Same Day, Hamish's Perspective.
Now, Chief, you know me; I'm a straightforward man. Give me a list, a purpose, and a decent pair of boots, and I'll get the job done. But let me tell you, walking through that village market was like marching through a gauntlet of temptations.
The morning started fine enough. Sun shining, boots hitting the cobblestones with a good rhythm, and your list tucked snug in my belt. But the smells, Robert, the smells. First, there was this café I passed, and I swear on every blade I own, the scent of Cullen skink nearly stopped me dead in my tracks. Creamy, smoky, warm—I could feel it pulling me like a siren's song.
I told myself, "Hamish, lad, keep moving. Work first, food later." But before I could escape, this stout woman behind the counter caught my eye.
"Go on, lad," she said, grinning like she'd already won. "You're lookin' hungry enough to eat the lot."
And aye, she wasn't wrong. I could feel my stomach growling like a bloody bear. "A wee bowl wouldn't hurt, would it?" I asked her, more to convince myself than anything.
She didn't miss a beat. "Yer friend wouldn't begrudge ye a bite," she said, ladling a portion that could've fed three men.
What could I do, Chief? I handed her a coin and let her win. First spoonful, and I was already halfway to telling you I'd found my new calling as a soup taster. "If you ever want to bribe me," I told her, "it'll be with yer delicious cullen skink."
She laughed, told me not to run off just yet, and handed me a huge chunk of fresh bread to dip into it. I told her, "Strong men like me need good food. Ye've done yer part to keep me alive another day; I could kiss yeh!" Satisfied I made her blush just enough, I moved on.
After that, I was back on track, working through your list. Fruit, veg, seeds—you know the drill. I stopped at this stall with apples and berries and gave the vendor my usual charm.
"Morning to ye," I said, and the man gave me a look like he wasn't sure if I was about to buy something or rob him. "Yer finest apples, pears, and berries," I said, picking up one apple and sniffing it. "Preferably ones that don't taste like a cow's backside."
The man scowled at first, but I saw the corner of his mouth twitch. "We don't sell those kinds here, sir."
"Good to know," I said, tossing some coins on the counter. "Wrap 'em up. And don't skimp on the blackberries. They're for a mage's magic garden, ye ken."
Now, Chief, I thought I was being subtle, but the poor lad stared at me like I'd just told him I was planting pixie wings. "A mage's garden?" he said.
"Aye," I replied, leaning in like it was some great secret. "But don't tell anyone. He's a wee bit sensitive about people thinkin' he's off his rocker."
The lad burst out laughing, wrapped my fruit, and sent me on my way.
And then, Robert, I saw it. A stall lined with barrels, each one promising "Finest Scottish Ale" and "Magically Brewed Courage." Now, you know me; I'm not one to fall for gimmicks, but I had to investigate.
The vendor spotted me straight away. "Oi! You there!" he called. "A man of yer stature deserves a drink fit for a warrior."
"Aye, and what makes yer brew so special, eh?" I asked, crossing my arms.
He leaned in like he was about to share a state secret. "Enchanted, lad. One sip, and you'll feel like you can take on the whole bloody world."
I snorted. "I've plenty of courage already. What I lack is beer for the road." Boasting and stating my needs at the same time.
That made him laugh, and he handed me a stout bottle. "Here ye are, lad. Finest ale this side of the Highlands."
I tossed him a coin and threatened, "If this turns out to be goat piss, I'll be back to have a word with ye."
"Enjoy it, SIR!" he called after me. "And don't be shy about coming back for more."
I tucked the bottle into my satchel, feeling pretty good about myself. The mission was going smooth as butter on a scone. And that's when I saw him, Langston.
Now, Robert, I don't need to tell ye how much I dislike the man. He's got that air about him, like everything he sees is beneath him, and if he could erase magic from existence, he'd do it without blinking.
He was moving through the market, clutching a leather satchel like it was made of solid gold. His face was set in that permanent scowl of his, but he wasn't wandering. No, Langston had a purpose.
I followed him for a bit, just to see what he was up to. He stopped at a stall selling magical odds and ends, trinkets, charms, and that sort of thing. He looked at the items with the same disdain you'd have for a muddy boot.
