The storm gathering over Aeltheria wasn't natural—not that anything in this realm seemed to follow Earth's rules of meteorology. Captain Alastair Reid watched as sickly green lightning forked across the bruised sky, each flash illuminating the silhouette of Seraphine's stronghold in the distance. The air hummed with an electric tension that made his fillings ache and his old wounds throb in protest.
"Quite the light show," Williams remarked, joining Reid at the edge of their encampment. "Think she's compensating for something with that massive fortress?"
Reid's lips twitched in what might have been a smile on a better day. "Probably. Megalomaniacal sorceresses aren't known for their subtlety."
They stood in silence for a moment, watching as the unnatural storm clouds swirled and pulsed with corrupted ley-line energy. Each flash of lightning seemed to strike the tallest tower of Seraphine's stronghold, as if feeding it power.
"Are we really doing this?" Williams finally asked, his voice uncharacteristically somber. "Marching our people into that?" He gestured toward the fortress. "I've followed you into some proper shit shows, boss, but this one takes the cake."
Reid sighed, feeling the weight of command pressing down on his shoulders like a physical burden. Eight dead already. Fifteen wounded. And for what? A mission that kept expanding in scope and danger with each passing day.
"Got any better ideas?" he asked. "Because I'm open to suggestions that don't involve either abandoning Aeltheria to Seraphine's tender mercies or letting her open a permanent gate to Earth."
Williams chuckled darkly. "When you put it that way, marching into certain death sounds positively delightful."
Behind them, Forward Base Avalon buzzed with pre-battle activity. Dr. Eleanor Whitaker had commandeered what had once been an elven meeting hall, transforming it into a workshop where she tinkered with her latest creation—a device she claimed could disrupt the corrupted ley-lines powering Seraphine's magic. The contraption looked like the unholy offspring of a satellite dish and a Victorian music box, with glowing blue runes etched into its metallic surface.
"It's not quite finished," she explained when Reid stopped by to check her progress. Her hair was wild, pencils stuck through her messy bun at odd angles, and dark circles shadowed her eyes. "The modulation frequency needs to be calibrated to match the specific corruption pattern of Seraphine's ley-lines, but I can't do that until we're closer to the source."
"Will it work?" Reid asked bluntly.
Whitaker's hands stilled over her creation. "In theory? Absolutely. In practice?" She shrugged. "Science is about probabilities, Captain, not certainties. But I'd give it about a seventy percent chance of success."
"And the other thirty percent?"
"It explodes and takes half of us with it," she replied cheerfully. "But that's what makes field testing so exciting!"
Reid pinched the bridge of his nose. "Your definition of 'exciting' needs serious recalibration, Doctor."
Across the compound, Lance Corporal Singh had established a field hospital where she treated wounded soldiers and elves with equal dedication. Reid found her kneeling beside a young elven child, carefully changing the bandage on what appeared to be a burn wound.
"There you go," she said softly, securing the dressing. "Good as new. Well, not quite new, but definitely on the mend."
The child said something in the crystalline language of the elves, and Singh responded with a phrase that sounded remarkably similar. The child's eyes widened in surprise before a smile broke across their face.
"I didn't know you spoke their language," Reid remarked as Singh stood.
"I don't, not really," she admitted. "Just a few phrases I've picked up. 'Be brave' and 'it will heal' seemed useful in my line of work." She wiped her hands on a cloth. "How are the preparations going?"
"Whitaker's device might work. Or it might kill us all. She seems equally excited about either outcome."
Singh laughed. "That sounds about right. The woman gets positively giddy at the prospect of scientific catastrophe."
Reid glanced around the makeshift hospital. "How are our wounded?"
"Stable, for the most part. The elven healers have been invaluable—their knowledge of herb-lore puts our field medicine to shame." She hesitated. "But we've lost three more since yesterday. The necromantic poisoning from those arrows... it's unlike anything I've ever seen."
Reid nodded grimly. Another weight to carry. More names to remember when he woke in the cold hours before dawn, haunted by faces he couldn't save.
