Huang Yanyan's POV:
The holdout's walls shook, dust choking the air, but it was Master Wu's blade, Huang Zhao's twisted crest, and Meilin's star-dagger—stars like Yue's, like mine, but poison—that burned worse than the blood on my cheek. Their eyes locked on me, on Haoyu, on my star-etched dagger, its scratched seal—Yue's mark—blazing, no mere key but a Huang seal, power to break the Nexus, that global lock for trade, armies, cities, star-sealed underground, close. My knife flashed, shoulder and thigh oozing, ribs screaming, but I stood firm, guarding Dad's stretcher, Yang Wei's beeps weak, Yue's hands trembling, Chen Wei's blood pooling beside me, his knife still. I'd gut them—Wu, Zhao, Meilin, the Silver Pact's Warden Thal—before they touched my family, my heart, my fight.
