[Chp 19] The New Recruit

Today was the day that would determine if Zero was worthy of joining Moon Lence. The wind whispered through the trees and brushed against the stone walls of the buildings, as if the world itself held its breath in anticipation. A knock echoed through Zero’s door. “Good morning, Zero,” a calm voice called from the other side. “Today’s the day. TheGuildmaster has summoned everyone to the training grounds. You’re free to eat first—but don’t be late.” In the dim glow of his guild room, silence reigned—save for the rustle of fabric and the occasional soft clink of metal. Zero stood before the mirror, shirtless and still, eyes scanning the outfit laid out before him like ceremonial armor. It was unlike anything he’d worn before—regal, dark, and designed not just for protection, but for presence. He reached first for the inner layer, a sleek, form-fitting shirt of midnight black that hugged his torso, crafted from tightly woven material both flexible and resistant. As he pulled it over his head, it clung to the muscle and scarred history carved into his body, the high collar brushing against his jawline. It was breathable yet firm—armor in the guise of cloth. Next came the coat. Long, sweeping, and beautifully structured, it was jet-black, with sharp shoulders and a tailored silhouette that tapered down into a dramatic split hem. Zero shrugged it on, feeling the weight settle across his shoulders. The interior was lined with a muted crimson—blood-red only when caught in the right light. Silver accents and metallic trim gleamed faintly at the edges: along the cuffs, across the shoulders, and tracing the elegant high collar that framed his neck like a crown of shadows. He fastened the coat at his waist with the black cross-belt and chest strap, which hugged diagonally across his torso, intersecting with a set of dull, silver buckles. Each clasp clicked into place with precision, built for movement and strength. The long coat’s back swayed as he moved, almost cape-like, commanding yet silent. He slipped on the fitted black gloves next—reinforced at the palms and knuckles, crafted from supple leather and stitched with discreet lines that hinted at hidden layers of protection. They flexed with his fingers like they belonged there. The pants were snug, dark, and armored along the thighs and shins with subtle plating sewn beneath the fabric. He tucked them into his tall boots—polished black, strapped and buckled at the calves, designed for silent movement yet sturdy enough to withstand chaos. As he stood fully dressed, Zero looked at himself in the mirror. This wasn’t just a change of clothes. It was a transformation—a symbol of purpose, of rebirth. No longer a wanderer. No longer a shadow. But something forged. He picked up the Shinku blade and slid it smoothly into the sheath at his side. The coat fell just enough to veil it, yet anyone looking closely would know: he was armed, and deadly. Zero turned away from the mirror, cloak tails brushing behind him like ink across parchment. He moved toward the door with quiet certainty. He opens the door and walks out, his Hollow mask formed on his face, He ignored the call for breakfast, making his way directly to the training grounds. “I’m here,” he murmured, voice quiet—high-pitched, yet laced with something darker beneath. The Guild Master stepped into the center of the training grounds, arms crossed behind his back, his cape swaying with authority. The wind fell still. All eyes turned to him. His gaze swept across the gathered warriors, then settled—narrowed—on the boy in black at the far edge. “So… you’re the one.” He paced slowly, his voice deep and steady, carrying weight with every word. “The stranger who wandered into our ranks without history, without name, without allegiance. I’ve heard whispers. About your silence. Your eyes. That blade you carry. And I’ve seen enough to know one truth—” He stopped. “You don’t belong here.” Gasps flickered through the crowd. “Not yet.” The Guild Master raised a hand before any could protest. “You walk like a soldier. You fight like something far worse. But who trained you? Who forged you? What do you seek in Moon Lence? No one knows.” He stepped closer, now standing just a few feet from Zero. “And that makes you dangerous.” His voice dropped to a near growl. “To us. To them. Even to yourself.” He turned sharply, addressing the whole guild. “We are not a sanctuary for the lost. We are not a place for orphans of war, or strays looking for shelter. Moon Lence is a blade. Cold. Precise. Unyielding. We do not offer trust freely—we forge it, in the crucible of battle, in the silence of discipline.” He turned back to Zero. “You want to wear our colors? You want to fight under our banner?” He gestured to the arena, now glowing with runes and shifting stonework. “Then prove it.” A long pause. “You’ll face a trial. One-on-one. A real fight. No