That's SIR Graleth, now.

March 31, 2025.

Location: Doras Dagda, near Kilrain, Scotland.

Morning light slid through the wooden shutters of Robert's cottage, warming the blanket that tangled at his feet. He blinked slowly, half-lost in the scent of her hair still lingering on his pillow. Last night hadn't faded from his mind. It clung to him in little flashes of memory, from her smirk to the brush of her hand. The bed felt too big now. He rolled over and pressed his face into the cotton, smirking despite himself. "Get it together," he muttered. "She'll be back soon."

Robert sighed, hugging his pillow tightly, then grinned at himself. Just a pillow, Robert. Get it together. He rose and dressed in clan garb: blue and green checkered breeches, a silver tunic with black laces, and a leather belt with an oak-etched silver buckle. The colors carried his ancient clan's echo, a thread through time's weave.

In the main room, a breakfast spread stopped him cold. Fresh bread, honey-glazed fruits, and steaming tea filled the air with warmth. A note in Lilia's flowing script lay beside it. Robert's heart skipped as he read: My bold seeker, last night your fire lit the stars. Savor this meal, crafted for you. I've dashed to Kilrain for supplies, but my thoughts linger. Tiny hearts framed the words, her flirtation leaping off the page. He smirked, cheeks heating, and slipped the note into his pocket, a keepsake.

The bread's warmth and tea's earthy bite steadied him. Robert stepped outside, the morning air sharp with pine. Clansfolk hauled stones to a wall, runes glowing under their fingers as STEVE's voice barked orders. Robert heard their laughter ring, their hands steady with purpose.

A shout from the training ground drew his gaze. Teenage apprentices, newly gifted with magic that morning, fumbled spells under Snow's guidance. Calum, a lanky lad in a tartan sash, thrust his hands forward, his Flame Bolt flaring wild. It careened off course in a wild and unpredictable arc before crashing into the grass. Flames crackled, igniting a patch in thick white smoke. Robert chuckled as Fiona shouted, "Oi, Calum, ye'll torch the glen!" Her Gust spell belched pink smoke. "Your magic's weaker than my gran's, And she's buried back north!" Calum shot back, grinning.

System Alert: Spell Misfire - Flame Spark Overload.

Snow twirled her staff lightly, alerted by the system message. She cast a Frost Wave: Rank 5 quenching the fire in a shimmer of thick mist. "Focus, you lot," she said, her voice amused but authoritative.

Robert caught Snow's eye, smiling at her ease. She rolled her eyes, amused, as the teens' banter flared anew.

Children ran past, chasing a kobold-crafted wooden frog that hopped with enchanted springs. A kobold perched on a nearby crate, its mousy tail twitching in delight.

At the sparring grounds, Graleth waited beside a towering new creation. Its body was crystalline, its stance balanced and dangerous. The champion of the Stone-Skin Brutes looked pleased. A kobold sat atop its shoulders in a crimson saddle, a cheese wedge painted bold on its tabard. The mouse-man's legs dangled, a tiny knight on a giant. His beady eyes glinted, tail flicking as he gripped a steel-tipped lance. The saddle padded his seat, shielding the brute. Robert hid a laugh at the cheese emblem, its charm undeniable.

This Kobrute fused brute strength with kobold cunning. Graleth beckoned, his jagged grin wide. Robert approached, awe clear on his face. The brute's mind stayed simple, built for power, while the kobold brought strategy. Together, they were a force.

"Master Robert, meet our first Kobrute," Graleth rumbled, his voice deep as thunder. "Kobold and brute, paired for strength and cunning."

Robert studied them, words catching. "Graleth, this is remarkable." The brute's crystals shimmered, its steps fluid. The kobold tugged the reins, easing the brute into a combat stance.

Robert paused as soft harp notes curled from a nearby firepit. Clansfolk stilled, faces calm, the melody weaving faith and magic. Graleth's pride shone as he touched the brute's shoulder. "The brute brings raw power. This one is stronger and faster with a hide tough against strikes. Crystals boost its strength and heal small wounds in battle."

The kobold squeaked, waving his lance. "I'm the brains! I guide, aim, strike!" He slung a shortbow from his back, grinning. "I shoot from here, guard big guy from magic or sneaky foes. Spot threats early."

Robert nodded, struck by the kobold's role. "So you're lookout, strategist, ranged support?"

The kobold puffed his chest. "Aye, m'lord! Kobold sees, brute crushes!" He smirked. "They never expect me up here."

Robert grinned, arms crossed. "Clever. Very clever."

