Byron and Daimen walked for about twenty minutes through winding hallways, across a sizable training field, and back into another maze of corridors. Daimen tried to map out their path along the way but lost track after the sixth turn. Everything was so bright and golden, making it difficult to tell the walls apart.

Finally, they arrived at a small, relatively empty room where two young men sat—one noticeably larger than the other. As the door swung open, the larger of the two rose to his feet while the other merely shifted in his seat.

"Good morning, sir!" the larger one said.

Byron nodded. "Brax. Rhys. Meet Daimen."

Brax approached Daimen and extended his hand. Daimen grasped it and felt a firm grip, prompting him to tighten his to match.

"It's nice to meet you, Daimen. I'm Brax, and I'll be leading this squad. I hope to have your full cooperation," Brax said with a smile. "If you have any questions, feel free to ask."

Daimen nodded.

Brax was massive. Like Jaric, it seemed as if Brax's muscles had muscles of their own, and his skin was a similar shade of smooth, rich brown. Unlike Jaric, however, his head was clean-shaven and shone under the room's lights, and his eyes were a deep yellow.

Daimen glanced at Rhys, who seemed distinctly disinterested. He was slumped in his chair, appearing as if he might nod off at any moment.

"Hey," Daimen said.

Rhys looked up with a mildly annoyed expression, as if even the small effort was a significant bother. He let out a deep sigh and responded lethargically, "Hey."

Rhys bore an uncanny resemblance to Jaric—same skin tone, dreadlocks, and hazel eyes. The only noticeable difference was his slimmer build. Had Jaric not mentioned it, Daimen might have mistaken them for father and son instead of uncle and nephew.

"I'll leave you three to get acquainted," Byron said. "Meet me at the Nexus in half an hour." He exchanged a meaningful glance with Daimen before exiting the room.

"So, Daimen, tell us a little about—" Brax began, breaking the brief awkward silence, but was cut off by Rhys.

"A'taro or A'Samar?" Rhys asked, scrutinizing Daimen's crimson hair and eyes.

The question hit Daimen like a bat to the face, leaving him scrambling for words. "A'taro," he muttered, shifting his gaze away.

Brax and Rhys exchanged a glance, their eyes now filled with a hint of pity and sadness.

"I'm sorry for your loss," Brax said. "I can't even begin to imagine how you may be feeling. To lose your entire clan..." He paused, noting Daimen's discomfort on the topic. "If you ever want to talk, I'm here to listen."

"I'm sorry for asking. I didn't mean to—" Rhys trailed off.

Daimen intervened with an awkward chuckle. "No, no. It's fine."

The awkward silence slithered its way back into the room, thicker than before. No one knew where to take the conversation. That was one of the many unfortunate downsides of having experienced a traumatic event. There was no way of talking about it without making everyone uncomfortable.

Daimen readjusted himself, tapping the front of his shoe against the tiles as he searched the white walls for something to say.

"Oh, Rhys. I met your uncle," he said.

"Damn. I'm sorry to hear that." Rhys sighed. "Alright. Just spit it out. What did he want you to tell me?"

"He said to 'take this seriously.' Wait, how'd you know?"

"It's my uncle we're talking about here. This is probably the most predictable thing he could have done."

"Take this seriously, huh?" Brax joined in. "It seems your uncle knows you well."

Rhys scoffed. "Yeah, I doubt that. I wouldn't be here if he did."

"What do you mean?" Daimen asked.

"He's always riding my ass about becoming a 'fearless warrior' like him," Rhys said mockingly. "But not everyone wants to be like him."

Daimen and Brax exchanged glances.

"So, what do you want?" Brax asked.

"To be anywhere but here. No offense." Rhys paused, slumping deeper into his chair. "I just want to lay in bed. If I could sleep through life, I would."

Brax laughed. "Wouldn't that be great? But we owe it to ourselves and the Realm to serve and protect. Without us, the Nether's influence will only continue to spread."

Rhys rolled his eyes. "Why'd you have to go there? You're making me feel like an asshole."

"No, I wouldn't say you're an asshole. I can already tell that you're 'different', in a good way. Your aura alone shows your potential. You just don't realize it yet."

"I appreciate the enthusiasm, but don't get your hopes up. I'm nothing special."

'Nothing special.' Rhys's words severely contradicted the vast weight of his presence. As Brax pointed out, Rhys's aura was immense, similar to that of Jaric's. It wasn't nearly as intimidating, but it was certainly being felt.

"Don't worry. I'll help you see the truth," Brax said confidently. He turned to Daimen. "What about you? How do you view yourself?"

This caught Daimen off guard, and it showed in his hesitant response, "Um, I don't know. I guess I'm a decent fighter."

