In the revered halls of Arcane and Sorcery Studies at Doras Dagda, a legacy of magic unfolded, timeless and alive. The university stood as a beacon of knowledge, its walls humming with centuries of learning. Lillia faced her eager students, her eyes twinkling with wisdom carved from countless trials and triumphs. Her lustrous black hair, barely touched by gray she would never confess, framed a face kept youthful by Moira's ancient blessings. With a gentle smile, she began to weave the tale of Robert MacCallum, the founder whose heart shaped their world. A soft breeze swirled around her, carrying whispers of magic that spun words in the air, a voice of wind and light apart from her silent lips.
"These are not mere stories," the voice declared, rich with memory's warmth.
"They echo from when magic was awoken anew," it continued. "I walked those days, and Robert's words live as brightly now."
Lillia closed the worn leather journal with care, her fingers lingering on its cover as if it held the past's pulse. The children, gathered in the cozy library, leaned forward, their eyes wide with wonder, captivated by the history unfolding before them. Their young minds surged with inspiration, stirred by tales of Robert and his Clan MacEwan companions from Doras Dagda's rugged dawn. Lillia saw their potential, sparks of magic waiting to bloom like stars at twilight.
Her gift summoned vivid scenes from Robert's journal, projecting them in radiant color across a broad kitchen table. Voices rang true, grand events unfolded, and every detail shone as it had decades ago, rivaling any Mundane world's finest tales. A narrator's voice guided the children, drawing their gaze to each moment of courage and discovery, a living tapestry of their heritage.
"What happened next?" a child burst out, their excitement a spark in the air.
"Please, tell us more!" another urged, their voice brimming with eager joy.
Lillia's smile warmed the room as she patted a child's head, her touch a steady anchor for their boundless curiosity. A soft gust of wind carried her thoughts, the magical voice shimmering like silver.
"Perhaps tomorrow, little ones," it said. "I'm weary now and need my rest."
Her presence brushed their minds, a soothing whisper calming their protests. Their voices rose, yet she raised a finger, her authority gentle but firm. The breeze swirled again, forming words that danced like leaves in the light.
"Think on what you've heard," it urged. "Robert's journals and memory jewels make my magic sing."
The children nodded, their chorus of agreement bright and eager, hair rustled by the playful breeze. Lillia's gaze swept over them, a challenge gleaming in her eyes as the voice continued, carried by the wind's encouraging touch.
"Imagine Doras Dagda in its early days," it said. "A small settlement rose within new walls, kobrutes patrolling the wilds against roaming monsters."
"Draft an essay," it declared. "What would you do to help the realm grow stronger? No cheating with MOIRA or AI, for my spells will know."
A few restless boys sighed, but the group buzzed with excitement, their minds racing with ideas to reshape history. Class dismissed, and the weekend swept in like a fresh breeze. Lillia reached into her dimensional pocket, tapped her Homing Stone, and vanished in a flicker of light. She reappeared in her quiet home, sinking into an enchanted chair that cradled her warmly after a long day's teaching.
With her family still away, solitude wrapped her gently, inviting reflection. Memories of Robert's early days flooded back, sharp as crystal, pulling her into a half-dream. She half-closed her eyes, sensing a whisper of the past calling her to walk beside him once more.
Robert's Memory Crystal
A restless breeze carried whispers of possibility through Doras Dagda's central plaza, tugging at my cloak as I stood before the broken Arch. Its towering stones, weathered by time, bore fractured runes that pulsed like fading embers, their faint glow hinting at untamed power. The air thrummed with a low pulse, as if the Arch yearned to reclaim its ancient glory. Moira's voice chimed in my mind, resonant and heavy, cutting through the quiet like a blade. Around me, Hamish, Snow, Lillia, Sorcha, Rauri, and Ewan MacEwan formed a loose circle, their faces shifting from curiosity to grim resolve as the Arch's shadow fell over us.
"The Warlock's path scars Albion," Moira said, her voice thick with sorrow. "His corruption spreads like rot, claiming villages and twisting their people into unwilling thralls."
A weight settled in my heart, her grief echoing in the silence. The Arch loomed behind her, its cracked stones a testament to the stakes we faced.
"He lingers through forbidden means," she continued. "His power grows with every conquest, and my strength alone cannot hold him back."
