March 29, 2025.
Location: Gates of the Settlement.
Perspective: Robert MacCallum.
I narrowed my eyes, squinting to get a better look. A caravan was making its way toward us, the late afternoon sun catching on polished wood and the shining horns of shaggy Highland cattle pulling the wagons. The people walking alongside were dressed in traditional tartans, deep greens and blues swirling in bold patterns. Their energy was jovial, even at a distance, a mixture of color and song drifting on the breeze. Something told me these weren't just passersby.
Hamish appeared at my side, resting his broadsword casually on his shoulder. "A clan caravan," he observed, a mix of surprise and nostalgia in his gruff voice. "Didn't think I'd see one of those this far south."
"Who are they?" Snow asked, tilting her head, her eyes bright with curiosity and a hint of caution.
Hamish shrugged. "Could be any clan, lass. But folks like this don't travel for nothing. They've got a purpose, always."
I stayed quiet, watching as the caravan slowed its approach. It wasn't long before they stopped just short of the gate. A tall, broad-shouldered man with a fiery red beard stepped forward, his tartan arranged with such precision that I instantly knew he was someone important. Behind him stood a younger man, perhaps his son or brother, just as imposing. His sharp green eyes swept over us, missing nothing, a natural confidence in his stance that spoke of battles fought and survived.
The red-bearded man cupped his hands around his mouth and called out, his voice booming across the field. "Ho there, strangers! I am Laird Ewan MacEwan of Clan MacEwan! Who might ye be?"
I raised a hand in greeting, keeping my tone calm but welcoming. "Robert MacCallum. This is Hamish, and that's Snow."
Ewan strode closer, his every step exuding the authority of a leader who didn't doubt his place. His green eyes sparkled with amusement as he took us in, his gaze lingering on me. "Robert MacCallum, eh? A strong name. Tell me, lad, what keeps ye here? What's yer purpose in these lands?"
I folded my arms across my chest, a small smile tugging at my lips. "We're digging," I said simply. "Building a refuge of magic, a sanctuary of sorts."
"A sanctuary, ye say?" His thick brows shot up, and a grin spread across his face. "A noble purpose, to be sure. And here I thought ye'd be daft treasure hunters or some such. But ye've got the look of a man with a plan. I like that."
Hamish snorted beside me, clearly trying to suppress a laugh. "That's rare praise from a laird," he murmured under his breath.
"Rare, aye," Ewan said, clapping me on the shoulder hard enough to make me stumble. "But deserved. I like a man who can stand firm and knows what he's about. Honest too. I've a way of reading people, Robert MacCallum. There's somethin about you."
I managed to keep my footing, though my shoulder stung. "Well, thanks, I guess."
The younger man behind Ewan stepped forward, his movements graceful and strong. He gave me a respectful nod. "Ruari MacEwan," he said, his voice low and steady. "A pleasure."
His sharp gaze shifted to Hamish, who met it with equal intensity. I could practically feel the challenge sparking between them, like two bucks sizing each other up. Instinct, I guess, something in the hormones of younger bodies, though Hamish's new form, thanks to Moira's work, made him look far younger than his seventy years.
"Hamish," my companion said, smirking faintly. "The pleasure's all mine."
Snow, ever the peacemaker, stepped in with a warm smile. "Welcome to our dig site," she said, gesturing toward the walls. "It's not much to look at yet, but we're making progress."
Ewan chuckled heartily. "Lass, progress is progress, no matter how it looks. And I must say, yer walls are sturdy. That's no small thing these days."
I studied him carefully, noting the shift in his demeanor. Despite his boisterous nature, there was something more thoughtful beneath the surface. "You've traveled far," I said, my tone softening. "What brings you here?"
Ewan's grin faded slightly, replaced by a look of reverence. "The light," he said, gesturing toward the glowing golden tree of the Legendary Grove in the distance. "We saw it from afar. Couldn't well pass by without seein what wonders lay beneath it."
I glanced toward the Grove, its golden radiance shimmering with motes of light that danced like fireflies, a striking beacon against the sky. "It's something special," I murmured, more to myself than to anyone else.
