The shadow falls over them and Koby shivers -- not because there's any chill he can feel, not with the youthful stardust in his veins, the light that thrums like a living thing in his chest. He's always warm, always bright, for each star is a sun, right? Especially the North Star, guiding and lighting the way for anyone who calls on him. But what about those who don't -- or those who curse his name for failing them, for letting them wander in the darkness? What aspect of Koby do those people see?

An opposite. Nothingness, a void, a lack of light and heat. Or perhaps a consuming sort of emptiness, a star turned supernova. A black hole. Both thoughts are equally disturbing, as is the fact that Koby doesn't know. He can feel the potential of it, an edge of darkness to all he does, even now, but he hasn't ever let himself explore that, learn what actually lies beyond that edge. He could lose control and he has no clue what'll happen.

Arms crossed, he looks up at the ship, the sight of it tugging threads of memory. The feeling of smallness, of helpless desperation for something to cling to. Perhaps that's worse, then, than either being nothing or a black hole. Being what he once was. "A few years," he replies finally, the time sounding both far too long and infinitesimally short, to someone who's grown accustomed to eternity. "It's slow-growing. But it's not going away."