Habondia dismounted from the sleek diesel motorbike she had rented in the quiet city of Inverness, the thrum of its engine fading into the background as she stood on the winding road. Dressed in black trousers, a brown jacket, and a crisp white hat that shielded her eyes from the sun's glare. Though she had never ridden a motorcycle before, the familiarity of a bike was not lost on her, and she was eager to embrace the open road.

Removing a pair of goggles, she stashed them carefully inside a leather backpack slung over her shoulder before surveying the rugged landscape.

As the shadows lengthened, casting a veil of darkness over the land, Habondia made a decision. With deft hands, she set to work, assembling a small tent with practiced ease. Drawing out two weathered maps from the depths of her backpack—one detailing the expanse of Britain, the other showcasing the intricate network of Scotland's lakes—she settled in an empty campsite near Loch Ness.

With a flick of her wrist and a whispered incantation, Habondia summoned a spell that enveloped her makeshift campsite in a shimmering dome of Aether, rendering it invisible to prying eyes.

Seated cross-legged on the lush grass, she delved into the ancient tale she had painstakingly translated with Naamaah’s guidance. As she read, a nagging thought tugged at the edges of her consciousness. "The Hebrew does not belong here," she mused.

With the arrival of the night in its full splendor, Habondia felt a restlessness stir within her. Rising to her feet, she ventured out into the darkness, drawn to the murky depths of the legendary lake that lay before her.

Straining her eyes against the inky blackness, she sought to pierce the veil that hid the mysteries beneath. Yet, the peat-stained waters offered no answers, their depths cloaked in shadow.

Determined to unravel the enigma that lay before her, Habondia raised a wand. With a focused gaze, she channeled her will into a beam of crimson energy that arced across the night sky, illuminating the still waters of the lake in a dazzling display. The light danced and flickered, casting red shadows on the surface below.

But as the last remnants of the spell faded into the night, the lake remained unchanged, its secrets still hidden from view.

Habondia returned to her tent. The air was heavy with the scent of damp earth and the distant call of nocturnal creatures. The night sounds were like a lullaby soothing her weariness.

She set about preparing a small fire, the crackling of branches mingling with the soft rustle of leaves in the night breeze. Digging a small hole in the ground, she carefully arranged pieces of coal and dry wood branches, sparks dancing in the darkness as the flames licked the night sky.

As the fire cast shadows across her face, Habondia delved back into the cryptic words that had haunted her thoughts. "The Druids comprehended for he had forewarned them—the relic, the relic, concealed within, near the crag where the dove nested. Nourished by the celestial spring and the infernal blaze," she recited, her voice barely above a whisper. The words held a weight she couldn't quite grasp, a sense of foreboding that sent shivers down her spine.

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Sighing, she set the paper aside, a furrow forming between her brows. Something eluded her, a missing piece of the puzzle that lingered just out of reach. It gnawed at her like a persistent itch, demanding to be uncovered.

A sudden realization struck her like a bolt of lightning. "How do you say dove in Latin?" she muttered to herself, a spark of curiosity igniting within her. Turning to her backpack, she retrieved a worn dictionary, flipping through its pages with a sense of urgency.

Finding the answer she sought, Habondia's heart quickened with anticipation, yet doubt still lingered like a shadow. "I need to talk to Naamaah," she resolved, a steely glint in her eyes.

Grabbing a small mirror from her belongings, she held it before her and called out Naamaah's name. The mirror shimmered with a faint glow before revealing the image of her companion, Naamaah, her features etched with surprise.

"What is this?" Naamaah's voice rang out, a hint of annoyance coloring her words. "What?"

"I've linked our mirrors, so we can communicate," Habondia explained.

Naamaah's eyes widened in realization. "This is… unconventional," she remarked, her reflection wavering in the mirror's surface.

“Perhaps,” Habondia smirked.

"This is sexual harassment!" Naamaah's voice rang out. "I was about to undress to take a bath. You should have told me about this!"

Habondia's chest tightened with guilt, a pang of remorse tugging at her heartstrings. "If I did, you could have covered the mirror," reflection explained.

Naamaah let out a weary sigh.

"How do you say dove in Latin?" Habondia pressed on.

"Columbidae?" Naamaah yawned, her fatigue evident in her voice. "No, wait! That’s the bird family consisting of doves and pigeons. It might be Columbus or Columba or Columbae... I'm not entirely certain."

A surge of elation coursed through Habondia as the pieces of the puzzle began to fall into place. "Thank you," she whispered gratefully, ending the spell and watching as Naamaah's image faded from the mirror's surface.

Turning to the worn pages of Legends of the Lake, Habondia's fingers traced the words of another set of stories called Vita Columbae with renewed purpose. Habondia read the story, the longest in the book. "Columba reached the King of the Picts as the clan buried a man killed by a monster. Columba also saved a fisherman by invoking the Cross and with the imprecation 'Thou shalt not go farther,' terrifying the beast!"

"Near the crag where the dove nested," she murmured, a smile tugging at the corners of her lips.

Realization dawned on her like the first light of dawn, illuminating the path ahead with newfound clarity. "It is not a literal dove, it is an allegory of Saint Columba."

Standing tall, Habondia retrieved her binoculars and trained them on the distant shores of Loch Ness as the castle of Urquhart loomed in the distance. "The crag where the dove nested... Urquhart Castle? It can’t be, the castle was built hundreds of years later."

With each glance at her surroundings, Habondia felt a sense of destiny guiding her forward.

"King Bridei was converted to Christianity by Columba. The King of the Picts. If it’s not Urquhart Castle then what’s the crag?”

Habondia's fingers trembled slightly as she ignited an oil lamp; the soft hiss of the flame seemed to echo in the stillness of the night. With a determined look in her eyes, she exchanged her low-heeled shoes for sturdy black leather boots.