The encrypted communication terminal hummed with static as Captain Alastair Reid waited for the connection to establish. The makeshift communications center in Avalon—once an elven meditation chamber—now buzzed with Earth technology that seemed jarringly out of place among the graceful architecture and pulsing ley-lines.
When Prime Minister Sebastian Crowe's face finally materialized on the screen, Reid noted the man looked immaculate as always—not a hair out of place, his suit perfectly pressed despite the chaos London had endured since the Gate opened. It was almost offensive how composed he appeared while the rest of the world burned.
"Captain Reid," Crowe's voice came through with only minimal distortion. "I trust you have progress to report? Something that justifies the considerable resources we've committed to your... expedition?"
Reid leaned forward, keeping his expression neutral despite the anger simmering beneath the surface. "I'm reporting a security breach, sir. One of our own—Corporal James Hargrove—has confessed to sabotaging our base. He claims he was acting on orders from London."
Crowe's expression didn't change, but Reid caught the slight narrowing of his eyes. "Serious allegations, Captain. I assume you have evidence beyond the word of a confessed saboteur?"
"We have physical evidence linking him to the explosives. And detailed records of communications with handlers back home."
"Communications that could easily be fabricated," Crowe countered smoothly. "War creates confusion, Captain. Soldiers break under pressure. Sometimes they invent conspiracies to justify their actions."
Reid felt his jaw tighten. "With respect, sir, Hargrove was one of our most stable operators. And his story aligns with certain... inconsistencies in our mission parameters."
"Your mission parameters are clear, Captain. Secure the Special Region. Neutralize threats. Acquire assets of strategic value." Crowe's voice hardened. "What's unclear is your apparent reluctance to follow these directives. Your reports indicate you've been prioritizing diplomatic relations with non-human entities over military objectives."
"Those 'non-human entities' have provided critical intelligence about Seraphine and the ley-lines. Without them, we'd be stumbling blind through a magical war zone."
Crowe's smile was cold. "I'm not questioning your tactical decisions, Captain. Merely reminding you where your loyalties should lie. Earth first. Always." He paused, letting the words sink in. "As for Corporal Hargrove, I suggest you focus on maintaining discipline within your ranks rather than inventing conspiracies. These are challenging times. We need unity of purpose."
"Unity requires trust, sir."
"No, Captain. Unity requires obedience." Crowe leaned closer to the camera. "Follow your orders, or face the consequences when you return home. That's all."
The screen went black before Reid could respond, leaving him staring at his own reflection in the darkened monitor. He looked tired, he realized—the kind of bone-deep exhaustion that came from fighting on too many fronts at once.
"Well, that was spectacularly unhelpful," came Dr. Eleanor Whitaker's voice from behind him.
Reid turned to find her standing in the doorway, a stack of ancient texts cradled in her arms like precious children. Her hair was pulled back in a messy bun, with several pencils stuck through it at odd angles—Whitaker's version of practical fashion.
"You heard?"
"Enough." She set the books down on a nearby table. "Politicians are the same in any world—more concerned with power than truth."
Reid rubbed his temples, feeling the familiar throb of a stress headache building. "Hargrove was telling the truth. Crowe wants us to destabilize Avalon, create justification for full military intervention."
"Of course he does," Whitaker said, opening one of her books to a marked page. "Aeltheria represents the greatest resource discovery in human history—magical energy that could revolutionize everything from medicine to warfare. Did you really expect politicians to prioritize peace over profit?"
"I expected basic human decency," Reid muttered, then caught Whitaker's raised eyebrow. "Right. Foolish of me."
"Extremely." She pushed a book toward him, pointing to an illustration of intertwining lines that resembled the ley-line patterns they'd observed throughout Avalon. "But we have bigger problems. These texts confirm what I've suspected—Earth and Aeltheria were once connected through ley-lines, like two organs sharing the same circulatory system."
"And that matters because...?"
"Because they were severed for a reason." Whitaker's expression grew grave. "The ley-lines were conduits not just for magic but for something else—an entity these texts call 'The Weaver.' A being that exists between dimensions, feeding on the energy of worlds."
Reid studied the illustration more carefully, noting the dark mass at the center of the intertwining lines. "Let me guess—not friendly?"
"About as friendly as a cosmic tapeworm with apocalyptic tendencies," Whitaker confirmed. "According to these texts, ancient druids worked with human allies—possibly the historical basis for Arthurian legends—to sever the connection between our worlds, trapping The Weaver in the void between them."
