Little Pink Starfish

At last, the Flooding Festival had begun.

Though the official start was not until sunset, the Temple of the High Priest was already bustling from morning. All the priests were dressed in loincloths—not a single kalasiris could be seen. Many of their loincloths were sheer enough to barely conceal what they ought to, revealing the body’s outline provocatively.

Their skin gleamed under the sun, polished with scented oils, radiating ritualistic grace. Instead of jewelry, they adorned themselves with fresh flowers. Some wore crowns made of small fruits. During the Flooding Festival, if one found someone they fancied, they would take a flower or ornament from their own body and offer it. If the recipient returned the gesture, it signaled mutual consent to spend the night together.

Nyne and his attendant priests, however, wore different attire. As servants of the Sha, they were bound to remain chaste. During the festival, they wore kalasiris even more strictly than usual, leaving less skin exposed, with not a single flower in sight.

Nyne, too, wore no flowers—but not because he needed to preserve his chastity. A Sha could take anyone if he so desired; thus, such tokens were unnecessary. In place of flowers, he wore more extravagant jewelry than usual.

“This feels kind of unfair…”

Nyne thought to himself while tightening a belt encrusted with rubies—whether shaped like a flower or the sun, he wasn’t sure. Even if he expressed discomfort with the accessories, the priests would always insist on dressing him up as splendidly as possible. Meanwhile, Amon always appeared at festivals and rituals in simple attire.

“Then again, how could anyone go against Lord Amon’s wishes?”

No priest would dare defy Amon’s will. Resigned, Nyne stepped out in his ornate attire and smiled when he saw Iyu.

“You look nice, Iyu.”

Iyu wore a decorated loincloth, a few fresh blossoms adorning his head. He grinned cheekily.

“Thank you, Sha. It’s fortunate Priest Sainka Hoan isn’t one to get distracted during the festival. That means I’ll get to enjoy it myself.”

But Nyne knew full well that Iyu would remain vigilant, as always. Though the festival air was carefree, Iyu never let his guard down. Likely, one of the priests had decorated him with flowers just for fun. Proof of that was how none of the combat priests wore even a single blossom.

Then Nyne’s gaze drifted toward his chamber. The pink flower Gwen had given him the previous night still floated in a bowl of water.

“Could it be…?”

Was the flower Gwen tucked into his hair meant as part of the Flooding Festival tradition? Nyne had known what flower-giving signified during this time, yet the realization came late. His golden eyes widened, then flushed with red at the ears.

“How can he always be so audacious?”

Though he scolded Gwen inwardly for being irreverent, he didn’t feel particularly offended. Pushing those thoughts aside, Nyne climbed into his palanquin and departed his sanctum.

Today, they rode chariots instead of carriages—a special tradition for the first day of the Flooding Festival. Normally, people were required to bow in reverence as a Sha’s vehicle passed, but on this day alone, it was not considered disrespectful to look directly at them. Once a year, the people of Trastasa nearly lost their minds in elation at this rare chance.

Sure enough, as Amon and Nyne’s chariot emerged from the Sixth Tower Gate, the crowds—swarming like ants—erupted in cheers.

“Sha! Sha!”

“Glory forever to the Sha!”

“Sha Amon! Sha Nyne! Bestow your grace upon us!”

The Sixth Tower Gate was the commercial hub, while the Seventh Tower Gate was the heart of agriculture. Here lived the farmers who cultivated fruits, wheat, grapes, and dates to feed those in the main temple. The area was vast, with the largest population density, and the festival crowds packed in thick as ever.

The wealthy threw gilded paper; the poor scattered fresh flower petals or dyed linen scraps. Fragrance filled the air—flowers, herbs, wine. Whether from the sunset or the excitement, every face glowed crimson.

Amon remained impassive in the face of the frenzy, but Nyne was always unsettled by such frenzied adoration. He tried not to show it, but his shoulders and calves tensed with strain. The crowd followed their chariot, chanting “Sha” as if possessed, until they reached the temple.

The Temple of the Seventh Tower looked very different from the others. Carved from a massive mountain of stone, it bore a rough, ancient style. It was the oldest temple in Trastasa, built with primitive techniques that gave it a raw, unique beauty.

Priests had piled fruits and flowers around the temple’s perimeter. The scent was heavy in the air, drawing butterflies, birds, and bees. The procession, from the most noble Sha to the humblest devotee, wound toward the temple in an unbroken line.

Everyone’s faces were lit with joy. Beyond the free wine and food, it was the closeness to the Sha that delighted them. They believed that the closer and longer one was near a Sha, the more blessings one would receive. By nightfall, people would dance and sing in praise, and later—without shame—lie with anyone they touched. Children conceived on this night were believed to be especially healthy and long-lived. The festivities continued until the first drop of rain fell.

Among the expectant eyes, Nyne climbed the long, steep steps of the temple with Amon. The steps were blanketed with red petals; even with sandals, the dye stained his toes a soft red.

By the time they reached the summit, the sun had fully set. As Amon and Nyne sat, Osen Iyad raised a long golden staff and proclaimed in a thunderous voice:

“In the name of the Sha, we pray for a bountiful flood!”

“Mighty and all-powerful Sha Amon! Sha Nyne!”

The crowd echoed the praise as one. Osen Iyad held the staff high, not lowering it even as full darkness fell. The crowd, too, grew louder, their fervor burning. When only the whites of their eyes glinted in the moonlight, he finally lowered the staff.

Boom! Boom! Boom! The priests stomped their feet and struck the drums in rhythm. The pace quickened, raising the energy to a crescendo. It felt as though the temple itself throbbed with breath and heartbeat. And just as the momentum reached its peak—

Boom! One final beat.

Suddenly, every torch in the temple blazed to life. The crowd, immersed in darkness until then, roared with jubilation. Some leapt, scattering petals into the air.

Nyne had witnessed this spectacle year after year, yet it always overwhelmed him emotionally. The view from above was magnificent—but sometimes, he longed to be part of the crowd below, to feel genuine joy among them. It was hard to enjoy such moments from his lofty seat. Still, the Flooding Festival was his favorite of all Trastasa’s events—it was the only one without human sacrifice.

As the cheers settled, the music began. Priests brought forth luxurious platters for the Sha, resha, and high priests at the summit. Even farther below, food and drink were served with equal haste.

Tonight, even the lowliest could hide their status in the dark. People of all ages and classes rejoiced together, feasting freely. They prayed for another season of bounty from the flooding river.

Nyne, watching the crowd dance to the priests’ music, shifted his gaze. He noticed resha neatly dressed in kalasiris, each adorned with a freshly bloomed lotus flower on their heads or shoulders. The image sparked a memory, and he quickly looked away.

And yet—Gwen alone, instead of a lotus, wore the exotic pink blossom he had given to Nyne. That single difference caught Nyne’s eye, drawing his gaze back again.