The Fireheart Wardens were not the most darwinist order, and they valued many things aside from just pure strength. Their creed was one of honour, virtue and selflesness.

But even when he was a squire, Lothrak was not exactly seen as a prodigy. Despite being trained by Gendros Kazoran, one of the greatest knights in Xan-Klar history, he was average at best in the eyes of his peers. And now, following the Embassy Attack and his continued doubts in combat, some rumours were beginning to circulate that Lothrak's first mission was only a success because he was fighting alongside Kathonir, and that it was really Kormac Telgaiur, a human, who had saved Lady Taneera.

Even Qolvar, the knight who had commanded, felt the same way - a Xan-Klar who had seen Lothrak take down a War Mech in single combat!

All this fed Lothrak's doubt like a fossil fuel on a fire. He had deep respect for Kormac Telgaiur, a human whose skill in combat he had seen firsthand when he had stopped the truck that Lady Taneera was in. A true warrior, worthy of his title as 'Unborn Brother'.

But titles aside, the fact remained - he was not Xan-Klar and Lothrak was. And to be both aided and upstaged by a lesser species, as all his kindred put it, was unacceptable.

Of course, Kathonir didn't have any of these problems. He was bigger than Lothrak, stronger than Lothrak... and he had always been braver than Lothrak. In the heat of combat, like during Embassy Attack, fear or doubt didn't even seem to cross his mind, as if he simply did not feel it. He simply charged into the fray without pause and smashed aside everything that stood in his path, with seemingly nothing he encountered able to stand against him. Following the missions he had done before Lothrak, Kathonir was already earning quite a name for himself as one of the Fireheart Warden's most promising newbloods. When he entered the room, others looked to him in admiration, their minds aglow like the light of fireworks.

Looking at his friend, Lothrak didn't know how to feel. He was happy for Kath, of course... but he longed to win that same kind of appreciation from his fellows. To be looked at, smiled at, and congratulated. But instead, he was left in Kathonir's shadow, as he had always been.

Sighing, the young blue-scale tried to hide his envy. He supposed he would just have to get better...

As he and Kathonir walked, they stopped beside one of the training rings - a circle of low metal rails that a whole pack of Xan-Klar clustered close to, whooping and cheering as the combatants inside fought hand-to-hand duels with practise weapons. At the centre of this particular ring, a lithe Xan-Klar with vibrant emerald scales dashed and darted around like a gust of roiling wind, the light dancing off the edge of his weapon and beaming through the room like a laser.

Another Xan-Klar, a red-scale, attacked him, only to be swatted away almost instantly. In a single wind-quick stroke of the sword, the green-scale knocked his opponent's blade aside, opening his guard. However, his swing was controlled, and his immediately pulled his sword close to his own body, leant sideways and stabbed his foe in the chest.

The dull metal edge of the practise weapon cut only skin-deep, but the force of the strike still stopped his foe in his tracks. As the very short fight came to an end, Lothrak didn't react. He was surprised After all, there was only one green-scale in the Fireheart Wardens who could fight like that.

Iskinar Karugen, or as he was also known, Iskinar Bladestorm.

Kathonir was Lothrak's dearest friend, and Gendros his master... but they weren't the only Wardens he knew well. Iskinar had been among the same batch of squires that he and Kath had been chosen from. He had become a full knight after Kathonir, but before Lothrak, and was also starting to make a name for himself, proving almost without equal in all the field missions he had been on.

Unlike Kath, Iskinar lacked physical strength. His serpentine body and narrow limbs did not lend themselves to raw power. But he was fast, perceptive and fearless, and his precision with a sword stroke was unmatched. In a single blink of an eye, he could disarm another warrior entirely, knock him to his knees, then open his throat as if he were slicing the soft flesh of a gashfruit.

It was that skill in battle is what gave him the moniker of 'Bladestorm'.

Handing the practise sword to another warrior, Iskinar left the ring by leaping over the waist-high barrier that surrounded it. As he landed, his right hand reached for the handle of his true sword, which was strapped to his waist. Iskinar was known for walking around with a hand rested on his blade - it made him look more like a swordsman, ready to draw at a moment's notice.

"You two are enjoying the show, I see..." he commented, a proud smile on his long snout.