"And now the Gate has reopened that connection," Reid concluded grimly.
"Precisely. Every time we disrupt the ley-lines—every battle with Seraphine's forces, every piece of Earth technology we bring through—we're weakening the barriers that keep The Weaver contained."
Reid absorbed this information, adding it to the growing list of catastrophes they were trying to prevent. "Does Seraphine know about this?"
"I believe that's exactly what she's counting on," Whitaker said. "These texts suggest she's not just fighting for control of Aeltheria—she's attempting to harness The Weaver's power for herself."
"Wonderful," Reid muttered. "As if undead armies and flame dragons weren't enough to worry about."
Outside the communications center, Avalon buzzed with activity. Reid and Whitaker emerged to find soldiers and elves working side by side to reinforce the perimeter walls. The initial distrust between the groups had begun to fade, replaced by the pragmatic cooperation of those facing a common enemy.
Lance Corporal Singh was at the center of it all, somehow managing to coordinate defense preparations while simultaneously mediating a dispute between a Royal Marine and an elven archer about the proper placement of magical wards along the eastern wall.
"The wards must follow the ley-line patterns," the elf was insisting, his luminescent markings pulsing with agitation. "Your metal barriers disrupt the energy flow."
"And your glowing graffiti won't stop an undead knight from lopping off your head," the Marine countered.
Singh spotted Reid and shot him a look that clearly said: A little help would be appreciated, sir.
Reid approached, nodding respectfully to both parties. "Gentlemen, I suggest a compromise. Alternate the barriers with the wards, creating a layered defense. That way, if one fails, the other serves as backup."
The elf considered this, then inclined his head slightly. "A sensible approach, Captain of Earth."
The Marine looked less convinced but nodded curtly. "Yes, sir."
As they moved away to implement the solution, Singh fell into step beside Reid. "Thanks for the assist. It's been like this all morning—everyone's on edge."
"Can you blame them? We're preparing to march into the stronghold of a necromantic sorceress with an army of the undead at her command."
"When you put it that way, it sounds almost fun," Singh replied with a wry smile. "Like a holiday excursion with slightly higher mortality rates."
Reid couldn't help but chuckle. Singh's ability to find humor in the darkest situations was one of her most valuable traits. "How are our guests holding up?"
"The elves? Better than expected. They're skilled warriors—their archery puts our best marksmen to shame. And they know the terrain, which will be invaluable once we move out." She hesitated. "There is one concern, though. Some of our men are still wary of fighting alongside them. Hargrove wasn't the only one with... prejudices."
"Keep an eye on the situation. The last thing we need is internal conflict when we're facing Seraphine."
"Already on it, sir." Singh glanced toward the northern edge of the camp, where Gareth ap Llewellyn was engaged in conversation with a group of elven warriors. "Our other concern is over there. Gareth's been recruiting additional allies—demi-humans from various factions who oppose Seraphine's rule. They arrived an hour ago."
Reid followed her gaze, studying the newcomers. They were a diverse group—some resembled the elves they'd already encountered, while others were more exotic in appearance. He spotted what appeared to be a dwarf, his beard intricately braided and adorned with glowing crystals, deep in conversation with a willowy female whose skin had the iridescent quality of flowing water.
"Selkies and dwarf engineers," Singh explained, following his gaze. "According to Gareth, they've suffered under Seraphine's rule for centuries. The selkies control the waterways, and the dwarves have knowledge of ley-line manipulation that rivals the elves'."
"Can they be trusted?"
"About as much as anyone in this mess," Singh replied honestly. "They hate Seraphine, which makes them allies of convenience at minimum."
Reid nodded, making a mental note to speak with Gareth about these new recruits. As if summoned by the thought, the knight detached himself from the group and approached them, his silver-white hair catching the ethereal blue glow of Avalon's ley-lines.
"Captain," Gareth greeted him with a slight bow. "I've secured additional support for our assault on Seraphine's stronghold. The Silvermist elves you already know. The dwarves of Irondeep can help us navigate the underground passages beneath her fortress, and the selkies of the Shimmerflow can provide safe passage across the Bone Wastes' waterways."
"Impressive diplomacy," Reid acknowledged. "Especially for someone the elves initially feared."
A shadow crossed Gareth's face. "My reputation was earned through centuries of service to the Eternal Court. I cannot erase that history, but I can work to balance the scales."
Reid studied him, still not entirely certain he trusted the knight despite his proven value thus far. "These allies—what do they want in return for their help?"
