Primordial Heir: Nine Stars

Chapter 437: Lux and Nero

The square had emptied. The committee had done their work, the monster’s body was gone, and the festival continued a few streets away, muffled and distant. Nero stood with his hands in his pockets, watching the last of the crowd disperse. Beside him, Lux stretched his arms above his head, cracking his neck.

"Well," Lux said. "That was something."

Nero nodded. "It was."

Khione stepped away from the group, her wand disappearing into her sleeve. "I’m going to train," she said. Her eyes met Nero’s for a moment, a silent understanding passing between them. Then she turned and walked toward the training grounds, her black skirts swishing against the stone.

Adam cracked his knuckles. "Same. I need to hit something."

He glanced at Blake. "You coming?"

Blake yawned, then nodded. "Might as well. Nothing else to do."

They left together, Adam’s broad shoulders disappearing around a corner, Blake trailing behind with his usual sleepy shuffle. That left Nero and Lux alone in the quiet square.

Lux looked at Nero. Nero looked at Lux.

"It’s been a while," Lux said.

"Since what?"

"Since we just... hung out. Just the two of us."

Nero thought about it. Lux was right. The past weeks had been filled with missions, training, the club, Khione. He had spent time with Lux in groups, but not alone. Not just the two of them, doing nothing in particular.

"Let’s go," Nero said.

Lux grinned. "Where?"

"Somewhere with food."

They walked.

The commercial district was less crowded now, the lunch rush over, the dinner crowd not yet arrived. Shops and cafes lined the streets, their awnings striped in faded colors. A few students sat at outdoor tables, sipping drinks, scrolling through phones. Nero led Lux to a small café tucked between a bookstore and a tailor’s shop. He had noticed it during the festival but never entered. Today felt right.

The inside was cozy. Wooden floors, mismatched chairs, walls covered in framed photographs of the academy from decades past. A counter ran along the back, displaying pastries and sandwiches under glass. The owner, a middle-aged woman with gray-streaked hair, smiled as they entered.

"Take any seat," she said. "Menus are on the tables."

They chose a corner table near the window. The chairs were soft, worn from years of use. Nero ordered black coffee. Lux ordered iced tea and a slice of chocolate cake. They sat in silence, watching the street outside. A delivery van unloaded boxes. A couple walked by, arguing about something trivial. A stray cat crossed the road, tail high.

The coffee came, dark and steaming. The iced tea arrived with a straw, condensation dripping down the glass. Lux pushed the cake toward the center of the table, and Nero took a small bite. It was rich, moist, not too sweet.

They did not speak. They did not need to. The silence was comfortable, the kind that comes from years of friendship, from knowing someone without needing to fill every moment with words.

When the cake was gone and the coffee cups were empty, Lux pulled out his phone. "There’s a ping-pong place a few blocks over. You interested?"

Nero shrugged. "Why not."

They paid and walked.

The ping-pong hall was in the basement of an old building, its walls painted blue, its ceiling low. Several tables were empty. A bored-looking attendant took their credits and handed them paddles and a ball. Nero chose a table near the back, away from the few other players.

"Standard rules?" Lux asked.

"Standard."

They played in silence. The ball flew back and forth, a white blur against the blue walls. Lux had a fast serve, topspin heavy. Nero countered with backspin, keeping the ball low. They rallied for minutes at a time, neither willing to make the first mistake. The sound of the ball against the paddle was a steady rhythm, a heartbeat.

Lux won the first game. Nero won the second. The third went to deuce, then advantage, then deuce again. Lux served, Nero returned, Lux smashed, Nero lobbed, Lux missed. The ball bounced off the edge of the table and rolled under the next table.

"Your point," Lux said.

"I know."

They played three more games. The final score was two wins each, one tie. A draw.

"Good match," Lux said, wiping sweat from his brow.

"You’re better than I remember."

"You’re worse."

Nero almost smiled.

They returned the paddles and walked upstairs, into the afternoon light. The sun was lower now, the shadows longer. They passed a arcade—old machines, flashing lights, the sound of digital explosions. Lux paused at the door.

"One round?"

"One."

Inside, the air was cool, smelling of popcorn and stale soda. They tried a racing game, side by side, their cars swerving through virtual streets. Lux won by a nose. They tried a fighting game, their digital avatars trading blows. Nero won by knockout. They tried a basketball shooting game, plastic hoops and foam balls. Lux made seven. Nero made seven.

A draw.

"That’s getting old," Lux said.

Nero shrugged. "It’s consistent."

They left the arcade and walked toward the bar district. The sun had begun to set, painting the sky in shades of orange and purple. Lanterns flickered to life along the streets. The bars were opening, their doors propped wide, music spilling out.

Lux chose a small place, dark wood and low lighting, a long bar with stools. A few older cadets sat at tables, nursing drinks. The bartender, a bald man with thick arms, nodded as they approached.

"What’ll it be?"

"Whiskey," Nero said. "Neat."

"Same," Lux said.

The drinks came in heavy glasses, amber liquid catching the light. They sat at the end of the bar, away from the other patrons. Nero took a sip. The whiskey was smooth, with a hint of smoke. Lux drank his slower, savoring.

They did not speak. The music was soft, a piano playing something old and slow. The bartender polished glasses, his movements methodical. A couple in the corner laughed at something, their voices low.

Nero thought about the day. The training, the monster, the committee. The quiet moments with Lux. He realized he had missed this—the simplicity of being with a friend, no agenda, no pressure, no expectations.

Lux finished his drink and set the glass down. "Same again?"

Nero shook his head. "I’m good."

Lux nodded and signaled the bartender for water instead. They sat a while longer, the silence stretching comfortable between them.

Finally, Lux spoke. "We should do this more often."

Nero looked at him. "Yeah. We should."

They paid and walked out into the evening. The stars were beginning to appear, faint at first, then brighter. The festival still hummed in the distance, but here, in the quiet streets, the world felt still.

They walked toward the dorms, not speaking, simply walking. The day had been long, filled with chaos and calm. But the time together had been good—simple, human, real.

At the junction where their paths split, Lux stopped. He looked at Nero, and for a moment, his usual grin softened into something more genuine.

"Thanks," he said. "For today."

Nero nodded. "Thanks for coming."

Lux turned and walked toward his dorm, his footsteps fading into the night. Nero stood for a moment, watching him go, then turned and walked toward his own.

Time to meet his woman, she must be back by now and should have rested enough, he thought.