Silent Angel

March 29, 2025.

Location: Gates of the Settlement.

Robert narrowed his eyes, squinting to get a better look at the caravan making its way toward the settlement. The late afternoon sun caught on polished wood and the shining horns of shaggy Highland cattle pulling the wagons. The people walking alongside wore traditional tartans, deep greens and blues swirling in bold patterns. Their energy was jovial, even from a distance, with a mixture of color and song drifting on the breeze. Something told him these weren't just passersby.

Hamish appeared at Robert's side, resting his broadsword casually on his shoulder. "A clan caravan," he observed, his gruff voice carrying a mix of surprise and nostalgia. "Didn't think I'd see one of those this far south."

Snow tilted her head, her eyes bright with curiosity and a hint of caution. "Who are they?" she asked.

Hamish shrugged. "Could be any clan, lass. But folks like this don't travel for nothing. They've got a purpose, always."

Robert stayed quiet, watching as the caravan slowed its approach. It stopped just short of the gate.

A tall, broad-shouldered man with a fiery red beard stepped forward, his tartan arranged with precision that marked him as someone important. Behind him stood a younger man, perhaps his son or brother, just as imposing. His sharp green eyes swept over them, missing nothing, his stance radiating natural confidence from battles fought and survived.

The red-bearded man cupped his hands around his mouth. "Ho there, strangers! I am Laird Ewan MacEwan of Clan MacEwan! Who might ye be?" he called, his voice booming across the field.

Moira gasped softly in Robert's mind, "Robert, be welcoming to them. I recognize that clan name. You must befriend them!"

Robert nodded slightly to himself, acknowledging Moira's desires, but appearing thoughtful to everyone else. He raised a hand in greeting, keeping his tone calm and welcoming. "Robert MacCallum. This is Hamish, and that's Snow. Along with a handful of visitors from nearby Kilraine."

Ewan strode closer, his every step exuding authority. His green eyes sparkled with amusement as he took them in, lingering on Robert. "Robert MacCallum, eh? A strong name. Tell me, lad, what keeps ye here? What's yer purpose in these lands?"

Robert folded his arms across his chest, a small smile forming. "We're digging," he said simply. "Building a refuge of magic, a sanctuary of sorts."

Ewan's thick brows shot up, and a grin spread across his face. "A sanctuary, ye say? 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. To be perfectly honest with you, We saw that extra sunset you made, and had to come see it."

Hamish snorted beside Robert, suppressing a laugh. "That's rare praise from a laird," he murmured under his breath.

Ewan clapped Robert on the shoulder, hard enough to make him stumble. "Rare, aye," he said. "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 something about you..."

Robert managed to keep his footing, though his shoulder stung. "Well, thanks, I guess." 

Moira also said the same, "There's something about THEM, Robert. Invite them to stay when you get a chance."

The younger man behind Ewan stepped forward, his movements graceful and strong. "Ruari MacEwan," he said, his voice low and steady, giving Robert a respectful nod. "A pleasure."

Ruari's sharp gaze shifted to Hamish, who met it with equal intensity. Robert sensed a challenge sparking between them, like two bucks sizing each other up.

"Hamish," his companion said, smirking faintly. "The pleasure's all mine."

Snow 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."

Robert studied Ewan, noting a thoughtful shift beneath his boisterous demeanor. "You've traveled far," he said, his tone softening. "What brings you here?"

Ewan's grin faded slightly, replaced by 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."

Robert 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," he murmured, more to himself than anyone else.

Ewan nodded solemnly, then grinned again. "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?"

Robert hesitated, looking to Snow and Hamish. Snow nodded encouragingly.

Hamish shrugged. "They seem like good folk," he said simply.

"Alright," Robert 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."

The MacEwans began to set up camp, moving with practiced efficiency. Robert leaned against one of the archway's stones, watching their wagons circle and fires spark to life. The air carried the rhythm of branches swaying, blending with the distant notes of a bagpipe being tuned.

Snow stepped beside him, her hands folded in front of her. "They're different from what I expected," she said softly, scanning the bustling camp.

"Different how?" Robert 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."

Robert nodded, understanding her meaning. A young girl in a plaid shawl chased a stubborn sheep, her laughter ringing out. "That's not just survival," he said. "That's culture. It's who they are."

Laird Ewan approached, his presence commanding, accompanied by an elderly woman with a shrewd expression. Her silver hair gleamed in the fading light, her weathered face dignified. She carried herself with quiet authority.

"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, stiff curtsy.

Robert smiled and half-bowed back. "A pleasure, Lady Sorcha. Welcome to our settlement. We haven't named it just yet."