"The same thing we all want, Captain. Freedom from Seraphine's tyranny." Gareth's expression hardened. "And justice for what she has done to their people."
"Justice and vengeance aren't always the same thing," Reid cautioned.
"A distinction I have learned at great cost," Gareth agreed solemnly. "But for now, our goals align. That must be enough."
As they spoke, Whitaker had wandered toward the center of Avalon, where the ley-lines converged in a brilliant nexus of blue-white energy. She knelt, running her fingers just above the glowing patterns etched into the ground, her expression one of academic fascination mixed with growing concern.
Reid excused himself from Gareth and joined her. "More bad news?"
"Observations," she corrected, not looking up. "The ley-lines are becoming increasingly unstable. See how they pulse? That rhythm should be steady, but it's erratic now—like a heart with arrhythmia."
"Cause?"
"Multiple factors. Our technology interfering with the natural flow. Seraphine's corruption spreading from her stronghold. The Gate itself acting as an open wound between dimensions." Whitaker finally looked up at him, her eyes reflecting the blue glow of the ley-lines. "We're running out of time, Captain. If we don't stop Seraphine soon, the damage to both worlds could become irreversible."
Reid nodded grimly. "Then we move at dawn. Full assault on her stronghold."
"That's... not exactly what I meant by 'soon,'" Whitaker said, alarm evident in her voice. "We still don't fully understand the ley-lines or how they connect to The Weaver. Rushing in could make things worse."
"And waiting gives Seraphine more time to prepare," Reid countered. "Sometimes you have to act on incomplete information, Doctor. It's called combat."
Whitaker looked like she wanted to argue further but instead sighed in resignation. "At least let me finish translating these texts tonight. There might be something that could help us—a weakness in Seraphine's power or a way to stabilize the ley-lines during battle."
"You have until dawn," Reid agreed. "After that, we move out."
As night fell over Avalon, Reid gathered his team for a final briefing. Maps were spread across tables in the command center, illuminated by a mixture of military-issue lanterns and the ambient glow of ley-lines pulsing through the walls.
"Our objective is Seraphine's stronghold in the Bone Wastes," Reid began, pointing to the location on the map. "Based on our reconnaissance, we know it's heavily defended by undead forces and at least one flame dragon. The fortress itself is built over a major ley-line convergence point, which is the source of her power."
Singh outlined their route—a circuitous path that would take them through territories controlled by their new allies, avoiding the worst of Seraphine's patrols. Gareth provided details on the fortress's layout, identifying potential weaknesses in its defenses. Whitaker explained how disrupting the corrupted ley-lines beneath the stronghold could weaken Seraphine's magic.
As the briefing concluded, Reid looked at each member of his team—humans and Aeltherians alike, united despite their differences. "This won't be easy," he said simply. "Seraphine has had centuries to consolidate her power. We've had weeks to understand this world. But we have something she doesn't—diversity of perspective. Each of you brings unique skills and knowledge to this fight. Together, we stand a chance."
The meeting dispersed, with each leader returning to prepare their respective forces for the morning's departure. Reid stepped outside, needing a moment alone to clear his head.
The night sky above Avalon was a breathtaking tapestry of stars arranged in constellations he didn't recognize, illuminated by twin moons that cast conflicting shadows across the landscape. It was beautiful in an alien way that still took his breath away despite everything they'd been through.
But on the horizon, something else was gathering—a storm unlike any he'd seen before. Dark clouds swirled with unnatural speed, occasionally illuminated from within by flashes of sickly green lightning. The air felt charged, heavy with the promise of violence to come.
"Seraphine knows we're coming," Gareth's voice came from behind him. The knight stood a few paces away, his eyes fixed on the distant storm. "She's gathering her power, preparing for our assault."
"Good," Reid said with grim determination. "I'd hate for her to be unprepared for her defeat."
Gareth's lips curved in a cold smile. "Your confidence is admirable, Captain. But do not underestimate her. Seraphine has survived centuries by eliminating threats before they fully materialize."
"Then we'll just have to materialize faster than she expects," Reid replied, turning back toward Avalon to complete preparations for their departure.
As he walked away, the storm on the horizon grew darker, its unnatural lightning casting brief, ghastly illumination across the Bone Wastes. Time was running out for both worlds, and Reid knew that whatever awaited them at Seraphine's stronghold would determine not just the fate of Task Force Valkyrie, but the future of Earth and Aeltheria alike.
The gathering storm was just the beginning.