And me? I couldn't help myself. I stepped up beside him, all casual-like, and said, "Fancy seeing' you here, Professor. Shopping for more ways to stir trouble?"
Langston froze for just a moment, then turned to me with that tight-lipped expression of his, the kind that makes you think he's constantly smelling something foul. "MacLeod," he said, his voice clipped. "I didn't expect to see you here."
"Funny," I said, crossing my arms. "I could say the same about you. Thought you'd be locked in some lab somewhere, dissecting dirt and sneering at magic."
He scoffed, adjusting his satchel like it held the crown jewels. "Some of us are trying to advance human understanding, MacLeod. Not waste our time chasing fairy tales."
"Aye, and here you are, sniffin' around magical trinkets," I replied, gesturing to the stall. "Looks like someone's got a secret hobby."
The vendor, a wiry man with a crooked hat, perked up at the mention of magic. "Everything here is genuine," he said, grinning wide. "Charms, talismans, and artifacts, guaranteed to bring luck, love, or power."
Langston barely spared him a glance. "Useless baubles," he muttered.
The vendor's face fell, but I wasn't about to let Langston off so easily. "If it's all so useless, why bother with the satchel, eh?" I asked, jerking my chin toward the leather bag he was clutching.
His grip tightened, and for a moment, I thought he'd tell me to mind my own business. Instead, he straightened his coat and said, "Not that it concerns you, but I've acquired something of importance. Something your so-called mage friend would do well to leave alone."
That caught my attention. "Oh? And what's that?"
Langston smirked, his expression as smug as a cat in a creamery. "A relic from the dig site. It's going to The Enclave for study, legitimate study, not the magical nonsense your kind peddles. With enough time and proper analysis, it could revolutionize our understanding of this so-called magic you cling to."
I felt my temper flare, but I kept my tone even. "Aye, and what exactly are ye planning to do with it?"
His eyes narrowed, and for a moment, I saw a flicker of something behind his usual arrogance, determination, maybe even desperation. "Neutralize it," he said flatly. "Magic is an unstable force, a relic of a bygone era. The Enclave will find a way to contain it, perhaps even nullify it entirely. Humanity doesn't need magic, MacLeod. It needs progress."
I took a step closer, my voice low and cold. "And who decides what progress is, Langston? You? Yer Enclave? You think ye can just rip magic out of the world and call it an improvement?"
Langston didn't flinch, but his smirk faltered. "Magic is a threat, and you know it. It's volatile, uncontrollable..."
"It's life," I interrupted, my fists clenched. "It's part of this world, just like the air we breathe. And if ye think I'm letting' ye walk off with something that could destroy it, you're dafter than I thought."
We stared each other down, the marketplace bustling around us like nothing was happening. Langston, to his credit, didn't back down. But he also didn't push further. "You can't stop progress, MacLeod," he said finally, his voice tight. "And you can't stop me."
With that, he turned and strode away, disappearing into the crowd with his precious satchel clutched tightly to his chest.
I stood there for a moment, trying to calm the storm brewing in my chest. I thought about grabbing him, taking the satchel by force, but that wasn't my call to make. I said to myself, "SELF. This is the chief's call to make." I did. Still, I couldn't just leave it be.
"Progress, my arse," I muttered, shaking my head. "He's going to be trouble, that one."
With a deep breath, I quickly bought what was left of the list I could find and hurried home to tell you what I know!
…End Memory: Continuing from Robert's view point…
...Hamish had arrived in a rush, his heavy boots clattering against the stone floor as he stepped into the settlement's newly constructed common hall. His voice carried a note of urgency that immediately set me on edge.
"Chief!" he called, hefting a bulging sack over his shoulder and slamming it onto the table with a loud thud. "I've got the goods, but there's something ye need to hear. And it can't wait."
I stood from my chair, my sketch of the settlement's layout forgotten. "What's wrong?"
Hamish dropped into a chair across from me, his face grim. "Langston," he said flatly, pulling the cork from a large jug of ale and taking a swig before continuing. "Ran into the smug bastard in the market. He's got somethin', Chief—somethin' dangerous."
I frowned, my hands gripping the edge of the table. "What do you mean? What did he say?"
