Lothrak nodded in silence, and while still kneeling, he reached for the straps of cured leather that held his suit of plate together. With clawed hands, he unbuckled each one, the pieces of tempered metal all falling to the floor one-by-one, landing with loud, echoing clangs. Soon all that was left was his aketon, which he also lifted from his body and cast aside, leaving his torso bare and naked.

As the young Xan-Klar did this, Gendros turned towards the burning altar behind him. From the side of the room, another Warden stepped forth, a long and thin object held in his claws. Lothrak saw the knight, with his pitch-black scales and emerald eyes, and recognised him as Kathonir. His best friend, his first friend and now his brother in-arms.

The two met gazes for barely a moment, saying nothing with the mouths. However, the warm and comforting blend of respect and joy that moved between their minds steeled Lothrak for what was to come.

His friend would be proud to call him brother, and he took strength from that.

Kathonir gave Gendros the object he held, a branding iron, and Gendros began to heat it over the altar. Lothrak watched as the tip, carved into the shape of a roaring flame, slowly began to glow. It turned from grey to red, then from red to orange, illuminating the air around it and casting menacing shadows across the silver-scale's face.

Fear once again began to catch light in Lothrak's blood, but he tried as best he could to snuff it out with slow, deep breathing. But as the hot iron came closer and closer, he bared his chest and sat ready. Screwing his eyes shut as he felt the heat against his skin, the Xan-Klar braced himself just in time for Gendros to apply the burning piece of metal.

Sheer agony scorched through Lothrak's chest, and he clenched his fists and gritted his fangs as the torturous pain wormed through his flesh, blistering his bones and stabbing straight into his heart. Straining not to cry out, the young Xan-Klar sensed no pity or sympathy from his peers, who stood all around him.

After all... they had all been through this themselves.

As the brand singed his scales, Gendros' echoing voice filled the room once more.

"No more are you Lothrak Nageeran. In the name of the Xan-Klar Empire and Emperor Skaldrak the Saviour, I hereby dub you Lothrak Karugen, a knight of the Fireheart Wardens."

Loud cheers erupted everywhere, sound and emotion surging towards Lothrak like a tsunami. The young Xan-Klar's spirit leapt upwards within his chest, his happiness so great that, for the briefest of moments, the brand upon his heart did not pain him.

"Congratulations... brother." Gendros' mouth curved upwards as he lifted the brand from Lothrak's body. Gasping, the young blue-scale reeled forward, his chest heaving from what he had just experienced. Both the torment of his heart being branded, and the utter ecstasy of hearing his master call him brother.

"Now, Karugen, step forth and claim your new armour."

A rasping, metallic hiss filled Lothrak's eardrums, and as he gazed up, he saw the shadows dance across the majestic sunbeams that streamed in through the window. The newly-dubbed knight pulled his aketon back on, then rose to his feet, horned head still angled back while his mouth gaped open.

The whirring and clanking of machinery echoed through the room. Ghostly golden light dappled and shifted above his head as something began to descend. Held up by mechanical arms that moved in perfect unison, it came to rest upon the ground, landing upon the ground with a hefty thud.

Pure, mind-numbing awe washed over Lothrak as he saw the battle armour, the wondrous nature of its craft burning in his gaze. Its limbs were long and robust, clad in thick plates of refined kemorium and tipped with vicious metal claws, all painted impeccably in scarlet and gold - the colours of the Wardens. Jet engines and thunder-wings were suspended from its back, multiple firearms covered its forearms, and a broad-bladed greatsword was sheathed over its right shoulder, its single edge sharpened and shimmering in the glow of the fire.

It was magnificent, but it was unmarked by the scrapes or scars of battle; the true marks of a knights' worth.

As the armour landed, the mechanical arms withdrew upwards into the tower from whence they came. His eyes fixed on this great gift, Lothrak's blood vessels pulsed with anticipation and his mind burned with nerves. Even crouching, the suit stood over three metres tall, its figure towering over him, Gendros and all others in the room. Its wings were folded behind its back like those of a nesting skyraptor, while its angular head lay slack upon its neck. Its cockpit in the chest lay wide open, as if the armour was ready to embrace its new owner.

The young warrior's hand reached out, his talons gently brushing across the giant battle-suit's thigh. As he did, untapped satisfaction filled his body, reaching from his toes to his horns. He had done it. He had taken his vows, received his mark, and been gifted his armour. The vessel that would carry him forth into his new life of glory and valour.

Every day of gruelling training and meticulous education had built up to this moment. And now all he had to do was take it.

Taking a pace back, Lothrak crouched before leaping straight towards the armour's chest, air rushing past his face as he launched himself upwards. Landing gracefully on his feet, he eagerly turned himself around and backed into the confines of the cockpit.

Almost instinctively, his hand flew to the overhead handle and heaved it downwards, closing the cockpit around him. As he did so, lights slowly began to bloom throughout the controls, illuminating the interior. But what was most eye-catching was the display that flared to life before him. In multiple, interlocking screens arose a display of the room, the view from the armour's many cameras creating a three-dimensional display of the world around him.

He saw Gendros, Kathonir and a hundred others all gaze up at him, waiting to see the ceremony's culmination come to pass.

Smiling broadly and soaking in their attention, Lothrak reached his arms and legs into the servomotor controls, the metal and wire enveloping him on all sides as he did so. Recognising his presence, the armour powered up and the newly-dubbed knight pushed the gargantuan mass of metal upright until it hovered four metres above the ground. He then, at last, reached over his right shoulder, clenched his fist and brandished his titanic plasma greatsword over his head. As he held it aloft, the weapon burst into life, crackling like thunder as the blade of blue energy illuminated.

Boisterous bravado filled the room as the crowd of Firehearts cheered Lothrak on. And above it all, Gendros made his final speech.

"Knights, we have a new blade in our order!" The silver-scale held his fist to the sky. "A new Warden!" he cried.

"Hail to Lothrak! Hail to Lothrak! Hail to Lothrak!" the gathered Wardens chanted, their clawed fists punching the air as they did so. Tears rolled down Lothrak's snout from his three watery eyes as he beheld the ceremony's close.

"And now, my brothers..." Gendros roared. "... to the feast!"