The twin moons of Aeltheria cast conflicting shadows across Task Force Valkyrie as they trudged the final kilometers toward Forward Base Avalon. Captain Alastair Reid led the column, his shoulders bearing the invisible weight of command and the very tangible weight of the pack containing two fragments of Excalibur—artifacts of such power that they had nearly cost Maeve her life to wield just one.
The druidess herself was being carried on a makeshift stretcher, her face pale as moonlight, occasionally murmuring fragments of ancient chants as memories flickered through her fractured consciousness. Reid glanced back at her for the dozenth time, a knot of worry tightening in his gut.
"She'll pull through," Williams said, falling into step beside him. "Third time's the charm, right? Or is this the fourth time she's nearly died saving our collective arses? I've lost count."
"Your optimism is touching," Reid replied dryly. "Perhaps you could channel it into something useful, like figuring out how to explain to Crowe why we keep finding magical artifacts instead of exploitable resources."
Williams snorted. "I'm sure he'll understand that preventing interdimensional apocalypse takes priority over resource extraction. He seems like a reasonable bloke."
"About as reasonable as a hungry shadowhound at a children's birthday party."
As they crested the final ridge, Forward Base Avalon came into view—a sprawling compound of military efficiency grafted onto ancient elven architecture. Blue-white ley-line energy pulsed beneath the structures, giving the entire base an ethereal glow against the night sky. It wasn't London, but over the past months, it had become something like home.
The sentries spotted them immediately, and a small welcoming party rushed out to meet them. Dr. Eleanor Whitaker was at the front, her eyes widening at the sight of the stretcher bearing Maeve.
"What happened?" she demanded, falling into step beside Reid as they continued toward the gate.
"She channeled the fragment's power to purify part of the Sanctuary," Reid explained. "Then we found a second fragment. Both are secure, but Maeve paid the price."
Whitaker's expression shifted from concern to barely contained academic excitement. "A second fragment? The inscriptions mentioned there might be as many as seven pieces scattered across both worlds. With two, we might actually have a chance at—"
"Later, Doctor," Reid cut her off. "Medical attention first, magical theory second."
Inside Avalon, Lance Corporal Parvati Singh had already organized a triage center for the returning team. She moved with practiced efficiency, directing the most seriously wounded to treatment areas while personally overseeing Maeve's care.
"Her vital signs are stable," Singh reported after a thorough examination. "But her connection to the ley-lines is severely strained. It's like she's been... drained somehow."
"The fragment did that," Reid confirmed. "Channeling its power nearly killed her."
Singh's expression grew troubled. "And now we have two of these fragments? Wonderful. Double the magical artifacts, double the near-death experiences. Just what my medical supplies were prepared for."
As the night progressed, Reid found himself in the command center, staring at maps of Aeltheria and reports from their expedition while the fragments of Excalibur sat on the table before him, wrapped in protective cloth that barely contained their pulsing energy. Even dormant, they seemed to call to one another, the air between them shimmering like heat haze over desert sand.
Whitaker entered, carrying an armful of ancient texts recovered from the Sanctuary. Her eyes were bright despite the late hour, that familiar academic fervor having overridden any need for sleep.
"I've been translating these inscriptions," she announced without preamble. "They detail a ritual for uniting the fragments of Excalibur. According to these texts, the sword was deliberately broken after the Sundering to prevent its power from being misused."
"And now we're considering putting it back together," Reid observed. "What could possibly go wrong?"
"Oh, just the potential destabilization of ley-lines across both worlds, possibly awakening The Weaver entirely, or creating rifts in reality that could swallow entire cities." Whitaker's tone was disturbingly cheerful for someone describing apocalyptic scenarios. "But if performed correctly, united fragments could give us the power to permanently stabilize the ley-lines and seal The Weaver's prison forever."
"Those are some rather significant 'ifs,' Doctor."
"Science is built on 'ifs,' Captain. So is magic, apparently."
Reid rubbed his temples, feeling the familiar throb of a stress headache building. "How long would it take to prepare this ritual?"
"Days, at minimum. We need specific alignments of ley-line energy, and Maeve's participation would be crucial given her connection to both the fragments and the ley-lines themselves."
"Maeve is in no condition to participate in anything more strenuous than breathing at the moment."
"Hence the days of preparation," Whitaker replied. "The ritual must be performed at a major ley-line nexus—Avalon itself would be ideal—and during the alignment of the twin moons, which occurs in approximately five days."
Reid nodded, his mind already calculating logistics, security concerns, and the inevitable political complications. Crowe had been increasingly insistent in his demands for tangible results, and Reid doubted that "we're performing an ancient magical ritual that might save both worlds or destroy them" would satisfy the Prime Minister's definition of progress.
"Begin preparations," he decided. "But keep this quiet for now. The fewer people who know about the fragments, the better."
As Whitaker departed, Williams entered, his expression unusually serious. "We've got visitors," he reported. "A contingent from London just arrived through the Gate. Reinforcements, supposedly, but they're carrying orders directly from Crowe."
"Let me guess—seize all artifacts of strategic value and return them to Earth immediately?"
"Got it in one. Their commander's waiting to speak with you. Lieutenant Colonel James Harrington, Special Operations."
Reid felt a chill that had nothing to do with Aeltheria's night air. Harrington was Crowe's attack dog—a career officer known for his absolute loyalty to the political establishment and his ruthless efficiency.
"Have Singh keep the fragments secure," Reid ordered. "And make sure Maeve is guarded at all times. I don't trust Crowe's sudden interest in our welfare."
The following day brought no relief from the mounting tensions. Reid observed the new arrivals with growing suspicion as they integrated themselves into Avalon's operations with suspicious efficiency. They asked too many questions about recovered artifacts, ley-line research, and especially about Maeve and her connection to druidic magic.
