Eamon stared at the translucent interface hovering before him, the words "Ability Unlocked: Blood Reservoir" glowing softly against the twilight sky. His heart quickened as he selected the ability to view its description.

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Blood Reservoir

By harnessing the essence of life within your blood, you can store excess energy, increasing your stamina and strength. This reservoir allows you to endure longer periods of physical exertion and recover more quickly from fatigue. Caution: Overuse may lead to strain on the body.

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A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. "Interesting," he mused. Before he could test it, his mother called him over.

"Eamon! Come quickly!" Elara's voice echoed through the trees.

Pocketing the red stone, he sprang to his feet and raced toward the village, quelling the urge to test his new ability.

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The sun cast a warm glow over Stonebridge, but the village's usual tranquility was disturbed by an undercurrent of tension. Eamon walked through the market square, the familiar sounds of haggling and laughter noticeably subdued. Vendors offered their goods with forced smiles, and the scent of fresh bread mingled with the uneasy whispers of villagers.

He passed by the forge, where Master Rowan hammered away at a plowshare. The rhythmic clang of metal on metal echoed hollowly. "Morning, Master Rowan," Eamon called.

Rowan looked up, sweat glistening on his brow. "Eamon. Here to lend a hand?"

"Actually, I was heading to the fields to help with the harvest," Eamon replied. "Extra hands are needed."

Rowan nodded, his gaze lingering. "Good lad. The village needs all the help it can get."

As Eamon made his way toward the fields, he couldn't shake the feeling that something was amiss. The usual bustle of children playing was absent, replaced by the somber faces of villagers tending to their tasks with grim determination.

Reaching the fields, he joined a group of workers laboring under the midday sun. The harvest was lean this year, and every grain counted. He fell into rhythm beside Maeve, who offered a tired smile.

"Not much to gather," she remarked, wiping her brow.

Eamon sighed. "No, I guess not."

They worked in silence for a while, the weight of the village's troubles heavy between them. Finally, Maeve spoke again. "How's your father?"

His expression darkened. "Not well. He's weaker each day. Matron Elspeth does what she can, but..."

"I'm sorry," she whispered.

Eamon forced a smile. "We'll find a way."

As the sun began to dip, signaling the end of the day's labor, Eamon and Maeve headed toward the old oak where he held his magic training sessions. The familiar path brought little comfort. Upon arrival, he found only Tomas and Lila waiting.

"Is this everyone?" Eamon asked, masking his disappointment.

Tomas shrugged. "Finn and the others said they weren't coming. They think it's pointless."

Lila kicked at a clump of grass. "They said it's a waste of time."

Eamon clenched his jaw. "I see."

"Maybe they're right," Tomas muttered. "We've been at this for days, and none of us have made any progress."

"Don't say that," Eamon insisted. "I know it's frustrating, but we can't give up."

Lila looked up at him with earnest eyes. "We still believe in you, Eamon."

He offered her a grateful nod. "Thank you. Let's try again."

They settled into their routine, closing their eyes and attempting to sense the elusive mana. The minutes stretched on, but the air remained still, devoid of the tingling energy Eamon so easily accessed.

After a while, Tomas sighed heavily. "Maybe we're just not meant for this."

Eamon opened his eyes, frustration gnawing at him. "I wish I knew how to help you feel it. It's like trying to describe color to someone who's never seen it."

Lila frowned. "Do you think it's because of the page you found? Maybe that's why you can do it and we can't."

He considered her words. "Perhaps. But I refuse to believe that I'm the only one capable."

Before they could delve further, the distant sound of raised voices reached them.

"What's that?" Maeve asked, appearing at the edge of the clearing.

Eamon stood. "It sounds like it's coming from the village square."

They hurried back, the tension in the air thickening with each step. As they approached, the voices grew louder—angry, desperate.

"I've had enough!" Horace shouted, his face contorted with rage. "We can't keep feeding extra mouths when our own children go hungry!"

A cluster of villagers had gathered, their expressions a mix of fear and indignation. The survivors stood apart, eyes downcast, clutching their meager belongings.

Elara stepped forward, her voice firm. "These people have nowhere else to go. Are we to turn them out to starve?"

"Better them than us!" another villager snapped. "Our stores are dwindling. The harvest is poor, and winter is coming."

