Chains of Vengeance

Chapter 74: Walking Fear

In parallel to Narinder's adventure in Silk Cradle, Kallamar woke up late in his makeshift bed of branches and leaves. The hardness of the bed had not given him a restful sleep, and the pain in his joints constantly reminded him of his new mortal state. He got up heavily, feeling weaker and sicker than ever.

He decided to walk through the cult, hoping perhaps to find some relief or company. However, from the first moment, he noticed the cold stares of the cultists. Their eyes showed him no respect, not even curiosity; there was something darker, something that made him feel like an intruder. Kallamar continued walking, but the atmosphere was stifling.

The murmurs as he passed were dull but penetrating. No one spoke to him, and the further he advanced, the clearer the indifference became. The silence was worse than any insult; it was as if he no longer existed for them. He was being punished in a much crueler way: with oblivion.

Suddenly, a sharp stone struck him in the back. He turned quickly, but saw only a group of young cultists laughing. Another projectile, this time larger, hit him in the leg, making him stagger. There were no words, only rocks. Kallamar began to run, fleeing from the cultists who were chasing him and continuing to throw stones at him.

He ran until he could no longer, until his shaking legs let him fall to the ground, hidden among the trees. There, panting and in pain, he thought of fleeing to Anchordeep. Perhaps he could escape the torment, return to the lands where he had once been a feared and revered god. But he quickly dismissed the idea. In Anchordeep, without his divine powers, he would be an easy target. The creatures and hunters of his former kingdom would have no mercy. He was no longer a bishop, but a shadow of his former self, and anywhere outside of this cult he would be even more vulnerable.

Despair settled in his chest. He was trapped. He was nothing more than a prisoner in the only place he knew, surrounded by faces that rejected him, waiting for the moment when Narinder would decide his fate.

Kallamar walked alone for a while, his mind wandering in the loneliness and pain of being rejected. The silence of the cult was deafening, and the weight of the indifference he felt was almost unbearable. But suddenly, an idea crossed his mind. What if he sought out his former followers? Those who had once served him with devotion.

Hope briefly flared in his chest. If he could find some of them, perhaps he would not be so alone, perhaps they would still remember him, respect him. The Lamb had taken his faithful when he defeated them, but what if some were still here? Or at least, his witness, that faithful devotee who had been by his side until the end.

With a new determination, Kallamar began to walk through the cult, nervously dodging the hostile cultists. "They must be around here somewhere," he thought as he looked between the shadows of the houses and fields.

Minutes passed and his search became more desperate. The sun was beginning to set and the fear of not finding anyone he knew began to consume him. It was then that he came upon a farm. There, a shrimp stepped out in front of him, menacingly holding some farming tools. "Get away from here," the shrimp growled, brandishing his hoe as if it were a weapon. Kallamar quickly backed away, his hope faltering.

"Maybe they're dead already..." he said to himself, feeling the emptiness grow deeper. If his followers no longer existed, then he had nowhere to turn. But he didn't give up entirely. He decided to head to the cemetery. Maybe if I found their graves, I could at least feel a connection to them, even if they were already dead.

The cemetery was quiet, almost peaceful, with flowers carefully placed on the graves. Kallamar began to read the tombstones one by one, looking for familiar names, those who had once followed him with unwavering faith. However, as he went on, his hope diminished. No name was familiar to him, none of his own.

He sat down next to one of the graves, his heart heavy with the knowledge that he was completely alone. Everything he had ever known or loved seemed to have disappeared, like dust carried by the wind.

Kallamar walked aimlessly, sadness hanging on his shoulders like a heavy burden. The silence around him made him feel even more insignificant. Not knowing where to go, he made his way towards the jail. There, he saw Jalala still trapped in the wooden stocks, smelling like rotten tomatoes and her gaze heavy with resentment.

"At least she's someone to chat with," Kallamar muttered, resigned. Even Jalala, the rebellious panda, ignored him. But unlike the others, she couldn't escape his presence.

Kallamar sat close to her, looking at the dead branches around her, before he began to speak in a tired voice. "Long ago, followers came to my altar to catch a glimpse of the beauty of my temple," he said, his voice filled with nostalgia. "My temple was majestic, the waves crashed gently around it, and my followers came from all over to ask for my guidance."

Jalala didn't answer, wanting to give her the cold shoulder, but Kallamar continued. "Of course, it couldn't last forever. My brothers might not understand, but I've always known." He paused, the truth ringing in his words. The life of a god was meant to be fleeting. "It didn't make me any less afraid. I was always a coward, ha..." he let out a bitter laugh.

"The things I didn't want to hear... Narinder's foolish plans," he added, fingering the bandages over the scars on his ears. He felt the weight of his past as if the pain was still fresh. "When Shamura told us what we must do to ensure our survival... I didn't want to hear that either."

Regret crept into his voice. "And yet, I was a willing conspirator. Coward Kallamar..." he whispered, staring off into the distance. The echo of his decisions haunted him, and he knew that nothing he did now could change what had already been done. He had been a part of the betrayal, and now he was trapped in a life that no longer belonged to him.

Kallamar continued to speak, his voice growing increasingly heavy with sadness and regret. "I don't know how my brothers felt, but I... I felt guilty," he muttered, as he looked at the ground. "Maybe if we had talked to Narinder, if we had tried to understand him, we could have stopped all this from happening..."

He pulled some crystals from his pocket and, without much interest in the present, began to play with them, gathering clay from the ground to mold a rudimentary figure. "Narinder may be my younger brother," he continued, as he molded his makeshift toy, "but he was always braver than me. I guess... he didn't deserve what happened to him. We betrayed him when he needed us the most."

As his fingers manipulated the crystals and clay, his voice became more introspective. "And I guess I don't deserve anyone's forgiveness either," he admitted with resignation. "I helped destroy an entire species, just out of fear... fear of facing my own brother."

He continued to mold, almost as if the movement of his hands provided him with some comfort. "I know Narinder. I know he will destroy me when I am no longer of use to him... But I suppose I must be brave and accept my fate," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "The era of the old faith is over, and I must accept that my time has passed, that I will go with her."

As he finished molding the small figure, he watched it in silence. It was a simple reminder of the ephemerality of his power, of the fragility of his existence.

Kallamar slowly rose, brushing off the dust that had accumulated on his clothes as he sat next to Jalala. His gaze was melancholy, but his resolve was clear in his mind. "Thank you for listening," he murmured with a slight, bitter smile, though Jalala, immersed in her own resentment, paid him no heed.

Despite the cold silence, Kallamar did not feel offended. He knew that no one owed him words of comfort anymore. He turned and began to walk back toward his lonely bed of leaves and branches, his makeshift shelter in a place where he no longer had a home. As he walked, each step felt heavy, not from physical exhaustion, but from the weight of loneliness and guilt that enveloped him.

This day, more than any other, had been the loneliest of his life. Yet in that isolation he had found clarity. With each step he took towards his bed, he reaffirmed the decision he had made deep within. He wanted to end the guilt he carried in his heart, the guilt that had haunted him for centuries. He knew that facing it would mean the end of him, but he was ready for it. And though the night closed in on him like a cloak of darkness, Kallamar felt that for the first time in a long time, there was a small glimmer of peace within him.