Chains of Vengeance

Chapter 24: The Forging of Amulets

After a day filled with activities and an unexpected encounter with the mysterious cultist Weeber, Narinder decided that he would not sleep that night. After all, he didn't need to. He was a god, and sleep, though comforting, was merely a whim he sometimes allowed himself. However, that night, his mind was brimming with inspiration, and there was a spark within him that he hadn't felt in centuries. It had been over a millennium since he last worked on creating amulets, and now the idea of forging something powerful excited him.

He made his way to the temple in the darkness, moving silently. On a stone table, he laid out the bones of heretics that his followers had gathered. Beside them, some worn but sharp tools awaited his touch. With almost divine precision, Narinder began to carve a circle into one of the bones, the size of a bracelet. His hands moved with the fluidity of someone who had mastered this ancient art, his eyes shining with barely contained enthusiasm.

For four straight hours, he worked in silence, sculpting three perfect discs from bone. With each cut and each carve, the excitement in his chest grew. It was as if he were rediscovering an old game, something that connected him to simpler times.

Once the three discs were ready, Narinder took Weeber's hair—the same hair he had plucked from his new follower hours earlier. Remembering how he had obtained it, a low, malevolent laugh echoed in the empty temple. Weeber had whined at losing his fur, but for Narinder, it was just a small price to pay for what he was about to create.

With extreme precision, Narinder inserted the hairs into small grooves he had carved into the bone discs, delicately surrounding each one. Then, he sealed the joints with a drop of melted gold, the metal flowing smoothly to solidify upon contact.

With the three prototypes prepared, the crucial moment arrived. Narinder took the first of the amulets and, with indescribable words, began an ancient divine chant. His eyes turned completely white as he channeled his energy into the small object. For ten minutes, divine power flowed through him into the amulet, charging it with a force no mortal could comprehend.

When Narinder's eyes returned to their usual color, he looked expectantly at the amulet. For a brief moment, everything seemed to go well, but suddenly, the object turned black and disintegrated into ashes before his eyes.

Far from being upset, Narinder smiled widely.

—"It works... but perhaps it needs more energy... or more essence from Weeber,"— he murmured to himself.

He took the second prototype, this time adding more hair and reducing the amount of gold in the mix. He repeated the process with the same calmness and precision. But as soon as he finished the chant, the amulet ignited in flames and disintegrated almost immediately.

Narinder tilted his head, pensive.

—"Perhaps more gold will fix it..."

The third prototype, covered with a thicker layer of gold, was next on the list. Narinder repeated the divine process once more. This time, the amulet lasted a bit longer—about five minutes—before turning to ashes.

The god patiently noted the results in his book of doctrines. The trials had been fruitless, but that was no reason for discouragement. It was all part of the process.

—"It's nothing,"— he told himself as he closed the book—. "This will just be an extra; besides, I can still get more raw materials."

Meanwhile, in his small house, Weeber sneezed and scratched the area where Narinder had pulled his fur hours earlier, unaware that his essence continued to be used for dark divine experiments.

After hours of intense concentration and effort, Narinder finally left the temple as the night sky began to lighten with the arrival of dawn. He had sweated a lot while working on the amulets, and his fur was sticky and messy. Once, he might have endured the discomfort until later, but as a god, Narinder refused to do anything he didn't enjoy, and among those things was being wet.

He snapped his fingers, casting a simple spell that instantly cleaned him. His fur regained its luster, and his clothes were impeccably pressed in seconds. A satisfied smile crossed his face as he saw himself once again neat and worthy of his divinity.

Without further delay, he walked toward his house. Though he didn't need rest, this time he wanted to quiet his mind a bit, to relax before resuming his duties. Upon arrival, he lay back on his bed and buried his face in his favorite pillow. The incomparable softness of the wool deeply comforted him. Of all the things in the living world, lamb's wool was one of the pleasures he enjoyed most. While he relished the ecstasy of sacrifices, the feeling of the wool against his skin was a joy that brought him peace.

Narinder closed his eyes as he rubbed his face against the pillow, savoring every second of that moment.

—"Surely the wool that the lamb had the day it freed me was even softer than this..."— he murmured, smiling as he inhaled the soft scent of lamb that permeated the pillow. That small detail, that aroma, calmed him in a way that few things did, bringing happy memories.

In the morning stillness, Narinder allowed his thoughts to fade slowly while the softness of the wool kept him immersed in a kind of divine meditation.

While resting in his bed, Narinder couldn't help but let his mind drift back to the Lamb. A slight regret washed over him as he remembered that he never taught him how to create amulets. The Lamb had always been an excellent leader, but he lacked the knowledge that Narinder had mastered. On expeditions, Lambert only used pre-made talismans; he had never created one himself.

—"It wasn't important back then..."— he murmured, justifying his past decision. After all, the priority had been liberation, not the teaching of secret arts. But now that everything was different, he realized how many opportunities for conversation and connection had been lost between them.

That thought drew a sigh from him, and Narinder hugged his wool pillow tightly, seeking an unexpected comfort in that gesture. Even though he was now free, he still felt the overwhelming weight of everything that had transpired to bring him to this point. He had paid a high price for his freedom: his divinity had faded, the twins, Aym and Baal, remained trapped in the Veil, and the body of the Lamb... also lost in that strange and unknown place.

He snuggled deeper into his bed, sinking into the softness of the wool as his thoughts turned darker. His brothers also crossed his mind. Although they were dead, he somehow missed them. Each of them had been an essential part of who he had been in the past, and despite their eternal disputes, he could not deny that there was a void in his existence now that they were all out of reach. But he knew, with total certainty, that if he could confine them as they had done with him, he would do so without hesitation.

He settled more comfortably in bed, seeking a relief that did not come. With his left hand, he caressed the scar that marked his right wrist. That deep cut was not just physical; Kudaai had been right when he told him that the chains binding him were not just those that had imprisoned his body, but also those that remained in his mind, weighing on him as a reminder of his captivity and his mistakes.

Narinder closed his eyes, trying to quiet the storm of thoughts surrounding him, but the invisible chains remained, dragging with them the echoes of a past that still haunted him.