The golden hues of sunset bathed Stonebridge as Eamon staggered toward the village entrance. Each step was a battle against the exhaustion that threatened to consume him. His clothes were torn and bloodstained, his face smeared with dirt and sweat. Every muscle in his body ached, and his injuries throbbed in painful rhythm with his heartbeat.

A farmer tending his fields caught sight of the approaching figure and squinted, recognizing the familiar silhouette. His eyes widened in alarm.

"Eamon! It's Eamon!" the man shouted, dropping his tools and rushing toward the village square. "He's back, but he's hurt!"

The cry echoed through the streets, and soon a crowd gathered at the outskirts of the village. Voices murmured with concern and disbelief as they took in Eamon's battered appearance.

Elara pushed her way through the throng, her face pale with worry. "Eamon!" she called out, her voice cracking.

He managed a weak smile as his mother reached him. "I made it... back," he whispered, his voice barely audible.

She wrapped her arms around him, careful to avoid his injuries. "Oh, thank the heavens," she breathed. "We were so worried."

Eamon reached into his satchel with trembling hands and pulled out the pouch containing the Silverleaf. "For Father," he said, pressing it into her hands.

Elara's eyes filled with tears. "Thank you," she whispered.

The world around him began to blur, the faces of the villagers fading into a haze. The adrenaline that had kept him moving was waning, and darkness edged into his vision.

"Eamon?" his mother’s voice sounded distant. "Eamon!"

He felt himself falling, the ground rushing up to meet him, but strong arms caught him before he hit the earth. Voices swirled around him, urgent and panicked, but he couldn't make out the words.

Then, everything went black.

----------------------------------------

A gentle warmth enveloped him, soothing the pain that had settled deep into his bones. Eamon floated in a state between dreaming and waking, his mind hazy. He became aware of a soft glow behind his closed eyelids and the faint murmur of voices.

He forced his eyes open, blinking against the dim light. The familiar thatched ceiling of his home came into focus. Turning his head slightly, he saw Seraphine seated beside him, her hands hovering over his chest. A soft, golden light emanated from her palms, bathing him in a comforting aura.

"Welcome back," she said softly, noticing his gaze.

"Eamon!" Elara exclaimed, rushing to his side. His sister, Lila, was right behind her, tears streaking down their faces.

"Mother... Lila..." he rasped, his throat dry.

Elara gently brushed the hair from his forehead. "You've been unconscious for hours," she said, her voice thick with emotion. "We were so worried."

"How do you feel?" Seraphine asked, her eyes searching his.

"Better," he replied, realizing that the searing pain had dulled to a manageable ache. "Father... is he...?"

Elara's face lit up with a relieved smile. "He's recovering, thanks to you. The Silverleaf was just what he needed. He's resting now."

A weight lifted from Eamon's chest. "That's... good."

Lila grasped his hand tightly. "You scared us," she said, her voice small.

He squeezed her hand gently. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to worry you."

Seraphine stood, the glow fading from her hands. "Your injuries were severe," she said. "But with rest, you'll heal."

"Thank you," Eamon said earnestly.

She nodded. "I'll let you rest now." With a reassuring smile to Elara and Lila, she slipped out of the room.

Elara fussed over him a while longer, adjusting his blankets and ensuring he was comfortable. "You need to sleep," she insisted.

"I'm fine, Mother," he protested weakly, but the exhaustion pulling at him was undeniable.

"Rest," she repeated gently. "We'll be right here if you need anything."

Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

Eamon nodded, his eyelids growing heavy once more. As he drifted back to sleep, the comforting sounds of his family nearby eased him into peaceful slumber.

----------------------------------------

The next morning, Eamon awoke to the soft glow of sunlight filtering through the window. The familiar sounds of village life drifted in—the clucking of chickens, distant chatter, the rhythmic clanging of a blacksmith's hammer.

He sat up slowly, testing his strength. His body was still sore, but the sharp pains had subsided. Swinging his legs over the side of the bed, he stood, steadying himself against the wall.

"Eamon!" Lila's voice called from the doorway. "You're up!"

He turned to see his sister beaming at him, a tray of food in her hands. "I brought you breakfast."

His stomach growled at the sight of fresh bread, cheese, and fruit. "You're a lifesaver," he said with a grin.

She set the tray down on the table beside his bed. "Mother wanted to make sure you ate."

He sat back down, taking a piece of bread. "How's Father?"

"He's much better," Lila replied, her eyes bright. "He even got up for a bit this morning."

Relief washed over him. "That's great news."

As he ate, Lila chatted about village happenings, her enthusiasm infectious. "Oh! And guess what? Seraphine has been teaching me magic!"

Eamon looked up, surprised. "Magic?"

She nodded eagerly. "Watch!"

