The night was heavy with a quiet intensity as Daedren sat with his family around the hearth, the firelight dancing across their faces. The flames reflected off Sagorr’kyt’s armor, casting shadows that seemed to flicker with the weight of the moment. His father, Garran, sat beside Daedren, silent and stoic. His mother’s eyes glistened with unshed tears. They all knew why Sagorr’kyt had gathered them, but the words were yet to be spoken.

Sagorr’kyt’s deep voice cut through the silence, calm but burdened. “I have returned not just to see my people again, but to pass on my duty. My time is nearly over, and my legacy must continue.”

Daedren swallowed hard, his throat dry. The truth had been unspoken, but now it felt like a blade hovering just above his head. His hands tightened around the edges of his chair as the towering Salamander turned his gaze towards him.

“Daedren,” Sagorr’kyt began, “I see in you the strength of our people, the endurance that is the blood of Nocturne. It is not too late for you to follow the path of the Astartes.”

The words struck Daedren like a hammer to the chest. He had always dreamed of the honor of being a Salamander, but that was a child’s dream. Reality was far heavier than he had ever imagined. The Salamanders recruit their aspirants at a young age, 6 or 7 Terran years, and those children were molded from the very beginning to endure the trials of becoming an Astartes. Daedren was already 16, a blacksmith’s apprentice, his life rooted in the village and the forge. It was too late for him, or so he had always believed.

Sagorr’kyt’s eyes, deep and filled with both pride and sorrow, locked onto Daedren’s. “But for you, Daedren, it is not too late. There is still time, if you are willing.”

A long pause settled over the room as Daedren’s mind spun. He had idolized the Salamanders, his heart swelling with pride every time he heard the tales of their heroics, their bravery, their loyalty to Nocturne. But this? To become one of them? To leave behind his family, the forge, the life he had known?

Sagorr’kyt continued, his voice softer now. “You have the heart, but the journey will not be easy. The trials, the tests, only a few survive. It begins with the forge, but it does not end there. You will be trained in the ways of Vulkan, just as he was in his trials with the Emperor. The path is dangerous, filled with challenges that will test not just your strength, but your spirit. Moreover, as you are already old enough you will be learning much faster.”

Daedren’s father shifted beside him, his face stern but proud. He said nothing, but Daedren knew his father’s heart. To be chosen by the Salamanders was the greatest honor for any family on Nocturne. His father would never ask him to decline, nor would he ask him to accept. The decision was Daedren’s alone.

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Sagorr’kyt’s voice became heavy with the weight of his own experiences. “War is not what the stories make it out to be. Glory fades quickly in the face of endless battle. The enemies we face are beyond comprehension—xenos horrors, heretics, and worse. Your life, as you know it, will cease to exist. You will become a weapon, forged by the Imperium’s fire.”

Daedren looked down at his hands, rough and calloused from years at the forge. He had always thought his future would be here, with his family, shaping metal into weapons, not becoming one himself. His heart ached with the weight of the choice before him. But the pull of duty, the honor of being chosen, was undeniable.

Daedren finally looked up, his voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t know if I’m worthy of this.”

Sagorr’kyt leaned forward, the firelight casting deep shadows across his battle-worn face. “None of us are, Daedren. We do not choose this path because we are worthy. We become worthy by walking it.”

A heavy silence followed as Daedren’s words sank into the room. The fire crackled, casting warmth over the moment, but there was a cold weight in the air, a pressure that bore down on Daedren’s chest. His whole life had been simple, working the forge, dreaming small dreams. Now, the weight of his family’s legacy, of his people’s future, pressed against his heart.

Sagorr’kyt’s eyes remained locked on Daedren, but they were not the stern eyes of a superior judging his worth, they were the eyes of a mentor, a man who had walked the path Daedren was about to take. “Daedren, this is your choice. I cannot tell you what path to take. But I can tell you this: the forge will always be here. Your family will always be proud of you, no matter what you choose. But the call to duty... it is rare, and it is sacred.”

Daedren’s heart raced, his thoughts swirling in a storm of doubt and fear. Yet, somewhere deep inside, a spark had been ignited—a spark of something greater, something beyond himself. He thought of his father, of his family, of Nocturne. The honor of being chosen was not just for him, it was for all of them.

Finally, with a voice steadier than he felt, Daedren spoke. “I will do it. I will walk the path.”

Sagorr’kyt nodded, his expression unreadable, but there was a flicker of approval in his eyes. “Then may Vulkan’s flame guide you, Daedren. For once you begin, there is no turning back.”

_____

That night, as Daedren lay in his bed, sleep did not come easily. His thoughts churned, filled with the stories of the Salamanders, the weight of Sagorr’kyt’s words, and the unknown future that awaited him. He had made his choice, but the path ahead was still shrouded in darkness. His life as a blacksmith’s apprentice, the heat of the forge, the simple rhythm of hammering metal into shape—it all felt distant now, as though a door had closed, locking him out of the life he had once known.

In his mind, Daedren pictured the trials ahead, the training, the tests of strength and endurance, the capture of the great salamander on Mount Deathfire. He knew that few survived the trials to become a Salamander, but he also knew that if he did, his life would be forever changed. He would be more than just a man. He would be part of something greater, a brotherhood that stretched across the stars.

And yet, as the darkness settled around him, Daedren couldn’t shake the feeling that he was leaving something behind, a piece of himself, a piece of his family. The forge would always be his home, but now, his heart belonged to the Salamanders.

As sleep finally took him, Daedren dreamt of fire, of the forge, of the trials, of the battles to come. And deep within that fire, he could maybe see the shape of his future, a weapon, forged in the heat of war.