Sorcha smiled warmly. "Now you've got manners." She whacked Ewan's shin with her walking stick, making him yelp.

"Oi! Me mother or not, keep that stick to yourself, woman!"

She smacked him again. "Manners! Learn from Robert here. He's polite."

Sorcha's eyes turned to the archway, her expression somber. "This," she said simply.

"You know what it is?" Robert asked, straightening.

She stepped closer, her gnarled fingers tracing the arch's faint etchings, 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," Robert 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 sharply, her eyes narrowing. "And ye trust this Moira, do ye?"

"I've seen enough to believe in a lot of things," Robert said evenly. "This gateway could be important, not just for us, but for everyone."

A glowing blue portal swirled nearby, casting odd light on buildings under construction.

Ewan clapped Robert on the back again, boisterous. "Ambitious, lad. I like that too. But tell me, how do ye plan to restore somethin like this?"

"That's a work in progress," Robert 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. "I don't know who Moira is, lad. You keep saying her name like I should know."

"Oh, right," Robert said, realizing his oversight. "I can't wait to introduce you. I have a feeling you'll like her."

Moira's voice chimed in his 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, lost in thought. They followed her gaze to it, curious what she was thinking. However, she muttered almost unheard to herself, "When the sun sets twice in a single day, look to the Dagda's Garden. For there, you will find lost Albion..." 

Robert overheard this but only barely. He knew exactly what that meant, but he wondered if Sorcha did. The way she said it, it was like she was reciting an old saying or prophesy she new. 

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. "Come, MacCallum. Join us for supper. A good meal and a bit o whisky will do ye good," he said, turning to Robert with a grin.

Robert glanced at Snow and Hamish. Snow nodded encouragingly.

Hamish shrugged. "Why not, Chief? Could be fun."

"Alright," Robert said, pushing off the stone. "Lead the way."

The MacEwans' dinner was unlike anything Robert had experienced. Fires blazed against the dusk, their warm glow casting long shadows outside the dig site walls. The smell of roasting meat and herbs mingled with rhythmic bagpipe notes from the wagons.

Robert sat among them, a plate in hand, captivated by their infectious energy. Platters of oatcakes, stewed lamb, tatties, and haggis passed freely, with rich broth, sharp cheeses, and sweetened ale. The flavors drove his senses wild with hunger.

Younger clan members ran around with bannock bread, dodging stern looks from their mothers. Ewan roared with laughter across the fire, his bearded face lit with mirth. Ruari sat beside him, scanning the crowd while gnawing on roasted venison. Snow sat near Sorcha, fascinated by her tales of Albion's lingering forces. Hamish sparred verbally with young men, showing off his Highland charm.

Robert noticed a woman moving gracefully at the gathering's edge, her plate balanced in one hand as she weaved through the chaos with otherworldly ease. Unlike the boisterous MacEwans, she exuded serene calm, grounding the energy around her. Her raven-black curls gleamed like polished obsidian in the firelight, her green eyes taking in everything with quiet intensity.

She caught Robert staring. He braced for a sharp glare, noting how men averted their gazes when she noticed them, earning her playful reprimands. But she smiled, a soft, knowing smile that tightened his chest. She stood by the fire, its light dancing across her form, and twirled slowly, her eyes sparkling with mischief as Robert's jaw dropped.

She sank down near Ewan, kissing his cheek. He smiled with deep love, and Robert felt a pang, assuming she was Ewan's wife. She glanced at him, checking if he was still watching. He was.

Hamish's voice drawled beside Robert. "See something you like, MacCallum?" he said, smirking. "She's somethin, eh? Looks like that somethin belongs to Laird Ewan." He puffed out his chest theatrically. "Laird Ewan," he boomed, laughing at his impersonation and Robert's interest.

Robert coughed, trying to regain composure. "I wasn't, I mean, I—"

Hamish clapped his shoulder, laughing. "Relax, lad. It's good to see you lookin at somethin other than ancient rocks for once."

The woman approached, her bare feet silent on the grass. She offered Robert a plate of food with a graceful gesture, tilting her head to indicate it was for him.

"Thank you," Robert said, taking the plate. "That's very kind of you."

She smiled, her eyes crinkling, and raised a hand to her lips, gesturing, "It's nothing." She settled beside him, her presence quiet but magnetic. Robert noticed she hadn't spoken, her expressive eyes and fluid hand movements conveying everything.

"You don't talk much, do you?" Robert ventured, his tone light.

Her lips curved into a mischievous smile. She tapped her throat lightly, shaking her head, then gestured around the camp and to her ears, as if saying, "I prefer to listen."

"I suppose someone needs to with this lot," Robert said, chuckling.

