Chapter Text
Narinder awoke within the confides of the leaders’ tent, as he’d often found himself doing as of late. He’d still been groggy with sleep as he’d reached out to the other side of the bed discontentedly, attempting to find the warmth that would usually nestle far too close in the midst of the night, both him and the other party pretending they hadn’t noticed the growing intimacy of the action.
Especially ever since the Lamb managed to reawaken winter once more.
The bed, however, appeared entirely empty- save for the black cat slowly blinking himself awake.
It’d only taken a moment for Narinder to physically feel the strangeness and unnerving unfamiliarity of the absence, his crimson eyes narrowing as he’d glanced around the spacious tent. A moment passed, and then another.
Until Narinder noticed the red crown’s eye at the foot of the bed. The sentient object resided atop the covers strangely, Death’s usurper nowhere in sight.
Beneath the crown, instead of fluffy white wool, had been a crumbled piece of paper. Narinder sat up and reached out as to read it, the few words written somehow turning incomprehensible.
He read it once. Twice. Thrice.
‘The crown is yours, Narinder.’
——
It would take some adjusting, but those who’d resided within Paradise were no strangers to being ordered by Narinder in the past. Lamb oftentimes instructed all to listen to the former God both in their absence and presence, the frequency of the ask more and more common with time.
But this: The crown atop the rightful brow once more, had been a cause for uncertainty.
Narinder felt their devotion. Felt it flicker and dim. He hadn’t been the Lamb, and had no intention of being them, either.
“They’d abandoned you all,”, the black cat spoke with little emotion lacing his words, even when some of the following flinched with the bluntness. “I have regained my rightful crown and intend to lead as is my right. I’ve no need for the uncertain, as such those of the flock whom see me unfit may leave- but know I’m not nearly as forgiving as the one before.”
“… the Lamb?”, one of the following asked weakly, the sound of their voice no more audible than a whisper. Narinder’s ear still twitched, his expression, however, reaming as unmoving as stone. Tone of voice level.
“Yes. Them.”, he’d responded curtly in turn, sparing no second for the following to ponder or assume.
The black cat’s siblings, The Bishops, all acknowledged each other warily. They’d known, amongst themselves, that the Lamb would die before allowing for their following to be abandoned without thought. Furthermore, as they’d listened to their brother recite a sermon and the new rules of Paradise, they all could do little more than wonder what the ordeal would mean for them.
What would Narinder’s regained Godhood mean for the fallen remains of the Old Faith? Where had the Lamb disappeared off to and when should their return be anticipated?
“Narinder’s hurt again…”, Leshy whispered with a subtle hiss between his siblings, the chaotic jitter of his twig-like antlers a welcomed distraction from the surreal situation.
Shamura and the rest of the Bishops could do little more than hum in quiet affirmation. His sharp words of abandonment. Of being nothing like the Lamb. They were spoken for Narinder himself, not for the large crowd made up of a following that stared up at him as a God once more.
“We’re going to figure out what’s going on, right?”, Leshy inquired further, poking both Kallamar and Helet as to ensure their attention.
“Obviously,”, the squid spoke first, slapping away his brother’s intruding hand, “we all know we wouldn’t survive long with our dear brother as our God.”, Kallamar cringed at the thought, a fearful shiver rocking his entire body.
Again, the other Bishops simply hummed in mutual agreement.
Upon the conclusion of the sermon and the bringing of subsequent awareness as to the sudden change of leadership to the public of Lamb’s former cult, all were free to continue with their duties or to pack up and leave.
A handful had. Packing up their things with evident haste, coincidentally primarily consisting of individuals who’d wronged the black feline in the past, having shielded themselves behind the Lamb whenever Narinder would so much as look in their General direction. It’d made sense for those to go and, honestly, they had been a very small loss.
Both surprisingly and not, the vast majority of those who’d once belonged to the Lamb, remained within the ownership of the new (old) God of Death. Perhaps it’d been habit or uncertainty, but it’d could’ve just as easily been familiarity.
Despite his seemingly standoffish nature, Narinder had still been a synonym for safety. Where Lamb hadn’t been present, the three-eyed cat took charge… and perhaps this had been no different.
Or, more accurately, everyone hoped it wouldn’t be.
“The snow is nice.”, Shamura mused absentmindedly, reaching out a steady hand as to cushion the fall of thick petals, watching with their many eyes as they’d melt into their palm. They’d trailed the patters of every snowflake that fell, the spider’s surrounding siblings sparing their eldest little more than a glance.
The statement had been true to most, of course. With the imprisonment of Death came the stagnation of seasons, as such the fluffy, cold white of the once-familiar terrain felt serene and peaceful. A symbol of change. Of a new era, possibly.
“Speak for yourself,”, the youngest Bishop soon grumbled, snuggled into the warmth of the jumper the Lamb had made for him, “the ground’s too frozen to dig, and my steps are always uncertain and traitorous.”, Leshy continued to complain, sniffling somewhat as the group made their way back to their corner of Paradise. A shared shelter stood in the corner of the grounds, even if the lot of them all had their own, individual huts.
“…perhaps… woolheaven….”, Heket spoke with a minute gurgle, her throat a lot better that it was, though it’d still needed to warm up before full sentences could be spoken.
“You think they went there? Hm.”, Kallamar hummed with something akin to an epiphany, clasping his tentacled hands together before continuing to speak, “you don’t think they went there as to fulfil the prophecy, right?”
“Worship…?”, Heket chimed in once more, her hand reaching up as to thoughtfully rub her chin.
“To Ygnya?”, Kallamar asked a little more skeptically, “but they are- were- a God. Why would they want to leave this all?”
“I do not believe that to be where they’d gone.”, Shamura spoke up this time, their cryptic words plunging their siblings into silence. “But I do believe their absence connected to that place.”, the spider soon added.
“… but we cannot enter Woolheaven after… everything.”, Leshy grumbled vaguely, both ashamed and annoyed in a single breath. Perhaps nothing had physically prevented them from entering the lands of the lambs, yet they knew the vengeance of spirits to be carried in much more subtle, gruesome ways.
All the Bishops stopped in their tracks. Their collective senses had easily pinpointed the being they’d been looking for. After all, there had been a single best amongst them that never wronged the lambs as they had. The beast in question, already longingly looking out towards the hidden entrance up the mountain, stood by the archway of the sermon temple, having not made it far following it.
Narinder, the God of Death.
Would he hunt down the sheep before the time for such a decision was up?
And what would happen upon their possible reunion?