Chains of Vengeance

Chapter 112: Silver Bell

The next morning, the cultist rooster's crowing echoed softly, and before the day had even begun to dawn, Lambert was already up. The lamb calmly woke up, stretching his muscles, and looked at Narinder, who was still sleeping, wrapped in the blankets with a peaceful expression. He knew that his beloved god did not have the same needs, but he did need to eat breakfast before beginning his chores.

With a tender smile, Lambert leaned over Narinder and planted a soft kiss on his forehead. "See you in a little while, love," he whispered affectionately, knowing that Narinder would probably remain asleep for a while longer. He left the house with calm steps, leaving the room silent and his beloved in a peaceful sleep.

Narinder, feeling the emptiness in the bed, began to roll around lazily, enjoying the last moments of comfort before duty called. His eyes, still sleepy, fell on a purple box with a silver bow, an object he created on a whim and had kept by his side but had not dared to open until now. He looked at it for a long moment, weighing whether he should act or just leave it there.

Finally, with a resigned sigh, he got out of bed. "I must be crazy..." he muttered to himself as he approached the box. He snapped his fingers, and a bright light illuminated the outline of the box, filling it with contents. He looked at it with some reproach. "I should stop using fervor for these things... it's just a waste," he said to himself, though with a small, amused smile on his lips.

He put the box away in the infinite pocket of his crown, where it would remain safe until needed. He headed to the vanity, putting on his robes and taking a moment to carefully brush his black fur, enjoying the familiarity of that morning routine.

As he stepped out of the house, a light, cold breeze greeted him, and the cloudy sky lent the day an air of introspective calm. The coolness of the air reminded him of how much his world had changed, and as he looked out into the distance at his worshippers going about their tasks, he felt a strange mix of anticipation and peace.

Then the gentle drizzle began to fall, with fine droplets sliding across the ground, creating small puddles that reflected the grey light of the day. The cool, moist air felt invigorating, though not uncomfortable. The drops fell gently on Narinder's robes, barely wetting the fabric, but he didn't seem bothered; instead, the rain seemed to add a layer of calm to his already deep introspection. Nature itself seemed to be aligned with his mood, reflecting a mix of contentment and a small hint of unease.

Narinder walked with a determined gait towards the outskirts of the cult, where the mystic still stood in his usual position, watching with his sharp eyes and moon-shaped head, ever attentive. Arriving in front of him, Narinder did not hesitate for a second. He stared at the mystic, his gaze filled with determination and a hint of impatience.

"I demand my prize," he said in a firm, almost defiant voice.

The mystic, unfazed, replied in his low, calculating tone, "You can get three things from the loser, think carefully. The wishes you make will have to be precise."

Narinder frowned, clearly annoyed by the restriction. "Why only three? I want everything that belongs to that goat," he said, not hesitating to ask for more.

The mystic just looked at him. "There are rules in the causality of things," he replied, his voice deep and resonant. "If you wish for more, you must understand the price that comes with it. Not everything is as simple as demanding."

Narinder snorted, showing his frustration, but did not stop looking at the mystic with the challenge in his eyes. "What are the options, then?" he asked, already impatient.

The mystic stared at him, as if he was waiting for that moment of doubt. "The main thing would be his crown, his powers, the hearts of the heretics, the followers who worshipped him, all the divinity he accumulated, his material resources, among others," he enumerated calmly, as if it were no problem for him to mention everything he could offer him.