Retreat had never been part of the plan.
But war rarely follows plans.
After the bloodbath in the abandoned village, the Celestial Star Army was ordered to fall back and regroup, preparing for the next phase of battle. The injured were carried back in silence, while the dead remained forever in that scorched land.
The Annihilating Star walked beside the Silver-Masked Guard, her armor wrapped tightly with blood-stained bandages. Each step tugged at her wounds, sending jolts of pain through her body, but she said nothing. She had long since learned to live with pain.
"You don't have to push yourself," the guard said quietly.
She gave him a cold glance, her eyes as frigid as falling snow.
"Pushing myself won't make me live longer. But stopping will make me die sooner."
They were still a full day's march from the frontline base when it happened.
The earth began to tremble.
"Cavalry," the Silver-Masked Guard stopped in his tracks, his tone sinking.
The Annihilating Star held her breath. The sound of hooves grew louder by the second, from distant rumble to thunderous roar.
Through the mist, black flags with red patterns emerged — the insignia of the Western Rebellion.
"About three hundred riders," the guard assessed calmly. "Too fast. No time to send a signal."
Only a handful of wounded soldiers remained in their group — the main force had already moved ahead.
The Annihilating Star met his eyes. Her voice was cold, yet resolute. "Then we fight."
He didn't answer, only drew his blade.
The thunder of hooves filled the mountains.
The rebel cavalry stormed out of the fog like a wave of iron, weapons glinting, battle cries shaking the forest. Their warhorses were monstrous beasts — massive as bulls, their eyes blood-red, veins bulging under sleek, jet-black fur. Steel armor clanked with every step, thick plates covering their flanks, heads, even their legs.
The horses' hooves slammed the ground with such force that the soil cracked beneath them, sending tremors through the earth. With every beat, dust flew up like smoke. Their riders — tall figures clad in black armor etched with crimson sigils — carried massive halberds and long spears. Some even held fire jars strapped to their saddles, ready to rain flames.
The Silver-Masked Guard's brows furrowed. "Doom Chargers," he muttered. "Elite shock cavalry. They burn towns in under an hour."
The Annihilating Star stood at the narrowest point of the mountain pass, where terrain favored the few. She had no illusions of victory, only survival.
The first wave came like a crashing tide.
She narrowly dodged a long spear, her blade slashing at a horse's underbelly. She rolled aside, barely avoiding a crushing hoof. Behind her, the Silver-Masked Guard struck with deadly precision, cutting down two riders in a single blow.
Blood sprayed across her face, warm and thick.
But there were too many.
A lance grazed her shoulder, leaving her arm numb. Her breath grew heavier, yet she held her stance.
One second. One step. One breath at a time.
"They're elite," the guard muttered. "The Western Rebellion's finest cavalry."
"Then we hold."
The ground became slick with blood. The air stank of iron and death.
Her strikes began to slow, hands stiff from the strain. Her leg had gone numb long ago.
The second wave charged in.
Her strength faltered — she dropped to one knee beside the Silver-Masked Guard.
The enemy closed in, circling like wolves.
"Only two left," one rebel sneered, raising his spear.
And then —
A thunderclap split the skies.
A bolt of lightning slammed down, splitting the earth, blindingly bright.
Horses shrieked. Soldiers panicked.
In that electric blaze, a dozen cavalrymen and their mounts were turned to charred ash.
The Silver-Masked Guard's eyes widened. He whispered, "His thunder."
"The Celestial Lord?" she asked, dazed.
He nodded, voice low. "Heaven's Thunder Art. No one else can command it."
She lay on the ground, staring at the sky as streaks of white lightning crisscrossed the clouds.
It was like watching divine wrath itself.
The battlefield dissolved into chaos. Screams and panic overtook the rebels.
A second bolt fell, shattering the path, sending enemies flying.
A third bolt roared, reducing the mountainside to rubble. The formation of the cavalry crumbled.
She stared, hollow-eyed, at the smoldering earth.
"Where is he?"
"He never appears," said the guard. "He doesn't need to."
Three days later, the Annihilating Star awoke in a healer's tent, deep in the mountains.
Broken ribs, fractured arm, constant fever.
The Silver-Masked Guard visited her daily, quiet as ever, feeding her bitter soup without a word.
One evening, she sat up, peering through the tent's opening.
The wind had stilled. Two healing soldiers sat under a tree outside — a young man and woman. The man placed a leaf into the woman's palm, and she smiled, closing her fingers gently over it.
Their voices were soft. The light in their eyes was softer.
The Annihilating Star watched.
And watched.
There was something in their gaze she had never known.
Her chest prickled strangely. She pressed her hand over her heart.
Her fingers trembled.
Her cheeks felt oddly warm.
She had never seen a look like that — not order, not fear, not praise. Just… warmth. A kind of emotion she couldn't name.
A strange feeling stirred in her chest. Not pain, not hunger — something else.
Something like curiosity. Like longing.
A thought crept into her mind: Could that kind of light ever reach me?
She remembered the orphanage — gray skies, cold floors, the scent of blood and screams. Back then, she thought the world had only one color.
But now… this moment felt like a different world had briefly opened its door.
"You shouldn't move," the guard said, stepping inside.
She didn't answer right away. Then, quietly, she asked, "Do you think… people like us can feel that?"
He paused.
Then murmured, "We can. But we forgot how."
She looked away and closed her eyes.
To rest.
Because even if she couldn't feel it now —
Maybe one day, she would remember.
Maybe.
But for now, she was still The Annihilating Star.
And on the road lit by blood and thunder,
There were many more battles waiting to be fought.