The tension in the barracks was palpable. Every aspirant knew what was coming. After years of grueling training, of endless sparring, running, and testing their endurance, the final trial had arrived, the moment that would decide whether they would become Salamander neophytes or fall short of the glory they had worked so hard to attain.
Daedren sat on the edge of his bunk, sharpening a piece of steel with calm, deliberate strokes, to pass time. Around him, the other aspirants, now 14 years old, were doing the same, their faces a mix of anticipation and fear. They had all been recruited at the age of 6 or 7, molded from childhood for this moment. But Daedren was the exception. At 16, he was older, different, but the drillmasters had seen something in him, his ability to adapt quickly, his inherent skill with the forge, and the recommendation from Sagorr'kyt. That recommendation had bought him this chance, but now it was up to him to prove himself worthy.
The final trial had been explained to them the previous night. It was simple, but deadly: each aspirant was to forge a sword, plain but functional, using the skills they had learned in the forge. Once completed, they would take their blade into the wilds of Nocturne and hunt down a Scorpiad, a massive, venomous creature known for its deadly sting and armored hide. They had five days to complete the task. Failure meant death or rejection.
Daedren could feel the weight of the task pressing down on him. The other boys had been preparing for this since they were children. He had been given just a fraction of that time.
The horn sounded, signaling the beginning of the trial. The aspirants rose as one, the barracks falling into a tense silence. No words were exchanged. Each of them knew what was at stake.
Daedren followed the others to the forge, where the raw materials awaited them. The room was filled with the familiar scent of burning coals and molten metal. Each aspirant was given a single ingot of steel, just enough for one blade. The challenge was to make something that could cut through the thick exoskeleton of the Scorpiad without breaking.
Daedren’s hands moved with practiced ease. The heat from the forge was intense, but it felt like home. The others worked beside him, hammering their ingots, shaping their blades. Some struggled, their inexperience in the forge showing through in the awkwardness of their movements. But Daedren worked with precision, his hammer falling in rhythmic, practiced strokes. Sparks flew as the metal bent to his will, taking the shape of a simple, straight-edged sword. There was no room for fancy designs, this was a weapon meant to kill, nothing more.
As the hours passed, the tension grew. Some of the aspirants had to restart, their metal warping or cracking under the pressure. But Daedren kept his focus. He had done this countless times before, though never with his life on the line. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, he quenched the blade in oil, watching the steam rise from the red-hot steel as it cooled. It wasn’t beautiful, but it was deadly. The edge was sharp, and the weight was balanced. It would do.
One by one, the aspirants completed their swords. The drillmasters inspected each blade with cold, critical eyes. Daedren’s heart pounded in his chest as they examined his sword, their expressions unreadable. But they said nothing, moving on to the next aspirant. That silence was approval enough.
The next phase of the trial began immediately. Armed with their freshly forged swords, the aspirants were sent out into the wilds of Nocturne. The land beyond the barracks was a desolate wasteland of jagged rocks, molten rivers, and ash-filled skies. It was home to some of the deadliest creatures in the galaxy, and the Scorpiads were among the most feared.
The trial had begun, and every aspirant knew that the next five days would determine their future. For Daedren, the weight of his sword, freshly forged in the fires of the barracks, felt heavier with every step he took into the wilderness of Nocturne. He wasn’t just carrying metal; he was carrying the legacy of his village, his family, and Sagorr'kyt’s belief in him. But as he stepped further from the safety of the barracks, the reality of the task ahead began to settle in like the oppressive heat that radiated from Nocturne’s volcanic surface.
The Scorpiads, monstrous creatures known for their vicious speed and nearly impenetrable armor, had claimed countless aspirants in the past. Daedren had studied their anatomy, understood their strengths and weaknesses, but no amount of study could truly prepare him for facing one in combat. Unlike the sparring rings, where mistakes could be forgiven, here, a single misstep would mean death.
The landscape was harsh and unforgiving, much like the trial itself. Massive pillars of rock jutted from the earth, casting long shadows over the ashen ground. Rivers of molten lava crisscrossed the terrain, and the sky above was filled with a perpetual haze of ash. Every breath Daedren took was thick with the acrid taste of sulfur.
Hours passed as he scouted the area, his sword ready, his senses on high alert. He had heard the distant sounds of battle, other aspirants clashing with Scorpiads or, more likely, falling to them. But there was no sign of the creatures near him. It was as if the world itself was holding its breath, waiting for the moment to strike.
Then, he saw it.
The Scorpiad moved with a terrifying grace, its massive, armored body scuttling across the ground as if it weighed nothing. Its tail, long and barbed, swayed above it like a deadly pendulum, waiting to strike. Daedren crouched low, his heart pounding in his chest as he watched it, every muscle in his body tensing in preparation.
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But as he gripped his sword tighter, readying himself for the fight, a cold realization settled over him, he couldn’t kill this thing alone. The Scorpiad’s armor was too thick, its movements too quick. He could try to strike, but the odds of him landing a fatal blow before it skewered him with its venomous stinger were slim. He would be dead before he even had a chance to bring his sword down.
Frustration boiled inside him, but Daedren wasn’t foolish. He knew when the odds were stacked too heavily against him. If he was going to pass this trial, he would need help.
