Little Pink Starfish

“How could anything you do ever be considered irreverent toward me?”

Amon’s hand lifted Nyne’s loincloth and stroked the inside of his thigh. Nyne’s already overstimulated body, worn thin by repeated intimacy, flinched at the mere touch. When Amon rubbed the flushed, swollen head of his member, Nyne reflexively grabbed his wrist. Amon didn’t push him further, but watched intently as Nyne’s face contorted with sharp pleasure.

“Even if you were to kill me one day, not even that could be considered blasphemy.”

His whisper was endlessly gentle. But how could Nyne possibly kill Amon—his god, his consort, the protector of Trastasa?

The thought vanished as a wave of arousal rose again. Nyne braced himself, thinking it would soon begin once more—but Amon, surprisingly, let him go. Perhaps he had noticed Nyne’s fatigue. Perhaps he was being considerate.

But that wasn’t the reason. From outside came the voice of a priest.

“Sha Amon, may this servant enter?”

It was the priest’s arrival that had interrupted Amon. He had remembered Nyne’s request—not to be seen by others during intimacy—and he had honored it. Nyne was taken aback that Amon had actually respected his words so thoroughly. Flustered, he quickly adjusted his clothes. After Amon gave permission, the priest entered the sanctuary.

“Sha Amon.”

The priest, not daring to raise his head, crawled on his knees and bowed. Nyne, puzzled by the unexpected visit, glanced outside. The sky was growing darker, covered in thick clouds. The rain would likely come tonight or tomorrow, bringing the Flood Festival to its end.

“In accordance with your command, I have brought Resha Gwen.”

At those words, Nyne felt all color drain from his body. His breath caught in his throat.

Why? Why has Gwen suddenly been brought here?

His first thought wasn’t whether Amon had taken a liking to Gwen again. Instead, it was dread—Had Amon discovered his secret interactions with Gwen?

Their nightly meetings, the walk through the Sixth Gate, the recent kiss…

Nyne fought to compose himself. When he glanced at Amon, he saw no signs of anger. But that didn’t reassure him. Even if their secret relationship hadn’t been discovered, Gwen was still a dangerous factor—a magician with mysterious items that had previously drawn Amon’s suspicion.

Tense, Nyne watched as Gwen entered the sanctuary. Instead of appearing nervous, Gwen wore a serene smile as he bowed.

“This faithful servant greets Sha Amon and Sha Nyne.”

Neither Amon nor Nyne responded to his greeting. Gwen waited, still bowing. Trying to act casual, Nyne forced himself to ask:

“Amon… may I ask why Resha Gwen was summoned?”

“The priests say you’ve taken quite a liking to that one recently.”

Amon’s words hit like sharp blades. Nyne struggled to keep calm.

“He looks different from the people of Trastasa, and he has unusual talents. I’ve called on him a few times.”

“I saw that at the lakeside as well. It seems he’s skilled at entertaining you.”

That entertaining carried layered meaning to Nyne’s ears. He wanted to let Gwen rise, to end this scene, to rip the now-uncomfortable flower from his hair. Sweat dampened his palms. Amon leaned his chin on one hand and gazed down at Gwen with disinterest.

“You once said that repeating the same day was dull. And dullness is the most unbearable of all.”

Nyne had never thought that dullness was so terrible. This must be Amon’s own perspective. Perhaps his usual aloofness was actually boredom.

“You may rise.”

“Yes, Sha.”

At the command, Gwen lifted his head—and immediately smiled at Nyne. Nyne turned away, trying to ignore it, and instead looked at Amon, trying to gauge his reaction.

Fortunately, Amon seemed neither annoyed nor suspicious of Gwen. He looked at him the same way he looked at most humans—easily discardable. Gwen, to him, was just someone he had briefly noticed once.

“Go ahead. Amuse Nyne as you will.”

“Thank you, Sha Amon, for giving me the chance to serve Sha Nyne.”

Gwen turned and signaled a priest. A moment later, a box was brought in. Nyne, too tense to care, didn’t even notice what was in the box—he just wanted Gwen out of there.

He had avoided Gwen throughout the Festival for a reason. Amon was always nearby, and there had been no safe opportunity to meet Gwen. Nyne didn’t want to take unnecessary risks.

“Sha Nyne. What I brought today is a game popular on another continent.”

Unfazed by Nyne’s nerves, Gwen calmly began unpacking the box. He seemed completely unaffected by Amon’s presence, as if only Nyne existed in the room. Afraid he might betray himself if he spoke, Nyne watched in silence.

Gwen laid out a set of elaborate models on a long table—miniature scenes of caves with lava, underground prisons, villages, and fields. He assembled the board into a twisting maze. As Nyne’s curiosity grew, Gwen placed polyhedral dice and small figurines on the table.

Unable to contain himself, Nyne finally asked:

“What is this?”

“It’s a game where you roll dice and create a story together, trying to reach a final goal. We’ll need a few more participants—will you permit it?”

Nyne didn’t quite grasp how it worked but nodded. The priests gathered around willingly, and Nyne hesitantly joined them. Each player received a small figure—some shaped like wizards, warrior priests, shieldbearers, or spearmen. Nyne’s piece was an archer that looked just like him. Gwen took no piece at all.

“This story is about a party of adventurers out to slay an evil dragon.”

He placed a large figure at the end of the board—a crimson-scaled reptile with wide, membranous wings and a gaping, fang-filled maw. It was a dragon.

Nyne stared at the model. It was unfamiliar, yet strangely familiar. Uneasy, he glanced at Amon—only to find that he too was staring at the dragon. A smile slowly formed on Amon’s lips, unreadable in its intent. For a moment, his golden eyes seemed to flicker like fire.

“Shall we go kill the wicked dragon, Sha Nyne?”

Nyne, caught off guard by Gwen’s voice, reluctantly turned back to the game. He tried to focus on the intricate and unfamiliar amusement before him.

Gwen skillfully drew both Nyne and the priests into the game with his storytelling and dramatic flair. Nyne, who had occasionally glanced at Amon, found himself increasingly drawn into the story. In a place where the only entertainments were music, books, dance, or song—this was refreshingly new.

Only one priest seemed unable to concentrate. He avoided looking at the dragon, and when his character died, he seemed oddly relieved and quickly withdrew. Though strange, Nyne soon forgot.

Time flew. Before long, more than two hours had passed without notice.

Eventually, Nyne called for a break. He rose and approached Amon, who had been watching from an elevated platform. This situation felt unfamiliar to Nyne. Usually, his time with Amon followed a strict pattern—either lying with him, or sitting at his side, overlooking others from above.