Telegram

I stepped out from STEVE's chamber, the Improved Handwriting crystal buzzing in my pocket. Hamish was waiting, leaning against a post with that smug grin. "Still mooning over Lillia, eh?" he teased. I smirked, pulling out the crystal with exaggerated pride. "Got something for you, mate. A real game-changer." He grabbed it, his face lighting up briefly with excitement. Then, as the skill sank in, his expression fell. "Handwriting? Are you serious?" he groaned, mock offense dripping from his voice. "Where's my combat skill?" I snickered. "You know what they say about pens and swords!" The bright streets of Doras Dagda welcomed us, busy with life. Merchants shouted over their stalls, their tables piled with rough wool cloaks and iron tools, while the sharp clang of a blacksmith's hammer rang out nearby. The air carried the warm scent of fresh bread, undercut by a metallic tang from the enchanted walls, their surface shimmering with a faint blue glow.

People nodded as I passed, their faces weathered but warm with respect. A burly clansman clapped my shoulder, muttering a gruff thanks for the settlement's safety, while a woman with flour-dusted hands offered a quick smile. I returned the gestures with a nod, my chest tight with quiet pride. This place was growing, and I was part of it.

A small voice cut through the noise. "Magister Robert! Wait up!" I turned to see Toby sprinting toward me, the boy's freckled face split with a grin. His mop of brown hair bounced wildly, and his bright blue eyes sparkled with excitement. The colorful kilt he wore, stitched with bold patterns, flapped as he skidded to a stop, clutching something in his hands.

"Toby!" I said, my tone warm but practical. I'd seen the kid around, always running through the streets with his friends, safe behind the walls. Toby's sun-tanned skin and endless energy reminded me of the settlement's future, the kind of life we were building here.

Toby thrust his hands forward, revealing a wooden carving of a man with a staff in one hand and a sword in the other. The figure was rough, the paint uneven, bright red for the cloak, a smudged yellow for the sword, but the effort behind it was clear. "I made this for you!" Toby said, his voice loud with pride. "Thank you for making Doras Dagda a place where me and my family can live. It's the best home ever!"

I knelt, taking the carving with care. The wood felt smooth under my fingers, the paint slightly tacky where it hadn't fully dried. It was a simple thing, and it hit hard. I glanced at Toby, his face gazing at the toy and at me, hoping for a positive reaction. My heart went out to the boy. Such a good heart, such a kind gesture. This kid believed in me, in this place we were building. I'd keep the city, this toy, and Toby safe for as long as I could. "I love it, lad. It's extremely cool."

Toby's cheeks flushed, his grin widening. "When I grow up, I'm gonna be just like you! I'll be a beam wizard and blast the bad guys. I'll fight with a sword like Hamish, and freeze them like Snow!"

I chuckled, ruffling the boy's hair. "That's a big plan, kid. But if anyone can pull it off, it's you." Toby beamed, then darted off to join his friends, waving as he ran. I stood, turning the carving over in my hands. I decided to enchant it later, something small but unique, maybe a protective charm. For now, I opened my Dimensional Inventory Space with a thought. A small portal appeared, its edges flickering silver, and I placed the carving inside, where it settled next to a few other items I'd been carrying.

I continued toward the arch, its towering stones casting long shadows across the ground. The blocks were weathered, their surfaces pitted with age, but my left eye picked up the faint pulse of ancient magic within them, a deep green glow threading through the stone like veins. I counted the blocks in my head, over 100 in total, I figured. Nine runic tiles in my hand now, gathered by the Clan fighters, plus three already in place. That made 12 out of 100, about 10% complete for full activation. Not bad, but a long way to go.

As I approached, I saw the magical connections between the tiles and their blocks, faint lines of mana glowing in my vision. The tiles in my hand vibrated, eager to return to their slots. I placed the Water tile, its blue swirls flashing as it fused with the block. Eight more followed, Volcano, Mountain, Sky, Glacier, Tide, Life, Energy, and the cryptic Mystery with its purple-black glow heavy with secrets.

I stepped back, tracing the unseen mana trails with my left eye. The lines stretched into the distance, invisible to most but clear to me, pointing somewhere far off. "They're leading somewhere," I murmured, my mind already turning over possibilities. This arch wasn't just a structure. It was a gateway, a puzzle waiting to be solved. Wherever those trails led, it'd be a test, and probably a dangerous one.

A familiar voice broke my focus. "Oi, staring at those giant lego bricks again?" Hamish approached, his heavy boots crunching on the dirt, with Chaucer scurrying beside him, twirling the bone dagger I had made for him. Its form glinted with runes infused with air magic, giving them a blurry quality. "What's a lego?" Chaucer's squeaky voice chimed in.

Hamish chuckled, but I turned with a grin. "Hamish! Chaucer! Good to see you both." Hamish smiled, lifting his leg to show off the healed skin where a deep bite from a corrupted beast had been the day before. "That girlfriend of yours knows her stuff. Fixed this up like it was nothing."

I opened my mouth to reply, then paused. "Wait. Girlfriend? Who said that?"

Hamish smirked, clearly enjoying himself. "I did. Thought you were clever."

I frowned, my cheeks heating up. "She's not my girlfriend. Not officially, anyway." Chaucer laughed, his beady eyes glinting with mischief. "Well, you better get on that, if you know what I mean, afore someone else does! Might be I take my shot!"

