The stale dungeon air vibrated with approaching footsteps. Torchlight danced across damp stone walls as Lt. Jason "Grim" Cooper knelt behind a broken crate, rifle trained on the corridor. Marcus "Saint" Miller and Derek "Hawk" Hawkins flanked him, each wearing the same laser-focused expression.
It might have been almost comical—three Navy SEALs crouched in a medieval dungeon—if not for the mortal danger. Ever since they'd tumbled through that impossible portal in Afghanistan, the world had become a twisted blur of survival instincts and disbelief.
"Anyone else missing a coffee run right about now?" Derek murmured, forcing a wry grin despite the tension in his voice.
Jason kept his eyes forward. "Eyes front. Stay sharp."
Heavy boots clomped closer. Guttural voices barked in an unknown tongue as a flickering orange glow grew brighter around the bend. Jason steadied his grip and counted down under his breath.
Three orcs in crude armor lumbered into view, piggish faces sneering. The SEALs reacted instantly. Muzzles flashed—pop, pop, pop—and in a heartbeat all three orcs lay crumpled on the cold stone floor.
"Clear," Jason hissed. He scanned the corridor. No other hostiles emerged from the darkness.
Behind them, the robed prisoner they'd freed stood gaping in awe. He stared from the fallen orcs to the smoking rifles in the SEALs' hands—their strange "thunder-sticks" that had felled his captors in seconds.
Marcus wiped sweat from his brow. "Definitely not subtle," he panted.
Jason checked their six and grimaced. "We're burning ammo fast. And I doubt we'll find any resupply in this world." They had limited bullets left and no way to get more here.
He allowed himself one dry chuckle at the absurdity of it all, then jerked his chin toward the iron-barred cells lining the walls. "Let's get these people out."
At the robed man's urgent prompting, Marcus grabbed a ring of keys from a hook and hurried cell to cell. One after another, the heavy locks clicked open.
A half-dozen prisoners stumbled out—men and women in tattered cloaks or dented armor, all filthy and bruised. They huddled together, wide-eyed and disoriented, as if unsure whether this rescue was real.
One young man with a blood-soaked bandage on his thigh nearly collapsed. Marcus slung his rifle and caught him, then knelt to cinch a fresh dressing around the wounded leg. The captive winced in surprise but managed a grateful nod.
Jason turned to the robed prisoner who had first begged for help. The man clearly held some authority over the others; they hovered near him, looking to him for reassurance. Jason tapped his own chest. "Jason." He pointed to each of his teammates in turn. "Marcus. Derek."
The robed man drew himself up and pressed a trembling hand to his chest. "Caliburn," he said in a rough, accented voice.
Jason exchanged a quick glance with Marcus and Derek. The name rang no bells, but now at least they had something to call him. Jason gave a short nod of acknowledgment. "Caliburn."
Suddenly Caliburn stepped forward and grabbed Jason's wrist with surprising strength. He tugged insistently toward the open corridor, urgent words tumbling from his lips. Though Jason understood nothing, the meaning was clear: Follow me.
"Think he wants to show us the way out," Derek muttered.
Jason didn't hesitate. "Form up! We're moving."
With the SEALs forming a protective wedge around the freed prisoners, Caliburn led them into the corridor from which the orcs had come. The gaunt mage moved quickly despite the raw wounds on his ankles and his exhaustion. They hurried through twisting passages lit only by guttering torches. Distant clangs of steel and echoing screams ricocheted through the stone halls—a battle was raging somewhere above.
As they wound their way upward, Derek leaned in toward Jason. "Boss," he whispered, "call me crazy, but I swear I saw this guy before... back when we first got yanked here."
Jason's mind flashed back to the blinding chaos of their arrival. Amid the light and fury, he had seen a lone figure on a rampart, arms raised against the night. His eyes flicked to the ragged man now guiding them. "Yeah," he murmured. "I saw him too. He was there... performing that ritual."
Marcus overheard and breathed a curse. "So he's the one who brought us here."
Jason's jaw set. Whatever else, it meant Caliburn might be their best chance of finding a way home. "Then we keep him safe," he said.
Before long, a draft of cool air wafted down the tunnel. They reached a broad wooden door hanging crookedly from its hinges. Jason eased it open a few inches and peered out.
What he saw stopped him cold. Beyond the doorway lay a courtyard engulfed in chaos. Under the eerie glow of twin moons, swarms of hulking orcs rampaged among burning wagons and piles of the dead. The fortress was being overrun.
Marcus drew a sharp breath as he took in the scene. This wasn't a mere skirmish—it was a full-blown siege, and the defenders were losing badly.
Across the courtyard, a tall stone tower loomed against the smoky sky. Caliburn stepped up beside Jason and pointed urgently toward the tower's brass-bound doors. A torrent of pleading words spilled from his lips, his tone desperate.
Jason strained to interpret. "He wants help with something... or someone in that tower."
