Little Pink Starfish

Seated before the meal, Amon leisurely removed his garments. The attending priests, with careful hands, removed the leaves and dirt from the fabric. Nyne watched Amon’s back as if entranced. Even as he stood at ease, the muscle-carved body was nothing short of beautiful. Of all the warriors Nyne had known, Amon’s physique was the most flawless.

Beneath his firm shoulders was a perfectly proportioned V-shaped torso. Not a single scar or flaw marred his smooth skin, and the way his clearly defined muscles contracted and relaxed was nothing short of ideal.

The priests tending to Amon’s body faintly trembled at the fingertips, overwhelmed by reverence and awe for such perfection. With their heads bowed low, they wiped him clean from head to toe with wet cloths, unable to lift their eyes. Carefully, they draped a long loincloth over the strong contours of his buttocks and thighs.

Where Nyne had grown accustomed to changing in front of attendants and thus felt no shame, Amon seemed to feel none simply because he regarded the priests as insignificant—no more than dust. In truth, Nyne often wondered whether Amon possessed such emotions as shame, sorrow, or compassion at all—feelings essential to humans, but seemingly absent in Amon.

Nyne waited patiently until Amon had completely changed. Once the priests finished their service, he spoke in a casual tone.

“I wish to be alone with Amon. With the priests here, that’s not possible.”

As this was the first time Nyne had made such a request, the priests looked up at him in surprise—then quickly bowed to hide their insolent gaze. Fortunately, Amon simply glanced at Nyne once, then granted the request without hesitation.

“Leave us.”

“Yes, Sha Amon.”

As the priests withdrew, Nyne’s heart, which had been racing, began to calm. He silently regretted not doing this sooner—if it had been this easy, why hadn’t he tried before? Perhaps it was because the air of the forest seemed to suit him better than the suffocating air of the Grand Temple.

Nyne began eating while watching Amon. His expression appeared no different from usual—not particularly pleased, but not displeased either. After taking a bite of quail meat, Nyne tore off a glistening piece and carefully offered it to Amon.

“The quail is quite delicious. Amon, would you try some?”

Nyne’s hand trembled slightly with nerves. Amon gazed at him silently, then calmly opened his mouth and accepted the offering. The tender meat tore apart between his lips and slid down his throat.

They continued their meal. A few minutes later, Nyne made another request.

“The grapes look ripe and delicious. But the plate is far, so… I would like you to feed them to me, Amon.”

Despite the boldness—nearly impudence—of the request, Amon didn’t get angry. Rather, he looked at Nyne with rare curiosity and pulled the plate of grapes closer. He fed Nyne each grape, one by one, until he was satisfied. When Nyne said he wanted wine, Amon poured it. When Nyne asked for a dish to be brought closer, Amon obliged.

Rather than annoyed, Amon seemed intrigued—why was Nyne suddenly making such requests, trembling nervously all the while? After the meal, Amon pulled Nyne into his arms and sat him on his knee. Brushing aside his hair, he licked the quail grease from Nyne’s lips and asked lazily:

“So? What else do you want from me? Keep talking.”

His hand, warm like sunlit metal and cool like forest shade, slid down Nyne’s thigh. He caressed Nyne’s knee, grasped his calf firmly, and then pulled his foot into his lap. Despite how familiar such touches had become, Nyne still flinched, gripping Amon’s robe.

“Tomorrow, I’d like to wear emerald jewelry. Please wear it as well.”

“I’ll have the servants arrange that. And?”

“Please have dinner with me at my tent.”

“That’s simple enough. And?”

The day after, please send the priests away again and spend time with me alone. Bring me a creature I’ve never seen before. Let us walk together in the morning forest. Give sufficient rest and food to the worn-down slaves so that none of them perish, and speak words of praise to the brave combat priests.

To even these small, mundane requests, Amon readily agreed. It was strangely easy—far easier than the teachings of scripture, which warned that one must never burden Sha Amon with such demands. Nyne couldn’t hold back his question any longer.

“Why do you grant all of my requests?”

“Because I want to. I’m just doing what I want—must there be a reason for that?”

Amon looked at him as if Nyne were asking something obvious. Nyne took a deep breath and asked more firmly.

“Then… will you grant everything I say?”

“As long as it doesn’t greatly harm you.”

“Then I don’t want to hurt people anymore. I don’t want to see them hurt either.”

He spoke honestly, with great courage. Amon looked at him like one might study an incomprehensible life form.

“That’s unfortunate. I can’t grant that.”

Biting his lip, Nyne resumed the plea he had started back in the forest.

“Watching people get hurt hurts me. Not my body—my mind.”

“I know.”

You… know? That watching people be harmed crushes his spirit—that this was known to Amon—shocked Nyne. His widened eyes stared at Amon, who showed a flash of cold, unfathomable emotion.

“But that mindset will ultimately harm you far more. There’s no other way but to slowly change it.”

The words left him speechless. How could he persuade Amon? But then he realized—Amon was also trying to persuade him.

“Why waste your heart on those wretches? They’re worthless, incompetent creatures. And there are too many of them. Even if some die, more will replace them. But you and I—we are unique and irreplaceable.”

“Nyne,” Amon said slowly, drawing out each syllable with strange delight, as though savoring his name.

“If you must give your heart to anyone, give it to me. And I will give you all the gold, jewels, loyal servants, and fertile lands you desire. If you behave sweetly like today, I’ll feed you all the delicacies you want and grant your every wish.”

As Amon spoke, Nyne found himself breathing heavily for no reason. A tangle of emotions writhed within him—a snarl of awe, fear, affection, resignation, and shock. He looked up at Amon, conflicted—he wanted to draw near, and yet flee.

It sounded… almost like a confession.

While Nyne tried to gather his thoughts, Amon continued.

“Someday, I hope you too will understand the amusement of watching the pathetic efforts of the worthless. How ridiculous their meaningless struggle is.”

Even though Nyne knew the words weren’t directed at him, his chest sank painfully. After blinking slowly, he asked:

“Why do you speak that way? Are you not the god of Trastasa? You lead your people and promise them peace in the afterlife, and yet…”

“Yes, I am the god of Trastasa.”

Amon answered with a bloody smile.

Nyne knew he wasn’t an ordinary person. He was a Sha, treated with utmost reverence. Few lived more luxuriously in Trastasa than he did. Even without resisting Amon, he could live peacefully, joyfully.

But because Nyne saw himself as human, he couldn’t enjoy it.

The cruelty with which Amon spoke of humans chilled Nyne’s heart. Was it because Amon was a god of war? The thought made Nyne quietly ask:

“Then… would it amuse you to see me struggle as they do?”

Amon’s golden eyes darkened as he looked down at Nyne in his arms. His eyes, gazing into the void, flickered with killing intent. Nyne thought—maybe this wasn’t imagination, but a memory.

“They and you are entirely different. How could that be amusing? You are the only thing in this world with value to me.”

Instead of replying, Nyne merely nodded.

Today… let this be enough.

That answer would suffice for now.

Raising his hand, Nyne gently stroked Amon’s cheek. Then, slowly, he leaned in and kissed him.