Chapter Text
“Ah, there you are, Shin-ah!” In truth, Kija would have preferred to call the blue dragon “brother,” for although Kija had many siblings and half-siblings, he had always known it was to be the four dragons, and only the four dragons, who would truly be brothers. But he could also see how happy it made Shin-ah to be called by name. “You’re far from the camp tonight,” Kija said. “Is everything all right? You know, you’re always welcome to sleep by my side!” The small tent was, of course, only big enough for the princess and Yun, but Hak and Kija were both always close at hand. Kija knew Shin-ah was used to being alone, but he wanted to make sure the other dragon knew he was welcome.
“You … move a lot,” said Shin-ah. Kija looked away. It was true, he still slept fitfully most nights. He’d meant his offer to be comforting, but perhaps, until Kija became more accustomed to sleeping outdoors, such a sleeping arrangement would only bring his brother discomfort. Now I have two reasons to adjust quickly to this lifestyle, Kija thought. For the sake of the princess and my brother.
“Well,” said Kija. “Surely there’s no reason to be this far away?” In reply, Shin-ah looked up at the sky, and Kija followed his gaze. The sky was clear and open, bright with stars. The campsite where the others slept was surrounded by dense trees, but this hill that Shin-ah had found was clear, and the entire hemisphere lay spread out above them. “Oh!” The moon hadn’t risen yet, and so the stars glittered with uninterrupted brightness. “It’s beautiful …” He glanced back at Shin-ah. Was that, possibly, just a hint of a smile at the corner of his mouth? “You like stargazing, don’t you?” Shin-ah nodded. Kija recalled the cave where they had found the blue dragon. He didn’t truly know the power of Shin-ah’s eyes, but surely even he couldn’t see through an entire mountain. He hoped … he hoped that this wasn’t the first time that such a simple act had brought his brother such joy.
“The elders in my village gave me lessons in astronomy and astrology,” Kija said, sitting down beside Shin-ah, “but they were never my best subjects.”
“Those are … more stories?” Kija had exhausted the history of the four dragons after only a few days, but Shin-ah seemed to enjoy hearing other stories, too.
“Sciences,” Kija explained. “Different ways of studying the stars. Yun could probably tell you more about them, but I can barely remember their names. Oh!” he added. “There are stories about the constellations, though.”
Shin-ah turned to look at Kija, and even through that mask, Kija could feel the strength of his gaze, the sudden sharpness. But it wasn’t the prospect of new stories that caught Shin-ah’s attention this time. “The stars have names, too?” he asked.
Kija nodded. He pointed at the obvious place to start. “That one, the north star, that’s Polaris,” he said. “And that bright one there is called Sirius.”
“What’s …?” Shin-ah pointed at another bright star, one that Kija thankfully knew. But as they kept going, he found himself increasingly frustrated with how many time he had to answer I don’t know, or I bet Yun would know that one. A few times, he tried to redeem his ignorance with stories of the constellations—of the parted lovers who were doomed to forever watch each other from a distance, of the Dark Dragon that had never descended to Earth and had so been barred from the heavens as well—but while Shin-ah showed a little interest in that last one, tonight he was clearly more interested in names.
“I’m sorry,” Kija apologized. “I should have paid more attention.” There were so many things, he realized, that he’d ignored, because he thought they would have no bearing on his destiny. Destiny was being a strong warrior fighting at Hiryuu’s side. Destiny wasn’t sitting beneath a sky full of stars with the only true brother he’d ever known, and yet this, just as much as those times he’d protected Yona—this was somehow what he’d been missing his entire life. And so, what is destiny, anyway? “I’ll sleep out here tonight, too, if that’s all right,” he said. Shin-ah nodded, and his little squirrel chirped happily, leaping out of its hiding place in Shin-ah’s fur to rest on Kija’s shoulder.
“It’s all right,” said Shin-ah, and for a moment Kija was confused—it was unusual, in fact, unheard of, for Shin-ah to respond verbally when a gesture had already made his intentions clear. Then he realized that Shin-ah was responding to his apology from a moment ago. “Just—that they have names. That’s good.” He paused. “There are so many, but also … they’re alone in the dark, too.”
Kija stretched out an arm to Shin-ah’s shoulder. “Receiving a name meant a lot to you, didn’t it?” he asked. Shin-ah nodded, as the squirrel wandered back along Kija’s arm to bury itself in Shin-ah’s fur again.
Shin-ah stretched out a hand to the sky one more time. “…that one?” he asked. But Kija couldn’t make out any stars in that space. To him, it was just a patch of empty blackness.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I can’t see that one. I guess my eyes aren’t good enough.” Shin-ah lowered his hand. “So … it probably doesn’t have a name,” Kija admitted. “But if it’s a star that only the blue dragon’s eyes can see, you should be the one to name it.”
“I can—?”
“Of course! There’s no reason that the one to give it a name can’t be you!”
“I …”
“But you don’t have to think of something right away,” Kija reassured him. “Take your time.”
Shin-ah nodded once more, and Kija laid back on the grassy hillside. He was just about to close his eyes when he saw Shin-ah look down at the little squirrel to whisper something. He could just barely make out the words: “You won’t mind sharing … will you, Ao?”