Little Pink Starfish

“Do you really think you’d be happy if you gave your life for me?”

Nyne asked in a low voice, and Lou’s eyes widened. He looked briefly confused—then seemed to believe Nyne was doubting his sincerity. Clenching his fists, he fervently declared his devotion.

“Of course, Lord Nyne. Why wouldn’t I be happy? Even after death, I would remain your loyal and faithful servant forever!”

“I see…”

But instead of being pleased, Nyne’s expression only darkened, leaving Lou flustered. Lou fumbled, trying desperately to console his master somehow.

“S-still… Lord Amon gave up his carriage for you, didn’t he? That surely means he cherishes you deeply.”

Iyu, who had been staring at the floor, glanced briefly at Lou and subtly shook his head. But Lou, not seeing this, stiffened and pressed on, trying to be brave.

“He forgave even the sinners who committed grave offenses at your request… and didn’t he cherish you deeply all through the night? He grants your every wish—his affection for you must be immeasurable.”

The more Lou spoke, the colder Nyne’s heart grew. Lou was right. Had anyone else done what Nyne had, they’d likely have faced severe punishment—possibly even death. But so what? Nyne’s heart was still in anguish.

He knew Amon cherished him. But the way he showed that affection had carved deep scars into Nyne’s soul.

Most of the priests probably thought like Lou—that it was an honor and a joy to be loved so much by Amon. That there was no problem at all. Maybe… Nyne himself was the only problem.

“And he’s always looking after your well-being…”

“Lou.”

The moment Nyne called his name, Lou—who had been speaking passionately about Amon’s devotion—answered with a startled “Yes,” only for Nyne to reply in a cold tone:

“You should stop talking now. I have a headache.”

“I-I’m sorry. Would you like some medicine…?”

Lou asked, flustered. But Nyne shook his head and turned to look out the window again. Watching them, Iyu let out a small sigh—so quiet it was barely audible. Lou slumped his shoulders and didn’t speak again.

The scenery outside, which had seemed so fresh and interesting on the way here, no longer stirred any emotion in Nyne. He either closed his eyes or dozed off, occasionally sipping a bit of wine. Lou was noticeably deflated by Nyne’s distant attitude.

Eventually, they returned to the temple. Even lying down in his familiar sanctuary did little to improve Nyne’s mood. Lou and the other priests brought him delicacies, entertainment, and rare spectacles—but none of it helped. Nyne only sank deeper into the mire of his gloom.

He no longer believed life would get better or change. Nothing seemed to move him, and he had no desire to do anything.

It wasn’t just that Amon had humiliated him in front of many people and done terrifying, lewd things. It felt like a great, dark hollow had opened in his chest—as if a fog had lifted from a void that had always been there, hidden in memories he couldn’t recall.

He lay on his bed, wasting time in numbness, wishing he could fall into an endless, deep sleep. He didn’t know if days or weeks had passed when Popo quietly approached.

“Lord Nyne, Resha Lan Gwen is requesting an audience. What shall I tell him?”

Lou, who had been lying curled at Nyne’s feet as gloomily as his master, lifted his head. He clearly expected Nyne to deny the request. But when Nyne heard Gwen’s name, his dulled mind seemed to clear for the first time since the hunting festival.

“…Let him in.”

At Nyne’s words, Lou straightened up. Nyne had been indifferent to everyone for so long—his reaction now clearly made Lou anxious. Soon, a familiar voice reached their ears.

“A true servant comes before Sha Nyne.”

Nyne, reclining lazily on his bed, lifted his eyelids. His sunken golden eyes looked upon Resha, who was bowing deeply. For some reason, Gwen’s pink hue felt out of place today. A foreigner from beyond Trastasa. The pink fox who appeared during Osen Iyad’s ritual and stayed by Nyne’s side…

As Nyne silently watched, Gwen lifted his head without waiting for permission. Nyne didn’t scold him for the breach. He merely hoped the man might offer something—anything—that could ease his heavy heart. Gwen smiled gently and spoke.

“I heard you were feeling unwell, my lord. If I may, I would like to offer a humble performance to lift your spirits.”

Nyne nodded. Gwen rose and stepped out briefly, returning with two priests. One of them looked oddly familiar—Nyne recalled that he’d once been in charge of the lotus pavilion’s trees at his command, before being assigned to Gwen’s quarters. They carefully placed a large box, wrapped in cloth, onto the table.

The rectangular box was large enough to require an adult to fully stretch their arms to touch both ends. When Gwen removed the cloth, a miniature, incredibly detailed city was revealed. A large mountain stood at its center, with a strange temple built atop its peak. Soft clouds made of cotton puffed gently just beneath it.

On the upper right of the box was a softly glowing sun; on the left, a moon. Unusually, a tiny chariot was attached to the sun. Below the mountain, rivers, lakes, little houses, and trees were densely packed. The world within the box was so intricate and small, Nyne briefly forgot his melancholy. Even the priests found their gazes drawn in.

“What I would like to present, Lord Nyne, is a tale of the gods from a distant continent.”

With that, Gwen pulled out a small puppet from behind the box—a male figure holding jagged golden metal. He wore clothes similar to a kalasiris and wore a stern expression.

“This is the king of the gods—he controls rain, snow, and lightning at will.”

Then, another puppet appeared—an elegant woman dressed similarly.

“This is the queen of the gods, the guardian of the home. This story begins when the philandering king of gods meets a beautiful maiden.”

Philanderer? That word, so unfitting for a god, caught Nyne’s interest. In Trastasa, if a god desired something, it simply became theirs. No one would ever dare use such a term for a god.

As expected, the priests looked very uncomfortable with the beginning of the story. But since it was a tale from a foreign land, and Nyne was showing interest for the first time in a while, they silently lowered their eyes.

The two puppets disappeared behind the large temple set on the box. Moments later, they descended from the “sky” inside the box. Suspended on barely visible threads, the puppets moved their limbs and nodded so naturally they seemed alive. Nyne, who had been reclining, slowly leaned forward.

Whatever mechanism had been installed, when the god-king descended the mountain peak, the cotton clouds briefly darkened, and a flash mimicked lightning. The clouds stirred like wind blew, and the sun and moon shifted gradually, showing the passage of time. Nyne was completely entranced.

In Gwen’s tale, the gods experienced joys and sorrows like ordinary people. They wept over love and loss, fought from resentment, smiled in happiness, and cried in pain. Jealousy and anger were natural. The world of gods was no different from that of humans.

The puppets representing gods of the sun, moon, sea, and earth were so small and beautiful they were almost lovable. Gwen manipulated them so gracefully they seemed like real, tiny beings.

Before he knew it, the sun had set and it was evening. The story ended with a god grieving over the death of a human lover caused by his own misjudgment. The little puppets disappeared from the box-world.

“Did my story bring you even a little comfort, Lord Nyne?”

Gwen gave him a warm smile. The word “comfort” felt unfamiliar—Nyne blinked. It wasn’t something he heard often from his priests. In Gwen’s warm-colored gaze, he saw sympathy. Sympathy… As if Gwen believed he had suffered something terrible.