Little Pink Starfish

Is Lan Gwen backed by someone that powerful? Nyne wondered briefly, but quickly realized—no. If he had influential backing, he wouldn’t have been seated at the lowest end during the Yeonhwa Hall banquet. The only reason he was now seated near the top at the ceremony was singular: because Sha Amon had, even once, shown interest in him. The priests had rearranged the seats accordingly.

Unconsciously, Nyne glanced at Amon’s face. Fortunately, this time, Amon showed not even the slightest interest in Lan Gwen. He appeared indifferent to everything around him, picking up a beautiful gemstone from among the offerings that Ossen Iyad had carefully selected. As Nyne heard the crunch of Amon biting into a large topaz, he flinched.

Ossen Iyad then approached on his knees, presenting more of the gem pile. Jewels of every color and brilliance sparkled before them. Nyne, unlike Amon, couldn’t crush gemstones with his teeth. Instead, he picked a glossy black pearl and swallowed it—pearls being the only gemstones humans could safely consume.

As both Shas accepted the tributes, priests brought out grand trays. Smaller trays were placed in front of each Lesha as well. Soon, dishes prepared with great care since dawn were laid out.

Fragrant wine in deep blue bottles, whole roasted calves, steamed giant fish with tender meat on golden platters, fruit hanging from golden branches as if still on the tree, gem-decorated desserts, and fresh flowers scattered on the ground—it was the epitome of extravagance and indulgence.

Once the food was set, the ceremony moved to the next stage. Priests holding enormous drums raised their sticks and began to beat: boom, boom, boom. Nyne chewed his inner cheek in anxiety—his most dreaded part of the ceremony was beginning.

From the far end of the square, two chariots entered. Warriors raised their swords high and shouted; the crowd roared in response. Behind the chariots marched rows of armed soldiers. The procession circled the square slowly, showered with petals tossed by the crowd.

When the chariots had made a full circle, the warriors dismounted and approached the base of the stairs. Kneeling, they shouted:

“With the brave heart of a lion and the loyal soul of a donkey, we greet Sha. I am Yukast of the Iden family!”

“I am Haseph of the Sephar family. I humbly offer my body and spirit to Sha.”

These were noble-born warriors, and the soldiers who followed them were not slaves but formally trained young men. After paying their respects, they fanned out to either side of the square. Nyne’s heart began to pound—he knew what came next.

Unlike the brief duels between slaves at banquets, ceremonies involved grand-scale mass combat. It was a spectacle of valor for Sha, a demonstration meant to bring him satisfaction. The bloodier, the more brutal, the better. Fighting and dying for Sha was considered noble and honorable by the families involved.

Of course, those who won and survived were showered with glory, wealth, and renown.

The warriors, draped in their family crests, raised their swords and shields and let out war cries. The crowd joined in, cheering wildly. Soon, the warriors charged, crashing into each other. The clash of metal echoed: clang, clang!

From their high seat, Nyne could see everything with nothing to obstruct his view. The warriors were all elite, performing feats beyond what ordinary humans could ever manage—leaping higher than a man’s head, hurling opponents through the air.

This kind of spectacle could only be seen during ceremonies for Sha. The crowd’s faces flushed with excitement. As Ossen Iyad watched the battle with a smile, he turned to Amon, who was watching with quiet interest.

“Sha, what do you think? Which warrior do you expect to win?”

“Sephar. For a human, he has skill.”

“Indeed. The fate of their house rests on this fight. Haseph of Sephar is their only heir.”

Bowing, Ossen offered this information. Then he turned to Nyne, who was biting his lip while watching the fight.

“Sha Nyne, which warrior do you believe will win?”

Nyne, feeling his chest thump with every beat of the drums, replied a beat late.

“…I agree with Lord Amon.”

“Ah, yes. A foolish question from your servant.”

Ossen’s flattery went unheard—Nyne was fixated on the carnage before him. People were stabbing, slashing, and dying. He took a deep breath, trying to moisten his dry mouth. They fight because they believe they will be blessed in the afterlife…

But then—does the afterlife even exist?

It was a blasphemous question, one that should never arise within the Great Temple of Amon. It was a question Nyne could ask no one—not here, not ever. Yet it remained always in his heart. When witnessing Amon’s inhuman powers, the afterlife seemed possible. But at other times, Nyne couldn’t even believe in his own role as a Sha, let alone an afterlife.

If the afterlife didn’t exist, then these men were simply killing one another as entertainment—pointless, grotesque slaughter. Flesh was torn. Blood flowed. Nyne finally turned his head away. Popo, standing behind him, gently massaged his shoulders and whispered,

“Lord Nyne, perhaps the ceremonial attire today is making you tired?”

Her fingers, under the guise of a massage, subtly guided his chin back forward. Nyne had no choice but to look again. Nearly half the fighters had already fallen.

Haseph of Sephar moved like a lion through sheep. When his sword cleaved through an enemy’s neck, Nyne winced and shut his eyes tightly. Struggling to remain composed, he turned his eyes to the food. He wasn’t remotely hungry but pretended to take interest.

“I want an apricot.”

A priest quickly sliced one and handed it to him. Biting into the piece, it felt like he was chewing flesh. He spit it out before long, and the priest bowed deeply in apology while another knelt and wiped Nyne’s sticky fingers with a cold towel. Nyne muttered curtly.

“Cold water.”

“Yes, Sha.”

The priest who had brought the apricot retreated, and another offered a golden cup filled with ice-cold water. Even half-melted, the water from the ice chest was chilling. Nyne drank the herb-infused water, trying to calm his racing heart.

Looking around, he saw not one person who shared his reaction. No one was scared. In fact, many craned their necks, eager for a better view. Amon watched the battle with amused interest, while the Leshas quietly placed bets on the outcome. Lu alternated between watching the fight and gazing at Sha Amon with awestruck eyes.

Nyne felt like the only abnormal person there.

Everyone else was enjoying it—but he never could. Every time, a chill ran down his back and cold sweat beaded on his skin. He always blamed the sweat on the heat. He was supposed to bless the valiant warriors who gave their lives to Sha. But he hated the blood, the screams, the death. That was not how a Sha should feel…

No one treated him badly. No one hurt him. Amon cherished him dearly. So why did he suffer these relentless feelings of dread? The thought left him overwhelmed by a crushing sadness and helplessness.

“Kill him! Kill him!”

“Smash his skull in!”

“Rip him to shreds!”

Snapped back to the present by the roar of the crowd, Nyne looked up. Only one warrior from the opposing side remained. Just as Amon predicted, Haseph of Sephar had won. A few soldiers stood behind him. Haseph, soaked in blood, glared with white-hot eyes. The remaining enemy staggered, tried to fight back, but was soon cut down—his chest split open, blood pouring out.

The crowd erupted, shouting Amon’s name in frenzied worship.

Haseph triumphantly decapitated the fallen enemy. A priest quickly stepped forward with a golden tray, onto which the wide-eyed head was placed. The priest climbed the dozens of stairs with short, quick steps. The other fallen soldiers’ heads were also placed as offerings atop the pile of treasures on the altar. Blood trickled down from the altar, soaking the lowest layers of the luxurious tribute.

To build on the ritual’s momentum, the priests now led out bulls and pigs. As they slaughtered the screaming animals, their white robes were drenched red. The priests, bathed in steam and blood, lifted the freshly slain beasts onto the altar.

Severed warrior heads and butchered animals.

As if, in the eyes of Sha, humans and beasts were no different.