Golden script blazed steady in the sky, spelling Doras Dhagda with fierce clarity, lighting the clan's faces like soft firelight. A hush fell over them, even kids froze, their breath puffing in the cold air. Their wide eyes caught the glow, as if they could grasp its warmth. The light danced on their cheeks, a promise etched in starfire.
The script burned bright against the dark, its curves sharp and sure. It wasn't just a sign but a truth that sank heavy in everyone's chest. Their breaths mingled in the chill, a soft rhythm of awe holding them still. The pine-scented air carried their quiet, grounding the moment.
Laird Ewan MacEwan spoke first, his voice loud and rough. "Doras Dhagda! The Good God's Door!" He turned to Sorcha, his weathered face lined deep, beard stiff in the chill. She nodded, her young features glowing with wisdom. A muscular man strummed a silvery harp nearby, exuding a quiet authority and a mastery over music.
"It's a divine claim, Laird Ewan," Sorcha said. "The Dagda marked this land as his own, a sacred purpose." Her words hit like stone, and the clansfolk murmured, many bowing heads or clasping hands in prayer. Even Snow and Hamish stood tall, respectful in the night's bite. The fire's crackle joined the man's harp notes, weaving faith and magic.
Their eyes weighed on me, warm and heavy. Magic sparked in my palms, like a coal ready to catch. This moment wasn't mine but theirs, tied to faith and awe. It felt bigger than magic alone. I recalled a winter when the clan nearly broke over a lost harvest, my father's voice knitting them back—now, this script promised the same.
Before Sorcha spoke, Hamish struck flint, kindling the Dagda's flame, an old ritual to honor magic's bond with faith. Its light flared, a vow in the dark. Sorcha stepped up, her lap harp worn smooth from years. She plucked silvery notes, the melody weaving with the stars. The song faded, her voice clear and firm.
"The Dagda's no old tale," she said. "He's life, bounty, wisdom." Her words cut the quiet, sharp and true. "His Cauldron fed the hungry, his harp Uaithne shifted seasons, called warriors, calmed souls." She stood straighter, fire in her eyes.
"The Dagda binds body and land, soul and divine," she said. "Naming this place Doras Dhagda honors that balance." Clansfolk nodded, whispering Gaelic prayers, their faces lit with purpose. "Centuries ago, he shielded our kin from a faithless storm," she added. "Now, we carry his thread forward."
I leaned forward, the chill forgotten. "So magic and faith aren't at odds?" I asked, throat tight. Sorcha's piercing eyes met mine, steady and kind. This idea of magic and belief as allies felt new, like sunlight after a cold room.
"Not at all, Laird Robert," she said. "Magic's a divine gift, faith its anchor to the soul." Her voice softened, sure. "The Dagda's blessings flow through both, and we must live that harmony." As a man raised on science, this clarity stirred wonder in me.
The clan's murmurs grew as Sorcha stepped back. A dirt-smudged boy pointed at the sky, voice small but bold. "Will it stay, Seer? Will the stars guide us home?" Others nodded, some awed, others wary. Old Morag muttered about untested power, her words faint in the wind.
Sorcha smiled, ruffling his messy hair. "The stars will lead if we honor their balance," she said. "This is the Dagda's gift, a reminder of who we are." Pride shone in the clan's eyes, their unity solid as stone. They'd grasped something real after years of shadows.
Doras Dhagda wasn't just a name. It was a call carved into the night. This land was theirs to tend, fight for, honor with every callous. The clan stood bound, their purpose clear under the glowing script.
Ewan's heavy hand landed on my shoulder, his nod deep with gratitude. "You've given us so much, Robert MacCallum," he said. "This is beyond our dreams." His voice carried raw pride, a leader's heart laid bare. He'd brought them home.
I met his eyes, breathing earth and smoke. "Would you take the spark, Ewan MacEwan?" I asked. Heads turned, Sorcha, Rauri, and Lilia's gazes prickling my skin. This was their moment, not just mine. Snow caught my eye, her grin a nod to our shared spark years ago.
Ewan's brows knitted, curious. "You lead with wisdom," I said, hands twitching. "You should connect with Moira, maybe pass the spark to others." I waved at the clan, still skyward. "Every person, household heads, or just the willing? You and Sorcha decide."
Ewan rubbed his chin, thoughtful. "A big gift," he said quietly. "Not one to rush." He looked to Sorcha, then Rauri, standing solid beside him. The fire's warmth brushed my knuckles, steadying me.
"What say you, Sorcha?" Ewan asked. "You've got this spark—what's it for?" Sorcha stepped up, her youthful face alive with energy. Her presence felt like the man's harp, resonant and sure.
"The spark's a gift, but it's heavy," she said. "It makes us stronger, wiser, maybe faster." Her eyes swept the clan, firm and calm. "Not everyone's ready, and that's fine." She spoke with a seer's weight, clear as starlight.
