The air in Forward Base Avalon's war room was thick with the scent of burnt coffee and impending doom. Captain Alastair Reid stood before a holographic map of the Gate's perimeter, its swirling vortex of corrupted ley-line energy casting sickly green shadows across the faces of his team. They looked like survivors of a war already lost—hollow-eyed, bandaged, but unbowed.
"Let's make this quick," Reid said, his voice graveled by exhaustion and three sleepless nights. "We've got one shot to knock Seraphine off her thorny throne. Whitaker—what's the play?"
Dr. Eleanor Whitaker stepped forward, her glasses smudged and her hair escaping its bun in frazzled tendrils. She tapped the hologram, expanding a schematic of Excalibur and the Forgotten Flame hovering side by side. "The math is… unstable. The Flame amplifies Excalibur's power, but channeling both through the ley-lines could vaporize Seraphine's connection—or tear reality apart like wet tissue paper."
Williams snorted from the corner, polishing a grenade launcher with the care of a man prepping a fine cigar. "So either we win, or we turn into confetti. Standard Valkyrie odds."
Reid ignored him. "And Maeve's role?"
Whitaker hesitated. "The weapons are tied to the ley-lines. To control the energy surge, we need someone… connected. Permanently."
The room went still. Maeve, seated at the far end of the table, didn't flinch. The ley-line markings on her arms pulsed faintly, as if in protest.
"You're saying she'd be a fuse," Reid said flatly.
"A conduit. The energy would flow through her, and…" Whitaker trailed off, adjusting her glasses. "The human nervous system isn't designed for that kind of power."
Maeve's voice cut through the silence like a blade. "But a druid's is?"
"Maybe. For a few minutes."
Reid studied Maeve—the way her fingers trembled against the table, the shadows under her eyes that no amount of Singh's remedies could erase. She'd been crumbling since the Ashen Spire, her body a cracked vessel for too much power.
"No," he said. "We find another way."
"There is no other way," Maeve shot back, rising. The hologram flickered as she passed through it, her silhouette swallowed by the Gate's emerald glow. "The Weaver's claws are already in the ley-lines. Every second we waste, it digs deeper."
Reid met her gaze. "You're not expendable."
"No?" Her laugh was brittle. "Then what am I, Captain? A weapon? A relic? A—"
"A person," Reid snapped. "One who's already given enough."
The rebuke hung in the air like smoke. Somewhere outside, a sentry coughed.
Singh broke the stalemate, her voice calm as she unfolded a triage map. "We'll need three assault teams to breach Seraphine's outer defenses. The druids can disrupt her ley-line anchors here and here." She marked points on the hologram, her hands steady. "Once the path is clear, Maeve and Whitaker advance to the Gate."
Reid nodded, grasping the lifeline of logistics. "Williams—you're on disruption duty. Take the rookies; they still think you're funny."
"I am funny," Williams protested, hefting his grenade launcher. "Ask the lava wyrm."
"It's dead, Sergeant."
"Exactly. Died laughing."
A reluctant chuckle rippled through the room. Even Maeve's lips twitched.
Whitaker cleared her throat. "There's a… third option. If we sync the Flame and Excalibur's resonance frequencies at 89.3 megahertz, we might create a standing wave that—"
"English, Doc," Reid interrupted.
"We might not need a sacrifice. Just really, really good timing."
Maeve crossed her arms. "How good?"
"Microsecond precision."
"Ah," Williams said. "So we're back to confetti."
Reid massaged his temples. "Work on it. Maeve—with me."
They stood on Avalon's northern rampart, the Gate's glow staining the horizon. Maeve's breath fogged in the chill air as she stared at the vortex.
"You're afraid," Reid said.
"Aren't you?"
"Terrified. But not of dying." He leaned against the parapet, the stone biting into his palms. "Of failing them. Again."
Maeve followed his gaze to where Singh moved among the troops, her medic's kit gleaming in the torchlight. "She's stitching up Private Donnelly. Again."
"Kid's got a talent for catching shrapnel."
"And you've got a talent for saving people who don't want to be saved."
Reid snorted. "Pot. Kettle."
A smile flickered across her face. For a moment, she looked like the woman who'd joked about haunted rifles and bad ale. Then the Gate pulsed, and her markings flared.
"I remember the first time I held Excalibur," she murmured. "The power was… alive. It whispered promises. Victory. Peace. A world where no one had to bleed." Her voice hardened. "Lies, of course. Power only ever wants one thing—more."
Reid turned to her. "You're not power. You're Maeve. The woman who sassed a lava wyrm and taught Williams elvish curse words."
"He's still mispronouncing glanthir."
"And you're still here." He gripped her shoulder. "That's what matters."
Dawn came too soon.
Task Force Valkyrie assembled in the courtyard, a patchwork army of marines in scorched Kevlar and druids in etched leather. Singh moved down the ranks, adjusting straps and murmuring encouragements like a mother sending children to school.
Whitaker fidgeted with Excalibur's hilt, the blade humming in its sheath. "Resonance at 89.3, phase variance under 0.05. Maybe. Probably."
"Inspirational," Williams said, grinning.
Reid climbed onto a supply crate, the morning sun glinting off his dog tags. "Today, we end this. Not for crowns. Not for glory. For everyone who can't be here to see it."
A murmur rippled through the ranks. Somewhere, a dwarf hammered their axe against a shield.
Maeve stepped forward, Excalibur and the Flame glowing in her hands. "The Gate isn't a weapon. It's a wound. Today, we heal it."
The cheer shook the ground.
As they marched out, Reid fell into step beside Maeve. "Change your mind about the hero speech?"
"Someone had to counter your nihilism."
"Nihilism? I'm a realist."
"You're a pessimist with a savior complex."
"Says the woman holding two doomsday devices."
Her laugh was bright, fleeting. Then the Gate loomed before them, and the world sharpened to a blade's edge.
Seraphine's forces awaited.