(The character will be introduced immediately after the episode concludes.)

Scene 1: Wicca’s Secret

The group arrives at the heart of Ashenfall, where a massive, crumbling building looms like a forgotten relic. Its entrance is buried under a chaotic jumble of heavy stone debris—collapsed walls, shattered beams, and chunks of ancient masonry forming a jagged barricade that seems to guard the secrets within. The oppressive silence of the ruin is broken only by the crunch of gravel underfoot and the occasional distant echo of dripping water.

Xero cracks his knuckles, his voice full of adventurous defiance as he surveys the obstacle.
Xero:
"Alright, let’s climb!"

With adrenaline surging, Mechan and Xero launch themselves at the unstable rubble. They scramble over uneven stones, their muscles straining as they test each hold. Suddenly, as they shift their weight, a section of stone crumbles violently. In a heartbeat, they leap back, narrowly avoiding being swallowed by a small avalanche of debris that crashes down with a thunderous roar.

Cloud, panting and brushing dust off his weathered clothes, watches with a mix of caution and resigned humor.
Cloud:
"There’s no way up. This is pointless. Even if we could scale it, we have no idea what awaits us on the other side."

Undeterred, Xero grins and stretches his arms wide, his excitement undimmed.
Xero:
"Maybe we just need more momentum. What if I run and—"

Mechan cuts him off sharply, his tone laced with both exasperation and protective concern.
Mechan:
"What if you shut up before you break something—like your neck? Seriously, if only I knew how to forge Soul Weapons like these ruins demand..."

Mechan’s fingers curl instinctively, as if clutching an invisible hammer. The phantom weight of countless weapons he’s crafted—ordinary ones forged from cold steel and tempered iron—seems to haunt him. But the art of creating Soul Weapons remains elusive, a skill he desperately yearns to master.

As tension mounts, Wicca steps forward with a calm yet determined air. She exhales slowly, her eyes narrowing with focus. Clenching her fists, she spreads her fingers wide, and golden energy begins to spark between them. The room falls silent as the others watch, their expressions a mix of skepticism and hope.

Wicca: (commanding, yet with a hint of vulnerability)
"Stand back. I have an idea."

She lifts her hand gracefully and begins tracing glowing symbols in the air. At first, the symbols pulse with steady energy, intricate and mesmerizing. But then they flicker and waver, like a candle flame buffeted by a sudden gust. A bead of sweat forms on her brow as she clenches her jaw, pouring every ounce of focus into stabilizing the spell.

Cloud watches intently, his tone laced with both concern and admiration.
Cloud:
"Is she... struggling?"

Mechan folds his arms, his voice tinged with dry sarcasm.
Mechan:
"Looks like it. Guess she’s not as fancy as she pretends to be."

For a heart-stopping moment, the symbols distort wildly, nearly collapsing entirely. With a final, resolute exhale, Wicca steadies herself. The glow deepens and the symbols solidify. With a determined motion, she presses her palm downward, releasing a powerful surge of energy that ripples through the debris. In a breathtaking display, the fallen stones begin to shift and reassemble, levitating and interlocking into a stable, floating platform large enough to carry the group.

Xero, Cloud, and Mechan stare in awe, their jaws slack with amazement.
Xero: (wide-eyed, laughing)
"Okay, that was pretty cool!"

Mechan, blinking in reluctant admiration, concedes with a half-grin.
Mechan:
"Alright, fine. That was decent."

Cloud, adjusting his glasses and nodding approvingly, adds with genuine curiosity,
Cloud:
"Interesting technique. Your grandfather taught you this?"

Wicca, catching her breath and smirking confidently, retorts:
Wicca:
"Did you really think I was just a normal girl? Now get on before I change my mind!"

With no hesitation, the trio leaps onto the newly formed platform. As it ascends gracefully into the hazy morning light, Xero and Mechan break into an impromptu, exaggerated song about "Wicca the Floating Witch," their voices echoing humorously against the ruined backdrop. Cloud shakes his head, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth in amused exasperation, while Wicca sighs, allowing herself a moment of playful amusement amidst the tension.

The platform carries them closer to the mysteries hidden within Ashenfall, and as the scene fades, the thrill of discovery, the promise of ancient secrets, and the undeniable bond of their shared adventure propel them forward into the unknown.

Scene 2: The Drunken Blacksmith

Reaching the rooftop, the group is met with a chaotic mess—a makeshift scrap house cobbled together from rusted metal sheets, shattered wood, and discarded machinery. The acrid scent of burnt oil lingers in the air, mingling with the pungent sting of stale alcohol. The place barely looks habitable, more like a graveyard of forgotten craftsmanship.

Amidst the disarray, sprawled on the cold concrete, lies an old man—his face buried in his own arm, snoring thunderously. An empty bottle dangles from his gnarled fingers, its last few drops of liquor slowly dripping onto the ground.

Xero wrinkles his nose and steps forward, nudging the old man with the tip of his boot.

Xero: "Uh... hello? Are you dead or just permanently drunk?"

