Chains of Vengeance

Chapter 91: Preparation

Narinder calmly handed out moon necklaces, shiny and delicate pieces that the cultists accepted with enthusiasm, knowing that they would help them withstand the fatigue of the night. It was not common for them to work night shifts, but tonight felt different; Narinder did not want to be alone.

While the cultists prepared paper decorations and traced details with ink and brushes, the dog—faithful and always willing to assist him—continued to ask questions about that fateful day when Narinder was sealed. With each question, Narinder answered calmly, although his responses were cautious, avoiding remembering too much. Each word of his brought shadows of the past to the present, but, in the midst of his story, he tried to protect himself and them from the darker details.

"Then, after they surrounded me, I saw how the chains began to appear," Narinder explained, while the dog and others listened attentively, their gaze fixed on him. It was at that moment that Shamura... well, Shamura and the others took their positions, each with their crown ready to restrain me.

The dog wrote down notes on a makeshift scroll, making sure not to miss a single detail of the story, while other cultists, standing with rapt eyes, took mental notes, committed to recreating every last detail.

The work, in its essence, would not only capture the moment when Narinder was sealed, but would serve as a sort of map to trace Shamura's memory back to the origin of his relic. The route they planned was to mirror the path to Silk Cradle, with the paper trails carefully laid out within the cult, like a theater that sought to materialize those blurry memories. The paper trails led to Shamura's "temple," also made with his crafts, in an effort to replicate the original temple. The group worked on each part of the stage, hoping that this exercise would not only help Shamura remember but lead them to discover where he may have hidden his relic on that fateful day.

Narinder watched as his followers continued to work, immersed in that almost mystical dedication. The night wore on and, although his tiredness was mitigated by the moon necklaces, Narinder could not help but feel a weight on his heart, one that would not go away so easily.

Narinder watched the small group of "actors" with a mixture of curiosity and slight disbelief. In front of him, the pink worm, who was normally a missionary, waited patiently for instructions, while the green frog frowned, muttering that there was nothing to indicate that Heket had to be played by a male. The purple octopus, normally quiet and focused on his work in the mines, remained motionless, showing his commitment, although he seemed a little out of place.

The dog, always full of enthusiasm, picked up a can of paint and smiled widely at Narinder, as if his plan were the most obvious thing in the world.

"Look, boss," said the dog, "with a couple of brush strokes here and there, our actors will be unrecognizable. Shamura won't even notice."

Narinder considered the idea, looking at the cans of paint in the dog's hands and weighing Shamura's possible reaction. Finally he nodded, clasping his hands calmly.

"Okay," said Narinder. "And, since we're doing this right... bring Weeber along too and paint him purple. He can stand in for Shamura. You never know when we'll need that figure at some point in the play."

The excited dog bowed to his master, his eyes shining with the opportunity to organize the production, and hurried off to lead the actors to the makeshift makeup area. The green frog, for his part, complained a little more when he saw that the paint they were going to use for "Heket" was red.

"Why red? It could be another color, right?" the frog grumbled, though he eventually accepted his role with resignation, knowing that as the only Heket-like amphibian in the cult, he had few options.

Narinder watched them go, amused by the improvisation and effort of all his followers.

Narinder watched his cultists closely, almost ready to play the bishops. He had considered finding another feline to play himself in the play, but quickly dismissed the idea. Something inside him told him that if anyone was to take his place in this performance of betrayal, it had to be him. So, although unusual, Narinder decided that he would act his own role, with his memories as clear and his presence as imposing as anyone else could manage.

While helping with the final touches of makeup, Narinder concentrated on the worm, covering it in green and surrounding it with small leaves, carefully placed to give the appearance of a leafy bush. Suddenly, the little worm began to take on the appearance of a makeshift version of Leshy. Narinder paused for a moment to observe the result, impressed.

Then it was the purple octopus' turn. They covered it in cyan blue paint and adorned it with some details to emulate Kallamar's appearance. However, its bulk was evident and, although they tried to soften it, they knew that Shamura would be able to notice. Narinder sighed, hoping that his brother, lost in his confusion, would not pay too much attention to the details.

Lastly, there was the frog, who huffed in frustration as Narinder and the dog tried to convince it to accept the role of Heket. The frog, painted red and with additional details on its skin, looked at its own reflection in a nearby puddle, noticeably uncomfortable.

"I look ridiculous!" protested the frog, puffing out its cheeks in disgust.

The dog, always the most pragmatic, replied patiently.

"You are the only one who can play Heket in the entire cult. Besides, no one else has that species."

Narinder nodded, looking at his loyal follower. They needed someone with Heket's appearance, and he fit the bill. Finally, with a sigh, the devotee accepted his role, resigned to the extravagant play they were all involved in.

When all the actors were ready, Narinder looked at them with satisfaction. They had put so much effort into this peculiar theater that now the cult seemed like a strange and nostalgic stage, ready to remember one of the most important moments in its history.

In the distance, Narinder saw the shrimp-shaped farmer, who was concentrating on heating corn in a metal pot. The scene seemed curious to him and, at the same time, a little disconcerting.

"Is he planning to make popcorn?" he wondered, frowning. "This is a plan to obtain a relic, not for fun."

However, as he looked around at the environment, he noticed how each cultist threw themselves into their tasks with enthusiasm. The red-painted frog was laughing as he tried to rehearse his line, the worm was moving proudly, displaying its green leaves as if they were its clothing, and the octopus, despite its bulky blue body, was trying to make dramatic gestures. It was evident that the play had taken an unexpected turn towards entertainment.

Narinder felt torn. Although reason told him to keep the focus on his mission, the joy emanating from his cult was contagious. He realized that, somehow, this event had created a sense of unity and camaraderie between them. It was as if, through the representation of their painful past, they found a way to heal and laugh together, even if it meant turning it into a show.

He decided to overlook the fact that this had all been entertainment. As the cultists immersed themselves in their roles, he understood that their goal was still standing and that none of this would affect their plans.

With the sunlight beginning to peek over the horizon, Narinder felt the vibrant energy in the air. He knew that in a few hours they would be putting on the play, and despite its seriousness, there was a spark of anticipation in him. As the cultists finished the final touches on their costumes, Narinder reflected on the power this event could have. Depending on the results, perhaps he could repeat it in the future, as the story of his imprisonment was a central theme in his religion. A theatrical ritual could become a powerful tool to remember and understand his suffering, while solidifying his place as the god who had survived the betrayal.

With that thought in mind, Narinder felt more determined. If this was the path to the truth he sought, he was willing to allow the joy of his worship to shine through, even amidst the darkness of his memories.