Little Pink Starfish

Iyu looked at Nyne, lying still as if dead, and recalled what had happened a few days prior. When the news spread that Amon had summoned Resha Gwen to his sanctuary, Nyne had not, as the rumors claimed, punished innocent priests or slaves in a fit of jealousy. In truth, Nyne almost never lashed out—he had a temperate and forgiving nature.

As a former commoner, Iyu knew all too well how nobles treated those beneath them. While not quite as wretched as the slaves who were whipped or left to die beneath the burning sun, even commoners were often exploited and beaten to near death. Displeasing a noble or a local lord could leave one crippled for life. The Great Temple was no exception to this cruelty.

The only difference was that so few commoners ever even made it inside the Temple, given its strict entry standards. Since they couldn’t freely vent their anger on priests or artisans, slaves were the ones who suffered the worst of it. Whippings were routine; broken limbs were considered light punishment.

Iyu had once seen a delicate-looking Resha—so beautiful he seemed incapable of plucking a flower—hang a slave upside down in a well, dunking him repeatedly until his face turned pale and he died. Another time, he saw a slave collapse foaming at the mouth after being forced to prostrate endlessly under the sun as punishment “for Sha.” For many priests, the Great Temple was paradise—but for slaves, it was hell on earth.

There was, however, one place even within the Temple where life was bearable for slaves: Sha Nyne’s sanctuary.

Only slaves with flawless appearance, few scars, and no history of mistakes were allowed to work there. Even then, none were permitted to serve Sha directly. Instead, under strict supervision by the priests, they were treated more like tools or furniture. They held up jewel boxes, carried heavy goods and food, and served as palanquin bearers.

And yet, they were happy. They wore clean clothes and were fed nutritious food to maintain a healthy appearance. They weren’t beaten. Even if they made mistakes, they were dismissed rather than maimed or executed.

All this was thanks to the kindness and gentleness of their master—Nyne.

To Iyu, Nyne seemed like someone crafted from the human parts of Amon alone.

Because Nyne once complained that the palanquin bearers smelled of sweat, they now waited in the shade. It seemed like snobbery on the surface, but anyone could tell it was just Nyne’s way of sparing the slaves the heat. There weren’t many masters who handed out cold wine to slaves treated as tools.

Even if Nyne were to slaughter dozens of slaves on a whim, no one would object. In fact, the Temple would secretly encourage such displays of power. And yet he never did.

That’s what made Sha Nyne so unique—and, at times, heartbreakingly pitiful—in Trastasa.

As if sensing Iyu’s gaze, Nyne raised his head. Though such a word might be considered blasphemous when referring to a Sha, he gave Iyu a rather sassy side-eye before sitting up.

“Comb.”

The one-word command sent the priests scrambling. One retrieved Nyne’s hairbrush, while another fetched the panther grooming comb from the trainer. Nyne, of course, wanted the latter. As he began brushing, Nafa the panther pressed her head into his lap and purred.

Luga, his fan-bearer and aide-priest, gave Iyu a smug look as he gently brushed Nyne’s tousled hair.

What a joke, Iyu thought, not even remotely amused. Luga was flaunting his position—the only one allowed to touch Sha’s body—as if to mark his claim. Iyu wasn’t impressed.

To even qualify as a priest serving Sha, one had to be entirely pure. The moment they took a lover or lost their chastity, they were punished and expelled. Their fingernails and toenails had to be clipped to the quick. All body hair—except for their head—had to be completely removed. Painful depilation was required. That included pubic hair.

On top of that, the list of rules—what not to do, what must be done—was so long it made Iyu’s head spin. He could only think: What a miserable life.

“My sweet kitty. You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”

Nyne smiled as he brushed Nafa’s fur. He gave her rump a pat, and the massive feline rolled over. Her open mouth flashed with deadly fangs. The priest brushing Nyne’s hair flinched.

Whenever Nyne played with the panther, both Seinca and Iyu were on edge. Even a swat or nip from that beast could be fatal. Yet this same panther—who once killed her handler and maimed a few priests—was docile only in Nyne’s presence.

Even beasts can sense when someone isn’t ordinary…

Golden eyes, blessed with divinity, were possessed only by Amon and Nyne. And they weren’t merely an unusual eye color. Amon’s gaze made one’s knees weak. Nyne’s made your chest ache in a strange, wistful way. The hue and luminance were so intense that at night, their eyes gleamed faintly like a predator’s.

When Nyne had practiced archery days ago, Iyu had been deeply surprised. It wasn’t just that he was skilled—he didn’t look like someone holding a bow for the first time. He seemed like a seasoned archer, with a rare and shocking talent.

But above all, what made Nyne inhuman was—

“…Iyu.”

His thoughts were cut off as Nyne called to him.

“Yes, Sha. What do you require?”

Iyu hurried forward. Nyne now held a large brush in one hand and gestured toward Nafa.

“Open her mouth.”

“Yes, Sha. …Come here, you big kitty.”

Nafa growled, resisting, but eventually let Iyu pry her jaws open. She finally gave in and let Nyne scrub her sharp teeth. When he finished, she sulked and licked her paw moodily.

Nyne’s expression remained calm throughout. It was the same as when he first heard about Amon summoning a Resha to his sanctuary: no anger, no tears. Just that same serene mask.

But Iyu saw something else—a depth of sadness so vast it chilled him.

In Iyu’s eyes, something was wrong with Nyne’s mind. Many causes could explain it, but the worst offender was the secret monthly ritual led by Osen Iyad.

In that ceremony, Nyne was made to sleep while the room was filled with the smoke of toxic herbs. The kind used to take down large beasts without injuring them. Even an elephant would stagger and collapse under such fumes. Some animals even died.

Astonishingly, Nyne inhaled this smoke for hours without dying or losing his mind. He merely wandered like a sleepwalker for a time before regaining clarity. Afterward, his chronic melancholy always seemed to lift slightly.

But in exchange, Nyne lost pieces of his memory. Like a page with holes burned into it, his recollections became spotty and fragmented.

Iyu had been shocked by this. But the aide-priests like Luga and Popo—and even the other clergy—had grown used to it. They skillfully filled in his missing memories so Nyne wouldn’t notice. Whether it was the lion-emblem belt he had custom-ordered for Amon, or the grisly human sacrifices during the rites, Nyne’s lost memories spanned both the trivial and the horrific.

One reason Iyu thought of the Great Temple as a heaven for zealots and a hell for everyone else… was those sacrifices.

In other temples, human offerings were extremely rare. Commoners were valuable labor. But not here.

Here, people gave their own lives and others’ like moths flying into flame—for Sha. Iyu remembered watching Nyne during one such ritual, his face pale, clearly horrified by it all.

Seinca once said that Nyne was like a child—a young god, not yet matured. One day, he would grow into a complete deity like Amon. But Iyu doubted this.

He didn’t think Nyne’s pain came from immaturity. It came from the simple truth that his soul could not bear the cruelty.