It was then that Hamish related the events of his morning, all that occurred in excruciating detail, but I hung on every word, not wanting to miss anything for fear of it being important. Once he finished, noting my face of concentration, he amended with more:
"He wouldn't shut up about it," Hamish growled. "Went on about a way to stop magic—how it's a danger to the balance of the world. Said he's got something from the dig site, some kind of artifact. He's taking' it to The Enclave for 'study.'"
The words hit me like a physical blow. My mind raced, piecing together the implications. If Langston was telling the truth, if he truly had something that could sever the link between Earth and Albion, then everything we'd worked for—everything Moira and I were trying to rebuild—was at risk.
"How long do we have before it's out of his hands?" I asked, my voice tight.
Hamish shook his head. "Didn't say. But the way he was clutching' that satchel, I'd wager he's not lingering' here long. Man's got an ego, but he's not stupid."
Moira's voice slipped into my mind, her tone unusually solemn. "This is no idle threat, vessel. If The Enclave succeeds in nullifying magic, the connection to Albion could unravel. Severing the two worlds would unravel the Endless Knot itself."
I blinked, the phrase unfamiliar. Endless Knot?
"The Endless Knot," Moira explained, her voice carrying a weight I rarely heard. "It's the conduit that binds Albion and Earth, a weaving of magic and existence. At its intersections, the veil between the worlds thins, allowing the flow of magic to pass freely. The dig site you've claimed, it's more than a portal. It's an anchor, a place where the Knot converges."
Hamish frowned as I sat down heavily, my mind swimming with this revelation. "Are you all right, Chief?"
"Moira," I murmured, ignoring Hamish for the moment. "What happens if the Knot is severed?"
She hesitated, her usual teasing demeanor replaced by quiet gravity. "If the Knot unravels, Albion's magic will fade from Earth entirely. No more portals. No more connection. And worse… the echoes of Albion's loss would destabilize the balance of nature itself."
I exhaled slowly, my thoughts dark.
Moira continued. "Do you know why certain times and places feel magical, even to those who deny its existence? The time between times, vessel, moments when the boundary between Albion and Earth is at its thinnest. Dawn, when night becomes day. Dusk, when the world straddles both. An ocean's edge, where land and sea collide. A foggy glen, where air and earth blend into uncertainty. These are the places Albion touches most keenly."
Her voice softened, tinged with a rare sadness. "To sever the knot would destroy these in-between places, snuffing out the wonder that makes the world feel alive. It would be as though the magic of existence itself was drained away."
I glanced at Hamish, who was watching me closely, his face a mixture of concern and confusion. "Robert?" he prompted.
I shook my head, focusing on him. "Langston's artifact, it's a direct threat to everything we're trying to build here. If the Enclave gets their hands on it…" I trailed off, the implications too staggering to voice.
Hamish leaned forward, his voice low and serious. "What do ye want to do, Chief? Because if ye ask me, I'll march straight to that Enclave and crush it myself."
I managed a small smile at his bravado. "I don't doubt that, Hamish. But this has to be handled carefully. If we act too soon, we risk tipping our hand. If we wait too long, it might be too late."
Moira's voice returned, her tone firm. "Your next move must be calculated, vessel. But remember, you are not alone. Albion's power flows through you, and those who believe in you stand ready. Trust in that."
I nodded slowly, her words grounding me. "First, we secure the settlement," I said aloud, glancing back at the sack of produce. "We make this place a symbol of what magic can do. If we can inspire the villagers, we'll have the strength to face whatever Langston and the Enclave throw at us."
Hamish leaned back, crossing his arms. "And after that?"
I met his gaze, my voice steady. "After that, we take back what's ours. Take snow through the dungeon. See what you can obtain for gear, both for you and her. Teach her how to fight and to work in a team during one."
Hamish nods grimly, with a flash of excitement in his gaze. Moira eventually tickled our minds for attention and said to Hamish with no less than a little desperation in her voice, "Hamish... Keep her safe, will you?"
Hamish pressed his right fist to his chest in a salute-like gesture and vowed, "On my life, m'lady." We felt, rather than saw, Moira's reassured smile. "Here, Hamish. Let me give you something." A bright, glittering streak of light shot forth from the portal, gathering up motes of light floating up from the Albion earth around the portal. It swirled in seemingly aimless circles before flying straight into Hamish's chest, staggering him backwardly as the magic flowed into him.
Hamish started to scream.