Primordial Heir: Nine Stars

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.

”Are you the Fixer Club?” she asked, her voice trembling.

Lux stepped aside, gesturing for her to enter. ”We are.”

She walked to the table, her hands clasped before her, her gaze fixed on the masks. Khione opened her eyes. Adam set down his cards. Blake stirred on the couch, sensing the shift in the air. Nero closed his book.

”My roommate,” the woman said. ”She died last night. They’re saying it was suicide. But I know her. She wouldn’t... she couldn’t...”

Her voice broke. She pressed her hands to her face, trying to compose herself. Khione rose and guided her to a chair, placing a gentle hand on her shoulder.

”Tell us,” Nero said.

The woman took a deep breath. ”Her name was Liana. She was healthy. Happy. She had friends, a family who loved her, plans for the future. And now she’s gone. They found her in her room this morning, no wounds, no poison, no sign of struggle. Just... dead. The healers said her heart stopped. But she was eighteen. Her heart didn’t just stop.”

Lux leaned forward. ”Have you spoken to the faculty?”

”They say it’s a tragedy. They say these things happen. They’re not investigating. They’re not even asking questions.” She looked up at them, her eyes desperate.

”Please. I need to know what happened to her. I need someone to care.”

Nero looked at his friends. Lux nodded. Adam crossed his arms. Blake sat up, fully awake now. Khione’s hand was still on the woman’s shoulder.

”We’ll look into it,” Nero said.

The woman’s face crumpled with relief. She thanked them, over and over, until Khione gently escorted her to the door. When she was gone, the club room was silent again.

Nero picked up his monkey mask and turned it over in his hands.

”A mysterious death,” he said. ”No wounds. No poison. No sign of struggle.”

”Sounds like magic,” Adam said.

”Or something worse,” Lux added.

Khione returned to the table, her expression thoughtful. ”The faculty isn’t investigating. That means either they know something they’re not sharing, or they’re incompetent. Either way, we’re on our own.”

Nero set down the mask and rose. ”Then we start now. Lux, check the academy records. See if there have been other unexplained deaths in recent years. Adam, talk to the guards. Find out if anyone saw anything unusual last night. Blake, go to the infirmary. See if the healers will share their findings.”

”And you?” Khione asked.

Nero walked to the window, looking out at the garden below.

”I’m going to visit her room. See what the faculty might have missed.”

The others rose, gathering their things, preparing to leave. But before they dispersed, Lux paused at the door.

”We should wear the masks,” he said. ”If we’re going to be investigators, we should have a face. Something that sets us apart.”

Nero considered this, then nodded. He picked up his monkey mask and held it in front of his face. The others did the same.

For a moment, they stood in the quiet room, five masked figures, their eyes , a mixture of various colors visible through the holes in the wood. Then they lowered the masks and went to work. The Fixer Club had its first case.

The corridor was quiet, the kind of quiet that felt heavy, like the air before a storm. Nero walked beside the young woman—Elara, she had said her name was—her footsteps soft on the stone floor. She had not spoken since they left the club room. Her eyes were red, her hands clasped tightly in front of her. He did not try to fill the silence. Some silences needed to be respected.

The door to the room was sealed with a strip of yellow tape, the academy’s mark of investigation. Elara produced a key from her pocket, her fingers trembling. She unlocked the door and pushed it open.

The room was small, tidy, impersonal. A bed against the wall, a desk by the window, a closet with its door closed. The sheets were white, undisturbed. The desk held a few books, a lamp, a photograph of two young women smiling. Elara’s face, and another’s. Liana.

Nero stepped inside. He did not touch anything. He simply looked.

His eyes were ordinary at first, scanning the room, cataloging details. The window was closed, locked. The door had no sign of forced entry. The bed was made—odd for a death scene, but perhaps the investigators had tidied. Or perhaps Liana had made it herself before...

He shook the thought away. He needed evidence, not speculation.

Then, he activated his God’s Eyes.

The world shifted. Colors deepened, outlines sharpened. He saw the residual prana in the air, faint trails left by those who had entered and left. The investigators. Elara. The healers. He filtered them out, looking for something older, something that did not belong.

There.

It was thin, almost invisible, like a snapped thread floating in the air near the center of the room. It glowed faintly, a pale silver that was already fading, dissolving into the ambient energy like smoke in the wind. By tomorrow evening, it would be gone.

Nero stepped closer, his eyes fixed on the thread. It was not natural. It was not accidental. Someone had been here, someone who had left no physical trace, no footprints, no fingerprints. Only this. A residual thread, a remnant of something he could not yet name. So further investigation was obviously needed, he must admit it to himself this was starting to get fun.