Evening settled over Brigadoon like a velvet shroud, casting the sky in sweeping hues of violet and molten gold. A hush had fallen over the village, the kind of quiet that foretold change—an invisible shift in the wind, the silence before revelation. Lanterns flickered to life along the cobbled paths, but one road remained bathed in natural light: the path that led toward the Tron Woods.
Laila rode at a steady pace atop her silver mare, her posture straight, composed—utterly unlike a child of merely six years. Behind her rode House Ernas, their retinue of two dozen armored knights trailing like a river of steel. The noble couple, Orion and Jirni Ernas, followed close, their eyes fixed not on the road, but on the girl who led them.
She was no ordinary child. That much had become evident the moment they had laid eyes on her. A six-year-old with control over light magic—and not just flickers of it, but a depth and resonance they'd rarely seen even among seasoned mages.
As the trees of the Tron Woods loomed closer, the path narrowed into a soft dirt trail, winding toward a small clearing. There, nestled between trees and wild grasses, stood a modest cabin of stone and timber. Ivy coiled around its corners, and the wooden door bore the marks of age and weather. It was Selia's home—hunter, guide, and sometime mentor to the village youth. But today, it held something far beyond anyone's expectation.
"We're here," Laila said softly as she dismounted, her voice betraying no nerves.
Jirni dismounted gracefully, Orion just behind. Neither said a word, but both radiated the tense awareness of seasoned warriors—senses finely tuned, waiting.
Laila pushed open the door.
What greeted them was not a home, but a sanctuary of magic.
The air shimmered faintly, tingling against their skin. The warmth inside was not from fire, but from something deeper—something that hummed and pulsed with the rhythm of pure energy. Herbs hung from the rafters, and the walls were lined with simple wooden shelves, but none of that drew the eye. At the heart of the room hovered a spectacle.
Lucian.
Suspended mid-air, glowing softly, the young boy stood with his arms outstretched, his hair transformed—no longer its usual earthy brown, but a brilliant silver that caught every mote of light and reflected it like a star.
Before him hovered the forming structure of a magical matrix—a perfect hexagram, drawn not with ink or chalk, but with elemental light.
At the twelve o'clock position, a blinding orb of pure white light pulsed steadily, like a miniature sun. At two o'clock, a sphere of crackling flame flared, throwing off occasional sparks. At four, a thundercloud spun lazily, small yet full of internal lightning that danced like serpents beneath its surface. At six o'clock, a droplet of darkness hung in the air, absorbing all light around it with a malevolent hush. At eight, stones and dust spiraled inward, condensing into a jagged, flawless gem. At eleven, a globe of shifting water constantly transformed—ice to mist, mist to water, water to ice again.
Tendrils of energy arced from point to point, weaving golden filaments into a six-sided star within a larger circle. The room pulsed in rhythm with its power. One by one, the elemental nodes dissolved into light, their essence merging into the completed form—a glowing hexagram that shimmered with divine symmetry.
Beneath Lucian, on a platform of hardened light, three girls lay unconscious but unharmed. One had long black hair streaked with red and blue; the second, golden blonde with yellow and black in her locks; and the last, deep black hair threaded with orange and silver.
Orion stared in stunned silence. "That's… a Silverwing Hexagram," he murmured. "But that's High Arcanum. Only a handful of mages can even attempt that kind of convergence magic…"
"He's six," Jirni whispered, the cold edge of her voice fraying with astonishment. "He shouldn't even be able to see the magical structure without a conduit."
Laila stepped forward calmly. "We discovered it together. My brother and I. We've been experimenting… adapting what we read in Nana's books."
Orion turned to her, his brow furrowed. "Can both of you perform this?"
Laila nodded. "Not as easily as Lucian, but yes."
Jirni's eyes narrowed, though not in anger—in calculation. "Why hasn't the whole village woken up screaming with the pressure of this much energy?"
"Because Lucian's placed a containment spell," Laila replied. "It blocks all sound and magical presence from escaping the dome around the house. He didn't want to wake the girls."
A pause. Then, with a quiet breath, Lucian lowered himself to the ground, the silver in his hair still shining. With a snap of his small fingers, the hexagram dissolved into stardust and faded into the air.
The room stilled. The hum of energy subsided.
A second snap followed, and the shimmering dome around the three girls dropped. Air rushed in, and with it, the distant sounds of the village returned—the chirp of crickets, the whisper of wind.
Then, as if stirred by unseen threads, the three girls blinked awake.
They sat up groggily at first, but their eyes widened as they saw who stood before them—Jirni and Orion Ernas. Their parents.
"Mother! Father!" one of them cried, and all three girls scrambled from the platform and ran into their parents' arms.
Emotion crashed into the room like a wave.
Orion knelt, embracing them with the relief of a man who had faced years of fear in a single breath. Jirni, so often composed to the point of ice, dropped to her knees beside him, wrapping her arms around her daughters with a softness that astonished even the knights.
Nana entered a moment later, quietly, her eyes scanning the room with knowing calm. "It seems they're all awake now," she said, her voice warm. "And no worse for wear."
Jirni stood slowly, eyes turning again toward Lucian and Laila.
"You've done something here," she said quietly. "Something no one will believe unless they see it for themselves."
Lucian met her gaze evenly. "We just did what we had to."