The chill of the night had settled over the ruins, but inside the manor, a different kind of warmth had ignited. Lyra, her physical wounds healed and her arm whole, was a creature reborn. The lingering shock of her transformation had been replaced by a quiet, simmering resolve. She had seen the power Valerius wielded, not just in the mysterious fruit, but in the raw authority he projected. Her life was no longer a grim, solitary wait for death. It was a new beginning, a path to a strength she had never dreamed possible.
She stood before Valerius, her posture straighter, her eyes, though still holding the amber glow of her new instincts, now burned with an unwavering loyalty. "There's someone else," she said, her voice still a little hoarse from the beast's growls, but firm. "Someone who deserves this chance more than anyone. He's broken, but not by a monster. He's broken by this world's cruelty, by its unfairness."
Valerius nodded, a silent understanding passing between them. He knew the kind of broken she meant. The kind that came from being strong, but not strong enough. The kind that came from watching everything you loved burn, helpless. He had felt it himself, and he recognized it in her.
"Who?" Valerius asked, his gaze steady.
"Kael," Lyra replied, her voice softening slightly. "The blacksmith. He was the heart of this village, Valerius. His laugh could chase away the shadows, his stories could bind us together. He's a B-tier ability user, with a power to see the flaws in materials, making him the best blacksmith for miles. But when the baron's army came, his ability was useless. He fought with his hammer, with all his might, but he couldn't stop them. He blames himself. He's lost his fire."
Valerius considered this. A charismatic leader, even a broken one, was valuable. His own power was secret, a burden he could never share. But the fruits... the fruits were a way to build. A way to empower others, to create a loyal core who would fight for his vision. He needed people who understood the cost of weakness, and who were willing to embrace an impossible strength.
"Lead the way," Valerius said, his voice low and determined.
They walked through the desolate streets, the moon casting pale light on their faces. The air, once heavy with the scent of decay, now held the faint, metallic tang of the smithy. The rhythmic clang of a hammer on steel echoed in the stillness, a defiant sound in a village of ghosts. It was late, but Kael, true to Lyra's words, was still at his forge, a solitary figure battling the darkness with fire and iron.
They found him bent over a glowing forge, his face illuminated by the flickering firelight. Kael was a mountain of a man, his arms thick with muscle, his hands calloused and strong. His face was a roadmap of smiles, his laugh once a joyful boom that filled the market square. But that laugh was now silent, replaced by the grim set of his jaw as he hammered a piece of cooling iron. His charisma, his natural ability to connect with people, was a power of its own, but it was a power that the tiered system had deemed useless in a fight. He had been a defender of the village with his hammer, a man who believed in the strength of his own hands, and in the end, that strength had not been enough.
Kael looked up as they entered, a weary smile touching his lips. "Lyra. Valerius. What brings you to my humble forge at this hour?" he asked, his voice a low, resonant rumble. His eyes lingered on Lyra's now-healed arm, a flicker of surprise and disbelief in their depths. He knew her arm had been mangled beyond repair. He had even offered to craft her a specialized brace, a testament to his own helplessness.
"We came to offer you a choice, Kael," Valerius said, stepping forward. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a second fruit, a strange, cube-shaped thing with a swirling pattern. It was the second fruit the tree had given him after his second hunt in the Cursed Woods, a Paramecia type. Its surface was rough, like unpolished stone, and it pulsed with a faint, almost imperceptible energy. "I found this in the forest. It's a Devil Fruit."
Kael's laughter, a rusty, broken sound, filled the forge. "A Devil Fruit? From the Cursed Woods? You've been reading too many of those old history books, Valerius. There's no such thing. Only innate abilities, and mine is as useful as a butter knife against a monster." He gestured to his B-tier mark, a small, intricate symbol on his arm that denoted his power. "My strength is here, in my hands. And it wasn't enough."
"It's not enough now, but it will be," Lyra said, her voice firm and unwavering. She flexed her hand, her nails lengthening and hardening into claws for a moment before returning to normal. The movement was so fluid, so confident, that Kael's eyes widened in genuine shock. He had known her for years, had seen her pain and her defeat. But this Lyra, this powerful, confident being, was a stranger. He knew her innate ability was air manipulation, not physical transformation. This was something entirely new.
Valerius placed the fruit on the anvil, its strange shape a stark contrast to the rough metal. "This is the Stone Stone Fruit," he explained, his voice calm and steady. "It gives you the ability to manipulate earth and stone. To become one with the very foundation of this world. Your power is useless, you say? Your strength is in your hands? What if your hands could move mountains? What if the earth itself bent to your will?"
He spoke with an authority that left no room for doubt. Kael stared at the fruit, and then at Lyra, who simply nodded, her amber eyes burning with a primal fire. The cynicism that had been a part of him for so long began to crack, a small, fragile fault line in the foundation of his despair. He had seen the proof in Lyra's face, in her arm, in the very air around her. He had seen the impossible made real. He had always believed in what he could see, what he could touch, what he could forge with his own hands. And now, he was seeing something that defied all logic, yet stood undeniably before him.
He looked at Valerius, not as a boy, but as a leader. A boy who had given him a new hope, a new purpose. A boy who held the key to a power that could change the world itself. Kael's laughter, a deep, resonant sound, returned. But this time, it was a sound of awe, not of scorn. It was the laugh of a man who had found something to believe in again.
"You're a madman, Valerius," Kael said, his voice full of wonder. "But your madness is a beautiful thing. It's a madness I want to be a part of."
He reached for the fruit, a slow, deliberate movement, his fingers, once so accustomed to the feel of steel, now closing around the bizarre, cube-shaped fruit. He felt its rough, stony texture, its strange, almost magnetic pull. He brought it to his mouth, a grimace forming on his face as he bit down. The taste was abominable, like chewing on stale earth and bitter roots, but he swallowed anyway, the desperation of his spirit overcoming the revulsion of his body.
A low rumble began to shake the ground beneath their feet. The anvil trembled, and the very stones of the forge floor seemed to rise and fall with his heartbeat. A faint, earthy aura shimmered around his hands, and a small, loose pebble on the floor vibrated, then lifted slightly into the air before clattering back down. He felt a connection to the earth, a deep, resonant hum that resonated with his very core. It was clumsy, unrefined, but it was there. Power. Real power.
He looked at Valerius, and a powerful, charismatic smile returned to his face, a smile that promised not just a new life, but a new era. Kael, the broken blacksmith, had become the second member of "the First Crew," his hands now capable of shaping not just metal, but the very world around him. He felt a surge of purpose, a renewed fire in his belly that had been extinguished by despair. He was no longer just a blacksmith; he was a force. And he was ready to forge a new future with Valerius.