POV 1: ADMIRAL HARRIS – ABOARD HMS VALIANT, SOUTH ATLANTIC

The bridge hummed with tension. HMS Valiant cut through the waves in formation, her radar screens pulsing with the signatures of dozens of allied warships. Beyond the steel walls of the bridge, the southern winds battered the fleet with Antarctic chill, as though the continent itself were pushing them back.

Admiral Harris stood rigid, hands clasped behind his back, eyes on the tactical screen. The growing red blotches indicated the enemy. They weren’t aircraft. They weren’t submarines. They were something different—energy distortions unlike anything radar should have been able to register.

“Elven magic,” Commander Yates muttered, voice low. “They’re cloaking themselves, but our sensors are still catching… echoes.”

Harris’s jaw tightened. “That means they want us to see just enough. They’re testing how we react.”

Orders from London and Washington were clear: hold the line, do not fire first. But Harris felt the pressure mounting. The world’s eyes were on this blockade. The smallest mistake could trigger a global war—or open the seas to an elven onslaught.

He turned his gaze south, toward the faint shimmer on the horizon. The Elven fortress at McMurdo lay somewhere beyond, cloaked in wards that bent light and distorted satellite feeds.

“This is going to break soon,” Harris said quietly. “And when it does, the world won’t look the same.”

POV 2: MARY – ANTARCTIC FORTRESS COMMAND TOWER

The Antarctic winds howled outside, but within the towering black stone fortress erected atop the ruins of McMurdo, the air shimmered with heatless magical light. Mary, clad in golden Sun Knight armor beneath a flowing blue cloak, stood before a vast crystal map projected by Lunar Priestesses.

The map glowed with the positions of Earth’s fleet—a ring of steel pressing closer.

Her jaw was set, her mind clear. She remembered Dyug, his quiet words to her in the moonlit gardens of Forestia, his reckless dream of proving himself worthy of her. Now he lay somewhere in human hands, comatose, while the humans’ machines crept toward their fortress.

A High Elf commander, Lord Altharion, sneered as he observed her. “Commoner Knights should not stand at the war council. This battle is for High Elves and Royals to command.”

Mary turned her head slowly, her eyes hard as polished steel. “And yet it was my Royal Knights who secured this land. It was my knights who captured their bases while your soldiers hesitated in the cold. Queen Elara entrusted this task to me. Do you question the Queen?”

The chamber grew tense. Even High Elves dared not openly challenge Elara’s decree. Altharion’s lip curled, but he stepped back.

Mary placed her gauntleted hand on the crystal projection. “They will come. Their steel hulls, their flying machines, their firepower. But they do not understand the cold, nor do they understand what it means to fight elves on blessed ground. We will show them.”

Around her, her Royal Knights—commoner elves with eyes of fire, ice, and storm—bowed in silent unity.

POV 3: SOLOMON KANE – ABOARD INS CHAKRA, INDIAN NUCLEAR SUBMARINE

The claustrophobic corridors of the Indian submarine pressed in around Solomon Kane. The air was heavy with machine oil and recycled oxygen. He had been transferred here for a joint intelligence debrief, away from the surface where naval admirals debated strategy.

The Indian officer across from him, Commander Patel, studied him with measured calm. “You’ve faced them before. At McMurdo. You know their movements better than most.”

Solomon leaned forward, his scarred face hard in the dim red glow of the submarine’s briefing room. “They don’t fight like we do. They don’t think like we do. To them, war is ritual. Symbol. They’ll let you see their strength before they use it. They’ll make you believe they’re giving you a chance. But it’s an illusion. When they strike, they mean to overwhelm.”

Patel nodded slowly. “So we cannot wait for them to fire first.”

Solomon’s silence was its own answer. He remembered Mary’s face—cold, unreadable—as he had dragged the young scientist out of the fortress. There had been no hesitation in her eyes, only conviction. If she was leading the defense, the humans had no idea what awaited them.

POV 4: JAMIE LANCASTER – LONDON, WAR COUNCIL CHAMBER

The chamber beneath Whitehall smelled faintly of polished oak and cold stone. Jamie Lancaster sat beside her father, David, the room filled with military chiefs and political leaders. Maps and satellite feeds flickered on digital screens, though the Antarctic front was a blur of distortion.

Her hand clenched around the armrest. She could almost feel the storm brewing an ocean away.

“The elves are preparing something,” Jamie said, breaking the silence. Her voice carried more weight now than weeks ago—she was no longer merely Henry Lancaster’s granddaughter, but a voice recognized in global councils. “They’ve stopped harassing our scouts. They’ve drawn their lines. They’re waiting for us to step forward.”

One of the American generals frowned. “We’ve got over a hundred ships on blockade. We can starve them out.”

Jamie shook her head. “You don’t understand them. Elves don’t starve. They have magic, they have supply lines from their world. This isn’t about waiting us out. This is about the moment they’ve chosen. And when it comes, it won’t just be Antarctica. It’ll be everywhere.”

Her father placed a steadying hand on hers, but Jamie’s eyes burned with conviction. She remembered Dyug’s broken form in the Andaman base, the faint twitch of his hand, the weight of destiny pressing down on both worlds.

POV 5: MARY – FORTRESS WALLS

Later that night, Mary walked the outer walls of the fortress, the cold air biting at her exposed face. The torches burned with blue witchflame, the magic dancing without smoke. Below, the sea ice stretched endlessly, a white battlefield waiting to be painted red.

Her knights marched silently, their armor glinting beneath the auroras overhead.

Mary looked up at the shimmering lights. Somewhere beyond those stars was Forestia. She whispered a prayer to Goddess Luna, though her magic was not of the moon but of the sun. “Guide me. Let me be his shield, his blade, his voice where he cannot stand.”

In the distance, she could see faint specks of light—ships on the horizon. The humans were coming.

Her grip tightened on her sword.

POV 6: ADMIRAL HARRIS – DAWN, SOUTH ATLANTIC

The sun rose as a pale smear across the icy horizon. Harris stood once more on the bridge of Valiant. The air buzzed with intercepted signals, strange distortions whispering across radio waves.

“Admiral,” Yates said sharply. “We’ve got movement. Fast. Bearing two-seven-zero. Not aircraft. Not missiles.”

The radar lit with impossible arcs—glimmers like flocks of birds, but faster, sharper.

Harris’s heart sank. He had seen reports, grainy footage, from the South China Sea years earlier. Elven riders on winged beasts, cloaked in magic, darting like shadows.

“Sound general quarters,” Harris ordered. “Signal the fleet—brace for contact.”

The blockade, once a wall of steel, shuddered as the first wave of the Elven counterstroke came into view.

POV 7: SOLOMON KANE – INS CHAKRA

The submarine shook. Distant booms reverberated through the hull. Sirens wailed.

Patel’s voice was steady, though his face was pale. “They’ve begun.”

Solomon’s hand went to the pistol at his side, though it was useless in these steel corridors. He closed his eyes briefly, seeing Mary’s face again. Once, he had loved a woman with eyes like hers. Once, he had believed in peace.

Now, the storm had broken, and there was no turning back.