Honkai: Star Rail — Kamen Rider!

[Power Refresh Timer Remaining: 16:13:00]

After a brief rest, Robin had finally shaken off her wartime mindset.

"This feeling is… kind of strange."

She reflected on her first experience on the battlefield. It wasn't something she'd forget for the rest of her life.

Even now, her fingers still remembered the recoil of pulling a trigger for the first time.

"…I wonder how the other guards get used to this."

Robin sighed.

The defense force wasn't made up of just men—there were plenty of women too. And despite being a Pathstrider herself, she had to admit: most of them had performed far better than she had.

But in the end, the effort had been worth it.

They'd made it.

Robin pushed open a window and let the sunlight pour into the room.

Outside, lush green blanketed the land. The balance between nature and industry—vibrant but not chaotic—felt like something straight from an interstellar travel brochure.

"Truly deserving of its title: 'Ecological Planet,' as marked in the Stellar Travel Guide."

To think such a world had almost been lost to destruction… what a waste that would've been.

Good thing Sora showed up, she thought.

If not, this world would've remained a lifeless desert, its sands choking the memory of what once was.

Too tragic to imagine.

Robin did a quick cleanup, straightened her clothes, and stepped outside to meet the world's rebirth face to face.

The survivor outpost was already a flurry of activity.

Those who'd collapsed the day before were now up and working—moving supplies, hauling material, starting the process of expanding their shelter.

Everyone was silent. You could hear the hammering, but very little conversation.

That silence—it felt… wrong.

It wasn't like this before, was it? Robin frowned.

Maybe the sheer scale of rebuilding an entire civilization had finally sunk in.

Maybe everyone was simply too overwhelmed by the future to speak.

She could only guess.

After all, this planet had just survived the brink of annihilation. Of course rebuilding was inevitable.

And it wouldn't be quick.

This wasn't just patching up a wall. This was years of labor. Lifetimes, maybe.

Robin shuddered at the thought. It was like being told to perform three concerts back-to-back without rest.

"…Well, at least they'll be able to contact the Interastral Peace Corporation."

That had become the norm ever since the Stellaron crisis—IPC stepped in for large-scale planetary reconstruction.

And clearly, Camille was going to need their services.

Just then, she heard a door open nearby.

Sora stepped outside, brows drawn in a frown, eyes lost in thought.

"Morning, Sora. How'd you sleep?"

Robin walked up to him. After yesterday's battle, she hoped he'd gotten some proper rest.

"If not… want me to sing you something?"

"Huh?" Sora blinked, pulled out of his thoughts. He quickly plastered a smile on. "I'm fine. No need for the lullaby. I've got something I need to talk to Anna about."

"W-Wait—!"

But he was already moving—clearly in a hurry.

Robin reached out a hand, then sighed.

"You call that well-rested?"

She'd seen it—barely wiped blood beneath his nose.

Another nosebleed…

"Sigh. Whatever. Time to go find the kids."

There was a melody stirring in her heart—a tune that needed finishing. One that could tell this planet's story in song.

And now, reborn from destruction, this world was like a child—fragile, unshaped, full of potential.

Spending time with children would help her find its rhythm.

And the kids who'd survived were smart. Too smart, maybe.

They knew they couldn't help with the rebuilding, so they stayed out of the way—quietly playing on their own.

But when they saw Robin, they lit up and ran to her, laughing.

She explained her goal: she needed their help composing a song to honor the planet.

"Leave it to us! We're professionals!"

The sight of those tiny, serious faces claiming "professional" status made Robin laugh.

Exactly what I needed.

She smiled as she sat down to listen—taking in their stories of the planet's resurrection, as seen through innocent eyes.

As she recorded everything into her terminal, a melody began to take shape.

But one thing was still missing—the main theme.

And in her heart, she knew who it was meant to be about.

Sora.

Though not just Sora.

Robin's smile deepened as she remembered face after face.

The ever-optimistic, blunt, and loyal Captain Ouja, whose troubles seemed to bounce right off her.

Anna, so young and yet carrying the weight of royalty and responsibility.

And most of all—the brave defenders who fought to the end.

They were heroes, too.

Not just warriors, but caretakers, builders, protectors.

"Mood-ojisan feels different now," one child said. "He used to hug me every time he saw me…"

"Maybe he's just busy rebuilding," Robin offered gently. "Don't worry—I'll pass along your wish."

"Really?"

She smiled and nodded. "Of course."