"Decent is good. Though, I believe you're just being humble. No worries. We'll soon find out what you're both capable of." Brax smiled. "Let's head to the Nexus."

—x—

Ten minutes later, the three young men entered a vast, open room filled with dozens of towering arched stone portals. Each portal buzzed with potent swirling energies at their centers, casting an eerie glow. A few of the portals welcomed squads of well-armored warriors who marched in cadence into the vibrant blue and white glow, vanishing within seconds into the unknown.

Meanwhile, other portals spat out the battered and severely injured remnants of once powerful platoons, survivors of unspeakable horrors. Daimen watched as these men and women staggered out, some collapsing to the ground in exhaustion. A haunting silence fell over some who lay staring wide-eyed into the void, visibly shaken as they silently recounted the terrors they had endured. Others simply cried.

Daimen saw it all and kept walking. This was something he was used to seeing—the harsh effects of war. Over time, he had grown somewhat accustomed to the displays of raw emotion around him—they were expected, sometimes even encouraged. Yet, despite his seasoned outlook, each pained expression, each desperate cry, each fallen tear still tugged at his heart. It was a grim reminder of the reality they lived in.

As the trio navigated the vast space, they eventually came upon Byron and his squad assembled in front of one of the swirling portal gates.

"Right on time," Byron said. "Brax, meet Raynor." The introduction was calm, unaffected by the faint crying echoing in the distance.

Brax and Raynor exchanged a silent nod of acknowledgment.

"Have you all gotten familiar with one another?" Byron asked, scanning the group.

"Somewhat," Brax said.

"Good enough. Training has been postponed. Today, you'll be embarking on your first mission. There's been—"

"Wait. What?" Rhys interrupted. "Please tell me you're joking."

"Rhys," Jaric said sternly, his eyes sharp with a warning.

"It's alright, Jaric," Byron calmly interjected. "Let him voice his concerns."

Rhys's brows furrowed in frustration. "I just met these two. You can't seriously expect me to trust them with my life."

"That is understandable," Byron replied, maintaining a reassuring tone. "However, time is of the essence. Brax and Daimen aren't just anyone—they're seasoned warriors, each trained and ready. I realize it's a lot to trust people you've just met, so I'm asking you to trust my judgment instead. You have nothing to worry about."

"Besides, we'll be right alongside you," Korra added, her voice gentle and her smile warm. "We won't let anything happen to you."

"The mission is straightforward. The village of Asedal is currently experiencing a Fury Class Incursion. We are to eliminate the Infernal threat and secure the area. Keep collateral damage to a minimum. Remember, protecting the villagers is our top priority."

Jaric stretched his arms above his head as he yawned loudly. "Enough talking. Let's get to it," he declared, walking toward the swirling portal. "See you on the other side," he smirked before vanishing into the energy.

Korra rolled her eyes and exhaled heavily. "Why must you always be so impatient?" she muttered, following after him and disappearing into the portal.

Raynor gave Daimen a reassuring smile as if to say, 'You got this.' He then stepped into the portal, followed by Brax, then Rhys, who entered with visible reluctance. Daimen moved to follow, his heartbeat quickening with each step, but Byron stopped him with a hand on his shoulder.

"Be careful out there," Byron said.

Daimen nodded before stepping into the portal. Immediately, he was enveloped in the warmth of the swirling blue and white energy. He felt increasingly lighter, his vision overwhelmed by bright white. For the briefest moment, he existed in nothingness—no sensation, no sound, just an endless white void. Then, suddenly, he was on the other side, greeted by the immediate cacophony of screams and demonic growls.

It was chaos. Fires blazed through the village. Thick smoke clouded the air. The ground shook from the weight of stampeding Goblin hordes. Above, Red Wyverns soared, blasting flames onto the panicked villagers, while Orcs smashed through homes and buildings, scattering debris with each powerful blow.

This all left Daimen temporarily stunned. His heart raced. His breathing was erratic. And his hands trembled. The tang of blood and death was on the breeze, the sounds of destruction reverberated in his ears, and the bitter taste of smoke filled his mouth.

Behind him, Byron exited the portal and grabbed him by the shoulders, shaking him back to reality.

"Focus, Daimen! This isn't the time to lose your head!" Byron said before racing off to confront a nearby group of Goblins.

Daimen took a few deep breaths, steadying his nerves. "I can do this," he whispered. He clenched his fists, and a brilliant orange flame burst to life around them. His eyes glowed a fierce, fiery red. His nerves had vanished, burned away by his newfound resolve. This was no time for fear. It was time for action.

He surged through the chaos with breakneck speed; his destination—a small group of villagers cornered by snarling Goblins. With a concentrated blast to the ground, he launched himself into the air and landed squarely between the horde and the terrified villagers. Without hesitation, he unleashed a powerful stream of flames, blasting the Goblins away.

