Chains of Vengeance

Chapter 23: Under the Shadow of the Tree

Satisfied and relaxed, Narinder continued with his daily tasks. He paused in front of the statue under construction, observing the progress. Each day brought it closer to completion, and that stone representation of himself would serve as yet another reminder of his power over the faithful. Though the statue was still unfinished, each small advancement reminded him that his influence continued to grow, step by step. Narinder smiled, confident that he would soon see his image standing tall, imposing and worthy of his divinity.

Afterward, he headed to the cult's children. Sitting among them, he spoke passionately about the bravery of the Lamb, how Lambert freed him from his prison, saving him from an eternal fate in the Veil. The little ones looked at him with admiration and awe, not fully understanding the magnitude of what it meant to be released from such a bleak and empty place, but aware that they were following the teachings of a figure larger than life itself. Narinder's tale was filled with respect, but also a hidden melancholy that only he understood.

Next, Narinder visited the mines and lumberyards, where workers bowed as he passed, hoping for a word of recognition. He, magnanimous, blessed those who contributed to the cult's progress, who with sweat and effort brought the necessary resources for its expansion. With each blessing, he felt his followers' faith grow, and though the increase in his divine power was small, it was significant. Narinder knew that every action counted, and the cult needed a solid foundation before his divinity could reach its true splendor.

The day continued peacefully and pleasantly, and before night fell, Narinder decided to take a moment for himself. He sought the shade of a tree in the center of the cult, where he lay back on the soft grass. Though the feel of the grass couldn't compare to the soft, warm wool of the Lamb, he felt quite comfortable. He closed his eyes for a moment, listening to the sounds of the faithful working in the distance, the wind rustling the leaves, and the distant singing of birds. It was a luxury he rarely enjoyed during his confinement in the Veil.

Despite his position and power, Narinder appreciated these small pleasures of the living world. The almost absolute silence of the Veil had deprived him of such delights, and although Aym and Baal, the twin cats, accompanied him, the two barely spoke. Narinder often lost himself in thought there, but nothing compared to the sounds and sensations of the physical world. Now, under the shadow of the tree, he allowed himself to enjoy the moment, even though his thoughts constantly drew him back to the Veil.

With his gaze lost among the tree's leaves and the sky, Narinder reflected on the twins, Aym and Baal. He deeply wished to free them from the Veil, to bring them into the physical realm, but he knew that without reclaiming his full divinity, he was limited. The power he currently possessed was insufficient to bring them out. He would need more time and more sacrifices to achieve the necessary strength. However, he was sure the twins would wait patiently for him. He trusted their loyalty and knew that although time passed strangely in the Veil, they would endure until he brought them back.

A bitter thought crossed his mind, one he did not want to fully admit. Aside from the twins, Narinder wished to reclaim the body of the Lamb. The idea of bringing Lambert back was almost a whim, but he could not deny that there was something inside him that longed for that possibility. He was unsure how the Veil would affect a being like the Lamb, whether his death there was definitive or if there existed some way to revive him. Despite being the true god of death, the Veil was uncertain territory, filled with mysteries even for him.

He sighed, exhausted by those thoughts. He stretched out under the shade of the tree, allowing himself a moment of rest. For now, it made little sense to stress over what he could not change. He knew that time was on his side and that eventually, he would attain his full divinity. He just needed to be patient, although patience had never been one of his greatest virtues.

Narinder woke up near midnight. The sky was dark, and the stars were barely visible. However, he could see clearly in the dim light, a gift he did not know whether came from his feline nature or his divinity. He slowly got up, stretching his body lazily, and surveyed his surroundings in silence. The cult was calm, but nocturnal creatures remained active. He noticed some spiders crawling among the constructions and trees. They didn't bother him; after all, he had been raised by one. But as much respect as he had for Shamura, these spiders did not possess the same nobility or intelligence as his brother. They were mere insects.

The memory of Shamura, however, caused him some discomfort. He frowned, and with some frustration, crushed one of the spiders under his paw. What happened next left him surprised: from the small creature emerged a large skull, almost disproportionate compared to the tiny body that had housed it. For a moment, Narinder thought it was Shamura's relic, which quickened his heartbeat. But upon closer examination, he realized it was not his brother's skull. It was something different, though its origin and purpose remained a mystery.

Not wanting to make too much of it, Narinder decided not to alarm the cultists with his discovery. He carefully took the skull and carried it to one of the nearby graves. There, he buried it with the same calmness he had used to unearth secrets over the centuries. He knew the faithful would be alarmed if they found something like that without explanation, and he was not in the mood to give long explanations about what he did not fully understand.

However, something strange happened as he covered the skull with dirt. An unfamiliar figure emerged from the grave, a new cultist in the shape of a spider. Narinder was surprised but showed not a hint of unease. His expression remained impassive as he watched the creature. It seemed to be one of his followers, for the faith in its eyes toward its god was undeniable. Narinder probed its mind with a slight effort and discovered that it was named Weeber. The god smiled inwardly, for although he did not expect this encounter, he could feel that this new follower possessed something special.

What caught Narinder's attention most was a unique trait of Weeber: the gift of "not dying of hunger." That was surprising, something he had never seen in any other cultist. If he could replicate that trait among his other followers, he could eliminate the need for food in his cult, making food merely a luxury rather than a necessity. It was a tempting prospect.

Without saying anything, Narinder approached Weeber and, with a swift movement, plucked a tuft of his black fur. Weeber let out a small sob, a tear rolling down his cheek, but the god did not apologize. To Narinder, his purpose was greater than the pain of one of his followers. The tuft of hair in his hand was the key to studying that trait and potentially replicating it.

—"You can choose one of the empty houses,"— he instructed in a neutral voice, pointing to the small structures where the cultists lived.

Weeber, still rubbing his head where Narinder had pulled the fur, nodded shyly and went in search of a place to sleep.

Narinder, for his part, smiled to himself. The possibilities that tuft of hair offered were great.