Little Pink Starfish

He was curious how the people of Trastasa lived in their daily lives, but unfortunately, he couldn’t see it for himself. The rumor that the Shas were leaving for the Hunting Festival had spread, and crowds had poured into the streets to bow along the central avenue. All Nyne could see were empty buildings, abandoned market stalls, and the backs of countless bowed heads.

As he continued to watch, the carriage passed through the Sixth Tower Gate. Then, when it crossed the Seventh Gate, Nyne’s golden eyes lit up even more. He eagerly gazed out with childlike curiosity. The people’s clothing and the buildings grew older and shabbier—but that only made it more interesting to him.

A nursing infant suckling its thumb while tugging at its mother’s hair, unaware and cradled in her arms… an old dog bowing alongside its owner without understanding why… a plump merchant… apples and dates stacked like mountains… bolts of dyed cloth drying on high poles… pottery baking in kilns—Nyne took it all in.

Finally, the carriage passed the Ninth Tower Gate, and a harbor came into view. He’d heard there was a harbor near the entrance of the Grand Temple, but this was the first time he’d seen it. Compared to the grand ships, the leaf-sized rowboats wobbled on the river. Fishermen aboard these tiny boats bowed flat when they saw the Sha’s procession. So absorbed was Nyne by the scenery that he didn’t notice when the avenue ended and the carriage bumped sharply.

“…Ah!”

The carriage jolted, and Nyne’s body swayed—but before he could hit anything, a firm hand caught him. Amon had drawn close and wrapped an arm around him. Half-embraced in Amon’s arms, Nyne flustered for a moment before quickly expressing gratitude.

“Thank you, Lord Amon.”

“You must be careful not to be harmed.”

Amon’s strong fingers slowly brushed Nyne’s side. Nyne gave a strained smile. Just like last time, the phrase “not to be harmed” echoed uncomfortably inside him. Gazing out the window from within Amon’s embrace, Nyne glanced up at him.

Unlike Nyne, Amon showed no interest in the view outside. He was focused solely on Nyne. Even when their eyes met, Amon showed no awkwardness, no discomfort—this unfiltered attention and observation were often what made Nyne feel a strange dissonance around Amon. Lowering his gaze and lips slightly parted, Nyne asked,

“Lord Amon… Is there a particular reason you always tell me not to be ‘harmed’?”

Amon gave him a look as if wondering why such an obvious question was even being asked. But as always, he didn’t ignore Nyne’s words.

“Because I do not want you to be harmed.”

“No, I didn’t mean it like that… Usually, people say ‘don’t get hurt.’ I was wondering if there was a specific meaning behind your choice of words.”

Nyne always felt uncomfortable when Amon spoke as if he were handling an object—telling him not to be “damaged.” But since he seemed to be the only one Amon ever worried about in this way, he simply accepted it. He didn’t want to upset Amon by seeming overly sensitive.

Still, perhaps because they were outside the temple today, he felt a strange courage stir within him. Nervously swallowing, Nyne waited for an answer. Thankfully, Amon merely stroked his hair and didn’t seem offended by the question.

“There’s no special meaning. It’s just that, in the Grand Temple, more people say ‘don’t be harmed’ than ‘don’t get hurt.’ So I use the same words.”

Amon’s answer surprised Nyne. It wasn’t because he thought of Nyne as an object, but rather because that’s how things were said in the Grand Temple. And more surprisingly, it revealed something about Amon: it felt as if his entire experience with humans came only from temple priests.

Indeed, “don’t get hurt” was a phrase rarely heard in the Temple. People were expected to bleed or die for the Shas. Slaves were treated like walking tools. At best, they might be told, “Don’t damage your body—it belongs to the Sha,” or “Maintain your health for the Sha’s sake.”

Now that he understood the reason, Nyne felt a small knot in his chest loosen. Gathering more courage, he asked:

“Then… I’m not just some pleasing object in your eyes, am I?”

Amon looked puzzled by the question, clearly not understanding why Nyne would ask such a thing.

“You are a living being. How could you be an object?”

“…Right?”

Without realizing it, Nyne smiled. Amon reached out and gently touched the corners of his upturned lips with a fingertip. Tilting his head, golden eyes narrowing, Amon’s black hair mingled with Nyne’s.

“I don’t know why that made you happy. But your smile is pleasing to look at.”

Even though his words showed how little Amon understood humans, Nyne didn’t mind. What mattered was that Amon cherished him and thought him beautiful. Compared to when they had first met…

When they had first met…?

Watching the massive river flow past the window, Nyne caught himself.

Compared to when we first met?

Why was he thinking that? It was as if he remembered meeting Amon for the first time…

Trying to recall it, he searched his memory. But no clear image came to mind. The farther back he went, the more foggy and blurred everything became. Eventually, he gave up.

Surely, he had been a baby when he first met Amon. No one remembers anything from that age. A body so young is foolish and forgetful by nature.

And yet… Nyne felt a vague sense of wrongness. Biting his lip, he tried to pinpoint the unease—but then the breathtaking scenery outside stole his attention. His eyes widened in shock.

Beyond the grasslands where cattle and goats grazed, golden waves of desert shimmered. In the far distance, black mountains rose. Though they were a familiar sight from within the Grand Temple, he now truly recognized how massive they were.

“That mountain range is really big and long, Lord Amon.”

Nyne marveled at the majestic, artistic appearance of the dark peaks. Though he saw them often, today they felt entirely new. Turning to Amon, he asked,

“Have you ever been there, Lord Amon?”

“Yes. That is where I was born.”

Even the attending priests, who had been kneeling with heads lowered, glanced up in surprise before quickly bowing again. Nyne was just as stunned. He had always vaguely assumed Amon had descended from the heavens. But this…

“You were born in the mountains, Lord Amon?”

“More precisely, deep beneath the mountain range—inside the magma.”

Nyne’s eyes grew wide. This wasn’t written in any scripture. He already knew Amon wasn’t human, but to be born in molten lava?

The attending priests trembled in awe at the privilege of hearing the Sha’s origin story directly from his mouth.

“That was a very long time ago.”

Amon said it flatly, glancing briefly outside. His expression showed no emotion for the mountains he’d been born in. Seeing that, Nyne forced himself not to ask more. Instead, he stared out, imagining Amon breaking through the black rock of the molten mountains as he emerged into the world.

The carriage continued down the river path. Its pace wasn’t fast—though the divine horses could run endlessly, the people walking behind couldn’t. As the sun neared its peak, the carriage finally stopped for rest. The vast procession halted in a long line.

Curious, Nyne opened the carriage door and stepped down. Immediately, Seinka Hoan and Iyu, along with other warrior priests, appeared. To Nyne, the presence of priests all around—and of Amon himself—meant the area seemed safe. But the warrior priests were different: they stood tense, eyes sharp, ready to strike down any suspicious person on sight.

“Lord Nyne!”

From another carriage, Lu rushed over and held a fan over Nyne’s head. Seeing Lu’s pale, motion-sick face, Nyne chuckled.

“You look half-dead, Lu.”

“Ugh, don’t even ask. I’ve been nauseous this whole time… Honestly, I think I’d have preferred walking.”

Lu grumbled and exaggerated his suffering—but when he saw the sweat-drenched faces of those who’d come on foot, he quickly fell silent. The warrior priests looked fine, thanks to their endurance—but everyone else was clearly exhausted from the heat.