Chains of Vengeance

Chapter 183: The Phantom Predator Part 1

Narinder followed Ramael silently, watching him curiously as they made their way down the cult paths. Unlike other houses, the one they were heading to was far away, situated more or less in the most remote corner of the settlement.

Ramael opened the door and let Narinder in first. The interior was simple, with just the necessities: a straw bed in one corner, a table with some tools, and a couple of worn chairs. The only visible decoration was a couple of wooden inscriptions scattered around the place, some with words carved into them.

Narinder took a seat on the straw bed, and to distract himself, he began fiddling with a carved stick he found nearby. He noticed that it had the word "communication" carved into it. He ran his fingers over the inscription, wondering if Ramael had done so.

The ram, for his part, took a seat on the chair next to him.

"Well," he said calmly, "where should I start?"

Narinder glanced at him.

"Maybe... at the beginning. The beginning of everything."

Ramael leaned back in his chair, staring at the ceiling as if gathering his thoughts.

"Well... I was born and raised in a nomadic sheep settlement. As such, I never knew who my parents were, or whether I had siblings or not."

Narinder nodded slowly, not interrupting him. His fingers continued to run over the inscription on the stick, feeling every indentation in the wood.

"It was a horrible childhood, really," Ramael continued, his voice devoid of emotion, as if he were narrating from a distance. "Always traveling, no matter the conditions. No matter who we left behind..."

Narinder looked at him more closely, his tone of voice telling him much more than his words expressed.

"Always running away from the Old Faith, aren't we?"

Ramael let out a heavy exhale and closed his eyes for a moment before nodding.

"Yes... always on the run."

Ramael continued, his voice slow but firm, as if each word were a piece of a much larger and heavier story.

"In those days, we only supported ourselves by selling wool," he said, with a hint of bitterness. "A material that, ironically, became a luxury due to the taboo of my species."

Narinder raised an eyebrow. He had noticed it before in this world: although sheep's wool was not a forbidden material, its acquisition had a stigma, especially among those who followed the Old Faith.

"We lived guided by a shepherd dog," Ramael continued. "He looked after us and took us to safe places, far from the reach of the Old Faith."

Narinder could not help but interrupt.

"Why did they do that?"

The ram exhaled softly, as if he had expected that question.

"Because they knew it was the right thing to do," he replied without hesitation. "Leaving an innocent species in despair was something those shepherds were not willing to allow."

Narinder nodded slowly. It wasn't hard to imagine. Shepherd dogs were loyal by nature, but to protect an entire group of sheep from the Old Faith... they must have been very strong.

"By the time I was ten, I understood many things about life," Ramael continued, his tone lower, as if he was dragged by memories. "I learned to live. I learned to love. I learned to hate. I learned to survive... and, above all, I learned to be afraid."

Narinder gulped, wanting to speak, but holding back. He didn't want to interrupt him this time.

"One day," Ramael continued, "I was fed up with always being in a group. So I took pieces of wood and paints, and began to create a mask." It was rustic, but with a tunic that covered me well... no one would know what species I was.