April 1, 2025.
Location: Doras Dhagda, near Kilrain, Scotland.
Perspective: Robert MacCallum.
The days folded into each other at Doras Dhagda, time marked not by the ticking of clocks but by purpose. The clanspeople rooted themselves in their roles, as if the land had been waiting for them all along. Not all took Moira's gift.
Some of the elders, faces lined with wisdom, eyes weighted by years, refused with quiet dignity. They had no need for power. Their work was in the Grove, in stories passed by firelight, in shaping stone and wood with hands that had seen decades of labor. They were content to let their lives fade as nature intended.
But the younger ones? Their excitement was infectious. The spark offered them more than power; it offered possibility. It wasn't just the lure of magic that drew them, though that was part of it. It was the idea of becoming something greater, of carving out their place in this new, growing world.
I watched as the settlement took shape, each group carving out their place. Warriors honed their strikes, eyes sharp with purpose. Mages, whether scholars or battle-hardened spellcasters, delved into the mysteries Moira had unlocked.
Some blended the two, forging a new path as warrior-mages, their combat a seamless dance of steel and sorcery. And the bards, those cunning wordsmiths, wove magic into song, their melodies lifting spirits and steadying hands before battle.
The druids, though fewer in number, struck a different chord. These were the ones who sought to understand the balance of nature, to read omens in the stars and the wind, and to protect the delicate thread between life and the wild. They had a reverence for the Grove and the magic it radiated, tending it as though it were a sacred relic.
But not everyone sought glory or combat. Farmers now used subtle magics to enrich the soil, their fields flourishing in ways that defied normal seasons.
Miners ventured into the depths alongside the kobolds, using spells to illuminate the dark or strengthen their tools. Tailors and crafters instilled their work with their magic, creating garments that were not just protective, woven with warmth and comfort as if imbued with life.
Blacksmiths hammered weapons and armor that radiated strength and ingenuity, each item uniquely tailored to the needs of its wielder.
I found it fascinating. STEVE could create tools instantly, yet human hands still shaped something distinct, subtle, yet undeniable. Items crafted by mortal hands seemed to hold an inherent quality, heart, imagination, and soul, that no automated process could replicate.
It was their drive to create, their desire to master their chosen crafts, that brought out something exceptional.
Even Snow had found her niche, diving into the art of alchemy with a fervor that surprised even her. Her potions were becoming the talk of the market.
She brewed concoctions to heal wounds, restore mana, and neutralize poisons. She experimented with enriching livestock feed and even curing diseases. Her room had become a fragrant chaos of herbs, bubbling vials, and glowing elixirs. She wore her focus like a badge, and I couldn't help but feel proud.
Hamish, meanwhile, trained every day with Rauri, the two warriors sparring under the morning sun. Rauri had embraced his new abilities as a warrior-mage, using magic to enhance his speed and agility.
His strikes were faster, his movements like a blur in combat. Hamish, on the other hand, had taken a different approach. He preferred light magic, using it to defend and heal himself and others. His choice of weapon had shifted from a broadsword to twin shortswords, which allowed him to parry and counter with a fluid grace. He had become a dancer with his blades.
Every movement was precise and purposeful. Still a warden at heart, Hamish embodied defense and offense in perfect balance. As his skill increased, it was incredible to watch him. It almost looked like he could execute one defensive move and one offensive move at the same time, with each arm.
Not just his left was a defender, and his right was the attacker. They would switch in random patterns to keep Chaucer and Rauri off balance.
The day before my departure, the air felt different. A quiet tension hummed through the settlement, not unpleasant, but undeniable. The clanspeople moved with a subtle urgency, as if the land itself was waiting for me to act. They went about their tasks with a certain energy, and I couldn't shake the feeling that the land was waiting for me to move.
As I stood at the edge of the sparring grounds, watching Hamish and Rauri exchange blows in a rapid dance of strikes and counters yet again, a sudden ripple of magic shivered through the air.
It was subtle at first, almost like the whisper of wind in the trees, and it grew stronger. The grove seemed to shimmer, its golden leaves reflecting a strange, ethereal light.