Lillia stepped forward, her eyes flashing with quiet fire, a resolve that lifted my spirit. "You're not alone," she vowed. "Albion needs us all." Moira's nod carried trust, her gaze hardening with purpose.
"You must reclaim the sanctums," she urged. "Their power will strengthen Doras Dagda, rally allies, and push back the Warlock's shadow."
She turned to the Arch, her eyes softening as if greeting an old friend. "This is your key," she said. "Restore it, and it will carry you across Albion, to realms of wonder and peril." Her tone sharpened, a warning I felt in my bones. "Every stone you place draws his gaze. Are you ready?"
Determination surged within me as I met her eyes, my doubts falling away for duty's call. "We'll face him," I said, my voice firm. "Sanctums, Arch, Warlock, we'll do what's needed." Snow shifted beside me, her blue eyes wide with questions, while Hamish leaned back, his armor clinking softly, his gruff presence a steady anchor.
Moira's voice tingled in my thoughts, alive with ancient secrets. "This Arch once linked Albion to worlds beyond dreams," she said. "It's a keystone of connection, not just a gate." I reached out, fingers brushing a rune's edge, its faint blue glow warming my skin like a living spark. Awe and resolve surged within me.
"It's magnificent," I murmured. "What could break something this strong?"
"Time, betrayal, the Warlock's ambition," Moira replied, her wistful tone heavy with loss. "He severed Albion from Earth, shattering the Arch to choke the Blacklands' myths."
My purpose sharpened, a leader's clarity taking hold. "Good," I said, defiance steadying my voice. "Let him notice us."
Snow stepped closer, her vivid eyes tracing the Arch's jagged scars, curiosity burning bright. "It's big," she said, her hushed voice carrying reverence, as if the stones held sacred tales. Hamish snorted, scratching his beard, his dry humor easing the tension.
"Big and broken," he grunted. "Gonna take more than wishes to fix it, Chief."
I chuckled, the sound lightening the weight on my shoulders, though the task loomed vast. "I've got three rune stones," I said, patting my pack where they rested, won from a kobold dungeon and Langston's surrender. "They're keys to places of power, but dozens more are scattered." Snow's hands glowed faintly with frost as she touched a stone, her magic shimmering in the air.
"It's alive," she said, her voice trembling with wonder. "I can feel its heart."
Her words kindled my focus, a spark of purpose growing clear. "We'll wake it," I vowed, my gaze sweeping the Arch's broken form. "Every stone brings us closer." Moira's voice nudged my mind, gentle but firm, guiding me like she had through countless trials.
"Place your stones," she said. "Let their power speak."
I drew the three rune stones, their carvings gleaming with anticipation, as if they sensed their home. One by one, I fitted them into the Arch, my hands steady despite the moment's weight. As the third clicked into place, a ripple of energy surged through the stones, a low hum vibrating my bones like an ancient song stirring. The runes flared briefly, casting eerie shadows across the plaza, then dimmed, their power spent too soon.
Snow gasped, her eyes bright with discovery. "It's trying to show us something," she said, her voice alive with the thrill of a puzzle. Moira's warning cut through, sharp and urgent.
"Not yet," she said. "The Warlock's sabotage runs deep, so stones and blocks must align."
I stepped back, my mind racing as I studied the scattered stones. "So we rebuild it all," I said, the truth settling like a mantle. "Runes, blocks, everything." Moira's steady tone anchored me, her wisdom a beacon in the challenge ahead.
"Exactly," she said. "Seek stones from lands of myth, realms twisted by his touch."
Snow's brow furrowed, her curiosity sharp. "Like Heaven or Olympus?" she asked, her voice tingling with possibility. I nodded, the stakes growing clearer.
"And their shadows," I said. "Underworlds, forgotten places, anywhere his corruption festers."
Hamish whistled, his grin wry but unshaken. "Big job, Chief," he said, his tone light but loyal. "Hope you're not dragging me through Hades." His quip pulled a smile from me, grounding the moment as always.
"We're together," I said, my voice firm with purpose. "One stone at a time, we'll make this right." Moira's voice softened, a thread of hope weaving through her words.
"Your first steps unfold," she said. "Each sanctum strengthens Doras Dagda, each core you claim weakens the Blacklands."
I turned to my crew. As I looked at them, my emotions turned from distraction to resolve. They deserve a leader. "Let's start with what we know," I said. "Moira, show me how to track the sanctums. We've got to send teams to them."