Little Pink Starfish

Lesha Lan Gwen

Ever since Nyne exploded in anger because of Gwen, the priests had avoided even mentioning the banquet or the Leshas of Yeonhwa Hall. Yet, Nyne remained in a foul mood for days. He would become furious remembering Lan Gwen’s arrogant demeanor, then strangely soothed when he recalled the moment Gwen was being flogged. Normally, seeing someone punished wouldn’t make him feel anything—but recalling Gwen’s whipping brought him a twisted sense of relief.

Trying to lift Nyne’s spirits, the priests would often nudge Yiwu’s side. Yiwu, who usually stood silently next to his stern superior, would then flinch and open his mouth to speak.

“This heat reminds me of something…”

Lu, who was sitting nearby after pouring Nyne a cold drink, glared at Yiwu. Lately, Lu had come to see Yiwu as someone stealing Nyne’s favor and had grown openly hostile. Nyne gently patted Lu’s head before asking:

“What is it?”

“It was one of those hot days when even the afternoon drills were canceled. We were starving after morning training, but it wasn’t mealtime yet. One of my comrades, Gaour, has eight younger siblings. With that many mouths to feed, food’s often scarce. Apparently, his family used to make something called ‘mud cookies’ for the younger kids. Said nothing beats it for staving off hunger…”

The tale of the warrior-priests huddled together under the blazing sun, baking mud cookies and ending up sick with stomachaches—only to have their wages docked—was enough to make even Lu chuckle. Amused, Nyne gave Yiwu real sweets, impressed by how he’d once brought back fine mud from the garden pond and baked mock cookies.

As Yiwu, thrilled with the rare treat, was beginning to share another story, a priest approached quickly from afar. He bowed before Nyne and said in a soft voice:

“Sha Amon wishes to see you by the lake.”

At those words, Nyne rose from where he had been lazily reclining. The priests quickly tidied his rumpled robes and ornaments. Once dressed, Nyne climbed into the palanquin and urged the bearers to move faster. When they arrived at the lake, the day was especially hot, and sweat drenched the palanquin bearers. Nyne clicked his tongue lightly and said:

“Give each bearer a bottle of wine.”

“T-Thank you so much, Sha!”

The bearers were overwhelmed by the sudden reward and fell to the ground in gratitude. Leaving them behind, Nyne walked on.

As he passed the shady stone path lined with palm trees and columns, Nyne’s eyes widened. A large boat floated on the lake—twice the size of the one he usually used. Its hull was painted white, giving it a divine, majestic air. Amon, standing between the columns, had already sensed Nyne’s presence and turned to look at him.

“Sha Amon.”

Beaming, Nyne quickly approached, bowed, and then looked at the boat with excitement. Sacred inscriptions decorated its side—praising Amon’s greatness. Amon gave the white boat a glance as well.

Unlike Nyne, Amon enjoyed the sun. Without a fan or canopy, he stood beneath its full blaze, and his golden eyes gleamed unnaturally bright in the light. Despite the heat, no sweat touched his body. Nyne quietly reached for Amon’s arm—it was so hot it defied belief. Every time, this amazed Nyne anew. Amon looked down at the pale hand resting on his arm and said:

“Since it’s so hot today, Iyad suggested a boat ride. I remembered you once said you liked boating, so I called you.”

“Thank you, Amon.”

Nyne couldn’t hide the happiness in his face—Amon had thought of him. Amon boarded first, and Nyne followed. The boat was even more spacious and luxurious than expected.

Under a shaded canopy, a splendid table was set. Wine bottles chilled in ice-filled basins, and fresh fruits, sweets, and breads of every kind were piled on platters. Atop each dish were mana stones and rare minerals, decorative and decadent, for Amon.

As the boat set off, priest-rowers took the oars—slaves were not permitted near Amon. A cool breeze blew as the boat moved. Nyne poured wine into Amon’s goblet, watching his hair flutter in the wind, and asked something he’d always wondered:

“Your body’s so hot… are you not uncomfortable in this heat?”

“This is nothing.”

Still curious, Nyne reached out and touched his arm again. At this heat, an ordinary human would have suffered injury or death. Amon’s eyes curved slightly as he saw Nyne’s fingers touch him again.

“Can you really feel it properly just from that?”

Before Nyne could answer, a strong arm coiled around his waist like a snake. In the blink of an eye, Amon had pulled him into his lap, seating Nyne across his thighs. Embarrassed, Nyne flushed as he leaned back against Amon’s muscular arm. No one reacted—this happened often enough that the priests weren’t surprised.

Amon slowly sipped his wine, cradling Nyne. Caught in the heat of his embrace, Nyne didn’t know what to do. Amon asked:

“Now do you feel it?”

“…Yes.”

He really could feel it now. Nyne didn’t normally suffer much in the heat, but soon sweat began to bead on his forehead. Amon looked pleased, so Nyne didn’t dare ask to be released and simply endured it. After drinking more wine, Amon licked the sweat rolling down Nyne’s temple.

“Such a fine scent.”

It was unclear if he meant the wine or Nyne. Fortunately, under the canopy and with priests fanning them, Amon’s heat slowly began to cool.

As the boat glided across the lake, the sunlight flickering on the water looked dreamlike. Nyne, cradled in Amon’s arms, gently kicked his feet and took in the beautiful view. Eventually, Amon’s body cooled so much it felt even cooler than a normal person’s.

Comforted by the coolness, the gentle breeze, and Amon’s warm lap, Nyne’s eyelids began to droop. Just as he started dozing off, a sudden gust of wind rocked the boat, followed by screams—startling him awake.

From his high position on the boat, Nyne saw immediately what had happened. As the waves tossed the boat, a few priests standing by the railing had fallen into the water. He spotted them flailing, struggling to stay afloat.

“P-Please help! Save us!”

They were likely poor swimmers, gulping water as they tried to reach the boat. Nyne was about to tell someone to throw them a rope or plank—when a laugh rang out above his head.

“Haha! Look at them—flailing like water beetles.”

Amon had laughed, watching the priests drown. Even more shocking, the priests who had been about to throw empty barrels for rescue lowered their hands at Amon’s remark.

Amon stroked Nyne as he looked down at the drowning men, completely indifferent. These were his loyal servants, yet he watched them struggle with amusement—like ants caught in rainwater.

Goosebumps prickled the back of Nyne’s neck. How could he find this funny? People were dying… If it were Popo or Lu in the water, Nyne would never sit still like this.

As he watched Amon smile, a question rose in Nyne’s mind. Does Amon truly admire his followers’ noble struggle? Or does he simply enjoy watching people die like insects?

Yet even more chilling than Amon’s attitude were the priests who clapped along with him.

“Yes, Sha. They really are splashing like water beetles.”

Ossen Iyad, Amon’s head priest, looked particularly delighted. Glancing around, Nyne saw others smiling as well.

Moments like this made Nyne feel distant—not just from Amon, but from everyone. This was why, despite revering and loving Amon, he hesitated to seek him out. A cold weight pressed on his chest like a stone.

Ossen Iyad ordered the boat to go faster, then turned to Nyne.

“Are you enjoying yourself too, Sha Nyne?”

From Amon’s lap, Nyne bit his inner cheek. Feeling Amon’s gaze from above, he forced himself to reply.

“…Yes.”

“As long as both Shas are pleased, we are honored.”

Ossen bowed deeply, then suddenly turned and kicked a nearby priest off the boat. The priest screamed as he fell into the water, and Nyne gasped. His heart pounded wildly. Noticing this, Amon placed a hand over Nyne’s chest. His now-cooled hand stroked gently—but rather than calming him, it only made Nyne’s nerves flare sharper.