Primordial Heir: Nine Stars

The sky was a vast, clear canvas of blue, dotted with soft, cotton-like clouds that drifted lazily on the high-altitude winds. A gentle, persistent breeze swept across the mountain training ground, carrying with it the refreshing scent of pine and cool mountain air, a welcome relief against their sweat-dampened skin.

With a final, shared nod of satisfaction, the three friends began their descent back to the Leclair estate. The intense focus of their training gave way to the comfortable silence of exhaustion, each man lost in his own thoughts, analyzing the morning’s lessons.

Upon returning, they parted ways briefly, heading to their respective rooms to wash away the morning’s grime. The hot water was a benediction on tired muscles, steaming away the lingering fatigue. Once freshened up and changed into clean, casual clothes, they reconvened in the estate’s sun-drenched morning room, where a generous breakfast buffet was laid out.

The long table was noticeably less crowded than usual. Eltreth, Azalea, and Khione were all absent, each undoubtedly engrossed in their own pursuits—perhaps private training, political correspondence, or simply enjoying some solitary peace.

They had just begun filling their plates when a familiar, languid figure shuffled into the room. It was Blake, the daemon prince. He was still dressed in rumpled silk pajamas, his vibrant purple hair a spectacular mess. A wide, unapologetic yawn split his face as he dragged a chair back and slumped into it, his violet eyes heavy with sleep.

”Morning,” he mumbled, his voice thick with drowsiness.

Lux, Adam, and Nero exchanged a look—a mixture of amusement and exasperation that had become a familiar ritual. Lux rolled his eyes skyward with a dramatic sigh. Adam simply shook his head, a low grunt of disbelief rumbling in his chest. Nero offered a wry smirk, having long since accepted that Blake’s laziness was as constant as the sunrise.

Despite his late arrival and disheveled state, Blake managed to heap a plate with food, his appetite seemingly unaffected by his sloth. And so, the four of them—the diligent prodigy, the steadfast prince, the rising powerhouse, and the sleepy hedonist—settled in to eat together. The clatter of cutlery and the easy, comfortable banter that slowly started up filled the room, a testament to the unlikely but solid friendship they had built.

The remains of breakfast were cleared away, leaving the group with a few hours to kill before their planned outing. Adam, not wanting to stay idling clapped his hands together.

”Right. We’ve got time. Two versus two. Basketball,” he declared, his voice leaving no room for debate. ”First to twenty-one points.”

Lux’s face immediately broke into a competitive grin. ”You’re on. Nero, you’re with me.”

Before Nero could agree, a tired voice piped up from the corner. ”Hold on,” Blake mumbled, finally looking up from the table.

”If it’s teams, I call Nero.”

Everyone turned to look at the daemon prince, who was still slumped in his chair. It was the most initiative he’d shown all morning.

Adam raised a bushy eyebrow. ”You? You can barely walk to the breakfast table.”

”And you move like a boulder rolling downhill,” Blake retorted without heat, a lazy smirk on his face. ”Nero’s got the speed. I’ve got... the vision. It’ll be a good match. Besides, you two are always training together. Change it up.”

Lux shrugged, looking at Adam. ”Fine by me. We’ll still crush you.”

Nero just nodded, amused. ”Alright, Blake. Let’s see what you’ve got.”

They moved to a private indoor court within the estate, its polished wooden floor gleaming under magical lights. They changed into athletic shorts and shirts, and the transformation in Blake was subtle but noticeable. The sleepiness didn’t vanish from his eyes, but a new, calculating sharpness layered over it.

The game began, and the intensity was immediate.

Adam and Lux were a terrifyingly well-coordinated duo. Adam planted himself under the basket, an immovable mountain in the paint. His defense was a brutal, physical affair; he didn’t jump high despite his short stature, but his positioning was perfect, and trying to shoot over him was like trying to scale a cliff. He was bouncing like a rabbit everyone thought this way but dare not to voice this out.

Truth be told on offense, the little Adam was a powerhouse, using his strength to back down anyone guarding him for easy, close-range shots.

Lux was his perfect counterpart—a blur of silver motion. He weaved across the court with breathtaking agility, his dribble a low, hypnotic rhythm. He was a master of misdirection, using feints and sudden bursts of speed to leave his defender stumbling. His jump shot was a work of art, a high-arcing release that was almost impossible to block.

Against this synergistic onslaught, Nero and Blake developed a strange, chaotic chemistry. Nero was the engine of their team, using his own superior speed and reflexes to hound Lux on defense and drive aggressively to the basket on offense. He was a physical specimen, his movements powerful and direct.

Blake, however, was the wild card. He rarely ran full speed, preferring to conserve energy, but he possessed an almost preternatural sense of anticipation. He wouldn’t be where the ball was; he would be where it was going to be. He moved in short, efficient bursts, and his passes were things of beauty—no-look feeds through traffic, perfectly timed alley-oop lobs to a leaping Nero, and crisp outlet passes that turned defense into offense in a heartbeat.

