Doras Dagda

March 30, 2025.

Location: Robert's Settlement near Kilrain, Scotland.

Robert stood among the clansfolk as golden script blazed steady in the sky, spelling Doras Dhagda with fierce clarity, lighting their faces like soft firelight. A hush fell over them, even children frozen, their breath puffing in the cold air. Robert saw their wide eyes catch 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. Robert felt its truth sink heavy in his chest, their breaths mingling 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. Robert saw Sorcha nod, her young features glowing with wisdom.

A muscular man strummed a silvery harp nearby, exuding quiet authority and 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 Robert heard the clansfolk murmur, many bowing heads or clasping hands in prayer. Robert noticed Snow and Hamish stand tall, respectful in the night's bite. The fire's crackle joined the man's harp notes, weaving faith and magic.

Robert felt their eyes weigh on him, warm and heavy. Magic sparked in his palms, like a coal ready to catch. This moment wasn't his but theirs, tied to faith and awe. It felt bigger than magic alone. He recalled a winter when the clan nearly broke over a lost harvest, his father's voice knitting them back—now, this script promised the same.

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."

Robert saw clansfolk nod, 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."

Robert leaned forward, the chill forgotten. "So magic and faith aren't at odds?" he asked, throat tight.

Sorcha's piercing eyes met his, steady and kind. "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, Robert felt this clarity stir wonder in him.

The clan's murmurs grew as Sorcha stepped back. A dirt-smudged boy pointed at the sky, his voice small but bold. "Will it stay, Seer? Will the stars guide us home?"

Robert saw others nod, 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."

Robert saw pride shine 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. Robert felt it as a call carved into the night. This land was theirs to tend, fight for, honor with every callus. The clan stood bound, their purpose clear under the glowing script.

Ewan's heavy hand landed on Robert's 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. Robert knew he'd brought them home.

Robert met Ewan's eyes, breathing earth and smoke. "Would you take the spark, Ewan MacEwan?" he asked.

Robert felt heads turn, Sorcha, Rauri, and Lilia's gazes prickling his skin. This was their moment, not just his. He caught Snow's eye, her grin a nod to their shared spark years ago.

Ewan's brows knitted, curious. "You lead with wisdom," Robert said, hands twitching. "You should connect with Moira, maybe pass the spark to others."

He 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 Robert's knuckles, steadying him.

"What say you, Sorcha?" Ewan asked.

Sorcha stepped up, her youthful face alive with energy. "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. "It's tempting to see us all with Albion's power," he 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 Robert 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. Robert saw some clansfolk nod, others whisper, uncertain but trusting.

Robert nodded, respect warming his chest. "That's all I ask, Ewan," he said. "This isn't a gift to toss around."

He trusted their choice completely. The spark's weight sent a shiver up his 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."

Robert saw Sorcha nod, calm and sure. The clan's approval rippled, soft but firm.

Robert saw Lilia beam at her father, hands clasped tight. Even the children felt the moment, still and quiet. The air thickened with purpose. The man's harp faded, leaving only the fire's crackle.

"Moira," Robert called softly, his palms buzzing. Her voice echoed in his head, warm and teasing. The Good God was smiling today, she said, calling it a fine pick.

Robert stepped up, holding out his hands. An orb blazed between his palms, alive with golden light like a tiny sun. "This is yours, Ewan MacEwan," he said. "For you and your people."

A tingling warmth surged through him, binding them all.

Ewan stood tall, took a deep breath, and set his calloused hands over Robert's. The spark leaped, golden threads weaving into him, wrapping his broad frame. Silence fell, heavy and still.

Robert saw Ewan stay 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 clansfolk gasped, others cheered softly, hope alight. The clan roared, cheers shaking the ground.

Ewan raised a hand, quieting them sharply. "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. Robert saw the fire flare, mirroring their spirit.

Robert stepped back, their joy washing over him. Lilia moved forward, her green eyes locking on his, sharp and warm. His heart stumbled, face burning, a raw ache tightening his throat. He couldn't mess this up. She was everything.

He smiled, nerves buzzing, but she didn't speak. Robert felt her take his hands, her fingers warm against his cold skin. She pulled them to her chest, pressing them over her heart. Her magic hummed in his chest, grounding yet wild. Her presence felt uniquely hers, a quiet force.

Robert sensed her heart beat softly under his palms, steady as a drum. The air felt thick, charged with something unspoken. Her trust hit him hard, a truth he couldn't dodge. He couldn't look away, caught in her glow.

Warmth spread from her hands into Robert's 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. Robert saw her gaze hold a playful smirk, steady and knowing.

Her soul seemed to whisper he was stronger than he knew, that he'd be more. It sank into his gut, sure and real. The walls he'd built with solitude, duty, and fear crumbled under her eyes. He wanted this feeling, her clarity, always.

Her hands glowed faintly, then dimmed, but the warmth stayed. Robert heard her voice in his mind, soft but clear, saying her name, Lilia. His throat tightened, raw and human. She tilted her head, her face softening, gentle but deep.

She didn't need words. Robert saw her face say it all, every line a story he knew by heart. He felt her through the magic, close as a heartbeat. The clan's cheers faded, distant as a dream. Her quiet strength wove a hope he hadn't known he needed.

Lilia's fingers tightened around his, her touch a silent promise. Robert felt her lean closer, her breath warm against his cheek, a flirtatious glint in her eyes. "Come with me," she whispered in his mind with her new magic, her internal voice low and sultry, meant just for him. A stray curl brushed her cheek, her gaze pulling him in.

Robert followed, heart racing, as she led him from the gathering, her steps light and sure. The clan's cheers faded, the night air cool on his skin. He saw her glance back, a sultry smile sparkling with mischief. The fire's glow dimmed behind them, leaving only starlight.

Lillia and I reached his room, the door creaking as she pushed it open. She turned, her gaze intense, drawing me closer. The door closed behind us with a click...

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 Dagda's always alive with something new!

Load the next crystal, and you'll see.

And Lilia, if you are listening to this, you are my beating heart, and the fire of my soul. I will always come back to the loving arms and passionate heart I found that night.

In the present, Mistress Lilia stepped back from the crystal. Her cheeks soaked from freely spilled tears. She wasn't sad about this memory, not in the slightest. It was that he thought of her and left her a personal note in commentary touched her. "I will always come back," Robert had said. He had better keep that promise.