"Most definitely!" Kathonir replied, grinning broadly. Beside him, Lothrak gave a simple, silent nod. As he did that though, he suddenly felt a small amount of dread as Iskinar turned his gaze towards him and looked him in the eye.

"How did your simulation go, Lothrak-kar?" he asked. Even though they were the same rank as knights, Iskinar spoke down to Lothrak - and rightly so. After all, he had more prestige and was more respected.

Lothrak replied. "I failed." he admitted forlornly. "I doubted myself again, and the Kropen in the sim got me."

Iskinar chuckled, fixxle of humour darting through the Graxir from his scaly scalp. "Lucky it wasn't a real one, then!" he commented, as though trying to lighten the mood. But when he saw Lothrak's unmoving expression of sadness, he gave him a gentle slap on the arm with his tail - a Xan-Klar expression of playfulness and reassurance. "Just keep fighting, and you'll find your courage." the green-scale said soothingly. "Who know, maybe one day, you'll earn a name as fast as I did!"

Lothrak's heart began to hurt as the pining within him grew.

To bear a title was a great honour to any Xan-Klar warrior, for it was a mark of prestige. But their kind did not choose such nicknames for themselves - to do so was considered vain and arrogant. Instead, you were granted your title by your comrades, those who had beheld you perform something worthy of recognition. Be that a particular skill or character trait, or an epic deep worthy of legend.

Many of the greatest warriors of the Wardens, and of the Empire, bore such titles. Kornikar Ironwrought, Ardalin Brightlance, Pharnax the Headhunter... even Emperor Skaldrak the Saviour.

And of course, Lothrak's master and tutor. Gendros Kazoran, the Burning Blade.

As he thought about that, Kathonir and Iskinar began to talk with each other, leaving Lothrak in his thoughts

"You and I should face each other in the ring sometime!" he commented, excitement brewing in his brain. "Proper weapons, though. I'd like to see how well your little blade stands up against Skullripper."

Iskinar bared his teeth. "You dare!" he growled, pulling his blade from its scabbard and brandishing it brashly. Kathonir simply laughed, enjoying Iskinar's reaction to him insulting his sword.

However, while the black-scale laughed, Lothrak noticed something. Along the flat of the broad metal blade was a series of Xan-Klar runic letters - an ancient form of writing.

"Finally decided to give it a name, did you?" Lothrak asked, sarcasm and a dash of spite stinging his voice.

Iski looked back at him with an equally sarcastic grin. "I preferred to take my time, come up with something that really captured my weapon's features..." he said, slowly turning his gaze to Kathonir as he did so. "And, if I may say so, I came up with something far better than 'Skullripper'."

Kath scoffed brashly. "Oh really?" he asked, lifting a scaly eyebrow. "Speak, then - what did the legendary Iskinar Bladestorm decided to name his longsword?"

Iskinar smiled, then turned his head towards his blade, a proud glow erupting from his body as he read the word on the side of his blade out loud.

"Whirlwind." he said with a smile. "That's her name - Whirlwind."

Kathonir and Lothrak both smiled as they heard this, their happiness radiating and standing out even amidst the many Xan-Klar that crowded the room, each with their own emotions glowing through the Graxir and blurring together, each mind indistinguishable from each other 

"That's a good name." Lothrak said. Reaching down to his waist, he also gripped the handle of his own sword. "I'm hoping to think of a name for my own blade soon..."

A fourth voice then interrupted their conversation. "Then, why do you wait, Lothrak Karugen?"

The three knights spun around, alert as alarm suddenly coursed through them. And when they saw who had spoken, they all immediately dropped to their knees.

Gendros Kazoran stood beside them, his feet planted upon the ground and his arms folded as he radiated a stern silence.

"Absolve us, Kazoran!" Iskinar barked. "We did not sense your approach!"

"You are forgiven." Gendros replied immediately, not a speck of anger present within him. "Lothrak Karugen, I wish to speak to you in private. Come with me." he said, his voic blunt and firm.

Without a word, acting upon years of instinct, Lothrak obeyed. Standing upright, he left Kath and Iskinar behind as they walked out of training room and into one of the hallways of the Fireheart Sanctuary. It was near-night, but the place was still well-lit, even as the sky outside turned black and the chill of Sirtha Prime's evening gripped the air.

