The eastern lands of Mount Heng lay quiet and vast, their wilderness stretching endlessly. Spring had not yet softened the air; the wind was cold, and the earth, silent—as though it, too, was watching the world's wars and wounds unfold with caution.
In the days following the negotiations, the frontlines entered a strange lull. The demon clans withdrew to the east, strictly adhering to the terms: they were granted the lands beyond Mount Heng, but were forbidden to cross the boundary. In return, they would send three of their own generals to aid the Celestial Lord in reclaiming lost territories—a bitter yet necessary compromise. The realm was already in chaos; pride alone could no longer hold it together.
The Twelve Stars, still recovering from grievous wounds, were reassigned. Those able to move were dispatched to distant borders, each to defend a fractured edge of the realm. Unless great calamity returned, they would no longer fight side by side. Their parting was silent. At the foot of Mount Heng, they exchanged no farewells—only lingering glances as they turned away, scattered like stars falling into the night.
Miexing stood alone in the wind. Her cloak whipped around her in sharp snaps; the sky above had dulled, gray and low. She was meant to be sent to the frontier as well, but the Celestial Lord had ordered her to remain—for one final campaign.
"You'll be fighting alongside a demon general," said the First Star, his voice low. "Blackfeather. He's one of the Demon King's own."
Miexing's eyes flickered, but she said nothing.
That day, snow began to fall again. It clung to the tattered tents and rusted armor in the camps, melting into cold rivulets. The army was a ghost of its former self—once a force of over a million, now barely ninety thousand, many unseasoned and hastily conscripted.
Their next enemy was a remnant cavalry force: ten thousand strong, once elite soldiers of a fallen enemy kingdom. Well-trained, well-armed, and holed up in the forests and ravines of the northwest, they had been a thorn that refused to be plucked.
Now it fell to Miexing and Blackfeather to end them. Three days. That was the command. If they succeeded, she would be appointed commander of the eastern stronghold—the first guardian of the boundary that separated the realm from demon lands.
But it was a lonely glory. The fortress was distant, its supplies meager, and its defense uncertain. If it fell, no one would come to save her.
The Celestial Lord said nothing more of his decision. But the silence was loud. She was strong. She was useful. And, perhaps, she was expendable.
**
Three days before the march, Miexing stood atop Mount Heng once more. The valley below stretched in white silence. She had been here before, too many times to count. She had once come seeking answers. Now, there were none.
Behind her, the First Star approached.
"If you win," he said softly, "you'll guide the new age. If you fall… you'll just be another star extinguished."
She didn't turn. "Then someone else must lift the sword."
The wind swept her hair, lifted her cloak. The valley was pale with snow, waiting for what the next chapter would bring.
**
At dawn, Miexing departed with thirty thousand soldiers. They moved southward, then curved west to rendezvous with Blackfeather.
The demon general was silent and sharp, with silver eyes that shimmered like frost. His armor was silver, streaked with dark red markings that pulsed faintly. Behind him marched ten thousand demon soldiers—winged, beast-blooded, and armored in black. Yet they moved with discipline. No howling. No chaos. Just war.
The humans murmured as they met.
"We're really fighting beside monsters now?"
"What if they turn on us?"
But Miexing's order was clear, and cold: "This battle—win and live, lose and die. The demons won't mourn you. And your enemies won't forgive you."
Even Blackfeather gave a curt nod of approval.
Their first engagement was a probing skirmish. Miexing and Blackfeather flanked the enemy from two sides. She quickly realized the demon general's strength—his speed and precision were inhuman. He moved like smoke, his blade silent and deadly.
He was watching her, too.
Her blade shimmered like light itself—clean, swift, ruthless. She never wasted a movement, never gave in to rage or fear. There was no hesitation in her kill.
Three battles passed in the span of three days. The enemy grew desperate. At last, their cavalry was lured into a narrow canyon and annihilated.
The demon soldiers and human troops stood side by side, staring at the bodies scattered across the snow. No one spoke.
"You don't move like a human," Blackfeather said at last.
Miexing turned away. She didn't reply. Her boots left red prints in the snow.
**
The victory was celebrated with a quiet banquet—but the Celestial Lord did not attend. Instead, a messenger came: Miexing was now officially commander of the eastern stronghold. The demon generals would aid in rebuilding the border.
Another message followed: the Twelve Stars were now fully dispersed.
The First Star was sent to the mountains in the west. The Second, to the northern rivers. The rest scattered to the corners of the realm—each guarding a sliver of what once was whole. There would be no more councils. No more unity.
On the night of parting, snow fell again. They gathered, just once more, outside the largest war tent. There were no speeches. Some saluted. Some clasped shoulders. Miexing stood alone.
She knew. The next time they met—if they ever did—it would be under sword and sky, not banners and oaths.
**
No one knew the Celestial Lord spent that night alone.
He sat at his war table, eyes bloodshot. Scrolls and letters were scattered around him—battle reports, rumors, intelligence.
A few of the letters spoke of Miexing's power growing too fast. That she had passed her safe threshold. That the demons favored her. That the common people began to doubt the Twelve Stars.
The Celestial Lord closed his eyes.
"A star that cannot be controlled… must be extinguished."
His voice was a whisper, lost in the snow beyond the walls