After the examination's conclusion, the remaining representatives lingered inside the amphitheater, their gazes shadowed with unease as they deliberated the reappearance of a blade long thought forgotten.
Decker pressed his hand against his temple, massaging it in slow, frustrated circles.
"How does he possess her blade?" he muttered, disbelief clouding his tone.
"Hell if we know," Anastacia replied, folding her arms. "We're just as baffled as you. Could it be a replica? Or perhaps someone found a way to duplicate it?"
Alice abruptly interjected, shaking her head with certainty.
"It's possible to mimic the physical form of the weapon," she said. "But not its essence—its beauty. That sword… that is undeniably the original. I have no doubt."
"His last name doesn't match hers, so I can't say for sure whether he's her son," Decker added, his voice grim.
The others looked at him, their expressions shifting to alarm.
"If he is her son, does that mean your…"
Decker lowered his eyes to the floor as a shadow overtook his features. The crimson hair was an unmistakable sign—he bore some tie to House Vermillion. If Decker's suspicions proved true, the implications would shake the foundation of everything they believed.
Meanwhile, in the Middle District, Tristan returned to the boutique to share news of his success with Mr. Kenway. Yet upon arrival, he was met with the sight of a shattered door and Kenway sweeping fragments of glass into a dustpan.
"What happened?" Tristan asked, his voice sharp with concern.
Kenway looked up, then let his eyes drift toward the blade at Tristan's hip.
"It seems you activated the Star Divider's abilities," he replied. "It flew straight out of the boutique. And when I stepped outside to follow it, I saw… the very time of day changed."
Tristan froze. Though he hadn't meant to cause the destruction, a wave of guilt washed over him.
"I'm sorry," he said quietly.
Kenway waved him off while continuing to sweep.
"It's fine. The activation was out of your control. Still… I was shocked. No one's supposed to be able to wield another's Star Weapon. How did you manage to awaken it?"
Tristan paused, searching his memory for the moment it all happened.
"I remember a surge of emotion," he murmured. "Then… the Star Divider fell from the sky like a meteor plummeting from space."
Kenway chuckled, setting down his broom and settling onto a stool by the entrance.
"An ability that grows stronger with emotion… that's definitely your mother's power."
Tristan stepped further into the boutique, avoiding the shards of glass beneath his feet. He reached the staircase leading to the upper apartment and sat on the bottom step, continuing the conversation.
"There was something else," he said. "After I activated the Star Divider, my injuries started to heal."
Kenway's expression twisted in confusion. He stroked his chin thoughtfully, eyes rising to the boutique's ceiling.
"I don't recall your mother ever possessing such an ability… Perhaps it's your own—something new, something personal?"
"Maybe. But I'm not sure," Tristan replied.
"It doesn't matter now. You made it into the academy, and that's what counts. Your mother would be proud," Kenway said sincerely.
A fresh wave of guilt surged through Tristan's chest. He wasn't who he claimed to be—he still bore the weight of having taken over Tristan Merigold's life. He averted his gaze, unable to meet Kenway's eyes.
"Yeah…" he said softly, regret saturating his tone.
He stood, turning toward the stairs.
"I'm going to rest now."
"Alright. I'll just finish cleaning up."
Tristan ascended to the apartment and sank into the couch, mind heavy with thoughts. What now? He had achieved the first step of his plan—gaining admission to the academy. But what came next?
He knew only one thing: the person who killed Mary was likely within those hallowed walls. Beyond that, he had nothing.
Stretching out across the couch, he placed his hands behind his head and closed his eyes, sinking deeper into contemplation.
'I think I've figured it out. I'll have to return to the scene of the crime.'
"My lord, I strongly advise against such a course," Killington's voice echoed in his mind. "The Lower District is treacherous—rife with criminals and brimming with danger. Fallen Stars appear there more often than anywhere else."
Tristan's eyes snapped open, and he sat upright.
'Why is it like that?'
"Those in the Higher District determine the allocation of warriors, and they see the Lower District as expendable," Killington answered solemnly. "I must caution you again, my lord."
Tristan chuckled to himself.
'It'll be fine. You're with me—and I can hold my own. If there's even a chance I'll find a clue to Mary's killer there, I have to go.'
There was a moment of silence before Killington responded.
"Then so be it. I am yours to command."
A faint smile touched Tristan's lips. He crept to the stairway and peered down to ensure Kenway wasn't approaching. Satisfied, he made his way to the emergency exit Kenway had once shown him.
With quiet urgency, Tristan descended the ladder, vanishing into the night.