Ewan nodded solemnly before his grin returned. "But enough of that. We've come a long way, and my people could use a rest. Might we set up camp near yer walls?"
I hesitated, looking to Snow and Hamish. Snow nodded encouragingly, while Hamish shrugged. "They seem like good folk," he said simply.
"Alright," I said, turning back to Ewan. "You're welcome to stay. Just stay close to the camp. There are things in these lands that aren't so welcoming."
Ewan's grin widened, his confidence unshaken. "Fair enough, lad. Fair enough."
As the clan began to set up camp, I leaned against one of the stones of the archway, watching their movements. The MacEwans moved with practiced efficiency, the kind of coordination that could only come from generations of tradition. Everything they did, from setting the wagons in a circle to preparing food over open fires, spoke of a culture steeped in discipline and unity. The air carried the rhythm of branches swaying in the wind, blending with the distant notes of a bagpipe being tuned among the crowd.
Snow stepped up beside me, her hands folded in front of her. "They're different from what I expected," she said softly, her eyes scanning the bustling camp.
"Different how?" I asked, curious.
She tilted her head thoughtfully. "They're vibrant. Not just alive, but thriving. It's like they're carrying a piece of the past with them, keeping it alive."
I nodded, understanding what she meant. There was something about the MacEwans that felt timeless, like they'd stepped out of a history book and onto our land. "That's not just survival," I said, watching a young girl in a plaid shawl chase after a stubborn sheep, her laughter ringing out. "That's culture. It's who they are."
Snow's gaze shifted to the archway behind me. "Do you think they'll know anything about this?"
I shrugged. "If they do, we'll find out soon enough."
Just as I spoke, Laird Ewan approached, his presence commanding as always. Beside him was an elderly woman with a kind but shrewd expression. Her silver hair gleamed in the fading light, her face weathered but dignified. She carried herself with a quiet authority that demanded respect without a word.
"This here is Sorcha MacEwan," Ewan said, gesturing to her. "Our seer, and my mother."
Sorcha eyed Ewan sideways. "You wouldn't have that name, much less that title of laird, without me spawning you," she said sharply, giving a slow curtsy, well-practiced but stiff with age.
I smiled and half-bowed back. "A pleasure, Lady Sorcha. Welcome to our settlement. We haven't named it just yet."
She smiled warmly. "Now you've got manners." She whacked Ewan's shin with her walking stick, causing him to yelp. "Oi! Me mother or not, keep that stick to yourself, woman!"
She smacked him again. "Language! Learn from Robert here. He's polite." Her eyes turned toward the archway, her expression growing somber. "This," she said simply. "I've not seen the like of it in many years."
"You know what it is?" I asked, straightening.
She didn't answer right away, instead stepping closer to the arch. Her gnarled fingers traced the faint etchings in the stone, her gaze distant. "I cannae say I know it, but I recognize it. The symbols, the craftsmanship, it's ancient. Older than anything I've seen before."
"It's a gateway," I said, watching her closely. "A portal to other places. Moira told me it could connect to over a hundred different locations around the world."
Sorcha turned to me sharply, her eyes narrowing. "And ye trust this Moira, do ye?"
"I've seen enough to believe in a lot of things," I said evenly. "This gateway could be important, not just for us, but for everyone." That was true. Not far away, a glowing blue portal swirled, casting an odd light on nearby buildings under construction for various uses.
Ewan clapped me on the back, his grin returning. "Ambitious, lad. I like that. But tell me, how do ye plan to restore somethin like this?"
"That's a work in progress," I admitted. "I have one of the runes needed to rebuild it, but the rest, they're scattered. Moira says they could be anywhere."
Sorcha's gaze softened, her tone patient. "I don't know who Moira is, lad. You keep saying her name like I should know."
"Oh, right," I said, realizing the voice that's been in my head for weeks isn't as famous as it feels. "I can't wait to introduce you. I have a feeling you'll like her."
