Little Pink Starfish

After waking from his nap, Nyne told a combat priest to bring out one of the sandpipers he had caught. The bird the priest took from the sack had red blood smeared on its feathers, but once washed in the stream, it looked perfectly clean.

Nyne spread the sandpiper’s wings and plucked the longest and largest feather. Under the sunlight, the grayish-black feather gleamed with a subtle rainbow sheen, much like a crow’s feather.

Amon seemed to like feather ornaments…

As he toyed with the feather, Yiwu cleared his throat and knelt. Lu was quick-witted, but Yiwu was even sharper than him.

“Sha Nyne, may I show you a type of ornament my village people often made and wore?”

“An ornament? I don’t know what kind, but go ahead.”

“If you would grant me permission, I’d like to work with one of your sandpipers.”

Nyne nodded. He had caught more than ten birds—offering one was no trouble. With permission, Yiwu carefully spread the bird’s wings and selected the best feathers.

Quickly, he pulled a thin string from his pouch. After some fiddling, the medium and small feathers formed a black flower, while the large ones became gray leaves. He then rummaged through a nearby bush and attached red mountain berries to the flower for a finishing touch.

He gathered feathers of varying sizes and arranged them like a fan—though not evenly, more scattered than the structured fans Lu carried. It was an earring ornament designed to flare out just behind the ear. Though Nyne had never seen it before, it felt oddly familiar.

Compared to Nyne’s usual accessories, the completed piece was crude.

“In my homeland, even children, siblings, parents, grandparents, and great-grandparents all wore ornaments like these. Of course, to someone like Sha Nyne, this may seem trivial…”

“No, I like it.”

Nyne handed the ornament to Lu. It wasn’t a lie—he truly liked the modest gift.

Though Lu shot Yiwu a look that screamed “How dare you make Sha wear such a thing,” he obediently fastened the ornament on Nyne. The black flower of feathers rested on the right side of his head, and the fan-like earring dangled from the left ear. Being made of feathers, it was so light he barely felt it.

As Nyne reached up and gently touched the feather tips, Yiwu gathered the remaining feathers. After a few minutes of fiddling, he made a small flower. Offering it to Lu, he asked:

“Would Priest Lu like to wear one too?”

Lu scoffed without even answering—but after sneaking a glance at Nyne’s head, he quickly snatched the ornament from Yiwu’s hand and wore it himself.

As the sun began to set, Nyne returned to his tent. The hunting festival was nearing its end, and the altar was soaked in the dark red blood of slaughtered beasts. In the heat, flies and insects would normally swarm, but the priests were far too used to this. They decorated the altar with herbs that repelled bugs and sprayed herbal juice generously—almost no insects could be seen.

Nyne ordered a priest to package today’s sandpipers neatly. The birds were cleaned of blood, their wings and legs arranged carefully. A cloth was laid inside a box, then stuffed with soft herbs. The birds were stacked like a tower on top of the herb bed.

Nyne carried the box himself to Amon’s tent. Though there were several birds, they were light and small—easy enough to carry.

“Lord Amon. May I come in?”

A priest had told him that Amon had stayed inside his tent all day. Worried he might disturb his sleep, Nyne asked cautiously. Soon, Amon’s permission came from inside. Lifting the linen curtain, fluttering in the incense smoke, Nyne entered.

Amon lay lazily on the chaise, eyes closed. His black hair spilled over the side like a waterfall, brushing the floor. When Nyne approached, he slowly opened his eyes. The golden pupils flashed with a peculiar glint at the sight of Nyne.

“These are birds I hunted for you today, Amon.”

Nyne said, slightly excited, and set the box down. When he looked up, Amon’s gaze was fixed on him—specifically, on the feathers fluttering in his hair.

“That on your head—did you make it?”

Only then did Nyne remember the ornament he was still wearing. It was rare for Amon to take interest in any of his accessories. Confirming Amon’s fondness for feathers, Nyne replied:

“Priest Yiwu made it for me. Do you like it?”

Amon’s gaze, which had seemed unusually stirred, slowly calmed. He seemed both slightly disappointed and oddly relieved. He sat up and motioned for Nyne to come closer. Nyne cautiously sat beside him. Amon murmured softly.

“…A sandpiper’s feather.”

It was a surprisingly sentimental reaction. Usually, Amon’s responses were consistent—barely reacting, or brushing things off with indifference. He often ignored priests outright, and the fact he even said “Is that so” to Nyne was a form of acknowledgment.

But today was different. Amon reached out and stroked the feathers in Nyne’s hair.

“You smell like a riverbank at sunset.”

Nyne couldn’t tell if Amon’s senses were sharp enough to distinguish such a scent, or if he was recalling a buried memory. His heart just pounded faster.

“After such a long time… I think I’m starting to understand.”

“…Understand what?”

Nyne asked cautiously, not used to such reactions. Amon took his chin and turned him to face him. The golden, alien eyes stared deep into him, searching. After a long silence, Amon finally spoke.

“Play the lyre for me.”

A sudden request—but a divine order nonetheless. Nyne nodded and stepped out to receive the lyre from a priest. As he wondered what to play, one piece came to mind—the tune Amon had played in the sanctum before.

He had only heard it once, yet the melody remained vivid in his memory. Hesitating briefly, Nyne began to play. His delicate fingers plucked the strings, recreating the song Amon had once played.

Usually, Amon showed no interest in music or dance, treating even the most beautiful performances like noise. But now, he focused intensely on Nyne’s playing. Nyne could feel his skin prickling under that gaze.

As the song ended, a thought flashed through Nyne’s mind—Isn’t this the chance? With Amon reacting so differently, could this be the moment I gain what I truly want?

He swallowed dryly, set the lyre aside, and placed his hand gently over Amon’s.

“As I promised, I’m trying to get used to it. That’s why I went hunting today.”

Amon listened silently, eyes drifting to Nyne’s hand damp with nervous sweat.

“But change takes time. Please, for my sake—if I’m to live alongside you for an eternity—would you wait patiently until I’m ready?”

Though spoken calmly, there was a desperate plea within his voice. A plea to a being who might reshape not only his life but all of Trastasa.

“Give me time.”

Time to change you. Time to find a reason to live. Nyne’s gaze traveled from Amon’s hand to his face. He couldn’t read his expression. But there was no mockery or anger in those golden eyes. Normally cold and sharp like metal, now they seemed almost softened.

“Nyne, as long as you don’t try to leave me… I will always give you what you want.”

“Truly?”

Nyne was overjoyed—yet also confused. When had I ever tried to leave Amon’s side? Hadn’t he always remained quietly in the sanctuary Amon provided? But the joy made him forget the question.

“Thank you, Amon.”

He couldn’t help but smile brightly. Seeing that joyful, hopeful face—Amon looked at him as if seeing it for the first time. The corner of his mouth, usually still, curled slightly into an unfamiliar arc.

“May I serve the sandpipers I caught for tonight’s dinner?”

“Do so.”

Overjoyed, Nyne summoned the priests. Seeing their master genuinely pleased, their faces also lit up. Nyne instructed them to keep the feathers for later ornament-making and cook the meat.

The priests prepared the sandpipers wonderfully. Nyne dined with Amon, recounting what he had seen while hunting. After dinner, he played a few more songs on the lyre. Before long, night had fallen.

As he stepped out of Amon’s tent, Nyne tried to calm the childlike excitement bubbling inside him.