Primordial Heir: Nine Stars

The fragile peace broke at dawn, and suddenly, two villagers were missing again. But this time, there was a helpful clue—a trail. Not of ghosts, but heavy, clumsy footprints and a faint, sickly-sweet smell of goblin filth mixed with grave dirt. It seemed like their patience had finally run out. The trail led away from Oakhaven, not into the deep forest, but up a rugged, neighboring mountain range they hadn’t yet explored.

The trio followed the trail with calm determination. It wound up steep switchbacks, through narrow passes, and finally reached a hidden, foul-smelling valley. There, clinging to the cliffs like a sickly growth, was a large, surprisingly organized goblin village.

Huts were built with timber and stone. Watchtowers made of lashed-together bones stood guard at the valley’s entrance. In the center, a larger hut made of tanned skins was topped with a creepy totem pole of animal and human skulls.

But the most unsettling sight wasn’t the village itself. It was the prisoners. In crude wooden cages near the central hut, they saw the missing Oakhaven villagers—alive but dazed and thin. Nearby, some livestock that was also missing was penned up. This wasn’t a ghost story. It was a farm—an ugly goblin farm raising food and slaves. It was a disturbing sight, reminding them of just how dangerous monsters could be.

At the heart of it all, standing before the big hut, was the Goblin Champion—bigger and uglier than the one Adam’s team faced, wearing scavenged plate armor. Next to him was a smaller goblin, draped in rotting furs and feathers—clearly a Goblin Shaman. Its eyes glowed with the same eerie, unnatural light as the ghosts. It held a staff topped with one of the dark, humming crystals they had found in the cave.

The pieces finally clicked into place. The shaman was using the crystals to create and control the ghosts—the ghosts were like harvesters, stealing food and workers for the tribe. The champion was its enforcer.

They quietly retreated to a hidden vantage point to plan their next move. No need for words; they simply pointed and gestured, their plan forming in silent, determined clarity.

Elreth would assume the vanguard position. Her fire was ineffective against ghosts, but highly effective against goblin flesh and for breaching their front line. She would instigate chaos, attract the main force, and engage the champion’s second-in-command—a formidable goblin brute armed with two cleavers standing near the champion.

Khione, as the mage, would provide support from an elevated, defensive position. Her ice magic would dominate the battlefield—slowing the horde, constructing barriers to funnel them, and, most importantly, safeguarding Elreth’s flanks.

Nero faced the most challenging task. As the hunter, he would not engage the main force. His objective was to pursue the runaways. Once combat commenced, goblins would attempt to flee for reinforcements, concealment, or to eliminate the prisoners. Nero, with his speed and agility, would pursue and apprehend them. He served as the cork in the bottle—no one would escape.

At the appropriate moment, he would confront the Goblin Champion himself.

A final nod was given. The assault commenced.

•••

Elreth did not enter stealthily. Instead, she announced her presence confidently and with an air of arrogance, reflective of her personality. She proceeded into the valley entrance, her spear igniting into a brilliant orange flame.

’’Come meet your demise!”

She issued a challenge that resonated off the cliffs.

The goblin village erupted with shrieks. The champion bellowed, pointing emphatically. The horde surged forward toward the solitary, fiery knight.

Elreth confronted them as a breaking wave collides with a cliff.

”Phoenix Sweep!”

She spun, her spear drawing a circle of fire that incinerated the first ranks. She moved with the grace of a dancer of destruction, each thrust and parry precise, every step meticulously calculated to keep the mob in front of her and prevent them from surrounding her.

From her vantage point on a rocky ledge, Khione initiated her spellwork. Her wand moved in sharp, efficient patterns.

”Frostbind Field.” The ground in a broad arc before Elreth’s flanks transformed into slick, hazardous ice. Goblins charging from the sides lost their footing, slipping into each other in a chaotic, screeching heap.

”Ice Pillar: Wall.”

She erected a semi-circular barrier of thick ice pillars behind Elreth, establishing a temporary fortified position for retreat.

The goblin brute wielding two cleavers pressed through the crowd, roaring fiercely. Elreth responded with a fierce grin and engaged him. Their combat involved a brutal exchange of heavy blows—her flaming spear against his hacking cleavers, sparks and fragments of metal flying through the air.

As the primary skirmish ensued, Nero advanced. He became a streak of golden lightning, darting along the edges of the valley. Goblins attempting to climb the cliffs to escape or to encircle Khione from the rear, breaking away from the back of the horde, encountered him waiting.

”Lightning Lance.”

A precise bolt shot from his finger, striking them down mid-climb. He was a silent, lethal shepherd, maintaining control of the battle.

The Goblin Shaman saw the threat. Its glowing eyes were fixed on Khione, the source of the controlling ice. It raised its crystal-topped staff and began a guttural chant. The dark crystal pulsed.

