Primordial Heir: Nine Stars

The clash between Adam and Nero ended in a flare of light and dust, their last moves colliding with such force that the entire training ground trembled. When the air cleared, Adam was on one knee, his warhammer planted like a pillar, his body scorched and drained. Nero stood above him, sword lowered, fire still faintly dancing along the blade.

The outcome was clear.

”Damn it...” Adam muttered, frustration in his tone, though there was respect in his eyes when he glanced up at Nero.

”You fought well,” Nero said simply, offering him a hand. Adam accepted it, and the two clasped forearms like they weren’t clashing so fiercely moment ago.

But the sparring was far from over.

As Adam stepped out of the ring, the attention of the group shifted to the next match.

Elreth —, tall and radiant, her long crimson hair bound back, her orange eyes sharp with the heat of battle—stepped forward. She carried a long spear, its polished shaft gleaming, its blade catching the morning sun like a shard of fire.

Opposite her stood Azalea, the blond-haired elf with eyes like twin emeralds, bright and defiant. She carried a slender bow carved from silverwood, elegant yet deadly.

Around her, the air stirred constantly, currents of invisible wind caressing her hair and clothes. The Law of Wind wrapped her like a cloak, granting her lightness and speed.

The two women stood opposite each other in the ring, both smiling faintly. It wasn’t the cocky grin of arrogance, nor the bitter twist of rivalry, but the kind of smile that came from recognizing a worthy opponent.

”Elreth,” Azalea said softly, her voice carrying just enough to reach. ”Don’t hold back.”

Elreth spun her spear once, flames coiling around the weapon in a tight spiral. ”I wouldn’t dream of it. Time for some revenge from losing in the game.”

Orange clashed with green in their eyes, fire and wind acknowledging one another.

Then the fight began.

Azalea moved first, her hand a blur as she drew an created wind arrow and loosed it in a single smooth motion. The arrow sang through the air, carried faster than the eye could follow.

Elreth’s spear flashed up, the tip slicing the air with a fiery trail, and the arrow split apart in a burst of sparks. Before she could lower the weapon, three more arrows followed, each from a different angle—left, right, above.

Azalea’s form was beautiful in motion, her feet barely seeming to touch the ground as the wind carried her. Her bowstring never seemed to rest, arrow after arrow flowing like a storm.

But Elreth’s fire was no less breathtaking. Her spear spun and thrust with precision, each strike burning with controlled power. She shattered arrows, deflected others with bursts of flame, and stepped forward, her advance steady and relentless like a wildfire consuming all in its path.

”Too slow!” Azalea taunted, her voice dancing with laughter as she vaulted back, her wind pushing her higher into the air. She loosed a volley of five arrows in an instant, each spiraling with compressed wind, sharp enough to pierce stone.

Elreth didn’t falter. Planting her spear in the ground, she swept her free hand outward. Fire exploded around her, forming a blazing shield that incinerated the arrows mid-flight. With a roar, she pulled the spear free and charged.

The arena erupted into a storm of motion. Azalea darted around the edges, her wind-enhanced steps blindingly fast, her arrows whistling like a rainstorm. Elreth chased her like a predator, each thrust of her spear forcing the elf to retreat, every swing carving fiery arcs through the air.

The spectators watched in awe. Even Lux, usually composed, leaned forward with interest. Nero’s eyes tracked every exchange, while Khione’s gaze lingered silently on the duel, unreadable yet sharp. Blake yawned loudly but didn’t look away—despite his act, even he was caught in the tension.

”You’re as stubborn as ever!” Azalea called, her wind lifting her higher, giving her vantage from above. She fired down three arrows in quick succession, each wrapped in slicing gales.

”Better stubborn than slippery!” Elreth retorted, her spear striking upward. Fire erupted in a pillar, devouring the arrows and forcing Azalea to twist away mid-air.

Azalea landed lightly, wind cushioning her descent, but Elreth was already there. With a sudden burst of speed, her spear shot forward, the point glowing white-hot. Azalea’s bow jerked up just in time, the shaft clashing against the spear in a shower of sparks.

The two locked for a heartbeat—fire roaring against wind.

”Not bad,” Azalea whispered, her green eyes gleaming with challenge.

Elreth grinned, her orange eyes blazing.

”You too. It had been while since we spar like this.’’

Then they broke apart, the clash sending ripples of power through the ground.

For a time, the battle was like a dance. Azalea glided across the ring, arrows flying like feathers on the breeze, her movements light, graceful, beautiful. Elreth met her with fiery determination, her spear an extension of her body, each strike radiating strength and discipline.

Azalea conjured whirlwinds with her shots, arrows curving unpredictably, but Elreth answered with flames that burned hotter, faster, cutting through the currents. The sound of their clash was constant—steel striking, arrows splitting, fire roaring, wind howling.

Both women were smiling still, their pride and joy in battle shining brighter than any rivalry.

But in the end, fire burned brighter.

Azalea leapt back for distance, drawing an arrow that glowed fiercely, wind spiraling so tightly around it that the very air whined. She loosed it with all her strength, the arrow streaking like a lightning bolt toward Elreth.

Elreth didn’t evade. Planting her feet, she spun her spear, fire coiling around it in an inferno. With a cry, she thrust forward. The flame gathered, surging out like a dragon’s breath.

The arrow met the fire head-on. For a moment, it seemed as though wind would carve through flame—but then Elreth’s fire roared higher, consuming it utterly. The blast exploded outward, knocking Azalea off her feet and sending her skidding across the sand.

When the flames settled, Elreth stood tall, her spear lowered but still burning faintly at the tip.

Azalea groaned, sitting up, her bow clutched in one hand. She was scorched and battered, but her smile hadn’t faded. ”Still can’t beat you... huh?”

Elreth extended her hand with a grin. ”Not yet. But you’ll get there.”

Azalea clasped it, and the two pulled each other upright.

The watching group erupted in scattered applause. Lux chuckled, shaking his head.

”That was a show worth seeing.”

Nero’s eyes lingered on Elreth, a faint respect flickering in them. Khione said nothing, though her gaze shifted subtly to Azalea, measuring. Blake muttered something about ”overachievers” but couldn’t quite hide the small smile tugging at his lips.

The match was over. Fire had triumphed over wind—but both women had shone brilliantly.