Primordial Heir: Nine Stars

The student council building rose above the academy grounds like a monument to order. Its towers were straight, its windows clean, its gardens meticulously trimmed. Everything in its place. Everything under control.

Elysia Raizen sat in the largest chair, at the head of the longest table, in the highest room of the tallest tower. The chair was old, carved from dark wood that had been polished by generations of student council presidents. It was comfortable, but not soft. It was designed for work, not rest.

The other chairs were empty. The other council members were scattered across the continent, pursuing their own missions, their own agendas. Elysia did not miss them. They were tools, useful in their place, but she worked better alone.

Her secretary stood at attention by the door, a stack of reports in her arms. She was a slight woman with brown hair and eyes that never blinked. Efficient. Discreet. Perfect for her role.

"The first-year mission reports, President." She placed the stack on the table before Elysia. "The summaries have been highlighted. The full reports are attached."

Elysia nodded without looking up. She reached for the first report, scanned it, set it aside. Second. Third. Fourth. Each one was the same—cadets completing tasks, killing monsters, returning with stories of bravery and growth. She had read a thousand such reports. They blurred together.

Then she reached Nero’s.

The summary was brief: mission successful, goblin threat eliminated, civilians rescued. But the attached details were more interesting. The ghost attacks. The ambush. The organization’s agents, demonized, killed. The team had exceeded expectations. Nero had exceeded expectations.

Elysia’s lips curved. A small smile, cold and sharp.

That little brother of hers had a knack for attracting dangerous people. The organization, the shadows, the monsters—they all seemed to find him, to test him, to try to break him. And he survived. He grew. He became stronger.

She set the report aside and leaned back in her chair. Her golden eyes drifted to the window, to the academy grounds below, to the students walking between classes, unaware of the currents moving beneath their feet.

She had to make him hers. Bring him back to the family, or destroy him. There was no middle ground. The Raizen could not afford to let such power wander free, especially not into the hands of their rivals. The Samael, the Undine, the Leclair—they were all circling, all trying to claim him. She had seen the reports. Elreth’s interest. Khione’s devotion. The alliances forming around him like walls around a fortress.

But walls could be breached. Alliances could be broken. And Nero, for all his strength, was still young. Still learning. Still vulnerable.

She picked up another report—this one from the Tower of Trials. Nero had challenged the first stage, had faced the copy of her younger self, had won. Not easily, the report noted. He had almost lost. But he had adapted, had found a way, had emerged victorious.

Elysia’s smile widened.

The incoming competition would be interesting. He would be there, of course. He would perform well, perhaps even win. And then he would request a spar with her. She was certain of it. It was the logical move—a public challenge, a chance to prove himself, to send a message.

She looked forward to it.

But first, the festival.

She pulled a fresh sheet of paper toward her and began to write. The festival was an annual event, a celebration of the academy’s founding, attended by nobles, clan heads, and other dignitaries from across the continent. It required planning—budgets, schedules, guest lists, security arrangements. The student council was responsible for all of it.

Elysia worked methodically, her pen moving across the page in neat, precise strokes. She allocated funds for decorations, for food, for entertainment. She scheduled events—the opening ceremony, the banquet, the dance. She coordinated with the faculty, with the city officials, with the guards who would patrol the grounds.

Her secretary stood by, ready to receive orders, to deliver messages, to handle the details that did not require the president’s personal attention. Elysia dictated, and the secretary wrote. The room was silent except for the scratch of pens and the rustle of paper.

The competition would follow the festival. The interclass tournament, where cadets from each year would face off in displays of martial and magical skill. Elysia had overseen it for one year. She knew the format, the rules, the politics behind the pairings. She began to draft the bracket, placing names in positions that would create the most interesting matches, the most dramatic confrontations.

She placed Nero in the first-year bracket, of course. He would advance. He would win. And then he would request his spar.

She placed herself in the second-year bracket. She would win as well. And then she would accept his challenge.

The morning wore on. The sun rose higher, casting golden light through the tall windows. Elysia did not notice. She worked like a machine, her mind focused, her hands moving, her thoughts always three steps ahead.

By noon, the festival plans were complete. The competition bracket was drafted. The reports were filed. The secretary had come and gone, her arms full of papers, her expression unchanged.

Elysia sat alone in the largest chair, in the highest room, of the tallest tower. The room was silent. The world outside was distant.

She picked up Nero’s report again, read the final lines. Cadet Nero Adams demonstrated exceptional performance. Recommended for advancement.

She set it down and leaned back, her golden eyes half-closed.

The game was moving. The pieces were shifting.

She had no intention of losing, she always gets what she wants, no once she ever failed.

Recalling the report she received early this morning about the sudden attack and the resulting destruction, she could only lament in silence, she had hypothesized such a scenario but even she hadn’t thought it would happen this quickly, she could only sigh, while massaging her temple she felt time’s changing, a storm brewing and they would be at the center and as always she prefers to be the one leading instead of being led around, this is their era, she would be one leading it, thinking of this her lips curved upward, her golden eyes flashing mysteriously.