He dropped his gaze. “I want to show you something,” he finally said. He took my hand and pulled me away from the boys dancing around the bonfire and led me to a small passageway hidden behind one of the stalagmites ringing in the room. The tunnel was entirely dark. He let go of my hand so I could focus on my footing as the pathway slanted upward.

His breathing was the only thing that signaled he was still in front of me. The air became colder around us. At first, I thought it was due to the absence of the fire, but the farther we climbed, the colder it got. We started to encounter more loose sand. It made the climb more difficult, and I had to shove my feet into it to gain any sort of traction.

Cion stopped in front of me, his shape silhouetted against a cascade of sand. He plunged through it.

I wasn’t sure what I’d find inside, but I followed him.

I took a breath and pushed forward. I stumbled into a small circle of light. Cion caught me, his arms lingering on my waist as he set me gently on my feet.

Above us was a hole wide enough that I couldn’t touch either side. Sand trickled in around the edges, forming a curtain around us and covering the floor.

“Where are we?” I asked.

He pointed to the sky visible through the hole. “This is the best spot for watching shooting stars. It’s not always accessible, but a sandstorm usually clears it out.”

Across the visible sky, the stars hazed in and out of focus like lanterns in a faraway town. Even from my balcony ledge they’d never looked that bright before.

As we watched, one fell away from the others, dragging itself across the sky and leaving a trail of light behind. Then another dripped from the heavens. They shot toward the horizon, chasing one another.

There was an old myth that the sun was made up of stars. When the sun rose during the day, bits would break off and linger in the sky, visible at night. People believed there was one star for every person. The day you were born was the day your bit of star would break away to decorate the sky. The day you died was the day your star would shoot across the sky, going back to the horizon, returning your light to the sun so that it could go on supporting the living.

Cion released his hold on me and motioned for us to lie down.

I sank in next to him. Sand filled around my hips and back.

I expected Cion to speak. He didn’t.

But the silence was peaceful, nothing like that first day out here when I couldn’t think of a single topic besides training that we could talk about.

We just lay there, our bodies almost touching as we watched the sky go round.

“Do you believe in the story about the stars? That there’s one for each of us?” I finally asked.