Primordial Heir: Nine Stars

Lux’s eyes sharpened.

”Shit... better go check.”

Dragging his tired frame forward, Lux trudged across the ruined terrain. The twenty-minute walk felt like a marathon, his legs barely holding him up, sweat clinging to his back, breath shallow. But he didn’t stop. Not until he crested the final hill and saw the aftermath of a war.

The land was devastated—trees splintered, the ground upturned, ash floating in the air like snow.

And there—at the heart of it—was Elreth.

She lay collapsed amidst the debris, her crimson hair matted with blood and soot, her body broken and battered. One arm was gone—torn clean off. Her armor was shattered, her once-proud spear lying snapped beside her.

Lux’s eyes widened, alarm flooding his chest.

”Hah! Better hurry!”

He rushed toward her, all thoughts of rest forgotten. Dropping to his knees at her side, he didn’t hesitate. He poured what little prana he had left into her body, weaving the intricate runes of a powerful healing spell. His hands glowed with brilliant white light as warmth flowed from his fingertips into her wounds.

Her flesh knit itself together.

Fractured bones aligned.

Her missing arm began to reform—sinew, muscle, skin all regenerating under the radiance of his spell.

When it was over, Elreth’s body was whole again—but she remained unconscious, her breathing shallow but steady.

Lux exhaled sharply, his body trembling. The spell had emptied him completely. His vision swam as dizziness overtook him. He collapsed beside her, unable to take another step.

”Damn... this day’s been hell...”

The ground beneath him was scorched and warm. He didn’t care. With one last look at the unconscious princess, Lux let his eyes slide shut. His breathing slowed, body finally giving in to the exhaustion that gripped him since the moment his battle ended.

He closed his eyes beside her, letting the darkness of sleep take him.

°°°°°

Back at Nero’s location...

He lay motionless, crumpled in a mangled heap amidst a pool of his own blood. The golden glow from his earlier transformation had long faded, leaving behind only the aftermath—the cost. His limbs twisted at unnatural angles, his armor shredded, exposing torn flesh and fractured bones. Each breath he took was a strained wheeze, wet with blood. His once-fiery eyes were dim, half-lidded, staring at nothing, yet stubbornly refusing to close.

Around him, the pocket world was eerily silent. The golden flames that had consumed half the battlefield were reduced to flickering embers, dancing quietly in the wind like memories of a divine storm. The very air trembled around his fallen form, as if the world itself was unsure whether to mourn or revere what had just taken place.

Yet deep within Nero... something stirred.

In the vast cosmos of his Inner World, the space was no longer still.

A resonance began—low at first, like the hum of a distant storm—but it rapidly grew. Then, without warning, a lance of golden light surged upward, streaking through the celestial void and striking the Golden Star with divine force.

CRACK—SHATTER—CRACK!

The six massive black chains that had long imprisoned it snapped one after another, splintering into fragments of darkness. With each one destroyed, the star pulsed brighter, more alive. Only one chain remained now—thick, blackened, and etched with ancient runes. But even that final seal trembled violently, a web of glowing fissures crawling across its surface.

The star throbbed, emitting a deep hum as golden lightning crackled around it—pure, divine electricity arcing across the sky of Nero’s inner space. It was the cry of something powerful, something ancient, sensing its soon-to-be freedom.

Then, from the nearly liberated star, rays of golden light burst outward, cascading like a solar waterfall through the vast void. The radiant streams swirled and descended toward Nero’s soul, pouring through his astral body and into every corner of his broken physical self.

Back in the real world, the change was immediate.

Golden light shimmered across Nero’s battered form, wrapping around his wounds like liquid warmth. His shattered bones shifted and snapped back into place with faint crackles, sinew and muscle weaving anew. Torn flesh sealed itself, skin regaining its tone, his deathly pallor fading as healthy color returned to his cheeks.

The deep gashes across his chest, the twisted joints, even the small internal ruptures—all began to mend. His breathing, which had been jagged and rasping, slowly steadied. Though still shallow, it was now rhythmic... controlled.

His fingers twitched.

His chest rose more steadily.

But his eyes remained closed, his mind adrift in that golden sea between death and rebirth.

The light, sensing it had done what it could for now, slowly faded. It didn’t heal him completely—he was still far from whole—but it had pulled him back from the brink. Enough to live. Enough to move.

Then came stillness.

Nero lay there for twenty long minutes, unmoving, his body slowly adjusting to the divine repair. The golden tattoo that had once run like a whisper across his back flickered softly now, echoing with residual power. His breaths were quiet, calm. Not unconscious, but not yet fully awake—like a warrior hovering at the threshold between pain and peace.

