Primordial Heir: Nine Stars

Back in the real world, Nero opened his eyes.

The night sky stretched above him, vast and indifferent, the stars scattered like diamonds across a velvet cloth. The mountain was silent, the only sound the whisper of wind through the pines and the distant hum of the academy below. He sat on his mat, cross-legged, his breathing slow and steady.

A smile touched his lips—rare, genuine, satisfied. His usual stoic expression softened, just for a moment. The awakening of the fourth law had settled into his being, cool and calm, like the depths of an ocean. His strength had grown again, not incrementally, but in leaps. He could feel it in his bones, in the pulse of his cores, in the way the ambient prana seemed to recognize him now, to acknowledge his presence.

His physical strength had increased to an alarming degree, close to the Apex (Zodiac) level.He flexed his fingers, and he could feel the difference—the density of his muscle, the resilience of his sinew, the power coiled in every limb. He was no longer just a knight wielding laws. He was becoming something more. Something that walked the line between mortal and myth.

He rose from the mat and moved to a small, still pool of water nestled among the rocks. The moonlight reflected off its surface, and he saw his reflection—the same face, the same eyes, the same dark blue hair. But there was something different. Behind him, visible through the thin fabric of his shirt, the mysterious blue tattoo had become vivid, clearer, more defined.

It ran from the base of his neck, tracing down his spine, spreading across his back in a pattern of ancient, flowing lines. It depicted a dragon—not the crude, stylized dragons of heraldry, but something older, more primal. Its body was serpentine, coiled, its scales etched with swirling patterns that seemed to move when he looked at them. Its eyes were closed, but the curve of its mouth suggested a patient, knowing smile. Five claws, each one distinct, reached outward. A long tail wrapped around his left shoulder, ending in a sharp point. The dragon’s wings, half-folded, spread across his shoulder blades, their membranes marked with runes that glowed faintly in the darkness.

It was lifelike, almost alive, as if the creature were sleeping beneath his skin, waiting to wake.

Nero stared at his reflection. He had always known the tattoo was there, but he had never been able to see it clearly. Now it was vivid, every line sharp, every curve defined. And with its clarity came understanding—a fragment of knowledge, a whisper of purpose.

By willing it, the tattoo would cover his body, activating a semi-dragon form. In that state, he could wield powerful draconic magic. His laws would become easier to control, their power magnified. But the form could only be maintained for a short moment. It was not a transformation to be used lightly.

He did not have a name for it. For now, he would call it his True Form.

He was curious. He needed to test it.

He closed his eyes and reached for the tattoo, for the power that slept beneath his skin. He willed it to awaken.

The change was immediate.

A torrent of prana drained from his dual cores, both the primary and the second, leaving them gasping, hungry. The tattoo on his back flared with a brilliant blue light, and the lines spread outward, covering his body in a rush of heat and power. His skin tingled, and he felt himself growing, stretching, transforming.

His dark blue hair elongated, becoming spiky, wild, trailing down his back like a mane of frozen lightning. His frame expanded, his height reaching two and a half meters. His muscles swelled with new strength, his bones thickening, his tendons coiling. Two curved dragon horns erupted from his forehead, their surfaces covered in mysterious blue and golden runes that pulsed with light. An illusionary tail, semi-transparent and shimmering, materialized behind him, swaying with a life of its own.

His pupils remained crimson, but they became vertical, slitted like those of a dragon, ancient and predatory. His eyes, already powerful, blended with this new form. The world around him became sharper, clearer. He could see the flow of prana in the air, the subtle currents of energy that moved through the mountain, the academy, the world itself.

He felt... overpowered.

The ambient prana around him did not just respond to him. It obeyed him. It curled around him like a docile puppy, eager to please, waiting for his command. The air itself seemed to bow to his presence.

He vanished.

One moment he was standing by the pool. The next, he was a kilometer away, hovering fifty meters above a secluded training ground at the edge of the academy. His reaction speed had been instantaneous, akin to teleportation. He had not consciously chosen to move; the form had simply carried him to where his will had directed.

Below him, a cadet was training. A young woman with fiery red hair and focused blue eyes, her wand raised, her movements precise. She was unleashing her Law of Water, practicing a series of spells. A stream of water coiled around her, forming a serpent of liquid that twisted and struck at a training dummy.

Nero hovered above her, unnoticed, unseen. The True Form filled him with a strange, calm detachment. He watched her practice, and on impulse, he decided to test the limits of this new power.

He opened his mouth, and the draconic tongue flowed from his lips—words that were not words, sounds that resonated with the fabric of reality. He spoke one word in that ancient language.

”Erase.”

The effect was immediate. The water serpent below him shimmered, then dissolved, its molecules scattering into the air. The cadet’s spells—all of them—simply vanished. The ambient prana around her flickered, then went dark. She could not access her law any longer. Her face went pale, her eyes wide with shock.

Nero understood what had happened. The combination of his True Form and his God’s Eyes had allowed him to cancel her law, to erase the very connection she had with water. It was a power beyond the capabilities of any normal knight or mage. It was the power of dragons.

He did not stay to watch her reaction. He vanished again, reappearing at his original spot on the mountain. The form was draining him rapidly, his cores screaming in protest. He forced himself to cancel the transformation.

The horns receded. The height shrank. The tail vanished. His hair returned to its normal length. He fell to his knees, his chest heaving, his body drenched in sweat. The tattoo on his back dimmed, returning to its resting state.

He panted, his breath coming in ragged gasps. His cores were nearly empty, their reserves depleted. But his eyes were shining.

He had gained another trump card.

The True Form was powerful, devastating, but it was also costly. He could only maintain it for about a minute, perhaps less. It drained him, left him vulnerable. But in that minute, he was nearly unstoppable.

He rose slowly, his legs unsteady, and looked out at the academy below. The lights were still on in some of the buildings. The festival preparations continued. But he was no longer the same person who had walked up the mountain hours ago.

He was stronger. He was more. And he was one step closer to the answers he sought.

He smiled again, a quiet, satisfied smile, and began the walk down the mountain. The night was still young. There was much to do, much to train, much to prepare.

But for now, he had a new weapon. And he would learn to wield it. He didn’t feel losing in the incoming duel, the world was about to shocked speechless.