The Oath Of The Star Divider

A Star Weapon serves as a conduit, allowing its wielder to harness and control their Star Energy, unleashing the hidden power within. Tristan presumed that his mother's Star Weapon was no different.

Kenway gestured for Tristan to follow him into his room—a modest space with a small bed and a single drawer beside it. As Tristan stood inspecting his surroundings, Kenway knelt beside the bed, reaching underneath. With a firm grip, he pulled out a rectangular briefcase, its worn edges hinting at the history it contained. He unlatched it, the hinges creaking softly, and there it was—Mary Merigold's Star Weapon—radiant even in the dim light.

A longsword, its hilt crafted from pure iron and wrapped in a light blue cord. A star-shaped guard, midnight black in color, gleamed ominously. And the blade—its edge meticulously sharpened for decades—seemed to hum with restrained power.

Kenway lifted the sword by its hilt, raising it high. The blade caught the silver glow of the moon, its polished surface reflecting the celestial light like a beacon.

"Mary's weapon—The Divider of Stars… or simply, Star Divider."

Though faint, Tristan sensed something emanating from the blade. A presence. An aura. A warrior's aura. His mother's aura.

Kenway extended the weapon toward him, and Tristan accepted it, a small, almost imperceptible smile forming on his lips.

"I'm glad you like it," Kenway said, acknowledging the rare display of emotion.

Tristan wrapped his fingers around the hilt, expecting—no, anticipating—an overwhelming surge of power, a sudden infusion of energy that would course through his veins like wildfire.

But he felt… nothing.

A flicker of disappointment crossed his face. His grip tightened.

"Nothing is happening."

Kenway chuckled, shaking his head. He lowered himself onto the bed.

"Of course nothing is happening. You haven't linked with it yet. And even when you do… you won't be able to use its abilities."

The revelation didn't deter Tristan—it only hardened his resolve.

"How do I link with it?" he asked.

Kenway studied him for a moment, then nodded approvingly.

"Sit on the ground. Hold the sword's tip against your right palm and the base of the hilt with your left."

Tristan obeyed, settling into position.

"Now close your eyes. Compose yourself. Feel the energy that flows within the blade."

Tristan understood the concept, but implementing it was another matter entirely. Minutes passed. His frustration mounted.

"It's not working!"

"Relax." Kenway's voice was calm, patient. "No one succeeds on their first attempt. Stop forcing the link. Instead, become one with the energy. Understand it. Accept it. Only then will you be able to join with it."

Tristan exhaled sharply, forcing himself to slow his breathing. Inhale. Exhale. Focus.

And then—he saw it.

A flicker of light within the blade.

"I did it."

Kenway nodded, satisfied.

"Now… implant your Star Energy into the sword."

Tristan turned his focus inward. For the first time, he saw the energy within himself. A single, radiant white star burned at the center of his chest, its glow pulsing through the network of veins and vessels that spread across his body.

He willed that energy outward, directing it toward the sword.

The process was agonizingly slow. Thirty minutes of unwavering concentration. Beads of sweat formed on his brow, but at last—he felt it.

A connection.

A surge.

Then—darkness.

When Tristan opened his eyes, he was no longer in Kenway's room.

He stood in a vast, endless void. Stars flickered around him, suspended in the abyss, their light swallowed by the surrounding darkness.

Confusion set in.

"Am I… dead again?" His voice was barely above a whisper.

A chuckle echoed through the void.

"No, nothing like that. This is my Celestial Forge."

The voice was unfamiliar. Amused.

Tristan stiffened. "Who are you? Where are you?"

The laughter subsided.

"I'm surprised you don't know… considering you're using my son's body."

Tristan's breath caught in his throat. He knew exactly who it was.

"You… you're Mary Merigold."

Silence. Then, a soft, melancholy sigh.

"Yes."

Guilt gripped him like a vice.

"I didn't mean to—"

"Never mind that." Her voice, though calm, carried the weight of sorrow. "My son died before you arrived in his body. If anything, I should be thanking you. But…" She hesitated, the next words thick with emotion.

"I need you to do something for me."

Tristan's jaw clenched.

"What is it?"

Her voice hardened. Anger. Regret. Pain.

"Avenge me. Avenge my son."

Tristan frowned. His memories of that night were fragmented, but from what he had seen, the attack on their home had been random—the work of a mindless beast.

"What do you mean? That night… it wasn't just a random attack?"

Mary's voice grew heavy.

"No. It was planned. I don't know by whom, but I have reason to believe it was someone from the Academy… or someone with close ties to it."

A slow, creeping unease slithered down Tristan's spine.

"What makes you think that?"

"Because the creature that attacked us… bore the mark of the Academy—seared into its flesh like a brand of ownership. Someone from the Academy didn't just unleash it… they orchestrated my assassination."

The realization hit him like a thunderclap.

The Academy. The very institution he planned to join.

Someone there was responsible.

Tristan had never been one to care for others unless they had something to offer him. But this time… he had already received something invaluable.

A body. A life.

And for that… he owed Mary Merigold a debt.

He exhaled slowly, his resolve solidifying like steel.

"I'll do it." His voice was unwavering. "I was heading to the Academy anyway. I'll find the one responsible."

Mary's presence swelled with emotion.

"Thank you… And as a token of gratitude, I grant you this blade as your own. But be warned—you will not have access to my abilities."

Tristan smirked.

"That's fine. I have my own tricks."

With those final words, he closed his eyes—and when he opened them again, he was back in Kenway's room.

Kenway grinned.

"You did it."

The sword in Tristan's hands shifted.

Its light blue cord wrap darkened, transforming into a deep crimson, matching his hair. The star-shaped guard followed suit, its black hue now pulsing with the same blood-red glow. The blade itself darkened, its steel gleaming obsidian in the moonlight.

Tristan tightened his grip. He raised the sword, tilting it so the silver glow of the moon reflected across its surface.

"I accept the mission you've given me." His voice was calm. Cold.

"And I swear—I will complete it."