As if summoned by fate, a familiar voice called out from behind a cluster of rocks.
“Daedren!”
He turned to see Sargo, his broad frame moving swiftly across the terrain, followed by Akeel, who was smaller but just as quick. Both of them carried their swords, their eyes wide with the same realization Daedren had just made.
“You’ve seen one too?” Sargo asked, his voice low but urgent as he joined Daedren behind cover.
Daedren nodded, gesturing toward the Scorpiad, which still prowled the area ahead of them. “There’s no way we can take it down alone.”
Akeel crouched beside them, his dark eyes scanning the creature’s movements with a practiced precision. “It’s too fast,” he murmured. “Even if one of us distracts it, the other would never get a clean hit.”
Daedren thought for a moment, his mind racing. There had to be a way to kill it, together. “We’re stronger in a group,” he said quietly, the words more for himself than the others. “If we time it right, we can strike all at once. Overwhelm it.”
Sargo grinned, despite the grim situation. “You mean we fight smart instead of throwing ourselves at it like idiots?”
Akeel gave a short nod, the glint of determination returning to his eyes. “We take turns distracting it, force it to focus on one of us while the others go for the weak spots.”
The plan was simple, but that didn’t mean it would be easy. They would have to be in perfect syn, each strike timed precisely, each movement calculated. If even one of them faltered, the Scorpiad would pick them apart.
Daedren took a deep breath, feeling the weight of his sword shift in his grip. “Let’s do it.”
They spread out, moving silently across the terrain, careful not to draw the Scorpiad’s attention too soon. Daedren positioned himself opposite Sargo, while Akeel circled around to the creature’s side. The tension in the air was thick, every second stretching into an eternity as they waited for the perfect moment to strike.
It came when the Scorpiad turned, its massive pincers snapping at something in the distance. Akeel was the first to move, darting forward with the speed of a snake, his sword slashing at the creature’s leg joint. The blade struck true, but the armor held, deflecting the blow with a metallic screech.
The Scorpiad reacted instantly, its tail lashing out toward Akeel with terrifying speed. But before it could land a hit, Sargo charged from the opposite side, slamming his sword into the creature’s tail, forcing it to retreat.
Daedren moved in next, his muscles burning as he brought his sword down on the Scorpiad’s back. The blade bit into the armor, but not deep enough to do real damage. The creature shrieked, spinning in a deadly arc as its pincers lashed out in every direction.
It was a whirlwind of chaos. For every strike they landed, the Scorpiad retaliated with twice the fury. Its stinger flashed like lightning, its pincers snapping at their heels. The ground beneath them became a battlefield of blood and steel, every movement a desperate dance of survival.
Hours passed like this, their bodies pushed to the brink of exhaustion. The sun began to dip below the horizon, casting long shadows over the battlefield as they continued to press the attack.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Daedren saw the opening. The Scorpiad had overextended itself, its tail missing a strike against Sargo and leaving its underbelly exposed.
“Now!” Daedren shouted, his voice hoarse with exhaustion.
Together, they surged forward. Akeel struck first, driving his sword into the creature’s side with all his remaining strength. The blade pierced through the armor, sinking deep into the Scorpiad’s flesh. The creature screeched in pain, thrashing wildly, but Sargo was already in position. He brought his sword down in a heavy, brutal arc, severing the creature’s tail with a single blow.
The Scorpiad staggered, its movements slowing. Daedren saw his chance and lunged forward, driving his blade deep into the creature’s throat. The Scorpiad convulsed, its legs twitching as it let out one final, desperate shriek before collapsing to the ground.
The three of them stood over the fallen beast, panting, their bodies bruised and battered but alive. They had done it. But they knew this was just the beginning.
The next three days were a blur of pain, exhaustion, sleeping in awkward positions and relentless hunting. They tracked down two more Scorpiads, each battle more grueling than the last. Every strike, every dodge, every desperate moment in those four days tested their limits, both physically and mentally.
The second Scorpiad had ambushed them near a lava river, forcing them to fight in the unbearable heat. Daedren had narrowly avoided being impaled by the creature’s tail, while Akeel had managed to cripple it with a well-timed strike to the leg. It took all three of them to finally bring it down, and by the time they severed its head, they were barely able to stand.
The third was the toughest of all. The Scorpiad was larger, faster, more aggressive than any they had faced before. It took hours of careful maneuvering, of luring the creature into traps and striking only when the opportunity presented itself. Their swords were chipped, their bodies covered in cuts and bruises, but after what felt like an eternity, they managed to land the final blow, collapsing in the dust as the beast fell.
Four days of relentless pain, but they had done it. Three Scorpiads slain, each one a testament to their strength, their unity, and their refusal to give up.
By the time they returned to the barracks, the sun was setting behind the jagged mountains, casting an eerie red glow over the horizon. Daedren, Sargo, and Akeel limped through the gates, their swords hanging heavy at their sides, their bodies worn but alive.
The drillmasters waited for them, their faces unreadable as they surveyed the battered trio. The other aspirants who had survived the trial stood in silence, their eyes filled with a mixture of respect and awe.
Daedren locked eyes with the lead drillmaster, his heart still racing. The man gave a single, approving nod.
They had passed.