Moira's voice chimed in my mind, light and amused. "Ooh, I certainly hope she does. I definitely like her!"
Sorcha nodded slowly, her expression unreadable. "Sounds like a long journey ahead for you finding them then." She gazed at the arch for a long while, lost in thought.
I left her to her musings, but before I could say anything else, a young boy ran up to Ewan, his face flushed with excitement. "Da, the food's ready!" he exclaimed.
Ewan ruffled the boy's hair and turned to me with a grin. "Come, MacCallum. Join us for supper. A good meal and a bit o whisky will do ye good."
I hesitated, glancing at Snow and Hamish. Snow gave me an encouraging nod, while Hamish shrugged. "Why not, Chief? Could be fun."
"Alright," I said, pushing off the stone. "Lead the way."
Dinner with the MacEwan clan was an experience unlike any I'd had before. The fires blazed brightly against the encroaching dusk, their warm glow casting long shadows on the grassy plain outside the dig site walls. The smell of roasting meat and herbs filled the air, mingling with the rhythmic notes of bagpipes playing just beyond the largest cluster of wagons.
I sat among them, a plate in hand, captivated by the infectious energy of this nomadic family. Their hospitality was unparalleled, platters of oatcakes, stewed lamb, tatties, and haggis passed around freely, accompanied by bowls of rich broth, sharp cheeses, and mugs of sweetened ale. It was a quintessential Scottish banquet, perfectly made, the flavors driving my senses wild with hunger.
A few of the younger ones ran around with chunks of bannock bread in hand, dodging stern looks from their mothers. Across the fire, Laird Ewan roared with laughter, his bearded face lit with mirth. Ruari sat beside him, scanning the crowd with a sharp gaze while absently gnawing on a chunk of roasted venison. Snow was seated near Sorcha, her fascination with the elder woman evident as they spoke about ancient tales of Albion and the mysterious forces that still lingered on Earth. Hamish was sparring verbally with a group of young men, no doubt showing off his natural Highland charm.
Then I noticed her. She moved gracefully at the edge of the gathering, her plate balanced perfectly in one hand as she weaved through the chaos with an effortless ease that seemed almost otherworldly. She wasn't like the others. Where many of the MacEwans were loud and boisterous, she exuded a serene presence that grounded the energy around her. Her raven-black curls tumbled down her shoulders in wild yet elegant ringlets, catching the firelight and gleaming like polished obsidian. Her almond-shaped green eyes, warm and bright, took in everything with a quiet intensity.
She caught me staring, and for a moment, I thought I'd be in for a sharp glare. The men around her averted their gazes when she noticed them, earning a playful click of her tongue or a swat at their noses. They respected her station, likely as the laird's kin, and no one wanted to risk Ewan's wrath. But instead of a reprimand, she smiled, a soft, knowing smile that made my chest tighten. She stood by the fire, its light dancing across her graceful form, and twirled slowly, her eyes sparkling with mischief as she saw my jaw drop.
Then, with a soft, soundless laugh, she sank down to a seat near Ewan, collecting his arm and kissing his cheek. He smiled at her with deep, abiding love, and I felt a pang of disappointment, assuming she was his wife. She glanced at me out of the corner of her eye, as if checking if I was still watching. I was.
"See something you like, MacCallum?" Hamish's voice drawled beside me, pulling me out of my reverie. He was smirking, clearly having caught the exchange. "She's somethin, eh? Looks like that somethin belongs to Laird Ewan." He put his fists on his hips, puffing out his chest theatrically. "Laird Ewan," he boomed, then laughed at his own impersonation, and maybe a little at me too, for my obvious interest.
I coughed, trying to regain my composure. "I wasn't, I mean, I—"
Hamish clapped me on the shoulder, his laugh infectious. "Relax, lad. It's good to see you lookin at somethin other than ancient rocks for once."
Before I could respond, the woman approached, her bare feet making no sound on the soft grass. She carried a plate of food and offered it to me with a graceful gesture, tilting her head slightly to indicate it was for me.
"Thank you," I said, taking the plate. "That's very kind of you."
