Chains of Vengeance

Chapter 66: Returning to Routine

Narinder withdrew calmly, letting the chants and bustle of the celebration continue behind him. His footsteps echoed hollowly on the ground as he moved further from the temple, distancing himself from the fervor of the cultists rejoicing in their victory. Once home, he opened a wooden shelf in his room and, with careful hands, placed the moon necklace and the sun necklace recovered from the resurrected cultists. Just beneath those symbols, he laid down the two relics Forneus had given him. He gazed at them for a few seconds, as if trying to find some solace or meaning beyond the power they held. They were treasures to him, not for their value, but for their significance. With a heavy sigh, Narinder lay down on his massive bed, hoping the mental exhaustion would drag him into sleep. But it didn't. Instead, a sharp pain filled his mind—a pressure overwhelming him from within. He clasped his head tightly with both hands, as if doing so could halt the storm brewing inside. —"Why?! Why don't I feel happy?!"—he shouted, his voice echoing off the empty walls. The echo returned to him with an overwhelming loneliness. He gritted his teeth, trying to stifle the growing frustration within. —"I remember... the happiness... when the Lamb killed my brothers..."—he whispered, almost inaudibly. His gaze fell on the scars on his wrists, and he began to stroke them compulsively. The marks left by the chains that had imprisoned him for so long were still there, an indelible reminder of his punishment. —"The chains loosened... after their defeats... Why don't I feel the ecstasy of revenge now?" His breathing quickened, and his fingers ran frantically over the scars, as if physical pain could erase the emotional torment consuming him. —"Why can't I feel satisfaction? I should be overjoyed, I should be... happy!" But in his heart, there was only an unbearable void. The thirst for revenge that had driven him for so long had not filled the hollow in his soul. —"Why... do I just want... to cry?"—he finally whispered, his voice cracked, tired, broken. The tears he had held back for so long welled in his eyes, but he refused to let them fall. He was a god, after all. A god doesn't cry... or does he? With one last effort, he closed his eyes, clenching his fists until his nails dug into his palms, trying to suppress the pain suffocating him. But in the silence of his home, only sadness remained—profound and inescapable—a sadness no divine power could extinguish. Narinder spent the rest of the time in a state of emptiness. His eyes were fixed on the ceiling, but his mind was absent, disconnected from any thought or emotion. Hours slipped by unnoticed; time was just a shadow lengthening as he lay still in bed, as if even thinking was beyond his strength. The rooster's crow pulled him from his trance. Narinder blinked, as though returning from a dream he couldn't recall entering. He sat up on the bed and rubbed his face, though not from fatigue—more out of habit. —"If I weren't a god... I'd be exhausted..."—he muttered to himself as he slowly stood. —"I'm not sure if it's good or bad not to have dark circles."— He tried to smile, but there was no real humor in his words. He brushed his fur methodically, almost automatically, before leaving his house. The morning air was cool and pure, but it failed to clear his mind as it usually did. He headed toward the farms, where his followers were already at work. In the distance, he saw the starfish and shrimp chatting animatedly while sorting seeds for the next harvest. When they noticed him, the two farmers immediately stopped. Their hands left the seeds, and with swift, reverent movements, they bowed to their god, as was customary. Narinder looked at them for a moment, his expression neutral. They were faithful, tireless in their devotion, always willing to serve without question. But at that moment, instead of the usual satisfaction their loyalty brought him, there was only the distant echo of something slipping away. —"Carry on with your work"—he said softly, almost devoid of energy, as he continued across the field. The farms were well-kept, his followers diligent, but everything seemed shrouded in a silence too deep for his liking. It was as if something vital within him had gone dark. Narinder decided to block out any troubling emotions. This was not the time to indulge in feelings, so he focused on his responsibilities. He began with the farms, harvesting the ripe fruits and vegetables with precision—every movement careful, measured. Without dwelling on his thoughts, he moved to the kitchens next. There, he immersed himself in the act of cooking, a task he hadn't performed in a long time. He prepared over 40 dishes, each one with impeccable technique, showcasing the mastery he had honed over his immortality. Every cut, every mix of ingredients brought him into a state of calm—a perfect distraction from the weight pressing down on him. Though the task took time, the focus on something tangible and simple granted him momentary peace. When he finished, he distributed the meals, ensuring each of his followers received food worthy of their devotion. Then, he walked to his statue, towering in the center of the cult, and gathered the accumulated fervor of his followers. The energy surrounded him, adding a bit more power to his being, but it wasn't enough to dispel the emptiness growing inside him. Determined to fulfill every duty, he headed to the area where the children gathered to hear his teachings. Narinder looked at them—young, full of questions—and began to speak with a firm, authoritative voice. —"Listen carefully, little ones. Evil resides in the old faith, in the ancient gods who were defeated. But the new faith, our faith, is the only truth, the only goodness in this world. Everything else is corruption and decay."— His tone was solemn, loaded with the conviction he had repeated thousands of times. The children looked at him with admiration and respect, taking his words as law. As he spoke, Narinder clung to those words, as if they might provide some certainty he was lacking. But, though he uttered them with the same confidence as always, something inside him couldn't stop doubting.