Chains of Vengeance

Chapter 93: Goodbye, until the next show

As the curtain closed, applause filled the temple, echoing with the same force as the ancient chants. The cultists commented excitedly, praising Narinder's performance, his intensity and stage presence. Others were already whispering about the possibility of repeating the play, eager to relive that immersive experience. The energy in the air was unusual, mixing devotion with a new spark of joy and pride.

Narinder left the stage, aware of the euphoria of his cult and with a solemn calm that returned some seriousness to the atmosphere. "I remind you that, although we have obtained a crucial clue, the location of the relic is not absolutely certain," he said, with a firm tone that made everyone listen attentively. "We must ensure that Shamura remains safe until we recover that relic."

Some of the cultists, a little embarrassed, nodded, understanding the implicit warning. Then Narinder, with a slight smile that eased the tension, added: "Now, I will go to Silk Cradle in search of that relic. But I trust that, in the meantime, you will clean and organize this... there is no need to throw away the materials. You can save them for a future... of cultural enrichment."

That final touch brought laughter and relieved any shadow of doubt in his followers, who now knew that their effort and dedication not only served their Lord, but also to cultivate their spirit. Narinder, satisfied to see that the faith on their faces shone even more intensely, headed for the exit, leaving behind a united and enthusiastic cult, ready for when the time came to raise the curtain again.

Narinder's concern was palpable; by obtaining Shamura's skull, he knew that his brother's fate would be sealed, and this idea weighed on him like an invisible chain. As he walked, his thoughts were an internal tumult, a struggle between his duty and the connection he still felt towards his brother.

He muttered to himself, almost like a whisper to convince himself, "I really don't want to do it... but I'm going to." His voice sounded hesitant, a rarity for him. Meanwhile, the mystic, a merchant with deep eyes and enigmatic words, seemed about to intervene, probably with some reflection on the ways of fate or the nature of choices. But Narinder raised his hand in a determined gesture, his gaze a mix of tiredness and determination.

"I'm dealing with emotional issues right now," he said in a harsh voice, and before the mystic could protest, he added, "I won't stand for talk of mysticism and all that 'blah blah blah' about fate. Let's talk later."

Without giving him a chance to respond, Narinder turned, heading straight for the portal that would take him to the Silk Cradle. His mind was determined, his steps firm, but his heart carried a weight that he could not so easily shake off. Upon reaching the portal, he looked at it for a moment, inhaled deeply, and without further ado, entered the dark and dense realm of threads and shadows, preparing to face not only danger, but also the inevitable shadow of the future.

The Silk Cradle greeted him with a heavy atmosphere, dense with fog, where each breath seemed to fill him with a cold emptiness. Around him, dead trees rose like sinister shadows, their twisted branches like fingers trying to cling to the life that had escaped them too long ago. The grass beneath his feet was like stone, motionless and brittle, as if neither wind nor time could strip it of its death.

Narinder gripped his claw and sickle, his weapons reflecting a lethal shine. Without wasting a second, he began to run towards Shamura's temple, determination shining on his face like a flame. The few daring beings who crossed his path did not dare to confront him. His presence was like an unbearable weight in the air, radiating such an overwhelming threat that the creatures preferred to move aside, without risking interrupting his march.

As he passed, he noticed a group of heretics in the midst of sacrificing a prisoner. He briefly considered intervening, but quickly dismissed the idea. "Not today," he thought, a thread of coldness running through him. His gaze continued forward, fixed on his single objective.