Chains of Vengeance

Chapter 195: Fire and Water Under the Same Night

Night had fallen with a heavy weight on the twisted trees of Darkwood. Mist crept among the roots like a patient animal, and the distant howl of a nameless creature occasionally cut through the sepulchral silence. Ramael had spent much of the day walking among the shadows, his thoughts as dense as the forest that surrounded him.

The dry crunch of his footsteps among rotten branches was accompanied by the soft tapping of his wooden bat, which he carried with him like an extension of his will. His face was hidden behind the mask, and his voice echoed within his with that deep, hollow tone that distorted his.

"Fate is... strange," he murmured as he walked. "Could it be that I am alive in this world beyond Narinder's whim?"

He toyed with the bat between his fingers, swinging it lightly before letting it rest on his shoulder.

"I really don't know what to think anymore..."

But his thoughts were abruptly interrupted when he perceived a warm glow in the distance. Among the trees, a large bonfire burned quietly, like a heart beating in the middle of a dark forest. Cautiously, Ramael approached through the shadows, his muscles tense and alert... but something about the scene reassured him: a figure danced beside the fire, a light and graceful silhouette.

A moth.

Noticing no hostility in the air, Ramael relaxed his posture. He already suspected who it could be. He slowly removed his mask, letting the cold night air caress his face. He had learned something valuable after his encounter with Aym: he shouldn't act impulsively. This was no longer his world, and here, it had to be better.

With a firm but calm step, he approached closer and said in his natural voice:

"Greetings."

The moth turned lightly, its robes floating like a cloud. His yellow eyes shone in the firelight, and a friendly smile appeared on his face.

"Hello, lamb."

Ramael frowned slightly, more out of habit than annoyance.

"Oh... sorry, I think you've confused me. I'm not the Lamb."

The moth delicately rubbed his eyes with one of his slender arms.

"Oh, sorry. I thought you were him. My eyesight isn't what it used to be."

"I'm a ram. And besides, my wool isn't white," he added diplomatically, "it's more like... grayish-brown."

"You could just as easily be the lamb. Only you fell into a mud puddle," the moth replied playfully.

Ramael gave an awkward smile. He didn't much like the comparison to mud.

"So what brings you here, Mr. Not-Lamb?" the moth asked curiously.

"My name is Ramael. You can call me by my given name... or 'Ram,' if you like," he replied, respectfully.

The moth studied him for a moment before speaking.

"Hmm... Well, you don't look like a heretic. And you approached me despite not knowing me. Or did you already know me?"

Ramael sat on the ground, letting the warmth of the fire reach his legs as he watched the flames dance among the burning logs.

"I sort of know who you are," he said serenely. "And I suppose you're like someone I know... a kind moth."

The moth, still smiling, sat beside him. The cloak settled silently around him, and his many arms crossed gracefully.

"You're not from around here, are you?"

Ramael kept his gaze fixed on the fire.

"Well... Darkwood is an ugly place to live."