A few nights later,she stood by the crater. A tiny blossom grew from the blackened dirt. She walked back up the knoll to retrieve her waterskin from her basket, taking it to the blossom and crouching by its side. She poured water into her palm, sprinkling it over the delicate green leaves.
That was how he found her, kneeling over the innocent flower with a gentle smile on her face.
The sun was setting, casting the meadow in lilac.
"You have never told me your name." She couldn’t look him in the eye, instead focusing on the way her fingers fluttered over the bloom. Her Stella rose to meet it, gentle blue sparking over the edges.
He sat beside her, his legs dangling over the crater. His face hardened as he stared into the charred pit.
"I do not have one."
At that, she turned to look at him fully.
"Celestials are nameless," he said.
Her fingers fell away from the bloom. She could not imagine being nameless. Names made them who they were. Without it,they were nothing—only Souls.
She shifted, dirt on her knees as her skirts rose. "Do you wish for a name?"
His dark eyes flicked over her face, falling to where her hands were in the dirt, leaning toward him. She liked to think she was getting better at understanding his expressions.
Perhaps she was fooling herself. He was not beholden to the idiosyncrasies of humans. He was a being wholly unto himself, unable to be known.
"Would you name me?" he asked.
It was forward of her but… "Yes."
"Very well, Vesperin Vox. Grant me a name."
"I will," she replied, "though not now. Names are important."
She vowed to put the most effort into giving him a name.
As the weeks passed, each time he would see her, instead of a greeting, he would say, "Have you chosen for me?"
To which she would reply, time after time, "No."
She spent her days in the archival building when not doing chores. She carried her wax tablet everywhere, writing down names—there were so many.
But none fit.
Her Star needed somethingother.
One afternoon, she saw the clouds and the ever-present everything beyond and above, and untucked her tablet from her satchel, quickly scratching down,Cosmos.
Later that night, staring at her ceiling, she scratched away the word.
That was not a fitting name for him. It wasotherenough, but not quite right.
There was a leather-bound tome in the archival building, an image of their planet, Stella, on the cover. Her fingers traced over the sketches and words with fervor.
That was the moment she knew she’d found his name.
She held onto it for many more days, wanting to ensure it was right.
Finally, she could keep it secret no longer.
"Have you chosen?" he asked as he came to sit beneath the willow tree.
