Star Rail: Starting with a Lyre, Living off Busking

"This song..."

Bronya's grip tightened around her Flame Rifle, her eyes unfocused as she stared ahead, captivated by the sight of an endless, starry expanse.

"Am I… in space? No, no… I was fighting Cocolia. How did I end up here?"

The last time she'd seen a vision like this, the Aeon of Preservation had shown her a glimpse, transforming her ordinary weapon into the flaming rifle capable of melting glaciers.

But this wasn't a new miracle—this was a trick of the Stellaron.

...She needed to find her way back to reality. Otherwise, she'd only worry her comrades.

With her resolve set, Bronya, clad in her Guardian's ceremonial dress, took a step forward. It was strange to describe it as running in space, but her steps felt solid against an invisible path of destiny.

Ahead of her, she saw Gepard's figure.

The young Captain stood with his head lowered, reporting the latest battle developments to a cold, distant figure seated before him. "Guardian, the Commercial District has fallen. The civilians have been evacuated and are sheltered in the outer district. The Silvermane Guards... we lost twenty-six soldiers. But I…"

Cocolia merely nodded, as though those lives were little more than numbers to her.

"Continue, Gepard."

"Yes, but… I don't think the fallen Silvermane Guards are truly gone. I saw them wandering through the Fragmentum…"

His voice faltered, his face etched with sorrow.

"The things happening there are beyond reason—insanity. Guardian, if this goes on…"

For those who had given their lives to defend their homeland, the sight of their fallen comrades rising again as enemies shattered everything—their sworn vows, their friendships, their shared convictions in protecting their city—all of it reduced to horror and disillusionment.

Yet, his concerns went unanswered. The woman on the throne remained lost in her blind faith, unyielding in her delusions.

"I am well aware of the consequences, Gepard. Now, leave me."

Then, another voice.

Indistinct, empty—impossible to tell if it was male or female, young or old. It echoed from nowhere.

"Yes… we are all aware of the consequences."

This was a glimpse from a battle years ago, when Belobog had first lost the Commercial District to the Fragmentum. Bronya hadn't fought in it; she was too young and inexperienced. After that, shortages of resources started, and rationing to the Underworld became stricter…

This was the moment a seed of division had been planted in the heart of the city.

Then, another figure appeared—Serval.

Young and passionate, she was fervently explaining something to a friend.

"What's holding you back, Cocolia? Isn't this what you've always wanted? To leave this cage and see this city for yourself! What else do we have to lose?"

She gestured with her hands, almost pleading. "Everything our ancestors built, their unfinished research, it's finally bearing fruit! Give me a unit of guards. Let me find the Stellaron, let me find a way to save our city—"

Her fiery vision was so real, so urgent that even through the echo, Bronya could feel it.

But Cocolia only responded with icy detachment.

"Calm yourself, Serval."

"Calm? What are you—"

Serval's face twisted, disbelief in her eyes.

And in that moment, Cocolia turned her back, summoning a Silvermane Guard from his post at the door.

"Escort Lady Landau down to her quarters. Then, seal off her lab and detain all her researchers—their activities are illegal."

The coldness in her friend's gaze broke Serval's heart.

"...Why, Cocolia… why have you become so cold?"

But there was no answer, only the emotionless face of the guard and Cocolia's retreating figure.

As she walked down the corridor, filled with posters extolling restraint, logic, and the careful pursuit of science, Cocolia murmured to herself.

"Serval Landau. You were once my dearest friend."

Then, the voice of the Stellaron spoke again.

"But in the new world we envision, she has no place."

Stellaron research was forbidden. It was sacrilege, like mortals presuming to understand the greatness of the Aeons. What right did mere ants have to touch the essence of the divine?

The scene shifted again, this time to Cocolia on a distant battlefield.

A soldier ran up, panic in his voice. "Guardian Cocolia, the creatures are moving this way! This place is too dangerous!"

But dressed in her military uniform, Cocolia muttered only to herself, her voice devoid of humanity. "…Foolish… insignificant…"

Even as monsters advanced, the Silvermane Guard showed no intention of abandoning her. Instead, he stood in front, waiting for her command.

