Little Pink Starfish

“Sha, then how about this pomegranate ornament? It would look perfect with the waterbird-shaped collar.”

“No.”

“Shall we go with the poppy flower design, then?”

“No, I don’t like it.”

In the vast Trastasa, there were only two beings who could be addressed by the sacred and highest title—Sha. And when one such noble Sha acted picky, dismissing both emeralds and rubies, the attendant priests fidgeted nervously, unsure what to do. A priest had just reported that Sha Amon had passed the Third Tower Gate, and finally, Popo stepped in. She was the longest-serving of Nine’s attendants and a seasoned priestess.

“Lord Nine, then how about this platinum amber set?”

It was a rare privilege to address a Sha by name, and the other attendants looked on in envy. Only Popo, his attendant priestess, and Ru, the fan-bearer, were allowed such familiarity. Popo took a large amber necklace from the jewelry box held by a slave. The teardrop-shaped amber held a scorpion inside, making it so valuable it could command a king’s ransom.

With gentle hands, Popo fastened the necklace around Nine’s neck. Then she added the matching bracelet and anklet, as well as a thin circlet. A perceptive slave adjusted the mirror so Nine could see himself.

“It suits your eye color beautifully, Lord Nine.”

Nine’s expression softened slightly as he looked at his reflection. The priests watching sighed in relief. As Nine stood, the kneeling slaves holding the jewelry box slowly backed away on their knees.

“Lord Nine, why are you so sharp this morning? Are you in a bad mood?”

Ru, the fan-bearer, gently waved the large fan and asked casually. Popo glared at him for his impudent tone, but Ru pretended not to notice.

This handsome young man was the third son of the Mayri family, a line known for producing high priests like Am-Net. He was often arrogant and bossy. He didn’t speak rudely to Sha Nine, but his way of speaking could come off as impertinent.

Popo disapproved of Ru’s behavior, but Nine didn’t seem to mind. In fact, he often enjoyed Ru’s bold manner. Dodging the ticklish tip of the ostrich feather fan with a tilt of his head, Nine replied curtly:

“I don’t know.”

“Is it the new Resha that’s bothering you?”

Nine didn’t reply, but he didn’t deny it either. Ru continued, unfazed.

“I heard the new Resha has such rare eye and hair colors that they might even catch Sha Amon’s eye. Do you think it’s true?”

“Ru!”

Popo finally scolded him in a low voice. But Ru just shrugged and went back to fanning, his arms firm from daily work.

Ru wasn’t wrong. Nine was indeed curious about the new Resha. The people of Trastasa all had black hair and black eyes. Even rare variations were only a shade of brown. But this new Resha was said to have extremely rare colors.

Nine had seen a few foreigners before—shiny golden-haired, blue-eyed envoys from the West, silver-haired, gray-eyed merchants from the icy North. They weren’t like the black-haired people of Trastasa, but they were still human. However, the new Resha was said to have colors that only a god could possess.

Of course, no one dared say “god-like colors” in front of Nine. But he had sharp ears and could hear the gossip whispered by gardeners on the terrace.

Normally, Nine wouldn’t care how many Reshas came into the Lotus Hall. But lately, he’d been moody and irritable. In that state, even blasphemous rumors got under his skin. He was curious—what exactly were this Resha’s hair and eye colors? Were they truly enough to interest Amon?

He’d gone to see for himself but was disappointed when the Resha wasn’t there. That disappointment lingered, spoiling his mood all day.

“It is an honor that Sha Amon is receiving the new Resha. Surely Lord Nine will welcome them graciously as well.”

Popo coaxed him with her usual gentle tone. Nine didn’t want to agree, so he just rejected the thought silently. He had never liked the Reshas. Though they served the Sha, their role was more like royal concubines than sacred servants…

A priest kneeling in front of Nine carefully placed Nine’s foot on his thigh and slipped on new shoes. New leather could hurt the skin, so a priest with similar foot size had been breaking them in for days on a cloth-covered floor. Nine watched this disinterestedly, chin resting on his hand, thinking:

Even if the colors are rare, Amon likely won’t care, just like always.

Dozens, maybe hundreds of Reshas had passed through the Lotus Hall, and never once had there been a record of Amon showing particular interest. But Nine thought of the gods living beyond Trastasa. Was the new Resha truly human?

As if reading his thoughts, Popo spoke.

“Sha Amon is your father and your consort, Lord Nine. He gave you sacred flesh, blood, and a pure spirit. You must return his care. The Reshas are those who will serve you in the afterlife.”

“…Fine, I understand.”

Grudgingly, Nine rose to his feet. A priest had just reported that Amon passed the Second Tower Gate. With dozens of priests and slaves following, Nine began to walk.

The Grand Temple of Trastasa was too vast to be called a mere temple. It was practically a city. The temple’s entrance was at the harbor. Countless ships brought offerings, priests, worshippers, and slaves from all over Trastasa via the great river port.

From the harbor to the First Tower Gate stretched a grand boulevard called the Path of Processions. Towering palm trees lined both sides, casting shadows, while sacred leopard statues glared at all who approached the temple.

After a long walk under the gaze of these statues, one would reach the Ninth Tower Gate—a massive gate between building-like walls taller than the trees, wide enough for four carriages to pass. Flags flew high above from long poles, showing off Trastasa’s glory.

There were nine tower gates total, leading to the Holy of Holies. The right to pass through each gate depended on one’s rank. Only a select few could pass from the Ninth to the First Gate without obstruction—and the most noble among them was now just passing through the First Gate.

Under layered canopies that perfectly blocked the sunlight, Nine watched Amon’s chariot come to a stop. Four well-bred warhorses, gleaming with sweat, pawed at the ground. Behind them, soldiers and priests stood in perfect formation.

Then Amon stepped down from the chariot.

The first thing Nine noticed was his emotionless golden eyes. Though Nine saw the same eyes in the mirror every day, they never felt like his. But those golden eyes suited Amon perfectly.

Though the priests praised Nine’s beauty endlessly, he lacked the physical presence that Amon had. Amon’s body, visible outside his white linen loincloth, was covered in thick muscles—not sluggish, but like the ideal form of a warrior, unmarred by scars.

Unlike the fully armored soldiers, Amon wore only the loincloth and golden ornaments that gleamed under the sun. Despite countless monster hunts, he had never returned with a single wound.

Nine had once gone on a hunt with Amon—not to hunt, but to watch. Monsters couldn’t enter the sacred land, but on Trastasa’s outskirts, they still attacked people, requiring regular hunts. Soldiers and combat priests were usually enough, yet Amon often led the hunts himself.

In battle, Amon was exactly what the people of Trastasa called him: the god of war. He never let monsters land a single blow. Without weapons—no sword or spear—he tore the beasts apart with his bare hands like a demon. All that remained after his passage was the void left by vanishing monsters, and countless magic stones…