Primordial Heir: Nine Stars

The morning came too quickly, gray and damp, a thin mist clinging to the academy grounds. Nero had slept little, his mind turning over the threads, the crooked smile, the mystery of a girl who had died with no wounds and no poison. He rose before dawn, ran his usual twenty kilometers, sat atop the mountain and breathed until his lungs burned and his core was full. But the restlessness did not leave him. Something was coming. He could feel it.

He returned to his dorm, showered, dressed, and walked to the club room. The others arrived one by one—Lux with a travel mug of coffee, Adam stretching his shoulders, Blake yawning, Khione silent and composed. They gathered around the table, the masks still lying where they had left them.

”I’ll try to follow the thread today,” Nero said. ”See where it leads.”

But they never made it out of the room.

The knock came at mid-morning, sharp and urgent. Lux opened the door to a breathless messenger, a young cadet with wide eyes and a pale face.

”Another one,” the messenger said. ”A boy. In the North Dorm. They found him an hour ago.”

The room went still. Nero rose, his chair scraping against the floor. ”Same as the first?”

The messenger nodded. ”No wounds. No poison. Just... dead. And smiling.”

They moved.

•••

The North Dorm was older than the others, its stone walls worn smooth by centuries of weather. A crowd had gathered outside, students whispering, pointing, their faces a mixture of fear and morbid curiosity. Academy guards stood at the entrance, blocking the way, but they stepped aside when Nero showed his club credentials. The Fixer Club had been commissioned. They had the right to investigate.

The room was on the third floor, at the end of a narrow corridor. A single strip of yellow tape marked the door. Inside, a bed, a desk, a closet. A boy lay on the bed, his hands at his sides, his eyes closed. His name was Theron, according to the guards. Eighteen. A second-year. No enemies, no known troubles.

And his mouth was curved into a crooked smile.

Nero stood over him, his red eyes active, scanning. The residual thread was there, thinner than the one in Liana’s room, fading faster. It emerged from the boy’s chest, snaked upward, and vanished into the ceiling. He followed it with his eyes, tracing its path, memorizing its angle.

”Same as before,” he said. ”Someone controlled him. Made him stop his own heart.”

Lux was examining the room, his light-enhanced eyes picking out details that might have been missed. ”No signs of struggle. No forced entry. The window is locked from the inside.”

Adam knelt by the bed, studying the boy’s face. ”The smile. It’s the same. That’s not a coincidence.”

Blake stood by the door, his arms crossed, his eyes scanning the corridor. He was unusually alert, the lazy demeanor gone. ”How are they doing it? From a distance? Through magic?”

Khione moved to the window, looking out at the grounds below. ”If it’s magic, there would be traces. Residual energy. The healers would have found something.”

”Unless it’s not magic,” Nero said.

They looked at him.

He pointed to the thread, still visible to his eyes, still fading. ”I can see it. A connection between the killer and the victim. It’s not magic. It’s something else. Something older.”

The others exchanged glances. Lux opened his mouth to ask, then closed it. There were things about Nero they did not understand, powers they could not explain. They had learned not to question.

”What do we do?” Adam asked.

Nero turned from the body. ”We find where the thread leads. Tonight, when the halls are empty. I’ll follow it. The rest of you will cover me.”

”And if it leads to the killer?” Blake asked.

Nero’s hand rested on the hilt of his sword.

”Then we end this.”

°°°

They spent the rest of the day preparing. Lux gathered supplies—rope, lockpicks, small crystals that could capture images. Adam reviewed the academy’s maps, memorizing the layout of the buildings the thread might cross. Blake rested, storing energy for the night ahead. Khione meditated, her ice flowing through her, sharpening her focus.

Nero sat alone in the club room, his eyes closed, his mind tracing the thread again and again. It led upward, through the ceiling, toward the upper floors of the North Dorm. Then it angled west, toward the older part of the academy, toward the towers that had been built before the modern era.

He did not know what he would find. A person. A creature. A trap. But he would find it nonetheless.

The evening came, gray and cold. They ate a quick meal, gathered their gear, and pulled on their masks. The fox, the monkey, the dog, the tiger, the koala. Five masked figures moving through the dark.

They slipped out of the club room and into the night.

°°°

The North Dorm was quiet at this hour, the students asleep, the corridors empty. A single guard patrolled the entrance, but Lux blinded him with a flash of light, and they slipped past before he could rub his eyes.

Nero led them up the stairs, to the third floor, to the room where Theron had died. He stood in the center of the space, his red eyes active, and found the thread. It was fainter now, barely visible, but still there.

”It leads up,” he said. ”To the roof.”

The roof access was a narrow stairwell, dusty and unused. The door at the top was locked, but Adam placed his hands on it, and the lock clicked open. They stepped out into the cold night air.

The roof was flat, graveled, surrounded by a low wall. The stars were bright overhead, the moon a thin crescent. Nero scanned the darkness, his eyes following the thread. It crossed the roof, then angled down, toward the west.

”It’s going to the old towers,” he said.

They descended from the roof and made their way across the academy grounds. The old towers stood apart from the main buildings, remnants of an earlier age, when the academy had been a fortress against the monsters of the north. They were unused now, their windows dark, their doors sealed.

But not all of them were sealed.

Nero stopped before the largest tower, its stone walls black with age. The thread led inside, through a crack in the wall, into the darkness beyond.

”She’s in there,” he said. ”Or he. The killer.”

Lux stepped forward, his hand glowing with light. ”Then let’s go.”

They found a door, old and rotten, and Adam pushed it open. The darkness within was absolute, thick as smoke. Lux raised his hand, and light bloomed, illuminating a spiral staircase that wound upward into the gloom.

Nero went first, his sword drawn, his eyes red. Khione followed, her wand ready. Adam and Blake came behind, their weapons in hand. Lux brought up the rear, his light their only guide.

The staircase was narrow, the steps worn smooth by centuries of use. Dust lay thick on the railings, disturbed only by their passing. The air was cold, still, heavy with the smell of old stone and older secrets.

At the top, a door. Not locked. Nero pushed it open.

The room beyond was round, its walls lined with shelves covered in dust. A single window faced the east, the moon casting pale light through its dirty glass. And in the center of the room, standing before a small table, was a figure.

She was tall, slender, dressed in a simple gray robe. Her hair was long and dark, her face hidden in shadow. But her hands... her hands were glowing with a pale, silver light.

Nero stepped forward, his sword raised.

”Who are you?”

The figure turned. Her face was young, beautiful, with high cheekbones and dark eyes. But her eyes were wrong. They were empty, like windows into a void.