A promise made was a promise kept.

If she remembered right, Mood had introduced himself during weapons training. She followed that thread of memory until she found him—still stationed on watch.

A tall, middle-aged man. Guarding his post like stone.

Robin relayed the child's message.

"…They really like you. I hope you two can stay close."

Mood's face didn't change.

He nodded. "Understood."

Then fell silent again, continuing to stare straight ahead.

Weird…

Robin tilted her head.

In her memory, Mood had been talkative—a warm, almost goofy uncle figure.

Now he seemed hollow.

Did something happen on the battlefield? PTSD? Amnesia?

She didn't get far in her thoughts before he called out behind her.

"…Robin."

She turned.

Mood looked at her with the same blank expression.

"We'll be holding a celebration banquet and a farewell ceremony. Please attend."

"Huh? Already?"

"Yes. The planet's resources are still limited. We're combining both ceremonies into one."

"After the farewell, we'll arrange a ship for your departure."

Something in her twisted.

A subtle wrongness. Too fast. Too clean.

Like someone was trying to usher them out the door.

Polite words when they were needed—dismissal the moment they weren't.

Robin's brows furrowed.

The warmth she'd felt toward this planet… dimmed.

What happened to Anna's compassion? Why does this feel so cold now?

"I understand."

She swallowed her frustration.

Maybe it's just poor communication. Maybe everyone's overworked.

But no matter how she tried to rationalize it, the bitterness stuck in her chest.

She turned and left, walking faster than she meant to.

She tried to refocus—tried to write.

But the irritation lingered.

The people here were acting like the moment peace returned, everything else was someone else's problem.

Her song—the one she'd come to love—felt stalled.

Sigh.

She'd sighed more today than when the world was actually ending.

"Miss Robin! There you are!"

She turned—and for the first time in hours, she smiled.

Ouja.

"What's up?" she asked.

Ouja was still bandaged but came barreling over like a tank on rollerblades.

"I heard a rumor—you're turning my story into a song?!"

So the kids blabbed, huh.

Robin didn't deny it. She nodded.

"That's right. Here's the part about you."

She handed over a draft of lyrics and melody.

Ouja stared at the page like it was written in alien code.

"Hmm…"

She squinted.

"…No idea what any of this means!"

Figures.

Robin had half-expected some dramatic speech. Instead, she got blunt honesty.

But somehow, that made her laugh.

That's our Ouja.

Robin started explaining—what the lines meant, how the rhythm matched her style.

Ouja didn't get it.

But she understood the intent.

"You're amazing, Miss Robin. I wish you'd stay longer."

Robin froze.

Then, casually, asked, "I heard there's going to be a celebration and farewell soon?"

"Yup." Ouja's expression dimmed. "You and Sora both submitted requests to leave, so we decided to combine them."

…What?

Robin blinked.

Wait—we asked to leave?

---

[Power Refresh Timer Remaining: 11:48:42]

"Do you have any proof for what you're saying?"

Anna's hands trembled.

She couldn't process everything Sora had just told her.

Part of her wondered if this was just a lingering dream—if she hadn't truly woken up yet.

Was all of this still part of some illusion…?

"The evidence is already obvious, isn't it?" Sora said quietly. "Or are you still planning to ignore it?"

"That's not like you."

"If what you're saying is true," Anna murmured, "then there shouldn't be blue skies. There shouldn't be new life."

Her gaze grew heavy, conflicted.

"Doesn't all of this prove we're finally thriving?"

The light shining down is so warm.

The world is green again.

Life has returned.

Everything's going well—so how… how could this be false?

She couldn't admit it.

She wouldn't admit it.

Even if, deep in her heart, she'd already started to suspect something.

All she lacked was one undeniable, irreversible piece of proof.

Sora looked at her and understood.

If I were her… I wouldn't be able to accept it either.

"…I understand."

"I'll prove it to you."

He lowered his eyes to the paper in front of him.

It was the combined approval for the farewell and celebration ceremony.

And he would bring the truth to light—at that very gathering, just a few hours away.

As Sora turned to leave, Anna fell silent again.

Then, just as his hand touched the door—

"…Move the children to the ship," she whispered. "They have nothing to do with this. Please."

Sora paused.

Then opened the door—and walked out.

The door clicked shut behind him.

And Anna was alone.

The room was quiet.

Time passed.

And then—

Softly, quietly—

She began to cry.

And the wind carried the sound across the reborn land.