Chapter 7: Scales of Awakening

The day began with a sky blanketed in heavy gray clouds, a quiet tension hanging over Eldora’s distant mountains, the kind of morning where the world itself seemed to be holding its breath; deep in the castle's southern training yard, Malik stood across from Zero, arms crossed, a heavy expression weighing his features as he watched the boy kneel in the center of a massive drawn circle, blindfolded, breathing slowly but unevenly, blue-tinted Azuraflames flickering wildly across his arms and shoulders like they were alive and unwilling to be tamed; Malik had agreed to oversee this session personally at King Kaku’s request, and though he had trained many flame-bearers in his time, nothing he had seen prepared him for what he was beginning to witness now; the ground around Zero pulsed faintly, the very air vibrating with suppressed power, and Malik knew — without being told — that today was not just a lesson in control but the beginning of something far bigger, something ancient stirring inside the boy's blood; Zero gritted his teeth, struggling to focus as Malik’s voice carried over the training yard, low and commanding, "Focus, Zero — don't force the flames, let them breathe with you, guide them, do not chain them," but Zero’s breathing only grew harsher, the blue fire rippling against the stone in erratic bursts, spitting embers into the sky; Malik stepped closer, narrowing his crimson eyes as he sensed a subtle change in the boy’s energy — a shift deeper and darker than before — and it was then he saw it: scales, not ordinary demonic ones but gleaming patches of deep blue tinted with flickers of red, forming across Zero's forearms and crawling upward like living armor, shimmering each time the flames burst violently outward; Malik froze, a longforgotten memory stirring from the ancient parts of his demon blood, because those weren't just any scales, they were something far rarer, something that shouldn’t have existed for another thousand years — royal demon scales — a mark of bloodlines so ancient and powerful they had nearly been wiped from the realms, and yet here they were, appearing on a boy barely eight years old, and worse, Malik remembered that the last time a royal demon had been born, the world itself had trembled under the chaos of its awakening, a chaos that took decades to contain; but that royal demon had been recorded as born over 570 years ago, far too soon for another to exist, and yet Zero’s flames — too blue, too alive, too intelligent — told a different story; Malik’s chest tightened with a strange mix of awe and dread, because if this boy truly bore the blood of a royal demon, if those flames were not mere coincidence but destiny, then Eldora’s peace was standing on a knife's edge and didn't even know it yet; he clenched his fists slowly, breathing deep to steady himself, thinking, how the hell is this possible... Kaku doesn't even realize what he's raising..., but he said nothing aloud, not yet — Zero was still struggling, trying desperately to master the hurricane inside him without losing himself to it, the blindfold soaking with sweat, his teeth gritted in silent fury as his body shook from the effort, his voice a broken whisper against the roar of his own power, "I... can... control it... I won't lose..." and even though Malik's instincts screamed that the scales meant danger, meant history repeating itself in blood and fire, a small part of him — the part that had once dreamed of something better than endless war — hoped, just maybe, that this boy would not be like the others, that this boy could rewrite what being born of fire truly meant. Malik’s voice cut through the smoke like a blade, steady and commanding, “You can’t see me, Zero—and you won’t. But I want you to dodge my attacks anyway.” Zero gritted his teeth, feeling the chaotic flicker of flames licking at his arms, his breath ragged from the pressure in the air. “How...?” he rasped, his voice hoarse as he struggled to keep his stance steady. Malik’s silhouette was nothing more than a shifting shadow in the haze, and yet the weight of his presence pressed down like a storm ready to break. “Focus. Listen. The flames. The air. The heartbeat of the ground beneath your feet. Everything is telling you a story if you just shut up and listen. Harness it. Feel it. Trust it. Move with it.” Malik’s words wrapped around Zero, both a command and a promise. The heat shifted—Malik was already moving, fast, faster than Zero could track with his eyes alone. Zero's body tensed, instinctively reaching for the unstable flames pulsing under his skin, but Malik’s voice snapped through the fog again, harsher, sharper. “Don’t just cling to the flames! They are part of you—but they're not ALL of you! Feel the world WHISPER before it strikes! That is the first step toward mastering the Instinct Veil!” Zero swallowed the lump of fear rising in his throat, his muscles twitching with adrenaline. His heart pounded against his ribs like a drum of war. "A-Alright..." he forced out, the words dry in his mouth, trying to center himself against the spinning madness of the battlefield. His fingers tightened around his blade, the heat of his own power searing through his palms, but he planted his feet firmly into the cracked stone, breathing slow, trying—desperately—to listen beyond the panic. Somewhere unseen, Malik smirked grimly in the mist, the flames around him shifting dangerously as he prepared to strike, his voice a final, grim whisper across the smoke: “Then let’s see if you can survive it.” The world pressed against Zero like a crashing tide. He gritted his teeth, feeling sweat bead at the edge of the blindfold, heart hammering in his ears louder than thought itself. Everything around him blurred into a wall of heat and smoke and pressure. Then it shifted. A ripple. A warning. The air to his left trembled. Zero moved instinctively, pivoting hard to the side just as a blast of force sliced through where he had been standing — the shockwave burning against his cheek, close enough to singe the edges of his hair. Malik’s voice lashed through the smoke, cold and ruthless: “Too slow.” A sharp sting exploded across Zero’s ribs — Malik’s blade, the flat side, but still carrying enough force to knock him sprawling across the cracked ground. Zero gasped, the breath crushed from his lungs, the flames within him flickering wildly, out of sync. His body screamed for him to give up. His