Lila extended her hand. After uttering quiet words and a moment of concentration, a small orb of light flickered into existence above her palm. It shimmered softly before fading away.

"That's incredible," Eamon said, genuinely impressed.

But something didn't sit right. During her demonstration, he hadn't sensed any disturbance in the surrounding mana. It was as if the magic had sprung from nowhere.

"Can you show me again?" he asked casually.

She obliged, repeating the whispered words. The flame appeared once more, casting a warm glow between them. Eamon focused intently, extending his senses. Still, nothing. The mana around them remained untouched.

"That's really something," he murmured, forcing a smile. "You're quite the prodigy."

Lila beamed. "I can't wait to learn more! Seraphine says we're making great progress."

"Keep it up," he encouraged. "I need to... rest now."

"Okay. I'll let you sleep." She slipped out quietly, leaving him alone with his swirling thoughts.

Eamon set the bowl aside, his appetite forgotten. If Lila and the others were using magic without drawing on external mana, then how were they doing it? And why couldn't he sense it?

----------------------------------------

Later that day, after ensuring his father was indeed on the mend, Eamon decided to seek out Merrick. He found the village leader near the town hall, engaged in a serious discussion with several council members.

"Eamon," Merrick greeted him warmly, though his eyes held a hint of concern. "Good to see you up and about."

"Thank you," Eamon replied. "Could we talk privately?"

Merrick nodded, gesturing for him to follow. They walked a short distance away, stopping beneath the shade of a large oak tree.

"How are you feeling?" Merrick asked.

"I'm healing," Eamon said. "But there's something important I need to tell you."

Merrick's expression turned serious. "Go on."

Eamon took a deep breath. "On my way back, I encountered a group of bandits. They were... ruthless. They had destroyed entire villages, leaving no survivors."

Merrick's jaw tightened. "We've heard rumors, but hoped they were exaggerated."

"They're not," Eamon said grimly. "These bandits are organized and brutal. They're not just looting—they're massacring."

Merrick ran a hand over his beard, deep in thought. "This is troubling indeed."

"I barely made it out alive," Eamon admitted, the memory of the fight flashing in his mind. He chose his words carefully, omitting any mention of the beast he had faced earlier. For some reason, he felt compelled to keep that encounter to himself. "We can't defend against them alone. We need help."

Merrick met his gaze. "You're suggesting we request aid from the city?"

"Yes," Eamon affirmed. "We need the army's support. If the bandits reach Stonebridge..."

He didn't need to finish the sentence.

Merrick sighed heavily. "I'll bring this to the rest."

"Time is of the essence," Eamon urged. "They could be moving this way already."

"I understand," Merrick assured him. "Thank you for bringing this to my attention. Focus on your recovery. We'll handle the rest."

Eamon nodded, though he felt a lingering unease. "Let me know if there's anything else I can do."

"Of course," Merrick said, placing a reassuring hand on his shoulder before walking back toward the town hall.

----------------------------------------

Eamon approached the small group gathered by the riverbank, his eyes drawn to the swirling orb of water Maeve was controlling between her hands. Nearby, Seraphine stood with a few other villagers, patiently guiding them through the fundamentals of spellwork. But no one had found the success Maeve had.

His heart raced with a mix of excitement and confusion. For weeks, he had tried to teach the others magic, with no success. Yet in the span of a single week, Seraphine had two of them conjuring elements? He needed answers.

"Seraphine," he called, stepping closer. She turned toward him with a welcoming smile, though there was a hint of weariness in her eyes. He had to give her credit—teaching others magic was no small feat.

"Eamon, good to see you. I was wondering when you'd stop by."

"I’ve been meaning to, but..." He gestured toward Maeve and the others, unable to hide his awe. "How did you get them to learn so quickly? I’ve tried for weeks, and no one even got close to this."

Seraphine raised an eyebrow, her expression sympathetic. "Because you taught them wrong." She saw the confusion on his face and continued gently, "Magic doesn’t come from the environment, Eamon. It comes from within. When you asked them to focus on the surroundings, you were leading them away from the source."

Eamon’s brow furrowed. "Wait… what do you mean by 'within'? I’ve always drawn on the mana around me. It's... everywhere."

Seraphine gave him a puzzled look, clearly trying to understand. "No, magic doesn’t work like that. It’s drawn from the core inside you. Like this." She muttered a few words under her breath, and a tiny flame flickered to life in her palm. It was small but steady, casting a warm glow between them.

Eamon instinctively reached out with his mana sense, expecting to feel the familiar ripple of energy in the air around them. But… nothing. The environment remained untouched, completely still. He narrowed his focus, directing his sense toward Seraphine herself. That’s when he felt it—the mana, not around her, but within her. A swirling current inside her chest, concentrated and self-contained. What in the world was happening?