rules. No mercy. You survive—maybe I start asking questions. You impress me—maybe you earn a place here. But if you fail...” His eyes turned cold. “Then walk away. Disappear, just as quietly as you came.” A hush fell over the crowd. Then, with a wave of his hand: “Summon the challenger.” As the Guild Master’s hand lowered, the training grounds shifted. Stone tiles ground against one another, reshaping the arena’s center into a perfect dueling circle, bordered by low walls carved with glowing sigils. The air grew still again, unnaturally so. From the crowd, footsteps echoed—measured, metallic, commanding. A man stepped forward. Draped in a sleek black combat cloak with silver trim, his stride was unhurried, his gaze sharp and knowing. His hair was obsidian, slicked back, and his expression unreadable behind a half-mask of polished steel that covered the left side of his face. His armor was dark, etched with ancient patterns, and at his side hung a sword unlike any ordinary weapon—broad, heavy, humming faintly with dormant energy. The Guild Master’s lips curled faintly. “Iskar Rothmere. My right hand.” A murmur rippled through the gathered members. “He’s the blade of Moon Lence. If anyone can determine your worth, it’s him.” Iskar’s eyes locked onto Zero, but unlike the others, there was no uncertainty in his stare. No confusion. No surprise. Only recognition. A quiet affirmation—as if he had been waiting for this exact moment. He drew his blade slowly, the steel singing as it left the sheath, resonating in the silence like a warning bell. Then, Iskar spoke, his voice calm, smooth, yet carrying something deeper beneath the surface. “You’re late.” A single heartbeat passed. He lowered into a battle stance—one foot forward, blade pointed sideways like a crescent moon, eyes narrowed. “Let’s see if you’re worth the blood that was spilled for you.” The Guild Master stepped back. “Begin.” Iskar didn’t move at first. He stood still in his stance, blade angled like moonlight caught in steel, eyes locked on Zero as if peering past the body—into something deeper. Then he spoke, low and measured, his voice carrying through the quiet training grounds like a prophecy. “There was a man… long ago. A warrior few could rival. A ghost now, in the minds of most.” He took a slow step forward, blade never wavering. “He once told me something—right before he disappeared into the chaos of the realms.” Zero blinked but said nothing, the Shinku blade heavy in his grasp. Iskar’s gaze narrowed, as if looking through him. “He said, ‘If you ever find someone who carries fragments of me—my soul, my fury, my fire—then that one is my heir. He won’t wear my name, but he’ll carry my will. He won’t seek the path… but the path will find him.’” The crowd was silent, unsure who he spoke of. But Zero felt something stir—deep inside. The air thickened around him. Iskar slowly raised his sword again. “You match his description far too well.” His voice was calm, but there was a sharpened edge to it now. “So either you’re his shadow… or his lie. I intend to find out which.” Iskar voice echoed, “Yeah… you’re right. I am basically his reincarnation. I carry his flames, his will, his fragments—everything!” Zero declared, his body igniting as blue flames surged and danced across his skin. Iskar’s eyes suddenly sparkled, a wild grin breaking across his face. “Then this fight will be fun indeed! Hope you’re as strong as Zarif was—back in the day!” He stepped forward, voice low and charged with energy. “Zarif wasn’t just any warrior. He was a force of nature. A legend. The kind of man who could change the fate of entire realms with just his will.” Iskar’s gaze locked with Zero’s, sharp and intense. “If you truly carry his flames and fragments of his soul, then you’re no ordinary successor. You’re a storm waiting to be unleashed.” He paused, then smirked. “But don’t think I’m going to go easy on you just because of that. If anything, the bar’s been raised higher than ever.” “Show me you’re worthy of the name Zarif’s predecessor. Let’s see if you can live up to the legacy.” “Kokai!” Crimson flames burst to life, swirling fiercely around Zero as his form shifted in an instant. His outfit darkened, transforming into a sleek black jacket cinched with a crimson sash. With a swift, fluid motion, Zero drew Shinku—the Blade of Hell’s Guardian—its edge gleaming ominously in the fiery glow. Ready for battle, both fighters leapt back, then charged at each other with fierce determination. Their blades clashed with a thunderous clang, sending sparks flying and cracking the ground beneath them. Zero swung his blade in a wide arc, aiming for a decisive cut, but Iskar countered with a sharp sidekick to Zero’s leg, sending him tumbling. But Zero was no longer the child he once was. In a blur, he side-shifted—teleporting effortlessly behind Iskar—and sliced sharply across his back. “That was barely a