Primordial Heir: Nine Stars

Nero darted across the sand, his laughter loud and boyish, the sound carried away by the salty breeze. Khione chased after him with the relentless focus of a hunter, but her stern expression was undercut by the rare brightness in her eyes.

”Stop running, coward!” she shouted, her voice sharper than the waves crashing against the shore.

”Not a chance!” Nero called back over his shoulder, his grin mischievous. He veered toward the waterline, splashing into the shallow waves, sending arcs of seawater flying.

Khione skidded to a stop, glaring at the droplets that sprayed her dress. ”You’re dead.”

She charged straight into the surf after him, scooping up water with both hands and hurling it at his back. The splash soaked him instantly, and Nero yelped in surprise. ”Hey! That’s cheating!”

”All’s fair!” Khione shot back, already preparing another splash.

They battled like children, water flying everywhere as their laughter mixed with the rhythm of the tide. Nero retaliated with wild, sweeping kicks that sent sprays of foam toward Khione, while she countered with precise, targeted throws that smacked him in the face more times than he would admit. Each miss made her smirk, and each hit made him sputter like he was under siege.

At one point, Nero slipped on the wet sand and fell backward with a loud thud, water soaking his clothes. Khione doubled over laughing, her usual composure completely gone. ”So graceful,” she teased, wiping a tear from her eye.

”Mock me while you can,” Nero muttered, springing back to his feet and lunging toward her.

Khione shrieked—an uncharacteristic sound for her—before spinning on her heel and sprinting away, her silver hair streaming like a comet’s tail. Nero gave chase, the two zigzagging across the shore until they were both breathless, their laughter echoing far into the night.

Eventually, exhaustion caught up with them. Nero bent over, hands on his knees, panting hard. Khione stood not far from him, equally out of breath, her cheeks flushed pink from the cold night air and the thrill of their play.

”Truce?” Nero asked between gasps, holding up a wet, sandy hand.

Khione narrowed her eyes at him, suspicious, but her lips curved upward despite herself. ”...Fine. Truce.” She tapped his hand lightly, sealing the agreement.

Still chuckling softly, they walked back along the shore, shoes in hand, their clothes damp and clinging uncomfortably. The world around them had gone quiet again, save for the whisper of waves brushing against the sand.

The villa came back into view, its windows glowing warmly against the darkness. By the time they reached it, the energy of their play had softened into something gentler, calmer.

At the door, they paused.

”Well,” Nero said, rubbing the back of his neck, his grin still lingering. ”That was... fun.”

Khione’s lips curved in the faintest of smiles—small, but genuine. ”It was.”

There was a silence between them, the kind that felt full rather than empty. Then, in unspoken agreement, they both turned toward the staircase.

”Good night, Khione,” Nero said quietly, his tone unusually sincere.

Khione looked at him for a moment, her pale blue eyes shimmering faintly under the lamp’s glow. ”Good night, Nero.”

With that, they parted—each retreating into their own room, the memory of laughter and seawater lingering like a soft warmth in their hearts.

It was a pretty fun night. Both secretly decided to spend more time like this together to slowly learn about each other.

°°°

The following morning dawned bright and golden, painting the Angel’s City skyline in warm hues. Birds chirped outside the villa, a soft breeze carried the scent of dew and flowers, and for a moment, everything was peaceful.

Everyone rose early, dressed, and ready—everyone except Blake.

The daemon prince had locked his door the night before, piling whatever furniture he could in front of it. Inside, he was sprawled on the bed, snoring contentedly, looking like the very picture of lazy indulgence.

But the others were not about to let him off so easily.

Lux, Nero, and Adam stood outside his room, arms crossed, exchanging glances. Slowly, grins spread across their faces—the kind of grins that spelled trouble.

”Should we knock politely?” Adam asked with a raised brow.

Lux shook his head with mock seriousness.

”No mercy today.”

Nero’s eyes gleamed with mischief. ”Agreed. Let’s breach the fortress.”

The girls had already gathered, dressed in sleek sportswear. Elreth stood with arms folded, her fiery gaze fixed on the door as if daring Blake to resist. Azalea tied her hair into a ponytail, smiling faintly at the scene, while Khione simply watched with calm detachment, though the faint curve of her lips betrayed amusement. None of them intervened—they knew Blake’s fate was sealed.