"And Maeve?" he asked.
Singh's expression softened. "She's been helping with the wounded. Her connection to the ley-lines seems to counteract the corruption in the wounds. But it takes a toll on her. She's resting now."
As if summoned by her name, Maeve appeared at the edge of the hospital area. She looked pale but determined, her green eyes fixed on Reid with an intensity that suggested she had come to a difficult decision.
"Captain," she said, her voice soft but clear. "May I speak with you? Privately."
Reid followed her to a quiet corner of the camp, where the blue glow of Avalon's ley-lines cast everything in an ethereal light. Maeve seemed to draw strength from their proximity, her skin taking on a subtle luminescence that matched the patterns beneath their feet.
"I have not been entirely forthcoming," she began without preamble. "About my past. About who I was before... before Seraphine took my memories."
"I figured as much," Reid replied. "The way the elves look at you—it's more than just respect for a druid. They know you."
Maeve nodded, her eyes distant. "I was once Maeve of the Silver Branch, High Priestess of the Western Groves. I led a rebellion against the Eternal Court centuries ago, when Seraphine first began corrupting the ley-lines."
"What happened?"
"We failed." Her voice was hollow with ancient grief. "We were betrayed from within. Seraphine's forces captured me and... experimented on me. She used corrupted ley-line energy to extract my memories, to learn the secrets of the druids' power." She touched her temple gently. "I remember fragments now—faces, places, moments of battle. But much remains lost to me."
"Why tell me this now?" Reid asked, though he suspected he knew the answer.
"Because as we approach her stronghold, I feel more of my memories returning. And with them, her influence grows stronger." Maeve's eyes met his, unflinching. "If I begin to turn against you—if she uses our connection to control me—you must not hesitate to do what is necessary."
Reid held her gaze. "That won't happen."
"You cannot know that," she insisted. "Promise me, Captain of Earth. Promise me you will not let me become her weapon."
After a long moment, Reid nodded. "I promise. But it won't come to that."
Across the camp, Gareth ap Llewellyn was holding court with an eclectic gathering of demi-humans—the allies he had managed to recruit for their assault on Seraphine's stronghold. Dwarves with intricately braided beards worked at portable forges, hammering metal that glowed with an inner blue light. Selkies, with their iridescent skin and fluid movements, conferred in hushed tones over maps of waterways surrounding the fortress. And elven archers tested bowstrings and examined arrows tipped with a substance that shimmered like liquid starlight.
"Impressive gathering," Reid remarked, approaching Gareth.
The knight inclined his head slightly. "The dwarves of Irondeep have no love for Seraphine. She corrupted their deepest mines, turning their ancestral halls into breeding grounds for her undead. The weapons they forge are infused with pure ley-line energy—anathema to her necromantic magic."
"And the fish people?" Reid asked, nodding toward the selkies.
Gareth's lips twitched. "I would not let them hear you call them that. The selkies control the waterways of Aeltheria. Their magic allows them to navigate the underground rivers that flow beneath Seraphine's stronghold—our path inside."
"Convenient."
"Strategic," Gareth corrected. "I did not survive centuries in the Eternal Court without learning how to cultivate useful alliances."
A dwarf approached them, carrying what appeared to be a modified rifle. The weapon's barrel gleamed with the same blue light as the ley-lines, and runes similar to those on Whitaker's device were etched along its length.
"For you, Earth Captain," the dwarf announced, his voice as rough as gravel. "Irondeep steel, folded a hundred times and quenched in ley-water. It will disrupt the necromantic bonds of Seraphine's undead with each shot."
Reid accepted the weapon, surprised by its perfect balance and familiar weight. "Thank you. I'm honored."
The dwarf grunted, which Reid took as acknowledgment, before returning to his forge.
"They rarely craft weapons for outsiders," Gareth observed. "You have impressed them."
"By doing what, exactly?"
