Chapter Text
Roksu blankly stares into the sky.
He has nothing left.
His parents are dead, his uncle sold him, and even the slavers and slaves have passed away beneath the cliff, leaving Roksu at the top, hopelessly alone. There's nothing to do but stare at the rising sun. It looks beautiful, he knows. In theory.
The leftover stars still linger in the sky brightly.
He could begin to walk back to civilization any moment now. His feet remain in place. The stolen cloak sits heavily on his small shoulders, and the weight of living presses down on every inch of him, making every breath struggle to reach his lungs. The cold air has dried out his throat, and it makes him want to hold his breath, but he keeps inhaling. In order to exhale again.
All to keep living.
He did not ask, 'why me?'
It is a stupid question.
Things happen. Even the slaves in the carriage that went over the cliff knew that. It was simply bad luck. He did not get dealt a good hand, but that doesn't mean he will give up. Frustration burns his heart yet it fuels it all the same, like how the constant combustion of a star's core keeps it from collapsing in on itself. He lives through that frustration, and for that he is grateful.
He's seen many in his same position fall and succumb, sooner or later than himself. Like watching alternate versions of his own life, some more and less prosperous. He is one of many that have tried and failed, but since he is still alive, he must keep trying. Until he fails and dies, or until the day he succeeds.
The stars retreat from the warm glow on the horizon, subdued in that light. He wonders. How do they do it?
They get hidden every day, but every night they come to rise again, bright as they can be. They'll never reach the brightness of the sun— but in their combined effort, they shine in such a beautiful and unique way.
He reaches up towards those retreating stars and looks at them from in between his fingers. If he could hold on, would they keep shining? Let them shine in his palm, safe in a cage of small pale fingers, allowed to shine whenever and wherever.
Closing his fingers into a fist, he lets himself imagine that he caught one of those stars.
Pulled it from the sky and held it gently.
Would it be warm? Or hot, too hot for him to hold and burning his flesh in his arrogance? He lingers on that thought and looks at his closed fist, skeletal bones poking through his skin to reveal knuckles and his skinny wrist.
His hand is about to retreat when a light suddenly flashes behind his fist. He quickly pulls it back to see a bright and colorful light streaking across the sky. It screams in its powerful decent and he can hear violent pops with flashes of purple and red overtop a luminous white.
A shooting star.
A star?... No way, hah. That's not possible. He didn't make it fall— right?
He pulls his cloak to himself and chooses to run in the direction as it's falling. His bare feet pad quietly and quickly against the unforgiving dirt road until it gives way to grass and rocks. He holds the cloak with one hand and his breathing grows heavier with each step, a pain twinging in his side and making him wince, but he pushes his feet forward anyway.
The star shines brightly above him like a guiding light, and it's loud in the way that everything around him grows quiet in comparison.
He nearly trips when he steps into a hidden hole in the ground and his ankle twists, but he just touches the grass with his palms and pushes himself forward, running faster when adrenaline pumps into his veins at the striking pain.
He has questions but his eyes trail the star and its long tail. He has no mind outside of the shooting star which he follows. It screeches and he wonders if it will be a monster, ready to close its jaws around his neck. Somehow he runs faster yet. The bright star and its tail dips closer to the ground and he holds his breath as it soars downward suddenly.
He hides behind the lone oak tree on the hill as the star crashes into the valley.
He holds his breath, inching closer to the tree. He presses himself against the bark and grips the cloak with an impassioned hand. In the crater is a white lump. The crater is illuminated by its light.
There's no room for regret. Not now.
The white lump is as bright as the star had been and it makes it difficult to see properly, but he doesn't need to worry for long as it starts to dim rapidly.
The white turns to grey turns to black, and the colorful lights disappear in the wind. The morning glow reflects off the dull black lump and makes it colorful in a different way, with oranges and a rising pink.
Roksu's eyes widen at the sight. His heart beats heavily in his chest, burning from when he had ran. It pounds at the questions racing through his mind.
Did he make it fall?
Will it ever glow again?
Is this his fault?
How did this happen?
What should he do?
That last one makes itself particularly known at the front of his mind, but he comes up with no answer.
The lump shifts in its spot in the crater. Roksu clamps his hands around his mouth to smother his sharp inhale.
Is it... alive?
Every fiber in his body understands that he should be running away, hiding, anything to get him away and out of sight from this strange thing that emerged in their world. Except that isn't what he does.
He watches the rising back of the lump.
It's breathing.
The back falls.
He leans further into the oak of the tree and looks closer at the weird thing.
It inhales. The back falls.
... is it hurt?
He bites his lip and digs the fingers he has pressed against the tree into that stiff bark, waking up to the sting of his flesh being bitten and scratched.
When the black lump- about the size of a crouching man- doesn't move outside of the small movement of inhaling and exhaling, Roksu gathers his courage and leaves the safety behind the tree.