"What? Guardian, what are you saying?"

"They can't understand… no one can. No one but me. They're blind and deaf…"

What others heard as the mad murmurs of beasts was to her the most beautiful opera.

It was a pity no one understood. Humanity was meant to embrace destruction.

In that moment, she made her choice, pushing her guard forward into the maw of the advancing creatures.

As his eyes filled with shock and his final screams pierced the air, Cocolia only smiled serenely, like a devoted saint.

"Forgive them… for their ignorance and fear…"

Then, Bronya saw her own younger self.

Naïve and idealistic, with eyes full of admiration.

"Mother, I don't understand… The Fragmentum is spreading through the Underworld. If we withdraw all the Silvermane Guards, how will the people below defend themselves?"

"The automaton defenses will protect them. The upper district is the most important front. If we fall, the Underworld will be lost in an instant. We must hold the line at any cost."

The person Bronya had trusted most, the woman who wore her duty like a mask.

"This is the burden of leadership, Bronya. As a ruler, one must have the courage to make these decisions… One day, you too will have to choose."

"An even greater duty…?"

The young successor's question went unanswered.

"Not yet, Bronya—not yet. Someday, you'll understand."

Every scene Bronya saw was real, memories laid bare.

Now she understood the path Cocolia had walked, but there was no justification for it. These weren't noble sacrifices—they were perversions of duty, forcing others to pay the price for her so-called "greater good." It was vile, self-serving evil.

In silence, Bronya continued forward, her Flame Rifle growing brighter with every step.

She was certain now that this illusion was a distortion by the Stellaron, meant to sway her.

Finally, as she neared the light at the end of the path, she saw a girl standing there.

"This city is crying… the power of 'Preservation' is fading," she said.

The voice was both ancient and young, and though her body was that of a child, her tone carried the weight of ages.

"In the end… we could not resist the will of the Stellaron."

"I don't believe this is true Preservation. Nor do I condone Cocolia's abandonment of it."

The girl nodded faintly. "But we have no right to judge," her voice turned softer, almost melancholic. "For seven hundred years, the Fragmentum has crept forward. We left nothing for our successors—no faith, no riches—only endless despair."

As Bronya's gaze hardened, the girl continued like a repentant criminal.

"To watch our homeland wither, to feel our oaths to protect it crumble… it was agony. And then came that voice, a whisper in the dark, tempting… Even the strongest will would weaken, and when that day came, even Preservation would abandon us."

"I do not intend to judge your mercy," Bronya replied coldly. "But if those chosen by the people, the Guardians, lack even the resilience needed to fulfill their duty to humanity, to Preserve this world built by human hands… then we're not worthy of being Guardians."

She raised her Flame Rifle, her eyes sharp.

"And we certainly have no right to play both god and judge, trampling humanity underfoot. Only a wretch—only someone who knows nothing of humanity, who dresses up malice as virtue and ensnares others in lies—would do something like that."

The girl's spectral figure froze, staring at Bronya in disbelief as the Flame Rifle pierced her.

Her image faded, revealing her true form at last.

It was a Stellaron, radiant like a star.

But its core was rotten and dark, fouler than sludge.

"How… did you know?" it whispered. "Or perhaps, why won't you give her a chance? Is this what you call humanity? Turning on the mother who raised you, rebelling in the name of righteousness?"

"—There will always be those who remain steadfast, who embody the will to Preserve."

"What?"

"Perhaps, in your view—or rather, in Mother's view—my actions bring her pain," Bronya continued, voice calm but resolute. "But that's because her perspective is warped. She's bound by an ideology that leads only to misjudgment."

Her fingers rested on the trigger, her gaze unyielding as she met the Stellaron's empty stare.

"I choose the world. I choose those who entrusted us as Guardians, those who believe we can lead humanity out of despair. I reject a poison that festers in the hearts of the weak, and I reject the shadow of the mother I once knew."

With a squeeze of the trigger, flames engulfed the Stellaron's illusionary form, consuming it in an intense blaze. Bronya's rifle blazed like a miniature sun as she withdrew it, a quiet vow slipping from her lips, barely audible over the echo of stars collapsing into darkness.

