Blake sat cross-legged on the floor of his room, hunched over a thick, weathered grimoire. Its cracked leather spine groaned with each page he turned, releasing the scent of dust and old secrets. The topic: magic circles and elixirs.
His finger traced an ancient diagram drawn in faded ink, noting the arcane glyphs and alignment runes that composed the core of an Augmenting Elixir—a rare concoction that amplified physical strength based on dosage. Dangerous, unstable… but effective.
He had almost everything he needed.
Almost.
"Blue Oxalis leaf…" he muttered, eyes narrowing. That was the missing piece—an herb found only in high-altitude ruins or from very particular vendors in the underbelly of the realm.
Before he could dive deeper, a knock echoed from the door.
Blake closed the book and stood. When he opened the door, Malrek was there—still masked, as always, but tonight draped in a clean white robe, a stark contrast to the usual gloom of the Halo. In his hands, he held a folded garment.
"What's up?" Blake asked.
Malrek held out the robe. "Put this on. And follow me."
Blake raised a brow. "Can I at least change first?"
Malrek didn't move. "Are you a girl or something? Hurry up."
Blake rolled his eyes but took the robe, quickly changing while grumbling under his breath. When he stepped out, the cold of the night bit at his skin.
The grounds of the Black Halo's fortress were alive with firelight.
Torches lined the perimeter of the wide, open courtyard behind the main hall. Every member of the Halo stood in a circle, their robes rippling in the wind like dark flames. At the center stood Lora, her crimson robe gleaming under the moonlight. In her gloved hand, she held a branding rod—its tip glowing red-hot in the shape of a perfect circle.
A halo.
Blake slowed his steps. His chest tightened.
"What… what's going on?" he asked under his breath.
"It's your initiation," Malrek said, tone calm and final.
"Initiation?"
"You want to join the Black Halo, don't you? Then you need the mark. Proof that you've chosen us—and that we've accepted you."
Blake swallowed hard. "Are you getting initiated too?"
Malrek gave a short shake of his head. "No. I've already bled for this place. Tonight, I vouch for you. But the pain? That's all yours."
The circle of Black Halo members stood in complete silence.
Not even the wind dared to speak.
Blake stood at its center now, bare-chested, the white robe folded at his feet. Torches flickered around him, their flames casting long, twisted shadows against the stone walls of the courtyard.
Lora stepped forward, her crimson robe flowing like blood under moonlight. In her hands, the glowing branding rod shimmered with barely-contained power. The circle etched into its tip was not just steel—it was runed, laced with threads of mana that pulsed like a heartbeat.
Blake's pulse matched its rhythm.
"Kneel," Lora said.
He hesitated.
A whisper from behind—Malrek's voice, calm and low:
"Pain is the first vow."
Blake dropped to his knees.
Lora raised the brand.
"This mark binds you," she said, voice echoing across the stone courtyard, sharp as a blade. "To us. To the Black Halo. If your life is ever threatened, we will feel it. If you betray us, you will burn."
The heat of the rod intensified. The very air seemed to bend around it.
"Do you accept this burden?"
Blake didn't speak. He gritted his teeth, staring straight ahead.
Lora stepped behind him. Without warning, the brand came down—searing into his left shoulder with a hiss and a flash of violent blue light.
He screamed.
The sound echoed off the stone, raw and guttural.
But it didn't end there.
The brand did more than scar his skin—it pushed into his soul, a surge of mana flooding his chest like a second heartbeat. He saw flashes in his mind—faces of the Brotherhood, their marks glowing, their eyes turning toward him in unison. He felt them.
Their presence.
Their pain.
Their purpose.
Every nerve in his body screamed as the bond took hold, threading through him like molten wire. He collapsed forward, clutching the dirt, panting, smoke rising from his skin.
The pain lingered. But so did something else.
Connection.
Lora lowered the brand, her face impassive behind her veil.
"Rise, brother."
Blake pushed himself up, unsteady but standing.
All around the circle, the members raised their fists—silent, unified.
Malrek stepped forward, draping the white robe over Blake's shoulders.
"You wear the colors now," he said softly. "You now serve in the shadow to serve the light."
The courtyard was unrecognizable by the time night fully claimed the sky.
Torches had been replaced by floating lanterns, their soft glow hovering in the air like fireflies. Tables appeared as if by magic—laden with roasted meats, fruits soaked in wine, and thick mugs of frothing ale. The grim warriors of the Black Halo laughed, danced, and drank with the wild joy of those who rarely celebrated anything at all.
Tonight, Blake wasn't an outsider.
He was one of them.
He sat with Malrek, Lora, and Mirai near the firepit, the four of them already a few mugs deep into some bitter drink that burned all the way down.
"Okay, okay," Mirai slurred, pointing at Blake with a crooked grin. "Truth or dare, white-hair."
Blake groaned. "Really? Aren't we all supposed to be elite shadow warriors or something?"
"Answer the question," Malrek said, raising his mug with dramatic seriousness.
Blake smirked. "Fine. Dare."
Mirai's eyes lit up with mischief. "I dare you to challenge Lora to a drinking duel. First to tap out owes the other a weapon of their choice."
Lora raised an eyebrow, already pouring two cups. "I hope you like wooden spoons, because that's all you'll get from me."
Blake grinned. "Challenge accepted."
They went cup for cup, the Brotherhood around them cheering with every downed drink. Malrek and Mirai chimed in with loud commentary, placing fake bets and making jokes until even Lora cracked a smile between drinks.
