Primordial Heir: Nine Stars

The return to Freyport was a triumphant procession. News of their victory had spread ahead of them on the chilly wind. As they entered through the city gates, they were greeted not with silence but with a lively, joyful commotion. Shopkeepers opened their doors, and children looked out from their windows. By the time they arrived at the mayor’s hall, a small, jubilant crowd had gathered.

Mayor Thrane welcomed them on the steps, his broad face breaking into a huge smile. ”By the stones, you did it!” he exclaimed loudly, giving Adam a firm slap on the shoulder that made the dwarf sway.

”The scouts just returned from the pass. They say it’s safe! The goblins are scattered!” He then addressed the gathered townspeople.

”These three young heroes from Glory Academy have secured our trade routes and our safety! Let’s give them a round of applause!”

A warm, genuine cheer rose up among everyone. The steady, practical folks of Freyport weren’t usually ones for wild celebrations, but their gratitude was heartfelt and loud. Flowers were shyly handed to Azalea and Levy, while a brewer kindly pressed hot, spiced cider into their numb hands.

The mayor announced with a smile, ”We’ll have a proper celebration this evening— a feast in the Long Hall! For now, rest up; you’ve truly earned it.”

The exhaustion hit all of them at once—the adrenaline from the fight and the long trek back drained away, leaving their bodies heavy and sore. They quietly made their way back to their stone guardhouse, feeling both tired and grateful.

Inside, they removed their dirty, damp gear. Levy used a bit of her water magic to warm some water for a quick cleanse. Adam collapsed into a chair by the fire with a satisfied groan. Azalea carefully cleaned her bow before sitting down, her normally regal posture softening in relief.

No one argued or bickered. The shared hardship had dispelled petty hostility, leaving behind a strong, if exhausted, respect. They rested silently together as the afternoon light dimmed.

°°°

As evening arrived, music and laughter echoed from the town center. They wore their clean academy uniforms—and followed the sound. The Long Hall, usually a large, high-ceilinged space of stone and heavy timber beams used for storage and winter events, was transformed tonight. Long tables were laden with roasted meats, steaming root vegetables, dark breads, and wedges of sharp cheese. Torches and lanterns cast a warm, flickering glow across the room. A band of musicians—consisting of a fiddler, a piper, and a drummer—played energetic mountain tunes that made everyone want to dance.

The entire city seemed to be there. The hall was packed, warm, and buzzing with a joyful energy that was rare in the hardy, reserved mountain folk. When the trio entered, another cheer erupted. They were immediately swept into the crowd, hands clapping their backs, thanks offered from every side.

Mayor Thrane gave a short, heartfelt speech of thanks from a makeshift stage. Then, he raised his tankard.

”To our heroes! Eat, drink, and dance! The night is yours!”

The feast began. They were seated at the head table, plates piled high with food. It was simple, hearty fare, but after days of trail rations, it tasted like a king’s banquet. Adam ate with a dwarven appetite that drew impressed laughs. Azalea ate with elegant precision. Levy savored each bite, a gentle smile on her face.

Soon, the tables were pushed back, and the space in the center of the hall became a dance floor. The music grew faster, more infectious.

Adam needed no encouragement. After his third tankard of the local, strong ale, he was up. He didn’t know the intricate steps of the mountain dances, but it didn’t matter. He had a natural, joyful rhythm. He stomped and spun, his brown hair flying, his laugh booming over the music. He was a force of pure, happy energy, he was in his element after all. While dancing he secretly eyed the women as if to say to you see my vibe? Come, join me!

The young women of Freyport, boldened by the festive atmosphere and the ale, found him irresistible. One after another, they approached him, curtsying with giggles. Adam, grinning widely, would take their hands and whirl them around the floor. He danced with the butcher’s daughter, the weaver’s apprentice, and even the shy blacksmith’s sister, making each one laugh with his enthusiastic, unpolished moves. He was in his element, a prince among commoners, celebrated not for his title, but for his deeds and his infectious spirit.

Levy watched him for a while, then was approached by a polite young guardsman who asked for a dance. With a soft blush, she accepted. On the dance floor, her water-mage grace translated into a fluid, gentle sway. She moved with a natural, calming rhythm, a peaceful island amidst the energetic storm. She smiled, truly relaxed for the first time since the mission began.

Azalea remained at the table for longer, observing with her usual detached elegance. But the joy in the room was a tangible thing. A respected elder of the city, a stone carver with a long, white beard, approached her with a formal bow and offered his hand. Recognizing the honor, Azalea accepted. She didn’t stomp or spin. She moved with a precise, gliding grace, her every step a picture of elven poise. Soon, other young men, emboldened by her beauty and her status as a hero, queued up for a turn. She danced with them all, her expression softening from its usual haughtiness to one of polite, even slightly amused, enjoyment.

The night wore on. The music flowed. Ale and cider flowed. Laughter filled the stone hall, bouncing off the rafters. Adam was the star of the show, dancing with anyone who asked, his energy seemingly endless. Levy danced with several partners, her gentle presence a calming counterpoint. Azalea held court on the dance floor, a picture of refined celebration.

For a few hours, there were no clans, no rivalries, no looming missions. There was just warmth, music, full bellies, and the simple, profound pleasure of being celebrated by people whose lives they had made safer. It was a perfect, uncomplicated victory. Adam, laughing as he was passed between two dancing sisters, caught Azalea’s eye across the floor. She was being led in a stately circle by the mayor himself. For a split second, her usual cool mask slipped, and she gave him a glare. He grinned back, raised his tankard in a silent toast as if to say screw you bitch, and plunged back into the dance.

It was a good night. A night to remember where they celebrated their first mission.