Hamish laughed harder, knowing the kobold had no chance, but I felt a flicker of irritation, even if I had no right to. I turned back to the blocks, hiding my expression. "We need to get this arch put together. I think some of these base blocks might fit next."

Hamish and Chaucer exchanged a glance, shrugging, and let the moment pass. "That reminds me," Hamish said, his tone shifting. "Langston went into ol' Dave's Sanctum a couple hours ago. Haven't heard from him since. I asked DAVE, though, and he said, 'Langston is inside and well. He's a creative problem solver, though not a good sport when I outsmart him. Very colorful language. Called me a Bully Bastard!' I frowned briefly at DAVE's words. 'Keep an eye on him, DAVE. Let me know if he does anything unexpected. He's earning his prowess in there, but he's also earning our trust.'"

Hamish mimicked DAVE's flamboyant tone, earning a snicker from Chaucer. I smiled, picturing Langston's frustration. "He'll be fine. I hope he learns something useful. We're gonna need his expertise soon."

The three of us headed toward a small cafe set up nearby, its wooden tables scratched and uneven, the air around it thick with the scent of roasted meat. The young woman running the shop wasn't from Clan MacEwan, her simple dress more like the villagers from Kilrain a few miles away. "Hello there, miss…?" I said, pausing to let her fill in the blank.

She looked up from wiping a table, her round face lighting up. "Oh! Master Robert!" She bowed quickly, then took a deep breath. "I'm Sarah, granddaughter of the innkeeper in Kilrain. I hope it's okay I'm here! Snow came to see us while you were resting, and she said to me, 'Sarah, would you like to open a restaurant in Doras Dagda?' And I said, 'What's Doras Dagda?' And she was like, 'It was the digsite, and we're building it up! We've got a bunch of people now, and I think we need a place for people to eat, so the mothers and wives don't have to cook every meal.' And I was all, 'Oh yes! That's a great idea! I'll feed everyone!' So I started packing, but then my grandpa saw me and he was like, 'What are you doing?' And I knew he'd say no, but I told him I wasn't staying in that stuffy town anymore, and we argued, and he had the nerve to say…"

I stared, along with Hamish and Chaucer, as Sarah rambled on, her words spilling out like a river. After a minute, I raised a hand, cutting her off gently. "Sarah, I'm glad you're here. I assume Snow helped you get set up?"

Sarah nodded, her chubby cheeks bouncing with the motion. "She sure did! She's the best, we've been friends forever, oh my gosh, she said she'd talk to you about…" She started to launch into another speech, but I nodded politely, stopping her. "I'm sure she'll take care of you. Can you make us your specialty? I'd like to try your cooking."

Sarah bounced again, her energy infectious. "Coming right up! You're gonna love this!" She hurried off, her helpers trailing behind her. Hamish watched her go, a soft look in his eyes. "Oh. Wow."

Chaucer snickered, his fuzzy ears twitching. "She's a lot of human, alright. Like a big fluffy pillow."

Hamish scowled, his tone stern. "Don't talk about her pillows. I think she's brilliant."

I exchanged a look with Chaucer, then stared at Hamish. He glared back, defensive. "Shut up about Sarah. What's next, Chief?" His use of my title carried a sarcastic edge, a clear sign he'd taken a liking to the new chef.

We sat at a table, the wood sticky with old mead, and talked about our day, keeping the conversation light. Sarah returned with a massive platter, her voice bright with excitement. "Alright, everyone, dig in! First, we've got haggis, don't wrinkle your nose, Chaucer! It's my gran's recipe, spiced with herbs grown here. Then roasted venison with a honey and juniper glaze. Took me all morning to get it right."

Her helpers set down more dishes as she gestured. "Here's oatcakes, fresh from the griddle, with cinnamon honey butter. And the rolls, soft as clouds. Then slow-cooked lamb stew with carrots, turnips, and a hint of garlic. It'll keep even the kobrutes full. And last, my cranberry tarts, sweet with a bit of tart, like me!" She grinned, setting down mugs of mead with a clink.

Hamish, Chaucer, and I stared at the spread, the table groaning under the weight. "Sarah," I said, a dry edge to my tone, "this is a lot."

"I know, right?" Sarah beamed, bouncing again. "Enjoy! Let me know if you need more!" She bustled off, directing her helpers to refill mugs.

Hamish leaned back, eyeing the food. "Well, lads, I think we've found the heart of Doras Dagda. It's in her kitchen."

Chaucer speared some haggis, waving it on his fork. "And what the hell is this thing on my fork? It looks rather masculine… Ew." I laughed, watching Hamish turn red. Chaucer continued, "Ya, you can't fool me, Hambone. Someone's heart is in that kitchen, and I think it's yours. Sarah's got it in her skirt!"

I winked at him. "You don't want to know. You'll enjoy it more if you don't. Eat up."

We ate heartily, the food warm and filling, though my mind kept drifting to the arch. We paid Sarah well, doubling her price and giving extra coins to her young helpers. I thought to myself, rewarding hard work in kids is a good habit to build. Just as we stood to leave, a rider galloped into the settlement, the guards letting him pass. He ran toward us, breathless, clutching a message. "Magister? Magister?"

I stepped forward. "That's me. Catch your breath, son. What's wrong?"

Swallowing hard, the young courier extended a letter to me, without another word. It was a telegram. Surprised, I lifted an eyebrow in curiosity. "A telegram? People still send these?" However, upon reading it, I understood why.