The twin moons of Aeltheria hung low in the sky, casting conflicting shadows across the barren landscape as Task Force Valkyrie made their way toward the ley-line convergence near the Bone Wastes. Captain Alastair Reid led the column, his eyes constantly scanning the horizon for threats while his mind wrestled with the growing complexity of their mission.
"Penny for your thoughts, Captain?" Lord Caedmon asked, materializing beside him with that unnerving silence characteristic of Eternal Court sorcerers. His violet eyes seemed to glow faintly in the pre-dawn light, studying Reid with the clinical interest of someone dissecting an unusual specimen.
"I was just contemplating the joys of interdimensional politics," Reid replied dryly. "Nothing quite like allying with one faction of magical aristocrats to fight another faction of magical aristocrats while my own government plots behind my back. Makes the Cold War seem straightforward by comparison."
Caedmon's lips curved in what might have been genuine amusement. "Politics is the same in any realm, Captain. Only the weapons change. In your world, it's economics and nuclear arsenals. In mine, it's ley-line manipulation and necromancy."
"Charming comparison."
They crested a ridge, and the full expanse of the Bone Wastes spread before them—a desolate plain where jagged formations of bleached stone jutted from the parched earth like the skeletal remains of some massive, long-dead creature. In the distance, barely visible through the heat haze, a swirling vortex of energy marked their destination: the ley-line convergence point.
"Seraphine's already there," Dr. Eleanor Whitaker announced, joining them at the ridge. Her eyes were fixed on the readings from her makeshift ley-line detector—a cobbled-together device that resembled the unholy offspring of a satellite dish and a Victorian music box. "These energy patterns are... wrong. She's manipulating the convergence, forcing it to channel corrupted energy."
"How long do we have?" Reid asked.
Whitaker's expression was grim. "Hours, not days. When the twin moons align tonight, the convergence will reach its peak. If she's completed her preparations by then..."
She didn't need to finish. They all knew what was at stake.
Behind them, Lance Corporal Parvati Singh approached, her normally composed features tight with concern. "Captain, we've found something you should see."
She led them to a shallow cave where Williams and two other soldiers stood guard over what appeared to be an abandoned camp. But it wasn't the standard detritus of Seraphine's undead forces—this camp contained modern equipment. Earth equipment.
"Military-grade communications gear," Singh explained, pointing to a disassembled transmitter. "British Army issue. And these—" she held up several empty syringes, "—contain traces of a compound I recognize from our medical supplies. It's used to stabilize patients exposed to corrupted ley-line energy."
Reid felt a cold weight settle in his stomach. "Humans. Working with Seraphine."
"Crowe's people?" Williams suggested, his expression darkening.
"Or mercenaries," Singh countered. "There's a black market for Aeltherian artifacts back on Earth now. Plenty of people willing to cross the Gate for the right price."
The discovery sparked heated debate among the Valkyrie soldiers as they continued their march toward the convergence. Reid overheard fragments of conversation that reflected the growing divide within his ranks.
"...fighting for the wrong side..."
"...our world versus theirs..."
"...Crowe might be a bastard, but he's our bastard..."
Maeve walked alone, several paces removed from the main group. Her face was pale, her eyes distant as if seeing beyond the physical landscape. When Reid fell into step beside her, she didn't acknowledge him immediately.
"The Weaver," she finally said, her voice barely above a whisper. "I can feel it stirring. Watching. Waiting."
"Through the ley-lines?" Reid asked.
She nodded. "As they destabilize, the barriers between dimensions thin. It... reaches through. Not physically, but its consciousness..." She shuddered. "It's ancient, Captain. Older than Aeltheria. Older than Earth. It has consumed worlds before, and it hungers still."
"Cheerful thought," Reid muttered. "Just what I needed to brighten my day."
Maeve's lips curved in a ghost of a smile. "You use humor as a shield against fear. It's very human."
"Would you prefer I wail and tear my hair out? Because I can arrange that, but it's hell on morale."
As they ventured deeper into the Bone Wastes, the landscape grew increasingly alien. The ground beneath their feet shifted from parched earth to a crystalline substance that crunched like glass with each step. The air hummed with energy that made teeth ache and skin prickle.
Their first skirmish came without warning. Undead sentinels erupted from the ground—skeletal warriors whose bones had been fused with the crystalline material of the Wastes, their eye sockets burning with sickly green fire.