Edgar tried to interject. "We can find a way to make do. Perhaps ration—"

"Ration?" Horace scoffed. "We barely have enough as it is!"

The crowd murmured in agreement, tensions escalating.

Eamon pushed through the throng, his eyes darting between the heated faces. "What's going on?"

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Maeve gripped his arm. "It's the food supplies. People are scared."

From the corner of his eye, Eamon saw Seraphine—the young woman among the survivors with raven-black hair—standing silently at the edge of the crowd. Her gaze met his, a flicker of determination in her eyes.

She stepped forward, her voice cutting through the clamor. "If I may speak?"

Horace glared at her. "And who are you to address us?"

"My name is Seraphine," she replied calmly. "I understand your fears. But I can help."

"Help?" a woman scoffed. "How can you possibly help?"

Seraphine took a steadying breath. "I can heal your wounded."

A hush fell over the crowd. Skeptical glances were exchanged.

Merrick raised an eyebrow. "What do you mean?"

She met his gaze steadily. "I possess healing magic. If you allow us to stay, I will heal those who are ill."

Horace snorted. "Magic? Do you take us for fools?"

Eamon stepped forward, heart pounding in his chest. "Wait. Let her try."

Elara looked between them, hope flickering in her eyes. "If there's a chance..."

Horace threw up his hands. "This is madness!"

Ignoring him, Seraphine approached Eamon. "Take me to your father."

He nodded, leading the way as the crowd parted before them. Whispers trailed in their wake.

"Do you really think she can help?" Maeve whispered.

"I don't know," Eamon admitted. "But we have to try."

They entered his home, the dim interior illuminated by a single flickering candle. Garret lay on the bed, his skin pale and clammy. Elspeth sat beside him, her expression grim.

"Eamon," she began, but paused upon seeing Seraphine. "Who is this?"

"A healer," Eamon replied. "She wants to help."

Elspeth eyed Seraphine warily. "I've done all I can."

Seraphine nodded respectfully. "May I?"

Elspeth hesitated, then stepped aside. "Very well."

Eamon knelt beside his father, taking his hand. "Father, this is Seraphine. She says she can help."

Garret's eyes fluttered open, and he tried to speak but no words came and even that effort seemed to tire him.

Eamon bit his lip, tightening his grip on his father’s hand.

Seraphine arrived beside him and placed her hands gently over Garret's chest. Closing her eyes, she began to murmur softly. A soft, golden light emanated from her palms, bathing Garth in a warm glow.

Eamon focused sensing the mana around them, but it was still. Unmoving. But somehow his father was getting better, and Eamon was left confused.

As the light faded, color returned to Garret's cheeks. His breathing steadied, and his eyes opened fully, a spark of vitality returning.

"Father!" Eamon exclaimed, relief flooding through him.

Elspeth stared in awe. "I've never seen such a thing."

Outside, the murmurs grew louder as villagers peeked through the doorway, witnessing the transformation.

Seraphine stood, swaying slightly. "He is not fully healed, but this will strengthen him."

Another woman arrived besides Seraphine, clutching her hands. “Please. You have to help my husband. He’s injured as well.”

Merrick stepped forward, placing his hands on the woman’s shoulder. "Your abilities are extraordinary."

She met his eyes. "I offer my healing and my knowledge of magic. In return, allow us to stay and share in your community."

Horace pushed his way inside, eyes narrowed. "And why did you hide this from us?"

She faced him calmly. "Magic is often met with fear and suspicion. I did not wish to cause unrest."

Elara looked much more relieved than she had in days and moved to stand beside Seraphine. "She saved my husband's life. We cannot turn them away."

The crowd murmured in agreement, though pockets of dissent remained.

Merrick nodded thoughtfully. "Very well. You and your people may stay. We will find a place for you among us."

Reluctantly, Horace relented. "But we must ensure that everyone contributes. No one gets a free meal."

"Agreed," Seraphine replied. "We will work alongside you."

As the crowd dispersed, the tension eased slightly. Eamon turned to Seraphine. "Thank you. You don't know what this means to us."

She offered a faint smile. "I am glad I could help. But there is more I must tell you."

He frowned. "What is it?"

She glanced around, ensuring she had everyone’s attention. "My healing can only do so much on its own. What ever injured him, also managed to poison him. With my current abilities, to fully cure your father and the others, I need a specific herb—Silverleaf."

Eamon's heart sank. "Where can we find it?"

