Primordial Heir: Nine Stars

A day passed like water through fingers. Each of them trained in their own way, in their own spaces, pushing their bodies and their laws to the edge of exhaustion and beyond. Nero ran the mountain trails at dawn, his breath misting in the cold air. Khione meditated in the frozen pocket world, her ice wings spread wide, her mind reaching toward the next realm. Lux practiced his light spells in the mirrored chamber, bending beams around corners, focusing them into blades. Adam lifted stones in the earthworks yard, his connection to the ground growing deeper with each passing hour. Blake slept. Then trained. Then slept again.

The festival was coming. The entire academy was buzzing with preparations—decorations hung from every lamppost, banners bearing the crests of the great clans fluttered from the towers, and the air was thick with the scent of flowers and fresh paint. But the festival also brought rules. One of them, buried in the fine print of the academy’s ancient charter, was this: every first-year cadet must join a club.

Existing clubs lined up to recruit, their tables spread across the main square, their senior members calling out to passing cadets. The swordsmanship club. The magic theory club. The monster biology club. The chess club, the poetry club, the cooking club. Nero walked past them all, his hands in his pockets, his eyes scanning without interest. Khione walked beside him, her expression cold, her presence enough to silence the recruiters who might have approached. Lux and Adam followed, arguing about something trivial, while Blake brought up the rear, yawning.

They had talked about it the night before, gathered in Nero’s small dorm room, sitting on the floor because there were not enough chairs. The existing clubs were fine, they agreed, but none of them fit. The swordsmanship club was too rigid. The magic theory club was too academic. The monster biology club was too specialized. They wanted something of their own.

”The Fixer Club,” Lux had said, grinning. ”We handle outside missions. School investigations. And gourmet adventures.”

Adam had raised an eyebrow. ”Gourmet adventures?”

”You know. Food. We go places, eat things, write reviews. It’s a thing.”

”It’s not a thing.”

”It could be.”

Blake had shrugged. ”I’m in. As long as there’s a place to nap.”

Nero had looked at Khione. She had met his gaze, then nodded.

So it was decided.

Now they stood before the administrative building, the club registration form in Nero’s hand. The clerk behind the counter was a plump woman with spectacles and a patient smile. She read the form, nodded, and stamped it with the academy’s seal.

”The Fixer Club,” she said. ”You’ll need a club room. There’s an empty space on the third floor of the North Hall. Old storage room, but it’s got windows. You can make it your own.”

They found the room at the end of a long corridor, its door unmarked, its windows dusty. Inside, boxes of forgotten supplies were stacked against the walls, and the air smelled of old paper and disuse. But the space was large, with high ceilings and a view of the garden below. It could work.

They spent the afternoon cleaning. Lux used his light to brighten the corners, banishing shadows that had lurked for years. Adam lifted the heavy boxes, stacking them in the hall for disposal. Blake swept the floor with a broom he had found in the corner, moving with surprising efficiency for someone who had been asleep an hour earlier. Khione used her ice to freeze a patch of stubborn mold on the wall, then chipped it away with her wand. Nero arranged the furniture—a large wooden table they had found in the basement, mismatched chairs from various empty classrooms, a worn couch that Blake immediately claimed.

When they finished, the room was transformed. The windows were clean, letting in the afternoon light. The walls were bare but ready for decoration. The table was large enough for all of them to sit around. It felt like theirs.

Lux reached into his bag and pulled out a small wooden box. He opened it to reveal five masks, each one carved from pale wood, each one painted in subtle colors.

”For the club,” he said. ”We need a symbol. Something that represents us.”

He laid them on the table. The first was a fox, its features sharp, its eyes cunning. The second was a monkey, its expression mischievous, its brow furrowed in thought. The third was a dog, loyal and alert. The fourth was a tiger, fierce and proud. The fifth was a koala, its face peaceful, its eyes half-closed.

Khione reached for the fox mask. It fit her perfectly, the curves of the wood matching the angles of her face. She held it in front of her, looking through the eye holes at her friends. No one spoke. No one needed to. The masks had chosen their owners.

Nero took the monkey mask. It was lighter than he expected, the wood smooth from years of handling. He turned it over, examining the craftsmanship, then set it down on the table before him. Lux took the dog, Adam the tiger, Blake the koala.

They sat around the table, the masks between them, the afternoon light warm on their faces. For a moment, no one spoke. Then Lux leaned back in his chair and stretched his arms above his head.

”So,” he said. ”What now?”

”Now we wait,” Nero said. ”For someone to need us.”

They did not have to wait long.

The knock came three days later, in the middle of the afternoon. They were lounging in the club room—Nero reading, Khione meditating, Lux and Adam playing cards, Blake asleep on the couch—when the sound echoed through the quiet space. Lux set down his cards and crossed to the door. He opened it to reveal a young woman, her face pale, her eyes red from crying. She wore the uniform of a first-year cadet, but her posture was slumped, defeated