Little Pink Starfish

“You did well.”

Amon’s lips curved into a strange smile as he praised him. Nyne, pulling his hand away, realized his fingers were trembling too much from excitement. He clenched his fist tightly and instinctively glanced around—but there were no attendants nearby, nor anything to wipe his hand with. He considered tearing off a leaf when he responded respectfully.

“But isn’t it more accurate to say you caught it, Amon-nim? You found the leopard, and you helped me shoot the arrow.”

“What matters more is that you were the one who ended its life.”

Nyne could hear deep satisfaction in Amon’s voice. He recalled Amon’s earlier words again: From the small, to the large, and gradually to the cleverer things…

Still holding the blood-soaked dagger and uncertain whether to wipe it on his robe or a leaf, Nyne was suddenly pulled to his feet by Amon. The leaf he’d just plucked was snatched away and tossed aside. Amon then clasped Nyne’s hands in his own and brought them to his mouth.

“A-Amon-nim! It’s dirty!”

Nyne cried out in alarm, but Amon paid no heed. He started at Nyne’s pinky, sucking it in as if biting it gently. His hot, wet tongue licked stickily at the drying leopard blood. Nyne, held still, could only watch as Amon licked and sucked at his fingers one by one.

From pinky to ring finger, ring to middle—his tongue curled and coiled around each one. It was far from tasty, likely fishy and foul, yet Amon savored it as if it were a delicacy. His golden eyes gleamed ominously as he observed Nyne’s flustered expression.

“I could cover you entirely in blood and lick you clean…”

The murmured words sent a chill down Nyne’s spine. He had no doubt Amon was fully capable of carrying out that fantasy. Just getting used to eating butchered beasts was already hard—being soaked in their blood was unthinkable. And knowing Amon’s nature, Nyne doubted he’d be satisfied with just animal blood.

“Your heartbeat slows more and more each time. Are you not becoming used to all of this?”

Nyne couldn’t agree with Amon’s observation. Really…? Is that so? Could it be called getting used to it? Hunting seemed to be an exception—what Nyne felt wasn’t familiarity but resignation.

“How about next time we release humans into the forest for the hunt?”

Amon could easily make that happen. Those crazed priests would, at his command, release young and healthy humans into the woods without hesitation…

Nyne steadied his breath as Amon continued licking the last of the blood from his fingers. Though hesitant to break the pleasant mood between them, he steeled himself.

“Amon-nim.”

When Nyne called, Amon looked at him with languid, satisfied eyes—eyes more beast than man, glowing with hunger and desire. His black hair, disheveled from their movement, resembled feathers or a mane. Nyne thought Amon looked less like a god and more like a beautiful, divine beast.

“Amon-nim, I…”

“Yes.”

Before he could finish, Nyne stepped back. Amon, still holding both hands, leaned forward and licked his neck. His tongue slowly traced the direction of the blood spatter. Nyne stiffened, shivering.

“P-Please wait, Amon-nim.”

“Be still.”

The tongue climbed greedily up his neck, over his cheek, and to his brow. Nyne’s back hit the tree where the leopard had just been resting. At that moment, what flashed through his mind were the warrior priests. Surely, those loyal servants were frantically searching for their Sha.

“N-No. The priests might come soon…”

He struggled and tried to push Amon away, but the god didn’t budge. His eyes, locked on Nyne’s, grew annoyed.

“How many times must I tell you? You need not concern yourself with the gaze of such lowly things.”

Only recently had Nyne grown accustomed to being intimate with Amon in front of the priests. But doing it here, in the forest—this felt different. He suddenly realized why: among the warrior priests was Iyu.

Iyu, Popo, and even Lu held meaning beyond that of simple attendants. The shame he had long tried to suppress rose to his ears in an instant.

“Amon-nim, please…”

Crack.

The sound of wood splintering rang out as Amon, while sucking on Nyne’s burning red ear, crushed the tree trunk in one hand. Nyne flinched and cried out.

“Ah!”

Something had grazed his calf sharply. His voice, clearly pained, caused Amon to pause and look up. Nyne tried to lift his leg to check but couldn’t see due to the angle. As he awkwardly raised his heel, Amon’s gaze dropped downward. Nyne’s eyes widened.

“Amon-nim, your eyes…”

Amon’s eyes were no longer their usual golden irises. They were entirely gold—iris and sclera both. Instinctively, Nyne reached out and brushed his fingers across Amon’s face. In an instant, the eyes returned to normal, but Nyne’s heart pounded uncontrollably as if he had seen something forbidden. Never had he felt so viscerally that Amon was not human.

Amon furrowed his brow and dropped to his knees. For a Sha to kneel before a mortal—truly blasphemous—but there was no stopping him. His hands gripped Nyne’s knee tightly, preventing him from moving.

His palm slid from ankle to thigh, pushing the loincloth up to just below Nyne’s rear. Amon found the wound quickly. When Nyne craned his neck to look, he saw a red line across his calf, likely from a tree branch.

He had never been hurt like this before, as the priests had always cared for him meticulously. Even so, it was a meager scratch—not even bleeding, just a swollen red mark. But Amon, unusually serious, inspected it closely. His cool fingers gently pressed along the wound, checking from start to end.

It stung slightly, but not unbearably. Sensing an opportunity, Nyne spoke.

“Amon-nim, it hurts. My back is scraped, and my arm stings…”

He’d never whined like this before, and his ears turned red from embarrassment. Surprisingly, Amon didn’t dismiss it. Instead, he lowered Nyne’s robe and gently checked his back and arms.

Nyne had expected Amon to ignore his pain and force his way through—so this tenderness caught him off guard. After thoroughly examining his back and arms, Amon scooped him into his arms.

At least, Nyne thought, I won’t be seen in a shameful state by Iyu. That should have brought relief—but strangely, he felt a weight settle in his chest. Amon’s golden eyes darkened, a cold aura flowing from him—he didn’t seem pleased either.

Nyne sighed deeply and whispered,

“…I’d like to hunt a bit more.”

The emotions that had built up in layers over what felt like forever finally spilled over. Amon’s brow furrowed as he looked at him.

Toxic, corrosive feelings swelled in Nyne’s chest, rising up his throat and stinging his nose and eyes. Forcing a smile before his god, Nyne said,

“Since I’m Sha, shouldn’t I catch more than just a leopard for appearances’ sake…?”

If you let me down, I’ll try to catch a few more birds for you, Amon-nim.

As he spoke softly, Amon stared at him with a puzzled look.

“Why are you crying?”

Nyne blinked. I’m crying? He rubbed his eyes—but they weren’t wet.

Aside from what leaked out during their more intense encounters, he had almost never shed tears. Today was no different.

“I’m not crying.”

But Amon, still holding him, touched his cheek. Brushing aside his hair, he pressed his lips gently to Nyne’s temple.

“There’s a scent of tears.”

“Scent of tears…?”

Nyne had never heard such a thing. But if the Sha said so, he could only nod and accept it. If Amon said it was tears, then it was. If Amon said it was sorrow, then so it was. In Amon’s world, could any meaning exist outside of his will?

Yet Amon didn’t stop there. That beautiful and unfeeling god looked at Nyne as if he were some incomprehensible creature and asked:

“Did you want to hunt that badly?”

Faced with someone who couldn’t understand why he felt sorrow, Nyne slowly lowered his eyes. The familiar resignation he’d experienced countless times in the Temple washed over him again. A whisper echoed inside him—urging him to surrender quietly.