He makes sure not to trip as he steps carefully down the steep hill. His ankle throbs painfully.
The sun is over the horizon now, baring its light down against the star in the crater.
Managing not to trip on a dislodged rock he skips the rest of the way using gravity and flinches when his foot gives out at the last second.
He exhales. Breathing heavily, he stands up and continues moving toward the star in the crater.
The star's back rises and falls. It seems to be sleeping. Or recovering. That may be for the best, Roksu thinks to himself.
He reaches the edge of the crater, more wide than it is deep, and steps lightly into the exposed dirt. It digs into his feet painfully, still holding a residual warmth. Even if it's a little hot, it isn't enough to be burn him, so he keeps going.
The star, the creature, rouses slightly as he approaches. His mind wants to stop but his heart encourages his continued approach.
He steps up to the star, creature, about a few feet away. It's bigger than he thought it was and smaller than he assumed it'd be.
... Should he kick it?
Thankfully he doesn't need to do that, as the star inhales deeply and shifts upward, small bits of dirt falling off its back as it rises.
Black eyes stare at Roksu.
The star looks like a man. No, a teenager approaching manhood, with short black hair and eyes that reflect the night star, devoid of stars. It's only a little taller than Roksu, but Roksu is thin and it gives the illusion that he's much smaller it.
The lump was actually the teenager's own cloak, curled around his black attire and black boots.
Roksu looks up at that young face and blinks. This... is a star?
It didn't fit his expectations, but the appearance also oddly fit the name, 'star.' He knows that he won't be able to think of a star without thinking of this teenager after this.
Roksu's reddish brown eyes meet the onyx eyes. They burrow into each other, trying to dig up answers, yet both finding none.
The onyx eyes blink first and look away from the intense gaze of the kid. It, he, begins to observe his surroundings instead.
Roksu quietly stares at this strange being who emerged from a blistering star.
The star looks back at him.
"안녕하세요?"
Roksu listens to the strange words of the star and finds it extremely funny.
"I don't speak Star, sorry."
Still, he puts effort into his response. Even if it was extremely unlilelt that the star would understand him.
"... 무엇? 나는 당신을 이해할 수 없습니다."
Roksu nods. Yes, this is a language barrier. That means the star won't know he's the one who pulled him, it, from the sky.
He points at himself to get introductions started.
"Roksu." The star blinks at him, then slowly points at himself, unsure.
"... 최한."
"Choi Han," Roksu repeats. The star nods. Roksu points at the star and says it again. "Choi Han," then points at himself. "Roksu."
The star licks his lips and repeats it. "Roksu."
He nods, accepting the attempt. Now they have been introduced. That's a good start. Who knows, maybe 'Choi Han' means 'star.'
Roksu's head falls and he notices his bare feet, one swollen and still throbbing immensely. Hopefully it isn't a serious injury and he can still walk on it.
Wiggling his toes and finding them painful but functional, he chooses to not worry about it.
Choi Han is too busy looking at Roksu's long red hair to notice. He appears awestruck at its color, which made a little sense. It isn't a terribly common color, and his shade of red was actual red, not nearer to orange or pink. The dirty and scrappy nature of it isn't flattering but neither are his equally scrappy clothes. The only thing saving his appearance was the slaver's brown cloak that he stole.
Though, maybe the star would be awestruck by any shade of hair. Who knows what a star is used to seeing, anyway.
Roksu takes advantage of Choi Han's dazed state to grab his hand and pull. He doesn't budge from his spot- weighing more than the thin Roksu- but it gets the message through.
"Follow."
The star is pulled.
Roksu climbs out of the crater and struggles to not think about how much his foot hurts. He had already ran on the injury and now he was going to walk all the way back to the village on it, too. He might as well be asking to get his entire foot amputated.
Still, he hides the pain and the way he favors one side as he walks, thinking instead about how to teach someone to talk and read their language. Could Roksu learn how to speak star? It seemed that there would be a lot of work to do in order to communicate.
As he's pondering that, he tugs on Choi Han's hand, intending to face the hill he had come from.
An arm slips under his legs and the star's hand in his grasp pulls away without any effort to hold onto his shoulders.
Roksu stiffens like a log.
Choi Han smiles at him.
"내가 널 안아도 괜찮았으면 좋겠어."
Roksu wants to frown but he's too shocked. What is this? Is he actually making a star carry him, all for a stupid injury? He swings his feet. Well, now he doesn't have to risk making his injury worse— but he has to be carried by a star. It feels shameful to make such a being do manual labor.
Even if it's shameful, Roksu slowly relaxes into the sturdy chest, wrapping an arm around the star's neck. His other arm points up the hill.
Choi Han gleams, resembling a twinkling star, and Roksu turns away from that happy expression. What a weird guy-star.
"The prophecy! Your majesty, the prophecy for the next decade has been delivered!" A priest bursts rudely into the throne room and all but collapses to his knees, bowing his head to the red carpet.