She smiled again, her eyes crinkling at the corners, and raised a hand to her lips, making a soft gesture as if to say, "It's nothing." Then, without a word, she settled beside me, her presence quiet but magnetic. I noticed now that she hadn't spoken all night. Yet her expressive eyes, the fluid movements of her hands, and the soft tilt of her head conveyed everything she needed to. She gave me an encouraging nudge with her shoulder, as if to say, "Relax."
"You don't talk much, do you?" I ventured, my tone light.
Her lips curved into a mischievous smile, and she tapped her throat lightly before shaking her head. Then, with an elegant flourish of her hand, she gestured around the camp and pointed to her ears, as if to say, "I prefer to listen."
"I suppose someone needs to with this lot," I said, chuckling. "I'm Robert, by the way."
She nodded, pressing a hand briefly to her chest before miming writing in the air. It took me a moment to realize she was offering her name. I hesitated, thinking of Ewan. I didn't want to cause trouble with a man who had a whole clan at his back, not to mention the dishonor of pursuing someone's wife.
"Your name, well, whatever it is, I'm fairly certain 'Lady' precedes it, and it's followed by 'Wife of Laird MacEwan,' right?"
She stared at me blankly for a moment, glancing at Ewan, then back at me. A smile spread across her face, and she started laughing, a breathy, whispery sound as she held her stomach, tears of mirth in her eyes. I lowered my gaze to the fire, feeling a flush of embarrassment, my old walls starting to rise, the ones that had kept me safe and alone for nearly twenty years.
Her hand grabbed mine, tugging gently. I looked at her, and with deep mirth in her eyes, she mouthed a single word: "Father."
I blinked slowly, then again. "Father? Really?" She nodded happily, and relief washed over me, the most intense I'd ever felt, warmth spreading through my chest as my walls crumbled before her warm smile.
After collecting herself, her amusement still shining in her gaze, she touched her chest again and tilted her head questioningly, urging me to guess her name.
"Uh, Lilia?" I tried, the name slipping out without conscious thought. In the corner of my vision, my scanning ability, one I rarely paid attention to, flared to life. It confirmed the name I'd spoken: Lilia MacEwan. Human Female. Magical aptitude not yet available.
Her face lit up in genuine shock. She gave me a small, approving clap, as if to say, "Well done," then gazed at me with a suspicious expression.
"Maybe I dreamed of you," I said with a wink, playing coy. She laughed helplessly at my corny line, her breathy laugh a delight.
"It is Lilia," I said, smiling despite myself. "It's a beautiful name."
She tilted her head, her green eyes sparkling, as if to say, "And you?"
"Oh, uh, Robert MacCallum," I replied, offering my hand. She took it, her grip warm and steady, then mimed tipping an invisible hat, acknowledging my introduction with a silent laugh.
As the evening wore on, the MacEwans began to dance, their movements wild and joyous as they twirled around the fire in time with the music. Lilia didn't join them, though her foot tapped lightly to the rhythm. Instead, she stayed by my side, her presence a quiet comfort amid the chaos.
"Do you dance?" I asked, curious.
She raised an eyebrow, her hands flowing in an elegant series of gestures that clearly meant, "Do you?"
"Not well," I admitted. "And not without a lot of ale beforehand."
Her silent laugh was infectious, and for a moment, I felt a strange lightness in her presence, a sense of joy I hadn't felt in a long time. Her company was easy, natural, like I'd always known her, and she made me feel interesting, like the center of her world as we communicated through gestures and glances.
Standing in the shadow of a wagon, unnoticed by most, was a large, muscular man, a silver harp resting against his shoulder. The flickering firelight seemed to avoid him, as if he existed just beyond its reach. The notes from his harp, low and lingering, wove into the air, accompanied by motes of light that flickered like fireflies, rising and fading with each chord. A random bubble of golden energy popped into existence near him, only to burst and reappear moments later, a subtle yet striking display of magic. Snow, seated near Sorcha, didn't notice him, but I felt a pull, a whisper of power I couldn't yet grasp.
