Disclaimer: Akatsuki no Yona is the work of Mizuho Kusanagi
Sometimes, in the middle of the night, Zeno would leave his boarding house – a relatively cheap one on the outskirts of town. Under the soothing blanket of darkness, Zeno would purchase whatever food was available from the still-open vendors and steal into the trees. His nimble hands and feet were adept at scaling even the tallest of trees, and so he did.
Up on the highest branch, the twinkling, shimmering fabric of the heavens appeared slightly less elusive than usual, and Zeno fancied it brought him closer to the strange, omnipotent voices in his head. In a sense, it kind of did, for it was there that Zeno often received visions and instructions from the Dragon Gods, though it did nothing to bring him closer to the celestial beings.
Afterwards, Zeno would quietly munch on his snack and tell the stars about his day. He told them about the Water Tribe, how calm and unperturbed they seemed despite rumours of tribal war looming in the horizon. Unlike the Earth Tribe, people did not push and jostle – even at the height of excitement. Their fluid movements were reminiscent of the water for which the tribe was named – steady, smooth, and graceful.
Food quickly became an indispensable part of Zeno's one-sided conversation with the heavens; for he had grown fond of food, and the delicacies of the Water Tribe did not disappoint.
Said to be bland by some, Zeno's sensitive tongue tasted the refreshing sweetness of Water Tribe's desserts. Rather than the sickening sweet of candies and cakes, they were the sweetness of the first sip of water on a parched tongue – a taste which no second sip could replicate.
After the food was finished, Zeno would rest silently up on that highest branch. Others may have feared death from falling, but not Zeno. Even then, he sensed that he had a greater purpose in this world, and the Gods would not let him die that easily (he didn't know they won't let him die at all).
It was in search that purpose that Zeno's wanderlust awoke once again in the spring of his fifteenth year. Heedless of the hushed but incessant murmurs of war, Zeno departed, this time headed straight for the heart of the whispered conflict, the tribe of fire.