one, Captain. These formations could tell us how Seraphine is manipulating the ley-lines."
"They could also tell Seraphine's scouts we're here," Gareth interjected, his voice low. "The Bone Wastes earned their name honestly. Few enter, fewer leave."
Reid nodded, gesturing for the team to continue moving. As they navigated through a narrow pass between towering rock formations, his thoughts drifted to Prime Minister Crowe and the increasingly troubling orders coming from London.
The latest communiqué had been particularly disturbing: "Secure magical artifacts of strategic value. Prioritize weapons technology over diplomatic relations with indigenous entities." The clinical language barely disguised Crowe's intent—exploit Aeltheria's resources, regardless of the consequences.
"You seem troubled, Captain," Gareth observed, falling into step beside him.
Reid gave a noncommittal grunt. "Just wondering if we're making the same mistakes here that we've made in every other foreign intervention. Different world, same old colonialism, just with fancier weapons."
"The difference," Gareth said carefully, "is that you recognize the pattern. That alone sets you apart from most conquerors I've encountered."
Before Reid could respond, Corporal Zhang raised her fist in the universal signal to halt. The team froze, dropping into defensive positions behind the sparse cover offered by the rocky terrain.
"Movement ahead," Zhang whispered, peering through her rifle scope. "Large... very large."
Reid crawled forward to join her, pulling out his binoculars. Through the heat haze rising from the barren ground, he spotted it—a massive creature circling lazily above a distant ridge. Its wingspan must have been thirty meters at least, its scales gleaming like burnished copper in the harsh sunlight.
"Dragon," Gareth breathed, his voice a mixture of awe and trepidation. "A Flame Dragon, to be precise. One of Seraphine's guardians."
"I thought the dragons we saw in London were big," Okonkwo muttered. "That thing makes them look like bloody lizards."
Whitaker had joined them, her eyes wide with academic excitement despite the danger. "Fascinating! The morphological differences suggest distinct evolutionary paths. This species appears to be native to Aeltheria, while the ones that attacked Earth were likely selectively bred for warfare."
"Delightful," Reid said dryly. "Any insights on how not to get roasted alive by it?"
Gareth studied the creature's flight pattern. "It's patrolling. Flame Dragons are territorial but predictable. They follow the same routes, hunting for intruders."
"So we wait for it to pass, then move quickly," Reid concluded.
Gareth shook his head. "It's not that simple. They can sense ley-line disruptions. Our presence here—especially with Excalibur's fragment—is like ringing a dinner bell."
As if on cue, the dragon's circling pattern changed. It banked sharply, its massive head swinging toward their position with predatory focus.
"I think it heard you," Reid muttered, readying his rifle. "New plan. Spread out, find cover. Zhang, Okonkwo—target the wings if it gets close. Whitaker, stay with me. Gareth, any weaknesses we should know about?"
"The eyes and the throat are vulnerable," Gareth replied, drawing his sword. "But its scales are nearly impervious to conventional weapons."
The dragon let out a roar that seemed to shake the very ground beneath their feet. The sound was like nothing Reid had ever heard—part thunderclap, part volcanic eruption, with an underlying harmonic that made his teeth ache and his vision blur.
"Bloody hell," he gasped, fighting to stay upright as the sound washed over them. "Is that—"
"Ley-line manipulation," Whitaker confirmed, her voice strained. "It's using the energy to amplify its roar, creating a disorienting effect."
The dragon dove toward them, its massive body moving with surprising grace for something so large. As it approached, Reid could see flames flickering between its teeth, building in intensity.
"SCATTER!" he shouted, grabbing Whitaker by the arm and diving behind a large rock formation just as the dragon unleashed a torrent of flame that turned the ground where they'd been standing into molten glass.
The heat was incredible, even through their cover. Reid felt his exposed skin prickle and tighten, as if he were standing too close to a bonfire.
"That was not normal fire," he gasped, checking to make sure Whitaker was unharmed.
"Ley-line enhanced," she confirmed, her face flushed from the heat but her eyes alight with scientific curiosity. "It's channeling the energy through its body, superheating its flame sac."
"Fascinating," Reid deadpanned. "Any ideas on how to fight back against a magical nuclear flamethrower?"
Whitaker's expression turned thoughtful. "Actually, yes. The ley-lines work both ways. If it's drawing power from them, it's also connected to them. Disrupt that connection..."
"And we disrupt the dragon," Reid finished. He keyed his radio. "Zhang, Okonkwo—target the crystal formations near the dragon when it makes another pass. Gareth, can you distract it?"
"With pleasure," came the knight's reply, his voice tight with concentration.
Reid watched as Gareth emerged from cover, his silver-white hair whipping in the hot wind. The knight raised his sword, which began to glow with a pale blue light—the same energy they'd seen in Avalon's ley-lines.
"Here, beast!" Gareth called, his voice carrying unnaturally across the wasteland. "Remember me? Your mistress's former champion!"
The dragon banked sharply, its attention fixed on Gareth. It let out another earth-shaking roar and dove toward him, flames building between its jaws.
"NOW!" Reid shouted into his radio.
Zhang and Okonkwo opened fire, not at the dragon itself but at the crystal formations protruding from the ground near its flight path. The crystals shattered in spectacular fashion, releasing bursts of blue-white energy that spiraled upward like reverse lightning.
