Little Pink Starfish

Even if by some stroke of luck one survived the fall into the Abyss, they would have been swallowed whole by the drifting, jellyfish-like beings—the rejected existences.

These entities filled their bodies and powers by consuming others, striving to claw their way back up the Abyssal cliffs and return to this world.

Eoris once said: when a being becomes physically capable of climbing back from the Abyss, the last remnants of their sanity vanish, and all traces of humanity are lost. That’s why he, who still loves humans, seeks to return as a god, not as a beast.

When Ishar first entered the Sanctum as emperor, Eoris had revealed such secrets to charm him—handing over the truth of the world with disturbing ease.

Ishar could imagine what Veloan might have endured after falling down there. The pain, the fear…

And yet, all he was left with was resentment—resentment for Veloan, who did not summon him.

Why… why didn’t you summon me, Veloan?

From the reports of Aster, Nykid, and the other surviving officers who had been with him until the end, Ishar knew—Veloan had ample time. He could’ve shattered the summoning ring’s gem at any moment.

Even while being pushed toward the Void Zone by the monsters—he had the opportunity. A single claw to the ring would’ve been enough.

Because you were worried about me? Afraid I’d be hurt if dragged into it?

That was senseless. Useless sentiment. Veloan was his disciple.

He, more than anyone, knew just how powerful Ishar was.

Ishar had shown him, time and time again, feats others would call miracles. Not just to teach him—but to protect him from those who targeted him.

Yet in the end, Veloan didn’t call for him. He chose to fall—alone—with the massive monster into the Abyss.

Crack. Ishar’s clenched fist bulged with veins. The shift in his aura made Rekayan flinch and step back.

Just then, a thunderous wind surged up from below—so strong it made it hard to breathe, lashing at Ishar’s hair and robes with relentless force.

Seems I’ve stayed too long.

The wind howled like it carried intent, wrapping itself around Ishar’s body as if trying to pull him in.

It was so fierce that an ordinary human would’ve been swept off their feet. It swallowed even the loudest shouts.

But within that wind—something else stirred.

[He has come.]
[Want to go back want to go back want to go back!]
[Give me your body.]
[That aura—this is the vessel Eoris is after. Hello.]
[I’ll take it. It’s mine.]
[Come down! Come down! Give me your body! If I have your body—I can return—!]

The wind of the Abyss carried the whispers of the rejected—echoes seeping into Ishar’s mind.

Most were barely intelligible sounds, not words. But the ones closer to Eoris had a stronger resonance.

If any other human heard them, they would have gone mad. But Ishar stood still, listening carefully for even a trace—any clue about Veloan.

[Givemegivemegivemegivemegivemegiveme]
[■■■■■■ and ■■■■ gave up and climbed back. So you came? My descendants are so weak.]
[Want to go back want to go back want to go back—]
[Give me your body. Your body. Your body…!]
[Thanks for the laugh. Haven’t seen Eoris lose it like a rabid dog in ages.]
[Ahaha! What a fool! Tricked by a mere human!]
[■■■■■! The vessel that holds your seed has arrived! Rise!]

Even when he focused entirely on the coherent voices, there was nothing meaningful to gain.

“Rekayan.”

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

“We’re leaving.”

“…Yes!”

He wanted to stay. If he could, he would remain until he found Veloan. But he knew he couldn’t.

He was the emperor of the Lucheist Empire.

As Ishar began walking away, Rekayan followed. The path was littered with monster corpses like gravel.

Hoping to ease his sovereign’s heavy mood even slightly, Rekayan began flinging the bodies aside with magic, clearing Ishar’s way.

Boom! Boom! The heavy thuds of crushed corpses echoed as they landed.

One particularly large one splattered viscous fluids when it was slammed down—but from a distance, only dust drifted toward them, which Rekayan quickly redirected with layered wind spells.

“Only I should be stepped on by His Majesty!”

Fueled by that strange conviction, Rekayan felt no fatigue.

Ishar, trying to suppress all thought to keep his emotions in check, opened his mouth slightly at Rekayan’s madness—but said nothing.

They kept walking, eventually reaching a point where the Void ended and the Exile Zone came into view beyond the Great Barrier.

“Rekayan.”

“Yes, Your Majesty!”

“That monster you just threw—bring it back.”

Rekayan obeyed at once. The battered corpse he had flung earlier was summoned back and laid before them.

Even in death, it still exuded a vicious aura. Ishar stepped closer to inspect it, and Rekayan kept his guard up.

“Look at this.”

“Yes— Hmm?”

It looked unfamiliar—but somehow… familiar.

It didn’t take long for Rekayan to remember. This was the humanoid monster called Rasmoth—the one created by the illusion mage from the subjugation force a week ago.

“Your Majesty, isn’t this Rasmoth?”

“Yes. The wound matches where Aster struck it.”

“I thought it fled to recover. Did it die from that injury?”

“No.”

Ishar’s violet eyes, tinged with magic, glowed as he scanned the corpse.

“The cause of death is extraction of the core. This is where it used to be.”

A monster’s core served the same purpose as a human heart. Both visual and magical inspections confirmed it had been yanked out.

“Huh? But this wasn’t magic or a blade… This creature’s body is too tough for such a messy tear. No spell could leave such irregular damage.”

“It’s as if a hand pierced through, grabbed the core, and tore it out. A small, delicate hand—yet one stronger than Rasmoth’s own body. Or maybe a tentacled creature with immense strength.”

Monster anatomy remained a mystery. While there had once been research teams, their work had long since been outlawed across the continent after a major incident.

Ishar recalled the sealed records in the imperial library and gave an order.

“Too dangerous to take as a sample. Burn the corpse.”

Rasmoth was, by Aster’s account, an unprecedented anomaly.

It had internal mana circuits like a mage. If its core had remained, they could’ve verified if it held stored magic.

But leaving it, circuits and all, was too risky.

Rekayan obeyed. Once Rasmoth’s body turned to ash, they moved on.

Eventually, they entered the Exile Zone. Ishar turned to Rekayan.

“The barracks Veloan used—it’s been restored, yes? I’d like to stop there. Do you know where it is?”

“Yes, Your Majesty. I’ll guide you.”

Noticing the hoarseness in Ishar’s voice, Rekayan nodded solemnly and led the way.

When they reached the subjugation camp between the Exile Zone and the Great Barrier, everyone stopped and turned.

“His Majesty has returned!”

“We salute you, Your Majesty! Thank you!”

Everyone here had witnessed Ishar slaying monsters at the front line.

As he passed, soldiers stopped their tasks and knelt in reverence.

Some, devoted followers of Eoris, wept and whispered, “Truly, the Incarnation of Eoris walks among us.”

Without glancing at anyone, Ishar headed for the barracks Veloan had used alone.

“You stay here.”

“Yes.”

Leaving Rekayan behind, Ishar stepped inside.

It had once been trampled by monsters, but now it was spotless.

The restoration mage must have worked meticulously.

He looked around slowly. Just like Veloan’s room in the palace, it was a quiet, minimal space—its simplicity mirroring its occupant. Ishar chuckled.

“It’s a barracks, sure, but couldn’t he have hung a single tapestry? This is just too bleak.”

He murmured into the silence, running his hands over Veloan’s belongings, letting his eyes take in every trace.

The bed Veloan had slept in. Even the items Ishar had hastily crafted and sent him.

Then, in an open desk drawer—a bundle of letters.

To my beloved and respected Ishar.

“……”

Letters. Written by Veloan over the past two months.

The envelopes bore his name and were neatly dated. Ishar’s trembling hands checked them one by one.

From the day Veloan arrived… up until a week ago—before he fell into the Abyss.