The score seesawed violently.

Lux would sink a silky-smooth three-pointer from way downtown. Swish. 5-3.

Nero would answer by driving past a screen, absorbing contact from Adam, and still finishing a difficult layup. 5-5.

Adam would muscle his way for two points down low. 12-10.

Blake would respond by stealing a lazy pass from Lux, and with a flick of his wrist, send a full-court pass to a streaking Nero for an easy dunk. 12-12.

The game was a clash of styles. Adam’s raw power against Nero’s explosive athleticism. Lux’s graceful precision against Blake’s deceptive genius. Sweat poured, sneakers squeaked violently on the polished floor, and the sound of heavy breathing and occasional grunts of effort filled the air.

As the game neared its end, the score was tied 20-20. Match point. The atmosphere was thick with tension.

Lux had the ball, guarded tightly by Nero. He faked a drive, then stepped back for his jumper. Nero, expecting it, leaped high, his fingertips grazing the ball. It was enough. The shot was off, clanging off the back rim.

Adam and Blake fought for the rebound. Adam had the position, but Blake, with a surprising and almost lazy vertical leap, managed to tap the ball out towards Nero.

Nero grabbed it and exploded down the court. This was it. One basket to win. He saw Blake cutting to the corner and Lux was slow to react. It was the open shot. He fired a pass to Blake.

Blake caught it, set his feet, and went for the game-winning three-pointer. His form was perfect.

But Lux, recovering with his incredible speed, flew at him. It was going to be close.

In that split second, Blake made a decision. Instead of shooting, he brought the ball down and, in one fluid motion, whipped a blind pass behind his back towards the spot under the basket where he knew Adam would have rotated to cover him.

It was a brilliant, game-winning play.

There was only one problem. Nero, seeing Blake open, had already charged towards the basket, anticipating a rebound. The perfectly aimed pass hit Nero squarely in the back of the head.

The ball bounced away harmlessly.

A moment of stunned silence was broken by Lux, who scooped up the loose ball, took one dribble, and laid it in gently off the glass.

Swish.

21-20.

Lux and Adam had won.

The two of them collapsed, laughing and panting, on the court. Nero stood with his hands on his knees, shaking his head in disbelief, a wry smile on his face.

Blake just shrugged, his lazy demeanor returning instantly.

”My bad,” he said, not sounding particularly sorry. ”I thought you were going to be someone else.”

Despite the hilarious, crushing defeat, Nero couldn’t even be mad. It had been an incredible, exhausting battle. As they helped each other up, the competitive fire from the game already shifting into anticipation for the spar to come, Nero knew one thing for sure: life with this group was never, ever boring and Blake would always be Blake.

Shaking his head he took out his phone to text his lover to know what she was doing.

°°°

Far from the Leclair estate, in the eastern reaches of the empire, lay the heart of the Undine family’s power. It was a beautiful, bustling city, alive with trade and culture, protected by the might of the water-wielding clan. At the city’s center stood a majestic castle carved from what seemed to be blue-veined marble, its spires reaching for the sky like frozen waves. This was the ancestral home of the Undine clan, famous throughout the land for their unbreakable defense and mastery over the Law of Water.

Inside a grand study lined with maps and ancient scrolls, a middle-aged man sat behind a heavy oak desk. He had long, flowing blue hair and piercing blue eyes that were a mirror image of his daughter, Khione’s. This was Caspian Undine, the patriarch of the clan, a man known for his strategic mind and immense power, one of the legendary powerhouses, an Archamage standing at the peak of his realm.

He had just returned home from urgent business, and without even pausing to rest, he had summoned the captain of the Shadow Guard—the elite, unseen protectors he had assigned to watch over Khione during her summer vacation. As the guard delivered his report, Caspian’s composed demeanor began to crack.

The news was twofold. First, and most distressingly for a father, was the confirmation of his daughter’s serious romantic involvement with a young man named Nero. Second, and world-shattering in its own right, was the report that this same Nero had somehow awakened a second primal Law, that of Lightning.

Caspian was a brilliant man, and he understood the implications instantly. The first piece of news was a personal blow; the second was a political earthquake that rendered his personal objections useless.

As the shadow guard finished and melted back into the darkness, Caspian slumped forward, burying his face in his hands. A low, despairing groan escaped him.

”My lovely daughter is gone,” he moaned to the empty study.

He knew his daughter. He knew her strength of will. And now, with Nero revealing a power so unprecedented that his value would eclipse any noble bloodline, Caspian had lost his primary argument against their relationship. He could no longer claim the boy was an unworthy suitor with no background or future.

Caspian Undine was a powerful duke and a cunning clan head, but beneath it all, he was a father who loved his daughter to an extreme degree. And in that moment, faced with the undeniable proof that he was losing her, all he could do was cry out in despair against the inevitable.