Ewan nodded, turning to Rauri. "And you, lad? Your take?" Rauri shrugged, eyes gleaming sharp. He stood like a pillar, grounded yet curious.
"It's tempting to see us all with Albion's power," Rauri said. "But some thrive without it, balancing those who wield it." He glanced at Hamish, quiet nearby. "We're clan, spark or not." His words echoed the clan's heart, diverse yet whole.
Ewan exhaled, facing me with resolve. "We'll take our time," he said. "The spark goes to those who'll honor it, for this land." He pointed to the portal, its stones dark under starlight. Some clansfolk nodded, others whispered, uncertain but trusting.
I nodded, respect warming my chest. "That's all I ask, Ewan," I said. "This isn't a gift to toss around." I trusted their choice completely. The spark's weight felt real, a shiver up my spine.
Ewan's face eased into a rare smile. "Then I'll take it," he said. "As clan leader, I'll carry the spark first, with Sorcha's wisdom." Sorcha nodded, calm and sure. The clan's approval rippled, soft but firm.
Lilia beamed at her father, hands clasped tight. Even the kids felt the moment, still and quiet. The air was thick with purpose. The man's harp faded, leaving only the fire's crackle.
"Moira," I called soft, my palms buzzing. "He's ready." Her voice echoed in my head, warm and teasing. The Good God was smiling today, she said, calling it a fine pick.
I stepped up, holding out my hands. An orb blazed between my palms, alive with golden light like a tiny sun. "This is yours, Ewan MacEwan," I said. "For you and your people." A tingling warmth surged through me, binding us all.
Ewan stood tall, took a deep breath, and set his calloused hands over mine. The spark leaped, golden threads weaving into him, wrapping his broad frame. Silence fell, heavy and still. The clan held their breath, eyes wide.
Ewan stayed frozen, taking in the power. Then he straightened, his presence bigger, like a tree rooted deeper. The change was subtle, his strength filling the air. A few gasped, others cheered softly, hope alight.
The clan roared, cheers shaking the ground. Ewan raised a hand, quieting them sharp. "This isn't the end," he boomed. "It's the start of home." He'd build something worthy of the Good God.
He scanned the clan, eyes fierce. "Together, we'll grow strong," he said. "Together, we'll return to Albion." The cheers surged again, loud as a storm. The fire flared, mirroring their spirit.
I stepped back, their joy washing over me. Lilia moved forward, her green eyes locking on mine, sharp and warm. My heart stumbled, face burning, a raw ache tightening my throat. I couldn't mess this up. She was everything.
I smiled, nerves buzzing, but she didn't speak. She took my hands, her fingers warm against my cold skin. She pulled them to her chest, pressing them over her heart. Her magic hummed in my chest, grounding yet wild. Her presence felt uniquely hers, a quiet force.
Her heart beat soft under my palms, steady as a drum. The air felt thick, charged with something unspoken. Her trust hit me hard, a truth I couldn't dodge. I couldn't look away, caught in her glow.
Warmth spread from her hands into my chest, slow and soft, like a fire catching in damp wood. It wasn't the spark's jolt or a fireball's rush. This was deeper, personal, hers. Her gaze held a playful smirk, steady and knowing.
Her soul seemed to whisper I was stronger than I knew, that I'd be more. It sank into my gut, sure and real. The walls I'd built with solitude, duty, and fear crumbled under her eyes. I wanted this feeling, her clarity, always.
Her hands glowed faint, then dimmed, but the warmth stayed. I heard her voice in my mind, soft but clear, saying her name, Lilia. My throat tightened, raw and human. She tilted her head, her face softening, gentle but deep.
She didn't need words. Her face said it all, every line a story I knew by heart. I felt her through the magic, close as a heartbeat. The clan's cheers faded, distant as a dream. Her quiet strength wove a hope I hadn't known I needed.
Lilia's fingers tightened around mine, her touch a silent promise. She leaned closer, her breath warm against my cheek, a flirtatious glint in her eyes. "Come with me," she whispered in my mind with her new magic. Her new internal voice low and sultry, meant just for me. A stray curl brushed her cheek, her gaze pulling me in.
I followed, heart racing, as she led me from the gathering, her steps light and sure. The clan's cheers faded, the night air cool on my skin. She glanced back, a sultry smile sparkling with mischief. The fire's glow dimmed behind us, leaving only starlight.
We reached my room, the door creaking as she pushed it open. She turned, her gaze intense, drawing me closer. The door closed behind us, and I won't spill what happened next in this memory. Sorry, but not sorry, historians. I'm keeping some moments private. Just know Doras Dhagda's always alive with something new.
Load the next crystal, and you'll see.