The forest loomed thick and oppressive around Eamon, its towering trees casting long, twisting shadows. The uneven path ahead was a treacherous blend of tangled roots and jagged rocks, but Eamon moved with determination, driven by the weight of the Silverleaf’s importance. He had to get it back to the village—back to his father. His hunger, however, gnawed at him mercilessly, an ever-present reminder of the strain the Blood Reservoir placed on his body.
Each step felt heavier, as if his limbs were dragging through water. The Blood Reservoir demanded constant fuel. He had already eaten through most of the provisions he brought, and with the refugees in Stonebridge, food was growing scarce.
The growl of his stomach echoed through the quiet forest, making him wince. He had to hunt—he needed meat to fuel his magic and keep himself moving.
As he reached a clearing by a narrow stream, his eyes caught sight of fresh animal tracks. Deer, likely. He crouched down, fingers tracing the soft impressions in the mud. His heart quickened. This is my chance.
With a steady hand, he nocked the arrow, feeling the tension of the bowstring press into his fingers. His limbs trembled slightly, not just from hunger but from the strain of magic he had been practicing for days now. He reached out to the wind, the now-familiar pull of mana swirling around him. The air responded quickly, rushing to aid him, but this time, he needed something more than a light breeze—something sharper, faster.
Windstream, he thought, and the magic obeyed.
The air coiled tightly around the arrow, forming a vortex of spinning wind. Unlike Windstride, which gave him bursts of speed in short bursts, or Wind Blade, which sharpened his weapons, Windstream was different. It created a rotating force that sped objects, increasing their power and velocity. He had used this technique before but never with such precision. This time, he willed the wind to carry the arrow with lethal accuracy, compressing the air to a fine, dense stream.
The arrow began to hum, the mana vibrating within it, ready to be released. Eamon’s muscles strained as he drew the bowstring to its limit, feeling the energy build. This has to be perfect. His eyes locked on the buck grazing just ahead, its antlers broad and proud, completely unaware of its predator.
Hold steady. With a slow exhale, Eamon let the arrow fly.
The Wind Stream exploded into action, propelling the arrow forward so fast it became little more than a blur. The wind screamed around it, compressing the air so tightly that the arrow cut through the clearing with a sharp whistle. The buck didn’t even have time to react. The arrow pierced its body cleanly, passing straight through its heart and embedding itself in the trunk of a tree on the far side of the clearing.
The buck staggered once, then collapsed to the ground without a sound.
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He exhaled slowly, the tension leaving his body in a rush of relief. It worked.
Moving quickly, Eamon approached the fallen buck, kneeling beside it. His fingers traced the arrow wound in its chest, marveling at how clean the kill had been. The Wind Stream had propelled the arrow with such force that the deer hadn’t even had time to feel pain.
“Thank you,” Eamon whispered softly, a ritual of respect for the life he had taken. He didn’t waste time. His hunger had become unbearable now that the scent of fresh meat filled the air.
He dressed the deer quickly, cutting away large portions of meat and wrapping them in cloth for later. His hands moved with practiced efficiency, the sharp blade of his knife sliding easily through muscle and sinew. Despite his exhaustion, his movements remained steady, fueled by the sheer need to eat.
A small fire crackled to life soon after, and the rich aroma of roasting venison filled the air. Eamon sat beside the flames, tearing into the cooked meat with fervor. He chewed slowly, savoring every bite. Each morsel of meat felt like it brought him back from the edge of collapse, fueling the Blood Reservoir and restoring some of the strength he had lost over the past days. The warmth spread through his veins, filling him with a much-needed sense of vitality.
But it wasn’t just physical strength that returned. The exhaustion that had been dragging him down eased slightly, the warmth of the fire and food replenishing his body’s reserves. He could feel the Blood Reservoir absorbing the nourishment, storing it away for the next time he needed to push his limits.
While eating, he called the system window, studying the changes that had occurred. A translucent window opened:
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Name: Eamon Fletcher
Age: 15
Rank: Novice
Affinities: Wind, Blood
Abilities: Windstride (Active), Windblade (Active), Windstream (Active), Blood Reservoir (Active)
Prime Affinities: Mana (Awakening - Nature)
Prime Abilities: Arcane Sense (Active)
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Eamon felt a sense of satisfaction as he reflected on his journey from an apprentice blacksmith to a mage. His life had changed dramatically in a remarkably short time. He turned his attention to the description of the Windstream ability.
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Windstream (Active)
Surrounds arrows or projectiles with a swirling vortex of compressed wind, drastically increasing their speed, power, and penetration. Enhances ranged attacks with precise, wind-guided accuracy. Best used for long-distance strikes, requiring concentration and mana to maintain the wind's control around the projectile.
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This ability fit nicely into his growing list of skills. Windstream gave him speed while Windblade gave him the edge to break through tougher opponents. Blood Reservoir ensured that he could remain in battled longer, giving him both endurance and additional strength. With a long range ability in his pocket, his growth had become well-rounded.
After eating, Eamon allowed himself a few moments of rest, his eyes drifting toward the sky as the orange hues of sunset began to fade into the cool blues of evening. He didn’t have the luxury of time, but this brief moment of peace was necessary. His mind drifted back to Stonebridge, to his father, lying weak and pale, depending on him to return with the Silverleaf.
The thought spurred him to his feet, though his body protested the movement. There was no time to waste.
With the remaining venison packed away in his satchel, Eamon stamped out the fire and slung his bow over his shoulder, ready to resume his journey.