Chains of Vengeance

Chapter 12: Fragments of the Past and Future

Narinder returned to his cult, walking slowly through the familiar grounds he now led with power he had never imagined. His mind, however, was far from calm. Clauneck's cards still floated in his memory, each more unsettling than the last. Chains, pain, choices that would bring power but not necessarily happiness. And that final purple card... the image of a sword and the shadow of a rival he couldn't ignore. Shamura, he thought. Just the name sent a shiver down his spine.

Still, he knew he couldn't allow those visions to dominate his present. Not now, when he had achieved so much. He walked through the grounds of his cult, observing his loyal followers working and offering him worship. Then, a loud crash broke through his thoughts. The statue of the Lamb crumbled, its debris scattering across the ground like remnants of an old kingdom.

Narinder watched the scene with a slight smile, feeling a mix of relief and satisfaction. He approached the broken fragments of what was once the Lamb's statue, now no more than a few large chunks of stone.

"It was only a matter of time," he muttered as he lifted one of the pieces with his hand. "Now, we, the New Faith, will need a better representation. Something more fitting for what we are."

The cultists working nearby looked at him expectantly, awaiting his orders. Narinder paused, contemplating how he wanted to be remembered. He raised his gaze and spoke with authority:

"Build a statue of me, with the crown upon my head, holding my scythe in one hand and the book of doctrines in the other. Let it be imposing, inspiring both devotion and fear. I will be the symbol of this new era."

With a snap of his fingers, the workers began mobilizing, gathering tools and materials to fulfill his wish. But just when he thought his day would proceed as usual, a shrill cry pierced the air. Narinder squinted, turning in the direction of the sound. A panda with red eyes and a megaphone in hand was storming toward him.

"You are not our god! The Lamb was, and always will be!" the panda shouted, her voice echoing through the grounds.

Narinder needed no further explanation. This was a dissenting cultist, someone who still didn't understand their true place in the New Faith. He wasn't surprised, as he had seen this type of minor rebellion before. It felt tiresome, as if dealing with these interruptions was an unnecessary burden on his path to absolute power.

With a nearly disinterested motion, the red crown upon his head transformed into a massive black hand. Without a word, the hand lunged at the panda, gripping her tightly and dragging her toward the cult's makeshift prison. The dissenter struggled and screamed, but there was no hope against Narinder's power.

"Take some time to reflect..." Narinder murmured, barely glancing at the panda now locked away. As he walked away, a discomforting thought nagged at his mind. He reached out with his power and read the dissenter's thoughts.

"Jalala, right? That's your name..." he said, his words dripping with disdain. "Well then, listen closely. I am the god the Lamb prayed to. He was nothing more than my vessel, my key to liberation... Nothing more."

Those words, spoken aloud, hit him like an uncomfortable truth. As he walked through the cult, without a clear destination, a shadow of doubt clouded his mind. Was that really what the Lamb was to me? he thought. Just a tool?

With a sigh, his steps carried him to the Lamb's house, a place he now considered his home. As he entered, he took in the furnishings, the modest and functional decor the Lamb had arranged during his time. Nothing in the room spoke of grandeur, but of simplicity and purpose. He paused for a moment in front of the mirror, his dark and sharp reflection contrasting with the soft light filtering through the windows.

He shook his head, trying to dispel the thoughts that tormented him. "This is my home now," he told himself, almost as if to convince himself. "The Lamb is gone, and I am the leader."

He walked toward the Lamb's bed, still intact, covered by a plush pillow made of wool. Narinder sat at the edge, gazing at the soft fabric and feeling a wave of nostalgia wash over him. "The Lamb had a great affinity with the crown," he murmured to himself. "I could see everything he did... see him fight, see him cook..." A sigh escaped his lips, a sigh filled with a mix of sadness and longing. "It took barely two centuries to defeat the bishops, but it felt so fleeting... so brief."

Narinder, feeling the weight of the day upon him, lay down on the bed, burying his face in the pillow. For a moment, he closed his eyes and let his mind wander, imagining that he himself was the Lamb, experiencing what his vessel had felt. The softness of the wool against his skin, the warmth of the room... it was a fantasy he didn't want to leave too quickly.

He breathed deeply, trying to calm his thoughts. The future, with all its uncertainties and prophecies, could wait. For now, this was his moment. A moment just for him, a break from the chaos and the power, and he wanted to savor every second he had before the inevitable storm came again.

He stayed there for a while, allowing his mind to sink into that fleeting peace, without thinking about tomorrow, without worrying about what was to come.