Peleus was known for his charity. A man of a small kingdom, yet fairly large heart — for young boys, anyway. For potential soldiers who may serve in his army. And for his son, Achilles.

Fair-haired, tall, and strong — Achilles was everything you were not. Confident, brave, honest, and mischievous. A year older than you, as well. He could juggle and play the lyre, and had a voice like honey. You envied him. You adored him.

As the two of you grew together, you having become one of Peleus’s foster boys (and named Achilles’s therapon), it became easier to slip away from the palace. To visit the olive groves, or the beach. The two of you would waste long hours away that felt only like minutes. With each other’s company, everything was infinite.

Nobody questioned your absence. “Boys will be boys,” King Peleus had said. And that was it.

It is summer. It is hot, and everything is sticky and soft. You and Achilles have found a slow-moving river. Your companion lies upon his back, foot lodged between two rocks so that he doesn’t float away, eyes closed as he soaks in the cool water. You lie on your stomach atop the riverbank. Insects buzz in the weeds and birds sing in the trees. The day could not get any more perfect.

“I have been thinking,” Achilles speaks without opening his eyes. “I wish to name my own constellation.”