Graleth pointed to the brute. "It smashes barriers, uproots trees, swings boulders like pebbles. Crystal arms hit hard, and its hide stops most blades."

The kobold tugged the reins, and the brute stomped, shaking the earth with a shockwave. "Stomp breaks their lines!" the kobold mimed a smash. "Then brute goes bam!"

"And your tricks?" Robert asked the kobold.

He bared sharp teeth. "Poison arrows, fire arrows, sleep darts! I watch brute's blind spots. If things go bad, I hop off and fight close!"

Graleth nodded. "Brute's toughness and kobold's wit. Together, they're unmatched."

Robert touched the brute's hide, feeling flaws in its crystal, uneven mana flow. He focused, using Essence Refinement: Rank 7, and sensed the energy shift. The kobold peered down, eyes bright. "Wanna name us, m'lord? Kobrutes need names, aye?"

Robert smiled at his spunk. "What are your names now?"

"I'm Cheesebit!" he said, patting the cheese-painted saddle. "Brute's got no name."

"Cheesebit and," Robert paused, meeting the brute's steady gaze. "Goldstone. Cheesebit and Goldstone, first Kobrute unit."

Cheesebit squeaked, thumping his chest. "A fine name, m'lord!"

Graleth's nod was firm. "They'll lead future units. This design is strong. We can replicate it."

Robert held back his Sovereign Namer skill for the Kobrute. Its unity was solid, and his power suited armies, enhancing cohesion. Graleth, though, deserved more. As brute leader, he needed Robert's magic's full weight to grow and anchor Doras Dagda.

Robert faced Graleth, a spark rising. "Graleth, you've stood firm, led with strength, guarded this sanctum with honor. You deserve a title to match."

Graleth tilted his head, golden eyes narrow. "Title? What's that, Master Robert?"

Robert grinned, hand on his massive arm. "You're more than Graleth. I name you Sir Graleth, Knight of the Sanctum. You'll lead your kin with purpose, not just strength."

His words unleashed Sovereign Namer: Rank 3, magic surging through them. Robert saw Graleth's form stiffen, crystals blazing with light. Brutes nearby murmured as the glow smoothed his edges, sharpening mana flow. Crystal formations sprouted from his shoulders, gleaming like gems. His eyes burned, a crystalline sword appeared, its edge alive with magic. A stone-and-crystal mantle formed across his chest, marking him a warrior king.

Robert watched Sir Graleth flex his hands, testing new dexterity. "Master Robert, I feel stronger. A power I don't know," he said.

Robert chuckled, arms crossed. "You're a knight now, Graleth. You lead, protect, heal your kin. That sword shows your rank."

Graleth lifted the blade, light dancing on its surface. "I can shape stone, mend crystal, heal my kin."

"Exactly," Robert said. "You're a leader, protector, builder. What your kin need."

Sir Graleth knelt, his frame lowering with grace. "I swear to serve you, Master Robert, and the sanctum, with all my strength."

He rose, steady as a hill. In the distance, Hamish's voice carried from a market stall, his broadsword leaning casually against a nearby crate, as he haggled over iron tools with a jest that sparked laughs.

The power of naming thrilled Robert. Its pull was strong. He could shape kobolds into warriors, brutes into knights. Yet naming Graleth drained him, his legs shaky. Naming shards like STEVE or DAVE might break him, their vast minds too great.

Doras Dagda's growth weighed on Robert. A governor was needed for his absences, as a hunt called. He sought rare powers, lost runes, allies to strengthen their roots. The sanctums were a calling to him.

"Moira?" Robert called, his voice soft. "You've been quiet."

Her reply warmed his mind, calm but tired. "You've given me as much work as I've given you, Vessel. My focus splits among new mages with the spark. Their questions, their thanks, need me, for you."

Her voice held loss, a faint ache. "These clansfolk descend from those I guarded in Albion. Their honor, their heart, echo a lost home. Their survival ties to yours. I must guard both."

Robert nodded, feeling her burden. "I'm not jealous, Moira. Tend to what you must. But is there a mission for the sanctum, for Doras Dagda? I itch to hunt, test our skills, find something rare."

She paused, then spoke, thoughtful. "You're ready to move. An echo stirs west, in the wilds. A forgotten shrine, its magic troubled. I can guide you, if you wish."

Robert's mind raced with eagerness. "A shrine? Lost magic? That's our path. Let's prepare."

Moira's smile shone in his mind, approving. "Prepare, Vessel. This may be more than it seems."

No more urging was needed. Whatever lay beyond Doras Dagda's walls, Robert would meet it head-on. It was time to hunt.