Dawn crept through the eastern forests of Astrid like molten gold spilling over misted treetops. Daniel Bellhem's breath formed clouds in the chill morning air as he crouched in a small clearing, muscles quivering and hands raw from gripping Vorrath. The First Blade pulsed with life in his grip, the red veins along its dark steel writhing faintly, almost as if aware of the boy's exhaustion and demanding more. In his other hand, Scarlune radiated heat, a molten glow shimmering across its edge, whispering promises of destruction while testing Daniel's control.
His body ached from the previous day's battle. The wounds along his side, only partially healed by the Devil-Demon Fire Fruit, throbbed insistently, a constant reminder that strength alone would not keep him alive. Survival demanded more than muscle—it demanded skill, precision, and the cold calculation to seize the right moment. Daniel let a slow breath out and pressed himself against a moss-covered stone. He closed his eyes, letting Scarlune's warmth radiate into his body. Pain and pleasure mingled strangely; the fire whispered to him, urging him to bend it, master it, wield it without letting it consume him.
The forest around him was alive. Every rustle of leaves, every snap of a twig beneath an unseen foot, every flicker of shadow could signal death. Then a low growl rolled through the trees, vibrating through the earth beneath his knees. Daniel's eyes snapped open, scanning every movement. From the shadows stepped a Greater Horned Fiend, larger than any opponent he had faced. Its fur was blackened and scorched, eyes glowing molten orange, claws like jagged obsidian, teeth sharpened to gleaming points. Smoke curled from its flared nostrils, and the acrid scent of corruption filled Daniel's nose.
His pulse surged. This was no ordinary monster. This was a trial, and he knew it. He adjusted his grip on both blades, feeling the weight, the hunger, and the demand from each weapon. Vorrath vibrated in his hands, hungering for the fiend's essence. Scarlune hummed like molten metal, a promise of flames that could erase flesh from bone. The creature roared, barreling forward with inhuman speed, claws extended. Daniel sidestepped, swinging Vorrath in a wide arc. Sparks met claws; the beast recoiled, snarling, as Scarlune flared in response. Fire lanced across its shoulder, hissing against corrupted flesh. Steam rose, curling in the morning mist.
The fight escalated in a brutal rhythm: Daniel ducked, rolled, parried, and struck with both blades, balancing the brutal pull of Vorrath with the searing heat of Scarlune. Each swing tested his endurance, demanded split-second judgment. One wrong move could see him ripped apart. He felt the thrill, the pressure, the weight of every heartbeat. The blades demanded blood, but Daniel refused to feed them recklessly. Every strike was calculated. Every dodge intentional. The forest seemed to quiver under the intensity, leaves trembling in the aftermath of clashing steel and searing flame. When the horned fiend finally fell, twitching, guttural and defeated, Daniel's knees buckled beneath him. He sank to the damp forest floor, chest heaving, blood and sweat mingling, streams streaking down his face.
He remained there only briefly before he noticed it: a small tree, charred black but glowing faintly red along its branches. Suspended in the center was a cluster of Devil-Demon Fire Fruits, their skin pulsing like molten coals. His pulse quickened. These fruits were more than nourishment; they were keys to his next stage of power, the next blade, the next step toward mastery. He approached cautiously, scanning every shadow, every rustling bush. Predators, drawn by the fruits' power, could strike at any moment.
A screech tore through the air above him. A winged fiend descended, talons aimed to rend flesh. Daniel dropped to one knee, swinging Scarlune upward. Flames erupted in a vicious arc, striking the creature midair. It screamed, twisting violently, crashing to the earth with a dull thud. Heart hammering, Daniel stepped forward and plucked a Devil-Demon Fire Fruit from the tree, inhaling its molten scent before raising both blades.
He ate the fruit slowly, letting the heat crawl through him, consuming him from within. Pain flared in every fiber of muscle, but exhilaration followed. Vorrath pulsed, hungering, Scarlune flared, singing across his forearms, and the Book of Ten Swords hovered before him, pages rustling as they opened to words he had never seen: "Embrace the fire within. Let wrath become clarity. Only then shall the next level awaken."
Visions engulfed him: his parents' broken faces, urging survival; Mimi's emerald eyes burning with gratitude; endless monsters, stronger and darker than any before; his own pain, his own rage, fused with desire and fury. He fell to his knees, gripping the blades as fire surged through his body. I will not die here. I will not fail. I will see her again, he promised. Flames licked along his arms, reshaping muscles, sharpening reflexes, heightening senses. He could feel the faintest tremor in the earth, hear the smallest whisper in the wind, perceive predators before they moved. When he opened his eyes, he was changed—stronger, faster, more deadly. His body, mind, and blades were aligned in lethal harmony.
Testing himself, he swung Scarlune at a nearby tree. It cleaved the trunk cleanly, steam rising where molten metal met wood. Sparks scorched the moss around its base. The forest seemed to recoil, shadows shifting in awe, the air charged with residual energy. Daniel moved in a fluid dance, simulating combat, striking and spinning, letting Scarlune flare with each motion, Vorrath pulsing in response. He laughed—a low, satisfied sound—and the forest echoed back with the clash of imaginary metal and hiss of flame. Every movement was practice, every practice a war, every war a step closer to mastery.
Eventually, exhaustion overtook him. He sank to the ground beside a tree and drew the handkerchief Mimi had given him weeks ago. He pressed it to his face, inhaling its faint floral scent. I will see her again, he whispered. No matter the monsters, the darkness, the blades—I will find her. The resolve hardened inside him, unyielding. He could feel the pull of the next blade, the echo of inheritance, and the whispers of legendary swords yet to awaken. Daniel tightened his grip on Vorrath and Scarlune, ready for whatever the forest might throw at him next. The path was long, the enemies growing stronger, but he would not falter. The fire within him had only begun to burn.
From the shadows, unseen, something waited. Eyes glinting red, teeth bared, intelligent and patient. It was stronger, smarter, more dangerous than any foe he had faced. Daniel did not notice it yet, but the forest knew. The forest would remember. And the boy who survived, trained, and burned with purpose would rise, for the Ember Trial was over, and a greater test was only beginning.