The war horns blew at dawn.
Twelve shadows moved through the forest under the silver-blue sky, each draped in the armor of the Celestial Stars. It was their first mission outside the walls of the training camp. The air smelled of frost and soil, but underneath it all, there was something heavier—a tension that clung to their skin like oil.
The Annihilating Star walked last in the line. Her armor, though polished, still felt too large on her small frame. Her hands, wrapped tight in leather gloves, gripped the hilt of her short sword as if letting go meant dying.
This wasn't training. This was war.
Their objective was simple: eliminate a band of rebel soldiers hiding near the border. Fifty enemies, scattered through a ruined village.
Simple, they said.
But nothing about blood was ever simple.
They reached the outskirts of the village by nightfall. Ruined homes slouched beneath the weight of years and fire. Blackened stone, broken wood, shattered windows. The smell of smoke lingered in the air, even though no fires burned.
Too quiet.
"Split into squads," ordered the First Star, his voice cold and clean. "Search and destroy."
She followed the Fifth and Ninth Stars into a crumbling alley, where shadows moved just enough to keep your breath shallow. Her steps were light, barely brushing the cracked cobblestones. Rats skittered through the debris. A torn doll lay discarded on the ground—its cloth stained with ash.
She checked each corner, blade at the ready, heart hammering against her ribs.
Then it happened.
A sharp hiss—the whistle of arrows.
The Fifth Star screamed and went down, a shaft embedded in his throat.
"AMBUSH!" yelled the Ninth.
Figures erupted from rooftops and broken doors, blades glinting, faces covered. The moonlight flashed off iron and blood.
She moved on instinct.
Steel rang against steel. She ducked a spear, parried a blade, struck low and fast. Blood sprayed her cheek. Her breath came short. Her muscles screamed. The clamor of war exploded around her.
Too many. Too fast.
They split her from the Ninth Star, forced her down a narrow side path. The buildings loomed like giants. A hidden pit opened underfoot. She dropped, slammed against jagged stone.
Pain lanced through her leg. Her breath left her in a single sharp gasp.
Above her, ten enemies gathered at the edge.
"Kill the little one. She's the weakest."
She pulled herself upright. Her shoulder was bleeding. Her knee was twisted. Her sword trembled in her grip.
She still raised it.
"Come down and try," she hissed.
They laughed.
One dropped into the pit. She stabbed him through the gut. Two more followed.
She killed again. And again. But she was slowing. Bleeding. Her lungs burned. The blade felt heavier with each swing.
A sword slashed across her side. She gasped and stumbled.
They knocked her down.
A final blade rose to finish her.
Then—
A shadow fell.
Fast. Silent. Precise.
The three remaining enemies fell before they could scream.
She blinked through the blood in her eyes.
A tall figure stood above her.
The silver-masked guard.
The one who broke them in the beginning. The one who never spoke unless ordered.
He reached down, pulled her to her feet.
"You're not allowed to die," he said quietly.
Then she blacked out.
She woke in a dim tent. Bandages wrapped her ribs, leg, arm. Her body ached like fire.
She tried to sit up.
"Don't," said a voice. The silver-masked guard again.
"I need to train," she muttered.
He stared. "You nearly died."
She looked at her hands.
They were bruised. Shaking.
"But I didn't."
He said nothing.
She spent two weeks in recovery. The others returned victorious. Three had died. The Fifth Star was buried in a shallow grave beneath a burned tree. His name, like many others before, was left unspoken.
She limped back to the training field the moment she could stand.
No one stopped her.
She practiced alone, under the moonlight, sweat and pain dripping into the dirt.
Each movement was slower than before. But each was sharper. Tighter.
She remembered every mistake. Every misstep that nearly got her killed.
And she fixed them.
Her leg still hurt when she lunged. Her shoulder flared when she blocked. But she pushed through.
Not to become the First Star. Not to be praised.
Just to live.
Because she knew the truth now:
The world outside the camp was worse than the punishments inside.
If she ever left the Celestial Stars, she wouldn't survive.
The only place where she might live—was here.
Even if it meant dying a little each day.
One evening, as she finished her fifth round of forms, the First Star approached her.
"You should rest."
"I don't want to die next time," she replied.
He studied her. Not with pity.
With understanding.
Then he walked away.
She kept moving.
In the cold air, under the distant stars, the girl called Annihilating Star bled into the ground again and again.
Until the blood no longer weakened her.
Until it made her strong.
Until the next battle would not be her end—but someone else's.
And beyond the hills, the war drums began again.