"By fighting for a world not your own." Gareth's eyes were unreadable. "It is... uncommon, in their experience."
As night fell over Avalon, the storm above Seraphine's stronghold intensified. Green lightning struck with increasing frequency, and a wind carrying the stench of decay began to blow from the direction of the Bone Wastes. Reid called his team together for one final briefing before their assault.
"Tomorrow, we march on Seraphine's stronghold," he began, looking at each face gathered around the makeshift war table. "I won't lie to you—this will be our most dangerous mission yet. Her forces outnumber us. Her magic is powerful. And she knows we're coming."
"Sounds delightful," Williams muttered. "Should I pack a picnic lunch?"
A few nervous chuckles broke the tension, exactly as Williams had intended. Reid shot him a grateful look before continuing.
"But we have advantages she doesn't expect. Whitaker's device should disrupt the corrupted ley-lines powering her magic. The dwarves' weapons can break the bonds animating her undead. The selkies will guide us through underwater passages into the heart of her fortress. And most importantly—" he paused, looking around the circle, "—we have something worth fighting for. Not just our own survival, but the future of two worlds."
Singh nodded firmly. "For both Earth and Aeltheria."
"For both worlds," echoed around the table.
As the meeting dispersed, Reid stepped outside to check the perimeter one last time. The storm had grown so intense that it now blotted out the twin moons, leaving only the eerie green glow of lightning to illuminate the landscape. In the distance, Seraphine's stronghold pulsed with corrupted energy, a cancer on the face of Aeltheria.
Maeve joined him silently, her eyes fixed on the fortress. "She knows," the druidess said softly. "She is gathering her power, preparing for our assault."
"Good," Reid replied. "Let her waste energy on theatrics. It might give us the opening we need."
"You truly believe we can succeed?" Maeve asked, genuine curiosity in her voice.
Reid considered the question carefully. "I believe we have to try. Beyond that..." He shrugged. "I've learned that certainty is a luxury rarely afforded to soldiers."
A particularly violent lightning strike illuminated the fortress, revealing for a brief moment the massive shapes of undead giants patrolling its walls and the dark silhouettes of dragons circling its towers.
"Well," Reid said dryly, "at least she's not being subtle about her defenses. I do appreciate a straightforward 'keep out' sign."
Maeve's lips curved in a slight smile. "You humans have a strange way of facing death—with jokes and sarcasm."
"Would you prefer wailing and gnashing of teeth? Because I can arrange that too, but it's hell on morale."
Her smile widened fractionally. "No. Your way has its merits."
As dawn approached, Task Force Valkyrie and their demi-human allies prepared for battle. Weapons were checked one final time. Armor was donned. Last messages were written to loved ones who might never receive them. The air thrummed with tension and purpose.
Reid strapped on his new dwarven rifle and checked his sidearm out of habit. Across the camp, Whitaker was making final adjustments to her disruption device, while Singh distributed medical supplies to field medics. Gareth stood with the elven archers, his silver-white hair catching the blue glow of Avalon's ley-lines. And Maeve... Maeve stood alone at the edge of camp, her eyes closed, communing with whatever remained of her connection to this world she had once helped protect.
The storm reached its peak as they formed up to march, lightning striking with such frequency that it created a continuous strobe effect across the landscape. The wind howled like a living thing, carrying whispers that sounded almost like words—mocking, threatening words in a language too ancient to understand but too primal to ignore.
"Dramatic, isn't she?" Williams remarked, falling into step beside Reid as they began their advance. "Bet she was the type who made a big scene at dinner parties."
"Probably turned the wine into blood just to make a point," Reid agreed, grateful for the moment of levity.
As Task Force Valkyrie marched toward Seraphine's stronghold, the very ground beneath their feet began to tremble. The storm's intensity doubled, then tripled, until it seemed the sky itself might tear open. And from the fortress ahead came a sound that chilled the blood—a massive horn, its note so deep it resonated in their bones, signaling that the Lady of Thorns was ready for war.
The battle for Aeltheria had begun.