Primordial Heir: Nine Stars

”Never stop trying to be better version of yourself. It’s a perpetual evolution.’’- Nero Adams

°°°

Nero’s consciousness sank inward as he inspected his inner world.

The familiar scene unfolded: the nine stars gleaming above like distant suns, the ever-churning vortex of prana spinning at the center, a bottomless maelstrom of energy. But what caught his attention was the dimly lit golden star. One of its chains had snapped cleanly, the second hung half-broken, trembling on the verge of collapse.

A small, satisfied smirk curved his lips.

”Not bad,” he muttered.

Progress. Painstaking, incremental—but real.

He withdrew from his inner world and let his body settle against the soft bedding. Rain still poured outside, drumming relentlessly against the tent canvas and saturating the forest in a sheet of water. The trees groaned under the downpour, their branches swaying like old bones in the wind. Puddles formed along the roots and rivulets flowed down the slope, the soil turning soft and treacherous.

But Nero barely noticed.

Sleep eluded him. He shifted from one side to the other, mind too active, too restless. The rhythmic roar of the rain only made the silence in his thoughts louder.

Then, he remembered.

An idea had stirred earlier that day—now it surfaced in full clarity. His physical strength... it had long since surpassed the norm for someone at his level. By all measures, he was a mid-tier Blue Knight, closer to its peak—but physically, he was already operating at a Red Knight’s standard. Still, it wasn’t enough.

Not nearly enough.

Even with immense strength, humans and most sentient races were fragile compared to true monsters—beasts born of instinct and muscle, whose raw power defied logic. His current advantage would not last forever.

He needed more.

’’Never stop trying to be better.’’ he silently thought. Indeed he needed more, to be better.

Not just strength. A physique honed beyond mortal limits—something durable enough to contain immense force, but also refined enough to store and channel prana without loss or imbalance. Not just a shell for power, but a true vessel.

That was the foundation of his goal.

It was true he possessed the vortex, the highest form a core could take. But it wasn’t truly his—something was sealed within, slumbering deep inside, preventing him from fully accessing its potential. It was for that reason he forged a second core—a compressed singularity of prana nestled in his heart, burning like a hidden sun. His plan was to evolve that secondary core into a vortex of its own.

But for that, his body needed to be ready. It needed to become more than strong.

It had to be transcendent.

A physique compatible with pure prana. Something that could hold not just one vortex—but two. Something that could rise beyond the limits of man and monster alike.

And he would forge it.

Even if it meant pushing his body to the edge of collapse again and again.

Outside, the storm raged on—wind shrieking through the trees, thunder rolling across the mountains like distant drums of war—but within his tent, Nero’s resolve only deepened.

Now, back to the idea that had taken root earlier in the day.

He had perfect control over the Law of Fire, an elemental force of both destruction and purification. Why not use it—not to incinerate enemies, but to refine himself? He could use that fire to burn away the impurities within his body, to temper and shape himself like a blade in a forge. Bone by bone. Muscle by muscle. Layer by layer. If he succeeded, his physical strength would surpass anything imaginable.

The process would be grueling. Exhausting. Painful.

But it was worth trying.

”If I remember correctly... a human body has 206 bones, right?” he murmured.

He’d read that somewhere.

Indeed, an adult human has 206 bones. While newborns are born with around 270, some of them fuse during growth, leaving behind the hardened framework of an adult skeleton.

He couldn’t sleep anyway. Why waste the time?

Now was as good a moment as any to begin.

”I should start from below,” he decided. ”**Refining the feet, the legs—**the very foundation.”

It made sense. Everything began with movement—walking, running, fighting—and all of it relied on a stable base. His legs were his root, and refining them would anchor the transformation.

He would move upward from there.

Eventually, when the time was right, he would reach the skull. And when that happened... Nero had a feeling. A hunch. If he refined his skull properly, it might not only increase his physical resilience—but sharpen his thoughts, perhaps even enhance his eyes. He didn’t know what they truly were yet, but he could sense that they held potential. That they were still evolving.

The thought stirred something in him.

He couldn’t help but look forward to it.

Leaving the flat bed behind, Nero retrieved a sturdy meditation mat from his backpack and laid it out carefully. He sat cross-legged, drawing in a deep breath, then exhaling slowly. He repeated the motion, again and again, for a full minute or two. This wasn’t something he could rush. He had to be mentally prepared.

