Chains of Vengeance

Chapter 190: Encounter with the Darkness

Narinder had returned to the cult.

His gait was slow, shuffling, as if the weight of the world were hanging on his shoulders. His eyes, normally bright and penetrating, were dull, lacking that characteristic sparkle. He walked with his head down, his robes dusty, his brow furrowed. His attempt to get closer to Ramael had ended in the worst possible way: pushing him further away. A wall had risen between them, and neither his sickle nor his "love" seemed capable of tearing it down.

He wanted to lock himself away. To sink between the sheets. To declare that life was horrible, absurd, and cruel. He wanted to cry, but he didn't have the strength to do even that.

It was then that a soft, familiar sound pierced the air. A light, joyful tinkling, like the echo of a happy memory.

A bell.

Narinder immediately pricked up an ear. It was that sound. That sound that always managed to pierce even his deepest sadness. And then he saw him: Lambert, walking briskly, his cloak flapping in the wind, the sunlight reflecting off his fluffy, woolly body and his golden bell.

"Narinder, where were you?" Lambert asked with a concerned tone, raising an eyebrow. "Wasn't today supposed to be Bathin's resurrection?"

Narinder said nothing. Instead, he approached calmly, unhurriedly, and without warning, bent his head to bury his face in the lamb's soft chest. The warm wool enveloped him like a silent refuge. There, amid the smell of fresh lamb and the camellia perfume Lambert often wore, Narinder couldn't help but lose himself in that sweet aroma.

"Na-Nari!" Lambert exclaimed, blushing. "I'm trying to be serious. Behave yourself, love!"

Narinder didn't reply. He simply inhaled deeply, as if he needed that scent to live. Lambert, without resistance, tenderly ran a hand down the back of Narinder's neck, stroking gently.

"Did something bad happen?" he asked in a low, attentive voice.

Narinder nodded slowly, his face still on his chest.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

He shook his head.

"Do you want to go revive Bathin?"

Another slight shake of his head.

There was a brief pause, and Lambert smiled mischievously.

"But you want the best cider, don't you?"

Narinder barely moved, but nodded. Slowly. Almost resigned.

Lambert gave a light chuckle and said in a cheerful tone:

"Then let's revive Bathin!"

Narinder sighed and finally moved away from his chest, his face still a little somber, but now with a hint of light in his eyes.

"It's fine," he said reluctantly. "Anyway... I feel much better now."

And although he didn't smile, his voice clearly spoke the truth. Because sometimes, a bit of warm wool and a golden bell were enough to begin mending a broken heart.

Lambert adjusted his cloak and glanced at Narinder, with that mixture of love and complicity that only he knew how to express.

"Well," he said softly but firmly. "Almost everyone is waiting for you at the temple, ready for your sermon and the resurrection of Bathin."

Narinder just nodded. He said nothing. His words were still hidden under a storm of emotions that was just beginning to calm. But at least he had Lambert, and that was enough for now.

The two walked side by side until they reached and entered the temple. The faithful parted reverently as he passed, bowing their heads in the presence of the god of Death.