Chains of Vengeance

Chapter 68: Fake Gold

Narinder stepped out of his house with determined strides, though his mind was a tangled mess of emotions. He knew sleep wouldn't come—not just because he was a god and had no need for it, but because he feared the nightmares that might haunt him. He no longer wished to face his thoughts in the darkness, so he chose movement, searching for anything to distract him.**

He walked toward the portal, and before entering, he glanced up at the night sky. The stars shimmered cold and distant, indifferent to his turmoil. With a sigh, he teleported aimlessly, letting chance guide him. When the portal dissolved, he found himself surrounded by gleaming mountains, illuminated as if made of gold.

—"And of course, it had to be here..."—he murmured, his tone laced with resignation.

It was Midas' cave, a place where everything glittered with the illusion of infinite wealth. But with his third eye, Narinder saw through the façade. The mountains weren't pure gold—they were pyrite, deceptive imitations, gleaming only on the surface.

—"Fool's gold... None of this has any real value,"—he muttered disdainfully, wandering through the cave without interest.

The constant gleam of counterfeit coins reflected in his eyes, but it stirred no emotion within him. His mind drifted elsewhere, still haunted by the shadow of Kallamar and the emptiness he felt. He walked mechanically until his gaze locked onto the movement of shadows at the edge of the cave.

There, far off in the darkness, he spotted a figure: a fox draped in a black cloak. The creature seemed to observe him, waiting for something. Narinder stopped, his full attention now on the enigmatic presence.

A faint smile crossed Narinder's face as his gaze drifted over the false mountain of gold, a soft blush coloring his cheeks. Memories of the day the Lamb gave Ratau to him flooded his thoughts. It was an odd moment to feel nostalgia, but the thought of that sacrifice stirred a sense of satisfaction within him, a feeling he hadn't experienced in ages.

—"Ratau... yes, that day was... special,"—Narinder whispered, almost to himself, as he stared at the false gold with indifference.

The fox's sharp eyes caught the shift in Narinder's expression, briefly spotting the vulnerability. A sly laugh echoed through the cave, playful yet filled with a hint of complicity.

—"Ah, the good old days. The red crown, the Lamb... and that delicious rat. I didn't think you could blush, old god,"—the fox teased, circling Narinder slowly, its claws barely brushing the ground.

Narinder took a deep breath, letting the moment pass, and quickly regained his composure. His gaze turned back to the fox, now filled with disinterest and disdain.

—"Memories are just that... memories. What matters is the present, and here you are, clinging to ghosts of a past that no longer exists. Don't you have anything better to do, fox?"—Narinder's tone was firm, almost challenging.

The fox's grin widened, baring all its teeth as it stepped closer, its eyes glinting with mischievous delight.

—"Perhaps, perhaps not... But you, Narinder, are as chained to those memories as you once were in the Veil. Don't deny it. The day of Ratau's sacrifice... For the Lamb, it was a step toward absolute wickedness,"—the fox said with a serpentine smoothness.

Narinder stared at the fox without replying immediately. The words lingered in his mind, though he refused to give them credit. It was true the sacrifice of Ratau had been significant, but Narinder wasn't ready to admit his feelings for the Lamb.

—"I am not the same as I once was,"—he finally said, trying to sound neutral, his voice low but steady. —"I have changed, evolved... I don't need your words to remind me of who I am."