Chains of Vengeance

Chapter 62: Nostalgic Talk

Narinder stood up from the ground with renewed energy. The rest had been short, but enough. Although he was still in Anchordeep, he had not forgotten his purpose. He had a mission to fulfill.

With a firm step, he walked towards the center of Anchordeep. The enemies that would have tried to attack him before now retreated, almost instinctively knowing that he was no match for them. His mere presence was enough to make them hesitate, and none dared to approach.

Narinder, with his sickle in hand, felt almost invincible. As he reached the entrance of the temple, his gaze met the creature that awaited him: Haborym, the corrupted and monstrous version of a cultist.

The beast, a colossal octopus-like being, floated in front of him. Its blue body, sewn from three separate parts, looked grotesque. Ten bony spikes protruded from its skin, and four yellow eyes stared at him, oozing ichor as a menacing hiss emanated from its vertical mouth filled with sharp teeth. Four red tentacles moved like whips, ready to tear apart anything that came close.

But Narinder did not hesitate. Something inside him knew that this battle would not be a challenge. He felt stronger than ever, as if the farewell of the twins and the relics he carried had granted him unwavering calm and confidence.

The fight began, but Narinder, with precise and fluid movements, anticipated each attack of Haborym. The creature's tentacles flapped furiously, trying to wrap around him, but each blow of the sickle cut masterfully, slicing the beast's limbs. The monster's spasms were desperate, but useless.

Finally, with one last movement, Narinder plunged his sickle into Haborym's corrupted body. An agonized shriek echoed across the confines of Anchordeep as the creature fell defeated, ichor pouring from its wounds as it vanished into a dark, cursed cloud.

Among the remains of the being, something shone with a divine glow. Narinder walked over and picked up the Divine Tear. He looked at it closely, feeling the holy energy emanating from it. Anyone would have felt reverence or fear at touching something so powerful, but Narinder only smiled. He was still in a good mood, almost carefree.

He had completed his task effortlessly, and that feeling of invincibility continued to take hold of him.

"One more day," he muttered to himself, pocketing the Tear, and walked out into the grey horizon, leaving the temple and the shadow of Haborym behind.

Narinder closed his eyes and, with a gentle gesture, teleported back to the cult. The warm afternoon light bathed the cultists working diligently at their tasks, and a gentle breeze stirred the air. Watching everything from above, Narinder felt stronger and more satisfied than he had in a long time.

With that feeling of lightness and good humor, he made his way to the jail, where Heket remained locked away. He sat next to the bars, looking out at the bustle of the cult, enjoying the peaceful atmosphere instead of facing his sister directly.

"You know, life is strange," he began, not waiting for a response. "Sometimes you expect to come out hurt, broken, but instead, life rewards you in ways you don't expect." A calm smile spread across his face, as he continued to stare out at the horizon.

Heket, from the dark corner of his cell, only emitted a low growl, but approached the bars, showing interest.

Narinder turned slightly, though he still didn't look at her directly. "For now, let's put aside the matter of your relic, and how much you hate me. Today I just want to chat... with my sister." His tone, for the first time in a long time, held no trace of threat or demand. It was just a voice full of nostalgia.

Heket remained silent, but moved a little closer, curious about the sudden change of mood.

Narinder let out a light laugh, remembering something from the past. "Do you remember when Leshy stole Kallamar's orb? Poor Kallamar was terrified for weeks thinking that a thief was prowling around his temple. He woke up startled every night... He couldn't even look me in the eyes without trembling!" Narinder's laugh was sincere, not laden with sarcasm or cruelty. It was a distant memory, one of those absurd moments from his old life with his brothers.

Heket didn't say anything, but Narinder could tell that the growling had stopped, and for a moment, the silence between them wasn't awkward. It was almost as if, for a few seconds, they were simply brothers again, before power and ambition drove them apart.

"I guess... it wasn't all bad," Narinder muttered, looking down. He knew the peace between them wouldn't last long, but for now, this small moment of calm was enough.

Narinder pulled a small pumpkin out of his infinite pocket. With a swift movement, he split it in two, enjoying the sweet aroma it emanated. He ate a piece with relish, then passed the other half through the cell grate. Heket, eyes shining with hunger, grabbed it with trembling hands and devoured the piece of pumpkin almost desperately.

The scene brought a smile to Narinder's face. "I remember when you ate the entire victory cake after defeating the goddess of beauty, Anchorite," he began, laughing as he recalled the moment. "Shamura was furious because you didn't leave him a single piece, and you just said that you were prettier than Anchorite and deserved the whole cake."

Heket, while recovering from her "feast," began writing on a piece of paper, holding it up to show him. "That cake wasn't that good anyway, no chef cooked like me," written in a mocking tone, but with a hint of nostalgia.

Narinder, surprised, took the sheet in amazement and, with a glint in his eyes, replied, "That's right! Your cooking was the best in the world. I always suspected that you cheated and put a little hunger power in it to make it better." Narinder's laughter echoed in the cell, a rare sound in the cold prison, but it was soon cut off by a soft tap on his shoulder.

Heket, somewhat annoyed, had patted him affectionately, an action that made them both feel a pang of nostalgia.

With a smile still on his face, Narinder looked down at the ground. "But these are just old stories now," he said in a tone that was neither sad nor cheerful; just tired. He stood up and brushed some dirt off his clothes, preparing to leave.

"Wait, don't go. We can keep talking if you want," Heket wrote urgently, her nervous expression reflecting a mix of a desire for connection and sadness.

Narinder looked at the note, put it in his pocket, and with a sigh replied, "I'm sorry, Heket. We both know our actions cannot be undone." He started to walk away, feeling a weight pressing down on his chest.

In a last attempt to hold him back, Heket began to shake the bars, drawing his attention, but to no avail. Unable to speak, her eyes filled with helplessness, and Narinder, though he paused for a moment, did not look back. The distance between them seemed to grow not only in space, but in time and irreversible decisions, leaving both trapped in the echo of what they once were.

Narinder walked towards his house. Upon entering, he dropped into the huge bed, which seemed to absorb him as if it were waiting for him. There were still several hours to go before sleep, but the idea of ​​resting and escaping reality was tempting.

"If I wanted to, I could stay here all day," he thought as he settled into the soft sheets. He was a god, the one true god, reigning over death, and no one would tell him what to do. The thought brought him a moment of satisfaction.

He began to toss and turn in bed, feeling the comfort of the place, the soft brush of the sheets against his skin. Suddenly, he remembered the two notes Heket had given him. Pulling them out of his pocket, he looked at them closely, feeling that they were more than just papers; they were a link to their past, to the moments they shared.

"First time she's spoken to me since she arrived," he muttered to himself, rolling over in bed as if trying to untangle his thoughts. The talk turned out to be more rewarding than he had expected. He had enjoyed the lightness of those memories, even despite the emotional burden they carried.

"I guess I'll miss those old times..." he continued, gently caressing the paper with his fingers, as if he could feel his sister's essence through it. The written words were a reminder of the connection that still existed between them, despite the distance and sadness that had built up over the years.

He paused for a moment, staring at the decorated ceiling of his room, lost in nostalgia. Life, he thought, was full of unexpected twists and turns and paths he never imagined he would take. He had sacrificed so much, but in that moment of stillness, he felt like he had regained something valuable: the ability to remember and to feel.

With a sigh, he turned away once more, closing his eyes. He didn't know how long he would spend here, but he knew he needed this moment, a pause in his endless existence. Sometimes, even the gods needed to rest and reflect.