The sun hung low in the sky over Stonebridge, casting a warm golden glow across the village. Eamon stood at the edge of the Whispering Woods with a small group of villagers gathered around him. Among them were Maeve, Lila, Finn, and—much to Eamon's chagrin—Callum. The leaves rustled softly in the gentle breeze, and the distant chatter of the village provided a comforting backdrop.

  "All right, everyone," Eamon began, trying to project confidence. "Today, we're going to work on sensing the mana in our surroundings. Close your eyes and focus on the natural energy around you—the wind in the trees, the warmth of the sun, the earth beneath your feet. Try to feel the flow of life that connects everything."

  They obediently closed their eyes, brows furrowed in concentration. Eamon watched them, hoping to see some sign of progress.

  After a few moments, Callum smirked and opened one eye. "This is ridiculous," he scoffed. "Anyone can tell people to close their eyes and 'feel' the surroundings. You're just pretending to teach."

  Eamon felt a flush rise to his cheeks. "If you’re not going to take this seriously, Callum, maybe you should sit this one out."

  Callum crossed his arms. "Why should I? You don't get to decide who learns and who doesn't. Besides, maybe I want to see if there's any truth to your so-called magic."

  Eamon took a deep breath, resisting the urge to snap back. He knew he couldn't exclude Callum, not when the village was watching his every move. "Fine. Just... try to focus."

  "This isn't working," Finn muttered, opening his eyes in frustration. "I don't feel anything except the wind and some bugs biting me.”

  Eamon rubbed the back of his neck, frustration gnawing at him. "It's okay if it doesn't happen right away. Magic is subtle; it takes time to sense it."

  Callum snorted. "Or maybe there's nothing to sense because this is all just a waste of time."

  Before Eamon could respond, Tomas came sprinting up the path, his face flushed and eyes wide with urgency. "Eamon! Everyone! You need to come to the village square now!"

  Eamon's heart skipped a beat. "What’s wrong?"

  "There's a group of people at the village entrance. Refugees. They say their village was attacked by bandits."

  A murmur rippled through the group. Eamon exchanged a worried glance with Maeve. "Let's go."

  A heavy silence fell over the group. Eamon exchanged a worried look with Maeve before they all hurried back toward Stonebridge.

  As they approached the village square, a crowd had already gathered. The atmosphere was thick with a mix of fear and curiosity. At the center stood a haggard group of men, women, and children. Their clothes were torn and dirty, faces smeared with soot and streaked with tears. Some bore bandages hastily wrapped around wounds.

  An older man from the group stepped forward, his voice rough and weary. "Please," he implored, "we seek shelter. Our village was destroyed by raiders. We have nowhere else to go."

  Before anyone could respond, Jorik stepped forward, his expression hard. "We can't just take in strangers," he declared. "How do we know you're not leading those raiders right to us?"

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  The old man shook his head desperately. "We escaped under cover of darkness. They took everything—burned our homes, stole our harvest. Many didn't make it out."

  A young woman clutching a small child stepped forward. "Please," she whispered, her voice breaking. "They showed no mercy. My husband... he tried to stop them. They..." She couldn't finish, tears spilling down her cheeks.

  Eamon felt a surge of empathy. He glanced at his mother, Elara, who stood at the edge of the crowd. Her eyes were filled with compassion.

  Elara pushed her way to the front. "They're wounded and need our help. We can't turn them away."

  Jorik turned to face the crowd. "Have you all forgotten what happened the last time we let outsiders in?" he challenged, his voice booming. "We swore we wouldn't make that mistake again!"

  A tense silence fell. Eamon glanced around, seeing the conflicted expressions on the faces of his neighbors. Whispers spread through the crowd, memories resurfacing of past betrayals and losses.

  Elara stepped forward, her gaze steady. "We cannot let the past dictate our actions now," she said firmly. "The world outside is changing, and we must adapt alongside it. Otherwise, we just risk isolating ourselves.”

  "Easy for you to say," Jorik retorted. "You're not the one putting the village at risk."

  "I'm thinking of the village," Elara insisted.

  Merrick, the village elder, raised his hands to calm the crowd. "Let us not be hasty," he urged. "We must weigh our options carefully."

  Eamon felt a surge of frustration. "If bandits are attacking nearby villages, we're already in danger," he spoke up. "Ignoring it won't make it go away. We need to prepare."

  Jorik shot him a withering look. "And what would you suggest? That we trust strangers and a boy dabbling in dangerous powers?"

  "At least I'm trying to do something!" Eamon retorted, his temper flaring.

  Elara nodded. "I propose we offer them shelter in the old storehouses. It's outside the main village area but provides safety and warmth. We can keep watch and assess the situation."

  There was a murmur of agreement from some, hesitation from others.

  "We'll also need to bolster our defenses," Rowan added. "Set up patrols, reinforce the barricades."

  "Agreed," Merrick said. "All in favor?"

  Hands slowly rose throughout the crowd. Though reluctant, it seemed the majority sided with compassion.

  Jorik scowled but seemed to realize he was outnumbered. "Fine," he muttered. "But we need to be vigilant."

  As the refugees were led toward the old mill, Eamon approached the young woman with the child. "Are you hurt?" he asked gently.

  She shook her head. "Just tired. Thank you."

  "Can you tell us anything about the raiders?" Maeve asked softly, stepping up beside Eamon.

  The woman hesitated, eyes clouding with fear. "They came at dawn," she whispered. "A horde of them, faces hidden behind masks. They rode in on horseback, setting fire to everything. Anyone who resisted was... dealt with swiftly." She glanced at her child, lowering her voice. "They took those who could work, bound them like cattle. My son..." Her voice broke again.

  Maeve placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. "I'm so sorry."

  Eamon's hands clenched into fists. The weight of the situation settled heavily on him. "We need to make sure Stonebridge is ready," he said quietly.

  Later that evening, Eamon sat alone on a fallen log near the outskirts of the village. The sky was a canvas of deep blues and purples as night settled in. He stared out into the darkness, his thoughts heavy.

  The red stone heavy in his pocket. The sun cast a warm glow over the water, but he felt no comfort.

  He sat cross-legged on the grass, pulling out the stone. For days, he had been trying to unlock its secrets, but progress was slow. Maybe I'm approaching this the wrong way.

  He closed his eyes, letting go of his frustrations. Instead of forcing the connection, he allowed himself to simply be—listening to the rhythm of his breath, the gentle lapping of the river, the distant call of birds settling in for the night.

  Gradually, he became aware of a subtle warmth spreading from the stone, seeping into his palm and coursing up his arm. It was a delicate sensation, like the first stirrings of a heartbeat.

  He focused on that feeling, envisioning the warmth flowing through his veins, intertwining with his own life force. Time seemed to blur as he delved deeper into this meditative state.

  A faint glow appeared beneath his closed eyelids, and a soft chime resonated within his mind. Startled, he opened his eyes to see a translucent interface hovering before him.

  Ability Unlocked: Blood Reservoir