Akshran huddled beneath a narrow overhang of a dilapidated stone building, the only sliver of shade that the unforgiving Elpium sun had not yet devoured. Sweat trickled down his neck, the body he inhabited—small, wiry—tensed with an instinctive readiness that wasn't entirely his own. He wasn't used to being so small, so hungry. Not yet, at least.

But what an intelligent little thief this boy had been.

Inside the shade, his eyes scanned the small pile of belongings the boy had stashed: a torn knapsack, worn at the seams; rusty daggers, pitifully dull, but no doubt stolen from some careless traveler; and a collection of food, stored in an arrangement that caught Akshran off-guard. Small bundles of bread and fruit were tightly wrapped in what looked like leaves coated in some kind of resin. The leaves—thick, waxy—sealed the food from air, preserving them far longer than they should have lasted.

Akshran crouched down, tugging at one of the bundles. His fingers, dirty and unfamiliar, peeled away the outer layer carefully, the resin sticking slightly before coming away clean. The bread inside, though a little dry, hadn't gone moldy. The boy had known that air, moisture—those were the enemies of food in a world like this.

The boy had stored them well, too well.

'He must have learned this trick from somewhere...but where?' Akshran's thoughts echoed in his mind, mingling with flashes of memory that didn't belong to him—scraps of the boy's life, merged into his own now. In the city of Jhaari, where decay thrived under the weight of too many people, this kind of preservation was almost genius.

For a moment, he stood there in silence, feeling an odd reverence. The boy, this "Little Kid," wasn't just a common thief. His intelligence, hidden beneath layers of dirt and desperation, surprised Akshran. The methods were crude, but there was a scientific reasoning behind them—a scavenger's knowledge of what would last and what would rot. Leaves coated with oil, sealing food from air, using the very land itself as his tool. Akshran found himself admiring the boy's cunning. The child had survived not just by luck, but by thinking. Thinking like a predator in a world full of prey.

He leaned back, settling into the corner of the shade, his mind turning to the larger question at hand—Elpium.

Elpium. A world buzzing with magic, raw and wild. There was a pulse here, something he could feel now more clearly than ever. It was everywhere, in the air, the stones, the people. Resonance, they called it. Some wielded it to shape the elements, others to command beasts or twist minds. Akshran had heard whispers, scraps of knowledge about the Resonance system, but the specifics were hazy. Light, dark, neutral—it didn't matter to him yet. Not until he could understand where he fit into it all.

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And then there was his own magic. Blood Magic.

The thought of it stirred something dark inside him. The Little Kid's memories fluttered up again, fragments of a past filled with quick escapes, clever tricks, and narrow survival. But beneath those memories, Akshran felt a deeper, primal urge—something the boy had never tapped into. Something ancient and raw.

He closed his eyes, focusing, and let the memories swirl around him like a silent storm. There, hidden in the cracks between the boy's thieving schemes and desperate flights, was a memory of blood. A wound, opened by one of those rusty daggers. The boy hadn't just bled. He had felt the blood, sensed it moving within him, the warmth of it, the way it carried life and energy. The sensation had frightened him, so much that he had pushed it down, buried it deep.

But now Akshran was in control.

He could feel the blood, not just his own but in everything. The streets, the people beyond, their life forces pumping like rivers beneath their skin. Blood was the conduit of life, and Akshran could bend it. Mold it. Control it.

Blood Magic.

It wasn't a thing of fantasy. It was visceral. Real. The knowledge trickled into him, almost naturally. He could manipulate the blood within himself, within others—strengthen it, weaken it, perhaps even stop it entirely. He flexed his fingers and imagined the power coursing through his veins, a dark river ready to be unleashed.

'This… this is what I was given.' His thoughts tumbled over themselves, a quiet chaos as he grappled with this new knowledge. In his previous life, he had manipulated minds, understood the complexities of human behavior. But here… here he had the power to control life itself at its most fundamental level.

Akshran stared down at his hands, hands that were no longer his own. The Little Kid's hands. He was struck by the irony of it all. The boy had lived his life as a thief, surviving through tricks and guile, never knowing the power that had slumbered within him. Now, that same power was Akshran's to wield.

Yet, even as the thrill of discovery buzzed through him, he couldn't help but reflect on what this meant. Power was dangerous. And he had been dangerous before, in another life. Was this an opportunity for redemption, or a temptation to fall deeper into the darkness he had once flirted with?

His thoughts spiraled, twisting between ambition and caution, until finally, he found himself smiling, an involuntary twitch of the lips. 'What a fascinating world I've been brought into', he mused, leaning further into the shade as the heat of the day began to cool.

The boy's intelligence had been remarkable. Akshran would honor that. He would build on it. But more than that, this was his world now. The little thief had given him a new life, and with it, the tools to reshape his destiny.

And with Blood Magic coursing through his veins, Akshran was about to make that destiny something extraordinary.