Huang Yanyan's POV:
The shack's walls bled dust, but it was the starless figure's storm-eyes—no crest, no blade, just a roar of "memory's done"—that cut deeper than the blood crusting my cheek. The crestless vault hummed behind them, its ripples gone, memory awake—Huang vows, peace, wars, crests broken—binding me, my star-etched dagger dim, Yue's scratched seal faint, a Huang seal that drank my blood, left me empty, knife fallen, shoulder and thigh oozing, ribs heaving, breath fading. I slumped in Haoyu's arms, guarding what was left—Yue, shattered by Dad's death, his stretcher silent, tubes dead, her photo of Meilin, stars broken, on the dirt. Chen Wei's blood haunted me, Gao's too, Grandpas bleeding, family fracturing, and I'd gut this starless freak, anyone, to save them, Haoyu, my heart, my fight, even if my star was dying.