"Are you all okay?" he asked sincerely, scanning the group.

Women, children, young and old—all nodded frantically, their eyes wide with fear. The Nether did not discriminate; no one was safe from its insidious wrath.

Among the group was a little girl clinging tightly to a tattered stuffed rabbit. Her face was buried within its brown fur as she trembled in her mother's arms.

"Hey," Daimen said calmly.

The little girl looked up at him, her eyes reddened by tears.

He gave her a warm smile. "It's going to be okay," he reassured her. "I'll get you out of here. I promise."

The little girl managed a small smile, but the terror in her eyes was still evident.

Daimen looked back at the portal and the chaos surrounding it. "Stay close," he instructed the group.

Dying screams echoed throughout the burning village as Daimen led the small group toward the portal. He blasted the Infernals that approached, but they just kept coming. With each Goblin he took down, two more appeared to take its place. And the closer they got to the portal, the more intense the attacks became.

Soon, despite his efforts, they were surrounded. He continued to fight, flames erupting from his hands as he spun and weaved, trying his best to cut a path through the horde. He managed to eliminate a sizable portion, but the small victory was short-lived.

Just as they neared the portal, a shadow loomed over him. A Red Wyvern swooped down, its sharp black claws piercing into his shoulders, lifting him into the air. He bellowed in pain and struggled against its grasp. But it was useless.

Each second he was taken further and further away from the helpless villagers as Goblins quickly closed in around them. His heart sank as he saw them being devoured without mercy. Only the tattered stuffed rabbit remained, stained in red; a promise—broken.

Enraged, Daimen turned his fury towards the Wyvern. Channeling all his power, he blasted the beast with a fierce torrent of fire, disintegrating it in midair. This left him to plummet to the ground, landing hard in front of an Orc.

Before he could recover, the Orc's massive fist connected with a crushing blow, sending him hurtling through two nearby houses. The impact left him sprawled amid a pile of rubble, his vision blurring and his body aching all over.

As he tried to catch his breath, the harrowing scene of the villagers' deaths crashed down on him like a wave. The echoes of their screams, the crimson-stained ground—it was all too familiar, reminding him of that fateful night he lost his parents. Grief knotted in his chest, heavy and suffocating. Once again, he had been powerless to prevent death.

The shadow of the Orc loomed over him as he drowned in the dark thoughts. Behind it, a horde of Goblins followed suit. Daimen pushed through the pain and forced himself to his feet, even as his body protested every movement. The wounds from the Wyvern's claws were deep. A searing pain coursed through him with each breath, and blood stained his clothes, warm and slick against his skin.

The Orc reared up to attack once again, and this time Daimen raised his arms, reinforced with a silver coat of his Enre, and braced for the impact. It came hard and fast. Within a matter of seconds, his body was sent skipping across the ground before coming to a crashing halt against a thick stone wall of a building, cracking its surface.

His vision blurred as he struggled to stay conscious. He knew he couldn't last much longer. His body refused to move. All he could do was watch as the horde of Infernals approached him, fueled by a merciless desire to destroy. But he couldn't allow himself to die. Not now. Not like this. If he was to fall, he would not do so without a fight.

He summoned the little strength he had left and struggled to climb to his feet. However, his body continued to betray him, and in the end, he was only able to make it to his knees. A great sadness washed over him, a sadness that quickly transformed into anger. He was going to die here, pathetic and helpless. He slammed his fists into the ground and screamed out his frustrations.

"Useless! Useless!" he raged on.

The Infernals surrounded him, a circle of death closing in. But there were no tears. Daimen didn't cower in fear; instead, he stared up at the looming Orc and laughed—a laugh filled with defiance that mocked death itself. As the Orc raised its massive arms to deliver the final blow, Daimen's laughter faded into a quiet, resolute mutter.

"Burn."

In that instant, an innate power surged through Daimen's veins like wildfire. Flames erupted from his body, spiraling through the sky with a ferocious intensity. The heat was immense, incinerating the Infernals and sending a shockwave of fire that obliterated the surrounding structures. From the inferno rose the legendary Phoenix, its wings of flame spreading wide in a majestic display of power. It was the fiery manifestation of Daimen's will—a symbol of strength and courage. It continued to rise, making its presence known to all within the vicinity. Then, as quickly as it had appeared, it vanished, leaving Daimen to collapse onto the scorched earth—unconscious.

Meanwhile, lurking amidst the shadows of a partially collapsed house, a figure—more beast than man—watched the spectacle unfold. With a sinister yet gentle smile, he whispered, “I've finally found you.” Uttering those words, he retreated into the shadows, melding with the darkness. The eerie purple glow of his eyes lingered for a moment before fading into the abyss.