The home of the Fireheart Wardens on Sirtha Prime was constructed in the ancient style of the Xan-Klar, shaped like many of the old structures that could be found on their distant homeworld of Tratkaloth. Columns and pillars, round in cross-section, held up vaulted rooves ornately carves with patterns and runes. Stain-glass windows and tapestries depicted ancient battles and legendary figures, while wall-mounted statues of Xan-Klar warriors gazed down at all who passed them by, their unblinking eyes maintaining a constant vigil while they gripped their weapons in their carved stone claws. Small braziers of fire hung from chains or sat in large bowls, acting both as a minor light source and as a spiritual symbol of the Wardens.

However, the influences of modern technology were also present. The main light came not from the braziers, but from yellow-coloured halogen bulbs - long and thin ones slotted straight into the ornate walls. Security cameras were clipped at the corners, steadily rotating in a never-ending pattern as they scanned the area. And the patrolling guardsmen carried blaster rifles instead of halberds.

Two great questions rushed through Lothrak's brain as he strode alongside Gendros.

"Has Lady Taneera fully-recovered yet?" was the first thing he asked.

Gendros met Lothrak's gaze, and after a brief pause, his head slowly nodded. "She has." he told his subordinate. "Have you not been to see her?"

Lothrak fumbled for a reply, his emotions getting the better of him. "I, uh... I thought it would be best if I waited until her wounds had healed before I spoke to her." he said, trying to justify his actions.

His words and brain both reeked of deception and fear. Lothrak knew that Gendros would sense and disapprove of both. But to speak to the woman one had a crush on was no easy feat, and Lothrak couldn't bear the thought of seeming so cowardly in front of her. Especially after the hearsay that it was Kormac Telgaiur who was truly responsible.

Gendros looked right at Lothrak, his silver scales seeming to bristle in the light of the halogens. However, he did not speak. Seizing an oppurtunity, Lothrak asked his second question

"Has the Sirthon spoken yet?"

It was only then Gendros seemed to react. Although heavily muted, Lothrak sensed his master's mind twinge with frustration.

"No." the elder knight said as he turned to his former pupil. "He has remained resolute, even through all he has suffered. However, I have every confidence that Dakarel will break him, and any information that Sirthon can provide us will surely be useful for the continued defence of our people..." he said, implicitly informing Lothrak that there would be more battles to come. 

The silver-scale's mind was awash with the sour tang of distaste, clearly ashamed of having to let Dakarel handle things, and Lothrak shared his opinions fully. It was not becoming of a knight to torture captives, and even if the Fireheart Wardens did so, they did so only in the hopes of better serving their people, never for pleasure.

Lothrak had never liked Dakarel - he was the Order's disciplinarian, ruthless and sadistic, so few liked him anyways. Lothrak himself had taken more than a few beatings from the old purple-scale during his training to become a knight. But he was known to be able to make anyone talk, be they young initiate or alien terrorist.

The one the humans called Haraq would spill his guts... or have them ripped out through his throat.

"Anyways, enough of that." Gendros' words cut any further discussions short. "I came to inform you that you will be on the night watch this evening." he said firmly. "I passed you over last week because of your successful mission, but I will not let you grow soft."

Lothrak nodded, understanding completely. Wardens often took shifts on the night watch alongside the guards, both to ensure alertness under tough circumstances and build up their endurance.

"Thank you for informing me, master..." he said, bowing his head in respect.

Gendros paused. "Boy... I do not wish to repeat myself." he said, his words stern but fair. "You are no longer my squire, and I am no longer your master. You are to address me as Kazoran or as Gendros-ur. Never as master." His mind was full of harsh intent. "Do you understand?"

Lothrak lifted his head slightly, meeting Gendros' three-eyed gaze as his mind flushed with shame and the desire for repentance. "Absolve me, ma- Kazoran." he stopped his words and corrected himself before his habit broke out again.

"You are forgiven..." Gendros replied, nodding slightly, his scar-covered and aging face still radiating the strength of a thousand warriors. "That is a habit you must break... one of two." he stated.

Sadness once against pierced Lothrak's heart as Gendros' golden eyes gave him a last look before turning and walking away. He knew more than anyone of Lothrak's self-doubt, and had tried to drill out of the youngling through his many years of being a squire.

That, more than anything, was what made Lothrak seek to break his habit. To make his former master, the greatest Xan-Klar knight to ever life, proud of him. And to one day earn a name like his.

The Burning Blade. A name of honour.