She nodded, pressing a hand to her chest, then mimed writing in the air, offering her name. Robert hesitated, thinking of Ewan. "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 blankly, glancing at Ewan, then back at Robert. A smile spread across her face, and she laughed, a breathy, whispery sound, holding her stomach with tears of mirth. Robert lowered his gaze to the fire, a flush of embarrassment creeping up his neck.

Her hand tugged his gently. Robert looked up, and she mouthed, "Father," her eyes shining with amusement.

He blinked slowly. "Father? Really?" She nodded happily, and relief washed through him, warmth spreading in his chest.

She touched her chest again, tilting her head questioningly, urging Robert to guess her name.

"Uh, Lilia?" he tried, the name slipping out. His scanning ability flared, confirming: Lilia MacEwan. Human Female. Magical aptitude not yet available.

Robert saw her face light up in genuine shock. She gave a small, approving clap, then gazed at him suspiciously.

"Maybe I dreamed of you," Robert said with a wink, playing coy. She laughed helplessly at his corny line, her breathy laugh a delight.

"It is Lilia," he said, smiling. "It's a beautiful name."

She tilted her head, her green eyes sparkling, as if saying, "And you?"

"Oh, uh, Robert MacCallum," he replied, offering his hand. She took it, her grip warm, then mimed tipping an invisible hat, acknowledging him with a silent laugh.

The MacEwans began to dance, twirling wildly to the bagpipes. Lilia's foot tapped lightly, but she stayed beside Robert, her presence a quiet comfort.

"Do you dance?" Robert asked, curious.

She raised an eyebrow, her hands gesturing, "Do you?"

"Not well," Robert admitted. "And not without a lot of ale beforehand."

Her silent laugh was infectious, and Robert felt a strange lightness in her presence, a joy he hadn't felt in a long time.

A large, muscular man stood in a wagon's shadow, unnoticed, a silver harp against his shoulder. Firelight seemed to avoid him, his low harp notes weaving into the air with flickering motes of light. A golden energy bubble popped near him, bursting and reappearing, a subtle magical display. Snow didn't notice him, but Robert felt a pull, a whisper of power.

The festivities continued, bagpipes singing tales of resilience. Lilia's quiet presence eased Robert's mind.

He leaned back, the laughter and music blending into a comforting rhythm. Lilia settled closer, her eyes scanning the firelight with feline grace. Her fingers brushed Robert's as she signed to clan friends, leaning slightly against him.

Robert glanced at her, catching her in perfect stillness. Her raven curls shimmered, framing her angelic face. She caught him staring, tilting her head with mischievous amusement, as if saying, "Caught you." He chuckled softly, shaking his head, feeling at peace.

His gaze wandered to the fire, flames dancing hypnotically. A warmth spread through his chest, like when Elemental Synergy leveled up. The fire flared, motes of golden light swirling into a vision.

In the flames, Robert saw the dig site transformed. The MacEwans had turned stark walls into a vibrant settlement. Bright banners and hand-painted symbols adorned buildings, crafts bringing warmth. The marketplace bustled, the Grove glowing as children played. It was a home.

Sorcha stood at the Grove's edge, channeling shimmering energy, her face serene yet powerful. Lilia worked with Snow in the market, her silent grace uniting people, a subtle magical shimmer in her actions. Ruari sparred with Hamish, their rivalry fierce but friendly, laughter ringing out.

The vision swelled, filling Robert with hope and belonging. The settlement wasn't just a sanctuary but a community. The fire's warmth pulsed, a golden bubble popping near the flames, reinforcing the scene before fading.

The vision vanished, leaving Robert blinking at the fire. His breath caught as he tried to hold the image. Lilia watched him intently, gesturing toward the fire and her eyes, asking what he saw.

Robert exhaled, giving her a thoughtful smile. The fire-watching vision, tied to his magic, felt deliberate, though he didn't grasp its source. These people could restore the settlement, and he needed them to stay.

He turned to Laird Ewan, seated nearby, laughing at Ruari's remark. "Laird Ewan!" Robert called, his voice carrying above the music.

Ewan looked his way, raising his cup. "Aye, lad?"

"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," Robert said.

Ewan's grin widened. "A tour, ye say? Aye, we'd be glad for it. We'll see what yer hands and heart have built here."

The clan murmured approval, excitement lighting their faces. Lilia's eyes lingered on Robert, her smile radiant, as if sensing his hope.

Robert settled back, his heart lighter. The MacEwans' laughter and music swirled around him as the fire crackled. 

Sorcha watched Robert, and glanced to the great glowing tree beyond the walls, apprehensive.