”One... two... three!”

BANG! The door flew open in a burst of splintered wood.

Inside, Blake sat bolt upright, purple hair sticking out wildly, eyes half-lidded in confusion.

”Huh—what—NOOOO!”

He barely had time to curse before Nero yanked him by the arm, Lux grabbed his other, and Adam hooked his legs. Like three professional kidnappers, they hauled the poor prince out of bed, blankets and pillows trailing in their wake.

”LET ME GO, DAMN IT!” Blake howled, thrashing like a caught animal.

”You’re late for training,” Lux said flatly, dragging him down the hall.

”Hell training,” Adam corrected with a cruel smirk.

”Smile, Blake,” Nero added cheerfully, ”this is character development.”

The girls followed at a leisurely pace, like an audience watching a theater performance. Elreth didn’t even bother to hide her laughter, while Azalea covered her mouth with her hand, eyes twinkling. Khione said nothing, but her ice-blue gaze lingered on Blake’s suffering with quiet amusement.

And so began his hellish day.

Dragged into the crisp morning air, Blake squinted as sunlight hit his face. The group marched him up the back mountain, a place where mist clung to jagged cliffs and pines swayed in the wind. The air was clean, invigorating—except Blake couldn’t enjoy it.

”Run,” Lux ordered.

”I—WHAT?!”

”Run,” Lux repeated.

And just like that, the chase began.

Blake was forced to sprint uphill, panting heavily, while Nero occasionally sent small bursts of flame whizzing past his shoulder, forcing him to dodge. Adam blocked his path, tackling him down and demanding push-ups. Elreth barked orders like a commander, timing his pace. Azalea contributed with a frighteningly cheerful,

”Faster, or I’ll triple your workload!”

By the time they reached the peak, Blake collapsed, chest heaving, sweat plastering his hair to his face. He looked like a man who had run from the underworld itself.

But they weren’t done.

From the mountain, they dragged him to the villa’s expansive training hall. Gleaming weights lined the walls, punching bags hung from steel bars, and the polished floor reflected the harsh sunlight streaming through tall windows.

”Up,” Khione said coldly, stepping into the gym. Her aura carried the chill of a glacier, making Blake shiver.

”I can’t feel my legs,” he groaned.

”You’ll feel them when I freeze them solid,” she replied without blinking.

That got him moving again.

The training was merciless. Azalea forced him through relentless conditioning drills, her voice sharp like a whip. Adam sparred with him, overwhelming him with brute strength, forcing Blake to adapt or get crushed. Lux hammered him with endurance exercises—long sets, no breaks. Nero, of course, taunted him the entire time, occasionally sparring just to humiliate him with swift, precise moves.

At first, Blake whined, cursed, and flailed about, barely keeping up. But slowly—against his will—his body adapted. His reflexes sharpened as he learned to dodge Nero’s unpredictable strikes. His stamina stretched longer as Lux pushed him past his limits. Adam’s strength forced him to think tactically, while Azalea’s conditioning hardened his frame.

Even Elreth, who had been laughing the loudest, eventually stepped in. She sparred with him using her Law of Fire, her flames forcing him to move with precision or risk being singed. Blake gritted his teeth, determination flickering in his usually lazy eyes.

For hours, the torture continued. Sweat soaked his clothes, his muscles screamed, but something undeniable was happening. The lazy prince was being forged, beaten and sharpened like iron in a blacksmith’s fire.

Blake collapsed onto the training hall floor. His chest rose and fell in sharp, ragged breaths, but his eyes—though tired—held a faint light that hadn’t been there before.

The others stood around him, equally sweaty but grinning.

”Not bad,” Nero said with a smirk.

”Barely acceptable,” Lux added, though his tone carried a hint of approval.

”You survived,” Azalea teased, patting his head mockingly.

Blake rolled onto his back, groaning. ”You people... are demons.”

”Funny, coming from you,” Elreth quipped with a grin.

Even Khione, silent all day, finally spoke, her voice cool yet almost approving: ”You did well not to break.”

Blake cracked open one eye at her. ”That’s... the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

Nero laughed, crouching beside him. ”Don’t get used to it. Tomorrow’s going to be worse.”

At that, Blake let out a dramatic wail that echoed across the gym, drawing laughter from everyone else.