Primordial Heir: Nine Stars

Let us rewind a few hours.

While Nero and Lux wandered the quiet streets, sharing silence and whiskey, Khione stepped into a different world on their own.

The pocket world was called Frostgrave. She had rented it for the afternoon, spending a significant portion of her credits. It was worth it.

The landscape was a frozen wasteland, endless white plains under a sky the color of steel. Jagged ice formations rose like teeth from the ground. A wind that never stopped carried flakes of snow that stung the skin. The temperature was far below zero, but Khione did not feel it. She was the cold.

She stood at the edge of a frozen lake, her ice wings folded behind her, her wand in her hand. She had chosen this world for its harshness, for its abundance of raw ice energy. And she had chosen the maximum difficulty setting. Hundreds of mutated orcs waited somewhere in the white waste. They were not ordinary orcs. They had been altered, twisted by dark magic, their bodies larger, their muscles corded, their eyes glowing with a sickly green light. Some of them could wield laws—crudely, violently, but effectively. There were orc shamans among them, mimicking mages, capable of casting spells through totems and chants.

Khione spread her wings and took to the sky.

The ice wings caught the wind, lifting her high above the frozen plain. From this height, she could see them—a dark tide spreading across the white, hundreds of figures moving with purpose. They had sensed her. They were coming.

She did not wait.

”[Ice Spear Barrage.]” Her wand traced a circle, and a dozen spears of blue-white crystal shot downward, each one finding a target. Orcs fell, pierced through chests and throats, their black blood steaming on the snow. But more came, pressing forward, climbing over the bodies of the fallen.

Khione raised her wand higher. ”[Glacial Rain.]” The sky above the orcs darkened. Shards of ice, each one sharp as a dagger, began to fall in a continuous sheet. The orcs shrieked, raising their arms, but the shards cut through flesh and bone. Dozens fell. The advance slowed.

But the shamans were reacting. One raised a totem, and a dome of fire erupted around a group of orcs, melting the ice shards before they could strike. Another chanted, and lightning arced toward the sky, seeking Khione. She banked left, the bolt passing close enough to make her hair rise. She returned fire. ”[Frost Lance.]” A single, massive spear of ice shot from her wand, piercing the fire dome, striking the shaman’s totem. The dome collapsed. The orcs inside were exposed.

She descended.

Her ice wings folded, and she dropped like a stone, landing in the center of the orc horde. Her wand moved in a blur. ”[Ice Shield.]” A wall of frost formed around her, deflecting a volley of crude axes. ”[Permafrost Burst.]” The ground beneath her feet exploded with ice, sending orcs flying. She spun, her wand trailing frost, and a ring of ice expanded outward, freezing everything in its path.

The orcs were strong, but they were not coordinated. They attacked in waves, each wave larger than the last, but she cut through them like a blade through cloth. Her spells were precise, economical, deadly. She did not waste motion. She did not speak. Her expression remained cold, her eyes fixed on the horizon where more orcs were gathering.

She needed more power. She needed her domain.

She closed her eyes for a heartbeat. She reached deep into her core, into the frozen heart of her law, and she pushed.

The world around her changed.

A sphere of absolute cold expanded from her body, fifty feet in diameter, then a hundred. Within that sphere, the air crystallized. The snow turned to diamond dust. The orcs inside the sphere slowed, their movements becoming sluggish, their breath freezing in their lungs. This was her pseudo-domain. Not yet a true domain—she was not yet a Master Mage—but close. Very close. She called it Frozen World.

Within this sphere, she was not just a mage casting ice spells. She was the ice itself. She could feel every snowflake, every frozen particle, every molecule of water in the air. They were extensions of her will.

She raised her wand. ”[Molecular Fracture.]”

The ice particles inside the sphere began to vibrate, faster and faster, until they were a shimmering haze. The orcs inside screamed—not in pain, but in confusion. Their bodies were not being cut or crushed. They were being taken apart at the most fundamental level. Molecules separated. Cells dissolved. Flesh became mist, then nothing.

A dozen orcs vanished.

The sphere flickered. The drain was immense. Khione felt her prana reserves plummet, her core aching. She released the domain and fell back to simple spells, her ice wings reforming, carrying her into the air.

The shamans were regrouping. Three of them stood together, their totems planted in a triangle, their chants rising in unison. The air around them began to shimmer with dark energy. They were summoning something.

Khione did not give them time.

She flew higher, until the shamans were small dots below. She raised her wand above her head and began to channel. Not a spell. An invocation.

”[Frozen Heart: Awakening.]”

Ice gathered around her, not as shards or spears, but as living matter. It swirled, coalesced, took shape. Wings of ice, larger than her own, spread wide. A long neck curved. A beak opened in a silent cry. The ice phoenix was born.

It was beautiful and terrible, its body translucent blue, its eyes burning with pale fire. It circled Khione once, then dove.

The phoenix struck the triangle of shamans. Ice exploded outward, freezing the totems, freezing the shamans, freezing the ground beneath them. The dark energy dissipated. The summoning failed.

The remaining orcs, leaderless and terrified, began to flee. Khione did not pursue. The phoenix dissolved into mist, its energy spent. She hovered in the air, her chest heaving, her wand trembling in her grip.

The pocket world was silent. The white plain was littered with frozen corpses. The wind had died.

Khione descended slowly, her ice wings folding, and landed on a ridge overlooking the battlefield. She stood still, her breath pluming in the cold air. Her expression did not change. But inside, she felt the shift—the door to the next realm had cracked open a little wider.