bruise…” Iskar said, his eyes glowing with an eerie white light. Caught off guard, Zero barely had time to react before Iskar’s fist slammed into his chest with devastating force. The impact sent Zero hurtling through the air, crashing against the training grounds wall with a thunderous crack as the stone shattered beneath him. Zero walking out of the rubble, “You think that will stop me!” Zero voice roared throughout the Training Ground, He raised his hand up five great giant blue fire balls began forming, “FLARE BLITZ!” Zero move his hand outward sending each of the five fireballs at Iskar. Iskar’s eyes lit up with excitement as the five blazing fireballs barreled toward him. The air rippled with heat, the ground cracking beneath their pressure. “Hah! That’s more like it!” he shouted, slamming his foot down. A gust of power exploded from his body, his aura now flaring like a storm of black wind and silver sparks. “Iron Tempest: Cyclone Guard!” Iskar roared. He spun rapidly in place, forming a whirling barrier of condensed wind and energy. The first fireball struck—then the second—exploding in violent bursts of blue flame against the barrier. The force shook the arena, but Iskar held his ground. As the last fireball smashed into his cyclone, he burst through the remaining smoke, grinning wildly. “Zarif wasn’t the only one with tricks, boy!” In a blur, Iskar dashed through the fading embers, his arm cocked back. “Let’s see if you can handle this!” With a thunderous cry, he launched a shockwave-infused punch straight toward Zero’s chest again—but this time, Zero had already vanished. It felt like time had stop for a moment, Zero whispered “Abyssborne…Veil…One…” And then — chaos was born. A low rumble growled beneath the ground. The earth beneath Zero’s feet began to fracture and pulse with dark light. Blue fire exploded outward, forming a blazing circle around him — but it wasn’t just fire. It was alive. The flames hissed with whispers. Laughing. Crying. Screaming. Suddenly, horns erupted from his skull — jagged, twisted, demonic — glowing with pulsing veins of blue and red. They looked like fragments of something ancient and cursed. His spine cracked audibly as a long, vicious tail tore out from his lower back, coiling like a serpent tasting blood in the air. His nails split, elongating into curved claws dripping with residual energy, twitching with hunger. His fingers flexed unnaturally. Zero’s back arched violently, his scream drowned in fire, as his teeth sharpened in his mouth — fangs for war, not survival. From his shoulder blades, torn flesh and muscle ripped apart, and a pair of desecrated demon wings burst out. They were skeletal — tattered membranes stretched over broken bones — dripping in dark embers like decayed ash reborn. Blue-red scales spread across his skin in bursts like armor growing with every heartbeat. They crackled with power, reminiscent of the ancient inferno that first scarred him all those years ago with Malik. Then, the eyes opened — and nothing human remained. Twin blue flames burned where his pupils once were. They flickered violently with hatred, memory, power — and destiny. A soul that had seen realms rise and fall. Zero stood in silence, the air trembling around him, his form towering now in menace. He wasn’t just transformed. He was unleashed. “You thought this was just flame?” his voice echoed, distorted, warped — as if a hundred voices were speaking at once. “This is the abyss... and I was born from it.” The entire ground beneath him exploded outward, a shockwave blowing dust and debris into the air like a rising storm. Iskar, for the first time, didn’t move. He just smiled — wide, mad, thrilled. “Heh… finally,” he said, gripping his weapon tighter, feeling the pressure make his arms tremble. “Now this… this is a battle worth bleeding for.” Time resumed. The world snapped back into motion like a shattering mirror — air rushing in, voices gasping, and dust rising. Gasps echoed through the Training Grounds as eyes locked on Zero’s transformed figure. A tension pulsed through the crowd — a mixture of fear, awe, and confusion. “What... is that form?” “His aura… it’s monstrous…” “Is this really just training…?” Without a word, Zero vanished from sight — a blue inferno left in his wake. He reappeared in front of Iskar in a blink — flames spiraling around his arm as he drove his fist forward with demonic force. CLANG!! Iskar reacted just in time, raising his blade, the metal meeting flesh-enhanced fury. The impact sent sparks and embers flying, steel grinding against flame-charged skin. The shockwave cracked the stone beneath their feet and kicked up a whirlwind of dust. Both stood their ground, locked in that moment. Zero’s eyes blazed inches from Iskar’s, voice low and burning: “You wanted the real me… now face it.” Iskar’s grin returned, wild and full of adrenaline: “Good! This is what I was waiting