The Only Gods We Know, Ch 15: Weaving the Wyrd

The Myrkviðr system had given Brynja cold angles and predictable violence. The Ljósvættir Nebula gave her gas clouds that glowed like silk curtains, sensor ghosts that sent her tactical officers spinning in circles, and a crawling wrongness at the base of her skull.

Brynja's rapid-response wing—her flagship, the assault carrier Gungnir's Vengeance, at the spearhead—dropped from warp at the nebula's edge. The command deck smelled like recycled air and ozone. Her hands gripped the armrests of her command chair.

"All stations, report." Her voice cut through the bridge chatter. "Full ISR sweep. Cut through this light show."

Her main sensor officer hunched over his console, sweat beading at his temples. "Auspex is fucked, Captain. Strange particle interference. Ghost signatures, false positives—trying to find a needle in a haystack made of pure goddamn energy."

Operational orders demanded diplomacy first. Brynja nodded to her communications officer. "Transmit the package."

The message broadcast into the nebula's shimmering depths. Loki's silky words about "mutual benefits of integration" and "the privilege of joining the Allfather's grand design." Gilded threats. A velvet glove.

They waited. Space held its breath.

The nebula answered. Particles of light wove together directly ahead of the fleet—a three-dimensional tapestry of shifting colors and impossible geometry, pulsing with silent intelligence.

Mist stared at it, her attached mage team clustered around her station. "It's a language, Captain." Her voice dropped to a whisper. "Concepts. Pure mathematics and philosophy expressed as light."

"Translate it."

"I can get the gist." Mist's analytical mind struggled with the alienness. "Polite. Acknowledges our power, our 'thunder.' Desires no conflict, mutual respect of boundaries." She paused. "And it's telling us to fuck off. 'This space is ours.' 'We will not be ruled.' 'Leave.' Absolute."

Brynja's private command channel chimed. Lord Tyr's holographic face materialized—impatient, masked. "I've seen their light show, Captain. Arrogant defiance. They refuse the Allfather's generosity. Proceed to the next phase. Demonstrate force. Establish our negotiating position."

The cold knot tightened in Brynja's stomach. Same pattern. Refusal, failed diplomacy, immediate escalation. High Command's only real language.

"Understood, Lord Tyr." Her voice flattened. She keyed the wing-wide comm. "Flight Lead Vingthor'sdotter, prepare your squadron. Diplomatic phase is over."

"All pilots, this is Flight Lead Astrid." Her friend's voice turned to professional steel. "Demonstration of force. High-speed pass on the primary Weaver energy signature. Warning volley. Keep it clean, keep it fast. Show these light-wavers what real power looks like."

Brynja watched from her command chair as Astrid's twelve Valkyrie fighters broke from the fleet and burned toward the nebula's shimmering heart. Perfect deadly grace.

"Executing firing solution," Astrid reported.

Golden energy lances speared from the Valkyries. Warning shots. Near a target.

The battlefield dissolved.

The single Weaver signature broke into a thousand identical contacts. Brynja's command holotank became a useless blizzard of ghost signals. Sleek Weaver ships—shimmering, beautiful as black glass shards—appeared everywhere and nowhere.

"What in Hel's name—" Her tactical officer's hands flew over his console. "Can't get a solid lock! Every target I paint vanishes!"

Astrid's squadron comms erupted in frustrated curses.

"Can't get a lock! Everything's a goddamn mirage! Targeting computer is fried!"

"Splash one bandit! No—wait—it's gone! Wasn't there!"

"My missile just flew through a capital ship! Dissolved into light!"

The Valkyrie pilots chased phantoms in a funhouse mirror.

The Weavers attacked. A subtle shimmering field washed over Astrid's squadron. The status board lit up with cascading system glitches.

"Astrid, report!"

"Shields flickering! Comms full of static! Nav-computer just tried to send me into the nearest gas giant!" Astrid's voice turned into a furious snarl. "They're not shooting at us, Brynja—they're making our own ships fall apart around us!"