The winds whispered faintly across the ruined battlefield. Golden sparks danced in the air around him, like fading stars. The pocket world, once torn asunder by overwhelming power, now stood eerily still.

The battle was over.

But something far greater had begun.

A new Era had begun with a storm like no other on the way.

A few minutes passed in silence, the broken battlefield cloaked in a solemn, golden stillness. Then—

Nero stirred.

His eyes fluttered open, hazy and unfocused, his breath ragged as if rising from the depths of a dream he could barely remember. The world around him spun in disorienting circles, and a wave of nausea crashed over him. His limbs felt like iron—heavy, uncooperative. He grimaced as he slowly pushed himself up on one elbow, blinking away the fog clouding his vision.

His heartbeat thundered in his ears, and for a moment, he sat there motionless, drenched in dried blood and sweat, taking in shallow breaths. His body screamed in protest with every movement, but the pain was dulled... blunted.

As he slowly regained control, he glanced down at his body. The worst of his wounds—deep lacerations, crushed bones, torn muscles—had been repaired, leaving only faded scars and tenderness behind. His armor was in tatters, barely clinging to his frame, but he was alive.

And he knew why.

But there was no time to marvel at it now. He tilted his head back, breathing in the cold air of the shattered realm, and clenched his jaw.

”I’m certain Khione didn’t have an easy time either... I need to check on her before I pass out again.”

He knew his limits. His strength was fading by the second, and the healing he’d received—divine or not—was only temporary. His muscles trembled, and his thoughts were sluggish. He didn’t have much time left before his body gave out again. But Khione was his comrade, his teammate. He would not leave her fate to chance.

Dragging himself upright, he staggered briefly, his balance off. Gritting his teeth, he dropped into a seated position and crossed his legs. He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply, drawing in the chaotic prana that floated like storm clouds in the air. With slow, practiced precision, he began his breathing technique.

The chaotic energy swirled around him like mist—unrefined, dangerous. But within his chest, his second core, nestled beside his heart like a dormant ember, began to glow softly. He purified the prana, refining it strand by strand, feeding the newly cleansed energy into the core. Each breath calmed his mind and steadied his nerves.

After a minute of focused meditation, he slowly opened his eyes. They now glinted with determination.

”Just enough for one flight...”

Summoning the last of his strength, Nero conjured his flame wings.

They burst from his back in a radiant blaze, phoenix-like—long and sweeping, made of crimson-gold fire. Even weakened, their brilliance was undeniable, radiating heat that melted the frost on the ground around him. He leapt into the air, the wings beating powerfully, and took off.

The sky above the ruined battlefield blurred around him as he soared forward, cutting through the air like a falling star. The wind howled in his ears. His vision swam, his body felt like lead, but he pressed on. His flight was uneven, wobbly at times, but he didn’t stop.

Minutes passed. Ten. Then fifteen.

The landscape changed rapidly beneath him—from scorched earth to shattered plains, until finally—

The frozen wasteland.

White snowfields stretched as far as the eye could see, shimmering beneath a dull gray sky. Icy winds howled across the landscape, and the temperature dropped dramatically, biting through his weakened body like knives.

Then he saw her.

A crimson figure in the snow.

He descended quickly, wings folding behind him as he landed with a heavy thud, half-stumbling through the frost. The air around him sizzled faintly from the residual heat of his wings, steaming the snow beneath his boots.

”Khione...”

She lay there, half-buried in the snow, her silver hair fanned out like silk threads across the white expanse. Her armor was cracked and broken in several places, her body covered in frost, blood, and bruises. Her breathing was faint but steady—alive, but gravely wounded.

Nero dropped to his knees beside her, his fingers trembling as he reached for her wrist. A flicker of relief passed across his face when he felt her pulse—weak, but there.

”You’re alive...”

He reached into his pocket, the only thing he managed to salvage on his way here, fumbling slightly as his fingers struggled to obey. From within, he pulled out a medium-grade healing potion—a radiant blue vial, swirling with glowing liquid.

Carefully, he uncorked it and lifted her head just enough to pour the potion past her lips. It trickled down her throat, and within seconds, a soft, warm glow enveloped her body. Some of her more visible wounds began to close, the worst of her frostbite faded, and her color returned slightly.

But she didn’t wake.

Nero, too drained to do more, could only smile faintly as his vision blurred again.

”Good... That’s enough...”

His legs finally gave out, and he slumped beside her in the snow.

Darkness claimed him.