Yes, he had perfect control over his emotions—life had hardened him early, forged his will through pain and trial—but that didn’t make pain any less painful. It would hurt. He accepted that.

He shook his head, casting out every lingering distraction. Then he closed his eyes.

Silently, he drew upon the prana circulating from both his first and second cores. A dark crimson flame flared to life, blooming across the surface of his skin. It wrapped around him like a protective cloak—but its purpose went far beyond defense. This was his Law of Fire, perfectly controlled. It didn’t lash out or burn anything. It simply obeyed, forming a sheath of heat that shimmered like molten silk around his body.

Satisfied, he gave a small nod.

Even with his eyes closed, he could still see—his special eyes activated, acting like a refined x-ray lens. They allowed him to peer into the structure of his own body, layer by layer. He focused his vision below the waist, mapping every bone in intricate detail.

Tonight’s goal: refine every bone from his pinky toe up to his knees.

He would move methodically, one bone at a time—starting from the smallest.

Directing his focus inward, he channeled prana primarily from his second core. He shaped it into a dark blue flame, one he had carefully developed for this exact purpose. It appeared within his body, wrapping around the skeletal structure like a whispering inferno.

Unlike the outer crimson flame—which served as a buffer and shield—this blue flame worked from within, targeting impurities embedded in the very marrow of his bones. It functioned almost like an arcane microwave, generating deep, internal heat that shattered flaws and reshaped structure at the cellular level.

The flame latched onto the bone of his pinky toe—and the refining began.

Agony surged.

A violent tremor ran through his body as every nerve screamed, overwhelmed by the searing, internal pain. His breath caught. His spine stiffened. The muscles in his leg spasmed involuntarily.

But Nero didn’t falter.

Pain was expected.

Just one tiny bone—and already the pain was enough to blur the edges of his mind. That realization slammed into him like a hammer: this would be no simple task. And yet, there was no retreat. No second guessing.

Grinding his teeth, he forced the dark blue flame to continue.

The bone cracked—then reformed. Again and again. Refined through torment. Reforged through will.

He endured.

Because he must.

After enduring what felt like a lifetime of torment, the first bone was finally refined. Nero’s body was drenched in sweat, his muscles trembling from the strain—but the crimson flame cloaking his body quietly evaporated the moisture as fast as it appeared, leaving behind only the raw ache of effort and pain.

He didn’t pause for long.

Without hesitation, he moved to the next bone.

And so began another wave of excruciating agony.

The dark blue flame, burning from within, wrapped itself around the second bone like a merciless executioner. Every flicker brought pain that felt deeper than flesh—this was suffering that reached into the soul, as if each flame was trying to carve its way through him from the inside out.

One by one, the bones of his right foot were assaulted, shattered, refined, and reforged.

’’Ugh!!!”

The process was slow and merciless. Each bone felt like a battle fought on the edge of consciousness.

’’!”

At times, his vision darkened, his pulse flickered—he teetered on the brink of passing out more than once, jaw clenched so tightly he thought his teeth might crack.

It took over an hour just to finish the right foot.

’’Huff! Huff!”

When it was finally done, Nero sat there—shaking, drenched in exhaustion, yet burning with grim resolve.

’No rest. Not yet.’

As planned, he turned his attention to his left foot, forcing the dark blue flame into motion once more. The pain greeted him like an old enemy, stabbing into nerves already frayed and raw. This time, the agony came quicker—his body already weakened, already worn thin. But still, he endured. He had to.

By the time he completed the last bone of his left foot, he was barely holding on.

His second core was nearly drained, a faint pulse of light struggling to hold its rhythm. His body trembled, lips pale, face slick with a new layer of sweat that the outer flame continued to erase.

He had reached his limit—for now.

He stopped just short of the knees, exactly as he had planned. Though his mind and spirit screamed to push further, his prana reserves said otherwise.

’’Hah! Hah!”

Breathing heavily, Nero slowly let the flames recede, both crimson and blue vanishing into the ether.

The pain still lingered—echoing through every nerve like distant thunder—but beneath it, a strange sense of quiet pride pulsed. The foundation had been laid.

He had survived. And he would continue.

Tomorrow.