The man lets out another monstrous snore, his head lolling slightly to one side, but there's no other response. Frustrated, Mechan strides over, grabbing the old man by the collar and shaking him with just enough force to rattle his bones.

Mechan: "Wake up, old man!"

A guttural groan escapes the stranger’s lips as he slowly pries open bloodshot eyes. His face, a map of deep creases and stubborn age, twists in irritation as his sluggish mind catches up to reality.

Mr. Chuck: (gruffly) "Who the hell are you brats? How’d you get up here, anyway?!"

Before anyone can respond, he sways slightly and narrows his eyes in suspicion. His tone turns accusing, rapid-fire questions tumbling out in a slurred mess.

Mr. Chuck: "You after my booze? Here to rob me? Or worse—do you work for the damn Hunters?!"

Xero throws up his hands defensively, his voice rising in exasperation.

Xero: "No! None of that! We need your help—I want to forge a Soul Weapon!"

Mr. Chuck snorts loudly, dragging himself into a seated position on a rickety crate. He rubs his temples as if the mere mention of work gives him a headache.

Mr. Chuck: "Forget it. No Soul Stone, no Soul Fragments, no weapon. Simple as that. Now leave me be."

Before he can dismiss them entirely, Wicca steps forward. Her expression remains unreadable as she reaches into her cloak, withdrawing a thick, worn leather bag. Without hesitation, she tosses it at his feet.

The bag lands with a heavy thud, its contents spilling onto the cracked concrete. A cascade of shimmering Soul Stones and glowing Fragments tumbles out, their ethereal glow illuminating the grime and filth around them. The energy pulsing from the stones shifts the atmosphere instantly.

Mr. Chuck’s eyes widen—not in awe, but in hardened skepticism. He leans forward, plucking one of the fragments between his rough, calloused fingers. With a grunt, he lifts a rusted hammer from beside him and, without warning, hurls the fragment into the air.

Before anyone can protest, he brings the hammer down with a brutal CRACK.

Xero: "HEY! What the hell?!"

Instead of shattering, the fragment absorbs the impact, vibrating violently before slowly settling back to its normal state. A faint pulse lingers before it fades.

Mr. Chuck exhales sharply, his lips pressing into a firm line. He inspects the stone once more, turning it over in his palm before giving a low, approving grunt.

Mr. Chuck: "Hmph. Not bad. These ain’t fakes. You brats actually came prepared."

Wicca crosses her arms, her voice unwavering.

Wicca: "We wouldn’t be wasting our time if they were. So, are you in or not?"

Mr. Chuck leans back against the metal scrap wall, exhaling slowly. His once-slurred speech takes on a more sober tone as his mind sharpens.

Mr. Chuck: "You kids really don’t get it, do you? Soul Weapons ain’t just tools. They carry burdens. Heavier than steel. More dangerous than you can imagine. Once you wield one, there's no turning back."

A tense silence follows. Cloud, calm as always, takes a step forward, his voice measured yet firm.

Cloud: "We understand. And we’re willing to pay the price—whatever it takes."

For a long moment, Mr. Chuck says nothing. His gaze flickers between their determined faces, searching for hesitation, doubt—weakness. But there is none.

With a heavy sigh, he hauls the bag over his shoulder.

Mr. Chuck: "Fine. Let’s get to work. But don’t expect miracles. It takes at least four to six hours to forge a single weapon. We’ll go one at a time."

Xero’s earlier tension melts into raw excitement.

Xero: "Then let’s do this!"

As Mr. Chuck prepares his tools, Mechan takes a step forward, eyes gleaming with interest.

Mechan: "Teach me."

The old blacksmith scoffs, shaking his head.

Mr. Chuck: "Kid, forging a Soul Weapon isn’t something you just ‘learn.’ It takes not just years, but decades. You first need to comprehend what Soul Power truly is, and let me tell you—mastering Soul Power is beyond comprehension. It’s a lifetime of work."

Mechan remains undeterred, but after a moment, his sharp mind shifts gears.

Mechan: "Then let me borrow your tools. I’ll use them to enhance my cybernetic body instead."

Xero and Cloud exchange glances before Mechan turns to them directly.

Mechan: "The weapons we bought from Chisu—the materials are rare. If you let me use them, I can advance my combat capabilities. We’ll need every edge we can get."

A brief silence follows before Xero shrugs, a lopsided grin tugging at his lips.

Xero: "Tch. Fine. Just don’t mess them up."

Cloud nods, placing his swords down without hesitation.

Cloud: "If it makes us stronger, do it."

A slow, knowing grin creeps onto Mr. Chuck’s face.

Mr. Chuck: "Heh. Looks like you brats got guts after all."

With that, he gestures toward the forge, now roaring to life. The searing heat crackles in the air as glowing embers rise from the flames.

The first hammer strike falls.

The rhythmic clang of metal echoes across the rooftop, the sound mixing with the hiss of molten steel and the scent of burning ore. Sparks dance in the air as the group immerses themselves in their task, each step bringing them closer to the weapons they need—and the battles that lie ahead.

But amid the chaos of the makeshift workshop, none of them realize the truth.

The real trials are only just beginning.