Little Pink Starfish

Would Amon know what it means to exchange flowers during the Festival of the Flood? Nyne laughed at the thought as Amon stepped into the pond. His presence, towering like a mountain and solid like tempered steel, pulled Nyne into his arms.

The hands gripping Nyne’s waist and arms were rough—almost forceful. Yet they never went beyond a certain pressure, as if Amon fully understood how easily Nyne could be crushed.

Amon licked a water droplet off Nyne’s chin and kissed him. His tongue slowly pushed into Nyne’s parted lips. The thick, heady scent of flowers was so overpowering it gave the illusion of holding petals in one’s mouth.

Amon’s hands slowly swept over Nyne’s body, sometimes gripping hard enough to leave marks. The sensation of his hands made Nyne’s body gradually heat up. Eventually, Amon grabbed Nyne’s hips, parted them, and entered him with ease. Having not been intimate since the Hunting Festival, Nyne felt pain before any pleasure.

“Ah! Ah… hng, uh…”

“Nyne…”

Amon kissed him over and over, calling his name. The strength in his grip conveyed a fierce desire to possess. In those golden eyes, Nyne could see Amon’s affection for him—stronger and deeper than before. It was so intense it stole his breath.

“It’s strange, isn’t it…”

“Ahh… ngh…”

“You’re so precious to me… yet why do I feel the urge to destroy or consume you entirely? I can’t bear even a single hair of yours being harmed.”

Instead of fear, an emotion close to joy swelled inside Nyne at those words. Clinging to Amon, he tried to endure the pain. Though not a single drop of water splashed onto his face, his eyes grew wet.

“It’s because… Lord Amon… likes me…”

He couldn’t bring himself to say “love.” Amon said nothing in return. He simply drove himself deeper inside Nyne’s body. The splashing echoed as both their bodies were drenched. Nyne, trained over the years by Amon’s touch, quickly succumbed to pleasure. His body trembled with alternating waves of joy and pain, and he squeezed his eyes shut.

What he truly enjoyed was sharing pointless conversations under the moonlight with Amon. He felt joy at seeing his partner gradually change. Yet it hurt, like something piercing through his chest. Unable to bear it, Nyne hugged Amon with all his strength. A white flower that had fallen from his hair drifted across the pond’s surface like a fragment of the moon.

Ibre…

A sorrow so sharp it cut his chest gripped him. For days, he didn’t even drink water, lost in grief. The priests wept and beat their foreheads, not out of sorrow for Ibre, but in desperation that Nyne might care for his body. But he couldn’t see them.

Ibre, Ibre!

Nyne, calling the name of someone he’d never see again, writhed in pain. As he sobbed face-down, a heavy shadow fell over him.

Nyne.

A familiar voice called his name, and he raised his head with a sob. Tears dropped from eyes swollen red. He opened his sorrow-drenched lips and called the name of the one before him.

Sha Amon.

His mind swirled with bitter resentment. He knew full well all of this stemmed from Amon.

Why have you made this land into such a hell? Why do you desire these things?

Unable to hold back his anguish, Nyne lunged at Amon. He tore at his robes, clawed at him, but his nails only broke. Amon’s eyes darkened as he watched Nyne’s attack.

If you are truly omnipotent—bring Ibre back to life! You are a god, aren’t you?!

Sha Nyne! How dare you act this way before Sha!

The priests following Amon rushed in, trying to tear Nyne away. But none could lay a finger on him.

Soon, the air filled with gasps and the scent of blood. Some priests, torn apart by Amon’s wrath, collapsed and begged for forgiveness. One died from blood loss on the spot, yet no one tended to the wounds. Only Nyne was left panting, shocked.

How long are you going to grieve over such things?

Amon’s voice was cold, unwavering. Nyne, collapsed in the bloody mess, spoke in a hollow voice.

How can you not understand my sorrow? Are all these things truly meaningless to you? Are human emotions so incomprehensible to you?

He couldn’t collect himself. Pouring his heart out, Nyne asked:

Am I not your consort, Lord Amon? Do you even have any feelings for me?

Amon looked down at the fingers clutching his robes. His gaze was cold, not sympathetic—just irritated. Nyne despaired. Amon pushed him away and ordered:

Iyad. Clean this up. Burn incense and put Nyne into a deep sleep.

“No…”

Muttering “no” repeatedly, soaked in cold sweat, Nyne suddenly awoke. It took him a while to realize it had been a dream. Dazed, he slowly sat up. A priest kneeling beside him, waiting for him to rise, asked in concern:

“Sha, are you feeling unwell?”

He didn’t answer immediately. Only after some time did he finally speak.

“…Bring me some cool water.”

As he drank the cold water the priest had quickly brought, Nyne fell into thought. What a deeply unpleasant nightmare. Even now, his chest still churned, and his eyes threatened to tear up. Was it really just a dream?

Could it have been a fragment of the memories he’d lost? He murmured the name “Ibre” to himself. It felt strangely familiar. But no image of the person came to mind—only a sorrow worn down to the point of fading.

If this wasn’t just a nightmare… then it must have been from before Ruu arrived.

Ruu was nowhere among the attending priests. Nor was Popo, who had long cared for him. That alone raised some questions. But if this was a memory, it was so grim that he almost wished it had just been a dream. With a sigh, Nyne looked around as he replayed the dream in his head.

Last night, after leaving the pond, Amon and Nyne had come here and spent the night. The sanctuary atop the massive, rhombus-shaped temple wasn’t flashy or refined, but carried a grand and solemn energy. Surrounded by flowers and trees, it felt like waking in the middle of a forest.

“Sha, may I attend to your morning care?”

The priests cleaned his body with hot towels. Traces of the previous night’s intimacy were plainly visible on Nyne’s body—bite marks, kiss marks, and bruises from rough hands. Normally, he would have worn a kalasiris, but when Popo brought the long garment, Nyne shook his head.

“No. Bring a loincloth.”

“Yes, Sha.”

The priests brought it, and Popo dressed him carefully. His whole body still ached, so even the gentle touch made his nerves taut. Fighting the urge to lie back down, Nyne asked:

“Where is Amon?”

“Sha Amon is at the garden pond.”

That Amon was out worked in Nyne’s favor. He refused the breakfast the priests brought and left the sanctuary with only a couple of attendants. Iyu, stationed outside, silently followed behind.

Unlike the noisy laughter of the night before, the daytime was relatively calm. From the top of the temple, Nyne looked down and saw people sprawled everywhere, asleep in disarray. Many were naked. The scent of alcohol still hung thick in the air. Some had started drinking again the moment they awoke. Nyne watched them for a long time before turning away.

Descending from the sanctuary and crossing the garden to a lower area, he found the priests. Unlike the common celebrants, the priests weren’t naked—they might run into Sha, after all. But they held their heads in pain, groaning from hangovers, unaware of Nyne’s presence. Watching from a distance, Nyne spotted the man he was looking for. He ordered a priest at his side:

“Go quietly summon Priest Usr Mayri here.”

“Yes, Sha. I shall obey.”

The priest bowed and quickly moved through the groaning bodies to fetch the one called. Nyne stepped behind a building and waited, hidden from sight. Soon, Usr Mayri arrived.