Chains of Vengeance

Chapter 88: Normality?

Narinder woke up with a heavy tiredness, as if the echoes of his dreams still enveloped him. He looked around and found himself alone in his huge bed, the silhouette of the wrinkled sheets being the only witness to his restless rest. He gave a long sigh, closing his three eyes and pressing them gently with his fist, trying to dispel the dense melancholy that the dreamlike vision had left him with.

"Maybe I should consider not sleeping when the emotions of the day are so intense..." he murmured, as if that could avoid the dilemmas that crowded his mind.

He got up and went to his table, where two gift boxes that he had made himself rested. He opened the red one first, and delicately took the golden bell from inside. He held it between his fingers, swinging it slightly, and a subtle, warm smile appeared on his face as he remembered Lambert, the lamb. For a few moments, the soft tinkling of the bell seemed to envelop him in a strange peace, a genuine affection that he had forgotten how much he needed.

After a while, he put the bell away in its box, as if keeping that small memento would give him back some of the stability he so longed for. Then he looked at the purple box, sighing again, but this time with a mix of uncertainty and desire.

"Shamura... all those vivid dreams... are they prophetic shadows? I am a god after all... it wouldn't be strange to see glimpses of the future."

He opened the box and took the tarot card in his hands, observing it silently. His thoughts flew between the past and the present, his brother and his fragmented memories. After a while, he carefully put the card away, but this time he kept it in his hands as he put on his robe, as if carrying it with him gave him some kind of strength.

He left his house and went to the small dwelling he had built for the twins, but which Shamura now occupied. He found his brother, dressed in his old and worn clothes, trying to make his bed, lost in his thoughts.

"Hello, Shamura," Narinder said in a calm voice, searching for a way to handle the fragility he had discovered in his brother.

Shamura looked at him with an expression of confusion and joy mixed in. "I'm looking for Leshy," he said, as if it were a game, "I'm sure he hid underground. That little guy is quite a mess, don't you think?"

Narinder nodded, feeling a mixture of tenderness and pain. "Yes... he is."

Then, he took out the letter and brought it to Shamura. "Do you know what this is?" he asked, hoping that something in it would trigger some lost memory.

Shamura looked at it closely, his eyes focused on the letter as if he were trying to decipher a distant enigma. "I think it's... a card," he said after a while. "Kallamar loves card games, doesn't he?"

Narinder sighed, knowing that Shamura was telling the truth, but also that his brother's memories were still trapped somewhere far away, in a time when Leshy was still a little burrowing worm, and where Kallamar still thought life was a simple game.

Narinder calmly made Shamura's bed, making sure it was neatly made, every fold perfectly aligned. His hands worked with a precision that belied the storm of thoughts swirling inside him. When he was done, he turned to his brother and smiled softly.

"Come, let's get you some breakfast," he said, keeping his tone reassuring.

Shamura let out a small, playful laugh. "Breakfast at dinner time? You're weird, Narinder." The confusion in his voice was evident, but Narinder chose not to correct him; somehow, that moment seemed too fragile to force it to understand the present.

He led him to the kitchen, where some cultists were already gathered. The tension was palpable, but when Shamura entered, they smiled at him carefully, forcing gestures of kindness in the name of the plan to recover the information from the relic. Narinder watched their attempts with slight gratitude; at least, they were trying to adapt to this difficult situation.