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# REWRITE NOTICE #
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[This chapter is part of the rewrite batch released on March 3rd, 2025]
- For more information: See chapter titled "Update - Rewrite Status (1-6): Complete"
- All rewritten chapters contain this notice at the top
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# DISCLAIMER #
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This is a fan-made work. I don't own Honkai: Star Rail or any associated properties - just borrowing the sandbox for some creative play. This disclaimer applies to the entire story.
Buckle up and enjoy the ride.
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That night Jacob got up and took his two wives, his two female servants and his eleven sons and crossed the ford of the Jabbok. After he had sent them across the stream, he sent over all his possessions. So Jacob was left alone, and a man wrestled with him till daybreak. When the man saw that he could not overpower him, he touched the socket of Jacob's hip so that his hip was wrenched as he wrestled with the man. Then the man said, "Let me go, for it is daybreak."
But Jacob replied, "I will not let you go unless you bless me."
The man asked him, "What is your name?"
"Jacob," he answered.
Then the man said, "Your name will no longer be Jacob, but Israel, because you have struggled with God and with humans and have overcome."
Jacob said, "Please tell me your name."
But he replied, "Why do you ask my name?" Then he blessed him there.
- Genesis 32:22-29
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In the vast emptiness of space, a huge station quakes with dread, for it is not alone anymore.
Scientists and researchers inside scramble in fear as they are shot down, their screams echoing through the halls as they are caught in the crossfire between invaders and the station's security units. Papers flutter like dying birds, specimen containers shatter, alarms wail in discordant chorus.
Meanwhile, one figure remains calm, riding a lift as it ascends. They pay no attention to the flashing warnings on the panels and continue to play a violin that is not there. Fingers dance across invisible strings, pulling forth music only she can hear, her eyes half-closed in concentration.
Suddenly, the elevator is rocked by an explosion, jolting them back to reality. The phantom violin vanishes as her hands grip the railing for support. Red lights bathe the small space in an ominous crimson glow, painting her features in blood. "It seems like I came at a bad time," they mutter dryly, a vast understatement given the pandemonium unfolding around them.
A holographic screen flickers to life beside her ear, lines of static cutting through the projection. A female disembodied voice responds with natural nonchalance. "No no. I think you couldn't have timed it better." There's a hint of mischief in the tone, like a child delighting in chaos.
The elevator doors part with a hiss—not smooth, but jerky and reluctant—and the figure steps out into the large chamber, the hologram trailing behind them like a ghostly companion.
Crimson hair cascades in a messy ponytail, two loose strands framing her angular features. She wears a white dress shirt that leaves her shoulders bare, a black jacket draped casually over her frame, the sleeves pushed up to her elbows. A silver butterfly pin adorns the lapel, wings catching the erratic emergency lights. Dark glasses perch atop her head, revealing piercing wine-colored eyes that scan the room with practiced efficiency.
"Will we need to fight the Legion?" She asks, surveying the eerie, neon-lit room with a critical eye. Flashes of light and distant screams filter in from outside, a symphony of terror and destruction.
"Elio didn't say anything about it, so it doesn't matter," replies the hologram dismissively, pixelating slightly as it shrugs. "Besides, you could use the exercise."
"I'll be taking charge of the operation now. I'm sorry I can't let you have your fun, Silver Wolf, but we're only tasked with placing the target properly this time." The woman retrieves a specialized data drive from an inner pocket, running her thumb over the smooth metal casing. Her eyes glaze over while examining it closely, thoughts momentarily elsewhere.
Silver Wolf's response is a put-upon sigh, but she doesn't argue the orders. With a final glance around the chamber, the woman tucks the drive away and draws a pair of submachine guns from her concealed shoulder holsters. The metal is cool against her palms, comforting in its deadly familiarity.
The next room she enters is even larger and more spacious, ceiling lost in darkness above. Most importantly, it is occupied. Dozens of Reavers, twisted hollow knights of the Anti-matter Legion, turn in eerie unison as she makes her way in. For a beat, they simply regard each other through the dim lighting—predator recognizing predator across the divide.
She opens fire, tearing the beasts of metal asunder in a mix of lightning and lead and making quick work of them. Bullet casings rain down around her feet, clinking against the floor like discordant wind chimes. Whichever manages to survive the rounds of bullets perish in a shower of sparks a moment after, twitching as electricity courses through their circuits.
She steps over the remains of the monsters, their metal bodies sparking and twitching. A scent like burnt copper and ozone hangs in the air. Suddenly, a blur of movement catches her eye. A lone Reaver, somehow still functioning, lunges at her from the shadows. Its movements are jerky, damaged, but no less deadly. Before she can react, a burst of electric blue energy slams into the creature, sending it crashing to the ground in a heap of twisted metal.