for!” With a burst of strength, he pushed Zero back, their clash shaking the very Training Grounds. Zero slid back across the cracked stone, talons scraping the ground, wings flaring outward with a guttural screech. Smoke coiled around his shoulders like living shadows, and those glowing, abyssal blue eyes never left Iskar. Iskar’s boots dug into the earth as he steadied himself, his sword shimmering faintly with pressure magic, absorbing the lingering heat. “That demonic form of yours…” he muttered, eyes narrowed. “It’s not just power… it’s rage. Refined. Ancient.” Zero didn’t respond. He vanished again. BOOM— A shockwave exploded as he reappeared mid-air behind Iskar, bringing his leg down like a blade. Iskar blocked just in time, but the force buried his feet into the stone, web-like cracks spreading beneath him. Zero didn’t give him time to breathe. A rapid combo of claw strikes, each one trailing streaks of blue fire, forced Iskar to retreat, parrying and dodging with razor-thin margins. “Tch—he’s faster than before!” With a grunt, Iskar channeled pressure magic into his palm, slamming the ground. BOOM! A sphere of compressed air blasted out around him, hurling Zero back like a ragdoll. But Zero didn’t crash. He twisted midair — demonic wings snapping open — and skidded to a halt above the ground, levitating slightly with burning aura swirling around him. “You’re good, old man,” Zero growled, grinning with rows of sharpened teeth. “But I’m just getting started…” He extended his arm. Flames coalesced in his palm, growing, screaming — forming a crackling lance of blue and crimson fire. “Let’s see how your pressure magic handles this—” “INFERNAL LANCER!” The fiery spear hurled forward like a meteor, spiraling straight at Iskar with devastating force. Iskar’s eyes widened, but his fear turned to exhilaration. “Bring it, Abyssborne!” He drew a rune across his blade, and just as the spear was about to collide— “Gale Fortress!” A whirling cyclone barrier erupted around him, the lance slamming into it with a deafening explosion, shaking the guild halls and showering the grounds in flame and dust. The blast faded. Smoke curled off shattered stone and scorched air. The protective cyclone around Iskar flickered — cracked. His armor was charred, his blade trembling in his grip. “Heh…” Iskar coughed out smoke, eyes gleaming. “That flame… isn’t ordinary. It’s alive.” He took a slow step forward, dragging his blade behind him, pressure compressing the air around him like a storm preparing to snap. “Zarif warned me about you... not you specifically, but the one who’d carry his burden. He said: ‘If the world begins to crack again, the boy bearing my soul’s cinders will either destroy us all… or save what’s left.’” Zero hovered, wings spread, blue fire writhing like a halo of hell around him. “Then get ready to be saved by fire, old man!” FWOOM! He charged, a trail of burning feathers behind him. He threw a blinding barrage of flaming strikes—sword, claw, fist, tail—all infused with the Abyssborne Veil’s fury. Iskar’s body blurred with motion, deflecting most of it, but a tail strike caught him in the ribs, sending him flying. Midair, Iskar gritted his teeth, twisted around, and slammed his sword into the air. “Tempest Brand: Pressure Cage!” In an instant, pillars of pressurized air slammed down around Zero, trying to trap him in a crushing dome that could collapse a mountain. Zero roared, flames bursting out as his wings expanded, his aura becoming darker, heavier. “DON’T BOX ME IN!” He slammed his fists together, shattering the Pressure Cage with a burst of blue fire that turned the air itself into burning shrapnel. CRACK—CRACK—BOOM! The ground beneath them finally gave out, unable to handle the pressure and fire. Both figures fell into the dust storm rising from the crumbling training yard. Inside the settling haze, both combatants stood—bloodied, breathing heavily, but smiling. Iskar: “You’ve got his spirit, no doubt about it. But tell me…” Iskar raised his sword again, aura intensifying, the air trembling with raw pressure. “Will you make the same mistakes he did… or burn a new path?” Zero’s flames flared brighter, blue eyes locked on his opponent. “I’m not Zarif.” “I’m ZERO.” Then they vanished—rushing each other again, the final clash of phase one about to begin. The collision shattered sound itself. Flames and pressure met again in a violent flash, then— Silence. The crater they stood in now glowed like a volcanic wound in the earth. Zero skidded back, panting, blue embers rising off his broken scales. His wings were tattered but still burning bright. Iskar slowly rose from a kneeling position, blood running from his mouth. “You really are different from him… more wild. More volatile.” He slammed his sword into the ground. The earth quaked. “Then I’ll stop holding back.” He stood tall, eyes narrowing. “Let me show you why I was once feared