Primordial Heir: Nine Stars

’’The most relaxing moment is when you are taking a bath. Whether it is after a long arduous or normal day, or after an intense fight, it’s always rewarding to enjoy a good bath.’’- Nero Adams!

•••

The group stepped out of the pub and into the warm summer night, the door swinging shut behind them with a muffled thud that cut off the raucous laughter and clinking of mugs. Outside, the air was fresh, carrying the faint sweetness of blooming night-flowers from the academy gardens and the distant scent of grilled food from late-night stalls.

The cobblestone paths of the entertainment district glowed softly under the warm light of enchanted lanterns hanging from wrought-iron posts. Their golden radiance spilled across the street in gentle pools, casting long shadows that swayed in rhythm with the breeze. Above, the night sky stretched vast and endless, studded with countless stars that twinkled like scattered gems, while the twin moons—one pale silver, the other faintly gold—watched over them.

Adam walked at the front, his broad shoulders relaxed but his steps steady, the kind of stride that spoke of satisfaction after a night well spent. Nero followed beside him, his hand resting lightly on the hilt of his new sword, the polished blade safely sheathed but already feeling like an extension of his arm. Every so often, he’d glance at it, the faintest smile tugging at his lips.

Lux was on Nero’s other side, absently running his fingers along the smooth surface of the wand Adam had given him. It felt balanced, responsive—like it was meant for him. His silver eyes reflected the moonlight, and though he didn’t speak much, the gratitude in them was clear.

At the back, Blake trailed with his usual languid pace, the wand tucked under one arm while he stifled a yawn. His hair caught the lamplight in shades of violet and black, and though he looked as if he might doze off mid-walk, the slight upward curl of his lips betrayed that even he appreciated the gift.

The streets were quieter now, the chatter from the pubs fading behind them, replaced by the soft rustle of leaves and the occasional distant laugh from another late-night group. Their boots tapped softly against the cobblestones, the rhythm unhurried and in sync.

They passed through the academy’s main gate, the runed archway humming faintly as they crossed its threshold. The courtyard beyond was bathed in silver moonlight, the central fountain shimmering as water cascaded gently into its basin. Fireflies drifted lazily in the air, their tiny lights blinking like wayward stars that had decided to join them on the ground.

As they reached the dormitory building, the four slowed to a stop at the branching hallway.

”Well,” Adam said, breaking the quiet, ”guess this is where we part ways for the night.”

”Yeah,” Nero replied with a small nod, his usual sharp tone softened.

”Good night,” Lux said simply, offering a faint smile as he adjusted his grip on his wand.

Blake gave a lazy wave, his voice carrying in that slow, almost drawling tone of his. ”Night.”

One by one, they turned toward their rooms, their steps echoing softly in the hall until the sound faded into silence. The night wrapped around the academy in peaceful stillness, as if the world itself had decided to give them this brief, quiet moment before the challenges yet to come.

Back in his room, Nero closed the door behind him with a quiet click, the faint echo swallowed by the stillness of the night.

’’Time for some bathing time.’’

He set his new sword carefully on the low table by the window before stripping off his outer coat. The heat of summer clung to him, the faint sheen of sweat a reminder of both the day’s heat and the celebration’s liveliness.

Steam soon began to rise as he stepped into the bathroom and turned it on, the bathtub bath infused with faintly glowing herbs placed by the academy’s attendants earlier in the day, something he asked them to do. The scent was sharp yet refreshing, a mixture of mint and forest pine that instantly cleared his mind. Nero lowered himself into the water, feeling the tension bleed from his muscles as the warmth seeped in.

’’Hah! I feel alive. Bath is such wonderful thing.’’

He closed his eyes, leaning back against the smooth stone, letting the heat dissolve whatever weariness lingered in his body.

By the time he stepped out, his skin carried a healthy warmth, and his long dark blue hair hung damp around his face, the beautiful tattoo running on his back to his neck seemed more prominent. He dressed simply—black trousers, a loose white tunic with its sleeves rolled to the elbow—clothing chosen for comfort rather than formality.

He crossed to the table where his sword rested, the weapon gleaming faintly in the moonlight filtering through the window. Even in stillness, it seemed alive, the surface of the blade catching light in a way that hinted at hidden depth. Sitting cross-legged on the floor, he drew it from its scabbard with deliberate care.

The steel sang in the quiet, a smooth, ringing note that made the air feel charged.

Nero closed his eyes, steadying his breathing, and began to circulate his prana. It flowed through his body like molten metal, steady and powerful, before surging into the blade. The sword responded immediately. A deep, resonant hum filled the room, the edge glowing faintly as though awakening.

When he willed it, flames sprang to life along the length of the blade. At first, they were the deep crimson of a well-fed forge, steady and strong. With more focus, the color shifted—pale gold, flickering with a regal radiance; then a ghostly blue, colder in appearance but no less intense; finally, a rare shade of pure white fire, its brilliance sharp enough to make the shadows in the room recoil.

Each transformation sent a subtle vibration up his arm, as if the sword itself approved, as if it was meant to channel such power. The room’s temperature rose with each change, the air shimmering faintly, yet Nero’s focus never wavered.

In the reflection of the blade, his own eyes glowed faintly, the flames dancing in their depths. For a moment, it wasn’t just a weapon in his hands—it felt like a partner, something that understood him without words.

A faint smile tugged at his lips.

’’Not bad, as expected from a dwarf. It was good to befriend him. He is a nice guy.’’

This sword would see battle soon. And when it did, it would burn with every color of fire he could command.