"There's so much left for me to do. My friends, my comrades, my people… they're all waiting for me. I have no time to waste with the likes of you."

The illusion of the starfield vanished in a flash, revealing an outpouring of ancient memories and countless histories.

In these scattered scenes, Bronya saw a figure leading others, pleading with the Stellaron to halt the advance of the Legion of Destruction—Alissa Rand, a Guardian whose actions had inadvertently summoned the eternal frost upon Jarilo-VI.

Even in this vision, Bronya knew her name at a glance. The woman's blurry face seemed touched with sorrow, lips moving to speak but emitting no sound. And yet, Bronya could feel the shame and relief in her expression…

How many Guardians had this endless ice age broken, defiling their will over the years? Bronya couldn't say.

But, like the hum and heat radiating from her rifle, she knew that the past was the past. This entire spectacle was nothing more than a Stellaron's twisted attempt to manipulate her with polluted memories—cheap and fake, nothing like the true heroism that had existed.

When this realization hit her, she blinked, and—

"Yo! Looks like you've gotten something out of this, huh?"

Her friend stood beside her, greeting her with a familiar smirk.

"Even that rifle of yours looks a little hotter. If I wasn't careful, just touching it might make me yelp, huh?"

Bronya managed a small smile, raising the transformed rifle—a cavalry rifle now, more solid and powerful—to study it.

"If you want to joke around, we can do that as much as you want after the battle," she said. "But for now, our focus should be on the enemy."

Yes, the strength she had once dreamed of—that strength that allowed her to stay poised and sure—had come at last.

But more precious than this strength was something deeper.

It was her heart.

This heart of Preservation allowed her to understand how Venti could be so at ease. His confidence wasn't just in his strength, but in the unwavering conviction that his path was the right one.

She was walking that path now.

"No… this is impossible…"

It seemed Bronya's transformation had left Cocolia in shambles. She clawed at her own face, glaring through her fingers at the rifle in Bronya's hands, her eyes wide and disbelieving.

"Apologies," Bronya said, her voice steely. "The will of Preservation has made its choice."

"No, no! You know nothing of the world's suffering! Nothing of the end that awaits us!" Cocolia's voice was a desperate growl, each word soaked in bitterness.

"Then would you have us accept that fate willingly?" Bronya's voice rang out, sharp as a blade.

But Bronya wasn't here to debate. Right and wrong, after all, depended on one's point of view—an ever-shifting thing. But a true, lasting world? That was real.

Ignoring Cocolia's furious gaze, Bronya boldly took Venti's hand, guiding it to her rifle's hilt. The girl's palm was warm, gentle, her smile serene and filled with joy.

"I'm sorry, but we'll do more than just accept it. We'll keep going—together," Bronya said. "To see the skies filled with birds once again, to feel warmth return to this world, to finally stand beneath an open sky where we can all see the stars."

"No! You dare to stand before me and spout such things! You—cursed poet, what did you do to my daughter?"

"Hm?" Venti's reply was simply an amused grin.

"Worthless poet! You mock me, mock me as a mother spurned by her own child!"

Cocolia's eyes blazed with fury. The playful smile on Venti's face only fueled her rage, and she wanted nothing more than to tear him apart, shred him until nothing remained.

Perhaps it was this overwhelming rage that triggered something. The ice crystals across her body spread faster, her voice shifting, hollow and inhuman.

"So be it. If you so delight in these false hopes, I shall make you feel them in full. You will feel the unbridled power that stirs the frigid tide—the power of the Stellaron itself! You're nothing more than insects scrambling before the death of an old world!"

With the touch of the Stellaron's cold light, Cocolia's pale skin became a dark, starry void. Only the armored sections of her body remained, encased in frost and forming into armor-like layers. Her once-bound hair flew free, shifting from gold to silver to a frosty, ethereal white.

Her voice, cold and melodious, reverberated like the echoes of a glacial chasm.

"Witness this, you wretched vermin," she said, her tone stripped of all humanity, a hollow shell.

"—The Stellaron will rewrite everything!"

---

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