The Last Star-Bearer: Heir of the Shattered Light

Far below where God's live in lavishness and grandeur, beings suffered in the mortal realm.

Tristan’s world smelled of damp wood, rusted iron, and cold mornings that bit into bare skin. The house he lived in was crouched at the edge of the village like it didn’t belong—citizens warped, roof sagging, windows forever darkened by soot. Inside, silence was heavy, broken only by the scrape of boots or the crack of wood against wood.

At the age of 21, he was forced to mature into adulthood. From childhood to early adulthood, Fatigue and hunger was his oldest companion.

His stomach grumbles. It woke him before dawn, twisting his stomach into knots as frost crept across the floorboards. He rose quietly, careful not to wake Garron too early. Mornings were worse when his foster father’s temper hadn’t yet burned itself out on work or pitcher of ale.

The axe waited where Tristan had left it, its handle worn smooth by hands far stronger than his.

“Don’t just stare at it, use your shit of strength! The woods wouldn't cut itself!” Garron barked from behind him. “Swing.”

Tristan startled and grabbed the axe. The metal felt too heavy, as it always did. Early morning work without even having a piece of bread is a very difficult combination. Furthermore, the axe is old and rusty. He planted his feet the way he’d been shown and brought it down on the log.

Thunk. The wood barely split. Garron’s shadow stretched over him, long and suffocating. “Pathetic.”

“I’ll try again,” Tristan said quickly, breathing already tight.

“You always try,” Garron replied. “Trying didn’t save her.”

The words landed harder than any blow. Tristan swallowed. “I didn’t mean for her to get sick.”

Garron’s face twisted, he kicked Tristan on to his stomach... sending him crushing on the ground. Sudden change on Garron's mood is not with grief, but with something sharper.

“Sickness doesn’t come from nowhere. It chooses.” He leaned down until they were eye to eye. “And it chose her the moment you arrived. You're a bad omen. A curse. A plague that should be avoided. I wished we didn't take you there. I regret taking you home and raising you.”

The axe trembled in Tristan’s hands. “Father, I didn't do it. I loved her,” Tristan whispered.

Garron punched him on his face, a trace of blood spilled on the corner of his lips.

Garron straightened, disgusted. “ Don't fucking call me as a father. I'll never be. I don't have a child as curse as you! And Love?” He spat the word like poison. “Curses don’t love. They take. Mia and I were happy and living well even without a child before you arrived. If I've known that you will bring a curse, I should have left you and let ants eat you under that old oak tree in the forest.”

He turned away, already done with the conversation. “No food tonight. Work earns meal. Weak means hunger. Remember that. If you die out of hunger, then maybe it's for good. You're doing this world a favor by not existing.”

The door slammed, leaving the cold to seep back in.

The whole day passed with a blur of all day work. He does simple tasks for different people in the village of Thorndike. He'd been the boy carrying their goods on the market. He didn't know but he had more energy compared to the average human had, his co-workers often spite venom because he can do more work compared to them.

He was carrying crates of freshly harvested tomatoes. He rounded the corner when one of his colleagues intentionally bumped on him... sending the tomatoes crashing to the ground.

”Oops, sorry not sorry bro. Look likes your in trouble now.” Miguel said mocking.

Jake laugh also and said, ”I bet Mr. Hudson will fire him now. He crushed his precious tomatoes.”

”Why? Why are you targeting me since day 1? What have I done to earn your hatred?” Tristan asked with trembling voice. He was trying to remain calm.

”Its simple Tristan. You're a freak. An anomaly. We don't know how but you always do more work than us.” Miguel said.

Jake held Tristan in his collar and said, ”Now, it's your end. Mr. Hudson will definitely fire you. Seems your going back as your father's punching bag.”

They crashed the already battered tomatoes in the floor with their boots. Tristan grip on his knuckles seeing the mess on the floor. Suddenly, he felt a surge of energy inside him. It surged and blasted in the form of golden yellow light.

