Moira's voice carried a quiet strength, humming through the crisp morning air. Robert stood under the broken Arch, its cracked stones poking up like jagged old teeth. The plaza around it was hushed, with only the wind whispering through Doras Dagda's growing streets. "You've felt it before, right?" she asked. Her words bounced around in his head, close like a whisper but big like the sky.

  Robert nodded, his breath puffing out in the cool dawn. "Yeah, but it's slippery. Like trying to catch a shout in a storm."

  "You're not looking at it right," Moira said, firm but kind. She pointed at the Arch, her hand sweeping over its busted-up shape. "Every stone that got torn out left a trail. A thread of magic ties it back to where it belongs. Strong threads mean the stone's close. Faint ones mean it's far off."

  Robert squinted, following her gesture to the crumbling Arch. The sunrise glinted off its edges, throwing long shadows that flickered over the cobblestones like restless ghosts. "How do I spot them?" he asked, his voice perking up with curiosity.

  "First," Moira said, her tone lifting like she was tossing him a challenge, "grab that marble you made in your Aetheric Weaving."

  He paused for a second, then dug into his satchel. His fingers brushed the soft velvet pouch inside, warm like it was alive. He pulled it out and unwrapped the marble carefully. It sat in his palm, glowing with the four elements—earth, air, fire, water—and a little thread of light, connecting them. It shimmered, almost like it was breathing.

  Moira's voice cut sharp in his mind. "Hold it steady," she said. Before he could blink, a rush of her magic hit him hard, like a shock buzzing from his chest to his fingertips. The marble jumped from his hand, guided by her power, and smacked right into his left eye.

  He yelled, staggering back and grabbing his face. "What the hell, Moira?!" His voice was thick with panic. His left eye burned hot, darkness swallowing his sight. He clutched it, stumbling against the Arch's base, boots scraping stone.

  Snow and Hamish, not far away, rushed over. Their faces matching his shock. Snow's hands glowed with frost, icy mist swirling around her fingers like she was ready to throw down. "What's going on?" she snapped, her voice tight.

  Hamish slid to a stop beside her, his big frame coiled. "Moira, what'd you do?" he growled, hand twitching toward his axe.

  "Quit freaking out," Moira shot back, her voice slicing through the mess. "Robert, focus. There's no pain, is there?"

  He stopped, hands still on his face, breathing hard. He blinked, testing it. The heat faded into a weird, tingling coolness. The panic slipped away. "No… no pain," he mumbled, puzzled. "But I can't see out of it."

  Moira's presence softened in his head, calm rippling under her strength. "That will improve. I wove the marble into you. Your left eye's adjusting to it, but it needs a minute. Trust me, Robert."

  He took a shaky breath, dropping his hands. The cool beat in his eye felt steady, like a second pulse. Snow's worry turned to wonder. "You okay?" she asked, stepping closer. "That was nuts! I thought she'd blinded you."

  "I think I'm good," Robert said, blinking again. His left eye stayed dark, but the rhythm inside it grew stronger, like a quiet promise.

  "Now, focus," Moira said, her voice settling into a groove that calmed him. "Quiet your mind. The marble's power will kick in as you connect. Don't force it. Let it happen."

  Robert shut both eyes, letting Doras Dagda's sounds fade. The clatter of a cart, the murmur of folks waking up startin the day. He breathed deep, steadying himself. The marble didn't feel strange anymore; it was part of him. He opened his eyes slow, and everything changed.

  Through his left eye, glowing threads floated everywhere, like thin ropes of light stitching the world together. The Arch's stones shimmered, their energy rippling soft and alive. He turned to Snow and Hamish and sucked in a breath. Magic flowed through them like rivers. Snow's magic was a bright blue, like ice under moonlight, Hamish's a warm amber, like a forge's glow.

  "This is… unreal," Robert whispered, his voice shaky with awe. He closed his left eye, and it all went normal again. Stone, sky, people... all as they were just moments ago. Opening it again brought back the glowing streams, like a secret world popping wide open.

  Moira's voice warmed up, pleased. "You're seeing the world's real heart now. That eye's yours to grow with. For now, it shows magic's flow. Magic flows through people, stuff, the land.. Everything. The more you can see, and do, with that new eye will increase, as you grow stronger and more connected to magic."

  "Why didnt you warn me first?" Robert asked, rubbing his temple, a little annoyed.

  "Surprises stick better," Moira said, unbothered by his trouble. "Now, look at the Arch. Follow the threads. Find the runes."

  "You're getting pushy, Moira," Robert mildly complained, crossing his arms.

  Her voice went soft, almost sorry. "I'm sorry, Robert. I push because the Warlock's shadow is growing fast. His power is spreading over Albion and creeping into Earth. I feel him moving, his rot eating at both places. Time is running short, and I can't guard you or your world solo."

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  Lillia walked up, her steps light on the cobblestones, and peeked at his left eye. Her face lit with curiosity, lips pursed like she was scolding it for the rough treatment. She started to turn away, but a shimmer stopped her. A swirl of colors in his eye, like a tiny galaxy spinning in there. She stared, her breath catching.

  Robert shifted, feeling self conscious. "What? Is it gross?" he asked, glancing at her.

  Lillia didn't answer, just waved Snow over. Snow hooked her arm through Lillia's, and they studied his eye together. The colors danced. A swirling dance of violet, gold, emerald—like a storm trapped in glass.

  "Do something with it," Snow said, her voice full of wonder.

  Robert grinned, winking at Lillia. She rolled her eyes, but her smile made his heart jump. He focused the eye, scanning her. Her magic flared up, a river of light running through her, her mana core glowing bright and steady, like staring at the sun.

