Ramael slumped down onto the straw bed, resting his hands behind his head as he stared at the ceiling with a carefree expression. His voice sounded almost indifferent, as if he didn't expect an answer, as if the words were just a thought spoken out loud.
"Do you think I'm trash?"
Narinder looked away at him, in no hurry to answer. He didn't really have a simple answer.
"Well... hearing about your mortal life only leaves me with even more doubts, to be honest."
Ramael let out a short laugh, though without any real joy.
"Well, at least tell me what you think of me now. If you do, I'll consider talking more about myself... or answering some questions."
Narinder took his time. His eyes rested on an indefinite point on the ceiling, as if searching for the right way to articulate his thoughts. Finally, he exhaled and spoke with a deep calm, his voice resonating with a certainty forged by experience.
“Life is hard. It doesn’t matter who you are, what world you come from, or what power you have. Life is a constant struggle for survival, a race against time that no mortal can win. Death is inevitable; time consumes us without us realizing it. Sometimes, we feel it in seconds that we can count, something tangible and measurable. But not always… Sometimes, it’s whole years that seem to slip through our fingers, disappearing before we can react.”
Ramael listened to him in silence, watching him out of the corner of his eye.
“What I’m getting at is…” Narinder continued, “if I were your Narinder, I would have been scared. Always on the alert. Because even though you were the key to his chains, you could also be a worse threat than the Bishops.”
Ramael smiled. It wasn’t an entirely comforting answer, but it was certainly more positive than he expected.
“Heh… Well, go ahead, ask me something.”
Narinder was silent for a moment longer, staring at the neglected roof of the house. His fingers unconsciously fiddled with a loose fiber of straw beneath him before speaking.
“You… worked for Shamura, didn’t you?” His voice sounded almost distant, as if he were trying to string together memories that didn’t belong to him. “Well, I suppose he’ll be similar in attitude or intelligence in this world… Did he speak of me? Well… of his Narinder.”
Ramael shook his head without hesitation.
“No. Everything related to He Who Awaits was a taboo subject. Absolute heresy. There were no records, no stories… as if he had been… erased.”
Narinder let out a sigh, his eyes narrowing sadly.
“As if he had never existed…”
The silence between them stretched out, enveloping the room in a heavy, but not uncomfortable stillness. Only the sound of their breathing and the occasional rustling of straw broke the calm. For a while, they simply stood there, staring at the ceiling as if in its cracks they could find answers to questions they would never dare ask out loud.
It was Ramael who finally broke the silence with a cautious question, his voice sounding more curious than insistent.
“And… what was your life like as a mortal before the crown?” She didn’t want to push him, so she added lightly. “Well, I like to think you were mortal at some point…”
Narinder remained silent a little longer, as if pondering whether or not to answer. His fingers closed lightly on the straw beneath him, and when he finally spoke, his tone was low, almost a whisper.
YOU ARE READING
Chains of Vengeance
FanfictionIn this story, Lambert, a lamb who has overcome great adversities, embarks on a journey to the Velo after defeating the fallen bishops. His goal: to reunite with Narinder, the true god of death. Rather than betray his deity, Lambert accepts his fate...