"It grows near my village to the east," she explained, her eyes dropping down as memories of her village flooded back. "It’s a peaceful, idyllic place. Or rather it was. The kind of place where you just want to sit around and do nothing. But now it's overrun with bandits."

“Sounds like a splendid place,” Eamon said. "How far is it from here?"

"Four days to reach the area, but traveling there and back would be at least eight days. Time we may not have."

Eamon's mind raced. He felt the familiar weight of guilt pressing down on his chest. This all started because I went to those ruins. Father would never have been injured otherwise. He clenched his fists, trying to suppress the guilt gnawing at him. I have to fix this.

"What if someone could get there faster?" he asked, his voice calm but resolute.

Seraphine raised an eyebrow, her skepticism clear. "Unless you have horses, I don't see how."

"I can do it," Eamon declared, his jaw set with determination.

Seraphine blinked in surprise. "You?" Her skepticism deepened.

"Absolutely not!" Elara rushed over, her voice sharp with fear. "It's too dangerous!"

"Mother, I have to," Eamon insisted, his gaze locking onto hers. "Father's life depends on it. All of this happened because of me—if I hadn’t gone to those ruins, none of this would have happened. I’m the one who can make it right."

Elara’s expression softened for a brief moment, but she shook her head furiously. "I won’t let you risk your life. You’re still just a boy. There has to be another way."

The others echoed their agreement, their faces filled with doubt and apprehension. The room felt heavy with their hesitance, but inside Eamon, the feeling he’d been bottling up since his father’s injury came bursting forth. He wasn’t just acting on impulse or emotion—he knew that if they were short on time, they had to save every minute they could. It’s the most logical choice.

"Listen to me," Eamon said, his voice rising with urgency. "If we wait, Father and the others might not survive. I can run faster and longer than anyone else here, and with my wind magic, I can cut the journey in half. Every minute matters. It’s not just about wanting to go—it’s the only choice that makes sense. Let me do this."

Elara’s eyes filled with tears, her lips trembling. "I can’t lose you too," she whispered.

"You won’t," Eamon promised, his voice softening. "But if I don’t go, we risk losing Father. Please, trust me."

The room fell into silence, the weight of the decision hanging in the air. Eamon’s heart pounded, his gaze sweeping across the faces of the people he loved, waiting for someone to speak.

Merrick sighed heavily, rubbing his temples. "This is madness... but the boy speaks truth. We need every moment we can get." He turned to Eamon, his face hardening with reluctant acceptance. "Go. May your magic protect and guide you, lad."

Seraphine stepped forward, pulling a small parchment from her satchel. "This contains a drawing of the Silverleaf and instructions on how to harvest it. Be careful—it grows in rocky areas, and it's delicate."

Eamon accepted the parchment with a steady hand. "Thank you."

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As Eamon stepped out into the village square, the evening sun dipped low, casting an amber glow over the cobblestones. The villagers gathered quietly, watching him with a mixture of hope and fear. His pack felt light on his shoulders—food, water, and his dagger strapped to his side—but the weight of the responsibility was immense.

Lila ran to him, her small arms wrapping tightly around his waist. "Be safe, brother," she whispered, her voice trembling.

Eamon knelt, ruffling her hair. "I will. Look after everyone while I'm gone, alright?"

She nodded, tears brimming in her eyes.

He stood, looking out at the faces of those he cared for—Maeve, Merrick, Elara. As he reached out to the Mana, the wind responded instantly, swirling around him like an embrace, promising him the strength and speed he would need.

He turned away, breathing deeply as the wind began to gather around him.

Without another word, Eamon shot forward like an arrow loosed from a bow. The wind exploded beneath his feet, propelling him across the landscape in great strides. His feet barely touched the ground as he streaked past the village's edge, the world around him blurring into a rush of colors and shadows.

The wind whipped against his face, cool and refreshing, pushing him faster and faster. Trees became dark smudges in his peripheral vision, the path ahead clear as he cut through the air like a swift-moving current. His body moved effortlessly, the Blood Reservoir’s power surging through him, his muscles filled with boundless energy.

As dusk deepened into night, Eamon didn’t slow. The energy coursing through him was electric, his stamina seemingly endless. I can do this, he thought, his resolve hardening with each stride. He knew the journey ahead would be dangerous, but for the first time in days, he felt a glimmer of hope.