Singh reported similar concerns as she worked to maintain morale among the original Valkyrie soldiers and their druidic allies, who viewed the newcomers with undisguised distrust.
"They're documenting everything," she told Reid during a private moment between rounds. "Equipment, personnel, especially our interactions with the druids. One of them was asking very specific questions about Maeve's condition and her previous use of the fragment."
"Keep her isolated," Reid instructed. "Medical quarantine, authorized personnel only."
"Already done," Singh confirmed. "But Captain... these aren't just reinforcements. They're spies."
"I know." Reid's jaw tightened. "Crowe doesn't trust us to follow his agenda, so he's sent people who will."
By the third day, Maeve had regained consciousness, though she remained weak and disoriented. Reid visited her in the medical ward, finding her sitting up in bed, staring at her hands as if they belonged to someone else.
"How are you feeling?" he asked, pulling up a chair beside her.
"Like I've been torn apart and reassembled incorrectly," she replied, her voice hoarse. "The fragments... they're here, aren't they? I can feel them calling to each other."
Reid nodded. "Whitaker is preparing a ritual to unite them. She believes it could help stabilize the ley-lines permanently."
Maeve's expression grew troubled. "The fragments were separated for a reason, Captain. Excalibur's full power... it's not meant to be wielded lightly."
"You remember something about it?"
"Fragments," she said, the irony of the word not lost on either of them. "I remember... a circle of seven. Druids channeling Excalibur's power to seal something away. The Weaver, I think. But something went wrong." Her hands trembled slightly. "Someone betrayed us. Someone close."
Before Reid could press for more details, the door opened and Lieutenant Colonel Harrington entered, his crisp uniform a stark contrast to the lived-in appearance of Valkyrie's veteran soldiers.
"Captain Reid," he said with a smile that didn't reach his eyes. "I've been looking for you. Prime Minister Crowe is most anxious for an update on your... discoveries."
"I file regular reports," Reid replied coolly. "The Prime Minister is welcome to read them."
"He prefers a more... direct approach. Particularly regarding artifacts of strategic value." Harrington's gaze shifted to Maeve, studying her with the clinical interest of someone assessing a weapon's capabilities. "The druidess, for instance. Her connection to these 'ley-lines' could be invaluable to our understanding of Aeltherian magic."
"She's a person, not an artifact," Reid said, his voice hardening. "And she's under medical care, not available for interrogation."
Harrington's smile thinned. "Of course. Her welfare is our primary concern. But once she's recovered, the Prime Minister has authorized her transfer to a specialized research facility back in London, along with any artifacts you've recovered during your expeditions."
Reid felt a surge of anger but kept his expression neutral. "I'll take that under advisement, Colonel."
"That wasn't a request, Captain." Harrington's tone remained pleasant, but his eyes had gone cold. "It's an order. Direct from the top."
After Harrington departed, Maeve looked at Reid with undisguised concern. "He means to take the fragments back to Earth," she said quietly. "And me with them."
"That's not going to happen," Reid assured her, though he was less certain than he sounded. Defying Crowe directly would have consequences—not just for him, but for everyone under his command.
As dusk fell over Avalon, Whitaker summoned Reid to her makeshift laboratory, where the fragments of Excalibur lay on a table surrounded by protective wards taught to her by the druids.
"The preparations are nearly complete," she reported. "But there's a complication. The ritual requires a conduit—someone with a natural connection to the ley-lines who can channel the fragments' energy safely."
"Maeve," Reid concluded.
"Yes. And in her current condition..." Whitaker shook her head. "It would likely kill her."
Reid studied the fragments, watching the energy pulse between them like a silent conversation. "How long does she need to recover?"
"Longer than we have. The moon alignment occurs in two days, and Harrington's people are already asking questions about my research. It's only a matter of time before they discover what we're planning."
Before Reid could respond, Singh burst into the laboratory, her expression urgent. "Captain, we have a situation at the main gate. An emissary from The Eternal Court has arrived under a banner of truce. They're asking to speak with you specifically."
Reid exchanged glances with Whitaker. "The Eternal Court? Seraphine's people?"
"That's what they claim, but..." Singh hesitated. "The emissary says they represent a faction opposed to Seraphine. They're offering information about her plans in exchange for your cooperation."
"It could be a trap," Whitaker warned.
"Of course it's a trap," Reid agreed. "The question is, can we turn it to our advantage?" He checked his sidearm out of habit. "Let's find out what The Eternal Court wants badly enough to risk coming here."
As they approached the main gate, Reid spotted the emissary—a tall figure in elaborate armor that seemed to absorb light rather than reflect it. Their face was concealed behind a helm shaped like a bird of prey, but there was no mistaking the aura of power that radiated from them like heat from a forge.
"Captain Reid," the emissary called, their voice carrying easily across the distance. "I bring greetings from Lord Caedmon of The Eternal Court, and information about Seraphine that you would be wise to hear."
Reid studied the figure, weighing his options. Between Crowe's spies within Avalon and Seraphine's continued threat beyond it, Task Force Valkyrie was caught between equally dangerous forces. And now The Eternal Court itself was offering an alliance of convenience.
Just another day in Aeltheria, where the only thing more dangerous than your enemies might be your potential allies.
"I'm listening," Reid called back, signaling for the gate to be opened. "But I should warn you—my hospitality has limits, especially for members of The Eternal Court."
The emissary inclined their head slightly. "As does Lord Caedmon's patience, Captain. Particularly when The Weaver stirs and Seraphine moves to awaken it fully. Perhaps we can set aside our mutual distrust long enough to prevent the destruction of both our worlds?"
Reid felt a chill that had nothing to do with Aeltheria's night air. Whatever game The Eternal Court was playing, it had just become considerably more complicated.