A shimmer in the air caught my eye. Hamish had just called for a pause in his sparring with Rauri.
His face was flushed, sweat dripping down his brow, and his chest heaved as he fought to catch his breath. Yet, something about him seemed different. His crystal core, embedded in his chest, pulsed with a peculiar intensity, its usual glow now almost alarmingly bright.
"I need a moment," Hamish muttered, his voice uncharacteristically subdued. He grabbed a nearby waterskin, drinking deeply, some of it spilling over his chin and soaking his tunic.
With a heavy sigh, he sat down on the grass, his swords resting by his sides. His eyes drifted shut, and his lips moved, as if speaking to someone who wasn't there.
Rauri stood nearby, his brows furrowed in concern. "You alright, mate? You look like you've just run three battles back to back."
Hamish lifted a hand, signaling for silence. The air around him thickened, charged with something unseen. A pulse rippled outward, brushing against my senses like static before a storm. I felt it settle in my chest, not painful, but dense, expectant. Something was coming.
I took a step toward him, then light erupted. Not harsh, not dangerous, but blinding in its purity. Rauri and I flinched, shielding our eyes as the air itself seemed to clear under its brilliance. It was like a hundred camera flashes going off simultaneously, a radiance so pure and powerful it seemed to cleanse the air itself.
When the light faded, Hamish was still sitting, unmoving, but his presence felt transformed. I reached out with my senses, analyzing the magic now swirling around him. Moira's voice chimed in my mind.
"Vessel, he's done it," she said, a note of pride in her tone. "Hamish has pushed through his mental block, his stubborn resistance to magic. His determination has carried him to a new level, and his Warden form has evolved. He has unlocked a latent trait, a connection to the light that only his sheer willpower could unearth."
I could sense it too: a new depth to the magic flowing within him. The strength pulsed from his mana core; it was refined, purposeful, no longer something he fought against but something he had finally accepted.
After a few moments, Hamish stirred. He opened his eyes, the usual sternness in his gaze now softened by something else, understanding, perhaps, or resolve.
He stood slowly, rolling his shoulders and picking up his swords. Without a word, he walked back toward the sparring area, where Rauri waited with a mixture of confusion and curiosity.
"Let's go again," Hamish said, his voice steady, charged with newfound determination. I swear, he looked amused.
Rauri grinned. "Aye, if you think you can keep up."
The sparring resumed, but it was immediately clear that Hamish wasn't the same. His movements were sharper, his strikes more deliberate.
He no longer relied solely on brute strength and quick reflexes; now, there was a grace to his attacks, a calculated rhythm that was unmistakable.
He feinted left, drawing Rauri's sword out of position, then followed with a quick scissor slash that Rauri barely managed to avoid.
The twin blades moved like extensions of Hamish himself, weaving patterns of light with every swing. His new ability, Radiant Slash, left trails of shimmering magic in its wake, each arc of light carrying enough force to stagger even a seasoned warrior like Rauri.
Rauri stepped back, a grin spreading across his face despite the beads of sweat now forming on his brow. "You've leveled up, mate. That's new. And impressive."
Hamish nodded, lowering his blades and standing tall. "Aye," he said simply, his tone calm, threaded with pride. "Moira, in her wisdom, has named me her Paladin. Her Warrior of Light."
He glanced at me then, his expression resolute. "I'm here to defend her people against the darkness, Robert. That's my purpose now."
I met his gaze, feeling a swell of admiration for the man. Hamish had always been the stubborn defender, the shield that stood between danger and the people he cared about. But now, he was something more, something extraordinary.
Rauri, still catching his breath, clapped Hamish on the shoulder. "Paladin, eh? You've earned it, lad. But don't think I'm letting you win from now on."
I gathered the leaders of Clan MacEwan in the central pavilion of Doras Dhagda. A sense of purpose filled the air, a culmination of the growth and unity we'd built over the past days.
Laird Ewan, Sorcha, Lilia, and Rauri stood before me, their faces expectant, ready for the responsibilities I was about to place on their shoulders.