Brilliant. Effective. The Weavers weren't destroying the Valkyries. They were making them incompetent. Useless. Swatting flies without throwing a punch.

Brynja's jaw tightened. Losing game. Tactical dead end. Lost pilots and damaged fighters for nothing.

"All wings, fall back." Her voice cut through the chaotic comms with cold authority. "Flight Lead Astrid, disengage your squadron. Return to the fleet. All units, tactical withdrawal. Regroup at Rally Point Einn, outside the nebula. Now."

Humiliation. Retreat without a single enemy casualty.

They'd kicked a hornet's nest. The hornets didn't fight fair.

***

The ready room aboard Gungnir's Vengeance stank of pilot sweat and wounded pride. Astrid and her squadron seethed, feeling like fools in front of the entire wing.

Brynja stood before the holotable. "They didn't try to destroy us." Her voice cut through the angry muttering. "They disabled us. Confused us. Made us irrelevant. This is a war of perception. Right now, their perception is reality. Ours is bullshit."

Mist stepped forward, pale, eyes bright with analytical fire. Sensor logs appeared on the holotable—strange wavy energy fields. "Preliminary analysis, Captain. The Weavers manipulate light and localized probability on a quantum level. They're weaving hard-light constructs that our sensors register as solid matter. They make us see what they want us to see." She looked directly at Brynja. "We can't fight what our targeting computers tell us is there, Captain. What's 'there' isn't real. We need a new way of seeing."

Brynja nodded slowly. Pieces clicking. Brute force was useless. A thousand warships would be as blind as twelve fighters. Scalpel, not hammer.

"Then we get one." Hard resolve settled in her voice. She turned to her comms officer. "Priority channel to High Command. Encrypt for Commander Geirskögul's eyes only."

Bold move. Bypassing Tyr's direct chain of command. Tyr's solution would be more ships, more firepower—doomed to fail. She needed a different weapon.

She dictated the message herself. Cold, precise detail. Illusory tactics, non-physical systems warfare, conventional sensor failure. Direct, unprecedented request.

"…conventional military solutions are sub-optimal for this AO. Formally requesting deployment of specialized counter-esoteric assets. Specifically, a Rune-Breaker mage team to analyze and disrupt hostile energy weavings. Available technology to counter light-based and probability-based illusions. If possible, temporary direct sensor feed from Heimdall himself would provide ground truth needed to execute successful surgical strike."

She sent it. Gamble. New Shield-Captain, already controversial, now sidestepping the God of War to ask for esoteric aid and the eyes of a god. Either she'd just signed her own court-martial warrant or started fighting this war on her terms.

She didn't know which terrified her more.

***

Geirskögul's response arrived three days later. Heavily encrypted data-packet. Single no-frills Valkyrie shuttle. The gamble had paid off.

The message hit blunt: "Direct feed from Heimdall is a non-starter. Needs Allfather-level approval. Lord Tyr is not happy to admit his tactics aren't working. However, your request for counter-magic assets approved under my authority. Team inbound. Use them well, Captain. Do not make me regret this."

The shuttle delivered three Combat Mages. Rune-Breakers, specialists from Geirskögul's own command staff. Their leader—stoic, grey-bearded mage named Ulfr—had eyes that seemed to see more than was there. He carried himself with quiet dangerous confidence. A man who took reality apart for a living.

They brought new toys. The techs and quartermasters, under Róta's frantic long-distance coordination, fitted the new gear on Brynja's core squadron. "Truth-Sight" helmet visors, lenses etched with tiny glowing runes. Designed to filter out hard-light projections and sensor ghosts made from probability tricks. "Gravity Anchor" torpedoes—heavy, slow-moving missiles that didn't explode. Powerful localized gravity distortion fields when they detonated. They didn't target a ship. They targeted the space it was in.

Integrating the new assets was a fucking headache. The Rune-Breakers spoke in "sympathetic resonance" and "quantum foam." Brynja's pilots understood vectors, velocity, kill-probabilities. Friction was immediate.

