Morning sunlight broke across Brigadoon like a warm promise, casting golden beams over the cobbled roads and low, thatched roofs. The spring air was crisp, yet it carried the perfume of thawing earth and budding life. Villagers moved about with baskets in hand, some preparing for the midday market, others gathering to share gossip near the well.
But today, the usual rhythm of the village was about to be disrupted.
The distant sound of hooves thundered from the main road--the kind of sound that made old men squint toward the horizon and women pull their children closer. It wasn't just a lone rider or even a trade wagon. It was too uniform. Too precise.
A column.
Two dozen armored knights rode in formation, polished steel flashing with every rise and fall of their horses' pace. They moved with the efficiency of professional soldiers--no idle chatter, no glances to the side. In their midst, two figures stood out from the wall of steel.
The man was tall, broad-shouldered, and commanding. His armor was custom-forged, layered with gold filigree along the vambraces and chest. The crest of a soaring falcon, wings unfurled in mid-hunt, was etched into his breastplate. He rode as if born in the saddle, back straight, gaze forward.
Beside him, the woman sat with even greater poise. Her cloak was the color of midnight, trimmed in silver thread that danced in the wind. Her raven-black hair was tied back in a military braid, and her expression--icy calm, unreadable--seemed to radiate an air of measured danger.
The village guard didn't even try to stop them.
Nana, already halfway down the hill toward the square, adjusted the satchel over her shoulder and made her way toward the incoming group. The market chatter stilled as people stepped aside, parting the road like a stream making way for a boulder.
The knights came to a smooth halt at the edge of the square, their horses snorting softly in the chill air. The man dismounted first, landing with the weight and grace of a trained warrior. The woman followed, stepping down in a motion so fluid it barely stirred her cloak.
Nana stepped forward, calm and curious, her old eyes sharp behind her spectacles.
"Greetings, travelers," she said warmly, though her voice carried the quiet strength of someone who commanded respect even from strangers. "Please wait one moment. Your children are safe. One of my apprentices is on her way and will escort you to them."
She studied the two adults more closely now, her mind putting together the pieces.
"If I may," Nana asked, "what are your names?"
The woman nodded once. "This is my husband, Orion Ernas. And I am Jirni Ernas."
A flicker of recognition crossed Nana's face.
"By the light..." she breathed, placing a hand over her heart. "The House Ernas?"
Jirni merely raised an eyebrow. "You've heard of us?"
"Of course I have. One of the oldest bloodlines in the Griffon Kingdom. Your house carries both name and power."
The knights remained still, eyes scanning the village silently, hands near weapons though not threatening. The tension was palpable--some villagers had retreated indoors, others hid behind barrels or watched from their windows, too curious to look away.
Then--like a sudden shift in the wind--a second rhythm of hooves echoed behind them, this one softer, more elegant.
A silver horse crested the nearby hill, galloping toward the village with unburdened grace. Upon its back sat a child no older than six.
She rode without fear, her spine straight, chin lifted. Her black hair flowed behind her like a banner, and her cloak shimmered faintly with embroidered constellations. Most striking of all were her eyes--bright, focused, and filled with a calm far beyond her years.
Laila.
Nana turned to face the horse with a proud smile. "There she is now."
The silver mare slowed as it entered the square, approaching the armored entourage without hesitation. The horse came to a precise stop just a few feet from the knights. Laila dismounted smoothly, landing lightly despite her small frame.
Orion Ernas stared.
The child moved with control, awareness, and training. His gaze flicked to her sword--too small to be a weapon, more a ceremonial blade--but his instincts told him otherwise. The girl carried herself like a young knight.
Jirni's lips parted slightly, just for a breath. "She's... no older than six."
Nana took a step forward, beaming now. "Lord and Lady Ernas, may I present Laila. One of my brightest pupils."
Jirni narrowed her eyes. "Her aura... I felt it before she even crested the hill. It's condensed, sharp. That's not just mana control--she's awakened. You trained her?"
"She trained herself more than I ever could," Nana replied. "With a bit of guidance, of course."
Orion stepped closer, his voice calm but filled with awe. "She's a Light Master."
There was a pause. The weight of the title lingered in the air like incense.
Laila gave a respectful bow, arms crossed over her chest. "Greetings, Lord and Lady Ernas. Welcome to Brigadoon."
Jirni crouched slightly to meet the child's eye level. "Who taught you light magic?"
"No one," Laila replied honestly. "I read. I studied. Nana gave me access to her library."
Orion exchanged a look with his wife, then spoke. "Do you know what this means? To be a Light Master at your age?"
Laila nodded. "That I'm not supposed to exist yet."
A pause. Then a smile broke across Orion's face. Jirni's expression didn't change, but her eyes softened ever so slightly.
The noblewoman straightened, turning to Nana. "Where is the other child? Her twin. The boy."
Nana's gaze turned toward the woods. "Lucian is currently with Selia, the hunter. Training. He should be returning before sundown."
Jirni's gaze followed her line of sight, her senses reaching for any flicker of mana--but it was quiet.
"I'll wait," she said.
"And may I ask," Nana added carefully, "what brings you here? To our little village?"
Jirni folded her hands behind her back. "We came to retrieve what was once lost."