Clearing my throat, I began, "I've given this much thought. While I'm away, Doras Dhagda will need leadership. A council, strong, wise, and balanced, will oversee its growth, its safety, and its prosperity. You four are the heart of that council."
Ewan raised a brow, his arms crossed, though a flicker of pride touched his expression. Sorcha inclined her head, her sharp eyes glinting with understanding.
Lilia gave a soft, encouraging smile, her silent approval ever-present. Rauri, naturally, grinned with enthusiasm, clearly eager to accept the charge.
I continued, "Laird Ewan, you will serve as the head of this council. In times of conflict, your word will be final. Your wisdom and your bond with your people make you the natural choice."
Ewan nodded solemnly. "I'll not let you or the clan down, Robert MacCallum. This land has become our home. We'll see it flourish."
"Good," I replied, turning to Sorcha. "Sorcha, your insight and connection to the mystical will guide the council. You'll ensure that decisions remain aligned with the balance of the land and the will of the magic that flows through us all."
Sorcha smiled, her gaze steady. "I'll do as you ask, Robert, though I suspect you're handing me a mantle I already wear."
"True enough," I admitted with a chuckle. "Rauri," I said, shifting my focus, "your role is to act as the voice of the warriors. Organize the fighters, ensure their training continues, and lead them into DAVE's dungeons. But remember, caution is as important as courage. No treasure is worth a life."
Rauri slammed a fist to his chest, his grin widening. "Aye, Laird Robert! You'll have warriors forged in steel and fire by the time you return."
Finally, I turned to Lilia. My voice softened slightly as I addressed her. "Lilia, your gift for understanding people, your ability to inspire and encourage, will be vital. You'll be the voice of the people, those who aren't warriors or mages but are just as critical to our success. Make sure their needs are heard."
Her green eyes sparkled as she nodded, her hands clasped before her heart. Though silent, her resolve was clear in her expression.
With the council established, I stepped toward STEVE, his crystalline form hovering nearby, pulsing with mana. "STEVE, acknowledge Laird Ewan as your interim owner. For decisions that affect Doras Dhagda while I'm away, he'll have the authority to command you."
STEVE's glow flickered briefly, a sign of his internal processing. "Acknowledged, Master Robert. Laird Ewan will be recognized as the temporary holder of my functions within Doras Dhagda."
Ewan let out a soft whistle, clearly impressed. "Never thought I'd see the day a talking crystal took orders from me."
I smirked. "Don't let it go to your head."
Turning to the gathered leaders, I added, "DAVE remains under my command. Only Hamish, Snow, and I may fully control him. However, I'm authorizing DAVE to allow teams of four to explore the training dungeons. Each team must include at least one defender and one healer. The dungeon is not only about treasures, it's about knowing one's limits and learning to overcome them. Death is a real risk, so warn everyone not to press too deeply if the battles become overwhelming."
Sorcha frowned slightly. "DAVE will not spare those who overreach?"
"No," I said firmly. "DAVE won't cheat to kill them, but he won't hold back either. They must grow strong enough to protect themselves and Doras Dhagda. Strength comes from facing challenges, but wisdom comes from knowing when to turn back."
Ewan's expression grew serious as he listened. "And what of the treasures they find?"
"Twenty percent of all wealth found must be returned to STEVE," I replied. "It will go into Doras Dhagda's treasury, ensuring the clan's prosperity. Additionally, STEVE will be authorized to purchase unwanted magical items or accept donations in exchange for coins, based on their value and rarity. Skill crystals, in particular, will be highly valued."
The clan leaders nodded in agreement, understanding the importance of the arrangement. Ewan spoke up, "I'll organize the teams and ensure everyone understands the risks. We'll make it work, Robert."
Satisfied, I straightened and smiled. "Good. Then I'll leave Doras Dhagda in your hands."
With the council settled, I returned to my quarters to prepare for the journey west. Snow and Hamish were already gathering supplies, their eagerness evident. As I packed my things, I felt a sense of calm settle over me. Doras Dhagda was in good hands.