oathkeeper ⚜ // warrior cats

Chapter One

     Oaths are hard to keep, without exception. They are not mere promises, meant for today or tomorrow or maybe next moon. They are not fleeting and easily fulfilled. Instead, oaths are sworn for all time, and must be kept in order to ensure the flow of the universe. A broken oath one day may lead to chaos the next, and the course of history may crumble in response.

     Oaths are hard to keep, but they must be kept. No matter what. Sometimes, it means watching the wrong side win, or losing loved ones to injustice. Or it means saving lives for their future roles, and witnessing something beautiful unfold. There is no way of knowing what an oath will bring until it has been upheld, and that is all that matters.

     I chose this life. A second life, really. I crawled into StarClan, broken and beaten, the victim of a monster I should have never tried to outrun. Somehow, death had not eased my pain. I remember how long I hid in the grass, shivering as the moonlight washed over me, healing nothing. I remember wanting to die again. And I remember getting my second chance.

     I swore to protect the oaths of the world, swore it before all of StarClan. I took up the rank of Oathkeeper, a role to be served for one hundred moons, at which point the next Oathkeeper would be chosen for duty. "You will train them for fifty moons, and then you will pass into the stars," they told me. One hundred and fifty moons to return to the living world. StarClan meant it for justice. I meant it for love. For family I left too soon, abandoned in their deepest grief. For friends left to fill the empty spaces at their side, seeking a face that is no longer there. I cannot visit them; it would upset the natural balance. But in between oaths, I can watch over them, guide their paws on safe paths. I am an Oathkeeper. I see past, present, future. I have a paw in all time, stretched beyond the horizons and then some, and I will do everything in my power to grant my loved ones long, happy lives.

     But first, I must keep this oath.

     Cinderfoot no longer offers his advice at every turn, reserving his sage wisdom only for reprimands or emergencies. During the last few moons of my apprenticeship under him, he has allowed me full control over the oath. This is a blessing in some cases, but a curse in others; tonight, it is certainly the latter.

     Ahead of us, a queen crosses the river by way of an old, rotted log. The spray of the current makes the bark slick, and her rounded black belly does her balance no favors. Behind her, quivering in fear, is a whole litter of kits. They look old enough to be apprenticed, but not old enough to make the crossing alone, not with their young claws and their mother's heavy pregnancy. No one on the log is safe.

     The river splashes up over the banks, pulling at my paws, and the sharp scent of fish scorches my nose. It does not come from the water, though, but from the oath. Each has a distinctive scent, growing stronger as they reach the point of fulfillment, and since this oath was made over a shared minnow, it thus smells of fish. I have smelled better oaths, but those oaths are often the easier ones, the ones which require the least work from me.

     "Cinderfoot," I say, "the kits must survive."

     "Which ones?" A test. He knows which ones will live today, which ones will not see tomorrow. And so do I.

     I don't answer him, instead signaling that he ought to go behind the kits, where they still hesitate on the shore, watching their mother as she tries to demonstrate the safest way to make the crossing. With a nod, he slips into the river, paddling with sure, strong paws. No one will see him, if he so chooses, a luxury I do not yet have. I must complete my fifty moons of training, keeping oaths the hard way, while he can become a ghost to set the world at ease. I suspect StarClan makes us accountable this way. My name, my face, my decisions, all will be attached to this oath until the end of time. The hard choices will be mine.