King Zed hears that and subconsciously grips his armrest.
It's both good and bad news to receive a prophecy. A prophecy meant that a significant event would be occurring. Since the priest said it was estimated to predict the next decade, that meant that the event would spell out the fate of the next ten years.
It didn't predict anything past that.
However, most 'significant events' regarded wars and famines. The length of time would be how long the war would last, or how long the famine would stretch before it broke. So, whatever the prophecy said, it would definitely be a big deal.
The only good part of a prophecy was that it gave them the opportunity to prepare in advance.
"Speak."
The priest shivers, wanting to hide away from the cold tone of the king. He lifts his head and bangs it against the floor to gather his wits and remember the words of the prophecy. It isn't hard- it was incredibly profound, both alike to other prophecies and nothing like any prophecy they've received before.
"I will now repeat the prophecy, your majesty. It reads,
"The boy which falls a star
shall hold many burdens,
Will speak many lies,
And possesses a great truth.
A war, six stars that wish to take the sky,
The red crown which fights to subdue.
Ten years of darkness, nigh.
Bleed, oh boy of red, to lay the earth with
Crimson Tides, save the pitiful ones and give rise to the star of Night."
The priest's voice slowly rolls over the prophecy's words. The king listens and taps his finger on his armrest.
"... Call the Crown Prince."
The attendant waiting by the door hears the command and promptly leaves the room. A brief silence is broken by the low timber of the old man sitting on his regal throne.
"Priest," The king says. "What are your thoughts?"
"My thoughts... Your majesty, I believe we must find the boy who felled a star. He will play a key role in the future, I'm sure of it."
"Then how should we go about it?"
The priest hesitates.
"Do we summon all boys to the palace and ask them if they've felled a star? What age range should we expect a boy to fit in?" The king mildly pokes holes in the priests answer. "A seven year old is as much of a boy as a fifteen year old."
The priest bites his tongue, and the king continues.
"When does a boy become a man? Should we exclude mature children and include lousy adults?"
The king tsks. This is why he called for his son to come here. Speaking with a priest from the church is no good.
"Royal Father," a teenager roughly the age of seventeen enters the throne room and bows politely according to his status. "You called for me?"
He has blonde hair, framing a young but handsome face. His royal clothes, white with gold shoulders and a blue stripe over the chest, fit close to his body, giving the impression of a weak but elegant individual. The attire perfectly compliments his eyes, which reflect the sky, and his soft shiny hair like the gold of a sunrise.
"Yes." The king waves his hand. "Alberu, listen to the prophecy for the next ten years and tell me what you believe our next action should be."
A prophecy is major news for the kingdoms, but the king comments on it as if it is no more than a small squabble that occurred in the town square. The crown prince doesn't blink in surprise at the nonchalance.
He approaches his father and stands off to his side by the throne, looking down at the priest, who still has his head on the red carpet.
"You may speak," Alberu kindly prompts.
The priest repeats the prophecy again word for word and wills himself to not stutter in the presence of the two most influential figures in the kingdom.
The silence afterwards fills the throne room.
"Mm." Alberu hums. "That is a unique prophecy."
"Why do you say that?" He asks his son to elaborate.
"The prophecy mentions a specific individual. It goes as far as to list traits and achievements of the boy, as if asking us to find and accompany him in his path. Within seven centuries and hundreds of prophecies, none have spoken about a single person."
"What do you suppose we should do?"
"Find him. We should look from twelve to seventeen year old boys, particularly twelve year olds whose birthdays are near to pass. We don't know if the boy has felled a star yet, so we should leave a few months to give him that opportunity."
"We should look through the entire kingdom? That would take years."
Alberu smiles at the king, calmly correcting his father's claim. "We have a few years at best to find the boy before the worst of the war is upon us, so we should do our best, Royal Father."
"That's right." The king nods. He stares down at the priest, who sweats cold. "Then, son. What if we don't ever find the boy?"
Alberu replies, undisturbed. "Then we should do our best to support him, even if we don't know who he is."
"Correct."
Alberu lets his eyes fall on the sweating priest. Even if the priest is trembling, Alberu doesn't feel pity. It wouldn't make a difference.
The king waves a hand and the priest, as if sensing it, stands up and exits quickly with a rushed bow to pay his respects to both the current and future rulers.
With him gone, Alberu elaborates. "You'll be focusing on boys with red hair, won't you Royal Father?"
"That is obvious."
At that, Alberu clenches his fists. He can't help but think, 'would it be so easy to find such a person?' The description was both sorely lacking and extremely specific. He doesn't know what to think about the prophecy's intention.
"Do you think we'll find him?"
Alberu smiles at that, staring at the large door which shut behind the priest.
"We will. Definitely."
Somewhere, a fifteen year old boy with a red crown of hair and a newly fallen star begin to make their acquaintance.