Before they could decide, a thunderous KRA-KOOM split the night. A section of the outer wall erupted in a fireball, spraying chunks of stone and burning timber across the yard. Everyone ducked as debris rained down; a jagged slab smashed into the cobbles just yards away.
The blast knocked Caliburn off his feet. Marcus was at his side in an instant, hauling the old mage up. Caliburn's face was ashen, his limbs shaking from fatigue and shock.
"There's no holding this place!" Marcus shouted to Jason over the din. Above them, another portion of the battlements crumbled under the relentless onslaught. "We'll be buried or worse if we stay!"
Derek shielded a cowering prisoner with his body as another explosion rumbled in the distance. "So what's Plan B, boss? Because Plan A just went to hell."
Jason's mind raced. They couldn't save this fortress—but maybe they could save its people. "We fall back! Get to the woods!"
As if in answer, one of the freed guards tugged on Jason's sleeve and pointed toward a narrow, half-hidden gate set into the courtyard wall. The small door was ajar, its frame obscured by ivy. A possible escape route.
Jason didn't need further convincing. "This way!" he barked.
Keeping low to avoid arrows and debris, the group sprinted across the courtyard toward the little gate. An orc warrior spotted them and loosed a guttural shout—only to crumple as Derek's burst of gunfire caught him in the chest. In the chaos of the collapsing fortress, no other foes immediately followed.
They reached the postern gate. Jason yanked it open, revealing a claustrophobic tunnel burrowing into the earth. "Go, go, go!" he ordered, ushering the survivors through.
Marcus threw Caliburn's arm over his shoulders to half-carry him into the dark. The old mage resisted for a heartbeat, eyes lingering on the tower even as the walls around it buckled. Marcus practically dragged him onward. "Caliburn, we have to move!" he urged.
Caliburn let out a choked sound of grief and finally relented. Jason pulled the heavy door shut behind them, sealing out the hellish glow of the courtyard.
They plunged into darkness lit only by a single torch snatched from its sconce. The rough tunnel beyond sloped downward, damp and smelling of mud and mildew.
They ran. The roar of battle faded behind them, replaced by the scrape of boots on stone and the ragged breathing of the escapees. Loose dirt rained from the ceiling with each distant tremor from above.
After several minutes of twisting progress, the passage ended at another wooden door sealed with an iron bar. Derek and Jason threw their shoulders against it—once, twice—until the bar cracked and the door burst outward.
A gust of cool night air washed over them. One by one, the SEALs and the freed prisoners stumbled out of the tunnel's mouth onto the side of a wooded hill.
Jason blinked, his eyes adjusting from torchlight to silvery moonlight. Towering pines and knotted oaks surrounded them—a wild forest stretching into the distance. Overhead, twin moons glimmered in the smoky sky. Behind them, atop a bluff, the fortress was a wreck of shattered walls and spurting flames. Distant shouts and the crash of collapsing stone echoed through the night.
For a moment, none of them spoke. The survivors simply stood in the brush, drinking in the unfamiliar chorus of nighttime: strange insects chittering, an owl-like call in the distance, the crackle of far-off fires.
Jason allowed only a brief pause. They had escaped by the skin of their teeth, but they weren't safe yet. "Into the trees," he ordered quietly, waving the group onward.
They moved away from the tunnel entrance, helping the limping and injured deeper under the canopy. Marcus kept a steady grip on Caliburn, practically holding the exhausted mage upright. Still, as they entered the shadow of the ancient woods, Caliburn turned to look back. Through the trunks, the fortress blazed on the hill—a funeral pyre against the starry sky. His shoulders sagged in despair.
At the edge of a moonlit glade, Jason finally halted. He cast a long look at the inferno on the bluff—the last stand they'd been forced to abandon. A pang of guilt and sadness twisted in his chest at the sight of those proud towers collapsing, but there had been no other choice.
Caliburn stood beside him, leaning heavily on Marcus. In the flickering light, Jason saw not just a weary prisoner, but the desperate sorcerer who had opened a door between worlds to summon them. This man had risked everything to bring the SEALs here.
Jason stepped over and placed a hand on Caliburn's back, steadying him. "We'll come back for it," he said quietly, guessing at the mage's thoughts. By it, he meant the mission left unfinished—the people they couldn't save, the portal home... all of it. Caliburn closed his eyes and gave a faint nod.
Marcus and Derek waited a few paces ahead with the other survivors, keeping watch on the dark treeline. Jason took one last look at the distant glow of the burning fortress. In the span of a single night, their world had been upended by magic and war. They were stranded in an unknown land with only their weapons, each other, and a handful of shaken refugees.
He exhaled, squared his shoulders, and faced his team. "Alright," he said, his voice low but steady. "Let's keep moving."
With that, Jason led Caliburn and the survivors into the shelter of the forest. The flames of the dying fortress flickered behind them through the trees, but ahead lay only the deep unknown—and the faint glimmer of hope that the mage at Jason's side might one day find a way to send them home.