Ulfr was blunt during the mission briefing. "Our runes can give you a clearer picture, Captain." His gaze swept over the assembled Valkyries with open skepticism. "We create a temporary 'null-perception' field. Forces the Weavers' creations to fall apart. Requires time and intense focus. If your pilots cannot hold a defensive screen and keep us from being harassed by their system-glitching bullshit long enough for us to work, this fails. We are the key."

Astrid bristled. "My pilots can hold any line you need, Mage."

"We shall see." Ulfr's tone flattened.

Brynja stepped between them. Cold authoritative presence silenced the room. "We all have our roles. The mages find the target. The Valkyries pin it down. We succeed as a team or fail as individuals. No other option. Now, let's go over the ingress plan one more time. No goddamn surprises."

The new plan was high-risk. A scalpel for a single precise cut. Brynja felt the weight of command pressing down. Lives of her warriors and these arrogant mages. Success or failure rested squarely on her shoulders.

Brynja led a small specialized strike force back into the Ljósvættir Nebula's shimmering veils. No grand fleet. Just her own squadron, the Stormbringers, and a single Asgardian frigate—the Ice-Fang. Bait.

"All elements, comms silence." Brynja's order as they entered. "We go loud on my mark."

The Ice-Fang began broadcasting powerful wide-spectrum sensor pings. Crude, noisy intrusion into the Weavers' silent elegant space. Kicking in a door and screaming.

Five shimmering graceful Weaver ships appeared around the frigate. Perfect. Unreal. They observed.

"They've taken the bait." Brynja whispered over the encrypted command channel. "All teams, execute."

A small shuttle detached from Brynja's carrier, slipping from the sensor shadow of a large gas cloud. Ulfr and his Rune-Breakers onboard, escorted by Sigrun and her best Einherjar. The shuttle moved to a pre-planned point, forming a triangle with Brynja's squadron and Astrid's.

"The ritual begins." Ulfr's voice tightened with concentration.

A wave of barely visible grey energy pulsed from the mages' shuttle. "Null-magic" field washing over the space where the Weavers hovered. Effect was immediate. The perfect shimmering forms flickered violently. Brynja's new Truth-Sight visor flared to life.

Through the specialized lens, she saw truth. The Weaver ships were smaller, more fragile, almost skeletal vessels hidden within complex layered cocoons of hard-light holograms and manipulated light. Masters of disguise.

"I see them!" Hrist yelled in triumph. "The real ships!"

"Target acquired!" Brynja commanded, voice cutting like a blade. "Primary target designated. Astrid, Hrist, box it in! Fire the Gravity Anchors on my mark! Fire!"

Astrid and Hrist unleashed their specialized torpedoes. Heavy munitions moved slowly toward the space around the ship. They detonated with silent reality-bending thumps. A shimmering transparent bubble of distorted space—a gravity prison—snapped into existence around the target Weaver vessel. The ship was trapped. Movements slow. Light-based projections shattered against the gravity field.

Brilliant success. Three seconds.

The other Weaver ships turned their attention to their trapped comrade. Focused beams of coherent energy—data-streams—lanced from each of the four free ships and struck the captured one.

"Captain, they're overloading its core!" Mist yelled from her sensor station. "Self-destruct protocol, executed remotely!"

"Get a tow cable on it, now!" Brynja roared. "Get it out of there!"

A heavy tow cable shot from the Ice-Fang, magnetically clamping onto the crippled powerless Weaver vessel. They pulled it, fighting the drag of the collapsing gravity field as its internal power systems died completely. Ethereal glow extinguished into darkness. They had their prize. The subtle psionic glitching attacks from the other Weaver ships had caused minor systems damage across their strike force. The remaining Weaver ships vanished, dissolving back into the nebula's shimmering light. Objective complete. They'd sacrificed one of their own to protect their secrets.

