Little Pink Starfish

The Emperor, who was usually merciful to commoners, could not afford the same mercy to nobles. Yet Ishar maintained a careful balance between the two.

He always considered the characteristics of each noble house, offering rational terms and second chances. This temperance made it difficult not to follow him.

Now, everyone in the Lucheist Empire praised Ishar. Some even prayed to him, calling him the merciful and benevolent emperor—born to rule.

The devout followers of Eoris still believed he was the divine incarnation sent by Eoris, the one who had brought about the Empire’s rebirth.

But Ishar’s closest aides knew all too well: he was no incarnation of Eoris. He had received no divine revelation.

This was merely an emperor’s form of escapism after losing his disciple.

Into the Emperor’s study seeped the darkness of night—blacker than ink, void of moonlight or stars.

A few hours ago, aides and officials had bustled through the office. Now, only Ishar remained. As always, Shuzel had stayed by his side voluntarily.

“Your Majesty, the night grows late. Please, rest today.”

Knowing he’d be refused again, Shuzel nonetheless pleaded. In truth, he wanted to carry Ishar to bed himself and tuck him in, but he had no choice but to beg with words.

“Please, Your Majesty. You’ve worn yourself thin.”

Since losing Veloan, Ishar had buried himself in work with obsessive fervor.

Meal times, tea breaks in the garden, and sleep—everything had vanished. He worked as if that was all he had ever been made for.

Outwardly, Ishar still looked impeccable. But Shuzel knew.

He knew that Ishar’s aura flow had become unstable. Ishar surely felt it too, but he never allowed himself rest. Today was no exception.

“Sir Quiste, leave now.”

“I cannot, Your Majesty.”

“Do you want me to throw you out?”

“…Your Majesty…”

Even while they spoke, Ishar’s hands never stopped.

Signing documents, stamping with the imperial seal—he handled the massive workload that piled up hourly by himself.

He took care of what should’ve been the aides’ job during regular hours. The only time his hands paused was when reading the national project proposals submitted by various departments.

“Please reconsider, Your Majesty. Even you will collapse at this rate.”

Shuzel didn’t want to interfere. He knew Ishar worked not for vanity but as a form of self-punishment for what he had failed to prevent.

He understood—but he also had his own duty.

Three years had passed. Three years since Veloan’s disappearance. And Ishar had not changed since.

Shuzel could no longer bear to watch his lord and precious person deteriorate like this.

“If sleep won’t come, I’ve prepared medicine. I consulted Sir Ibnshina. It’s safe and aids sleep. It will help, Your Majesty. Will you take it? I’ll stay by your side while you sleep.”

For three years, Ishar had never once used the emperor’s bedchamber.

He didn’t sleep elsewhere either. He simply nodded off while working—maybe an hour or two—without ever falling into true rest.

And even during that brief rest, he often woke up drenched in cold sweat, gasping for air.

Shuzel knew that even in those fleeting moments, Ishar dreamt of Veloan—of the disciple who had fallen into the Abyss.

Once—just once—he had heard Ishar murmur Veloan’s name in a faint, mist-like whisper.

Behind his transparent glasses, Ishar’s violet eyes glinted coldly. Shuzel’s heart dropped at the silent warning in them.

Cross this line, and not even you will be spared.

Shuzel bit his lip.

When Veloan was still with them, Ishar had occasionally allowed private moments—moments of emotional reliance.

But no longer. Since losing his disciple, he no longer allowed anyone to call him “Isha,” no longer showed weakness, no longer leaned on others.

What pained Shuzel even more than the emotional distance, however, was one thing:

Ishar no longer smiled.

Like white ash that had lost even residual warmth—cold, mechanical, devoid of emotion—he buried himself in work to torment himself.

No matter how you looked at it, Ishar’s actions weren’t about duty—they were self-harm for failing to protect his disciple.

“—Sir Quiste. Leave.”

His voice was firm, laced with the will to expel Shuzel by force if necessary. Feeling despair surge within, Shuzel stiffened and bowed his head.

“…Understood. Then I’ll see you this afternoon. Please, take care of yourself.”

After Shuzel left the study, Ishar waited until his presence completely vanished before putting down his pen and rubbing his pounding temple.

His body had reached the realm of a Swordmaster—and had once earned the title of Wizard for his mastery of magic.

At such a level, physical needs like food and waste were almost nonexistent.

But sleep was the exception.

Even for such a body, regular sleep—at least once a week—was necessary to maintain its functions.

But Ishar simply couldn’t sleep.

It was the hope he still hadn’t let go of. The desperate, uncontrollable belief that Veloan might still be alive dragged his heart to hell over and over.

Sometimes, he tried to sleep thinking maybe—just maybe—Veloan would be there when he awoke. But each time, he would open his eyes like a fugitive and find no one.

Recognizing reality, despair would set in again.

So he couldn’t sleep in the bedroom, or the study, or anywhere.

Whenever he did nothing, Veloan’s voice would come back. The soft blond hair that used to intertwine between his fingers, the warmth of his cheeks, his laughter, the weight and heat of the body that used to embrace him—everything resurfaced.

And so Ishar, again today, pushed his deteriorating body to its limits and clung to work.

---

“Waaaah! Former Tower Lord! Former Tower Lord!”

As Ishar exited the audience hall, he narrowed his eyes at Kaiedel, who came running toward him like a rabid gorilla.

Not only had the Tower Lord shown up at the palace without notice, but he was now charging through the inner corridors—reserved for the Emperor and his closest aides—like a lunatic.

It wasn’t just the spectacle that irritated Ishar.

He already had a headache from lack of sleep, and the high-pitched voice reverberated in his skull like a gong.

“You’re being rude, Tower Lord.”

“Uwaaah! I’m sorry! But I bring news even Your Majesty might like!”

“If it’s about the dragon, I’m done with it.”

Two years ago, he had disposed of Krodone, keeping only what was useful and giving the rest to Kaiedel.

The mage had returned to his tower delighted, dragging the dragon’s remains behind, and resumed his own research.

Even without orders, he had begun sharing his findings. Ishar had read them initially, but eventually told him to stop—he wasn’t interested.

But Kaiedel persisted and continued to send results. Sometimes—like now—he barged in with “good news” that Ishar found anything but.

“It’s not about that! Remember I mentioned an increase in dragon corpses being found recently?”

Nod. Ishar didn’t even want to respond. With another appointment ahead, he kept walking, but Kaiedel scurried behind him like a duckling.

“I collected almost all the corpses and started experimenting! And then—I found something fascinating!”

Ishar didn’t even bother with a nod. But Kaiedel continued, eyes gleaming with excitement.

“There might be a species above dragons!”

“Lower your voice.”

“I cast a soundproof spell!”

“That’s not what I meant… Fine. Continue.”

There was no point in asking Kaiedel to summarize—he was a lunatic in a very different way than Rekayan. And since they were nearing the destination, Ishar gave a noncommittal answer, which Kaiedel took as full approval.

“They’re all missing hearts! Not a single dragon corpse has a heart!”

Ishar stopped walking.

Kaiedel, realizing Ishar had finally given him full attention, stopped as well and continued in a trembling, excited voice.

“I secured ten dragon corpses! Eleven if you include Krodone, which you gave me! So I was able to compare—and I found that every single one discovered over the past three years was missing its heart! Every corpse had damage in exactly one spot—like it had been eaten away! And that spot was clearly where the heart had been! Krodone said it, didn’t he? Dragons can move their hearts.”

Like humans, a dragon’s heart was the core of its magic. Once the magic circuit’s convergence point was located, confirming the heart’s original position was easy.