across the Nine Realms. Why they called me—” His sword cracked apart, splitting into eight hovering shards, each circling him with intense pressure. “The Tempest Fang.” He removed his upper cloak, revealing etched markings across his chest and arms—runes glowing silver, ancient power sealed within. “Second Stage—Dominion Mode: Tempestral Ascendance.” The air shifted violently. Clouds spiraled in the sky above. The winds howled unnaturally, bending toward him. His eyes glowed pale silver, like a thunderstorm given form. The shards of his sword reconstructed into twin halberds made of wind and steel, pulsing with pressure magic. Zero narrowed his eyes. “…That pressure… it’s stronger than before.” Iskar smirked. “I trained under gods of the High Wind Thrones. This—” he raised one of the halberds, spinning it once “—wasn’t even close to my peak.” He vanished. A flash of wind struck Zero from the side, then the back, then above—a flurry of high-speed slashes, too fast to track. Zero growled, wings wrapping around him defensively. “RAAAHHH!” He burst outward in a violent nova of blue fire. But Iskar didn’t retreat. He soared through the flames, halberds spinning like turbines, cutting through the fire and slamming into Zero’s chest, sending him crashing through three stone columns. “Still standing?” Iskar taunted. The rubble smoked… then exploded outward. Zero emerged, hunched over. His demonic tail lashed wildly, one of his horns now chipped. “You’ve gotten faster…” Zero lifted his blade—Shinku, glowing fiercely in his grip. “But I’ve got more to burn.” He pointed Shinku at the sky. “Let’s turn this battlefield… into a furnace.” The sky darkened, clouds swirling into a vortex of blue fire and blackened flame. Iskar’s eyes widened slightly. “Wait… he’s pulling from the upper layer of his Abyssborne core—!?” Zero’s voice echoed, deeper, distorted: “Veil One: EXCESS MODE.” His scales darkened further, veins glowing bright beneath. His wings became more skeletal, the fire on them flickering like soulflame. His eyes—now pure azure—seemed to pierce through time itself. Then, without warning— “Let’s see how long you can stand in my hell, Tempest Fang.” They both rushed again. Abyssborne fire and ancient storm pressure. Hellfire and hurricane. And the entire Guild could do nothing but watch—as two forces from different eras fought like gods reborn. BOOM! The next collision cracked the skies themselves. Trees around the Training Grounds were uprooted, stone shattered in every direction. The sheer shockwave launched dozens of Guild members off their feet. From above, it looked like a meteor had struck. In the crater’s heart, Iskar’s halberd was locked against Shinku, both warriors growling, eyes burning—one silver, the other azure-blue. “You’ve got power,” Iskar spat, pressing harder. “But power alone never made Zarif a legend.” Zero bared his sharp, demonic teeth. “I’m not Zarif! I’m better.” Suddenly—Zero released his grip with one hand and punched Iskar’s side with a flaming demon fist, sending the veteran warrior skidding across the rubble. He flipped mid-air, blades circling around him like guardian spirits. “Tch… Still has that reckless fire.” Iskar wiped blood from his lip. “Guess you really are his heir.” The moment was tense. Smoke curled from the destroyed terrain. Then—the ground trembled again. Zero roared. Blue fire surged around him like a storm. The very air distorted from the raw Abyssborne energy. “I didn’t want to use this form so soon…” he growled. “But if you're holding back—then so will I no longer.” He spread his wings wide. Each flap sent embers raining like ash. “ABYSSBORNE VEIL TWO!” His bones cracked, back arching in pain as more blue-red tinted scales erupted across his body, forming thicker armored plates. His wings widened and fractured into multiple shadowy tendrils of fire. His face shifted—his jaw slightly elongated, fangs thicker, eyes glowing too bright for mortals to gaze into directly. The Guild members watching from afar backed up instinctively, shielding their faces from the intensity of his transformation. “Is this… even Zero anymore…?” someone whispered. The demon stood tall, tail swaying like a serpent. Zero’s voice sounded darker now, deeper—layered with something inhuman beneath the surface. “You said Zarif was a legend…” “Then let me show you what the successor of legends looks like… when he’s done holding back.” He vanished in a blink— BOOM! Iskar barely had time to block—his halberds spinning to catch Zero’s blade—but even with the wind pressure defending him, the impact ripped through his shoulder guard, sending blood spurting out. “Agh…! So he’s already adapting mid-fight…?” “I’m done adapting,” Zero said coldly. “Now I’m dominating.” He grabbed one of Iskar’s halberds with his free clawed hand—and snapped it in two. Iskar’s eyes widened, but he grinned. “You bastard…” “This really is fun.” With