Brynja's task force retreated from the nebula, towing their silent beautiful alien prize. Cold dread had nothing to do with the recent battle. They'd won the skirmish. Captured a vessel. Proven they could adapt. They'd made a definitive enemy. The Weavers fought with subtlety, intelligence, communal self-sacrifice. Profoundly unsettling.

She'd poked a different kind of nest. One that didn't just swarm with mindless fury. One that thought. Planned. Would cut off its own limb to save the body.

And she had no goddamn idea what kind of swarm was about to emerge.

***

Glossary

Standard Command & Control

• AO (Area of Operations): The specific geographic or spatial area where a military operation is taking place.

• Auspex: A specific type of sensor array or scanning system used to detect energy signatures, physical objects, and anomalies in space.

• Comms Silence: An order to cease all radio or digital transmission to avoid detection by the enemy.

• Firing Solution: The mathematical calculation (trajectory, speed, lead time) required for a weapon system to successfully hit a moving target.

• Flagship: The ship carrying the commander of a fleet or wing; the lead vessel (in this case, Gungnir's Vengeance).

• Ingress: The action of entering a hostile area or the path taken to enter it.

• ISR Sweep: Acronym for Intelligence, Surveillance, and Reconnaissance. A broad scan intended to gather data on enemy numbers, terrain, and disposition.

• Package: A discrete bundle of data or information, often encrypted, sent via transmission.

• Rally Point (e.g., Rally Point Einn): A pre-designated location where units reassemble after a retreat or a scattered engagement.

• Tactical Withdrawal: A controlled, organized retreat from combat, designed to preserve forces rather than fleeing in panic.

Combat & Pilot Terminology

• Bandit: An identified hostile aircraft or spacecraft.

• Ghost / Sensor Ghost: A false reading on a radar or sensor screen that looks like a target but has no physical substance (often caused by interference or electronic warfare).

• Paint / Painting: To direct active sensors, radar, or laser designators onto a target to "lock" onto it for weapon guidance.

• Splash: Brevity code confirming an air-to-air (or space-to-space) kill. ("Splash one bandit" = "I have destroyed one enemy.")

• Wing: A military aviation unit composed of several squadrons of aircraft or spacecraft.

Asgardian / Fleet Specifics

• Allfather: The supreme deity/leader of the Asgardian faction (Odin); refers to the central authority of their empire.

• Einherjar: Elite infantry or special forces soldiers of the Asgardian fleet.

• High Command: The supreme strategic leadership body of the military forces.

• Rune-Breaker: A specialized Combat Mage trained in analyzing, disrupting, and dismantling enemy magical constructs or energy weavings.

• Valkyrie: The primary space superiority fighter craft used by the Asgardian fleet; also likely refers to the pilots themselves.

• Warp: The method of Faster-Than-Light (FTL) travel used to move fleets across vast distances instantly.

Technology, Magic & Weaponry

• Gravity Anchor: A specialized torpedo that does not explode but instead creates a localized gravity distortion field to trap or slow down a vessel.

• Hard-Light: Technology (or magic) that solidifies photons into physical matter; used by the Weavers to create fake ships that register as solid on sensors.

• Holotank: A three-dimensional holographic display table used by command staff to view the battlefield in real-time.

• Null-Perception Field: A magical counter-measure created by mages that filters out illusions, allowing friendly forces to see reality.

• Truth-Sight: A magi-tech enhancement (visors/lenses) etched with runes that allow the user to pierce through illusions and see the true nature of the battlefield.

Slang & Jargon

• Clean (Keep it clean): An instruction to execute a maneuver precisely, without wasted movement, collateral damage, or mistakes.

• Hornet’s Nest: A situation that is deceptively calm until provoked, resulting in an overwhelming and angry response.

• Light Show: Dismissive slang for the Ljósvættir Nebula’s visual effects or the Weavers' energy displays.

• Light-Wavers: A derogatory nickname for the Weavers (the alien enemy).

• Needle in a haystack: A standard idiom, here referring to the difficulty of finding a specific signal amidst massive energy interference.

• Toys: Slang for new, specialized, or experimental military equipment.