Daedren’s legs ached from the long trek down the slopes of Mount Deathfire. His muscles, hardened by years at the forge, now pulsed with a dull pain that seemed to reach deep into his bones. But as he stood at the massive iron doors of the 7th Company barracks, fatigue was the furthest thing from his mind.

The barracks loomed before him, a fortress within the already imposing Salamander stronghold. It was said that only the worthy could pass through these doors and call themselves aspirants of the XVIIIth Legion. With a heavy breath, Daedren pushed the doors open, the weight of the metal straining his tired arms. The moment he stepped inside, the air seemed cooler, though the scent of hot metal and incense lingered, a constant reminder of Nocturne's volcanic heart.

Inside, the barracks were not as grand as Daedren had expected. The room was utilitarian, with rows of iron-framed beds, simple yet sturdy, and weapons racks lined the walls. The flickering glow of braziers cast long shadows across the room, but it was the figures occupying the barracks that drew Daedren's attention.

Young men, no older than himself, were scattered about the room. They were aspirants, like him, chosen from the scattered villages of Nocturne, each marked by the harsh life they had led under the planet’s unforgiving skies. Some were seated on their beds, sharpening blades or inspecting their gear, while others spoke in low, serious tones.

Daedren stood there for a moment, taking in the sight of them. They all bore the same roughness, the same fire in their eyes that marked those forged by Nocturne’s harsh realities. He had expected his fellow aspirants to be imposing, intimidating even, but seeing them now, they were simply boys preparing for the greatest challenge of their lives.

A voice broke the silence. "You the new one from Mount Deathfire?"

Daedren turned to see a broad-shouldered figure approach. The boy was tall, his skin darkened like most from the volcanic ash of Nocturne. His hair was cropped short, and a thin scar ran across his brow, adding an air of rough experience to his otherwise youthful face. He eyed Daedren up and down, sizing him up in a way that felt more curious than confrontational.

"Yeah, from near mount deathfire" Daedren replied, meeting his gaze. "Name's Daedren."

"Sargo," the boy said with a nod, extending a calloused hand. Daedren grasped it firmly, noting the strength in the other boy’s grip.

"Mount Deathfire, huh? So, you made the climb already?" Sargo asked, leaning back against a nearby weapons rack. His tone was casual, but there was an undercurrent of respect. The trials on Mount Deathfire were infamous among the aspirants, a test of endurance that few spoke of lightly.

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Daedren nodded. "It was... more than I expected."

Sargo let out a low chuckle. "It always is. I was up there last season. Nearly lost my arm to a drygnirr bite. Fast little bastards, aren’t they?"

Daedren smirked. "Fast, and mean."

The ice between them had broken, and as Daedren settled onto an empty bed, Sargo sat beside him, gesturing to the others in the room. "We’re all here for the same reason. To prove we’re worthy of becoming Astartes. Every one of these boys has passed their trials. But that was the easy part. The real test starts here, in the barracks."

Daedren’s brow furrowed. "What do you mean?"

Sargo's expression grew more serious. "The trials out there, on the mountains, in the forge, they're just to see if you’ve got the will. Here, in the barracks, the real challenge begins. Training, drills, fighting. You’ll be pushed to your limit every day, and then some."

As if on cue, the barracks doors opened once more, and a figure clad in a black robe stepped through. The room fell silent as the aspirants stood at attention. The figure was a Salamander, though his face remained obscured beneath the hood. His very presence radiated authority, a weight that seemed to press down on everyone in the room.

"Aspirants," the figure’s voice boomed, deep and commanding. "You have survived your trials, but survival is not enough. You are here because the XVIIIth Legion demands more. You will endure pain, suffering, and hardship beyond what you can imagine. But in that fire, you will be forged into something greater. You will become Salamanders, or you will be nothing."

The Salamander moved through the room, his gaze passing over each aspirant as though measuring their worth with his eyes alone. When his gaze fell on Daedren, there was a brief pause, a flicker of something unreadable in the hooded figure’s eyes.

"You," the Salamander said, his voice low but unmistakable. "Step forward."

Daedren swallowed hard but stepped out from the line of aspirants. His heart pounded in his chest as the Salamander regarded him.

"Your name?" the Salamander asked.

"Daedren, sir."

The Salamander nodded slowly, as if recognizing something in the boy. "You have walked the path of Mount Deathfire, experience in the forge. But know this, your worth will not be judged by where you come from, but by what you become. Do you understand?"

Daedren nodded, his throat too dry to speak.

"Good," the Salamander said, turning to address the rest of the room. "Tomorrow, your training begins. You will know pain. You will know fear. But if you have the strength to endure, you will emerge as one of Vulkan’s sons."

With that, the Salamander left the room, and the silence he left behind was heavy.

Daedren let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. The weight of the Salamander’s words hung over him, but with it came a fire in his chest. He was no longer just a blacksmith’s apprentice. He was an aspirant of the Salamanders, standing shoulder to shoulder with others who had been forged in the same fires as he.

Sargo slapped him on the back. "Looks like you made an impression. Don’t worry, Daedren. We’re all in this together. Welcome to the barracks of the 7th Company."

And with that, the camaraderie of the barracks settled in. Though the road ahead would be grueling, Daedren knew he wasn’t alone. The trials of Mount Deathfire had been the first step, but now the true forging would begin. Together with his fellow aspirants, he would be tested, broken, and reforged into something greater. And in the end, if he had the strength to endure, he would stand as one of Vulkan’s sons.