his remaining halberd, Iskar thrust forward, lightning now spiraling around the blade—channeling the raw skies into his strike. “Typhoon Clad: Sky Shatterer!” The blade met Zero’s flaming guard—and both fighters were blasted back by the elemental clash. Dust. Silence. Both stood on opposite ends of the battlefield, heaving breaths. Their clothes torn. Their bodies battered. But their eyes? Still locked with burning intent. Then… Iskar coughed, and smiled faintly. “Zarif… he would’ve been proud of you, brat.” Zero looked down for a moment. Then his eyes rose again, calm—but fierce. “I’m not doing this to make him proud.” “I’m doing this… because I have to. Because if I don’t master this power—everything dies.” Flames roared. The ground beneath them cracked and splintered, scorched black by the raw, demonic energy radiating from Zero. Iskar grinned wildly, blade at the ready, blood dripping down one arm from a near-miss. “Hah! That’s more like it! Show me what those flames can do, successor of Zarif!” Zero surged forward, each step a crater. His wing-tendrils flared open like the jaws of a great beast, energy coiling at his palm for one final, devastating strike— BOOM! A shockwave rippled outward, silencing everything. The flames around Zero flickered and wavered. The sky itself seemed to dim. A massive wave of pressure blanketed the training grounds. “That’s enough.” The voice was calm… but it cracked like thunder through the field. From above, hovering just slightly off the ground with one hand raised, was the Guildmaster. A flowing silver and midnight-blue cloak wrapped around his armor. His hair, long and pale, drifted behind him like mist in the wind. His eyes glowed faintly with runes of ancient magic. “You’ll burn down the entire guild before proving anything.” Zero froze mid-attack. His breathing was ragged, heavy. The flames on his body shimmered as though struggling to contain themselves. Iskar’s grin faded, replaced with respectful composure. “Guildmaster…” The Guildmaster landed between them in an instant, his presence alone disrupting the pressure in the air. He looked first at Zero, eyes narrowing with intrigue and calculation. “You… hold more than just raw power. That transformation—those flames… they’re not of this realm alone.” Zero, still in Veil Two, snarled slightly… but slowly lowered his arm. The Guildmaster turned to Iskar. “And you… couldn’t resist, could you?” Iskar shrugged. “When you see a spark of a god, you want to test the fire.” The Guildmaster’s gaze swept over the cracked battlefield. “This isn’t the place for a god’s fire… yet. There will come a time for it. But not today.” Zero exhaled deeply, blue flames retreating into his body like coiled serpents crawling back into the abyss. His form began to shift, reverting slowly back to his original state—though his eyes still glowed faintly, embers lingering behind them. The silence around the Training Grounds remained. Everyone had seen it. Everyone had felt it. This wasn’t just another recruit. Zero had arrived—and the world had just felt the tremor of something ancient waking once more. The Training Grounds were still shrouded in the aftermath of fire and fury — shattered stone, scorched earth, and a lingering tension in the air. Zero stood, silent, his form slowly cooling from the intensity of his transformation. His breathing was steady now, though every fiber of him still buzzed with power. Across from him, Iskar lowered his blade, the grin on his face still wide with exhilaration. Then came the sound — soft but firm — the echoing steps of the Guildmaster as he approached. The murmurs among the spectators died instantly. The Guildmaster’s gaze swept the arena, then landed on Zero with a mixture of gravity and intrigue. “You’ve made quite the entrance, Zero…” He paused, his voice carrying the weight of a hundred battles and decades of leadership. “Your fire is not just of heat — it carries meaning. Memory. A will older than even you know.” He glanced to Iskar for a moment, then back at Zero. “But what matters most to this guild… is not power alone. It is the ability to rise. To resist. To face chaos — and answer with resolve.” A heavy silence followed before the Guildmaster raised his hand, declaring loudly: “From this day forth… you are one of us.” “Zero, wielder of a forgotten flame, bearer of a shattered legacy… Welcome to Moon Lence.” The crowd stirred — a surge of energy rippling outward. Some clapped. Others whispered in disbelief. But all recognized what had just happened. Zero had become more than a name. He was now a member of Moon Lence — a guild woven into the fabric of the Nine Realms. Iskar chuckled beside him. “Hope you’re ready for what’s next… ‘cause things only get harder from here.” Zero simply nodded, blue flames flickering once more behind his eyes. “Let it come.” And the moon above watched in silence — as a new chapter quietly began.