Primordial Heir: Nine Stars

The sun dipped below the walls of the academy, leaving the sky streaked with orange and purple. The festival lights began to glow, thousands of small flames and enchanted bulbs strung between booths and trees. The noise of the crowds softened as families and cadets drifted toward the food stalls and the dance floor. But Nero and Khione walked in the opposite direction, away from the square, toward the lake.

The lake was dark, its surface still, reflecting the first stars. A small dock jutted into the water, and tied to it were rowboats, their wooden sides worn smooth by years of use. Nero untied one and helped Khione step in. The boat rocked gently as he took the oars and pushed off. The dock receded, the lights of the festival shrinking to a warm glow behind them.

They drifted in silence. The only sounds were the soft dip of the oars, the whisper of water against the hull, and the distant music from the square. Nero rowed slowly, not toward any destination, simply away. Khione sat across from him, her hands in her lap, watching the shoreline pass. The academy rose on one side, its towers dark against the deepening sky. Trees leaned over the water on the other, their branches black, their leaves rustling.

Nero shipped the oars and let the boat drift. He reached into the small basket at his feet—packed earlier with care, though he would never admit it—and brought out a cloth-wrapped bundle. Inside were pastries, small and flaky, filled with cream and berries. He set them on the seat between them, along with a flask of cold tea.

Khione took a pastry and bit into it. The cream was sweet, the berries tart. She nodded, a small gesture of approval, and ate in silence. Nero took another and did the same.

They floated. The stars grew brighter, reflected in the dark water like scattered diamonds. A fish jumped somewhere near the shore, the splash loud in the quiet. Khione leaned back, looking up at the sky. Nero watched her, the curve of her jaw, the soft fall of her hair. He did not speak. Words would only break the spell.

The flask passed between them, the tea cool and slightly sweet. They finished the pastries, wiped their fingers on a cloth, and sat in the peaceful dark. The boat turned slowly, caught in a gentle current, and they let it carry them. No destination. No schedule. Only the water, the stars, and each other.

°°°

Meanwhile, near the center of the festival, Adam and Lux had cornered Blake.

Blake stood with his hands in his pockets, his shoulders hunched, his expression one of long-suffering resignation. He had tried to slip away twice, but Lux had anticipated both attempts. Adam blocked his third escape route by simply standing in the way, his arms crossed, his grin wide.

”No,” Blake said.

”Yes,” Lux replied.

”I’m tired.”

”You slept all day.”

”Planning for tonight.”

”You’re going to enjoy the festival if it kills you.”

Blake looked at Adam for support. Adam shrugged. ”He’s right. You need to have fun.”

”I have fun.”

”When?”

Blake did not answer.

Lux grabbed his arm and pulled him toward a game booth. The booth was shaped like a castle, with small wooden catapults and piles of beanbags. The goal was to knock down a row of plaster dragons. Lux paid for three turns and shoved a catapult into Blake’s hands.

”Show me what you’ve got.”

Blake sighed, loaded a beanbag, and pulled the lever. The bag flew in a lazy arc, missed the dragons entirely, and bounced off the back wall. Lux laughed. Adam loaded his own catapult and knocked down two dragons. The attendant handed him a small stuffed dragon as a prize. Adam tucked it into his pocket.

”Your turn again,” Lux said, reloading Blake’s catapult.

Blake aimed, fired, and hit a dragon square in the chest. The plaster figure wobbled, then fell. The attendant clapped. Lux cheered. Adam nodded approvingly.

”Beginner’s luck,” Blake muttered, but the corners of his mouth twitched.

They moved to a food stall, where Adam bought three sticks of grilled meat. Blake ate his without comment, but he ate it quickly. Lux bought roasted chestnuts, sharing them between them. The three stood at the edge of the crowd, watching the dancers, the musicians, the performers juggling fire.

More games followed. A ring toss, where Adam won a small mirror. A strength test, where Lux rang the bell on his first try, earning a garland of paper flowers. A guessing game, where Blake correctly identified the number of beans in a jar, winning a bag of candies.

”Not bad,” Adam said.

Blake shrugged, but he was almost smiling.

They ended at the archery booth, where Lux had been earlier. The targets were painted to look like monsters—goblins, trolls, a small dragon. Lux picked up a bow, aimed, and hit the dragon in the eye. The attendant offered a large stuffed bear, but Lux declined. He pointed at Blake.

”Him.”

Blake took the bow. His stance was relaxed, his draw effortless. He released, and the arrow struck the goblin target dead center. Then another, and another, each shot perfect, each arrow finding its mark. The attendant stared. A small crowd gathered, watching.

Blake set down the bow and walked away.

Lux and Adam followed, exchanging glances.

”I thought he was always tired,” Adam whispered.

”He’s full of surprises,” Lux replied.

They found Blake sitting on a bench, watching the lanterns drift upward into the sky. Paper lanterns, each one carrying a wish written in ink. Children released them, their faces lit by the warm glow.

”You didn’t have to show off,” Lux said, sitting beside him.

Blake shook his head. ”I wasn’t showing off. I was practicing.”

”For what?”

Blake was silent for a moment. Then: ”For when it matters.”

Adam sat on Blake’s other side. ”It matters now. We’re at a festival. We’re supposed to be having fun.”

Blake looked at the lanterns, at the children laughing, at the couples walking hand in hand. ”I am having fun.”

Lux bumped his shoulder. ”Could’ve fooled me.”

The three sat in silence, watching the lanterns rise. The music played, the crowds laughed, the night deepened. And somewhere on the lake, a small boat drifted under the stars, carrying two people who needed no words between them.