instincts screamed louder to survive. Through the haze of pain, Zero forced himself up, muscles trembling, vision nothing but blackness behind the blindfold. He planted his feet again. Breath in. Breath out. Listen. Feel. He could hear the crackle of distant flames — Malik’s power flexing with restrained violence. He could taste the charged air vibrating around him. He could sense the faint, shifting weight of the ground as Malik moved. Zero gripped his sword tighter, the handle burning hot against his palms. Somewhere, in the heart of the inferno, he felt it — Malik’s killing intent rising, sharpening, a blade in the dark. There. Without thinking, Zero ducked low — Malik’s strike cutting the mist above his head with a hiss of displaced air. Zero didn’t stop — he turned with the momentum, the heat guiding him, the heartbeat of the battlefield calling out like a drum. He sidestepped another unseen attack, the ground cracking beneath Malik’s missed blow. Malik’s voice rumbled through the battlefield, a grim acknowledgment: “Better.” Zero staggered, panting, every nerve alight with adrenaline, but he was still standing. Still fighting. Still alive. Suddenly, a massive surge of pressure exploded from Malik, drowning the field in raw, crushing energy — testing Zero’s instinct on a level beyond anything before. Zero’s body locked up — the sheer weight of Malik’s aura paralyzing him. The flames under his skin howled, wanting to break free. He could feel the black-blue scales crawling further up his arms. The demon blood in his veins roared. But Zero gritted his teeth until blood filled his mouth, forcing himself to stand firm, to feel everything without losing himself. The ground cracked beneath Zero’s feet — but he moved again, faster now, flowing with the chaos. He dodged three strikes in pure blind reaction, the Instinct Veil whispering in his bones. Malik came in for a final blow, aiming for Zero’s heart — and this time, Zero twisted around it, the blade missing by an inch, the flames singing in harmony with his heartbeat. He moved not by sight — but by feeling the soul of the battlefield itself. For the first time, Malik’s voice, not harsh, but low and dangerous, echoed across the smoke: "Good..." "Now... survive this." Zero barely had time to shift his weight when Malik’s presence vanished into the mist, swallowed whole by the battlefield’s chaos. Silence fell. But it wasn’t peace—it was the kind of silence that screamed. Zero tightened his grip on his sword, his breath ragged, the blindfold damp against his skin. His muscles ached, every inch of his body screaming rebellion, but he stayed rooted, waiting. Listening. A low hum whispered through the cracked stone under his feet. There. Zero swung blindly, catching the edge of Malik’s incoming strike with the flat of his blade. The force of the impact jolted up his arms, rattling his bones, but he held firm, sliding back across the stone in a controlled stumble rather than falling. Malik’s energy shifted again—faster now, sharper. Another ripple in the air. Another strike. Zero barely dodged it by instinct alone, the blade missing his side by a breath. The ground groaned as Malik's next blow slammed into the earth where Zero had stood, a small crater cracking open like a wound. Zero’s heart hammered against his ribs, blood roaring in his ears louder than the flames dancing under his skin. He couldn’t keep this up. His veins burned. His arms were going numb. The black-blue scales were spreading further, up his wrists, creeping toward his elbows, his fingers twitching with unnatural force. Another shift. Another heartbeat. Another attack. Zero pivoted—too slow this time—and Malik’s strike clipped his shoulder, sending him spinning sideways, crashing to the ground with a grunt of pain. The blindfold slipped slightly, but Zero didn’t rip it off. He couldn’t. He wouldn't. The world spun around him, the taste of iron thick in his mouth, but he forced himself up again, legs trembling, sword dragging against the stone for balance. Malik’s steps echoed closer. Final test. Zero steadied his stance, body screaming at him to stop. He exhaled slowly, feeling the pulse of the battlefield, the flow of breath and flame and movement, like a thread tying the chaos together. He felt it— The moment Malik moved again. Zero moved too. Not by sight. Not by thought. By pure instinct. He sidestepped Malik’s final strike, the blade howling past his ear. Silence dropped like a hammer. Zero stood there, panting, sword raised halfway in defense, sweat pouring down his face—but standing. Still standing. A moment later, Malik’s voice came, low and cold: "You’re done." Zero’s knees finally buckled, collapsing onto one knee, chest heaving, blood dripping from his fingertips. Malik stepped into view, pulling the blindfold from Zero’s face. For the first time, Zero saw Malik’s expression—not anger, not disappointment. Something colder. Something calculating. Malik stared down at the black-blue scales creeping up Zero’s arms, the faint wisp of unnatural blue flames still leaking from his body even in exhaustion. “It’s starting," Malik muttered under his breath, barely audible. Far above them, unseen in the highest balcony of the training grounds, King Kaku watched silently, one hand resting on the hilt of his own blade, his eyes sharp and heavy with unspoken weight. He turned away from the scene without a word, his cloak trailing behind him like a fading storm cloud. Because he knew: The true war for Zero’s soul had only just begun. Zero knelt in the center of the cracked training grounds, his bodybroken, his breath ragged, but a thin trail of blue flames still danced at his fingertips. Above him, Malik watched in silence. High above, King Kaku's gaze never wavered. The night was cold. The stars overhead felt distant, unreachable. But Zero did not fall. He planted the sword of Eldora into the ground beside him, the metal sinking deep into the stone with a hiss of steam. The flames that once roared around him had quieted — not tamed, but waiting Hungry. Kaku’s voice finally cut through the silence, low and final: “The boy you are now... will not survive what is to come.” Zero, blood dripping from his fingertips, lifted his head to the sky. The moonlight caught the glint of black-blue scales spreading along his arms, the shimmer of something ancient awakening inside him. He said nothing. Because he understood. He would not be a boy much longer...Eleven Years later