By the end of it, Blake was dizzy, red-faced, and grinning like an idiot.
"I think," he said, slumping back into the grass, "I can't feel my nose."
"You don't need your nose to fight," Malrek said sagely, flopping down beside him.
"What about to breathe?"
"Minor detail."
They all laughed—loud and unrestrained. For the first time in what felt like years, Blake didn't feel like a prisoner, a mistake, or a disappointment. He felt free.
Later that night, the fire had dimmed, and the laughter had faded into soft murmurs and sleep.
Blake lay alone on the roof of the Brotherhood's mansion, his legs dangling over the edge. The sky was vast above him, full of stars he couldn't name, but liked to pretend he could.
Lora's footsteps were silent, but he didn't flinch when she appeared beside him.
"Didn't expect to find you up here," she said, sitting down beside him. "Everyone else passed out."
Blake shrugged. "Needed air. And quiet."
She glanced at him, then at the sky. "I've been meaning to ask… your hair. Why's it white?"
Blake looked at her, then back at the stars.
"…I don't know," he admitted. "It's always been like this. My brothers have blonde hair. My father, too. Maybe it's a curse. Or maybe it's something else. I want to find out one day."
Lora nodded, her gaze soft. "Well, it suits you."
He smirked. "Yeah? Think it makes me look mysterious and brooding?"
Lora laughed—a real, sharp laugh that surprised even her.
"More like a sleep-deprived alchemist who spilled chalk dust on his head."
Blake clutched his chest in mock agony. "Wow. You wound me."
They sat in silence for a while, the kind that felt comfortable, not empty.
Eventually, Lora spoke again.
"You did well tonight. You belong here, Blake."
He didn't reply right away, just nodded. But deep down, her words meant more than he could admit.
The stars wheeled slowly overhead. And for the first time in his life, Blake felt like he was exactly where he needed to be.
******************************************************************************
(Next day)
The main hall of the Black Halo hideout thrummed with energy.Sweat slicked the stone floors, bodies moved in rhythm, and echoes of grunts and strikes bounced off the walls. Members trained in pairs or alone—some sharpening their blade work, others exercising. A few simply sparred, fists flying under torchlight.
Blake was at the far end, shirt off, working a practice dummy. His strikes were sharp, his footwork fluid.
"Oi, white-hair," Javier called out, cracking his knuckles. The blonde-haired playboy stood at the edge of the sparring mat. His hair was short and shaved on the sides. "You've been looking real confident since the branding. Think you're ready to dance with the big boys?"
Blake turned, smirking. "That a challenge?"
Javier grinned. "You scared?"
Before Blake could answer, a familiar voice cut through.
"Hold up." Malrek stepped forward from the corner, removing his cloak and tossing it aside. His bare torso was covered in old scars. His gaze locked on Blake with amused intensity. "I've been waiting to settle our score. I get him first."
The room buzzed with interest as heads turned toward them.
"Settle the score?" Javier scoffed. "You just want to lose in front of everyone."
"Funny, I was about to say the same to you."
The two glared at each other—then both looked at Blake.
Blake shrugged with a cocky grin. "Tell you what. I'll fight both of you. At the same time."
The hall erupted with laughter and hoots of disbelief.
"You serious?" Javier asked, wide-eyed.
"Only if you're ready to cough up some Orions when I win," Blake said, cracking his knuckles.
Malrek exchanged a glance with Javier, and both stepped onto the mat. The crowd gathered around, forming a loose ring. Some members began shouting odds and placing bets. The rules were simple: no weapons, no powers, no mercy. Last man standing—or last man on the mat—wins.
"Topless and cocky," someone laughed. "Classic Halo fight."
Mirai stepped forward, hands cupped around her mouth.
"Go Blake!! Beat them up!" she squeaked, bouncing with excitement.
Blake grinned.
The bell rang.
And all hell broke loose.
Javier charged first—wild, aggressive, aiming to overpower. Malrek moved like a shadow, circling to flank. Blake ducked the first blow, rolled, and weaved between them. A fist caught his ribs—Javier—followed by a sharp jab from Malrek to his jaw.
Pain flared, but Blake's vision stayed clear.
He backed off, breathing steady.
Then came the counter.
He danced around Javier's next lunge and struck low, sweeping his legs out from under him. As Javier fell, Blake drove his heel into his side, sending him skidding across the mat, out of bounds.
Cheers exploded through the room.
"One down," Blake said, eyes gleaming.
Malrek didn't waste time. He was already on him, fists flying. Blake blocked, ducked, countered with a shoulder to the gut and a spinning kick. Malrek twisted, nearly recovered—but Blake was faster. He adapted, predicting his mentor's next strike, stepping behind him with uncanny timing.
One final shove.
Malrek stumbled.
Over the edge.
Gasps echoed as Malrek caught his balance—barely—outside the ring.
"Blake wins!!" someone shouted.
Mirai darted forward, practically tackling him in a hug.
"You did it!" she beamed, squeezing him tight.
Malrek laughed as he walked back, clapping once. "Cheeky bastard."
Javier groaned from the floor. "I think I broke a rib…"
Blake just held out his hand, smug. "Orions, please."
Both men grumbled and handed over their bets, tossing a handful of coins his way. Blake caught them with a grin, jingling the pouch in one hand.
Just then, the training hall door creaked open.
Lora stepped in, robes swaying.
The room fell silent instantly.
"Mission. Now," she said. "Everyone, gear up."
The crowd's buzz turned cold.
Blake straightened.
The laughter was gone.
Something serious was coming.