Primordial Heir: Nine Stars

The morning light was soft, filtering through the curtains like pale honey. Khione stood before the mirror, studying her reflection. Her white hair, usually loose, was tied up in an elegant twist, held by silver pins that caught the light. Small strands escaped, framing her face. She wore a gown of deep black silk, fitted at the waist, flaring at the hips. Lace cuffed her wrists and collar, delicate as frost. The skirt fell to her ankles, and beneath it, boots of polished leather with a slight heel. She looked like a portrait from another century—dark, romantic, severe.

She rarely dressed this way. Training clothes and simple dresses were her usual uniform. But the festival was special, and she wanted to feel different. She wanted to feel beautiful for her man.

A soft knock came at the door. She opened it.

Nero stood in the corridor, and for a moment, she forgot to breathe.

His dark blue hair had been cut. The shaggy lengths were gone, replaced by a clean, styled cut that swept back from his forehead, sharpening his jaw, highlighting the angles of his face. A few strands fell across his brow, careless but intentional. He wore a light blue tunic, the color of a winter sky, contrasting with his hair. Simple dark pants, leather boots. He looked taller, leaner, more mature. The boy was gone. A man stood before her, ready to conquer the world,it was why he was trying to imply.

”You look...” He paused, searching for words. ”Stunning.”

Khione felt heat rise to her cheeks—a rare, fleeting warmth. ”You look... different.”

”Good different?”

She nodded. ”Good different.”

He offered his hand. She took it.

They walked through the academy grounds, past the lingering festival booths, toward a section of the square they had not yet explored. A line of cadets snaked from the entrance of a small building painted in pastel pinks and whites. A sign above the door read ”The Purring Cat – Maid Cafe.” First-year cadets from B class, the rumor said, had transformed the old tea house into a themed restaurant for the festival.

The wait was not long. A young woman in a frilled apron and cat-eared headband greeted them with a bow and led them to a small table near the window. The interior was cozy—lace curtains, soft lighting, tiny vases of fresh flowers. Other couples and groups sat at nearby tables, laughing, chatting, enjoying the atmosphere.

Nero and Khione ordered tea and small cakes. The maid served them with practiced cheer, then disappeared.

They sat in comfortable silence, watching the crowd outside. Then the door chimed, and Lux entered, followed by Adam and Blake.

Lux stopped mid-step. His eyes went wide.

”Khione?”

Adam nearly walked into him. ”What—oh.”

He blinked his brown eyes comically. ”Wow.”

Blake yawned, then froze, his jaw hanging open, his purple eyes half opened. ”Is that... are you wearing...?”

Khione raised an eyebrow, her expression colder. ”Is there a problem?”

”No problem,” Lux said quickly, stammering in the process.

”No problem at all. You just look... I mean, you always look... but today you look...” He floundered.

Adam rescued him. ”You look beautiful. That’s what he’s trying to say.”

Blake nodded, sensing trouble brewing. ”Very beautiful.”

Khione inclined her head, accepting the compliment as her due. ”Thank you.”

The three pulled up chairs and ordered their own food. The conversation drifted—training, the festival, the upcoming competition. Lux teased Nero about his new haircut. Adam asked Khione about her gown, and she answered in short, precise sentences. Blake, as usual, said little, but his eyes were alert, scanning the street outside.

When the food arrived, they ate with enthusiasm. The cakes were light, the tea fragrant. Nero and Khione shared a plate of macarons, their fingers brushing as they reached for the same pink one.

After the meal, they stepped back into the bright afternoon. The crowd had grown thicker. A brass band played somewhere in the distance. Children ran with balloons. Couples strolled arm in arm.

”The parade starts soon,” Lux said, checking his phone. ”The monster parade. Should be interesting.”

The group moved toward the main square, where the parade would pass. The monster parade was a tradition of the military academy—students dressed as creatures from the northern continent, marching in elaborate costumes. There were dragons and griffins, hydras and trolls, all crafted from paper and cloth and paint. The younger cadets loved it. The older cadets endured it.

But as they walked, Nero’s hand tightened on Khione’s. His eyes swept the crowd, the rooftops, the alleys. The others did the same. Yesterday had been fun. Today, they were vigilant.

”If there’s another attack,” Lux murmured, ”it would be today. During the parade. Maximum chaos.”

Adam nodded, his jaw set. ”We stay together. We stay alert.”

Blake’s sleepy expression had vanished. His gaze was sharp, tracking.

Khione released Nero’s hand and slipped her wand from her sleeve. Not drawing it, just ready.

They found a spot near the fountain, where the parade route curved. The first costumes were already approaching—a group of cadets dressed as goblins, green paint and rubber masks, waving at the children. Behind them, a massive dragon puppet, its wings spanning the street, its mouth billowing harmless smoke. The crowd cheered.

Nero scanned the rooftops again. Nothing. But the feeling was there—a prickle at the back of his neck, a whisper of wrongness.

”Eyes open,” he said quietly.

The others nodded.

The parade continued. A hydra, its heads bobbing on poles. A troll, its club made of foam. A griffin, its wings flapping with visible strings. The crowd laughed and clapped. Children shrieked with delight.

And then, near the end of the parade, a float that had not been on the program.

It was a massive cage, draped in black cloth. The cadets pulling it wore masks of bone, their movements stiff, unnatural. The crowd’s cheers faltered. Parents pulled their children closer.

The float stopped before the fountain. The black cloth fell away.

Inside the cage, chained and snarling, was a creature of chitin and claws—a suddenly demonized human, its face hidden behind a beetle’s carapace, its arms twisted into blades. It was not a costume. It was real.

The crowd screamed.

Nero’s sword was in his hand before he thought. ”Lux, clear the civilians. Adam, get to the float. Blake, cover the exits. Khione—”

”I know.” Her wand was already raised.

The creature’s chains snapped. It leaped from the cage, its bladed arms sweeping toward the nearest cadets. Nero moved. Lightning carried him across the square, his sword meeting the creature’s claws in a shower of sparks. The impact drove him back a step, but he held.