Primordial Heir: Nine Stars-Chapter 295: On the Road Back

The grand portal station was a cathedral of light and noise, but it all blurred into a background hum for Nero. The goodbyes to the Leclair staff, the final wave to Seraphine’s retreating figure, it all settled into a low vibration in his bones. They were heading back. Back to the academy city, back to classes, back to the watchful eyes and the unspoken rules. But as they boarded the sleek, silver super train, a different feeling took over. It wasn’t the tense anticipation of the arrival at the estate. It was the easy, worn-in comfort of a long journey with friends.

The train itself was a marvel, a silent bullet on magnetic rails, but inside, it was all plush carpets, warm wood paneling, and private cabins that branched off from a central common car. For the next several hours, they were in a moving, luxurious bubble.

The group settled in, the unspoken divisions from breakfast melting into the practicalities of travel. Lux dug into a compartment and pulled out four sleek virtual reality visors and a set of haptic gloves. They decided to try different classes here.

"Alright, team adventure," he announced, tossing a visor to Adam. "Elreth, Azalea, you’re in. New cooperative campaign. Blades of the Shattered Peak."

Adam caught his visor with a grin. "I call dibs on the Shadow-Walker class."

Eltreth, looking relieved to be included in something that didn’t involve icy glares, accepted her visor with a graceful nod. "The Celestial Archer, then," she said, her voice regaining some of its musical lightness.

Azalea simply smiled, taking the last set. "I shall be the Verdant Warden. For balance."

Lux gave a thumbs up. "Perfect. We launch in five. Get your gear on."

Blake, who had been swaying gently on his feet since breakfast, mumbled something that sounded like "waking nightmare" and shuffled down the corridor, sliding the door to his private cabin shut with a definitive snick. A moment later, a soft, rhythmic snoring was just audible through the wall.

That left Nero and Khione in the common car. The sunlight streamed through the long, panoramic windows, painting moving stripes of gold across the floor. Khione walked over to a polished panel on the wall, tapped it, and a section of the floor slid silently away. A full-sized, professional ping-pong table rose with a gentle hum, locking into place.

She picked up two paddles from a recessed shelf, tossing one to Nero. It smacked solidly into his palm.

"First to twenty-one," she said, her voice finally losing the last of its morning frost. It was just them now. "No elemental advantages. Just skill."

"You’re on," Nero said, an easy smile spreading across his face.

And so, the journey unfolded in three separate rhythms.

•••

In the virtual world, Lux, Adam, Eltreth, and Azalea were no longer on a train. They stood on a wind-lashed peak, the air thin and cold, digital snow stinging their faces. They were a team.

Lux’s avatar, a hulking warrior clad in crystalline armor, hefted a massive shield.

"Alright, phantoms incoming from the left gorge! Adam, flank! Eltreth, pick them off from the ridge! Azalea, be ready with the roots!"

Adam’s Shadow-Walker dissolved into a swirl of purple smoke, reappearing behind a screeching, bat-like creature. His twin daggers flashed in the virtual sun. "Got one!" he called out, his body in the train car twitching slightly with the motion.

Elreth’s Celestial Archer nocked a arrow of pure light. She pulled back the string, her breathing in the real world steady and focused. She let fly. The arrow streaked across the chasm and pinned a phantom to the rock face.

"Target eliminated," she said, a hint of genuine thrill in her voice. The game’s logic and fairness was a welcome respite from the ambiguous social battles.

Azalea’s Verdant Warden knelt, placing her hands on the sparse digital grass. Vines, thick as cables, erupted from the ground, entangling two advancing phantoms.

"They are bound," she said calmly. Her serene smile in the real world matched her avatar’s expression.

They fought as a unit. Lux taunting enemies, Adam dealing swift, brutal damage, Elreth providing precise support, Azalea controlling the battlefield.

There was laughter—real, startled laughter from Elreth when a giant ice worm burst from the ground. There were shouts of "Watch out!" and "Nice shot!" The rivalry, the tension, it was forgotten in the shared, pixelated danger. For these hours, they were just a party of four, relying on each other’s reflexes and skill. Lux’s mother’s words—"look after one another"—played out here, in this silly, thrilling game.

