Night had settled over the Eastern Forests of Astrid, and a dense mist slithered along the ground like a living veil. Every twisted branch and gnarled root seemed to move in the shadows, whispering threats, promising pain, whispering death. Daniel Bellhem stepped cautiously, each motion measured, leather armor creaking softly, muscles coiled and ready. In his hand, Vorrath pulsed with life, a low, insistent hum that seemed almost aware of his thoughts, feeding on his focus and, more dangerously, on his fear. In the other hand, Scarlune radiated a molten heat, and the Second Blade's hunger pricked at his mind, tugging at the deepest wells of his wrath and desire for control.
Ahead loomed the tree he sought. Charred black, twisted and contorted, yet veins of molten red pulsed beneath its bark. The Devil-Demon Fire Fruit dangled in its center, radiant, alive, glowing like a heartbeat against the dark forest. Daniel's pulse quickened. One touch, one taste, and he could awaken the next stage of the Second Blade, a leap in mastery that would bring him closer to standing as a warrior no monster could challenge. But he knew—nothing was given freely. The forest was alive with watchers. It had guardians. And every prize came at a price.
His mind drifted to the ruins of Bellhem Castle, to the screams of his family, to the cold days of training alone, scraping survival from stone and blade. Each memory surged like a shadow pressing behind his eyes, reminding him of what he had lost, of what he must protect. I cannot fail. I will not.
From the darkness came a low growl, vibrating through the ground beneath him. Three monstrous fiends emerged from the shadows, eyes molten orange, horns jagged, claws sharp enough to pierce leather and bone alike. Smoke hissed from their nostrils, and the acrid stench of corrupted flesh filled the forest, thick and choking. Each step they took left blackened footprints where the earth smoked.
Daniel tightened his grip. Vorrath thrummed, hungering for blood. It whispered, feed me, or die, in the cadence of the forest itself.
The first fiend lunged. Daniel rolled just in time, claws shredding the soil where his knee had been. He rose, swinging Vorrath in a precise arc. Steel met flesh, and the creature shrieked, staggering backward. Blackened blood hissed as it pooled against the damp forest floor.
The second fiend charged from the side, faster, angrier. Daniel pivoted, swinging Vorrath in a wide, sweeping arc. Sparks flared where metal met demonic hide. The beast reeled but was not yet defeated. Its clawed hand swiped at him, and he ducked low, rolling under the swipe, feeling a glancing hit graze his shoulder. Pain flared, but he ignored it, forcing the hunger and rage to flow into controlled strikes. His mind was a blade as sharp as Vorrath itself, honed and honed again.
Then he saw it—the largest of the three. A towering monstrosity, its eyes glinting with intelligence as well as rage. It stalked him, circling, calculating, anticipating. Daniel's ribs screamed from the first strike, each breath ragged, but he stood taller, chest forward, spine straight. I am not merely fighting monsters tonight. I am confronting the limits of myself. Every scar, every wound, every memory sharpened his reflexes.
The giant lunged. Claws raked through his side, tearing at flesh and armor, sending him sprawling to the forest floor. Blood spattered the roots and moss, and Daniel gritted his teeth, vision blurring with pain. And then he thought of her—Mimi, emerald eyes glimmering in the memory, the faint floral scent of the handkerchief she had pressed into his palm. I will see her again. I must. I cannot fail.
With that resolve burning hotter than the pain in his side, he rose. Vorrath became a natural extension of his arm, Scarlune flaring in response, fire lancing from its molten edge. He lunged, striking with precision, each cut and thrust calculated, each movement a response to the fiend's rage. Steel and fire collided with claws and teeth; screams and hisses echoed through the mist. The creature reeled, faltered, and finally collapsed, claws twitching in their last struggle. Daniel's legs trembled, his body soaked in sweat and blood, but he forced himself upright, eyes on the glowing fruit at the center of the tree.
He approached cautiously, aware of every shadow, every flicker of motion. Heat radiated from the fruit even before his fingers brushed its surface, warning of the inferno contained within. The moment his hand made contact, a white-hot pain shot through his chest, burning through muscle, bone, and spirit. He collapsed to the forest floor, vision consumed by a searing, molten inferno. Lava rivers flowed through twisted landscapes of darkness; shadows of monsters both real and imagined writhed and twisted in the fire. And then came the voice, resonant and absolute:
"To claim me, you must burn. To wield me, you must be reborn in fire. Only through suffering will the flame obey you."
Daniel's scream tore through the mist. Pain and energy entwined, coursing through every vein and fiber. He forced the inferno through himself instead of letting it consume him, letting the fire become strength. Despair threatened, clawed at his mind, but one thought anchored him above the pain: Mimi… Her face appeared through the flames, her eyes shining, handkerchief held to her chest. "I believe in you, Daniel. Come back to me."
The fire reshaped him. Pain became clarity. Fear became control. Muscles tightened, reflexes sharpened, senses heightened. Vorrath pulsed in his hand; Scarlune hummed with restrained fury. His body was no longer merely flesh—it was weapon, conduit, and master.
From the searing vision emerged a figure: towering, clad in molten armor, eyes burning with suns, wielding a sword of living flame. "I am Scarlune," it boomed. "The Flame That Devours Night. Endure the inferno without yielding to fear, hunger, or despair if you seek me." Claws of fire lashed at him. Daniel rolled, barely dodging, countering with Vorrath, sparks flaring as steel clashed with molten energy. Pain, memory, and resolve collided. Each strike precise. Each movement deliberate. The fire urged destruction, but Daniel balanced, measured, controlled, mastering the flames instead of letting them master him.
Finally, a coordinated strike with both blades shattered the vision. The molten figure dissolved, leaving Scarlune floating before him, radiating contained yet immense power. Daniel sank to his knees, chest heaving, sweat and blood mingling with the scorched forest floor. The Book of Ten Swords hovered beside him, pages rustling as glowing words appeared:
"BLADE TWO — SCARLUNE: THE FLAME THAT DEVOURS NIGHT. Level Zero unlocked. Seek embers. Seek wrath. Feed flame."
He grasped Scarlune, letting its heat fuse with Vorrath's hunger. Strength, speed, precision—all amplified. He exhaled, flames dancing around him without burning the forest. "I… I will master you," he whispered. "For my family… for Mimi… for this world."
Even in the aftermath, a dark presence lingered. From the edge of the clearing, eyes glimmered red in the shadows. Patient, intelligent, and silent, it watched him. Daniel did not notice, but the forest remembered the boy who had survived, who had conquered fire, and who now stood stronger than ever. And the world would not forget.