  Hamish, leaning on a stone, laughed. "You dog! Are yeh undressin her?"

  Robert's face went red. "No! Not like that!" he said quick, dimming the eye. Lillia laughed soft, the sound floating on the breeze, while Snow leaned in, still hooked.

  "It changes color," Snow said. "When you use it, the inside shifts, like a spark moving around."

  Robert turned back to the Arch's stones. Glowing trails streamed off them. Some, were thick and bright, others thin and messy, like a tangled web. He knelt by a block, turning it till its thread pointed outward toward its destination. He started making a circle, lining up each stone careful and steady.

  Snow jumped in, her frosty fingers brushing the stones, leaving little sparkles. Hamish pitched in, grunting as he moved a big block. "These things are heavy," he muttered, but grinned. Robert directed their placement, aiming each stone at the direction the paired rune plate would lay. Before long, A Kobrute patrol rolled up, its kobold rider chirping excitedly, "Let us help! You pinkies are too weak." Pinkies is what the kobolds had started calling the humans of Doras Dagda. Even the ones who were of darker skin tone. Soon, the brute beasts were grabbing a stone with its claws, setting it down easy as more settlers gathered, their voices buzzing with energy.

  Chaucer slipped through the crowd, lute on his back. The kobold's fingers danced over the strings, playing a tune that grew from soft to bold, like a river picking up speed. His song filled the air, lively and strong:

  "Turn the stones, line them up right,

  Find the paths that glow so bright.

  Through light and dark, both near and far,

  Each block shows where the answers are.

  Hands that work, hearts that try,

  Keep the threads of time alive.

  To distant lands, the trails will bend,

  A purpose big, a world to mend.

  Oh, stones that call, trails that gleam,

  Unfold the truths within our dream.

  With every lift, with every strain,

  The Arch will rise, its strength regain."

  His voice was light but hit hard, and the workers slowed, hands resting on stones as the music steered them. The circle shaped up, rough but glowing, the threads lining up like a shaky map.

  Robert stepped up, his left eye shining as he scanned the stones. Some trails were faint, pointing to far-off runes, but the paths got clearer, like stars breaking through clouds. He raised his voice, loud and steady. "People of Doras Dagda, listen up!" The crowd hushed, turning to him with wide eyes.

  He stood tall, pointing at the circle. "What we're doing today is big deal. These stones aren't old trash. They're our way forward. Each individual block has a rune stone that fits into it. They are magically tied together. Whatever destroyed this arch, scattered the runes.

  The crowd leaned in, murmuring. "You deserve to know what's up," Robert said, his voice growing. "Albion, the heart of magic, is in deep trouble. The Warlock's a greedy wrecking ball, trying to take it all. If Albion goes down, Earth's next. The balance between our worlds will snap, and there's no future where magic, science, and faith can exist in balance. Life, will cease to have any meaning."

  The air got thick, but Robert's words burned bright. "We're not out of the fight. These stones will guide us to rebuild the Arch, to back Moira up against the Warlock, to bring hope to both worlds. Every sanctum we grab, every secret we dig up, makes Doras Dagda tougher. Our home, our safe spot, a light in the dark."

  Chaucer's song faded, its echo hanging around. Robert stepped closer, his voice solid. "Danger's coming, but we've got a job to do. Your work today proves we can pull off the impossible. We'll rebuild the Arch. We'll take on the Warlock. We'll save Albion and Earth."

  Cheers exploded, a wild wave of grit crashing through the plaza. Robert raised his hands, settling them. "Easy, friends. There's a ton to do, and every one of you counts. I'm calling our adventuring teams!"

  Several teams gathered, trained repeatedly within in DAVE's sanctum, pros at magic, fighting, healing, and defense. Groups of clansfolk that had build skills necessary for impossible fights, and terrifying traps. Their armor gleamed, their eyes locked in, ready. Robert looked at them, pride warming him. "You are ready for this. Your skills, magic and muscle, are our lifeline. Six trails lead from these stones, and I'm counting on each team to take one, find the runes, and fix the Arch."

  The leaders bowed, voices steady. "You can rely on us, Lord Robert!" one said.

  He nodded, serious but sure. "These stones are in dangerous places. Wild lands, old ruins, dark places. Be safe, use all you've learned, and watch each other's backs. You're carrying our hopes, our future." He stepped back from the Arch, and the crowd clapped, cheering him and the teams on. Robert just wondered why speeches always sounded so grand and hopeful. It felt a bit fake, a bit too neat.

  But seeing the people cheer for him and the teams, it worked. "Some buy the big show, others see the hard, risky stuff behind it," he thought.

  The teams split off, grabbing swords, staves, potions, and maps. Doras Dagda hummed with action, streets alive with the clatter of getting ready. The little settlement wasn't so little now—a place where hope and hustle mixed.

  Langston hung back at the edge, still as Chaucer's tune died out. Duty pressed on him, heavy in his chest. He knew tactics, resources, and threats from the Enclave that could help Clan MacEwan. But doubt chewed at him. Should I spill it? he wondered. Why did Clan MacEwan get under his skin? Their noble faces and endless drive made them seem like storybook heroes, not real people. Their blend of magic and guts didn't fit his old world's rules, stirring a loyalty he didn't expect.

  A bigger question bubbled up. Could he mix their magic with his tech? His eyes dropped to the bracelet on his wrist, a Fae relic glowing soft. It'd stuck to him, a puzzle he couldn't crack yet. What could it do if he fused it with their skills, a link between worlds?

  Robert walked over, his left eye catching the bracelet's glow, a spark flashing in it. His steps were firm, his face set with purpose. A talk had been brewing since the Grove woke up, and it was time to hash it out, once and for all.