Chains of Vengeance

Chapter 129: Deep Sorrow

Narinder closed the door to his cabin with a heavy sigh, removing his robe as he spoke quietly,

"You both reek of alcohol..."

He dropped the garment onto a nearby chair and walked over to his bed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. Though the day in Anchordeep had been productive and peaceful, the recent events at the cult had drained him of all mental energy.

He plopped down onto the massive bed and stared at the dark wooden ceiling, thoughts fluttering through his mind.

"Since the lamb arrived, I think this is my first night alone in bed..." he murmured, his tone more melancholic than he expected.

The silence of the room gave him a strange feeling of emptiness. He turned onto his side, hugging the pillow to his chest and slowly rolling over the mattress.

"What will I do with those two tomorrow?" he said, talking to himself, his face buried in the pillow.

If it had been any other cultist, the matter would have been simple. Public execution was a quick and effective solution to restore order and faith. But with Lambert and Goliath, things were not so easy. Despite his anger, Narinder knew he had a bond with them, something that complicated decisions.

—I could forgive them... but if I do, the cult will think I am favoring a few. I will lose more faith.

He rolled again, now looking up at the ceiling. His thoughts turned to possible punishments, out loud:

—I could send them to repair the damage they caused in the tavern and to work on the most tedious tasks of the cult for a week. Thus they would learn the cost of their actions...
Or perhaps prohibit them from consuming alcohol or any special food for a while. Only water and bread, as a reminder of their excesses.

Perhaps organize a ritual combat between them. Have them fight for their redemption, allowing the cult to observe and approve the result... Maybe just make them both apologize publicly.

Narinder sighed, folding his arms under his head.

"I don't really want to punish them though," he admitted quietly. "Lambert was just exploring a new experience, and the goat probably encouraged him. But if I let them go without consequences..."

He stared at the ceiling, the conflict within him evident. Part of him wanted to protect them and be forgiving, while another knew he had to preserve order in his cult. Finally, he hugged his pillow again, closing his eyes to get some rest. Tomorrow, he would have to decide.

The absolute silence of the night was interrupted only by the sound of his own accelerated breathing. Narinder woke up with a start, his chest rising and falling rapidly as a layer of cold sweat beaded on his forehead. His red eyes shone in the dim light, staring aimlessly as his hands instinctively closed around his wrists.

He hadn't dreamed anything, but a fleeting, almost cruel thought crossed his mind: the veil. The memory of his time trapped there hit him like a distant echo, a shadow he didn't want to face.

Nervously, he began to rub the scars on his wrists, those marks he always tried to ignore. His breathing steadied a little, but the uneasiness was still there, like an invisible sting. He got out of bed, barefoot making a slight creaking sound on the wooden floor as he walked to the door.

"I must see the lamb." The thought came urgently, like a need for calm, for comfort. But then he stopped short, remembering that Lambert was completely knocked out by the alcohol and would be sleeping for many more hours.

With a frustrated sigh, Narinder turned around. His gaze met the mirror across the room, and, without much thought, he picked up the brush that rested on the dresser. He sat in front of the mirror, his posture somewhat stiff, and began to smooth his black fur with mechanical, almost desperate movements.