•••

Down the hall, in Cabin 3, Blake was embarked on the most heroic quest of all: the pursuit of deep, uninterrupted sleep. He had drawn the blackout blinds, creating a cave-like darkness. He was wrapped in a cocoon of the train’s premium linen, a slight smile on his face. The gentle, rhythmic sway of the train was his lullaby. His snoring was not loud or grating, but a soft, persistent purr, like the engine of a very contented cat. His mind was nowhere. It was a blank, peaceful slate, simply enjoying the moment, the lazy prince still true to himself.

•••

Back in the common car, the pok-pok-pok of the celluloid ball was a rapid-fire heartbeat.

Nero and Khione were utterly locked in. This wasn’t a friendly game; it was a dialogue. The ball flew back and forth, a white blur. Khione’s style was aggressive, precise. She placed shots at the very corners, her wrist snapping with a fierce economy. Her brow was furrowed in concentration, her eyes tracking the ball with an almost predatory focus.

Nero was more fluid, more reactive. He used spins, lobs, sudden soft dropshots that just barely cleared the net. He was playing the table, using its whole geometry, while Khione seemed intent on painting lines on it.

The score was tight: 18-17, Khione’s lead.

"You’re leaning to your right," Khione said, not taking her eyes off the ball as she served. It was a vicious sidespin serve.

Nero adjusted, returning it with a deep push to her backhand. "You always serve to the same spot when you’re up by one."

A ghost of a smile touched her lips. She smashed the return. Nero barely got to it, sending a high, arcing lob.

Khione moved back, poised for the overhead smash to end it. But at the last second, Nero saw her grip shift minutely. She feinted the smash, instead giving the ball a gentle, teasing tap that just kissed the edge of the table on his side and dropped straight down.

18-18.

Nero stared at the ball where it lay on the floor. He looked up at her. Her expression was one of pure, unadulterated smugness.

"You’ve been practicing," he accused, walking to retrieve the ball.

"I have many skills," she said simply, taking her position, her competitive spirit ignited.

The match into its final with intensity. They were both sweating now, their movements less elegant, more desperate. It was 20-20. Match point for both.

Nero served. A low, fast bullet. Khione returned it with a blistering drive. Nero countered with a chop block, killing the speed. The ball hung, for a fraction of a second, inviting.

Fpoosh!

Khione went for the winner—a powerful forehand whip aimed straight down the line. But she was a millimeter off. Her paddle clipped the ball, sending it spinning wildly off the side of the table.

Silence, except for their breathing.

Nero let out a long breath he didn’t know he was holding. Khione stared at the spot where the ball had gone awry, her shoulders slumping for just a moment before she straightened, lifting her chin.

"A lucky net cord on your serve in the sixteenth point," she stated.

"And a clear edge ball you got in the thirteenth," Nero countered, walking around the table. He stopped in front of her. "Good game."

She met his eyes, the frustration melting into something warmer.

"Adequate game," she corrected, but she took the paddle from his outstretched hand, her fingers brushing his.

Just then, the door to the common car whooshed open. Lux, Adam, Elreth, and Azalea stumbled out, pulling off their VR visors. They were blinking, disoriented, their faces flushed.

"We did it!" Adam crowed, pumping a fist. For once he was not fighting against Azalea.

"Took down the Frost Titan! You should have seen Azalea’s entangle on the second phase! Legendary!"

Elreth was actually grinning, a real, unguarded smile. "The loot was exceptional. A bow of the autumn wind!"

Azalea looked pleasantly ruffled, a strand of hair out of place. "It was a most engaging tactical exercise."

Lux grinned at Nero and Khione, taking in the ping-pong table and their sweaty faces.

"Looks like you guys had your own battle. Who won?"

"The jury is deliberating on a rules violation,"

Khione said airily, turning to put the paddles away.

Nero just laughed. "It was a tie."

From down the hall, Blake’s cabin door slid open. He emerged, purple hair impressively mussed, squinting at the light.

"Are we there yet?" he mumbled. "I dreamed I was a loaf of bread. It was very peaceful."

The group erupted into laughter—real, tired, comfortable laughter. The train sped on, a silver needle stitching through the countryside.