From shadows around the central hut, new ghosts—three of them, more solid and aggressive than before—coalesced. But they didn’t attack Elreth or Nero. They shot straight up towards Khione’s perch. At the same time, the shaman’s curse reached out. From cracks in the rocks around Khione, giant, venomous centipedes and screeching bat-like creatures, their eyes glazed with magic, swarmed out, summoned and enraged by the shaman’s spell.

Khione was suddenly under attack from two fronts: ethereal ghosts from above and a swarm of physical monsters from below. Her icy calm didn’t break. She split her focus. With one hand, she maintained the ice supporting Elreth. With the other, she defended herself.

”Glacial Shards: Volley.” She fired a fan of ice daggers at the centipedes, pinning several to the rock.

”Permafrost Aura.”

She dropped the temperature immediately around her, freezing the bats’ wings and sending them plummeting.

But the ghosts were upon her. She couldn’t hurt them. So she trapped them.

”Ice Mirror: Cage.”

She created a box of reflective ice around herself. The ghosts phased through the walls, but inside, they were reflected a hundred times, their own distorted images confusing and disorienting them, buying her precious seconds.

Down in the valley, Nero saw Khione’s predicament. He couldn’t let the shaman keep pressuring her. The time for hunting runners was over. It was time for the main event.

He stopped his lightning patrol and turned. He faced the Goblin Champion, who was watching the battle with a cruel smirk, confident in his shaman.

Their eyes met. The champion’s smirk vanished. It hefted its massive, spiked maul.

Nero didn’t use Lightning. He used Fire. He wanted this to hurt. He wanted the champion to feel it. His sword erupted in blue flame.

He charged. The champion charged. They met in the center of the valley with a collision that shook the ground. It was raw power against raw power. The champion’s maul came down like a falling tree. Nero didn’t parry; he sidestepped, and the maul cratered the earth. Nero’s blue-flamed sword slashed across the champion’s armored back, leaving a molten gash. The champion roared in pain and backhanded Nero with its free hand, sending him skidding.

Elreth, still dueling the brute, saw Nero engage the champion. She redoubled her efforts.

”Searing Phoenix Dive!” She feinted high, then dropped low, her spear plunging up through the brute’s chin and into its skull. The brute fell. She immediately turned her fire on the mob around her, creating space.

With the shaman distracted by controlling the monsters attacking Khione, its support for the champion faltered. Nero pressed his advantage. He switched tactics. He used Lightning for speed, darting around the slower champion, leaving after-images. He’d strike with Fire, searing a joint, then vanish before the return swing could land. He was whittling the monster down.

Khione, inside her icy cage, saw the ghosts beginning to coalesce their wills. She couldn’t hold them much longer. She saw Nero wearing down the champion. She made a decision.

She dropped the ice cage. The ghosts lunged.

At that exact moment, she cast not at them, but at the ground far below, near the shaman.

”Ice Spears!” A massive spike of ice formed in the air above the shaman and plummeted to the ground.

The shaman, sensing the danger, looked up and shrieked, breaking its concentration on the ghosts and the summoned monsters. It raised its staff to block.

The ice spear shattered the crystal on the staff with a sound like breaking glass.

A shockwave of released, foul energy exploded outward. The summoned centipedes and bats dissolved into smoke. The ghosts around Khione wailed and evaporated into harmless mist. The shaman was thrown to the ground, stunned.

In that moment of universal distraction, Nero saw his opening. The champion, confused by the shockwave, hesitated.

Nero combined his laws. He coated his sword in Fire, then supercharged it with a bolt of Lightning that ran down the blade. The weapon became a crackling, white-hot rod of plasma.

He roared and charged one last time. The champion swung its maul in a desperate, sweeping arc.

Nero dropped, sliding under the swing on his knees. As he passed beneath the champion’s guard, he thrust his supercharged sword straight up, through the bottom of the champion’s jaw, and out the top of its skull.

The champion froze. A faint sizzle. Then it toppled backward like a felled oak.

Silence.

The remaining goblins, seeing their champion dead, their shaman’s magic broken, and their brute lieutenant slain, dropped their weapons. A wave of terrified chittering rose as they turned and fled in every direction, scrambling over the cliffs, truly broken this time.

Nero stood panting over the champion’s body, his sword cooling. Elreth leaned on her spear, covered in soot and goblin blood, breathing hard. Khione descended from her perch, her expression cold but satisfied.

They didn’t speak. They moved. Elreth went to the cages, using her fire to melt the locks. Khione used gentle ice to soothe burns and injuries on the dazed prisoners. Nero kept watch, his eyes scanning the fleeing goblins, ensuring none doubled back.