Chains of Vengeance

Chapter 174: Deep Feelings

The warmth of the embrace and the softness of Ramael's wool, firm but welcoming, gradually calmed Narinder. His breathing, previously erratic, became slower. His heart, which had seemed ready to explode moments ago, settled into a more stable rhythm. He still felt sadness, the weight of memory still weighed down his chest, but there was something in that contact that helped him stay on his feet. It was as if the warmth of the ram, the scent of its wool that reminded him of freshly cut grass, gave him a small anchor in the middle of the storm that was raging inside him. He wasn't ready to thank him, nor to fully accept what he felt, but he didn't want to deny Ramael's request either. Maybe, after all, he had a right to know.

—Follow me... please.

The "please" felt strange in his mouth, almost as if it didn't belong to him. He was not used to asking for anything like that, much less from someone he didn't yet know how to feel about. However, Ramael didn't question him, he simply nodded and followed him in silence. Their walk took them to the cult's cemetery, full of mass graves, tombs and crypts where those who had served their cause rested. But in the center, guarding that field of death, stood four imposing statues. Narinder approached them, with firmer steps than he actually felt.

"Here are the statues of my brothers, the bishops..." His voice sounded neutral, but there was something hidden in it, something that only someone attentive would notice. "So tell me... what do you want to know about them?"

Ramael looked at the statues with a grim expression. There was no hatred on his face, no resentment, but a deep understanding. He knew that they had been brought from the kingdoms of the Old Faith, symbols of a past that no longer existed. A past in which those four had ruled... before the prophecy.

"When you sealed them... how did you feel?"

Narinder hadn't expected that question. He didn't want that kind of question. He didn't want someone trying to see into his mind, into his heart. He wanted to scream that it wasn't his business, that he had no right to question him like that. But just as he was going to do so, his gaze drifted, almost instinctively, to the area of ​​the scar on Ramael's abdomen that was still under his clothes. He remembered that that ram had also been marked by the past, that he also carried a history of pain.

His answer caught in his throat. His ears lowered a little and, for a moment, he seemed as small as ever before.

"I felt... nothing."

Ramael heard those words clearly and knew, with certainty, that they were a lie. Not because Narinder said it in an uncertain way, but because he had learned to listen. There was something about the way his voice trailed off, the way he didn't dare look directly at the statues of his brothers, that told him this wasn't true.

Guided by a hunch, Ramael stepped forward.

"After sealing each bishop... you had a celebration and a big bonfire, didn't you?"

Narinder felt a chill run down his spine. He bit his tongue, surprised. How did he know? Was he that good at deduction or had he just talked to the right cultists? He looked at Ramael with a mix of distrust and amazement.

"Yes, I had a party and a bonfire. What's wrong with it?"

Ramael looked at him with a compassion Narinder hadn't expected. With a kindness he found unbearable.

"You... you threw something into the fire, didn't you?"

Narinder stood completely still. As if those words had struck something inside him that he had tried to forget.

Narinder felt a pang of irritation as he realized how much Ramael knew. He had only been in the cult for a short time, and already he had managed to obtain information that he would have preferred no one remind him of. It was almost as if the ram had torn away the veils of his past with annoying ease, as if he knew exactly where to look to unearth the sins Narinder had tried so hard to bury within his mind. The very idea of ​​Ramael having that kind of knowledge about him made his skin crawl. It was an unpleasant feeling, a mix of vulnerability and repressed anger that made him clench his fists tightly.