"Contact front!" Williams shouted, opening fire.
The battle was brief but intense. Reid's soldiers fought with the efficiency born of hard experience, their weapons modified with dwarven runes to disrupt the necromantic energy animating the undead. But it was Caedmon who turned the tide, unleashing a wave of energy that shattered the sentinels into dust.
"Impressive," Reid acknowledged as the last of the undead collapsed.
"A mere parlor trick," Caedmon replied, though Reid noticed he seemed slightly drained by the effort. "Seraphine's sentinels are the least of what awaits us at the convergence."
As they pressed onward, more skirmishes followed. Each time, Caedmon provided magical support that proved invaluable, yet Reid couldn't shake his suspicion of the sorcerer's true motives. Caedmon remained deliberately vague about his plans for after Seraphine's defeat, deflecting questions with the practiced ease of a politician.
"He's hiding something," Singh said quietly to Reid during a brief rest. "Every time I ask about The Eternal Court's plans for the ley-lines, he changes the subject."
"Of course he's hiding something," Reid replied. "The question is whether what he's hiding is worse than what Seraphine is planning."
By mid-afternoon, they had drawn close enough to the convergence point to see it clearly—a massive vortex of energy that spiraled upward from a crater in the earth, its colors shifting between natural blue-white and corrupted green as Seraphine's influence battled with the ley-lines' natural flow.
And surrounding it was an army.
Undead giants patrolled the perimeter, their massive forms cobbled together from multiple corpses and animated by corrupted ley-line energy. Nature spirits—once beautiful guardians of Aeltheria's wild places—now twisted into monstrous parodies of their former selves, their wooden bodies blackened and oozing with corruption. And everywhere, the smaller undead—knights, archers, and foot soldiers—standing in perfect formation, awaiting orders.
"Well," Williams remarked as they took cover behind a ridge to observe the forces arrayed against them, "I was hoping for a nice quiet evening stroll to a magical convergence point. Turns out we get a welcoming committee. How thoughtful of Seraphine to roll out the undead carpet."
Reid studied the defenses through his binoculars, his mind already calculating angles of approach, weak points, potential diversions. "Caedmon, you said your intelligence indicated 'moderate' defenses. This looks a bit more than moderate to me."
The sorcerer's expression was troubled. "She's mobilized more forces than anticipated. The corruption of this convergence point must be more critical to her plans than we realized."
"Or someone warned her we were coming," Singh suggested, her eyes narrowing slightly as she glanced at Caedmon.
The sorcerer met her gaze without flinching. "If I wanted to betray you, Lance Corporal, I would hardly have expended so much energy fighting alongside you to reach this point."
"Unless the betrayal is yet to come," she countered.
"Enough," Reid interrupted. "We need a plan. Frontal assault is suicide with those numbers. Whitaker, any ideas on how to disrupt the convergence from a distance?"
The historian shook her head. "Not without getting closer to the center. The corruption is emanating from a focal point within the vortex itself. We'd need to be within fifty meters to have any effect."
"And those giants have a reach of what, twenty meters?" Williams asked rhetorically. "Perfect. Just close enough to get squashed like bugs."
Maeve, who had been silent throughout the exchange, suddenly stiffened. "Something's coming," she whispered, her eyes widening. "Something... wrong."
The ground beneath them began to tremble. At first, Reid thought it was another earthquake—the Bone Wastes were prone to them as ley-lines shifted. But then he saw it: a massive shape emerging from within the vortex itself. It resembled a hand, but stretched and distorted, with too many fingers that bent in impossible directions. It reached upward, as if testing the boundaries of its prison, before slowly withdrawing back into the swirling energy.
"The Weaver," Whitaker breathed, her academic excitement momentarily overriding her fear. "It's reaching through the weakened barriers."
"Seraphine isn't just corrupting the convergence," Caedmon said, his voice uncharacteristically shaken. "She's trying to open a direct channel to The Weaver's prison."
Reid felt a chill that had nothing to do with the Bone Wastes' rapidly cooling evening air. "Then we need to move now, before that thing gets any more of itself through."
As they prepared for what might be their most dangerous mission yet, Reid couldn't help but reflect on how far they'd come—and how much farther they still had to go. From a simple military expedition into an unknown realm, they had somehow become the frontline in a war against forces that defied comprehension.
And somewhere back in London, Crowe was moving his own pieces on the board, playing a game whose rules Reid was only beginning to understand.