A petite young woman wearing a short, black coat along with a crop top steps out from behind a pillar, lowering her outstretched hand. She sports a silver ponytail tied in a bow, slightly askew from the fight, and a pair of purple neon glasses sitting atop her head. A smudge of grease marks one cheek, evidence of a hasty infiltration.
"You're welcome, Kafka," she says with a smirk, tilting her head to one side.
Kafka rolls her eyes but nods in appreciation. "Have you located the Stellaron?" she asks impatiently, checking her weapons with practiced movements.
Silver Wolf doesn't comment on her tone. "It should be in a nearby command center, just a few rooms from here," she replies, gesturing down the corridor. Her hologram flickers slightly as she moves, revealing the strain on her connection.
"Good," Kafka says, already moving in that direction. "Let's go. This place gives me the creeps." A beat, then softer: "Thanks for the save."
The two make their way through the station, dispatching any Reavers that dare to stand in their path. Kafka's guns flash in the dim light, while Silver Wolf's digital manipulations tear the enemies apart from the inside out. They are an unstoppable force, moving with deadly precision born of long practice together.
Finally, they reach the command center. The door slides open with a groan of protest, revealing banks of computers and holographic displays. Silver Wolf steps up to a holographic console, her fingers dancing over the ethereal keys. She mumbles to herself as she works, numbers and code fragments only she understands. The wall in front of them begins to glitch and distort, pixels cascading down like digital waterfalls. A portal forms, its edges flickering and unstable, spitting occasional sparks.
Kafka barely spares the anomaly a glance before stepping through, emerging into a circular room that seems to exist outside the normal confines of space. The metal floors are cold beneath her boots, and in the center of the room, atop a glowing console, hovers a pulsing yellow orb. It bathes the chamber in a sickly golden light, shadows retreating and advancing with each pulse.
Kafka approaches it slowly, her eyes locked on the mesmerizing glow. She feels drawn to it as if it's calling to her very soul. The air around it seems to vibrate, a barely perceptible thrum that she feels rather than hears.
"Are you ready?" Silver Wolf asks from behind her, breaking the spell. Her voice echoes strangely in the otherworldly chamber.
Kafka blinks, shaking her head to clear the cobwebs. She takes a deep breath and nods, a determined grunt escaping her lips. She reaches into her jacket, retrieving the specialized data drive. She holds it out to Silver Wolf, her gaze pointedly averted from the device. "Here, take it." Her fingers linger for a moment before releasing it, a moment of hesitation betraying her usual confidence.
Silver Wolf accepts the drive, turning to insert it into a small console adjacent to the central one. As she inputs a command, fingers flying across the interface, Kafka reaches out and grasps the pulsing yellow orb—the Stellaron. Its warmth seeps into her gloved hands, a strange and unsettling sensation, like holding a beating heart.
"And... done," Silver Wolf announces, stepping back from the console. She wipes her brow with the back of her hand, leaving another smudge.
Suddenly, the space beside the central console flickers and distorts. Holograms dance and weave, coalescing into the form of a man. He appears to be unconscious or asleep, his features slack and peaceful, suspended in the air as if lying on an invisible bed.
Kafka studies him, taking in his appearance one last time. He's tall, with an athletic build and tanned skin, his rich black hair falling across his forehead. He's wearing a sleek, well-tailored black suit that fits him like a second skin, the jacket buttoned over a crisp white shirt and black tie. A black vest hugs his torso, adding an extra layer of sophistication. Even his hands are covered in refined black gloves, matching the rest of his ensemble. Perfect, pristine—untouched by the chaos around them.
She steps closer, the Stellaron still clutched in her hands. It pulses faster now, as if sensing its destination. Slowly, almost reluctantly, she lowers the orb to the man's chest.
"Time to get up, Xander," she murmurs, a melancholic edge to her voice. With a gentle push, she presses the Stellaron against his chest.
The orb sinks into him, disappearing beneath his skin like a stone into water. A golden glow spreads beneath his shirt, veins briefly illuminated from within. For a moment, nothing happens. Then, his chest rises and falls with a deep breath, signs of life returning to his body. Yet, he remains asleep, oblivious to the world around him, to the cancer now nestled within his heart.
Kafka turns to Silver Wolf, a question in her eyes. "Did Elio mention anything about what's to happen to him?" She tries to keep her voice neutral, but concern bleeds through despite her efforts.
Silver Wolf hesitates, an uncharacteristic uncertainty in her expression. She fiddles with her glasses, pushing them further up on her head. "He didn't," she admits quietly. "For once, neither we nor Elio know what the future holds. It's scary." The confession seems to cost her, vulnerability at odds with her usual bravado.
They both look back at the man resting peacefully, unaware of the destiny that will soon be thrust upon his shoulders. The fate of this world, perhaps even the universe, may very well rest in his hands when he awakens. A heavy burden for anyone, let alone a stranger to their reality.
But for now, in this moment, he sleeps. And in sleep, at least, he finds peace.