Little Pink Starfish

It was when he had emptied one bottle and tilted the second that the sound of footsteps softly echoed. Nyne looked up but didn’t shout for the person to leave—he simply watched them quietly.

“Nyne-nim.”

With a gentle voice, a pale and elegant hand took Nyne’s wine cup away. Gwen pushed the cup far aside, knelt down, clasped Nyne’s hand, and looked up at him silently. His gaze was one of understanding, knowing that the other was deeply grieved and angry. Then Nyne asked in a faint voice:

“…Gwen, wasn’t Resha Zhibaya afraid of dying?”

“How could a person not be afraid before a meaningless death? He was a man of skilled hands. One far too precious has gone.”

“Yeah… They were all people far too precious to die.”

Muttering about their deaths made his chest ache even more. What use was being a “true servant,” when old high priests never even died? When they go to the afterlife in those aged bodies, do they magically become young again or something? He scoffed, then suddenly let out a deep sigh. From deep within his throat, a dull pain welled up. The emotions pooled in his chest surged up, pressing painfully against his throat and eyes.

“Nyne-nim.”

As if trying to comfort him, Gwen called out softly. But rather than being soothed, fury welled up in Nyne’s eyes. His mind was sharp and clear, his memories vivid, as if he were someone else entirely.

“Osen Iyad. That man… he really has used me all this time. As if all those rituals were truly for me.”

Nyne muttered in a voice cold as ice. Wasn’t everything happening in Trastasa due to the tacit agreement between Amon and Osen Iyad? Nyne didn’t know the exact nature of the deal between Amon and the Iyad family. But he could instinctively tell that all these cruel events in Trastasa stemmed from it.

He had merely remembered the painful things properly now, and yet for some reason, the pain felt so real—it was the first time he truly felt alive.

“Nyne-nim, use me.”

While Nyne ruminated on his emotions and his resentment toward Osen Iyad and Amon, Gwen spoke. The gaze looking up at him was far from gentle.

“I will not be your pleasure—but your comfort.”

As he said that, Gwen slowly pressed his lips to the back of Nyne’s hand and lifted them again. Nyne closed his eyes for a moment, then opened them with golden eyes darkened, asking:

“Can you make sure I don’t lose my memories again, like last time?”

“Yes, Nyne-nim. I will ensure that you never lose your memories again.”

At Gwen’s certain answer, a heavy sigh escaped Nyne. It wasn’t too late even now. He could pick up the spilled censer, light it, and blur his memories and pain. The temptation to avoid sadness and anguish as he was feeling now was strong.

Only then did Nyne realize that he had been addicted to the incense used in Osen Iyad’s rituals. A strange urge to light it even now surged through him. It must have been part of Osen Iyad’s plan.

But instead of lighting the incense, Nyne bit his lip hard. From now on, no matter how painful, he had to endure it all head-on. Only then could he protect what he wanted to protect—whether that was a person or his refusal to let meaningless deaths continue.

Still, an overwhelming anxiety with no clear cause made him subconsciously run a hand over his chest. In the hollow void in his heart, something fearsome was coiled. He didn’t even know what it was, but he instinctively knew that the moment it emerged from that hollow, he would collapse.

A single tear ran down his cheek—not out of sadness, but from something unknown. As that drop fell, Nyne whispered:

“…My servant, comfort me.”

Under his wet lashes, the golden eyes were desolate. At Nyne’s command, Gwen stood. With sympathy and affection, he gently brushed Nyne’s cheek and kissed him. It was a kiss with more meaning than just comfort. Nyne’s eyes widened in surprise.

But instead of pushing Gwen away, he closed his eyes quietly.

Gwen stayed by his side until morning. Once the sun was fully risen and Gwen returned to the Lotus Hall, Nyne came out of his chamber and gave an order to the priests.

“This room is dirty. Clean it up.”

The priests, who had been restless all night until birds sang at dawn, responded immediately.

“We obey, Sha.”

They hurriedly began cleaning the mess of the chamber, all while carefully watching the Sha’s expression. Unexpectedly, Nyne didn’t seem especially gloomy. In a strangely composed mood, he only gave an order to bring breakfast. He didn’t look like someone who had thrown such a fit the night before, so the priests wondered inwardly if perhaps the High Priest had indeed conducted a ritual.

Usually, when Nyne was in a foul mood, he wouldn’t eat or drink anything for days. But for some reason, today he ate a fair amount. As he quietly watched the fountain casting a small rainbow in the sunlight, he asked:

“Today should be about the time Lord Amon returns from his demon beast hunt, correct?”

“Yes, Sha. According to his sanctuary, he is expected to arrive at the Grand Temple this afternoon.”

Amon’s demon hunts never lasted more than a week. Nodding, Nyne rose from his seat.

“I must prepare to receive Lord Amon.”

“Yes, Sha.”

As soon as Nyne finished speaking, the priests moved swiftly. The slaves and priests who were always on standby in the sanctuary brought garments and jewelry to adorn the chamber. Nyne examined the golden and jeweled accessories gleaming beautifully inside the cases held up by straight-backed slaves. He then gave an order to the priest carefully lifting a necklace inlaid with a large topaz.

“Today, I want to wear snake-shaped jewelry.”

It was rare for Nyne to make such a specific request. Usually, he would reject everything the priests suggested, then choose whatever Popo or Rue picked. The priests hurried off to the sanctuary’s treasure vault.

By the time Nyne had finished dressing in his loincloth and shoes, various snake-shaped ornaments were presented. Among them, his eyes were first drawn to the set Amon had once gifted him. A snake clutching a pomegranate seed—the design shone particularly vividly.

Why had this caught his eye so strongly, and why had it always felt so unpleasant?

Even now, the jewelry still felt like something he didn’t want to be near. But Nyne reached out and placed it around his own neck. The priests, apologetically, adorned him with the remaining pieces. On his pale skin untouched by sun, the red garnets sparkled brilliantly.

Last night, Nyne had thought long and hard.

The Lotus Hall was a place where people lived only to bloom at their most beautiful—then be plucked. And that was where Rue and Gwen resided. Nyne hoped that the Lotus Hall, and Trastasa itself, would stop being places where people died under the guise of rituals and offerings to the afterlife. He hoped that, even just a little, people would begin to value human life. He was sick and tired of rituals that sacrificed people.

But just wishing would change nothing.

So from now on, he would make an effort. For that, he must never lose his memory again. If he did, he might go back to living like before, without the resolve he had now.

It was fortunate Gwen’s magic could help him preserve his memories. But there was no guarantee that this capable magician would remain at his side forever. Gwen was someone who could leave this place at any time without burden. So while Gwen was still here, Nyne had to act—do something. As he thought so, he also recalled Gwen’s comfort: kind, warm, and gentle.

“Great Sha Amon has passed through the Ninth Tower Gate.”

Trying to hold onto the trace of comfort still lingering on his lips, Nyne nodded. The attending priests moved even faster. Their well-maintained hands placed more ornaments and carefully combed his hair. Once ready, Nyne was placed atop a golden palanquin. A different attendant than Rue shaded him with a fan. Nyne still deliberately hadn’t asked that fan-bearer’s name.

“Great Sha Amon has passed through the Third Tower Gate.”

With the priest’s announcement, the palanquin arrived at its destination and came to a stop. From afar, the sound of hooves pulling a chariot thundered across the ground. As Nyne stepped down from the palanquin, the priests straightened his disheveled garments. Nyne’s golden eyes, lowered, were shrouded in shadow.