The sun hung low in the ashen sky, casting long shadows across the Salamanders' fortress. Inside the barracks, the atmosphere was thick with the kind of quiet anticipation that only follows the end of something monumental. The trials were over, and Daedren, along with Sargo and Akeel, sat side by side, their bodies battered but their hearts soaring.

Of the 123 aspirants in their barracks, only six had passed. Six boys, now young men, had survived the brutal ordeal of forging their blades, hunting the Scorpiads, and returning alive. Daedren could still feel the weight of the trial in his bones, the searing pain in his muscles a constant reminder of how close he had come to death. But he had made it. They all had. The three of them had done the impossible.

As they sat in the barracks, waiting for the call to the ceremonial hall, Daedren glanced around at the others who had passed. The other three survivors, Thane, a boy with sharp eyes and quick reflexes; Kalith, whose endurance during the trials had set him apart; and Varro, the largest and most physically imposing of the group, each bore the same expression of quiet pride.

Sargo, sitting beside Daedren, grinned despite the bruise on his cheek. “We did it.”

Akeel, ever the quiet one, simply nodded. His face was still, but Daedren could see the fire behind his eyes. They had fought together, bled together, and now they would stand together in the ceremony to come.

The door to the barracks swung open, and a Salamander drillmaster stepped inside. His presence, as always, was commanding, but this time there was a weight of finality in his gaze.

“Neophytes,” he said, his voice booming, filling the room. “You have passed the trials. You have proven yourselves worthy. Now, you will be presented to the Chaplain.”

The words hit Daedren like a hammer. Neophytes. It was real now. After all the pain, the blood, the endless hours of training, he was a step closer to becoming one of the Salamanders. A brother of Vulkan.

The aspirants who had passed rose to their feet, forming a silent line as they followed the drillmaster out of the barracks. The walk to the ceremonial hall was a quiet one, but the air buzzed with anticipation. Each step felt heavier than the last, the weight of what they had achieved finally settling in. Daedren’s heart pounded in his chest, but it wasn’t from fear, it was from pride.

As they approached the hall, the massive doors swung open, revealing the vast chamber within. The walls were adorned with the symbols of the Salamanders, flames, hammers, and the sigil of Vulkan himself. The room was filled with some of the Chapter’s senior members, their power armor gleaming in the flickering light of the braziers that lined the walls.

At the front of the hall stood the Chaplain, his presence overwhelming. Among them, towering above them, was Sagorr’kyt. His eyes, though still shadowed with the pain of his illness, held a deep sense of pride as they met Daedren’s.

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Daedren swallowed hard, his throat dry. This was it. The moment they had all been waiting for.

The six new neophytes were led to the center of the hall, where they knelt in silence before the Chaplain. The drillmaster who had led them spoke first, his voice reverberating off the stone walls.

“These neophytes have passed the Trial of Fire and Blood,” he said. “They have forged their blades and slain the beasts of Nocturne. They have proven themselves worthy to stand among Vulkan’s sons.”

There was a murmur of approval from the assembled Astartes. The sound was low, but it carried a weight that Daedren felt deep in his chest.

Sagorr’kyt stepped forward, his movements slow but deliberate. His voice, when he spoke, was a deep rumble that seemed to shake the very foundations of the hall.

“Daedren, Sargo, Akeel, Thane, Kalith, Varro, your trials are over, but your journey has just begun,” he said, his gaze sweeping over the kneeling neophytes. “You have shown strength, endurance, and above all, the spirit of Nocturne. But know this: your true test lies ahead. As neophytes of the Salamanders, you will be called upon to serve the Imperium. You will face the horrors of war, the enemies of mankind, and the fires of battle. But you will not face them alone.”

Daedren felt his heart swell as Sagorr’kyt’s gaze landed on him.

“You are brothers now,” Sagorr’kyt continued. “Brothers in fire, forged in the same crucible. Together, you will carry Vulkan’s flame into the stars.”

He paused, and in the silence that followed, the gravity of the moment seemed to press down on Daedren like the weight of a forge hammer. He had dreamed of this moment, but now, standing here, it felt so much more real, so much heavier, than he had ever imagined.

Sagorr’kyt raised his hand, and one by one, the leaders of the Chapter stepped forward, placing a hand on each neophyte’s shoulder in a gesture of welcome. When it was Daedren’s turn, Sagorr’kyt’s hand rested heavily on his shoulder, and for a brief moment, the older man leaned in closer.

“I knew you had the fire in you, boy,” he whispered, his voice barely audible. “Now show the galaxy what you’re made of.”

Daedren’s chest tightened with emotion, but he kept his head bowed, his jaw clenched against the wave of pride that threatened to overwhelm him.

The ceremony continued as the Chapter’s leaders formally graded each neophyte, marking their acceptance into the Salamanders with words of praise and recognition. Daedren, Sargo, Akeel, Thane, Kalith, and Varro stood proudly as they were acknowledged, their faces bare, their bodies still carrying the scars of the trials.

The ceremony ended with a solemn chant, the voices of the Astartes echoing through the hall like the roar of a distant volcano. The six neophytes stood tall, their heads held high, their hearts filled with a sense of belonging they had never known before.

As they exited the hall, Daedren felt a hand clap him on the back. He turned to see Sargo grinning at him, his face still bruised from the trials but alive with excitement.

“We did it,” Sargo said, his voice full of awe. “We’re Salamanders.”

Daedren smiled, the weight of the moment finally beginning to settle. “Yeah.”

Akeel joined them, his usual quiet demeanor softened by the pride that shone in his eyes. Thane, Kalith, and Varro stood close behind, their faces a mix of relief and satisfaction.

“It’s just the beginning,” Akeel said simply, but the words carried a truth that none of them could deny.

Together, the six of them stood at the gates of the hall, looking out over the vast landscape of Nocturne. The fiery sky stretched endlessly above them, a reminder of the trials they had faced and the battles yet to come.

But for now, they were brothers. And they were ready for whatever the galaxy had in store.