The festivities carried on into the evening, the bagpipes singing their melodic tales of resilience and pride. Lilia remained at my side, her quiet presence a balm for the whirlwind of thoughts that had clouded my mind for days. Her smile, soft and knowing, eased something deep within me.
I leaned back on my seat, the laughter and music blending into a comforting rhythm. Lilia had settled closer now, her green eyes scanning the firelight with an almost feline grace. Her hand rested lightly on her lap, but every so often her fingers brushed against mine as she used a form of sign language to chat with friends in the clan, leaning slightly against me. It was easily one of the best nights of my life, the night I met Lilia MacEwan. The touches felt accidental, yet each one sent a spark through me, the kind of moment that makes you feel alive when first infatuated.
I glanced her way, catching her in a moment of perfect stillness. Her raven curls shimmered in the firelight, framing her angelic face. She seemed utterly content, but when she caught me staring, she tilted her head and smiled with a slight mischief, as if saying, "Caught you." I chuckled softly, shaking my head, feeling more at peace than I had in a long time.
My gaze wandered to the fire, the flames dancing hypnotically, twisting and flickering in a rhythmic pattern. At first, it was just the play of light, but then something shifted. A warmth spread through my chest, the same sensation I'd felt when Elemental Synergy had grown. The fire flared brighter, and motes of golden light, like fireflies, rose from the flames, swirling into a vision. I tried to blink it away, but the image grew clearer.
In the flames, I saw the dig site transformed. The MacEwan clan had made their mark, turning its stark walls and simple buildings into a vibrant, living settlement. Brightly colored banners and hand-painted symbols adorned the walls, crafts and decorations bringing warmth to the austere structures. The marketplace bustled, the Grove glowing golden with dancing motes of light as children played beneath its boughs. It wasn't just a settlement, it was a home.
Sorcha stood at the edge of the Grove, her hands raised as she channeled a burst of shimmering energy, her face serene yet powerful. Nearby, Lilia worked with Snow in the market square, her silent grace drawing people together, a subtle shimmer of magic weaving into the life around her. Ruari sparred with Hamish in the training grounds, their rivalry fierce but friendly. Hamish's style focused on defense and devastating bursts of strength, while Ruari's movements were fluid, imbued with subtle magical enhancements. Their shared laughter rang through the vision, their bond as strong as brothers.
The vision swelled, filling me with a deep sense of hope and belonging. For the first time, I could see what this place might become, not just a sanctuary but a community, a living testament to what we could build together. The fire's warmth pulsed, and a bubble of golden light popped near the flames, reinforcing the scene before it faded.
The vision vanished as suddenly as it had come, leaving me blinking blearily at the fire. My breath caught in my chest as I tried to hold on to the image, but it slipped away like smoke in the wind. When I turned my head, I found Lilia watching me intently, her eyes glimmering with curiosity and understanding. She gestured toward the fire, then to her own eyes, clearly asking what I had seen.
I exhaled slowly, giving her a soft, thoughtful smile. The fire-watching vision, a new experience tied to the magic coursing through me, felt deliberate, influenced by the harpist's unseen power, though I didn't realize it. These people could help restore the settlement to glory, and I needed them to stay.
I turned my attention to Laird Ewan, who was seated nearby, laughing heartily at something Ruari had said. "Laird Ewan!" I called, my voice carrying above the music and conversation. The clan leader looked my way, his grin as broad as ever.
"Aye, lad?" he responded, raising his cup.
"I'd like to offer you and your people a tour of our new home, if you're interested. Tomorrow, after a good night's rest."
His grin widened even further. "A tour, ye say? Aye, we'd be glad for it. We'll see what yer hands and heart have built here."
The other clan members around the fire murmured their approval, excitement lighting their faces. Lilia's eyes lingered on me, her smile soft but radiant, as if she sensed the hope I'd glimpsed in the flames.
I settled back into my seat, my heart lighter than it had been in weeks. The laughter and music of the MacEwan clan swirled around me as the fire crackled, casting long shadows on the walls of the dig site.