The effect on the dragon was immediate and dramatic. It convulsed mid-air, its flame dying in its throat as the ley-line energy it had been channeling suddenly fluctuated. It crashed into the ground with enough force to send tremors through the earth, skidding to a halt mere meters from where Gareth stood.
For a moment, Reid thought they'd killed it. Then its massive head rose, eyes blazing with fury and intelligence. It was wounded, but far from defeated.
"Phase two!" Reid called, emerging from cover with his rifle raised. "Concentrate fire on the eyes!"
The team opened fire, bullets pinging harmlessly off the dragon's scales but forcing it to turn its head away to protect its more vulnerable eyes. Gareth seized the opportunity, darting forward with supernatural speed to slash at the creature's partially exposed throat.
His blade drew blood—a startling blue-black liquid that hissed and steamed where it touched the ground. The dragon recoiled, unleashing another gout of flame that Gareth narrowly avoided by diving behind a rock formation.
"We can't kill it," Gareth called out, his voice strained. "But we can convince it to find easier prey!"
Reid understood immediately. "Fall back! Maintain covering fire but retreat toward that ravine!"
The team began a fighting retreat, moving backward while continuing to target the crystal formations and occasionally the dragon's eyes when it presented an opportunity. The creature advanced cautiously now, wary of the strange prey that had managed to wound it.
They were nearly to the ravine when disaster struck. Whitaker, her attention divided between retreat and frantically scribbling observations in her notebook, caught her foot on a hidden crevice and fell with a cry of pain.
The dragon's head snapped toward the sound, its eyes narrowing as it spotted the vulnerable human. It lunged forward with frightening speed, jaws opening wide.
Reid didn't think—he moved. Three rapid strides brought him to Whitaker's side. He fired directly into the dragon's left eye, causing it to rear back with a shriek of pain and rage. In that moment of distraction, he hauled Whitaker to her feet and half-carried, half-dragged her toward the ravine.
"My ankle," she gasped. "I think it's broken."
"Walk now, diagnose later," Reid grunted, supporting her weight as they stumbled forward.
The dragon recovered quickly, unleashing another blast of flame that scorched the ground just behind them, close enough that Reid felt the fabric of his uniform begin to smolder. The heat was unbearable, like standing inside an oven.
Then they were at the ravine's edge, where Zhang and Okonkwo had taken up defensive positions. Gareth appeared beside them, his armor singed and his face streaked with sweat and soot.
"Down," he ordered, gesturing to the narrow crevice that cut deep into the earth. "Flame Dragons are too large to follow, and they're reluctant to waste their fire on targets they can't see."
They half-climbed, half-slid down into the ravine, the dragon's frustrated roars echoing above them. True to Gareth's prediction, it didn't pursue, instead circling overhead like a massive, angry vulture before eventually giving up and flying back toward its territory.
In the relative safety of the ravine, Reid finally had a chance to assess their situation. Whitaker's ankle was indeed broken, though a clean fracture rather than a compound one. Okonkwo had suffered minor burns on his left arm, and they were all dehydrated from the intense heat.
"Well," Reid said, taking a swig from his canteen before passing it to Whitaker, "that was invigorating. Nothing like being nearly incinerated to make one appreciate the simple things in life."
Despite the pain, Whitaker managed a smile. "The data I collected is extraordinary, Captain. The dragon's flame contained trace elements I've never seen before, and the way it manipulated ley-line energy suggests a symbiotic relationship rather than mere channeling."
"Glad our near-death experience was scientifically productive," Reid replied, but there was no real bite to his words. Whitaker's enthusiasm was oddly comforting—a reminder that even in this strange world, human curiosity remained constant.
After treating their injuries and resting briefly, they continued through the ravine, which Gareth assured them would lead them closer to Seraphine's stronghold while providing cover from aerial patrols.
Hours later, they emerged onto a ridge overlooking a vast valley. In the distance, rising from the barren landscape like a malignant growth, stood a fortress of black stone. Swirling patterns of sickly green energy encircled it, pulsing in rhythm like a heartbeat.
"Seraphine's stronghold," Gareth confirmed grimly. "The heart of her power in the Bone Wastes."
Reid studied it through his binoculars, noting the patrols of undead knights and the smaller dragons that circled the towers like flies around a corpse. "Heavily defended. Approaching it directly would be suicide."
"There are other ways," Gareth began, but fell silent as Okonkwo raised a warning hand.
"Movement," the private whispered, pointing to a cloud of dust approaching from the east. "Fast."
Through his binoculars, Reid spotted them—skeletal figures mounted on emaciated horses, moving with unnatural speed across the wasteland. Their armor gleamed dully in the fading light, and even at this distance, he could see the green glow of their eyes.
"Death Guard scouts," Gareth hissed. "They've found us."
"Fall back," Reid ordered, helping Whitaker to her feet. "We've seen enough for now. Time to report back to Avalon."
As they retreated into the ravine, Reid cast one last look at Seraphine's stronghold. The swirling energy seemed to pulse more intensely, as if the fortress itself was aware of their presence and watching them flee.
Whatever Seraphine was planning within those black walls, Reid knew one thing with certainty: stopping her would require more than just bullets and bravery. It would take everything Task Force Valkyrie had—and perhaps more than they could afford to give.