When the blinding light vanished, all the tomatoes in the floor goes back being undamaged. It's still on the floor but it wasn't battered nor crushed. Tristan also seems to see in his mind that Mr. Hudson is coming in his direction with Miguel and Jake in tow. Tristan immediately put it all on the crates in a fast forward motion.

Mr. Hudson rounded the corner and saw the tomatoes in good condition. ”Miguel and Jake, you said my tomatoes were crushed?”

”No. How can this be? We literally saw it! It's on the floor!” Miguel shouted.

”This is a warning for the both of you. The next time you say lies and waste my time, you better look for another work. Tristan brought it immediately to my stall.” Mr. Hudson said before leaving.

Miguel glared at Tristan and said, ”This is your fault.”

Then they left.

Night was quieter, but no kinder. Tristan didn't sleep in a decent room, instead he resides in the barn where the cow and goats were also sleeping. Tristan lay curled in the loft, straw scratching his skin, staring through a crack in the ceiling where a sliver of sky peeked through.

His stomach ached, but the ache was familiar... almost comforting in its certainty. He took the last bread from his torn satchel that he snuggled on last night as Mr. Hudson didn't give his salary for the day on the excuse of needing it for something else.

Beyond the hunger, What hurt more was the emptiness. In the village, during his childhood, children ran in groups, hands clasped, laughter spilling freely. Tristan always watched from a distance.

“Don’t go near him,” someone once said.

“My gran says bad things happen when he smiles,” said another.

“He doesn’t have a real family, his father even hates him.” a third whispered

He remembers that day when it all started. The rain fell on Thorndike like a shroud, clinging to his foster mother, Mia’s coffin as the priest spoke. He never finished.

“He did this!” Garron lunged forward, pointing at the boy huddled at the edge of the mourners. “From the day we took him in, my wife began to die. Fever, weakness—rotting away while he slept under our roof. You brought death with you, boy.”

The crowd answered him eagerly.

“Bad blood,” a woman said.

“Everything he touches dies,” a man spat.

“Should’ve thrown him out sooner.”

Tristan shook his head, tears streaking his face. “I didn’t do anything. I loved her. I tried to help—”

“Liar!” someone shouted.

A stone struck the mud at his feet.

“The barn burned after lightning hit it when he took shelter in it,” an angry Mr. Leroy voice called.

“My dog... my poor Biscuit... dropped dead the night after he patted its head in the morning,” Ms. Sandy accused angrily.

“My sheep bled and died,” Mr. Rilford snarled. “You were there, weren’t you? You were playing around my pen the day before it happened!”

They pressed closer.

“He ain’t a child,” someone said. “He’s a curse.”

“Mark him,” another urged.

“Drive him out before he kills again.”

The priest tried to speak, but Garron cut him off. “Get out of my sight,” he said coldly. “If you come back, I won’t stop them next time.”

No one objected.

Tristan ran.

Laughter chased him from the graveyard. “Run, jinx!... Let the woods have you!”

He didn’t stop until the trees swallowed him. At the base of an ancient oak, he collapsed, sobbing. “I don’t want to hurt anyone,” he whispered. “Please… make it stop.”

The earth warmed beneath his hands.

From the mud soaked with his tears, pale blue flowers bloomed, glowing softly against the dark forest floor. Tristan stared, breath hitching.

“No… please don’t die,” he murmured, touching one trembling blossom.

It lived. It glowed brighter.

Even when he helped carry water or mend fences, eyes followed him... not grateful, just wary. His heart aches.... he doesn't want to be validated... he only wants to be seen... not as a curse but a human.

He pressed his hand against his chest now, feeling the steady beat of his heart.

“Why am I here?” he asked for the dark, his voice barely more than breath. “What did I do wrong? I give love... kindness, why is the world so cruel?”

For a moment, nothing answered. Then, something changed. The cold eased. Just slightly. A warmth brushed over him, soft and fleeting, like moonlight slipping through clouds. Not fire. Not magic as stories described it. Just… comfort.

Tristan sat up, eyes wide. “Hello?”

Silence returned, but it no longer felt empty.