Chains of Vengeance

Chapter 147: Rest

Alongside the cult, the crowing of the rooster echoed through the service, marking the dawn. Narinder, still sitting on his huge bed, let out a deep sigh. He had spent the entire night awake, watching a candle slowly burn down. His thoughts kept him busy, but that monotony had achieved a small victory: a night without nightmares.

"Boring, but peaceful," he murmured, rising from the bed with slow, calculated movements.

He stretched gracefully, cracking his back, and with a simple gesture of his hand, used his magic to clean away any traces of the previous night. He took a brush and, with patience and dedication, began to smooth out his fine black fur, making sure it was spotless. Once satisfied with his reflection, he carefully put on his robes, adjusting each fold perfectly.

As he left the house, the cool morning air gently hit him, clearing away any traces of tiredness. His mood was not the best; the monotony of the night had left him somewhat irritated. But as he walked through the cult, his mind filled with more pleasant thoughts: the sight of the twins ascending, wearing divine crowns, ready to take their place in the pantheon that Narinder desired.

"Finally," he thought, "I'll be able to fulfill that fantasy of seeing them as gods. It will be the beginning of something glorious."

With that thought brightening his mood, he began his usual morning tour of the cult. He visited the farms first, where the cultists were already reaping the fruits of their hard work. The mines were bustling with activity; the rhythmic sounds of pickaxes echoed in the air as resources were accumulated. The lumberyards were also in full swing, axes falling with precision.

He passed by the nursery, watching the little ones play and learn, their laughter filling the air. In the refining forge, metals glowed red hot as the blacksmiths worked diligently, and Narinder nodded, satisfied.

Finally, he reached his glorious statue, a monumental representation of himself. He looked at it proudly, taking in every perfectly sculpted detail. His eyes narrowed as an idea crossed his mind: Why not commission more statues?

"Two for the twins," he thought, smiling as he imagined their stone-carved versions, with their gleaming crowns and heroic poses. Then, a bolder idea struck him: "And another two... for Lambert and Goliath."

The thought took him by surprise, and a slight blush crept over him as he visualized what those statues would look like. "Perhaps something more discreet... or perhaps not," he mused, shaking his head to clear the image before his mind wandered too far.

With a snort, he continued on his way, trying to regain his composure. "Today will be a good day," he told himself, focusing on the duty at hand. "The cult thrives... and soon there will be new gods among us."

Narinder walked through the cult and noticed the raven lying in Goliath's training area, his expression calm and a fine charcoal in his hand, writing in his worn book of poems. He had seen the raven before, frantically scribbling as if the words would escape him if he didn't catch them. However, Narinder had noticed something peculiar: the raven's handwriting and spelling were disastrous, to the point that only the writer himself could decipher his texts. Despite this, Narinder did not judge him; the raven was probably not very educated.

He briefly considered using his magic to read the raven's mind and directly access one of his poems, but dismissed the idea immediately. "That dramatic mind will give me a headache," he thought, and he was not about to deal with that. Instead, she took a deep breath and decided to address him directly.

"I... want to hear a poem."

The crow looked up, and immediately his face lit up with excitement. He jumped up from his spot and struck a theatrical pose, stretching out one of his wings as if he were on a stage lit by spotlights.