Beneath the blood-stained banners, the war drums had not yet ceased.
Though victory was claimed at the border, the war itself was far from over. As the morning fog still clung to the earth, she—The Annihilating Star—stood outside the command tent, her gaze sharp as blades.
Her armor remained stained, crusted with blood. She hadn't bothered to clean it. What concerned her wasn't the mess on her armor, but something far more vital: she had survived multiple battles, yet her strength still paled in comparison to the other Celestial Stars.
"I'm still not strong enough," she muttered, her voice carried off by the wind.
She recalled that ambush—the brutal clash, the desperate retreat. Had it not been for the thunderbolt from the heavens and the guard who risked his life to shield her, she would've long perished. The fact that she lived brought not relief but a deep, gnawing shame. Her fists clenched unconsciously, knuckles turning white.
Just then, a deputy knelt before her, offering a black box adorned with intricate carvings of stars—patterns identical to those on the pillars of the Celestial Hall.
"Lady Annihilating Star, by the order of the Celestial Lord, you are granted a Starstone."
She froze.
Reaching out, she took the box. It was cold. Heavy.
The moment she opened it, a burst of pale blue light shot into the sky. In that instant, it was as if an entire galaxy unfurled before her eyes—endless stars spinning in a spiral of ancient power.
She saw herself.
Fighting in bloodied battles, hiding in cold forests, swinging her sword beneath moonlight. Scene after scene drowned her like an unstoppable tide. She gritted her teeth, refusing to yield, yet deep within she was forced to confront both her fears—and her longing.
Then came the pain.
A torrent of power tore into her chest. She dropped to one knee, clutching her heart as if it would burst. The Starstone, now liquefied into brilliant energy, burrowed into her chest. Star-shaped patterns laced down her arms, glowing momentarily before fading beneath her skin.
It burned. Like her bones were being reformed, her soul unraveled. She almost lost consciousness, but she bit her tongue, swallowing blood to stay grounded.
"So this… is a Starstone," she whispered.
The power she felt was unlike anything physical. It was ancient. Elemental. As if she had touched the first breath of the world.
"From this moment," the deputy said softly, "you will wield star arts."
She stood slowly and drew her sword.
With a simple motion, frost followed her blade, freezing the very air. Even the sunlight dimmed in its presence.
"Not bad," she murmured, though her eyes glinted with a fire newly lit.
—
For the next few days, she trained in isolation.
Controlling the Starstone was no easy feat. At first, the energy simply resisted her, roaring within like a beast caged inside her ribcage. Many nights she collapsed mid-training, her armor soaked through with sweat, yet she refused to give in. This power was her only path forward.
Each night, she sat cross-legged in silence, gazing at the faint blue star-mark on her palm. It would pulse with light—sometimes bright, sometimes dim—as if echoing her thoughts and pain.
Her first star art was born from these nights: Shattered Frost.
A sword slash that summoned ice-blades, capable of freezing enemy lines and rendering their limbs stiff. Her second art, Phantom Step, gave her bursts of impossible speed—appearing and vanishing like smoke.
She tested them in the woods.
In five silent steps, three enemy scouts lay headless. Not a word spoken, not a breath missed. She returned to camp, unspeaking, peeling off her armor, and once more sat in silence—staring at the flickering mark.
"It's listening to me," she said softly.
But this power came with a price. Each use left her drained, like pieces of her soul were being carved away. If she lost control, it would devour her.
—
Days later, her deputy brought new orders.
"The Celestial Lord commands: you are to lead 30,000 troops east. The Fifth Star marches north. The Eighth holds the southwest. The Ninth seals the river passage."
She narrowed her eyes. "And he thinks I can handle that?"
"The First Star's army will take the same route as you," the deputy added. "A precaution."
She paused. "He doesn't trust me?"
The deputy hesitated. "The Celestial Lord said, 'If she dies, the Second Star loses meaning.'"
A ripple passed through her heart.
She had never thought herself important. Yet now she realized the Celestial Lord had always been watching. That thunderbolt had not been coincidence. He had intervened to keep her alive.
She glanced skyward.
"He's always been watching," she murmured.
—
Two days later, at the eastern front—
She arrived with her forces, only to be met by 8,000 enemy troops already entrenched. Their commander? Vice General Lyu Yan.
He had faced her once before, now again, though this time wounded and weakened.
The war horns blew.
Without hesitation, she led the charge. Her star arts tore through their defenses, her sword blinding and cold. The enemy fell into chaos.
Lyu Yan tried to rally, but he was no match for her now. In moments, she severed his arm and bound him in shimmering chains.
He looked up at her, hate burning in his eyes. "Why didn't you kill me?"
"Because you're useful alive," she answered coolly.
He was taken to the rear and prepared for transfer.
He couldn't understand it—why she spared him, why he couldn't match her. He hated her. But deep inside, he couldn't ignore that overwhelming power.
She had crushed him—and now sent him to the Celestial Lord.
—
Far away, in the Celestial Palace, the star map flickered.
Second Star: blinding bright.
Third Star: red, then calm—indicating danger passed.
The Celestial Lord watched the constellation, his fingers brushing over the projections.
"You no longer run," he said softly.
His gaze lingered on the brightest star of all.
"Don't waste what I've given you."